note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) transcriber's notes: text that is printed in italic style in the original is enclosed between underscores (_italic text_) the section of the book about norway is not included. peeps at many lands norway by lieut.-col. a. f. mockler-ferryman, f.r.g.s., f.z.s. and denmark by m. pearson thomson with sixteen full-page illustrations in colour the macmillan company & fifth avenue, new york denmark [illustration: sketch-map of denmark.] contents denmark _by m. pearson thomson_ i. merry copenhagen--i ii. merry copenhagen--ii iii. hans andersen--the "fairy-tale" of his life iv. famous danes v. legendary lore and folk-dances vi. manners and customs vii. a jaunt through jutland--i viii. a jaunt through jutland--ii ix. the people's amusements x. farm life--butter-making--"hedeselskabet" xi. soldiers and sailors xii. the people of the isles xiii. fishermen at home and afloat xiv. youthful danes at work and play xv. ingeborg's journey through seeland list of illustrations denmark _by f. j. hyldahl_ facing page flower market in copenhagen dragÖr peasant children's day harvest-time vagt-paraden sunday in the island of lÆsÖ skagen fisherman near the tower of buried church winter in the forest _sketch-map, page ii, denmark section._ denmark chapter i merry copenhagen--i copenhagen, the metropolis of denmark, is a large and flourishing city, with all the modern improvements of a commercial capital. it has an atmosphere of its own, an atmosphere of friendliness and gaiety, particularly appreciated by english people, who in "merry copenhagen" always feel themselves at home. the approach to this fine city from the north by the cattegat is very charming. sailing through the sound, you come upon this "athens of the north" at its most impressive point, where the narrow stretch of water which divides sweden and denmark lies like a silvery blue ribbon between the two countries, joining the cattegat to the baltic sea. in summer the sparkling, blue sound, of which the danes are so justly proud, is alive with traffic of all kinds. hundreds of steamers pass to and from the north sea and baltic, carrying their passengers and freights from russia, germany, finland, and sweden, to the whole world. in olden times denmark exacted toll from these passing ships, which the nations found irksome, but the danes most profitable. this "sundtold" was abolished finally at the wish of the different nations using this "king's highway," who combined to pay a large lump sum to denmark, in order that their ships might sail through the sound without this annoyance in future. kronborg castle, whose salute demanded this toll in olden days, still rears its stately pinnacles against the blue sky, and looking towards the old fortress of kjärnan, on the swedish coast, seems to say, "our glory is of a bygone day, and in the land of memories." elsinore, the ancient town which surrounds this castle, is well known to english and american tourists as the supposed burial-place of hamlet, the prince of denmark immortalized by shakespeare. kronborg castle is interesting to us, in addition, as being the place where anne of denmark was married by proxy to james i. of england. here, also, the "queen of tears," caroline matilda, sister of george iii., spent some unhappy months in prison, gazing sadly over the sound, waiting for the english ships to come and deliver her. we pass up the sound viewing the luxuriant cool green beech-woods of denmark, and the pretty fishing villages lying in the foreground. villas with charming gardens--their tiny rickety landing-stages, bathing sheds, and tethered boats, adding fascination to the homely scene--seem to welcome us to this land of fairy tales and the home of hans andersen. the many towers and pinnacles of copenhagen, with the golden dome of the marble church, flash a welcome as we steam into the magnificent harbour of this singularly well-favoured city. here she stands, this "queen of the north," as a gracious sentinel bowing acquiescence to the passing ships as they glide in and out of the baltic. the broad quays are splendidly built, lined with fine warehouses, and present a busy scene of commercial activity. the warships lying at their moorings in the sound denote that this is the station of the fleet; here also we see the country's only fortress--the formidable bulwarks which surround the harbour. kjöbenhavn in danish means "merchants' harbour," and as early as the eleventh century it was a trading centre for foreign merchants attracted by the rich supply of herrings found by the danish fishermen in the baltic. bishop absalon was the founder of the city. this warrior bishop strongly fortified the place, in , on receiving the little settlement from king valdemar the great, and had plenty to do to hold it, as it was continually harassed by pirates and the wends. these, however, found the bishop more than a match for them. his outposts would cry, "the wends are coming!" and the bishop would leave his preaching, his bed, or anything else he might be doing, gather his forces together, and fight gallantly for his little stronghold. he perhaps recognized that this might one day be the key to the baltic, which it has since become. this city, therefore, is not a new one, but bombardment and conflagrations are responsible for its modern appearance. fortunately, some of the handsome edifices raised during the reign of christian iv. ( - ) still remain to adorn the city. this monarch was a great architect, sailor, warrior, and king, and is one of the most striking figures in danish history. he was beloved by his people, and did much for his kingdom. the buildings planned and erected during this monarch's reign are worthy of our admiration. the beautiful exchange, with its curious tower formed by four dragons standing on their heads, and entwining their tails into a dainty spire; rosenborg castle, with its delicate pinnacles; the famous "runde taarn" (round tower), up whose celebrated spiral causeway peter the great is said to have driven a carriage and pair, are amongst the most noteworthy. the originality in design of the spires and towers of copenhagen is quite remarkable. vor frelsers kirke, or church of our saviour, has an outside staircase, running round the outside of its spire, which leads up to a figure of our saviour, and from this height you get a fine view of the city. the tower of the fire-station, in which the fire-hose hangs at full length; the copper-sheathed clock and bell tower--the highest in denmark--of the town hall; the eiffel-like tower of the zoo, are among the most singular. in all these towers there is a beautiful blending of copper and gold, which gives a distinctive and attractive character to the city. other prominent features are the pretty fish-scale tiling, and the copper and bronze roofs of many of the buildings, with their "stepped" gables. charming, too, are the city's many squares and public gardens, canals with many-masted ships making an unusual spectacle in the streets. but, after all, it is perhaps the innate gaiety of the copenhagener which impresses you most. you feel, indeed, that these kindly danes are a little too content for national development; but their light-hearted way of viewing life makes them very pleasant friends, and their hospitality is one of their chief characteristics. every lady at the head of a danish household is an excellent cook and manager, as well as being an agreeable and intelligent companion. the copenhagener is a "flat" dweller, and the dining-room is the largest and most important room in every home. the dane thinks much of his dinner, and dinner-parties are the principal form of entertainment. they joke about their appreciation of the good things of the table, and say, "a turkey is not a good table-bird, as it is a little too much for one dane, but not enough for two!" a very pleasant side of copenhagen life has sprung up from this appreciation, for the restaurants and cafés are numerous, and cater well for their customers. while the dane eats he must have music, which, like the food, must be good; he is very critical, and a good judge of both. this gay café and restaurant life is one of the fascinations of denmark's "too-large heart," as this pleasant capital is called by its people. chapter ii merry copenhagen--ii the climate of copenhagen is delightful in summer, but quite the reverse in winter. andersen says "the north-east wind and the sunbeams fought over the 'infant copenhagen,' consequently the wind and the 'mud-king' reign in winter, the sunbeams in summer, and the latter bring forgetfulness of winter's hardships." certainly, when the summer comes, the sunshine reigns supreme, and makes copenhagen bright and pleasant for its citizens. then the many water-ways and canals, running up from the sea as they do into the heart of the city, make it delightfully refreshing on a hot day. nyhavn, for instance, which opens out of the kongen's nytorv--the fashionable centre of the town--is one of the quaintest of water-streets. the cobbled way on either side of the water, the curious little shops with sailors' and ships' wares, old gabled houses, fishing and cargo boats with their forests of masts, the little puffing motor-boats plying to and fro--all serve to make a distinctive picture. on another canal-side the fish-market is held every morning. a danish fish-market is not a bit like other fish-markets, for the dane must buy his fish alive, and the canal makes this possible. the fishing-smacks line up the whole side of the quay; these have perforated wooden boat-shaped tanks dragging behind them containing the lively fish. the market-women sit on the quay, surrounded by wooden tubs, which are half-filled with water, containing the unfortunate fish. a trestle-table, on which the fish are killed and cleaned, completes the equipment of the fish-wives. the customers scrutinize the contents of the tub, choose a fish as best they can from the leaping, gasping multitude, and its fate is sealed. when the market-women require more fish, the perforated tank is raised from the canal, and the fish extracted with a landing-net and deposited in their tubs. small fish only can be kept alive in tanks and tubs; the larger kinds, such as cod, are killed and sold in the ordinary way. this market is not at all a pleasant sight, so it is better to turn our backs on it, and pass on to the fragrant flower-market. here the famous amager women expose their merchandise. this market square is a gay spectacle, for the dane is fond of flowers, and the amager wife knows how to display her bright blooms to advantage. these vendors are notable characters. they are the descendants of the dutch gardeners brought over by christian ii. to grow fruit and vegetables for copenhagen, and settled on the fertile island of amager which abuts on the city. every morning these amager peasants may be seen driving their laden carts across the bridge which joins their island to the mainland. these genial, stout, but sometimes testy amager wives have it all their own way in the market-place, and are clever in attracting and befooling a customer. so it has become a saying, if you look sceptical about what you are told, the "story-teller" will say, "ask amager mother!" which means, "believe as much as you like." these women still wear their quaint costume: bulky petticoats, clean checked apron, shoulder-shawl, and poke-bonnets with white kerchief over them; and the merry twinkle of satisfaction in the old face when a good bargain has been completed against the customer's inclination is quite amusing. these interesting old characters are easily irritated, and this the little copenhageners know full well. when stalls are being packed for departure, a naughty band of urchins will appear round the corner and call out: "amager mother, amager mo'er, give us carrots from your store; you are so stout and roundabout, please tell us if you find the door too small to let you through!" the amager wife's wrath is soon roused, and she is often foolish enough to try and move her bulky proportions somewhat quicker than usual in order to catch the boys. this of course she never manages to do, for they dart away in all directions. by this means the amager woman gets a little much-needed exercise, the boys a great deal of amusement. [illustration: the flower market, copenhagen.] sunday is a fête-day in copenhagen, and the dane feels no obligation to attend a church service before starting out on his sunday expedition. a day of leisure means a day of pleasure to the copenhagener. the state helps and encourages him by having cheap fares, and good but inexpensive performances at the theatre and places of entertainment on sunday. even the poorest people manage to spare money for this periodical outing, mother and children taking their full share in the simple pleasures of the day. the copenhagener looks forward to this weekly entertainment, and longs for the fresh air. this is not surprising, for many homes are stuffy, ventilation and open windows not seeming a necessity. a fine summer sunday morning sees a leisurely stream of people--the danes never hurry themselves--making for tram, train, or motor-boat, which will carry them off to the beautiful woods and shores lying beyond the city. basking in the sunshine, or enjoying a stroll through the woods, feasting on the contents of their picnic baskets, with a cup of coffee or glass of pilsener at a café where music is always going on, they spend a thoroughly happy day. in the evening the tired but still joyous throng return home, all the better for the simple and pleasant outing. no country uses the bicycle more than denmark, and sunday is the day when it is used most. for the people who prefer to take their dinner at home on sunday there is the pleasant stroll along the celebrated langelinie. this famous promenade, made upon the old ramparts, overlooks the sound with its innumerable yachts skimming over the blue water, and is a delightful place for pedestrians. a walk round the moat of the citadel, on the waters of which the children sail their little boats, is also enjoyable. this citadel, now used as barracks, was built by frederik iii. in , and formerly served as a political prison. struensee, the notorious prime minister, was imprisoned here and beheaded for treason. a few narrow, picturesque streets surrounding this fort are all that remain of old copenhagen. the art treasures contained in the museums of copenhagen being renowned, i must tell you a little about them. two or three of the palaces not now required by the royal family are used to store some of these treasures. rosenborg castle, built by christian iv., and in which he died, contains a collection of family treasures belonging to the oldenburg dynasty. this historical collection of these art-loving kings is always open to the public. besides thorvaldsen's museum, which contains the greater portion of his works, there is the carlsberg glyptotek, which contains the most beautiful sculpture of the french school outside france. the danish folk-museum is another interesting collection. this illustrates the life and customs of citizens and peasants from the seventeenth century to the present day, partly by single objects, and partly by representations of their dwellings. the "kunstmusæet" contains a superb collection of pictures, sculpture, engravings, and national relics. here a table may be seen which formerly stood in christian ii.'s prison. history tells how the unhappy king was wont to pace round this table for hours taking his daily exercise, leaning upon his hand, which in time ploughed a groove in its hard surface. the amalienborg, a fine tessellated square, contains four royal palaces, in one of which our queen alexandra spent her girlhood. from the windows of these palaces the daily spectacle of changing the guard is witnessed by the king and young princes. copenhagen is celebrated for its palaces, its parks, porcelain, statuary, art-treasures, and last, but not least, its gaiety. chapter iii hans christian andersen, the "fairy tale" of his life i suppose the dane best known to english boys and girls is hans christian andersen, whose charming fairy-tales are well known and loved by them all. most of you, however, know little about his life, but are interested enough in him, i dare say, to wish to learn more, especially as the knowledge will give you keener delight--if that is possible--in reading the works of this "prince of story-tellers." andersen himself said: "my life has been so wonderful and so like a fairy-tale, that i think i had a fairy godmother who granted my every wish, for if i had chosen my own life's way, i could not have chosen better." hans c. andersen was the son of a poor shoemaker, an only child, born in odense, the capital of the island of funen. his parents were devoted to him, and his father, who was of a studious turn of mind, delighted in teaching his little son and interesting him in nature. very early in life hans was taken for long sunday rambles, his father pointing out to him the beauties of woods and meadows, or enchanting him with stories from the "arabian nights." at home the evenings were spent in dressing puppets for his favourite show, or else, sitting on his father's knee, he listened while the latter read aloud to his mother scenes from holberg's plays. all day hans played with his puppet theatre, and soon began to imagine plays and characters for the dolls, writing out programmes for them as soon as he was able. occasionally his grandmother would come and take the child to play in the garden of the big house where she lived in the gardener's lodge. these were red-letter days for little hans, as he loved his granny and enjoyed most thoroughly the pleasant garden and pretty flowers. the boy's first great trouble came when his father caught a fever and died, leaving his mother without any means of support. to keep the little home together his mother went out washing for her neighbours, leaving little hans to take care of himself. being left to his own devices, hans developed his theatrical tendencies by constructing costumes for his puppets, and making them perform his plays on the stage of his toy theatre. soon he varied this employment by reading plays and also writing some himself. his mother, though secretly rejoicing in her son's talent, soon saw the necessity for his doing something more practical with his time and assisting her to keep the home together. so at twelve years of age hans was sent to a cloth-weaving factory, where he earned a small weekly wage. the weavers soon discovered that hans could sing, and the men frequently made him amuse them, while the other boys were made to do his work. one day the weavers played a coarse practical joke on poor sensitive hans, which sent him flying home in such deep distress that his mother said he should not again return to the factory. hans was now sent to the parish school for a few hours daily, and his spare time was taken up with his "peep-show" and in fashioning smart clothes for his puppets. his mother intended to apprentice her son to the tailoring, but hans had fully made up his mind to become an actor and seek his fortune in copenhagen. after his confirmation--on which great occasion he wore his father's coat and his first new boots--his mother insisted on his being apprenticed without further delay. with difficulty he finally succeeded in persuading her to let him start for the capital with his few savings. his mother had married again, so could not accompany him; therefore, with reluctance and with many injunctions to return at once if all did not turn out well, she let him go. accompanying him to the town gate, they passed a gipsy on the way, who, on being asked what fortune she could prophesy for the poor lad, said he would return a great man, and his native place would be illuminated and decorated in his honour! hans arrived in copenhagen on september , a date which he considered lucky for ever after. a few days in the city soon saw an end to his money. he applied and got work at a carpenter's shop, but was driven away by the coarseness of his fellow-workers. hans made a friend of the porter at the stage-door of the theatre, and begged for some employment in the theatre; so occasionally he was allowed to walk across the stage in a crowd, but obtained scanty remuneration, and the lad was often hungry. starving and destitute, the happy idea occurred to our hero to try and earn something by his voice. he applied to siboni, the director of the music school, and was admitted to his presence whilst the latter was at dinner. fortunately for hans, baggersen the poet and weyse the celebrated composer were of the party, so for their amusement the boy was asked to sing and recite. weyse was so struck by the quality of his voice and baggersen with his poetic feeling, that they made a collection among them there and then for him, and siboni undertook to train his voice. unfortunately, in six months' time his voice gave way, and siboni counselled him to learn a trade. hans returned to the theatre in the hope of employment, and his persistence finally gained him a place in a market scene. making a friend of the son of the librarian, he obtained permission to read at the library, and he wrote tragedies and plays, some of which he took to the director of the theatre. this man became andersen's friend for life, for the grains of gold which he saw in his work, marred though it was by want of education, roused his interest. the director brought andersen to the notice of the king, and he was sent to the latin school, where he took his place--although now a grown man--among the boys in the lowest class but one. the master's tongue was sharp, and the sensitive youth was dismayed by his own ignorance. the kindness and sympathetic encouragement of the director was the only brightness of this period of hans' life. university life followed that of school, and andersen took a good degree. he now wrote a play, which was accepted and produced at the theatre with such success that he wept for joy. soon his poems were published, and happiness and prosperity followed. later the king granted him a travelling stipend, of forty-five pounds a year, and travelling became his greatest pleasure. andersen visited england two or three times, and reckoned charles dickens among his friends. he was the honoured guest of kings and princes, and the royal family of denmark treated him as a personal friend. though his "fairy tales" are the best known of his writings, he wrote successful novels, dramas and poems. andersen's tastes were simple, and his child-like, affectionate nature made him much beloved by all. his native town, which he left as a poor boy, was illuminated and decorated to welcome his return. thus the gipsy's prophecy came true. he died after the public celebration of his seventieth birthday, leaving all his fortune to the family of his beloved benefactor, the director of the theatre. a beautiful bronze monument is erected to his memory in the children's garden of the king's park, copenhagen. here the little danes have ever a gentle reminder of their great friend, hans c. andersen, who felt--to use his own words--"like a poor boy who had had a king's mantle thrown over him." [illustration: dragÖr peasant.] chapter iv famous danes bertel thorvaldsen ( - ), the famous danish sculptor, was born in copenhagen. his father was an icelander, his mother a dane, and both very poor. bertel's ambition when a little boy was to work his mother's spinning-wheel, which, of course, he was never permitted to do. one bright, moonlight night his parents were awakened by a soft, whirring sound, and found their little son enjoying his realized ambition. in the moonlit room he had successfully started the wheel and begun to spin, much to his parents' astonishment. this was the beginning of his creative genius, but many years went over his youthful head before he created the works which made him famous. his father carved wooden figure-heads for ships, and intended his son to follow the same calling. bertel, however, soon showed talent and inclination for something better, and was sent to the free school of the art academy, there making great progress. he received very little education beyond what the art school gave him, and his youthful days were hard and poverty-stricken. when his hours at the academy were over he went from house to house trying to sell his models, and in this way eked out a scanty living. in spite of his poverty he was wholly satisfied, for his wants were few. his dog and his pipe, both necessities for happiness, accompanied him in all his wanderings. his true artistic career only began in earnest when he won a travelling scholarship and went to rome, where he arrived on his twenty-seventh birthday. stimulated to do his best by the many beautiful works of art which surrounded him, he found production easy, and the classical beauty of the roman school appealed to him. regretting his wasted years, he set to work in great earnest, and during the rest of his life produced a marvellous amount of beautiful work. a rich scotsman bought his first important work, and the money thus obtained was the means of starting him firmly on his upward career. this highly talented dane founded the famous sculpture school of denmark, which is of world-wide reputation. thorvaldsen's beautiful designs--which were mainly classical--were conceived with great rapidity, and his pupils carried many of them out, becoming celebrated sculptors also. dying suddenly in , while seated in the stalls of the theatre watching the play, his loss was a national calamity. he bequeathed all his works to the nation, and these now form the famous thorvaldsen museum, which attracts the artistic-loving people of all nations to the city of copenhagen. in the courtyard of this museum lies the great man's simple grave, his beautiful works being contained in the building which surrounds it. at the top of this etruscan tomb stands a fine bronze allegorical group--the goddess of victory in her car, drawn by prancing horses--fitting memorial to this greatest of northern sculptors. holger drachmann was the son of a physician, and quite early in life became a man of letters. following the profession of an artist, he became a very good marine painter. this poet loved the sea in all its moods, and was never happier than when at skagen--the extreme northern point of jutland--where he spent most of his summers. his painting was his favourite pastime, but poetry the serious work of his life. he was a very prolific writer, not only of verse and lyrical poems, but of plays and prose works, and was a very successful playwright. drachmann's personality was a strong one, though not always agreeable to his countrymen. he had a freedom-loving spirit, and lived every moment of his life. some of his best poems are about the skaw fishermen, and later in life he settled down among them, dying at skagen in . he was a picturesque figure, with white flowing locks, erratic and unpractical, as poets often are. like other famous danes, he chose a unique burial-place. away at grenen, in the sand-dunes, overlooking the fighting waters of the skagerack and cattegat, stands his cromlech-shaped tomb, near the roar of the sea he loved so much, where time and sand will soon obliterate all that remains of the byron of denmark. nikolai frederik grundtvig, the founder of the popular high-schools for peasants, was born at his father's parsonage, udby, south seeland. he was sent to school in jutland, and soon learned to love his wild native moors. while attending the latin school in aarhus he made friends with an old shoemaker, who used to tell him interesting stories of the old norse heroes and sagas, often repeating the old danish folk-songs. the lad being a true dane, a descendant of the old vikings, he soon became very interested in the history of his race. being sent to the university of copenhagen, he chose to study icelandic in order to read the ancient sagas, english to read shakespeare, and german to read goethe. this studious youth was most patriotic, and the poetry of his country appealed to him especially. Øehlenschläger's (a danish poet) works fired his poetical imagination. grundtvig's poems were for the people, the beloved jutland moors and nature generally his theme. his songs and poems are loved by the peasants, and used at all their festivals. he wrote songs "that would make bare legs skip at sound of them," and, "like a bird in the greenwood, he would sing for the country-folk." so successfully did he write these folk-songs, that "bare legs" do skip at the sound of them even to-day at every festivity. he was an educational enthusiast, and his high-schools are peculiar to denmark. it is owing to these that the country possesses such a splendid band of peasant farmers. being a priest, he was given the honorary title of bishop, and founded a sect called "grundtvigianere." this noble man died in , over ninety years of age, working and preaching till the last, his deep-set eyes, flowing white hair and beard, making him look like moses of old. adam Øehlenschläger, the greatest danish dramatist and poet, was a professor at the university of copenhagen, and a marvellously gifted man. he developed and gave character to danish literature, and is known as the "goethe of the north." some of his finest tragedies have been translated into english. these have a distinctly northern ring about them, dealing as they do with the legends and sagas of the scandinavian people. these tragedies of the mythical heroes of scandinavia, the history of their race, and, indeed, all the works of this king of northern poets, are greatly loved by all scandinavians. every young dane delights in Øehlenschläger as we do in shakespeare, and by reading his works the youths of denmark lay the foundation of their education in poetry. this bard was crowned laureate in lund (sweden) by the greatest of swedish poets, esaias tegner, . buried by his own request at his birth-place, frederiksberg, two danish miles (which means eight english miles) from copenhagen, his loving countrymen insisted on carrying him the whole distance, so great was their admiration for this king of dramatists. niels ryberg finsen, whose name i am sure you have heard because his scientific research gave us the "light-cure"--which has been established at the london hospital by our queen alexandra, who generously gave the costly apparatus required for the cure in order to benefit afflicted english people--was born at thorshavn, the capital of the faroe islands. these islands are under denmark, and lie north of the shetlands. his father was magistrate there. his parents were icelanders. at twelve years of age niels was sent to school in denmark, and after a few years at the grammar school of herlufholm, he returned to his parents, who were now stationed in their native town, reykjavik, the capital of iceland. niels continued his studies there, and when old enough returned to denmark to commence his medical work at the university of copenhagen. hitherto he had shown no particular aptitude, but in his medical work he soon distinguished himself, and his skill gained him a place in the laboratory. he now began to study the effect of light as a curative remedy. all his life finsen thought the sunlight the most beautiful thing in the world--perhaps because he saw so little of it in his childhood. he had watched its wonderful effect on all living things, being much impressed by the transformation caused in nature by the warm life-giving rays. with observations on lizards, which he found charmingly responsive to sun effects, he accidentally made his discovery, and gave to the world this famous remedy for diseases of the skin, which has relieved thousands of sufferers of all nations. chapter v legendary lore and folk dances the legend of holger danske, who is to be denmark's deliverer when heavy troubles come upon her, is one which has its counterpart in other countries, resembling that of our own king arthur and the german frederick barbarossa. when denmark's necessity demands, holger danske will come to her aid; till then he sits "in the deep dark cellar of kronborg castle, into which none may enter. he is clad in iron and steel, and rests his head on his strong arms; his long beard hangs down upon the marble table, into which it has become firmly rooted; he sleeps and dreams. but in his dreams he sees all that happens in denmark. on each christmas eve an angel comes to him and tells him all he has dreamed is true, and that he may sleep again in peace, as denmark is not yet in real danger. but should danger ever come, then holger danske will rouse himself, and the table will burst asunder as he draws out his beard. then he will come forth in all his strength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries of the world." holger danske was the son of the danish king gotrick. while he was a youth his father sent him to carolus magnus, whom he served during all his wars. thus he came to india, where he ate a fruit which made his body imperishable. when denmark is near ruin, and all her young men have been slain in defending her, then holger danske will appear, and, gathering round him all the young boys and aged men, will lead them on to victory, routing the enemy, and thus saving the country. when a little plant growing in the lake of viborg has become a tree, so large that you can tie your horse to it, then the time draws near when all this will happen. once upon a time the danes were in great trouble, for they had no king. but one day they saw a barque, splendidly decked, sailing towards the coast of denmark. as the ship came nearer the shore they saw it was laden with quantities of gold and weapons, but not a soul was to be seen on board. when the danes boarded the ship, they found a little boy lying asleep on the deck, and above his head floated a golden banner. thinking that their god odin had sent the boy, they brought him ashore and proclaimed him king. they named him skjold, and he became a great and good king. his fame was such that the danish kings to this day are called "skjoldunger." when this king died, his body was placed on board a ship which was loaded with treasure; and when it sailed slowly away over the blue water, the danes stood on the shore looking after it with sorrow. what became of the ship no one ever knew. denmark is rich in legends. there is the legend about the "danebrog," denmark's national flag, which is a white cross on a crimson ground. this bright and beautiful flag looks thoroughly at home whatever its surroundings. the story goes that when valdemar seir (the victorious) descended on the shores of esthonia to help the knights who were hard pressed in a battle with the heathen esthonians ( ), a miracle befell him. the valour of his troops soon made an impression on the pagans, and they began to sue for peace. it was granted, and the priests baptized the supposed converts. very soon, however, the esthonians, who had been secretly reinforcing while pretending submission, in order to throw dust in the eyes of the too confiding danes, brought up their forces and commenced fighting anew. "it was the eve of st. vitus, and the danes were singing vespers in camp, when suddenly a wild howl rang through the summer evening, and the heathens poured out of the woods, attacked the surprised danes on all sides, and quickly thinned their ranks. the danes began to waver, but the prince of rugen, who was stationed on the hill, had time to rally his followers and stay the progress of the enemy. it was a terrible battle. the archbishop andreas sunesen with his priests mounted the hill to lay the sword of prayer in the scales of battle; the danes rallied, and their swords were not blunt when they turned upon their enemies. whilst the archbishop and others prayed, the danes were triumphant; but when his arms fell to his side through sheer weariness, the heathens prevailed. then the priests supported the aged man's arms, who, like moses of old, supplicated for his people with extended hands. the battle was still raging, and the banner of the danes had been lost in the fight. as the prayers continued the miracle happened. a red banner, with the holy cross in white upon it, came floating gently down from the heavens, and a voice was heard saying, 'when this sign is borne on high you shall conquer.' the tide of battle turned, the christians gathered themselves together under the banner of the cross, and the heathens were filled with fear and fled. then the danes knelt down on the battle-field and praised god, while king valdemar drew his sword, and for the first time under the folds of the danebrog dubbed five-and-thirty of the bravest heroes knights." another legend tells the fate of a wicked queen of denmark, gunhild by name. this queen was first the consort of a norwegian monarch, who, finding her more than he or his people could stand, thrust her out of his kingdom. she made her way to denmark, and soon after married the danish king. though beautiful, queen gunhild's pride and arrogance made her hateful to her new subjects, and her attendants watched their opportunity to rid themselves of such an obnoxious mistress. the time came for them when the queen was travelling through jutland. a sign was given to her bearers, whilst journeying through the marshes near vejle, to drop her down into the bog. this was done, and a stake driven through her body. to-day in the church at vejle a body lies enclosed in a glass coffin, with a stake lying beside it, the teeth and long black hair being in excellent preservation. this body was found in , when the marshes near vejle were being drained for cultivation. the stake was found through it, thus giving colour to the tradition. poor queen! lost in the eleventh century and found in the nineteenth. _folk-dancers._ the danes, like all the scandinavians, are renowned for their love of dancing. lately they have revived the beautiful old folk-dances, realizing at last the necessity of keeping the ancient costumes, dances and songs before the people, if they would not have them completely wiped out. a few patriotic danes have formed a society of ladies and gentlemen to bring about this revival. these are called the folk-dancers, their object being to stimulate the love of old-time denmark in the modern dane, by showing him the dance, accompanied by folk-song, which his forefathers delighted in. old-time ways the dane of to-day is perhaps a little too ready to forget, but dance and song appeal to his northern nature. the beautiful old costumes of the danish peasants have almost entirely disappeared, but those worn by the folk-dancers are facsimiles of the costumes formerly worn in the districts they represent. these costumes, with heavy gold embroidery, curious hats, or pretty velvet caps, weighty with silver lace, must have been a great addition to local colouring. the men also wore a gay dress, and it is to be regretted that these old costumes have disappeared from the villages and islands of denmark. in olden times the voice was the principal accompaniment of the dance, and these folk-lorists generally sing while dancing; but occasionally a fiddler or flautist plays for them, and becomes the leader in the dance. some of these dances are of a comical nature, and no doubt were invented to parody the shortcomings of some local character. others represent local industries. a pretty dance is "voeve vadmel" (cloth-weaving). in this some dancers become the bobbins, others form the warp and woof; thus they go in and out, weaving themselves into an imaginary piece of cloth. then, rolling themselves into a bale, they stand a moment, unwind, reverse, and then disperse. this dance is accompanied by the voices of the dancers, who, as they sing, describe each movement of the dance. a very curious dance is called "seven springs," and its principal figure is a series of springs from the floor, executed by the lady, aided by her partner. another two are called respectively the "men's pleasure" and the "girls' pleasure." in these both men and girls choose their own partners, and coquet with them by alluring facial expressions during the dance. the "tinker's dance" is a solo dance for a man, which is descriptive and amusing; while the "degnedans" is more an amusing performance in pantomime than a dance, executed by two men. many more than i can tell you about have been revived by the folk-dancers, who take a keen delight in discovering and learning them. they are entertaining and instructive to the looker-on, and a healthy, though fatiguing, amusement for the dancers. in the faroe islands the old-time way is still in vogue, and the dance is only accompanied by the voice and clapping of hands. thus do these descendants of the old vikings keep high festival to celebrate a good "catch" of whales. the old folk-songs, which were sung by the people when dancing and at other times, have a national value which the danes fully realize, many being written down and treasured in the country's archives. chapter vi manners and customs the danes being a polite and well-mannered race, the children are early taught to tender thanks for little pleasures, and this they do in a pretty way by thrusting out their tiny hands and saying, "tak" (thank you). it is the danish custom to greet everybody, including the servants, with "good-morning," and always on entering a shop you give greeting, and say farewell on leaving. in the market-place it is the same; also the children, when leaving school, raise their caps to the teacher and call out, "farvel! farvel!" in the majority of houses when the people rise from the table they say, "tak for mad"[ ] to the host, who replies, "velbekomme."[ ] the children kiss their parents and say the same, while the parents often kiss each other and say, "velbekomme." the danes are rather too eager to wipe out old customs, and in copenhagen the fashionable people ignore this pretty ceremony. the majority, however, feel uncomfortable if not allowed to thank their host or hostess for their food. [illustration: children's day.] a danish lady, about to visit england for the first time, was told that here it was customary to say "grace" after meals. the surprise of the english host may be imagined when his danish guest, on rising from the table, solemnly put out her hand and murmured the word "grace!" after a day or two, when this ceremony had been most dutifully performed after every meal, the englishman thought he had better ask for an explanation. this was given, and the young dane joined heartily in the laugh against herself! the danes begin their day with a light breakfast of coffee, fresh rolls, and butter, but the children generally have porridge, or "öllebröd," before starting for school. this distinctly danish dish is made of rye-bread, beer, milk, cream, and sometimes with the addition of a beaten-up egg. this "ske-mad"[ ] is very sustaining, but i fear would prove a little too much for those unaccustomed to it. Øllebröd also is the favourite saturday supper-dish of the working-classes, with the addition of salt herrings and slices of raw onion, which doubtless renders it more piquant. at noon "mid-dag"[ ] is served. another peculiar delicacy common both to this meal and supper is "smörrebröd," a "variety" sandwich consisting of a slice of bread and butter covered with sausage, ham, fish, meat, cheese, etc. making a tempting display, not hidden as in our sandwich by a top layer of bread. the danes are very hospitable, and often invite poor students to dine with them regularly once a week. dinner consists of excellent soup (in summer made of fruit or preserves), meat, pudding or fruit, and cream, and even the poorest have coffee after this meal. prunes, stewed plums or apples, and sometimes cranberry jam, are always served with the meat or game course, together with excellent but rather rich sauce. the danish housewife prides herself on the latter, as her cooking abilities are often judged by the quality of her sauces. it is quite usual for the danish ladies to spend some months in learning cooking and housekeeping in a large establishment to complete their education. "vær saa god"[ ] says the maid or waiter when handing you anything, and this formula is repeated by everyone when they wish you to enter a room, or, in fact, to do anything. birthdays and other anniversaries are much thought of in denmark. the "födelsdagsbarn"[ ] is generally given pretty bouquets or pots of flowers, as well as presents. flowers are used on every joyous occasion. students, both men and women, may be seen almost covered with bright nosegays, given by their friends to celebrate any examination successfully passed. christmas eve, and not christmas day, is the festive occasion in denmark. everybody, including the poorest, must have a christmas-tree, and roast goose, apple-cake, rice porridge with an almond in it, form the banquet. the lucky person who finds the almond receives an extra present, and much mirth is occasioned by the search. the tree is lighted at dusk, and the children dance round it and sing. this performance opens the festivities; then the presents are given, dinner served, and afterwards the young people dance. christmas day is kept quietly, but the day after (st. stephen's day) is one of merriment and gaiety, when the people go from house to house to greet their friends and "skaal" with them. new year's eve brings a masque ball for the young folk, a supper, fireworks, and at midnight a clinking of glasses, when healths are drunk in hot punch. on midsummer's night fires are lighted all over the country, and people gather together to watch the burning of the tar-barrels. near a lake or on the seashore the reflections glinting on the water make a strangely brilliant sight. on some of the fjords a water carnival makes a pretty addition to these fires, which the children are told have been lighted to scare the witches! the monday before lent is a holiday in all the schools. early in the morning the children, provided with decorated sticks, "fastelavns ris," rouse their parents and others from slumber. all who are found asleep after a certain time must pay a forfeit of lenten buns. later in the day the children dress themselves up in comical costume and parade the streets, asking money from the passer-by as our children do on guy fawkes' day. a holy-day peculiar to denmark is called "store-bededag" (great day of prayer), on the eve of which (danes keep eves of festivals only) the church bells ring and the people promenade in their best clothes. "store-bededag" is the fourth friday after easter, and all business is at a standstill, so that the people can attend church. on whit-sunday some of the young folks rise early to see the sun dance on the water and wash their faces in the dew. this is in preparation for the greatest holiday in the year, whit-monday, when all give themselves up to outdoor pleasure. "grundlovsdag," which is kept in commemoration of the granting of a free constitution to the nation by frederik vii., gives the town bands and trade-unions an opportunity to parade the streets and display their capability in playing national music. "children's day" is a school holiday, and the children dress in the old picturesque danish costumes; they then go about the town and market-places begging alms for the sanatoriums in their collecting-boxes. in this way a large sum is collected for these charities. "knocking-the-cat-out-of-the-barrel" is an old custom of the peasantry which takes place the monday before lent. the young men dress themselves gaily, and, armed with wooden clubs, hie them to the village green. here a barrel is suspended with a cat inside it. each man knocks the barrel with his club as he runs underneath it, and he who knocks a hole big enough to liberate poor puss is the victor. the grotesque costumes, the difficulty of stooping and running under the barrel in them, when all your energies and attention are required for the blow, result in many a comical catastrophe, which the bystanders enjoy heartily. puss is frightened, but not hurt, and i think it would be just as amusing without the cat, but the danish peasants think otherwise. another pastime which takes place on the same day is called "ring-riding." the men, wearing paper hats and gay ribbons, gallop round the course, trying to snatch a suspended ring in passing. the man who takes the ring three times in succession is called "king," he who takes it twice "prince." when the sport is over, king and prince, with their train of unsuccessful competitors, ride round to the farms and demand refreshment for their gay cavalcade, of which "Æleskiver," a peasant delicacy, washed down by a glass of aqua-vitæ, forms a part. on the eve of "valborg's dag" (may-day) bonfires are lighted, and the young danes have a dinner and dance given to them. each dance is so long that it is customary for the young men to change their partners two or three times during the waltz. a beautiful custom is still preserved among the older peasantry: when they cross the threshold of their neighbour's house they say, "god's peace be in this house." all domestic servants, students, and other people who reside away from home for a time, take about with them a chest of drawers as well as a trunk. i suppose they find this necessary, because in denmark a chest of drawers is seldom provided in a bedroom. when the first snowdrops appear, the boys and girls gather some and enclose them in a piece of paper, on which is written a poem. this "vintergække-brev," which they post to their friends, is signed by ink-spots, as numerous as the letters in their name. the friend must guess the name of the sender within a week, or the latter demands a gift. confirmation means coming-out in denmark. as this is the greatest festival of youth, the young folk are loaded with presents; then girls put up their hair and boys begin to smoke. the marriage of a daughter is an expensive affair for parents in denmark, as they are supposed to find all the home for the bride, as well as the trousseau. the wedding-ring is worn by both while engaged, as well as after the marriage ceremony. the epiphany is celebrated in many homes by the burning of three candles, and the children are given a holiday on this, the festival of the three kings. no doubt you know this is a commemoration of the three wise men of the east presenting their offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to our lord. storks are considered the sacred birds of denmark. these harbingers of good-luck the children take great interest in, and more especially in the growth of the stork family on the roof-tree. chapter vii a jaunt through jutland--i jutland is the only province left to denmark which can claim to be mainland, and though it is the most northern part of the country, some of its scenery is very beautiful. the "jyde," as the people of jutland are called, are proud of their birthplace, of their language, and of their pronunciation, which the copenhageners call "accent," but the jyde declare they speak the purest danish in the kingdom. however this may be, i am not in a position to judge, but i do know that i can understand the jyde danish better, and that it falls upon my ear with a more pleasing sound than does the danish of the copenhageners. the east coast of jutland is quite charming, so we will start our tour from the first interesting spot on this route, and try to obtain a glimpse of the country. in kolding stands a famous castle, which was partially burnt down in . this gigantic ruin is now covered in, and used as an historical museum for war relics. fredericia is a very important place. here that part of the train which contains the goods, luggage, and mails, as well as the first-class passenger carriages for copenhagen, is shunted on to the large steam ferry-boat waiting to receive it. this carries it across the smiling waters of the little belt. a fresh engine then takes it across the island of funen to the steam-ferry waiting to carry it across the great belt to korsör, on the shores of seeland, when a locomotive takes the train to copenhagen in the ordinary way. these steam-ferries are peculiar to denmark, and are specially built and equipped for this work. danish enterprise overcomes the difficulties of transport through a kingdom of islands by these ferries. fredericia is an old fortified town with mighty city walls, which make a fine promenade for the citizens, giving them a charming view of the little belt's sunlit waters. in this town the danes won a glorious victory over the prussians in . vejle is one of the most picturesque places on the east coast. along the vejlefjord the tall, straight pines of jutland are reflected in the cool, still depths of blue water, and the tiniest of puffing steamers will carry you over to munkebjerg. the fascinating and famous munkebjerg forest is very beautiful--a romantic place in which the youthful lovers of denmark delight. these glorious beech woods extend for miles, the trees sloping down to the water's edge from a high ridge, whence you have a magnificent view of the glittering fjord. most inviting are these cool green shades on a hot summer's day, but when clothed in the glowing tints of autumn they present to the eye a feast of gorgeous colour. a golden and warm brown carpet of crisp, crackling leaves underfoot, the lap of the fjord as a steamer ploughs along, sending the water hissing through the bowing reeds which fringe the bank, make the soothing sounds which fall on lovers' ears as they wander through these pleasant glades. [illustration: harvest time.] in winter this forest is left to the snow and hoarfrost, and cold, cairn beauty holds it fast for many days. the pretty hotel of munkebjerg, standing on the summit of the ridge, which you espy through a clearing in the trees, is reached by some scores of steps from the landing-stage. patient "moses," the hotel luggage-carrier, awaits the prospective guests at the pier. this handsome brown donkey is quite a character, and mounts gaily his own private zigzag path leading to the hotel when heavily laden. his dejection, however, when returning with empty panniers, is accounted for by the circumstance of "no load, no carrot!" at the end of the climb. grejsdal is another beautiful spot inland from the fjord, past which the primitive local train takes us to jellinge. in this quaint upland village stand the two great barrows, the reputed graves of king gorm and queen thyra, his wife, the great-grandparents of canute the great, the danish king who ruled over england for twenty years. a beautiful norman church stands between these barrows, and two massive runic stones tell that "harald the king commanded this memorial to be raised to gorm, his father, and thyra, his mother: the harald who conquered the whole of denmark and norway, and christianized the danes." steps lead to the top of these grassy barrows, and so large are they that over a thousand men can stand at the top. the village children use them as a playground occasionally. skanderborg, which is prettily situated on a lake, is a celebrated town. here a famous siege took place, in which the valiant niels ebbesen fell, after freeing his country from the tyrannical rule of the german count gert. aarhus, the capital of jutland, is the second oldest town in denmark. its interesting cathedral is the longest in the kingdom, and was built in the twelfth century. the town possesses a magnificent harbour, on the cattegat, the shores of which make a pleasant promenade. randers is a pretty place, with many quaint thatched houses belonging to the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. the gudenaa, denmark's only river, skirts the town. this river is narrow and slow-moving, as there are no heights to give it force. hobro, situated on a fjord, wears an air of seclusion, lying as it does far away from the railway-station. a sail on this fjord will bring us to mariager, the smallest town in denmark. renowned are the magnificent beech-woods and ancient abbey of this tiny town. in the surroundings we have a panoramic view of typical jutish scenery--a charming landscape in the sunset glow, forest, fjord, farmsteads, and moor affording a rich variety of still life. aalborg, the delightful old market town on the limfjord, is fascinating, especially at night, when its myriad lamps throw long shafts of light across the water. scattered through the town are many old half-timbered houses. these beautiful buildings, with their cream-coloured rough-cast walls, oak beams, richly carved overhanging eaves, and soft-red tiled roofs, show little evidence of the ravages of time. the most famous of these houses was built, in the seventeenth century, by jens bang, an apothecary. the chemist's shop occupies the large ground-floor room, the windows of which have appropriate key-stones. on one is carved a man's head with swollen face, another with a lolling tongue, and similar grotesques. to be an idler and watch the traffic going to and fro over the pontoon bridge which spans the limfjord is a delightful way of passing the time. warmed by the sun and fanned by the breezes which blow along the fjord, you may be amused and interested for hours by the life that streams past you. occasionally the traffic is impeded by the bridge being opened to allow the ships to pass through. small vessels can in this way save time and avoid the danger of rounding the north point of jutland. if you look at your map you will see that this fjord cuts through jutland, thus making a short passage from the cattegat to the north sea. jutland north of the limfjord is called vendsyssel. curious effects of mirage may be seen in summer-time in the extensive "vildmose"[ ] of this district. chapter viii a jaunt through jutland--ii as we pass through vendsyssel homely farmsteads and windmills add a charm to the landscape, while tethered kine and sportive goats complete a picture of rural life. when we arrive at frederikshavn we come to the end of the state railway. this terminus lies close to the port, which is an important place of call for the large passenger and cargo steamers bound for norway and other countries, as well as being a refuge for the fishing-fleet. a slow-moving local train takes us across the sandy wastes to skagen, a straggling village, with the dignity of royal borough, bestowed upon it by queen margaret, in the fourteenth century, as a reward to the brave fishermen who saved from shipwreck some of her kins-folk. skagen is a picturesque and interesting place, the home of many artists, as well as a noted seaside resort. bröndum's hotel, a celebrated hostelry, where the majority of visitors and artists stay, is a delightfully comfortable, homely dwelling. the dining-room, adorned with many specimens of the artists' work, is a unique and interesting picture-gallery. on the outskirts of the town the white tower of the old church of skagen may be seen peeping over the sand-dunes. this "stepped" tower, with its red-tiled, saddle-back roof, forms a striking feature in this weird and lonely landscape. the church itself is buried beneath the sand, leaving only the tower to mark the place that is called the "pompeii of denmark," sand, not lava, being answerable for this entombment. it is said that the village which surrounded the church was buried by a sandstorm in the fourteenth century. this scene of desolation, on a windy day, when the "sand fiend" revels and riots, is best left to the booming surf and avoided by those who do not wish to be blinded. to the south of skagen lie other curious phenomena created by this "storm king." the "raabjerg miler" are vast and characteristic dunes of powdery sand in long ridges, like huge waves petrified in the very act of turning over! in the neighbouring quicksands trees have been planted, but refuse to grow. viborg, the old capital of jutland, possesses an historically interesting cathedral. in the crypt stands the tomb of king eric glipping, as well as those of other monarchs. the interior of the cathedral is decorated with fine frescoes by modern artists. as we journey to silkeborg we pass through the vast heathland, "alhede," and are impressed by the plodding perseverance of the heath-folk. the marvellous enterprise of the danes who started and have so successfully carried out the cultivation of these barren tracts of land deserves admiration. the convicts are employed in this work, planting, trenching, and digging, making this waste land ready for the farmer. these men have a cap with a visor-like mask, which can be pulled over the face at will. this shields the face from the cold blasts so prevalent on these moors; also, it prevents the prying eyes of strangers or fellow-workers. many baby forests are being nursed into sturdy growth, as a protection for farm-lands from the sand and wind storms. this monotonous-looking heath is not without beauty; indeed, it has a melancholy charm for those who dwell on it. the children love it when the heather is in bloom, and spend happy days gathering berries from out of the gorgeous purple carpet. the great stacks of peat drying in the sun denote that this is the principal fuel of the moor-folk. from silkeborg we start to see the himmelbjerget, the mountain of this flat country. it rises to a height of five hundred feet, being the highest point in denmark. 'tis the joy and pride of the danes, who select this mountain and lake district before all others for their honeymoons! a curious paddle-boat, worked by hand, or a small motor-boat will take us over the lake to the foot of himmelbjerget. our motor-boat, with fussy throb, carries us away down the narrow river which opens into the lake. the life on the banks of the river is very interesting. as we sail past the pretty villas, with background of cool, green beech-woods, we notice that a danish garden must always have a summer-house to make it complete. in these garden-rooms the danes take all their meals in summer-time. the drooping branches of the beech-trees dip, swish, and bend to the swirl of water created by our boat, which makes miniature waves leap and run along the bank in a playful way. how delightfully peaceful the surrounding landscape is as we skim over the silvery lake and then land! the climbing of this mountain does not take long. there is a splendid view from the top of himmelbjerget, for the country lies spread out like a map before us. this lake district is very beautiful, and when the ling is in full bloom, the heather and forest-clad hills encircling the lakes blaze with colour. at silkeborg the river gudenaa flows through the lakes kundsö and julsö, becoming navigable, but it is only used by small boats and barges for transporting wood from the forests. the termination "sö" means lake, while "aä" means stream. steen steensen blicher, the poet of jutland, has described this scenery, which he loved so much, quite charmingly in some of his lyrical poems. he sings: "the danes have their homes where the fair beeches grow, by shores where forget-me-nots cluster." this poet did much to encourage the home industries of the moor-dwellers, being in sympathy with them, as well as with their lonely moorlands. the old-time moor-dwellers' habitations have become an interesting museum in herning. this little mid-jutland town is in the centre of the moors, so its museum contains a unique collection from the homes of these sturdy peasants. the amount of delicate needlework these lonely, thrifty folks accomplished in the long winter days is surprising. this "hedebo" needlework is the finest stitchery you can well imagine, wrought on home-spun linen with flaxen thread. such marvellous patterns and intricate designs! little wonder that the best examples are treasured by the nation. the men of the family wore a white linen smock for weddings and great occasions. so thickly are these overwrought with needlework that they will stand alone, and seem to have a woman's lifetime spent upon them. needless to say, these family garments were handed down as heirlooms from father to son. knitting, weaving, the making of jyde pottery and wooden shoes (which all wear), are among the other industries of these people. as we journey through skjern and down the west coast to esbjerg, the end of our journey, we notice the picturesque attire of the field-workers. an old shepherd, with vivid blue shirt and sleeveless brown coat, with white straggling locks streaming over his shoulders, tends his few sheep. this clever old man is doing three things at once--minding his sheep, smoking his pipe, and knitting a stocking. the danes are great knitters, men and women being equally good at it. many girls are working in the fields, their various coloured garments making bright specks on the landscape. occasionally a bullock-cart slowly drags its way across the field-road, laden with clattering milk-cans. we pass flourishing farmsteads, with storks' nests on the roofs. the father-stork, standing on one leg, keeping guard over his young, looks pensively out over the moors, thinking, no doubt, that soon it will not be worth his while to come all the way from egypt to find frogs in the marshes! for the indefatigable dalgas has roused the dilatory danes to such good purpose that soon the marshes and waste lands of jutland will be no more. chapter ix the people's amusements "have you been in tivoli?" is the first question a copenhagener would ask you on your arrival in the gay capital. if not, your danish friend will carry you off to see these beautiful pleasure-gardens. tivoli is for all classes, and is the most popular place of amusement in denmark. this delightful summer resort is the place of all others in which to study the jovial side of the danish character. even the king and his royal visitors occasionally pay visits, incognito, to these fascinating gardens, taking their "sixpenn'orth of fun" with the people, whose good manners would never allow them to take the slightest notice of their monarch when he is enjoying himself in this way. to children tivoli is the ideal sunday treat. every taste is catered for at tivoli, and the saturday classical concerts have become famous, for one of the danes' chief pleasures is good music. tivoli becomes fairyland when illuminated with its myriad lights outlining the buildings and gleaming through the trees. the light-hearted gaiety of the dane is very infectious, and the stranger is irresistibly caught by it. the atmosphere of unalloyed merriment which pervades when tables are spread under the trees for the alfresco supper is distinctly exhilarating. these gardens have amusements for the frivolous also, such as switchbacks, pantomimes of the "punch and judy" kind, and frequently firework displays, which last entertainment generally concludes the evening. the royal theatre in copenhagen is a national school of patriotism, and the healthy spirit of its plays has an ennobling effect on the people. everything is danish here, and denmark is the only small nation in europe which has successfully founded a national dramatic art. the "molière of the north," ludwig holberg, was the father of the danish drama, and the first to make the people realize the beauty of their own language. this gifted dane was a great comedy-writer, and had the faculty of making his fellows see the comic side of their follies. the "royal ballet" played at this theatre is quite distinctive. bournonville, its creator, was a poet who expressed himself in motion instead of words, and these "dumb poems" appeal strongly to the scandinavian character. this poet aimed at something more than spectacular effects upon the people: his art consisted in presenting instructive tableaux, which, while holding the attention of his audience, taught them their traditional history. the delicate daintiness of the danish ballet everyone must appreciate. the exquisite and intricate dances, together with the magnificent tableaux, are accompanied by wild and magical music of danish composition. bournonville ballets represent scenes from classical mythology, as well as from ancient scandinavian history, and the danish people are much attached to this northern composer of ballet. "ei blot til lyst"--not only for pleasure--is the motto over this national theatre door, and it is in the ballet school here that the young danes begin their training. these young folk take great pleasure in learning the beautiful dances, as well as in the operatic and dramatic work which they have to study, for they must serve a certain period in this, as in any other profession. another place of amusement which gives pleasure to many of the poorer people is the working men's theatre. actors, musicians, as well as the entire management, are all of the working classes, who are trained in the evenings by professionals. the result is quite wonderful, and proves the pleasure and interest these working people take in their tuition, and how their artistic abilities are developed by it. on sundays, and occasionally in the week, a performance is given, when the working classes crowd into the theatre to see their fellows perform. this entertainment only costs sixpence for good seats, drama and farce being the representations most appreciated. notwithstanding that smoking is prohibited during the performances--a rule which you would think no dane could tolerate, being seldom seen without pipe or cigarette--it is a great success, and denotes that their love of the play is greater than their pleasure in the weed. chapter x farm life--butter-making--"hedeselskabet" farming in denmark is the most important industry of the kingdom, and gives employment to half the nation. the peasant is very enlightened and advanced in his methods; agricultural and farm products form the principal exports of the country. england takes the greater part of this produce. three or four times a week the ships leave esbjerg--this port being the only danish one not blocked by ice during some part of the winter--for the english ports, laden with butter, bacon and eggs for the london market. now, why can the danish farmer, whose land is poorer and his climate more severe than ours, produce so much? education, co-operation and the help given by the state to small farmers lay the foundation, so the danes will tell you, of the farmer's prosperity. the thrift and industry of the peasant farmer is quite astonishing. he is able to bring up a large, well-educated family and live comfortably on seven or eight acres of land; whereas in england we are told that three acres will not keep a cow! the danish farmer makes six acres keep two cows, many chickens, some pigs, himself, wife and family, and there is never any evidence of poverty on these small farms--quite the reverse. the farmer is strong and wiry, his wife fine and buxom, and his children sturdy, well-cared-for little urchins. all, however, must work--and work very hard--both with head and hands to produce this splendid result. the danish farmer grows a rapid rotation of crops for his animals, manuring heavily after each crop, and never allowing his land to lie fallow as we do. on these small farms there is practically no grass-land; hedges and fences are unnecessary as the animals are always tethered when grazing. omission of hedges is more economical also, making it possible to cultivate every inch of land. there is nothing wasted on a danish farm. many large flourishing farms also exist in denmark, with acres of both meadow and arable land, just as in england; but the peasant farmer is the interesting example of the danish system of legislation. the government helps this small holder by every means in its power to become a freehold farmer should he be willing and thrifty enough to try. the typical danish farmstead is built in the form of a square, three sides of which are occupied by the sheds for the animals, the fourth side being the dwelling-house, which is generally connected with the sheds by a covered passage--a cosy arrangement for all, as in bad weather the farmer need not go outside to attend to the animals, while the latter benefit by the warmth from the farmhouse. the danes would never speak crossly to a cow or call her by other than her own name, which is generally printed on a board over her stall. the cow, in fact, is the domestic pet of the danish farm. in the winter these animals are taken for a daily walk wearing their winter coats of jute! these small farmers realize that "union is strength," and have built up for themselves a marvellous system of co-operation. this brings the market literally to the door of the peasant farmer. carts collect the farm produce daily and transport it to the nearest factories belonging to this co-operation of farmers. at these factories the milk is turned into delicious butter, the eggs are examined by electric light, and "mr. pig" quickly changes his name to bacon! these three commodities form the most remunerative products of the farm. the danish farmer is a strong believer in education, thanks to the grundtvig high-schools. bishop grundtvig started these schools for the benefit of the sons and daughters of yeomen. when winter comes, and outside farm-work is at a standstill, the farmer and his family attend these schools to learn new methods of farming and dairy-work. the farmer's children are early taught to take a hand and interest themselves in the farm-work. the son, when school is over for the day, must help to feed the live-stock, do a bit of spade-work or carpentering, and perhaps a little book-keeping before bedtime. these practical lessons develop in the lad a love of farm-work and a pride in helping on the family resources. [illustration: vagt-paraden. lifeguards drawing up outside the palace.] butter-making is an interesting sight at the splendidly equipped steam-factories, and we all know that danish butter is renowned for its excellence. when the milk is weighed and tested it runs into a large receiver, thence to the separator; from there the cream flows into the scalder, and pours over the ice frame in a rich cool stream into a wooden vat. meanwhile the separated milk has returned through a pipe to the waiting milk-cans and is given back to the farmer, who utilizes it to feed his calves and pigs. the cream leaves the vat for the churn through a wooden channel, and when full the churn is set in motion. this combined churn and butter-worker completes the process of butter-making, and when the golden mass is taken out it is ready to be packed for the english market. the milk, on being received at the factory, is weighed and paid for according to weight. it takes lbs. of milk to make lb. of butter. "hedeselskabet" (heath company) is a wonderful society started by captain dalgas and other patriotic danes, in , for the purpose of reclaiming the moors and bogs. the cultivation of these lands seemed impossible to most people, but these few enthusiasts with great energy and perseverance set to work to overcome nature's obstacles. these pioneers have been so successful in their efforts that in less than half a century three thousand square miles of useless land in jutland have been made fertile. trees have been planted and carefully nursed into good plantations, besides many other improvements made for the benefit of the agriculturalist and the country generally. all along the sandy wastes of the west coast of jutland esparto grass has been sown to bind the shifting sand, which is a danger to the crops when the terrible "skaj"[ ] blows across the land with unbroken force. thanks to the untiring energies of this society for reclaiming the moors, denmark has gained land almost equal to that she lost in her beautiful province of schleswig, annexed by prussia in the unequal war of . in the town of aarhus, the capital of jutland, a handsome monument has been raised to the memory of captain dalgas, the father of the movement for reclaiming the moors, by his grateful countrymen. chapter xi soldiers and sailors every danish boy knows he must undergo a period of training as a soldier or sailor when he reaches his twentieth year. this is because denmark is small and poor, and could not maintain a standing army, so her citizens must be able to defend her when called upon. this service is required from all, noble and peasant alike, physical weakness alone bringing exemption. this six or twelve months' training means a hard rough time for young men accustomed to a refined home, but it has a pleasant side in the sympathy and friendship of comrades. the generality of conscripts do not love their soldiering days, and look upon them as something to be got over, like the measles! "jens" is the danish equivalent for "tommy atkins," and "hans" is the "jack tar" of denmark. to see the daily parade of life guards before the royal palace is to see a splendid military display. this parade the king and young princes often watch from the palace windows. the crowd gathers to enjoy the spectacle of "vagt-paraden" (changing the guard) in the palace square, when the standard is taken from the guard house and borne, to the stirring strains of the "fane-marsch," in front of the palace. as the standard-bearer marches he throws forward his legs from the hips in the most curious stiff way. this old elaborate german step is a striking feature of the daily parade. when the guard is changed and the band has played a selection of music, the same ceremony is repeated, and the standard deposited again in its resting-place. then the released guard, headed by the band playing merry tunes, march back to their barracks followed by an enthusiastic crowd. the fresh guard take their place beside the sentry-boxes, which stand around the palace square. these are tall red pillar-boxes curiously like giant letter-boxes! in the schleswig-holstein war of , the last war denmark was engaged in, many danish soldiers proved their valour and heroism in the unequal encounter. these gallant men were buried in schleswig, and as the danish colours were forbidden by the tyrannical prussian conquerors, the loyal schleswigers hit upon a pretty way of keeping the memory of their heroes green. the "danebrog" was designed by a cross of white flowers on a ground of red geraniums over each grave. in this way the kinsmen of these patriots covered their last resting-place with the colours of their glorious national flag, under which they fell in denmark's defence. in holmens kirke, copenhagen, many heroes lie buried. this building, originally an iron foundry, was converted into a church by the royal builder, christian iv., for the dockyard men to worship in, and it is still used by them. this king's motto, "piety strengthens the realm," stands boldly over the entrance of this mortuary chapel for famous danes. as denmark is a kingdom composed mainly of islands and peninsula, she has a long line of sea-board to defend, and a good navy is essential for her safety. the danes being descendants of vikings and sea-rovers, you may be sure that their navy is well maintained. a boy who chooses the navy as his profession must leave school at the age of fourteen years, and go for nine months' training on a warship as a voluntary apprentice. at the end of this time he knows whether he likes the profession well enough to join it--if so, two years' coaching is given to enable him to pass the necessary examinations for entering the naval academy. here he is trained for four years, spending the four summer months of each year in cruising. this naval academy, where officers are trained, is a fine old institution, and prides itself on the record of the famous men it has turned out. the present king of greece, and many other members of the danish royal family, have also been trained at this academy. the academy course is expensive, and as promotion is slow, and pay small in the navy, the lieutenants are sometimes permitted to captain a ship in the merchant service for three years. this they are glad to do, as it increases their pay and knowledge of navigation. denmark being too small to maintain a large cruising fleet, these officers would have little opportunity of proving their sailing powers without this arrangement. when cruising, the high spirits of the young cadets sometimes lead them into mischief, thereby bringing trouble upon their heads. i knew a naval captain who hit upon a very original and effective form of punishment for wrong-doers. the cadet cap is a blue "tam-o'-shanter" with the usual woolly bob of the same colour on the top. "the naughty boys shall have a red bob," said the "kaptejn," "and thus be branded for misdemeanour!" the culprits disliked this badge intensely, i imagine mostly because their comrades derisively admired the colour which made them conspicuous. one day royalties were being shown over the ship, and a young princess asked "why some of the boys had those pretty red tufts on their caps?" you may imagine the chagrin and confusion of the culprits; scarlet faces and crimson tufts told their own tale! the boys, you may be sure, thought twice in future before risking another penitential week of branding and ridicule for breach of discipline. in copenhagen one of the discarded warships is used as public restaurant and training-school for ships' cooks. here the sailor-men are taught every branch of cooking and kitchen-work. when trained, these cooks are employed on the merchant-ships, as well as on the men-of-war. some interesting stories are told of the naval heroes of denmark which you will like to hear. peder tordenskjold is the nelson of denmark. this man, besides being a great admiral, was a most genial character, and had a striking and original personality. many true tales are told about this hero which the young danish lads never tire of hearing. there is a favourite one which tells of the ingenious way by which he discovered the weak points in his enemy's stronghold. dressing himself as a fisherman, he accompanied two other fishers in a little rowing-boat laden with fish to the enemy's shores. taking a basket of fish, he mounted the hill to the fort, saying he had brought the fish for the commandant. he was allowed to pass in to the fort with his fish, and, pretending stupidity, kept losing his way--gaining knowledge thereby--till he reached the commandant's residence. gaining permission from the latter to supply the garrison with fish, he inquired for how many men he should provide. "let me see," said the commandant, half to himself, "a hundred guns--two hundred men; you may bring fish for a hundred men." tordenskjold then left the fort, having obtained all the information he required, and returned to his boat. at this moment the captain of one of the ships lying in the bay arrived on shore, and the pretended fisherman at once accosted him, asking permission to serve his men with fish. this being granted, he at once rowed to the ship, where he soon disposed of his fish, and conversing with the sailors, he gained the information that in two days' time there would be a great festivity held on shore, at which most of them would be present. with this valuable knowledge he returned to his own shore from the swedish coast, and laid plans which gave denmark a victory and proved fatal to the swedes. in holmens kirke, where this hero lies buried, a splendid black marble tomb has been erected to his memory by king frederik iv. near by lies another naval hero, niels juel, whose gilt and copper coffin is surmounted by a tablet which tells of his brave deeds. captain hvitfeldt, the hero of kjöge bay, blew up his ship with three hundred men to save the danish fleet from destruction. in the war of , between denmark and sweden, this captain's ship, the _danebrog_, took fire. to save the ships which were being driven by the wind towards his burning vessel, he and his gallant crew sacrificed their lives. herluf trolle was a danish noble and a famous admiral, who left all his wealth to found a school for orphans. his noble wife, fru bergitta, was greatly distressed that the admiral's will could not be found, as she was most anxious that his wishes, which were also her own, with regard to the school, should be carried into effect. the admiral's relatives would inherit the property, and were already clamouring for it, when one night fru bergitta had a dream. she dreamed she saw someone walking round her husband's writing-table, attentively inspecting the legs. these she examined on awakening, and found one to be hollow. discovering a secret spring, she pressed it, and beheld the will lying in the hollow space. so herluf trolle's school was founded, and although this brave old admiral died from wounds received in battle centuries ago, yet his school is considered to be one of the best at the present day. [illustration: sunday in the island of lÆsÖ.] chapter xii the people of the isles one of the most storm-swept and barren of denmark's many islands is the island of fanö. lying, as it does, exposed to the full force of the north sea gales, it yet serves to protect the harbour of esbjerg from these storms. it is eight miles long, and three miles at its broadest part. a trim little steamer will carry you across from esbjerg to nordby--the fishing town on the east coast of fanö--in twenty minutes. nordby is both quaint and picturesque. the low thatched houses, with rough-cast, whitewashed walls, nestle close to each other for shelter from the winds. the fanö women have a practical but peculiar costume; the thickly-pleated skirt has a bright-coloured border, while the close-fitting bodice is adorned with embroidery, and pretty antique buttons. a folded cotton kerchief and accordion-pleated apron give a daintiness to the whole dress. the head-dress, however, gives the most singular finish to the costume. a dark, checked-bordered handkerchief tied over a stiff, cambric frame, entirely envelops the head. the four ends of this handkerchief are tied in an odd way, two being left upstanding like rabbits' ears! this striking head-dress gives the fanö wife a fantastic appearance. when the good-natured, smiling faces of these women are hidden behind a mask, the combination of dress and mask makes them awesome-looking folk. the men of the island are nearly all fishermen; the women are the farmers, and it is to protect their faces from the blinding sand-storms, while working on the land, that these masks are worn. this mask obliterates all comeliness, for only the eyes peep out from the weird face-protector. this island of heath, dune, and quicksand is wild and romantic. the cultivated fields are protected by sand-hills, and belts of stunted, wind-swept trees that afford some slight protection to the crops. the island belongs to the people, who cultivate it assiduously. the courage and perseverance of these women agriculturalists is rewarded by fair crops, notwithstanding an adverse climate. at the south end of the island, far away from any dwelling, is the interesting "fugleköjerne,"[ ] where three or four hundred wild-duck are taken in a day during the season. decoy-ducks are used for this purpose. the west side of the island is the most fashionable watering-place in denmark. large hotels and pretty villas line the shore, and here the well-to-do danes inhale bracing sea-breezes. on a windy day this western shore is not amusing. clouds of blinding sand whirl high in the air, while the booming surf rolls and plunges on the beach with deafening roar, and makes rank and fashion fly to shelter in hotel or villa till the storm is over. visitors in summer and storms in winter have it all their own way on this west coast--the people of fanö trouble it not. bornholm, situated in the middle of the baltic, is both beautiful and fertile. its products are very valuable to denmark. from here comes the clay of which the exquisite copenhagen porcelain is made. here, too, the granite for building the country's defences and docks is quarried. i fancy if you were to ask a young dane what bornholm is most famed for he would say, "turkeys," for the island supplies the copenhagen market with these birds. the chief town, rönne, is charming, with its many low-roofed houses, which overlook the baltic. it is noted for its terra-cotta ware, clocks, and museum of antiquities. most of the towns are upon the coast. four singular round churches, built of granite, were formerly used as places of refuge for the people when beset by pirates. these "rundkirker" are peculiar to bornholm. a high festival is celebrated every year on the anniversary of the day when the inhabitants succeeded in throwing off the swedish yoke, which they had borne for a short time in the seventeenth century with resentment. hammershus castle, on the northern extremity of bornholm, was built in the thirteenth century. there is a sad tale connected with this romantic castle, about a danish noble and his wife. this noble, corfitz ulfeldt, was imprisoned there for treason. his beautiful wife, eleonora, the favourite daughter of christian iv., accompanied him, preferring imprisonment with him to liberty without him. after the count died, eleonora, who had a mortal enemy in queen caroline amalia, was sent by the latter to the "blaataarn"[ ] of slotsholmen, copenhagen, and there incarcerated for twenty-two years. the illustrious eleonora was only liberated on the death of the vindictive queen, but the long years of captivity--without reason--had wrecked her life. læsö is a small island in the cattegat, the inhabitants of which are mainly farmers and fishermen, and the old women wear a particular costume for sunday, which is called the "church costume." the people of amager are great market-gardeners. they are of dutch extraction. christian ii., after flying from his country, took refuge in holland, and some of the dutch helped him in trying to regain his throne. for this service he gave his dutch followers the island of amager. the descendants of these dutch people still retain their old customs and characteristics. clattering about in wooden shoes, the old women, in quaint costume, may be seen driving their geese down the picturesque streets to the meadows. besides being market-gardeners and florists, these amager folk rear and fatten the geese for the christmas market. the natural beauty of the island of möen is striking, and unlike the rest of denmark. "möen's klint" are great, jagged white cliffs rising abruptly from the sea. enchanting beech-woods thickly crown the summit, giving distinctive and unusual beauty to it. from sommerspiret, the highest point, we have an extensive view over the Østersöen and köjge bay, where the famous victory over the swedes was won by niels juel in . in denmark the town-crier beats a drum to draw attention to the notice he is about to give. danish postmen present a gorgeous appearance, in red coats, with smart cloaks of the same brilliant hue for winter wear. these and the bright yellow mail-vans, which they drive sometimes, arrest attention, and give importance to the carriers of his majesty's mails. in many of the houses the "forhöjning" is still used. this is a raised platform close to the window, on which the lady of the house sits to do her embroidery. while she is here she can follow all that goes on in the street below by an ingenious arrangement of oblique convex mirrors fixed to the outside of the window, and reflecting the life in the streets both ways. the numerous pretty articles made of amber, which adorn the ladies' dressing-tables, and of which beads and ornaments for the girls are composed, are of local manufacture, amber being found in quantities on the west coast of jutland. in the islands of funen and seeland there are many grand old manor-houses belonging to the nobility, whose fine estates give employment to many peasants. a story is told of a certain noble, christian barnekow by name, who saved his king, christian iv., by his heroic self-sacrifice. the king had lost his horse, and was on the point of being killed or made prisoner when barnekow came to his rescue. giving the king his own horse, he said, "i give my horse to my king, my life to the enemy, and my soul to god." a street in copenhagen is called after this brave nobleman "kristenbernikovstrade." it is characteristic of the danes to run words into each other, and streets in denmark often have prodigiously long names. chapter xiii fishermen at home and afloat the class of people most lauded by their own and other nations is that of the brave and hardy fishermen of denmark. these men are always willing to man the life-boat and to risk their lives to save those in peril on the dangerous coast of jutland. although hundreds of ships are wrecked on this dreaded "jernkyst" (iron coast), their crews are invariably saved by these courageous men. the whole length of the west coast of jutland is bleak and exposed to the storms and fogs of the north sea. not one single harbour of refuge can be found between esbjerg and the skaw. dangerous sandbanks and massive cliffs guard the coast, making navigation both difficult and hazardous. all along this perilous coast life-saving apparatus of the newest and best type is stored in the life-boat houses placed at intervals close to the seashore. on stormy nights the watching sentinels summon by telephone the fishermen of the tiny hamlets near. at sound of a rocket the distressful cry, "a wreck, a wreck!" runs over the telephone, and immediately brave hearts and hands are putting off to the rescue, while trembling women anxiously wait their husbands' return with warm restoratives for the saved. these fishermen's wives are brave too, for it is anxious work waiting and watching. it is not to be wondered at that this merciless and cruel coast is dreaded by all seamen. how thankful they must feel when they see the great lighthouse at grenen--the northernmost point of jutland--and can signal "all's well!" "alt vel! passeret grenen" flash the lights across the water, and both passengers and crew breathe a little more freely if it has been a stormy passage. something like eighty thousand vessels pass by this coast in a year, so you may be sure the gallant fishermen of denmark who live on the iron coast have plenty of rescue work to do. [illustration: skagen fisherman near the tower of buried church.] you should see this coast on a stormy day, more especially at grenen, where those two mighty seas, the skagerack and cattegat, meet. when the tempest rages here, far as eye can see a long ridge of seething, tossing water denotes the meeting-place of the currents. the great "white horses" in battle array fight, plunge, and roar--each striving for the mastery which neither gains. this wrestling-match is a splendid spectacle to those who are safe on shore, also to those at sea if the day is clear, because they can then give the reef a wide berth. tossing spray is thrown high into the air and wind-borne to the shore, so even at a distance from the waves you may have a salt shower-bath should you be able to "keep your legs" against the fury of the gale. the screaming gulls which fly around, dipping and rising, enjoying as only "storm-birds" can the roar and tumult of these tempestuous waters, enhance the fierce loneliness of the scene. this awe-inspiring "nature-barrier" saddens you--even while you exult in the madness of its fury--when you think what it means on a foggy night to the poor mariner. what a comfort for the seafarer to know that there is such a famous race of fishermen here, willing and ready to man the life-boat and rescue them from the angry, engulfing waters! you would never guess these seas could be otherwise than kind when you enter their smiling depths for a swim on a calm, sunny day. how gentle and invigorating they can be the fishermen as well as the visitors know, and any morning you may see the former returning from their daily dip with dripping heads and towels along the shore. somehow these fishermen are always picturesque. in the summer evening, sitting or lying on the sunlit beach, smoking their cutty-pipes and waiting for the time to launch their boats for the fishing, they make an impressive picture. kindly blue eyes and weather-beaten faces look at you from under the sou'westers, while blue jerseys, long sea-boots with curled-over tops and oil-skins, complete the sea-going outfit. fully equipped, they charm the eye of the most fastidious, and it is little wonder that they have become subjects for famous artists and poets. these fishermen are very devout, and before launching their boat they all stand round it with clasped hands and bowed heads, offering up a short, silent prayer for help and protection on these dangerous waters. then, pushing the boat out into the water, they jump in while it floats--sea-boots getting wet in the process--and wave farewell to their children on the shore, who cry in return "farvel fa'er!" lars kruse, the late captain of the life-boat at skagen, has had a beautiful monument raised to his memory, and his son will show you with great pride the cups and medals he left behind as mementoes of his brave deeds. these medals have been presented by many different nations whose sea-farers have been saved by him. amongst these is one given by queen victoria. captain larsen, a well-known mariner, who, on retiring from his post on one of the light-ships, settled at old skagen, has left a unique collection to the village. this now constitutes a museum of exquisitely carved furniture, much of it inlaid with ivory, marbles and metals in dainty designs, all made by this old sailor during the last twelve years of his life--a wonderful record of industry. old skagen is a quaint fisher-village, nestling behind the sand-dunes, trying to shelter itself from the sand and sea-storms to which these shores are subjected. many of these fisher-folk are farmers also, tilling and cultivating the heath-lands which lie beyond the village. the fisher cottages are quite pretty, with thatched or red-tiled roofs, white or buff rough-cast walls, green painted doors and windows, with black painted foundations which protect them from the sand. bright flowering plants in the windows and the neat and clean appearance of the whole betoken the joy and comfort that reigns in the fisherman's home. many household duties are performed at the cottage door in the sandy enclosure surrounding the little homestead. here the old men mend the nets, keeping a watchful eye on the babies, while the women clean and salt the fish, hanging them up in rows to dry in the sun. in these garden enclosures, also, many quaintly pretty miniature houses may be seen erected on tall poles. these are to encourage the starlings and other songsters to settle in them, as there are no trees. hen-roosts and outhouses are adorned with the name-boards of wrecked boats washed up on the shore, while discarded boats turned over and tarred make the roofs of these curious shelters worthy of royal hens! the older fishermen have a safe and effective way of trawling from the strand. putting out in a small boat, taking their net with them, to which a long rope is attached--the end of this being left in charge of the fishermen on the shore--they row gaily over the water, paying out the rope as they go. when the limit of this rope is reached, the men drop their weighted net overboard and pull for the shore, bringing with them another attached rope which is paid out till they reach the strand. when they have landed and the boat is beached, half a dozen men or more take hold of each rope--these are fastened to each side of the submerged net--and begin hauling it to the shore. the straining muscles of the men as they march up the beach with a strong, steady, overhand pull on the rope denotes that this is heavy work. it is a grand sight! as the net nears the shore the gleaming, glittering mass of fish can be seen leaping and jumping in vain endeavour to escape from their prison, only the smaller fry succeeding. at last the net with its silver load reaches the shore with the noise as of a great wave breaking upon the beach, which is caused by the efforts of the fish to gain their freedom. the best fish are picked out and the others returned to the sea, while the gulls swoop down with querulous cry and gobble all that float on the surface of the water. these fishermen have a prejudice against skate, and use it only for bait. st. clement is the patron saint of danish fishermen, and many of the churches in the coast towns are dedicated to him. as the cathedral of aarhus is dedicated to st. clement, the skaw fishermen have given an exquisite model of a ship to the church. this ship is a perfect representation in miniature of a man-of-war. it was made in holland for peter the great, but the ship which carried it was wrecked near grenen, and the model was saved by the skaw fishermen. chapter xiv youthful danes at work and play denmark is renowned for its educational system and for its schools. these schools are all under government control, and meet the wants of every class. the authorities are upheld by the parents, both being determined there shall be no such thing as an ignoramus in denmark, so whether the children are educated at home or sent to school, they must begin lessons at the age of seven. if they have a governess at home the parents must give a guarantee to the authorities that the governess is efficient and capable of giving the standard education to the children. should parents elect to take their children abroad during the school term, they must notify their intention, undertaking that a teacher shall accompany them and lessons continue while away. shirking lessons is quite an impossibility for little danes, as everybody thinks that education comes before all else, so parents do not encourage idleness or extra holidays during the school year. school attendance is compulsory for all children between the ages of seven and fourteen. the hours are not long nor wearisome, as the lessons are arranged with a view to holding the attention of young minds during the period of instruction. the classes are small, even in the free schools, never more than thirty-five pupils to a teacher, and generally less. the lesson lasts forty minutes, and then there is an interval for play. the thorough education of the pupils for their future work in life is considered, so lessons in writing, reading, and arithmetic, in the kommune schools, are varied by tailoring lessons for boys, and cookery for girls, after they are ten years of age. at every school gymnastics play an important part--pleasant lessons these are for all--but perhaps the lesson the boys most delight in is their instruction in slöyd. each lad has his carpenter's bench with necessary tools, and as we know every boy is happy when making or marring with hammer and nails, i am sure you will think these must be enviable lessons. i have seen some charming models as well as useful things made by the boys--a perfect miniature landau, complete in every detail, benches, bureaux, carts, tables, chairs, besides many other serviceable articles. besides this pleasure-work at school, the boys, if they are farmers' sons, have practical lessons at home by helping their father on the farm. the authorities being anxious to help the farmer, they allow him to keep a boy at home half the day for instruction in farm-work, but the other half must be spent at school. the prizes at the municipal schools not infrequently consist of clothes, watches, clocks, or tools, all of which are worked for eagerly by the pupils. the boys and girls of denmark begin early with gymnastic exercises, and soon become sturdy little athletes from sheer love of the exhilarating practice. all danes pride themselves--and with good reason--on their national athletic exercises. at the olympic games, held at the stadium in london, the danish ladies carried away the gold medal by their fine gymnastic display. this was a triumph with so many competitors in the field. it is an amusing sight to see the danes at a seaside resort taking their morning swim; each one on leaving the water runs about on the sun-warmed beach, and goes through a gymnastic display on his own account, choosing the exercise he considers most calculated to warm and invigorate him after his dip. the children require no second bidding to follow father's example, and as they emerge from the water breathless, pantingly join in the fun. sons try to go one better than the father in some gymnastic feat which the latter's stoutness renders impossible! the merry peals of laughter which accompany the display speak eloquently of the thorough enjoyment of all the bathers. yachting in denmark is not merely a pleasure for the rich, it is inexpensive, so all classes and every man capable of sailing a boat can enjoy it. in the summer-time the sound and other waters seem alive with the multitudes of white sails and speeding craft of all sizes. the Øresund week, as the royal yacht club's regatta-week is called, is the time of all others for yachtsmen to display their skill, and a gay event in the copenhagener's year. the pleasant waters of denmark are beloved of yachtsmen. sailing round the wooded islands, you are impressed by their picturesque beauty, which is seen to advantage from the water. one is not surprised that this popular pastime comes first with every danish boy, who, whether swimming, rowing, or sailing, feels perfectly at home on the water. everybody cycles in denmark. cycle-stands are provided outside every shop, station, office, and college, so that you have no more difficulty in disposing of your cycle than your umbrella. [illustration: winter in the forest.] football is a summer game here--spirited matches you would think impossible at this season--but the danes have them, and what is more, they will inform you that they quite enjoy what appears to the spectator a hot, fatiguing amusement. cricket has few attractions for the danish lads, but that is because they cannot play, though their schoolmasters and parents would have them try. all things english are much admired, and when a dane intends to do a thing he generally succeeds, so we can only suppose he is too indifferent about cricket--although it is an english game--to excel. golf and hockey are also played, and "bandy"--_i.e._, hockey on the ice--is a favourite winter sport. a "bandy" match is quite exciting to watch. the players, armed with a wooden club, often find the ice a difficulty when rushing after the solid rubber ball. this exhilarating game is known in some parts of the world as "shinty." the danes are proficient skaters, and of late years an artificial ground for winter sport of all kinds has been made in the ulvedal, near copenhagen. here they have "bandy" matches, ski-ing, and tobogganing, as well as other winter games. fox-hunting is unknown in denmark, but frequently foxes are included in the sportsman's bag when shooting. these are shot because it is necessary to keep mr. reynard's depredations under control. trotting-matches are held on sunday on the racecourse near charlottenlund, and horse-racing takes place too. lawn-tennis and croquet are very popular, but the latter is the favourite pastime of the danish ladies. chapter xv ingeborg's journey through seeland funen, the island which lies between the great and little belts, is known as the "garden of denmark," on account of its beauty and fertility. in odense, the capital, ingeborg had lived happily all the fifteen summers of her life. now she was to have an unexpected treat. her grandfather intended taking her with him on the morrow to see some of the historical places in seeland. ingeborg loved history, and had given her grandfather much pleasure by the knowledge she displayed when showing him over her own church, st. knud's. this ancient gothic church is the finest specimen of mediæval architecture in denmark. st. knud, the grand-nephew of canute the great, was slain before the altar while praying for his people. this brave king could have saved himself by flight, but would not, lest his subjects should suffer at the hands of his enemies. he was canonized by the pope, and his brother built the church to his memory. besides being the shrine of st. knud, this church is the burial-place of king christian ii. and his queen, as well as of king hans and his consort. the beautiful altar-piece, given by queen christina, is of the most exquisite workmanship, and took the artists many years to execute. ingeborg's excitement was great when she crossed from nyborg. she remembered that an army once crossed this water on foot, so severe was the winter, and that ice-breakers are still used occasionally. the girl wished it was winter as she watched for the first time the huge paddle-wheels of the steam-ferry ploughing through the waters of the great belt. by the time korsör was reached, herr nielsen, her grandfather, had made acquaintance with a student who was returning to his college at sorö, the town which they intended making their first stopping-place. the student, whose name was hans, informed them that he lived at ribe, a quaint old town of south jutland, left very much to memories and the storks, but possessing a fine twelfth-century cathedral. the college at sorö was founded by ludvig holberg, the father of danish comedy, who left his fortune and library for that purpose. hans was proud of belonging to this college, as it had educated many men of letters famous in danish history. in the cistercian church of sorö, bishop absalon, the founder of copenhagen, lies buried. it is said that this bishop's spirit appears, with menacing attitude, if anyone desecrates the place by irreverence. ludvig holberg is also buried in this cloister church, as well as three danish kings. ingemann the poet spent most of his time at this charming town, which stands on the lake of the sorö sö. in the luxuriant beech-woods which surround the lake, saxo grammaticus, the first historian of denmark, was wont to wander. both these celebrated men also lie in the old church, which ingeborg felt was a fitting resting-place for the noble dead. on the advice of hans, herr nielsen took his young grand-daughter to see the old convent church of ringsted. here many danish kings were buried in the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. the interesting romanesque church of kallundborg was also visited. this church, with its four octagonal towers and a square tower in the middle, forms a greek cross. this is the most unique specimen of mediæval architecture in the north. ingeborg had long looked forward to seeing roskilde cathedral, and the day was bright and sunny when they arrived at the sleepy little town on the roskilde fjord. this stately cathedral, with its two tall pointed spires, is called the "westminster abbey" of denmark. it is the burial-place of the danish royal family: thirty-three kings and many queens rest in it. a beautiful alabaster tomb marks the resting-place of queen margrethe, the famous queen who united the three crowns--norway, sweden, and denmark--and was ever ambitious for the glory and development of these countries. she ruled with wisdom and wonderful diplomacy, and was the most powerful queen denmark ever had. she has been called the "semiramis of the north." though the three crowns are still on the shield of denmark, the other two kingdoms were lost to her in the sixteenth century. queen margrethe was the daughter of valdemar iv., known as "atterdag," because of his favourite proverb: "i morgen er der atter en dag."[ ] this powerful monarch kept his subjects in such incessant turmoil by his numerous wars for acquiring territory "that they had not time to eat"! the renaissance chapel erected by christian iv., in which his tomb stands, is very beautiful. this popular monarch, alike celebrated as architect, sailor, and warrior, was one of the most impressive figures in danish history. the mural paintings of the chapel represent scenes in the life of this great king. ingeborg was glad she remembered her history, and could tell her grandfather so much as they went through the cathedral. he, however, informed her that frederik vii. was the last of the kings of the oldenburg line, which had been on the throne of denmark for over four hundred years. the sarcophagus of the beloved christian ix., father of many european crowned heads, including queen alexandra of england, is still kept covered with fresh flowers. this king, whose memory is so revered in all countries, inaugurated a new dynasty in denmark. the curious old clock at the western end of the cathedral interested ingeborg, and she watched with delight, when it struck the hour of noon, st. george, mounted on his fiery steed, with many groans and stiff, jerky movements, kill the dragon, which expired with a gruesome death-rattle! in the thirteenth century this quiet town of roskilde was the capital, and the archiepiscopal see of denmark. an english bishop, william of roskilde, is supposed to have built the cathedral. we will now follow our little friend and her grandfather to frederiksborg castle. the castle, with its many towers and pinnacles reflected in still waters, stands in the middle of a lake. this handsome dutch renaissance building is now used as an historical museum. many of the danish kings have been crowned in its magnificent chapel. wandering through the splendid rooms of the castle, ingeborg could read the history of her country in a very pleasant and interesting manner. the collection being confined to one period for each room made instruction an easy affair for the grandfather. beginning with king gorm the old and canute the great, it comprises all periods up to the last century. the autumn residence of the royal family, fredensborg castle, was the next place of interest visited. this castle of peace was built to commemorate the end of the war between denmark and sweden. "fred" means "peace" in danish, and, indeed, this place proves a home of peace to tired royalty. its park is considered the most beautiful in denmark. the magnificent avenues of lime-trees are lined by marble statues of peasants in national costumes, faroese, icelandic and norwegian, as well as those of denmark. the open-air museum at lyngby, with its ancient farm and peasant buildings, the interiors of which are fitted up just as they used to be, gave ingeborg a peep into the past and old-time denmark. here she saw a curious rolling-pin hanging in the ingle-nook of the farmhouse from the village of ostenfeld. this wooden pin, so her grandfather told her, was a clogg almanac or runic calendar. it had four sides, each marking three months, large notches denoting sundays, small ones showing week-days. saints' days were marked by the symbol of each saint. he had seen some of these old calendars in the ashmolean museum at oxford, when he had been in england, which were relics of danish government there. these quaint and curious clogg almanacs were used throughout scandinavia, small ones made of horn or bone being for the pocket. but here we must say good-bye to ingeborg and her grandfather, as after seeing kronborg castle and elsinore they will return by the beautiful coast-line to copenhagen, there to enjoy many of the sights we have seen in "dear little denmark." footnotes: [footnote : thank you for the food.] [footnote : may it agree with you.] [footnote : spoon-food.] [footnote : luncheon.] [footnote : be so good.] [footnote : birthday child.] [footnote : impenetrable swamp.] [footnote : the sharp, dry, north-west wind which blows in the spring.] [footnote : retreat of wild-duck.] [footnote : blue tower.] [footnote : to-morrow comes another day.] [illustration] stories _from_ hans andersen _with illustrations by_ edmund dulac hodder & stoughton limited london illustrations _the snow queen_ page one day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror many a winter's night she flies through the streets then an old, old woman came out of the house she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again, so clever is she 'it is gold, it is gold!' they cried kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears trickled down its face the snow queen sat in the very middle of it when she sat at home _the nightingale_ even the poor fisherman ... lay still to listen to it 'is it possible?' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'i should never have thought it was like that' took some water into their mouths to try and make the same gurgling, ... thinking so to equal the nightingale the music-master wrote five-and-twenty volumes about the artificial bird even death himself listened to the song _the real princess_ 'i have hardly closed my eyes the whole night! heaven knows what was in the bed. i seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. it is terrible!' _frontispiece_ _the garden of paradise_ his grandmother had told him ... that every flower in the garden of paradise was a delicious cake the eastwind flew more swiftly still the fairy of the garden now advanced to meet them the fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back the branches, and a moment after was hidden within their depths _the mermaid_ the merman king had been for many years a widower he must have died if the little mermaid had not come to the rescue at the mere sight of the bright liquid the prince asked who she was and how she came there dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam _the emperor's new clothes_ the poor old minister stared as hard as he could, but he could not see anything then the emperor walked along in the procession under the gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows exclaimed, 'how beautiful the emperor's new clothes are!' _the wind's tale_ she played upon the ringing lute, and sang to its tones she was always picking flowers and herbs he lifted it with a trembling hand and shouted with a trembling voice: 'gold! gold!' waldemar daa hid it in his bosom, took his staff in his hand, and, with his three daughters, the once wealthy gentleman walked out of borreby hall for the last time the snow queen a tale in seven stories first story which deals with a mirror and its fragments [illustration: _one day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing._] now we are about to begin, and you must attend; and when we get to the end of the story, you will know more than you do now about a very wicked hobgoblin. he was one of the worst kind; in fact he was a real demon. one day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing. on the other hand, every bad and good-for-nothing thing stood out and looked its worst. the most beautiful landscapes reflected in it looked like boiled spinach, and the best people became hideous, or else they were upside down and had no bodies. their faces were distorted beyond recognition, and if they had even one freckle it appeared to spread all over the nose and mouth. the demon thought this immensely amusing. if a good thought passed through any one's mind, it turned to a grin in the mirror, and this caused real delight to the demon. all the scholars in the demon's school, for he kept a school, reported that a miracle had taken place: now for the first time it had become possible to see what the world and mankind were really like. they ran about all over with the mirror, till at last there was not a country or a person which had not been seen in this distorting mirror. they even wanted to fly up to heaven with it to mock the angels; but the higher they flew, the more it grinned, so much so that they could hardly hold it, and at last it slipped out of their hands and fell to the earth, shivered into hundreds of millions and billions of bits. even then it did more harm than ever. some of these bits were not as big as a grain of sand, and these flew about all over the world, getting into people's eyes, and, once in, they stuck there, and distorted everything they looked at, or made them see everything that was amiss. each tiniest grain of glass kept the same power as that possessed by the whole mirror. some people even got a bit of the glass into their hearts, and that was terrible, for the heart became like a lump of ice. some of the fragments were so big that they were used for window panes, but it was not advisable to look at one's friends through these panes. other bits were made into spectacles, and it was a bad business when people put on these spectacles meaning to be just. the bad demon laughed till he split his sides; it tickled him to see the mischief he had done. but some of these fragments were still left floating about the world, and you shall hear what happened to them. second story about a little boy and a little girl [illustration: _many a winter's night she flies through the streets and peeps in at the windows, and then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful patterns like flowers._] in a big town crowded with houses and people, where there is no room for gardens, people have to be content with flowers in pots instead. in one of these towns lived two children who managed to have something bigger than a flower pot for a garden. they were not brother and sister, but they were just as fond of each other as if they had been. their parents lived opposite each other in two attic rooms. the roof of one house just touched the roof of the next one, with only a rain-water gutter between them. they each had a little dormer window, and one only had to step over the gutter to get from one house to the other. each of the parents had a large window-box, in which they grew pot herbs and a little rose-tree. there was one in each box, and they both grew splendidly. then it occurred to the parents to put the boxes across the gutter, from house to house, and they looked just like two banks of flowers. the pea vines hung down over the edges of the boxes, and the roses threw out long creepers which twined round the windows. it was almost like a green triumphal arch. the boxes were high, and the children knew they must not climb up on to them, but they were often allowed to have their little stools out under the rose-trees, and there they had delightful games. of course in the winter there was an end to these amusements. the windows were often covered with hoar-frost; then they would warm coppers on the stove and stick them on the frozen panes, where they made lovely peep-holes, as round as possible. then a bright eye would peep through these holes, one from each window. the little boy's name was kay, and the little girl's gerda. in the summer they could reach each other with one bound, but in the winter they had to go down all the stairs in one house and up all the stairs in the other, and outside there were snowdrifts. 'look! the white bees are swarming,' said the old grandmother. 'have they a queen bee, too?' asked the little boy, for he knew that there was a queen among the real bees. 'yes, indeed they have,' said the grandmother. 'she flies where the swarm is thickest. she is biggest of them all, and she never remains on the ground. she always flies up again to the sky. many a winter's night she flies through the streets and peeps in at the windows, and then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful patterns like flowers.' 'oh yes, we have seen that,' said both children, and then they knew it was true. 'can the snow queen come in here?' asked the little girl. 'just let her come,' said the boy, 'and i will put her on the stove, where she will melt.' but the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him more stories. in the evening when little kay was at home and half undressed, he crept up on to the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. a few snow-flakes were falling, and one of these, the biggest, remained on the edge of the window-box. it grew bigger and bigger, till it became the figure of a woman, dressed in the finest white gauze, which appeared to be made of millions of starry flakes. she was delicately lovely, but all ice, glittering, dazzling ice. still she was alive, her eyes shone like two bright stars, but there was no rest or peace in them. she nodded to the window and waved her hand. the little boy was frightened and jumped down off the chair, and then he fancied that a big bird flew past the window. the next day was bright and frosty, and then came the thaw--and after that the spring. the sun shone, green buds began to appear, the swallows built their nests, and people began to open their windows. the little children began to play in their garden on the roof again. the roses were in splendid bloom that summer; the little girl had learnt a hymn, and there was something in it about roses, and that made her think of her own. she sang it to the little boy, and then he sang it with her-- 'where roses deck the flowery vale, there, infant jesus, we thee hail!' the children took each other by the hands, kissed the roses, and rejoiced in god's bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the child jesus were there. what lovely summer days they were, and how delightful it was to sit out under the fresh rose-trees, which seemed never tired of blooming. kay and gerda were looking at a picture book of birds and animals one day--it had just struck five by the church clock--when kay said, 'oh, something struck my heart, and i have got something in my eye!' the little girl put her arms round his neck, he blinked his eye; there was nothing to be seen. 'i believe it is gone,' he said; but it was not gone. it was one of those very grains of glass from the mirror, the magic mirror. you remember that horrid mirror, in which all good and great things reflected in it became small and mean, while the bad things were magnified, and every flaw became very apparent. poor kay! a grain of it had gone straight to his heart, and would soon turn it to a lump of ice. he did not feel it any more, but it was still there. 'why do you cry?' he asked; 'it makes you look ugly; there's nothing the matter with me. how horrid!' he suddenly cried; 'there's a worm in that rose, and that one is quite crooked; after all, they are nasty roses, and so are the boxes they are growing in!' he kicked the box and broke off two of the roses. 'what are you doing, kay?' cried the little girl. when he saw her alarm, he broke off another rose, and then ran in by his own window, and left dear little gerda alone. when she next got out the picture book he said it was only fit for babies in long clothes. when his grandmother told them stories he always had a but--, and if he could manage it, he liked to get behind her chair, put on her spectacles and imitate her. he did it very well and people laughed at him. he was soon able to imitate every one in the street; he could make fun of all their peculiarities and failings. 'he will turn out a clever fellow,' said people. but it was all that bit of glass in his heart, that bit of glass in his eye, and it made him tease little gerda who was so devoted to him. he played quite different games now; he seemed to have grown older. one winter's day, when the snow was falling fast, he brought in a big magnifying glass; he held out the tail of his blue coat, and let the snow flakes fall upon it. 'now look through the glass, gerda!' he said; every snowflake was magnified, and looked like a lovely flower, or a sharply pointed star. 'do you see how cleverly they are made?' said kay. 'much more interesting than looking at real flowers. and there is not a single flaw in them; they are perfect, if only they would not melt.' shortly after, he appeared in his thick gloves, with his sledge on his back. he shouted right into gerda's ear, 'i have got leave to drive in the big square where the other boys play!' and away he went. in the big square the bolder boys used to tie their little sledges to the farm carts and go a long way in this fashion. they had no end of fun over it. just in the middle of their games a big sledge came along; it was painted white, and the occupant wore a white fur coat and cap. the sledge drove twice round the square, and kay quickly tied his sledge on behind. then off they went, faster, and faster, into the next street. the driver turned round and nodded to kay in the most friendly way, just as if they knew each other. every time kay wanted to loose his sledge the person nodded again, and kay stayed where he was, and they drove right out through the town gates. then the snow began to fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand before him as they rushed along. he undid the cords and tried to get away from the big sledge, but it was no use, his little sledge stuck fast, and on they rushed, faster than the wind. he shouted aloud, but nobody heard him, and the sledge tore on through the snow-drifts. every now and then it gave a bound, as if they were jumping over hedges and ditches. he was very frightened, and he wanted to say his prayers, but he could only remember the multiplication tables. the snow-flakes grew bigger and bigger, till at last they looked like big white chickens. all at once they sprang on one side, the big sledge stopped and the person who drove got up, coat and cap smothered in snow. it was a tall and upright lady all shining white, the snow queen herself. 'we have come along at a good pace,' she said; 'but it's cold enough to kill one; creep inside my bearskin coat.' she took him into the sledge by her, wrapped him in her furs, and he felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift. 'are you still cold?' she asked, and she kissed him on the forehead. ugh! it was colder than ice, it went to his very heart, which was already more than half ice; he felt as if he were dying, but only for a moment, and then it seemed to have done him good; he no longer felt the cold. 'my sledge! don't forget my sledge!' he only remembered it now; it was tied to one of the white chickens which flew along behind them. the snow queen kissed kay again, and then he forgot all about little gerda, grandmother, and all the others at home. 'now i mustn't kiss you any more,' she said, 'or i should kiss you to death!' kay looked at her, she was so pretty; a cleverer, more beautiful face could hardly be imagined. she did not seem to be made of ice now, as she was outside the window when she waved her hand to him. in his eyes she was quite perfect, and he was not a bit afraid of her; he told her that he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the number of inhabitants of the country. she always smiled at him, and he then thought that he surely did not know enough, and he looked up into the wide expanse of heaven, into which they rose higher and higher as she flew with him on a dark cloud, while the storm surged around them, the wind ringing in their ears like well-known old songs. they flew over woods and lakes, over oceans and islands; the cold wind whistled down below them, the wolves howled, the black crows flew screaming over the sparkling snow, but up above, the moon shone bright and clear--and kay looked at it all the long, long winter nights; in the day he slept at the snow queen's feet. story three the garden of the woman learned in magic [illustration: _then an old, old woman came out of the house; she was leaning upon a big, hooked stick, and she wore a big sun hat, which was covered with beautiful painted flowers._] but how was little gerda getting on all this long time since kay left her? where could he be? nobody knew, nobody could say anything about him. all that the other boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his little sledge to a splendid big one which drove away down the street and out of the town gates. nobody knew where he was, and many tears were shed; little gerda cried long and bitterly. at last, people said he was dead; he must have fallen into the river which ran close by the town. oh, what long, dark, winter days those were! at last the spring came and the sunshine. 'kay is dead and gone,' said little gerda. 'i don't believe it,' said the sunshine. 'he is dead and gone,' she said to the swallows. 'we don't believe it,' said the swallows; and at last little gerda did not believe it either. 'i will put on my new red shoes,' she said one morning; 'those kay never saw; and then i will go down to the river and ask it about him!' it was very early in the morning; she kissed the old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on the red shoes, and went quite alone, out by the gate to the river. 'is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? i will give you my red shoes if you will bring him back to me again.' she thought the little ripples nodded in such a curious way, so she took off her red shoes, her most cherished possessions, and threw them both into the river. they fell close by the shore, and were carried straight back to her by the little wavelets; it seemed as if the river would not accept her offering, as it had not taken little kay. she only thought she had not thrown them far enough; so she climbed into a boat which lay among the rushes, then she went right out to the further end of it, and threw the shoes into the water again. but the boat was loose, and her movements started it off, and it floated away from the shore: she felt it moving and tried to get out, but before she reached the other end the boat was more than a yard from the shore, and was floating away quite quickly. little gerda was terribly frightened, and began to cry, but nobody heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her ashore, but they flew alongside twittering, as if to cheer her, 'we are here, we are here.' the boat floated rapidly away with the current; little gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on; her little red shoes floated behind, but they could not catch up the boat, which drifted away faster and faster. the banks on both sides were very pretty with beautiful flowers, fine old trees, and slopes dotted with sheep and cattle, but not a single person. 'perhaps the river is taking me to little kay,' thought gerda, and that cheered her; she sat up and looked at the beautiful green banks for hours. then they came to a big cherry garden; there was a little house in it, with curious blue and red windows, it had a thatched roof, and two wooden soldiers stood outside, who presented arms as she sailed past. gerda called out to them; she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; she was quite close to them, for the current drove the boat close to the bank. gerda called out again, louder than before, and then an old, old woman came out of the house; she was leaning upon a big, hooked stick, and she wore a big sun hat, which was covered with beautiful painted flowers. 'you poor little child,' said the old woman, 'how ever were you driven out on this big, strong river into the wide, wide world alone?' then she walked right into the water, and caught hold of the boat with her hooked stick; she drew it ashore, and lifted little gerda out. gerda was delighted to be on dry land again, but she was a little bit frightened of the strange old woman. 'come, tell me who you are, and how you got here,' said she. when gerda had told her the whole story and asked her if she had seen kay, the woman said she had not seen him, but that she expected him. gerda must not be sad, she was to come and taste her cherries and see her flowers, which were more beautiful than any picture-book; each one had a story to tell. then she took gerda by the hand, they went into the little house, and the old woman locked the door. the windows were very high up, and they were red, blue, and yellow; they threw a very curious light into the room. on the table were quantities of the most delicious cherries, of which gerda had leave to eat as many as ever she liked. while she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, so that the hair curled, and shone like gold round the pretty little face, which was as sweet as a rose. 'i have long wanted a little girl like you!' said the old woman. 'you will see how well we shall get on together.' while she combed her hair gerda had forgotten all about kay, for the old woman was learned in the magic art; but she was not a bad witch, she only cast spells over people for a little amusement, and she wanted to keep gerda. she therefore went into the garden and waved her hooked stick over all the rose-bushes, and however beautifully they were flowering, all sank down into the rich black earth without leaving a trace behind them. the old woman was afraid that if gerda saw the roses she would be reminded of kay, and would want to run away. then she took gerda into the flower garden. what a delicious scent there was! and every imaginable flower for every season was in that lovely garden; no picture-book could be brighter or more beautiful. gerda jumped for joy and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry trees. then she was put into a lovely bed with rose-coloured silken coverings stuffed with violets; she slept and dreamt as lovely dreams as any queen on her wedding day. the next day she played with the flowers in the garden again--and many days passed in the same way. gerda knew every flower, but however many there were, she always thought there was one missing, but which it was she did not know. one day she was sitting looking at the old woman's sun hat with its painted flowers, and the very prettiest one of them all was a rose. the old woman had forgotten her hat when she charmed the others away. this is the consequence of being absent-minded. 'what!' said gerda, 'are there no roses here?' and she sprang in among the flower-beds and sought, but in vain! her hot tears fell on the very places where the roses used to be; when the warm drops moistened the earth the rose-trees shot up again, just as full of bloom as when they sank. gerda embraced the roses and kissed them, and then she thought of the lovely roses at home, and this brought the thought of little kay. 'oh, how i have been delayed,' said the little girl, 'i ought to have been looking for kay! don't you know where he is?' she asked the roses. 'do you think he is dead and gone?' 'he is not dead,' said the roses. 'for we have been down underground, you know, and all the dead people are there, but kay is not among them.' 'oh, thank you!' said little gerda, and then she went to the other flowers and looked into their cups and said, 'do you know where kay is?' but each flower stood in the sun and dreamt its own dreams. little gerda heard many of these, but never anything about kay. and what said the tiger lilies? 'do you hear the drum? rub-a-dub, it has only two notes, rub-a-dub, always the same. the wailing of women and the cry of the preacher. the hindu woman in her long red garment stands on the pile, while the flames surround her and her dead husband. but the woman is only thinking of the living man in the circle round, whose eyes burn with a fiercer fire than that of the flames which consume the body. do the flames of the heart die in the fire?' 'i understand nothing about that,' said little gerda. 'that is my story,' said the tiger lily. 'what does the convolvulus say?' 'an old castle is perched high over a narrow mountain path, it is closely covered with ivy, almost hiding the old red walls, and creeping up leaf upon leaf right round the balcony where stands a beautiful maiden. she bends over the balustrade and looks eagerly up the road. no rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple blossom wafted by the wind moves more lightly. her silken robes rustle softly as she bends over and says, 'will he never come?'' 'is it kay you mean?' asked gerda. 'i am only talking about my own story, my dream,' answered the convolvulus. what said the little snowdrop? 'between two trees a rope with a board is hanging; it is a swing. two pretty little girls in snowy frocks and green ribbons fluttering on their hats are seated on it. their brother, who is bigger than they are, stands up behind them; he has his arms round the ropes for supports, and holds in one hand a little bowl and in the other a clay pipe. he is blowing soap-bubbles. as the swing moves the bubbles fly upwards in all their changing colours, the last one still hangs from the pipe swayed by the wind, and the swing goes on. a little black dog runs up, he is almost as light as the bubbles, he stands up on his hind legs and wants to be taken into the swing, but it does not stop. the little dog falls with an angry bark; they jeer at it; the bubble bursts. a swinging plank, a fluttering foam picture--that is my story!' 'i daresay what you tell me is very pretty, but you speak so sadly and you never mention little kay.' what says the hyacinth? 'they were three beautiful sisters, all most delicate, and quite transparent. one wore a crimson robe, the other a blue, and the third was pure white. these three danced hand-in-hand, by the edge of the lake in the moonlight. they were human beings, not fairies of the wood. the fragrant air attracted them, and they vanished into the wood; here the fragrance was stronger still. three coffins glide out of the wood towards the lake, and in them lie the maidens. the fire-flies flutter lightly round them with their little flickering torches. do these dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? the scent of the flower says that they are corpses. the evening bell tolls their knell.' 'you make me quite sad,' said little gerda; 'your perfume is so strong it makes me think of those dead maidens. oh, is little kay really dead? the roses have been down underground, and they say no.' 'ding, dong,' tolled the hyacinth bells; 'we are not tolling for little kay; we know nothing about him. we sing our song, the only one we know.' and gerda went on to the buttercups shining among their dark green leaves. 'you are a bright little sun,' said gerda. 'tell me if you know where i shall find my playfellow.' the buttercup shone brightly and returned gerda's glance. what song could the buttercup sing? it would not be about kay. 'god's bright sun shone into a little court on the first day of spring. the sunbeams stole down the neighbouring white wall, close to which bloomed the first yellow flower of the season; it shone like burnished gold in the sun. an old woman had brought her arm-chair out into the sun; her granddaughter, a poor and pretty little maid-servant, had come to pay her a short visit, and she kissed her. there was gold, heart's gold, in the kiss. gold on the lips, gold on the ground, and gold above, in the early morning beams! now that is my little story,' said the buttercup. 'oh, my poor old grandmother!' sighed gerda. 'she will be longing to see me, and grieving about me, as she did about kay. but i shall soon go home again and take kay with me. it is useless for me to ask the flowers about him. they only know their own stories, and have no information to give me.' then she tucked up her little dress, so that she might run the faster; but the narcissus blossoms struck her on the legs as she jumped over them, so she stopped and said, 'perhaps you can tell me something.' she stooped down close to the flower and listened. what did it say? 'i can see myself, i can see myself,' said the narcissus. 'oh, how sweet is my scent. up there in an attic window stands a little dancing girl half dressed; first she stands on one leg, then on the other, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. she is only a delusion. she pours some water out of a teapot on to a bit of stuff that she is holding; it is her bodice. "cleanliness is a good thing," she says. her white dress hangs on a peg; it has been washed in the teapot, too, and dried on the roof. she puts it on, and wraps a saffron-coloured scarf round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. see how high she carries her head, and all upon one stem. i see myself, i see myself!' 'i don't care a bit about all that,' said gerda; 'it's no use telling me such stuff.' and then she ran to the end of the garden. the door was fastened, but she pressed the rusty latch, and it gave way. the door sprang open, and little gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. she looked back three times, but nobody came after her. at last she could run no further, and she sat down on a big stone. when she looked round she saw that the summer was over; it was quite late autumn. she would never have known it inside the beautiful garden, where the sun always shone, and the flowers of every season were always in bloom. 'oh, how i have wasted my time,' said little gerda. 'it is autumn. i must not rest any longer,' and she got up to go on. oh, how weary and sore were her little feet, and everything round looked so cold and dreary. the long willow leaves were quite yellow. the damp mist fell off the trees like rain, one leaf dropped after another from the trees, and only the sloe-thorn still bore its fruit; but the sloes were sour and set one's teeth on edge. oh, how grey and sad it looked, out in the wide world. fourth story prince and princess [illustration: _she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again, so clever is she._] gerda was soon obliged to rest again. a big crow hopped on to the snow, just in front of her. it had been sitting looking at her for a long time and wagging its head. now it said, 'caw, caw; good-day, good-day,' as well as it could; it meant to be kind to the little girl, and asked her where she was going, alone in the wide world. gerda understood the word 'alone' and knew how much there was in it, and she told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked if it had seen kay. the crow nodded its head gravely and said, 'may be i have, may be i have.' 'what, do you really think you have?' cried the little girl, nearly smothering him with her kisses. 'gently, gently!' said the crow. 'i believe it may have been kay, but he has forgotten you by this time, i expect, for the princess.' 'does he live with a princess?' asked gerda. 'yes, listen,' said the crow; 'but it is so difficult to speak your language. if you understand "crow's language,"[ ] i can tell you about it much better.' 'no, i have never learnt it,' said gerda; 'but grandmother knew it, and used to speak it. if only i had learnt it!' 'it doesn't matter,' said the crow. 'i will tell you as well as i can, although i may do it rather badly.' then he told her what he had heard. 'in this kingdom where we are now,' said he, 'there lives a princess who is very clever. she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again, so clever is she. one day she was sitting on her throne, which is not such an amusing thing to do either, they say; and she began humming a tune, which happened to be "why should i not be married, oh why?" "why not indeed?" said she. and she made up her mind to marry, if she could find a husband who had an answer ready when a question was put to him. she called all the court ladies together, and when they heard what she wanted they were delighted. '"i like that now," they said. "i was thinking the same thing myself the other day." 'every word i say is true,' said the crow, 'for i have a tame sweetheart who goes about the palace whenever she likes. she told me the whole story.' of course his sweetheart was a crow, for 'birds of a feather flock together,' and one crow always chooses another. the newspapers all came out immediately with borders of hearts and the princess's initials. they gave notice that any young man who was handsome enough might go up to the palace to speak to the princess. the one who spoke as if he were quite at home, and spoke well, would be chosen by the princess as her husband. yes, yes, you may believe me, it's as true as i sit here,' said the crow. 'the people came crowding in; there was such running, and crushing, but no one was fortunate enough to be chosen, either on the first day, or on the second. they could all of them talk well enough in the street, but when they entered the castle gates, and saw the guard in silver uniforms, and when they went up the stairs through rows of lackeys in gold embroidered liveries, their courage forsook them. when they reached the brilliantly lighted reception-rooms, and stood in front of the throne where the princess was seated, they could think of nothing to say, they only echoed her last words, and of course that was not what she wanted. 'it was just as if they had all taken some kind of sleeping-powder, which made them lethargic; they did not recover themselves until they got out into the street again, and then they had plenty to say. there was quite a long line of them, reaching from the town gates up to the palace. 'i went to see them myself,' said the crow. 'they were hungry and thirsty, but they got nothing at the palace, not even as much as a glass of tepid water. some of the wise ones had taken sandwiches with them, but they did not share them with their neighbours; they thought if the others went in to the princess looking hungry, that there would be more chance for themselves.' 'but kay, little kay!' asked gerda; 'when did he come? was he amongst the crowd?' 'give me time, give me time! we are just coming to him. it was on the third day that a little personage came marching cheerfully along, without either carriage or horse. his eyes sparkled like yours, and he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.' 'oh, that was kay!' said gerda gleefully; 'then i have found him!' and she clapped her hands. 'he had a little knapsack on his back!' said the crow. 'no, it must have been his sledge; he had it with him when he went away!' said gerda. 'it may be so,' said the crow; 'i did not look very particularly; but i know from my sweetheart, that when he entered the palace gates, and saw the life-guards in their silver uniforms, and the lackeys on the stairs in their gold-laced liveries, he was not the least bit abashed. he just nodded to them and said, "it must be very tiresome to stand upon the stairs. i am going inside!" the rooms were blazing with lights. privy councillors and excellencies without number were walking about barefoot carrying golden vessels; it was enough to make you solemn! his boots creaked fearfully too, but he wasn't a bit upset.' 'oh, i am sure that was kay!' said gerda; 'i know he had a pair of new boots, i heard them creaking in grandmother's room.' 'yes, indeed they did creak!' said the crow. 'but nothing daunted, he went straight up to the princess, who was sitting on a pearl as big as a spinning-wheel. poor, simple boy! all the court ladies and their attendants; the courtiers, and their gentlemen, each attended by a page, were standing round. the nearer the door they stood, so much the greater was their haughtiness; till the footman's boy, who always wore slippers and stood in the doorway, was almost too proud even to be looked at.' 'it must be awful!' said little gerda, 'and yet kay has won the princess!' 'if i had not been a crow, i should have taken her myself, notwithstanding that i am engaged. they say he spoke as well as i could have done myself, when i speak crow-language; at least so my sweetheart says. he was a picture of good looks and gallantry, and then, he had not come with any idea of wooing the princess, but simply to hear her wisdom. he admired her just as much as she admired him!' 'indeed it was kay then,' said gerda; 'he was so clever he could do mental arithmetic up to fractions. oh, won't you take me to the palace?' 'it's easy enough to talk,' said the crow; 'but how are we to manage it? i will talk to my tame sweetheart about it; she will have some advice to give us i daresay, but i am bound to tell you that a little girl like you will never be admitted!' 'oh, indeed i shall,' said gerda; 'when kay hears that i am here, he will come out at once to fetch me.' 'wait here for me by the stile,' said the crow, then he wagged his head and flew off. the evening had darkened in before he came back. 'caw, caw,' he said, 'she sends you greeting. and here is a little roll for you; she got it out of the kitchen where there is bread enough, and i daresay you are hungry! it is not possible for you to get into the palace; you have bare feet; the guards in silver and the lackeys in gold would never allow you to pass. but don't cry, we shall get you in somehow; my sweetheart knows a little back staircase which leads up to the bedroom, and she knows where the key is kept.' then they went into the garden, into the great avenue where the leaves were dropping, softly one by one; and when the palace lights went out, one after the other, the crow led little gerda to the back door, which was ajar. oh, how gerda's heart beat with fear and longing! it was just as if she was about to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know if this really was little kay. oh, it must be him, she thought, picturing to herself his clever eyes and his long hair. she could see his very smile when they used to sit under the rose-trees at home. she thought he would be very glad to see her, and to hear what a long way she had come to find him, and to hear how sad they had all been at home when he did not come back. oh, it was joy mingled with fear. they had now reached the stairs, where a little lamp was burning on a shelf. there stood the tame sweetheart, twisting and turning her head to look at gerda, who made a curtsy, as grandmother had taught her. 'my betrothed has spoken so charmingly to me about you, my little miss!' she said; 'your life, "_vita_," as it is called, is most touching! if you will take the lamp, i will go on in front. we shall take the straight road here, and we shall meet no one.' 'it seems to me that some one is coming behind us,' said gerda, as she fancied something rushed past her, throwing a shadow on the walls; horses with flowing manes and slender legs; huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on horseback. 'oh, those are only the dreams!' said the crow; 'they come to take the thoughts of the noble ladies and gentlemen out hunting. that's a good thing, for you will be able to see them all the better in bed. but don't forget, when you are taken into favour, to show a grateful spirit.' 'now, there's no need to talk about that,' said the crow from the woods. they came now into the first apartment; it was hung with rose-coloured satin embroidered with flowers. here again the dreams overtook them, but they flitted by so quickly that gerda could not distinguish them. the apartments became one more beautiful than the other; they were enough to bewilder anybody. they now reached the bedroom. the ceiling was like a great palm with crystal leaves, and in the middle of the room two beds, each like a lily hung from a golden stem. one was white, and in it lay the princess; the other was red, and there lay he whom gerda had come to seek--little kay! she bent aside one of the crimson leaves, and she saw a little brown neck. it was kay. she called his name aloud, and held the lamp close to him. again the dreams rushed through the room on horseback--he awoke, turned his head--and it was not little kay. it was only the prince's neck which was like his; but he was young and handsome. the princess peeped out of her lily-white bed, and asked what was the matter. then little gerda cried and told them all her story, and what the crows had done to help her. 'you poor little thing!' said the prince and princess. and they praised the crows, and said that they were not at all angry with them, but they must not do it again. then they gave them a reward. 'would you like your liberty?' said the princess, 'or would you prefer permanent posts about the court as court crows, with perquisites from the kitchen?' both crows curtsied and begged for the permanent posts, for they thought of their old age, and said 'it was so good to have something for the old man,' as they called it. the prince got up and allowed gerda to sleep in his bed, and he could not have done more. she folded her little hands, and thought 'how good the people and the animals are'; then she shut her eyes and fell fast asleep. all the dreams came flying back again; this time they looked like angels, and they were dragging a little sledge with kay sitting on it, and he nodded. but it was only a dream; so it all vanished when she woke. next day she was dressed in silk and velvet from head to foot; they asked her to stay at the palace and have a good time, but she only begged them to give her a little carriage and horse, and a little pair of boots, so that she might drive out into the wide world to look for kay. they gave her a pair of boots and a muff. she was beautifully dressed, and when she was ready to start, there before the door stood a new chariot of pure gold. the prince's and princess's coat of arms were emblazoned on it, and shone like a star. coachman, footman, and outrider, for there was even an outrider, all wore golden crowns. the prince and princess themselves helped her into the carriage and wished her joy. the wood crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat beside gerda, for he could not ride with his back to the horses. the other crow stood at the door and flapped her wings; she did not go with them, for she suffered from headache since she had become a kitchen pensioner--the consequence of eating too much. the chariot was stored with sugar biscuits, and there were fruit and ginger nuts under the seat. 'good-bye, good-bye,' cried the prince and princess; little gerda wept, and the crow wept too. at the end of the first few miles the crow said good-bye, and this was the hardest parting of all. it flew up into a tree and flapped its big black wings as long as it could see the chariot, which shone like the brightest sunshine. [ ] children have a kind of language, or gibberish, formed by adding letters or syllables to every word, which is called 'crow's language.' fifth story the little robber girl [illustration: _'it is gold, it is gold!' they cried._] they drove on through a dark wood, where the chariot lighted up the way and blinded the robbers by its glare; it was more than they could bear. 'it is gold, it is gold!' they cried, and darting forward, seized the horses, and killed the postilions, the coachman, and footman. they then dragged little gerda out of the carriage. 'she is fat, and she is pretty; she has been fattened on nuts!' said the old robber woman, who had a long beard, and eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. 'she is as good as a fat lamb, and how nice she will taste!' she drew out her sharp knife as she said this; it glittered horribly. 'oh!' screamed the old woman at the same moment, for her little daughter had come up behind her, and she was biting her ear. she hung on her back, as wild and as savage a little animal as you could wish to find. 'you bad, wicked child!' said her mother, but she was prevented from killing gerda on this occasion. 'she shall play with me,' said the little robber girl; 'she shall give me her muff, and her pretty dress, and she shall sleep in my bed.' then she bit her mother again and made her dance. all the robbers laughed and said, 'look at her dancing with her cub!' 'i want to get into the carriage,' said the little robber girl, and she always had her own way because she was so spoilt and stubborn. she and gerda got into the carriage, and then they drove over stubble and stones further and further into the wood. the little robber girl was as big as gerda, but much stronger; she had broader shoulders, and darker skin, her eyes were quite black, with almost a melancholy expression. she put her arm round gerda's waist and said-- 'they shan't kill you as long as i don't get angry with you; you must surely be a princess!' 'no,' said little gerda, and then she told her all her adventures, and how fond she was of kay. the robber girl looked earnestly at her, gave a little nod, and said, 'they shan't kill you even if i am angry with you. i will do it myself.' then she dried gerda's eyes, and stuck her own hands into the pretty muff, which was so soft and warm. at last the chariot stopped: they were in the courtyard of a robber's castle, the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom. ravens and crows flew in and out of every hole, and big bulldogs, which each looked ready to devour somebody, jumped about as high as they could, but they did not bark, for it was not allowed. a big fire was burning in the middle of the stone floor of the smoky old hall. the smoke all went up to the ceiling, where it had to find a way out for itself. soup was boiling in a big caldron over the fire, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spits. 'you shall sleep with me and all my little pets to-night,' said the robber girl. when they had something to eat and drink they went along to one corner which was spread with straw and rugs. there were nearly a hundred pigeons roosting overhead on the rafters and beams. they seemed to be asleep, but they fluttered about a little when the children came in. 'they are all mine,' said the little robber girl, seizing one of the nearest. she held it by the legs and shook it till it flapped its wings. 'kiss it,' she cried, dashing it at gerda's face. 'those are the wood pigeons,' she added, pointing to some laths fixed across a big hole high up on the walls; 'they are a regular rabble; they would fly away directly if they were not locked in. and here is my old sweetheart be,' dragging forward a reindeer by the horn; it was tied up, and it had a bright copper ring round its neck. 'we have to keep him close too, or he would run off. every single night i tickle his neck with my bright knife, he is so frightened of it.' the little girl produced a long knife out of a hole in the wall and drew it across the reindeer's neck. the poor animal laughed and kicked, and the robber girl laughed and pulled gerda down into the bed with her. 'do you have that knife by you while you are asleep?' asked gerda, looking rather frightened. 'i always sleep with a knife,' said the little robber girl. 'you never know what will happen. but now tell me again what you told me before about little kay, and why you went out into the world.' so gerda told her all about it again, and the wood pigeons cooed up in their cage above them; the other pigeons were asleep. the little robber girl put her arm round gerda's neck and went to sleep with the knife in her other hand, and she was soon snoring. but gerda would not close her eyes; she did not know whether she was to live or to die. the robbers sat round the fire, eating and drinking, and the old woman was turning somersaults. this sight terrified the poor little girl. then the wood pigeons said, 'coo, coo, we have seen little kay; his sledge was drawn by a white chicken, and he was sitting in the snow queen's sledge; it was floating low down over the trees, while we were in our nests. she blew upon us young ones, and they all died except we two; coo, coo.' 'what are you saying up there?' asked gerda. 'where was the snow queen going? do you know anything about it?' 'she was most likely going to lapland, because there is always snow and ice there! ask the reindeer who is tied up there.' 'there is ice and snow, and it's a splendid place,' said the reindeer. 'you can run and jump about where you like on those big glittering plains. the snow queen has her summer tent there, but her permanent castle is up at the north pole, on the island which is called spitzbergen!' 'oh kay, little kay!' sighed gerda. 'lie still, or i shall stick the knife into you!' said the robber girl. in the morning gerda told her all that the wood pigeons had said, and the little robber girl looked quite solemn, but she nodded her head and said, 'no matter, no matter! do you know where lapland is?' she asked the reindeer. 'who should know better than i,' said the animal, its eyes dancing. 'i was born and brought up there, and i used to leap about on the snowfields.' 'listen,' said the robber girl. 'you see that all our men folks are away, but mother is still here, and she will stay; but later on in the morning she will take a drink out of the big bottle there, and after that she will have a nap--then i will do something for you.' then she jumped out of bed, ran along to her mother and pulled her beard, and said, 'good morning, my own dear nanny-goat!' and her mother filliped her nose till it was red and blue; but it was all affection. as soon as her mother had had her draught from the bottle and had dropped asleep, the little robber girl went along to the reindeer, and said, 'i should have the greatest pleasure in the world in keeping you here, to tickle you with my knife, because you are such fun then; however, it does not matter. i will untie your halter and help you outside so that you may run away to lapland, but you must put your best foot foremost, and take this little girl for me to the snow queen's palace, where her playfellow is. i have no doubt you heard what she was telling me, for she spoke loud enough, and you are generally eavesdropping!' the reindeer jumped into the air for joy. the robber girl lifted little gerda up, and had the forethought to tie her on, nay, even to give her a little cushion to sit upon. 'here, after all, i will give you your fur boots back, for it will be very cold, but i will keep your muff, it is too pretty to part with. still you shan't be cold. here are my mother's big mittens for you, they will reach up to your elbows; here, stick your hands in! now your hands look just like my nasty mother's!' gerda shed tears of joy. 'i don't like you to whimper!' said the little robber girl. 'you ought to be looking delighted; and here are two loaves and a ham for you, so that you shan't starve.' these things were tied on to the back of the reindeer; the little robber girl opened the door, called in all the big dogs, and then she cut the halter with her knife, and said to the reindeer, 'now run, but take care of my little girl!' gerda stretched out her hands in the big mittens to the robber girl and said good-bye; and then the reindeer darted off over briars and bushes, through the big wood, over swamps and plains, as fast as it could go. the wolves howled and the ravens screamed, while the red lights quivered up in the sky. 'there are my old northern lights,' said the reindeer; 'see how they flash!' and on it rushed faster than ever, day and night. the loaves were eaten, and the ham too, and then they were in lapland. sixth story the lapp woman and the finn woman [illustration: _the reindeer did not dare to stop. it ran on till it came to the bush with the red berries. there it put gerda down, and kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears trickled down its face._] they stopped by a little hut, a very poverty-stricken one; the roof sloped right down to the ground, and the door was so low that the people had to creep on hands and knees when they wanted to go in or out. there was nobody at home here but an old lapp woman, who was frying fish over a train-oil lamp. the reindeer told her all gerda's story, but it told its own first; for it thought it was much the most important. gerda was so overcome by the cold that she could not speak at all. 'oh, you poor creatures!' said the lapp woman; 'you've got a long way to go yet; you will have to go hundreds of miles into finmark, for the snow queen is paying a country visit there, and she burns blue lights every night. i will write a few words on a dried stock-fish, for i have no paper. i will give it to you to take to the finn woman up there. she will be better able to direct you than i can.' so when gerda was warmed, and had eaten and drunk something, the lapp woman wrote a few words on a dried stock-fish and gave it to her, bidding her take good care of it. then she tied her on to the reindeer again, and off they flew. flicker, flicker, went the beautiful blue northern lights up in the sky all night long;--at last they came to finmark, and knocked on the finn woman's chimney, for she had no door at all. there was such a heat inside that the finn woman went about almost naked; she was little and very grubby. she at once loosened gerda's things, and took off the mittens and the boots, or she would have been too hot. then she put a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, and after that she read what was written on the stock-fish. she read it three times, and then she knew it by heart, and put the fish into the pot for dinner; there was no reason why it should not be eaten, and she never wasted anything. again the reindeer told his own story first, and then little gerda's. the finn woman blinked with her wise eyes, but she said nothing. 'you are so clever,' said the reindeer, 'i know you can bind all the winds of the world with a bit of sewing cotton. when a skipper unties one knot he gets a good wind, when he unties two it blows hard, and if he undoes the third and the fourth he brings a storm about his head wild enough to blow down the forest trees. won't you give the little girl a drink, so that she may have the strength of twelve men to overcome the snow queen?' 'the strength of twelve men,' said the finn woman. 'yes, that will be about enough.' she went along to a shelf and took down a big folded skin, which she unrolled. there were curious characters written on it, and the finn woman read till the perspiration poured down her forehead. but the reindeer again implored her to give gerda something, and gerda looked at her with such beseeching eyes, full of tears, that the finn woman began blinking again, and drew the reindeer along into a corner, where she whispered to it, at the same time putting fresh ice on its head. 'little kay is certainly with the snow queen, and he is delighted with everything there. he thinks it is the best place in the world, but that is because he has got a splinter of glass in his heart and a grain of glass in his eye. they will have to come out first, or he will never be human again, and the snow queen will keep him in her power!' 'but can't you give little gerda something to take which will give her power to conquer it all?' 'i can't give her greater power than she already has. don't you see how great it is? don't you see how both man and beast have to serve her? how she has got on as well as she has on her bare feet? we must not tell her what power she has; it is in her heart, because she is such a sweet innocent child. if she can't reach the snow queen herself, then we can't help her. the snow queen's gardens begin just two miles from here; you can carry the little girl as far as that. put her down by the big bush standing there in the snow covered with red berries. don't stand gossiping, but hurry back to me!' then the finn woman lifted gerda on the reindeer's back, and it rushed off as hard as it could. 'oh, i have not got my boots, and i have not got my mittens!' cried little gerda. she soon felt the want of them in that cutting wind, but the reindeer did not dare to stop. it ran on till it came to the bush with the red berries. there it put gerda down, and kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears trickled down its face. then it ran back again as fast as ever it could. there stood poor little gerda, without shoes or gloves, in the middle of freezing icebound finmark. she ran forward as quickly as she could. a whole regiment of snow-flakes came towards her; they did not fall from the sky, for it was quite clear, with the northern lights shining brightly. no; these snow-flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they came the bigger they grew. gerda remembered well how big and ingenious they looked under the magnifying glass. but the size of these was monstrous. they were alive; they were the snow queen's advanced guard, and they took the most curious shapes. some looked like big, horrid porcupines, some like bundles of knotted snakes with their heads sticking out. others, again, were like fat little bears with bristling hair, but all were dazzling white and living snow-flakes. then little gerda said the lord's prayer, and the cold was so great that her breath froze as it came out of her mouth, and she could see it like a cloud of smoke in front of her. it grew thicker and thicker, till it formed itself into bright little angels, who grew bigger and bigger when they touched the ground. they all wore helmets, and carried shields and spears in their hands. more and more of them appeared, and when gerda had finished her prayer she was surrounded by a whole legion. they pierced the snow-flakes with their spears and shivered them into a hundred pieces, and little gerda walked fearlessly and undauntedly through them. the angels touched her hands and her feet, and then she hardly felt how cold it was, but walked quickly on towards the palace of the snow queen. now we must see what kay was about. he was not thinking about gerda at all, least of all that she was just outside the palace. seventh story what happened in the snow queen's palace and afterwards [illustration: _the snow queen sat in the very middle of it when she sat at home._] the palace walls were made of drifted snow, and the windows and doors of the biting winds. there were over a hundred rooms in it, shaped just as the snow had drifted. the biggest one stretched for many miles. they were all lighted by the strongest northern lights. all the rooms were immensely big and empty, and glittering in their iciness. there was never any gaiety in them; not even so much as a ball for the little bears, when the storms might have turned up as the orchestra, and the polar bears might have walked about on their hind legs and shown off their grand manners. there was never even a little game-playing party, for such games as 'touch last' or 'the biter bit'--no, not even a little gossip over the coffee cups for the white fox misses. immense, vast, and cold were the snow queen's halls. the northern lights came and went with such regularity that you could count the seconds between their coming and going. in the midst of these never-ending snow-halls was a frozen lake. it was broken up on the surface into a thousand bits, but each piece was so exactly like the others that the whole formed a perfect work of art. the snow queen sat in the very middle of it when she sat at home. she then said that she was sitting on 'the mirror of reason,' and that it was the best and only one in the world. little kay was blue with cold, nay, almost black; but he did not know it, for the snow queen had kissed away the icy shiverings, and his heart was little better than a lump of ice. he went about dragging some sharp, flat pieces of ice, which he placed in all sorts of patterns, trying to make something out of them; just as when we at home have little tablets of wood, with which we make patterns, and call them a 'chinese puzzle.' kay's patterns were most ingenious, because they were the 'ice puzzles of reason.' in his eyes they were first-rate and of the greatest importance: this was because of the grain of glass still in his eye. he made many patterns forming words, but he never could find out the right way to place them for one particular word, a word he was most anxious to make. it was 'eternity.' the snow queen had said to him that if he could find out this word he should be his own master, and she would give him the whole world and a new pair of skates. but he could not discover it. 'now i am going to fly away to the warm countries,' said the snow queen. 'i want to go and peep into the black caldrons!' she meant the volcanoes etna and vesuvius by this. 'i must whiten them a little; it does them good, and the lemons and the grapes too!' and away she flew. kay sat quite alone in all those many miles of empty ice halls. he looked at his bits of ice, and thought and thought, till something gave way within him. he sat so stiff and immovable that one might have thought he was frozen to death. then it was that little gerda walked into the palace, through the great gates in a biting wind. she said her evening prayer, and the wind dropped as if lulled to sleep, and she walked on into the big empty hall. she saw kay, and knew him at once; she flung her arms round his neck, held him fast, and cried, 'kay, little kay, have i found you at last?' but he sat still, rigid and cold. then little gerda shed hot tears; they fell upon his breast and penetrated to his heart. here they thawed the lump of ice, and melted the little bit of the mirror which was in it. he looked at her, and she sang: 'where roses deck the flowery vale, there, infant jesus, we thee hail!' then kay burst into tears; he cried so much that the grain of glass was washed out of his eye. he knew her, and shouted with joy, 'gerda, dear little gerda! where have you been for such a long time? and where have i been?' he looked round and said, 'how cold it is here; how empty and vast!' he kept tight hold of gerda, who laughed and cried for joy. their happiness was so heavenly that even the bits of ice danced for joy around them; and when they settled down, there they lay! just in the very position the snow queen had told kay he must find out, if he was to become his own master and have the whole world and a new pair of skates. gerda kissed his cheeks and they grew rosy, she kissed his eyes and they shone like hers, she kissed his hands and his feet, and he became well and strong. the snow queen might come home whenever she liked, his order of release was written there in shining letters of ice. they took hold of each other's hands and wandered out of the big palace. they talked about grandmother, and about the roses upon the roof. wherever they went the winds lay still and the sun broke through the clouds. when they reached the bush with the red berries they found the reindeer waiting for them, and he had brought another young reindeer with him, whose udders were full. the children drank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth. then they carried kay and gerda, first to the finn woman, in whose heated hut they warmed themselves and received directions about the homeward journey. then they went on to the lapp woman; she had made new clothes for them and prepared her sledge. both the reindeer ran by their side, to the boundaries of the country; here the first green buds appeared, and they said 'good-bye' to the reindeer and the lapp woman. they heard the first little birds twittering and saw the buds in the forest. out of it came riding a young girl on a beautiful horse, which gerda knew, for it had drawn the golden chariot. she had a scarlet cap on her head and pistols in her belt; it was the little robber girl, who was tired of being at home. she was riding northwards to see how she liked it before she tried some other part of the world. she knew them again, and gerda recognised her with delight. 'you are a nice fellow to go tramping off!' she said to little kay. 'i should like to know if you deserve to have somebody running to the end of the world for your sake!' but gerda patted her cheek, and asked about the prince and princess. 'they are travelling in foreign countries,' said the robber girl. 'but the crow?' asked gerda. 'oh, the crow is dead!' she answered. 'the tame sweetheart is a widow, and goes about with a bit of black wool tied round her leg. she pities herself bitterly, but it's all nonsense! but tell me how you got on yourself, and where you found him.' gerda and kay both told her all about it. 'snip, snap, snurre, it's all right at last then!' she said, and she took hold of their hands and promised that if she ever passed through their town she would pay them a visit. then she rode off into the wide world. but kay and gerda walked on, hand in hand, and wherever they went they found the most delightful spring and blooming flowers. soon they recognised the big town where they lived, with its tall towers, in which the bells still rang their merry peals. they went straight on to grandmother's door, up the stairs and into her room. everything was just as they had left it, and the old clock ticked in the corner, and the hands pointed to the time. as they went through the door into the room they perceived that they were grown up. the roses clustered round the open window, and there stood their two little chairs. kay and gerda sat down upon them, still holding each other by the hand. all the cold empty grandeur of the snow queen's palace had passed from their memory like a bad dream. grandmother sat in god's warm sunshine reading from her bible. 'without ye become as little children ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.' kay and gerda looked into each other's eyes, and then all at once the meaning of the old hymn came to them. 'where roses deck the flowery vale, there, infant jesus, we thee hail!' and there they both sat, grown up and yet children, children at heart; and it was summer--warm, beautiful summer. the nightingale [illustration: _among these trees lived a nightingale, which sang so deliciously, that even the poor fisherman, who had plenty of other things to do, lay still to listen to it, when he was out at night drawing in his nets._] in china, as you know, the emperor is a chinaman, and all the people around him are chinamen too. it is many years since the story i am going to tell you happened, but that is all the more reason for telling it, lest it should be forgotten. the emperor's palace was the most beautiful thing in the world; it was made entirely of the finest porcelain, very costly, but at the same time so fragile that it could only be touched with the very greatest care. there were the most extraordinary flowers to be seen in the garden; the most beautiful ones had little silver bells tied to them, which tinkled perpetually, so that one should not pass the flowers without looking at them. every little detail in the garden had been most carefully thought out, and it was so big, that even the gardener himself did not know where it ended. if one went on walking, one came to beautiful woods with lofty trees and deep lakes. the wood extended to the sea, which was deep and blue, deep enough for large ships to sail up right under the branches of the trees. among these trees lived a nightingale, which sang so deliciously, that even the poor fisherman, who had plenty of other things to do, lay still to listen to it, when he was out at night drawing in his nets. 'heavens, how beautiful it is!' he said, but then he had to attend to his business and forgot it. the next night when he heard it again he would again exclaim, 'heavens, how beautiful it is!' travellers came to the emperor's capital, from every country in the world; they admired everything very much, especially the palace and the gardens, but when they heard the nightingale they all said, 'this is better than anything!' when they got home they described it, and the learned ones wrote many books about the town, the palace and the garden; but nobody forgot the nightingale, it was always put above everything else. those among them who were poets wrote the most beautiful poems, all about the nightingale in the woods by the deep blue sea. these books went all over the world, and in course of time some of them reached the emperor. he sat in his golden chair reading and reading, and nodding his head, well pleased to hear such beautiful descriptions of the town, the palace and the garden. 'but the nightingale is the best of all,' he read. 'what is this?' said the emperor. 'the nightingale? why, i know nothing about it. is there such a bird in my kingdom, and in my own garden into the bargain, and i have never heard of it? imagine my having to discover this from a book?' then he called his gentleman-in-waiting, who was so grand that when any one of a lower rank dared to speak to him, or to ask him a question, he would only answer 'p,' which means nothing at all. 'there is said to be a very wonderful bird called a nightingale here,' said the emperor. 'they say that it is better than anything else in all my great kingdom! why have i never been told anything about it?' 'i have never heard it mentioned,' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'it has never been presented at court.' 'i wish it to appear here this evening to sing to me,' said the emperor. 'the whole world knows what i am possessed of, and i know nothing about it!' 'i have never heard it mentioned before,' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'i will seek it, and i will find it!' but where was it to be found? the gentleman-in-waiting ran upstairs and downstairs and in and out of all the rooms and corridors. no one of all those he met had ever heard anything about the nightingale; so the gentleman-in-waiting ran back to the emperor, and said that it must be a myth, invented by the writers of the books. 'your imperial majesty must not believe everything that is written; books are often mere inventions, even if they do not belong to what we call the black art!' 'but the book in which i read it is sent to me by the powerful emperor of japan, so it can't be untrue. i will hear this nightingale; i insist upon its being here to-night. i extend my most gracious protection to it, and if it is not forthcoming, i will have the whole court trampled upon after supper!' 'tsing-pe!' said the gentleman-in-waiting, and away he ran again, up and down all the stairs, in and out of all the rooms and corridors; half the court ran with him, for they none of them wished to be trampled on. there was much questioning about this nightingale, which was known to all the outside world, but to no one at court. at last they found a poor little maid in the kitchen. she said, 'oh heavens, the nightingale? i know it very well. yes, indeed it can sing. every evening i am allowed to take broken meat to my poor sick mother: she lives down by the shore. on my way back, when i am tired, i rest awhile in the wood, and then i hear the nightingale. its song brings the tears into my eyes; i feel as if my mother were kissing me!' 'little kitchen-maid,' said the gentleman-in-waiting, 'i will procure you a permanent position in the kitchen, and permission to see the emperor dining, if you will take us to the nightingale. it is commanded to appear at court to-night.' then they all went out into the wood where the nightingale usually sang. half the court was there. as they were going along at their best pace a cow began to bellow. 'oh!' said a young courtier, 'there we have it. what wonderful power for such a little creature; i have certainly heard it before.' 'no, those are the cows bellowing; we are a long way yet from the place.' then the frogs began to croak in the marsh. 'beautiful!' said the chinese chaplain, 'it is just like the tinkling of church bells.' 'no, those are the frogs!' said the little kitchen-maid. 'but i think we shall soon hear it now!' then the nightingale began to sing. 'there it is!' said the little girl. 'listen, listen, there it sits!' and she pointed to a little grey bird up among the branches. 'is it possible?' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'i should never have thought it was like that. how common it looks! seeing so many grand people must have frightened all its colours away.' 'little nightingale!' called the kitchen-maid quite loud, 'our gracious emperor wishes you to sing to him!' 'with the greatest of pleasure!' said the nightingale, warbling away in the most delightful fashion. 'it is just like crystal bells,' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'look at its little throat, how active it is. it is extraordinary that we have never heard it before! i am sure it will be a great success at court!' 'shall i sing again to the emperor?' said the nightingale, who thought he was present. 'my precious little nightingale,' said the gentleman-in-waiting, 'i have the honour to command your attendance at a court festival to-night, where you will charm his gracious majesty the emperor with your fascinating singing.' 'it sounds best among the trees,' said the nightingale, but it went with them willingly when it heard that the emperor wished it. [illustration: _'is it possible?' said the gentleman-in-waiting. 'i should never have thought it was like that. how common it looks. seeing so many grand people must have frightened all its colours away.'_] the palace had been brightened up for the occasion. the walls and the floors, which were all of china, shone by the light of many thousand golden lamps. the most beautiful flowers, all of the tinkling kind, were arranged in the corridors; there was hurrying to and fro, and a great draught, but this was just what made the bells ring; one's ears were full of the tinkling. in the middle of the large reception-room where the emperor sat a golden rod had been fixed, on which the nightingale was to perch. the whole court was assembled, and the little kitchen-maid had been permitted to stand behind the door, as she now had the actual title of cook. they were all dressed in their best; everybody's eyes were turned towards the little grey bird at which the emperor was nodding. the nightingale sang delightfully, and the tears came into the emperor's eyes, nay, they rolled down his cheeks; and then the nightingale sang more beautifully than ever, its notes touched all hearts. the emperor was charmed, and said the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round its neck. but the nightingale declined with thanks; it had already been sufficiently rewarded. 'i have seen tears in the eyes of the emperor; that is my richest reward. the tears of an emperor have a wonderful power! god knows i am sufficiently recompensed!' and then it again burst into its sweet heavenly song. 'that is the most delightful coquetting i have ever seen!' said the ladies, and they took some water into their mouths to try and make the same gurgling when any one spoke to them, thinking so to equal the nightingale. even the lackeys and the chambermaids announced that they were satisfied, and that is saying a great deal; they are always the most difficult people to please. yes, indeed, the nightingale had made a sensation. it was to stay at court now, and to have its own cage, as well as liberty to walk out twice a day, and once in the night. it always had twelve footmen, with each one holding a ribbon which was tied round its leg. there was not much pleasure in an outing of that sort. the whole town talked about the marvellous bird, and if two people met, one said to the other 'night,' and the other answered 'gale,' and then they sighed, perfectly understanding each other. eleven cheesemongers' children were called after it, but they had not got a voice among them. one day a large parcel came for the emperor; outside was written the word 'nightingale.' 'here we have another new book about this celebrated bird,' said the emperor. but it was no book; it was a little work of art in a box, an artificial nightingale, exactly like the living one, but it was studded all over with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. when the bird was wound up it could sing one of the songs the real one sang, and it wagged its tail, which glittered with silver and gold. a ribbon was tied round its neck on which was written, 'the emperor of japan's nightingale is very poor compared to the emperor of china's.' everybody said, 'oh, how beautiful!' and the person who brought the artificial bird immediately received the title of imperial nightingale-carrier in chief. 'now, they must sing together; what a duet that will be.' then they had to sing together, but they did not get on very well, for the real nightingale sang in its own way, and the artificial one could only sing waltzes. 'there is no fault in that,' said the music-master; 'it is perfectly in time and correct in every way!' then the artificial bird had to sing alone. it was just as great a success as the real one, and then it was so much prettier to look at; it glittered like bracelets and breast-pins. [illustration: _then it again burst into its sweet heavenly song.] 'that is the most delightful coquetting i have ever seen!' said the ladies, and they took some water into their mouths to try and make the same gurgling, thinking so to equal the nightingale._ it sang the same tune three and thirty times over, and yet it was not tired; people would willingly have heard it from the beginning again, but the emperor said that the real one must have a turn now--but where was it? no one had noticed that it had flown out of the open window, back to its own green woods. 'but what is the meaning of this?' said the emperor. all the courtiers railed at it, and said it was a most ungrateful bird. 'we have got the best bird though,' said they, and then the artificial bird had to sing again, and this was the thirty-fourth time that they heard the same tune, but they did not know it thoroughly even yet, because it was so difficult. the music-master praised the bird tremendously, and insisted that it was much better than the real nightingale, not only as regarded the outside with all the diamonds, but the inside too. 'because you see, my ladies and gentlemen, and the emperor before all, in the real nightingale you never know what you will hear, but in the artificial one everything is decided beforehand! so it is, and so it must remain, it can't be otherwise. you can account for things, you can open it and show the human ingenuity in arranging the waltzes, how they go, and how one note follows upon another!' 'those are exactly my opinions,' they all said, and the music-master got leave to show the bird to the public next sunday. they were also to hear it sing, said the emperor. so they heard it, and all became as enthusiastic over it as if they had drunk themselves merry on tea, because that is a thoroughly chinese habit. then they all said 'oh,' and stuck their forefingers in the air and nodded their heads; but the poor fishermen who had heard the real nightingale said, 'it sounds very nice, and it is very like the real one, but there is something wanting, we don't know what.' the real nightingale was banished from the kingdom. the artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion, close to the emperor's bed: all the presents it had received of gold and precious jewels were scattered round it. its title had risen to be 'chief imperial singer of the bed-chamber,' in rank number one, on the left side; for the emperor reckoned that side the important one, where the heart was seated. and even an emperor's heart is on the left side. the music-master wrote five-and-twenty volumes about the artificial bird; the treatise was very long and written in all the most difficult chinese characters. everybody said they had read and understood it, for otherwise they would have been reckoned stupid, and then their bodies would have been trampled upon. [illustration: _the music-master wrote five-and-twenty volumes about the artificial bird; the treatise was very long and written in all the most difficult chinese characters._] things went on in this way for a whole year. the emperor, the court, and all the other chinamen knew every little gurgle in the song of the artificial bird by heart; but they liked it all the better for this, and they could all join in the song themselves. even the street boys sang 'zizizi' and 'cluck, cluck, cluck,' and the emperor sang it too. but one evening when the bird was singing its best, and the emperor was lying in bed listening to it, something gave way inside the bird with a 'whizz.' then a spring burst, 'whirr' went all the wheels, and the music stopped. the emperor jumped out of bed and sent for his private physicians, but what good could they do? then they sent for the watchmaker, and after a good deal of talk and examination he got the works to go again somehow; but he said it would have to be saved as much as possible, because it was so worn out, and he could not renew the works so as to be sure of the tune. this was a great blow! they only dared to let the artificial bird sing once a year, and hardly that; but then the music-master made a little speech, using all the most difficult words. he said it was just as good as ever, and his saying it made it so. five years now passed, and then a great grief came upon the nation, for they were all very fond of their emperor, and he was ill and could not live, it was said. a new emperor was already chosen, and people stood about in the street, and asked the gentleman-in-waiting how their emperor was going on. 'p,' answered he, shaking his head. the emperor lay pale and cold in his gorgeous bed, the courtiers thought he was dead, and they all went off to pay their respects to their new emperor. the lackeys ran off to talk matters over, and the chambermaids gave a great coffee-party. cloth had been laid down in all the rooms and corridors so as to deaden the sound of footsteps, so it was very, very quiet. but the emperor was not dead yet. he lay stiff and pale in the gorgeous bed with its velvet hangings and heavy golden tassels. there was an open window high above him, and the moon streamed in upon the emperor, and the artificial bird beside him. the poor emperor could hardly breathe, he seemed to have a weight on his chest, he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was death sitting upon his chest, wearing his golden crown. in one hand he held the emperor's golden sword, and in the other his imperial banner. round about, from among the folds of the velvet hangings peered many curious faces: some were hideous, others gentle and pleasant. they were all the emperor's good and bad deeds, which now looked him in the face when death was weighing him down. 'do you remember that?' whispered one after the other; 'do you remember this?' and they told him so many things that the perspiration poured down his face. 'i never knew that,' said the emperor. 'music, music, sound the great chinese drums!' he cried, 'that i may not hear what they are saying.' but they went on and on, and death sat nodding his head, just like a chinaman, at everything that was said. 'music, music!' shrieked the emperor. 'you precious little golden bird, sing, sing! i have loaded you with precious stones, and even hung my own golden slipper round your neck; sing, i tell you, sing!' but the bird stood silent; there was nobody to wind it up, so of course it could not go. death continued to fix the great empty sockets of his eyes upon him, and all was silent, so terribly silent. suddenly, close to the window, there was a burst of lovely song; it was the living nightingale, perched on a branch outside. it had heard of the emperor's need, and had come to bring comfort and hope to him. as it sang the faces round became fainter and fainter, and the blood coursed with fresh vigour in the emperor's veins and through his feeble limbs. even death himself listened to the song and said, 'go on, little nightingale, go on!' 'yes, if you give me the gorgeous golden sword; yes, if you give me the imperial banner; yes, if you give me the emperor's crown.' and death gave back each of these treasures for a song, and the nightingale went on singing. it sang about the quiet churchyard, when the roses bloom, where the elder flower scents the air, and where the fresh grass is ever moistened anew by the tears of the mourner. this song brought to death a longing for his own garden, and, like a cold grey mist, he passed out of the window. 'thanks, thanks!' said the emperor; 'you heavenly little bird, i know you! i banished you from my kingdom, and yet you have charmed the evil visions away from my bed by your song, and even death away from my heart! how can i ever repay you?' 'you have rewarded me,' said the nightingale. 'i brought the tears to your eyes, the very first time i ever sang to you, and i shall never forget it! those are the jewels which gladden the heart of a singer;--but sleep now, and wake up fresh and strong! i will sing to you!' then it sang again, and the emperor fell into a sweet refreshing sleep. the sun shone in at his window, when he woke refreshed and well; none of his attendants had yet come back to him, for they thought he was dead, but the nightingale still sat there singing. 'you must always stay with me!' said the emperor. 'you shall only sing when you like, and i will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces!' [illustration: _even death himself listened to the song and said, 'go on, little nightingale, go on!'_] 'don't do that!' said the nightingale, 'it did all the good it could! keep it as you have always done! i can't build my nest and live in this palace, but let me come whenever i like, then i will sit on the branch in the evening, and sing to you. i will sing to cheer you and to make you thoughtful too; i will sing to you of the happy ones, and of those that suffer too. i will sing about the good and the evil, which are kept hidden from you. the little singing bird flies far and wide, to the poor fisherman, and the peasant's home, to numbers who are far from you and your court. i love your heart more than your crown, and yet there is an odour of sanctity round the crown too!--i will come, and i will sing to you!--but you must promise me one thing!-- 'everything!' said the emperor, who stood there in his imperial robes which he had just put on, and he held the sword heavy with gold upon his heart. 'one thing i ask you! tell no one that you have a little bird who tells you everything; it will be better so!' then the nightingale flew away. the attendants came in to see after their dead emperor, and there he stood, bidding them 'good morning!' the real princess there was once a prince, and he wanted a princess, but then she must be a _real_ princess. he travelled right round the world to find one, but there was always something wrong. there were plenty of princesses, but whether they were real princesses he had great difficulty in discovering; there was always something which was not quite right about them. so at last he had to come home again, and he was very sad because he wanted a real princess so badly. one evening there was a terrible storm; it thundered and lightened and the rain poured down in torrents; indeed it was a fearful night. in the middle of the storm somebody knocked at the town gate, and the old king himself went to open it. it was a princess who stood outside, but she was in a terrible state from the rain and the storm. the water streamed out of her hair and her clothes; it ran in at the top of her shoes and out at the heel, but she said that she was a real princess. 'well we shall soon see if that is true,' thought the old queen, but she said nothing. she went into the bedroom, took all the bedclothes off and laid a pea on the bedstead: then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on the top of the pea, and then twenty feather beds on the top of the mattresses. this was where the princess was to sleep that night. in the morning they asked her how she had slept. 'oh terribly badly!' said the princess. 'i have hardly closed my eyes the whole night! heaven knows what was in the bed. i seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. it is terrible!' they saw at once that she must be a real princess when she had felt the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. nobody but a real princess could have such a delicate skin. so the prince took her to be his wife, for now he was sure that he had found a real princess, and the pea was put into the museum, where it may still be seen if no one has stolen it. now this is a true story. the garden of paradise there was once a king's son; nobody had so many or such beautiful books as he had. he could read about everything which had ever happened in this world, and see it all represented in the most beautiful pictures. he could get information about every nation and every country; but as to where the garden of paradise was to be found, not a word could he discover, and this was the very thing he thought most about. his grandmother had told him, when he was quite a little fellow and was about to begin his school life, that every flower in the garden of paradise was a delicious cake, and that the pistils were full of wine. in one flower history was written, in another geography or tables; you had only to eat the cake and you knew the lesson. the more you ate, the more history, geography and tables you knew. all this he believed then; but as he grew older and wiser and learnt more, he easily perceived that the delights of the garden of paradise must be far beyond all this. [illustration: _his grandmother had told him, when he was quite a little fellow and was about to begin his school life, that every flower in the garden of paradise was a delicious cake, and that the pistils were full of wine._] 'oh, why did eve take of the tree of knowledge? why did adam eat the forbidden fruit? if it had only been i it would not have happened! never would sin have entered the world!' this is what he said then, and he still said it when he was seventeen; his thoughts were full of the garden of paradise. he walked into the wood one day; he was alone, for that was his greatest pleasure. evening came on, the clouds drew up and it rained as if the whole heaven had become a sluice from which the water poured in sheets; it was as dark as it is otherwise in the deepest well. now he slipped on the wet grass, and then he fell on the bare stones which jutted out of the rocky ground. everything was dripping, and at last the poor prince hadn't got a dry thread on him. he had to climb over huge rocks where the water oozed out of the thick moss. he was almost fainting; just then he heard a curious murmuring and saw in front of him a big lighted cave. a fire was burning in the middle, big enough to roast a stag, which was in fact being done; a splendid stag with its huge antlers was stuck on a spit, being slowly turned round between the hewn trunks of two fir trees. an oldish woman, tall and strong enough to be a man dressed up, sat by the fire throwing on logs from time to time. 'come in, by all means!' she said; 'sit down by the fire so that your clothes may dry!' 'there is a shocking draught here,' said the prince, as he sat down on the ground. 'it will be worse than this when my sons come home!' said the woman. 'you are in the cavern of the winds; my sons are the four winds of the world! do you understand?' 'who are your sons?' asked the prince. 'well that's not so easy to answer when the question is stupidly put,' said the woman. 'my sons do as they like; they are playing rounders now with the clouds up there in the great hall,' and she pointed up into the sky. 'oh indeed!' said the prince. 'you seem to speak very harshly, and you are not so gentle as the women i generally see about me!' 'oh, i daresay they have nothing else to do! i have to be harsh if i am to keep my boys under control! but i can do it, although they are a stiff-necked lot! do you see those four sacks hanging on the wall? they are just as frightened of them as you used to be of the cane behind the looking-glass. i can double the boys up, i can tell you, and then they have to go into the bag; we don't stand upon ceremony, and there they have to stay; they can't get out to play their tricks till it suits me to let them. but here we have one of them.' it was the northwind who came in with an icy blast; great hailstones peppered about the floor and snow-flakes drifted in. he was dressed in bearskin trousers and jacket, and he had a sealskin cap drawn over his ears. long icicles were hanging from his beard, and one hailstone after another dropped down from the collar of his jacket. 'don't go straight to the fire,' said the prince. 'you might easily get chilblains!' 'chilblains!' said the northwind with a loud laugh. 'chilblains! they are my greatest delight! what sort of a feeble creature are you? how did you get into the cave of the winds?' 'he is my guest,' said the old woman, 'and if you are not pleased with that explanation you may go into the bag! now you know my opinion!' this had its effect, and the northwind told them where he came from, and where he had been for the last month. 'i come from the arctic seas,' he said. 'i have been on behring island with the russian walrus-hunters. i sat at the helm and slept when they sailed from the north cape, and when i woke now and then the stormy petrels were flying about my legs. they are queer birds; they give a brisk flap with their wings and then keep them stretched out and motionless, and even then they have speed enough.' 'pray don't be too long-winded,' said the mother of the winds. 'so at last you got to behring island!' 'it's perfectly splendid! there you have a floor to dance upon, as flat as a pancake, half-thawed snow, with moss. there were bones of whales and polar bears lying about; they looked like the legs and arms of giants covered with green mould. one would think that the sun had never shone on them. i gave a little puff to the fog so that one could see the shed. it was a house built of wreckage and covered with the skins of whales; the flesh side was turned outwards; it was all red and green; a living polar bear sat on the roof growling. i went to the shore and looked at the birds' nests, looked at the unfledged young ones screaming and gaping; then i blew down thousands of their throats and they learnt to shut their mouths. lower down the walruses were rolling about like monster maggots with pigs' heads and teeth a yard long!' 'you're a good story-teller, my boy!' said his mother. 'it makes my mouth water to hear you!' 'then there was a hunt! the harpoons were plunged into the walruses' breasts, and the steaming blood spurted out of them like fountains over the ice. then i remembered my part of the game! i blew up and made my ships, the mountain-high icebergs, nip the boats; whew! how they whistled and how they screamed, but i whistled louder. they were obliged to throw the dead walruses, chests and ropes out upon the ice! i shook the snow-flakes over them and let them drift southwards to taste the salt water. they will never come back to behring island!' 'then you've been doing evil!' said the mother of the winds. 'what good i did, the others may tell you,' said he. 'but here we have my brother from the west; i like him best of all; he smells of the sea and brings a splendid cool breeze with him!' 'is that the little zephyr?' asked the prince. 'yes, certainly it is zephyr, but he is not so little as all that. he used to be a pretty boy once, but that's gone by!' he looked like a wild man of the woods, but he had a padded hat on so as not to come to any harm. he carried a mahogany club cut in the american mahogany forests. it could not be anything less than that. 'where do you come from?' asked his mother. 'from the forest wildernesses!' he said, 'where the thorny creepers make a fence between every tree, where the water-snake lies in the wet grass, and where human beings seem to be superfluous!' 'what did you do there?' 'i looked at the mighty river, saw where it dashed over the rocks in dust and flew with the clouds to carry the rainbow. i saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but the stream carried him away; he floated with the wild duck, which soared into the sky at the rapids; but the buffalo was carried over with the water. i liked that and blew a storm, so that the primæval trees had to sail too, and they were whirled about like shavings.' 'and you have done nothing else?' asked the old woman. 'i have been turning somersaults in the savannahs, patting the wild horse, and shaking down cocoanuts! oh yes, i have plenty of stories to tell! but one need not tell everything. you know that very well, old woman!' and then he kissed his mother so heartily that she nearly fell backwards; he was indeed a wild boy. the southwind appeared now in a turban and a flowing bedouin's cloak. 'it is fearfully cold in here,' he said, throwing wood on the fire; 'it is easy to see that the northwind got here first!' 'it is hot enough here to roast a polar bear,' said the northwind. 'you are a polar bear yourself!' said the southwind. 'do you want to go into the bag?' asked the old woman. 'sit down on that stone and tell us where you have been.' 'in africa, mother!' he answered. 'i have been chasing the lion with the hottentots in kaffirland! what grass there is on those plains! as green as an olive. the gnu was dancing about, and the ostriches ran races with me, but i am still the fastest. i went to the desert with its yellow sand. it looks like the bottom of the sea. i met a caravan! they were killing their last camel to get water to drink, but it wasn't much they got. the sun was blazing above, and the sand burning below. there were no limits to the outstretched desert. then i burrowed into the fine loose sand and whirled it up in great columns--that was a dance! you should have seen how despondently the dromedaries stood, and the merchant drew his caftan over his head. he threw himself down before me as if i had been allah, his god. now they are buried, and there is a pyramid of sand over them all; when i blow it away, sometime the sun will bleach their bones, and then travellers will see that people have been there before, otherwise you would hardly believe it in the desert!' 'then you have only been doing harm!' said the mother. 'into the bag you go!' and before he knew where he was she had the southwind by the waist and in the bag; it rolled about on the ground, but she sat down upon it and then it had to be quiet. 'your sons are lively fellows!' said the prince. 'yes, indeed,' she said; 'but i can master them! here comes the fourth.' it was the eastwind, and he was dressed like a chinaman. 'oh, have you come from that quarter?' said the mother. 'i thought you had been in the garden of paradise.' 'i am only going there to-morrow!' said the eastwind. 'it will be a hundred years to-morrow since i have been there. i have just come from china, where i danced round the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled. the officials were flogged in the streets, the bamboo canes were broken over their shoulders, and they were all people ranging from the first to the ninth rank. they shrieked "many thanks, father and benefactor," but they didn't mean what they said, and i went on ringing the bells and singing "tsing, tsang, tsu!"' 'you're quite uproarious about it!' said the old woman. 'it's a good thing you are going to the garden of paradise to-morrow; it always has a good effect on your behaviour. mind you drink deep of the well of wisdom, and bring a little bottleful home to me.' 'that i will,' said the eastwind, 'but why have you put my brother from the south into the bag? out with him. he must tell me about the phoenix; the princess always wants to hear about that bird when i call every hundred years. open the bag! then you'll be my sweetest mother, and i'll give you two pockets full of tea as green and fresh as when i picked it!' 'well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my darling, i will open my bag!' she did open it and the southwind crept out, but he was quite crestfallen because the strange prince had seen his disgrace. 'here is a palm leaf for the princess!' said the southwind. 'the old phoenix, the only one in the world, gave it to me. he has scratched his whole history on it with his bill, for the hundred years of his life, and she can read it for herself. i saw how the phoenix set fire to his nest himself and sat on it while it burnt, like the widow of a hindoo. oh, how the dry branches crackled, how it smoked, and what a smell there was! at last it all burst into flame; the old bird was burnt to ashes, but his egg lay glowing in the fire; it broke with a loud bang and the young one flew out. now it rules over all the birds, and it is the only phoenix in the world. he bit a hole in the leaf i gave you; that is his greeting to the princess.' 'let us have something to eat now!' said the mother of the winds; and they all sat down to eat the roast stag, and the prince sat by the side of the eastwind, so they soon became good friends. 'i say,' said the prince, 'just tell me who is this princess, and where is the garden of paradise?' 'oh ho!' said the eastwind, 'if that is where you want to go you must fly with me to-morrow. but i may as well tell you that no human being has been there since adam and eve's time. you know all about them i suppose from your bible stories?' 'of course,' said the prince. 'when they were driven away the garden of eden sank into the ground, but it kept its warm sunshine, its mild air, and all its charms. the queen of the fairies lives there. the island of bliss, where death never enters, and where living is a delight, is there. get on my back to-morrow and i will take you with me; i think i can manage it! but you mustn't talk now, i want to go to sleep.' when the prince woke up in the early morning, he was not a little surprised to find that he was already high above the clouds. he was sitting on the back of the eastwind, who was holding him carefully; they were so high up that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, looked like a large coloured map. 'good morning,' said the eastwind. 'you may as well sleep a little longer, for there is not much to be seen in this flat country below us, unless you want to count the churches. they look like chalk dots on the green board.' he called the fields and meadows 'the green board.' 'it was very rude of me to leave without saying good-bye to your mother and brothers,' said the prince. 'one is excused when one is asleep!' said the eastwind, and they flew on faster than ever. you could mark their flight by the rustling of the trees as they passed over the woods; and whenever they crossed a lake, or the sea, the waves rose and the great ships dipped low down in the water, like floating swans. towards evening the large towns were amusing as it grew dark, with all their lights twinkling now here, now there, just as when one burns a piece of paper and sees all the little sparks like children coming home from school. the prince clapped his hands, but the eastwind told him he had better leave off and hold tight, or he might fall and find himself hanging on to a church steeple. the eagle in the great forest flew swiftly, but the eastwind flew more swiftly still. the kossack on his little horse sped fast over the plains, but the prince sped faster still. [illustration: _the eagle in the great forest flew swiftly, but the eastwind flew more swiftly still._] 'now you can see the himalayas!' said the eastwind. 'they are the highest mountains in asia; we shall soon reach the garden of paradise.' they took a more southerly direction, and the air became scented with spices and flowers. figs and pomegranates grew wild, and the wild vines were covered with blue and green grapes. they both descended here and stretched themselves on the soft grass, where the flowers nodded to the wind, as much as to say, 'welcome back.' 'are we in the garden of paradise now?' asked the prince. 'no, certainly not!' answered the eastwind. 'but we shall soon be there. do you see that wall of rock and the great cavern where the wild vine hangs like a big curtain? we have to go through there! wrap yourself up in your cloak, the sun is burning here, but a step further on it is icy cold. the bird which flies past the cavern has one wing out here in the heat of summer, and the other is there in the cold of winter.' 'so that is the way to the garden of paradise!' said the prince. now they entered the cavern. oh, how icily cold it was; but it did not last long. the eastwind spread his wings, and they shone like the brightest flame; but what a cave it was! large blocks of stone, from which the water dripped, hung over them in the most extraordinary shapes; at one moment it was so low and narrow that they had to crawl on hands and knees, the next it was as wide and lofty as if they were in the open air. it looked like a chapel of the dead, with mute organ pipes and petrified banners. 'we seem to be journeying along death's road to the garden of paradise!' said the prince, but the eastwind never answered a word, he only pointed before them where a beautiful blue light was shining. the blocks of stone above them grew dimmer and dimmer, and at last they became as transparent as a white cloud in the moonshine. the air was also deliciously soft, as fresh as on the mountain-tops and as scented as down among the roses in the valley. a river ran there as clear as the air itself, and the fish in it were like gold and silver. purple eels, which gave out blue sparks with every curve, gambolled about in the water; and the broad leaves of the water-lilies were tinged with the hues of the rainbow, while the flower itself was like a fiery orange flame, nourished by the water, just as oil keeps a lamp constantly burning. a firm bridge of marble, as delicately and skilfully carved as if it were lace and glass beads, led over the water to the island of bliss, where the garden of paradise bloomed. the eastwind took the prince in his arms and bore him over. the flowers and leaves there sang all the beautiful old songs of his childhood, but sang them more wonderfully than any human voice could sing them. were these palm trees or giant water plants growing here? the prince had never seen such rich and mighty trees. the most wonderful climbing plants hung in wreaths, such as are only to be found pictured in gold and colours on the margins of old books of the saints or entwined among their initial letters. it was the most extraordinary combination of birds, flowers and scrolls. close by on the grass stood a flock of peacocks with their brilliant tails outspread. yes, indeed, it seemed so, but when the prince touched them he saw that they were not birds but plants. they were big dock leaves, which shone like peacocks' tails. lions and tigers sprang like agile cats among the green hedges, which were scented with the blossom of the olive, and the lion and the tiger were tame. the wild dove, glistening like a pearl, beat the lion's mane with his wings; and the antelope, otherwise so shy, stood by nodding, just as if he wanted to join the game. the fairy of the garden now advanced to meet them; her garments shone like the sun, and her face beamed like that of a happy mother rejoicing over her child. she was young and very beautiful, and was surrounded by a band of lovely girls, each with a gleaming star in her hair. when the eastwind gave her the inscribed leaf from the phoenix her eyes sparkled with delight. she took the prince's hand and led him into her palace, where the walls were the colour of the brightest tulips in the sunlight. the ceiling was one great shining flower, and the longer one gazed into it the deeper the calyx seemed to be. the prince went to the window, and looking through one of the panes saw the tree of knowledge, with the serpent, and adam and eve standing by. 'are they not driven out?' he asked, and the fairy smiled, and explained that time had burned a picture into each pane, but not of the kind one usually sees; they were alive, the leaves on the trees moved, and people came and went like the reflections in a mirror. then he looked through another pane, and he saw jacob's dream, with the ladder going straight up into heaven, and angels with great wings were fluttering up and down. all that had ever happened in this world lived and moved on these window panes; only time could imprint such wonderful pictures. [illustration: _the fairy of the garden now advanced to meet them; her garments shone like the sun, and her face beamed like that of a happy mother rejoicing over her child._] the fairy smiled and led him into a large, lofty room, the walls of which were like transparent paintings of faces, one more beautiful than the other. these were millions of the blessed who smiled and sang, and all their songs melted into one perfect melody. the highest ones were so tiny that they seemed smaller than the very smallest rosebud, no bigger than a pinpoint in a drawing. in the middle of the room stood a large tree, with handsome drooping branches; golden apples, large and small, hung like oranges among its green leaves. it was the tree of knowledge, of whose fruit adam and eve had eaten. from every leaf hung a shining red drop of dew; it was as if the tree wept tears of blood. 'now let us get into the boat,' said the fairy. 'we shall find refreshment on the swelling waters. the boat rocks, but it does not move from the spot; all the countries of the world will pass before our eyes.' it was a curious sight to see the whole coast move. here came lofty snow-clad alps, with their clouds and dark fir trees. the horn echoed sadly among them, and the shepherd yodelled sweetly in the valleys. then banian trees bent their long drooping branches over the boat, black swans floated on the water, and the strangest animals and flowers appeared on the shore. this was new holland, the fifth portion of the world, which glided past them with a view of its blue mountains. they heard the song of priests, and saw the dances of the savages to the sound of drums and pipes of bone. the pyramids of egypt reaching to the clouds, with fallen columns, and sphynxes half buried in sand, next sailed past them. then came the aurora borealis blazing over the peaks of the north; they were fireworks which could not be imitated. the prince was so happy, and he saw a hundred times more than we have described. 'can i stay here always?' he asked. 'that depends upon yourself,' answered the fairy. 'if you do not, like adam, allow yourself to be tempted to do what is forbidden, you can stay here always.' 'i will not touch the apples on the tree of knowledge,' said the prince. 'there are thousands of other fruits here as beautiful.' 'test yourself, and if you are not strong enough, go back with the eastwind who brought you. he is going away now, and will not come back for a hundred years; the time will fly in this place like a hundred hours, but that is a long time for temptation and sin. every evening when i leave you i must say, "come with me," and i must beckon to you, but stay behind. do not come with me, for with every step you take your longing will grow stronger. you will reach the hall where grows the tree of knowledge; i sleep beneath its fragrant drooping branches. you will bend over me and i must smile, but if you press a kiss upon my lips paradise will sink deep down into the earth, and it will be lost to you. the sharp winds of the wilderness will whistle round you, the cold rain will drop from your hair. sorrow and labour will be your lot.' 'i will remain here!' said the prince. and the eastwind kissed him on the mouth and said: 'be strong, then we shall meet again in a hundred years. farewell! farewell!' and the eastwind spread his great wings; they shone like poppies at the harvest time, or the northern lights in a cold winter. 'good-bye! good-bye!' whispered the flowers. storks and pelicans flew in a line like waving ribbons, conducting him to the boundaries of the garden. 'now we begin our dancing!' said the fairy; 'at the end when i dance with you, as the sun goes down you will see me beckon to you and cry, "come with me", but do not come. i have to repeat it every night for a hundred years. every time you resist, you will grow stronger, and at last you will not even think of following. to-night is the first time. remember my warning!' and the fairy led him into a large hall of white transparent lilies, the yellow stamens in each formed a little golden harp which echoed the sound of strings and flutes. lovely girls, slender and lissom, dressed in floating gauze, which revealed their exquisite limbs, glided in the dance, and sang of the joy of living--that they would never die--and that the garden of paradise would bloom for ever. the sun went down and the sky was bathed in golden light which gave the lilies the effect of roses; and the prince drank of the foaming wine handed to him by the maidens. he felt such joy as he had never known before; he saw the background of the hall opening where the tree of knowledge stood in a radiancy which blinded him. the song proceeding from it was soft and lovely, like his mother's voice, and she seemed to say, 'my child, my beloved child!' then the fairy beckoned to him and said so tenderly, 'come with me,' that he rushed towards her, forgetting his promise, forgetting everything on the very first evening that she smiled and beckoned to him. the fragrance in the scented air around grew stronger, the harps sounded sweeter than ever, and it seemed as if the millions of smiling heads in the hall where the tree grew nodded and sang, 'one must know everything. man is lord of the earth.' they were no longer tears of blood which fell from the tree; it seemed to him that they were red shining stars. 'come with me, come with me,' spoke those trembling tones, and at every step the prince's cheeks burnt hotter and hotter and his blood coursed more rapidly. 'i must go,' he said, 'it is no sin; i must see her asleep; nothing will be lost if i do not kiss her, and that i will not do. my will is strong.' the fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back the branches, and a moment after was hidden within their depths. 'i have not sinned yet!' said the prince, 'nor will i'; then he drew back the branches. there she lay asleep already, beautiful as only the fairy in the garden of paradise can be. she smiled in her dreams; he bent over her and saw the tears welling up under her eyelashes. [illustration: _the fairy dropped her shimmering garment, drew back the branches, and a moment after was hidden within their depths._] 'do you weep for me?' he whispered. 'weep not, beautiful maiden. i only now understand the full bliss of paradise; it surges through my blood and through my thoughts. i feel the strength of the angels and of everlasting life in my mortal limbs! if it were to be everlasting night to me, a moment like this were worth it!' and he kissed away the tears from her eyes; his mouth touched hers. then came a sound like thunder, louder and more awful than any he had ever heard before, and everything around collapsed. the beautiful fairy, the flowery paradise sank deeper and deeper. the prince saw it sink into the darkness of night; it shone far off like a little tiny twinkling star. the chill of death crept over his limbs; he closed his eyes and lay long as if dead. the cold rain fell on his face, and the sharp wind blew around his head, and at last his memory came back. 'what have i done?' he sighed. 'i have sinned like adam, sinned so heavily that paradise has sunk low beneath the earth!' and he opened his eyes; he could still see the star, the far-away star, which twinkled like paradise; it was the morning star in the sky. he got up and found himself in the wood near the cave of the winds, and the mother of the winds sat by his side. she looked angry and raised her hand. 'so soon as the first evening!' she said. 'i thought as much; if you were my boy, you should go into the bag!' 'ah, he shall soon go there!' said death. he was a strong old man, with a scythe in his hand and great black wings. 'he shall be laid in a coffin, but not now; i only mark him and then leave him for a time to wander about on the earth to expiate his sin and to grow better. i will come some time. when he least expects me, i shall come back, lay him in a black coffin, put it on my head, and fly to the skies. the garden of paradise blooms there too, and if he is good and holy he shall enter into it; but if his thoughts are wicked and his heart still full of sin, he will sink deeper in his coffin than paradise sank, and i shall only go once in every thousand years to see if he is to sink deeper or to rise to the stars, the twinkling stars up there.' the mermaid far out at sea the water is as blue as the bluest cornflower, and as clear as the clearest crystal; but it is very deep, too deep for any cable to fathom, and if many steeples were piled on the top of one another they would not reach from the bed of the sea to the surface of the water. it is down there that the mermen live. now don't imagine that there are only bare white sands at the bottom; oh no! the most wonderful trees and plants grow there, with such flexible stalks and leaves, that at the slightest motion of the water they move just as if they were alive. all the fish, big and little, glide among the branches just as, up here, birds glide through the air. the palace of the merman king lies in the very deepest part; its walls are of coral and the long pointed windows of the clearest amber, but the roof is made of mussel shells which open and shut with the lapping of the water. this has a lovely effect, for there are gleaming pearls in every shell, any one of which would be the pride of a queen's crown. the merman king had been for many years a widower, but his old mother kept house for him; she was a clever woman, but so proud of her noble birth that she wore twelve oysters on her tail, while the other grandees were only allowed six. otherwise she was worthy of all praise, especially because she was so fond of the little mermaid princesses, her grandchildren. they were six beautiful children, but the youngest was the prettiest of all; her skin was as soft and delicate as a roseleaf, her eyes as blue as the deepest sea, but like all the others she had no feet, and instead of legs she had a fish's tail. all the livelong day they used to play in the palace in the great halls, where living flowers grew out of the walls. when the great amber windows were thrown open the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our rooms when we open the windows, but the fish swam right up to the little princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be patted. [illustration: _the merman king had been for many years a widower, but his old mother kept house for him; she was a clever woman, but so proud of her noble birth that she wore twelve oysters on her tail, while the other grandees were only allowed six._] outside the palace was a large garden, with fiery red and deep blue trees, the fruit of which shone like gold, while the flowers glowed like fire on their ceaselessly waving stalks. the ground was of the finest sand, but it was of a blue phosphorescent tint. everything was bathed in a wondrous blue light down there; you might more readily have supposed yourself to be high up in the air, with only the sky above and below you, than that you were at the bottom of the ocean. in a dead calm you could just catch a glimpse of the sun like a purple flower with a stream of light radiating from its calyx. each little princess had her own little plot of garden, where she could dig and plant just as she liked. one made her flower-bed in the shape of a whale; another thought it nice to have hers like a little mermaid; but the youngest made hers quite round like the sun, and she would only have flowers of a rosy hue like its beams. she was a curious child, quiet and thoughtful, and while the other sisters decked out their gardens with all kinds of extraordinary objects which they got from wrecks, she would have nothing besides the rosy flowers like the sun up above, except a statue of a beautiful boy. it was hewn out of the purest white marble and had gone to the bottom from some wreck. by the statue she planted a rosy red weeping willow which grew splendidly, and the fresh delicate branches hung round and over it, till they almost touched the blue sand where the shadows showed violet, and were ever moving like the branches. it looked as if the leaves and the roots were playfully interchanging kisses. nothing gave her greater pleasure than to hear about the world of human beings up above; she made her old grandmother tell her all that she knew about ships and towns, people and animals. but above all it seemed strangely beautiful to her that up on the earth the flowers were scented, for they were not so at the bottom of the sea; also that the woods were green, and that the fish which were to be seen among the branches could sing so loudly and sweetly that it was a delight to listen to them. you see the grandmother called little birds fish, or the mermaids would not have understood her, as they had never seen a bird. 'when you are fifteen,' said the grandmother, 'you will be allowed to rise up from the sea and sit on the rocks in the moonlight, and look at the big ships sailing by, and you will also see woods and towns.' one of the sisters would be fifteen in the following year, but the others,--well, they were each one year younger than the other, so that the youngest had five whole years to wait before she would be allowed to come up from the bottom, to see what things were like on earth. but each one promised the others to give a full account of all that she had seen, and found most wonderful on the first day. their grandmother could never tell them enough, for there were so many things about which they wanted information. none of them was so full of longings as the youngest, the very one who had the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and dreamy. many a night she stood by the open windows and looked up through the dark blue water which the fish were lashing with their tails and fins. she could see the moon and the stars, it is true; their light was pale, but they looked much bigger through the water than they do to our eyes. when she saw a dark shadow glide between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming above her, or else a ship laden with human beings. i am certain they never dreamt that a lovely little mermaid was standing down below, stretching up her white hands towards the keel. the eldest princess had now reached her fifteenth birthday, and was to venture above the water. when she came back she had hundreds of things to tell them, but the most delightful of all, she said, was to lie in the moonlight, on a sandbank in a calm sea, and to gaze at the large town close to the shore, where the lights twinkled like hundreds of stars; to listen to music and the noise and bustle of carriages and people, to see the many church towers and spires, and to hear the bells ringing; and just because she could not go on shore she longed for that most of all. oh, how eagerly the youngest sister listened! and when, later in the evening she stood at the open window and looked up through the dark blue water, she thought of the big town with all its noise and bustle, and fancied that she could even hear the church bells ringing. the year after, the second sister was allowed to mount up through the water and swim about wherever she liked. the sun was just going down when she reached the surface, the most beautiful sight, she thought, that she had ever seen. the whole sky had looked like gold, she said, and as for the clouds! well, their beauty was beyond description; they floated in red and violet splendour over her head, and, far faster than they went, a flock of wild swans flew like a long white veil over the water towards the setting sun; she swam towards it, but it sank and all the rosy light on clouds and water faded away. the year after that the third sister went up, and, being much the most venturesome of them all, swam up a broad river which ran into the sea. she saw beautiful green, vine-clad hills; palaces and country seats peeping through splendid woods. she heard the birds singing, and the sun was so hot that she was often obliged to dive, to cool her burning face. in a tiny bay she found a troop of little children running about naked and paddling in the water; she wanted to play with them, but they were frightened and ran away. then a little black animal came up; it was a dog, but she had never seen one before; it barked so furiously at her that she was frightened and made for the open sea. she could never forget the beautiful woods, the green hills and the lovely children who could swim in the water although they had no fishes' tails. the fourth sister was not so brave; she stayed in the remotest part of the ocean, and, according to her account, that was the most beautiful spot. you could see for miles and miles around you, and the sky above was like a great glass dome. she had seen ships, but only far away, so that they looked like sea-gulls. there were grotesque dolphins turning somersaults, and gigantic whales squirting water through their nostrils like hundreds of fountains on every side. now the fifth sister's turn came. her birthday fell in the winter, so that she saw sights that the others had not seen on their first trips. the sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each one of which looked like a pearl, she said, but was much bigger than the church towers built by men. they took the most wonderful shapes, and sparkled like diamonds. she had seated herself on one of the largest, and all the passing ships sheered off in alarm when they saw her sitting there with her long hair streaming loose in the wind. in the evening the sky became overcast with dark clouds; it thundered and lightened, and the huge icebergs glittering in the bright lightning, were lifted high into the air by the black waves. all the ships shortened sail, and there was fear and trembling on every side, but she sat quietly on her floating iceberg watching the blue lightning flash in zigzags down on to the shining sea. the first time any of the sisters rose above the water she was delighted by the novelties and beauties she saw; but once grown up, and at liberty to go where she liked, she became indifferent and longed for her home; in the course of a month or so they all said that after all their own home in the deep was best, it was so cosy there. many an evening the five sisters interlacing their arms would rise above the water together. they had lovely voices, much clearer than any mortal, and when a storm was rising, and they expected ships to be wrecked, they would sing in the most seductive strains of the wonders of the deep, bidding the seafarers have no fear of them. but the sailors could not understand the words, they thought it was the voice of the storm; nor could it be theirs to see this elysium of the deep, for when the ship sank they were drowned, and only reached the merman's palace in death. when the elder sisters rose up in this manner, arm-in-arm, in the evening, the youngest remained behind quite alone, looking after them as if she must weep; but mermaids have no tears, and so they suffer all the more. 'oh! if i were only fifteen!' she said, 'i know how fond i shall be of the world above, and of the mortals who dwell there.' at last her fifteenth birthday came. 'now we shall have you off our hands,' said her grandmother, the old queen-dowager. 'come now, let me adorn you like your other sisters!' and she put a wreath of white lilies round her hair, but every petal of the flowers was half a pearl; then the old queen had eight oysters fixed on to the princess's tail to show her high rank. 'but it hurts so!' said the little mermaid. 'you must endure the pain for the sake of the finery!' said her grandmother. but oh! how gladly would she have shaken off all this splendour, and laid aside the heavy wreath. her red flowers in her garden suited her much better, but she did not dare to make any alteration. 'good-bye,' she said, and mounted as lightly and airily as a bubble through the water. the sun had just set when her head rose above the water, but the clouds were still lighted up with a rosy and golden splendour, and the evening star sparkled in the soft pink sky, the air was mild and fresh, and the sea as calm as a millpond. a big three-masted ship lay close by with only a single sail set, for there was not a breath of wind, and the sailors were sitting about the rigging, on the cross-trees, and at the mast-heads. there was music and singing on board, and as the evening closed in hundreds of gaily coloured lanterns were lighted--they looked like the flags of all nations waving in the air. the little mermaid swam right up to the cabin windows, and every time she was lifted by the swell she could see through the transparent panes crowds of gaily dressed people. the handsomest of them all was the young prince with large dark eyes; he could not be much more than sixteen, and all these festivities were in honour of his birthday. the sailors danced on deck, and when the prince appeared among them hundreds of rockets were let off making it as light as day, and frightening the little mermaid so much that she had to dive under the water. she soon ventured up again, and it was just as if all the stars of heaven were falling in showers round about her. she had never seen such magic fires. great suns whirled round, gorgeous fire-fish hung in the blue air, and all was reflected in the calm and glassy sea. it was so light on board the ship that every little rope could be seen, and the people still better. oh, how handsome the prince was! how he laughed and smiled as he greeted his guests, while the music rang out in the quiet night. it got quite late, but the little mermaid could not take her eyes off the ship and the beautiful prince. the coloured lanterns were put out, no more rockets were sent up, and the cannon had ceased its thunder, but deep down in the sea there was a dull murmuring and moaning sound. meanwhile she was rocked up and down on the waves, so that she could look into the cabin; but the ship got more and more way on, sail after sail was filled by the wind, the waves grew stronger, great clouds gathered, and it lightened in the distance. oh, there was going to be a fearful storm! and soon the sailors had to shorten sail. the great ship rocked and rolled as she dashed over the angry sea, the black waves rose like mountains, high enough to overwhelm her, but she dived like a swan through them and rose again and again on their towering crests. the little mermaid thought it a most amusing race, but not so the sailors. the ship creaked and groaned; the mighty timbers bulged and bent under the heavy blows; the water broke over the decks, snapping the main mast like a reed; she heeled over on her side, and the water rushed into the hold. now the little mermaid saw that they were in danger, and she had for her own sake to beware of the floating beams and wreckage. one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see at all, but when the lightning flashed it became so light that she could see all on board. every man was looking out for his own safety as best he could; but she more particularly followed the young prince with her eyes, and when the ship went down she saw him sink in the deep sea. at first she was quite delighted, for now he was coming to be with her, but then she remembered that human beings could not live under water, and that only if he were dead could he go to her father's palace. no! he must not die; so she swam towards him all among the drifting beams and planks, quite forgetting that they might crush her. she dived deep down under the water, and came up again through the waves, and at last reached the young prince just as he was becoming unable to swim any further in the stormy sea. his limbs were numbed, his beautiful eyes were closing, and he must have died if the little mermaid had not come to the rescue. she held his head above the water and let the waves drive them whithersoever they would. by daybreak all the storm was over, of the ship not a trace was to be seen; the sun rose from the water in radiant brilliance, and his rosy beams seemed to cast a glow of life into the prince's cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. the mermaid kissed his fair and lofty brow, and stroked back the dripping hair; it seemed to her that he was like the marble statue in her little garden; she kissed him again and longed that he might live. at last she saw dry land before her, high blue mountains on whose summits the white snow glistened as if a flock of swans had settled there; down by the shore were beautiful green woods, and in the foreground a church or temple, she did not quite know which, but it was a building of some sort. lemon and orange trees grew in the garden, and lofty palms stood by the gate. at this point the sea formed a little bay where the water was quite calm, but very deep, right up to the cliffs; at their foot was a strip of fine white sand to which she swam with the beautiful prince, and laid him down on it, taking great care that his head should rest high up in the warm sunshine. the bells now began to ring in the great white building, and a number of young maidens came into the garden. then the little mermaid swam further off behind some high rocks and covered her hair and breast with foam, so that no one should see her little face, and then she watched to see who would discover the poor prince. [illustration: _his limbs were numbed, his beautiful eyes were closing, and he must have died if the little mermaid had not come to the rescue._] it was not long before one of the maidens came up to him. at first she seemed quite frightened, but only for a moment, and then she fetched several others, and the mermaid saw that the prince was coming to life, and that he smiled at all those around him, but he never smiled at her. you see he did not know that she had saved him. she felt so sad that when he was led away into the great building she dived sorrowfully into the water and made her way home to her father's palace. always silent and thoughtful, she became more so now than ever. her sisters often asked her what she had seen on her first visit to the surface, but she never would tell them anything. many an evening and many a morning she would rise to the place where she had left the prince. she saw the fruit in the garden ripen, and then gathered, she saw the snow melt on the mountain-tops, but she never saw the prince, so she always went home still sadder than before. at home her only consolation was to sit in her little garden with her arms twined round the handsome marble statue which reminded her of the prince. it was all in gloomy shade now, as she had ceased to tend her flowers, and the garden had become a neglected wilderness of long stalks and leaves entangled with the branches of the tree. at last she could not bear it any longer, so she told one of her sisters, and from her it soon spread to the others, but to no one else except to one or two other mermaids who only told their dearest friends. one of these knew all about the prince; she had also seen the festivities on the ship; she knew where he came from and where his kingdom was situated. 'come, little sister!' said the other princesses, and, throwing their arms round each other's shoulders, they rose from the water in a long line, just in front of the prince's palace. it was built of light yellow glistening stone, with great marble staircases, one of which led into the garden. magnificent gilded cupolas rose above the roof, and the spaces between the columns which encircled the building were filled with life-like marble statues. through the clear glass of the lofty windows you could see gorgeous halls adorned with costly silken hangings, and the pictures on the walls were a sight worth seeing. in the midst of the central hall a large fountain played, throwing its jets of spray upwards to a glass dome in the roof, through which the sunbeams lighted up the water and the beautiful plants which grew in the great basin. she knew now where he lived, and often used to go there in the evenings and by night over the water. she swam much nearer the land than any of the others dared; she even ventured right up the narrow channel under the splendid marble terrace which threw a long shadow over the water. she used to sit here looking at the young prince, who thought he was quite alone in the clear moonlight. she saw him many an evening sailing about in his beautiful boat, with flags waving and music playing; she used to peep through the green rushes, and if the wind happened to catch her long silvery veil and any one saw it, they only thought it was a swan flapping its wings. many a night she heard the fishermen, who were fishing by torchlight, talking over the good deeds of the young prince; and she was happy to think that she had saved his life when he was drifting about on the waves, half dead, and she could not forget how closely his head had pressed her breast, and how passionately she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and never saw her even in his dreams. she became fonder and fonder of mankind, and longed more and more to be able to live among them; their world seemed so infinitely bigger than hers; with their ships they could scour the ocean, they could ascend the mountains high above the clouds, and their wooded, grass-grown lands extended further than her eye could reach. there was so much that she wanted to know, but her sisters could not give an answer to all her questions, so she asked her old grandmother, who knew the upper world well, and rightly called it the country above the sea. 'if men are not drowned,' asked the little mermaid, 'do they live for ever? do they not die as we do down here in the sea?' 'yes,' said the old lady, 'they have to die too, and their lifetime is even shorter than ours. we may live here for three hundred years, but when we cease to exist we become mere foam on the water and do not have so much as a grave among our dear ones. we have no immortal souls; we have no future life; we are just like the green sea-weed, which, once cut down, can never revive again! men, on the other hand, have a soul which lives for ever, lives after the body has become dust; it rises through the clear air, up to the shining stars! just as we rise from the water to see the land of mortals, so they rise up to unknown beautiful regions which we shall never see.' 'why have we no immortal souls?' asked the little mermaid sadly. 'i would give all my three hundred years to be a human being for one day, and afterwards to have a share in the heavenly kingdom.' 'you must not be thinking about that,' said the grandmother; 'we are much better off and happier than human beings.' 'then i shall have to die and to float as foam on the water, and never hear the music of the waves or see the beautiful flowers or the red sun! is there nothing i can do to gain an immortal soul?' 'no,' said the grandmother; 'only if a human being so loved you that you were more to him than father or mother, if all his thoughts and all his love were so centred in you that he would let the priest join your hands and would vow to be faithful to you here, and to all eternity; then your body would become infused with his soul. thus, and only thus, could you gain a share in the felicity of mankind. he would give you a soul while yet keeping his own. but that can never happen! that which is your greatest beauty in the sea, your fish's tail, is thought hideous up on earth, so little do they understand about it; to be pretty there you must have two clumsy supports which they call legs!' then the little mermaid sighed and looked sadly at her fish's tail. 'let us be happy,' said the grandmother; 'we will hop and skip during our three hundred years of life; it is surely a long enough time; and after it is over we shall rest all the better in our graves. there is to be a court ball to-night.' this was a much more splendid affair than we ever see on earth. the walls and the ceiling of the great ballroom were of thick but transparent glass. several hundreds of colossal mussel shells, rose red and grass green, were ranged in order round the sides holding blue lights, which illuminated the whole room and shone through the walls, so that the sea outside was quite lit up. you could see countless fish, great and small, swimming towards the glass walls, some with shining scales of crimson hue, while others were golden and silvery. in the middle of the room was a broad stream of running water, and on this the mermaids and mermen danced to their own beautiful singing. no earthly beings have such lovely voices. the little mermaid sang more sweetly than any of them, and they all applauded her. for a moment she felt glad at heart, for she knew that she had the finest voice either in the sea or on land. but she soon began to think again about the upper world, she could not forget the handsome prince and her sorrow in not possessing, like him, an immortal soul. therefore she stole out of her father's palace, and while all within was joy and merriment, she sat sadly in her little garden. suddenly she heard the sound of a horn through the water, and she thought, 'now he is out sailing up there; he whom i love more than father or mother, he to whom my thoughts cling and to whose hands i am ready to commit the happiness of my life. i will dare anything to win him and to gain an immortal soul! while my sisters are dancing in my father's palace i will go to the sea-witch, of whom i have always been very much afraid; she will perhaps be able to advise and help me!' thereupon the little mermaid left the garden and went towards the roaring whirlpools at the back of which the witch lived. she had never been that way before; no flowers grew there, no seaweed, only the bare grey sands, stretched towards the whirlpools, which like rushing mill-wheels swirled round, dragging everything that came within reach down to the depths. she had to pass between these boiling eddies to reach the witch's domain, and for a long way the only path led over warm bubbling mud, which the witch called her 'peat bog.' her house stood behind this in the midst of a weird forest. all the trees and bushes were polyps, half animal and half plant; they looked like hundred-headed snakes growing out of the sand, the branches were long slimy arms, with tentacles like wriggling worms, every joint of which, from the root to the outermost tip, was in constant motion. they wound themselves tightly round whatever they could lay hold of and never let it escape. the little mermaid standing outside was quite frightened, her heart beat fast with terror and she nearly turned back, but then she remembered the prince and the immortal soul of mankind and took courage. she bound her long flowing hair tightly round her head, so that the polyps should not seize her by it, folded her hands over her breast, and darted like a fish through the water, in between the hideous polyps, which stretched out their sensitive arms and tentacles towards her. she could see that every one of them had something or other, which they had grasped with their hundred arms, and which they held as if in iron bands. the bleached bones of men who had perished at sea and sunk below peeped forth from the arms of some, while others clutched rudders and sea-chests, or the skeleton of some land animal; and most horrible of all, a little mermaid whom they had caught and suffocated. then she came to a large opening in the wood where the ground was all slimy, and where some huge fat water snakes were gambolling about. in the middle of this opening was a house built of the bones of the wrecked; there sat the witch, letting a toad eat out of her mouth, just as mortals let a little canary eat sugar. she called the hideous water snakes her little chickens, and allowed them to crawl about on her unsightly bosom. 'i know very well what you have come here for,' said the witch. 'it is very foolish of you! all the same you shall have your way, because it will lead you into misfortune, my fine princess. you want to get rid of your fish's tail, and instead to have two stumps to walk about upon like human beings, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may win him and an immortal soul.' saying this, she gave such a loud hideous laugh that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground and wriggled about there. 'you are just in the nick of time,' said the witch; 'after sunrise to-morrow i should not be able to help you until another year had run its course. i will make you a potion, and before sunrise you must swim ashore with it, seat yourself on the beach and drink it; then your tail will divide and shrivel up to what men call beautiful legs. but it hurts; it is as if a sharp sword were running through you. all who see you will say that you are the most beautiful child of man they have ever seen. you will keep your gliding gait, no dancer will rival you, but every step you take will be as if you were treading upon sharp knives, so sharp as to draw blood. if you are willing to suffer all this i am ready to help you!' 'yes!' said the little princess with a trembling voice, thinking of the prince and of winning an undying soul. 'but remember,' said the witch, 'when once you have received a human form, you can never be a mermaid again; you will never again be able to dive down through the water to your sisters and to your father's palace. and if you do not succeed in winning the prince's love, so that for your sake he will forget father and mother, cleave to you with his whole heart, let the priest join your hands and make you man and wife, you will gain no immortal soul! the first morning after his marriage with another your heart will break, and you will turn into foam of the sea.' 'i will do it,' said the little mermaid as pale as death. 'but you will have to pay me, too,' said the witch, 'and it is no trifle that i demand. you have the most beautiful voice of any at the bottom of the sea, and i daresay that you think you will fascinate him with it; but you must give me that voice; i will have the best you possess in return for my precious potion! i have to mingle my own blood with it so as to make it as sharp as a two-edged sword.' 'but if you take my voice,' said the little mermaid, 'what have i left?' 'your beautiful form,' said the witch, 'your gliding gait, and your speaking eyes; with these you ought surely to be able to bewitch a human heart. well! have you lost courage? put out your little tongue, and i will cut it off in payment for the powerful draught.' 'let it be done,' said the little mermaid, and the witch put on her caldron to brew the magic potion. 'there is nothing like cleanliness,' said she, as she scoured the pot with a bundle of snakes; then she punctured her breast and let the black blood drop into the caldron, and the steam took the most weird shapes, enough to frighten any one. every moment the witch threw new ingredients into the pot, and when it boiled the bubbling was like the sound of crocodiles weeping. at last the potion was ready and it looked like the clearest water. 'there it is,' said the witch, and thereupon she cut off the tongue of the little mermaid, who was dumb now and could neither sing nor speak. 'if the polyps should seize you, when you go back through my wood,' said the witch, 'just drop a single drop of this liquid on them, and their arms and fingers will burst into a thousand pieces.' but the little mermaid had no need to do this, for at the mere sight of the bright liquid, which sparkled in her hand like a shining star, they drew back in terror. so she soon got past the wood, the bog, and the eddying whirlpools. she saw her father's palace; the lights were all out in the great ballroom, and no doubt all the household was asleep, but she did not dare to go in now that she was dumb and about to leave her home for ever. she felt as if her heart would break with grief. she stole into the garden and plucked a flower from each of her sisters' plots, wafted with her hand countless kisses towards the palace, and then rose up through the dark blue water. [illustration: _but the little mermaid had no need to do this, for at the mere sight of the bright liquid which sparkled in her hand like a shining star, they drew back in terror._] the sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace and landed at the beautiful marble steps. the moon was shining bright and clear. the little mermaid drank the burning, stinging draught, and it was like a sharp, two-edged sword running through her tender frame; she fainted away and lay as if she were dead. when the sun rose on the sea she woke up and became conscious of a sharp pang, but just in front of her stood the handsome young prince, fixing his coal black eyes on her; she cast hers down and saw that her fish's tail was gone, and that she had the prettiest little white legs any maiden could desire; but she was quite naked, so she wrapped her long thick hair around her. the prince asked who she was and how she came there. she looked at him tenderly and with a sad expression in her dark blue eyes, but could not speak. then he took her by the hand and led her into the palace. every step she took was, as the witch had warned her beforehand, as if she were treading on sharp knives and spikes, but she bore it gladly; led by the prince, she moved as lightly as a bubble, and he and every one else marvelled at her graceful gliding gait. clothed in the costliest silks and muslins she was the greatest beauty in the palace, but she was dumb, and could neither sing nor speak. beautiful slaves clad in silks and gold came forward and sang to the prince and his royal parents; one of them sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her; that made the little mermaid very sad, for she knew that she used to sing far better herself. she thought, 'oh! if he only knew that for the sake of being with him i had given up my voice for ever!' now the slaves began to dance, graceful undulating dances to enchanting music; thereupon the little mermaid, lifting her beautiful white arms and raising herself on tiptoe, glided on the floor with a grace which none of the other dancers had yet attained. with every motion her grace and beauty became more apparent, and her eyes appealed more deeply to the heart than the songs of the slaves. every one was delighted with it, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced on and on, notwithstanding that every time her foot touched the ground it was like treading on sharp knives. the prince said that she should always be near him, and she was allowed to sleep outside his door on a velvet cushion. he had a man's dress made for her, so that she could ride about with him. they used to ride through scented woods, where the green branches brushed her shoulders, and little birds sang among the fresh leaves. she climbed up the highest mountains with the prince, and although her delicate feet bled so that others saw it, she only laughed and followed him until they saw the clouds sailing below them like a flock of birds, taking flight to distant lands. [illustration: _the prince asked who she was and how she came there; she looked at him tenderly and with a sad expression in her dark blue eyes, but could not speak._] at home in the prince's palace, when at night the others were asleep, she used to go out on to the marble steps; it cooled her burning feet to stand in the cold sea-water, and at such times she used to think of those she had left in the deep. one night her sisters came arm in arm; they sang so sorrowfully as they swam on the water that she beckoned to them, and they recognised her, and told her how she had grieved them all. after that they visited her every night, and one night she saw, a long way out, her old grandmother (who for many years had not been above the water), and the merman king with his crown on his head; they stretched out their hands towards her, but did not venture so close to land as her sisters. day by day she became dearer to the prince; he loved her as one loves a good sweet child, but it never entered his head to make her his queen; yet unless she became his wife she would never win an everlasting soul, but on his wedding morning would turn to sea-foam. 'am i not dearer to you than any of them?' the little mermaid's eyes seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her beautiful brow. 'yes, you are the dearest one to me,' said the prince, 'for you have the best heart of them all, and you are fondest of me; you are also like a young girl i once saw, but whom i never expect to see again. i was on board a ship which was wrecked; i was driven on shore by the waves close to a holy temple where several young girls were ministering at a service; the youngest of them found me on the beach and saved my life; i saw her but twice. she was the only person i could love in this world, but you are like her, you almost drive her image out of my heart. she belongs to the holy temple, and therefore by good fortune you have been sent to me; we will never part!' 'alas! he does not know that it was i who saved his life,' thought the little mermaid. 'i bore him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands. i sat behind the foam and watched to see if any one would come. i saw the pretty girl he loves better than me.' and the mermaid heaved a bitter sigh, for she could not weep. 'the girl belongs to the holy temple, he has said; she will never return to the world, they will never meet again. i am here with him; i see him every day. yes! i will tend him, love him, and give up my life to him.' but now the rumour ran that the prince was to be married to the beautiful daughter of a neighbouring king, and for that reason was fitting out a splendid ship. it was given out that the prince was going on a voyage to see the adjoining countries, but it was without doubt to see the king's daughter; he was to have a great suite with him. but the little mermaid shook her head and laughed; she knew the prince's intentions much better than any of the others. 'i must take this voyage,' he had said to her; 'i must go and see the beautiful princess; my parents demand that, but they will never force me to bring her home as my bride; i can never love her! she will not be like the lovely girl in the temple whom you resemble. if ever i had to choose a bride it would sooner be you with your speaking eyes, my sweet, dumb foundling!' and he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long hair, and laid his head upon her heart, which already dreamt of human joys and an immortal soul. 'you are not frightened of the sea, i suppose, my dumb child?' he said, as they stood on the proud ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighbouring king; and he told her about storms and calms, about curious fish in the deep, and the marvels seen by divers; and she smiled at his tales, for she knew all about the bottom of the sea much better than any one else. at night, in the moonlight, when all were asleep, except the steersman who stood at the helm, she sat at the side of the ship trying to pierce the clear water with her eyes, and fancied she saw her father's palace, and above it her old grandmother with her silver crown on her head, looking up through the cross currents towards the keel of the ship. then her sisters rose above the water; they gazed sadly at her, wringing their white hands. she beckoned to them, smiled, and was about to tell them that all was going well and happily with her, when the cabin-boy approached, and the sisters dived down, but he supposed that the white objects he had seen were nothing but flakes of foam. the next morning the ship entered the harbour of the neighbouring king's magnificent city. the church bells rang and trumpets were sounded from every lofty tower, while the soldiers paraded with flags flying and glittering bayonets. there was a _fête_ every day, there was a succession of balls, and receptions followed one after the other, but the princess was not yet present; she was being brought up a long way off, in a holy temple they said, and was learning all the royal virtues. at last she came. the little mermaid stood eager to see her beauty, and she was obliged to confess that a lovelier creature she had never beheld. her complexion was exquisitely pure and delicate, and her trustful eyes of the deepest blue shone through their dark lashes. 'it is you,' said the prince, 'you who saved me when i lay almost lifeless on the beach?' and he clasped his blushing bride to his heart. 'oh! i am too happy!' he exclaimed to the little mermaid. 'a greater joy than i had dared to hope for has come to pass. you will rejoice at my joy, for you love me better than any one.' then the little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart were broken already. his wedding morn would bring death to her and change her to foam. all the church bells pealed and heralds rode through the town proclaiming the nuptials. upon every altar throughout the land fragrant oil was burnt in costly silver lamps. amidst the swinging of censers by the priests the bride and bridegroom joined hands and received the bishop's blessing. the little mermaid dressed in silk and gold stood holding the bride's train, but her ears were deaf to the festal strains, her eyes saw nothing of the sacred ceremony; she was thinking of her coming death and of all that she had lost in this world. that same evening the bride and bridegroom embarked, amidst the roar of cannon and the waving of banners. a royal tent of purple and gold softly cushioned was raised amidships where the bridal pair were to repose during the calm cool night. the sails swelled in the wind and the ship skimmed lightly and almost without motion over the transparent sea. at dusk lanterns of many colours were lighted and the sailors danced merrily on deck. the little mermaid could not help thinking of the first time she came up from the sea and saw the same splendour and gaiety; and she now threw herself among the dancers, whirling, as a swallow skims through the air when pursued. the onlookers cheered her in amazement, never had she danced so divinely; her delicate feet pained her as if they were cut with knives, but she did not feel it, for the pain at her heart was much sharper. she knew that it was the last night that she would breathe the same air as he, and would look upon the mighty deep, and the blue starry heavens; an endless night without thought and without dreams awaited her, who neither had a soul, nor could win one. the joy and revelry on board lasted till long past midnight; she went on laughing and dancing with the thought of death all the time in her heart. the prince caressed his lovely bride and she played with his raven locks, and with their arms entwined they retired to the gorgeous tent. all became hushed and still on board the ship, only the steersman stood at the helm; the little mermaid laid her white arms on the gunwale and looked eastwards for the pink-tinted dawn; the first sunbeam, she knew, would be her death. then she saw her sisters rise from the water; they were as pale as she was; their beautiful long hair no longer floated on the breeze, for it had been cut off. [illustration: _once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes already dimmed by death, then dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam._] 'we have given it to the witch to obtain her help, so that you may not die to-night! she has given us a knife; here it is, look how sharp it is! before the sun rises, you must plunge it into the prince's heart, and when his warm blood sprinkles your feet they will join together and grow into a tail, and you will once more be a mermaid; you will be able to come down into the water to us, and to live out your three hundred years before you are turned into dead, salt sea-foam. make haste! you or he must die before sunrise! our old grandmother is so full of grief that her white hair has fallen off as ours fell under the witch's scissors. slay the prince and come back to us! quick! quick! do you not see the rosy streak in the sky? in a few minutes the sun will rise and then you must die!' saying this they heaved a wondrous deep sigh and sank among the waves. the little mermaid drew aside the purple curtain from the tent and looked at the beautiful bride asleep with her head on the prince's breast. she bent over him and kissed his fair brow, looked at the sky where the dawn was spreading fast, looked at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who, in his dream called his bride by name. yes! she alone was in his thoughts! for a moment the knife quivered in her grasp, then she threw it far out among the waves, now rosy in the morning light, and where it fell the water bubbled up like drops of blood. once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes already dimmed by death, then dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam. now the sun rose from the sea and with its kindly beams warmed the deadly cold foam, so that the little mermaid did not feel the chill of death. she saw the bright sun, and above her floated hundreds of beauteous ethereal beings, through which she could see the white ship and the rosy heavens; their voices were melodious, but so spirit-like that no human ear could hear them, any more than earthly eye could see their forms. light as bubbles they floated through the air without the aid of wings. the little mermaid perceived that she had a form like theirs; it gradually took shape out of the foam. 'to whom am i coming?' said she, and her voice sounded like that of the other beings, so unearthly in its beauty that no music of ours could reproduce it. 'to the daughters of the air!' answered the others; 'a mermaid has no undying soul, and can never gain one without winning the love of a human being. her eternal life must depend upon an unknown power. nor have the daughters of the air an everlasting soul, but by their own good deeds they may create one for themselves. we fly to the tropics where mankind is the victim of hot and pestilent winds; there we bring cooling breezes. we diffuse the scent of flowers all around, and bring refreshment and healing in our train. when, for three hundred years, we have laboured to do all the good in our power, we gain an undying soul and take a part in the everlasting joys of mankind. you, poor little mermaid, have with your whole heart struggled for the same thing as we have struggled for. you have suffered and endured, raised yourself to the spirit-world of the air, and now, by your own good deeds you may, in the course of three hundred years, work out for yourself an undying soul.' then the little mermaid lifted her transparent arms towards god's sun, and for the first time shed tears. on board ship all was again life and bustle. she saw the prince with his lovely bride searching for her; they looked sadly at the bubbling foam, as if they knew that she had thrown herself into the waves. unseen she kissed the bride on her brow, smiled at the prince, and rose aloft with the other spirits of the air to the rosy clouds which sailed above. 'in three hundred years we shall thus float into paradise.' 'we might reach it sooner,' whispered one. 'unseen we flit into those homes of men where there are children, and for every day that we find a good child who gives pleasure to its parents and deserves their love god shortens our time of probation. the child does not know when we fly through the room, and when we smile with pleasure at it one year of our three hundred is taken away. but if we see a naughty or badly disposed child, we cannot help shedding tears of sorrow, and every tear adds a day to the time of our probation.' the emperor's new clothes many years ago there was an emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on them. he cared nothing about his soldiers, nor for the theatre, nor for driving in the woods except for the sake of showing off his new clothes. he had a costume for every hour in the day, and instead of saying, as one does about any other king or emperor, 'he is in his council chamber,' here one always said, 'the emperor is in his dressing-room.' life was very gay in the great town where he lived; hosts of strangers came to visit it every day, and among them one day two swindlers. they gave themselves out as weavers, and said that they knew how to weave the most beautiful stuffs imaginable. not only were the colours and patterns unusually fine, but the clothes that were made of the stuffs had the peculiar quality of becoming invisible to every person who was not fit for the office he held, or if he was impossibly dull. 'those must be splendid clothes,' thought the emperor. 'by wearing them i should be able to discover which men in my kingdom are unfitted for their posts. i shall distinguish the wise men from the fools. yes, i certainly must order some of that stuff to be woven for me.' he paid the two swindlers a lot of money in advance so that they might begin their work at once. they did put up two looms and pretended to weave, but they had nothing whatever upon their shuttles. at the outset they asked for a quantity of the finest silk and the purest gold thread, all of which they put into their own bags, while they worked away at the empty looms far into the night. 'i should like to know how those weavers are getting on with the stuff,' thought the emperor; but he felt a little queer when he reflected that any one who was stupid or unfit for his post would not be able to see it. he certainly thought that he need have no fears for himself, but still he thought he would send somebody else first to see how it was getting on. everybody in the town knew what wonderful power the stuff possessed, and every one was anxious to see how stupid his neighbour was. 'i will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,' thought the emperor. 'he will be best able to see how the stuff looks, for he is a clever man, and no one fulfils his duties better than he does!' so the good old minister went into the room where the two swindlers sat working at the empty loom. 'heaven preserve us!' thought the old minister, opening his eyes very wide. 'why, i can't see a thing!' but he took care not to say so. both the swindlers begged him to be good enough to step a little nearer, and asked if he did not think it a good pattern and beautiful colouring. they pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he could, but he could not see anything, for of course there was nothing to see. 'good heavens!' thought he, 'is it possible that i am a fool. i have never thought so, and nobody must know it. am i not fit for my post? it will never do to say that i cannot see the stuffs.' 'well, sir, you don't say anything about the stuff,' said the one who was pretending to weave. 'oh, it is beautiful! quite charming!' said the old minister, looking through his spectacles; 'this pattern and these colours! i will certainly tell the emperor that the stuff pleases me very much.' 'we are delighted to hear you say so,' said the swindlers, and then they named all the colours and described the peculiar pattern. the old minister paid great attention to what they said, so as to be able to repeat it when he got home to the emperor. [illustration: _they pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he could, but he could not see anything, for of course there was nothing to see._] then the swindlers went on to demand more money, more silk, and more gold, to be able to proceed with the weaving; but they put it all into their own pockets--not a single strand was ever put into the loom, but they went on as before weaving at the empty loom. the emperor soon sent another faithful official to see how the stuff was getting on, and if it would soon be ready. the same thing happened to him as to the minister; he looked and looked, but as there was only the empty loom, he could see nothing at all. 'is not this a beautiful piece of stuff?' said both the swindlers, showing and explaining the beautiful pattern and colours which were not there to be seen. 'i know i am not a fool!' thought the man, 'so it must be that i am unfit for my good post! it is very strange, though! however, one must not let it appear!' so he praised the stuff he did not see, and assured them of his delight in the beautiful colours and the originality of the design. 'it is absolutely charming!' he said to the emperor. everybody in the town was talking about this splendid stuff. now the emperor thought he would like to see it while it was still on the loom. so, accompanied by a number of selected courtiers, among whom were the two faithful officials who had already seen the imaginary stuff, he went to visit the crafty impostors, who were working away as hard as ever they could at the empty loom. 'it is magnificent!' said both the honest officials. 'only see, your majesty, what a design! what colours!' and they pointed to the empty loom, for they thought no doubt the others could see the stuff. 'what!' thought the emperor; 'i see nothing at all! this is terrible! am i a fool? am i not fit to be emperor? why, nothing worse could happen to me!' 'oh, it is beautiful!' said the emperor. 'it has my highest approval!' and he nodded his satisfaction as he gazed at the empty loom. nothing would induce him to say that he could not see anything. the whole suite gazed and gazed, but saw nothing more than all the others. however, they all exclaimed with his majesty, 'it is very beautiful!' and they advised him to wear a suit made of this wonderful cloth on the occasion of a great procession which was just about to take place. 'it is magnificent! gorgeous! excellent!' went from mouth to mouth; they were all equally delighted with it. the emperor gave each of the rogues an order of knighthood to be worn in their buttonholes and the title of 'gentlemen weavers.' [illustration: _then the emperor walked along in the procession under the gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows exclaimed, 'how beautiful the emperor's new clothes are!'_] the swindlers sat up the whole night, before the day on which the procession was to take place, burning sixteen candles; so that people might see how anxious they were to get the emperor's new clothes ready. they pretended to take the stuff off the loom. they cut it out in the air with a huge pair of scissors, and they stitched away with needles without any thread in them. at last they said: 'now the emperor's new clothes are ready!' the emperor, with his grandest courtiers, went to them himself, and both the swindlers raised one arm in the air, as if they were holding something, and said: 'see, these are the trousers, this is the coat, here is the mantle!' and so on. 'it is as light as a spider's web. one might think one had nothing on, but that is the very beauty of it!' 'yes!' said all the courtiers, but they could not see anything, for there was nothing to see. 'will your imperial majesty be graciously pleased to take off your clothes,' said, the impostors, 'so that we may put on the new ones, along here before the great mirror?' the emperor took off all his clothes, and the impostors pretended to give him one article of dress after the other of the new ones which they had pretended to make. they pretended to fasten something round his waist and to tie on something; this was the train, and the emperor turned round and round in front of the mirror. 'how well his majesty looks in the new clothes! how becoming they are!' cried all the people round. 'what a design, and what colours! they are most gorgeous robes!' 'the canopy is waiting outside which is to be carried over your majesty in the procession,' said the master of the ceremonies. 'well, i am quite ready,' said the emperor. 'don't the clothes fit well?' and then he turned round again in front of the mirror, so that he should seem to be looking at his grand things. the chamberlains who were to carry the train stooped and pretended to lift it from the ground with both hands, and they walked along with their hands in the air. they dared not let it appear that they could not see anything. then the emperor walked along in the procession under the gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows exclaimed, 'how beautiful the emperor's new clothes are! what a splendid train! and they fit to perfection!' nobody would let it appear that he could see nothing, for then he would not be fit for his post, or else he was a fool. none of the emperor's clothes had been so successful before. 'but he has got nothing on,' said a little child. 'oh, listen to the innocent,' said its father; and one person whispered to the other what the child had said. 'he has nothing on; a child says he has nothing on!' 'but he has nothing on!' at last cried all the people. the emperor writhed, for he knew it was true, but he thought 'the procession must go on now,' so held himself stiffer than ever, and the chamberlains held up the invisible train. the wind's tale about waldemar daa and his daughters when the wind sweeps across a field of grass it makes little ripples in it like a lake; in a field of corn it makes great waves like the sea itself: this is the wind's frolic. then listen to the stories it tells; it sings them aloud, one kind of song among the trees of the forest, and a very different one when it is pent up within walls with all their cracks and crannies. do you see how the wind chases the white fleecy clouds as if they were a flock of sheep? do you hear the wind down there, howling in the open doorway like a watchman winding his horn? then, too, how he whistles in the chimneys, making the fire crackle and sparkle. how cosy it is to sit in the warm glow of the fire listening to the tales it has to tell! let the wind tell its own story! it can tell you more adventures than all of us put together. listen now:-- 'whew!--whew!--fare away!' that was the refrain of his song. 'close to the great belt stands an old mansion with thick red walls,' says the wind. 'i know every stone of it; i knew them before when they formed part of marsk stig's castle on the ness. it had to come down. the stones were used again, and made a new wall of a new castle in another place--borreby hall as it now stands. 'i have watched the highborn men and women of all the various races who have lived there, and now i am going to tell you about waldemar daa and his daughters! 'he held his head very high, for he came of a royal stock! he knew more than the mere chasing of a stag, or the emptying of a flagon; he knew how to manage his affairs, he said himself. 'his lady wife walked proudly across the brightly polished floors, in her gold brocaded kirtle; the tapestries in the rooms were gorgeous, and the furniture of costly carved woods. she had brought much gold and silver plate into the house with her, and the cellars were full of german ale, when there was anything there at all. fiery black horses neighed in the stables; borreby hall was a very rich place when wealth came there. 'then there were the children, three dainty maidens, ida, johanna and anna dorothea. i remember their names well. 'they were rich and aristocratic people, and they were born and bred in wealth! whew!--whew!--fare away!' roared the wind, then he went on with his story. 'i did not see here, as in other old noble castles the highborn lady sitting among her maidens in the great hall turning the spinning-wheel. no, she played upon the ringing lute, and sang to its tones. her songs were not always the old danish ditties, however, but songs in foreign tongues. all was life and hospitality; noble guests came from far and wide; there were sounds of music and the clanging of flagons, so loud that i could not drown them!' said the wind. 'here were arrogance and ostentation enough and to spare; plenty of lords, but the lord had no place there. 'then came the evening of may-day!' said the wind. 'i came from the west; i had been watching ships being wrecked and broken up on the west coast of jutland. i tore over the heaths and the green wooded coasts, across the island of funen and over the great belt puffing and blowing. i settled down to rest on the coast of zealand close to borreby hall, where the splendid forest of oaks still stood. the young bachelors of the neighbourhood came out and collected faggots and branches, the longest and driest they could find. these they took to the town, piled them up in a heap, and set fire to them; then the men and maidens danced and sang round the bonfire. i lay still,' said the wind, 'but i softly moved a branch, the one laid by the handsomest young man, and his billet blazed up highest of all. he was the chosen one, he had the name of honour, he became 'buck of the street!' and he chose from among the girls his little may-lamb. all was life and merriment, greater far than within rich borreby hall. 'the great lady came driving towards the hall, in her gilded chariot drawn by six horses. she had her three dainty daughters with her; they were indeed three lovely flowers. a rose, a lily and a pale hyacinth. the mother herself was a gorgeous tulip; she took no notice whatever of the crowd, who all stopped in their game to drop their curtsies and make their bows; one might have thought that, like a tulip, she was rather frail in the stalk and feared to bend her back. the rose, the lily, and the pale hyacinth--yes, i saw them all three. whose may-lambs were they one day to become, thought i; their mates would be proud knights--perhaps even princes! 'whew!--whew!--fare away! yes, the chariot bore them away, and the peasants whirled on in their dance. they played at "riding the summer into the village," to borreby village, tareby village, and many others. 'but that night when i rose,' said the wind, 'the noble lady laid herself down to rise no more; that came to her which comes to every one--there was nothing new about it. waldemar daa stood grave and silent for a time; "the proudest tree may bend, but it does not break," said something within him. the daughters wept, and every one else at the castle was wiping their eyes; but madam daa had fared away, and i fared away too! whew!--whew!' said the wind. [illustration: _she played upon the ringing lute, and sang to its tones._] 'i came back again; i often came back across the island of funen and the waters of the belt, and took up my place on borreby shore close to the great forest of oaks. the ospreys and the wood pigeons used to build in it, the blue raven and even the black stork! it was early in the year; some of the nests were full of eggs, while in others the young ones were just hatched. what a flying and screaming was there! then came the sound of the axe, blow upon blow; the forest was to be felled. waldemar daa was about to build a costly ship, a three-decked man-of-war, which it was expected the king would buy. so the wood fell, the ancient landmark of the seaman, the home of the birds. the shrike was frightened away; its nest was torn down; the osprey and all the other birds lost their nests too, and they flew about distractedly, shrieking in their terror and anger. the crows and the jackdaws screamed in mockery, caw! caw! waldemar daa and his three daughters stood in the middle of the wood among the workmen. they all laughed at the wild cries of the birds, except anna dorothea, who was touched by their distress, and when they were about to fell a tree which was half-dead, and on whose naked branches a black stork had built its nest, out of which the young ones were sticking their heads, she begged them with tears in her eyes to spare it. so the tree with the black stork's nest was allowed to stand. it was only a little thing. 'the chopping and the sawing went on--the three-decker was built. the master builder was a man of humble origin, but of noble loyalty; great power lay in his eyes and on his forehead, and waldemar daa liked to listen to him, and little ida liked to listen too, the eldest fifteen-year-old daughter. but whilst he built the ship for her father, he built a castle in the air for himself, in which he and little ida sat side by side as man and wife. this might also have happened if his castle had been built of solid stone, with moat and ramparts, wood and gardens. but with all his wisdom the shipbuilder was only a poor bird, and what business has a sparrow in a crane's nest? whew! whew! i rushed away, and he rushed away, for he dared not stay, and little ida got over it, as get over it she must. 'the fiery black horses stood neighing in the stables; they were worth looking at, and they were looked at to some purpose too. an admiral was sent from the king to look at the new man-of-war, with a view to purchasing it. the admiral was loud in his admiration of the horses. i heard all he said,' added the wind. 'i went through the open door with the gentlemen and scattered the straw like gold before their feet. waldemar daa wanted gold; the admiral wanted the black horses, and so he praised them as he did; but his hints were not taken, therefore the ship remained unsold. there it stood by the shore covered up with boards, like a noah's ark which never reached the water. whew! whew! get along! get along! it was a miserable business. in the winter, when the fields were covered with snow and the belt was full of ice-floes which i drove up on to the coast,' said the wind, 'the ravens and crows came in flocks, the one blacker than the other, and perched upon the desolate, dead ship by the shore. they screamed themselves hoarse about the forest which had disappeared, and the many precious birds' nests which had been devastated, leaving old and young homeless; and all for the sake of this old piece of lumber, the proud ship which was never to touch the water! i whirled the snow about till it lay in great heaps round the ship. i let it hear my voice, and all that a storm has to say, i know that i did my best to give it an idea of the sea. whew! whew!' 'the winter passed by; winter and summer passed away! they come and go just as i do. the snow-flakes, the apple blossom, and the leaves fall, each in their turn. whew! whew! they pass away, as men pass too! 'the daughters were still young. little ida, the rose, as lovely to look at as when the shipbuilder turned his gaze upon her. i often took hold of her long brown hair when she stood lost in thought by the apple-tree in the garden. she never noticed that i showered apple-blossom over her loosened hair; she only gazed at the red sunset against the golden background of the sky, and the dark trees and bushes of the garden. her sister johanna was like a tall, stately lily; she held herself as stiffly erect as her mother, and seemed to have the same dread of bending her stem. she liked to walk in the long gallery where the family portraits hung. the ladies were painted in velvet and silk, with tiny pearl embroidered caps on their braided tresses. their husbands were all clad in steel, or in costly cloaks lined with squirrel skins and stiff blue ruffs; their swords hung loosely by their sides. where would johanna's portrait one day hang on these walls? what would her noble husband look like? these were her thoughts, and she even spoke them aloud; i heard her as i swept through the long corridor into the gallery, where i veered round again. 'anna dorothea, the pale hyacinth, was only a child of fourteen, quiet and thoughtful. her large blue eyes, as clear as water, were very solemn, but childhood's smile still played upon her lips; i could not blow it away, nor did i wish to do so. i used to meet her in the garden, the ravine, and in the manor fields. she was always picking flowers and herbs, those she knew her father could use for healing drinks and potions. waldemar daa was proud and conceited, but he was also learned, and he knew a great deal about many things. one could see that, and many whispers went about as to his learning. the fire blazed in his stove even in summer, and his chamber door was locked. this went on for days and nights, but he did not talk much about it. one must deal silently with the forces of nature. he would soon discover the best of everything, the red, red gold! 'this was why his chimney flamed and smoked and sparkled. yes, i was there, too,' said the wind. [illustration: _i used to meet her in the garden, the ravine, and in the manor fields. she was always picking flowers and herbs, those she knew her father could use for healing drinks and potions._] 'away with you, away! i sang in the back of the chimney. smoke smoke, embers and ashes, that is all it will come to! you will burn yourself up in it. whew! whew! away with it! but waldemar daa could not let it go. 'the fiery steeds in the stable, where were they? the old gold and silver plate in cupboard and chest, where was that? the cattle, the land, the castle itself? yes, they could all be melted down in the crucible, but yet no gold would come. 'barn and larder got emptier and emptier. fewer servants; more mice. one pane of glass got broken and another followed it. there was no need for me to go in by the doors,' said the wind. 'a smoking chimney means a cooking meal, but the only chimney which smoked here swallowed up all the meals, all for the sake of the red gold. 'i blew through the castle gate like a watchman blowing his horn, but there was no watchman,' said the wind. 'i twisted round the weather-cock on the tower and it creaked as if the watchman up there was snoring, only there was no watchman. rats and mice were the only inhabitants. poverty laid the table; poverty lurked in wardrobe and larder. the doors fell off their hinges, cracks and crannies appeared everywhere; i went in and out,' said the wind, 'so i know all about it. 'the hair and the beard of waldemar daa grew grey, in the sorrow of his sleepless nights, amid smoke and ashes. his skin grew grimy and yellow, and his eyes greedy for gold, the long expected gold. 'i whistled through the broken panes and fissures; i blew into the daughters' chests where their clothes lay faded and threadbare; they had to last for ever. a song like this had never been sung over the cradles of these children. a lordly life became a woeful life! i was the only one to sing in the castle now,' said the wind. 'i snowed them up, for they said it gave warmth. they had no firewood, for the forest was cut down where they should have got it. there was a biting frost. even i had to keep rushing through the crannies and passages to keep myself lively. they stayed in bed to keep themselves warm, those noble ladies. their father crept about under a fur rug. nothing to bite, and nothing to burn! a lordly life indeed! whew! whew! let it go! but this was what waldemar daa could not do. '"after winter comes the spring," said he; "a good time will come after a time of need; but they make us wait their pleasure, wait! the castle is mortgaged, we are in extremities--and yet the gold will come--at easter!" 'i heard him murmur to the spider's web.--"you clever little weaver! you teach me to persevere! if your web is broken, you begin at the beginning again and complete it! broken again--and cheerfully you begin it over again. that is what one must do, and one will be rewarded!" 'it was easter morning, the bells were ringing, and the sun was at play in the heavens. waldemar daa had watched through the night with his blood at fever pitch; boiling and cooling, mixing and distilling. i heard him sigh like a despairing soul; i heard him pray, and i felt that he held his breath. the lamp had gone out, but he never noticed it; i blew up the embers and they shone upon his ashen face, which took a tinge of colour from their light; his eyes started in their sockets, they grew larger and larger, as if they would leap out. 'look at the alchemist's glass! something twinkles in it; it is glowing, pure and heavy. he lifted it with a trembling hand and shouted with a trembling voice: "gold! gold!" he reeled, and i could easily have blown him over,' said the wind, 'but i only blew upon the embers, and followed him to the room where his daughters sat shivering. his coat was powdered with ash, as well as his beard and his matted hair. he drew himself up to his full height and held up his precious treasure, in the fragile glass: "found! won! gold!" he cried, stretching up his hand with the glass which glittered in the sunbeams: his hand shook, and the alchemist's glass fell to the ground shivered into a thousand atoms. the last bubble of his welfare was shattered too. whew! whew! fare away! and away i rushed from the goldmaker's home. [illustration: _he lifted it with a trembling hand and shouted with a trembling voice: 'gold! gold!'_] 'late in the year, when the days were short and dark up here, and the fog envelops the red berries and bare branches with its cold moisture, i came along in a lively mood clearing the sky and snapping off the dead boughs. this is no great labour, it is true, yet it has to be done. borreby hall, the home of waldemar daa, was having a clean sweep of a different sort. the family enemy, ové ramel from basness, appeared, holding the mortgage of the hall and all its contents. i drummed upon the cracked window panes, beat against the decaying doors, and whistled through all the cracks and crannies, whew! i did my best to prevent herr ové taking a fancy to stay there. ida and anna dorothea faced it bravely, although they shed some tears; johanna stood pale and erect and bit her finger till it bled! much that would help her! ové ramel offered to let them stay on at the castle for waldemar daa's lifetime, but he got no thanks for his offer; i was listening. i saw the ruined gentleman stiffen his neck and hold his head higher than ever. i beat against the walls and the old linden trees with such force that the thickest branch broke, although it was not a bit rotten. it fell across the gate like a broom, as if some one was about to sweep; and a sweeping there was indeed to be. i quite expected it. it was a grievous day and a hard time for them, but their wills were as stubborn as their necks were stiff. they had not a possession in the world but the clothes on their backs; yes, one thing--an alchemist's glass which had been bought and filled with the fragments scraped up from the floor. the treasure which promised much and fulfilled nothing. waldemar daa hid it in his bosom, took his staff in his hand, and, with his three daughters, the once wealthy gentleman walked out of borreby hall for the last time. i blew a cold blast upon his burning cheeks, i fluttered his grey beard and his long white hair; i sang such a tune as only i could sing. whew! whew! away with them! away with them! this was the end of all their grandeur. 'ida and ana dorothea walked one on each side of him: johanna turned round in the gateway, but what was the good of that? nothing could make their luck turn. she looked at the red stones of what had once been marsk stig's castle. was she thinking of his daughters? '"the elder took the younger by the hand, and out they roamed to a far-off land." was she thinking of that song? here there were three and their father was with them. they walked along the road where once they used to ride in their chariot. they trod it now as vagrants, on their way to a plastered cottage on smidstrup heath, which was rented at ten marks yearly. this was their new country seat with its empty walls and its empty vessels. the crows and the magpies wheeled screaming over their heads with their mocking "caw, caw! out of the nest, caw, caw!" just as they screamed in borreby forest when the trees were felled. 'herr daa and his daughters must have noticed it. i blew into their ears to try and deaden the cries, which after all were not worth listening to. 'so they took up their abode in the plastered cottage on smidstrup heath, and i tore off over marshes and meadows, through naked hedges and bare woods, to the open seas and other lands. whew! whew! away, away! and that for many years.' what happened to waldemar daa? what happened to his daughters? this is what the wind relates. 'the last of them i saw, yes, for the last time, was anna dorothea, the pale hyacinth. she was old and bent now; it was half a century later. she lived the longest, she had gone through everything. 'across the heath, near the town of viborg, stood the dean's new, handsome mansion, built of red stone with toothed gables. the smoke curled thickly out of the chimneys. the gentle lady and her fair daughters sat in the bay window looking into the garden at the drooping thorns and out to the brown heath beyond. what were they looking at there? they were looking at a stork's nest on a tumble-down cottage; the roof was covered, as far as there was any roof to cover, with moss and house-leek; but the stork's nest made the best covering. it was the only part to which anything was done, for the stork kept it in repair. [illustration: _waldemar daa hid it in his bosom, took his staff in his hand, and, with his three daughters, the once wealthy gentleman walked out of borreby hall for the last time._] 'this house was only fit to be looked at, not to be touched. i had to mind what i was about,' said the wind. 'the cottage was allowed to stand for the sake of the stork's nest; in itself it was only a scarecrow on the heath, but the dean did not want to frighten away the stork, so the hovel was allowed to stand. the poor soul inside was allowed to live in it; she had the egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it payment for once having pleaded for the nest of his wild black brother in the borreby forest? then, poor thing, she was a child, a delicate, pale hyacinth in a noble flower-garden. poor anna dorothea; she remembered it all! ah, human beings can sigh as well as the wind when it soughs through the rushes and reeds. 'oh dear! oh dear! no bells rang over the grave of waldemar daa. no schoolboys sang when the former lord of borreby castle was laid in his grave. well, everything must have an end, even misery! sister ida became the wife of a peasant, and this was her father's sorest trial. his daughter's husband a miserable serf, who might at any moment be ordered the punishment of the wooden horse by his lord. it is well that the sod covers him now, and you too, ida! ah yes! ah yes! poor me! poor me! i still linger on. in thy mercy release me, o christ!' 'this was the prayer of anna dorothea, as she lay in the miserable hovel which was only left standing for the sake of the stork. 'i took charge of the boldest of the sisters,' said the wind. 'she had clothes made to suit her manly disposition, and took a place as a lad with a skipper. her words were few and looks stubborn, but she was willing enough at her work. but with all her will she could not climb the rigging; so i blew her overboard before any one discovered that she was a woman, and i fancy that was not a bad deed of mine!' said the wind. 'on such an easter morning as that on which waldemar daa thought he had found the red gold, i heard from beneath the stork's nest a psalm echoing through the miserable walls. it was anna dorothea's last song. there was no window; only a hole in the wall. the sun rose in splendour and poured in upon her; her eyes were glazed and her heart broken! this would have been so this morning whether the sun had shone upon her or not. the stork kept a roof over her head till her death! i sang at her grave,' said the wind, 'and i sang at her father's grave. i know where it is, and hers too, which is more than any one else knows. 'the old order changeth, giving place to the new. the old high-road now only leads to cultivated fields, while peaceful graves are covered by busy traffic on the new road. soon comes steam with its row of waggons behind it, rushing over the graves, forgotten, like the names upon them. whew! whew! let us be gone! this is the story of waldemar daa and his daughters. tell it better yourselves, if you can,' said the wind, as it veered round. then it was gone. [illustration] printed in great britain text printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty, edinburgh illustrations by henry stone and son, ltd., banbury fairy tales of hans christian andersen contents a story by the almshouse window the angel anne lisbeth beauty of form and beauty of mind the beetle who went on his travels the bell the bell-deep the bird of popular song the bishop of borglum and his warriors the bottle neck the buckwheat the butterfly a cheerful temper the child in the grave children's prattle the farm-yard cock and the weather-cock the daisy the darning-needle delaying is not forgetting the drop of water the dryad jack the dullard the dumb cook the elf of the rose the elfin hill the emperor's new suit the fir tree the flax the flying trunk the shepherd's story of the bond of friendship the girl who trod on the loaf the goblin and the huckster the golden treasure the goloshes of fortune she was good for nothing grandmother a great grief the happy family a leaf from heaven holger danske ib and little christina the ice maiden the jewish maiden the jumper the last dream of the old oak the last pearl little claus and big claus the little elder-tree mother little ida's flowers the little match-seller the little mermaid little tiny or thumbelina little tuk the loveliest rose in the world the mail-coach passengers the marsh king's daughter the metal pig the money-box what the moon saw the neighbouring families the nightingale there is no doubt about it in the nursery the old bachelor's nightcap the old church bell the old grave-stone the old house what the old man does is always right the old street lamp ole-luk-oie, the dream god ole the tower-keeper our aunt the garden of paradise the pea blossom the pen and the inkstand the philosopher's stone the phoenix bird the portuguese duck the porter's son poultry meg's family the princess and the pea the psyche the puppet-show man the races the red shoes everything in the right place a rose from homer's grave the snail and the rose-tree a story from the sand-hills the saucy boy the shadow the shepherdess and the sheep the silver shilling the shirt-collar the snow man the snow queen the snowdrop something soup from a sausage skewer the storks the storm shakes the shield the story of a mother the sunbeam and the captive the swan's nest the swineherd the thistle's experiences the thorny road of honor in a thousand years the brave tin soldier the tinder-box the toad the top and ball the travelling companion two brothers two maidens the ugly duckling under the willow tree in the uttermost parts of the sea what one can invent the wicked prince the wild swans the will-o-the-wisp in the town, says the wild woman the story of the wind the windmill the story of the year a story in the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. they had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and in the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. and when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great festival; and so it was, for it was sunday. all the bells were ringing, and all the people went to church, looking cheerful, and dressed in their best clothes. there was a look of cheerfulness on everything. the day was so warm and beautiful that one might well have said: "god's kindness to us men is beyond all limits." but inside the church the pastor stood in the pulpit, and spoke very loudly and angrily. he said that all men were wicked, and god would punish them for their sins, and that the wicked, when they died, would be cast into hell, to burn for ever and ever. he spoke very excitedly, saying that their evil propensities would not be destroyed, nor would the fire be extinguished, and they should never find rest. that was terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone of conviction; he described hell to them as a miserable hole where all the refuse of the world gathers. there was no air beside the hot burning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their feet; they, the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while eternal silence surrounded them! it was dreadful to hear all that, for the preacher spoke from his heart, and all the people in the church were terrified. meanwhile, the birds sang merrily outside, and the sun was shining so beautifully warm, it seemed as though every little flower said: "god, thy kindness towards us all is without limits." indeed, outside it was not at all like the pastor's sermon. the same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed his wife sitting there quiet and pensive. "what is the matter with you?" he asked her. "well, the matter with me is," she said, "that i cannot collect my thoughts, and am unable to grasp the meaning of what you said to-day in church--that there are so many wicked people, and that they should burn eternally. alas! eternally--how long! i am only a woman and a sinner before god, but i should not have the heart to let even the worst sinner burn for ever, and how could our lord to do so, who is so infinitely good, and who knows how the wickedness comes from without and within? no, i am unable to imagine that, although you say so." it was autumn; the trees dropped their leaves, the earnest and severe pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person. a pious, faithful soul closed her eyes for ever; she was the pastor's wife. ..."if any one shall find rest in the grave and mercy before our lord you shall certainly do so," said the pastor. he folded her hands and read a psalm over the dead woman. she was buried; two large tears rolled over the cheeks of the earnest man, and in the parsonage it was empty and still, for its sun had set for ever. she had gone home. it was night. a cold wind swept over the pastor's head; he opened his eyes, and it seemed to him as if the moon was shining into his room. it was not so, however; there was a being standing before his bed, and looking like the ghost of his deceased wife. she fixed her eyes upon him with such a kind and sad expression, just as if she wished to say something to him. the pastor raised himself in bed and stretched his arms towards her, saying, "not even you can find eternal rest! you suffer, you best and most pious woman?" the dead woman nodded her head as if to say "yes," and put her hand on her breast. "and can i not obtain rest in the grave for you?" "yes," was the answer. "and how?" "give me one hair--only one single hair--from the head of the sinner for whom the fire shall never be extinguished, of the sinner whom god will condemn to eternal punishment in hell." "yes, one ought to be able to redeem you so easily, you pure, pious woman," he said. "follow me," said the dead woman. "it is thus granted to us. by my side you will be able to fly wherever your thoughts wish to go. invisible to men, we shall penetrate into their most secret chambers; but with sure hand you must find out him who is destined to eternal torture, and before the cock crows he must be found!" as quickly as if carried by the winged thoughts they were in the great city, and from the walls the names of the deadly sins shone in flaming letters: pride, avarice, drunkenness, wantonness--in short, the whole seven-coloured bow of sin. "yes, therein, as i believed, as i knew it," said the pastor, "are living those who are abandoned to the eternal fire." and they were standing before the magnificently illuminated gate; the broad steps were adorned with carpets and flowers, and dance music was sounding through the festive halls. a footman dressed in silk and velvet stood with a large silver-mounted rod near the entrance. "our ball can compare favourably with the king's," he said, and turned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the street. what he thought was sufficiently expressed in his features and movements: "miserable beggars, who are looking in, you are nothing in comparison to me." "pride," said the dead woman; "do you see him?" "the footman?" asked the pastor. "he is but a poor fool, and not doomed to be tortured eternally by fire!" "only a fool!" it sounded through the whole house of pride: they were all fools there. then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser. lean as a skeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old man was clinging with all his thoughts to his money. they saw him jump up feverishly from his miserable couch and take a loose stone out of the wall; there lay gold coins in an old stocking. they saw him anxiously feeling over an old ragged coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammy fingers trembled. "he is ill! that is madness--a joyless madness--besieged by fear and dreadful dreams!" they quickly went away and came before the beds of the criminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in long rows. like a ferocious animal, one of them rose out of his sleep and uttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribs with his pointed elbow, and this one turned round in his sleep: "be quiet, monster--sleep! this happens every night!" "every night!" repeated the other. "yes, every night he comes and tortures me! in my violence i have done this and that. i was born with an evil mind, which has brought me hither for the second time; but if i have done wrong i suffer punishment for it. one thing, however, i have not yet confessed. when i came out a little while ago, and passed by the yard of my former master, evil thoughts rose within me when i remembered this and that. i struck a match a little bit on the wall; probably it came a little too close to the thatched roof. all burnt down--a great heat rose, such as sometimes overcomes me. i myself helped to rescue cattle and things, nothing alive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which flew into the fire, and the yard dog, of which i had not thought; one could hear him howl out of the fire, and this howling i still hear when i wish to sleep; and when i have fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and places himself upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. now listen to what i tell you! you can snore; you are snoring the whole night, and i hardly a quarter of an hour!" and the blood rose to the head of the excited criminal; he threw himself upon his comrade, and beat him with his clenched fist in the face. "wicked matz has become mad again!" they said amongst themselves. the other criminals seized him, wrestled with him, and bent him double, so that his head rested between his knees, and they tied him, so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of all his pores. "you are killing the unfortunate man," said the pastor, and as he stretched out his hand to protect him who already suffered too much, the scene changed. they flew through rich halls and wretched hovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly sins, passed before them. an angel of justice read their crimes and their defence; the latter was not a brilliant one, but it was read before god, who reads the heart, who knows everything, the wickedness that comes from within and from without, who is mercy and love personified. the pastor's hand trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did not venture to pull a hair out of the sinner's head. and tears gushed from his eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters of which extinguished the eternal fire of hell. just then the cock crowed. "father of all mercy, grant thou to her the peace that i was unable to procure for her!" "i have it now!" said the dead woman. "it was your hard words, your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in god and his creation, which drove me to you. learn to know mankind! even in the wicked one lives a part of god--and this extinguishes and conquers the flame of hell!" the pastor felt a kiss on his lips; a gleam of light surrounded him--god's bright sun shone into the room, and his wife, alive, sweet and full of love, awoke him from a dream which god had sent him! by the almshouse window near the grass-covered rampart which encircles copenhagen lies a great red house. balsams and other flowers greet us from the long rows of windows in the house, whose interior is sufficiently poverty-stricken; and poor and old are the people who inhabit it. the building is the warton almshouse. look! at the window there leans an old maid. she plucks the withered leaf from the balsam, and looks at the grass-covered rampart, on which many children are playing. what is the old maid thinking of? a whole life drama is unfolding itself before her inward gaze. "the poor little children, how happy they are--how merrily they play and romp together! what red cheeks and what angels' eyes! but they have no shoes nor stockings. they dance on the green rampart, just on the place where, according to the old story, the ground always sank in, and where a sportive, frolicsome child had been lured by means of flowers, toys and sweetmeats into an open grave ready dug for it, and which was afterwards closed over the child; and from that moment, the old story says, the ground gave way no longer, the mound remained firm and fast, and was quickly covered with the green turf. the little people who now play on that spot know nothing of the old tale, else would they fancy they heard a child crying deep below the earth, and the dewdrops on each blade of grass would be to them tears of woe. nor do they know anything of the danish king who here, in the face of the coming foe, took an oath before all his trembling courtiers that he would hold out with the citizens of his capital, and die here in his nest; they know nothing of the men who have fought here, or of the women who from here have drenched with boiling water the enemy, clad in white, and 'biding in the snow to surprise the city. "no! the poor little ones are playing with light, childish spirits. play on, play on, thou little maiden! soon the years will come--yes, those glorious years. the priestly hands have been laid on the candidates for confirmation; hand in hand they walk on the green rampart. thou hast a white frock on; it has cost thy mother much labor, and yet it is only cut down for thee out of an old larger dress! you will also wear a red shawl; and what if it hang too far down? people will only see how large, how very large it is. you are thinking of your dress, and of the giver of all good--so glorious is it to wander on the green rampart! "and the years roll by; they have no lack of dark days, but you have your cheerful young spirit, and you have gained a friend--you know not how. you met, oh, how often! you walk together on the rampart in the fresh spring, on the high days and holidays, when all the world come out to walk upon the ramparts, and all the bells of the church steeples seem to be singing a song of praise for the coming spring. "scarcely have the violets come forth, but there on the rampart, just opposite the beautiful castle of rosenberg, there is a tree bright with the first green buds. every year this tree sends forth fresh green shoots. alas! it is not so with the human heart! dark mists, more in number than those that cover the northern skies, cloud the human heart. poor child! thy friend's bridal chamber is a black coffin, and thou becomest an old maid. from the almshouse window, behind the balsams, thou shalt look on the merry children at play, and shalt see thine own history renewed." and that is the life drama that passes before the old maid while she looks out upon the rampart, the green, sunny rampart, where the children, with their red cheeks and bare shoeless feet, are rejoicing merrily, like the other free little birds. the angel "whenever a good child dies, an angel of god comes down from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his great white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the child had loved during his life. then he gathers a large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the almighty, that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on earth. and the almighty presses the flowers to his heart, but he kisses the flower that pleases him best, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss." these words were spoken by an angel of god, as he carried a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. then they passed over well-known spots, where the little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers. "which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted there?" asked the angel. close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds hung faded and withered on the trailing branches. "poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us to heaven, that it may bloom above in god's garden." the angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and the little one half opened his eyes. the angel gathered also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heart's-ease. "now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven. it was night, and quite still in the great town. here they remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from the houses of people who had removed. there lay fragments of plates, pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant to see. amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of it. the earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish. "we will take this with us," said the angel, "i will tell you why as we fly along." and as they flew the angel related the history. "down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy; he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once or twice, but no more. during some days in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. in this spot the poor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his face. then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor's son brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. this he would place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gayly. one spring day the neighbor's boy brought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which the root still adhered. this he carefully planted in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat near his bed. and the flower had been planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots, and blossomed every year. it became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. he watered it, and cherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset. the flower entwined itself even in his dreams--for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. and it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death, when the lord called him. he has been one year with god. during that time the flower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten, till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on the day of the lodgers' removal. and this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen." "but how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the angel was carrying to heaven. "i know it," said the angel, "because i myself was the poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and i know my own flower well." then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. and god pressed the dead child to his heart, and wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. then the almighty pressed all the flowers to his heart; but he kissed the withered field-flower, and it received a voice. then it joined in the song of the angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant circle, but all equally happy. they all joined in the chorus of praise, both great and small,--the good, happy child, and the poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street. anne lisbeth anne lisbeth was a beautiful young woman, with a red and white complexion, glittering white teeth, and clear soft eyes; and her footstep was light in the dance, but her mind was lighter still. she had a little child, not at all pretty; so he was put out to be nursed by a laborer's wife, and his mother went to the count's castle. she sat in splendid rooms, richly decorated with silk and velvet; not a breath of air was allowed to blow upon her, and no one was allowed to speak to her harshly, for she was nurse to the count's child. he was fair and delicate as a prince, and beautiful as an angel; and how she loved this child! her own boy was provided for by being at the laborer's where the mouth watered more frequently than the pot boiled, and where in general no one was at home to take care of the child. then he would cry, but what nobody knows nobody cares for; so he would cry till he was tired, and then fall asleep; and while we are asleep we can feel neither hunger nor thirst. ah, yes; sleep is a capital invention. as years went on, anne lisbeth's child grew apace like weeds, although they said his growth had been stunted. he had become quite a member of the family in which he dwelt; they received money to keep him, so that his mother got rid of him altogether. she had become quite a lady; she had a comfortable home of her own in the town; and out of doors, when she went for a walk, she wore a bonnet; but she never walked out to see the laborer: that was too far from the town, and, indeed, she had nothing to go for, the boy now belonged to these laboring people. he had food, and he could also do something towards earning his living; he took care of mary's red cow, for he knew how to tend cattle and make himself useful. the great dog by the yard gate of a nobleman's mansion sits proudly on the top of his kennel when the sun shines, and barks at every one that passes; but if it rains, he creeps into his house, and there he is warm and dry. anne lisbeth's boy also sat in the sunshine on the top of the fence, cutting out a little toy. if it was spring-time, he knew of three strawberry-plants in blossom, which would certainly bear fruit. this was his most hopeful thought, though it often came to nothing. and he had to sit out in the rain in the worst weather, and get wet to the skin, and let the cold wind dry the clothes on his back afterwards. if he went near the farmyard belonging to the count, he was pushed and knocked about, for the men and the maids said he was so horrible ugly; but he was used to all this, for nobody loved him. this was how the world treated anne lisbeth's boy, and how could it be otherwise. it was his fate to be beloved by no one. hitherto he had been a land crab; the land at last cast him adrift. he went to sea in a wretched vessel, and sat at the helm, while the skipper sat over the grog-can. he was dirty and ugly, half-frozen and half-starved; he always looked as if he never had enough to eat, which was really the case. late in the autumn, when the weather was rough, windy, and wet, and the cold penetrated through the thickest clothing, especially at sea, a wretched boat went out to sea with only two men on board, or, more correctly, a man and a half, for it was the skipper and his boy. there had only been a kind of twilight all day, and it soon grew quite dark, and so bitterly cold, that the skipper took a dram to warm him. the bottle was old, and the glass too. it was perfect in the upper part, but the foot was broken off, and it had therefore been fixed upon a little carved block of wood, painted blue. a dram is a great comfort, and two are better still, thought the skipper, while the boy sat at the helm, which he held fast in his hard seamed hands. he was ugly, and his hair was matted, and he looked crippled and stunted; they called him the field-laborer's boy, though in the church register he was entered as anne lisbeth's son. the wind cut through the rigging, and the boat cut through the sea. the sails, filled by the wind, swelled out and carried them along in wild career. it was wet and rough above and below, and might still be worse. hold! what is that? what has struck the boat? was it a waterspout, or a heavy sea rolling suddenly upon them? "heaven help us!" cried the boy at the helm, as the boat heeled over and lay on its beam ends. it had struck on a rock, which rose from the depths of the sea, and sank at once, like an old shoe in a puddle. "it sank at once with mouse and man," as the saying is. there might have been mice on board, but only one man and a half, the skipper and the laborer's boy. no one saw it but the skimming sea-gulls and the fishes beneath the water; and even they did not see it properly, for they darted back with terror as the boat filled with water and sank. there it lay, scarcely a fathom below the surface, and those two were provided for, buried, and forgotten. the glass with the foot of blue wood was the only thing that did not sink, for the wood floated and the glass drifted away to be cast upon the shore and broken; where and when, is indeed of no consequence. it had served its purpose, and it had been loved, which anne lisbeth's boy had not been. but in heaven no soul will be able to say, "never loved." anne lisbeth had now lived in the town many years; she was called "madame," and felt dignified in consequence; she remembered the old, noble days, in which she had driven in the carriage, and had associated with countess and baroness. her beautiful, noble child had been a dear angel, and possessed the kindest heart; he had loved her so much, and she had loved him in return; they had kissed and loved each other, and the boy had been her joy, her second life. now he was fourteen years of age, tall, handsome, and clever. she had not seen him since she carried him in her arms; neither had she been for years to the count's palace; it was quite a journey thither from the town. "i must make one effort to go," said anne lisbeth, "to see my darling, the count's sweet child, and press him to my heart. certainly he must long to see me, too, the young count; no doubt he thinks of me and loves me, as in those days when he would fling his angel-arms round my neck, and lisp 'anne liz.' it was music to my ears. yes, i must make an effort to see him again." she drove across the country in a grazier's cart, and then got out, and continued her journey on foot, and thus reached the count's castle. it was as great and magnificent as it had always been, and the garden looked the same as ever; all the servants were strangers to her, not one of them knew anne lisbeth, nor of what consequence she had once been there; but she felt sure the countess would soon let them know it, and her darling boy, too: how she longed to see him! now that anne lisbeth was at her journey's end, she was kept waiting a long time; and for those who wait, time passes slowly. but before the great people went in to dinner, she was called in and spoken to very graciously. she was to go in again after dinner, and then she would see her sweet boy once more. how tall, and slender, and thin he had grown; but the eyes and the sweet angel mouth were still beautiful. he looked at her, but he did not speak, he certainly did not know who she was. he turned round and was going away, but she seized his hand and pressed it to her lips. "well, well," he said; and with that he walked out of the room. he who filled her every thought! he whom she loved best, and who was her whole earthly pride! anne lisbeth went forth from the castle into the public road, feeling mournful and sad; he whom she had nursed day and night, and even now carried about in her dreams, had been cold and strange, and had not a word or thought respecting her. a great black raven darted down in front of her on the high road, and croaked dismally. "ah," said she, "what bird of ill omen art thou?" presently she passed the laborer's hut; his wife stood at the door, and the two women spoke to each other. "you look well," said the woman; "you're fat and plump; you are well off." "oh yes," answered anne lisbeth. "the boat went down with them," continued the woman; "hans the skipper and the boy were both drowned; so there's an end of them. i always thought the boy would be able to help me with a few dollars. he'll never cost you anything more, anne lisbeth." "so they were drowned," repeated anne lisbeth; but she said no more, and the subject was dropped. she felt very low-spirited, because her count-child had shown no inclination to speak to her who loved him so well, and who had travelled so far to see him. the journey had cost money too, and she had derived no great pleasure from it. still she said not a word of all this; she could not relieve her heart by telling the laborer's wife, lest the latter should think she did not enjoy her former position at the castle. then the raven flew over her, screaming again as he flew. "the black wretch!" said anne lisbeth, "he will end by frightening me today." she had brought coffee and chicory with her, for she thought it would be a charity to the poor woman to give them to her to boil a cup of coffee, and then she would take a cup herself. the woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime anne lisbeth seated her in a chair and fell asleep. then she dreamed of something which she had never dreamed before; singularly enough she dreamed of her own child, who had wept and hungered in the laborer's hut, and had been knocked about in heat and in cold, and who was now lying in the depths of the sea, in a spot only known by god. she fancied she was still sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing the coffee, for she could smell the coffee-berries roasting. but suddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the threshold a beautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's child, and this apparition said to her, "the world is passing away; hold fast to me, for you are my mother after all; you have an angel in heaven, hold me fast;" and the child-angel stretched out his hand and seized her. then there was a terrible crash, as of a world crumbling to pieces, and the angel-child was rising from the earth, and holding her by the sleeve so tightly that she felt herself lifted from the ground; but, on the other hand, something heavy hung to her feet and dragged her down, and it seemed as if hundreds of women were clinging to her, and crying, "if thou art to be saved, we must be saved too. hold fast, hold fast." and then they all hung on her, but there were too many; and as they clung the sleeve was torn, and anne lisbeth fell down in horror, and awoke. indeed she was on the point of falling over in reality with the chair on which she sat; but she was so startled and alarmed that she could not remember what she had dreamed, only that it was something very dreadful. they drank their coffee and had a chat together, and then anne lisbeth went away towards the little town where she was to meet the carrier, who was to drive her back to her own home. but when she came to him she found that he would not be ready to start till the evening of the next day. then she began to think of the expense, and what the distance would be to walk. she remembered that the route by the sea-shore was two miles shorter than by the high road; and as the weather was clear, and there would be moonlight, she determined to make her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might reach home the next day. the sun had set, and the evening bells sounded through the air from the tower of the village church, but to her it was not the bells, but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. then they ceased, and all around became still; not a bird could be heard, they were all at rest, even the owl had not left her hiding place; deep silence reigned on the margin of the wood by the sea-shore. as anne lisbeth walked on she could hear her own footsteps in the sands; even the waves of the sea were at rest, and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence. there was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea. anne lisbeth walked on, thinking of nothing at all, as people say, or rather her thoughts wandered, but not away from her, for thought is never absent from us, it only slumbers. many thoughts that have lain dormant are roused at the proper time, and begin to stir in the mind and the heart, and seem even to come upon us from above. it is written, that a good deed bears a blessing for its fruit; and it is also written, that the wages of sin is death. much has been said and much written which we pass over or know nothing of. a light arises within us, and then forgotten things make themselves remembered; and thus it was with anne lisbeth. the germ of every vice and every virtue lies in our heart, in yours and in mine; they lie like little grains of seed, till a ray of sunshine, or the touch of an evil hand, or you turn the corner to the right or to the left, and the decision is made. the little seed is stirred, it swells and shoots up, and pours its sap into your blood, directing your course either for good or evil. troublesome thoughts often exist in the mind, fermenting there, which are not realized by us while the senses are as it were slumbering; but still they are there. anne lisbeth walked on thus with her senses half asleep, but the thoughts were fermenting within her. from one shrove tuesday to another, much may occur to weigh down the heart; it is the reckoning of a whole year; much may be forgotten, sins against heaven in word and thought, sins against our neighbor, and against our own conscience. we are scarcely aware of their existence; and anne lisbeth did not think of any of her errors. she had committed no crime against the law of the land; she was an honorable person, in a good position--that she knew. she continued her walk along by the margin of the sea. what was it she saw lying there? an old hat; a man's hat. now when might that have been washed overboard? she drew nearer, she stopped to look at the hat; "ha! what was lying yonder?" she shuddered; yet it was nothing save a heap of grass and tangled seaweed flung across a long stone, but it looked like a corpse. only tangled grass, and yet she was frightened at it. as she turned to walk away, much came into her mind that she had heard in her childhood: old superstitions of spectres by the sea-shore; of the ghosts of drowned but unburied people, whose corpses had been washed up on the desolate beach. the body, she knew, could do no harm to any one, but the spirit could pursue the lonely wanderer, attach itself to him, and demand to be carried to the churchyard, that it might rest in consecrated ground. "hold fast! hold fast!" the spectre would cry; and as anne lisbeth murmured these words to herself, the whole of her dream was suddenly recalled to her memory, when the mother had clung to her, and uttered these words, when, amid the crashing of worlds, her sleeve had been torn, and she had slipped from the grasp of her child, who wanted to hold her up in that terrible hour. her child, her own child, which she had never loved, lay now buried in the sea, and might rise up, like a spectre, from the waters, and cry, "hold fast; carry me to consecrated ground!" as these thoughts passed through her mind, fear gave speed to her feet, so that she walked faster and faster. fear came upon her as if a cold, clammy hand had been laid upon her heart, so that she almost fainted. as she looked across the sea, all there grew darker; a heavy mist came rolling onwards, and clung to bush and tree, distorting them into fantastic shapes. she turned and glanced at the moon, which had risen behind her. it looked like a pale, rayless surface, and a deadly weight seemed to hang upon her limbs. "hold," thought she; and then she turned round a second time to look at the moon. a white face appeared quite close to her, with a mist, hanging like a garment from its shoulders. "stop! carry me to consecrated earth," sounded in her ears, in strange, hollow tones. the sound did not come from frogs or ravens; she saw no sign of such creatures. "a grave! dig me a grave!" was repeated quite loud. yes, it was indeed the spectre of her child. the child that lay beneath the ocean, and whose spirit could have no rest until it was carried to the churchyard, and until a grave had been dug for it in consecrated ground. she would go there at once, and there she would dig. she turned in the direction of the church, and the weight on her heart seemed to grow lighter, and even to vanish altogether; but when she turned to go home by the shortest way, it returned. "stop! stop!" and the words came quite clear, though they were like the croak of a frog, or the wail of a bird. "a grave! dig me a grave!" the mist was cold and damp, her hands and face were moist and clammy with horror, a heavy weight again seized her and clung to her, her mind became clear for thoughts that had never before been there. in these northern regions, a beech-wood often buds in a single night and appears in the morning sunlight in its full glory of youthful green. so, in a single instant, can the consciousness of the sin that has been committed in thoughts, words, and actions of our past life, be unfolded to us. when once the conscience is awakened, it springs up in the heart spontaneously, and god awakens the conscience when we least expect it. then we can find no excuse for ourselves; the deed is there and bears witness against us. the thoughts seem to become words, and to sound far out into the world. we are horrified at the thought of what we have carried within us, and at the consciousness that we have not overcome the evil which has its origin in thoughtlessness and pride. the heart conceals within itself the vices as well as the virtues, and they grow in the shallowest ground. anne lisbeth now experienced in thought what we have clothed in words. she was overpowered by them, and sank down and crept along for some distance on the ground. "a grave! dig me a grave!" sounded again in her ears, and she would have gladly buried herself, if in the grave she could have found forgetfulness of her actions. it was the first hour of her awakening, full of anguish and horror. superstition made her alternately shudder with cold or burn with the heat of fever. many things, of which she had feared even to speak, came into her mind. silently, as the cloud-shadows in the moonshine, a spectral apparition flitted by her; she had heard of it before. close by her galloped four snorting steeds, with fire flashing from their eyes and nostrils. they dragged a burning coach, and within it sat the wicked lord of the manor, who had ruled there a hundred years before. the legend says that every night, at twelve o'clock, he drove into his castleyard and out again. he was not as pale as dead men are, but black as a coal. he nodded, and pointed to anne lisbeth, crying out, "hold fast! hold fast! and then you may ride again in a nobleman's carriage, and forget your child." she gathered herself up, and hastened to the churchyard; but black crosses and black ravens danced before her eyes, and she could not distinguish one from the other. the ravens croaked as the raven had done which she saw in the daytime, but now she understood what they said. "i am the raven-mother; i am the raven-mother," each raven croaked, and anne lisbeth felt that the name also applied to her; and she fancied she should be transformed into a black bird, and have to cry as they cried, if she did not dig the grave. and she threw herself upon the earth, and with her hands dug a grave in the hard ground, so that the blood ran from her fingers. "a grave! dig me a grave!" still sounded in her ears; she was fearful that the cock might crow, and the first red streak appear in the east, before she had finished her work; and then she would be lost. and the cock crowed, and the day dawned in the east, and the grave was only half dug. an icy hand passed over her head and face, and down towards her heart. "only half a grave," a voice wailed, and fled away. yes, it fled away over the sea; it was the ocean spectre; and, exhausted and overpowered, anne lisbeth sunk to the ground, and her senses left her. it was a bright day when she came to herself, and two men were raising her up; but she was not lying in the churchyard, but on the sea-shore, where she had dug a deep hole in the sand, and cut her hand with a piece of broken glass, whose sharp stern was stuck in a little block of painted wood. anne lisbeth was in a fever. conscience had roused the memories of superstitions, and had so acted upon her mind, that she fancied she had only half a soul, and that her child had taken the other half down into the sea. never would she be able to cling to the mercy of heaven till she had recovered this other half which was now held fast in the deep water. anne lisbeth returned to her home, but she was no longer the woman she had been. her thoughts were like a confused, tangled skein; only one thread, only one thought was clear to her, namely that she must carry the spectre of the sea-shore to the churchyard, and dig a grave for him there; that by so doing she might win back her soul. many a night she was missed from her home, and was always found on the sea-shore waiting for the spectre. in this way a whole year passed; and then one night she vanished again, and was not to be found. the whole of the next day was spent in a useless search after her. towards evening, when the clerk entered the church to toll the vesper bell, he saw by the altar anne lisbeth, who had spent the whole day there. her powers of body were almost exhausted, but her eyes flashed brightly, and on her cheeks was a rosy flush. the last rays of the setting sun shone upon her, and gleamed over the altar upon the shining clasps of the bible, which lay open at the words of the prophet joel, "rend your hearts and not your garments, and turn unto the lord." "that was just a chance," people said; but do things happen by chance? in the face of anne lisbeth, lighted up by the evening sun, could be seen peace and rest. she said she was happy now, for she had conquered. the spectre of the shore, her own child, had come to her the night before, and had said to her, "thou hast dug me only half a grave: but thou hast now, for a year and a day, buried me altogether in thy heart, and it is there a mother can best hide her child!" and then he gave her back her lost soul, and brought her into the church. "now i am in the house of god," she said, "and in that house we are happy." when the sun set, anne lisbeth's soul had risen to that region where there is no more pain; and anne lisbeth's troubles were at an end. the conceited apple-branch it was the month of may. the wind still blew cold; but from bush and tree, field and flower, came the welcome sound, "spring is come." wild-flowers in profusion covered the hedges. under the little apple-tree, spring seemed busy, and told his tale from one of the branches which hung fresh and blooming, and covered with delicate pink blossoms that were just ready to open. the branch well knew how beautiful it was; this knowledge exists as much in the leaf as in the blood; i was therefore not surprised when a nobleman's carriage, in which sat the young countess, stopped in the road just by. she said that an apple-branch was a most lovely object, and an emblem of spring in its most charming aspect. then the branch was broken off for her, and she held it in her delicate hand, and sheltered it with her silk parasol. then they drove to the castle, in which were lofty halls and splendid drawing-rooms. pure white curtains fluttered before the open windows, and beautiful flowers stood in shining, transparent vases; and in one of them, which looked as if it had been cut out of newly fallen snow, the apple-branch was placed, among some fresh, light twigs of beech. it was a charming sight. then the branch became proud, which was very much like human nature. people of every description entered the room, and, according to their position in society, so dared they to express their admiration. some few said nothing, others expressed too much, and the apple-branch very soon got to understand that there was as much difference in the characters of human beings as in those of plants and flowers. some are all for pomp and parade, others have a great deal to do to maintain their own importance, while the rest might be spared without much loss to society. so thought the apple-branch, as he stood before the open window, from which he could see out over gardens and fields, where there were flowers and plants enough for him to think and reflect upon; some rich and beautiful, some poor and humble indeed. "poor, despised herbs," said the apple-branch; "there is really a difference between them and such as i am. how unhappy they must be, if they can feel as those in my position do! there is a difference indeed, and so there ought to be, or we should all be equals." and the apple-branch looked with a sort of pity upon them, especially on a certain little flower that is found in fields and in ditches. no one bound these flowers together in a nosegay; they were too common; they were even known to grow between the paving-stones, shooting up everywhere, like bad weeds; and they bore the very ugly name of "dog-flowers" or "dandelions." "poor, despised plants," said the apple-bough, "it is not your fault that you are so ugly, and that you have such an ugly name; but it is with plants as with men,--there must be a difference." "a difference!" cried the sunbeam, as he kissed the blooming apple-branch, and then kissed the yellow dandelion out in the fields. all were brothers, and the sunbeam kissed them--the poor flowers as well as the rich. the apple-bough had never thought of the boundless love of god, which extends over all the works of creation, over everything which lives, and moves, and has its being in him; he had never thought of the good and beautiful which are so often hidden, but can never remain forgotten by him,--not only among the lower creation, but also among men. the sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better. "you do not see very far, nor very clearly," he said to the apple-branch. "which is the despised plant you so specially pity?" "the dandelion," he replied. "no one ever places it in a nosegay; it is often trodden under foot, there are so many of them; and when they run to seed, they have flowers like wool, which fly away in little pieces over the roads, and cling to the dresses of the people. they are only weeds; but of course there must be weeds. o, i am really very thankful that i was not made like one of these flowers." there came presently across the fields a whole group of children, the youngest of whom was so small that it had to be carried by the others; and when he was seated on the grass, among the yellow flowers, he laughed aloud with joy, kicked out his little legs, rolled about, plucked the yellow flowers, and kissed them in childlike innocence. the elder children broke off the flowers with long stems, bent the stalks one round the other, to form links, and made first a chain for the neck, then one to go across the shoulders, and hang down to the waist, and at last a wreath to wear round the head, so that they looked quite splendid in their garlands of green stems and golden flowers. but the eldest among them gathered carefully the faded flowers, on the stem of which was grouped together the seed, in the form of a white feathery coronal. these loose, airy wool-flowers are very beautiful, and look like fine snowy feathers or down. the children held them to their mouths, and tried to blow away the whole coronal with one puff of the breath. they had been told by their grandmothers that who ever did so would be sure to have new clothes before the end of the year. the despised flower was by this raised to the position of a prophet or foreteller of events. "do you see," said the sunbeam, "do you see the beauty of these flowers? do you see their powers of giving pleasure?" "yes, to children," said the apple-bough. by-and-by an old woman came into the field, and, with a blunt knife without a handle, began to dig round the roots of some of the dandelion-plants, and pull them up. with some of these she intended to make tea for herself; but the rest she was going to sell to the chemist, and obtain some money. "but beauty is of higher value than all this," said the apple-tree branch; "only the chosen ones can be admitted into the realms of the beautiful. there is a difference between plants, just as there is a difference between men." then the sunbeam spoke of the boundless love of god, as seen in creation, and over all that lives, and of the equal distribution of his gifts, both in time and in eternity. "that is your opinion," said the apple-bough. then some people came into the room, and, among them, the young countess,--the lady who had placed the apple-bough in the transparent vase, so pleasantly beneath the rays of the sunlight. she carried in her hand something that seemed like a flower. the object was hidden by two or three great leaves, which covered it like a shield, so that no draught or gust of wind could injure it, and it was carried more carefully than the apple-branch had ever been. very cautiously the large leaves were removed, and there appeared the feathery seed-crown of the despised dandelion. this was what the lady had so carefully plucked, and carried home so safely covered, so that not one of the delicate feathery arrows of which its mist-like shape was so lightly formed, should flutter away. she now drew it forth quite uninjured, and wondered at its beautiful form, and airy lightness, and singular construction, so soon to be blown away by the wind. "see," she exclaimed, "how wonderfully god has made this little flower. i will paint it with the apple-branch together. every one admires the beauty of the apple-bough; but this humble flower has been endowed by heaven with another kind of loveliness; and although they differ in appearance, both are the children of the realms of beauty." then the sunbeam kissed the lowly flower, and he kissed the blooming apple-branch, upon whose leaves appeared a rosy blush. beauty of form and beauty of mind there was once a sculptor, named alfred, who having won the large gold medal and obtained a travelling scholarship, went to italy, and then came back to his native land. he was young at that time--indeed, he is young still, although he is ten years older than he was then. on his return, he went to visit one of the little towns in the island of zealand. the whole town knew who the stranger was; and one of the richest men in the place gave a party in his honor, and all who were of any consequence, or who possessed some property, were invited. it was quite an event, and all the town knew of it, so that it was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum. apprentice-boys, children of the poor, and even the poor people themselves, stood before the house, watching the lighted windows; and the watchman might easily fancy he was giving a party also, there were so many people in the streets. there was quite an air of festivity about it, and the house was full of it; for mr. alfred, the sculptor, was there. he talked and told anecdotes, and every one listened to him with pleasure, not unmingled with awe; but none felt so much respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval officer. she seemed, so far as mr. alfred was concerned, to be like a piece of fresh blotting-paper that absorbed all he said and asked for more. she was very appreciative, and incredibly ignorant--a kind of female gaspar hauser. "i should like to see rome," she said; "it must be a lovely city, or so many foreigners would not be constantly arriving there. now, do give me a description of rome. how does the city look when you enter in at the gate?" "i cannot very well describe it," said the sculptor; "but you enter on a large open space, in the centre of which stands an obelisk, which is a thousand years old." "an organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never heard the word 'obelisk.' several of the guests could scarcely forbear laughing, and the sculptor would have had some difficulty in keeping his countenance, but the smile on his lips faded away; for he caught sight of a pair of dark-blue eyes close by the side of the inquisitive lady. they belonged to her daughter; and surely no one who had such a daughter could be silly. the mother was like a fountain of questions; and the daughter, who listened but never spoke, might have passed for the beautiful maid of the fountain. how charming she was! she was a study for the sculptor to contemplate, but not to converse with; for she did not speak, or, at least, very seldom. "has the pope a great family?" inquired the lady. the young man answered considerately, as if the question had been a different one, "no; he does not come from a great family." "that is not what i asked," persisted the widow; "i mean, has he a wife and children?" "the pope is not allowed to marry," replied the gentleman. "i don't like that," was the lady's remark. she certainly might have asked more sensible questions; but if she had not been allowed to say just what she liked, would her daughter have been there, leaning so gracefully on her shoulder, and looking straight before her, with a smile that was almost mournful on her face? mr. alfred again spoke of italy, and of the glorious colors in italian scenery; the purple hills, the deep blue of the mediterranean, the azure of southern skies, whose brightness and glory could only be surpassed in the north by the deep-blue eyes of a maiden; and he said this with a peculiar intonation; but she who should have understood his meaning looked quite unconscious of it, which also was charming. "beautiful italy!" sighed some of the guests. "oh, to travel there!" exclaimed others. "charming! charming!" echoed from every voice. "i may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery," said the naval officer's widow; "and if i do, we will travel--i and my daughter; and you, mr. alfred, must be our guide. we can all three travel together, with one or two more of our good friends." and she nodded in such a friendly way at the company, that each imagined himself to be the favored person who was to accompany them to italy. "yes, we must go," she continued; "but not to those parts where there are robbers. we will keep to rome. in the public roads one is always safe." the daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be in a sigh, or attributed to it! the young man attributed a great deal of meaning to this sigh. those deep-blue eyes, which had been lit up this evening in honor of him, must conceal treasures, treasures of heart and mind, richer than all the glories of rome; and so when he left the party that night, he had lost it completely to the young lady. the house of the naval officer's widow was the one most constantly visited by mr. alfred, the sculptor. it was soon understood that his visits were not intended for that lady, though they were the persons who kept up the conversation. he came for the sake of the daughter. they called her kaela. her name was really karen malena, and these two names had been contracted into the one name kaela. she was really beautiful; but some said she was rather dull, and slept late of a morning. "she has been accustomed to that," her mother said. "she is a beauty, and they are always easily tired. she does sleep rather late; but that makes her eyes so clear." what power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes! the young man felt the truth of the proverb, "still waters run deep:" and his heart had sunk into their depths. he often talked of his adventures, and the mamma was as simple and eager in her questions as on the first evening they met. it was a pleasure to hear alfred describe anything. he showed them colored plates of naples, and spoke of excursions to mount vesuvius, and the eruptions of fire from it. the naval officer's widow had never heard of them before. "good heavens!" she exclaimed. "so that is a burning mountain; but is it not very dangerous to the people who live near it?" "whole cities have been destroyed," he replied; "for instance, herculaneum and pompeii." "oh, the poor people! and you saw all that with your own eyes?" "no; i did not see any of the eruptions which are represented in those pictures; but i will show you a sketch of my own, which represents an eruption i once saw." he placed a pencil sketch on the table; and mamma, who had been over-powered with the appearance of the colored plates, threw a glance at the pale drawing and cried in astonishment, "what, did you see it throw up white fire?" for a moment, alfred's respect for kaela's mamma underwent a sudden shock, and lessened considerably; but, dazzled by the light which surrounded kaela, he soon found it quite natural that the old lady should have no eye for color. after all, it was of very little consequence; for kaela's mamma had the best of all possessions; namely, kaela herself. alfred and kaela were betrothed, which was a very natural result; and the betrothal was announced in the newspaper of the little town. mama purchased thirty copies of the paper, that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends and acquaintances. the betrothed pair were very happy, and the mother was happy too. she said it seemed like connecting herself with thorwalsden. "you are a true successor of thorwalsden," she said to alfred; and it seemed to him as if, in this instance, mamma had said a clever thing. kaela was silent; but her eyes shone, her lips smiled, every movement was graceful,--in fact, she was beautiful; that cannot be repeated too often. alfred decided to take a bust of kaela as well as of her mother. they sat to him accordingly, and saw how he moulded and formed the soft clay with his fingers. "i suppose it is only on our account that you perform this common-place work yourself, instead of leaving it to your servant to do all that sticking together." "it is really necessary that i should mould the clay myself," he replied. "ah, yes, you are always so polite," said mamma, with a smile; and kaela silently pressed his hand, all soiled as it was with the clay. then he unfolded to them both the beauties of nature, in all her works; he pointed out to them how, in the scale of creation, inanimate matter was inferior to animate nature; the plant above the mineral, the animal above the plant, and man above them all. he strove to show them how the beauty of the mind could be displayed in the outward form, and that it was the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression, and produce it in his works. kaela stood silent, but nodded in approbation of what he said, while mamma-in-law made the following confession:-- "it is difficult to follow you; but i go hobbling along after you with my thoughts, though what you say makes my head whirl round and round. still i contrive to lay hold on some of it." kaela's beauty had a firm hold on alfred; it filled his soul, and held a mastery over him. beauty beamed from kaela's every feature, glittered in her eyes, lurked in the corners of her mouth, and pervaded every movement of her agile fingers. alfred, the sculptor, saw this. he spoke only to her, thought only of her, and the two became one; and so it may be said she spoke much, for he was always talking to her; and he and she were one. such was the betrothal, and then came the wedding, with bride's-maids and wedding presents, all duly mentioned in the wedding speech. mamma-in-law had set up thorwalsden's bust at the end of the table, attired in a dressing-gown; it was her fancy that he should be a guest. songs were sung, and cheers given; for it was a gay wedding, and they were a handsome pair. "pygmalion loved his galatea," said one of the songs. "ah, that is some of your mythologies," said mamma-in-law. next day the youthful pair started for copenhagen, where they were to live; mamma-in-law accompanied them, to attend to the "coarse work," as she always called the domestic arrangements. kaela looked like a doll in a doll's house, for everything was bright and new, and so fine. there they sat, all three; and as for alfred, a proverb may describe his position--he looked like a swan amongst the geese. the magic of form had enchanted him; he had looked at the casket without caring to inquire what it contained, and that omission often brings the greatest unhappiness into married life. the casket may be injured, the gilding may fall off, and then the purchaser regrets his bargain. in a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button giving way, with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is worse still in a large company to be conscious that your wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense, and that you cannot depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry off the stupidity of the whole affair. the young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he would talk, but she could only now and then let fall a word in the same melodious voice, the same bell-like tones. it was a mental relief when sophy, one of her friends, came to pay them a visit. sophy was not, pretty. she was, however, quite free from any physical deformity, although kaela used to say she was a little crooked; but no eye, save an intimate acquaintance, would have noticed it. she was a very sensible girl, yet it never occurred to her that she might be a dangerous person in such a house. her appearance created a new atmosphere in the doll's house, and air was really required, they all owned that. they felt the want of a change of air, and consequently the young couple and their mother travelled to italy. "thank heaven we are at home again within our own four walls," said mamma-in-law and daughter both, on their return after a year's absence. "there is no real pleasure in travelling," said mamma; "to tell the truth, it's very wearisome; i beg pardon for saying so. i was soon very tired of it, although i had my children with me; and, besides, it's very expensive work travelling, very expensive. and all those galleries one is expected to see, and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after! it must be done, for very shame; you are sure to be asked when you come back if you have seen everything, and will most likely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeing of all. i got tired at last of those endless madonnas; i began to think i was turning into a madonna myself." "and then the living, mamma," said kaela. "yes, indeed," she replied, "no such a thing as a respectable meat soup--their cookery is miserable stuff." the journey had also tired kaela; but she was always fatigued, that was the worst of it. so they sent for sophy, and she was taken into the house to reside with them, and her presence there was a great advantage. mamma-in-law acknowledged that sophy was not only a clever housewife, but well-informed and accomplished, though that could hardly be expected in a person of her limited means. she was also a generous-hearted, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughly while kaela lay sick, fading away. when the casket is everything, the casket should be strong, or else all is over. and all was over with the casket, for kaela died. "she was beautiful," said her mother; "she was quite different from the beauties they call 'antiques,' for they are so damaged. a beauty ought to be perfect, and kaela was a perfect beauty." alfred wept, and mamma wept, and they both wore mourning. the black dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning the longest. she had also to experience another grief in seeing alfred marry again, marry sophy, who was nothing at all to look at. "he's gone to the very extreme," said mamma-in-law; "he has gone from the most beautiful to the ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. men have no constancy. my husband was a very different man,--but then he died before me." "'pygmalion loved his galatea,' was in the song they sung at my first wedding," said alfred; "i once fell in love with a beautiful statue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the kindred soul, which is a gift from heaven, the angel who can feel and sympathize with and elevate us, i have not found and won till now. you came, sophy, not in the glory of outward beauty, though you are even fairer than is necessary. the chief thing still remains. you came to teach the sculptor that his work is but dust and clay only, an outward form made of a material that decays, and that what we should seek to obtain is the ethereal essence of mind and spirit. poor kaela! our life was but as a meeting by the way-side; in yonder world, where we shall know each other from a union of mind, we shall be but mere acquaintances." "that was not a loving speech," said sophy, "nor spoken like a christian. in a future state, where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls are attracted to each other by sympathy; there everything beautiful develops itself, and is raised to a higher state of existence: her soul will acquire such completeness that it may harmonize with yours, even more than mine, and you will then once more utter your first rapturous exclamation of your love, 'beautiful, most beautiful!'" the beetle who went on his travels there was once an emperor who had a horse shod with gold. he had a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? he was a beautiful creature, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. he had carried his master through fire and smoke in the battle-field, with the bullets whistling round him; he had kicked and bitten, and taken part in the fight, when the enemy advanced; and, with his master on his back, he had dashed over the fallen foe, and saved the golden crown and the emperor's life, which was of more value than the brightest gold. this is the reason of the emperor's horse wearing golden shoes. a beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrier had been shoeing the horse. "great ones, first, of course," said he, "and then the little ones; but size is not always a proof of greatness." he stretched out his thin leg as he spoke. "and pray what do you want?" asked the farrier. "golden shoes," replied the beetle. "why, you must be out of your senses," cried the farrier. "golden shoes for you, indeed!" "yes, certainly; golden shoes," replied the beetle. "am i not just as good as that great creature yonder, who is waited upon and brushed, and has food and drink placed before him? and don't i belong to the royal stables?" "but why does the horse have golden shoes?" asked the farrier; "of course you understand the reason?" "understand! well, i understand that it is a personal slight to me," cried the beetle. "it is done to annoy me, so i intend to go out into the world and seek my fortune." "go along with you," said the farrier. "you're a rude fellow," cried the beetle, as he walked out of the stable; and then he flew for a short distance, till he found himself in a beautiful flower-garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. the lady-birds, with red and black shells on their backs, and delicate wings, were flying about, and one of them said, "is it not sweet and lovely here? oh, how beautiful everything is." "i am accustomed to better things," said the beetle. "do you call this beautiful? why, there is not even a dung-heap." then he went on, and under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillar crawling along. "how beautiful this world is!" said the caterpillar. "the sun is so warm, i quite enjoy it. and soon i shall go to sleep, and die as they call it, but i shall wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly." "how conceited you are!" exclaimed the beetle. "fly about as a butterfly, indeed! what of that. i have come out of the emperor's stable, and no one there, not even the emperor's horse, who, in fact, wears my cast-off golden shoes, has any idea of flying, excepting myself. to have wings and fly! why, i can do that already;" and so saying, he spread his wings and flew away. "i don't want to be disgusted," he said to himself, "and yet i can't help it." soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and for a time pretended to sleep, but at last fell asleep in earnest. suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. the beetle woke up with the noise and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, but he could not. he was tumbled over and over with the rain, sometimes swimming on his stomach and sometimes on his back; and as for flying, that was out of the question. he began to doubt whether he should escape with his life, so he remained, quietly lying where he was. after a while the weather cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to rub the water from his eyes, and look about him. he saw something gleaming, and he managed to make his way up to it. it was linen which had been laid to bleach on the grass. he crept into a fold of the damp linen, which certainly was not so comfortable a place to lie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing better, so he remained lying there for a whole day and night, and the rain kept on all the time. towards morning he crept out of his hiding-place, feeling in a very bad temper with the climate. two frogs were sitting on the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure. "wonderful weather this," cried one of them, "and so refreshing. this linen holds the water together so beautifully, that my hind legs quiver as if i were going to swim." "i should like to know," said another, "if the swallow who flies so far in her many journeys to foreign lands, ever met with a better climate than this. what delicious moisture! it is as pleasant as lying in a wet ditch. i am sure any one who does not enjoy this has no love for his fatherland." "have you ever been in the emperor's stable?" asked the beetle. "there the moisture is warm and refreshing; that's the climate for me, but i could not take it with me on my travels. is there not even a dunghill here in this garden, where a person of rank, like myself, could take up his abode and feel at home?" but the frogs either did not or would not understand him. "i never ask a question twice," said the beetle, after he had asked this one three times, and received no answer. then he went on a little farther and stumbled against a piece of broken crockery-ware, which certainly ought not to have been lying there. but as it was there, it formed a good shelter against wind and weather to several families of earwigs who dwelt in it. their requirements were not many, they were very sociable, and full of affection for their children, so much so that each mother considered her own child the most beautiful and clever of them all. "our dear son has engaged himself," said one mother, "dear innocent boy; his greatest ambition is that he may one day creep into a clergyman's ear. that is a very artless and loveable wish; and being engaged will keep him steady. what happiness for a mother!" "our son," said another, "had scarcely crept out of the egg, when he was off on his travels. he is all life and spirits, i expect he will wear out his horns with running. how charming this is for a mother, is it not mr. beetle?" for she knew the stranger by his horny coat. "you are both quite right," said he; so they begged him to walk in, that is to come as far as he could under the broken piece of earthenware. "now you shall also see my little earwigs," said a third and a fourth mother, "they are lovely little things, and highly amusing. they are never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable in their inside, which unfortunately often happens at their age." thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talked after their own fashion, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle. "they are always busy about something, the little rogues," said the mother, beaming with maternal pride; but the beetle felt it a bore, and he therefore inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap. "that is quite out in the great world, on the other side of the ditch," answered an earwig, "i hope none of my children will ever go so far, it would be the death of me." "but i shall try to get so far," said the beetle, and he walked off without taking any formal leave, which is considered a polite thing to do. when he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends, all them beetles; "we live here," they said, "and we are very comfortable. may we ask you to step down into this rich mud, you must be fatigued after your journey." "certainly," said the beetle, "i shall be most happy; i have been exposed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing that greatly exhausts me; i have also pains in one of my wings from standing in the draught under a piece of broken crockery. it is really quite refreshing to be with one's own kindred again." "perhaps you came from a dung-heap," observed the oldest of them. "no, indeed, i came from a much grander place," replied the beetle; "i came from the emperor's stable, where i was born, with golden shoes on my feet. i am travelling on a secret embassy, but you must not ask me any questions, for i cannot betray my secret." then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud, where sat three young-lady beetles, who tittered, because they did not know what to say. "none of them are engaged yet," said their mother, and the beetle maidens tittered again, this time quite in confusion. "i have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables," exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting himself. "don't spoil my girls," said the mother; "and don't talk to them, pray, unless you have serious intentions." but of course the beetle's intentions were serious, and after a while our friend was engaged. the mother gave them her blessing, and all the other beetles cried "hurrah." immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason to delay. the following day passed very pleasantly, and the next was tolerably comfortable; but on the third it became necessary for him to think of getting food for his wife, and, perhaps, for children. "i have allowed myself to be taken in," said our beetle to himself, "and now there's nothing to be done but to take them in, in return." no sooner said than done. away he went, and stayed away all day and all night, and his wife remained behind a forsaken widow. "oh," said the other beetles, "this fellow that we have received into our family is nothing but a complete vagabond. he has gone away and left his wife a burden upon our hands." "well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my other daughters," said the mother. "fie on the villain that forsook her!" in the mean time the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage leaf, had been journeying on the other side. in the morning two persons came up to the ditch. when they saw him they took him up and turned him over and over, looking very learned all the time, especially one, who was a boy. "allah sees the black beetle in the black stone, and the black rock. is not that written in the koran?" he asked. then he translated the beetle's name into latin, and said a great deal upon the creature's nature and history. the second person, who was older and a scholar, proposed to carry the beetle home, as they wanted just such good specimens as this. our beetle considered this speech a great insult, so he flew suddenly out of the speaker's hand. his wings were dry now, so they carried him to a great distance, till at last he reached a hothouse, where a sash of the glass roof was partly open, so he quietly slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth. "it is very comfortable here," he said to himself, and soon after fell asleep. then he dreamed that the emperor's horse was dying, and had left him his golden shoes, and also promised that he should have two more. all this was very delightful, and when the beetle woke up he crept forth and looked around him. what a splendid place the hothouse was! at the back, large palm-trees were growing; and the sunlight made the leaves--look quite glossy; and beneath them what a profusion of luxuriant green, and of flowers red like flame, yellow as amber, or white as new-fallen snow! "what a wonderful quantity of plants," cried the beetle; "how good they will taste when they are decayed! this is a capital store-room. there must certainly be some relations of mine living here; i will just see if i can find any one with whom i can associate. i'm proud, certainly; but i'm also proud of being so." then he prowled about in the earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was about the dying horse, and the golden shoes he had inherited. suddenly a hand seized the beetle, and squeezed him, and turned him round and round. the gardener's little son and his playfellow had come into the hothouse, and, seeing the beetle, wanted to have some fun with him. first, he was wrapped, in a vine-leaf, and put into a warm trousers' pocket. he twisted and turned about with all his might, but he got a good squeeze from the boy's hand, as a hint for him to keep quiet. then the boy went quickly towards a lake that lay at the end of the garden. here the beetle was put into an old broken wooden shoe, in which a little stick had been fastened upright for a mast, and to this mast the beetle was bound with a piece of worsted. now he was a sailor, and had to sail away. the lake was not very large, but to the beetle it seemed an ocean, and he was so astonished at its size that he fell over on his back, and kicked out his legs. then the little ship sailed away; sometimes the current of the water seized it, but whenever it went too far from the shore one of the boys turned up his trousers, and went in after it, and brought it back to land. but at last, just as it went merrily out again, the two boys were called, and so angrily, that they hastened to obey, and ran away as fast as they could from the pond, so that the little ship was left to its fate. it was carried away farther and farther from the shore, till it reached the open sea. this was a terrible prospect for the beetle, for he could not escape in consequence of being bound to the mast. then a fly came and paid him a visit. "what beautiful weather," said the fly; "i shall rest here and sun myself. you must have a pleasant time of it." "you speak without knowing the facts," replied the beetle; "don't you see that i am a prisoner?" "ah, but i'm not a prisoner," remarked the fly, and away he flew. "well, now i know the world," said the beetle to himself; "it's an abominable world; i'm the only respectable person in it. first, they refuse me my golden shoes; then i have to lie on damp linen, and to stand in a draught; and to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me. then, when i have made a step forward in the world, and found out a comfortable position, just as i could wish it to be, one of these human boys comes and ties me up, and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor's favorite horse goes prancing about proudly on his golden shoes. this vexes me more than anything. but it is useless to look for sympathy in this world. my career has been very interesting, but what's the use of that if nobody knows anything about it? the world does not deserve to be made acquainted with my adventures, for it ought to have given me golden shoes when the emperor's horse was shod, and i stretched out my feet to be shod, too. if i had received golden shoes i should have been an ornament to the stable; now i am lost to the stable and to the world. it is all over with me." but all was not yet over. a boat, in which were a few young girls, came rowing up. "look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along," said one of the younger girls. "and there's a poor little creature bound fast in it," said another. the boat now came close to our beetle's ship, and the young girls fished it out of the water. one of them drew a small pair of scissors from her pocket, and cut the worsted without hurting the beetle, and when she stepped on shore she placed him on the grass. "there," she said, "creep away, or fly, if thou canst. it is a splendid thing to have thy liberty." away flew the beetle, straight through the open window of a large building; there he sank down, tired and exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperor's favorite horse, who was standing in his stable; and the beetle found himself at home again. for some time he clung to the mane, that he might recover himself. "well," he said, "here i am, seated on the emperor's favorite horse,--sitting upon him as if i were the emperor himself. but what was it the farrier asked me? ah, i remember now,--that's a good thought,--he asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse. the answer is quite clear to me, now. they were given to the horse on my account." and this reflection put the beetle into a good temper. the sun's rays also came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him, and made the place lively and bright. "travelling expands the mind very much," said the beetle. "the world is not so bad after all, if you know how to take things as they come." the bell in the narrow streets of a large town people often heard in the evening, when the sun was setting, and his last rays gave a golden tint to the chimney-pots, a strange noise which resembled the sound of a church bell; it only lasted an instant, for it was lost in the continual roar of traffic and hum of voices which rose from the town. "the evening bell is ringing," people used to say; "the sun is setting!" those who walked outside the town, where the houses were less crowded and interspersed by gardens and little fields, saw the evening sky much better, and heard the sound of the bell much more clearly. it seemed as though the sound came from a church, deep in the calm, fragrant wood, and thither people looked with devout feelings. a considerable time elapsed: one said to the other, "i really wonder if there is a church out in the wood. the bell has indeed a strange sweet sound! shall we go there and see what the cause of it is?" the rich drove, the poor walked, but the way seemed to them extraordinarily long, and when they arrived at a number of willow trees on the border of the wood they sat down, looked up into the great branches and thought they were now really in the wood. a confectioner from the town also came out and put up a stall there; then came another confectioner who hung a bell over his stall, which was covered with pitch to protect it from the rain, but the clapper was wanting. when people came home they used to say that it had been very romantic, and that really means something else than merely taking tea. three persons declared that they had gone as far as the end of the wood; they had always heard the strange sound, but there it seemed to them as if it came from the town. one of them wrote verses about the bell, and said that it was like the voice of a mother speaking to an intelligent and beloved child; no tune, he said, was sweeter than the sound of the bell. the emperor of the country heard of it, and declared that he who would really find out where the sound came from should receive the title of "bellringer to the world," even if there was no bell at all. now many went out into the wood for the sake of this splendid berth; but only one of them came back with some sort of explanation. none of them had gone far enough, nor had he, and yet he said that the sound of the bell came from a large owl in a hollow tree. it was a wisdom owl, which continually knocked its head against the tree, but he was unable to say with certainty whether its head or the hollow trunk of the tree was the cause of the noise. he was appointed "bellringer to the world," and wrote every year a short dissertation on the owl, but by this means people did not become any wiser than they had been before. it was just confirmation-day. the clergyman had delivered a beautiful and touching sermon, the candidates were deeply moved by it; it was indeed a very important day for them; they were all at once transformed from mere children to grown-up people; the childish soul was to fly over, as it were, into a more reasonable being. the sun shone most brightly; and the sound of the great unknown bell was heard more distinctly than ever. they had a mind to go thither, all except three. one of them wished to go home and try on her ball dress, for this very dress and the ball were the cause of her being confirmed this time, otherwise she would not have been allowed to go. the second, a poor boy, had borrowed a coat and a pair of boots from the son of his landlord to be confirmed in, and he had to return them at a certain time. the third said that he never went into strange places if his parents were not with him; he had always been a good child, and wished to remain so, even after being confirmed, and they ought not to tease him for this; they, however, did it all the same. these three, therefore did not go; the others went on. the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the confirmed children sang too, holding each other by the hand, for they had no position yet, and they were all equal in the eyes of god. two of the smallest soon became tired and returned to the town; two little girls sat down and made garlands of flowers, they, therefore, did not go on. when the others arrived at the willow trees, where the confectioner had put up his stall, they said: "now we are out here; the bell does not in reality exist--it is only something that people imagine!" then suddenly the sound of the bell was heard so beautifully and solemnly from the wood that four or five made up their minds to go still further on. the wood was very thickly grown. it was difficult to advance: wood lilies and anemones grew almost too high; flowering convolvuli and brambles were hanging like garlands from tree to tree; while the nightingales were singing and the sunbeams played. that was very beautiful! but the way was unfit for the girls; they would have torn their dresses. large rocks, covered with moss of various hues, were lying about; the fresh spring water rippled forth with a peculiar sound. "i don't think that can be the bell," said one of the confirmed children, and then he lay down and listened. "we must try to find out if it is!" and there he remained, and let the others walk on. they came to a hut built of the bark of trees and branches; a large crab-apple tree spread its branches over it, as if it intended to pour all its fruit on the roof, upon which roses were blooming; the long boughs covered the gable, where a little bell was hanging. was this the one they had heard? all agreed that it must be so, except one who said that the bell was too small and too thin to be heard at such a distance, and that it had quite a different sound to that which had so touched men's hearts. he who spoke was a king's son, and therefore the others said that such a one always wishes to be cleverer than other people. therefore they let him go alone; and as he walked on, the solitude of the wood produced a feeling of reverence in his breast; but still he heard the little bell about which the others rejoiced, and sometimes, when the wind blew in that direction, he could hear the sounds from the confectioner's stall, where the others were singing at tea. but the deep sounds of the bell were much stronger; soon it seemed to him as if an organ played an accompaniment--the sound came from the left, from the side where the heart is. now something rustled among the bushes, and a little boy stood before the king's son, in wooden shoes and such a short jacket that the sleeves did not reach to his wrists. they knew each other: the boy was the one who had not been able to go with them because he had to take the coat and boots back to his landlord's son. that he had done, and had started again in his wooden shoes and old clothes, for the sound of the bell was too enticing--he felt he must go on. "we might go together," said the king's son. but the poor boy with the wooden shoes was quite ashamed; he pulled at the short sleeves of his jacket, and said that he was afraid he could not walk so fast; besides, he was of opinion that the bell ought to be sought at the right, for there was all that was grand and magnificent. "then we shall not meet," said the king's son, nodding to the poor boy, who went into the deepest part of the wood, where the thorns tore his shabby clothes and scratched his hands, face, and feet until they bled. the king's son also received several good scratches, but the sun was shining on his way, and it is he whom we will now follow, for he was a quick fellow. "i will and must find the bell," he said, "if i have to go to the end of the world." ugly monkeys sat high in the branches and clenched their teeth. "shall we beat him?" they said. "shall we thrash him? he is a king's son!" but he walked on undaunted, deeper and deeper into the wood, where the most wonderful flowers were growing; there were standing white star lilies with blood-red stamens, sky-blue tulips shining when the wind moved them; apple-trees covered with apples like large glittering soap bubbles: only think how resplendent these trees were in the sunshine! all around were beautiful green meadows, where hart and hind played in the grass. there grew magnificent oaks and beech-trees; and if the bark was split of any of them, long blades of grass grew out of the clefts; there were also large smooth lakes in the wood, on which the swans were swimming about and flapping their wings. the king's son often stood still and listened; sometimes he thought that the sound of the bell rose up to him out of one of these deep lakes, but soon he found that this was a mistake, and that the bell was ringing still farther in the wood. then the sun set, the clouds were as red as fire; it became quiet in the wood; he sank down on his knees, sang an evening hymn and said: "i shall never find what i am looking for! now the sun is setting, and the night, the dark night, is approaching. yet i may perhaps see the round sun once more before he disappears beneath the horizon. i will climb up these rocks, they are as high as the highest trees!" and then, taking hold of the creepers and roots, he climbed up on the wet stones, where water-snakes were wriggling and the toads, as it were, barked at him: he reached the top before the sun, seen from such a height, had quite set. "oh, what a splendour!" the sea, the great majestic sea, which was rolling its long waves against the shore, stretched out before him, and the sun was standing like a large bright altar and there where sea and heaven met--all melted together in the most glowing colours; the wood was singing, and his heart too. the whole of nature was one large holy church, in which the trees and hovering clouds formed the pillars, the flowers and grass the woven velvet carpet, and heaven itself was the great cupola; up there the flame colour vanished as soon as the sun disappeared, but millions of stars were lighted; diamond lamps were shining, and the king's son stretched his arms out towards heaven, towards the sea, and towards the wood. then suddenly the poor boy with the short-sleeved jacket and the wooden shoes appeared; he had arrived just as quickly on the road he had chosen. and they ran towards each other and took one another's hand, in the great cathedral of nature and poesy, and above them sounded the invisible holy bell; happy spirits surrounded them, singing hallelujahs and rejoicing. the bell-deep "ding-dong! ding-dong!" it sounds up from the "bell-deep" in the odense-au. every child in the old town of odense, on the island of funen, knows the au, which washes the gardens round about the town, and flows on under the wooden bridges from the dam to the water-mill. in the au grow the yellow water-lilies and brown feathery reeds; the dark velvety flag grows there, high and thick; old and decayed willows, slanting and tottering, hang far out over the stream beside the monk's meadow and by the bleaching ground; but opposite there are gardens upon gardens, each different from the rest, some with pretty flowers and bowers like little dolls' pleasure grounds, often displaying cabbage and other kitchen plants; and here and there the gardens cannot be seen at all, for the great elder trees that spread themselves out by the bank, and hang far out over the streaming waters, which are deeper here and there than an oar can fathom. opposite the old nunnery is the deepest place, which is called the "bell-deep," and there dwells the old water spirit, the "au-mann." this spirit sleeps through the day while the sun shines down upon the water; but in starry and moonlit nights he shows himself. he is very old. grandmother says that she has heard her own grandmother tell of him; he is said to lead a solitary life, and to have nobody with whom he can converse save the great old church bell. once the bell hung in the church tower; but now there is no trace left of the tower or of the church, which was called st. alban's. "ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded the bell, when the tower still stood there; and one evening, while the sun was setting, and the bell was swinging away bravely, it broke loose and came flying down through the air, the brilliant metal shining in the ruddy beam. "ding-dong! ding-dong! now i'll retire to rest!" sang the bell, and flew down into the odense-au, where it is deepest; and that is why the place is called the "bell-deep." but the bell got neither rest nor sleep. down in the au-mann's haunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones sometimes pierce upward through the waters; and many people maintain that its strains forebode the death of some one; but that is not true, for the bell is only talking with the au-mann, who is now no longer alone. and what is the bell telling? it is old, very old, as we have already observed; it was there long before grandmother's grandmother was born; and yet it is but a child in comparison with the au-mann, who is quite an old quiet personage, an oddity, with his hose of eel-skin, and his scaly jacket with the yellow lilies for buttons, and a wreath of reed in his hair and seaweed in his beard; but he looks very pretty for all that. what the bell tells? to repeat it all would require years and days; for year by year it is telling the old stories, sometimes short ones, sometimes long ones, according to its whim; it tells of old times, of the dark hard times, thus: "in the church of st. alban, the monk had mounted up into the tower. he was young and handsome, but thoughtful exceedingly. he looked through the loophole out upon the odense-au, when the bed of the water was yet broad, and the monks' meadow was still a lake. he looked out over it, and over the rampart, and over the nuns' hill opposite, where the convent lay, and the light gleamed forth from the nun's cell. he had known the nun right well, and he thought of her, and his heart beat quicker as he thought. ding-dong! ding-dong!" yes, this was the story the bell told. "into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the bishop; and when i, the bell, who am made of metal, rang hard and loud, and swung to and fro, i might have beaten out his brains. he sat down close under me, and played with two little sticks as if they had been a stringed instrument; and he sang to it. 'now i may sing it out aloud, though at other times i may not whisper it. i may sing of everything that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. yonder it is cold and wet. the rats are eating her up alive! nobody knows of it! nobody hears of it! not even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its loud ding-dong, ding-dong!' "there was a king in those days. they called him canute. he bowed himself before bishop and monk; but when he offended the free peasants with heavy taxes and hard words, they seized their weapons and put him to flight like a wild beast. he sought shelter in the church, and shut gate and door behind him. the violent band surrounded the church; i heard tell of it. the crows, ravens and magpies started up in terror at the yelling and shouting that sounded around. they flew into the tower and out again, they looked down upon the throng below, and they also looked into the windows of the church, and screamed out aloud what they saw there. king canute knelt before the altar in prayer; his brothers eric and benedict stood by him as a guard with drawn swords; but the king's servant, the treacherous blake, betrayed his master. the throng in front of the church knew where they could hit the king, and one of them flung a stone through a pane of glass, and the king lay there dead! the cries and screams of the savage horde and of the birds sounded through the air, and i joined in it also; for i sang 'ding-dong! ding-dong!' "the church bell hangs high, and looks far around, and sees the birds around it, and understands their language. the wind roars in upon it through windows and loopholes; and the wind knows everything, for he gets it from the air, which encircles all things, and the church bell understands his tongue, and rings it out into the world, 'ding-dong! ding-dong!' "but it was too much for me to hear and to know; i was not able any longer to ring it out. i became so tired, so heavy, that the beam broke, and i flew out into the gleaming au, where the water is deepest, and where the au-mann lives, solitary and alone; and year by year i tell him what i have heard and what i know. ding-dong! ding-dong!" thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in the odense-au. that is what grandmother told us. but the schoolmaster says that there was not any bell that rung down there, for that it could not do so; and that no au-mann dwelt yonder, for there was no au-mann at all! and when all the other church bells are sounding sweetly, he says that it is not really the bells that are sounding, but that it is the air itself which sends forth the notes; and grandmother said to us that the bell itself said it was the air who told it to him, consequently they are agreed on that point, and this much is sure. "be cautious, cautious, and take good heed to thyself," they both say. the air knows everything. it is around us, it is in us, it talks of our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks longer of them than does the bell down in the depths of the odense-au where the au-mann dwells. it rings it out in the vault of heaven, far, far out, forever and ever, till the heaven bells sound "ding-dong! ding-dong!" the bird of popular song in is winter-time. the earth wears a snowy garment, and looks like marble hewn out of the rock; the air is bright and clear; the wind is sharp as a well-tempered sword, and the trees stand like branches of white coral or blooming almond twigs, and here it is keen as on the lofty alps. the night is splendid in the gleam of the northern lights, and in the glitter of innumerable twinkling stars. but we sit in the warm room, by the hot stove, and talk about the old times. and we listen to this story: by the open sea was a giant's grave; and on the grave-mound sat at midnight the spirit of the buried hero, who had been a king. the golden circlet gleamed on his brow, his hair fluttered in the wind, and he was clad in steel and iron. he bent his head mournfully, and sighed in deep sorrow, as an unquiet spirit might sigh. and a ship came sailing by. presently the sailors lowered the anchor and landed. among them was a singer, and he approached the royal spirit, and said, "why mournest thou, and wherefore dost thou suffer thus?" and the dead man answered, "no one has sung the deeds of my life; they are dead and forgotten. song doth not carry them forth over the lands, nor into the hearts of men; therefore i have no rest and no peace." and he spoke of his works, and of his warlike deeds, which his contemporaries had known, but which had not been sung, because there was no singer among his companions. then the old bard struck the strings of his harp, and sang of the youthful courage of the hero, of the strength of the man, and of the greatness of his good deeds. then the face of the dead one gleamed like the margin of the cloud in the moonlight. gladly and of good courage, the form arose in splendor and in majesty, and vanished like the glancing of the northern light. nought was to be seen but the green turfy mound, with the stones on which no runic record has been graven; but at the last sound of the harp there soared over the hill, as though he had fluttered from the harp, a little bird, a charming singing-bird, with ringing voice of the thrush, with the moving voice pathos of the human heart, with a voice that told of home, like the voice that is heard by the bird of passage. the singing-bird soared away, over mountain and valley, over field and wood--he was the bird of popular song, who never dies. we hear his song--we hear it now in the room while the white bees are swarming without, and the storm clutches the windows. the bird sings not alone the requiem of heroes; he sings also sweet gentle songs of love, so many and so warm, of northern fidelity and truth. he has stories in words and in tones; he has proverbs and snatches of proverbs; songs which, like runes laid under a dead man's tongue, force him to speak; and thus popular song tells of the land of his birth. in the old heathen days, in the times of the vikings, the popular speech was enshrined in the harp of the bard. in the days of knightly castles, when the strongest fist held the scales of justice, when only might was right, and a peasant and a dog were of equal importance, where did the bird of song find shelter and protection? neither violence nor stupidity gave him a thought. but in the gabled window of the knightly castle, the lady of the castle sat with the parchment roll before her, and wrote down the old recollections in song and legend, while near her stood the old woman from the wood, and the travelling peddler who went wandering through the country. as these told their tales, there fluttered around them, with twittering and song, the bird of popular song, who never dies so long as the earth has a hill upon which his foot may rest. and now he looks in upon us and sings. without are the night and the snow-storm. he lays the runes beneath our tongues, and we know the land of our home. heaven speaks to us in our native tongue, in the voice of the bird of popular song. the old remembrances awake, the faded colors glow with a fresh lustre, and story and song pour us a blessed draught which lifts up our minds and our thoughts, so that the evening becomes as a christmas festival. the snow-flakes chase each other, the ice cracks, the storm rules without, for he has the might, he is lord--but not the lord of all. it is winter time. the wind is sharp as a two-edged sword, the snow-flakes chase each other; it seems as though it had been snowing for days and weeks, and the snow lies like a great mountain over the whole town, like a heavy dream of the winter night. everything on the earth is hidden away, only the golden cross of the church, the symbol of faith, arises over the snow grave, and gleams in the blue air and in the bright sunshine. and over the buried town fly the birds of heaven, the small and the great; they twitter and they sing as best they may, each bird with his beak. first comes the band of sparrows: they pipe at every trifle in the streets and lanes, in the nests and the houses; they have stories to tell about the front buildings and the back buildings. "we know the buried town," they say; "everything living in it is piep! piep! piep!" the black ravens and crows flew on over the white snow. "grub, grub!" they cried. "there's something to be got down there; something to swallow, and that's most important. that's the opinion of most of them down there, and the opinion is goo-goo-good!" the wild swans come flying on whirring pinions, and sing of the noble and the great, that will still sprout in the hearts of men, down in the town which is resting beneath its snowy veil. no death is there--life reigns yonder; we hear it on the notes that swell onward like the tones of the church organ, which seize us like sounds from the elf-hill, like the songs of ossian, like the rushing swoop of the wandering spirits' wings. what harmony! that harmony speaks to our hearts, and lifts up our souls! it is the bird of popular song whom we hear. and at this moment the warm breath of heaven blows down from the sky. there are gaps in the snowy mountains, the sun shines into the clefts; spring is coming, the birds are returning, and new races are coming with the same home sounds in their hearts. hear the story of the year: "the night of the snow-storm, the heavy dream of the winter night, all shall be dissolved, all shall rise again in the beauteous notes of the bird of popular song, who never dies!" the bishop of borglum and his warriors our scene is laid in northern jutland, in the so-called "wild moor." we hear what is called the "wester-wow-wow"--the peculiar roar of the north sea as it breaks against the western coast of jutland. it rolls and thunders with a sound that penetrates for miles into the land; and we are quite near the roaring. before us rises a great mound of sand--a mountain we have long seen, and towards which we are wending our way, driving slowly along through the deep sand. on this mountain of sand is a lofty old building--the convent of borglum. in one of its wings (the larger one) there is still a church. and at this convent we now arrive in the late evening hour; but the weather is clear in the bright june night around us, and the eye can range far, far over field and moor to the bay of aalborg, over heath and meadow, and far across the deep blue sea. now we are there, and roll past between barns and other farm buildings; and at the left of the gate we turn aside to the old castle farm, where the lime trees stand in lines along the walls, and, sheltered from the wind and weather, grow so luxuriantly that their twigs and leaves almost conceal the windows. we mount the winding staircase of stone, and march through the long passages under the heavy roof-beams. the wind moans very strangely here, both within and without. it is hardly known how, but the people say--yes, people say a great many things when they are frightened or want to frighten others--they say that the old dead choir-men glide silently past us into the church, where mass is sung. they can be heard in the rushing of the storm, and their singing brings up strange thoughts in the hearers--thoughts of the old times into which we are carried back. on the coast a ship is stranded; and the bishop's warriors are there, and spare not those whom the sea has spared. the sea washes away the blood that has flowed from the cloven skulls. the stranded goods belong to the bishop, and there is a store of goods here. the sea casts up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for the convent cellar, and in the convent is already good store of beer and mead. there is plenty in the kitchen--dead game and poultry, hams and sausages; and fat fish swim in the ponds without. the bishop of borglum is a mighty lord. he has great possessions, but still he longs for more--everything must bow before the mighty olaf glob. his rich cousin at thyland is dead, and his widow is to have the rich inheritance. but how comes it that one relation is always harder towards another than even strangers would be? the widow's husband had possessed all thyland, with the exception of the church property. her son was not at home. in his boyhood he had already started on a journey, for his desire was to see foreign lands and strange people. for years there had been no news of him. perhaps he had been long laid in the grave, and would never come back to his home, to rule where his mother then ruled. "what has a woman to do with rule?" said the bishop. he summoned the widow before a law court; but what did he gain thereby? the widow had never been disobedient to the law, and was strong in her just rights. bishop olaf of borglum, what dost thou purpose? what writest thou on yonder smooth parchment, sealing it with thy seal, and intrusting it to the horsemen and servants, who ride away, far away, to the city of the pope? it is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon icy winter will come. twice had icy winter returned before the bishop welcomed the horsemen and servants back to their home. they came from rome with a papal decree--a ban, or bull, against the widow who had dared to offend the pious bishop. "cursed be she and all that belongs to her. let her be expelled from the congregation and the church. let no man stretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and relations avoid her as a plague and a pestilence!" "what will not bend must break," said the bishop of borglum and all forsake the widow; but she holds fast to her god. he is her helper and defender. one servant only--an old maid--remained faithful to her; and with the old servant, the widow herself followed the plough; and the crop grew, although the land had been cursed by the pope and by the bishop. "thou child of perdition, i will yet carry out my purpose!" cried the bishop of borglum. "now will i lay the hand of the pope upon thee, to summon thee before the tribunal that shall condemn thee!" then did the widow yoke the last two oxen that remained to her to a wagon, and mounted up on the wagon, with her old servant, and travelled away across the heath out of the danish land. as a stranger she came into a foreign country, where a strange tongue was spoken and where new customs prevailed. farther and farther she journeyed, to where green hills rise into mountains, and the vine clothes their sides. strange merchants drive by her, and they look anxiously after their wagons laden with merchandise. they fear an attack from the armed followers of the robber-knights. the two poor women, in their humble vehicle drawn by two black oxen, travel fearlessly through the dangerous sunken road and through the darksome forest. and now they were in franconia. and there met them a stalwart knight, with a train of twelve armed followers. he paused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the women as to the goal of their journey and the place whence they came. then one of them mentioned thyland in denmark, and spoke of her sorrows, of her woes, which were soon to cease, for so divine providence had willed it. for the stranger knight is the widow's son! he seized her hand, he embraced her, and the mother wept. for years she had not been able to weep, but had only bitten her lips till the blood started. it is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon will icy winter come. the sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar. in the kitchen the deer roasted on the spit before the fire. at borglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms, while cold winter raged without, when a piece of news was brought to the bishop. "jens glob, of thyland, has come back, and his mother with him." jens glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summoned him before the temporal and the spiritual court. "that will avail him little," said the bishop. "best leave off thy efforts, knight jens." again it is the time of falling leaves and stranded ships. icy winter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting the traveller's face till they melt. "keen weather to-day!" say the people, as they step in. jens glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought, that he singes the skirt of his wide garment. "thou borglum bishop," he exclaims, "i shall subdue thee after all! under the shield of the pope, the law cannot reach thee; but jens glob shall reach thee!" then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, olaf hase, in sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on christmas eve, at mass, in the church at widberg. the bishop himself is to read the mass, and consequently will journey from borglum to thyland; and this is known to jens glob. moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. the marsh will bear horse and rider, the bishop with his priests and armed men. they ride the shortest way, through the waving reeds, where the wind moans sadly. blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in fox-skin! it sounds merrily in the clear air. so they ride on over heath and moorland--over what is the garden of fata morgana in the hot summer, though now icy, like all the country--towards the church of widberg. the wind is blowing his trumpet too--blowing it harder and harder. he blows up a storm--a terrible storm--that increases more and more. towards the church they ride, as fast as they may through the storm. the church stands firm, but the storm careers on over field and moorland, over land and sea. borglum's bishop reaches the church; but olaf hase will scarce do so, however hard he may ride. he journeys with his warriors on the farther side of the bay, in order that he may help jens glob, now that the bishop is to be summoned before the judgment seat of the highest. the church is the judgment hall; the altar is the council table. the lights burn clear in the heavy brass candelabra. the storm reads out the accusation and the sentence, roaming in the air over moor and heath, and over the rolling waters. no ferry-boat can sail over the bay in such weather as this. olaf hase makes halt at ottesworde. there he dismisses his warriors, presents them with their horses and harness, and gives them leave to ride home and greet his wife. he intends to risk his life alone in the roaring waters; but they are to bear witness for him that it is not his fault if jens glob stands without reinforcement in the church at widberg. the faithful warriors will not leave him, but follow him out into the deep waters. ten of them are carried away; but olaf hase and two of the youngest men reach the farther side. they have still four miles to ride. it is past midnight. it is christmas. the wind has abated. the church is lighted up; the gleaming radiance shines through the window-frames, and pours out over meadow and heath. the mass has long been finished, silence reigns in the church, and the wax is heard dropping from the candles to the stone pavement. and now olaf hase arrives. in the forecourt jens glob greets him kindly, and says, "i have just made an agreement with the bishop." "sayest thou so?" replied olaf hase. "then neither thou nor the bishop shall quit this church alive." and the sword leaps from the scabbard, and olaf hase deals a blow that makes the panel of the church door, which jens glob hastily closes between them, fly in fragments. "hold, brother! first hear what the agreement was that i made. i have slain the bishop and his warriors and priests. they will have no word more to say in the matter, nor will i speak again of all the wrong that my mother has endured." the long wicks of the altar lights glimmer red; but there is a redder gleam upon the pavement, where the bishop lies with cloven skull, and his dead warriors around him, in the quiet of the holy christmas night. and four days afterwards the bells toll for a funeral in the convent of borglum. the murdered bishop and the slain warriors and priests are displayed under a black canopy, surrounded by candelabra decked with crape. there lies the dead man, in the black cloak wrought with silver; the crozier in the powerless hand that was once so mighty. the incense rises in clouds, and the monks chant the funeral hymn. it sounds like a wail--it sounds like a sentence of wrath and condemnation, that must be heard far over the land, carried by the wind--sung by the wind--the wail that sometimes is silent, but never dies; for ever again it rises in song, singing even into our own time this legend of the bishop of borglum and his hard nephew. it is heard in the dark night by the frightened husbandman, driving by in the heavy sandy road past the convent of borglum. it is heard by the sleepless listener in the thickly-walled rooms at borglum. and not only to the ear of superstition is the sighing and the tread of hurrying feet audible in the long echoing passages leading to the convent door that has long been locked. the door still seems to open, and the lights seem to flame in the brazen candlesticks; the fragrance of incense arises; the church gleams in its ancient splendor; and the monks sing and say the mass over the slain bishop, who lies there in the black silver-embroidered mantle, with the crozier in his powerless hand; and on his pale proud forehead gleams the red wound like fire, and there burn the worldly mind and the wicked thoughts. sink down into his grave--into oblivion--ye terrible shapes of the times of old! hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rolling sea! a storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. the sea has not put on a new mind with the new time. this night it is a horrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be a glassy mirror--even as in the old time that we have buried. sleep sweetly, if thou canst sleep! now it is morning. the new time flings sunshine into the room. the wind still keeps up mightily. a wreck is announced--as in the old time. during the night, down yonder by lokken, the little fishing village with the red-tiled roofs--we can see it up here from the window--a ship has come ashore. it has struck, and is fast embedded in the sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, and formed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board are saved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; and to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of borglum. in comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces. they are addressed in the language of their country, and the piano sounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before these have died away, the chord has been struck, the wire of thought that reaches to the land of the sufferers announces that they are rescued. then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they join in the dance at the feast given in the great hall at borglum. waltzes and styrian dances are given, and danish popular songs, and melodies of foreign lands in these modern times. blessed be thou, new time! speak thou of summer and of purer gales! send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! on thy glowing canvas let them be painted--the dark legends of the rough hard times that are past! the bottle neck close to the corner of a street, among other abodes of poverty, stood an exceedingly tall, narrow house, which had been so knocked about by time that it seemed out of joint in every direction. this house was inhabited by poor people, but the deepest poverty was apparent in the garret lodging in the gable. in front of the little window, an old bent bird-cage hung in the sunshine, which had not even a proper water-glass, but instead of it the broken neck of a bottle, turned upside down, and a cork stuck in to make it hold the water with which it was filled. an old maid stood at the window; she had hung chickweed over the cage, and the little linnet which it contained hopped from perch to perch and sang and twittered merrily. "yes, it's all very well for you to sing," said the bottle neck: that is, he did not really speak the words as we do, for the neck of a bottle cannot speak; but he thought them to himself in his own mind, just as people sometimes talk quietly to themselves. "yes, you may sing very well, you have all your limbs uninjured; you should feel what it is like to lose your body, and only have a neck and a mouth left, with a cork stuck in it, as i have: you wouldn't sing then, i know. after all, it is just as well that there are some who can be happy. i have no reason to sing, nor could i sing now if i were ever so happy; but when i was a whole bottle, and they rubbed me with a cork, didn't i sing then? i used to be called a complete lark. i remember when i went out to a picnic with the furrier's family, on the day his daughter was betrothed,--it seems as if it only happened yesterday. i have gone through a great deal in my time, when i come to recollect: i have been in the fire and in the water, i have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher in the air than most other people, and now i am swinging here, outside a bird-cage, in the air and the sunshine. oh, indeed, it would be worth while to hear my history; but i do not speak it aloud, for a good reason--because i cannot." then the bottle neck related his history, which was really rather remarkable; he, in fact, related it to himself, or, at least, thought it in his own mind. the little bird sang his own song merrily; in the street below there was driving and running to and fro, every one thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; but the bottle neck thought deeply. he thought of the blazing furnace in the factory, where he had been blown into life; he remembered how hot it felt when he was placed in the heated oven, the home from which he sprang, and that he had a strong inclination to leap out again directly; but after a while it became cooler, and he found himself very comfortable. he had been placed in a row, with a whole regiment of his brothers and sisters all brought out of the same furnace; some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, and others into beer bottles, which made a little difference between them. in the world it often happens that a beer bottle may contain the most precious wine, and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking, but even in decay it may always be seen whether a man has been well born. nobility remains noble, as a champagne bottle remains the same, even with blacking in its interior. when the bottles were packed our bottle was packed amongst them; it little expected then to finish its career as a bottle neck, or to be used as a water-glass to a bird's-cage, which is, after all, a place of honor, for it is to be of some use in the world. the bottle did not behold the light of day again, until it was unpacked with the rest in the wine merchant's cellar, and, for the first time, rinsed with water, which caused some very curious sensations. there it lay empty, and without a cork, and it had a peculiar feeling, as if it wanted something it knew not what. at last it was filled with rich and costly wine, a cork was placed in it, and sealed down. then it was labelled "first quality," as if it had carried off the first prize at an examination; besides, the wine and the bottle were both good, and while we are young is the time for poetry. there were sounds of song within the bottle, of things it could not understand, of green sunny mountains, where the vines grow and where the merry vine-dressers laugh, sing, and are merry. "ah, how beautiful is life." all these tones of joy and song in the bottle were like the working of a young poet's brain, who often knows not the meaning of the tones which are sounding within him. one morning the bottle found a purchaser in the furrier's apprentice, who was told to bring one of the best bottles of wine. it was placed in the provision basket with ham and cheese and sausages. the sweetest fresh butter and the finest bread were put into the basket by the furrier's daughter herself, for she packed it. she was young and pretty; her brown eyes laughed, and a smile lingered round her mouth as sweet as that in her eyes. she had delicate hands, beautifully white, and her neck was whiter still. it could easily be seen that she was a very lovely girl, and as yet she was not engaged. the provision basket lay in the lap of the young girl as the family drove out to the forest, and the neck of the bottle peeped out from between the folds of the white napkin. there was the red wax on the cork, and the bottle looked straight at the young girl's face, and also at the face of the young sailor who sat near her. he was a young friend, the son of a portrait painter. he had lately passed his examination with honor, as mate, and the next morning he was to sail in his ship to a distant coast. there had been a great deal of talk on this subject while the basket was being packed, and during this conversation the eyes and the mouth of the furrier's daughter did not wear a very joyful expression. the young people wandered away into the green wood, and talked together. what did they talk about? the bottle could not say, for he was in the provision basket. it remained there a long time; but when at last it was brought forth it appeared as if something pleasant had happened, for every one was laughing; the furrier's daughter laughed too, but she said very little, and her cheeks were like two roses. then her father took the bottle and the cork-screw into his hands. what a strange sensation it was to have the cork drawn for the first time! the bottle could never after that forget the performance of that moment; indeed there was quite a convulsion within him as the cork flew out, and a gurgling sound as the wine was poured forth into the glasses. "long life to the betrothed," cried the papa, and every glass was emptied to the dregs, while the young sailor kissed his beautiful bride. "happiness and blessing to you both," said the old people-father and mother, and the young man filled the glasses again. "safe return, and a wedding this day next year," he cried; and when the glasses were empty he took the bottle, raised it on high, and said, "thou hast been present here on the happiest day of my life; thou shalt never be used by others!" so saying, he hurled it high in the air. the furrier's daughter thought she should never see it again, but she was mistaken. it fell among the rushes on the borders of a little woodland lake. the bottle neck remembered well how long it lay there unseen. "i gave them wine, and they gave me muddy water," he had said to himself, "but i suppose it was all well meant." he could no longer see the betrothed couple, nor the cheerful old people; but for a long time he could hear them rejoicing and singing. at length there came by two peasant boys, who peeped in among the reeds and spied out the bottle. then they took it up and carried it home with them, so that once more it was provided for. at home in their wooden cottage these boys had an elder brother, a sailor, who was about to start on a long voyage. he had been there the day before to say farewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up various things for him to take with him on his voyage. in the evening his father was going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more, and take him a farewell greeting from his mother. a small bottle had already been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in a parcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a larger and stronger bottle, which they had found. this bottle would hold so much more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would be so good for complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed with medical herbs. the liquid which they now poured into the bottle was not like the red wine with which it had once been filled; these were bitter drops, but they are of great use sometimes-for the stomach. the new large bottle was to go, not the little one: so the bottle once more started on its travels. it was taken on board (for peter jensen was one of the crew) the very same ship in which the young mate was to sail. but the mate did not see the bottle: indeed, if he had he would not have known it, or supposed it was the one out of which they had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the prospect of a marriage on his own happy return. certainly the bottle no longer poured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good; and so it happened that whenever peter jensen brought it out, his messmates gave it the name of "the apothecary," for it contained the best medicine to cure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a drop remained. those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbed with a cork, and it was called a great lark, "peter jensen's lark." long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stood empty in a corner, when a storm arose--whether on the passage out or home it could not tell, for it had never been ashore. it was a terrible storm, great waves arose, darkly heaving and tossing the vessel to and fro. the main mast was split asunder, the ship sprang a leak, and the pumps became useless, while all around was black as night. at the last moment, when the ship was sinking, the young mate wrote on a piece of paper, "we are going down: god's will be done." then he wrote the name of his betrothed, his own name, and that of the ship. then he put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at hand, corked it down tightly, and threw it into the foaming sea. he knew not that it was the very same bottle from which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled for him, and now it was tossing on the waves with his last greeting, and a message from the dead. the ship sank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on like a bird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. and as the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its first existence, when in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to fly away. it outlived the storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks, was not devoured by sharks, but drifted on for more than a year, sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just as the current carried it. it was in all other ways its own master, but even of that one may get tired. the written leaf, the last farewell of the bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow when once it reached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and delicate, which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in the green wood, on the day of her betrothal? ah, yes! where was the furrier's daughter? and where was the land which might lie nearest to her home? the bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at last all this wandering about became wearisome; at all events it was not its usual occupation. but it had to travel, till at length it reached land--a foreign country. not a word spoken in this country could the bottle understand; it was a language it had never before heard, and it is a great loss not to be able to understand a language. the bottle was fished out of the water, and examined on all sides. the little letter contained within it was discovered, taken out, and turned and twisted in every direction; but the people could not understand what was written upon it. they could be quite sure that the bottle had been thrown overboard from a vessel, and that something about it was written on this paper: but what was written? that was the question,--so the paper was put back into the bottle, and then both were put away in a large cupboard of one of the great houses of the town. whenever any strangers arrived, the paper was taken out and turned over and over, so that the address, which was only written in pencil, became almost illegible, and at last no one could distinguish any letters on it at all. for a whole year the bottle remained standing in the cupboard, and then it was taken up to the loft, where it soon became covered with dust and cobwebs. ah! how often then it thought of those better days--of the times when in the fresh, green wood, it had poured forth rich wine; or, while rocked by the swelling waves, it had carried in its bosom a secret, a letter, a last parting sigh. for full twenty years it stood in the loft, and it might have stayed there longer but that the house was going to be rebuilt. the bottle was discovered when the roof was taken off; they talked about it, but the bottle did not understand what they said--a language is not to be learnt by living in a loft, even for twenty years. "if i had been down stairs in the room," thought the bottle, "i might have learnt it." it was now washed and rinsed, which process was really quite necessary, and afterwards it looked clean and transparent, and felt young again in its old age; but the paper which it had carried so faithfully was destroyed in the washing. they filled the bottle with seeds, though it scarcely knew what had been placed in it. then they corked it down tightly, and carefully wrapped it up. there not even the light of a torch or lantern could reach it, much less the brightness of the sun or moon. "and yet," thought the bottle, "men go on a journey that they may see as much as possible, and i can see nothing." however, it did something quite as important; it travelled to the place of its destination, and was unpacked. "what trouble they have taken with that bottle over yonder!" said one, "and very likely it is broken after all." but the bottle was not broken, and, better still, it understood every word that was said: this language it had heard at the furnaces and at the wine merchant's; in the forest and on the ship,--it was the only good old language it could understand. it had returned home, and the language was as a welcome greeting. for very joy, it felt ready to jump out of people's hands, and scarcely noticed that its cork had been drawn, and its contents emptied out, till it found itself carried to a cellar, to be left there and forgotten. "there's no place like home, even if it's a cellar." it never occurred to him to think that he might lie there for years, he felt so comfortable. for many long years he remained in the cellar, till at last some people came to carry away the bottles, and ours amongst the number. out in the garden there was a great festival. brilliant lamps hung in festoons from tree to tree; and paper lanterns, through which the light shone till they looked like transparent tulips. it was a beautiful evening, and the weather mild and clear. the stars twinkled; and the new moon, in the form of a crescent, was surrounded by the shadowy disc of the whole moon, and looked like a gray globe with a golden rim: it was a beautiful sight for those who had good eyes. the illumination extended even to the most retired of the garden walks, at least not so retired that any one need lose himself there. in the borders were placed bottles, each containing a light, and among them the bottle with which we are acquainted, and whose fate it was, one day, to be only a bottle neck, and to serve as a water-glass to a bird's-cage. everything here appeared lovely to our bottle, for it was again in the green wood, amid joy and feasting; again it heard music and song, and the noise and murmur of a crowd, especially in that part of the garden where the lamps blazed, and the paper lanterns displayed their brilliant colors. it stood in a distant walk certainly, but a place pleasant for contemplation; and it carried a light; and was at once useful and ornamental. in such an hour it is easy to forget that one has spent twenty years in a loft, and a good thing it is to be able to do so. close before the bottle passed a single pair, like the bridal pair--the mate and the furrier's daughter--who had so long ago wandered in the wood. it seemed to the bottle as if he were living that time over again. not only the guests but other people were walking in the garden, who were allowed to witness the splendor and the festivities. among the latter came an old maid, who seemed to be quite alone in the world. she was thinking, like the bottle, of the green wood, and of a young betrothed pair, who were closely connected with herself; she was thinking of that hour, the happiest of her life, in which she had taken part, when she had herself been one of that betrothed pair; such hours are never to be forgotten, let a maiden be as old as she may. but she did not recognize the bottle, neither did the bottle notice the old maid. and so we often pass each other in the world when we meet, as did these two, even while together in the same town. the bottle was taken from the garden, and again sent to a wine merchant, where it was once more filled with wine, and sold to an aeronaut, who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the following sunday. a great crowd assembled to witness the sight; military music had been engaged, and many other preparations made. the bottle saw it all from the basket in which he lay close to a live rabbit. the rabbit was quite excited because he knew that he was to be taken up, and let down again in a parachute. the bottle, however, knew nothing of the "up," or the "down;" he saw only that the balloon was swelling larger and larger till it could swell no more, and began to rise and be restless. then the ropes which held it were cut through, and the aerial ship rose in the air with the aeronaut and the basket containing the bottle and the rabbit, while the music sounded and all the people shouted "hurrah." "this is a wonderful journey up into the air," thought the bottle; "it is a new way of sailing, and here, at least, there is no fear of striking against anything." thousands of people gazed at the balloon, and the old maid who was in the garden saw it also; for she stood at the open window of the garret, by which hung the cage containing the linnet, who then had no water-glass, but was obliged to be contented with an old cup. in the window-sill stood a myrtle in a pot, and this had been pushed a little on one side, that it might not fall out; for the old maid was leaning out of the window, that she might see. and she did see distinctly the aeronaut in the balloon, and how he let down the rabbit in the parachute, and then drank to the health of all the spectators in the wine from the bottle. after doing this, he hurled it high into the air. how little she thought that this was the very same bottle which her friend had thrown aloft in her honor, on that happy day of rejoicing, in the green wood, in her youthful days. the bottle had no time to think, when raised so suddenly; and before it was aware, it reached the highest point it had ever attained in its life. steeples and roofs lay far, far beneath it, and the people looked as tiny as possible. then it began to descend much more rapidly than the rabbit had done, made somersaults in the air, and felt itself quite young and unfettered, although it was half full of wine. but this did not last long. what a journey it was! all the people could see the bottle; for the sun shone upon it. the balloon was already far away, and very soon the bottle was far away also; for it fell upon a roof, and broke in pieces. but the pieces had got such an impetus in them, that they could not stop themselves. they went jumping and rolling about, till at last they fell into the court-yard, and were broken into still smaller pieces; only the neck of the bottle managed to keep whole, and it was broken off as clean as if it had been cut with a diamond. "that would make a capital bird's glass," said one of the cellar-men; but none of them had either a bird or a cage, and it was not to be expected they would provide one just because they had found a bottle neck that could be used as a glass. but the old maid who lived in the garret had a bird, and it really might be useful to her; so the bottle neck was provided with a cork, and taken up to her; and, as it often happens in life, the part that had been uppermost was now turned downwards, and it was filled with fresh water. then they hung it in the cage of the little bird, who sang and twittered more merrily than ever. "ah, you have good reason to sing," said the bottle neck, which was looked upon as something very remarkable, because it had been in a balloon; nothing further was known of its history. as it hung there in the bird's-cage, it could hear the noise and murmur of the people in the street below, as well as the conversation of the old maid in the room within. an old friend had just come to visit her, and they talked, not about the bottle neck, but of the myrtle in the window. "no, you must not spend a dollar for your daughter's bridal bouquet," said the old maid; "you shall have a beautiful little bunch for a nosegay, full of blossoms. do you see how splendidly the tree has grown? it has been raised from only a little sprig of myrtle that you gave me on the day after my betrothal, and from which i was to make my own bridal bouquet when a year had passed: but that day never came; the eyes were closed which were to have been my light and joy through life. in the depths of the sea my beloved sleeps sweetly; the myrtle has become an old tree, and i am a still older woman. before the sprig you gave me faded, i took a spray, and planted it in the earth; and now, as you see, it has become a large tree, and a bunch of the blossoms shall at last appear at a wedding festival, in the bouquet of your daughter." there were tears in the eyes of the old maid, as she spoke of the beloved of her youth, and of their betrothal in the wood. many thoughts came into her mind; but the thought never came, that quite close to her, in that very window, was a remembrance of those olden times,--the neck of the bottle which had, as it were shouted for joy when the cork flew out with a bang on the betrothal day. but the bottle neck did not recognize the old maid; he had not been listening to what she had related, perhaps because he was thinking so much about her. the buckwheat very often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheat appears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire had passed over it. the country people say that this appearance is caused by lightning; but i will tell you what the sparrow says, and the sparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field of buckwheat, and is there still. it is a large venerable tree, though a little crippled by age. the trunk has been split, and out of the crevice grass and brambles grow. the tree bends for-ward slightly, and the branches hang quite down to the ground just like green hair. corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley, but oats,-pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of little golden canary-birds sitting on a bough. the corn has a smiling look and the heaviest and richest ears bend their heads low as if in pious humility. once there was also a field of buckwheat, and this field was exactly opposite to old willow-tree. the buckwheat did not bend like the other grain, but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem. "i am as valuable as any other corn," said he, "and i am much handsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the apple blossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. do you know of anything prettier than we are, you old willow-tree?" and the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say, "indeed i do." but the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said, "stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body." there arose a very terrible storm. all the field-flowers folded their leaves together, or bowed their little heads, while the storm passed over them, but the buckwheat stood erect in its pride. "bend your head as we do," said the flowers. "i have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat. "bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the angel of the storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky above to the earth beneath. he will strike you down before you can cry for mercy." "but i will not bend my head," said the buckwheat. "close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the old willow-tree. "do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts; even men cannot do that. in a flash of lightning heaven opens, and we can look in; but the sight will strike even human beings blind. what then must happen to us, who only grow out of the earth, and are so inferior to them, if we venture to do so?" "inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "now i intend to have a peep into heaven." proudly and boldly he looked up, while the lightning flashed across the sky as if the whole world were in flames. when the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the corn raised their drooping heads in the pure still air, refreshed by the rain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt to blackness by the lightning. the branches of the old willow-tree rustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leaves as if the old willow were weeping. then the sparrows asked why he was weeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful. "see," they said, "how the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. do you not smell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? wherefore do you weep, old willow-tree?" then the willow told them of the haughty pride of the buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence. this is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when i begged them to relate some tale to me. the butterfly there was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the flowers. he glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search would become very wearisome. the butterfly did not like to take too much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. the french call this flower "marguerite," and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: "does he or she love me?--ardently? distractedly? very much? a little? not at all?" and so on. every one speaks these words in his own language. the butterfly came also to marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to be done by kindness. "darling marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the wisest woman of all the flowers. pray tell me which of the flowers i shall choose for my wife. which will be my bride? when i know, i will fly directly to her, and propose." but marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there is a great difference. he asked her a second time, and then a third; but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. then he would wait no longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at once. it was in the early spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom. "they are very pretty," thought the butterfly; "charming little lasses; but they are rather formal." then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder girls. he next flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to his taste. the violet, a little too sentimental. the lime-blossoms, too small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. the apple-blossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a time. the pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. he was just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end. "who is that?" he asked. "that is my sister," replied the pea-blossom. "oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he; and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked. a honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; but there were so many girls like her, with long faces and sallow complexions. no; he did not like her. but which one did he like? spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came; but he had not decided. the flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the fresh, fragrant air of youth. for the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is no longer young; and there is very little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. you know, this plant has no blossom; but it is sweetness all over,--full of fragrance from head to foot, with the scent of a flower in every leaf. "i will take her," said the butterfly; and he made her an offer. but the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. at last she said,-- "friendship, if you please; nothing more. i am old, and you are old, but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying--no; don't let us appear ridiculous at our age." and so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. he had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. and the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor. it was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. the cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked again. it was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes; but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. he had got a shelter by chance. it was in a room heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. he could exist here, he said, well enough. "but it is not enough merely to exist," said he, "i need freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion." then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admired by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a box of curiosities. they could not do more for him. "now i am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said the butterfly. "it is not very pleasant, certainly; i should imagine it is something like being married; for here i am stuck fast." and with this thought he consoled himself a little. "that seems very poor consolation," said one of the plants in the room, that grew in a pot. "ah," thought the butterfly, "one can't very well trust these plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind." a cheerful temper from my father i received the best inheritance, namely a "good temper." "and who was my father?" that has nothing to do with the good temper; but i will say he was lively, good-looking round, and fat; he was both in appearance and character a complete contradiction to his profession. "and pray what was his profession and his standing in respectable society?" well, perhaps, if in the beginning of a book these were written and printed, many, when they read it, would lay the book down and say, "it seems to me a very miserable title, i don't like things of this sort." and yet my father was not a skin-dresser nor an executioner; on the contrary, his employment placed him at the head of the grandest people of the town, and it was his place by right. he had to precede the bishop, and even the princes of the blood; he always went first,--he was a hearse driver! there, now, the truth is out. and i will own, that when people saw my father perched up in front of the omnibus of death, dressed in his long, wide, black cloak, and his black-edged, three-cornered hat on his head, and then glanced at his round, jocund face, round as the sun, they could not think much of sorrow or the grave. that face said, "it is nothing, it will all end better than people think." so i have inherited from him, not only my good temper, but a habit of going often to the churchyard, which is good, when done in a proper humor; and then also i take in the intelligencer, just as he used to do. i am not very young, i have neither wife nor children, nor a library, but, as i said, i read the intelligencer, which is enough for me; it is to me a delightful paper, and so it was to my father. it is of great use, for it contains all that a man requires to know; the names of the preachers at the church, and the new books which are published; where houses, servants, clothes, and provisions may be obtained. and then what a number of subscriptions to charities, and what innocent verses! persons seeking interviews and engagements, all so plainly and naturally stated. certainly, a man who takes in the intelligencer may live merrily and be buried contentedly, and by the end of his life will have such a capital stock of paper that he can lie on a soft bed of it, unless he prefers wood shavings for his resting-place. the newspaper and the churchyard were always exciting objects to me. my walks to the latter were like bathing-places to my good humor. every one can read the newspaper for himself, but come with me to the churchyard while the sun shines and the trees are green, and let us wander among the graves. each of them is like a closed book, with the back uppermost, on which we can read the title of what the book contains, but nothing more. i had a great deal of information from my father, and i have noticed a great deal myself. i keep it in my diary, in which i write for my own use and pleasure a history of all who lie here, and a few more beside. now we are in the churchyard. here, behind the white iron railings, once a rose-tree grew; it is gone now, but a little bit of evergreen, from a neighboring grave, stretches out its green tendrils, and makes some appearance; there rests a very unhappy man, and yet while he lived he might be said to occupy a very good position. he had enough to live upon, and something to spare; but owing to his refined tastes the least thing in the world annoyed him. if he went to a theatre of an evening, instead of enjoying himself he would be quite annoyed if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side of the moon, or if the representations of the sky hung over the scenes when they ought to have hung behind them; or if a palm-tree was introduced into a scene representing the zoological gardens of berlin, or a cactus in a view of tyrol, or a beech-tree in the north of norway. as if these things were of any consequence! why did he not leave them alone? who would trouble themselves about such trifles? especially at a comedy, where every one is expected to be amused. then sometimes the public applauded too much, or too little, to please him. "they are like wet wood," he would say, looking round to see what sort of people were present, "this evening; nothing fires them." then he would vex and fret himself because they did not laugh at the right time, or because they laughed in the wrong places; and so he fretted and worried himself till at last the unhappy man fretted himself into the grave. here rests a happy man, that is to say, a man of high birth and position, which was very lucky for him, otherwise he would have been scarcely worth notice. it is beautiful to observe how wisely nature orders these things. he walked about in a coat embroidered all over, and in the drawing-rooms of society looked just like one of those rich pearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which are only made for show; and behind them always hangs a good thick cord for use. this man also had a stout, useful substitute behind him, who did duty for him, and performed all his dirty work. and there are still, even now, these serviceable cords behind other embroidered bell-ropes. it is all so wisely arranged, that a man may well be in a good humor. here rests,--ah, it makes one feel mournful to think of him!--but here rests a man who, during sixty-seven years, was never remembered to have said a good thing; he lived only in the hope of having a good idea. at last he felt convinced, in his own mind, that he really had one, and was so delighted that he positively died of joy at the thought of having at last caught an idea. nobody got anything by it; indeed, no one even heard what the good thing was. now i can imagine that this same idea may prevent him from resting quietly in his grave; for suppose that to produce a good effect, it is necessary to bring out his new idea at breakfast, and that he can only make his appearance on earth at midnight, as ghosts are believed generally to do; why then this good idea would not suit the hour, and the man would have to carry it down again with him into the grave--that must be a troubled grave. the woman who lies here was so remarkably stingy, that during her life she would get up in the night and mew, that her neighbors might think she kept a cat. what a miser she was! here rests a young lady, of a good family, who would always make her voice heard in society, and when she sang "mi manca la voce,"[ ] it was the only true thing she ever said in her life. here lies a maiden of another description. she was engaged to be married,--but, her story is one of every-day life; we will leave her to rest in the grave. here rests a widow, who, with music in her tongue, carried gall in her heart. she used to go round among the families near, and search out their faults, upon which she preyed with all the envy and malice of her nature. this is a family grave. the members of this family held so firmly together in their opinions, that they would believe in no other. if the newspapers, or even the whole world, said of a certain subject, "it is so-and-so;" and a little schoolboy declared he had learned quite differently, they would take his assertion as the only true one, because he belonged to the family. and it is well known that if the yard-cock belonging to this family happened to crow at midnight, they would declare it was morning, although the watchman and all the clocks in the town were proclaiming the hour of twelve at night. the great poet goethe concludes his faust with the words, "may be continued;" so might our wanderings in the churchyard be continued. i come here often, and if any of my friends, or those who are not my friends, are too much for me, i go out and choose a plot of ground in which to bury him or her. then i bury them, as it were; there they lie, dead and powerless, till they come back new and better characters. their lives and their deeds, looked at after my own fashion, i write down in my diary, as every one ought to do. then, if any of our friends act absurdly, no one need to be vexed about it. let them bury the offenders out of sight, and keep their good temper. they can also read the intelligencer, which is a paper written by the people, with their hands guided. when the time comes for the history of my life, to be bound by the grave, then they will write upon it as my epitaph-- "the man with a cheerful temper." and this is my story. [ ] "i want a voice," or, "i have no voice." the child in the grave it was a very sad day, and every heart in the house felt the deepest grief; for the youngest child, a boy of four years old, the joy and hope of his parents, was dead. two daughters, the elder of whom was going to be confirmed, still remained: they were both good, charming girls; but the lost child always seems the dearest; and when it is youngest, and a son, it makes the trial still more heavy. the sisters mourned as young hearts can mourn, and were especially grieved at the sight of their parents' sorrow. the father's heart was bowed down, but the mother sunk completely under the deep grief. day and night she had attended to the sick child, nursing and carrying it in her bosom, as a part of herself. she could not realize the fact that the child was dead, and must be laid in a coffin to rest in the ground. she thought god could not take her darling little one from her; and when it did happen notwithstanding her hopes and her belief, and there could be no more doubt on the subject, she said in her feverish agony, "god does not know it. he has hard-hearted ministering spirits on earth, who do according to their own will, and heed not a mother's prayers." thus in her great grief she fell away from her faith in god, and dark thoughts arose in her mind respecting death and a future state. she tried to believe that man was but dust, and that with his life all existence ended. but these doubts were no support to her, nothing on which she could rest, and she sunk into the fathomless depths of despair. in her darkest hours she ceased to weep, and thought not of the young daughters who were still left to her. the tears of her husband fell on her forehead, but she took no notice of him; her thoughts were with her dead child; her whole existence seemed wrapped up in the remembrances of the little one and of every innocent word it had uttered. the day of the little child's funeral came. for nights previously the mother had not slept, but in the morning twilight of this day she sunk from weariness into a deep sleep; in the mean time the coffin was carried into a distant room, and there nailed down, that she might not hear the blows of the hammer. when she awoke, and wanted to see her child, the husband, with tears, said, "we have closed the coffin; it was necessary to do so." "when god is so hard to me, how can i expect men to be better?" she said with groans and tears. the coffin was carried to the grave, and the disconsolate mother sat with her young daughters. she looked at them, but she saw them not; for her thoughts were far away from the domestic hearth. she gave herself up to her grief, and it tossed her to and fro, as the sea tosses a ship without compass or rudder. so the day of the funeral passed away, and similar days followed, of dark, wearisome pain. with tearful eyes and mournful glances, the sorrowing daughters and the afflicted husband looked upon her who would not hear their words of comfort; and, indeed, what comforting words could they speak, when they were themselves so full of grief? it seemed as if she would never again know sleep, and yet it would have been her best friend, one who would have strengthened her body and poured peace into her soul. they at last persuaded her to lie down, and then she would lie as still as if she slept. one night, when her husband listened, as he often did, to her breathing, he quite believed that she had at length found rest and relief in sleep. he folded his arms and prayed, and soon sunk himself into healthful sleep; therefore he did not notice that his wife arose, threw on her clothes, and glided silently from the house, to go where her thoughts constantly lingered--to the grave of her child. she passed through the garden, to a path across a field that led to the churchyard. no one saw her as she walked, nor did she see any one; for her eyes were fixed upon the one object of her wanderings. it was a lovely starlight night in the beginning of september, and the air was mild and still. she entered the churchyard, and stood by the little grave, which looked like a large nosegay of fragrant flowers. she sat down, and bent her head low over the grave, as if she could see her child through the earth that covered him--her little boy, whose smile was so vividly before her, and the gentle expression of whose eyes, even on his sick-bed, she could not forget. how full of meaning that glance had been, as she leaned over him, holding in hers the pale hand which he had no longer strength to raise! as she had sat by his little cot, so now she sat by his grave; and here she could weep freely, and her tears fell upon it. "thou wouldst gladly go down and be with thy child," said a voice quite close to her,--a voice that sounded so deep and clear, that it went to her heart. she looked up, and by her side stood a man wrapped in a black cloak, with a hood closely drawn over his face; but her keen glance could distinguish the face under the hood. it was stern, yet awakened confidence, and the eyes beamed with youthful radiance. "down to my child," she repeated; and tones of despair and entreaty sounded in the words. "darest thou to follow me?" asked the form. "i am death." she bowed her head in token of assent. then suddenly it appeared as if all the stars were shining with the radiance of the full moon on the many-colored flowers that decked the grave. the earth that covered it was drawn back like a floating drapery. she sunk down, and the spectre covered her with a black cloak; night closed around her, the night of death. she sank deeper than the spade of the sexton could penetrate, till the churchyard became a roof above her. then the cloak was removed, and she found herself in a large hall, of wide-spreading dimensions, in which there was a subdued light, like twilight, reigning, and in a moment her child appeared before her, smiling, and more beautiful than ever; with a silent cry she pressed him to her heart. a glorious strain of music sounded--now distant, now near. never had she listened to such tones as these; they came from beyond a large dark curtain which separated the regions of death from the land of eternity. "my sweet, darling mother," she heard the child say. it was the well-known, beloved voice; and kiss followed kiss, in boundless delight. then the child pointed to the dark curtain. "there is nothing so beautiful on earth as it is here. mother, do you not see them all? oh, it is happiness indeed." but the mother saw nothing of what the child pointed out, only the dark curtain. she looked with earthly eyes, and could not see as the child saw,--he whom god has called to be with himself. she could hear the sounds of music, but she heard not the words, the word in which she was to trust. "i can fly now, mother," said the child; "i can fly with other happy children into the presence of the almighty. i would fain fly away now; but if you weep for me as you are weeping now, you may never see me again. and yet i would go so gladly. may i not fly away? and you will come to me soon, will you not, dear mother?" "oh, stay, stay!" implored the mother; "only one moment more; only once more, that i may look upon thee, and kiss thee, and press thee to my heart." then she kissed and fondled her child. suddenly her name was called from above; what could it mean? her name uttered in a plaintive voice. "hearest thou?" said the child. "it is my father who calls thee." and in a few moments deep sighs were heard, as of children weeping. "they are my sisters," said the child. "mother, surely you have not forgotten them." and then she remembered those she left behind, and a great terror came over her. she looked around her at the dark night. dim forms flitted by. she seemed to recognize some of them, as they floated through the regions of death towards the dark curtain, where they vanished. would her husband and her daughters flit past? no; their sighs and lamentations still sounded from above; and she had nearly forgotten them, for the sake of him who was dead. "mother, now the bells of heaven are ringing," said the child; "mother, the sun is going to rise." an overpowering light streamed in upon her, the child had vanished, and she was being borne upwards. all around her became cold; she lifted her head, and saw that she was lying in the churchyard, on the grave of her child. the lord, in a dream, had been a guide to her feet and a light to her spirit. she bowed her knees, and prayed for forgiveness. she had wished to keep back a soul from its immortal flight; she had forgotten her duties towards the living who were left her. and when she had offered this prayer, her heart felt lighter. the sun burst forth, over her head a little bird carolled his song, and the church-bells sounded for the early service. everything around her seemed holy, and her heart was chastened. she acknowledged the goodness of god, she acknowledged the duties she had to perform, and eagerly she returned home. she bent over her husband, who still slept; her warm, devoted kiss awakened him, and words of heartfelt love fell from the lips of both. now she was gentle and strong as a wife can be; and from her lips came the words of faith: "whatever he doeth is right and best." then her husband asked, "from whence hast thou all at once derived such strength and comforting faith?" and as she kissed him and her children, she said, "it came from god, through my child in the grave." children's prattle at a rich merchant's house there was a children's party, and the children of rich and great people were there. the merchant was a learned man, for his father had sent him to college, and he had passed his examination. his father had been at first only a cattle dealer, but always honest and industrious, so that he had made money, and his son, the merchant, had managed to increase his store. clever as he was, he had also a heart; but there was less said of his heart than of his money. all descriptions of people visited at the merchant's house, well born, as well as intellectual, and some who possessed neither of these recommendations. now it was a children's party, and there was children's prattle, which always is spoken freely from the heart. among them was a beautiful little girl, who was terribly proud; but this had been taught her by the servants, and not by her parents, who were far too sensible people. her father was groom of the chambers, which is a high office at court, and she knew it. "i am a child of the court," she said; now she might just as well have been a child of the cellar, for no one can help his birth; and then she told the other children that she was well-born, and said that no one who was not well-born could rise in the world. it was no use to read and be industrious, for if a person was not well-born, he could never achieve anything. "and those whose names end with 'sen,'" said she, "can never be anything at all. we must put our arms akimbo, and make the elbow quite pointed, so as to keep these 'sen' people at a great distance." and then she stuck out her pretty little arms, and made the elbows quite pointed, to show how it was to be done; and her little arms were very pretty, for she was a sweet-looking child. but the little daughter of the merchant became very angry at this speech, for her father's name was petersen, and she knew that the name ended in "sen," and therefore she said as proudly as she could, "but my papa can buy a hundred dollars' worth of bonbons, and give them away to children. can your papa do that?" "yes; and my papa," said the little daughter of the editor of a paper, "my papa can put your papa and everybody's papa into the newspaper. all sorts of people are afraid of him, my mamma says, for he can do as he likes with the paper." and the little maiden looked exceedingly proud, as if she had been a real princess, who may be expected to look proud. but outside the door, which stood ajar, was a poor boy, peeping through the crack of the door. he was of such a lowly station that he had not been allowed even to enter the room. he had been turning the spit for the cook, and she had given him permission to stand behind the door and peep in at the well-dressed children, who were having such a merry time within; and for him that was a great deal. "oh, if i could be one of them," thought he, and then he heard what was said about names, which was quite enough to make him more unhappy. his parents at home had not even a penny to spare to buy a newspaper, much less could they write in one; and worse than all, his father's name, and of course his own, ended in "sen," and therefore he could never turn out well, which was a very sad thought. but after all, he had been born into the world, and the station of life had been chosen for him, therefore he must be content. and this is what happened on that evening. many years passed, and most of the children became grown-up persons. there stood a splendid house in the town, filled with all kinds of beautiful and valuable objects. everybody wished to see it, and people even came in from the country round to be permitted to view the treasures it contained. which of the children whose prattle we have described, could call this house his own? one would suppose it very easy to guess. no, no; it is not so very easy. the house belonged to the poor little boy who had stood on that night behind the door. he had really become something great, although his name ended in "sen,"--for it was thorwaldsen. and the three other children--the children of good birth, of money, and of intellectual pride,--well, they were respected and honored in the world, for they had been well provided for by birth and position, and they had no cause to reproach themselves with what they had thought and spoken on that evening long ago, for, after all, it was mere "children's prattle." the farm-yard cock and the weather-cock there were two cocks--one on the dung-hill, the other on the roof. they were both arrogant, but which of the two rendered most service? tell us your opinion--we'll keep to ours just the same though. the poultry yard was divided by some planks from another yard in which there was a dung-hill, and on the dung-hill lay and grew a large cucumber which was conscious of being a hot-bed plant. "one is born to that," said the cucumber to itself. "not all can be born cucumbers; there must be other things, too. the hens, the ducks, and all the animals in the next yard are creatures too. now i have a great opinion of the yard cock on the plank; he is certainly of much more importance than the weather-cock who is placed so high and can't even creak, much less crow. the latter has neither hens nor chicks, and only thinks of himself and perspires verdigris. no, the yard cock is really a cock! his step is a dance! his crowing is music, and wherever he goes one knows what a trumpeter is like! if he would only come in here! even if he ate me up stump, stalk, and all, and i had to dissolve in his body, it would be a happy death," said the cucumber. in the night there was a terrible storm. the hens, chicks, and even the cock sought shelter; the wind tore down the planks between the two yards with a crash; the tiles came tumbling down, but the weather-cock sat firm. he did not even turn round, for he could not; and yet he was young and freshly cast, but prudent and sedate. he had been born old, and did not at all resemble the birds flying in the air--the sparrows, and the swallows; no, he despised them, these mean little piping birds, these common whistlers. he admitted that the pigeons, large and white and shining like mother-o'-pearl, looked like a kind of weather-cock; but they were fat and stupid, and all their thoughts and endeavours were directed to filling themselves with food, and besides, they were tiresome things to converse with. the birds of passage had also paid the weather-cock a visit and told him of foreign countries, of airy caravans and robber stories that made one's hair stand on end. all this was new and interesting; that is, for the first time, but afterwards, as the weather-cock found out, they repeated themselves and always told the same stories, and that's very tedious, and there was no one with whom one could associate, for one and all were stale and small-minded. "the world is no good!" he said. "everything in it is so stupid." the weather-cock was puffed up, and that quality would have made him interesting in the eyes of the cucumber if it had known it, but it had eyes only for the yard cock, who was now in the yard with it. the wind had blown the planks, but the storm was over. "what do you think of that crowing?" said the yard cock to the hens and chickens. "it was a little rough--it wanted elegance." and the hens and chickens came up on the dung-hill, and the cock strutted about like a lord. "garden plant!" he said to the cucumber, and in that one word his deep learning showed itself, and it forgot that he was pecking at her and eating it up. "a happy death!" the hens and the chickens came, for where one runs the others run too; they clucked, and chirped, and looked at the cock, and were proud that he was of their kind. "cock-a-doodle-doo!" he crowed, "the chickens will grow up into great hens at once, if i cry it out in the poultry-yard of the world!" and hens and chicks clucked and chirped, and the cock announced a great piece of news. "a cock can lay an egg! and do you know what's in that egg? a basilisk. no one can stand the sight of such a thing; people know that, and now you know it too--you know what is in me, and what a champion of all cocks i am!" with that the yard cock flapped his wings, made his comb swell up, and crowed again; and they all shuddered, the hens and the little chicks--but they were very proud that one of their number was such a champion of all cocks. they clucked and chirped till the weather-cock heard; he heard it; but he did not stir. "everything is very stupid," the weather-cock said to himself. "the yard cock lays no eggs, and i am too lazy to do so; if i liked, i could lay a wind-egg. but the world is not worth even a wind-egg. everything is so stupid! i don't want to sit here any longer." with that the weather-cock broke off; but he did not kill the yard cock, although the hens said that had been his intention. and what is the moral? "better to crow than to be puffed up and break off!" the daisy now listen! in the country, close by the high road, stood a farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. there was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it; close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank grew a little daisy; the sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent garden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. one morning it had quite opened, and its little snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre, like the rays of the sun. it did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower; on the contrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air. the little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a great holiday, but it was only monday. all the children were at school, and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons, it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind god is, and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. with a sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing, but it did not feel envious. "i can see and hear," it thought; "the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. how rich i am!" in the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers, and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the haughtier and prouder they were. the peonies puffed themselves up in order to be larger than the roses, but size is not everything! the tulips had the finest colours, and they knew it well, too, for they were standing bolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. in their pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to them and thought, "how rich and beautiful they are! i am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. thank god, that i stand so near and can at least see all the splendour." and while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying "tweet," but not to the peonies and tulips--no, into the grass to the poor daisy. its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. the little bird hopped round it and sang, "how beautifully soft the grass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is growing here." the yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as silver. how happy the daisy was! no one has the least idea. the bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to the blue sky. it was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses. half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it looked over to the other flowers in the garden; surely they had witnessed its pleasure and the honour that had been done to it; they understood its joy. but the tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces were pointed and red, because they were vexed. the peonies were sulky; it was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have given the daisy a good lecture. the little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely. shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a large sharp knife. she went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one after another. "ugh!" sighed the daisy, "that is terrible; now they are done for." the girl carried the tulips away. the daisy was glad that it was outside, and only a small flower--it felt very grateful. at sunset it folded its petals, and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird. on the following morning, when the flower once more stretched forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air and light, the daisy recognised the bird's voice, but what it sang sounded so sad. indeed the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it had been caught and put into a cage close by the open window. it sang of the happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in the fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to the clouds. the poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. the little daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could be done? indeed, that was very difficult for such a small flower to find out. it entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was, how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its own petals were. it could only think of the poor captive bird, for which it could do nothing. then two little boys came out of the garden; one of them had a large sharp knife, like that with which the girl had cut the tulips. they came straight towards the little daisy, which could not understand what they wanted. "here is a fine piece of turf for the lark," said one of the boys, and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remained in the centre of the grass. "pluck the flower off," said the other boy, and the daisy trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and it wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf into the poor captive lark's cage. "no let it stay," said the other boy, "it looks so pretty." and so it stayed, and was brought into the lark's cage. the poor bird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its wings against the wires; and the little daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word, much as it would have liked to do so. so the forenoon passed. "i have no water," said the captive lark, "they have all gone out, and forgotten to give me anything to drink. my throat is dry and burning. i feel as if i had fire and ice within me, and the air is so oppressive. alas! i must die, and part with the warm sunshine, the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that god has created." and it thrust its beak into the piece of grass, to refresh itself a little. then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed it with its beak and said: "you must also fade in here, poor little flower. you and the piece of grass are all they have given me in exchange for the whole world, which i enjoyed outside. each little blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petals a fragrant flower. alas! you only remind me of what i have lost." "i wish i could console the poor lark," thought the daisy. it could not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its delicate petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usually have: the bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and in its pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch the flower. the evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a drop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about in its anguish; a faint and mournful "tweet, tweet," was all it could utter, then it bent its little head towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing. the flower could not, as on the previous evening, fold up its petals and sleep; it dropped sorrowfully. the boys only came the next morning; when they saw the dead bird, they began to cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, and adorned it with flowers. the bird's body was placed in a pretty red box; they wished to bury it with royal honours. while it was alive and sang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now, they cried over it and covered it with flowers. the piece of turf, with the little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. nobody thought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird and had so greatly desired to comfort it. the darning-needle there was once a darning-needle who thought herself so fine that she fancied she must be fit for embroidery. "hold me tight," she would say to the fingers, when they took her up, "don't let me fall; if you do i shall never be found again, i am so very fine." "that is your opinion, is it?" said the fingers, as they seized her round the body. "see, i am coming with a train," said the darning-needle, drawing a long thread after her; but there was no knot in the thread. the fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook's slipper. there was a crack in the upper leather, which had to be sewn together. "what coarse work!" said the darning-needle, "i shall never get through. i shall break!--i am breaking!" and sure enough she broke. "did i not say so?" said the darning-needle, "i know i am too fine for such work as that." "this needle is quite useless for sewing now," said the fingers; but they still held it fast, and the cook dropped some sealing-wax on the needle, and fastened her handkerchief with it in front. "so now i am a breast-pin," said the darning-needle; "i knew very well i should come to honor some day: merit is sure to rise;" and she laughed, quietly to herself, for of course no one ever saw a darning-needle laugh. and there she sat as proudly as if she were in a state coach, and looked all around her. "may i be allowed to ask if you are made of gold?" she inquired of her neighbor, a pin; "you have a very pretty appearance, and a curious head, although you are rather small. you must take pains to grow, for it is not every one who has sealing-wax dropped upon him;" and as she spoke, the darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was cleaning. "now i am going on a journey," said the needle, as she floated away with the dirty water, "i do hope i shall not be lost." but she really was lost in a gutter. "i am too fine for this world," said the darning-needle, as she lay in the gutter; "but i know who i am, and that is always some comfort." so the darning-needle kept up her proud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. then there floated over her all sorts of things,--chips and straws, and pieces of old newspaper. "see how they sail," said the darning-needle; "they do not know what is under them. i am here, and here i shall stick. see, there goes a chip, thinking of nothing in the world but himself--only a chip. there's a straw going by now; how he turns and twists about! don't be thinking too much of yourself, or you may chance to run against a stone. there swims a piece of newspaper; what is written upon it has been forgotten long ago, and yet it gives itself airs. i sit here patiently and quietly. i know who i am, so i shall not move." one day something lying close to the darning-needle glittered so splendidly that she thought it was a diamond; yet it was only a piece of broken bottle. the darning-needle spoke to it, because it sparkled, and represented herself as a breast-pin. "i suppose you are really a diamond?" she said. "why yes, something of the kind," he replied; and so each believed the other to be very valuable, and then they began to talk about the world, and the conceited people in it. "i have been in a lady's work-box," said the darning-needle, "and this lady was the cook. she had on each hand five fingers, and anything so conceited as these five fingers i have never seen; and yet they were only employed to take me out of the box and to put me back again." "were they not high-born?" "high-born!" said the darning-needle, "no indeed, but so haughty. they were five brothers, all born fingers; they kept very proudly together, though they were of different lengths. the one who stood first in the rank was named the thumb, he was short and thick, and had only one joint in his back, and could therefore make but one bow; but he said that if he were cut off from a man's hand, that man would be unfit for a soldier. sweet-tooth, his neighbor, dipped himself into sweet or sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and formed the letters when the fingers wrote. longman, the middle finger, looked over the heads of all the others. gold-band, the next finger, wore a golden circle round his waist. and little playman did nothing at all, and seemed proud of it. they were boasters, and boasters they will remain; and therefore i left them." "and now we sit here and glitter," said the piece of broken bottle. at the same moment more water streamed into the gutter, so that it overflowed, and the piece of bottle was carried away. "so he is promoted," said the darning-needle, "while i remain here; i am too fine, but that is my pride, and what do i care?" and so she sat there in her pride, and had many such thoughts as these,--"i could almost fancy that i came from a sunbeam, i am so fine. it seems as if the sunbeams were always looking for me under the water. ah! i am so fine that even my mother cannot find me. had i still my old eye, which was broken off, i believe i should weep; but no, i would not do that, it is not genteel to cry." one day a couple of street boys were paddling in the gutter, for they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and other treasures. it was dirty work, but they took great pleasure in it. "hallo!" cried one, as he pricked himself with the darning-needle, "here's a fellow for you." "i am not a fellow, i am a young lady," said the darning-needle; but no one heard her. the sealing-wax had come off, and she was quite black; but black makes a person look slender, so she thought herself even finer than before. "here comes an egg-shell sailing along," said one of the boys; so they stuck the darning-needle into the egg-shell. "white walls, and i am black myself," said the darning-needle, "that looks well; now i can be seen, but i hope i shall not be sea-sick, or i shall break again." she was not sea-sick, and she did not break. "it is a good thing against sea-sickness to have a steel stomach, and not to forget one's own importance. now my sea-sickness has past: delicate people can bear a great deal." crack went the egg-shell, as a waggon passed over it. "good heavens, how it crushes!" said the darning-needle. "i shall be sick now. i am breaking!" but she did not break, though the waggon went over her as she lay at full length; and there let her lie. delaying is not forgetting there was an old mansion surrounded by a marshy ditch with a drawbridge which was but seldom let down:--not all guests are good people. under the roof were loopholes to shoot through, and to pour down boiling water or even molten lead on the enemy, should he approach. inside the house the rooms were very high and had ceilings of beams, and that was very useful considering the great deal of smoke which rose up from the chimney fire where the large, damp logs of wood smouldered. on the walls hung pictures of knights in armour and proud ladies in gorgeous dresses; the most stately of all walked about alive. she was called meta mogen; she was the mistress of the house, to her belonged the castle. towards the evening robbers came; they killed three of her people and also the yard-dog, and attached mrs. meta to the kennel by the chain, while they themselves made good cheer in the hall and drank the wine and the good ale out of her cellar. mrs. meta was now on the chain, she could not even bark. but lo! the servant of one of the robbers secretly approached her; they must not see it, otherwise they would have killed him. "mrs. meta mogen," said the fellow, "do you still remember how my father, when your husband was still alive, had to ride on the wooden horse? you prayed for him, but it was no good, he was to ride until his limbs were paralysed; but you stole down to him, as i steal now to you, you yourself put little stones under each of his feet that he might have support, nobody saw it, or they pretended not to see it, for you were then the young gracious mistress. my father has told me this, and i have not forgotten it! now i will free you, mrs. meta mogen!" then they pulled the horses out of the stable and rode off in rain and wind to obtain the assistance of friends. "thus the small service done to the old man was richly rewarded!" said meta mogen. "delaying is not forgetting," said the fellow. the robbers were hanged. there was an old mansion, it is still there; it did not belong to mrs. meta mogen, it belonged to another old noble family. we are now in the present time. the sun is shining on the gilt knob of the tower, little wooded islands lie like bouquets on the water, and wild swans are swimming round them. in the garden grow roses; the mistress of the house is herself the finest rose petal, she beams with joy, the joy of good deeds: however, not done in the wide world, but in her heart, and what is preserved there is not forgotten. delaying is not forgetting! now she goes from the mansion to a little peasant hut in the field. therein lives a poor paralysed girl; the window of her little room looks northward, the sun does not enter here. the girl can only see a small piece of field which is surrounded by a high fence. but to-day the sun shines here--the warm, beautiful sun of god is within the little room; it comes from the south through the new window, where formerly the wall was. the paralysed girl sits in the warm sunshine and can see the wood and the lake; the world had become so large, so beautiful, and only through a single word from the kind mistress of the mansion. "the word was so easy, the deed so small," she said, "the joy it afforded me was infinitely great and sweet!" and therefore she does many a good deed, thinks of all in the humble cottages and in the rich mansions, where there are also afflicted ones. it is concealed and hidden, but god does not forget it. delayed is not forgotten! an old house stood there; it was in the large town with its busy traffic. there are rooms and halls in it, but we do not enter them, we remain in the kitchen, where it is warm and light, clean and tidy; the copper utensils are shining, the table as if polished with beeswax; the sink looks like a freshly scoured meatboard. all this a single servant has done, and yet she has time to spare as if she wished to go to church; she wears a bow on her cap, a black bow, that signifies mourning. but she has no one to mourn, neither father nor mother, neither relations nor sweetheart. she is a poor girl. one day she was engaged to a poor fellow; they loved each other dearly. one day he came to her and said: "we both have nothing! the rich widow over the way in the basement has made advances to me; she will make me rich, but you are in my heart; what do you advise me to do?" "i advise you to do what you think will turn out to your happiness," said the girl. "be kind and good to her, but remember this; from the hour we part we shall never see each other again." years passed; then one day she met the old friend and sweetheart in the street; he looked ill and miserable, and she could not help asking him, "how are you?" "rich and prospering in every respect," he said; "the woman is brave and good, but you are in my heart. i have fought the battle, it will soon be ended; we shall not see each other again now until we meet before god!" a week has passed; this morning his death was in the newspaper, that is the reason of the girl's mourning! her old sweetheart is dead and has left a wife and three step-children, as the paper says; it sounds as if there is a crack, but the metal is pure. the black bow signifies mourning, the girl's face points to the same in a still higher degree; it is preserved in the heart and will never be forgotten. delaying is not forgetting! these are three stories you see, three leaves on the same stalk. do you wish for some more trefoil leaves? in the little heartbook are many more of them. delaying is not forgetting! the drop of water of course you know what is meant by a magnifying glass--one of those round spectacle-glasses that make everything look a hundred times bigger than it is? when any one takes one of these and holds it to his eye, and looks at a drop of water from the pond yonder, he sees above a thousand wonderful creatures that are otherwise never discerned in the water. but there they are, and it is no delusion. it almost looks like a great plateful of spiders jumping about in a crowd. and how fierce they are! they tear off each other's legs and arms and bodies, before and behind; and yet they are merry and joyful in their way. now, there once was an old man whom all the people called kribble-krabble, for that was his name. he always wanted the best of everything, and when he could not manage it otherwise, he did it by magic. there he sat one day, and held his magnifying-glass to his eye, and looked at a drop of water that had been taken out of a puddle by the ditch. but what a kribbling and krabbling was there! all the thousands of little creatures hopped and sprang and tugged at one another, and ate each other up. "that is horrible!" said old kribble-krabble. "can one not persuade them to live in peace and quietness, so that each one may mind his own business?" and he thought it over and over, but it would not do, and so he had recourse to magic. "i must give them color, that they may be seen more plainly," said he; and he poured something like a little drop of red wine into the drop of water, but it was witches' blood from the lobes of the ear, the finest kind, at ninepence a drop. and now the wonderful little creatures were pink all over. it looked like a whole town of naked wild men. "what have you there?" asked another old magician, who had no name--and that was the best thing about him. "yes, if you can guess what it is," said kribble-krabble, "i'll make you a present of it." but it is not so easy to find out if one does not know. and the magician who had no name looked through the magnifying-glass. it looked really like a great town reflected there, in which all the people were running about without clothes. it was terrible! but it was still more terrible to see how one beat and pushed the other, and bit and hacked, and tugged and mauled him. those at the top were being pulled down, and those at the bottom were struggling upwards. "look! look! his leg is longer than mine! bah! away with it! there is one who has a little bruise. it hurts him, but it shall hurt him still more." and they hacked away at him, and they pulled at him, and ate him up, because of the little bruise. and there was one sitting as still as any little maiden, and wishing only for peace and quietness. but now she had to come out, and they tugged at her, and pulled her about, and ate her up. "that's funny!" said the magician. "yes; but what do you think it is?" said kribble-krabble. "can you find that out?" "why, one can see that easily enough," said the other. "that's paris, or some other great city, for they're all alike. it's a great city!" "it's a drop of puddle water!" said kribble-krabble. the dryad we are travelling to paris to the exhibition. now we are there. that was a journey, a flight without magic. we flew on the wings of steam over the sea and across the land. yes, our time is the time of fairy tales. we are in the midst of paris, in a great hotel. blooming flowers ornament the staircases, and soft carpets the floors. our room is a very cosy one, and through the open balcony door we have a view of a great square. spring lives down there; it has come to paris, and arrived at the same time with us. it has come in the shape of a glorious young chestnut tree, with delicate leaves newly opened. how the tree gleams, dressed in its spring garb, before all the other trees in the place! one of these latter had been struck out of the list of living trees. it lies on the ground with roots exposed. on the place where it stood, the young chestnut tree is to be planted, and to flourish. it still stands towering aloft on the heavy wagon which has brought it this morning a distance of several miles to paris. for years it had stood there, in the protection of a mighty oak tree, under which the old venerable clergyman had often sat, with children listening to his stories. the young chestnut tree had also listened to the stories; for the dryad who lived in it was a child also. she remembered the time when the tree was so little that it only projected a short way above the grass and ferns around. these were as tall as they would ever be; but the tree grew every year, and enjoyed the air and the sunshine, and drank the dew and the rain. several times it was also, as it must be, well shaken by the wind and the rain; for that is a part of education. the dryad rejoiced in her life, and rejoiced in the sunshine, and the singing of the birds; but she was most rejoiced at human voices; she understood the language of men as well as she understood that of animals. butterflies, cockchafers, dragon-flies, everything that could fly came to pay a visit. they could all talk. they told of the village, of the vineyard, of the forest, of the old castle with its parks and canals and ponds. down in the water dwelt also living beings, which, in their way, could fly under the water from one place to another--beings with knowledge and delineation. they said nothing at all; they were so clever! and the swallow, who had dived, told about the pretty little goldfish, of the thick turbot, the fat brill, and the old carp. the swallow could describe all that very well, but, "self is the man," she said. "one ought to see these things one's self." but how was the dryad ever to see such beings? she was obliged to be satisfied with being able to look over the beautiful country and see the busy industry of men. it was glorious; but most glorious of all when the old clergyman sat under the oak tree and talked of france, and of the great deeds of her sons and daughters, whose names will be mentioned with admiration through all time. then the dryad heard of the shepherd girl, joan of arc, and of charlotte corday; she heard about henry the fourth, and napoleon the first; she heard names whose echo sounds in the hearts of the people. the village children listened attentively, and the dryad no less attentively; she became a school-child with the rest. in the clouds that went sailing by she saw, picture by picture, everything that she heard talked about. the cloudy sky was her picture-book. she felt so happy in beautiful france, the fruitful land of genius, with the crater of freedom. but in her heart the sting remained that the bird, that every animal that could fly, was much better off than she. even the fly could look about more in the world, far beyond the dryad's horizon. france was so great and so glorious, but she could only look across a little piece of it. the land stretched out, world-wide, with vineyards, forests and great cities. of all these paris was the most splendid and the mightiest. the birds could get there; but she, never! among the village children was a little ragged, poor girl, but a pretty one to look at. she was always laughing or singing and twining red flowers in her black hair. "don't go to paris!" the old clergyman warned her. "poor child! if you go there, it will be your ruin." but she went for all that. the dryad often thought of her; for she had the same wish, and felt the same longing for the great city. the dryad's tree was bearing its first chestnut blossoms; the birds were twittering round them in the most beautiful sunshine. then a stately carriage came rolling along that way, and in it sat a grand lady driving the spirited, light-footed horses. on the back seat a little smart groom balanced himself. the dryad knew the lady, and the old clergyman knew her also. he shook his head gravely when he saw her, and said: "so you went there after all, and it was your ruin, poor mary!" "that one poor?" thought the dryad. "no; she wears a dress fit for a countess" (she had become one in the city of magic changes). "oh, if i were only there, amid all the splendor and pomp! they shine up into the very clouds at night; when i look up, i can tell in what direction the town lies." towards that direction the dryad looked every evening. she saw in the dark night the gleaming cloud on the horizon; in the clear moonlight nights she missed the sailing clouds, which showed her pictures of the city and pictures from history. the child grasps at the picture-books, the dryad grasped at the cloud-world, her thought-book. a sudden, cloudless sky was for her a blank leaf; and for several days she had only had such leaves before her. it was in the warm summer-time: not a breeze moved through the glowing hot days. every leaf, every flower, lay as if it were torpid, and the people seemed torpid, too. then the clouds arose and covered the region round about where the gleaming mist announced "here lies paris." the clouds piled themselves up like a chain of mountains, hurried on through the air, and spread themselves abroad over the whole landscape, as far as the dryad's eye could reach. like enormous blue-black blocks of rock, the clouds lay piled over one another. gleams of lightning shot forth from them. "these also are the servants of the lord god," the old clergyman had said. and there came a bluish dazzling flash of lightning, a lighting up as if of the sun itself, which could burst blocks of rock asunder. the lightning struck and split to the roots the old venerable oak. the crown fell asunder. it seemed as if the tree were stretching forth its arms to clasp the messengers of the light. no bronze cannon can sound over the land at the birth of a royal child as the thunder sounded at the death of the old oak. the rain streamed down; a refreshing wind was blowing; the storm had gone by, and there was quite a holiday glow on all things. the old clergyman spoke a few words for honorable remembrance, and a painter made a drawing, as a lasting record of the tree. "everything passes away," said the dryad, "passes away like a cloud, and never comes back!" the old clergyman, too, did not come back. the green roof of his school was gone, and his teaching-chair had vanished. the children did not come; but autumn came, and winter came, and then spring also. in all this change of seasons the dryad looked toward the region where, at night, paris gleamed with its bright mist far on the horizon. forth from the town rushed engine after engine, train after train, whistling and screaming at all hours in the day. in the evening, towards midnight, at daybreak, and all the day through, came the trains. out of each one, and into each one, streamed people from the country of every king. a new wonder of the world had summoned them to paris. in what form did this wonder exhibit itself? "a splendid blossom of art and industry," said one, "has unfolded itself in the champ de mars, a gigantic sunflower, from whose petals one can learn geography and statistics, and can become as wise as a lord mayor, and raise one's self to the level of art and poetry, and study the greatness and power of the various lands." "a fairy tale flower," said another, "a many-colored lotus-plant, which spreads out its green leaves like a velvet carpet over the sand. the opening spring has brought it forth, the summer will see it in all its splendor, the autumn winds will sweep it away, so that not a leaf, not a fragment of its root shall remain." in front of the military school extends in time of peace the arena of war--a field without a blade of grass, a piece of sandy steppe, as if cut out of the desert of africa, where fata morgana displays her wondrous airy castles and hanging gardens. in the champ de mars, however, these were to be seen more splendid, more wonderful than in the east, for human art had converted the airy deceptive scenes into reality. "the aladdin's palace of the present has been built," it was said. "day by day, hour by hour, it unfolds more of its wonderful splendor." the endless halls shine in marble and many colors. "master bloodless" here moves his limbs of steel and iron in the great circular hall of machinery. works of art in metal, in stone, in gobelins tapestry, announce the vitality of mind that is stirring in every land. halls of paintings, splendor of flowers, everything that mind and skill can create in the workshop of the artisan, has been placed here for show. even the memorials of ancient days, out of old graves and turf-moors, have appeared at this general meeting. the overpowering great variegated whole must be divided into small portions, and pressed together like a plaything, if it is to be understood and described. like a great table on christmas eve, the champ de mars carried a wonder-castle of industry and art, and around this knickknacks from all countries had been ranged, knickknacks on a grand scale, for every nation found some remembrance of home. here stood the royal palace of egypt, there the caravanserai of the desert land. the bedouin had quitted his sunny country, and hastened by on his camel. here stood the russian stables, with the fiery glorious horses of the steppe. here stood the simple straw-thatched dwelling of the danish peasant, with the dannebrog flag, next to gustavus vasa's wooden house from dalarne, with its wonderful carvings. american huts, english cottages, french pavilions, kiosks, theatres, churches, all strewn around, and between them the fresh green turf, the clear springing water, blooming bushes, rare trees, hothouses, in which one might fancy one's self transported into the tropical forest; whole gardens brought from damascus, and blooming under one roof. what colors, what fragrance! artificial grottoes surrounded bodies of fresh or salt water, and gave a glimpse into the empire of the fishes; the visitor seemed to wander at the bottom of the sea, among fishes and polypi. "all this," they said, "the champ de mars offers;" and around the great richly-spread table the crowd of human beings moves like a busy swarm of ants, on foot or in little carriages, for not all feet are equal to such a fatiguing journey. hither they swarm from morning till late in the evening. steamer after steamer, crowded with people, glides down the seine. the number of carriages is continually on the increase. the swarm of people on foot and on horseback grows more and more dense. carriages and omnibuses are crowded, stuffed and embroidered with people. all these tributary streams flow in one direction--towards the exhibition. on every entrance the flag of france is displayed; around the world's bazaar wave the flags of all nations. there is a humming and a murmuring from the hall of the machines; from the towers the melody of the chimes is heard; with the tones of the organs in the churches mingle the hoarse nasal songs from the cafes of the east. it is a kingdom of babel, a wonder of the world! in very truth it was. that's what all the reports said, and who did not hear them? the dryad knew everything that is told here of the new wonder in the city of cities. "fly away, ye birds! fly away to see, and then come back and tell me," said the dryad. the wish became an intense desire--became the one thought of a life. then, in the quiet silent night, while the full moon was shining, the dryad saw a spark fly out of the moon's disc, and fall like a shooting star. and before the tree, whose leaves waved to and fro as if they were stirred by a tempest, stood a noble, mighty, and grand figure. in tones that were at once rich and strong, like the trumpet of the last judgment bidding farewell to life and summoning to the great account, it said: "thou shalt go to the city of magic; thou shalt take root there, and enjoy the mighty rushing breezes, the air and the sunshine there. but the time of thy life shall then be shortened; the line of years that awaited thee here amid the free nature shall shrink to but a small tale. poor dryad! it shall be thy destruction. thy yearning and longing will increase, thy desire will grow more stormy, the tree itself will be as a prison to thee, thou wilt quit thy cell and give up thy nature to fly out and mingle among men. then the years that would have belonged to thee will be contracted to half the span of the ephemeral fly, that lives but a day: one night, and thy life-taper shall be blown out--the leaves of the tree will wither and be blown away, to become green never again!" thus the words sounded. and the light vanished away, but not the longing of the dryad. she trembled in the wild fever of expectation. "i shall go there!" she cried, rejoicingly. "life is beginning and swells like a cloud; nobody knows whither it is hastening." when the gray dawn arose and the moon turned pale and the clouds were tinted red, the wished-for hour struck. the words of promise were fulfilled. people appeared with spades and poles; they dug round the roots of the tree, deeper and deeper, and beneath it. a wagon was brought out, drawn by many horses, and the tree was lifted up, with its roots and the lumps of earth that adhered to them; matting was placed around the roots, as though the tree had its feet in a warm bag. and now the tree was lifted on the wagon and secured with chains. the journey began--the journey to paris. there the tree was to grow as an ornament to the city of french glory. the twigs and the leaves of the chestnut tree trembled in the first moments of its being moved; and the dryad trembled in the pleasurable feeling of expectation. "away! away!" it sounded in every beat of her pulse. "away! away" sounded in words that flew trembling along. the dryad forgot to bid farewell to the regions of home; she thought not of the waving grass and of the innocent daisies, which had looked up to her as to a great lady, a young princess playing at being a shepherdess out in the open air. the chestnut tree stood upon the wagon, and nodded his branches; whether this meant "farewell" or "forward," the dryad knew not; she dreamed only of the marvellous new things, that seemed yet so familiar, and that were to unfold themselves before her. no child's heart rejoicing in innocence--no heart whose blood danced with passion--had set out on the journey to paris more full of expectation than she. her "farewell" sounded in the words "away! away!" the wheels turned; the distant approached; the present vanished. the region was changed, even as the clouds change. new vineyards, forests, villages, villas appeared--came nearer--vanished! the chestnut tree moved forward, and the dryad went with it. steam-engine after steam-engine rushed past, sending up into the air vapory clouds, that formed figures which told of paris, whence they came, and whither the dryad was going. everything around knew it, and must know whither she was bound. it seemed to her as if every tree she passed stretched out its leaves towards her, with the prayer--"take me with you! take me with you!" for every tree enclosed a longing dryad. what changes during this flight! houses seemed to be rising out of the earth--more and more--thicker and thicker. the chimneys rose like flower-pots ranged side by side, or in rows one above the other, on the roofs. great inscriptions in letters a yard long, and figures in various colors, covering the walls from cornice to basement, came brightly out. "where does paris begin, and when shall i be there?" asked the dryad. the crowd of people grew; the tumult and the bustle increased; carriage followed upon carriage; people on foot and people on horseback were mingled together; all around were shops on shops, music and song, crying and talking. the dryad, in her tree, was now in the midst of paris. the great heavy wagon all at once stopped on a little square planted with trees. the high houses around had all of them balconies to the windows, from which the inhabitants looked down upon the young fresh chestnut tree, which was coming to be planted here as a substitute for the dead tree that lay stretched on the ground. the passers-by stood still and smiled in admiration of its pure vernal freshness. the older trees, whose buds were still closed, whispered with their waving branches, "welcome! welcome!" the fountain, throwing its jet of water high up in the air, to let it fall again in the wide stone basin, told the wind to sprinkle the new-comer with pearly drops, as if it wished to give him a refreshing draught to welcome him. the dryad felt how her tree was being lifted from the wagon to be placed in the spot where it was to stand. the roots were covered with earth, and fresh turf was laid on top. blooming shrubs and flowers in pots were ranged around; and thus a little garden arose in the square. the tree that had been killed by the fumes of gas, the steam of kitchens, and the bad air of the city, was put upon the wagon and driven away. the passers-by looked on. children and old men sat upon the bench, and looked at the green tree. and we who are telling this story stood upon a balcony, and looked down upon the green spring sight that had been brought in from the fresh country air, and said, what the old clergyman would have said, "poor dryad!" "i am happy! i am happy!" the dryad cried, rejoicing; "and yet i cannot realize, cannot describe what i feel. everything is as i fancied it, and yet as i did not fancy it." the houses stood there, so lofty, so close! the sunlight shone on only one of the walls, and that one was stuck over with bills and placards, before which the people stood still; and this made a crowd. carriages rushed past, carriages rolled past; light ones and heavy ones mingled together. omnibuses, those over-crowded moving houses, came rattling by; horsemen galloped among them; even carts and wagons asserted their rights. the dryad asked herself if these high-grown houses, which stood so close around her, would not remove and take other shapes, like the clouds in the sky, and draw aside, so that she might cast a glance into paris, and over it. notre dame must show itself, the vendome column, and the wondrous building which had called and was still calling so many strangers to the city. but the houses did not stir from their places. it was yet day when the lamps were lit. the gas-jets gleamed from the shops, and shone even into the branches of the trees, so that it was like sunlight in summer. the stars above made their appearance, the same to which the dryad had looked up in her home. she thought she felt a clear pure stream of air which went forth from them. she felt herself lifted up and strengthened, and felt an increased power of seeing through every leaf and through every fibre of the root. amid all the noise and the turmoil, the colors and the lights, she knew herself watched by mild eyes. from the side streets sounded the merry notes of fiddles and wind instruments. up! to the dance, to the dance! to jollity and pleasure! that was their invitation. such music it was, that horses, carriages, trees, and houses would have danced, if they had known how. the charm of intoxicating delight filled the bosom of the dryad. "how glorious, how splendid it is!" she cried, rejoicingly. "now i am in paris!" the next day that dawned, the next night that fell, offered the same spectacle, similar bustle, similar life; changing, indeed, yet always the same; and thus it went on through the sequence of days. "now i know every tree, every flower on the square here! i know every house, every balcony, every shop in this narrow cut-off corner, where i am denied the sight of this great mighty city. where are the arches of triumph, the boulevards, the wondrous building of the world? i see nothing of all this. as if shut up in a cage, i stand among the high houses, which i now know by heart, with their inscriptions, signs, and placards; all the painted confectionery, that is no longer to my taste. where are all the things of which i heard, for which i longed, and for whose sake i wanted to come hither? what have i seized, found, won? i feel the same longing i felt before; i feel that there is a life i should wish to grasp and to experience. i must go out into the ranks of living men, and mingle among them. i must fly about like a bird. i must see and feel, and become human altogether. i must enjoy the one half-day, instead of vegetating for years in every-day sameness and weariness, in which i become ill, and at last sink and disappear like the dew on the meadows. i will gleam like the cloud, gleam in the sunshine of life, look out over the whole like the cloud, and pass away like it, no one knoweth whither." thus sighed the dryad; and she prayed: "take from me the years that were destined for me, and give me but half of the life of the ephemeral fly! deliver me from my prison! give me human life, human happiness, only a short span, only the one night, if it cannot be otherwise; and then punish me for my wish to live, my longing for life! strike me out of thy list. let my shell, the fresh young tree, wither, or be hewn down, and burnt to ashes, and scattered to all the winds!" a rustling went through the leaves of the tree; there was a trembling in each of the leaves; it seemed as if fire streamed through it. a gust of wind shook its green crown, and from the midst of that crown a female figure came forth. in the same moment she was sitting beneath the brightly-illuminated leafy branches, young and beautiful to behold, like poor mary, to whom the clergyman had said, "the great city will be thy destruction." the dryad sat at the foot of the tree--at her house door, which she had locked, and whose key had thrown away. so young! so fair! the stars saw her, and blinked at her. the gas-lamps saw her, and gleamed and beckoned to her. how delicate she was, and yet how blooming!--a child, and yet a grown maiden! her dress was fine as silk, green as the freshly-opened leaves on the crown of the tree; in her nut-brown hair clung a half-opened chestnut blossom. she looked like the goddess of spring. for one short minute she sat motionless; then she sprang up, and, light as a gazelle, she hurried away. she ran and sprang like the reflection from the mirror that, carried by the sunshine, is cast, now here, now there. could any one have followed her with his eyes, he would have seen how marvellously her dress and her form changed, according to the nature of the house or the place whose light happened to shine upon her. she reached the boulevards. here a sea of light streamed forth from the gas-flames of the lamps, the shops and the cafes. here stood in a row young and slender trees, each of which concealed its dryad, and gave shade from the artificial sunlight. the whole vast pavement was one great festive hall, where covered tables stood laden with refreshments of all kinds, from champagne and chartreuse down to coffee and beer. here was an exhibition of flowers, statues, books, and colored stuffs. from the crowd close by the lofty houses she looked forth over the terrific stream beyond the rows of trees. yonder heaved a stream of rolling carriages, cabriolets, coaches, omnibuses, cabs, and among them riding gentlemen and marching troops. to cross to the opposite shore was an undertaking fraught with danger to life and limb. now lanterns shed their radiance abroad; now the gas had the upper hand; suddenly a rocket rises! whence? whither? here are sounds of soft italian melodies; yonder, spanish songs are sung, accompanied by the rattle of the castanets; but strongest of all, and predominating over the rest, the street-organ tunes of the moment, the exciting "can-can" music, which orpheus never knew, and which was never heard by the "belle helene." even the barrow was tempted to hop upon one of its wheels. the dryad danced, floated, flew, changing her color every moment, like a humming-bird in the sunshine; each house, with the world belonging to it, gave her its own reflections. as the glowing lotus-flower, torn from its stem, is carried away by the stream, so the dryad drifted along. whenever she paused, she was another being, so that none was able to follow her, to recognize her, or to look more closely at her. like cloud-pictures, all things flew by her. she looked into a thousand faces, but not one was familiar to her; she saw not a single form from home. two bright eyes had remained in her memory. she thought of mary, poor mary, the ragged merry child, who wore the red flowers in her black hair. mary was now here, in the world-city, rich and magnificent as in that day when she drove past the house of the old clergyman, and past the tree of the dryad, the old oak. here she was certainly living, in the deafening tumult. perhaps she had just stepped out of one of the gorgeous carriages in waiting. handsome equipages, with coachmen in gold braid and footmen in silken hose, drove up. the people who alighted from them were all richly-dressed ladies. they went through the opened gate, and ascended the broad staircase that led to a building resting on marble pillars. was this building, perhaps, the wonder of the world? there mary would certainly be found. "sancta maria!" resounded from the interior. incense floated through the lofty painted and gilded aisles, where a solemn twilight reigned. it was the church of the madeleine. clad in black garments of the most costly stuffs, fashioned according to the latest mode, the rich feminine world of paris glided across the shining pavement. the crests of the proprietors were engraved on silver shields on the velvet-bound prayer-books, and embroidered in the corners of perfumed handkerchiefs bordered with brussels lace. a few of the ladies were kneeling in silent prayer before the altars; others resorted to the confessionals. anxiety and fear took possession of the dryad; she felt as if she had entered a place where she had no right to be. here was the abode of silence, the hall of secrets. everything was said in whispers, every word was a mystery. the dryad saw herself enveloped in lace and silk, like the women of wealth and of high birth around her. had, perhaps, every one of them a longing in her breast, like the dryad? a deep, painful sigh was heard. did it escape from some confessional in a distant corner, or from the bosom of the dryad? she drew the veil closer around her; she breathed incense, and not the fresh air. here was not the abiding-place of her longing. away! away--a hastening without rest. the ephemeral fly knows not repose, for her existence is flight. she was out again among the gas candelabra, by a magnificent fountain. "all its streaming waters are not able to wash out the innocent blood that was spilt here." such were the words spoken. strangers stood around, carrying on a lively conversation, such as no one would have dared to carry on in the gorgeous hall of secrets whence the dryad came. a heavy stone slab was turned and then lifted. she did not understand why. she saw an opening that led into the depths below. the strangers stepped down, leaving the starlit air and the cheerful life of the upper world behind them. "i am afraid," said one of the women who stood around, to her husband, "i cannot venture to go down, nor do i care for the wonders down yonder. you had better stay here with me." "indeed, and travel home," said the man, "and quit paris without having seen the most wonderful thing of all--the real wonder of the present period, created by the power and resolution of one man!" "i will not go down for all that," was the reply. "the wonder of the present time," it had been called. the dryad had heard and had understood it. the goal of her ardent longing had thus been reached, and here was the entrance to it. down into the depths below paris? she had not thought of such a thing; but now she heard it said, and saw the strangers descending, and went after them. the staircase was of cast iron, spiral, broad and easy. below there burned a lamp, and farther down, another. they stood in a labyrinth of endless halls and arched passages, all communicating with each other. all the streets and lanes of paris were to be seen here again, as in a dim reflection. the names were painted up; and every house above had its number down here also, and struck its roots under the macadamized quays of a broad canal, in which the muddy water flowed onward. over it the fresh streaming water was carried on arches; and quite at the top hung the tangled net of gas-pipes and telegraph-wires. in the distance lamps gleamed, like a reflection from the world-city above. every now and then a dull rumbling was heard. this came from the heavy wagons rolling over the entrance bridges. whither had the dryad come? you have, no doubt, heard of the catacombs? now they are vanishing points in that new underground world--that wonder of the present day--the sewers of paris. the dryad was there, and not in the world's exhibition in the champ de mars. she heard exclamations of wonder and admiration. "from here go forth health and life for thousands upon thousands up yonder! our time is the time of progress, with its manifold blessings." such was the opinion and the speech of men; but not of those creatures who had been born here, and who built and dwelt here--of the rats, namely, who were squeaking to one another in the clefts of a crumbling wall, quite plainly, and in a way the dryad understood well. a big old father-rat, with his tail bitten off, was relieving his feelings in loud squeaks; and his family gave their tribute of concurrence to every word he said: "i am disgusted with this man-mewing," he cried--"with these outbursts of ignorance. a fine magnificence, truly! all made up of gas and petroleum! i can't eat such stuff as that. everything here is so fine and bright now, that one's ashamed of one's self, without exactly knowing why. ah, if we only lived in the days of tallow candles! and it does not lie so very far behind us. that was a romantic time, as one may say." "what are you talking of there?" asked the dryad. "i have never seen you before. what is it you are talking about?" "of the glorious days that are gone," said the rat--"of the happy time of our great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. then it was a great thing to get down here. that was a rat's nest quite different from paris. mother plague used to live here then; she killed people, but never rats. robbers and smugglers could breathe freely here. here was the meeting-place of the most interesting personages, whom one now only gets to see in the theatres where they act melodrama, up above. the time of romance is gone even in our rat's nest; and here also fresh air and petroleum have broken in." thus squeaked the rat; he squeaked in honor of the old time, when mother plague was still alive. a carriage stopped, a kind of open omnibus, drawn by swift horses. the company mounted and drove away along the boulevard de sebastopol, that is to say, the underground boulevard, over which the well-known crowded street of that name extended. the carriage disappeared in the twilight; the dryad disappeared, lifted to the cheerful freshness above. here, and not below in the vaulted passages, filled with heavy air, the wonder work must be found which she was to seek in her short lifetime. it must gleam brighter than all the gas-flames, stronger than the moon that was just gliding past. yes, certainly, she saw it yonder in the distance, it gleamed before her, and twinkled and glittered like the evening star in the sky. she saw a glittering portal open, that led to a little garden, where all was brightness and dance music. colored lamps surrounded little lakes, in which were water-plants of colored metal, from whose flowers jets of water spurted up. beautiful weeping willows, real products of spring, hung their fresh branches over these lakes like a fresh, green, transparent, and yet screening veil. in the bushes burnt an open fire, throwing a red twilight over the quiet huts of branches, into which the sounds of music penetrated--an ear tickling, intoxicating music, that sent the blood coursing through the veins. beautiful girls in festive attire, with pleasant smiles on their lips, and the light spirit of youth in their hearts--"marys," with roses in their hair, but without carriage and postilion--flitted to and fro in the wild dance. where were the heads, where the feet? as if stung by tarantulas, they sprang, laughed, rejoiced, as if in their ecstacies they were going to embrace all the world. the dryad felt herself torn with them into the whirl of the dance. round her delicate foot clung the silken boot, chestnut brown in color, like the ribbon that floated from her hair down upon her bare shoulders. the green silk dress waved in large folds, but did not entirely hide the pretty foot and ankle. had she come to the enchanted garden of armida? what was the name of the place? the name glittered in gas-jets over the entrance. it was "mabille." the soaring upwards of rockets, the splashing of fountains, and the popping of champagne corks accompanied the wild bacchantic dance. over the whole glided the moon through the air, clear, but with a somewhat crooked face. a wild joviality seemed to rush through the dryad, as though she were intoxicated with opium. her eyes spoke, her lips spoke, but the sound of violins and of flutes drowned the sound of her voice. her partner whispered words to her which she did not understand, nor do we understand them. he stretched out his arms to draw her to him, but he embraced only the empty air. the dryad had been carried away, like a rose-leaf on the wind. before her she saw a flame in the air, a flashing light high up on a tower. the beacon light shone from the goal of her longing, shone from the red lighthouse tower of the fata morgana of the champ de mars. thither she was carried by the wind. she circled round the tower; the workmen thought it was a butterfly that had come too early, and that now sank down dying. the moon shone bright, gas-lamps spread light around, through the halls, over the all-world's buildings scattered about, over the rose-hills and the rocks produced by human ingenuity, from which waterfalls, driven by the power of "master bloodless," fell down. the caverns of the sea, the depths of the lakes, the kingdom of the fishes were opened here. men walked as in the depths of the deep pond, and held converse with the sea, in the diving-bell of glass. the water pressed against the strong glass walls above and on every side. the polypi, eel-like living creatures, had fastened themselves to the bottom, and stretched out arms, fathoms long, for prey. a big turbot was making himself broad in front, quietly enough, but not without casting some suspicious glances aside. a crab clambered over him, looking like a gigantic spider, while the shrimps wandered about in restless haste, like the butterflies and moths of the sea. in the fresh water grew water-lilies, nymphaea, and reeds; the gold-fishes stood up below in rank and file, all turning their heads one way, that the streaming water might flow into their mouths. fat carps stared at the glass wall with stupid eyes. they knew that they were here to be exhibited, and that they had made the somewhat toilsome journey hither in tubs filled with water; and they thought with dismay of the land-sickness from which they had suffered so cruelly on the railway. they had come to see the exhibition, and now contemplated it from their fresh or salt-water position. they looked attentively at the crowds of people who passed by them early and late. all the nations in the world, they thought, had made an exhibition of their inhabitants, for the edification of the soles and haddocks, pike and carp, that they might give their opinions upon the different kinds. "those are scaly animals" said a little slimy whiting. "they put on different scales two or three times a day, and they emit sounds which they call speaking. we don't put on scales, and we make ourselves understood in an easier way, simply by twitching the corners of our mouths and staring with our eyes. we have a great many advantages over mankind." "but they have learned swimming of us," remarked a well-educated codling. "you must know i come from the great sea outside. in the hot time of the year the people yonder go into the water; first they take off their scales, and then they swim. they have learnt from the frogs to kick out with their hind legs, and row with their fore paws. but they cannot hold out long. they want to be like us, but they cannot come up to us. poor people!" and the fishes stared. they thought that the whole swarm of people whom they had seen in the bright daylight were still moving around them; they were certain they still saw the same forms that had first caught their attention. a pretty barbel, with spotted skin, and an enviably round back, declared that the "human fry" were still there. "i can see a well set-up human figure quite well," said the barbel. "she was called 'contumacious lady,' or something of that kind. she had a mouth and staring eyes, like ours, and a great balloon at the back of her head, and something like a shut-up umbrella in front; there were a lot of dangling bits of seaweed hanging about her. she ought to take all the rubbish off, and go as we do; then she would look something like a respectable barbel, so far as it is possible for a person to look like one!" "what's become of that one whom they drew away with the hook? he sat on a wheel-chair, and had paper, and pen, and ink, and wrote down everything. they called him a 'writer.'" "they're going about with him still," said a hoary old maid of a carp, who carried her misfortune about with her, so that she was quite hoarse. in her youth she had once swallowed a hook, and still swam patiently about with it in her gullet. "a writer? that means, as we fishes describe it, a kind of cuttle or ink-fish among men." thus the fishes gossipped in their own way; but in the artificial water-grotto the laborers were busy; who were obliged to take advantage of the hours of night to get their work done by daybreak. they accompanied with blows of their hammers and with songs the parting words of the vanishing dryad. "so, at any rate, i have seen you, you pretty gold-fishes," she said. "yes, i know you;" and she waved her hand to them. "i have known about you a long time in my home; the swallow told me about you. how beautiful you are! how delicate and shining! i should like to kiss every one of you. you others, also. i know you all; but you do not know me." the fishes stared out into the twilight. they did not understand a word of it. the dryad was there no longer. she had been a long time in the open air, where the different countries--the country of black bread, the codfish coast, the kingdom of russia leather, and the banks of eau-de-cologne, and the gardens of rose oil--exhaled their perfumes from the world-wonder flower. when, after a night at a ball, we drive home half asleep and half awake, the melodies still sound plainly in our ears; we hear them, and could sing them all from memory. when the eye of the murdered man closes, the picture of what it saw last clings to it for a time like a photographic picture. so it was likewise here. the bustling life of day had not yet disappeared in the quiet night. the dryad had seen it; she knew, thus it will be repeated tomorrow. the dryad stood among the fragrant roses, and thought she knew them, and had seen them in her own home. she also saw red pomegranate flowers, like those that little mary had worn in her dark hair. remembrances from the home of her childhood flashed through her thoughts; her eyes eagerly drank in the prospect around, and feverish restlessness chased her through the wonder-filled halls. a weariness that increased continually, took possession of her. she felt a longing to rest on the soft oriental carpets within, or to lean against the weeping willow without by the clear water. but for the ephemeral fly there was no rest. in a few moments the day had completed its circle. her thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on the grass by the bubbling water. "thou wilt ever spring living from the earth," she said mournfully. "moisten my tongue--bring me a refreshing draught." "i am no living water," was the answer. "i only spring upward when the machine wills it." "give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass," implored the dryad; "give me one of thy fragrant flowers." "we must die if we are torn from our stalks," replied the flowers and the grass. "give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air--only a single life-kiss." "soon the sun will kiss the clouds red," answered the wind; "then thou wilt be among the dead--blown away, as all the splendor here will be blown away before the year shall have ended. then i can play again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirl the dust over the land and through the air. all is dust!" the dryad felt a terror like a woman who has cut asunder her pulse-artery in the bath, but is filled again with the love of life, even while she is bleeding to death. she raised herself, tottered forward a few steps, and sank down again at the entrance to a little church. the gate stood open, lights were burning upon the altar, and the organ sounded. what music! such notes the dryad had never yet heard; and yet it seemed to her as if she recognized a number of well-known voices among them. they came deep from the heart of all creation. she thought she heard the stories of the old clergyman, of great deeds, and of the celebrated names, and of the gifts that the creatures of god must bestow upon posterity, if they would live on in the world. the tones of the organ swelled, and in their song there sounded these words: "thy wishing and thy longing have torn thee, with thy roots, from the place which god appointed for thee. that was thy destruction, thou poor dryad!" the notes became soft and gentle, and seemed to die away in a wail. in the sky the clouds showed themselves with a ruddy gleam. the wind sighed: "pass away, ye dead! now the sun is going to rise!" the first ray fell on the dryad. her form was irradiated in changing colors, like the soap-bubble when it is bursting and becomes a drop of water; like a tear that falls and passes away like a vapor. poor dryad! only a dew-drop, only a tear, poured upon the earth, and vanished away! jack the dullard an old story told anew far in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, and in it lived an old proprietor, who had two sons, which two young men thought themselves too clever by half. they wanted to go out and woo the king's daughter; for the maiden in question had publicly announced that she would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange his words best. so these two geniuses prepared themselves a full week for the wooing--this was the longest time that could be granted them; but it was enough, for they had had much preparatory information, and everybody knows how useful that is. one of them knew the whole latin dictionary by heart, and three whole years of the daily paper of the little town into the bargain, and so well, indeed, that he could repeat it all either backwards or forwards, just as he chose. the other was deeply read in the corporation laws, and knew by heart what every corporation ought to know; and accordingly he thought he could talk of affairs of state, and put his spoke in the wheel in the council. and he knew one thing more: he could embroider suspenders with roses and other flowers, and with arabesques, for he was a tasty, light-fingered fellow. "i shall win the princess!" so cried both of them. therefore their old papa gave to each of them a handsome horse. the youth who knew the dictionary and newspaper by heart had a black horse, and he who knew all about the corporation laws received a milk-white steed. then they rubbed the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that they might become very smooth and glib. all the servants stood below in the courtyard, and looked on while they mounted their horses; and just by chance the third son came up. for the proprietor had really three sons, though nobody counted the third with his brothers, because he was not so learned as they, and indeed he was generally known as "jack the dullard." "hallo!" said jack the dullard, "where are you going? i declare you have put on your sunday clothes!" "we're going to the king's court, as suitors to the king's daughter. don't you know the announcement that has been made all through the country?" and they told him all about it. "my word! i'll be in it too!" cried jack the dullard; and his two brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode away. "father, dear," said jack, "i must have a horse too. i do feel so desperately inclined to marry! if she accepts me, she accepts me; and if she won't have me, i'll have her; but she shall be mine!" "don't talk nonsense," replied the old gentleman. "you shall have no horse from me. you don't know how to speak--you can't arrange your words. your brothers are very different fellows from you." "well," quoth jack the dullard, "if i can't have a horse, i'll take the billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry me very well!" and so said, so done. he mounted the billy-goat, pressed his heels into its sides, and galloped down the high street like a hurricane. "hei, houp! that was a ride! here i come!" shouted jack the dullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and wide. but his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. they spoke not a word, for they were thinking about the fine extempore speeches they would have to bring out, and these had to be cleverly prepared beforehand. "hallo!" shouted jack the dullard. "here am i! look what i have found on the high road." and he showed them what it was, and it was a dead crow. "dullard!" exclaimed the brothers, "what are you going to do with that?" "with the crow? why, i am going to give it to the princess." "yes, do so," said they; and they laughed, and rode on. "hallo, here i am again! just see what i have found now: you don't find that on the high road every day!" and the brothers turned round to see what he could have found now. "dullard!" they cried, "that is only an old wooden shoe, and the upper part is missing into the bargain; are you going to give that also to the princess?" "most certainly i shall," replied jack the dullard; and again the brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got far in advance of him; but-- "hallo--hop rara!" and there was jack the dullard again. "it is getting better and better," he cried. "hurrah! it is quite famous." "why, what have you found this time?" inquired the brothers. "oh," said jack the dullard, "i can hardly tell you. how glad the princess will be!" "bah!" said the brothers; "that is nothing but clay out of the ditch." "yes, certainly it is," said jack the dullard; "and clay of the finest sort. see, it is so wet, it runs through one's fingers." and he filled his pocket with the clay. but his brothers galloped on till the sparks flew, and consequently they arrived a full hour earlier at the town gate than could jack. now at the gate each suitor was provided with a number, and all were placed in rows immediately on their arrival, six in each row, and so closely packed together that they could not move their arms; and that was a prudent arrangement, for they would certainly have come to blows, had they been able, merely because one of them stood before the other. all the inhabitants of the country round about stood in great crowds around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see the princess receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, his power of speech seemed to desert him, like the light of a candle that is blown out. then the princess would say, "he is of no use! away with him out of the hall!" at last the turn came for that brother who knew the dictionary by heart; but he did not know it now; he had absolutely forgotten it altogether; and the boards seemed to re-echo with his footsteps, and the ceiling of the hall was made of looking-glass, so that he saw himself standing on his head; and at the window stood three clerks and a head clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single word that was uttered, so that it might be printed in the newspapers, and sold for a penny at the street corners. it was a terrible ordeal, and they had, moreover, made such a fire in the stove, that the room seemed quite red hot. "it is dreadfully hot here!" observed the first brother. "yes," replied the princess, "my father is going to roast young pullets today." "baa!" there he stood like a baa-lamb. he had not been prepared for a speech of this kind, and had not a word to say, though he intended to say something witty. "baa!" "he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him!" and he was obliged to go accordingly. and now the second brother came in. "it is terribly warm here!" he observed. "yes, we're roasting pullets to-day," replied the princess. "what--what were you--were you pleased to ob-" stammered he--and all the clerks wrote down, "pleased to ob-" "he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him!" now came the turn of jack the dullard. he rode into the hall on his goat. "well, it's most abominably hot here." "yes, because i'm roasting young pullets," replied the princess. "ah, that's lucky!" exclaimed jack the dullard, "for i suppose you'll let me roast my crow at the same time?" "with the greatest pleasure," said the princess. "but have you anything you can roast it in? for i have neither pot nor pan." "certainly i have!" said jack. "here's a cooking utensil with a tin handle." and he brought out the old wooden shoe, and put the crow into it. "well, that is a famous dish!" said the princess. "but what shall we do for sauce?" "oh, i have that in my pocket," said jack; "i have so much of it that i can afford to throw some away;" and he poured some of the clay out of his pocket. "i like that!" said the princess. "you can give an answer, and you have something to say for yourself, and so you shall be my husband. but are you aware that every word we speak is being taken down, and will be published in the paper to-morrow? look yonder, and you will see in every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old head clerk is the worst of all, for he can't understand anything." but she only said this to frighten jack the dullard; and the clerks gave a great crow of delight, and each one spurted a blot out of his pen on to the floor. "oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?" said jack; "then i will give the best i have to the head clerk." and he turned out his pockets, and flung the wet clay full in the head clerk's face. "that was very cleverly done," observed the princess. "i could not have done that; but i shall learn in time." and accordingly jack the dullard was made a king, and received a crown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. and this report we have wet from the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers--but they are not to be depended upon in the least. the dumb book in the high-road which led through a wood stood a solitary farm-house; the road, in fact, ran right through its yard. the sun was shining and all the windows were open; within the house people were very busy. in the yard, in an arbour formed by lilac bushes in full bloom, stood an open coffin; thither they had carried a dead man, who was to be buried that very afternoon. nobody shed a tear over him; his face was covered over with a white cloth, under his head they had placed a large thick book, the leaves of which consisted of folded sheets of blotting-paper, and withered flowers lay between them; it was the herbarium which he had gathered in various places and was to be buried with him, according to his own wish. every one of the flowers in it was connected with some chapter of his life. "who is the dead man?" we asked. "the old student," was the reply. "they say that he was once an energetic young man, that he studied the dead languages, and sang and even composed many songs; then something had happened to him, and in consequence of this he gave himself up to drink, body and mind. when at last he had ruined his health, they brought him into the country, where someone paid for his board and residence. he was gentle as a child as long as the sullen mood did not come over him; but when it came he was fierce, became as strong as a giant, and ran about in the wood like a chased deer. but when we succeeded in bringing him home, and prevailed upon him to open the book with the dried-up plants in it, he would sometimes sit for a whole day looking at this or that plant, while frequently the tears rolled over his cheeks. god knows what was in his mind; but he requested us to put the book into his coffin, and now he lies there. in a little while the lid will be placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the grave!" the cloth which covered his face was lifted up; the dead man's face expressed peace--a sunbeam fell upon it. a swallow flew with the swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning in its flight, and twittered over the dead man's head. what a strange feeling it is--surely we all know it--to look through old letters of our young days; a different life rises up out of the past, as it were, with all its hopes and sorrows. how many of the people with whom in those days we used to be on intimate terms appear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive--only we have not thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we should retain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with them. the withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, the schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life. he fixed the leaf to the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternal friendship. where does he dwell now? the leaf is kept, but the friendship does no longer exist. here is a foreign hothouse plant, too tender for the gardens of the north. it is almost as if its leaves still smelt sweet! she gave it to him out of her own garden--a nobleman's daughter. here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and watered with salt tears--a lily of sweet water. and here is a nettle: what may its leaves tell us? what might he have thought when he plucked and kept it? here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here is an evergreen from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple blade of grass. the lilac bends its fresh fragrant flowers over the dead man's head; the swallow passes again--"twit, twit;" now the men come with hammer and nails, the lid is placed over the dead man, while his head rests on the dumb book--so long cherished, now closed for ever! the elf of the rose in the midst of a garden grew a rose-tree, in full blossom, and in the prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. he was such a little wee thing, that no human eye could see him. behind each leaf of the rose he had a sleeping chamber. he was as well formed and as beautiful as a little child could be, and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet. oh, what sweet fragrance there was in his chambers! and how clean and beautiful were the walls! for they were the blushing leaves of the rose. during the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying butterflies. then he took it into his head to measure how many steps he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on the leaf of a linden-tree. what we call the veins on a leaf, he took for roads; ay, and very long roads they were for him; for before he had half finished his task, the sun went down: he had commenced his work too late. it became very cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew; so he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. he hurried himself as much as he could; but he found the roses all closed up, and he could not get in; not a single rose stood open. the poor little elf was very much frightened. he had never before been out at night, but had always slumbered secretly behind the warm rose-leaves. oh, this would certainly be his death. at the other end of the garden, he knew there was an arbor, overgrown with beautiful honey-suckles. the blossoms looked like large painted horns; and he thought to himself, he would go and sleep in one of these till the morning. he flew thither; but "hush!" two people were in the arbor,--a handsome young man and a beautiful lady. they sat side by side, and wished that they might never be obliged to part. they loved each other much more than the best child can love its father and mother. "but we must part," said the young man; "your brother does not like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over mountains and seas. farewell, my sweet bride; for so you are to me." and then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a rose; but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower opened. then the little elf flew in, and leaned his head on the delicate, fragrant walls. here he could plainly hear them say, "farewell, farewell;" and he felt that the rose had been placed on the young man's breast. oh, how his heart did beat! the little elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so loudly. the young man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed the flower so often and so violently, that the little elf was almost crushed. he could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of the young man were, and the rose had opened, as if from the heat of the noonday sun. there came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. he was the wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. he drew out a sharp knife, and while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death; then he cut off his head, and buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden-tree. "now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten," thought the wicked brother; "he will never come back again. he was going on a long journey over mountains and seas; it is easy for a man to lose his life in such a journey. my sister will suppose he is dead; for he cannot come back, and she will not dare to question me about him." then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his foot, and went home through the darkness; but he went not alone, as he thought,--the little elf accompanied him. he sat in a dry rolled-up linden-leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man's head, as he was digging the grave. the hat was on the head now, which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed. it was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home; he took off his hat, and went into his sister's room. there lay the beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea. her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh. the dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a little sleep during the early morning hours. but the elf slipped out of the withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the place where her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and told her of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by. "that you may not think this is only a dream that i have told you," he said, "you will find on your bed a withered leaf." then she awoke, and found it there. oh, what bitter tears she shed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief. the window stood open the whole day, and the little elf could easily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could not find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. in the window stood a bush bearing monthly roses. he seated himself in one of the flowers, and gazed on the poor girl. her brother often came into the room, and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she dare not say a word to him of her heart's grief. as soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went into the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and after removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there found him who had been murdered. oh, how she wept and prayed that she also might die! gladly would she have taken the body home with her; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of the beautiful hair. "i will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered the body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he was buried, and carried them home with her. as soon as she was in her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth, and planted the twig of jasmine in it. "farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. he could not any longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew away to his own rose in the garden. but the rose was faded; only a few dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it. "alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away," sighed the elf. after a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. every morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the flower pot. the bitter tears fell upon the jasmine twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig appeared to grow greener and fresher. one shoot after another sprouted forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly kissed. but her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was going mad. he could not imagine why she was weeping over that flower-pot, and it annoyed him. he did not know whose closed eyes were there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. and one day she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf of the rose found her asleep. then he seated himself by her ear, talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of the rose, and the loves of the elves. sweetly she dreamed, and while she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was with him whom she loved, in heaven. and the jasmine opened its large white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance; it had no other way of showing its grief for the dead. but the wicked brother considered the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his sister, and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed, for it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and delightful. the little elf of the rose followed it, and flew from flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them the story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "we know it," said each little spirit in the flowers, "we know it, for have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one. we know it, we know it," and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar manner. the elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest so quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gathering honey, and told them of the wicked brother. and the bees told it to their queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go and kill the murderer. but during the night, the first after the sister's death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close to where he had placed the fragrant jasmine, every flower cup opened, and invisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisonous spears. they placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadful dreams and then flew across his lips, and pricked his tongue with their poisoned spears. "now have we revenged the dead," said they, and flew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. when the morning came, and as soon as the window was opened, the rose elf, with the queen bee, and the whole swarm of bees, rushed in to kill him. but he was already dead. people were standing round the bed, and saying that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. then the elf of the rose understood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queen bee, and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. the bees could not be driven away. then a man took it up to remove it, and one of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-pot fall, and it was broken to pieces. then every one saw the whitened skull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer. and the queen bee hummed in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers, and of the elf of the rose and said that behind the smallest leaf dwells one, who can discover evil deeds, and punish them also. the elfin hill a few large lizards were running nimbly about in the clefts of an old tree; they could understand one another very well, for they spoke the lizard language. "what a buzzing and a rumbling there is in the elfin hill," said one of the lizards; "i have not been able to close my eyes for two nights on account of the noise; i might just as well have had the toothache, for that always keeps me awake." "there is something going on within there," said the other lizard; "they propped up the top of the hill with four red posts, till cock-crow this morning, so that it is thoroughly aired, and the elfin girls have learnt new dances; there is something." "i spoke about it to an earth-worm of my acquaintance," said a third lizard; "the earth-worm had just come from the elfin hill, where he has been groping about in the earth day and night. he has heard a great deal; although he cannot see, poor miserable creature, yet he understands very well how to wriggle and lurk about. they expect friends in the elfin hill, grand company, too; but who they are the earth-worm would not say, or, perhaps, he really did not know. all the will-o'-the-wisps are ordered to be there to hold a torch dance, as it is called. the silver and gold which is plentiful in the hill will be polished and placed out in the moonlight." "who can the strangers be?" asked the lizards; "what can the matter be? hark, what a buzzing and humming there is!" just at this moment the elfin hill opened, and an old elfin maiden, hollow behind, came tripping out; she was the old elf king's housekeeper, and a distant relative of the family; therefore she wore an amber heart on the middle of her forehead. her feet moved very fast, "trip, trip;" good gracious, how she could trip right down to the sea to the night-raven. "you are invited to the elf hill for this evening," said she; "but will you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? you ought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to as i have. we are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, who have always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes to make a great display." "who is to be invited?" asked the raven. "all the world may come to the great ball, even human beings, if they can only talk in their sleep, or do something after our fashion. but for the feast the company must be carefully selected; we can only admit persons of high rank; i have had a dispute myself with the elf king, as he thought we could not admit ghosts. the merman and his daughter must be invited first, although it may not be agreeable to them to remain so long on dry land, but they shall have a wet stone to sit on, or perhaps something better; so i think they will not refuse this time. we must have all the old demons of the first class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then i think we ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently." "croak," said the night-raven as he flew away with the invitations. the elfin maidens we're already dancing on the elf hill, and they danced in shawls woven from moonshine and mist, which look very pretty to those who like such things. the large hall within the elf hill was splendidly decorated; the floor had been washed with moonshine, and the walls had been rubbed with magic ointment, so that they glowed like tulip-leaves in the light. in the kitchen were frogs roasting on the spit, and dishes preparing of snail skins, with children's fingers in them, salad of mushroom seed, hemlock, noses and marrow of mice, beer from the marsh woman's brewery, and sparkling salt-petre wine from the grave cellars. these were all substantial food. rusty nails and church-window glass formed the dessert. the old elf king had his gold crown polished up with powdered slate-pencil; it was like that used by the first form, and very difficult for an elf king to obtain. in the bedrooms, curtains were hung up and fastened with the slime of snails; there was, indeed, a buzzing and humming everywhere. "now we must fumigate the place with burnt horse-hair and pig's bristles, and then i think i shall have done my part," said the elf man-servant. "father, dear," said the youngest daughter, "may i now hear who our high-born visitors are?" "well, i suppose i must tell you now," he replied; "two of my daughters must prepare themselves to be married, for the marriages certainly will take place. the old goblin from norway, who lives in the ancient dovre mountains, and who possesses many castles built of rock and freestone, besides a gold mine, which is better than all, so it is thought, is coming with his two sons, who are both seeking a wife. the old goblin is a true-hearted, honest, old norwegian graybeard; cheerful and straightforward. i knew him formerly, when we used to drink together to our good fellowship: he came here once to fetch his wife, she is dead now. she was the daughter of the king of the chalk-hills at moen. they say he took his wife from chalk; i shall be delighted to see him again. it is said that the boys are ill-bred, forward lads, but perhaps that is not quite correct, and they will become better as they grow older. let me see that you know how to teach them good manners." "and when are they coming?" asked the daughter. "that depends upon wind and weather," said the elf king; "they travel economically. they will come when there is the chance of a ship. i wanted them to come over to sweden, but the old man was not inclined to take my advice. he does not go forward with the times, and that i do not like." two will-o'-the-wisps came jumping in, one quicker than the other, so of course, one arrived first. "they are coming! they are coming!" he cried. "give me my crown," said the elf king, "and let me stand in the moonshine." the daughters drew on their shawls and bowed down to the ground. there stood the old goblin from the dovre mountains, with his crown of hardened ice and polished fir-cones. besides this, he wore a bear-skin, and great, warm boots, while his sons went with their throats bare and wore no braces, for they were strong men. "is that a hill?" said the youngest of the boys, pointing to the elf hill, "we should call it a hole in norway." "boys," said the old man, "a hole goes in, and a hill stands out; have you no eyes in your heads?" another thing they wondered at was, that they were able without trouble to understand the language. "take care," said the old man, "or people will think you have not been well brought up." then they entered the elfin hill, where the select and grand company were assembled, and so quickly had they appeared that they seemed to have been blown together. but for each guest the neatest and pleasantest arrangement had been made. the sea folks sat at table in great water-tubs, and they said it was just like being at home. all behaved themselves properly excepting the two young northern goblins; they put their legs on the table and thought they were all right. "feet off the table-cloth!" said the old goblin. they obeyed, but not immediately. then they tickled the ladies who waited at table, with the fir-cones, which they carried in their pockets. they took off their boots, that they might be more at ease, and gave them to the ladies to hold. but their father, the old goblin, was very different; he talked pleasantly about the stately norwegian rocks, and told fine tales of the waterfalls which dashed over them with a clattering noise like thunder or the sound of an organ, spreading their white foam on every side. he told of the salmon that leaps in the rushing waters, while the water-god plays on his golden harp. he spoke of the bright winter nights, when the sledge bells are ringing, and the boys run with burning torches across the smooth ice, which is so transparent that they can see the fishes dart forward beneath their feet. he described everything so clearly, that those who listened could see it all; they could see the saw-mills going, the men-servants and the maidens singing songs, and dancing a rattling dance,--when all at once the old goblin gave the old elfin maiden a kiss, such a tremendous kiss, and yet they were almost strangers to each other. then the elfin girls had to dance, first in the usual way, and then with stamping feet, which they performed very well; then followed the artistic and solo dance. dear me, how they did throw their legs about! no one could tell where the dance begun, or where it ended, nor indeed which were legs and which were arms, for they were all flying about together, like the shavings in a saw-pit! and then they spun round so quickly that the death-horse and the grave-pig became sick and giddy, and were obliged to leave the table. "stop!" cried the old goblin, "is that the only house-keeping they can perform? can they do anything more than dance and throw about their legs, and make a whirlwind?" "you shall soon see what they can do," said the elf king. and then he called his youngest daughter to him. she was slender and fair as moonlight, and the most graceful of all the sisters. she took a white chip in her mouth, and vanished instantly; this was her accomplishment. but the old goblin said he should not like his wife to have such an accomplishment, and thought his boys would have the same objection. another daughter could make a figure like herself follow her, as if she had a shadow, which none of the goblin folk ever had. the third was of quite a different sort; she had learnt in the brew-house of the moor witch how to lard elfin puddings with glow-worms. "she will make a good housewife," said the old goblin, and then saluted her with his eyes instead of drinking her health; for he did not drink much. now came the fourth daughter, with a large harp to play upon; and when she struck the first chord, every one lifted up the left leg (for the goblins are left-legged), and at the second chord they found they must all do just what she wanted. "that is a dangerous woman," said the old goblin; and the two sons walked out of the hill; they had had enough of it. "and what can the next daughter do?" asked the old goblin. "i have learnt everything that is norwegian," said she; "and i will never marry, unless i can go to norway." then her youngest sister whispered to the old goblin, "that is only because she has heard, in a norwegian song, that when the world shall decay, the cliffs of norway will remain standing like monuments; and she wants to get there, that she may be safe; for she is so afraid of sinking." "ho! ho!" said the old goblin, "is that what she means? well, what can the seventh and last do?" "the sixth comes before the seventh," said the elf king, for he could reckon; but the sixth would not come forward. "i can only tell people the truth," said she. "no one cares for me, nor troubles himself about me; and i have enough to do to sew my grave clothes." so the seventh and last came; and what could she do? why, she could tell stories, as many as you liked, on any subject. "here are my five fingers," said the old goblin; "now tell me a story for each of them." so she took him by the wrist, and he laughed till he nearly choked; and when she came to the fourth finger, there was a gold ring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal. then the old goblin said, "hold fast what you have: this hand is yours; for i will have you for a wife myself." then the elfin girl said that the stories about the ring-finger and little peter playman had not yet been told. "we will hear them in the winter," said the old goblin, "and also about the fir and the birch-trees, and the ghost stories, and of the tingling frost. you shall tell your tales, for no one over there can do it so well; and we will sit in the stone rooms, where the pine logs are burning, and drink mead out of the golden drinking-horn of the old norwegian kings. the water-god has given me two; and when we sit there, nix comes to pay us a visit, and will sing you all the songs of the mountain shepherdesses. how merry we shall be! the salmon will be leaping in the waterfalls, and dashing against the stone walls, but he will not be able to come in. it is indeed very pleasant to live in old norway. but where are the lads?" where indeed were they? why, running about the fields, and blowing out the will-o'-the-wisps, who so good-naturedly came and brought their torches. "what tricks have you been playing?" said the old goblin. "i have taken a mother for you, and now you may take one of your aunts." but the youngsters said they would rather make a speech and drink to their good fellowship; they had no wish to marry. then they made speeches and drank toasts, and tipped their glasses, to show that they were empty. then they took off their coats, and lay down on the table to sleep; for they made themselves quite at home. but the old goblin danced about the room with his young bride, and exchanged boots with her, which is more fashionable than exchanging rings. "the cock is crowing," said the old elfin maiden who acted as housekeeper; "now we must close the shutters, that the sun may not scorch us." then the hill closed up. but the lizards continued to run up and down the riven tree; and one said to the other, "oh, how much i was pleased with the old goblin!" "the boys pleased me better," said the earth-worm. but then the poor miserable creature could not see. the emperor's new suit many, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his only ambition was to be always well dressed. he did not care for his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of clothes. he had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a king "he is in his cabinet," so one could say of him, "the emperor is in his dressing-room." the great city where he resided was very gay; every day many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. one day two swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers, and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. their colours and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid. "that must be wonderful cloth," thought the emperor. "if i were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth i should be able to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and i could distinguish the clever from the stupid. i must have this cloth woven for me without delay." and he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any loss of time. they set up two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the looms. they asked for the finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night. "i should very much like to know how they are getting on with the cloth," thought the emperor. but he felt rather uneasy when he remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it. personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters stood. everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their neighbours were. "i shall send my honest old minister to the weavers," thought the emperor. "he can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he." the good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat before the empty looms. "heaven preserve us!" he thought, and opened his eyes wide, "i cannot see anything at all," but he did not say so. both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the empty looms. the poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. "oh dear," he thought, "can i be so stupid? i should never have thought so, and nobody must know it! is it possible that i am not fit for my office? no, no, i cannot say that i was unable to see the cloth." "now, have you got nothing to say?" said one of the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily weaving. "oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful," replied the old minister looking through his glasses. "what a beautiful pattern, what brilliant colours! i shall tell the emperor that i like the cloth very much." "we are pleased to hear that," said the two weavers, and described to him the colours and explained the curious pattern. the old minister listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they said; and so he did. now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. they kept everything for themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to work at the empty looms. soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearly finished. like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see nothing, as there was nothing to be seen. "is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?" asked the two swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did not exist. "i am not stupid," said the man. "it is therefore my good appointment for which i am not fit. it is very strange, but i must not let any one know it;" and he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine pattern. "it is very excellent," he said to the emperor. everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. at last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on the loom. with a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but without using any thread. "is it not magnificent?" said the two old statesmen who had been there before. "your majesty must admire the colours and the pattern." and then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the others could see the cloth. "what is this?" thought the emperor, "i do not see anything at all. that is terrible! am i stupid? am i unfit to be emperor? that would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me." "really," he said, turning to the weavers, "your cloth has our most gracious approval;" and nodding contentedly he looked at the empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. all his attendants, who were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything more than the others, they said, like the emperor, "it is very beautiful." and all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a great procession which was soon to take place. "it is magnificent, beautiful, excellent," one heard them say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two swindlers "imperial court weavers." the whole night previous to the day on which the procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than sixteen candles. people should see that they were busy to finish the emperor's new suit. they pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and said at last: "the emperor's new suit is ready now." the emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their hands and said: "these are the trousers!" "this is the coat!" and "here is the cloak!" and so on. "they are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them." "indeed!" said all the courtiers; but they could not see anything, for there was nothing to be seen. "does it please your majesty now to graciously undress," said the swindlers, "that we may assist your majesty in putting on the new suit before the large looking-glass?" the emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put the new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor looked at himself in the glass from every side. "how well they look! how well they fit!" said all. "what a beautiful pattern! what fine colours! that is a magnificent suit of clothes!" the master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready. "i am ready," said the emperor. "does not my suit fit me marvellously?" then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that people should think he admired his garments. the chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended to hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that they could not see anything. the emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows exclaimed: "indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! what a long train he has! how well it fits him!" nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for then he would have been unfit for his office or too stupid. never emperor's clothes were more admired. "but he has nothing on at all," said a little child at last. "good heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child," said the father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. "but he has nothing on at all," cried at last the whole people. that made a deep impression upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to himself, "now i must bear up to the end." and the chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist. the fir tree far down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yet it was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions--the pines and firs which grew around it. the sun shone, and the soft air fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by, prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. sometimes the children would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries, wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say, "is it not a pretty little tree?" which made it feel more unhappy than before. and yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree we can discover its age. still, as it grew, it complained, "oh! how i wish i were as tall as the other trees, then i would spread out my branches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. i should have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, i should bow with stately dignity like my tall companions." the tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure in the warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning and evening. sometimes, in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along, and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it would feel! two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. yet it remained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "oh, if i could but keep on growing tall and old! there is nothing else worth caring for in the world!" in the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut down several of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was now grown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash. after the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized. then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest. "where were they going? what would become of them?" the young fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, "do you know where those trees were taken? did you meet them?" the swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a little reflection, nodded his head, and said, "yes, i think i do. i met several new ships when i flew from egypt, and they had fine masts that smelt like fir. i think these must have been the trees; i assure you they were stately, very stately." "oh, how i wish i were tall enough to go on the sea," said the fir-tree. "what is the sea, and what does it look like?" "it would take too much time to explain," said the stork, flying quickly away. "rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam; "rejoice in thy fresh growth, and the young life that is in thee." and the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but the fir-tree regarded them not. christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some even smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither rest nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. these young trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were also laid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest. "where are they going?" asked the fir-tree. "they are not taller than i am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches not cut off? where are they going?" "we know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at the windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them. they are dressed up in the most splendid manner. we have seen them standing in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of beautiful things,--honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many hundreds of wax tapers." "and then," asked the fir-tree, trembling through all its branches, "and then what happens?" "we did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enough for us." "i wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me," thought the fir-tree. "it would be much better than crossing the sea. i long for it almost with pain. oh! when will christmas be here? i am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away last year. oh! that i were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the warm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me! something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the trees would not be so decked out. yes, what follows will be grander and more splendid. what can it be? i am weary with longing. i scarcely know how i feel." "rejoice with us," said the air and the sunlight. "enjoy thine own bright life in the fresh air." but the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day; and, winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in the forest, while passers by would say, "what a beautiful tree!" a short time before christmas, the discontented fir-tree was the first to fall. as the axe cut through the stem, and divided the pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and faintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, in sorrow at leaving its home in the forest. it knew that it should never again see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes and many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not even the birds. neither was the journey at all pleasant. the tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of a house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "we only want one, and this is the prettiest." then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-tree into a large and beautiful apartment. on the walls hung pictures, and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. there were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, covered with pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,--at least, the children said so. then the fir-tree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green baize hung all around it, so that no one could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome carpet. how the fir-tree trembled! "what was going to happen to him now?" some young ladies came, and the servants helped them to adorn the tree. on one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and each bag was filled with sweetmeats; from other branches hung gilded apples and walnuts, as if they had grown there; and above, and all round, were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which were fastened on the branches. dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed under the green leaves,--the tree had never seen such things before,--and at the very top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. oh, it was very beautiful! "this evening," they all exclaimed, "how bright it will be!" "oh, that the evening were come," thought the tree, "and the tapers lighted! then i shall know what else is going to happen. will the trees of the forest come to see me? i wonder if the sparrows will peep in at the windows as they fly? shall i grow faster here, and keep on all these ornaments summer and winter?" but guessing was of very little use; it made his bark ache, and this pain is as bad for a slender fir-tree, as headache is for us. at last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of light the tree presented! it trembled so with joy in all its branches, that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and burnt some of them. "help! help!" exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for they quickly extinguished the fire. after this, the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire frightened him; he was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him. and now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree; they were followed more silently by their elders. for a moment the little ones stood silent with astonishment, and then they shouted for joy, till the room rang, and they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after another was taken from it. "what are they doing? what will happen next?" thought the fir. at last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out. then the children received permission to plunder the tree. oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had it not been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it must have been thrown down. the children then danced about with their pretty toys, and no one noticed the tree, except the children's maid who came and peeped among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten. "a story, a story," cried the children, pulling a little fat man towards the tree. "now we shall be in the green shade," said the man, as he seated himself under it, "and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing also, but i shall only relate one story; what shall it be? ivede-avede, or humpty dumpty, who fell down stairs, but soon got up again, and at last married a princess." "ivede-avede," cried some. "humpty dumpty," cried others, and there was a fine shouting and crying out. but the fir-tree remained quite still, and thought to himself, "shall i have anything to do with all this?" but he had already amused them as much as they wished. then the old man told them the story of humpty dumpty, how he fell down stairs, and was raised up again, and married a princess. and the children clapped their hands and cried, "tell another, tell another," for they wanted to hear the story of "ivede-avede;" but they only had "humpty dumpty." after this the fir-tree became quite silent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the forest told such tales as "humpty dumpty," who fell down stairs, and yet married a princess. "ah! yes, so it happens in the world," thought the fir-tree; he believed it all, because it was related by such a nice man. "ah! well," he thought, "who knows? perhaps i may fall down too, and marry a princess;" and he looked forward joyfully to the next evening, expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, gold and fruit. "to-morrow i will not tremble," thought he; "i will enjoy all my splendor, and i shall hear the story of humpty dumpty again, and perhaps ivede-avede." and the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all night. in the morning the servants and the housemaid came in. "now," thought the fir, "all my splendor is going to begin again." but they dragged him out of the room and up stairs to the garret, and threw him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight shone, and there they left him. "what does this mean?" thought the tree, "what am i to do here? i can hear nothing in a place like this," and he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed and no one came near him, and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put away large boxes in a corner. so the tree was completely hidden from sight as if it had never existed. "it is winter now," thought the tree, "the ground is hard and covered with snow, so that people cannot plant me. i shall be sheltered here, i dare say, until spring comes. how thoughtful and kind everybody is to me! still i wish this place were not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little hare to look at. how pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay on the ground, when the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me too, although i did not like it then. oh! it is terrible lonely here." "squeak, squeak," said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the tree; then came another; and they both sniffed at the fir-tree and crept between the branches. "oh, it is very cold," said the little mouse, "or else we should be so comfortable here, shouldn't we, you old fir-tree?" "i am not old," said the fir-tree, "there are many who are older than i am." "where do you come from? and what do you know?" asked the mice, who were full of curiosity. "have you seen the most beautiful places in the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang from the ceiling? one can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thin and come out fat." "i know nothing of that place," said the fir-tree, "but i know the wood where the sun shines and the birds sing." and then the tree told the little mice all about its youth. they had never heard such an account in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively, they said, "what a number of things you have seen? you must have been very happy." "happy!" exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected upon what he had been telling them, he said, "ah, yes! after all those were happy days." but when he went on and related all about christmas-eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, "how happy you must have been, you old fir-tree." "i am not old at all," replied the tree, "i only came from the forest this winter, i am now checked in my growth." "what splendid stories you can relate," said the little mice. and the next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to tell. the more he talked the more he remembered, and then he thought to himself, "those were happy days, but they may come again. humpty dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married the princess; perhaps i may marry a princess too." and the fir-tree thought of the pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, which was to him a real beautiful princess. "who is humpty dumpty?" asked the little mice. and then the tree related the whole story; he could remember every single word, and the little mice was so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to the top of the tree. the next night a great many more mice made their appearance, and on sunday two rats came with them; but they said, it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry, for it made them also think less of it. "do you know only one story?" asked the rats. "only one," replied the fir-tree; "i heard it on the happiest evening of my life; but i did not know i was so happy at the time." "we think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "don't you know any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom." "no," replied the tree. "many thanks to you then," replied the rats, and they marched off. the little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed, and said, "it was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat round me and listened while i talked. now that is all passed too. however, i shall consider myself happy when some one comes to take me out of this place." but would this ever happen? yes; one morning people came to clear out the garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of the corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; then the servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone. "now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing in the sunshine and fresh air. then it was carried down stairs and taken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think of itself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. the court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. fresh and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. the linden-trees were in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there, crying, "twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming,"--but it was not the fir-tree they meant. "now i shall live," cried the tree, joyfully spreading out its branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. the star of gold paper still stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. in the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had danced round the tree at christmas, and had been so happy. the youngest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree. "look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree," said the child, treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots. and the tree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret. it thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merry christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to the story of "humpty dumpty." "past! past!" said the old tree; "oh, had i but enjoyed myself while i could have done so! but now it is too late." then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. the pieces were placed in a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot. then the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire, and looked at it and cried, "pop, pop." but at each "pop," which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest; and of christmas evening, and of "humpty dumpty," the only story it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it was consumed. the boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden star on his breast, with which the tree had been adorned during the happiest evening of its existence. now all was past; the tree's life was past, and the story also,--for all stories must come to an end at last. the flax the flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers as delicate as the wings of a moth, or even more so. the sun shone, and the showers watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as it is for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother. they look much prettier for it, and so did the flax. "people say that i look exceedingly well," said the flax, "and that i am so fine and long that i shall make a beautiful piece of linen. how fortunate i am; it makes me so happy, it is such a pleasant thing to know that something can be made of me. how the sunshine cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the rain; my happiness overpowers me, no one in the world can feel happier than i am." "ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the world yet as well as i do, for my sticks are knotty;" and then it sung quite mournfully-- "snip, snap, snurre, basse lurre: the song is ended." "no, it is not ended," said the flax. "to-morrow the sun will shine, or the rain descend. i feel that i am growing. i feel that i am in full blossom. i am the happiest of all creatures." well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax, and pulled it up by the roots; this was painful; then it was laid in water as if they intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fire as if it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking. "we cannot expect to be happy always," said the flax; "by experiencing evil as well as good, we become wise." and certainly there was plenty of evil in store for the flax. it was steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. at last it was put on the spinning wheel. "whirr, whirr," went the wheel so quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts. "well, i have been very happy," he thought in the midst of his pain, "and must be contented with the past;" and contented he remained till he was put on the loom, and became a beautiful piece of white linen. all the flax, even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. "well, this is quite wonderful; i could not have believed that i should be so favored by fortune. the fern was not wrong with its song of 'snip, snap, snurre, basse lurre.' but the song is not ended yet, i am sure; it is only just beginning. how wonderful it is, that after all i have suffered, i am made something of at last; i am the luckiest person in the world--so strong and fine; and how white, and what a length! this is something different to being a mere plant and bearing flowers. then i had no attention, nor any water unless it rained; now, i am watched and taken care of. every morning the maid turns me over, and i have a shower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. yes, and the clergyman's wife noticed me, and said i was the best piece of linen in the whole parish. i cannot be happier than i am now." after some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed under the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked with needles. this certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made into twelve garments of that kind which people do not like to name, and yet everybody should wear one. "see, now, then," said the flax; "i have become something of importance. this was my destiny; it is quite a blessing. now i shall be of some use in the world, as everyone ought to be; it is the only way to be happy. i am now divided into twelve pieces, and yet we are all one and the same in the whole dozen. it is most extraordinary good fortune." years passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it could scarcely hold together. "it must end very soon," said the pieces to each other; "we would gladly have held together a little longer, but it is useless to expect impossibilities." and at length they fell into rags and tatters, and thought it was all over with them, for they were torn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into a pulp, and dried, and they knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves beautiful white paper. "well, now, this is a surprise; a glorious surprise too," said the paper. "i am now finer than ever, and i shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things i may have written upon me. this is wonderful luck!" and sure enough the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was there a blot, which was very fortunate. then people heard the stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessing was contained in the words on this paper. "i never imagined anything like this," said the paper, "when i was only a little blue flower, growing in the fields. how could i fancy that i should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to man? i cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. heaven knows that i have done nothing myself, but what i was obliged to do with my weak powers for my own preservation; and yet i have been promoted from one joy and honor to another. each time i think that the song is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. i suppose now i shall be sent on my travels about the world, so that people may read me. it cannot be otherwise; indeed, it is more than probable; for i have more splendid thoughts written upon me, than i had pretty flowers in olden times. i am happier than ever." but the paper did not go on its travels; it was sent to the printer, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, to make a book, or rather, many hundreds of books; for so many more persons could derive pleasure and profit from a printed book, than from the written paper; and if the paper had been sent around the world, it would have been worn out before it had got half through its journey. "this is certainly the wisest plan," said the written paper; "i really did not think of that. i shall remain at home, and be held in honor, like some old grandfather, as i really am to all these new books. they will do some good. i could not have wandered about as they do. yet he who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowed from his pen upon my surface. i am the most honored of all." then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and thrown into a tub that stood in the washhouse. "after work, it is well to rest," said the paper, "and a very good opportunity to collect one's thoughts. now i am able, for the first time, to think of my real condition; and to know one's self is true progress. what will be done with me now, i wonder? no doubt i shall still go forward. i have always progressed hitherto, as i know quite well." now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken out, and laid on the hearth to be burnt. people said it could not be sold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been written upon. the children in the house stood round the stove; for they wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily, and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seen running one after the other, here and there, as quick as the wind. they called it seeing the children come out of school, and the last spark was the schoolmaster. they often thought the last spark had come; and one would cry, "there goes the schoolmaster;" but the next moment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. how they would like to know where the sparks all went to! perhaps we shall find out some day, but we don't know now. the whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and was soon alight. "ugh," cried the paper, as it burst into a bright flame; "ugh." it was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; but when the whole was wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into the air, higher than the flax had ever been able to raise its little blue flower, and they glistened as the white linen never could have glistened. all the written letters became quite red in a moment, and all the words and thoughts turned to fire. "now i am mounting straight up to the sun," said a voice in the flames; and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words; and the flames darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. then a number of tiny beings, as many in number as the flowers on the flax had been, and invisible to mortal eyes, floated above them. they were even lighter and more delicate than the flowers from which they were born; and as the flames were extinguished, and nothing remained of the paper but black ashes, these little beings danced upon it; and whenever they touched it, bright red sparks appeared. "the children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster was the last of all," said the children. it was good fun, and they sang over the dead ashes,-- "snip, snap, snurre, basse lure: the song is ended." but the little invisible beings said, "the song is never ended; the most beautiful is yet to come." but the children could neither hear nor understand this, nor should they; for children must not know everything. the flying trunk there was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved the whole street with gold, and would even then have had enough for a small alley. but he did not do so; he knew the value of money better than to use it in this way. so clever was he, that every shilling he put out brought him a crown; and so he continued till he died. his son inherited his wealth, and he lived a merry life with it; he went to a masquerade every night, made kites out of five pound notes, and threw pieces of gold into the sea instead of stones, making ducks and drakes of them. in this manner he soon lost all his money. at last he had nothing left but a pair of slippers, an old dressing-gown, and four shillings. and now all his friends deserted him, they could not walk with him in the streets; but one of them, who was very good-natured, sent him an old trunk with this message, "pack up!" "yes," he said, "it is all very well to say 'pack up,'" but he had nothing left to pack up, therefore he seated himself in the trunk. it was a very wonderful trunk; no sooner did any one press on the lock than the trunk could fly. he shut the lid and pressed the lock, when away flew the trunk up the chimney with the merchant's son in it, right up into the clouds. whenever the bottom of the trunk cracked, he was in a great fright, for if the trunk fell to pieces he would have made a tremendous somerset over the trees. however, he got safely in his trunk to the land of turkey. he hid the trunk in the wood under some dry leaves, and then went into the town: he could so this very well, for the turks always go about dressed in dressing-gowns and slippers, as he was himself. he happened to meet a nurse with a little child. "i say, you turkish nurse," cried he, "what castle is that near the town, with the windows placed so high?" "the king's daughter lives there," she replied; "it has been prophesied that she will be very unhappy about a lover, and therefore no one is allowed to visit her, unless the king and queen are present." "thank you," said the merchant's son. so he went back to the wood, seated himself in his trunk, flew up to the roof of the castle, and crept through the window into the princess's room. she lay on the sofa asleep, and she was so beautiful that the merchant's son could not help kissing her. then she awoke, and was very much frightened; but he told her he was a turkish angel, who had come down through the air to see her, which pleased her very much. he sat down by her side and talked to her: he said her eyes were like beautiful dark lakes, in which the thoughts swam about like little mermaids, and he told her that her forehead was a snowy mountain, which contained splendid halls full of pictures. and then he related to her about the stork who brings the beautiful children from the rivers. these were delightful stories; and when he asked the princess if she would marry him, she consented immediately. "but you must come on saturday," she said; "for then the king and queen will take tea with me. they will be very proud when they find that i am going to marry a turkish angel; but you must think of some very pretty stories to tell them, for my parents like to hear stories better than anything. my mother prefers one that is deep and moral; but my father likes something funny, to make him laugh." "very well," he replied; "i shall bring you no other marriage portion than a story," and so they parted. but the princess gave him a sword which was studded with gold coins, and these he could use. then he flew away to the town and bought a new dressing-gown, and afterwards returned to the wood, where he composed a story, so as to be ready for saturday, which was no easy matter. it was ready however by saturday, when he went to see the princess. the king, and queen, and the whole court, were at tea with the princess; and he was received with great politeness. "will you tell us a story?" said the queen,--"one that is instructive and full of deep learning." "yes, but with something in it to laugh at," said the king. "certainly," he replied, and commenced at once, asking them to listen attentively. "there was once a bundle of matches that were exceedingly proud of their high descent. their genealogical tree, that is, a large pine-tree from which they had been cut, was at one time a large, old tree in the wood. the matches now lay between a tinder-box and an old iron saucepan, and were talking about their youthful days. 'ah! then we grew on the green boughs, and were as green as they; every morning and evening we were fed with diamond drops of dew. whenever the sun shone, we felt his warm rays, and the little birds would relate stories to us as they sung. we knew that we were rich, for the other trees only wore their green dress in summer, but our family were able to array themselves in green, summer and winter. but the wood-cutter came, like a great revolution, and our family fell under the axe. the head of the house obtained a situation as mainmast in a very fine ship, and can sail round the world when he will. the other branches of the family were taken to different places, and our office now is to kindle a light for common people. this is how such high-born people as we came to be in a kitchen.' "'mine has been a very different fate,' said the iron pot, which stood by the matches; 'from my first entrance into the world i have been used to cooking and scouring. i am the first in this house, when anything solid or useful is required. my only pleasure is to be made clean and shining after dinner, and to sit in my place and have a little sensible conversation with my neighbors. all of us, excepting the water-bucket, which is sometimes taken into the courtyard, live here together within these four walls. we get our news from the market-basket, but he sometimes tells us very unpleasant things about the people and the government. yes, and one day an old pot was so alarmed, that he fell down and was broken to pieces. he was a liberal, i can tell you.' "'you are talking too much,' said the tinder-box, and the steel struck against the flint till some sparks flew out, crying, 'we want a merry evening, don't we?' "'yes, of course,' said the matches, 'let us talk about those who are the highest born.' "'no, i don't like to be always talking of what we are,' remarked the saucepan; 'let us think of some other amusement; i will begin. we will tell something that has happened to ourselves; that will be very easy, and interesting as well. on the baltic sea, near the danish shore'-- "'what a pretty commencement!' said the plates; 'we shall all like that story, i am sure.' "'yes; well in my youth, i lived in a quiet family, where the furniture was polished, the floors scoured, and clean curtains put up every fortnight.' "'what an interesting way you have of relating a story,' said the carpet-broom; 'it is easy to perceive that you have been a great deal in women's society, there is something so pure runs through what you say.' "'that is quite true,' said the water-bucket; and he made a spring with joy, and splashed some water on the floor. "then the saucepan went on with his story, and the end was as good as the beginning. "the plates rattled with pleasure, and the carpet-broom brought some green parsley out of the dust-hole and crowned the saucepan, for he knew it would vex the others; and he thought, 'if i crown him to-day he will crown me to-morrow.' "'now, let us have a dance,' said the fire-tongs; and then how they danced and stuck up one leg in the air. the chair-cushion in the corner burst with laughter when she saw it. "'shall i be crowned now?' asked the fire-tongs; so the broom found another wreath for the tongs. "'they were only common people after all,' thought the matches. the tea-urn was now asked to sing, but she said she had a cold, and could not sing without boiling heat. they all thought this was affectation, and because she did not wish to sing excepting in the parlor, when on the table with the grand people. "in the window sat an old quill-pen, with which the maid generally wrote. there was nothing remarkable about the pen, excepting that it had been dipped too deeply in the ink, but it was proud of that. "'if the tea-urn won't sing,' said the pen, 'she can leave it alone; there is a nightingale in a cage who can sing; she has not been taught much, certainly, but we need not say anything this evening about that.' "'i think it highly improper,' said the tea-kettle, who was kitchen singer, and half-brother to the tea-urn, 'that a rich foreign bird should be listened to here. is it patriotic? let the market-basket decide what is right.' "'i certainly am vexed,' said the basket; 'inwardly vexed, more than any one can imagine. are we spending the evening properly? would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? if each were in his own place i would lead a game; this would be quite another thing.' "'let us act a play,' said they all. at the same moment the door opened, and the maid came in. then not one stirred; they all remained quite still; yet, at the same time, there was not a single pot amongst them who had not a high opinion of himself, and of what he could do if he chose. "'yes, if we had chosen,' they each thought, 'we might have spent a very pleasant evening.' "the maid took the matches and lighted them; dear me, how they sputtered and blazed up! "'now then,' they thought, 'every one will see that we are the first. how we shine; what a light we give!' even while they spoke their light went out. "what a capital story," said the queen, "i feel as if i were really in the kitchen, and could see the matches; yes, you shall marry our daughter." "certainly," said the king, "thou shalt have our daughter." the king said thou to him because he was going to be one of the family. the wedding-day was fixed, and, on the evening before, the whole city was illuminated. cakes and sweetmeats were thrown among the people. the street boys stood on tiptoe and shouted "hurrah," and whistled between their fingers; altogether it was a very splendid affair. "i will give them another treat," said the merchant's son. so he went and bought rockets and crackers, and all sorts of fire-works that could be thought of, packed them in his trunk, and flew up with it into the air. what a whizzing and popping they made as they went off! the turks, when they saw such a sight in the air, jumped so high that their slippers flew about their ears. it was easy to believe after this that the princess was really going to marry a turkish angel. as soon as the merchant's son had come down in his flying trunk to the wood after the fireworks, he thought, "i will go back into the town now, and hear what they think of the entertainment." it was very natural that he should wish to know. and what strange things people did say, to be sure! every one whom he questioned had a different tale to tell, though they all thought it very beautiful. "'i saw the turkish angel myself," said one; "he had eyes like glittering stars, and a head like foaming water." "he flew in a mantle of fire," cried another, "and lovely little cherubs peeped out from the folds." he heard many more fine things about himself, and that the next day he was to be married. after this he went back to the forest to rest himself in his trunk. it had disappeared! a spark from the fireworks which remained had set it on fire; it was burnt to ashes! so the merchant's son could not fly any more, nor go to meet his bride. she stood all day on the roof waiting for him, and most likely she is waiting there still; while he wanders through the world telling fairy tales, but none of them so amusing as the one he related about the matches. the shepherd's story of the bond of friendship the little dwelling in which we lived was of clay, but the door-posts were columns of fluted marble, found near the spot on which it stood. the roof sloped nearly to the ground. it was at this time dark, brown, and ugly, but had originally been formed of blooming olive and laurel branches, brought from beyond the mountains. the house was situated in a narrow gorge, whose rocky walls rose to a perpendicular height, naked and black, while round their summits clouds often hung, looking like white living figures. not a singing bird was ever heard there, neither did men dance to the sound of the pipe. the spot was one sacred to olden times; even its name recalled a memory of the days when it was called "delphi." then the summits of the dark, sacred mountains were covered with snow, and the highest, mount parnassus, glowed longest in the red evening light. the brook which rolled from it near our house, was also sacred. how well i can remember every spot in that deep, sacred solitude! a fire had been kindled in the midst of the hut, and while the hot ashes lay there red and glowing, the bread was baked in them. at times the snow would be piled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, and then my mother appeared most cheerful. she would hold my head between her hands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for the turks, our masters, would not allow it. she sang,-- "on the summit of mount olympus, in a forest of dwarf firs, lay an old stag. his eyes were heavy with tears, and glittering with colors like dewdrops; and there came by a roebuck, and said, 'what ailest thee, that thou weepest blue and red tears?' and the stag answered, 'the turk has come to our city; he has wild dogs for the chase, a goodly pack.' 'i will drive them away across the islands!' cried the young roebuck; 'i will drive them away across the islands into the deep sea.' but before evening the roebuck was slain, and before night the hunted stag was dead." and when my mother sang thus, her eyes would become moist; and on the long eyelashes were tears, but she concealed them and watched the black bread baking in the ashes. then i would clench my fist, and cry, "we will kill these turks!" but she repeated the words of the song, "i will drive them across the islands to the deep sea; but before evening came the roebuck was slain, and before the night the hunted stag was dead." we had been lonely in our hut for several days and nights when my father came home. i knew he would bring me some shells from the gulf of lepanto, or perhaps a knife with a shining blade. this time he brought, under his sheep-skin cloak, a little child, a little half-naked girl. she was wrapped in a fur; but when this was taken off, and she lay in my mother's lap, three silver coins were found fastened in her dark hair; they were all her possessions. my father told us that the child's parents had been killed by the turks, and he talked so much about them that i dreamed of turks all night. he himself had been wounded, and my mother bound up his arm. it was a deep wound, and the thick sheep-skin cloak was stiff with congealed blood. the little maiden was to be my sister. how pretty and bright she looked: even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers. anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because her father had been united to mine by an old custom, which we still follow. they had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and the most beautiful and virtuous maiden in the neighborhood was chosen to perform the act of consecration upon this bond of friendship. so now this little girl was my sister. she sat in my lap, and i brought her flowers, and feathers from the birds of the mountain. we drank together of the waters of parnassus, and dwelt for many years beneath the laurel roof of the hut, while, winter after winter, my mother sang her song of the stag who shed red tears. but as yet i did not understand that the sorrows of my own countrymen were mirrored in those tears. one day there came to our hut franks, men from a far country, whose dress was different to ours. they had tents and beds with them, carried by horses; and they were accompanied by more than twenty turks, all armed with swords and muskets. these franks were friends of the pacha, and had letters from him, commanding an escort for them. they only came to see our mountain, to ascend parnassus amid the snow and clouds, and to look at the strange black rocks which raised their steep sides near our hut. they could not find room in the hut, nor endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling till it found its way out at the low door; so they pitched their tents on a small space outside our dwelling. roasted lambs and birds were brought forth, and strong, sweet wine, of which the turks are forbidden to partake. when they departed, i accompanied them for some distance, carrying my little sister anastasia, wrapped in a goat-skin, on my back. one of the frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew us both as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. i did not think of it then, but anastasia and i were really one. she was always sitting on my lap, or riding in the goat-skin on my back; and in my dreams she always appeared to me. two nights after this, other men, armed with knives and muskets, came into our tent. they were albanians, brave men, my mother told me. they only stayed a short time. my sister anastasia sat on the knee of one of them; and when they were gone, she had not three, but two silver coins in her hair--one had disappeared. they wrapped tobacco in strips of paper, and smoked it; and i remember they were uncertain as to the road they ought to take. but they were obliged to go at last, and my father went with them. soon after, we heard the sound of firing. the noise continued, and presently soldiers rushed into our hut, and took my mother and myself and anastasia prisoners. they declared that we had entertained robbers, and that my father had acted as their guide, and therefore we must now go with them. the corpses of the robbers, and my father's corpse, were brought into the hut. i saw my poor dead father, and cried till i fell asleep. when i awoke, i found myself in a prison; but the room was not worse than our own in the hut. they gave me onions and musty wine from a tarred cask; but we were not accustomed to much better fare at home. how long we were kept in prison, i do not know; but many days and nights passed by. we were set free about easter-time. i carried anastasia on my back, and we walked very slowly; for my mother was very weak, and it is a long way to the sea, to the gulf of lepanto. on our arrival, we entered a church, in which there were beautiful pictures in golden frames. they were pictures of angels, fair and bright; and yet our little anastasia looked equally beautiful, as it seemed to me. in the centre of the floor stood a coffin filled with roses. my mother told me it was the lord jesus christ who was represented by these roses. then the priest announced, "christ is risen," and all the people greeted each other. each one carried a burning taper in his hand, and one was given to me, as well as to little anastasia. the music sounded, and the people left the church hand-in-hand, with joy and gladness. outside, the women were roasting the paschal lamb. we were invited to partake; and as i sat by the fire, a boy, older than myself, put his arms round my neck, and kissed me, and said, "christ is risen." and thus it was that for the first time i met aphtanides. my mother could make fishermen's nets, for which there was a great demand here in the bay; and we lived a long time by the side of the sea, the beautiful sea, that had a taste like tears, and in its colors reminded me of the stag that wept red tears; for sometimes its waters were red, and sometimes green or blue. aphtanides knew how to manage our boat, and i often sat in it, with my little anastasia, while it glided on through the water, swift as a bird flying through the air. then, when the sun set, how beautifully, deeply blue, would be the tint on the mountains, one rising above the other in the far distance, and the summit of mount parnassus rising above them all like a glorious crown. its top glittered in the evening rays like molten gold, and it seemed as if the light came from within it; for long after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, the mountain-top would glow in the clear, blue sky. the white aquatic birds skimmed the surface of the water in their flight, and all was calm and still as amid the black rocks at delphi. i lay on my back in the boat, anastasia leaned against me, while the stars above us glittered more brightly than the lamps in our church. they were the same stars, and in the same position over me as when i used to sit in front of our hut at delphi, and i had almost begun to fancy i was still there, when suddenly there was a splash in the water--anastasia had fallen in; but in a moment aphtanides has sprung in after her, and was now holding her up to me. we dried her clothes as well as we were able, and remained on the water till they were dry; for we did not wish it to be known what a fright we had had, nor the danger which our little adopted sister had incurred, in whose life aphtanides had now a part. the summer came, and the burning heat of the sun tinted the leaves of the trees with lines of gold. i thought of our cool mountain-home, and the fresh water that flowed near it; my mother, too, longed for if, and one evening we wandered towards home. how peaceful and silent it was as we walked on through the thick, wild thyme, still fragrant, though the sun had scorched the leaves. not a single herdsman did we meet, not a solitary hut did we pass; everything appeared lonely and deserted--only a shooting star showed that in the heavens there was yet life. i know not whether the clear, blue atmosphere gleamed with its own light, or if the radiance came from the stars; but we could distinguish quite plainly the outline of the mountains. my mother lighted a fire, and roasted some roots she had brought with her, and i and my little sister slept among the bushes, without fear of the ugly smidraki, from whose throat issues fire, or of the wolf and the jackal; for my mother sat by us, and i considered her presence sufficient protection. we reached our old home; but the cottage was in ruins, and we had to build a new one. with the aid of some neighbors, chiefly women, the walls were in a few days erected, and very soon covered with a roof of olive-branches. my mother obtained a living by making bottle-cases of bark and skins, and i kept the sheep belonging to the priests, who were sometimes peasants, while i had for my playfellows anastasia and the turtles. once our beloved aphtanides paid us a visit. he said he had been longing to see us so much; and he remained with us two whole happy days. a month afterwards he came again to wish us good-bye, and brought with him a large fish for my mother. he told us he was going in a ship to corfu and patras, and could relate a great many stories, not only about the fishermen who lived near the gulf of lepanto, but also of kings and heroes who had once possessed greece, just as the turks possess it now. i have seen a bud on a rose-bush gradually, in the course of a few weeks, unfold its leaves till it became a rose in all its beauty; and, before i was aware of it, i beheld it blooming in rosy loveliness. the same thing had happened to anastasia. unnoticed by me, she had gradually become a beautiful maiden, and i was now also a stout, strong youth. the wolf-skins that covered the bed in which my mother and anastasia slept, had been taken from wolves which i had myself shot. years had gone by when, one evening, aphtanides came in. he had grown tall and slender as a reed, with strong limbs, and a dark, brown skin. he kissed us all, and had so much to tell of what he had seen of the great ocean, of the fortifications at malta, and of the marvellous sepulchres of egypt, that i looked up to him with a kind of veneration. his stories were as strange as the legends of the priests of olden times. "how much you know!" i exclaimed, "and what wonders you can relate?" "i think what you once told me, the finest of all," he replied; "you told me of a thing that has never been out of my thoughts--of the good old custom of 'the bond of friendship,'--a custom i should like to follow. brother, let you and i go to church, as your father and anastasia's father once did. your sister anastasia is the most beautiful and most innocent of maidens, and she shall consecrate the deed. no people have such grand old customs as we greeks." anastasia blushed like a young rose, and my mother kissed aphtanides. at about two miles from our cottage, where the earth on the hill is sheltered by a few scattered trees, stood the little church, with a silver lamp hanging before the altar. i put on my best clothes, and the white tunic fell in graceful folds over my hips. the red jacket fitted tight and close, the tassel on my fez cap was of silver, and in my girdle glittered a knife and my pistols. aphtanides was clad in the blue dress worn by the greek sailors; on his breast hung a silver medal with the figure of the virgin mary, and his scarf was as costly as those worn by rich lords. every one could see that we were about to perform a solemn ceremony. when we entered the little, unpretending church, the evening sunlight streamed through the open door on the burning lamp, and glittered on the golden picture frames. we knelt down together on the altar steps, and anastasia drew near and stood beside us. a long, white garment fell in graceful folds over her delicate form, and on her white neck and bosom hung a chain entwined with old and new coins, forming a kind of collar. her black hair was fastened into a knot, and confined by a headdress formed of gold and silver coins which had been found in an ancient temple. no greek girl had more beautiful ornaments than these. her countenance glowed, and her eyes were like two stars. we all three offered a silent prayer, and then she said to us, "will you be friends in life and in death?" "yes," we replied. "will you each remember to say, whatever may happen, 'my brother is a part of myself; his secret is my secret, my happiness is his; self-sacrifice, patience, everything belongs to me as they do to him?'" and we again answered, "yes." then she joined out hands and kissed us on the forehead, and we again prayed silently. after this a priest came through a door near the altar, and blessed us all three. then a song was sung by other holy men behind the altar-screen, and the bond of eternal friendship was confirmed. when we arose, i saw my mother standing by the church door, weeping. how cheerful everything seemed now in our little cottage by the delphian springs! on the evening before his departure, aphtanides sat thoughtfully beside me on the slopes of the mountain. his arm was flung around me, and mine was round his neck. we spoke of the sorrows of greece, and of the men of the country who could be trusted. every thought of our souls lay clear before us. presently i seized his hand: "aphtanides," i exclaimed, "there is one thing still that you must know,--one thing that till now has been a secret between myself and heaven. my whole soul is filled with love,--with a love stronger than the love i bear to my mother and to thee. "and whom do you love?" asked aphtanides. and his face and neck grew red as fire. "i love anastasia," i replied. then his hand trembled in mine, and he became pale as a corpse. i saw it, i understood the cause, and i believe my hand trembled too. i bent towards him, i kissed his forehead, and whispered, "i have never spoken of this to her, and perhaps she does not love me. brother, think of this; i have seen her daily, she has grown up beside me, and has become a part of my soul." "and she shall be thine," he exclaimed; "thine! i may not wrong thee, nor will i do so. i also love her, but tomorrow i depart. in a year we will see each other again, but then you will be married; shall it not be so? i have a little gold of my own, it shall be yours. you must and shall take it." we wandered silently homeward across the mountains. it was late in the evening when we reached my mother's door. anastasia held the lamp as we entered; my mother was not there. she looked at aphtanides with a sweet but mournful expression on her face. "to-morrow you are going to leave us," she said. "i am very sorry." "sorry!" he exclaimed, and his voice was troubled with a grief as deep as my own. i could not speak; but he seized her hand and said, "our brother yonder loves you, and is he not dear to you? his very silence now proves his affection." anastasia trembled, and burst into tears. then i saw no one, thought of none, but her. i threw my arms round her, and pressed my lips to hers. as she flung her arms round my neck, the lamp fell to the ground, and we were in darkness, dark as the heart of poor aphtanides. before daybreak he rose, kissed us all, and said "farewell," and went away. he had given all his money to my mother for us. anastasia was betrothed to me, and in a few days afterwards she became my wife. the girl who trod on the loaf there was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are well known. her name was inge; she was a poor child, but proud and presuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. when quite a little child she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off their wings, so as to make creeping things of them. when older, she would take cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins through them. then she pushed a green leaf, or a little scrap of paper towards their feet, and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it fast, and turn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, she would say, "the cockchafer is reading; see how he turns over the leaf." she grew worse instead of better with years, and, unfortunately, she was pretty, which caused her to be excused, when she should have been sharply reproved. "your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it," her mother often said to her. "as a little child you used to trample on my apron, but one day i fear you will trample on my heart." and, alas! this fear was realized. inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at a distance, and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her so fine that her pride and arrogance increased. when she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her, "you ought to go, for once, and see your parents, inge." so inge started to go and visit her parents; but she only wanted to show herself in her native place, that the people might see how fine she was. she reached the entrance of the village, and saw the young laboring men and maidens standing together chatting, and her own mother amongst them. inge's mother was sitting on a stone to rest, with a fagot of sticks lying before her, which she had picked up in the wood. then inge turned back; she who was so finely dressed she felt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood in the forest. she did not turn back out of pity for her mother's poverty, but from pride. another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "you ought to go home again, and visit your parents, inge, and i will give you a large wheaten loaf to take to them, they will be glad to see you, i am sure." so inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dress up around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be clean and neat about the feet, and there was nothing wrong in doing so. but when she came to the place where the footpath led across the moor, she found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud, so she threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass without wetting her feet. but as she stood with one foot on the loaf and the other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sink under her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, and only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained to show where she had sunk. and this is the story. but where did inge go? she sank into the ground, and went down to the marsh woman, who is always brewing there. the marsh woman is related to the elf maidens, who are well-known, for songs are sung and pictures painted about them. but of the marsh woman nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from the meadows, in summer time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. to the marsh woman's brewery inge sunk down to a place which no one can endure for long. a heap of mud is a palace compared with the marsh woman's brewery; and as inge fell she shuddered in every limb, and soon became cold and stiff as marble. her foot was still fastened to the loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem. an evil spirit soon took possession of inge, and carried her to a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people, waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of unrest. it would take too much time to describe the various tortures these people suffered, but inge's punishment consisted in standing there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. she could move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she could not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for she was still vain and proud. but she had forgotten how soiled her clothes had become while in the marsh woman's brewery, and that they were covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair, and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. worse than all was the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. no; her back was too stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. and then came creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked and blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture. "if this lasts much longer," she said, "i shall not be able to bear it." but it did last, and she had to bear it, without being able to help herself. a tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, and rolled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood. who could be weeping for inge? she had a mother in the world still, and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will always find their way to the child's heart, but they often increase the torment instead of being a relief. and inge could hear all that was said about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruel to her. the sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known on earth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill, when she was crossing the marsh and had disappeared. when her mother wept and exclaimed, "ah, inge! what grief thou hast caused thy mother" she would say, "oh that i had never been born! my mother's tears are useless now." and then the words of the kind people who had adopted her came to her ears, when they said, "inge was a sinful girl, who did not value the gifts of god, but trampled them under her feet." "ah," thought inge, "they should have punished me, and driven all my naughty tempers out of me." a song was made about "the girl who trod on a loaf to keep her shoes from being soiled," and this song was sung everywhere. the story of her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her "wicked inge," and said she was so naughty that she ought to be punished. inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened and full of bitterness. but one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollow frame, she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the tale of the vain, haughty inge, burst into tears and exclaim, "but will she never come up again?" and she heard the reply, "no, she will never come up again." "but if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promise never to do so again?" asked the little one. "yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was the answer. "oh, i wish she would!" said the child, who was quite unhappy about it. "i should be so glad. i would give up my doll and all my playthings, if she could only come here again. poor inge! it is so dreadful for her." these pitying words penetrated to inge's inmost heart, and seemed to do her good. it was the first time any one had said, "poor inge!" without saying something about her faults. a little innocent child was weeping, and praying for mercy for her. it made her feel quite strange, and she would gladly have wept herself, and it added to her torment to find she could not do so. and while she thus suffered in a place where nothing changed, years passed away on earth, and she heard her name less frequently mentioned. but one day a sigh reached her ear, and the words, "inge! inge! what a grief thou hast been to me! i said it would be so." it was the last sigh of her dying mother. after this, inge heard her kind mistress say, "ah, poor inge! shall i ever see thee again? perhaps i may, for we know not what may happen in the future." but inge knew right well that her mistress would never come to that dreadful place. time-passed--a long bitter time--then inge heard her name pronounced once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars shining above her. they were two gentle eyes closing on earth. many years had passed since the little girl had lamented and wept about "poor inge." that child was now an old woman, whom god was taking to himself. in the last hour of existence the events of a whole life often appear before us; and this hour the old woman remembered how, when a child, she had shed tears over the story of inge, and she prayed for her now. as the eyes of the old woman closed to earth, the eyes of the soul opened upon the hidden things of eternity, and then she, in whose last thoughts inge had been so vividly present, saw how deeply the poor girl had sunk. she burst into tears at the sight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on earth, she wept and prayed for poor inge. her tears and her prayers echoed through the dark void that surrounded the tormented captive soul, and the unexpected mercy was obtained for it through an angel's tears. as in thought inge seemed to act over again every sin she had committed on earth, she trembled, and tears she had never yet been able to weep rushed to her eyes. it seemed impossible that the gates of mercy could ever be opened to her; but while she acknowledged this in deep penitence, a beam of radiant light shot suddenly into the depths upon her. more powerful than the sunbeam that dissolves the man of snow which the children have raised, more quickly than the snowflake melts and becomes a drop of water on the warm lips of a child, was the stony form of inge changed, and as a little bird she soared, with the speed of lightning, upward to the world of mortals. a bird that felt timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed to shrink with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedly sought to conceal itself in a dark corner of an old ruined wall; there it sat cowering and unable to utter a sound, for it was voiceless. yet how quickly the little bird discovered the beauty of everything around it. the sweet, fresh air; the soft radiance of the moon, as its light spread over the earth; the fragrance which exhaled from bush and tree, made it feel happy as it sat there clothed in its fresh, bright plumage. all creation seemed to speak of beneficence and love. the bird wanted to give utterance to thoughts that stirred in his breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring, but it could not. yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise, even from a worm; and the notes trembling in the breast of the bird were as audible to heaven even as the psalms of david before they had fashioned themselves into words and song. christmas-time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by the old wall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened to the top, that the birds of heaven might have feast, and rejoice in the happy, blessed time. and on christmas morning the sun arose and shone upon the ears of corn, which were quickly surrounded by a number of twittering birds. then, from a hole in the wall, gushed forth in song the swelling thoughts of the bird as he issued from his hiding place to perform his first good deed on earth,--and in heaven it was well known who that bird was. the winter was very hard; the ponds were covered with ice, and there was very little food for either the beasts of the field or the birds of the air. our little bird flew away into the public roads, and found here and there, in the ruts of the sledges, a grain of corn, and at the halting places some crumbs. of these he ate only a few, but he called around him the other birds and the hungry sparrows, that they too might have food. he flew into the towns, and looked about, and wherever a kind hand had strewed bread on the window-sill for the birds, he only ate a single crumb himself, and gave all the rest to the rest of the other birds. in the course of the winter the bird had in this way collected many crumbs and given them to other birds, till they equalled the weight of the loaf on which inge had trod to keep her shoes clean; and when the last bread-crumb had been found and given, the gray wings of the bird became white, and spread themselves out for flight. "see, yonder is a sea-gull!" cried the children, when they saw the white bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again into the clear sunlight, white and glittering. but no one could tell whither it went then although some declared it flew straight to the sun. the goblin and the huckster there was once a regular student, who lived in a garret, and had no possessions. and there was also a regular huckster, to whom the house belonged, and who occupied the ground floor. a goblin lived with the huckster, because at christmas he always had a large dish full of jam, with a great piece of butter in the middle. the huckster could afford this; and therefore the goblin remained with the huckster, which was very cunning of him. one evening the student came into the shop through the back door to buy candles and cheese for himself, he had no one to send, and therefore he came himself; he obtained what he wished, and then the huckster and his wife nodded good evening to him, and she was a woman who could do more than merely nod, for she had usually plenty to say for herself. the student nodded in return as he turned to leave, then suddenly stopped, and began reading the piece of paper in which the cheese was wrapped. it was a leaf torn out of an old book, a book that ought not to have been torn up, for it was full of poetry. "yonder lies some more of the same sort," said the huckster: "i gave an old woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the rest for sixpence, if you will." "indeed i will," said the student; "give me the book instead of the cheese; i can eat my bread and butter without cheese. it would be a sin to tear up a book like this. you are a clever man; and a practical man; but you understand no more about poetry than that cask yonder." this was a very rude speech, especially against the cask; but the huckster and the student both laughed, for it was only said in fun. but the goblin felt very angry that any man should venture to say such things to a huckster who was a householder and sold the best butter. as soon as it was night, and the shop closed, and every one in bed except the student, the goblin stepped softly into the bedroom where the huckster's wife slept, and took away her tongue, which of course, she did not then want. whatever object in the room he placed his tongue upon immediately received voice and speech, and was able to express its thoughts and feelings as readily as the lady herself could do. it could only be used by one object at a time, which was a good thing, as a number speaking at once would have caused great confusion. the goblin laid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quantity of old newspapers. "is it really true," he asked, "that you do not know what poetry is?" "of course i know," replied the cask: "poetry is something that always stand in the corner of a newspaper, and is sometimes cut out; and i may venture to affirm that i have more of it in me than the student has, and i am only a poor tub of the huckster's." then the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill; and how it did go to be sure! then he put it on the butter tub and the cash box, and they all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub; and a majority must always be respected. "now i shall go and tell the student," said the goblin; and with these words he went quietly up the back stairs to the garret where the student lived. he had a candle burning still, and the goblin peeped through the keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book, which he had brought out of the shop. but how light the room was! from the book shot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full, like the stem of a tree, from which bright rays spread upward and over the student's head. each leaf was fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female head; some with dark and sparkling eyes, and others with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear. the fruit gleamed like stars, and the room was filled with sounds of beautiful music. the little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard of, any sight so glorious as this. he stood still on tiptoe, peeping in, till the light went out in the garret. the student no doubt had blown out his candle and gone to bed; but the little goblin remained standing there nevertheless, and listening to the music which still sounded on, soft and beautiful, a sweet cradle-song for the student, who had lain down to rest. "this is a wonderful place," said the goblin; "i never expected such a thing. i should like to stay here with the student;" and the little man thought it over, for he was a sensible little spirit. at last he sighed, "but the student has no jam!" so he went down stairs again into the huckster's shop, and it was a good thing he got back when he did, for the cask had almost worn out the lady's tongue; he had given a description of all that he contained on one side, and was just about to turn himself over to the other side to describe what was there, when the goblin entered and restored the tongue to the lady. but from that time forward, the whole shop, from the cash box down to the pinewood logs, formed their opinions from that of the cask; and they all had such confidence in him, and treated him with so much respect, that when the huckster read the criticisms on theatricals and art of an evening, they fancied it must all come from the cask. but after what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit and listen quietly to the wisdom and understanding down stairs; so, as soon as the evening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage, for it seemed to him as if the rays of light were strong cables, drawing him up, and obliging him to go and peep through the keyhole; and, while there, a feeling of vastness came over him such as we experience by the ever-moving sea, when the storm breaks forth; and it brought tears into his eyes. he did not himself know why he wept, yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled with his tears. "how wonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the student under such a tree;" but that was out of the question, he must be content to look through the keyhole, and be thankful for even that. there he stood on the old landing, with the autumn wind blowing down upon him through the trap-door. it was very cold; but the little creature did not really feel it, till the light in the garret went out, and the tones of music died away. then how he shivered, and crept down stairs again to his warm corner, where it felt home-like and comfortable. and when christmas came again, and brought the dish of jam and the great lump of butter, he liked the huckster best of all. soon after, in the middle of the night, the goblin was awoke by a terrible noise and knocking against the window shutters and the house doors, and by the sound of the watchman's horn; for a great fire had broken out, and the whole street appeared full of flames. was it in their house, or a neighbor's? no one could tell, for terror had seized upon all. the huckster's wife was so bewildered that she took her gold ear-rings out of her ears and put them in her pocket, that she might save something at least. the huckster ran to get his business papers, and the servant resolved to save her blue silk mantle, which she had managed to buy. each wished to keep the best things they had. the goblin had the same wish; for, with one spring, he was up stairs and in the student's room, whom he found standing by the open window, and looking quite calmly at the fire, which was raging at the house of a neighbor opposite. the goblin caught up the wonderful book which lay on the table, and popped it into his red cap, which he held tightly with both hands. the greatest treasure in the house was saved; and he ran away with it to the roof, and seated himself on the chimney. the flames of the burning house opposite illuminated him as he sat, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, in which the treasure lay; and then he found out what feelings really reigned in his heart, and knew exactly which way they tended. and yet, when the fire was extinguished, and the goblin again began to reflect, he hesitated, and said at last, "i must divide myself between the two; i cannot quite give up the huckster, because of the jam." and this is a representation of human nature. we are like the goblin; we all go to visit the huckster "because of the jam." the golden treasure the drummer's wife went into the church. she saw the new altar with the painted pictures and the carved angels. those upon the canvas and in the glory over the altar were just as beautiful as the carved ones; and they were painted and gilt into the bargain. their hair gleamed golden in the sunshine, lovely to behold; but the real sunshine was more beautiful still. it shone redder, clearer through the dark trees, when the sun went down. it was lovely thus to look at the sunshine of heaven. and she looked at the red sun, and she thought about it so deeply, and thought of the little one whom the stork was to bring, and the wife of the drummer was very cheerful, and looked and looked, and wished that the child might have a gleam of sunshine given to it, so that it might at least become like one of the shining angels over the altar. and when she really had the little child in her arms, and held it up to its father, then it was like one of the angels in the church to behold, with hair like gold--the gleam of the setting sun was upon it. "my golden treasure, my riches, my sunshine!" said the mother; and she kissed the shining locks, and it sounded like music and song in the room of the drummer; and there was joy, and life, and movement. the drummer beat a roll--a roll of joy. and the drum said--the fire-drum, that was beaten when there was a fire in the town: "red hair! the little fellow has red hair! believe the drum, and not what your mother says! rub-a dub, rub-a dub!" and the town repeated what the fire-drum had said. the boy was taken to church, the boy was christened. there was nothing much to be said about his name; he was called peter. the whole town, and the drum too, called him peter the drummer's boy with the red hair; but his mother kissed his red hair, and called him her golden treasure. in the hollow way in the clayey bank, many had scratched their names as a remembrance. "celebrity is always something!" said the drummer; and so he scratched his own name there, and his little son's name likewise. and the swallows came. they had, on their long journey, seen more durable characters engraven on rocks, and on the walls of the temples in hindostan, mighty deeds of great kings, immortal names, so old that no one now could read or speak them. remarkable celebrity! in the clayey bank the martens built their nest. they bored holes in the deep declivity, and the splashing rain and the thin mist came and crumbled and washed the names away, and the drummer's name also, and that of his little son. "peter's name will last a full year and a half longer!" said the father. "fool!" thought the fire-drum; but it only said, "dub, dub, dub, rub-a-dub!" he was a boy full of life and gladness, this drummer's son with the red hair. he had a lovely voice. he could sing, and he sang like a bird in the woodland. there was melody, and yet no melody. "he must become a chorister boy," said his mother. "he shall sing in the church, and stand among the beautiful gilded angels who are like him!" "fiery cat!" said some of the witty ones of the town. the drum heard that from the neighbors' wives. "don't go home, peter," cried the street boys. "if you sleep in the garret, there'll be a fire in the house, and the fire-drum will have to be beaten." "look out for the drumsticks," replied peter; and, small as he was, he ran up boldly, and gave the foremost such a punch in the body with his fist, that the fellow lost his legs and tumbled over, and the others took their legs off with themselves very rapidly. the town musician was very genteel and fine. he was the son of the royal plate-washer. he was very fond of peter, and would sometimes take him to his home; and he gave him a violin, and taught him to play it. it seemed as if the whole art lay in the boy's fingers; and he wanted to be more than a drummer--he wanted to become musician to the town. "i'll be a soldier," said peter; for he was still quite a little lad, and it seemed to him the finest thing in the world to carry a gun, and to be able to march one, two--one, two, and to wear a uniform and a sword. "ah, you learn to long for the drum-skin, drum, dum, dum!" said the drum. "yes, if he could only march his way up to be a general!" observed his father; "but before he can do that, there must be war." "heaven forbid!" said his mother. "we have nothing to lose," remarked the father. "yes, we have my boy," she retorted. "but suppose he came back a general!" said the father. "without arms and legs!" cried the mother. "no, i would rather keep my golden treasure with me." "drum, dum, dum!" the fire-drum and all the other drums were beating, for war had come. the soldiers all set out, and the son of the drummer followed them. "red-head. golden treasure!" the mother wept; the father in fancy saw him "famous;" the town musician was of opinion that he ought not to go to war, but should stay at home and learn music. "red-head," said the soldiers, and little peter laughed; but when one of them sometimes said to another, "foxey," he would bite his teeth together and look another way--into the wide world. he did not care for the nickname. the boy was active, pleasant of speech, and good-humored; that is the best canteen, said his old comrades. and many a night he had to sleep under the open sky, wet through with the driving rain or the falling mist; but his good humor never forsook him. the drum-sticks sounded, "rub-a-dub, all up, all up!" yes, he was certainly born to be a drummer. the day of battle dawned. the sun had not yet risen, but the morning was come. the air was cold, the battle was hot; there was mist in the air, but still more gunpowder-smoke. the bullets and shells flew over the soldiers' heads, and into their heads--into their bodies and limbs; but still they pressed forward. here or there one or other of them would sink on his knees, with bleeding temples and a face as white as chalk. the little drummer still kept his healthy color; he had suffered no damage; he looked cheerfully at the dog of the regiment, which was jumping along as merrily as if the whole thing had been got up for his amusement, and as if the bullets were only flying about that he might have a game of play with them. "march! forward! march!" this, was the word of command for the drum. the word had not yet been given to fall back, though they might have done so, and perhaps there would have been much sense in it; and now at last the word "retire" was given; but our little drummer beat "forward! march!" for he had understood the command thus, and the soldiers obeyed the sound of the drum. that was a good roll, and proved the summons to victory for the men, who had already begun to give way. life and limb were lost in the battle. bombshells tore away the flesh in red strips; bombshells lit up into a terrible glow the strawheaps to which the wounded had dragged themselves, to lie untended for many hours, perhaps for all the hours they had to live. it's no use thinking of it; and yet one cannot help thinking of it, even far away in the peaceful town. the drummer and his wife also thought of it, for peter was at the war. "now, i'm tired of these complaints," said the fire-drum. again the day of battle dawned; the sun had not yet risen, but it was morning. the drummer and his wife were asleep. they had been talking about their son, as, indeed, they did almost every night, for he was out yonder in god's hand. and the father dreamt that the war was over, that the soldiers had returned home, and that peter wore a silver cross on his breast. but the mother dreamt that she had gone into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carved angels with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasure of her heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes, singing so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing; and that he had soared up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at his mother. "my golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "now the good god has taken him to himself!" she folded her hands, and hid her face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. "where does he rest now? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for the dead? perhaps he's in the water in the marsh! nobody knows his grave; no holy words have been read over it!" and the lord's prayer went inaudibly over her lips; she bowed her head, and was so weary that she went to sleep. and the days went by, in life as in dreams! it was evening. over the battle-field a rainbow spread, which touched the forest and the deep marsh. it has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that where the rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a golden treasure; and here there was one. no one but his mother thought of the little drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him. and the days went by, in life as in dreams! not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair. "drum-ma-rum! drum-ma-rum! there he is!" the drum might have said, and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it. with hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victory, they came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed. the dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and made the way three times as long for himself as it really was. and days and weeks went by, and peter came into his parents' room. he was as brown as a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and his face beamed like sunshine. and his mother held him in her arms; she kissed his lips, his forehead, and his red hair. she had her boy back again; he had not a silver cross on his breast, as his father had dreamt, but he had sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. and what a rejoicing was there! they laughed and they wept; and peter embraced the old fire-drum. "there stands the old skeleton still!" he said. and the father beat a roll upon it. "one would think that a great fire had broken out here," said the fire-drum. "bright day! fire in the heart! golden treasure! skrat! skr-r-at! skr-r-r-r-at!" and what then? what then!--ask the town musician. "peter's far outgrowing the drum," he said. "peter will be greater than i." and yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer; but all that he had learned in half a lifetime, peter learned in half a year. there was something so merry about him, something so truly kind-hearted. his eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too--there was no denying that! "he ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbor's wife. "that answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she got a husband." "but her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always having to be colored up." "she knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbors, "and so can peter. he comes to the most genteel houses, even to the burgomaster's where he gives miss charlotte piano-forte lessons." he could play! he could play, fresh out of his heart, the most charming pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. he played in the bright nights, and in the dark nights, too. the neighbors declared it was unbearable, and the fire-drum was of the same opinion. he played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in great plans for the future: "to be famous!" and burgomaster's charlotte sat at the piano. her delicate fingers danced over the keys, and made them ring into peter's heart. it seemed too much for him to bear; and this happened not once, but many times; and at last one day he seized the delicate fingers and the white hand, and kissed it, and looked into her great brown eyes. heaven knows what he said; but we may be allowed to guess at it. charlotte blushed to guess at it. she reddened from brow to neck, and answered not a single word; and then strangers came into the room, and one of them was the state councillor's son. he had a lofty white forehead, and carried it so high that it seemed to go back into his neck. and peter sat by her a long time, and she looked at him with gentle eyes. at home that evening he spoke of travel in the wide world, and of the golden treasure that lay hidden for him in his violin. "to be famous!" "tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum!" said the fire-drum. "peter has gone clear out of his wits. i think there must be a fire in the house." next day the mother went to market. "shall i tell you news, peter?" she asked when she came home. "a capital piece of news. burgomaster's charlotte has engaged herself to the state councillor's son; the betrothal took place yesterday evening." "no!" cried peter, and he sprang up from his chair. but his mother persisted in saying "yes." she had heard it from the baker's wife, whose husband had it from the burgomaster's own mouth. and peter became as pale as death, and sat down again. "good heaven! what's the matter with you?" asked his mother. "nothing, nothing; only leave me to myself," he answered but the tears were running down his cheeks. "my sweet child, my golden treasure!" cried the mother, and she wept; but the fire-drum sang, not out loud, but inwardly. "charlotte's gone! charlotte's gone! and now the song is done." but the song was not done; there were many more verses in it, long verses, the most beautiful verses, the golden treasures of a life. "she behaves like a mad woman," said the neighbor's wife. "all the world is to see the letters she gets from her golden treasure, and to read the words that are written in the papers about his violin playing. and he sends her money too, and that's very useful to her since she has been a widow." "he plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician. "i never had that fortune, but he's my pupil, and he does not forget his old master." and his mother said, "his father dreamt that peter came home from the war with a silver cross. he did not gain one in the war, but it is still more difficult to gain one in this way. now he has the cross of honor. if his father had only lived to see it!" "he's grown famous!" said the fire-drum, and all his native town said the same thing, for the drummer's son, peter with the red hair--peter whom they had known as a little boy, running about in wooden shoes, and then as a drummer, playing for the dancers--was become famous! "he played at our house before he played in the presence of kings," said the burgomaster's wife. "at that time he was quite smitten with charlotte. he was always of an aspiring turn. at that time he was saucy and an enthusiast. my husband laughed when he heard of the foolish affair, and now our charlotte is a state councillor's wife." a golden treasure had been hidden in the heart and soul of the poor child, who had beaten the roll as a drummer--a roll of victory for those who had been ready to retreat. there was a golden treasure in his bosom, the power of sound; it burst forth on his violin as if the instrument had been a complete organ, and as if all the elves of a midsummer night were dancing across the strings. in its sounds were heard the piping of the thrush and the full clear note of the human voice; therefore the sound brought rapture to every heart, and carried his name triumphant through the land. that was a great firebrand--the firebrand of inspiration. "and then he looks so splendid!" said the young ladies and the old ladies too; and the oldest of all procured an album for famous locks of hair, wholly and solely that she might beg a lock of his rich splendid hair, that treasure, that golden treasure. and the son came into the poor room of the drummer, elegant as a prince, happier than a king. his eyes were as clear and his face was as radiant as sunshine; and he held his mother in his arms, and she kissed his mouth, and wept as blissfully as any one can weep for joy; and he nodded at every old piece of furniture in the room, at the cupboard with the tea-cups, and at the flower-vase. he nodded at the sleeping-bench, where he had slept as a little boy; but the old fire-drum he brought out, and dragged it into the middle of the room, and said to it and to his mother: "my father would have beaten a famous roll this evening. now i must do it!" and he beat a thundering roll-call on the instrument, and the drum felt so highly honored that the parchment burst with exultation. "he has a splendid touch!" said the drum. "i've a remembrance of him now that will last. i expect that the same thing will happen to his mother, from pure joy over her golden treasure." and this is the story of the golden treasure. the goloshes of fortune a beginning in a house in copenhagen, not far from the king's new market, a very large party had assembled, the host and his family expecting, no doubt, to receive invitations in return. one half of the company were already seated at the card-tables, the other half seemed to be waiting the result of their hostess's question, "well, how shall we amuse ourselves?" conversation followed, which, after a while, began to prove very entertaining. among other subjects, it turned upon the events of the middle ages, which some persons maintained were more full of interest than our own times. counsellor knapp defended this opinion so warmly that the lady of the house immediately went over to his side, and both exclaimed against oersted's essays on ancient and modern times, in which the preference is given to our own. the counsellor considered the times of the danish king, hans, as the noblest and happiest. the conversation on this topic was only interrupted for a moment by the arrival of a newspaper, which did not, however, contain much worth reading, and while it is still going on we will pay a visit to the ante-room, in which cloaks, sticks, and goloshes were carefully placed. here sat two maidens, one young, and the other old, as if they had come and were waiting to accompany their mistresses home; but on looking at them more closely, it could easily be seen that they were no common servants. their shapes were too graceful, their complexions too delicate, and the cut of their dresses much too elegant. they were two fairies. the younger was not fortune herself, but the chambermaid of one of fortune's attendants, who carries about her more trifling gifts. the elder one, who was named care, looked rather gloomy; she always goes about to perform her own business in person; for then she knows it is properly done. they were telling each other where they had been during the day. the messenger of fortune had only transacted a few unimportant matters; for instance, she had preserved a new bonnet from a shower of rain, and obtained for an honest man a bow from a titled nobody, and so on; but she had something extraordinary to relate, after all. "i must tell you," said she, "that to-day is my birthday; and in honor of it i have been intrusted with a pair of goloshes, to introduce amongst mankind. these goloshes have the property of making every one who puts them on imagine himself in any place he wishes, or that he exists at any period. every wish is fulfilled at the moment it is expressed, so that for once mankind have the chance of being happy." "no," replied care; "you may depend upon it that whoever puts on those goloshes will be very unhappy, and bless the moment in which he can get rid of them." "what are you thinking of?" replied the other. "now see; i will place them by the door; some one will take them instead of his own, and he will be the happy man." this was the end of their conversation. what happened to the counsellor it was late when counsellor knapp, lost in thought about the times of king hans, desired to return home; and fate so ordered it that he put on the goloshes of fortune instead of his own, and walked out into the east street. through the magic power of the goloshes, he was at once carried back three hundred years, to the times of king hans, for which he had been longing when he put them on. therefore he immediately set his foot into the mud and mire of the street, which in those days possessed no pavement. "why, this is horrible; how dreadfully dirty it is!" said the counsellor; "and the whole pavement has vanished, and the lamps are all out." the moon had not yet risen high enough to penetrate the thick foggy air, and all the objects around him were confused together in the darkness. at the nearest corner, a lamp hung before a picture of the madonna; but the light it gave was almost useless, for he only perceived it when he came quite close and his eyes fell on the painted figures of the mother and child. "that is most likely a museum of art," thought he, "and they have forgotten to take down the sign." two men, in the dress of olden times, passed by him. "what odd figures!" thought he; "they must be returning from some masquerade." suddenly he heard the sound of a drum and fifes, and then a blazing light from torches shone upon him. the counsellor stared with astonishment as he beheld a most strange procession pass before him. first came a whole troop of drummers, beating their drums very cleverly; they were followed by life-guards, with longbows and crossbows. the principal person in the procession was a clerical-looking gentleman. the astonished counsellor asked what it all meant, and who the gentleman might be. "that is the bishop of zealand." "good gracious!" he exclaimed; "what in the world has happened to the bishop? what can he be thinking about?" then he shook his head and said, "it cannot possibly be the bishop himself." while musing on this strange affair, and without looking to the right or left, he walked on through east street and over highbridge place. the bridge, which he supposed led to palace square, was nowhere to be found; but instead, he saw a bank and some shallow water, and two people, who sat in a boat. "does the gentleman wish to be ferried over the holm?" asked one. "to the holm!" exclaimed the counsellor, not knowing in what age he was now existing; "i want to go to christian's haven, in little turf street." the men stared at him. "pray tell me where the bridge is!" said he. "it is shameful that the lamps are not lighted here, and it is as muddy as if one were walking in a marsh." but the more he talked with the boatmen the less they could understand each other. "i don't understand your outlandish talk," he cried at last, angrily turning his back upon them. he could not, however, find the bridge nor any railings. "what a scandalous condition this place is in," said he; never, certainly, had he found his own times so miserable as on this evening. "i think it will be better for me to take a coach; but where are they?" there was not one to be seen! "i shall be obliged to go back to the king's new market," said he, "where there are plenty of carriages standing, or i shall never reach christian's haven." then he went towards east street, and had nearly passed through it, when the moon burst forth from a cloud. "dear me, what have they been erecting here?" he cried, as he caught sight of the east gate, which in olden times used to stand at the end of east street. however, he found an opening through which he passed, and came out upon where he expected to find the new market. nothing was to be seen but an open meadow, surrounded by a few bushes, through which ran a broad canal or stream. a few miserable-looking wooden booths, for the accommodation of dutch watermen, stood on the opposite shore. "either i behold a fata morgana, or i must be tipsy," groaned the counsellor. "what can it be? what is the matter with me?" he turned back in the full conviction that he must be ill. in walking through the street this time, he examined the houses more closely; he found that most of them were built of lath and plaster, and many had only a thatched roof. "i am certainly all wrong," said he, with a sigh; "and yet i only drank one glass of punch. but i cannot bear even that, and it was very foolish to give us punch and hot salmon; i shall speak about it to our hostess, the agent's lady. suppose i were to go back now and say how ill i feel, i fear it would look so ridiculous, and it is not very likely that i should find any one up." then he looked for the house, but it was not in existence. "this is really frightful; i cannot even recognize east street. not a shop to be seen; nothing but old, wretched, tumble-down houses, just as if i were at roeskilde or ringstedt. oh, i really must be ill! it is no use to stand upon ceremony. but where in the world is the agent's house. there is a house, but it is not his; and people still up in it, i can hear. oh dear! i certainly am very queer." as he reached the half-open door, he saw a light and went in. it was a tavern of the olden times, and seemed a kind of beershop. the room had the appearance of a dutch interior. a number of people, consisting of seamen, copenhagen citizens, and a few scholars, sat in deep conversation over their mugs, and took very little notice of the new comer. "pardon me," said the counsellor, addressing the landlady, "i do not feel quite well, and i should be much obliged if you will send for a fly to take me to christian's haven." the woman stared at him and shook her head. then she spoke to him in german. the counsellor supposed from this that she did not understand danish; he therefore repeated his request in german. this, as well as his singular dress, convinced the woman that he was a foreigner. she soon understood, however, that he did not find himself quite well, and therefore brought him a mug of water. it had something of the taste of seawater, certainly, although it had been drawn from the well outside. then the counsellor leaned his head on his hand, drew a deep breath, and pondered over all the strange things that had happened to him. "is that to-day's number of the day?" he asked, quite mechanically, as he saw the woman putting by a large piece of paper. she did not understand what he meant, but she handed him the sheet; it was a woodcut, representing a meteor, which had appeared in the town of cologne. "that is very old," said the counsellor, becoming quite cheerful at the sight of this antique drawing. "where did you get this singular sheet? it is very interesting, although the whole affair is a fable. meteors are easily explained in these days; they are northern lights, which are often seen, and are no doubt caused by electricity." those who sat near him, and heard what he said, looked at him in great astonishment, and one of them rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said in a very serious manner, "you must certainly be a very learned man, monsieur." "oh no," replied the counsellor; "i can only discourse on topics which every one should understand." "modestia is a beautiful virtue," said the man. "moreover, i must add to your speech mihi secus videtur; yet in this case i would suspend my judicium." "may i ask to whom i have the pleasure of speaking?" "i am a bachelor of divinity," said the man. this answer satisfied the counsellor. the title agreed with the dress. "this is surely," thought he, "an old village schoolmaster, a perfect original, such as one meets with sometimes even in jutland." "this is not certainly a locus docendi," began the man; "still i must beg you to continue the conversation. you must be well read in ancient lore." "oh yes," replied the counsellor; "i am very fond of reading useful old books, and modern ones as well, with the exception of every-day stories, of which we really have more than enough. "every-day stories?" asked the bachelor. "yes, i mean the new novels that we have at the present day." "oh," replied the man, with a smile; "and yet they are very witty, and are much read at court. the king likes especially the romance of messeurs iffven and gaudian, which describes king arthur and his knights of the round table. he has joked about it with the gentlemen of his court." "well, i have certainly not read that," replied the counsellor. "i suppose it is quite new, and published by heiberg." "no," answered the man, "it is not by heiberg; godfred von gehman brought it out." "oh, is he the publisher? that is a very old name," said the counsellor; "was it not the name of the first publisher in denmark?" "yes; and he is our first printer and publisher now," replied the scholar. so far all had passed off very well; but now one of the citizens began to speak of a terrible pestilence which had been raging a few years before, meaning the plague of . the counsellor thought he referred to the cholera, and they could discuss this without finding out the mistake. the war in was spoken of as quite recent. the english pirates had taken some ships in the channel in , and the counsellor, supposing they referred to these, agreed with them in finding fault with the english. the rest of the talk, however, was not so agreeable; every moment one contradicted the other. the good bachelor appeared very ignorant, for the simplest remark of the counsellor seemed to him either too bold or too fantastic. they stared at each other, and when it became worse the bachelor spoke in latin, in the hope of being better understood; but it was all useless. "how are you now?" asked the landlady, pulling the counsellor's sleeve. then his recollection returned to him. in the course of conversation he had forgotten all that had happened previously. "goodness me! where am i?" said he. it bewildered him as he thought of it. "we will have some claret, or mead, or bremen beer," said one of the guests; "will you drink with us?" two maids came in. one of them had a cap on her head of two colors. they poured out the wine, bowed their heads, and withdrew. the counsellor felt a cold shiver run all over him. "what is this? what does it mean?" said he; but he was obliged to drink with them, for they overpowered the good man with their politeness. he became at last desperate; and when one of them said he was tipsy, he did not doubt the man's word in the least--only begged them to get a droschky; and then they thought he was speaking the muscovite language. never before had he been in such rough and vulgar company. "one might believe that the country was going back to heathenism," he observed. "this is the most terrible moment of my life." just then it came into his mind that he would stoop under the table, and so creep to the door. he tried it; but before he reached the entry, the rest discovered what he was about, and seized him by the feet, when, luckily for him, off came the goloshes, and with them vanished the whole enchantment. the counsellor now saw quite plainly a lamp, and a large building behind it; everything looked familiar and beautiful. he was in east street, as it now appears; he lay with his legs turned towards a porch, and just by him sat the watchman asleep. "is it possible that i have been lying here in the street dreaming?" said he. "yes, this is east street; how beautifully bright and gay it looks! it is quite shocking that one glass of punch should have upset me like this." two minutes afterwards he sat in a droschky, which was to drive him to christian's haven. he thought of all the terror and anxiety which he had undergone, and felt thankful from his heart for the reality and comfort of modern times, which, with all their errors, were far better than those in which he so lately found himself. the watchman's adventures "well, i declare, there lies a pair of goloshes," said the watchman. "no doubt, they belong to the lieutenant who lives up stairs. they are lying just by his door." gladly would the honest man have rung, and given them in, for a light was still burning, but he did not wish to disturb the other people in the house; so he let them lie. "these things must keep the feet very warm," said he; "they are of such nice soft leather." then he tried them on, and they fitted his feet exactly. "now," said he, "how droll things are in this world! there's that man can lie down in his warm bed, but he does not do so. there he goes pacing up and down the room. he ought to be a happy man. he has neither wife nor children, and he goes out into company every evening. oh, i wish i were he; then i should be a happy man." as he uttered this wish, the goloshes which he had put on took effect, and the watchman at once became the lieutenant. there he stood in his room, holding a little piece of pink paper between his fingers, on which was a poem,--a poem written by the lieutenant himself. who has not had, for once in his life, a moment of poetic inspiration? and at such a moment, if the thoughts are written down, they flow in poetry. the following verses were written on the pink paper:-- "oh were i rich! "oh were i rich! how oft, in youth's bright hour, when youthful pleasures banish every care, i longed for riches but to gain a power, the sword and plume and uniform to wear! the riches and the honor came for me; yet still my greatest wealth was poverty: ah, help and pity me! "once in my youthful hours, when gay and free, a maiden loved me; and her gentle kiss, rich in its tender love and purity, taught me, alas! too much of earthly bliss. dear child! she only thought of youthful glee; she loved no wealth, but fairy tales and me. thou knowest: ah, pity me! "oh were i rich! again is all my prayer: that child is now a woman, fair and free, as good and beautiful as angels are. oh, were i rich in lovers' poetry, to tell my fairy tale, love's richest lore! but no; i must be silent--i am poor. ah, wilt thou pity me? "oh were i rich in truth and peace below, i need not then my poverty bewail. to thee i dedicate these lines of woe; wilt thou not understand the mournful tale? a leaf on which my sorrows i relate-- dark story of a darker night of fate. ah, bless and pity me!" "well, yes; people write poems when they are in love, but a wise man will not print them. a lieutenant in love, and poor. this is a triangle, or more properly speaking, the half of the broken die of fortune." the lieutenant felt this very keenly, and therefore leaned his head against the window-frame, and sighed deeply. "the poor watchman in the street," said he, "is far happier than i am. he knows not what i call poverty. he has a home, a wife and children, who weep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. oh, how much happier i should be could i change my being and position with him, and pass through life with his humble expectations and hopes! yes, he is indeed happier than i am." at this moment the watchman again became a watchman; for having, through the goloshes of fortune, passed into the existence of the lieutenant, and found himself less contented than he expected, he had preferred his former condition, and wished himself again a watchman. "that was an ugly dream," said he, "but droll enough. it seemed to me as if i were the lieutenant up yonder, but there was no happiness for me. i missed my wife and the little ones, who are always ready to smother me with kisses." he sat down again and nodded, but he could not get the dream out of his thoughts, and he still had the goloshes on his feet. a falling star gleamed across the sky. "there goes one!" cried he. "however, there are quite enough left; i should very much like to examine these a little nearer, especially the moon, for that could not slip away under one's hands. the student, for whom my wife washes, says that when we die we shall fly from one star to another. if that were true, it would be very delightful, but i don't believe it. i wish i could make a little spring up there now; i would willingly let my body lie here on the steps." there are certain things in the world which should be uttered very cautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes of fortune. now we shall hear what happened to the watchman. nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; we have proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on a railroad or in a steamship across the sea. but this speed is like the movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, when compared to the swiftness with which light travels; light flies nineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, and electricity is more rapid still. death is an electric shock which we receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated soul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earth ninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds; but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second to accomplish the same distance. the space between the heavenly bodies is, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walk from one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electric shock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like the watchman, we have on the goloshes of fortune. in a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than two hundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lighter material than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallen snow. he found himself on one of the circular range of mountains which we see represented in dr. madler's large map of the moon. the interior had the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depth about half a mile from the brim. within this hollow stood a large town; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the white of an egg into a glass of water. the materials of which it was built seemed just as soft, and pictured forth cloudy turrets and sail-like terraces, quite transparent, and floating in the thin air. our earth hung over his head like a great dark red ball. presently he discovered a number of beings, which might certainly be called men, but were very different to ourselves. a more fantastical imagination than herschel's must have discovered these. had they been placed in groups, and painted, it might have been said, "what beautiful foliage!" they had also a language of their own. no one could have expected the soul of the watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for our souls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined to believe. do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent? each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character, and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his waking hours. how clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have not seen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with all their peculiarities as living realities. in fact, this memory of the soul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it can bring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "every idle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered with the lips. the spirit of the watchman therefore understood very well the language of the inhabitants of the moon. they were disputing about our earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. the atmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants of the moon to exist there. they maintained that the moon alone was inhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old world people lived. they likewise talked politics. but now we will descend to east street, and see what happened to the watchman's body. he sat lifeless on the steps. his staff had fallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about which his honest soul was wandering. "what is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. but there was no answer from the watchman. the man then pulled his nose gently, which caused him to lose his balance. the body fell forward, and lay at full length on the ground as one dead. all his comrades were very much frightened, for he seemed quite dead; still they allowed him to remain after they had given notice of what had happened; and at dawn the body was carried to the hospital. we might imagine it to be no jesting matter if the soul of the man should chance to return to him, for most probably it would seek for the body in east street without being able to find it. we might fancy the soul inquiring of the police, or at the address office, or among the missing parcels, and then at length finding it at the hospital. but we may comfort ourselves by the certainty that the soul, when acting upon its own impulses, is wiser than we are; it is the body that makes it stupid. as we have said, the watchman's body had been taken to the hospital, and here it was placed in a room to be washed. naturally, the first thing done here was to take off the goloshes, upon which the soul was instantly obliged to return, and it took the direct road to the body at once, and in a few seconds the man's life returned to him. he declared, when he quite recovered himself, that this had been the most dreadful night he had ever passed; not for a hundred pounds would he go through such feelings again. however, it was all over now. the same day he was allowed to leave, but the goloshes remained at the hospital. the eventful moment--a most unusual journey every inhabitant of copenhagen knows what the entrance to frederick's hospital is like; but as most probably a few of those who read this little tale may not reside in copenhagen, we will give a short description of it. the hospital is separated from the street by an iron railing, in which the bars stand so wide apart that, it is said, some very slim patients have squeezed through, and gone to pay little visits in the town. the most difficult part of the body to get through was the head; and in this case, as it often happens in the world, the small heads were the most fortunate. this will serve as sufficient introduction to our tale. one of the young volunteers, of whom, physically speaking, it might be said that he had a great head, was on guard that evening at the hospital. the rain was pouring down, yet, in spite of these two obstacles, he wanted to go out just for a quarter of an hour; it was not worth while, he thought, to make a confidant of the porter, as he could easily slip through the iron railings. there lay the goloshes, which the watchman had forgotten. it never occurred to him that these could be goloshes of fortune. they would be very serviceable to him in this rainy weather, so he drew them on. now came the question whether he could squeeze through the palings; he certainly had never tried, so he stood looking at them. "i wish to goodness my head was through," said he, and instantly, though it was so thick and large, it slipped through quite easily. the goloshes answered that purpose very well, but his body had to follow, and this was impossible. "i am too fat," he said; "i thought my head would be the worst, but i cannot get my body through, that is certain." then he tried to pull his head back again, but without success; he could move his neck about easily enough, and that was all. his first feeling was one of anger, and then his spirits sank below zero. the goloshes of fortune had placed him in this terrible position, and unfortunately it never occurred to him to wish himself free. no, instead of wishing he kept twisting about, yet did not stir from the spot. the rain poured, and not a creature could be seen in the street. the porter's bell he was unable to reach, and however was he to get loose! he foresaw that he should have to stay there till morning, and then they must send for a smith to file away the iron bars, and that would be a work of time. all the charity children would just be going to school: and all the sailors who inhabited that quarter of the town would be there to see him standing in the pillory. what a crowd there would be. "ha," he cried, "the blood is rushing to my head, and i shall go mad. i believe i am crazy already; oh, i wish i were free, then all these sensations would pass off." this is just what he ought to have said at first. the moment he had expressed the thought his head was free. he started back, quite bewildered with the fright which the goloshes of fortune had caused him. but we must not suppose it was all over; no, indeed, there was worse to come yet. the night passed, and the whole of the following day; but no one sent for the goloshes. in the evening a declamatory performance was to take place at the amateur theatre in a distant street. the house was crowded; among the audience was the young volunteer from the hospital, who seemed to have quite forgotten his adventures of the previous evening. he had on the goloshes; they had not been sent for, and as the streets were still very dirty, they were of great service to him. a new poem, entitled "my aunt's spectacles," was being recited. it described these spectacles as possessing a wonderful power; if any one put them on in a large assembly the people appeared like cards, and the future events of ensuing years could be easily foretold by them. the idea struck him that he should very much like to have such a pair of spectacles; for, if used rightly, they would perhaps enable him to see into the hearts of people, which he thought would be more interesting than to know what was going to happen next year; for future events would be sure to show themselves, but the hearts of people never. "i can fancy what i should see in the whole row of ladies and gentlemen on the first seat, if i could only look into their hearts; that lady, i imagine, keeps a store for things of all descriptions; how my eyes would wander about in that collection; with many ladies i should no doubt find a large millinery establishment. there is another that is perhaps empty, and would be all the better for cleaning out. there may be some well stored with good articles. ah, yes," he sighed, "i know one, in which everything is solid, but a servant is there already, and that is the only thing against it. i dare say from many i should hear the words, 'please to walk in.' i only wish i could slip into the hearts like a little tiny thought." this was the word of command for the goloshes. the volunteer shrunk up together, and commenced a most unusual journey through the hearts of the spectators in the first row. the first heart he entered was that of a lady, but he thought he must have got into one of the rooms of an orthopedic institution where plaster casts of deformed limbs were hanging on the walls, with this difference, that the casts in the institution are formed when the patient enters, but here they were formed and preserved after the good people had left. these were casts of the bodily and mental deformities of the lady's female friends carefully preserved. quickly he passed into another heart, which had the appearance of a spacious, holy church, with the white dove of innocence fluttering over the altar. gladly would he have fallen on his knees in such a sacred place; but he was carried on to another heart, still, however, listening to the tones of the organ, and feeling himself that he had become another and a better man. the next heart was also a sanctuary, which he felt almost unworthy to enter; it represented a mean garret, in which lay a sick mother; but the warm sunshine streamed through the window, lovely roses bloomed in a little flowerbox on the roof, two blue birds sang of childlike joys, and the sick mother prayed for a blessing on her daughter. next he crept on his hands and knees through an overfilled butcher's shop; there was meat, nothing but meat, wherever he stepped; this was the heart of a rich, respectable man, whose name is doubtless in the directory. then he entered the heart of this man's wife; it was an old, tumble-down pigeon-house; the husband's portrait served as a weather-cock; it was connected with all the doors, which opened and shut just as the husband's decision turned. the next heart was a complete cabinet of mirrors, such as can be seen in the castle of rosenberg. but these mirrors magnified in an astonishing degree; in the middle of the floor sat, like the grand lama, the insignificant i of the owner, astonished at the contemplation of his own features. at his next visit he fancied he must have got into a narrow needlecase, full of sharp needles: "oh," thought he, "this must be the heart of an old maid;" but such was not the fact; it belonged to a young officer, who wore several orders, and was said to be a man of intellect and heart. the poor volunteer came out of the last heart in the row quite bewildered. he could not collect his thoughts, and imagined his foolish fancies had carried him away. "good gracious!" he sighed, "i must have a tendency to softening of the brain, and here it is so exceedingly hot that the blood is rushing to my head." and then suddenly recurred to him the strange event of the evening before, when his head had been fixed between the iron railings in front of the hospital. "that is the cause of it all!" he exclaimed, "i must do something in time. a russian bath would be a very good thing to begin with. i wish i were lying on one of the highest shelves." sure enough, there he lay on an upper shelf of a vapor bath, still in his evening costume, with his boots and goloshes on, and the hot drops from the ceiling falling on his face. "ho!" he cried, jumping down and rushing towards the plunging bath. the attendant stopped him with a loud cry, when he saw a man with all his clothes on. the volunteer had, however, presence of mind enough to whisper, "it is for a wager;" but the first thing he did, when he reached his own room, was to put a large blister on his neck, and another on his back, that his crazy fit might be cured. the next morning his back was very sore, which was all he gained by the goloshes of fortune. the clerk's transformation the watchman, whom we of course have not forgotten, thought, after a while, of the goloshes which he had found and taken to the hospital; so he went and fetched them. but neither the lieutenant nor any one in the street could recognize them as their own, so he gave them up to the police. "they look exactly like my own goloshes," said one of the clerks, examining the unknown articles, as they stood by the side of his own. "it would require even more than the eye of a shoemaker to know one pair from the other." "master clerk," said a servant who entered with some papers. the clerk turned and spoke to the man; but when he had done with him, he turned to look at the goloshes again, and now he was in greater doubt than ever as to whether the pair on the right or on the left belonged to him. "those that are wet must be mine," thought he; but he thought wrong, it was just the reverse. the goloshes of fortune were the wet pair; and, besides, why should not a clerk in a police office be wrong sometimes? so he drew them on, thrust his papers into his pocket, placed a few manuscripts under his arm, which he had to take with him, and to make abstracts from at home. then, as it was sunday morning and the weather very fine, he said to himself, "a walk to fredericksburg will do me good:" so away he went. there could not be a quieter or more steady young man than this clerk. we will not grudge him this little walk, it was just the thing to do him good after sitting so much. he went on at first like a mere automaton, without thought or wish; therefore the goloshes had no opportunity to display their magic power. in the avenue he met with an acquaintance, one of our young poets, who told him that he intended to start on the following day on a summer excursion. "are you really going away so soon?" asked the clerk. "what a free, happy man you are. you can roam about where you will, while such as we are tied by the foot." "but it is fastened to the bread-tree," replied the poet. "you need have no anxiety for the morrow; and when you are old there is a pension for you." "ah, yes; but you have the best of it," said the clerk; "it must be so delightful to sit and write poetry. the whole world makes itself agreeable to you, and then you are your own master. you should try how you would like to listen to all the trivial things in a court of justice." the poet shook his head, so also did the clerk; each retained his own opinion, and so they parted. "they are strange people, these poets," thought the clerk. "i should like to try what it is to have a poetic taste, and to become a poet myself. i am sure i should not write such mournful verses as they do. this is a splendid spring day for a poet, the air is so remarkably clear, the clouds are so beautiful, and the green grass has such a sweet smell. for many years i have not felt as i do at this moment." we perceive, by these remarks, that he had already become a poet. by most poets what he had said would be considered common-place, or as the germans call it, "insipid." it is a foolish fancy to look upon poets as different to other men. there are many who are more the poets of nature than those who are professed poets. the difference is this, the poet's intellectual memory is better; he seizes upon an idea or a sentiment, until he can embody it, clearly and plainly in words, which the others cannot do. but the transition from a character of every-day life to one of a more gifted nature is a great transition; and so the clerk became aware of the change after a time. "what a delightful perfume," said he; "it reminds me of the violets at aunt lora's. ah, that was when i was a little boy. dear me, how long it seems since i thought of those days! she was a good old maiden lady! she lived yonder, behind the exchange. she always had a sprig or a few blossoms in water, let the winter be ever so severe. i could smell the violets, even while i was placing warm penny pieces against the frozen panes to make peep-holes, and a pretty view it was on which i peeped. out in the river lay the ships, icebound, and forsaken by their crews; a screaming crow represented the only living creature on board. but when the breezes of spring came, everything started into life. amidst shouting and cheers the ships were tarred and rigged, and then they sailed to foreign lands. "i remain here, and always shall remain, sitting at my post at the police office, and letting others take passports to distant lands. yes, this is my fate," and he sighed deeply. suddenly he paused. "good gracious, what has come over me? i never felt before as i do now; it must be the air of spring. it is overpowering, and yet it is delightful." he felt in his pockets for some of his papers. "these will give me something else to think of," said he. casting his eyes on the first page of one, he read, "'mistress sigbirth; an original tragedy, in five acts.' what is this?--in my own handwriting, too! have i written this tragedy?" he read again, "'the intrigue on the promenade; or, the fast-day. a vaudeville.' however did i get all this? some one must have put them into my pocket. and here is a letter!" it was from the manager of a theatre; the pieces were rejected, not at all in polite terms. "hem, hem!" said he, sitting down on a bench; his thoughts were very elastic, and his heart softened strangely. involuntarily he seized one of the nearest flowers; it was a little, simple daisy. all that botanists can say in many lectures was explained in a moment by this little flower. it spoke of the glory of its birth; it told of the strength of the sunlight, which had caused its delicate leaves to expand, and given to it such sweet perfume. the struggles of life which arouse sensations in the bosom have their type in the tiny flowers. air and light are the lovers of the flowers, but light is the favored one; towards light it turns, and only when light vanishes does it fold its leaves together, and sleep in the embraces of the air." "it is light that adorns me," said the flower. "but the air gives you the breath of life," whispered the poet. just by him stood a boy, splashing with his stick in a marshy ditch. the water-drops spurted up among the green twigs, and the clerk thought of the millions of animalculae which were thrown into the air with every drop of water, at a height which must be the same to them as it would be to us if we were hurled beyond the clouds. as the clerk thought of all these things, and became conscious of the great change in his own feelings, he smiled, and said to himself, "i must be asleep and dreaming; and yet, if so, how wonderful for a dream to be so natural and real, and to know at the same time too that it is but a dream. i hope i shall be able to remember it all when i wake tomorrow. my sensations seem most unaccountable. i have a clear perception of everything as if i were wide awake. i am quite sure if i recollect all this tomorrow, it will appear utterly ridiculous and absurd. i have had this happen to me before. it is with the clever or wonderful things we say or hear in dreams, as with the gold which comes from under the earth, it is rich and beautiful when we possess it, but when seen in a true light it is but as stones and withered leaves." "ah!" he sighed mournfully, as he gazed at the birds singing merrily, or hopping from branch to branch, "they are much better off than i. flying is a glorious power. happy is he who is born with wings. yes, if i could change myself into anything i would be a little lark." at the same moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together and formed wings, his clothes changed to feathers, and his goloshes to claws. he felt what was taking place, and laughed to himself. "well, now it is evident i must be dreaming; but i never had such a wild dream as this." and then he flew up into the green boughs and sang, but there was no poetry in the song, for his poetic nature had left him. the goloshes, like all persons who wish to do a thing thoroughly, could only attend to one thing at a time. he wished to be a poet, and he became one. then he wanted to be a little bird, and in this change he lost the characteristics of the former one. "well," thought he, "this is charming; by day i sit in a police-office, amongst the dryest law papers, and at night i can dream that i am a lark, flying about in the gardens of fredericksburg. really a complete comedy could be written about it." then he flew down into the grass, turned his head about in every direction, and tapped his beak on the bending blades of grass, which, in proportion to his size, seemed to him as long as the palm-leaves in northern africa. in another moment all was darkness around him. it seemed as if something immense had been thrown over him. a sailor boy had flung his large cap over the bird, and a hand came underneath and caught the clerk by the back and wings so roughly, that he squeaked, and then cried out in his alarm, "you impudent rascal, i am a clerk in the police-office!" but it only sounded to the boy like "tweet, tweet;" so he tapped the bird on the beak, and walked away with him. in the avenue he met two school-boys, who appeared to belong to a better class of society, but whose inferior abilities kept them in the lowest class at school. these boys bought the bird for eightpence, and so the clerk returned to copenhagen. "it is well for me that i am dreaming," he thought; "otherwise i should become really angry. first i was a poet, and now i am a lark. it must have been the poetic nature that changed me into this little creature. it is a miserable story indeed, especially now i have fallen into the hands of boys. i wonder what will be the end of it." the boys carried him into a very elegant room, where a stout, pleasant-looking lady received them, but she was not at all gratified to find that they had brought a lark--a common field-bird as she called it. however, she allowed them for one day to place the bird in an empty cage that hung near the window. "it will please polly perhaps," she said, laughing at a large gray parrot, who was swinging himself proudly on a ring in a handsome brass cage. "it is polly's birthday," she added in a simpering tone, "and the little field-bird has come to offer his congratulations." polly did not answer a single word, he continued to swing proudly to and fro; but a beautiful canary, who had been brought from his own warm, fragrant fatherland, the summer previous, began to sing as loud as he could. "you screamer!" said the lady, throwing a white handkerchief over the cage. "tweet, tweet," sighed he, "what a dreadful snowstorm!" and then he became silent. the clerk, or as the lady called him the field-bird, was placed in a little cage close to the canary, and not far from the parrot. the only human speech which polly could utter, and which she sometimes chattered forth most comically, was "now let us be men." all besides was a scream, quite as unintelligible as the warbling of the canary-bird, excepting to the clerk, who being now a bird, could understand his comrades very well. "i flew beneath green palm-trees, and amidst the blooming almond-trees," sang the canary. "i flew with my brothers and sisters over beautiful flowers, and across the clear, bright sea, which reflected the waving foliage in its glittering depths; and i have seen many gay parrots, who could relate long and delightful stories. "they were wild birds," answered the parrot, "and totally uneducated. now let us be men. why do you not laugh? if the lady and her visitors can laugh at this, surely you can. it is a great failing not to be able to appreciate what is amusing. now let us be men." "do you remember," said the canary, "the pretty maidens who used to dance in the tents that were spread out beneath the sweet blossoms? do you remember the delicious fruit and the cooling juice from the wild herbs?" "oh, yes," said the parrot; "but here i am much better off. i am well fed, and treated politely. i know that i have a clever head; and what more do i want? let us be men now. you have a soul for poetry. i have deep knowledge and wit. you have genius, but no discretion. you raise your naturally high notes so much, that you get covered over. they never serve me so. oh, no; i cost them something more than you. i keep them in order with my beak, and fling my wit about me. now let us be men. "o my warm, blooming fatherland," sang the canary bird, "i will sing of thy dark-green trees and thy quiet streams, where the bending branches kiss the clear, smooth water. i will sing of the joy of my brothers and sisters, as their shining plumage flits among the dark leaves of the plants which grow wild by the springs." "do leave off those dismal strains," said the parrot; "sing something to make us laugh; laughter is the sign of the highest order of intellect. can a dog or a horse laugh? no, they can cry; but to man alone is the power of laughter given. ha! ha! ha!" laughed polly, and repeated his witty saying, "now let us be men." "you little gray danish bird," said the canary, "you also have become a prisoner. it is certainly cold in your forests, but still there is liberty there. fly out! they have forgotten to close the cage, and the window is open at the top. fly, fly!" instinctively, the clerk obeyed, and left the cage; at the same moment the half-opened door leading into the next room creaked on its hinges, and, stealthily, with green fiery eyes, the cat crept in and chased the lark round the room. the canary-bird fluttered in his cage, and the parrot flapped his wings and cried, "let us be men;" the poor clerk, in the most deadly terror, flew through the window, over the houses, and through the streets, till at length he was obliged to seek a resting-place. a house opposite to him had a look of home. a window stood open; he flew in, and perched upon the table. it was his own room. "let us be men now," said he, involuntarily imitating the parrot; and at the same moment he became a clerk again, only that he was sitting on the table. "heaven preserve us!" said he; "how did i get up here and fall asleep in this way? it was an uneasy dream too that i had. the whole affair appears most absurd." the best thing the goloshes did early on the following morning, while the clerk was still in bed, his neighbor, a young divinity student, who lodged on the same storey, knocked at his door, and then walked in. "lend me your goloshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, but the sun is shining brightly. i should like to go out there and smoke my pipe." he put on the goloshes, and was soon in the garden, which contained only one plum-tree and one apple-tree; yet, in a town, even a small garden like this is a great advantage. the student wandered up and down the path; it was just six o'clock, and he could hear the sound of the post-horn in the street. "oh, to travel, to travel!" cried he; "there is no greater happiness in the world: it is the height of my ambition. this restless feeling would be stilled, if i could take a journey far away from this country. i should like to see beautiful switzerland, to travel through italy, and,"--it was well for him that the goloshes acted immediately, otherwise he might have been carried too far for himself as well as for us. in a moment he found himself in switzerland, closely packed with eight others in the diligence. his head ached, his back was stiff, and the blood had ceased to circulate, so that his feet were swelled and pinched by his boots. he wavered in a condition between sleeping and waking. in his right-hand pocket he had a letter of credit; in his left-hand pocket was his passport; and a few louis d'ors were sewn into a little leather bag which he carried in his breast-pocket. whenever he dozed, he dreamed that he had lost one or another of these possessions; then he would awake with a start, and the first movements of his hand formed a triangle from his right-hand pocket to his breast, and from his breast to his left-hand pocket, to feel whether they were all safe. umbrellas, sticks, and hats swung in the net before him, and almost obstructed the prospect, which was really very imposing; and as he glanced at it, his memory recalled the words of one poet at least, who has sung of switzerland, and whose poems have not yet been printed:-- "how lovely to my wondering eyes mont blanc's fair summits gently rise; 'tis sweet to breathe the mountain air,-- if you have gold enough to spare." grand, dark, and gloomy appeared the landscape around him. the pine-forests looked like little groups of moss on high rocks, whose summits were lost in clouds of mist. presently it began to snow, and the wind blew keen and cold. "ah," he sighed, "if i were only on the other side of the alps now, it would be summer, and i should be able to get money on my letter of credit. the anxiety i feel on this matter prevents me from enjoying myself in switzerland. oh, i wish i was on the other side of the alps." and there, in a moment, he found himself, far away in the midst of italy, between florence and rome, where the lake thrasymene glittered in the evening sunlight like a sheet of molten gold between the dark blue mountains. there, where hannibal defeated flaminius, the grape vines clung to each other with the friendly grasp of their green tendril fingers; while, by the wayside, lovely half-naked children were watching a herd of coal-black swine under the blossoms of fragrant laurel. could we rightly describe this picturesque scene, our readers would exclaim, "delightful italy!" but neither the student nor either of his travelling companions felt the least inclination to think of it in this way. poisonous flies and gnats flew into the coach by thousands. in vain they drove them away with a myrtle branch, the flies stung them notwithstanding. there was not a man in the coach whose face was not swollen and disfigured with the stings. the poor horses looked wretched; the flies settled on their backs in swarms, and they were only relieved when the coachmen got down and drove the creatures off. as the sun set, an icy coldness filled all nature, not however of long duration. it produced the feeling which we experience when we enter a vault at a funeral, on a summer's day; while the hills and the clouds put on that singular green hue which we often notice in old paintings, and look upon as unnatural until we have ourselves seen nature's coloring in the south. it was a glorious spectacle; but the stomachs of the travellers were empty, their bodies exhausted with fatigue, and all the longings of their heart turned towards a resting-place for the night; but where to find one they knew not. all the eyes were too eagerly seeking for this resting-place, to notice the beauties of nature. the road passed through a grove of olive-trees; it reminded the student of the willow-trees at home. here stood a lonely inn, and close by it a number of crippled beggars had placed themselves; the brightest among them looked, to quote the words of marryat, "like the eldest son of famine who had just come of age." the others were either blind, or had withered legs, which obliged them to creep about on their hands and knees, or they had shrivelled arms and hands without fingers. it was indeed poverty arrayed in rags. "eccellenza, miserabili!" they exclaimed, stretching forth their diseased limbs. the hostess received the travellers with bare feet, untidy hair, and a dirty blouse. the doors were fastened together with string; the floors of the rooms were of brick, broken in many places; bats flew about under the roof; and as to the odor within-- "let us have supper laid in the stable," said one of the travellers; "then we shall know what we are breathing." the windows were opened to let in a little fresh air, but quicker than air came in the withered arms and the continual whining sounds, "miserabili, eccellenza." on the walls were inscriptions, half of them against "la bella italia." the supper made its appearance at last. it consisted of watery soup, seasoned with pepper and rancid oil. this last delicacy played a principal part in the salad. musty eggs and roasted cocks'-combs were the best dishes on the table; even the wine had a strange taste, it was certainly a mixture. at night, all the boxes were placed against the doors, and one of the travellers watched while the others slept. the student's turn came to watch. how close the air felt in that room; the heat overpowered him. the gnats were buzzing about and stinging, while the miserabili, outside, moaned in their dreams. "travelling would be all very well," said the student of divinity to himself, "if we had no bodies, or if the body could rest while the soul if flying. wherever i go i feel a want which oppresses my heart, for something better presents itself at the moment; yes, something better, which shall be the best of all; but where is that to be found? in fact, i know in my heart very well what i want. i wish to attain the greatest of all happiness." no sooner were the words spoken than he was at home. long white curtains shaded the windows of his room, and in the middle of the floor stood a black coffin, in which he now lay in the still sleep of death; his wish was fulfilled, his body was at rest, and his spirit travelling. "esteem no man happy until he is in his grave," were the words of solon. here was a strong fresh proof of their truth. every corpse is a sphinx of immortality. the sphinx in this sarcophagus might unveil its own mystery in the words which the living had himself written two days before-- "stern death, thy chilling silence waketh dread; yet in thy darkest hour there may be light. earth's garden reaper! from the grave's cold bed the soul on jacob's ladder takes her flight. man's greatest sorrows often are a part of hidden griefs, concealed from human eyes, which press far heavier on the lonely heart than now the earth that on his coffin lies." two figures were moving about the room; we know them both. one was the fairy named care, the other the messenger of fortune. they bent over the dead. "look!" said care; "what happiness have your goloshes brought to mankind?" "they have at least brought lasting happiness to him who slumbers here," she said. "not so," said care, "he went away of himself, he was not summoned. his mental powers were not strong enough to discern the treasures which he had been destined to discover. i will do him a favor now." and she drew the goloshes from his feet. the sleep of death was ended, and the recovered man raised himself. care vanished, and with her the goloshes; doubtless she looked upon them as her own property. she was good for nothing the mayor stood at the open window. he looked smart, for his shirt-frill, in which he had stuck a breast-pin, and his ruffles, were very fine. he had shaved his chin uncommonly smooth, although he had cut himself slightly, and had stuck a piece of newspaper over the place. "hark 'ee, youngster!" cried he. the boy to whom he spoke was no other than the son of a poor washer-woman, who was just going past the house. he stopped, and respectfully took off his cap. the peak of this cap was broken in the middle, so that he could easily roll it up and put it in his pocket. he stood before the mayor in his poor but clean and well-mended clothes, with heavy wooden shoes on his feet, looking as humble as if it had been the king himself. "you are a good and civil boy," said the mayor. "i suppose your mother is busy washing the clothes down by the river, and you are going to carry that thing to her that you have in your pocket. it is very bad for your mother. how much have you got in it?" "only half a quartern," stammered the boy in a frightened voice. "and she has had just as much this morning already?" "no, it was yesterday," replied the boy. "two halves make a whole," said the mayor. "she's good for nothing. what a sad thing it is with these people. tell your mother she ought to be ashamed of herself. don't you become a drunkard, but i expect you will though. poor child! there, go now." the boy went on his way with his cap in his hand, while the wind fluttered his golden hair till the locks stood up straight. he turned round the corner of the street into the little lane that led to the river, where his mother stood in the water by her washing bench, beating the linen with a heavy wooden bar. the floodgates at the mill had been drawn up, and as the water rolled rapidly on, the sheets were dragged along by the stream, and nearly overturned the bench, so that the washer-woman was obliged to lean against it to keep it steady. "i have been very nearly carried away," she said; "it is a good thing that you are come, for i want something to strengthen me. it is cold in the water, and i have stood here six hours. have you brought anything for me?" the boy drew the bottle from his pocket, and the mother put it to her lips, and drank a little. "ah, how much good that does, and how it warms me," she said; "it is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. drink a little, my boy; you look quite pale; you are shivering in your thin clothes, and autumn has really come. oh, how cold the water is! i hope i shall not be ill. but no, i must not be afraid of that. give me a little more, and you may have a sip too, but only a sip; you must not get used to it, my poor, dear child." she stepped up to the bridge on which the boy stood as she spoke, and came on shore. the water dripped from the straw mat which she had bound round her body, and from her gown. "i work hard and suffer pain with my poor hands," said she, "but i do it willingly, that i may be able to bring you up honestly and truthfully, my dear boy." at the same moment, a woman, rather older than herself, came towards them. she was a miserable-looking object, lame of one leg, and with a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which was blind. this curl was intended to conceal the blind eye, but it made the defect only more visible. she was a friend of the laundress, and was called, among the neighbors, "lame martha, with the curl." "oh, you poor thing; how you do work, standing there in the water!" she exclaimed. "you really do need something to give you a little warmth, and yet spiteful people cry out about the few drops you take." and then martha repeated to the laundress, in a very few minutes, all that the mayor had said to her boy, which she had overheard; and she felt very angry that any man could speak, as he had done, of a mother to her own child, about the few drops she had taken; and she was still more angry because, on that very day, the mayor was going to have a dinner-party, at which there would be wine, strong, rich wine, drunk by the bottle. "many will take more than they ought, but they don't call that drinking! they are all right, you are good for nothing indeed!" cried martha indignantly. "and so he spoke to you in that way, did he, my child?" said the washer-woman, and her lips trembled as she spoke. "he says you have a mother who is good for nothing. well, perhaps he is right, but he should not have said it to my child. how much has happened to me from that house!" "yes," said martha; "i remember you were in service there, and lived in the house when the mayor's parents were alive; how many years ago that is. bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and people may well be thirsty," and martha smiled. "the mayor's great dinner-party to-day ought to have been put off, but the news came too late. the footman told me the dinner was already cooked, when a letter came to say that the mayor's younger brother in copenhagen is dead." "dead!" cried the laundress, turning pale as death. "yes, certainly," replied martha; "but why do you take it so much to heart? i suppose you knew him years ago, when you were in service there?" "is he dead?" she exclaimed. "oh, he was such a kind, good-hearted man, there are not many like him," and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke. then she cried, "oh, dear me; i feel quite ill: everything is going round me, i cannot bear it. is the bottle empty?" and she leaned against the plank. "dear me, you are ill indeed," said the other woman. "come, cheer up; perhaps it will pass off. no, indeed, i see you are really ill; the best thing for me to do is to lead you home." "but my washing yonder?" "i will take care of that. come, give me your arm. the boy can stay here and take care of the linen, and i'll come back and finish the washing; it is but a trifle." the limbs of the laundress shook under her, and she said, "i have stood too long in the cold water, and i have had nothing to eat the whole day since the morning. o kind heaven, help me to get home; i am in a burning fever. oh, my poor child," and she burst into tears. and he, poor boy, wept also, as he sat alone by the river, near to and watching the damp linen. the two women walked very slowly. the laundress slipped and tottered through the lane, and round the corner, into the street where the mayor lived; and just as she reached the front of his house, she sank down upon the pavement. many persons came round her, and lame martha ran into the house for help. the mayor and his guests came to the window. "oh, it is the laundress," said he; "she has had a little drop too much. she is good for nothing. it is a sad thing for her pretty little son. i like the boy very well; but the mother is good for nothing." after a while the laundress recovered herself, and they led her to her poor dwelling, and put her to bed. kind martha warmed a mug of beer for her, with butter and sugar--she considered this the best medicine--and then hastened to the river, washed and rinsed, badly enough, to be sure, but she did her best. then she drew the linen ashore, wet as it was, and laid it in a basket. before evening, she was sitting in the poor little room with the laundress. the mayor's cook had given her some roasted potatoes and a beautiful piece of fat for the sick woman. martha and the boy enjoyed these good things very much; but the sick woman could only say that the smell was very nourishing, she thought. by-and-by the boy was put to bed, in the same bed as the one in which his mother lay; but he slept at her feet, covered with an old quilt made of blue and white patchwork. the laundress felt a little better by this time. the warm beer had strengthened her, and the smell of the good food had been pleasant to her. "many thanks, you good soul," she said to martha. "now the boy is asleep, i will tell you all. he is soon asleep. how gentle and sweet he looks as he lies there with his eyes closed! he does not know how his mother has suffered; and heaven grant he never may know it. i was in service at the counsellor's, the father of the mayor, and it happened that the youngest of his sons, the student, came home. i was a young wild girl then, but honest; that i can declare in the sight of heaven. the student was merry and gay, brave and affectionate; every drop of blood in him was good and honorable; a better man never lived on earth. he was the son of the house, and i was only a maid; but he loved me truly and honorably, and he told his mother of it. she was to him as an angel upon earth; she was so wise and loving. he went to travel, and before he started he placed a gold ring on my finger; and as soon as he was out of the house, my mistress sent for me. gently and earnestly she drew me to her, and spake as if an angel were speaking. she showed me clearly, in spirit and in truth, the difference there was between him and me. 'he is pleased now,' she said, 'with your pretty face; but good looks do not last long. you have not been educated like he has. you are not equals in mind and rank, and therein lies the misfortune. i esteem the poor,' she added. 'in the sight of god, they may occupy a higher place than many of the rich; but here upon earth we must beware of entering upon a false track, lest we are overturned in our plans, like a carriage that travels by a dangerous road. i know a worthy man, an artisan, who wishes to marry you. i mean eric, the glovemaker. he is a widower, without children, and in a good position. will you think it over?' every word she said pierced my heart like a knife; but i knew she was right, and the thought pressed heavily upon me. i kissed her hand, and wept bitter tears, and i wept still more when i went to my room, and threw myself on the bed. i passed through a dreadful night; god knows what i suffered, and how i struggled. the following sunday i went to the house of god to pray for light to direct my path. it seemed like a providence that as i stepped out of church eric came towards me; and then there remained not a doubt in my mind. we were suited to each other in rank and circumstances. he was, even then, a man of good means. i went up to him, and took his hand, and said, 'do you still feel the same for me?' 'yes; ever and always,' said he. 'will you, then, marry a maiden who honors and esteems you, although she cannot offer you her love? but that may come.' 'yes, it will come,' said he; and we joined our hands together, and i went home to my mistress. the gold ring which her son had given me i wore next to my heart. i could not place it on my finger during the daytime, but only in the evening, when i went to bed. i kissed the ring till my lips almost bled, and then i gave it to my mistress, and told her that the banns were to be put up for me and the glovemaker the following week. then my mistress threw her arms round me, and kissed me. she did not say that i was 'good for nothing;' very likely i was better then than i am now; but the misfortunes of this world, were unknown to me then. at michaelmas we were married, and for the first year everything went well with us. we had a journeyman and an apprentice, and you were our servant, martha." "ah, yes, and you were a dear, good mistress," said martha, "i shall never forget how kind you and your husband were to me." "yes, those were happy years when you were with us, although we had no children at first. the student i never met again. yet i saw him once, although he did not see me. he came to his mother's funeral. i saw him, looking pale as death, and deeply troubled, standing at her grave; for she was his mother. sometime after, when his father died, he was in foreign lands, and did not come home. i know that he never married, i believe he became a lawyer. he had forgotten me, and even had we met he would not have known me, for i have lost all my good looks, and perhaps that is all for the best." and then she spoke of the dark days of trial, when misfortune had fallen upon them. "we had five hundred dollars," she said, "and there was a house in the street to be sold for two hundred, so we thought it would be worth our while to pull it down and build a new one in its place; so it was bought. the builder and carpenter made an estimate that the new house would cost ten hundred and twenty dollars to build. eric had credit, so he borrowed the money in the chief town. but the captain, who was bringing it to him, was shipwrecked, and the money lost. just about this time, my dear sweet boy, who lies sleeping there, was born, and my husband was attacked with a severe lingering illness. for three quarters of a year i was obliged to dress and undress him. we were backward in our payments, we borrowed more money, and all that we had was lost and sold, and then my husband died. since then i have worked, toiled, and striven for the sake of the child. i have scrubbed and washed both coarse and fine linen, but i have not been able to make myself better off; and it was god's will. in his own time he will take me to himself, but i know he will never forsake my boy." then she fell asleep. in the morning she felt much refreshed, and strong enough, as she thought, to go on with her work. but as soon as she stepped into the cold water, a sudden faintness seized her; she clutched at the air convulsively with her hand, took one step forward, and fell. her head rested on dry land, but her feet were in the water; her wooden shoes, which were only tied on by a wisp of straw, were carried away by the stream, and thus she was found by martha when she came to bring her some coffee. in the meantime a messenger had been sent to her house by the mayor, to say that she must come to him immediately, as he had something to tell her. it was too late; a surgeon had been sent for to open a vein in her arm, but the poor woman was dead. "she has drunk herself to death," said the cruel mayor. in the letter, containing the news of his brother's death, it was stated that he had left in his will a legacy of six hundred dollars to the glovemaker's widow, who had been his mother's maid, to be paid with discretion, in large or small sums to the widow or her child. "there was something between my brother and her, i remember," said the mayor; "it is a good thing that she is out of the way, for now the boy will have the whole. i will place him with honest people to bring him up, that he may become a respectable working man." and the blessing of god rested upon these words. the mayor sent for the boy to come to him, and promised to take care of him, but most cruelly added that it was a good thing that his mother was dead, for "she was good for nothing." they carried her to the churchyard, the churchyard in which the poor were buried. martha strewed sand on the grave and planted a rose-tree upon it, and the boy stood by her side. "oh, my poor mother!" he cried, while the tears rolled down his cheeks. "is it true what they say, that she was good for nothing?" "no, indeed, it is not true," replied the old servant, raising her eyes to heaven; "she was worth a great deal; i knew it years ago, and since the last night of her life i am more certain of it than ever. i say she was a good and worthy woman, and god, who is in heaven, knows i am speaking the truth, though the world may say, even now she was good for nothing." grandmother grandmother is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair is quite white; but her eyes are like two stars, and they have a mild, gentle expression in them when they look at you, which does you good. she wears a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers worked on it; and it rustles when she moves. and then she can tell the most wonderful stories. grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive before father and mother--that's quite certain. she has a hymn-book with large silver clasps, in which she often reads; and in the book, between the leaves, lies a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not so pretty as the roses which are standing in the glass, and yet she smiles at it most pleasantly, and tears even come into her eyes. "i wonder why grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old book that way? do you know?" why, when grandmother's tears fall upon the rose, and she is looking at it, the rose revives, and fills the room with its fragrance; the walls vanish as in a mist, and all around her is the glorious green wood, where in summer the sunlight streams through thick foliage; and grandmother, why she is young again, a charming maiden, fresh as a rose, with round, rosy cheeks, fair, bright ringlets, and a figure pretty and graceful; but the eyes, those mild, saintly eyes, are the same,--they have been left to grandmother. at her side sits a young man, tall and strong; he gives her a rose and she smiles. grandmother cannot smile like that now. yes, she is smiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts and recollections of the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and the rose has withered in the old book, and grandmother is sitting there, again an old woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book. grandmother is dead now. she had been sitting in her arm-chair, telling us a long, beautiful tale; and when it was finished, she said she was tired, and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. we could hear her gentle breathing as she slept; gradually it became quieter and calmer, and on her countenance beamed happiness and peace. it was as if lighted up with a ray of sunshine. she smiled once more, and then people said she was dead. she was laid in a black coffin, looking mild and beautiful in the white folds of the shrouded linen, though her eyes were closed; but every wrinkle had vanished, her hair looked white and silvery, and around her mouth lingered a sweet smile. we did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of her who had been such a dear, good grandmother. the hymn-book, in which the rose still lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; and then they buried grandmother. on the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a rose-tree; it was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat among the flowers, and sang over the grave. from the organ in the church sounded the music and the words of the beautiful psalms, which were written in the old book under the head of the dead one. the moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there; every child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose from the tree by the churchyard wall. the dead know more than we do who are living. they know what a terror would come upon us if such a strange thing were to happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us. they are better off than we are; the dead return no more. the earth has been heaped on the coffin, and it is earth only that lies within it. the leaves of the hymn-book are dust; and the rose, with all its recollections, has crumbled to dust also. but over the grave fresh roses bloom, the nightingale sings, and the organ sounds and there still lives a remembrance of old grandmother, with the loving, gentle eyes that always looked young. eyes can never die. ours will once again behold dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, for the first time, she kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust in the grave. a great grief this story really consists of two parts. the first part might be left out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these are useful. we were staying in the country at a gentleman's seat, where it happened that the master was absent for a few days. in the meantime, there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a pug dog with her, and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her tan-yard. she had her papers with her, and we advised her to put them in an envelope, and to write thereon the address of the proprietor of the estate, "general war-commissary knight," &c. she listened to us attentively, seized the pen, paused, and begged us to repeat the direction slowly. we complied, and she wrote; but in the midst of the "general war-" she struck fast, sighed deeply, and said, "i am only a woman!" her puggie had seated itself on the ground while she wrote, and growled; for the dog had come with her for amusement and for the sake of its health; and then the bare floor ought not to be offered to a visitor. his outward appearance was characterized by a snub nose and a very fat back. "he doesn't bite," said the lady; "he has no teeth. he is like one of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my grandchildren's fault, for they have teased him; they play at wedding, and want to give him the part of the bridesmaid, and that's too much for him, poor old fellow." and she delivered her papers, and took puggie upon her arm. and this is the first part of the story which might have been left out. puggie died!! that's the second part. it was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and put up at the inn. our windows looked into the tan-yard, which was divided into two parts by a partition of planks; in one half were many skins and hides, raw and tanned. here was all the apparatus necessary to carry on a tannery, and it belonged to the widow. puggie had died in the morning, and was to be buried in this part of the yard; the grandchildren of the widow (that is, of the tanner's widow, for puggie had never been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful grave--it must have been quite pleasant to lie there. the grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn over with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer bottle, with the neck upwards, and that was not at all allegorical. the children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the boys among them, a practical youngster of seven years, made the proposition that there should be an exhibition of puggie's burial-place for all who lived in the lane; the price of admission was to be a trouser button, for every boy would be sure to have one, and each might also give one for a little girl. this proposal was adopted by acclamation. and all the children out of the lane--yes, even out of the little lane at the back--flocked to the place, and each gave a button. many were noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one suspender; but then they had seen puggie's grave, and the sight was worth much more. but in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a little girl clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly hair, and eyes so blue and clear that it was a pleasure to look into them. the child said not a word, nor did she cry; but each time the little door was opened she gave a long, long look into the yard. she had not a button--that she knew right well, and therefore she remained standing sorrowfully outside, till all the others had seen the grave and had gone away; then she sat down, held her little brown hands before her eyes, and burst into tears; this girl alone had not seen puggie's grave. it was a grief as great to her as any grown person can experience. we saw this from above; and looked at from above, how many a grief of our own and of others can make us smile! that is the story, and whoever does not understand it may go and purchase a share in the tan-yard from the window. the happy family the largest green leaf in this country is certainly the burdock-leaf. if you hold it in front of you, it is large enough for an apron; and if you hold it over your head, it is almost as good as an umbrella, it is so wonderfully large. a burdock never grows alone; where it grows, there are many more, and it is a splendid sight; and all this splendor is good for snails. the great white snails, which grand people in olden times used to have made into fricassees; and when they had eaten them, they would say, "o, what a delicious dish!" for these people really thought them good; and these snails lived on burdock-leaves, and for them the burdock was planted. there was once an old estate where no one now lived to require snails; indeed, the owners had all died out, but the burdock still flourished; it grew over all the beds and walks of the garden--its growth had no check--till it became at last quite a forest of burdocks. here and there stood an apple or a plum-tree; but for this, nobody would have thought the place had ever been a garden. it was burdock from one end to the other; and here lived the last two surviving snails. they knew not themselves how old they were; but they could remember the time when there were a great many more of them, and that they were descended from a family which came from foreign lands, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs. they had never been away from the garden; but they knew that another place once existed in the world, called the duke's palace castle, in which some of their relations had been boiled till they became black, and were then laid on a silver dish; but what was done afterwards they did not know. besides, they could not imagine exactly how it felt to be boiled and placed on a silver dish; but no doubt it was something very fine and highly genteel. neither the cockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earth-worm, whom they questioned about it, would give them the least information; for none of their relations had ever been cooked or served on a silver dish. the old white snails were the most aristocratic race in the world,--they knew that. the forest had been planted for them, and the nobleman's castle had been built entirely that they might be cooked and laid on silver dishes. they lived quite retired and very happily; and as they had no children of their own, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own child. the little one would not grow, for he was only a common snail; but the old people, particularly the mother-snail, declared that she could easily see how he grew; and when the father said he could not perceive it, she begged him to feel the little snail's shell, and he did so, and found that the mother was right. one day it rained very fast. "listen, what a drumming there is on the burdock-leaves; turn, turn, turn; turn, turn, turn," said the father-snail. "there come the drops," said the mother; "they are trickling down the stalks. we shall have it very wet here presently. i am very glad we have such good houses, and that the little one has one of his own. there has been really more done for us than for any other creature; it is quite plain that we are the most noble people in the world. we have houses from our birth, and the burdock forest has been planted for us. i should very much like to know how far it extends, and what lies beyond it." "there can be nothing better than we have here," said the father-snail; "i wish for nothing more." "yes, but i do," said the mother; "i should like to be taken to the palace, and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish, as was done to all our ancestors; and you may be sure it must be something very uncommon." "the nobleman's castle, perhaps, has fallen to decay," said the snail-father, "or the burdock wood may have grown out. you need not be in a hurry; you are always so impatient, and the youngster is getting just the same. he has been three days creeping to the top of that stalk. i feel quite giddy when i look at him." "you must not scold him," said the mother-snail; "he creeps so very carefully. he will be the joy of our home; and we old folks have nothing else to live for. but have you ever thought where we are to get a wife for him? do you think that farther out in the wood there may be others of our race?" "there may be black snails, no doubt," said the old snail; "black snails without houses; but they are so vulgar and conceited too. but we can give the ants a commission; they run here and there, as if they all had so much business to get through. they, most likely, will know of a wife for our youngster." "i certainly know a most beautiful bride," said one of the ants; "but i fear it would not do, for she is a queen." "that does not matter," said the old snail; "has she a house?" "she has a palace," replied the ant,--"a most beautiful ant-palace with seven hundred passages." "thank-you," said the mother-snail; "but our boy shall not go to live in an ant-hill. if you know of nothing better, we will give the commission to the white gnats; they fly about in rain and sunshine; they know the burdock wood from one end to the other." "we have a wife for him," said the gnats; "a hundred man-steps from here there is a little snail with a house, sitting on a gooseberry-bush; she is quite alone, and old enough to be married. it is only a hundred man-steps from here." "then let her come to him," said the old people. "he has the whole burdock forest; she has only a bush." so they brought the little lady-snail. she took eight days to perform the journey; but that was just as it ought to be; for it showed her to be one of the right breeding. and then they had a wedding. six glow-worms gave as much light as they could; but in other respects it was all very quiet; for the old snails could not bear festivities or a crowd. but a beautiful speech was made by the mother-snail. the father could not speak; he was too much overcome. then they gave the whole burdock forest to the young snails as an inheritance, and repeated what they had so often said, that it was the finest place in the world, and that if they led upright and honorable lives, and their family increased, they and their children might some day be taken to the nobleman's palace, to be boiled black, and laid on a silver dish. and when they had finished speaking, the old couple crept into their houses, and came out no more; for they slept. the young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerous progeny. but as the young ones were never boiled or laid in silver dishes, they concluded that the castle had fallen into decay, and that all the people in the world were dead; and as nobody contradicted them, they thought they must be right. and the rain fell upon the burdock-leaves, to play the drum for them, and the sun shone to paint colors on the burdock forest for them, and they were very happy; the whole family were entirely and perfectly happy. a leaf from heaven high up in the clear, pure air flew an angel, with a flower plucked from the garden of heaven. as he was kissing the flower a very little leaf fell from it and sunk down into the soft earth in the middle of a wood. it immediately took root, sprouted, and sent out shoots among the other plants. "what a ridiculous little shoot!" said one. "no one will recognize it; not even the thistle nor the stinging-nettle." "it must be a kind of garden plant," said another; and so they sneered and despised the plant as a thing from a garden. "where are you coming?" said the tall thistles whose leaves were all armed with thorns. "it is stupid nonsense to allow yourself to shoot out in this way; we are not here to support you." winter came, and the plant was covered with snow, but the snow glittered over it as if it had sunshine beneath as well as above. when spring came, the plant appeared in full bloom: a more beautiful object than any other plant in the forest. and now the professor of botany presented himself, one who could explain his knowledge in black and white. he examined and tested the plant, but it did not belong to his system of botany, nor could he possibly find out to what class it did belong. "it must be some degenerate species," said he; "i do not know it, and it is not mentioned in any system." "not known in any system!" repeated the thistles and the nettles. the large trees which grew round it saw the plant and heard the remarks, but they said not a word either good or bad, which is the wisest plan for those who are ignorant. there passed through the forest a poor innocent girl; her heart was pure, and her understanding increased by her faith. her chief inheritance had been an old bible, which she read and valued. from its pages she heard the voice of god speaking to her, and telling her to remember what was said of joseph's brethren when persons wished to injure her. "they imagined evil in their hearts, but god turned it to good." if we suffer wrongfully, if we are misunderstood or despised, we must think of him who was pure and holy, and who prayed for those who nailed him to the cross, "father forgive them, for they know not what they do." the girl stood still before the wonderful plant, for the green leaves exhaled a sweet and refreshing fragrance, and the flowers glittered and sparkled in the sunshine like colored flames, and the harmony of sweet sounds lingered round them as if each concealed within itself a deep fount of melody, which thousands of years could not exhaust. with pious gratitude the girl looked upon this glorious work of god, and bent down over one of the branches, that she might examine the flower and inhale the sweet perfume. then a light broke in on her mind, and her heart expanded. gladly would she have plucked a flower, but she could not overcome her reluctance to break one off. she knew it would so soon fade; so she took only a single green leaf, carried it home, and laid it in her bible, where it remained ever green, fresh, and unfading. between the pages of the bible it still lay when, a few weeks afterwards, that bible was laid under the young girl's head in her coffin. a holy calm rested on her face, as if the earthly remains bore the impress of the truth that she now stood in the presence of god. in the forest the wonderful plant still continued to bloom till it grew and became almost a tree, and all the birds of passage bowed themselves before it. "that plant is a foreigner, no doubt," said the thistles and the burdocks. "we can never conduct ourselves like that in this country." and the black forest snails actually spat at the flower. then came the swineherd; he was collecting thistles and shrubs to burn them for the ashes. he pulled up the wonderful plant, roots and all, and placed it in his bundle. "this will be as useful as any," he said; so the plant was carried away. not long after, the king of the country suffered from the deepest melancholy. he was diligent and industrious, but employment did him no good. they read deep and learned books to him, and then the lightest and most trifling that could be found, but all to no purpose. then they applied for advice to one of the wise men of the world, and he sent them a message to say that there was one remedy which would relieve and cure him, and that it was a plant of heavenly origin which grew in the forest in the king's own dominions. the messenger described the flower so that is appearance could not be mistaken. then said the swineherd, "i am afraid i carried this plant away from the forest in my bundle, and it has been burnt to ashes long ago. but i did not know any better." "you did not know, any better! ignorance upon ignorance indeed!" the poor swineherd took these words to heart, for they were addressed to him; he knew not that there were others who were equally ignorant. not even a leaf of the plant could be found. there was one, but it lay in the coffin of the dead; no one knew anything about it. then the king, in his melancholy, wandered out to the spot in the wood. "here is where the plant stood," he said; "it is a sacred place." then he ordered that the place should be surrounded with a golden railing, and a sentry stationed near it. the botanical professor wrote a long treatise about the heavenly plant, and for this he was loaded with gold, which improved the position of himself and his family. and this part is really the most pleasant part of the story. for the plant had disappeared, and the king remained as melancholy and sad as ever, but the sentry said he had always been so. holger danske in denmark there stands an old castle named kronenburg, close by the sound of elsinore, where large ships, both english, russian, and prussian, pass by hundreds every day. and they salute the old castle with cannons, "boom, boom," which is as if they said, "good-day." and the cannons of the old castle answer "boom," which means "many thanks." in winter no ships sail by, for the whole sound is covered with ice as far as the swedish coast, and has quite the appearance of a high-road. the danish and the swedish flags wave, and danes and swedes say, "good-day," and "thank you" to each other, not with cannons, but with a friendly shake of the hand; and they exchange white bread and biscuits with each other, because foreign articles taste the best. but the most beautiful sight of all is the old castle of kronenburg, where holger danske sits in the deep, dark cellar, into which no one goes. he is clad in iron and steel, and rests his head on his strong arm; his long beard hangs down upon the marble table, into which it has become firmly rooted; he sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything that happens in denmark. on each christmas-eve an angel comes to him and tells him that all he has dreamed is true, and that he may go to sleep again in peace, as denmark is not yet in any real danger; but should danger ever come, then holger danske will rouse himself, and the table will burst asunder as he draws out his beard. then he will come forth in his strength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries of the world. an old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about holger danske, and the boy knew that what his grandfather told him must be true. as the old man related this story, he was carving an image in wood to represent holger danske, to be fastened to the prow of a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver in wood, that is, one who carved figures for the heads of ships, according to the names given to them. and now he had carved holger danske, who stood there erect and proud, with his long beard, holding in one hand his broad battle-axe, while with the other he leaned on the danish arms. the old grandfather told the little boy a great deal about danish men and women who had distinguished themselves in olden times, so that he fancied he knew as much even as holger danske himself, who, after all, could only dream; and when the little fellow went to bed, he thought so much about it that he actually pressed his chin against the counterpane, and imagined that he had a long beard which had become rooted to it. but the old grandfather remained sitting at his work and carving away at the last part of it, which was the danish arms. and when he had finished he looked at the whole figure, and thought of all he had heard and read, and what he had that evening related to his little grandson. then he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles and put them on, and said, "ah, yes; holger danske will not appear in my lifetime, but the boy who is in bed there may very likely live to see him when the event really comes to pass." and the old grandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at holger danske, the more satisfied he felt that he had carved a good image of him. it seemed to glow with the color of life; the armor glittered like iron and steel. the hearts in the danish arms grew more and more red; while the lions, with gold crowns on their heads, were leaping up. "that is the most beautiful coat of arms in the world," said the old man. "the lions represent strength; and the hearts, gentleness and love." and as he gazed on the uppermost lion, he thought of king canute, who chained great england to denmark's throne; and he looked at the second lion, and thought of waldemar, who untied denmark and conquered the vandals. the third lion reminded him of margaret, who united denmark, sweden, and norway. but when he gazed at the red hearts, their colors glowed more deeply, even as flames, and his memory followed each in turn. the first led him to a dark, narrow prison, in which sat a prisoner, a beautiful woman, daughter of christian the fourth, eleanor ulfeld, and the flame became a rose on her bosom, and its blossoms were not more pure than the heart of this noblest and best of all danish women. "ah, yes; that is indeed a noble heart in the danish arms," said the grandfather, and his spirit followed the second flame, which carried him out to sea, where cannons roared and the ships lay shrouded in smoke, and the flaming heart attached itself to the breast of hvitfeldt in the form of the ribbon of an order, as he blew himself and his ship into the air in order to save the fleet. and the third flame led him to greenland's wretched huts, where the preacher, hans egede, ruled with love in every word and action. the flame was as a star on his breast, and added another heart to the danish arms. and as the old grandfather's spirit followed the next hovering flame, he knew whither it would lead him. in a peasant woman's humble room stood frederick the sixth, writing his name with chalk on the beam. the flame trembled on his breast and in his heart, and it was in the peasant's room that his heart became one for the danish arms. the old grandfather wiped his eyes, for he had known king frederick, with his silvery locks and his honest blue eyes, and had lived for him, and he folded his hands and remained for some time silent. then his daughter came to him and said it was getting late, that he ought to rest for a while, and that the supper was on the table. "what you have been carving is very beautiful, grandfather," said she. "holger danske and the old coat of arms; it seems to me as if i have seen the face somewhere." "no, that is impossible," replied the old grandfather; "but i have seen it, and i have tried to carve it in wood, as i have retained it in my memory. it was a long time ago, while the english fleet lay in the roads, on the second of april, when we showed that we were true, ancient danes. i was on board the denmark, in steene bille's squadron; i had a man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. he sung old songs in a merry voice, and fired and fought as if he were something more than a man. i still remember his face, but from whence he came, or whither he went, i know not; no one knows. i have often thought it might have been holger danske himself, who had swam down to us from kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. that was my idea, and there stands his likeness." the wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even on part of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real holger danske stood behind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by the flame of the lamp not burning steadily. then the daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by the table; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man and the father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper with him. and the old grandfather talked of the danish lions and the danish hearts, emblems of strength and gentleness, and explained quite clearly that there is another strength than that which lies in a sword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a number of old books, and amongst them a collection of holberg's plays, which are much read and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we have known the people of those days, who are described in them. "he knew how to fight also," said the old man; "for he lashed the follies and prejudices of people during his whole life." then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking-glass, where hung an almanac, with a representation of the round tower upon it, and said "tycho brahe was another of those who used a sword, but not one to cut into the flesh and bone, but to make the way of the stars of heaven clear, and plain to be understood. and then he whose father belonged to my calling,--yes, he, the son of the old image-carver, he whom we ourselves have seen, with his silvery locks and his broad shoulders, whose name is known in all lands;--yes, he was a sculptor, while i am only a carver. holger danske can appear in marble, so that people in all countries of the world may hear of the strength of denmark. now let us drink the health of bertel." but the little boy in bed saw plainly the old castle of kronenburg, and the sound of elsinore, and holger danske, far down in the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, and dreaming of everything that was passing above him. and holger danske did dream of the little humble room in which the image-carver sat; he heard all that had been said, and he nodded in his dream, saying, "ah, yes, remember me, you danish people, keep me in your memory, i will come to you in the hour of need." the bright morning light shone over kronenburg, and the wind brought the sound of the hunting-horn across from the neighboring shores. the ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom of the cannon, and kronenburg returned the salute, "boom, boom." but the roaring cannons did not awake holger danske, for they meant only "good morning," and "thank you." they must fire in another fashion before he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet in holger danske. ib and little christina in the forest that extends from the banks of the gudenau, in north jutland, a long way into the country, and not far from the clear stream, rises a great ridge of land, which stretches through the wood like a wall. westward of this ridge, and not far from the river, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by such poor land that the sandy soil shows itself between the scanty ears of rye and wheat which grow in it. some years have passed since the people who lived here cultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen; in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had quite enough to live upon, as people generally have who are content with their lot. they even could have afforded to keep two horses, but it was a saying among the farmers in those parts, "the horse eats himself up;" that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. jeppe jans cultivated his fields in summer, and in the winter he made wooden shoes. he also had an assistant, a lad who understood as well as he himself did how to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in the fashion. they carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore no one could justly call jeppe jans and his family poor people. little ib, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would sit by, watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes his finger instead of the stick. but one day ib succeeded so well in his carving that he made two pieces of wood look really like two little wooden shoes, and he determined to give them as a present to little christina. "and who was little christina?" she was the boatman's daughter, graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman; had she been dressed differently, no one would have believed that she lived in a hut on the neighboring heath with her father. he was a widower, and earned his living by carrying firewood in his large boat from the forest to the eel-pond and eel-weir, on the estate of silkborg, and sometimes even to the distant town of randers. there was no one under whose care he could leave little christina; so she was almost always with him in his boat, or playing in the wood among the blossoming heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. sometimes, when her father had to go as far as the town, he would take little christina, who was a year younger than ib, across the heath to the cottage of jeppe jans, and leave her there. ib and christina agreed together in everything; they divided their bread and berries when they were hungry; they were partners in digging their little gardens; they ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. once they wandered a long way into the forest, and even ventured together to climb the high ridge. another time they found a few snipes' eggs in the wood, which was a great event. ib had never been on the heath where christina's father lived, nor on the river; but at last came an opportunity. christina's father invited him to go for a sail in his boat; and the evening before, he accompanied the boatman across the heath to his house. the next morning early, the two children were placed on the top of a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread and wild strawberries, while christina's father and his man drove the boat forward with poles. they floated on swiftly, for the tide was in their favor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course; sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yet there was always room for them to pass out, although the old trees overhung the water and the old oaks stretched out their bare branches, as if they had turned up their sleeves and wished to show their knotty, naked arms. old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened from the banks, clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, and the tops of the branches above the water looked like little woody islands. the water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the river, everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came to the great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates; and the children thought this a beautiful sight. in those days there was no factory nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, with its scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd of cattle, and one or two farm laborers. the rushing of the water through the sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were almost the only signs of active life at silkborg. after the firewood had been unloaded, christina's father bought a whole bundle of eels and a sucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of the boat. then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind was favorable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as well as if two horses had been harnessed to it. as they sailed on, they came by chance to the place where the boatman's assistant lived, at a little distance from the bank of the river. the boat was moored; and the two men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went on shore. they obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgot it altogether. first they peeped into the basket containing the eels and the sucking-pig; then they must needs pull out the pig and take it in their hands, and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wanted to hold it at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fall into the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream. here was a terrible disaster. ib jumped ashore, and ran a little distance from the boat. "oh, take me with you," cried christina; and she sprang after him. in a few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could no longer see the boat or the shore. they ran on a little farther, and then christina fell down, and began to cry. ib helped her up, and said, "never mind; follow me. yonder is the house." but the house was not yonder; and they wandered still farther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treading on fallen branches that crackled under their little feet; then they heard a loud, piercing cry, and they stood still to listen. presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood; it was an ugly cry, and it frightened the children; but before them, in the thickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries, in wonderful quantities. they looked so inviting that the children could not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating, that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice. presently they heard the frightful scream again, and christina said, "we shall get into trouble about that pig." "oh, never mind," said ib; "we will go home to my father's house. it is here in the wood." so they went on, but the road led them out of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the children were afraid. the solemn stillness that reigned around them was now and then broken by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and other birds that they knew nothing of. at last they both lost themselves in the thicket; christina began to cry, and then ib cried too; and, after weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselves down on the dry leaves and fell asleep. the sun was high in the heavens when the two children woke. they felt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sun was shining through the trees. they thought if they went there they should be warm, and ib fancied he should be able to see his father's house from such a high spot. but they were far away from home now, in quite another part of the forest. they clambered to the top of the rising ground, and found themselves on the edge of a declivity, which sloped down to a clear transparent lake. great quantities of fish could be seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun's rays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon such an unexpected sight. close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered with beautiful nuts. they soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate the fine young kernels, which were only just ripe. but there was another surprise and fright in store for them. out of the thicket stepped a tall old woman, her face quite brown, and her hair of a deep shining black; the whites of her eyes glittered like a moor's; on her back she carried a bundle, and in her hand a knotted stick. she was a gypsy. the children did not at first understand what she said. she drew out of her pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden the most beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they were wishing nuts. ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly, he took courage, and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gave them to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes for herself, quite a pocket full. ib and christina looked at the wishing nuts with wide open eyes. "is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?" asked ib. "yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses," replied the woman. "then give me that nut," said christina; so ib gave it to her, and the strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief. ib held up another nut. "is there, in this nut, a pretty little neckerchief like the one christina has on her neck?" asked ib. "there are ten neckerchiefs in it," she replied, "as well as beautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil." "then i will have that one also," said christina; "and it is a pretty one too." and then ib gave her the second nut. the third was a little black thing. "you may keep that one," said christina; "it is quite as pretty." "what is in it?" asked ib. "the best of all things for you," replied the gypsy. so ib held the nut very tight. then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path, that they might find their way home: and they went forward certainly in quite another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore no one ought to speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to steal the children. in the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew ib, and, by his help, ib and christina reached home, where they found every one had been very anxious about them. they were pardoned and forgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and deserved to get into trouble; first, because they had let the sucking-pig fall into the water; and, secondly, because they had run away. christina was taken back to her father's house on the heath, and ib remained in the farm-house on the borders of the wood, near the great land ridge. the first thing ib did that evening was to take out of his pocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was said to be enclosed. he laid it carefully between the door and the door-post, and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly. but there was not much kernel to be seen; it was what we should call hollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if it had been filled with tobacco or rich black earth. "it is just what i expected!" exclaimed ib. "how should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thing of all? christina will find her two nuts just the same; there will be neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them." winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passed away; until ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he went during a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to be prepared. one day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to ib's parents, and told them that christina was going to service, and that she had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with most respectable people. "only think," he said, "she is going to the rich innkeeper's, at the hotel in herning, many miles west from here. she is to assist the landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwards she behaves well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treat her as their own daughter." so ib and christina took leave of each other. people already called them "the betrothed," and at parting the girl showed ib the two nuts, which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lost themselves in the wood; and she told him also that the little wooden shoes he once carved for her when he was a boy, and gave her as a present, had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. and so they parted. after ib's confirmation, he remained at home with his mother, for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farm for her quite alone. his father had been dead some time, and his mother kept no farm servants. sometimes, but very seldom, he heard of christina, through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing. but she was well off with the rich innkeeper; and after being confirmed she wrote a letter to her father, in which was a kind message to ib and his mother. in this letter, she mentioned that her master and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress, and some nice under-clothes. this was, of course, pleasant news. one day, in the following spring, there came a knock at the door of the house where ib's old mother lived; and when they opened it, lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and christina. she had come to pay them a visit, and to spend the day. a carriage had to come from the herning hotel to the next village, and she had taken the opportunity to see her friends once more. she looked as elegant as a real lady, and wore a pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose for her. there she stood, in full dress, while ib wore only his working clothes. he could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand and hold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to open his lips. christina, however, was quite at her ease; she talked and talked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. even afterwards, when they were left alone, and she asked, "did you know me again, ib?" he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, "you are become quite a grand lady, christina, and i am only a rough working man; but i have often thought of you and of old times." then they wandered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream to the heath, where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom. ib said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, it became quite clear to him that christina must be his wife: had they not even in childhood been called the betrothed? to him it seemed as if they were really engaged to each other, although not a word had been spoken on the subject. they had only a few more hours to remain together, for christina was obliged to return that evening to the neighboring village, to be ready for the carriage which was to start the next morning early for herning. ib and her father accompanied her to the village. it was a fine moonlight evening; and when they arrived, ib stood holding christina's hand in his, as if he could not let her go. his eyes brightened, and the words he uttered came with hesitation from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of his heart: "christina, if you have not become too grand, and if you can be contented to live in my mother's house as my wife, we will be married some day. but we can wait for a while." "oh yes," she replied; "let us wait a little longer, ib. i can trust you, for i believe that i do love you. but let me think it over." then he kissed her lips; and so they parted. on the way home, ib told the boatman that he and christina were as good as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he had always expected it would be so, and went home with ib that evening, and remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further was said of the engagement. during the next year, two letters passed between ib and christina. they were signed, "faithful till death;" but at the end of that time, one day the boatman came over to see ib, with a kind greeting from christina. he had something else to say, which made him hesitate in a strange manner. at last it came out that christina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more lucky than ever. she was courted and admired by every one; but her master's son, who had been home on a visit, was so much pleased with christina that he wished to marry her. he had a very good situation in an office at copenhagen, and as she had also taken a liking for him, his parents were not unwilling to consent. but christina, in her heart, often thought of ib, and knew how much he thought of her; so she felt inclined to refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. at first ib said not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook his head gently, and then he spoke,--"christina must not refuse this good fortune." "then will you write a few words to her?" said the boatman. ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. the words were not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page. the following morning, however, a letter lay ready to be sent to christina, and the following is what he wrote:-- "the letter written by you to your father i have read, and see from it that you are prosperous in everything, and that still better fortune is in store for you. ask your own heart, christina, and think over carefully what awaits you if you take me for your husband, for i possess very little in the world. do not think of me or of my position; think only of your own welfare. you are bound to me by no promises; and if in your heart you have given me one, i release you from it. may every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you, christina. heaven will give me the heart's consolation." "ever your sincere friend, ib." this letter was sent, and christina received it in due time. in the course of the following november, her banns were published in the church on the heath, and also in copenhagen, where the bridegroom lived. she was taken to copenhagen under the protection of her future mother-in-law, because the bridegroom could not spare time from his numerous occupations for a journey so far into jutland. on the journey, christina met her father at one of the villages through which they passed, and here he took leave of her. very little was said about the matter to ib, and he did not refer to it; his mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent and pensive. thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three nuts came into his mind which the gypsy woman had given him when a child, and of the two which he had given to christina. these wishing nuts, after all, had proved true fortune-tellers. one had contained a gilded carriage and noble horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all of these christina would now have in her new home at copenhagen. her part had come true. and for him the nut had contained only black earth. the gypsy woman had said it was the best for him. perhaps it was, and this also would be fulfilled. he understood the gypsy woman's meaning now. the black earth--the dark grave--was the best thing for him now. again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long years to ib. the old innkeeper and his wife died one after the other; and the whole of their property, many thousand dollars, was inherited by their son. christina could have the golden carriage now, and plenty of fine clothes. during the two long years which followed, no letter came from christina to her father; and when at last her father received one from her, it did not speak of prosperity or happiness. poor christina! neither she nor her husband understood how to economize or save, and the riches brought no blessing with them, because they had not asked for it. years passed; and for many summers the heath was covered with bloom; in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough winds blew across the ridge under which stood ib's sheltered home. one spring day the sun shone brightly, and he was guiding the plough across his field. the ploughshare struck against something which he fancied was a firestone, and then he saw glittering in the earth a splinter of shining metal which the plough had cut from something which gleamed brightly in the furrow. he searched, and found a large golden armlet of superior workmanship, and it was evident that the plough had disturbed a hun's grave. he searched further, and found more valuable treasures, which ib showed to the clergyman, who explained their value to him. then he went to the magistrate, who informed the president of the museum of the discovery, and advised ib to take the treasures himself to the president. "you have found in the earth the best thing you could find," said the magistrate. "the best thing," thought ib; "the very best thing for me,--and found in the earth! well, if it really is so, then the gypsy woman was right in her prophecy." so ib went in the ferry-boat from aarhus to copenhagen. to him who had only sailed once or twice on the river near his own home, this seemed like a voyage on the ocean; and at length he arrived at copenhagen. the value of the gold he had found was paid to him; it was a large sum--six hundred dollars. then ib of the heath went out, and wandered about in the great city. on the evening before the day he had settled to return with the captain of the passage-boat, ib lost himself in the streets, and took quite a different turning to the one he wished to follow. he wandered on till he found himself in a poor street of the suburb called christian's haven. not a creature could be seen. at last a very little girl came out of one of the wretched-looking houses, and ib asked her to tell him the way to the street he wanted; she looked up timidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. he asked her what was the matter; but what she said he could not understand. so he went along the street with her; and as they passed under a lamp, the light fell on the little girl's face. a strange sensation came over ib, as he caught sight of it. the living, breathing embodiment of little christina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days of her childhood. he followed the child to the wretched house, and ascended the narrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret in the roof. the air in the room was heavy and stifling, no light was burning, and from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. it was the mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. with the help of a match, ib struck a light, and approached her. "can i be of any service to you?" he asked. "this little girl brought me up here; but i am a stranger in this city. are there no neighbors or any one whom i can call?" then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed her pillow. he started as he did so. it was christina of the heath! no one had mentioned her name to ib for years; it would have disturbed his peace of mind, especially as the reports respecting her were not good. the wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had made him proud and arrogant. he had given up his certain appointment, and travelled for six months in foreign lands, and, on his return, had lived in great style, and got into terrible debt. for a time he had trembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself, till at last he toppled over, and ruin came. his numerous merry companions, and the visitors at his table, said it served him right, for he had kept house like a madman. one morning his corpse was found in the canal. the cold hand of death had already touched the heart of christina. her youngest child, looked for in the midst of prosperity, had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; and at last christina herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsaken and dying, in a miserable room, amid poverty she might have borne in her younger days, but which was now more painful to her from the luxuries to which she had lately been accustomed. it was her eldest child, also a little christina, whom ib had followed to her home, where she suffered hunger and poverty with her mother. "it makes me unhappy to think that i shall die, and leave this poor child," sighed she. "oh, what will become of her?" she could say no more. then ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of candle which he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering light over the wretched dwelling. ib looked at the little girl, and thought of christina in her young days. for her sake, could he not love this child, who was a stranger to him? as he thus reflected, the dying woman opened her eyes, and gazed at him. did she recognize him? he never knew; for not another word escaped her lips. * * * * * in the forest by the river gudenau, not far from the heath, and beneath the ridge of land, stood the little farm, newly painted and whitewashed. the air was heavy and dark; there were no blossoms on the heath; the autumn winds whirled the yellow leaves towards the boatman's hut, in which strangers dwelt; but the little farm stood safely sheltered beneath the tall trees and the high ridge. the turf blazed brightly on the hearth, and within was sunlight, the sparkling light from the sunny eyes of a child; the birdlike tones from the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. all was life and joy. little christina sat on ib's knee. ib was to her both father and mother; her own parents had vanished from her memory, as a dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood and age. ib's house was well and prettily furnished; for he was a prosperous man now, while the mother of the little girl rested in the churchyard at copenhagen, where she had died in poverty. ib had money now--money which had come to him out of the black earth; and he had christina for his own, after all. the ice maiden i. little rudy we will pay a visit to switzerland, and wander through that country of mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are overgrown with forest trees. let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields at their summits, and descend again to the green meadows beneath, through which rivers and brooks rush along as if they could not quickly enough reach the sea and vanish. fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys, as well as upon the heavy masses of snow which lie on the mountains. during the year these accumulations thaw or fall in the rolling avalance, or are piled up in shining glaciers. two of these glaciers lie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the schreckhorn and the wetterhorn, near the little town of grindelwald. they are wonderful to behold, and therefore in the summer time strangers come here from all parts of the world to see them. they cross snow-covered mountains, and travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher and still higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and lower as they proceed, and become as small as if seen from an air balloon. over the lofty summits of these mountains the clouds often hang like a dark veil; while beneath in the valley, where many brown, wooden houses are scattered about, the bright rays of the sun may be shining upon a little brilliant patch of green, making it appear almost transparent. the waters foam and dash along in the valleys beneath; the streams from above trickle and murmur as they fall down the rocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silver bands. on both sides of the mountain-path stand these little wooden houses; and, as within, there are many children and many mouths to feed, each house has its own little potato garden. these children rush out in swarms, and surround travellers, whether on foot or in carriages. they are all clever at making a bargain. they offer for sale the sweetest little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottages in switzerland. whether it be rain or sunshine, these crowds of children are always to be seen with their wares. about twenty years ago, there might be seen occasionally, standing at a short distance from the other children, a little boy, who was also anxious to sell his curious wares. he had an earnest, expressive countenance, and held the box containing his carved toys tightly with both hands, as if unwilling to part with it. his earnest look, and being also a very little boy, made him noticed by the strangers; so that he often sold the most, without knowing why. an hour's walk farther up the ascent lived his grandfather, who cut and carved the pretty little toy-houses; and in the old man's room stood a large press, full of all sorts of carved things--nut-crackers, knives and forks, boxes with beautifully carved foliage, leaping chamois. it contained everything that could delight the eyes of a child. but the boy, who was named rudy, looked with still greater pleasure and longing at some old fire-arms which hung upon the rafters, under the ceiling of the room. his grandfather promised him that he should have them some day, but that he must first grow big and strong, and learn how to use them. small as he was, the goats were placed in his care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a good climber, and such rudy was; he sometimes, indeed, climbed higher than the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds'-nests at the top of high trees; he was bold and daring, but was seldom seen to smile, excepting when he stood by the roaring cataract, or heard the descending roll of the avalanche. he never played with the other children, and was not seen with them, unless his grandfather sent him down to sell his curious workmanship. rudy did not much like trade; he loved to climb the mountains, or to sit by his grandfather and listen to his tales of olden times, or of the people in meyringen, the place of his birth. "in the early ages of the world," said the old man, "these people could not be found in switzerland. they are a colony from the north, where their ancestors still dwell, and are called swedes." this was something for rudy to know, but he learnt more from other sources, particularly from the domestic animals who belonged to the house. one was a large dog, called ajola, which had belonged to his father; and the other was a tom-cat. this cat stood very high in rudy's favor, for he had taught him to climb. "come out on the roof with me," said the cat; and rudy quite understood him, for the language of fowls, ducks, cats, and dogs, is as easily understood by a young child as his own native tongue. but it must be at the age when grandfather's stick becomes a neighing horse, with head, legs, and tail. some children retain these ideas later than others, and they are considered backwards and childish for their age. people say so; but is it so? "come out on the roof with me, little rudy," was the first thing he heard the cat say, and rudy understood him. "what people say about falling down is all nonsense," continued the cat; "you will not fall, unless you are afraid. come, now, set one foot here and another there, and feel your way with your fore-feet. keep your eyes wide open, and move softly, and if you come to a hole jump over it, and cling fast as i do." and this was just what rudy did. he was often on the sloping roof with the cat, or on the tops of high trees. but, more frequently, higher still on the ridges of the rocks where puss never came. "higher, higher!" cried the trees and the bushes, "see to what height we have grown, and how fast we hold, even to the narrow edges of the rocks." rudy often reached the top of the mountain before the sunrise, and there inhaled his morning draught of the fresh, invigorating mountain air,--god's own gift, which men call the sweet fragrance of plant and herb on the mountain-side, and the mint and wild thyme in the valleys. the overhanging clouds absorb all heaviness from the air, and the winds convey them away over the pine-tree summits. the spirit of fragrance, light and fresh, remained behind, and this was rudy's morning draught. the sunbeams--those blessing-bringing daughters of the sun--kissed his cheeks. vertigo might be lurking on the watch, but he dared not approach him. the swallows, who had not less than seven nests in his grandfather's house, flew up to him and his goats, singing, "we and you, you and we." they brought him greetings from his grandfather's house, even from two hens, the only birds of the household; but rudy was not intimate with them. although so young and such a little fellow, rudy had travelled a great deal. he was born in the canton of valais, and brought to his grandfather over the mountains. he had walked to staubbach--a little town that seems to flutter in the air like a silver veil--the glittering, snow-clad mountain jungfrau. he had also been to the great glaciers; but this is connected with a sad story, for here his mother met her death, and his grandfather used to say that all rudy's childish merriment was lost from that time. his mother had written in a letter, that before he was a year old he had laughed more than he cried; but after his fall into the snow-covered crevasse, his disposition had completely changed. the grandfather seldom spoke of this, but the fact was generally known. rudy's father had been a postilion, and the large dog which now lived in his grandfather's cottage had always followed him on his journeys over the simplon to the lake of geneva. rudy's relations, on his father's side, lived in the canton of valais, in the valley of the rhone. his uncle was a chamois hunter, and a well-known guide. rudy was only a year old when his father died, and his mother was anxious to return with her child to her own relations, who lived in the bernese oberland. her father dwelt at a few hours' distance from grindelwald; he was a carver in wood, and gained so much by it that he had plenty to live upon. she set out homewards in the month of june, carrying her infant in her arms, and, accompanied by two chamois hunters, crossed the gemmi on her way to grindelwald. they had already left more than half the journey behind them. they had crossed high ridges, and traversed snow-fields; they could even see her native valley, with its familiar wooden cottages. they had only one more glacier to climb. some newly fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did not extend to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still much deeper than the height of a man. the young woman, with the child in her arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared. not a shriek, not a groan was heard; nothing but the whining of a little child. more than an hour elapsed before her two companions could obtain from the nearest house ropes and poles to assist in raising them; and it was with much exertion that they at last succeeded in raising from the crevasse what appeared to be two dead bodies. every means was used to restore them to life. with the child they were successful, but not with the mother; so the old grandfather received his daughter's little son into his house an orphan,--a little boy who laughed more than he cried; but it seemed as if laughter had left him in the cold ice-world into which he had fallen, where, as the swiss peasants say, the souls of the lost are confined till the judgment-day. the glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen in its course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal, which, balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of crystal for the ice maiden--the queen of the glaciers. it is she whose mighty power can crush the traveller to death, and arrest the flowing river in its course. she is also a child of the air, and with the swiftness of the chamois she can reach the snow-covered mountain tops, where the boldest mountaineer has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. she will sail on a frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, and spring lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long, snow-white hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glittering like the waters of the deep swiss lakes. "mine is the power to seize and crush," she cried. "once a beautiful boy was stolen from me by man,--a boy whom i had kissed, but had not kissed to death. he is again among mankind, and tends the goats on the mountains. he is always climbing higher and higher, far away from all others, but not from me. he is mine; i will send for him." and she gave vertigo the commission. it was summer, and the ice maiden was melting amidst the green verdure, when vertigo swung himself up and down. vertigo has many brothers, quite a troop of them, and the ice maiden chose the strongest among them. they exercise their power in different ways, and everywhere. some sit on the banisters of steep stairs, others on the outer rails of lofty towers, or spring like squirrels along the ridges of the mountains. others tread the air as a swimmer treads the water, and lure their victims here and there till they fall into the deep abyss. vertigo and the ice maiden clutch at human beings, as the polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. and now vertigo was to seize rudy. "seize him, indeed," cried vertigo; "i cannot do it. that monster of a cat has taught him her tricks. that child of the human race has a power within him which keeps me at a distance; i cannot possibly reach the boy when he hangs from the branches of trees, over the precipice; or i would gladly tickle his feet, and send him heels over head through the air; but i cannot accomplish it." "we must accomplish it," said the ice maiden; "either you or i must; and i will--i will!" "no, no!" sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountain church bells chime. it was an answer in song, in the melting tones of a chorus from others of nature's spirits--good and loving spirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. they who place themselves in a circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread out their rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flaming red, until the lofty alps seem to burn with fire. men call this the alpine glow. after the sun has set, they disappear within the white snow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when they again come forth. they have great love for flowers, for butterflies, and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen little rudy. "you shall not catch him; you shall not seize him!" they sang. "greater and stronger than he have i seized!" said the ice maiden. then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller, whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "the wind took the covering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but not hold him fast. the children of strength are more powerful, more ethereal, even than we are. they can rise higher than our parent, the sun. they have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves, and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off the heavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards." thus sweetly sounded the bell-like tones of the chorus. and each morning the sun's rays shone through the one little window of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. the daughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt, and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciers had given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deep crevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued. ii. the journey to the new home rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on the other side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought he might obtain a better education with him, and learn something more. his grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go. rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. first, there was ajola, the old dog. "your father was the postilion, and i was the postilion's dog," said ajola. "we have often travelled the same journey together; i knew all the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. it is not my habit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to converse together, i will say something more than usual. i will relate to you a story, which i have reflected upon for a long time. i do not understand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of no consequence. i have, however, learnt from it that in this world things are not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. all are not born to lie on the lap and to drink milk: i have never been petted in this way, but i have seen a little dog seated in the place of a gentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. the lady, who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle of milk, of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered him pieces of sugar to crunch. he sniffed at them proudly, but would not eat one, so she ate them herself. i was running along the dirty road by the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing the cud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. but many other things seemed in confusion also. why was not i lying on a lap and travelling in a coach? i could not tell; yet i knew i could not alter my own condition, either by barking or growling." this was ajola's farewell speech, and rudy threw his arms round the dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. then he took the cat in his arms, but he struggled to get free. "you are getting too strong for me," he said; "but i will not use my claws against you. clamber away over the mountains; it was i who taught you to climb. do not fancy you are going to fall, and you will be quite safe." then the cat jumped down and ran away; he did not wish rudy to see that there were tears in his eyes. the hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no tail; a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot off her tail, he had mistaken her for a bird of prey. "rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the hens. "he is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and i don't like taking leave," so they both hopped out. but the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go with him, they were so very sorry. just at this time two clever guides were going to cross the mountains to the other side of the gemmi, and rudy was to go with them on foot. it was a long walk for such a little boy, but he had plenty of strength and invincible courage. the swallows flew with him a little way, singing, "we and you--you and we." the way led across the rushing lutschine, which falls in numerous streams from the dark clefts of the grindelwald glaciers. trunks of fallen trees and blocks of stone form bridges over these streams. after passing a forest of alders, they began to ascend, passing by some blocks of ice that had loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and lay across their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or walk round them. rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes sparkling with joy, and he stepped so firmly with his iron-tipped mountain shoe, that he left a mark behind him wherever he placed his foot. the earth was black where the mountain torrents or the melted ice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy ice sparkled and glittered. they had to go round little pools, like lakes, enclosed between large masses of ice; and, while thus wandering out of their path, they came near an immense stone, which lay balanced on the edge of an icy peak. the stone lost its balance just as they reached it, and rolled over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of its fall was echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers. they were always going upwards. the glaciers seemed to spread above them like a continued chain of masses of ice, piled up in wild confusion between bare and rugged rocks. rudy thought for a moment of what had been told him, that he and his mother had once lain buried in one of these cold, heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banished such thoughts, and looked upon the story as fabulous, like many other stories which had been told him. once or twice, when the men thought the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, they held out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept their assistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if he had been a chamois. they came at length to rocky ground; sometimes stepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing beneath stunted fir-trees, and again through green meadows. the landscape was always changing, but ever above them towered the lofty snow-clad mountains, whose names not only rudy but every other child knew--"the jungfrau," "the monk and the eiger." rudy had never been so far away before; he had never trodden on the wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with its immovable billows, from which the wind blows off the snowflake now and then, as it cuts the foam from the waves of the sea. the glaciers stand here so close together it might almost be said they are hand-in-hand; and each is a crystal palace for the ice maiden, whose power and will it is to seize and imprison the unwary traveller. the sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered with glittering diamonds. numerous insects, especially butterflies and bees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. they had ventured too high, or the wind had carried them here and left them to die of cold. around the wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a woolbag, and a threatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it increased in size, and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful in its violence should it break loose. this journey, with its varied incidents,--the wild paths, the night passed on the mountain, the steep rocky precipices, the hollow clefts, in which the rustling waters from time immemorial had worn away passages for themselves through blocks of stone,--all these were firmly impressed on rudy's memory. in a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the seas of snow, they one night took shelter. here they found some charcoal and pine branches, so that they soon made a fire. they arranged couches to lie on as well as they could, and then the men seated themselves by the fire, took out their pipes, and began to smoke. they also prepared a warm, spiced drink, of which they partook and rudy was not forgotten--he had his share. then they began to talk of those mysterious beings with which the land of the alps abounds; the hosts of apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the sleepers through the air, to the wonderful floating town of venice; of the wild herds-man, who drives the black sheep across the meadows. these flocks are never seen, yet the tinkle of their little bells has often been heard, as well as their unearthly bleating. rudy listened eagerly, but without fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while he listened, he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd. it seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it also and listened in silence, till, at length, they told rudy that he must not dare to sleep. it was a "fohn," that violent storm-wind which rushes from the mountain to the valley beneath, and in its fury snaps asunder the trunks of large trees as if they were but slender reeds, and carries the wooden houses from one side of a river to the other as easily as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. after an hour had passed, they told rudy that it was all over, and he might go to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily slept at the word of command. very early the following morning they again set out. the sun on this day lighted up for rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and new snow-fields. they had entered the canton valais, and found themselves on the ridge of the hills which can be seen from grindelwald; but he was still far from his new home. they pointed out to him other clefts, other meadows, other woods and rocky paths, and other houses. strange men made their appearance before him, and what men! they were misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellow complexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of flesh, hanging down like bags. they were called cretins. they dragged themselves along painfully, and stared at the strangers with vacant eyes. the women looked more dreadful than the men. poor rudy! were these the sort of people he should see at his new home? iii. the uncle rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was thankful to find the people like those he had been accustomed to see. there was only one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot boy, one of those unfortunate beings who, in their neglected conditions, go from house to house, and are received and taken care of in different families, for a month or two at a time. poor saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when rudy came. the uncle was an experienced hunter; he also followed the trade of a cooper; his wife was a lively little person, with a face like a bird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long, hairy throat. everything was new to rudy--the fashion of the dress, the manners, the employments, and even the language; but the latter his childish ear would soon learn. he saw also that there was more wealth here, when compared with his former home at his grandfather's. the rooms were larger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the chamois, and brightly polished guns. over the door hung a painting of the virgin mary, fresh alpine roses and a burning lamp stood near it. rudy's uncle was, as we have said, one of the most noted chamois hunters in the whole district, and also one of the best guides. rudy soon became the pet of the house; but there was another pet, an old hound, blind and lazy, who would never more follow the hunt, well as he had once done so. but his former good qualities were not forgotten, and therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with every indulgence. rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not like strangers, and rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not, however, long remain so, he soon endeared himself to every heart, and became like one of the family. "we are not very badly off, here in the canton valais," said his uncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die so fast as the wild goats, and it is certainly much better here now than in former times. how highly the old times have been spoken of, but ours is better. the bag has been opened, and a current of air now blows through our once confined valley. something better always makes its appearance when old, worn-out things fail." when his uncle became communicative, he would relate stories of his youthful days, and farther back still of the warlike times in which his father had lived. valais was then, as he expressed it, only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick people, miserable cretins; but the french soldiers came, and they were capital doctors, they soon killed the disease and the sick people, too. the french people knew how to fight in more ways than one, and the girls knew how to conquer too; and when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, who was a french woman by birth, and laughed. the french could also do battle on the stones. "it was they who cut a road out of the solid rock over the simplon--such a road, that i need only say to a child of three years old, 'go down to italy, you have only to keep in the high road,' and the child will soon arrive in italy, if he followed my directions." then the uncle sang a french song, and cried, "hurrah! long live napoleon buonaparte." this was the first time rudy had ever heard of france, or of lyons, that great city on the rhone where his uncle had once lived. his uncle said that rudy, in a very few years, would become a clever hunter, he had quite a talent for it; he taught the boy to hold a gun properly, and to load and fire it. in the hunting season he took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm blood of the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becoming giddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the different mountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at noontide or in the evening, from the effects of the sun's rays; he made him observe the movements of the chamois when he gave a leap, so that he might fall firmly and lightly on his feet. he told him that when on the fissures of the rocks he could find no place for his feet, he must support himself on his elbows, and cling with his legs, and even lean firmly with his back, for this could be done when necessary. he told him also that the chamois are very cunning, they place lookers-out on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning than they are, and find them out by the scent. one day, when rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he hung a coat and hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois mistook it for a man, as they generally do. the mountain path was narrow here; indeed it was scarcely a path at all, only a kind of shelf, close to the yawning abyss. the snow that lay upon it was partially thawed, and the stones crumbled beneath the feet. every fragment of stone broken off struck the sides of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into the depths beneath, and sunk to rest. upon this shelf rudy's uncle laid himself down, and crept forward. at about a hundred paces behind him stood rudy, upon the highest point of the rock, watching a great vulture hovering in the air; with a single stroke of his wing the bird might easily cast the creeping hunter into the abyss beneath, and make him his prey. rudy's uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois, who, with its young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock. so rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the great creature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to discharge his gun at the proper moment. suddenly the chamois made a spring, and his uncle fired and struck the animal with the deadly bullet; while the young kid rushed away, as if for a long life he had been accustomed to danger and practised flight. the large bird, alarmed at the report of the gun, wheeled off in another direction, and rudy's uncle was saved from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was told of it by the boy. while they were both in pleasant mood, wending their way homewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had learnt in his young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound which seemed to come from the top of the mountain. they looked up, and saw above them, on the over-hanging rock, the snow-covering heave and lift itself as a piece of linen stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when the wind creeps under it. smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves of snow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with the rumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming cataract into the abyss. an avalanche had fallen, not upon rudy and his uncle, but very near them. alas, a great deal too near! "hold fast, rudy!" cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all your might." then rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest tree, while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the branches. the avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but the gust of wind that followed, like the storm-wings of the avalanche, snapped asunder the trees and bushes over which it swept, as if they had been but dry rushes, and threw them about in every direction. the tree to which rudy clung was thus overthrown, and rudy dashed to the ground. the higher branches were snapped off, and carried away to a great distance; and among these shattered branches lay rudy's uncle, with his skull fractured. when they found him, his hand was still warm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his face. rudy stood by, pale and trembling; it was the first shock of his life, the first time he had ever felt fear. late in the evening he returned home with the fatal news,--to that home which was now to be so full of sorrow. his uncle's wife uttered not a word, nor shed a tear, till the corpse was brought in; then her agony burst forth. the poor cretin crept away to his bed, and nothing was seen of him during the whole of the following day. towards evening, however, he came to rudy, and said, "will you write a letter for me? saperli cannot write; saperli can only take the letters to the post." "a letter for you!" said rudy; "who do you wish to write to?" "to the lord christ," he replied. "what do you mean?" asked rudy. then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called, looked at rudy with a most touching expression in his eyes, clasped his hands, and said, solemnly and devoutly, "saperli wants to send a letter to jesus christ, to pray him to let saperli die, and not the master of the house here." rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "a letter would not reach him up above; it would not give him back whom we have lost." it was not, however, easy for rudy to convince saperli of the impossibility of doing what he wished. "now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and rudy very soon became the entire support of the house. iv. babette who was the best marksman in the canton valais? the chamois knew well. "save yourselves from rudy," they might well say. and who is the handsomest marksman? "oh, it is rudy," said the maidens; but they did not say, "save yourselves from rudy." neither did anxious mothers say so; for he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the young girls. he was so brave and cheerful. his cheeks were brown, his teeth white, and his eyes dark and sparkling. he was now a handsome young man of twenty years. the most icy water could not deter him from swimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. none could climb like he, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the rocks as a limpet. he had strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock to rock. he had learnt this first from the cat, and more lately from the chamois. rudy was considered the best guide over the mountains; every one had great confidence in him. he might have made a great deal of money as guide. his uncle had also taught him the trade of a cooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was in chamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money. rudy would be a very good match, as people said, if he would not look above his own station. he was also such a famous partner in dancing, that the girls often dreamt about him, and one and another thought of him even when awake. "he kissed me in the dance," said annette, the schoolmaster's daughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought not to have told this, even to her dearest friend. it is not easy to keep such secrets; they are like sand in a sieve; they slip out. it was therefore soon known that rudy, so brave and so good as he was, had kissed some one while dancing, and yet he had never kissed her who was dearest to him. "ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed annette, has he? he has begun with a, and i suppose he will kiss through the whole alphabet." but a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accuse him of. he certainly had kissed annette, but she was not the flower of his heart. down in the valley, near bex, among the great walnut-trees, by the side of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. his dwelling-house was a large building, three storeys high, with little turrets. the roof was covered with chips, bound together with tin plates, that glittered in sunshine and in the moonlight. the largest of the turrets had a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced by a glittering arrow, in memory of william tell. the mill was a neat and well-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and written about; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to sketch or write about her. so, at least, rudy would have said, for her image was pictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quite a flame had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it had burst forth so suddenly, that the miller's daughter, the beautiful babette, was quite unaware of it. rudy had never spoken a word to her on the subject. the miller was rich, and, on that account, babette stood very high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. but said rudy to himself, "nothing is too high for a man to reach: he must climb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail." he had learnt this lesson in his youthful home. it happened once that rudy had some business to settle at bex. it was a long journey at that time, for the railway had not been opened. from the glaciers of the rhone, at the foot of the simplon, between its ever-changing mountain summits, stretches the valley of the canton valais. through it runs the noble river of the rhone, which often overflows its banks, covering fields and highways, and destroying everything in its course. near the towns of sion and st. maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, and behind st. maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space enough for the bed of the river and a narrow carriage-road. an old tower stands here, as if it were guardian to the canton valais, which ends at this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge to the toll-house on the other side, where the canton vaud commences. not far from this spot stands the town of bex, and at every step can be seen an increase of fruitfulness and verdure. it is like entering a grove of chestnut and walnut-trees. here and there the cypress and pomegranate blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as an italian climate. rudy arrived at bex, and soon finished the business which had brought him there, and then walked about the town; but not even the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one belonging to the mill, not to mention babette. this did not please him at all. evening came on. the air was filled with the perfume of the wild thyme and the blossoms of the lime-trees, and the green woods on the mountains seemed to be covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky. over everything reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, but as if nature were holding her breath, that her image might be photographed on the blue vault of heaven. here and there, amidst the trees of the silent valley, stood poles which supported the wires of the electric telegraph. against one of these poles leaned an object so motionless that it might have been mistaken for the trunk of a tree; but it was rudy, standing there as still as at that moment was everything around him. he was not asleep, neither was he dead; but just as the various events in the world--matters of momentous importance to individuals--were flying through the telegraph wires, without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so, through the mind of rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance were passing, without an outward sign of emotion. the happiness of his future life depended upon the decision of his present reflections. his eyes were fixed on one spot in the distance--a light that twinkled through the foliage from the parlor of the miller's house, where babette dwelt. rudy stood so still, that it might have been supposed he was watching for a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who will stand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the rock, and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly bound forward with a spring, far away from the hunter. and so with rudy: a sudden roll of his thoughts roused him from his stillness, and made him bound forward with determination to act. "never despair!" cried he. "a visit to the mill, to say good evening to the miller, and good evening to little babette, can do no harm. no one ever fails who has confidence in himself. if i am to be babette's husband, i must see her some time or other." then rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the mill. he knew what he wanted; he wanted to marry babette. the clear water of the river rolled over its yellow bed, and willows and lime-trees were reflected in it, as rudy stepped along the path to the miller's house. but, as the children sing-- "there was no one at home in the house, only a kitten at play." the cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried "mew." but rudy had no inclination for this sort of conversation; he passed on, and knocked at the door. no one heard him, no one opened the door. "mew," said the cat again; and had rudy been still a child, he would have understood this language, and known that the cat wished to tell him there was no one at home. so he was obliged to go to the mill and make inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on a journey to interlachen, and taken babette with him, to the great shooting festival, which began that morning, and would continue for eight days, and that people from all the german settlements would be there. poor rudy! we may well say. it was not a fortunate day for his visit to bex. he had just to return the way he came, through st. maurice and sion, to his home in the valley. but he did not despair. when the sun rose the next morning, his good spirits had returned; indeed he had never really lost them. "babette is at interlachen," said rudy to himself, "many days' journey from here. it is certainly a long way for any one who takes the high-road, but not so far if he takes a short cut across the mountain, and that just suits a chamois-hunter. i have been that way before, for it leads to the home of my childhood, where, as a little boy, i lived with my grandfather. and there are shooting matches at interlachen. i will go, and try to stand first in the match. babette will be there, and i shall be able to make her acquaintance." carrying his light knapsack, which contained his sunday clothes, on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder, rudy started to take the shortest way across the mountain. still it was a great distance. the shooting matches were to commence on that day, and to continue for a whole week. he had been told also that the miller and babette would remain that time with some relatives at interlachen. so over the gemmi rudy climbed bravely, and determined to descend the side of the grindelwald. bright and joyous were his feelings as he stepped lightly onwards, inhaling the invigorating mountain air. the valley sunk as he ascended, the circle of the horizon expanded. one snow-capped peak after another rose before him, till the whole of the glittering alpine range became visible. rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards the schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high in the air. at length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before him lay the green pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which was once his home. the buoyancy of the air made his heart light. hill and valley were blooming in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were youthful dreams, in which old age or death were out of the question. life, power, and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free and light as a bird. and the swallows flew round him, as in the days of his childhood, singing "we and you--you and we." all was overflowing with joy. beneath him lay the meadows, covered with velvety green, with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted here and there were small wooden houses. he could see the edges of the glaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and the deep chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. the church bells were ringing, as if to welcome him to his home with their sweet tones. his heart beat quickly, and for a moment he seemed to have foregotten babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. he was, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where, when a little boy, he, with other children, came to sell their curiously carved toy houses. yonder, behind the fir-trees, still stood his grandfather's house, his mother's father, but strangers dwelt in it now. children came running to him, as he had once done, and wished to sell their wares. one of them offered him an alpine rose. rudy took the rose as a good omen, and thought of babette. he quickly crossed the bridge where the two rivers flow into each other. here he found a walk over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thick foliage formed a pleasant shade. very soon he perceived in the distance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a red ground--the standard of the danes as well as of the swiss--and before him lay interlachen. "it is really a splendid town, like none other that i have ever seen," said rudy to himself. it was indeed a swiss town in its holiday dress. not like the many other towns, crowded with heavy stone houses, stiff and foreign looking. no; here it seemed as if the wooden houses on the hills had run into the valley, and placed themselves in rows and ranks by the side of the clear river, which rushes like an arrow in its course. the streets were rather irregular, it is true, but still this added to their picturesque appearance. there was one street which rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it had been built since he had visited the town when a little boy. it seemed to him as if all the neatest and most curiously carved toy houses which his grandfather once kept in the large cupboard at home, had been brought out and placed in this spot, and that they had increased in size since then, as the old chestnut trees had done. the houses were called hotels; the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiously carved. the roofs were gayly painted, and before each house was a flower garden, which separated it from the macadamized high-road. these houses all stood on the same side of the road, so that the fresh, green meadows, in which were cows grazing, with bells on their necks, were not hidden. the sound of these bells is often heard amidst alpine scenery. these meadows were encircled by lofty hills, which receded a little in the centre, so that the most beautifully formed of swiss mountains--the snow-crowned jungfrau--could be distinctly seen glittering in the distance. a number of elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, and crowds of country people from the neighboring cantons, were assembled in the town. each marksman wore the number of hits he had made twisted in a garland round his hat. here were music and singing of all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting, and noise. the houses and bridges were adorned with verses and inscriptions. flags and banners were waving. shot after shot was fired, which was the best music to rudy's ears. and amidst all this excitement he quite forgot babette, on whose account only he had come. the shooters were thronging round the target, and rudy was soon amongst them. but when he took his turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for he always struck the bull's-eye. "who may that young stranger be?" was the inquiry on all sides. "he speaks french as it is spoken in the swiss cantons." "and makes himself understood very well when he speaks german," said some. "he lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a house on the road to grindelwald," remarked one of the sportsmen. and full of life was this young stranger; his eyes sparkled, his glance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore he always hit the mark. good fortune gives courage, and rudy was always courageous. he soon had a circle of friends gathered round him. every one noticed him, and did him homage. babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, when he was struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice said to him in french, "you are from the canton valais." rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant face, and a stout figure. it was the rich miller from bex. his broad, portly person, hid the slender, lovely babette; but she came forward and glanced at him with her bright, dark eyes. the rich miller was very much flattered at the thought that the young man, who was acknowledged to be the best shot, and was so praised by every one, should be from his own canton. now was rudy really fortunate: he had travelled all this way to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come to seek him. when country people go far from home, they often meet with those they know, and improve their acquaintance. rudy, by his shooting, had gained the first place in the shooting-match, just as the miller at home at bex stood first, because of his money and his mill. so the two men shook hands, which they had never done before. babette, too, held out her hand to rudy frankly, and he pressed it in his, and looked at her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. the miller talked of the long journey they had travelled, and of the many towns they had seen. it was his opinion that he had really made as great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a railway carriage, or a post-chaise. "i came by a much shorter way," said rudy; "i came over the mountains. there is no road so high that a man may not venture upon it." "ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you look like one who will break his neck some day, you are so daring." "oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence in himself," replied rudy. the miller's relations at interlachen, with whom the miller and babette were staying, invited rudy to visit them, when they found he came from the same canton as the miller. it was a most pleasant visit. good fortune seemed to follow him, as it does those who think and act for themselves, and who remember the proverb, "nuts are given to us, but they are not cracked for us." and rudy was treated by the miller's relations almost like one of the family, and glasses of wine were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter. babette clinked glasses with rudy, and he returned thanks for the toast. in the evening they all took a delightful walk under the walnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there were so many people, and such crowding, that rudy was obliged to offer his arm to babette. then he told her how happy it made him to meet people from the canton vaud,--for vaud and valais were neighboring cantons. he spoke of this pleasure so heartily that babette could not resist giving his arm a slight squeeze; and so they walked on together, and talked and chatted like old acquaintances. rudy felt inclined to laugh sometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies; but babette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew there must be some good, excellent people amongst them; she, herself, had a godmother, who was a high-born english lady. eighteen years before, when babette was christened, this lady was staying at bex, and she stood godmother for her, and gave her the valuable brooch she now wore in her bosom. her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she was expected to visit interlachen with her two daughters; "but they are old-maids," added babette, who was only eighteen: "they are nearly thirty." her sweet little mouth was never still a moment, and all that she said sounded in rudy's ears as matters of the greatest importance, and at last he told her what he was longing to tell. how often he had been at bex, how well he knew the mill, and how often he had seen babette, when most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly, that full of many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been to the mill on the evening when she and her father has started on their long journey, but not too far for him to find a way to overtake them. he told her all this, and a great deal more; he told her how much he could endure for her; and that it was to see her, and not the shooting-match, which had brought him to interlachen. babette became quite silent after hearing all this; it was almost too much, and it troubled her. and while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the lofty mountains. the jungfrau stood out in brightness and splendor, as a back-ground to the green woods of the surrounding hills. every one stood still to look at the beautiful sight, rudy and babette among them. "nothing can be more beautiful than this," said babette. "nothing!" replied rudy, looking at babette. "to-morrow i must return home," remarked rudy a few minutes afterwards. "come and visit us at bex," whispered babette; "my father will be pleased to see you." v. on the way home oh, what a number of things rudy had to carry over the mountains, when he set out to return home! he had three silver cups, two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. this latter would be useful when he began housekeeping. but all these were not the heaviest weight he had to bear; something mightier and more important he carried with him in his heart, over the high mountains, as he journeyed homeward. the weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the clouds hung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the mountains, and shrouded their glittering peaks. in the woods could be heard the sound of the axe and the heavy fall of the trunks of the trees, as they rolled down the slopes of the mountains. when seen from the heights, the trunks of these trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearer inspection they were found to be large and strong enough for the masts of a ship. the river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled, and the clouds sailed along hurriedly. suddenly there appeared, close by rudy's side, a young maiden; he had not noticed her till she came quite near to him. she was also going to ascend the mountain. the maiden's eyes shone with an unearthly power, which obliged you to look into them; they were strange eyes,--clear, deep, and unfathomable. "hast thou a lover?" asked rudy; all his thoughts were naturally on love just then. "i have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was as if she had not spoken the truth. "do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "we must keep to the left; it is much shorter." "ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. do you pretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than that?" "i know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts are collected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. we should think of the ice maiden while we are up here; men say she is not kind to their race." "i fear her not," said rudy. "she could not keep me when i was a child; i will not give myself up to her now i am a man." darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to snow, and the whiteness dazzled the eyes. "give me your hand," said the maiden; "i will help you to mount." and he felt the touch of her icy fingers. "you help me," cried rudy; "i do not yet require a woman to help me to climb." and he stepped quickly forwards away from her. the drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them, the wind whistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden laughing and singing, and the sound was most strange to hear. "it certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the ice maiden," thought rudy, who had heard such things talked about when he was a little boy, and had stayed all night on the mountain with the guides. the snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath him; he looked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard sounds of mocking laughter, which were not those of a human voice. when rudy at length reached the highest part of the mountain, where the path led down to the valley of the rhone, the snow had ceased, and in the clear heavens he saw two bright stars twinkling. they reminded him of babette and of himself, and of his future happiness, and his heart glowed at the thought. vi. the visit to the mill "what beautiful things you have brought home!" said his old foster-mother; and her strange-looking eagle-eyes sparkled, while she wriggled and twisted her skinny neck more quickly and strangely than ever. "you have brought good luck with you, rudy. i must give you a kiss, my dear boy." rudy allowed himself to be kissed; but it could be seen by his countenance that he only endured the infliction as a homely duty. "how handsome you are, rudy!" said the old woman. "don't flatter," said rudy, with a laugh; but still he was pleased. "i must say once more," said the old woman, "that you are very lucky." "well, in that i believe you are right," said he, as he thought of babette. never had he felt such a longing for that deep valley as he now had. "they must have returned home by this time," said he to himself, "it is already two days over the time which they fixed upon. i must go to bex." so rudy set out to go to bex; and when he arrived there, he found the miller and his daughter at home. they received him kindly, and brought him many greetings from their friends at interlachen. babette did not say much. she seemed to have become quite silent; but her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for rudy. the miller had generally a great deal to talk about, and seemed to expect that every one should listen to his jokes, and laugh at them; for was not he the rich miller? but now he was more inclined to hear rudy's adventures while hunting and travelling, and to listen to his descriptions of the difficulties the chamois-hunter has to overcome on the mountain-tops, or of the dangerous snow-drifts which the wind and weather cause to cling to the edges of the rocks, or to lie in the form of a frail bridge over the abyss beneath. the eyes of the brave rudy sparkled as he described the life of a hunter, or spoke of the cunning of the chamois and their wonderful leaps; also of the powerful fohn and the rolling avalanche. he noticed that the more he described, the more interested the miller became, especially when he spoke of the fierce vulture and of the royal eagle. not far from bex, in the canton valais, was an eagle's nest, more curiously built under a high, over-hanging rock. in this nest was a young eagle; but who would venture to take it? a young englishman had offered rudy a whole handful of gold, if he would bring him the young eagle alive. "there is a limit to everything," was rudy's reply. "the eagle could not be taken; it would be folly to attempt it." the wine was passed round freely, and the conversation kept up pleasantly; but the evening seemed too short for rudy, although it was midnight when he left the miller's house, after this his first visit. while the lights in the windows of the miller's house still twinkled through the green foliage, out through the open skylight came the parlor-cat on to the roof, and along the water-pipe walked the kitchen-cat to meet her. "what is the news at the mill?" asked the parlor-cat. "here in the house there is secret love-making going on, which the father knows nothing about. rudy and babette have been treading on each other's paws, under the table, all the evening. they trod on my tail twice, but i did not mew; that would have attracted notice." "well, i should have mewed," said the kitchen-cat. "what might suit the kitchen would not suit the parlor," said the other. "i am quite curious to know what the miller will say when he finds out this engagement." yes, indeed; what would the miller say? rudy himself was anxious to know that; but to wait till the miller heard of it from others was out of the question. therefore, not many days after this visit, he was riding in the omnibus that runs between the two cantons, valais and vaud. these cantons are separated by the rhone, over which is a bridge that unites them. rudy, as usual, had plenty of courage, and indulged in pleasant thoughts of the favorable answer he should receive that evening. and when the omnibus returned, rudy was again seated in it, going homewards; and at the same time the parlor-cat at the miller's house ran out quickly, crying,-- "here, you from the kitchen, what do you think? the miller knows all now. everything has come to a delightful end. rudy came here this evening, and he and babette had much whispering and secret conversation together. they stood in the path near the miller's room. i lay at their feet; but they had no eyes or thoughts for me. "'i will go to your father at once,' said he; 'it is the most honorable way.' "'shall i go with you?' asked babette; 'it will give you courage.' "'i have plenty of courage,' said rudy; 'but if you are with me, he must be friendly, whether he says yes or no.' "so they turned to go in, and rudy trod heavily on my tail; he certainly is very clumsy. i mewed; but neither he nor babette had any ears for me. they opened the door, and entered together. i was before them, and jumped on the back of a chair. i hardly know what rudy said; but the miller flew into a rage, and threatened to kick him out of the house. he told him he might go to the mountains, and look after the chamois, but not after our little babette." "and what did they say? did they speak?" asked the kitchen-cat. "what did they say! why, all that people generally do say when they go a-wooing--'i love her, and she loves me; and when there is milk in the can for one, there is milk in the can for two.' "'but she is so far above you,' said the miller; 'she has heaps of gold, as you know. you should not attempt to reach her.' "'there is nothing so high that a man cannot reach, if he will,' answered rudy; for he is a brave youth. "'yet you could not reach the young eagle,' said the miller, laughing. 'babette is higher than the eagle's nest.' "'i will have them both,' said rudy. "'very well; i will give her to you when you bring me the young eaglet alive,' said the miller; and he laughed till the tears stood in his eyes. 'but now i thank you for this visit, rudy; and if you come to-morrow, you will find nobody at home. good-bye, rudy.' "babette also wished him farewell; but her voice sounded as mournful as the mew of a little kitten that has lost its mother. "'a promise is a promise between man and man,' said rudy. 'do not weep, babette; i shall bring the young eagle.' "'you will break your neck, i hope,' said the miller, 'and we shall be relieved from your company.' "i call that kicking him out of the house," said the parlor-cat. "and now rudy is gone, and babette sits and weeps, while the miller sings german songs that he learnt on his journey; but i do not trouble myself on the matter,--it would be of no use." "yet, for all that, it is a very strange affair," said the kitchen-cat. vii. the eagle's nest from the mountain-path came a joyous sound of some person whistling, and it betokened good humor and undaunted courage. it was rudy, going to meet his friend vesinaud. "you must come and help," said he. "i want to carry off the young eaglet from the top of the rock. we will take young ragli with us." "had you not better first try to take down the moon? that would be quite as easy a task," said vesinaud. "you seem to be in good spirits." "yes, indeed i am. i am thinking of my wedding. but to be serious, i will tell you all about it, and how i am situated." then he explained to vesinaud and ragli what he wished to do, and why. "you are a daring fellow," said they; "but it is no use; you will break your neck." "no one falls, unless he is afraid," said rudy. so at midnight they set out, carrying with them poles, ladders, and ropes. the road lay amidst brushwood and underwood, over rolling stones, always upwards higher and higher in the dark night. waters roared beneath them, or fell in cascades from above. humid clouds were driving through the air as the hunters reached the precipitous ledge of the rock. it was even darker here, for the sides of the rocks almost met, and the light penetrated only through a small opening at the top. at a little distance from the edge could be heard the sound of the roaring, foaming waters in the yawning abyss beneath them. the three seated themselves on a stone, to await in stillness the dawn of day, when the parent eagle would fly out, as it would be necessary to shoot the old bird before they could think of gaining possession of the young one. rudy sat motionless, as if he had been part of the stone on which he sat. he held his gun ready to fire, with his eyes fixed steadily on the highest point of the cliff, where the eagle's nest lay concealed beneath the overhanging rock. the three hunters had a long time to wait. at last they heard a rustling, whirring sound above them, and a large hovering object darkened the air. two guns were ready to aim at the dark body of the eagle as it rose from the nest. then a shot was fired; for an instant the bird fluttered its wide-spreading wings, and seemed as if it would fill up the whole of the chasm, and drag down the hunters in its fall. but it was not so; the eagle sunk gradually into the abyss beneath, and the branches of trees and bushes were broken by its weight. then the hunters roused themselves: three of the longest ladders were brought and bound together; the topmost ring of these ladders would just reach the edge of the rock which hung over the abyss, but no farther. the point beneath which the eagle's nest lay sheltered was much higher, and the sides of the rock were as smooth as a wall. after consulting together, they determined to bind together two more ladders, and to hoist them over the cavity, and so form a communication with the three beneath them, by binding the upper ones to the lower. with great difficulty they contrived to drag the two ladders over the rock, and there they hung for some moments, swaying over the abyss; but no sooner had they fastened them together, than rudy placed his foot on the lowest step. it was a bitterly cold morning; clouds of mist were rising from beneath, and rudy stood on the lower step of the ladder as a fly rests on a piece of swinging straw, which a bird may have dropped from the edge of the nest it was building on some tall factory chimney; but the fly could fly away if the straw were shaken, rudy could only break his neck. the wind whistled around him, and beneath him the waters of the abyss, swelled by the thawing of the glaciers, those palaces of the ice maiden, foamed and roared in their rapid course. when rudy began to ascend, the ladder trembled like the web of the spider, when it draws out the long, delicate threads; but as soon as he reached the fourth of the ladders, which had been bound together, he felt more confidence,--he knew that they had been fastened securely by skilful hands. the fifth ladder, that appeared to reach the nest, was supported by the sides of the rock, yet it swung to and fro, and flapped about like a slender reed, and as if it had been bound by fishing lines. it seemed a most dangerous undertaking to ascend it, but rudy knew how to climb; he had learnt that from the cat, and he had no fear. he did not observe vertigo, who stood in the air behind him, trying to lay hold of him with his outstretched polypous arms. when at length he stood on the topmost step of the ladder, he found that he was still some distance below the nest, and not even able to see into it. only by using his hands and climbing could he possibly reach it. he tried the strength of the stunted trees, and the thick underwood upon which the nest rested, and of which it was formed, and finding they would support his weight, he grasped them firmly, and swung himself up from the ladder till his head and breast were above the nest, and then what an overpowering stench came from it, for in it lay the putrid remains of lambs, chamois, and birds. vertigo, although he could not reach him, blew the poisonous vapor in his face, to make him giddy and faint; and beneath, in the dark, yawning deep, on the rushing waters, sat the ice maiden, with her long, pale, green hair falling around her, and her death-like eyes fixed upon him, like the two barrels of a gun. "i have thee now," she cried. in a corner of the eagle's nest sat the young eaglet, a large and powerful bird, though still unable to fly. rudy fixed his eyes upon it, held on by one hand with all his strength, and with the other threw a noose round the young eagle. the string slipped to its legs. rudy tightened it, and thus secured the bird alive. then flinging the sling over his shoulder, so that the creature hung a good way down behind him, he prepared to descend with the help of a rope, and his foot soon touched safely the highest step of the ladder. then rudy, remembering his early lesson in climbing, "hold fast, and do not fear," descended carefully down the ladders, and at last stood safely on the ground with the young living eaglet, where he was received with loud shouts of joy and congratulations. viii. what fresh news the parlor-cat had to tell "there is what you asked for," said rudy, as he entered the miller's house at bex, and placed on the floor a large basket. he removed the lid as he spoke, and a pair of yellow eyes, encircled by a black ring, stared forth with a wild, fiery glance, that seemed ready to burn and destroy all that came in its way. its short, strong beak was open, ready to bite, and on its red throat were short feathers, like stubble. "the young eaglet!" cried the miller. babette screamed, and started back, while her eyes wandered from rudy to the bird in astonishment. "you are not to be discouraged by difficulties, i see," said the miller. "and you will keep your word," replied rudy. "each has his own characteristic, whether it is honor or courage." "but how is it you did not break your neck?" asked the miller. "because i held fast," answered rudy; "and i mean to hold fast to babette." "you must get her first," said the miller, laughing; and babette thought this a very good sign. "we must take the bird out of the basket," said she. "it is getting into a rage; how its eyes glare. how did you manage to conquer it?" then rudy had to describe his adventure, and the miller's eyes opened wide as he listened. "with your courage and your good fortune you might win three wives," said the miller. "oh, thank you," cried rudy. "but you have not won babette yet," said the miller, slapping the young alpine hunter on the shoulder playfully. "have you heard the fresh news at the mill?" asked the parlor-cat of the kitchen-cat. "rudy has brought us the young eagle, and he is to take babette in exchange. they kissed each other in the presence of the old man, which is as good as an engagement. he was quite civil about it; drew in his claws, and took his afternoon nap, so that the two were left to sit and wag their tails as much as they pleased. they have so much to talk about that it will not be finished till christmas." neither was it finished till christmas. the wind whirled the faded, fallen leaves; the snow drifted in the valleys, as well as upon the mountains, and the ice maiden sat in the stately palace which, in winter time, she generally occupied. the perpendicular rocks were covered with slippery ice, and where in summer the stream from the rocks had left a watery veil, icicles large and heavy hung from the trees, while the snow-powdered fir-trees were decorated with fantastic garlands of crystal. the ice maiden rode on the howling wind across the deep valleys, the country, as far as bex, was covered with a carpet of snow, so that the ice maiden could follow rudy, and see him, when he visited the mill; and while in the room at the miller's house, where he was accustomed to spend so much of his time with babette. the wedding was to take place in the following summer, and they heard enough of it, for so many of their friends spoke of the matter. then came sunshine to the mill. the beautiful alpine roses bloomed, and joyous, laughing babette, was like the early spring, which makes all the birds sing of summer time and bridal days. "how those two do sit and chatter together," said the parlor-cat; "i have had enough of their mewing." ix. the ice maiden the walnut and chestnut trees, which extend from the bridge of st. maurice, by the river rhone, to the shores of the lake of geneva, were already covered with the delicate green garlands of early spring, just bursting into bloom, while the rhone rushed wildly from its source among the green glaciers which form the ice palace of the ice maiden. she sometimes allows herself to be carried by the keen wind to the lofty snow-fields, where she stretches herself in the sunshine on the soft snowy-cushions. from thence she throws her far-seeing glance into the deep valley beneath, where human beings are busily moving about like ants on a stone in the sun. "spirits of strength, as the children of the sun call you," cried the ice maiden, "ye are but worms! let but a snow-ball roll, and you and your houses and your towns are crushed and swept away." and she raised her proud head, and looked around her with eyes that flashed death from their glance. from the valley came a rumbling sound; men were busily at work blasting the rocks to form tunnels, and laying down roads for the railway. "they are playing at work underground, like moles," said she. "they are digging passages beneath the earth, and the noise is like the reports of cannons. i shall throw down my palaces, for the clamor is louder than the roar of thunder." then there ascended from the valley a thick vapor, which waved itself in the air like a fluttering veil. it rose, as a plume of feathers, from a steam engine, to which, on the lately-opened railway, a string of carriages was linked, carriage to carriage, looking like a winding serpent. the train shot past with the speed of an arrow. "they play at being masters down there, those spirits of strength!" exclaimed the ice maiden; "but the powers of nature are still the rulers." and she laughed and sang till her voice sounded through the valley, and people said it was the rolling of an avalanche. but the children of the sun sang in louder strains in praise of the mind of man, which can span the sea as with a yoke, can level mountains, and fill up valleys. it is the power of thought which gives man the mastery over nature. just at this moment there came across the snow-field, where the ice maiden sat, a party of travellers. they had bound themselves fast to each other, so that they looked like one large body on the slippery plains of ice encircling the deep abyss. "worms!" exclaimed the ice maiden. "you, the lords of the powers of nature!" and she turned away and looked maliciously at the deep valley where the railway train was rushing by. "there they sit, these thoughts!" she exclaimed. "there they sit in their power over nature's strength. i see them all. one sits proudly apart, like a king; others sit together in a group; yonder, half of them are asleep; and when the steam dragon stops, they will get out and go their way. the thoughts go forth into the world," and she laughed. "there goes another avalanche," said those in the valley beneath. "it will not reach us," said two who sat together behind the steam dragon. "two hearts and one beat," as people say. they were rudy and babette, and the miller was with them. "i am like the luggage," said he; "i am here as a necessary appendage." "there sit those two," said the ice maiden. "many a chamois have i crushed. millions of alpine roses have i snapped and broken off; not a root have i spared. i know them all, and their thoughts, those spirits of strength!" and again she laughed. "there rolls another avalanche," said those in the valley. x. the godmother at montreux, one of the towns which encircle the northeast part of the lake of geneva, lived babette's godmother, the noble english lady, with her daughters and a young relative. they had only lately arrived, yet the miller had paid them a visit, and informed them of babette's engagement to rudy. the whole story of their meeting at interlachen, and his brave adventure with the eaglet, were related to them, and they were all very much interested, and as pleased about rudy and babette as the miller himself. the three were invited to come to montreux; it was but right for babette to become acquainted with her godmother, who wished to see her very much. a steam-boat started from the town of villeneuve, at one end of the lake of geneva, and arrived at bernex, a little town beyond montreux, in about half an hour. and in this boat, the miller, with his daughter and rudy, set out to visit her godmother. they passed the coast which has been so celebrated in song. here, under the walnut-trees, by the deep blue lake, sat byron, and wrote his melodious verses about the prisoner confined in the gloomy castle of chillon. here, where clarens, with its weeping-willows, is reflected in the clear water, wandered rousseau, dreaming of heloise. the river rhone glides gently by beneath the lofty snow-capped hills of savoy, and not far from its mouth lies a little island in the lake, so small that, seen from the shore, it looks like a ship. the surface of the island is rocky; and about a hundred years ago, a lady caused the ground to be covered with earth, in which three acacia-trees were planted, and the whole enclosed with stone walls. the acacia-trees now overshadow every part of the island. babette was enchanted with the spot; it seemed to her the most beautiful object in the whole voyage, and she thought how much she should like to land there. but the steam-ship passed it by, and did not stop till it reached bernex. the little party walked slowly from this place to montreux, passing the sun-lit walls with which the vineyards of the little mountain town of montreux are surrounded, and peasants' houses, overshadowed by fig-trees, with gardens in which grow the laurel and the cypress. halfway up the hill stood the boarding-house in which babette's godmother resided. she was received most cordially; her godmother was a very friendly woman, with a round, smiling countenance. when a child, her head must have resembled one of raphael's cherubs; it was still an angelic face, with its white locks of silvery hair. the daughters were tall, elegant, slender maidens. the young cousin, whom they had brought with them, was dressed in white from head to foot; he had golden hair and golden whiskers, large enough to be divided amongst three gentlemen; and he began immediately to pay the greatest attention to babette. richly bound books, note-paper, and drawings, lay on the large table. the balcony window stood open, and from it could be seen the beautiful wide extended lake, the water so clear and still, that the mountains of savoy, with their villages, woods, and snow-crowned peaks, were clearly reflected in it. rudy, who was usually so lively and brave, did not in the least feel himself at home; he acted as if he were walking on peas, over a slippery floor. how long and wearisome the time appeared; it was like being in a treadmill. and then they went out for a walk, which was very slow and tedious. two steps forward and one backwards had rudy to take to keep pace with the others. they walked down to chillon, and went over the old castle on the rocky island. they saw the implements of torture, the deadly dungeons, the rusty fetters in the rocky walls, the stone benches for those condemned to death, the trap-doors through which the unhappy creatures were hurled upon iron spikes, and impaled alive. they called looking at all these a pleasure. it certainly was the right place to visit. byron's poetry had made it celebrated in the world. rudy could only feel that it was a place of execution. he leaned against the stone framework of the window, and gazed down into the deep, blue water, and over to the little island with the three acacias, and wished himself there, away and free from the whole chattering party. but babette was most unusually lively and good-tempered. "i have been so amused," she said. the cousin had found her quite perfect. "he is a perfect fop," said rudy; and this was the first time rudy had said anything that did not please babette. the englishman had made her a present of a little book, in remembrance of their visit to chillon. it was byron's poem, "the prisoner of chillon," translated into french, so that babette could read it. "the book may be very good," said rudy; "but that finely combed fellow who gave it to you is not worth much." "he looks something like a flour-sack without any flour," said the miller, laughing at his own wit. rudy laughed, too, for so had he appeared to him. xi. the cousin when rudy went a few days after to pay a visit to the mill, he found the young englishman there. babette was just thinking of preparing some trout to set before him. she understood well how to garnish the dish with parsley, and make it look quite tempting. rudy thought all this quite unnecessary. what did the englishman want there? what was he about? why should he be entertained, and waited upon by babette? rudy was jealous, and that made babette happy. it amused her to discover all the feelings of his heart; the strong points and weak ones. love was to her as yet only a pastime, and she played with rudy's whole heart. at the same time it must be acknowledged that her fortune, her whole life, her inmost thoughts, her best and most noble feelings in this world were all for him. still the more gloomy he looked, the more her eyes laughed. she could almost have kissed the fair englishman, with the golden whiskers, if by so doing she could have put rudy in a rage, and made him run out of the house. that would have proved how much he loved her. all this was not right in babette, but she was only nineteen years of age, and she did not reflect on what she did, neither did she think that her conduct would appear to the young englishman as light, and not even becoming the modest and much-loved daughter of the miller. the mill at bex stood in the highway, which passed under the snow-clad mountains, and not far from a rapid mountain-stream, whose waters seemed to have been lashed into a foam like soap-suds. this stream, however, did not pass near enough to the mill, and therefore the mill-wheel was turned by a smaller stream which tumbled down the rocks on the opposite side, where it was opposed by a stone mill-dam, and obtained greater strength and speed, till it fell into a large basin, and from thence through a channel to the mill-wheel. this channel sometimes overflowed, and made the path so slippery that any one passing that way might easily fall in, and be carried towards the mill wheel with frightful rapidity. such a catastrophe nearly happened to the young englishman. he had dressed himself in white clothes, like a miller's man, and was climbing the path to the miller's house, but he had never been taught to climb, and therefore slipped, and nearly went in head-foremost. he managed, however, to scramble out with wet sleeves and bespattered trousers. still, wet and splashed with mud, he contrived to reach babette's window, to which he had been guided by the light that shone from it. here he climbed the old linden-tree that stood near it, and began to imitate the voice of an owl, the only bird he could venture to mimic. babette heard the noise, and glanced through the thin window curtain; but when she saw the man in white, and guessed who he was, her little heart beat with terror as well as anger. she quickly put out the light, felt if the fastening of the window was secure, and then left him to howl as long as he liked. how dreadful it would be, thought babette, if rudy were here in the house. but rudy was not in the house. no, it was much worse, he was outside, standing just under the linden-tree. he was speaking loud, angry words. he could fight, and there might be murder! babette opened the window in alarm, and called rudy's name; she told him to go away, she did not wish him to remain there. "you do not wish me to stay," cried he; "then this is an appointment you expected--this good friend whom you prefer to me. shame on you, babette!" "you are detestable!" exclaimed babette, bursting into tears. "go away. i hate you." "i have not deserved this," said rudy, as he turned away, his cheeks burning, and his heart like fire. babette threw herself on the bed, and wept bitterly. "so much as i loved thee, rudy, and yet thou canst think ill of me." thus her anger broke forth; it relieved her, however: otherwise she would have been more deeply grieved; but now she could sleep soundly, as youth only can sleep. xii. evil powers rudy left bex, and took his way home along the mountain path. the air was fresh, but cold; for here amidst the deep snow, the ice maiden reigned. he was so high up that the large trees beneath him, with their thick foliage, appeared like garden plants, and the pines and bushes even less. the alpine roses grew near the snow, which lay in detached stripes, and looked like linen laid out to bleach. a blue gentian grew in his path, and he crushed it with the butt end of his gun. a little higher up, he espied two chamois. rudy's eyes glistened, and his thoughts flew at once in a different direction; but he was not near enough to take a sure aim. he ascended still higher, to a spot where a few rough blades of grass grew between the blocks of stone and the chamois passed quietly on over the snow-fields. rudy walked hurriedly, while the clouds of mist gathered round him. suddenly he found himself on the brink of a precipitous rock. the rain was falling in torrents. he felt a burning thirst, his head was hot, and his limbs trembled with cold. he seized his hunting-flask, but it was empty; he had not thought of filling it before ascending the mountain. he had never been ill in his life, nor ever experienced such sensations as those he now felt. he was so tired that he could scarcely resist lying down at his full length to sleep, although the ground was flooded with the rain. yet when he tried to rouse himself a little, every object around him danced and trembled before his eyes. suddenly he observed in the doorway of a hut newly built under the rock, a young maiden. he did not remember having seen this hut before, yet there it stood; and he thought, at first, that the young maiden was annette, the schoolmaster's daughter, whom he had once kissed in the dance. the maiden was not annette; yet it seemed as if he had seen her somewhere before, perhaps near grindelwald, on the evening of his return home from interlachen, after the shooting-match. "how did you come here?" he asked. "i am at home," she replied; "i am watching my flocks." "your flocks!" he exclaimed; "where do they find pasture? there is nothing here but snow and rocks." "much you know of what grows here," she replied, laughing. "not far beneath us there is beautiful pasture-land. my goats go there. i tend them carefully; i never miss one. what is once mine remains mine." "you are bold," said rudy. "and so are you," she answered. "have you any milk in the house?" he asked; "if so, give me some to drink; my thirst is intolerable." "i have something better than milk," she replied, "which i will give you. some travellers who were here yesterday with their guide left behind them a half a flask of wine, such as you have never tasted. they will not come back to fetch it, i know, and i shall not drink it; so you shall have it." then the maiden went to fetch the wine, poured some into a wooden cup, and offered it to rudy. "how good it is!" said he; "i have never before tasted such warm, invigorating wine." and his eyes sparkled with new life; a glow diffused itself over his frame; it seemed as if every sorrow, every oppression were banished from his mind, and a fresh, free nature were stirring within him. "you are surely annette, the schoolmaster's daughter," cried he; "will you give me a kiss?" "yes, if you will give me that beautiful ring which you wear on your finger." "my betrothal ring?" he replied. "yes, just so," said the maiden, as she poured out some more wine, and held it to his lips. again he drank, and a living joy streamed through every vein. "the whole world is mine, why therefore should i grieve?" thought he. "everything is created for our enjoyment and happiness. the stream of life is a stream of happiness; let us flow on with it to joy and felicity." rudy gazed on the young maiden; it was annette, and yet it was not annette; still less did he suppose it was the spectral phantom, whom he had met near grindelwald. the maiden up here on the mountain was fresh as the new fallen snow, blooming as an alpine rose, and as nimble-footed as a young kid. still, she was one of adam's race, like rudy. he flung his arms round the beautiful being, and gazed into her wonderfully clear eyes,--only for a moment; but in that moment words cannot express the effect of his gaze. was it the spirit of life or of death that overpowered him? was he rising higher, or sinking lower and lower into the deep, deadly abyss? he knew not; but the walls of ice shone like blue-green glass; innumerable clefts yawned around him, and the water-drops tinkled like the chiming of church bells, and shone clearly as pearls in the light of a pale-blue flame. the ice maiden, for she it was, kissed him, and her kiss sent a chill as of ice through his whole frame. a cry of agony escaped from him; he struggled to get free, and tottered from her. for a moment all was dark before his eyes, but when he opened them again it was light, and the alpine maiden had vanished. the powers of evil had played their game; the sheltering hut was no more to be seen. the water trickled down the naked sides of the rocks, and snow lay thickly all around. rudy shivered with cold; he was wet through to the skin; and his ring was gone,--the betrothal ring that babette had given him. his gun lay near him in the snow; he took it up and tried to discharge it, but it missed fire. heavy clouds lay on the mountain clefts, like firm masses of snow. upon one of these vertigo sat, lurking after his powerless prey, and from beneath came a sound as if a piece of rock had fallen from the cleft, and was crushing everything that stood in its way or opposed its course. but, at the miller's, babette sat alone and wept. rudy had not been to see her for six days. he who was in the wrong, and who ought to ask her forgiveness; for did she not love him with her whole heart? xiii. at the mill "what strange creatures human beings are," said the parlor-cat to the kitchen-cat; "babette and rudy have fallen out with each other. she sits and cries, and he thinks no more about her." "that does not please me to hear," said the kitchen-cat. "nor me either," replied the parlor-cat; "but i do not take it to heart. babette may fall in love with the red whiskers, if she likes, but he has not been here since he tried to get on the roof." the powers of evil carry on their game both around us and within us. rudy knew this, and thought a great deal about it. what was it that had happened to him on the mountain? was it really a ghostly apparition, or a fever dream? rudy knew nothing of fever, or any other ailment. but, while he judged babette, he began to examine his own conduct. he had allowed wild thoughts to chase each other in his heart, and a fierce tornado to break loose. could he confess to babette, indeed, every thought which in the hour of temptation might have led him to wrong doing? he had lost her ring, and that very loss had won him back to her. could she expect him to confess? he felt as if his heart would break while he thought of it, and while so many memories lingered on his mind. he saw her again, as she once stood before him, a laughing, spirited child; many loving words, which she had spoken to him out of the fulness of her love, came like a ray of sunshine into his heart, and soon it was all sunshine as he thought of babette. but she must also confess she was wrong; that she should do. he went to the mill--he went to confession. it began with a kiss, and ended with rudy being considered the offender. it was such a great fault to doubt babette's truth--it was most abominable of him. such mistrust, such violence, would cause them both great unhappiness. this certainly was very true, she knew that; and therefore babette preached him a little sermon, with which she was herself much amused, and during the preaching of which she looked quite lovely. she acknowledged, however, that on one point rudy was right. her godmother's nephew was a fop: she intended to burn the book which he had given her, so that not the slightest thing should remain to remind her of him. "well, that quarrel is all over," said the kitchen-cat. "rudy is come back, and they are friends again, which they say is the greatest of all pleasures." "i heard the rats say one night," said the kitchen-cat, "that the greatest pleasure in the world was to eat tallow candles and to feast on rancid bacon. which are we to believe, the rats or the lovers?" "neither of them," said the parlor-cat; "it is always the safest plan to believe nothing you hear." the greatest happiness was coming for rudy and babette. the happy day, as it is called, that is, their wedding-day, was near at hand. they were not to be married at the church at bex, nor at the miller's house; babette's godmother wished the nuptials to be solemnized at montreux, in the pretty little church in that town. the miller was very anxious that this arrangement should be agreed to. he alone knew what the newly-married couple would receive from babette's godmother, and he knew also that it was a wedding present well worth a concession. the day was fixed, and they were to travel as far as villeneuve the evening before, to be in time for the steamer which sailed in the morning for montreux, and the godmother's daughters were to dress and adorn the bride. "here in this house there ought to be a wedding-day kept," said the parlor-cat, "or else i would not give a mew for the whole affair." "there is going to be great feasting," replied the kitchen-cat. "ducks and pigeons have been killed, and a whole roebuck hangs on the wall. it makes me lick my lips when i think of it." "to-morrow morning they will begin the journey." yes, to-morrow! and this evening, for the last time, rudy and babette sat in the miller's house as an engaged couple. outside, the alps glowed in the evening sunset, the evening bells chimed, and the children of the sunbeam sang, "whatever happens is best." xiv. night visions the sun had gone down, and the clouds lay low on the valley of the rhone. the wind blew from the south across the mountains; it was an african wind, a wind which scattered the clouds for a moment, and then suddenly fell. the broken clouds hung in fantastic forms upon the wood-covered hills by the rapid rhone. they assumed the shapes of antediluvian animals, of eagles hovering in the air, of frogs leaping over a marsh, and then sunk down upon the rushing stream and appeared to sail upon it, although floating in the air. an uprooted fir-tree was being carried away by the current, and marking out its path by eddying circles on the water. vertigo and his sisters were dancing upon it, and raising these circles on the foaming river. the moon lighted up the snow on the mountain-tops, shone on the dark woods, and on the drifting clouds those fantastic forms which at night might be taken for spirits of the powers of nature. the mountain-dweller saw them through the panes of his little window. they sailed in hosts before the ice maiden as she came out of her palace of ice. then she seated herself on the trunk of the fir-tree as on a broken skiff, and the water from the glaciers carried her down the river to the open lake. "the wedding guests are coming," sounded from air and sea. these were the sights and sounds without; within there were visions, for babette had a wonderful dream. she dreamt that she had been married to rudy for many years, and that, one day when he was out chamois hunting, and she alone in their dwelling at home, the young englishman with the golden whiskers sat with her. his eyes were quite eloquent, and his words possessed a magic power; he offered her his hand, and she was obliged to follow him. they went out of the house and stepped downwards, always downwards, and it seemed to babette as if she had a weight on her heart which continually grew heavier. she felt she was committing a sin against rudy, a sin against god. suddenly she found herself forsaken, her clothes torn by the thorns, and her hair gray; she looked upwards in her agony, and there, on the edge of the rock, she espied rudy. she stretched out her arms to him, but she did not venture to call him or to pray; and had she called him, it would have been useless, for it was not rudy, only his hunting coat and hat hanging on an alpenstock, as the hunters sometimes arrange them to deceive the chamois. "oh!" she exclaimed in her agony; "oh, that i had died on the happiest day of my life, my wedding-day. o my god, it would have been a mercy and a blessing had rudy travelled far away from me, and i had never known him. none know what will happen in the future." and then, in ungodly despair, she cast herself down into the deep rocky gulf. the spell was broken; a cry of terror escaped her, and she awoke. the dream was over; it had vanished. but she knew she had dreamt something frightful about the young englishman, yet months had passed since she had seen him or even thought of him. was he still at montreux, and should she meet him there on her wedding day? a slight shadow passed over her pretty mouth as she thought of this, and she knit her brows; but the smile soon returned to her lip, and joy sparkled in her eyes, for this was the morning of the day on which she and rudy were to be married, and the sun was shining brightly. rudy was already in the parlor when she entered it, and they very soon started for villeneuve. both of them were overflowing with happiness, and the miller was in the best of tempers, laughing and merry; he was a good, honest soul, and a kind father. "now we are masters of the house," said the parlor-cat. xv. the conclusion it was early in the afternoon, and just at dinner-time, when the three joyous travellers reached villeneuve. after dinner, the miller placed himself in the arm-chair, smoked his pipe, and had a little nap. the bridal pair went arm-in-arm out through the town and along the high road, at the foot of the wood-covered rocks, and by the deep, blue lake. the gray walls, and the heavy clumsy-looking towers of the gloomy castle of chillon, were reflected in the clear flood. the little island, on which grew the three acacias, lay at a short distance, looking like a bouquet rising from the lake. "how delightful it must be to live there," said babette, who again felt the greatest wish to visit the island; and an opportunity offered to gratify her wish at once, for on the shore lay a boat, and the rope by which it was moored could be very easily loosened. they saw no one near, so they took possession of it without asking permission of any one, and rudy could row very well. the oars divided the pliant water like the fins of a fish--that water which, with all its yielding softness, is so strong to bear and to carry, so mild and smiling when at rest, and yet so terrible in its destroying power. a white streak of foam followed in the wake of the boat, which, in a few minutes, carried them both to the little island, where they went on shore; but there was only just room enough for two to dance. rudy swung babette round two or three times; and then, hand-in-hand, they sat down on a little bench under the drooping acacia-tree, and looked into each other's eyes, while everything around them glowed in the rays of the setting sun. the fir-tree forests on the mountains were covered with a purple hue like the heather bloom; and where the woods terminated, and the rocks became prominent, they looked almost transparent in the rich crimson glow of the evening sky. the surface of the lake was like a bed of pink rose-leaves. as the evening advanced, the shadows fell upon the snow-capped mountains of savoy painting them in colors of deep blue, while their topmost peaks glowed like red lava; and for a moment this light was reflected on the cultivated parts of the mountains, making them appear as if newly risen from the lap of earth, and giving to the snow-crested peak of the dent du midi the appearance of the full moon as it rises above the horizon. rudy and babette felt that they had never seen the alpine glow in such perfection before. "how very beautiful it is, and what happiness to be here!" exclaimed babette. "earth has nothing more to bestow upon me," said rudy; "an evening like this is worth a whole life. often have i realized my good fortune, but never more than in this moment. i feel that if my existence were to end now, i should still have lived a happy life. what a glorious world this is; one day ends, and another begins even more beautiful than the last. how infinitely good god is, babette!" "i have such complete happiness in my heart," said she. "earth has no more to bestow," answered rudy. and then came the sound of the evening bells, borne upon the breeze over the mountains of switzerland and savoy, while still, in the golden splendor of the west, stood the dark blue mountains of jura. "god grant you all that is brightest and best!" exclaimed babette. "he will," said rudy. "he will to-morrow. to-morrow you will be wholly mine, my own sweet wife." "the boat!" cried babette, suddenly. the boat in which they were to return had broken loose, and was floating away from the island. "i will fetch it back," said rudy; throwing off his coat and boots, he sprang into the lake, and swam with strong efforts towards it. the dark-blue water, from the glaciers of the mountains, was icy cold and very deep. rudy gave but one glance into the water beneath; but in that one glance he saw a gold ring rolling, glittering, and sparkling before him. his engaged ring came into his mind; but this was larger, and spread into a glittering circle, in which appeared a clear glacier. deep chasms yawned around it, the water-drops glittered as if lighted with blue flame, and tinkled like the chiming of church bells. in one moment he saw what would require many words to describe. young hunters, and young maidens--men and women who had sunk in the deep chasms of the glaciers--stood before him here in lifelike forms, with eyes open and smiles on their lips; and far beneath them could be heard the chiming of the church bells of buried villages, where the villagers knelt beneath the vaulted arches of churches in which ice-blocks formed the organ pipes, and the mountain stream the music. on the clear, transparent ground sat the ice maiden. she raised herself towards rudy, and kissed his feet; and instantly a cold, deathly chill, like an electric shock, passed through his limbs. ice or fire! it was impossible to tell, the shock was so instantaneous. "mine! mine!" sounded around him, and within him; "i kissed thee when thou wert a little child. i once kissed thee on the mouth, and now i have kissed thee from heel to toe; thou art wholly mine." and then he disappeared in the clear, blue water. all was still. the church bells were silent; the last tone floated away with the last red glimmer on the evening clouds. "thou art mine," sounded from the depths below: but from the heights above, from the eternal world, also sounded the words, "thou art mine!" happy was he thus to pass from life to life, from earth to heaven. a chord was loosened, and tones of sorrow burst forth. the icy kiss of death had overcome the perishable body; it was but the prelude before life's real drama could begin, the discord which was quickly lost in harmony. do you think this a sad story? poor babette! for her it was unspeakable anguish. the boat drifted farther and farther away. no one on the opposite shore knew that the betrothed pair had gone over to the little island. the clouds sunk as the evening drew on, and it became dark. alone, in despair, she waited and trembled. the weather became fearful; flash after flash lighted up the mountains of jura, savoy, and switzerland, while peals of thunder, that lasted for many minutes, rolled over her head. the lightning was so vivid that every single vine stem could be seen for a moment as distinctly as in the sunlight at noon-day; and then all was veiled in darkness. it flashed across the lake in winding, zigzag lines, lighting it up on all sides; while the echoes of the thunder grew louder and stronger. on land, the boats were all carefully drawn up on the beach, every living thing sought shelter, and at length the rain poured down in torrents. "where can rudy and babette be in this awful weather?" said the miller. poor babette sat with her hands clasped, and her head bowed down, dumb with grief; she had ceased to weep and cry for help. "in the deep water!" she said to herself; "far down he lies, as if beneath a glacier." deep in her heart rested the memory of what rudy had told her of the death of his mother, and of his own recovery, even after he had been taken up as dead from the cleft in the glacier. "ah," she thought, "the ice maiden has him at last." suddenly there came a flash of lightning, as dazzling as the rays of the sun on the white snow. the lake rose for a moment like a shining glacier; and before babette stood the pallid, glittering, majestic form of the ice maiden, and at her feet lay rudy's corpse. "mine!" she cried, and again all was darkness around the heaving water. "how cruel," murmured babette; "why should he die just as the day of happiness drew near? merciful god, enlighten my understanding, shed light upon my heart; for i cannot comprehend the arrangements of thy providence, even while i bow to the decree of thy almighty wisdom and power." and god did enlighten her heart. a sudden flash of thought, like a ray of mercy, recalled her dream of the preceding night; all was vividly represented before her. she remembered the words and wishes she had then expressed, that what was best for her and for rudy she might piously submit to. "woe is me," she said; "was the germ of sin really in my heart? was my dream a glimpse into the course of my future life, whose thread must be violently broken to rescue me from sin? oh, miserable creature that i am!" thus she sat lamenting in the dark night, while through the deep stillness the last words of rudy seemed to ring in her ears. "this earth has nothing more to bestow." words, uttered in the fulness of joy, were again heard amid the depths of sorrow. years have passed since this sad event happened. the shores of the peaceful lake still smile in beauty. the vines are full of luscious grapes. steamboats, with waving flags, pass swiftly by. pleasure-boats, with their swelling sails, skim lightly over the watery mirror, like white butterflies. the railway is opened beyond chillon, and goes far into the deep valley of the rhone. at every station strangers alight with red-bound guide-books in their hands, in which they read of every place worth seeing. they visit chillon, and observe on the lake the little island with the three acacias, and then read in their guide-book the story of the bridal pair who, in the year , rowed over to it. they read that the two were missing till the next morning, when some people on the shore heard the despairing cries of the bride, and went to her assistance, and by her were told of the bridegroom's fate. but the guide-book does not speak of babette's quiet life afterwards with her father, not at the mill--strangers dwell there now--but in a pretty house in a row near the station. on many an evening she sits at her window, and looks out over the chestnut-trees to the snow-capped mountains on which rudy once roamed. she looks at the alpine glow in the evening sky, which is caused by the children of the sun retiring to rest on the mountain-tops; and again they breathe their song of the traveller whom the whirlwind could deprive of his cloak but not of his life. there is a rosy tint on the mountain snow, and there are rosy gleams in each heart in which dwells the thought, "god permits nothing to happen, which is not the best for us." but this is not often revealed to all, as it was revealed to babette in her wonderful dream. the jewish maiden in a charity school, among the children, sat a little jewish girl. she was a good, intelligent child, and very quick at her lessons; but the scripture-lesson class she was not allowed to join, for this was a christian school. during the hour of this lesson, the jewish girl was allowed to learn her geography, or to work her sum for the next day; and when her geography lesson was perfect, the book remained open before her, but she read not another word, for she sat silently listening to the words of the christian teacher. he soon became aware that the little one was paying more attention to what he said than most of the other children. "read your book, sarah," he said to her gently. but again and again he saw her dark, beaming eyes fixed upon him; and once, when he asked her a question, she could answer him even better than the other children. she had not only heard, but understood his words, and pondered them in her heart. her father, a poor but honest man, had placed his daughter at the school on the conditions that she should not be instructed in the christian faith. but it might have caused confusion, or raised discontent in the minds of the other children if she had been sent out of the room, so she remained; and now it was evident this could not go on. the teacher went to her father, and advised him to remove his daughter from the school, or to allow her to become a christian. "i cannot any longer be an idle spectator of those beaming eyes, which express such a deep and earnest longing for the words of the gospel," said he. then the father burst into tears. "i know very little of the law of my fathers," said he; "but sarah's mother was firm in her belief as a daughter of israel, and i vowed to her on her deathbed that our child should never be baptized. i must keep my vow: it is to me even as a covenant with god himself." and so the little jewish girl left the christian school. years rolled by. in one of the smallest provincial towns, in a humble household, lived a poor maiden of the jewish faith, as a servant. her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, yet full of light and brilliancy so peculiar to the daughters of the east. it was sarah. the expression in the face of the grown-up maiden was still the same as when, a child, she sat on the schoolroom form listening with thoughtful eyes to the words of the christian teacher. every sunday there sounded forth from a church close by the tones of an organ and the singing of the congregation. the jewish girl heard them in the house where, industrious and faithful in all things, she performed her household duties. "thou shalt keep the sabbath holy," said the voice of the law in her heart; but her sabbath was a working day among the christians, which was a great trouble to her. and then as the thought arose in her mind, "does god reckon by days and hours?" her conscience felt satisfied on this question, and she found it a comfort to her, that on the christian sabbath she could have an hour for her own prayers undisturbed. the music and singing of the congregation sounded in her ears while at work in her kitchen, till the place itself became sacred to her. then she would read in the old testament, that treasure and comfort to her people, and it was indeed the only scriptures she could read. faithfully in her inmost thoughts had she kept the words of her father to her teacher when she left the school, and the vow he had made to her dying mother that she should never receive christian baptism. the new testament must remain to her a sealed book, and yet she knew a great deal of its teaching, and the sound of the gospel truths still lingered among the recollections of her childhood. one evening she was sitting in a corner of the dining-room, while her master read aloud. it was not the gospel he read, but an old story-book; therefore she might stay and listen to him. the story related that a hungarian knight, who had been taken prisoner by a turkish pasha, was most cruelly treated by him. he caused him to be yoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows from the whip till the blood flowed, and he almost sunk with exhaustion and pain. the faithful wife of the knight at home gave up all her jewels, mortgaged her castle and land, and his friends raised large sums to make up the ransom demanded for his release, which was most enormously high. it was collected at last, and the knight released from slavery and misery. sick and exhausted, he reached home. ere long came another summons to a struggle with the foes of christianity. the still living knight heard the sound; he could endure no more, he had neither peace nor rest. he caused himself to be lifted on his war-horse; the color came into his cheeks, and his strength returned to him again as he went forth to battle and to victory. the very same pasha who had yoked him to the plough, became his prisoner, and was dragged to a dungeon in the castle. but an hour had scarcely passed, when the knight stood before the captive pasha, and inquired, "what do you suppose awaiteth thee?" "i know," replied the pasha; "retribution." "yes, the retribution of a christian," replied the knight. "the teaching of christ, the teacher, commands us to forgive our enemies, to love our neighbors; for god is love. depart in peace: return to thy home. i give thee back to thy loved ones. but in future be mild and humane to all who are in trouble." then the prisoner burst into tears, and exclaimed, "oh how could i imagine such mercy and forgiveness! i expected pain and torment. it seemed to me so sure that i took poison, which i secretly carried about me; and in a few hours its effects will destroy me. i must die! nothing can save me! but before i die, explain to me the teaching which is so full of love and mercy, so great and god-like. oh, that i may hear his teaching, and die a christian!" and his prayer was granted. this was the legend which the master read out of the old story-book. every one in the house who was present listened, and shared the pleasure; but sarah, the jewish girl, sitting so still in a corner, felt her heart burn with excitement. great tears came into her shining dark eyes; and with the same gentle piety with which she had once listened to the gospel while sitting on the form at school, she felt its grandeur now, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. then the last words of her dying mother rose before her, "let not my child become a christian;" and with them sounded in her heart the words of the law, "honor thy father and thy mother." "i am not admitted among the christians," she said; "they mock me as a jewish girl; the neighbors' boys did so last sunday when i stood looking in through the open church door at the candles burning on the altar, and listening to the singing. ever since i sat on the school-bench i have felt the power of christianity; a power which, like a sunbeam, streams into my heart, however closely i may close my eyes against it. but i will not grieve thee, my mother, in thy grave. i will not be unfaithful to my father's vow. i will not read the bible of the christian. i have the god of my fathers, and in him i will trust." and again years passed by. sarah's master died, and his widow found herself in such reduced circumstances that she wished to dismiss her servant maid; but sarah refused to leave the house, and she became a true support in time of trouble, and kept the household together by working till late at night, with her busy hands, to earn their daily bread. not a relative came forward to assist them, and the widow was confined to a sick bed for months and grew weaker from day to day. sarah worked hard, but contrived to spare time to amuse her and watch by the sick bed. she was gentle and pious, an angel of blessing in that house of poverty. "my bible lies on the table yonder," said the sick woman one day to sarah. "read me something from it; the night appears so long, and my spirit thirsts to hear the word of god." and sarah bowed her head. she took the book, and folded her hand over the bible of the christians, and at last opened it, and read to the sick woman. tears stood in her eyes as she read, and they shone with brightness, for in her heart it was light. "mother," she murmured, "thy child may not receive christian baptism, nor be admitted into the congregation of christian people. thou hast so willed it, and i will respect thy command. we are therefore still united here on earth; but in the next world there will be a higher union, even with god himself, who leads and guides his people till death. he came down from heaven to earth to suffer for us, that we should bring forth the fruits of repentance. i understand it now. i know not how i learnt this truth, unless it is through the name of christ." yet she trembled as she pronounced the holy name. she struggled against these convictions of the truth of christianity for some days, till one evening while watching her mistress she was suddenly taken very ill; her limbs tottered under her, and she sank fainting by the bedside of the sick woman. "poor sarah," said the neighbors; "she is overcome with hard work and night watching." and then they carried her to the hospital for the sick poor. there she died; and they bore her to her resting-place in the earth, but not to the churchyard of the christians. there was no place for the jewish girl; but they dug a grave for her outside the wall. and god's sun, which shines upon the graves of the churchyard of the christians, also throws its beams on the grave of the jewish maiden beyond the wall. and when the psalms of the christians sound across the churchyard, their echo reaches her lonely resting-place; and she who sleeps there will be counted worthy at the resurrection, through the name of christ the lord, who said to his disciples, "john baptized you with water, but i will baptize you with the holy ghost." the jumper the flea, the grasshopper, and the skipjack once wanted to see which of them could jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and whoever else would come, to see the grand sight. and there the three famous jumpers were met together in the room. "yes, i'll give my daughter to him who jumps highest," said the king, "for it would be mean to let these people jump for nothing." the flea stepped out first. he had very pretty manners, and bowed in all directions, for he had young ladies' blood in his veins, and was accustomed to consort only with human beings; and that was of great consequence. then came the grasshopper: he was certainly much heavier, but he had a good figure, and wore the green uniform that was born with him. this person, moreover, maintained that he belonged to a very old family in the land of egypt, and that he was highly esteemed there. he had just come from the field, he said, and had been put into a card house three stories high, and all made of picture cards with the figures turned inwards. there were doors and windows in the house, cut in the body of the queen of hearts. "i sing so," he said, "that sixteen native crickets who have chirped from their youth up, and have never yet had a card house of their own, would become thinner than they are with envy if they were to hear me." both of them, the flea and the grasshopper, took care to announce who they were, and that they considered themselves entitled to marry a princess. the skipjack said nothing, but it was said of him that he thought all the more; and directly the yard dog had smelt at him he was ready to assert that the skipjack was of good family, and formed from the breastbone of an undoubted goose. the old councillor, who had received three medals for holding his tongue, declared that the skipjack possessed the gift of prophecy; one could tell by his bones whether there would be a severe winter or a mild one; and that's more than one can always tell from the breastbone of the man who writes the almanac. "i shall not say anything more," said the old king. "i only go on quietly, and always think the best." now they were to take their jump. the flea sprang so high that no one could see him; and then they asserted that he had not jumped at all. that was very mean. the grasshopper only sprang half as high, but he sprang straight into the king's face, and the king declared that was horribly rude. the skipjack stood a long time considering; at last people thought that he could not jump at all. "i only hope he's not become unwell," said the yard dog, and then he smelt at him again. "tap!" he sprang with a little crooked jump just into the lap of the princess, who sat on a low golden stool. then the king said, "the highest leap was taken by him who jumped up to my daughter; for therein lies the point; but it requires head to achieve that, and the skipjack has shown that he has a head." and so he had the princess. "i jumped highest, after all," said the flea. "but it's all the same. let her have the goose-bone with its lump of wax and bit of stick. i jumped to the highest; but in this world a body is required if one wishes to be seen." and the flea went into foreign military service, where it is said he was killed. the grasshopper seated himself out in the ditch, and thought and considered how things happened in the world. and he too said, "body is required! body is required!" and then he sang his own melancholy song, and from that we have gathered this story, which they say is not true, though it's in print. the last dream of the old oak in the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far from the open seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. it was just three hundred and sixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as the same number of days might be to us; we wake by day and sleep by night, and then we have our dreams. it is different with the tree; it is obliged to keep awake through three seasons of the year, and does not get any sleep till winter comes. winter is its time for rest; its night after the long day of spring, summer, and autumn. on many a warm summer, the ephemera, the flies that exist for only a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy and if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of his large fresh leaves, the tree would always say, "poor little creature! your whole life consists only of a single day. how very short. it must be quite melancholy." "melancholy! what do you mean?" the little creature would always reply. "everything around me is so wonderfully bright and warm, and beautiful, that it makes me joyous." "but only for one day, and then it is all over." "over!" repeated the fly; "what is the meaning of all over? are you all over too?" "no; i shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and my day is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could never reckon it out." "no? then i don't understand you. you may have thousands of my days, but i have thousands of moments in which i can be merry and happy. does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?" "no," replied the tree; "it will certainly last much longer,--infinitely longer than i can even think of." "well, then," said the little fly, "we have the same time to live; only we reckon differently." and the little creature danced and floated in the air, rejoicing in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing in the balmy breezes, laden with the fragrance of clover-fields and wild roses, elder-blossoms and honeysuckle, from the garden hedges, wild thyme, primroses, and mint, and the scent of all these was so strong that the perfume almost intoxicated the little fly. the long and beautiful day had been so full of joy and sweet delights, that when the sun sank low it felt tired of all its happiness and enjoyment. its wings could sustain it no longer, and gently and slowly it glided down upon the soft waving blades of grass, nodded its little head as well as it could nod, and slept peacefully and sweetly. the fly was dead. "poor little ephemera!" said the oak; "what a terribly short life!" and so, on every summer day the dance was repeated, the same questions asked, and the same answers given. the same thing was continued through many generations of ephemera; all of them felt equally merry and equally happy. the oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noon of summer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night drew nigh--winter was coming. already the storms were singing, "good-night, good-night." here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. "we will rock you and lull you. go to sleep, go to sleep. we will sing you to sleep, and shake you to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will even crackle with pleasure. sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is your three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth night. correctly speaking, you are but a youngster in the world. sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snow upon you, which will be quite a cover-lid, warm and sheltering to your feet. sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams." and there stood the oak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during the whole of a long winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had happened in its life, as in the dreams of men. the great tree had once been small; indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. according to human computation, it was now in the fourth century of its existence. it was the largest and best tree in the forest. its summit towered above all the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that it served as a landmark to the sailors. it had no idea how many eyes looked eagerly for it. in its topmost branches the wood-pigeon built her nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal performances, and his well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when the leaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage would come and rest upon the branches before taking their flight across the sea. but now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that every one could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forth from the trunk. crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, and talked of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult it was in winter to obtain food. it was just about holy christmas time that the tree dreamed a dream. the tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festive time had arrived, and in his dream fancied he heard the bells ringing from all the churches round, and yet it seemed to him to be a beautiful summer's day, mild and warm. his mighty summits was crowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the sunbeams played among the leaves and branches, and the air was full of fragrance from herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; the summer flies danced around him, as if the world had been created merely for them to dance and be merry in. all that had happened to the tree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as in a festive procession. he saw the knights of olden times and noble ladies ride by through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their hats, and falcons on their wrists. the hunting horn sounded, and the dogs barked. he saw hostile warriors, in colored dresses and glittering armor, with spear and halberd, pitching their tents, and anon striking them. the watchfires again blazed, and men sang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. he saw lovers meet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve the initials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk. once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and eolian harps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemed to hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. the wood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to live. then it seemed as if new life was thrilling through every fibre of root and stem and leaf, rising even to the highest branches. the tree felt itself stretching and spreading out, while through the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigor of life. as he grew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his topmost boughs became broader and fuller; and in proportion to his growth, so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyous longing to grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, bright sun itself. already had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, which floated beneath them like troops of birds of passage, or large white swans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes to see. the stars became visible in broad daylight, large and sparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. they recalled to the memory the well-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers who had once met beneath the branches of the old oak. these were wonderful and happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet, amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desire that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him, might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all this splendor, and experience the same happiness. the grand, majestic oak could not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while all the rest, both great and small, were not with him. and this feeling of yearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, as warmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a human heart. the summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwards as if in his silent longing he sought for something. then there came to him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of the cuckoo. at length his longing was satisfied. up through the clouds came the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oak saw them rising, and growing higher and higher. bush and herb shot upward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise more quickly. the birch-tree was the quickest of all. like a lightning flash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branches spreading around it like green gauze and banners. every native of the wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest, while the birds ascended with the melody of song. on a blade of grass, that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a grasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. may beetles hummed, the bees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filled with the sounds of song and gladness. "but where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?" asked the oak, "and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?" you see the oak wanted to have them all with him. "here we are, we are here," sounded in voice and song. "but the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the lilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their bloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the glory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what may have but now sprouted forth could be with us here." "we are here, we are here," sounded voices higher in the air, as if they had flown there beforehand. "why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed," said the oak in a joyful tone. "i have them all here, both great and small; not one has been forgotten. can such happiness be imagined?" it seemed almost impossible. "in heaven with the eternal god, it can be imagined, and it is possible," sounded the reply through the air. and the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt that his roots were loosening themselves from the earth. "it is right so, it is best," said the tree, "no fetters hold me now. i can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. and all i love are with me, both small and great. all--all are here." such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a mighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy christmas time. the sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. there was a cracking and crushing heard in the tree. the root was torn from the ground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was being loosened from the earth. he fell--his three hundred and sixty-five years were passed as the single day of the ephemera. on the morning of christmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. from all the churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of the smallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke from the festive thank-offerings on the druids' altars. the sea gradually became calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood the tempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a token of joy and festivity. "the tree is down! the old oak,--our landmark on the coast!" exclaimed the sailors. "it must have fallen in the storm of last night. who can replace it? alas! no one." this was a funeral oration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. there it lay stretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notes of a song from the ship--a song of christmas joy, and of the redemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through christ's atoning blood. "sing aloud on the happy morn, all is fulfilled, for christ is born; with songs of joy let us loudly sing, 'hallelujahs to christ our king.'" thus sounded the old christmas carol, and every one on board the ship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, even as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream on that christmas morn. the last pearl we are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the servants, the friends of the family are full of joy and felicity. for on this day a son and heir has been born, and mother and child are doing well. the lamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows were covered with heavy curtains of some costly silken material. the carpet was thick and soft, like a covering of moss. everything invited to slumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so the nurse had discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep, while everything around her told of happiness and blessing. the guardian angel of the house leaned against the head of the bed; while over the child was spread, as it were, a net of shining stars, and each star was a pearl of happiness. all the good stars of life had brought their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled health, wealth, fortune, and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for which man could wish on earth. "everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel. "no, not everything," said a voice near him--the voice of the good angel of the child; "one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but she will, even if years should elapse, she will bring her gift; it is the last pearl that is wanting." "wanting!" cried the guardian angel; "nothing must be wanting here; and if it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek the powerful fairy; let us go to her." "she will come, she will come some day unsought!" "her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that the crown, when worn, may be complete. where is she to be found? where does she dwell?" said the guardian angel. "tell me, and i will procure the pearl." "will you do that?" replied the good angel of the child. "then i will lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. she has no abiding place; she rules in the palace of the emperor, sometimes she enters the peasant's humble cot; she passes no one without leaving a trace of her presence. she brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or a bauble. to this child she must come. you think that to wait for this time would be long and useless. well, then, let us go for this pearl--the only one lacking amidst all this wealth." then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the fairy was now lingering. it was in a large house with dark windows and empty rooms, in which a peculiar stillness reigned. a whole row of windows stood open, so that the rude wind could enter at its pleasure, and the long white curtains waved to and fro in the current of air. in the centre of one of the rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the body of a woman, still in the bloom of youth and very beautiful. fresh roses were scattered over her. the delicate folded hands and the noble face glorified in death by the solemn, earnest look, which spoke of an entrance into a better world, were alone visible. around the coffin stood the husband and children, a whole troop, the youngest in the father's arms. they were come to take a last farewell look of their mother. the husband kissed her hand, which now lay like a withered leaf, but which a short time before had been diligently employed in deeds of love for them all. tears of sorrow rolled down their cheeks, and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word was spoken. the silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief. with silent steps, still sobbing, they left the room. a burning light remained in the room, and a long, red wick rose far above the flame, which fluttered in the draught of air. strange men came in and placed the lid of the coffin over the dead, and drove the nails firmly in; while the blows of the hammer resounded through the house, and echoed in the hearts that were bleeding. "whither art thou leading me?" asked the guardian angel. "here dwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst the best gifts of life." "yes, she is here; here in this sacred hour," replied the angel, pointing to a corner of the room; and there,--where in her life-time, the mother had taken her seat amidst flowers and pictures: in that spot, where she, like the blessed fairy of the house, had welcomed husband, children, and friends, and, like a sunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around her, the centre and heart of them all,--there, in that very spot, sat a strange woman, clothed in long, flowing garments, and occupying the place of the dead wife and mother. it was the fairy, and her name was "sorrow." a hot tear rolled into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl, glowing with all the colors of the rainbow. the angel seized it: the pearl glittered like a star with seven-fold radiance. the pearl of sorrow, the last, which must not be wanting, increases the lustre, and explains the meaning of all the other pearls. "do you see the shimmer of the rainbow, which unites earth to heaven?" so has there been a bridge built between this world and the next. through the night of the grave we gaze upwards beyond the stars to the end of all things. then we glance at the pearl of sorrow, in which are concealed the wings which shall carry us away to eternal happiness. little claus and big claus in a village there once lived two men who had the same name. they were both called claus. one of them had four horses, but the other had only one; so to distinguish them, people called the owner of the four horses, "great claus," and he who had only one, "little claus." now we shall hear what happened to them, for this is a true story. through the whole week, little claus was obliged to plough for great claus, and lend him his one horse; and once a week, on a sunday, great claus lent him all his four horses. then how little claus would smack his whip over all five horses, they were as good as his own on that one day. the sun shone brightly, and the church bells were ringing merrily as the people passed by, dressed in their best clothes, with their prayer-books under their arms. they were going to hear the clergyman preach. they looked at little claus ploughing with his five horses, and he was so proud that he smacked his whip, and said, "gee-up, my five horses." "you must not say that," said big claus; "for only one of them belongs to you." but little claus soon forgot what he ought to say, and when any one passed he would call out, "gee-up, my five horses!" "now i must beg you not to say that again," said big claus; "for if you do, i shall hit your horse on the head, so that he will drop dead on the spot, and there will be an end of him." "i promise you i will not say it any more," said the other; but as soon as people came by, nodding to him, and wishing him "good day," he became so pleased, and thought how grand it looked to have five horses ploughing in his field, that he cried out again, "gee-up, all my horses!" "i'll gee-up your horses for you," said big claus; and seizing a hammer, he struck the one horse of little claus on the head, and he fell dead instantly. "oh, now i have no horse at all," said little claus, weeping. but after a while he took off the dead horse's skin, and hung the hide to dry in the wind. then he put the dry skin into a bag, and, placing it over his shoulder, went out into the next town to sell the horse's skin. he had a very long way to go, and had to pass through a dark, gloomy forest. presently a storm arose, and he lost his way, and before he discovered the right path, evening came on, and it was still a long way to the town, and too far to return home before night. near the road stood a large farmhouse. the shutters outside the windows were closed, but lights shone through the crevices at the top. "i might get permission to stay here for the night," thought little claus; so he went up to the door and knocked. the farmer's wife opened the door; but when she heard what he wanted, she told him to go away, as her husband would not allow her to admit strangers. "then i shall be obliged to lie out here," said little claus to himself, as the farmer's wife shut the door in his face. near to the farmhouse stood a large haystack, and between it and the house was a small shed, with a thatched roof. "i can lie up there," said little claus, as he saw the roof; "it will make a famous bed, but i hope the stork will not fly down and bite my legs;" for on it stood a living stork, whose nest was in the roof. so little claus climbed to the roof of the shed, and while he turned himself to get comfortable, he discovered that the wooden shutters, which were closed, did not reach to the tops of the windows of the farmhouse, so that he could see into a room, in which a large table was laid out with wine, roast meat, and a splendid fish. the farmer's wife and the sexton were sitting at the table together; and she filled his glass, and helped him plenteously to fish, which appeared to be his favorite dish. "if i could only get some, too," thought little claus; and then, as he stretched his neck towards the window he spied a large, beautiful pie,--indeed they had a glorious feast before them. at this moment he heard some one riding down the road, towards the farmhouse. it was the farmer returning home. he was a good man, but still he had a very strange prejudice,--he could not bear the sight of a sexton. if one appeared before him, he would put himself in a terrible rage. in consequence of this dislike, the sexton had gone to visit the farmer's wife during her husband's absence from home, and the good woman had placed before him the best she had in the house to eat. when she heard the farmer coming she was frightened, and begged the sexton to hide himself in a large empty chest that stood in the room. he did so, for he knew her husband could not endure the sight of a sexton. the woman then quickly put away the wine, and hid all the rest of the nice things in the oven; for if her husband had seen them he would have asked what they were brought out for. "oh, dear," sighed little claus from the top of the shed, as he saw all the good things disappear. "is any one up there?" asked the farmer, looking up and discovering little claus. "why are you lying up there? come down, and come into the house with me." so little claus came down and told the farmer how he had lost his way and begged for a night's lodging. "all right," said the farmer; "but we must have something to eat first." the woman received them both very kindly, laid the cloth on a large table, and placed before them a dish of porridge. the farmer was very hungry, and ate his porridge with a good appetite, but little claus could not help thinking of the nice roast meat, fish and pies, which he knew were in the oven. under the table, at his feet, lay the sack containing the horse's skin, which he intended to sell at the next town. now little claus did not relish the porridge at all, so he trod with his foot on the sack under the table, and the dry skin squeaked quite loud. "hush!" said little claus to his sack, at the same time treading upon it again, till it squeaked louder than before. "hallo! what have you got in your sack!" asked the farmer. "oh, it is a conjuror," said little claus; "and he says we need not eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish, and pie." "wonderful!" cried the farmer, starting up and opening the oven door; and there lay all the nice things hidden by the farmer's wife, but which he supposed had been conjured there by the wizard under the table. the woman dared not say anything; so she placed the things before them, and they both ate of the fish, the meat, and the pastry. then little claus trod again upon his sack, and it squeaked as before. "what does he say now?" asked the farmer. "he says," replied little claus, "that there are three bottles of wine for us, standing in the corner, by the oven." so the woman was obliged to bring out the wine also, which she had hidden, and the farmer drank it till he became quite merry. he would have liked such a conjuror as little claus carried in his sack. "could he conjure up the evil one?" asked the farmer. "i should like to see him now, while i am so merry." "oh, yes!" replied little claus, "my conjuror can do anything i ask him,--can you not?" he asked, treading at the same time on the sack till it squeaked. "do you hear? he answers 'yes,' but he fears that we shall not like to look at him." "oh, i am not afraid. what will he be like?" "well, he is very much like a sexton." "ha!" said the farmer, "then he must be ugly. do you know i cannot endure the sight of a sexton. however, that doesn't matter, i shall know who it is; so i shall not mind. now then, i have got up my courage, but don't let him come too near me." "stop, i must ask the conjuror," said little claus; so he trod on the bag, and stooped his ear down to listen. "what does he say?" "he says that you must go and open that large chest which stands in the corner, and you will see the evil one crouching down inside; but you must hold the lid firmly, that he may not slip out." "will you come and help me hold it?" said the farmer, going towards the chest in which his wife had hidden the sexton, who now lay inside, very much frightened. the farmer opened the lid a very little way, and peeped in. "oh," cried he, springing backwards, "i saw him, and he is exactly like our sexton. how dreadful it is!" so after that he was obliged to drink again, and they sat and drank till far into the night. "you must sell your conjuror to me," said the farmer; "ask as much as you like, i will pay it; indeed i would give you directly a whole bushel of gold." "no, indeed, i cannot," said little claus; "only think how much profit i could make out of this conjuror." "but i should like to have him," said the fanner, still continuing his entreaties. "well," said little claus at length, "you have been so good as to give me a night's lodging, i will not refuse you; you shall have the conjuror for a bushel of money, but i will have quite full measure." "so you shall," said the farmer; "but you must take away the chest as well. i would not have it in the house another hour; there is no knowing if he may not be still there." so little claus gave the farmer the sack containing the dried horse's skin, and received in exchange a bushel of money--full measure. the farmer also gave him a wheelbarrow on which to carry away the chest and the gold. "farewell," said little claus, as he went off with his money and the great chest, in which the sexton lay still concealed. on one side of the forest was a broad, deep river, the water flowed so rapidly that very few were able to swim against the stream. a new bridge had lately been built across it, and in the middle of this bridge little claus stopped, and said, loud enough to be heard by the sexton, "now what shall i do with this stupid chest; it is as heavy as if it were full of stones: i shall be tired if i roll it any farther, so i may as well throw it in the river; if it swims after me to my house, well and good, and if not, it will not much matter." so he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a little, as if he were going to throw it into the water. "no, leave it alone," cried the sexton from within the chest; "let me out first." "oh," exclaimed little claus, pretending to be frightened, "he is in there still, is he? i must throw him into the river, that he may be drowned." "oh, no; oh, no," cried the sexton; "i will give you a whole bushel full of money if you will let me go. "why, that is another matter," said little claus, opening the chest. the sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water, and went to his house, then he measured out a whole bushel full of gold for little claus, who had already received one from the farmer, so that now he had a barrow full. "i have been well paid for my horse," said he to himself when he reached home, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into a heap on the floor. "how vexed great claus will be when he finds out how rich i have become all through my one horse; but i shall not tell him exactly how it all happened." then he sent a boy to great claus to borrow a bushel measure. "what can he want it for?" thought great claus; so he smeared the bottom of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put into it might stick there and remain. and so it happened; for when the measure returned, three new silver florins were sticking to it. "what does this mean?" said great claus; so he ran off directly to little claus, and asked, "where did you get so much money?" "oh, for my horse's skin, i sold it yesterday." "it was certainly well paid for then," said great claus; and he ran home to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his four horses on the head, flayed off their skins, and took them to the town to sell. "skins, skins, who'll buy skins?" he cried, as he went through the streets. all the shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much he wanted for them. "a bushel of money, for each," replied great claus. "are you mad?" they all cried; "do you think we have money to spend by the bushel?" "skins, skins," he cried again, "who'll buy skins?" but to all who inquired the price, his answer was, "a bushel of money." "he is making fools of us," said they all; then the shoemakers took their straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and began to beat great claus. "skins, skins!" they cried, mocking him; "yes, we'll mark your skin for you, till it is black and blue." "out of the town with him," said they. and great claus was obliged to run as fast as he could, he had never before been so thoroughly beaten. "ah," said he, as he came to his house; "little claus shall pay me for this; i will beat him to death." meanwhile the old grandmother of little claus died. she had been cross, unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was very sorry, and took the dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if he could bring her to life again. there he determined that she should lie the whole night, while he seated himself in a chair in a corner of the room as he had often done before. during the night, as he sat there, the door opened, and in came great claus with a hatchet. he knew well where little claus's bed stood; so he went right up to it, and struck the old grandmother on the head, thinking it must be little claus. "there," cried he, "now you cannot make a fool of me again;" and then he went home. "that is a very wicked man," thought little claus; "he meant to kill me. it is a good thing for my old grandmother that she was already dead, or he would have taken her life." then he dressed his old grandmother in her best clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbor, and harnessed it to a cart. then he placed the old woman on the back seat, so that she might not fall out as he drove, and rode away through the wood. by sunrise they reached a large inn, where little claus stopped and went to get something to eat. the landlord was a rich man, and a good man too; but as passionate as if he had been made of pepper and snuff. "good morning," said he to little claus; "you are come betimes to-day." "yes," said little claus; "i am going to the town with my old grandmother; she is sitting at the back of the wagon, but i cannot bring her into the room. will you take her a glass of mead? but you must speak very loud, for she cannot hear well." "yes, certainly i will," replied the landlord; and, pouring out a glass of mead, he carried it out to the dead grandmother, who sat upright in the cart. "here is a glass of mead from your grandson," said the landlord. the dead woman did not answer a word, but sat quite still. "do you not hear?" cried the landlord as loud as he could; "here is a glass of mead from your grandson." again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir he flew into a passion, and threw the glass of mead in her face; it struck her on the nose, and she fell backwards out of the cart, for she was only seated there, not tied in. "hallo!" cried little claus, rushing out of the door, and seizing hold of the landlord by the throat; "you have killed my grandmother; see, here is a great hole in her forehead." "oh, how unfortunate," said the landlord, wringing his hands. "this all comes of my fiery temper. dear little claus, i will give you a bushel of money; i will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only keep silent, or else they will cut off my head, and that would be disagreeable." so it happened that little claus received another bushel of money, and the landlord buried his old grandmother as if she had been his own. when little claus reached home again, he immediately sent a boy to great claus, requesting him to lend him a bushel measure. "how is this?" thought great claus; "did i not kill him? i must go and see for myself." so he went to little claus, and took the bushel measure with him. "how did you get all this money?" asked great claus, staring with wide open eyes at his neighbor's treasures. "you killed my grandmother instead of me," said little claus; "so i have sold her for a bushel of money." "that is a good price at all events," said great claus. so he went home, took a hatchet, and killed his old grandmother with one blow. then he placed her on a cart, and drove into the town to the apothecary, and asked him if he would buy a dead body. "whose is it, and where did you get it?" asked the apothecary. "it is my grandmother," he replied; "i killed her with a blow, that i might get a bushel of money for her." "heaven preserve us!" cried the apothecary, "you are out of your mind. don't say such things, or you will lose your head." and then he talked to him seriously about the wicked deed he had done, and told him that such a wicked man would surely be punished. great claus got so frightened that he rushed out of the surgery, jumped into the cart, whipped up his horses, and drove home quickly. the apothecary and all the people thought him mad, and let him drive where he liked. "you shall pay for this," said great claus, as soon as he got into the highroad, "that you shall, little claus." so as soon as he reached home he took the largest sack he could find and went over to little claus. "you have played me another trick," said he. "first, i killed all my horses, and then my old grandmother, and it is all your fault; but you shall not make a fool of me any more." so he laid hold of little claus round the body, and pushed him into the sack, which he took on his shoulders, saying, "now i'm going to drown you in the river." he had a long way to go before he reached the river, and little claus was not a very light weight to carry. the road led by the church, and as they passed he could hear the organ playing and the people singing beautifully. great claus put down the sack close to the church-door, and thought he might as well go in and hear a psalm before he went any farther. little claus could not possibly get out of the sack, and all the people were in church; so in he went. "oh dear, oh dear," sighed little claus in the sack, as he turned and twisted about; but he found he could not loosen the string with which it was tied. presently an old cattle driver, with snowy hair, passed by, carrying a large staff in his hand, with which he drove a large herd of cows and oxen before him. they stumbled against the sack in which lay little claus, and turned it over. "oh dear," sighed little claus, "i am very young, yet i am soon going to heaven." "and i, poor fellow," said the drover, "i who am so old already, cannot get there." "open the sack," cried little claus; "creep into it instead of me, and you will soon be there." "with all my heart," replied the drover, opening the sack, from which sprung little claus as quickly as possible. "will you take care of my cattle?" said the old man, as he crept into the bag. "yes," said little claus, and he tied up the sack, and then walked off with all the cows and oxen. when great claus came out of church, he took up the sack, and placed it on his shoulders. it appeared to have become lighter, for the old drover was not half so heavy as little claus. "how light he seems now," said he. "ah, it is because i have been to a church." so he walked on to the river, which was deep and broad, and threw the sack containing the old drover into the water, believing it to be little claus. "there you may lie!" he exclaimed; "you will play me no more tricks now." then he turned to go home, but when he came to a place where two roads crossed, there was little claus driving the cattle. "how is this?" said great claus. "did i not drown you just now?" "yes," said little claus; "you threw me into the river about half an hour ago." "but wherever did you get all these fine beasts?" asked great claus. "these beasts are sea-cattle," replied little claus. "i'll tell you the whole story, and thank you for drowning me; i am above you now, i am really very rich. i was frightened, to be sure, while i lay tied up in the sack, and the wind whistled in my ears when you threw me into the river from the bridge, and i sank to the bottom immediately; but i did not hurt myself, for i fell upon beautifully soft grass which grows down there; and in a moment, the sack opened, and the sweetest little maiden came towards me. she had snow-white robes, and a wreath of green leaves on her wet hair. she took me by the hand, and said, 'so you are come, little claus, and here are some cattle for you to begin with. about a mile farther on the road, there is another herd for you.' then i saw that the river formed a great highway for the people who live in the sea. they were walking and driving here and there from the sea to the land at the, spot where the river terminates. the bed of the river was covered with the loveliest flowers and sweet fresh grass. the fish swam past me as rapidly as the birds do here in the air. how handsome all the people were, and what fine cattle were grazing on the hills and in the valleys!" "but why did you come up again," said great claus, "if it was all so beautiful down there? i should not have done so?" "well," said little claus, "it was good policy on my part; you heard me say just now that i was told by the sea-maiden to go a mile farther on the road, and i should find a whole herd of cattle. by the road she meant the river, for she could not travel any other way; but i knew the winding of the river, and how it bends, sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, and it seemed a long way, so i chose a shorter one; and, by coming up to the land, and then driving across the fields back again to the river, i shall save half a mile, and get all my cattle more quickly." "what a lucky fellow you are!" exclaimed great claus. "do you think i should get any sea-cattle if i went down to the bottom of the river?" "yes, i think so," said little claus; "but i cannot carry you there in a sack, you are too heavy. however if you will go there first, and then creep into a sack, i will throw you in with the greatest pleasure." "thank you," said great claus; "but remember, if i do not get any sea-cattle down there i shall come up again and give you a good thrashing." "no, now, don't be too fierce about it!" said little claus, as they walked on towards the river. when they approached it, the cattle, who were very thirsty, saw the stream, and ran down to drink. "see what a hurry they are in," said little claus, "they are longing to get down again." "come, help me, make haste," said great claus; "or you'll get beaten." so he crept into a large sack, which had been lying across the back of one of the oxen. "put in a stone," said great claus, "or i may not sink." "oh, there's not much fear of that," he replied; still he put a large stone into the bag, and then tied it tightly, and gave it a push. "plump!" in went great claus, and immediately sank to the bottom of the river. "i'm afraid he will not find any cattle," said little claus, and then he drove his own beasts homewards. the little elder-tree mother there was once a little boy who had caught cold; he had gone out and got wet feet. nobody had the least idea how it had happened; the weather was quite dry. his mother undressed him, put him to bed, and ordered the teapot to be brought in, that she might make him a good cup of tea from the elder-tree blossoms, which is so warming. at the same time, the kind-hearted old man who lived by himself in the upper storey of the house came in; he led a lonely life, for he had no wife and children; but he loved the children of others very much, and he could tell so many fairy tales and stories, that it was a pleasure to hear him. "now, drink your tea," said the mother; "perhaps you will hear a story." "yes, if i only knew a fresh one," said the old man, and nodded smilingly. "but how did the little fellow get his wet feet?" he then asked. "that," replied the mother, "nobody can understand." "will you tell me a story?" asked the boy. "yes, if you can tell me as nearly as possible how deep is the gutter in the little street where you go to school." "just half as high as my top-boots," replied the boy; "but then i must stand in the deepest holes." "there, now we know where you got your wet feet," said the old man. "i ought to tell you a story, but the worst of it is, i do not know any more." "you can make one up," said the little boy. "mother says you can tell a fairy tale about anything you look at or touch." "that is all very well, but such tales or stories are worth nothing! no, the right ones come by themselves and knock at my forehead saying: 'here i am.'" "will not one knock soon?" asked the boy; and the mother smiled while she put elder-tree blossoms into the teapot and poured boiling water over them. "pray, tell me a story." "yes, if stories came by themselves; they are so proud, they only come when they please.--but wait," he said suddenly, "there is one. look at the teapot; there is a story in it now." and the little boy looked at the teapot; the lid rose up gradually, the elder-tree blossoms sprang forth one by one, fresh and white; long boughs came forth; even out of the spout they grew up in all directions, and formed a bush--nay, a large elder tree, which stretched its branches up to the bed and pushed the curtains aside; and there were so many blossoms and such a sweet fragrance! in the midst of the tree sat a kindly-looking old woman with a strange dress; it was as green as the leaves, and trimmed with large white blossoms, so that it was difficult to say whether it was real cloth, or the leaves and blossoms of the elder-tree. "what is this woman's name?" asked the little boy. "well, the romans and greeks used to call her a dryad," said the old man; "but we do not understand that. out in the sailors' quarter they give her a better name; there she is called elder-tree mother. now, you must attentively listen to her and look at the beautiful elder-tree. "just such a large tree, covered with flowers, stands out there; it grew in the corner of an humble little yard; under this tree sat two old people one afternoon in the beautiful sunshine. he was an old, old sailor, and she his old wife; they had already great-grandchildren, and were soon to celebrate their golden wedding, but they could not remember the date, and the elder-tree mother was sitting in the tree and looked as pleased as this one here. 'i know very well when the golden wedding is to take place,' she said; but they did not hear it--they were talking of bygone days. "'well, do you remember?' said the old sailor, 'when we were quite small and used to run about and play--it was in the very same yard where we now are--we used to put little branches into the ground and make a garden.' "'yes,' said the old woman, 'i remember it very well; we used to water the branches, and one of them, an elder-tree branch, took root, and grew and became the large tree under which we are now sitting as old people.' "'certainly, you are right,' he said; 'and in yonder corner stood a large water-tub; there i used to sail my boat, which i had cut out myself--it sailed so well; but soon i had to sail somewhere else.' "'but first we went to school to learn something,' she said, 'and then we were confirmed; we both wept on that day, but in the afternoon we went out hand in hand, and ascended the high round tower and looked out into the wide world right over copenhagen and the sea; then we walked to fredericksburg, where the king and the queen were sailing about in their magnificent boat on the canals.' "'but soon i had to sail about somewhere else, and for many years i was travelling about far away from home.' "'and i often cried about you, for i was afraid lest you were drowned and lying at the bottom of the sea. many a time i got up in the night and looked if the weathercock had turned; it turned often, but you did not return. i remember one day distinctly: the rain was pouring down in torrents; the dust-man had come to the house where i was in service; i went down with the dust-bin and stood for a moment in the doorway, and looked at the dreadful weather. then the postman gave me a letter; it was from you. heavens! how that letter had travelled about. i tore it open and read it; i cried and laughed at the same time, and was so happy! therein was written that you were staying in the hot countries, where the coffee grows. these must be marvellous countries. you said a great deal about them, and i read all while the rain was pouring down and i was standing there with the dust-bin. then suddenly some one put his arm round my waist-' "'yes, and you gave him a hearty smack on the cheek,' said the old man. "'i did not know that it was you--you had come as quickly as your letter; and you looked so handsome, and so you do still. you had a large yellow silk handkerchief in your pocket and a shining hat on. you looked so well, and the weather in the street was horrible!' "'then we married,' he said. 'do you remember how we got our first boy, and then mary, niels, peter, john, and christian?' "'oh yes; and now they have all grown up, and have become useful members of society, whom everybody cares for.' "'and their children have had children again,' said the old sailor. 'yes, these are children's children, and they are strong and healthy. if i am not mistaken, our wedding took place at this season of the year.' "'yes, to-day is your golden wedding-day,' said the little elder-tree mother, stretching her head down between the two old people, who thought that she was their neighbour who was nodding to them; they looked at each other and clasped hands. soon afterwards the children and grandchildren came, for they knew very well that it was the golden wedding-day; they had already wished them joy and happiness in the morning, but the old people had forgotten it, although they remembered things so well that had passed many, many years ago. the elder-tree smelt strongly, and the setting sun illuminated the faces of the two old people, so that they looked quite rosy; the youngest of the grandchildren danced round them, and cried merrily that there would be a feast in the evening, for they were to have hot potatoes; and the elder mother nodded in the tree and cried 'hooray' with the others." "but that was no fairy tale," said the little boy who had listened to it. "you will presently understand it," said the old man who told the story. "let us ask little elder-tree mother about it." "that was no fairy tale," said the little elder-tree mother; "but now it comes! real life furnishes us with subjects for the most wonderful fairy tales; for otherwise my beautiful elder-bush could not have grown forth out of the teapot." and then she took the little boy out of bed and placed him on her bosom; the elder branches, full of blossoms, closed over them; it was as if they sat in a thick leafy bower which flew with them through the air; it was beautiful beyond all description. the little elder-tree mother had suddenly become a charming young girl, but her dress was still of the same green material, covered with white blossoms, as the elder-tree mother had worn; she had a real elder blossom on her bosom, and a wreath of the same flowers was wound round her curly golden hair; her eyes were so large and so blue that it was wonderful to look at them. she and the boy kissed each other, and then they were of the same age and felt the same joys. they walked hand in hand out of the bower, and now stood at home in a beautiful flower garden. near the green lawn the father's walking-stick was tied to a post. there was life in this stick for the little ones, for as soon as they seated themselves upon it the polished knob turned into a neighing horse's head, a long black mane was fluttering in the wind, and four strong slender legs grew out. the animal was fiery and spirited; they galloped round the lawn. "hooray! now we shall ride far away, many miles!" said the boy; "we shall ride to the nobleman's estate where we were last year." and they rode round the lawn again, and the little girl, who, as we know, was no other than the little elder-tree mother, continually cried, "now we are in the country! do you see the farmhouse there, with the large baking stove, which projects like a gigantic egg out of the wall into the road? the elder-tree spreads its branches over it, and the cock struts about and scratches for the hens. look how proud he is! now we are near the church; it stands on a high hill, under the spreading oak trees; one of them is half dead! now we are at the smithy, where the fire roars and the half-naked men beat with their hammers so that the sparks fly far and wide. let's be off to the beautiful farm!" and they passed by everything the little girl, who was sitting behind on the stick, described, and the boy saw it, and yet they only went round the lawn. then they played in a side-walk, and marked out a little garden on the ground; she took elder-blossoms out of her hair and planted them, and they grew exactly like those the old people planted when they were children, as we have heard before. they walked about hand in hand, just as the old couple had done when they were little, but they did not go to the round tower nor to the fredericksburg garden. no; the little girl seized the boy round the waist, and then they flew far into the country. it was spring and it became summer, it was autumn and it became winter, and thousands of pictures reflected themselves in the boy's eyes and heart, and the little girl always sang again, "you will never forget that!" and during their whole flight the elder-tree smelt so sweetly; he noticed the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder-tree smelt much stronger, for the flowers were fixed on the little girl's bosom, against which the boy often rested his head during the flight. "it is beautiful here in spring," said the little girl, and they were again in the green beechwood, where the thyme breathed forth sweet fragrance at their feet, and the pink anemones looked lovely in the green moss. "oh! that it were always spring in the fragrant beechwood!" "here it is splendid in summer!" she said, and they passed by old castles of the age of chivalry. the high walls and indented battlements were reflected in the water of the ditches, on which swans were swimming and peering into the old shady avenues. the corn waved in the field like a yellow sea. red and yellow flowers grew in the ditches, wild hops and convolvuli in full bloom in the hedges. in the evening the moon rose, large and round, and the hayricks in the meadows smelt sweetly. "one can never forget it!" "here it is beautiful in autumn!" said the little girl, and the atmosphere seemed twice as high and blue, while the wood shone with crimson, green, and gold. the hounds were running off, flocks of wild fowl flew screaming over the barrows, while the bramble bushes twined round the old stones. the dark-blue sea was covered with white-sailed ships, and in the barns sat old women, girls, and children picking hops into a large tub; the young ones sang songs, and the old people told fairy tales about goblins and sorcerers. it could not be more pleasant anywhere. "here it's agreeable in winter!" said the little girl, and all the trees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like white coral. the snow creaked under one's feet, as if one had new boots on. one shooting star after another traversed the sky. in the room the christmas tree was lit, and there were song and merriment. in the peasant's cottage the violin sounded, and games were played for apple quarters; even the poorest child said, "it is beautiful in winter!" and indeed it was beautiful! and the little girl showed everything to the boy, and the elder-tree continued to breathe forth sweet perfume, while the red flag with the white cross was streaming in the wind; it was the flag under which the old sailor had served. the boy became a youth; he was to go out into the wide world, far away to the countries where the coffee grows. but at parting the little girl took an elder-blossom from her breast and gave it to him as a keepsake. he placed it in his prayer-book, and when he opened it in distant lands it was always at the place where the flower of remembrance was lying; and the more he looked at it the fresher it became, so that he could almost smell the fragrance of the woods at home. he distinctly saw the little girl, with her bright blue eyes, peeping out from behind the petals, and heard her whispering, "here it is beautiful in spring, in summer, in autumn, and in winter," and hundreds of pictures passed through his mind. thus many years rolled by. he had now become an old man, and was sitting, with his old wife, under an elder-tree in full bloom. they held each other by the hand exactly as the great-grandfather and the great-grandmother had done outside, and, like them, they talked about bygone days and of their golden wedding. the little girl with the blue eyes and elder-blossoms in her hair was sitting high up in the tree, and nodded to them, saying, "to-day is the golden wedding!" and then she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed them. they glittered at first like silver, then like gold, and when she placed them on the heads of the old people each flower became a golden crown. there they both sat like a king and queen under the sweet-smelling tree, which looked exactly like an elder-tree, and he told his wife the story of the elder-tree mother as it had been told him when he was a little boy. they were both of opinion that the story contained many points like their own, and these similarities they liked best. "yes, so it is," said the little girl in the tree. "some call me little elder-tree mother; others a dryad; but my real name is 'remembrance.' it is i who sit in the tree which grows and grows. i can remember things and tell stories! but let's see if you have still got your flower." and the old man opened his prayer-book; the elder-blossom was still in it, and as fresh as if it had only just been put in. remembrance nodded, and the two old people, with the golden crowns on their heads, sat in the glowing evening sun. they closed their eyes and--and-- well, now the story is ended! the little boy in bed did not know whether he had dreamt it or heard it told; the teapot stood on the table, but no elder-tree was growing out of it, and the old man who had told the story was on the point of leaving the room, and he did go out. "how beautiful it was!" said the little boy. "mother, i have been to warm countries!" "i believe you," said the mother; "if one takes two cups of hot elder-tea it is quite natural that one gets into warm countries!" and she covered him up well, so that he might not take cold. "you have slept soundly while i was arguing with the old man whether it was a story or a fairy tale!" "and what has become of the little elder-tree mother?" asked the boy. "she is in the teapot," said the mother; "and there she may remain." little ida's flowers "my poor flowers are quite dead," said little ida, "they were so pretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are hanging down quite withered. what do they do that for," she asked, of the student who sat on the sofa; she liked him very much, he could tell the most amusing stories, and cut out the prettiest pictures; hearts, and ladies dancing, castles with doors that opened, as well as flowers; he was a delightful student. "why do the flowers look so faded to-day?" she asked again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered. "don't you know what is the matter with them?" said the student. "the flowers were at a ball last night, and therefore, it is no wonder they hang their heads." "but flowers cannot dance?" cried little ida. "yes indeed, they can," replied the student. "when it grows dark, and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite merrily. they have a ball almost every night." "can children go to these balls?" "yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of the valley." "where do the beautiful flowers dance?" asked little ida. "have you not often seen the large castle outside the gates of the town, where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful garden is full of flowers? and have you not fed the swans with bread when they swam towards you? well, the flowers have capital balls there, believe me." "i was in the garden out there yesterday with my mother," said ida, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not a single flower left. where are they? i used to see so many in the summer." "they are in the castle," replied the student. "you must know that as soon as the king and all the court are gone into the town, the flowers run out of the garden into the castle, and you should see how merry they are. the two most beautiful roses seat themselves on the throne, and are called the king and queen, then all the red cockscombs range themselves on each side, and bow, these are the lords-in-waiting. after that the pretty flowers come in, and there is a grand ball. the blue violets represent little naval cadets, and dance with hyacinths and crocuses which they call young ladies. the tulips and tiger-lilies are the old ladies who sit and watch the dancing, so that everything may be conducted with order and propriety." "but," said little ida, "is there no one there to hurt the flowers for dancing in the king's castle?" "no one knows anything about it," said the student. "the old steward of the castle, who has to watch there at night, sometimes comes in; but he carries a great bunch of keys, and as soon as the flowers hear the keys rattle, they run and hide themselves behind the long curtains, and stand quite still, just peeping their heads out. then the old steward says, 'i smell flowers here,' but he cannot see them." "oh how capital," said little ida, clapping her hands. "should i be able to see these flowers?" "yes," said the student, "mind you think of it the next time you go out, no doubt you will see them, if you peep through the window. i did so to-day, and i saw a long yellow lily lying stretched out on the sofa. she was a court lady." "can the flowers from the botanical gardens go to these balls?" asked ida. "it is such a distance!" "oh yes," said the student, "whenever they like, for they can fly. have you not seen those beautiful red, white, and yellow butterflies, that look like flowers? they were flowers once. they have flown off their stalks into the air, and flap their leaves as if they were little wings to make them fly. then, if they behave well, they obtain permission to fly about during the day, instead of being obliged to sit still on their stems at home, and so in time their leaves become real wings. it may be, however, that the flowers in the botanical gardens have never been to the king's palace, and, therefore, they know nothing of the merry doings at night, which take place there. i will tell you what to do, and the botanical professor, who lives close by here, will be so surprised. you know him very well, do you not? well, next time you go into his garden, you must tell one of the flowers that there is going to be a grand ball at the castle, then that flower will tell all the others, and they will fly away to the castle as soon as possible. and when the professor walks into his garden, there will not be a single flower left. how he will wonder what has become of them!" "but how can one flower tell another? flowers cannot speak?" "no, certainly not," replied the student; "but they can make signs. have you not often seen that when the wind blows they nod at one another, and rustle all their green leaves?" "can the professor understand the signs?" asked ida. "yes, to be sure he can. he went one morning into his garden, and saw a stinging nettle making signs with its leaves to a beautiful red carnation. it was saying, 'you are so pretty, i like you very much.' but the professor did not approve of such nonsense, so he clapped his hands on the nettle to stop it. then the leaves, which are its fingers, stung him so sharply that he has never ventured to touch a nettle since." "oh how funny!" said ida, and she laughed. "how can anyone put such notions into a child's head?" said a tiresome lawyer, who had come to pay a visit, and sat on the sofa. he did not like the student, and would grumble when he saw him cutting out droll or amusing pictures. sometimes it would be a man hanging on a gibbet and holding a heart in his hand as if he had been stealing hearts. sometimes it was an old witch riding through the air on a broom and carrying her husband on her nose. but the lawyer did not like such jokes, and he would say as he had just said, "how can anyone put such nonsense into a child's head! what absurd fancies there are!" but to little ida, all these stories which the student told her about the flowers, seemed very droll, and she thought over them a great deal. the flowers did hang their heads, because they had been dancing all night, and were very tired, and most likely they were ill. then she took them into the room where a number of toys lay on a pretty little table, and the whole of the table drawer besides was full of beautiful things. her doll sophy lay in the doll's bed asleep, and little ida said to her, "you must really get up sophy, and be content to lie in the drawer to-night; the poor flowers are ill, and they must lie in your bed, then perhaps they will get well again." so she took the doll out, who looked quite cross, and said not a single word, for she was angry at being turned out of her bed. ida placed the flowers in the doll's bed, and drew the quilt over them. then she told them to lie quite still and be good, while she made some tea for them, so that they might be quite well and able to get up the next morning. and she drew the curtains close round the little bed, so that the sun might not shine in their eyes. during the whole evening she could not help thinking of what the student had told her. and before she went to bed herself, she was obliged to peep behind the curtains into the garden where all her mother's beautiful flowers grew, hyacinths and tulips, and many others. then she whispered to them quite softly, "i know you are going to a ball to-night." but the flowers appeared as if they did not understand, and not a leaf moved; still ida felt quite sure she knew all about it. she lay awake a long time after she was in bed, thinking how pretty it must be to see all the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's garden. "i wonder if my flowers have really been there," she said to herself, and then she fell asleep. in the night she awoke; she had been dreaming of the flowers and of the student, as well as of the tiresome lawyer who found fault with him. it was quite still in ida's bedroom; the night-lamp burnt on the table, and her father and mother were asleep. "i wonder if my flowers are still lying in sophy's bed," she thought to herself; "how much i should like to know." she raised herself a little, and glanced at the door of the room where all her flowers and playthings lay; it was partly open, and as she listened, it seemed as if some one in the room was playing the piano, but softly and more prettily than she had ever before heard it. "now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there," she thought, "oh how much i should like to see them," but she did not dare move for fear of disturbing her father and mother. "if they would only come in here," she thought; but they did not come, and the music continued to play so beautifully, and was so pretty, that she could resist no longer. she crept out of her little bed, went softly to the door and looked into the room. oh what a splendid sight there was to be sure! there was no night-lamp burning, but the room appeared quite light, for the moon shone through the window upon the floor, and made it almost like day. all the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows down the room, not a single flower remained in the window, and the flower-pots were all empty. the flowers were dancing gracefully on the floor, making turns and holding each other by their long green leaves as they swung round. at the piano sat a large yellow lily which little ida was sure she had seen in the summer, for she remembered the student saying she was very much like miss lina, one of ida's friends. they all laughed at him then, but now it seemed to little ida as if the tall, yellow flower was really like the young lady. she had just the same manners while playing, bending her long yellow face from side to side, and nodding in time to the beautiful music. then she saw a large purple crocus jump into the middle of the table where the playthings stood, go up to the doll's bedstead and draw back the curtains; there lay the sick flowers, but they got up directly, and nodded to the others as a sign that they wished to dance with them. the old rough doll, with the broken mouth, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers. they did not look ill at all now, but jumped about and were very merry, yet none of them noticed little ida. presently it seemed as if something fell from the table. ida looked that way, and saw a slight carnival rod jumping down among the flowers as if it belonged to them; it was, however, very smooth and neat, and a little wax doll with a broad brimmed hat on her head, like the one worn by the lawyer, sat upon it. the carnival rod hopped about among the flowers on its three red stilted feet, and stamped quite loud when it danced the mazurka; the flowers could not perform this dance, they were too light to stamp in that manner. all at once the wax doll which rode on the carnival rod seemed to grow larger and taller, and it turned round and said to the paper flowers, "how can you put such things in a child's head? they are all foolish fancies;" and then the doll was exactly like the lawyer with the broad brimmed hat, and looked as yellow and as cross as he did; but the paper dolls struck him on his thin legs, and he shrunk up again and became quite a little wax doll. this was very amusing, and ida could not help laughing. the carnival rod went on dancing, and the lawyer was obliged to dance also. it was no use, he might make himself great and tall, or remain a little wax doll with a large black hat; still he must dance. then at last the other flowers interceded for him, especially those who had lain in the doll's bed, and the carnival rod gave up his dancing. at the same moment a loud knocking was heard in the drawer, where ida's doll sophy lay with many other toys. then the rough doll ran to the end of the table, laid himself flat down upon it, and began to pull the drawer out a little way. then sophy raised himself, and looked round quite astonished, "there must be a ball here to-night," said sophy. "why did not somebody tell me?" "will you dance with me?" said the rough doll. "you are the right sort to dance with, certainly," said she, turning her back upon him. then she seated herself on the edge of the drawer, and thought that perhaps one of the flowers would ask her to dance; but none of them came. then she coughed, "hem, hem, a-hem;" but for all that not one came. the shabby doll now danced quite alone, and not very badly, after all. as none of the flowers seemed to notice sophy, she let herself down from the drawer to the floor, so as to make a very great noise. all the flowers came round her directly, and asked if she had hurt herself, especially those who had lain in her bed. but she was not hurt at all, and ida's flowers thanked her for the use of the nice bed, and were very kind to her. they led her into the middle of the room, where the moon shone, and danced with her, while all the other flowers formed a circle round them. then sophy was very happy, and said they might keep her bed; she did not mind lying in the drawer at all. but the flowers thanked her very much, and said,-- "we cannot live long. to-morrow morning we shall be quite dead; and you must tell little ida to bury us in the garden, near to the grave of the canary; then, in the summer we shall wake up and be more beautiful than ever." "no, you must not die," said sophy, as she kissed the flowers. then the door of the room opened, and a number of beautiful flowers danced in. ida could not imagine where they could come from, unless they were the flowers from the king's garden. first came two lovely roses, with little golden crowns on their heads; these were the king and queen. beautiful stocks and carnations followed, bowing to every one present. they had also music with them. large poppies and peonies had pea-shells for instruments, and blew into them till they were quite red in the face. the bunches of blue hyacinths and the little white snowdrops jingled their bell-like flowers, as if they were real bells. then came many more flowers: blue violets, purple heart's-ease, daisies, and lilies of the valley, and they all danced together, and kissed each other. it was very beautiful to behold. at last the flowers wished each other good-night. then little ida crept back into her bed again, and dreamt of all she had seen. when she arose the next morning, she went quickly to the little table, to see if the flowers were still there. she drew aside the curtains of the little bed. there they all lay, but quite faded; much more so than the day before. sophy was lying in the drawer where ida had placed her; but she looked very sleepy. "do you remember what the flowers told you to say to me?" said little ida. but sophy looked quite stupid, and said not a single word. "you are not kind at all," said ida; "and yet they all danced with you." then she took a little paper box, on which were painted beautiful birds, and laid the dead flowers in it. "this shall be your pretty coffin," she said; "and by and by, when my cousins come to visit me, they shall help me to bury you out in the garden; so that next summer you may grow up again more beautiful than ever." her cousins were two good-tempered boys, whose names were james and adolphus. their father had given them each a bow and arrow, and they had brought them to show ida. she told them about the poor flowers which were dead; and as soon as they obtained permission, they went with her to bury them. the two boys walked first, with their crossbows on their shoulders, and little ida followed, carrying the pretty box containing the dead flowers. they dug a little grave in the garden. ida kissed her flowers and then laid them, with the box, in the earth. james and adolphus then fired their crossbows over the grave, as they had neither guns nor cannons. the little match-seller it was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. in the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. it is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. they were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. one of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. so the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. in an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. no one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had any one given here even a penny. shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. the snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not. lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was new-year's eve--yes, she remembered that. in a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. she had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. she drew one out-"scratch!" how it sputtered as it burnt! it gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. it was really a wonderful light. it seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. how the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand. she rubbed another match on the wall. it burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. the table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. and what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. she lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful christmas-tree. it was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. the little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out. the christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. "some one is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to god. she again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. "grandmother," cried the little one, "o take me with you; i know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious christmas-tree." and she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. and the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. she took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with god. in the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the new-year's sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! the child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. "she tried to warm herself," said some. no one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on new-year's day. the little mermaid far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. there dwell the sea king and his subjects. we must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. no, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. in the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the sea king. its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber. the roof is formed of shells, that open and close as the water flows over them. their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for the diadem of a queen. the sea king had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept house for him. she was a very wise woman, and exceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore twelve oysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank, were only allowed to wear six. she was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her care of the little sea-princesses, her grand-daughters. they were six beautiful children; but the youngest was the prettiest of them all; her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet, and her body ended in a fish's tail. all day long they played in the great halls of the castle, or among the living flowers that grew out of the walls. the large amber windows were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our houses when we open the windows, excepting that the fishes swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked. outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in which grew bright red and dark blue flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro continually. the earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance, as if it were surrounded by the air from above, through which the blue sky shone, instead of the dark depths of the sea. in calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a purple flower, with the light streaming from the calyx. each of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, where she might dig and plant as she pleased. one arranged her flower-bed into the form of a whale; another thought it better to make hers like the figure of a little mermaid; but that of the youngest was round like the sun, and contained flowers as red as his rays at sunset. she was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful; and while her sisters would be delighted with the wonderful things which they obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared for nothing but her pretty red flowers, like the sun, excepting a beautiful marble statue. it was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck. she planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. it grew splendidly, and very soon hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the blue sands. the shadow had a violet tint, and waved to and fro like the branches; it seemed as if the crown of the tree and the root were at play, and trying to kiss each other. nothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. she made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. to her it seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land should have fragrance, and not those below the sea; that the trees of the forest should be green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly, that it was quite a pleasure to hear them. her grandmother called the little birds fishes, or she would not have understood her; for she had never seen birds. "when you have reached your fifteenth year," said the grand-mother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns." in the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen: but as each was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to wait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the ocean, and see the earth as we do. however, each promised to tell the others what she saw on her first visit, and what she thought the most beautiful; for their grandmother could not tell them enough; there were so many things on which they wanted information. none of them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest, she who had the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and thoughtful. many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the dark blue water, and watching the fish as they splashed about with their fins and tails. she could see the moon and stars shining faintly; but through the water they looked larger than they do to our eyes. when something like a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings, who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship. as soon as the eldest was fifteen, she was allowed to rise to the surface of the ocean. when she came back, she had hundreds of things to talk about; but the most beautiful, she said, was to lie in the moonlight, on a sandbank, in the quiet sea, near the coast, and to gaze on a large town nearby, where the lights were twinkling like hundreds of stars; to listen to the sounds of the music, the noise of carriages, and the voices of human beings, and then to hear the merry bells peal out from the church steeples; and because she could not go near to all those wonderful things, she longed for them more than ever. oh, did not the youngest sister listen eagerly to all these descriptions? and afterwards, when she stood at the open window looking up through the dark blue water, she thought of the great city, with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the sound of the church bells, down in the depths of the sea. in another year the second sister received permission to rise to the surface of the water, and to swim about where she pleased. she rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most beautiful sight of all. the whole sky looked like gold, while violet and rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, floated over her; and, still more rapidly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans towards the setting sun, looking like a long white veil across the sea. she also swam towards the sun; but it sunk into the waves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the sea. the third sister's turn followed; she was the boldest of them all, and she swam up a broad river that emptied itself into the sea. on the banks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines; palaces and castles peeped out from amid the proud trees of the forest; she heard the birds singing, and the rays of the sun were so powerful that she was obliged often to dive down under the water to cool her burning face. in a narrow creek she found a whole troop of little human children, quite naked, and sporting about in the water; she wanted to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then a little black animal came to the water; it was a dog, but she did not know that, for she had never before seen one. this animal barked at her so terribly that she became frightened, and rushed back to the open sea. but she said she should never forget the beautiful forest, the green hills, and the pretty little children who could swim in the water, although they had not fish's tails. the fourth sister was more timid; she remained in the midst of the sea, but she said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the land. she could see for so many miles around her, and the sky above looked like a bell of glass. she had seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they looked like sea-gulls. the dolphins sported in the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in every direction. the fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter; so when her turn came, she saw what the others had not seen the first time they went up. the sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier than the churches built by men. they were of the most singular shapes, and glittered like diamonds. she had seated herself upon one of the largest, and let the wind play with her long hair, and she remarked that all the ships sailed by rapidly, and steered as far away as they could from the iceberg, as if they were afraid of it. towards evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the red light glowed on the icebergs as they rocked and tossed on the heaving sea. on all the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat calmly on the floating iceberg, watching the blue lightning, as it darted its forked flashes into the sea. when first the sisters had permission to rise to the surface, they were each delighted with the new and beautiful sights they saw; but now, as grown-up girls, they could go when they pleased, and they had become indifferent about it. they wished themselves back again in the water, and after a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below, and pleasanter to be at home. yet often, in the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms round each other, and rise to the surface, in a row. they had more beautiful voices than any human being could have; and before the approach of a storm, and when they expected a ship would be lost, they swam before the vessel, and sang sweetly of the delights to be found in the depths of the sea, and begging the sailors not to fear if they sank to the bottom. but the sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the howling of the storm. and these things were never to be beautiful for them; for if the ship sank, the men were drowned, and their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the sea king. when the sisters rose, arm-in-arm, through the water in this way, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking after them, ready to cry, only that the mermaids have no tears, and therefore they suffer more. "oh, were i but fifteen years old," said she: "i know that i shall love the world up there, and all the people who live in it." at last she reached her fifteenth year. "well, now, you are grown up," said the old dowager, her grandmother; "so you must let me adorn you like your other sisters;" and she placed a wreath of white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank. "but they hurt me so," said the little mermaid. "pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady. oh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid aside the heavy wreath! the red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much better, but she could not help herself: so she said, "farewell," and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. the sun had just set as she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. the sea was calm, and the air mild and fresh. a large ship, with three masts, lay becalmed on the water, with only one sail set; for not a breeze stiffed, and the sailors sat idle on deck or amongst the rigging. there was music and song on board; and, as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. the little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept with much rejoicing. the sailors were dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. the little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water; and when she again stretched out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. the ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. and how handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air. it was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. the colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: still the little mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, which enabled her to look in. after a while, the sails were quickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance. a dreadful storm was approaching; once more the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. the waves rose mountains high, as if they would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swan between them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. to the little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the sailors. at length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side; and the water rushed in. the little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water. at one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see a single object, but a flash of lightning revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been on board excepting the prince; when the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and then she remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when he got down to her father's palace he would be quite dead. but he must not die. so she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormy sea. his limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance. she held his head above the water, and let the waves drift them where they would. in the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. the sun rose up red and glowing from the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the prince's cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. the mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed him again, and wished that he might live. presently they came in sight of land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. near the coast were beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. the sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still, but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body. then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number of young girls came into the garden. the little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks that rose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with the foam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watched to see what would become of the poor prince. she did not wait long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. she seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. but to her he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him. this made her very unhappy, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived down sorrowfully into the water, and returned to her father's castle. she had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell them nothing. many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. she saw the fruits in the garden ripen till they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away; but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home, always more sorrowful than before. it was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marble statue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the whole place became dark and gloomy. at length she could bear it no longer, and told one of her sisters all about it. then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimate friend happened to know who the prince was. she had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from, and where his palace stood. "come, little sister," said the other princesses; then they entwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the surface of the water, close by the spot where they knew the prince's palace stood. it was built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble. through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the walls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to look at. in the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautiful plants growing round the basin of the fountain. now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. she would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thought himself quite alone in the bright moonlight. she saw him many times of an evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flags waving. she peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings. on many a night, too, when the fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them relate so many good things about the doings of the young prince, that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed about half-dead on the waves. and she remembered that his head had rested on her bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and could not even dream of her. she grew more and more fond of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. they could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. there was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unable to answer all her questions. then she applied to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she very rightly called the lands above the sea. "if human beings are not drowned," asked the little mermaid, "can they live forever? do they never die as we do here in the sea?" "yes," replied the old lady, "they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. we sometimes live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of those we love. we have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. it rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars. as we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see." "why have not we an immortal soul?" asked the little mermaid mournfully; "i would give gladly all the hundreds of years that i have to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars." "you must not think of that," said the old woman; "we feel ourselves to be much happier and much better off than human beings." "so i shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the foam of the sea i shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. is there anything i can do to win an immortal soul?" "no," said the old woman, "unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. he would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. your fish's tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome." then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at her fish's tail. "let us be happy," said the old lady, "and dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really quite long enough; after that we can rest ourselves all the better. this evening we are going to have a court ball." it is one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. the walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick, but transparent crystal. may hundreds of colossal shells, some of a deep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, with blue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shone through the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated. innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they shone like silver and gold. through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing. no one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs. the little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. the whole court applauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or in the sea. but she soon thought again of the world above her, for she could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away silently out of her father's palace, and while everything within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden sorrowful and alone. then she heard the bugle sounding through the water, and thought--"he is certainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes depend, and in whose hands i should like to place the happiness of my life. i will venture all for him, and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters are dancing in my father's palace, i will go to the sea witch, of whom i have always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel and help." and then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. she had never been that way before: neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill-wheels, whirled round everything that it seized, and cast it into the fathomless deep. through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also for a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. beyond this stood her house, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked like serpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. the branches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top. all that could be reached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches. the little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and she was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. she fastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi might not seize hold of it. she laid her hands together across her bosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her. she saw that each held in its grasp something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they were iron bands. the white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of land animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly grasped by their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caught and strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess. she now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. in the midst of this spot stood a house, built with the bones of shipwrecked human beings. there sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a canary with a piece of sugar. she called the ugly water-snakes her little chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom. "i know what you want," said the sea witch; "it is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. you want to get rid of your fish's tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul." and then the witch laughed so loud and disgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay there wriggling about. "you are but just in time," said the witch; "for after sunrise to-morrow i should not be able to help you till the end of another year. i will prepare a draught for you, with which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the shore and drink it. your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. but all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. you will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow. if you will bear all this, i will help you." "yes, i will," said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul. "but think again," said the witch; "for when once your shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. you will never return through the water to your sisters, or to your father's palace again; and if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake, and to love you with his whole soul, and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. the first morning after he marries another your heart will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves." "i will do it," said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death. "but i must be paid also," said the witch, "and it is not a trifle that i ask. you have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the best thing you possess will i have for the price of my draught. my own blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword." "but if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid, "what is left for me?" "your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man's heart. well, have you lost your courage? put out your little tongue that i may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught." "it shall be," said the little mermaid. then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare the magic draught. "cleanliness is a good thing," said she, scouring the vessel with snakes, which she had tied together in a large knot; then she pricked herself in the breast, and let the black blood drop into it. the steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. every moment the witch threw something else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. when at last the magic draught was ready, it looked like the clearest water. "there it is for you," said the witch. then she cut off the mermaid's tongue, so that she became dumb, and would never again speak or sing. "if the polypi should seize hold of you as you return through the wood," said the witch, "throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand pieces." but the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star. so she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and between the rushing whirlpools. she saw that in her father's palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all within asleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for now she was dumb and going to leave them forever, she felt as if her heart would break. she stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds of each of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards the palace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. the sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace, and approached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright. then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon, and lay like one dead. when the sun arose and shone over the sea, she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood the handsome young prince. he fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down her own, and then became aware that her fish's tail was gone, and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have; but she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. the prince asked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she could not speak. every step she took was as the witch had said it would be, she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives; but she bore it willingly, and stepped as lightly by the prince's side as a soap-bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful-swaying movements. she was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speak nor sing. beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents: one sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. this was great sorrow to the little mermaid; she knew how much more sweetly she herself could sing once, and she thought, "oh if he could only know that! i have given away my voice forever, to be with him." the slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. at each moment her beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives. the prince said she should remain with him always, and she received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. he had a page's dress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. they rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. she climbed with the prince to the tops of high mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birds travelling to distant lands. while at the prince's palace, and when all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in the deep. once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singing sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. she beckoned to them, and then they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them. after that, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old sea king, her father, with his crown on his head. they stretched out their hands towards her, but they did not venture so near the land as her sisters did. as the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head to make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea. "do you not love me the best of them all?" the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissed her fair forehead. "yes, you are dear to me," said the prince; "for you have the best heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maiden whom i once saw, but whom i shall never meet again. i was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens performed the service. the youngest of them found me on the shore, and saved my life. i saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom i could love; but you are like her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. she belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to me instead of her; and we will never part." "ah, he knows not that it was i who saved his life," thought the little mermaid. "i carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands: i sat beneath the foam, and watched till the human beings came to help him. i saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me;" and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not shed tears. "he says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world. they will meet no more: while i am by his side, and see him every day. i will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake." very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. although the prince gave out that he merely intended to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he really went to see his daughter. a great company were to go with him. the little mermaid smiled, and shook her head. she knew the prince's thoughts better than any of the others. "i must travel," he had said to her; "i must see this beautiful princess; my parents desire it; but they will not oblige me to bring her home as my bride. i cannot love her; she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. if i were forced to choose a bride, i would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes." and then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul. "you are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child," said he, as they stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king. and then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there; and she smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea. in the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting the man at the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck, gazing down through the clear water. she thought she could distinguish her father's castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. then her sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. she beckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; but the cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he thought it was only the foam of the sea which he saw. the next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. the church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of trumpets; and soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the rocks through which they passed. every day was a festival; balls and entertainments followed one another. but the princess had not yet appeared. people said that she was being brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was learning every royal virtue. at last she came. then the little mermaid, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful, was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long dark eye-lashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity. "it was you," said the prince, "who saved my life when i lay dead on the beach," and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. "oh, i am too happy," said he to the little mermaid; "my fondest hopes are all fulfilled. you will rejoice at my happiness; for your devotion to me is great and sincere." the little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart were already broken. his wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea. all the church bells rung, and the heralds rode about the town proclaiming the betrothal. perfumed oil was burning in costly silver lamps on every altar. the priests waved the censers, while the bride and bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the bishop. the little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride's train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world. on the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board ship; cannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the centre of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. it contained elegant couches, for the reception of the bridal pair during the night. the ship, with swelling sails and a favorable wind, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea. when it grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and the sailors danced merrily on the deck. the little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance, poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered her with wonder. she had never danced so elegantly before. her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for it; a sharper pang had pierced through her heart. she knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up her beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. this was the last evening that she would breathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her: she had no soul and now she could never win one. all was joy and gayety on board ship till long after midnight; she laughed and danced with the rest, while the thoughts of death were in her heart. the prince kissed his beautiful bride, while she played with his raven hair, till they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. then all became still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake, stood at the helm. the little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel, and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning, for that first ray of dawn that would bring her death. she saw her sisters rising out of the flood: they were as pale as herself; but their long beautiful hair waved no more in the wind, and had been cut off. "we have given our hair to the witch," said they, "to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. she has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish's tail, and you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. our old grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. kill the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? in a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die." and then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the waves. the little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince's breast. she bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. she was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. she cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was dissolving into foam. the sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. she saw the bright sun, and all around her floated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could see through them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in the sky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by mortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. the little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. "where am i?" asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those who were with her; no earthly music could imitate it. "among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "a mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of a human being. on the power of another hangs her eternal destiny. but the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. we fly to warm countries, and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. we carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration. after we have striven for three hundred years to all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. you, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing; you have suffered and endured and raised yourself to the spirit-world by your good deeds; and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul." the little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. on the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether. "after three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven," said she. "and we may even get there sooner," whispered one of her companions. "unseen we can enter the houses of men, where there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child, who is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened. the child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can count one year less of our three hundred years. but when we see a naughty or a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial!" little tiny or thumbelina there was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child, but she could not obtain her wish. at last she went to a fairy, and said, "i should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me where i can find one?" "oh, that can be easily managed," said the fairy. "here is a barleycorn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer's fields, and which the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, and see what will happen." "thank you," said the woman, and she gave the fairy twelve shillings, which was the price of the barleycorn. then she went home and planted it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower, something like a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightly closed as if it were still a bud. "it is a beautiful flower," said the woman, and she kissed the red and golden-colored leaves, and while she did so the flower opened, and she could see that it was a real tulip. within the flower, upon the green velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden. she was scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of "thumbelina," or tiny, because she was so small. a walnut-shell, elegantly polished, served her for a cradle; her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves, with a rose-leaf for a counterpane. here she slept at night, but during the day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed a plateful of water. round this plate were wreaths of flowers with their stems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which served tiny for a boat. here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. it really was a very pretty sight. tiny could, also, sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like her singing had ever before been heard. one night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and leaped right upon the table where tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt. "what a pretty little wife this would make for my son," said the toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little tiny lay asleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden. in the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad, with her son. he was uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the pretty little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry, "croak, croak, croak." "don't speak so loud, or she will wake," said the toad, "and then she might run away, for she is as light as swan's down. we will place her on one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will be like an island to her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape; and, while she is away, we will make haste and prepare the state-room under the marsh, in which you are to live when you are married." far out in the stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broad green leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. the largest of these leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it with the walnut-shell, in which little tiny lay still asleep. the tiny little creature woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when she found where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the land. meanwhile the old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placed poor little tiny. she wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she might put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. the old toad bowed low to her in the water, and said, "here is my son, he will be your husband, and you will live happily in the marsh by the stream." "croak, croak, croak," was all her son could say for himself; so the toad took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it, leaving tiny all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. she could not bear to think of living with the old toad, and having her ugly son for a husband. the little fishes, who swam about in the water beneath, had seen the toad, and heard what she said, so they lifted their heads above the water to look at the little maiden. as soon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty, and it made them very sorry to think that she must go and live with the ugly toads. "no, it must never be!" so they assembled together in the water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which the little maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root with their teeth. then the leaf floated down the stream, carrying tiny far away out of reach of land. tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushes saw her, and sang, "what a lovely little creature;" so the leaf swam away with her farther and farther, till it brought her to other lands. a graceful little white butterfly constantly fluttered round her, and at last alighted on the leaf. tiny pleased him, and she was glad of it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and the country through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon the water, till it glittered like liquid gold. she took off her girdle and tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of the ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much faster than ever, taking little tiny with it as she stood. presently a large cockchafer flew by; the moment he caught sight of her, he seized her round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew with her into a tree. the green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away. oh, how frightened little tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with her to the tree! but especially was she sorry for the beautiful white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free himself he would die of hunger. but the cockchafer did not trouble himself at all about the matter. he seated himself by her side on a large green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she was very pretty, though not in the least like a cockchafer. after a time, all the cockchafers turned up their feelers, and said, "she has only two legs! how ugly that looks." "she has no feelers," said another. "her waist is quite slim. pooh! she is like a human being." "oh! she is ugly," said all the lady cockchafers, although tiny was very pretty. then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all the others when they said she was ugly, and would have nothing more to say to her, and told her she might go where she liked. then he flew down with her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy, and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even the cockchafers would have nothing to say to her. and all the while she was really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf. during the whole summer poor little tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. she wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf, to protect herself from the rain. she sucked the honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning. so passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,--the long, cold winter. all the birds who had sung to her so sweetly were flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. the large clover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolled together and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a yellow withered stalk. she felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little tiny was nearly frozen to death. it began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they fell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for we are tall, but she was only an inch high. then she wrapped herself up in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keep her warm, and she shivered with cold. near the wood in which she had been living lay a corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time; nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of the frozen ground. it was to her like struggling through a large wood. oh! how she shivered with the cold. she came at last to the door of a field-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. there dwelt the field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining room. poor little tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl, and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for two days. "you poor little creature," said the field-mouse, who was really a good old field-mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me." she was very pleased with tiny, so she said, "you are quite welcome to stay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms clean and neat, and tell me stories, for i shall like to hear them very much." and tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself very comfortable. "we shall have a visitor soon," said the field-mouse one day; "my neighbor pays me a visit once a week. he is better off than i am; he has large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. if you could only have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. but he is blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories." but tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, for he was a mole. however, he came and paid his visit dressed in his black velvet coat. "he is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger than mine," said the field-mouse. he was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly of the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them. tiny was obliged to sing to him, "lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home," and many other pretty songs. and the mole fell in love with her because she had such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for he was very cautious. a short time before, the mole had dug a long passage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to his own, and here she had permission to walk with tiny whenever she liked. but he warned them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. it was a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long, and was lying just where the mole had made his passage. the mole took a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered like fire in the dark; then he went before them to light them through the long, dark passage. when they came to the spot where lay the dead bird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earth gave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone into the passage. in the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, his beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn up under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the cold. it made little tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little birds; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her so beautifully. but the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said, "he will sing no more now. how miserable it must be to be born a little bird! i am thankful that none of my children will ever be birds, for they can do nothing but cry, 'tweet, tweet,' and always die of hunger in the winter." "yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!" exclaimed the field-mouse, "what is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes he must either starve or be frozen to death. still birds are very high bred." tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned their backs on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids. "perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer," she said; "and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird." the mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone, and then accompanied the lady home. but during the night tiny could not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet of hay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him; with some down from the flowers which she had found in the field-mouse's room. it was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth. "farewell, you pretty little bird," said she, "farewell; thank you for your delightful singing during the summer, when all the trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us." then she laid her head on the bird's breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went "thump, thump." it was the bird's heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. in autumn, all the swallows fly away into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the cold seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remains where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. tiny trembled very much; she was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a great deal larger than herself,--she was only an inch high. but she took courage, laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over the head of the poor bird. the next morning she again stole out to see him. he was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment to look at tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood in her hand, for she had no other lantern. "thank you, pretty little maiden," said the sick swallow; "i have been so nicely warmed, that i shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine." "oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. stay in your warm bed; i will take care of you." then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after he had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far away on their journey to warm countries. then at last he had fallen to the earth, and could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she had found him. the whole winter the swallow remained underground, and tiny nursed him with care and love. neither the mole nor the field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not like swallows. very soon the spring time came, and the sun warmed the earth. then the swallow bade farewell to tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the mole had made. the sun shone in upon them so beautifully, that the swallow asked her if she would go with him; she could sit on his back, he said, and he would fly away with her into the green woods. but tiny knew it would make the field-mouse very grieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, "no, i cannot." "farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden," said the swallow; and he flew out into the sunshine. tiny looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. she was very fond of the poor swallow. "tweet, tweet," sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods, and tiny felt very sad. she was not allowed to go out into the warm sunshine. the corn which had been sown in the field over the house of the field-mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood to tiny, who was only an inch in height. "you are going to be married, tiny," said the field-mouse. "my neighbor has asked for you. what good fortune for a poor child like you. now we will prepare your wedding clothes. they must be both woollen and linen. nothing must be wanting when you are the mole's wife." tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four spiders, who were to weave day and night. every evening the mole visited her, and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be over. then he would keep his wedding-day with tiny; but now the heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard, like a stone. as soon, as the summer was over, the wedding should take place. but tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the tiresome mole. every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down, she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear swallow again. but he never returned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely green forest. when autumn arrived, tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-mouse said to her, "in four weeks the wedding must take place." then tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable mole. "nonsense," replied the field-mouse. "now don't be obstinate, or i shall bite you with my white teeth. he is a very handsome mole; the queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. his kitchen and cellars are quite full. you ought to be very thankful for such good fortune." so the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch tiny away to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the warm sun, because he did not like it. the poor child was very unhappy at the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand at the door, she went to look at it once more. "farewell bright sun," she cried, stretching out her arm towards it; and then she walked a short distance from the house; for the corn had been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. "farewell, farewell," she repeated, twining her arm round a little red flower that grew just by her side. "greet the little swallow from me, if you should see him again." "tweet, tweet," sounded over her head suddenly. she looked up, and there was the swallow himself flying close by. as soon as he spied tiny, he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the bright sun any more. and as she told him she wept. "cold winter is coming," said the swallow, "and i am going to fly away into warmer countries. will you go with me? you can sit on my back, and fasten yourself on with your sash. then we can fly away from the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,--far away, over the mountains, into warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly--than here; where it is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. fly now with me, dear little tiny; you saved my life when i lay frozen in that dark passage." "yes, i will go with you," said tiny; and she seated herself on the bird's back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to one of his strongest feathers. then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea, high above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. tiny would have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird's warm feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might admire the beautiful lands over which they passed. at length they reached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the sky seems so much higher above the earth. here, on the hedges, and by the wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons and oranges hung from trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange blossoms. beautiful children ran along the country lanes, playing with large gay butterflies; and as the swallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still more lovely. at last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the olden times. vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were many swallows' nests, and one of these was the home of the swallow who carried tiny. "this is my house," said the swallow; "but it would not do for you to live there--you would not be comfortable. you must choose for yourself one of those lovely flowers, and i will put you down upon it, and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy." "that will be delightful," she said, and clapped her little hands for joy. a large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had been broken into three pieces. between these pieces grew the most beautiful large white flowers; so the swallow flew down with tiny, and placed her on one of the broad leaves. but how surprised she was to see in the middle of the flower, a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if he had been made of crystal! he had a gold crown on his head, and delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not much larger than tiny herself. he was the angel of the flower; for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in every flower; and this was the king of them all. "oh, how beautiful he is!" whispered tiny to the swallow. the little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, who was like a giant, compared to such a delicate little creature as himself; but when he saw tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden he had ever seen. he took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and queen over all the flowers. this certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of a toad, or the mole, with my black velvet and fur; so she said, "yes," to the handsome prince. then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at them. each of them brought tiny a present; but the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white fly and they fastened them to tiny's shoulders, so that she might fly from flower to flower. then there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow who sat above them, in his nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could; but in his heart he felt sad for he was very fond of tiny, and would have liked never to part from her again. "you must not be called tiny any more," said the spirit of the flowers to her. "it is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. we will call you maia." "farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart as he left the warm countries to fly back into denmark. there he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. the swallow sang, "tweet, tweet," and from his song came the whole story. little tuk yes, they called him little tuk, but it was not his real name; he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant it for charles. it was all very well for those who knew him, but not for strangers. little tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister, gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his lessons at the same time, and the two things could not very well be performed together. the poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap, and sung to her all the songs he knew, and now and then he looked into his geography lesson that lay open before him. by the next morning he had to learn by heart all the towns in zealand, and all that could be described of them. his mother came home at last, and took little gustava in her arms. then tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that he nearly read his eyes out; for it had become darker and darker every minute, and his mother had no money to buy a light. "there goes the old washerwoman up the lane," said the mother, as she looked out of the window; "the poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and now she had to drag a pail of water from the well. be a good boy, tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won't you?" so tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came back into the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about a light, so he was obliged to go to bed on his little truckle bedstead, and there he lay and thought of his geography lesson, and of zealand, and of all the master had told him. he ought really to have read it over again, but he could not for want of light. so he put the geography book under his pillow, for he had heard that this was a great help towards learning a lesson, but not always to be depended upon. he still lay thinking and thinking, when all at once it seemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. he slept and yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman looked at him with kind eyes and said, "it would be a great pity if you did not know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and now i will help you, and providence will always keep those who help themselves;" and at the same time the book under tuk's pillow began to move about. "cluck, cluck, cluck," cried a hen as she crept towards him. "i am a hen from kjoge," and then she told him how many inhabitants the town contained, and about a battle that had been fought there, which really was not worth speaking of. "crack, crack," down fell something. it was a wooden bird, the parrot which is used as a target as prastoe. he said there were as many inhabitants in that town as he had nails in his body. he was very proud, and said, "thorwalsden lived close to me, and here i am now, quite comfortable." but now little tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment he found himself on horseback. gallop, gallop, away he went, seated in front of a richly-attired knight, with a waving plume, who held him on the saddle, and so they rode through the wood by the old town of wordingburg, which was very large and busy. the king's castle was surrounded by lofty towers, and radiant light streamed from all the windows. within there were songs and dancing; king waldemar and the young gayly-dressed ladies of the court were dancing together. morning dawned, and as the sun rose, the whole city and the king's castle sank suddenly down together. one tower after another fell, till at last only one remained standing on the hill where the castle had formerly been. the town now appeared small and poor, and the school-boys read in their books, which they carried under their arms, that it contained two thousand inhabitants; but this was a mere boast, for it did not contain so many. and again little tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing whether he was dreaming or not, for some one stood by him. "tuk! little tuk!" said a voice. it was a very little person who spoke. he was dressed as a sailor, and looked small enough to be a middy, but he was not one. "i bring you many greetings from corsor. it is a rising town, full of life. it has steamships and mail-coaches. in times past they used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. i lie on the sea-shore," said corsor; "i have high-roads and pleasure-gardens; i have given birth to a poet who was witty and entertaining, which they are not all. i once wanted to fit out a ship to sail round the world, but i did not accomplish it, though most likely i might have done so. but i am fragrant with perfume, for close to my gates most lovely roses bloom." then before the eyes of little tuk appeared a confusion of colors, red and green; but it cleared off, and he could distinguish a cliff close to the bay, the slopes of which were quite overgrown with verdure, and on its summit stood a fine old church with pointed towers. springs of water flowed out of the cliff in thick waterspouts, so that there was a continual splashing. close by sat an old king with a golden crown on his white head. this was king hroar of the springs and near the springs stood the town of roeskilde, as it is called. then all the kings and queens of denmark went up the ascent to the old church, hand in hand, with golden crowns on their heads, while the organ played and the fountains sent forth jets of water. little tuk saw and heard it all. "don't forget the names of these towns," said king hroar. all at once everything vanished; but where! it seemed to him like turning over the leaves of a book. and now there stood before him an old peasant woman, who had come from soroe where the grass grows in the market-place. she had a green linen apron thrown over her head and shoulders, and it was quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily. "yes, that it has," said she, and then, just as she was going to tell him a great many pretty stories from holberg's comedies, and about waldemar and absalom, she suddenly shrunk up together, and wagged her head as if she were a frog about to spring. "croak," she cried; "it is always wet, and as quiet as death in soroe." then little tuk saw she was changed into a frog. "croak," and again she was an old woman. "one must dress according to the weather," said she. "it is wet, and my town is just like a bottle. by the cork we must go in, and by the cork we must come out again. in olden times i had beautiful fish, and now i have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys in the bottom of the bottle, and they learn wisdom, hebrew and greek." "croak." how it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the moor, or like the creaking of great boots when some one is marching,--always the same tone, so monotonous and wearing, that little tuk at length fell fast asleep, and then the sound could not annoy him. but even in this sleep came a dream or something like it. his little sister gustava, with her blue eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up a beautiful maiden all at once, and without having wings she could fly. and they flew together over zealand, over green forests and blue lakes. "hark, so you hear the cock crow, little tuk. 'cock-a-doodle-doo.' the fowls are flying out of kjoge. you shall have a large farm-yard. you shall never suffer hunger or want. the bird of good omen shall be yours, and you shall become a rich and happy man; your house shall rise up like king waldemar's towers, and shall be richly adorned with marble statues, like those at prastoe. understand me well; your name shall travel with fame round the world like the ship that was to sail from corsor, and at roeskilde,--don't forget the names of the towns, as king hroar said,--you shall speak well and clearly little tuk, and when at last you lie in your grave you shall sleep peacefully, as--" "as if i lay in soroe," said little tuk awaking. it was bright daylight, and he could not remember his dream, but that was not necessary, for we are not to know what will happen to us in the future. then he sprang out of bed quickly, and read over his lesson in the book, and knew it all at once quite correctly. the old washerwoman put her head in at the door, and nodded to him quite kindly, and said, "many thanks, you good child, for your help yesterday. i hope all your beautiful dreams will come true." little tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but one above did. the loveliest rose in the world there lived once a great queen, in whose garden were found at all seasons the most splendid flowers, and from every land in the world. she specially loved roses, and therefore she possessed the most beautiful varieties of this flower, from the wild hedge-rose, with its apple-scented leaves, to the splendid provence rose. they grew near the shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns and window-frames, crept along passages and over the ceilings of the halls. they were of every fragrance and color. but care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon a sick bed, and the doctors declared that she must die. "there is still one thing that could save her," said one of the wisest among them. "bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibits the purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her before her eyes close, she will not die." then from all parts came those who brought roses that bloomed in every garden, but they were not the right sort. the flower must be one from the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed forth the highest and purest love? the poets sang of this rose, the loveliest in the world, and each named one which he considered worthy of that title; and intelligence of what was required was sent far and wide to every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, and condition. "no one has yet named the flower," said the wise man. "no one has pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendor. it is not a rose from the coffin of romeo and juliet, or from the grave of walburg, though these roses will live in everlasting song. it is not one of the roses which sprouted forth from the blood-stained fame of winkelreid. the blood which flows from the breast of a hero who dies for his country is sacred, and his memory is sweet, and no rose can be redder than the blood which flows from his veins. neither is it the magic flower of science, to obtain which wondrous flower a man devotes many an hour of his fresh young life in sleepless nights, in a lonely chamber." "i know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with her lovely child to the bedside of the queen. "i know where the loveliest rose in the world is. it is seen on the blooming cheeks of my sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy; when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me with childlike affection." "this is a lovely rose," said the wise man; "but there is one still more lovely." "yes, one far more lovely," said one of the women. "i have seen it, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. but it was white, like the leaves of a blush-rose. i saw it on the cheeks of the queen. she had taken off her golden crown, and through the long, dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. she wept over it, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in that hour of her anguish." "holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, but it is not the one we seek." "no; the loveliest rose in the world i saw at the lord's table," said the good old bishop. "i saw it shine as if an angel's face had appeared. a young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows made at her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on the blushing cheeks of that young girl. she looked up to heaven with all the purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression of the highest and purest love." "may she be blessed!" said the wise man: "but no one has yet named the loveliest rose in the world." then there came into the room a child--the queen's little son. tears stood in his eyes, and glistened on his cheeks; he carried a great book and the binding was of velvet, with silver clasps. "mother," cried the little boy; "only hear what i have read." and the child seated himself by the bedside, and read from the book of him who suffered death on the cross to save all men, even who are yet unborn. he read, "greater love hath no man than this," and as he read a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the queen, and her eyes became so enlightened and clear, that she saw from the leaves of the book a lovely rose spring forth, a type of him who shed his blood on the cross. "i see it," she said. "he who beholds this, the loveliest rose on earth, shall never die." the mail-coach passengers it was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and not a breeze stirred. "bump"--an old pot was thrown at a neighbor's door; and "bang, bang," went the guns; for they were greeting the new year. it was new year's eve, and the church clock was striking twelve. "tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-ra," sounded the horn, and the mail-coach came lumbering up. the clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town; all the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in the coach. "hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people in the town; for in every house the new year was being welcomed; and as the clock struck, they stood up, the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the new comer. "a happy new year," was the cry; "a pretty wife, plenty of money, and no sorrow or care." the wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together till they rang again; while before the town-gate the mail coach stopped with the twelve strange passengers. and who were these strangers? each of them had his passport and his luggage with him; they even brought presents for me, and for you, and for all the people in the town. "who were they? what did they want? and what did they bring with them?" "good-morning," they cried to the sentry at the town-gate. "good-morning," replied the sentry; for the clock had struck twelve. "your name and profession?" asked the sentry of the one who alighted first from the carriage. "see for yourself in the passport," he replied. "i am myself;" and a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bear-skin and fur boots. "i am the man on whom many persons fix their hopes. come to me to-morrow, and i'll give you a new year's present. i throw shillings and pence among the people; i give balls, no less than thirty-one; indeed, that is the highest number i can spare for balls. my ships are often frozen in, but in my offices it is warm and comfortable. my name is january. i'm a merchant, and i generally bring my accounts with me." then the second alighted. he seemed a merry fellow. he was a director of a theatre, a manager of masked balls, and a leader of all the amusements we can imagine. his luggage consisted of a great cask. "we'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival time," said he; "i'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself too. unfortunately i have not long to live--the shortest time, in fact, of my whole family--only twenty-eight days. sometimes they pop me in a day extra; but i trouble myself very little about that. hurrah!" "you must not shout so," said the sentry. "certainly i may shout," retorted the man; "i'm prince carnival, travelling under the name of february." the third now got out. he looked a personification of fasting; but he carried his nose very high, for he was related to the "forty (k)nights," and was a weather prophet. but that is not a very lucrative office, and therefore he praised fasting. in his button-hole he carried a little bunch of violets, but they were very small. "march, march," the fourth called after him, slapping him on the shoulder, "don't you smell something? make haste into the guard room; they're drinking punch there; that's your favorite drink. i can smell it out here already. forward, master march." but it was not true; the speaker only wanted to remind him of his name, and to make an april fool of him; for with that fun the fourth generally began his career. he looked very jovial, did little work, and had the more holidays. "if the world were only a little more settled," said he: "but sometimes i'm obliged to be in a good humor, and sometimes a bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, now sunshine. i'm kind of a house agent, also a manager of funerals. i can laugh or cry, according to circumstances. i have my summer wardrobe in this box here, but it would be very foolish to put it on now. here i am. on sundays i go out walking in shoes and white silk stockings, and a muff." after him, a lady stepped out of the coach. she called herself miss may. she wore a summer dress and overshoes; her dress was a light green, and she wore anemones in her hair. she was so scented with wild-thyme, that it made the sentry sneeze. "your health, and god bless you," was her salutation to him. how pretty she was! and such a singer! not a theatre singer, nor a ballad singer; no, but a singer of the woods; for she wandered through the gay green forest, and had a concert there for her own amusement. "now comes the young lady," said those in the carriage; and out stepped a young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. it was mistress june, in whose service people become lazy and fond of sleeping for hours. she gives a feast on the longest day of the year, that there may be time for her guests to partake of the numerous dishes at her table. indeed, she keeps her own carriage; but still she travelled by the mail, with the rest, because she wished to show that she was not high-minded. but she was not without a protector; her younger brother, july, was with her. he was a plump young fellow, clad in summer garments and wearing a straw hat. he had but very little luggage with him, because it was so cumbersome in the great heat; he had, however, swimming-trousers with him, which are nothing to carry. then came the mother herself, in crinoline, madame august, a wholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fish ponds and a land cultivator. she was fat and heated, yet she could use her hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the laborers in the field. "in the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread," said she; "it is written in the bible." after work, came the recreations, dancing and playing in the greenwood, and the "harvest homes." she was a thorough housewife. after her a man came out of the coach, who is a painter; he is the great master of colors, and is named september. the forest, on his arrival, had to change its colors when he wished it; and how beautiful are the colors he chooses! the woods glow with hues of red and gold and brown. this great master painter could whistle like a blackbird. he was quick in his work, and soon entwined the tendrils of the hop plant around his beer jug. this was an ornament to the jug, and he has a great love for ornament. there he stood with his color pot in his hand, and that was the whole of his luggage. a land-owner followed, who in the month for sowing seed attended to the ploughing and was fond of field sports. squire october brought his dog and his gun with him, and had nuts in his game bag. "crack, crack." he had a great deal of luggage, even an english plough. he spoke of farming, but what he said could scarcely be heard for the coughing and gasping of his neighbor. it was november, who coughed violently as he got out. he had a cold, which caused him to use his pocket-handkerchief continually; and yet he said he was obliged to accompany servant girls to their new places, and initiate them into their winter service. he said he thought his cold would never leave him when he went out woodcutting, for he was a master sawyer, and had to supply wood to the whole parish. he spent his evenings preparing wooden soles for skates, for he knew, he said, that in a few weeks these shoes would be wanted for the amusement of skating. at length the last passenger made her appearance,--old mother december, with her fire-stool. the dame was very old, but her eyes glistened like two stars. she carried on her arm a flower-pot, in which a little fir-tree was growing. "this tree i shall guard and cherish," she said, "that it may grow large by christmas eve, and reach from the ground to the ceiling, to be covered and adorned with flaming candles, golden apples, and little figures. the fire-stool will be as warm as a stove, and i shall then bring a story book out of my pocket, and read aloud till all the children in the room are quite quiet. then the little figures on the tree will become lively, and the little waxen angel at the top spread out his wings of gold-leaf, and fly down from his green perch. he will kiss every one in the room, great and small; yes, even the poor children who stand in the passage, or out in the street singing a carol about the 'star of bethlehem.'" "well, now the coach may drive away," said the sentry; "we have the whole twelve. let the horses be put up." "first, let all the twelve come to me," said the captain on duty, "one after another. the passports i will keep here. each of them is available for one month; when that has passed, i shall write the behavior of each on his passport. mr. january, have the goodness to come here." and mr. january stepped forward. when a year has passed, i think i shall be able to tell you what the twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and to all of us. now i do not know, and probably even they don't know themselves, for we live in strange times. the marsh king's daughter the storks relate to their little ones a great many stories, and they are all about moors and reed banks, and suited to their age and capacity. the youngest of them are quite satisfied with "kribble, krabble," or such nonsense, and think it very grand; but the elder ones want something with a deeper meaning, or at least something about their own family. we are only acquainted with one of the two longest and oldest stories which the storks relate--it is about moses, who was exposed by his mother on the banks of the nile, and was found by the king's daughter, who gave him a good education, and he afterwards became a great man; but where he was buried is still unknown. every one knows this story, but not the second; very likely because it is quite an inland story. it has been repeated from mouth to mouth, from one stork-mamma to another, for thousands of years; and each has told it better than the last; and now we mean to tell it better than all. the first stork pair who related it lived at the time it happened, and had their summer residence on the rafters of the viking's house, which stood near the wild moorlands of wendsyssell; that is, to speak more correctly, the great moorheath, high up in the north of jutland, by the skjagen peak. this wilderness is still an immense wild heath of marshy ground, about which we can read in the "official directory." it is said that in olden times the place was a lake, the ground of which had heaved up from beneath, and now the moorland extends for miles in every direction, and is surrounded by damp meadows, trembling, undulating swamps, and marshy ground covered with turf, on which grow bilberry bushes and stunted trees. mists are almost always hovering over this region, which, seventy years ago, was overrun with wolves. it may well be called the wild moor; and one can easily imagine, with such a wild expanse of marsh and lake, how lonely and dreary it must have been a thousand years ago. many things may be noticed now that existed then. the reeds grow to the same height, and bear the same kind of long, purple-brown leaves, with their feathery tips. there still stands the birch, with its white bark and its delicate, loosely hanging leaves; and with regard to the living beings who frequented this spot, the fly still wears a gauzy dress of the same cut, and the favorite colors of the stork are white, with black and red for stockings. the people, certainly, in those days, wore very different dresses to those they now wear, but if any of them, be he huntsman or squire, master or servant, ventured on the wavering, undulating, marshy ground of the moor, they met with the same fate a thousand years ago as they would now. the wanderer sank, and went down to the marsh king, as he is named, who rules in the great moorland empire beneath. they also called him "gunkel king," but we like the name of "marsh king" better, and we will give him that name as the storks do. very little is known of the marsh king's rule, but that, perhaps, is a good thing. in the neighborhood of the moorlands, and not far from the great arm of the north sea and the cattegat which is called the lumfjorden, lay the castle of the viking, with its water-tight stone cellars, its tower, and its three projecting storeys. on the ridge of the roof the stork had built his nest, and there the stork-mamma sat on her eggs and felt sure her hatching would come to something. one evening, stork-papa stayed out rather late, and when he came home he seemed quite busy, bustling, and important. "i have something very dreadful to tell you," said he to the stork-mamma. "keep it to yourself then," she replied. "remember that i am hatching eggs; it may agitate me, and will affect them." "you must know it at once," said he. "the daughter of our host in egypt has arrived here. she has ventured to take this journey, and now she is lost." "she who sprung from the race of the fairies, is it?" cried the mother stork. "oh, tell me all about it; you know i cannot bear to be kept waiting at a time when i am hatching eggs." "well, you see, mother," he replied, "she believed what the doctors said, and what i have heard you state also, that the moor-flowers which grow about here would heal her sick father; and she has flown to the north in swan's plumage, in company with some other swan-princesses, who come to these parts every year to renew their youth. she came, and where is she now!" "you enter into particulars too much," said the mamma stork, "and the eggs may take cold; i cannot bear such suspense as this." "well," said he, "i have kept watch; and this evening i went among the rushes where i thought the marshy ground would bear me, and while i was there three swans came. something in their manner of flying seemed to say to me, 'look carefully now; there is one not all swan, only swan's feathers.' you know, mother, you have the same intuitive feeling that i have; you know whether a thing is right or not immediately." "yes, of course," said she; "but tell me about the princess; i am tired of hearing about the swan's feathers." "well, you know that in the middle of the moor there is something like a lake," said the stork-papa. "you can see the edge of it if you raise yourself a little. just there, by the reeds and the green banks, lay the trunk of an elder-tree; upon this the three swans stood flapping their wings, and looking about them; one of them threw off her plumage, and i immediately recognized her as one of the princesses of our home in egypt. there she sat, without any covering but her long, black hair. i heard her tell the two others to take great care of the swan's plumage, while she dipped down into the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw there. the others nodded, and picked up the feather dress, and took possession of it. i wonder what will become of it? thought i, and she most likely asked herself the same question. if so, she received an answer, a very practical one; for the two swans rose up and flew away with her swan's plumage. 'dive down now!' they cried; 'thou shalt never more fly in the swan's plumage, thou shalt never again see egypt; here, on the moor, thou wilt remain.' so saying, they tore the swan's plumage into a thousand pieces, the feathers drifted about like a snow-shower, and then the two deceitful princesses flew away." "why, that is terrible," said the stork-mamma; "i feel as if i could hardly bear to hear any more, but you must tell me what happened next." "the princess wept and lamented aloud; her tears moistened the elder stump, which was really not an elder stump but the marsh king himself, he who in marshy ground lives and rules. i saw myself how the stump of the tree turned round, and was a tree no more, while long, clammy branches like arms, were extended from it. then the poor child was terribly frightened, and started up to run away. she hastened to cross the green, slimy ground; but it will not bear any weight, much less hers. she quickly sank, and the elder stump dived immediately after her; in fact, it was he who drew her down. great black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and with these every trace of the two vanished. and now the princess is buried in the wild marsh, she will never now carry flowers to egypt to cure her father. it would have broken your heart, mother, had you seen it." "you ought not to have told me," said she, "at such a time as this; the eggs might suffer. but i think the princess will soon find help; some one will rise up to help her. ah! if it had been you or i, or one of our people, it would have been all over with us." "i mean to go every day," said he, "to see if anything comes to pass;" and so he did. a long time went by, but at last he saw a green stalk shooting up out of the deep, marshy ground. as it reached the surface of the marsh, a leaf spread out, and unfolded itself broader and broader, and close to it came forth a bud. one morning, when the stork-papa was flying over the stem, he saw that the power of the sun's rays had caused the bud to open, and in the cup of the flower lay a charming child--a little maiden, looking as if she had just come out of a bath. the little one was so like the egyptian princess, that the stork, at the first moment, thought it must be the princess herself, but after a little reflection he decided that it was much more likely to be the daughter of the princess and the marsh king; and this explained also her being placed in the cup of a water-lily. "but she cannot be left to lie here," thought the stork, "and in my nest there are already so many. but stay, i have thought of something: the wife of the viking has no children, and how often she has wished for a little one. people always say the stork brings the little ones; i will do so in earnest this time. i shall fly with the child to the viking's wife; what rejoicing there will be!" and then the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup, flew to the castle, picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered window, and laid the beautiful child in the bosom of the viking's wife. then he flew back quickly to the stork-mamma and told her what he had seen and done; and the little storks listened to it all, for they were then quite old enough to do so. "so you see," he continued, "that the princess is not dead, for she must have sent her little one up here; and now i have found a home for her." "ah, i said it would be so from the first," replied the stork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. our travelling time draws near, and i sometimes feel a little irritation already under the wings. the cuckoos and the nightingale are already gone, and i heard the quails say they should go too as soon as the wind was favorable. our youngsters will go through all the manoeuvres at the review very well, or i am much mistaken in them." the viking's wife was above measure delighted when she awoke the next morning and found the beautiful little child lying in her bosom. she kissed it and caressed it; but it cried terribly, and struck out with its arms and legs, and did not seem to be pleased at all. at last it cried itself to sleep; and as it lay there so still and quiet, it was a most beautiful sight to see. the viking's wife was so delighted, that body and soul were full of joy. her heart felt so light within her, that it seemed as if her husband and his soldiers, who were absent, must come home as suddenly and unexpectedly as the little child had done. she and her whole household therefore busied themselves in preparing everything for the reception of her lord. the long, colored tapestry, on which she and her maidens had worked pictures of their idols, odin, thor, and friga, was hung up. the slaves polished the old shields that served as ornaments; cushions were placed on the seats, and dry wood laid on the fireplaces in the centre of the hall, so that the flames might be fanned up at a moment's notice. the viking's wife herself assisted in the work, so that at night she felt very tired, and quickly fell into a sound sleep. when she awoke, just before morning, she was terribly alarmed to find that the infant had vanished. she sprang from her couch, lighted a pine-chip, and searched all round the room, when, at last, in that part of the bed where her feet had been, lay, not the child, but a great, ugly frog. she was quite disgusted at this sight, and seized a heavy stick to kill the frog; but the creature looked at her with such strange, mournful eyes, that she was unable to strike the blow. once more she searched round the room; then she started at hearing the frog utter a low, painful croak. she sprang from the couch and opened the window hastily; at the same moment the sun rose, and threw its beams through the window, till it rested on the couch where the great frog lay. suddenly it appeared as if the frog's broad mouth contracted, and became small and red. the limbs moved and stretched out and extended themselves till they took a beautiful shape; and behold there was the pretty child lying before her, and the ugly frog was gone. "how is this?" she cried, "have i had a wicked dream? is it not my own lovely cherub that lies there." then she kissed it and fondled it; but the child struggled and fought, and bit as if she had been a little wild cat. the viking did not return on that day, nor the next; he was, however, on the way home; but the wind, so favorable to the storks, was against him; for it blew towards the south. a wind in favor of one is often against another. after two or three days had passed, it became clear to the viking's wife how matters stood with the child; it was under the influence of a powerful sorcerer. by day it was charming in appearance as an angel of light, but with a temper wicked and wild; while at night, in the form of an ugly frog, it was quiet and mournful, with eyes full of sorrow. here were two natures, changing inwardly and outwardly with the absence and return of sunlight. and so it happened that by day the child, with the actual form of its mother, possessed the fierce disposition of its father; at night, on the contrary, its outward appearance plainly showed its descent on the father's side, while inwardly it had the heart and mind of its mother. who would be able to loosen this wicked charm which the sorcerer had worked upon it? the wife of the viking lived in constant pain and sorrow about it. her heart clung to the little creature, but she could not explain to her husband the circumstances in which it was placed. he was expected to return shortly; and were she to tell him, he would very likely, as was the custom at that time, expose the poor child in the public highway, and let any one take it away who would. the good wife of the viking could not let that happen, and she therefore resolved that the viking should never see the child excepting by daylight. one morning there sounded a rushing of storks' wings over the roof. more than a hundred pair of storks had rested there during the night, to recover themselves after their excursion; and now they soared aloft, and prepared for the journey southward. "all the husbands are here, and ready!" they cried; "wives and children also!" "how light we are!" screamed the young storks in chorus. "something pleasant seems creeping over us, even down to our toes, as if we were full of live frogs. ah, how delightful it is to travel into foreign lands!" "hold yourselves properly in the line with us," cried papa and mamma. "do not use your beaks so much; it tries the lungs." and then the storks flew away. about the same time sounded the clang of the warriors' trumpets across the heath. the viking had landed with his men. they were returning home, richly laden with spoil from the gallic coast, where the people, as did also the inhabitants of britain, often cried in alarm, "deliver us from the wild northmen." life and noisy pleasure came with them into the castle of the viking on the moorland. a great cask of mead was drawn into the hall, piles of wood blazed, cattle were slain and served up, that they might feast in reality, the priest who offered the sacrifice sprinkled the devoted parishioners with the warm blood; the fire crackled, and the smoke rolled along beneath the roof; the soot fell upon them from the beams; but they were used to all these things. guests were invited, and received handsome presents. all wrongs and unfaithfulness were forgotten. they drank deeply, and threw in each other's faces the bones that were left, which was looked upon as a sign of good feeling amongst them. a bard, who was a kind of musician as well as warrior, and who had been with the viking in his expedition, and knew what to sing about, gave them one of his best songs, in which they heard all their warlike deeds praised, and every wonderful action brought forward with honor. every verse ended with this refrain,-- "gold and possessions will flee away, friends and foes must die one day; every man on earth must die, but a famous name will never die." and with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered upon the table with knives and bones, in a most outrageous manner. the viking's wife sat upon a raised cross seat in the open hall. she wore a silk dress, golden bracelets, and large amber beads. she was in costly attire, and the bard named her in his song, and spoke of the rich treasure of gold which she had brought to her husband. her husband had already seen the wonderfully beautiful child in the daytime, and was delighted with her beauty; even her wild ways pleased him. he said the little maiden would grow up to be a heroine, with the strong will and determination of a man. she would never wink her eyes, even if, in joke, an expert hand should attempt to cut off her eye-brows with a sharp sword. the full cask of mead soon became empty, and a fresh one was brought in; for these were people who liked plenty to eat and drink. the old proverb, which every one knows, says that "the cattle know when to leave their pasture, but a foolish man knows not the measure of his own appetite." yes, they all knew this; but men may know what is right, and yet often do wrong. they also knew "that even the welcome guest becomes wearisome when he sits too long in the house." but there they remained; for pork and mead are good things. and so at the viking's house they stayed, and enjoyed themselves; and at night the bondmen slept in the ashes, and dipped their fingers in the fat, and licked them. oh, it was a delightful time! once more in the same year the viking went forth, though the storms of autumn had already commenced to roar. he went with his warriors to the coast of britain; he said that it was but an excursion of pleasure across the water, so his wife remained at home with the little girl. after a while, it is quite certain the foster-mother began to love the poor frog, with its gentle eyes and its deep sighs, even better than the little beauty who bit and fought with all around her. the heavy, damp mists of autumn, which destroy the leaves of the wood, had already fallen upon forest and heath. feathers of plucked birds, as they call the snow, flew about in thick showers, and winter was coming. the sparrows took possession of the stork's nest, and conversed about the absent owners in their own fashion; and they, the stork pair and all their young ones, where were they staying now? the storks might have been found in the land of egypt, where the sun's rays shone forth bright and warm, as it does here at midsummer. tamarinds and acacias were in full bloom all over the country, the crescent of mahomet glittered brightly from the cupolas of the mosques, and on the slender pinnacles sat many of the storks, resting after their long journey. swarms of them took divided possession of the nests--nests which lay close to each other between the venerable columns, and crowded the arches of temples in forgotten cities. the date and the palm lifted themselves as a screen or as a sun-shade over them. the gray pyramids looked like broken shadows in the clear air and the far-off desert, where the ostrich wheels his rapid flight, and the lion, with his subtle eyes, gazes at the marble sphinx which lies half buried in sand. the waters of the nile had retreated, and the whole bed of the river was covered with frogs, which was a most acceptable prospect for the stork families. the young storks thought their eyes deceived them, everything around appeared so beautiful. "it is always like this here, and this is how we live in our warm country," said the stork-mamma; and the thought made the young ones almost beside themselves with pleasure. "is there anything more to see?" they asked; "are we going farther into the country?" "there is nothing further for us to see," answered the stork-mamma. "beyond this delightful region there are immense forests, where the branches of the trees entwine round each other, while prickly, creeping plants cover the paths, and only an elephant could force a passage for himself with his great feet. the snakes are too large, and the lizards too lively for us to catch. then there is the desert; if you went there, your eyes would soon be full of sand with the lightest breeze, and if it should blow great guns, you would most likely find yourself in a sand-drift. here is the best place for you, where there are frogs and locusts; here i shall remain, and so must you." and so they stayed. the parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret, and rested, yet still were busily employed in cleaning and smoothing their feathers, and in sharpening their beaks against their red stockings; then they would stretch out their necks, salute each other, and gravely raise their heads with the high-polished forehead, and soft, smooth feathers, while their brown eyes shone with intelligence. the female young ones strutted about amid the moist rushes, glancing at the other young storks and making acquaintances, and swallowing a frog at every third step, or tossing a little snake about with their beaks, in a way they considered very becoming, and besides it tasted very good. the young male storks soon began to quarrel; they struck at each other with their wings, and pecked with their beaks till the blood came. and in this manner many of the young ladies and gentlemen were betrothed to each other: it was, of course, what they wanted, and indeed what they lived for. then they returned to a nest, and there the quarrelling began afresh; for in hot countries people are almost all violent and passionate. but for all that it was pleasant, especially for the old people, who watched them with great joy: all that their young ones did suited them. every day here there was sunshine, plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. but in the rich castle of their egyptian host, as they called him, pleasure was not to be found. the rich and mighty lord of the castle lay on his couch, in the midst of the great hall, with its many colored walls looking like the centre of a great tulip; but he was stiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay stretched out like a mummy. his family and servants stood round him; he was not dead, although he could scarcely be said to live. the healing moor-flower from the north, which was to have been found and brought to him by her who loved him so well, had not arrived. his young and beautiful daughter who, in swan's plumage, had flown over land and seas to the distant north, had never returned. she is dead, so the two swan-maidens had said when they came home; and they made up quite a story about her, and this is what they told,-- "we three flew away together through the air," said they: "a hunter caught sight of us, and shot at us with an arrow. the arrow struck our young friend and sister, and slowly singing her farewell song she sank down, a dying swan, into the forest lake. on the shores of the lake, under a spreading birch-tree, we laid her in the cold earth. we had our revenge; we bound fire under the wings of a swallow, who had a nest on the thatched roof of the huntsman. the house took fire, and burst into flames; the hunter was burnt with the house, and the light was reflected over the sea as far as the spreading birch, beneath which we laid her sleeping dust. she will never return to the land of egypt." and then they both wept. and stork-papa, who heard the story, snapped with his beak so that it might be heard a long way off. "deceit and lies!" cried he; "i should like to run my beak deep into their chests." "and perhaps break it off," said the mamma stork, "then what a sight you would be. think first of yourself, and then of your family; all others are nothing to us." "yes, i know," said the stork-papa; "but to-morrow i can easily place myself on the edge of the open cupola, when the learned and wise men assemble to consult on the state of the sick man; perhaps they may come a little nearer to the truth." and the learned and wise men assembled together, and talked a great deal on every point; but the stork could make no sense out of anything they said; neither were there any good results from their consultations, either for the sick man, or for his daughter in the marshy heath. when we listen to what people say in this world, we shall hear a great deal; but it is an advantage to know what has been said and done before, when we listen to a conversation. the stork did, and we know at least as much as he, the stork. "love is a life-giver. the highest love produces the highest life. only through love can the sick man be cured." this had been said by many, and even the learned men acknowledged that it was a wise saying. "what a beautiful thought!" exclaimed the papa stork immediately. "i don't quite understand it," said the mamma stork, when her husband repeated it; "however, it is not my fault, but the fault of the thought; whatever it may be, i have something else to think of." now the learned men had spoken also of love between this one and that one; of the difference of the love which we have for our neighbor, to the love that exists between parents and children; of the love of the plant for the light, and how the germ springs forth when the sunbeam kisses the ground. all these things were so elaborately and learnedly explained, that it was impossible for stork-papa to follow it, much less to talk about it. his thoughts on the subject quite weighed him down; he stood the whole of the following day on one leg, with half-shut eyes, thinking deeply. so much learning was quite a heavy weight for him to carry. one thing, however, the papa stork could understand. every one, high and low, had from their inmost hearts expressed their opinion that it was a great misfortune for so many thousands of people--the whole country indeed--to have this man so sick, with no hopes of his recovery. and what joy and blessing it would spread around if he could by any means be cured! but where bloomed the flower that could bring him health? they had searched for it everywhere; in learned writings, in the shining stars, in the weather and wind. inquiries had been made in every by-way that could be thought of, until at last the wise and learned men has asserted, as we have been already told, that "love, the life-giver, could alone give new life to a father;" and in saying this, they had overdone it, and said more than they understood themselves. they repeated it, and wrote it down as a recipe, "love is a life-giver." but how could such a recipe be prepared--that was a difficulty they could not overcome. at last it was decided that help could only come from the princess herself, whose whole soul was wrapped up in her father, especially as a plan had been adopted by her to enable her to obtain a remedy. more than a year had passed since the princess had set out at night, when the light of the young moon was soon lost beneath the horizon. she had gone to the marble sphinx in the desert, shaking the sand from her sandals, and then passed through the long passage, which leads to the centre of one of the great pyramids, where the mighty kings of antiquity, surrounded with pomp and splendor, lie veiled in the form of mummies. she had been told by the wise men, that if she laid her head on the breast of one of them, from the head she would learn where to find life and recovery for her father. she had performed all this, and in a dream had learnt that she must bring home to her father the lotus flower, which grows in the deep sea, near the moors and heath in the danish land. the very place and situation had been pointed out to her, and she was told that the flower would restore her father to health and strength. and, therefore, she had gone forth from the land of egypt, flying over to the open marsh and the wild moor in the plumage of a swan. the papa and mamma storks knew all this, and we also know it now. we know, too, that the marsh king has drawn her down to himself, and that to the loved ones at home she is forever dead. one of the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma also said, "that in some way she would, after all, manage to succeed;" and so at last they comforted themselves with this hope, and would wait patiently; in fact, they could do nothing better. "i should like to get away the swan's feathers from those two treacherous princesses," said the papa stork; "then, at least, they would not be able to fly over again to the wild moor, and do more wickedness. i can hide the two suits of feathers over yonder, till we find some use for them." "but where will you put them?" asked the mamma stork. "in our nest on the moor. i and the young ones will carry them by turns during our flight across; and as we return, should they prove too heavy for us, we shall be sure to find plenty of places on the way in which we can conceal them till our next journey. certainly one suit of swan's feathers would be enough for the princess, but two are always better. in those northern countries no one can have too many travelling wrappers." "no one will thank you for it," said stork-mamma; "but you are master; and, excepting at breeding time, i have nothing to say." in the viking's castle on the wild moor, to which the storks directed their flight in the following spring, the little maiden still remained. they had named her helga, which was rather too soft a name for a child with a temper like hers, although her form was still beautiful. every month this temper showed itself in sharper outlines; and in the course of years, while the storks still made the same journeys in autumn to the hill, and in spring to the moors, the child grew to be almost a woman, and before any one seemed aware of it, she was a wonderfully beautiful maiden of sixteen. the casket was splendid, but the contents were worthless. she was, indeed, wild and savage even in those hard, uncultivated times. it was a pleasure to her to splash about with her white hands in the warm blood of the horse which had been slain for sacrifice. in one of her wild moods she bit off the head of the black cock, which the priest was about to slay for the sacrifice. to her foster-father she said one day, "if thine enemy were to pull down thine house about thy ears, and thou shouldest be sleeping in unconscious security, i would not wake thee; even if i had the power i would never do it, for my ears still tingle with the blow that thou gavest me years ago. i have never forgotten it." but the viking treated her words as a joke; he was, like every one else, bewitched with her beauty, and knew nothing of the change in the form and temper of helga at night. without a saddle, she would sit on a horse as if she were a part of it, while it rushed along at full speed; nor would she spring from its back, even when it quarrelled with other horses and bit them. she would often leap from the high shore into the sea with all her clothes on, and swim to meet the viking, when his boat was steering home towards the shore. she once cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair, and twisted it into a string for her bow. "if a thing is to be done well," said she, "i must do it myself." the viking's wife was, for the time in which she lived, a woman of strong character and will; but, compared to her daughter, she was a gentle, timid woman, and she knew that a wicked sorcerer had the terrible child in his power. it was sometimes as if helga acted from sheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the threshold of the door, or stepped into the yard, she would seat herself on the brink of the well, wave her arms and legs in the air, and suddenly fall right in. here she was able, from her frog nature, to dip and dive about in the water of the deep well, until at last she would climb forth like a cat, and come back into the hall dripping with water, so that the green leaves that were strewed on the floor were whirled round, and carried away by the streams that flowed from her. but there was one time of the day which placed a check upon helga. it was the evening twilight; when this hour arrived she became quiet and thoughtful, and allowed herself to be advised and led; then also a secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. and as usual, when the sun set, and the transformation took place, both in body and mind, inwards and outwards, she would remain quiet and mournful, with her form shrunk together in the shape of a frog. her body was much larger than those animals ever are, and on this account it was much more hideous in appearance; for she looked like a wretched dwarf, with a frog's head, and webbed fingers. her eyes had a most piteous expression; she was without a voice, excepting a hollow, croaking sound, like the smothered sobs of a dreaming child. then the viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugly form, as she looked into the mournful eyes, and often said, "i could wish that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child, for thou art too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty." and the viking woman wrote runic characters against sorcery and spells of sickness, and threw them over the wretched child; but they did no good. "one can scarcely believe that she was ever small enough to lie in the cup of the water-lily," said the papa stork; "and now she is grown up, and the image of her egyptian mother, especially about the eyes. ah, we shall never see her again; perhaps she has not discovered how to help herself, as you and the wise men said she would. year after year have i flown across and across the moor, but there was no sign of her being still alive. yes, and i may as well tell you that you that each year, when i arrived a few days before you to repair the nest, and put everything in its place, i have spent a whole night flying here and there over the marshy lake, as if i had been an owl or a bat, but all to no purpose. the two suit of swan's plumage, which i and the young ones dragged over here from the land of the nile, are of no use; trouble enough it was to us to bring them here in three journeys, and now they are lying at the bottom of the nest; and if a fire should happen to break out, and the wooden house be burnt down, they would be destroyed." "and our good nest would be destroyed, too," said the mamma stork; "but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and your moor-princess. go and stay with her in the marsh if you like. you are a bad father to your own children, as i have told you already, when i hatched my first brood. i only hope neither we nor our children may have an arrow sent through our wings, owing to that wild girl. helga does not know in the least what she is about. we have lived in this house longer than she has, she should think of that, and we have never forgotten our duty. we have paid every year our toll of a feather, an egg, and a young one, as it is only right we should do. you don't suppose i can wander about the court-yard, or go everywhere as i used to do in old times. i can do it in egypt, where i can be a companion of the people, without forgetting myself. but here i cannot go and peep into the pots and kettles as i do there. no, i can only sit up here and feel angry with that girl, the little wretch; and i am angry with you, too; you should have left her lying in the water lily, then no one would have known anything about her." "you are far better than your conversation," said the papa stork; "i know you better than you know yourself." and with that he gave a hop, and flapped his wings twice, proudly; then he stretched his neck and flew, or rather soared away, without moving his outspread wings. he went on for some distance, and then he gave a great flap with his wings and flew on his course at a rapid rate, his head and neck bending proudly before him, while the sun's rays fell on his glossy plumage. "he is the handsomest of them all," said the mamma stork, as she watched him; "but i won't tell him so." early in the autumn, the viking again returned home laden with spoil, and bringing prisoners with him. among them was a young christian priest, one of those who contemned the gods of the north. often lately there had been, both in hall and chamber, a talk of the new faith which was spreading far and wide in the south, and which, through the means of the holy ansgarius, had already reached as far as hedeby on the schlei. even helga had heard of this belief in the teachings of one who was named christ, and who for the love of mankind, and for their redemption, had given up his life. but to her all this had, as it were, gone in one ear and out the other. it seemed that she only understood the meaning of the word "love," when in the form of a miserable frog she crouched together in the corner of the sleeping chamber; but the viking's wife had listened to the wonderful story, and had felt herself strangely moved by it. on their return, after this voyage, the men spoke of the beautiful temples built of polished stone, which had been raised for the public worship of this holy love. some vessels, curiously formed of massive gold, had been brought home among the booty. there was a peculiar fragrance about them all, for they were incense vessels, which had been swung before the altars in the temples by the christian priests. in the deep stony cellars of the castle, the young christian priest was immured, and his hands and feet tied together with strips of bark. the viking's wife considered him as beautiful as baldur, and his distress raised her pity; but helga said he ought to have ropes fastened to his heels, and be tied to the tails of wild animals. "i would let the dogs loose after him" she said; "over the moor and across the heath. hurrah! that would be a spectacle for the gods, and better still to follow in its course." but the viking would not allow him to die such a death as that, especially as he was the disowned and despiser of the high gods. in a few days, he had decided to have him offered as a sacrifice on the blood-stone in the grove. for the first time, a man was to be sacrificed here. helga begged to be allowed to sprinkle the assembled people with the blood of the priest. she sharpened her glittering knife; and when one of the great, savage dogs, who were running about the viking's castle in great numbers, sprang towards her, she thrust the knife into his side, merely, as she said, to prove its sharpness. the viking's wife looked at the wild, badly disposed girl, with great sorrow; and when night came on, and her daughter's beautiful form and disposition were changed, she spoke in eloquent words to helga of the sorrow and deep grief that was in her heart. the ugly frog, in its monstrous shape, stood before her, and raised its brown mournful eyes to her face, listening to her words, and seeming to understand them with the intelligence of a human being. "never once to my lord and husband has a word passed my lips of what i have to suffer through you; my heart is full of grief about you," said the viking's wife. "the love of a mother is greater and more powerful than i ever imagined. but love never entered thy heart; it is cold and clammy, like the plants on the moor." then the miserable form trembled; it was as if these words had touched an invisible bond between body and soul, for great tears stood in the eyes. "a bitter time will come for thee at last," continued the viking's wife; "and it will be terrible for me too. it had been better for thee if thou hadst been left on the high-road, with the cold night wind to lull thee to sleep." and the viking's wife shed bitter tears, and went away in anger and sorrow, passing under the partition of furs, which hung loose over the beam and divided the hall. the shrivelled frog still sat in the corner alone. deep silence reigned around. at intervals, a half-stifled sigh was heard from its inmost soul; it was the soul of helga. it seemed in pain, as if a new life were arising in her heart. then she took a step forward and listened; then stepped again forward, and seized with her clumsy hands the heavy bar which was laid across the door. gently, and with much trouble, she pushed back the bar, as silently lifted the latch, and then took up the glimmering lamp which stood in the ante-chamber of the hall. it seemed as if a stronger will than her own gave her strength. she removed the iron bolt from the closed cellar-door, and slipped in to the prisoner. he was slumbering. she touched him with her cold, moist hand, and as he awoke and caught sight of the hideous form, he shuddered as if he beheld a wicked apparition. she drew her knife, cut through the bonds which confined his hands and feet, and beckoned to him to follow her. he uttered some holy names and made the sign of the cross, while the form remained motionless by his side. "who art thou?" he asked, "whose outward appearance is that of an animal, while thou willingly performest acts of mercy?" the frog-figure beckoned to him to follow her, and led him through a long gallery concealed by hanging drapery to the stables, and then pointed to a horse. he mounted upon it, and she sprang up also before him, and held tightly by the animal's mane. the prisoner understood her, and they rode on at a rapid trot, by a road which he would never have found by himself, across the open heath. he forgot her ugly form, and only thought how the mercy and loving-kindness of the almighty was acting through this hideous apparition. as he offered pious prayers and sang holy songs of praise, she trembled. was it the effect of prayer and praise that caused this? or, was she shuddering in the cold morning air at the thought of approaching twilight? what were her feelings? she raised herself up, and wanted to stop the horse and spring off, but the christian priest held her back with all his might, and then sang a pious song, as if this could loosen the wicked charm that had changed her into the semblance of a frog. and the horse galloped on more wildly than before. the sky painted itself red, the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds, and in the clear flood of sunlight the frog became changed. it was helga again, young and beautiful, but with a wicked demoniac spirit. he held now a beautiful young woman in his arms, and he was horrified at the sight. he stopped the horse, and sprang from its back. he imagined that some new sorcery was at work. but helga also leaped from the horse and stood on the ground. the child's short garment reached only to her knee. she snatched the sharp knife from her girdle, and rushed like lightning at the astonished priest. "let me get at thee!" she cried; "let me get at thee, that i may plunge this knife into thy body. thou art pale as ashes, thou beardless slave." she pressed in upon him. they struggled with each other in heavy combat, but it was as if an invisible power had been given to the christian in the struggle. he held her fast, and the old oak under which they stood seemed to help him, for the loosened roots on the ground became entangled in the maiden's feet, and held them fast. close by rose a bubbling spring, and he sprinkled helga's face and neck with the water, commanded the unclean spirit to come forth, and pronounced upon her a christian blessing. but the water of faith has no power unless the well-spring of faith flows within. and yet even here its power was shown; something more than the mere strength of a man opposed itself, through his means, against the evil which struggled within her. his holy action seemed to overpower her. she dropped her arms, glanced at him with pale cheeks and looks of amazement. he appeared to her a mighty magician skilled in secret arts; his language was the darkest magic to her, and the movements of his hands in the air were as the secret signs of a magician's wand. she would not have blinked had he waved over her head a sharp knife or a glittering axe; but she shrunk from him as he signed her with the sign of the cross on her forehead and breast, and sat before him like a tame bird, with her head bowed down. then he spoke to her, in gentle words, of the deed of love she had performed for him during the night, when she had come to him in the form of an ugly frog, to loosen his bonds, and to lead him forth to life and light; and he told her that she was bound in closer fetters than he had been, and that she could recover also life and light by his means. he would take her to hedeby to st. ansgarius, and there, in that christian town, the spell of the sorcerer would be removed. but he would not let her sit before him on the horse, though of her own free will she wished to do so. "thou must sit behind me, not before me," said he. "thy magic beauty has a magic power which comes from an evil origin, and i fear it; still i am sure to overcome through my faith in christ." then he knelt down, and prayed with pious fervor. it was as if the quiet woodland were a holy church consecrated by his worship. the birds sang as if they were also of this new congregation; and the fragrance of the wild flowers was as the ambrosial perfume of incense; while, above all, sounded the words of scripture, "a light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide their feet into the way of peace." and he spoke these words with the deep longing of his whole nature. meanwhile, the horse that had carried them in wild career stood quietly by, plucking at the tall bramble-bushes, till the ripe young berries fell down upon helga's hands, as if inviting her to eat. patiently she allowed herself to be lifted on the horse, and sat there like a somnambulist--as one who walked in his sleep. the christian bound two branches together with bark, in the form of a cross, and held it on high as they rode through the forest. the way gradually grew thicker of brushwood, as they rode along, till at last it became a trackless wilderness. bushes of the wild sloe here and there blocked up the path, so that they had to ride over them. the bubbling spring formed not a stream, but a marsh, round which also they were obliged to guide the horse; still there were strength and refreshment in the cool forest breeze, and no trifling power in the gentle words spoken in faith and christian love by the young priest, whose inmost heart yearned to lead this poor lost one into the way of light and life. it is said that rain-drops can make a hollow in the hardest stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the rough edges of the rocks; so did the dew of mercy fall upon helga, softening what was hard, and smoothing what was rough in her character. these effects did not yet appear; she was not herself aware of them; neither does the seed in the lap of earth know, when the refreshing dew and the warm sunbeams fall upon it, that it contains within itself power by which it will flourish and bloom. the song of the mother sinks into the heart of the child, and the little one prattles the words after her, without understanding their meaning; but after a time the thoughts expand, and what has been heard in childhood seems to the mind clear and bright. so now the "word," which is all-powerful to create, was working in the heart of helga. they rode forth from the thick forest, crossed the heath, and again entered a pathless wood. here, towards evening, they met with robbers. "where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden?" cried the robbers, seizing the horse by the bridle, and dragging the two riders from its back. the priest had nothing to defend himself with, but the knife he had taken from helga, and with this he struck out right and left. one of the robbers raised his axe against him; but the young priest sprang on one side, and avoided the blow, which fell with great force on the horse's neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and the animal sunk to the ground. then helga seemed suddenly to awake from her long, deep reverie; she threw herself hastily upon the dying animal. the priest placed himself before her, to defend and shelter her; but one of the robbers swung his iron axe against the christian's head with such force that it was dashed to pieces, the blood and brains were scattered about, and he fell dead upon the ground. then the robbers seized beautiful helga by her white arms and slender waist; but at that moment the sun went down, and as its last ray disappeared, she was changed into the form of a frog. a greenish white mouth spread half over her face; her arms became thin and slimy; while broad hands, with webbed fingers, spread themselves out like fans. then the robbers, in terror, let her go, and she stood among them, a hideous monster; and as is the nature of frogs to do, she hopped up as high as her own size, and disappeared in the thicket. then the robbers knew that this must be the work of an evil spirit or some secret sorcery, and, in a terrible fright, they ran hastily from the spot. the full moon had already risen, and was shining in all her radiant splendor over the earth, when from the thicket, in the form of a frog, crept poor helga. she stood still by the corpse of the christian priest, and the carcase of the dead horse. she looked at them with eyes that seemed to weep, and from the frog's head came forth a croaking sound, as when a child bursts into tears. she threw herself first upon one, and then upon the other; brought water in her hand, which, from being webbed, was large and hollow, and poured it over them; but they were dead, and dead they would remain. she understood that at last. soon wild animals would come and tear their dead bodies; but no, that must not happen. then she dug up the earth, as deep as she was able, that she might prepare a grave for them. she had nothing but a branch of a tree and her two hands, between the fingers of which the webbed skin stretched, and they were torn by the work, while the blood ran down her hands. she saw at last that her work would be useless, more than she could accomplish; so she fetched more water, and washed the face of the dead, and then covered it with fresh green leaves; she also brought large boughs and spread over him, and scattered dried leaves between the branches. then she brought the heaviest stones that she could carry, and laid them over the dead body, filling up the crevices with moss, till she thought she had fenced in his resting-place strongly enough. the difficult task had employed her the whole night; and as the sun broke forth, there stood the beautiful helga in all her loveliness, with her bleeding hands, and, for the first time, with tears on her maiden cheeks. it was, in this transformation, as if two natures were striving together within her; her whole frame trembled, and she looked around her as if she had just awoke from a painful dream. she leaned for support against the trunk of a slender tree, and at last climbed to the topmost branches, like a cat, and seated herself firmly upon them. she remained there the whole day, sitting alone, like a frightened squirrel, in the silent solitude of the wood, where the rest and stillness is as the calm of death. butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were several ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures moving quickly to and fro. in the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm upon swarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with golden wings, and other little winged creatures. the worm crawled forth from the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, excepting these, all around had the stillness of death: but when people say this, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. none noticed helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering round the top of the tree on which she sat. these birds hopped close to her on the branches with bold curiosity. a glance from her eyes was a signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough to find out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself. when the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about to commence, the approaching transformation aroused her to fresh exertion. she let herself down gently from the tree, and, as the last sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog, with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed with more radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautiful form of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes that shone forth in the face of a frog. they showed the existence of deep feeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed with tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart. on the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the dead priest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the last work of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. a sudden thought came to helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon the grave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. the sad recollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentle spirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and as she formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skin fell from them like a torn glove. she washed her hands in the water of the spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness. again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and the dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name which she in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, rose to her lips, and she uttered the words, "jesus christ." then the frog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. her head bent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept. her sleep, however, was short. towards midnight, she awoke; before her stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forth from his eyes and from his wounded neck. close by his side appeared the murdered christian priest, more beautiful than baldur, as the viking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. such gravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from his large, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner of her heart. beautiful helga trembled at the look, and her memory returned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. every good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had been said, were vividly before her mind. she understood now that love had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creature formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggled with evil. she acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses of an evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself; everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were by the ordination of providence. she bowed herself humbly, confessed her great imperfections in the sight of him who can read every fault of the heart, and then the priest spoke. "daughter of the moorland, thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thou shalt arise. the sunlight shining into thy inmost soul proves the origin from which thou hast really sprung, and has restored the body to its natural form. i am come to thee from the land of the dead, and thou also must pass through the valley to reach the holy mountains where mercy and perfection dwell. i cannot lead thee to hedeby that thou mayst receive christian baptism, for first thou must remove the thick veil with which the waters of the moorland are shrouded, and bring forth from its depths the living author of thy being and thy life. till this is done, thou canst not receive consecration." then he lifted her on the horse and gave her a golden censer, similar to those she had already seen at the viking's house. a sweet perfume arose from it, while the open wound in the forehead of the slain priest, shone with the rays of a diamond. he took the cross from the grave, and held it aloft, and now they rode through the air over the rustling trees, over the hills where warriors lay buried each by his dead war-horse; and the brazen monumental figures rose up and galloped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of the hills. the golden crescent on their foreheads, fastened with golden knots, glittered in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in the wind. the dragon, that guards buried treasure, lifted his head and gazed after them. the goblins and the satyrs peeped out from beneath the hills, and flitted to and fro in the fields, waving blue, red, and green torches, like the glowing sparks in burning paper. over woodland and heath, flood and fen, they flew on, till they reached the wild moor, over which they hovered in broad circles. the christian priest held the cross aloft, and it glittered like gold, while from his lips sounded pious prayers. beautiful helga's voice joined with his in the hymns he sung, as a child joins in her mother's song. she swung the censer, and a wonderful fragrance of incense arose from it; so powerful, that the reeds and rushes of the moor burst forth into blossom. each germ came forth from the deep ground: all that had life raised itself. blooming water-lilies spread themselves forth like a carpet of wrought flowers, and upon them lay a slumbering woman, young and beautiful. helga fancied that it was her own image she saw reflected in the still water. but it was her mother she beheld, the wife of the marsh king, the princess from the land of the nile. the dead christian priest desired that the sleeping woman should be lifted on the horse, but the horse sank beneath the load, as if he had been a funeral pall fluttering in the wind. but the sign of the cross made the airy phantom strong, and then the three rode away from the marsh to firm ground. at the same moment the cock crew in the viking's castle, and the dream figures dissolved and floated away in the air, but mother and daughter stood opposite to each other. "am i looking at my own image in the deep water?" said the mother. "is it myself that i see represented on a white shield?" cried the daughter. then they came nearer to each other in a fond embrace. the mother's heart beat quickly, and she understood the quickened pulses. "my child!" she exclaimed, "the flower of my heart--my lotus flower of the deep water!" and she embraced her child again and wept, and the tears were as a baptism of new life and love for helga. "in swan's plumage i came here," said the mother, "and here i threw off my feather dress. then i sank down through the wavering ground, deep into the marsh beneath, which closed like a wall around me; i found myself after a while in fresher water; still a power drew me down deeper and deeper. i felt the weight of sleep upon my eyelids. then i slept, and dreams hovered round me. it seemed to me as if i were again in the pyramids of egypt, and yet the waving elder trunk that had frightened me on the moor stood ever before me. i observed the clefts and wrinkles in the stem; they shone forth in strange colors, and took the form of hieroglyphics. it was the mummy case on which i gazed. at last it burst, and forth stepped the thousand years' old king, the mummy form, black as pitch, black as the shining wood-snail, or the slimy mud of the swamp. whether it was really the mummy or the marsh king i know not. he seized me in his arms, and i felt as if i must die. when i recovered myself, i found in my bosom a little bird, flapping its wings, twittering and fluttering. the bird flew away from my bosom, upwards towards the dark, heavy canopy above me, but a long, green band kept it fastened to me. i heard and understood the tenor of its longings. freedom! sunlight! to my father! then i thought of my father, and the sunny land of my birth, my life, and my love. then i loosened the band, and let the bird fly away to its home--to a father. since that hour i have ceased to dream; my sleep has been long and heavy, till in this very hour, harmony and fragrance awoke me, and set me free." the green band which fastened the wings of the bird to the mother's heart, where did it flutter now? whither had it been wafted? the stork only had seen it. the band was the green stalk, the cup of the flower the cradle in which lay the child, that now in blooming beauty had been folded to the mother's heart. and while the two were resting in each other's arms, the old stork flew round and round them in narrowing circles, till at length he flew away swiftly to his nest, and fetched away the two suits of swan's feathers, which he had preserved there for many years. then he returned to the mother and daughter, and threw the swan's plumage over them; the feathers immediately closed around them, and they rose up from the earth in the form of two white swans. "and now we can converse with pleasure," said the stork-papa; "we can understand one another, although the beaks of birds are so different in shape. it is very fortunate that you came to-night. to-morrow we should have been gone. the mother, myself and the little ones, we're about to fly to the south. look at me now: i am an old friend from the nile, and a mother's heart contains more than her beak. she always said that the princess would know how to help herself. i and the young ones carried the swan's feathers over here, and i am glad of it now, and how lucky it is that i am here still. when the day dawns we shall start with a great company of other storks. we'll fly first, and you can follow in our track, so that you cannot miss your way. i and the young ones will have an eye upon you." "and the lotus-flower which i was to take with me," said the egyptian princess, "is flying here by my side, clothed in swan's feathers. the flower of my heart will travel with me; and so the riddle is solved. now for home! now for home!" but helga said she could not leave the danish land without once more seeing her foster-mother, the loving wife of the viking. each pleasing recollection, each kind word, every tear from the heart which her foster-mother had wept for her, rose in her mind, and at that moment she felt as if she loved this mother the best. "yes, we must go to the viking's castle," said the stork; "mother and the young ones are waiting for me there. how they will open their eyes and flap their wings! my wife, you see, does not say much; she is short and abrupt in her manner; but she means well, for all that. i will flap my wings at once, that they may hear us coming." then stork-papa flapped his wings in first-rate style, and he and the swans flew away to the viking's castle. in the castle, every one was in a deep sleep. it had been late in the evening before the viking's wife retired to rest. she was anxious about helga, who, three days before, had vanished with the christian priest. helga must have helped him in his flight, for it was her horse that was missed from the stable; but by what power had all this been accomplished? the viking's wife thought of it with wonder, thought on the miracles which they said could be performed by those who believed in the christian faith, and followed its teachings. these passing thoughts formed themselves into a vivid dream, and it seemed to her that she was still lying awake on her couch, while without darkness reigned. a storm arose; she heard the lake dashing and rolling from east and west, like the waves of the north sea or the cattegat. the monstrous snake which, it is said, surrounds the earth in the depths of the ocean, was trembling in spasmodic convulsions. the night of the fall of the gods was come, "ragnorock," as the heathens call the judgment-day, when everything shall pass away, even the high gods themselves. the war trumpet sounded; riding upon the rainbow, came the gods, clad in steel, to fight their last battle on the last battle-field. before them flew the winged vampires, and the dead warriors closed up the train. the whole firmament was ablaze with the northern lights, and yet the darkness triumphed. it was a terrible hour. and, close to the terrified woman, helga seemed to be seated on the floor, in the hideous form of a frog, yet trembling, and clinging to her foster-mother, who took her on her lap, and lovingly caressed her, hideous and frog-like as she was. the air was filled with the clashing of arms and the hissing of arrows, as if a storm of hail was descending upon the earth. it seemed to her the hour when earth and sky would burst asunder, and all things be swallowed up in saturn's fiery lake; but she knew that a new heaven and a new earth would arise, and that corn-fields would wave where now the lake rolled over desolate sands, and the ineffable god reign. then she saw rising from the region of the dead, baldur the gentle, the loving, and as the viking's wife gazed upon him, she recognized his countenance. it was the captive christian priest. "white christian!" she exclaimed aloud, and with the words, she pressed a kiss on the forehead of the hideous frog-child. then the frog-skin fell off, and helga stood before her in all her beauty, more lovely and gentle-looking, and with eyes beaming with love. she kissed the hands of her foster-mother, blessed her for all her fostering love and care during the days of her trial and misery, for the thoughts she had suggested and awoke in her heart, and for naming the name which she now repeated. then beautiful helga rose as a mighty swan, and spread her wings with the rushing sound of troops of birds of passage flying through the air. then the viking's wife awoke, but she still heard the rushing sound without. she knew it was the time for the storks to depart, and that it must be their wings which she heard. she felt she should like to see them once more, and bid them farewell. she rose from her couch, stepped out on the threshold, and beheld, on the ridge of the roof, a party of storks ranged side by side. troops of the birds were flying in circles over the castle and the highest trees; but just before her, as she stood on the threshold and close to the well where helga had so often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, now stood two swans, gazing at her with intelligent eyes. then she remembered her dream, which still appeared to her as a reality. she thought of helga in the form of a swan. she thought of a christian priest, and suddenly a wonderful joy arose in her heart. the swans flapped their wings and arched their necks as if to offer her a greeting, and the viking's wife spread out her arms towards them, as if she accepted it, and smiled through her tears. she was roused from deep thought by a rustling of wings and snapping of beaks; all the storks arose, and started on their journey towards the south. "we will not wait for the swans," said the mamma stork; "if they want to go with us, let them come now; we can't sit here till the plovers start. it is a fine thing after all to travel in families, not like the finches and the partridges. there the male and the female birds fly in separate flocks, which, to speak candidly, i consider very unbecoming." "what are those swans flapping their wings for?" "well, every one flies in his own fashion," said the papa stork. "the swans fly in an oblique line; the cranes, in the form of a triangle; and the plovers, in a curved line like a snake." "don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said stork-mamma. "it puts ideas into the children's heads that can not be realized." "are those the high mountains i have heard spoken of?" asked helga, in the swan's plumage. "they are storm-clouds driving along beneath us," replied her mother. "what are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" again inquired helga. "those are mountains covered with perpetual snows, that you see yonder," said her mother. and then they flew across the alps towards the blue mediterranean. "africa's land! egyptia's strand!" sang the daughter of the nile, in her swan's plumage, as from the upper air she caught sight of her native land, a narrow, golden, wavy strip on the shores of the nile; the other birds espied it also and hastened their flight. "i can smell the nile mud and the wet frogs," said the stork-mamma, "and i begin to feel quite hungry. yes, now you shall taste something nice, and you will see the marabout bird, and the ibis, and the crane. they all belong to our family, but they are not nearly so handsome as we are. they give themselves great airs, especially the ibis. the egyptians have spoilt him. they make a mummy of him, and stuff him with spices. i would rather be stuffed with live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. better have something in your inside while you are alive, than to be made a parade of after you are dead. that is my opinion, and i am always right." "the storks are come," was said in the great house on the banks of the nile, where the lord lay in the hall on his downy cushions, covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, yet not dead, waiting and hoping for the lotus-flower from the deep moorland in the far north. relatives and servants were standing by his couch, when the two beautiful swans who had come with the storks flew into the hall. they threw off their soft white plumage, and two lovely female forms approached the pale, sick old man, and threw back their long hair, and when helga bent over her grandfather, redness came back to his cheeks, his eyes brightened, and life returned to his benumbed limbs. the old man rose up with health and energy renewed; daughter and grandchild welcomed him as joyfully as if with a morning greeting after a long and troubled dream. joy reigned through the whole house, as well as in the stork's nest; although there the chief cause was really the good food, especially the quantities of frogs, which seemed to spring out of the ground in swarms. then the learned men hastened to note down, in flying characters, the story of the two princesses, and spoke of the arrival of the health-giving flower as a mighty event, which had been a blessing to the house and the land. meanwhile, the stork-papa told the story to his family in his own way; but not till they had eaten and were satisfied; otherwise they would have had something else to do than to listen to stories. "well," said the stork-mamma, when she had heard it, "you will be made something of at last; i suppose they can do nothing less." "what could i be made?" said stork-papa; "what have i done?--just nothing." "you have done more than all the rest," she replied. "but for you and the youngsters the two young princesses would never have seen egypt again, and the recovery of the old man would not have been effected. you will become something. they must certainly give you a doctor's hood, and our young ones will inherit it, and their children after them, and so on. you already look like an egyptian doctor, at least in my eyes." "i cannot quite remember the words i heard when i listened on the roof," said stork-papa, while relating the story to his family; "all i know is, that what the wise men said was so complicated and so learned, that they received not only rank, but presents; even the head cook at the great house was honored with a mark of distinction, most likely for the soup." "and what did you receive?" said the stork-mamma. "they certainly ought not to forget the most important person in the affair, as you really are. the learned men have done nothing at all but use their tongues. surely they will not overlook you." late in the night, while the gentle sleep of peace rested on the now happy house, there was still one watcher. it was not stork-papa, who, although he stood on guard on one leg, could sleep soundly. helga alone was awake. she leaned over the balcony, gazing at the sparkling stars that shone clearer and brighter in the pure air than they had done in the north, and yet they were the same stars. she thought of the viking's wife in the wild moorland, of the gentle eyes of her foster-mother, and of the tears she had shed over the poor frog-child that now lived in splendor and starry beauty by the waters of the nile, with air balmy and sweet as spring. she thought of the love that dwelt in the breast of the heathen woman, love that had been shown to a wretched creature, hateful as a human being, and hideous when in the form of an animal. she looked at the glittering stars, and thought of the radiance that had shone forth on the forehead of the dead man, as she had fled with him over the woodland and moor. tones were awakened in her memory; words which she had heard him speak as they rode onward, when she was carried, wondering and trembling, through the air; words from the great fountain of love, the highest love that embraces all the human race. what had not been won and achieved by this love? day and night beautiful helga was absorbed in the contemplation of the great amount of her happiness, and lost herself in the contemplation, like a child who turns hurriedly from the giver to examine the beautiful gifts. she was over-powered with her good fortune, which seemed always increasing, and therefore what might it become in the future? had she not been brought by a wonderful miracle to all this joy and happiness? and in these thoughts she indulged, until at last she thought no more of the giver. it was the over-abundance of youthful spirits unfolding its wings for a daring flight. her eyes sparkled with energy, when suddenly arose a loud noise in the court below, and the daring thought vanished. she looked down, and saw two large ostriches running round quickly in narrow circles; she had never seen these creatures before,--great, coarse, clumsy-looking birds with curious wings that looked as if they had been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appearance of having been roughly used. she inquired about them, and for the first time heard the legend which the egyptians relate respecting the ostrich. once, say they, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious race of birds, with large, strong wings. one evening the other large birds of the forest said to the ostrich, "brother, shall we fly to the river to-morrow morning to drink, god willing?" and the ostrich answered, "i will." with the break of day, therefore, they commenced their flight; first rising high in the air, towards the sun, which is the eye of god; still higher and higher the ostrich flew, far above the other birds, proudly approaching the light, trusting in its own strength, and thinking not of the giver, or saying, "if god will." when suddenly the avenging angel drew back the veil from the flaming ocean of sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were scorched and shrivelled, and they sunk miserably to the earth. since that time the ostrich and his race have never been able to rise in the air; they can only fly terror-stricken along the ground, or run round and round in narrow circles. it is a warning to mankind, that in all our thoughts and schemes, and in every action we undertake, we should say, "if god will." then helga bowed her head thoughtfully and seriously, and looked at the circling ostrich, as with timid fear and simple pleasure it glanced at its own great shadow on the sunlit walls. and the story of the ostrich sunk deeply into the heart and mind of helga: a life of happiness, both in the present and in the future, seemed secure for her, and what was yet to come might be the best of all, god willing. early in the spring, when the storks were again about to journey northward, beautiful helga took off her golden bracelets, scratched her name on them, and beckoned to the stork-father. he came to her, and she placed the golden circlet round his neck, and begged him to deliver it safely to the viking's wife, so that she might know that her foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten her. "it is rather heavy to carry," thought stork-papa, when he had it on his neck; "but gold and honor are not to be flung into the street. the stork brings good fortune--they'll be obliged to acknowledge that at last." "you lay gold, and i lay eggs," said stork-mamma; "with you it is only once in a way, i lay eggs every year but no one appreciates what we do; i call it very mortifying." "but then we have a consciousness of our own worth, mother," replied stork-papa. "what good will that do you?" retorted stork-mamma; "it will neither bring you a fair wind, nor a good meal." "the little nightingale, who is singing yonder in the tamarind grove, will soon be going north, too." helga said she had often heard her singing on the wild moor, so she determined to send a message by her. while flying in the swan's plumage she had learnt the bird language; she had often conversed with the stork and the swallow, and she knew that the nightingale would understand. so she begged the nightingale to fly to the beechwood, on the peninsula of jutland, where a mound of stone and twigs had been raised to form the grave, and she begged the nightingale to persuade all the other little birds to build their nests round the place, so that evermore should resound over that grave music and song. and the nightingale flew away, and time flew away also. in the autumn, an eagle, standing upon a pyramid, saw a stately train of richly laden camels, and men attired in armor on foaming arabian steeds, whose glossy skins shone like silver, their nostrils were pink, and their thick, flowing manes hung almost to their slender legs. a royal prince of arabia, handsome as a prince should be, and accompanied by distinguished guests, was on his way to the stately house, on the roof of which the storks' empty nests might be seen. they were away now in the far north, but expected to return very soon. and, indeed, they returned on a day that was rich in joy and gladness. a marriage was being celebrated, in which the beautiful helga, glittering in silk and jewels, was the bride, and the bridegroom the young arab prince. bride and bridegroom sat at the upper end of the table, between the bride's mother and grandfather. but her gaze was not on the bridegroom, with his manly, sunburnt face, round which curled a black beard, and whose dark fiery eyes were fixed upon her; but away from him, at a twinkling star, that shone down upon her from the sky. then was heard the sound of rushing wings beating the air. the storks were coming home; and the old stork pair, although tired with the journey and requiring rest, did not fail to fly down at once to the balustrades of the verandah, for they knew already what feast was being celebrated. they had heard of it on the borders of the land, and also that helga had caused their figures to be represented on the walls, for they belonged to her history. "i call that very sensible and pretty," said stork-papa. "yes, but it is very little," said mamma stork; "they could not possibly have done less." but, when helga saw them, she rose and went out into the verandah to stroke the backs of the storks. the old stork pair bowed their heads, and curved their necks, and even the youngest among the young ones felt honored by this reception. helga continued to gaze upon the glittering star, which seemed to glow brighter and purer in its light; then between herself and the star floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through it. it floated quite near to her, and she saw that it was the dead christian priest, who also was coming to her wedding feast--coming from the heavenly kingdom. "the glory and brightness, yonder, outshines all that is known on earth," said he. then helga the fair prayed more gently, and more earnestly, than she had ever prayed in her life before, that she might be permitted to gaze, if only for a single moment, at the glory and brightness of the heavenly kingdom. then she felt herself lifted up, as it were, above the earth, through a sea of sound and thought; not only around her, but within her, was there light and song, such as words cannot express. "now we must return;" he said; "you will be missed." "only one more look," she begged; "but one short moment more." "we must return to earth; the guests will have all departed. only one more look!--the last!" then helga stood again in the verandah. but the marriage lamps in the festive hall had been all extinguished, and the torches outside had vanished. the storks were gone; not a guest could be seen; no bridegroom--all in those few short moments seemed to have died. then a great dread fell upon her. she stepped from the verandah through the empty hall into the next chamber, where slept strange warriors. she opened a side door, which once led into her own apartment, but now, as she passed through, she found herself suddenly in a garden which she had never before seen here, the sky blushed red, it was the dawn of morning. three minutes only in heaven, and a whole night on earth had passed away! then she saw the storks, and called to them in their own language. then stork-papa turned his head towards here, listened to her words, and drew near. "you speak our language," said he, "what do you wish? why do you appear,--you--a strange woman?" "it is i--it is helga! dost thou not know me? three minutes ago we were speaking together yonder in the verandah." "that is a mistake," said the stork, "you must have dreamed all this." "no, no," she exclaimed. then she reminded him of the viking's castle, of the great lake, and of the journey across the ocean. then stork-papa winked his eyes, and said, "why that's an old story which happened in the time of my grandfather. there certainly was a princess of that kind here in egypt once, who came from the danish land, but she vanished on the evening of her wedding day, many hundred years ago, and never came back. you may read about it yourself yonder, on a monument in the garden. there you will find swans and storks sculptured, and on the top is a figure of the princess helga, in marble." and so it was; helga understood it all now, and sank on her knees. the sun burst forth in all its glory, and, as in olden times, the form of the frog vanished in his beams, and the beautiful form stood forth in all its loveliness; so now, bathed in light, rose a beautiful form, purer, clearer than air--a ray of brightness--from the source of light himself. the body crumbled into dust, and a faded lotus-flower lay on the spot on which helga had stood. "now that is a new ending to the story," said stork-papa; "i really never expected it would end in this way, but it seems a very good ending." "and what will the young ones say to it, i wonder?" said stork-mamma. "ah, that is a very important question," replied the stork. the metal pig in the city of florence, not far from the piazza del granduca, runs a little street called porta rosa. in this street, just in front of the market-place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig, made of brass and curiously formed. the bright color has been changed by age to dark green; but clear, fresh water pours from the snout, which shines as if it had been polished, and so indeed it has, for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in their hands as they place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal, to drink. it is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping the well-formed creature by the head, as he presses his rosy lips against its jaws. every one who visits florence can very quickly find the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for the metal pig, and he will be told where it is. it was late on a winter evening; the mountains were covered with snow, but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in italy is like a dull winter's day in the north; indeed it is better, for clear air seems to raise us above the earth, while in the north a cold, gray, leaden sky appears to press us down to earth, even as the cold damp earth shall one day press on us in the grave. in the garden of the grand duke's palace, under the roof of one of the wings, where a thousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had been sitting the whole day long; a boy, who might serve as a type of italy, lovely and smiling, and yet still suffering. he was hungry and thirsty, yet no one gave him anything; and when it became dark, and they were about to close the gardens, the porter turned him out. he stood a long time musing on the bridge which crosses the arno, and looking at the glittering stars, reflected in the water which flowed between him and the elegant marble bridge della trinita. he then walked away towards the metal pig, half knelt down, clasped it with his arms, and then put his mouth to the shining snout and drank deep draughts of the fresh water. close by, lay a few salad-leaves and two chestnuts, which were to serve for his supper. no one was in the street but himself; it belonged only to him, so he boldly seated himself on the pig's back, leaned forward so that his curly head could rest on the head of the animal, and, before he was aware, he fell asleep. it was midnight. the metal pig raised himself gently, and the boy heard him say quite distinctly, "hold tight, little boy, for i am going to run;" and away he started for a most wonderful ride. first, they arrived at the piazza del granduca, and the metal horse which bears the duke's statue, neighed aloud. the painted coats-of-arms on the old council-house shone like transparent pictures, and michael angelo's david tossed his sling; it was as if everything had life. the metallic groups of figures, among which were perseus and the rape of the sabines, looked like living persons, and cries of terror sounded from them all across the noble square. by the palazzo degli uffizi, in the arcade, where the nobility assemble for the carnival, the metal pig stopped. "hold fast," said the animal; "hold fast, for i am going up stairs." the little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and half afraid. they entered a long gallery, where the boy had been before. the walls were resplendent with paintings; here stood statues and busts, all in a clear light as if it were day. but the grandest appeared when the door of a side room opened; the little boy could remember what beautiful things he had seen there, but to-night everything shone in its brightest colors. here stood the figure of a beautiful woman, as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of the great masters. her graceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang at her feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. the world called her the venus de' medici. by her side were statues, in which the spirit of life breathed in stone; figures of men, one of whom whetted his sword, and was named the grinder; wrestling gladiators formed another group, the sword had been sharpened for them, and they strove for the goddess of beauty. the boy was dazzled by so much glitter; for the walls were gleaming with bright colors, all appeared living reality. as they passed from hall to hall, beauty everywhere showed itself; and as the metal pig went step by step from one picture to the other, the little boy could see it all plainly. one glory eclipsed another; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the little boy's memory, more especially because of the happy children it represented, for these the little boy had seen in daylight. many pass this picture by with indifference, and yet it contains a treasure of poetic feeling; it represents christ descending into hades. they are not the lost whom the spectator sees, but the heathen of olden times. the florentine, angiolo bronzino, painted this picture; most beautiful is the expression on the face of the two children, who appear to have full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last. they are embracing each other, and one little one stretches out his hand towards another who stands below him, and points to himself, as if he were saying, "i am going to heaven." the older people stand as if uncertain, yet hopeful, and they bow in humble adoration to the lord jesus. on this picture the boy's eyes rested longer than on any other: the metal pig stood still before it. a low sigh was heard. did it come from the picture or from the animal? the boy raised his hands towards the smiling children, and then the pig ran off with him through the open vestibule. "thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal," said the little boy, caressing the metal pig as it ran down the steps. "thanks to yourself also," replied the metal pig; "i have helped you and you have helped me, for it is only when i have an innocent child on my back that i receive the power to run. yes; as you see, i can even venture under the rays of the lamp, in front of the picture of the madonna, but i may not enter the church; still from without, and while you are upon my back, i may look in through the open door. do not get down yet, for if you do, then i shall be lifeless, as you have seen me in the porta rosa." "i will stay with you, my dear creature," said the little boy. so then they went on at a rapid pace through the streets of florence, till they came to the square before the church of santa croce. the folding-doors flew open, and light streamed from the altar through the church into the deserted square. a wonderful blaze of light streamed from one of the monuments in the left-side aisle, and a thousand moving stars seemed to form a glory round it; even the coat-of-arms on the tomb-stone shone, and a red ladder on a blue field gleamed like fire. it was the grave of galileo. the monument is unadorned, but the red ladder is an emblem of art, signifying that the way to glory leads up a shining ladder, on which the prophets of mind rise to heaven, like elias of old. in the right aisle of the church every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed with life. here stood michael angelo; there dante, with the laurel wreath round his brow; alfieri and machiavelli; for here side by side rest the great men--the pride of italy. the church itself is very beautiful, even more beautiful than the marble cathedral at florence, though not so large. it seemed as if the carved vestments stirred, and as if the marble figures they covered raised their heads higher, to gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar where the white-robed boys swung the golden censers, amid music and song, while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church, and streamed forth into the square. the boy stretched forth his hands towards the light, and at the same moment the metal pig started again so rapidly that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. the wind whistled in his ears, he heard the church door creak on its hinges as it closed, and it seemed to him as if he had lost his senses--then a cold shudder passed over him, and he awoke. it was morning; the metal pig stood in its old place on the porta rosa, and the boy found he had slipped nearly off its back. fear and trembling came upon him as he thought of his mother; she had sent him out the day before to get some money, he had not done so, and now he was hungry and thirsty. once more he clasped the neck of his metal horse, kissed its nose, and nodded farewell to it. then he wandered away into one of the narrowest streets, where there was scarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. a great iron-bound door stood ajar; he passed through, and climbed up a brick staircase, with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he came to an open gallery hung with rags. from here a flight of steps led down to a court, where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to the different stories of the house, and where the water-buckets hung side by side. sometimes the roller and the bucket danced in the air, splashing the water all over the court. another broken-down staircase led from the gallery, and two russian sailors running down it almost upset the poor boy. they were coming from their nightly carousal. a woman not very young, with an unpleasant face and a quantity of black hair, followed them. "what have you brought home?" she asked, when she saw the boy. "don't be angry," he pleaded; "i received nothing, i have nothing at all;" and he seized his mother's dress and would have kissed it. then they went into a little room. i need not describe it, but only say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles, made for holding fire, which in italy is called a marito. this pot she took in her lap, warmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with her elbow. "certainly you must have some money," she said. the boy began to cry, and then she struck him with her foot till he cried out louder. "will you be quiet? or i'll break your screaming head;" and she swung about the fire-pot which she held in her hand, while the boy crouched to the earth and screamed. then a neighbor came in, and she had also a marito under her arm. "felicita," she said, "what are you doing to the child?" "the child is mine," she answered; "i can murder him if i like, and you too, giannina." and then she swung about the fire-pot. the other woman lifted up hers to defend herself, and the two pots clashed together so violently that they were dashed to pieces, and fire and ashes flew about the room. the boy rushed out at the sight, sped across the courtyard, and fled from the house. the poor child ran till he was quite out of breath; at last he stopped at the church, the doors of which were opened to him the night before, and went in. here everything was bright, and the boy knelt down by the first tomb on his right, the grave of michael angelo, and sobbed as if his heart would break. people came and went, mass was performed, but no one noticed the boy, excepting an elderly citizen, who stood still and looked at him for a moment, and then went away like the rest. hunger and thirst overpowered the child, and he became quite faint and ill. at last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments, and went to sleep. towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve; he started up, and the same old citizen stood before him. "are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all day?" were some of the questions asked by the old man. after hearing his answers, the old man took him home to a small house close by, in a back street. they entered a glovemaker's shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. a little white poodle, so closely shaven that his pink skin could plainly be seen, frisked about the room, and gambolled upon the boy. "innocent souls are soon intimate," said the woman, as she caressed both the boy and the dog. these good people gave the child food and drink, and said he should stay with them all night, and that the next day the old man, who was called giuseppe, would go and speak to his mother. a little homely bed was prepared for him, but to him who had so often slept on the hard stones it was a royal couch, and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendid pictures and of the metal pig. giuseppe went out the next morning, and the poor child was not glad to see him go, for he knew that the old man was gone to his mother, and that, perhaps, he would have to go back. he wept at the thought, and then he played with the little, lively dog, and kissed it, while the old woman looked kindly at him to encourage him. and what news did giuseppe bring back? at first the boy could not hear, for he talked a great deal to his wife, and she nodded and stroked the boy's cheek. then she said, "he is a good lad, he shall stay with us, he may become a clever glovemaker, like you. look what delicate fingers he has got; madonna intended him for a glovemaker." so the boy stayed with them, and the woman herself taught him to sew; and he ate well, and slept well, and became very merry. but at last he began to tease bellissima, as the little dog was called. this made the woman angry, and she scolded him and threatened him, which made him very unhappy, and he went and sat in his own room full of sad thoughts. this chamber looked upon the street, in which hung skins to dry, and there were thick iron bars across his window. that night he lay awake, thinking of the metal pig; indeed, it was always in his thoughts. suddenly he fancied he heard feet outside going pit-a-pat. he sprung out of bed and went to the window. could it be the metal pig? but there was nothing to be seen; whatever he had heard had passed already. next morning, their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying a paint-box and a large roll of canvas. "help the gentleman to carry his box of colors," said the woman to the boy; and he obeyed instantly, took the box, and followed the painter. they walked on till they reached the picture gallery, and mounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that night on the metal pig. he remembered all the statues and pictures, the beautiful marble venus, and again he looked at the madonna with the saviour and st. john. they stopped before the picture by bronzino, in which christ is represented as standing in the lower world, with the children smiling before him, in the sweet expectation of entering heaven; and the poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven. "you may go home now," said the painter, while the boy stood watching him, till he had set up his easel. "may i see you paint?" asked the boy; "may i see you put the picture on this white canvas?" "i am not going to paint yet," replied the artist; then he brought out a piece of chalk. his hand moved quickly, and his eye measured the great picture; and though nothing appeared but a faint line, the figure of the saviour was as clearly visible as in the colored picture. "why don't you go?" said the painter. then the boy wandered home silently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sew gloves. but all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; and so he pricked his fingers and was awkward. but he did not tease bellissima. when evening came, and the house door stood open, he slipped out. it was a bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rather cold. away he went through the already-deserted streets, and soon came to the metal pig; he stooped down and kissed its shining nose, and then seated himself on its back. "you happy creature," he said; "how i have longed for you! we must take a ride to-night." but the metal pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushed forth from its mouth. the little boy still sat astride on its back, when he felt something pulling at his clothes. he looked down, and there was bellissima, little smooth-shaven bellissima, barking as if she would have said, "here i am too; why are you sitting there?" a fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much as did the little dog in this place. "bellissima in the street, and not dressed!" as the old lady called it; "what would be the end of this?" the dog never went out in winter, unless she was attired in a little lambskin coat which had been made for her; it was fastened round the little dog's neck and body with red ribbons, and was decorated with rosettes and little bells. the dog looked almost like a little kid when she was allowed to go out in winter, and trot after her mistress. and now here she was in the cold, and not dressed. oh, how would it end? all his fancies were quickly put to flight; yet he kissed the metal pig once more, and then took bellissima in his arms. the poor little thing trembled so with cold, that the boy ran homeward as fast as he could. "what are you running away with there?" asked two of the police whom he met, and at whom the dog barked. "where have you stolen that pretty dog?" they asked; and they took it away from him. "oh, i have not stolen it; do give it to me back again," cried the boy, despairingly. "if you have not stolen it, you may say at home that they can send to the watch-house for the dog." then they told him where the watch-house was, and went away with bellissima. here was a dreadful trouble. the boy did not know whether he had better jump into the arno, or go home and confess everything. they would certainly kill him, he thought. "well, i would gladly be killed," he reasoned; "for then i shall die, and go to heaven:" and so he went home, almost hoping for death. the door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker. no one was in the street; so he took up a stone, and with it made a tremendous noise at the door. "who is there?" asked somebody from within. "it is i," said he. "bellissima is gone. open the door, and then kill me." then indeed there was a great panic. madame was so very fond of bellissima. she immediately looked at the wall where the dog's dress usually hung; and there was the little lambskin. "bellissima in the watch-house!" she cried. "you bad boy! how did you entice her out? poor little delicate thing, with those rough policemen! and she'll be frozen with cold." giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and the boy wept. several of the neighbors came in, and amongst them the painter. he took the boy between his knees, and questioned him; and, in broken sentences, he soon heard the whole story, and also about the metal pig, and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery, which was certainly rather incomprehensible. the painter, however, consoled the little fellow, and tried to soften the lady's anger; but she would not be pacified till her husband returned with bellissima, who had been with the police. then there was great rejoicing, and the painter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of pictures. oh, what beautiful pictures these were!--figures with funny heads; and, above all, the metal pig was there too. oh, nothing could be more delightful. by means of a few strokes, it was made to appear on the paper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in. oh, if he could only draw and paint! he who could do this could conjure all the world before him. the first leisure moment during the next day, the boy got a pencil, and on the back of one of the other drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the metal pig, and he succeeded. certainly it was rather crooked, rather up and down, one leg thick, and another thin; still it was like the copy, and he was overjoyed at what he had done. the pencil would not go quite as it ought,--he had found that out; but the next day he tried again. a second pig was drawn by the side of the first, and this looked a hundred times better; and the third attempt was so good, that everybody might know what it was meant to represent. and now the glovemaking went on but slowly. the orders given by the shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the metal pig had taught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; and florence is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turn over its pages. on the piazza dell trinita stands a slender pillar, and upon it is the goddess of justice, blindfolded, with her scales in her hand. she was soon represented on paper, and it was the glovemaker's boy who placed her there. his collection of pictures increased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless objects, when one day bellissima came gambolling before him: "stand still," cried he, "and i will draw you beautifully, to put amongst my collection." but bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast in one position. he tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped, and so pulled and tightened the string, that she was nearly strangled; and just then her mistress walked in. "you wicked boy! the poor little creature!" was all she could utter. she pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, called him a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade him to enter the house again. then she wept, and kissed her little half-strangled bellissima. at this moment the painter entered the room. * * * * * in the year there was an exhibition in the academy of arts at florence. two pictures, placed side by side, attracted a large number of spectators. the smaller of the two represented a little boy sitting at a table, drawing; before him was a little white poodle, curiously shaven; but as the animal would not stand still, it had been fastened with a string to its head and tail, to keep it in one position. the truthfulness and life in this picture interested every one. the painter was said to be a young florentine, who had been found in the streets, when a child, by an old glovemaker, who had brought him up. the boy had taught himself to draw: it was also said that a young artist, now famous, had discovered talent in the child just as he was about to be sent away for having tied up madame's favorite little dog, and using it as a model. the glovemaker's boy had also become a great painter, as the picture proved; but the larger picture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. it represented a handsome boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaning against the metal pig in the street of the porta rosa. all the spectators knew the spot well. the child's arms were round the neck of the pig, and he was in a deep sleep. the lamp before the picture of the madonna threw a strong, effective light on the pale, delicate face of the child. it was a beautiful picture. a large gilt frame surrounded it, and on one corner of the frame a laurel wreath had been hung; but a black band, twined unseen among the green leaves, and a streamer of crape, hung down from it; for within the last few days the young artist had--died. the money-box in a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, a money-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. it was made of clay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. in the back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with a knife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and, indeed there were two in the box, besides a number of pence. the money-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which is the highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. there he stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down upon everything else in the room. he knew very well that he had enough inside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very good opinion of his own value. the rest thought of this fact also, although they did not express it, for there were so many other things to talk about. a large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neck had been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partly open. she called out to the others, "let us have a game at being men and women, that is something worth playing at." upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, which hung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, and showed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not the least intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object to the game. it was late at night, but as the moon shone through the windows, they had light at a cheap rate. and as the game was now to begin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children's wagon, which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. "each has its own value," said the wagon; "we cannot all be noblemen; there must be some to do the work." the money-pig was the only one who received a written invitation. he stood so high that they were afraid he would not accept a verbal message. but in his reply, he said, if he had to take a part, he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange for him to do so; and so they did. the little toy theatre was therefore put up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it. some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterwards to have a tea party and a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with the latter first. the rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagon of railways and steam power, for these subjects belonged to each of their professions, and it was right they should talk of them. the clock talked politics--"tick, tick;" he professed to know what was the time of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. the bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of his brass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions, pretty but stupid. when the play at the little theatre began, the rest sat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, or crack, when they felt gratified with what they saw. but the riding-whip said he never cracked for old people, only for the young who were not yet married. "i crack for everybody," said the cracker. "yes, and a fine noise you make," thought the audience, as the play went on. it was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all the characters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they were made only to be seen on one side. the acting was wonderful, excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because the wires were a little too long. the doll, whose neck had been darned, was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pig declared he must do something for one of the players, as they had all pleased him so much. so he made up his mind to remember one of them in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the family vault, whenever that event should happen. they all enjoyed the comedy so much, that they gave up all thoughts of the tea party, and only carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which they called playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it, for it was only play. all the while, each one thought most of himself, or of what the money-pig could be thinking. his thoughts were on, as he supposed, a very distant time--of making his will, and of his burial, and of when it might all come to pass. certainly sooner than he expected--for all at once down he came from the top of the press, fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. then the pennies hopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. the little ones twirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as they could, especially the one great silver crown piece who had often to go out into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest of the money. the pieces of the money-pig were thrown into the dust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on the cupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, and therefore, like the old one, it could not rattle. this was the beginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story. what the moon saw introduction it is a strange thing, when i feel most fervently and most deeply, my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that i cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me; and yet i am a painter; my eye tells me as much as that, and all my friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same. i am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but i do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with an extensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. during the first few days i went to live in the town, i felt low-spirited and solitary enough. instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, i had here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. and then i had not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me. so one evening i sat at the window, in a desponding mood; and presently i opened the casement and looked out. oh, how my heart leaped up with joy! here was a well-known face at last--a round, friendly countenance, the face of a good friend i had known at home. in, fact, it was the moon that looked in upon me. he was quite unchanged, the dear old moon, and had the same face exactly that he used to show when he peered down upon me through the willow trees on the moor. i kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone far into my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that every evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a few moments. this promise he has faithfully kept. it is a pity that he can only stay such a short time when he comes. whenever he appears, he tells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previous night, or on that same evening. "just paint the scenes i describe to you"--this is what he said to me--"and you will have a very pretty picture-book." i have followed his injunction for many evenings. i could make up a new "thousand and one nights," in my own way, out of these pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. the pictures i have here given have not been chosen at random, but follow in their proper order, just as they were described to me. some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may make something more of them if he likes; what i have given here are only hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my own thoughts, interspersed; for the moon did not come to me every evening--a cloud sometimes hid his face from me. first evening "last night"--i am quoting the moon's own words--"last night i was gliding through the cloudless indian sky. my face was mirrored in the waters of the ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the thick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like the tortoise's shell. forth from the thicket tripped a hindoo maid, light as a gazelle, beautiful as eve. airy and etherial as a vision, and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of hindostan: i could read on her delicate brow the thought that had brought her hither. the thorny creeping plants tore her sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. the deer that had come down to the river to quench her thirst, sprang by with a startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. i could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them for a screen before the dancing flame. she came down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. the flame flickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp burned on, and the girl's black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind their long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity. she knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. and the lamp burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. near her in the grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not--she thought only of bramah and of her betrothed. 'he lives!' she shouted joyfully, 'he lives!' and from the mountains the echo came back upon her, 'he lives!" second evening "yesterday," said the moon to me, "i looked down upon a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. in the courtyard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was running and jumping around them. the hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread out her wings over the little brood. then the girl's father came out and scolded her; and i glided away and thought no more of the matter. "but this evening, only a few minutes ago, i looked down into the same courtyard. everything was quiet. but presently the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back the bolt, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. they cried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. i saw it quite plainly, for i looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. i was angry with the willful child, and felt glad when her father came out and scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughly by the arm; she held down her head, and her blue eyes were full of large tears. 'what are you about here?' he asked. she wept and said, 'i wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday; but i was afraid to tell you.' "and the father kissed the innocent child's forehead, and i kissed her on the mouth and eyes." third evening "in the narrow street round the corner yonder--it is so narrow that my beams can only glide for a minute along the walls of the house, but in that minute i see enough to learn what the world is made of--in that narrow street i saw a woman. sixteen years ago that woman was a child, playing in the garden of the old parsonage, in the country. the hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers were faded. they straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged branches grew up among the boughs of the apple trees; here and there were a few roses still in bloom--not so fair as the queen of flowers generally appears, but still they had colour and scent too. the clergyman's little daughter appeared to me a far lovelier rose, as she sat on her stool under the straggling hedge, hugging and caressing her doll with the battered pasteboard cheeks. "ten years afterwards i saw her again. i beheld her in a splendid ballroom: she was the beautiful bride of a rich merchant. i rejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on calm quiet evenings--ah, nobody thinks of my clear eye and my silent glance! alas! my rose ran wild, like the rose bushes in the garden of the parsonage. there are tragedies in every-day life, and tonight i saw the last act of one. "she was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street: she was sick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, and tore away the thin coverlet, her only protection against the cold. 'get up!' said he; 'your face is enough to frighten one. get up and dress yourself, give me money, or i'll turn you out into the street! quick--get up!' she answered, 'alas! death is gnawing at my heart. let me rest.' but he forced her to get up and bathe her face, and put a wreath of roses in her hair; and he placed her in a chair at the window, with a candle burning beside her, and went away. "i looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with her hands in her lap. the wind caught the open window and shut it with a crash, so that a pane came clattering down in fragments; but still she never moved. the curtain caught fire, and the flames played about her face; and i saw that she was dead. there at the open window sat the dead woman, preaching a sermon against sin--my poor faded rose out of the parsonage garden!" fourth evening "this evening i saw a german play acted," said the moon. "it was in a little town. a stable had been turned into a theatre; that is to say, the stable had been left standing, and had been turned into private boxes, and all the timber work had been covered with coloured paper. a little iron chandelier hung beneath the ceiling, and that it might be made to disappear into the ceiling, as it does in great theatres, when the ting-ting of the prompter's bell is heard, a great inverted tub has been placed just above it. "'ting-ting!' and the little iron chandelier suddenly rose at least half a yard and disappeared in the tub; and that was the sign that the play was going to begin. a young nobleman and his lady, who happened to be passing through the little town, were present at the performance, and consequently the house was crowded. but under the chandelier was a vacant space like a little crater: not a single soul sat there, for the tallow was dropping, drip, drip! i saw everything, for it was so warm in there that every loophole had been opened. the male and female servants stood outside, peeping through the chinks, although a real policeman was inside, threatening them with a stick. close by the orchestra could be seen the noble young couple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by his worship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were to-day obliged to content themselves with wooden forms, just as if they had been ordinary citizens; and the lady observed quietly to herself, 'one sees, now, that there is rank above rank;' and this incident gave an air of extra festivity to the whole proceedings. the chandelier gave little leaps, the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and i, the moon, was present at the performance from beginning to end." fifth evening "yesterday," began the moon, "i looked down upon the turmoil of paris. my eye penetrated into an apartment of the louvre. an old grandmother, poorly clad--she belonged to the working class--was following one of the under-servants into the great empty throne-room, for this was the apartment she wanted to see--that she was resolved to see; it had cost her many a little sacrifice, and many a coaxing word, to penetrate thus far. she folded her thin hands, and looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in a church. "'here it was!' she said, 'here!' and she approached the throne, from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace. 'there,' she exclaimed, 'there!' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet. i think she was actually weeping. "'but it was not this very velvet!' observed the footman, and a smile played about his mouth. 'true, but it was this very place,' replied the woman, 'and it must have looked just like this. 'it looked so, and yet it did not,' observed the man: 'the windows were beaten in, and the doors were off their hinges, and there was blood upon the floor.' 'but for all that you can say, my grandson died upon the throne of france. died!' mournfully repeated the old woman. i do not think another word was spoken, and they soon quitted the hall. the evening twilight faded and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich velvet that covered the throne of france. "now who do you think this poor woman was? listen, i will tell you a story. "it happened, in the revolution of july, on the evening of the most brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a fortress, every window a breastwork. the people stormed the tuileries. even women and children were to be found among the combatants. they penetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace. a poor half-grown boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents. mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts, he sank down. this happened in the throne-room. they laid the bleeding youth upon the throne of france, wrapped the velvet around his wounds, and his blood streamed forth upon the imperial purple. there was a picture! the splendid hall, the fighting groups! a torn flag upon the ground, the tricolor was waving above the bayonets, and on the throne lay the poor lad with the pale glorified countenance, his eyes turned towards the sky, his limbs writhing in the death agony, his breast bare, and his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvet embroidered with silver lilies. at the boy's cradle a prophecy had been spoken: 'he will die on the throne of france!' the mother's heart dreamt of a second napoleon. "my beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his grave, and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grandame, while in a dream the picture floated before her which thou mayest draw--the poor boy on the throne of france." sixth evening "i've been in upsala," said the moon: "i looked down upon the great plain covered with coarse grass, and upon the barren fields. i mirrored my face in the tyris river, while the steamboat drove the fish into the rushes. beneath me floated the waves, throwing long shadows on the so-called graves of odin, thor, and friga. in the scanty turf that covers the hill-side names have been cut. there is no monument here, no memorial on which the traveller can have his name carved, no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted; so visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. the naked earth peers through in the form of great letters and names; these form a network over the whole hill. here is an immortality, which lasts till the fresh turf grows! "up on the hill stood a man, a poet. he emptied the mead horn with the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. he begged the winds not to betray him, but i heard the name. i knew it. a count's coronet sparkles above it, and therefore he did not speak it out. i smiled, for i knew that a poet's crown adorns his own name. the nobility of eleanora d'este is attached to the name of tasso. and i also know where the rose of beauty blooms!" thus spake the moon, and a cloud came between us. may no cloud separate the poet from the rose! seventh evening "along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and beeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood; hundreds of nightingales visit it every spring. close beside it is the sea, the ever-changing sea, and between the two is placed the broad high-road. one carriage after another rolls over it; but i did not follow them, for my eye loves best to rest upon one point. a hun's grave lies there, and the sloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones. here is true poetry in nature. "and how do you think men appreciate this poetry? i will tell you what i heard there last evening and during the night. "first, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 'those are glorious trees!' said the first. 'certainly; there are ten loads of firewood in each,' observed the other: 'it will be a hard winter, and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'--and they were gone. 'the road here is wretched,' observed another man who drove past. 'that's the fault of those horrible trees,' replied his neighbour; 'there is no free current of air; the wind can only come from the sea'--and they were gone. the stage coach went rattling past. all the passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot. the postillion blew his horn, but he only thought, 'i can play capitally. it sounds well here. i wonder if those in there like it?'--and the stage coach vanished. then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback. there's youth and spirit in the blood here! thought i; and, indeed, they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and thick forest. 'i should not dislike a walk here with the miller's christine,' said one--and they flew past. "the flowers scented the air; every breath of air was hushed; it seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above the deep valley. a carriage rolled by. six people were sitting in it. four of them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat, which would suit him admirably; the sixth turned to the coachman and asked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heap of stones. 'no,' replied the coachman, 'it's only a heap of stones; but the trees are remarkable.' 'how so?' 'why i'll tell you how they are very remarkable. you see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep, and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen, those trees serve me for a landmark. i steer by them, so as not to drive into the sea; and you see that is why the trees are remarkable.' "now came a painter. he spoke not a word, but his eyes sparkled. he began to whistle. at this the nightingales sang louder than ever. 'hold your tongues!' he cried testily; and he made accurate notes of all the colours and transitions--blue, and lilac, and dark brown. 'that will make a beautiful picture,' he said. he took it in just as a mirror takes in a view; and as he worked he whistled a march of rossini. and last of all came a poor girl. she laid aside the burden she carried, and sat down to rest upon the hun's grave. her pale handsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest. her eyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her hands were folded, and i think she prayed, 'our father.' she herself could not understand the feeling that swept through her, but i know that this minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within her memory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the painter could portray it with his colours on paper. my rays followed her till the morning dawn kissed her brow." eighth evening heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the moon did not make his appearance at all. i stood in my little room, more lonely than ever, and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself. my thoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who every evening told me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures. yes, he has had an experience indeed. he glided over the waters of the deluge, and smiled on noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me, and brought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forth from the old. when the children of israel sat weeping by the waters of babylon, he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung the silent harps. when romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise of true love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the round moon hung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. he saw the captive giant at st. helena, looking from the lonely rock across the wide ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. ah! what tales the moon can tell. human life is like a story to him. to-night i shall not see thee again, old friend. tonight i can draw no picture of the memories of thy visit. and, as i looked dreamily towards the clouds, the sky became bright. there was a glancing light, and a beam from the moon fell upon me. it vanished again, and dark clouds flew past: but still it was a greeting, a friendly good-night offered to me by the moon. ninth evening the air was clear again. several evenings had passed, and the moon was in the first quarter. again he gave me an outline for a sketch. listen to what he told me. "i have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to the eastern coast of greenland. gaunt ice-covered rocks and dark clouds hung over a valley, where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stood clothed in green. the blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours. my light was faint, my face pale as the water lily that, torn from its stem, has been drifting for weeks with the tide. the crown-shaped northern light burned fiercely in the sky. its ring was broad, and from its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fire across the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to red. the inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for dance and festivity; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle, they scarcely deigned to glance at it. 'let us leave the soul of the dead to their ball-play with the heads of the walruses,' they thought in their superstition, and they turned their whole attention to the song and dance. in the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry cloak, stood a greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played and sang a song about catching the seal, and the chorus around chimed in with, 'eia, eia, ah.' and in their white furs they danced about in the circle, till you might fancy it was a polar bear's ball. "and now a court of judgment was opened. those greenlanders who had quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended person chanted forth the faults of his adversary in an extempore song, turning them sharply into ridicule, to the sound of the pipe and the measure of the dance. the defendant replied with satire as keen, while the audience laughed, and gave their verdict. the rocks heaved, the glaciers melted, and great masses of ice and snow came crashing down, shivering to fragments as they fall; it was a glorious greenland summer night. a hundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. life still flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die--he himself felt it, and all who stood round him knew it also; therefore his wife was already sewing round him the shroud of furs, that she might not afterwards be obliged to touch the dead body. and she asked, 'wilt thou be buried on the rock, in the firm snow? i will deck the spot with thy kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall dance over it. or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?' 'in the sea,' he whispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. 'yes, it is a pleasant summer tent, the sea,' observed the wife. 'thousands of seals sport there, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe and merry!' and the yelling children tore the outspread hide from the window-hole, that the dead man might be carried to the ocean, the billowy ocean, that had given him food in life, and that now, in death, was to afford him a place of rest. for his monument, he had the floating, ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the storm bird flies round their gleaming summits!" tenth evening "i knew an old maid," said the moon. "every winter she wore a wrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained new, and was the only fashion she followed. in summer she always wore the same straw hat, and i verily believe the very same gray-blue dress. "she never went out, except across the street to an old female friend; and in later years she did not even take this walk, for the old friend was dead. in her solitude my old maid was always busy at the window, which was adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and in winter with cress, grown upon felt. during the last months i saw her no more at the window, but she was still alive. i knew that, for i had not yet seen her begin the 'long journey,' of which she often spoke with her friend. 'yes, yes,' she was in the habit of saying, when i come to die i shall take a longer journey than i have made my whole life long. our family vault is six miles from here. i shall be carried there, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.' last night a van stopped at the house. a coffin was carried out, and then i knew that she was dead. they placed straw round the coffin, and the van drove away. there slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out of her house once for the last year. the van rolled out through the town-gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion. on the high-road the pace was quicker yet. the coachman looked nervously round every now and then--i fancy he half expected to see her sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin wrapper. and because he was startled, he foolishly lashed his horses, while he held the reins so tightly that the poor beasts were in a foam: they were young and fiery. a hare jumped across the road and startled them, and they fairly ran away. the old sober maiden, who had for years and years moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now, in death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway. the coffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van, and was left on the high-road, while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past in wild career. the lark rose up carolling from the field, twittering her morning lay over the coffin, and presently perched upon it, picking with her beak at the straw covering, as though she would tear it up. the lark rose up again, singing gaily, and i withdrew behind the red morning clouds." eleventh evening "i will give you a picture of pompeii," said the moon. "i was in the suburb in the street of tombs, as they call it, where the fair monuments stand, in the spot where, ages ago, the merry youths, their temples bound with rosy wreaths, danced with the fair sisters of lais. now, the stillness of death reigned around. german mercenaries, in the neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards, and diced; and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains came into the town, accompanied by a sentry. they wanted to see the city that had risen from the grave illumined by my beams; and i showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad lava slabs; i showed them the names on the doors, and the signs that hung there yet: they saw in the little courtyard the basins of the fountains, ornamented with shells; but no jet of water gushed upwards, no songs sounded forth from the richly-painted chambers, where the bronze dog kept the door. "it was the city of the dead; only vesuvius thundered forth his everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is called by men an eruption. we went to the temple of venus, built of snow-white marble, with its high altar in front of the broad steps, and the weeping willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars. the air was transparent and blue, and black vesuvius formed the background, with fire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the pine tree. above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, like the crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination. among the company was a lady singer, a real and great singer. i have witnessed the homage paid to her in the greatest cities of europe. when they came to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the amphitheatre steps, and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience, as it had been many centuries ago. the stage still stood unchanged, with its walled side-scenes, and the two arches in the background, through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited in the old times--a scene painted by nature herself, namely, the mountains between sorento and amalfi. the singer gaily mounted the ancient stage, and sang. the place inspired her, and she reminded me of a wild arab horse, that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils and flying mane--her song was so light and yet so firm. anon i thought of the mourning mother beneath the cross at golgotha, so deep was the expression of pain. and, just as it had done thousands of years ago, the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre. 'happy, gifted creature!' all the hearers exclaimed. five minutes more, and the stage was empty, the company had vanished, and not a sound more was heard--all were gone. but the ruins stood unchanged, as they will stand when centuries shall have gone by, and when none shall know of the momentary applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress; when all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this hour will be but a dream of the past." twelfth evening "i looked through the windows of an editor's house," said the moon. "it was somewhere in germany. i saw handsome furniture, many books, and a chaos of newspapers. several young men were present: the editor himself stood at his desk, and two little books, both by young authors, were to be noticed. 'this one has been sent to me,' said he. 'i have not read it yet; what think you of the contents?' 'oh,' said the person addressed--he was a poet himself--'it is good enough; a little broad, certainly; but, you see, the author is still young. the verses might be better, to be sure; the thoughts are sound, though there is certainly a good deal of common-place among them. but what will you have? you can't be always getting something new. that he'll turn out anything great i don't believe, but you may safely praise him. he is well read, a remarkable oriental scholar, and has a good judgment. it was he who wrote that nice review of my 'reflections on domestic life.' we must be lenient towards the young man." "'but he is a complete hack!' objected another of the gentlemen. 'nothing worse in poetry than mediocrity, and he certainly does not go beyond this.' "'poor fellow,' observed a third, 'and his aunt is so happy about him. it was she, mr. editor, who got together so many subscribers for your last translation.' "'ah, the good woman! well, i have noticed the book briefly. undoubted talent--a welcome offering--a flower in the garden of poetry--prettily brought out--and so on. but this other book--i suppose the author expects me to purchase it? i hear it is praised. he has genius, certainly: don't you think so?' "'yes, all the world declares as much,' replied the poet, 'but it has turned out rather wildly. the punctuation of the book, in particular, is very eccentric.' "'it will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and anger him a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion of himself.' "'but that would be unfair,' objected the fourth. 'let us not carp at little faults, but rejoice over the real and abundant good that we find here: he surpasses all the rest.' "'not so. if he is a true genius, he can bear the sharp voice of censure. there are people enough to praise him. don't let us quite turn his head.' "'decided talent,' wrote the editor, 'with the usual carelessness. that he can write incorrect verses may be seen in page , where there are two false quantities. we recommend him to study the ancients, etc.' "i went away," continued the moon, "and looked through the windows in the aunt's house. there sat the be-praised poet, the tame one; all the guests paid homage to him, and he was happy. "i sought the other poet out, the wild one; him also i found in a great assembly at his patron's, where the tame poet's book was being discussed. "'i shall read yours also,' said maecenas; 'but to speak honestly--you know i never hide my opinion from you--i don't expect much from it, for you are much too wild, too fantastic. but it must be allowed that, as a man, you are highly respectable.' "a young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book these words: "'in the dust lies genius and glory, but ev'ry-day talent will pay. it's only the old, old story, but the piece is repeated each day.'" thirteenth evening the moon said, "beside the woodland path there are two small farm-houses. the doors are low, and some of the windows are placed quite high, and others close to the ground; and whitethorn and barberry bushes grow around them. the roof of each house is overgrown with moss and with yellow flowers and houseleek. cabbage and potatoes are the only plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of the hedge there grows a willow tree, and under this willow tree sat a little girl, and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the old oak tree between the two huts. "it was an old withered stem. it had been sawn off at the top, and a stork had built his nest upon it; and he stood in this nest clapping with his beak. a little boy came and stood by the girl's side: they were brother and sister. "'what are you looking at?' he asked. "'i'm watching the stork,' she replied: 'our neighbors told me that he would bring us a little brother or sister to-day; let us watch to see it come!' "'the stork brings no such things,' the boy declared, 'you may be sure of that. our neighbor told me the same thing, but she laughed when she said it, and so i asked her if she could say 'on my honor,' and she could not; and i know by that the story about the storks is not true, and that they only tell it to us children for fun.' "'but where do babies come from, then?' asked the girl. "'why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak, but no man can see him; and that's why we never know when he brings them.' "at that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the willow tree, and the children folded their hands and looked at one another: it was certainly the angel coming with the baby. they took each other's hand, and at that moment the door of one of the houses opened, and the neighbour appeared. "'come in, you two,' she said. 'see what the stork has brought. it is a little brother.' "and the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had felt quite sure already that the baby was come." fourteenth evening "i was gliding over the luneburg heath," the moon said. "a lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew near it, and a nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. he died in the coldness of the night: it was his farewell song that i heard. "the morning dawn came glimmering red. i saw a caravan of emigrant peasant families who were bound to hamburgh, there to take ship for america, where fancied prosperity would bloom for them. the mothers carried their little children at their backs, the elder ones tottered by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart that bore their scanty effects. the cold wind whistled, and therefore the little girl nestled closer to the mother, who, looking up at my decreasing disc, thought of the bitter want at home, and spoke of the heavy taxes they had not been able to raise. the whole caravan thought of the same thing; therefore, the rising dawn seemed to them a message from the sun, of fortune that was to gleam brightly upon them. they heard the dying nightingale sing; it was no false prophet, but a harbinger of fortune. the wind whistled, therefore they did not understand that the nightingale sung, 'fare away over the sea! thou hast paid the long passage with all that was thine, and poor and helpless shalt thou enter canaan. thou must sell thyself, thy wife, and thy children. but your griefs shall not last long. behind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the goddess of death, and her welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. fare away, fare away, over the heaving billows.' and the caravan listened well pleased to the song of the nightingale, which seemed to promise good fortune. day broke through the light clouds; country people went across the heath to church; the black-gowned women with their white head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped forth from the church pictures. all around lay a wide dead plain, covered with faded brown heath, and black charred spaces between the white sand hills. the women carried hymn books, and walked into the church. oh, pray, pray for those who are wandering to find graves beyond the foaming billows." fifteenth evening "i know a pulcinella," the moon told me. "the public applaud vociferously directly they see him. every one of his movements is comic, and is sure to throw the house into convulsions of laughter; and yet there is no art in it all--it is complete nature. when he was yet a little boy, playing about with other boys, he was already punch. nature had intended him for it, and had provided him with a hump on his back, and another on his breast; but his inward man, his mind, on the contrary, was richly furnished. no one could surpass him in depth of feeling or in readiness of intellect. the theatre was his ideal world. if he had possessed a slender well-shaped figure, he might have been the first tragedian on any stage; the heroic, the great, filled his soul; and yet he had to become a pulcinella. his very sorrow and melancholy did but increase the comic dryness of his sharply-cut features, and increased the laughter of the audience, who showered plaudits on their favourite. the lovely columbine was indeed kind and cordial to him; but she preferred to marry the harlequin. it would have been too ridiculous if beauty and ugliness had in reality paired together. "when pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the only one who could force a hearty burst of laughter, or even a smile from him: first she would be melancholy with him, then quieter, and at last quite cheerful and happy. 'i know very well what is the matter with you,' she said; 'yes, you're in love!' and he could not help laughing. 'i and love," he cried, "that would have an absurd look. how the public would shout!' 'certainly, you are in love,' she continued; and added with a comic pathos, 'and i am the person you are in love with.' you see, such a thing may be said when it is quite out of the question--and, indeed, pulcinella burst out laughing, and gave a leap into the air, and his melancholy was forgotten. "and yet she had only spoken the truth. he did love her, love her adoringly, as he loved what was great and lofty in art. at her wedding he was the merriest among the guests, but in the stillness of night he wept: if the public had seen his distorted face then, they would have applauded rapturously. "and a few days ago, columbine died. on the day of the funeral, harlequin was not required to show himself on the boards, for he was a disconsolate widower. the director had to give a very merry piece, that the public might not too painfully miss the pretty columbine and the agile harlequin. therefore pulcinella had to be more boisterous and extravagant than ever; and he danced and capered, with despair in his heart; and the audience yelled, and shouted 'bravo, bravissimo!' pulcinella was actually called before the curtain. he was pronounced inimitable. "but last night the hideous little fellow went out of the town, quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. the wreath of flowers on columbine's grave was already faded, and he sat down there. it was a study for a painter. as he sat with his chin on his hands, his eyes turned up towards me, he looked like a grotesque monument--a punch on a grave--peculiar and whimsical! if the people could have seen their favourite, they would have cried as usual, 'bravo, pulcinella; bravo, bravissimo!'" sixteenth evening hear what the moon told me. "i have seen the cadet who had just been made an officer put on his handsome uniform for the first time; i have seen the young bride in her wedding dress, and the princess girl-wife happy in her gorgeous robes; but never have i seen a felicity equal to that of a little girl of four years old, whom i watched this evening. she had received a new blue dress, and a new pink hat, the splendid attire had just been put on, and all were calling for a candle, for my rays, shining in through the windows of the room, were not bright enough for the occasion, and further illumination was required. there stood the little maid, stiff and upright as a doll, her arms stretched painfully straight out away from the dress, and her fingers apart; and oh, what happiness beamed from her eyes, and from her whole countenance! 'to-morrow you shall go out in your new clothes,' said her mother; and the little one looked up at her hat, and down at her frock, and smiled brightly. 'mother,' she cried, 'what will the little dogs think, when they see me in these splendid new things?'" seventeenth evening "i have spoken to you of pompeii," said the moon; "that corpse of a city, exposed in the view of living towns: i know another sight still more strange, and this is not the corpse, but the spectre of a city. whenever the jetty fountains splash into the marble basins, they seem to me to be telling the story of the floating city. yes, the spouting water may tell of her, the waves of the sea may sing of her fame! on the surface of the ocean a mist often rests, and that is her widow's veil. the bridegroom of the sea is dead, his palace and his city are his mausoleum! dost thou know this city? she has never heard the rolling of wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in her streets, through which the fish swim, while the black gondola glides spectrally over the green water. i will show you the place," continued the moon, "the largest square in it, and you will fancy yourself transported into the city of a fairy tale. the grass grows rank among the broad flagstones, and in the morning twilight thousands of tame pigeons flutter around the solitary lofty tower. on three sides you find yourself surrounded by cloistered walks. in these the silent turk sits smoking his long pipe, the handsome greek leans against the pillar and gazes at the upraised trophies and lofty masts, memorials of power that is gone. the flags hang down like mourning scarves. a girl rests there: she has put down her heavy pails filled with water, the yoke with which she has carried them rests on one of her shoulders, and she leans against the mast of victory. that is not a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but a church: the gilded domes and shining orbs flash back my beams; the glorious bronze horses up yonder have made journeys, like the bronze horse in the fairy tale: they have come hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. do you notice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows? it looks as if genius had followed the caprices of a child, in the adornment of these singular temples. do you see the winged lion on the pillar? the gold glitters still, but his wings are tied--the lion is dead, for the king of the sea is dead; the great halls stand desolate, and where gorgeous paintings hung of yore, the naked wall now peers through. the lazzarone sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in old times was to be trodden only by the feet of high nobility. from the deep wells, and perhaps from the prisons by the bridge of sighs, rise the accents of woe, as at the time when the tambourine was heard in the gay gondolas, and the golden ring was cast from the bucentaur to adria, the queen of the seas. adria! shroud thyself in mists; let the veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form, and clothe in the weeds of woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom--the marble, spectral venice." eighteenth evening "i looked down upon a great theatre," said the moon. "the house was crowded, for a new actor was to make his first appearance that night. my rays glided over a little window in the wall, and i saw a painted face with the forehead pressed against the panes. it was the hero of the evening. the knighly beard curled crisply about the chin; but there were tears in the man's eyes, for he had been hissed off, and indeed with reason. the poor incapable! but incapables cannot be admitted into the empire of art. he had deep feeling, and loved his art enthusiastically, but the art loved not him. the prompter's bell sounded; 'the hero enters with a determined air,' so ran the stage direction in his part, and he had to appear before an audience who turned him into ridicule. when the piece was over, i saw a form wrapped in a mantle, creeping down the steps: it was the vanquished knight of the evening. the scene-shifters whispered to one another, and i followed the poor fellow home to his room. to hang one's self is to die a mean death, and poison is not always at hand, i know; but he thought of both. i saw how he looked at his pale face in the glass, with eyes half closed, to see if he should look well as a corpse. a man may be very unhappy, and yet exceedingly affected. he thought of death, of suicide; i believe he pitied himself, for he wept bitterly, and when a man has had his cry out he doesn't kill himself. "since that time a year had rolled by. again a play was to be acted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling company. again i saw the well-remembered face, with the painted cheeks and the crisp beard. he looked up at me and smiled; and yet he had been hissed off only a minute before--hissed off from a wretched theatre, by a miserable audience. and tonight a shabby hearse rolled out of the town-gate. it was a suicide--our painted, despised hero. the driver of the hearse was the only person present, for no one followed except my beams. in a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the suicide was shovelled into the earth, and nettles will soon be growing rankly over his grave, and the sexton will throw thorns and weeds from the other graves upon it." nineteenth evening "i come from rome," said the moon. "in the midst of the city, upon one of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the imperial palace. the wild fig tree grows in the clefts of the wall, and covers the nakedness thereof with its broad grey-green leaves; trampling among heaps of rubbish, the ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank thistles. from this spot, whence the eagles of rome once flew abroad, whence they 'came, saw, and conquered,' our door leads into a little mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wild vine hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window. an old woman and her little granddaughter live there: they rule now in the palace of the caesars, and show to strangers the remains of its past glories. of the splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, and a black cypress throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throne once stood. the dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement; and the little maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace, often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring. the keyhole of the door close by she calls her turret window; through this she can see half rome, as far as the mighty cupola of st. peter's. "on this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and in the full beam of my light came the little granddaughter. on her head she carried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water. her feet were bare, her short frock and her white sleeves were torn. i kissed her pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, and black shining hair. she mounted the stairs; they were steep, having been made up of rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar. the coloured lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, but she was not frightened at them. already she lifted her hand to pull the door-bell--a hare's foot fastened to a string formed the bell-handle of the imperial palace. she paused for a moment--of what might she be thinking? perhaps of the beautiful christ-child, dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in the chapel, where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where her little friends sung the hymns in which she also could join? i know not. presently she moved again--she stumbled: the earthen vessel fell from her head, and broke on the marble steps. she burst into tears. the beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over the worthless broken pitcher; with her bare feet she stood there weeping; and dared not pull the string, the bell-rope of the imperial palace!" twentieth evening it was more than a fortnight since the moon had shone. now he stood once more, round and bright, above the clouds, moving slowly onward. hear what the moon told me. "from a town in fezzan i followed a caravan. on the margin of the sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a frozen lake, and was only covered in spots with light drifting sand, a halt was made. the eldest of the company--the water gourd hung at his girdle, and on his head was a little bag of unleavened bread--drew a square in the sand with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the koran, and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot. a young merchant, a child of the east, as i could tell by his eye and his figure, rode pensively forward on his white snorting steed. was he thinking, perchance, of his fair young wife? it was only two days ago that the camel, adorned with furs and with costly shawls, had carried her, the beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, while drums and cymbals had sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, of which the bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round the camel; and now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert. "for many nights i followed the train. i saw them rest by the wellside among the stunted palms; they thrust the knife into the breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted its flesh by the fire. my beams cooled the glowing sands, and showed them the black rocks, dead islands in the immense ocean of sand. no hostile tribes met them in their pathless route, no storms arose, no columns of sand whirled destruction over the journeying caravan. at home the beautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father. 'are they dead?' she asked of my golden crescent; 'are they dead?' she cried to my full disc. now the desert lies behind them. this evening they sit beneath the lofty palm trees, where the crane flutters round them with its long wings, and the pelican watches them from the branches of the mimosa. the luxuriant herbage is trampled down, crushed by the feet of elephants. a troop of negroes are returning from a market in the interior of the land: the women, with copper buttons in their black hair, and decked out in clothes dyed with indigo, drive the heavily-laden oxen, on whose backs slumber the naked black children. a negro leads a young lion which he has brought, by a string. they approach the caravan; the young merchant sits pensive and motionless, thinking of his beautiful wife, dreaming, in the land of the blacks, of his white lily beyond the desert. he raises his head, and--" but at this moment a cloud passed before the moon, and then another. i heard nothing more from him this evening. twenty-first evening "i saw a little girl weeping," said the moon; "she was weeping over the depravity of the world. she had received a most beautiful doll as a present. oh, that was a glorious doll, so fair and delicate! she did not seem created for the sorrows of this world. but the brothers of the little girl, those great naughty boys, had set the doll high up in the branches of a tree and had run away. "the little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could not help her down, and that is why she was crying. the doll must certainly have been crying too, for she stretched out her arms among the green branches, and looked quite mournful. yes, these are the troubles of life of which the little girl had often heard tell. alas, poor doll! it began to grow dark already; and suppose night were to come on completely! was she to be left sitting on the bough all night long? no, the little maid could not make up her mind to that. 'i'll stay with you,' she said, although she felt anything but happy in her mind. she could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes, with their high-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes; and further back in the long walk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing. they came nearer and nearer, and stretched out their hands towards the tree on which the doll sat; they laughed scornfully, and pointed at her with their fingers. oh, how frightened the little maid was! 'but if one has not done anything wrong,' she thought, 'nothing evil can harm one. i wonder if i have done anything wrong?' and she considered. 'oh, yes! i laughed at the poor duck with the red rag on her leg; she limped along so funnily, i could not help laughing; but it's a sin to laugh at animals.' and she looked up at the doll. 'did you laugh at the duck too?' she asked; and it seemed as if the doll shook her head." twenty-second evening "i looked down upon tyrol," said the moon, "and my beams caused the dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks. i looked at the pictures of st. christopher carrying the infant jesus that are painted there upon the walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from the ground to the roof. st. florian was represented pouring water on the burning house, and the lord hung bleeding on the great cross by the wayside. to the present generation these are old pictures, but i saw when they were put up, and marked how one followed the other. on the brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow's nest, a lonely convent of nuns. two of the sisters stood up in the tower tolling the bell; they were both young, and therefore their glances flew over the mountain out into the world. a travelling coach passed by below, the postillion wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked after the carriage for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear gleamed in the eyes of the younger one. and the horn sounded faint and more faintly, and the convent bell drowned its expiring echoes." twenty-third evening hear what the moon told me. "some years ago, here in copenhagen, i looked through the window of a mean little room. the father and mother slept, but the little son was not asleep. i saw the flowered cotton curtains of the bed move, and the child peep forth. at first i thought he was looking at the great clock, which was gaily painted in red and green. at the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leaden weights, and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went to and fro, and said 'tick, tick.' but no, he was not looking at the clock, but at his mother's spinning wheel, that stood just underneath it. that was the boy's favourite piece of furniture, but he dared not touch it, for if he meddled with it he got a rap on the knuckles. for hours together, when his mother was spinning, he would sit quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle and the revolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many things. oh, if he might only turn the wheel himself! father and mother were asleep; he looked at them, and looked at the spinning wheel, and presently a little naked foot peered out of the bed, and then a second foot, and then two little white legs. there he stood. he looked round once more, to see if father and mother were still asleep--yes, they slept; and now he crept softly, softly, in his short little nightgown, to the spinning wheel, and began to spin. the thread flew from the wheel, and the wheel whirled faster and faster. i kissed his fair hair and his blue eyes, it was such a pretty picture. "at that moment the mother awoke. the curtain shook, she looked forth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some other kind of little spectre. 'in heaven's name!' she cried, and aroused her husband in a frightened way. he opened his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, and looked at the brisk little lad. 'why, that is bertel,' said he. and my eye quitted the poor room, for i have so much to see. at the same moment i looked at the halls of the vatican, where the marble gods are enthroned. i shone upon the group of the laocoon; the stone seemed to sigh. i pressed a silent kiss on the lips of the muses, and they seemed to stir and move. but my rays lingered longest about the nile group with the colossal god. leaning against the sphinx, he lies there thoughtful and meditative, as if he were thinking on the rolling centuries; and little love-gods sport with him and with the crocodiles. in the horn of plenty sat with folded arms a little tiny love-god, contemplating the great solemn river-god, a true picture of the boy at the spinning wheel--the features were exactly the same. charming and life-like stood the little marble form, and yet the wheel of the year has turned more than a thousand times since the time when it sprang forth from the stone. just as often as the boy in the little room turned the spinning wheel had the great wheel murmured, before the age could again call forth marble gods equal to those he afterwards formed. "years have passed since all this happened," the moon went on to say. "yesterday i looked upon a bay on the eastern coast of denmark. glorious woods are there, and high trees, an old knightly castle with red walls, swans floating in the ponds, and in the background appears, among orchards, a little town with a church. many boats, the crews all furnished with torches, glided over the silent expanse--but these fires had not been kindled for catching fish, for everything had a festive look. music sounded, a song was sung, and in one of the boats the man stood erect to whom homage was paid by the rest, a tall sturdy man, wrapped in a cloak. he had blue eyes and long white hair. i knew him, and thought of the vatican, and of the group of the nile, and the old marble gods. i thought of the simple little room where little bertel sat in his night-shirt by the spinning wheel. the wheel of time has turned, and new gods have come forth from the stone. from the boats there arose a shout: 'hurrah, hurrah for bertel thorwaldsen!'" twenty-fourth evening "i will now give you a picture from frankfort," said the moon. "i especially noticed one building there. it was not the house in which goethe was born, nor the old council house, through whose grated windows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted and given to the people when the emperors were crowned. no, it was a private house, plain in appearance, and painted green. it stood near the old jews' street. it was rothschild's house. "i looked through the open door. the staircase was brilliantly lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive silver candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an old woman, who was being brought downstairs in a litter. the proprietor of the house stood bare-headed, and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand of the old woman. she was his mother. she nodded in a friendly manner to him and to the servants, and they carried her into the dark narrow street, into a little house, that was her dwelling. here her children had been born, from hence the fortune of the family had arisen. if she deserted the despised street and the little house, fortune would also desert her children. that was her firm belief." the moon told me no more; his visit this evening was far too short. but i thought of the old woman in the narrow despised street. it would have cost her but a word, and a brilliant house would have arisen for her on the banks of the thames--a word, and a villa would have been prepared in the bay of naples. "if i deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my sons first began to bloom, fortune would desert them!" it was a superstition, but a superstition of such a class, that he who knows the story and has seen this picture, need have only two words placed under the picture to make him understand it; and these two words are: "a mother." twenty-fifth evening "it was yesterday, in the morning twilight"--these are the words the moon told me--"in the great city no chimney was yet smoking--and it was just at the chimneys that i was looking. suddenly a little head emerged from one of them, and then half a body, the arms resting on the rim of the chimney-pot. 'ya-hip! ya-hip!' cried a voice. it was the little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his life crept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the top. 'ya-hip! ya-hip' yes, certainly that was a very different thing to creeping about in the dark narrow chimneys! the air blew so fresh, and he could look over the whole city towards the green wood. the sun was just rising. it shone round and great, just in his face, that beamed with triumph, though it was very prettily blacked with soot. "'the whole town can see me now,' he exclaimed, 'and the moon can see me now, and the sun too. ya-hip! ya-hip!' and he flourished his broom in triumph." twenty-sixth evening "last night i looked down upon a town in china," said the moon. "my beams irradiated the naked walls that form the streets there. now and then, certainly, a door is seen; but it is locked, for what does the chinaman care about the outer world? close wooden shutters covered the windows behind the walls of the houses; but through the windows of the temple a faint light glimmered. i looked in, and saw the quaint decorations within. from the floor to the ceiling pictures are painted, in the most glaring colours, and richly gilt--pictures representing the deeds of the gods here on earth. in each niche statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by the coloured drapery and the banners that hang down. before each idol (and they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, with flowers and burning wax lights on it. above all the rest stood fo, the chief deity, clad in a garment of yellow silk, for yellow is here the sacred colour. at the foot of the altar sat a living being, a young priest. he appeared to be praying, but in the midst of his prayer he seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have been wrong, for his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. poor soui-hong! was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the little flower garden behind the high street wall? and did that occupation seem more agreeable to him than watching the wax lights in the temple? or did he wish to sit at the rich feast, wiping his mouth with silver paper between each course? or was his sin so great that, if he dared utter it, the celestial empire would punish it with death? had his thoughts ventured to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to their homes in far distant england? no, his thoughts did not fly so far, and yet they were sinful, sinful as thoughts born of young hearts, sinful here in the temple, in the presence of fo and the other holy gods. "i know whither his thoughts had strayed. at the farther end of the city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which stood the handsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the beauteous pu, of the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet. the tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained her still more. she lifted her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. before her stood a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. she stirred the bowl carefully with a slender lacquered stick, very slowly, for she, too, was lost in thought. was she thinking, perchance, how the fishes were richly clothed in gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully in their crystal world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how much happier they might be if they were free? yes, that she could well understand, the beautiful pu. her thoughts wandered away from her home, wandered to the temple, but not for the sake of holy things. poor pu! poor soui-hong! "their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between the two, like the sword of the cherub." twenty-seventh evening "the air was calm," said the moon; "the water was transparent as the purest ether through which i was gliding, and deep below the surface i could see the strange plants that stretched up their long arms towards me like the gigantic trees of the forest. the fishes swam to and fro above their tops. high in the air a flight of wild swans were winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with wearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted farther and farther into the distance. with outspread wings he sank slowly, as a soap bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched the water. at length his head lay back between his wings, and silently he lay there, like a white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. and a gentle wind arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like the clouds that poured along in great broad waves; and the swan raised his head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire over his breast and back. the morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swan rose strengthened, and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish coast whither the caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with a longing in his breast. lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows." twenty-eighth evening "i will give you another picture of sweden," said the moon. "among dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the stoxen, lies the old convent church of wreta. my rays glided through the grating into the roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins. on the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of earthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted and gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. the worms have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from the crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and transient as the grief of mortals. how quietly they sleep! i can remember them quite plainly. i still see the bold smile on their lips, that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. when the steamboat winds along like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger often comes to the church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the names of the kings, and they have a dead and forgotten sound. he glances with a smile at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be a pious, thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with the smile. slumber on, ye dead ones! the moon thinks of you, the moon at night sends down his rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs the crown of pine wood." twenty-ninth evening "close by the high-road," said the moon, "is an inn, and opposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being re-thatched. i looked down between the bare rafters and through the open loft into the comfortless space below. the turkey-cock slept on the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. in the middle of the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast asleep, while the horses were being watered. the coachman stretched himself, though i am very sure that he had been most comfortably asleep half the last stage. the door of the servants' room stood open, and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over; the candle stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the socket. the wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn than to midnight. in the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering family of musicians. the father and mother seemed to be dreaming of the burning liquor that remained in the bottle. the little pale daughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. the harp stood at their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet." thirtieth evening "it was in a little provincial town," the moon said; "it certainly happened last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. i saw it quite plainly. to-day i read about it in the papers, but there it was not half so clearly expressed. in the taproom of the little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied up outside, behind the wood pile--poor bruin, who did nobody any harm, though he looked grim enough. up in the garret three little children were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'tramp, tramp'--somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? the door was thrust open--it was bruin, the great, shaggy bruin! he had got tired of waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs. i saw it all," said the moon. "the children were very much frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did them no harm. 'this must be a great dog,' they said, and began to stroke him. he lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. presently the eldest boy took his drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his hind legs, and began to dance. it was a charming sight to behold. each boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he held it up quite properly. here was a capital playmate they had found; and they began marching--one, two; one, two. "suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the mother of the children appeared. you should have seen her in her dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. but the youngest boy nodded to her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'we're playing at soldiers.' and then the bear leader came running up." thirty-first evening the wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past; only for a moment now and then did the moon become visible. he said, "i looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. i looked upon a prison. a closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be carried away. my rays pierced through the grated window towards the wall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his heart. the door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes upon my round disc. clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see his face, nor i his. he stepped into the carriage, the door was closed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into the thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as i glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes, his last farewell engraved on the prison wall--where words fail, sounds can often speak. my rays could only light up isolated notes, so the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to me. was it the death-hymn he wrote there? were these the glad notes of joy? did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his beloved? the rays of the moon do not read all that is written by mortals." thirty-second evening "i love the children," said the moon, "especially the quite little ones--they are so droll. sometimes i peep into the room, between the curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. it gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. first, the little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then the arm; or i see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to be kissed, and i kiss it too. "but about what i was going to tell you. this evening i looked through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody lives opposite. i saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family, and among them was a little sister. she is only four years old, but can say her prayers as well as any of the rest. the mother sits by her bed every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has a kiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to sleep, which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes. "this evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. one of them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and the other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all the children, and declared he was acting grecian statues. the third and fourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is a thing that has to be done; and the mother sat by the bed of the youngest, and announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet, for little sister was going to say her prayers. "i looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, where she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded demurely and her little face quite grave and serious. she was praying the lord's prayer aloud. but her mother interrupted her in the middle of her prayer. 'how is it,' she asked, 'that when you have prayed for daily bread, you always add something i cannot understand? you must tell me what that is.' the little one lay silent, and looked at her mother in embarrassment. 'what is it you say after our daily bread?' 'dear mother, don't be angry: i only said, and plenty of butter on it.'" the neighbouring families one would have thought that something important was going on in the duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. all the ducks lying quietly on the water or standing on their heads in it--for they could do that--at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feet were seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide. the water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smooth as a mirror, became very troubled. before, every tree, every neighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof and the swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full of flowers, had been reflected in it. the rose-bush covered the wall and hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in a picture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the water was troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. two feathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down; suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it did not come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quiet and smooth. the roses were again reflected; they were very beautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. the sun shone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth the loveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joy at the thought of our happiness. "how beautiful existence is!" said each rose. "the only thing that i wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm and bright. i should also like to kiss those roses down in the water, which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in the nest. there are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipe softly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. we have good neighbours, both below and above. how beautiful existence is!" the young ones above and below--those below were really only shadows in the water--were sparrows; their parents were sparrows too, and had taken possession of the empty swallows' nest of last year, and now lived in it as if it were their own property. "are those the duck's children swimming here?" asked the young sparrows when they saw the feathers on the water. "if you must ask questions, ask sensible ones," said their mother. "don't you see that they are feathers, such as i wear and you will wear too? but ours are finer. still, i should like to have them up in the nest, for they keep one warm. i am very curious to know what the ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, although i did say 'peep' to you pretty loudly. the thick-headed roses ought to know why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselves and smell. i am heartily tired of such neighbours." "listen to the dear little birds up there," said the roses; "they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet. but it will soon come. what a pleasure that must be! it is fine to have such cheerful neighbours." suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. a peasant boy rode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his large broad black hat. the boy whistled like a bird, and rode into the pond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked a rose and stuck it in his hat. now he looked dressed, and rode on. the other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other, "where can she be going to?" but none of them knew. "i should like to go out into the world for once," said one; "but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. the whole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night the sky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all the little holes in it." they meant the stars, but they knew no better. "we make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "and people say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad of us. but such neighbours as ours! a rose-bush on the wall like that causes damp. i daresay it will be taken away; then we shall, perhaps, have some corn growing here. the roses are good for nothing but to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in a hat. every year, as i have been told by my mother, they fall off. the farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then they get a french name which i neither can pronounce nor care to, and are put into the fire to make a nice smell. you see, that's their life; they exist only for the eye and the nose. now you know." in the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warm air and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to the roses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and that the beautiful lived for ever. the roses thought that the nightingale was singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed; they had no idea that the song was about them. but they were very pleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows could become nightingales. "i understand the song of that bird very well," said the young sparrows. "there was only one word that was not clear to me. what does 'the beautiful' mean?" "nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only something external. up at the hall, where the pigeons have their own house, and corn and peas are strewn before them every day--i have dined with them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me what company you keep and i'll tell you who you are--up at the hall they have two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they can spread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so bright with various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. these birds are called peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' if they were only plucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. i would have plucked them already if they had not been so big." "i'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no feathers yet. in the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved each other dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in their home looked very nice. on sundays the young wife came down early, plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into a glass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard. "now i see that it is sunday," said the husband, kissing his little wife. they sat down, read their hymn-book, and held each other by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses and upon them. "this sight is really too tedious," said the sparrow-mother, who could see into the room from her nest; and she flew away. the same thing happened on the following sunday, for every sunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bush bloomed as beautifully as ever. the young sparrows now had feathers, and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allow it, and so they had to stay at home. in one of her flights, however it may have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in a horse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. the horse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg--as tightly as if the latter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. the boys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either. "it's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however, let her go, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit her on the beak. in the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap into cakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. he was a merry old man, always wandering about. on seeing the sparrow which the boys had brought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, "shall we make it look very pretty?" at these words an icy shudder ran through the sparrow-mother. out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours, the old man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the boys had to go and fetch some white of egg, with which the sparrow was to be smeared all over; the gold was stuck on to this, and the sparrow-mother was now gilded all over. but she, trembling in every limb, did not think of the adornment. then the soap-man tore off a small piece from the red lining of his old jacket, and cutting it so as to make it look like a cock's comb, he stuck it to the bird's head. "now you will see the gold-jacket fly," said the old man, letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with the sun shining upon her. how she glittered! all the sparrows, and even a crow--and an old boy he was too--were startled at the sight; but still they flew after her to learn what kind of strange bird she was. driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was almost sinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of pursuing birds increased, some even attempting to peck at her. "look at her! look at her!" they all cried. "look at her! look at her" cried her little ones, as she approached the nest. "that is certainly a young peacock, for it glitters in all colours; it makes one's eyes ache, as mother told us. peep! that's 'the beautiful'." and then they pecked at the bird with their little beaks so that it was impossible for her to get into the nest; she was so exhausted that she couldn't even say "peep!" much less "i am your own mother!" the other birds, too, now fell upon the sparrow and plucked off feather after feather until she fell bleeding into the rose-bush. "poor creature!" said all the roses; "only be still, and we will hide you. lean your little head against us." the sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them closely to her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the beautiful fresh roses. "peep!" sounded from the nest. "where can mother be so long? it's more than i can understand. it cannot be a trick of hers, and mean that we are now to take care of ourselves. she has left us the house as an inheritance; but to which of us is it to belong when we have families of our own?" "yes, it won't do for you to stay with me when i increase my household with a wife and children,"' said the smallest. "i daresay i shall have more wives and children than you," said the second. "but i am the eldest!" exclaimed the third. then they all got excited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their beaks, and flop! one after another was thrown out of the nest. there they lay with their anger, holding their heads on one side and blinking the eye that was turned upwards. that was their way of looking foolish. they could fly a little; by practice they learned to improve, and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to recognise each other if they should meet in the world later on. it was to be one "peep!" and three scratches on the ground with the left foot. the young one who had remained behind in the nest made himself as broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. but this greatness did not last long. in the night the red flames burst through the window and seized the roof, the dry straw blazed up high, and the whole house, together with the young sparrow, was burned. the two others, who wanted to marry, thus saved their lives by a stroke of luck. when the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as if it had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the farmhouse a few black charred beams leaning against the chimney, which was now its own master. thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but the rose-bush stood yonder, fresh, blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twig being reflected in the clear water. "how beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house," exclaimed a passer-by. "a pleasanter picture cannot be imagined. i must have that." and the man took out of his portfolio a little book with white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew the smoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, which bent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, blooming rose-bush, which presented a charming view. for its sake alone the whole picture had been drawn. later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by. "where is the house?" they asked. "where is the nest? peep! all is burned and our strong brother too. that's what he has now for keeping the nest. the roses got off very well; there they still stand with their red cheeks. they certainly do not mourn at their neighbours' misfortunes. i don't want to talk to them, and it looks miserable here--that's my opinion." and away they went. on a beautiful sunny autumn day--one could almost have believed it was still the middle of summer--there hopped about in the dry clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the hall a number of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in the sunlight. the pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: "stand in groups, stand in groups! for that looks much better." "what kind of creatures are those little grey ones that run about behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes. "little grey ones! little grey ones!" she cried. "they are sparrows, and good creatures. we have always had the reputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the corn with us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettily when they bow." indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with the left foot and also said "peep!" by this means they recognised each other, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house. "here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. the pigeons strutted round one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their own private views and opinions. "do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other. "do you see how she swallows the peas? she eats too many, and the best ones too. curoo! curoo! how she lifts her crest, the ugly, spiteful creature! curoo! curoo!" and the eyes of all sparkled with malice. "stand in groups! stand in groups! little grey ones, little grey ones! curoo, curoo, curoo!" so their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands of years. the sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and even stood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all. they were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinions about them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they found the door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more than full, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "peep!" said he; "i may venture that." "peep!" said the other; "so may i, and something more too!" and he hopped into the room. no one was there; the third sparrow, seeing this, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, "all or nothing! it is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they put up here? what is it?" close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected in the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhanging chimney. "do tell me what this is. how comes this in a room at the hall?" and all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and the chimney, but flew against a flat wall. it was all a picture, a great splendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch. "peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. it only looks like something. peep! that is 'the beautiful.' do you understand it? i don't." and they flew away, for some people came into the room. days and years went by. the pigeons had often cooed, not to say growled--the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen in winter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to call it. they had little ones, and of course each one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flew this way, another that, and when they met they recognised each other by their "peep!" and the three scrapes with the left foot. the eldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. it was her pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to copenhagen. there was a large house painted in many gay colours standing close to the castle and the canal, upon which latter were to be seen many ships laden with apples and pottery. the windows of the house were broader at the bottom than at the top, and when the sparrows looked through them, every room appeared to them like a tulip with the brightest colours and shades. but in the middle of the tulip stood white men, made of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked at with sparrows' eyes, that comes to the same thing. up on the roof stood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess of victory, also of metal, was driving. it was thorwaldsen's museum. "how it shines! how it shines!" said the maiden sparrow. "i suppose that is 'the beautiful.' peep! but here it is larger than a peacock." she still remembered what in her childhood's days her mother had looked upon as the greatest among the beautiful. she flew down into the courtyard: there everything was extremely fine. palms and branches were painted on the walls, and in the middle of the court stood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs, covered with roses, over a grave. thither flew the maiden sparrow, for she saw several of her own kind there. a "peep" and three foot-scrapings--in this way she had often greeted throughout the year, and no one here had responded, for those who are once parted do not meet every day; and so this greeting had become a habit with her. but to-day two old sparrows and a young one answered with a "peep" and the thrice-repeated scrape with the left foot. "ah! good-day! good-day!" they were two old ones from the nest and a little one of the family. "do we meet here? it's a grand place, but there's not much to eat. this is 'the beautiful.' peep!" many people came out of the side rooms where the beautiful marble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the great master who had created these works of art. all stood with enraptured faces round thorwaldsen's grave, and a few picked up the fallen rose-leaves and preserved them. they had come from afar: one from mighty england, others from germany and france. the fairest of the ladies plucked one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. then the sparrows thought that the roses reigned here, and that the house had been built for their sake. that appeared to them to be really too much, but since all the people showed their love for the roses, they did not wish to be behindhand. "peep!" they said sweeping the ground with their tails, and blinking with one eye at the roses, they had not looked at them long before they were convinced that they were their old neighbours. and so they really were. the painter who had drawn the rose-bush near the ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission to dig it up, and had given it to the architect, for finer roses had never been seen. the architect had planted it upon thorwaldsen's grave, where it bloomed as an emblem of 'the beautiful' and yielded fragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to distant lands. "have you obtained an appointment here in the city?" asked the sparrows. the roses nodded; they recognized their grey neighbours and were pleased to see them again. "how glorious it is to live and to bloom, to see old friends again, and happy faces every day. it is as if every day were a festival." "peep!" said the sparrows. "yes, they are really our old neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond. peep! how they have got on. yes, some succeed while they are asleep. ah! there's a faded leaf; i can see that quite plainly." and they pecked at it till it fell off. but the tree stood there fresher and greener than ever; the roses bloomed in the sunshine on thorwaldsen's grave and became associated with his immortal name. the nightingale in china, you know, the emperor is a chinese, and all those about him are chinamen also. the story i am going to tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten. the emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world. it was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. in the garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed could not help noticing the flowers. indeed, everything in the emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where it ended. those who travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches. in one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many other things to do, would stop and listen. sometimes, when they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, "oh, is not that beautiful?" but when they returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next night. then they would hear it again, and exclaim "oh, how beautiful is the nightingale's song!" travellers from every country in the world came to the city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared it to be the best of all. and the travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. and those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. the books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. but when he came to the words, "the nightingale is the most beautiful of all," he exclaimed, "what is this? i know nothing of any nightingale. is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? i have never heard of it. something, it appears, may be learnt from books." then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, "pooh," which means nothing. "there is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing in my large kingdom. why have i not been told of it?" "i have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she has not been presented at court." "it is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening." said the emperor; "the whole world knows what i possess better than i do myself." "i have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet i will endeavor to find her." but where was the nightingale to be found? the nobleman went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom he met had heard of the bird. so he returned to the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book. "your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the black art." "but the book in which i have read this account," said the emperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. i will hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampled upon after supper is ended." "tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon. there was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was unknown to the court. at last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said, "oh, yes, i know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing. every evening i have permission to take home to my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as i come back i feel tired, and i sit down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale's song. then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if my mother kissed me." "little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "i will obtain for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace." so she went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half the court followed her. as they went along, a cow began lowing. "oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what wonderful power for such a small creature; i have certainly heard it before." "no, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we are a long way from the place yet." then some frogs began to croak in the marsh. "beautiful," said the young courtier again. "now i hear it, tinkling like little church bells." "no, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but i think we shall soon hear her now:" and presently the nightingale began to sing. "hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she sits," she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough. "is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "i never imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that. she has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people around her." "little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him." "with the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully. "it sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waiting, "and see how her little throat works. it is surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a great success at court." "shall i sing once more before the emperor?" asked the nightingale, who thought he was present. "my excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "i have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song." "my song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish. the palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. the walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps. beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. in the centre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on. the whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. she was not installed as a real court cook. all were in full dress, and every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded to her to begin. the nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came into the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to every one's heart. the emperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. "i have seen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest reward. an emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantingly than ever. "that singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to any one, so that they might fancy themselves nightingales. and the footmen and chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are very difficult to please. in fact the nightingale's visit was most successful. she was now to remain at court, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during the night. twelve servants were appointed to attend her on these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened to her leg. there was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying. the whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. eleven peddlers' children were named after her, but not of them could sing a note. one day the emperor received a large packet on which was written "the nightingale." "here is no doubt a new book about our celebrated bird," said the emperor. but instead of a book, it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. as soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with silver and gold. round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which was written "the emperor of china's nightingale is poor compared with that of the emperor of japan's." "this is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who had brought the artificial bird received the title of "imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief." "now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet it will be." but they did not get on well, for the real nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang only waltzes. "that is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfect to my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing something. but where was she? no one had noticed her when she flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods. "what strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was a very ungrateful creature. "but we have the best bird after all," said one, and then they would have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult. but the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in its musical power. "for you must perceive, my chief lord and emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. it can be opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon another." "this is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the people on the following sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. when they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a chinese custom. they all said "oh!" and held up their forefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real nightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, i cannot exactly tell what." and after this the real nightingale was banished from the empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close to the emperor's bed. the presents of gold and precious stones which had been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advanced to the title of "little imperial toilet singer," and to the rank of no. on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same place as that of other people. the music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of the most difficult chinese words; yet all the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon. so a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the other chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. they could sing with the bird, which they often did. the street-boys sang, "zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. it was really most amusing. one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird sounded "whizz." then a spring cracked. "whir-r-r-r" went all the wheels, running round, and then the music stopped. the emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; but what could he do? then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into something like order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones without injuring the music. now there was great sorrow, as the bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerous for the works inside it. then the music-master made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one contradicted him. five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. the chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. already a new emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, "pooh!" and shook his head. cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to his successor. the chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, and the ladies'-maids invited company to take coffee. cloth had been laid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was silent and still. but the emperor was not yet dead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. the poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw death sitting there. he had put on the emperor's golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. all around the bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. these were the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face now death sat at his heart. "do you remember this?" "do you recollect that?" they asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow. "i know nothing about it," said the emperor. "music! music!" he cried; "the large chinese drum! that i may not hear what they say." but they still went on, and death nodded like a chinaman to all they said. "music! music!" shouted the emperor. "you little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! i have given you gold and costly presents; i have even hung my golden slipper round your neck. sing! sing!" but the bird remained silent. there was no one to wind it up, and therefore it could not sing a note. death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still. suddenly there came through the open window the sound of sweet music. outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale. she had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust. and as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even death himself listened, and said, "go on, little nightingale, go on." "then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that rich banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird. so death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and the nightingale continued her singing. she sung of the quiet churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by the mourners' tears. then death longed to go and see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist. "thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. i know you well. i banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished death from my heart, with your sweet song. how can i reward you?" "you have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "i shall never forget that i drew tears from your eyes the first time i sang to you. these are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. but now sleep, and grow strong and well again. i will sing to you again." and as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mild and refreshing that slumber was! when he awoke, strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one of his servants had returned--they all believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside him, and sang. "you must always remain with me," said the emperor. "you shall sing only when it pleases you; and i will break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces." "no; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird did very well as long as it could. keep it here still. i cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come when i like. i will sit on a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. i will sing to you of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are hidden around you. the little singing bird flies far from you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's cot. i love your heart better than your crown; and yet something holy lingers round that also. i will come, i will sing to you; but you must promise me one thing." "everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart. "i only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. it will be best to conceal it." so saying, the nightingale flew away. the servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "good morning." there is no doubt about it "that was a terrible affair!" said a hen, and in a quarter of the town, too, where it had not taken place. "that was a terrible affair in a hen-roost. i cannot sleep alone to-night. it is a good thing that many of us sit on the roost together." and then she told a story that made the feathers on the other hens bristle up, and the cock's comb fall. there was no doubt about it. but we will begin at the beginning, and that is to be found in a hen-roost in another part of the town. the sun was setting, and the fowls were flying on to their roost; one hen, with white feathers and short legs, used to lay her eggs according to the regulations, and was, as a hen, respectable in every way. as she was flying upon the roost, she plucked herself with her beak, and a little feather came out. "there it goes," she said; "the more i pluck, the more beautiful do i get." she said this merrily, for she was the best of the hens, and, moreover, as had been said, very respectable. with that she went to sleep. it was dark all around, and hen sat close to hen, but the one who sat nearest to her merry neighbour did not sleep. she had heard and yet not heard, as we are often obliged to do in this world, in order to live at peace; but she could not keep it from her neighbour on the other side any longer. "did you hear what was said? i mention no names, but there is a hen here who intends to pluck herself in order to look well. if i were a cock, i should despise her." just over the fowls sat the owl, with father owl and the little owls. the family has sharp ears, and they all heard every word that their neighbour had said. they rolled their eyes, and mother owl, beating her wings, said: "don't listen to her! but i suppose you heard what was said? i heard it with my own ears, and one has to hear a great deal before they fall off. there is one among the fowls who has so far forgotten what is becoming to a hen that she plucks out all her feathers and lets the cock see it." "prenez garde aux enfants!" said father owl; "children should not hear such things." "but i must tell our neighbour owl about it; she is such an estimable owl to talk to." and with that she flew away. "too-whoo! too-whoo!" they both hooted into the neighbour's dove-cot to the doves inside. "have you heard? have you heard? too-whoo! there is a hen who has plucked out all her feathers for the sake of the cock; she will freeze to death, if she is not frozen already. too-whoo!" "where? where?" cooed the doves. "in the neighbour's yard. i have as good as seen it myself. it is almost unbecoming to tell the story, but there is no doubt about it." "believe every word of what we tell you," said the doves, and cooed down into their poultry-yard. "there is a hen--nay, some say that there are two--who have plucked out all their feathers, in order not to look like the others, and to attract the attention of the cock. it is a dangerous game, for one can easily catch cold and die from fever, and both of these are dead already." "wake up! wake up!" crowed the cock, and flew upon his board. sleep was still in his eyes, but yet he crowed out: "three hens have died of their unfortunate love for a cock. they had plucked out all their feathers. it is a horrible story: i will not keep it to myself, but let it go farther." "let it go farther," shrieked the bats, and the hens clucked and the cocks crowed, "let it go farther! let it go farther!" in this way the story travelled from poultry-yard to poultry-yard, and at last came back to the place from which it had really started. "five hens," it now ran, "have plucked out all their feathers to show which of them had grown leanest for love of the cock, and then they all pecked at each other till the blood ran down and they fell down dead, to the derision and shame of their family, and to the great loss of their owner." the hen who had lost the loose little feather naturally did not recognise her own story, and being a respectable hen, said: "i despise those fowls; but there are more of that kind. such things ought not to be concealed, and i will do my best to get the story into the papers, so that it becomes known throughout the land; the hens have richly deserved it, and their family too." it got into the papers, it was printed; and there is no doubt about it, one little feather may easily grow into five hens. in the nursery father, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to the play; only little anna and her grandpapa were left at home. "we'll have a play too," he said, "and it may begin immediately." "but we have no theatre," cried little anna, "and we have no one to act for us; my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new one cannot, for she must not rumple her new clothes." "one can always get actors if one makes use of what one has," observed grandpapa. "now we'll go into the theatre. here we will put up a book, there another, and there a third, in a sloping row. now three on the other side; so, now we have the side scenes. the old box that lies yonder may be the back stairs; and we'll lay the flooring on top of it. the stage represents a room, as every one may see. now we want the actors. let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. first the personages, and then we will get the play ready. one after the other; that will be capital! here's a pipe-head, and yonder an odd glove; they will do very well for father and daughter." "but those are only two characters," said little anna. "here's my brother's old waistcoat--could not that play in our piece, too?" "it's big enough, certainly," replied grandpapa. "it shall be the lover. there's nothing in the pockets, and that's very interesting, for that's half of an unfortunate attachment. and here we have the nut-cracker's boots, with spurs to them. row, dow, dow! how they can stamp and strut! they shall represent the unwelcome wooer, whom the lady does not like. what kind of a play will you have now? shall it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama?" "a domestic drama, please," said little anna, "for the others are so fond of that. do you know one?" "i know a hundred," said grandpapa. "those that are most in favor are from the french, but they are not good for little girls. in the meantime, we may take one of the prettiest, for inside they're all very much alike. now i shake the pen! cock-a-lorum! so now, here's the play, brin-bran-span new! now listen to the play-bill." and grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were reading from it: the pipe-head and the good head a family drama in one act characters mr. pipe-head, a father. mr. waistcoat, a lover. miss glove, a daughter. mr. de boots, a suitor. "and now we're going to begin. the curtain rises. we have no curtain, so it has risen already. all the characters are there, and so we have them at hand. now i speak as papa pipe-head! he's angry to-day. one can see that he's a colored meerschaum. "'snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre! i'm master of this house! i'm the father of my daughter! will you hear what i have to say? mr. de boots is a person in whom one may see one's face; his upper part is of morocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. snikke, snakke, snak! he shall have my daughter!" "now listen to what the waistcoat says, little anna," said grandpapa. "now the waistcoat's speaking. the waistcoat has a laydown collar, and is very modest; but he knows his own value, and has quite a right to say what he says: "'i haven't a spot on me! goodness of material ought to be appreciated. i am of real silk, and have strings to me.' "'--on the wedding day, but no longer; you don't keep your color in the wash.' this is mr. pipe-head who is speaking. 'mr. de boots is water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate; he can creak, and clank with his spurs, and has an italian physiognomy-'" "but they ought to speak in verses," said anna, "for i've heard that's the most charming way of all." "they can do that too," replied grandpapa; "and if the public demands it, they will talk in that way. just look at little miss glove, how she's pointing her fingers! "'could i but have my love, who then so happy as glove! ah! if i from him must part, i'm sure 'twill break my heart!' 'bah!' the last word was spoken by mr. pipe-head; and now it's mr. waistcoat's turn: "'o glove, my own dear, though it cost thee a tear, thou must be mine, for holger danske has sworn it!' "mr. de boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles his spurs, and knocks down three of the side-scenes." "that's exceedingly charming!" cried little anna. "silence! silence!" said grandpapa. "silent approbation will show that you are the educated public in the stalls. now miss glove sings her great song with startling effects: "'i can't see, heigho! and therefore i'll crow! kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!' "now comes the exciting part, little anna. this is the most important in all the play. mr. waistcoat undoes himself, and addresses his speech to you, that you may applaud; but leave it alone,--that's considered more genteel. "'i am driven to extremities! take care of yourself! now comes the plot! you are the pipe-head, and i am the good head--snap! there you go!" "do you notice this, little anna?" asked grandpapa. "that's a most charming comedy. mr. waistcoat seized the old pipe-head and put him in his pocket; there he lies, and the waistcoat says: "'you are in my pocket; you can't come out till you promise to unite me to your daughter glove on the left. i hold out my right hand.'" "that's awfully pretty," said little anna. "and now the old pipe-head replies: "'though i'm all ear, very stupid i appear: where's my humor? gone, i fear, and i feel my hollow stick's not here, ah! never, my dear, did i feel so queer. oh! pray let me out, and like a lamb led to slaughter i'll betroth you, no doubt, to my daughter.'" "is the play over already?" asked little anna. "by no means," replied grandpapa. "it's only all over with mr. de boots. now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sings: "'father!' and the other, 'come, do as you ought to do,-- bless your son and daughter.' and they receive his blessing, and celebrate their wedding, and all the pieces of furniture sing in chorus, "'klink! clanks! a thousand thanks; and now the play is over!' "and now we'll applaud," said grandpapa. "we'll call them all out, and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany." "and is not our play just as good as those which the others have in the real theatre?" "our play is much better," said grandpapa. "it is shorter, the performers are natural, and it has passed away the interval before tea-time." the old bachelor's nightcap there is a street in copenhagen with a very strange name. it is called "hysken" street. where the name came from, and what it means is very uncertain. it is said to be german, but that is unjust to the germans, for it would then be called "hauschen," not "hysken." "hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted only of a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the market-places at fair time. they were perhaps a little higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn or bladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows in every house. this was a long time ago, so long indeed that our grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those days as "olden times;" indeed, many centuries have passed since then. the rich merchants in bremen and lubeck, who carried on trade in copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their clerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the hauschen street, and sold beer and spices. the german beer was very good, and there were many sorts--from bremen, prussia, and brunswick--and quantities of all sorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper; indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so it happened at last that the german clerks in denmark got their nickname of "pepper gentry." it had been made a condition with these clerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be old had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, and even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. many of them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and eccentric habits. from this, all unmarried men, who have attained a certain age, are called, in denmark, "pepper gentry;" and this must be remembered by all those who wish to understand the story. these "pepper gentlemen," or, as they are called in england, "old bachelors," are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put on their nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. the boys in denmark make a song of it, thus:-- "poor old bachelor, cut your wood, such a nightcap was never seen; who would think it was ever clean? go to sleep, it will do you good." so they sing about the "pepper gentleman;" so do they make sport of the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really know nothing of either. it is a cap that no one need wish for, or laugh at. and why not? well, we shall hear in the story. in olden times, hauschen street was not paved, and passengers would stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do in unfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths leaning against each other were so close together, that in the summer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one booth to another opposite. at these times the odor of the pepper, saffron, and ginger became more powerful than ever. behind the counter, as a rule, there were no young men. the clerks were almost all old boys; but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old men represented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coat and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. we have seen the portraits of our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the "pepper gentlemen" had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one of them would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if taken as he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, or on holidays. on these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed hats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his. the woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the close jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely over it; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for the clerks wore no stockings. they generally stuck a table-knife and spoon in their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection to themselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary. after this fashion was anthony dressed on holidays and festivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a kind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, to which he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two, nightcaps i mean, not heads. anthony was one of the oldest of the clerks, and just the subject for a painter. he was as thin as a lath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers, bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair, which did not look handsome, but made his appearance very remarkable. people knew that he came from bremen; it was not exactly his home, although his master resided there. his ancestors were from thuringia, and had lived in the town of eisenach, close by wartburg. old anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all the more. the old clerks of hauschen street very seldom met together; each one remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in the evening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. only a faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in the little window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generally on his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would be moving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed in many things. it certainly was not a very lively existence. to be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices you unless you happen to stand in their way. often, when it was dark night outside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite deserted and gloomy. there were no lamps in the street, excepting a very small one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture of the virgin, which had been painted on the wall. the dashing of the water against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly be heard. such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can find something to do; and so anthony found it. there were not always things to be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales to be polished. so anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes and patched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,--his nightcap, which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he had only to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. very soon, however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light was properly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and at last pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the other side. but often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whether every coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shop below. if even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire to something, and cause great damage. then he would rise from his bed, creep down the ladder--for it could scarcely be called a flight of stairs--and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; so he had just to go back again to bed. but often, when he had got half way back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were not properly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. and when at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teeth chattered in his head. he would draw the coverlet closer round him, pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts from trade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. but this was scarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memories raise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heart with painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the waking eyes. and so it was with anthony; often the scalding tears, like pearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on the floor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken. sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of life which had never faded from his heart. if he dried his eyes with his nightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but the source of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. the pictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstances they represented had occurred; very often the most painful would come together, and when those came which were most full of joy, they had always the deepest shadow thrown upon them. the beech woods of denmark are acknowledged by every one to be very beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old anthony were the beech woods in the neighborhood of wartburg. more grand and venerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle, where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks; sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all the land of denmark. how vividly were represented to him, in a glittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play--a boy and a girl. the boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear, blue eyes; he was the son of anthony, a rich merchant; it was himself. the little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever and courageous; she was the mayor's daughter, molly. the children were playing with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pips rattling in it. then they cut it in two, and each of them took half. they also divided the pips and ate all but one, which the little girl proposed should be placed in the ground. "you will see what will come out," she said; "something you don't expect. a whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly." then they got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon both very busy and eager about it. the boy made a hole in the earth with his finger, and the little girl placed the pip in the hole, and then they both covered it over with earth. "now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has taken root," said molly; "no one ever should do that. i did so with my flowers, but only twice; i wanted to see if they were growing. i didn't know any better then, and the flowers all died." little anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during the whole winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen but black earth. at last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warm again, and then two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot. "they are molly and me," said the boy. "how wonderful they are, and so beautiful!" very soon a third leaf made its appearance. "who does that stand for?" thought he, and then came another and another. day after day, and week after week, till the plant became quite a tree. and all this about the two children was mirrored to old anthony in a single tear, which could soon be wiped away and disappear, but might come again from its source in the heart of the old man. in the neighborhood of eisenach stretches a ridge of stony mountains, one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itself above the rest without tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits. it is called the "venus mountain," and the story goes that the "lady venus," one of the heathen goddesses, keeps house there. she is also called "lady halle," as every child round eisenach well knows. she it was who enticed the noble knight, tannhauser, the minstrel, from the circle of singers at wartburg into her mountain. little molly and anthony often stood by this mountain, and one day molly said, "do you dare to knock and say, 'lady halle, lady halle, open the door: tannhauser is here!'" but anthony did not dare. molly, however, did, though she only said the words, "lady halle, lady halle," loudly and distinctly; the rest she muttered so much under her breath that anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; and yet she looked quite bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes when she was in the garden with a number of other little girls; they would all stand round him together, and want to kiss him, because he did not like to be kissed, and pushed them away. then molly was the only one who dared to resist him. "i may kiss him," she would say proudly, as she threw her arms round his neck; she was vain of her power over anthony, for he would submit quietly and think nothing of it. molly was very charming, but rather bold; and how she did tease! they said lady halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of a tempting fiend. saint elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, the pious princess of thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalized in so many places through stories and legends, had greater beauty and more real grace. her picture hung in the chapel, surrounded by silver lamps; but it did not in the least resemble molly. the apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew year after year, till it became so large that it had to be transplanted into the garden, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. and there it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstand the cold of winter; and after passing through the severe weather, it seemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that the cold season had gone. in autumn it produced two apples, one for molly and one for anthony; it could not well do less. the tree after this grew very rapidly, and molly grew with the tree. she was as fresh as an apple-blossom, but anthony was not to behold this flower for long. all things change; molly's father left his old home, and molly went with him far away. in our time, it would be only a journey of a few hours, but then it took more than a day and a night to travel so far eastward from eisenbach to a town still called weimar, on the borders of thuringia. and molly and anthony both wept, but these tears all flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy. molly had told him that she loved him--loved him more than all the splendors of weimar. one, two, three years went by, and during the whole time he received only two letters. one came by the carrier, and the other a traveller brought. the way was very long and difficult, with many turnings and windings through towns and villages. how often had anthony and molly heard the story of tristan and isolda, and anthony had thought the story applied to him, although tristan means born in sorrow, which anthony certainly was not; nor was it likely he would ever say of molly as tristan said of isolda, "she has forgotten me." but in truth, isolda had not forgotten him, her faithful friend; and when both were laid in their graves, one, on each side of the church, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread over the roof, and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms together. anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story; yet he never feared anything so sad would happen to him and molly, as he passed the spot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel walter, called the "willow bird," beginning-- "under the linden-trees, out on the heath." one stanza pleased him exceedingly-- "through the forest, and in the vale, sweetly warbles the nightingale. this song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it on a moonlight night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollow way, on his road to weimar, to visit molly. he wished to arrive unexpectedly, and so indeed he did. he was received with a hearty welcome, and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company, where overflowing winecups were passed about. a pretty room and a good bed were provided for him, and yet his reception was not what he had expected and dreamed it would be. he could not comprehend his own feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how a person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one of them. we converse in company with those we meet, as we converse with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we know nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. something of this kind anthony felt when molly talked to him of old times. "i am a straightforward girl," she said, "and i will tell you myself how it is. there have been great changes since we were children together; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. we cannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force of custom. anthony, i would not, for the world, make an enemy of you when i am far away. believe me, i entertain for you the kindest wishes in my heart; but to feel for you what i now know can be felt for another man, can never be. you must try and reconcile yourself to this. farewell, anthony." anthony also said, "farewell." not a tear came into his eye; he felt he was no longer molly's friend. hot iron and cold iron alike take the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss either; and anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had once been the kiss of love. within four-and-twenty hours anthony was back again to eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirely ruined. "what matters it?" said he; "i am ruined also. i will destroy everything that can remind me of her, or of lady halle, or lady venus, the heathen woman. i will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by the roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit." the apple-tree was not broken down; for anthony himself was struck with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to his bed. but something occurred to raise him up again. what was it? a medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a bitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike shuddered. anthony's father lost all his property, and, from being known as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. dark days, heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the house upon them like the waves of the sea. sorrow and suffering deprived anthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else to think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against molly. he had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy, to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread. anthony went to bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hard living really were. these things often harden the character, but sometimes soften the heart, even too much. how different the world, and the people in it, appeared to anthony now, to what he had thought in his childhood! what to him were the minstrel's songs? an echo of the past, sounds long vanished. at times he would think in this way; yet again and again the songs would sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious. "god's will is the best," he would then say. "it was well that i was not allowed to keep my power over molly's heart, and that she did not remain true to me. how i should have felt it now, when fortune has deserted me! she left me before she knew of the change in my circumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. that is a merciful providence for me. all has happened for the best. she could not help it, and yet i have been so bitter, and in such enmity against her." years passed by: anthony's father died, and strangers lived in the old house. he had seen it once again since then. his rich master sent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him to his native town of eisenach. the old wartburg castle stood unchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out of the stone. the great oaks formed an outline to the scene which he so well remembered in his childhood. the venus mountain stood out gray and bare, overshadowing the valley beneath. he would have been glad to call out "lady halle, lady halle, unlock the mountain. i would fain remain here always in my native soil." that was a sinful thought, and he offered a prayer to drive it away. then a little bird in the thicket sang out clearly, and old anthony thought of the minstrel's song. how much came back to his remembrance as he looked through the tears once more on his native town! the old house was still standing as in olden times, but the garden had been greatly altered; a pathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the garden, and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not broken down, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. the sun still threw its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it as of old; and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches bent towards the earth with the weight. "that flourishes still," said he, as he gazed. one of the branches of the tree had, however, been broken: mischievous hands must have done this in passing, for the tree now stood in a public thoroughfare. "the blossoms are often plucked," said anthony; "the fruit is stolen and the branches broken without a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. it might be said of a tree, as it has been said of some men--it was not predicted at his cradle that he should come to this. how brightly began the history of this tree, and what is it now? forsaken and forgotten, in a garden by a hedge in a field, and close to a public road. there it stands, unsheltered, plundered, and broken. it certainly has not yet withered; but in the course of years the number of blossoms from time to time will grow less, and at last it was cease altogether to bear fruit; and then its history will be over." such were anthony's thoughts as he stood under the tree, and during many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the wooden house in hauschen street, copenhagen, in the foreign land to which the rich merchant of bremen, his employer, had sent him on condition that he should never marry. "marry! ha, ha!" and he laughed bitterly to himself at the thought. winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard. without, a snowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. thus it happened that anthony's neighbors, who lived opposite to him, did not notice that his house remained unopened for two days, and that he had not showed himself during that time, for who would go out in such weather unless he were obliged to do so. they were gray, gloomy days, and in the house whose windows were not glass, twilight and dark nights reigned in turns. during these two days old anthony had not left his bed, he had not the strength to do so. the bitter weather had for some time affected his limbs. there lay the old bachelor, forsaken by all, and unable to help himself. he could scarcely reach the water jug that he had placed by his bed, and the last drop was gone. it was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that had laid him low. in the little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-shadowed as it were by perpetual night. a little spider, which he could however not see, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that there should be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when his eyes closed. the time passed slowly and painfully. he had no tears to shed, and he felt no pain; no thought of molly came into his mind. he felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he were lying beyond it, with no one to think of him. now and then he felt slight sensations of hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no one tended him. he thought of all those who had once suffered from starvation, of saint elizabeth, who once wandered on the earth, the saint of his home and his childhood, the noble duchess of thuringia, that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages, bringing hope and relief to the sick inmates. the recollection of her pious deeds was as light to the soul of poor anthony. he thought of her as she went about speaking words of comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed for it by her stern husband. he remembered a story told of her, that on one occasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine and provisions, her husband, who had watched her footsteps, stepped forward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket, whereupon, with fear and trembling, she answered, "roses, which i have plucked from the garden." then he tore away the cloth which covered the basket, and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman, to find that by a miracle, everything in her basket--the wine, the bread--had all been changed into roses. in this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mind of anthony. she was as a living reality in his little dwelling in the danish land. he uncovered his face that he might look into her gentle eyes, while everything around him changed from its look of poverty and want, to a bright rose tint. the fragrance of roses spread through the room, mingled with the sweet smell of apples. he saw the branches of an apple-tree spreading above him. it was the tree which he and molly had planted together. the fragrant leaves of the tree fell upon him and cooled his burning brow; upon his parched lips they seemed like refreshing bread and wine; and as they rested on his breast, a peaceful calm stole over him, and he felt inclined to sleep. "i shall sleep now," he whispered to himself. "sleep will do me good. in the morning i shall be upon my feet again, strong and well. glorious! wonderful! that apple-tree, planted in love, now appears before me in heavenly beauty." and he slept. the following day, the third day during which his house had been closed, the snow-storm ceased. then his opposite neighbor stepped over to the house in which old anthony lived, for he had not yet showed himself. there he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his old nightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. the nightcap, however, was not placed on his head in his coffin; he had a clean white one on then. where now were the tears he had shed? what had become of those wonderful pearls? they were in the nightcap still. such tears as these cannot be washed out, even when the nightcap is forgotten. the old thoughts and dreams of a bachelor's nightcap still remain. never wish for such a nightcap. it would make your forehead hot, cause your pulse to beat with agitation, and conjure up dreams which would appear realities. the first who wore old anthony's cap felt the truth of this, though it was half a century afterwards. that man was the mayor himself, who had already made a comfortable home for his wife and eleven children, by his industry. the moment he put the cap on he dreamed of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of dark days. "hallo! how the nightcap burns!" he exclaimed, as he tore it from his bead. then a pearl rolled out, and then another, and another, and they glittered and sounded as they fell. "what can this be? is it paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?" they were the tears which old anthony had shed half a century before. to every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visions and dreams which agitated him not a little. his own history was changed into that of anthony till it became quite a story, and many stories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate their own. we have told the first; and our last word is, don't wish for a "bachelor's nightcap." the old church bell (written for the schiller album) in the country of wurtemburg, in germany, where the acacias grow by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the little town of marbach. as is often the case with many of these towns, it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river neckar, which rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately rhine. it was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold; heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn wind blew sharp and strong. it was not at all pleasant weather for the poor. the days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out of doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small, old-fashioned houses of the village. the gable end of one of these houses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presented a very mean appearance. the family who dwelt in it were also very poor and humble, but they treasured the fear of god in their innermost hearts. and now he was about to send them a child. it was the hour of the mother's sorrow, when there pealed forth from the church tower the sound of festive bells. in that solemn hour the sweet and joyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out over town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells' chime. the little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had been welcomed joyously on that dark november day. its parents kissed it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the bible, "on the tenth of november, , god sent us a son." and a short time after, when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were added, "john christopher frederick." and what became of the little lad?--the poor boy of the humble town of marbach? ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed, not even the old church bell which had been the first to sound and chime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful song of "the bell." the boy grew apace, and the world advanced with him. while he was yet a child, his parents removed from marbach, and went to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remained behind at marbach, and therefore sometimes the mother and her son would start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town. the boy was at this time about six years old, and already knew a great many stories out of the bible, and several religious psalms. while seated in the evening on his little cane-chair, he had often heard his father read from gellert's fables, and sometimes from klopstock's grand poem, "the messiah." he and his sister, two years older than himself, had often wept scalding tears over the story of him who suffered death on the cross for us all. on his first visit to marbach, the town appeared to have changed but very little, and it was not far enough away to be forgotten. the house, with its pointed gable, narrow windows, overhanging walls and stories, projecting one beyond another, looked just the same as in former times. but in the churchyard there were several new graves; and there also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old church bell! it had been taken down from its high position, in consequence of a crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and a new bell now occupied its place. the mother and son were walking in the churchyard when they discovered the old bell, and they stood still to look at it. then the mother reminded her little boy of what a useful bell this had been for many hundred years. it had chimed for weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to give the alarm in case of fire. with every event in the life of man the bell had made its voice heard. his mother also told him how the chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy and confidence, and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child had been given to her. and the boy gazed on the large, old bell with the deepest interest. he bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrown away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and nettles. the boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the tones of the old bell reverberated in his heart till he reached manhood. in such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by the boy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a freckled complexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as the deep sea, and what was his career to be? his career was to be good, and his future life enviable. we find him taking high honors at the military school in the division commanded by the member of a family high in position, and this was an honor, that is to say, good luck. he wore gaiters, stiff collars, and powdered hair, and by this he was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by the word of command--"march! halt! front!" the old church bell had long been quite forgotten, and no one imagined it would ever again be sent to the melting furnace to make it as it was before. no one could possibly have foretold this. equally impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old bell still echoed in the heart of the boy from marbach; or that one day they would ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heard all over the world. they had already been heard in the narrow space behind the school-wall, even above the deafening sounds of "march! halt! front!" they had chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster, that he had sung them to his companions, and their tones resounded to the very borders of the country. he was not a free scholar in the military school, neither was he provided with clothes or food. but he had his number, and his own peg; for everything here was ordered like clockwork, which we all know is of the greatest utility--people get on so much better together when their position and duties are understood. it is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. the pressure of regularity and discipline here stamped the jewel, which in the future the world so well knew. in the chief town of the province a great festival was being celebrated. the light streamed forth from thousands of lamps, and the rockets shot upwards towards the sky, filling the air with showers of colored fiery sparks. a record of this bright display will live in the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the military school was in tears and sorrow. he had dared to attempt to reach foreign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give up fatherland, mother, his dearest friends, all, or sink down into the stream of common life. the old church bell had still some comfort; it stood in the shelter of the church wall in marbach, once so elevated, now quite forgotten. the wind roared around it, and could have readily related the story of its origin and of its sweet chimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had brought fresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunk down exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions than hope for the future, and a written leaf from "fiesco." the wind could have told that his only protector was an artist, who, by reading each leaf to him, made it plain; and that they amused themselves by playing at nine-pins together. the wind could also describe the pale fugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a wretched little road-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where the merry-makers had it all their own way. and he, the pale fugitive, sang of the ideal. for many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer to enable it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, would the minstrel sing. dark days and cold nights also passed over the old bell, and it noticed them not; but the bell in the man's heart felt it to be a gloomy time. what would become of this young man, and what would become of the old bell? the old bell was, after a time, carried away to a greater distance than any one, even the warder in the bell tower, ever imagined; and the bell in the breast of the young man was heard in countries where his feet had never wandered. the tones went forth over the wide ocean to every part of the round world. we will now follow the career of the old bell. it was, as we have said, carried far away from marbach and sold as old copper; then sent to bavaria to be melted down in a furnace. and then what happened? in the royal city of bavaria, many years after the bell had been removed from the tower and melted down, some metal was required for a monument in honor of one of the most celebrated characters which a german people or a german land could produce. and now we see how wonderfully things are ordered. strange things sometimes happen in this world. in denmark, in one of those green islands where the foliage of the beech-woods rustles in the wind, and where many huns' graves may be seen, was another poor boy born. he wore wooden shoes, and when his father worked in a ship-yard, the boy, wrapped up in an old worn-out shawl, carried his dinner to him every day. this poor child was now the pride of his country; for the sculptured marble, the work of his hands, had astonished the world.[ ] to him was offered the honor of forming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name, "john christopher frederick," had been written by his father in the bible. the bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used for this purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away from the memory of those at home and elsewhere. the metal, glowing with heat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of the statue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle. the statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of him who was born in poverty, the boy from marbach, the pupil of the military school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty and oppression, from the outer world; germany's great and immortal poet, who sung of switzerland's deliverer, william tell, and of the heaven-inspired maid of orleans. it was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower and roof in royal stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyous peal. one bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the bright sunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure, of which it formed a part. on this day, just one hundred years had passed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell at marbach had filled the mother's heart with trust and joy--the day on which her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the same who, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet, a blessing to the world--the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard, john christoper frederick schiller! [ ] the danish sculptor thorwaldsen. the old grave-stone in a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at that time of the year in which people say the evenings are growing longer, a family circle were gathered together at their old home. a lamp burned on the table, although the weather was mild and warm, and the long curtains hung down before the open windows, and without the moon shone brightly in the dark-blue sky. but they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stone that lay below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door. the maids often laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels on this stone, that they might dry in the sun, and the children were fond of playing on it. it was, in fact, an old grave-stone. "yes," said the master of the house, "i believe the stone came from the graveyard of the old church of the convent which was pulled down, and the pulpit, the monuments, and the grave-stones sold. my father bought the latter; most of them were cut in two and used for paving-stones, but that one stone was preserved whole, and laid in the courtyard." "any one can see that it is a grave-stone," said the eldest of the children; "the representation of an hour-glass and part of the figure of an angel can still be traced, but the inscription beneath is quite worn out, excepting the name 'preben,' and a large 's' close by it, and a little farther down the name of 'martha' can be easily read. but nothing more, and even that cannot be seen unless it has been raining, or when we have washed the stone." "dear me! how singular. why that must be the grave-stone of preben schwane and his wife." the old man who said this looked old enough to be the grandfather of all present in the room. "yes," he continued, "these people were among the last who were buried in the churchyard of the old convent. they were a very worthy old couple, i can remember them well in the days of my boyhood. every one knew them, and they were esteemed by all. they were the oldest residents in the town, and people said they possessed a ton of gold, yet they were always very plainly dressed, in the coarsest stuff, but with linen of the purest whiteness. preben and martha were a fine old couple, and when they both sat on the bench, at the top of the steep stone steps, in front of their house, with the branches of the linden-tree waving above them, and nodded in a gentle, friendly way to passers by, it really made one feel quite happy. they were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them, and in their benevolence there was judgment as well as true christianity. the old woman died first; that day is still quite vividly before my eyes. i was a little boy, and had accompanied my father to the old man's house. martha had fallen into the sleep of death just as we arrived there. the corpse lay in a bedroom, near to the one in which we sat, and the old man was in great distress and weeping like a child. he spoke to my father, and to a few neighbors who were there, of how lonely he should feel now she was gone, and how good and true she, his dead wife, had been during the number of years that they had passed through life together, and how they had become acquainted, and learnt to love each other. i was, as i have said, a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said; but it filled me with a strange emotion to listen to the old man, and to watch how the color rose in his cheeks as he spoke of the days of their courtship, of how beautiful she was, and how many little tricks he had been guilty of, that he might meet her. and then he talked of his wedding-day; and his eyes brightened, and he seemed to be carried back, by his words, to that joyful time. and yet there she was, lying in the next room, dead--an old woman, and he was an old man, speaking of the days of hope, long passed away. ah, well, so it is; then i was but a child, and now i am old, as old as preben schwane then was. time passes away, and all things changed. i can remember quite well the day on which she was buried, and how old preben walked close behind the coffin. "a few years before this time the old couple had had their grave-stone prepared, with an inscription and their names, but not the date. in the evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laid on the grave. a year later it was taken up, that old preben might be laid by the side of his wife. they did not leave behind them wealth, they left behind them far less than people had believed they possessed; what there was went to families distantly related to them, of whom, till then, no one had ever heard. the old house, with its balcony of wickerwork, and the bench at the top of the high steps, under the lime-tree, was considered, by the road-inspectors, too old and rotten to be left standing. afterwards, when the same fate befell the convent church, and the graveyard was destroyed, the grave-stone of preben and martha, like everything else, was sold to whoever would buy it. and so it happened that this stone was not cut in two as many others had been, but now lies in the courtyard below, a scouring block for the maids, and a playground for the children. the paved street now passes over the resting place of old preben and his wife; no one thinks of them any more now." and the old man who had spoken of all this shook his head mournfully, and said, "forgotten! ah, yes, everything will be forgotten!" and then the conversation turned on other matters. but the youngest child in the room, a boy, with large, earnest eyes, mounted upon a chair behind the window curtains, and looked out into the yard, where the moon was pouring a flood of light on the old gravestone,--the stone that had always appeared to him so dull and flat, but which lay there now like a great leaf out of a book of history. all that the boy had heard of old preben and his wife seemed clearly defined on the stone, and as he gazed on it, and glanced at the clear, bright moon shining in the pure air, it was as if the light of god's countenance beamed over his beautiful world. "forgotten! everything will be forgotten!" still echoed through the room, and in the same moment an invisible spirit whispered to the heart of the boy, "preserve carefully the seed that has been entrusted to thee, that it may grow and thrive. guard it well. through thee, my child, shall the obliterated inscription on the old, weather-beaten grave-stone go forth to future generations in clear, golden characters. the old pair shall again wander through the streets arm-in-arm, or sit with their fresh, healthy cheeks on the bench under the lime-tree, and smile and nod at rich and poor. the seed of this hour shall ripen in the course of years into a beautiful poem. the beautiful and the good are never forgotten, they live always in story or in song." the old house a very old house stood once in a street with several that were quite new and clean. the date of its erection had been carved on one of the beams, and surrounded by scrolls formed of tulips and hop-tendrils; by this date it could be seen that the old house was nearly three hundred years old. verses too were written over the windows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces, curiously carved, grinned at you from under the cornices. one story projected a long way over the other, and under the roof ran a leaden gutter, with a dragon's head at the end. the rain was intended to pour out at the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for there was a hole in the gutter. the other houses in the street were new and well built, with large window panes and smooth walls. any one could see they had nothing to do with the old house. perhaps they thought, "how long will that heap of rubbish remain here to be a disgrace to the whole street. the parapet projects so far forward that no one can see out of our windows what is going on in that direction. the stairs are as broad as the staircase of a castle, and as steep as if they led to a church-tower. the iron railing looks like the gate of a cemetery, and there are brass knobs upon it. it is really too ridiculous." opposite to the old house were more nice new houses, which had just the same opinion as their neighbors. at the window of one of them sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks, and clear sparkling eyes, who was very fond of the old house, in sunshine or in moonlight. he would sit and look at the wall from which the plaster had in some places fallen off, and fancy all sorts of scenes which had been in former times. how the street must have looked when the houses had all gable roofs, open staircases, and gutters with dragons at the spout. he could even see soldiers walking about with halberds. certainly it was a very good house to look at for amusement. an old man lived in it, who wore knee-breeches, a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig, which any one could see was a real wig. every morning an old man came to clean the rooms, and to wait upon him, otherwise the old man in the knee-breeches would have been quite alone in the house. sometimes he came to one of the windows and looked out; then the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded back again, till they became acquainted, and were friends, although they had never spoken to each other; but that was of no consequence. the little boy one day heard his parents say, "the old man opposite is very well off, but is terribly lonely." the next sunday morning the little boy wrapped something in a piece of paper and took it to the door of the old house, and said to the attendant who waited upon the old man, "will you please give this from me to the gentleman who lives here; i have two tin soldiers, and this is one of them, and he shall have it, because i know he is terribly lonely." and the old attendant nodded and looked very pleased, and then he carried the tin soldier into the house. afterwards he was sent over to ask the little boy if he would not like to pay a visit himself. his parents gave him permission, and so it was that he gained admission to the old house. the brassy knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, as if they had been polished on account of his visit; and on the door were carved trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if they were blowing with all their might, their cheeks were so puffed out. "tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming; tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming." then the door opened. all round the hall hung old portraits of knights in armor, and ladies in silk gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silk dresses rustled. then came a staircase which went up a long way, and then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which was in a very ruinous state. there were large holes and long cracks, out of which grew grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, the courtyard, and the walls were so overgrown with green that they looked like a garden. in the balcony stood flower-pots, on which were heads having asses' ears, but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased. in one pot pinks were growing all over the sides, at least the green leaves were shooting forth stalk and stem, and saying as plainly as they could speak, "the air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and i am promised a little flower for next sunday--really for next sunday." then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with leather, and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it. "gilding will fade in damp weather, to endure, there is nothing like leather," said the walls. chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side, and with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creaked they seemed to say, "sit down. oh dear, how i am creaking. i shall certainly have the gout like the old cupboard. gout in my back, ugh." and then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat. "thank you for the tin soldier my little friend," said the old man, "and thank you also for coming to see me." "thanks, thanks," or "creak, creak," said all the furniture. there was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in each other's way to get a sight of the little boy. on the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of a beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the olden times, with powdered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. she said neither "thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the little boy with her mild eyes; and then he said to the old man, "where did you get that picture?" "from the shop opposite," he replied. "many portraits hang there that none seem to trouble themselves about. the persons they represent have been dead and buried long since. but i knew this lady many years ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century." under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of withered flowers, which were no doubt half a century old too, at least they appeared so. and the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the hands turned round; and as time passed on, everything in the room grew older, but no one seemed to notice it. "they say at home," said the little boy, "that you are very lonely." "oh," replied the old man, "i have pleasant thoughts of all that has passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me, and that is very pleasant." then he took from the book-case, a book full of pictures representing long processions of wonderful coaches, such as are never seen at the present time. soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving banners. the tailors had a flag with a pair of scissors supported by two lions, and on the shoemakers' flag there were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, "this is a pair." what a picture-book it was; and then the old man went into another room to fetch apples and nuts. it was very pleasant, certainly, to be in that old house. "i cannot endure it," said the tin soldier, who stood on a shelf, "it is so lonely and dull here. i have been accustomed to live in a family, and i cannot get used to this life. i cannot bear it. the whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. it is not here like it was in your house opposite, when your father and mother talked so cheerfully together, while you and all the dear children made such a delightful noise. no, it is all lonely in the old man's house. do you think he gets any kisses? do you think he ever has friendly looks, or a christmas tree? he will have nothing now but the grave. oh, i cannot bear it." "you must not look only on the sorrowful side," said the little boy; "i think everything in this house is beautiful, and all the old pleasant thoughts come back here to pay visits." "ah, but i never see any, and i don't know them," said the tin soldier, "and i cannot bear it." "you must bear it," said the little boy. then the old man came back with a pleasant face; and brought with him beautiful preserved fruits, as well as apples and nuts; and the little boy thought no more of the tin soldier. how happy and delighted the little boy was; and after he returned home, and while days and weeks passed, a great deal of nodding took place from one house to the other, and then the little boy went to pay another visit. the carved trumpeters blew "tanta-ra-ra. there is the little boy. tanta-ra-ra." the swords and armor on the old knight's pictures rattled. the silk dresses rustled, the leather repeated its rhyme, and the old chairs had the gout in their backs, and cried, "creak;" it was all exactly like the first time; for in that house, one day and one hour were just like another. "i cannot bear it any longer," said the tin soldier; "i have wept tears of tin, it is so melancholy here. let me go to the wars, and lose an arm or a leg, that would be some change; i cannot bear it. now i know what it is to have visits from one's old recollections, and all they bring with them. i have had visits from mine, and you may believe me it is not altogether pleasant. i was very nearly jumping from the shelf. i saw you all in your house opposite, as if you were really present. it was sunday morning, and you children stood round the table, singing the hymn that you sing every morning. you were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your father and mother. you were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your father and mother were looking just as serious, when the door opened, and your little sister maria, who is not two years old, was brought into the room. you know she always dances when she hears music and singing of any sort; so she began to dance immediately, although she ought not to have done so, but she could not get into the right time because the tune was so slow; so she stood first on one leg and then on the other, and bent her head very low, but it would not suit the music. you all stood looking very grave, although it was very difficult to do so, but i laughed so to myself that i fell down from the table, and got a bruise, which is there still; i know it was not right to laugh. so all this, and everything else that i have seen, keeps running in my head, and these must be the old recollections that bring so many thoughts with them. tell me whether you still sing on sundays, and tell me about your little sister maria, and how my old comrade is, the other tin soldier. ah, really he must be very happy; i cannot endure this life." "you are given away," said the little boy; "you must stay. don't you see that?" then the old man came in, with a box containing many curious things to show him. rouge-pots, scent-boxes, and old cards, so large and so richly gilded, that none are ever seen like them in these days. and there were smaller boxes to look at, and the piano was opened, and inside the lid were painted landscapes. but when the old man played, the piano sounded quite out of tune. then he looked at the picture he had bought at the broker's, and his eyes sparkled brightly as he nodded at it, and said, "ah, she could sing that tune." "i will go to the wars! i will go to the wars!" cried the tin soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself down on the floor. where could he have fallen? the old man searched, and the little boy searched, but he was gone, and could not be found. "i shall find him again," said the old man, but he did not find him. the boards of the floor were open and full of holes. the tin soldier had fallen through a crack between the boards, and lay there now in an open grave. the day went by, and the little boy returned home; the week passed, and many more weeks. it was winter, and the windows were quite frozen, so the little boy was obliged to breathe on the panes, and rub a hole to peep through at the old house. snow drifts were lying in all the scrolls and on the inscriptions, and the steps were covered with snow as if no one were at home. and indeed nobody was home, for the old man was dead. in the evening, a hearse stopped at the door, and the old man in his coffin was placed in it. he was to be taken to the country to be buried there in his own grave; so they carried him away; no one followed him, for all his friends were dead; and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as the hearse moved away with it. a few days after, there was an auction at the old house, and from his window the little boy saw the people carrying away the pictures of old knights and ladies, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the cup-boards. some were taken one way, some another. her portrait, which had been bought at the picture dealer's, went back again to his shop, and there it remained, for no one seemed to know her, or to care for the old picture. in the spring; they began to pull the house itself down; people called it complete rubbish. from the street could be seen the room in which the walls were covered with leather, ragged and torn, and the green in the balcony hung straggling over the beams; they pulled it down quickly, for it looked ready to fall, and at last it was cleared away altogether. "what a good riddance," said the neighbors' houses. very shortly, a fine new house was built farther back from the road; it had lofty windows and smooth walls, but in front, on the spot where the old house really stood, a little garden was planted, and wild vines grew up over the neighboring walls; in front of the garden were large iron railings and a great gate, which looked very stately. people used to stop and peep through the railings. the sparrows assembled in dozens upon the wild vines, and chattered all together as loud as they could, but not about the old house; none of them could remember it, for many years had passed by, so many indeed, that the little boy was now a man, and a really good man too, and his parents were very proud of him. he was just married, and had come, with his young wife, to reside in the new house with the garden in front of it, and now he stood there by her side while she planted a field flower that she thought very pretty. she was planting it herself with her little hands, and pressing down the earth with her fingers. "oh dear, what was that?" she exclaimed, as something pricked her. out of the soft earth something was sticking up. it was--only think!--it was really the tin soldier, the very same which had been lost up in the old man's room, and had been hidden among old wood and rubbish for a long time, till it sunk into the earth, where it must have been for many years. and the young wife wiped the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her fine pocket-handkerchief, that smelt of such beautiful perfume. and the tin soldier felt as if he was recovering from a fainting fit. "let me see him," said the young man, and then he smiled and shook his head, and said, "it can scarcely be the same, but it reminds me of something that happened to one of my tin soldiers when i was a little boy." and then he told his wife about the old house and the old man, and of the tin soldier which he had sent across, because he thought the old man was lonely; and he related the story so clearly that tears came into the eyes of the young wife for the old house and the old man. "it is very likely that this is really the same soldier," said she, "and i will take care of him, and always remember what you have told me; but some day you must show me the old man's grave." "i don't know where it is," he replied; "no one knows. all his friends are dead; no one took care of him, and i was only a little boy." "oh, how dreadfully lonely he must have been," said she. "yes, terribly lonely," cried the tin soldier; "still it is delightful not to be forgotten." "delightful indeed," cried a voice quite near to them; no one but the tin soldier saw that it came from a rag of the leather which hung in tatters; it had lost all its gilding, and looked like wet earth, but it had an opinion, and it spoke it thus:-- "gilding will fade in damp weather, to endure, there is nothing like leather." but the tin soldier did not believe any such thing. what the old man does is always right i will tell you a story that was told me when i was a little boy. every time i thought of this story, it seemed to me more and more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people--they become better as they grow older. i have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a very old farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants growing wild upon it. there is a stork's nest on the ridge of the gable, for we cannot do without the stork. the walls of the house are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made to open. the baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a great knob. an elder-tree hangs over the palings; and beneath its branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water, in which a few ducks are disporting themselves. there is a yard-dog too, who barks at all corners. just such a farmhouse as this stood in a country lane; and in it dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. small as their possessions were, they had one article they could not do without, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon the grass which it found by the side of the high road. the old peasant rode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowed it of him, and paid for the loan of it by rendering some service to the old couple. after a time they thought it would be as well to sell the horse, or exchange it for something which might be more useful to them. but what might this something be? "you'll know best, old man," said the wife. "it is fair-day to-day; so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make a good exchange; whichever you do will be right to me, so ride to the fair." and she fastened his neckerchief for him; for she could do that better than he could, and she could also tie it very prettily in a double bow. she also smoothed his hat round and round with the palm of her hand, and gave him a kiss. then he rode away upon the horse that was to be sold or bartered for something else. yes, the old man knew what he was about. the sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. the road was very dusty; for a number of people, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking upon it. there was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine. among the rest a man came trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair. the cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow could be. "she gives good milk, i am certain," said the peasant to himself. "that would be a very good exchange: the cow for the horse. hallo there! you with the cow," he said. "i tell you what; i dare say a horse is of more value than a cow; but i don't care for that,--a cow will be more useful to me; so, if you like, we'll exchange." "to be sure i will," said the man. accordingly the exchange was made; and as the matter was settled, the peasant might have turned back; for he had done the business he came to do. but, having made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to do so, if only to have a look at it; so on he went to the town with his cow. leading the animal, he strode on sturdily, and, after a short time, overtook a man who was driving a sheep. it was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back. "i should like to have that fellow," said the peasant to himself. "there is plenty of grass for him by our palings, and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. perhaps it would be more profitable to have a sheep than a cow. shall i exchange?" the man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was quickly made. and then our peasant continued his way on the high-road with his sheep. soon after this, he overtook another man, who had come into the road from a field, and was carrying a large goose under his arm. "what a heavy creature you have there!" said the peasant; "it has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, or paddling in the water at our place. that would be very useful to my old woman; she could make all sorts of profits out of it. how often she has said, 'if now we only had a goose!' now here is an opportunity, and, if possible, i will get it for her. shall we exchange? i will give you my sheep for your goose, and thanks into the bargain." the other had not the least objection, and accordingly the exchange was made, and our peasant became possessor of the goose. by this time he had arrived very near the town. the crowd on the high road had been gradually increasing, and there was quite a rush of men and cattle. the cattle walked on the path and by the palings, and at the turnpike-gate they even walked into the toll-keeper's potato-field, where one fowl was strutting about with a string tied to its leg, for fear it should take fright at the crowd, and run away and get lost. the tail-feathers of the fowl were very short, and it winked with both its eyes, and looked very cunning, as it said "cluck, cluck." what were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this i cannot tell you; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, "why that's the finest fowl i ever saw in my life; it's finer than our parson's brood hen, upon my word. i should like to have that fowl. fowls can always pick up a few grains that lie about, and almost keep themselves. i think it would be a good exchange if i could get it for my goose. shall we exchange?" he asked the toll-keeper. "exchange," repeated the man; "well, it would not be a bad thing." and so they made an exchange,--the toll-keeper at the turnpike-gate kept the goose, and the peasant carried off the fowl. now he had really done a great deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired. he wanted something to eat, and a glass of ale to refresh himself; so he turned his steps to an inn. he was just about to enter when the ostler came out, and they met at the door. the ostler was carrying a sack. "what have you in that sack?" asked the peasant. "rotten apples," answered the ostler; "a whole sackful of them. they will do to feed the pigs with." "why that will be terrible waste," he replied; "i should like to take them home to my old woman. last year the old apple-tree by the grass-plot only bore one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was quite withered and rotten. it was always property, my old woman said; and here she would see a great deal of property--a whole sackful; i should like to show them to her." "what will you give me for the sackful?" asked the ostler. "what will i give? well, i will give you my fowl in exchange." so he gave up the fowl, and received the apples, which he carried into the inn parlor. he leaned the sack carefully against the stove, and then went to the table. but the stove was hot, and he had not thought of that. many guests were present--horse dealers, cattle drovers, and two englishmen. the englishmen were so rich that their pockets quite bulged out and seemed ready to burst; and they could bet too, as you shall hear. "hiss-s-s, hiss-s-s." what could that be by the stove? the apples were beginning to roast. "what is that?" asked one. "why, do you know"--said our peasant. and then he told them the whole story of the horse, which he had exchanged for a cow, and all the rest of it, down to the apples. "well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home," said one of the englishmen. "won't there be a noise?" "what! give me what?" said the peasant. "why, she will kiss me, and say, 'what the old man does is always right.'" "let us lay a wager on it," said the englishmen. "we'll wager you a ton of coined gold, a hundred pounds to the hundred-weight." "no; a bushel will be enough," replied the peasant. "i can only set a bushel of apples against it, and i'll throw myself and my old woman into the bargain; that will pile up the measure, i fancy." "done! taken!" and so the bet was made. then the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two englishmen and the peasant got in, and away they drove, and soon arrived and stopped at the peasant's hut. "good evening, old woman." "good evening, old man." "i've made the exchange." "ah, well, you understand what you're about," said the woman. then she embraced him, and paid no attention to the strangers, nor did she notice the sack. "i got a cow in exchange for the horse." "thank heaven," said she. "now we shall have plenty of milk, and butter, and cheese on the table. that was a capital exchange." "yes, but i changed the cow for a sheep." "ah, better still!" cried the wife. "you always think of everything; we have just enough pasture for a sheep. ewe's milk and cheese, woollen jackets and stockings! the cow could not give all these, and her hair only falls off. how you think of everything!" "but i changed away the sheep for a goose." "then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. you dear old man, you are always thinking of something to please me. this is delightful. we can let the goose walk about with a string tied to her leg, so she will be fatter still before we roast her." "but i gave away the goose for a fowl." "a fowl! well, that was a good exchange," replied the woman. "the fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens; we shall soon have a poultry-yard. oh, this is just what i was wishing for." "yes, but i exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples." "what! i really must give you a kiss for that!" exclaimed the wife. "my dear, good husband, now i'll tell you something. do you know, almost as soon as you left me this morning, i began to think of what i could give you nice for supper this evening, and then i thought of fried eggs and bacon, with sweet herbs; i had eggs and bacon, but i wanted the herbs; so i went over to the schoolmaster's: i knew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is very mean, although she can smile so sweetly. i begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. 'lend!' she exclaimed, 'i have nothing to lend; nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple; i could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman. but now i can lend her ten, or a whole sackful, which i'm very glad of; it makes me laugh to think about it;" and then she gave him a hearty kiss. "well, i like all this," said both the englishmen; "always going down the hill, and yet always merry; it's worth the money to see it." so they paid a hundred-weight of gold to the peasant, who, whatever he did, was not scolded but kissed. yes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that her husband knows best, and whatever he does is right. that is a story which i heard when i was a child; and now you have heard it too, and know that "what the old man does is always right." the old street lamp did you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? it is not remarkably interesting, but for once in a way you may as well listen to it. it was a most respectable old lamp, which had seen many, many years of service, and now was to retire with a pension. it was this evening at its post for the last time, giving light to the street. his feelings were something like those of an old dancer at the theatre, who is dancing for the last time, and knows that on the morrow she will be in her garret, alone and forgotten. the lamp had very great anxiety about the next day, for he knew that he had to appear for the first time at the town hall, to be inspected by the mayor and the council, who were to decide if he were fit for further service or not;--whether the lamp was good enough to be used to light the inhabitants of one of the suburbs, or in the country, at some factory; and if not, it would be sent at once to an iron foundry, to be melted down. in this latter case it might be turned into anything, and he wondered very much whether he would then be able to remember that he had once been a street lamp, and it troubled him exceedingly. whatever might happen, one thing seemed certain, that he would be separated from the watchman and his wife, whose family he looked upon as his own. the lamp had first been hung up on that very evening that the watchman, then a robust young man, had entered upon the duties of his office. ah, well, it was a very long time since one became a lamp and the other a watchman. his wife had a little pride in those days; she seldom condescended to glance at the lamp, excepting when she passed by in the evening, never in the daytime. but in later years, when all these,--the watchman, the wife, and the lamp--had grown old, she had attended to it, cleaned it, and supplied it with oil. the old people were thoroughly honest, they had never cheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil provided for it. this was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow he must go to the town-hall,--two very dark things to think of. no wonder he did not burn brightly. many other thoughts also passed through his mind. how many persons he had lighted on their way, and how much he had seen; as much, very likely, as the mayor and corporation themselves! none of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however; for he was a good, honorable old lamp, who would not willingly do harm to any one, especially to those in authority. as many things were recalled to his mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness; he had, at such moments, a conviction that he would be remembered. "there was a handsome young man once," thought he; "it is certainly a long while ago, but i remember he had a little note, written on pink paper with a gold edge; the writing was elegant, evidently a lady's hand: twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then looked up at me, with eyes that said quite plainly, 'i am the happiest of men!' only he and i know what was written on this his first letter from his lady-love. ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that i remember,--it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thing to another! a funeral passed through the street; a young and beautiful woman lay on a bier, decked with garlands of flowers, and attended by torches, which quite overpowered my light. all along the street stood the people from the houses, in crowds, ready to join the procession. but when the torches had passed from before me, and i could look round, i saw one person alone, standing, leaning against my post, and weeping. never shall i forget the sorrowful eyes that looked up at me." these and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp, on this the last time that his light would shine. the sentry, when he is relieved from his post, knows at least who will succeed him, and may whisper a few words to him, but the lamp did not know his successor, or he could have given him a few hints respecting rain, or mist, and could have informed him how far the moon's rays would rest on the pavement, and from which side the wind generally blew, and so on. on the bridge over the canal stood three persons, who wished to recommend themselves to the lamp, for they thought he could give the office to whomsoever he chose. the first was a herring's head, which could emit light in the darkness. he remarked that it would be a great saving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. number two was a piece of rotten wood, which also shines in the dark. he considered himself descended from an old stem, once the pride of the forest. the third was a glow-worm, and how he found his way there the lamp could not imagine, yet there he was, and could really give light as well as the others. but the rotten wood and the herring's head declared most solemnly, by all they held sacred, that the glow-worm only gave light at certain times, and must not be allowed to compete with themselves. the old lamp assured them that not one of them could give sufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp; but they would believe nothing he said. and when they discovered that he had not the power of naming his successor, they said they were very glad to hear it, for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make a proper choice. at this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of the street, and through the air-holes of the old lamp. "what is this i hear?" said he; "that you are going away to-morrow? is this evening the last time we shall meet? then i must present you with a farewell gift. i will blow into your brain, so that in future you shall not only be able to remember all that you have seen or heard in the past, but your light within shall be so bright, that you shall be able to understand all that is said or done in your presence." "oh, that is really a very, very great gift," said the old lamp; "i thank you most heartily. i only hope i shall not be melted down." "that is not likely to happen yet," said the wind; "and i will also blow a memory into you, so that should you receive other similar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly." "that is if i am not melted down," said the lamp. "but should i in that case still retain my memory?" "do be reasonable, old lamp," said the wind, puffing away. at this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. "what will you give the old lamp?" asked the wind. "i can give nothing," she replied; "i am on the wane, and no lamps have ever given me light while i have frequently shone upon them." and with these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that she might be saved from further importunities. just then a drop fell upon the lamp, from the roof of the house, but the drop explained that he was a gift from those gray clouds, and perhaps the best of all gifts. "i shall penetrate you so thoroughly," he said, "that you will have the power of becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, to crumble into dust in one night." but this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind thought so too. "does no one give any more? will no one give any more?" shouted the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. then a bright falling star came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind it. "what was that?" cried the herring's head. "did not a star fall? i really believe it went into the lamp. certainly, when such high-born personages try for the office, we may as well say 'good-night,' and go home." and so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully strong light all around him. "this is a glorious gift," said he; "the bright stars have always been a joy to me, and have always shone more brilliantly than i ever could shine, though i have tried with my whole might; and now they have noticed me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that will enable me to see clearly everything that i remember, as if it still stood before me, and to be seen by all those who love me. and herein lies the truest pleasure, for joy which we cannot share with others is only half enjoyed." "that sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for this purpose wax lights will be necessary. if these are not lighted in you, your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. the stars have not thought of this; they suppose that you and every other light must be a wax taper: but i must go down now." so he laid himself to rest. "wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp, "i have never yet had these, nor is it likely i ever shall. if i could only be sure of not being melted down!" the next day. well, perhaps we had better pass over the next day. the evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's chair, and guess where! why, at the old watchman's house. he had begged, as a favor, that the mayor and corporation would allow him to keep the street lamp, in consideration of his long and faithful service, as he had himself hung it up and lit it on the day he first commenced his duties, four-and-twenty years ago. he looked upon it almost as his own child; he had no children, so the lamp was given to him. there it lay in the great arm-chair near to the warm stove. it seemed almost as if it had grown larger, for it appeared quite to fill the chair. the old people sat at their supper, casting friendly glances at the old lamp, whom they would willingly have admitted to a place at the table. it is quite true that they dwelt in a cellar, two yards deep in the earth, and they had to cross a stone passage to get to their room, but within it was warm and comfortable and strips of list had been nailed round the door. the bed and the little window had curtains, and everything looked clean and neat. on the window seat stood two curious flower-pots which a sailor, named christian, had brought over from the east or west indies. they were of clay, and in the form of two elephants, with open backs; they were hollow and filled with earth, and through the open space flowers bloomed. in one grew some very fine chives or leeks; this was the kitchen garden. the other elephant, which contained a beautiful geranium, they called their flower garden. on the wall hung a large colored print, representing the congress of vienna, and all the kings and emperors at once. a clock, with heavy weights, hung on the wall and went "tick, tick," steadily enough; yet it was always rather too fast, which, however, the old people said was better than being too slow. they were now eating their supper, while the old street lamp, as we have heard, lay in the grandfather's arm-chair near the stove. it seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turned round; but after a while the old watchman looked at the lamp, and spoke of what they had both gone through together,--in rain and in fog; during the short bright nights of summer, or in the long winter nights, through the drifting snow-storms, when he longed to be at home in the cellar. then the lamp felt it was all right again. he saw everything that had happened quite clearly, as if it were passing before him. surely the wind had given him an excellent gift. the old people were very active and industrious, they were never idle for even a single hour. on sunday afternoons they would bring out some books, generally a book of travels which they were very fond of. the old man would read aloud about africa, with its great forests and the wild elephants, while his wife would listen attentively, stealing a glance now and then at the clay elephants, which served as flower-pots. "i can almost imagine i am seeing it all," she said; and then how the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him, for then the old woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he did himself. the lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, the naked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading down bamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet. "what is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp, "when i cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallow here, and these will not do." one day a great heap of wax-candle ends found their way into the cellar. the larger pieces were burnt, and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. so there were now candles enough, but it never occurred to any one to put a little piece in the lamp. "here i am now with my rare powers," thought the lamp, "i have faculties within me, but i cannot share them; they do not know that i could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or change them into noble forests, or, indeed, to anything else they might wish for." the lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in a corner where it attracted all eyes. strangers looked upon it as lumber, but the old people did not care for that; they loved the lamp. one day--it was the watchman's birthday--the old woman approached the lamp, smiling to herself, and said, "i will have an illumination to-day in honor of my old man." and the lamp rattled in his metal frame, for he thought, "now at last i shall have a light within me," but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp, but oil as usual. the lamp burned through the whole evening, and began to perceive too clearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasure all his life. then he had a dream; for, to one with his faculties, dreaming was no difficulty. it appeared to him that the old people were dead, and that he had been taken to the iron foundry to be melted down. it caused him quite as much anxiety as on the day when he had been called upon to appear before the mayor and the council at the town-hall. but though he had been endowed with the power of falling into decay from rust when he pleased, he did not make use of it. he was therefore put into the melting-furnace and changed into as elegant an iron candlestick as you could wish to see, one intended to hold a wax taper. the candlestick was in the form of an angel holding a nosegay, in the centre of which the wax taper was to be placed. it was to stand on a green writing table, in a very pleasant room; many books were scattered about, and splendid paintings hung on the walls. the owner of the room was a poet, and a man of intellect; everything he thought or wrote was pictured around him. nature showed herself to him sometimes in the dark forests, at others in cheerful meadows where the storks were strutting about, or on the deck of a ship sailing across the foaming sea with the clear, blue sky above, or at night the glittering stars. "what powers i possess!" said the lamp, awaking from his dream; "i could almost wish to be melted down; but no, that must not be while the old people live. they love me for myself alone, they keep me bright, and supply me with oil. i am as well off as the picture of the congress, in which they take so much pleasure." and from that time he felt at rest in himself, and not more so than such an honorable old lamp really deserved to be. ole-luk-oie, the dream-god there is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as ole-luk-oie, or who can relate them so nicely. in the evening, while the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him. then he creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks, till their heads begin to droop. but ole-luk-oie does not wish to hurt them, for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet that he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet until they are in bed and asleep. as soon as they are asleep, ole-luk-oie seats himself upon the bed. he is nicely dressed; his coat is made of silken stuff; it is impossible to say of what color, for it changes from green to red, and from red to blue as he turns from side to side. under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and then they dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. but the other umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughty children so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning without having dreamed at all. now we shall hear how ole-luk-oie came every night during a whole week to the little boy named hjalmar, and what he told him. there were seven stories, as there are seven days in the week. monday "now pay attention," said ole-luk-oie, in the evening, when hjalmar was in bed, "and i will decorate the room." immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees, with long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the walls, so that the whole room was like a greenhouse. all the branches were loaded with flowers, each flower as beautiful and as fragrant as a rose; and, had any one tasted them, he would have found them sweeter even than jam. the fruit glittered like gold, and there were cakes so full of plums that they were nearly bursting. it was incomparably beautiful. at the same time sounded dismal moans from the table-drawer in which lay hjalmar's school books. "what can that be now?" said ole-luk-oie, going to the table and pulling out the drawer. it was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in the sum, that it had almost broken itself to pieces. the pencil pulled and tugged at its string as if it were a little dog that wanted to help, but could not. and then came a moan from hjalmar's copy-book. oh, it was quite terrible to hear! on each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every one having a small letter by its side. this formed a copy; under these were other letters, which hjalmar had written: they fancied they looked like the copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on one side as if they intended to fall over the pencil-lines. "see, this is the way you should hold yourselves," said the copy. "look here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve." "oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot," said hjalmar's letters; "we are so wretchedly made." "you must be scratched out, then," said ole-luk-oie. "oh, no!" they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it was quite a pleasure to look at them. "now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters," said ole-luk-oie; "one, two--one, two--" so he drilled them till they stood up gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could look. but after ole-luk-oie was gone, and hjalmar looked at them in the morning, they were as wretched and as awkward as ever. tuesday as soon as hjalmar was in bed, ole-luk-oie touched, with his little magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediately began to chatter, and each article only talked of itself. over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame, representing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass, and a broad stream, which flowed through the wood, past several castles, far out into the wild ocean. ole-luk-oie touched the picture with his magic wand, and immediately the birds commenced singing, the branches of the trees rustled, and the clouds moved across the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape beneath them. then ole-luk-oie lifted little hjalmar up to the frame, and placed his feet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood with the sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees. he ran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there, and which was painted red and white. the sails glittered like silver, and six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck, and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat past the green wood, where the trees talked of robbers and witches, and the flowers of beautiful little elves and fairies, whose histories the butterflies had related to them. brilliant fish, with scales like silver and gold, swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and splashing the water round them, while birds, red and blue, small and great, flew after him in two long lines. the gnats danced round them, and the cockchafers cried "buz, buz." they all wanted to follow hjalmar, and all had some story to tell him. it was a most pleasant sail. sometimes the forests were thick and dark, sometimes like a beautiful garden, gay with sunshine and flowers; then he passed great palaces of glass and of marble, and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces were those of little girls whom hjalmar knew well, and had often played with. one of them held out her hand, in which was a heart made of sugar, more beautiful than any confectioner ever sold. as hjalmar sailed by, he caught hold of one side of the sugar heart, and held it fast, and the princess held fast also, so that it broke in two pieces. hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other, but hjalmar's was the largest. at each castle stood little princes acting as sentinels. they presented arms, and had golden swords, and made it rain plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have been real princes. hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes as it were through large halls, and then by large cities. at last he came to the town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms when he was a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. she nodded and beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she had herself composed and set to him,-- "how oft my memory turns to thee, my own hjalmar, ever dear! when i could watch thy infant glee, or kiss away a pearly tear. 'twas in my arms thy lisping tongue first spoke the half-remembered word, while o'er thy tottering steps i hung, my fond protection to afford. farewell! i pray the heavenly power to keep thee till thy dying hour." and all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on their stems, and the old trees nodded as if ole-luk-oie had been telling them stories as well. wednesday how the rain did pour down! hjalmar could hear it in his sleep; and when ole-luk-oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up to the window-sill. it had the appearance of a large lake outside, and a beautiful ship lay close to the house. "wilt thou sail with me to-night, little hjalmar?" said ole-luk-oie; "then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shalt return here in the morning." all in a moment, there stood hjalmar, in his best clothes, on the deck of the noble ship; and immediately the weather became fine. they sailed through the streets, round by the church, and on every side rolled the wide, great sea. they sailed till the land disappeared, and then they saw a flock of storks, who had left their own country, and were travelling to warmer climates. the storks flew one behind the other, and had already been a long, long time on the wing. one of them seemed so tired that his wings could scarcely carry him. he was the last of the row, and was soon left very far behind. at length he sunk lower and lower, with outstretched wings, flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of the ship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them. then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with the fowls, the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quite bewildered amongst them. "just look at that fellow," said the chickens. then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could, and inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwards, crying, "quack, quack." then the stork told them all about warm africa, of the pyramids, and of the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across the desert. but the ducks did not understand what he said, and quacked amongst themselves, "we are all of the same opinion; namely, that he is stupid." "yes, to be sure, he is stupid," said the turkey-cock; and gobbled. then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home in africa. "those are handsome thin legs of yours," said the turkey-cock. "what do they cost a yard?" "quack, quack, quack," grinned the ducks; but, the stork pretended not to hear. "you may as well laugh," said the turkey; "for that remark was rather witty, or perhaps it was above you. ah, ah, is he not clever? he will be a great amusement to us while he remains here." and then he gobbled, and the ducks quacked, "gobble, gobble; quack, quack." what a terrible uproar they made, while they were having such fun among themselves! then hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door, called to the stork. then he hopped out on the deck. he had rested himself now, and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded to hjalmar, as if to thank him. then he spread his wings, and flew away to warmer countries, while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, and the turkey-cock turned quite scarlet in the head. "to-morrow you shall be made into soup," said hjalmar to the fowls; and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed. it was a wonderful journey which ole-luk-oie had made him take this night. thursday "what do you think i have got here?" said ole-luk-oie, "do not be frightened, and you shall see a little mouse." and then he held out his hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. "it has come to invite you to a wedding. two little mice are going to enter into the marriage state tonight. they reside under the floor of your mother's store-room, and that must be a fine dwelling-place." "but how can i get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?" asked hjalmar. "leave me to manage that," said ole-luk-oie. "i will soon make you small enough." and then he touched hjalmar with his magic wand, whereupon he became less and less, until at last he was not longer than a little finger. "now you can borrow the dress of the tin soldier. i think it will just fit you. it looks well to wear a uniform when you go into company." "yes, certainly," said hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressed as neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers. "will you be so good as to seat yourself in your mamma's thimble," said the little mouse, "that i may have the pleasure of drawing you to the wedding." "will you really take so much trouble, young lady?" said hjalmar. and so in this way he rode to the mouse's wedding. first they went under the floor, and then passed through a long passage, which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble to drive under, and the whole passage was lit up with the phosphorescent light of rotten wood. "does it not smell delicious?" asked the mouse, as she drew him along. "the wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind; nothing can be nicer." very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. on the right stood all the little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they were making game of each other. to the left were the gentlemen-mice, stroking their whiskers with their fore-paws; and in the centre of the hall could be seen the bridal pair, standing side by side, in a hollow cheese-rind, and kissing each other, while all eyes were upon them; for they had already been betrothed, and were soon to be married. more and more friends kept arriving, till the mice were nearly treading each other to death; for the bridal pair now stood in the doorway, and none could pass in or out. the room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage, which was all the refreshment offered to the guests. but for dessert they produced a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair had bitten the first letters of their names. this was something quite uncommon. all the mice said it was a very beautiful wedding, and that they had been very agreeably entertained. after this, hjalmar returned home. he had certainly been in grand society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and to make himself small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier. friday "it is incredible how many old people there are who would be glad to have me at night," said ole-luk-oie, "especially those who have done something wrong. 'good little ole,' say they to me, 'we cannot close our eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see all our evil deeds sitting on our beds like little imps, and sprinkling us with hot water. will you come and drive them away, that we may have a good night's rest?' and then they sigh so deeply and say, 'we would gladly pay you for it. good-night, ole-luk, the money lies on the window.' but i never do anything for gold." "what shall we do to-night?" asked hjalmar. "i do not know whether you would care to go to another wedding," he replied, "although it is quite a different affair to the one we saw last night. your sister's large doll, that is dressed like a man, and is called herman, intends to marry the doll bertha. it is also the dolls' birthday, and they will receive many presents." "yes, i know that already," said hjalmar, "my sister always allows her dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when they require new clothes; that has happened already a hundred times, i am quite sure." "yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding, and when that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this is to be extremely beautiful. only look." hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-board doll's house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before it were the tin soldiers presenting arms. the bridal pair were seated on the floor, leaning against the leg of the table, looking very thoughtful, and with good reason. then ole-luk-oie dressed up in grandmother's black gown married them. as soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in the room joined in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed by the lead pencil, and which went to the melody of a military tattoo. "what merry sounds are on the wind, as marriage rites together bind a quiet and a loving pair, though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair! hurrah! if they are deaf and blind, we'll sing, though weather prove unkind." and now came the present; but the bridal pair had nothing to eat, for love was to be their food. "shall we go to a country house, or travel?" asked the bridegroom. then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, and the old hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens. and the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapes hang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, and about the mountains glowing with colors more beautiful than we can think of. "but they have no red cabbage like we have," said the hen, "i was once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there was a large sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as we liked. then we got into a garden in which grew red cabbage; oh, how nice it was, i cannot think of anything more delicious." "but one cabbage stalk is exactly like another," said the swallow; "and here we have often bad weather." "yes, but we are accustomed to it," said the hen. "but it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes." "cold weather is good for cabbages," said the hen; "besides we do have it warm here sometimes. four years ago, we had a summer that lasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely breathe. and then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and we are free from robbers. he must be wicked who does not consider our country the finest of all lands. he ought not to be allowed to live here." and then the hen wept very much and said, "i have also travelled. i once went twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pleasant travelling at all." "the hen is a sensible woman," said the doll bertha. "i don't care for travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again. no, let us go to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a walk in the cabbage garden." and so they settled it. saturday "am i to hear any more stories?" asked little hjalmar, as soon as ole-luk-oie had sent him to sleep. "we shall have no time this evening," said he, spreading out his prettiest umbrella over the child. "look at these chinese," and then the whole umbrella appeared like a large china bowl, with blue trees and pointed bridges, upon which stood little chinamen nodding their heads. "we must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning," said ole-luk-oie, "for it will be a holiday, it is sunday. i must now go to the church steeple and see if the little sprites who live there have polished the bells, so that they may sound sweetly. then i must go into the fields and see if the wind has blown the dust from the grass and the leaves, and the most difficult task of all which i have to do, is to take down all the stars and brighten them up. i have to number them first before i put them in my apron, and also to number the places from which i take them, so that they may go back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and we should have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumble down one after the other." "hark ye! mr. luk-oie," said an old portrait which hung on the wall of hjalmar's bedroom. "do you know me? i am hjalmar's great-grandfather. i thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse his ideas. the stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished; they are spheres like our earth, which is a good thing for them." "thank you, old great-grandfather," said ole-luk-oie. "i thank you; you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but i am older than you. i am an ancient heathen. the old romans and greeks named me the dream-god. i have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do so; still i know how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you may tell the stories yourself:" and so ole-luk-oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with him. "well, well, one is never to give an opinion, i suppose," grumbled the portrait. and it woke hjalmar. sunday "good evening," said ole-luk-oie. hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned his great-grandfather's portrait to the wall, so that it might not interrupt them as it had done yesterday. "now," said he, "you must tell me some stories about five green peas that lived in one pod; or of the chickseed that courted the chickweed; or of the darning needle, who acted so proudly because she fancied herself an embroidery needle." "you may have too much of a good thing," said ole-luk-oie. "you know that i like best to show you something, so i will show you my brother. he is also called ole-luk-oie but he never visits any one but once, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tells him stories as they ride along. he knows only two stories. one of these is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world can imagine anything at all like it; but the other is just as ugly and frightful, so that it would be impossible to describe it." then ole-luk-oie lifted hjalmar up to the window. "there now, you can see my brother, the other ole-luk-oie; he is also called death. you perceive he is not so bad as they represent him in picture books; there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is embroidered with silver, and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a mantle of black velvet flies behind him, over the horse. look, how he gallops along." hjalmar saw that as this ole-luk-oie rode on, he lifted up old and young, and carried them away on his horse. some he seated in front of him, and some behind, but always inquired first, "how stands the mark-book?" "good," they all answered. "yes, but let me see for myself," he replied; and they were obliged to give him the books. then all those who had "very good," or "exceedingly good," came in front of the horse, and heard the beautiful story; while those who had "middling," or "tolerably good," in their books, were obliged to sit behind, and listen to the frightful tale. they trembled and cried, and wanted to jump down from the horse, but they could not get free, for they seemed fastened to the seat. "why, death is a most splendid luk-oie," said hjalmar. "i am not in the least afraid of him." "you need have no fear of him," said ole-luk-oie, "if you take care and keep a good conduct book." "now i call that very instructive," murmured the great-grandfather's portrait. "it is useful sometimes to express an opinion;" so he was quite satisfied. these are some of the doings and sayings of ole-luk-oie. i hope he may visit you himself this evening, and relate some more. ole the tower-keeper "in the world it's always going up and down; and now i can't go up any higher!" so said ole the tower-keeper. "most people have to try both the ups and the downs; and, rightly considered, we all get to be watchmen at last, and look down upon life from a height." such was the speech of ole, my friend, the old tower-keeper, a strange, talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak out everything that came into his head, and who for all that had many a serious thought deep in his heart. yes, he was the child of respectable people, and there were even some who said that he was the son of a privy councillor, or that he might have been. he had studied, too, and had been assistant teacher and deputy clerk; but of what service was all that to him? in those days he lived in the clerk's house, and was to have everything in the house--to be at free quarters, as the saying is; but he was still, so to speak, a fine young gentleman. he wanted to have his boots cleaned with patent blacking, and the clerk could only afford ordinary grease; and upon that point they split. one spoke of stinginess, the other of vanity, and the blacking became the black cause of enmity between them, and at last they parted. this is what he demanded of the world in general, namely, patent blacking, and he got nothing but grease. accordingly, he at last drew back from all men, and became a hermit; but the church tower is the only place in a great city where hermitage, office and bread can be found together. so he betook himself up thither, and smoked his pipe as he made his solitary rounds. he looked upward and downward, and had his own thoughts, and told in his own way of what he read in books and in himself. i often lent him books--good books; and you may know by the company he keeps. he loved neither the english governess novels nor the french ones, which he called a mixture of empty wind and raisin-stalks: he wanted biographies, and descriptions of the wonders of, the world. i visited him at least once a year, generally directly after new year's day, and then he always spoke of this and that which the change of the year had put into his head. i will tell the story of three of these visits, and will reproduce his own words whenever i can remember them. first visit among the books which i had lately lent ole, was one which had greatly rejoiced and occupied him. it was a geological book, containing an account of the boulders. "yes, they're rare old fellows, those boulders!" he said; "and to think that we should pass them without noticing them! and over the street pavement, the paving stones, those fragments of the oldest remains of antiquity, one walks without ever thinking about them. i have done the very thing myself. but now i look respectfully at every paving-stone. many thanks for the book! it has filled me with thought, and has made me long to read more on the subject. the romance of the earth is, after all, the most wonderful of all romances. it's a pity one can't read the first volume of it, because it is written in a language that we don't understand. one must read in the different strata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. yes, it is a romance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place in it. we grope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are; but the ball keeps turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on which we move about, holds, and does not let us through. and then it's a story that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years and is still going on. my best thanks for the book about the boulders. those are fellows indeed! they could tell us something worth hearing, if they only knew how to talk. it's really a pleasure now and then to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly placed as i am. and then to think that we all, even with patent lacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hill the earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places and offices! one feels quite a novice beside these venerable million-year-old boulders. on last new year's eve i was reading the book, and had lost myself in it so completely, that i forgot my usual new year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to amack. ah, you don't know what that is! "the journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known--that journey is taken on st. john's eve, to the brocken; but we have a wild journey, also which is national and modern, and that is the journey to amack on the night of the new year. all indifferent poets and poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artistic notabilities,--i mean those who are no good,--ride in the new year's night through the air to amack. they sit backwards on their painting brushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them--they're too stiff. as i told you, i see that every new year's night, and could mention the majority of the riders by name, but i should not like to draw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talk about their ride to amack on quill pens. i've a kind of niece, who is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, and she has herself been at amack as an invited guest; but she was carried out thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. she has told me all about it. half of what she said is not true, but the other half gives us information enough. when she was out there, the festivities began with a song; each of the guests had written his own song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought that the best, and it was all one, all the same melody. then those came marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths. there were ringing bells that rang alternately; and then came the little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; and acquaintance was made with those who write without putting their names, which here means as much as using grease instead of patent blacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy was worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then, too, there was the good street sweeper with his cart, who turns over the dust-bin, and calls it 'good, very good, remarkably good.' and in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meeting of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at amack a stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof, which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in it hung everything they had given to the world during the old year. out of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideas and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which now got free and rushed away like so many fireworks. they played at 'the stick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and the witlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with a thundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors. 'it was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many things that were very malicious but very amusing, but i won't mention them, for a man must be good-natured, and not a carping critic. but you will easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journey to amack, as i know them, it's quite natural that on the new year's night one should look out to see the wild chase go by. if in the new year i miss certain persons who used to be there, i am sure to notice others who are new arrivals; but this year i omitted taking my look at the guests, i bowled away on the boulders, rolled back through millions of years, and saw the stones break loose high up in the north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before noah's ark was constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, and re-appear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the flood and said, 'this shall be zealand!' i saw them become the dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become the seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axes they cut their runic signs into a few of these stones, which then came into the calendar of time. but as for me, i had gone quite beyond all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. then three or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air, and gave my thoughts another direction. you know what a falling star is, do you not? the learned men are not at all clear about it. i have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many parts call them, and my idea is this: how often are silent thanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action! the thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. i think these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent, hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a whole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a long lapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and at length falls in the form of a shooting star over the good man's grave. i am always very much pleased when i see a shooting star, especially in the new year's night, and then find out for whom the gift of gratitude was intended. lately a gleaming star fell in the southwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many--many! 'for whom was that star intended?' thought i. it fell, no doubt, on the hill by the bay of plensberg, where the danebrog waves over the graves of schleppegrell, lasloes, and their comrades. one star also fell in the midst of the land, fell upon soro, a flower on the grave of holberg, the thanks of the year from a great many--thanks for his charming plays! "it is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star falls upon our graves. on mine certainly none will fall--no sunbeam brings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. i shall not get the patent lacquer," said ole, "for my fate on earth is only grease, after all." second visit it was new year's day, and i went up on the tower. ole spoke of the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the old year into the new--from one grave into the other, as he said. and he told me a story about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. it was this: "when on the new year's night the clock strikes twelve, the people at the table rise up with full glasses in their hands, and drain these glasses, and drink success to the new year. they begin the year with the glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for drunkards. they begin the new year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning for drones. sleep is sure to play a great part in the new year, and the glass likewise. do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked ole. "i will tell you. there dwell in the glass, first, health, and then pleasure, then the most complete sensual delight; and misfortune and the bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. now, suppose we count the glasses--of course i count the different degrees in the glasses for different people. "you see, the first glass, that's the glass of health, and in that the herb of health is found growing. put it up on the beam in the ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbor of health. "if you take the second glass--from this a little bird soars upward, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listen to his song, and perhaps join in 'fair is life! no downcast looks! take courage, and march onward!' "out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannot certainly be called an angel child, for there is goblin blood in his veins, and he has the spirit of a goblin--not wishing to hurt or harm you, indeed, but very ready to play off tricks upon you. he'll sit at your ear and whisper merry thoughts to you; he'll creep into your heart and warm you, so that you grow very merry, and become a wit, so far as the wits of the others can judge. "in the fourth glass is neither herb, bird, nor urchin. in that glass is the pause drawn by reason, and one may never go beyond that sign. "take the fifth glass, and you will weep at yourself, you will feel such a deep emotion; or it will affect you in a different way. out of the glass there will spring with a bang prince carnival, nine times and extravagantly merry. he'll draw you away with him; you'll forget your dignity, if you have any, and you'll forget more than you should or ought to forget. all is dance, song and sound: the masks will carry you away with them, and the daughters of vanity, clad in silk and satin, will come with loose hair and alluring charms; but tear yourself away if you can! "the sixth glass! yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the form of a little, well dressed, attractive and very fascinating man, who thoroughly understands you, agrees with you in everything, and becomes quite a second self to you. he has a lantern with him, to give you light as he accompanies you home. there is an old legend about a saint who was allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, and who accordingly chose drunkenness, which appeared to him the least, but which led him to commit all the other six. the man's blood is mingled with that of the demon. it is the sixth glass, and with that the germ of all evil shoots up within us; and each one grows up with a strength like that of the grains of mustard-seed, and shoots up into a tree, and spreads over the whole world: and most people have no choice but to go into the oven, to be re-cast in a new form. "that's the history of the glasses," said the tower-keeper ole, "and it can be told with lacquer or only with grease; but i give it you with both!" third visit on this occasion i chose the general "moving-day" for my visit to ole, for on that day it is anything but agreeable down in the streets in the town; for they are full of sweepings, shreds, and remnants of all sorts, to say nothing of the cast-off rubbish in which one has to wade about. but this time i happened to see two children playing in this wilderness of sweepings. they were playing at "going to bed," for the occasion seemed especially favorable for this sport. they crept under the straw, and drew an old bit of ragged curtain over themselves by way of coverlet. "it was splendid!" they said; but it was a little too strong for me, and besides, i was obliged to mount up on my visit to ole. "it's moving-day to day," he said; "streets and houses are like a dust-bin--a large dust-bin; but i'm content with a cartload. i may get something good out of that, and i really did get something good out of it once. shortly after christmas i was going up the street; it was rough weather, wet and dirty--the right kind of weather to catch cold in. the dustman was there with his cart, which was full, and looked like a sample of streets on moving-day. at the back of the cart stood a fir tree, quite green still, and with tinsel on its twigs; it had been used on christmas eve, and now it was thrown out into the street, and the dustman had stood it up at the back of his cart. it was droll to look at, or you may say it was mournful--all depends on what you think of when you see it; and i thought about it, and thought this and that of many things that were in the cart: or i might have done so, and that comes to the same thing. there was an old lady's glove, too: i wonder what that was thinking of? shall i tell you? the glove was lying there, pointing with its little finger at the tree. 'i'm sorry for the tree,' it thought; 'and i was also at the feast, where the chandeliers glittered. my life was, so to speak, a ball night--a pressure of the hand, and i burst! my memory keeps dwelling upon that, and i have really nothing else to live for!' this is what the glove thought, or what it might have thought. 'that's a stupid affair with yonder fir tree,' said the potsherds. you see, potsherds think everything is stupid. 'when one is in the dust-cart,' they said, 'one ought not to give one's self airs and wear tinsel. i know that i have been useful in the world--far more useful than such a green stick.' this was a view that might be taken, and i don't think it quite a peculiar one; but for all that, the fir tree looked very well: it was like a little poetry in the dust-heap; and truly there is dust enough in the streets on moving-day. the way is difficult and troublesome then, and i feel obliged to run away out of the confusion; or, if i am on the tower, i stay there and look down, and it is amusing enough. "there are the good people below, playing at 'changing houses.' they toil and tug away with their goods and chattels, and the household goblin sits in an old tub and moves with them. all the little griefs of the lodging and the family, and the real cares and sorrows, move with them out of the old dwelling into the new; and what gain is there for them or for us in the whole affair? yes, there was written long ago the good old maxim: 'think on the great moving-day of death!' that is a serious thought. i hope it is not disagreeable to you that i should have touched upon it? death is the most certain messenger, after all, in spite of his various occupations. yes, death is the omnibus conductor, and he is the passport writer, and he countersigns our service-book, and he is director of the savings bank of life. do you understand me? all the deeds of our life, the great and the little alike, we put into this savings bank; and when death calls with his omnibus, and we have to step in, and drive with him into the land of eternity, then on the frontier he gives us our service-book as a pass. as a provision for the journey, he takes this or that good deed we have done, and lets it accompany us; and this may be very pleasant or very terrific. nobody has ever escaped the omnibus journey. there is certainly a talk about one who was not allowed to go--they call him the wandering jew: he has to ride behind the omnibus. if he had been allowed to get in, he would have escaped the clutches of the poets. "just cast your mind's eye into that great omnibus. the society is mixed, for king and beggar, genius and idiot, sit side by side. they must go without their property and money; they have only the service-book and the gift out of the savings bank with them. but which of our deeds is selected and given to us? perhaps quite a little one, one that we have forgotten, but which has been recorded--small as a pea, but the pea can send out a blooming shoot. the poor bumpkin who sat on a low stool in the corner, and was jeered at and flouted, will perhaps have his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and the stool may become a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then as a throne, gleaming like gold and blooming as an arbor. he who always lounged about, and drank the spiced draught of pleasure, that he might forget the wild things he had done here, will have his barrel given to him on the journey, and will have to drink from it as they go on; and the drink is bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure, and all good and noble feelings are awakened, and he sees and feels what in life he could not or would not see; and then he has within him the punishment, the gnawing worm, which will not die through time incalculable. if on the glasses there stood written 'oblivion,' on the barrel 'remembrance' is inscribed. "when i read a good book, an historical work, i always think at last of the poetry of what i am reading, and of the omnibus of death, and wonder, which of the hero's deeds death took out of the savings bank for him, and what provisions he got on the journey into eternity. there was once a french king--i have forgotten his name, for the names of good people are sometimes forgotten, even by me, but it will come back some day;--there was a king who, during a famine, became the benefactor of his people; and the people raised up to his memory a monument of snow, with the inscription, 'quicker than this melts didst thou bring help!' i fancy that death, looking back upon the monument, gave him a single snow-flake as provision, a snow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his royal head, like a white butterfly, into the land of eternity. thus, too, there was louis xi. i have remembered his name, for one remembers what is bad--a trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and i wish one could say the story is not true. he had his lord high constable executed, and he could execute him, right or wrong; but he had the innocent children of the constable, one seven and the other eight years old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood of their father spurted over them, and then he had them sent to the bastille, and shut up in iron cages, where not even a coverlet was given them to protect them from the cold. and king louis sent the executioner to them every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head of each, that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the boys said, 'my mother would die of grief if she knew that my younger brother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pull out two of my teeth, and spare him.' the tears came into the hangman's eyes, but the king's will was stronger than the tears; and every week two little teeth were brought to him on a silver plate; he had demanded them, and he had them. i fancy that death took these two teeth out of the savings bank of life, and gave them to louis xi, to carry with him on the great journey into the land of immortality; they fly before him like two flames of fire; they shine and burn, and they bite him, the innocent children's teeth. "yes, that's a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the great moving-day! and when is it to be undertaken? that's just the serious part of it. any day, any hour, any minute, the omnibus may draw up. which of our deeds will death take out of the savings bank, and give to us as provision? let us think of the moving-day that is not marked in the calendar." our aunt you ought to have known our aunt; she was charming! that is to say, she was not charming at all as the word is usually understood; but she was good and kind, amusing in her way, and was just as any one ought to be whom people are to talk about and to laugh at. she might have been put into a play, and wholly and solely on account of the fact that she only lived for the theatre and for what was done there. she was an honorable matron; but agent fabs, whom she used to call "flabs," declared that our aunt was stage-struck. "the theatre is my school," said she, "the source of my knowledge. from thence i have resuscitated biblical history. now, 'moses' and 'joseph in egypt'--there are operas for you! i get my universal history from the theatre, my geography, and my knowledge of men. out of the french pieces i get to know life in paris--slippery, but exceedingly interesting. how i have cried over 'la famille roquebourg'--that the man must drink himself to death, so that she may marry the young fellow! yes, how many tears i have wept in the fifty years i have subscribed to the theatre!" our aunt knew every acting play, every bit of scenery, every character, every one who appeared or had appeared. she seemed really only to live during the nine months the theatre was open. summertime without a summer theatre seemed to be only a time that made her old; while, on the other hand, a theatrical evening that lasted till midnight was a lengthening of her life. she did not say, as other people do, "now we shall have spring, the stork is here," or, "they've advertised the first strawberries in the papers." she, on the contrary, used to announce the coming of autumn, with "have you heard they're selling boxes for the theatre? now the performances will begin." she used to value a lodging entirely according to its proximity to the theatre. it was a real sorrow to her when she had to leave the little lane behind the playhouse, and move into the great street that lay a little farther off, and live there in a house where she had no opposite neighbors. "at home," said she, "my windows must be my opera-box. one cannot sit and look into one's self till one's tired; one must see people. but now i live just as if i'd go into the country. if i want to see human beings, i must go into my kitchen, and sit down on the sink, for there only i have opposite neighbors. no; when i lived in my dear little lane, i could look straight down into the ironmonger's shop, and had only three hundred paces to the theatre; and now i've three thousand paces to go, military measurement." our aunt was sometimes ill, but however unwell she might feel, she never missed the play. the doctor prescribed one day that she should put her feet in a bran bath, and she followed his advice; but she drove to the theatre all the same, and sat with her feet in bran there. if she had died there, she would have been very glad. thorwaldsen died in the theatre, and she called that a happy death. she could not imagine but that in heaven there must be a theatre too. it had not, indeed, been promised us, but we might very well imagine it. the many distinguished actors and actresses who had passed away must surely have a field for their talent. our aunt had an electric wire from the theatre to her room. a telegram used to be dispatched to her at coffee-time, and it used to consist of the words, "herr sivertsen is at the machinery;" for it was he who gave the signal for drawing the curtain up and down and for changing the scenes. from him she used to receive a short and concise description of every piece. his opinion of shakspeare's "tempest," was, "mad nonsense! there's so much to put up, and the first scene begins with 'water to the front of the wings.'" that is to say, the water had to come forward so far. but when, on the other hand, the same interior scene remained through five acts, he used to pronounce it a sensible, well-written play, a resting play, which performed itself, without putting up scenes. in earlier times, by which name our aunt used to designate thirty years ago, she and the before-mentioned herr sivertsen had been younger. at that time he had already been connected with the machinery, and was, as she said, her benefactor. it used to be the custom in those days that in the evening performances in the only theatre the town possessed, spectators were admitted to the part called the "flies," over the stage, and every machinist had one or two places to give away. often the flies were quite full of good company; it was said that generals' wives and privy councillors' wives had been up there. it was quite interesting to look down behind the scenes, and to see how the people walked to and fro on the stage when the curtain was down. our aunt had been there several times, as well when there was a tragedy as when there was a ballet; for the pieces in which there were the greatest number of characters on the stage were the most interesting to see from the flies. one sat pretty much in the dark up there, and most people took their supper up with them. once three apples and a great piece of bread and butter and sausage fell down right into the dungeon of ugolino, where that unhappy man was to be starved to death; and there was great laughter among the audience. the sausage was one of the weightiest reasons why the worthy management refused in future to have any spectators up in the flies. "but i was there seven-and-thirty times," said our aunt, "and i shall always remember mr. sivertsen for that." on the very last evening when the flies were still open to the public, the "judgment of solomon" was performed, as our aunt remembered very well. she had, through the influence of her benefactor, herr sivertsen, procured a free admission for the agent fabs, although he did not deserve it in the least, for he was always cutting his jokes about the theatre and teasing our aunt; but she had procured him a free admission to the flies, for all that. he wanted to look at this player-stuff from the other side. "those were his own words, and they were just like him," said our aunt. he looked down from above on the 'judgment of solomon,' and fell asleep over it. one would have thought that he had come from a dinner where many toasts had been given. he went to sleep, and was locked in. and there he sat through the dark night in the flies, and when he woke, he told a story, but our aunt would not believe it. "the 'judgment of solomon' was over," he said, "and all the people had gone away, up stairs and down stairs; but now the real play began, the after-piece, which was the best of all," said the agent. "then life came into the affair. it was not the 'judgment of solomon' that was performed; no, a real court of judgment was held upon the stage." and agent fabs had the impudence to try and make our aunt believe all this. that was the thanks she got for having got him a place in the flies. what did the agent say? why, it was curious enough to hear, but there was malice and satire in it. "it looked dark enough up there," said the agent; "but then the magic business began--a great performance, 'the judgment in the theatre.' the box-keepers were at their posts, and every spectator had to show his ghostly pass-book, that it might be decided if he was to be admitted with hands loose or bound, and with or without a muzzle. grand people who came too late, when the performance had begun, and young people, who could not always watch the time, were tied up outside, and had list slippers put on their feet, with which they were allowed to go in before the beginning of the next act, and they had muzzles too. and then the 'judgment on the stage' began." "all malice, and not a bit of truth in it," said our aunt. the painter, who wanted to get to paradise, had to go up a staircase which he had himself painted, but which no man could mount. that was to expiate his sins against perspective. all the plants and buildings, which the property-man had placed, with infinite pains, in countries to which they did not belong, the poor fellow was obliged to put in their right places before cockcrow, if he wanted to get into paradise. let herr fabs see how he would get in himself; but what he said of the performers, tragedians and comedians, singers and dancers, that was the most rascally of all. mr. fabs, indeed!--flabs! he did not deserve to be admitted at all, and our aunt would not soil her lips with what he said. and he said, did flabs, that the whole was written down, and it should be printed when he was dead and buried, but not before, for he would not risk having his arms and legs broken. once our aunt had been in fear and trembling in her temple of happiness, the theatre. it was on a winter day, one of those days in which one has a couple of hours of daylight, with a gray sky. it was terribly cold and snowy, but aunt must go to the theatre. a little opera and a great ballet were performed, and a prologue and an epilogue into the bargain; and that would last till late at night. our aunt must needs go; so she borrowed a pair of fur boots of her lodger--boots with fur inside and out, and which reached far up her legs. she got to the theatre, and to her box; the boots were warm, and she kept them on. suddenly there was a cry of "fire!" smoke was coming from one of the side scenes, and streamed down from the flies, and there was a terrible panic. the people came rushing out, and our aunt was the last in the box, "on the second tier, left-hand side, for from there the scenery looks best," she used to say. "the scenes are always arranged that they look best from the king's side." aunt wanted to come out, but the people before her, in their fright and heedlessness, slammed the door of the box; and there sat our aunt, and couldn't get out, and couldn't get in; that is to say, she couldn't get into the next box, for the partition was too high for her. she called out, and no one heard her; she looked down into the tier of boxes below her, and it was empty, and low, and looked quite near, and aunt in her terror felt quite young and light. she thought of jumping down, and had got one leg over the partition, the other resting on the bench. there she sat astride, as if on horseback, well wrapped up in her flowered cloak with one leg hanging out--a leg in a tremendous fur boot. that was a sight to behold; and when it was beheld, our aunt was heard too, and was saved from burning, for the theatre was not burned down. that was the most memorable evening of her life, and she was glad that she could not see herself, for she would have died with confusion. her benefactor in the machinery department, herr sivertsen, visited her every sunday, but it was a long time from sunday to sunday. in the latter time, therefore, she used to have in a little child "for the scraps;" that is to say, to eat up the remains of the dinner. it was a child employed in the ballet, one that certainly wanted feeding. the little one used to appear, sometimes as an elf, sometimes as a page; the most difficult part she had to play was the lion's hind leg in the "magic flute;" but as she grew larger she could represent the fore-feet of the lion. she certainly only got half a guilder for that, whereas the hind legs were paid for with a whole guilder; but then she had to walk bent, and to do without fresh air. "that was all very interesting to hear," said our aunt. she deserved to live as long as the theatre stood, but she could not last so long; and she did not die in the theatre, but respectably in her bed. her last words were, moreover, not without meaning. she asked, "what will the play be to-morrow?" at her death she left about five hundred dollars. we presume this from the interest, which came to twenty dollars. this our aunt had destined as a legacy for a worthy old spinster who had no friends; it was to be devoted to a yearly subscription for a place in the second tier, on the left side, for the saturday evening, "for on that evening two pieces were always given," it said in the will; and the only condition laid upon the person who enjoyed the legacy was, that she should think, every saturday evening, of our aunt, who was lying in her grave. this was our aunt's religion. the garden of paradise there was once a king's son who had a larger and more beautiful collection of books than any one else in the world, and full of splendid copper-plate engravings. he could read and obtain information respecting every people of every land; but not a word could he find to explain the situation of the garden of paradise, and this was just what he most wished to know. his grandmother had told him when he was quite a little boy, just old enough to go to school, that each flower in the garden of paradise was a sweet cake, that the pistils were full of rich wine, that on one flower history was written, on another geography or tables; so those who wished to learn their lessons had only to eat some of the cakes, and the more they ate, the more history, geography, or tables they knew. he believed it all then; but as he grew older, and learnt more and more, he became wise enough to understand that the splendor of the garden of paradise must be very different to all this. "oh, why did eve pluck the fruit from the tree of knowledge? why did adam eat the forbidden fruit?" thought the king's son: "if i had been there it would never have happened, and there would have been no sin in the world." the garden of paradise occupied all his thoughts till he reached his seventeenth year. one day he was walking alone in the wood, which was his greatest pleasure, when evening came on. the clouds gathered, and the rain poured down as if the sky had been a waterspout; and it was as dark as the bottom of a well at midnight; sometimes he slipped over the smooth grass, or fell over stones that projected out of the rocky ground. every thing was dripping with moisture, and the poor prince had not a dry thread about him. he was obliged at last to climb over great blocks of stone, with water spurting from the thick moss. he began to feel quite faint, when he heard a most singular rushing noise, and saw before him a large cave, from which came a blaze of light. in the middle of the cave an immense fire was burning, and a noble stag, with its branching horns, was placed on a spit between the trunks of two pine-trees. it was turning slowly before the fire, and an elderly woman, as large and strong as if she had been a man in disguise, sat by, throwing one piece of wood after another into the flames. "come in," she said to the prince; "sit down by the fire and dry yourself." "there is a great draught here," said the prince, as he seated himself on the ground. "it will be worse when my sons come home," replied the woman; "you are now in the cavern of the winds, and my sons are the four winds of heaven: can you understand that?" "where are your sons?" asked the prince. "it is difficult to answer stupid questions," said the woman. "my sons have plenty of business on hand; they are playing at shuttlecock with the clouds up yonder in the king's hall," and she pointed upwards. "oh, indeed," said the prince; "but you speak more roughly and harshly and are not so gentle as the women i am used to." "yes, that is because they have nothing else to do; but i am obliged to be harsh, to keep my boys in order, and i can do it, although they are so head-strong. do you see those four sacks hanging on the wall? well, they are just as much afraid of those sacks, as you used to be of the rat behind the looking-glass. i can bend the boys together, and put them in the sacks without any resistance on their parts, i can tell you. there they stay, and dare not attempt to come out until i allow them to do so. and here comes one of them." it was the north wind who came in, bringing with him a cold, piercing blast; large hailstones rattled on the floor, and snowflakes were scattered around in all directions. he wore a bearskin dress and cloak. his sealskin cap was drawn over his ears, long icicles hung from his beard, and one hailstone after another rolled from the collar of his jacket. "don't go too near the fire," said the prince, "or your hands and face will be frost-bitten." "frost-bitten!" said the north wind, with a loud laugh; "why frost is my greatest delight. what sort of a little snip are you, and how did you find your way to the cavern of the winds?" "he is my guest," said the old woman, "and if you are not satisfied with that explanation you can go into the sack. do you understand me?" that settled the matter. so the north wind began to relate his adventures, whence he came, and where he had been for a whole month. "i come from the polar seas," he said; "i have been on the bear's island with the russian walrus-hunters. i sat and slept at the helm of their ship, as they sailed away from north cape. sometimes when i woke, the storm-birds would fly about my legs. they are curious birds; they give one flap with their wings, and then on their outstretched pinions soar far away. "don't make such a long story of it," said the mother of the winds; "what sort of a place is bear's island?" "a very beautiful place, with a floor for dancing as smooth and flat as a plate. half-melted snow, partly covered with moss, sharp stones, and skeletons of walruses and polar-bears, lie all about, their gigantic limbs in a state of green decay. it would seem as if the sun never shone there. i blew gently, to clear away the mist, and then i saw a little hut, which had been built from the wood of a wreck, and was covered with the skins of the walrus, the fleshy side outwards; it looked green and red, and on the roof sat a growling bear. then i went to the sea shore, to look after birds' nests, and saw the unfledged nestlings opening their mouths and screaming for food. i blew into the thousand little throats, and quickly stopped their screaming. farther on were the walruses with pig's heads, and teeth a yard long, rolling about like great worms. "you relate your adventures very well, my son," said the mother, "it makes my mouth water to hear you. "after that," continued the north wind, "the hunting commenced. the harpoon was flung into the breast of the walrus, so that a smoking stream of blood spurted forth like a fountain, and besprinkled the ice. then i thought of my own game; i began to blow, and set my own ships, the great icebergs sailing, so that they might crush the boats. oh, how the sailors howled and cried out! but i howled louder than they. they were obliged to unload their cargo, and throw their chests and the dead walruses on the ice. then i sprinkled snow over them, and left them in their crushed boats to drift southward, and to taste salt water. they will never return to bear's island." "so you have done mischief," said the mother of the winds. "i shall leave others to tell the good i have done," he replied. "but here comes my brother from the west; i like him best of all, for he has the smell of the sea about him, and brings in a cold, fresh air as he enters." "is that the little zephyr?" asked the prince. "yes, it is the little zephyr," said the old woman; "but he is not little now. in years gone by he was a beautiful boy; now that is all past." he came in, looking like a wild man, and he wore a slouched hat to protect his head from injury. in his hand he carried a club, cut from a mahogany tree in the american forests, not a trifle to carry. "whence do you come?" asked the mother. "i come from the wilds of the forests, where the thorny brambles form thick hedges between the trees; where the water-snake lies in the wet grass, and mankind seem to be unknown." "what were you doing there?" "i looked into the deep river, and saw it rushing down from the rocks. the water drops mounted to the clouds and glittered in the rainbow. i saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but the strong tide carried him away amidst a flock of wild ducks, which flew into the air as the waters dashed onwards, leaving the buffalo to be hurled over the waterfall. this pleased me; so i raised a storm, which rooted up old trees, and sent them floating down the river." "and what else have you done?" asked the old woman. "i have rushed wildly across the savannahs; i have stroked the wild horses, and shaken the cocoa-nuts from the trees. yes, i have many stories to relate; but i need not tell everything i know. you know it all very well, don't you, old lady?" and he kissed his mother so roughly, that she nearly fell backwards. oh, he was, indeed, a wild fellow. now in came the south wind, with a turban and a flowing bedouin cloak. "how cold it is here!" said he, throwing more wood on the fire. "it is easy to feel that the north wind has arrived here before me." "why it is hot enough here to roast a bear," said the north wind. "you are a bear yourself," said the other. "do you want to be put in the sack, both of you?" said the old woman. "sit down, now, on that stone, yonder, and tell me where you have been." "in africa, mother. i went out with the hottentots, who were lion-hunting in the kaffir land, where the plains are covered with grass the color of a green olive; and here i ran races with the ostrich, but i soon outstripped him in swiftness. at last i came to the desert, in which lie the golden sands, looking like the bottom of the sea. here i met a caravan, and the travellers had just killed their last camel, to obtain water; there was very little for them, and they continued their painful journey beneath the burning sun, and over the hot sands, which stretched before them a vast, boundless desert. then i rolled myself in the loose sand, and whirled it in burning columns over their heads. the dromedarys stood still in terror, while the merchants drew their caftans over their heads, and threw themselves on the ground before me, as they do before allah, their god. then i buried them beneath a pyramid of sand, which covers them all. when i blow that away on my next visit, the sun will bleach their bones, and travellers will see that others have been there before them; otherwise, in such a wild desert, they might not believe it possible." "so you have done nothing but evil," said the mother. "into the sack with you;" and, before he was aware, she had seized the south wind round the body, and popped him into the bag. he rolled about on the floor, till she sat herself upon him to keep him still. "these boys of yours are very lively," said the prince. "yes," she replied, "but i know how to correct them, when necessary; and here comes the fourth." in came the east wind, dressed like a chinese. "oh, you come from that quarter, do you?" said she; "i thought you had been to the garden of paradise." "i am going there to-morrow," he replied; "i have not been there for a hundred years. i have just come from china, where i danced round the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled again. in the streets an official flogging was taking place, and bamboo canes were being broken on the shoulders of men of every high position, from the first to the ninth grade. they cried, 'many thanks, my fatherly benefactor;' but i am sure the words did not come from their hearts, so i rang the bells till they sounded, 'ding, ding-dong.'" "you are a wild boy," said the old woman; "it is well for you that you are going to-morrow to the garden of paradise; you always get improved in your education there. drink deeply from the fountain of wisdom while you are there, and bring home a bottleful for me." "that i will," said the east wind; "but why have you put my brother south in a bag? let him out; for i want him to tell me about the phoenix-bird. the princess always wants to hear of this bird when i pay her my visit every hundred years. if you will open the sack, sweetest mother, i will give you two pocketfuls of tea, green and fresh as when i gathered it from the spot where it grew." "well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my own boy, i will open the bag." she did so, and the south wind crept out, looking quite cast down, because the prince had seen his disgrace. "there is a palm-leaf for the princess," he said. "the old phoenix, the only one in the world, gave it to me himself. he has scratched on it with his beak the whole of his history during the hundred years he has lived. she can there read how the old phoenix set fire to his own nest, and sat upon it while it was burning, like a hindoo widow. the dry twigs around the nest crackled and smoked till the flames burst forth and consumed the phoenix to ashes. amidst the fire lay an egg, red hot, which presently burst with a loud report, and out flew a young bird. he is the only phoenix in the world, and the king over all the other birds. he has bitten a hole in the leaf which i give you, and that is his greeting to the princess." "now let us have something to eat," said the mother of the winds. so they all sat down to feast on the roasted stag; and as the prince sat by the side of the east wind, they soon became good friends. "pray tell me," said the prince, "who is that princess of whom you have been talking! and where lies the garden of paradise?" "ho! ho!" said the east wind, "would you like to go there? well, you can fly off with me to-morrow; but i must tell you one thing--no human being has been there since the time of adam and eve. i suppose you have read of them in your bible." "of course i have," said the prince. "well," continued the east wind, "when they were driven out of the garden of paradise, it sunk into the earth; but it retained its warm sunshine, its balmy air, and all its splendor. the fairy queen lives there, in the island of happiness, where death never comes, and all is beautiful. i can manage to take you there to-morrow, if you will sit on my back. but now don't talk any more, for i want to go to sleep;" and then they all slept. when the prince awoke in the early morning, he was not a little surprised at finding himself high up above the clouds. he was seated on the back of the east wind, who held him faithfully; and they were so high in the air that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, as they lay beneath them, looked like a painted map. "good morning," said the east wind. "you might have slept on a while; for there is very little to see in the flat country over which we are passing unless you like to count the churches; they look like spots of chalk on a green board." the green board was the name he gave to the green fields and meadows. "it was very rude of me not to say good-bye to your mother and your brothers," said the prince. "they will excuse you, as you were asleep," said the east wind; and then they flew on faster than ever. the leaves and branches of the trees rustled as they passed. when they flew over seas and lakes, the waves rose higher, and the large ships dipped into the water like diving swans. as darkness came on, towards evening, the great towns looked charming; lights were sparkling, now seen now hidden, just as the sparks go out one after another on a piece of burnt paper. the prince clapped his hands with pleasure; but the east wind advised him not to express his admiration in that manner, or he might fall down, and find himself hanging on a church steeple. the eagle in the dark forests flies swiftly; but faster than he flew the east wind. the cossack, on his small horse, rides lightly o'er the plains; but lighter still passed the prince on the winds of the wind. "there are the himalayas, the highest mountains in asia," said the east wind. "we shall soon reach the garden of paradise now." then, they turned southward, and the air became fragrant with the perfume of spices and flowers. here figs and pomegranates grew wild, and the vines were covered with clusters of blue and purple grapes. here they both descended to the earth, and stretched themselves on the soft grass, while the flowers bowed to the breath of the wind as if to welcome it. "are we now in the garden of paradise?" asked the prince. "no, indeed," replied the east wind; "but we shall be there very soon. do you see that wall of rocks, and the cavern beneath it, over which the grape vines hang like a green curtain? through that cavern we must pass. wrap your cloak round you; for while the sun scorches you here, a few steps farther it will be icy cold. the bird flying past the entrance to the cavern feels as if one wing were in the region of summer, and the other in the depths of winter." "so this then is the way to the garden of paradise?" asked the prince, as they entered the cavern. it was indeed cold; but the cold soon passed, for the east wind spread his wings, and they gleamed like the brightest fire. as they passed on through this wonderful cave, the prince could see great blocks of stone, from which water trickled, hanging over their heads in fantastic shapes. sometimes it was so narrow that they had to creep on their hands and knees, while at other times it was lofty and wide, like the free air. it had the appearance of a chapel for the dead, with petrified organs and silent pipes. "we seem to be passing through the valley of death to the garden of paradise," said the prince. but the east wind answered not a word, only pointed forwards to a lovely blue light which gleamed in the distance. the blocks of stone assumed a misty appearance, till at last they looked like white clouds in moonlight. the air was fresh and balmy, like a breeze from the mountains perfumed with flowers from a valley of roses. a river, clear as the air itself, sparkled at their feet, while in its clear depths could be seen gold and silver fish sporting in the bright water, and purple eels emitting sparks of fire at every moment, while the broad leaves of the water-lilies, that floated on its surface, flickered with all the colors of the rainbow. the flower in its color of flame seemed to receive its nourishment from the water, as a lamp is sustained by oil. a marble bridge, of such exquisite workmanship that it appeared as if formed of lace and pearls, led to the island of happiness, in which bloomed the garden of paradise. the east wind took the prince in his arms, and carried him over, while the flowers and the leaves sang the sweet songs of his childhood in tones so full and soft that no human voice could venture to imitate. within the garden grew large trees, full of sap; but whether they were palm-trees or gigantic water-plants, the prince knew not. the climbing plants hung in garlands of green and gold, like the illuminations on the margins of old missals or twined among the initial letters. birds, flowers, and festoons appeared intermingled in seeming confusion. close by, on the grass, stood a group of peacocks, with radiant tails outspread to the sun. the prince touched them, and found, to his surprise, that they were not really birds, but the leaves of the burdock tree, which shone with the colors of a peacock's tail. the lion and the tiger, gentle and tame, were springing about like playful cats among the green bushes, whose perfume was like the fragrant blossom of the olive. the plumage of the wood-pigeon glistened like pearls as it struck the lion's mane with its wings; while the antelope, usually so shy, stood near, nodding its head as if it wished to join in the frolic. the fairy of paradise next made her appearance. her raiment shone like the sun, and her serene countenance beamed with happiness like that of a mother rejoicing over her child. she was young and beautiful, and a train of lovely maidens followed her, each wearing a bright star in her hair. the east wind gave her the palm-leaf, on which was written the history of the phoenix; and her eyes sparkled with joy. she then took the prince by the hand, and led him into her palace, the walls of which were richly colored, like a tulip-leaf when it is turned to the sun. the roof had the appearance of an inverted flower, and the colors grew deeper and brighter to the gazer. the prince walked to a window, and saw what appeared to be the tree of knowledge of good and evil, with adam and eve standing by, and the serpent near them. "i thought they were banished from paradise," he said. the princess smiled, and told him that time had engraved each event on a window-pane in the form of a picture; but, unlike other pictures, all that it represented lived and moved,--the leaves rustled, and the persons went and came, as in a looking-glass. he looked through another pane, and saw the ladder in jacob's dream, on which the angels were ascending and descending with outspread wings. all that had ever happened in the world here lived and moved on the panes of glass, in pictures such as time alone could produce. the fairy now led the prince into a large, lofty room with transparent walls, through which the light shone. here were portraits, each one appearing more beautiful than the other--millions of happy beings, whose laughter and song mingled in one sweet melody: some of these were in such an elevated position that they appeared smaller than the smallest rosebud, or like pencil dots on paper. in the centre of the hall stood a tree, with drooping branches, from which hung golden apples, both great and small, looking like oranges amid the green leaves. it was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, from which adam and eve had plucked and eaten the forbidden fruit, and from each leaf trickled a bright red dewdrop, as if the tree were weeping tears of blood for their sin. "let us now take the boat," said the fairy: "a sail on the cool waters will refresh us. but we shall not move from the spot, although the boat may rock on the swelling water; the countries of the world will glide before us, but we shall remain still." it was indeed wonderful to behold. first came the lofty alps, snow-clad, and covered with clouds and dark pines. the horn resounded, and the shepherds sang merrily in the valleys. the banana-trees bent their drooping branches over the boat, black swans floated on the water, and singular animals and flowers appeared on the distant shore. new holland, the fifth division of the world, now glided by, with mountains in the background, looking blue in the distance. they heard the song of the priests, and saw the wild dance of the savage to the sound of the drums and trumpets of bone; the pyramids of egypt rising to the clouds; columns and sphinxes, overthrown and buried in the sand, followed in their turn; while the northern lights flashed out over the extinguished volcanoes of the north, in fireworks none could imitate. the prince was delighted, and yet he saw hundreds of other wonderful things more than can be described. "can i stay here forever?" asked he. "that depends upon yourself," replied the fairy. "if you do not, like adam, long for what is forbidden, you can remain here always." "i should not touch the fruit on the tree of knowledge," said the prince; "there is abundance of fruit equally beautiful." "examine your own heart," said the princess, "and if you do not feel sure of its strength, return with the east wind who brought you. he is about to fly back, and will not return here for a hundred years. the time will not seem to you more than a hundred hours, yet even that is a long time for temptation and resistance. every evening, when i leave you, i shall be obliged to say, 'come with me,' and to beckon to you with my hand. but you must not listen, nor move from your place to follow me; for with every step you will find your power to resist weaker. if once you attempted to follow me, you would soon find yourself in the hall, where grows the tree of knowledge, for i sleep beneath its perfumed branches. if you stooped over me, i should be forced to smile. if you then kissed my lips, the garden of paradise would sink into the earth, and to you it would be lost. a keen wind from the desert would howl around you; cold rain fall on your head, and sorrow and woe be your future lot." "i will remain," said the prince. so the east wind kissed him on the forehead, and said, "be firm; then shall we meet again when a hundred years have passed. farewell, farewell." then the east wind spread his broad pinions, which shone like the lightning in harvest, or as the northern lights in a cold winter. "farewell, farewell," echoed the trees and the flowers. storks and pelicans flew after him in feathery bands, to accompany him to the boundaries of the garden. "now we will commence dancing," said the fairy; "and when it is nearly over at sunset, while i am dancing with you, i shall make a sign, and ask you to follow me: but do not obey. i shall be obliged to repeat the same thing for a hundred years; and each time, when the trial is past, if you resist, you will gain strength, till resistance becomes easy, and at last the temptation will be quite overcome. this evening, as it will be the first time, i have warned you." after this the fairy led him into a large hall, filled with transparent lilies. the yellow stamina of each flower formed a tiny golden harp, from which came forth strains of music like the mingled tones of flute and lyre. beautiful maidens, slender and graceful in form, and robed in transparent gauze, floated through the dance, and sang of the happy life in the garden of paradise, where death never entered, and where all would bloom forever in immortal youth. as the sun went down, the whole heavens became crimson and gold, and tinted the lilies with the hue of roses. then the beautiful maidens offered to the prince sparkling wine; and when he had drank, he felt happiness greater than he had ever known before. presently the background of the hall opened and the tree of knowledge appeared, surrounded by a halo of glory that almost blinded him. voices, soft and lovely as his mother's sounded in his ears, as if she were singing to him, "my child, my beloved child." then the fairy beckoned to him, and said in sweet accents, "come with me, come with me." forgetting his promise, forgetting it even on the very first evening, he rushed towards her, while she continued to beckon to him and to smile. the fragrance around him overpowered his senses, the music from the harps sounded more entrancing, while around the tree appeared millions of smiling faces, nodding and singing. "man should know everything; man is the lord of the earth." the tree of knowledge no longer wept tears of blood, for the dewdrops shone like glittering stars. "come, come," continued that thrilling voice, and the prince followed the call. at every step his cheeks glowed, and the blood rushed wildly through his veins. "i must follow," he cried; "it is not a sin, it cannot be, to follow beauty and joy. i only want to see her sleep, and nothing will happen unless i kiss her, and that i will not do, for i have strength to resist, and a determined will." the fairy threw off her dazzling attire, bent back the boughs, and in another moment was hidden among them. "i have not sinned yet," said the prince, "and i will not;" and then he pushed aside the boughs to follow the princess. she was lying already asleep, beautiful as only a fairy in the garden of paradise could be. she smiled as he bent over her, and he saw tears trembling out of her beautiful eyelashes. "do you weep for me?" he whispered. "oh weep not, thou loveliest of women. now do i begin to understand the happiness of paradise; i feel it to my inmost soul, in every thought. a new life is born within me. one moment of such happiness is worth an eternity of darkness and woe." he stooped and kissed the tears from her eyes, and touched her lips with his. a clap of thunder, loud and awful, resounded through the trembling air. all around him fell into ruin. the lovely fairy, the beautiful garden, sunk deeper and deeper. the prince saw it sinking down in the dark night till it shone only like a star in the distance beneath him. then he felt a coldness, like death, creeping over him; his eyes closed, and he became insensible. when he recovered, a chilling rain was beating upon him, and a sharp wind blew on his head. "alas! what have i done?" he sighed; "i have sinned like adam, and the garden of paradise has sunk into the earth." he opened his eyes, and saw the star in the distance, but it was the morning star in heaven which glittered in the darkness. presently he stood up and found himself in the depths of the forest, close to the cavern of the winds, and the mother of the winds sat by his side. she looked angry, and raised her arm in the air as she spoke. "the very first evening!" she said. "well, i expected it! if you were my son, you should go into the sack." "and there he will have to go at last," said a strong old man, with large black wings, and a scythe in his hand, whose name was death. "he shall be laid in his coffin, but not yet. i will allow him to wander about the world for a while, to atone for his sin, and to give him time to become better. but i shall return when he least expects me. i shall lay him in a black coffin, place it on my head, and fly away with it beyond the stars. there also blooms a garden of paradise, and if he is good and pious he will be admitted; but if his thoughts are bad, and his heart is full of sin, he will sink with his coffin deeper than the garden of paradise has sunk. once in every thousand years i shall go and fetch him, when he will either be condemned to sink still deeper, or be raised to a happier life in the world beyond the stars." the pea blossom there were once five peas in one shell, they were green, the shell was green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green also, which was a very natural conclusion. the shell grew, and the peas grew, they accommodated themselves to their position, and sat all in a row. the sun shone without and warmed the shell, and the rain made it clear and transparent; it was mild and agreeable in broad daylight, and dark at night, as it generally is; and the peas as they sat there grew bigger and bigger, and more thoughtful as they mused, for they felt there must be something else for them to do. "are we to sit here forever?" asked one; "shall we not become hard by sitting so long? it seems to me there must be something outside, and i feel sure of it." and as weeks passed by, the peas became yellow, and the shell became yellow. "all the world is turning yellow, i suppose," said they,--and perhaps they were right. suddenly they felt a pull at the shell; it was torn off, and held in human hands, then slipped into the pocket of a jacket in company with other full pods. "now we shall soon be opened," said one,--just what they all wanted. "i should like to know which of us will travel furthest," said the smallest of the five; "we shall soon see now." "what is to happen will happen," said the largest pea. "crack" went the shell as it burst, and the five peas rolled out into the bright sunshine. there they lay in a child's hand. a little boy was holding them tightly, and said they were fine peas for his pea-shooter. and immediately he put one in and shot it out. "now i am flying out into the wide world," said he; "catch me if you can;" and he was gone in a moment. "i," said the second, "intend to fly straight to the sun, that is a shell that lets itself be seen, and it will suit me exactly;" and away he went. "we will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves," said the two next, "we shall still be rolling onwards;" and they did certainly fall on the floor, and roll about before they got into the pea-shooter; but they were put in for all that. "we shall go farther than the others," said they. "what is to happen will happen," exclaimed the last, as he was shot out of the pea-shooter; and as he spoke he flew up against an old board under a garret-window, and fell into a little crevice, which was almost filled up with moss and soft earth. the moss closed itself round him, and there he lay, a captive indeed, but not unnoticed by god. "what is to happen will happen," said he to himself. within the little garret lived a poor woman, who went out to clean stoves, chop wood into small pieces and perform such-like hard work, for she was strong and industrious. yet she remained always poor, and at home in the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up, and very delicate and weak. for a whole year she had kept her bed, and it seemed as if she could neither live nor die. "she is going to her little sister," said the woman; "i had but the two children, and it was not an easy thing to support both of them; but the good god helped me in my work, and took one of them to himself and provided for her. now i would gladly keep the other that was left to me, but i suppose they are not to be separated, and my sick girl will very soon go to her sister above." but the sick girl still remained where she was, quietly and patiently she lay all the day long, while her mother was away from home at her work. spring came, and one morning early the sun shone brightly through the little window, and threw its rays over the floor of the room. just as the mother was going to her work, the sick girl fixed her gaze on the lowest pane of the window--"mother," she exclaimed, "what can that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? it is moving in the wind." the mother stepped to the window and half opened it. "oh!" she said, "there is actually a little pea which has taken root and is putting out its green leaves. how could it have got into this crack? well now, here is a little garden for you to amuse yourself with." so the bed of the sick girl was drawn nearer to the window, that she might see the budding plant; and the mother went out to her work. "mother, i believe i shall get well," said the sick child in the evening, "the sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day, and the little pea is thriving so well: i shall get on better, too, and go out into the warm sunshine again." "god grant it!" said the mother, but she did not believe it would be so. but she propped up with the little stick the green plant which had given her child such pleasant hopes of life, so that it might not be broken by the winds; she tied the piece of string to the window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that the pea-tendrils might twine round it when it shot up. and it did shoot up, indeed it might almost be seen to grow from day to day. "now really here is a flower coming," said the old woman one morning, and now at last she began to encourage the hope that her sick daughter might really recover. she remembered that for some time the child had spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days had raised herself in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes at her little garden which contained only a single pea-plant. a week after, the invalid sat up for the first time a whole hour, feeling quite happy by the open window in the warm sunshine, while outside grew the little plant, and on it a pink pea-blossom in full bloom. the little maiden bent down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. this day was to her like a festival. "our heavenly father himself has planted that pea, and made it grow and flourish, to bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessed child," said the happy mother, and she smiled at the flower, as if it had been an angel from god. but what became of the other peas? why the one who flew out into the wide world, and said, "catch me if you can," fell into a gutter on the roof of a house, and ended his travels in the crop of a pigeon. the two lazy ones were carried quite as far, for they also were eaten by pigeons, so they were at least of some use; but the fourth, who wanted to reach the sun, fell into a sink and lay there in the dirty water for days and weeks, till he had swelled to a great size. "i am getting beautifully fat," said the pea, "i expect i shall burst at last; no pea could do more that that, i think; i am the most remarkable of all the five which were in the shell." and the sink confirmed the opinion. but the young maiden stood at the open garret window, with sparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks, she folded her thin hands over the pea-blossom, and thanked god for what he had done. "i," said the sink, "shall stand up for my pea." the pen and the inkstand in a poet's room, where his inkstand stood on the table, the remark was once made, "it is wonderful what can be brought out of an inkstand. what will come next? it is indeed wonderful." "yes, certainly," said the inkstand to the pen, and to the other articles that stood on the table; "that's what i always say. it is wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me. it's quite incredible, and i really don't know what is coming next when that man dips his pen into me. one drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper, and what cannot half a page contain? from me, all the works of a poet are produced; all those imaginary characters whom people fancy they have known or met. all the deep feeling, the humor, and the vivid pictures of nature. i myself don't understand how it is, for i am not acquainted with nature, but it is certainly in me. from me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions of troops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds; of the halt and the blind, and i know not what more, for i assure you i never think of these things." "there you are right," said the pen, "for you don't think at all; if you did, you would see that you can only provide the means. you give the fluid that i may place upon the paper what dwells in me, and what i wish to bring to light. it is the pen that writes: no man doubts that; and, indeed, most people understand as much about poetry as an old inkstand." "you have had very little experience," replied the inkstand. "you have hardly been in service a week, and are already half worn out. do you imagine you are a poet? you are only a servant, and before you came i had many like you, some of the goose family, and others of english manufacture. i know a quill pen as well as i know a steel one. i have had both sorts in my service, and i shall have many more when he comes--the man who performs the mechanical part--and writes down what he obtains from me. i should like to know what will be the next thing he gets out of me." "inkpot!" exclaimed the pen contemptuously. late in the evening the poet came home. he had been to a concert, and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performance of a famous violin player whom he had heard there. the performer had produced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes sounded like tinkling waterdrops or rolling pearls; sometimes like the birds twittering in chorus, and then rising and swelling in sound like the wind through the fir-trees. the poet felt as if his own heart were weeping, but in tones of melody like the sound of a woman's voice. it seemed not only the strings, but every part of the instrument from which these sounds were produced. it was a wonderful performance and a difficult piece, and yet the bow seemed to glide across the strings so easily that it was as if any one could do it who tried. even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independently of their master who guided them; it was as if soul and spirit had been breathed into the instrument, so the audience forgot the performer in the beautiful sounds he produced. not so the poet; he remembered him, and named him, and wrote down his thoughts on the subject. "how foolish it would be for the violin and the bow to boast of their performance, and yet we men often commit that folly. the poet, the artist, the man of science in his laboratory, the general,--we all do it; and yet we are only the instruments which the almighty uses; to him alone the honor is due. we have nothing of ourselves of which we should be proud." yes, this is what the poet wrote down. he wrote it in the form of a parable, and called it "the master and the instruments." "that is what you have got, madam," said the pen to the inkstand, when the two were alone again. "did you hear him read aloud what i had written down?" "yes, what i gave you to write," retorted the inkstand. "that was a cut at you because of your conceit. to think that you could not understand that you were being quizzed. i gave you a cut from within me. surely i must know my own satire." "ink-pitcher!" cried the pen. "writing-stick!" retorted the inkstand. and each of them felt satisfied that he had given a good answer. it is pleasing to be convinced that you have settled a matter by your reply; it is something to make you sleep well, and they both slept well upon it. but the poet did not sleep. thoughts rose up within him like the tones of the violin, falling like pearls, or rushing like the strong wind through the forest. he understood his own heart in these thoughts; they were as a ray from the mind of the great master of all minds. "to him be all the honor." the philosopher's stone far away towards the east, in india, which seemed in those days the world's end, stood the tree of the sun; a noble tree, such as we have never seen, and perhaps never may see. the summit of this tree spread itself for miles like an entire forest, each of its smaller branches forming a complete tree. palms, beech-trees, pines, plane-trees, and various other kinds, which are found in all parts of the world, were here like small branches, shooting forth from the great tree; while the larger boughs, with their knots and curves, formed valleys and hills, clothed with velvety green and covered with flowers. everywhere it was like a blooming meadow or a lovely garden. here were birds from all quarters of the world assembled together; birds from the primeval forests of america, from the rose gardens of damascus, and from the deserts of africa, in which the elephant and the lion may boast of being the only rulers. birds from the polar regions came flying here, and of course the stork and the swallow were not absent. but the birds were not the only living creatures. there were stags, squirrels, antelopes, and hundreds of other beautiful and light-footed animals here found a home. the summit of the tree was a wide-spreading garden, and in the midst of it, where the green boughs formed a kind of hill, stood a castle of crystal, with a view from it towards every quarter of heaven. each tower was erected in the form of a lily, and within the stern was a winding staircase, through which one could ascend to the top and step out upon the leaves as upon balconies. the calyx of the flower itself formed a most beautiful, glittering, circular hall, above which no other roof arose than the blue firmament and the sun and stars. just as much splendor, but of another kind, appeared below, in the wide halls of the castle. here, on the walls, were reflected pictures of the world, which represented numerous and varied scenes of everything that took place daily, so that it was useless to read the newspapers, and indeed there were none to be obtained in this spot. all was to be seen in living pictures by those who wished it, but all would have been too much for even the wisest man, and this man dwelt here. his name is very difficult; you would not be able to pronounce it, so it may be omitted. he knew everything that a man on earth can know or imagine. every invention already in existence or yet to be, was known to him, and much more; still everything on earth has a limit. the wise king solomon was not half so wise as this man. he could govern the powers of nature and held sway over potent spirits; even death itself was obliged to give him every morning a list of those who were to die during the day. and king solomon himself had to die at last, and this fact it was which so often occupied the thoughts of this great man in the castle on the tree of the sun. he knew that he also, however high he might tower above other men in wisdom, must one day die. he knew that his children would fade away like the leaves of the forest and become dust. he saw the human race wither and fall like leaves from the tree; he saw new men come to fill their places, but the leaves that fell off never sprouted forth again; they crumbled to dust or were absorbed into other plants. "what happens to man," asked the wise man of himself, "when touched by the angel of death? what can death be? the body decays, and the soul. yes; what is the soul, and whither does it go?" "to eternal life," says the comforting voice of religion. "but what is this change? where and how shall we exist?" "above; in heaven," answers the pious man; "it is there we hope to go." "above!" repeated the wise man, fixing his eyes upon the moon and stars above him. he saw that to this earthly sphere above and below were constantly changing places, and that the position varied according to the spot on which a man found himself. he knew, also, that even if he ascended to the top of the highest mountain which rears its lofty summit on this earth, the air, which to us seems clear and transparent, would there be dark and cloudy; the sun would have a coppery glow and send forth no rays, and our earth would lie beneath him wrapped in an orange-colored mist. how narrow are the limits which confine the bodily sight, and how little can be seen by the eye of the soul. how little do the wisest among us know of that which is so important to us all. in the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasure on earth--the book of truth. the wise man had read it through page after page. every man may read in this book, but only in fragments. to many eyes the characters seem so mixed in confusion that the words cannot be distinguished. on certain pages the writing often appears so pale or so blurred that the page becomes a blank. the wiser a man becomes, the more he will read, and those who are wisest read most. the wise man knew how to unite the sunlight and the moonlight with the light of reason and the hidden powers of nature; and through this stronger light, many things in the pages were made clear to him. but in the portion of the book entitled "life after death" not a single point could he see distinctly. this pained him. should he never be able here on earth to obtain a light by which everything written in the book of truth should become clear to him? like the wise king solomon, he understood the language of animals, and could interpret their talk into song; but that made him none the wiser. he found out the nature of plants and metals, and their power in curing diseases and arresting death, but none to destroy death itself. in all created things within his reach he sought the light that should shine upon the certainty of an eternal life, but he found it not. the book of truth lay open before him, but, its pages were to him as blank paper. christianity placed before him in the bible a promise of eternal life, but he wanted to read it in his book, in which nothing on the subject appeared to be written. he had five children; four sons, educated as the children of such a wise father should be, and a daughter, fair, gentle, and intelligent, but she was blind; yet this deprivation appeared as nothing to her; her father and brothers were outward eyes to her, and a vivid imagination made everything clear to her mental sight. the sons had never gone farther from the castle than the branches of the trees extended, and the sister had scarcely ever left home. they were happy children in that home of their childhood, the beautiful and fragrant tree of the sun. like all children, they loved to hear stories related to them, and their father told them many things which other children would not have understood; but these were as clever as most grownup people are among us. he explained to them what they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls--the doings of man, and the progress of events in all the lands of the earth; and the sons often expressed a wish that they could be present, and take a part in these great deeds. then their father told them that in the world there was nothing but toil and difficulty: that it was not quite what it appeared to them, as they looked upon it in their beautiful home. he spoke to them of the true, the beautiful, and the good, and told them that these three held together in the world, and by that union they became crystallized into a precious jewel, clearer than a diamond of the first water--a jewel, whose splendor had a value even in the sight of god, in whose brightness all things are dim. this jewel was called the philosopher's stone. he told them that, by searching, man could attain to a knowledge of the existence of god, and that it was in the power of every man to discover the certainty that such a jewel as the philosopher's stone really existed. this information would have been beyond the perception of other children; but these children understood, and others will learn to comprehend its meaning after a time. they questioned their father about the true, the beautiful, and the good, and he explained it to them in many ways. he told them that god, when he made man out of the dust of the earth, touched his work five times, leaving five intense feelings, which we call the five senses. through these, the true, the beautiful, and the good are seen, understood, and perceived, and through these they are valued, protected, and encouraged. five senses have been given mentally and corporeally, inwardly and outwardly, to body and soul. the children thought deeply on all these things, and meditated upon them day and night. then the eldest of the brothers dreamt a splendid dream. strange to say, not only the second brother but also the third and fourth brothers all dreamt exactly the same thing; namely, that each went out into the world to find the philosopher's stone. each dreamt that he found it, and that, as he rode back on his swift horse, in the morning dawn, over the velvety green meadows, to his home in the castle of his father, that the stone gleamed from his forehead like a beaming light; and threw such a bright radiance upon the pages of the book of truth that every word was illuminated which spoke of the life beyond the grave. but the sister had no dream of going out into the wide world; it never entered her mind. her world was her father's house. "i shall ride forth into the wide world," said the eldest brother. "i must try what life is like there, as i mix with men. i will practise only the good and true; with these i will protect the beautiful. much shall be changed for the better while i am there." now these thoughts were great and daring, as our thoughts generally are at home, before we have gone out into the world, and encountered its storms and tempests, its thorns and its thistles. in him, and in all his brothers, the five senses were highly cultivated, inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had one sense which in keenness and development surpassed the other four. in the case of the eldest, this pre-eminent sense was sight, which he hoped would be of special service. he had eyes for all times and all people; eyes that could discover in the depths of the earth hidden treasures, and look into the hearts of men, as through a pane of glass; he could read more than is often seen on the cheek that blushes or grows pale, in the eye that droops or smiles. stags and antelopes accompanied him to the western boundary of his home, and there he found the wild swans. these he followed, and found himself far away in the north, far from the land of his father, which extended eastward to the ends of the earth. how he opened his eyes with astonishment! how many things were to be seen here! and so different to the mere representation of pictures such as those in his father's house. at first he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at the rubbish and mockery brought forward to represent the beautiful; but he kept his eyes, and soon found full employment for them. he wished to go thoroughly and honestly to work in his endeavor to understand the true, the beautiful, and the good. but how were they represented in the world? he observed that the wreath which rightly belonged to the beautiful was often given the hideous; that the good was often passed by unnoticed, while mediocrity was applauded, when it should have been hissed. people look at the dress, not at the wearer; thought more of a name than of doing their duty; and trusted more to reputation than to real service. it was everywhere the same. "i see i must make a regular attack on these things," said he; and he accordingly did not spare them. but while looking for the truth, came the evil one, the father of lies, to intercept him. gladly would the fiend have plucked out the eyes of this seer, but that would have been a too straightforward path for him; he works more cunningly. he allowed the young man to seek for, and discover, the beautiful and the good; but while he was contemplating them, the evil spirit blew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and such a proceeding would injure the strongest sight. then he blew upon the motes, and they became beams, so that the clearness of his sight was gone, and the seer was like a blind man in the world, and had no longer any faith in it. he had lost his good opinion of the world, as well as of himself; and when a man gives up the world, and himself too, it is all over with him. "all over," said the wild swan, who flew across the sea to the east. "all over," twittered the swallows, who were also flying eastward towards the tree of the sun. it was no good news which they carried home. "i think the seer has been badly served," said the second brother, "but the hearer may be more successful." this one possessed the sense of hearing to a very high degree: so acute was this sense, that it was said he could hear the grass grow. he took a fond leave of all at home, and rode away, provided with good abilities and good intentions. the swallows escorted him, and he followed the swans till he found himself out in the world, and far away from home. but he soon discovered that one may have too much of a good thing. his hearing was too fine. he not only heard the grass grow, but could hear every man's heart beat, whether in sorrow or in joy. the whole world was to him like a clockmaker's great workshop, in which all the clocks were going "tick, tick," and all the turret clocks striking "ding, dong." it was unbearable. for a long time his ears endured it, but at last all the noise and tumult became too much for one man to bear. there were rascally boys of sixty years old--for years do not alone make a man--who raised a tumult, which might have made the hearer laugh, but for the applause which followed, echoing through every street and house, and was even heard in country roads. falsehood thrust itself forward and played the hypocrite; the bells on the fool's cap jingled, and declared they were church-bells, and the noise became so bad for the hearer that he thrust his fingers into his ears. still, he could hear false notes and bad singing, gossip and idle words, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning, without and within. "heaven help us!" he thrust his fingers farther and farther into his ears, till at last the drums burst. and now he could hear nothing more of the true, the beautiful, and the good; for his hearing was to have been the means by which he hoped to acquire his knowledge. he became silent and suspicious, and at last trusted no one, not even himself, and no longer hoping to find and bring home the costly jewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up too, which was worse than all. the birds in their flight towards the east, carried the tidings, and the news reached the castle in the tree of the sun. "i will try now," said the third brother; "i have a keen nose." now that was not a very elegant expression, but it was his way, and we must take him as he was. he had a cheerful temper, and was, besides, a real poet; he could make many things appear poetical, by the way in which he spoke of them, and ideas struck him long before they occurred to the minds of others. "i can smell," he would say; and he attributed to the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a great power in the region of the beautiful. "i can smell," he would say, "and many places are fragrant or beautiful according to the taste of the frequenters. one man feels at home in the atmosphere of the tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, and when the smell of spirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. another prefers sitting amidst the overpowering scent of jasmine, or perfuming himself with scented olive oil. this man seeks the fresh sea breeze, while that one climbs the lofty mountain-top, to look down upon the busy life in miniature beneath him." as he spoke in this way, it seemed as if he had already been out in the world, as if he had already known and associated with man. but this experience was intuitive--it was the poetry within him, a gift from heaven bestowed on him in his cradle. he bade farewell to his parental roof in the tree of the sun, and departed on foot, from the pleasant scenes that surrounded his home. arrived at its confines, he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than a horse, and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swung himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change, and away he flew over the sea to distant lands, where there were great forests, deep lakes, lofty mountains, and proud cities. wherever he came it seemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for every flower, every bush, exhaled a renewed fragrance, as if conscious that a friend and protector was near; one who understood them, and knew their value. the stunted rose-bush shot forth twigs, unfolded its leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, and even the black, slimy wood-snail noticed its beauty. "i will give my seal to the flower," said the snail, "i have trailed my slime upon it, i can do no more. "thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world," said the poet. and he made a song upon it, and sung it after his own fashion, but nobody listened. then he gave a drummer twopence and a peacock's feather, and composed a song for the drum, and the drummer beat it through the streets of the town, and when the people heard it they said, "that is a capital tune." the poet wrote many songs about the true, the beautiful, and the good. his songs were listened to in the tavern, where the tallow candles flared, in the fresh clover field, in the forest, and on the high-seas; and it appeared as if this brother was to be more fortunate than the other two. but the evil spirit was angry at this, so he set to work with soot and incense, which he can mix so artfully as to confuse an angel, and how much more easily a poor poet. the evil one knew how to manage such people. he so completely surrounded the poet with incense that the man lost his head, forgot his mission and his home, and at last lost himself and vanished in smoke. but when the little birds heard of it, they mourned, and for three days they sang not one song. the black wood-snail became blacker still; not for grief, but for envy. "they should have offered me incense," he said, "for it was i who gave him the idea of the most famous of his songs--the drum song of 'the way of the world;' and it was i who spat at the rose; i can bring a witness to that fact." but no tidings of all this reached the poet's home in india. the birds had all been silent for three days, and when the time of mourning was over, so deep had been their grief, that they had forgotten for whom they wept. such is the way of the world. "now i must go out into the world, and disappear like the rest," said the fourth brother. he was as good-tempered as the third, but no poet, though he could be witty. the two eldest had filled the castle with joyfulness, and now the last brightness was going away. sight and hearing have always been considered two of the chief senses among men, and those which they wish to keep bright; the other senses are looked upon as of less importance. but the younger son had a different opinion; he had cultivated his taste in every way, and taste is very powerful. it rules over what goes into the mouth, as well as over all which is presented to the mind; and, consequently, this brother took upon himself to taste everything stored up in bottles or jars; this he called the rough part of his work. every man's mind was to him as a vessel in which something was concocting; every land a kind of mental kitchen. "there are no delicacies here," he said; so he wished to go out into the world to find something delicate to suit his taste. "perhaps fortune may be more favorable to me than it was to my brothers. i shall start on my travels, but what conveyance shall i choose? are air balloons invented yet?" he asked of his father, who knew of all inventions that had been made, or would be made. air balloons had not then been invented, nor steam-ships, nor railways. "good," said he; "then i shall choose an air balloon; my father knows how they are to be made and guided. nobody has invented one yet, and the people will believe that it is an aerial phantom. when i have done with the balloon i shall burn it, and for this purpose, you must give me a few pieces of another invention, which will come next; i mean a few chemical matches." he obtained what he wanted, and flew away. the birds accompanied him farther than they had the other brothers. they were curious to know how this flight would end. many more of them came swooping down; they thought it must be some new bird, and he soon had a goodly company of followers. they came in clouds till the air became darkened with birds as it was with the cloud of locusts over the land of egypt. and now he was out in the wide world. the balloon descended over one of the greatest cities, and the aeronaut took up his station at the highest point, on the church steeple. the balloon rose again into the air, which it ought not to have done; what became of it is not known, neither is it of any consequence, for balloons had not then been invented. there he sat on the church steeple. the birds no longer hovered over him; they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. all the chimneys in the town were smoking. "there are altars erected to my honor," said the wind, who wished to say something agreeable to him as he sat there boldly looking down upon the people in the street. there was one stepping along, proud of his purse; another, of the key he carried behind him, though he had nothing to lock up; another took a pride in his moth-eaten coat; and another, in his mortified body. "vanity, all vanity!" he exclaimed. "i must go down there by-and-by, and touch and taste; but i shall sit here a little while longer, for the wind blows pleasantly at my back. i shall remain here as long as the wind blows, and enjoy a little rest. it is comfortable to sleep late in the morning when one had a great deal to do," said the sluggard; "so i shall stop here as long as the wind blows, for it pleases me." and there he stayed. but as he was sitting on the weather-cock of the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, he was under the false impression that the same wind still blew, and that he could stay where he was without expense. but in india, in the castle on the tree of the sun, all was solitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after the other. "nothing goes well with them," said the father; "they will never bring the glittering jewel home, it is not made for me; they are all dead and gone." then he bent down over the book of truth, and gazed on the page on which he should have read of the life after death, but for him there was nothing to be read or learned upon it. his blind daughter was his consolation and joy; she clung to him with sincere affection, and for the sake of his happiness and peace she wished the costly jewel could be found and brought home. with longing tenderness she thought of her brothers. where were they? where did they live? how she wished she might dream of them; but it was strange that not even in dreams could she be brought near to them. but at last one night she dreamt that she heard the voices of her brothers calling to her from the distant world, and she could not refrain herself, but went out to them, and yet it seemed in her dream that she still remained in her father's house. she did not see her brothers, but she felt as it were a fire burning in her hand, which, however, did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she was bringing to her father. when she awoke she thought for a moment that she still held the stone, but she only grasped the knob of her distaff. during the long evenings she had spun constantly, and round the distaff were woven threads finer than the web of a spider; human eyes could never have distinguished these threads when separated from each other. but she had wetted them with her tears, and the twist was as strong as a cable. she rose with the impression that her dream must be a reality, and her resolution was taken. it was still night, and her father slept; she pressed a kiss upon his hand, and then took her distaff and fastened the end of the thread to her father's house. but for this, blind as she was, she would never have found her way home again; to this thread she must hold fast, and trust not to others or even to herself. from the tree of the sun she broke four leaves; which she gave up to the wind and the weather, that they might be carried to her brothers as letters and a greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. poor blind child, what would become of her in those distant regions? but she had the invisible thread, to which she could hold fast; and she possessed a gift which all the others lacked. this was a determination to throw herself entirely into whatever she undertook, and it made her feel as if she had eyes even at the tips of her fingers, and could hear down into her very heart. quietly she went forth into the noisy, bustling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the skies grew bright, and she felt the warm sunbeam, and a rainbow above in the blue heavens seemed to span the dark world. she heard the song of the birds, and smelt the scent of the orange groves and apple orchards so strongly that she seemed to taste it. soft tones and charming songs reached her ear, as well as harsh sounds and rough words--thoughts and opinions in strange contradiction to each other. into the deepest recesses of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts and feelings. now she heard the following words sadly sung,-- "life is a shadow that flits away in a night of darkness and woe." but then would follow brighter thoughts: "life has the rose's sweet perfume with sunshine, light, and joy." and if one stanza sounded painfully-- "each mortal thinks of himself alone, is a truth, alas, too clearly known;" then, on the other hand, came the answer-- "love, like a mighty flowing stream, fills every heart with its radiant gleam." she heard, indeed, such words as these-- "in the pretty turmoil here below, all is a vain and paltry show. then came also words of comfort-- "great and good are the actions done by many whose worth is never known." and if sometimes the mocking strain reached her-- "why not join in the jesting cry that contemns all gifts from the throne on high?" in the blind girl's heart a stronger voice repeated-- "to trust in thyself and god is best, in his holy will forever to rest." but the evil spirit could not see this and remain contented. he has more cleverness than ten thousand men, and he found means to compass his end. he betook himself to the marsh, and collected a few little bubbles of stagnant water. then he uttered over them the echoes of lying words that they might become strong. he mixed up together songs of praise with lying epitaphs, as many as he could find, boiled them in tears shed by envy; put upon them rouge, which he had scraped from faded cheeks, and from these he produced a maiden, in form and appearance like the blind girl, the angel of completeness, as men called her. the evil one's plot was successful. the world knew not which was the true, and indeed how should the world know? "to trust in thyself and god is best, in his holy will forever to rest." so sung the blind girl in full faith. she had entrusted the four green leaves from the tree of the sun to the winds, as letters of greeting to her brothers, and she had full confidence that the leaves would reach them. she fully believed that the jewel which outshines all the glories of the world would yet be found, and that upon the forehead of humanity it would glitter even in the castle of her father. "even in my father's house," she repeated. "yes, the place in which this jewel is to be found is earth, and i shall bring more than the promise of it with me. i feel it glow and swell more and more in my closed hand. every grain of truth which the keen wind carried up and whirled towards me i caught and treasured. i allowed it to be penetrated with the fragrance of the beautiful, of which there is so much in the world, even for the blind. i took the beatings of a heart engaged in a good action, and added them to my treasure. all that i can bring is but dust; still, it is a part of the jewel we seek, and there is plenty, my hand is quite full of it." she soon found herself again at home; carried thither in a flight of thought, never having loosened her hold of the invisible thread fastened to her father's house. as she stretched out her hand to her father, the powers of evil dashed with the fury of a hurricane over the tree of the sun; a blast of wind rushed through the open doors, and into the sanctuary, where lay the book of truth. "it will be blown to dust by the wind," said the father, as he seized the open hand she held towards him. "no," she replied, with quiet confidence, "it is indestructible. i feel its beam warming my very soul." then her father observed that a dazzling flame gleamed from the white page on which the shining dust had passed from her hand. it was there to prove the certainty of eternal life, and on the book glowed one shining word, and only one, the word believe. and soon the four brothers were again with the father and daughter. when the green leaf from home fell on the bosom of each, a longing had seized them to return. they had arrived, accompanied by the birds of passage, the stag, the antelope, and all the creatures of the forest who wished to take part in their joy. we have often seen, when a sunbeam burst through a crack in the door into a dusty room, how a whirling column of dust seems to circle round. but this was not poor, insignificant, common dust, which the blind girl had brought; even the rainbow's colors are dim when compared with the beauty which shone from the page on which it had fallen. the beaming word believe, from every grain of truth, had the brightness of the beautiful and the good, more bright than the mighty pillar of flame that led moses and the children of israel to the land of canaan, and from the word believe arose the bridge of hope, reaching even to the unmeasurable love in the realms of the infinite. the phoenix bird in the garden of paradise, beneath the tree of knowledge, bloomed a rose bush. here, in the first rose, a bird was born. his flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous, and his song ravishing. but when eve plucked the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, when she and adam were driven from paradise, there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub a spark into the nest of the bird, which blazed up forthwith. the bird perished in the flames; but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered aloft a new one--the one solitary phoenix bird. the fable tells that he dwells in arabia, and that every hundred years, he burns himself to death in his nest; but each time a new phoenix, the only one in the world, rises up from the red egg. the bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in color, charming in song. when a mother sits by her infant's cradle, he stands on the pillow, and, with his wings, forms a glory around the infant's head. he flies through the chamber of content, and brings sunshine into it, and the violets on the humble table smell doubly sweet. but the phoenix is not the bird of arabia alone. he wings his way in the glimmer of the northern lights over the plains of lapland, and hops among the yellow flowers in the short greenland summer. beneath the copper mountains of fablun, and england's coal mines, he flies, in the shape of a dusty moth, over the hymnbook that rests on the knees of the pious miner. on a lotus leaf he floats down the sacred waters of the ganges, and the eye of the hindoo maid gleams bright when she beholds him. the phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? the bird of paradise, the holy swan of song! on the car of thespis he sat in the guise of a chattering raven, and flapped his black wings, smeared with the lees of wine; over the sounding harp of iceland swept the swan's red beak; on shakspeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of odin's raven, and whispered in the poet's ear "immortality!" and at the minstrels' feast he fluttered through the halls of the wartburg. the phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? he sang to thee the marseillaise, and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing; he came in the radiance of paradise, and perchance thou didst turn away from him towards the sparrow who sat with tinsel on his wings. the bird of paradise--renewed each century--born in flame, ending in flame! thy picture, in a golden frame, hangs in the halls of the rich, but thou thyself often fliest around, lonely and disregarded, a myth--"the phoenix of arabia." in paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath the tree of knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name was given thee--thy name, poetry. the portuguese duck a duck once arrived from portugal, but there were some who said she came from spain, which is almost the same thing. at all events, she was called the "portuguese," and she laid eggs, was killed, and cooked, and there was an end of her. but the ducklings which crept forth from the eggs were also called "portuguese," and about that there may be some question. but of all the family one only remained in the duckyard, which may be called a farmyard, as the chickens were admitted, and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner. "he annoys me with his loud crowing," said the portuguese duck; "but, still, he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, although he's not a drake. he ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds who are singing in the lime-trees over there in our neighbor's garden, but that is an art only acquired in polite society. how sweetly they sing there; it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! i call it portuguese singing. if i had only such a little singing-bird, i'd be kind and good as a mother to him, for it's in my nature, in my portuguese blood." while she was speaking, one of the little singing-birds came tumbling head over heels from the roof into the yard. the cat was after him, but he had escaped from her with a broken wing, and so came tumbling into the yard. "that's just like the cat, she's a villain," said the portuguese duck. "i remember her ways when i had children of my own. how can such a creature be allowed to live, and wander about upon the roofs. i don't think they allow such things in portugal." she pitied the little singing-bird, and so did all the other ducks who were not portuguese. "poor little creature!" they said, one after another, as they came up. "we can't sing, certainly; but we have a sounding-board, or something of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don't talk about it." "but i can talk," said the portuguese duck; "and i'll do something for the little fellow; it's my duty;" and she stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the bird was nearly drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant it kindly. "that is a good deed," she said; "i hope the others will take example by it." "tweet, tweet!" said the little bird, for one of his wings being broken, he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite understood that the bath was meant kindly, and he said, "you are very kind-hearted, madam;" but he did not wish for a second bath. "i have never thought about my heart," replied the portuguese duck, "but i know that i love all my fellow-creatures, except the cat, and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. but pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one's self comfortable. i am myself from a foreign country, as you may see by my feathery dress. my drake is a native of these parts; he's not of my race; but i am not proud on that account. if any one here can understand you, i may say positively i am that person." "she's quite full of 'portulak,'" said a little common duck, who was witty. all the common ducks considered the word "portulak" a good joke, for it sounded like portugal. they nudged each other, and said, "quack! that was witty!" then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. "the portuguese had certainly a great flow of language," they said to the little bird. "for our part we don't care to fill our beaks with such long words, but we sympathize with you quite as much. if we don't do anything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we think that is the best thing we can do." "you have a lovely voice," said one of the eldest ducks; "it must be great satisfaction to you to be able to give so much pleasure as you do. i am certainly no judge of your singing so i keep my beak shut, which is better than talking nonsense, as others do." "don't plague him so," interposed the portuguese duck; "he requires rest and nursing. my little singing-bird do you wish me to prepare another bath for you?" "oh, no! no! pray let me dry," implored the little bird. "the water-cure is the only remedy for me, when i am not well," said the portuguese. "amusement, too, is very beneficial. the fowls from the neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. there are two cochin chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs, and are well educated. they have been brought from a great distance, and consequently i treat them with greater respect than i do the others." then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day to keep from being rude. "you are a real songster," he said, "you do as much with your little voice as it is possible to do; but there requires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to be known who he is." the two chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing-bird. his feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, so that he seemed to them quite like a tiny chinese fowl. "he's charming," they said to each other, and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the most aristocratic chinese dialect: "we are of the same race as yourself," they said. "the ducks, even the portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. you do not know us yet,--very few know us, or give themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance, not even any of the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. but that does not disturb us, we quietly go on in our own way among the rest, whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side of things, and only speak what is good, although that is sometimes very difficult to find where none exists. except ourselves and the cock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented or polite. it cannot even be said of the ducks, and we warn you, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers, for she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never lets any one have the last word, though she is always in the wrong. that fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles. if we have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. the portuguese is the only one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate, but she is passionate, and talks too much about 'portugal.'" "i wonder what those two chinese are whispering about," whispered one duck to another; "they are always doing it, and it annoys me. we never speak to them." now the drake came up, and he thought the little singing-bird was a sparrow. "well, i don't understand the difference," he said; "it appears to me all the same. he's only a plaything, and if people will have playthings, why let them, i say." "don't take any notice of what he says," whispered the portuguese; "he's very well in matters of business, and with him business is placed before everything. but now i shall lie down and have a little rest. it is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat when we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples." so she laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a very comfortable place, and felt so comfortable that she fell asleep. the little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing, and at last he lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. the sun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very good place. but the fowls of the neighborhood were all awake, and, to tell the truth, they had paid a visit to the duckyard, simply and solely to find food for themselves. the chinese were the first to leave, and the other fowls soon followed them. the witty little duck said of the portuguese, that the old lady was getting quite a "doting ducky," all the other ducks laughed at this. "doting ducky," they whispered. "oh, that's too 'witty!'" and then they repeated the former joke about "portulak," and declared it was most amusing. then they all lay down to have a nap. they had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. it came down with such a bang, that the whole company started up and clapped their wings. the portuguese awoke too, and rushed over to the other side: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird. "tweet," he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam." "well, then, why do you lie in my way?" she retorted, "you must not be so touchy. i have nerves of my own, but i do not cry 'tweet.'" "don't be angry," said the little bird; "the 'tweet' slipped out of my beak unawares." the portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she could, and made a good meal. when she had finished, she lay down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to sing,-- "chirp and twitter, the dew-drops glitter, in the hours of sunny spring, i'll sing my best, till i go to rest, with my head behind my wing." "now i want rest after my dinner," said the portuguese; "you must conform to the rules of the house while you are here. i want to sleep now." the little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly. when madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a little corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept well, she was naturally in a bad temper. "give that to a chicken," she said, "and don't be always standing in my way." "why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing-bird, "what have i done?" "done!" repeated the portuguese duck, "your mode of expressing yourself is not very polite. i must call your attention to that fact." "it was sunshine here yesterday," said the little bird, "but to-day it is cloudy and the air is close." "you know very little about the weather, i fancy," she retorted, "the day is not over yet. don't stand there, looking so stupid." "but you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when i fell into the yard yesterday." "impertinent creature!" exclaimed the portuguese duck: "would you compare me with the cat--that beast of prey? there's not a drop of malicious blood in me. i've taken your part, and now i'll teach you better manners." so saying, she made a bite at the little singing-bird's head, and he fell dead on the ground. "now whatever is the meaning of this?" she said; "could he not bear even such a little peck as i gave him? then certainly he was not made for this world. i've been like a mother to him, i know that, for i've a good heart." then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, and crowed with steam-engine power. "you'll kill me with your crowing," she cried, "it's all your fault. he's lost his life, and i'm very near losing mine." "there's not much of him lying there," observed the cock. "speak of him with respect," said the portuguese duck, "for he had manners and education, and he could sing. he was affectionate and gentle, and that is as rare a quality in animals as in those who call themselves human beings." then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. ducks have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. there was nothing to envy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity, even the two chinese. "we shall never have another singing-bird again amongst us; he was almost a chinese," they whispered, and then they wept with such a noisy, clucking sound, that all the other fowls clucked too, but the ducks went about with redder eyes afterwards. "we have hearts of our own," they said, "nobody can deny that." "hearts!" repeated the portuguese, "indeed you have, almost as tender as the ducks in portugal." "let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger," said the drake, "that's the most important business. if one of our toys is broken, why we have plenty more." the porter's son the general lived in the grand first floor, and the porter lived in the cellar. there was a great distance between the two families--the whole of the ground floor, and the difference in rank; but they lived in the same house, and both had a view of the street, and of the courtyard. in the courtyard was a grass-plot, on which grew a blooming acacia tree (when it was in bloom), and under this tree sat occasionally the finely-dressed nurse, with the still more finely-dressed child of the general--little emily. before them danced about barefoot the little son of the porter, with his great brown eyes and dark hair; and the little girl smiled at him, and stretched out her hands towards him; and when the general saw that from the window, he would nod his head and cry, "charming!" the general's lady (who was so young that she might very well have been her husband's daughter from an early marriage) never came to the window that looked upon the courtyard. she had given orders, though, that the boy might play his antics to amuse her child, but must never touch it. the nurse punctually obeyed the gracious lady's orders. the sun shone in upon the people in the grand first floor, and upon the people in the cellar; the acacia tree was covered with blossoms, and they fell off, and next year new ones came. the tree bloomed, and the porter's little son bloomed too, and looked like a fresh tulip. the general's little daughter became delicate and pale, like the leaf of the acacia blossom. she seldom came down to the tree now, for she took the air in a carriage. she drove out with her mamma, and then she would always nod at the porter's george; yes, she used even to kiss her hand to him, till her mamma said she was too old to do that now. one morning george was sent up to carry the general the letters and newspapers that had been delivered at the porter's room in the morning. as he was running up stairs, just as he passed the door of the sand-box, he heard a faint piping. he thought it was some young chicken that had strayed there, and was raising cries of distress; but it was the general's little daughter, decked out in lace and finery. "don't tell papa and mamma," she whimpered; "they would be angry." "what's the matter, little missie?" asked george. "it's all on fire!" she answered. "it's burning with a bright flame!" george hurried up stairs to the general's apartments; he opened the door of the nursery. the window curtain was almost entirely burnt, and the wooden curtain-pole was one mass of flame. george sprang upon a chair he brought in haste, and pulled down the burning articles; he then alarmed the people. but for him, the house would have been burned down. the general and his lady cross-questioned little emily. "i only took just one lucifer-match," she said, "and it was burning directly, and the curtain was burning too. i spat at it, to put it out; i spat at it as much as ever i could, but i could not put it out; so i ran away and hid myself, for papa and mamma would be angry." "i spat!" cried the general's lady; "what an expression! did you ever hear your papa and mamma talk about spitting? you must have got that from down stairs!" and george had a penny given him. but this penny did not go to the baker's shop, but into the savings-box; and soon there were so many pennies in the savings-box that he could buy a paint-box and color the drawings he made, and he had a great number of drawings. they seemed to shoot out of his pencil and out of his fingers' ends. his first colored pictures he presented to emily. "charming!" said the general, and even the general's lady acknowledged that it was easy to see what the boy had meant to draw. "he has genius." those were the words that were carried down into the cellar. the general and his gracious lady were grand people. they had two coats of arms on their carriage, a coat of arms for each of them, and the gracious lady had had this coat of arms embroidered on both sides of every bit of linen she had, and even on her nightcap and her dressing-bag. one of the coats of arms, the one that belonged to her, was a very dear one; it had been bought for hard cash by her father, for he had not been born with it, nor had she; she had come into the world too early, seven years before the coat of arms, and most people remembered this circumstance, but the family did not remember it. a man might well have a bee in his bonnet, when he had such a coat of arms to carry as that, let alone having to carry two; and the general's wife had a bee in hers when she drove to the court ball, as stiff and as proud as you please. the general was old and gray, but he had a good seat on horseback, and he knew it, and he rode out every day, with a groom behind him at a proper distance. when he came to a party, he looked somehow as if he were riding into the room upon his high horse; and he had orders, too, such a number that no one would have believed it; but that was not his fault. as a young man he had taken part in the great autumn reviews which were held in those days. he had an anecdote that he told about those days, the only one he knew. a subaltern under his orders had cut off one of the princes, and taken him prisoner, and the prince had been obliged to ride through the town with a little band of captured soldiers, himself a prisoner behind the general. this was an ever-memorable event, and was always told over and over again every year by the general, who, moreover, always repeated the remarkable words he had used when he returned his sword to the prince; those words were, "only my subaltern could have taken your highness prisoner; i could never have done it!" and the prince had replied, "you are incomparable." in a real war the general had never taken part. when war came into the country, he had gone on a diplomatic career to foreign courts. he spoke the french language so fluently that he had almost forgotten his own; he could dance well, he could ride well, and orders grew on his coat in an astounding way. the sentries presented arms to him, one of the most beautiful girls presented arms to him, and became the general's lady, and in time they had a pretty, charming child, that seemed as if it had dropped from heaven, it was so pretty; and the porter's son danced before it in the courtyard, as soon as it could understand it, and gave her all his colored pictures, and little emily looked at them, and was pleased, and tore them to pieces. she was pretty and delicate indeed. "my little roseleaf!" cried the general's lady, "thou art born to wed a prince." the prince was already at the door, but they knew nothing of it; people don't see far beyond the threshold. "the day before yesterday our boy divided his bread and butter with her!" said the porter's wife. there was neither cheese nor meat upon it, but she liked it as well as if it had been roast beef. there would have been a fine noise if the general and his wife had seen the feast, but they did not see it. george had divided his bread and butter with little emily, and he would have divided his heart with her, if it would have pleased her. he was a good boy, brisk and clever, and he went to the night school in the academy now, to learn to draw properly. little emily was getting on with her education too, for she spoke french with her "bonne," and had a dancing master. "george will be confirmed at easter," said the porter's wife; for george had got so far as this. "it would be the best thing, now, to make an apprentice of him," said his father. "it must be to some good calling--and then he would be out of the house." "he would have to sleep out of the house," said george's mother. "it is not easy to find a master who has room for him at night, and we shall have to provide him with clothes too. the little bit of eating that he wants can be managed for him, for he's quite happy with a few boiled potatoes; and he gets taught for nothing. let the boy go his own way. you will say that he will be our joy some day, and the professor says so too." the confirmation suit was ready. the mother had worked it herself; but the tailor who did repairs had cut them out, and a capital cutter-out he was. "if he had had a better position, and been able to keep a workshop and journeymen," the porter's wife said, "he might have been a court tailor." the clothes were ready, and the candidate for confirmation was ready. on his confirmation day, george received a great pinchbeck watch from his godfather, the old iron monger's shopman, the richest of his godfathers. the watch was an old and tried servant. it always went too fast, but that is better than to be lagging behind. that was a costly present. and from the general's apartment there arrived a hymn-book bound in morocco, sent by the little lady to whom george had given pictures. at the beginning of the book his name was written, and her name, as "his gracious patroness." these words had been written at the dictation of the general's lady, and the general had read the inscription, and pronounced it "charming!" "that is really a great attention from a family of such position," said the porter's wife; and george was sent up stairs to show himself in his confirmation clothes, with the hymn-book in his hand. the general's lady was sitting very much wrapped up, and had the bad headache she always had when time hung heavy upon her hands. she looked at george very pleasantly, and wished him all prosperity, and that he might never have her headache. the general was walking about in his dressing-gown. he had a cap with a long tassel on his head, and russian boots with red tops on his feet. he walked three times up and down the room, absorbed in his own thoughts and recollections, and then stopped and said: "so little george is a confirmed christian now. be a good man, and honor those in authority over you. some day, when you are an old man, you can say that the general gave you this precept." that was a longer speech than the general was accustomed to make, and then he went back to his ruminations, and looked very aristocratic. but of all that george heard and saw up there, little miss emily remained most clear in his thoughts. how graceful she was, how gentle, and fluttering, and pretty she looked. if she were to be drawn, it ought to be on a soap-bubble. about her dress, about her yellow curled hair, there was a fragrance as of a fresh-blown rose; and to think that he had once divided his bread and butter with her, and that she had eaten it with enormous appetite, and nodded to him at every second mouthful! did she remember anything about it? yes, certainly, for she had given him the beautiful hymn-book in remembrance of this; and when the first new moon in the first new year after this event came round, he took a piece of bread, a penny, and his hymn-book, and went out into the open air, and opened the book to see what psalm he should turn up. it was a psalm of praise and thanksgiving. then he opened the book again to see what would turn up for little emily. he took great pains not to open the book in the place where the funeral hymns were, and yet he got one that referred to the grave and death. but then he thought this was not a thing in which one must believe; for all that he was startled when soon afterwards the pretty little girl had to lie in bed, and the doctor's carriage stopped at the gate every day. "they will not keep her with them," said the porter's wife. "the good god knows whom he will summon to himself." but they kept her after all; and george drew pictures and sent them to her. he drew the czar's palace; the old kremlin at moscow, just as it stood, with towers and cupolas; and these cupolas looked like gigantic green and gold cucumbers, at least in george's drawing. little emily was highly pleased, and consequently, when a week had elapsed, george sent her a few more pictures, all with buildings in them; for, you see, she could imagine all sorts of things inside the windows and doors. he drew a chinese house, with bells hanging from every one of sixteen stories. he drew two grecian temples with slender marble pillars, and with steps all round them. he drew a norwegian church. it was easy to see that this church had been built entirely of wood, hewn out and wonderfully put together; every story looked as if it had rockers, like a cradle. but the most beautiful of all was the castle, drawn on one of the leaves, and which he called "emily's castle." this was the kind of place in which she must live. that is what george had thought, and consequently he had put into this building whatever he thought most beautiful in all the others. it had carved wood-work, like the norwegian church; marble pillars, like the grecian temple; bells in every story; and was crowned with cupolas, green and gilded, like those of the kremlin of the czar. it was a real child's castle, and under every window was written what the hall or the room inside was intended to be; for instance: "here emily sleeps;" "here emily dances;" "here emily plays at receiving visitors." it was a real pleasure to look at the castle, and right well was the castle looked at accordingly. "charming!" said the general. but the old count--for there was an old count there, who was still grander than the general, and had a castle of his own--said nothing at all; he heard that it had been designed and drawn by the porter's little son. not that he was so very little, either, for he had already been confirmed. the old count looked at the pictures, and had his own thoughts as he did so. one day, when it was very gloomy, gray, wet weather, the brightest of days dawned for george; for the professor at the academy called him into his room. "listen to me, my friend," said the professor; "i want to speak to you. the lord has been good to you in giving you abilities, and he has also been good in placing you among kind people. the old count at the corner yonder has been speaking to me about you. i have also seen your sketches; but we will not say any more about those, for there is a good deal to correct in them. but from this time forward you may come twice a-week to my drawing-class, and then you will soon learn how to do them better. i think there's more of the architect than of the painter in you. you will have time to think that over; but go across to the old count this very day, and thank god for having sent you such a friend." it was a great house--the house of the old count at the corner. round the windows elephants and dromedaries were carved, all from the old times; but the old count loved the new time best, and what it brought, whether it came from the first floor, or from the cellar, or from the attic. "i think," said, the porter's wife, "the grander people are, the fewer airs do they give themselves. how kind and straightforward the old count is! and he talks exactly like you and me. now, the general and his lady can't do that. and george was fairly wild with delight yesterday at the good reception he met with at the count's, and so am i to-day, after speaking to the great man. wasn't it a good thing that we didn't bind george apprentice to a handicraftsman? for he has abilities of his own." "but they must be helped on by others," said the father. "that help he has got now," rejoined the mother; "for the count spoke out quite clearly and distinctly." "but i fancy it began with the general," said the father, "and we must thank them too." "let us do so with all my heart," cried the mother, "though i fancy we have not much to thank them for. i will thank the good god; and i will thank him, too, for letting little emily get well." emily was getting on bravely, and george got on bravely too. in the course of the year he won the little silver prize medal of the academy, and afterwards he gained the great one too. "it would have been better, after all, if he had been apprenticed to a handicraftsman," said the porter's wife, weeping; "for then we could have kept him with us. what is he to do in rome? i shall never get a sight of him again, not even if he comes back; but that he won't do, the dear boy." "it is fortune and fame for him," said the father. "yes, thank you, my friend," said the mother; "you are saying what you do not mean. you are just as sorrowful as i am." and it was all true about the sorrow and the journey. but everybody said it was a great piece of good fortune for the young fellow. and he had to take leave, and of the general too. the general's lady did not show herself, for she had her bad headache. on this occasion the general told his only anecdote, about what he had said to the prince, and how the prince had said to him, "you are incomparable." and he held out a languid hand to george. emily gave george her hand too, and looked almost sorry; and george was the most sorry of all. time goes by when one has something to do; and it goes by, too, when one has nothing to do. the time is equally long, but not equally useful. it was useful to george, and did not seem long at all, except when he happened to be thinking of his home. how might the good folks be getting on, up stairs and down stairs? yes, there was writing about that, and many things can be put into a letter--bright sunshine and dark, heavy days. both of these were in the letter which brought the news that his father was dead, and that his mother was alone now. she wrote that emily had come down to see her, and had been to her like an angel of comfort; and concerning herself, she added that she had been allowed to keep her situation as porteress. the general's lady kept a diary, and in this diary was recorded every ball she attended and every visit she received. the diary was illustrated by the insertion of the visiting cards of the diplomatic circle and of the most noble families; and the general's lady was proud of it. the diary kept growing through a long time, and amid many severe headaches, and through a long course of half-nights, that is to say, of court balls. emily had now been to a court ball for the first time. her mother had worn a bright red dress, with black lace, in the spanish style; the daughter had been attired in white, fair and delicate; green silk ribbons fluttered like flag-leaves among her yellow locks, and on her head she wore a wreath of water-lillies. her eyes were so blue and clear, her mouth was so delicate and red, she looked like a little water spirit, as beautiful as such a spirit can be imagined. the princes danced with her, one after another of course; and the general's lady had not a headache for a week afterwards. but the first ball was not the last, and emily could not stand it; it was a good thing, therefore, that summer brought with it rest, and exercise in the open air. the family had been invited by the old count to visit him at him castle. that was a castle with a garden which was worth seeing. part of this garden was laid out quite in the style of the old days, with stiff green hedges; you walked as if between green walls with peep-holes in them. box trees and yew trees stood there trimmed into the form of stars and pyramids, and water sprang from fountains in large grottoes lined with shells. all around stood figures of the most beautiful stone--that could be seen in their clothes as well as in their faces; every flower-bed had a different shape, and represented a fish, or a coat of arms, or a monogram. that was the french part of the garden; and from this part the visitor came into what appeared like the green, fresh forest, where the trees might grow as they chose, and accordingly they were great and glorious. the grass was green, and beautiful to walk on, and it was regularly cut, and rolled, and swept, and tended. that was the english part of the garden. "old time and new time," said the count, "here they run well into one another. in two years the building itself will put on a proper appearance, there will be a complete metamorphosis in beauty and improvement. i shall show you the drawings, and i shall show you the architect, for he is to dine here to-day." "charming!" said the general. "'tis like paradise here," said the general's lady, "and yonder you have a knight's castle!" "that's my poultry-house," observed the count. "the pigeons live in the tower, the turkeys in the first floor, but old elsie rules in the ground floor. she has apartments on all sides of her. the sitting hens have their own room, and the hens with chickens have theirs; and the ducks have their own particular door leading to the water." "charming!" repeated the general. and all sailed forth to see these wonderful things. old elsie stood in the room on the ground floor, and by her side stood architect george. he and emily now met for the first time after several years, and they met in the poultry-house. yes, there he stood, and was handsome enough to be looked at. his face was frank and energetic; he had black shining hair, and a smile about his mouth, which said, "i have a brownie that sits in my ear, and knows every one of you, inside and out." old elsie had pulled off her wooden shoes, and stood there in her stockings, to do honor to the noble guests. the hens clucked, and the cocks crowed, and the ducks waddled to and fro, and said, "quack, quack!" but the fair, pale girl, the friend of his childhood, the daughter of the general, stood there with a rosy blush on her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes opened wide, and her mouth seemed to speak without uttering a word, and the greeting he received from her was the most beautiful greeting a young man can desire from a young lady, if they are not related, or have not danced many times together, and she and the architect had never danced together. the count shook hands with him, and introduced him. "he is not altogether a stranger, our young friend george." the general's lady bowed to him, and the general's daughter was very nearly giving him her hand; but she did not give it to him. "our little master george!" said the general. "old friends! charming!" "you have become quite an italian," said the general's lady, "and i presume you speak the language like a native?" "my wife sings the language, but she does not speak it," observed the general. at dinner, george sat at the right hand of emily, whom the general had taken down, while the count led in the general's lady. mr. george talked and told of his travels; and he could talk well, and was the life and soul of the table, though the old count could have been it too. emily sat silent, but she listened, and her eyes gleamed, but she said nothing. in the verandah, among the flowers, she and george stood together; the rose-bushes concealed them. and george was speaking again, for he took the lead now. "many thanks for the kind consideration you showed my old mother," he said. "i know that you went down to her on the night when my father died, and you stayed with her till his eyes were closed. my heartiest thanks!" he took emily's hand and kissed it--he might do so on such an occasion. she blushed deeply, but pressed his hand, and looked at him with her dear blue eyes. "your mother was a dear soul!" she said. "how fond she was of her son! and she let me read all your letters, so that i almost believe i know you. how kind you were to me when i was little girl! you used to give me pictures." "which you tore in two," said george. "no, i have still your drawing of the castle." "i must build the castle in reality now," said george; and he became quite warm at his own words. the general and the general's lady talked to each other in their room about the porter's son--how he knew how to behave, and to express himself with the greatest propriety. "he might be a tutor," said the general. "intellect!" said the general's lady; but she did not say anything more. during the beautiful summer-time mr. george several times visited the count at his castle; and he was missed when he did not come. "how much the good god has given you that he has not given to us poor mortals," said emily to him. "are you sure you are very grateful for it?" it flattered george that the lovely young girl should look up to him, and he thought then that emily had unusually good abilities. and the general felt more and more convinced that george was no cellar-child. "his mother was a very good woman," he observed. "it is only right i should do her that justice now she is in her grave." the summer passed away, and the winter came; again there was talk about mr. george. he was highly respected, and was received in the first circles. the general had met him at a court ball. and now there was a ball to be given in the general's house for emily, and could mr. george be invited to it? "he whom the king invites can be invited by the general also," said the general, and drew himself up till he stood quite an inch higher than before. mr. george was invited, and he came; princes and counts came, and they danced, one better than the other. but emily could only dance one dance--the first; for she made a false step--nothing of consequence; but her foot hurt her, so that she had to be careful, and leave off dancing, and look at the others. so she sat and looked on, and the architect stood by her side. "i suppose you are giving her the whole history of st. peter's," said the general, as he passed by; and smiled, like the personification of patronage. with the same patronizing smile he received mr. george a few days afterwards. the young man came, no doubt, to return thanks for the invitation to the ball. what else could it be? but indeed there was something else, something very astonishing and startling. he spoke words of sheer lunacy, so that the general could hardly believe his own ears. it was "the height of rhodomontade," an offer, quite an inconceivable offer--mr. george came to ask the hand of emily in marriage! "man!" cried the general, and his brain seemed to be boiling. "i don't understand you at all. what is it you say? what is it you want? i don't know you. sir! man! what possesses you to break into my house? and am i to stand here and listen to you?" he stepped backwards into his bed-room, locked the door behind him, and left mr. george standing alone. george stood still for a few minutes, and then turned round and left the room. emily was standing in the corridor. "my father has answered?" she said, and her voice trembled. george pressed her hand. "he has escaped me," he replied; "but a better time will come." there were tears in emily's eyes, but in the young man's eyes shone courage and confidence; and the sun shone through the window, and cast his beams on the pair, and gave them his blessing. the general sat in his room, bursting hot. yes, he was still boiling, until he boiled over in the exclamation, "lunacy! porter! madness!" not an hour was over before the general's lady knew it out of the general's own mouth. she called emily, and remained alone with her. "you poor child," she said; "to insult you so! to insult us so! there are tears in your eyes, too, but they become you well. you look beautiful in tears. you look as i looked on my wedding-day. weep on, my sweet emily." "yes, that i must," said emily, "if you and my father do not say 'yes.'" "child!" screamed the general's lady; "you are ill! you are talking wildly, and i shall have a most terrible headache! oh, what a misfortune is coming upon our house! don't make your mother die, emily, or you will have no mother." and the eyes of the general's lady were wet, for she could not bear to think of her own death. in the newspapers there was an announcement. "mr. george has been elected professor of the fifth class, number eight." "it's a pity that his parents are dead and cannot read it," said the new porter people, who now lived in the cellar under the general's apartments. they knew that the professor had been born and grown up within their four walls. "now he'll get a salary," said the man. "yes, that's not much for a poor child," said the woman. "eighteen dollars a year," said the man. "why, it's a good deal of money." "no, i mean the honor of it," replied the wife. "do you think he cares for the money? those few dollars he can earn a hundred times over, and most likely he'll get a rich wife into the bargain. if we had children of our own, husband, our child should be an architect and a professor too." george was spoken well of in the cellar, and he was spoken well of in the first floor. the old count took upon himself to do that. the pictures he had drawn in his childhood gave occasion for it. but how did the conversation come to turn on these pictures? why, they had been talking of russia and of moscow, and thus mention was made of the kremlin, which little george had once drawn for miss emily. he had drawn many pictures, but the count especially remembered one, "emily's castle," where she was to sleep, and to dance, and to play at receiving guests. "the professor was a true man," said the count, "and would be a privy councillor before he died, it was not at all unlikely; and he might build a real castle for the young lady before that time came: why not?" "that was a strange jest," remarked the general's lady, when the count had gone away. the general shook his head thoughtfully, and went out for a ride, with his groom behind him at a proper distance, and he sat more stiffly than ever on his high horse. it was emily's birthday. flowers, books, letters, and visiting cards came pouring in. the general's lady kissed her on the mouth, and the general kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionate parents, and they and emily had to receive grand visitors, two of the princes. they talked of balls and theatres, of diplomatic missions, of the government of empires and nations; and then they spoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse turned upon the young architect. "he is building up an immortality for himself," said one, "and he will certainly build his way into one of our first families." "one of our first families!" repeated the general and afterwards the general's lady; "what is meant by one of our first families?" "i know for whom it was intended," said the general's lady, "but i shall not say it. i don't think it. heaven disposes, but i shall be astonished." "i am astonished also!" said the general. "i haven't an idea in my head!" and he fell into a reverie, waiting for ideas. there is a power, a nameless power, in the possession of favor from above, the favor of providence, and this favor little george had. but we are forgetting the birthday. emily's room was fragrant with flowers, sent by male and female friends; on the table lay beautiful presents for greeting and remembrance, but none could come from george--none could come from him; but it was not necessary, for the whole house was full of remembrances of him. even out of the ash-bin the blossom of memory peeped forth, for emily had sat whimpering there on the day when the window-curtain caught fire, and george arrived in the character of fire engine. a glance out of the window, and the acacia tree reminded of the days of childhood. flowers and leaves had fallen, but there stood the tree covered with hoar frost, looking like a single huge branch of coral, and the moon shone clear and large among the twigs, unchanged in its changings, as it was when george divided his bread and butter with little emily. out of a box the girl took the drawings of the czar's palace and of her own castle--remembrances of george. the drawings were looked at, and many thoughts came. she remembered the day when, unobserved by her father and mother, she had gone down to the porter's wife who lay dying. once again she seemed to sit beside her, holding the dying woman's hand in hers, hearing the dying woman's last words: "blessing george!" the mother was thinking of her son, and now emily gave her own interpretation to those words. yes, george was certainly with her on her birthday. it happened that the next day was another birthday in that house, the general's birthday. he had been born the day after his daughter, but before her of course--many years before her. many presents arrived, and among them came a saddle of exquisite workmanship, a comfortable and costly saddle--one of the princes had just such another. now, from whom might this saddle come? the general was delighted. there was a little note with the saddle. now if the words on the note had been "many thanks for yesterday's reception," we might easily have guessed from whom it came. but the words were "from somebody whom the general does not know." "whom in the world do i not know?" exclaimed the general. "i know everybody;" and his thoughts wandered all through society, for he knew everybody there. "that saddle comes from my wife!" he said at last. "she is teasing me--charming!" but she was not teasing him; those times were past. again there was a feast, but it was not in the general's house, it was a fancy ball at the prince's, and masks were allowed too. the general went as rubens, in a spanish costume, with a little ruff round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. the general's lady was madame rubens, in black velvet made high round the neck, exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck in the shape of a great ruff--accurately dressed after a dutch picture in the possession of the general, in which the hands were especially admired. they were just like the hands of the general's lady. emily was psyche. in white crape and lace she was like a floating swan. she did not want wings at all. she only wore them as emblematic of psyche. brightness, splendor, light and flowers, wealth and taste appeared at the ball; there was so much to see, that the beautiful hands of madame rubens made no sensation at all. a black domino, with an acacia blossom in his cap, danced with psyche. "who is that?" asked the general's lady. "his royal highness," replied the general. "i am quite sure of it. i knew him directly by the pressure of his hand." the general's lady doubted it. general rubens had no doubts about it. he went up to the black domino and wrote the royal letters in the mask's hand. these were denied, but the mask gave him a hint. the words that came with the saddle: "one whom you do not know, general." "but i do know you," said the general. "it was you who sent me the saddle." the domino raised his hand, and disappeared among the other guests. "who is that black domino with whom you were dancing, emily?" asked the general's lady. "i did not ask his name," she replied, "because you knew it. it is the professor. your protege is here, count!" she continued, turning to that nobleman, who stood close by. "a black domino with acacia blossoms in his cap." "very likely, my dear lady," replied the count. "but one of the princes wears just the same costume." "i knew the pressure of the hand," said the general. "the saddle came from the prince. i am so certain of it that i could invite that domino to dinner." "do so. if it be the prince he will certainly come," replied the count. "and if it is the other he will not come," said the general, and approached the black domino, who was just speaking with the king. the general gave a very respectful invitation "that they might make each other's acquaintance," and he smiled in his certainty concerning the person he was inviting. he spoke loud and distinctly. the domino raised his mask, and it was george. "do you repeat your invitation, general?" he asked. the general certainly seemed to grow an inch taller, assumed a more stately demeanor, and took two steps backward and one step forward, as if he were dancing a minuet, and then came as much gravity and expression into the face of the general as the general could contrive to infuse into it; but he replied, "i never retract my words! you are invited, professor!" and he bowed with a glance at the king, who must have heard the whole dialogue. now, there was a company to dinner at the general's, but only the old count and his protege were invited. "i have my foot under his table," thought george. "that's laying the foundation stone." and the foundation stone was really laid, with great ceremony, at the house of the general and of the general's lady. the man had come, and had spoken quite like a person in good society, and had made himself very agreeable, so that the general had often to repeat his "charming!" the general talked of this dinner, talked of it even to a court lady; and this lady, one of the most intellectual persons about the court, asked to be invited to meet the professor the next time he should come. so he had to be invited again; and he was invited, and came, and was charming again; he could even play chess. "he's not out of the cellar," said the general; "he's quite a distinguished person. there are many distinguished persons of that kind, and it's no fault of his." the professor, who was received in the king's palace, might very well be received by the general; but that he could ever belong to the house was out of the question, only the whole town was talking of it. he grew and grew. the dew of favor fell from above, so no one was surprised after all that he should become a privy councillor, and emily a privy councillor's lady. "life is either a tragedy or a comedy," said the general. "in tragedies they die, in comedies they marry one another." in this case they married. and they had three clever boys--but not all at once. the sweet children rode on their hobby-horses through all the rooms when they came to see the grandparents. and the general also rode on his stick; he rode behind them in the character of groom to the little privy councillors. and the general's lady sat on her sofa and smiled at them, even when she had her severest headache. so far did george get, and much further; else it had not been worth while to tell the story of the porter's son. poultry meg's family poultry meg was the only person who lived in the new stately dwelling that had been built for the fowls and ducks belonging to the manor house. it stood there where once the old knightly building had stood with its tower, its pointed gables, its moat, and its drawbridge. close by it was a wilderness of trees and thicket; here the garden had been, and had stretched out to a great lake, which was now moorland. crows and choughs flew screaming over the old trees, and there were crowds of birds; they did not seem to get fewer when any one shot among them, but seemed rather to increase. one heard the screaming into the poultry-house, where poultry meg sat with the ducklings running to and fro over her wooden shoes. she knew every fowl and every duck from the moment it crept out of the shell; and she was fond of her fowls and her ducks, and proud of the stately house that had been built for them. her own little room in the house was clean and neat, for that was the wish of the gracious lady to whom the house belonged. she often came in the company of grand noble guests, to whom she showed "the hens' and ducks' barracks," as she called the little house. here were a clothes cupboard, and an arm-chair, and even a chest of drawers; and on these drawers a polished metal plate had been placed, whereon was engraved the word "grubbe," and this was the name of the noble family that had lived in the house of old. the brass plate had been found when they were digging the foundation; and the clerk has said it had no value except in being an old relic. the clerk knew all about the place, and about the old times, for he had his knowledge from books, and many a memorandum had been written and put in his table-drawer. but the oldest of the crows perhaps knew more than he, and screamed it out in her own language; but that was the crow's language, and the clerk did not understand that, clever as he was. after the hot summer days the mist sometimes hung over the moorland as if a whole lake were behind the old trees, among which the crows and the daws were fluttering; and thus it had looked when the good knight grubbe had lived here--when the old manor house stood with its thick red walls. the dog-chain used to reach in those days quite over the gateway; through the tower one went into a paved passage which led to the rooms; the windows were narrow, and the panes were small, even in the great hall where the dancing used to be; but in the time of the last grubbe, there had been no dancing in the hall within the memory of man, although an old drum still lay there that had served as part of the music. here stood a quaintly carved cupboard, in which rare flower-roots were kept, for my lady grubbe was fond of plants and cultivated trees and shrubs. her husband preferred riding out to shoot wolves and boars; and his little daughter marie always went with him part of the way. when she was only five years old, she would sit proudly on her horse, and look saucily round with her great black eyes. it was a great amusement to her to hit out among the hunting-dogs with her whip; but her father would rather have seen her hit among the peasant boys, who came running up to stare at their lord. the peasant in the clay hut close by the knightly house had a son named soren, of the same age as the gracious little lady. the boy could climb well, and had always to bring her down the bird's nests. the birds screamed as loud as they could, and one of the greatest of them hacked him with its beak over the eye so that the blood ran down, and it was at first thought the eye had been destroyed; but it had not been injured after all. marie grubbe used to call him her soren, and that was a great favor, and was an advantage to soren's father--poor jon, who had one day committed a fault, and was to be punished by riding on the wooden horse. this same horse stood in the courtyard, and had four poles for legs, and a single narrow plant for a back; on this jon had to ride astride, and some heavy bricks were fastened to his feet into the bargain, that he might not sit too comfortably. he made horrible grimaces, and soren wept and implored little marie to interfere. she immediately ordered that soren's father should be taken down, and when they did not obey her, she stamped on the floor, and pulled at her father's sleeve till it was torn to pieces. she would have her way, and she got her way, and soren's father was taken down. lady grubbe, who now came up, parted her little daughter's hair from the child's brow, and looked at her affectionately; but marie did not understand why. she wanted to go to the hounds, and not to her mother, who went down into the garden, to the lake where the water-lily bloomed, and the heads of bulrushes nodded amid the reeds; and she looked at all this beauty and freshness. "how pleasant!" she said. in the garden stood at that time a rare tree, which she herself had planted. it was called the blood-beech--a kind of negro growing among the other trees, so dark brown were the leaves. this tree required much sunshine, for in continual shade it would become bright green like the other trees, and thus lose its distinctive character. in the lofty chestnut trees were many birds' nests, and also in the thickets and in the grassy meadows. it seemed as though the birds knew that they were protected here, and that no one must fire a gun at them. little marie came here with soren. he knew how to climb, as we have already said, and eggs and fluffy-feathered young birds were brought down. the birds, great and small, flew about in terror and tribulation; the peewit from the fields, and the crows and daws from the high trees, screamed and screamed; it was just such din as the family will raise to the present day. "what are you doing, you children?" cried the gentle lady; "that is sinful!" soren stood abashed, and even the little gracious lady looked down a little; but then he said, quite short and pretty, "my father lets me do it!" "craw-craw! away-away from here!" cried the great black birds, and they flew away; but on the following day they came back, for they were at home here. the quiet gentle lady did not remain long at home here on earth, for the good god called her away; and, indeed, her home was rather with him than in the knightly house; and the church bells tolled solemnly when her corpse was carried to the church, and the eyes of the poor people were wet with tears, for she had been good to them. when she was gone, no one attended to her plantations, and the garden ran to waste. grubbe the knight was a hard man, they said; but his daughter, young as she was, knew how to manage him. he used to laugh and let her have her way. she was now twelve years old, and strongly built. she looked the people through and through with her black eyes, rode her horse as bravely as a man, and could fire off her gun like a practiced hunter. one day there were great visitors in the neighborhood, the grandest visitors who could come. the young king, and his half-brother and comrade, the lord ulric frederick gyldenlowe. they wanted to hunt the wild boar, and to pass a few days at the castle of grubbe. gyldenlowe sat at table next to marie grubbe, and he took her by the hand and gave her a kiss, as if she had been a relation; but she gave him a box on the ear, and told him she could not bear him, at which there was great laughter, as if that had been a very amusing thing. and perhaps it was very amusing, for, five years afterwards, when marie had fulfilled her seventeenth year, a messenger arrived with a letter, in which lord gyldenlowe proposed for the hand of the noble young lady. there was a thing for you! "he is the grandest and most gallant gentleman in the whole country," said grubbe the knight; "that is not a thing to despise." "i don't care so very much about him," said marie grubbe; but she did not despise the grandest man of all the country, who sat by the king's side. silver plate, and fine linen and woollen, went off to copenhagen in a ship, while the bride made the journey by land in ten days. but the outfit met with contrary winds, or with no winds at all, for four months passed before it arrived; and when it came, my lady gyldenlowe was gone. "i'd rather lie on coarse sacking than lie in his silken beds," she declared. "i'd rather walk barefoot than drive with him in a coach!" late one evening in november two women came riding into the town of aarhuus. they were the gracious lady gyldenlowe (marie grubbe) and her maid. they came from the town of weile, whither they had come in a ship from copenhagen. they stopped at lord grubbe's stone mansion in aarhuus. grubbe was not well pleased with this visit. marie was accosted in hard words; but she had a bedroom given her, and got her beer soup of a morning; but the evil part of her father's nature was aroused against her, and she was not used to that. she was not of a gentle temper, and we often answer as we are addressed. she answered openly, and spoke with bitterness and hatred of her husband, with whom she declared she would not live; she was too honorable for that. a year went by, but it did not go by pleasantly. there were evil words between the father and the daughter, and that ought never to be. bad words bear bad fruit. what could be the end of such a state of things? "we two cannot live under the same roof," said the father one day. "go away from here to our old manor house; but you had better bite your tongue off than spread any lies among the people." and so the two parted. she went with her maid to the old castle where she had been born, and near which the gentle, pious lady, her mother, was lying in the church vault. an old cowherd lived in the courtyard, and was the only other inhabitant of the place. in the rooms heavy black cobwebs hung down, covered with dust; in the garden everything grew just as it would; hops and climbing plants ran like a net between the trees and bushes, and the hemlock and nettle grew larger and stronger. the blood-beech had been outgrown by other trees, and now stood in the shade; and its leaves were green like those of the common trees, and its glory had departed. crows and choughs, in great close masses, flew past over the tall chestnut trees, and chattered and screamed as if they had something very important to tell one another--as if they were saying, "now she's come back again, the little girl who had their eggs and their young ones stolen from them; and as for the thief who had got them down, he had to climb up a leafless tree, for he sat on a tall ship's mast, and was beaten with a rope's end if he did not behave himself." the clerk told all this in our own times; he had collected it and looked it up in books and memoranda. it was to be found, with many other writings, locked up in his table-drawer. "upward and downward is the course of the world," said he. "it is strange to hear." and we will hear how it went with marie grubbe. we need not for that forget poultry meg, who is sitting in her capital hen-house, in our own time. marie grubbe sat down in her times, but not with the same spirit that old poultry meg showed. the winter passed away, and the spring and the summer passed away, and the autumn came again, with the damp, cold sea-fog. it was a lonely, desolate life in the old manor house. marie grubbe took her gun in her hand and went out to the heath, and shot hares and foxes, and whatever birds she could hit. more than once she met the noble sir palle dyre, of norrebak, who was also wandering about with his gun and his dogs. he was tall and strong, and boasted of this when they talked together. he could have measured himself against the deceased mr. brockenhuus, of egeskov, of whom the people still talked. palle dyre had, after the example of brockenhuus, caused an iron chain with a hunting-horn to be hung in his gateway; and when he came riding home, he used to seize the chain, and lift himself and his horse from the ground, and blow the horn. "come yourself, and see me do that, dame marie," he said. 'one can breathe fresh and free at norrebak. when she went to his castle is not known, but on the altar candlestick in the church of norrebak it was inscribed that they were the gift of palle dyre and marie grubbe, of norrebak castle. a great stout man was palle dyre. he drank like a sponge. he was like a tub that could never get full; he snored like a whole sty of pigs, and he looked red and bloated. "he is treacherous and malicious," said dame pally dyre, grubbe's daughter. soon she was weary of her life with him, but that did not make it better. one day the table was spread, and the dishes grew cold. palle dyre was out hunting foxes, and the gracious lady was nowhere to be found. towards midnight palle dyre came home, but dame dyre came neither at midnight, nor next morning. she had turned her back upon norrebak, and had ridden away without saying good-bye. it was gray, wet weather; the wind grew cold, and a flight of black screaming birds flew over her head. they were not so homeless as she. first she journeyed southward, quite down into the german land. a couple of golden rings with costly stones were turned into money; and then she turned to the east, and then she turned again and went towards the west. she had no food before her eyes, and murmured against everything, even against the good god himself, so wretched was her soul. soon her body became wretched too, and she was scarcely able to move a foot. the peewit flew up as she stumbled over the mound of earth where it had built its nest. the bird cried, as it always cried, "you thief! you thief!" she had never stolen her neighbor's goods; but as a little girl she had caused eggs and young birds to be taken from the trees, and she thought of that now. from where she lay she could see the sand-dunes. by the seashore lived fishermen; but she could not get so far, she was so ill. the great white sea-mews flew over her head, and screamed as the crows and daws screamed at home in the garden of the manor house. the birds flew quite close to her, and at last it seemed to her as if they became black as crows, and then all was night before her eyes. when she opened her eyes again, she was being lifted and carried. a great strong man had taken her up in his arms, and she was looking straight into his bearded face. he had a scar over one eye, which seemed to divide the eyebrow into two parts. weak as she was, he carried her to the ship, where he got a rating for it from the captain. the next day the ship sailed away. madame grubbe had not been put ashore, so she sailed away with it. but she will return, will she not? yes, but where, and when? the clerk could tell about this too, and it was not a story which he patched together himself. he had the whole strange history out of an old authentic book, which we ourselves can take out and read. the danish historian, ludwig holberg, who has written so many useful books and merry comedies, from which we can get such a good idea of his times and their people, tells in his letters of marie grubbe, where and how he met her. it is well worth hearing; but for all that, we don't at all forget poultry meg, who is sitting cheerful and comfortable in the charming fowl-house. the ship sailed away with marie grubbe. that's where we left off. long years went by. the plague was raging at copenhagen; it was in the year . the queen of denmark went away to her german home, the king quitted the capital, and everybody who could do so hurried away. the students, even those who had board and lodging gratis, left the city. one of these students, the last who had remained in the free college, at last went away too. it was two o'clock in the morning. he was carrying his knapsack, which was better stacked with books and writings than with clothes. a damp mist hung over the town; not a person was to be seen in the streets; the street-doors around were marked with crosses, as a sign that the plague was within, or that all the inmates were dead. a great wagon rattled past him; the coachman brandished his whip, and the horses flew by at a gallop. the wagon was filled with corpses. the young student kept his hand before his face, and smelt at some strong spirits that he had with him on a sponge in a little brass scent-case. out of a small tavern in one of the streets there were sounds of singing and of unhallowed laughter, from people who drank the night through to forget that the plague was at their doors, and that they might be put into the wagon as the others had been. the student turned his steps towards the canal at the castle bridge, where a couple of small ships were lying; one of these was weighing anchor, to get away from the plague-stricken city. "if god spares our lives and grants us a fair wind, we are going to gronmud, near falster," said the captain; and he asked the name of the student who wished to go with him. "ludwig holberg," answered the student; and the name sounded like any other. but now there sounds in it one of the proudest names of denmark; then it was the name of a young, unknown student. the ship glided past the castle. it was not yet bright day when it was in the open sea. a light wind filled the sails, and the young student sat down with his face turned towards the fresh wind, and went to sleep, which was not exactly the most prudent thing he could have done. already on the third day the ship lay by the island of falster. "do you know any one here with whom i could lodge cheaply?" holberg asked the captain. "i should think you would do well to go to the ferry-woman in borrehaus," answered the captain. "if you want to be very civil to her, her name is mother soren sorensen muller. but it may happen that she may fly into a fury if you are too polite to her. the man is in custody for a crime, and that's why she manages the ferry-boat herself--she has fists of her own." the student took his knapsack and betook himself to the ferry-house. the house door was not locked--it opened, and he went into a room with a brick floor, where a bench, with a great coverlet of leather, formed the chief article of furniture. a white hen, who had a brood of chickens, was fastened to the bench, and had overturned the pipkin of water, so that the wet ran across the floor. there were no people either here or in the adjoining room; only a cradle stood there, in which was a child. the ferry-boat came back with only one person in it. whether that person was a man or a woman was not an easy matter to determine. the person in question was wrapped in a great cloak, and wore a kind of hood. presently the boat lay to. it was a woman who got out of it and came into the room. she looked very stately when she straightened her back; two proud eyes looked forth from beneath her black eyebrows. it was mother soren, the ferry-wife. the crows and daws might have called out another name for her, which we know better. she looked morose, and did not seem to care to talk; but this much was settled, that the student should board in her house for an indefinite time, while things looked so bad in copenhagen. this or that honest citizen would often come to the ferry-house from the neighboring little town. there came frank the cutler, and sivert the exciseman. they drank a mug of beer in the ferry-house, and used to converse with the student, for he was a clever young man, who knew his "practica," as they called it; he could read greek and latin, and was well up in learned subjects. "the less one knows, the less it presses upon one," said mother soren. "you have to work hard," said holberg one day, when she was dipping clothes in the strong soapy water, and was obliged herself to split the logs for the fire. "that's my affair," she replied. "have you been obliged to toil in this way from your childhood?" "you can read that from my hands," she replied, and held out her hands, that were small indeed, but hard and strong, with bitten nails. "you are learned, and can read." at christmas-time it began to snow heavily. the cold came on, the wind blue sharp, as if there were vitriol in it to wash the people's faces. mother soren did not let that disturb her; she threw her cloak around her, and drew her hood over her head. early in the afternoon--it was already dark in the house--she laid wood and turf on the hearth, and then she sat down to darn her stockings, for there was no one to do it for her. towards evening she spoke more words to the student than it was customary with her to use; she spoke of her husband. "he killed a sailor of dragor by mischance, and for that he has to work for three years in irons. he's only a common sailor, and therefore the law must take its course." "the law is there for people of high rank, too," said holberg. "do you think so?" said mother soren; then she looked into the fire for a while; but after a time she began to speak again. "have you heard of kai lykke, who caused a church to be pulled down, and when the clergyman, master martin, thundered from the pulpit about it, he had him put in irons, and sat in judgment upon him, and condemned him to death? yes, and the clergyman was obliged to bow his head to the stroke. and yet kai lykke went scot-free." "he had a right to do as he did in those times," said holberg; "but now we have left those times behind us." "you may get a fool to believe that," cried mother soren; and she got up and went into the room where the child lay. she lifted up the child, and laid it down more comfortably. then she arranged the bed-place of the student. he had the green coverlet, for he felt the cold more than she, though he was born in norway. on new year's morning it was a bright sunshiny day. the frost had been so strong, and was still so strong, that the fallen snow had become a hard mass, and one could walk upon it. the bells of the little town were tolling for church. student holberg wrapped himself up in his woollen cloak, and wanted to go to the town. over the ferry-house the crows and daws were flying with loud cries; one could hardly hear the church bells for their screaming. mother soren stood in front of the house, filling a brass pot with snow, which she was going to put on the fire to get drinking water. she looked up to the crowd of birds, and thought her own thoughts. student holberg went to church. on his way there and on his return he passed by the house of tax-collector sivert, by the town-gate. here he was invited to take a mug of brown beer with treacle and sugar. the discourse fell upon mother soren, but the tax collector did not know much about her, and, indeed, few knew much about her. she did not belong to the island of falster, he said; she had a little property of her own at one time. her husband was a common sailor, a fellow of a very hot temper, and had killed a sailor of dragor; and he beat his wife, and yet she defended him. "i should not endure such treatment," said the tax-collector's wife. "i am come of more respectable people. my father was stocking-weaver to the court." "and consequently you have married a governmental official," said holberg, and made a bow to her and to the collector. it was on twelfth night, the evening of the festival of the three kings, mother soren lit up for holberg a three-king candle, that is, a tallow candle with three wicks, which she had herself prepared. "a light for each man," said holberg. "for each man?" repeated the woman, looking sharply at him. "for each of the wise men from the east," said holberg. "you mean it that way," said she, and then she was silent for a long time. but on this evening he learned more about her than he had yet known. "you speak very affectionately of your husband," observed holberg, "and yet the people say that he ill-uses you every day." "that's no one's business but mine," she replied. "the blows might have done me good when i was a child; now, i suppose, i get them for my sins. but i know what good he has done me," and she rose up. "when i lay sick upon the desolate heath, and no one would have pity on me, and no one would have anything to do with me, except the crows and daws, which came to peck me to bits, he carried me in his arms, and had to bear hard words because of the burden he brought on board ship. it's not in my nature to be sick, and so i got well. every man has his own way, and soren has his; but the horse must not be judged by the halter. taking one thing with another, i have lived more agreeably with him than with the man whom they called the most noble and gallant of the king's subjects. i have had the stadtholder gyldenlowe, the king's half-brother, for my husband; and afterwards i took palle dyre. one is as good as another, each in his own way, and i in mine. that was a long gossip, but now you know all about me." and with those words she left the room. it was marie grubbe! so strangely had fate played with her. she did not live to see many anniversaries of the festival of the three kings; holberg has recorded that she died in june, ; but he has not written down, for he did not know, that a number of great black birds circled over the ferry-house, when mother soren, as she was called, was lying there a corpse. they did not scream, as if they knew that at a burial silence should be observed. so soon as she lay in the earth, the birds disappeared; but on the same evening in jutland, at the old manor house, an enormous number of crows and choughs were seen; they all cried as loud as they could, as if they had some announcement to make. perhaps they talked of him who, as a little boy, had taken away their eggs and their young; of the peasant's son, who had to wear an iron garter, and of the noble young lady, who ended by being a ferryman's wife. "brave! brave!" they cried. and the whole family cried, "brave! brave!" when the old house was pulled down. "they are still crying, and yet there's nothing to cry about," said the clerk, when he told the story. "the family is extinct, the house has been pulled down, and where it stood is now the stately poultry-house, with gilded weathercocks, and the old poultry meg. she rejoices greatly in her beautiful dwelling. if she had not come here," the old clerk added, "she would have had to go into the work-house." the pigeons cooed over her, the turkey-cocks gobbled, and the ducks quacked. "nobody knew her," they said; "she belongs to no family. it's pure charity that she is here at all. she has neither a drake father nor a hen mother, and has no descendants." she came of a great family, for all that; but she did not know it, and the old clerk did not know it, though he had so much written down; but one of the old crows knew about it, and told about it. she had heard from her own mother and grandmother about poultry meg's mother and grandmother. and we know the grandmother too. we saw her ride, as child, over the bridge, looking proudly around her, as if the whole world belonged to her, and all the birds' nests in it; and we saw her on the heath, by the sand-dunes; and, last of all, in the ferry-house. the granddaughter, the last of her race, had come back to the old home, where the old castle had stood, where the black wild birds were screaming; but she sat among the tame birds, and these knew her and were fond of her. poultry meg had nothing left to wish for; she looked forward with pleasure to her death, and she was old enough to die. "grave, grave!" cried the crows. and poultry meg has a good grave, which nobody knew except the old crow, if the old crow is not dead already. and now we know the story of the old manor house, of its old proprietors, and of all poultry meg's family. the princess and the pea once upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she would have to be a real princess. he travelled all over the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted. there were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. there was always something about them that was not as it should be. so he came home again and was sad, for he would have liked very much to have a real princess. one evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it. it was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. but, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. the water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. and yet she said that she was a real princess. "well, we'll soon find that out," thought the old queen. but she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down beds on top of the mattresses. on this the princess had to lie all night. in the morning she was asked how she had slept. "oh, very badly!" said she. "i have scarcely closed my eyes all night. heaven only knows what was in the bed, but i was lying on something hard, so that i am black and blue all over my body. it's horrible!" now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds. nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that. so the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it. there, that is a true story. the psyche in the fresh morning dawn, in the rosy air gleams a great star, the brightest star of the morning. his rays tremble on the white wall, as if he wished to write down on it what he can tell, what he has seen there and elsewhere during thousands of years in our rolling world. let us hear one of his stories. "a short time ago"--the star's "short time ago" is called among men "centuries ago"--"my rays followed a young artist. it was in the city of the popes, in the world-city, rome. much has been changed there in the course of time, but the changes have not come so quickly as the change from youth to old age. then already the palace of the caesars was a ruin, as it is now; fig trees and laurels grew among the fallen marble columns, and in the desolate bathing-halls, where the gilding still clings to the wall; the coliseum was a gigantic ruin; the church bells sounded, the incense sent up its fragrant cloud, and through the streets marched processions with flaming tapers and glowing canopies. holy church was there, and art was held as a high and holy thing. in rome lived the greatest painter in the world, raphael; there also dwelt the first of sculptors, michael angelo. even the pope paid homage to these two, and honored them with a visit. art was recognized and honored, and was rewarded also. but, for all that, everything great and splendid was not seen and known. "in a narrow lane stood an old house. once it had been a temple; a young sculptor now dwelt there. he was young and quite unknown. he certainly had friends, young artists, like himself, young in spirit, young in hopes and thoughts; they told him he was rich in talent, and an artist, but that he was foolish for having no faith in his own power; for he always broke what he had fashioned out of clay, and never completed anything; and a work must be completed if it is to be seen and to bring money. "'you are a dreamer,' they went on to say to him, 'and that's your misfortune. but the reason of this is, that you have never lived, you have never tasted life, you have never enjoyed it in great wholesome draughts, as it ought to be enjoyed. in youth one must mingle one's own personality with life, that they may become one. look at the great master raphael, whom the pope honors and the world admires. he's no despiser of wine and bread.' "'and he even appreciates the baker's daughter, the pretty fornarina,' added angelo, one of the merriest of the young friends. "yes, they said a good many things of the kind, according to their age and their reason. they wanted to draw the young artist out with them into the merry wild life, the mad life as it might also be called; and at certain times he felt an inclination for it. he had warm blood, a strong imagination, and could take part in the merry chat, and laugh aloud with the rest; but what they called 'raphael's merry life' disappeared before him like a vapor when he saw the divine radiance that beamed forth from the pictures of the great master; and when he stood in the vatican, before the forms of beauty which the masters had hewn out of marble thousands of years since, his breast swelled, and he felt within himself something high, something holy, something elevating, great and good, and he wished that he could produce similar forms from the blocks of marble. he wished to make a picture of that which was within him, stirring upward from his heart to the realms of the infinite; but how, and in what form? the soft clay was fashioned under his fingers into forms of beauty, but the next day he broke what he had fashioned, according to his wont. "one day he walked past one of those rich palaces of which rome has many to show. he stopped before the great open portal, and beheld a garden surrounded by cloistered walks. the garden bloomed with a goodly show of the fairest roses. great white lilies with green juicy leaves shot upward from the marble basin in which the clear water was splashing; and a form glided past, the daughter of the princely house, graceful, delicate, and wonderfully fair. such a form of female loveliness he had never before beheld--yet stay: he had seen it, painted by raphael, painted as a psyche, in one of the roman palaces. yes, there it had been painted; but here it passed by him in living reality. "the remembrance lived in his thoughts, in his heart. he went home to his humble room, and modelled a psyche of clay. it was the rich young roman girl, the noble maiden; and for the first time he looked at his work with satisfaction. it had a meaning for him, for it was she. and the friends who saw his work shouted aloud for joy; they declared that this work was a manifestation of his artistic power, of which they had long been aware, and that now the world should be made aware of it too. "the clay figure was lifelike and beautiful, but it had not the whiteness or the durability of marble. so they declared that the psyche must henceforth live in marble. he already possessed a costly block of that stone. it had been lying for years, the property of his parents, in the courtyard. fragments of glass, climbing weeds, and remains of artichokes had gathered about it and sullied its purity; but under the surface the block was as white as the mountain snow; and from this block the psyche was to arise." now, it happened one morning--the bright star tells nothing about this, but we know it occurred--that a noble roman company came into the narrow lane. the carriage stopped at the top of the lane, and the company proceeded on foot towards the house, to inspect the young sculptor's work, for they had heard him spoken of by chance. and who were these distinguished guests? poor young man! or fortunate young man he might be called. the noble young lady stood in the room and smiled radiantly when her father said to her, "it is your living image." that smile could not be copied, any more than the look could be reproduced, the wonderful look which she cast upon the young artist. it was a fiery look, that seemed at once to elevate and to crush him. "the psyche must be executed in marble," said the wealthy patrician. and those were words of life for the dead clay and the heavy block of marble, and words of life likewise for the deeply-moved artist. "when the work is finished i will purchase it," continued the rich noble. a new era seemed to have arisen in the poor studio. life and cheerfulness gleamed there, and busy industry plied its work. the beaming morning star beheld how the work progressed. the clay itself seemed inspired since she had been there, and moulded itself, in heightened beauty, to a likeness of the well-known features. "now i know what life is," cried the artist rejoicingly; "it is love! it is the lofty abandonment of self for the dawning of the beautiful in the soul! what my friends call life and enjoyment is a passing shadow; it is like bubbles among seething dregs, not the pure heavenly wine that consecrates us to life." the marble block was reared in its place. the chisel struck great fragments from it; the measurements were taken, points and lines were made, the mechanical part was executed, till gradually the stone assumed a human female form, a shape of beauty, and became converted into the psyche, fair and glorious--a divine being in human shape. the heavy stone appeared as a gliding, dancing, airy psyche, with the heavenly innocent smile--the smile that had mirrored itself in the soul of the young artist. the star of the roseate dawn beheld and understood what was stirring within the young man, and could read the meaning of the changing color of his cheek, of the light that flashed from his eye, as he stood busily working, reproducing what had been put into his soul from above. "thou art a master like those masters among the ancient greeks," exclaimed his delighted friends; "soon shall the whole world admire thy psyche." "my psyche!" he repeated. "yes, mine. she must be mine. i, too, am an artist, like those great men who are gone. providence has granted me the boon, and has made me the equal of that lady of noble birth." and he knelt down and breathed a prayer of thankfulnesss to heaven, and then he forgot heaven for her sake--for the sake of her picture in stone--for her psyche which stood there as if formed of snow, blushing in the morning dawn. he was to see her in reality, the living, graceful psyche, whose words sounded like music in his ears. he could now carry the news into the rich palace that the marble psyche was finished. he betook himself thither, strode through the open courtyard where the waters ran splashing from the dolphin's jaws into the marble basins, where the snowy lilies and the fresh roses bloomed in abundance. he stepped into the great lofty hall, whose walls and ceilings shone with gilding and bright colors and heraldic devices. gayly-dressed serving-men, adorned with trappings like sleigh horses, walked to and fro, and some reclined at their ease upon the carved oak seats, as if they were the masters of the house. he told them what had brought him to the palace, and was conducted up the shining marble staircase, covered with soft carpets and adorned with many a statue. then he went on through richly-furnished chambers, over mosaic floors, amid gorgeous pictures. all this pomp and luxury seemed to weary him; but soon he felt relieved, for the princely old master of the house received him most graciously, almost heartily; and when he took his leave he was requested to step into the signora's apartment, for she, too, wished to see him. the servants led him through more luxurious halls and chambers into her room, where she appeared the chief and leading ornament. she spoke to him. no hymn of supplication, no holy chant, could melt his soul like the sound of her voice. he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. no rose was softer, but a fire thrilled through him from this rose--a feeling of power came upon him, and words poured from his tongue--he knew not what he said. does the crater of the volcano know that the glowing lava is pouring from it? he confessed what he felt for her. she stood before him astonished, offended, proud, with contempt in her face, an expression of disgust, as if she had suddenly touched a cold unclean reptile. her cheeks reddened, her lips grew white, and her eyes flashed fire, though they were dark as the blackness of night. "madman!" she cried, "away! begone!" and she turned her back upon him. her beautiful face wore an expression like that of the stony countenance with the snaky locks. like a stricken, fainting man, he tottered down the staircase and out into the street. like a man walking in his sleep, he found his way back to his dwelling. then he woke up to madness and agony, and seized his hammer, swung it high in the air, and rushed forward to shatter the beautiful marble image. but, in his pain, he had not noticed that his friend angelo stood beside him; and angelo held back his arm with a strong grasp, crying, "are you mad? what are you about?" they struggled together. angelo was the stronger; and, with a deep sigh of exhaustion, the young artist threw himself into a chair. "what has happened?" asked angelo. "command yourself. speak!" but what could he say? how could he explain? and as angelo could make no sense of his friend's incoherent words, he forbore to question him further, and merely said, "your blood grows thick from your eternal dreaming. be a man, as all others are, and don't go on living in ideals, for that is what drives men crazy. a jovial feast will make you sleep quietly and happily. believe me, the time will come when you will be old, and your sinews will shrink, and then, on some fine sunshiny day, when everything is laughing and rejoicing, you will lie there a faded plant, that will grow no more. i do not live in dreams, but in reality. come with me. be a man!" and he drew the artist away with him. at this moment he was able to do so, for a fire ran in the blood of the young sculptor; a change had taken place in his soul; he felt a longing to tear from the old, the accustomed--to forget, if possible, his own individuality; and therefore it was that he followed angelo. in an out-of-the-way suburb of rome lay a tavern much visited by artists. it was built on the ruins of some ancient baths. the great yellow citrons hung down among the dark shining leaves, and covered a part of the old reddish-yellow walls. the tavern consisted of a vaulted chamber, almost like a cavern, in the ruins. a lamp burned there before the picture of the madonna. a great fire gleamed on the hearth, and roasting and boiling was going on there; without, under the citron trees and laurels, stood a few covered tables. the two artists were received by their friends with shouts of welcome. little was eaten, but much was drunk, and the spirits of the company rose. songs were sung and ditties were played on the guitar; presently the salterello sounded, and the merry dance began. two young roman girls, who sat as models to the artists, took part in the dance and in the festivity. two charming bacchantes were they; certainly not psyches--not delicate, beautiful roses, but fresh, hearty, glowing carnations. how hot it was on that day! even after sundown it was hot. there was fire in the blood, fire in every glance, fire everywhere. the air gleamed with gold and roses, and life seemed like gold and roses. "at last you have joined us, for once," said his friends. "now let yourself be carried by the waves within and around you." "never yet have i felt so well, so merry!" cried the young artist. "you are right--you are all of you right. i was a fool--a dreamer. man belongs to reality, and not to fancy." with songs and with sounding guitars the young people returned that evening from the tavern, through the narrow streets; the two glowing carnations, daughters of the campagna, went with them. in angelo's room, among a litter of colored sketches (studies) and glowing pictures, the voices sounded mellower, but not less merrily. on the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of the campagna, in their fresh, hearty comeliness, but the two originals were far handsomer than their portraits. all the burners of the six-armed lamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within, and appeared in the glare as if it were divine. "apollo! jupiter! i feel myself raised to our heaven--to your glory! i feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in my veins at this moment!" yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, and an evil vapor arose from it, blinding the sight, leading astray the fancy; the firework of the senses went out, and it became dark. he was again in his own room. there he sat down on his bed and collected his thoughts. "fie on thee!" these were the words that sounded out of his mouth from the depths of his heart. "wretched man, go, begone!" and a deep painful sigh burst from his bosom. "away! begone!" these, her words, the words of the living psyche, echoed through his heart, escaped from his lips. he buried his head in the pillows, his thoughts grew confused, and he fell asleep. in the morning dawn he started up, and collected his thoughts anew. what had happened? had all the past been a dream? the visit to her, the feast at the tavern, the evening with the purple carnations of the campagna? no, it was all real--a reality he had never before experienced. in the purple air gleamed the bright star, and its beams fell upon him and upon the marble psyche. he trembled as he looked at that picture of immortality, and his glance seemed impure to him. he threw the cloth over the statue, and then touched it once more to unveil the form--but he was not able to look again at his own work. gloomy, quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat there through the long day; he heard nothing of what was going on around him, and no man guessed what was passing in this human soul. and days and weeks went by, but the nights passed more slowly than the days. the flashing star beheld him one morning as he rose, pale and trembling with fever, from his sad couch; then he stepped towards the statue, threw back the covering, took one long, sorrowful gaze at his work, and then, almost sinking beneath the burden, he dragged the statue out into the garden. in that place was an old dry well, now nothing but a hole. into this he cast the psyche, threw earth in above her, and covered up the spot with twigs and nettles. "away! begone!" such was the short epitaph he spoke. the star beheld all this from the pink morning sky, and its beam trembled upon two great tears upon the pale feverish cheeks of the young man; and soon it was said that he was sick unto death, and he lay stretched upon a bed of pain. the convent brother ignatius visited him as a physician and a friend, and brought him words of comfort, of religion, and spoke to him of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sinfulness of man, of rest and mercy to be found in heaven. and the words fell like warm sunbeams upon a teeming soil. the soil smoked and sent up clouds of mist, fantastic pictures, pictures in which there was reality; and from these floating islands he looked across at human life. he found it vanity and delusion--and vanity and delusion it had been to him. they told him that art was a sorcerer, betraying us to vanity and to earthly lusts; that we are false to ourselves, unfaithful to our friends, unfaithful towards heaven; and that the serpent was always repeating within us, "eat, and thou shalt become as god." and it appeared to him as if now, for the first time, he knew himself, and had found the way that leads to truth and to peace. in the church was the light and the brightness of god--in the monk's cell he should find the rest through which the tree of human life might grow on into eternity. brother ignatius strengthened his longings, and the determination became firm within him. a child of the world became a servant of the church--the young artist renounced the world, and retired into the cloister. the brothers came forward affectionately to welcome him, and his inauguration was as a sunday feast. heaven seemed to him to dwell in the sunshine of the church, and to beam upon him from the holy pictures and from the cross. and when, in the evening, at the sunset hour, he stood in his little cell, and, opening the window, looked out upon old rome, upon the desolated temples, and the great dead coliseum--when he saw all this in its spring garb, when the acacias bloomed, and the ivy was fresh, and roses burst forth everywhere, and the citron and orange were in the height of their beauty, and the palm trees waved their branches--then he felt a deeper emotion than had ever yet thrilled through him. the quiet open campagna spread itself forth towards the blue snow-covered mountains, which seemed to be painted in the air; all the outlines melting into each other, breathing peace and beauty, floating, dreaming--and all appearing like a dream! yes, this world was a dream, and the dream lasts for hours, and may return for hours; but convent life is a life of years--long years, and many years. from within comes much that renders men sinful and impure. he fully realized the truth of this. what flames arose up in him at times! what a source of evil, of that which we would not, welled up continually! he mortified his body, but the evil came from within. one day, after the lapse of many years, he met angelo, who recognized him. "man!" exclaimed angelo. "yes, it is thou! art thou happy now? thou hast sinned against god, and cast away his boon from thee--hast neglected thy mission in this world! read the parable of the intrusted talent! the master, who spoke that parable, spoke the truth! what hast thou gained? what hast thou found? dost thou not fashion for thyself a religion and a dreamy life after thine own idea, as almost all do? suppose all this is a dream, a fair delusion!" "get thee away from me, satan!" said the monk; and he quitted angelo. "there is a devil, a personal devil! this day i have seen him!" said the monk to himself. "once i extended a finger to him, and he took my whole hand. but now," he sighed, "the evil is within me, and it is in yonder man; but it does not bow him down; he goes abroad with head erect, and enjoys his comfort; and i grasped at comfort in the consolations of religion. if it were nothing but a consolation? supposing everything here were, like the world i have quitted, only a beautiful fancy, a delusion like the beauty of the evening clouds, like the misty blue of the distant hills!--when you approach them, they are very different! o eternity! thou actest like the great calm ocean, that beckons us, and fills us with expectation--and when we embark upon thee, we sink, disappear, and cease to be. delusion! away with it! begone!" and tearless, but sunk in bitter reflection, he sat upon his hard couch, and then knelt down--before whom? before the stone cross fastened to the wall? no, it was only habit that made him take this position. the more deeply he looked into his own heart, the blacker did the darkness seem. "nothing within, nothing without--this life squandered and cast away!" and this thought rolled and grew like a snowball, until it seemed to crush him. "i can confide my griefs to none. i may speak to none of the gnawing worm within. my secret is my prisoner; if i let the captive escape, i shall be his!" and the godlike power that dwelt within him suffered and strove. "o lord, my lord!" he cried, in his despair, "be merciful and grant me faith. i threw away the gift thou hadst vouchsafed to me, i left my mission unfulfilled. i lacked strength, and strength thou didst not give me. immortality--the psyche in my breast--away with it!--it shall be buried like that psyche, the best gleam of my life; never will it arise out of its grave!" the star glowed in the roseate air, the star that shall surely be extinguished and pass away while the soul still lives on; its trembling beam fell upon the white wall, but it wrote nothing there upon being made perfect in god, nothing of the hope of mercy, of the reliance on the divine love that thrills through the heart of the believer. "the psyche within can never die. shall it live in consciousness? can the incomprehensible happen? yes, yes. my being is incomprehensible. thou art unfathomable, o lord. thy whole world is incomprehensible--a wonder-work of power, of glory and of love." his eyes gleamed, and then closed in death. the tolling of the church bell was the last sound that echoed above him, above the dead man; and they buried him, covering him with earth that had been brought from jerusalem, and in which was mingled the dust of many of the pious dead. when years had gone by his skeleton was dug up, as the skeletons of the monks who had died before him had been; it was clad in a brown frock, a rosary was put into the bony hand, and the form was placed among the ranks of other skeletons in the cloisters of the convent. and the sun shone without, while within the censers were waved and the mass was celebrated. and years rolled by. the bones fell asunder and became mingled with others. skulls were piled up till they formed an outer wall around the church; and there lay also his head in the burning sun, for many dead were there, and no one knew their names, and his name was forgotten also. and see, something was moving in the sunshine, in the sightless cavernous eyes! what might that be? a sparkling lizard moved about in the skull, gliding in and out through the sightless holes. the lizard now represented all the life left in that head, in which once great thoughts, bright dreams, the love of art and of the glorious, had arisen, whence hot tears had rolled down, where hope and immortality had had their being. the lizard sprang away and disappeared, and the skull itself crumbled to pieces and became dust among dust. centuries passed away. the bright star gleamed unaltered, radiant and large, as it had gleamed for thousands of years, and the air glowed red with tints fresh as roses, crimson like blood. there, where once had stood the narrow lane containing the ruins of the temple, a nunnery was now built. a grave was being dug in the convent garden for a young nun who had died, and was to be laid in the earth this morning. the spade struck against a hard substance; it was a stone, that shone dazzling white. a block of marble soon appeared, a rounded shoulder was laid bare; and now the spade was plied with a more careful hand, and presently a female head was seen, and butterflies' wings. out of the grave in which the young nun was to be laid they lifted, in the rosy morning, a wonderful statue of a psyche carved in white marble. "how beautiful, how perfect it is!" cried the spectators. "a relic of the best period of art." and who could the sculptor have been? no one knew; no one remembered him, except the bright star that had gleamed for thousands of years. the star had seen the course of that life on earth, and knew of the man's trials, of his weakness--in fact, that he had been but human. the man's life had passed away, his dust had been scattered abroad as dust is destined to be; but the result of his noblest striving, the glorious work that gave token of the divine element within him--the psyche that never dies, that lives beyond posterity--the brightness even of this earthly psyche remained here after him, and was seen and acknowledged and appreciated. the bright morning star in the roseate air threw its glancing ray downward upon the psyche, and upon the radiant countenances of the admiring spectators, who here beheld the image of the soul portrayed in marble. what is earthly will pass away and be forgotten, and the star in the vast firmament knows it. what is heavenly will shine brightly through posterity; and when the ages of posterity are past, the psyche--the soul--will still live on! the puppet-show man on board a steamer i once met an elderly man, with such a merry face that, if it was really an index of his mind, he must have been the happiest fellow in creation; and indeed he considered himself so, for i heard it from his own mouth. he was a dane, the owner of a travelling theatre. he had all his company with him in a large box, for he was the proprietor of a puppet-show. his inborn cheerfulness, he said, had been tested by a member of the polytechnic institution, and the experiment had made him completely happy. i did not at first understand all this, but afterwards he explained the whole story to me; and here it is:-- "i was giving a representation," he said, "in the hall of the posting-house in the little town of slagelse; there was a splendid audience, entirely juvenile excepting two respectable matrons. all at once, a person in black, of student-like appearance, entered the room, and sat down; he laughed aloud at the telling points, and applauded quite at the proper time. this was a very unusual spectator for me, and i felt anxious to know who he was. i heard that he was a member of the polytechnic institution in copenhagen, who had been sent out to lecture to the people in the provinces. punctually at eight o'clock my performance closed, for children must go early to bed, and a manager must also consult the convenience of the public. "at nine o'clock the lecturer commenced his lecture and his experiments, and then i formed a part of his audience. it was wonderful both to hear and to see. the greater part of it was beyond my comprehension, but it led me to think that if we men can acquire so much, we must surely be intended to last longer than the little span which extends only to the time when we are hidden away under the earth. his experiments were quite miracles on a small scale, and yet the explanations flowed as naturally as water from his lips. at the time of moses and the prophets, such a man would have been placed among the sages of the land; in the middle ages they would have burnt him at the stake. "all night long i could not sleep; and the next evening when i gave another performance and the lecturer was present, i was in one of my best moods. "i once heard of an actor, who, when he had to act the part of a lover, always thought of one particular lady in the audience; he only played for her, and forgot all the rest of the house, and now the polytechnic lecturer was my she, my only auditor, for whom alone i played. "when the performance was over, and the puppets removed behind the curtain, the polytechnic lecturer invited me into his room to take a glass of wine. he talked of my comedies, and i of his science, and i believe we were both equally pleased. but i had the best of it, for there was much in what he did that he could not always explain to me. for instance, why a piece of iron which is rubbed on a cylinder, should become magnetic. how does this happen? the magnetic sparks come to it,--but how? it is the same with people in the world; they are rubbed about on this spherical globe till the electric spark comes upon them, and then we have a napoleon, or a luther, or some one of the kind. "'the whole world is but a series of miracles,' said the lecturer, 'but we are so accustomed to them that we call them everyday matters.' and he went on explaining things to me till my skull seemed lifted from my brain, and i declared that were i not such an old fellow, i would at once become a member of the polytechnic institution, that i might learn to look at the bright side of everything, although i was one of the happiest of men. "'one of the happiest!' said the lecturer, as if the idea pleased him; 'are you really happy?' "'yes,' i replied; 'for i am welcomed in every town, when i arrive with my company; but i certainly have one wish which sometimes weighs upon my cheerful temper like a mountain of lead. i should like to become the manager of a real theatre, and the director of a real troupe of men and women.' "'i understand,' he said; 'you would like to have life breathed into your puppets, so that they might be living actors, and you their director. and would you then be quite happy?' "i said i believed so. but he did not; and we talked it over in all manner of ways, yet could not agree on the subject. however, the wine was excellent, and we clanked our glasses together as we drank. there must have been magic in it, or i should most certainly become tipsy; but that did not happen, for my mind seemed quite clear; and, indeed, a kind of sunshine filled the room, and beamed from the eyes of the polytechnic lecturer. it made me think of the old stories when the gods, in their immortal youth, wandered upon this earth, and paid visits to mankind. i said so to him, and he smiled; and i could have sworn that he was one of these ancient deities in disguise, or, at all events, that he belonged to the race of the gods. the result seemed to prove i was right in my suspicions; for it was arranged that my highest wish should be granted, that my puppets were to be gifted with life, and that i was to be the manager of a real company. we drank to my success, and clanked our glasses. then he packed all my dolls into the box, and fastened it on my back, and i felt as if i were spinning round in a circle, and presently found myself lying on the floor. i remember that quite well. and then the whole company sprang from the box. the spirit had come upon us all; the puppets had become distinguished actors--at least, so they said themselves--and i was their director. "when all was ready for the first representation, the whole company requested permission to speak to me before appearing in public. the dancing lady said the house could not be supported unless she stood on one leg; for she was a great genius, and begged to be treated as such. the lady who acted the part of the queen expected to be treated as a queen off the stage, as well as on it, or else she said she should get out of practice. the man whose duty it was to deliver a letter gave himself as many airs as he who took the part of first lover in the piece; he declared that the inferior parts were as important as the great ones, and deserving equal consideration, as parts of an artistic whole. the hero of the piece would only play in a part containing points likely to bring down the applause of the house. the 'prima donna' would only act when the lights were red, for she declared that a blue light did not suit her complexion. it was like a company of flies in a bottle, and i was in the bottle with them; for i was their director. my breath was taken away, my head whirled, and i was as miserable as a man could be. it was quite a novel, strange set of beings among whom i now found myself. i only wished i had them all in my box again, and that i had never been their director. so i told them roundly that, after all, they were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. after a while i found myself lying on my bed in my room; but how i got there, or how i got away at all from the polytechnic professor, he may perhaps know, i don't. the moon shone upon the floor, the box lay open, and the dolls were all scattered about in great confusion; but i was not idle. i jumped off the bed, and into the box they all had to go, some on their heads, some on their feet. then i shut down the lid, and seated myself upon the box. 'now you'll have to stay,' said i, 'and i shall be cautious how i wish you flesh and blood again.' "i felt quite light, my cheerfulness had returned, and i was the happiest of mortals. the polytechnic professor had fully cured me. i was as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the box. next morning--correctly speaking, it was noon, for i slept remarkably late that day--i found myself still sitting there, in happy consciousness that my former wish had been a foolish one. i inquired for the polytechnic professor; but he had disappeared like the greek and roman gods; from that time i have been the happiest man in the world. i am a happy director; for none of my company ever grumble, nor the public either, for i always make them merry. i can arrange my pieces just as i please. i choose out of every comedy what i like best, and no one is offended. plays that are neglected now-a-days by the great public were ran after thirty years ago, and listened to till the tears ran down the cheeks of the audience. these are the pieces i bring forward. i place them before the little ones, who cry over them as papa and mamma used to cry thirty years ago. but i make them shorter, for the youngsters don't like long speeches; and if they have anything mournful, they like it to be over quickly." the races a prize, or rather two prizes, a great one and a small one, had been awarded for the greatest swiftness in running,--not in a single race, but for the whole year. "i obtained the first prize," said the hare. "justice must still be carried out, even when one has relations and good friends among the prize committee; but that the snail should have received the second prize, i consider almost an insult to myself." "no," said the fence-rail, who had been a witness at the distribution of prizes; "there should be some consideration for industry and perseverance. i have heard many respectable people say so, and i can quite understand it. the snail certainly took half a year to get over the threshold of the door; but he injured himself, and broke his collar-bone by the haste he made. he gave himself up entirely to the race, and ran with his house on his back, which was all, of course, very praiseworthy; and therefore he obtained the second prize." "i think i ought to have had some consideration too," said the swallow. "i should imagine no one can be swifter in soaring and flight than i am; and how far i have been! far, far away." "yes, that is your misfortune," said the fence-rail; "you are so fickle, so unsettled; you must always be travelling about into foreign lands when the cold commences here. you have no love of fatherland in you. there can be no consideration for you." "but now, if i have been lying the whole winter in the moor," said the swallow, "and suppose i slept the whole time, would that be taken into account?" "bring a certificate from the old moor-hen," said he, "that you have slept away half your time in fatherland; then you will be treated with some consideration." "i deserved the first prize, and not the second," said the snail. "i know so much, at least, that the hare only ran from cowardice, and because he thought there was danger in delay. i, on the other hand, made running the business of my life, and have become a cripple in the service. if any one had a first prize, it ought to have been myself. but i do not understand chattering and boasting; on the contrary, i despise it." and the snail spat at them with contempt. "i am able to affirm with word of oath, that each prize--at least, those for which i voted--was given with just and proper consideration," said the old boundary post in the wood, who was a member of the committee of judges. "i always act with due order, consideration, and calculation. seven times have i already had the honor to be present at the distribution of the prizes, and to vote; but to-day is the first time i have been able to carry out my will. i always reckon the first prize by going through the alphabet from the beginning, and the second by going through from the end. be so kind as to give me your attention, and i will explain to you how i reckon from the beginning. the eighth letter from a is h, and there we have h for hare; therefore i awarded to the hare the first prize. the eighth letter from the end of the alphabet is s, and therefore the snail received the second prize. next year, the letter i will have its turn for the first prize, and the letter r for the second." "i should really have voted for myself," said the mule, "if i had not been one of the judges on the committee. not only the rapidity with which advance is made, but every other quality should have due consideration; as, for instance, how much weight a candidate is able to draw; but i have not brought this quality forward now, nor the sagacity of the hare in his flight, nor the cunning with which he suddenly springs aside and doubles, to lead people on a false track, thinking he has concealed himself. no; there is something else on which more stress should be laid, and which ought not be left unnoticed. i mean that which mankind call the beautiful. it is on the beautiful that i particularly fix my eyes. i observed the well-grown ears of the hare; it is a pleasure to me to observe how long they are. it seemed as if i saw myself again in the days of my childhood; and so i voted for the hare." "buz," said the fly; "there, i'm not going to make a long speech; but i wish to say something about hares. i have really overtaken more than one hare, when i have been seated on the engine in front of a railway train. i often do so. one can then so easily judge of one's own swiftness. not long ago, i crushed the hind legs of a young hare. he had been running a long time before the engine; he had no idea that i was travelling there. at last he had to stop in his career, and the engine ran over his hind legs, and crushed them; for i set upon it. i left him lying there, and rode on farther. i call that conquering him; but i do not want the prize." "it really seems to me," thought the wild rose, though she did not express her opinion aloud--it is not in her nature to do so,--though it would have been quite as well if she had; "it certainly seems to me that the sunbeam ought to have had the honor of receiving the first prize. the sunbeam flies in a few minutes along the immeasurable path from the sun to us. it arrives in such strength, that all nature awakes to loveliness and beauty; we roses blush and exhale fragrance in its presence. our worshipful judges don't appear to have noticed this at all. were i the sunbeam, i would give each one of them a sun stroke; but that would only make them mad, and they are mad enough already. i only hope," continued the rose, "that peace may reign in the wood. it is glorious to bloom, to be fragrant, and to live; to live in story and in song. the sunbeam will outlive us all." "what is the first prize?" asked the earthworm, who had overslept the time, and only now came up. "it contains a free admission to a cabbage-garden," replied the mule. "i proposed that as one of the prizes. the hare most decidedly must have it; and i, as an active and thoughtful member of the committee, took especial care that the prize should be one of advantage to him; so now he is provided for. the snail can now sit on the fence, and lick up moss and sunshine. he has also been appointed one of the first judges of swiftness in racing. it is worth much to know that one of the numbers is a man of talent in the thing men call a 'committee.' i must say i expect much in the future; we have already made such a good beginning." the red shoes once upon a time there was little girl, pretty and dainty. but in summer time she was obliged to go barefooted because she was poor, and in winter she had to wear large wooden shoes, so that her little instep grew quite red. in the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker's wife; she sat down and made, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes out of some old pieces of red cloth. they were clumsy, but she meant well, for they were intended for the little girl, whose name was karen. karen received the shoes and wore them for the first time on the day of her mother's funeral. they were certainly not suitable for mourning; but she had no others, and so she put her bare feet into them and walked behind the humble coffin. just then a large old carriage came by, and in it sat an old lady; she looked at the little girl, and taking pity on her, said to the clergyman, "look here, if you will give me the little girl, i will take care of her." karen believed that this was all on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought them hideous, and so they were burnt. karen herself was dressed very neatly and cleanly; she was taught to read and to sew, and people said that she was pretty. but the mirror told her, "you are more than pretty--you are beautiful." one day the queen was travelling through that part of the country, and had her little daughter, who was a princess, with her. all the people, amongst them karen too, streamed towards the castle, where the little princess, in fine white clothes, stood before the window and allowed herself to be stared at. she wore neither a train nor a golden crown, but beautiful red morocco shoes; they were indeed much finer than those which the shoemaker's wife had sewn for little karen. there is really nothing in the world that can be compared to red shoes! karen was now old enough to be confirmed; she received some new clothes, and she was also to have some new shoes. the rich shoemaker in the town took the measure of her little foot in his own room, in which there stood great glass cases full of pretty shoes and white slippers. it all looked very lovely, but the old lady could not see very well, and therefore did not get much pleasure out of it. amongst the shoes stood a pair of red ones, like those which the princess had worn. how beautiful they were! and the shoemaker said that they had been made for a count's daughter, but that they had not fitted her. "i suppose they are of shiny leather?" asked the old lady. "they shine so." "yes, they do shine," said karen. they fitted her, and were bought. but the old lady knew nothing of their being red, for she would never have allowed karen to be confirmed in red shoes, as she was now to be. everybody looked at her feet, and the whole of the way from the church door to the choir it seemed to her as if even the ancient figures on the monuments, in their stiff collars and long black robes, had their eyes fixed on her red shoes. it was only of these that she thought when the clergyman laid his hand upon her head and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with god, and told her that she was now to be a grown-up christian. the organ pealed forth solemnly, and the sweet children's voices mingled with that of their old leader; but karen thought only of her red shoes. in the afternoon the old lady heard from everybody that karen had worn red shoes. she said that it was a shocking thing to do, that it was very improper, and that karen was always to go to church in future in black shoes, even if they were old. on the following sunday there was communion. karen looked first at the black shoes, then at the red ones--looked at the red ones again, and put them on. the sun was shining gloriously, so karen and the old lady went along the footpath through the corn, where it was rather dusty. at the church door stood an old crippled soldier leaning on a crutch; he had a wonderfully long beard, more red than white, and he bowed down to the ground and asked the old lady whether he might wipe her shoes. then karen put out her little foot too. "dear me, what pretty dancing-shoes!" said the soldier. "sit fast, when you dance," said he, addressing the shoes, and slapping the soles with his hand. the old lady gave the soldier some money and then went with karen into the church. and all the people inside looked at karen's red shoes, and all the figures gazed at them; when karen knelt before the altar and put the golden goblet to her mouth, she thought only of the red shoes. it seemed to her as though they were swimming about in the goblet, and she forgot to sing the psalm, forgot to say the "lord's prayer." now every one came out of church, and the old lady stepped into her carriage. but just as karen was lifting up her foot to get in too, the old soldier said: "dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!" and karen could not help it, she was obliged to dance a few steps; and when she had once begun, her legs continued to dance. it seemed as if the shoes had got power over them. she danced round the church corner, for she could not stop; the coachman had to run after her and seize her. he lifted her into the carriage, but her feet continued to dance, so that she kicked the good old lady violently. at last they took off her shoes, and her legs were at rest. at home the shoes were put into the cupboard, but karen could not help looking at them. now the old lady fell ill, and it was said that she would not rise from her bed again. she had to be nursed and waited upon, and this was no one's duty more than karen's. but there was a grand ball in the town, and karen was invited. she looked at the red shoes, saying to herself that there was no sin in doing that; she put the red shoes on, thinking there was no harm in that either; and then she went to the ball; and commenced to dance. but when she wanted to go to the right, the shoes danced to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced down the room, down the stairs through the street, and out through the gates of the town. she danced, and was obliged to dance, far out into the dark wood. suddenly something shone up among the trees, and she believed it was the moon, for it was a face. but it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there nodding his head and said: "dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!" she was frightened, and wanted to throw the red shoes away; but they stuck fast. she tore off her stockings, but the shoes had grown fast to her feet. she danced and was obliged to go on dancing over field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day--but by night it was most horrible. she danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there did not dance. they had something better to do than that. she wanted to sit down on the pauper's grave where the bitter fern grows; but for her there was neither peace nor rest. and as she danced past the open church door she saw an angel there in long white robes, with wings reaching from his shoulders down to the earth; his face was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad shining sword. "dance you shall," said he, "dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you! dance you shall, dance--!" "mercy!" cried karen. but she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, along highways and byways, and unceasingly she had to dance. one morning she danced past a door that she knew well; they were singing a psalm inside, and a coffin was being carried out covered with flowers. then she knew that she was forsaken by every one and damned by the angel of god. she danced, and was obliged to go on dancing through the dark night. the shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps till she was all torn and bleeding; she danced away over the heath to a lonely little house. here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped with her finger at the window and said: "come out, come out! i cannot come in, for i must dance." and the executioner said: "i don't suppose you know who i am. i strike off the heads of the wicked, and i notice that my axe is tingling to do so." "don't cut off my head!" said karen, "for then i could not repent of my sin. but cut off my feet with the red shoes." and then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep forest. and he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath. "now, i have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "i will go to church, so that people can see me." and she went quickly up to the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing before her, and she was frightened, and turned back. during the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears, but when sunday came again she said: "now i have suffered and striven enough. i believe i am quite as good as many of those who sit in church and give themselves airs." and so she went boldly on; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw the red shoes dancing along before her. then she became terrified, and turned back and repented right heartily of her sin. she went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into service there. she would be industrious, she said, and do everything that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had a roof over her, and was with good people. the pastor's wife had pity on her, and took her into service. and she was industrious and thoughtful. she sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from the bible in the evening. all the children liked her very much, but when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake her head. on the following sunday they all went to church, and she was asked whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she looked sadly at her crutches. and then the others went to hear god's word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large enough to hold the bed and a chair. here she sat down with her hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in tears she lifted up her face and said: "o god! help me!" then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an angel of god in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen that night at the church-door. he no longer carried the sharp sword, but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it there shone a golden star. he touched the walls, which opened wide apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books. the church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the room had gone to the church. she sat in the pew with the rest of the pastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up, they nodded and said, "it was right of you to come, karen." "it was mercy," said she. the organ played and the children's voices in the choir sounded soft and lovely. the bright warm sunshine streamed through the window into the pew where karen sat, and her heart became so filled with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. her soul flew on the sunbeams to heaven, and no one was there who asked after the red shoes. everything in the right place it is more than a hundred years ago! at the border of the wood, near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches surrounded it on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes grew. close by the drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old willow tree, which bent over the reeds. from the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the trampling of horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was watching the geese hastened to drive them away from the bridge, before the whole hunting party came galloping up; they came, however, so quickly, that the girl, in order to avoid being run over, placed herself on one of the high corner-stones of the bridge. she was still half a child and very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle, sweet expression. but such things the baron did not notice; while he was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed his hunting crop, and in rough play gave her such a push with it that she fell backward into the ditch. "everything in the right place!" he cried. "into the ditch with you." then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the others joined in--the whole party shouted and cried, while the hounds barked. while the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of the branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held herself over the water, and as soon as the baron with his company and the dogs had disappeared through the gate, the girl endeavoured to scramble up, but the branch broke off, and she would have fallen backward among the rushes, had not a strong hand from above seized her at this moment. it was the hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a short distance, and now hastened to assist her. "everything in the right place," he said, imitating the noble baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground. he wished to put the branch back in the place it had been broken off, but it is not possible to put everything in the right place; therefore he stuck the branch into the soft ground. "grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for them yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him great pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well thrashed. then he entered the castle--but not the banqueting hall; he was too humble for that. no; he went to the servants' hall. the men-servants and maids looked over his stock of articles and bargained with him; loud crying and screaming were heard from the master's table above: they called it singing--indeed, they did their best. laughter and the howls of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming in the glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their masters; now and then the squires kissed one of these animals, after having wiped its mouth first with the tablecloth. they ordered the pedlar to come up, but only to make fun of him. the wine had got into their heads, and reason had left them. they poured beer into a stocking that he could drink with them, but quick. that's what they called fun, and it made them laugh. then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on one card and lost. "everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he had at last safely got out of sodom and gomorrah, as he called it. "the open high road is my right place; up there i did not feel at ease." the little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded kindly to him as he passed through the gate. days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near the ditch remained fresh and green--nay, it even put forth fresh twigs; the little goose-girl saw that the branch had taken root, and was very pleased; the tree, so she said, was now her tree. while the tree was advancing, everything else at the castle was going backward, through feasting and gambling, for these are two rollers upon which nobody stands safely. less than six years afterwards the baron passed out of his castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been bought by a rich tradesman. he was the very pedlar they had made fun of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink; but honesty and industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar was the possessor of the baronial estate. from that time forward no card-playing was permitted there. "that's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the bible for the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in opposition to it, and invented card-playing." the new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did he take?--the little goose-girl, who had always remained good and kind, and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if she had been a lady of high birth. and how did all this come about? that would be too long a tale to tell in our busy time, but it really happened, and the most important events have yet to be told. it was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now: the mother superintended the household, and the father looked after things out-of-doors, and they were indeed very prosperous. where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow. the old mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were cleaned and fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant, and the floors were as white and shining as a pasteboard. in the long winter evenings the mistress and her maids sat at the spinning-wheel in the large hall; every sunday the counsellor--this title the pedlar had obtained, although only in his old days--read aloud a portion from the bible. the children (for they had children) all received the best education, but they were not all equally clever, as is the case in all families. in the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had grown up into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was never clipped. "it is our genealogical tree," said the old people to their children, "and therefore it must be honoured." a hundred years had elapsed. it was in our own days; the lake had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial seat had, as it were, disappeared. a pool of water near some ruined walls was the only remainder of the deep ditches; and here stood a magnificent old tree with overhanging branches--that was the genealogical tree. here it stood, and showed how beautiful a willow can look if one does not interfere with it. the trunk, it is true, was cleft in the middle from the root to the crown; the storms had bent it a little, but it still stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which wind and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers sprang forth. especially above, where the large boughs parted, there was quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries and hart's-tongue ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe had taken root, and grew gracefully in the old willow branches, which were reflected in the dark water beneath when the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of the pool. a footpath which led across the fields passed close by the old tree. high up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion. it had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its window panes were so clear that one might have thought there were none there at all. the large flight of steps which led to the entrance looked like a bower covered with roses and broad-leaved plants. the lawn was as green as if each blade of grass was cleaned separately morning and evening. inside, in the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on the walls. here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet, which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were tables with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco with gilt edges. indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people lived here; it was the dwelling of the baron and his family. each article was in keeping with its surroundings. "everything in the right place" was the motto according to which they also acted here, and therefore all the paintings which had once been the honour and glory of the old mansion were now hung up in the passage which led to the servants' rooms. it was all old lumber, especially two portraits--one representing a man in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a lady with powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches. both portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's sons used the two old people as targets for their crossbows. they represented the counsellor and his wife, from whom the whole family descended. "but they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the boys; "he was a pedlar and she kept the geese. they were not like papa and mamma." the portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right place." that was why the great-grandparents had been hung up in the passage leading to the servants' rooms. the son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion. one day he went for a walk across the fields with his young pupils and their elder sister, who had lately been confirmed. they walked along the road which passed by the old willow tree, and while they were on the road she picked a bunch of field-flowers. "everything in the right place," and indeed the bunch looked very beautiful. at the same time she listened to all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and women in history. she had a healthy mind, noble in thought and deed, and with a heart full of love for everything that god had created. they stopped at the old willow tree, as the youngest of the baron's sons wished very much to have a flute from it, such as had been cut for him from other willow trees; the pastor's son broke a branch off. "oh, pray do not do it!" said the young lady; but it was already done. "that is our famous old tree. i love it very much. they often laugh at me at home about it, but that does not matter. there is a story attached to this tree." and now she told him all that we already know about the tree--the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girl who had met there for the first time, and had become the ancestors of the noble family to which the young lady belonged. "they did not like to be knighted, the good old people," she said; "their motto was 'everything in the right place,' and it would not be right, they thought, to purchase a title for money. my grandfather, the first baron, was their son. they say he was a very learned man, a great favourite with the princes and princesses, and was invited to all court festivities. the others at home love him best; but, i do not know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old couple that attracts my heart! how homely, how patriarchal, it must have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at the spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read aloud out of the bible!" "they must have been excellent, sensible people," said the pastor's son. and with this the conversation turned naturally to noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor spoke about the significance of being noble, it seemed almost as if he did not belong to a commoner's family. "it is good fortune to be of a family who have distinguished themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in oneself to advance to all that is good. it is a splendid thing to belong to a noble family, whose name serves as a card of admission to the highest circles. nobility is a distinction; it is a gold coin that bears the stamp of its own value. it is the fallacy of the time, and many poets express it, to say that all that is noble is bad and stupid, and that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more brilliant virtues one finds. i do not share this opinion, for it is wrong. in the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits; my own mother has told me of such, and i could mention several. one day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, i believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. my mother and the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every sunday to carry a gift away with her. "'there is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so difficult for her to walk.' "my mother had hardly understood what he said before he disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. of course this is only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor widow's two mites in the bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point out--more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does good, it mitigates and reconciles! but when a man, simply because he is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs and neighs in the street like an arabian horse, and says when a commoner has been in a room: 'some people from the street have been here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind that thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is exposed in satire." such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he delivered it he had finished cutting the flute. there was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. there were ladies with tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded with people. the clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a festival--only the amusement had not yet begun. a great concert was to take place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing. there was music and songs of the kind which delight most those that perform them; otherwise quite charming! "are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his father; "you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that rules--the place of honour is due to you." "certainly not! i only advance with the time, and that of course one can't help." "i hope you will delight us all with the little instrument--will you not?" thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute. they wished to tease him--that was evident, and therefore the tutor declined to play, although he could do so very well. they urged and requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and placed it to his lips. that was a marvellous flute! its sound was as thrilling as the whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and roared; "everything in the right place." and with this the baron, as if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew--not into the hall, thither he could not come--but into the servants' hall, among the smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at table with them. but in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the place of honour at the end of the table--she was worthy to sit there; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat there as if they were a bridal pair. an old count, belonging to one of the oldest families of the country, remained untouched in his place of honour; the flute was just, and it is one's duty to be so. the sharp-tongued cavalier who had caused the flute to be played, and who was the child of his parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house, but not he alone. the flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange events took place. a rich banker's family, who were driving in a coach and four, were blown out of it, and could not even find room behind it with their footmen. two rich farmers who had in our days shot up higher than their own corn-fields, were flung into the ditch; it was a dangerous flute. fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was a good thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket--"its right place." the next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken place; thus originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute." everything was again in its usual order, except that the two old pictures of the peddlar and the goose-girl were hanging in the banqueting-hall. there they were on the wall as if blown up there; and as a real expert said that they were painted by a master's hand, they remained there and were restored. "everything in the right place," and to this it will come. eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story. a rose from homer's grave al the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. the winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers. not far from smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the lofty pines over holy ground, i saw a hedge of roses. the turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were mother-of-pearl. on the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the rose remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her leaves. at last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said, "here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will i spread my fragrance, and on it i will let my leaves fall when the storm scatters them. he who sung of troy became earth, and from that earth i have sprung. i, a rose from the grave of homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale." then the nightingale sung himself to death. a camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely songster in the grave of the great homer, while the rose trembled in the wind. the evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream. it was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of homer. among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis. he plucked the rose and placed it in a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his fatherland. the rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "here is a rose from the grave of homer." then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind. a drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's grave. the sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. the day was hot, and she was still in her own warm asia. then footsteps approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the northern lights. like a mummy, the flower now rests in his "iliad," and, as in her dream, she hears him say, as he opens the book, "here is a rose from the grave of homer." the snail and the rose-tree round about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the garden stood a rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a snail, whose shell contained a great deal--that is, himself. "only wait till my time comes," he said; "i shall do more than grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and the sheep." "i expect a great deal from you," said the rose-tree. "may i ask when it will appear?" "i take my time," said the snail. "you're always in such a hurry. that does not excite expectation." the following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. the snail crept half out of his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again. "everything is just as it was last year! no progress at all; the rose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther." the summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground. a new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail made his too. "you are an old rose-tree now," said the snail. "you must make haste and die. you have given the world all that you had in you; whether it was of much importance is a question that i have not had time to think about. but this much is clear and plain, that you have not done the least for your inner development, or you would have produced something else. have you anything to say in defence? you will now soon be nothing but a stick. do you understand what i say?" "you frighten me," said the rose--tree. "i have never thought of that." "no, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. have you ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your blooming comes about--why just in that way and in no other?" "no," said the rose-tree. "i bloom in gladness, because i cannot do otherwise. the sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; i drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. i breathed and i lived! out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above i also received strength; i felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasing happiness, and therefore i was obliged to go on blooming. that was my life; i could not do otherwise." "you have led a very easy life," remarked the snail. "certainly. everything was given me," said the rose-tree. "but still more was given to you. yours is one of those deep-thinking natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world." "i have not the slightest intention of doing so," said the snail. "the world is nothing to me. what have i to do with the world? i have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself." "but must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to others, and offer as much as lies in our power? it is true, i have only given roses. but you--you who are so richly endowed--what have you given to the world? what will you give it?" "what have i given? what am i going to give? i spit at it; it's good for nothing, and does not concern me. for my part, you may go on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. let the hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. i have mine in myself. i retire within myself and there i stop. the world is nothing to me." with this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the entrance. "that's very sad," said the rose tree. "i cannot creep into myself, however much i might wish to do so; i have to go on bearing roses. then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the wind. but i once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress's hymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a child in the glad joy of life. that did me good; it was a real blessing. those are my recollections, my life." and the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail lay idling in his house--the world was nothing to him. years passed by. the snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too. even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden there were other rose trees and other snails. the latter crept into their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them. shall we read the story all over again? it will be just the same. a story from the sand-hills this story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of jutland, but it does not begin there in the north, but far away in the south, in spain. the wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journey in thought; then, to sunny spain. it is warm and beautiful there; the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a cool refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens, over the moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls. children go through the streets in procession with candles and waving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glittering stars, rises above them. sounds of singing and castanets can be heard, and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, while even the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with a juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. it all seems like a beautiful dream. here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves up to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing they could desire--health and happiness, riches and honour. "we are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couple from the depths of their hearts. they had indeed only one step higher to mount on the ladder of happiness--they hoped that god would give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. the happy little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for with love and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury that a rich and influential family can give. so the days went by like a joyous festival. "life is a gracious gift from god, almost too great a gift for us to appreciate!" said the young wife. "yet they say that fulness of joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. i cannot realise it!" "the thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said the husband. "it seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for ever, that we shall be as gods! were not these the words of the serpent, the father of lies?" "surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?" exclaimed the young wife. it seemed as if one of the first shadows passed over her sunny thoughts. "faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied her husband; "but amid all my happiness i feel that it is arrogant to demand a continuation of it--another life after this. has not so much been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be, contented with it?" "yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but this life is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to many thousands. how many have been cast into this world only to endure poverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? if there were no future life, everything here would be too unequally divided, and god would not be the personification of justice." "the beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own which seem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would find in the magnificence of his palace. and then do you not think that the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works itself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? the dumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the law unjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation." "christ said: 'in my father's house are many mansions,'" she answered. "heaven is as boundless as the love of our creator; the dumb animal is also his creature, and i firmly believe that no life will be lost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, which will be sufficient for him." "this world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwing his arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. he sat by her side on the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which was loaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms. sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the road beneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection--those of his wife--looked upon him with the expression of undying love. "such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, to die, and to be annihilated!" he smiled--the young wife raised her hand in gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, and they were happy--quite happy. everything seemed to work together for their good. they advanced in honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. a change came certainly, but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances. the young man was sent by his sovereign as ambassador to the russian court. this was an office of high dignity, but his birth and his acquirements entitled him to the honour. he possessed a large fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. one of this merchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year to stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, the daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to st. petersburg. all the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury on every side. in an old war song, called "the king of england's son," it says: "farewell, he said, and sailed away. and many recollect that day. the ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold, and everywhere riches and wealth untold." these words would aptly describe the vessel from spain, for here was the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose: "god grant that we once more may meet in sweet unclouded peace and joy." there was a favourable wind blowing as they left the spanish coast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reach their destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wide ocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and the stars shone brightly. many festive evenings were spent on board. at last the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze; but their wish was useless--not a breath of air stirred, or if it did arise it was contrary. weeks passed by in this way, two whole months, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. the ship sailed on the high seas between scotland and jutland; then the wind increased, just as it did in the old song of "the king of england's son." "'mid storm and wind, and pelting hail, their efforts were of no avail. the golden anchor forth they threw; towards denmark the west wind blew." this all happened a long time ago; king christian vii, who sat on the danish throne, was still a young man. much has happened since then, much has altered or been changed. sea and moorland have been turned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arable land, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees and rose-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as the sharp west wind blows upon them. in west jutland one may go back in thought to old times, farther back than the days when christian vii ruled. the purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrows and aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as it did then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, are marshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like a chain of alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are only broken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bites out great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake. thus it is there today and thus it was long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship. it was a sunday, towards the end of september; the sun was shining, and the chiming of the church bells in the bay of nissum was carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. the churches there are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like a piece of rock. the north sea might foam over them and they would not be disturbed. nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bells are hung outside between two beams. the service was over, and the congregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree or bush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had not placed a single wreath upon any of the graves. it is just the same now. rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard; here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayed wood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought from the forest of west jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the waves have cast upon the beach. one of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her husband joined her. they were both silent, but he took her hand, and they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow towards the sandhills. for a long time they went on without speaking. "it was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last. "if we had not god to trust in, we should have nothing." "yes," replied the woman, "he sends joy and sorrow, and he has a right to send them. to-morrow our little son would have been five years old if we had been permitted to keep him." "it is no use fretting, wife," said the man. "the boy is well provided for. he is where we hope and pray to go to." they said nothing more, but went out towards their houses among the sand-hills. all at once, in front of one of the houses where the sea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, what seemed to be a column of smoke rose up. a gust of wind rushed between the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air; another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped and beat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything was quiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat. the man and his wife went into the cottage. they had soon taken off their sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the dunes which stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested in their course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluish stalks spread a changing colour over them. a few neighbours also came out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on the beach. the wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and when they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stones blew into their faces. the waves rose high, crested with white foam, and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide. evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing or moaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded above the thunder of the waves. the fisherman's little cottage was on the very margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; every now and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation. it was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise. later on the air became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea with undiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but in such weather there was no chance of closing an eye. presently there was a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said: "there's a large ship stranded on the farthest reef." in a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastily dressed themselves. the moon had risen, and it was light enough to make the surrounding objects visible to those who could open their eyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind was terrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if one crept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sea like down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the beach. only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in the offing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over the reef, three or four cables' length out of the usual channel. she drove towards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed. it was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon the vessel, making a clean breach over her. those on shore thought they heard cries for help from those on board, and could plainly distinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors. now a wave came rolling onward. it fell with enormous force on the bowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted high above the water. two people were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolled towards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach. it was a woman; the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought they saw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across the sand-hills to the fisherman's cottage. how beautiful and fair she was! she must be a great lady, they said. they laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linen on it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm. life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing of what had happened or where she was; and it was better so, for everything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. the same thing happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about "the king of england's son." "alas! how terrible to see the gallant bark sink rapidly." fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; they were all that remained of the vessel. the wind still blew violently on the coast. for a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke in pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear. she opened her wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobody understood her.--and lo! as a reward for the sorrow and suffering she had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe. the child that was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silken curtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joy to a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now heaven had ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that it should not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when the fisherman's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, it rested on a heart that beat no more--she was dead. the child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxury was cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills to share the fate and hardships of the poor. here we are reminded again of the song about "the king of england's son," for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent at the time, when knights and squires plundered those who had been saved from shipwreck. the ship had stranded some distance south of nissum bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said, the inhabitants of jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudely were past, long ago. affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice for the unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time in many a bright example. the dying mother and the unfortunate child would have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast by the winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in the cottage of the poor fisherman's wife, who had stood, only the day before, beside her child's grave, who would have been five years old that day if god had spared it to her. no one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even form a conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter. no tidings reached spain of the fate of the daughter and son-in-law. they did not arrive at their destination, and violent storms had raged during the past weeks. at last the verdict was given: "foundered at sea--all lost." but in the fisherman's cottage among the sand-hills near hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich spanish family. where heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find a meal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for the hungry. they called the boy jurgen. "it must certainly be a jewish child, its skin is so dark," the people said. "it might be an italian or a spaniard," remarked the clergyman. but to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same, and she consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as a christian. the boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and he became strong on his homely fare. he grew apace in the humble cottage, and the danish dialect spoken by the west jutes became his language. the pomegranate seed from spain became a hardy plant on the coast of west jutland. thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life! to this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experience cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround the poor; but he also tasted of their joys. childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of them shines through the whole after-life. the boy had many sources of pleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full of playthings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral or yellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs and smoothed and prepared by the sea. even the bleached fishes' skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, white and shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones--all these seemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts, and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him. how readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and how dexterous he was with his fingers! with stones and mussel-shells he could put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate the room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, his foster-mother said, although he was still so young and little. he had a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally from his lips. and in his heart were hidden chords, which might have sounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere else than in the fisherman's hut by the north sea. one day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among other things a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore. some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to be fit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand--they did not accomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours. would jurgen fare better? the flower bulbs had soon played their part, but he had years of apprenticeship before him. neither he nor his friends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followed another, for there was always plenty to do and see. the ocean itself was a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calm or storm--the crested wave or the smooth surface. the visits to the church were festive occasions, but among the fisherman's house one was especially looked forward to; this was, in fact, the visit of the brother of jurgen's foster-mother, the eel-breeder from fjaltring, near bovbjerg. he came twice a year in a cart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full of eels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it, and jurgen was allowed to guide them. the eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought a measure of brandy with him. they all received a small glassful or a cupful if there were not enough glasses; even jurgen had about a thimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said; he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearers laughed he would immediately repeat it to them. jurgen while still a boy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder's story on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listen to it. it runs thus: "the eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to go a little farther out. 'don't go too far,' said their mother; 'the ugly eel-spearer might come and snap you all up.' but they went too far, and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and these wept and said, 'we only went a little way out, and the ugly eel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters to death.' 'they'll come back again,' said the mother eel. 'oh, no,' exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, and fried them.' 'oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eel persisted. 'no,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.' 'they'll come back again,' repeated the mother eel. 'but he drank brandy after them,' said the daughters. 'ah, then they'll never come back,' said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that buries the eels.'" "and therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is always the proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels." this story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection of jurgen's life. he also wanted to go a little way farther out and up the bay--that is to say, out into the world in a ship--but his mother said, like the eel-breeder, "there are so many bad people--eel spearers!" he wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, out into the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightest of his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty and splendour of jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, were concentrated in these. he went to a festival, but it was a burial feast. a rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm was situated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north. jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them from the dunes, over heath and moor, where the skjaerumaa takes its course through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eels live there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked people. but do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards their own fellow-men? was not the knight sir bugge murdered by wicked people? and though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to kill the architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls and tower, at the point where the skjaerumaa falls into the bay? jurgen and his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts still remained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. here it was that sir bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of his men, "go after him and say, 'master, the tower shakes.' if he turns round, kill him and take away the money i paid him, but if he does not turn round let him go in peace." the man did as he was told; the architect did not turn round, but called back "the tower does not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the west in a blue cloak--he will cause it to shake!" and so indeed it happened a hundred years later, for the north sea broke in and cast down the tower; but predbjorn gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed the castle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, and that one is standing to this day, and is called norre-vosborg. jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. they had told him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the stately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall, covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-trees were the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows, and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. in a north-west corner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like winter snow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first that jurgen had ever seen in bloom. he never forgot it, nor the lime-trees; the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragrance to gladden the old man. from norre-vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journey became more pleasant, for they met some other people who were also going to the funeral and were riding in waggons. our travellers had to sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even this, they thought, was better than walking. so they continued their journey across the rugged heath. the oxen which drew the waggon stopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid the heather. the sun shone with considerable heat, and it was wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke seemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it was transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar over the heath. "that is lokeman driving his sheep," said some one. and this was enough to excite jurgen's imagination. he felt as if they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was still real. how quiet it was! the heath stretched far and wide around them like a beautiful carpet. the heather was in blossom, and the juniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from the earth. an inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for the number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they also mentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, and that the district was still called wolfsborg for this reason. the old man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of his father the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts that were now exterminated. one morning, when he himself had gone out to bring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeet on a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn and lacerated the brave horse's legs. the journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too quickly at an end. they stopped before the house of mourning, where they found plenty of guests within and without. waggon after waggon stood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out to graze on the scanty pasture. great sand-hills like those at home by the north sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. how had they come here, so many miles inland? they were as large and high as those on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there was also a legend attached to them. psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; with this exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed to jurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. there were eels of the fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said; and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here. jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he felt as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the sand-hills, where he had passed his early days. here on the heath were riches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, and bilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that when they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was stained with their red juice. here was a barrow and yonder another. then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire, they told him--how brightly it blazed in the dark evening! the fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end; they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes. "ours are better," said the old fisherman, jurgen's foster-father; "these have no strength." and they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland, and it seemed very easy to understand. this is how they explained it: a dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buried it in the churchyard. from that time the sand began to fly about and the sea broke in with violence. a wise man in the district advised them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not rest until it had got him back. the grave was opened, and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. so they laid him upon a cart, and harnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor over heath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder. then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had been piled up still remained. all this jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of the happiest days of his childhood--the days of the burial feast. how delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with strangers! and he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteen years old when he went out in a ship to see the world. he encountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men--such were his experiences, for he became ship-boy. cold nights, bad living, and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble spanish blood boil within him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulped them down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel when it is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan. "i shall get over it," said a voice within him. he saw the spanish coast, the native land of his parents. he even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but he knew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew just as little about him. the poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last day of their stay he managed to get ashore. there were several purchases to be made, and he was sent to carry them on board. jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who had always dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for the first time. how lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of people there were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that--a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers--the jingling of bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of church bells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking--all going on at once. every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in the side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and the air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles, cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together. jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. then he saw just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the sanctuary. jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, and stood in the sacred edifice. coloured pictures gleamed from their golden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the virgin with the child jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swung silver censers. what splendour and magnificence he saw there! it streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and the faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears. they went from the church to the market-place. here a quantity of provisions were given him to carry. the way to the harbour was long; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for a few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and broad steps. here he rested his burden against the wall. then a porter in livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him away--him, the grandson of that house. but no one knew that, and he just as little as any one. then he went on board again, and once more encountered rough words and blows, much work and little sleep--such was his experience of life. they say it is good to suffer in one's young days, if age brings something to make up for it. his period of service on board the ship came to an end, and the vessel lay once more at ringkjobing in jutland. he came ashore, and went home to the sand-dunes near hunsby; but his foster-mother had died during his absence. a hard winter followed this summer. snow-storms swept over land and sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place to another. how unequally things are distributed in this world! here there was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in spain there was burning sunshine and oppressive heat. yet, when a clear frosty day came, and jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea towards the land, across to norre-vosborg, it seemed to him that people could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part of the world was splendid. in imagination he saw the heath blossom and become purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes and lime-trees at norre vosborg in flower. he made up his mind to go there again. spring came, and the fishing began. jurgen was now an active helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick at work. he was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water, and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. they often warned him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him down, and devour him; but such was not to be jurgen's fate. at a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named martin, with whom jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both took service in the same ship to norway, and also went together to holland. they never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often shows it in many ways; and this is just what jurgen did one day when they fell out about the merest trifle. they were sitting behind the cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between them. jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an ugly look. martin only said, "ah! ah! you are one of that sort, are you? fond of using the knife!" the words were scarcely spoken, when jurgen's hand sank down. he did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned to his work. when they were resting again he walked up to martin and said: "hit me in the face! i deserve it. but sometimes i feel as if i had a pot in me that boils over." "there, let the thing rest," replied martin. and after that they were almost better friends than ever; when afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their adventures, this was told among the rest. martin said that jurgen was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all. they were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but jurgen was the cleverer of the two. in norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle there to find pasture. on the west coast of jutland huts have been erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early spring. every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, and have generally a great deal to do. jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers inhabited the same hut; martin lived in the next one. one of the girls, whose name was else, had known jurgen from childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same opinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite; for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine. as they were walking together one day, jurgen held her hand very firmly in his, and she said to him: "jurgen, i have something i want to say to you; let me be your manager, for you are like a brother to me; but martin, whose housekeeper i am--he is my lover--but you need not tell this to the others." it seemed to jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way under his feet. he did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant "yes." it was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in his heart that he hated martin, and the more he thought the more he felt convinced that martin had stolen away from him the only being he ever loved, and that this was else: he had never thought of else in this way before, but now it all became plain to him. when the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home in their great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs. one of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others watch him sitting with the oars in their hands. outside the reef it looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea; then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great wave is coming which is to float them across the reef. the boat is lifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; the next moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are all hidden--it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs. the second and third reef are passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the water and push the boat towards the shore--every wave helps them--and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers. a wrong order given in front of the reef--the slightest hesitation--and the boat would be lost. "then it would be all over with me and martin too!" this thought passed through jurgen's mind one day while they were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly ill. the fever had seized him. they were only a few oars' strokes from the reef, and jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow. "father-let me come!" he said, and he glanced at martin and across the waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as the great wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, and dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. the boat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought remained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre of bitterness which he remembered between himself and martin since they had known each other. but he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so. he felt that martin had robbed him, and this was enough to make him hate his former friend. several of the fishermen saw this, but martin did not--he remained as obliging and talkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much. jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became his death-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now jurgen was heir to the little house behind the sand-hills. it was small, certainly, but still it was something, and martin had nothing of the kind. "you will not go to sea again, jurgen, i suppose," observed one of the old fishermen. "you will always stay with us now." but this was not jurgen's intention; he wanted to see something of the world. the eel-breeder of fjaltring had an uncle at old skjagen, who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a bad thing to enter his service. old skjagen lies in the extreme north of jutland, as far away from the hunsby dunes as one can travel in that country; and this is just what pleased jurgen, for he did not want to remain till the wedding of martin and else, which would take place in a week or two. the old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now that jurgen had a home else would very likely be inclined to take him instead of martin. jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make out what he meant--the old man brought else to him, and she said: "you have a home now; you ought to think of that." and jurgen thought of many things. the sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in the human heart. many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through jurgen's brain, and he said to else: "if martin had a house like mine, which of us would you rather have?" "but martin has no house and cannot get one." "suppose he had one?" "well, then i would certainly take martin, for that is what my heart tells me; but one cannot live upon love." jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. something was working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was even stronger than his love for else; and so he went to martin's, and what he said and did there was well considered. he let the house to martin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to sea again, because he loved it. and else kissed him when she heard of it, for she loved martin best. jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on the evening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late, he felt a wish to visit martin once more. he started, and among the dunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place. the old man made jokes about martin, and declared there must be some magic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond. jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-bye to the old man and went on towards the house where martin dwelt. he heard loud talking inside; martin was not alone, and this made jurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see else again. on second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hear any more thanks from martin, and so he turned back. on the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened his knapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. this way was more pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter; and he intended to go first to fjaltring, near bovbjerg, where the eel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit. the sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shells and pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over his feet. while he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it was a trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of great importance. a few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves. he wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if this had cleared and lightened his brain. the sea-cale bloomed here and there in the sand as he passed. he broke off a spray and stuck it in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he was going out into the wide world--"a little way out, beyond the bay," as the young eels had said. "beware of bad people who will catch you, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan!" he repeated in his mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way through the world--good courage is a strong weapon! the sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrow entrance to nissum bay. he looked back and saw a couple of horsemen galloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people with them. but this did not concern him. the ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. jurgen called to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat. jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whom he had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, and commanded him to return in the name of the law. jurgen did not understand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn back, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned. as soon as the boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and before he was aware of it, they had bound his hands with a rope. "this wicked deed will cost you your life," they said. "it is a good thing we have caught you." he was accused of nothing less than murder. martin had been found dead, with his throat cut. one of the fishermen, late on the previous evening, had met jurgen going towards martin's house; this was not the first time jurgen had raised his knife against martin, so they felt sure that he was the murderer. the prison was in a town at a great distance, and the wind was contrary for going there by sea; but it would not take half an hour to get across the bay, and another quarter of an hour would bring them to norre-vosborg, the great castle with ramparts and moat. one of jurgen's captors was a fisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle, and he said it might be managed that jurgen should be placed for the present in the dungeon at vosborg, where long martha the gipsy had been shut up till her execution. they paid no attention to jurgen's defence; the few drops of blood on his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him. but he was conscious of his innocence, and as there was no chance of clearing himself at present he submitted to his fate. the party landed just at the place where sir bugge's castle had stood, and where jurgen had walked with his foster-parents after the burial feast, during the four happiest days of his childhood. he was led by the well-known path, over the meadow to vosborg; once more the elders were in bloom and the lofty lime-trees gave forth sweet fragrance, and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he had last seen the spot. in each of the two wings of the castle there was a staircase which led to a place below the entrance, from whence there is access to a low, vaulted cellar. in this dungeon long martha had been imprisoned, and from here she was led away to the scaffold. she had eaten the hearts of five children, and had imagined that if she could obtain two more she would be able to fly and make herself invisible. in the middle of the roof of the cellar there was a little narrow air-hole, but no window. the flowering lime trees could not breathe refreshing fragrance into that abode, where everything was dark and mouldy. there was only a rough bench in the cell; but a good conscience is a soft pillow, and therefore jurgen could sleep well. the thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside by an iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through a keyhole into a baron's castle just as easily as it can into a fisherman's cottage, and why should he not creep in here, where jurgen sat thinking of long martha and her wicked deeds? her last thoughts on the night before her execution had filled this place, and the magic that tradition asserted to have been practised here, in sir svanwedel's time, came into jurgen's mind, and made him shudder; but a sunbeam, a refreshing thought from without, penetrated his heart even here--it was the remembrance of the flowering elder and the sweet smelling lime-trees. he was not left there long. they took him away to the town of ringkjobing, where he was imprisoned with equal severity. those times were not like ours. the common people were treated harshly; and it was just after the days when farms were converted into knights' estates, when coachmen and servants were often made magistrates, and had power to sentence a poor man, for a small offence, to lose his property and to corporeal punishment. judges of this kind were still to be found; and in jutland, so far from the capital, and from the enlightened, well-meaning, head of the government, the law was still very loosely administered sometimes--the smallest grievance jurgen could expect was that his case should be delayed. his dwelling was cold and comfortless; and how long would he be obliged to bear all this? it seemed his fate to suffer misfortune and sorrow innocently. he now had plenty of time to reflect on the difference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had been allotted to him; yet he felt sure that all would be made clear in the next life, the existence that awaits us when this life is over. his faith had grown strong in the poor fisherman's cottage; the light which had never shone into his father's mind, in all the richness and sunshine of spain, was sent to him to be his comfort in poverty and distress, a sign of that mercy of god which never fails. the spring storms began to blow. the rolling and moaning of the north sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was blowing, and then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hard road with a mine underneath. jurgen heard these sounds in his prison, and it was a relief to him. no music could have touched his heart as did these sounds of the sea--the rolling sea, the boundless sea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind, carrying his own house with him wherever he goes, just as the snail carries its home even into a strange country. he listened eagerly to its deep murmur and then the thought arose--"free! free! how happy to be free, even barefooted and in ragged clothes!" sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fiery nature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists. weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when niels the thief, called also a horse-dealer, was arrested; and now better times came, and it was seen that jurgen had been wrongly accused. on the afternoon before jurgen's departure from home, and before the murder, niels the thief, had met martin at a beer-house in the neighbourhood of ringkjobing. a few glasses were drank, not enough to cloud the brain, but enough to loosen martin's tongue. he began to boast and to say that he had obtained a house and intended to marry, and when niels asked him where he was going to get the money, he slapped his pocket proudly and said: "the money is here, where it ought to be." this boast cost him his life; for when he went home niels followed him, and cut his throat, intending to rob the murdered man of the gold, which did not exist. all this was circumstantially explained; but it is enough for us to know that jurgen was set free. but what compensation did he get for having been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from all communication with his fellow creatures? they told him he was fortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. the burgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and many citizens offered him provisions and beer--there were still good people; they were not all hard and pitiless. but the best thing of all was that the merchant bronne, of skjagen, into whose service jurgen had proposed entering the year before, was just at that time on business in the town of ringkjobing. bronne heard the whole story; he was kind-hearted, and understood what jurgen must have felt and suffered. therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad, and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world. so jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to find freedom, affection, and trust. he was to travel this path now, for no goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such a draught for his fellow-man, and how should he do it, who is love personified? "let everything be buried and forgotten," said bronne, the merchant. "let us draw a thick line through last year: we will even burn the almanack. in two days we will start for dear, friendly, peaceful skjagen. people call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is a good warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part of the world." what a journey that was: it was like taking fresh breath out of the cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. the heather bloomed in pride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew his pipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. fata morgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appeared with hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloud called "lokeman driving his sheep" also was seen. up towards skjagen they went, through the land of the wendels, whence the men with long beards (the longobardi or lombards) had emigrated in the reign of king snio, when all the children and old people were to have been killed, till the noble dame gambaruk proposed that the young people should emigrate. jurgen knew all this, he had some little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of the lombards beyond the lofty alps, he had an idea that it must be there, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in spain. he thought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the red pomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the great beehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all, and jurgen's home was denmark. at last they arrived at "vendilskaga," as skjagen is called in old norwegian and icelandic writings. at that time old skjagen, with the eastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills and arable land as far as the lighthouse near "grenen." then, as now, the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills--a wilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voice of the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear. in the south-west, a mile from "grenen," lies old skjagen; merchant bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be jurgen's home for the future. the dwelling-house was tarred, and all the small out-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. there was no fence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rows of fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in the wind. the entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for there were so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea before it was filled. they were caught by carloads, and many of them were either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach. the old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meet him with great rejoicing. there was a great squeezing of hands, and talking and questioning. and the daughter, what a sweet face and bright eyes she had! the inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. fritters, that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed on the table, and there was wine from the skjagen vineyard--that is, the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared in barrels and in bottles. when the mother and daughter heard who jurgen was, and how innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still more friendly way; and pretty clara's eyes had a look of especial interest as she listened to his story. jurgen found a happy home in old skjagen. it did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. he had drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens the heart, according to circumstances. jurgen's heart was still soft--it was young, and therefore it was a good thing that miss clara was going in three weeks' time to christiansand in norway, in her father's ship, to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter. on the sunday before she went away they all went to church, to the holy communion. the church was large and handsome, and had been built centuries before by scotchmen and dutchmen; it stood some little way out of the town. it was rather ruinous certainly, and the road to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted these difficulties to get to the house of god, to sing psalms and to hear the sermon. the sand had heaped itself up round the walls of the church, but the graves were kept free from it. it was the largest church north of the limfjorden. the virgin mary, with a golden crown on her head and the child jesus in her arms, stood lifelike on the altar; the holy apostles had been carved in the choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the old burgomasters and councillors of skjagen; the pulpit was of carved work. the sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on the polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung from the vaulted roof. jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that which possessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid spanish cathedral. but here the feeling was different, for he felt conscious of being one of the congregation. after the sermon followed holy communion. he partook of the bread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of miss clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the holy sacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from his knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks. she left skjagen and went to norway two days later. he remained behind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. he went out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful and larger than they are now. the shoals of the mackerel glittered in the dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; the gurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when they were chased, for fish are not so mute as people say. every sunday jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested on the picture of the virgin mary over the altar as he sat there, they often glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side. autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water rose up right into the town of skjagen, the sand could not suck it all in, one had to wade through it or go by boat. the storms threw vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm and sand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances, so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that was nothing at all remarkable here. it was pleasant and cheerful indoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecks blazed and crackled upon the hearth. merchant bronne read aloud, from an old chronicle, about prince hamlet of denmark, who had come over from england, landed near bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close by ramme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where the eel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath, forming as it were an enormous churchyard. merchant bronne had himself been at hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times, and about their neighbours, the english and the scotch, and jurgen sang the air of "the king of england's son," and of his splendid ship and its outfit. "in the hour of peril when most men fear, he clasped the bride that he held so dear, and proved himself the son of a king; of his courage and valour let us sing." this verse jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyes beamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy. there was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domestic animals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. the kitchen looked bright with its copper and tin utensils, and white plates, and from the rafters hung hams, beef, and winter stores in plenty. this can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast of jutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean, prettily decorated rooms, active minds, cheerful tempers, and hospitality can be found there, as in an arab's tent. jurgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burial feast, and yet miss clara was absent, except in the thoughts and memory of all. in april a ship was to start for norway, and jurgen was to sail in it. he was full of life and spirits, and looked so sturdy and well that dame bronne said it did her good to see him. "and it does one good to look at you also, old wife," said the merchant. "jurgen has brought fresh life into our winter evenings, and into you too, mother. you look younger than ever this year, and seem well and cheerful. but then you were once the prettiest girl in viborg, and that is saying a great deal, for i have always found the viborg girls the prettiest of any." jurgen said nothing, but he thought of a certain maiden of skjagen, whom he was soon to visit. the ship set sail for christiansand in norway, and as the wind was favourable it soon arrived there. one morning merchant bronne went out to the lighthouse, which stands a little way out of old skjagen, not far from "grenen." the light was out, and the sun was already high in the heavens, when he mounted the tower. the sand-banks extend a whole mile from the shore, beneath the water, outside these banks; many ships could be seen that day, and with the aid of his telescope the old man thought he descried his own ship, the karen bronne. yes! certainly, there she was, sailing homewards with clara and jurgen on board. clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing in the distance; the church and lighthouse looked like a heron and a swan rising from the blue waters. if the wind held good they might reach home in about an hour. so near they were to home and all its joys--so near to death and all its terrors! a plank in the ship gave way, and the water rushed in; the crew flew to the pumps, and did their best to stop the leak. a signal of distress was hoisted, but they were still fully a mile from the shore. some fishing boats were in sight, but they were too far off to be of any use. the wind blew towards the land, the tide was in their favour, but it was all useless; the ship could not be saved. jurgen threw his right arm round clara, and pressed her to him. with what a look she gazed up into his face, as with a prayer to god for help he breasted the waves, which rushed over the sinking ship! she uttered a cry, but she felt safe and certain that he would not leave her to sink. and in this hour of terror and danger jurgen felt as the king's son did, as told in the old song: "in the hour of peril when most men fear, he clasped the bride that he held so dear." how glad he felt that he was a good swimmer! he worked his way onward with his feet and one arm, while he held the young girl up firmly with the other. he rested on the waves, he trod the water--in fact, did everything he could think of, in order not to fatigue himself, and to reserve strength enough to reach land. he heard clara sigh, and felt her shudder convulsively, and he pressed her more closely to him. now and then a wave rolled over them, the current lifted them; the water, although deep, was so clear that for a moment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering, or leviathan himself ready to swallow them. now the clouds cast a shadow over the water, then again came the playing sunbeams; flocks of loudly screaming birds passed over him, and the plump and lazy wild ducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose up terrified at the sight of the swimmer. he began to feel his strength decreasing, but he was only a few cable lengths' distance from the shore, and help was coming, for a boat was approaching him. at this moment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water--a wave lifted him up, and he came nearer to the figure--he felt a violent shock, and everything became dark around him. on the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship, which was covered with water at high tide; the white figure head rested against the anchor, the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface. jurgen had come in contact with this; the tide had driven him against it with great force. he sank down stunned with the blow, but the next wave lifted him and the young girl up again. some fishermen, coming with a boat, seized them and dragged them into it. the blood streamed down over jurgen's face; he seemed dead, but still held the young girl so tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force. she was pale and lifeless; they laid her in the boat, and rowed as quickly as possible to the shore. they tried every means to restore clara to life, but it was all of no avail. jurgen had been swimming for some distance with a corpse in his arms, and had exhausted his strength for one who was dead. jurgen still breathed, so the fishermen carried him to the nearest house upon the sand-hills, where a smith and general dealer lived who knew something of surgery, and bound up jurgen's wounds in a temporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearest town the next day. the injured man's brain was affected, and in his delirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quiet and weak upon his bed; his life seemed to hang by a thread, and the physician said it would be better for him if this thread broke. "let us pray that god may take him," he said, "for he will never be the same man again." but life did not depart from him--the thread would not break, but the thread of memory was severed; the thread of his mind had been cut through, and what was still more grievous, a body remained--a living healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit. jurgen remained in merchant bronne's house. "he was hurt while endeavouring to save our child," said the old man, "and now he is our son." people called jurgen insane, but that was not exactly the correct term. he was like an instrument in which the strings are loose and will give no sound; only occasionally they regained their power for a few minutes, and then they sounded as they used to do. he would sing snatches of songs or old melodies, pictures of the past would rise before him, and then disappear in the mist, as it were, but as a general rule he sat staring into vacancy, without a thought. we may conjecture that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost their brightness, and looked like clouded glass. "poor mad jurgen," said the people. and this was the end of a life whose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendour had his parents lived! all his great mental abilities had been lost, nothing but hardship, sorrow, and disappointment had been his fate. he was like a rare plant, torn from its native soil, and tossed upon the beach to wither there. and was this one of god's creatures, fashioned in his own likeness, to have no better fate? was he to be only the plaything of fortune? no! the all-loving creator would certainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered and lost here. "the lord is good to all; and his mercy is over all his works." the pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words from the psalms of david in patience and hope, and the prayer of her heart was that jurgen might soon be called away to enter into eternal life. in the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sand clara lay buried. jurgen did not seem to know this; it did not enter his mind, which could only retain fragments of the past. every sunday he went to church with the old people, and sat there silently, staring vacantly before him. one day, when the psalms were being sung, he sighed deeply, and his eyes became bright; they were fixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friend who was dead. he murmured her name, and became deadly pale, and tears rolled down his cheeks. they led him out of church; he told those standing round him that he was well, and had never been ill; he, who had been so grievously afflicted, the outcast, thrown upon the world, could not remember his sufferings. the lord our creator is wise and full of loving kindness--who can doubt it? in spain, where balmy breezes blow over the moorish cupolas and gently stir the orange and myrtle groves, where singing and the sound of the castanets are always heard, the richest merchant in the place, a childless old man, sat in a luxurious house, while children marched in procession through the streets with waving flags and lighted tapers. if he had been able to press his children to his heart, his daughter, or her child, that had, perhaps never seen the light of day, far less the kingdom of heaven, how much of his wealth would he not have given! "poor child!" yes, poor child--a child still, yet more than thirty years old, for jurgen had arrived at this age in old skjagen. the shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard, quite up to the church walls, but still, the dead must be buried among their relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them. merchant bronne and his wife now rested with their children under the white sand. it was in the spring--the season of storms. the sand from the dunes was whirled up in clouds; the sea was rough, and flocks of birds flew like clouds in the storm, screaming across the sand-hills. shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between old skagen and the hunsby dunes. one evening jurgen sat in his room alone: all at once his mind seemed to become clearer, and a restless feeling came over him, such as had often, in his younger days, driven him out to wander over the sand-hills or on the heath. "home, home!" he cried. no one heard him. he went out and walked towards the dunes. sand and stones blew into his face, and whirled round him; he went in the direction of the church. the sand was banked up the walls, half covering the windows, but it had been cleared away in front of the door, and the entrance was free and easy to open, so jurgen went into the church. the storm raged over the town of skjagen; there had not been such a terrible tempest within the memory of the inhabitants, nor such a rough sea. but jurgen was in the temple of god, and while the darkness of night reigned outside, a light arose in his soul that was never to depart from it; the heavy weight that pressed on his brain burst asunder. he fancied he heard the organ, but it was only the storm and the moaning of the sea. he sat down on one of the seats, and lo! the candies were lighted one by one, and there was brightness and grandeur such as he had only seen in the spanish cathedral. the portraits of the old citizens became alive, stepped down from the walls against which they had hung for centuries, and took seats near the church door. the gates flew open, and all the dead people from the churchyard came in, and filled the church, while beautiful music sounded. then the melody of the psalm burst forth, like the sound of the waters, and jurgen saw that his foster parents from the hunsby dunes were there, also old merchant bronne with his wife and their daughter clara, who gave him her hand. they both went up to the altar where they had knelt before, and the priest joined their hands and united them for life. then music was heard again; it was wonderfully sweet, like a child's voice, full of joy and expectation, swelling to the powerful tones of a full organ, sometimes soft and sweet, then like the sounds of a tempest, delightful and elevating to hear, yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs of the dead. then the little ship that hung from the roof of the choir was let down and looked wonderfully large and beautiful with its silken sails and rigging: "the ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold, and everywhere riches and pomp untold," as the old song says. the young couple went on board, accompanied by the whole congregation, for there was room and enjoyment for them all. then the walls and arches of the church were covered with flowering junipers and lime trees breathing forth fragrance; the branches waved, creating a pleasant coolness; they bent and parted, and the ship sailed between them through the air and over the sea. every candle in the church became a star, and the wind sang a hymn in which they all joined. "through love to glory, no life is lost, the future is full of blessings and happiness. hallelujah!" these were the last words jurgen uttered in this world, for the thread that bound his immortal soul was severed, and nothing but the dead body lay in the dark church, while the storm raged outside, covering it with loose sand. the next day was sunday, and the congregation and their pastor went to the church. the road had always been heavy, but now it was almost unfit for use, and when they at last arrived at the church, a great heap of sand lay piled up in front of them. the whole church was completely buried in sand. the clergyman offered a short prayer, and said that god had closed the door of his house here, and that the congregation must go and build a new one for him somewhere else. so they sung a hymn in the open air, and went home again. jurgen could not be found anywhere in the town of skjagen, nor on the dunes, though they searched for him everywhere. they came to the conclusion that one of the great waves, which had rolled far up on the beach, had carried him away; but his body lay buried in a great sepulchre--the church itself. the lord had thrown down a covering for his grave during the storm, and the heavy mound of sand lies upon it to this day. the drifting sand had covered the vaulted roof of the church, the arched cloisters, and the stone aisles. the white thorn and the dog rose now blossom above the place where the church lies buried, but the spire, like an enormous monument over a grave, can be seen for miles round. no king has a more splendid memorial. nothing disturbs the peaceful sleep of the dead. i was the first to hear this story, for the storm sung it to me among the sand-hills. the saucy boy once upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right good old poets. one evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible storm going on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet sat comfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning and the apples were roasting. "there will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who are out in this weather," he said. "oh, open the door! i am so cold and wet through," called a little child outside. it was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rain was pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows. "poor creature!" said the poet, and got up and opened the door. before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed from his long fair locks. he was shivering with cold; if he had not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the storm. "poor little thing!" said the poet, and took him by the hand. "come to me; i will soon warm you. you shall have some wine and an apple, for you are such a pretty boy." and he was, too. his eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and although the water flowed down from his fair locks, they still curled quite beautifully. he looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, and trembling all over. in his hand he held a splendid bow, but it had been entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrows had run into one another by getting wet. the old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on his knee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in his own. he then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revived him; so that with reddening cheeks, he sprang upon the floor and danced around the old man. "you are a merry boy," said the latter. "what is your name?" "my name is cupid," he answered. "don't you know me? there lies my bow. i shoot with that, you know. look, the weather is getting fine again--the moon is shining." "but your bow is spoilt," said the old poet. "that would be unfortunate," said the little boy, taking it up and looking at it. "oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. the string is quite tight; i'll try it." so, drawing it back, he took an arrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "do you see now that my bow was not spoilt?" he said, and, loudly laughing, ran away. what a naughty boy to shoot the old poet like that, who had taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and had given him the nicest wine and the best apple! the good old man lay upon the floor crying; he was really shot in the heart. "oh!" he cried, "what a naughty boy this cupid is! i shall tell all the good children about this, so that they take care never to play with him, lest he hurt them." and all good children, both girls and boys, whom he told about this, were on their guard against wicked cupid; but he deceives them all the same, for he is very deep. when the students come out of class, he walks beside them with a book under his arm, and wearing a black coat. they cannot recognize him. and then, if they take him by the arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow into their chest. and when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he is amongst them too. in fact, he is always after people. he sits in the large chandelier in the theatre and blazes away, so that people think it is a lamp; but they soon find out their mistake. he walks about in the castle garden and on the promenades. yes, once he shot your father and your mother in the heart too. just ask them, and you will hear what they say. oh! he is a bad boy, this cupid, and you must never have anything to do with him, for he is after every one. just think, he even shot an arrow at old grandmother; but that was a long time ago. the wound has long been healed, but such things are never forgotten. now you know what a bad boy this wicked cupid is. the shadow in very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great power, people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the hottest countries they are negroes, with black skins. a learned man once travelled into one of these warm climates, from the cold regions of the north, and thought he would roam about as he did at home; but he soon had to change his opinion. he found that, like all sensible people, he must remain in the house during the whole day, with every window and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the house were asleep or absent. the houses of the narrow street in which he lived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning till evening, and it became quite unbearable. this learned man from the cold regions was young as well as clever; but it seemed to him as if he were sitting in an oven, and he became quite exhausted and weak, and grew so thin that his shadow shrivelled up, and became much smaller than it had been at home. the sun took away even what was left of it, and he saw nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. it was really a pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room, to see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to the ceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch to recover its strength. the learned man would sometimes go out into the balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as the stars came forth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt revived. people at this hour began to make their appearance in all the balconies in the street; for in warm climates every window has a balcony, in which they can breathe the fresh evening air, which is very necessary, even to those who are used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany; so that the street presented a very lively appearance. here were shoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. in the street beneath, they brought out tables and chairs, lighted candles by hundreds, talked and sang, and were very merry. there were people walking, carriages driving, and mules trotting along, with their bells on the harness, "tingle, tingle," as they went. then the dead were carried to the grave with the sound of solemn music, and the tolling of the church bells. it was indeed a scene of varied life in the street. one house only, which was just opposite to the one in which the foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for it was quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers stood in the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and this could not have been unless they had been watered carefully. therefore some one must be in the house to do this. the doors leading to the balcony were half opened in the evening; and although in the front room all was dark, music could be heard from the interior of the house. the foreign learned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps he fancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased him, excepting the heat of the sun. the foreign landlord said he did not know who had taken the opposite house--nobody was to be seen there; and as to the music, he thought it seemed very tedious, to him most uncommonly so. "it is just as if some one was practising a piece that he could not manage; it is always the same piece. he thinks, i suppose, that he will be able to manage it at last; but i do not think so, however long he may play it." once the foreigner woke in the night. he slept with the door open which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the curtain before it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness over all in the balcony of the opposite house. the flowers seemed like flames of the most gorgeous colors, and among the flowers stood a beautiful slender maiden. it was to him as if light streamed from her, and dazzled his eyes; but then he had only just opened them, as he awoke from his sleep. with one spring he was out of bed, and crept softly behind the curtain. but she was gone--the brightness had disappeared; the flowers no longer appeared like flames, although still as beautiful as ever. the door stood ajar, and from an inner room sounded music so sweet and so lovely, that it produced the most enchanting thoughts, and acted on the senses with magic power. who could live there? where was the real entrance? for, both in the street and in the lane at the side, the whole ground floor was a continuation of shops; and people could not always be passing through them. one evening the foreigner sat in the balcony. a light was burning in his own room, just behind him. it was quite natural, therefore, that his shadow should fall on the wall of the opposite house; so that, as he sat amongst the flowers on his balcony, when he moved, his shadow moved also. "i think my shadow is the only living thing to be seen opposite," said the learned man; "see how pleasantly it sits among the flowers. the door is only ajar; the shadow ought to be clever enough to step in and look about him, and then to come back and tell me what he has seen. you could make yourself useful in this way," said he, jokingly; "be so good as to step in now, will you?" and then he nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded in return. "now go, but don't stay away altogether." then the foreigner stood up, and the shadow on the opposite balcony stood up also; the foreigner turned round, the shadow turned; and if any one had observed, they might have seen it go straight into the half-opened door of the opposite balcony, as the learned man re-entered his own room, and let the curtain fall. the next morning he went out to take his coffee and read the newspapers. "how is this?" he exclaimed, as he stood in the sunshine. "i have lost my shadow. so it really did go away yesterday evening, and it has not returned. this is very annoying." and it certainly did vex him, not so much because the shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story of a man without a shadow. all the people at home, in his country, knew this story; and when he returned, and related his own adventures, they would say it was only an imitation; and he had no desire for such things to be said of him. so he decided not to speak of it at all, which was a very sensible determination. in the evening he went out again on his balcony, taking care to place the light behind him; for he knew that a shadow always wants his master for a screen; but he could not entice him out. he made himself little, and he made himself tall; but there was no shadow, and no shadow came. he said, "hem, a-hem;" but it was all useless. that was very vexatious; but in warm countries everything grows very quickly; and, after a week had passed, he saw, to his great joy, that a new shadow was growing from his feet, when he walked in the sunshine; so that the root must have remained. after three weeks, he had quite a respectable shadow, which, during his return journey to northern lands, continued to grow, and became at last so large that he might very well have spared half of it. when this learned man arrived at home, he wrote books about the true, the good, and the beautiful, which are to be found in this world; and so days and years passed--many, many years. one evening, as he sat in his study, a very gentle tap was heard at the door. "come in," said he; but no one came. he opened the door, and there stood before him a man so remarkably thin that he felt seriously troubled at his appearance. he was, however, very well dressed, and looked like a gentleman. "to whom have i the honor of speaking?" said he. "ah, i hoped you would recognize me," said the elegant stranger; "i have gained so much that i have a body of flesh, and clothes to wear. you never expected to see me in such a condition. do you not recognize your old shadow? ah, you never expected that i should return to you again. all has been prosperous with me since i was with you last; i have become rich in every way, and, were i inclined to purchase my freedom from service, i could easily do so." and as he spoke he rattled between his fingers a number of costly trinkets which hung to a thick gold watch-chain he wore round his neck. diamond rings sparkled on his fingers, and it was all real. "i cannot recover from my astonishment," said the learned man. "what does all this mean?" "something rather unusual," said the shadow; "but you are yourself an uncommon man, and you know very well that i have followed in your footsteps ever since your childhood. as soon as you found that i have travelled enough to be trusted alone, i went my own way, and i am now in the most brilliant circumstances. but i felt a kind of longing to see you once more before you die, and i wanted to see this place again, for there is always a clinging to the land of one's birth. i know that you have now another shadow; do i owe you anything? if so, have the goodness to say what it is." "no! is it really you?" said the learned man. "well, this is most remarkable; i never supposed it possible that a man's old shadow could become a human being." "just tell me what i owe you," said the shadow, "for i do not like to be in debt to any man." "how can you talk in that manner?" said the learned man. "what question of debt can there be between us? you are as free as any one. i rejoice exceedingly to hear of your good fortune. sit down, old friend, and tell me a little of how it happened, and what you saw in the house opposite to me while we were in those hot climates." "yes, i will tell you all about it," said the shadow, sitting down; "but then you must promise me never to tell in this city, wherever you may meet me, that i have been your shadow. i am thinking of being married, for i have more than sufficient to support a family." "make yourself quite easy," said the learned man; "i will tell no one who you really are. here is my hand,--i promise, and a word is sufficient between man and man." "between man and a shadow," said the shadow; for he could not help saying so. it was really most remarkable how very much he had become a man in appearance. he was dressed in a suit of the very finest black cloth, polished boots, and an opera crush hat, which could be folded together so that nothing could be seen but the crown and the rim, besides the trinkets, the gold chain, and the diamond rings already spoken of. the shadow was, in fact, very well dressed, and this made a man of him. "now i will relate to you what you wish to know," said the shadow, placing his foot with the polished leather boot as firmly as possible on the arm of the new shadow of the learned man, which lay at his feet like a poodle dog. this was done, it might be from pride, or perhaps that the new shadow might cling to him, but the prostrate shadow remained quite quiet and at rest, in order that it might listen, for it wanted to know how a shadow could be sent away by its master, and become a man itself. "do you know," said the shadow, "that in the house opposite to you lived the most glorious creature in the world? it was poetry. i remained there three weeks, and it was more like three thousand years, for i read all that has ever been written in poetry or prose; and i may say, in truth, that i saw and learnt everything." "poetry!" exclaimed the learned man. "yes, she lives as a hermit in great cities. poetry! well, i saw her once for a very short moment, while sleep weighed down my eyelids. she flashed upon me from the balcony like the radiant aurora borealis, surrounded with flowers like flames of fire. tell me, you were on the balcony that evening; you went through the door, and what did you see?" "i found myself in an ante-room," said the shadow. "you still sat opposite to me, looking into the room. there was no light, or at least it seemed in partial darkness, for the door of a whole suite of rooms stood open, and they were brilliantly lighted. the blaze of light would have killed me, had i approached too near the maiden myself, but i was cautious, and took time, which is what every one ought to do." "and what didst thou see?" asked the learned man. "i saw everything, as you shall hear. but--it really is not pride on my part, as a free man and possessing the knowledge that i do, besides my position, not to speak of my wealth--i wish you would say you to me instead of thou." "i beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit, which it is difficult to break. you are quite right; i will try to think of it. but now tell me everything that you saw." "everything," said the shadow; "for i saw and know everything." "what was the appearance of the inner rooms?" asked the scholar. "was it there like a cool grove, or like a holy temple? were the chambers like a starry sky seen from the top of a high mountain?" "it was all that you describe," said the shadow; "but i did not go quite in--i remained in the twilight of the ante-room--but i was in a very good position,--i could see and hear all that was going on in the court of poetry." "but what did you see? did the gods of ancient times pass through the rooms? did old heroes fight their battles over again? were there lovely children at play, who related their dreams?" "i tell you i have been there, and therefore you may be sure that i saw everything that was to be seen. if you had gone there, you would not have remained a human being, whereas i became one; and at the same moment i became aware of my inner being, my inborn affinity to the nature of poetry. it is true i did not think much about it while i was with you, but you will remember that i was always much larger at sunrise and sunset, and in the moonlight even more visible than yourself, but i did not then understand my inner existence. in the ante-room it was revealed to me. i became a man; i came out in full maturity. but you had left the warm countries. as a man, i felt ashamed to go about without boots or clothes, and that exterior finish by which man is known. so i went my own way; i can tell you, for you will not put it in a book. i hid myself under the cloak of a cake woman, but she little thought who she concealed. it was not till evening that i ventured out. i ran about the streets in the moonlight. i drew myself up to my full height upon the walls, which tickled my back very pleasantly. i ran here and there, looked through the highest windows into the rooms, and over the roofs. i looked in, and saw what nobody else could see, or indeed ought to see; in fact, it is a bad world, and i would not care to be a man, but that men are of some importance. i saw the most miserable things going on between husbands and wives, parents and children,--sweet, incomparable children. i have seen what no human being has the power of knowing, although they would all be very glad to know--the evil conduct of their neighbors. had i written a newspaper, how eagerly it would have been read! instead of which, i wrote directly to the persons themselves, and great alarm arose in all the town i visited. they had so much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. the professor made me a professor. the tailor gave me new clothes; i am well provided for in that way. the overseer of the mint struck coins for me. the women declared that i was handsome, and so i became the man you now see me. and now i must say adieu. here is my card. i live on the sunny side of the street, and always stay at home in rainy weather." and the shadow departed. "this is all very remarkable," said the learned man. years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came again. "how are you going on now?" he asked. "ah!" said the learned man; "i am writing about the true, the beautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything about it. i am quite in despair, for i take it to heart very much." "that is what i never do," said the shadow; "i am growing quite fat and stout, which every one ought to be. you do not understand the world; you will make yourself ill about it; you ought to travel; i am going on a journey in the summer, will you go with me? i should like a travelling companion; will you travel with me as my shadow? it would give me great pleasure, and i will pay all expenses." "are you going to travel far?" asked the learned man. "that is a matter of opinion," replied the shadow. "at all events, a journey will do you good, and if you will be my shadow, then all your journey shall be paid." "it appears to me very absurd," said the learned man. "but it is the way of the world," replied the shadow, "and always will be." then he went away. everything went wrong with the learned man. sorrow and trouble pursued him, and what he said about the good, the beautiful, and the true, was of as much value to most people as a nutmeg would be to a cow. at length he fell ill. "you really look like a shadow," people said to him, and then a cold shudder would pass over him, for he had his own thoughts on the subject. "you really ought to go to some watering-place," said the shadow on his next visit. "there is no other chance for you. i will take you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. i will pay the expenses of your journey, and you shall write a description of it to amuse us by the way. i should like to go to a watering-place; my beard does not grow as it ought, which is from weakness, and i must have a beard. now do be sensible and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimate friends." and at last they started together. the shadow was master now, and the master became the shadow. they drove together, and rode and walked in company with each other, side by side, or one in front and the other behind, according to the position of the sun. the shadow always knew when to take the place of honor, but the learned man took no notice of it, for he had a good heart, and was exceedingly mild and friendly. one day the master said to the shadow, "we have grown up together from our childhood, and now that we have become travelling companions, shall we not drink to our good fellowship, and say thee and thou to each other?" "what you say is very straightforward and kindly meant," said the shadow, who was now really master. "i will be equally kind and straightforward. you are a learned man, and know how wonderful human nature is. there are some men who cannot endure the smell of brown paper; it makes them ill. others will feel a shuddering sensation to their very marrow, if a nail is scratched on a pane of glass. i myself have a similar kind of feeling when i hear any one say thou to me. i feel crushed by it, as i used to feel in my former position with you. you will perceive that this is a matter of feeling, not pride. i cannot allow you to say thou to me; i will gladly say it to you, and therefore your wish will be half fulfilled." then the shadow addressed his former master as thou. "it is going rather too far," said the latter, "that i am to say you when i speak to him, and he is to say thou to me." however, he was obliged to submit. they arrived at length at the baths, where there were many strangers, and among them a beautiful princess, whose real disease consisted in being too sharp-sighted, which made every one very uneasy. she saw at once that the new comer was very different to every one else. "they say he is here to make his beard grow," she thought; "but i know the real cause, he is unable to cast a shadow." then she became very curious on the matter, and one day, while on the promenade, she entered into conversation with the strange gentleman. being a princess, she was not obliged to stand upon much ceremony, so she said to him without hesitation, "your illness consists in not being able to cast a shadow." "your royal highness must be on the high road to recovery from your illness," said he. "i know your complaint arose from being too sharp-sighted, and in this case it has entirely failed. i happen to have a most unusual shadow. have you not seen a person who is always at my side? persons often give their servants finer cloth for their liveries than for their own clothes, and so i have dressed out my shadow like a man; nay, you may observe that i have even given him a shadow of his own; it is rather expensive, but i like to have things about me that are peculiar." "how is this?" thought the princess; "am i really cured? this must be the best watering-place in existence. water in our times has certainly wonderful power. but i will not leave this place yet, just as it begins to be amusing. this foreign prince--for he must be a prince--pleases me above all things. i only hope his beard won't grow, or he will leave at once." in the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large assembly rooms. she was light, but he was lighter still; she had never seen such a dancer before. she told him from what country she had come, and found he knew it and had been there, but not while she was at home. he had looked into the windows of her father's palace, both the upper and the lower windows; he had seen many things, and could therefore answer the princess, and make allusions which quite astonished her. she thought he must be the cleverest man in all the world, and felt the greatest respect for his knowledge. when she danced with him again she fell in love with him, which the shadow quickly discovered, for she had with her eyes looked him through and through. they danced once more, and she was nearly telling him, but she had some discretion; she thought of her country, her kingdom, and the number of people over whom she would one day have to rule. "he is a clever man," she thought to herself, "which is a good thing, and he dances admirably, which is also good. but has he well-grounded knowledge? that is an important question, and i must try him." then she asked him a most difficult question, she herself could not have answered it, and the shadow made a most unaccountable grimace. "you cannot answer that," said the princess. "i learnt something about it in my childhood," he replied; "and believe that even my very shadow, standing over there by the door, could answer it." "your shadow," said the princess; "indeed that would be very remarkable." "i do not say so positively," observed the shadow; "but i am inclined to believe that he can do so. he has followed me for so many years, and has heard so much from me, that i think it is very likely. but your royal highness must allow me to observe, that he is very proud of being considered a man, and to put him in a good humor, so that he may answer correctly, he must be treated as a man." "i shall be very pleased to do so," said the princess. so she walked up to the learned man, who stood in the doorway, and spoke to him of the sun, and the moon, of the green forests, and of people near home and far off; and the learned man conversed with her pleasantly and sensibly. "what a wonderful man he must be, to have such a clever shadow!" thought she. "if i were to choose him it would be a real blessing to my country and my subjects, and i will do it." so the princess and the shadow were soon engaged to each other, but no one was to be told a word about it, till she returned to her kingdom. "no one shall know," said the shadow; "not even my own shadow;" and he had very particular reasons for saying so. after a time, the princess returned to the land over which she reigned, and the shadow accompanied her. "listen my friend," said the shadow to the learned man; "now that i am as fortunate and as powerful as any man can be, i will do something unusually good for you. you shall live in my palace, drive with me in the royal carriage, and have a hundred thousand dollars a year; but you must allow every one to call you a shadow, and never venture to say that you have been a man. and once a year, when i sit in my balcony in the sunshine, you must lie at my feet as becomes a shadow to do; for i must tell you i am going to marry the princess, and our wedding will take place this evening." "now, really, this is too ridiculous," said the learned man. "i cannot, and will not, submit to such folly. it would be cheating the whole country, and the princess also. i will disclose everything, and say that i am the man, and that you are only a shadow dressed up in men's clothes." "no one would believe you," said the shadow; "be reasonable, now, or i will call the guards." "i will go straight to the princess," said the learned man. "but i shall be there first," replied the shadow, "and you will be sent to prison." and so it turned out, for the guards readily obeyed him, as they knew he was going to marry the king's daughter. "you tremble," said the princess, when the shadow appeared before her. "has anything happened? you must not be ill to-day, for this evening our wedding will take place." "i have gone through the most terrible affair that could possibly happen," said the shadow; "only imagine, my shadow has gone mad; i suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not bear much; he fancies that he has become a real man, and that i am his shadow." "how very terrible," cried the princess; "is he locked up?" "oh yes, certainly; for i fear he will never recover." "poor shadow!" said the princess; "it is very unfortunate for him; it would really be a good deed to free him from his frail existence; and, indeed, when i think how often people take the part of the lower class against the higher, in these days, it would be policy to put him out of the way quietly." "it is certainly rather hard upon him, for he was a faithful servant," said the shadow; and he pretended to sigh. "yours is a noble character," said the princess, and bowed herself before him. in the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannons fired "boom," and the soldiers presented arms. it was indeed a grand wedding. the princess and the shadow stepped out on the balcony to show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. but the learned man heard nothing of all these festivities, for he had already been executed. the shepherdess and the sheep have you ever seen an old wooden cupboard quite black with age, and ornamented with carved foliage and curious figures? well, just such a cupboard stood in a parlor, and had been left to the family as a legacy by the great-grandmother. it was covered from top to bottom with carved roses and tulips; the most curious scrolls were drawn upon it, and out of them peeped little stags' heads, with antlers. in the middle of the cupboard door was the carved figure of a man most ridiculous to look at. he grinned at you, for no one could call it laughing. he had goat's legs, little horns on his head, and a long beard; the children in the room always called him, "major general-field-sergeant-commander billy-goat's-legs." it was certainly a very difficult name to pronounce, and there are very few who ever receive such a title, but then it seemed wonderful how he came to be carved at all; yet there he was, always looking at the table under the looking-glass, where stood a very pretty little shepherdess made of china. her shoes were gilt, and her dress had a red rose or an ornament. she wore a hat, and carried a crook, that were both gilded, and looked very bright and pretty. close by her side stood a little chimney-sweep, as black as coal, and also made of china. he was, however, quite as clean and neat as any other china figure; he only represented a black chimney-sweep, and the china workers might just as well have made him a prince, had they felt inclined to do so. he stood holding his ladder quite handily, and his face was as fair and rosy as a girl's; indeed, that was rather a mistake, it should have had some black marks on it. he and the shepherdess had been placed close together, side by side; and, being so placed, they became engaged to each other, for they were very well suited, being both made of the same sort of china, and being equally fragile. close to them stood another figure, three times as large as they were, and also made of china. he was an old chinaman, who could nod his head, and used to pretend that he was the grandfather of the shepherdess, although he could not prove it. he however assumed authority over her, and therefore when "major-general-field-sergeant-commander billy-goat's-legs" asked for the little shepherdess to be his wife, he nodded his head to show that he consented. "you will have a husband," said the old chinaman to her, "who i really believe is made of mahogany. he will make you a lady of major-general-field-sergeant-commander billy-goat's-legs. he has the whole cupboard full of silver plate, which he keeps locked up in secret drawers." "i won't go into the dark cupboard," said the little shepherdess. "i have heard that he has eleven china wives there already." "then you shall be the twelfth," said the old chinaman. "to-night as soon as you hear a rattling in the old cupboard, you shall be married, as true as i am a chinaman;" and then he nodded his head and fell asleep. then the little shepherdess cried, and looked at her sweetheart, the china chimney-sweep. "i must entreat you," said she, "to go out with me into the wide world, for we cannot stay here." "i will do whatever you wish," said the little chimney-sweep; "let us go immediately: i think i shall be able to maintain you with my profession." "if we were but safely down from the table!" said she; "i shall not be happy till we are really out in the world." then he comforted her, and showed her how to place her little foot on the carved edge and gilt-leaf ornaments of the table. he brought his little ladder to help her, and so they contrived to reach the floor. but when they looked at the old cupboard, they saw it was all in an uproar. the carved stags pushed out their heads, raised their antlers, and twisted their necks. the major-general sprung up in the air; and cried out to the old chinaman, "they are running away! they are running away!" the two were rather frightened at this, so they jumped into the drawer of the window-seat. here were three or four packs of cards not quite complete, and a doll's theatre, which had been built up very neatly. a comedy was being performed in it, and all the queens of diamonds, clubs, and hearts, and spades, sat in the first row fanning themselves with tulips, and behind them stood all the knaves, showing that they had heads above and below as playing cards generally have. the play was about two lovers, who were not allowed to marry, and the shepherdess wept because it was so like her own story. "i cannot bear it," said she, "i must get out of the drawer;" but when they reached the floor, and cast their eyes on the table, there was the old chinaman awake and shaking his whole body, till all at once down he came on the floor, "plump." "the old chinaman is coming," cried the little shepherdess in a fright, and down she fell on one knee. "i have thought of something," said the chimney-sweep; "let us get into the great pot-pourri jar which stands in the corner; there we can lie on rose-leaves and lavender, and throw salt in his eyes if he comes near us." "no, that will never do," said she, "because i know that the chinaman and the pot-pourri jar were lovers once, and there always remains behind a feeling of good-will between those who have been so intimate as that. no, there is nothing left for us but to go out into the wide world." "have you really courage enough to go out into the wide world with me?" said the chimney-sweep; "have you thought how large it is, and that we can never come back here again?" "yes, i have," she replied. when the chimney-sweep saw that she was quite firm, he said, "my way is through the stove and up the chimney. have you courage to creep with me through the fire-box, and the iron pipe? when we get to the chimney i shall know how to manage very well. we shall soon climb too high for any one to reach us, and we shall come through a hole in the top out into the wide world." so he led her to the door of the stove. "it looks very dark," said she; still she went in with him through the stove and through the pipe, where it was as dark as pitch. "now we are in the chimney," said he; "and look, there is a beautiful star shining above it." it was a real star shining down upon them as if it would show them the way. so they clambered, and crept on, and a frightful steep place it was; but the chimney-sweep helped her and supported her, till they got higher and higher. he showed her the best places on which to set her little china foot, so at last they reached the top of the chimney, and sat themselves down, for they were very tired, as may be supposed. the sky, with all its stars, was over their heads, and below were the roofs of the town. they could see for a very long distance out into the wide world, and the poor little shepherdess leaned her head on her chimney-sweep's shoulder, and wept till she washed the gilt off her sash; the world was so different to what she expected. "this is too much," she said; "i cannot bear it, the world is too large. oh, i wish i were safe back on the table again, under the looking glass; i shall never be happy till i am safe back again. now i have followed you out into the wide world, you will take me back, if you love me." then the chimney-sweep tried to reason with her, and spoke of the old chinaman, and of the major-general-field-sergeant-commander billy-goat's legs; but she sobbed so bitterly, and kissed her little chimney-sweep till he was obliged to do all she asked, foolish as it was. and so, with a great deal of trouble, they climbed down the chimney, and then crept through the pipe and stove, which were certainly not very pleasant places. then they stood in the dark fire-box, and listened behind the door, to hear what was going on in the room. as it was all quiet, they peeped out. alas! there lay the old chinaman on the floor; he had fallen down from the table as he attempted to run after them, and was broken into three pieces; his back had separated entirely, and his head had rolled into a corner of the room. the major-general stood in his old place, and appeared lost in thought. "this is terrible," said the little shepherdess. "my poor old grandfather is broken to pieces, and it is our fault. i shall never live after this;" and she wrung her little hands. "he can be riveted," said the chimney-sweep; "he can be riveted. do not be so hasty. if they cement his back, and put a good rivet in it, he will be as good as new, and be able to say as many disagreeable things to us as ever." "do you think so?" said she; and then they climbed up to the table, and stood in their old places. "as we have done no good," said the chimney-sweep, "we might as well have remained here, instead of taking so much trouble." "i wish grandfather was riveted," said the shepherdess. "will it cost much, i wonder?" and she had her wish. the family had the chinaman's back mended, and a strong rivet put through his neck; he looked as good as new, but he could no longer nod his head. "you have become proud since your fall broke you to pieces," said major-general-field-sergeant-commander billy-goat's-legs. "you have no reason to give yourself such airs. am i to have her or not?" the chimney-sweep and the little shepherdess looked piteously at the old chinaman, for they were afraid he might nod; but he was not able: besides, it was so tiresome to be always telling strangers he had a rivet in the back of his neck. and so the little china people remained together, and were glad of the grandfather's rivet, and continued to love each other till they were broken to pieces. the silver shilling there was once a shilling, which came forth from the mint springing and shouting, "hurrah! now i am going out into the wide world." and truly it did go out into the wide world. the children held it with warm hands, the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, and the old people turned it about, goodness knows how many times, while the young people soon allowed it to roll away from them. the shilling was made of silver, it contained very little copper, and considered itself quite out in the world when it had been circulated for a year in the country in which it had been coined. one day, it really did go out into the world, for it belonged to a gentleman who was about to travel in foreign lands. this gentleman was not aware that the shilling lay at the bottom of his purse when he started, till he one day found it between his fingers. "why," cried he, "here is a shilling from home; well, it must go on its travels with me now!" and the shilling jumped and rattled for joy, when it was put back again into the purse. here it lay among a number of foreign companions, who were always coming and going, one taking the place of another, but the shilling from home was always put back, and had to remain in the purse, which was certainly a mark of distinction. many weeks passed, during which the shilling had travelled a long distance in the purse, without in the least knowing where he was. he had found out that the other coins were french and italian; and one coin said they were in this town, and another said they were in that, but the shilling was unable to make out or imagine what they meant. a man certainly cannot see much of the world if he is tied up in a bag, and this was really the shilling's fate. but one day, as he was lying in the purse, he noticed that it was not quite closed, and so he slipped near to the opening to have a little peep into society. he certainly had not the least idea of what would follow, but he was curious, and curiosity often brings its own punishment. in his eagerness, he came so near the edge of the purse that he slipped out into the pocket of the trousers; and when, in the evening, the purse was taken out, the shilling was left behind in the corner to which it had fallen. as the clothes were being carried into the hall, the shilling fell out on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by any one. the next morning the clothes were taken back to the room, the gentleman put them on, and started on his journey again; but the shilling remained behind on the floor. after a time it was found, and being considered a good coin, was placed with three other coins. "ah," thought the shilling, "this is pleasant; i shall now see the world, become acquainted with other people, and learn other customs." "do you call that a shilling?" said some one the next moment. "that is not a genuine coin of the country,--it is false; it is good for nothing." now begins the story as it was afterwards related by the shilling himself. "'false! good for nothing!' said he. that remark went through and through me like a dagger. i knew that i had a true ring, and that mine was a genuine stamp. these people must at all events be wrong, or they could not mean me. but yes, i was the one they called 'false, and good for nothing.' "'then i must pay it away in the dark,' said the man who had received me. so i was to be got rid of in the darkness, and be again insulted in broad daylight. "'false! good for nothing!' oh, i must contrive to get lost, thought i. and i trembled between the fingers of the people every time they tried to pass me off slyly as a coin of the country. ah! unhappy shilling that i was! of what use were my silver, my stamp, and my real value here, where all these qualities were worthless. in the eyes of the world, a man is valued just according to the opinion formed of him. it must be a shocking thing to have a guilty conscience, and to be sneaking about on account of wicked deeds. as for me, innocent as i was, i could not help shuddering before their eyes whenever they brought me out, for i knew i should be thrown back again up the table as a false pretender. at length i was paid away to a poor old woman, who received me as wages for a hard day's work. but she could not again get rid of me; no one would take me. i was to the woman a most unlucky shilling. 'i am positively obliged to pass this shilling to somebody,' said she; 'i cannot, with the best intentions, lay by a bad shilling. the rich baker shall have it,--he can bear the loss better than i can. but, after all, it is not a right thing to do.' "'ah!' sighed i to myself, 'am i also to be a burden on the conscience of this poor woman? am i then in my old days so completely changed?' the woman offered me to the rich baker, but he knew the current money too well, and as soon as he received me he threw me almost in the woman's face. she could get no bread for me, and i felt quite grieved to the heart that i should be cause of so much trouble to another, and be treated as a cast-off coin. i who, in my young days, felt so joyful in the certainty of my own value, and knew so well that i bore a genuine stamp. i was as sorrowful now as a poor shilling can be when nobody will have him. the woman took me home again with her, and looking at me very earnestly, she said, 'no, i will not try to deceive any one with thee again. i will bore a hole through thee, that everyone may know that thou art a false and worthless thing; and yet, why should i do that? very likely thou art a lucky shilling. a thought has just struck me that it is so, and i believe it. yes, i will make a hole in the shilling,' said she, 'and run a string through it, and then give it to my neighbor's little one to hang round her neck, as a lucky shilling.' so she drilled a hole through me. "it is really not at all pleasant to have a hole bored through one, but we can submit to a great deal when it is done with a good intention. a string was drawn through the hole, and i became a kind of medal. they hung me round the neck of a little child, and the child laughed at me and kissed me, and i rested for one whole night on the warm, innocent breast of a child. "in the morning the child's mother took me between her fingers, and had certain thoughts about me, which i very soon found out. first, she looked for a pair of scissors, and cut the string. "'lucky shilling!' said she, 'certainly this is what i mean to try.' then she laid me in vinegar till i became quite green, and after that she filled up the hole with cement, rubbed me a little to brighten me up, and went out in the twilight hour to the lottery collector, to buy herself a ticket, with a shilling that should bring luck. how everything seemed to cause me trouble. the lottery collector pressed me so hard that i thought i should crack. i had been called false, i had been thrown away,--that i knew; and there were many shillings and coins with inscriptions and stamps of all kinds lying about. i well knew how proud they were, so i avoided them from very shame. with the collector were several men who seemed to have a great deal to do, so i fell unnoticed into a chest, among several other coins. "whether the lottery ticket gained a prize, i know not; but this i know, that in a very few days after, i was recognized as a bad shilling, and laid aside. everything that happened seemed always to add to my sorrow. even if a man has a good character, it is of no use for him to deny what is said of him, for he is not considered an impartial judge of himself. "a year passed, and in this way i had been changed from hand to hand; always abused, always looked at with displeasure, and trusted by no one; but i trusted in myself, and had no confidence in the world. yes, that was a very dark time. "at length one day i was passed to a traveller, a foreigner, the very same who had brought me away from home; and he was simple and true-hearted enough to take me for current coin. but would he also attempt to pass me? and should i again hear the outcry, 'false! good-for-nothing!' the traveller examined me attentively, 'i took thee for good coin,' said he; then suddenly a smile spread all over his face. i have never seen such a smile on any other face as on his. 'now this is singular,' said he, 'it is a coin from my own country; a good, true, shilling from home. some one has bored a hole through it, and people have no doubt called it false. how curious that it should come into my hands. i will take it home with me to my own house.' "joy thrilled through me when i heard this. i had been once more called a good, honest shilling, and i was to go back to my own home, where each and all would recognize me, and know that i was made of good silver, and bore a true, genuine stamp. i should have been glad in my joy to throw out sparks of fire, but it has never at any time been my nature to sparkle. steel can do so, but not silver. i was wrapped up in fine, white paper, that i might not mix with the other coins and be lost; and on special occasions, when people from my own country happened to be present, i was brought forward and spoken of very kindly. they said i was very interesting, and it was really quite worth while to notice that those who are interesting have often not a single word to say for themselves. "at length i reached home. all my cares were at an end. joy again overwhelmed me; for was i not good silver, and had i not a genuine stamp? i had no more insults or disappointments to endure; although, indeed, there was a hole through me, as if i were false; but suspicions are nothing when a man is really true, and every one should persevere in acting honestly, for an will be made right in time. that is my firm belief," said the shilling. the shirt-collar there was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar in the world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. the collar had become so old that he began to think about getting married; and one day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as a garter. "upon my word," said the shirt-collar, "i have never seen anything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. may i venture to ask your name?" "i shall not tell you," replied the garter. "where do you reside when you are at home?" asked the shirt-collar. but the garter was naturally shy, and did not know how to answer such a question. "i presume you are a girdle," said the shirt-collar, "a sort of under girdle. i see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, my little lady." "you must not speak to me," said the garter; "i do not think i have given you any encouragement to do so." "oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are," said the shirt-collar, "is not that encouragement enough?" "get away; don't come so near me," said the garter, "you appear to me quite like a man." "i am a fine gentleman certainly," said the shirt-collar, "i possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush." this was not true, for these things belonged to his master; but he was a boaster. "don't come so near me," said the garter; "i am not accustomed to it." "affectation!" said the shirt-collar. then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board. and now came the glowing iron. "mistress widow," said the shirt-collar, "little mistress widow, i feel quite warm. i am changing, i am losing all my creases. you are burning a hole in me. ugh! i propose to you." "you old rag," said the flat-iron, driving proudly over the collar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over the railway and draws carriages. "you old rag!" said she. the edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so the scissors were brought to cut them smooth. "oh!" exclaimed the shirt-collar, "what a first-rate dancer you would make; you can stretch out your leg so well. i never saw anything so charming; i am sure no human being could do the same." "i should think not," replied the scissors. "you ought to be a countess," said the shirt collar; "but all i possess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. i wish i had an estate for your sake." "what! is he going to propose to me?" said the scissors, and she became so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and it was obliged to be thrown by as useless. "i shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush," thought the shirt collar; so he remarked one day, "it is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little lady. have you never thought of being engaged?" "you might know i should think of it," answered the hair brush; "i am engaged to the boot-jack." "engaged!" cried the shirt collar, "now there is no one left to propose to;" and then he pretended to despise all love-making. a long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to the paper-mill. here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying by themselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. they had all many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was a terrible boaster. "i have had an immense number of love affairs," said the shirt collar, "no one left me any peace. it is true i was a very fine gentleman; quite stuck up. i had a boot-jack and a brush that i never used. you should have seen me then, when i was turned down. i shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, and fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for my sake. there was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but i left her alone, and she became quite black. the next was a first-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which i still suffer, she was so passionate. even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair through neglected love. yes, i have had great experience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter--the girdle i meant to say--that jumped into the wash-tub. i have a great deal on my conscience, and it is really time i should be turned into white paper." and the shirt collar came to this at last. all the rags were made into white paper, and the shirt collar became the very identical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this story is printed. it happened as a punishment to him, for having boasted so shockingly of things which were not true. and this is a warning to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves in the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole history may be written, even its most secret actions. and it would not be pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of paper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt collar. the snow man "it is so delightfully cold," said the snow man, "that it makes my whole body crackle. this is just the kind of wind to blow life into one. how that great red thing up there is staring at me!" he meant the sun, who was just setting. "it shall not make me wink. i shall manage to keep the pieces." he had two triangular pieces of tile in his head, instead of eyes; his mouth was made of an old broken rake, and was, of course, furnished with teeth. he had been brought into existence amidst the joyous shouts of boys, the jingling of sleigh-bells, and the slashing of whips. the sun went down, and the full moon rose, large, round, and clear, shining in the deep blue. "there it comes again, from the other side," said the snow man, who supposed the sun was showing himself once more. "ah, i have cured him of staring, though; now he may hang up there, and shine, that i may see myself. if i only knew how to manage to move away from this place,--i should so like to move. if i could, i would slide along yonder on the ice, as i have seen the boys do; but i don't understand how; i don't even know how to run." "away, away," barked the old yard-dog. he was quite hoarse, and could not pronounce "bow wow" properly. he had once been an indoor dog, and lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. "the sun will make you run some day. i saw him, last winter, make your predecessor run, and his predecessor before him. away, away, they all have to go." "i don't understand you, comrade," said the snow man. "is that thing up yonder to teach me to run? i saw it running itself a little while ago, and now it has come creeping up from the other side. "you know nothing at all," replied the yard-dog; "but then, you've only lately been patched up. what you see yonder is the moon, and the one before it was the sun. it will come again to-morrow, and most likely teach you to run down into the ditch by the well; for i think the weather is going to change. i can feel such pricks and stabs in my left leg; i am sure there is going to be a change." "i don't understand him," said the snow man to himself; "but i have a feeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable. the one who stared so just now, and whom he calls the sun, is not my friend; i can feel that too." "away, away," barked the yard-dog, and then he turned round three times, and crept into his kennel to sleep. there was really a change in the weather. towards morning, a thick fog covered the whole country round, and a keen wind arose, so that the cold seemed to freeze one's bones; but when the sun rose, the sight was splendid. trees and bushes were covered with hoar frost, and looked like a forest of white coral; while on every twig glittered frozen dew-drops. the many delicate forms concealed in summer by luxuriant foliage, were now clearly defined, and looked like glittering lace-work. from every twig glistened a white radiance. the birch, waving in the wind, looked full of life, like trees in summer; and its appearance was wondrously beautiful. and where the sun shone, how everything glittered and sparkled, as if diamond dust had been strewn about; while the snowy carpet of the earth appeared as if covered with diamonds, from which countless lights gleamed, whiter than even the snow itself. "this is really beautiful," said a young girl, who had come into the garden with a young man; and they both stood still near the snow man, and contemplated the glittering scene. "summer cannot show a more beautiful sight," she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled. "and we can't have such a fellow as this in the summer time," replied the young man, pointing to the snow man; "he is capital." the girl laughed, and nodded at the snow man, and then tripped away over the snow with her friend. the snow creaked and crackled beneath her feet, as if she had been treading on starch. "who are these two?" asked the snow man of the yard-dog. "you have been here longer than i have; do you know them?" "of course i know them," replied the yard-dog; "she has stroked my back many times, and he has given me a bone of meat. i never bite those two." "but what are they?" asked the snow man. "they are lovers," he replied; "they will go and live in the same kennel by-and-by, and gnaw at the same bone. away, away!" "are they the same kind of beings as you and i?" asked the snow man. "well, they belong to the same master," retorted the yard-dog. "certainly people who were only born yesterday know very little. i can see that in you. i have age and experience. i know every one here in the house, and i know there was once a time when i did not lie out here in the cold, fastened to a chain. away, away!" "the cold is delightful," said the snow man; "but do tell me tell me; only you must not clank your chain so; for it jars all through me when you do that." "away, away!" barked the yard-dog; "i'll tell you; they said i was a pretty little fellow once; then i used to lie in a velvet-covered chair, up at the master's house, and sit in the mistress's lap. they used to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief, and i was called 'ami, dear ami, sweet ami.' but after a while i grew too big for them, and they sent me away to the housekeeper's room; so i came to live on the lower story. you can look into the room from where you stand, and see where i was master once; for i was indeed master to the housekeeper. it was certainly a smaller room than those up stairs; but i was more comfortable; for i was not being continually taken hold of and pulled about by the children as i had been. i received quite as good food, or even better. i had my own cushion, and there was a stove--it is the finest thing in the world at this season of the year. i used to go under the stove, and lie down quite beneath it. ah, i still dream of that stove. away, away!" "does a stove look beautiful?" asked the snow man, "is it at all like me?" "it is just the reverse of you," said the dog; "it's as black as a crow, and has a long neck and a brass knob; it eats firewood, so that fire spurts out of its mouth. we should keep on one side, or under it, to be comfortable. you can see it through the window, from where you stand." then the snow man looked, and saw a bright polished thing with a brazen knob, and fire gleaming from the lower part of it. the snow man felt quite a strange sensation come over him; it was very odd, he knew not what it meant, and he could not account for it. but there are people who are not men of snow, who understand what it is. "'and why did you leave her?" asked the snow man, for it seemed to him that the stove must be of the female sex. "how could you give up such a comfortable place?" "i was obliged," replied the yard-dog. "they turned me out of doors, and chained me up here. i had bitten the youngest of my master's sons in the leg, because he kicked away the bone i was gnawing. 'bone for bone,' i thought; but they were so angry, and from that time i have been fastened with a chain, and lost my bone. don't you hear how hoarse i am. away, away! i can't talk any more like other dogs. away, away, that is the end of it all." but the snow man was no longer listening. he was looking into the housekeeper's room on the lower storey; where the stove stood on its four iron legs, looking about the same size as the snow man himself. "what a strange crackling i feel within me," he said. "shall i ever get in there? it is an innocent wish, and innocent wishes are sure to be fulfilled. i must go in there and lean against her, even if i have to break the window." "you must never go in there," said the yard-dog, "for if you approach the stove, you'll melt away, away." "i might as well go," said the snow man, "for i think i am breaking up as it is." during the whole day the snow man stood looking in through the window, and in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting, for from the stove came a gentle glow, not like the sun or the moon; no, only the bright light which gleams from a stove when it has been well fed. when the door of the stove was opened, the flames darted out of its mouth; this is customary with all stoves. the light of the flames fell directly on the face and breast of the snow man with a ruddy gleam. "i can endure it no longer," said he; "how beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue?" the night was long, but did not appear so to the snow man, who stood there enjoying his own reflections, and crackling with the cold. in the morning, the window-panes of the housekeeper's room were covered with ice. they were the most beautiful ice-flowers any snow man could desire, but they concealed the stove. these window-panes would not thaw, and he could see nothing of the stove, which he pictured to himself, as if it had been a lovely human being. the snow crackled and the wind whistled around him; it was just the kind of frosty weather a snow man might thoroughly enjoy. but he did not enjoy it; how, indeed, could he enjoy anything when he was "stove sick?" "that is terrible disease for a snow man," said the yard-dog; "i have suffered from it myself, but i got over it. away, away," he barked and then he added, "the weather is going to change." and the weather did change; it began to thaw. as the warmth increased, the snow man decreased. he said nothing and made no complaint, which is a sure sign. one morning he broke, and sunk down altogether; and, behold, where he had stood, something like a broomstick remained sticking up in the ground. it was the pole round which the boys had built him up. "ah, now i understand why he had such a great longing for the stove," said the yard-dog. "why, there's the shovel that is used for cleaning out the stove, fastened to the pole." the snow man had a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so. "but it's all over now. away, away." and soon the winter passed. "away, away," barked the hoarse yard-dog. but the girls in the house sang, "come from your fragrant home, green thyme; stretch your soft branches, willow-tree; the months are bringing the sweet spring-time, when the lark in the sky sings joyfully. come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings, and i'll mock his note in my wanderings." and nobody thought any more of the snow man. the snow queen in seven stories story the first which describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments. you must attend to the commencement of this story, for when we get to the end we shall know more than we do now about a very wicked hobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he was a real demon. one day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a looking-glass which had the power of making everything good or beautiful that was reflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that was worthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever. the most lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the people became hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and had no bodies. their countenances were so distorted that no one could recognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to spread over the whole of the nose and mouth. the demon said this was very amusing. when a good or pious thought passed through the mind of any one it was misrepresented in the glass; and then how the demon laughed at his cunning invention. all who went to the demon's school--for he kept a school--talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, and declared that people could now, for the first time, see what the world and mankind were really like. they carried the glass about everywhere, till at last there was not a land nor a people who had not been looked at through this distorted mirror. they wanted even to fly with it up to heaven to see the angels, but the higher they flew the more slippery the glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till at last it slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was broken into millions of pieces. but now the looking-glass caused more unhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into every country. when one of these tiny atoms flew into a person's eye, it stuck there unknown to him, and from that moment he saw everything through a distorted medium, or could see only the worst side of what he looked at, for even the smallest fragment retained the same power which had belonged to the whole mirror. some few persons even got a fragment of the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was very terrible, for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. a few of the pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes; it would have been a sad thing to look at our friends through them. other pieces were made into spectacles; this was dreadful for those who wore them, for they could see nothing either rightly or justly. at all this the wicked demon laughed till his sides shook--it tickled him so to see the mischief he had done. there were still a number of these little fragments of glass floating about in the air, and now you shall hear what happened with one of them. second story a little boy and a little girl in a large town, full of houses and people, there is not room for everybody to have even a little garden, therefore they are obliged to be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. in one of these large towns lived two poor children who had a garden something larger and better than a few flower-pots. they were not brother and sister, but they loved each other almost as much as if they had been. their parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, where the roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other and the water-pipe ran between them. in each house was a little window, so that any one could step across the gutter from one window to the other. the parents of these children had each a large wooden box in which they cultivated kitchen herbs for their own use, and a little rose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly. now after a while the parents decided to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, so that they reached from one window to the other and looked like two banks of flowers. sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and the rose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round the windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch of leaves and flowers. the boxes were very high, and the children knew they must not climb upon them, without permission, but they were often, however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their little stools under the rose-bushes, or play quietly. in winter all this pleasure came to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozen over. but then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and hold the warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very soon a little round hole through which they could peep, and the soft bright eyes of the little boy and girl would beam through the hole at each window as they looked at each other. their names were kay and gerda. in summer they could be together with one jump from the window, but in winter they had to go up and down the long staircase, and out through the snow before they could meet. "see there are the white bees swarming," said kay's old grandmother one day when it was snowing. "have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew that the real bees had a queen. "to be sure they have," said the grandmother. "she is flying there where the swarm is thickest. she is the largest of them all, and never remains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. often at midnight she flies through the streets of the town, and looks in at the windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful shapes, that look like flowers and castles." "yes, i have seen them," said both the children, and they knew it must be true. "can the snow queen come in here?" asked the little girl. "only let her come," said the boy, "i'll set her on the stove and then she'll melt." then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some more tales. one evening, when little kay was at home, half undressed, he climbed on a chair by the window and peeped out through the little hole. a few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. this snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. she was fair and beautiful, but made of ice--shining and glittering ice. still she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was neither peace nor rest in their glance. she nodded towards the window and waved her hand. the little boy was frightened and sprang from the chair; at the same moment it seemed as if a large bird flew by the window. on the following day there was a clear frost, and very soon came the spring. the sun shone; the young green leaves burst forth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and the children sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all the other rooms. how beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. the little girl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then she thought of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang too:-- "roses bloom and cease to be, but we shall the christ-child see." then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed the roses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the christ-child were there. those were splendid summer days. how beautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemed as if they would never leave off blooming. one day kay and gerda sat looking at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then just as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, kay said, "oh, something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "there is something in my eye." the little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into his eye, but she could see nothing. "i think it is gone," he said. but it was not gone; it was one of those bits of the looking-glass--that magic mirror, of which we have spoken--the ugly glass which made everything great and good appear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more visible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. poor little kay had also received a small grain in his heart, which very quickly turned to a lump of ice. he felt no more pain, but the glass was there still. "why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly. there is nothing the matter with me now. oh, see!" he cried suddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked. after all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand," and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the two roses. "kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then, when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumped through his own window away from little gerda. when she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "it was only fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told any stories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manage it, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and imitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. by-and-by he began to mimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. all that was peculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and people said, "that boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable genius." but it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness in his heart, that made him act like this. he would even tease little gerda, who loved him with all her heart. his games, too, were quite different; they were not so childish. one winter's day, when it snowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail of his blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "look in this glass, gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow was magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star. "is it not clever?" said kay, "and much more interesting than looking at real flowers. there is not a single fault in it, and the snow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt." soon after kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and with his sledge at his back. he called up stairs to gerda, "i've got to leave to go into the great square, where the other boys play and ride." and away he went. in the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tie their sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a good way. this was capital. but while they were all amusing themselves, and kay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in it sat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap. the sledge drove twice round the square, and kay fastened his own little sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it. it went faster and faster right through the next street, and then the person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to kay, just as if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever kay wished to loosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so kay sat still, and they drove out through the town gate. then the snow began to fall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadth before him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened the cord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was of no use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like the wind. then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while the snow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. every now and then it gave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. the boy was frightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember nothing but the multiplication table. the snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they appeared like great white chickens. all at once they sprang on one side, the great sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose up. the fur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell off, and he saw a lady, tall and white, it was the snow queen. "we have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble? here, creep into my warm fur." then she seated him beside her in the sledge, and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as if he were sinking into a snow drift. "are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on the forehead. the kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through to his heart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite well again, and did not notice the cold around him. "my sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first thought, and then he looked and saw that it was bound fast to one of the white chickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its back. the snow queen kissed little kay again, and by this time he had forgotten little gerda, his grandmother, and all at home. "now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or i should kiss you to death." kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he could not imagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did not now seem to be made of ice, as when he had seen her through his window, and she had nodded to him. in his eyes she was perfect, and she did not feel at all afraid. he told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far as fractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and the number of inhabitants in the country. and she always smiled so that he thought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vast expanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud, while the storm blew and howled as if it were singing old songs. they flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below them roared the wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them flew the black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear and bright,--and so kay passed through the long winter's night, and by day he slept at the feet of the snow queen. third story the flower garden of the woman who could conjure but how fared little gerda during kay's absence? what had become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the town gate. nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him, and little gerda wept bitterly for a long time. she said she knew he must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by the school. oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. but at last spring came, with warm sunshine. "kay is dead and gone," said little gerda. "i don't believe it," said the sunshine. "he is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows. "we don't believe it," they replied; and at last little gerda began to doubt it herself. "i will put on my new red shoes," she said one morning, "those that kay has never seen, and then i will go down to the river, and ask for him." it was quite early when she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the river. "is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from me?" said she to the river. "i will give you my red shoes if you will give him back to me." and it seemed as if the waves nodded to her in a strange manner. then she took off her red shoes, which she liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she loved best, because they could not give her back little kay. but she thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. then she crept into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened. and her movement sent it gliding away from the land. when she saw this she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than ever. then little gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to comfort her, "here we are! here we are!" the boat floated with the stream; little gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them because the boat kept so much in advance. the banks on each side of the river were very pretty. there were beautiful flowers, old trees, sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to be seen. perhaps the river will carry me to little kay, thought gerda, and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours. at length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small red house with strange red and blue windows. it had also a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her as she sailed past. gerda called out to them, for she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. then gerda called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house, leaning on a crutch. she wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "you poor little child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all this distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?" and then the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted gerda out. and gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. "come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you here." then gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her head, and said, "hem-hem;" and when she had finished, gerda asked if she had not seen little kay, and the old woman told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. so she told gerda not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story. then she took gerda by the hand and led her into the little house, and the old woman closed the door. the windows were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. on the table stood beautiful cherries, and gerda had permission to eat as many as she would. while she was eating them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face, which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "i have long been wishing for a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." and while she went on combing little gerda's hair, she thought less and less about her adopted brother kay, for the old woman could conjure, although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep gerda. therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell where they had once stood. the old woman was afraid that if little gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember little kay, and run away. then she took gerda into the flower-garden. how fragrant and beautiful it was! every flower that could be thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. the next day, and for many days after, gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. she knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell. one day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with the painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. the old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth. but it is difficult to keep the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our arrangements. "what, are there no roses here?" cried gerda; and she ran out into the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched. there was not one to be found. then she sat down and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk down. the warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and gerda embraced it and kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with them, of little kay. "oh, how i have been detained!" said the little maiden, "i wanted to seek for little kay. do you know where he is?" she asked the roses; "do you think he is dead?" and the roses answered, "no, he is not dead. we have been in the ground where all the dead lie; but kay is not there." "thank you," said little gerda, and then she went to the other flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "do you know where little kay is?" but each flower, as it stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. not one knew anything of kay. gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she asked them one after another about him. and what, said the tiger-lily? "hark, do you hear the drum?--'turn, turn,'--there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn.' listen to the women's song of mourning! hear the cry of the priest! in her long red robe stands the hindoo widow by the funeral pile. the flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband; but the hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes. can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?" "i don't understand that at all," said little gerda. "that is my story," said the tiger-lily. what, says the convolvulus? "near yonder narrow road stands an old knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. she bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. no rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves. her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, 'will he not come?' "is it kay you mean?" asked gerda. "i am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower. what, said the little snow-drop? "between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging. their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. as the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colors. the last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the wind. on goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up. he is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets angry. the children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. a swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,--that is my story." "it may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said little gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little kay at all." what do the hyacinths say? "there were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. the dress of one was red, of the second blue, and of the third pure white. hand in hand they danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy elves. the sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. three coffins, in which lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest across the lake. the fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating torches. do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? the scent of the flower says that they are corpses. the evening bell tolls their knell." "you make me quite sorrowful," said little gerda; "your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. ah! is little kay really dead then? the roses have been in the earth, and they say no." "cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "we are not tolling for little kay; we do not know him. we sing our song, the only one we know." then gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves. "you are little bright suns," said gerda; "tell me if you know where i can find my play-fellow." and the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at gerda. what song could the buttercups sing? it was not about kay. "the bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm day of spring. his bright beams rested on the white walls of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. an old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. when she kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the lips of the maiden. there, that is my story," said the buttercup. "my poor old grandmother!" sighed gerda; "she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little kay; but i shall soon go home now, and take little kay with me. it is no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no information." and then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and said, "perhaps you may know something." then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and what did he say? "i can see myself, i can see myself," said the narcissus. "oh, how sweet is my perfume! up in a little room with a bow window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. she is nothing but a delusion. she is pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her bodice. 'cleanliness is a good thing,' she says. her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot, and dried on the roof. she puts it on, and ties a saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. see how she stretches out her legs, as if she were showing off on a stem. i can see myself, i can see myself." "what do i care for all that," said gerda, "you need not tell me such stuff." and then she ran to the other end of the garden. the door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave way. the door sprang open, and little gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. she looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. at last she could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. she had known nothing of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers grew all the year round. "oh, how i have wasted my time?" said little gerda; "it is autumn. i must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. but her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so cold and bleak. the long willow-leaves were quite yellow. the dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set the teeth on edge. oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared! fourth story the prince and princess gerda was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place where she sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her. he stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head and said, "caw, caw; good-day, good-day." he pronounced the words as plainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl; and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world. the word alone gerda understood very well, and knew how much it expressed. so then she told the crow the whole story of her life and adventures, and asked him if he had seen little kay. the crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, "perhaps i have--it may be." "no! do you think you have?" cried little gerda, and she kissed the crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy. "gently, gently," said the crow. "i believe i know. i think it may be little kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for the princess." "does he live with a princess?" asked gerda. "yes, listen," replied the crow, "but it is so difficult to speak your language. if you understand the crows' language then i can explain it better. do you?" "no, i have never learnt it," said gerda, "but my grandmother understands it, and used to speak it to me. i wish i had learnt it." "it does not matter," answered the crow; "i will explain as well as i can, although it will be very badly done;" and he told her what he had heard. "in this kingdom where we now are," said he, "there lives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that she has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she is so clever. a short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, which people say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, she began to sing a song which commences in these words: 'why should i not be married?' 'why not indeed?' said she, and so she determined to marry if she could find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, and not one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome. then she assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum, and when they heard of her intentions they were very much pleased. 'we are so glad to hear it,' said they, we were talking about it ourselves the other day.' you may believe that every word i tell you is true," said the crow, "for i have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about the palace, and she told me all this." of course his sweetheart was a crow, for "birds of a feather flock together," and one crow always chooses another crow. "newspapers were published immediately, with a border of hearts, and the initials of the princess among them. they gave notice that every young man who was handsome was free to visit the castle and speak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough to be heard when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at the palace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband for the princess. yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as i sit here," said the crow. "the people came in crowds. there was a great deal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on the first or second day. they could all speak very well while they were outside in the streets, but when they entered the palace gates, and saw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen in their golden livery on the staircase, and the great halls lighted up, they became quite confused. and when they stood before the throne on which the princess sat, they could do nothing but repeat the last words she had said; and she had no particular wish to hear her own words over again. it was just as if they had all taken something to make them sleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recover themselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. there was quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to the palace. i went myself to see them," said the crow. "they were hungry and thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water. some of the wisest had taken a few slices of bread and butter with them, but they did not share it with their neighbors; they thought if they went in to the princess looking hungry, there would be a better chance for themselves." "but kay! tell me about little kay!" said gerda, "was he amongst the crowd?" "stop a bit, we are just coming to him. it was on the third day, there came marching cheerfully along to the palace a little personage, without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling like yours; he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor." "that was kay!" said gerda joyfully. "oh, then i have found him;" and she clapped her hands. "he had a little knapsack on his back," added the crow. "no, it must have been his sledge," said gerda; "for he went away with it." "it may have been so," said the crow; "i did not look at it very closely. but i know from my tame sweetheart that he passed through the palace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servants in their liveries of gold on the stairs, but he was not in the least embarrassed. 'it must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,' he said. 'i prefer to go in.' the rooms were blazing with light. councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carrying golden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. his boots creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy." "it must be kay," said gerda, "i know he had new boots on, i have heard them creak in grandmother's room." "they really did creak," said the crow, "yet he went boldly up to the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were present with their maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each of the maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers' servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. they all stood in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. the servants' pages, who always wore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up so proudly by the door." "it must be quite awful," said little gerda, "but did kay win the princess?" "if i had not been a crow," said he, "i would have married her myself, although i am engaged. he spoke just as well as i do, when i speak the crows' language, so i heard from my tame sweetheart. he was quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her as she was with him." "oh, certainly that was kay," said gerda, "he was so clever; he could work mental arithmetic and fractions. oh, will you take me to the palace?" "it is very easy to ask that," replied the crow, "but how are we to manage it? however, i will speak about it to my tame sweetheart, and ask her advice; for i must tell you it will be very difficult to gain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace." "oh, yes; but i shall gain permission easily," said gerda, "for when kay hears that i am here, he will come out and fetch me in immediately." "wait for me here by the palings," said the crow, wagging his head as he flew away. it was late in the evening before the crow returned. "caw, caw," he said, "she sends you greeting, and here is a little roll which she took from the kitchen for you; there is plenty of bread there, and she thinks you must be hungry. it is not possible for you to enter the palace by the front entrance. the guards in silver uniform and the servants in gold livery would not allow it. but do not cry, we will manage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase that leads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find the key." then they went into the garden through the great avenue, where the leaves were falling one after another, and they could see the light in the palace being put out in the same manner. and the crow led little gerda to the back door, which stood ajar. oh! how little gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she were going to do something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where little kay was. "it must be he," she thought, "with those clear eyes, and that long hair." she could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he used to at home, when they sat among the roses. he would certainly be glad to see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for his sake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he did not come back. oh what joy and yet fear she felt! they were now on the stairs, and in a small closet at the top a lamp was burning. in the middle of the floor stood the tame crow, turning her head from side to side, and gazing at gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taught her to do. "my betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady," said the tame crow, "your life-history, vita, as it may be called, is very touching. if you will take the lamp i will walk before you. we will go straight along this way, then we shall meet no one." "it seems to me as if somebody were behind us," said gerda, as something rushed by her like a shadow on the wall, and then horses with flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen on horseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall. "they are only dreams," said the crow, "they are coming to fetch the thoughts of the great people out hunting." "all the better, for we shall be able to look at them in their beds more safely. i hope that when you rise to honor and favor, you will show a grateful heart." "you may be quite sure of that," said the crow from the forest. they now came into the first hall, the walls of which were hung with rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial flowers. here the dreams again flitted by them but so quickly that gerda could not distinguish the royal persons. each hall appeared more splendid than the last, it was enought to bewilder any one. at length they reached a bedroom. the ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leaves of the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two beds, each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. one, in which the princess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this gerda had to seek for little kay. she pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw a little brown neck. oh, that must be kay! she called his name out quite loud, and held the lamp over him. the dreams rushed back into the room on horseback. he woke, and turned his head round, it was not little kay! the prince was only like him in the neck, still he was young and pretty. then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, and asked what was the matter. then little gerda wept and told her story, and all that the crows had done to help her. "you poor child," said the prince and princess; then they praised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they had done, but that it must not happen again, and this time they should be rewarded. "would you like to have your freedom?" asked the princess, "or would you prefer to be raised to the position of court crows, with all that is left in the kitchen for yourselves?" then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said it would be so comfortable to feel that they had provision for their old days, as they called it. and then the prince got out of his bed, and gave it up to gerda,--he could do no more; and she lay down. she folded her little hands, and thought, "how good everyone is to me, men and animals too;" then she closed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. all the dreams came flying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of them drew a little sledge, on which sat kay, and nodded to her. but all this was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke. the following day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet, and they invited her to stay at the palace for a few days, and enjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair of boots, and a little carriage, and a horse to draw it, so that she might go into the wide world to seek for kay. and she obtained, not only boots, but also a muff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there, at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with the coat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star, and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crowns on their heads. the prince and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished her success. the forest crow, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat by gerda's side, as he could not bear riding backwards. the tame crow stood in the door-way flapping her wings. she could not go with them, because she had been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment, no doubt from eating too much. the coach was well stored with sweet cakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts. "farewell, farewell," cried the prince and princess, and little gerda wept, and the crow wept; and then, after a few miles, the crow also said "farewell," and this was the saddest parting. however, he flew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings as long as he could see the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine. fifth story little robber-girl the coach drove on through a thick forest, where it lighted up the way like a torch, and dazzled the eyes of some robbers, who could not bear to let it pass them unmolested. "it is gold! it is gold!" cried they, rushing forward, and seizing the horses. then they struck the little jockeys, the coachman, and the footman dead, and pulled little gerda out of the carriage. "she is fat and pretty, and she has been fed with the kernels of nuts," said the old robber-woman, who had a long beard and eyebrows that hung over her eyes. "she is as good as a little lamb; how nice she will taste!" and as she said this, she drew forth a shining knife, that glittered horribly. "oh!" screamed the old woman the same moment; for her own daughter, who held her back, had bitten her in the ear. she was a wild and naughty girl, and the mother called her an ugly thing, and had not time to kill gerda. "she shall play with me," said the little robber-girl; "she shall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in my bed." and then she bit her mother again, and made her spring in the air, and jump about; and all the robbers laughed, and said, "see how she is dancing with her young cub." "i will have a ride in the coach," said the little robber-girl; and she would have her own way; for she was so self-willed and obstinate. she and gerda seated themselves in the coach, and drove away, over stumps and stones, into the depths of the forest. the little robber-girl was about the same size as gerda, but stronger; she had broader shoulders and a darker skin; her eyes were quite black, and she had a mournful look. she clasped little gerda round the waist, and said,-- "they shall not kill you as long as you don't make us vexed with you. i suppose you are a princess." "no," said gerda; and then she told her all her history, and how fond she was of little kay. the robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded her head slightly, and said, "they sha'nt kill you, even if i do get angry with you; for i will do it myself." and then she wiped gerda's eyes, and stuck her own hands in the beautiful muff which was so soft and warm. the coach stopped in the courtyard of a robber's castle, the walls of which were cracked from top to bottom. ravens and crows flew in and out of the holes and crevices, while great bulldogs, either of which looked as if it could swallow a man, were jumping about; but they were not allowed to bark. in the large and smoky hall a bright fire was burning on the stone floor. there was no chimney; so the smoke went up to the ceiling, and found a way out for itself. soup was boiling in a large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit. "you shall sleep with me and all my little animals to-night," said the robber-girl, after they had had something to eat and drink. so she took gerda to a corner of the hall, where some straw and carpets were laid down. above them, on laths and perches, were more than a hundred pigeons, who all seemed to be asleep, although they moved slightly when the two little girls came near them. "these all belong to me," said the robber-girl; and she seized the nearest to her, held it by the feet, and shook it till it flapped its wings. "kiss it," cried she, flapping it in gerda's face. "there sit the wood-pigeons," continued she, pointing to a number of laths and a cage which had been fixed into the walls, near one of the openings. "both rascals would fly away directly, if they were not closely locked up. and here is my old sweetheart 'ba;'" and she dragged out a reindeer by the horn; he wore a bright copper ring round his neck, and was tied up. "we are obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would run away from us also. i tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife, which frightens him very much." and then the robber-girl drew a long knife from a chink in the wall, and let it slide gently over the reindeer's neck. the poor animal began to kick, and the little robber-girl laughed, and pulled down gerda into bed with her. "will you have that knife with you while you are asleep?" asked gerda, looking at it in great fright. "i always sleep with the knife by me," said the robber-girl. "no one knows what may happen. but now tell me again all about little kay, and why you went out into the world." then gerda repeated her story over again, while the wood-pigeons in the cage over her cooed, and the other pigeons slept. the little robber-girl put one arm across gerda's neck, and held the knife in the other, and was soon fast asleep and snoring. but gerda could not close her eyes at all; she knew not whether she was to live or die. the robbers sat round the fire, singing and drinking, and the old woman stumbled about. it was a terrible sight for a little girl to witness. then the wood-pigeons said, "coo, coo; we have seen little kay. a white fowl carried his sledge, and he sat in the carriage of the snow queen, which drove through the wood while we were lying in our nest. she blew upon us, and all the young ones died excepting us two. coo, coo." "what are you saying up there?" cried gerda. "where was the snow queen going? do you know anything about it?" "she was most likely travelling to lapland, where there is always snow and ice. ask the reindeer that is fastened up there with a rope." "yes, there is always snow and ice," said the reindeer; "and it is a glorious place; you can leap and run about freely on the sparkling ice plains. the snow queen has her summer tent there, but her strong castle is at the north pole, on an island called spitzbergen." "oh, kay, little kay!" sighed gerda. "lie still," said the robber-girl, "or i shall run my knife into your body." in the morning gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said; and the little robber-girl looked quite serious, and nodded her head, and said, "that is all talk, that is all talk. do you know where lapland is?" she asked the reindeer. "who should know better than i do?" said the animal, while his eyes sparkled. "i was born and brought up there, and used to run about the snow-covered plains." "now listen," said the robber-girl; "all our men are gone away,--only mother is here, and here she will stay; but at noon she always drinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards sleeps for a little while; and then, i'll do something for you." then she jumped out of bed, clasped her mother round the neck, and pulled her by the beard, crying, "my own little nanny goat, good morning." then her mother filliped her nose till it was quite red; yet she did it all for love. when the mother had drunk out of the bottle, and was gone to sleep, the little robber-maiden went to the reindeer, and said, "i should like very much to tickle your neck a few times more with my knife, for it makes you look so funny; but never mind,--i will untie your cord, and set you free, so that you may run away to lapland; but you must make good use of your legs, and carry this little maiden to the castle of the snow queen, where her play-fellow is. you have heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening." then the reindeer jumped for joy; and the little robber-girl lifted gerda on his back, and had the forethought to tie her on, and even to give her her own little cushion to sit on. "here are your fur boots for you," said she; "for it will be very cold; but i must keep the muff; it is so pretty. however, you shall not be frozen for the want of it; here are my mother's large warm mittens; they will reach up to your elbows. let me put them on. there, now your hands look just like my mother's." but gerda wept for joy. "i don't like to see you fret," said the little robber-girl; "you ought to look quite happy now; and here are two loaves and a ham, so that you need not starve." these were fastened on the reindeer, and then the little robber-maiden opened the door, coaxed in all the great dogs, and then cut the string with which the reindeer was fastened, with her sharp knife, and said, "now run, but mind you take good care of the little girl." and then gerda stretched out her hand, with the great mitten on it, towards the little robber-girl, and said, "farewell," and away flew the reindeer, over stumps and stones, through the great forest, over marshes and plains, as quickly as he could. the wolves howled, and the ravens screamed; while up in the sky quivered red lights like flames of fire. "there are my old northern lights," said the reindeer; "see how they flash." and he ran on day and night still faster and faster, but the loaves and the ham were all eaten by the time they reached lapland. sixth story the lapland woman and the finland woman they stopped at a little hut; it was very mean looking; the roof sloped nearly down to the ground, and the door was so low that the family had to creep in on their hands and knees, when they went in and out. there was no one at home but an old lapland woman, who was cooking fish by the light of a train-oil lamp. the reindeer told her all about gerda's story, after having first told his own, which seemed to him the most important, but gerda was so pinched with the cold that she could not speak. "oh, you poor things," said the lapland woman, "you have a long way to go yet. you must travel more than a hundred miles farther, to finland. the snow queen lives there now, and she burns bengal lights every evening. i will write a few words on a dried stock-fish, for i have no paper, and you can take it from me to the finland woman who lives there; she can give you better information than i can." so when gerda was warmed, and had taken something to eat and drink, the woman wrote a few words on the dried fish, and told gerda to take great care of it. then she tied her again on the reindeer, and he set off at full speed. flash, flash, went the beautiful blue northern lights in the air the whole night long. and at length they reached finland, and knocked at the chimney of the finland woman's hut, for it had no door above the ground. they crept in, but it was so terribly hot inside that that woman wore scarcely any clothes; she was small and very dirty looking. she loosened little gerda's dress, and took off the fur boots and the mittens, or gerda would have been unable to bear the heat; and then she placed a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, and read what was written on the dried fish. after she had read it three times, she knew it by heart, so she popped the fish into the soup saucepan, as she knew it was good to eat, and she never wasted anything. the reindeer told his own story first, and then little gerda's, and the finlander twinkled with her clever eyes, but she said nothing. "you are so clever," said the reindeer; "i know you can tie all the winds of the world with a piece of twine. if a sailor unties one knot, he has a fair wind; when he unties the second, it blows hard; but if the third and fourth are loosened, then comes a storm, which will root up whole forests. cannot you give this little maiden something which will make her as strong as twelve men, to overcome the snow queen?" "the power of twelve men!" said the finland woman; "that would be of very little use." but she went to a shelf and took down and unrolled a large skin, on which were inscribed wonderful characters, and she read till the perspiration ran down from her forehead. but the reindeer begged so hard for little gerda, and gerda looked at the finland woman with such beseeching tearful eyes, that her own eyes began to twinkle again; so she drew the reindeer into a corner, and whispered to him while she laid a fresh piece of ice on his head, "little kay is really with the snow queen, but he finds everything there so much to his taste and his liking, that he believes it is the finest place in the world; but this is because he has a piece of broken glass in his heart, and a little piece of glass in his eye. these must be taken out, or he will never be a human being again, and the snow queen will retain her power over him." "but can you not give little gerda something to help her to conquer this power?" "i can give her no greater power than she has already," said the woman; "don't you see how strong that is? how men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world, barefooted as she is. she cannot receive any power from me greater than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence of heart. if she cannot herself obtain access to the snow queen, and remove the glass fragments from little kay, we can do nothing to help her. two miles from here the snow queen's garden begins; you can carry the little girl so far, and set her down by the large bush which stands in the snow, covered with red berries. do not stay gossiping, but come back here as quickly as you can." then the finland woman lifted little gerda upon the reindeer, and he ran away with her as quickly as he could. "oh, i have forgotten my boots and my mittens," cried little gerda, as soon as she felt the cutting cold, but the reindeer dared not stop, so he ran on till he reached the bush with the red berries; here he set gerda down, and he kissed her, and the great bright tears trickled over the animal's cheeks; then he left her and ran back as fast as he could. there stood poor gerda, without shoes, without gloves, in the midst of cold, dreary, ice-bound finland. she ran forwards as quickly as she could, when a whole regiment of snow-flakes came round her; they did not, however, fall from the sky, which was quite clear and glittering with the northern lights. the snow-flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they came to her, the larger they appeared. gerda remembered how large and beautiful they looked through the burning-glass. but these were really larger, and much more terrible, for they were alive, and were the guards of the snow queen, and had the strangest shapes. some were like great porcupines, others like twisted serpents with their heads stretching out, and some few were like little fat bears with their hair bristled; but all were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes. then little gerda repeated the lord's prayer, and the cold was so great that she could see her own breath come out of her mouth like steam as she uttered the words. the steam appeared to increase, as she continued her prayer, till it took the shape of little angels who grew larger the moment they touched the earth. they all wore helmets on their heads, and carried spears and shields. their number continued to increase more and more; and by the time gerda had finished her prayers, a whole legion stood round her. they thrust their spears into the terrible snow-flakes, so that they shivered into a hundred pieces, and little gerda could go forward with courage and safety. the angels stroked her hands and feet, so that she felt the cold less, and she hastened on to the snow queen's castle. but now we must see what kay is doing. in truth he thought not of little gerda, and never supposed she could be standing in the front of the palace. seventh story of the palace of the snow queen and what happened there at last the walls of the palace were formed of drifted snow, and the windows and doors of the cutting winds. there were more than a hundred rooms in it, all as if they had been formed with snow blown together. the largest of them extended for several miles; they were all lighted up by the vivid light of the aurora, and they were so large and empty, so icy cold and glittering! there were no amusements here, not even a little bear's ball, when the storm might have been the music, and the bears could have danced on their hind legs, and shown their good manners. there were no pleasant games of snap-dragon, or touch, or even a gossip over the tea-table, for the young-lady foxes. empty, vast, and cold were the halls of the snow queen. the flickering flame of the northern lights could be plainly seen, whether they rose high or low in the heavens, from every part of the castle. in the midst of its empty, endless hall of snow was a frozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand forms; each piece resembled another, from being in itself perfect as a work of art, and in the centre of this lake sat the snow queen, when she was at home. she called the lake "the mirror of reason," and said that it was the best, and indeed the only one in the world. little kay was quite blue with cold, indeed almost black, but he did not feel it; for the snow queen had kissed away the icy shiverings, and his heart was already a lump of ice. he dragged some sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, and placed them together in all kinds of positions, as if he wished to make something out of them; just as we try to form various figures with little tablets of wood which we call "a chinese puzzle." kay's fingers were very artistic; it was the icy game of reason at which he played, and in his eyes the figures were very remarkable, and of the highest importance; this opinion was owing to the piece of glass still sticking in his eye. he composed many complete figures, forming different words, but there was one word he never could manage to form, although he wished it very much. it was the word "eternity." the snow queen had said to him, "when you can find out this, you shall be your own master, and i will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates." but he could not accomplish it. "now i must hasten away to warmer countries," said the snow queen. "i will go and look into the black craters of the tops of the burning mountains, etna and vesuvius, as they are called,--i shall make them look white, which will be good for them, and for the lemons and the grapes." and away flew the snow queen, leaving little kay quite alone in the great hall which was so many miles in length; so he sat and looked at his pieces of ice, and was thinking so deeply, and sat so still, that any one might have supposed he was frozen. just at this moment it happened that little gerda came through the great door of the castle. cutting winds were raging around her, but she offered up a prayer and the winds sank down as if they were going to sleep; and she went on till she came to the large empty hall, and caught sight of kay; she knew him directly; she flew to him and threw her arms round his neck, and held him fast, while she exclaimed, "kay, dear little kay, i have found you at last." but he sat quite still, stiff and cold. then little gerda wept hot tears, which fell on his breast, and penetrated into his heart, and thawed the lump of ice, and washed away the little piece of glass which had stuck there. then he looked at her, and she sang-- "roses bloom and cease to be, but we shall the christ-child see." then kay burst into tears, and he wept so that the splinter of glass swam out of his eye. then he recognized gerda, and said, joyfully, "gerda, dear little gerda, where have you been all this time, and where have i been?" and he looked all around him, and said, "how cold it is, and how large and empty it all looks," and he clung to gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy. it was so pleasing to see them that the pieces of ice even danced about; and when they were tired and went to lie down, they formed themselves into the letters of the word which the snow queen had said he must find out before he could be his own master, and have the whole world and a pair of new skates. then gerda kissed his cheeks, and they became blooming; and she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and his feet, and then he became quite healthy and cheerful. the snow queen might come home now when she pleased, for there stood his certainty of freedom, in the word she wanted, written in shining letters of ice. then they took each other by the hand, and went forth from the great palace of ice. they spoke of the grandmother, and of the roses on the roof, and as they went on the winds were at rest, and the sun burst forth. when they arrived at the bush with red berries, there stood the reindeer waiting for them, and he had brought another young reindeer with him, whose udders were full, and the children drank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth. then they carried kay and gerda first to the finland woman, where they warmed themselves thoroughly in the hot room, and she gave them directions about their journey home. next they went to the lapland woman, who had made some new clothes for them, and put their sleighs in order. both the reindeer ran by their side, and followed them as far as the boundaries of the country, where the first green leaves were budding. and here they took leave of the two reindeer and the lapland woman, and all said--farewell. then the birds began to twitter, and the forest too was full of green young leaves; and out of it came a beautiful horse, which gerda remembered, for it was one which had drawn the golden coach. a young girl was riding upon it, with a shining red cap on her head, and pistols in her belt. it was the little robber-maiden, who had got tired of staying at home; she was going first to the north, and if that did not suit her, she meant to try some other part of the world. she knew gerda directly, and gerda remembered her: it was a joyful meeting. "you are a fine fellow to go gadding about in this way," said she to little kay, "i should like to know whether you deserve that any one should go to the end of the world to find you." but gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince and princess. "they are gone to foreign countries," said the robber-girl. "and the crow?" asked gerda. "oh, the crow is dead," she replied; "his tame sweetheart is now a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg. she mourns very pitifully, but it is all stuff. but now tell me how you managed to get him back." then gerda and kay told her all about it. "snip, snap, snare! it's all right at last," said the robber-girl. then she took both their hands, and promised that if ever she should pass through the town, she would call and pay them a visit. and then she rode away into the wide world. but gerda and kay went hand-in-hand towards home; and as they advanced, spring appeared more lovely with its green verdure and its beautiful flowers. very soon they recognized the large town where they lived, and the tall steeples of the churches, in which the sweet bells were ringing a merry peal as they entered it, and found their way to their grandmother's door. they went upstairs into the little room, where all looked just as it used to do. the old clock was going "tick, tick," and the hands pointed to the time of day, but as they passed through the door into the room they perceived that they were both grown up, and become a man and woman. the roses out on the roof were in full bloom, and peeped in at the window; and there stood the little chairs, on which they had sat when children; and kay and gerda seated themselves each on their own chair, and held each other by the hand, while the cold empty grandeur of the snow queen's palace vanished from their memories like a painful dream. the grandmother sat in god's bright sunshine, and she read aloud from the bible, "except ye become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of god." and kay and gerda looked into each other's eyes, and all at once understood the words of the old song, "roses bloom and cease to be, but we shall the christ-child see." and they both sat there, grown up, yet children at heart; and it was summer,--warm, beautiful summer. the snowdrop it was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, but within the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within the closed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under the snow-covered earth. one day rain fell. the drops penetrated through the snowy covering down into the earth, and touched the flower-bulb, and talked of the bright world above. soon the sunbeam pierced its way through the snow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring. "come in," said the flower. "i cannot," said the sunbeam. "i am not strong enough to unlock the door! when the summer comes i shall be strong!" "when will it be summer?" asked the flower, and she repeated this question each time a new sunbeam made its way down to her. but the summer was yet far distant. the snow still lay upon the ground, and there was a coat of ice on the water every night. "what a long time it takes! what a long time it takes!" said the flower. "i feel a stirring and striving within me; i must stretch myself, i must unlock the door, i must get out, and must nod a good morning to the summer, and what a happy time that will be!" and the flower stirred and stretched itself within the thin rind which the water had softened from without, and the snow and the earth had warmed, and the sunbeam had knocked at; and it shot forth under the snow with a greenish-white blossom on a green stalk, with narrow thick leaves, which seemed to want to protect it. the snow was cold, but was pierced by the sunbeam, therefore it was easy to get through it, and now the sunbeam came with greater strength than before. "welcome, welcome!" sang and sounded every ray, and the flower lifted itself up over the snow into the brighter world. the sunbeams caressed and kissed it, so that it opened altogether, white as snow, and ornamented with green stripes. it bent its head in joy and humility. "beautiful flower!" said the sunbeams, "how graceful and delicate you are! you are the first, you are the only one! you are our love! you are the bell that rings out for summer, beautiful summer, over country and town. all the snow will melt; the cold winds will be driven away; we shall rule; all will become green, and then you will have companions, syringas, laburnums, and roses; but you are the first, so graceful, so delicate!" that was a great pleasure. it seemed as if the air were singing and sounding, as if rays of light were piercing through the leaves and the stalks of the flower. there it stood, so delicate and so easily broken, and yet so strong in its young beauty; it stood there in its white dress with the green stripes, and made a summer. but there was a long time yet to the summer-time. clouds hid the sun, and bleak winds were blowing. "you have come too early," said wind and weather. "we have still the power, and you shall feel it, and give it up to us. you should have stayed quietly at home and not have run out to make a display of yourself. your time is not come yet!" it was a cutting cold! the days which now come brought not a single sunbeam. it was weather that might break such a little flower in two with cold. but the flower had more strength than she herself knew of. she was strong in joy and in faith in the summer, which would be sure to come, which had been announced by her deep longing and confirmed by the warm sunlight; and so she remained standing in confidence in the snow in her white garment, bending her head even while the snow-flakes fell thick and heavy, and the icy winds swept over her. "you'll break!" they said, "and fade, and fade! what did you want out here? why did you let yourself be tempted? the sunbeam only made game of you. now you have what you deserve, you summer gauk." "summer gauk!" she repeated in the cold morning hour. "o summer gauk!" cried some children rejoicingly; "yonder stands one--how beautiful, how beautiful! the first one, the only one!" these words did the flower so much good, they seemed to her like warm sunbeams. in her joy the flower did not even feel when it was broken off. it lay in a child's hand, and was kissed by a child's mouth, and carried into a warm room, and looked on by gentle eyes, and put into water. how strengthening, how invigorating! the flower thought she had suddenly come upon the summer. the daughter of the house, a beautiful little girl, was confirmed, and she had a friend who was confirmed, too. he was studying for an examination for an appointment. "he shall be my summer gauk," she said; and she took the delicate flower and laid it in a piece of scented paper, on which verses were written, beginning with summer gauk and ending with summer gauk. "my friend, be a winter gauk." she had twitted him with the summer. yes, all this was in the verses, and the paper was folded up like a letter, and the flower was folded in the letter, too. it was dark around her, dark as in those days when she lay hidden in the bulb. the flower went forth on her journey, and lay in the post-bag, and was pressed and crushed, which was not at all pleasant; but that soon came to an end. the journey was over; the letter was opened, and read by the dear friend. how pleased he was! he kissed the letter, and it was laid, with its enclosure of verses, in a box, in which there were many beautiful verses, but all of them without flowers; she was the first, the only one, as the sunbeams had called her; and it was a pleasant thing to think of that. she had time enough, moreover, to think about it; she thought of it while the summer passed away, and the long winter went by, and the summer came again, before she appeared once more. but now the young man was not pleased at all. he took hold of the letter very roughly, and threw the verses away, so that the flower fell on the ground. flat and faded she certainly was, but why should she be thrown on the ground? still, it was better to be here than in the fire, where the verses and the paper were being burnt to ashes. what had happened? what happens so often:--the flower had made a gauk of him, that was a jest; the girl had made a fool of him, that was no jest, she had, during the summer, chosen another friend. next morning the sun shone in upon the little flattened snowdrop, that looked as if it had been painted upon the floor. the servant girl, who was sweeping out the room, picked it up, and laid it in one of the books which were upon the table, in the belief that it must have fallen out while the room was being arranged. again the flower lay among verses--printed verses--and they are better than written ones--at least, more money has been spent upon them. and after this years went by. the book stood upon the book-shelf, and then it was taken up and somebody read out of it. it was a good book; verses and songs by the old danish poet, ambrosius stub, which are well worth reading. the man who was now reading the book turned over a page. "why, there's a flower!" he said; "a snowdrop, a summer gauk, a poet gauk! that flower must have been put in there with a meaning! poor ambrosius stub! he was a summer fool too, a poet fool; he came too early, before his time, and therefore he had to taste the sharp winds, and wander about as a guest from one noble landed proprietor to another, like a flower in a glass of water, a flower in rhymed verses! summer fool, winter fool, fun and folly--but the first, the only, the fresh young danish poet of those days. yes, thou shalt remain as a token in the book, thou little snowdrop: thou hast been put there with a meaning." and so the snowdrop was put back into the book, and felt equally honored and pleased to know that it was a token in the glorious book of songs, and that he who was the first to sing and to write had been also a snowdrop, had been a summer gauk, and had been looked upon in the winter-time as a fool. the flower understood this, in her way, as we interpret everything in our way. that is the story of the snowdrop. something "i mean to be somebody, and do something useful in the world," said the eldest of five brothers. "i don't care how humble my position is, so that i can only do some good, which will be something. i intend to be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and i shall be really doing something." "your 'something' is not enough for me," said the second brother; "what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman's work, or might even be done by a machine. no! i should prefer to be a builder at once, there is something real in that. a man gains a position, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house of call for his workmen: so i shall be a builder. if all goes well, in time i shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and my wife will be treated as a master's wife. this is what i call something." "i call it all nothing," said the third; "not in reality any position. there are many in a town far above a master builder in position. you may be an upright man, but even as a master you will only be ranked among common men. i know better what to do than that. i will be an architect, which will place me among those who possess riches and intellect, and who speculate in art. i shall certainly have to rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer, or as a carpenter's apprentice--a lad wearing a paper cap, although i now wear a silk hat. i shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen, and they will call me 'thou,' which will be an insult. i shall endure it, however, for i shall look upon it all as a mere representation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is, when i myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish, and i shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing to me. then i shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, and be called an architect. i may even attain to rank, and have something placed before or after my name, and i shall build as others have done before me. by this there will be always 'something' to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?" "not in my opinion," said the fourth; "i will never follow the lead of others, and only imitate what they have done. i will be a genius, and become greater than all of you together. i will create a new style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting houses suitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country, and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age, besides building a storey for my own genius." "but supposing the climate and the material are not good for much," said the fifth brother, "that would be very unfortunate for you, and have an influence over your experiments. nationality may assert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments of a century may run wild, as youth often does. i see clearly that none of you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you may now fancy it. but do as you like, i shall not imitate you. i mean to keep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. in every action something imperfect may be discovered, something not right, which i shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will be something, i fancy." and he kept his word, and became a critic. people said of this fifth brother, "there is something very precise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing." and on that very account they thought he must be something. now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; as long as the world exists, there will always be men like these five brothers. and what became of them? were they each nothing or something? you shall hear; it is quite a history. the eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered that each brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only a copper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can be changed into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks, who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, the butcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all he wants. so you see the value of bricks. some of the bricks, however, crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found a use for even these. on the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, a poor woman named margaret wished to build herself a house, so all the imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones with them; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he never achieved anything higher than making bricks. the poor woman built herself a little house--it was small and narrow, and the window was quite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have been better thatched. but still it was a shelter, and from within you could look far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall on which the little house was built. the salt waves sprinkled their white foam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who had given the bricks to build it was dead and buried. the second brother of course knew better how to build than poor margaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. when his time was up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singing the journeyman's song,-- "while young, i can wander without a care, and build new houses everywhere; fair and bright are my dreams of home, always thought of wherever i roam. hurrah for a workman's life of glee! there's a loved one at home who thinks of me; home and friends i can ne'er forget, and i mean to be a master yet." and that is what he did. on his return home, he became a master builder,--built one house after another in the town, till they formed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornament to the town. these houses built a house for him in return, which was to be his own. but how can houses build a house? if the houses were asked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, and say, "certainly the street built his house for him." it was not very large, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride on the lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and from every stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decorate the room as with the richest tapestry. it was really a pretty house, and in it were a happy pair. the flag of the corporation fluttered before it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "hurrah." he had gained his position, he had made himself something, and at last he died, which was "something" too. now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had been first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an errand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be an architect, a high and noble gentleman. ah yes, the houses of the new street, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may have built his house for him, but the street received its name from the architect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property. that was something, and he was "something," for he had a list of titles before and after his name. his children were called "wellborn," and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, and that was "something." his name remained always written at the corner of the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. yes, this also was "something." and what about the genius of the family--the fourth brother--who wanted to invent something new and original? he tried to build a lofty storey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and broke his neck. however, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flags and music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement, and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer than the other. he would have liked this very much during his life, as well as the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so well as to be talked of. a monument was also erected over his grave. it was only another storey over him, but that was "something," now he was dead, like the three other brothers. the youngest--the critic--outlived them all, which was quite right for him. it gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which to him was of great importance. people always said he had a good head-piece. at last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at the gates of heaven. souls always enter these gates in pairs; so he found himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and who should it be but old dame margaret, from the house on the dyke! "it is evidently for the sake of contrast that i and this wretched soul should arrive here exactly at the same time," said the critic. "pray who are you, my good woman?" said he; "do you want to get in here too?" and the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she thought it must be st. peter himself who spoke to her. "i am a poor old woman," she said, "without my family. i am old margaret, that lived in the house on the dyke." "well, and what have you done--what great deed have you performed down below?" "i have done nothing at all in the world that could give me a claim to have these doors open for me," she said. "it would be only through mercy that i can be allowed to slip in through the gate." "in what manner did you leave the world?" he asked, just for the sake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to stand there and wait. "how i left the world?" she replied; "why, i can scarcely tell you. during the last years of my life i was sick and miserable, and i was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost and cold. last winter was a hard winter, but i have got over it all now. there were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. the ice lay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. the people came from the town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing and skating upon it, i believe, and a great feasting. the sound of beautiful music came into my poor little room where i lay. towards evening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her full splendor, i glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, just where the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. i lay looking at the cloud till i observed a little black spot in the middle of it, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then i knew what it meant--i am old and experienced; and although this token is not often seen, i knew it, and a shuddering seized me. twice in my life had i seen this same thing, and i knew that there would be an awful storm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people who were now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. young and old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no one noticed the sign, or knew what it meant as i did? i was so alarmed, that i felt more strength and life than i had done for some time. i got out of bed, and reached the window; i could not crawl any farther from weakness and exhaustion; but i managed to open the window. i saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice; i saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; i heard the boys shouting, 'hurrah!' and the lads and lasses singing, and everything full of merriment and joy. but there was the white cloud with the black spot hanging over them. i cried out as loudly as i could, but no one heard me; i was too far off from the people. soon would the storm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievably lost. they could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of my power. oh, if i could only get them safe on land! then came the thought, as if from heaven, that i would rather set fire to my bed, and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people should perish miserably. i got a light, and in a few moments the red flames leaped up as a beacon to them. i escaped fortunately as far as the threshold of the door; but there i fell down and remained: i could go no farther. the flames rushed out towards me, flickered on the window, and rose high above the roof. the people on the ice became aware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sick woman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. there was not one who did not run. i heard them coming, and i also at the same time was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavy artillery. the spring flood was lifting the ice covering, which brake into a thousand pieces. but the people had reached the sea-wall, where the sparks were flying round. i had saved them all; but i suppose i could not survive the cold and fright; so i came up here to the gates of paradise. i am told they are open to poor creatures such as i am, and i have now no house left on earth; but i do not think that will give me a claim to be admitted here." then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. she had dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set it on fire to save the lives of so many. it had been changed into the purest gold--into gold that constantly grew and expanded into flowers and fruit of immortal beauty. "see," said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, "this is what the poor woman has brought. what dost thou bring? i know thou hast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. even if thou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, when made, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will, which is always something. but thou canst not return to earth, and i can do nothing for thee." then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house on the dyke, pleaded for him. she said, "his brother made all the stone and bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling, which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. could not all these bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? it is an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the very fountain of mercy." "then," said the angel, "thy brother, he who has been looked upon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appeared so humble,--it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. thou shalt not be turned away. thou shalt have permission to stand without the gate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shalt not be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed of repentance, which will indeed for thee be something." "i could have expressed that better," thought the critic; but he did not say it aloud, which for him was something, after all. soup from a sausage skewer "we had such an excellent dinner yesterday," said an old mouse of the female sex to another who had not been present at the feast. "i sat number twenty-one below the mouse-king, which was not a bad place. shall i tell you what we had? everything was first rate. mouldy bread, tallow candle, and sausage. and then, when we had finished that course, the same came on all over again; it was as good as two feasts. we were very sociable, and there was as much joking and fun as if we had been all of one family circle. nothing was left but the sausage skewers, and this formed a subject of conversation, till at last it turned to the proverb, 'soup from sausage skins;' or, as the people in the neighboring country call it, 'soup from a sausage skewer.' every one had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the soup, much less prepared it. a capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the soup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer to the poor. was not that witty? then the old mouse-king rose and promised that the young lady-mouse who should learn how best to prepare this much-admired and savory soup should be his queen, and a year and a day should be allowed for the purpose." "that was not at all a bad proposal," said the other mouse; "but how is the soup made?" "ah, that is more than i can tell you. all the young lady mice were asking the same question. they wished very much to be queen, but they did not want to take the trouble of going out into the world to learn how to make soup, which was absolutely necessary to be done first. but it is not every one who would care to leave her family, or her happy corner by the fire-side at home, even to be made queen. it is not always easy to find bacon and cheese-rind in foreign lands every day, and it is not pleasant to have to endure hunger, and be perhaps, after all, eaten up alive by the cat." most probably some such thoughts as these discouraged the majority from going out into the world to collect the required information. only four mice gave notice that they were ready to set out on the journey. they were young and lively, but poor. each of them wished to visit one of the four divisions of the world, so that it might be seen which was the most favored by fortune. every one took a sausage skewer as a traveller's staff, and to remind them of the object of their journey. they left home early in may, and none of them returned till the first of may in the following year, and then only three of them. nothing was seen or heard of the fourth, although the day of decision was close at hand. "ah, yes, there is always some trouble mixed up with the greatest pleasure," said the mouse-king; but he gave orders that all the mice within a circle of many miles should be invited at once. they were to assemble in the kitchen, and the three travelled mice were to stand in a row before them, while a sausage skewer, covered with crape, was to be stuck up instead of the missing mouse. no one dared to express an opinion until the king spoke, and desired one of them to go on with her story. and now we shall hear what she said. what the first little mouse saw and heard on her travels "when i first went out into the world," said the little mouse, "i fancied, as so many of my age do, that i already knew everything, but it was not so. it takes years to acquire great knowledge. i went at once to sea in a ship bound for the north. i had been told that the ship's cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it is easy enough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs of salt meat and mouldy flour. there i found plenty of delicate food, but no opportunity for learning how to make soup from a sausage skewer. we sailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and we did not escape without a wetting. as soon as we arrived at the port to which the ship was bound, i left it, and went on shore at a place far towards the north. it is a wonderful thing to leave your own little corner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sure to be some nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to find yourself thousands of miles away in a foreign land. i saw large pathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so strong that i sneezed and thought of sausage. there were great lakes also which looked as black as ink at a distance, but were quite clear when i came close to them. large swans were floating upon them, and i thought at first they were only foam, they lay so still; but when i saw them walk and fly, i knew what they were directly. they belong to the goose species, one can see that by their walk. no one can attempt to disguise family descent. i kept with my own kind, and associated with the forest and field mice, who, however, knew very little, especially about what i wanted to know, and which had actually made me travel abroad. the idea that soup could be made from a sausage skewer was to them such an out-of-the-way, unlikely thought, that it was repeated from one to another through the whole forest. they declared that the problem would never be solved, that the thing was an impossibility. how little i thought that in this place, on the very first night, i should be initiated into the manner of its preparation. "it was the height of summer, which the mice told me was the reason that the forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were so fragrant, and the lakes with the white swimming swans so dark, and yet so clear. on the margin of the wood, near to three or four houses, a pole, as large as the mainmast of a ship, had been erected, and from the summit hung wreaths of flowers and fluttering ribbons; it was the maypole. lads and lasses danced round the pole, and tried to outdo the violins of the musicians with their singing. they were as merry as ever at sunset and in the moonlight, but i took no part in the merry-making. what has a little mouse to do with a maypole dance? i sat in the soft moss, and held my sausage skewer tight. the moon threw its beams particularly on one spot where stood a tree covered with exceedingly fine moss. i may almost venture to say that it was as fine and soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green, which is a color very agreeable to the eye. all at once i saw the most charming little people marching towards me. they did not reach higher than my knee; they looked like human beings, but were better proportioned, and they called themselves elves. their clothes were very delicate and fine, for they were made of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the wings of flies and gnats, which had not a bad effect. by their manner, it appeared as if they were seeking for something. i knew not what, till at last one of them espied me and came towards me, and the foremost pointed to my sausage skewer, and said, 'there, that is just what we want; see, it is pointed at the top; is it not capital?' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff, the more delighted he became. 'i will lend it to you,' said i, 'but not to keep.' "'oh no, we won't keep it!' they all cried; and then they seized the skewer, which i gave up to them, and danced with it to the spot where the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of the green. they wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cut out on purpose for them. then they decorated it so beautifully that it was quite dazzling to look at. little spiders spun golden threads around it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags so delicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. after that they took colors from the butterfly's wing, and sprinkled them over the white drapery which gleamed as if covered with flowers and diamonds, so that i could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. such a maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. then came a great company of real elves. nothing could be finer than their clothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but i was to keep at a certain distance, because i was too large for them. then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells, and was so full and strong that i thought it must be the song of the swans. i fancied also that i heard the voices of the cuckoo and the black-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forth glorious melodies--the voices of children, the tinkling of bells, and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came from the elfin maypole. my sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. i could scarcely believe that so much could have been produced from it, till i remembered into what hands it had fallen. i was so much affected that i wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but they were tears of joy. the night was far too short for me; there are no long nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of the world. when the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled the glassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flags fluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider's web, the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may be called, vanished away as if they had never been. six elves brought me back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make any request, which they would grant if in their power; so i begged them, if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer. "'how do we make it?' said the chief of the elves with a smile. 'why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skewer again, i am sure.' "they think themselves very wise, thought i to myself. then i told them all about it, and why i had travelled so far, and also what promise had been made at home to the one who should discover the method of preparing this soup. 'what use will it be,' i asked, 'to the mouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that i have seen all these beautiful things? i cannot shake the sausage peg and say, look, here is the skewer, and now the soup will come. that would only produce a dish to be served when people were keeping a fast.' "then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and said to me, 'look here, i will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that when you return to your own home and enter the king's castle, you have only to touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth and cover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so i think i have given you really something to carry home, and a little more than something.'" but before the little mouse explained what this something more was, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched him the most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the place with perfume. the smell was so powerful that the mouse-king ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails into the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfume of the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent that every one liked. "but what was the something more of which you spoke just now?" asked the mouse-king. "why," answered the little mouse, "i think it is what they call 'effect;'" and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold not a single flower was to be seen upon it! she now only held the naked skewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a concert. "violets, the elf told me," continued the mouse, "are for the sight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce the effect of hearing and tasting;" and then, as the little mouse beat time with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as was heard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard in the kitchen--the sounds of boiling and roasting. it came quite suddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as if every pot and kettle were boiling over. the fire-shovel clattered down on the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,--nothing could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle, which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightly distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or going to stop. and the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, but without any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in the pots at all. and as the little mouse waved her baton still more wildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; while again the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last there was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let her stick fall. "that is a strange sort of soup," said the mouse-king; "shall we not now hear about the preparation?" "that is all," answered the little mouse, with a bow. "that all!" said the mouse-king; "then we shall be glad to hear what information the next may have to give us." what the second mouse had to tell "i was born in the library, at a castle," said the second mouse. "very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to get into the dining-room, much less the store-room. on my journey, and here to-day, are the only times i have ever seen a kitchen. we were often obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained a great deal of knowledge. the rumor reached us of the royal prize offered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausage skewer. then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which, however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it was written, 'those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers.' she then asked me if i was a poet. i felt myself quite innocent of any such pretensions. then she said i must go out and make myself a poet. i asked again what i should be required to do, for it seemed to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a sausage skewer. my grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in her day, and she told me three principal qualifications were necessary--understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'if you can manage to acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer soup will be quite easy to you.' "so i went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards the west, that i might become a poet. understanding is the most important matter in everything. i knew that, for the two other qualifications are not thought much of; so i went first to seek for understanding. where was i to find it? 'go to the ant and learn wisdom,' said the great jewish king. i knew that from living in a library. so i went straight on till i came to the first great ant-hill, and then i set myself to watch, that i might become wise. the ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. all they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right. 'to work and to lay eggs,' say they, and to provide for posterity, is to live out your time properly;' and that they truly do. they are divided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed out by a number, and the ant-queen is number one; and her opinion is the only correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdom of the world in her, which was just the important matter i wished to acquire. she said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yet to me it sounded like nonsense. she said the ant-hill was the loftiest thing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree, which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mention was made of the tree. one evening an ant lost herself on this tree; she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher than any ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she said that she had found something in her travels much higher than the ant-hill. the rest of the ants considered this an insult to the whole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live in perpetual solitude. a short time afterwards another ant got on the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but she spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of the superior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when she died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for they cultivated a great respect for science. i saw," said the little mouse, "that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on their backs. once i saw one of them drop her load; she gave herself a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could not succeed. then two others came up and tried with all their strength to help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so; then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for every one must think of himself first. and the ant-queen remarked that their conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good understanding. 'these two qualities,' she continued, 'place us ants in the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. understanding must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and my wisdom is greater than all.' and so saying she raised herself on her two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. i could not therefore make an error, so i ate her up. we are to go to the ants to learn wisdom, and i had got the queen. "i now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned, which was an oak. it had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, and was very old. i knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she is called, who is born with the tree and dies with it. i had heard this in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an oak-maiden. she uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of mice. and she had more real cause for fear than they have, for i might have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. i spoke to her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage. at last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then i told her what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one of the two treasures for which i was seeking. she told me that phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than ever over them both. he called her his dryad, she said, and the tree his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to his taste. the root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'yes,' continued the dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his nest,--it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to hear a little about the land of the pyramids. all this pleases phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; i am obliged to relate to him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when i was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle could overshadow it, and i have to tell everything that has happened since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. sit you down now under the green bindwood and pay attention, when phantaesus comes i will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull out one of the little feathers. that feather you shall have; a better was never given to any poet, it will be quite enough for you.' "and when phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," said the little mouse, "i seized and put it in water, and kept it there till it was quite soft. it was very heavy and indigestible, but i managed to nibble it up at last. it is not so easy to nibble one's self into a poet, there are so many things to get through. now, however, i had two of them, understanding and imagination; and through these i knew that the third was to be found in the library. a great man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears--a kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. i remembered a few of these books, they had always appeared tempting to the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, that they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. i retraced my steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, that is, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust, or binding, i left. when i had digested not only this, but a second, i felt a stirring within me; then i ate a small piece of a third romance, and felt myself a poet. i said it to myself, and told others the same. i had head-ache and back-ache, and i cannot tell what aches besides. i thought over all the stories that may be said to be connected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been written about skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to my thoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear understanding. i remembered the man who placed a white stick in his mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. i thought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, of breaking a stick over a man's back, and heaven knows how many more phrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers. all my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and as i am, at last, a poet, and i have worked terribly hard to make myself one, i can of course make poetry on anything. i shall therefore be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history of a skewer. and that is my soup." "in that case," said the mouse-king, "we will hear what the third mouse has to say." "squeak, squeak," cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it was the fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the prize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. she shot in like an arrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with crape. she had been running day and night. she had watched an opportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by the railway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. she pressed forward, looking very much ruffled. she had lost her sausage skewer, but not her voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for her, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the world was of the least consequence. she spoke out so clearly and plainly, and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her or to say a word while she was speaking. and now let us hear what she said. what the fourth mouse, who spoke before the third, had to tell "i started off at once to the largest town," said she, "but the name of it has escaped me. i have a very bad memory for names. i was carried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail, and on arriving i made my escape, and ran into the house of the turnkey. the turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially of one who had uttered thoughtless words. these words had given rise to other words, and at length they were written down and registered: 'the whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'but the soup may cost him his neck.' "now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner," continued the little mouse, "and i watched my opportunity, and slipped into his apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every closed door. the prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large, sparkling eyes. there was a lamp burning, but the walls were so black that they only looked the blacker for it. the prisoner scratched pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but i did not read the verses. i think he found his confinement wearisome, so that i was a welcome guest. he enticed me with bread-crumbs, with whistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me, that by degrees i gained confidence in him, and we became friends; he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage, and i really began to love him. altogether, i must own that it was a very pleasant intimacy. he let me run about on his hand, and on his arm, and into his sleeve; and i even crept into his beard, and he called me his little friend. i forgot what i had come out into the world for; forgot my sausage skewer which i had laid in a crack in the floor--it is lying there still. i wished to stay with him always where i was, for i knew that if i went away the poor prisoner would have no one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. i stayed, but he did not. he spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double as much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. then he went away, and never came back. i know nothing more of his history. "the jailer took possession of me now. he said something about soup from a sausage skewer, but i could not trust him. he took me in his hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a tread-mill. oh how dreadful it was! i had to run round and round without getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybody laugh. the jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. she had curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smiling mouth. "'you poor little mouse,' said she, one day as she peeped into my cage, 'i will set you free.' she then drew forth the iron fastening, and i sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the roof. free! free! that was all i could think of; not of the object of my journey. it grew dark, and as night was coming on i found a lodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. i had no confidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like a cat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. one may however be mistaken sometimes; and so was i, for this was a respectable and well-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even as much as i did myself. the young owls made a great fuss about everything, but the only rough words she would say to them were, 'you had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.' she was very indulgent and loving to her children. her conduct gave me such confidence in her, that from the crack where i sat i called out 'squeak.' this confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured me she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creature should do me harm. the fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in reserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. yet she was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that the watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side; and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagines himself an owl in the tower;--wants to do great things, but only succeeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. then i begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup. 'soup from a sausage skewer,' said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in many ways. each believes his own way the best, and after all, the proverb signifies nothing.' 'nothing!' i exclaimed. i was quite struck. truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything else, as the old owl said. i thought over all this, and saw quite plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. so i hastened to get away, that i might be home in time, and bring what was highest and best, and above everything--namely, the truth. the mice are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. he is therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth." "your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet spoken; "i can prepare the soup, and i mean to do so." how it was prepared "i did not travel," said the third mouse; "i stayed in this country: that was the right way. one gains nothing by travelling--everything can be acquired here quite as easily; so i stayed at home. i have not obtained what i know from supernatural beings. i have neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. i have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. will you now set the kettle on the fire--so? now pour the water in--quite full--up to the brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning, that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. there, now i throw in the skewer. will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. the longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. nothing more is necessary, only to stir it." "can no one else do this?" asked the king. "no," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king is this power contained." and the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close beside the kettle. it seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and afterwards lick it off. but the mouse-king's tail had only just touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great hurry, exclaiming, "oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen; and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding, fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long time, with great joy." and very soon the wedding took place. but many of the mice, as they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly called "soup from a sausage skewer," but "soup from a mouse's tail." they acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told; but that the whole could have been managed differently. "i should have told it so--and so--and so." these were the critics who are always so clever afterwards. when this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. and, after all, the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to "soup from a sausage skewer." the storks on the last house in a little village the storks had built a nest, and the mother stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretched out their necks and pointed their black beaks, which had not yet turned red like those of the parent birds. a little way off, on the edge of the roof, stood the father stork, quite upright and stiff; not liking to be quite idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other, so still that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "it must look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentry guarding her nest. they do not know that i am her husband; they will think i have been commanded to stand here, which is quite aristocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg. in the street below were a number of children at play, and when they caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest amongst the boys began to sing a song about them, and very soon he was joined by the rest. these are the words of the song, but each only sang what he could remember of them in his own way. "stork, stork, fly away, stand not on one leg, i pray, see your wife is in her nest, with her little ones at rest. they will hang one, and fry another; they will shoot a third, and roast his brother." "just hear what those boys are singing," said the young storks; "they say we shall be hanged and roasted." "never mind what they say; you need not listen," said the mother. "they can do no harm." but the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks, and mocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was peter; he said it was a shame to make fun of animals, and would not join with them at all. the mother stork comforted her young ones, and told them not to mind. "see," she said, "how quiet your father stands, although he is only on one leg." "but we are very much frightened," said the young storks, and they drew back their heads into the nests. the next day when the children were playing together, and saw the storks, they sang the song again-- "they will hang one, and roast another." "shall we be hanged and roasted?" asked the young storks. "no, certainly not," said the mother. "i will teach you to fly, and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows, and pay a visit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in the water, and cry 'croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them up; that will be fun." "and what next?" asked the young storks. "then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country will assemble together, and go through their autumn manoeuvres, so that it is very important for every one to know how to fly properly. if they do not, the general will thrust them through with his beak, and kill them. therefore you must take pains and learn, so as to be ready when the drilling begins." "then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and hark! they are singing again." "listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork. "after the great review is over, we shall fly away to warm countries far from hence, where there are mountains and forests. to egypt, where we shall see three-cornered houses built of stone, with pointed tops that reach nearly to the clouds. they are called pyramids, and are older than a stork could imagine; and in that country, there is a river that overflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but mire; there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance." "oh, o--h!" cried the young storks. "yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all day long but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in this country there will not be a single green leaf on the trees, and the weather will be so cold that the clouds will freeze, and fall on the earth in little white rags." the stork meant snow, but she could not explain it in any other way. "will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces?" asked the young storks. "no, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said the mother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all day in a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in foreign lands, where there are blooming flowers and warm sunshine." time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that they could stand upright in the nest and look about them. the father brought them, every day, beautiful frogs, little snakes, and all kinds of stork-dainties that he could find. and then, how funny it was to see the tricks he would perform to amuse them. he would lay his head quite round over his tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been a rattle; and then he would tell them stories all about the marshes and fens. "come," said the mother one day, "now you must learn to fly." and all the four young ones were obliged to come out on the top of the roof. oh, how they tottered at first, and were obliged to balance themselves with their wings, or they would have fallen to the ground below. "look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads in this way, and place your feet so. once, twice, once, twice--that is it. now you will be able to take care of yourselves in the world." then she flew a little distance from them, and the young ones made a spring to follow her; but down they fell plump, for their bodies were still too heavy. "i don't want to fly," said one of the young storks, creeping back into the nest. "i don't care about going to warm countries." "would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter comes?" said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you, or to roast you?--well then, i'll call them." "oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof with the others; and now they were all attentive, and by the third day could fly a little. then they began to fancy they could soar, so they tried to do so, resting on their wings, but they soon found themselves falling, and had to flap their wings as quickly as possible. the boys came again in the street singing their song:-- "stork, stork, fly away." "shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out?" asked the young storks. "no; leave them alone," said the mother. "listen to me; that is much more important. now then. one-two-three. now to the right. one-two-three. now to the left, round the chimney. there now, that was very good. that last flap of the wings was so easy and graceful, that i shall give you permission to fly with me to-morrow to the marshes. there will be a number of very superior storks there with their families, and i expect you to show them that my children are the best brought up of any who may be present. you must strut about proudly--it will look well and make you respected." "but may we not punish those naughty boys?" asked the young storks. "no; let them scream away as much as they like. you can fly from them now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the land of the pyramids when they are freezing, and have not a green leaf on the trees or an apple to eat." "we will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to each other, as they again joined the exercising. of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song about the storks, not one was so determined to go on with it as he who first began it. yet he was a little fellow not more than six years old. to the young storks he appeared at least a hundred, for he was so much bigger than their father and mother. to be sure, storks cannot be expected to know how old children and grown-up people are. so they determined to have their revenge on this boy, because he began the song first and would keep on with it. the young storks were very angry, and grew worse as they grew older; so at last their mother was obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until the day of their departure. "we must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grand review," said she. "if you get on badly there, the general will thrust his beak through you, and you will be killed, as the boys said, though not exactly in the same manner. so we must wait and see." "you shall see," said the young birds, and then they took such pains and practised so well every day, that at last it was quite a pleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily. as soon as the autumn arrived, all the storks began to assemble together before taking their departure for warm countries during the winter. then the review commenced. they flew over forests and villages to show what they could do, for they had a long journey before them. the young storks performed their part so well that they received a mark of honor, with frogs and snakes as a present. these presents were the best part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and snakes, which they very quickly did. "now let us have our revenge," they cried. "yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "i have thought upon the best way to be revenged. i know the pond in which all the little children lie, waiting till the storks come to take them to their parents. the prettiest little babies lie there dreaming more sweetly than they will ever dream in the time to come. all parents are glad to have a little child, and children are so pleased with a little brother or sister. now we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby for each of the children who did not sing that naughty song to make game of the storks." "but the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall we do to him?" cried the young storks. "there lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreamed itself to death," said the mother. "we will take it to the naughty boy, and he will cry because we have brought him a little dead brother. but you have not forgotten the good boy who said it was a shame to laugh at animals: we will take him a little brother and sister too, because he was good. he is called peter, and you shall all be called peter in future." so they all did what their mother had arranged, and from that day, even till now, all the storks have been called peter. the storm shakes the shield in the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ran about in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his cap--for that's the costume the little boys wore in his time when they were dressed in their best--many things were very different from what they are now. there was often a good deal of show in the streets--show that we don't see nowadays, because it has been abolished as too old-fashioned. still, it is very interesting to hear grandfather tell about it. it must really have been a gorgeous sight to behold, in those days, when the shoemaker brought over the shield, when the court-house was changed. the silken flag waved to and fro, on the shield itself a double eagle was displayed, and a big boot; the youngest lads carried the "welcome," and the chest of the workmen's guild, and their shirt-sleeves were adorned with red and white ribbons; the elder ones carried drawn swords, each with a lemon stuck on its point. there was a full band of music, and the most splendid of all the instruments was the "bird," as grandfather called the big stick with the crescent on the top, and all manner of dingle-dangles hanging to it--a perfect turkish clatter of music. the stick was lifted high in the air, and swung up and down till it jingled again, and quite dazzled one's eyes when the sun shone on all its glory of gold, and silver, and brass. in front of the procession ran the harlequin, dressed in clothes made of all kinds of colored patches artfully sewn together, with a black face, and bells on his head like a sledge horse. he beat the people with his bat, which made a great clattering without hurting them, and the people would crowd together and fall back, only to advance again the next moment. little boys and girls fell over their own toes into the gutter, old women dispensed digs with their elbows, and looked sour, and took snuff. one laughed, another chatted; the people thronged the windows and door-steps, and even all the roofs. the sun shone; and although they had a little rain too, that was good for the farmer; and when they got wetted thoroughly, they only thought what a blessing it was for the country. and what stories grandpapa could tell! as a little boy he had seen all these fine doings in their greatest pomp. the oldest of the policemen used to make a speech from the platform on which the shield was hung up, and the speech was in verse, as if it had been made by a poet, as, indeed it had; for three people had concocted it together, and they had first drunk a good bowl of punch, so that the speech might turn out well. and the people gave a cheer for the speech, but they shouted much louder for the harlequin, when he appeared in front of the platform, and made a grimace at them. the fools played the fool most admirably, and drank mead out of spirit-glasses, which they then flung among the crowd, by whom they were caught up. grandfather was the possessor of one of these glasses, which had been given him by a working mason, who had managed to catch it. such a scene was really very pleasant; and the shield on the new court-house was hung with flowers and green wreaths. "one never forgets a feast like that, however old one may grow," said grandfather. nor did he forget it, though he saw many other grand spectacles in his time, and could tell about them too; but it was most pleasant of all to hear him tell about the shield that was brought in the town from the old to the new court-house. once, when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with his parents to see this festivity. he had never yet been in the metropolis of the country. there were so many people in the streets, that he thought that the shield was being carried. there were many shields to be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, if they had been hung up inside and outside. at the tailor's were pictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch up people from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobacco manufacturer's were pictures of the most charming little boys, smoking cigars, just as they do in reality; there were signs with painted butter, and herring, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptions and announcements into the bargain. a person could walk up and down for a whole day through the streets, and tire himself out with looking at the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived in the houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, as grandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, to know at once who the inhabitants were. and this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapa came to the town. he told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on his back," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make me believe something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy. the first night after he came to the town had been signalized by the most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers--a gale such as none of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. the air was dark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and a wheelbarrow ran up the streets all alone, only to get out of the way. there was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking, and altogether it was a terrible storm. the water in the canal rose over the banks, for it did not know where to run. the storm swept over the town, carrying plenty of chimneys with it, and more than one proud weathercock on a church tower had to bow, and has never got over it from that time. there was a kind of sentry-house, where dwelt the venerable old superintendent of the fire brigade, who always arrived with the last engine. the storm would not leave this little sentry-house alone, but must needs tear it from its fastenings, and roll it down the street; and, wonderfully enough, it stopped opposite to the door of the dirty journeyman plasterer, who had saved three lives at the last fire, but the sentry-house thought nothing of that. the barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away, and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice; and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice, inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife, used to call that lady "the razor" for she was so sharp that she knew more about other people's business than they knew about it themselves. a shield with a dried salt fish painted on it flew exactly in front of the door of a house where dwelt a man who wrote a newspaper. that was a very poor joke perpetrated by the gale, which seemed to have forgotten that a man who writes in a paper is not the kind of person to understand any liberty taken with him; for he is a king in his own newspaper, and likewise in his own opinion. the weathercock flew to the opposite house, where he perched, looking the picture of malice--so the neighbors said. the cooper's tub stuck itself up under the head of "ladies' costumes." the eating-house keeper's bill of fare, which had hung at his door in a heavy frame, was posted by the storm over the entrance to the theatre, where nobody went. "it was a ridiculous list--horse-radish, soup, and stuffed cabbage." and now people came in plenty. the fox's skin, the honorable sign of the furrier, was found fastened to the bell-pull of a young man who always went to early lecture, and looked like a furled umbrella. he said he was striving after truth, and was considered by his aunt "a model and an example." the inscription "institution for superior education" was found near the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned with the words, "children brought up by hand." now, this was not at all witty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any control over that. it was a terrible night, and in the morning--only think!--nearly all the shields had changed places. in some places the inscriptions were so malicious, that grandfather would not speak of them at all; but i saw that he was chuckling secretly, and there may have been some inaccuracy in his description, after all. the poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, were continually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; nor was this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields that were hung up. thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a very grave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to be discussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all the company were leaping over the chairs and tables. there were also people who made a mistake between the church and the theatre, and that was terrible indeed! such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that only happened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy. perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but our grandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stay at home while the storm is moving the shields. the story of a mother a mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared it would die. it was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little creature. some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked in. he was wrapped in something that looked like a great horse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. the little child had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on the stove to warm for him. the old man sat and rocked the cradle; and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand. "you think i shall keep him, do you not?" she said. "our all-merciful god will surely not take him away from me." the old man, who was indeed death himself, nodded his head in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either yes, or no; and the mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks. then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. shivering with cold, she started up and looked round the room. the old man was gone, and her child--it was gone too!--the old man had taken it with him. in the corner of the room the old clock began to strike; "whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, and the clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house calling for her child. out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she said to the mother, "death has been with you in your room. i saw him hastening away with your little child; he strides faster than the wind, and never brings back what he has taken away." "only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother; "tell me the way, i will find him." "i know the way," said the woman in the black garments; "but before i tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you have sung to your child; i love these songs, i have heard them before. i am night, and i saw your tears flow as you sang." "i will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detain me now. i must overtake him, and find my child." but night sat silent and still. then the mother wept and sang, and wrung her hands. and there were many songs, and yet even more tears; till at length night said, "go to the right, into the dark forest of fir-trees; for i saw death take that road with your little child." within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not which to take. just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf nor flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the branches. "have you not seen death go by, with my little child?" she asked. "yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but i will not tell you which way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. i am freezing to death here, and turning to ice." then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother. then the bramble-bush told her the path she must take. she came at length to a great lake, on which there was neither ship nor boat to be seen. the lake was not frozen sufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enough for her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished to find her child. then she laid herself down to drink up the water of the lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do; but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might take place to help her. "you will never succeed in this," said the lake; "let us make an agreement together which will be better. i love to collect pearls, and your eyes are the purest i have ever seen. if you will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then i will take you to the large hothouse where death dwells and rears flowers and trees, every one of which is a human life." "oh, what would i not give to reach my child!" said the weeping mother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into the depths of the lake, and became two costly pearls. then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the opposite shore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building many miles in length. no one could tell whether it was a mountain covered with forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. but the poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into the lake. "where shall i find death, who went away with my little child?" she asked. "he has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired woman, who was walking about, and watering death's hothouse. "how have you found your way here? and who helped you?" "god has helped me," she replied. "he is merciful; will you not be merciful too? where shall i find my little child?" "i did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you are blind. many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and death will soon come to transplant them. you know already that every human being has a life-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. they look like other plants; but they have hearts that beat. children's hearts also beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize your child. but what will you give me, if i tell you what more you will have to do? "i have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but i would go to the ends of the earth for you." "i can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman; "but you can give me your long black hair. you know yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me. you can take my white hair in exchange, which will be something in return." "do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "i will give it to you with pleasure." and she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return the white locks of the old woman. then they went into death's vast hothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderful profusion. blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, like strong trees. there grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and others looking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and black crabs clinging to their stems. there stood noble palm-trees, oaks, and plantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. each tree and flower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged to men still living, some in china, others in greenland, and in all parts of the world. some large trees had been planted in little pots, so that they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the pot to pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil, with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. the sorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the human heart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child's heart among millions of others. "that is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards a little crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head. "do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but place yourself here; and when death comes--i expect him every minute--do not let him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does you will serve the other flowers in the same manner. this will make him afraid; for he must account to god for each of them. none can be uprooted, unless he receives permission to do so." there rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and the blind mother felt that death had arrived. "how did you find your way hither?" asked he; "how could you come here faster than i have?" "i am a mother," she answered. and death stretched out his hand towards the delicate little flower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast at same time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one of the leaves. then death breathed upon her hands, and she felt his breath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless. "you cannot prevail against me," said death. "but a god of mercy can," said she. "i only do his will," replied death. "i am his gardener. i take all his flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens of paradise in an unknown land. how they flourish there, and what that garden resembles, i may not tell you." "give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring; and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to death, "i will tear up all your flowers, for i am in despair." "do not touch them," said death. "you say you are unhappy; and would you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?" "another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the flowers free from her hands. "there are your eyes," said death. "i fished them up out of the lake for you. they were shining brightly; but i knew not they were yours. take them back--they are clearer now than before--and then look into the deep well which is close by here. i will tell you the names of the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see the whole future of the human beings they represent, and what you were about to frustrate and destroy." then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight to behold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how much happiness and joy it spread around. but she saw that the life of the other was full of care and poverty, misery and woe. "both are the will of god," said death. "which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?" she said. "that i may not tell you," said death; "but thus far you may learn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. it was the fate of your child that you saw,--the future of your own child." then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "which of them belongs to my child? tell me that. deliver the unhappy child. release it from so much misery. rather take it away. take it to the kingdom of god. forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that i have said or done." "i do not understand you," said death. "will you have your child back? or shall i carry him away to a place that you do not know?" then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to god, "grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to thy will, which at all times must be the best. oh, hear them not;" and her head sank on her bosom. then death carried away her child to the unknown land. the sunbeam and the captive it is autumn. we stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea. we look at the numerous ships, and at the swedish coast on the opposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waters which mirror the glow of the evening sky. behind us the wood is sharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leaves flutter down from the branches. below, at the foot of the wall, stands a gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. the space between is dark and narrow, but still more dismal must it be behind the iron gratings in the wall which cover the narrow loopholes or windows, for in these dungeons the most depraved of the criminals are confined. a ray of the setting sun shoots into the bare cells of one of the captives, for god's sun shines upon the evil and the good. the hardened criminal casts an impatient look at the bright ray. then a little bird flies towards the grating, for birds twitter to the just as well as to the unjust. he only cries, "tweet, tweet," and then perches himself near the grating, flutters his wings, pecks a feather from one of them, puffs himself out, and sets his feathers on end round his breast and throat. the bad, chained man looks at him, and a more gentle expression comes into his hard face. in his breast there rises a thought which he himself cannot rightly analyze, but the thought has some connection with the sunbeam, with the bird, and with the scent of violets, which grow luxuriantly in spring at the foot of the wall. then there comes the sound of the hunter's horn, merry and full. the little bird starts, and flies away, the sunbeam gradually vanishes, and again there is darkness in the room and in the heart of that bad man. still the sun has shone into that heart, and the twittering of the bird has touched it. sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunter's horn; continue your stirring tones, for the evening is mild, and the surface of the sea, heaving slowly and calmly, is smooth as a mirror. the swan's nest between the baltic and the north sea there lies an old swan's nest, wherein swans are born and have been born that shall never die. in olden times a flock of swans flew over the alps to the green plains around milan, where it was delightful to dwell. this flight of swans men called the lombards. another flock, with shining plumage and honest eyes, soared southward to byzantium; the swans established themselves there close by the emperor's throne, and spread their wings over him as shields to protect him. they received the name of varangians. on the coast of france there sounded a cry of fear, for the blood-stained swans that came from the north with fire under their wings; and the people prayed, "heaven deliver us from the wild northmen." on the fresh sward of england stood the danish swan by the open seashore, with the crown of three kingdoms on his head; and he stretched out his golden sceptre over the land. the heathens on the pomerian coast bent the knee, and the danish swans came with the banner of the cross and with the drawn sword. "that was in the very old times," you say. in later days two mighty swans have been seen to fly from the nest. a light shone far through the air, far over the lands of the earth; the swan, with the strong beating of his wings, scattered the twilight mists, and the starry sky was seen, and it was as if it came nearer to the earth. that was the swan tycho brahe. "yes, then," you say; "but in our own days?" we have seen swan after swan soar by in glorious flight. one let his pinions glide over the strings of the golden harp, and it resounded through the north. norway's mountains seemed to rise higher in the sunlight of former days; there was a rustling among the pine trees and the birches; the gods of the north, the heroes, and the noble women, showed themselves in the dark forest depths. we have seen a swan beat with his wings upon the marble crag, so that it burst, and the forms of beauty imprisoned in the stone stepped out to the sunny day, and men in the lands round about lifted up their heads to behold these mighty forms. we have seen a third swan spinning the thread of thought that is fastened from country to country round the world, so that the word may fly with lightning speed from land to land. and our lord loves the old swan's nest between the baltic and the north sea. and when the mighty birds come soaring through the air to destroy it, even the callow young stand round in a circle on the margin of the nest, and though their breasts may be struck so that their blood flows, they bear it, and strike with their wings and their claws. centuries will pass by, swans will fly forth from the nest, men will see them and hear them in the world, before it shall be said in spirit and in truth, "this is the last swan--the last song from the swan's nest." the swineherd once upon a time lived a poor prince; his kingdom was very small, but it was large enough to enable him to marry, and marry he would. it was rather bold of him that he went and asked the emperor's daughter: "will you marry me?" but he ventured to do so, for his name was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesses who would have gladly accepted him, but would she do so? now we shall see. on the grave of the prince's father grew a rose-tree, the most beautiful of its kind. it bloomed only once in five years, and then it had only one single rose upon it, but what a rose! it had such a sweet scent that one instantly forgot all sorrow and grief when one smelt it. he had also a nightingale, which could sing as if every sweet melody was in its throat. this rose and the nightingale he wished to give to the princess; and therefore both were put into big silver cases and sent to her. the emperor ordered them to be carried into the great hall where the princess was just playing "visitors are coming" with her ladies-in-waiting; when she saw the large cases with the presents therein, she clapped her hands for joy. "i wish it were a little pussy cat," she said. but then the rose-tree with the beautiful rose was unpacked. "oh, how nicely it is made," exclaimed the ladies. "it is more than nice," said the emperor, "it is charming." the princess touched it and nearly began to cry. "for shame, pa," she said, "it is not artificial, it is natural!" "for shame, it is natural," repeated all her ladies. "let us first see what the other case contains before we are angry," said the emperor; then the nightingale was taken out, and it sang so beautifully that no one could possibly say anything unkind about it. "superbe, charmant," said the ladies of the court, for they all prattled french, one worse than the other. "how much the bird reminds me of the musical box of the late lamented empress," said an old courtier, "it has exactly the same tone, the same execution." "you are right," said the emperor, and began to cry like a little child. "i hope it is not natural," said the princess. "yes, certainly it is natural," replied those who had brought the presents. "then let it fly," said the princess, and refused to see the prince. but the prince was not discouraged. he painted his face, put on common clothes, pulled his cap over his forehead, and came back. "good day, emperor," he said, "could you not give me some employment at the court?" "there are so many," replied the emperor, "who apply for places, that for the present i have no vacancy, but i will remember you. but wait a moment; it just comes into my mind, i require somebody to look after my pigs, for i have a great many." thus the prince was appointed imperial swineherd, and as such he lived in a wretchedly small room near the pigsty; there he worked all day long, and when it was night he had made a pretty little pot. there were little bells round the rim, and when the water began to boil in it, the bells began to play the old tune: "a jolly old sow once lived in a sty, three little piggies had she," &c. but what was more wonderful was that, when one put a finger into the steam rising from the pot, one could at once smell what meals they were preparing on every fire in the whole town. that was indeed much more remarkable than the rose. when the princess with her ladies passed by and heard the tune, she stopped and looked quite pleased, for she also could play it--in fact, it was the only tune she could play, and she played it with one finger. "that is the tune i know," she exclaimed. "he must be a well-educated swineherd. go and ask him how much the instrument is." one of the ladies had to go and ask; but she put on pattens. "what will you take for your pot?" asked the lady. "i will have ten kisses from the princess," said the swineherd. "god forbid," said the lady. "well, i cannot sell it for less," replied the swineherd. "what did he say?" said the princess. "i really cannot tell you," replied the lady. "you can whisper it into my ear." "it is very naughty," said the princess, and walked off. but when she had gone a little distance, the bells rang again so sweetly: "a jolly old sow once lived in a sty, three little piggies had she," &c. "ask him," said the princess, "if he will be satisfied with ten kisses from one of my ladies." "no, thank you," said the swineherd: "ten kisses from the princess, or i keep my pot." "that is tiresome," said the princess. "but you must stand before me, so that nobody can see it." the ladies placed themselves in front of her and spread out their dresses, and she gave the swineherd ten kisses and received the pot. that was a pleasure! day and night the water in the pot was boiling; there was not a single fire in the whole town of which they did not know what was preparing on it, the chamberlain's as well as the shoemaker's. the ladies danced and clapped their hands for joy. "we know who will eat soup and pancakes; we know who will eat porridge and cutlets; oh, how interesting!" "very interesting, indeed," said the mistress of the household. "but you must not betray me, for i am the emperor's daughter." "of course not," they all said. the swineherd--that is to say, the prince--but they did not know otherwise than that he was a real swineherd--did not waste a single day without doing something; he made a rattle, which, when turned quickly round, played all the waltzes, galops, and polkas known since the creation of the world. "but that is superbe," said the princess passing by. "i have never heard a more beautiful composition. go down and ask him what the instrument costs; but i shall not kiss him again." "he will have a hundred kisses from the princess," said the lady, who had gone down to ask him. "i believe he is mad," said the princess, and walked off, but soon she stopped. "one must encourage art," she said. "i am the emperor's daughter! tell him i will give him ten kisses, as i did the other day; the remainder one of my ladies can give him. "but we do not like to kiss him," said the ladies. "that is nonsense," said the princess; "if i can kiss him, you can also do it. remember that i give you food and employment." and the lady had to go down once more. "a hundred kisses from the princess," said the swineherd, "or everybody keeps his own." "place yourselves before me," said the princess then. they did as they were bidden, and the princess kissed him. "i wonder what that crowd near the pigsty means!" said the emperor, who had just come out on his balcony. he rubbed his eyes and put his spectacles on. "the ladies of the court are up to some mischief, i think. i shall have to go down and see." he pulled up his shoes, for they were down at the heels, and he was very quick about it. when he had come down into the courtyard he walked quite softly, and the ladies were so busily engaged in counting the kisses, that all should be fair, that they did not notice the emperor. he raised himself on tiptoe. "what does this mean?" he said, when he saw that his daughter was kissing the swineherd, and then hit their heads with his shoe just as the swineherd received the sixty-eighth kiss. "go out of my sight," said the emperor, for he was very angry; and both the princess and the swineherd were banished from the empire. there she stood and cried, the swineherd scolded her, and the rain came down in torrents. "alas, unfortunate creature that i am!" said the princess, "i wish i had accepted the prince. oh, how wretched i am!" the swineherd went behind a tree, wiped his face, threw off his poor attire and stepped forth in his princely garments; he looked so beautiful that the princess could not help bowing to him. "i have now learnt to despise you," he said. "you refused an honest prince; you did not appreciate the rose and the nightingale; but you did not mind kissing a swineherd for his toys; you have no one but yourself to blame!" and then he returned into his kingdom and left her behind. she could now sing at her leisure: "a jolly old sow once lived in a sty, three little piggies has she," &c. the thistle's experiences belonging to the lordly manor-house was beautiful, well-kept garden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of the proprietor declared their admiration of it; the people of the neighborhood, from town and country, came on sundays and holidays, and asked permission to see the garden; indeed, whole schools used to pay visits to it. outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood a great mighty thistle, which spread out in many directions from the root, so that it might have been called a thistle bush. nobody looked at it, except the old ass which drew the milk-maid's cart. this ass used to stretch out his neck towards the thistle, and say, "you are beautiful; i should like to eat you!" but his halter was not long enough to let him reach it and eat it. there was great company at the manor-house--some very noble people from the capital; young pretty girls, and among them a young lady who came from a long distance. she had come from scotland, and was of high birth, and was rich in land and in gold--a bride worth winning, said more than one of the young gentlemen; and their lady mothers said the same thing. the young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played at ball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the young girls broke off a flower, and fastened it in a young gentleman's buttonhole. but the young scotch lady looked round, for a long time, in an undecided way. none of the flowers seemed to suit her taste. then her eye glanced across the paling--outside stood the great thistle bush, with the reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled, and asked the son of the house to pluck one for her. "it is the flower of scotland," she said. "it blooms in the scutcheon of my country. give me yonder flower." and he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his fingers as completely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose bush. she placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the young man, and he felt himself highly honored. each of the other young gentlemen would willingly have given his own beautiful flower to have worn this one, presented by the fair hand of the scottish maiden. and if the son of the house felt himself honored, what were the feelings of the thistle bush? it seemed to him as if dew and sunshine were streaming through him. "i am something more than i knew of," said the thistle to itself. "i suppose my right place is really inside the palings, and not outside. one is often strangely placed in this world; but now i have at least managed to get one of my people within the pale, and indeed into a buttonhole!" the thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded itself, and not many days had gone by before the thistle heard, not from men, not from the twittering of the birds, but from the air itself, which stores up the sounds, and carries them far around--out of the most retired walks of the garden, and out of the rooms of the house, in which doors and windows stood open, that the young gentleman who had received the thistle-flower from the hand of the fair scottish maiden had also now received the heart and hand of the lady in question. they were a handsome pair--it was a good match. "that match i made up!" said the thistle; and he thought of the flower he had given for the buttonhole. every flower that opened heard of this occurrence. "i shall certainly be transplanted into the garden," thought the thistle, "and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds one in. that is said to be the greatest of all honors." and the thistle pictured this to himself in such a lively manner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "i am to be transplanted into a pot." then he promised every little thistle flower which unfolded itself that it also should be put into a pot, and perhaps into a buttonhole, the highest honor that could be attained. but not one of them was put into a pot, much less into a buttonhole. they drank in the sunlight and the air; lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dew by night; bloomed--were visited by bees and hornets, who looked after the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey, and left the flower where it was. "the thievish rabble!" said the thistle. "if i could only stab every one of them! but i cannot." the flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time new ones came. "you come in good time," said the thistle. "i am expecting every moment to get across the fence." a few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood and listened in deep admiration, and believed everything they heard. the old ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of the field-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush; but his halter was too short, and he could not reach it. and the thistle thought so long of the thistle of scotland, to whose family he said he belonged, that he fancied at last that he had come from scotland, and that his parents had been put into the national escutcheon. that was a great thought; but, you see, a great thistle has a right to a great thought. "one is often of so grand a family, that one may not know it," said the nettle, who grew close by. he had a kind of idea that he might be made into cambric if he were rightly treated. and the summer went by, and the autumn went by. the leaves fell from the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper colors and less scent. the gardener's boy sang in the garden, across the palings: "up the hill, down the dale we wend, that is life, from beginning to end." the young fir trees in the forest began to long for christmas, but it was a long time to christmas yet. "here i am standing yet!" said the thistle. "it is as if nobody thought of me, and yet i managed the match. they were betrothed, and they have had their wedding; it is now a week ago. i won't take a single step-because i can't." a few more weeks went by. the thistle stood there with his last single flower large and full. this flower had shot up from near the roots; the wind blew cold over it, and the colors vanished, and the flower grew in size, and looked like a silvered sunflower. one day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the garden. they went along by the paling, and the young wife looked across it. "there's the great thistle still growing," she said. "it has no flowers now." "oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said he. and he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which looked like a flower themselves. "it is pretty, certainly," she said. "such an one must be carved on the frame of our picture." and the young man had to climb across the palings again, and to break off the calyx of the thistle. it pricked his fingers, but then he had called it a ghost. and this thistle-calyx came into the garden, and into the house, and into the drawing-room. there stood a picture--"young couple." a thistle-flower was painted in the buttonhole of the bridegroom. they spoke about this, and also about the thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now gleaming like silver, whose picture was carved on the frame. and the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away. "what one can experience!" said the thistle bush. "my first born was put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been put in a frame. where shall i go?" and the ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at the thistle. "come to me, my nibble darling!" said he. "i can't get across to you." but the thistle did not answer. he became more and more thoughtful--kept on thinking and thinking till near christmas, and then a flower of thought came forth. "if the children are only good, the parents do not mind standing outside the garden pale." "that's an honorable thought," said the sunbeam. "you shall also have a good place." "in a pot or in a frame?" asked the thistle. "in a story," replied the sunbeam. the thorny road of honor an old story yet lives of the "thorny road of honor," of a marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after a lifelong and weary strife against difficulties. who has not, in reading this story, thought of his own strife, and of his own numerous "difficulties?" the story is very closely akin to reality; but still it has its harmonious explanation here on earth, while reality often points beyond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. the history of the world is like a magic lantern that displays to us, in light pictures upon the dark ground of the present, how the benefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, wandered along the thorny road of honor. from all periods, and from every country, these shining pictures display themselves to us. each only appears for a few moments, but each represents a whole life, sometimes a whole age, with its conflicts and victories. let us contemplate here and there one of the company of martyrs--the company which will receive new members until the world itself shall pass away. we look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. out of the "clouds" of aristophanes, satire and humor are pouring down in streams upon the audience; on the stage socrates, the most remarkable man in athens, he who had been the shield and defence of the people against the thirty tyrants, is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule--socrates, who saved alcibiades and xenophon in the turmoil of battle, and whose genius soared far above the gods of the ancients. he himself is present; he has risen from the spectator's bench, and has stepped forward, that the laughing athenians may well appreciate the likeness between himself and the caricature on the stage. there he stands before them, towering high above them all. thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow over athens--not thou, olive tree of fame! seven cities contended for the honor of giving birth to homer--that is to say, they contended after his death! let us look at him as he was in his lifetime. he wanders on foot through the cities, and recites his verses for a livelihood; the thought for the morrow turns his hair gray! he, the great seer, is blind, and painfully pursues his way--the sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king of poets. his song yet lives, and through that alone live all the heroes and gods of antiquity. one picture after another springs up from the east, from the west, far removed from each other in time and place, and yet each one forming a portion of the thorny road of honor, on which the thistle indeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave. the camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richly laden with indigo and other treasures of value, sent by the ruler of the land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame of the country. he whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile has been found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he has taken refuge. a poor corpse is carried out of the town gate, and the funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. the dead man is he whom they have been sent to seek--firdusi--who has wandered the thorny road of honor even to the end. the african, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair, sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of portugal, and begs. he is the submissive slave of camoens, and but for him, and for the copper coins thrown to him by the passers-by, his master, the poet of the "lusiad," would die of hunger. now, a costly monument marks the grave of camoens. there is a new picture. behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with long unkempt beard. "i have made a discovery," he says, "the greatest that has been made for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than twenty years!" who is the man? "a madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "what whimsical ideas these lunatics have! he imagines that one can propel things by means of steam." it is solomon de cares, the discoverer of the power of steam, whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by richelieu; and he dies in the madhouse. here stands columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered it. shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of the bells of envy soon drowns the others. the discoverer of a world--he who lifted the american gold land from the sea, and gave it to his king--he is rewarded with iron chains. he wishes that these chains may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service. one picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of honor and of fame is over-filled. here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet--galileo. blind and deaf he sits--an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering, and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot--that foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the truth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, "yet it moves!" here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and inspiration. she carries the banner in front of the combating army, and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. the sound of shouting arises, and the pile flames up. they are burning the witch, joan of arc. yes, and a future century jeers at the white lily. voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "la pucelle." at the thing or assembly at viborg, the danish nobles burn the laws of the king. they flame up high, illuminating the period and the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an old man is growing gray and bent. with his finger he marks out a groove in the stone table. it is the popular king who sits there, once the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the peasant. it is christian the second. enemies wrote his history. let us remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot forget his crime. a ship sails away, quitting the danish shores. a man leans against the mast, casting a last glance towards the island hueen. it is tycho brahe. he raised the name of denmark to the stars, and was rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. he is going to a strange country. "the vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what do i want more?" and away sails the famous dane, the astronomer, to live honored and free in a strange land. "ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!" comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. what a picture! griffenfeldt, a danish prometheus, bound to the rocky island of munkholm. we are in america, on the margin of one of the largest rivers; an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements. the man who thinks he can solve the problem is named robert fulton. the ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. the crowd begins to laugh and whistle and hiss--the very father of the man whistles with the rest. "conceit! foolery!" is the cry. "it has happened just as he deserved. put the crack-brain under lock and key!" then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats break the force of the waters, and the ship continues its course; and the beam of the steam engine shortens the distance between far lands from hours into minutes. o human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute of consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the moment in which all dejection, and every wound--even those caused by one's own fault--is changed into health and strength and clearness--when discord is converted to harmony--the minute in which men seem to recognize the manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel how this one imparts it to all? thus the thorny path of honor shows itself as a glory, surrounding the earth with its beams. thrice happy he who is chosen to be a wanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed between the builder of the bridge and the earth--between providence and the human race. on mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, and shows--giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts--on the dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny path of honor, which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joy here on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity! in a thousand years yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! the young inhabitants of america will become visitors of old europe. they will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of southern asia. in a thousand years they will come! the thames, the danube, and the rhine still roll their course, mont blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the northern lights gleam over the land of the north; but generation after generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on which the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he can sit and look out across his waving corn fields. "to europe!" cry the young sons of america; "to the land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy--to europe!" the ship of the air comes. it is crowded with passengers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. the electro-magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan. europe is in sight. it is the coast of ireland that they see, but the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are exactly over england. there they will first step on european shore, in the land of shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others. here they stay a whole day. that is all the time the busy race can devote to the whole of england and scotland. then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the english channel, to france, the land of charlemagne and napoleon. moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. there is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in paris, the centre of europe, and elsewhere. the air steamboat flies over the country whence columbus went forth, where cortez was born, and where calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. beautiful black-eyed women live still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the cid and the alhambra. then through the air, over the sea, to italy, where once lay old, everlasting rome. it has vanished! the campagna lies desert. a single ruined wall is shown as the remains of st. peter's, but there is a doubt if this ruin be genuine. next to greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top of mount olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the place where byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of the turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets. over the remains of mighty cities on the broad danube, cities which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again. down below lies germany, that was once covered with a close net of railway and canals, the region where luther spoke, where goethe sang, and mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. one day devoted to seeing germany, and one for the north, the country of oersted and linnaeus, and for norway, the land of the old heroes and the young normans. iceland is visited on the journey home. the geysers burn no more, hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry. "there is really a great deal to be seen in europe," says the young american, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated work, 'how to see all europe in a week.'" the brave tin soldier there were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. they shouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendid uniform, red and blue. the first thing in the world they ever heard were the words, "tin soldiers!" uttered by a little boy, who clapped his hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, was taken off. they were given him for a birthday present, and he stood at the table to set them up. the soldiers were all exactly alike, excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, and then there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so they made him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be very remarkable. the table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered with other playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a pretty little paper castle. through the small windows the rooms could be seen. in front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded a piece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent a transparent lake. swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and were reflected in it. all this was very pretty, but the prettiest of all was a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she, also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, with a narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. in front of these was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her whole face. the little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both her arms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier could not see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only one leg. "that is the wife for me," he thought; "but she is too grand, and lives in a castle, while i have only a box to live in, five-and-twenty of us altogether, that is no place for her. still i must try and make her acquaintance." then he laid himself at full length on the table behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peep at the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. when evening came, the other tin soldiers were all placed in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. then the playthings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, to have sham fights, and to give balls. the tin soldiers rattled in their box; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they could not open the lid. the nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the pencil jumped about the table. there was such a noise that the canary woke up and began to talk, and in poetry too. only the tin soldier and the dancer remained in their places. she stood on tiptoe, with her legs stretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. he never took his eyes from her for even a moment. the clock struck twelve, and, with a bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff, there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toy puzzle. "tin soldier," said the goblin, "don't wish for what does not belong to you." but the tin soldier pretended not to hear. "very well; wait till to-morrow, then," said the goblin. when the children came in the next morning, they placed the tin soldier in the window. now, whether it was the goblin who did it, or the draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fell the tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into the street beneath. it was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards, his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and his one leg up in the air. the servant maid and the little boy went down stairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen, although once they nearly trod upon him. if he had called out, "here i am," it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out for help while he wore a uniform. presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster, till there was a heavy shower. when it was over, two boys happened to pass by, and one of them said, "look, there is a tin soldier. he ought to have a boat to sail in." so they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldier in it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran by the side of it, and clapped their hands. good gracious, what large waves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for the rain had been very heavy. the paper boat rocked up and down, and turned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. suddenly the boat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then it was as dark as the tin soldier's box. "where am i going now?" thought he. "this is the black goblin's fault, i am sure. ah, well, if the little lady were only here with me in the boat, i should not care for any darkness." suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain. "have you a passport?" asked the rat, "give it to me at once." but the tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever. the boat sailed on and the rat followed it. how he did gnash his teeth and cry out to the bits of wood and straw, "stop him, stop him; he has not paid toll, and has not shown his pass." but the stream rushed on stronger and stronger. the tin soldier could already see daylight shining where the arch ended. then he heard a roaring sound quite terrible enough to frighten the bravest man. at the end of the tunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, which made it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. he was too close to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldier could only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving an eyelid, to show that he was not afraid. the boat whirled round three or four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothing could save it from sinking. he now stood up to his neck in water, while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft and loose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier's head. he thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never see again, and the words of the song sounded in his ears-- "farewell, warrior! ever brave, drifting onward to thy grave." then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank into the water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish. oh how dark it was inside the fish! a great deal darker than in the tunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. the fish swam to and fro, making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quite still. after a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him, and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, "i declare here is the tin soldier." the fish had been caught, taken to the market and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut him open with a large knife. she picked up the soldier and held him by the waist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room. they were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who had travelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. they placed him on the table, and--how many curious things do happen in the world!--there he was in the very same room from the window of which he had fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings, standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant little dancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held up the other, so she was as firm as himself. it touched the tin soldier so much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept them back. he only looked at her and they both remained silent. presently one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into the stove. he had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. the flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love he could not tell. then he could see that the bright colors were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. he looked at the little lady, and she looked at him. he felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames and was gone. the tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. but of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a cinder. the tinder-box a soldier came marching along the high road: "left, right--left, right." he had his knapsack on his back, and a sword at his side; he had been to the wars, and was now returning home. as he walked on, he met a very frightful-looking old witch in the road. her under-lip hung quite down on her breast, and she stopped and said, "good evening, soldier; you have a very fine sword, and a large knapsack, and you are a real soldier; so you shall have as much money as ever you like." "thank you, old witch," said the soldier. "do you see that large tree," said the witch, pointing to a tree which stood beside them. "well, it is quite hollow inside, and you must climb to the top, when you will see a hole, through which you can let yourself down into the tree to a great depth. i will tie a rope round your body, so that i can pull you up again when you call out to me." "but what am i to do, down there in the tree?" asked the soldier. "get money," she replied; "for you must know that when you reach the ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a large hall, lighted up by three hundred lamps; you will then see three doors, which can be easily opened, for the keys are in all the locks. on entering the first of the chambers, to which these doors lead, you will see a large chest, standing in the middle of the floor, and upon it a dog seated, with a pair of eyes as large as teacups. but you need not be at all afraid of him; i will give you my blue checked apron, which you must spread upon the floor, and then boldly seize hold of the dog, and place him upon it. you can then open the chest, and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only copper pence; but if you would rather have silver money, you must go into the second chamber. here you will find another dog, with eyes as big as mill-wheels; but do not let that trouble you. place him upon my apron, and then take what money you please. if, however, you like gold best, enter the third chamber, where there is another chest full of it. the dog who sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are as big as a tower, but do not mind him. if he also is placed upon my apron, he cannot hurt you, and you may take from the chest what gold you will." "this is not a bad story," said the soldier; "but what am i to give you, you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean to tell me all this for nothing." "no," said the witch; "but i do not ask for a single penny. only promise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother left behind the last time she went down there." "very well; i promise. now tie the rope round my body." "here it is," replied the witch; "and here is my blue checked apron." as soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the tree, and let himself down through the hollow to the ground beneath; and here he found, as the witch had told him, a large hall, in which many hundred lamps were all burning. then he opened the first door. "ah!" there sat the dog, with the eyes as large as teacups, staring at him. "you're a pretty fellow," said the soldier, seizing him, and placing him on the witch's apron, while he filled his pockets from the chest with as many pieces as they would hold. then he closed the lid, seated the dog upon it again, and walked into another chamber, and, sure enough, there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels. "you had better not look at me in that way," said the soldier; "you will make your eyes water;" and then he seated him also upon the apron, and opened the chest. but when he saw what a quantity of silver money it contained, he very quickly threw away all the coppers he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with nothing but silver. then he went into the third room, and there the dog was really hideous; his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and they turned round and round in his head like wheels. "good morning," said the soldier, touching his cap, for he had never seen such a dog in his life. but after looking at him more closely, he thought he had been civil enough, so he placed him on the floor, and opened the chest. good gracious, what a quantity of gold there was! enough to buy all the sugar-sticks of the sweet-stuff women; all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horses in the world, or even the whole town itself there was, indeed, an immense quantity. so the soldier now threw away all the silver money he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with gold instead; and not only his pockets and his knapsack, but even his cap and boots, so that he could scarcely walk. he was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the chest, closed the door, and called up through the tree, "now pull me out, you old witch." "have you got the tinder-box?" asked the witch. "no; i declare i quite forgot it." so he went back and fetched the tinderbox, and then the witch drew him up out of the tree, and he stood again in the high road, with his pockets, his knapsack, his cap, and his boots full of gold. "what are you going to do with the tinder-box?" asked the soldier. "that is nothing to you," replied the witch; "you have the money, now give me the tinder-box." "i tell you what," said the soldier, "if you don't tell me what you are going to do with it, i will draw my sword and cut off your head." "no," said the witch. the soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on the ground. then he tied up all his money in her apron, and slung it on his back like a bundle, put the tinderbox in his pocket, and walked off to the nearest town. it was a very nice town, and he put up at the best inn, and ordered a dinner of all his favorite dishes, for now he was rich and had plenty of money. the servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they certainly were a shabby pair to be worn by such a rich gentleman, for he had not yet bought any new ones. the next day, however, he procured some good clothes and proper boots, so that our soldier soon became known as a fine gentleman, and the people visited him, and told him all the wonders that were to be seen in the town, and of the king's beautiful daughter, the princess. "where can i see her?" asked the soldier. "she is not to be seen at all," they said; "she lives in a large copper castle, surrounded by walls and towers. no one but the king himself can pass in or out, for there has been a prophecy that she will marry a common soldier, and the king cannot bear to think of such a marriage." "i should like very much to see her," thought the soldier; but he could not obtain permission to do so. however, he passed a very pleasant time; went to the theatre, drove in the king's garden, and gave a great deal of money to the poor, which was very good of him; he remembered what it had been in olden times to be without a shilling. now he was rich, had fine clothes, and many friends, who all declared he was a fine fellow and a real gentleman, and all this gratified him exceedingly. but his money would not last forever; and as he spent and gave away a great deal daily, and received none, he found himself at last with only two shillings left. so he was obliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little garret under the roof, where he had to clean his own boots, and even mend them with a large needle. none of his friends came to see him, there were too many stairs to mount up. one dark evening, he had not even a penny to buy a candle; then all at once he remembered that there was a piece of candle stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought from the old tree, into which the witch had helped him. he found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a few sparks from the flint and steel, than the door flew open and the dog with eyes as big as teacups, whom he had seen while down in the tree, stood before him, and said, "what orders, master?" "hallo," said the soldier; "well this is a pleasant tinderbox, if it brings me all i wish for." "bring me some money," said he to the dog. he was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying a large bag of coppers in his month. the soldier very soon discovered after this the value of the tinder-box. if he struck the flint once, the dog who sat on the chest of copper money made his appearance; if twice, the dog came from the chest of silver; and if three times, the dog with eyes like towers, who watched over the gold. the soldier had now plenty of money; he returned to his elegant rooms, and reappeared in his fine clothes, so that his friends knew him again directly, and made as much of him as before. after a while he began to think it was very strange that no one could get a look at the princess. "every one says she is very beautiful," thought he to himself; "but what is the use of that if she is to be shut up in a copper castle surrounded by so many towers. can i by any means get to see her. stop! where is my tinder-box?" then he struck a light, and in a moment the dog, with eyes as big as teacups, stood before him. "it is midnight," said the soldier, "yet i should very much like to see the princess, if only for a moment." the dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier could even look round, he returned with the princess. she was lying on the dog's back asleep, and looked so lovely, that every one who saw her would know she was a real princess. the soldier could not help kissing her, true soldier as he was. then the dog ran back with the princess; but in the morning, while at breakfast with the king and queen, she told them what a singular dream she had had during the night, of a dog and a soldier, that she had ridden on the dog's back, and been kissed by the soldier. "that is a very pretty story, indeed," said the queen. so the next night one of the old ladies of the court was set to watch by the princess's bed, to discover whether it really was a dream, or what else it might be. the soldier longed very much to see the princess once more, so he sent for the dog again in the night to fetch her, and to run with her as fast as ever he could. but the old lady put on water boots, and ran after him as quickly as he did, and found that he carried the princess into a large house. she thought it would help her to remember the place if she made a large cross on the door with a piece of chalk. then she went home to bed, and the dog presently returned with the princess. but when he saw that a cross had been made on the door of the house, where the soldier lived, he took another piece of chalk and made crosses on all the doors in the town, so that the lady-in-waiting might not be able to find out the right door. early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the lady and all the officers of the household, to see where the princess had been. "here it is," said the king, when they came to the first door with a cross on it. "no, my dear husband, it must be that one," said the queen, pointing to a second door having a cross also. "and here is one, and there is another!" they all exclaimed; for there were crosses on all the doors in every direction. so they felt it would be useless to search any farther. but the queen was a very clever woman; she could do a great deal more than merely ride in a carriage. she took her large gold scissors, cut a piece of silk into squares, and made a neat little bag. this bag she filled with buckwheat flour, and tied it round the princess's neck; and then she cut a small hole in the bag, so that the flour might be scattered on the ground as the princess went along. during the night, the dog came again and carried the princess on his back, and ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and wished that he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife. the dog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all the way from the castle wall to the soldier's house, and even up to the window, where he had climbed with the princess. therefore in the morning the king and queen found out where their daughter had been, and the soldier was taken up and put in prison. oh, how dark and disagreeable it was as he sat there, and the people said to him, "to-morrow you will be hanged." it was not very pleasant news, and besides, he had left the tinder-box at the inn. in the morning he could see through the iron grating of the little window how the people were hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he heard the drums beating, and saw the soldiers marching. every one ran out to look at them, and a shoemaker's boy, with a leather apron and slippers on, galloped by so fast, that one of his slippers flew off and struck against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating. "hallo, you shoemaker's boy, you need not be in such a hurry," cried the soldier to him. "there will be nothing to see till i come; but if you will run to the house where i have been living, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings, but you must put your best foot foremost." the shoemaker's boy liked the idea of getting the four shillings, so he ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and gave it to the soldier. and now we shall see what happened. outside the town a large gibbet had been erected, round which stood the soldiers and several thousands of people. the king and the queen sat on splendid thrones opposite to the judges and the whole council. the soldier already stood on the ladder; but as they were about to place the rope around his neck, he said that an innocent request was often granted to a poor criminal before he suffered death. he wished very much to smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should ever smoke in the world. the king could not refuse this request, so the soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice, thrice,--and there in a moment stood all the dogs;--the one with eyes as big as teacups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third, whose eyes were like towers. "help me now, that i may not be hanged," cried the soldier. and the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors; seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed them many feet high in the air, so that they fell down and were dashed to pieces. "i will not be touched," said the king. but the largest dog seized him, as well as the queen, and threw them after the others. then the soldiers and all the people were afraid, and cried, "good soldier, you shall be our king, and you shall marry the beautiful princess." so they placed the soldier in the king's carriage, and the three dogs ran on in front and cried "hurrah!" and the little boys whistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. the princess came out of the copper castle, and became queen, which was very pleasing to her. the wedding festivities lasted a whole week, and the dogs sat at the table, and stared with all their eyes. the toad the well was deep, and therefore the rope had to be a long one; it was heavy work turning the handle when any one had to raise a bucketful of water over the edge of the well. though the water was clear, the sun never looked down far enough into the well to mirror itself in the waters; but as far as its beams could reach, green things grew forth between the stones in the sides of the well. down below dwelt a family of the toad race. they had, in fact, come head-over-heels down the well, in the person of the old mother-toad, who was still alive. the green frogs, who had been established there a long time, and swam about in the water, called them "well-guests." but the new-comers seemed determined to stay where they were, for they found it very agreeable living "in a dry place," as they called the wet stones. the mother-frog had once been a traveller. she happened to be in the water-bucket when it was drawn up, but the light became too strong for her, and she got a pain in her eyes. fortunately she scrambled out of the bucket; but she fell into the water with a terrible flop, and had to lie sick for three days with pains in her back. she certainly had not much to tell of the things up above, but she knew this, and all the frogs knew it, that the well was not all the world. the mother-toad might have told this and that, if she had chosen, but she never answered when they asked her anything, and so they left off asking. "she's thick, and fat and ugly," said the young green frogs; "and her children will be just as ugly as she is." "that may be," retorted the mother-toad, "but one of them has a jewel in his head, or else i have the jewel." the young frogs listened and stared; and as these words did not please them, they made grimaces and dived down under the water. but the little toads kicked up their hind legs from mere pride, for each of them thought that he must have the jewel; and then they sat and held their heads quite still. but at length they asked what it was that made them so proud, and what kind of a thing a jewel might be. "oh, it is such a splendid and precious thing, that i cannot describe it," said the mother-toad. "it's something which one carries about for one's own pleasure, and that makes other people angry. but don't ask me any questions, for i shan't answer you." "well, i haven't got the jewel," said the smallest of the toads; she was as ugly as a toad can be. "why should i have such a precious thing? and if it makes others angry, it can't give me any pleasure. no, i only wish i could get to the edge of the well, and look out; it must be beautiful up there." "you'd better stay where you are," said the old mother-toad, "for you know everything here, and you can tell what you have. take care of the bucket, for it will crush you to death; and even if you get into it safely, you may fall out. and it's not every one who falls so cleverly as i did, and gets away with whole legs and whole bones. "quack!" said the little toad; and that's just as if one of us were to say, "aha!" she had an immense desire to get to the edge of the well, and to look over; she felt such a longing for the green, up there; and the next morning, when it chanced that the bucket was being drawn up, filled with water, and stopped for a moment just in front of the stone on which the toad sat, the little creature's heart moved within it, and our toad jumped into the filled bucket, which presently was drawn to the top, and emptied out. "ugh, you beast!" said the farm laborer who emptied the bucket, when he saw the toad. "you're the ugliest thing i've seen for one while." and he made a kick with his wooden shoe at the toad, which just escaped being crushed by managing to scramble into the nettles which grew high by the well's brink. here she saw stem by stem, but she looked up also; the sun shone through the leaves, which were quite transparent; and she felt as a person would feel who steps suddenly into a great forest, where the sun looks in between the branches and leaves. "it's much nicer here than down in the well! i should like to stay here my whole life long!" said the little toad. so she lay there for an hour, yes, for two hours. "i wonder what is to be found up here? as i have come so far, i must try to go still farther." and so she crawled on as fast as she could crawl, and got out upon the highway, where the sun shone upon her, and the dust powdered her all over as she marched across the way. "i've got to a dry place now, and no mistake," said the toad. "it's almost too much of a good thing here; it tickles one so." she came to the ditch; and forget-me-nots were growing there, and meadow-sweet; and a very little way off was a hedge of whitethorn, and elder bushes grew there, too, and bindweed with white flowers. gay colors were to be seen here, and a butterfly, too, was flitting by. the toad thought it was a flower which had broken loose that it might look about better in the world, which was quite a natural thing to do. "if one could only make such a journey as that!" said the toad. "croak! how capital that would be." eight days and eight nights she stayed by the well, and experienced no want of provisions. on the ninth day she thought, "forward! onward!" but what could she find more charming and beautiful? perhaps a little toad or a few green frogs. during the last night there had been a sound borne on the breeze, as if there were cousins in the neighborhood. "it's a glorious thing to live! glorious to get out of the well, and to lie among the stinging-nettles, and to crawl along the dusty road. but onward, onward! that we may find frogs or a little toad. we can't do without that; nature alone is not enough for one." and so she went forward on her journey. she came out into the open field, to a great pond, round about which grew reeds; and she walked into it. "it will be too damp for you here," said the frogs; "but you are very welcome! are you a he or a she? but it doesn't matter; you are equally welcome." and she was invited to the concert in the evening--the family concert; great enthusiasm and thin voices; we know the sort of thing. no refreshments were given, only there was plenty to drink, for the whole pond was free. "now i shall resume my journey," said the little toad; for she always felt a longing for something better. she saw the stars shining, so large and so bright, and she saw the moon gleaming; and then she saw the sun rise, and mount higher and higher. "perhaps after all, i am still in a well, only in a larger well. i must get higher yet; i feel a great restlessness and longing." and when the moon became round and full, the poor creature thought, "i wonder if that is the bucket which will be let down, and into which i must step to get higher up? or is the sun the great bucket? how great it is! how bright it is! it can take up all. i must look out, that i may not miss the opportunity. oh, how it seems to shine in my head! i don't think the jewel can shine brighter. but i haven't the jewel; not that i cry about that--no, i must go higher up, into splendor and joy! i feel so confident, and yet i am afraid. it's a difficult step to take, and yet it must be taken. onward, therefore, straight onward!" she took a few steps, such as a crawling animal may take, and soon found herself on a road beside which people dwelt; but there were flower gardens as well as kitchen gardens. and she sat down to rest by a kitchen garden. "what a number of different creatures there are that i never knew! and how beautiful and great the world is! but one must look round in it, and not stay in one spot." and then she hopped into the kitchen garden. "how green it is here! how beautiful it is here!" "i know that," said the caterpillar, on the leaf, "my leaf is the largest here. it hides half the world from me, but i don't care for the world." "cluck, cluck!" and some fowls came. they tripped about in the cabbage garden. the fowl who marched at the head of them had a long sight, and she spied the caterpillar on the green leaf, and pecked at it, so that the caterpillar fell on the ground, where it twisted and writhed. the fowl looked at it first with one eye and then with the other, for she did not know what the end of this writhing would be. "it doesn't do that with a good will," thought the fowl, and lifted up her head to peck at the caterpillar. the toad was so horrified at this, that she came crawling straight up towards the fowl. "aha, it has allies," quoth the fowl. "just look at the crawling thing!" and then the fowl turned away. "i don't care for the little green morsel; it would only tickle my throat." the other fowls took the same view of it, and they all turned away together. "i writhed myself free," said the caterpillar. "what a good thing it is when one has presence of mind! but the hardest thing remains to be done, and that is to get on my leaf again. where is it?" and the little toad came up and expressed her sympathy. she was glad that in her ugliness she had frightened the fowls. "what do you mean by that?" cried the caterpillar. "i wriggled myself free from the fowl. you are very disagreeable to look at. cannot i be left in peace on my own property? now i smell cabbage; now i am near my leaf. nothing is so beautiful as property. but i must go higher up." "yes, higher up," said the little toad; "higher-up! she feels just as i do; but she's not in a good humor to-day. that's because of the fright. we all want to go higher up." and she looked up as high as ever she could. the stork sat in his nest on the roof of the farm-house. he clapped with his beak, and the mother-stork clapped with hers. "how high up they live!" thought the toad. "if one could only get as high as that!" in the farm-house lived two young students; the one was a poet and the other a scientific searcher into the secrets of nature. the one sang and wrote joyously of everything that god had created, and how it was mirrored in his heart. he sang it out clearly, sweetly, richly, in well-sounding verses; while the other investigated created matter itself, and even cut it open where need was. he looked upon god's creation as a great sum in arithmetic--subtracted, multiplied, and tried to know it within and without, and to talk with understanding concerning it; and that was a very sensible thing; and he spoke joyously and cleverly of it. they were good, joyful men, those two. "there sits a good specimen of a toad," said the naturalist. "i must have that fellow in a bottle of spirits." "you have two of them already," replied the poet. "let the thing sit there and enjoy its life." "but it's so wonderfully ugly," persisted the first. "yes, if we could find the jewel in its head," said the poet, "i too should be for cutting it open.' "a jewel!" cried the naturalist. "you seem to know a great deal about natural history." "but is there not something beautiful in the popular belief that just as the toad is the ugliest of animals, it should often carry the most precious jewel in its head? is it not just the same thing with men? what a jewel that was that aesop had, and still more, socrates!" the toad did not hear any more, nor did she understand half of what she had heard. the two friends walked on, and thus she escaped the fate of being bottled up in spirits. "those two also were speaking of the jewel," said the toad to herself. "what a good thing that i have not got it! i might have been in a very disagreeable position." now there was a clapping on the roof of the farm-house. father-stork was making a speech to his family, and his family was glancing down at the two young men in the kitchen garden. "man is the most conceited creature!" said the stork. "listen how their jaws are wagging; and for all that they can't clap properly. they boast of their gifts of eloquence and their language! yes, a fine language truly! why, it changes in every day's journey we make. one of them doesn't understand another. now, we can speak our language over the whole earth--up in the north and in egypt. and then men are not able to fly, moreover. they rush along by means of an invention they call 'railway;' but they often break their necks over it. it makes my beak turn cold when i think of it. the world could get on without men. we could do without them very well, so long as we only keep frogs and earth-worms." "that was a powerful speech," thought the little toad. "what a great man that is yonder! and how high he sits! higher than ever i saw any one sit yet; and how he can swim!" she cried, as the stork soared away through the air with outspread pinions. and the mother-stork began talking in the nest, and told about egypt and the waters of the nile, and the incomparable mud that was to be found in that strange land; and all this sounded new and very charming to the little toad. "i must go to egypt!" said she. "if the stork or one of his young ones would only take me! i would oblige him in return. yes, i shall get to egypt, for i feel so happy! all the longing and all the pleasure that i feel is much better than having a jewel in one's head." and it was just she who had the jewel. that jewel was the continual striving and desire to go upward--ever upward. it gleamed in her head, gleamed in joy, beamed brightly in her longing. then, suddenly, up came the stork. he had seen the toad in the grass, and stooped down and seized the little creature anything but gently. the stork's beak pinched her, and the wind whistled; it was not exactly agreeable, but she was going upward--upward towards egypt--and she knew it; and that was why her eyes gleamed, and a spark seemed to fly out of them. "quunk!--ah!" the body was dead--the toad was killed! but the spark that had shot forth from her eyes; what became of that? the sunbeam took it up; the sunbeam carried the jewel from the head of the toad. whither? ask not the naturalist; rather ask the poet. he will tell it thee under the guise of a fairy tale; and the caterpillar on the cabbage, and the stork family belong to the story. think! the caterpillar is changed, and turns into a beautiful butterfly; the stork family flies over mountains and seas, to the distant africa, and yet finds the shortest way home to the same country--to the same roof. nay, that is almost too improbable; and yet it is true. you may ask the naturalist, he will confess it is so; and you know it yourself, for you have seen it. but the jewel in the head of the toad? seek it in the sun; see it there if you can. the brightness is too dazzling there. we have not yet such eyes as can see into the glories which god has created, but we shall receive them by-and-by; and that will be the most beautiful story of all, and we shall all have our share in it. the top and ball a whipping top and a little ball lay together in a box, among other toys, and the top said to the ball, "shall we be married, as we live in the same box?" but the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and thought as much of herself as any other young lady, would not even condescend to reply. the next day came the little boy to whom the playthings belonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove a brass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top was spinning round it looked splendid. "look at me," said the top to the ball. "what do you say now? shall we be engaged to each other? we should suit so well; you spring, and i dance. no one could be happier than we should be." "indeed! do you think so? perhaps you do not know that my father and mother were morocco slippers, and that i have a spanish cork in my body." "yes; but i am made of mahogany," said the top. "the major himself turned me. he has a turning lathe of his own, and it is a great amusement to him." "can i believe it?" asked the ball. "may i never be whipped again," said the top, "if i am not telling you the truth." "you certainly know how to speak for yourself very well," said the ball; "but i cannot accept your proposal. i am almost engaged to a swallow. every time i fly up in the air, he puts his head out of the nest, and says, 'will you?' and i have said, 'yes,' to myself silently, and that is as good as being half engaged; but i will promise never to forget you." "much good that will be to me," said the top; and they spoke to each other no more. next day the ball was taken out by the boy. the top saw it flying high in the air, like a bird, till it would go quite out of sight. each time it came back, as it touched the earth, it gave a higher leap than before, either because it longed to fly upwards, or from having a spanish cork in its body. but the ninth time it rose in the air, it remained away, and did not return. the boy searched everywhere for it, but he searched in vain, for it could not be found; it was gone. "i know very well where she is," sighed the top; "she is in the swallow's nest, and has married the swallow." the more the top thought of this, the more he longed for the ball. his love increased the more, just because he could not get her; and that she should have been won by another, was the worst of all. the top still twirled about and hummed, but he continued to think of the ball; and the more he thought of her, the more beautiful she seemed to his fancy. thus several years passed by, and his love became quite old. the top, also, was no longer young; but there came a day when he looked handsomer than ever; for he was gilded all over. he was now a golden top, and whirled and danced about till he hummed quite loud, and was something worth looking at; but one day he leaped too high, and then he, also, was gone. they searched everywhere, even in the cellar, but he was nowhere to be found. where could he be? he had jumped into the dust-bin, where all sorts of rubbish were lying: cabbage-stalks, dust, and rain-droppings that had fallen down from the gutter under the roof. "now i am in a nice place," said he; "my gilding will soon be washed off here. oh dear, what a set of rabble i have got amongst!" and then he glanced at a curious round thing like an old apple, which lay near a long, leafless cabbage-stalk. it was, however, not an apple, but an old ball, which had lain for years in the gutter, and was soaked through with water. "thank goodness, here comes one of my own class, with whom i can talk," said the ball, examining the gilded top. "i am made of morocco," she said. "i was sewn together by a young lady, and i have a spanish cork in my body; but no one would think it, to look at me now. i was once engaged to a swallow; but i fell in here from the gutter under the roof, and i have lain here more than five years, and have been thoroughly drenched. believe me, it is a long time for a young maiden." the top said nothing, but he thought of his old love; and the more she said, the more clear it became to him that this was the same ball. the servant then came to clean out the dust-bin. "ah," she exclaimed, "here is a gilt top." so the top was brought again to notice and honor, but nothing more was heard of the little ball. he spoke not a word about his old love; for that soon died away. when the beloved object has lain for five years in a gutter, and has been drenched through, no one cares to know her again on meeting her in a dust-bin. the travelling companion poor john was very sad; for his father was so ill, he had no hope of his recovery. john sat alone with the sick man in the little room, and the lamp had nearly burnt out; for it was late in the night. "you have been a good son, john," said the sick father, "and god will help you on in the world." he looked at him, as he spoke, with mild, earnest eyes, drew a deep sigh, and died; yet it appeared as if he still slept. john wept bitterly. he had no one in the wide world now; neither father, mother, brother, nor sister. poor john! he knelt down by the bed, kissed his dead father's hand, and wept many, many bitter tears. but at last his eyes closed, and he fell asleep with his head resting against the hard bedpost. then he dreamed a strange dream; he thought he saw the sun shining upon him, and his father alive and well, and even heard him laughing as he used to do when he was very happy. a beautiful girl, with a golden crown on her head, and long, shining hair, gave him her hand; and his father said, "see what a bride you have won. she is the loveliest maiden on the whole earth." then he awoke, and all the beautiful things vanished before his eyes, his father lay dead on the bed, and he was all alone. poor john! during the following week the dead man was buried. the son walked behind the coffin which contained his father, whom he so dearly loved, and would never again behold. he heard the earth fall on the coffin-lid, and watched it till only a corner remained in sight, and at last that also disappeared. he felt as if his heart would break with its weight of sorrow, till those who stood round the grave sang a psalm, and the sweet, holy tones brought tears into his eyes, which relieved him. the sun shone brightly down on the green trees, as if it would say, "you must not be so sorrowful, john. do you see the beautiful blue sky above you? your father is up there, and he prays to the loving father of all, that you may do well in the future." "i will always be good," said john, "and then i shall go to be with my father in heaven. what joy it will be when we see each other again! how much i shall have to relate to him, and how many things he will be able to explain to me of the delights of heaven, and teach me as he once did on earth. oh, what joy it will be!" he pictured it all so plainly to himself, that he smiled even while the tears ran down his cheeks. the little birds in the chestnut-trees twittered, "tweet, tweet;" they were so happy, although they had seen the funeral; but they seemed as if they knew that the dead man was now in heaven, and that he had wings much larger and more beautiful than their own; and he was happy now, because he had been good here on earth, and they were glad of it. john saw them fly away out of the green trees into the wide world, and he longed to fly with them; but first he cut out a large wooden cross, to place on his father's grave; and when he brought it there in the evening, he found the grave decked out with gravel and flowers. strangers had done this; they who had known the good old father who was now dead, and who had loved him very much. early the next morning, john packed up his little bundle of clothes, and placed all his money, which consisted of fifty dollars and a few shillings, in his girdle; with this he determined to try his fortune in the world. but first he went into the churchyard; and, by his father's grave, he offered up a prayer, and said, "farewell." as he passed through the fields, all the flowers looked fresh and beautiful in the warm sunshine, and nodded in the wind, as if they wished to say, "welcome to the green wood, where all is fresh and bright." then john turned to have one more look at the old church, in which he had been christened in his infancy, and where his father had taken him every sunday to hear the service and join in singing the psalms. as he looked at the old tower, he espied the ringer standing at one of the narrow openings, with his little pointed red cap on his head, and shading his eyes from the sun with his bent arm. john nodded farewell to him, and the little ringer waved his red cap, laid his hand on his heart, and kissed his hand to him a great many times, to show that he felt kindly towards him, and wished him a prosperous journey. john continued his journey, and thought of all the wonderful things he should see in the large, beautiful world, till he found himself farther away from home than ever he had been before. he did not even know the names of the places he passed through, and could scarcely understand the language of the people he met, for he was far away, in a strange land. the first night he slept on a haystack, out in the fields, for there was no other bed for him; but it seemed to him so nice and comfortable that even a king need not wish for a better. the field, the brook, the haystack, with the blue sky above, formed a beautiful sleeping-room. the green grass, with the little red and white flowers, was the carpet; the elder-bushes and the hedges of wild roses looked like garlands on the walls; and for a bath he could have the clear, fresh water of the brook; while the rushes bowed their heads to him, to wish him good morning and good evening. the moon, like a large lamp, hung high up in the blue ceiling, and he had no fear of its setting fire to his curtains. john slept here quite safely all night; and when he awoke, the sun was up, and all the little birds were singing round him, "good morning, good morning. are you not up yet?" it was sunday, and the bells were ringing for church. as the people went in, john followed them; he heard god's word, joined in singing the psalms, and listened to the preacher. it seemed to him just as if he were in his own church, where he had been christened, and had sung the psalms with his father. out in the churchyard were several graves, and on some of them the grass had grown very high. john thought of his father's grave, which he knew at last would look like these, as he was not there to weed and attend to it. then he set to work, pulled up the high grass, raised the wooden crosses which had fallen down, and replaced the wreaths which had been blown away from their places by the wind, thinking all the time, "perhaps some one is doing the same for my father's grave, as i am not there to do it." outside the church door stood an old beggar, leaning on his crutch. john gave him his silver shillings, and then he continued his journey, feeling lighter and happier than ever. towards evening, the weather became very stormy, and he hastened on as quickly as he could, to get shelter; but it was quite dark by the time he reached a little lonely church which stood on a hill. "i will go in here," he said, "and sit down in a corner; for i am quite tired, and want rest." so he went in, and seated himself; then he folded his hands, and offered up his evening prayer, and was soon fast asleep and dreaming, while the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed without. when he awoke, it was still night; but the storm had ceased, and the moon shone in upon him through the windows. then he saw an open coffin standing in the centre of the church, which contained a dead man, waiting for burial. john was not at all timid; he had a good conscience, and he knew also that the dead can never injure any one. it is living wicked men who do harm to others. two such wicked persons stood now by the dead man, who had been brought to the church to be buried. their evil intentions were to throw the poor dead body outside the church door, and not leave him to rest in his coffin. "why do you do this?" asked john, when he saw what they were going to do; "it is very wicked. leave him to rest in peace, in christ's name." "nonsense," replied the two dreadful men. "he has cheated us; he owed us money which he could not pay, and now he is dead we shall not get a penny; so we mean to have our revenge, and let him lie like a dog outside the church door." "i have only fifty dollars," said john, "it is all i possess in the world, but i will give it to you if you will promise me faithfully to leave the dead man in peace. i shall be able to get on without the money; i have strong and healthy limbs, and god will always help me." "why, of course," said the horrid men, "if you will pay his debt we will both promise not to touch him. you may depend upon that;" and then they took the money he offered them, laughed at him for his good nature, and went their way. then he laid the dead body back in the coffin, folded the hands, and took leave of it; and went away contentedly through the great forest. all around him he could see the prettiest little elves dancing in the moonlight, which shone through the trees. they were not disturbed by his appearance, for they knew he was good and harmless among men. they are wicked people only who can never obtain a glimpse of fairies. some of them were not taller than the breadth of a finger, and they wore golden combs in their long, yellow hair. they were rocking themselves two together on the large dew-drops with which the leaves and the high grass were sprinkled. sometimes the dew-drops would roll away, and then they fell down between the stems of the long grass, and caused a great deal of laughing and noise among the other little people. it was quite charming to watch them at play. then they sang songs, and john remembered that he had learnt those pretty songs when he was a little boy. large speckled spiders, with silver crowns on their heads, were employed to spin suspension bridges and palaces from one hedge to another, and when the tiny drops fell upon them, they glittered in the moonlight like shining glass. this continued till sunrise. then the little elves crept into the flower-buds, and the wind seized the bridges and palaces, and fluttered them in the air like cobwebs. as john left the wood, a strong man's voice called after him, "hallo, comrade, where are you travelling?" "into the wide world," he replied; "i am only a poor lad, i have neither father nor mother, but god will help me." "i am going into the wide world also," replied the stranger; "shall we keep each other company?" "with all my heart," he said, and so they went on together. soon they began to like each other very much, for they were both good; but john found out that the stranger was much more clever than himself. he had travelled all over the world, and could describe almost everything. the sun was high in the heavens when they seated themselves under a large tree to eat their breakfast, and at the same moment an old woman came towards them. she was very old and almost bent double. she leaned upon a stick and carried on her back a bundle of firewood, which she had collected in the forest; her apron was tied round it, and john saw three great stems of fern and some willow twigs peeping out. just as she came close up to them, her foot slipped and she fell to the ground screaming loudly; poor old woman, she had broken her leg! john proposed directly that they should carry the old woman home to her cottage; but the stranger opened his knapsack and took out a box, in which he said he had a salve that would quickly make her leg well and strong again, so that she would be able to walk home herself, as if her leg had never been broken. and all that he would ask in return was the three fern stems which she carried in her apron. "that is rather too high a price," said the old woman, nodding her head quite strangely. she did not seem at all inclined to part with the fern stems. however, it was not very agreeable to lie there with a broken leg, so she gave them to him; and such was the power of the ointment, that no sooner had he rubbed her leg with it than the old mother rose up and walked even better than she had done before. but then this wonderful ointment could not be bought at a chemist's. "what can you want with those three fern rods?" asked john of his fellow-traveller. "oh, they will make capital brooms," said he; "and i like them because i have strange whims sometimes." then they walked on together for a long distance. "how dark the sky is becoming," said john; "and look at those thick, heavy clouds." "those are not clouds," replied his fellow-traveller; "they are mountains--large lofty mountains--on the tops of which we should be above the clouds, in the pure, free air. believe me, it is delightful to ascend so high, tomorrow we shall be there." but the mountains were not so near as they appeared; they had to travel a whole day before they reached them, and pass through black forests and piles of rock as large as a town. the journey had been so fatiguing that john and his fellow-traveller stopped to rest at a roadside inn, so that they might gain strength for their journey on the morrow. in the large public room of the inn a great many persons were assembled to see a comedy performed by dolls. the showman had just erected his little theatre, and the people were sitting round the room to witness the performance. right in front, in the very best place, sat a stout butcher, with a great bull-dog by his side who seemed very much inclined to bite. he sat staring with all his eyes, and so indeed did every one else in the room. and then the play began. it was a pretty piece, with a king and a queen in it, who sat on a beautiful throne, and had gold crowns on their heads. the trains to their dresses were very long, according to the fashion; while the prettiest of wooden dolls, with glass eyes and large mustaches, stood at the doors, and opened and shut them, that the fresh air might come into the room. it was a very pleasant play, not at all mournful; but just as the queen stood up and walked across the stage, the great bull-dog, who should have been held back by his master, made a spring forward, and caught the queen in the teeth by the slender wrist, so that it snapped in two. this was a very dreadful disaster. the poor man, who was exhibiting the dolls, was much annoyed, and quite sad about his queen; she was the prettiest doll he had, and the bull-dog had broken her head and shoulders off. but after all the people were gone away, the stranger, who came with john, said that he could soon set her to rights. and then he brought out his box and rubbed the doll with some of the salve with which he had cured the old woman when she broke her leg. as soon as this was done the doll's back became quite right again; her head and shoulders were fixed on, and she could even move her limbs herself: there was now no occasion to pull the wires, for the doll acted just like a living creature, excepting that she could not speak. the man to whom the show belonged was quite delighted at having a doll who could dance of herself without being pulled by the wires; none of the other dolls could do this. during the night, when all the people at the inn were gone to bed, some one was heard to sigh so deeply and painfully, and the sighing continued for so long a time, that every one got up to see what could be the matter. the showman went at once to his little theatre and found that it proceeded from the dolls, who all lay on the floor sighing piteously, and staring with their glass eyes; they all wanted to be rubbed with the ointment, so that, like the queen, they might be able to move of themselves. the queen threw herself on her knees, took off her beautiful crown, and, holding it in her hand, cried, "take this from me, but do rub my husband and his courtiers." the poor man who owned the theatre could scarcely refrain from weeping; he was so sorry that he could not help them. then he immediately spoke to john's comrade, and promised him all the money he might receive at the next evening's performance, if he would only rub the ointment on four or five of his dolls. but the fellow-traveller said he did not require anything in return, excepting the sword which the showman wore by his side. as soon as he received the sword he anointed six of the dolls with the ointment, and they were able immediately to dance so gracefully that all the living girls in the room could not help joining in the dance. the coachman danced with the cook, and the waiters with the chambermaids, and all the strangers joined; even the tongs and the fire-shovel made an attempt, but they fell down after the first jump. so after all it was a very merry night. the next morning john and his companion left the inn to continue their journey through the great pine-forests and over the high mountains. they arrived at last at such a great height that towns and villages lay beneath them, and the church steeples looked like little specks between the green trees. they could see for miles round, far away to places they had never visited, and john saw more of the beautiful world than he had ever known before. the sun shone brightly in the blue firmament above, and through the clear mountain air came the sound of the huntsman's horn, and the soft, sweet notes brought tears into his eyes, and he could not help exclaiming, "how good and loving god is to give us all this beauty and loveliness in the world to make us happy!" his fellow-traveller stood by with folded hands, gazing on the dark wood and the towns bathed in the warm sunshine. at this moment there sounded over their heads sweet music. they looked up, and discovered a large white swan hovering in the air, and singing as never bird sang before. but the song soon became weaker and weaker, the bird's head drooped, and he sunk slowly down, and lay dead at their feet. "it is a beautiful bird," said the traveller, "and these large white wings are worth a great deal of money. i will take them with me. you see now that a sword will be very useful." so he cut off the wings of the dead swan with one blow, and carried them away with him. they now continued their journey over the mountains for many miles, till they at length reached a large city, containing hundreds of towers, that shone in the sunshine like silver. in the midst of the city stood a splendid marble palace, roofed with pure red gold, in which dwelt the king. john and his companion would not go into the town immediately; so they stopped at an inn outside the town, to change their clothes; for they wished to appear respectable as they walked through the streets. the landlord told them that the king was a very good man, who never injured any one: but as to his daughter, "heaven defend us!" she was indeed a wicked princess. she possessed beauty enough--nobody could be more elegant or prettier than she was; but what of that? for she was a wicked witch; and in consequence of her conduct many noble young princes had lost their lives. any one was at liberty to make her an offer; were he a prince or a beggar, it mattered not to her. she would ask him to guess three things which she had just thought of, and if he succeed, he was to marry her, and be king over all the land when her father died; but if he could not guess these three things, then she ordered him to be hanged or to have his head cut off. the old king, her father, was very much grieved at her conduct, but he could not prevent her from being so wicked, because he once said he would have nothing more to do with her lovers; she might do as she pleased. each prince who came and tried the three guesses, so that he might marry the princess, had been unable to find them out, and had been hanged or beheaded. they had all been warned in time, and might have left her alone, if they would. the old king became at last so distressed at all these dreadful circumstances, that for a whole day every year he and his soldiers knelt and prayed that the princess might become good; but she continued as wicked as ever. the old women who drank brandy would color it quite black before they drank it, to show how they mourned; and what more could they do? "what a horrible princess!" said john; "she ought to be well flogged. if i were the old king, i would have her punished in some way." just then they heard the people outside shouting, "hurrah!" and, looking out, they saw the princess passing by; and she was really so beautiful that everybody forgot her wickedness, and shouted "hurrah!" twelve lovely maidens in white silk dresses, holding golden tulips in their hands, rode by her side on coal-black horses. the princess herself had a snow-white steed, decked with diamonds and rubies. her dress was of cloth of gold, and the whip she held in her hand looked like a sunbeam. the golden crown on her head glittered like the stars of heaven, and her mantle was formed of thousands of butterflies' wings sewn together. yet she herself was more beautiful than all. when john saw her, his face became as red as a drop of blood, and he could scarcely utter a word. the princess looked exactly like the beautiful lady with the golden crown, of whom he had dreamed on the night his father died. she appeared to him so lovely that he could not help loving her. "it could not be true," he thought, "that she was really a wicked witch, who ordered people to be hanged or beheaded, if they could not guess her thoughts. every one has permission to go and ask her hand, even the poorest beggar. i shall pay a visit to the palace," he said; "i must go, for i cannot help myself." then they all advised him not to attempt it; for he would be sure to share the same fate as the rest. his fellow-traveller also tried to persuade him against it; but john seemed quite sure of success. he brushed his shoes and his coat, washed his face and his hands, combed his soft flaxen hair, and then went out alone into the town, and walked to the palace. "come in," said the king, as john knocked at the door. john opened it, and the old king, in a dressing gown and embroidered slippers, came towards him. he had the crown on his head, carried his sceptre in one hand, and the orb in the other. "wait a bit," said he, and he placed the orb under his arm, so that he could offer the other hand to john; but when he found that john was another suitor, he began to weep so violently, that both the sceptre and the orb fell to the floor, and he was obliged to wipe his eyes with his dressing gown. poor old king! "let her alone," he said; "you will fare as badly as all the others. come, i will show you." then he led him out into the princess's pleasure gardens, and there he saw a frightful sight. on every tree hung three or four king's sons who had wooed the princess, but had not been able to guess the riddles she gave them. their skeletons rattled in every breeze, so that the terrified birds never dared to venture into the garden. all the flowers were supported by human bones instead of sticks, and human skulls in the flower-pots grinned horribly. it was really a doleful garden for a princess. "do you see all this?" said the old king; "your fate will be the same as those who are here, therefore do not attempt it. you really make me very unhappy,--i take these things to heart so very much." john kissed the good old king's hand, and said he was sure it would be all right, for he was quite enchanted with the beautiful princess. then the princess herself came riding into the palace yard with all her ladies, and he wished her "good morning." she looked wonderfully fair and lovely when she offered her hand to john, and he loved her more than ever. how could she be a wicked witch, as all the people asserted? he accompanied her into the hall, and the little pages offered them gingerbread nuts and sweetmeats, but the old king was so unhappy he could eat nothing, and besides, gingerbread nuts were too hard for him. it was decided that john should come to the palace the next day, when the judges and the whole of the counsellors would be present, to try if he could guess the first riddle. if he succeeded, he would have to come a second time; but if not, he would lose his life,--and no one had ever been able to guess even one. however, john was not at all anxious about the result of his trial; on the contrary, he was very merry. he thought only of the beautiful princess, and believed that in some way he should have help, but how he knew not, and did not like to think about it; so he danced along the high-road as he went back to the inn, where he had left his fellow-traveller waiting for him. john could not refrain from telling him how gracious the princess had been, and how beautiful she looked. he longed for the next day so much, that he might go to the palace and try his luck at guessing the riddles. but his comrade shook his head, and looked very mournful. "i do so wish you to do well," said he; "we might have continued together much longer, and now i am likely to lose you; you poor dear john! i could shed tears, but i will not make you unhappy on the last night we may be together. we will be merry, really merry this evening; to-morrow, after you are gone, shall be able to weep undisturbed." it was very quickly known among the inhabitants of the town that another suitor had arrived for the princess, and there was great sorrow in consequence. the theatre remained closed, the women who sold sweetmeats tied crape round the sugar-sticks, and the king and the priests were on their knees in the church. there was a great lamentation, for no one expected john to succeed better than those who had been suitors before. in the evening john's comrade prepared a large bowl of punch, and said, "now let us be merry, and drink to the health of the princess." but after drinking two glasses, john became so sleepy, that he could not keep his eyes open, and fell fast asleep. then his fellow-traveller lifted him gently out of his chair, and laid him on the bed; and as soon as it was quite dark, he took the two large wings which he had cut from the dead swan, and tied them firmly to his own shoulders. then he put into his pocket the largest of the three rods which he had obtained from the old woman who had fallen and broken her leg. after this he opened the window, and flew away over the town, straight towards the palace, and seated himself in a corner, under the window which looked into the bedroom of the princess. the town was perfectly still when the clocks struck a quarter to twelve. presently the window opened, and the princess, who had large black wings to her shoulders, and a long white mantle, flew away over the city towards a high mountain. the fellow-traveller, who had made himself invisible, so that she could not possibly see him, flew after her through the air, and whipped the princess with his rod, so that the blood came whenever he struck her. ah, it was a strange flight through the air! the wind caught her mantle, so that it spread out on all sides, like the large sail of a ship, and the moon shone through it. "how it hails, to be sure!" said the princess, at each blow she received from the rod; and it served her right to be whipped. at last she reached the side of the mountain, and knocked. the mountain opened with a noise like the roll of thunder, and the princess went in. the traveller followed her; no one could see him, as he had made himself invisible. they went through a long, wide passage. a thousand gleaming spiders ran here and there on the walls, causing them to glitter as if they were illuminated with fire. they next entered a large hall built of silver and gold. large red and blue flowers shone on the walls, looking like sunflowers in size, but no one could dare to pluck them, for the stems were hideous poisonous snakes, and the flowers were flames of fire, darting out of their jaws. shining glow-worms covered the ceiling, and sky-blue bats flapped their transparent wings. altogether the place had a frightful appearance. in the middle of the floor stood a throne supported by four skeleton horses, whose harness had been made by fiery-red spiders. the throne itself was made of milk-white glass, and the cushions were little black mice, each biting the other's tail. over it hung a canopy of rose-colored spider's webs, spotted with the prettiest little green flies, which sparkled like precious stones. on the throne sat an old magician with a crown on his ugly head, and a sceptre in his hand. he kissed the princess on the forehead, seated her by his side on the splendid throne, and then the music commenced. great black grasshoppers played the mouth organ, and the owl struck herself on the body instead of a drum. it was altogether a ridiculous concert. little black goblins with false lights in their caps danced about the hall; but no one could see the traveller, and he had placed himself just behind the throne where he could see and hear everything. the courtiers who came in afterwards looked noble and grand; but any one with common sense could see what they really were, only broomsticks, with cabbages for heads. the magician had given them life, and dressed them in embroidered robes. it answered very well, as they were only wanted for show. after there had been a little dancing, the princess told the magician that she had a new suitor, and asked him what she could think of for the suitor to guess when he came to the castle the next morning. "listen to what i say," said the magician, "you must choose something very easy, he is less likely to guess it then. think of one of your shoes, he will never imagine it is that. then cut his head off; and mind you do not forget to bring his eyes with you to-morrow night, that i may eat them." the princess curtsied low, and said she would not forget the eyes. the magician then opened the mountain and she flew home again, but the traveller followed and flogged her so much with the rod, that she sighed quite deeply about the heavy hail-storm, and made as much haste as she could to get back to her bedroom through the window. the traveller then returned to the inn where john still slept, took off his wings and laid down on the bed, for he was very tired. early in the morning john awoke, and when his fellow-traveller got up, he said that he had a very wonderful dream about the princess and her shoe, he therefore advised john to ask her if she had not thought of her shoe. of course the traveller knew this from what the magician in the mountain had said. "i may as well say that as anything," said john. "perhaps your dream may come true; still i will say farewell, for if i guess wrong i shall never see you again." then they embraced each other, and john went into the town and walked to the palace. the great hall was full of people, and the judges sat in arm-chairs, with eider-down cushions to rest their heads upon, because they had so much to think of. the old king stood near, wiping his eyes with his white pocket-handkerchief. when the princess entered, she looked even more beautiful than she had appeared the day before, and greeted every one present most gracefully; but to john she gave her hand, and said, "good morning to you." now came the time for john to guess what she was thinking of; and oh, how kindly she looked at him as she spoke. but when he uttered the single word shoe, she turned as pale as a ghost; all her wisdom could not help her, for he had guessed rightly. oh, how pleased the old king was! it was quite amusing to see how he capered about. all the people clapped their hands, both on his account and john's, who had guessed rightly the first time. his fellow-traveller was glad also, when he heard how successful john had been. but john folded his hands, and thanked god, who, he felt quite sure, would help him again; and he knew he had to guess twice more. the evening passed pleasantly like the one preceding. while john slept, his companion flew behind the princess to the mountain, and flogged her even harder than before; this time he had taken two rods with him. no one saw him go in with her, and he heard all that was said. the princess this time was to think of a glove, and he told john as if he had again heard it in a dream. the next day, therefore, he was able to guess correctly the second time, and it caused great rejoicing at the palace. the whole court jumped about as they had seen the king do the day before, but the princess lay on the sofa, and would not say a single word. all now depended upon john. if he only guessed rightly the third time, he would marry the princess, and reign over the kingdom after the death of the old king: but if he failed, he would lose his life, and the magician would have his beautiful blue eyes. that evening john said his prayers and went to bed very early, and soon fell asleep calmly. but his companion tied on his wings to his shoulders, took three rods, and, with his sword at his side, flew to the palace. it was a very dark night, and so stormy that the tiles flew from the roofs of the houses, and the trees in the garden upon which the skeletons hung bent themselves like reeds before the wind. the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled in one long-continued peal all night. the window of the castle opened, and the princess flew out. she was pale as death, but she laughed at the storm as if it were not bad enough. her white mantle fluttered in the wind like a large sail, and the traveller flogged her with the three rods till the blood trickled down, and at last she could scarcely fly; she contrived, however, to reach the mountain. "what a hail-storm!" she said, as she entered; "i have never been out in such weather as this." "yes, there may be too much of a good thing sometimes," said the magician. then the princess told him that john had guessed rightly the second time, and if he succeeded the next morning, he would win, and she could never come to the mountain again, or practice magic as she had done, and therefore she was quite unhappy. "i will find out something for you to think of which he will never guess, unless he is a greater conjuror than myself. but now let us be merry." then he took the princess by both hands, and they danced with all the little goblins and jack-o'-lanterns in the room. the red spiders sprang here and there on the walls quite as merrily, and the flowers of fire appeared as if they were throwing out sparks. the owl beat the drum, the crickets whistled and the grasshoppers played the mouth-organ. it was a very ridiculous ball. after they had danced enough, the princess was obliged to go home, for fear she should be missed at the palace. the magician offered to go with her, that they might be company to each other on the way. then they flew away through the bad weather, and the traveller followed them, and broke his three rods across their shoulders. the magician had never been out in such a hail-storm as this. just by the palace the magician stopped to wish the princess farewell, and to whisper in her ear, "to-morrow think of my head." but the traveller heard it, and just as the princess slipped through the window into her bedroom, and the magician turned round to fly back to the mountain, he seized him by the long black beard, and with his sabre cut off the wicked conjuror's head just behind the shoulders, so that he could not even see who it was. he threw the body into the sea to the fishes, and after dipping the head into the water, he tied it up in a silk handkerchief, took it with him to the inn, and then went to bed. the next morning he gave john the handkerchief, and told him not to untie it till the princess asked him what she was thinking of. there were so many people in the great hall of the palace that they stood as thick as radishes tied together in a bundle. the council sat in their arm-chairs with the white cushions. the old king wore new robes, and the golden crown and sceptre had been polished up so that he looked quite smart. but the princess was very pale, and wore a black dress as if she were going to a funeral. "what have i thought of?" asked the princess, of john. he immediately untied the handkerchief, and was himself quite frightened when he saw the head of the ugly magician. every one shuddered, for it was terrible to look at; but the princess sat like a statue, and could not utter a single word. at length she rose and gave john her hand, for he had guessed rightly. she looked at no one, but sighed deeply, and said, "you are my master now; this evening our marriage must take place." "i am very pleased to hear it," said the old king. "it is just what i wish." then all the people shouted "hurrah." the band played music in the streets, the bells rang, and the cake-women took the black crape off the sugar-sticks. there was universal joy. three oxen, stuffed with ducks and chickens, were roasted whole in the market-place, where every one might help himself to a slice. the fountains spouted forth the most delicious wine, and whoever bought a penny loaf at the baker's received six large buns, full of raisins, as a present. in the evening the whole town was illuminated. the soldiers fired off cannons, and the boys let off crackers. there was eating and drinking, dancing and jumping everywhere. in the palace, the high-born gentlemen and beautiful ladies danced with each other, and they could be heard at a great distance singing the following song:-- "here are maidens, young and fair, dancing in the summer air; like two spinning-wheels at play, pretty maidens dance away-- dance the spring and summer through till the sole falls from your shoe." but the princess was still a witch, and she could not love john. his fellow-traveller had thought of that, so he gave john three feathers out of the swan's wings, and a little bottle with a few drops in it. he told him to place a large bath full of water by the princess's bed, and put the feathers and the drops into it. then, at the moment she was about to get into bed, he must give her a little push, so that she might fall into the water, and then dip her three times. this would destroy the power of the magician, and she would love him very much. john did all that his companion told him to do. the princess shrieked aloud when he dipped her under the water the first time, and struggled under his hands in the form of a great black swan with fiery eyes. as she rose the second time from the water, the swan had become white, with a black ring round its neck. john allowed the water to close once more over the bird, and at the same time it changed into a most beautiful princess. she was more lovely even than before, and thanked him, while her eyes sparkled with tears, for having broken the spell of the magician. the next day, the king came with the whole court to offer their congratulations, and stayed till quite late. last of all came the travelling companion; he had his staff in his hand and his knapsack on his back. john kissed him many times and told him he must not go, he must remain with him, for he was the cause of all his good fortune. but the traveller shook his head, and said gently and kindly, "no: my time is up now; i have only paid my debt to you. do you remember the dead man whom the bad people wished to throw out of his coffin? you gave all you possessed that he might rest in his grave; i am that man." as he said this, he vanished. the wedding festivities lasted a whole month. john and his princess loved each other dearly, and the old king lived to see many a happy day, when he took their little children on his knees and let them play with his sceptre. and john became king over the whole country. two brothers on one of the danish islands, where old thingstones, the seats of justice of our forefathers, still stand in the cornfields, and huge trees rise in the forests of beech, there lies a little town whose low houses are covered with red tiles. in one of these houses strange things were brewing over the glowing coals on the open hearth; there was a boiling going on in glasses, and a mixing and distilling, while herbs were being cut up and pounded in mortars. an elderly man looked after it all. "one must only do the right thing," he said; "yes, the right--the correct thing. one must find out the truth concerning every created particle, and keep to that." in the room with the good housewife sat her two sons; they were still small, but had great thoughts. their mother, too, had always spoken to them of right and justice, and exhorted them to keep to the truth, which she said was the countenance of the lord in this world. the elder of the boys looked roguish and enterprising. he took a delight in reading of the forces of nature, of the sun and the moon; no fairy tale pleased him so much. oh, how beautiful it must be, he thought, to go on voyages of discovery, or to find out how to imitate the wings of birds and then to be able to fly! yes, to find that out was the right thing. father was right, and mother was right--truth holds the world together. the younger brother was quieter, and buried himself entirely in his books. when he read about jacob dressing himself in sheep-skins to personify esau, and so to usurp his brother's birthright, he would clench his little fist in anger against the deceiver; when he read of tyrants and of the injustice and wickedness of the world, tears would come into his eyes, and he was quite filled with the thought of the justice and truth which must and would triumph. one evening he was lying in bed, but the curtains were not yet drawn close, and the light streamed in upon him; he had taken his book into bed with him, for he wanted to finish reading the story of solon. his thoughts lifted and carried him away a wonderful distance; it seemed to him as if the bed had become a ship flying along under full sail. was he dreaming, or what was happening? it glided over the rolling waves and across the ocean of time, and to him came the voice of solon; spoken in a strange tongue, yet intelligible to him, he heard the danish motto: "by law the land is ruled." the genius of the human race stood in the humble room, bent down over the bed and imprinted a kiss on the boy's forehead: "be thou strong in fame and strong in the battle of life! with truth in thy heart fly toward the land of truth!" the elder brother was not yet in bed; he was standing at the window looking out at the mist which rose from the meadows. they were not elves dancing out there, as their old nurse had told him; he knew better--they were vapours which were warmer than the air, and that is why they rose. a shooting star lit up the sky, and the boy's thoughts passed in a second from the vapours of the earth up to the shining meteor. the stars gleamed in the heavens, and it seemed as if long golden threads hung down from them to the earth. "fly with me," sang a voice, which the boy heard in his heart. and the mighty genius of mankind, swifter than a bird and than an arrow--swifter than anything of earthly origin--carried him out into space, where the heavenly bodies are bound together by the rays that pass from star to star. our earth revolved in the thin air, and the cities upon it seemed to lie close to each other. through the spheres echoed the words: "what is near, what is far, when thou art lifted by the mighty genius of mind?" and again the boy stood by the window, gazing out, whilst his younger brother lay in bed. their mother called them by their names: "anders sandoe" and "hans christian." denmark and the whole world knows them--the two brothers oersted. two maidens have you ever seen a maiden? i mean what our pavers call a maiden, a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads. a maiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, and girt round with iron rings. at the top she is narrow, and has a stick passed across through her waist, and this stick forms the arms of the maiden. in the shed stood two maidens of this kind. they had their place among shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and measuring-tapes; and to all this company the news had come that the maidens were no longer to be called "maidens," but "hand-rammers," which word was the newest and the only correct designation among the pavers for the thing we all know from the old times by the name of "the maiden." now, there are among us human creatures certain individuals who are known as "emancipated women," as, for instance, principals of institutions, dancers who stand professionally on one leg, milliners, and sick-nurses; and with this class of emancipated women the two maidens in the shed associated themselves. they were "maidens" among the paver folk, and determined not to give up this honorable appellation, and let themselves be miscalled "rammers. "maiden is a human name, but hand-rammer is a thing, and we won't be called things--that's insulting us." "my lover would be ready to give up his engagement," said the youngest, who was betrothed to a paver's hammer; and the hammer is the thing which drives great piles into the earth, like a machine, and therefore does on a large scale what ten maidens effect in a similar way. "he wants to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have me were i a hand-rammer is a question, so i won't have my name changed." "and i," said the elder one, "would rather have both my arms broken off." but the wheelbarrow was of a different opinion; and the wheelbarrow was looked upon as of some consequence, for he considered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went about upon one wheel. "i must submit to your notice," he said, "that the name 'maiden' is common enough, and not nearly so refined as 'hand-rammer,' or 'stamper,' which latter has also been proposed, and through which you would be introduced into the category of seals; and only think of the great stamp of state, which impresses the royal seal that gives effect to the laws! no, in your case i would surrender my maiden name." "no, certainly not!" exclaimed the elder. "i am too old for that." "i presume you have never heard of what is called 'european necessity?'" observed the honest measuring tape. "one must be able to adapt one's self to time and circumstances, and if there is a law that the 'maiden' is to be called 'hand-rammer,' why, she must be called 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail, for everything has its measure." "no; if there must be a change," said the younger, "i should prefer to be called 'missy,' for that reminds one a little of maidens." "but i would rather be chopped to chips," said the elder. at last they all went to work. the maidens rode--that is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinction; but still they were called "hand-rammers." "mai--!" they said, as they were bumped upon the pavement. "mai--!" and they were very nearly pronouncing the whole word "maiden;" but they broke off short, and swallowed the last syllable; for after mature deliberation they considered it beneath their dignity to protest. but they always called each other "maiden," and praised the good old days in which everything had been called by its right name, and those who were maidens were called maidens. and they remained as they were; for the hammer really broke off his engagement with the younger one, for nothing would suit him but he must have a maiden for his bride. the ugly duckling it was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful. the stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. the corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep pools. it was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. in a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. the spot was as wild as the centre of a thick wood. in this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching for her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and she seldom had any visitors. the other ducks liked much better to swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. at length one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and cried, "peep, peep." "quack, quack," said the mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the large green leaves. their mother allowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is good for the eyes. "how large the world is," said the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they were inside the egg-shell. "do you imagine this is the whole world?" asked the mother; "wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond that to the parson's field, but i have never ventured to such a distance. are you all out?" she continued, rising; "no, i declare, the largest egg lies there still. i wonder how long this is to last, i am quite tired of it;" and she seated herself again on the nest. "well, how are you getting on?" asked an old duck, who paid her a visit. "one egg is not hatched yet," said the duck, "it will not break. but just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? they are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see." "let me see the egg that will not break," said the duck; "i have no doubt it is a turkey's egg. i was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water. i quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. i could not get them to venture in. let me look at the egg. yes, that is a turkey's egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other children to swim." "i think i will sit on it a little while longer," said the duck; "as i have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing." "please yourself," said the old duck, and she went away. at last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying, "peep, peep." it was very large and ugly. the duck stared at it and exclaimed, "it is very large and not at all like the others. i wonder if it really is a turkey. we shall soon find it out, however when we go to the water. it must go in, if i have to push it myself." on the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. "quack, quack," cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumped in. the water closed over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them. "oh," said the mother, "that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs, and how upright he holds himself! he is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. quack, quack! come with me now, i will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat." when they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, two families were fighting for an eel's head, which, after all, was carried off by the cat. "see, children, that is the way of the world," said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel's head herself. "come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. you must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and has spanish blood, therefore, she is well off. don't you see she has a red flag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honor for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. come, now, don't turn your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say 'quack.'" the ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, and said, "look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we don't want him here," and then one flew out and bit him in the neck. "let him alone," said the mother; "he is not doing any harm." "yes, but he is so big and ugly," said the spiteful duck "and therefore he must be turned out." "the others are very pretty children," said the old duck, with the rag on her leg, "all but that one; i wish his mother could improve him a little." "that is impossible, your grace," replied the mother; "he is not pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than the others. i think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly formed;" and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, saying, "it is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. i think he will grow up strong, and able to take care of himself." "the other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old duck. "now make yourself at home, and if you can find an eel's head, you can bring it to me." and so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all the poultry. "he is too big," they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head with passion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the whole farmyard. so it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse. the poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and would say, "ah, you ugly creature, i wish the cat would get you," and his mother said she wished he had never been born. the ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. so at last he ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings. "they are afraid of me because i am ugly," he said. so he closed his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild ducks. here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and sorrowful. in the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their new comrade. "what sort of a duck are you?" they all said, coming round him. he bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not reply to their question. "you are exceedingly ugly," said the wild ducks, "but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family." poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor. after he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very saucy. "listen, friend," said one of them to the duckling, "you are so ugly, that we like you very well. will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? not far from here is another moor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. it is a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are." "pop, pop," sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. "pop, pop," echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. the sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. the blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. how they terrified the poor duckling! he turned away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near him. his jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. he thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then, "splash, splash," he went into the water without touching him, "oh," sighed the duckling, "how thankful i am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me." and so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun was fired over him. it was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to move. he waited quietly for several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could. he ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. the storm continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in consequence of one of the hinges having given way. there was therefore a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. a woman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. the tom cat, whom the mistress called, "my little son," was a great favorite; he could raise his back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the wrong way. the hen had very short legs, so she was called "chickie short legs." she laid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had been her own child. in the morning, the strange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck. "what is that noise about?" said the old woman, looking round the room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home. "oh what a prize!" she exclaimed, "i hope it is not a drake, for then i shall have some duck's eggs. i must wait and see." so the duckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and they always said, "we and the world," for they believed themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. the duckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. "can you lay eggs?" she asked. "no." "then have the goodness to hold your tongue." "can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?" said the tom cat. "no." "then you have no right to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking." so the duckling sat in a corner, feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen. "what an absurd idea," said the hen. "you have nothing else to do, therefore you have foolish fancies. if you could purr or lay eggs, they would pass away." "but it is so delightful to swim about on the water," said the duckling, "and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to the bottom." "delightful, indeed!" said the hen, "why you must be crazy! ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal i know, ask him how he would like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for i will not speak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman--there is no one in the world more clever than she is. do you think she would like to swim, or to let the water close over her head?" "you don't understand me," said the duckling. "we don't understand you? who can understand you, i wonder? do you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? i will say nothing of myself. don't imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your good fortune that you have been received here. are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something. but you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. believe me, i speak only for your own good. i may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. i advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible." "i believe i must go out into the world again," said the duckling. "yes, do," said the hen. so the duckling left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winter approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. the clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, "croak, croak." it made one shiver with cold to look at him. all this was very sad for the poor little duckling. one evening, just as the sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the bushes. the duckling had never seen any like them before. they were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. they uttered a singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer countries across the sea. as they mounted higher and higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them. he whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. could he ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with excitement. he knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. he was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished to be as lovely as they. poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. the winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. at length it froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to keep the space from closing up. he became exhausted at last, and lay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice. early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. he broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. the warmth revived the poor little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the room. then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. he flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. what a condition he was in! the woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he escaped. the door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow. it would be very sad, were i to relate all the misery and privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes. he felt the warm sun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. then the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the air. they bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew how it had happened. the apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream which wound round a smooth lawn. everything looked beautiful, in the freshness of early spring. from a thicket close by came three beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the smooth water. the duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy than ever. "i will fly to those royal birds," he exclaimed, "and they will kill me, because i am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter." then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. the moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings. "kill me," said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death. but what did he see in the clear stream below? his own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. to be born in a duck's nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan's egg. he now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome. into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and cake into the water. "see," cried the youngest, "there is a new one;" and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and shouting joyously, "there is another swan come; a new one has arrived." then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, "the new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty." and the old swans bowed their heads before him. then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. he had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, "i never dreamed of such happiness as this, while i was an ugly duckling." under the willow-tree the region round the little town of kjoge is very bleak and cold. the town lies on the sea shore, which is always beautiful; but here it might be more beautiful than it is, for on every side the fields are flat, and it is a long way to the forest. but when persons reside in a place and get used to it, they can always find something beautiful in it,--something for which they long, even in the most charming spot in the world which is not home. it must be owned that there are in the outskirts of the town some humble gardens on the banks of a little stream that runs on towards the sea, and in summer these gardens look very pretty. such indeed was the opinion of two little children, whose parents were neighbors, and who played in these gardens, and forced their way from one garden to the other through the gooseberry-bushes that divided them. in one of the gardens grew an elder-tree, and in the other an old willow, under which the children were very fond of playing. they had permission to do so, although the tree stood close by the stream, and they might easily have fallen into the water; but the eye of god watches over the little ones, otherwise they would never be safe. at the same time, these children were very careful not to go too near the water; indeed, the boy was so afraid of it, that in the summer, while the other children were splashing about in the sea, nothing could entice him to join them. they jeered and laughed at him, and he was obliged to bear it all as patiently as he could. once the neighbor's little girl, joanna, dreamed that she was sailing in a boat, and the boy--knud was his name--waded out in the water to join her, and the water came up to his neck, and at last closed over his head, and in a moment he had disappeared. when little knud heard this dream, it seemed as if he could not bear the mocking and jeering again; how could he dare to go into the water now, after joanna's dream! he never would do it, for this dream always satisfied him. the parents of these children, who were poor, often sat together while knud and joanna played in the gardens or in the road. along this road--a row of willow-trees had been planted to separate it from a ditch on one side of it. they were not very handsome trees, for the tops had been cut off; however, they were intended for use, and not for show. the old willow-tree in the garden was much handsomer, and therefore the children were very fond of sitting under it. the town had a large market-place; and at the fair-time there would be whole rows, like streets, of tents and booths containing silks and ribbons, and toys and cakes, and everything that could be wished for. there were crowds of people, and sometimes the weather would be rainy, and splash with moisture the woollen jackets of the peasants; but it did not destroy the beautiful fragrance of the honey-cakes and gingerbread with which one booth was filled; and the best of it was, that the man who sold these cakes always lodged during the fair-time with little knud's parents. so every now and then he had a present of gingerbread, and of course joanna always had a share. and, more delightful still, the gingerbread seller knew all sorts of things to tell and could even relate stories about his own gingerbread. so one evening he told them a story that made such a deep impression on the children that they never forgot it; and therefore i think we may as well hear it too, for it is not very long. "once upon a time," said he, "there lay on my counter two gingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man wearing a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet. their faces were on the side that was uppermost, for on the other side they looked very different. most people have a best side to their characters, which they take care to show to the world. on the left, just where the heart is, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, but the maiden was honey cake all over. they were placed on the counter as samples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in love with each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as they should have done if they expected anything to follow. 'he is a man, he ought to speak the first word,' thought the gingerbread maiden; but she felt quite happy--she was sure that her love was returned. but his thoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man often are. he dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessed four real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, and ate her up. and so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, till they grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more tender and womanly. 'ah well, it is enough for me that i have been able to live on the same counter with him,' said she one day; when suddenly, 'crack,' and she broke in two. 'ah,' said the gingerbread man to himself, 'if she had only known of my love, she would have kept together a little longer.' and here they both are, and that is their history," said the cake man. "you think the history of their lives and their silent love, which never came to anything, very remarkable; and there they are for you." so saying, he gave joanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole--and to knud the broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the story, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up. the next day they went into the churchyard, and took the two cake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, which was covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked as if hung with rich tapestry. they stuck up the two gingerbread figures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told the story, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a group of children. they called it, "love," because the story was so lovely, and the other children had the same opinion. but when they turned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone! a great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. at first the children cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably that the poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate him up too: but they never forgot the story. the two children still continued to play together by the elder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautiful songs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. knud, on the contrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of the songs, and that of course is something. the people of kjoge, and even the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand and listen while joanna was singing, and say, "she has really a very sweet voice." those were happy days; but they could not last forever. the neighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead, and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in the capital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment as messenger. the neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly; but their parents promised that they should write to each other at least once a year. after this, knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he was growing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild any longer. besides, he was going to be confirmed. ah, how happy he would have been on that festal day in copenhagen with little joanna; but he still remained at kjoge, and had never seen the great city, though the town is not five miles from it. but far across the bay, when the sky was clear, the towers of copenhagen could be seen; and on the day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross on the principal church glittering in the sun. how often his thoughts were with joanna! but did she think of him? yes. about christmas came a letter from her father to knud's parents, which stated that they were going on very well in copenhagen, and mentioning particularly that joanna's beautiful voice was likely to bring her a brilliant fortune in the future. she was engaged to sing at a concert, and she had already earned money by singing, out of which she sent her dear neighbors at kjoge a whole dollar, for them to make merry on christmas eve, and they were to drink her health. she had herself added this in a postscript, and in the same postscript she wrote, "kind regards to knud." the good neighbors wept, although the news was so pleasant; but they wept tears of joy. knud's thoughts had been daily with joanna, and now he knew that she also had thought of him; and the nearer the time came for his apprenticeship to end, the clearer did it appear to him that he loved joanna, and that she must be his wife; and a smile came on his lips at the thought, and at one time he drew the thread so fast as he worked, and pressed his foot so hard against the knee strap, that he ran the awl into his finger; but what did he care for that? he was determined not to play the dumb lover as both the gingerbread cakes had done; the story was a good lesson to him. at length he become a journeyman; and then, for the first time, he prepared for a journey to copenhagen, with his knapsack packed and ready. a master was expecting him there, and he thought of joanna, and how glad she would be to see him. she was now seventeen, and he nineteen years old. he wanted to buy a gold ring for her in kjoge, but then he recollected how far more beautiful such things would be in copenhagen. so he took leave of his parents, and on a rainy day, late in the autumn, wandered forth on foot from the town of his birth. the leaves were falling from the trees; and, by the time he arrived at his new master's in the great metropolis, he was wet through. on the following sunday he intended to pay his first visit to joanna's father. when the day came, the new journeyman's clothes were brought out, and a new hat, which he had brought in kjoge. the hat became him very well, for hitherto he had only worn a cap. he found the house that he sought easily, but had to mount so many stairs that he became quite giddy; it surprised him to find how people lived over one another in this dreadful town. on entering a room in which everything denoted prosperity, joanna's father received him very kindly. the new wife was a stranger to him, but she shook hands with him, and offered him coffee. "joanna will be very glad to see you," said her father. "you have grown quite a nice young man, you shall see her presently; she is a good child, and is the joy of my heart, and, please god, she will continue to be so; she has her own room now, and pays us rent for it." and the father knocked quite politely at a door, as if he were a stranger, and then they both went in. how pretty everything was in that room! a more beautiful apartment could not be found in the whole town of kjoge; the queen herself could scarcely be better accommodated. there were carpets, and rugs, and window curtains hanging to the ground. pictures and flowers were scattered about. there was a velvet chair, and a looking-glass against the wall, into which a person might be in danger of stepping, for it was as large as a door. all this knud saw at a glance, and yet, in truth, he saw nothing but joanna. she was quite grown up, and very different from what knud had fancied her, and a great deal more beautiful. in all kjoge there was not a girl like her; and how graceful she looked, although her glance at first was odd, and not familiar; but for a moment only, then she rushed towards him as if she would have kissed him; she did not, however, although she was very near it. yes, she really was joyful at seeing the friend of her childhood once more, and the tears even stood in her eyes. then she asked so many questions about knud's parents, and everything, even to the elder-tree and the willow, which she called "elder-mother and willow-father," as if they had been human beings; and so, indeed, they might be, quite as much as the gingerbread cakes. then she talked about them, and the story of their silent love, and how they lay on the counter together and split in two; and then she laughed heartily; but the blood rushed into knud's cheeks, and his heart beat quickly. joanna was not proud at all; he noticed that through her he was invited by her parents to remain the whole evening with them, and she poured out the tea and gave him a cup herself; and afterwards she took a book and read aloud to them, and it seemed to knud as if the story was all about himself and his love, for it agreed so well with his own thoughts. and then she sang a simple song, which, through her singing, became a true story, and as if she poured forth the feelings of her own heart. "oh," he thought, "she knows i am fond of her." the tears he could not restrain rolled down his cheeks, and he was unable to utter a single word; it seemed as if he had been struck dumb. when he left, she pressed his hand, and said, "you have a kind heart, knud: remain always as you are now." what an evening of happiness this had been; to sleep after it was impossible, and knud did not sleep. at parting, joanna's father had said, "now, you won't quite forget us; you must not let the whole winter go by without paying us another visit;" so that knud felt himself free to go again the following sunday evening, and so he did. but every evening after working hours--and they worked by candle-light then--he walked out into the town, and through the street in which joanna lived, to look up at her window. it was almost always lighted up; and one evening he saw the shadow of her face quite plainly on the window blind; that was a glorious evening for him. his master's wife did not like his always going out in the evening, idling, wasting time, as she called it, and she shook her head. but his master only smiled, and said, "he is a young man, my dear, you know." "on sunday i shall see her," said knud to himself, "and i will tell her that i love her with my whole heart and soul, and that she must be my little wife. i know i am now only a poor journeyman shoemaker, but i will work and strive, and become a master in time. yes, i will speak to her; nothing comes from silent love. i learnt that from the gingerbread-cake story." sunday came, but when knud arrived, they were all unfortunately invited out to spend the evening, and were obliged to tell him so. joanna pressed his hand, and said, "have you ever been to the theatre? you must go once; i sing there on wednesday, and if you have time on that day, i will send you a ticket; my father knows where your master lives." how kind this was of her! and on wednesday, about noon, knud received a sealed packet with no address, but the ticket was inside; and in the evening knud went, for the first time in his life, to a theatre. and what did he see? he saw joanna, and how beautiful and charming she looked! he certainly saw her being married to a stranger, but that was all in the play, and only a pretence; knud well knew that. she could never have the heart, he thought, to send him a ticket to go and see it, if it had been real. so he looked on, and when all the people applauded and clapped their hands, he shouted "hurrah." he could see that even the king smiled at joanna, and seemed delighted with her singing. how small knud felt; but then he loved her so dearly, and thought she loved him, and the man must speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden had thought. ah, how much there was for him in that childish story. as soon as sunday arrived, he went again, and felt as if he were about to enter on holy ground. joanna was alone to welcome him, nothing could be more fortunate. "i am so glad you are come," she said. "i was thinking of sending my father for you, but i had a presentiment that you would be here this evening. the fact is, i wanted to tell you that i am going to france. i shall start on friday. it is necessary for me to go there, if i wish to become a first-rate performer." poor knud! it seemed to him as if the whole room was whirling round with him. his courage failed, and he felt as if his heart would burst. he kept down the tears, but it was easy to see how sorrowful he was. "you honest, faithful soul," she exclaimed; and the words loosened knud's tongue, and he told her how truly he had loved her, and that she must be his wife; and as he said this, he saw joanna change color, and turn pale. she let his hand fall, and said, earnestly and mournfully, "knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. i will always be a good sister to you, one in whom you can trust; but i can never be anything more." and she drew her white hand over his burning forehead, and said, "god gives strength to bear a great deal, if we only strive ourselves to endure." at this moment her stepmother came into the room, and joanna said quickly, "knud is so unhappy, because i am going away;" and it appeared as if they had only been talking of her journey. "come, be a man," she added, placing her hand on his shoulder; "you are still a child, and you must be good and reasonable, as you were when we were both children, and played together under the willow-tree." knud listened, but he felt as if the world had slid out of its course. his thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering to and fro in the wind. he stayed, although he could not tell whether she had asked him to do so. but she was kind and gentle to him; she poured out his tea, and sang to him; but the song had not the old tone in it, although it was wonderfully beautiful, and made his heart feel ready to burst. and then he rose to go. he did not offer his hand, but she seized it, and said-- "will you not shake hands with your sister at parting, my old playfellow?" and she smiled through the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. again she repeated the word "brother," which was a great consolation certainly; and thus they parted. she sailed to france, and knud wandered about the muddy streets of copenhagen. the other journeymen in the shop asked him why he looked so gloomy, and wanted him to go and amuse himself with them, as he was still a young man. so he went with them to a dancing-room. he saw many handsome girls there, but none like joanna; and here, where he thought to forget her, she was more life-like before his mind than ever. "god gives us strength to bear much, if we try to do our best," she had said; and as he thought of this, a devout feeling came into his mind, and he folded his hands. then, as the violins played and the girls danced round the room, he started; for it seemed to him as if he were in a place where he ought not to have brought joanna, for she was here with him in his heart; and so he went out at once. as he went through the streets at a quick pace, he passed the house where she used to live; it was all dark, empty, and lonely. but the world went on its course, and knud was obliged to go on too. winter came; the water was frozen, and everything seemed buried in a cold grave. but when spring returned, and the first steamer prepared to sail, knud was seized with a longing to wander forth into the world, but not to france. so he packed his knapsack, and travelled through germany, going from town to town, but finding neither rest or peace. it was not till he arrived at the glorious old town of nuremberg that he gained the mastery over himself, and rested his weary feet; and here he remained. nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it had been cut out of an old picture-book. the streets seem to have arranged themselves according to their own fancy, and as if the houses objected to stand in rows or rank and file. gables, with little towers, ornamented columns, and statues, can be seen even to the city gate; and from the singular-shaped roofs, waterspouts, formed like dragons, or long lean dogs, extend far across to the middle of the street. here, in the market-place, stood knud, with his knapsack on his back, close to one of the old fountains which are so beautifully adorned with figures, scriptural and historical, and which spring up between the sparkling jets of water. a pretty servant-maid was just filling her pails, and she gave knud a refreshing draught; she had a handful of roses, and she gave him one, which appeared to him like a good omen for the future. from a neighboring church came the sounds of music, and the familiar tones reminded him of the organ at home at kjoge; so he passed into the great cathedral. the sunshine streamed through the painted glass windows, and between two lofty slender pillars. his thoughts became prayerful, and calm peace rested on his soul. he next sought and found a good master in nuremberg, with whom he stayed and learnt the german language. the old moat round the town had been converted into a number of little kitchen gardens; but the high walls, with their heavy-looking towers, are still standing. inside these walls the ropemaker twisted his ropes along a walk built like a gallery, and in the cracks and crevices of the walls elderbushes grow and stretch their green boughs over the small houses which stand below. in one of these houses lived the master for whom knud worked; and over the little garret window where he sat, the elder-tree waved its branches. here he dwelt through one summer and winter, but when spring came again, he could endure it no longer. the elder was in blossom, and its fragrance was so homelike, that he fancied himself back again in the gardens of kjoge. so knud left his master, and went to work for another who lived farther in the town, where no elder grew. his workshop was quite close to one of the old stone bridges, near to a water-mill, round which the roaring stream rushed and foamed always, yet restrained by the neighboring houses, whose old, decayed balconies hung over, and seemed ready to fall into the water. here grew no elder; here was not even a flower-pot, with its little green plant; but just opposite the workshop stood a great willow-tree, which seemed to hold fast to the house for fear of being carried away by the water. it stretched its branches over the stream just as those of the willow-tree in the garden at kjoge had spread over the river. yes, he had indeed gone from elder-mother to willow-father. there was a something about the tree here, especially in the moonlight nights, that went direct to his heart; yet it was not in reality the moonlight, but the old tree itself. however, he could not endure it: and why? ask the willow, ask the blossoming elder! at all events, he bade farewell to nuremberg and journeyed onwards. he never spoke of joanna to any one; his sorrow was hidden in his heart. the old childish story of the two cakes had a deep meaning for him. he understood now why the gingerbread man had a bitter almond in his left side; his was the feeling of bitterness, and joanna, so mild and friendly, was represented by the honeycake maiden. as he thought upon all this, the strap of his knapsack pressed across his chest so that he could hardly breathe; he loosened it, but gained no relief. he saw but half the world around him; the other half he carried with him in his inward thoughts; and this is the condition in which he left nuremberg. not till he caught sight of the lofty mountains did the world appear more free to him; his thoughts were attracted to outer objects, and tears came into his eyes. the alps appeared to him like the wings of earth folded together; unfolded, they would display the variegated pictures of dark woods, foaming waters, spreading clouds, and masses of snow. "at the last day," thought he, "the earth will unfold its great wings, and soar upwards to the skies, there to burst like a soap-bubble in the radiant glance of the deity. oh," sighed he, "that the last day were come!" silently he wandered on through the country of the alps, which seemed to him like a fruit garden, covered with soft turf. from the wooden balconies of the houses the young lacemakers nodded as he passed. the summits of the mountains glowed in the red evening sunset, and the green lakes beneath the dark trees reflected the glow. then he thought of the sea coast by the bay kjoge, with a longing in his heart that was, however, without pain. there, where the rhine rolls onward like a great billow, and dissolves itself into snowflakes, where glistening clouds are ever changing as if here was the place of their creation, while the rainbow flutters about them like a many-colored ribbon, there did knud think of the water-mill at kjoge, with its rushing, foaming waters. gladly would he have remained in the quiet rhenish town, but there were too many elders and willow-trees. so he travelled onwards, over a grand, lofty chain of mountains, over rugged,--rocky precipices, and along roads that hung on the mountain's side like a swallow's nest. the waters foamed in the depths below him. the clouds lay beneath him. he wandered on, treading upon alpine roses, thistles, and snow, with the summer sun shining upon him, till at length he bid farewell to the lands of the north. then he passed on under the shade of blooming chestnut-trees, through vineyards, and fields of indian corn, till conscious that the mountains were as a wall between him and his early recollections; and he wished it to be so. before him lay a large and splendid city, called milan, and here he found a german master who engaged him as a workman. the master and his wife, in whose workshop he was employed, were an old, pious couple; and the two old people became quite fond of the quiet journeyman, who spoke but little, but worked more, and led a pious, christian life; and even to himself it seemed as if god had removed the heavy burden from his heart. his greatest pleasure was to climb, now and then, to the roof of the noble church, which was built of white marble. the pointed towers, the decorated and open cloisters, the stately columns, the white statues which smiled upon him from every corner and porch and arch,--all, even the church itself, seemed to him to have been formed from the snow of his native land. above him was the blue sky; below him, the city and the wide-spreading plains of lombardy; and towards the north, the lofty mountains, covered with perpetual snow. and then he thought of the church of kjoge, with its red, ivy-clad walls, but he had no longing to go there; here, beyond the mountains, he would die and be buried. three years had passed away since he left his home; one year of that time he had dwelt at milan. one day his master took him into the town; not to the circus in which riders performed, but to the opera, a large building, itself a sight well worth seeing. the seven tiers of boxes, which reached from the ground to a dizzy height, near the ceiling, were hung with rich, silken curtains; and in them were seated elegantly-dressed ladies, with bouquets of flowers in their hands. the gentlemen were also in full dress, and many of them wore decorations of gold and silver. the place was so brilliantly lighted that it seemed like sunshine, and glorious music rolled through the building. everything looked more beautiful than in the theatre at copenhagen, but then joanna had been there, and--could it be? yes--it was like magic,--she was here also: for, when the curtain rose, there stood joanna, dressed in silk and gold, and with a golden crown upon her head. she sang, he thought, as only an angel could sing; and then she stepped forward to the front and smiled, as only joanna could smile, and looked directly at knud. poor knud! he seized his master's hand, and cried out loud, "joanna," but no one heard him, excepting his master, for the music sounded above everything. "yes, yes, it is joanna," said his master; and he drew forth a printed bill, and pointed to her name, which was there in full. then it was not a dream. all the audience applauded her, and threw wreaths of flowers at her; and every time she went away they called for her again, so that she was always coming and going. in the street the people crowded round her carriage, and drew it away themselves without the horses. knud was in the foremost row, and shouted as joyously as the rest; and when the carriage stopped before a brilliantly lighted house, knud placed himself close to the door of her carriage. it flew open, and she stepped out; the light fell upon her dear face, and he could see that she smiled as she thanked them, and appeared quite overcome. knud looked straight in her face, and she looked at him, but she did not recognize him. a man, with a glittering star on his breast, gave her his arm, and people said the two were engaged to be married. then knud went home and packed up his knapsack; he felt he must return to the home of his childhood, to the elder-tree and the willow. "ah, under that willow-tree!" a man may live a whole life in one single hour. the old couple begged him to remain, but words were useless. in vain they reminded him that winter was coming, and that the snow had already fallen on the mountains. he said he could easily follow the track of the closely-moving carriages, for which a path must be kept clear, and with nothing but his knapsack on his back, and leaning on his stick, he could step along briskly. so he turned his steps to the mountains, ascended one side and descended the other, still going northward till his strength began to fail, and not a house or village could be seen. the stars shone in the sky above him, and down in the valley lights glittered like stars, as if another sky were beneath him; but his head was dizzy and his feet stumbled, and he felt ill. the lights in the valley grew brighter and brighter, and more numerous, and he could see them moving to and fro, and then he understood that there must be a village in the distance; so he exerted his failing strength to reach it, and at length obtained shelter in a humble lodging. he remained there that night and the whole of the following day, for his body required rest and refreshment, and in the valley there was rain and a thaw. but early in the morning of the third day, a man came with an organ and played one of the melodies of home; and after that knud could remain there no longer, so he started again on his journey toward the north. he travelled for many days with hasty steps, as if he were trying to reach home before all whom he remembered should die; but he spoke to no one of this longing. no one would have believed or understood this sorrow of his heart, the deepest that can be felt by human nature. such grief is not for the world; it is not entertaining even to friends, and poor knud had no friends; he was a stranger, wandering through strange lands to his home in the north. he was walking one evening through the public roads, the country around him was flatter, with fields and meadows, the air had a frosty feeling. a willow-tree grew by the roadside, everything reminded him of home. he felt very tired; so he sat down under the tree, and very soon began to nod, then his eyes closed in sleep. yet still he seemed conscious that the willow-tree was stretching its branches over him; in his dreaming state the tree appeared like a strong, old man--the "willow-father" himself, who had taken his tired son up in his arms to carry him back to the land of home, to the garden of his childhood, on the bleak open shores of kjoge. and then he dreamed that it was really the willow-tree itself from kjoge, which had travelled out in the world to seek him, and now had found him and carried him back into the little garden on the banks of the streamlet; and there stood joanna, in all her splendor, with the golden crown on her head, as he had last seen her, to welcome him back. and then there appeared before him two remarkable shapes, which looked much more like human beings than when he had seen them in his childhood; they were changed, but he remembered that they were the two gingerbread cakes, the man and the woman, who had shown their best sides to the world and looked so good. "we thank you," they said to knud, "for you have loosened our tongues; we have learnt from you that thoughts should be spoken freely, or nothing will come of them; and now something has come of our thoughts, for we are engaged to be married." then they walked away, hand-in-hand, through the streets of kjoge, looking very respectable on the best side, which they were quite right to show. they turned their steps to the church, and knud and joanna followed them, also walking hand-in-hand; there stood the church, as of old, with its red walls, on which the green ivy grew. the great church door flew open wide, and as they walked up the broad aisle, soft tones of music sounded from the organ. "our master first," said the gingerbread pair, making room for knud and joanna. as they knelt at the altar, joanna bent her head over him, and cold, icy tears fell on his face from her eyes. they were indeed tears of ice, for her heart was melting towards him through his strong love, and as her tears fell on his burning cheeks he awoke. he was still sitting under the willow-tree in a strange land, on a cold winter evening, with snow and hail falling from the clouds, and beating upon his face. "that was the most delightful hour of my life," said he, "although it was only a dream. oh, let me dream again." then he closed his eyes once more, and slept and dreamed. towards morning there was a great fall of snow; the wind drifted it over him, but he still slept on. the villagers came forth to go to church; by the roadside they found a workman seated, but he was dead! frozen to death under a willow-tree. in the uttermost parts of the sea some years ago, large ships were sent towards the north pole, to explore the distant coasts, and to try how far men could penetrate into those unknown regions. for more than a year one of these ships had been pushing its way northward, amid snow and ice, and the sailors had endured many hardships; till at length winter set in, and the sun entirely disappeared; for many weeks there would be constant night. all around, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be seen but fields of ice, in which the ship remained stuck fast. the snow lay piled up in great heaps, and of these the sailors made huts, in the form of bee-hives, some of them as large and spacious as one of the "huns' graves," and others only containing room enough to hold three or four men. it was not quite dark; the northern lights shot forth red and blue flames, like continuous fireworks, and the snow glittered, and reflected back the light, so that the night here was one long twilight. when the moon was brightest, the natives came in crowds to see the sailors. they had a very singular appearance in their rough, hairy dresses of fur, and riding in sledges over the ice. they brought with them furs and skins in great abundance, so that the snow-houses were soon provided with warm carpets, and the furs also served for the sailors to wrap themselves in, when they slept under the roofs of snow, while outside it was freezing with a cold far more severe than in the winter with us. in our country it was still autumn, though late in the season; and they thought of that in their distant exile, and often pictured to themselves the yellow leaves on the trees at home. their watches pointed to the hours of evening, and time to go to sleep, although in these regions it was now always night. in one of the huts, two of the men laid themselves down to rest. the younger of these men had brought with him from home his best, his dearest treasure--a bible, which his grandmother had given him on his departure. every night the sacred volume rested under his head, and he had known from his childhood what was written in it. every day he read in the book, and while stretched on his cold couch, the holy words he had learnt would come into his mind: "if i take the wings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea, even there thou art with me, and thy right hand shall uphold me;" and under the influence of that faith which these holy words inspired, sleep came upon him, and dreams, which are the manifestations of god to the spirit. the soul lives and acts, while the body is at rest. he felt this life in him, and it was as if he heard the sound of dear, well-known melodies, as if the breezes of summer floated around him; and over his couch shone a ray of brightness, as if it were shining through the covering of his snow-roof. he lifted his head, and saw that the bright gleaming was not the reflection of the glittering snow, but the dazzling brightness of the pinions of a mighty angel, into whose beaming face he was gazing. as from the cup of a lily, the angel rose from amidst the leaves of the bible; and, stretching out his arm, the walls of the hut sunk down, as though they had been formed of a light, airy veil of mist, and the green hills and meadows of home, with its ruddy woods, lay spread around him in the quiet sunshine of a lovely autumn day. the nest of the stork was empty, but ripe fruit still hung on the wild apple-tree, although the leaves had fallen. the red hips gleamed on the hedges, and the starling which hung in the green cage outside the window of the peasant's hut, which was his home, whistled the tune which he had taught him. his grandmother hung green birds'-food around the cage, as he, her grandson, had been accustomed to do. the daughter of the village blacksmith, who was young and fair, stood at the well, drawing water. she nodded to the grandmother, and the old woman nodded to her, and pointed to a letter which had come from a long way off. that very morning the letter had arrived from the cold regions of the north; there, where the absent one was sweetly sleeping under the protecting hand of god. they laughed and wept over the letter; and he, far away, amid ice and snow, under the shadow of the angel's wings, wept and smiled with them in spirit; for he saw and heard it all in his dream. from the letter they read aloud the words of holy writ: "in the uttermost parts of the sea, thy right hand shall uphold me." and as the angel spread his wings like a veil over the sleeper, there was the sound of beautiful music and a hymn. then the vision fled. it was dark again in the snow-hut: but the bible still rested beneath his head, and faith and hope dwelt in his heart. god was with him, and he carried home in his heart, even "in the uttermost parts of the sea." what one can invent there was once a young man who was studying to be a poet. he wanted to become one by easter, and to marry, and to live by poetry. to write poems, he knew, only consists in being able to invent something; but he could not invent anything. he had been born too late--everything had been taken up before he came into the world, and everything had been written and told about. "happy people who were born a thousand years ago!" said he. "it was an easy matter for them to become immortal. happy even was he who was born a hundred years ago, for then there was still something about which a poem could be written. now the world is written out, and what can i write poetry about?" then he studied till he became ill and wretched, the wretched man! no doctor could help him, but perhaps the wise woman could. she lived in the little house by the wayside, where the gate is that she opened for those who rode and drove. but she could do more than unlock the gate. she was wiser than the doctor who drives in his own carriage and pays tax for his rank. "i must go to her," said the young man. the house in which she dwelt was small and neat, but dreary to behold, for there were no flowers near it--no trees. by the door stood a bee-hive, which was very useful. there was also a little potato-field, very useful, and an earth bank, with sloe bushes upon it, which had done blossoming, and now bore fruit, sloes, that draw one's mouth together if one tastes them before the frost has touched them. "that's a true picture of our poetryless time, that i see before me now," thought the young man; and that was at least a thought, a grain of gold that he found by the door of the wise woman. "write that down!" said she. "even crumbs are bread. i know why you come hither. you cannot invent anything, and yet you want to be a poet by easter." "everything has been written down," said he. "our time is not the old time." "no," said the woman. "in the old time wise women were burnt, and poets went about with empty stomachs, and very much out at elbows. the present time is good, it is the best of times; but you have not the right way of looking at it. your ear is not sharpened to hear, and i fancy you do not say the lord's prayer in the evening. there is plenty here to write poems about, and to tell of, for any one who knows the way. you can read it in the fruits of the earth, you can draw it from the flowing and the standing water; but you must understand how--you must understand how to catch a sunbeam. now just you try my spectacles on, and put my ear-trumpet to your ear, and then pray to god, and leave off thinking of yourself." the last was a very difficult thing to do--more than a wise woman ought to ask. he received the spectacles and the ear-trumpet, and was posted in the middle of the potato-field. she put a great potato into his hand. sounds came from within it; there came a song with words, the history of the potato, an every-day story in ten parts, an interesting story. and ten lines were enough to tell it in. and what did the potato sing? she sang of herself and of her family, of the arrival of the potato in europe, of the misrepresentation to which she had been exposed before she was acknowledged, as she is now, to be a greater treasure than a lump of gold. "we were distributed, by the king's command, from the council-houses through the various towns, and proclamation was made of our great value; but no one believed in it, or even understood how to plant us. one man dug a hole in the earth and threw in his whole bushel of potatoes; another put one potato here and another there in the ground, and expected that each was to come up a perfect tree, from which he might shake down potatoes. and they certainly grew, and produced flowers and green watery fruit, but it all withered away. nobody thought of what was in the ground--the blessing--the potato. yes, we have endured and suffered, that is to say, our forefathers have; they and we, it is all one." what a story it was! "well, and that will do," said the woman. "now look at the sloe bush." "we have also some near relations in the home of the potatoes, but higher towards the north than they grew," said the sloes. "there were northmen, from norway, who steered westward through mist and storm to an unknown land, where, behind ice and snow, they found plants and green meadows, and bushes with blue-black grapes--sloe bushes. the grapes were ripened by the frost just as we are. and they called the land 'wine-land,' that is, 'groenland,' or 'sloeland.'" "that is quite a romantic story," said the young man. "yes, certainly. but now come with me," said the wise woman, and she led him to the bee-hive. he looked into it. what life and labor! there were bees standing in all the passages, waving their wings, so that a wholesome draught of air might blow through the great manufactory; that was their business. then there came in bees from without, who had been born with little baskets on their feet; they brought flower-dust, which was poured out, sorted, and manufactured into honey and wax. they flew in and out. the queen-bee wanted to fly out, but then all the other bees must have gone with her. it was not yet the time for that, but still she wanted to fly out; so the others bit off her majesty's wings, and she had to stay where she was. "now get upon the earth bank," said the wise woman. "come and look out over the highway, where you can see the people." "what a crowd it is!" said the young man. "one story after another. it whirls and whirls! it's quite a confusion before my eyes. i shall go out at the back." "no, go straight forward," said the woman. "go straight into the crowd of people; look at them in the right way. have an ear to hear and the right heart to feel, and you will soon invent something. but, before you go away, you must give me my spectacles and my ear-trumpet again." and so saying, she took both from him. "now i do not see the smallest thing," said the young man, "and now i don't hear anything more." "why, then, you can't be a poet by easter," said the wise woman. "but, by what time can i be one?" asked he. "neither by easter nor by whitsuntide! you will not learn how to invent anything." "what must i do to earn my bread by poetry?" "you can do that before shrove tuesday. hunt the poets! kill their writings and thus you will kill them. don't be put out of countenance. strike at them boldly, and you'll have carnival cake, on which you can support yourself and your wife too." "what one can invent!" cried the young man. and so he hit out boldly at every second poet, because he could not be a poet himself. we have it from the wise woman. she knows what one can invent. the wicked prince there lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart and mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and on frightening the people; he devastated their countries with fire and sword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields and destroyed the peasants' huts by fire, so that the flames licked the green leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on the singed black trees. many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in her arms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also there the soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served as new nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not possibly have done worse things than these soldiers! the prince was of opinion that all this was right, and that it was only the natural course which things ought to take. his power increased day by day, his name was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds. he brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, and gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere be equalled. he erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and all who saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimed admiringly: "what a mighty prince!" but they did not know what endless misery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear the sighs and lamentations which rose up from the debris of the destroyed cities. the prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his magnificent edifices, and thought, like the crowd: "what a mighty prince! but i must have more--much more. no power on earth must equal mine, far less exceed it." he made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. the conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariot when he drove through the streets of his city. these kings had to kneel at his and his courtiers' feet when they sat at table, and live on the morsels which they left. at last the prince had his own statue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces; nay, he even wished it to be placed in the churches, on the altars, but in this the priests opposed him, saying: "prince, you are mighty indeed, but god's power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey your orders." "well," said the prince. "then i will conquer god too." and in his haughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a magnificent ship to be constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it was gorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock, it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel of a gun. the prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only to touch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. hundreds of eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness of an arrow up towards the sun. the earth was soon left far below, and looked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where the plough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon it looked only like a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last it entirely disappeared in mist and clouds. higher and higher rose the eagles up into the air; then god sent one of his numberless angels against the ship. the wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon him, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like ordinary hailstones. one drop of blood, one single drop, came out of the white feathers of the angel's wings and fell upon the ship in which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it like thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earth again; the strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roared round the prince's head, and the clouds around--were they formed by the smoke rising up from the burnt cities?--took strange shapes, like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws out after him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rolling masses dashed down, and became fire-spitting dragons. the prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at last with a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood. "i will conquer god!" said the prince. "i have sworn it: my will must be done!" and he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. he gathered warriors from all countries, so many that when they were placed side by side they covered the space of several miles. they entered the ships and the prince was approaching his own, when god sent a swarm of gnats--one swarm of little gnats. they buzzed round the prince and stung his face and hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only touched the air and did not hit the gnats. then he ordered his servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that the gnats might no longer be able to reach him. the servants carried out his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of the coverings, crept into the prince's ear and stung him. the place burnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. mad with pain, he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away, and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now mocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with god, and was overcome by a single little gnat. the wild swans far away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named eliza. the eleven brothers were princes, and each went to school with a star on his breast, and a sword by his side. they wrote with diamond pencils on gold slates, and learnt their lessons so quickly and read so easily that every one might know they were princes. their sister eliza sat on a little stool of plate-glass, and had a book full of pictures, which had cost as much as half a kingdom. oh, these children were indeed happy, but it was not to remain so always. their father, who was king of the country, married a very wicked queen, who did not love the poor children at all. they knew this from the very first day after the wedding. in the palace there were great festivities, and the children played at receiving company; but instead of having, as usual, all the cakes and apples that were left, she gave them some sand in a tea-cup, and told them to pretend it was cake. the week after, she sent little eliza into the country to a peasant and his wife, and then she told the king so many untrue things about the young princes, that he gave himself no more trouble respecting them. "go out into the world and get your own living," said the queen. "fly like great birds, who have no voice." but she could not make them ugly as she wished, for they were turned into eleven beautiful wild swans. then, with a strange cry, they flew through the windows of the palace, over the park, to the forest beyond. it was early morning when they passed the peasant's cottage, where their sister eliza lay asleep in her room. they hovered over the roof, twisted their long necks and flapped their wings, but no one heard them or saw them, so they were at last obliged to fly away, high up in the clouds; and over the wide world they flew till they came to a thick, dark wood, which stretched far away to the seashore. poor little eliza was alone in her room playing with a green leaf, for she had no other playthings, and she pierced a hole through the leaf, and looked through it at the sun, and it was as if she saw her brothers' clear eyes, and when the warm sun shone on her cheeks, she thought of all the kisses they had given her. one day passed just like another; sometimes the winds rustled through the leaves of the rose-bush, and would whisper to the roses, "who can be more beautiful than you!" but the roses would shake their heads, and say, "eliza is." and when the old woman sat at the cottage door on sunday, and read her hymn-book, the wind would flutter the leaves, and say to the book, "who can be more pious than you?" and then the hymn-book would answer "eliza." and the roses and the hymn-book told the real truth. at fifteen she returned home, but when the queen saw how beautiful she was, she became full of spite and hatred towards her. willingly would she have turned her into a swan, like her brothers, but she did not dare to do so yet, because the king wished to see his daughter. early one morning the queen went into the bath-room; it was built of marble, and had soft cushions, trimmed with the most beautiful tapestry. she took three toads with her, and kissed them, and said to one, "when eliza comes to the bath, seat yourself upon her head, that she may become as stupid as you are." then she said to another, "place yourself on her forehead, that she may become as ugly as you are, and that her father may not know her." "rest on her heart," she whispered to the third, "then she will have evil inclinations, and suffer in consequence." so she put the toads into the clear water, and they turned green immediately. she next called eliza, and helped her to undress and get into the bath. as eliza dipped her head under the water, one of the toads sat on her hair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast, but she did not seem to notice them, and when she rose out of the water, there were three red poppies floating upon it. had not the creatures been venomous or been kissed by the witch, they would have been changed into red roses. at all events they became flowers, because they had rested on eliza's head, and on her heart. she was too good and too innocent for witchcraft to have any power over her. when the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed her face with walnut-juice, so that she was quite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair and smeared it with disgusting ointment, till it was quite impossible to recognize the beautiful eliza. when her father saw her, he was much shocked, and declared she was not his daughter. no one but the watch-dog and the swallows knew her; and they were only poor animals, and could say nothing. then poor eliza wept, and thought of her eleven brothers, who were all away. sorrowfully, she stole away from the palace, and walked, the whole day, over fields and moors, till she came to the great forest. she knew not in what direction to go; but she was so unhappy, and longed so for her brothers, who had been, like herself, driven out into the world, that she was determined to seek them. she had been but a short time in the wood when night came on, and she quite lost the path; so she laid herself down on the soft moss, offered up her evening prayer, and leaned her head against the stump of a tree. all nature was still, and the soft, mild air fanned her forehead. the light of hundreds of glow-worms shone amidst the grass and the moss, like green fire; and if she touched a twig with her hand, ever so lightly, the brilliant insects fell down around her, like shooting-stars. all night long she dreamt of her brothers. she and they were children again, playing together. she saw them writing with their diamond pencils on golden slates, while she looked at the beautiful picture-book which had cost half a kingdom. they were not writing lines and letters, as they used to do; but descriptions of the noble deeds they had performed, and of all they had discovered and seen. in the picture-book, too, everything was living. the birds sang, and the people came out of the book, and spoke to eliza and her brothers; but, as the leaves turned over, they darted back again to their places, that all might be in order. when she awoke, the sun was high in the heavens; yet she could not see him, for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly over her head; but his beams were glancing through the leaves here and there, like a golden mist. there was a sweet fragrance from the fresh green verdure, and the birds almost perched upon her shoulders. she heard water rippling from a number of springs, all flowing in a lake with golden sands. bushes grew thickly round the lake, and at one spot an opening had been made by a deer, through which eliza went down to the water. the lake was so clear that, had not the wind rustled the branches of the trees and the bushes, so that they moved, they would have appeared as if painted in the depths of the lake; for every leaf was reflected in the water, whether it stood in the shade or the sunshine. as soon as eliza saw her own face, she was quite terrified at finding it so brown and ugly; but when she wetted her little hand, and rubbed her eyes and forehead, the white skin gleamed forth once more; and, after she had undressed, and dipped herself in the fresh water, a more beautiful king's daughter could not be found in the wide world. as soon as she had dressed herself again, and braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, and drank some water out of the hollow of her hand. then she wandered far into the forest, not knowing whither she went. she thought of her brothers, and felt sure that god would not forsake her. it is god who makes the wild apples grow in the wood, to satisfy the hungry, and he now led her to one of these trees, which was so loaded with fruit, that the boughs bent beneath the weight. here she held her noonday repast, placed props under the boughs, and then went into the gloomiest depths of the forest. it was so still that she could hear the sound of her own footsteps, as well as the rustling of every withered leaf which she crushed under her feet. not a bird was to be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate through the large, dark boughs of the trees. their lofty trunks stood so close together, that, when she looked before her, it seemed as if she were enclosed within trellis-work. such solitude she had never known before. the night was very dark. not a single glow-worm glittered in the moss. sorrowfully she laid herself down to sleep; and, after a while, it seemed to her as if the branches of the trees parted over her head, and that the mild eyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven. when she awoke in the morning, she knew not whether she had dreamt this, or if it had really been so. then she continued her wandering; but she had not gone many steps forward, when she met an old woman with berries in her basket, and she gave her a few to eat. then eliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding through the forest. "no," replied the old woman, "but i saw yesterday eleven swans, with gold crowns on their heads, swimming on the river close by." then she led eliza a little distance farther to a sloping bank, and at the foot of it wound a little river. the trees on its banks stretched their long leafy branches across the water towards each other, and where the growth prevented them from meeting naturally, the roots had torn themselves away from the ground, so that the branches might mingle their foliage as they hung over the water. eliza bade the old woman farewell, and walked by the flowing river, till she reached the shore of the open sea. and there, before the young maiden's eyes, lay the glorious ocean, but not a sail appeared on its surface, not even a boat could be seen. how was she to go farther? she noticed how the countless pebbles on the sea-shore had been smoothed and rounded by the action of the water. glass, iron, stones, everything that lay there mingled together, had taken its shape from the same power, and felt as smooth, or even smoother than her own delicate hand. "the water rolls on without weariness," she said, "till all that is hard becomes smooth; so will i be unwearied in my task. thanks for your lessons, bright rolling waves; my heart tells me you will lead me to my dear brothers." on the foam-covered sea-weeds, lay eleven white swan feathers, which she gathered up and placed together. drops of water lay upon them; whether they were dew-drops or tears no one could say. lonely as it was on the sea-shore, she did not observe it, for the ever-moving sea showed more changes in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce during a whole year. if a black heavy cloud arose, it was as if the sea said, "i can look dark and angry too;" and then the wind blew, and the waves turned to white foam as they rolled. when the wind slept, and the clouds glowed with the red sunlight, then the sea looked like a rose leaf. but however quietly its white glassy surface rested, there was still a motion on the shore, as its waves rose and fell like the breast of a sleeping child. when the sun was about to set, eliza saw eleven white swans with golden crowns on their heads, flying towards the land, one behind the other, like a long white ribbon. then eliza went down the slope from the shore, and hid herself behind the bushes. the swans alighted quite close to her and flapped their great white wings. as soon as the sun had disappeared under the water, the feathers of the swans fell off, and eleven beautiful princes, eliza's brothers, stood near her. she uttered a loud cry, for, although they were very much changed, she knew them immediately. she sprang into their arms, and called them each by name. then, how happy the princes were at meeting their little sister again, for they recognized her, although she had grown so tall and beautiful. they laughed, and they wept, and very soon understood how wickedly their mother had acted to them all. "we brothers," said the eldest, "fly about as wild swans, so long as the sun is in the sky; but as soon as it sinks behind the hills, we recover our human shape. therefore must we always be near a resting place for our feet before sunset; for if we should be flying towards the clouds at the time we recovered our natural shape as men, we should sink deep into the sea. we do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair, that lies beyond the ocean, which we have to cross for a long distance; there is no island in our passage upon which we could pass, the night; nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon which we can scarcely stand with safety, even closely crowded together. if the sea is rough, the foam dashes over us, yet we thank god even for this rock; we have passed whole nights upon it, or we should never have reached our beloved fatherland, for our flight across the sea occupies two of the longest days in the year. we have permission to visit out home once in every year, and to remain eleven days, during which we fly across the forest to look once more at the palace where our father dwells, and where we were born, and at the church, where our mother lies buried. here it seems as if the very trees and bushes were related to us. the wild horses leap over the plains as we have seen them in our childhood. the charcoal burners sing the old songs, to which we have danced as children. this is our fatherland, to which we are drawn by loving ties; and here we have found you, our dear little sister. two days longer we can remain here, and then must we fly away to a beautiful land which is not our home; and how can we take you with us? we have neither ship nor boat." "how can i break this spell?" said their sister. and then she talked about it nearly the whole night, only slumbering for a few hours. eliza was awakened by the rustling of the swans' wings as they soared above. her brothers were again changed to swans, and they flew in circles wider and wider, till they were far away; but one of them, the youngest swan, remained behind, and laid his head in his sister's lap, while she stroked his wings; and they remained together the whole day. towards evening, the rest came back, and as the sun went down they resumed their natural forms. "to-morrow," said one, "we shall fly away, not to return again till a whole year has passed. but we cannot leave you here. have you courage to go with us? my arm is strong enough to carry you through the wood; and will not all our wings be strong enough to fly with you over the sea?" "yes, take me with you," said eliza. then they spent the whole night in weaving a net with the pliant willow and rushes. it was very large and strong. eliza laid herself down on the net, and when the sun rose, and her brothers again became wild swans, they took up the net with their beaks, and flew up to the clouds with their dear sister, who still slept. the sunbeams fell on her face, therefore one of the swans soared over her head, so that his broad wings might shade her. they were far from the land when eliza woke. she thought she must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to her to feel herself being carried so high in the air over the sea. by her side lay a branch full of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of sweet roots; the youngest of her brothers had gathered them for her, and placed them by her side. she smiled her thanks to him; she knew it was the same who had hovered over her to shade her with his wings. they were now so high, that a large ship beneath them looked like a white sea-gull skimming the waves. a great cloud floating behind them appeared like a vast mountain, and upon it eliza saw her own shadow and those of the eleven swans, looking gigantic in size. altogether it formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever seen; but as the sun rose higher, and the clouds were left behind, the shadowy picture vanished away. onward the whole day they flew through the air like a winged arrow, yet more slowly than usual, for they had their sister to carry. the weather seemed inclined to be stormy, and eliza watched the sinking sun with great anxiety, for the little rock in the ocean was not yet in sight. it appeared to her as if the swans were making great efforts with their wings. alas! she was the cause of their not advancing more quickly. when the sun set, they would change to men, fall into the sea and be drowned. then she offered a prayer from her inmost heart, but still no appearance of the rock. dark clouds came nearer, the gusts of wind told of a coming storm, while from a thick, heavy mass of clouds the lightning burst forth flash after flash. the sun had reached the edge of the sea, when the swans darted down so swiftly, that eliza's head trembled; she believed they were falling, but they again soared onward. presently she caught sight of the rock just below them, and by this time the sun was half hidden by the waves. the rock did not appear larger than a seal's head thrust out of the water. they sunk so rapidly, that at the moment their feet touched the rock, it shone only like a star, and at last disappeared like the last spark in a piece of burnt paper. then she saw her brothers standing closely round her with their arms linked together. there was but just room enough for them, and not the smallest space to spare. the sea dashed against the rock, and covered them with spray. the heavens were lighted up with continual flashes, and peal after peal of thunder rolled. but the sister and brothers sat holding each other's hands, and singing hymns, from which they gained hope and courage. in the early dawn the air became calm and still, and at sunrise the swans flew away from the rock with eliza. the sea was still rough, and from their high position in the air, the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions of swans swimming on the water. as the sun rose higher, eliza saw before her, floating on the air, a range of mountains, with shining masses of ice on their summits. in the centre, rose a castle apparently a mile long, with rows of columns, rising one above another, while, around it, palm-trees waved and flowers bloomed as large as mill wheels. she asked if this was the land to which they were hastening. the swans shook their heads, for what she beheld were the beautiful ever-changing cloud palaces of the "fata morgana," into which no mortal can enter. eliza was still gazing at the scene, when mountains, forests, and castles melted away, and twenty stately churches rose in their stead, with high towers and pointed gothic windows. eliza even fancied she could hear the tones of the organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea which she heard. as they drew nearer to the churches, they also changed into a fleet of ships, which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but as she looked again, she found it was only a sea mist gliding over the ocean. so there continued to pass before her eyes a constant change of scene, till at last she saw the real land to which they were bound, with its blue mountains, its cedar forests, and its cities and palaces. long before the sun went down, she sat on a rock, in front of a large cave, on the floor of which the over-grown yet delicate green creeping plants looked like an embroidered carpet. "now we shall expect to hear what you dream of to-night," said the youngest brother, as he showed his sister her bedroom. "heaven grant that i may dream how to save you," she replied. and this thought took such hold upon her mind that she prayed earnestly to god for help, and even in her sleep she continued to pray. then it appeared to her as if she were flying high in the air, towards the cloudy palace of the "fata morgana," and a fairy came out to meet her, radiant and beautiful in appearance, and yet very much like the old woman who had given her berries in the wood, and who had told her of the swans with golden crowns on their heads. "your brothers can be released," said she, "if you have only courage and perseverance. true, water is softer than your own delicate hands, and yet it polishes stones into shapes; it feels no pain as your fingers would feel, it has no soul, and cannot suffer such agony and torment as you will have to endure. do you see the stinging nettle which i hold in my hand? quantities of the same sort grow round the cave in which you sleep, but none will be of any use to you unless they grow upon the graves in a churchyard. these you must gather even while they burn blisters on your hands. break them to pieces with your hands and feet, and they will become flax, from which you must spin and weave eleven coats with long sleeves; if these are then thrown over the eleven swans, the spell will be broken. but remember, that from the moment you commence your task until it is finished, even should it occupy years of your life, you must not speak. the first word you utter will pierce through the hearts of your brothers like a deadly dagger. their lives hang upon your tongue. remember all i have told you." and as she finished speaking, she touched her hand lightly with the nettle, and a pain, as of burning fire, awoke eliza. it was broad daylight, and close by where she had been sleeping lay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. she fell on her knees and offered her thanks to god. then she went forth from the cave to begin her work with her delicate hands. she groped in amongst the ugly nettles, which burnt great blisters on her hands and arms, but she determined to bear it gladly if she could only release her dear brothers. so she bruised the nettles with her bare feet and spun the flax. at sunset her brothers returned and were very much frightened when they found her dumb. they believed it to be some new sorcery of their wicked step-mother. but when they saw her hands they understood what she was doing on their behalf, and the youngest brother wept, and where his tears fell the pain ceased, and the burning blisters vanished. she kept to her work all night, for she could not rest till she had released her dear brothers. during the whole of the following day, while her brothers were absent, she sat in solitude, but never before had the time flown so quickly. one coat was already finished and she had begun the second, when she heard the huntsman's horn, and was struck with fear. the sound came nearer and nearer, she heard the dogs barking, and fled with terror into the cave. she hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered into a bundle and sat upon them. immediately a great dog came bounding towards her out of the ravine, and then another and another; they barked loudly, ran back, and then came again. in a very few minutes all the huntsmen stood before the cave, and the handsomest of them was the king of the country. he advanced towards her, for he had never seen a more beautiful maiden. "how did you come here, my sweet child?" he asked. but eliza shook her head. she dared not speak, at the cost of her brothers' lives. and she hid her hands under her apron, so that the king might not see how she must be suffering. "come with me," he said; "here you cannot remain. if you are as good as you are beautiful, i will dress you in silk and velvet, i will place a golden crown upon your head, and you shall dwell, and rule, and make your home in my richest castle." and then he lifted her on his horse. she wept and wrung her hands, but the king said, "i wish only for your happiness. a time will come when you will thank me for this." and then he galloped away over the mountains, holding her before him on this horse, and the hunters followed behind them. as the sun went down, they approached a fair royal city, with churches, and cupolas. on arriving at the castle the king led her into marble halls, where large fountains played, and where the walls and the ceilings were covered with rich paintings. but she had no eyes for all these glorious sights, she could only mourn and weep. patiently she allowed the women to array her in royal robes, to weave pearls in her hair, and draw soft gloves over her blistered fingers. as she stood before them in all her rich dress, she looked so dazzlingly beautiful that the court bowed low in her presence. then the king declared his intention of making her his bride, but the archbishop shook his head, and whispered that the fair young maiden was only a witch who had blinded the king's eyes and bewitched his heart. but the king would not listen to this; he ordered the music to sound, the daintiest dishes to be served, and the loveliest maidens to dance. after-wards he led her through fragrant gardens and lofty halls, but not a smile appeared on her lips or sparkled in her eyes. she looked the very picture of grief. then the king opened the door of a little chamber in which she was to sleep; it was adorned with rich green tapestry, and resembled the cave in which he had found her. on the floor lay the bundle of flax which she had spun from the nettles, and under the ceiling hung the coat she had made. these things had been brought away from the cave as curiosities by one of the huntsmen. "here you can dream yourself back again in the old home in the cave," said the king; "here is the work with which you employed yourself. it will amuse you now in the midst of all this splendor to think of that time." when eliza saw all these things which lay so near her heart, a smile played around her mouth, and the crimson blood rushed to her cheeks. she thought of her brothers, and their release made her so joyful that she kissed the king's hand. then he pressed her to his heart. very soon the joyous church bells announced the marriage feast, and that the beautiful dumb girl out of the wood was to be made the queen of the country. then the archbishop whispered wicked words in the king's ear, but they did not sink into his heart. the marriage was still to take place, and the archbishop himself had to place the crown on the bride's head; in his wicked spite, he pressed the narrow circlet so tightly on her forehead that it caused her pain. but a heavier weight encircled her heart--sorrow for her brothers. she felt not bodily pain. her mouth was closed; a single word would cost the lives of her brothers. but she loved the kind, handsome king, who did everything to make her happy more and more each day; she loved him with all her heart, and her eyes beamed with the love she dared not speak. oh! if she had only been able to confide in him and tell him of her grief. but dumb she must remain till her task was finished. therefore at night she crept away into her little chamber, which had been decked out to look like the cave, and quickly wove one coat after another. but when she began the seventh she found she had no more flax. she knew that the nettles she wanted to use grew in the churchyard, and that she must pluck them herself. how should she get out there? "oh, what is the pain in my fingers to the torment which my heart endures?" said she. "i must venture, i shall not be denied help from heaven." then with a trembling heart, as if she were about to perform a wicked deed, she crept into the garden in the broad moonlight, and passed through the narrow walks and the deserted streets, till she reached the churchyard. then she saw on one of the broad tombstones a group of ghouls. these hideous creatures took off their rags, as if they intended to bathe, and then clawing open the fresh graves with their long, skinny fingers, pulled out the dead bodies and ate the flesh! eliza had to pass close by them, and they fixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gathered the burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. one person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop--he was awake while everybody was asleep. now he thought his opinion was evidently correct. all was not right with the queen. she was a witch, and had bewitched the king and all the people. secretly he told the king what he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard words came from his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads as if they would say. "it is not so. eliza is innocent." but the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed that they witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at her wickedness. two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he went home with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep, but there came no real sleep to his eyes, for he saw eliza get up every night and disappear in her own chamber. from day to day his brow became darker, and eliza saw it and did not understand the reason, but it alarmed her and made her heart tremble for her brothers. her hot tears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and diamonds, while all who saw her were wishing they could be queens. in the mean time she had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting, but she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. once more only, and for the last time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck a few handfuls. she thought with terror of the solitary walk, and of the horrible ghouls, but her will was firm, as well as her trust in providence. eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followed her. they saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the churchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting on the tombstone, as eliza had seen them, and the king turned away his head, for he thought she was with them--she whose head had rested on his breast that very evening. "the people must condemn her," said he, and she was very quickly condemned by every one to suffer death by fire. away from the gorgeous regal halls was she led to a dark, dreary cell, where the wind whistled through the iron bars. instead of the velvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats of mail which she had woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow; but nothing they could give her would have pleased her more. she continued her task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sang jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind word. towards evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of a swan's wing, it was her youngest brother--he had found his sister, and she sobbed for joy, although she knew that very likely this would be the last night she would have to live. but still she could hope, for her task was almost finished, and her brothers were come. then the archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he had promised the king. but she shook her head, and begged him, by looks and gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must finish her task, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights would have been suffered in vain. the archbishop withdrew, uttering bitter words against her; but poor eliza knew that she was innocent, and diligently continued her work. the little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles to her feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outside the grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as sweetly as possible, to keep up her spirits. it was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought before the king. they were told it could not be, it was yet almost night, and as the king slept they dared not disturb him. they threatened, they entreated. then the guard appeared, and even the king himself, inquiring what all the noise meant. at this moment the sun rose. the eleven brothers were seen no more, but eleven wild swans flew away over the castle. and now all the people came streaming forth from the gates of the city, to see the witch burnt. an old horse drew the cart on which she sat. they had dressed her in a garment of coarse sackcloth. her lovely hair hung loose on her shoulders, her cheeks were deadly pale, her lips moved silently, while her fingers still worked at the green flax. even on the way to death, she would not give up her task. the ten coats of mail lay at her feet, she was working hard at the eleventh, while the mob jeered her and said, "see the witch, how she mutters! she has no hymn-book in her hand. she sits there with her ugly sorcery. let us tear it in a thousand pieces." and then they pressed towards her, and would have destroyed the coats of mail, but at the same moment eleven wild swans flew over her, and alighted on the cart. then they flapped their large wings, and the crowd drew on one side in alarm. "it is a sign from heaven that she is innocent," whispered many of them; but they ventured not to say it aloud. as the executioner seized her by the hand, to lift her out of the cart, she hastily threw the eleven coats of mail over the swans, and they immediately became eleven handsome princes; but the youngest had a swan's wing, instead of an arm; for she had not been able to finish the last sleeve of the coat. "now i may speak," she exclaimed. "i am innocent." then the people, who saw what happened, bowed to her, as before a saint; but she sank lifeless in her brothers' arms, overcome with suspense, anguish, and pain. "yes, she is innocent," said the eldest brother; and then he related all that had taken place; and while he spoke there rose in the air a fragrance as from millions of roses. every piece of faggot in the pile had taken root, and threw out branches, and appeared a thick hedge, large and high, covered with roses; while above all bloomed a white and shining flower, that glittered like a star. this flower the king plucked, and placed in eliza's bosom, when she awoke from her swoon, with peace and happiness in her heart. and all the church bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great troops. and a marriage procession returned to the castle, such as no king had ever before seen. the will-o-the wisp is in the town, says the moor woman there was a man who once knew many stories, but they had slipped away from him--so he said. the story that used to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door. and why did it come no longer? it is true enough that for days and years the man had not thought of it, had not expected it to come and knock; and if he had expected it, it would certainly not have come; for without there was war, and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it. the stork and the swallows came back from their long journey, for they thought of no danger; and, behold, when they arrived, the nest was burnt, the habitations of men were burnt, the hedges were all in disorder, and everything seemed gone, and the enemy's horses were stamping in the old graves. those were hard, gloomy times, but they came to an end. and now they were past and gone--so people said; yet no story came and knocked at the door, or gave any tidings of its presence. "i suppose it must be dead, or gone away with many other things," said the man. but the story never dies. and more than a whole year went by, and he longed--oh, so very much!--for the story. "i wonder if the story will ever come back again and knock?" and he remembered it so well in all the various forms in which it had come to him, sometimes young and charming, like spring itself, sometimes as a beautiful maiden, with a wreath of thyme in her hair, and a beechen branch in her hand, and with eyes that gleamed like deep woodland lakes in the bright sunshine. sometimes it had come to him in the guise of a peddler, and had opened its box and let silver ribbon come fluttering out, with verses and inscriptions of old remembrances. but it was most charming of all when it came as an old grandmother, with silvery hair, and such large, sensible eyes. she knew so well how to tell about the oldest times, long before the princesses spun with the golden spindles, and the dragons lay outside the castles, guarding them. she told with such an air of truth, that black spots danced before the eyes of all who heard her, and the floor became black with human blood; terrible to see and to hear, and yet so entertaining, because such a long time had passed since it all happened. "will it ever knock at my door again?" said the man, and he gazed at the door, so that black spots came before his eyes and upon the floor; he did not know if it was blood, or mourning crape from the dark heavy days. and as he sat thus, the thought came upon him whether the story might not have hidden itself, like the princess in the old tale. and he would now go in search of it; if he found it, it would beam in new splendor, lovelier than ever. "who knows? perhaps it has hidden itself in the straw that balances on the margin of the well. carefully, carefully! perhaps it lies hidden in a certain flower--that flower in one of the great books on the book-shelf." and the man went and opened one of the newest books, to gain information on this point; but there was no flower to be found. there he read about holger danske; and the man read that the tale had been invented and put together by a monk in france, that it was a romance, "translated into danish and printed in that language;" that holger danske had never really lived, and consequently could never come again, as we have sung, and have been so glad to believe. and william tell was treated just like holger danske. these were all only myths--nothing on which we could depend; and yet it is all written in a very learned book. "well, i shall believe what i believe!" said the man. "there grows no plantain where no foot has trod." and he closed the book and put it back in its place, and went to the fresh flowers at the window. perhaps the story might have hidden itself in the red tulips, with the golden yellow edges, or in the fresh rose, or in the beaming camellia. the sunshine lay among the flowers, but no story. the flowers which had been here in the dark troublous time had been much more beautiful; but they had been cut off, one after another, to be woven into wreaths and placed in coffins, and the flag had waved over them! perhaps the story had been buried with the flowers; but then the flowers would have known of it, and the coffin would have heard it, and every little blade of grass that shot forth would have told of it. the story never dies. perhaps it has been here once, and has knocked; but who had eyes or ears for it in those times? people looked darkly, gloomily, and almost angrily at the sunshine of spring, at the twittering birds, and all the cheerful green; the tongue could not even bear the old merry, popular songs, and they were laid in the coffin with so much that our heart held dear. the story may have knocked without obtaining a hearing; there was none to bid it welcome, and so it may have gone away. "i will go forth and seek it. out in the country! out in the wood! and on the open sea beach!" out in the country lies an old manor house, with red walls, pointed gables, and a red flag that floats on the tower. the nightingale sings among the finely-fringed beech-leaves, looking at the blooming apple trees of the garden, and thinking that they bear roses. here the bees are mightily busy in the summer-time, and hover round their queen with their humming song. the autumn has much to tell of the wild chase, of the leaves of the trees, and of the races of men that are passing away together. the wild swans sing at christmas-time on the open water, while in the old hall the guests by the fireside gladly listen to songs and to old legends. down into the old part of the garden, where the great avenue of wild chestnut trees lures the wanderer to tread its shades, went the man who was in search of the story; for here the wind had once murmured something to him of "waldemar daa and his daughters." the dryad in the tree, who was the story-mother herself, had here told him the "dream of the old oak tree." here, in the time of the ancestral mother, had stood clipped hedges, but now only ferns and stinging nettles grew there, hiding the scattered fragments of old sculptured figures; the moss is growing in their eyes, but they can see as well as ever, which was more than the man could do who was in search of the story, for he could not find that. where could it be? the crows flew past him by hundreds across the old trees, and screamed, "krah! da!--krah! da!" and he went out of the garden and over the grass-plot of the yard, into the alder grove; there stood a little six-sided house, with a poultry-yard and a duck-yard. in the middle of the room sat the old woman who had the management of the whole, and who knew accurately about every egg that was laid, and about every chicken that could creep out of an egg. but she was not the story of which the man was in search; that she could attest with a christian certificate of baptism and of vaccination that lay in her drawer. without, not far from the house, is a hill covered with red-thorn and broom. here lies an old grave-stone, which was brought here many years ago from the churchyard of the provincial town, a remembrance of one of the most honored councillors of the place; his wife and his five daughters, all with folded hands and stiff ruffs, stand round him. one could look at them so long, that it had an effect upon the thoughts, and these reacted upon the stones, as if they were telling of old times; at least it had been so with the man who was in search of the story. as he came nearer, he noticed a living butterfly sitting on the forehead of the sculptured councillor. the butterfly flapped its wings, and flew a little bit farther, and then returned fatigued to sit upon the grave-stone, as if to point out what grew there. four-leaved shamrocks grew there; there were seven specimens close to each other. when fortune comes, it comes in a heap. he plucked the shamrocks and put them in his pocket. "fortune is as good as red gold, but a new charming story would be better still," thought the man; but he could not find it here. and the sun went down, round and large; the meadow was covered with vapor. the moor-woman was at her brewing. it was evening. he stood alone in his room, and looked out upon the sea, over the meadow, over moor and coast. the moon shone bright, a mist was over the meadow, making it look like a great lake; and, indeed, it was once so, as the legend tells--and in the moonlight the eye realizes these myths. then the man thought of what he had been reading in the town, that william tell and holger danske never really lived, but yet live in popular story, like the lake yonder, a living evidence for such myths. yes, holger danske will return again! as he stood thus and thought, something beat quite strongly against the window. was it a bird, a bat or an owl? those are not let in, even when they knock. the window flew open of itself, and an old woman looked in at the man. "what's your pleasure?" said he. "who are you? you're looking in at the first floor window. are you standing on a ladder?" "you have a four-leaved shamrock in your pocket," she replied. "indeed, you have seven, and one of them is a six-leaved one." "who are you?" asked the man again. "the moor-woman," she replied. "the moor-woman who brews. i was at it. the bung was in the cask, but one of the little moor-imps pulled it out in his mischief, and flung it up into the yard, where it beat against the window; and now the beer's running out of the cask, and that won't do good to anybody." "pray tell me some more!" said the man. "yes, wait a little," answered the moor-woman. "i've something else to do just now." and she was gone. the man was going to shut the window, when the woman already stood before him again. "now it's done," she said; "but i shall have half the beer to brew over again to-morrow, if the weather is suitable. well, what have you to ask me? i've come back, for i always keep my word, and you have seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, and one of them is a six-leaved one. that inspires respect, for that's an order that grows beside the sandy way; but that every one does not find. what have you to ask me? don't stand there like a ridiculous oaf, for i must go back again directly to my bung and my cask." and the man asked about the story, and inquired if the moor-woman had met it in her journeyings. "by the big brewing-vat!" exclaimed the woman, "haven't you got stories enough? i really believe that most people have enough of them. here are other things to take notice of, other things to examine. even the children have gone beyond that. give the little boy a cigar, and the little girl a new crinoline; they like that much better. to listen to stories! no, indeed, there are more important things to be done here, and other things to notice!" "what do you mean by that?" asked the man, "and what do you know of the world? you don't see anything but frogs and will-o'-the-wisps!" "yes, beware of the will-o'-the-wisps," said the moor-woman, "for they're out--they're let loose--that's what we must talk about! come to me in the moor, where my presence is necessary, and i will tell you all about it; but you must make haste, and come while your seven four-leaved shamrocks, for which one has six leaves, are still fresh, and the moon stands high!" and the moor-woman was gone. it struck twelve in the town, and before the last stroke had died away, the man was out in the yard, out in the garden, and stood in the meadow. the mist had vanished, and the moor-woman stopped her brewing. "you've been a long time coming!" said the moor-woman. "witches get forward faster than men, and i'm glad that i belong to the witch folk!" "what have you to say to me now?" asked the man. "is it anything about the story?" "can you never get beyond asking about that?" retorted the woman. "can you tell me anything about the poetry of the future?" resumed the man. "don't get on your stilts," said the crone, "and i'll answer you. you think of nothing but poetry, and only ask about that story, as if she were the lady of the whole troop. she's the oldest of us all, but she takes precedence of the youngest. i know her well. i've been young, too, and she's no chicken now. i was once quite a pretty elf-maiden, and have danced in my time with the others in the moonlight, and have heard the nightingale, and have gone into the forest and met the story-maiden, who was always to be found out there, running about. sometimes she took up her night's lodging in a half-blown tulip, or in a field flower; sometimes she would slip into the church, and wrap herself in the mourning crape that hung down from the candles on the altar." "you are capitally well-informed," said the man. "i ought at least to know as much as you," answered the moor-woman. "stories and poetry--yes, they're like two yards of the same piece of stuff; they can go and lie down where they like, and one can brew all their prattle, and have it all the better and cheaper. you shall have it from me for nothing. i have a whole cupboard-full of poetry in bottles. it makes essences; and that's the best of it--bitter and sweet herbs. i have everything that people want of poetry, in bottles, so that i can put a little on my handkerchief, on holidays, to smell." "why, these are wonderful things that you're telling!" said the man. "you have poetry in bottles?" "more than you can require," said the woman. "i suppose you know the history of 'the girl who trod on the loaf, so that she might not soil her shoes'? that has been written, and printed too." "i told that story myself," said the man. "yes, then you must know it; and you must know also that the girl sank into the earth directly, to the moor-woman, just as old bogey's grandmother was paying her morning visit to inspect the brewery. she saw the girl gliding down, and asked to have her as a remembrance of her visit, and got her too; while i received a present that's of no use to me--a travelling druggist's shop--a whole cupboard-full of poetry in bottles. grandmother told me where the cupboard was to be placed, and there it's standing still. just look! you've your seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, one of which is a six-leaved one, and so you will be able to see it." and really in the midst of the moor lay something like a great knotted block of alder, and that was the old grandmother's cupboard. the moor-woman said that this was always open to her and to every one in the land, if they only knew where the cupboard stood. it could be opened either at the front or at the back, and at every side and corner--a perfect work of art, and yet only an old alder stump in appearance. the poets of all lands, and especially those of our own country, had been arranged here; the spirit of them had been extracted, refined, criticised and renovated, and then stored up in bottles. with what may be called great aptitude, if it was not genius the grandmother had taken as it were the flavor of this and of that poet, and had added a little devilry, and then corked up the bottles for use during all future times. "pray let me see," said the man. "yes, but there are more important things to hear," replied the moor-woman. "but now we are at the cupboard!" said the man. and he looked in. "here are bottles of all sizes. what is in this one? and what in that one yonder?" "here is what they call may-balm," replied the woman. "i have not tried it myself. but i have not yet told you the 'more important' thing you were to hear. the will-o'-the-wisp's in the town! that's of much more consequence than poetry and stories. i ought, indeed, to hold my tongue; but there must be a necessity--a fate--a something that sticks in my throat, and that wants to come out. take care, you mortals!" "i don't understand a word of all this!" cried the man. "be kind enough to seat yourself on that cupboard," she retorted, "but take care you don't fall through and break the bottles--you know what's inside of them. i must tell of the great event. it occurred no longer ago than the day before yesterday. it did not happen earlier. it has now three hundred and sixty-three days to run about. i suppose you know how many days there are in a year?" and this is what the moor-woman told: "there was a great commotion yesterday out here in the marsh! there was a christening feast! a little will-o'-the-wisp was born here--in fact, twelve of them were born all together; and they have permission, if they choose to use it, to go abroad among men, and to move about and command among them, just as if they were born mortals. that was a great event in the marsh, and accordingly all the will-o'-the-wisps, male and female, went dancing like little lights across the moor. there are some of them of the dog species, but those are not worth mentioning. i sat there on the cupboard, and had all the twelve little new-born will-o'-the-wisps upon my lap. they shone like glow-worms; they already began to hop, and increased in size every moment, so that before a quarter of an hour had elapsed, each of them looked just as large as his father or his uncle. now, it's an old-established regulation and favor, that when the moon stands just as it did yesterday, and the wind blows just as it blew then, it is allowed and accorded to all will-o'-the-wisps--that is, to all those who are born at that minute of time--to become mortals, and individually to exert their power for the space of one year. "the will-o'-the-wisp may run about in the country and through the world, if it is not afraid of falling into the sea, or of being blown out by a heavy storm. it can enter into a person and speak for him, and make all the movements it pleases. the will-o'-the-wisp may take whatever form he likes, of man or woman, and can act in their spirit and in their disguise in such a way that he can effect whatever he wishes to do. but he must manage, in the course of the year, to lead three hundred and sixty-five people into a bad way, and in a grand style, too. to lead them away from the right and the truth; and then he reaches the highest point. such a will-o'-the-wisp can attain to the honor of being a runner before the devil's state coach; and then he'll wear clothes of fiery yellow, and breathe forth flames out of his throat. that's enough to make a simple will-o'-the-wisp smack his lips. but there's some danger in this, and a great deal of work for a will-o'-the-wisp who aspires to play so distinguished a part. if the eyes of the man are opened to what he is, and if the man can then blow him away, it's all over with him, and he must come back into the marsh; or if, before the year is up, the will-o'-the-wisp is seized with a longing to see his family, and so returns to it and gives the matter up, it is over with him likewise, and he can no longer burn clear, and soon becomes extinguished, and cannot be lit up again; and when the year has elapsed, and he has not led three hundred and sixty-five people away from the truth and from all that is grand and noble, he is condemned to be imprisoned in decayed wood, and to lie glimmering there, without being able to move; and that's the most terrible punishment that can be inflicted on a lively will-o'-the-wisp. "now, all this i know, and all this i told to the twelve little will-o'-the-wisps whom i had on my lap, and who seemed quite crazy with joy. "i told them that the safest and most convenient course was to give up the honor, and do nothing at all; but the little flames would not agree to this, and already fancied themselves clad in fiery yellow clothes, breathing flames from their throats. "'stay with us,' said some of the older ones. "'carry on your sport with mortals,' said the others. "'the mortals are drying up our meadows; they've taken to draining. what will our successors do?' "'we want to flame; we will flame--flame!' cried the new-born will-o'the-wisps. "and thus the affair was settled. "and now a ball was given, a minute long; it could not well be shorter. the little elf-maidens whirled round three times with the rest, that they might not appear proud, but they preferred dancing with one another. "and now the sponsors' gifts were presented, and presents were thrown them. these presents flew like pebbles across the sea-water. each of the elf-maidens gave a little piece of her veil. "'take that,' they said, 'and then you'll know the higher dance, the most difficult turns and twists--that is to say, if you should find them necessary. you'll know the proper deportment, and then you can show yourself in the very pick of society.' "the night raven taught each of the young will-o'-the-wisps to say, 'goo-goo-good,' and to say it in the right place; and that's a great gift which brings its own reward. "the owl and the stork--but they said it was not worth mentioning, and so we won't mention it. "king waldemar's wild chase was just then rushing over the moor, and when the great lords heard of the festivities that were going on, they sent a couple of handsome dogs, which hunt on the spoor of the wind, as a present; and these might carry two or three of the will-o'-the-wisps. a couple of old alpas, spirits who occupy themselves with alp-pressing, were also at the feast; and from these the young will-o'-the-wisps learned the art of slipping through every key-hole, as if the door stood open before them. these alpas offered to carry the youngsters to the town, with which they were well acquainted. they usually rode through the atmosphere on their own back hair, which is fastened into a knot, for they love a hard seat; but now they sat sideways on the wild hunting dogs, took the young will-o'-the-wisps in their laps, who wanted to go into the town to mislead and entice mortals, and, whisk! away they were. now, this is what happened last night. to-day the will-o'-the-wisps are in the town, and have taken the matter in hand--but where and how? ah, can you tell me that? still, i've a lightning conductor in my great toe, and that will always tell me something." "why, this is a complete story," exclaimed the man. "yes, but it is only the beginning," replied the woman. "can you tell me how the will-o'-the-wisps deport themselves, and how they behave? and in what shapes they have aforetime appeared and led people into crooked paths?" "i believe," replied the man, "that one could tell quite a romance about the will-o'-the-wisps, in twelve parts; or, better still, one might make quite a popular play of them." "you might write that," said the woman, "but it's best let alone." "yes, that's better and more agreeable," the man replied, "for then we shall escape from the newspapers, and not be tied up by them, which is just as uncomfortable as for a will-o'-the-wisp to lie in decaying wood, to have to gleam, and not to be able to stir." "i don't care about it either way," cried the woman. "let the rest write, those who can, and those who cannot likewise. i'll grant you an old bung from my cask that will open the cupboard where poetry's kept in bottles, and you may take from that whatever may be wanting. but you, my good man, seem to have blotted your hands sufficiently with ink, and to have come to that age of satiety that you need not be running about every year for stories, especially as there are much more important things to be done. you must have understood what is going on?" "the will-o'-the-wisp is in town," said the man. "i've heard it, and i have understood it. but what do you think i ought to do? i should be thrashed if i were to go to the people and say, 'look, yonder goes a will-o'-the-wisp in his best clothes!' "they also go in undress," replied the woman. "the will-o'-the-wisp can assume all kinds of forms, and appear in every place. he goes into the church, but not for the sake of the service; and perhaps he may enter into one or other of the priests. he speaks in the parliament, not for the benefit of the country, but only for himself. he's an artist with the color-pot as well as in the theatre; but when he gets all the power into his own hands, then the pot's empty! i chatter and chatter, but it must come out, what's sticking in my throat, to the disadvantage of my own family. but i must now be the woman that will save a good many people. it is not done with my good will, or for the sake of a medal. i do the most insane things i possibly can, and then i tell a poet about it, and thus the whole town gets to know of it directly." "the town will not take that to heart," observed the man; "that will not disturb a single person; for they will all think i'm only telling them a story if i say, 'the will-o'-the-wisp is in the town, says the moor-woman. take care of yourselves!'" the story of the wind "near the shores of the great belt, which is one of the straits that connect the cattegat with the baltic, stands an old mansion with thick red walls. i know every stone of it," says the wind. "i saw it when it was part of the castle of marck stig on the promontory. but the castle was obliged to be pulled down, and the stone was used again for the walls of a new mansion on another spot--the baronial residence of borreby, which still stands near the coast. i knew them well, those noble lords and ladies, the successive generations that dwelt there; and now i'm going to tell you of waldemar daa and his daughters. how proud was his bearing, for he was of royal blood, and could boast of more noble deeds than merely hunting the stag and emptying the wine-cup. his rule was despotic: 'it shall be,' he was accustomed to say. his wife, in garments embroidered with gold, stepped proudly over the polished marble floors. the tapestries were gorgeous, and the furniture of costly and artistic taste. she had brought gold and plate with her into the house. the cellars were full of wine. black, fiery horses, neighed in the stables. there was a look of wealth about the house of borreby at that time. they had three children, daughters, fair and delicate maidens--ida, joanna, and anna dorothea; i have never forgotten their names. they were a rich, noble family, born in affluence and nurtured in luxury. "whir-r-r, whir-r-r!" roared the wind, and went on, "i did not see in this house, as in other great houses, the high-born lady sitting among her women, turning the spinning-wheel. she could sweep the sounding chords of the guitar, and sing to the music, not always danish melodies, but the songs of a strange land. it was 'live and let live,' here. stranger guests came from far and near, music sounded, goblets clashed, and i," said the wind, "was not able to drown the noise. ostentation, pride, splendor, and display ruled, but not the fear of the lord. "it was on the evening of the first day of may," the wind continued, "i came from the west, and had seen the ships overpowered with the waves, when all on board persisted or were cast shipwrecked on the coast of jutland. i had hurried across the heath and over jutland's wood-girt eastern coast, and over the island of funen, and then i drove across the great belt, sighing and moaning. at length i lay down to rest on the shores of zeeland, near to the great house of borreby, where the splendid forest of oaks still flourished. the young men of the neighborhood were collecting branches and brushwood under the oak-trees. the largest and dryest they could find they carried into the village, and piled them up in a heap and set them on fire. then the men and maidens danced, and sung in a circle round the blazing pile. i lay quite quiet," said the wind, "but i silently touched a branch which had been brought by one of the handsomest of the young men, and the wood blazed up brightly, blazed brighter than all the rest. then he was chosen as the chief, and received the name of the shepherd; and might choose his lamb from among the maidens. there was greater mirth and rejoicing than i had ever heard in the halls of the rich baronial house. then the noble lady drove by towards the baron's mansion with her three daughters, in a gilded carriage drawn by six horses. the daughters were young and beautiful--three charming blossoms--a rose, a lily, and a white hyacinth. the mother was a proud tulip, and never acknowledged the salutations of any of the men or maidens who paused in their sport to do her honor. the gracious lady seemed like a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk. rose, lily, and hyacinth--yes, i saw them all three. whose little lambs will they one day become? thought i; their shepherd will be a gallant knight, perhaps a prince. the carriage rolled on, and the peasants resumed their dancing. they drove about the summer through all the villages near. but one night, when i rose again, the high-born lady lay down to rise again no more; that thing came to her which comes to us all, in which there is nothing new. waldemar daa remained for a time silent and thoughtful. 'the loftiest tree may be bowed without being broken,' said a voice within him. his daughters wept; all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes, but lady daa had driven away, and i drove away too," said the wind. "whir-r-r, whir-r-r-! "i returned again; i often returned and passed over the island of funen and the shores of the belt. then i rested by borreby, near the glorious wood, where the heron made his nest, the haunt of the wood-pigeons, the blue-birds, and the black stork. it was yet spring, some were sitting on their eggs, others had already hatched their young broods; but how they fluttered about and cried out when the axe sounded through the forest, blow upon blow! the trees of the forest were doomed. waldemar daa wanted to build a noble ship, a man-of-war, a three-decker, which the king would be sure to buy; and these, the trees of the wood, the landmark of the seamen, the refuge of the birds, must be felled. the hawk started up and flew away, for its nest was destroyed; the heron and all the birds of the forest became homeless, and flew about in fear and anger. i could well understand how they felt. crows and ravens croaked, as if in scorn, while the trees were cracking and falling around them. far in the interior of the wood, where a noisy swarm of laborers were working, stood waldemar daa and his three daughters, and all were laughing at the wild cries of the birds, excepting one, the youngest, anna dorothea, who felt grieved to the heart; and when they made preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead, and on whose naked branches the black stork had built her nest, she saw the poor little things stretching out their necks, and she begged for mercy for them, with the tears in her eyes. so the tree with the black stork's nest was left standing; the tree itself, however, was not worth much to speak of. then there was a great deal of hewing and sawing, and at last the three-decker was built. the builder was a man of low origin, but possessing great pride; his eyes and forehead spoke of large intellect, and waldemar daa was fond of listening to him, and so was waldemar's daughter ida, the eldest, now about fifteen years old; and while he was building the ship for the father, he was building for himself a castle in the air, in which he and ida were to live when they were married. this might have happened, indeed, if there had been a real castle, with stone walls, ramparts, and a moat. but in spite of his clever head, the builder was still but a poor, inferior bird; and how can a sparrow expect to be admitted into the society of peacocks? "i passed on in my course," said the wind, "and he passed away also. he was not allowed to remain, and little ida got over it, because she was obliged to do so. proud, black horses, worth looking at, were neighing in the stable. and they were locked up; for the admiral, who had been sent by the king to inspect the new ship, and make arrangements for its purchase, was loud in admiration of these beautiful horses. i heard it all," said the wind, "for i accompanied the gentlemen through the open door of the stable, and strewed stalks of straw, like bars of gold, at their feet. waldemar daa wanted gold, and the admiral wished for the proud black horses; therefore he praised them so much. but the hint was not taken, and consequently the ship was not bought. it remained on the shore covered with boards,--a noah's ark that never got to the water--whir-r-r-r--and that was a pity. "in the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, and the water filled with large blocks of ice which i had blown up to the coast," continued the wind, "great flocks of crows and ravens, dark and black as they usually are, came and alighted on the lonely, deserted ship. then they croaked in harsh accents of the forest that now existed no more, of the many pretty birds' nests destroyed and the little ones left without a home; and all for the sake of that great bit of lumber, that proud ship, that never sailed forth. i made the snowflakes whirl till the snow lay like a great lake round the ship, and drifted over it. i let it hear my voice, that it might know what the storm has to say. certainly i did my part towards teaching it seamanship. "that winter passed away, and another winter and summer both passed, as they are still passing away, even as i pass away. the snow drifts onwards, the apple-blossoms are scattered, the leaves fall,--everything passes away, and men are passing away too. but the great man's daughters are still young, and little ida is a rose as fair to look upon as on the day when the shipbuilder first saw her. i often tumbled her long, brown hair, while she stood in the garden by the apple-tree, musing, and not heeding how i strewed the blossoms on her hair, and dishevelled it; or sometimes, while she stood gazing at the red sun and the golden sky through the opening branches of the dark, thick foliage of the garden trees. her sister joanna was bright and slender as a lily; she had a tall and lofty carriage and figure, though, like her mother, rather stiff in back. she was very fond of walking through the great hall, where hung the portraits of her ancestors. the women were represented in dresses of velvet and silk, with tiny little hats, embroidered with pearls, on their braided hair. they were all handsome women. the gentlemen appeared clad in steel, or in rich cloaks lined with squirrel's fur; they wore little ruffs, and swords at their sides. where would joanna's place be on that wall some day? and how would he look,--her noble lord and husband? this is what she thought of, and often spoke of in a low voice to herself. i heard it as i swept into the long hall, and turned round to come out again. anna dorothea, the pale hyacinth, a child of fourteen, was quiet and thoughtful; her large, deep, blue eyes had a dreamy look, but a childlike smile still played round her mouth. i was not able to blow it away, neither did i wish to do so. we have met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in the field and meadow, where she gathered herbs and flowers which she knew would be useful to her father in preparing the drugs and mixtures he was always concocting. waldemar daa was arrogant and proud, but he was also a learned man, and knew a great deal. it was no secret, and many opinions were expressed on what he did. in his fireplace there was a fire, even in summer time. he would lock himself in his room, and for days the fire would be kept burning; but he did not talk much of what he was doing. the secret powers of nature are generally discovered in solitude, and did he not soon expect to find out the art of making the greatest of all good things--the art of making gold? so he fondly hoped; therefore the chimney smoked and the fire crackled so constantly. yes, i was there too," said the wind. "'leave it alone,' i sang down the chimney; 'leave it alone, it will all end in smoke, air, coals, and ashes, and you will burn your fingers.' but waldemar daa did not leave it alone, and all he possessed vanished like smoke blown by me. the splendid black horses, where are they? what became of the cows in the field, the old gold and silver vessels in cupboards and chests, and even the house and home itself? it was easy to melt all these away in the gold-making crucible, and yet obtain no gold. and so it was. empty are the barns and store-rooms, the cellars and cupboards; the servants decreased in number, and the mice multiplied. first one window became broken, and then another, so that i could get in at other places besides the door. 'where the chimney smokes, the meal is being cooked,' says the proverb; but here a chimney smoked that devoured all the meals for the sake of gold. i blew round the courtyard," said the wind, "like a watchman blowing his home, but no watchman was there. i twirled the weather-cock round on the summit of the tower, and it creaked like the snoring of a warder, but no warder was there; nothing but mice and rats. poverty laid the table-cloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe and in the larder. the door fell off its hinges, cracks and fissures made their appearance everywhere; so that i could go in and out at pleasure, and that is how i know all about it. amid smoke and ashes, sorrow, and sleepless nights, the hair and beard of the master of the house turned gray, and deep furrows showed themselves around his temples; his skin turned pale and yellow, while his eyes still looked eagerly for gold, the longed-for gold, and the result of his labor was debt instead of gain. i blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard; i moaned through the broken window-panes, and the yawning clefts in the walls; i blew into the chests and drawers belonging to his daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had become faded and threadbare, from being worn over and over again. such a song had not been sung, at the children's cradle as i sung now. the lordly life had changed to a life of penury. i was the only one who rejoiced aloud in that castle," said the wind. "at last i snowed them up, and they say snow keeps people warm. it was good for them, for they had no wood, and the forest, from which they might have obtained it, had been cut down. the frost was very bitter, and i rushed through loop-holes and passages, over gables and roofs with keen and cutting swiftness. the three high-born daughters were lying in bed because of the cold, and their father crouching beneath his leather coverlet. nothing to eat, nothing to burn, no fire on the hearth! here was a life for high-born people! 'give it up, give it up!' but my lord daa would not do that. 'after winter, spring will come,' he said, 'after want, good times. we must not lose patience, we must learn to wait. now my horses and lands are all mortgaged, it is indeed high time; but gold will come at last--at easter.' "i heard him as he thus spoke; he was looking at a spider's web, and he continued, 'thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me perseverance. let any one tear thy web, and thou wilt begin again and repair it. let it be entirely destroyed, thou wilt resolutely begin to make another till it is completed. so ought we to do, if we wish to succeed at last.' "it was the morning of easter-day. the bells sounded from the neighboring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. the master of the castle had watched through the night, in feverish excitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and mixing. i heard him sighing like a soul in despair; i heard him praying, and i noticed how he held his breath. the lamp burnt out, but he did not observe it. i blew up the fire in the coals on the hearth, and it threw a red glow on his ghastly white face, lighting it up with a glare, while his sunken eyes looked out wildly from their cavernous depths, and appeared to grow larger and more prominent, as if they would burst from their sockets. 'look at the alchymic glass,' he cried; 'something glows in the crucible, pure and heavy.' he lifted it with a trembling hand, and exclaimed in a voice of agitation, 'gold! gold!' he was quite giddy, i could have blown him down," said the wind; "but i only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied him through the door to the room where his daughter sat shivering. his coat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard and in his tangled hair. he stood erect, and held high in the air the brittle glass that contained his costly treasure. 'found! found! gold! gold!' he shouted, again holding the glass aloft, that it might flash in the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glass fell from it, clattering to the ground, and brake in a thousand pieces. the last bubble of his happiness had burst, with a whiz and a whir, and i rushed away from the gold-maker's house. "late in the autumn, when the days were short, and the mist sprinkled cold drops on the berries and the leafless branches, i came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the sky clear, and snapped off the dry twigs, which is certainly no great labor to do, yet it must be done. there was another kind of sweeping taking place at waldemar daa's, in the castle of borreby. his enemy, owe ramel, of basnas, was there, with the mortgage of the house and everything it contained, in his pocket. i rattled the broken windows, beat against the old rotten doors, and whistled through cracks and crevices, so that mr. owe ramel did not much like to remain there. ida and anna dorothea wept bitterly, joanna stood, pale and proud, biting her lips till the blood came; but what could that avail? owe ramel offered waldemar daa permission to remain in the house till the end of his life. no one thanked him for the offer, and i saw the ruined old gentleman lift his head, and throw it back more proudly than ever. then i rushed against the house and the old lime-trees with such force, that one of the thickest branches, a decayed one, was broken off, and the branch fell at the entrance, and remained there. it might have been used as a broom, if any one had wanted to sweep the place out, and a grand sweeping-out there really was; i thought it would be so. it was hard for any one to preserve composure on such a day; but these people had strong wills, as unbending as their hard fortune. there was nothing they could call their own, excepting the clothes they wore. yes, there was one thing more, an alchymist's glass, a new one, which had been lately bought, and filled with what could be gathered from the ground of the treasure which had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise. waldemar daa hid the glass in his bosom, and, taking his stick in his hand, the once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of borreby. i blew coldly upon his flustered cheeks, i stroked his gray beard and his long white hair, and i sang as well as i was able, 'whir-r-r, whir-r-r. gone away! gone away!' ida walked on one side of the old man, and anna dorothea on the other; joanna turned round, as they left the entrance. why? fortune would not turn because she turned. she looked at the stone in the walls which had once formed part of the castle of marck stig, and perhaps she thought of his daughters and of the old song,-- "the eldest and youngest, hand-in-hand, went forth alone to a distant land." these were only two; here there were three, and their father with them also. they walked along the high-road, where once they had driven in their splendid carriage; they went forth with their father as beggars. they wandered across an open field to a mud hut, which they rented for a dollar and a half a year, a new home, with bare walls and empty cupboards. crows and magpies fluttered about them, and cried, as if in contempt, 'caw, caw, turned out of our nest--caw, caw,' as they had done in the wood at borreby, when the trees were felled. daa and his daughters could not help hearing it, so i blew about their ears to drown the noise; what use was it that they should listen? so they went to live in the mud hut in the open field, and i wandered away, over moor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the open sea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'whir-r-r, whir-r-r! away, away!' year after year." and what became of waldemar daa and his daughters? listen; the wind will tell us: "the last i saw of them was the pale hyacinth, anna dorothea. she was old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived them all. she could relate the history. yonder, on the heath, near the town of wiborg, in jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. it was built of red brick, with projecting gables. it was inhabited, for the smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. the canon's gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window, and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. what were they looking at? their glances fell upon a stork's nest, which was built upon an old tumbledown hut. the roof, as far as one existed at all, was covered with moss and lichen. the stork's nest covered the greater part of it, and that alone was in a good condition; for it was kept in order by the stork himself. that is a house to be looked at, and not to be touched," said the wind. "for the sake of the stork's nest it had been allowed to remain, although it is a blot on the landscape. they did not like to drive the stork away; therefore the old shed was left standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay. she had the egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her reward for having once interceded for the preservation of the nest of its black brother in the forest of borreby? at that time she, the poor woman, was a young child, a white hyacinth in a rich garden. she remembered that time well; for it was anna dorothea. "'o-h, o-h,' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning of the wind among the reeds and rushes. 'o-h, o-h,' she would say, 'no bell sounded at thy burial, waldemar daa. the poor school-boys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord of borreby was laid in the earth to rest. o-h, everything has an end, even misery. sister ida became the wife of a peasant; that was the hardest trial which befell our father, that the husband of his own daughter should be a miserable serf, whom his owner could place for punishment on the wooden horse. i suppose he is under the ground now; and ida--alas! alas! it is not ended yet; miserable that i am! kind heaven, grant me that i may die.' "that was anna dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut that was left standing for the sake of the stork. i took pity on the proudest of the sisters," said the wind. "her courage was like that of a man; and in man's clothes she served as a sailor on board ship. she was of few words, and of a dark countenance; but she did not know how to climb, so i blew her overboard before any one found out that she was a woman; and, in my opinion, that was well done," said the wind. on such another easter morning as that on which waldemar daa imagined he had discovered the art of making gold, i heard the tones of a psalm under the stork's nest, and within the crumbling walls. it was anna dorothea's last song. there was no window in the hut, only a hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold, and looked through. with what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling! her eyes were glazing, and her heart breaking; but so it would have been, even had the sun not shone that morning on anna dorothea. the stork's nest had secured her a home till her death. i sung over her grave; i sung at her father's grave. i know where it lies, and where her grave is too, but nobody else knows it. "new times now; all is changed. the old high-road is lost amid cultivated fields; the new one now winds along over covered graves; and soon the railway will come, with its train of carriages, and rush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. all passed away, passed away! "this is the story of waldemar daa and his daughters. tell it better, any of you, if you know how," said the wind; and he rushed away, and was gone. the windmill a windmill stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proud too. "i am not proud at all," it said, "but i am very much enlightened without and within. i have sun and moon for my outward use, and for inward use too; and into the bargain i have stearine candles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. i may well say that i'm enlightened. i'm a thinking being, and so well constructed that it's quite delightful. i have a good windpipe in my chest, and i have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath my hat. the birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them on their backs. i am a dutchman by birth, that may be seen by my figure--a flying dutchman. they are considered supernatural beings, i know, and yet i am quite natural. i have a gallery round my chest, and house-room beneath it; that's where my thoughts dwell. my strongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others 'the man in the mill.' he knows what he wants, and is lord over the meal and the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself 'mother.' she is the very heart of me. she does not run about stupidly and awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she can do, she's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knows how to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. she is my soft temper, and the father is my hard one. they are two, and yet one; they each call the other 'my half.' these two have some little boys, young thoughts, that can grow. the little ones keep everything in order. when, lately, in my wisdom, i let the father and the boys examine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going on there,--for something in me was out of order, and it's well to examine one's self,--the little ones made a tremendous noise. the youngest jumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. the little thoughts may grow--i know that very well; and out in the world thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as i can see, i cannot discern anything like myself; but the wingless houses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these come to my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. it's wonderful enough--yes, there are many wonderful things. something has come over me, or into me,--something has changed in the mill-work. it seems as if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a better temper and a more affectionate helpmate--so young and good, and yet the same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. what was bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable. "the days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer to clearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be over with me; but not over altogether. i must be pulled down that i may be built up again; i shall cease, but yet shall live on. to become quite a different being, and yet remain the same! that's difficult for me to understand, however enlightened i may be with sun, moon, stearine, train oil, and tallow. my old wood-work and my old brick-work will rise again from the dust! "i will hope that i may keep my old thoughts, the father in the mill, and the mother, great ones and little ones--the family; for i call them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because i must, and cannot refrain from it. "and i must also remain 'myself,' with my throat in my chest, my wings on my head, the gallery round my body; else i should not know myself, nor could the others know me, and say, 'there's the mill on the hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.'" that is what the mill said. indeed, it said much more, but that is the most important part. and the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the last day. then the mill caught fire. the flames rose up high, and beat out and in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. the mill fell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. the smoke drove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried it away. whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had been gained by it has nothing to do with this story. the miller's family--one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one--built a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. it was quite like the old one, and people said, "why, yonder is the mill on the hill, proud to look at!" but this mill was better arranged, more according to the time than the last, so that progress might be made. the old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy--they lay in dust and ashes. the body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they had believed it would do. they had taken it literally, and all things are not to be taken literally. the story of the year it was near the end of january, and a terrible fall of snow was pelting down, and whirling through the streets and lanes; the windows were plastered with snow on the outside, snow fell in masses from the roofs. every one seemed in a great hurry; they ran, they flew, fell into each other's arms, holding fast for a moment as long as they could stand safely. coaches and horses looked as if they had been frosted with sugar. the footmen stood with their backs against the carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. the foot passengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which could only move slowly on in the deep snow. at last the storm abated, and a narrow path was swept clean in front of the houses; when two persons met in this path they stood still, for neither liked to take the first step on one side into the deep snow to let the other pass him. there they stood silent and motionless, till at last, as if by tacit consent, they each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow. towards evening, the weather became calm. the sky, cleared from the snow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone with new brightness and purity. the frozen snow crackled under foot, and was quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who hopped upon it in the morning dawn. they searched for food in the path which had been swept, but there was very little for them, and they were terribly cold. "tweet, tweet," said one to another; "they call this a new year, but i think it is worse than the last. we might just as well have kept the old year; i'm quite unhappy, and i have a right to be so." "yes, you have; and yet the people ran about and fired off guns, to usher in the new year," said a little shivering sparrow. "they threw things against the doors, and were quite beside themselves with joy, because the old year had disappeared. i was glad too, for i expected we should have some warm days, but my hopes have come to nothing. it freezes harder than ever; i think mankind have made a mistake in reckoning time." "that they have," said a third, an old sparrow with a white poll; "they have something they call a calendar; it's an invention of their own, and everything must be arranged according to it, but it won't do. when spring comes, then the year begins. it is the voice of nature, and i reckon by that." "but when will spring come?" asked the others. "it will come when the stork returns, but he is very uncertain, and here in the town no one knows anything about it. in the country they have more knowledge; shall we fly away there and wait? we shall be nearer to spring then, certainly." "that may be all very well," said another sparrow, who had been hopping about for a long time, chirping, but not saying anything of consequence, "but i have found a few comforts here in town which, i'm afraid, i should miss out in the country. here in this neighborhood, there lives a family of people who have been so sensible as to place three or four flower-pots against the wall in the court-yard, so that the openings are all turned inward, and the bottom of each points outward. in the latter a hole has been cut large enough for me to fly in and out. i and my husband have built a nest in one of these pots, and all our young ones, who have now flown away, were brought up there. the people who live there of course made the whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us, or they would not have done it. it pleased them also to strew bread-crumbs for us, and so we have food, and may consider ourselves provided for. so i think my husband and i will stay where we are; although we are not very happy, but we shall stay." "and we will fly into the country," said the others, "to see if spring is coming." and away they flew. in the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder than in the town. the sharp winds blew over the snow-covered fields. the farmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his sleigh, and beat his arms across his chest to keep off the cold. the whip lay on his lap. the horses ran till they smoked. the snow crackled, the sparrows hopped about in the wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, "tweet, tweet; when will spring come? it is very long in coming." "very long indeed," sounded over the field, from the nearest snow-covered hill. it might have been the echo which people heard, or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man, who sat high on a heap of snow, regardless of wind or weather. he was all in white; he had on a peasant's coarse white coat of frieze. he had long white hair, a pale face, and large clear blue eyes. "who is that old man?" asked the sparrows. "i know who he is," said an old raven, who sat on the fence, and was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all equal in the sight of heaven, even as little birds, and therefore he talked with the sparrows, and gave them the information they wanted. "i know who the old man is," he said. "it is winter, the old man of last year; he is not dead yet, as the calendar says, but acts as guardian to little prince spring who is coming. winter rules here still. ugh! the cold makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?" "there! did i not tell you so?" said the smallest of the sparrows. "the calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arranged according to nature. they should leave these things to us; we are created so much more clever than they are." one week passed, and then another. the forest looked dark, the hard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. the mountains had disappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. large black crows flew about in silence; it was as if nature slept. at length a sunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like burnished silver. but the snow on the fields and the hills did not glitter as before. the white form of winter sat there still, with his un-wandering gaze fixed on the south. he did not perceive that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were into the earth; that here and there a little green patch of grass appeared, and that these patches were covered with sparrows. "tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?" spring! how the cry resounded over field and meadow, and through the dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still gleamed on the trunks of the trees, and from the south came the two first storks flying through the air, and on the back of each sat a lovely little child, a boy and a girl. they greeted the earth with a kiss, and wherever they placed their feet white flowers sprung up from beneath the snow. hand in hand they approached the old ice-man, winter, embraced him and clung to his breast; and as they did so, in a moment all three were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy, that closed over them like a veil. the wind arose with mighty rustling tone, and cleared away the mist. then the sun shone out warmly. winter had vanished away, and the beautiful children of spring sat on the throne of the year. "this is really a new year," cried all the sparrows, "now we shall get our rights, and have some return for what we suffered in winter." wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth on bush and tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields became lovely in delicate green. the little maiden strewed flowers in her path. she held her apron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if they sprung into life there, for the more she scattered around her, the more flowers did her apron contain. eagerly she showered snowy blossoms over apple and peach-trees, so that they stood in full beauty before even their green leaves had burst from the bud. then the boy and the girl clapped their hands, and troops of birds came flying by, no one knew from whence, and they all twittered and chirped, singing "spring has come!" how beautiful everything was! many an old dame came forth from her door into the sunshine, and shuffled about with great delight, glancing at the golden flowers which glittered everywhere in the fields, as they used to do in her young days. the world grew young again to her, as she said, "it is a blessed time out here to-day." the forest already wore its dress of dark-green buds. the thyme blossomed in fresh fragrance. primroses and anemones sprung forth, and violets bloomed in the shade, while every blade of grass was full of strength and sap. who could resist sitting down on such a beautiful carpet? and then the young children of spring seated themselves, holding each other's hands, and sang, and laughed, and grew. a gentle rain fell upon them from the sky, but they did not notice it, for the rain-drops were their own tears of joy. they kissed each other, and were betrothed; and in the same moment the buds of the trees unfolded, and when the sun rose, the forest was green. hand in hand the two wandered beneath the fresh pendant canopy of foliage, while the sun's rays gleamed through the opening of the shade, in changing and varied colors. the delicate young leaves filled the air with refreshing odor. merrily rippled the clear brooks and rivulets between the green, velvety rushes, and over the many-colored pebbles beneath. all nature spoke of abundance and plenty. the cuckoo sang, and the lark carolled, for it was now beautiful spring. the careful willows had, however, covered their blossoms with woolly gloves; and this carefulness is rather tedious. days and weeks went by, and the heat increased. warm air waved the corn as it grew golden in the sun. the white northern lily spread its large green leaves over the glossy mirror of the woodland lake, and the fishes sought the shadows beneath them. in a sheltered part of the wood, the sun shone upon the walls of a farm-house, brightening the blooming roses, and ripening the black juicy berries, which hung on the loaded cherry-trees, with his hot beams. here sat the lovely wife of summer, the same whom we have seen as a child and a bride; her eyes were fixed on dark gathering clouds, which in wavy outlines of black and indigo were piling themselves up like mountains, higher and higher. they came from every side, always increasing like a rising, rolling sea. then they swooped towards the forest, where every sound had been silenced as if by magic, every breath hushed, every bird mute. all nature stood still in grave suspense. but in the lanes and the highways, passengers on foot or in carriages were hurrying to find a place of shelter. then came a flash of light, as if the sun had rushed forth from the sky, flaming, burning, all-devouring, and darkness returned amid a rolling crash of thunder. the rain poured down in streams,--now there was darkness, then blinding light,--now thrilling silence, then deafening din. the young brown reeds on the moor waved to and fro in feathery billows; the forest boughs were hidden in a watery mist, and still light and darkness followed each other, still came the silence after the roar, while the corn and the blades of grass lay beaten down and swamped, so that it seemed impossible they could ever raise themselves again. but after a while the rain began to fall gently, the sun's rays pierced the clouds, and the water-drops glittered like pearls on leaf and stem. the birds sang, the fishes leaped up to the surface of the water, the gnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder, on a rock by the heaving salt sea, sat summer himself, a strong man with sturdy limbs and long, dripping hair. strengthened by the cool bath, he sat in the warm sunshine, while all around him renewed nature bloomed strong, luxuriant, and beautiful: it was summer, warm, lovely summer. sweet and pleasant was the fragrance wafted from the clover-field, where the bees swarmed round the ruined tower, the bramble twined itself over the old altar, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine; and thither flew the queen bee with her swarm, and prepared wax and honey. but summer and his bosom-wife saw it with different eyes, to them the altar-table was covered with the offerings of nature. the evening sky shone like gold, no church dome could ever gleam so brightly, and between the golden evening and the blushing morning there was moonlight. it was indeed summer. and days and weeks passed, the bright scythes of the reapers glittered in the corn-fields, the branches of the apple-trees bent low, heavy with the red and golden fruit. the hop, hanging in clusters, filled the air with sweet fragrance, and beneath the hazel-bushes, where the nuts hung in great bunches, rested a man and a woman--summer and his grave consort. "see," she exclaimed, "what wealth, what blessings surround us. everything is home-like and good, and yet, i know not why, i long for rest and peace; i can scarcely express what i feel. they are already ploughing the fields again; more and more the people wish for gain. see, the storks are flocking together, and following the plough at a short distance. they are the birds from egypt, who carried us through the air. do you remember how we came as children to this land of the north; we brought with us flowers and bright sunshine, and green to the forests, but the wind has been rough with them, and they are now become dark and brown, like the trees of the south, but they do not, like them, bear golden fruit." "do you wish to see golden fruit?" said the man, "then rejoice," and he lifted his arm. the leaves of the forest put on colors of red and gold, and bright tints covered the woodlands. the rose-bushes gleamed with scarlet hips, and the branches of the elder-trees hung down with the weight of the full, dark berries. the wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark, green shells, and in the forests the violets bloomed for the second time. but the queen of the year became more and more silent and pale. "it blows cold," she said, "and night brings the damp mist; i long for the land of my childhood." then she saw the storks fly away every one, and she stretched out her hands towards them. she looked at the empty nests; in one of them grew a long-stalked corn flower, in another the yellow mustard seed, as if the nest had been placed there only for its comfort and protection, and the sparrows were flying round them all. "tweet, where has the master of the nest gone?" cried one, "i suppose he could not bear it when the wind blew, and therefore he has left this country. i wish him a pleasant journey." the forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after leaf fell, and the stormy winds of autumn howled. the year was now far advanced, and upon the fallen, yellow leaves, lay the queen of the year, looking up with mild eyes at a gleaming star, and her husband stood by her. a gust of wind swept through the foliage, and the leaves fell in a shower. the summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last of the year, flew through the cold air. damp fogs came, icy winds blew, and the long, dark nights of winter approached. the ruler of the year appeared with hair white as snow, but he knew it not; he thought snow-flakes falling from the sky covered his head, as they decked the green fields with a thin, white covering of snow. and then the church bells rang out for christmas time. "the bells are ringing for the new-born year," said the ruler, "soon will a new ruler and his bride be born, and i shall go to rest with my wife in yonder light-giving star." in the fresh, green fir-wood, where the snow lay all around, stood the angel of christmas, and consecrated the young trees that were to adorn his feast. "may there be joy in the rooms, and under the green boughs," said the old ruler of the year. in a few weeks he had become a very old man, with hair as white as snow. "my resting-time draws near; the young pair of the year will soon claim my crown and sceptre." "but the night is still thine," said the angel of christmas, "for power, but not for rest. let the snow lie warmly upon the tender seed. learn to endure the thought that another is worshipped whilst thou art still lord. learn to endure being forgotten while yet thou livest. the hour of thy freedom will come when spring appears." "and when will spring come?" asked winter. "it will come when the stork returns." and with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, but strong as the wintry storm, and firm as the ice, old winter sat on the snowdrift-covered hill, looking towards the south, where winter had sat before, and gazed. the ice glittered, the snow crackled, the skaters skimmed over the polished surface of the lakes; ravens and crows formed a pleasing contrast to the white ground, and not a breath of wind stirred, and in the still air old winter clenched his fists, and the ice lay fathoms deep between the lands. then came the sparrows again out of the town, and asked, "who is that old man?" the raven sat there still, or it might be his son, which is the same thing, and he said to them,-- "it is winter, the old man of the former year; he is not dead, as the calendar says, but he is guardian to the spring, which is coming." "when will spring come?" asked the sparrows, "for we shall have better times then, and a better rule. the old times are worth nothing." and in quiet thought old winter looked at the leafless forest, where the graceful form and bends of each tree and branch could be seen; and while winter slept, icy mists came from the clouds, and the ruler dreamt of his youthful days and of his manhood, and in the morning dawn the whole forest glittered with hoar frost, which the sun shook from the branches,--and this was the summer dream of winter. "when will spring come?" asked the sparrows. "spring!" again the echo sounded from the hills on which the snow lay. the sunshine became warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "spring is coming!" and high in the air flew the first stork, and the second followed; a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they sank down on the open field, kissed the earth, and kissed the quiet old man; and, as the mist from the mountain top, he vanished away and disappeared. and the story of the year was finished. "this is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and it is very beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar, therefore, it must be all wrong." [illustration: waldemar daa and his daughters. p. .] what the moon saw: and other tales. by hans c. andersen. translated by h. w. dulcken, ph.d. with eighty illustrations by a. w. bayes, engraved by the brothers dalziel. london: george routledge and sons, broadway, ludgate hill. . * * * * * _uniform with_ "what the moon saw, and other tales," _price s., extra cloth, on fine toned paper_, stories and tales by hans c. andersen. translated by h. w. dulcken, ph.d. eighty illustrations by a. w. bayes. engraved by the brothers dalziel. *** _the two volumes,_ "stories and tales" _and_ "what the moon saw," _form the most complete collection of_ hans c. andersen's _tales published in this country._ * * * * * preface. the present book is put forth as a sequel to the volume of hans c. andersen's "stories and tales," published in a similar form in the course of . it contains tales and sketches various in character; and following, as it does, an earlier volume, care has been taken to intersperse with the children's tales stories which, by their graver character and deeper meaning, are calculated to interest those "children of a larger growth" who can find instruction as well as amusement in the play of fancy and imagination, though the realm be that of fiction, and the instruction be conveyed in a simple form. the series of sketches of "what the moon saw," with which the present volume opens, arose from the experiences of andersen, when as a youth he went to seek his fortune in the capital of his native land; and the story entitled "under the willow tree" is said likewise to have its foundation in fact; indeed, it seems redolent of the truth of that natural human love and suffering which is so truly said to "make the whole world kin." on the preparation and embellishment of the book, the same care and attention have been lavished as on the preceding volume. the pencil of mr. bayes and the graver of the brothers dalziel have again been employed in the work of illustration; and it is hoped that the favour bestowed by the public on the former volume may be extended to this its successor. h. w. d. * * * * * contents. page what the moon saw the story of the year she was good for nothing "there is a difference" everything in its right place the goblin and the huckster in a thousand years the bond of friendship jack the dullard. an old story told anew something under the willow tree the beetle what the old man does is always right the wind tells about waldemar daa and his daughters ib and christine ole the tower-keeper the bottle-neck good humour a leaf from the sky the dumb book the jewish girl the thorny road of honour the old gravestone the old bachelor's nightcap the marsh king's daughter the last dream of the old oak tree. a christmas tale the bell-deep the puppet showman the pigs anne lisbeth charming in the duck-yard the girl who trod on the loaf a story from the sand-dunes the bishop of börglum and his warriors the snow man two maidens the farmyard cock and the weathercock the pen and inkstand the child in the grave soup on a sausage-peg the stone of the wise men the butterfly in the uttermost parts of the sea the phoenix bird * * * * * what the moon saw. [illustration: my post of observation.] introduction. it is a strange thing, that when i feel most fervently and most deeply, my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that i cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me; and yet i am a painter: my eye tells me as much as that, and all my friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same. i am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but i do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with an extensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. during the first few days i went to live in the town, i felt low-spirited and solitary enough. instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, i had here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. and then i had not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me. so one evening i sat at the window, in a desponding mood; and presently i opened the casement and looked out. oh, how my heart leaped up with joy! here was a well-known face at last--a round, friendly countenance, the face of a good friend i had known at home. in, fact it was the moon that looked in upon me. he was quite unchanged, the dear old moon, and had the same face exactly that he used to show when he peered down upon me through the willow trees on the moor. i kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone far into my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that every evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a few moments. this promise he has faithfully kept. it is a pity that he can only stay such a short time when he comes. whenever he appears, he tells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previous night, or on that same evening. "just paint the scenes i describe to you"--this is what he said to me--"and you will have a very pretty picture-book." i have followed his injunction for many evenings. i could make up a new "thousand and one nights," in my own way, out of these pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. the pictures i have here given have not been chosen at random, but follow in their proper order, just as they were described to me. some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may make something more of them if he likes; what i have given here are only hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my own thoughts interspersed; for the moon did not come to me every evening--a cloud sometimes hid his face from me. [illustration: the indian girl.] first evening. "last night"--i am quoting the moon's own words--"last night i was gliding through the cloudless indian sky. my face was mirrored in the waters of the ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through the thick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me like the tortoise's shell. forth from the thicket tripped a hindoo maid, light as a gazelle, beautiful as eve. airy and ethereal as a vision, and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of hindostan: i could read on her delicate brow the thought that had brought her hither. the thorny creeping plants tore her sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. the deer that had come down to the river to quench their thirst, sprang by with a startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. i could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread them for a screen before the dancing flame. she came down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. the flame flickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp burned on, and the girl's black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind their long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity. she knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if the lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. and the lamp burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. near her in the grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not--she thought only of bramah and of her betrothed. 'he lives!' she shouted joyfully, 'he lives!' and from the mountains the echo came back upon her, 'he lives!'" [illustration: the little girl and the chickens.] second evening. "yesterday," said the moon to me, "i looked down upon a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. in the courtyard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was running and jumping around them. the hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread out her wings over the little brood. then the girl's father came out and scolded her; and i glided away and thought no more of the matter. "but this evening, only a few minutes ago, i looked down into the same courtyard. everything was quiet. but presently the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back the bolt, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. they cried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. i saw it quite plainly, for i looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. i was angry with the wilful child, and felt glad when her father came out and scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughly by the arm: she held down her head, and her blue eyes were full of large tears. 'what are you about here?' he asked. she wept and said, 'i wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday; but i was afraid to tell you.' "and the father kissed the innocent child's forehead, and i kissed her on the mouth and eyes." third evening. "in the narrow street round the corner yonder--it is so narrow that my beams can only glide for a minute along the walls of the house, but in that minute i see enough to learn what the world is made of--in that narrow street i saw a woman. sixteen years ago that woman was a child, playing in the garden of the old parsonage, in the country. the hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers were faded. they straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged branches grew up among the boughs of the apple trees; here and there were a few roses still in bloom--not so fair as the queen of flowers generally appears, but still they had colour and scent too. the clergyman's little daughter appeared to me a far lovelier rose, as she sat on her stool under the straggling hedge, hugging and caressing her doll with the battered pasteboard cheeks. "ten years afterwards i saw her again. i beheld her in a splendid ball-room: she was the beautiful bride of a rich merchant. i rejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on calm quiet evenings--ah, nobody thinks of my clear eye and my silent glance! alas! my rose ran wild, like the rose bushes in the garden of the parsonage. there are tragedies in every-day life, and to-night i saw the last act of one. "she was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street: she was sick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, and tore away the thin coverlet, her only protection against the cold. 'get up!' said he; 'your face is enough to frighten one. get up and dress yourself, give me money, or i'll turn you out into the street! quick--get up!' she answered, 'alas! death is gnawing at my heart. let me rest.' but he forced her to get up and bathe her face, and put a wreath of roses in her hair; and he placed her in a chair at the window, with a candle burning beside her, and went away. "i looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with her hands in her lap. the wind caught the open window and shut it with a crash, so that a pane came clattering down in fragments; but still she never moved. the curtain caught fire, and the flames played about her face; and i saw that she was dead. there at the open window sat the dead woman, preaching a sermon against _sin_--my poor faded rose out of the parsonage garden!" fourth evening. "this evening i saw a german play acted," said the moon. "it was in a little town. a stable had been turned into a theatre; that is to say, the stable had been left standing, and had been turned into private boxes, and all the timber work had been covered with coloured paper. a little iron chandelier hung beneath the ceiling, and that it might be made to disappear into the ceiling, as it does in great theatres, when the _ting-ting_ of the prompter's bell is heard, a great inverted tub had been placed just above it. "'_ting-ting!_' and the little iron chandelier suddenly rose at least half a yard and disappeared in the tub; and that was the sign that the play was going to begin. a young nobleman and his lady, who happened to be passing through the little town, were present at the performance, and consequently the house was crowded. but under the chandelier was a vacant space like a little crater: not a single soul sat there, for the tallow was dropping, drip, drip! i saw everything, for it was so warm in there that every loophole had been opened. the male and female servants stood outside, peeping through the chinks, although a real policeman was inside, threatening them with a stick. close by the orchestra could be seen the noble young couple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by his worship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were to-day obliged to content themselves with wooden forms, just as if they had been ordinary citizens; and the lady observed quietly to herself, 'one sees, now, that there is rank above rank;' and this incident gave an air of extra festivity to the whole proceedings. the chandelier gave little leaps, the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and i, the moon, was present at the performance from beginning to end." [illustration: the play in a stable.] fifth evening. "yesterday," began the moon, "i looked down upon the turmoil of paris. my eye penetrated into an apartment of the louvre. an old grandmother, poorly clad--she belonged to the working class--was following one of the under-servants into the great empty throne-room, for this was the apartment she wanted to see--that she was resolved to see; it had cost her many a little sacrifice, and many a coaxing word, to penetrate thus far. she folded her thin hands, and looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in a church. "'here it was!' she said, 'here!' and she approached the throne, from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace. 'there,' she exclaimed, 'there!' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet. i think she was actually weeping. "'but it was not _this very_ velvet!' observed the footman, and a smile played about his mouth. 'true, but it was this very place,' replied the woman, 'and it must have looked just like this.' 'it looked so, and yet it did not,' observed the man: 'the windows were beaten in, and the doors were off their hinges, and there was blood upon the floor.' 'but for all that you can say, my grandson died upon the throne of france. died!' mournfully repeated the old woman. i do not think another word was spoken, and they soon quitted the hall. the evening twilight faded, and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich velvet that covered the throne of france. "now, who do you think this poor woman was? listen, i will tell you a story. "it happened, in the revolution of july, on the evening of the most brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a fortress, every window a breastwork. the people stormed the tuileries. even women and children were to be found among the combatants. they penetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace. a poor half-grown boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents. mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts, he sank down. this happened in the throne-room. they laid the bleeding youth upon the throne of france, wrapped the velvet around his wounds, and his blood streamed forth upon the imperial purple. there was a picture! the splendid hall, the fighting groups! a torn flag lay upon the ground, the tricolor was waving above the bayonets, and on the throne lay the poor lad with the pale glorified countenance, his eyes turned towards the sky, his limbs writhing in the death agony, his breast bare, and his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvet embroidered with silver lilies. at the boy's cradle a prophecy had been spoken: 'he will die on the throne of france!' the mother's heart dreamt of a second napoleon. "my beams have kissed the wreath of _immortelles_ on his grave, and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grandame, while in a dream the picture floated before her which thou mayest draw--the poor boy on the throne of france." sixth evening. "i've been in upsala," said the moon: "i looked down upon the great plain covered with coarse grass, and upon the barren fields. i mirrored my face in the tyris river, while the steamboat drove the fish into the rushes. beneath me floated the waves, throwing long shadows on the so-called graves of odin, thor, and friga. in the scanty turf that covers the hill-side names have been cut.[ ] there is no monument here, no memorial on which the traveller can have his name carved, no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted; so visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. the naked earth peers through in the form of great letters and names; these form a network over the whole hill. here is an immortality, which lasts till the fresh turf grows! [footnote : travellers on the continent have frequent opportunities of seeing how universally this custom prevails among travellers. in some places on the rhine, pots of paint and brushes are offered by the natives to the traveller desirous of "immortalising" himself.] "up on the hill stood a man, a poet. he emptied the mead horn with the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. he begged the winds not to betray him, but i heard the name. i knew it. a count's coronet sparkles above it, and therefore he did not speak it out. i smiled, for i knew that a poet's crown adorns his own name. the nobility of eleanora d'este is attached to the name of tasso. and i also know where the rose of beauty blooms!" thus spake the moon, and a cloud came between us. may no cloud separate the poet from the rose! seventh evening. "along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and beeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood; hundreds of nightingales visit it every spring. close beside it is the sea, the ever-changing sea, and between the two is placed the broad high-road. one carriage after another rolls over it; but i did not follow them, for my eye loves best to rest upon one point. a hun's grave[ ] lies there, and the sloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones. here is true poetry in nature. [footnote : large mounds similar to the "barrows" found in britain, are thus designated in germany and the north.] "and how do you think men appreciate this poetry? i will tell you what i heard there last evening and during the night. "first, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 'those are glorious trees!' said the first. 'certainly; there are ten loads of firewood in each,' observed the other: 'it will be a hard winter, and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'--and they were gone. 'the road here is wretched,' observed another man who drove past. 'that's the fault of those horrible trees,' replied his neighbour; 'there is no free current of air; the wind can only come from the sea'--and they were gone. the stage coach went rattling past. all the passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot. the postillion blew his horn, but he only thought, 'i can play capitally. it sounds well here. i wonder if those in there like it?'--and the stage coach vanished. then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback. there's youth and spirit in the blood here! thought i; and, indeed, they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and thick forest. 'i should not dislike a walk here with the miller's christine,' said one--and they flew past. "the flowers scented the air; every breath of air was hushed: it seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above the deep valley. a carriage rolled by. six people were sitting in it. four of them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat, which would suit him admirably; the sixth turned to the coachman and asked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heap of stones. 'no,' replied the coachman, 'it's only a heap of stones; but the trees are remarkable.' 'how so?' 'why, i'll tell you how they are very remarkable. you see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep, and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen, those trees serve me for a landmark. i steer by them, so as not to drive into the sea; and you see that is why the trees are remarkable.' "now came a painter. he spoke not a word, but his eyes sparkled. he began to whistle. at this the nightingales sang louder than ever. 'hold your tongues!' he cried testily; and he made accurate notes of all the colours and transitions--blue, and lilac, and dark brown. 'that will make a beautiful picture,' he said. he took it in just as a mirror takes in a view; and as he worked he whistled a march of rossini. and last of all came a poor girl. she laid aside the burden she carried, and sat down to rest upon the hun's grave. her pale handsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest. her eyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her hands were folded, and i think she prayed, 'our father.' she herself could not understand the feeling that swept through her, but i know that this minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within her memory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the painter could portray it with his colours on paper. my rays followed her till the morning dawn kissed her brow." [illustration: the poor girl rests on the hun's grave.] eighth evening. heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the moon did not make his appearance at all. i stood in my little room, more lonely than ever, and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself. my thoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who every evening told me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures. yes, he has had an experience indeed. he glided over the waters of the deluge, and smiled on noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me, and brought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forth from the old. when the children of israel sat weeping by the waters of babylon, he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung the silent harps. when romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise of true love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the round moon hung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. he saw the captive giant at st. helena, looking from the lonely rock across the wide ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. ah! what tales the moon can tell. human life is like a story to him. to-night i shall not see thee again, old friend. to-night i can draw no picture of the memories of thy visit. and, as i looked dreamily towards the clouds, the sky became bright. there was a glancing light, and a beam from the moon fell upon me. it vanished again, and dark clouds flew past; but still it was a greeting, a friendly good-night offered to me by the moon. ninth evening. the air was clear again. several evenings had passed, and the moon was in the first quarter. again he gave me an outline for a sketch. listen to what he told me. "i have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to the eastern coast of greenland. gaunt ice-covered rocks and dark clouds hung over a valley, where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stood clothed in green. the blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours. my light was faint, my face pale as the water lily that, torn from its stem, has been drifting for weeks with the tide. the crown-shaped northern light burned fiercely in the sky. its ring was broad, and from its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fire across the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to red. the inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for dance and festivity; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle, they scarcely deigned to glance at it. 'let us leave the souls of the dead to their ball-play with the heads of the walruses,' they thought in their superstition, and they turned their whole attention to the song and dance. in the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry cloak, stood a greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played and sang a song about catching the seal, and the chorus around chimed in with, '_eia, eia, ah._' and in their white furs they danced about in the circle, till you might fancy it was a polar bear's ball. "and now a court of judgment was opened. those greenlanders who had quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended person chanted forth the faults of his adversary in an extempore song, turning them sharply into ridicule, to the sound of the pipe and the measure of the dance. the defendant replied with satire as keen, while the audience laughed, and gave their verdict. the rocks heaved, the glaciers melted, and great masses of ice and snow came crashing down, shivering to fragments as they fell: it was a glorious greenland summer night. a hundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. life still flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die--he himself felt it, and all who stood round him knew it also; therefore his wife was already sowing round him the shroud of furs, that she might not afterwards be obliged to touch the dead body. and she asked, 'wilt thou be buried on the rock, in the firm snow? i will deck the spot with thy _kayak_, and thy arrows, and the _angekokk_ shall dance over it. or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?' 'in the sea,' he whispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. 'yes, it is a pleasant summer tent, the sea,' observed the wife. 'thousands of seals sport there, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe and merry!' and the yelling children tore the outspread hide from the window-hole, that the dead man might be carried to the ocean, the billowy ocean, that had given him food in life, and that now, in death, was to afford him a place of rest. for his monument, he had the floating, ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the storm bird flies round their gleaming summits!" tenth evening. [illustration: the old maid.] "i knew an old maid," said the moon. "every winter she wore a wrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained new, and was the only fashion she followed. in summer she always wore the same straw hat, and i verily believe the very same grey-blue dress. "she never went out, except across the street to an old female friend; and in later years she did not even take this walk, for the old friend was dead. in her solitude my old maid was always busy at the window, which was adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and in winter with cress, grown upon felt. during the last months i saw her no more at the window, but she was still alive. i knew that, for i had not yet seen her begin the 'long journey,' of which she often spoke with her friend. 'yes, yes,' she was in the habit of saying, 'when i come to die, i shall take a longer journey than i have made my whole life long. our family vault is six miles from here. i shall be carried there, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.' last night a van stopped at the house. a coffin was carried out, and then i knew that she was dead. they placed straw round the coffin, and the van drove away. there slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out of her house once for the last year. the van rolled out through the town-gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion. on the high-road the pace was quicker yet. the coachman looked nervously round every now and then--i fancy he half expected to see her sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin wrapper. and because he was startled, he foolishly lashed his horses, while he held the reins so tightly that the poor beasts were in a foam: they were young and fiery. a hare jumped across the road and startled them, and they fairly ran away. the old sober maiden, who had for years and years moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now, in death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway. the coffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van, and was left on the high-road, while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past in wild career. the lark rose up carolling from the field, twittering her morning lay over the coffin, and presently perched upon it, picking with her beak at the straw covering, as though she would tear it up. the lark rose up again, singing gaily, and i withdrew behind the red morning clouds." eleventh evening. "i will give you a picture of pompeii," said the moon. "i was in the suburb in the street of tombs, as they call it, where the fair monuments stand, in the spot where, ages ago, the merry youths, their temples bound with rosy wreaths, danced with the fair sisters of laïs. now, the stillness of death reigned around. german mercenaries, in the neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards, and diced; and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains came into the town, accompanied by a sentry. they wanted to see the city that had risen from the grave illumined by my beams; and i showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad lava slabs; i showed them the names on the doors, and the signs that hung there yet: they saw in the little courtyard the basins of the fountains, ornamented with shells; but no jet of water gushed upwards, no songs sounded forth from the richly-painted chambers, where the bronze dog kept the door. "it was the city of the dead; only vesuvius thundered forth his everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is called by men an eruption. we went to the temple of venus, built of snow-white marble, with its high altar in front of the broad steps, and the weeping willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars. the air was transparent and blue, and black vesuvius formed the background, with fire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the pine tree. above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, like the crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination. among the company was a lady singer, a real and great singer. i have witnessed the homage paid to her in the greatest cities of europe. when they came to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the amphitheatre steps, and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience, as it had been many centuries ago. the stage still stood unchanged, with its walled side-scenes, and the two arches in the background, through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited in the old times--a scene painted by nature herself, namely, the mountains between sorento and amalfi. the singer gaily mounted the ancient stage, and sang. the place inspired her, and she reminded me of a wild arab horse, that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils and flying mane--her song was so light and yet so firm. anon i thought of the mourning mother beneath the cross at golgotha, so deep was the expression of pain. and, just as it had done thousands of years ago, the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre. 'happy, gifted creature!' all the hearers exclaimed. five minutes more, and the stage was empty, the company had vanished, and not a sound more was heard--all were gone. but the ruins stood unchanged, as they will stand when centuries shall have gone by, and when none shall know of the momentary applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress; when all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this hour will be but a dream of the past." twelfth evening. "i looked through the windows of an editor's house," said the moon. "it was somewhere in germany. i saw handsome furniture, many books, and a chaos of newspapers. several young men were present: the editor himself stood at his desk, and two little books, both by young authors, were to be noticed. 'this one has been sent to me,' said he. 'i have not read it yet; what think _you_ of the contents?' 'oh,' said the person addressed--he was a poet himself--'it is good enough; a little broad, certainly; but, you see, the author is still young. the verses might be better, to be sure; the thoughts are sound, though there is certainly a good deal of commonplace among them. but what will you have? you can't be always getting something new. that he'll turn out anything great i don't believe, but you may safely praise him. he is well read, a remarkable oriental scholar, and has a good judgment. it was he who wrote that nice review of my 'reflections on domestic life.' we must be lenient towards the young man.' "'but he is a complete hack!' objected another of the gentlemen. 'nothing is worse in poetry than mediocrity, and he certainly does not go beyond this.' "'poor fellow,' observed a third, 'and his aunt is so happy about him. it was she, mr. editor, who got together so many subscribers for your last translation.' "'ah, the good woman! well, i have noticed the book briefly. undoubted talent--a welcome offering--a flower in the garden of poetry--prettily brought out--and so on. but this other book--i suppose the author expects me to purchase it? i hear it is praised. he has genius, certainly; don't you think so?' "'yes, all the world declares as much,' replied the poet, 'but it has turned out rather wildly. the punctuation of the book, in particular, is very eccentric.' "'it will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and anger him a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion of himself.' "'but that would be unfair,' objected the fourth. 'let us not carp at little faults, but rejoice over the real and abundant good that we find here: he surpasses all the rest.' "'not so. if he is a true genius, he can bear the sharp voice of censure. there are people enough to praise him. don't let us quite turn his head.' "'decided talent,' wrote the editor, 'with the usual carelessness. that he can write incorrect verses may be seen in page , where there are two false quantities. we recommend him to study the ancients, etc.' "i went away," continued the moon, "and looked through the windows in the aunt's house. there sat the be-praised poet, the _tame_ one; all the guests paid homage to him, and he was happy. "i sought the other poet out, the _wild_ one; him also i found in a great assembly at his patron's, where the tame poet's book was being discussed. "'i shall read yours also,' said mæcenas; 'but to speak honestly--you know i never hide my opinion from you--i don't expect much from it, for you are much too wild, too fantastic. but it must be allowed that, as a man, you are highly respectable.' "a young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book these words: "'in the dust lies genius and glory, but ev'ry-day talent will _pay_. it's only the old, old story, but the piece is repeated each day.'" thirteenth evening. the moon said, "beside the woodland path there are two small farmhouses. the doors are low, and some of the windows are placed quite high, and others close to the ground; and whitethorn and barberry bushes grow around them. the roof of each house is overgrown with moss and with yellow flowers and houseleek. cabbage and potatoes are the only plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of the hedge there grows a willow tree, and under this willow tree sat a little girl, and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the old oak tree between the two huts. "it was an old withered stem. it had been sawn off at the top, and a stork had built his nest upon it; and he stood in this nest clapping with his beak. a little boy came and stood by the girl's side: they were brother and sister. "'what are you looking at?' he asked. "'i'm watching the stork,' she replied: 'our neighbours told me that he would bring us a little brother or sister to-day; let us watch to see it come!' "'the stork brings no such things,' the boy declared, 'you may be sure of that. our neighbour told me the same thing, but she laughed when she said it, and so i asked her if she could say 'on my honour,' and she could not; and i know by that that the story about the storks is not true, and that they only tell it to us children for fun.' "'but where do the babies come from, then?' asked the girl. "'why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak, but no man can see him; and that's why we never know when he brings them.' "at that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the willow tree, and the children folded their hands and looked at one another: it was certainly the angel coming with the baby. they took each other's hand, and at that moment the door of one of the houses opened, and the neighbour appeared. [illustration: watching the stork.] "'come in, you two,' she said. 'see what the stork has brought. it is a little brother.' "and the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had felt quite sure already that the baby was come." fourteenth evening. "i was gliding over the lüneburg heath," the moon said. "a lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew near it, and a nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. he died in the coldness of the night: it was his farewell song that i heard. "the morning dawn came glimmering red. i saw a caravan of emigrant peasant families who were bound to hamburgh, there to take ship for america, where fancied prosperity would bloom for them. the mothers carried their little children at their backs, the elder ones tottered by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart that bore their scanty effects. the cold wind whistled, and therefore the little girl nestled closer to the mother, who, looking up at my decreasing disc, thought of the bitter want at home, and spoke of the heavy taxes they had not been able to raise. the whole caravan thought of the same thing; therefore, the rising dawn seemed to them a message from the sun, of fortune that was to gleam brightly upon them. they heard the dying nightingale sing: it was no false prophet, but a harbinger of fortune. the wind whistled, therefore they did not understand that the nightingale sung, 'fare away over the sea! thou hast paid the long passage with all that was thine, and poor and helpless shalt thou enter canaan. thou must sell thyself, thy wife, and thy children. but your griefs shall not last long. behind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the goddess of death, and her welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. fare away, fare away, over the heaving billows.' and the caravan listened well pleased to the song of the nightingale, which seemed to promise good fortune. day broke through the light clouds; country people went across the heath to church: the black-gowned women with their white head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped forth from the church pictures. all around lay a wide dead plain, covered with faded brown heath, and black charred spaces between the white sand hills. the women carried hymn books, and walked into the church. oh, pray, pray for those who are wandering to find graves beyond the foaming billows." [illustration: pulcinella on columbine's grave.] fifteenth evening. "i know a pulcinella,"[ ] the moon told me. "the public applaud vociferously directly they see him. every one of his movements is comic, and is sure to throw the house into convulsions of laughter; and yet there is no art in it all--it is complete nature. when he was yet a little boy, playing about with other boys, he was already punch. nature had intended him for it, and had provided him with a hump on his back, and another on his breast; but his inward man, his mind, on the contrary, was richly furnished. no one could surpass him in depth of feeling or in readiness of intellect. the theatre was his ideal world. if he had possessed a slender well-shaped figure, he might have been the first tragedian on any stage: the heroic, the great, filled his soul; and yet he had to become a pulcinella. his very sorrow and melancholy did but increase the comic dryness of his sharply-cut features, and increased the laughter of the audience, who showered plaudits on their favourite. the lovely columbine was indeed kind and cordial to him; but she preferred to marry the harlequin. it would have been too ridiculous if beauty and ugliness had in reality paired together. [footnote : the comic or grotesque character of the italian ballet, from which the english "punch" takes his origin.] "when pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the only one who could force a hearty burst of laughter, or even a smile from him: first she would be melancholy with him, then quieter, and at last quite cheerful and happy. 'i know very well what is the matter with you,' she said; 'yes, you're in love!' and he could not help laughing. 'i and love!' he cried, 'that would have an absurd look. how the public would shout!' 'certainly, you are in love,' she continued; and added with a comic pathos, 'and i am the person you are in love with.' you see, such a thing may be said when it is quite out of the question--and, indeed, pulcinella burst out laughing, and gave a leap into the air, and his melancholy was forgotten. "and yet she had only spoken the truth. he _did_ love her, love her adoringly, as he loved what was great and lofty in art. at her wedding he was the merriest among the guests, but in the stillness of night he wept: if the public had seen his distorted face then, they would have applauded rapturously. "and a few days ago, columbine died. on the day of the funeral, harlequin was not required to show himself on the boards, for he was a disconsolate widower. the director had to give a very merry piece, that the public might not too painfully miss the pretty columbine and the agile harlequin. therefore pulcinella had to be more boisterous and extravagant than ever; and he danced and capered, with despair in his heart; and the audience yelled, and shouted '_bravo, bravissimo!_' pulcinella was actually called before the curtain. he was pronounced inimitable. "but last night the hideous little fellow went out of the town, quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. the wreath of flowers on columbine's grave was already faded, and he sat down there. it was a study for a painter. as he sat with his chin on his hands, his eyes turned up towards me, he looked like a grotesque monument--a punch on a grave--peculiar and whimsical! if the people could have seen their favourite, they would have cried as usual, '_bravo, pulcinella; bravo, bravissimo!_'" sixteenth evening. hear what the moon told me. "i have seen the cadet who had just been made an officer put on his handsome uniform for the first time; i have seen the young bride in her wedding dress, and the princess girl-wife happy in her gorgeous robes; but never have i seen a felicity equal to that of a little girl of four years old, whom i watched this evening. she had received a new blue dress, and a new pink hat, the splendid attire had just been put on, and all were calling for a candle, for my rays, shining in through the windows of the room, were not bright enough for the occasion, and further illumination was required. there stood the little maid, stiff and upright as a doll, her arms stretched painfully straight out away from the dress, and her fingers apart; and oh, what happiness beamed from her eyes, and from her whole countenance! 'to-morrow you shall go out in your new clothes,' said her mother; and the little one looked up at her hat, and down at her frock, and smiled brightly. 'mother,' she cried, 'what will the little dogs think, when they see me in these splendid new things?'" seventeenth evening. "i have spoken to you of pompeii," said the moon; "that corpse of a city, exposed in the view of living towns: i know another sight still more strange, and this is not the corpse, but the spectre of a city. whenever the jetty fountains splash into the marble basins, they seem to me to be telling the story of the floating city. yes, the spouting water may tell of her, the waves of the sea may sing of her fame! on the surface of the ocean a mist often rests, and that is her widow's veil. the bridegroom of the sea is dead, his palace and his city are his mausoleum! dost thou know this city? she has never heard the rolling of wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in her streets, through which the fish swim, while the black gondola glides spectrally over the green water. i will show you the place," continued the moon, "the largest square in it, and you will fancy yourself transported into the city of a fairy tale. the grass grows rank among the broad flagstones, and in the morning twilight thousands of tame pigeons flutter around the solitary lofty tower. on three sides you find yourself surrounded by cloistered walks. in these the silent turk sits smoking his long pipe, the handsome greek leans against the pillar and gazes at the upraised trophies and lofty masts, memorials of power that is gone. the flags hang down like mourning scarves. a girl rests there: she has put down her heavy pails filled with water, the yoke with which she has carried them rests on one of her shoulders, and she leans against the mast of victory. that is not a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but a church: the gilded domes and shining orbs flash back my beams; the glorious bronze horses up yonder have made journeys, like the bronze horse in the fairy tale: they have come hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. do you notice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows? it looks as if genius had followed the caprices of a child, in the adornment of these singular temples. do you see the winged lion on the pillar? the gold glitters still, but his wings are tied--the lion is dead, for the king of the sea is dead; the great halls stand desolate, and where gorgeous paintings hung of yore, the naked wall now peers through. the _lazzarone_ sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in old times was to be trodden only by the feet of high nobility. from the deep wells, and perhaps from the prisons by the bridge of sighs, rise the accents of woe, as at the time when the tambourine was heard in the gay gondolas, and the golden ring was cast from the _bucentaur_ to adria, the queen of the seas. adria! shroud thyself in mists; let the veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form, and clothe in the weeds of woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom--the marble, spectral venice." eighteenth evening. "i looked down upon a great theatre," said the moon. "the house was crowded, for a new actor was to make his first appearance that night. my rays glided over a little window in the wall, and i saw a painted face with the forehead pressed against the panes. it was the hero of the evening. the knightly beard curled crisply about the chin; but there were tears in the man's eyes, for he had been hissed off, and indeed with reason. the poor incapable! but incapables cannot be admitted into the empire of art. he had deep feeling, and loved his art enthusiastically, but the art loved not him. the prompter's bell sounded; '_the hero enters with a determined air_,' so ran the stage direction in his part, and he had to appear before an audience who turned him into ridicule. when the piece was over, i saw a form wrapped in a mantle, creeping down the steps: it was the vanquished knight of the evening. the scene-shifters whispered to one another, and i followed the poor fellow home to his room. to hang one's self is to die a mean death, and poison is not always at hand, i know; but he thought of both. i saw how he looked at his pale face in the glass, with eyes half closed, to see if he should look well as a corpse. a man may be very unhappy, and yet exceedingly affected. he thought of death, of suicide; i believe he pitied himself, for he wept bitterly, and when a man has had his cry out he doesn't kill himself. "since that time a year had rolled by. again a play was to be acted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling company. again i saw the well-remembered face, with the painted cheeks and the crisp beard. he looked up at me and smiled; and yet he had been hissed off only a minute before--hissed off from a wretched theatre, by a miserable audience. and to-night a shabby hearse rolled out of the town-gate. it was a suicide--our painted, despised hero. the driver of the hearse was the only person present, for no one followed except my beams. in a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the suicide was shovelled into the earth, and nettles will soon be growing rankly over his grave, and the sexton will throw thorns and weeds from the other graves upon it." nineteenth evening. "i come from rome," said the moon. "in the midst of the city, upon one of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the imperial palace. the wild fig tree grows in the clefts of the wall, and covers the nakedness thereof with its broad grey-green leaves; trampling among heaps of rubbish, the ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank thistles. from this spot, whence the eagles of rome once flew abroad, whence they 'came, saw, and conquered,' our door leads into a little mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wild vine hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window. an old woman and her little granddaughter live there: they rule now in the palace of the cæsars, and show to strangers the remains of its past glories. of the splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, and a black cypress throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throne once stood. the dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement; and the little maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace, often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring. the keyhole of the door close by she calls her turret window; through this she can see half rome, as far as the mighty cupola of st. peter's. "on this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and in the full beam of my light came the little granddaughter. on her head she carried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water. her feet were bare, her short frock and her white sleeves were torn. i kissed her pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, and black shining hair. she mounted the stairs; they were steep, having been made up of rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar. the coloured lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, but she was not frightened at them. already she lifted her hand to pull the door-bell--a hare's foot fastened to a string formed the bell-handle of the imperial palace. she paused for a moment--of what might she be thinking? perhaps of the beautiful christ-child, dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in the chapel, where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where her little friends sung the hymns in which she also could join? i know not. presently she moved again--she stumbled; the earthen vessel fell from her head, and broke on the marble steps. she burst into tears. the beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over the worthless broken pitcher; with her bare feet she stood there weeping, and dared not pull the string, the bell-rope of the imperial palace!" twentieth evening. it was more than a fortnight since the moon had shone. now he stood once more, round and bright, above the clouds, moving slowly onward. hear what the moon told me. "from a town in fezzan i followed a caravan. on the margin of the sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a frozen lake, and was only covered in spots with light drifting sand, a halt was made. the eldest of the company--the water gourd hung at his girdle, and on his head was a little bag of unleavened bread--drew a square in the sand with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the koran, and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot. a young merchant, a child of the east, as i could tell by his eye and his figure, rode pensively forward on his white snorting steed. was he thinking, perchance, of his fair young wife? it was only two days ago that the camel, adorned with furs and with costly shawls, had carried her, the beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, while drums and cymbals had sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, of which the bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round the camel; and now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert. "for many nights i followed the train. i saw them rest by the well-side among the stunted palms; they thrust the knife into the breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted its flesh by the fire. my beams cooled the glowing sands, and showed them the black rocks, dead islands in the immense ocean of sand. no hostile tribes met them in their pathless route, no storms arose, no columns of sand whirled destruction over the journeying caravan. at home the beautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father. 'are they dead?' she asked of my golden crescent; 'are they dead?' she cried to my full disc. now the desert lies behind them. this evening they sit beneath the lofty palm trees, where the crane flutters round them with its long wings, and the pelican watches them from the branches of the mimosa. the luxuriant herbage is trampled down, crushed by the feet of elephants. a troop of negroes are returning from a market in the interior of the land: the women, with copper buttons in their black hair, and decked out in clothes dyed with indigo, drive the heavily-laden oxen, on whose backs slumber the naked black children. a negro leads a young lion which he has bought, by a string. they approach the caravan; the young merchant sits pensive and motionless, thinking of his beautiful wife, dreaming, in the land of the blacks, of his white fragrant lily beyond the desert. he raises his head, and----" but at this moment a cloud passed before the moon, and then another. i heard nothing more from him this evening. twenty-first evening. [illustration: the little girl's trouble.] "i saw a little girl weeping," said the moon; "she was weeping over the depravity of the world. she had received a most beautiful doll as a present. oh, that was a glorious doll, so fair and delicate! she did not seem created for the sorrows of this world. but the brothers of the little girl, those great naughty boys, had set the doll high up in the branches of a tree, and had run away. "the little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could not help her down, and that is why she was crying. the doll must certainly have been crying too; for she stretched out her arms among the green branches, and looked quite mournful. yes, these are the troubles of life of which the little girl had often heard tell. alas, poor doll! it began to grow dark already; and suppose night were to come on completely! was she to be left sitting there alone on the bough all night long? no, the little maid could not make up her mind to that. 'i'll stay with you,' she said, although she felt anything but happy in her mind. she could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes, with their high-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes; and further back in the long walk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing. they came nearer and nearer, and stretched out their hands towards the tree on which the doll sat; they laughed scornfully, and pointed at her with their fingers. oh, how frightened the little maid was! 'but if one has not done anything wrong,' she thought, 'nothing evil can harm one. i wonder if i have done anything wrong?' and she considered. 'oh, yes! i laughed at the poor duck with the red rag on her leg; she limped along so funnily, i could not help laughing; but it's a sin to laugh at animals.' and she looked up at the doll. 'did you laugh at the duck too?' she asked; and it seemed as if the doll shook her head." twenty-second evening. "i looked down upon tyrol," said the moon, "and my beams caused the dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks. i looked at the pictures of st. christopher carrying the infant jesus that are painted there upon the walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from the ground to the roof. st. florian was represented pouring water on the burning house, and the lord hung bleeding on the great cross by the wayside. to the present generation these are old pictures, but i saw when they were put up, and marked how one followed the other. on the brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow's nest, a lonely convent of nuns. two of the sisters stood up in the tower tolling the bell; they were both young, and therefore their glances flew over the mountain out into the world. a travelling coach passed by below, the postillion wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked after the carriage for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear gleamed in the eyes of the younger one. and the horn sounded faint and more faintly, and the convent bell drowned its expiring echoes." twenty-third evening. hear what the moon told me. "some years ago, here in copenhagen, i looked through the window of a mean little room. the father and mother slept, but the little son was not asleep. i saw the flowered cotton curtains of the bed move, and the child peep forth. at first i thought he was looking at the great clock, which was gaily painted in red and green. at the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leaden weights, and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went to and fro, and said 'tick, tick.' but no, he was not looking at the clock, but at his mother's spinning wheel, that stood just underneath it. that was the boy's favourite piece of furniture, but he dared not touch it, for if he meddled with it he got a rap on the knuckles. for hours together, when his mother was spinning, he would sit quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle and the revolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many things. oh, if he might only turn the wheel himself! father and mother were asleep; he looked at them, and looked at the spinning wheel, and presently a little naked foot peered out of the bed, and then a second foot, and then two little white legs. there he stood. he looked round once more, to see if father and mother were still asleep--yes, they slept; and now he crept _softly_, _softly_, in his short little nightgown, to the spinning wheel, and began to spin. the thread flew from the wheel, and the wheel whirled faster and faster. i kissed his fair hair and his blue eyes, it was such a pretty picture. "at that moment the mother awoke. the curtain shook, she looked forth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some other kind of little spectre. 'in heaven's name!' she cried, and aroused her husband in a frightened way. he opened his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, and looked at the brisk little lad. 'why, that is bertel,' said he. and my eye quitted the poor room, for i have so much to see. at the same moment i looked at the halls of the vatican, where the marble gods are enthroned. i shone upon the group of the laocoon; the stone seemed to sigh. i pressed a silent kiss on the lips of the muses, and they seemed to stir and move. but my rays lingered longest about the nile group with the colossal god. leaning against the sphinx, he lies there thoughtful and meditative, as if he were thinking on the rolling centuries; and little love-gods sport with him and with the crocodiles. in the horn of plenty sat with folded arms a little tiny love-god, contemplating the great solemn river-god, a true picture of the boy at the spinning wheel--the features were exactly the same. charming and life-like stood the little marble form, and yet the wheel of the year has turned more than a thousand times since the time when it sprang forth from the stone. just as often as the boy in the little room turned the spinning wheel had the great wheel murmured, before the age could again call forth marble gods equal to those he afterwards formed. "years have passed since all this happened," the moon went on to say. "yesterday i looked upon a bay on the eastern coast of denmark. glorious woods are there, and high trees, an old knightly castle with red walls, swans floating in the ponds, and in the background appears, among orchards, a little town with a church. many boats, the crews all furnished with torches, glided over the silent expanse--but these fires had not been kindled for catching fish, for everything had a festive look. music sounded, a song was sung, and in one of the boats the man stood erect to whom homage was paid by the rest, a tall sturdy man, wrapped in a cloak. he had blue eyes and long white hair. i knew him, and thought of the vatican, and of the group of the nile, and the old marble gods. i thought of the simple little room where little bertel sat in his night-shirt by the spinning wheel. the wheel of time has turned, and new gods have come forth from the stone. from the boats there arose a shout: 'hurrah, hurrah for bertel thorwaldsen!'" [illustration: little bertel's ambition.] twenty-fourth evening. "i will now give you a picture from frankfort," said the moon. "i especially noticed one building there. it was not the house in which goëthe was born, nor the old council house, through whose grated windows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted and given to the people when the emperors were crowned. no, it was a private house, plain in appearance, and painted green. it stood near the old jews' street. it was rothschild's house. "i looked through the open door. the staircase was brilliantly lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive silver candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an old woman, who was being brought downstairs in a litter. the proprietor of the house stood bare-headed, and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand of the old woman. she was his mother. she nodded in a friendly manner to him and to the servants, and they carried her into the dark narrow street, into a little house, that was her dwelling. here her children had been born, from hence the fortune of the family had arisen. if she deserted the despised street and the little house, fortune would also desert her children. that was her firm belief." the moon told me no more; his visit this evening was far too short. but i thought of the old woman in the narrow despised street. it would have cost her but a word, and a brilliant house would have arisen for her on the banks of the thames--a word, and a villa would have been prepared in the bay of naples. "if i deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my sons first began to bloom, fortune would desert them!" it was a superstition, but a superstition of such a class, that he who knows the story and has seen this picture, need have only two words placed under the picture to make him understand it; and these two words are: "a mother." twenty-fifth evening. "it was yesterday, in the morning twilight"--these are the words the moon told me--"in the great city no chimney was yet smoking--and it was just at the chimneys that i was looking. suddenly a little head emerged from one of them, and then half a body, the arms resting on the rim of the chimney-pot. 'ya-hip! ya-hip!' cried a voice. it was the little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his life crept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the top. 'ya-hip! ya-hip!' yes, certainly that was a very different thing to creeping about in the dark narrow chimneys! the air blew so fresh, and he could look over the whole city towards the green wood. the sun was just rising. it shone round and great, just in his face, that beamed with triumph, though it was very prettily blacked with soot. "'the whole town can see me now,' he exclaimed, 'and the moon can see me now, and the sun too. ya-hip! ya-hip!' and he flourished his broom in triumph." [illustration: pretty pu.] twenty-sixth evening. "last night i looked down upon a town in china," said the moon. "my beams irradiated the naked walls that form the streets there. now and then, certainly, a door is seen; but it is locked, for what does the chinaman care about the outer world? close wooden shutters covered the windows behind the walls of the houses; but through the windows of the temple a faint light glimmered. i looked in, and saw the quaint decorations within. from the floor to the ceiling pictures are painted, in the most glaring colours, and richly gilt--pictures representing the deeds of the gods here on earth. in each niche statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by the coloured drapery and the banners that hang down. before each idol (and they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, with flowers and burning wax lights on it. above all the rest stood fo, the chief deity, clad in a garment of yellow silk, for yellow is here the sacred colour. at the foot of the altar sat a living being, a young priest. he appeared to be praying, but in the midst of his prayer he seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have been wrong, for his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. poor soui-hong! was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the little flower garden behind the high street wall? and did that occupation seem more agreeable to him than watching the wax lights in the temple? or did he wish to sit at the rich feast, wiping his mouth with silver paper between each course? or was his sin so great that, if he dared utter it, the celestial empire would punish it with death? had his thoughts ventured to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to their homes in far distant england? no, his thoughts did not fly so far, and yet they were sinful, sinful as thoughts born of young hearts, sinful here in the temple, in the presence of fo and the other holy gods. "i know whither his thoughts had strayed. at the farther end of the city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which stood the handsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the beauteous pu, of the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet. the tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained her still more. she lifted her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. before her stood a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. she stirred the bowl carefully with a slender lacquered stick, very slowly, for she, too, was lost in thought. was she thinking, perchance, how the fishes were richly clothed in gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully in their crystal world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how much happier they might be if they were free? yes, that she could well understand, the beautiful pu. her thoughts wandered away from her home, wandered to the temple, but not for the sake of holy things. poor pu! poor soui-hong! "their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between the two, like the sword of the cherub." twenty-seventh evening. "the air was calm," said the moon; "the water was transparent as the purest ether through which i was gliding, and deep below the surface i could see the strange plants that stretched up their long arms towards me like the gigantic trees of the forest. the fishes swam to and fro above their tops. high in the air a flight of wild swans were winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, with wearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted farther and farther into the distance. with outspread wings he sank slowly, as a soap bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched the water. at length his head lay back between his wings, and silently he lay there, like a white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. and a gentle wind arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed like the clouds that poured along in great broad waves; and the swan raised his head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire over his breast and back. the morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swan rose strengthened, and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluish coast whither the caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with a longing in his breast. lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows." twenty-eighth evening. "i will give you another picture of sweden," said the moon. "among dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the stoxen, lies the old convent church of wreta. my rays glided through the grating into the roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins. on the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of earthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted and gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. the worms have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from the crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and transient as the grief of mortals. how quietly they sleep! i can remember them quite plainly. i still see the bold smile on their lips, that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. when the steamboat winds along like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger often comes to the church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the names of the kings, and they have a dead and forgotten sound. he glances with a smile at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be a pious, thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with the smile. slumber on, ye dead ones! the moon thinks of you, the moon at night sends down his rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs the crown of pine wood." twenty-ninth evening. "close by the high-road," said the moon, "is an inn, and opposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being re-thatched. i looked down between the bare rafters and through the open loft into the comfortless space below. the turkey-cock slept on the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. in the middle of the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast asleep, while the horses were being watered. the coachman stretched himself, though i am very sure that he had been most comfortably asleep half the last stage. the door of the servants' room stood open, and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over; the candle stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the socket. the wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn than to midnight. in the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering family of musicians. the father and mother seemed to be dreaming of the burning liquor that remained in the bottle. the little pale daughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. the harp stood at their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet." thirtieth evening. [illustration: the bear playing at soldiers with the children.] "it was in a little provincial town," the moon said; "it certainly happened last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. i saw it quite plainly. to-day i read about it in the papers, but there it was not half so clearly expressed. in the taproom of the little inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tied up outside, behind the wood pile--poor bruin, who did nobody any harm, though he looked grim enough. up in the garret three little children were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps six years old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'tramp, tramp'--somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? the door was thrust open--it was bruin, the great, shaggy bruin! he had got tired of waiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs. i saw it all," said the moon. "the children were very much frightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept into a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did them no harm. 'this must be a great dog,' they said, and began to stroke him. he lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered on his back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played at hiding in the beast's shaggy skin. presently the eldest boy took his drum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon his hind legs, and began to dance. it was a charming sight to behold. each boy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he held it up quite properly. here was a capital playmate they had found; and they began marching--one, two; one, two. "suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and the mother of the children appeared. you should have seen her in her dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, and her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. but the youngest boy nodded to her in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'we're playing at soldiers.' and then the bear leader came running up." thirty-first evening. the wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past; only for a moment now and then did the moon become visible. he said, "i looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and saw the great shadows chasing each other across the earth. i looked upon a prison. a closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to be carried away. my rays pierced through the grated window towards the wall: the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting token; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his heart. the door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyes upon my round disc. clouds passed between us, as if he were not to see my face, nor i his. he stepped into the carriage, the door was closed, the whip cracked, and the horses galloped off into the thick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as i glanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes, his last farewell engraved on the prison wall--where words fail, sounds can often speak. my rays could only light up isolated notes, so the greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark to me. was it the death-hymn he wrote there? were these the glad notes of joy? did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of his beloved? the rays of the moon do not read all that is written by mortals." thirty-second evening. "i love the children," said the moon, "especially the quite little ones--they are so droll. sometimes i peep into the room, between the curtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. it gives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. first, the little round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, then the arm; or i see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little white leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit to be kissed, and i kiss it too. "but about what i was going to tell you. this evening i looked through a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobody lives opposite. i saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family, and among them was a little sister. she is only four years old, but can say her prayers as well as any of the rest. the mother sits by her bed every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has a kiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to sleep, which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes. "this evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. one of them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and the other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all the children, and declared he was acting grecian statues. the third and fourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is a thing that has to be done; and the mother sat by the bed of the youngest, and announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet, for little sister was going to say her prayers. "i looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, where she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded demurely and her little face quite grave and serious. she was praying the lord's prayer aloud. but her mother interrupted her in the middle of her prayer. 'how is it,' she asked, 'that when you have prayed for daily bread, you always add something i cannot understand? you must tell me what that is.' the little one lay silent, and looked at her mother in embarrassment. 'what is it you say after _our daily bread_?' 'dear mother, don't be angry: i only said, _and plenty of butter on it_.'" the story of the year. it was far in january, and a terrible fall of snow was pelting down. the snow eddied through the streets and lanes; the window-panes seemed plastered with snow on the outside; snow plumped down in masses from the roofs: and a sudden hurry had seized on the people, for they ran, and flew, and fell into each others' arms, and as they clutched each other fast for a moment, they felt that they were safe at least for that length of time. coaches and horses seemed frosted with sugar. the footmen stood with their backs against the carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. the foot passengers kept in the shelter of the carriages, which could only move slowly on in the deep snow; and when the storm at last abated, and a narrow path was swept clean alongside the houses, the people stood still in this path when they met, for none liked to take the first step aside into the deep snow to let the other pass him. thus they stood silent and motionless, till, as if by tacit consent, each sacrificed one leg, and stepping aside, buried it in the deep snow-heap. towards evening it grew calm. the sky looked as if it had been swept, and had become more lofty and transparent. the stars looked as if they were quite new, and some of them were amazingly bright and pure. it froze so hard that the snow creaked, and the upper rind of snow might well have grown hard enough to bear the sparrows in the morning dawn. these little birds hopped up and down where the sweeping had been done; but they found very little food, and were not a little cold. "piep!" said one of them to another; "they call this a new year, and it is worse than the last! we might just as well have kept the old one. i'm dissatisfied, and i've a right to be so." "yes; and the people ran about and fired off shots to celebrate the new year," said a little shivering sparrow; "and they threw pans and pots against the doors, and were quite boisterous with joy, because the old year was gone. i was glad of it too, because i hoped we should have had warm days; but that has come to nothing--it freezes much harder than before. people have made a mistake in reckoning the time!" "that they have!" a third put in, who was old, and had a white poll; "they've something they call the calendar--it's an invention of their own--and everything is to be arranged according to that; but it won't do. when spring comes, then the year begins, and i reckon according to that." "but when will spring come?" the others inquired. "it will come when the stork comes back. but his movements are very uncertain, and here in town no one knows anything about it: in the country they are better informed. shall we fly out there and wait? there, at any rate, we shall be nearer to spring." "yes, that may be all very well," observed one of the sparrows, who had been hopping about for a long time, chirping, without saying anything decided. "i've found a few comforts here in town, which i am afraid i should miss out in the country. near this neighbourhood, in a courtyard, there lives a family of people, who have taken the very sensible notion of placing three or four flower-pots against the wall, with their mouths all turned inwards, and the bottom of each pointing outwards. in each flower-pot a hole has been cut, big enough for me to fly in and out at it. i and my husband have built a nest in one of those pots, and have brought up our young family there. the family of people of course made the whole arrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us, or else they would not have done it. to please themselves they also strew crumbs of bread; and so we have food, and are in a manner provided for. so i think my husband and i will stay where we are, although we are very dissatisfied--but we shall stay." "and we will fly into the country to see if spring is not coming!" and away they flew. out in the country it was hard winter, and the glass was a few degrees lower than in the town. the sharp winds swept across the snow-covered fields. the farmer, muffled in warm mittens, sat in his sledge, and beat his arms across his breast to warm himself, and the whip lay across his knees. the horses ran till they smoked again. the snow creaked, and the sparrows hopped about in the ruts, and shivered, "piep! when will spring come? it is very long in coming!" "very long," sounded from the next snow-covered hill, far over the field. it might be the echo which was heard; or perhaps the words were spoken by yonder wonderful old man, who sat in wind and weather high on the heap of snow. he was quite white, attired like a peasant in a coarse white coat of frieze; he had long white hair, and was quite pale, with big blue eyes. "who is that old man yonder?" asked the sparrows. "i know who he is," quoth an old raven, who sat on the fence-rail, and was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all like little birds in the sight of heaven, and therefore was not above speaking to the sparrows, and giving them information. "i know who the old man is. it is winter, the old man of last year. he is not dead, as the calendar says, but is guardian to little prince spring, who is to come. yes, winter bears sway here. ugh! the cold makes you shiver, does it not, you little ones?" "yes. did i not tell the truth?" said the smallest sparrow: "the calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arranged according to nature! they ought to leave these things to us, who are born cleverer than they." and one week passed away, and two passed away. the frozen lake lay hard and stiff, looking like a sheet of lead, and damp icy mists lay brooding over the land; the great black crows flew about in long rows, but silently; and it seemed as if nature slept. then a sunbeam glided along over the lake, and made it shine like burnished tin. the snowy covering on the field and on the hill did not glitter as it had done; but the white form, winter himself, still sat there, his gaze fixed unswervingly upon the south. he did not notice that the snowy carpet seemed to sink as it were into the earth, and that here and there a little grass-green patch appeared, and that all these patches were crowded with sparrows. "kee-wit! kee-wit! is spring coming now?" "spring!" the cry resounded over field and meadow, and through the black-brown woods, where the moss still glimmered in bright green upon the tree trunks; and from the south the first two storks came flying through the air. on the back of each sat a pretty little child--one was a girl and the other a boy. they greeted the earth with a kiss, and wherever they set their feet, white flowers grew up from beneath the snow. then they went hand in hand to the old ice man, winter, clung to his breast embracing him, and in a moment they, and he, and all the region around were hidden in a thick damp mist, dark and heavy, that closed over all like a veil. gradually the wind rose, and now it rushed roaring along, and drove away the mist with heavy blows, so that the sun shone warmly forth, and winter himself vanished, and the beautiful children of spring sat on the throne of the year. "that's what i call spring," cried each of the sparrows. "now we shall get our rights, and have amends for the stern winter." wherever the two children turned, green buds burst forth on bushes and trees, the grass shot upwards, and the corn-fields turned green and became more and more lovely. and the little maiden strewed flowers all around. her apron, which she held up before her, was always full of them; they seemed to spring up there, for her lap continued full, however zealously she strewed the blossoms around; and in her eagerness she scattered a snow of blossoms over apple trees and peach trees, so that they stood in full beauty before their green leaves had fairly come forth. and she clapped her hands, and the boy clapped his, and then flocks of birds came flying up, nobody knew whence, and they all twittered and sang, "spring has come." [illustration: the storks bringing back the spring.] that was beautiful to behold. many an old granny crept forth over the threshold into the sunshine, and tripped gleefully about, casting a glance at the yellow flowers which shone everywhere in the fields, just as they used to do when she was young. the world grew young again to her, and she said, "it is a blessed day out here to-day!" the forest still wore its brown-green dress, made of buds; but the thyme was already there, fresh and fragrant; there were violets in plenty, anemones and primroses came forth, and there was sap and strength in every blade of grass. that was certainly a beautiful carpet on which no one could resist sitting down, and there accordingly the young spring pair sat hand in hand, and sang and smiled, and grew on. a mild rain fell down upon them from the sky, but they did not notice it, for the rain-drops were mingled with their own tears of joy. they kissed each other, and were betrothed as people that should marry, and in the same moment the verdure of the woods was unfolded, and when the sun rose, the forest stood there arrayed in green. and hand in hand the betrothed pair wandered under the fresh pendent ocean of leaves, where the rays of the sun gleamed through the interstices in lovely, changing hues. what virgin purity, what refreshing balm in the delicate leaves! the brooks and streams rippled clearly and merrily among the green velvety rushes and over the coloured pebbles. all nature seemed to say, "there is plenty, and there shall be plenty always!" and the cuckoo sang and the lark carolled: it was a charming spring; but the willows had woolly gloves over their blossoms: they were desperately careful, and that is wearisome. and days went by and weeks went by, and the heat came as it were whirling down. hot waves of air came through the corn, that became yellower and yellower. the white water-lily of the north spread its great green leaves over the glassy mirror of the woodland lakes, and the fishes sought out the shady spots beneath; and at the sheltered side of the wood, where the sun shone down upon the walls of the farmhouse, warming the blooming roses, and the cherry trees, which hung full of juicy black berries, almost hot with the fierce beams, there sat the lovely wife of summer, the same being whom we have seen as a child and as a bride; and her glance was fixed upon the black gathering clouds, which in wavy outlines--blue-black and heavy--were piling themselves up, like mountains, higher and higher. they came from three sides, and growing like a petrified sea, they came swooping towards the forest, where every sound had been silenced as if by magic. every breath of air was hushed, every bird was mute. there was a seriousness--a suspense throughout all nature; but in the highways and lanes, foot passengers, and riders, and men in carriages were hurrying on to get under shelter. then suddenly there was a flashing of light, as if the sun were burst forth--flaming, burning, all-devouring! and the darkness returned amid a rolling crash. the rain poured down in streams, and there was alternate darkness and blinding light; alternate silence and deafening clamour. the young, brown, feathery reeds on the moor moved to and fro in long waves, the twigs of the woods were hidden in a mist of waters, and still came darkness and light, and still silence and roaring followed one another; grass and corn lay beaten down and swamped, looking as though they could never raise themselves again. but soon the rain fell only in gentle drops, the sun peered through the clouds, the water-drops glittered like pearls on the leaves, the birds sang, the fishes leaped up from the surface of the lake, the gnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder on the rock, in the salt, heaving sea water, sat summer himself--a strong man with sturdy limbs and long dripping hair--there he sat, strengthened by the cool bath, in the warm sunshine. all nature round about was renewed, everything stood luxuriant, strong and beautiful; it was summer, warm, lovely summer. [illustration: summer time.] and pleasant and sweet was the fragrance that streamed upwards from the rich clover-field, where the bees swarmed round the old ruined place of meeting: the bramble wound itself around the altar stone, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine; and thither flew the queen-bee with her swarm, and prepared wax and honey. only summer saw it, he and his strong wife; for them the altar table stood covered with the offerings of nature. and the evening sky shone like gold, shone as no church dome can shine; and in the interval between the evening and the morning red, there was moonlight: it was summer. and days went by, and weeks went by. the bright scythes of the reapers gleamed in the corn-fields; the branches of the apple trees bent down, heavy with red-and-yellow fruit. the hops smelt sweetly, hanging in large clusters; and under the hazel bushes where hung great bunches of nuts, rested a man and woman--summer and his quiet consort. "what wealth!" exclaimed the woman: "all around a blessing is diffused, everywhere the scene looks homelike and good; and yet--i know not why--i long for peace and rest--i know not how to express it. now they are already ploughing again in the field. the people want to gain more and more. see, the storks flock together, and follow at a little distance behind the plough--the bird of egypt that carried us through the air. do you remember how we came as children to this land of the north? we brought with us flowers, and pleasant sunshine, and green to the woods; the wind has treated them roughly, and they have become dark and brown like the trees of the south, but they do not, like them, bear fruit." "do you wish to see the golden fruit?" said the man: "then rejoice." and he lifted his arm, and the leaves of the forest put on hues of red and gold, and beauteous tints spread over all the woodland. the rose bush gleamed with scarlet hips; the elder branches hung down with great heavy bunches of dark berries; the wild chestnuts fell ripe from their dark husks; and in the depths of the forests the violets bloomed for the second time. but the queen of the year became more and more silent, and paler and paler. "it blows cold," she said, "and night brings damp mists. i long for the land of my childhood." and she saw the storks fly away, one and all; and she stretched forth her hands towards them. she looked up at the nests, which stood empty. in one of them the long-stalked cornflower was growing; in another, the yellow mustard-seed, as if the nest were only there for its protection and comfort; and the sparrows were flying up into the storks' nests. "piep! where has the master gone? i suppose he can't bear it when the wind blows, and that therefore he has left the country. i wish him a pleasant journey!" the forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf fell down upon leaf, and the stormy winds of autumn howled. the year was far advanced, and the queen of the year reclined upon the fallen yellow leaves, and looked with mild eyes at the gleaming star, and her husband stood by her. a gust swept through the leaves; they fell again in a shower, and the queen was gone, but a butterfly, the last of the season, flew through the cold air. the wet fogs came, an icy wind blew, and the long dark nights drew on apace. the ruler of the year stood there with locks white as snow, but he knew not it was his hair that gleamed so white--he thought snow-flakes were falling from the clouds; and soon a thin covering of snow was spread over the fields. and then the church bells rang for the christmas time. "the bells ring for the new-born," said the ruler of the year. "soon the new king and queen will be born; and i shall go to rest, as my wife has done--to rest in the gleaming star." and in the fresh green fir wood, where the snow lay, stood the angel of christmas, and consecrated the young trees that were to adorn his feast. "may there be joy in the room, and under the green boughs," said the ruler of the year. in a few weeks he had become a very old man, white as snow. "my time for rest draws near, and the young pair of the year shall now receive my crown and sceptre." "but the might is still thine," said the angel of christmas; "the might and not the rest. let the snow lie warmly upon the young seed. learn to bear it, that another receives homage while thou yet reignest. learn to bear being forgotten while thou art yet alive. the hour of thy release will come when spring appears." "and when will spring come?" asked winter. "it will come when the stork returns." and with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, but strong as the wintry storm, and firm as ice, old winter sat on the snowy drift on the hill, looking towards the south, where he had before sat and gazed. the ice cracked, the snow creaked, the skaters skimmed to and fro on the smooth lakes, ravens and crows contrasted picturesquely with the white ground, and not a breath of wind stirred. and in the quiet air old winter clenched his fists, and the ice was fathoms thick between land and land. then the sparrows came again out of the town, and asked, "who is that old man yonder?" and the raven sat there again, or a son of his, which comes to quite the same thing, and answered them and said, "it is winter, the old man of last year. he is not dead, as the almanack says, but he is the guardian of spring, who is coming." "when will spring come?" asked the sparrows. "then we shall have good times, and a better rule. the old one was worth nothing." and winter nodded in quiet thought at the leafless forest, where every tree showed the graceful form and bend of its twigs; and during the winter sleep the icy mists of the clouds came down, and the ruler dreamed of his youthful days, and of the time of his manhood; and towards the morning dawn the whole wood was clothed in glittering hoar frost. that was the summer dream of winter, and the sun scattered the hoar frost from the boughs. "when will spring come?" asked the sparrows. "the spring!" sounded like an echo from the hills on which the snow lay. the sun shone warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "spring is coming!" and aloft through the air came the first stork, and the second followed him. a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they alighted on the field, kissed the earth, and kissed the old silent man, and he disappeared, shrouded in the cloudy mist. and the story of the year was done. "that is all very well," said the sparrows; "it is very beautiful too, but it is not according to the almanack, and therefore it is irregular." she was good for nothing. the mayor stood at the open window. his shirt-frill was very fine, and so were his ruffles; he had a breast-pin stuck in his frill, and was uncommonly smooth-shaven--all his own work; certainly he had given himself a slight cut, but he had stuck a bit of newspaper on the place. "hark 'ee, youngster!" he cried. the youngster in question was no other than the son of the poor washerwoman, who was just going past the house; and he pulled off his cap respectfully. the peak of the said cap was broken in the middle, for the cap was arranged so that it could be rolled up and crammed into his pocket. in his poor, but clean and well-mended attire, with heavy wooden shoes on his feet, the boy stood there, as humble and abashed as if he stood opposite the king himself. [illustration: the mayor and the washerwoman's son.] "you're a good boy," said mr. mayor. "you're a civil boy. i suppose your mother is rinsing clothes down yonder in the river? i suppose you are to carry that thing to your mother that you have in your pocket? that's a bad affair with your mother. how much have you got in it?" "half a quartern," stammered the boy, in a frightened voice. "and this morning she had just as much," the mayor continued. "no," replied the boy, "it was yesterday." "two halves make a whole. she's good for nothing! it's a sad thing with that kind of people! tell your mother that she ought to be ashamed of herself; and mind you don't become a drunkard--but you will become one, though. poor child--there, go!" accordingly the boy went on his way. he kept his cap in his hand, and the wind played with his yellow hair, so that great locks of it stood up straight. he turned down by the street corner, into the little lane that led to the river, where his mother stood by the washing bench, beating the heavy linen with the mallet. the water rolled quickly along, for the flood-gates at the mill had been drawn up, and the sheets were caught by the stream, and threatened to overturn the bench. the washerwoman was obliged to lean against the bench, to support it. "i was very nearly sailing away," she said. "it is a good thing that you are come, for i have need to recruit my strength a little. for six hours i've been standing in the water. have you brought anything for me?" the boy produced the bottle, and the mother put it to her mouth, and took a little. "ah, how that revives one!" she said: "how it warms! it is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. and you, my boy! you look quite pale. you are shivering in your thin clothes--to be sure it is autumn. ugh! how cold the water is! i hope i shall not be ill. but no, i shall not be that! give me a little more, and you may have a sip too, but only a little sip, for you must not accustom yourself to it, my poor dear child!" and she stepped up to the bridge on which the boy stood, and came ashore. the water dripped from the straw matting she had wound round her, and from her gown. "i work and toil as much as ever i can," she said, "but i do it willingly, if i can only manage to bring you up honestly and well, my boy." as she spoke, a somewhat older woman came towards them. she was poor enough to behold, lame of one leg, and with a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which was a blind one. the curl was intended to cover the eye, but it only made the defect more striking. this was a friend of the laundress. she was called among the neighbours, "lame martha with the curl." "oh, you poor thing! how you work, standing there in the water!" cried the visitor. "you really require something to warm you; and yet malicious folks cry out about the few drops you take!" and in a few minutes' time the mayor's late speech was reported to the laundress; for martha had heard it all, and she had been angry that a man could speak as he had done to a woman's own child, about the few drops the mother took: and she was the more angry, because the mayor on that very day was giving a great feast, at which wine was drunk by the bottle--good wine, strong wine. "a good many will take more than they need--but that's not called drinking. _they_ are good; but _you_ are good for nothing!" cried martha, indignantly. "ah, so he spoke to you, my child?" said the washerwoman; and her lips trembled as she spoke. "so he says you have a mother who is good for nothing? well, perhaps he's right, but he should not have said it to the child. still, i have had much misfortune from that house." "you were in service there when the mayor's parents were alive, and lived in that house. that is many years ago: many bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and we may well be thirsty;" and martha smiled. "the mayor has a great dinner party to-day. the guests were to have been put off, but it was too late, and the dinner was already cooked. the footman told me about it. a letter came a little while ago, to say that the younger brother had died in copenhagen." "died!" repeated the laundress--and she became pale as death. "yes, certainly," said martha. "do you take that so much to heart? well, you must have known him years ago, when you were in service in the house." "is he dead? he was such a good, worthy man! there are not many like him." and the tears rolled down her cheeks. "good heavens! everything is whirling around me--it was too much for me. i feel quite ill." and she leaned against the plank. "good heavens, you are ill indeed!" exclaimed the other woman. "come, come, it will pass over presently. but no, you really look seriously ill. the best thing will be for me to lead you home." "but my linen yonder--" "i will take care of that. come, give me your arm. the boy can stay here and take care of it, and i'll come back and finish the washing; that's only a trifle." the laundress's limbs shook under her. "i have stood too long in the cold water," she said faintly, "and i have eaten and drunk nothing since this morning. the fever is in my bones. o kind heaven, help me to get home! my poor child!" and she burst into tears. the boy wept too, and soon he was sitting alone by the river, beside the damp linen. the two women could make only slow progress. the laundress dragged her weary limbs along, and tottered through the lane and round the corner into the street where stood the house of the mayor; and just in front of his mansion she sank down on the pavement. many people assembled round her, and lame martha ran into the house to get help. the mayor and his guests came to the window. "that's the washerwoman!" he said. "she has taken a glass too much. she is good for nothing. it's a pity for the pretty son she has. i really like the child very well; but the mother is good for nothing." presently the laundress came to herself, and they led her into her poor dwelling, and put her to bed. kind martha heated a mug of beer for her, with butter and sugar, which she considered the best medicine; and then she hastened to the river, and rinsed the linen--badly enough, though her will was good. strictly speaking, she drew it ashore, wet as it was, and laid it in a basket. towards evening she was sitting in the poor little room with the laundress. the mayor's cook had given her some roasted potatoes and a fine fat piece of ham, for the sick woman, and martha and the boy discussed these viands while the patient enjoyed the smell, which she pronounced very nourishing. and presently the boy was put to bed, in the same bed in which his mother lay; but he slept at her feet, covered with an old quilt made up of blue and white patches. soon the patient felt a little better. the warm beer had strengthened her, and the fragrance of the provisions pleased her also. "thanks, you kind soul," she said to martha. "i will tell you all when the boy is asleep. i think he has dropped off already. how gentle and good he looks, as he lies there with his eyes closed. he does not know what his mother has suffered, and heaven grant he may never know it. i was in service at the councillor's, the father of the mayor. it happened that the youngest of the sons, the student, came home. i was young then, a wild girl, but honest, that i may declare in the face of heaven. the student was merry and kind, good and brave. every drop of blood in him was good and honest. i have not seen a better man on this earth. he was the son of the house, and i was only a maid, but we formed an attachment to each other, honestly and honourably. and he told his mother of it, for she was in his eyes as a deity on earth; and she was wise and gentle. he went away on a journey, but before he started he put his gold ring on my finger; and directly he was gone my mistress called me. with a firm yet gentle seriousness she spoke to me, and it seemed as if wisdom itself were speaking. she showed me clearly, in spirit and in truth, the difference there was between him and me. "'now he is charmed with your pretty appearance,' she said, 'but your good looks will leave you. you have not been educated as he has. you are not equals in mind, and there is the misfortune. i respect the poor,' she continued; 'in the sight of god they may occupy a higher place than many a rich man can fill; but here on earth we must beware of entering a false track as we go onward, or our carriage is upset, and we are thrown into the road. i know that a worthy man wishes to marry you--an artisan--i mean erich the glovemaker. he is a widower without children, and is well to do. think it over.' "every word she spoke cut into my heart like a knife, but i knew that my mistress was right, and that knowledge weighed heavily upon me. i kissed her hand, and wept bitter tears, and i wept still more when i went into my room and threw myself on my bed. it was a heavy night that i had to pass through. heaven knows what i suffered and how i wrestled! the next sunday i went to the lord's house, to pray for strength and guidance. it seemed like a providence, that as i stepped out of church erich came towards me. and now there was no longer a doubt in my mind. we were suited to each other in rank and in means, and he was even then a thriving man. therefore i went up to him, took his hand, and said, 'are you still of the same mind towards me?' 'yes, ever and always,' he replied. 'will you marry a girl who honours and respects, but who does not love you--though that may come later?' i asked again. 'yes, it will come!' he answered; and upon this we joined hands. i went home to my mistress. i wore the gold ring that the son had given me at my heart. i could not put it on my finger in the daytime, but only in the evening when i went to bed. i kissed the ring again and again, till my lips almost bled, and then i gave it to my mistress, and told her the banns were to be put up next week for me and the glovemaker. then my mistress put her arms round me and kissed me. _she_ did not say that i was good for nothing; but perhaps i was better then than i am now, though the misfortunes of life had not yet found me out. in a few weeks we were married; and for the first year the world went well with us: we had a journeyman and an apprentice, and you, martha, lived with us as our servant." "oh, you were a dear, good mistress," cried martha. "never shall i forget how kind you and your husband were!" "yes, those were our good years, when you were with us. we had not any children yet. the student i never saw again.--yes, though, i saw him, but he did not see me. he was here at his mother's funeral. i saw him stand by the grave. he was pale as death, and very downcast, but that was for his mother; afterwards, when his father died, he was away in a foreign land, and did not come back hither. i know that he never married; i believe he became a lawyer. he had forgotten me; and even if he had seen me again, he would not have known me, i look so ugly. and that is very fortunate." and then she spoke of her days of trial, and told how misfortune had come as it were swooping down upon them. "we had five hundred dollars," she said; "and as there was a house in the street to be bought for two hundred, and it would pay to pull it down and build a new one, it was bought. the builder and carpenter calculated the expense, and the new house was to cost ten hundred and twenty! erich had credit, and borrowed the money in the chief town, but the captain who was to bring it was shipwrecked, and the money was lost with him." "just at that time my dear sweet boy who is sleeping yonder was born. my husband was struck down by a long heavy illness: for three quarters of a year i was compelled to dress and undress him. we went back more and more, and fell into debt. all that we had was sold, and my husband died. i have worked, and toiled, and striven, for the sake of the child, and scrubbed staircases, washed linen, clean and coarse alike, but i was not to be better off, such was god's good will. but he will take me to himself in his own good time, and will not forsake my boy." and she fell asleep. towards morning she felt much refreshed, and strong enough, as she thought, to go back to her work. she had just stepped again into the cold water, when a trembling and faintness seized her: she clutched at the air with her hand, took a step forward, and fell down. her head rested on the bank, and her feet were still in the water: her wooden shoes, with a wisp of straw in each, which she had worn, floated down the stream, and thus martha found her on coming to bring her some coffee. in the meantime a messenger from the mayor's house had been dispatched to her poor lodging to tell her "to come to the mayor immediately, for he had something to tell her." it was too late! a barber-surgeon was brought to open a vein in her arm; but the poor woman was dead. "she has drunk herself to death!" said the mayor. in the letter that brought the news of his brother's death, the contents of the will had been mentioned, and it was a legacy of six hundred dollars to the glovemaker's widow, who had once been his mother's maid. the money was to be paid, according to the mayor's discretion, in larger or smaller sums, to her or to her child. "there was some fuss between my brother and her," said the mayor. "it's a good thing that she is dead; for now the boy will have the whole, and i will get him into a house among respectable people. he may turn out a reputable working man." and heaven gave its blessing to these words. so the mayor sent for the boy, promised to take care of him, and added that it was a good thing the lad's mother was dead, inasmuch as she had been good for nothing. they bore her to the churchyard, to the cemetery of the poor, and martha strewed sand upon her grave, and planted a rose tree upon it, and the boy stood beside her. "my dear mother!" he cried, as the tears fell fast. "is it true what they said: that she was good for nothing?" "no, she was good for much!" replied the old servant, and she looked up indignantly. "i knew it many a year ago, and more than all since last night. i tell you she was worth much, and the lord in heaven knows it is true, let the world say as much as it chooses, 'she was good for nothing.'" "there is a difference." it was in the month of may. the wind still blew cold, but bushes and trees, field and meadow, all alike said the spring had come. there was store of flowers even in the wild hedges; and there spring carried on his affairs, and preached from a little apple tree, where one branch hung fresh and blooming, covered with delicate pink blossoms that were just ready to open. the apple tree branch knew well enough how beautiful he was, for the knowledge is inherent in the leaf as well as in the blood; and consequently the branch was not surprised when a nobleman's carriage stopped opposite to him on the road, and the young countess said that an apple branch was the loveliest thing one could behold, a very emblem of spring in its most charming form. and the branch was most carefully broken off, and she held it in her delicate hand, and sheltered it with her silk parasol. then they drove to the castle, where there were lofty halls and splendid apartments. pure white curtains fluttered round the open windows, and beautiful flowers stood in shining transparent vases; and in one of these, which looked as if it had been cut out of fresh-fallen snow, the apple branch was placed among some fresh light twigs of beech. it was charming to behold. but the branch became proud; and this was quite like human nature. people of various kinds came through the room, and according to their rank they might express their admiration. a few said nothing at all, and others again said too much, and the apple tree branch soon got to understand that there was a difference among plants. "some are created for beauty, and some for use; and there are some which one can do without altogether," thought the apple branch; and as he stood just in front of the open window, from whence he could see into the garden and across the fields, he had flowers and plants enough to contemplate and to think about, for there were rich plants and humble plants--some very humble indeed. "poor despised herbs!" said the apple branch. "there is certainly a difference! and how unhappy they must feel, if indeed that kind can feel like myself and my equals. certainly there is a difference, and distinctions must be made, or we should all be equal." and the apple branch looked down with a species of pity, especially upon a certain kind of flower of which great numbers are found in the fields and in ditches. no one bound them into a nosegay, they were too common; for they might be found even among the paving-stones, shooting up everywhere like the rankest weeds, and they had the ugly name of "dandelion," or "dog-flower." "poor despised plants!" said the apple branch. "it is not your fault that you received the ugly name you bear. but it is with plants as with men--there must be a difference!" "a difference?" said the sunbeam; and he kissed the blooming apple branch, and saluted in like manner the yellow dandelions out in the field--all the brothers of the sunbeam kissed them, the poor flowers as well as the rich. now the apple branch had never thought of the boundless beneficence of providence in creation towards everything that lives and moves and has its being; he had never thought how much that is beautiful and good may be hidden, but not forgotten; but that, too, was quite like human nature. the sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better; and said, "you don't see far, and you don't see clearly. what is the despised plant that you especially pity?" "the dandelion," replied the apple branch. "it is never received into a nosegay; it is trodden under foot. there are too many of them; and when they run to seed, they fly away like little pieces of wool over the roads, and hang and cling to people's dress. they are nothing but weeds--but it is right there should be weeds too. oh, i'm really very thankful that i was not created one of those flowers." [illustration: the children and the dandelions.] but there came across the fields a whole troop of children; the youngest of whom was so small that it was carried by the rest, and when it was set down in the grass among the yellow flowers it laughed aloud with glee, kicked out with its little legs, rolled about and plucked the yellow flowers, and kissed them in its pretty innocence. the elder children broke off the flowers with their tall stalks, and bent the stalks round into one another, link by link, so that a whole chain was made; first a necklace, and then a scarf to hang over their shoulders and tie round their waists, and then a chaplet to wear on the head: it was quite a gala of green links and yellow flowers. the eldest children carefully gathered the stalks on which hung the white feathery ball, formed by the flower that had run to seed; and this loose, airy wool-flower, which is a beautiful object, looking like the finest snowy down, they held to their mouths, and tried to blow away the whole head at one breath: for their grandmother had said that whoever could do this would be sure to get new clothes before the year was out. so on this occasion the despised flower was actually raised to the rank of a prophet or augur. "do you see?" said the sunbeam. "do you see the beauty of those flowers? do you see their power?" "yes, over children," replied the apple branch. and now an old woman came into the field, and began to dig with a blunt shaftless knife round the root of the dandelion plant, and pulled it up out of the ground. with some of the roots she intended to make tea for herself; others she was going to sell for money to the druggist. "but beauty is a higher thing!" said the apple tree branch. "only the chosen few can be admitted into the realm of beauty. there is a difference among plants, just as there is a difference among men." and then the sunbeam spoke of the boundless love of the creator, as manifested in the creation, and of the just distribution of things in time and in eternity. "yes, yes, that is your opinion," the apple branch persisted. but now some people came into the room, and the beautiful young countess appeared, the lady who had placed the apple branch in the transparent vase in the sunlight. she carried in her hand a flower, or something of the kind. the object, whatever it might be, was hidden by three or four great leaves, wrapped around it like a shield, that no draught or gust of wind should injure it; and it was carried more carefully than the apple bough had ever been. very gently the large leaves were now removed, and lo, there appeared the fine feathery seed crown of the despised dandelion! this it was that the lady had plucked with the greatest care, and had carried home with every precaution, so that not one of the delicate feathery darts that form its downy ball should be blown away. she now produced it, quite uninjured, and admired its beautiful form, its peculiar construction, and its airy beauty, which was to be scattered by the wind. "look, with what singular beauty providence has invested it," she said. "i will paint it, together with the apple branch, whose beauty all have admired; but this humble flower has received just as much from heaven in a different way; and, various as they are, both are children of the kingdom of beauty." and the sunbeam kissed the humble flower, and he kissed the blooming apple branch, whose leaves appeared covered with a roseate blush. everything in its right place. it is more than a hundred years ago. behind the wood, by the great lake, stood the old baronial mansion. round about it lay a deep moat, in which grew reeds and grass. close by the bridge, near the entrance-gate, rose an old willow tree that bent over the reeds. up from the hollow lane sounded the clang of horns and the trampling of horses; therefore the little girl who kept the geese hastened to drive her charges away from the bridge, before the hunting company should come gallopping up. they drew near with such speed that the girl was obliged to climb up in a hurry, and perch herself on the coping-stone of the bridge, lest she should be ridden down. she was still half a child, and had a pretty light figure, and a gentle expression in her face, with two clear blue eyes. the noble baron took no note of this, but as he gallopped past the little goose-herd, he reversed the whip he held in his hand, and in rough sport gave her such a push in the chest with the butt-end, that she fell backwards into the ditch. "everything in its place," he cried; "into the puddle with you!" and he laughed aloud, for this was intended for wit, and the company joined in his mirth: the whole party shouted and clamoured, and the dogs barked their loudest. fortunately for herself, the poor girl in falling seized one of the hanging branches of the willow tree, by means of which she kept herself suspended over the muddy water, and as soon as the baron and his company had disappeared through the castle-gate, the girl tried to scramble up again; but the bough broke off at the top, and she would have fallen backward among the reeds, if a strong hand from above had not at that moment seized her. it was the hand of a pedlar, who had seen from a short distance what had happened, and who now hurried up to give aid. "everything in its right place," he said, mimicking the gracious baron; and he drew the little maiden up to the firm ground. he would have restored the broken branch to the place from which it had been torn, but "everything in its place" cannot always be managed, and therefore he stuck the piece in the ground. "grow and prosper till you can furnish a good flute for them up yonder," he said; for he would have liked to play the "rogue's march" for my lord the baron, and my lord's whole family. and then he betook himself to the castle, but not into the ancestral hall, he was too humble for that! he went to the servants' quarters, and the men and maids turned over his stock of goods, and bargained with him; and from above, where the guests were at table, came a sound of roaring and screaming that was intended for song, and indeed they did their best. loud laughter, mingled with the barking and howling of dogs, sounded through the windows, for there was feasting and carousing up yonder. wine and strong old ale foamed in the jugs and glasses, and the dogs sat with their masters and dined with them. they had the pedlar summoned upstairs, but only to make fun of him. the wine had mounted into their heads, and the sense had flown out. they poured wine into a stocking, that the pedlar might drink with them, but that he must drink quickly; that was considered a rare jest, and was a cause of fresh laughter. and then whole farms, with oxen and peasants too, were staked on a card, and won and lost. "everything in its right place!" said the pedlar, when he had at last made his escape out of what he called "the sodom and gomorrah up yonder." "the open high-road is my right place," he said; "i did not feel at all happy there." and the little maiden who sat keeping the geese nodded at him in a friendly way, as he strode along beside the hedges. and days and weeks went by; and it became manifest that the willow branch which the pedlar had stuck into the ground by the castle moat remained fresh and green, and even brought forth new twigs. the little goose-girl saw that the branch must have taken root, and rejoiced greatly at the circumstance; for this tree, she said, was now her tree. the tree certainly came forward well; but everything else belonging to the castle went very rapidly back, what with feasting and gambling--for these two things are like wheels, upon which no man can stand securely. six years had not passed away before the noble lord passed out of the castle-gate, a beggared man, and the mansion was bought by a rich dealer; and this purchaser was the very man who had once been made a jest of there, for whom wine had been poured into a stocking; but honesty and industry are good winds to speed a vessel; and now the dealer was possessor of the baronial estate. but from that hour no more card-playing was permitted there. "that is bad reading," said he: "when the evil one saw a bible for the first time, he wanted to put a bad book against it, and invented card-playing." the new proprietor took a wife; and who might that be but the goose-girl, who had always been faithful and good, and looked as beautiful and fine in her new clothes as if she had been born a great lady. and how did all this come about? that is too long a story for our busy time, but it really happened, and the most important part is to come. it was a good thing now to be in the old mansion. the mother managed the domestic affairs, and the father superintended the estate, and it seemed as if blessings were streaming down. where rectitude enters in, prosperity is sure to follow. the old house was cleaned and painted, the ditches were cleared and fruit trees planted. everything wore a bright cheerful look, and the floors were as polished as a draught board. in the long winter evenings the lady sat at the spinning-wheel with her maids, and every sunday evening there was a reading from the bible, by the councillor of justice himself--this title the dealer had gained, though it was only in his old age. the children grew up--for children had come--and they received the best education, though all had not equal abilities, as we find indeed in all families. in the meantime the willow branch at the castle-gate had grown to be a splendid tree, which stood there free and self-sustained. "that is our genealogical tree," the old people said, and the tree was to be honoured and respected--so they told all the children, even those who had not very good heads. and a hundred years rolled by. it was in our own time. the lake had been converted to moorland, and the old mansion had almost disappeared. a pool of water and the ruins of some walls, this was all that was left of the old baronial castle, with its deep moat; and here stood also a magnificent old willow, with pendent boughs, which seemed to show how beautiful a tree may be if left to itself. the main stem was certainly split from the root to the crown, and the storm had bowed the noble tree a little; but it stood firm for all that, and from every cleft into which wind and weather had carried a portion of earth, grasses and flowers sprang forth: especially near the top, where the great branches parted, a sort of hanging garden had been formed of wild raspberry bush, and even a small quantity of mistletoe had taken root, and stood, slender and graceful, in the midst of the old willow which was mirrored in the dark water. a field-path led close by the old tree. high by the forest hill, with a splendid prospect in every direction, stood the new baronial hall, large and magnificent, with panes of glass so clearly transparent, that it looked as if there were no panes there at all. the grand flight of steps that led to the entrance looked like a bower of roses and broad-leaved plants. the lawn was as freshly green as if each separate blade of grass were cleaned morning and evening. in the hall hung costly pictures; silken chairs and sofas stood there, so easy that they looked almost as if they could run by themselves; there were tables of great marble slabs, and books bound in morocco and gold. yes, truly, wealthy people lived here, people of rank: the baron with his family. all things here corresponded with each other. the motto was still "everything in its right place;" and therefore all the pictures which had been put up in the old house for honour and glory, hung now in the passage that led to the servants' hall: they were considered as old lumber, and especially two old portraits, one representing a man in a pink coat and powdered wig, the other a lady with powdered hair and holding a rose in her hand, and each surrounded with a wreath of willow leaves. these two pictures were pierced with many holes, because the little barons were in the habit of setting up the old people as a mark for their cross-bows. the pictures represented the councillor of justice and his lady, the founders of the present family. "but they did not properly belong to our family," said one of the little barons. "he was a dealer, and she had kept the geese. they were not like papa and mamma." the pictures were pronounced to be worthless; and as the motto was "everything in its right place," the great-grandmother and great-grandfather had been sent into the passage that led to the servants' hall. the son of the neighbouring clergyman was tutor in the great house. one day he was out walking with his pupils, the little barons and their eldest sister, who had just been confirmed; they came along the field-path, past the old willow, and as they walked on the young lady bound a wreath of field flowers, "everything in its right place," and the flowers formed a pretty whole. at the same time she heard every word that was spoken, and she liked to hear the clergyman's son talk of the power of nature and of the great men and women in history. she had a good hearty disposition, with true nobility of thought and soul, and a heart full of love for all that god hath created. [illustration: the old willow tree.] the party came to a halt at the old willow tree. the youngest baron insisted on having such a flute cut for him from it as he had had made of other willows. accordingly the tutor broke off a branch. "oh, don't do that!" cried the young baroness; but it was done already. "that is our famous old tree," she continued, "and i love it dearly. they laugh at me at home for this, but i don't mind. there is a story attached to this tree." and she told what we all know about the tree, about the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girl, who had met for the first time in this spot, and had afterwards become the founders of the noble family to which the young barons belonged. "they would not be ennobled, the good old folks!" she said. "they kept to the motto 'everything in its right place;' and accordingly they thought it would be out of place for them to purchase a title with money. my grandfather, the first baron, was their son: he is said to have been a very learned man, very popular with princes and princesses, and a frequent guest at the court festivals. the others at home love him best; but, i don't know how, there seems to me something about that first pair that draws my heart towards them. how comfortable, how patriarchal it must have been in the old house, where the mistress sat at the spinning-wheel among her maids, and the old master read aloud from the bible!" "they were charming, sensible people," said the clergyman's son; and with this the conversation naturally fell upon nobles and citizens. the young man scarcely seemed to belong to the citizen class, so well did he speak concerning the purpose and meaning of nobility. he said, "it is a great thing to belong to a family that has distinguished itself, and thus to have, as it were, in one's blood, a spur that urges one on to make progress in all that is good. it is delightful to have a name that serves as a card of admission into the highest circles. nobility means that which is great and noble: it is a coin that has received a stamp to indicate what it is worth. it is the fallacy of the time, and many poets have frequently maintained this fallacy, that nobility of birth is accompanied by foolishness, and that the lower you go among the poor, the more does everything around shine. but that is not my view, for i consider it entirely false. in the higher classes many beautiful and kindly traits are found. my mother told me one of this kind, and i could tell you many others. "my mother was on a visit to a great family in town. my grandmother, i think, had been housekeeper to the count's mother. the great nobleman and my mother were alone in the room, when the former noticed that an old woman came limping on crutches into the courtyard. indeed, she was accustomed to come every sunday, and carry away a gift with her. 'ah, there is the poor old lady,' said the nobleman: 'walking is a great toil to her;' and before my mother understood what he meant, he had gone out of the room and run down the stairs, to save the old woman the toilsome walk, by carrying to her the gift she had come to receive. "now, that was only a small circumstance, but, like the widow's two mites in the scripture, it has a sound that finds an echo in the depths of the heart in human nature; and these are the things the poet should show and point out; especially in these times should he sing of it, for that does good, and pacifies and unites men. but where a bit of mortality, because it has a genealogical tree and a coat of arms, rears up like an arabian horse, and prances in the street, and says in the room, 'people out of the street have been here,' when a commoner has been--that is nobility in decay, and become a mere mask--a mask of the kind that thespis created; and people are glad when such an one is turned into satire." this was the speech of the clergyman's son. it was certainly rather long, but then the flute was being finished while he made it. at the castle there was a great company. many guests came from the neighbourhood and from the capital. many ladies, some tastefully, and others tastelessly dressed, were there, and the great hall was quite full of people. the clergymen from the neighbourhood stood respectfully congregated in a corner, which made it look almost as if there were to be a burial there. but it was not so, for this was a party of pleasure, only that the pleasure had not yet begun. a great concert was to be performed, and consequently the little baron had brought in his willow flute; but he could not get a note out of it, nor could his papa, and therefore the flute was worth nothing. there was instrumental music and song, both of the kind that delight the performers most--quite charming! "you are a performer?" said a cavalier--his father's son and nothing else--to the tutor. "you play the flute and make it too--that's genius. that should command, and should have the place of honour!" "no indeed," replied the young man, "i only advance with the times, as every one is obliged to do." "oh, you will enchant us with the little instrument, will you not?" and with these words he handed to the clergyman's son the flute cut from the willow tree by the pool, and announced aloud that the tutor was about to perform a solo on that instrument. now, they only wanted to make fun of him, that was easily seen; and therefore the tutor would not play, though indeed he could do so very well; but they crowded round him and importuned him so strongly, that at last he took the flute and put it to his lips. that was a wonderful flute! a sound, as sustained as that which is emitted by the whistle of a steam engine, and much stronger, echoed far over courtyard, garden, and wood, miles away into the country; and simultaneously with the tone came a rushing wind that roared, "everything in its right place!" and papa flew as if carried by the wind straight out of the hall and into the shepherd's cot; and the shepherd flew, not into the hall, for there he could not come--no, but into the room of the servants, among the smart lacqueys who strutted about there in silk stockings; and the proud servants were struck motionless with horror at the thought that such a personage dared to sit down to table with them. but in the hall the young baroness flew up to the place of honour at the top of the table, where she was worthy to sit; and the young clergyman's son had a seat next to her; and there the two sat as if they were a newly-married pair. an old count of one of the most ancient families in the country remained untouched in his place of honour; for the flute was just, as men ought to be. the witty cavalier, the son of his father and nothing else, who had been the cause of the flute-playing, flew head-over-heels into the poultry-house--but not alone. for a whole mile round about the sounds of the flute were heard, and singular events took place. a rich banker's family, driving along in a coach and four, was blown quite out of the carriage, and could not even find a place on the footboard at the back. two rich peasants who in our times had grown too high for their corn-fields, were tumbled into the ditch. it was a dangerous flute, that: luckily, it burst at the first note, and that was a good thing, for then it was put back into the owner's pocket. "everything in its right place." the day afterwards not a word was said about this marvellous event; and thence has come the expression "pocketing the flute." everything was in its usual order, only that the two old portraits of the dealer and the goose-girl hung on the wall in the banqueting hall. they had been blown up yonder, and as one of the real connoisseurs said they had been painted by a master's hand, they remained where they were, and were restored. "everything in its right place." and to that it will come; for _hereafter_ is long--longer than this story. the goblin and the huckster. there was once a regular student: he lived in a garret, and nothing at all belonged to him; but there was also once a regular huckster: he lived on the ground floor, and the whole house was his; and the goblin kept with him, for on the huckster's table on christmas eve there was always a dish of plum porridge, with a great piece of butter floating in the middle. the huckster could accomplish that; and consequently the goblin stuck to the huckster's shop, and that was very interesting. [illustration: the student's bargain.] one evening the student came through the back door to buy candles and cheese for himself. he had no one to send, and that's why he came himself. he procured what he wanted and paid for it, and the huckster and his wife both nodded a "good evening" to him; and the woman was one who could do more than merely nod--she had an immense power of tongue! and the student nodded too, and then suddenly stood still, reading the sheet of paper in which the cheese had been wrapped. it was a leaf torn out of an old book, a book that ought not to have been torn up, a book that was full of poetry. "yonder lies some more of the same sort," said the huckster: "i gave an old woman a little coffee for the books; give me two groschen, and you shall have the remainder." "yes," said the student, "give me the book instead of the cheese: i can eat my bread and butter without cheese. it would be a sin to tear the book up entirely. you are a capital man, a practical man, but you understand no more about poetry than does that cask yonder." now, that was an insulting speech, especially towards the cask; but the huckster laughed and the student laughed, for it was only said in fun. but the goblin was angry that any one should dare to say such things to a huckster who lived in his own house and sold the best butter. when it was night, and the shop was closed and all were in bed, the goblin came forth, went into the bedroom, and took away the good lady's tongue; for she did not want that while she was asleep; and whenever he put this tongue upon any object in the room, the said object acquired speech and language, and could express its thoughts and feelings as well as the lady herself could have done; but only one object could use it at a time, and that was a good thing, otherwise they would have interrupted each other. and the goblin laid the tongue upon the cask in which the old newspapers were lying. "is it true," he asked, "that you don't know what poetry means?" "of course i know it," replied the cask: "poetry is something that always stands at the foot of a column in the newspapers, and is sometimes cut out. i dare swear i have more of it in me than the student, and i'm only a poor tub compared to the huckster." then the goblin put the tongue upon the coffee-mill, and, mercy! how it began to go! and he put it upon the butter-cask, and on the cash-box: they were all of the waste-paper cask's opinion, and the opinion of the majority must be respected. "now i shall tell it to the student!" and with these words the goblin went quite quietly up the back stairs to the garret, where the student lived. the student had still a candle burning, and the goblin peeped through the keyhole, and saw that he was reading in the torn book that he had carried up out of the shop downstairs. but how light it was in his room! out of the book shot a clear beam, expanding into a thick stem, and into a mighty tree, which grew upward and spread its branches far over the student. each leaf was fresh, and every blossom was a beautiful female head, some with dark sparkling eyes, others with wonderfully clear blue orbs; every fruit was a gleaming star, and there was a glorious sound of song in the student's room. never had the little goblin imagined such splendour, far less had he ever seen or heard anything like it. he stood still on tiptoe, and peeped in till the light went out in the student's garret. probably the student blew it out, and went to bed; but the little goblin remained standing there nevertheless, for the music still sounded on, soft and beautiful--a splendid cradle song for the student who had lain down to rest. "this is an incomparable place," said the goblin: "i never expected such a thing! i should like to stay here with the student." and then the little man thought it over--and he was a sensible little man too--but he sighed, "the student has no porridge!" and then he went down again to the huckster's shop: and it was a very good thing that he got down there again at last, for the cask had almost worn out the good woman's tongue, for it had spoken out at one side everything that was contained in it, and was just about turning itself over, to give it out from the other side also, when the goblin came in, and restored the tongue to its owner. but from that time forth the whole shop, from the cash-box down to the firewood, took its tone from the cask, and paid him such respect, and thought so much of him, that when the huckster afterwards read the critical articles on theatricals and art in the newspaper, they were all persuaded the information came from the cask itself. but the goblin could no longer sit quietly and contentedly listening to all the wisdom down there: so soon as the light glimmered from the garret in the evening he felt as if the rays were strong cables drawing him up, and he was obliged to go and peep through the keyhole; and there a feeling of greatness rolled around him, such as we feel beside the ever-heaving sea when the storm rushes over it, and he burst into tears! he did not know himself why he was weeping, but a peculiar feeling of pleasure mingled with his tears. how wonderfully glorious it must be to sit with the student under the same tree! but that might not be, he was obliged to be content with the view through the keyhole, and to be glad of that. there he stood on the cold landing-place, with the autumn wind blowing down from the loft-hole: it was cold, very cold; but the little mannikin only felt that when the light in the room was extinguished, and the tones in the tree died away. ha! then he shivered, and crept down again to his warm corner, where it was homely and comfortable. and when christmas came, and brought with it the porridge and the great lump of butter, why, then he thought the huckster the better man. but in the middle of the night the goblin was awaked by a terrible tumult and beating against the window shutters. people rapped noisily without, and the watchman blew his horn, for a great fire had broken out--the whole street was full of smoke and flame. was it in the house itself, or at a neighbour's? where was it? terror seized on all. the huckster's wife was so bewildered that she took her gold earrings out of her ears and put them in her pocket, that at any rate she might save something; the huckster ran for his share-papers; and the maid for her black silk mantilla, for she had found means to purchase one. each one wanted to save the best thing they had; the goblin wanted to do the same thing, and in a few leaps he was up the stairs, and into the room of the student, who stood quite quietly at the open window, looking at the conflagration that was raging in the house of the neighbour opposite. the goblin seized upon the wonderful book which lay upon the table, popped it into his red cap, and held the cap tight with both hands. the great treasure of the house was saved; and now he ran up and away, quite on to the roof of the house, on to the chimney. there he sat, illuminated by the flames of the burning house opposite, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, in which the treasure lay; and now he knew the real feelings of his heart, and knew to whom it really belonged. but when the fire was extinguished, and the goblin could think calmly again, why, then.... "i must divide myself between the two," he said; "i can't quite give up the huckster, because of the porridge!" now, that was spoken quite like a human creature. we all of us visit the huckster for the sake of the porridge. in a thousand years. yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! the young inhabitants of america will become visitors of old europe. they will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendours of southern asia. in a thousand years they will come! the thames, the danube, and the rhine still roll their course, mont blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the northern lights gleam over the lands of the north; but generation after generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on which the rich trader whose ground it is has built a bench, on which he can sit and look out across his waving corn-fields. "to europe!" cry the young sons of america; "to the land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy--to europe!" the ship of the air comes. it is crowded with passengers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. the electro-magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aërial caravan. europe is in sight: it is the coast of ireland that they see, but the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are exactly over england. there they will first step on european shore, in the land of shakespeare as the educated call it; in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others. here they stay a whole day. that is all the time the busy race can devote to the whole of england and scotland. then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the english channel, to france, the land of charlemagne and napoleon. moliere is named: the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity: there is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in paris, the crater of europe. the air steamboat flies over the country whence columbus went forth, where cortez was born, and where calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. beautiful black-eyed women live still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the cid and the alhambra. then through the air, over the sea, to italy, where once lay old, everlasting rome. it has vanished! the campagna lies desert: a single ruined wall is shown as the remains of st. peter's, but there is a doubt if this ruin be genuine. next to greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top of mount olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the place where byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of the turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets. over the remains of mighty cities on the broad danube, cities which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again. down below lies germany, that was once covered with a close net of railways and canals, the region where luther spoke, where goëthe sang, and mozart once held the sceptre of harmony! great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. one day devoted to seeing germany, and one for the north, the country of oersted and linnæus, and for norway, the land of the old heroes and the young normans. iceland is visited on the journey home: the geysers burn no more, hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry. "there is really a great deal to be seen in europe," says the young american, "and we have seen it in a week, according to the directions of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name of one of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated work, 'how to see all europe in a week.'" the bond of friendship. we have just taken a little journey, and already we want to take a longer one. whither? to sparta, to mycene, to delphi? there are a hundred places at whose names the heart beats with the desire of travel. on horseback we go up the mountain paths, through brake and through brier. a single traveller makes an appearance like a whole caravan. he rides forward with his guide, a pack-horse carries trunks, a tent, and provisions, and a few armed soldiers follow as a guard. no inn with warm beds awaits him at the end of his tiring day's journey: the tent is often his dwelling-place. in the great wild region the guide cooks him a pillan of rice, fowls, and curry for his supper. a thousand gnats swarm round the tent. it is a boisterous night, and to-morrow the way will lead across swollen streams; take care you are not washed away! what is your reward for undergoing these hardships? the fullest, richest reward. nature manifests herself here in all her greatness; every spot is historical, and the eye and the thoughts are alike delighted. the poet may sing it, the painter portray it in rich pictures; but the air of reality which sinks deep into the soul of the spectator, and remains there, neither painter nor poet can produce. in many little sketches i have endeavoured to give an idea of a small part of athens and its environs; but how colourless the picture seems! how little does it exhibit greece, the mourning genius of beauty, whose greatness and whose sorrow the stranger never forgets! the lonely herdsman yonder on the hills would, perhaps, by a simple recital of an event in his life, better enlighten the stranger who wishes in a few features to behold the land of the hellenes, than any picture could do. "then," says my muse, "let him speak." a custom, a good, peculiar custom, shall be the subject of the mountain shepherd's tale. it is called the bond of friendship. our rude house was put together of clay; but the door-posts were columns of fluted marble found near the spot where the house was erected. the roof reached almost down to the ground. it was now dark brown and ugly, but it had originally consisted of blooming olive and fresh laurel branches brought from beyond the mountain. around our dwelling was a narrow gorge, whose walls of rock rose steeply upwards, and showed naked and black, and round their summits often hung clouds, like white living figures. never did i hear a singing bird there, never did the men there dance to the sound of the bagpipe; but the spot was sacred from the old times: even its name reminded of this, for it was called delphi! the dark solemn mountains were all covered with snow; the highest, which gleamed the longest in the red light of evening, was parnassus; the brook which rolled from it near our house was once sacred also. now the ass sullies it with its feet, but the stream rolls on and on, and becomes clear again. how i can remember every spot in the deep holy solitude! in the midst of the hut a fire was kindled, and when the hot ashes lay there red and glowing, the bread was baked in them. when the snow was piled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, my mother appeared most cheerful: then she would hold my head between her hands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for the turks our masters would not allow it. she sang: "on the summit of olympus, in the forest of dwarf firs, lay an old stag. his eyes were heavy with tears; he wept blue and even red tears; and there came a roebuck by, and said, 'what ails thee, that thou weepest those blue and red tears?' and the stag answered, 'the turk has come to our city: he has wild dogs for the chase, a goodly pack.' 'i will drive them away across the islands,' cried the young roebuck, 'i will drive them away across the islands into the deep sea!' but before evening sank down the roebuck was slain, and before night the stag was hunted and dead." and when my mother sang thus, her eyes became moist, and on the long eyelashes hung a tear; but she hid it, and baked our black bread in the ashes. then i would clench my fist and cry, "we will kill the turks!" but she repeated from the song the words, "i will drive them across the islands into the deep sea. but before evening sank down the roebuck was slain, and before the night came the stag was hunted and dead." for several days and nights we had been lonely in our hut, when my father came home. i knew he would bring me shells from the gulf of lepanto, or perhaps even a bright gleaming knife. this time he brought us a child, a little half-naked girl, that he brought under his sheepskin cloak. it was wrapped in a fur, and all that the little creature possessed when this was taken off, and she lay in my mother's lap, were three silver coins, fastened in her dark hair. my father told us that the turks had killed the child's parents; and he told so much about them, that i dreamed of the turks all night. he himself had been wounded, and my mother bound up his arm. the wound was deep, and the thick sheepskin was stiff with frozen blood. the little maiden was to be my sister. how radiantly beautiful she looked! even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers. anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because her father had been united to mine by the old custom which we still keep. they had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and chosen the most beautiful and virtuous girl in the neighbourhood to consecrate their bond of friendship. i often heard of the strange good custom. so now the little girl was my sister. she sat in my lap, and i brought her flowers and the feathers of the mountain birds: we drank together of the waters of parnassus, and dwelt together for many a year under the laurel roof of the hut, while my mother sang winter after winter of the stag who wept red tears. but as yet i did not understand that it was my own countrymen whose many sorrows were mirrored in those tears. one day there came three frankish men. their dress was different from ours. they had tents and beds with them on their horses, and more than twenty turks, all armed with swords and muskets, accompanied them; for they were friends of the pacha, and had letters from him commanding an escort for them. they only came to see our mountains, to ascend parnassus amid the snow and the clouds, and to look at the strange black steep rock near our hut. they could not find room in it, nor could they endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling and found its way out at the low door; therefore they pitched their tents on the small space outside our dwelling, roasted lambs and birds, and poured out strong sweet wine, of which the turks were not allowed to partake. [illustration: the greek mother's song.] when they departed, i accompanied them for some distance, carrying my little sister anastasia, wrapped in a goatskin, on my back. one of the frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew me, and her too, as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. i never thought of it; but anastasia and i were really one. she was always sitting in my lap or riding in the goatskin at my back; and when i dreamed, she appeared in my dreams. two nights afterwards, other men, armed with knives and muskets, came into our tent. they were albanians, brave men, my mother told me. they only stayed a short time. my sister anastasia sat on the knee of one of them, and when they were gone she had not three, but only two silver coins in her hair. they wrapped tobacco in strips of paper and smoked it. i remember they were undecided as to the road they were to take. but they had to make a choice. they went, and my father went with them. soon afterwards we heard the sound of firing. the noise was renewed, and soldiers rushed into our hut, and took my mother, and myself, and my sister anastasia prisoners. they declared that the robbers had been entertained by us, and that my father had acted as the robbers' guide, and therefore we must go with them. presently i saw the corpses of the robbers brought in; i saw my father's corpse too. i cried and cried till i fell asleep. when i awoke, we were in prison, but the room was not worse than ours in our own house. they gave me onions to eat, and musty wine poured from a tarry cask, but we had no better fare at home. how long we were kept prisoners i do not know; but many days and nights went by. when we were set free it was the time of the holy easter feast. i carried anastasia on my back, for my mother was ill, and could only move slowly, and it was a long way till we came down to the sea, to the gulf of lepanto. we went into a church that gleamed with pictures painted on a golden ground. they were pictures of angels, and very beautiful; but it seemed to me that our little anastasia was just as beautiful. in the middle of the floor stood a coffin filled with roses. "the lord christ is pictured there in the form of a beautiful rose," said my mother; and the priest announced, "christ is risen!" all the people kissed each other: each one had a burning taper in his hand, and i received one myself, and so did little anastasia. the bagpipes sounded, men danced hand in hand from the church, and outside the women were roasting the easter lamb. we were invited to partake, and i sat by the fire; a boy, older than myself, put his arms round my neck, kissed me, and said, "christ is risen!" and thus it was that for the first time i met aphtanides. my mother could make fishermen's nets, for which there was a good demand here in the bay, and we lived a long time by the side of the sea, the beautiful sea, that tasted like tears, and in its colours reminded me of the song of the stag that wept--for sometimes its waters were red, and sometimes green or blue. [illustration: the friends at lepanto.] aphtanides knew how to manage our boat, and i often sat in it, with my little anastasia, while it glided on through the water, swift as a bird flying through the air. then, when the sun sank down, the mountains were tinted with a deeper and deeper blue, one range seemed to rise behind the other, and behind them all stood parnassus with its snow-crowned summit. the mountain-top gleamed in the evening rays like glowing iron, and it seemed as though the light came from within it; for long after the sun had set, the mountain still shone through the clear blue air. the white water birds touched the surface of the sea with their wings, and all here was as calm and quiet as among the black rocks at delphi. i lay on my back in the boat, anastasia leaned against me, and the stars above us shone brighter than the lamps in our church. they were the same stars, and they stood exactly in the same positions above me, as when i had sat in front of our hut at delphi; and at last i almost fancied i was there. suddenly there was a splash in the water, and the boat rocked violently. i cried out in horror, for anastasia had fallen into the water: but in a moment aphtanides had sprung in after her, and was holding her up to me! we dried her clothes as well as we could, remaining on the water till they were dry; for no one was to know what a fright we had had for our little adopted sister, in whose life aphtanides now had a part. the summer came. the sun burned so hot that the leaves turned yellow on the trees. i thought of our cool mountains, and of the fresh water they contained; my mother, too, longed for them; and one evening we wandered home. what peace, what silence! we walked on through the thick thyme, still fragrant though the sun had scorched its leaves. not a single herdsman did we meet, not one solitary hut did we pass. everything was quiet and deserted; but a shooting star announced that in heaven there was yet life. i know not if the clear blue air gleamed with light of its own, or if the radiance came from the stars; but we could see the outlines of the mountains quite plainly. my mother lighted a fire, roasted some roots she had brought with her, and i and my little sister slept among the thyme, without fear of the ugly smidraki,[ ] from whose throat fire spurts forth, or of the wolf and jackal; for my mother sat beside us, and i considered her presence protection enough for us. we reached our old home; but the hut was a heap of ruins, and a new one had to be built. a few women lent my mother their aid, and in a few days walls were raised, and covered with a new roof of olive branches. my mother made many bottle cases of bark and skins; i kept the little flock of the priests,[ ] and anastasia and the little tortoises were my playmates. [footnote : according to the greek superstition, this is a monster generated from the unopened entrails of slaughtered sheep, which are thrown away in the fields.] [footnote : a peasant who can read often becomes a priest; he is then called "very holy sir," and the lower orders kiss the ground on which he has stepped.] once we had a visit from our beloved aphtanides, who said he had greatly longed to see us, and who stayed with us two whole happy days. a month afterwards he came again, and told us that he was going in a ship to corfu and patras, but must bid us good-bye first; and he had brought a large fish for our mother. he had a great deal to tell, not only of the fishermen yonder in the gulf of lepanto, but also of kings and heroes, who had once possessed greece, just as the turks possess it now. i have seen a bud on a rose-bush gradually unfold in days and weeks, till it became a rose, and hung there in its beauty, before i was aware how large and beautiful and red it had become; and the same thing i now saw in anastasia. she was now a beautiful grown girl, and i had become a stout stripling. the wolf-skins that covered my mother's and anastasia's bed, i had myself taken from wolves that had fallen beneath my shots. years had gone by, when one evening aphtanides came in, slender as a reed, strong and brown. he kissed us all, and had much to tell of the fortifications of malta, of the great ocean, and of the marvellous sepulchres of egypt. it sounded strange as a legend of the priests, and i looked up to him with a kind of veneration. "how much you know!" i exclaimed; "what wonders you can tell of!" "but you have told me the finest thing, after all," he replied. "you told me of a thing that has never been out of my thoughts--of the good old custom of the bond of friendship, a custom i should like to follow. brother, let you and i go to church, as your father and anastasia's went before us: your sister anastasia is the most beautiful and most innocent of girls; she shall consecrate us! no people has such grand old customs as we greeks." anastasia blushed like a young rose, and my mother kissed aphtanides. a couple of miles from our house there, where loose earth lies on the hill, and a few scattered trees give a shelter, stood the little church; a silver lamp hung in front of the altar. i had put on my best clothes: the white fustanella fell in rich folds around my hips, the red jacket fitted tight and close, the tassel on my fez cap was silver, and in my girdle gleamed a knife and my pistols. aphtanides was clad in the blue garb worn by greek sailors; on his chest hung a silver plate with the figure of the virgin mary; his scarf was as costly as those worn by rich lords. every one could see that we were about to go through a solemn ceremony. we stepped into the little simple church, where the evening sunlight, streaming through the door, gleamed on the burning lamp and the pictures on golden ground. we knelt down on the altar steps, and anastasia came before us. a long white garment hung loose over her graceful form; on her white neck and bosom hung a chain, covered with old and new coins, forming a kind of collar. her black hair was fastened in a knot, and confined by a head-dress made of silver and gold coins that had been found in an old temple. no greek girl had more beautiful ornaments than she. her countenance glowed, and her eyes were like two stars. we all three prayed silently; and then she said to us, "will you be friends in life and in death?" "yes," we replied. "will you, whatever may happen, remember this--my brother is a part of myself. my secret is his, my happiness is his. self-sacrifice, patience--everything in me belongs to him as to me?" and we again answered, "yes." then she joined our hands and kissed us on the forehead, and we again prayed silently. then the priest came through the door near the altar, and blessed us all three; and a song, sung by the other holy men, sounded from behind the altar screen, and the bond of eternal friendship was concluded. when we rose, i saw my mother standing by the church door weeping heartily. how cheerful it was now, in our little hut, and by the springs of delphi! on the evening before his departure, aphtanides sat thoughtful with me on the declivity of a mountain; his arm was flung round my waist, and mine was round his neck: we spoke of the sorrows of greece, and of the men whom the country could trust. every thought of our souls lay clear before each of us, and i seized his hand. "one thing thou must still know, one thing that till now has been a secret between myself and heaven. my whole soul is filled with love! with a love stronger than the love i bear to my mother and to thee!" "and whom do you love?" asked aphtanides, and his face and neck grew red as fire. "i love anastasia," i replied--and his hand trembled in mine, and he became pale as a corpse. i saw it; i understood the cause; and i believe _my_ hand trembled. i bent towards him, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "i have never spoken of it to her, and perhaps she does not love me. brother, think of this: i have seen her daily; she has grown up beside me, and has become a part of my soul!" "and she shall be thine!" he exclaimed, "thine! i may not deceive thee, nor will i do so. i also love her; but to-morrow i depart. in a year we shall see each other once more, and then you will be married, will you not? i have a little gold of my own: it shall be thine. thou must, thou shalt take it." and we wandered home silently across the mountains. it was late in the evening when we stood at my mother's door. anastasia held the lamp upwards as we entered; my mother was not there. she gazed at aphtanides with a beautifully mournful gaze. "to-morrow you are going from us," she said: "i am very sorry for it." "sorry!" he repeated, and in his voice there seemed a trouble as great as the grief i myself felt. i could not speak, but he seized her hand and said, "our brother yonder loves you, and he is dear to you, is he not? his very silence is a proof of his affection." anastasia trembled and burst into tears. then i saw no one but her, thought of none but her, and threw my arms round her, and said, "i love thee!" she pressed her lips to mine, and flung her arms round my neck; but the lamp had fallen to the ground, and all was dark around us--dark as in the heart of poor aphtanides. before daybreak he rose, kissed us all, said farewell, and went away. he had given all his money to my mother for us. anastasia was my betrothed, and a few days afterwards she became my wife. jack the dullard. an old story told anew. far in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, and in it lived an old proprietor, who had two sons, which two young men thought themselves too clever by half. they wanted to go out and woo the king's daughter; for the maiden in question had publicly announced that she would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange his words best. so these two geniuses prepared themselves a full week for the wooing--this was the longest time that could be granted them; but it was enough, for they had had much preparatory information, and everybody knows how useful that is. one of them knew the whole latin dictionary by heart, and three whole years of the daily paper of the little town into the bargain; and so well, indeed, that he could repeat it all either backwards or forwards, just as he chose. the other was deeply read in the corporation laws, and knew by heart what every corporation ought to know; and accordingly he thought he could talk of affairs of state, and put his spoke in the wheel in the council. and he knew one thing more: he could embroider braces with roses and other flowers, and with arabesques, for he was a tasty, light-fingered fellow. "i shall win the princess!" so cried both of them. therefore their old papa gave to each a handsome horse. the youth who knew the dictionary and newspaper by heart had a black horse, and he who knew all about the corporation laws received a milk-white steed. then they rubbed the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that they might become very smooth and glib. all the servants stood below in the courtyard, and looked on while they mounted their horses; and just by chance the third son came up. for the proprietor had really three sons, though nobody counted the third with his brothers, because he was not so learned as they, and indeed he was generally known as "jack the dullard." "hallo!" said jack the dullard, "where are you going? i declare you have put on your sunday clothes!" "we're going to the king's court, as suitors to the king's daughter. don't you know the announcement that has been made all through the country?" and they told him all about it. "my word! i'll be in it too!" cried jack the dullard; and his two brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode away. "father dear," said jack, "i must have a horse too. i do feel so desperately inclined to marry! if she accepts me, she accepts me; and if she won't have me, i'll have her; but she _shall_ be mine!" "don't talk nonsense," replied the old gentleman. "you shall have no horse from me. you don't know how to speak--you can't arrange your words. your brothers are very different fellows from you." "well," quoth jack the dullard, "if i can't have a horse, i'll take the billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry me very well!" and so said, so done. he mounted the billy-goat, pressed his heels into its sides, and gallopped down the high street like a hurricane. "hei, houp! that was a ride! here i come!" shouted jack the dullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and wide. but his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. they spoke not a word, for they were thinking about all the fine extempore speeches they would have to bring out, and all these had to be cleverly prepared beforehand. "hallo!" shouted jack the dullard. "here am i! look what i have found on the high-road." and he showed them what it was, and it was a dead crow. "dullard!" exclaimed the brothers, "what are you going to do with that?" "with the crow? why, i am going to give it to the princess." "yes, do so," said they; and they laughed, and rode on. "hallo, here i am again! just see what i have found now: you don't find that on the high-road every day!" and the brothers turned round to see what he could have found now. [illustration: jack's introduction to the princess.] "dullard!" they cried, "that is only an old wooden shoe, and the upper part is missing into the bargain; are you going to give that also to the princess?" "most certainly i shall," replied jack the dullard; and again the brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got far in advance of him; but---- "hallo--hop rara!" and there was jack the dullard again. "it is getting better and better," he cried. "hurrah! it is quite famous." "why, what have you found this time?" inquired the brothers. "oh," said jack the dullard, "i can hardly tell you. how glad the princess will be!" "bah!" said the brothers; "that is nothing but clay out of the ditch." "yes, certainly it is," said jack the dullard; "and clay of the finest sort. see, it is so wet, it runs through one's fingers." and he filled his pocket with the clay. but his brothers gallopped on till the sparks flew, and consequently they arrived a full hour earlier at the town-gate than could jack. now at the gate each suitor was provided with a number, and all were placed in rows immediately on their arrival, six in each row, and so closely packed together that they could not move their arms; and that was a prudent arrangement, for they would certainly have come to blows, had they been able, merely because one of them stood before the other. all the inhabitants of the country round about stood in great crowds around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see the princess receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, his power of speech seemed to desert him, like the light of a candle that is blown out. then the princess would say, "he is of no use! away with him out of the hall!" at last the turn came for that brother who knew the dictionary by heart; but he did not know it now; he had absolutely forgotten it altogether; and the boards seemed to re-echo with his footsteps, and the ceiling of the hall was made of looking-glass, so that he saw himself standing on his head; and at the window stood three clerks and a head clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single word that was uttered, so that it might be printed in the newspapers, and sold for a penny at the street corners. it was a terrible ordeal, and they had moreover made such a fire in the stove, that the room seemed quite red hot. "it is dreadfully hot here!" observed the first brother. "yes," replied the princess, "my father is going to roast young pullets to-day." "baa!" there he stood like a baa-lamb. he had not been prepared for a speech of this kind; and had not a word to say, though he intended to say something witty. "baa!" "he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him." and he was obliged to go accordingly. and now the second brother came in. "it is terribly warm here!" he observed. "yes, we're roasting pullets to-day," replied the princess. "what--what were you--were you pleased to ob----" stammered he--and all the clerks wrote down, "pleased to ob----" "he is of no use!" said the princess. "away with him!" now came the turn of jack the dullard. he rode into the hall on his goat. "well, it's most abominably hot here." "yes, because i'm roasting young pullets," replied the princess. "ah, that's lucky!" exclaimed jack the dullard, "for i suppose you'll let me roast my crow at the same time?" "with the greatest pleasure," said the princess. "but have you anything you can roast it in? for i have neither pot nor pan." "certainly i have!" said jack. "here's a cooking utensil with a tin handle." and he brought out the old wooden shoe, and put the crow into it. "well, that _is_ a famous dish!" said the princess. "but what shall we do for sauce?" "oh, i have that in my pocket," said jack: "i have so much of it, that i can afford to throw some away;" and he poured some of the clay out of his pocket. "i like that!" said the princess. "you can give an answer, and you have something to say for yourself, and so you shall be my husband. but are you aware that every word we speak is being taken down, and will be published in the paper to-morrow? look yonder, and you will see in every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old head clerk is the worst of all, for he can't understand anything." but she only said this to frighten jack the dullard: and the clerks gave a great crow of delight, and each one spurted a blot out of his pen on to the floor. "oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?" said jack; "then i will give the best i have to the head clerk." and he turned out his pockets, and flung the wet clay full in the head clerk's face. "that was very cleverly done," observed the princess. "i could not have done that; but i shall learn in time." and accordingly jack the dullard was made a king, and received a crown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. and this report we have wet from the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers--but they are not to be depended upon in the least! something. "i want to be something!" said the eldest of five brothers. "i want to do something in the world. i don't care how humble my position may be in society, if i only effect some good, for that will really be something. i'll make bricks, for they are quite indispensable things, and then i shall truly have done something." "but that _something_ will not be enough!" quoth the second brother. "what you intend doing is just as much as nothing at all. it is journeyman's work, and can be done by a machine. no, i would rather be a bricklayer at once, for that _is_ something real; and that's what i will be. that brings rank; as a bricklayer one belongs to a guild, and is a citizen, and has one's own flag and one's own house of call. yes, and if all goes well, i will keep journeymen. i shall become a master bricklayer, and my wife will be a master's wife--that is what _i_ call something." "that's nothing at all!" said the third. "that is beyond the pale of the guild, and there are many of those in a town that stand far above the mere master artizan. you may be an honest man; but as a 'master' you will after all only belong to those who are ranked among common men. i know something better than that. i will be an architect, and will thus enter into the territory of art and speculation. i shall be reckoned among those who stand high in point of intellect. i shall certainly have to serve up from the pickaxe, so to speak; so i must begin as a carpenter's apprentice, and must go about as an assistant, in a cap, though i am accustomed to wear a silk hat. i shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the common journeymen, and they will call me 'thou,' and that is insulting! but i shall imagine to myself that the whole thing is only acting, and a kind of masquerade. to-morrow--that is to say, when i have served my time--i shall go my own way, and the others will be nothing to me. i shall go to the academy, and get instructions in drawing, and shall be called an architect. _that's something!_ i may get to be called 'sir,' and even 'worshipful sir,' or even get a handle at the front or at the back of my name, and shall go on building and building, just as those before me have built. that will always be a thing to remember, and that's what i call something!" "but i don't care at all for _that_ something," said the fourth. "_i_ won't sail in the wake of others, and be a copyist. i will be a genius; and will stand up greater than all the rest of you together. i shall be the creator of a new style, and will give the plan of a building suitable to the climate and the material of the country, for the nationality of the people, for the development of the age--and an additional storey for my own genius." "but supposing the climate and the material are bad," said the fifth, "that would be a disastrous circumstance, for these two exert a great influence! nationality, moreover, may expand itself until it becomes affectation, and the development of the century may run wild with your work, as youth often runs wild. i quite realise the fact that none of you will be anything real, however much you may believe in yourselves. but, do what you like, i will not resemble you: i shall keep on the outside of things, and criticise whatever you produce. to every work there is attached something that is not right--something that has gone wrong; and i will ferret that out and find fault with it; and _that_ will be doing _something_!" and he kept his word; and everybody said concerning this fifth brother, "there is certainly something in him; he has a good head; but he does nothing." and by that very means they thought _something_ of him! now, you see, this is only a little story; but it will never end so long as the world lasts. but what became of the five brothers? why, this is _nothing_, and not _something_. listen, it is a capital story. the eldest brother, he who manufactured bricks, soon became aware of the fact that every brick, however small it might be, produced for him a little coin, though this coin was only copper; and many copper pennies laid one upon the other can be changed into a shining dollar; and wherever one knocks with such a dollar in one's hand, whether at the baker's, or the butcher's, or the tailor's--wherever it may be, the door flies open, and the visitor is welcomed, and gets what he wants. you see that is what comes of bricks. some of those belonging to the eldest brother certainly crumbled away, or broke in two, but there was a use even for these. on the high rampart, the wall that kept out the sea, margaret, the poor woman, wished to build herself a little house. all the faulty bricks were given to her, and a few perfect ones into the bargain, for the eldest brother was a good-natured man, though he certainly did not achieve anything beyond the manufacture of bricks. the poor woman put together the house for herself. it was little and narrow, and the single window was quite crooked. the door was too low, and the thatched roof might have shown better workmanship. but after all it was a shelter; and from the little house you could look far across the sea, whose waves broke vainly against the protecting rampart on which it was built. the salt billows spurted their spray over the whole house, which was still standing when he who had given the bricks for its erection had long been dead and buried. the second brother knew better how to build a wall, for he had served an apprenticeship to it. when he had served his time and passed his examination he packed his knapsack and sang the journeyman's song: "while i am young i'll wander, from place to place i'll roam, and everywhere build houses, until i come back home; and youth will give me courage, and my true love won't forget: hurrah then for a workman's life! i'll be a master yet!" and he carried his idea into effect. when he had come home and become a master, he built one house after another in the town. he built a whole street; and when the street was finished and became an ornament to the place, the houses built a house for him in return, that was to be his own. but how can houses build a house? if you ask them they will not answer you, but people will understand what is meant by the expression, and say, 'certainly, it was the street that built his house for him.' it was little, and the floor was covered with clay; but when he danced with his bride upon this clay floor, it seemed to become polished oak; and from every stone in the wall sprang forth a flower, and the room was gay, as if with the costliest paper-hanger's work. it was a pretty house, and in it lived a happy pair. the flag of the guild fluttered before the house, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted hurrah! yes, he certainly was _something_! and at last he died; and _that_ was something too. now came the architect, the third brother, who had been at first a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as an errand boy, but had afterwards gone to the academy, and risen to become an architect, and to be called "honoured sir." yes, if the houses of the street had built a house for the brother who had become a bricklayer, the street now received its name from the architect, and the handsomest house in it became his property. _that_ was something, and _he_ was something; and he had a long title before and after his name. his children were called _genteel_ children, and when he died his widow was "a widow of rank," and _that_ is something!--and his name always remained at the corner of the street, and lived on in the mouth of every one as the street's name--and _that_ was something! now came the genius of the family, the fourth brother, who wanted to invent something new and original, and an additional storey on the top of it for himself. but the top storey tumbled down, and he came tumbling down with it, and broke his neck. nevertheless he had a splendid funeral, with guild flags and music; poems in the papers, and flowers strewn on the paving-stones in the street; and three funeral orations were held over him, each one longer than the last, which would have rejoiced him greatly, for he always liked it when people talked about him; a monument also was erected over his grave. it was only one storey high, but still it was _something_. now he was dead like the three other brothers; but the last, the one who was a critic, outlived them all: and that was quite right, for by this means he got the last word, and it was of great importance to him to have the last word. the people always said he had a good head of his own. at last his hour came, and he died, and came to the gates of paradise. there souls always enter two and two, and he came up with another soul that wanted to get into paradise too; and who should this be but old dame margaret from the house upon the sea wall. "i suppose this is done for the sake of contrast, that i and this wretched soul should arrive here at exactly the same time!" said the critic. "pray who are you, my good woman?" he asked. "do you want to get in here too?" and the old woman curtsied as well as she could: she thought it must be st. peter himself talking to her. "i'm a poor old woman of a very humble family," she replied. "i'm old margaret that lived in the house on the sea wall." "well, and what have you done? what have you accomplished down there?" "i have really accomplished nothing at all in the world: nothing that i can plead to have the doors here opened to me. it would be a real mercy to allow me to slip in through the gate." "in what manner did you leave the world?" asked he, just for the sake of saying something; for it was wearisome work standing there and saying nothing. "why, i really don't know how i left it. i was sick and miserable during my last years, and could not well bear creeping out of bed, and going out suddenly into the frost and cold. it was a hard winter, but i have got out of it all now. for a few days the weather was quite calm, but very cold, as your honour must very well know. the sea was covered with ice as far as one could look. all the people from the town walked out upon the ice, and i think they said there was a dance there, and skating. there was beautiful music and a great feast there too; the sound came into my poor little room, where i lay ill. and it was towards the evening; the moon had risen beautifully, but was not yet in its full splendour; i looked from my bed out over the wide sea, and far off, just where the sea and sky join, a strange white cloud came up. i lay looking at the cloud, and i saw a little black spot in the middle of it, that grew larger and larger; and now i knew what it meant, for i am old and experienced, though this token is not often seen. i knew it, and a shuddering came upon me. twice in my life i have seen the same thing; and i knew there would be an awful tempest, and a spring flood, which would overwhelm the poor people who were now drinking and dancing and rejoicing--young and old, the whole city had issued forth--who was to warn them, if no one saw what was coming yonder, or knew, as i did, what it meant? i was dreadfully alarmed, and felt more lively than i had done for a long time. i crept out of bed, and got to the window, but could not crawl farther, i was so exhausted. but i managed to open the window. i saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice; i could see the beautiful flags that waved in the wind. i heard the boys shouting 'hurrah!' and the servant men and maids singing. there were all kinds of merriment going on. but the white cloud with the black spot! i cried out as loud as i could, but no one heard me; i was too far from the people. soon the storm would burst, and the ice would break, and all who were upon it would be lost without remedy. they could not hear me, and i could not come out to them. oh, if i could only bring them ashore! then kind heaven inspired me with the thought of setting fire to my bed, and rather to let the house burn down, than that all those people should perish so miserably. i succeeded in lighting up a beacon for them. the red flame blazed up on high, and i escaped out of the door, but fell down exhausted on the threshold, and could get no farther. the flames rushed out towards me, flickered through the window, and rose high above the roof. all the people on the ice yonder beheld it, and ran as fast as they could, to give aid to a poor old woman who, they thought, was being burned to death. not one remained behind. i heard them coming; but i also became aware of a rushing sound in the air; i heard a rumbling like the sound of heavy artillery; the spring-flood was lifting the covering of ice, which presently cracked and burst into a thousand fragments. but the people succeeded in reaching the sea-wall--i saved them all! but i fancy i could not bear the cold and the fright, and so i came up here to the gates of paradise. i am told they are opened to poor creatures like me--and now i have no house left down upon the rampart: not that i think this will give me admission here." then the gates of heaven were opened, and the angel led the old woman in. she left a straw behind her, a straw that had been in her bed when she set it on fire to save the lives of many; and this straw had been changed into the purest gold--into gold that grew and grew, and spread out into beauteous leaves and flowers. [illustration: dame margery fires her bed for a beacon.] "look, this is what the poor woman brought," said the angel to the critic. "what dost _thou_ bring? i know that thou hast accomplished nothing--thou hast not made so much as a single brick. ah, if thou couldst only return, and effect at least so much as that! probably the brick, when thou hadst made it, would not be worth much; but if it were made with good-will, it would at least be _something_. but thou canst not go back, and i can do nothing for thee!" then the poor soul, the old dame who had lived on the dyke, put in a petition for him. she said, "his brother gave me the bricks and the pieces out of which i built up my house, and that was a great deal for a poor woman like me. could not all those bricks and pieces be counted as a single brick in his favour? it was an act of mercy. he wants it now; and is not this the very fountain of mercy?" then the angel said: "thy brother, him whom thou hast regarded as the least among you all, he whose honest industry seemed to thee as the most humble, hath given thee this heavenly gift. thou shalt not be turned away. it shall be vouchsafed to thee to stand here without the gate, and to reflect, and repent of thy life down yonder; but thou shalt not be admitted until thou hast in real earnest accomplished _something_." "i could have said that in better words!" thought the critic, but he did not find fault aloud; and for him, after all, that was "something!" under the willow tree. the region round the little town of kjöge is very bleak and bare. the town certainly lies by the sea shore, which is always beautiful, but just there it might be more beautiful than it is: all around are flat fields, and it is a long way to the forest. but when one is very much at home in a place, one always finds something beautiful, and something that one longs for in the most charming spot in the world that is strange to us. we confess that, by the utmost boundary of the little town, where some humble gardens skirt the streamlet that falls into the sea, it must be very pretty in summer; and this was the opinion of the two children from neighbouring houses, who were playing there, and forcing their way through the gooseberry bushes, to get to one another. in one of the gardens stood an elder tree, and in the other an old willow, and under the latter the children were especially very fond of playing; they were allowed to play there, though, indeed, the tree stood close beside the stream, and they might easily have fallen into the water. but the eye of god watches over the little ones; if it did not, they would be badly off. and, moreover, they were very careful with respect to the water; in fact, the boy was so much afraid of it, that they could not lure him into the sea in summer, when the other children were splashing about in the waves. accordingly, he was famously jeered and mocked at, and had to bear the jeering and mockery as best he could. but once joanna, the neighbour's little girl, dreamed she was sailing in a boat, and knud waded out to join her till the water rose, first to his neck, and afterwards closed over his head, so that he disappeared altogether. from the time when little knud heard of this dream, he would no longer bear the teasing of the other boys. he might go into the water now, he said, for joanna had dreamed it. he certainly never carried the idea into practice, but the dream was his great guide for all that. their parents, who were poor people, often took tea together, and knud and joanna played in the gardens and on the high-road, where a row of willows had been planted beside the skirting ditch; these trees, with their polled tops, certainly did not look beautiful, but they were not put there for ornament, but for use. the old willow tree in the garden was much handsomer, and therefore the children were fond of sitting under it. in the town itself there was a great market-place, and at the time of the fair this place was covered with whole streets of tents and booths, containing silk ribbons, boots, and everything that a person could wish for. there was great crowding, and generally the weather was rainy; but it did not destroy the fragrance of the honey-cakes and the gingerbread, of which there was a booth quite full; and the best of it was, that the man who kept this booth came every year to lodge during the fair-time in the dwelling of little knud's father. consequently there came a present of a bit of gingerbread every now and then, and of course joanna received her share of the gift. but, perhaps the most charming thing of all was that the gingerbread dealer knew all sorts of tales, and could even relate histories about his own gingerbread cakes; and one evening, in particular, he told a story about them which made such a deep impression on the children that they never forgot it; and for that reason it is perhaps advisable that we should hear it too, more especially as the story is not long. "on the shop-board," he said, "lay two gingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man with a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet; both their faces were on the side that was uppermost, for they were to be looked at on that side, and not on the other; and, indeed, most people have a favourable side from which they should be viewed. on the left side the man wore a bitter almond--that was his heart; but the maiden, on the other hand, was honey-cake all over. they were placed as samples on the shop-board, and remaining there a long time, at last they fell in love with one another, but neither told the other, as they should have done if they had expected anything to come of it. "'he is a man, and therefore he must speak first,' she thought; but she felt quite contented, for she knew her love was returned. "his thoughts were far more extravagant, as is always the case with a man. he dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he had four pennies of his own, and that he purchased the maiden, and ate her up. so they lay on the shop-board for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and hard, but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle and maidenly. "'it is enough for me that i have lived on the same table with him,' she said, and crack! she broke in two. "'if she had only known of my love, she would have kept together a little longer,' he thought. "and that is the story, and here they are, both of them," said the baker in conclusion. "they are remarkable for their curious history, and for their silent love, which never came to anything. and there they are for you!" and, so saying, he gave joanna the man who was yet entire, and knud got the broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the story that they could not summon courage to eat the lovers up. on the following day they went out with them to the churchyard, and sat down by the church wall, which is covered, winter and summer, with the most luxuriant ivy as with a rich carpet. here they stood the two cake figures up in the sunshine among the green leaves, and told the story to a group of other children; they told them of the silent love which led to nothing. it was called _love_ because the story was so lovely, on that they all agreed. but when they turned to look again at the gingerbread pair, a big boy, out of mischief, had eaten up the broken maiden. the children cried about this, and afterwards--probably that the poor lover might not be left in the world lonely and desolate--they ate him up too; but they never forgot the story. the children were always together by the elder tree and under the willow, and the little girl sang the most beautiful songs with a voice that was clear as a bell. knud, on the other hand, had not a note of music in him, but he knew the words of the songs, and that, at least, was something. the people of kjöge, even to the rich wife of the fancy-shop keeper, stood still and listened when joanna sang. "she has a very sweet voice, that little girl," they said. those were glorious days, but they could not last for ever. the neighbours were neighbours no longer. the little maiden's mother was dead, and the father intended to marry again, in the capital, where he had been promised a living as a messenger, which was to be a very lucrative office. and the neighbours separated regretfully, the children weeping heartily, but the parents promised that they should at least write to one another once a year. [illustration: the naughty boy who ate the gingerbread maiden.] and knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker, for the big boy could not be allowed to run wild any longer; and moreover he was confirmed. ah, how gladly on that day of celebration would he have been in copenhagen with little joanna! but he remained in kjöge, and had never yet been to copenhagen, though the little town is only five danish miles distant from the capital; but far across the bay, when the sky was clear, knud had seen the towers in the distance, and on the day of his confirmation he could distinctly see the golden cross on the principal church glittering in the sun. ah, how often his thoughts were with joanna! did she think of him? yes. towards christmas there came a letter from her father to the parents of knud, to say that they were getting on very well in copenhagen, and especially might joanna look forward to a brilliant future on the strength of her fine voice. she had been engaged in the theatre in which people sing, and was already earning some money, out of which she sent her dear neighbours of kjöge a dollar for the merry christmas eve. they were to drink her health, she had herself added in a postscript, and in the same postscript there stood further, "a kind greeting to knud." the whole family wept: and yet all this was very pleasant; those were joyful tears that they shed. knud's thoughts had been occupied every day with joanna; and now he knew that she also thought of him: and the nearer the time came when his apprenticeship would be over, the more clearly did it appear to him that he was very fond of joanna, and that she must be his wife; and when he thought of this, a smile came upon his lips, and he drew the thread twice as fast as before, and pressed his foot hard against the knee-strap. he ran the awl far into his finger, but he did not care for that. he determined not to play the dumb lover, as the two gingerbread cakes had done: the story should teach him a lesson. and now he was a journeyman, and his knapsack was packed ready for his journey: at length, for the first time in his life, he was to go to copenhagen, where a master was already waiting for him. how glad joanna would be! she was now seventeen years old, and he nineteen. already in kjöge he had wanted to buy a gold ring for her; but he recollected that such things were to be had far better in copenhagen. and now he took leave of his parents, and on a rainy day, late in the autumn, went forth on foot out of the town of his birth. the leaves were falling down from the trees, and he arrived at his new master's in the metropolis wet to the skin. next sunday he was to pay a visit to joanna's father. the new journeyman's clothes were brought forth, and the new hat from kjöge was put on, which became knud very well, for till this time he had only worn a cap. and he found the house he sought, and mounted flight after flight of stairs until he became almost giddy. it was terrible to him to see how people lived piled up one over the other in the dreadful city. everything in the room had a prosperous look, and joanna's father received him very kindly. to the new wife he was a stranger, but she shook hands with him, and gave him some coffee. "joanna will be glad to see you," said the father: "you have grown quite a nice young man. you shall see her presently. she is a girl who rejoices my heart, and, please god, she will rejoice it yet more. she has her own room now, and pays us rent for it." and the father knocked quite politely at the door, as if he were a visitor, and then they went in. but how pretty everything was in that room! such an apartment was certainly not to be found in all kjöge: the queen herself could not be more charmingly lodged. there were carpets, there were window curtains quite down to the floor, and around were flowers and pictures, and a mirror into which there was almost danger that a visitor might step, for it was as large as a door; and there was even a velvet chair. knud saw all this at a glance: and yet he saw nothing but joanna. she was a grown maiden, quite different from what knud had fancied her, and much more beautiful. in all kjöge there was not a girl like her. how graceful she was, and with what an odd unfamiliar glance she looked at knud! but that was only for a moment, and then she rushed towards him as if she would have kissed him. she did not really do so, but she came very near it. yes, she was certainly rejoiced at the arrival of the friend of her youth! the tears were actually in her eyes; and she had much to say, and many questions to put concerning all, from knud's parents down to the elder tree and the willow, which she called elder-mother and willow-father, as if they had been human beings; and indeed they might pass as such, just as well as the gingerbread cakes; and of these she spoke too, and of their silent love, and how they had lain upon the shop-board and split in two--and then she laughed very heartily; but the blood mounted into knud's cheeks, and his heart beat thick and fast. no, she had not grown proud at all. and it was through her--he noticed it well--that her parents invited him to stay the whole evening with them; and she poured out the tea and gave him a cup with her own hands; and afterwards she took a book and read aloud to them, and it seemed to knud that what she read was all about himself and his love, for it matched so well with his thoughts; and then she sang a simple song, but through her singing it became like a history, and seemed to be the outpouring of her very heart. yes, certainly she was fond of knud. the tears coursed down his cheeks--he could not restrain them, nor could he speak a single word: he seemed to himself as if he were struck dumb; and yet she pressed his hand, and said, "you have a good heart, knud--remain always as you are now." that was an evening of matchless delight to knud; to sleep after it was impossible, and accordingly knud did not sleep. at parting, joanna's father had said, "now, you won't forget us altogether! don't let the whole winter go by without once coming to see us again;" and therefore he could very well go again the next sunday, and resolved to do so. but every evening when working hours were over--and they worked by candlelight there--knud went out through the town: he went into the street in which joanna lived, and looked up at her window; it was almost always lit up, and one evening he could see the shadow of her face quite plainly on the curtain--and that was a grand evening for him. his master's wife did not like his gallivanting abroad every evening, as she expressed it; and she shook her head; but the master only smiled. "he is only a young fellow," he said. but knud thought to himself: "on sunday i shall see her, and i shall tell her how completely she reigns in my heart and soul, and that she must be my little wife. i know i am only a poor journeyman shoemaker, but i shall work and strive--yes, i shall tell her so. nothing comes of silent love: i have learned that from the cakes." and sunday came round, and knud sallied forth; but, unluckily, they were all invited out for that evening, and were obliged to tell him so. joanna pressed his hand and said, "have you ever been to the theatre? you must go once. i shall sing on wednesday, and if you have time on that evening, i will send you a ticket; my father knows where your master lives." how kind that was of her! and on wednesday at noon he received a sealed paper, with no words written in it; but the ticket was there, and in the evening knud went to the theatre for the first time in his life. and what did he see? he saw joanna, and how charming and how beautiful she looked! she was certainly married to a stranger, but that was all in the play--something that was only make-believe, as knud knew very well. if it had been real, he thought, she would never have had the heart to send him a ticket that he might go and see it. and all the people shouted and applauded, and knud cried out "hurrah!" even the king smiled at joanna, and seemed to delight in her. ah, how small knud felt! but then he loved her so dearly, and thought that she loved him too; but it was for the man to speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden in the child's story had taught him: and there was a great deal for him in that story. so soon as sunday came, he went again. he felt as if he were going into a church. joanna was alone, and received him--it could not have happened more fortunately. "it is well that you are come," she said. [illustration: knud's disappointment.] "i had an idea of sending my father to you, only i felt a presentiment that you would be here this evening; for i must tell you that i start for france on friday: i must go there, if i am to become efficient." it seemed to knud as if the whole room were whirling round and round with him. he felt as if his heart would presently burst: no tear rose to his eyes, but still it was easy to see how sorrowful he was. "you honest, faithful soul!" she exclaimed; and these words of hers loosened knud's tongue. he told her how constantly he loved her, and that she must become his wife; and as he said this, he saw joanna change colour and turn pale. she let his hand fall, and answered, seriously and mournfully, "knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. i shall always be a good sister to you, one in whom you may trust, but i shall never be anything more." and she drew her white hand over his hot forehead. "heaven gives us strength for much," she said, "if we only endeavour to do our best." at that moment the stepmother came into the room; and joanna said quickly, "knud is quite inconsolable because i am going away. come, be a man," she continued, and laid her hand upon his shoulder; and it seemed as if they had been talking of the journey, and nothing else. "you are a child," she added; "but now you must be good and reasonable, as you used to be under the willow tree, when we were both children." but knud felt as if the whole world had slid out of its course, and his thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering to and fro in the wind. he stayed, though he could not remember if she had asked him to stay; and she was kind and good, and poured out his tea for him, and sang to him. it had not the old tone, and yet it was wonderfully beautiful, and made his heart feel ready to burst. and then they parted. knud did not offer her his hand, but she seized it, and said, "surely you will shake hands with your sister at parting, old playfellow!" and she smiled through the tears that were rolling over her cheeks, and she repeated the word "brother"--and certainly there was good consolation in that--and thus they parted. she sailed to france, and knud wandered about the muddy streets of copenhagen. the other journeymen in the workshop asked him why he went about so gloomily, and told him he should go and amuse himself with them, for he was a young fellow. and they went with him to the dancing-rooms. he saw many handsome girls there, but certainly not one like joanna; and here, where he thought to forget her, she stood more vividly than ever before the eyes of his soul. "heaven gives us strength for a great deal, if we only try to do our best," she had said; and holy thoughts came into his mind, and he folded his hands. the violins played, and the girls danced round in a circle; and he was quite startled, for it seemed to him as if he were in a place to which he ought not to have brought joanna--for she was there with him, in his heart; and accordingly he went out. he ran through the streets, and passed by the house where she had dwelt: it was dark there, dark everywhere, and empty, and lonely. the world went on its course, but knud pursued his lonely way, unheedingly. the winter came, and the streams were frozen. everything seemed to be preparing for a burial. but when spring returned, and the first steamer was to start, a longing seized him to go away, far, far into the world, but not to france. so he packed his knapsack, and wandered far into the german land, from city to city, without rest or peace; and it was not till he came to the glorious old city of nuremberg that he could master his restless spirit; and in nuremberg, therefore, he decided to remain. nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it were cut out of an old picture-book. the streets seem to stretch themselves along just as they please. the houses do not like standing in regular ranks. gables with little towers, arabesques, and pillars, start out over the pathway, and from the strange peaked roofs water-spouts, formed like dragons or great slim dogs, extend far over the street. here in the market-place stood knud, with his knapsack on his back. he stood by one of the old fountains that are adorned with splendid bronze figures, scriptural and historical, rising up between the gushing jets of water. a pretty servant-maid was just filling her pails, and she gave knud a refreshing draught; and as her hand was full of roses, she gave him one of the flowers, and he accepted it as a good omen. from the neighbouring church the strains of the organ were sounding: they seemed to him as familiar as the tones of the organ at home at kjöge; and he went into the great cathedral. the sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows, between the two lofty slender pillars. his spirit became prayerful, and peace returned to his soul. and he sought and found a good master in nuremberg, with whom he stayed, and in whose house he learned the german language. the old moat round the town has been converted into a number of little kitchen gardens; but the high walls are standing yet, with their heavy towers. the ropemaker twists his ropes on a gallery or walk built of wood, inside the town wall, where elder bushes grow out of the clefts and cracks, spreading their green twigs over the little low houses that stand below; and in one of these dwelt the master with whom knud worked; and over the little garret window at which knud sat the elder waved its branches. here he lived through a summer and a winter; but when the spring came again he could bear it no longer. the elder was in blossom, and its fragrance reminded him so of home, that he fancied himself back in the garden at kjöge; and therefore knud went away from his master, and dwelt with another, farther in the town, over whose house no elder bush grew. his workshop was quite close to one of the old stone bridges, by a low water-mill, that rushed and foamed always. without, rolled the roaring stream, hemmed in by houses, whose old decayed gables looked ready to topple down into the water. no elder grew here--there was not even a flower-pot with its little green plant; but just opposite the workshop stood a great old willow tree, that seemed to cling fast to the house, for fear of being carried away by the water, and which stretched forth its branches over the river, just as the willow at kjöge spread its arms across the streamlet by the gardens there. yes, he had certainly gone from the "elder-mother" to the "willow-father." the tree here had something, especially on moonlight evenings, that went straight to his heart--and that something was not in the moonlight, but in the old tree itself. nevertheless, he could not remain. why not? ask the willow tree, ask the blooming elder! and therefore he bade farewell to his master in nuremberg, and journeyed onward. to no one did he speak of joanna--in his secret heart he hid his sorrow; and he thought of the deep meaning in the old childish story of the two cakes. now he understood why the man had a bitter almond in his breast--he himself felt the bitterness of it; and joanna, who was always so gentle and kind, was typified by the honey-cake. the strap of his knapsack seemed so tight across his chest that he could scarcely breathe; he loosened it, but was not relieved. he saw but half the world around him; the other half he carried about him, and within himself. and thus it stood with him. not till he came in sight of the high mountains did the world appear freer to him; and now his thoughts were turned without, and tears came into his eyes. the alps appeared to him as the folded wings of the earth; how if they were to unfold themselves, and display their variegated pictures of black woods, foaming waters, clouds, and masses of snow? at the last day, he thought, the world will lift up its great wings, and mount upwards towards the sky, and burst like a soap-bubble in the glance of the highest! "ah," sighed he, "that the last day were come!" silently he wandered through the land, that seemed to him as an orchard covered with soft turf. from the wooden balconies of the houses the girls who sat busy with their lace-making nodded at him; the summits of the mountains glowed in the red sun of the evening; and when he saw the green lakes gleaming among the dark trees, he thought of the coast by the bay of kjöge, and there was a longing in his bosom, but it was pain no more. there where the rhine rolls onward like a great billow, and bursts, and is changed into snow-white, gleaming, cloud-like masses, as if clouds were being created there, with the rainbow fluttering like a loose band above them; there he thought of the water-mill at kjöge, with its rushing, foaming water. gladly would he have remained in the quiet rhenish town, but here too were too many elder trees and willows, and therefore he journeyed on, over the high, mighty mountains, through shattered walls of rock, and on roads that clung like swallows' nests to the mountain-side. the waters foamed on in the depths, the clouds were below him, and he strode on over thistles, alpine roses, and snow, in the warm summer sun; and saying farewell to the lands of the north, he passed on under the shade of blooming chestnut trees, and through vineyards and fields of maize. the mountains were a wall between him and all his recollections; and he wished it to be so. before him lay a great glorious city which they called _milano_, and here he found a german master who gave him work. they were an old pious couple, in whose workshop he now laboured. and the two old people became quite fond of the quiet journeyman, who said little, but worked all the more, and led a pious christian life. to himself also it seemed as if heaven had lifted the heavy burden from his heart. his favourite pastime was to mount now and then upon the mighty marble church, which seemed to him to have been formed of the snow of his native land, fashioned into roofs, and pinnacles, and decorated open halls: from every corner and every point the white statues smiled upon him. above him was the blue sky, below him the city and the wide-spreading lombard plains, and towards the north the high mountains clad with perpetual snow; and he thought of the church at kjöge, with its red, ivy-covered walls, but he did not long to go thither: here, beyond the mountains, he would be buried. he had dwelt here a year, and three years had passed away since he left his home, when one day his master took him into the city, not to the circus where riders exhibited, but to the opera, where was a hall worth seeing. there were seven storeys, from each of which beautiful silken curtains hung down, and from the ground to the dizzy height of the roof sat elegant ladies, with bouquets of flowers in their hands, as if they were at a ball, and the gentlemen were in full dress, and many of them decorated with gold and silver. it was as bright there as in the brilliant sunshine, and the music rolled gloriously through the building. everything was much more splendid than in the theatre at copenhagen, but then joanna had been there, and----could it be? yes, it was like magic--she was here also! for the curtain rose, and joanna appeared, dressed in silk and gold, with a crown upon her head: she sang as he thought none but angels could sing, and came far forward, quite to the front of the stage, and smiled as only joanna could smile, and looked straight down at knud. poor knud seized his master's hand, and called out aloud, "joanna!" but no one heard but the master, who nodded his head, for the loud music sounded above everything. "yes, yes, her name is joanna," said the master; and he drew forth a printed playbill, and showed knud her name--for the full name was printed there. no, it was not a dream! all the people applauded, and threw wreaths and flowers to her, and every time she went away they called her back, so that she was always going and coming. in the street the people crowded round her carriage, and drew it away in triumph. knud was in the foremost row, and shouted as joyously as any; and when the carriage stopped before her brilliantly lighted house, knud stood close beside the door of the carriage. it flew open, and she stepped out: the light fell upon her dear face, as she smiled, and made a kindly gesture of thanks, and appeared deeply moved. knud looked straight into her face, and she looked into his, but she did not know him. a man, with a star glittering on his breast, gave her his arm--and it was whispered about that the two were engaged. then knud went home and packed his knapsack. he was determined to go back to his own home, to the elder and the willow tree--ah, under the willow tree! a whole life is sometimes lived through in a single hour. the old couple begged him to remain, but no words could induce him to stay. it was in vain they told him that winter was coming, and pointed out that snow had already fallen in the mountains; he said he could march on, with his knapsack on his back, in the wake of the slow-moving carriage, for which they would have to clear a path. so he went away towards the mountains, and marched up them and down them. his strength was giving way, but still he saw no village, no house; he marched on towards the north. the stars gleamed above him, his feet stumbled, and his head grew dizzy. deep in the valley stars were shining too, and it seemed as if there were another sky below him. he felt he was ill. the stars below him became more and more numerous, and glowed brighter and brighter, and moved to and fro. it was a little town whose lights beamed there; and when he understood that, he exerted the remains of his strength, and at last reached the shelter of a humble inn. that night and the whole of the following day he remained there, for his body required rest and refreshment. it was thawing; there was rain in the valley. but early on the second morning came a man with an organ, who played a tune of home; and now knud could stay no longer. he continued his journey towards the north, marching onward for many days with haste and hurry, as if he were trying to get home before all were dead there; but to no one did he speak of his longing, for no one would have believed in the sorrow of his heart, the deepest a human heart can feel. such a grief is not for the world, for it is not amusing; nor is it even for friends; and moreover he had no friends--a stranger, he wandered through strange lands towards his home in the north. it was evening. he was walking on the public high-road. the frost began to make itself felt, and the country soon became flatter, containing mere field and meadow. by the road-side grew a great willow tree. everything reminded him of home, and he sat down under the tree: he felt very tired, his head began to nod, and his eyes closed in slumber, but still he was conscious that the tree stretched its arms above him; and in his wandering fancy the tree itself appeared to be an old, mighty man--it seemed as if the "willow-father" himself had taken up his tired son in his arms, and were carrying him back into the land of home, to the bare bleak shore of kjöge, to the garden of his childhood. yes, he dreamed it was the willow tree of kjöge that had travelled out into the world to seek him, and that now had found him, and had led him back into the little garden by the streamlet, and there stood joanna, in all her splendour, with the golden crown on her head, as he had seen her last, and she called out "welcome" to him. and before him stood two remarkable shapes, which looked much more human than he remembered them to have been in his childhood: they had changed also, but they were still the two cakes that turned the right side towards him, and looked very well. "we thank you," they said to knud. "you have loosened our tongues, and have taught us that thoughts should be spoken out freely, or nothing will come of them; and now something has indeed come of it--we are betrothed." then they went hand in hand through the streets of kjöge, and they looked very respectable in every way: there was no fault to find with _them_. and they went on, straight towards the church, and knud and joanna followed them; they also were walking hand in hand; and the church stood there as it had always stood, with its red walls, on which the green ivy grew; and the great door of the church flew open, and the organ sounded, and they walked up the long aisle of the church. "our master first," said the cake-couple, and made room for joanna and knud, who knelt by the altar, and she bent her head over him, and tears fell from her eyes, but they were icy cold, for it was the ice around her heart that was melting--melting by his strong love; and the tears fell upon his burning cheeks, and he awoke, and was sitting under the old willow tree in the strange land, in the cold wintry evening: an icy hail was falling from the clouds and beating on his face. [illustration: knud at rest--under the willow tree.] "that was the most delicious hour of my life!" he said, "and it was but a dream. oh, let me dream again!" and he closed his eyes once more, and slept and dreamed. towards morning there was a great fall of snow. the wind drifted the snow over him, but he slept on. the villagers came forth to go to church, and by the road-side sat a journeyman. he was dead--frozen to death under the willow tree! the beetle. the emperor's favourite horse was shod with gold. it had a golden shoe on each of its feet. and why was this? he was a beautiful creature, with delicate legs, bright intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. he had carried his master through the fire and smoke of battle, and heard the bullets whistling around him, had kicked, bitten, and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced, and had sprung with his master on his back over the fallen foe, and had saved the crown of red gold, and the life of the emperor, which was more valuable than the red gold; and that is why the emperor's horse had golden shoes. and a beetle came creeping forth. "first the great ones," said he, "and then the little ones; but greatness is not the only thing that does it." and so saying, he stretched out his thin legs. "and pray what do you want?" asked the smith. "golden shoes, to be sure," replied the beetle. "why, you must be out of your senses," cried the smith. "do you want to have golden shoes too?" "golden shoes? certainly," replied the beetle. "am i not just as good as that big creature yonder, that is waited on, and brushed, and has meat and drink put before him? don't i belong to the imperial stable?" "but _why_ is the horse to have golden shoes? don't you understand that?" asked the smith. "understand? i understand that it is a personal slight offered to myself," cried the beetle. "it is done to annoy me, and therefore i am going into the world to seek my fortune." "go along!" said the smith. "you're a rude fellow!" cried the beetle; and then he went out of the stable, flew a little way, and soon afterwards found himself in a beautiful flower garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. "is it not beautiful here?" asked one of the little lady-birds that flew about, with their delicate wings and their red-and-black shields on their backs. "how sweet it is here--how beautiful it is!" "i'm accustomed to better things," said the beetle. "do you call _this_ beautiful? why, there is not so much as a dung-heap." then he went on, under the shadow of a great stack, and found a caterpillar crawling along. "how beautiful the world is!" said the caterpillar: "the sun is so warm, and everything so enjoyable! and when i go to sleep, and die, as they call it, i shall wake up as a butterfly, with beautiful wings to fly with." "how conceited you are!" exclaimed the stag-beetle. "fly about as a butterfly, indeed! i've come out of the stable of the emperor, and no one there, not even the emperor's favourite horse--that by the way wears my cast-off golden shoes--has any such idea. to have wings to fly! why, we can fly now;" and he spread his wings and flew away. "i don't want to be annoyed, and yet i am annoyed," he said, as he flew off. soon afterwards he fell down upon a great lawn. for awhile he lay there and feigned slumber; at last he fell asleep in earnest. suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. the beetle woke up at the noise, and wanted to escape into the earth, but could not. he was tumbled over and over; sometimes he was swimming on his stomach, sometimes on his back, and as for flying, that was out of the question; he doubted whether he should escape from the place with his life. he therefore remained lying where he was. when the weather had moderated a little, and the beetle had rubbed the water out of his eyes, he saw something gleaming. it was linen that had been placed there to bleach. he managed to make his way up to it, and crept into a fold of the damp linen. certainly the place was not so comfortable to lie in as the warm stable; but there was no better to be had, and therefore he remained lying there for a whole day and a whole night, and the rain kept on during all the time. towards morning he crept forth: he was very much out of temper about the climate. on the linen two frogs were sitting. their bright eyes absolutely gleamed with pleasure. "wonderful weather this!" one of them cried. "how refreshing! and the linen keeps the water together so beautifully. my hind legs seem to quiver as if i were going to swim." "i should like to know," said the second, "if the swallow, who flies so far round, in her many journeys in foreign lands ever meets with a better climate than this. what delicious dampness! it is really as if one were lying in a wet ditch. whoever does not rejoice in this, certainly does not love his fatherland." "have you been in the emperor's stable?" asked the beetle: "there the dampness is warm and refreshing. that's the climate for me; but i cannot take it with me on my journey. is there never a muck-heap, here in the garden, where a person of rank, like myself, can feel himself at home, and take up his quarters?" but the frogs either did not or would not understand him. "i never ask a question twice!" said the beetle, after he had already asked this one three times without receiving any answer. then he went a little farther, and stumbled against a fragment of pottery, that certainly ought not to have been lying there; but as it was once there, it gave a good shelter against wind and weather. here dwelt several families of earwigs; and these did not require much, only sociality. the female members of the community were full of the purest maternal affection, and accordingly each one considered her own child the most beautiful and cleverest of all. "our son has engaged himself," said one mother. "dear, innocent boy! his greatest hope is that he may creep one day into a clergyman's ear. it's very artless and loveable, that; and being engaged will keep him steady. what joy for a mother!" "our son," said another mother, "had scarcely crept out of the egg, when he was already off on his travels. he's all life and spirits; he'll run his horns off! what joy that is for a mother! is it not so, mr. beetle?" for she knew the stranger by his horny coat. "you are both quite right," said he; so they begged him to walk in; that is to say, to come as far as he could under the bit of pottery. "now, you also see _my_ little earwig," observed a third mother and a fourth; "they are lovely little things, and highly amusing. they are never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable in their inside; but, unfortunately, one is very subject to that at their age." thus each mother spoke of her baby; and the babies talked among themselves, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle. "yes, they are always busy about something, the little rogues!" said the mothers; and they quite beamed with maternal pride; but the beetle felt bored by that, and therefore he inquired how far it was to the nearest muck-heap. "that is quite out in the big world, on the other side of the ditch," answered an earwig. "i hope none of my children will go so far, for it would be the death of me." "but i shall try to get so far," said the beetle; and he went off without taking formal leave; for that is considered the polite thing to do. and by the ditch he met several friends; beetles, all of them. "here we live," they said. "we are very comfortable here. might we ask you to step down into this rich mud? you must be fatigued after your journey." "certainly," replied the beetle. "i have been exposed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing that greatly exhausts me. i have also pains in one of my wings, from standing in a draught under a fragment of pottery. it is really quite refreshing to be among one's companions once more." "perhaps you come from some muck-heap?" observed the oldest of them. "indeed, i come from a much higher place," replied the beetle. "i came from the emperor's stable, where i was born with golden shoes on my feet. i am travelling on a secret embassy. you must not ask me any questions, for i can't betray my secret." with this the beetle stepped down into the rich mud. there sat three young maiden beetles; and they tittered, because they did not know what to say. "not one of them is engaged yet," said their mother; and the beetle maidens tittered again, this time from embarrassment. "i have never seen greater beauties in the royal stables," exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting himself. "don't spoil my girls," said the mother; "and don't talk to them, please, unless you have serious intentions. but of course your intentions are serious, and therefore i give you my blessing." "hurrah!" cried all the other beetles together; and our friend was engaged. immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason for delay. the following day passed very pleasantly, and the next in tolerable comfort; but on the third it was time to think of food for the wife, and perhaps also for children. "i have allowed myself to be taken in," said our beetle to himself. "and now there's nothing for it but to take _them_ in, in turn." so said, so done. away he went, and he stayed away all day, and stayed away all night; and his wife sat there, a forsaken widow. "oh," said the other beetles, "this fellow whom we received into our family is nothing more than a thorough vagabond. he has gone away, and has left his wife a burden upon our hands." [illustration: the scholars find the beetle.] "well, then, she shall be unmarried again, and sit here among my daughters," said the mother. "fie on the villain who forsook her!" in the meantime the beetle had been journeying on, and had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage leaf. in the morning two persons came to the ditch. when they saw him, they took him up, and turned him over and over, and looked very learned, especially one of them--a boy. "allah sees the black beetle in the black stone and in the black rock. is not that written in the koran?" then he translated the beetle's name into latin, and enlarged upon the creature's nature and history. the second person, an older scholar, voted for carrying him home. he said they wanted just such good specimens; and this seemed an uncivil speech to our beetle, and in consequence he flew suddenly out of the speaker's hand. as he had now dry wings, he flew a tolerable distance, and reached a hot-bed, where a sash of the glass roof was partly open, so he quietly slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth. "very comfortable it is here," said he. soon after he went to sleep, and dreamed that the emperor's favourite horse had fallen, and had given him his golden shoes, with the promise that he should have two more. that was all very charming. when the beetle woke up, he crept forth and looked around him. what splendour was in the hothouse! in the background great palm trees growing up on high; the sun made them look transparent; and beneath them what a luxuriance of green, and of beaming flowers, red as fire, yellow as amber, or white as fresh-fallen snow. "this is an incomparable plenty of plants," cried the beetle. "how good they will taste when they are decayed! a capital store-room this! there must certainly be relations of mine living here. i will just see if i can find any one with whom i may associate. i'm proud, certainly, and i'm proud of being so." and so he prowled about in the earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was about the dying horse, and the golden shoes he had inherited. suddenly a hand seized the beetle, and pressed him, and turned him round and round. the gardener's little son and a companion had come to the hot-bed, had espied the beetle, and wanted to have their fun with him. first he was wrapped in a vine leaf, and then put into warm trousers-pocket. he cribbled and crabbled about there with all his might; but he got a good pressing from the boy's hand for this, which served as a hint to him to keep quiet. then the boy went rapidly towards the great lake that lay at the end of the garden. here the beetle was put in an old broken wooden shoe, on which a little stick was placed upright for a mast, and to this mast the beetle was bound with a woollen thread. now he was a sailor, and had to sail away. the lake was not very large, but to the beetle it seemed an ocean; and he was so astonished at its extent, that he fell over on his back and kicked out with his legs. the little ship sailed away. the current of the water seized it; but whenever it went too far from the shore, one of the boys turned up his trousers and went in after it, and brought it back to the land. but at length, just as it went merrily out again, the two boys were called away, and very harshly, so that they hurried to obey the summons, ran away from the lake, and left the little ship to its fate. thus it drove away from the shore, farther and farther into the open sea: it was terrible work for the beetle, for he could not get away in consequence of being bound to the mast. then a fly came and paid him a visit. "what beautiful weather!" said the fly. "i'll rest here, and sun myself. you have an agreeable time of it." "you speak without knowing the facts," replied the beetle. "don't you see that i'm a prisoner?" "ah! but i'm not a prisoner," observed the fly; and he flew away accordingly. "well, now i know the world," said the beetle to himself. "it is an abominable world. i'm the only honest person in it. first, they refuse me my golden shoes; then i have to lie on wet linen, and to stand in the draught; and, to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me. then, when i've taken a quick step out into the world, and found out how one can have it there, and how i wished to have it, one of those human boys comes and ties me up, and leaves me to the mercy of the wild waves, while the emperor's favourite horse prances about proudly in golden shoes. that is what annoys me more than all. but one must not look for sympathy in this world! my career has been very interesting; but what's the use of that, if nobody knows it? the world does not deserve to be made acquainted with my history, for it ought to have given me golden shoes, when the emperor's horse was shod, and i stretched out my feet to be shod too. if i had received golden shoes, i should have become an ornament to the stable. now the stable has lost me, and the world has lost me. it is all over!" but all was not over yet. a boat, in which there were a few young girls, came rowing up. "look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along," said one of the girls. "there's a little creature bound fast to it," said another. the boat came quite close to our beetle's ship, and the young girls fished him out of the water. one of them drew a small pair of scissors from her pocket, and cut the woollen thread, without hurting the beetle; and when she stepped on shore, she put him down on the grass. "creep, creep--fly, fly--if thou canst," she said. "liberty is a splendid thing." and the beetle flew up, and straight through the open window of a great building; there he sank down, tired and exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperor's favourite horse, who stood in the stable when he was at home, and the beetle also. the beetle clung fast to the mane, and sat there a short time to recover himself. "here i'm sitting on the emperor's favourite horse--sitting on him just like the emperor himself!" he cried. "but what was i saying? yes, now i remember. that's a good thought, and quite correct. the smith asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse. now i'm quite clear about the answer. they were given to the horse on _my_ account." and now the beetle was in a good temper again. "travelling expands the mind rarely," said he. the sun's rays came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him, and made the place lively and bright. "the world is not so bad, upon the whole," said the beetle; "but one must know how to take things as they come." what the old man does is always right. i will tell you a story which was told to me when i was a little boy. every time i thought of the story, it seemed to me to become more and more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people--they become better as they grow older. i take it for granted that you have been in the country, and seen a very old farmhouse with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants growing wild upon the thatch. there is a stork's nest on the summit of the gable; for we can't do without the stork. the walls of the house are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made so that it will open. the baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a little fat body. the elder tree hangs over the paling, and beneath its branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water in which a few ducks are disporting themselves. there is a yard-dog too, who barks at all comers. just such a farmhouse stood out in the country; and in this house dwelt an old couple--a peasant and his wife. small as was their property, there was one article among it that they could do without--a horse, which made a living out of the grass it found by the side of the high-road. the old peasant rode into the town on this horse; and often his neighbours borrowed it of him, and rendered the old couple some service in return for the loan of it. but they thought it would be best if they sold the horse, or exchanged it for something that might be more useful to them. but what might this _something_ be? "you'll know that best, old man," said the wife. "it is fair-day to-day, so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or make a good exchange: whichever you do will be right to me. ride to the fair." and she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that better than he could; and she tied it in a double bow, for she could do that very prettily. then she brushed his hat round and round with the palm of her hand, and gave him a kiss. so he rode away upon the horse that was to be sold or to be bartered for something else. yes, the old man knew what he was about. the sun shone hotly down, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. the road was very dusty, for many people who were all bound for the fair were driving, or riding, or walking upon it. there was no shelter anywhere from the sunbeams. among the rest, a man was trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair. the cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow can be. "she gives good milk, i'm sure," said the peasant. "that would be a very good exchange--the cow for the horse. "hallo, you there with the cow!" he said; "i tell you what--i fancy a horse costs more than a cow, but i don't care for that; a cow would be more useful to me. if you like, we'll exchange." "to be sure i will," said the man; and they exchanged accordingly. so that was settled, and the peasant might have turned back, for he had done the business he came to do; but as he had once made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to proceed, merely to have a look at it; and so he went on to the town with his cow. leading the animal, he strode sturdily on; and after a short time, he overtook a man who was driving a sheep. it was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back. "i should like to have that fellow," said our peasant to himself. "he would find plenty of grass by our palings, and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. perhaps it would be more practical to have a sheep instead of a cow. shall we exchange?" the man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was struck. so our peasant went on in the high-road with his sheep. soon he overtook another man, who came into the road from a field, carrying a great goose under his arm. "that's a heavy thing you have there. it has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, and paddling in the water at our place. that would be something for my old woman; she could make all kinds of profit out of it. how often she has said, 'if we only had a goose!' now, perhaps, she can have one; and, if possible, it shall be hers. shall we exchange? i'll give you my sheep for your goose, and thank you into the bargain." the other man had not the least objection; and accordingly they exchanged, and our peasant became proprietor of the goose. by this time he was very near the town. the crowd on the high-road became greater and greater; there was quite a crush of men and cattle. they walked in the road, and close by the palings; and at the barrier they even walked into the toll-man's potato-field, where his one fowl was strutting about, with a string to its leg, lest it should take fright at the crowd, and stray away, and so be lost. this fowl had short tail-feathers, and winked with both its eyes, and looked very cunning. "cluck, cluck!" said the fowl. what it thought when it said this i cannot tell you; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, "that's the finest fowl i've ever seen in my life! why, it's finer than our parson's brood hen. on my word, i should like to have that fowl. a fowl can always find a grain or two, and can almost keep itself. i think it would be a good exchange if i could get that for my goose. "shall we exchange?" he asked the toll-taker. "exchange!" repeated the man; "well, that would not be a bad thing." and so they exchanged; the toll-taker at the barrier kept the goose, and the peasant carried away the fowl. now, he had done a good deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired. he wanted something to eat, and a glass of brandy to drink; and soon he was in front of the inn. he was just about to step in, when the hostler came out, so they met at the door. the hostler was carrying a sack. "what have you in that sack?" asked the peasant. "rotten apples," answered the hostler; "a whole sackful of them--enough to feed the pigs with." [illustration: the old man relates his success.] "why, that's terrible waste! i should like to take them to my old woman at home. last year the old tree by the turf-hole only bore a single apple, and we kept it on the cupboard till it was quite rotten and spoilt. 'it was always property,' my old woman said; but here she could see a quantity of property--a whole sackful. yes, i shall be glad to show them to her." "what will you give me for the sackful?" asked the hostler. "what will i give? i will give my fowl in exchange." and he gave the fowl accordingly, and received the apples, which he carried into the guest-room. he leaned the sack carefully by the stove, and then went to the table. but the stove was hot: he had not thought of that. many guests were present--horse dealers, ox-herds, and two englishmen--and the two englishmen were so rich that their pockets bulged out with gold coins, and almost burst; and they could bet too, as you shall hear. hiss-s-s! hiss-s-s! what was that by the stove? the apples were beginning to roast! "what is that?" "why, do you know--," said our peasant. and he told the whole story of the horse that he had changed for a cow, and all the rest of it, down to the apples. "well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home!" said one of the two englishmen. "there will be a disturbance." "what?--give me what?" said the peasant. "she will kiss me, and say, 'what the old man does is always right.'" "shall we wager?" said the englishman. "we'll wager coined gold by the ton--a hundred pounds to the hundredweight!" "a bushel will be enough," replied the peasant. "i can only set the bushel of apples against it; and i'll throw myself and my old woman into the bargain--and i fancy that's piling up the measure." "done--taken!" and the bet was made. the host's carriage came up, and the englishmen got in, and the peasant got in; away they went, and soon they stopped before the peasant's hut. "good evening, old woman." "good evening, old man." "i've made the exchange." "yes, you understand what you're about," said the woman. and she embraced him, and paid no attention to the stranger guests, nor did she notice the sack. "i got a cow in exchange for the horse," said he. "heaven be thanked!" said she. "what glorious milk we shall have, and butter and cheese on the table! that was a capital exchange!" "yes, but i changed the cow for a sheep." "ah, that's better still!" cried the wife. "you always think of everything: we have just pasture enough for a sheep. ewe's-milk and cheese, and woollen jackets and stockings! the cow cannot give those, and her hairs will only come off. how you think of everything!" "but i changed away the sheep for a goose." "then this year we shall really have roast goose to eat, my dear old man. you are always thinking of something to give me pleasure. how charming that is! we can let the goose walk about with a string to her leg, and she'll grow fatter still before we roast her." "but i gave away the goose for a fowl," said the man. "a fowl? that was a good exchange!" replied the woman. "the fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens: we shall have a whole poultry-yard! oh, that's just what i was wishing for." "yes, but i exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples." "what!--i must positively kiss you for that," exclaimed the wife. "my dear, good husband! now, i'll tell you something. do you know, you had hardly left me this morning, before i began thinking how i could give you something very nice this evening. i thought it should be pancakes with savoury herbs. i had eggs, and bacon too; but i wanted herbs. so i went over to the schoolmaster's--they have herbs there, i know--but the schoolmistress is a mean woman, though she looks so sweet. i begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. 'lend!' she answered me; 'nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple. i could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman.' but now _i_ can lend _her_ ten, or a whole sackful. that i'm very glad of; that makes me laugh!" and with that she gave him a sounding kiss. "i like that!" exclaimed both the englishmen together. "always going down-hill, and always merry; that's worth the money." so they paid a hundredweight of gold to the peasant, who was not scolded, but kissed. yes, it always pays, when the wife sees and always asserts that her husband knows best, and that whatever he does is right. you see, that is my story. i heard it when i was a child; and now you have heard it too, and know that "what the old man does is always right." the wind tells about waldemar daa and his daughters. when the wind sweeps across the grass, the field has a ripple like a pond, and when it sweeps across the corn the field waves to and fro like a high sea. that is called the wind's dance; but the wind does not dance only, he also tells stories; and how loudly he can sing out of his deep chest, and how different it sounds in the tree-tops in the forest, and through the loopholes and clefts and cracks in walls! do you see how the wind drives the clouds up yonder, like a frightened flock of sheep? do you hear how the wind howls down here through the open valley, like a watchman blowing his horn? with wonderful tones he whistles and screams down the chimney and into the fireplace. the fire crackles and flares up, and shines far into the room, and the little place is warm and snug, and it is pleasant to sit there listening to the sounds. let the wind speak, for he knows plenty of stories and fairy tales, many more than are known to any of us. just hear what the wind can tell. huh--uh--ush! roar along! that is the burden of the song. "by the shores of the great belt, one of the straits that unite the cattegut with the baltic, lies an old mansion with thick red walls," says the wind. "i know every stone in it; i saw it when it still belonged to the castle of marsk stig on the promontory. but it had to be pulled down, and the stone was used again for the walls of a new mansion in another place, the baronial mansion of borreby, which still stands by the coast. "i knew them, the noble lords and ladies, the changing races that dwelt there, and now i'm going to tell about waldemar daa and his daughters. how proudly he carried himself--he was of royal blood! he could do more than merely hunt the stag and empty the wine-can. 'it _shall_ be done,' he was accustomed to say. "his wife walked proudly in gold-embroidered garments over the polished marble floors. the tapestries were gorgeous, the furniture was expensive and artistically carved. she had brought gold and silver plate with her into the house, and there was german beer in the cellar. black fiery horses neighed in the stables. there was a wealthy look about the house of borreby at that time, when wealth was still at home there. "four children dwelt there also; three delicate maidens, ida, joanna, and anna dorothea: i have never forgotten their names. "they were rich people, noble people, born in affluence, nurtured in affluence. "huh--sh! roar along!" sang the wind; and then he continued: "i did not see here, as in other great noble houses, the high-born lady sitting among her women in the great hall turning the spinning-wheel: here she swept the sounding chords of the cithern, and sang to the sound, but not always old danish melodies, but songs of a strange land. it was 'live and let live' here: stranger guests came from far and near, the music sounded, the goblets clashed, and i was not able to drown the noise," said the wind. "ostentation, and haughtiness, and splendour, and display, and rule were there, but the fear of the lord was not there. "and it was just on the evening of the first day of may," the wind continued. "i came from the west, and had seen how the ships were being crushed by the waves, with all on board, and flung on the west coast of jutland. i had hurried across the heath, and over jutland's wood-girt eastern coast, and over the island of fünen, and now i drove over the great belt, groaning and sighing. "then i lay down to rest on the shore of seeland, in the neighbourhood of the great house of borreby, where the forest, the splendid oak forest, still rose. "the young men-servants of the neighbourhood were collecting branches and brushwood under the oak trees; the largest and driest they could find they carried into the village, and piled them up in a heap, and set them on fire; and men and maids danced, singing in a circle round the blazing pile. "i lay quite quiet," continued the wind; "but i silently touched a branch, which had been brought by the handsomest of the men-servants, and the wood blazed up brightly, blazed up higher than all the rest; and now he was the chosen one, and bore the name the street-goat, and might choose his street-lamb first from among the maids; and there was mirth and rejoicing, greater than i had ever heard before in the halls of the rich baronial mansion. "and the noble lady drove towards the baronial mansion, with her three daughters, in a gilded carriage drawn by six horses. the daughters were young and fair--three charming blossoms, rose, lily, and pale hyacinth. the mother was a proud tulip, and never acknowledged the salutation of one of the men or maids who paused in their sport to do her honour: the gracious lady seemed a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk. "rose, lily, and pale hyacinth; yes, i saw them all three! whose lambkins will they one day become? thought i; their street-goat will be a gallant knight, perhaps a prince. huh--sh! hurry along! hurry along! "yes, the carriage rolled on with them, and the peasant people resumed their dancing. they rode that summer through all the villages round about. but in the night, when i rose again," said the wind, "the very noble lady lay down, to rise again no more: that thing came upon her which comes upon all--there is nothing new in that. "waldemar daa stood for a space silent and thoughtful. 'the proudest tree can be bowed without being broken,' said a voice within him. his daughters wept, and all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes; but lady daa had driven away--and i drove away too, and rushed along, huh--sh!" said the wind. * * * * * "i returned again; i often returned again over the island of fünen, and the shores of the belt, and i sat down by borreby, by the splendid oak wood; there the heron made his nest, and wood-pigeons haunted the place, and blue ravens, and even the black stork. it was still spring; some of them were yet sitting on their eggs, others had already hatched their young. but how they flew up, how they cried! the axe sounded, blow on blow: the wood was to be felled. waldemar daa wanted to build a noble ship, a man-of-war, a three-decker, which the king would be sure to buy; and therefore the wood must be felled, the landmark of the seamen, the refuge of the birds. the hawk started up and flew away, for its nest was destroyed; the heron and all the birds of the forest became homeless, and flew about in fear and in anger: i could well understand how they felt. crows and ravens croaked aloud as if in scorn. 'crack, crack! the nest cracks, cracks, cracks!' "far in the interior of the wood, where the noisy swarm of labourers were working, stood waldemar daa and his three daughters; and all laughed at the wild cries of the birds; only one, the youngest, anna dorothea, felt grieved in her heart; and when they made preparations to fell a tree that was almost dead, and on whose naked branches the black stork had built his nest, whence the little storks were stretching out their heads, she begged for mercy for the little things, and tears came into her eyes. therefore the tree with the black stork's nest was left standing. the tree was not worth speaking of. "there was a great hewing and sawing, and a three-decker was built. the architect was of low origin, but of great pride; his eyes and forehead told how clever he was, and waldemar daa was fond of listening to him, and so was waldemar's daughter ida, the eldest, who was now fifteen years old; and while he built a ship for the father, he was building for himself an airy castle, into which he and ida were to go as a married couple--which might indeed have happened, if the castle with stone walls, and ramparts, and moats had remained. but in spite of his wise head, the architect remained but a poor bird; and, indeed, what business has a sparrow to take part in a dance of peacocks? huh--sh! i careered away, and he careered away too, for he was not allowed to stay; and little ida got over it, because she was obliged to get over it. "the proud black horses were neighing in the stable; they were worth looking at, and accordingly they _were_ looked at. the admiral, who had been sent by the king himself to inspect the new ship and take measures for its purchase, spoke loudly in admiration of the beautiful horses. "i heard all that," said the wind. "i accompanied the gentlemen through the open door, and strewed blades of straw like bars of gold before their feet. waldemar daa wanted to have gold, and the admiral wished for the proud black horses, and that is why he praised them so much; but the hint was not taken, and consequently the ship was not bought. it remained on the shore covered over with boards, a noah's ark that never got to the water--huh--sh! rush away! away!--and that was a pity. "in the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, and the water with large blocks of ice that i blew up on to the coast," continued the wind, "crows and ravens came, all as black as might be, great flocks of them, and alighted on the dead, deserted, lonely ship by the shore, and croaked in hoarse accents of the wood that was no more, of the many pretty bird's nests destroyed, and the little ones left without a home; and all for the sake of that great bit of lumber, that proud ship that never sailed forth. "i made the snow-flakes whirl, and the snow lay like a great lake high around the ship, and drifted over it. i let it hear my voice, that it might know what a storm has to say. certainly i did my part towards teaching it seamanship. huh--sh! push along! "and the winter passed away; winter and summer, both passed away, and they are still passing away, even as i pass away; as the snow whirls along, and the apple blossom whirls along, and the leaves fall--away! away! away! and men are passing away too! "but the daughters were still young, and little ida was a rose, as fair to look upon as on the day when the architect saw her. i often seized her long brown hair, when she stood in the garden by the apple tree, musing, and not heeding how i strewed blossoms on her hair, and loosened it, while she was gazing at the red sun and the golden sky, through the dark underwood and the trees of the garden. "her sister was bright and slender as a lily. joanna had height and deportment, but was like her mother, rather stiff in the stalk. she was very fond of walking through the great hall, where hung the portraits of her ancestors. the women were painted in dresses of silk and velvet, with a tiny little hat, embroidered with pearls, on their plaited hair. they were handsome women. the gentlemen were represented clad in steel, or in costly cloaks lined with squirrel's skin; they wore little ruffs, and swords at their sides, but not buckled to their hips. where would joanna's picture find its place on that wall some day? and how would _he_ look, her noble lord and husband? this is what she thought of, and of this she spoke softly to herself. i heard it, as i swept into the long hall, and turned round to come out again. "anna dorothea, the pale hyacinth, a child of fourteen, was quiet and thoughtful; her great deep blue eyes had a musing look, but the childlike smile still played around her lips: i was not able to blow it away, nor did i wish to do so. "we met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in the field and meadow; she gathered herbs and flowers which she knew would be useful to her father in concocting the drinks and drops he distilled. waldemar daa was arrogant and proud, but he was also a learned man, and knew a great deal. that was no secret, and many opinions were expressed concerning it. in his chimney there was fire even in summer time. he would lock the door of his room, and for days the fire would be poked and raked; but of this he did not talk much--the forces of nature must be conquered in silence; and soon he would discover the art of making the best thing of all--the red gold. "that is why the chimney was always smoking, therefore the flames crackled so frequently. yes, i was there too," said the wind. "let it go, i sang down through the chimney: it will end in smoke, air, coals and ashes! you will burn yourself! hu-uh-ush! drive away! drive away! but waldemar daa did _not_ drive it away." "the splendid black horses in the stable--what became of them? what became of the old gold and silver vessels in cupboards and chests, the cows in the fields, and the house and home itself? yes, they may melt, may melt in the golden crucible, and yet yield no gold. "empty grew the barns and store-rooms, the cellars and magazines. the servants decreased in number, and the mice multiplied. then a window broke, and then another, and i could get in elsewhere besides at the door," said the wind. "'where the chimney smokes the meal is being cooked,' the proverb says. but here the chimney smoked that devoured all the meals, for the sake of the red gold. "i blew through the courtyard-gate like a watchman blowing his horn," the wind went on, "but no watchman was there. i twirled the weathercock round on the summit of the tower, and it creaked like the snoring of the warder, but no warder was there; only mice and rats were there. poverty laid the tablecloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe and in the larder; the door fell off its hinges, cracks and fissures made their appearance, and i went in and out at pleasure; and that is how i know all about it. "amid smoke and ashes, amid sorrow and sleepless nights, the hair and beard of the master turned grey, and deep furrows showed themselves around his temples; his skin turned pale and yellow, as his eyes looked greedily for the gold, the desired gold. "i blew the smoke and ashes into his face and beard: the result of his labour was debt instead of pelf. i sung through the burst window-panes and the yawning clefts in the walls. i blew into the chests of drawers belonging to the daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had become faded and threadbare from being worn over and over again. that was not the song that had been sung at the children's cradle. the lordly life had changed to a life of penury. i was the only one who rejoiced aloud in that castle," said the wind. "i snowed them up, and they say snow keeps people warm. they had no wood, and the forest from which they might have brought it was cut down. it was a biting frost. i rushed in through loopholes and passages, over gables and roofs, that i might be brisk. they were lying in bed because of the cold, the three high-born daughters; and their father was crouching under his leathern coverlet. nothing to bite, nothing to break, no fire on the hearth--there was a life for high-born people! huh-sh, let it go! but that is what my lord daa could _not_ do--he could _not_ let it go. "'after winter comes spring,' he said. 'after want, good times will come: one must not lose patience; one must learn to wait! now my house and lands are mortgaged, it is indeed high time; and the gold will soon come. at easter!' "i heard how he spoke thus, looking at a spider's web. 'thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach me perseverance. let them tear thy web, and thou wilt begin it again, and complete it. let them destroy it again, and thou wilt resolutely begin to work again--again! that is what we must do, and that will repay itself at last.' "it was the morning of easter-day. the bells sounded from the neighbouring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. the master had watched through the night in feverish excitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and mixing. i heard him sighing like a soul in despair; i heard him praying, and i noticed how he held his breath. the lamp was burnt out, but he did not notice it. i blew at the fire of coals, and it threw its red glow upon his ghastly white face, lighting it up with a glare, and his sunken eyes looked forth wildly out of their deep sockets--but they became larger and larger, as though they would burst. "look at the alchymic glass! it glows in the crucible, red-hot, and pure and heavy! he lifted it with a trembling hand, and cried with a trembling voice, 'gold! gold!' "he was quite dizzy--i could have blown him down," said the wind; "but i only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied him through the door to where his daughters sat shivering. his coat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard and in his tangled hair. he stood straight up, and held his costly treasure on high, in the brittle glass. 'found, found!--gold, gold!' he shouted, and again held aloft the glass to let it flash in the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glass fell clattering to the ground, and broke into a thousand pieces; and the last bubble of his happiness had burst! hu-uh-ush! rushing away!--and i rushed away from the gold-maker's house. "late in autumn, when the days are short, and the mist comes and strews cold drops upon the berries and leafless branches, i came back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the sky clear, and snapped the dry twigs--which is certainly no great labour, but yet it must be done. then there was another kind of sweeping clean at waldemar daa's, in the mansion of borreby. his enemy, owe rainel, of basnäs, was there with the mortgage of the house and everything it contained in his pocket. i drummed against the broken window-panes, beat against the old rotten doors, and whistled through cracks and rifts--huh-sh! mr. owe rainel did not like staying there. ida and anna dorothea wept bitterly; joanna stood pale and proud, and bit her thumb till it bled--but what could that avail? owe rainel offered to allow waldemar daa to remain in the mansion till the end of his life, but no thanks were given him for his offer. i listened to hear what occurred. i saw the ruined gentleman lift his head and throw it back prouder than ever, and i rushed against the house and the old lime trees with such force, that one of the thickest branches broke, one that was not decayed; and the branch remained lying at the entrance as a broom when any one wanted to sweep the place out: and a grand sweeping out there was--i thought it would be so. [illustration: leaving the old home.] "it was hard on that day to preserve one's composure; but their will was as hard as their fortune. "there was nothing they could call their own except the clothes they wore: yes, there was one thing more--the alchymist's glass, a new one that had lately been bought, and filled with what had been gathered up from the ground of the treasure which promised so much but never kept its promise. waldemar daa hid the glass in his bosom, and taking his stick in his hand, the once rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of borreby. i blew cold upon his heated cheeks, i stroked his grey beard and his long white hair, and i sang as well as i could,--'huh-sh! gone away! gone away!' and that was the end of the wealth and splendour. "ida walked on one side of the old man, and anna dorothea on the other. joanna turned round at the entrance--why? fortune would not turn because she did so. she looked at the old walls of what had once been the castle of marsk stig, and perhaps she thought of his daughters: 'the eldest gave the youngest her hand. and forth they went to the far-off land.' was she thinking of this old song? here were three of them, and their father was with them too. they walked along the road on which they had once driven in their splendid carriage--they walked forth as beggars, with their father, and wandered out into the open field, and into a mud hut, which they rented for a dollar and a half a year--into their new house with the empty rooms and empty vessels. crows and magpies fluttered above them, and cried, as if in contempt, 'craw! craw! out of the nest! craw! craw!' as they had done in the wood at borreby when the trees were felled. "daa and his daughters could not help hearing it. i blew about their ears, for what use would it be that they should listen? "and they went to live in the mud hut on the open field, and i wandered away over moor and field, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the open waters, the free shores, to other lands--huh-uh-ush!--away, away! year after year!" * * * * * and how did waldemar daa and his daughters prosper? the wind tells us: "the one i saw last, yes, for the last time, was anna dorothea, the pale hyacinth: then she was old and bent, for it was fifty years afterwards. she lived longer than the rest; she knew all. "yonder on the heath, by the jutland town of wiborg, stood the fine new house of the canon, built of red bricks with projecting gables; the smoke came up thickly from the chimney. the canon's gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat in the bay window, and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. what were they looking at? their glances rested upon the stork's nest without, and on the hut, which was almost falling in; the roof consisted of moss and houseleek, in so far as a roof existed there at all--the stork's nest covered the greater part of it, and that alone was in proper condition, for it was kept in order by the stork himself. "that is a house to be looked at, but not to be touched; i must deal gently with it," said the wind. "for the sake of the stork's nest the hut has been allowed to stand, though it was a blot upon the landscape. they did not like to drive the stork away, therefore the old shed was left standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it was allowed to stay: she had the egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her reward, because she had once interceded for the nest of its black brother in the forest of borreby? at that time she, the poor woman, was a young child, a pale hyacinth in the rich garden. she remembered all that right well, did anna dorothea. "'oh! oh!' yes, people can sigh like the wind moaning in the rushes and reeds. 'oh! oh!'" she sighed, "no bells sounded at thy burial, waldemar daa! the poor schoolboys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord of borreby was laid in the earth to rest! oh, everything has an end, even misery. sister ida became the wife of a peasant. that was the hardest trial that befell our father, that the husband of a daughter of his should be a miserable serf, whom the proprietor could mount on the wooden horse for punishment! i suppose he is under the ground now. and thou, ida? alas, alas! it is not ended yet, wretch that i am! grant me that i may die, kind heaven!' "that was anna dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut which was left standing for the sake of the stork. "i took pity on the fairest of the sisters," said the wind. "her courage was like that of a man, and in man's clothes she took service as a sailor on board of a ship. she was sparing of words, and of a dark countenance, but willing at her work. but she did not know how to climb; so i blew her overboard before anybody found out that she was a woman, and according to my thinking that was well done!" said the wind. * * * * * "on such an easter morning as that on which waldemar daa had fancied that he had found the red gold, i heard the tones of a psalm under the stork's nest, among the crumbling walls--it was anna dorothea's last song. "there was no window, only a hole in the wall. the sun rose up like a mass of gold, and looked through. what a splendour he diffused! her eyes were breaking, and her heart was breaking--but that they would have done, even if the sun had not shone that morning on anna dorothea. "the stork covered her hut till her death. i sang at her grave!" said the wind. "i sang at her father's grave; i know where his grave is, and where hers is, and nobody else knows it. "new times, changed times! the old high-road now runs through cultivated fields; the new road winds among the trim ditches, and soon the railway will come with its train of carriages, and rush over the graves which are forgotten like the names--hu-ush! passed away, passed away! "that is the story of waldemar daa and his daughters. tell it better, any of you, if you know how," said the wind, and turned away--and he was gone. ib and christine. not far from the clear stream gudenau, in north jutland, in the forest which extends by its banks and far into the country, a great ridge of land rises and stretches along like a wall through the wood. by this ridge, westward, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by poor land; the sandy soil is seen through the spare rye and wheat-ears that grow upon it. some years have elapsed since the time of which we speak. the people who lived here cultivated the fields, and moreover kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen; in fact, they supported themselves quite comfortably, for they had enough to live on if they took things as they came. indeed, they could have managed to save enough to keep two horses; but, like the other peasants of the neighbourhood, they said, "the horse eats itself up"--that is to say, it eats as much as it earns. jeppe-jäns cultivated his field in summer. in the winter he made wooden shoes, and then he had an assistant, a journeyman, who understood as well as he himself did how to make the wooden shoes strong, and light, and graceful. they carved shoes and spoons, and that brought in money. it would have been wronging the jeppe-jänses to call them poor people. little ib, a boy seven years old, the only child of the family, would sit by, looking at the workmen, cutting at a stick, and occasionally cutting his finger. but one day ib succeeded so well with two pieces of wood, that they really looked like little wooden shoes; and these he wanted to give to little christine. and who was little christine? she was the boatman's daughter, and was graceful and delicate as a gentleman's child; had she been differently dressed, no one would have imagined that she came out of the hut on the neighbouring heath. there lived her father, who was a widower, and supported himself by carrying firewood in his great boat out of the forest to the estate of silkeborg, with its great eel-pond and eel-weir, and sometimes even to the distant little town of randers. he had no one who could take care of little christine, and therefore the child was almost always with him in his boat, or in the forest among the heath plants and barberry bushes. sometimes, when he had to go as far as the town, he would bring little christine, who was a year younger than ib, to stay at the jeppe-jänses. ib and christine agreed very well in every particular: they divided their bread and berries when they were hungry, they dug in the ground together for treasures, and they ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. and one day they ventured together up the high ridge, and a long way into the forest; once they found a few snipes' eggs there, and that was a great event for them. ib had never been on the heath where christine's father lived, nor had he ever been on the river. but even this was to happen; for christine's father once invited him to go with them; and on the evening before the excursion, he followed the boatman over the heath to the house of the latter. next morning early, the two children were sitting high up on the pile of firewood in the boat, eating bread and whistleberries. christine's father and his assistant propelled the boat with staves. they had the current with them, and swiftly they glided down the stream, through the lakes it forms in its course, and which sometimes seemed shut in by reeds and water plants, though there was always room for them to pass, and though the old trees bent quite forward over the water, and the old oaks bent down their bare branches, as if they had turned up their sleeves and wanted to show their knotty naked arms. old alder trees, which the stream had washed away from the bank, clung with their fibrous roots to the bottom of the stream, and looked like little wooded islands. the water-lilies rocked themselves on the river. it was a splendid excursion; and at last they came to the great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates; and ib and christine thought this was beautiful to behold. in those days there was no manufactory there, nor was there any town; only the old great farmyard, with its scanty fields, with few servants and a few head of cattle, could be seen there; and the rushing of the water through the weir and the cry of the wild ducks were the only signs of life in silkeborg. after the firewood had been unloaded, the father of christine bought a whole bundle of eels and a slaughtered sucking-pig, and all was put into a basket and placed in the stern of the boat. then they went back again up the stream; but the wind was favourable, and when the sails were hoisted, it was as good as if two horses had been harnessed to the boat. when they had arrived at a point in the stream where the assistant-boatman dwelt, a little way from the bank, the boat was moored, and the two men landed, after exhorting the children to sit still. but the children did not do that; or at least they obeyed only for a very short time. they must be peeping into the basket in which the eels and the sucking-pig had been placed, and they must needs pull the sucking-pig out, and take it in their hands, and feel and touch it all over; and as both wanted to hold it at the same time, it came to pass that they let it fall into the water, and the sucking-pig drifted away with the stream--and here was a terrible event! ib jumped ashore, and ran a little distance along the bank, and christine sprang after him. "take me with you!" she cried. and in a few minutes they were deep in the thicket, and could no longer see either the boat or the bank. they ran on a little farther, and then christine fell down on the ground and began to cry; but ib picked her up. "follow me!" he cried. "yonder lies the house." but the house was not yonder. they wandered on and on, over the dry, rustling, last year's leaves, and over fallen branches that crackled beneath their feet. soon they heard a loud piercing scream. they stood still and listened, and presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood. it was an ugly scream, and they were frightened at it; but before them, in the thick wood, the most beautiful blueberries grew in wonderful profusion. they were so inviting, that the children could not do otherwise than stop; and they lingered for some time, eating the blueberries till they had quite blue mouths and blue cheeks. now again they heard the cry they had heard before. "we shall get into trouble about the pig," said christine. "come, let us go to our house," said ib; "it is here in the wood." [illustration: ib and christine meet the gipsy.] and they went forward. they presently came to a wood, but it did not lead them home; and darkness came on, and they were afraid. the wonderful stillness that reigned around was interrupted now and then by the shrill cries of the great horrid owl and of the birds that were strange to them. at last they both lost themselves in a thicket. christine cried, and ib cried too; and after they had bemoaned themselves for a time, they threw themselves down on the dry leaves, and went fast asleep. the sun was high in the heavens when the two children awoke. they were cold; but in the neighbourhood of this resting-place, on the hill, the sun shone through the trees, and there they thought they would warm themselves; and from there ib fancied they would be able to see his parents' house. but they were far away from the house in question, in quite another part of the forest. they clambered to the top of the rising ground, and found themselves on the summit of a slope running down to the margin of a transparent lake. they could see fish in great numbers in the pure water illumined by the sun's rays. this spectacle was quite a sudden surprise for them; but close beside them grew a nut bush covered with the finest nuts; and now they picked the nuts, and cracked them, and ate the delicate young kernels, which had only just become perfect. but there was another surprise and another fright in store for them. out of the thicket stepped a tall old woman; her face was quite brown, and her hair was deep black and shining. the whites of her eyes gleamed like a negro's; on her back she carried a bundle, and in her hand she bore a knotted stick. she was a gipsy. the children did not at once understand what she said. she brought three nuts out of her pocket, and told them that in these nuts the most beautiful, the loveliest things were hidden; for they were wishing-nuts. ib looked at her, and she seemed so friendly, that he plucked up courage and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gave them to him, and gathered some more for herself, a whole pocketful, from the nut bush. and ib and christine looked at the wishing-nuts with great eyes. "is there a carriage with a pair of horses in this nut?" he asked. "yes, there's a golden carriage with two horses," answered the woman. "then give me the nut," said little christine. and ib gave it to her, and the strange woman tied it in her pocket-handkerchief for her. "is there in this nut a pretty little neckerchief, like the one christine wears round her neck?" inquired ib. "there are ten neckerchiefs in it," answered the woman. "there are beautiful dresses in it, and stockings, and a hat with a veil." "then i will have that one too," cried little christine. and ib gave her the second nut also. the third was a little black thing. "that one you can keep," said christine; "and it is a pretty one too." "what is in it?" inquired ib. "the best of all things for you," replied the gipsy-woman. and ib held the nut very tight. the woman promised to lead the children into the right path, so that they might find their way home; and now they went forward, certainly in quite a different direction from the path they should have followed. but that is no reason why we should suspect the gipsy-woman of wanting to steal the children. in the wild wood-path they met the forest bailiff, who knew ib; and by his help, ib and christine both arrived at home, where their friends had been very anxious about them. they were pardoned and forgiven, although they had indeed both deserved "to get into trouble;" firstly, because they had let the sucking-pig fall into the water, and secondly, because they had run away. christine was taken back to her father on the heath, and ib remained in the farmhouse on the margin of the wood by the great ridge. the first thing he did in the evening was to bring forth out of his pocket the little black nut, in which "the best thing of all" was said to be enclosed. he placed it carefully in the crack of the door, and then shut the door so as to break the nut; but there was not much kernel in it. the nut looked as if it were filled with tobacco or black rich earth; it was what we call hollow, or worm-eaten. "yes, that's exactly what i thought," said ib. "how could the very best thing be contained in this little nut? and christine will get just as little out of her two nuts, and will have neither fine clothes nor the golden carriage." * * * * * and winter came on, and the new year began; indeed, several years went by. ib was at last to be confirmed; and for this reason he went during a whole winter to the clergyman, far away in the nearest village, to prepare. about this time the boatman one day visited ib's parents, and told them that christine was now going into service, and that she had been really fortunate in getting a remarkably good place, and falling into worthy hands. "only think," he said; "she is going to the rich innkeeper's, in the inn at herning, far towards the west, many miles from here. she is to assist the hostess in keeping the house; and afterwards, if she takes to it well, and stays to be confirmed there, the people are going to adopt her as their own daughter." and ib and christine took leave of one another. people called them "the betrothed;" and at parting, the girl showed ib that she had still the two nuts which he had given her long ago, during their wanderings in the forest; and she told him, moreover, that in a drawer she had carefully kept the little wooden shoes which he had carved as a present for her in their childish days. and thereupon they parted. ib was confirmed. but he remained in his mother's house, for he had become a clever maker of wooden shoes, and in summer he looked after the field. he did it all alone, for his mother kept no farm-servant, and his father had died long ago. only seldom he got news of christine from some passing postillion or eel-fisher. but she was well off at the rich innkeeper's; and after she had been confirmed, she wrote a letter to her father, and sent a kind message to ib and his mother; and in the letter there was mention made of certain linen garments and a fine new gown, which christine had received as a present from her employers. this was certainly good news. next spring, there was a knock one day at the door of our ibis old mother, and behold, the boatman and christine stepped into the room. she had come on a visit to spend a day: a carriage had to come from the herning inn to the next village, and she had taken the opportunity to see her friends once again. she looked as handsome as a real lady, and she had a pretty gown on, which had been well sewn, and made expressly for her. there she stood, in grand array, and ib was in his working clothes. he could not utter a word: he certainly seized her hand, and held it fast in his own, and was heartily glad; but he could not get his tongue to obey him. christine was not embarrassed, however, for she went on talking and talking, and, moreover, kissed ib on his mouth in the heartiest manner. "did you know me again directly, ib?" she asked; but even afterwards, when they were left quite by themselves, and he stood there still holding her hand in his, he could only say: "you look quite like a real lady, and i am so uncouth. how often i have thought of you, christine, and of the old times!" and arm in arm they sauntered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream towards the heath, towards the great hills overgrown with bloom. it was perfectly silent; but by the time they parted it had grown quite clear to him that christine must be his wife. had they not, even in their childhood, been called the betrothed pair? to him they seemed to be really engaged to each other, though neither of them had spoken a word on the subject. only for a few more hours could they remain together, for christine was obliged to go back into the next village, from whence the carriage was to start early next morning for herning. her father and ib escorted her as far as the village. it was a fair moonlight evening, and when they reached their destination, and ib still held christine's hand in his own, he could not make up his mind to let her go. his eyes brightened, but still the words came halting over his lips. yet they came from the depths of his heart, when he said: "if you have not become too grand, christine, and if you can make up your mind to live with me in my mother's house as my wife, we must become a wedded pair some day; but we can wait awhile yet." "yes, let us wait for a time, ib," she replied; and he kissed her lips. "i confide in you, ib," said christine; "and i think that i love you--but i will sleep upon it." and with that they parted. and on the way home ib told the boatman that he and christine were as good as betrothed; and the boatman declared he had always expected it would turn out so; and he went home with ib, and remained that night in the young man's house; but nothing further was said of the betrothal. a year passed by, in the course of which two letters were exchanged between ib and christine. the signature was prefaced by the words, "faithful till death!" one day the boatman came into ib, and brought him a greeting from christine. what he had further to say was brought out in somewhat hesitating fashion, but it was to the effect that christine was almost more than prosperous, for she was a pretty girl, courted and loved. the son of the host had been home on a visit; he was employed in the office of some great institution in copenhagen; and he was very much pleased with christine, and she had taken a fancy to him: his parents were ready to give their consent, but christine was very anxious to retain ib's good opinion; "and so she had thought of refusing this great piece of good fortune," said the boatman. at first ib said not a word; but he became as white as the wall, and slightly shook his head. then he said slowly: "christine must not refuse this advantageous offer." "then do you write a few words to her," said the boatman. and ib sat down to write; but he could not manage it well: the words would not come as he wished them; and first he altered, and then he tore up the page; but the next morning a letter lay ready to be sent to christine, and it contained the following words: "i have read the letter you have sent to your father, and gather from it that you are prospering in all things, and that there is a prospect of higher fortune for you. ask your heart, christine, and ponder well the fate that awaits you, if you take me for your husband; what i possess is but little. do not think of me, or my position, but think of your own welfare. you are bound to me by no promise, and if in your heart you have given me one, i release you from it. may all treasures of happiness be poured out upon you, christine. heaven will console me in its own good time. "ever your sincere friend, "ib" and the letter was dispatched, and christine duly received it. in the course of that november her banns were published in the church on the heath, and in copenhagen, where her bridegroom lived; and to copenhagen she proceeded, under the protection of her future mother-in-law, because the bridegroom could not undertake the journey into jutland on account of his various occupations. on the journey, christine met her father in a certain village; and here the two took leave of one another. a few words were mentioned concerning this fact, but ib made no remark upon it: his mother said he had grown very silent of late; indeed, he had become very pensive, and thus the three nuts came into his mind which the gipsy-woman had given him long ago, and of which he had given two to christine. yes, it seemed right--they were wishing-nuts, and in one of them lay a golden carriage with two horses, and in the other very elegant clothes; all those luxuries would now be christine's in the capital. her part had thus come true. and to him, ib, the nut had offered only black earth. the gipsy-woman had said, this was "the best of all for him." yes, it was right, that also was coming true. the black earth was the best for him. now he understood clearly what had been the woman's meaning. in the black earth, in the dark grave, would be the best happiness for him. * * * * * and once again years passed by, not very many, but they seemed long years to ib. the old innkeeper and his wife died, one after the other; the whole of their property, many thousands of dollars, came to the son. yes, now christine could have the golden carriage, and plenty of fine clothes. during the two long years that followed no letter came from christine; and when her father at length received one from her, it was not written in prosperity, by any means. poor christine! neither she nor her husband had understood how to keep the money together; and there seemed to be no blessing with it, because they had not sought it. and again the weather bloomed and faded. the winter had swept for many years across the heath, and over the ridge beneath which ib dwelt, sheltered from the rough winds. the spring sun shone bright, and ib guided the plough across his field, when one day it glided over what appeared to be a fire stone. something like a great black ship came out of the ground, and when ib took it up it proved to be a piece of metal; and the place from which the plough had cut the stone gleamed brightly with ore. it was a great golden armlet of ancient workmanship that he had found. he had disturbed a "hun's grave," and discovered the costly treasure buried in it. ib showed what he had found to the clergyman, who explained its value to him, and then he betook himself to the local judges, who reported the discovery to the keeper of the museum, and recommended ib to deliver up the treasure in person. "you have found in the earth the best thing you could find," said the judge. "the best thing!" thought ib. "the very best thing for me, and found in the earth! well, if that is the best, the gipsy-woman was correct in what she prophesied to me." so ib travelled with the ferry-boat from aarhus to copenhagen. to him, who had but once or twice passed beyond the river that rolled by his home, this seemed like a voyage across the ocean. and he arrived in copenhagen. the value of the gold he had found was paid over to him; it was a large sum--six hundred dollars. and ib of the heath wandered about in the great capital. on the day on which he had settled to go back with the captain, ib lost his way in the streets, and took quite a different direction from the one he intended to follow. he had wandered into the suburb of christianhaven, into a poor little street. not a human being was to be seen. at last a very little girl came out of one of the wretched houses. ib inquired of the little one the way to the street which he wanted; but she looked shyly at him, and began to cry bitterly. he asked her what ailed her, but could not understand what she said in reply. but as they went along the street together, they passed beneath the light of a lamp; and when the light fell on the girl's face, he felt a strange and sharp emotion, for christine stood bodily before him, just as he remembered her from the days of his childhood. and he went with the little maiden into the wretched house, and ascended the narrow, crazy staircase, which led to a little attic chamber in the roof. the air in this chamber was heavy and almost suffocating: no light was burning; but there was heavy sighing and moaning in one corner. ib struck a light with the help of a match. it was the mother of the child who lay sighing on the miserable bed. "can i be of any service to you?" asked ib. "this little girl has brought me up here, but i am a stranger in this city. are there no neighbours or friends whom i could call to you?" and he raised the sick woman's head, and smoothed her pillow. it was christine of the heath! for years her name had not been mentioned yonder, for the mention of her would have disturbed ib's peace of mind, and rumour had told nothing good concerning her. the wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had made him proud and arrogant. he had given up his certain appointment, had travelled for half a year in foreign lands, and on his return had incurred debts, and yet lived in an expensive fashion. his carriage had bent over more and more, so to speak, until at last it turned over completely. the many merry companions and table-friends he had entertained declared it served him right, for he had kept house like a madman; and one morning his corpse was found in the canal. the icy hand of death was already on christine. her youngest child, only a few weeks old, expected in prosperity and born in misery, was already in its grave, and it had come to this with christine herself, that she lay, sick to death and forsaken, in a miserable room, amid a poverty that she might well have borne in her childish days, but which now oppressed her painfully, since she had been accustomed to better things. it was her eldest child, also a little christine, that here suffered hunger and poverty with her, and whom ib had now brought home. "i am unhappy at the thought of dying and leaving the poor child here alone," she said. "ah, what is to become of the poor thing?" and not a word more could she utter. and ib brought out another match, and lighted up a piece of candle he found in the room, and the flame illumined the wretched dwelling. and ib looked at the little girl, and thought how christine had looked when she was young; and he felt that for her sake he would be fond of this child, which was as yet a stranger to him. the dying woman gazed at him, and her eyes opened wider and wider--did she recognize him? he never knew, for no further word passed over her lips. * * * * * and it was in the forest by the river gudenau, in the region of the heath. the air was thick and dark, and there were no blossoms on the heath plant; but the autumn tempests whirled the yellow leaves from the wood into the stream, and out over the heath towards the hut of the boatman, in which strangers now dwelt; but beneath the ridge, safe beneath the protection of the high trees, stood the little farm, trimly whitewashed and painted, and within it the turf blazed up cheerily in the chimney; for within was sunlight, the beaming sunlight of a child's two eyes; and the tones of the spring birds sounded in the words that came from the child's rosy lips: she sat on ib's knee, and ib was to her both father and mother, for her own parents were dead, and had vanished from her as a dream vanishes alike from children and grown men. ib sat in the pretty neat house, for he was a prosperous man, while the mother of the little girl rested in the churchyard at copenhagen, where she had died in poverty. [illustration: little christine.] ib had money, and was said to have provided for the future. he had won gold out of the black earth, and he had a christine for his own, after all. ole the tower-keeper. "in the world it's always going up and down--and now i can't go up any higher!" so said ole the tower-keeper. "most people have to try both the ups and the downs; and, rightly considered, we all get to be watchmen at last, and look down upon life from a height." such was the speech of ole, my friend, the old tower-keeper, a strange talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak out everything that came into his head, and who for all that had many a serious thought deep in his heart. yes, he was the child of respectable people, and there were even some who said that he was the son of a privy councillor, or that he might have been; he had studied too, and had been assistant teacher and deputy clerk; but of what service was all that to him? in those days he lived in the clerk's house, and was to have everything in the house, to be at free quarters, as the saying is; but he was still, so to speak, a fine young gentleman. he wanted to have his boots cleaned with patent blacking, and the clerk could only afford ordinary grease; and upon that point they split--one spoke of stinginess, the other of vanity, and the blacking became the black cause of enmity between them, and at last they parted. this is what he demanded of the world in general--namely, patent blacking--and he got nothing but grease. accordingly he at last drew back from all men, and became a hermit; but the church tower is the only place in a great city where hermitage, office, and bread can be found together. so he betook himself up thither, and smoked his pipe as he made his solitary rounds. he looked upward and downward, and had his own thoughts, and told in his way of what he read in books and in himself. i often lent him books, good books; and you may know a man by the company he keeps. he loved neither the english governess-novels, nor the french ones, which he called a mixture of empty wind and raisin-stalks: he wanted biographies and descriptions of the wonders of the world. i visited him at least once a year, generally directly after new year's-day, and then he always spoke of this and that which the change of the year had put into his head. i will tell the story of three of these visits, and will reproduce his own words whenever i can remember them. first visit. among the books which i had lately lent ole, was one which had greatly rejoiced and occupied him. it was a geological book, containing an account of the boulders. [illustration: the ride to amack.] "yes, they're rare old fellows, those boulders!" he said; "and to think that we should pass them without noticing them! and over the street pavement, the paving-stones, those fragments of the oldest remains of antiquity, one walks without ever thinking about them. i have done the very thing myself. but now i look respectfully at every paving-stone. many thanks for the book! it has filled me with thought, and has made me long to read more on the subject. the romance of the earth is, after all, the most wonderful of all romances. it's a pity one can't read the first volumes of it, because they 're written in a language that we don't understand. one must read in the different strata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. yes, it is a romance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place in it. we grope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are, but the ball keeps turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on which we move about, holds, and does not let us through. and then it's a story that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years, and is still going on. my best thanks for the book about the boulders. those are fellows indeed! they could tell us something worth hearing, if they only knew how to talk. it's really a pleasure, now and then to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly placed as i am. and then to think that we all, even with patent lacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hill the earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places and offices! one feels quite a novice beside these venerable million-year-old boulders. on new year's-eve i was reading the book, and had lost myself in it so completely, that i forgot my usual new year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to amack. ah, you don't know what that is! "the journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known--that journey is taken on st. john's-eve, to the brocken; but we have a wild journey also, which is national and modern, and that is the journey to amack on the night of the new year. all indifferent poets and poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers and artistic notabilities, i mean those who are no good, ride in the new year's-night through the air to amack. they sit backwards on their painting brushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them, they're too stiff. as i told you, i see that every new year's night, and could mention the majority of the riders by name, but i should not like to draw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talk about their ride to amack on quill pens. i've a kind of niece, who is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectable newspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, and she has herself been at amack as an invited guest; but she was carried out thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. she has told me all about it. half of what she said is not true, but the other half gives us information enough. when she was out there, the festivities began with a song: each of the guests had written his own song, and each one sung his own song, for he thought that the best, and it was all one, all the same melody. then those came marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths. there were ringing bells that sang alternately; and then came the little drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; and acquaintance was made with those who write without putting their names, which here means as much as using grease instead of patent blacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy was the worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then too there was the good street-sweeper with his cart, who turns over the dust-bin, and calls it "good, very good, remarkably good." and in the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meeting of these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at amack a stem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof, which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in it hung everything they had given to the world during the old year. out of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideas and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which now got free and rushed away like so many fireworks. they played at 'the stick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and the witlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with a thundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors. 'it was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many things that were very malicious but very amusing, but i won't mention them, for a man must be good-natured and not a carping critic. but you will easily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journey to amack, as i know them, it's quite natural that on the new year's-night one should look out to see the wild chase go by. if in the new year i miss certain persons who used to be there, i am sure to notice others who are new arrivals: but this year i omitted taking my look at the guests. i bowled away on the boulders, rolled back through millions of years, and saw the stones break loose high up in the north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before noah's ark was constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, and reappear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from the flood and said, 'this shall be zealand!' i saw them become the dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become the seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axes they cut their runic signs into a few of these stones, which then came into the calendar of time. but as for me, i had gone quite beyond all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. then three or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air, and gave my thoughts another direction. you know what a falling star is, do you not? the learned men are not at all clear about it. i have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many parts call them, and my idea is this: how often are silent thanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action! the thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. i think these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent, hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a whole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a long lapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and at length falls in the form of a shooting star upon the good man's grave. i am always very much pleased when i see a shooting star, especially in the new year's-night, and then find out for whom the gift of gratitude was intended. lately a gleaming star fell in the south-west, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many, many! 'for whom was that star intended?' thought i. it fell, no doubt, on the hill by the bay of flensberg, where the danebrog waves over the graves of schleppegrell, läslöes, and their comrades. one star also fell in the midst of the land, fell upon sorö, a flower on the grave of holberg, the thanks of the year from a great many--thanks for his charming plays! "it is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star falls upon our graves; on mine certainly none will fall--no sunbeam brings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. i shall not get the patent lacquer," said ole; "for my fate on earth is only grease, after all." second visit. it was new year's-day, and i went up on the tower. ole spoke of the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the old year into the new, from one grave into the other, as he said. and he told me a story about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. it was this: "when on the new year's-night the clock strikes twelve, the people at the table rise up, with full glasses in their hands, and drain these glasses, and drink success to the new year. they begin the year with the glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for topers. they begin the new year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning for drones. sleep is sure to play a great part in the new year, and the glass likewise. do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked ole. "i will tell you--there dwell in the glass, first, health, and then pleasure, then the most complete sensual delight: and misfortune and the bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. now suppose we count the glasses--of course i count the different degrees in the glasses for different people. "you see, the _first glass_, that's the glass of health, and in that the herb of health is found growing; put it up on the beam in the ceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbour of health. "if you take the _second glass_--from this a little bird soars upwards, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listen to his song and perhaps join in 'fair is life! no downcast looks! take courage and march onward!' "out of the _third glass_ rises a little winged urchin, who cannot certainly be called an angel-child, for there is goblin blood in his veins, and he has the spirit of a goblin; not wishing to hurt or harm you, indeed, but very ready to play off tricks upon you. he'll sit at your ear and whisper merry thoughts to you; he'll creep into your heart and warm you, so that you grow very merry and become a wit, so far as the wits of the others can judge. "in the _fourth glass_ is neither herb, bird, nor urchin: in that glass is the pause drawn by reason, and one may never go beyond that sign. "take the _fifth glass_, and you will weep at yourself, you will feel such a deep emotion; or it will affect you in a different way. out of the glass there will spring with a bang prince carnival, nine times and extravagantly merry: he'll draw you away with him, you'll forget your dignity, if you have any, and you'll forget more than you should or ought to forget. all is dance, song, and sound; the masks will carry you away with them, and the daughters of vanity, clad in silk and satin, will come with loose hair and alluring charms: but tear yourself away if you can! "the _sixth glass_! yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the form of a little, well-dressed, attractive and very fascinating man, who thoroughly understands you, agrees with you in everything, and becomes quite a second self to you. he has a lantern with him, to give you light as he accompanies you home. there is an old legend about a saint who was allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, and who accordingly chose drunkenness, which appeared to him the least, but which led him to commit all the other six. the man's blood is mingled with that of the demon--it is the sixth glass, and with that the germ of all evil shoots up within us; and each one grows up with a strength like that of the grains of mustard seed, and shoots up into a tree, and spreads over the whole world; and most people have no choice but to go into the oven, to be re-cast in a new form. "that's the history of the glasses," said the tower-keeper ole, "and it can be told with lacquer or only with grease; but i give it you with both!" third visit. on this occasion i chose the general "moving-day" for my visit to ole, for on that day it is anything but agreeable down in the streets in the town; for they are full of sweepings, shreds, and remnants of all sorts, to say nothing of the cast-off bed straw in which one has to wade about. but this time i happened to see two children playing in this wilderness of sweepings. they were playing at "going to bed," for the occasion seemed especially favourable for this sport: they crept under the straw, and drew an old bit of ragged curtain over themselves by way of coverlet. "it was splendid!" they said; but it was a little too strong for me, and besides, i was obliged to mount up on my visit. "it's moving-day to-day," he said; "streets and houses are like a dust-bin, a large dust-bin; but i'm content with a cartload. i may get something good out of that, and i really did get something good out of it, once. shortly after christmas i was going up the street; it was rough weather, wet and dirty; the right kind of weather to catch cold in. the dustman was there with his cart, which was full, and looked like a sample of streets on moving-day. at the back of the cart stood a fir tree, quite green still, and with tinsel on its twigs: it had been used on christmas-eve, and now it was thrown out into the street, and the dustman had stood it up at the back of his cart. it was droll to look at, or you may say it was mournful--all depends on what you think of when you see it; and i thought about it, and thought this and that of many things that were in the cart: or i might have done so, and that comes to the same thing. there was an old lady's glove too: i wonder what that was thinking of? shall i tell you? the glove was lying there, pointing with its little finger at the tree. 'i'm sorry for the tree,' it thought; 'and i was also at the feast, where the chandeliers glittered. my life was, so to speak, a ball-night: a pressure of the hand, and i burst! my memory keeps dwelling upon that, and i have really nothing else to live for!' this is what the glove thought, or what it might have thought. 'that's a stupid affair with yonder fir tree,' said the potsherds. you see, potsherds think everything is stupid. 'when one is in the dust-cart,' they said, 'one ought not to give one's self airs and wear tinsel. i know that i have been useful in the world, far more useful than such a green stick.' that was a view that might be taken, and i don't think it quite a peculiar one; but for all that the fir tree looked very well: it was like a little poetry in the dust-heap; and truly there is dust enough in the streets on moving-day. the way is difficult and troublesome then, and i feel obliged to run away out of the confusion; or if i am on the tower, i stay there and look down, and it is amusing enough. [illustration: the rejected traveller.] "there are the good people below, playing at 'changing houses.' they toil and tug away with their goods and chattels, and the household goblin sits in an old tub and moves with them; all the little griefs of the lodging and the family, and the real cares and sorrows, move with them out of the old dwelling into the new; and what gain is there for them or for us in the whole affair? yes, there was written long ago the good old maxim: 'think on the great moving-day of death!' that is a serious thought; i hope it is not disagreeable to you that i should have touched upon it? death is the most certain messenger after all, in spite of his various occupations. yes, death is the omnibus conductor, and he is the passport writer, and he countersigns our service-book, and he is director of the savings bank of life. do you understand me? all the deeds of our life, the great and the little alike, we put into this savings bank; and when death calls with his omnibus, and we have to step in, and drive with him into the land of eternity, then on the frontier he gives us our service-book as a pass. as a provision for the journey he takes this or that good deed we have done, and lets it accompany us; and this may be very pleasant or very terrific. nobody has ever escaped this omnibus journey: there is certainly a talk about one who was not allowed to go--they call him the wandering jew: he has to ride behind the omnibus. if he had been allowed to get in, he would have escaped the clutches of the poets. "just cast your mind's eye into that great omnibus. the society is mixed, for king and beggar, genius and idiot, sit side by side: they must go without their property and money; they have only the service-book and the gift out of the saving's bank with them. but which of our deeds is selected and given to us? perhaps quite a little one, one that we have forgotten, but which has been recorded--small as a pea, but the pea can send out a blooming shoot. the poor bumpkin, who sat on a low stool in the corner, and was jeered at and flouted, will perhaps have his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and the stool may become a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then as a throne, gleaming like gold, and blooming as an arbour. he who always lounged about, and drank the spiced draught of pleasure, that he might forget the wild things he had done here, will have his barrel given to him on the journey, and will have to drink from it as they go on; and the drink is bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure, and all good and noble feelings are awakened, and he sees and feels what in life he could not or would not see; and then he has within him the punishment, the _gnawing worm_, which will not die through time incalculable. if on the glasses there stood written '_oblivion_,' on the barrel '_remembrance_' is inscribed. "when i read a good book, an historical work, i always think at last of the poetry of what i am reading, and of the omnibus of death, and wonder which of the hero's deeds death took out of the savings bank for him, and what provisions he got on the journey into eternity. there was once a french king--i have forgotten his name, for the names of good people are sometimes forgotten, even by me, but it will come back some day; there was a king who, during a famine, became the benefactor of his people; and the people raised to his memory a monument of snow, with the inscription, 'quicker than this melts didst thou bring help!' i fancy that death, looking back upon the monument, gave him a single snow-flake as provision, a snow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his royal head, like a white butterfly, into the land of eternity. thus too, there was a louis xi.--i have remembered his name, for one remembers what is bad--a trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and i wish one could say the story is not true. he had his lord high constable executed, and he could execute him, right or wrong; but he had the innocent children of the constable, one seven and the other eight years old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood of their father spurted over them, and then he had them sent to the bastille, and shut up in iron cages, where not even a coverlet was given them to protect them from the cold. and king louis sent the executioner to them every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head of each, that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the boys said, 'my mother would die of grief if she knew that my younger brother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pull out two of my teeth, and spare him.' the tears came into the hangman's eyes, but the king's will was stronger than the tears; and every week two little teeth were brought to him on a silver plate; he had demanded them, and he had them. i fancy that death took, these two teeth out of the savings bank of life, and gave them to louis xi., to carry with him on the great journey into the land of immortality: they fly before him like two flames of fire; they shine and burn, and they bite him, the innocent children's teeth. "yes, that's a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the great moving-day! and when is it to be undertaken? that's just the serious part of it. any day, any how, any minute, the omnibus may draw up. which of our deeds will death take out of the savings bank, and give to us as provision? let us think of the moving-day that is not marked in the calendar." the bottle-neck. in a narrow crooked street, among other abodes of poverty, stood an especially narrow and tall house built of timber, which time had knocked about in such fashion that it seemed to be out of joint in every direction. the house was inhabited by poor people, and the deepest poverty was apparent in the garret lodging in the gable, where, in front of the only window, hung an old bent birdcage, which had not even a proper water-glass, but only a bottle-neck reversed, with a cork stuck in the mouth, to do duty for one. an old maid stood by the window: she had hung the cage with green chickweed; and a little chaffinch hopped from perch to perch, and sang and twittered merrily enough. "yes, it's all very well for you to sing," said the bottle-neck; that is to say, it did not pronounce the words as we can speak them, for a bottle-neck can't speak; but that's what he thought to himself in his own mind, like when we people talk quietly to ourselves. "yes, it's all very well for you to sing, you that have all your limbs uninjured. you ought to feel what it's like to lose one's body, and to have only mouth and neck left, and to be hampered with work into the bargain, as in my case; and then i'm sure you would not sing. but after all it is well that there should be somebody at least who is merry. i've no reason to sing, and, moreover, i can't sing. yes, when i was a whole bottle, i sung out well if they rubbed me with a cork. they used to call me a perfect lark, a magnificent lark! ah, when i was out at a picnic with the tanner's family, and his daughter was betrothed! yes, i remember it as if it had happened only yesterday. i have gone through a great deal, when i come to recollect. i've been in the fire and the water, have been deep in the black earth, and have mounted higher than most of the others; and now i'm hanging here, outside the birdcage, in the air and the sunshine! oh, it would be quite worth while to hear my history; but i don't speak aloud of it, because i can't." and now the bottle-neck told its story, which was sufficiently remarkable. it told the story to itself, or only thought it in its own mind; and the little bird sang his song merrily, and down in the street there was driving and hurrying, and every one thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; and only the bottle-neck thought. it thought of the flaming furnace in the manufactory, where it had been blown into life; it still remembered that it had been quite warm, that it had glanced into the hissing furnace, the home of its origin, and had felt a great desire to leap directly back again; but that gradually it had become cooler, and had been very comfortable in the place to which it was taken. it had stood in a rank with a whole regiment of brothers and sisters, all out of the same furnace; some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, and others into beer bottles, and that makes a difference. later, out in the world, it may well happen that a beer bottle may contain the most precious wine, and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking; but even in decay there is always something left by which people can see what one has been--nobility is nobility, even when filled with blacking. all the bottles were packed up, and our bottle was among them. at that time it did not think to finish its career as a bottle-neck, or that it should work its way up to be a bird's glass, which is always an honourable thing; for one is of some consequence, after all. the bottle did not again behold the light of day till it was unpacked with the other bottles in the cellar of the wine merchant, and rinsed out for the first time; and that was a strange sensation. there it lay, empty and without a cork, and felt strangely unwell, as if it wanted something, it could not tell what. at last it was filled with good costly wine, and was provided with a cork, and sealed down. a ticket was placed on it, marked "first quality;" and it felt as if it had carried off the first prize at an examination; for, you see, the wine was good and the bottle was good. when one is young, that's the time for poetry! there was a singing and sounding within it, of things which it could not understand--of green sunny mountains, whereon the grape grows, where many vine dressers, men and women, sing and dance and rejoice. "ah, how beautiful is life!" there was a singing and sounding to all this in the bottle, as in a young poet's brain; and many a young poet does not understand the meaning of the song that is within him. one morning the bottle was bought, for the tanner's apprentice was dispatched for a bottle of wine--"of the best." and now it was put in the provision basket, with ham and cheese and sausages; the finest butter and the best bread were put into the basket too, the tanner's daughter herself packed it. she was young and pretty; her brown eyes laughed, and round her mouth played a smile as elegant as that in her eyes. she had delicate hands, beautifully white, and her neck was whiter still; you saw at once that she was one of the most beautiful girls in the town: and still she was not engaged. the provision basket was in the lap of the young girl when the family drove out into the forest. the bottle-neck looked out from the folds of the white napkin. there was red wax upon the cork, and the bottle looked straight into the girl's face. it also looked at the young sailor who sat next to the girl. he was a friend of old days, the son of the portrait painter. quite lately he had passed with honour through his examination as mate, and to-morrow he was to sail away in a ship, far off to a distant land. there had been much talk of this while the basket was being packed; and certainly the eyes and mouth of the tanner's pretty daughter did not wear a very joyous expression just then. the young people sauntered through the green wood, and talked to one another. what were they talking of? no, the bottle could not hear that, for it was in the provision basket. a long time passed before it was drawn forth; but when that happened, there had been pleasant things going on, for all were laughing, and the tanner's daughter laughed too; but she spoke less than before, and her cheeks glowed like two roses. the father took the full bottle and the corkscrew in his hand. yes, it's a strange thing to be drawn thus, the first time! the bottle-neck could never afterwards forget that impressive moment; and indeed there was quite a convulsion within him when the cork flew out, and a great throbbing as the wine poured forth into the glasses. "health to the betrothed pair!" cried the papa; and every glass was emptied to the dregs, and the young mate kissed his beautiful bride. "happiness and blessing!" said the two old people, the father and mother; and the young man filled the glasses again. "safe return, and a wedding this day next year!" he cried; and when the glasses were emptied, he took the bottle, raised it on high, and said, "thou hast been present at the happiest day of my life, thou shalt never serve another!" and so saying he hurled it high into the air. the tanner's daughter did not then think that she should see the bottle fly again; and yet it was to be so. it then fell into the thick reeds on the margin of a little woodland lake; and the bottle-neck could remember quite plainly how it lay there for some time. "i gave them wine, and they gave me marsh-water," he said; "but it was all meant for the best." he could no longer see the betrothed couple and the cheerful old people; but for a long time he could hear them rejoicing and singing. then at last came two peasant boys, and looked into the reeds; they spied out the bottle, and took it up; and now it was provided for. at their home, in the wood cottage, the eldest of these brothers, who was a sailor, and about to start on a long voyage, had been the day before to take leave: the mother was just engaged packing up various things he was to take with him on his journey, and which the father was going to carry into the town that evening to see his son once more, and to give him a farewell greeting for the lad's mother and himself. a little bottle of medicated brandy had already been wrapped up in a parcel, when the boys came in with a larger and stronger bottle which they had found. this bottle would hold more than the little one, and they pronounced that the brandy would be capital for a bad digestion, inasmuch as it was mixed with medical herbs. the draught that was now poured into the bottle was not so good as the red wine with which it had once been filled; these were bitter drops, but even these are sometimes good. the new big bottle was to go, and not the little one; and so the bottle went travelling again. it was taken on board for peter jensen, in the very same ship in which the young mate sailed. but he did not see the bottle; and, indeed, he would not have known it, or thought it was the same one out of which they had drunk a health to the betrothed pair, and to his own happy return. [illustration: the bottle is present on a joyous occasion.] certainly it had no longer wine to give, but still it contained something that was just as good. accordingly, whenever peter jensen brought it out, it was dubbed by his messmates the apothecary. it contained the best medicine, medicine that strengthened the weak, and it gave liberally so long as it had a drop left. that was a pleasant time, and the bottle sang when it was rubbed with the cork; and it was called the great lark, "peter jensen's lark." long days and months rolled on, and the bottle already stood empty in a corner, when it happened--whether on the passage out or home the bottle could not tell, for it had never been ashore--that a storm arose; great waves came careering along, darkly and heavily, and lifted and tossed the ship to and fro. the mainmast was shivered, and a wave started one of the planks, and the pumps became useless. it was black night. the ship sank; but at the last moment the young mate wrote on a leaf of paper, "god's will be done! we are sinking!" he wrote the name of his betrothed, and his own name, and that of the ship, and put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at hand: he corked it firmly down, and threw it out into the foaming sea. he knew not that it was the very bottle from which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled for him; and now it was tossing on the waves with his last greeting and the message of death. the ship sank, and the crew sank with her. the bottle sped on like a bird, for it bore a heart, a loving letter, within itself. and the sun rose and set; and the bottle felt as at the time when it first came into being in the red gleaming oven--it felt a strong desire to leap back into the light. it experienced calms and fresh storms; but it was hurled against no rock, and was devoured by no shark; and thus it drifted on for a year and a day, sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just as the current carried it. beyond this it was its own master, but one may grow tired even of that. the written page, the last farewell of the bridegroom to his betrothed, would only bring sorrow if it came into her hands; but where were the hands, so white and delicate, which had once spread the cloth on the fresh grass in the greenwood, on the betrothal day? where was the tanner's daughter? yes, where was the land, and which land might be nearest to her dwelling? the bottle knew not; it drove onward and onward, and was at last tired of wandering, because that was not in its way; but yet it had to travel until at last it came to land--to a strange land. it understood not a word of what was spoken here, for this was not the language it had heard spoken before; and one loses a good deal if one does not understand the language. the bottle was fished out and examined on all sides. the leaf of paper within it was discovered, and taken out, and turned over and over, but the people did not understand what was written thereon. they saw that the bottle must have been thrown overboard, and that something about this was written on the paper, but what were the words? that question remained unanswered, and the paper was put back into the bottle, and the latter was deposited in a great cupboard, in a great room, in a great house. whenever strangers came the paper was brought out, and turned over and over, so that the inscription, which was only written in pencil, became more and more illegible, so that at last no one could see that there were letters on it. and for a whole year more the bottle remained standing in the cupboard; and then it was put into the loft, where it became covered with dust and cobwebs. ah, how often it thought of the better days, the times when it had poured forth red wine in the greenwood, when it had been rocked on the waves of the sea, and when it had carried a secret, a letter, a parting sigh, safely enclosed in its bosom. for full twenty years it stood up in the loft; and it might have remained there longer, but that the house was to be rebuilt. the roof was taken off, and then the bottle was noticed, and they spoke about it, but it did not understand their language; for one cannot learn a language by being shut up in a loft, even if one stays there for twenty years. "if i had been down in the room," thought the bottle, "i might have learned it." it was now washed and rinsed, and indeed this was requisite. it felt quite transparent and fresh, and as if its youth had been renewed in this its old age; but the paper it had carried so faithfully had been destroyed in the washing. the bottle was filled with seeds, though it scarcely knew what they were. it was corked, and well wrapped up. no light nor lantern was it vouchsafed to behold, much less the sun or the moon; and yet, it thought, when one goes on a journey one ought to see something; but though it saw nothing, it did what was most important--it travelled to the place of its destination, and was there unpacked. "what trouble they have taken over yonder with that bottle!" it heard people say; "and yet it is most likely broken." but it was not broken. the bottle understood every word that was now said; this was the language it had heard at the furnace, and at the wine merchant's, and in the forest, and in the ship, the only good old language it understood: it had come back home, and the language was as a salutation of welcome to it. for very joy it felt ready to jump out of people's hands; hardly did it notice that its cork had been drawn, and that it had been emptied and carried into the cellar, to be placed there and forgotten. there's no place like home, even if it's in a cellar! it never occurred to the bottle to think how long it would lie there, for it felt comfortable, and accordingly lay there for years. at last people came down into the cellar to carry off all the bottles, and ours among the rest. out in the garden there was a great festival. flaming lamps hung like garlands, and paper lanterns shone transparent, like great tulips. the evening was lovely, the weather still and clear, the stars twinkled; it was the time of the new moon, but in reality the whole moon could be seen as a bluish grey disc with a golden rim round half its surface, which was a very beautiful sight for those who had good eyes. the illumination extended even to the most retired of the garden walks; at least so much of it, that one could find one's way there. among the leaves of the hedges stood bottles, with a light in each; and among them was also the bottle we know, and which was destined one day to finish its career as a bottle-neck, a bird's drinking-glass. everything here appeared lovely to our bottle, for it was once more in the greenwood, amid joy and feasting, and heard song and music, and the noise and murmur of a crowd, especially in that part of the garden where the lamps blazed and the paper lanterns displayed their many colours. thus it stood, in a distant walk certainly, but that made it the more important; for it bore its light, and was at once ornamental and useful, and that is as it should be: in such an hour one forgets twenty years spent in a loft, and it is right one should do so. there passed close to it a pair, like the pair who had walked together long ago in the wood, the sailor and the tanner's daughter; the bottle seemed to experience all that over again. in the garden were walking not only the guests, but other people who were allowed to view all the splendour; and among these latter came an old maid who seemed to stand alone in the world. she was just thinking, like the bottle, of the greenwood, and of a young betrothed pair--of a pair which concerned her very nearly, a pair in which she had an interest, and of which she had been a part, in that happiest hour of her life--the hour one never forgets, if one should become ever so old a maid. but she did not know our bottle, nor did the bottle recognize the old maid: it is thus we pass each other in the world, meeting again and again, as these two met, now that they were together again in the same town. from the garden the bottle was dispatched once more to the wine merchant's, where it was filled with wine, and sold to the aëronaut, who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the following sunday. a great crowd had assembled to witness the sight; military music had been provided, and many other preparations had been made. the bottle saw everything, from a basket in which it lay next to a live rabbit, which latter was quite bewildered because he knew he was to be taken up into the air, and let down again in a parachute; but the bottle knew nothing of the "up" or the "down;" it only saw the balloon swelling up bigger and bigger, and at last, when it could swell no more, beginning to rise, and to grow more and more restless. the ropes that held it were cut, and the huge machine floated aloft with the aëronaut and the basket containing the bottle and the rabbit, and the music sounded, and all the people cried, "hurrah!" "this is a wonderful passage, up into the air!" thought the bottle; "this is a new way of sailing; at any rate, up here we cannot strike upon anything." thousands of people gazed up at the balloon, and the old maid looked up at it also; she stood at the open window of the garret, in which hung the cage with the little chaffinch, who had no water-glass as yet, but was obliged to be content with an old cup. in the window stood a myrtle in a pot; and it had been put a little aside that it might not fall out, for the old maid was leaning out of the window to look, and she distinctly saw the aëronaut in the balloon, and how he let down the rabbit in the parachute, and then drank to the health of all the spectators, and at length hurled the bottle high in the air; she never thought that this was the identical bottle which she had already once seen thrown aloft in honour of her and of her friend on the day of rejoicing in the greenwood, in the time of her youth. the bottle had no respite for thought; for it was quite startled at thus suddenly reaching the highest point in its career. steeples and roofs lay far, far beneath, and the people looked like mites. but now it began to descend with a much more rapid fall than that of the rabbit; the bottle threw somersaults in the air, and felt quite young, and quite free and unfettered; and yet it was half full of wine, though it did not remain so long. what a journey! the sun shone on the bottle, all the people were looking at it, the balloon was already far away, and soon the bottle was far away too; for it fell upon a roof and broke; but the pieces had got such an impetus that they could not stop themselves, but went jumping and rolling on till they came down into the courtyard and lay there in smaller pieces yet; the bottle-neck only managed to keep whole, and that was cut off as clean as if it had been done with a diamond. "that would do capitally for a bird-glass," said the cellarmen; but they had neither a bird nor a cage; and to expect them to provide both because they had found a bottle-neck that might be made available for a glass, would have been expecting too much; but the old maid in the garret, perhaps it might be useful to her; and now the bottle-neck was taken up to her, and was provided with a cork. the part that had been uppermost was now turned downwards, as often happens when changes take place; fresh water was poured into it, and it was fastened to the cage of the little bird, which sung and twittered right merrily. "yes, it's very well for you to sing," said the bottle-neck; and it was considered remarkable for having been in the balloon--for that was all they knew of its history. now it hung there as a bird-glass, and heard the murmuring and noise of the people in the street below, and also the words of the old maid in the room within. an old friend had just come to visit her, and they talked--not of the bottle-neck, but about the myrtle in the window. "no, you certainly must not spend a dollar for your daughter's bridal wreath," said the old maid. "you shall have a beautiful little nosegay from me, full of blossoms. do you see how splendidly that tree has come on? yes, that has been raised from a spray of the myrtle you gave me on the day after my betrothal, and from which i was to have made my own wreath when the year was past; but that day never came! the eyes closed that were to have been my joy and delight through life. in the depths of the sea he sleeps sweetly, my dear one! the myrtle has become an old tree, and i become a yet older woman; and when it faded at last, i took the last green shoot, and planted it in the ground, and it has become a great tree; and now at length the myrtle will serve at the wedding--as a wreath for your daughter." there were tears in the eyes of the old maid. she spoke of the beloved of her youth, of their betrothal in the wood; many thoughts came to her, but the thought never came, that quite close to her, before the very window, was a remembrance of those times; the neck of the bottle which had shouted for joy when the cork flew out with a bang on the betrothal day. but the bottle-neck did not recognize her, for he was not listening to what this old maid said--and still that was because he was thinking of her. good humour. my father left me the best inheritance; to wit--good humour. and who was my father? why, that has nothing to do with the humour. he was lively and stout, round and fat; and his outer and inner man were in direct contradiction to his calling. and pray what was he by profession and calling in civil society? yes, if this were to be written down and printed in the very beginning of a book, it is probable that many when they read it would lay the book aside, and say, "it looks so uncomfortable; i don't like anything of that sort." and yet my father was neither a horse slaughterer nor an executioner; on the contrary, his office placed him at the head of the most respectable gentry of the town; and he held his place by right, for it was his right place. he had to go first before the bishop even, and before the princes of the blood. he always went first--for he was the driver of the hearse! there, now it's out! and i will confess that when people saw my father sitting perched up on the omnibus of death, dressed in his long, wide, black cloak, with his black-bordered three-cornered hat on his head--and then his face, exactly as the sun is drawn, round and jocund--it was difficult for them to think of the grave and of sorrow. the face said, "it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter; it will be better than one thinks." you see, i have inherited my good humour from him, and also the habit of going often to the churchyard, which is a good thing to do if it be done in the right spirit; and then i take in the _intelligencer_, just as he used to do. i am not quite young. i have neither wife, nor children, nor a library; but, as aforesaid, i take in the _intelligencer_, and that's my favourite newspaper, as it was also my father's. it is very useful, and contains everything that a man needs to know--such as who preaches in the church and in the new books. and then what a lot of charity, and what a number of innocent, harmless verses are found in it! advertisements for husbands and wives, and requests for interviews--all quite simple and natural. certainly, one may live merrily and be contentedly buried if one takes in the _intelligencer_. and, as a concluding advantage, by the end of his life a man will have such a capital store of paper, that he may use it as a soft bed, unless he prefers to rest upon wood-shavings. the newspaper and my walk to the churchyard were always my most exciting occupations--they were like bathing-places for my good humour. the newspaper every one can read for himself. but please come with me to the churchyard; let us wander there where the sun shines and the trees grow green. each of the narrow houses is like a closed book, with the back placed uppermost, so that one can only read the title and judge what the book contains, but can tell nothing about it; but i know something of them. i heard it from my father, or found it out myself. i have it all down in my record that i wrote out for my own use and pleasure: all that lie here, and a few more too, are chronicled in it. now we are in the churchyard. here, behind this white railing, where once a rose tree grew--it is gone now, but a little evergreen from the next grave stretches out its green fingers to make a show--there rests a very unhappy man; and yet, when he lived, he was in what they call a good position. he had enough to live upon, and something over; but worldly cares, or to speak more correctly, his artistic taste, weighed heavily upon him. if in the evening he sat in the theatre to enjoy himself thoroughly, he would be quite put out if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side of the moon, or if the sky-pieces hung down over the scenes when they ought to have hung behind them, or when a palm tree was introduced into a scene representing the berlin zoological gardens, or a cactus in a view of the tyrol, or a beech tree in the far north of norway. as if that was of any consequence. is it not quite immaterial? who would fidget about such a trifle? it's only make-believe, after all, and every one is expected to be amused. then sometimes the public applauded too much to suit his taste, and sometimes too little. "they're like wet wood this evening," he would say; "they won't kindle at all!" and then he would look round to see what kind of people they were; and sometimes he would find them laughing at the wrong time, when they ought not to have laughed, and that vexed him; and he fretted, and was an unhappy man, and at last fretted himself into his grave. here rests a very happy man. that is to say, a very grand man. he was of high birth, and that was lucky for him, for otherwise he would never have been anything worth speaking of; and nature orders all that very wisely, so that it's quite charming when we think of it. he used to go about in a coat embroidered back and front, and appeared in the saloons of society just like one of those costly, pearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which have always a good, thick, serviceable cord behind them to do the work. he likewise had a good stout cord behind him, in the shape of a substitute, who did his duty, and who still continues to do it behind another embroidered bell-pull. everything is so nicely managed, it's enough to put one into a good humour. [illustration: the churchyard narration.] here rests--well, it's a very mournful reflection--here rests a man who spent sixty-seven years considering how he should get a good idea. the object of his life was to say a good thing, and at last he felt convinced in his own mind that he had got one, and was so glad of it that he died of pure joy at having caught an idea at last. nobody derived any benefit from it, and no one even heard what the good thing was. now, i can fancy that this same good thing won't let him live quiet in his grave; for let us suppose that it is a good thing which can only be brought out at breakfast if it is to make an effect, and that he, according to the received opinion concerning ghosts, can only rise and walk at midnight. why, then the good thing would not suit the time, and the man must carry his good idea down with him again. what an unhappy man he must be! here rests a remarkably stingy woman. during her lifetime she used to get up at night and mew, so that the neighbours might think she kept a cat--she was so remarkably stingy. here is a maiden of another kind. when the canary bird of the heart begins to chirp, reason puts her fingers in her ears. the maiden was going to be married, but--well, it's an every-day story, and we will let the dead rest. here sleeps a widow who carried melody in her mouth and gall in her heart. she used to go out for prey in the families round about; and the prey she hunted was her neighbours' faults, and she was an indefatigable hunter. here's a family sepulchre. every member of this family held so firmly to the opinions of the rest, that if all the world, and the newspapers into the bargain, said of a certain thing it is so and so, and the little boy came home from school and said, "i've learned it thus and thus," they declared his opinion to be the only true one, because he belonged to the family. and it is an acknowledged fact, that if the yard-cock of the family crowed at midnight, they would declare it was morning, though the watchmen and all the clocks in the city were crying out that it was twelve o'clock at night. the great poet goëthe concludes his "faust" with the words "may be continued;" and our wanderings in the churchyard may be continued too. if any of my friends, or my non-friends, go on too fast for me, i go out to my favourite spot and select a mound, and bury him or her there--bury that person who is yet alive; and there those i bury must stay till they come back as new and improved characters. i inscribe their life and their deeds, looked at in my fashion, in my record; and that's what all people ought to do. they ought not to be vexed when any one goes on ridiculously, but bury him directly, and maintain their good humour, and keep to the _intelligencer_, which is often a book written by the people with its hand guided. when the time comes for me to be bound with my history in the boards of the grave, i hope they will put up as my epitaph, "a good-humoured one." and that's my story. a leaf from the sky. high up yonder, in the thin clear air, flew an angel with a flower from the heavenly garden. as he was kissing the flower, a very little leaf fell down into the soft soil in the midst of the wood, and immediately took root, and sprouted, and sent forth shoots among the other plants. "a funny kind of slip that," said the plants. and neither thistle nor stinging-nettle would recognize the stranger. "that must be a kind of garden plant," said they. and they sneered; and the plant was despised by them as being a thing out of the garden. "where are you coming?" cried the lofty thistles, whose leaves are all armed with thorns. "you give yourself a good deal of space. that's all nonsense--we are not here to support you!" they grumbled. and winter came, and snow covered the plant; but the plant imparted to the snowy covering a lustre as if the sun was shining upon it from below as from above. when spring came, the plant appeared as a blooming object, more beautiful than any production of the forest. and now appeared on the scene the botanical professor, who could show what he was in black and white. he inspected the plant and tested it, but found it was not included in his botanical system; and he could not possibly find out to what class it belonged. "that must be some subordinate species," he said. "i don't know it. it's not included in any system." "not included in any system!" repeated the thistles and the nettles. the great trees that stood round about saw and heard it; but they said not a word, good or bad, which is the wisest thing to do for people who are stupid. there came through the forest a poor innocent girl. her heart was pure, and her understanding was enlarged by faith. her whole inheritance was an old bible; but out of its pages a voice said to her, "if people wish to do us evil, remember how it was said of joseph. they imagined evil in their hearts, but god turned it to good. if we suffer wrong--if we are misunderstood and despised--then we may recall the words of him who was purity and goodness itself, and who forgave and prayed for those who buffeted him and nailed him to the cross." the girl stood still in front of the wonderful plant, whose great leaves exhaled a sweet and refreshing fragrance, and whose flowers glittered like a coloured flame in the sun; and from each flower there came a sound as though it concealed within itself a deep fount of melody that thousands of years could not exhaust. with pious gratitude the girl looked on this beautiful work of the creator, and bent down one of the branches towards herself to breathe in its sweetness; and a light arose in her soul. it seemed to do her heart good; and gladly would she have plucked a flower, but she could not make up her mind to break one off, for it would soon fade if she did so. therefore the girl only took a single leaf, and laid it in her bible at home; and it lay there quite fresh, always green, and never fading. among the pages of the bible it was kept; and, with the bible, it was laid under the young girl's head when, a few weeks afterwards, she lay in her coffin, with the solemn calm of death on her gentle face, as if the earthly remains bore the impress of the truth that she now stood before her creator. but the wonderful plant still bloomed without in the forest. it was almost like a tree to look upon; and all the birds of passage bowed before it. "that's giving itself foreign airs now," said the thistles and the burdocks; "we never behave like that here." and the black snails actually spat at the flower. then came the swineherd. he was collecting thistles and shrubs, to burn them for the ashes. the wonderful plant was placed bodily in his bundle. "it shall be made useful," he said; and so said, so done. [illustration: the poor girl's treasure.] but soon afterwards, the king of the country was troubled with a terrible depression of spirits. he was busy and industrious, but that did him no good. they read him deep and learned books, and then they read from the lightest and most superficial that they could find; but it was of no use. then one of the wise men of the world, to whom they had applied, sent a messenger to tell the king that there was one remedy to give him relief and to cure him. he said: "in the king's own country there grows in a forest a plant of heavenly origin. its appearance is thus and thus. it cannot be mistaken." "i fancy it was taken up in my bundle, and burnt to ashes long ago," said the swineherd; "but i did not know any better." "you didn't know any better! ignorance of ignorances!" and those words the swineherd might well take to himself, for they were meant for him, and for no one else. not another leaf was to be found; the only one lay in the coffin of the dead girl, and no one knew anything about that. and the king himself, in his melancholy, wandered out to the spot in the wood. "here is where the plant stood," he said; "it is a sacred place." and the place was surrounded with a golden railing, and a sentry was posted there. the botanical professor wrote a long treatise upon the heavenly plant. for this he was gilded all over, and this gilding suited him and his family very well. and indeed that was the most agreeable part of the whole story. but the king remained as low-spirited as before; but that he had always been, at least so the sentry said. the dumb book. by the high-road in the forest lay a lonely peasant's hut; the road went right through the farmyard. the sun shone down, and all the windows were open. in the house was bustle and movement; but in the garden, in an arbour of blossoming elder, stood an open coffin. a dead man had been carried out here, and he was to be buried this morning. nobody stood by the coffin and looked sorrowfully at the dead man; no one shed a tear for him: his face was covered with a white cloth, and under his head lay a great thick book, whose leaves consisted of whole sheets of blotting paper, and on each leaf lay a faded flower. it was a complete herbanum, gathered by him in various places; it was to be buried with him, for so he had wished it. with each flower a chapter in his life was associated. [illustration: the power of the book.] "who is the dead man?" we asked; and the answer was: "the old student. they say he was once a brisk lad, and studied the old languages, and sang, and even wrote poems. then something happened to him that made him turn his thoughts to brandy, and take to it; and when at last he had ruined his health, he came out here into the country, where somebody paid for his board and lodging. he was as gentle as a child, except when the dark mood came upon him; but when it came he became like a giant, and then ran about in the woods like a hunted stag; but when we once got him home again, and prevailed with him so far that he opened the book with the dried plants, he often sat whole days, and looked sometimes at one plant and sometimes at another, and at times the tears rolled over his cheeks: heaven knows what he was thinking of. but he begged us to put the book into the coffin, and now he lies there, and in a little while the lid will be nailed down, and he will have his quiet rest in the grave." the face-cloth was raised, and there was peace upon the features of the dead man, and a sunbeam played upon it; a swallow shot with arrowy flight into the arbour, and turned rapidly, and twittered over the dead man's head. what a strange feeling it is--and we have doubtless all experienced it--that of turning over old letters of the days of our youth! a new life seems to come up with them, with all its hopes and sorrows. how many persons with whom we were intimate in those days, are as it were dead to us! and yet they are alive, but for a long time we have not thought of them--of them whom we then thought to hold fast for ages, and with whom we were to share sorrow and joy. here the withered oak-leaf in the book reminded the owner of the friend, the school-fellow, who was to be a friend for life: he fastened the green leaf in the student's cap in the green wood, when the bond was made "for life:" where does he live now? the leaf is preserved, but the friendship has perished! and here is a foreign hothouse plant, too delicate for the gardens of the north; the leaves almost seem to keep their fragrance still. she gave it to him, the young lady in the nobleman's garden. here is the water rose, which he plucked himself, and moistened with salt tears--the roses of the sweet waters. and here is a nettle--what tale may its leaves have to tell? what were his thoughts when he plucked it and kept it? here is a lily of the valley, from the solitudes of the forest. here's an evergreen from the flower-pot of the tavern; and here's a naked sharp blade of grass. the blooming elder waves its fresh fragrant blossoms over the dead man's head, and the swallow flies past again. "pee-wit! pee-wit!" and now the men come with nails and hammers, and the lid is laid over the dead man, that his head may rest upon the dumb book--vanished and scattered! the jewish girl. among the children in a charity school sat a little jewish girl. she was a good, intelligent child, the quickest in all the school; but she had to be excluded from one lesson, for she was not allowed to take part in the scripture-lesson, for it was a christian school. in that hour the girl was allowed to open the geography book, or to do her sum for the next day; but that was soon done; and when she had mastered her lesson in geography, the book indeed remained open before her, but the little one read no more in it; she listened silently to the words of the christian teacher, who soon became aware that she was listening more intently than almost any of the other children. "read your book, sara," the teacher said, in mild reproof; but her dark beaming eye remained fixed upon him; and once when he addressed a question to her, she knew how to answer better than any of the others could have done. she had heard and understood, and had kept his words in her heart. when her father, a poor honest man, first brought the girl to the school, he had stipulated that she should be excluded from the lessons on the christian faith. but it would have caused disturbance, and perhaps might have awakened discontent in the minds of the others, if she had been sent from the room during the hours in question, and consequently she stayed; but this could not go on any longer. the teacher betook himself to the father, and exhorted him either to remove his daughter from the school, or to consent that sara should become a christian. "i can no longer be a silent spectator of the gleaming eyes of the child, and of her deep and earnest longing for the words of the gospel," said the teacher. then the father burst into tears. "i know but little of the commandment given to my fathers," he said; "but sara's mother was steadfast in the faith, a true daughter of israel, and i vowed to her as she lay dying that our child should never be baptized. i must keep my vow, for it is even as a covenant with god himself." and accordingly the little jewish maiden quitted the christian school. years have rolled on. in one of the smallest provincial towns there dwelt, as a servant in a humble household, a maiden who held the mosaic faith. her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, and yet full of splendour and light, as is usual with the daughters of israel. it was sara. the expression in the countenance of the now grown-up maiden was still that of the child sitting upon the school-room bench and listening with thoughtful eyes to the words of the christian teacher. every sunday there pealed from the church the sounds of the organ and the song of the congregation. the strains penetrated into the house where the jewish girl, industrious and faithful in all things, stood at her work. "thou shalt keep holy the sabbath-day," said a voice within her, the voice of the law; but her sabbath-day was a working day among the christians, and that seemed unfortunate to her. but then the thought arose in her soul: "doth god reckon by days and hours?" and when this thought grew strong within her, it seemed a comfort that on the sunday of the christians the hour of prayer remained undisturbed; and when the sound of the organ and the songs of the congregation sounded across to her as she stood in the kitchen at her work, then even that place seemed to become a sacred one to her. then she would read in the old testament, the treasure and comfort of her people, and it was only in this one she could read; for she kept faithfully in the depths of her heart the words the teacher had spoken when she left the school, and the promise her father had given to her dying mother, that she should never receive christian baptism, or deny the faith of her ancestors. the new testament was to be a sealed book to her; and yet she knew much of it, and the gospel echoed faintly among the recollections of her youth. [illustration: sara listening to the singing in the church.] one evening she was sitting in a corner of the living-room. her master was reading aloud; and she might listen to him, for it was not the gospel that he read, but an old story-book, therefore she might stay. the book told of a hungarian knight who was taken prisoner by a turkish pasha, who caused him to be yoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows of the whip till the blood came, and he almost sank under the pain and ignominy he endured. the faithful wife of the knight at home parted with all her jewels, and pledged castle and land. the knight's friends amassed large sums, for the ransom demanded was almost unattainably high: but it was collected at last, and the knight was freed from servitude and misery. sick and exhausted, he reached his home. but soon another summons came to war against the foes of christianity: the knight heard the cry, and he could stay no longer, for he had neither peace nor rest. he caused himself to be lifted on his war-horse; and the blood came back to his cheek, his strength appeared to return, and he went forth to battle and to victory. the very same pasha who had yoked him to the plough became his prisoner, and was dragged to his castle. but not an hour had passed when the knight stood before the captive pasha, and said to him: "what dost thou suppose awaiteth thee?" "i know it," replied the turk. "retribution." "yes, the retribution of the christian!" resumed the knight. "the doctrine of christ commands us to forgive our enemies, and to love our fellow-man, for it teaches us that god is love. depart in peace, depart to thy home: i will restore thee to thy dear ones; but in future be mild and merciful to all who are unfortunate." then the prisoner broke out into tears, and exclaimed: "how could i believe in the possibility of such mercy! misery and torment seemed to await me, they seemed inevitable; therefore i took poison, which i secretly carried about me, and in a few hours its effects will slay me. i must die--there is no remedy! but before i die, do thou expound to me the teaching which includes so great a measure of love and mercy, for it is great and godlike! grant me to hear this teaching, and to die a christian!" and his prayer was fulfilled. that was the legend which the master read out of the old story-book. all the audience listened with sympathy and pleasure; but sara, the jewish girl, sitting alone in her corner, listened with a burning heart; great tears came into her gleaming black eyes, and she sat there with a gentle and lowly spirit as she had once sat on the school bench, and felt the grandeur of the gospel; and the tears rolled down over her cheeks. but again the dying words of her mother rose up within her: "let not my daughter become a christian," the voice cried; and together with it arose the word of the law: "thou shalt honour thy father and thy mother." "i am not admitted into the community of the christians," she said; "they abuse me for being a jew girl--our neighbour's boys hooted me last sunday, when i stood at the open church-door, and looked in at the flaming candles on the altar, and listened to the song of the congregation. ever since i sat upon the school bench i have felt the force of christianity, a force like that of a sunbeam, which streams into my soul, however firmly i may shut my eyes against it. but i will not pain thee in thy grave, o my mother, i will not be unfaithful to the oath of my father, i will not read the bible of the christians. i have the religion of my people, and to that will i hold!" and years rolled on again. the master died. his widow fell into poverty; and the servant girl was to be dismissed. but sara refused to leave the house: she became the staff in time of trouble, and kept the household together, working till late in the night to earn the daily bread through the labour of her hands; for no relative came forward to assist the family, and the widow become weaker every day, and lay for months together on the bed of sickness. sara worked hard, and in the intervals sat kindly ministering by the sick-bed: she was gentle and pious, an angel of blessing in the poverty-stricken house. "yonder on the table lies the bible," said the sick woman to sara. "read me something from it, for the night appears to be so long--oh, so long!--and my soul thirsts for the word of the lord." and sara bowed her head. she took the book, and folded her hands over the bible of the christians, and opened it, and read to the sick woman. tears stood in her eyes, which gleamed and shone with ecstacy, and light shone in her heart. "o my mother," she whispered to herself; "thy child may not receive the baptism of the christians, or be admitted into the congregation--thou hast willed it so, and i shall respect thy command: we will remain in union together here on earth; but beyond this earth there is a higher union, even union in god! he will be at our side, and lead us through the valley of death. it is he that descendeth upon the earth when it is athirst, and covers it with fruitfulness. i understand it--i know not how i came to learn the truth; but it is through him, through christ!" and she started as she pronounced the sacred name, and there came upon her a baptism as of flames of fire, and her frame shook, and her limbs tottered so that she sank down fainting, weaker even than the sick woman by whose couch she had watched. "poor sara!" said the people; "she is overcome with night watching and toil!" they carried her out into the hospital for the sick poor. there she died; and from thence they carried her to the grave, but not to the churchyard of the christians, for yonder was no room for the jewish girl; outside, by the wall, her grave was dug. but god's sun, that shines upon the graves of the christians, throws its beams also upon the grave of the jewish girl beyond the wall; and when the psalms are sung in the churchyard of the christians, they echo likewise over her lonely resting-place; and she who sleeps beneath is included in the call to the resurrection, in the name of him who spake to his disciples: "john baptized you with water, but i will baptize you with the holy ghost!" the thorny road of honour an old story yet lives of the "thorny road of honour," of a marksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after a lifelong and weary strife against difficulties. who has not, in reading this story, thought of his own strife, and of his own numerous "difficulties?" the story is very closely akin to reality; but still it has its harmonious explanation here on earth, while reality often points beyond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. the history of the world is like a magic lantern that displays to us, in light pictures upon the dark ground of the present, how the benefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, wandered along the thorny road of honour. from all periods, and from every country, these shining pictures display themselves to us; each only appears for a few moments, but each represents a whole life, sometimes a whole age, with its conflicts and victories. let us contemplate here and there one of the company of martyrs--the company which will receive new members until the world itself shall pass away. we look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. out of the "clouds" of aristophanes, satire and humour are pouring down in streams upon the audience; on the stage socrates, the most remarkable man in athens, he who had been the shield and defence of the people against the thirty tyrants, is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule--socrates, who saved alcibiades and xenophon in the turmoil of battle, and whose genius soared far above the gods of the ancients. he himself is present; he has risen from the spectator's bench, and has stepped forward, that the laughing athenians may well appreciate the likeness between himself and the caricature on the stage: there he stands before them, towering high above them all. thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow over athens--not thou, olive tree of fame! seven cities contended for the honour of giving birth to homer--that is to say, they contended after his death! let us look at him as he was in his lifetime. he wanders on foot through the cities, and recites his verses for a livelihood; the thought for the morrow turns his hair grey! he, the great seer, is blind, and painfully pursues his way--the sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king of poets. his song yet lives, and through that alone live all the heroes and gods of antiquity. [illustration: the king of poets.] one picture after another springs up from the east, from the west, far removed from each other in time and place, and yet each one forming a portion of the thorny road of honour, on which the thistle indeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave. the camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richly laden with indigo and other treasures of price, sent by the ruler of the land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame of the country: he whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile has been found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he has taken refuge. a poor corpse is carried out of the town-gate, and the funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. the dead man is he whom they have been sent to seek--firdusi--who has wandered the thorny road of honour even to the end. the african, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair, sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of portugal, and begs: he is the submissive slave of camoens, and but for him, and for the copper coins thrown to him by the passers by, his master, the poet of the "lusiad," would die of hunger. now, a costly monument marks the grave of camoens. there is a new picture. behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with long unkempt beard. "i have made a discovery," he says, "the greatest that has been made for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than twenty years!" "who is the man? "a madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "what whimsical ideas these lunatics have! he imagines that one can propel things by means of steam. it is solomon de cares, the discoverer of the power of steam, whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by richelieu--and he dies in the madhouse!" here stands columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world--and he has discovered it. shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of the bells of envy soon drowns the others. the discoverer of a world, he who lifted the american gold land from the sea, and gave it to his king--he is rewarded with iron chains. he wishes that these chains may be placed in his coffin, for they witness of the world, and of the way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service. one picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of honour and of fame is over-filled. here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet--galileo. blind and deaf he sits--an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering, and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot--that foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the truth, he stamped upon the ground with the exclamation, "_yet_ it moves!" here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and inspiration; she carries the banner in front of the combating army, and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. the sound of shouting arises, and the pile flames up: they are burning the witch, joan of arc. yes, and a future century jeers at the white lily. voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "_la pucelle_." at the _thing_ or assembly at viborg, the danish nobles burn the laws of the king--they flame up high, illuminating the period and the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an old man is growing grey and bent. with his finger he marks out a groove in the stone table. it is the popular king who sits there, once the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the peasant: it is christian the second. enemies wrote his history. let us remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot forget his crime. a ship sails away, quitting the danish shores; a man leans against the mast, casting a last glance towards the island hueen. it is tycho brahé. he raised the name of denmark to the stars, and was rewarded with injury, loss, and sorrow. he is going to a strange country. "the vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what do i want more?" and away sails the famous dane, the astronomer, to live honoured and free in a strange land. "ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!" comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. what a picture! griffenfeldt, a danish prometheus, bound to the rocky island of munkholm. we are in america, on the margin of one of the largest rivers; an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to sail against wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements; the man who thinks he can solve the problem is named robert fulton. the ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. the crowd begins to laugh and whistle and hiss--the very father of the man whistles with the rest. "conceit! foolery!" is the cry. "it has happened just as he deserved: put the crack-brain under lock and key!" then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats break the force of the waters, and the ship continues its course--and the beam of the steam-engine shortens the distance between far lands from hours into minutes. o human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute of consciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the moment in which all dejection, and every wound--even those caused by own fault--is changed into health and strength and clearness--when discord is converted to harmony--the minute in which men seem to recognize the manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feel how this one imparts it to all? thus the thorny path of honour shows itself as a glory, surrounding the earth with its beams: thrice happy he who is chosen to be a wanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed between the builder of the bridge and the earth, between providence and the human race! on mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, and shows--giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts--on the dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny path of honour; which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joy here on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity! the old gravestone in a little provincial town, in the time of the year when people say "the evenings are drawing in," there was one evening quite a social gathering in the home of a father of a family. the weather was still mild and warm. the lamp gleamed on the table; the long curtains hung down in folds before the open windows, by which stood many flower-pots; and outside, beneath the dark blue sky, was the most beautiful moonshine. but they were not talking about this. they were talking about the old great stone which lay below in the courtyard, close by the kitchen door, and on which the maids often laid the cleaned copper kitchen utensils that they might dry in the sun, and where the children were fond of playing. it was, in fact, an old gravestone. "yes," said the master of the house, "i believe the stone comes from the old convent churchyard; for from the church yonder, the pulpit, the memorial boards, and the gravestones were sold. my father bought the latter, and they were cut in two to be used as paving-stones; but that old stone was kept back, and has been lying in the courtyard ever since." [illustration: preben schwane and his wife martha.] "one can very well see that it is a gravestone," observed the eldest of the children; "we can still decipher on it an hour-glass and a piece of an angel; but the inscription which stood below it is quite effaced, except that you may read the name of _preben_, and a great _s_ close behind it, and a little farther down the name of _martha_. but nothing more can be distinguished, and even that is only plain when it has been raining, or when we have washed the stone. "on my word, that must be the gravestone of preben schwane and his wife!" these words were spoken by an old man; so old, that he might well have been the grandfather of all who were present in the room. "yes, they were one of the last pairs that were buried in the old churchyard of the convent. they were an honest old couple. i can remember them from the days of my boyhood. every one knew them, and every one esteemed them. they were the oldest pair here in the town. the people declared that they had more than a tubful of gold; and yet they went about very plainly dressed, in the coarsest stuffs, but always with splendidly clean linen. they were a fine old pair, preben and martha! when both of them sat on the bench at the top of the steep stone stairs in front of the house, with the old linden tree spreading its branches above them, and nodded at one in their kind gentle way, it seemed quite to do one good. they were very kind to the poor; they fed them and clothed them; and there was judgment in their benevolence and true christianity. the old woman died first: that day is still quite clear before my mind. i was a little boy, and had accompanied my father over there, and we were just there when she fell asleep. the old man was very much moved, and wept like a child. the corpse lay in the room next to the one where we sat; and he spoke to my father and to a few neighbours who were there, and said how lonely it would be now in his house, and how good and faithful she (his dead wife) had been, how many years they had wandered together through life, and how it had come about that they came to know each other and to fall in love. i was, as i have told you, a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said; but it filled me with quite a strange emotion to listen to the old man, and to watch how his cheeks gradually flushed red when he spoke of the days of their courtship, and told how beautiful she was, and how many little innocent pretexts he had invented to meet her. and then he talked of the wedding-day, and his eyes gleamed; he seemed to talk himself back into that time of joy. and yet she was lying in the next room--dead--an old woman; and he was an old man, speaking of the past days of hope! yes, yes, thus it is! then i was but a child, and now i am old--as old as preben schwane was then. time passes away, and all things change. i can very well remember the day when she was buried, and how preben schwane walked close behind the coffin. a few years before, the couple had caused their gravestone to be prepared, and their names to be engraved on it, with the inscription, all but the date. in the evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laid over the grave; and the year afterwards it was taken up, that old preben schwane might be laid to rest beside his wife. they did not leave behind them anything like the wealth people had attributed to them: what there was went to families distantly related to them--to people of whom until then one had known nothing. the old wooden house, with the seat at the top of the steps, beneath the lime tree, was taken down by the corporation; it was too old and rotten to be left standing. afterwards, when the same fate befell the convent church, and the graveyard was levelled, preben's and martha's tombstone was sold, like everything else, to any one who would buy it; and that is how it has happened that this stone was not hewn in two, as many another has been, but that it still lies below in the yard as a scouring-bench for the maids and a plaything for the children. the high-road now goes over the resting-place of old preben and his wife. no one thinks of them any more." and the old man who had told all this shook his head scornfully. "forgotten! everything will be forgotten!" he said. and then they spoke in the room of other things; but the youngest child, a boy with great serious eyes, mounted up on a chair behind the window-curtains, and looked out into the yard, where the moon was pouring its radiance over the old stone--the old stone that had always appeared to him so tame and flat, but which lay there now like a great leaf out of a book of chronicles. all that the boy had heard about old preben and his wife seemed concentrated in the stone; and he gazed at it, and looked at the pure bright moon and up into the clear air, and it seemed as though the countenance of the creator was beaming over his world. "forgotten! everything will be forgotten!" was repeated in the room. but in that moment an invisible angel kissed the boy's forehead, and whispered to him: "preserve the seed-corn that has been entrusted to thee, that it may bear fruit. guard it well! through thee, my child, the obliterated inscription on the old tombstone shall be chronicled in golden letters to future generations! the old pair shall wander again arm-in-arm through the streets, and smile, and sit with their fresh healthy faces under the lime tree on the bench by the steep stairs, and nod at rich and poor. the seed-corn of this hour shall ripen in the course of time to a blooming poem. the beautiful and the good shall not be forgotten; it shall live on in legend and in song." the old bachelor's nightcap. there is a street in copenhagen that has this strange name--"hysken sträde." whence comes this name, and what is its meaning? it is said to be german; but injustice has been done to the germans in this matter, for it would have to be "häuschen," and not "hysken." for here stood, once upon a time, and indeed for a great many years, a few little houses, which were principally nothing more than wooden booths, just as we see now in the market-places at fair-time. they were, perhaps, a little larger, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn or bladder, for glass was then too expensive to be used in every house. but then we are speaking of a long time ago--so long since, that grandfather and great-grandfather, when they talked about them, used to speak of them as "the old times"--in fact, it is several centuries ago. the rich merchants in bremen and lubeck carried on trade with copenhagen. they did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their clerks, who lived in the wooden booths in the häuschen street, and sold beer and spices. the german beer was good, and there were many kinds of it, as there were, for instance, bremen, and prussinger, and sous beer, and even brunswick mumm; and quantities of spices were sold--saffron, and aniseed, and ginger, and especially pepper. yes, pepper was the chief article here, and so it happened that the german clerks got the nickname "pepper gentry;" and there was a condition made with them in lubeck and in bremen, that they would not marry at copenhagen, and many of them became very old. they had to care for themselves, and to look after their own comforts, and to put out their own fires--when they had any; and some of them became very solitary old boys, with eccentric ideas and eccentric habits. from them all unmarried men, who have attained a certain age, are called in denmark "pepper gentry;" and this must be understood by all who wish to comprehend this history. the "pepper gentleman" becomes a butt for ridicule, and is continually told that he ought to put on his nightcap, and draw it down over his eyes, and do nothing but sleep. the boys sing, "cut, cut wood! poor bachelor so good. go, take your nightcap, go to rest, for 'tis the nightcap suits you best!" yes, that's what they sing about the "pepperer"--thus they make game of the poor bachelor and his nightcap, and turn it into ridicule, just because they know very little about either. ah, that kind of nightcap no one should wish to earn! and why not?--we shall hear. [illustration: the pepperer's booth.] in the old times the "housekin street" was not paved, and the people stumbled out of one hole into another, as in a neglected bye-way; and it was narrow too. the booths leaned side by side, and stood so close together that in the summer time a sail was often stretched from one booth to its opposite neighbour, on which occasion the fragrance of pepper, saffron, and ginger became doubly powerful. behind the counters young men were seldom seen. the clerks were generally old boys; but they did not look like what we should fancy them, namely, with wig, and nightcap, and plush small-clothes, and with waistcoat and coat buttoned up to the chin. no, grandfather's great-grandfather may look like that, and has been thus portrayed, but the "pepper gentry" had no superfluous means, and accordingly did not have their portraits taken; though, indeed, it would be interesting now to have a picture of one of them, as he stood behind the counter or went to church on holy days. his hat was high-crowned and broad-brimmed, and sometimes one of the youngest clerks would mount a feather. the woollen shirt was hidden behind a broad linen collar, the close jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loose over it; and the trousers were tucked into the broad-toed shoes, for the clerks did not wear stockings. in their girdles they sported a dinner-knife and spoon, and a larger knife was placed there also for the defence of the owner; and this weapon was often very necessary. just so was anthony, one of the oldest clerks, clad on high days and holy days, except that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a low bonnet, and under it a knitted cap (a regular nightcap), to which he had grown so accustomed that it was always on his head; and he had two of them--nightcaps, of course. the old fellow was a subject for a painter. he was as thin as a lath, had wrinkles clustering round his eyes and mouth, and long bony fingers, and bushy grey eyebrows: over the left eye hung quite a tuft of hair, and that did not look very handsome, though it made him very noticeable. people knew that he came from bremen; but that was not his native place, though his master lived there. his own native place was in thuringia, the town of eisenach, close by the wartburg. old anthony did not speak much of this, but he thought of it all the more. the old clerks of the häuschen street did not often come together. each one remained in his booth, which was closed early in the evening; and then it looked dark enough in the street: only a faint glimmer of light forced its way through the little horn-pane in the roof; and in the booth sat, generally on his bed, the old bachelor, his german hymn-book in his hand, singing an evening psalm in a low voice; or he went about in the booth till late into the night, and busied himself about all sorts of things. it was certainly not an amusing life. to be a stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot: nobody cares for you, unless you happen to get in anybody's way. often when it was dark night outside, with snow and rain, the place looked very gloomy and lonely. no lamps were to be seen, with the exception of one solitary light hanging before the picture of the virgin that was fastened against the wall. the plash of the water against the neighbouring rampart at the castle wharf could be plainly heard. such evenings are long and dreary, unless people devise some employment for themselves. there is not always packing or unpacking to do, nor can the scales be polished or paper bags be made continually; and, failing these, people should devise other employment for themselves. and that is just what old anthony did; for he used to mend his clothes and put pieces on his boots. when he at last sought his couch, he used from habit to keep his nightcap on. he drew it down a little closer; but soon he would push it up again, to see if the light had been properly extinguished. he would touch it, press the wick together, and then lie down on the other side, and draw his nightcap down again; but then a doubt would come upon him, if every coal in the little fire-pan below had been properly deadened and put out--a tiny spark might have been left burning, and might set fire to something and cause damage. and therefore he rose from his bed, and crept down the ladder, for it could scarcely be called a stair. and when he came to the fire-pan not a spark was to be discovered, and he might just go back again. but often, when he had gone half of the way back, it would occur to him that the shutters might not be securely fastened; yes, then his thin legs must carry him downstairs once more. he was cold, and his teeth chattered in his mouth when he crept back again to bed; for the cold seems to become doubly severe when it knows it cannot stay much longer. he drew up the coverlet closer around him, and pulled down the nightcap lower over his brows, and turned his thoughts away from trade and from the labours of the day. but that did not procure him agreeable entertainment; for now old thoughts came and put up their curtains, and these curtains have sometimes pins in them, with which one pricks oneself, and one cries out "oh!" and they prick into one's flesh and burn so, that the tears sometimes come into one's eyes; and that often happened to old anthony--hot tears. the largest pearls streamed forth, and fell on the coverlet or on the floor, and then they sounded as if one of his heart-strings had broken. sometimes again they seemed to rise up in flame, illuminating a picture of life that never faded out of his heart. if he then dried his eyes with his nightcap, the tear and the picture were indeed crushed, but the source of the tears remained, and welled up afresh from his heart. the pictures did not come up in the order in which the scenes had occurred in reality, for very often the most painful would come together; then again the most joyful would come, but these had the deepest shadows of all. the beech woods of denmark are acknowledged to be fine, but the woods of thuringia arose far more beautiful in the eyes of anthony. more mighty and more venerable seemed to him the old oaks around the proud knightly castle, where the creeping plants hung down over the stony blocks of the rock; sweeter there bloomed the flowers of the apple tree than in the danish land. this he remembered very vividly. a glittering tear rolled down over his cheek; and in this tear he could plainly see two children playing--a boy and a girl. the boy had red cheeks, and yellow curling hair, and honest blue eyes. he was the son of the merchant anthony--it was himself. the little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and had a bright clever look. she was the burgomaster's daughter molly. the two were playing with an apple. they shook the apple, and heard the pips rattling in it. then they cut the apple in two, and each of them took a half; they divided even the pips, and ate them all but one, which the little girl proposed that they should lay in the earth. "then you shall see," she said, "what will come out. it will be something you don't at all expect. a whole apple tree will come out, but not directly." and she put the pip in a flower-pot, and both were very busy and eager about it. the boy made a hole in the earth with his finger, and the little girl dropped the pip in it, and they both covered it with earth. "now, you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has struck root," said molly. "that won't do at all. i did it with my flowers; but only twice. i wanted to see if they were growing--and i didn't know any better then--and the plants withered." anthony took away the flower-pot, and every morning, the whole winter through, he looked at it; but nothing was to be seen but the black earth. at length, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warm again; and two little green leaves came up out of the pot. "those are for me and molly," said the boy. "that's beautiful--that's marvellously beautiful!" soon a third leaf made its appearance. whom did that represent? yes, and there came another, and yet another. day by day and week by week they grew larger, and the plant began to take the form of a real tree. and all this was now mirrored in a single tear, which was wiped away and disappeared; but it might come again from its source in the heart of old anthony. in the neighbourhood of eisenach a row of stony mountains rises up. one of these mountains is round in outline, and lifts itself above the rest, naked and without tree, bush, or grass. it is called the venus mount. in this mountain dwells lady venus, one of the deities of the heathen times. she is also called lady holle; and every child in and around eisenach has heard about her. she it was who lured tannhauser, the noble knight and minstrel, from the circle of the singers of the wartburg into her mountain. [illustration: impertinent molly.] little molly and anthony often stood by this mountain; and once molly said: "you may knock and say, 'lady holle, open the door--tannhauser is here!" but anthony did not dare. molly, however, did it, though she only said the words "lady holle, lady holle!" aloud and distinctly; the rest she muttered so indistinctly that anthony felt convinced she had not really said anything; and yet she looked as bold and saucy as possible--as saucy as when she sometimes came round him with other little girls in the garden, and all wanted to kiss him because he did not like to be kissed and tried to keep them off; and she was the only one who dared to kiss him in spite of his resistance. "_i_ may kiss him!" she would say proudly. that was her vanity; and anthony submitted, and thought no more about it. how charming and how teasing molly was! it was said that lady holle in the mountain was beautiful also, but that her beauty was like that of a tempting fiend. the greatest beauty and grace was possessed by saint elizabeth, the patron of the country, the pious princess of thuringia, whose good actions have been immortalized in many places in legends and stories. in the chapel her picture was hanging, surrounded by silver lamps; but it was not in the least like molly. the apple tree which the two children had planted grew year by year, and became taller and taller--so tall, that it had to be transplanted into the garden, into the fresh air, where the dew fell and the sun shone warm. and the tree developed itself strongly, so that it could resist the winter. and it seemed as if, after the rigour of the cold season was past, it put forth blossoms in spring for very joy. in the autumn it brought two apples--one for molly and one for anthony. it could not well have produced less. the tree had grown apace, and molly grew like the tree. she was as fresh as an apple-blossom; but anthony was not long to behold this flower. all things change! molly's father left his old home, and molly went with him, far away. yes, in our time steam has made the journey they took a matter of a few hours, but then more than a day and a night were necessary to go so far eastward from eisenach to the furthest border of thuringia, to the city which is still called weimar. and molly wept, and anthony wept; but all their tears melted into one, and this tear had the rosy, charming hue of joy. for molly told him she loved him--loved him more than all the splendours of weimar. one, two, three years went by, and during this period two letters were received. one came by a carrier, and a traveller brought the other. the way was long and difficult, and passed through many windings by towns and villages. often had molly and anthony heard of tristram and iseult, and often had the boy applied the story to himself and molly, though the name tristram was said to mean "born in tribulation," and that did not apply to anthony, nor would he ever be able to think, like tristram, "she has forgotten me." but, indeed, iseult did not forget her faithful knight; and when both were laid to rest in the earth, one on each side of the church, the linden trees grew from their graves over the church roof, and there encountered each other in bloom. anthony thought that was beautiful, but mournful; but it could not become mournful between him and molly: and he whistled a song of the old minne-singer, walter of the vogelverde: "under the lindens upon the heath." and especially that passage appeared charming to him: "from the forest, down in the vale, sang her sweet song the nightingale." this song was often in his mouth, and he sang and whistled it in the moonlight nights, when he rode along the deep hollow way on horseback to get to weimar and visit molly. he wished to come unexpectedly, and he came unexpectedly. he was made welcome with full goblets of wine, with jovial company, fine company, and a pretty room and a good bed were provided for him; and yet his reception was not what he had dreamt and fancied it would be. he could not understand himself--he could not understand the others: but _we_ can understand it. one may be admitted into a house and associate with a family without becoming one of them. one may converse together as one would converse in a post-carriage, and know one another as people know each other on a journey, each incommoding the other and wishing that either oneself or the good neighbour were away. yes, this was the kind of thing anthony felt. "i am an honest girl," said molly; "and i myself will tell you what it is. much has changed since we were children together--changed inwardly and outwardly. habit and will have no power over our hearts. anthony, i should not like to have an enemy in you, now that i shall soon be far away from here. believe me, i entertain the best wishes for you; but to feel for you what i know now one may feel for a man, has never been the case with me. you must reconcile yourself to this. farewell, anthony!" and anthony bade her farewell. no tear came into his eye, but he felt that he was no longer molly's friend. hot iron and cold iron alike take the skin from our lips, and we have the same feeling when we kiss it: and he kissed himself into hatred as into love. within twenty-four hours anthony was back in eisenach, though certainly the horse on which he rode was ruined. "what matter!" he said: "i am ruined too; and i will destroy everything that can remind me of her, or of lady holle, or venus the heathen woman! i will break down the apple tree and tear it up by the roots, so that it shall never bear flower or fruit more!" but the apple tree was not broken down, though he himself was broken down, and bound on a couch by fever. what was it that raised him up again? a medicine was presented to him which had strength to do this--the bitterest of medicines, that shakes up body and spirit together. anthony's father ceased to be the richest of merchants. heavy days--days of trial--were at the door; misfortune came rolling into the house like great waves of the sea. the father became a poor man. sorrow and suffering took away his strength. then anthony had to think of something else besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against molly. he had to take his father's place--to give orders, to help, to act energetically, and at last to go out into the world and earn his bread. anthony went to bremen. there he learned what poverty and hard living meant; and these sometimes make the heart hard, and sometimes soften it, even too much. how different the world was, and how different the people were from what he had supposed them to be in his childhood! what were the minne-singer's songs to him now?--an echo, a vanishing sound! yes, that is what he thought sometimes; but again the songs would sound in his soul, and his heart became gentle. "god's will is best!" he would say then. "it was well that i was not permitted to keep molly's heart--that she did not remain true to me. what would it have led to now, when fortune has turned away from me? she quitted me before she knew of this loss of prosperity, or had any notion of what awaited me. that was a mercy of providence towards me. everything has happened for the best. it was not her fault--and i have been so bitter, and have shown so much rancour towards her!" and years went by. anthony's father was dead, and strangers lived in the old house. but anthony was destined to see it again. his rich employer sent him on commercial journeys, and his duty led him into his native town of eisenach. the old wartburg stood unchanged on the mountain, with "the monk and the nun" hewn out in stone. the great oaks gave to the scene the outlines it had possessed in his childish days. the venus mount glimmered grey and naked over the valley. he would have been glad to cry, "lady holle, lady holle, unlock the door, and i shall enter and remain in my native earth!" that was a sinful thought, and he blessed himself to drive it away. then a little bird out of the thicket sang clearly, and the old minne-song came into his mind: "from the forest, down in the vale, sang her sweet song the nightingale." and here in the town of his childhood, which he thus saw again through tears, much came back into his remembrance. the paternal house stood as in the old times; but the garden was altered, and a field-path led over a portion of the old ground, and the apple tree that he had not broken down stood there, but outside the garden, on the farther side of the path. but the sun threw its rays on the apple tree as in the old days, the dew descended gently upon it as then, and it bore such a burden of fruit that the branches were bent down towards the earth. "that flourishes!" he said. "the tree can grow!" nevertheless, one of the branches of the tree was broken. mischievous hands had torn it down towards the ground; for now the tree stood by the public way. "they break its blossoms off without a feeling of thankfulness--they steal its fruit and break the branches. one might say of the tree as has been said of some men--'it was not sung at his cradle that it should come thus.' how brightly its history began, and what has it come to? forsaken and forgotten--a garden tree by the hedge, in the field, and on the public way! there it stands unprotected, plundered, and broken! it has certainly not died, but in the course of years the number of blossoms will diminish; at last the fruit will cease altogether; and at last--at last all will be over!" such were anthony's thoughts under the tree; such were his thoughts during many a night in the lonely chamber of the wooden house in the distant land--in the häuschen street in copenhagen, whither his rich employer, the bremen merchant, had sent him, first making it a condition that he should not marry. "marry! ha, ha!" he laughed bitterly to himself. winter had set in early; it was freezing hard. without, a snow-storm was raging, so that every one who could do so remained at home; thus, too, it happened that those who lived opposite to anthony did not notice that for two days his house had not been unlocked, and that he did not show himself; for who would go out unnecessarily in such weather? they were grey, gloomy days; and in the house, whose windows were not of glass, twilight only alternated with dark night. old anthony had not left his bed during the two days, for he had not the strength to rise; he had for a long time felt in his limbs the hardness of the weather. forsaken by all, lay the old bachelor, unable to help himself. he could scarcely reach the water-jug that he had placed by his bedside, and the last drop it contained had been consumed. it was not fever, nor sickness, but old age that had struck him down. up yonder, where his couch was placed, he was overshadowed as it were by continual night. a little spider, which, however, he could not see, busily and cheerfully span its web around him, as if it were weaving a little crape banner that should wave when the old man closed his eyes. the time was very slow, and long, and dreary. tears he had none to shed, nor did he feel pain. the thought of molly never came into his mind. he felt as if the world and its noise concerned him no longer--as if he were lying outside the world, and no one were thinking of him. for a moment he felt a sensation of hunger--of thirst. yes, he felt them both. but nobody came to tend him--nobody. he thought of those who had once suffered want; of saint elizabeth, as she had once wandered on earth; of her, the saint of his home and of his childhood, the noble duchess of thuringia, the benevolent lady who had been accustomed to visit the lowliest cottages, bringing to the inmates refreshment and comfort. her pious deeds shone bright upon his soul. he thought of her as she had come to distribute words of comfort, binding up the wounds of the afflicted, giving meat to the hungry; though her stern husband had chidden her for it. he thought of the legend told of her, how she had been carrying the full basket containing food and wine, when her husband, who watched her footsteps, came forth and asked angrily what she was carrying, whereupon she answered, in fear and trembling, that the basket contained roses which she had plucked in the garden; how he had torn away the white cloth from the basket, and a miracle had been performed for the pious lady; for bread, and wine, and everything in the basket had been transformed into roses! thus the saint's memory dwelt in anthony's quiet mind; thus she stood bodily before his downcast face, before his warehouse in the simple booth in the danish land. he uncovered his head, and looked into her gentle eyes, and everything around him was beautiful and roseate. yes, the roses seemed to unfold themselves in fragrance. there came to him a sweet, peculiar odour of apples, and he saw a blooming apple tree, which spread its branches above him--it was the tree which molly and he had planted together. and the tree strewed down its fragrant leaves upon him, cooling his burning brow. the leaves fell upon his parched lips, and were like strengthening bread and wine; and they fell upon his breast, and he felt reassured and calm, and inclined to sleep peacefully. "now i shall sleep," he whispered to himself. "sleep is refreshing. to-morrow i shall be upon my feet again, and strong and well--glorious, wonderful! that apple tree, planted in true affection, now stands before me in heavenly radiance----" [illustration: the opposite neighbour looks after old anthony.] and he slept. the day afterwards--it was the third day that his shop had remained closed--the snow-storm had ceased, and a neighbour from the opposite house came over towards the booth where dwelt old anthony, who had not yet shown himself. anthony lay stretched upon his bed--dead--with his old cap clutched tightly in his two hands! they did not put that cap on his head in his coffin, for he had a new white one. where were now the tears that he had wept? what had become of the pearls? they remained in the nightcap--and the true ones do not come out in the wash--they were preserved in the nightcap, and in time forgotten; but the old thoughts and the old dreams still remained in the "bachelor's nightcap." don't wish for such a cap for yourself. it would make your forehead very hot, would make your pulse beat feverishly, and conjure up dreams which appear like reality. the first who wore that identical cap afterwards felt all that at once, though it was half a century afterwards; and that man was the burgomaster himself, who, with his wife and eleven children, was well and firmly established, and had amassed a very tolerable amount of wealth. he was immediately seized with dreams of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of heavy times. "hallo! how the nightcap burns!" he cried out, and tore it from his head. and a pearl rolled out, and another, and another, and they sounded and glittered. "this must be gout," said the burgomaster. "something dazzles my eyes!" they were tears, shed half a century before by old anthony from eisenach. every one who afterwards put that nightcap upon his head had visions and dreams which excited him not a little. his own history was changed into that of anthony, and became a story; in fact, many stories. but some one else may tell _them_. we have told the first. and our last word is--don't wish for "the old bachelor's nightcap." the marsh king's daughter. the storks tell their little ones very many stories, all of the moor and the marsh. these stories are generally adapted to the age and capacity of the hearers. the youngest are content if they are told "kribble-krabble, plurre-murre" as a story, and find it charming; but the older ones want something with a deeper meaning, or at any rate something relating to the family. of the two oldest and longest stories that have been preserved among the storks, we are only acquainted with one, namely, that of moses, who was exposed by his mother on the banks of the nile, and whom the king's daughter found, and who afterwards became a great man and a prophet. that history is very well known. the second is not known yet, perhaps, because it is quite an inland story. it has been handed down from mouth to mouth, from stork-mamma to stork-mamma, for thousands of years, and each of them has told it better and better; and now _we_'ll tell it best of all. the first stork pair who told the story had their summer residence on the wooden house of the viking, which lay by the wild moor in wendsyssel; that is to say, if we are to speak out of the abundance of our knowledge, hard by the great moor in the circle of hjörring, high up by the skagen, the northern point of jutland. the wilderness there is still a great wide moor-heath, about which we can read in the official description of districts. it is said that in old times there was here a sea, whose bottom was upheaved; now the moorland extends for miles on all sides, surrounded by damp meadows, and unsteady shaking swamp, and turfy moor, with blueberries and stunted trees. mists are almost always hovering over this region, which seventy years ago was still inhabited by wolves. it is certainly rightly called the "wild moor;" and one can easily think how dreary and lonely it must have been, and how much marsh and lake there was here a thousand years ago. yes, in detail, exactly the same things were seen then that may yet be beheld. the reeds had the same height, and bore the same kind of long leaves and bluish-brown feathery plumes that they bear now; the birch stood there, with its white bark and its fine loosely-hanging leaves, just as now; and as regards the living creatures that dwelt here--why, the fly wore its gauzy dress of the same cut that it wears now; and the favourite colours of the stork were white picked out with black, and red stockings. the people certainly wore coats of a different cut to those they now wear; but whoever stepped out on the shaking moorland, be he huntsman or follower, master or servant, met with the same fate a thousand years ago that he would meet with to-day. he sank and went down to the "marsh king," as they called him, who ruled below in the great moorland empire. they also called him "gungel king;" but we like the name "marsh king" better, and by that we'll call him, as the storks did. very little is known of the marsh king's rule; but perhaps that is a good thing. in the neighbourhood of the moorland, hard by the great arm of the german ocean and the cattegat, which is called the lümfjorden, lay the wooden house of the viking, with its stone water-tight cellars, with its tower and its three projecting stories. on the roof the stork had built his nest; and stork-mamma there hatched the eggs, and felt sure that her hatching would come to something. one evening stork-papa stayed out very long; and when he came home he looked very bustling and important. "i've something very terrible to tell you," he said to the stork-mamma. "let that be," she replied. "remember that i'm hatching the eggs, and you might agitate me, and i might do them a mischief." "you must know it," he continued. "she has arrived here--the daughter of our host in egypt--she has dared to undertake the journey here--and she's gone!" "she who came from the race of the fairies? oh, tell me all about it! you know i can't bear to be kept long in suspense when i'm hatching eggs." "you see, mother, she believed in what the doctor said, and you told me true. she believed that the moor flowers would bring healing to her sick father, and she has flown here in swan's plumage, in company with the other swan-princesses, who come to the north every year to renew their youth. she has come here, and she is gone!" "you are much too long-winded!" exclaimed the stork-mamma, "and the eggs might catch cold. i can't bear being kept in such suspense!" "i have kept watch," said the stork-papa; "and to-night, when i went into the reeds--there where the marsh ground will bear me--three swans came. something in their flight seemed to say to me, 'look out! that's not altogether swan; it's only swan's feathers!' yes, mother, you have a feeling of intuition just as i have; you know whether a thing is right or wrong." "yes, certainly," she replied; "but tell me about the princess. i'm sick of hearing of the swan's feathers." "well, you know that in the middle of the moor there is something like a lake," continued stork-papa. "you can see one corner of it if you raise yourself a little. there, by the reeds and the green mud, lay a great alder stump; and on this the three swans sat, flapping their wings and looking about them. one of them threw off her plumage, and i immediately recognized her as our house princess from egypt! there she sat, with no covering but her long black hair. i heard her tell the others to pay good heed to the swan's plumage, while she dived down into the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw growing there. the others nodded, and picked up the empty feather dress and took care of it. 'i wonder what they will do with it?' thought i; and perhaps she asked herself the same question. if so, she got an answer--a very practical answer--for the two rose up and flew away with her swan's plumage. 'do thou dive down,' they cried; 'thou shalt never see egypt again! remain thou here in the moor!' and so saying, they tore the swan's plumage into a thousand pieces, so that the feathers whirled about like a snow-storm; and away they flew--the two faithless princesses!" [illustration: the princess left in the marsh.] "why, that is terrible!" said stork-mamma. "i can't bear to hear any more of it. but now tell me what happened next." "the princess wept and lamented aloud. her tears fell fast on the alder stump, and the latter moved; for it was not a regular alder stump, but the marsh king--he who lives and rules in the depths of the moor! i myself saw it--how the stump of the tree turned round, and ceased to be a tree stump; long thin branches grew forth from it like arms. then the poor child was terribly frightened, and sprang up to flee away. she hurried across to the green slimy ground; but that cannot even carry me, much less her. she sank immediately, and the alder stump dived down too; and it was he who drew her down. great black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and the last trace of both of them vanished when these burst. now the princess is buried in the wild moor, and never more will she bear away a flower to egypt. your heart would have burst, mother, if you had seen it." "you ought not to tell me anything of the kind at such a time as this," said stork-mamma; "the eggs might suffer by it. the princess will find some way of escape; some one will come to help her. if it had been you or i, or one of our people, it would certainly have been all over with us." "but i shall go and look every day to see if anything happens," said stork-papa. and he was as good as his word. a long time had passed, when at last he saw a green stalk shooting up out of the deep moor-ground. when it reached the surface, a leaf spread out and unfolded itself broader and broader; close by it, a bud came out. and one morning, when stork-papa flew over the stalk, the bud opened through the power of the strong sunbeams, and in the cup of the flower lay a beautiful child--a little girl--looking just as if she had risen out of the bath. the little one so closely resembled the princess from egypt, that at the first moment the stork thought it must be the princess herself; but, on second thoughts, it appeared more probable that it must be the daughter of the princess and of the marsh king; and that also explained her being placed in the cup of the water-lily. "but she cannot possibly be left lying there," thought stork-papa; "and in my nest there are so many persons already. but stay, i have a thought. the wife of the viking has no children, and how often has she not wished for a little one! people always say, 'the stork has brought a little one;' and i will do so in earnest this time. i shall fly with the child to the viking's wife. what rejoicing there will be yonder!" and the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup, flew to the wooden house, picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered window, laid the charming child on the bosom of the viking's wife, and then hurried up to the stork-mamma, and told her what he had seen and done; and the little storks listened to the story, for they were big enough to do so now. "so you see," he concluded, "the princess is not dead, for she must have sent the little one up here; and now that is provided for too." "ah, i said it would be so, from the very beginning!" said the stork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. our travelling time is drawing on; sometimes i feel quite restless in my wings already. the cuckoo and the nightingale have started; and i heard the quails saying that they were going too, so soon as the wind was favourable. our young ones will behave well at the exercising, or i am much deceived in them." the viking's wife was extremely glad when she woke next morning and found the charming infant lying in her arms. she kissed and caressed it; but it cried violently, and struggled with its arms and legs, and did not seem rejoiced at all. at length it cried itself to sleep; and as it lay there still and tranquil, it looked exceedingly beautiful. the viking's wife was in high glee: she felt light in body and soul; her heart leapt within her; and it seemed to her as if her husband and his warriors, who were absent, must return quite as suddenly and unexpectedly as the little one had come. therefore she and the whole household had enough to do in preparing everything for the reception of her lord. the long coloured curtains of tapestry, which she and her maids had worked, and on which they had woven pictures of their idols, odin, thor, and freya, were hung up; the slaves polished the old shields, that served as ornaments; and cushions were placed on the benches, and dry wood laid on the fireplace in the midst of the hall, so that the flame might be fanned up at a moment's notice. the viking's wife herself assisted in the work, so that towards evening she was very tired, and went to sleep quickly and lightly. when she awoke towards morning, she was violently alarmed, for the infant had vanished! she sprang from her couch, lighted a pine-torch, and searched all round about; and, behold, in the part of the bed where she had stretched her feet, lay, not the child, but a great ugly frog! she was horror-struck at the sight, and seized a heavy stick to kill the frog; but the creature looked at her with such strange, mournful eyes, that she was not able to strike the blow. once more she looked round the room--the frog uttered a low, wailing croak, and she started, sprang from the couch, and ran to the window and opened it. at that moment the sun shone forth, and flung its beams through the window on the couch and on the great frog; and suddenly it appeared as though the frog's great mouth contracted and became small and red, and its limbs moved and stretched and became beautifully symmetrical, and it was no longer an ugly frog which lay there, but her pretty child! "what is this?" she said. "have i had a bad dream? is it not my own lovely cherub lying there?" and she kissed and hugged it; but the child struggled and fought like a little wild cat. not on this day nor on the morrow did the viking return, although he certainly was on his way home; but the wind was against him, for it blew towards the south, favourably for the storks. a good wind for one is a contrary wind for another. when one or two more days and nights had gone, the viking's wife clearly understood how the case was with her child, that a terrible power of sorcery was upon it. by day it was charming as an angel of light, though it had a wild, savage temper; but at night it became an ugly frog, quiet and mournful, with sorrowful eyes. here were two natures changing inwardly as well as outwardly with the sunlight. the reason of this was that by day the child had the form of its mother, but the disposition of its father; while, on the contrary, at night the paternal descent became manifest in its bodily appearance, though the mind and heart of the mother then became dominant in the child. who might be able to loosen this charm that wicked sorcery had worked? the wife of the viking lived in care and sorrow about it; and yet her heart yearned towards the little creature, of whose condition she felt she should not dare tell her husband on his return; for he would probably, according to the custom which then prevailed, expose the child on the public highway, and let whoever listed take it away. the good viking woman could not find it in her heart to allow this, and she therefore determined that the viking should never see the child except by daylight. one morning the wings of storks were heard rushing over the roof; more than a hundred pairs of those birds had rested from their exercise during the previous night, and now they soared aloft, to travel southwards. "all males here, and ready," they cried; "and the wives and children too." "how light we feel!" screamed the young storks in chorus: "it seems to be creeping all over us, down into our very toes, as if we were filled with frogs. ah, how charming it is, travelling to foreign lands!" "mind you keep close to us during your flight," said papa and mamma. "don't use your beaks too much, for that tires the chest." and the storks flew away. at the same time the sound of the trumpets rolled across the heath, for the viking had landed with his warriors; they were returning home, richly laden with spoil, from the gallic coast, where the people, as in the land of the britons, sang in frightened accents: "deliver us from the wild northmen!" [illustration: the viking's feast.] and life and tumultuous joy came with them into the viking's castle on the moorland. the great mead tub was brought into the hall, the pile of wood was set ablaze, horses were killed, and a great feast was to begin. the officiating priest sprinkled the slaves with the warm blood; the fire crackled, the smoke rolled along beneath the roof; but they were accustomed to that. guests were invited, and received handsome gifts: all feuds and all malice were forgotten. and the company drank deep, and threw the bones of the feast in each others' faces, and this was considered a sign of good humour. the bard, a kind of minstrel, but who was also a warrior, and had been on the expedition with the rest, sang them a song, in which they heard all their warlike deeds praised, and everything remarkable specially noticed. every verse ended with the burden: "goods and gold, friends and foes will die; every man must one day die; but a famous name will never die!" and with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered the table in glorious fashion with bones and knives. the viking's wife sat upon the high seat in the open hall. she wore a silken dress, and golden armlets, and great amber beads: she was in her costliest garb. and the bard mentioned her in his song, and sang of the rich treasure she had brought her rich husband. the latter was delighted with the beautiful child, which he had seen in the daytime in all its loveliness; and the savage ways of the little creature pleased him especially. he declared that the girl might grow up to be a stately heroine, strong and determined as a man. she would not wink her eyes when a practised hand cut off her eyebrows with a sword by way of a jest. the full mead barrel was emptied, and a fresh one brought in; for these were people who liked to enjoy all things plentifully. the old proverb was indeed well known, which says, "the cattle know when they should quit the pasture, but a foolish man knoweth not the measure of his own appetite." yes, they knew it well enough; but one _knows_ one thing, and one _does_ another. they also knew that "even the welcome guest becomes wearisome when he sitteth long in the house;" but for all that they sat still, for pork and mead are good things; and there was high carousing, and at night the bondmen slept among the warm ashes, and dipped their fingers in the fat grease and licked them. those were glorious times! once more in the year the viking sallied forth, though the storms of autumn already began to roar: he went with his warriors to the shores of britain, for he declared that was but an excursion across the water; and his wife stayed at home with the little girl. and thus much is certain, that the poor lady soon got to love the frog with its gentle eyes and its sorrowful sighs, almost better than the pretty child that bit and beat all around her. the rough damp mist of autumn, which devours the leaves of the forest, had already descended upon thicket and heath. "birds feather-less," as they called the snow, flew in thick masses, and winter was coming on fast. the sparrows took possession of the storks' nests, and talked about the absent proprietors according to their fashion; but these--the stork pair, with all the young ones--what had become of them? * * * * * the storks were now in the land of egypt, where the sun sent forth warm rays, as it does here on a fine midsummer day. tamarinds and acacias bloomed in the country all around; the crescent of mahomet glittered from the cupolas of the temples, and on the slender towers sat many a stork pair resting after the long journey. great troops divided the nests, built close together on venerable pillars and in fallen temple arches of forgotten cities. the date-palm lifted up its screen as if it would be a sunshade; the greyish-white pyramids stood like masses of shadow in the clear air of the far desert, where the ostrich ran his swift career, and the lion gazed with his great grave eyes at the marble sphinx which lay half buried in the sand. the waters of the nile had fallen, and the whole river bed was crowded with frogs, and this spectacle was just according to the taste of the stork family. the young storks thought it was optical illusion, they found everything so glorious. "yes, it's delightful here; and it's always like this in our warm country," said the stork-mamma; and the young ones felt quite frisky on the strength of it. "is there anything more to be seen?" they asked. "are we to go much farther into the country?" "there's nothing further to be seen," answered stork-mamma. "behind this delightful region there are luxuriant forests, whose branches are interlaced with one another, while prickly climbing plants close up the paths--only the elephant can force a way for himself with his great feet; and the snakes are too big, and the lizards too quick for us. if you go into the desert, you'll get your eyes full of sand when there's a light breeze, but when it blows great guns you may get into the middle of a pillar of sand. it is best to stay here, where there are frogs and locusts. i shall stay here, and you shall stay too." and there they remained. the parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret, and rested, and yet were busily employed smoothing and cleaning their feathers, and whetting their beaks against their red stockings. now and then they stretched out their necks, and bowed gravely, and lifted their heads, with their high foreheads and fine smooth feathers, and looked very clever with their brown eyes. the female young ones strutted about in the juicy reeds, looked slyly at the other young storks, made acquaintances, and swallowed a frog at every third step, or rolled a little snake to and fro in their bills, which they thought became them well, and, moreover, tasted nice. the male young ones began a quarrel, beat each other with their wings, struck with their beaks, and even pricked each other till the blood came. and in this way sometimes one couple was betrothed, and sometimes another, of the young ladies and gentlemen, and that was just what they wanted, and their chief object in life: then they took to a new nest, and began new quarrels, for in hot countries people are generally hot-tempered and passionate. but it was pleasant for all that, and the old people especially were much rejoiced, for all that young people do seems to suit them well. there was sunshine every day, and every day plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. but in the rich castle at the egyptian host's, as they called him, there was no pleasure to be found. the rich mighty lord reclined on his divan, in the midst of the great hall of the many-coloured walls, looking as if he were sitting in a tulip; but he was stiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay stretched out like a mummy. his family and servants surrounded him, for he was not dead, though one could not exactly say that he was alive. the healing moor flower from the north, which was to have been found and brought home by her who loved him best, never appeared. his beauteous young daughter, who had flown in the swan's plumage over sea and land, to the far north, was never to come back. "she is dead!" the two returning swan-maidens had said, and they had concocted a complete story, which ran as follows: "we three together flew high in the air: a hunter saw us, and shot his arrow at us; it struck our young companion and friend; and slowly, singing her farewell song, she sunk down, a dying swan, into the woodland lake. by the shore of the lake, under a weeping birch tree, we laid her in the cool earth. but we had our revenge. we bound fire under the wings of the swallow who had her nest beneath the huntsman's thatch; the house burst into flames, the huntsman was burnt in the house, and the glare shone over the sea as far as the hanging birch beneath which she sleeps. never will she return to the land of egypt." and then the two wept. and when stork-papa heard the story, he clapped with his beak so that it could be heard a long way off. [illustration: the king of egypt deceived by the princesses.] "treachery and lies!" he cried. "i should like to run my beak deep into their chests." "and perhaps break it off," interposed the stork-mamma; "and then you would look well. think first of yourself, and then of your family, and all the rest does not concern you." "but to-morrow i shall seat myself at the edge of the open cupola, when the wise and learned men assemble, to consult on the sick man's state: perhaps they may come a little nearer the truth." and the learned and wise men came together and spoke a great deal, out of which the stork could make no sense--and it had no result, either for the sick man or for the daughter in the swampy waste. but for all that we may listen to what the people said, for we have to listen to a great deal of talk in the world. but then it's an advantage to hear what went before, what has been said; and in this case we are well informed, for we know just as much about it as stork-papa. "love gives life! the highest love gives the highest life! only through love can his life be preserved." that is what they all said, and the learned men said it was very cleverly and beautifully spoken. "that is a beautiful thought!" stork-papa said immediately. "i don't quite understand it," stork-mamma replied: "and that's not my fault, but the fault of the thought. but let it be as it will, i've something else to think of." and now the learned men had spoken of love to this one and that one, and of the difference between the love of one's neighbour and love between parents and children, of the love of plants for the light, when the sunbeam kisses the ground and the germ springs forth from it,--everything was so fully and elaborately explained that it was quite impossible for stork-papa to take it in, much less to repeat it. he felt quite weighed down with thought, and half shut his eyes, and the whole of the following day he stood thoughtfully on one leg: it was quite heavy for him to carry, all that learning. but one thing stork-papa understood. all, high and low, had spoken out of their inmost hearts, and said that it was a great misfortune for thousands of people, yes, for the whole country, that this man was lying sick, and could not get well, and that it would spread joy and pleasure abroad if he should recover. but where grew the flower that could restore him to health? they had all searched for it, consulted learned books, the twinkling stars, the weather and the wind; they had made inquiries in every byway of which they could think; and at length the wise men and the learned men had said, as we have already told, that "love begets life--will restore a father's life;" and on this occasion they had surpassed themselves, and said more than they understood. they repeated it, and wrote down as a recipe, "love begets life." but how was the thing to be prepared according to the recipe? that was a point they could not get over. at last they were decided upon the point that help must come by means of the princess, through her who clave to her father with her whole soul; and at last a method had been devised whereby help could be procured in this dilemma. yes, it was already more than a year ago since the princess had sallied forth by night, when the brief rays of the new moon were waning: she had gone out to the marble sphinx, had shaken the dust from her sandals, and gone onward through the long passage which leads into the midst of one of the great pyramids, where one of the mighty kings of antiquity, surrounded by pomp and treasure, lay swathed in mummy cloths. there she was to incline her ear to the breast of the dead king; for thus, said the wise men, it should be made manifest to her where she might find life and health for her father. she had fulfilled all these injunctions, and had seen in a vision that she was to bring home from the deep lake in the northern moorland--the very place had been accurately described to her--the lotos flower which grows in the depths of the waters, and then her father would regain health and strength. and therefore she had gone forth in the swan's plumage out of the land of egypt to the open heath, to the woodland moor. and the stork-papa and stork-mamma knew all this; and now we also know it more accurately than we knew it before. we know that the marsh king had drawn her down to himself, and know that to her loved ones at home she is dead for ever. one of the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma said too, "she will manage to help herself;" and at last they quieted their minds with that, and resolved to wait and see what would happen, for they knew of nothing better that they could do. "i should like to take away the swan's feathers from the two faithless princesses," said the stork-papa; "then, at any rate, they will not be able to fly up again to the wild moor and do mischief. i'll hide the two swan-feather suits up there, till somebody has occasion for them." "but where do you intend to hide them?" asked stork-mamma. "up in our nest in the moor," answered he. "i and our young ones will take turns in carrying them up yonder, on our return, and if that should prove too difficult for us, there are places enough on the way where we can conceal them till our next journey. certainly, one suit of swan's feathers would be enough for the princess, but two are always better. in those northern countries no one can have too many wraps." "no one will thank you for it," quoth stork-mamma; "but you're the master. except at breeding-time, i have nothing to say." in the viking's castle by the wild moor, whither the storks bent their flight when the spring approached, they had given the little girl the name of helga; but this name was too soft for a temper like that which was associated with her beauteous form. every month this temper showed itself in sharper outlines; and in the course of years--during which the storks made the same journey over and over again, in autumn to the nile, in spring back to the moorland lake--the child grew to be a great girl; and before people were aware of it, she was a beautiful maiden in her sixteenth year. the shell was splendid, but the kernel was harsh and hard; and she was hard, as indeed were most people in those dark, gloomy times. it was a pleasure to her to splash about with her white hands in the blood of the horse that had been slain in sacrifice. in her wild mood she bit off the neck of the black cock the priest was about to offer up; and to her father she said in perfect seriousness, "if thy enemy should pull down the roof of thy house, while thou wert sleeping in careless safety; if i felt it or heard it, i would not wake thee even if i had the power. i should never do it, for my ears still tingle with the blow that thou gavest me years ago--thou! i have never forgotten it." but the viking took her words in jest; for, like all others, he was bewitched with her beauty, and he knew not how temper and form changed in helga. without a saddle she sat upon a horse, as if she were part of it, while it rushed along in full career; nor would she spring from the horse when it quarrelled and fought with other horses. often she would throw herself, in her clothes, from the high shore into the sea, and swim to meet the viking when his boat steered near home; and she cut the longest lock of her hair, and twisted it into a string for her bow. "self-achieved is well-achieved," she said. the viking's wife was strong of character and of will, according to the custom of the times; but, compared to her daughter, she appeared as a feeble, timid woman; for she knew that an evil charm weighed heavily upon the unfortunate child. it seemed as if, out of mere malice, when her mother stood on the threshold or came out into the yard, helga, would often seat herself on the margin of the well, and wave her arms in the air; then suddenly she would dive into the deep well, when her frog nature enabled her to dive and rise, down and up, until she climbed forth again like a cat, and came back into the hall dripping with water, so that the green leaves strewn upon the ground floated and turned in the streams that flowed from her garments. [illustration: the transformed princess.] but there was one thing that imposed a check upon helga, and that was the evening twilight. when that came she was quiet and thoughtful, and would listen to reproof and advice; and then a secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. and when the sun sank, and the usual transformation of body and spirit took place in her, she would sit quiet and mournful, shrunk to the shape of the frog, her body indeed much larger than that of the animal whose likeness she took, and for that reason much more hideous to behold; for she looked like a wretched dwarf with a frog's head and webbed fingers. her eyes then assumed a very melancholy expression. she had no voice, and could only utter a hollow croaking that sounded like the stifled sob of a dreaming child. then the viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugly form as she looked into the mournful eyes, and said, "i could almost wish that thou wert always my poor dumb frog-child; for thou art only the more terrible when thy nature is veiled in a form of beauty." and the viking woman wrote runic characters against sorcery and spells of sickness, and threw them over the wretched child; but she could not see that they worked any good. "one can scarcely believe that she was ever so small that she could lie in the cup of a water-lily," said stork-papa, "now she's grown up the image of her egyptian mother. ah, we shall never see that poor lady again! probably she did not know how to help herself, as you and the learned men said. year after year i have flown to and fro, across and across the great moorland, and she has never once given a sign that she was still alive. yes, i may as well tell you, that every year, when i came here a few days before you, to repair the nest and attend to various matters, i spent a whole night in flying to and fro over the lake, as if i had been an owl or a bat, but every time in vain. the two suits of swan feathers which i and the young ones dragged up here out of the land of the nile have consequently not been used: we had trouble enough with them to bring them hither in three journeys; and now they lie down here in the nest, and if it should happen that a fire broke out, and the wooden house were burned, they would be destroyed." "and our good nest would be destroyed too," said stork-mamma; "but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and of your moor-princess. you'd best go down into the mud and stay there with her. you're a bad father to your own children, as i said already when i hatched our first brood. i only hope neither we nor our children will get an arrow in our wings through that wild girl. helga doesn't know in the least what she does. i wish she would only remember that we have lived here longer than she, and that we have never forgotten our duty, and have given our toll every year, a feather, an egg, and a young one, as it was right we should do. do you think i can now wander about in the courtyard and everywhere, as i was wont in former days, and as i still do in egypt, where i am almost the playfellow of the people, and that i can press into pot and kettle as i can yonder? no, i sit up here and am angry at her, the stupid chit! and i am angry at you too. you should have just left her lying in the water-lily, and she would have been dead long ago." "you are much better than your words," said stork-papa. "i know you better than you know yourself." and with that he gave a hop, and flapped his wings heavily twice, stretched out his legs behind him, and flew away, or rather sailed away, without moving his wings. he had already gone some distance, when he gave a great _flap_! the sun shone upon his grand plumage, and his head and neck were stretched forth proudly. there was power in it, and dash! "after all, he's handsomer than any of them," said stork-mamma to herself; "but i won't tell him so." * * * * * early in that autumn the viking came home, laden with booty, and bringing prisoners with him. among these was a young christian priest, one of those who contemned the gods of the north. often in those later times there had been a talk, in hall and chamber, of the new faith that was spreading far and wide in the south, and which, by means of saint ansgarius, had penetrated as far as hedeby on the schlei. even helga had heard of this belief in one who, from love to men and for their redemption, had sacrificed his life; but with her all this had, as the saying is, gone in at one ear and come out at the other. it seemed as if she only understood the meaning of the word "love," when she crouched in a corner of the chamber in the form of a miserable frog; but the viking's wife had listened to the mighty history that was told throughout the lands, and had felt strangely moved thereby. on their return from their voyage, the men told of the splendid temples, of their hewn stones, raised for the worship of him whose worship is love. some massive vessels, made with cunning art, of gold, had been brought home among the booty, and each one had a peculiar fragrance; for they were incense vessels, which had been swung by christian priests before the altar. in the deep cellars of the viking's house the young priest had been immured, his hands and feet bound with strips of bark. the viking's wife declared that he was beautiful as bulder to behold, and his misfortune touched her heart; but helga declared that it would be right to tie ropes to his heels, and fasten him to the tails of wild oxen. and she exclaimed, "then i would let loose the dogs--hurrah! over the moor and across the swamp! that would be a spectacle for the gods! and yet finer would it be to follow him in his career." but the viking would not suffer him to die such a death: he purposed to sacrifice the priest on the morrow, on the death-stone in the grove, as a despiser and foe of the high gods. for the first time a man was to be sacrificed here. helga begged, as a boon, that she might sprinkle the image of the god and the assembled multitude with the blood of the priest. she sharpened her glittering knife, and when one of the great savage dogs, of whom a number were running about near the viking's abode, ran by her, she thrust the knife into his side, "merely to try its sharpness," as she said. and the viking's wife looked mournfully at the wild, evil-disposed girl; and when night came on and the maiden exchanged beauty of form for gentleness of soul, she spoke in eloquent words to helga of the sorrow that was deep in her heart. the ugly frog, in its monstrous form, stood before her, and fixed its brown eyes upon her face, listening to her words, and seeming to comprehend them with human intelligence. "never, not even to my lord and husband, have i allowed my lips to utter a word concerning the sufferings i have to undergo through thee," said the viking's wife; "my heart is full of woe concerning thee: more powerful, and greater than i ever fancied it, is the love of a mother! but love never entered into thy heart--thy heart that is like the wet, cold moorland plants." then the miserable form trembled, and it was as though these words touched an invisible bond between body and soul, and great tears came into the mournful eyes. "thy hard time will come," said the viking's wife; "and it will be terrible to me too. it had been better if thou hadst been set out by the high-road, and the night wind had lulled thee to sleep." and the viking's wife wept bitter tears, and went away full of wrath and bitterness of spirit, vanishing behind the curtain of furs that hung loose over the beam and divided the hall. the wrinkled frog crouched in the corner alone. a deep silence reigned around; but at intervals a half-stifled sigh escaped from its breast, from the breast of helga. it seemed as though a painful new life were arising in her inmost heart. she came forward and listened; and, stepping forward again, grasped with her clumsy hands the heavy pole that was laid across before the door. silently and laboriously she pushed back the pole, silently drew back the bolt, and took up the flickering lamp which stood in the antechamber of the hall. it seemed as if a strong hidden will gave her strength. she drew back the iron bolt from the closed cellar door, and crept in to the captive. he was asleep; and when he awoke and saw the hideous form, he shuddered as though he had beheld a wicked apparition. she drew her knife, cut the bonds that confined his hands and feet, and beckoned him to follow her. [illustration: the flight.] he uttered some holy names, and made the sign of the cross; and when the form remained motionless at his side, he said, "who art thou? whence this animal shape that thou bearest, while yet thou art full of gentle mercy?" the frog-woman beckoned him to follow, and led him through corridors shrouded with curtains, into the stables, and there pointed to a horse. he mounted on its back; but she also sprang up before him, holding fast by the horse's mane. the prisoner understood her meaning, and in a rapid trot they rode on a way which he would never have found, out on to the open heath. he thought not of her hideous form, but felt how the mercy and loving-kindness of the almighty were working by means of this monstrous apparition; he prayed pious prayers, and sang songs of praise. then she trembled. was it the power of song and of prayer that worked in her, or was she shuddering at the cold morning twilight that was approaching? what were her feelings? she raised herself up, and wanted to stop the horse and to alight; but the christian priest held her back with all his strength, and sang a pious song, as if that would have the power to loosen the charm that turned her into the hideous semblance of a frog. and the horse gallopped on more wildly than ever; the sky turned red, the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds, and as the flood of light came streaming down, the frog changed its nature. helga was again the beautiful maiden with the wicked, demoniac spirit. he held a beautiful maiden in his arms, but was horrified at the sight: he swung himself from the horse, and compelled it to stand. this seemed to him a new and terrible sorcery; but helga likewise leaped from the saddle, and stood on the ground. the child's short garment reached only to her knee. she plucked the sharp knife from her girdle, and quick as lightning she rushed in upon the astonished priest. "let me get at thee!" she screamed; "let me get at thee, and plunge this knife in thy body! thou art pale as straw, thou beardless slave!" she pressed in upon him. they struggled together in a hard strife, but an invisible power seemed given to the christian captive. he held her fast; and the old oak tree beneath which they stood came to his assistance; for its roots, which projected over the ground, held fast the maiden's feet that had become entangled in it. quite close to them gushed a spring; and he sprinkled helga's face and neck with the fresh water, and commanded the unclean spirit to come forth, and blessed her in the christian fashion; but the water of faith has no power when the well-spring of faith flows not from within. and yet the christian showed his power even now, and opposed more than the mere might of a man against the evil that struggled within the girl. his holy action seemed to overpower her: she dropped her hands, and gazed with frightened eyes and pale cheeks upon him who appeared to her a mighty magician learned in secret arts; he seemed to her to speak in a dark runic tongue, and to be making cabalistic signs in the air. she would not have winked had he swung a sharp knife or a glittering axe against her; but she trembled when he signed her with the sign of the cross on her brow and her bosom, and she sat there like a tame bird with bowed head. [illustration: the christian priest's spell.] then he spoke to her in gentle words of the kindly deed she had done for him in the past night, when she came to him in the form of the hideous frog, to loosen his bonds, and to lead him out to life and light; and he told her that she too was bound in closer bonds than those that had confined him, and that she should be released by his means. he would take her to hedeby (schleswig), to the holy ansgarius, and yonder in the christian city the spell that bound her would be loosed. but he would not let her sit before him on the horse, though of her own accord she offered to do so. "thou must sit behind me, not before me," he said. "thy magic beauty hath a power that comes of evil, and i fear it; and yet i feel that the victory is sure to him who hath faith." and he knelt down and prayed fervently. it seemed as though the woodland scenes were consecrated as a holy church by his prayer. the birds sang as though they belonged to the new congregation, the wild flowers smelt sweet as incense; and while he spoke the horse that had carried them both in headlong career stood still before the tall bramble bushes, and plucked at them, so that the ripe juicy berries fell down upon helga's hands, offering themselves for her refreshment. patiently she suffered the priest to lift her on the horse, and sat like a somnambulist, neither completely asleep nor wholly awake. the christian bound two branches together with bark, in the form of a cross, which he held up high as they rode through the forest. the wood became thicker as they went on, and at last became a trackless wilderness. the wild sloe grew across the way, so that they had to ride round the bushes. the bubbling spring became not a stream but a standing marsh, round which likewise they were obliged to lead the horse. there was strength and refreshment in the cool forest breeze; and no small power lay in the gentle words, which were spoken in faith and in christian love, from a strong inward yearning to lead the poor lost one into the way of light and life. they say the rain-drops can hollow the hard stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the sharp edges of the rocks. thus did the dew of mercy, that dropped upon helga, smooth what was rough, and penetrate what was hard in her. the effects did not yet appear, nor was she aware of them herself; but doth the seed in the bosom of earth know, when the refreshing dew and the quickening sunbeams fall upon it, that it hath within itself the power of growth and blossoming? as the song of the mother penetrates into the heart of the child, and it babbles the words after her, without understanding their import, until they afterwards engender thought, and come forward in due time clearer and more clearly, so here also did the word work, that is powerful to create. they rode forth from the dense forest, across the heath, and then again through pathless roads; and towards evening they encountered a band of robbers. [illustration: helga and the priest attacked by robbers.] "where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden?" cried the robbers; and they seized the horse's bridle, and dragged the two riders from its back. the priest had no weapon save the knife he had taken from helga; and with this he tried to defend himself. one of the robbers lifted his axe to slay him, but the young priest sprang aside and eluded the blow, which struck deep into the horse's neck, so that the blood spurted forth, and the creature sank down on the ground. then helga seemed suddenly to wake from her long reverie, and threw herself hastily upon the gasping animal. the priest stood before her to protect and defend her, but one of the robbers swung his iron hammer over the christian's head, and brought it down with such a crash that blood and brains were scattered around, and the priest sank to the earth, dead. then the robber's seized beautiful helga by her white arms and her slender waist; but the sun went down, and its last ray disappeared at that moment, and she was changed into the form of a frog. a white-green mouth spread over half her face, her arms became thin and slimy, and broad hands with webbed fingers spread out upon them like fans. then the robbers were seized with terror, and let her go. she stood, a hideous monster, among them; and as it is the nature of the frog to do, she hopped up high, and disappeared in the thicket. then the robbers saw that this must be a bad prank of the spirit loke, or the evil power of magic, and in great affright they hurried away from the spot. the full moon was already rising. presently it shone with splendid radiance over the earth, and poor helga crept forth from the thicket in the wretched frog's shape. she stood still beside the corpse of the priest and the carcase of the slain horse. she looked at them with eyes that appeared to weep, and from the frog-mouth came forth a croaking like the voice of a child bursting into tears. she leant first over the one, then over the other, brought water in her hollow hand, which had become larger and more capacious by the webbed skin, and poured it over them; but dead they were, and dead they would remain, she at last understood. soon wild beasts would come and tear their dead bodies; but no, that must not be! so she dug up the earth as well as she could, in the endeavour to prepare a grave for them. she had nothing to work with but a stake and her two hands encumbered with the webbed skin that grew between the fingers, and which were torn by the labour, so that the blood flowed over them. at last she saw that her endeavours would not succeed. then she brought water and washed the dead man's face, and covered it with fresh green leaves; she brought green boughs and laid them upon him, scattering dead leaves in the spaces between. then she brought the heaviest stones she could carry and laid them over the dead body, stopping up the interstices with moss. and now she thought the grave-hill would be strong and secure. the night had passed away in this difficult work--the sun broke through the clouds, and beautiful helga stood there in all her loveliness, with bleeding hands, and with the first tears flowing that had ever bedewed her maiden cheeks. [illustration: helga in the tree.] then in this transformation it seemed as if two natures were striving within her. her whole frame trembled, and she looked around, as if she had just awoke from a troubled dream. then she ran towards the slender tree, clung to it for support, and in another moment she had climbed to the summit of the tree, and held fast. there she sat like a startled squirrel, and remained the whole day long in the silent solitude of the wood, where everything is quiet, and, as they say, dead. butterflies fluttered around in sport, and in the neighbourhood were several ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little occupants moving briskly to and fro. in the air danced a number of gnats, swarm upon swarm, and hosts of buzzing flies, lady-birds, gold beetles, and other little winged creatures; the worm crept forth from the damp ground, the moles came out; but except these all was silent around--silent, and, as people say, dead--for they speak of things as they understand them. no one noticed helga, but some flocks of crows, that flew screaming about the top of the tree on which she sat: the birds hopped close up to her on the twigs with pert curiosity; but when the glance of her eye fell upon them, it was a signal for their flight. but they could not understand her--nor, indeed, could she understand herself. when the evening twilight came on, and the sun was sinking, the time of her transformation roused her to fresh activity. she glided down from the tree, and as the last sunbeam vanished she stood in the wrinkled form of the frog, with the torn webbed skin on her hands; but her eyes now gleamed with a splendour of beauty that had scarcely been theirs when she wore her garb of loveliness, for they were a pair of pure, pious, maidenly eyes that shone out of the frog-face. they bore witness of depth of feeling, of the gentle human heart; and the beauteous eyes overflowed in tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart. on the sepulchral mound she had raised there yet lay the cross of boughs, the last work of him who slept beneath. helga lifted up the cross, in pursuance of a sudden thought that came upon her. she planted it upon the burial mound, over the priest and the dead horse. the sorrowful remembrance of him called fresh tears into her eyes; and in this tender frame of mind she marked the same sign in the sand around the grave; and as she wrote the sign with both her hands, the webbed skin fell from them like a torn glove; and when she washed her hands in the woodland spring, and gazed in wonder at their snowy whiteness, she again made the holy sign in the air between herself and the dead man; then her lips trembled, the holy name that had been preached to her during the ride from the forest came to her mouth, and she pronounced it audibly. then the frog-skin fell from her, and she was once more the beauteous maiden. but her head sank wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and she fell into a deep slumber. her sleep, however, was short. towards midnight she awoke. before her stood the dead horse, beaming and full of life, which gleamed forth from his eyes and from his wounded neck; close beside the creature stood the murdered christian priest, "more beautiful than bulder," the viking woman would have said; and yet he seemed to stand in a flame of fire. such gravity, such an air of justice, such a piercing look shone out of his great mild eyes, that their glance seemed to penetrate every corner of her heart. beautiful helga trembled at the look, and her remembrance awoke as though she stood before the tribunal of judgment. [illustration: helga is taken back to the marsh.] every good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had been spoken, seemed endowed with life: she understood that it had been love that kept her here during the days of trial, during which the creature formed of dust and spirit, soul and earth, combats and struggles; she acknowledged that she had only followed the leading of temper, and had done nothing for herself; everything had been given her, everything had happened as it were by the interposition of providence. she bowed herself humbly, confessing her own deep imperfection in the presence of the power that can read every thought of the heart--and then the priest spoke. "thou daughter of the moorland," he said, "out of the earth, out of the moor, thou camest; but from the earth thou shalt arise. i come from the land of the dead. thou, too, shalt pass through the deep valleys into the beaming mountain region, where dwell mercy and completeness. i cannot lead thee to hedeby, that thou mayest receive christian baptism; for, first, thou must burst the veil of waters over the deep moorland, and draw forth the living source of thy being and of thy birth; thou must exercise thy faculties in deeds before the consecration can be given thee." and he lifted her upon the horse, and gave her a golden censer similar to the one she had seen in the viking's castle. the open wound in the forehead of the slain christian shone like a diadem. he took the cross from the grave and held it aloft. and now they rode through the air, over the rustling wood, over the hills where the old heroes lay buried, each on his dead war-horse; and the iron figures rose up and gallopped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of the hills. the golden hoop on the forehead of each gleamed in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in the night breeze. the dragon that guards buried treasures likewise lifted up his head and gazed after the riders. the gnomes and wood-spirits peeped forth from beneath the hills and from between the furrows of the fields, and flitted to and fro with red, blue, and green torches, like the sparks in the ashes of a burnt paper. over woodland and heath, over river and marsh they fled away, up to the wild moor; and over this they hovered in wide circles. the christian priest held the cross aloft; it gleamed like gold; and from his lips dropped pious prayers. beautiful helga joined in the hymns he sang, like a child joining in its mother's song. she swung the censer, and a wondrous fragrance of incense streamed forth thence, so that the reeds and grass of the moor burst forth into blossom. every germ came forth from the deep ground. all that had life lifted itself up. a veil of water-lilies spread itself forth like a carpet of wrought flowers, and upon this carpet lay a sleeping woman, young and beautiful. helga thought it was her own likeness she saw upon the mirror of the calm waters. but it was her mother whom she beheld, the moor king's wife, the princess from the banks of the nile. the dead priest commanded that the slumbering woman should be lifted upon the horse; but the horse sank under the burden, as though its body had been a cloth fluttering in the wind. but the holy sign gave strength to the airy phantom, and then the three rode from the moor to the firm land. [illustration: helga meets with her mother in the marsh.] then the cock crowed in the viking's castle, and the phantom shapes dissolved and floated away in air; but mother and daughter stood opposite each other. "am i really looking at my own image from beneath the deep waters?" asked the mother. "is it myself that i see reflected on the clear mirror?" exclaimed the daughter. and they approached one another, and embraced. the heart of the mother beat quickest, and she understood the quickening pulses. "my child! thou flower of my own heart! my lotos-flower of the deep waters!" and she embraced her child anew, and wept; and the tears were as a new baptism of life and love to helga. "in the swan's plumage came i hither," said the mother; "and here also i threw off my dress of feathers. i sank through the shaking moorland, far down into the black slime, which closed like a wall around me. but soon i felt a fresher stream; a power drew me down, deeper and ever deeper. i felt the weight of sleep upon my eyelids; i slumbered, and dreams hovered round me. it seemed to me that i was again in the pyramid in egypt, and yet the waving willow trunk that had frightened me up in the moor was ever before me. i looked at the clefts and wrinkles in the stem, and they shone forth in colours, and took the form of hieroglyphics: it was the case of the mummy at which i was gazing; at last the case burst, and forth stepped the thousand-year-old king, the mummied form, black as pitch, shining black as the wood-snail or the fat mud of the swamp; whether it was the marsh king or the mummy of the pyramids i knew not. he seized me in his arms, and i felt as if i must die. when i returned to consciousness a little bird was sitting on my bosom, beating with its wings, and twittering and singing. the bird flew away from me up towards the heavy, dark covering; but a long green band still fastened him to me. i heard and understood his longing tones: 'freedom! sunlight! to my father!' then i thought of my father and the sunny land of my birth, my life, and my love; and i loosened the band and let the bird soar away home to the father. since that hour i have dreamed no more. i have slept a sleep, a long and heavy sleep, till within this hour; harmony and incense awoke me and set me free." the green band from the heart of the mother to the bird's wings, where did it flutter now? whither had it been wafted? only the stork had seen it. the band was the green stalk, the bow at the end, the beauteous flower, the cradle of the child that had now bloomed into beauty, and was once more resting on its mother's heart. and while the two were locked in each other's embrace, the old stork flew around them in smaller and smaller circles, and at length shot away in swift flight towards his nest, whence he brought out the swan-feather suits he had preserved there for years, throwing one to each of them, and the feathers closed around them, so that they soared up from the earth in the semblance of two white swans. "and now we will speak with one another," quoth stork-papa, "now we understand each other, though the beak of one bird is differently shaped from that of another. it happens more than fortunately that you came to-night. to-morrow we should have been gone--mother, myself, and the young ones; for we're flying southward. yes, only look at me! i am an old friend from the land of the nile, and mother has a heart larger than her beak. she always declared the princess would find a way to help herself; and i and the young ones carried the swan's feathers up here. but how glad i am! and how fortunate that i'm here still! at dawn of day we shall move hence, a great company of storks. we'll fly first, and do you follow us; thus you cannot miss your way; moreover, i and the youngsters will keep a sharp eye upon you." "and the lotos-flower which i was to bring with me," said the egyptian princess, "she is flying by my side in the swan's plumage! i bring with me the flower of my heart; and thus the riddle has been read. homeward! homeward!" but helga declared she could not quit the danish land before she had once more seen her foster-mother, the affectionate viking woman. every beautiful recollection, every kind word, every tear that her foster-mother had wept for her, rose up in her memory, and in that moment she almost felt as if she loved the viking woman best of all. "yes, we must go to the viking's castle," said stork-papa; "mother and the youngsters are waiting for us there. how they will turn up their eyes and flap their wings! yes, you see mother doesn't speak much--she's short and dry, but she means all the better. i'll begin clapping at once, that they may know we're coming." and stork-papa clapped in first-rate style, and they all flew away towards the viking's castle. in the castle every one was sunk in deep sleep. the viking's wife had not retired to rest until it was late. she was anxious about helga, who had vanished with a christian priest three days before: she knew helga must have assisted him in his flight, for it was the girl's horse that had been missed from the stables; but how all this had been effected was a mystery to her. the viking woman had heard of the miracles told of the christian priest, and which were said to be wrought by him and by those who believed in his words and followed him. her passing thoughts formed themselves into a dream, and it seemed to her that she was still lying awake on her couch, and that deep darkness reigned without. the storm drew near: she heard the sea roaring and rolling to the east and to the west, like the waves of the north sea and the cattegat. the immense snake which was believed to surround the span of the earth in the depths of the ocean was trembling in convulsions; she dreamed that the night of the fall of the gods had come--ragnarok, as the heathen called the last day, when everything was to pass away, even the great gods themselves. the war-trumpet sounded, and the gods rode over the rainbow, clad in steel, to fight the last battle. the winged valkyrs rode before them, and the dead warriors closed the train. the whole firmament was ablaze with northern lights, and yet the darkness seemed to predominate. it was a terrible hour. and close by the terrified viking woman helga seemed to be crouching on the floor in the hideous frog form, trembling and pressing close to her foster-mother, who took her on her lap and embraced her affectionately, hideous though she was. the air resounded with the blows of clubs and swords, and with the hissing of arrows, as if a hailstorm were passing across it. the hour was come when earth and sky were to burst, the stars to fall, and all things to be swallowed up in surtur's sea of fire; but she knew that there would be a new heaven and a new earth, that the corn fields then would wave where now the ocean rolled over the desolate tracts of sand, and that the unutterable god would reign; and up to him rose bulder the gentle, the affectionate, delivered from the kingdom of the dead; he came; the viking woman saw him, and recognized his countenance; it was that of the captive christian priest. "white christian!" she cried aloud, and with these words she pressed a kiss upon the forehead of the hideous frog-child. then the frog-skin fell off, and helga stood revealed in all her beauty, lovely and gentle as she had never appeared, and with beaming eyes. she kissed her foster-mother's hands, blessed her for all the care and affection lavished during the days of bitterness and trial, for the thought she had awakened and cherished in her, for naming the name, which she repeated, "white christian;" and beauteous helga arose in the form of a mighty swan, and spread her white wings with a rushing like the sound of a troop of birds of passage winging their way through the air. the viking woman woke; and she heard the same noise without still continuing. she knew it was the time for the storks to depart, and that it must be those birds whose wings she heard. she wished to see them once more, and to bid them farewell as they set forth on their journey. therefore she rose from her couch and stepped out upon the threshold, and on the top of the gable she saw stork ranged behind stork, and around the castle, over the high trees, flew bands of storks wheeling in wide circles; but opposite the threshold where she stood, by the well where helga had often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, sat two white swans gazing at her with intelligent eyes. and she remembered her dream, which still filled her soul as if it were reality. she thought of helga in the shape of a swan, and of the christian priest; and suddenly she felt her heart rejoice within her. [illustration: the disguised princesses bid farewell to the viking woman.] the swans flapped their wings and arched their necks, as if they would send her a greeting, and the viking's wife spread out her arms towards them, as if she felt all this; and smiled through her tears, and then stood sunk in deep thought. then all the storks arose, flapping their wings and clapping with their beaks, to start on their voyage towards the south. "we will not wait for the swans," said stork-mamma: "if they want to go with us they had better come. we can't sit here till the plovers start. it is a fine thing, after all, to travel in this way, in families, not like the finches and partridges, where the male and female birds fly in separate bodies, which appears to me a very unbecoming thing. what are yonder swans flapping their wings for?" "well, everyone flies in his own fashion," said stork-papa: "the swans in an oblique line, the cranes in a triangle, and the plovers in a snake's line." "don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said stork-mamma. "it only puts ideas into the children's heads which can't be gratified." * * * * * "are those the high mountains of which i heard tell?" asked helga, in the swan's plumage. "they are storm clouds driving on beneath us," replied her mother. "what are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" asked helga again. "those are the mountains covered with perpetual snow which you see yonder," replied her mother. and they flew across the lofty alps towards the blue mediterranean. "africa's land! egypt's strand!" sang, rejoicingly, in her swan's plumage, the daughter of the nile, as from the lofty air she saw her native land looming in the form of a yellowish wavy stripe of shore. and all the birds caught sight of it, and hastened their flight. "i can scent the nile mud and wet frogs," said stork-mamma; "i begin to feel quite hungry. yes; now you shall taste something nice; and you will see the maraboo bird, the crane, and the ibis. they all belong to our family, though they are not nearly so beautiful as we. they give themselves great airs, especially the ibis. he has been quite spoilt by the egyptians, for they make a mummy of him and stuff him with spices. i would rather be stuffed with live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. better have something in one's inside while one is alive than to be made a fuss with after one is dead. that's my opinion, and i am always right." "now the storks are come," said the people in the rich house on the banks of the nile, where the royal lord lay in the open hall on the downy cushions, covered with a leopard skin, not alive and yet not dead, but waiting and hoping for the lotos-flower from the deep moorland, in the far north. friends and servants stood around his couch. [illustration: the king of egypt's recovery.] and into the hall flew two beauteous swans. they had come with the storks. they threw off their dazzling white plumage, and two lovely female forms were revealed, as like each other as two dewdrops. they bent over the old, pale, sick man, they put back their long hair, and while helga bent over her grandfather, his white cheeks reddened, his eyes brightened, and life came back to his wasted limbs. the old man rose up cheerful and well; and daughter and granddaughter embraced him joyfully, as if they were giving him a morning greeting after a long heavy dream. and joy reigned through the whole house, and likewise in the stork's nest, though there the chief cause was certainly the good food, especially the numberless frogs, which seemed to spring up in heaps out of the ground; and while the learned men wrote down hastily, in flying characters, a sketch of the history of the two princesses, and of the flower of health that had been a source of joy for the home and the land, the stork pair told the story to their family in their own fashion, but not till all had eaten their fill, otherwise the youngsters would have found something more interesting to do than to listen to stories. "now, at last, you will become something," whispered stork-mamma, "there's no doubt about that." "what should i become?" asked stork-papa. "what have i done? nothing at all!" "you have done more than the rest! but for you and the youngsters the two princesses would never have seen egypt again, or have effected the old man's cure. you will turn out something! they must certainly give you a doctor's degree, and our youngsters will inherit it, and so will their children after them, and so on. you already look like an egyptian doctor; at least in my eyes." "i cannot quite repeat the words as they were spoken," said stork-papa, who had listened from the roof to the report of these events, made by the learned men, and was now telling it again to his own family. "what they said was so confused, it was so wise and learned, that they immediately received rank and presents--even the head cook received an especial mark of distinction--probably for the soup." "and what did you receive?" asked stork-mamma. "surely they ought not to forget the most important person of all, and you are certainly he! the learned men have done nothing throughout the whole affair but used their tongues; but you will doubtless receive what is due to you." late in the night, when the gentle peace of sleep rested upon the now happy house, there was one who still watched. it was not stork-papa, though he stood upon one leg, and slept on guard--it was helga who watched. she bowed herself forward over the balcony, and looked into the clear air, gazed at the great gleaming stars, greater and purer in their lustre than she had ever seen them in the north, and yet the same orbs. she thought of the viking woman in the wild moorland, of the gentle eyes of her foster-mother, and of the tears which the kind soul had wept over the poor frog-child that now lived in splendour under the gleaming stars, in the beauteous spring air on the banks of the nile. she thought of the love that dwelt in the breast of the heathen woman, the love that had been shown to a wretched creature, hateful in human form, and hideous in its transformation. she looked at the gleaming stars, and thought of the glory that had shone upon the forehead of the dead man, when she flew with him through the forest and across the moorland; sounds passed through her memory, words she had heard pronounced as they rode onward, and when she was borne wondering and trembling through the air, words from the great fountain of love that embraces all human kind. yes, great things had been achieved and won! day and night beautiful helga was absorbed in the contemplation of the great sum of her happiness, and stood in the contemplation of it like a child that turns hurriedly from the giver to gaze on the splendours of the gifts it has received. she seemed to lose herself in the increasing happiness, in contemplation of what might come, of what would come. had she not been borne by miracle to greater and greater bliss? and in this idea she one day lost herself so completely, that she thought no more of the giver. it was the exuberance of youthful courage, unfolding its wings for a bold flight! her eyes were gleaming with courage, when suddenly a loud noise in the courtyard below recalled her thoughts from their wandering flight. there she saw two great ostriches running round rapidly in a narrow circle. never before had she seen such creatures--great clumsy things they were, with wings that looked as if they had been clipped, and the birds themselves looking as if they had suffered violence of some kind; and now for the first time she heard the legend which the egyptians tell of the ostrich. once, they say, the ostriches were a beautiful, glorious race of birds, with strong large wings; and one evening the larger birds of the forest said to the ostrich, "brother, shall we fly to-morrow, _god willing_, to the river to drink?" and the ostrich answered, "i will." at daybreak, accordingly, they winged their flight from thence, flying first up on high, towards the sun, that gleamed like the eye of god--higher and higher, the ostrich far in advance of all the other birds. proudly the ostrich flew straight towards the light, boasting of his strength, and not thinking of the giver or saying, "god willing!" then suddenly the avenging angel drew aside the veil from the flaming ocean of sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were scorched and shrivelled up, and he sank miserably to the ground. since that time, the ostrich has never again been able to raise himself in the air, but flees timidly along the ground, and runs round in a narrow circle. and this is a warning for us men, that in all our thoughts and schemes, in all our doings and devices, we should say, "god willing." and helga bowed her head thoughtfully and gravely, and looked at the circling ostrich, noticing its timid fear, and its stupid pleasure at sight of its own great shadow cast upon the white sunlit wall. and seriousness struck its roots deep into her mind and heart. a rich life in present and future happiness was given and won; and what was yet to come? the best of all, "_god willing_." in early spring, when the storks flew again towards the north, beautiful helga took off her golden bracelet, and scratched her name upon it; and beckoning to the stork-father, she placed the golden hoop around his neck, and begged him to deliver it to the viking woman, so that the latter might see that her adopted daughter was well, and had not forgotten her. "that's heavy to carry," thought the stork-papa, when he had the golden ring round his neck; "but gold and honour are not to be flung into the street. the stork brings good fortune; they'll be obliged to acknowledge that over yonder." "you lay gold and i lay eggs," said the stork-mamma. "but with you it's only once in a way, whereas i lay eggs every year; but neither of us is appreciated--that's very disheartening." "still one has one's inward consciousness, mother," replied stork-papa. "but you can't hang that round your neck," stork-mamma retorted; "and it won't give you a good wind or a good meal." the little nightingale, singing yonder in the tamarind tree, will soon be going north too. helga the fair had often heard the sweet bird sing up yonder by the wild moor; now she wanted to give it a message to carry, for she had learned the language of birds when she flew in the swan's plumage; she had often conversed with stork and with swallow, and she knew the nightingale would understand her. so she begged the little bird to fly to the beech wood, on the peninsula of jutland, where the grave-hill had been reared with stones and branches, and begged the nightingale to persuade all other little birds that they might build their nests around the place, so that the song of birds should resound over that sepulchre for evermore. and the nightingale flew away--and time flew away. [illustration: a message to the viking woman.] in autumn the eagle stood upon the pyramid and saw a stately train of richly laden camels approaching, and richly attired armed men on foaming arab steeds, shining white as silver, with pink trembling nostrils, and great thick manes hanging down almost over their slender legs. wealthy guests, a royal prince of arabia, handsome as a prince should be, came into the proud mansion on whose roof the stork's nests now stood empty: those who had inhabited the nest were away now, in the far north; but they would soon return. and, indeed, they returned on that very day that was so rich in joy and gladness. here a marriage was celebrated, and fair helga was the bride, shining in jewels and silk. the bridegroom was the young arab prince, and bride and bridegroom sat together at the upper end of the table, between mother and grandfather. but her gaze was not fixed upon the bridegroom, with his manly sun-browned cheeks, round which a black beard curled; she gazed not at his dark fiery eyes that were fixed upon her--but far away at a gleaming star that shone down from the sky. then strong wings were heard beating the air. the storks were coming home, and however tired the old stork pair might be from the journey, and however much they needed repose, they did not fail to come down at once to the balustrades of the verandah; for they knew what feast was being celebrated. already on the frontier of the land they had heard that helga had caused their figures to be painted on the wall--for did they not belong to her history? "that's very pretty and suggestive," said stork-papa. "but it's very little," observed stork-mamma. "they could not possibly have done less." and when helga saw them, she rose and came on to the verandah, to stroke the backs of the storks. the old pair waved their heads and bowed their necks, and even the youngest among the young ones felt highly honoured by the reception. and helga looked up to the gleaming star, which seemed to glow purer and purer; and between the star and herself there floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through it: it floated quite close to her. it was the spirit of the dead christian priest; he too was coming to her wedding feast--coming from heaven. "the glory and brightness yonder outshines everything that is known on earth!" he said. and fair helga begged so fervently, so beseechingly, as she had never yet prayed, that it might be permitted her to gaze in there for one single moment, that she might be allowed to cast but a single glance into the brightness that beamed in the kingdom. then he bore her up amid splendour and glory. not only around her, but within her, sounded voices and beamed a brightness that words cannot express. "now we must go back; thou wilt be missed," he said. "only one more look!" she begged. "but one short minute more!" "we must go back to the earth. the guests will all depart." "only one more look--the last." and helga stood again in the verandah; but the marriage lights without had vanished, and the lamps in the hall were extinguished, and the storks were gone--nowhere a guest to be seen--no bridegroom--all seemed to have been swept away in those few short minutes! then a great dread came upon her. alone she went through the empty great hall into the next chamber. strange warriors slept yonder. she opened a side door which led into her own chamber; and, as she thought to step in there, she suddenly found herself in the garden; but yet it had not looked thus here before--the sky gleamed red--the morning dawn was come. three minutes only in heaven and a whole night on earth had passed away! then she saw the storks again. she called to them, spoke their language; and stork-papa turned his head towards her, listened to her words, and drew near. "you speak our language," he said; "what do you wish? why do you appear here--you, a strange woman?" "it is i--it is helga--dost thou not know me? three minutes ago we were speaking together yonder in the verandah!" "that's a mistake," said the stork; "you must have dreamt all that!" "no, no!" she persisted. and she reminded him of the viking's castle, and of the great ocean, and of the journey hither. then stork-papa winked with his eyes, and said: "why, that's an old story, which i heard from the time of my great-grandfather. there certainly was here in egypt a princess of that kind from the danish land, but she vanished on the evening of her wedding-day, many hundred years ago, and never came back! you may read about it yourself yonder on the monument in the garden; there you'll find swans and storks sculptured, and at the top you are yourself in white marble!" and thus it was. helga saw it, and understood it, and sank on her knees. the sun burst forth in glory; and as, in time of yore, the frog-shape had vanished in its beams, and the beautiful form had stood displayed, so now in the light a beauteous form, clearer, purer than air--a beam of brightness--flew up into heaven! the body crumbled to dust; and a faded lotos-flower lay on the spot where helga had stood. * * * * * "well, that's a new ending to the story," said stork-papa. "i had certainly not expected it. but i like it very well." "but what will the young ones say to it?" said stork-mamma. "yes, certainly, that's the important point," replied he. the last dream of the old oak tree. a christmas tale. in the forest, high up on the steep shore, hard by the open sea coast, stood a very old oak tree. it was exactly three hundred and sixty-five years old, but that long time was not more for the tree than just as many days would be to us men. we wake by day and sleep through the night, and then we have our dreams: it is different with the tree, which keeps awake through three seasons of the year, and does not get its sleep till winter comes. winter is its time for rest, its night after the long day which is called spring, summer, and autumn. on many a warm summer day the ephemera, the fly that lives but for a day, had danced around his crown--had lived, enjoyed, and felt happy; and then rested for a moment in quiet bliss the tiny creature, on one of the great fresh oak leaves; and then the tree always said: "poor little thing! your whole life is but a single day! how very short! it's quite melancholy!" "melancholy! why do you say that?" the ephemera would then always reply. "it's wonderfully bright, warm, and beautiful all around me, and that makes me rejoice!" "but only one day, and then it's all done!" "done!" repeated the ephemera. "what's the meaning of _done_? are you _done_, too?" "no; i shall perhaps live for thousands of your days, and my day is whole seasons long! it's something so long, that you can't at all manage to reckon it out." "no? then i don't understand you. you say you have thousands of my days; but i have thousands of moments, in which i can be merry and happy. does all the beauty of this world cease when you die?" "no," replied the tree; "it will certainly last much longer--far longer than i can possibly think." "well, then, we have the same time, only that we reckon differently." and the ephemera danced and floated in the air, and rejoiced in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, and rejoiced in the balmy breezes laden with the fragrance of meadows and of wild roses and elder-flowers, of the garden hedges, wild thyme, and mint, and daisies; the scent of these was all so strong that the ephemera was almost intoxicated. the day was long and beautiful, full of joy and of sweet feeling, and when the sun sank low the little fly felt very agreeably tired of all its happiness and enjoyment. the delicate wings would not carry it any more, and quietly and slowly it glided down upon the soft grass blade, nodded its head as well as it could nod, and went quietly to sleep--and was dead. "poor little ephemera!" said the oak. "that was a terribly short life!" and on every summer day the same dance was repeated, the same question and answer, and the same sleep. the same thing was repeated through whole generations of ephemera, and all of them felt equally merry and equally happy. the oak stood there awake through the spring morning, the noon of summer, and the evening of autumn; and its time of rest, its night, was coming on apace. winter was approaching. already the storms were singing their "good night, good night!" here fell a leaf, and there fell a leaf. "we'll rock you, and dandle you! go to sleep, go to sleep! we sing you to sleep, we shake you to sleep, but it does you good in your old twigs, does it not? they seem to crack for very joy! sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly! it's your three hundred and sixty-fifth night. properly speaking, you're only a stripling as yet! sleep sweetly! the clouds strew down snow, there will be quite a coverlet, warm and protecting, around your feet. sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams!" and the oak tree stood there, denuded of all its leaves, to sleep through the long winter, and to dream many a dream, always about something that had happened to it, just as in the dreams of men. the great oak had once been small--indeed, an acorn had been its cradle. according to human computation, it was now in its fourth century. it was the greatest and best tree in the forest; its crown towered far above all the other trees, and could be descried from afar across the sea, so that it served as a landmark to the sailors: the tree had no idea how many eyes were in the habit of seeking it. high up in its green summit the wood-pigeon built her nest, and the cuckoo sat in its boughs, and sang his song; and in autumn, when the leaves looked like thin plates of copper, the birds of passage came and rested there, before they flew away across the sea; but now it was winter, and the tree stood there leafless, so that every one could see how gnarled and crooked the branches were that shot forth from its trunk. crows and rooks came and took their seat by turns in the boughs, and spoke of the hard times which were beginning, and of the difficulty of getting a living in winter. it was just at the holy christmas time, when the tree dreamed its most glorious dream. the tree had a distinct feeling of the festive time, and fancied he heard the bells ringing from the churches all around; and yet it seemed as if it were a fine summer's day, mild and warm. fresh and green he spread out his mighty crown; the sunbeams played among the twigs and the leaves; the air was full of the fragrance of herbs and blossoms; gay butterflies chased each other to and fro. the ephemeral insects danced as if all the world were created merely for them to dance and be merry in. all that the tree had experienced for years and years, and that had happened around him, seemed to pass by him again, as in a festive pageant. he saw the knights of ancient days ride by with their noble dames on gallant steeds, with plumes waving in their bonnets and falcons on their wrists. the hunting horn sounded, and the dogs barked. he saw hostile warriors in coloured jerkins and with shining weapons, with spear and halbert, pitching their tents and striking them again. the watch-fires flamed up anew, and men sang and slept under the branches of the tree. he saw loving couples meeting near his trunk, happily, in the moonshine; and they cut the initials of their names in the grey-green bark of his stem. once--but long years had rolled by since then--citherns and Æolian harps had been hung up on his boughs by merry wanderers, now they hung there again, and once again they sounded in tones of marvellous sweetness. the wood-pigeons cooed, as if they were telling what the tree felt in all this, and the cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet to live. then it appeared to him as if new life were rippling down into the remotest fibre of his root, and mounting up into his highest branches, to the tops of the leaves. the tree felt that he was stretching and spreading himself, and through his root he felt that there was life and motion even in the ground itself. he felt his strength increase, he grew higher, his stem shot up unceasingly, and he grew more and more, his crown became fuller, and spread out; and in proportion as the tree grew, he felt his happiness increase, and his joyous hope that he should reach even higher--quite up to the warm brilliant sun. [illustration: the lovers at the old oak tree.] already had he grown high above the clouds, which floated past beneath his crown like dark troops of passage-birds, or like great white swans. and every leaf of the tree had the gift of sight, as if it had eyes wherewith to see; the stars became visible in broad daylight, great and sparkling; each of them sparkled like a pair of eyes, mild and clear. they recalled to his memory well-known gentle eyes, eyes of children, eyes of lovers who had met beneath his boughs. it was a marvellous spectacle, and one full of happiness and joy! and yet amid all this happiness the tree felt a longing, a yearning desire that all other trees of the wood beneath him, and all the bushes, and herbs, and flowers, might be able to rise with him, that they too might see this splendour, and experience this joy. the great majestic oak was not quite happy in his happiness, while he had not them all, great and little, about him; and this feeling of yearning trembled through his every twig, through his every leaf, warmly and fervently as through a human heart. the crown of the tree waved to and fro, as if he sought something in his silent longing, and he looked down. then he felt the fragrance of thyme, and soon afterwards the more powerful scent of honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the cuckoo answering him. yes, through the clouds the green summits of the forest came peering up, and under himself the oak saw the other trees, as they grew and raised themselves aloft. bushes and herbs shot up high, and some tore themselves up bodily by the roots to rise the quicker. the birch was the quickest of all. like a white streak of lightning, its slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, and the branches spread around it like green gauze and like banners; the whole woodland natives, even to the brown plumed rushes, grew up with the rest, and the birds came too, and sang; and on the grass blade that fluttered aloft like a long silken ribbon into the air, sat the grasshopper cleaning his wings with his leg; the may beetles hummed, and the bees murmured, and every bird sang in his appointed manner; all was song and sound of gladness up into the high heaven. "but the little blue flower by the water-side, where is that?" said the oak; "and the purple bell-flower and the daisy?" for, you see, the old oak tree wanted to have them all about him. "we are here--we are here!" was shouted and sung in reply. "but the beautiful thyme of last summer--and in the last year there was certainly a place here covered with lilies of the valley! and the wild apple tree that blossomed so splendidly! and all the glory of the wood that came year by year--if that had only just been born, it might have been here now!" "we are here, we are here!" replied voices still higher in the air. it seemed as if they had flown on before. "why, that is beautiful, indescribably beautiful!" exclaimed the old oak tree, rejoicingly. "i have them all around me, great and small; not one has been forgotten! how can so much happiness be imagined? how can it be possible?" "in heaven, in the better land, it can be imagined, and it is possible!" the reply sounded through the air. and the old tree, who grew on and on, felt how his roots were tearing themselves free from the ground. "that's right, that's better than all!" said the tree. "now no fetters hold me! i can fly up now, to the very highest, in glory and in light! and all my beloved ones are with me, great and small--all of them, all!" that was the dream of the old oak tree; and while he dreamt thus a mighty storm came rushing over land and sea--at the holy christmas tide. the sea rolled great billows towards the shore; there was a cracking and crashing in the tree--his root was torn out of the ground in the very moment while he was dreaming that his root freed itself from the earth. he fell. his three hundred and sixty-five years were now as the single day of the ephemera. on the morning of the christmas festival, when the sun rose, the storm had subsided. from all the churches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even from the smallest hut, arose the smoke in blue clouds, like the smoke from the altars of the druids of old at the feast of thanks offerings. the sea became gradually calm, and on board a great ship in the offing, that had fought successfully with the tempest, all the flags were displayed, as a token of joy suitable to the festive day. "the tree is down--the old oak tree, our landmark on the coast!" said the sailors. "it fell in the storm of last night. who can replace it? no one can." this was the funeral oration, short but well meant, that was given to the tree, which lay stretched on the snowy covering on the sea shore; and over its prostrate form sounded the notes of a song from the ship, a carol of the joys of christmas, and of the redemption of the soul of man by his blood, and of eternal life. "sing, sing aloud, this blessed morn-- it is fulfilled--and he is born, oh, joy without compare! hallelujah! hallelujah!" thus sounded the old psalm tune, and every one on board the ship felt lifted up in his own way, through the song and the prayer, just as the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its most beauteous dream in the christmas night. the bell-deep. "ding-dong! ding-dong!" it sounds up from the "bell-deep," in the odense-au. every child in the old town of odense, on the island of fünen, knows the au, which washes the gardens round about the town, and flows on under the wooden bridges from the dam to the water-mill. in the au grow the yellow water-lilies and brown feathery reeds; the dark velvety flag grows there, high and thick; old, decayed willows, slanting and tottering, hang far out over the stream beside the monks' meadow and by the bleaching-ground; but opposite there are gardens upon gardens, each different from the rest, some with pretty flowers and bowers like little dolls' pleasure-grounds, often displaying only cabbage and other kitchen plants; and here and there the gardens cannot be seen at all, for the great elder trees that spread themselves out by the bank, and hang far out over the streaming waters, which are deeper here and there than an oar can fathom. opposite the old nunnery is the deepest place, which is called the "bell-deep," and there dwells the old water spirit, the "au-mann." this spirit sleeps through the day while the sun shines down upon the water; but in starry and moonlit nights he shows himself. he is very old: grandmother says that she has heard her own grandmother tell of him; he is said to lead a solitary life, and to have nobody with whom he can converse save the great old church bell. once the bell hung in the church tower; but now there is no trace left of the tower or of the church, which was called st. alban's. "ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded the bell, when the tower still stood there; and one evening, while the sun was setting, and the bell was swinging away bravely, it broke loose and came flying down through the air, the brilliant metal shining in the ruddy beam. "ding-dong! ding-dong! now i'll retire to rest!" sang the bell, and flew down into the odense-au where it is deepest; and that is why the place is called the "bell-deep." but the bell got neither rest nor sleep. down in the au-mann's haunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones sometimes pierce upward through the waters; and many people maintain that its strains forebode the death of some one; but that is not true, for then the bell is only talking with the au-mann, who is now no longer alone. and what is the bell telling? it is old, very old, as we have already observed; it was there long before grandmother's grandmother was born; and yet it is but a child in comparison with the au-mann, who is an old quiet personage, an oddity, with his hose of eel-skin, and his scaly jacket with the yellow lilies for buttons, and a wreath of reed in his hair and seaweed in his beard; but he looks very pretty for all that. [illustration: the au-mann listening to the bell.] what the bell tells? to repeat it all would require years and days; for year by year it is telling the old stories, sometimes short ones, sometimes long ones, according to its whim; it tells of old times, of the dark hard times, thus: "in the church of st. alban, the monk mounted up into the tower. he was young and handsome, but thoughtful exceedingly. he looked through the loophole out upon the odense-au, when the bed of the water was yet broad, and the monks' meadow was still a lake; he looked out over it, and over the rampart, and over the nuns' hill opposite, where the convent lay, and the light gleamed forth from the nun's cell; he had known the nun right well, and he thought of her, and his heart beat quicker as he thought. ding-dong! ding-dong!" yes, this was the story the bell told. "into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the bishop; and when i, the bell, who am made of metal, rang hard and loud, and swung to and fro, i might have beaten out his brains. he sat down close under me, and played with two little sticks as if they had been a stringed instrument; and he sang to it. 'now i may sing it out aloud, though at other times i may not whisper it. i may sing of everything that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. yonder it is cold and wet. the rats are eating her up alive! nobody knows of it! nobody hears of it! not even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its loud ding-dong! ding-dong.' "there was a king in those days; they called him canute. he bowed himself before bishop and monk; but when he offended the free peasants with heavy taxes and hard words, they seized their weapons and put him to flight like a wild beast. he sought shelter in the church, and shut gate and door behind him. the violent band surrounded the church; i heard tell of it. the crows, ravens, and magpies started up in terror at the yelling and shouting that sounded around. they flew into the tower and out again, they looked down upon the throng below, and they also looked into the windows of the church, and screamed out aloud what they saw there. king canute knelt before the altar in prayer, his brothers eric and benedict stood by him as a guard with drawn swords; but the king's servant, the treacherous blake, betrayed his master; the throng in front of the church knew where they could hit the king, and one of them flung a stone through a pane of glass, and the king lay there dead! the cries and screams of the savage horde and of the birds sounded through the air, and i joined in it also; for i sang 'ding-dong! ding-dong!' "the church bell hangs high and looks far around, and sees the birds around it, and understands their language; the wind roars in upon it through windows and loopholes; and the wind knows everything, for he gets it from the air, which encircles all things, and the church bell understands his tongue, and rings it out into the world, 'ding-dong! ding-dong!' "but it was too much for me to hear and to know; i was not able any longer to ring it out. i became so tired, so heavy, that the beam broke, and i flew out into the gleaming au where the water is deepest, and where the au-mann lives, solitary and alone; and year by year i tell him what i have heard and what i know. ding-dong! ding-dong!" thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in the odense-au: that is what grandmother told us. but the schoolmaster says that there was not any bell that rung down there, for that it could not do so; and that no au-mann dwelt yonder, for there was no au-mann at all! and when all the other church bells are sounding sweetly, he says that it is not really the bells that are sounding, but that it is the air itself which sends forth the notes; and grandmother said to us that the bell itself said it was the air who told it him, consequently they are agreed on that point, and this much is sure. "be cautious, cautious, and take good heed to thyself," they both say. the air knows everything. it is around us, it is in us, it talks of our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks longer of them than does the bell down in the depths of the odense-au where the au-mann dwells; it rings it out into the vault of heaven, far, far out, for ever and ever, till the heaven bells sound "ding-dong! ding-dong!" the puppet showman. on board the steamer was an elderly man with such a merry face that, if it did not belie him, he must have been the happiest fellow in creation. and, indeed, he declared he was the happiest man; i heard it out of his own mouth. he was a dane, a travelling theatre director. he had all his company with him in a large box, for he was proprietor of a puppet-show. his inborn cheerfulness, he said, had been _purified_ by a polytechnic candidate, and the experiment had made him completely happy. i did not at first understand all this, but afterwards he explained the whole story to me, and here it is. he told me: [illustration: the animated puppets.] "it was in the little town of slagelse i gave a representation in the hall of the posting-house, and had a brilliant audience, entirely a juvenile one, with the exception of two respectable matrons. all at once a person in black, of student-like appearance, came into the room and sat down; he laughed aloud at the telling parts, and applauded quite appropriately. that was quite an unusual spectator for me! i felt anxious to know who he was, and i heard he was a candidate from the polytechnic institution in copenhagen, who had been sent out to instruct the folks in the provinces. punctually at eight o'clock my performance closed; for children must go early to bed, and a manager must consult the convenience of his public. at nine o'clock the candidate commenced his lecture, with experiments, and now i formed part of _his_ audience. it was wonderful to hear and to see. the greater part of it was beyond my scope; but still it made me think that if we men can find out so much, we must be surely intended to last longer than the little span until we are hidden away in the earth. they were quite miracles in a small way that he showed, and yet everything flowed as naturally as water! at the time of moses and the prophets such a man would have been received among the sages of the land; in the middle ages they would have burned him at a stake. all night long i could not go to sleep. and the next evening, when i gave another performance, and the candidate was again present, i felt fairly overflowing with humour. i once heard from a player that when he acted a lover he always thought of one particular lady among the audience; he only played for her, and forgot all the rest of the house; and now the polytechnic candidate was my 'she,' my only auditor, for whom alone i played. and when the performance was over, all the puppets were called before the curtain, and the polytechnic candidate invited me into his room to take a glass of wine; and he spoke of my comedies, and i of his science; and i believe we were both equally pleased. but i had the best of it, for there was much in what he did of which he could not always give me an explanation. for instance, that a piece of iron that falls through a spiral should become magnetic. now, how does that happen? the spirit comes upon it; but whence does it come? it is as with people in this world; they are made to tumble through the spiral of this world, and the spirit comes upon them, and there stands a napoleon, or a luther, or a person of that kind. 'the whole world is a series of miracles,' said the candidate; 'but we are so accustomed to them that we call them every-day matters.' and he went on explaining things to me until my skull seemed lifted up over my brain, and i declared that if i were not an old fellow i would at once visit the polytechnic institution, that i might learn to look at the sunny side of the world, though i am one of the happiest of men. 'one of the happiest!' said the candidate, and he seemed to take real pleasure in it. 'are you happy?' 'yes,' i replied, 'and they welcome me in all the towns where i come with my company; but i certainly have _one_ wish, which sometimes lies like lead, like an alp, upon my good humour: i should like to become a real theatrical manager, the director of a real troupe of men and women!' 'i see,' he said, 'you would like to have life breathed into your puppets, so that they might be real actors, and you their director; and would you then be quite happy?' he did not believe it; but i believed it, and we talked it over all manner of ways without coming any nearer to an agreement; but we clanked our glasses together, and the wine was excellent. there was some magic in it, or i should certainly have become tipsy. but that did not happen; i retained my clear view of things, and somehow there was sunshine in the room, and sunshine beamed out of the eyes of the polytechnic candidate. it made me think of the old stories of the gods, in their eternal youth, when they still wandered upon earth and paid visits to the mortals; and i said so to him, and he smiled, and i could have sworn he was one of the ancient gods in disguise, or that, at any rate, he belonged to the family! and certainly he must have been something of the kind, for my highest wish was to have been fulfilled, the puppets were to be gifted with life, and i was to be director of a real company. we drank to my success and clinked our glasses. he packed all my dolls into a box, bound the box on my back, and then let me fall through a spiral. i heard myself tumbling, and then i was lying on the floor--i know that quite well--and the whole company sprang out of the box. the spirit had come upon all of us: all the puppets had become distinguished artists, so they said themselves, and i was the director. all was ready for the first representation; the whole company wanted to speak to me, and the public also. the dancing lady said the house would fall down if she did not keep it up by standing on one leg; for she was the great genius, and begged to be treated as such. the lady who acted the queen wished to be treated off the stage as a queen, or else she should get out of practice. the man who was only employed to deliver a letter gave himself just as many airs as the first lover, for he declared the little ones were just as important as the great ones, and that all were of equal consequence, considered as an artistic whole. the hero would only play parts composed of nothing but points; for those brought him down the applause. the prima donna would only play in a red light; for she declared that a blue one did not suit her complexion. it was like a company of flies in a bottle; and i was in the bottle with them, for i was the director. my breath stopped and my head whirled round; i was as miserable as a man can be. it was quite a novel kind of men among whom i now found myself. i only wished i had them all in the box again, and that i had never been a director at all; so i told them roundly that after all they were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. i found myself lying on my bed in my room; and how i got there, and how i got away at all from the polytechnic candidate, he may perhaps know, for i don't. the moon shone upon the floor where the box lay open, and the dolls all in a confusion together--great and small all scattered about; but i was not idle. out of bed i jumped, and into the box they had all to go, some on their heads, some on their feet, and i shut down the lid and seated myself upon the box. 'now you'll just have to stay there,' said i, 'and i shall beware how i wish you flesh and blood again.' i felt quite light, my good humour had come back, and i was the happiest of mortals. the polytechnic student had fully purified me. i sat as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the box. the next morning--strictly speaking it was noon, for i slept wonderfully late that day--i was still sitting there, happy and conscious that my former wish had been a foolish one. i inquired for the polytechnic candidate, but he was gone, like the greek and roman gods; and from that time i've been the happiest of men. i am a happy director: none of my company ever grumble, nor my public either, for they are always merry. i can put my pieces together just as i please. i take out of every comedy what pleases me best, and no one is angry at it. pieces that are neglected now-a-days by the great public, but which it used to run after thirty years ago, and at which it used to cry till the tears ran down its cheeks, these pieces i now take up; i put them before the little ones, and the little ones cry just as papa and mamma used to cry thirty years ago; but i shorten them, for the youngsters don't like a long palaver; what they want is something mournful, but quick." the pigs. charles dickens once told us about a pig, and since that time we are in a good humour if we only hear one grunt. st. antony took the pig under his protection; and when we think of the prodigal son we always associate with him the idea of feeding swine; and it was in front of a pig-sty that a certain carriage stopped in sweden, about which i am going to talk. the farmer had his pig-sty built out towards the high road, close by his house, and it was a wonderful pig-sty. it was an old state carriage. the seats had been taken out and the wheels taken off, and so the body of the old coach lay on the ground, and four pigs were shut up inside it. i wonder if these were the first that had ever been there? that point could not certainly be determined; but that it had been a real state coach everything bore witness, even to the damask rag that hung down from the roof; everything spoke of better days. "humph! humph!" said the occupants, and the coach creaked and groaned; for it had come to a mournful end. "the beautiful has departed," it sighed--or at least it might have done so. we came back in autumn. the coach was there still, but the pigs were gone. they were playing the grand lords out in the woods. blossoms and leaves were gone from all the trees, and storm and rain ruled, and gave them neither peace nor rest; and the birds of passage had flown. "the beautiful has departed! this was the glorious green wood, but the song of the birds and the warm sunshine are gone! gone!" thus said the mournful voice that creaked in the lofty branches of the trees, and it sounded like a deep-drawn sigh, a sigh from the bosom of the wild rose tree, and of him who sat there; it was the rose king. do you know him? he is all beard, the finest reddish-green beard; he is easily recognized. go up to the wild rose bushes, and when in autumn all the flowers have faded from them, and only the wild hips remain, you will often find under them a great red-green moss flower; and that is the rose king. a little green leaf grows up out of his head, and that's his feather. he is the only man of his kind on the rose bush; and he it was who sighed. [illustration: the pigs at home in the old state coach.] "gone! gone! the beautiful is gone! the roses have faded, and the leaves fall down! it's wet here! it's boisterous here! the birds who used to sing are dumb, and the pigs go out hunting for acorns, and the pigs are the lords of the forest!" the nights were cold and the days were misty; but, for all that, the raven sat on the branch and sang, "good! good!" raven and crow sat on the high bough; and they had a large family, who all said, "good! good!" and the majority is always right. under the high trees, in the hollow, was a great puddle, and here the pigs reclined, great and small. they found the place so inexpressibly lovely! "oui! oui!" they all exclaimed. that was all the french they knew, but even that was something; and they were so clever and so fat! the old ones lay quite still, and reflected; the young ones were very busy, and were not quiet a moment. one little porker had a twist in his tail like a ring, and this ring was his mothers's pride: she thought all the rest were looking at the ring, and thinking only of the ring; but that they were not doing; they were thinking of themselves and of what was useful, and what was the use of the wood. they had always heard that the acorns they ate grew at the roots of the trees, and accordingly they had grubbed up the ground; but there came quite a little pig--it's always the young ones who come out with their new-fangled notions--who declared that the acorns fell down from the branches, for one had just fallen down on his head, and the idea had struck him at once, afterwards he had made observations, and now was quite certain on the point. the old ones put their heads together. "umph!" they said, "umph! the glory has departed: the twittering of the birds is all over: we want fruit; whatever's good to eat is good, and we eat everything." "oui! oui!" chimed in all the rest. but the mother now looked at her little porker, the one with the ring in his tail, "one must not overlook the beautiful," she said. "good! good!" cried the crow, and flew down from the tree to try and get an appointment as nightingale; for some one must be appointed; and the crow obtained the office directly. "gone! gone!" sighed the rose king. "all the beautiful is gone!" it was boisterous, it was grey, cold, and windy; and through the forest and over the field swept the rain in long dark streaks. where is the bird who sang, where are the flowers upon the meadow, and the sweet berries of the wood? gone! gone! then a light gleamed from the forester's house. it was lit up like a star, and threw its long ray among the trees. a song sounded forth out of the house! beautiful children played there round the old grandfather. he sat with the bible on his knee, and read of the creator and of a better world, and spoke of spring that would return, of the forest that would array itself in fresh green, of the roses that would bloom, the nightingale that would sing, and of the beautiful that would reign in its glory again. but the rose king heard it not, for he sat in the cold, damp weather, and sighed, "gone! gone!" and the pigs were the lords of the forest, and the old mother sow looked proudly at her little porker with the twist in his tail. "there is always somebody who has a soul for the beautiful!" she said. anne lisbeth. anne lisbeth had a colour like milk and blood; young, fresh, and merry, she looked beautiful, with gleaming white teeth and clear eyes; her footstep was light in the dance, and her mind was lighter still. and what came of it all? her son was an ugly brat! yes, he was not pretty; so he was put out to be nursed by the labourer's wife. anne lisbeth was taken into the count's castle, and sat there in the splendid room arrayed in silks and velvets; not a breath of wind might blow upon her, and no one was allowed to speak a harsh word to her. no, that might not be; for she was nurse to the count's child, which was delicate and fair as a prince, and beautiful as an angel; and how she loved this child! her own boy was provided for at the labourer's, where the mouth boiled over more frequently than the pot, and where, in general, no one was at home to take care of the child. then he would cry; but what nobody knows, that nobody cares for, and he would cry till he was tired, and then he fell asleep; and in sleep one feels neither hunger nor thirst. a capital invention is sleep. with years, just as weeds shoot up, anne lisbeth's child grew, but yet they said his growth was stunted; but he had quite become a member of the family in which he dwelt; they had received money to keep him. anne lisbeth was rid of him for good. she had become a town lady, and had a comfortable home of her own; and out of doors she wore a bonnet, when she went out for a walk; but she never walked out to see the labourer--that was too far from the town; and indeed she had nothing to go for; the boy belonged to the labouring people, and she said he could eat his food, and he should do something to earn his food, and consequently he kept matz's red cow. he could already tend cattle and make himself useful. the big dog, by the yard gate of the nobleman's mansion, sits proudly in the sunshine on the top of the kennel, and barks at every one who goes by: if it rains he creeps into his house, and there he is warm and dry. ann lisbeth's boy sat in the sunshine on the fence of the field, and cut out a pole-pin. in the spring he knew of three strawberry plants that were in blossom, and would certainly bear fruit, and that was his most hopeful thought; but they came to nothing. he sat out in the rain in foul weather, and was wet to the skin, and afterwards the cold wind dried the clothes on his back. when he came to the lordly farmyard he was hustled and cuffed, for the men and maids declared he was horribly ugly; but he was used to that--loved by nobody! that was how it went with anne lisbeth's boy; and how could it go otherwise? it was, once for all, his fate to be beloved by nobody. till now a "land crab," the land at last threw him overboard. he went to sea in a wretched vessel, and sat by the helm, while the skipper sat over the grog-can. he was dirty and ugly, half frozen and half starved: one would have thought he had never had enough; and that really was the case. it was late in autumn, rough, wet, windy weather; the wind cut cold through the thickest clothing, especially at sea; and out to sea went a wretched boat, with only two men on board, or, properly speaking, with only a man and a half, the skipper and his boy. it had only been a kind of twilight all day, and now it became dark; and it was bitter cold. the skipper drank a dram, which was to warm him from within. the bottle was old, and the glass too; it was whole at the top, but the foot was broken off, and therefore it stood upon a little carved block of wood painted blue. "a dram comforts one, and two are better still," thought the skipper. the boy sat at the helm, which he held fast in his hard seamed hands: he was ugly, and his hair was matted, and he looked crippled and stunted; he was the field labourer's boy, though in the church register he was entered as anne lisbeth's son. the wind cut its way through the rigging, and the boat cut through the sea. the sail blew out, filled by the wind, and they drove on in wild career. it was rough and wet around and above, and it might come worse still. hold! what was that? what struck there? what burst yonder? what seized the boat? it heeled, and lay on its beam ends! was it a waterspout? was it a heavy sea coming suddenly down? the boy at the helm cried out aloud, "heaven help us!" the boat had struck on a great rock standing up from the depths of the sea, and it sank like an old shoe in a puddle; it sank "with man and mouse," as the saying is; and there were mice on board, but only one man and a half, the skipper and the labourer's boy. no one saw it but the swimming seagulls, and the fishes down yonder, and even they did not see it rightly, for they started back in terror when the water rushed into the ship, and it sank. there it lay scarce a fathom below the surface, and those two were provided for, buried and forgotten! only the glass with the foot of blue wood did not sink; for the wood kept it up; the glass drifted away, to be broken and cast upon the shore--where and when? but, indeed, that is of no consequence. it had served its time, and it had been loved, which anne lisbeth's boy had not been. but in heaven no soul will be able to say, "never loved!" anne lisbeth had lived in the city for many years. she was called madame, and felt her dignity, when she remembered the old "noble" days in which she had driven in the carriage, and had associated with countesses and baronesses. her beautiful noble-child was the dearest angel, the kindest heart; he had loved her so much, and she had loved him in return; they had kissed and loved each other, and the boy had been her joy, her second life. now he was so tall, and was fourteen years old, handsome and clever: she had not seen him since she carried him in her arms; for many years she had not been in the count's palace, for indeed it was quite a journey thither. "i must once make an effort and go," said anne lisbeth. "i must go to my darling, to my sweet count's child. yes, he certainly must long to see me too, the young count; he thinks of me and loves me as in those days when he flung his angel arms round my neck and cried 'anne liz.!' it sounded like music. yes, i must make an effort and see him again." she drove across the country in a grazier's cart, and then got out and continued her journey on foot, and thus reached the count's castle. it was great and magnificent as it had always been, and the garden looked the same as ever; but all the people there were strangers to her; not one of them knew anne lisbeth, and they did not know of what consequence she had once been there, but she felt sure the countess would let them know it, and her darling boy too. how she longed to see him! now, anne lisbeth was at her journey's end. she was kept waiting a considerable time, and for those who wait time passes slowly. but before the great people went to table she was called in and accosted very graciously. she was to see her sweet boy after dinner, and then she was to be called in again. how tall and slender and thin he had grown! but he had still his beautiful eyes, and the angel-sweet mouth! he looked at her, but he said not a word: certainly he did not know her. he turned round, and was about to go away, but she seized his hand and pressed it to her mouth. "good, good!" said he; and with that he went out of the room--he who filled her every thought--he whom she had loved best, and who was her whole earthly pride. anne lisbeth went out of the castle into the open highway, and she felt very mournful; he had been so cold and strange to her, had not a word nor a thought for her, he whom she had once carried day and night, and whom she still carried in her dreams. [illustration: anne lisbeth's boy.] a great black raven shot down in front of her on to the high road, and croaked and croaked again. "ha!" she said, "what bird of ill omen art thou?" she came past the hut of the labourer; the wife stood at the door, and the two women spoke to one another. "you look well," said the woman. "you are plump and fat; you're well off." "oh, yes," answered anne lisbeth. "the boat went down with them," continued the woman. "hans skipper and the boy were both drowned. there's an end of them. i always thought the boy would be able to help me out with a few dollars. he'll never cost _you_ anything more, anne lisbeth." "so they were drowned?" anne lisbeth repeated; and then nothing more was said on the subject. anne lisbeth was very low-spirited because her count-child had shown no disposition to talk with her who loved him so well, and who had journeyed all that way to get a sight of him; and the journey had cost money too, though the pleasure she had derived from it was not great. still she said not a word about this. she would not relieve her heart by telling the labourer's wife about it, lest the latter should think she did not enjoy her former position at the castle. then the raven screamed again, and flew past over her once more. "the black wretch!" said anne lisbeth; "he'll end by frightening me to-day." she had brought coffee and chicory with her, for she thought it would be a charity towards the poor woman to give them to her to boil a cup of coffee, and then she herself would take a cup too. the woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime anne lisbeth sat down upon a chair and fell asleep. there she dreamed of something she had never dreamed before; singularly enough, she dreamed of her own child that had wept and hungered there in the labourer's hut, had been hustled about in heat and in cold, and was now lying in the depths of the sea, heaven knows where. she dreamed she was sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing the coffee--she could smell the roasting coffee beans. but suddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the threshold a beautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's child; and this apparition said to her, "the world is passing away! hold fast to me, for you are my mother after all. you have an angel in heaven. hold me fast!" and the child-angel stretched out its hand to her; and there was a terrible crash, for the world was going to pieces, and the angel was raising himself above the earth, and holding her by the sleeve so tightly, it seemed to her, that she was lifted up from the ground; but, on the other hand, something heavy hung at her feet and dragged her down, and it seemed to her that hundreds of women clung to her, and cried, "if thou art to be saved, we must be saved too! hold fast, hold fast!" and then they all hung on to her; but there were too many of them, and--_ritsch, ratsch!_--the sleeve tore, and anne lisbeth fell down in horror--and awoke. and indeed she was on the point of falling over, with the chair on which she sat; she was so startled and alarmed that she could not recollect what it was she had dreamed, but she remembered that it had been something dreadful. [illustration: anne lisbeth at the labourer's cottage.] the coffee was taken, and they had a chat together; and then anne lisbeth went away towards the little town where she was to meet the carrier, and to drive back with him to her own home. but when she came to speak to him, he said he should not be ready to start before the evening of the next day. she began to think about the expense and the length of the way, and when she considered that the route by the sea shore was shorter by two miles than the other, and that the weather was clear and the moon shone, she determined to make her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might be at home by next day. the sun had set, and the evening bells, tolled in the towers of the village churches, still sounded through the air; but no, it was not the bells, but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. now they were silent, and all around was still; not a bird was heard, for they were all gone to rest; and even the owl seemed to be at home; deep silence reigned on the margin of the forest and by the sea shore: as anne lisbeth walked on she could hear her own footsteps on the sand; there was no sound of waves in the sea; everything out in the deep waters had sunk to silence. all was quiet there, the living and the dead creatures of the sea. anne lisbeth walked on "thinking of nothing at all," as the saying is, or rather, her thoughts wandered; but thoughts had not wandered away from her, for they are never absent from us, they only slumber. but those that have not yet stirred come forth at their time, and begin to stir sometimes in the heart and sometimes in the head, and seem to come upon us as if from above. it is written that a good deed bears its fruit of blessing, and it is also written that sin is death. much has been written and much has been said which one does not know or think of in general; and thus it was with anne lisbeth. but it may happen that a light arises within one, and that the forgotten things may approach. all virtues and all vices lie in our hearts. they are in mine and in thine; they lie there like little grains of seed; and then from without comes a ray of sunshine or the touch of an evil hand, or maybe you turn the corner and go to the right or to the left, and that may be decisive; for the little seed-corn perhaps is stirred, and it swells and shoots up, and it bursts, and pours its sap into all your blood, and then your career has commenced. there are tormenting thoughts, which one does not feel when one walks on with slumbering senses, but they are there, fermenting in the heart. anne lisbeth walked on thus with her senses half in slumber, but the thoughts were fermenting within her. from one shrove tuesday to the next there comes much that weighs upon the heart--the reckoning of a whole year: much is forgotten, sins against heaven in word and in thought, against our neighbour, and against our own conscience. we don't think of these things, and anne lisbeth did not think of them. she had committed no crime against the law of the land, she was very respectable, an honoured and well-placed person, that she knew. and as she walked along by the margin of the sea, what was it she saw lying there? an old hat, a man's hat. now, where might that have been washed overboard? she came nearer, and stopped to look at the hat. ha! what was lying yonder? she shuddered; but it was nothing save a heap of sea grass and tangle flung across a long stone; but it looked just like a corpse: it was only sea grass and tangle, and yet she was frightened at it, and as she turned away to walk on much came into her mind that she had heard in her childhood; old superstitions of spectres by the sea shore, of the ghosts of drowned but unburied people whose corpses have been washed up on to the desert shore. the body, she had heard, could do harm to none, but the spirit could pursue the lonely wanderer, and attach itself to him, and demand to be carried to the churchyard that it might rest in consecrated ground. "hold fast! hold fast!" the spectre would then cry; and while anne lisbeth murmured the words to herself, her whole dream suddenly stood before her just as she had dreamed it, when the mothers clung to her and had repeated this word, amid the crash of the world, when her sleeve was torn and she slipped out of the grasp of her child, who wanted to hold her up in that terrible hour. her child, her own child, which she had never loved, lay now buried in the sea, and might rise up like a spectre from the waters, and cry "hold fast! carry me to consecrated earth." and as these thoughts passed through her mind, fear gave speed to her feet, so that she walked on faster and faster; fear came upon her like the touch of a cold wet hand that was laid upon her heart, so that she almost fainted; and as she looked out across the sea, all there grew darker and darker; a heavy mist came rolling onward, and clung round bush and tree, twisting them into fantastic shapes. she turned round, and glanced up at the moon, which had risen behind her. it looked like a pale, rayless surface; and a deadly weight appeared to cling to her limbs. "hold fast!" thought she; and when she turned round a second time and looked at the moon, its white face seemed quite close to her, and the mist hung like a pale garment from her shoulders. "hold fast! carry me to consecrated earth!" sounded in her ears in strange hollow tones. the sound did not come from frogs or ravens; she saw no sign of any such creatures. "a grave, dig me a grave!" was repeated quite loud. yes, it was the spectre of her child, the child that lay in the ocean, and whose spirit could have no rest until it was carried to the churchyard, and until a grave had been dug for it in consecrated ground. thither she would go, and there she would dig; and she went on in the direction of the church, and the weight on her heart seemed to grow lighter, and even to vanish altogether; but when she turned to go home by the shortest way, it returned. "hold fast! hold fast!" and the words came quite clear, though they were like the croak of a frog or the wail of a bird, "a grave! dig me a grave!" the mist was cold and damp; her hands and face were cold and damp with horror; a heavy weight again seized her and clung to her, and in her mind a great space opened for thoughts that had never before been there. here in the north the beech wood often buds in a single night, and in the morning sunlight it appears in its full glory of youthful green; and thus in a single instant can the consciousness unfold itself of the sin that has been contained in the thoughts, words, and works of our past life. it springs up and unfolds itself in a single second when once the conscience is awakened; and god wakens it when we least expect it. then we find no excuse for ourselves--the deed is there, and bears witness against us; the thoughts seem to become words, and to sound far out into the world. we are horrified at the thought of what we have carried within us, and have not stifled over what we have sown in our thoughtlessness and pride. the heart hides within itself all the virtues and likewise all the vices, and they grow even in the shallowest ground. anne lisbeth now experienced all the thoughts we have clothed in words. she was overpowered by them, and sank down, and crept along for some distance on the ground. "a grave! dig me a grave!" it sounded again in her ears; and she would gladly have buried herself if in the grave there had been forgetfulness of every deed. it was the first hour of her awakening; full of anguish and horror. superstition alternately made her shudder with cold and made her blood burn with the heat of fever. many things of which she had never liked to speak came into her mind. silent as the cloud shadows in the bright moonshine, a spectral apparition flitted by her: she had heard of it before. close by her gallopped four snorting steeds, with fire spurting from their eyes and nostrils; they dragged a red-hot coach, and within it sat the wicked proprietor who had ruled here a hundred years ago. the legend said that every night at twelve o'clock he drove into his castle yard and out again. there! there! he was not pale as dead men are said to be, but black as a coal. he nodded at anne lisbeth and beckoned to her. "hold fast! hold fast! then you may ride again in a nobleman's carriage, and forget your child!" she gathered herself up, and hastened to the churchyard; but the black crosses and the black ravens danced before her eyes, and she could not distinguish one from the other. the ravens croaked, as the raven had done that she saw in the daytime, but now she understood what they said. "i am the raven-mother! i am the raven-mother!" each raven croaked, and anne lisbeth now understood that the name also applied to her; and she fancied she should be transformed into a black bird, and be obliged to cry what they cried if she did not dig the grave. [illustration: anne lisbeth found on the sea shore.] and she threw herself on the earth, and with her hands dug a grave in the hard ground, so that the blood ran from her fingers. "a grave! dig me a grave!" it still sounded; she was fearful that the cock might crow, and the first red streak appear in the east, before she had finished her work, and then she would be lost. and the cock crowed, and day dawned in the east, and the grave was only half dug. an icy hand passed over her head and face, and down towards her heart. "only half a grave!" a voice wailed, and fled away. yes, it fled away over the sea--it was the ocean spectre; and exhausted and overpowered, anne lisbeth sunk to the ground, and her senses forsook her. it was bright day when she came to herself, and two men were raising her up; but she was not lying in the churchyard, but on the sea shore, where she had dug a deep hole in the sand, and cut her hand against a broken glass, whose sharp stem was stuck in a little painted block of wood. anne lisbeth was in a fever. conscience had shuffled the cards of superstition, and had laid out these cards, and she fancied she had only half a soul, and that her child had taken the other half down into the sea. never would she be able to swing herself aloft to the mercy of heaven, till she had recovered this other half, which was now held fast in the deep water. anne lisbeth got back to her former home, but was no longer the woman she had been: her thoughts were confused like a tangled skein; only one thread, only one thought she had disentangled, namely, that she must carry the spectre of the sea shore to the churchyard, and dig a grave for him, that thus she might win back her soul. many a night she was missed from her home; and she was always found on the sea shore, waiting for the spectre. in this way a whole year passed by; and then one night she vanished again, and was not to be found; the whole of the next day was wasted in fruitless search. towards evening, when the clerk came into the church to toll the vesper bell, he saw by the altar anne lisbeth, who had spent the whole day there. her physical forces were almost exhausted, but her eyes gleamed brightly, and her cheeks had a rosy flush. the last rays of the sun shone upon her, and gleamed over the altar on the bright buckles of the bible which lay there, opened at the words of the prophet joel: "bend your hearts, and not your garments, and turn unto the lord!" that was just a chance, the people said; as many things happen by chance. in the face of anne lisbeth, illumined by the sun, peace and rest were to be seen. she said she was happy, for now she had conquered. last night the spectre of the shore, her own child, had come to her, and had said to her, "thou hast dug me only half a grave, but thou hast now, for a year and a day, buried me altogether in thy heart, and it is there that a mother can best hide her child!" and then he gave her her lost soul back again, and brought her here into the church. "now i am in the house of god," she said, "and in that house we are happy." and when the sun had set, anne lisbeth's soul had risen to that region where there is no more anguish, and anne lisbeth's troubles were over. charming. alfred the sculptor--you know him? we all know him: he won the great gold medal, and got a travelling scholarship, went to italy, and then came back to his native land. he was young in those days, and indeed he is young yet, though he is ten years older than he was then. after his return he visited one of the little provincial towns on the island of seeland. the whole town knew who the stranger was, and one of the richest persons gave a party in honour of him, and all who were of any consequence, or possessed any property, were invited. it was quite an event, and all the town knew of it without its being announced by beat of drum. apprentice boys, and children of poor people, and even some of the poor people themselves, stood in front of the house, and looked at the lighted curtain; and the watchman could fancy that _he_ was giving a party, so many people were in the streets. there was quite an air of festivity about, and in the house was festivity also, for mr. alfred the sculptor was there. he talked, and told anecdotes, and all listened to him with pleasure and a certain kind of awe; but none felt such respect for him as did the elderly widow of an official: she seemed, so far as mr. alfred was concerned, like a fresh piece of blotting paper, that absorbed all that was spoken, and asked for more. she was very appreciative, and incredibly ignorant--a kind of female caspar hauser. "i should like to see rome," she said. "it must be a lovely city, with all the strangers who are continually arriving there. now, do give us a description of rome. how does the city look when you come in by the gate?" "i cannot very well describe it," replied the sculptor. "a great open place, and in the midst of it an obelisk, which is a thousand years old." "an organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never met with the word _obelisk_. a few of the guests could hardly keep from laughing, nor could the sculptor quite keep his countenance; but the smile that rose to his lips faded away, for he saw, close by the inquisitive dame, a pair of dark blue eyes--they belonged to the daughter of the speaker, and any one who has such a daughter cannot be silly! the mother was like a fountain of questions, and the daughter, who listened, but never spoke, might pass for the beautiful naiad of the fountain. how charming she was! she was a study for the sculptor to contemplate, but not to converse with; and, indeed, she did not speak, or only very seldom. "has the pope a large family?" asked the lady. and the young man considerately answered, as if the question had been better put, "no, he does not come of a great family." "that's not what i mean," the widow persisted. "i mean, has he a wife and children?" "the pope is not allowed to marry," said the gentleman. "i don't like that," was the lady's comment. she certainly might have put more sensible questions; but if she had not spoken in just the manner she used, would her daughter have leant so gracefully on her shoulder, looking straight out with the almost mournful smile upon her face? then mr. alfred spoke again, and told of the glory of colour in italy, of the purple hills, the blue mediterranean, the azure sky of the south, whose brightness and glory was only surpassed in the north by a maiden's deep blue eyes. and this he said with a peculiar application; but she who should have understood his meaning, looked as if she were quite unconscious of it, and that again was charming! "italy!" sighed a few of the guests. "oh, to travel!" sighed others. "charming, charming!" chorused they all. "yes, if i win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery," said the head tax-collector's lady, "then we will travel. i and my daughter, and you, mr. alfred; you must be our guide. we'll all three travel together, and one or two good friends more." and she nodded in such a friendly way at the company, that each one might imagine he or she was the person who was to be taken to italy. "yes, we will go to italy! but not to those parts where there are robbers--we'll keep to rome, and to the great high roads where one is safe." and the daughter sighed very quietly. and how much may lie in one little sigh, or be placed in it! the young man placed a great deal in it. the two blue eyes, lit up that evening in honour of him, must conceal treasures--treasures of the heart and mind--richer than all the glories of rome; and when he left the party that night he had lost _his_ heart--lost it completely, to the young lady. the house of the head tax-collector's widow was the one which mr. alfred the sculptor most assiduously frequented; and it was understood that his visits were not intended for that lady, though he and she were the people who kept up the conversation; he came for the daughter's sake. they called her kala. her name was really calen malena, and these two names had been contracted into the one name, kala. she was beautiful; but a few said she was rather dull, and probably slept late of a morning. "she has been always accustomed to that," her mother said. "she's a beauty, and they always are easily tired. she sleeps rather late, but that makes her eyes so clear." what a power lay in the depths of these dark blue eyes! "still waters run deep." the young man felt the truth of this proverb; and his heart had sunk into the depths. he spoke and told his adventures, and the mamma was as simple and eager in her questioning as on the first evening of their meeting. it was a pleasure to hear alfred describe anything. he spoke of naples, of excursions to mount vesuvius, and showed coloured prints of several of the eruptions. and the head tax-collector's widow had never heard of them before, or taken time to consider the question. "good heavens!" she exclaimed. "so that is a burning mountain! but is it not dangerous to the people round about?" "whole cities have been destroyed," he answered; "for instance, pompeii and herculaneum." "but the poor people!--and you saw all that with your own eyes?" "no, i did not see any of the eruptions represented in these pictures, but i will show you a picture of my own, of an eruption i saw." he laid a pencil sketch upon the table, and mamma, who had been absorbed in the contemplation of the highly coloured prints, threw a glance at the pale drawing, and cried in astonishment, "did you see it throw up white fire?" for a moment alfred's respect for kala's mamma suffered a sudden diminution; but, dazzled by the light that illumined kala, he soon found it quite natural that the old lady should have no eye for colour. after all, it was of no consequence, for kala's mamma had the best of all things--namely, kala herself. and alfred and kala were betrothed, which was natural enough, and the betrothal was announced in the little newspaper of the town. mamma purchased thirty copies of the paper, that she might cut out the paragraph and send it to friends and acquaintances. and the betrothed pair were happy, and the mother-in-law elect was happy too; for it seemed like connecting herself with thorwaldsen. "for you are a continuation of thorwaldsen," she said to alfred. and it seemed to alfred that mamma had in this instance said a clever thing. kala said nothing; but her eyes shone, her lips smiled, her every movement was graceful: yes, she was beautiful; that cannot be too often repeated. alfred undertook to take a bust of kala and of his mother-in-law. they sat to him accordingly, and saw how he moulded and smoothed the soft clay with his fingers. "i suppose it's only on our account," said mamma-in-law, "that you undertake this commonplace work, and don't leave your servant to do all that sticking together." "it is highly necessary that i should mould the clay myself," he replied. "ah, yes, you are so very polite," retorted mamma; and kala silently pressed his hand, still soiled by the clay. and he unfolded to both of them the loveliness of nature in creation, pointing out how the living stood higher in the scale than the dead creature, how the plant was developed beyond the mineral, the animal beyond the plant, and man beyond the animal. he strove to show them how mind and beauty become manifest in outward form, and how it was the sculptor's task to seize that beauty and to manifest it in his works. kala stood silent, and nodded approbation of the expressed thought, while mamma-in-law made the following confession: "it's difficult to follow all that. but i manage to hobble after you with my thoughts, though they whirl round and round, but i contrive to hold them fast." and kala's beauty held alfred fast, filled his soul, and seized and mastered him. beauty gleamed forth from kala's every feature--gleamed from her eyes, lurked in the corners of her mouth, and in every movement of her fingers. alfred the sculptor saw this: he spoke only of her, thought only of her, and the two became one; and thus it may be said that she spoke much, for he and she were one, and he was always talking of her. such was the betrothal; and now came the wedding, with bridesmaids and wedding presents, all duly mentioned in the wedding speech. mamma-in-law had set up thorwaldsen's bust at the end of the table, attired in a dressing-gown, for he was to be a guest; such was her whim. songs were sung and cheers were given, for it was a gay wedding, and they were a handsome pair. "pygmalion received his galatea," so one of the songs said. [illustration: kala's bust.] "ah, that's your mythologies," said mamma-in-law. next day the youthful pair started for copenhagen, where they were to live. mamma-in-law accompanied them, "to take care of the commonplace," as she said, meaning the domestic economy. kala was like a doll in a doll's house, all was so bright, so new, and so fine. there they sat, all three; and as for alfred, to use a proverb that will describe his position, we may say that he sat like the friar in the goose-yard. the magic of form had enchanted him. he had looked at the case, and cared not to inquire what the case contained, and that omission brings unhappiness, much unhappiness, into married life; for the case may be broken, and the gilt may come off; and then the purchaser may repent his bargain. in a large party it is very disagreeable to observe that one's buttons are giving way, and that there are no buckles to fall back upon; but it is worse still in a great company to become aware that wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense, and that one cannot depend upon oneself for a happy piece of wit to carry off the stupidity of the thing. the young married pair often sat hand in hand, he speaking and she letting fall a word here and there--the same melody, the same clear, bell-like sounds. it was a mental relief when sophy, one of her friends, came to pay a visit. sophy was not pretty. she was certainly free from bodily deformity, though kala always asserted she was a little crooked; but no eye save a friend's would have remarked it. she was a very sensible girl, and it never occurred to her that she might become at all dangerous here. her appearance was like a pleasant breath of air in the doll's house; and air was certainly required here, as they all acknowledged. they felt they wanted airing, and consequently they came out into the air, and mamma-in-law and the young couple travelled to italy. * * * * * "thank heaven that we are in our own four walls again," was the exclamation of mother and daughter when they came home, a year after. "there's no pleasure in travelling," said mamma-in-law. "to tell the truth, it's very wearisome--i beg pardon for saying so. i found the time hang heavy, though i had my children with me; and it's expensive work, travelling, very expensive! and all those galleries one has to see, and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after! you must do it for decency's sake, for you're sure to be asked when you come back; and then you're sure to be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeing. i got tired at last of those endless madonnas; one seemed to be turning a madonna oneself!" "and what bad living you get!" said kala. "yes," replied mamma, "no such thing as an honest meat soup. it's miserable trash, their cookery." and the travelling fatigued kala: she was always fatigued, that was the worst of it. sophy was taken into the house, where her presence was a real advantage. mamma-in-law acknowledged that sophy understood both housewifery and art, though a knowledge of the latter could not be expected from a person of her limited means; and she was, moreover, an honest, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughly while kala lay sick--fading away. where the case is everything, the case should be strong, or else all is over. and all _was_ over with the case--kala died. "she was beautiful," said mamma, "she was quite different from the antiques, for they are so damaged. a beauty ought to be perfect, and kala was a perfect beauty." alfred wept, and mamma wept, and both of them wore mourning. the black dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning the longest. moreover, she had to experience another grief in seeing alfred marry again--marry sophy, who had no appearance at all. "he's gone to the very extreme," cried mamma-in-law; "he has gone from the most beautiful to the ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. men have no endurance. my husband was of a different stamp, and he died before me." "pygmalion received his galatea," said alfred: "yes, that's what they said in the wedding song. i had once really fallen in love with the beautiful statue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the kindred soul which heaven sends down to us, the angel who can feel and sympathise with and elevate us, i have not found and won till now. you came, sophy, not in the glory of outward beauty, though you are fair, fairer than is needful. the chief thing remains the chief. you came to teach the sculptor that his work is but clay and dust, only an outward form in a fabric that passes away, and that we must seek the essence, the internal spirit. poor kala! ours was but wayfarers' life. yonder, where we shall know each other by sympathy, we shall be half strangers." "that was not lovingly spoken," said sophy, "not spoken like a christian. yonder, where there is no giving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls attract each other by sympathy; there where everything beautiful develops itself and is elevated, her soul may acquire such completeness that it may sound more harmoniously than mine; and you will then once more utter the first raptured exclamation of your love, beautiful--most beautiful!" in the duck-yard. a duck arrived from portugal. some said she came from spain, but that's all the same. at any rate she was called the portuguese, and laid eggs, and was killed and cooked, and that was _her_ career. but the ducklings which crept forth from her eggs were afterwards also called portuguese, and there is something in that. now, of the whole family there was only one left in the duck-yard, a yard to which the chickens had access likewise, and where the cock strutted about in a very aggressive manner. "he annoys me with his loud crowing!" observed the portuguese duck. "but he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, though he is not a drake. he ought to moderate his voice, but that's an art inseparable from polite education, like that possessed by the little singing birds over in the lime trees in the neighbour's garden. how charmingly they sing! there's something quite pretty in their warbling. i call it portugal. if i had only such a little singing bird, i'd be a mother to him, kind and good, for that's in my blood, my portuguese blood!" and while she was still speaking, a little singing bird came head over heels from the roof into the yard. the cat was behind him, but the bird escaped with a broken wing, and that's how he came tumbling into the yard. "that's just like the cat; she's a villain!" said the portuguese duck. "i remember her ways when i had children of my own. that such a creature should be allowed to live, and to wander about upon the roofs! i don't think they do such things in portugal!" and she pitied the little singing bird, and the other ducks who were not of portuguese descent pitied him too. "poor little creature!" they said, as one after another came up. "we certainly can't sing," they said, "but we have a sounding board, or something of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don't talk of it." "but i can talk of it," said the portuguese duck; "and i'll do something for the little fellow, for that's my duty!" and she stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so heartily, that the little singing bird was almost drowned by the bath she got, but the duck meant it kindly. "that's a good deed," she said: "the others may take example by it." "piep!" said the little bird; one of his wings was broken, and he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quite understood that the bath was kindly meant. "you are very kind-hearted, madam," he said; but he did not wish for a second bath. "i have never thought about my heart," continued the portuguese duck, "but i know this much, that i love all my fellow-creatures except the cat; but nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. but pray make yourself at home, for one can make oneself comfortable. i myself am from a strange country, as you may see from my bearing, and from my feathery dress. my drake is a native of these parts, he's not of my race; but for all that i'm not proud! if any one here in the yard can understand you, i may assert that i am that person." "she's quite full of portulak," said a little common duck, who was witty; and all the other common ducks considered the word _portulak_ quite a good joke, for it sounded like portugal; and they nudged each other and said "rapp!" it was too witty! and all the other ducks now began to notice the little singing bird. "the portuguese has certainly a greater command of language," they said. "for our part, we don't care to fill our beaks with such long words, but our sympathy is just as great. if we don't do anything for you, we march about with you everywhere; and we think that the best thing we can do." "you have a lovely voice," said one of the oldest. "it must be a great satisfaction to be able to give so much pleasure as you are able to impart. i certainly am no great judge of your song, and consequently i keep my beak shut; and even that is better than talking nonsense to you, as others do." "don't plague him so," interposed the portuguese duck: "he requires rest and nursing. my little singing bird, do you wish me to prepare another bath for you?" "oh no! pray let me be dry!" was the little bird's petition. "the water-cure is the only remedy for me when i am unwell," quoth the portuguese. "amusement is beneficial too! the neighbouring fowls will soon come to pay their visit. there are two cochin chinese among them. they wear feathers on their legs, are well educated, and have been brought from afar, consequently they stand higher than the others in my regard." and the fowls came, and the cock came; to-day he was polite enough to abstain from being rude. "you are a true singing bird," he said, "and you do as much with your little voice as can possibly be done with it. but one requires a little more shrillness, that every hearer may hear that one is a male." the two chinese stood quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing bird. he looked very much rumpled after his bath, so that he seemed to them to have quite the appearance of a little cochin china fowl. "he's charming," they cried, and began a conversation with him, speaking in whispers, and using the most aristocratic chinese dialect. [illustration: the little singing bird receives distinguished patronage.] "we are of your race," they continued. "the ducks, even the portuguese, are swimming birds, as you cannot fail to have noticed. you do not know us yet; very few know us, or give themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance--not even any of the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade on the ladder than most of the rest. but that does not disturb us: we quietly pursue our path amid the others, whose principles are certainly not ours; for we look at things on the favourable side, and only speak of what is good, though it is difficult sometimes to find something when nothing exists. except us two and the cock, there's no one in the whole poultry-yard who is at once talented and polite. it cannot even be said of the inhabitants of the duck-yard. we warn you, little singing bird: don't trust that one yonder with the short tail feathers, for she's cunning. the pied one there, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a strife-seeker, and lets nobody have the last word, though she's always in the wrong. the fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and that's against our principles: if we have nothing good to tell, we should hold our beaks. the portuguese is the only one who has any education, and with whom one can associate, but she is passionate, and talks too much about portugal." "i wonder what those two chinese are always whispering to one another about," whispered one duck to her friend. "they annoy me--we have never spoken to them." now the drake came up. he thought the little singing bird was a sparrow. "well, i don't understand the difference," he said; "and indeed it's all the same thing. he's only a plaything, and if one has them, why, one has them." "don't attach any value to what he says," the portuguese whispered. "he's very respectable in business matters; and with him business takes precedence of everything. but now i shall lie down for a rest. one owes that to oneself, that one may be nice and fat when one is to be embalmed with apples and plums." and accordingly she lay down in the sun, and winked with one eye; and she lay very comfortably, and she felt very comfortable, and she slept very comfortably. the little singing bird busied himself with his broken wing. at last he lay down too, and pressed close to his protectress: the sun shone warm and bright, and he had found a very good place. but the neighbour's fowls were awake. they went about scratching up the earth; and, to tell the truth, they had paid the visit simply and solely to find food for themselves. the chinese were the first to leave the duck-yard; and the other fowls soon followed them. the witty little duck said of the portuguese that the old lady was becoming a ducky dotard. at this the other ducks laughed and cackled aloud. "ducky dotard," they whispered; "that's too witty!" and then they repeated the former joke about portulak, and declared that it was vastly amusing. and then they lay down. they had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. it came down with such a thwack, that the whole company started up from sleep and clapped their wings. the portuguese awoke too, and threw herself over on the other side, pressing the little singing bird very hard as she did so. "piep!" he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam." "well, why do you lie in my way?" the duck retorted. "you must not be so touchy. i have nerves of my own, but yet i never called out 'piep!' "don't be angry," said the little bird "the 'piep' came out of my beak unawares." the portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she could, and made a good meal. when this was ended, and she lay down again, the little bird came up, and wanted to be amiable, and sang: "tillee-lilly lee, of the good spring time, i'll sing so fine as far away i flee." "now i want to rest after my dinner," said the portuguese. "you must conform to the rules of the house while you're here. i want to sleep now." the little singing bird was quite taken aback, for he had meant it kindly. when madam afterwards awoke, he stood before her again with a little corn that he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept well, she was naturally in a very bad humour. "give that to a chicken!" she said, "and don't be always standing in my way." "why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing bird. "what have i done?" "done!" repeated the portuguese duck: "your mode of expression is not exactly genteel; a fact to which i must call your attention." "yesterday it was sunshine here," said the little bird, "but to-day it's cloudy and the air is close." "you don't know much about the weather, i fancy," retorted the portuguese. "the day is not done yet. don't stand there looking so stupid." "but you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when i fell into the yard yesterday." "impertinent creature!" exclaimed the portuguese duck, "would you compare me with the cat, that beast of prey? there's not a drop of malicious blood in me. i've taken your part, and will teach you good manners." and so saying, she bit off the singing bird's head, and he lay dead on the ground. "now, what's the meaning of this?" she said, "could he not bear even that? then certainly he was not made for this world. i've been like a mother to him i know that, for i've a good heart." then the neighbour's cock stuck his head into the yard, and crowed with steam-engine power. "you'll kill me with your crowing!" she cried. "it's all your fault. he's lost his head, and i am very near losing mine." "there's not much lying where he fell!" observed the cock. "speak of him with respect," retorted the portuguese duck, "for he had song, manners, and education. he was affectionate and soft, and that's as good in animals, as in your so-called human beings." and all the ducks came crowding round the little dead singing bird. ducks have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity; and as there was nothing here to envy, pity manifested itself, even in the two chinese. "we shall never get such a singing bird again; he was almost a chinese," they whispered, and they wept with a mighty clucking sound, and all the fowls clucked too; but the ducks went about with the redder eyes. "we've hearts of our own," they said; "nobody can deny that." "hearts!" repeated the portuguese, "yes, that we have, almost as much as in portugal." "let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger," said the drake, "for that's the most important point. if one of our toys is broken, why, we have plenty more!" the girl who trod on the loaf. the story of the girl who trod on the loaf, to avoid soiling her shoes, and of the misfortunes that befell this girl, is well known. it has been written, and even printed. the girl's name was ingé; she was a poor child, but proud and presumptuous; there was a bad foundation in her, as the saying is. when she was quite a little child, it was her delight to catch flies, and tear off their wings, so as to convert them into creeping things. grown older, she would take cockchafers and beetles, and spit them on pins. then she pushed a green leaf or a little scrap of paper towards their feet, and the poor creatures seized it, and held it fast, and turned it over and over, struggling to get free from the pin. "the cockchafer is reading," ingé would say. "see how he turns the leaf round and round!" with years she grew worse rather than better; but she was pretty, and that was her misfortune; otherwise she would have been more sharply reproved than she was. "your headstrong will requires something strong to break it!" her own mother often said. "as a little child, you used to trample on my apron; but i fear you will one day trample on my heart." and that is what she really did. she was sent into the country, into service in the house of rich people, who kept her as their own child, and dressed her in corresponding style. she looked well, and her presumption increased. when she had been there about a year, her mistress said to her, "you ought once to visit your parents, ingé." and ingé set out to visit her parents, but it was only to show herself in her native place, and that the people there might see how grand she had become; but when she came to the entrance of the village, and the young husbandmen and maids stood there chatting, and her own mother appeared among them, sitting on a stone to rest, and with a faggot of sticks before her that she had picked up in the wood, then ingé turned back, for she felt ashamed that she, who was so finely dressed, should have for a mother a ragged woman, who picked up wood in the forest. she did not turn back out of pity for her mother's poverty, she was only angry. and another half-year went by, and her mistress said again, "you ought to go to your home, and visit your old parents, ingé. i'll make you a present of a great wheaten loaf that you may give to them; they will certainly be glad to see you again." and ingé put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, and drew her skirts around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be clean and neat about the feet; and there was no harm in that. but when she came to the place where the footway led across the moor, and where there was mud and puddles, she threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it to pass over without wetting her feet. but as she stood there with one foot upon the loaf and the other uplifted to step farther, the loaf sank with her, deeper and deeper, till she disappeared altogether, and only a great puddle, from which the bubbles rose, remained where she had been. and that's the story. [illustration: ingÉ turns back at the sight of her poor mother.] but whither did ingé go? she sank into the moor ground, and went down to the moor woman, who is always brewing there. the moor woman is cousin to the elf maidens, who are well enough known, of whom songs are sung, and whose pictures are painted; but concerning the moor woman it is only known that when the meadows steam in summer-time it is because she is brewing. into the moor woman's brewery did ingé sink down; and no one can endure that place long. a box of mud is a palace compared with the moor woman's brewery. every barrel there has an odour that almost takes away one's senses; and the barrels stand close to each other; and wherever there is a little opening among them, through which one might push one's way, the passage becomes impracticable from the number of damp toads and fat snakes who sit out their time there. among this company did ingé fall; and all the horrible mass of living creeping things was so icy cold, that she shuddered in all her limbs, and became stark and stiff. she continued fastened to the loaf, and the loaf drew her down as an amber button draws a fragment of straw. the moor woman was at home, and on that day there were visitors in the brewery. these visitors were old bogey and his grandmother, who came to inspect it; and bogey's grandmother is a venomous old woman, who is never idle: she never rides out to pay a visit without taking her work with her; and, accordingly, she had brought it on the day in question. she sewed biting-leather to be worked into men's shoes, and which makes them wander about unable to settle anywhere. she wove webs of lies, and strung together hastily-spoken words that had fallen to the ground; and all this was done for the injury and ruin of mankind. yes, indeed, she knew how to sew, to weave, and to string, this old grandmother! catching sight of ingé, she put up her double eye-glass, and took another look at the girl. "that's a girl who has ability!" she observed, "and i beg you will give me the little one as a memento of my visit here. she'll make a capital statue to stand in my grandson's antechamber." and ingé was given up to her, and this is how ingé came into bogey's domain. people don't always go there by the direct path, but they can get there by roundabout routes if they have a tendency in that direction. that was a never-ending antechamber. the visitor became giddy who looked forward, and doubly giddy when he looked back, and saw a whole crowd of people, almost utterly exhausted, waiting till the gate of mercy should be opened to them--they had to wait a long time! great fat waddling spiders spun webs of a thousand years over their feet, and these webs cut like wire, and bound them like bronze fetters; and, moreover, there was an eternal unrest working in every heart--a miserable unrest. the miser stood there, and had forgotten the key of his strong box, and he knew the key was sticking in the lock. it would take too long to describe the various sorts of torture that were found there together. ingé felt a terrible pain while she had to stand there as a statue, for she was tied fast to the loaf. "that's the fruit of wishing to keep one's feet neat and tidy," she said to herself. "just look how they're all staring at me!" yes, certainly, the eyes of all were fixed upon her, and their evil thoughts gleamed forth from their eyes, and they spoke to one another, moving their lips, from which no sound whatever came forth: they were very horrible to behold. "it must be a great pleasure to look at me!" thought ingé, "and indeed i have a pretty face and fine clothes." and she turned her eyes, for she could not turn her head; her neck was too stiff for that. but she had not considered how her clothes had been soiled in the moor woman's brewhouse. her garments were covered with mud; a snake had fastened in her hair, and dangled down her back; and out of each fold of her frock a great toad looked forth, croaking like an asthmatic poodle. that was very disconcerting. "but all the rest of them down here look horrible," she observed to herself, and derived consolation from the thought. the worst of all was the terrible hunger that tormented her. but could she not stoop and break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood? no, her back was too stiff, her hands and arms were benumbed, and her whole body was like a pillar of stone; only she was able to turn her eyes in her head, to turn them quite round so that she could see backwards: it was an ugly sight. and then the flies came up, and crept to and fro over her eyes, and she blinked her eyes, but the flies would not go away, for they could not fly: their wings had been pulled out, so that they were converted into creeping insects: it was horrible torment added to the hunger, for she felt empty, quite, entirely empty. "if this lasts much longer," she said, "i shall not be able to bear it." but she had to bear it, and it lasted on and on. then a hot tear fell down upon her head, rolled over her face and neck, down on to the loaf on which she stood; and then another tear rolled down, followed by many more. who might be weeping for ingé? had she not still a mother in the world? the tears of sorrow which a mother weeps for her child always make their way to the child; but they do not relieve it, they only increase its torment. and now to bear this unendurable hunger, and yet not to be able to touch the loaf on which she stood! she felt as if she had been feeding on herself, and had become like a thin, hollow reed that takes in every sound, for she heard everything that was said of her up in the world, and all that she heard was hard and evil. her mother, indeed, wept much and sorrowed for her, but for all that she said, "a haughty spirit goes before a fall. that was thy ruin, ingé. thou hast sorely grieved thy mother." her mother and all on earth knew of the sin she had committed; knew that she had trodden upon the loaf, and had sunk and disappeared; for the cowherd had seen it from the hill beside the moor. "greatly hast thou grieved thy mother, ingé," said the mother; "yes, yes, i thought it would be thus." "oh that i never had been born!" thought ingé; "it would have been far better. but what use is my mother's weeping now?" and she heard how her master and mistress, who had kept and cherished her like kind parents, now said she was a sinful child, and did not value the gifts of god, but trampled them under her feet, and that the gates of mercy would only open slowly to her. "they should have punished me," thought ingé, "and have driven out the whims i had in my head." she heard how a complete song was made about her, a song of the proud girl who trod upon the loaf to keep her shoes clean, and she heard how the song was sung everywhere. "that i should have to bear so much evil for this!" thought ingé; "the others ought to be punished, too, for their sins. yes, then there would be plenty of punishing to do. ah, how i'm being tortured!" and her heart became harder than her outward form. "here in this company one can't even become better," she said, "and i don't want to become better! look, how they're all staring at me!" and her heart was full of anger and malice against all men. "now they've something to talk about at last up yonder. ah, how i'm being tortured!" and then she heard how her story was told to the little children, and the little ones called her the godless ingé, and said she was so naughty and ugly that she must be well punished. thus, even the children's mouths spoke hard words of her. but one day, while grief and hunger gnawed her hollow frame, and she heard her name mentioned and her story told to an innocent child, a little girl, she became aware that the little one burst into tears at the tale of the haughty, vain ingé. "but will ingé never come up here again?" asked the little girl. and the reply was, "she will never come up again." "but if she were to say she was sorry, and to beg pardon, and say she would never do so again?" "yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was the reply. "i should be so glad if she would," said the little girl; and she was quite inconsolable. "i'll give my doll and all my playthings if she may only come up. it's too dreadful--poor ingé!" and these words penetrated to ingé's inmost heart, and seemed to do her good. it was the first time any one had said, "poor ingé," without adding anything about her faults: a little innocent child was weeping and praying for mercy for her. it made her feel quite strangely, and she herself would gladly have wept, but she could not weep, and that was a torment in itself. while years were passing above her, for where she was there was no change, she heard herself spoken of more and more seldom. at last, one day a sigh struck on her ear: "ingé, ingé, how you have grieved me! i said how it would be!" it was the last sigh of her dying mother. occasionally she heard her name spoken by her former employers, and they were pleasant words when the woman said, "shall i ever see thee again, ingé? one knows not what may happen." but ingé knew right well that her good mistress would never come to the place where she was. and again time went on--a long, bitter time. then ingé heard her name pronounced once more, and saw two bright stars that seemed gleaming above her. they were two gentle eyes closing upon earth. so many years had gone by since the little girl had been inconsolable and wept about "poor ingé," that the child had become an old woman, who was now to be called home to heaven; and in the last hour of existence, when the events of the whole life stand at once before us, the old woman remembered how as a child she had cried heartily at the story of ingé. and the eyes of the old woman closed, and the eye of her soul was opened to look upon the hidden things. she, in whose last thoughts ingé had been present so vividly, saw how deeply the poor girl had sunk, and burst into tears at the sight; in heaven she stood like a child, and wept for poor ingé. and her tears and prayers sounded like an echo in the dark empty space that surrounded the tormented captive soul, and the unhoped-for love from above conquered her, for an angel was weeping for her. why was this vouchsafed to her? the tormented soul seemed to gather in her thoughts every deed she had done on earth, and she, ingé, trembled and wept such tears as she had never yet wept. she was filled with sorrow about herself: it seemed as though the gate of mercy could never open to her; and while in deep penitence she acknowledged this, a beam, of light shot radiantly down into the depths to her, with a greater force than that of the sunbeam which melts the snow man the boys have built up; and quicker than the snow-flake melts, and becomes a drop of water that falls on the warm lips of a child, the stony form of ingé was changed to mist, and a little bird soared with the speed of lightning upward into the world of men. but the bird was timid and shy towards all things around; he was ashamed of himself, ashamed to encounter any living thing, and hurriedly sought to conceal himself in a dark hole in an old crumbling wall; there he sat cowering, trembling through his whole frame, and unable to utter a sound, for he had no voice. long he sat there, before he could rightly see all the beauty around him; for it was beautiful. the air was fresh and mild, the moon cast its mild radiance over the earth; trees and bushes exhaled fragrance, and it was right pleasant where he sat, and his coat of feathers was clean and pure. how all creation seemed to speak of beneficence and love! the bird wanted to sing of the thoughts that stirred in his breast, but he could not; gladly would he have sung as the cuckoo and the nightingale sung in spring-time. but heaven, that hears the mute song of praise of the worm, could hear the notes of praise which now trembled in the breast of the bird, as david's psalms were heard before they had fashioned themselves into words and song. for weeks these toneless songs stirred within the bird; at last, the holy christmas-time approached. the peasant who dwelt near set up a pole by the old wall with, some ears of corn bound to the top, that the birds of heaven might have a good meal, and rejoice in the happy, blessed time. and on christmas morning the sun arose and shone upon the ears of corn, which were surrounded by a number of twittering birds. then out of the hole in the wall streamed forth the voice of another bird, and the bird soared forth from its hiding-place; and in heaven it was well known what bird this was. it was a hard winter. the ponds were covered with ice, and the beasts of the field and the birds of the air were stinted for food. our little bird soared away over the high road, and in the ruts of the sledges he found here and there a grain of corn, and at the halting-places some crumbs. of these he ate only a few, but he called all the other hungry sparrows around him, that they, too, might have some food. he flew into the towns, and looked round about; and wherever a kind hand had strewn bread on the window-sill for the birds, he only ate a single crumb himself, and gave all the rest to the other birds. in the course of the winter, the bird had collected so many bread crumbs, and given them to the other birds, that they equalled the weight of the loaf on which ingé had trod to keep her shoes clean; and when the last bread crumb had been found and given, the grey wings of the bird became white, and spread far out. "yonder is a sea-swallow, flying away across the water," said the children when they saw the white bird. now it dived into the sea, and now it rose again into the clear sunlight. it gleamed white; but no one could tell whither it went, though some asserted that it flew straight into the sun. a story from the sand-dunes. this is a story from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of jutland; though it does not begin in jutland, the northern peninsula, but far away in the south, in spain. the ocean is the high road between the nations--transport thyself thither in thought to sunny spain. there it is warm and beautiful, there the fiery pomegranate blossoms flourish among the dark laurels; from the mountains a cool refreshing wind blows down, upon, and over the orange gardens, over the gorgeous moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls: through the streets go children in procession, with candles and with waving flags, and over them, lofty and clear, rises the sky with its gleaming stars. there is a sound of song and of castagnettes, and youths and maidens join in the dance under the blooming acacias, while the mendicant sits upon the hewn marble stone, refreshing himself with the juicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. the whole is like a glorious dream. and there was a newly married couple who completely gave themselves up to its charm; moreover, they possessed the good things of this life, health and cheerfulness of soul, riches and honour. "we are as happy as it is possible to be," exclaimed the young couple, from the depths of their hearts they had indeed but one step more to mount in the ladder of happiness, in the hope that god would give them a child; a son like them in form and in spirit. the happy child would be welcomed with rejoicing, would be tended with all care and love, and enjoy every advantage that wealth and ease possessed by an influential family could give. and the days went by like a glad festival. "life is a gracious gift of providence, an almost inappreciable gift!" said the young wife, "and yet they tell us that fulness of joy is found only in the future life, for ever and ever. i cannot compass the thought." "and perhaps the thought arises from the arrogance of men," said the husband. "it seems a great pride to believe that we shall live for ever, that we shall be as gods. were these not the words of the serpent, the origin of falsehood?" "surely you do not doubt the future life?" exclaimed the young wife; and it seemed as if one of the first shadows flitted over the sunny heaven of her thoughts. "faith promises it, and the priests tells us so!" replied the man; "but amid all my happiness, i feel that it is arrogance to demand a continued happiness, another life after this. has not so much been given us in this state of existence, that we ought to be, that we _must_ be, contented with it?" "yes, it has been given to _us_," said the young wife, "but to how many thousands is not this life one scene of hard trial? how many have been thrown into this world, as if only to suffer poverty and shame and sickness and misfortune? if there were no life after this, everything on earth would be too unequally distributed, and the almighty would not be justice itself." "yonder beggar," replied the man, "has his joys which seem to him great, and which rejoice him as much as the king is rejoiced in the splendour of his palace. and then, do you not think that the beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and works itself to death, suffers from its heavy fate? the dumb beast might likewise demand a future life, and declare the decree unjust that does not admit it into a higher place of creation." "he has said, 'in my father's house are many mansions,'" replied the young wife: "heaven is immeasurable, as the love of our maker is immeasurable. even the dumb beast is his creature; and i firmly believe that no life will be lost, but that each will receive that amount of happiness which he can enjoy, and which is sufficient for him." "this world is sufficient for me!" said the man, and he threw his arms round his beautiful, amiable wife, and then smoked his cigarette on the open balcony, where the cool air was filled with the fragrance of oranges and pinks. the sound of music and the clatter of castagnettes came up from the road, the stars gleamed above, and two eyes full of affection, the eyes of his wife, looked on him with the undying glance of love. [illustration: in spain.] "such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, to fall, and to disappear!" and he smiled. the young wife raised her hand in mild reproach, and the shadow passed away from her world, and they were happy--quite happy. everything seemed to work together for them. they advanced in honour, in prosperity, and in joy. there was a change, indeed, but only a change of place; not in enjoyment of life and of happiness. the young man was sent by his sovereign as ambassador to the court of russia. this was an honourable office, and his birth and his acquirements gave him a title to be thus honoured. he possessed a great fortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for she was the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. one of this merchant's largest and finest ships was to be dispatched during that year to stockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young people, the daughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to st. petersburg. and all the arrangements on board were princely--rich carpets for the feet, and silk and luxury on all sides. in an old heroic song, "the king's son of england," it says, "moreover, he sailed in a gallant ship, and the anchor was gilded with ruddy gold, and each rope was woven through with silk," and this ship involuntarily rose in the mind of him who saw the vessel from spain, for here was the same pomp, and the same parting thought naturally arose--the thought: "god grant that we all in joy once more may meet again." and the wind blew fairly seaward from the spanish shore, and the parting was to be but a brief one, for in a few weeks the voyagers would reach their destination; but when they came out upon the high seas, the wind sank, the sea became calm and shining, the stars of heaven gleamed brightly, and they were festive evenings that were spent in the sumptuous cabin. at length the voyagers began to wish for wind, for a favouring breeze; but the breeze would not blow, or, if it did arise, it was contrary. thus weeks passed away, two full months; and then at last the fair wind blew--it blew from the south-west. the ship sailed on the high seas between scotland and jutland, and the wind increased just as in the old song of "the king's son of england." "and it blew a storm, and the rain came down, and they found not land nor shelter, and forth they threw their anchor of gold, as the wind blew westward, toward denmark." this all happened a long, long while ago. king christian vii. then sat on the danish throne, and he was still a young man. much has happened since that time, much has changed or has been changed. sea and moorland have been converted into green meadows, heath has become arable land, and in the shelter of the west jute huts grow apple trees and rose bushes, though they certainly require to be sought for, as they bend beneath the sharp west wind. in western jutland one may go back in thought to the old times, farther back than the days when christian vii. bore rule. as it did then, in jutland, the brown heath now also extends for miles, with its "hun's graves," its aërial spectacles, and its crossing, sandy, uneven roads; westward, where large rivulets run into the bays, extend marshes and meadow land, girdled with lofty sand-hills, which, like a row of alps, raise their peaked summits towards the sea, only broken by the high clayey ridges, from which the waves year by year bite out huge mouthfuls, so that the impending shores fall down as if by the shock of an earthquake. thus it is there to-day, and thus it was many, many years ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the gorgeous ship. it was in the last days of september, a sunday, and sunny weather; the chiming of the church bells in the bay of nissum was wafted along like a chain of sounds. the churches there are erected almost entirely of hewn boulder stones, each like a piece of rock; the north sea might foam over them, and they would not be overthrown. most of them are without steeples, and the bells are hung between two beams in the open air. the service was over, and the congregation thronged out into the churchyard, where then, as now, not a tree nor a bush was to be seen; not a single flower had been planted there, nor had a wreath been laid upon the graves. rough mounds show where the dead had been buried, and rank grass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard. here and there a grave had a monument to show, in the shape of a half-decayed block of wood rudely shaped into the form of a coffin, the said block having been brought from the forest of west jutland; but the forest of west jutland is the wild sea itself, where the inhabitants find the hewn beams and planks and fragments which the breakers cast ashore. the wind and the sea fog soon destroy the wood. one of these blocks had been placed by loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women, who had come out of the church, stepped towards it. she stood still in front of it, and let her glance rest on the discoloured memorial. a few moments afterwards her husband stepped up to her. neither of them spoke a word, but he took her hand, and they wandered across the brown heath, over moor and meadow, towards the sand-hills; for a long time they thus walked silently side by side. "that was a good sermon to-day," the man said at length. "if we had not god to look to, we should have nothing!" "yes," observed the woman, "he sends joy and sorrow, and he has a right to send them. to-morrow our little boy would have been five years old, if we had been allowed to keep him." "you will gain nothing by fretting, wife," said the man. "the boy is well provided for. he is there whither we pray to go." and they said nothing more, but went forward to their house among the sand-hills. suddenly, in front of one of the houses where the sea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, there arose what appeared to be a column of smoke rising into the air. a gust of wind swept in among the hills, whirling the particles of sand high in the air. another, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped and beat violently against the wall of the hut; and then all was still again, and the sun shone down hotly. man and wife stepped into the house. they had soon taken off their sunday clothes, and emerging again, they hurried away over the dunes, which stood there like huge waves of sand suddenly arrested in their course, while the sandweeds and the dunegrass with its bluish stalks spread a changing colour over them. a few neighbours came up, and helped one another to draw the boats higher up on the sand. the wind now blew more sharply than before; it was cutting and cold: and when they went back over the sand-hills, sand and little pointed stones blew into their faces. the waves reared themselves up with their white crowns of foam, and the wind cut off their crests, flinging the foam far around. the evening came on. in the air was a swelling roar, moaning and complaining like a troop of despairing spirits, that sounded above the hoarse rolling of the sea; for the fisher's little hut was on the very margin. the sand rattled against the window panes, and every now and then came a violent gust of wind, that shook the house to its foundations. it was dark, but towards midnight the moon would rise. the air became clearer, but the storm swept in all its gigantic force over the perturbed sea. the fisher people had long gone to bed, but in such weather there was no chance of closing an eye. presently there was a knocking at the window, and the door was opened, and a voice said: "there's a great ship fast stranded on the outermost reef." in a moment the fish people had sprung from their couch, and hastily arrayed themselves. the moon had risen, it was light enough to make the surrounding objects visible, to those who could open their eyes for the blinding clouds of sand. the violence of the wind was terrible; and only by creeping forward between the gusts was it possible to pass among the sand-hills; and now the salt spray flew up from the sea like down, while the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards the beach. it required a practised eye to descry the vessel out in the offing. the vessel was a noble brig. the billows now lifted it over the reef, three or four cables' lengths out of the usual channel. it drove towards the land, struck against the second reef, and remained fixed. [illustration: saved from the wreck.] to render assistance was impossible; the sea rolled fairly in upon the vessel, making a clean breach over her. those on shore fancied they heard the cries of help from on board, and could plainly descry the busy useless efforts made by the stranded crew. now a wave came rolling onward, falling like a rock upon the bowsprit, and tearing it from the brig. the stern was lifted high above the flood. two people were seen to embrace and plunge together into the sea; in a moment more, and one of the largest waves that rolled towards the sand-hills threw a body upon the shore. it was a woman, and appeared quite dead, said the sailors; but some women thought they discerned signs of life in her, and the stranger was carried across the sand-hills into the fisherman's hut. how beautiful and fair she was! certainly she must be a great lady. they laid her upon the humble bed that boasted not a yard of linen; but there was a woollen coverlet, and that would keep the occupant warm. life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing of what had happened, or where she was; and it was better so, for everything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. it was with her ship as with the vessel in the song of "the king's son of england." "alas, it was a grief to see how the gallant ship sank speedily." portions of wreck and fragments of wood drifted ashore, and they were all that remained of what had been the ship. the wind still drove howling over the coast. for a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awoke in pain, and cries of anguish and fear came from her lips. she opened her wonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but none understood her. and behold, as a reward for the pain and sorrow she had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born child, the child that was to have rested upon a gorgeous couch, surrounded by silken curtains, in the sumptuous home. it was to have been welcomed with joy to a life rich in all the goods of the earth; and now providence had caused it to be born in this humble retreat, and not even a kiss did it receive from its mother. the fisher's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, and it rested on a heart that beat no more, for she was dead. the child who was to be nursed by wealth and fortune, was cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills, to partake the fate and heavy days of the poor. and here again comes into our mind the old song of the english king's son, in which mention is made of the customs prevalent at that time, when knights and squires plundered those who had been saved from shipwreck. the ship had been stranded some distance south of nissum bay. the hard, inhuman days in which, as we have stated, the inhabitants of the jutland shores did evil to the shipwrecked, were long past. affection and sympathy and self-sacrifice for the unfortunate were to be found, as they are to be found in our own time, in many a brilliant example. the dying mother and the unfortunate child would have found succour and help wherever the wind blew them; but nowhere could they have found more earnest care than in the hut of the poor fisherwife; who had stood but yesterday, with a heavy heart, beside the grave which covered her child, which would have been five years old that day, if god had spared it to her. no one knew who the dead stranger was, or could even form a conjecture. the pieces of wreck said nothing on the subject. into the rich house in spain no tidings penetrated of the fate of the daughter and the son-in-law. they had not arrived at their destined post, and violent storms had raged during the past weeks. at last the verdict was given, "foundered at sea--all lost." but in the sand-hills near hunsby, in the fisherman's hut, lived a little scion of the rich spanish family. where heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to make a meal, and in the depths of the sea is many a dish of fish for the hungry. and they called the boy jürgen. "it must certainly be a jewish child," the people said, "it looks so swarthy." "it might be an italian or a spaniard," observed the clergyman. but to the fisherwoman these three nations seemed all the same, and she consoled herself with the idea that the child was baptized as a christian. the boy throve. the noble blood in his veins was warm, and he became strong on his homely fare. he grew apace in the humble house, and the danish dialect spoken by the west jutes became his language. the pomegranate seed from spanish soil became a hardy plant on the coast of west jutland. such may be a man's fate! to this home he clung with the roots of his whole being. he was to have experience of cold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surrounded the humble; but he tasted also of the poor man's joys. childhood has sunny heights for all, whose memory gleams through the whole after life. the boy had many opportunities for pleasure and play. the whole coast, for miles and miles, was full of playthings; for it was a mosaic of pebbles, red as coral, yellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggs; and all smoothed and prepared by the sea. even the bleached fish skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, seaweed, white, gleaming, and long linen-like bands, waving among the stones, all these seemed made to give pleasure and amusement to the eye and the thoughts; and the boy had an intelligent mind--many and great faculties lay dormant in him. how readily he retained in his mind the stories and songs he heard, and how neat-handed he was! with stones and mussel shells he put together pictures and ships with which one could decorate the room; and he could cut out his thoughts wonderfully on a stick, his foster-mother said, though the boy was still so young and little! his voice sounded sweetly; every melody flowed at once from his lips. many chords were attained in his heart which might have sounded out into the world, if he had been placed elsewhere than in the fisherman's hut by the north sea. one day another ship was stranded there. among other things, a chest of rare flower bulbs floated ashore. some were put into the cooking pots, for they were thought to be eatable, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand, but they did not accomplish their purpose, or unfold the richness of colour whose germ was within them. would it be better with jürgen? the flower bulbs had soon played their part, but he had still years of apprenticeship before him. neither he nor his friends remarked in what a solitary and uniform way one day succeeded another; for there was plenty to do and to see. the sea itself was a great lesson book, unfolding a new leaf every day, such as calm and storm, breakers and waifs. the visits to the church were festal visits. but among the festal visits in the fisherman's house, one was particularly distinguished. it was repeated twice in the year, and was, in fact, the visit of the brother of jürgen's foster-mother, the eel breeder from zjaltring, upon the neighbourhood of the "bow hill." he used to come in a cart painted red, and filled with eels. the cart was covered and locked like a box, and painted all over with blue and white tulips. it was drawn by two dun oxen, and jürgen was allowed to guide them. the eel breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought a measure of brandy with him. every one received a small glassful, or a cupful when there was a scarcity of glasses: even jürgen had as much as a large thimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, the eel breeder said, who always told the same story over again, and when his hearers laughed he immediately told it over again to the same audience. as, during his childhood, and even later, jürgen used many expressions from this story of the eel breeder's, and made use of it in various ways, it is as well that we should listen to it too. here it is: "the eels went into the bay; and the mother-eel said to her daughters, who begged leave to go a little way up the bay, 'don't go too far: the ugly eel spearer might come and snap you all up.' but they went too far; and of eight daughters only three came back to the eel-mother, and these wept and said, 'we only went a little way before the door, and the ugly eel spearer came directly, and stabbed five of our party to death.' 'they'll come again,' said the mother-eel. 'oh no,' exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, and cut them in two, and fried them.' 'oh, they'll come again,' the mother-eel persisted. 'no,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.' 'they'll come again,' repeated the mother-eel. 'but he drank brandy after them,' continued the daughters. 'ah, then they'll never come back,' said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy that buries the eels.' "and therefore," said the eel breeder, in conclusion, "it is always right to take brandy after eating eels." [illustration: the eel breeder's visit.] and this story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollection of jürgen's life. _he_ likewise wanted to go a little way outside the door, and up the bay--that is to say, out into the world in a ship; and his mother said, like the eel breeder, "there are so many bad people--eel spearers!" but he wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, a little way into the dunes, and he succeeded in doing so. four merry days, the happiest of his childhood, unrolled themselves, and the whole beauty and splendour of jutland, all the joy and sunshine of his home, was concentrated in these. he was to go to a festival--though it was certainly a burial feast. a wealthy relative of the fisherman's family had died. the farm lay deep in the country, eastward, and a point towards the north, as the saying is. jürgen's foster-parents were to go, and he was to accompany them from the dunes, across heath and moor. they came to the green meadows where the river skjärn rolls its course, the river of many eels, where mother-eels dwell with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wicked people. but men were said sometimes to have acted no better towards their own fellow men; for had not the knight, sir bugge, been murdered by wicked people? and though he was well spoken of, had he not wanted to kill the architect, as the legend tells us, who had built for him the castle, with the thick walls and tower, where jürgen and his parents now stood, and where the river falls into the bay? the wall on the ramparts still remained, and red crumbling fragments lay strewn around. here it was that sir bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one of his men, "go thou after him, and say, 'master, the tower shakes.' if he turns round, you are to kill him, and take from him the money i paid him; but if he does not turn round, let him depart in peace." the man obeyed, and the architect never turned round, but called back, "the tower does not shake in the least, but one day there will come a man from the west, in a blue cloak, who will cause it to shake!" and indeed so it chanced, a hundred years later; for the north sea broke in, and the tower was cast down, but the man who then possessed the castle, prebjörn gyldenstjerne, built a new castle higher up, at the end of the meadow, and that stands to this day, and is called nörre vosborg. past this castle went jürgen and his foster-parents. they had told him its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw the lordly castle, with its double moat, and trees, and bushes; the wall, covered with ferns, rose within the moat; but most beautiful of all were the lofty lime trees, which grew up to the highest windows, and filled the air with sweet fragrance. in a corner of the garden towards the north-west stood a great bush full of blossom like winter snow amid the summer's green: it was a juniper bush, the first that jürgen had seen thus in bloom. he never forgot it, nor the lime tree: the child's soul treasured up these remembrances of beauty and fragrance to gladden the old man. from nörre vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the way went more easily; for they encountered other guests who were also bound for the burial, and were riding in waggons. our travellers had to sit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but even this was preferable to walking, they thought. so they pursued their journey in the waggon across the rugged heath. the oxen which drew the vehicle slipped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amid the heather. the sun shone warm, and it was wonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smoke seemed to be rising; and yet this smoke was clearer than the mist; it was transparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afar over the heath. "that is lokeman driving his sheep," said some one; and this was enough to excite the fancy of jürgen. it seemed to him as if they were now going to enter fairyland, though everything was still real. how quiet it was! far and wide the heath extended around them like a beautiful carpet. the heather bloomed; the juniper bushes and the fresh oak saplings stood up like nosegays from the earth. an inviting place for a frolic, if it were not for the number of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke, as they did also of the wolves which formerly infested the place, from which circumstance the region was still called the wolfsborg region. the old man who guided the oxen related how, in the lifetime of his father, the horses had to sustain many a hard fight with the wild beasts that were now extinct; and how he himself, when he went out one morning to bring in the horses, had found one of them standing with its fore-feet on a wolf it had killed, after the savage beast had torn and lacerated the legs of the brave horse. the journey over the heath and the deep sand was only too quickly accomplished. they stopped before the house of mourning, where they found plenty of guests within and without. waggon after waggon stood ranged in a row, and horses and oxen went out to crop the scanty pasture. great sand-hills, like those at home in the north sea, rose behind the house, and extended far and wide. how had they come here, miles into the interior of the land, and as large and high as those on the coast? the wind had lifted and carried them hither, and to them also a history was attached. psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; beyond this, the guests were cheerful enough, as it appeared to jürgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. eels there were of the fattest, upon which brandy should be poured to bury them, as the eel breeder said; and certainly his maxim was here carried out. jürgen went to and fro in the house. on the third day he felt quite at home, like as in the fisherman's hut on the sand-hills where he had passed his early days. here on the heath there was certainly an unheard-of wealth, for the flowers and blackberries and bilberries were to be found in plenty, so large and sweet, that when they were crushed beneath the tread of the passers by, the heath was coloured with their red juice. here was a hun's grave, and yonder another. columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath-fire, he was told, that shone so splendidly in the dark evening. now came the fourth day, and the funeral festivities were to conclude, and they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes. "ours are the best," said the old fisherman, jürgen's foster-father; "these have no strength." and they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come into the country, and it seemed all very intelligible. this was the explanation they gave: a corpse had been found on the coast, and the peasants had buried it in the churchyard; and from that time the sand began to fly, and the sea broke in violently. a wise man in the parish advised them to open the grave and to look if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb; for if so, he was a man of the sea, and the sea would not rest until it had got him back. so the grave was opened, and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. so they laid him upon a cart and harnessed two oxen before it; and as if stung by an adder, the oxen ran away with the man of the sea over heath and moorland to the ocean; and then the sand ceased flying inland, but the hills that had been heaped up still remained there. all this jürgen heard and treasured in his memory from the happiest days of his childhood, the days of the burial feast. how glorious it was to get out into strange regions, and to see strange people! and he was to go farther still. he was not yet fourteen years old when he went out in a ship to see what the world could show him: bad weather, heavy seas, malice, and hard men--these were his experiences, for he became a ship boy. there were cold nights, and bad living, and blows to be endured; then he felt as if his noble spanish blood boiled within him, and bitter wicked words seethed up to his lips; but it was better to gulp them down, though he felt as the eel must feel when it is flayed and cut up, and put into the frying-pan. "i shall come again!" said a voice within him. he saw the spanish coast, the native land of his parents. he even saw the town where they had lived in happiness and prosperity; but he knew nothing of his home or race, and his race knew just as little about him. the poor ship boy was not allowed to land; but on the last day of their stay he managed to get ashore. there were several purchases to be made, and he was to carry them on board. there stood jürgen in his shabby clothes, which looked as if they had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney: for the first time he, the inhabitant of the dunes, saw a great city. how lofty the houses seemed, and how full of people were the streets! some pushing this way, some that--a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers--a calling and shouting, and jingling of bell-harnessed asses and mules, and the church bells chiming between song and sound, hammering and knocking, all going on at once. every handicraft had its home in the basements of the houses or in the lanes; and the sun shone so hotly, and the air was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles, cockchafers, bees, and flies, all humming and murmuring together. jürgen hardly knew where he was or which way he went. then he saw just in front of him the mighty portal of the cathedral; the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles, and a fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the temple. the sailor with whom jürgen went took his way through the church; and jürgen stood in the sanctuary. coloured pictures gleamed from their golden ground. on the altar stood the figure of the virgin with the child jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests in festive garb were chanting, and choir boys, beautifully attired, swung the silver censer. what splendour, what magnificence did he see here! it streamed through his soul and overpowered him; the church and the faith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in his soul, so that the tears overflowed his eyes. from the church they went to the market-place. here a quantity of provisions were given him to carry. the way to the harbour was long, and, tired and overpowered by various emotions, he rested for a few moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, and broad staircases. here he rested his burden against the wall. then a liveried porter came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove him away--him, the grandson of the house. but no one there knew that, and he just as little as any one. and afterwards he went on board again, and there were hard words and cuffs, little sleep and much work; such were his experiences. they say that it is well to suffer in youth, if age brings something to make up for it. his time of servitude on shipboard had expired, and the vessel lay once more at ringkjöbing, in jutland: he came ashore and went home to the sand-dunes by hunsby; but his foster-mother had died while he was away on his voyage. a hard winter followed that summer. snowstorms swept over land and sea, and there was a difficulty in getting about. how variously things were distributed in the world! here biting cold and snowstorms, while in the spanish land there was burning sunshine and oppressive heat. and yet, when here at home there came a clear frosty day, and jürgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea towards the land, and across to vosborg, it appeared to him that people could breathe most freely here; and here too was a splendid summer! in imagination he saw the heath bloom and grow purple with rich juicy berries, and saw the elder trees and the lime trees at vosborg in blossom. he determined to go there once more. spring came on, and the fishery began. jürgen was an active assistant in this; he had grown in the last year, and was quick at work. he was full of life, he understood how to swim, to tread water, to turn over and tumble in the flood. they often warned him to beware of the troops of dogfish, which could seize the best swimmer, and draw him down, and devour him; but such was not jürgen's fate. at the neighbour's on the dune was a boy named martin, with whom jürgen was very friendly, and the two took service in the same ship to norway, and also went together to holland; and they had never had any quarrel; but a quarrel can easily come, for when a person is hot by nature, he often uses strong gestures, and that is what jürgen did one day on board when they had a quarrel about nothing at all. they were sitting behind the cabin door, eating out of a delf plate which they had placed between them. jürgen held his pocket-knife in his hand, and lifted it against martin, and at the same time became ashy pale in the face, and his eyes had an ugly look. martin only said, "ah! ha! you 're one of that sort, who are fond of using the knife!" hardly were the words spoken, when jürgen's hand sank down. he answered not a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards walked away to his work. when they were resting again, he stepped up to martin, and said, "you may hit me in the face! i have deserved it. but i feel as if i had a pot in me that boiled over." "there let the thing rest," replied martin; and after that they were almost doubly as good friends as before; and when afterwards they got back to the dunes and began telling their adventures, this was told among the rest; and martin said that jürgen was certainly passionate, but a good fellow for all that. they were both young and strong, well-grown and stalwart; but jürgen was the cleverer of the two. in norway the peasants go into the mountains, and lead out the cattle there to pasture. on the west coast of jutland, huts have been erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and roofed with turf and heather. there are sleeping-places around the walls, and here the fisher people live and sleep during the early spring. every fisherman has his female helper, his manager, as she is called, whose business consists in baiting the hooks, preparing the warm beer for the fishermen when they come ashore, and getting their dinners cooked when they come back into the hut tired and hungry. moreover, the managers bring up the fish from the boat, cut them open, prepare them, and have generally a great deal to do. jürgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managers inhabited the same hut; martin lived in the next one. one of the girls, else by name, had known jürgen from childhood: they were glad to see each other, and in many things were of the same mind; but in outward appearance they were entirely opposite; for he was brown, whereas she was pale and had flaxen hair, and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine. one day as they were walking together, and jürgen held her hand in his very firmly and warmly, she said to him, "jürgen, i have something weighing upon my heart! let me be your manager, for you are like a brother to me, whereas martin, who has engaged me--he and i are lovers----but you need not tell that to the rest." and it seemed to jürgen as if the loose sand were giving way under his feet. he spoke not a word, but only nodded his head, which signified "yes." more was not required; but suddenly he felt in his heart that he detested martin; and the longer he considered of this--for he had never thought of else in this way before--the more did it become clear to him that martin had stolen from him the only being he loved; and now it was all at once plain to him, that else was the being in question. when the sea is somewhat disturbed, and the fishermen come home in their great boat, it is a sight to behold how they cross the reefs. one of the men stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the others watch him, sitting with the oars in their hands. outside the reef they appear to be rowing not towards the land, but backing out to sea, till the man standing in the boat gives them the sign that the great wave is coming which is to float them across the reef; and accordingly the boat is lifted--lifted high in the air, so that its keel is seen from the shore; and in the next minute the whole boat is hidden from the eye; neither mast nor keel nor people can be seen, as though the sea had devoured them; but in a few moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, and the oars move as if the creature had legs. the second and the third reef are passed in the same manner; and now the fishermen jump into the water; every wave helps them, and pushes the boat well forward, till at length they have drawn it beyond the range of the breakers. a wrong order given in front of the reef--the slightest hesitation--and the boat must founder. "then it would be all over with me, and martin too!" this thought struck jürgen while they were out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken alarmingly ill. the fever had seized him. they were only a few oars' strokes from the reef, and jürgen sprang from his seat, and stood up in the bow. "father--let me come!" he said; and his eye glanced towards martin, and across the waves: but while every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers, as the great wave came towering towards them, he beheld the pale face of his father, and dare not obey the evil impulse that had seized him. the boat came safely across the reef to land, but the evil thought remained in his blood, and roused up every little fibre of bitterness which had remained in his memory since he and martin had been comrades. but he could not weave the fibres together, nor did he endeavour to do so. he felt that martin had despoiled him, and this was enough to make him detest his former friend. several of the fishermen noticed this, but not martin, who continued obliging and talkative--the latter a little too much. jürgen's adopted father had to keep his bed, which became his deathbed, for in the next week he died; and now jürgen was installed as heir in the little house behind the sand-hills. it was but a little house, certainly, but still it was something, and martin had nothing of the kind. "you will not take sea service again, jürgen?" observed one of the old fishermen. "you will always stay with us, now." but this was not jürgen's intention, for he was just thinking of looking about him a little in the world. the eel breeder of zjaltring had an uncle in alt-skage, who was a fisherman, but at the same time a prosperous merchant, who had ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be amiss to enter his service. alt-skage lies in the extreme north of jutland, as far removed from the hunsby dunes as one can travel in that country; and this is just what pleased jürgen, for he did not want to remain till the wedding of martin and else, which was to be celebrated in a few weeks. [illustration: else affirms her preference for martin.] the old fisherman asserted that it was foolish now to quit the neighbourhood; for that jürgen had a home, and else would probably be inclined to take him rather than martin. jürgen answered so much at random, that it was not easy to understand what he meant; but the old man brought else to him, and she said, "you have a home now; that ought to be well considered." and jürgen thought of many things. the sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in the human heart. many thoughts, strong and weak, thronged through jürgen's brain; and he said to else, "if martin had a house like mine, whom would you rather have?" "but martin has no house, and cannot get one." "but let us suppose he had one." "why then i would certainly take martin, for that's what my heart tells me; but one can't live upon that." and jürgen thought of these things all night through. something was working within him, he could not understand what it was, but he had a thought that was stronger than his love for else; and so he went to martin, and what he said and did there was well considered. he let the house to martin on the most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to sea again, because it pleased him to do so. and else kissed him on the mouth when she heard that, for she loved martin best. in the early morning jürgen purposed to start. on the evening before his departure, when it was already growing late, he felt a wish to visit martin once more; he started, and among the dunes the old fisher met him, who was angry at his going. the old man made jokes about martin, and declared there must be some magic about that fellow, "of whom all the girls were so fond." jürgen paid no heed to this speech, but said farewell to the old man, and went on towards the house where martin dwelt. he heard loud talking within. martin was not alone, and this made jürgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to encounter else; and on second consideration, he thought it better not to hear martin thank him again, and therefore turned back. on the following morning, before break of day, he fastened his knapsack, took his wooden provision box in his hand, and went away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. the way was easier to traverse than the heavy sand road, and moreover shorter; for he intended to go in the first instance to zjaltring, by bowberg, where the eel breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit. the sea lay pure and blue before him, and mussel shells and sea pebbles, the playthings of his youth, crunched under his feet. while he was thus marching on, his nose suddenly began to bleed: it was a trifling incident, but little things can have great significances. a few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves. he wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as if this had cleared and lightened his brain. in the sand the sea-eringa was blooming here and there. he broke off a stalk and stuck it in his hat; he determined to be merry and of good cheer, for he was going into the wide world--"a little way outside the door, in front of the hay," as the young eels had said. "beware of bad people, who will catch you and flay you, cut you in two, and put you in the frying-pan!" he repeated in his mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way through the world--good courage is a strong weapon! the sun already stood high when he approached the narrow entrance to nissum bay. he looked back, and saw a couple of horsemen gallopping a long distance behind him, and they were accompanied by other people. but this concerned him nothing. the ferry was on the opposite side of the bay. jürgen called to the ferryman; and when the latter came over with the boat, jürgen stepped in; but before they had gone half-way across, the men whom he had seen riding so hastily behind him, hailed the ferryman, and summoned him to return in the name of the law. jürgen did not understand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turn back, and therefore himself took an oar and returned. the moment the boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and, before he was aware, they had bound his hands with a rope. "thy wicked deed will cost thee thy life," they said. "it is well that we caught thee." he was accused of nothing less than murder. martin had been found dead, with a knife thrust through his neck. one of the fishermen had (late on the previous evening) met jürgen going towards martin's house; and this was not the first time jürgen had raised his knife against martin--so they knew that he was the murderer. the town in which the prison was built was a long way off, and the wind was contrary for going there; but not half an hour would be required to get across the bay, and a quarter of an hour would bring them from thence to nörre vosborg, a great castle with walls and ditches. one of jürgen's captors was a fisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle; and he declared it might be managed that jürgen should for the present be put into the dungeon at vosborg, where long martha the gipsy had been shut up till her execution. no attention was paid to the defence made by jürgen; the few drops of blood upon his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him. but jürgen was conscious of innocence; and as there was no chance of immediately righting himself, he submitted to his fate. the party landed just at the spot where sir bugge's castle had stood and where jürgen had walked with his foster-parents after the burial feast, during the four happiest days of his childhood. he was led by the old path over the meadow to vosborg; and again the elder blossomed and the lofty lindens smelt sweet, and it seemed but yesterday that he had left the spot. in the two wings of the castle a staircase leads down to a spot below the entrance, and from thence there is access to a low vaulted cellar. here long martha had been imprisoned, and hence she had been led away to the scaffold. she had eaten the hearts of five children, and had been under the delusion that if she could obtain two more, she would be able to fly and to make herself invisible. in the midst of the cellar roof was a little narrow air-hole, but no window. the blooming lindens could not waft a breath of comforting fragrance into that abode, where all was dark and mouldy. only a rough bench stood in the prison; but "a good conscience is a soft pillow," and consequently jürgen could sleep well. the thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside by an iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through a keyhole into the baron's castle just as into the fisherman's hut; and wherefore should he not creep in here, where jürgen sat thinking of long martha and her evil deeds? her last thought on the night before her execution had filled this space; and all the magic came into jürgen's mind which tradition asserted to have been practised there in the old times, when sir schwanwedel dwelt there. all this passed through jürgen's mind, and made him shudder; but a sunbeam--a refreshing thought from without--penetrated his heart even here; it was the remembrance of the blooming elder and the fragrant lime trees. he was not left there long. they carried him off to the town of ringkjöbing, where his imprisonment was just as hard. those times were not like ours. hard measure was dealt out to the "common" people; and it was just after the days when farms were converted into knights' estates, on which occasions coachmen and servants were often made magistrates, and had it in their power to sentence a poor man, for a small offence, to lose his property and to corporal punishment. judges of this kind were still to be found; and in jutland, far from the capital and from the enlightened well-meaning head of the government, the law was still sometimes very loosely administered; and the smallest grievance that jürgen had to expect was that his case would be protracted. cold and cheerless was his abode--and when would this state of things end? he had innocently sunk into misfortune and sorrow--that was his fate. he had leisure now to ponder on the difference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had been allotted to him; and he felt sure that the question would be answered in the next life--the existence that awaits us when this is over. this faith had grown strong in him in the poor fisherman's hut; that which had never shone into his father's mind, in all the richness and sunshine of spain, was vouchsafed as a light of comfort in his poverty and distress--a sign of mercy from god that never deceives. the spring storms began to blow. the rolling and moaning of the north sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was lulled; for then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hard road with a mine beneath. jürgen, in his prison, heard these sounds, and it was a relief to him. no melody could have appealed so directly to his heart as did these sounds of the sea--the rolling sea, the boundless sea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind, carrying his own house with him wherever he is driven, just as the snail carries its home even into a strange land. how he listened to the deep moaning, and how the thought arose in him--"free! free! how happy to be free, even without shoes and in ragged clothes!" sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fiery nature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists. weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when a vagabond--niels, the thief, called also the horse couper--was arrested; and now the better times came, and it was seen what wrong jürgen had endured. in the neighbourhood of ringkjöbing, at a beer-house, niels, the thief, had met martin on the afternoon before jürgen's departure from home and before the murder. a few glasses were drunk--not enough to cloud any one's brain, but yet enough to loosen martin's tongue; and he began to boast, and to say that he had obtained a house, and intended to marry; and when niels asked where he intended to get the money, martin shook his pocket proudly, and said, "the money is there, where it ought to be." this boast cost him his life; for when he went home, niels went after him, and thrust a knife through his throat, to rob the murdered man of the expected gold, which did not exist. this was circumstantially explained; but for us it is enough to know that jürgen was set at liberty. but what amends did he get for having been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from all communion with men? they told him he was fortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. the burgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and many citizens offered him provisions and beer--there were still good men, not all "grind and flay." but the best of all was, that the merchant brönne of skjagen, the same into whose service jürgen intended to go a year since, was just at that time on business in the town of ringkjöbing. brönne heard the whole story; and the man had a good heart, and understood what jürgen must have felt and suffered. he therefore made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad, and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world. so jürgen went forth from the prison as if to paradise, to find freedom, affection, and trust. he was to travel this road now; for no goblet of life is all bitterness: no good man would pour out such measure to his fellow man, and how should he do it, who is love itself? "let all that be buried and forgotten," said brönne the merchant. "let us draw a thick line through last year; and we will even burn the calendar. and in two days we'll start for dear, friendly, peaceful skjagen. they call skjagen an out-of-the-way corner; but it's a good warm chimney-corner, and its windows open towards every part of the world." that was a journey!--it was like taking fresh breath--out of the cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine! the heath stood blooming in its greatest pride, and the herd-boy sat on the hun's grave and blew his pipe, which he had carved for himself out of the sheep's bone. fata morgana, the beautiful aërial phenomenon of the desert, showed itself with hanging gardens and swaying forests, and the wonderful cloud phenomenon, called here the "lokeman driving his flock," was seen likewise. up through the land of the wendels, up towards skjagen, they went, from whence the men with the long beards (the longobardi, or lombards) had emigrated in the days when, in the reign of king snio, all the children and the old people were to have been killed, till the noble dame gambaruk proposed that the young people had better emigrate. all this was known to jürgen--thus much knowledge he had; and even if he did not know the land of the lombards beyond the high alps, he had an idea how it must be there, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in spain. he thought of the southern fruits piled up there; of the red pomegranate blossoms; of the humming, murmuring, and toiling in the great beehive of a city he had seen; but, after all, home is best; and jürgen's home was denmark. [illustration: jÜrgen's better fortune.] at length they reached "wendelskajn," as skjagen is called in the old norwegian and icelandic writings. then already old skjagen, with the western and eastern town, extended for miles, with sand-hills and arable land, as far as the lighthouse near the "skjagenzweig." then, as now, the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills--a desert where the wind sports with the sand, and where the voices of the seamen and the wild swans strike harshly on the ear. in the south-west, a mile from the sea, lies old skjagen; and here dwelt merchant brönne, and here jürgen was henceforth to dwell. the great house was painted with tar; the smaller buildings had each an overturned boat for a roof; the pig-sty had been put together of pieces of wreck. there was no fence here, for indeed there was nothing to fence in; but long rows of fishes were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in the wind. the whole coast was strewn with spoilt herrings; for there were so many of those fish, that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea before they were caught by cartloads; there were so many, that often they were thrown back into the sea, or left to lie on the shore. the old man's wife and daughter, and his servants too, came rejoicingly to meet him. there was a great pressing of hands, and talking, and questioning. and the daughter, what a lovely face and bright eyes she had! the interior of the house was roomy and comfortable. fritters that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed on the table; and there was wine from the vineyard of skjagen--that is, the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared in barrels and in bottles. when the mother and daughter heard who jürgen was, and how innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still more friendly way; and the eyes of the charming clara were the friendliest of all. jürgen found a happy home in old skjagen. it did his heart good; and his heart had been sorely tried, and had drunk the bitter goblet of love, which softens or hardens according to circumstances. jürgen's heart was still soft--it was young, and there was still room in it; and therefore it was well that mistress clara was going in three weeks in her father's ship to christiansand, in norway, to visit an aunt, and to stay there the whole winter. on the sunday before her departure they all went to church, to the holy communion. the church was large and handsome, and had been built centuries before by scotchmen and hollanders; it lay at a little distance from the town. it was certainly somewhat ruinous, and the road to it was heavy, through the deep sand; but the people gladly went through the difficulties to get to the house of god, to sing psalms and hear the sermon. the sand had heaped itself up round the walls of the church; but the graves were kept free from it. it was the largest church north of the limfjord. the virgin mary, with the golden crown on her head and the child jesus in her arms, stood life-like upon the altar; the holy apostles had been carved in the choir; and on the wall hung portraits of the old burgomasters and councillors of skjagen; the pulpit was of carved work. the sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on the polished brass chandelier, and on the little ship that hung from the vaulted roof. jürgen felt as if overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that which possessed him when, as a boy, he had stood in the splendid spanish cathedral; but here the feeling was different, for he felt conscious of being one of the congregation. after the sermon followed the holy communion. he partook of the bread and wine, and it happened that he knelt beside mistress clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the holy service, that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from his knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks. two days later she left skjagen and went to norway. he stayed behind, and made himself useful in the house and in the business. he went out fishing, and at that time fish were more plentiful and larger than now. every sunday when he sat in the church, and his eye rested on the statue of the virgin on the altar, his glance rested for a time on the spot where mistress clara had knelt beside him, and he thought of her, how hearty and kind she had been to him. and so the autumn and the winter time passed away. there was wealth here, and a real family life; even down to the domestic animals, who were all well kept. the kitchen glittered with copper and tin and white plates, and from the roof hung hams and beef, and winter stores in plenty. all this is still to be seen in many rich farms of the west coast of jutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean decorated rooms, clever heads, happy tempers, and hospitality prevail there as in an arab tent. never since the famous burial feast had jürgen spent such a happy time; and yet mistress clara was absent, except in the thoughts and memory of all. in april a ship was to start for norway, and jürgen was to sail in it. he was full of life and spirits, and looked so stout and jovial that dame brönne declared it did her good to see him. "and it's a pleasure to see you too, old wife," said the old merchant. "jürgen has brought life into our winter evenings, and into you too, mother. you look younger this year, and you seem well and bonny. but then you were once the prettiest girl in wiborg, and that's saying a great deal, for i have always found the wiborg girls the prettiest of any." jürgen said nothing to this, but he thought of a certain maiden of skjagen; and he sailed to visit that maiden, for the ship steered to christiansand, in norway, and a favouring wind bore it rapidly to that town. one morning merchant brönne went out to the lighthouse that stands far away from old skjagen: the coal fire had long gone out, and the sun was already high when he mounted the tower. the sand-banks extend under the water a whole mile from the shore. outside these banks many ships were seen that day; and with the help of his telescope the old man thought he descried his own vessel, the "karen brönne." yes, surely there she was; and the ship was sailing up with jürgen and clara on board. the church and the lighthouse appeared to them as a heron and a swan rising from the blue waters. clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually looming forth: if the wind held she might reach her home in about an hour--so near were they to home and its joys--so near were they to death and its terrors. for a plank in the ship gave way, and the water rushed in. the crew flew to the pumps, and attempted to stop the leak. a signal of distress was hoisted; but they were still a full mile from the shore. fishing boats were in sight, but they were still far distant. the wind blew shoreward, and the tide was in their favour too; but all was insufficient, for the ship sank. jürgen threw his right arm about clara, and pressed her close to him. with what a look she gazed in his face! as he threw himself in god's name into the water with her, she uttered a cry; but still she felt safe, certain that he would not let her sink. and now, in the hour of terror and danger, jürgen experienced what the old song told: "and written it stood, how the brave king's son embraced the bride his valour had won." how rejoiced he felt that he was a good swimmer! he worked his way onward with his feet and with one hand, while with the other he tightly held the young girl. he rested upon the waves, he trod the water, he practised all the arts he knew, so as to reserve strength enough to reach the shore. he heard how clara uttered a sigh, and felt a convulsive shudder pass through her, and he pressed her to him closer than ever. now and then a wave rolled over her; and he was still a few cables' lengths from the land, when help came in the shape of an approaching boat. but under the water--he could see it clearly--stood a white form gazing at him: a wave lifted him up, and the form approached him: he felt a shock, and it grew dark, and everything vanished from his gaze. on the sand-reef lay the wreck of a ship, the sea washed over it; the white figure-head leant against an anchor, the sharp iron extended just to the surface. jürgen had come in contact with this, and the tide had driven him against it with double force. he sank down fainting with his load; but the next wave lifted him and the young girl aloft again. the fishermen grasped them, and lifted them into the boat. the blood streamed down over jürgen's face; he seemed dead, but he still clutched the girl so tightly that they were obliged to loosen her by force from his grasp. and clara lay pale and lifeless in the boat, that now made for the shore. all means were tried to restore clara to life; but she was dead! for some time he had been swimming onward with a corpse, and had exerted himself to exhaustion for one who was dead. jürgen was still breathing. the fishermen carried him into the nearest house upon the sand-hills. a kind of surgeon who lived there, and was at the same time a smith and a general dealer, bound up jürgen's wounds in a temporary way, till a physician could be got next day from the nearest town. the brain of the sick man was affected. in delirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quiet and exhausted on his couch, and his life seemed to hang by a thread, and the physician said it would be best if this string snapped. "let us pray that god may take him to himself; he will never be a sane man again!" but life would not depart from him--the thread would not snap; but the thread of memory broke: the thread of all his mental power had been cut through; and, what was most terrible, a body remained--a living healthy body--that wandered about like a spectre. jürgen remained in the house of the merchant brönne. "he contracted his illness in his endeavour to save our child," said the old man, "and now he is our son." people called jürgen imbecile; but that was not the right expression. he was like an instrument, in which the strings are loose and will sound no more; only at times for a few minutes they regained their power, and then they sounded anew: old melodies were heard, snatches of song; pictures unrolled themselves, and then disappeared again in the mist, and once more he sat staring before him, without a thought. we may believe that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost their brightness, and looked only like black clouded glass. "poor imbecile jürgen!" said the people. he it was whose life was to have been so pleasant that it would be "presumption and pride" to expect or believe in a higher existence hereafter. all his great mental faculties had been lost; only hard days, pain, and disappointment had been his lot. he was like a rare plant torn from its native soil, and thrown upon the sand, to wither there. and was the image, fashioned in god's likeness, to have no better destination? was it to be merely the sport of chance? no. the all-loving god would certainly repay him in the life to come, for what he had suffered and lost here. "the lord is good to all; and his mercy is over all his works." these words from the psalms of david, the old pious wife of the merchant repeated in patience and hope, and the prayer of her heart was that jürgen might soon be summoned to enter into the life eternal. in the churchyard where the sand blows across the walls, clara lay buried. it seemed as if jürgen knew nothing of this--it did not come within the compass of his thoughts, which comprised only fragments of a past time. every sunday he went with the old people to church, and sat silent there with vacant gaze. one day, while the psalms were being sung, he uttered a deep sigh, and his eyes gleamed: they were fixed upon the altar, upon the place where he had knelt with his friend who was dead. he uttered her name, and became pale as death, and tears rolled over his cheeks. they led him out of the church; and he said to the bystanders that he was well, and had never been ill: he, the heavily afflicted, the waif cast forth upon the world, remembered nothing of his sufferings. and the lord our creator is wise and full of loving-kindness--who can doubt it? in spain, where the warm breezes blow over the moorish cupola, among the orange trees and laurels, where song and the sound of castagnettes are always heard, sat in the sumptuous house a childish old man, the richest merchant in the place, while children marched in procession through the streets, with waving flags and lighted tapers. how much of his wealth would the old man not have given to be able to press his children to his heart! his daughter, or her child, that had perhaps never seen the light in this world, far less a paradise. "poor child!" yes, poor child--a child still, and yet more than thirty years old; for to that age jürgen had attained in old skjagen. the drifting sand had covered the graves in the churchyard quite up to the walls of the church; but yet the dead must be buried among their relations and loved ones who had gone before them. merchant brönne and his wife now rested here with their children, under the white sand. it was spring-time, the season of storms. the sand-hills whirled up in clouds, and the sea ran high, and flocks of birds flew like clouds in the storms, shrieking across the dunes; and shipwreck followed shipwreck on the reefs of "skjagenzweig" from towards the hunsby dunes. one evening jürgen was sitting alone in the room. suddenly his mind seemed to become clearer, and a feeling of unrest came upon him, which in his younger years had often driven him forth upon the heath and the sand-hills. "home! home!" he exclaimed. no one heard him. he went out of the house towards the dunes. sand and stones blew into his face and whirled around him. he went on farther and farther, towards the church: the sand lay high around the walls, half over the windows; but the heap had been shovelled away from the door, and the entrance was free and easy to open; and jürgen went into the church. the storm went howling over the town of skjagen. within the memory of man the sea had not run so high--a terrible tempest! but jürgen was in the temple of god, and while black night reigned without, a light arose in his soul, a light that was never to be extinguished; he felt the heavy stone which seemed to weigh upon his head burst asunder. he thought he heard the sound of the organ, but it was the storm and the moaning of the sea. he sat down on one of the seats; and behold, the candles were lighted up one by one; a richness was displayed such as he had only seen in the church in spain; and all the pictures of the old councillors were endued with life, and stepped forth from the walls against which they had stood for centuries, and seated themselves in the entrance of the church. the gates and doors flew open, and in came all the dead people, festively clad, and sat down to the sound of beautiful music, and filled the seats in the church. then the psalm tune rolled forth like a sounding sea; and his old foster-parents from the hunsby dunes were here, and the old merchant brönne and his wife; and at their side, close to jürgen, sat their friendly, lovely daughter clara, who gave her hand to jürgen, and they both went to the altar, where they had once knelt together, and the priest joined their hands and joined them together for life. then the sound of music was heard again, wonderful, like a child's voice full of joy and expectation, and it swelled on to an organ's sound, to a tempest of full, noble sounds, lovely and elevating to hear, and yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs. and the little ship that hung down from the roof of the choir came down, and became wonderfully large and beautiful, with silken sails and golden yards, "and every rope wrought through with silk," as the old song said. the married pair went on board, and the whole congregation with them, for there was room and joyfulness for all. and the walls and arches of the church bloomed like the juniper and the fragrant lime trees, and the leaves and branches waved and distributed coolness; then they bent and parted, and the ship sailed through the midst of them, through the sea, and through the air; and every church taper became a star, and the wind sang a psalm tune, and all sang with the wind: "in love, to glory--no life shall be lost. full of blessedness and joy. hallelujah!" and these words were the last that jürgen spoke in this world. the thread snapped that bound the immortal soul, and nothing but a dead body lay in the dark church, around which the storm raged, covering it with loose sand. * * * * * the next morning was sunday, and the congregation and their pastor went forth to the service. the road to church had been heavy; the sand made the way almost impassable; and now, when they at last reached their goal, a great hill of sand was piled up before the entrance, and the church itself was buried. the priest spoke a short prayer, and said that god had closed the door of this house, and the congregation must go and build a new one for him elsewhere. so they sang a psalm under the open sky, and went back to their homes. jürgen was nowhere to be found in the town of skjagen, or in the dunes, however much they sought for him. it was thought that the waves, which had rolled far up on the sand, had swept him away. his body lay buried in a great sepulchre, in the church itself. in the storm the lord's hand had thrown a handful of earth on his grave; and the heavy mound of sand lay upon it, and lies there to this day. the whirling sand had covered the high vaulted passages; whitethorn and wild rose trees grow over the church, over which the wanderer now walks; while the tower, standing forth like a gigantic tombstone over a grave, is to be seen for miles around: no king has a more splendid tombstone. no one disturbs the rest of the dead; no one knew of this, and we are the first who know of this grave--the storm sang the tale to me among the sand-hills. the bishop of bÖrglum and his warriors. our scene is in northern jutland, in the so called "wild moor." we hear what is called the "wester-wow-wow"--the peculiar roar of the north sea as it breaks against the western coast of jutland. it rolls and thunders with a sound that penetrates for miles into the land; and we are quite near the roaring. before us rises a great mound of sand--a mountain we have long seen, and towards which we are wending our way, driving slowly along through the deep sand. on this mountain of sand is a lofty old building--the convent of börglum. in one of its wings (the larger one) there is still a church. and at this convent we now arrive in the late evening hour; but the weather is clear in the bright june night around us. the eye can range far, far over field and moor to the bay of aalborg, over heath and meadow, and far across the dark blue sea. now we are there, and roll past between barns and other farm buildings; and at the left of the gate we turn aside to the old castle farm, where the lime trees stand in lines along the walls, and, sheltered from the wind and weather, grow so luxuriously that their twigs and leaves almost conceal the windows. we mount the winding staircase of stone, and march through the long passages under the heavy roof-beams. the wind moans very strangely here, both within and without. it is hardly known how, but people say--yes, people say a great many things when they are frightened or want to frighten others--they say that the old dead choir-men glide silently past us into the church, where mass is sung. they can be heard in the rushing of the storm, and their singing brings up strange thoughts in the hearers--thoughts of the old times into which we are carried back. on the coast a ship is stranded; and the bishop's warriors are there, and spare not those whom the sea has spared. the sea washes away the blood that has flowed from cloven skulls. the stranded goods belong to the bishop, and there is a store of goods here. the sea casts up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for the convent cellar; and in the convent is already good store of beer and mead. there is plenty in the kitchen--dead game and poultry, hams and sausages; and fat fish swim in the ponds without. the bishop of börglum is a mighty lord. he has great possessions, but still he longs for more--everything must bow before the mighty olaf glob. his rich cousin at thyland is dead, and his widow is to have the rich inheritance. but how comes it that one relation is always harder towards another than even strangers would be? the widow's husband had possessed all thyland, with the exception of the church property. her son was not at home. in his boyhood he had already started on a journey, for his desire was to see foreign lands and strange people. for years there had been no news of him. perhaps he had long been laid in the grave, and would never come back to his home to rule where his mother then ruled. "what has a woman to do with rule?" said the bishop. he summoned the widow before a court; but what did he gain thereby? the widow had never been disobedient to the law, and was strong in her just rights. bishop olaf, of börglum, what dost thou purpose? what writest thou on yonder smooth parchment, sealing it with thy seal, and intrusting it to the horsemen and servants, who ride away--far away--to the city of the pope? it is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon icy winter will come. twice had icy winter returned before the bishop welcomed the horsemen and servants back to their home. they came from rome with a papal decree--a ban, or bull, against the widow who had dared to offend the pious bishop. "cursed be she, and all that belongs to her. let her be expelled from the congregation and the church. let no man stretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and relations avoid her as a plague and a pestilence!" "what will not bend must break," said the bishop of börglum. and all forsake the widow; but she holds fast to her god. he is her helper and defender. one servant only--an old maid--remained faithful to her; and, with the old servant, the widow herself followed the plough; and the crop grew, though the land had been cursed by the pope and the bishop. "thou child of hell, i will yet carry out my purpose!" cries the bishop of börglum. "now will i lay the hand of the pope upon thee, to summon thee before the tribunal that shall condemn thee!" [illustration: jens glob meets his mother.] then did the widow yoke the two last oxen that remained to her to a waggon, and mounted upon the waggon, with her old servant, and travelled away across the heath out of the danish land. as a stranger she came into a foreign country, where a strange tongue was spoken and where new customs prevailed. farther and farther she journeyed, to where green hills rise into mountains, and the vine clothes their sides. strange merchants drive by her, and they look anxiously after their waggons laden with merchandise. they fear an attack from the armed followers of the robber-knights. the two poor women, in their humble vehicle drawn by two black oxen, travel fearlessly through the dangerous sunken road and through the darksome forest. and now they were in franconia. and there met them a stalwart knight, with a train of twelve armed followers. he paused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the women as to the goal of their journey and the place whence they came. then one of them mentioned thyland, in denmark, and spoke of her sorrows--of her woes--which were soon to cease; for so divine providence had willed it. for the stranger knight is the widow's son. he seized her hand, he embraced her, and the mother wept. for years she had not been able to weep, but had only bitten her lips till the blood started. it is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon will icy winter come. the sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar. in the kitchen the deer roasted on the spit before the fire. at börglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms, while cold winter raged without, when a piece of news was brought to the bishop: "jens glob, of thyland, has come back, and his mother with him." jens glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summoned him before the temporal and the spiritual court. "that will avail him little," said the bishop. "best leave off thy efforts, knight jens." again it is the time of falling leaves, of stranded ships--icy winter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting the traveller's face till they melt. "keen weather to-day," say the people, as they step in. jens glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought that he singes the skirt of his wide garment. "thou börglum bishop," he exclaims, "i shall subdue thee after all! under the shield of the pope, the law cannot reach thee; but jens glob shall reach thee!" then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, olaf hase, in sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on christmas eve, at mass, in the church at widberg. the bishop himself is to read the mass, and consequently will journey from börglum to thyland; and this is known to jens glob. moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. the marsh will bear horse and rider, the bishop with his priests, and armed men. they ride the shortest way, through the waving reeds, where the wind moans sadly. blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in foxskin! it sounds merrily in the clear air. so they ride on over heath and moorland--over what is the garden of fata morgana in the hot summer, though now icy, like all the country--towards the church of widberg. the wind is blowing his trumpet too--blowing it harder and harder. he blows up a storm--a terrible storm--that increases more and more. towards the church they ride, as fast as they may through the storm. the church stands firm, but the storm careers on over field and moorland, over land and sea. börglum's bishop reaches the church; but olaf hase will scarce do so, hard as he may ride. he journeys with his warriors on the farther side of the bay, to help jens glob, now that the bishop is to be summoned before the judgment seat of the highest. the church is the judgment hall; the altar is the council table. the lights burn clear in the heavy brass candelabra. the storm reads out the accusation and the sentence, roaming in the air over moor and heath, and over the rolling waters. no ferry-boat can sail over the bay in such weather as this. olaf hase makes halt at ottesworde. there he dismisses his warriors, presents them with their horses and harness, and gives them leave to ride home and greet his wife. he intends to risk his life alone in the roaring waters; but they are to bear witness for him that it is not his fault if jens glob stands without reinforcement in the church at widberg. the faithful warriors will not leave him, but follow him out into the deep waters. ten of them are carried away; but olaf hase and two of the youngest men reach the farther side. they have still four miles to ride. it is past midnight. it is christmas. the wind has abated. the church is lighted up; the gleaming radiance shines through the window-frames, and pours out over meadow and heath. the mass has long been finished, silence reigns in the church, and the wax is heard dropping from the candles to the stone pavement. and now olaf hase arrives. in the forecourt jens glob greets him kindly, and says, "i have just made an agreement with the bishop." "sayest thou so?" replied olaf hase. "then neither thou nor the bishop shall quit this church alive." and the sword leaps from the scabbard, and olaf hase deals a blow that makes the panel of the church-door, which jens glob hastily closes between them, fly in fragments. "hold, brother! first hear what the agreement was that i made. i have slain the bishop and his warriors and priests. they will have no word more to say in the matter, nor will i speak again of all the wrong that my mother has endured." the long wicks of the altar lights glimmer red; but there is a redder gleam upon the pavement, where the bishop lies with cloven skull, and his dead warriors around him, in the quiet of the holy christmas night. and four days afterwards the bells toll for a funeral in the convent of börglum. the murdered bishop and the slain warriors and priests are displayed under a black canopy, surrounded by candelabra decked with crape. there lies the dead man, in the black cloak wrought with silver; the crosier in the powerless hand that was once so mighty. the incense rises in clouds, and the monks chant the funeral hymn. it sounds like a wail--it sounds like a sentence of wrath and condemnation that must be heard far over the land, carried by the wind--sung by the wind--the wail that sometimes is silent, but never dies; for ever again it rises in song, singing even into our own time this legend of the bishop of börglum and his hard nephew. it is heard in the dark night by the frightened husbandman, driving by in the heavy sandy road past the convent of börglum. it is heard by the sleepless listener in the thickly-walled rooms at börglum. and not only to the ear of superstition is the sighing and the tread of hurrying feet audible in the long echoing passages leading to the convent-door that has long been locked. the door still seems to open, and the lights seem to flame in the brazen candlesticks; the fragrance of incense arises; the church gleams in its ancient splendour; and the monks sing and say the mass over the slain bishop, who lies there in the black silver-embroidered mantle, with the crozier in his powerless hand; and on his pale proud forehead gleams the red wound like fire, and there burn the worldly mind and the wicked thoughts. sink down into his grave--into oblivion--ye terrible shapes of the times of old! * * * * * hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rolling sea. a storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. the sea has not put on a new mind with the new time. this night it is a horrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be a glassy mirror--even as in the old time that we have buried. sleep sweetly, if thou canst sleep! now it is morning. the new time flings sunshine into the room. the wind still keeps up mightily. a wreck is announced--as in the old time. during the night, down yonder by lökken, the little fishing village with the red-tiled roofs--we can see it up here from the window--a ship has come ashore. it has struck, and is fast imbedded in the sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, and formed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board were saved, and reached the land, and were wrapped in warm blankets; and to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of börglum. in comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces. they are addressed in the language of their country, and the piano sounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before these have died away, and the chord has been struck, the wire of thought, that reaches to the land of the sufferers, announces that they are rescued. then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they join in the dance at the feast given in the great hall at börglum. waltzes and styrian dances are given, and danish popular songs, and melodies of foreign lands in these modern times. blessed be thou, new time! speak thou of summer and of purer gales! send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! on thy glowing canvas let them be painted--the dark legends of the rough hard times that are past! the snow man. "it's so wonderfully cold that my whole body crackles!" said the snow man. "this is a kind of wind that can blow life into one; and how the gleaming one up yonder is staring at me." he meant the sun, which was just about to set. "it shall not make _me_ wink--i shall manage to keep the pieces." he had two triangular pieces of tile in his head instead of eyes. his mouth was made of an old rake, and consequently was furnished with teeth. he had been born amid the joyous shouts of the boys, and welcomed by the sound of sledge bells and the slashing of whips. the sun went down, and the full moon rose, round, large, clear, and beautiful in the blue air. "there it comes again from the other side," said the snow man. he intended to say the sun is showing himself again. "ah! i have cured him of staring. now let him hang up there and shine, that i may see myself. if i only knew how i could manage to move from this place, i should like so much to move. if i could, i would slide along yonder on the ice, just as i see the boys slide; but i don't understand it; i don't know how to run." "away! away!" barked the old yard dog. he was quite hoarse, and could not pronounce the genuine "bow, wow." he had got the hoarseness from the time when he was an indoor dog, and lay by the fire. "the sun will teach you to run! i saw that last winter, in your predecessor, and before that in _his_ predecessor. away! away!--and away they all go." "i don't understand you, comrade," said the snow man. "that thing up yonder is to teach me to run?" he meant the moon. "yes, it was running itself, when i saw it a little while ago, and now it comes creeping from the other side." "you know nothing at all," retorted the yard dog. "but then you've only just been patched up. what you see yonder is the moon, and the one that went before was the sun. it will come again to-morrow, and will teach you to run down into the ditch by the wall. we shall soon have a change of weather; i can feel that in my left hind leg, for it pricks and pains me: the weather is going to change." "i don't understand him," said the snow man; "but i have a feeling that he's talking about something disagreeable. the one who stared so just now, and whom he called the sun, is not my friend. i can feel that too." "away! away!" barked the yard dog; and he turned round three times, and then crept into his kennel to sleep. the weather really changed. towards morning, a thick damp fog lay over the whole region; later there came a wind, an icy wind. the cold seemed quite to seize upon one; but when the sun rose, what splendour! trees and bushes were covered with hoar frost, and looked like a complete forest of coral, and every twig seemed covered with gleaming white buds. the many delicate ramifications, concealed in summer by the wreath of leaves, now made their appearance: it seemed like a lace-work, gleaming white. a snowy radiance sprang from every twig. the birch waved in the wind--it had life, like the rest of the trees in summer. it was wonderfully beautiful. and when the sun shone, how it all gleamed and sparkled, as if diamond dust had been strewn everywhere, and big diamonds had been dropped on the snowy carpet of the earth! or one could imagine that countless little lights were gleaming, whiter than even the snow itself. "that is wonderfully beautiful," said a young girl, who came with a young man into the garden. they both stood still near the snow man, and contemplated the glittering trees. "summer cannot show a more beautiful sight," said she; and her eyes sparkled. "and we can't have such a fellow as this in summer-time," replied the young man, and he pointed to the snow man. "he is capital." the girl laughed, nodded at the snow man, and then danced away over the snow with her friend--over the snow that cracked and crackled under her tread as if she were walking on starch. "who were those two?" the snow man inquired of the yard dog. "you've been longer in the yard than i. do you know them?" "of course i know them," replied the yard dog. "she has stroked me, and he has thrown me a meat bone. i don't bite those two." "but what are they?" asked the snow man. "lovers!" replied the yard dog. "they will go to live in the same kennel, and gnaw at the same bone. away! away!" [illustration: the snow man and the yard dog.] "are they the same kind of beings as you and i?" asked the snow man. "why, they belong to the master," retorted the yard dog. "people certainly know very little who were only born yesterday. i can see that in you. i have age, and information. i know every one here in the house, and i know a time when i did not lie out here in the cold, fastened to a chain. away! away!" "the cold is charming," said the snow man. "tell me, tell me.--but you must not clank with your chain, for it jars within me when you do that." "away! away!" barked the yard dog. "they told me i was a pretty little fellow: then i used to lie in a chair covered with velvet, up in master's house, and sit in the lap of the mistress of all. they used to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief. i was called 'ami--dear ami--sweet ami.' but afterwards i grew too big for them, and they gave me away to the housekeeper. so i came to live in the basement storey. you can look into that from where you are standing, and you can see into the room where i was master; for i was master at the housekeeper's. it was certainly a smaller place than upstairs, but i was more comfortable, and was not continually taken hold of and pulled about by children as i had been. i received just as good food as ever, and even better. i had my own cushion, and there was a stove, the finest thing in the world at this season. i went under the stove, and could lie down quite beneath it. ah! i still dream of that stove. away! away!" "does a stove look so beautiful?" asked the snow man. "is it at all like me?" "it's just the reverse of you. it's as black as a crow, and has a long neck and a brazen drum. it eats firewood, so that the fire spurts out of its mouth. one must keep at its side, or under it, and there one is very comfortable. you can see it through the window from where you stand." and the snow man looked and saw a bright polished thing with a brazen drum, and the fire gleamed from the lower part of it. the snow man felt quite strangely: an odd emotion came over him, he knew not what it meant, and could not account for it; but all people who are not snow men know the feeling. "and why did you leave her?" asked the snow man, for it seemed to him that the stove must be of the female sex. "how could you quit such a comfortable place?" "i was obliged," replied the yard dog. "they turned me out of doors, and chained me up here. i had bitten the youngest young master in the leg, because he kicked away the bone i was gnawing. 'bone for bone,' i thought. they took that very much amiss, and from that time i have been fastened to a chain and have lost my voice. don't you hear how hoarse i am? away! away! i can't talk any more like other dogs. away! away! that was the end of the affair." but the snow man was no longer listening to him. he was looking in at the housekeeper's basement lodging, into the room where the stove stood on its four iron legs, just the same size as the snow man himself. "what a strange crackling within me!" he said. "shall i ever get in there? it is an innocent wish, and our innocent wishes are certain to be fulfilled. i must go in there and lean against her, even if i have to break through the window." "you will never get in there," said the yard dog; "and if you approach the stove you'll melt away--away!" "i am as good as gone," replied the snow man. "i think i am breaking up." the whole day the snow man stood looking in through the window. in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting: from the stove came a mild gleam, not like the sun nor like the moon; no, it was only as the stove can glow when he has something to eat. when the room-door opened, the flame started out of his mouth; this was a habit the stove had. the flame fell distinctly on the white face of the snow man, and gleamed red upon his bosom. "i can endure it no longer," said he; "how beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue!" the night was long; but it did not appear long to the snow man, who stood there lost in his own charming reflections, crackling with the cold. in the morning the window-panes of the basement lodging were covered with ice. they bore the most beautiful ice-flowers that any snow man could desire; but they concealed the stove. the window-panes would not thaw; he could not see the stove, which he pictured to himself as a lovely female being. it crackled and whistled in him and around him; it was just the kind of frosty weather a snow man must thoroughly enjoy. but he did not enjoy it; and, indeed, how could he enjoy himself when he was stove-sick? "that's a terrible disease for a snow man," said the yard dog. "i have suffered from it myself, but i got over it. away! away!" he barked; and he added, "the weather is going to change." and the weather did change; it began to thaw. the warmth increased, and the snow man decreased. he said nothing, and made no complaint--and that's an infallible sign. one morning he broke down. and behold, where he had stood, something like a broomstick remained sticking up out of the ground. it was the pole round which the boys had built him up. "ah! now i can understand why he had such an intense longing," said the yard dog. "why, there's a shovel for cleaning out the stove fastened to the pole. the snow man had a stove-rake in his body, and that's what moved within him. now he has got over that too. away! away!" and soon they had got over the winter. "away! away!" barked the hoarse yard dog; but the girls in the house sang: "green thyme! from your house come out; willow, your woolly fingers stretch out; lark and cuckoo cheerfully sing, for in february is coming the spring. and with the cuckoo i'll sing too, come thou, dear sun, come out, cuckoo!" and nobody thought any more of the snow man. two maidens. have you ever seen a maiden? i mean what our paviours call a maiden, a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads. a maiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, and girt round with iron rings; at the top she is narrow, and has a stick passed across through her waist; and this stick forms the arms of the maiden. in the shed stood two maidens of this kind. they had their place among shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and measuring tapes; and to all this company the news had come that the maidens were no longer to be called "maidens," but "hand-rammers;" which word was the newest and the only correct designation among the paviours for the thing we all know from the old times by the name of "the maiden." now, there are among us human creatures certain individuals who are known as "emancipated women;" as, for instance, principals of institutions, dancers who stand professionally on one leg, milliners, and sick nurses; and with this class of emancipated women the two maidens in the shed associated themselves. they were "maidens" among the paviour folk, and determined not to give up this honourable appellation, and let themselves be miscalled rammers. "maiden is a human name, but hand-rammer is a _thing_, and we won't be called _things_--that's insulting us." "my lover would be ready to give up his engagement," said the youngest, who was betrothed to a paviour's hammer; and the hammer is the thing which drives great piles into the earth, like a machine, and therefore does on a large scale what ten maidens effect in a smaller way. "he wants to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have me, were i a hand-rammer, is a question; so i won't have my name changed." "and i," said the elder one, "would rather have both my arms broken off." but the wheelbarrow was of a different opinion; and the wheelbarrow was looked upon as of some consequence, for he considered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went about upon one wheel. "i must submit to your notice," he said, "that the name 'maiden' is common enough, and not nearly so refined as 'hand-rammer,' or 'stamper,' which latter has also been proposed, and through which you would be introduced into the category of seals; and only think of the great stamp of state, which impresses the royal seal that gives effect to the laws! no, in your case i would surrender my maiden name." "no, certainly not!" exclaimed the elder. "i am too old for that." "i presume you have never heard of what is called 'european necessity?'" observed the honest measuring tape. "one must be able to adapt oneself to time and circumstances, and if there is a law that the 'maiden' is to be called 'hand-rammer,' why, she must be called 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail, for everything has its measure." "no; if there must be a change," said the younger, "i should prefer to be called 'missy,' for that reminds one a little of maidens." "but i would rather be chopped to chips," said the elder. at last they all went to work. the maidens rode--that is, they were put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinction; but still they were called "hand-rammers." "mai----!" they said, as they were bumped upon the pavement. "mai----!" and they were very nearly pronouncing the whole word "maiden;" but they broke off short, and swallowed the last syllable; for after mature deliberation they considered it beneath their dignity to protest. but they always called each other "maiden," and praised the good old days in which everything had been called by its right name, and those who were maidens were called maidens. and they remained as they were; for the hammer really broke off his engagement with the younger one, for nothing would suit him but he must have a maiden for his bride. the farmyard cock and the weathercock. there were two cocks--one on the dunghill, the other on the roof. both were conceited; but which of the two effected most? tell us your opinion; but we shall keep our own nevertheless. the poultry-yard was divided by a partition of boards from another yard, in which lay a manure-heap, whereon lay and grew a great cucumber, which was fully conscious of being a forcing-bed plant. "that's a privilege of birth," the cucumber said to herself. "not all can be born cucumbers; there must be other kinds too. the fowls, the ducks, and all the cattle in the neighbouring yard are creatures too. i now look up to the yard cock on the partition. he certainly is of much greater consequence than the weathercock, who is so highly placed, and who can't even creak, much less crow; and he has neither hens nor chickens, and thinks only of himself, and perspires verdigris. but the yard cock--he's something like a cock! his gait is like a dance, his crowing is music; and wherever he comes, it is known directly. what a trumpeter he is! if he would only come in here! even if he were to eat me up, stalk and all, it would be a blissful death," said the cucumber. in the night the weather became very bad. hens, chickens, and even the cock himself sought shelter. the wind blew down the partition between the two yards with a crash; the tiles came tumbling down, but the weathercock sat firm. he did not even turn round; he could not turn round, and yet he was young and newly cast, but steady and sedate. he had been "born old," and did not at all resemble the birds that fly beneath the vault of heaven, such as the sparrows and the swallows. he despised those, considering them piping birds of trifling stature--ordinary song birds. the pigeons, he allowed, were big and shining, and gleamed like mother-o'-pearl, and looked like a kind of weathercocks; but then they were fat and stupid, and their whole endeavour was to fill themselves with food. "moreover, they are tedious things to converse with," said the weathercock. the birds of passage had also paid a visit to the weathercock, and told him tales of foreign lands, of airy caravans, and exciting robber stories; of encounters with birds of prey; and that was interesting for the first time, but the weathercock knew that afterwards they always repeated themselves, and that was tedious. "they are tedious, and all is tedious," he said. "no one is fit to associate with, and one and all of them are wearisome and stupid." "the world is worth nothing," he cried. "the whole thing is a stupidity." the weathercock was what is called "used up;" and that quality would certainly have made him interesting in the eyes of the cucumber if she had known it; but she had only eyes for the yard cock, who had now actually come into her own yard. the wind had blown down the plank, but the storm had passed over. [illustration: the weathercock.] "what do you think of _that_ crowing?" the yard cock inquired of his hens and chickens. "it was a little rough--the elegance was wanting." and hens and chickens stepped upon the muck-heap, and the cock strutted to and fro on it like a knight. "garden plant!" he cried out to the cucumber; and in this one word she understood his deep feeling, and forgot that he was pecking at her and eating her up--a happy death! and the hens came, and the chickens came, and when one of them runs the rest run also; and they clucked and chirped, and looked at the cock, and were proud that he was of their kind. "cock-a-doodle-doo!" he crowed. "the chickens will grow up large fowls if i make a noise in the poultry-yard of the world." and hens and chickens clucked and chirped, and the cock told them a great piece of news: "a cock can lay an egg; and do you know what there is in that egg? in that egg lies a basilisk. no one can stand the sight of a basilisk. men know that, and now you know it too--you know what is in me, and what a cock of the world i am." and with this the yard cock flapped his wings, and made his comb swell up, and crowed again; and all of them shuddered--all the hens and the chickens; but they were proud that one of their people should be such a cock of the world. they clucked and chirped, so that the weathercock heard it; and he heard it, but he never stirred. "it's all stupid stuff!" said a voice within the weathercock. "the yard cock does not lay eggs, and i am too lazy to lay any. if i liked, i could lay a wind-egg; but the world is not worth a wind-egg. and now i don't like even to sit here any longer." and with this the weathercock broke off; but he did not kill the yard cock, though he intended to do so, as the hens declared. and what does the moral say?--"better to crow than to be 'used up' and break off." the pen and inkstand. in the room of a poet, where his inkstand stood upon the table, it was said, "it is wonderful what can come out of an inkstand. what will the next thing be? it is wonderful!" "yes, certainly," said the inkstand. "it's extraordinary--that's what i always say," he exclaimed to the pen and to the other articles on the table that were near enough to hear. "it is wonderful what a number of things can come out of me. it's quite incredible. and i really don't myself know what will be the next thing, when that man begins to dip into me. one drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper; and what cannot be contained in half a page? from me all the works of the poet go forth--all these living men, whom people can imagine they have met--all the deep feeling, the humour, the vivid pictures of nature. i myself don't understand how it is, for i am not acquainted with nature, but it certainly is in me. from me all these things have gone forth, and from me proceed the troops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds, and all the lame and the blind, and i don't know what more--i assure you i don't think of anything." "there you are right," said the pen; "you don't think at all; for if you did, you would comprehend that you only furnish the fluid. you give the fluid, that i may exhibit upon the paper what dwells in me, and what i would bring to the day. it is the pen that writes. no man doubts that; and, indeed, most people have about as much insight into poetry as an old inkstand." "you have but little experience," replied the inkstand. "you've hardly been in service a week, and are already half worn out. do you fancy you are the poet? you are only a servant; and before you came i had many of your sort, some of the goose family, and others of english manufacture. i know the quill as well as the steel pen. many have been in my service, and i shall have many more when _he_ comes--the man who goes through the motions for me, and writes down what he derives from me. i should like to know what will be the next thing he'll take out of me." "inkpot!" exclaimed the pen. late in the evening the poet came home. he had been to a concert, where he had heard a famous violinist, with whose admirable performances he was quite enchanted. the player had drawn a wonderful wealth of tone from the instrument: sometimes it had sounded like tinkling water-drops, like rolling pearls, sometimes like birds twittering in chorus, and then again it went swelling on like the wind through the fir trees. the poet thought he heard his own heart weeping, but weeping melodiously, like the sound of woman's voice. it seemed as though not only the strings sounded, but every part of the instrument. it was a wonderful performance; and difficult as the piece was, the bow seemed to glide easily to and fro over the strings, and it looked as though every one might do it. the violin seemed to sound of itself, and the bow to move of itself--those two appeared to do everything; and the audience forgot the master who guided them and breathed soul and spirit into them. the master was forgotten; but the poet remembered him, and named him, and wrote down his thoughts concerning the subject: "how foolish it would be of the violin and the bow to boast of their achievements. and yet we men often commit this folly--the poet, the artist, the labourer in the domain of science, the general--we all do it. we are only the instruments which the almighty uses: to him alone be the honour! we have nothing of which we should be proud." yes, that is what the poet wrote down. he wrote it in the form of a parable, which he called "the master and the instruments." "that is what you get, madam," said the pen to the inkstand, when the two were alone again. "did you not hear him read aloud what i have written down?" "yes, what i gave you to write," retorted the inkstand. "that was a cut at you, because of your conceit. that you should not even have understood that you were being quizzed! i gave you a cut from within me--surely i must know my own satire!" "ink-pipkin!" cried the pen. "writing-stick!" cried the inkstand. and each of them felt a conviction that he had answered well; and it is a pleasing conviction to feel that one has given a good answer--a conviction on which one can sleep; and accordingly they slept upon it. but the poet did not sleep. thoughts welled up from within him, like the tones from the violin, falling like pearls, rushing like the storm-wind through the forests. he understood his own heart in these thoughts, and caught a ray from the eternal master. to _him_ be all the honour! the child in the grave. there was mourning in the house, sorrow in every heart. the youngest child, a boy four years old, the joy and hope of his parents, had died. there still remained to them two daughters, the elder of whom was about to be confirmed--good, charming girls both; but the child that one has lost always seems the dearest; and here it was the youngest, and a son. it was a heavy trial. the sisters mourned as young hearts can, and were especially moved at the sight of their parents' sorrow. the father was bowed down, and the mother completely struck down by the great grief. day and night she had been busy about the sick child, and had tended, lifted, and carried it; she had felt how it was a part of herself. she could not realize that the child was dead, and that it must be laid in a coffin and sleep in the ground. she thought god _could not_ take this child from her; and when it was so, nevertheless, and there could be no more doubt on the subject, she said in her feverish pain: "god did not know it. he has heartless servants here on earth, who do according to their own liking, and hear not the prayers of a mother." in her grief she fell away from god, and then there came dark thoughts, thoughts of death, of everlasting death, that man was but dust in the dust, and that with this life all was ended. but these thoughts gave her no stay, nothing on which she could take hold; and she sank into the fathomless abyss of despair. in her heaviest hours she could weep no more, and she thought not of the young daughters who were still left to her. the tears of her husband fell upon her forehead, but she did not look at him. her thoughts were with the dead child; her whole thought and being were fixed upon it, to call back every remembrance of the little one, every innocent childish word it had uttered. the day of the funeral came. for nights before the mother had not slept; but in the morning twilight she now slept, overcome by weariness; and in the meantime the coffin was carried into a distant room, and there nailed down, that she might not hear the blows of the hammer. when she awoke, and wanted to see her child, the husband said, "we have nailed down the coffin. it was necessary to do so." "when god is hard towards me, how should men be better?" she said, with sobs and groans. the coffin was carried to the grave. the disconsolate mother sat with her young daughters. she looked at her daughters, and yet did not see them, for her thoughts were no longer busy at the domestic hearth. she gave herself up to her grief, and grief tossed her to and fro as the sea tosses a ship without compass or rudder. so the day of the funeral passed away, and similar days followed, of dark, wearying pain. with moist eyes and mournful glances, the sorrowing daughters and the afflicted husband looked upon her who would not hear their words of comfort; and, indeed, what words of comfort could they speak to her, when they themselves were heavily bowed down? it seemed as though she knew sleep no more; and yet he would now have been her best friend, who would have strengthened her body, and poured peace into her soul. they persuaded her to seek her couch, and she lay still there, like one who slept. one night her husband was listening, as he often did, to her breathing, and fully believed that she had now found rest and relief. he folded his arms and prayed, and soon sank into a deep healthy sleep; and thus he did not notice that his wife rose, threw on her clothes, and silently glided from the house, to go where her thoughts always lingered--to the grave which held her child. she stepped through the garden of the house, and over the fields, where a path led to the churchyard. no one saw her on her walk--she had seen nobody, for her eyes were fixed upon the one goal of her journey. it was a lovely starlight night; the air was still mild; it was in the beginning of september. she entered the churchyard, and stood by the little grave, which looked like a great nosegay of fragrant flowers. she sat down, and bowed her head low over the grave, as if she could have seen her child through the intervening earth, her little boy, whose smile rose so vividly before her--the gentle expression of whose eyes, even on the sick bed, she could never forget. how eloquent had that glance been, when she had bent over him, and seized his delicate hand, which he had no longer strength to raise! as she had sat by his crib, so she now sat by his grave, but here her tears had free course, and fell thick upon the grave. "thou wouldst gladly go down and be with thy child," said a voice quite close to her, a voice that sounded so clear and deep, it went straight to her heart. she looked up; and near her stood a man wrapped in a black cloak, with a hood drawn closely down over his face. but she glanced keenly up, and saw his face under his hood. it was stern, but yet awakened confidence, and his eyes beamed with the radiance of youth. "down to my child!" she repeated; and a despairing supplication spoke out of her words. "darest thou follow me?" asked the form. "i am death." and she bowed her head in acquiescence. then suddenly it seemed as though all the stars were shining with the radiance of the full moon; she saw the varied colours of the flowers on the grave, and the covering of earth was gradually withdrawn like a floating drapery; and she sank down, and the apparition covered her with a black cloak; night closed around her, the night of death, and she sank deeper than the sexton's spade can penetrate; and the churchyard was as a roof over her head. a corner of the cloak was removed, and she stood in a great hall which spread wide and pleasantly around. it was twilight. but in a moment her child appeared, and was pressed to her heart, smiling at her in greater beauty than he had ever possessed. she uttered a cry, but it was inaudible. a glorious swelling strain of music sounded in the distance, and then near to her, and then again in the distance: never had such tones fallen on her ear; they came from beyond the great dark curtain which separated the hall from the great land of eternity beyond. "my sweet darling mother," she heard her child say. it was the well-known, much-loved voice, and kiss followed kiss in boundless felicity; and the child pointed to the dark curtain. "it is not so beautiful on earth. do you see, mother--do you see them all? oh, that is happiness!" [illustration: the mother at the grave.] but the mother saw nothing which the child pointed out--nothing but the dark night. she looked with earthly eyes, and could not see as the child saw, which god had called to himself. she could hear the sounds of the music, but she heard not the word--_the word_ in which she was to believe. "now i can fly, mother--i can fly with all the other happy children into the presence of the almighty. i would fain fly; but, if you weep as you are weeping now, i might be lost to you--and yet i would go so gladly. may i not fly? and you will come to me soon--will you not, dear mother?" "oh, stay! stay!" entreated the mother. "only one moment more--only once more i should wish to look at thee, and kiss thee, and press thee in my arms." and she kissed and fondled the child. then her name was called from above--called in a plaintive voice. what might this mean? "hearest thou?" asked the child. "it is my father who calls thee." and in a few moments deep sighs were heard, as of weeping children. "they are my sisters," said the child. "mother, you surely have not forgotten them?" and then she remembered those she had left behind. a great terror came upon her. she looked out into the night, and above her dim forms were flitting past. she seemed to recognize a few more of these. they floated through the hall of death towards the dark curtain, and there they vanished. would her husband and her daughter thus flit past? no, their sighs and lamentations still sounded from above:--and she had been nearly forgetting them for the sake of him who was dead! "mother, now the bells of heaven are ringing," said the child. "mother, now the sun is going to rise." and an overpowering light streamed in upon her. the child had vanished, and she was borne upwards. it became cold round about her, and she lifted up her head, and saw that she was lying in the churchyard, on the grave of her child. but the lord had been a stay unto her feet, in a dream, and a light to her spirit; and she bowed her knees and prayed for forgiveness that she had wished to keep back a soul from its immortal flight, and that she had forgotten her duties towards the living who were left to her. and when she had spoken those words, it was as if her heart were lightened. then the sun burst forth, and over her head a little bird sang out, and the church bells sounded for early service. everything was holy around her, and her heart was chastened. she acknowledged the goodness of god, she acknowledged the duties she had to perform, and eagerly she went home. she bent over her husband, who still slept; her warm devoted kiss awakened him, and heart-felt words of love came from the lips of both. and she was gentle and strong, as a wife can be; and from her came the consoling words, "god's will is always the best." then her husband asked her, "from whence hast thou all at once derived this strength--this feeling of consolation?" and she kissed him, and kissed her children, and said, "they came from god, through the child in the grave." soup on a sausage-peg. i. "that was a remarkably fine dinner yesterday," observed an old mouse of the female sex to another who had not been at the festive gathering. "i sat number twenty-one from the old mouse king, so that i was not badly placed. should you like to hear the order of the banquet? the courses were very well arranged--mouldy bread, bacon-rind, tallow candle, and sausage--and then the same dishes over again from the beginning: it was just as good as having two banquets in succession. there was as much joviality and agreeable jesting as in the family circle. nothing was left but the pegs at the ends of the sausages. and the discourse turned upon these; and at last the expression, 'soup on sausage-rinds,' or, as they have the proverb in the neighbouring country, 'soup on a sausage-peg,' was mentioned. every one had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the sausage-peg soup, much less prepared it. a capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the soup, and it was said he deserved to be a relieving officer. was not that witty? and the old mouse king stood up, and promised that the young female mouse who could best prepare that soup should be his queen; and a year was allowed for the trial." "that was not at all bad," said the other mouse; "but how does one prepare this soup?" "ah, how is it prepared? that is just what all the young female mice, and the old ones too, are asking. they would all very much like to be queen; but they don't want to take the trouble to go out into the world to learn how to prepare the soup, and that they would certainly have to do. but every one has not the gift of leaving the family circle and the chimney corner. in foreign parts one can't get cheese-rinds and bacon every day. no, one must bear hunger, and perhaps be eaten up alive by a cat." such were probably the considerations by which the majority were deterred from going out into the wide world and gaining information. only four mice announced themselves ready to depart. they were young and brisk, but poor. each of them wished to proceed to one of the four quarters of the globe, and then it would become manifest which of them was favoured by fortune. every one took a sausage-peg, so as to keep in mind the object of the journey. the stiff sausage-peg was to be to them as a pilgrim's staff. it was at the beginning of may that they set out, and they did not return till the may of the following year; and then only three of them appeared. the fourth did not report herself, nor was there any intelligence of her, though the day of trial was close at hand. "yes, there's always some drawback in even the pleasantest affair," said the mouse king. and then he gave orders that all mice within a circuit of many miles should be invited. they were to assemble in the kitchen, where the three travelled mice would stand up in a row, while a sausage-peg, shrouded in crape, was set up as a memento of the fourth, who was missing. no one was to proclaim his opinion till the mouse king had settled what was to be said. and now let us hear. ii. _what the first little mouse had seen and learnt in her travels._ "when i went out into the wide world," said the little mouse, "i thought, as many think at my age, that i had already learnt everything; but that was not the case. years must pass before one gets so far. i went to sea at once. i went in a ship that steered towards the north. they had told me that the ship's cook must know how to manage things at sea; but it is easy enough to manage things when one has plenty of sides of bacon, and whole tubs of salt pork, and mouldy flour. one has delicate living on board; but one does not learn to prepare soup on a sausage-peg. we sailed along for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and we did not get off without a wetting. when we at last reached the port to which we were bound, i left the ship; and it was high up in the far north. "it is a wonderful thing, to go out of one's own corner at home, and sail in a ship, where one has a sort of corner too, and then suddenly to find oneself hundreds of miles away in a strange land. i saw great pathless forests of pine and birch, which smelt so strong that i sneezed, and thought of sausage. there were great lakes there too. when i came close to them the waters were quite clear, but from a distance they looked black as ink. great swans floated upon them: i thought at first they were spots of foam, they lay so still; but then i saw them walk and fly, and i recognized them. they belong to the goose family--one can see that by their walk; for no one can deny his parentage. i kept with my own kind. i associated with the forest and field mice, who, by the way, know very little, especially as regards cookery, though this was the very subject that had brought me abroad. the thought that soup might be boiled on a sausage-peg was such a startling statement to them, that it flew at once from mouth to mouth through the whole forest. they declared the problem could never be solved; and little did i think that there, in the very first night, i should be initiated into the method of its preparation. it was in the height of summer, and that, the mice said, was the reason why the wood smelt so strongly, and why the herbs were so fragrant, and the lakes so transparent and yet so dark, with their white swimming swans. "on the margin of the wood, among three or four houses, a pole as tall as the mainmast of a ship had been erected, and from its summit hung wreaths and fluttering ribbons: this was called a maypole. men and maids danced round the tree, and sang as loudly as they could, to the violin of the fiddler. there were merry doings at sundown and in the moonlight, but i took no part in them--what has a little mouse to do with a may dance? i sat in the soft moss and held my sausage-peg fast. the moon threw its beams especially upon one spot, where a tree stood, covered with moss so exceedingly fine, i may almost venture to say it was as fine as the skin of the mouse king; but it was of a green colour, and that is a great relief to the eye. "all at once, the most charming little people came marching forth. they were only tall enough to reach to my knee. they looked like men, but were better proportioned: they called themselves elves, and had delicate clothes on, of flower leaves trimmed with the wings of flies and gnats, which had a very good appearance. directly they appeared, they seemed to be seeking for something--i know not what; but at last some of them came towards me, and the chief pointed to my sausage-peg, and said, 'that is just such a one as we want--it is pointed--it is capital!' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff the more delighted he became. "'i will lend it,' i said, 'but not to keep.' "'not to keep!' they all repeated; and they seized the sausage-peg, which i gave up to them, and danced away to the spot where the fine moss grew; and here they set up the peg in the midst of the green. they wanted to have a maypole of their own, and the one they now had seemed cut out for them; and they decorated it so that it was beautiful to behold. "first, little spiders spun it round with gold thread, and hung it all over with fluttering veils and flags, so finely woven, bleached so snowy white in the moonshine, that they dazzled my eyes. they took colours from the butterfly's wing, and strewed these over the white linen, and flowers and diamonds gleamed upon it, so that i did not know my sausage-peg again: there is not in all the world such a maypole as they had made of it. and now came the real great party of elves. they were quite without clothes, and looked as genteel as possible; and they invited me to be present at the feast; but i was to keep at a certain distance, for i was too large for them. "and now began such music! it sounded like thousands of glass bells, so full, so rich, that i thought the swans were singing. i fancied also that i heard the voice of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and at last the whole forest seemed to join in. i heard children's voices, the sound of bells, and the song of birds; the most glorious melodies--and all came from the elves' maypole, namely, my sausage-peg. i should never have believed that so much could come out of it; but that depends very much upon the hands into which it falls. i was quite touched. i wept, as a little mouse may weep, with pure pleasure. "the night was far too short; but it is not longer up yonder at that season. in the morning dawn the breeze began to blow, the mirror of the forest lake was covered with ripples, and all the delicate veils and flags fluttered away in the air. the waving garlands of spider's web, the hanging bridges and balustrades, and whatever else they are called, flew away as if they were nothing at all. six elves brought me back my sausage-peg, and asked me at the same time if i had any wish that they could gratify; so i asked them if they could tell me how soup was made on a sausage-peg. "'how _we_ do it?' asked the chief of the elves, with a smile. 'why, you have just seen it. i fancy you hardly knew your sausage-peg again?' "'you only mean that as a joke," i replied. and then i told them in so many words, why i had undertaken a journey, and what great hopes were founded on the operation at home. 'what advantage,' i asked, 'can accrue to our mouse king, and to our whole powerful state, from the fact of my having witnessed all this festivity? i cannot shake it out of the sausage-peg, and say, "look, here is the peg, now the soup will come." that would be a dish that could only be put on the table when the guests had dined.' [illustration: the elves apply for the loan of the sausage-peg.] "then the elf dipped his little finger into the cup of a blue violet, and said to me: "'see here! i will anoint your pilgrim's staff; and when you go back to your country, and come to the castle of the mouse king, you have but to touch him with the staff, and violets will spring forth and cover its whole surface, even in the coldest winter-time. and so i think i've given you something to carry home, and a little more than something!'" but before the little mouse said what this "something more" was, she stretched her staff out towards the king, and in very truth the most beautiful bunch of violets burst forth; and the scent was so powerful, that the mouse king incontinently ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails into the fire and create a smell of burning, for the odour of the violets was not to be borne, and was not of the kind he liked. "but what was the 'something more,' of which you spoke?" asked the mouse king. "why," the little mouse answered, "i think it is what they call effect!" and herewith she turned the staff round, and lo! there was not a single flower to be seen upon it; she only held the naked skewer, and lifted this up, as a musical conductor lifts his _bâton_. "'violets,' the elf said to me, 'are for sight, and smell, and touch. therefore it yet remains to provide for hearing and taste!'" and now the little mouse began to beat time; and music was heard, not such as sounded in the forest among the elves, but such as is heard in the kitchen. there was a bubbling sound of boiling and roasting; and all at once it seemed as if the sound were rushing through every chimney, and pots and kettles were boiling over. the fire-shovel hammered upon the brass kettle, and then, on a sudden, all was quiet again. they heard the quiet subdued song of the tea-kettle, and it was wonderful to hear--they could not quite tell if the kettle were beginning to sing or leaving off; and the little pot simmered, and the big pot simmered, and neither cared for the other: there seemed to be no reason at all in the pots. and the little mouse flourished her _bâton_ more and more wildly; the pots foamed, threw up large bubbles, boiled over, and the wind roared and whistled through the chimney. oh! it became so terrible, that the little mouse lost her stick at last. "that was a heavy soup!" said the mouse king. "shall we not soon hear about the preparation?" "that was all," said the little mouse, with a bow. "that is all! then we should be glad to hear what the next has to relate," said the mouse king. iii. _what the second little mouse had to tell._ "i was born in the palace library," said the second mouse. "i and several members of our family never knew the happiness of getting into the dining-room, much less into the store-room; on my journey, and here to-day, are the only times i have seen a kitchen. we have indeed often been compelled to suffer hunger in the library, but we got a good deal of knowledge. the rumour penetrated even to us, of the royal prize offered to those who could cook soup upon a sausage-peg; and it was my old grandmother who thereupon ferreted out a manuscript, which she certainly could not read, but which she had heard read out, and in which it was written: 'those who are poets can boil soup upon a sausage-peg.' she asked me if i were a poet. i felt quite innocent on the subject, and then she told me i must go out, and manage to become one. i again asked what was requisite in that particular, for it was as difficult for me to find that out, as to prepare the soup; but grandmother had heard a good deal of reading, and she said that three things were especially necessary: 'understanding, imagination, feeling--if you can manage to obtain these three, you are a poet, and the sausage-wide peg affair will be quite easy to you.' "and i went forth, and marched towards the west, away into the world, to become a poet. "understanding is the most important thing in every affair. i knew that, for the two other things are not held in half such respect, and consequently i went out first to seek understanding. yes, where does he dwell? 'go to the ant and be wise,' said the great king of the jews; i knew that from my library experience; and i never stopped till i came to the first great ant-hill, and there i placed myself on the watch, to become wise. "the ants are a respectable people. they are understanding itself. everything with them is like a well-worked sum, that comes right. to work and to lay eggs, they say, is to live while you live, and to provide for posterity; and accordingly that is what they do. they were divided into the clean and the dirty ants. the rank of each is indicated by a number, and the ant queen is number one; and her view is the only correct one, she is the receptacle of all wisdom; and that was important for me to know. she spoke so much, and it was all so clever, that it sounded to me like nonsense. she declared her ant-hill was the loftiest thing in the world; though close by it grew a tree, which was certainly loftier, much loftier, that could not be denied, and therefore it was never mentioned. one evening an ant had lost herself upon the tree: she had crept up the stem--not up to the crown, but higher than any ant had climbed until then; and when she turned, and came back home, she talked of something far higher than the ant-hill that she had found in her travels; but the other ants considered that an insult to the whole community, and consequently she was condemned to wear a muzzle, and to continual solitary confinement. but a short time afterwards another ant got on the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery; and this one spoke with emphasis, and indistinctly, they said; and as, moreover, she was one of the pure ants and very much respected, they believed her; and when she died they erected an egg-shell as a memorial of her, for they had a great respect for the sciences. i saw," continued the little mouse, "that the ants were always running to and fro with their eggs on their backs. one of them once dropped her egg; she exerted herself greatly to pick it up again, but she could not succeed. then two others came up, and helped her with all their might, insomuch that they nearly dropped their own eggs over it; but then they certainly at once relaxed their exertions, for each should think of himself first--the ant queen had declared that by so doing they exhibited at once heart and understanding. "'these two qualities,' she said, 'place us ants on the highest step among all reasoning beings. understanding is seen among us all in predominant measure, and i have the greatest share of understanding.' and so saying, she raised herself on her hind-legs, so that she was easily to be recognized. i could not be mistaken, and i ate her up. we were to go to the ants to learn wisdom--and i had got the queen! "i now proceeded nearer to the before-mentioned lofty tree. it was an oak, and had a great trunk, and a far-spreading top, and was very old. i knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as it is called, who is born with the tree, and dies with it. i had heard about this in the library; and now i saw an oak tree, and an oak girl. she uttered a piercing cry when she saw me so near. like all females, she was very much afraid of mice; and she had more ground for fear than others, for i might have gnawed through the stem of the tree on which her life depended. i accosted the maiden in a friendly and honest way, and bade her take courage. and she took me up in her delicate hand; and when i had told her my reason for coming out into the wide world, she promised me that perhaps on that very evening i should have one of the two treasures of which i was still in quest. she told me that phantasus, the genius of imagination, was her very good friend, that he was beautiful as the god of love, and that he rested many an hour under the leafy boughs of the tree, which then rustled more strongly than ever over the pair of them. he called her his dryad, she said, and the tree his tree, for the grand gnarled oak was just to his taste, with its root burrowing so deep in the earth, and the stem and crown rising so high out in the fresh air, and knowing the beating snow, and the sharp wind, and the warm sunshine as they deserve to be known. 'yes,' the dryad continued, 'the birds sing aloft there in the branches, and tell each other of strange countries they have visited; and on the only dead bough the stork has built a nest which is highly ornamental, and moreover, one gets to hear something of the land of the pyramids. all that is very pleasing to phantasus; but it is not enough for him: i myself must talk to him, and tell him of life in the woods, and must revert to my childhood, when i was little, and the tree such a delicate thing that a stinging-nettle overshadowed it--and i have to tell everything, till now that the tree is great and strong. sit you down under the green thyme, and pay attention; and when phantasus comes, i shall find an opportunity to pinch his wings, and to pull out a little feather. take the pen--no better is given to any poet--and it will be enough for you!' "and when phantasus came the feather was plucked, and i seized it," said the little mouse. "i put it in water, and held it there till it grew soft. it was very hard to digest, but i nibbled it up at last. it is very easy to gnaw oneself into being a poet, though there are many things one must do. now i had these two things, imagination and understanding, and through these i knew that the third was to be found in the library; for a great man has said and written that there are romances, whose sole and single use is that they relieve people of their superfluous tears, and that they are, in fact, a sort of sponges sucking up human emotion. i remembered a few of these old books which had always looked especially palatable, and were much thumbed and very greasy, having evidently absorbed a great deal of feeling into themselves. "i betook myself back to the library, and, so to speak, devoured a whole novel--that is, the essence of it, the interior part, for i left the crust or binding. when i had digested this, and a second one in addition, i felt a stirring within me, and i ate a bit of a third romance, and now i was a poet. i said so to myself, and told the others also. i had headache, and chestache, and i can't tell what aches besides. i began thinking what kind of stories could be made to refer to a sausage-peg; and many pegs, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came into my mind--the ant queen must have had a particularly fine understanding. i remembered the man who took a white stick in his mouth, by which means he could render himself and the stick invisible; i thought of stick hobby-horses, of 'stock rhymes,' of 'breaking the staff' over an offender, and heaven knows of how many phrases more concerning sticks, stocks, staves, and pegs. all my thoughts ran upon sticks, staves, and pegs; and when one is a poet (and i am a poet, for i have worked most terribly hard to become one) a person can make poetry on these subjects. i shall therefore be able to wait upon you every day with a poem or a history--and that's the soup i have to offer." "let us hear what the third has to say," was now the mouse king's command. "peep! peep!" cried a small voice at the kitchen-door, and a little mouse--it was the fourth of the mice who had contended for the prize, the one whom they looked upon as dead--shot in like an arrow. she toppled the sausage-peg with the crape covering over in a moment. she had been running day and night, and had travelled on the railway, in the goods train, having watched her opportunity, and yet she had almost come too late. she pressed forward, looking very much rumpled, and she had lost her sausage-peg, but not her voice, for she at once took up the word, as if they had been waiting only for her, and wanted to hear none but her, and as if everything else in the world were of no consequence. she spoke at once, and spoke fully: she had appeared so suddenly, that no one found time to object to her speech or to her, while she was speaking. and let us hear what she said. iv. [illustration: the gaoler's granddaughter takes pity on the little mouse.] _what the fourth mouse, who spoke before the third had spoken, had to tell._ "i betook myself immediately to the largest town," she said; "the name has escaped me--i have a bad memory for names. from the railway i was carried, with some confiscated goods, to the council house, and when i arrived there i ran into the dwelling of the gaoler. the gaoler was talking of his prisoners, and especially of one who had spoken unconsidered words. these words had given rise to others, and these latter had been written down and recorded. "'the whole thing is soup on a sausage-peg,' said the gaoler; 'but the soup may cost him his neck.' "now, this gave me an interest in the prisoner," continued the mouse, "and i watched my opportunity and slipped into his prison--for there's a mouse-hole to be found behind every locked door. the prisoner looked pale, and had a great beard, and bright sparkling eyes. the lamp flickered and smoked, but the walls were so accustomed to that, that they grew none the blacker for it. the prisoner scratched pictures and verses in white upon the black ground, but i did not read them. i think he found it tedious, and i was a welcome guest. he lured me with bread crumbs, with whistling, and with friendly words: he was glad to see me, and gradually i got to trust him, and we became good friends. he let me run upon his hand, his arm, and into his sleeve; he let me creep about in his beard, and called me his little friend. i really got to love him, for these things are reciprocal. i forgot my mission in the wide world, forgot my sausage-peg: that i had placed in a crack in the floor--it's lying there still. i wished to stay where i was, for if i went away, the poor prisoner would have no one at all, and that's having _too_ little, in this world. _i_ stayed, but _he_ did not stay. he spoke to me very mournfully the last time, gave me twice as much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me; then he went away, and never came back. i don't know his history. "'soup on a sausage-peg!' said the gaoler, to whom i now went; but i should not have trusted him. he took me in his hand, certainly, but he popped me into a cage, a treadmill. that's a horrible engine, in which you go round and round without getting any farther; and people laugh at you into the bargain. "the gaoler's granddaughter was a charming little thing, with a mass of curly hair that shone like gold, and such merry eyes, and such a smiling mouth! "'you poor little mouse,' she said, as she peeped into my ugly cage; and she drew out the iron rod, and forth i jumped, to the window board, and from thence to the roof spout. free! free! i thought only of that, and not of the goal of my journey. "it was dark, and night was coming on. i took up my quarters in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. that is a creature like a cat, who has the great failing that she eats mice. but one may be mistaken, and so was i, for this was a very respectable, well-educated old owl: she knew more than the watchman, and as much as i. the young owls were always making a racket; but 'go and make soup on a sausage peg' were the hardest words she could prevail on herself to utter, she was so fondly attached to her family. her conduct inspired me with so much confidence, that from the crack in which i was crouching i called out 'peep!' to her. this confidence of mine pleased her hugely, and she assured me i should be under her protection, and that no creature should be allowed to do me wrong; she would reserve me for herself, for the winter, when there would be short commons. "she was in every respect a clever woman, and explained to me how the watchman could only 'whoop' with the horn that hung at his side, adding, 'he is terribly conceited about it, and imagines he's an owl in the tower. wants to do great things, but is very small--soup on a sausage-peg!' i begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup, and then she explained the matter to me. "'soup on a sausage-peg,' she said, 'was only a human proverb, and was to be understood thus: each thinks his own way the best, but the whole signifies nothing.' "'nothing!'" i exclaimed. "i was quite struck. truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything; and that's what the old owl said. i now thought about it, and readily perceived that if i brought what was _above everything_ i brought something far beyond soup on a sausage-peg. so i hastened away, that i might get home in time, and bring the highest and best, that is above everything--namely, _the truth_. the mice are an enlightened people, and the king is above them all. he is capable of making me queen, for the sake of truth." "your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet spoken. "i can prepare the soup, and i mean to prepare it." v. _how it was prepared._ "i did not travel," the third mouse said. "i remained in my country--that's the right thing to do. there's no necessity for travelling; one can get everything as good here. i stayed at home. i've not learnt what i know from supernatural beings, or gobbled it up, or held converse with owls. i have what i know through my own reflections. will you make haste and put that kettle upon the fire? so--now water must be poured in--quite full--up to the brim!--so--now more fuel--make up the fire, that the water may boil--it must boil over and over!--so--i now throw the peg in. will the king now be pleased to dip his tail in the boiling water, and to stir it round with the said tail? the longer the king stirs it, the more powerful will the soup become. it costs nothing at all--no further materials are necessary, only stir it round!" "cannot any one else do that?" asked the mouse king. "no;" replied the mouse. "the power is contained only in the tail of the mouse king." and the water boiled and bubbled, and the mouse king stood close beside the kettle--there was almost danger in it--and he put forth his tail, as the mice do in the dairy, when they skim the cream from a pan of milk, afterwards licking their creamy tails; but his tail only penetrated into the hot steam, and then he sprang hastily down from the hearth. "of course--certainly you are my queen," he said. "we'll adjourn the soup question till our golden wedding in fifty years' time, so that the poor of my subjects, who will then be fed, may have something to which they can look forward with pleasure for a long time." [illustration: the mouse king understands how the soup is made.] and soon the wedding was held. but many of the mice said, as they were returning home, that it could not be really called soup on a sausage-peg, but rather soup on a mouse's tail. they said that some of the stories had been very cleverly told; but the whole thing might have been different. "_i_ should have told it so--and so--and so!" thus said the critics, who are always wise--after the fact. and this story went out into the wide world, everywhere; and opinions varied concerning it, but the story remained as it was. and that's the best in great things and in small, so also with regard to soup on a sausage-peg--not to expect any thanks for it. the stone of the wise men. far away in the land of india, far away towards the east, at the end of the world, stood the tree of the sun, a noble tree, such as we have never seen, and shall probably never see. the crown stretched out several miles around: it was really an entire wood; each of its smallest branches formed, in its turn, a whole tree. palms, beech trees, pines, plane trees, and various other kinds grew here, which are found scattered in all other parts of the world: they shot out like small branches from the great boughs, and these large boughs with their windings and knots formed, as it were, valleys and hills, clothed with velvety green, and covered with flowers. everything was like a wide, blooming meadow, or like the most charming garden. here the birds from all quarters of the world assembled together--birds from the primeval forests of america, the rose gardens of damascus, from the deserts of africa, in which the elephant and the lion boast of being the only rulers. the polar birds came flying hither, and of course the stork and the swallow were not absent; but the birds were not the only living beings: the stag, the squirrel, the antelope, and a hundred other beautiful and light-footed animals were here at home. the crown of the tree was a widespread fragrant garden, and in the midst of it, where the great boughs raised themselves into a green hill, there stood a castle of crystal, with a view towards every quarter of heaven. each tower was reared in the form of a lily. through the stem one could ascend, for within it was a winding-stair; one could step out upon the leaves as upon balconies; and up in the calyx of the flower itself was the most beautiful, sparkling round hall, above which no other roof rose but the blue firmament with sun and stars. just as much splendour, though in another way, appeared below, in the wide halls of the castle. here, on the walls, the whole world around was reflected. one saw everything that was done, so that there was no necessity of reading any papers, and indeed papers were not obtainable there. everything was to be seen in living pictures, if one only wished to see it; for too much is still too much even for the wisest man; and this man dwelt here. his name is very difficult--you will not be able to pronounce it; therefore it may remain unmentioned. he knew everything that a man on earth can know, or can get to know; every invention which had already been or which was yet to be made was known to him; but nothing more, for everything in the world has its limits. the wise king solomon was only half as wise as he, and yet he was very wise, and governed the powers of nature, and held sway over potent spirits: yes, death itself was obliged to give him every morning a list of those who were to die during the day. but king solomon himself was obliged to die too; and this thought it was which often in the deepest manner employed the inquirer, the mighty lord in the castle on the tree of the sun. he also, however high he might tower above men in wisdom, must die one day. he knew that, and his children also must fade away like the leaves of the forest, and become dust. he saw the human race fade away like the leaves on the tree; saw new men come to fill their places; but the leaves that fell off never sprouted forth again--they fell to dust, or were transformed into other parts of plants. "what happens to man?" the wise man asked himself, "when the angel of death touches him? what may death be? the body is dissolved--and the soul. yes, what is the soul? whither doth it go? to eternal life, says the comforting voice of religion; but what is the transition? where does one live, and how? above, in heaven, says the pious man, thither we go. thither?" repeated the wise man, and fixed his eyes upon the moon and the stars; "up yonder?" but he saw, from the earthly ball, that above and below were alike changing their position, according as one stood here or there on the rolling globe; and even if he mounted as high as the loftiest mountains of earth rear their heads, to the air which we below call clear and transparent--the pure heaven--a black darkness spread abroad like a cloth, and the sun had a coppery glow, and sent forth no rays, and our earth lay wrapped in an orange-coloured mist. how narrow were the limits of the corporeal eye, and how little the eye of the soul could see!--how little did even the wisest know of that which is the most important to us all! in the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasure of the earth: the book of truth. leaf for leaf, the wise man read it through: every man may read in this book, but only by fragments. to many an eye the characters seem to tremble, so that the words cannot be put together; on certain pages the writing often seems so pale, so blurred, that only a blank leaf appears. the wiser a man becomes, the more he will read; and the wisest read most. he knew how to unite the sunlight and the moonlight with the light of reason and of hidden powers; and through this stronger light many things came clearly before him from the page. but in the division of the book whose title is "life after death" not even one point was to be distinctly seen. that pained him. should he not be able here upon earth to obtain a light by which everything should become clear to him that stood written in the book of truth? [illustration: the book of truth.] like the wise king solomon, he understood the language of the animals, and could interpret their talk and their songs. but that made him none the wiser. he found out the forces of plants and metals--the forces to be used for the cure of diseases, for delaying death--but none that could destroy death. in all created things that were within his reach he sought the light that should shine upon the certainty of an eternal life; but he found it not. the book of truth lay before him with leaves that appeared blank. christianity showed itself to him in the bible with words of promise of an eternal life; but he wanted to read it in _his_ book; but here he saw nothing written on the subject. he had five children--four sons, educated as well as the children of the wisest father could be, and a daughter, fair, mild, and clever, but blind; yet this appeared no deprivation to her--her father and brothers were outward eyes to her, and the vividness of her feelings saw for her. never had the sons gone farther from the castle than the branches of the tree extended, nor had the sister strayed from home. they were happy children in the land of childhood--in the beautiful fragrant tree of the sun. like all children, they were very glad when any history was related to them; and the father told them many things that other children would not have understood; but these were just as clever as most grown-up people are among us. he explained to them what they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls--the doings of men and the march of events in all the lands of the earth; and often the sons expressed the wish that they could be present at all the great deeds and take part in them; and their father then told them that out in the world it was difficult and toilsome--that the world was not quite what it appeared to them as they looked forth upon it from their beauteous home. he spoke to them of the true, the beautiful, and the good, and told them that these three held together in the world, and that under the pressure they had to endure they became hardened into a precious stone, clearer than the water of the diamond--a jewel whose splendour had value with god, whose brightness outshone everything, and which was the so-called "stone of the wise." he told them how men could attain by investigation to the knowledge of the existence of god, and that through men themselves one could attain to the certainty that such a jewel as the "stone of the wise" existed. this narration would have exceeded the perception of other children, but these children understood it, and at length other children, too, will learn to comprehend its meaning. they questioned their father concerning the true, the beautiful, and the good; and he explained it to them, told them many things, and told them also that god, when he made man out of the dust of the earth, gave five kisses to his work--fiery kisses, heart kisses--which we now call the five senses. through these the true, the beautiful, and the good is seen, perceived, and understood; through these it is valued, protected, and furthered. five senses have been given corporeally and mentally, inwardly and outwardly, to body and soul. the children reflected deeply upon these things; they meditated upon them by day and by night. then the eldest of the brothers dreamt a splendid dream. strangely enough, the second brother had the same dream, and the third, and the fourth brother likewise; all of them dreamt exactly the same thing--namely, that each went out into the world and found the "stone of the wise," which gleamed like a beaming light on his forehead when, in the morning dawn, he rode back on his swift horse over the velvety green meadows of his home into the castle of his father; and the jewel threw such a heavenly light and radiance upon the leaves of the book, that everything was illuminated that stood written concerning the life beyond the grave. but the sister dreamt nothing about going out into the wide world. it never entered her mind. her world was her father's house. "i shall ride forth into the wide world," said the eldest brother. "i must try what life is like there, and go to and fro among men. i will practise only the good and the true; with these i will protect the beautiful. much shall change for the better when i am there." now his thoughts were bold and great, as our thoughts generally are at home, before we have gone forth into the world and have encountered wind and rain, and thorns and thistles. in him and in all his brothers the five senses were highly developed, inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had _one_ sense which in keenness and development surpassed the other four. in the case of the eldest this pre-eminent sense was sight. this was to do him especial service. he said he had eyes for all time, eyes for all nations, eyes that could look into the depths of the earth, where the treasures lie hidden, and deep into the hearts of men, as though nothing but a pane of glass were placed before them: he could read more than we can see on the cheek that blushes or grows pale, in the eye that droops or smiles. stags and antelopes escorted him to the boundary of his home towards the west, and there the wild swans received him and flew north-west. he followed them. and now he had gone far out into the world--far from the land of his father, that extended eastward to the end of the earth. but how he opened his eyes in astonishment! many things were here to be seen; and many things appear very different when a man beholds them with his own eyes, or when he merely sees them in a picture, as the son had done in his father's house, however faithful the picture way be. at the outset he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at all the rubbish and all the masquerading stuff put forward to represent the beautiful; but he did not lose them, and soon found full employment for them. he wished to go thoroughly and honestly to work in the understanding of the beautiful, the true, and the good. but how were these represented in the world? he saw that often the garland that belonged to the beautiful was given to the hideous; that the good was often passed by without notice, while mediocrity was applauded when it should have been hissed off. people looked to the dress, and not to the wearer; asked for a name, and not for desert; and went more by reputation than by service. it was the same thing everywhere. "i see i must attack these things vigorously," he said; and attacked them with vigour accordingly. but while he was looking for the truth, came the evil one, the father of lies. gladly would the fiend have plucked out the eyes of this seer; but that would have been too direct; the devil works in a more cunning way. he let him see and seek the true and the good; but while the young man was contemplating them, the evil spirit blew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and such a proceeding would be hurtful even to the best sight. then the fiend blew upon the motes, so that they became beams; and the eyes were destroyed, and the seer stood like a blind man in the wide world, and had no faith in it: he lost his good opinion of it and himself; and when a man gives up the world and himself, all is over with him. "over!" said the wild swan, who flew across the sea towards the east. "over!" twittered the swallows, who likewise flew eastward, towards the tree of the sun. that was no good news that they carried to the young man's home. "i fancy the _seer_ must have fared badly," said the second brother; "but the _hearer_ may have better fortune." for this one possessed the sense of hearing in an eminent degree: he could hear the grass grow, so quick was he to hear. he took a hearty leave of all at home, and rode away, provided with good abilities and good intentions. the swallows escorted him, and he followed the swans; and he stood far from his home in the wide world. but he experienced the fact that one may have too much of a good thing. his hearing was _too_ fine. he not only heard the grass grow, but could hear every man's heart beat, in sorrow and in joy. the whole world was to him like a great clockmaker's workshop, wherein all the clocks were going "tick, tick!" and all the turret clocks striking "ding dong!" it was unbearable. for a long time his ears held out, but at last all the noise and screaming became too much, for one man. there came blackguard boys of sixty years old--for years alone don't make men--and raised a tumult at which the hearer might certainly have laughed, but for the applause which followed, and which echoed through every house and street, and was audible even in the country high road. falsehood thrust itself forward, and played the master; the bells on the fool's cap jangled, and declared they were church bells; and the noise became too bad for the _hearer_, and he thrust his fingers into his ears; but still he could hear false singing and bad sounds, gossip and idle words, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning without and within. heaven help us! he thrust his fingers deeper and deeper into his ears, but at last the drums burst. now he could hear nothing at all of the good, the true, and the beautiful, for his hearing was to have been the bridge by which he crossed. he became silent and suspicious, trusted no one at last, not even himself, and, no longer hoping to find and bring home the costly jewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up; and that was the worst of all. the birds who winged their flight towards the east brought tidings of this, till the news reached the castle in the tree of the sun. "_i_ will try now!" said the third brother. "i have a sharp _nose_!" now that was not said in very good taste; but it was his way, and one must take him as he was. he had a happy temper, and was a poet, a real poet: he could sing many things that he could not say, and many things struck him far earlier than they occurred to others. "i can smell fire!" he said; and he attributed to the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a great power in the region of the beautiful. "every fragrant spot in the realm of the beautiful has its frequenters," he said. "one man feels at home in the atmosphere of the tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, where the smell of spirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. another prefers sitting among the overpowering scent of jessamine, or scenting himself with strong clove oil. this man seeks out the fresh sea breeze, while that one climbs to the highest mountain top and looks down upon the busy little life beneath." thus he spake. it seemed to him as if he had already been out in the world, as if he had already associated with men and known them. but this experience arose from within himself: it was the poet within him, the gift of heaven, and bestowed on him in his cradle. he bade farewell to his paternal roof in the tree of the sun, and departed on foot through the pleasant scenery of home. arrived at its confines, he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than a horse; and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swung himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change; and away he flew over the sea to distant lands with great forests, deep lakes, mighty mountains, and proud cities; and wherever he came it seemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for every flower, every bush, every tree exhaled a new fragrance, in the consciousness that a friend and protector was in the neighbourhood, who understood them and knew their value. the crippled rose bush reared up its twigs, unfolded its leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, and even the black damp wood-snail noticed its beauty. "i will give my seal to the flower," said the snail; "i have spit at it, and i can do no more for it." "thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world!" said the poet; and he sang a song concerning it, sang it in his own way; but nobody listened. then he gave the drummer twopence and a peacock's feather, and set the song for the drum, and had it drummed in all the streets of the town; and the people heard it, and said, "that's a well-constructed song." then the poet sang several songs of the beautiful, the true, and the good. his songs were listened to in the tavern, where the tallow candles smoked, in the fresh meadow, in the forest, and on the high seas. it appeared as if this brother was to have better fortune than the two others. but the evil spirit was angry at this, and accordingly he set to work with incense powder and incense smoke, which he can prepare so artfully as to confuse an angel, and how much more therefore a poor poet! the evil one knows how to take that kind of people! he surrounded the poet so completely with incense, that the man lost his head, and forgot his mission and his home, and at last himself--and ended in smoke. but when the little birds heard of this they mourned, and for three days they sang not one song. the black wood-snail became blacker still, not for grief, but for envy. "they should have strewed incense for me," she said, "for it was i who gave him his idea of the most famous of his songs, the drum song of 'the way of the world;' it was i who spat at the rose! i can bring witness to the fact." but no tidings of all this penetrated to the poet's home in india, for all the birds were silent for three days; and when the time of mourning was over, their grief had been so deep that they had forgotten for whom they wept. that's the usual way! [illustration: the departure of the third brother.] "now i shall have to go out into the world, to disappear like the rest," said the fourth brother. he had just as good a wit as the third, but he was no poet, though he could be witty. those two had filled the castle with cheerfulness, and now the last cheerfulness was going away. sight and hearing has always been looked upon as the two chief senses of men, and as the two that it is most desirable to sharpen; the other senses are looked upon as of less consequence. but that was not the opinion of this son, as he had especially cultivated his _taste_ in every respect, and taste is very powerful. it holds sway over what goes into the mouth, and also over what penetrates into the mind; and consequently this brother tasted everything that was stored up in bottles and pots, saying that this was the rough work of his office. every man was to him a vessel in which something was seething, every country an enormous kitchen, a kitchen of the mind. "that was no delicacy," he said, and he wanted to go out and try what was delicate. "perhaps fortune may be more favourable to me than it was to my brothers," he said. "i shall start on my travels. but what conveyance shall i choose? are air balloons invented yet?" he asked his father, who knew of all inventions that had been made, or that were to be made. but air balloons had not yet been invented, nor steam ships, nor railways. "good: then i shall choose an air balloon," he said; "my father knows how they are made and guided. nobody has invented them yet, and consequently the people will believe that it is an aërial phantom. when i have used the balloon i will burn it, and for this purpose you must give me a few pieces of the invention that will be made next--i mean chemical matches." and he obtained what he wanted, and flew away. the birds accompanied him farther than they had flown with the other brothers. they were curious to know what would be the result of the flight, and more of them came sweeping up: they thought he was some new bird; and he soon had a goodly following. the air became black with birds, they came on like a cloud--like the cloud of locusts over the land of egypt. now he was out in the wide world. the balloon descended over one of the greatest cities, and the aëronaut took up his station on the highest point, on the church steeple. the balloon rose again, which it ought not to have done: where it went to is not known, but that was not a matter of consequence, for it was not yet invented. then he sat on the church steeple. the birds no longer hovered around him, they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. all the chimneys in the town were smoking merrily. "those are altars erected to thy honour!" said the wind, who wished to say something agreeable to him. he sat boldly up there, and looked down upon the people in the street. there was one stepping along, proud of his purse, another of the key he carried at his girdle, though he had nothing to unlock; one proud of his moth-eaten coat, another of his wasted body. "vanity! i must hasten downward, dip my finger in the pot, and taste!" he said. "but for awhile i will still sit here, for the wind blows so pleasantly against my back. i'll sit here so long as the wind blows. i'll enjoy a slight rest. 'it is good to sleep long in the morning, when one has much to do,' says the lazy man. i'll stop here so long as this wind blows, for it pleases me." and there he sat, but he was sitting upon the weathercock of the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, so that he was under the false impression that the same wind still blew; so he might stay up there a goodly while. but in india, in the castle in the tree of the sun, it was solitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after the other. "it goes not well with them," said the father; "they will never bring the gleaming jewel home; it is not made for me; they are gone, they are dead!" and he bent down over the book of truth, and gazed at the page on which he should read of life after death; but for him nothing was to be seen or learned upon it. the blind daughter was his consolation and joy: she attached herself with sincere affection to him; for the sake of his peace and joy she wished the costly jewel might be found and brought home. with kindly longing she thought of her brothers. where were they? where did they live? she wished sincerely that she might dream of them, but it was strange, not even in dreams could she approach them. but at length, one night, she dreamt that the voices of her brothers sounded across to her, calling to her from the wide world, and she could not refrain, but went far far out, and yet it seemed in her dream that she was still in her father's house. she did not meet her brothers, but she felt, as it were, a fire burning in her hand, but it did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she was bringing to her father. when she awoke, she thought for a moment that she still held the stone, but it was the knob of her distaff that she was grasping. during the long nights she had spun incessantly, and round the distaff was turned a thread, finer than the finest web of the spider; human eyes were unable to distinguish the separate threads. she had wetted them with her tears, and the twist was strong as a cable. she rose, and her resolution was taken: the dream must be made a reality. it was night, and her father slept. she pressed a kiss on his hand, and then took her distaff, and fastened the end of the thread to her father's house. but for this, blind as she was, she would never have found her way home; to the thread she must hold fast, and trust not to herself or to others. from the tree of the sun she broke four leaves; these she would confide to wind and weather, that they might fly to her brothers as a letter and a greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. how would she fare out yonder, she, the poor blind child? but she had the invisible thread to which she could hold fast. she possessed a gift which all the others lacked. this was _thoroughness_; and in virtue of this it seemed as if she could see to the tips of her fingers, and hear down into her very heart. and quietly she went forth into the noisy, whirling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the sky grew bright--she felt the warm ray--the rainbow spread itself out from the dark world through the blue air. she heard the song of the birds, and smelt the scent of orange groves and apple orchards so strongly that she seemed to taste it. soft tones and charming songs reached her ear, but also howling and roaring, and thoughts and opinions, sounded in strange contradiction to each other. into the innermost depths of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts and feelings. one chorus sounded darkly-- "the life of earth is a shadow vain a night created for sorrow!" but then came another strain-- "the life of earth is the scent of the rose, with its sunshine and its pleasure." and if one strophe sounded painfully-- "each mortal thinks of himself alone, this truth has been manifested"-- on the other side the answer pealed forth-- "a mighty stream of warmest love, all through the world shall guide us." she heard, indeed, the words-- "in the little petty whirl here below, each thing shows mean and paltry;" but then came also the comfort-- "many things great and good are achieved, that the ear of man heareth never." and if sometimes the mocking strain sounded around her-- "join in the common cry: with a jest destroy the good gifts of the giver." in the blind girl's heart a stronger voice repeated-- "to trust in thyself and in god is best; his good will be done for ever." and whenever she entered the circle of human kind, and appeared among young or old, the knowledge of the true, the good, and the beautiful beamed into their hearts. whether she entered the study of the artist, or the festive, decorated hall, or the crowded factory, with its whirring wheels, it seemed as though a sunbeam were stealing in--as if the sweet string sounded, the flower exhaled its perfume, and a living dew-drop fell upon the exhausted blood. [illustration: the blind girl's messengers.] but the evil spirit could not see this and be content. he has more cunning than ten thousand men, and he found out a way to compass his end. he betook himself to the marsh, collected little bubbles of the stagnant water, and passed over them a sevenfold echo of lying words to give them strength. then he pounded up paid-for heroic poems and lying epitaphs, as many as he could get, boiled them in tears that envy had shed, put upon them rouge he had scraped from faded cheeks, and of these he composed a maiden, with the aspect and gait of the blessed blind girl, the angel of thoroughness; and then the evil one's plot was in full progress. the world knew not which of the two was the true one; and, indeed, how should the world know? "to trust in thyself and in god is best; his good will be done for ever," sung the blind girl, in full faith. she intrusted the four green leaves from the tree of the sun to the winds, as a letter and a greeting to her brothers, and had full confidence that they would reach their destination, and that the jewel would be found which outshines all the glories of the world. from the forehead of humanity it would gleam even to the castle of her father. "even to my father's house," she repeated. "yes, the place of the jewel is on earth, and i shall bring more than the promise of it with me. i feel its glow, it swells more and more in my closed hand. every grain of truth, were it ever so fine, which the sharp wind carried up and whirled towards me, i took up and treasured; i let it be penetrated by the fragrance of the beautiful, of which there is so much in the world, even for the blind. i took the sound of the beating heart engaged in what is good, and added it to the first. all that i bring is but dust, but still it is the dust of the jewel we seek, and in plenty. i have my whole hand full of it." and she stretched forth her hand towards her father. she was soon at home--she had travelled thither in the flight of thoughts, never having quitted her hold of the invisible thread from the paternal home. the evil powers rushed with hurricane fury over the tree of the sun, pressed with a wind-blast against the open doors, and into the sanctuary where lay the book of truth. "it will be blown away by the wind!" said the father, and he seized the hand she had opened. "no," she replied, with quiet confidence, "it cannot be blown away; i feel the beam warming my very soul." and the father became aware of a glancing flame, there where the shining dust poured out of her hand over the book of truth, that was to tell of the certainty of an everlasting life, and on it stood one shining word--one only word--"believe." and with the father and daughter were again the four brothers. when the green leaf fell upon the bosom of each, a longing for home had seized them, and led them back. they had arrived. the birds of passage, and the stag, the antelope, and all the creatures of the forest followed them, for all wished to have a part in their joy. we have often seen, where a sunbeam bursts through a crack in the door into the dusty room, how a whirling column of dust seems circling round; but this was not poor and insignificant like common dust, for even the rainbow is dead in colour compared with the beauty which showed itself. thus, from the leaf of the book with the beaming word "_believe_," arose every grain of truth, decked with the charms of _the beautiful_ and _the good_, burning brighter than the mighty pillar of flame that led moses and the children of israel through the desert; and from the word "_believe_" the bridge of _hope_ arose, spanning the distance, even to the immeasurable love in the realms of the infinite. the butterfly. the butterfly wished for a bride; and, as may be imagined, he wanted to select a very pretty one from among the flowers; therefore he threw a critical glance at all the flower-beds, and found that every flower sat quietly and demurely on her stalk, just as a maiden ought to sit, before she is engaged; but there were a great many of them, and the choice threatened to become wearisome. the butterfly did not care to take much trouble, and consequently he flew off on a visit to the daisies. the french call this floweret "marguerite," and they know that marguerite can prophecy, when lovers pluck off its leaves, and ask of every leaf they pluck some question concerning their lovers. "heartily? painfully? loves me much? a little? not at all?" and so on. every one asks in his own language. the butterfly came to marguerite too, to inquire; but he did not pluck off her leaves: he kissed each of them, for he considered that most is to be done with kindness. "darling marguerite daisy!" he said to her, "you are the wisest woman among the flowers. pray, pray tell me, shall i get this one or that? which will be my bride? when i know that, i will directly fly to her, and propose for her." but marguerite did not answer him. she was angry that he had called her a "woman," when she was yet a girl; and there is a great difference. he asked for the second and for the third time, and when she remained dumb, and answered him not a word, he would wait no longer, but flew away to begin his wooing at once. it was in the beginning of spring; the crocus and the snowdrop were blooming around. "they are very pretty," thought the butterfly. "charming little lasses, but a little too much of the schoolgirl about them." like all young lads, he looked out for the elder girls. then he flew of to the anemones. these were a little too bitter for his taste; the violet somewhat too sentimental; the lime blossoms were too small, and, moreover, they had too many relations; the apple blossoms--they looked like roses, but they bloomed to-day, to fall off to-morrow, to fall beneath the first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with them would last too short a time. the pease blossom pleased him best of all: she was white and red, and graceful and delicate, and belonged to the domestic maidens who look well, and at the same time are useful in the kitchen. he was just about to make his offer, when close by the maiden he saw a pod at whose end hung a withered flower. "who is that?" he asked. "that is my sister," replied the pease blossom. "oh, indeed; and you will get to look like her!" he said. and away he flew, for he felt quite shocked. the honeysuckle hung forth blooming from the hedge, but there was a number of girls like that, with long faces and sallow complexions. no, he did not like her. but which one did he like? the spring went by, and the summer drew towards its close; it was autumn, but he was still undecided. and now the flowers appeared in their most gorgeous robes, but in vain; they had not the fresh fragrant air of youth. but the heart demands fragrance, even when it is no longer young, and there is very little of that to be found among the dahlias and dry chrysanthemums, therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on the ground. you see this plant has no blossom; but indeed it is blossom all over, full of fragrance from head to foot, with flower scent in every leaf. "i shall take her," said the butterfly. and he made an offer for her. but the mint stood silent and stiff, listening to him. at last she said, "friendship, if you please; but nothing more. i am old, and you are old, but we may very well live for one another; but as to marrying--no--don't let us appear ridiculous at our age." and thus it happened that the butterfly had no wife at all. he had been too long choosing, and that is a bad plan. so the butterfly became what we call an old bachelor. it was late in autumn, with rain and cloudy weather. the wind blew cold over the backs of the old willow trees, so that they creaked again. it was no weather to be flying about in summer clothes, nor, indeed, was the butterfly in the open air. he had got under shelter by chance, where there was fire in the stove and the heat of summer. he could live well enough, but he said, "it's not enough merely to live. one must have freedom, sunshine, and a little flower." and he flew against the window-frame, and was seen and admired, and then stuck upon a pin and placed in the box of curiosities; they could not do more for him. "now i am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said the butterfly. "it certainly is not very pleasant. it must be something like being married, for one is stuck fast." and he consoled himself in some measure with the thought. "that's very poor comfort," said the potted plants in the room. "but," thought the butterfly, "one cannot well trust these potted plants. they've had too much to do with mankind." in the uttermost parts of the sea. great ships had been sent up towards the north pole, to explore the most distant coasts, and to try how far men might penetrate up yonder. for more than a year they had already been pushing their way among ice, and snow, and mist, and their crews had endured many hardships; and now the winter was come, and the sun had entirely disappeared from those regions. for many many weeks there would now be a long night. all around, as far as the eye could reach, was a single field of ice; the ships had been made fast to it, and the snow had piled itself up in great masses, and of these huts had been built in the form of beehives, some of them spacious as the old "hun's graves"--others only containing room enough to hold two or four men. but it was not dark, for the northern lights flamed red and blue, like a great continual firework; and the snow glistened and gleamed, so that the night here was one long, flaming, twilight hour. when the gleam was brightest, the natives came in crowds, wonderful to behold in their rough, hairy, fur dresses; and they rode in sledges formed of blocks of ice, and brought with them furs and peltry in great bundles, so that the snow houses were furnished with warm carpets; and, in turn, the furs also served for coverlets when the sailors went to bed under their roofs of snow, while outside it froze in far different fashion than here with us in the winter. in our regions it was still the late autumn-time; and they thought of that up yonder, and often pictured to themselves the yellow leaves on the trees of home. the clock showed that it was evening, and time to go to sleep; and in the huts two men already had stretched themselves out, seeking rest. the younger of these had his best, dearest treasure, that he had brought from home--the bible, which his grandmother had given him on his departure. every night the sacred volume rested beneath his head, and he knew from his childish years what was written in it. every day he read in the book, and often the holy words came into his mind where it is written, "if i take the wings of the morning, and flee into the uttermost parts of the sea, even there thou art with me, and thy right hand shall uphold me;" and, under the influence of the eternal word and of the true faith, he closed his eyes, and sleep came upon him, and dreams--the manifestation of providence to the spirit. the soul lived and was working while the body was enjoying its rest: he felt this life, and it seemed to him as if dear old well-known melodies were sounding; as if the mild breezes of summer were playing around him; and over his bed he beheld a brightness, as if something were shining in through the crust of snow. he lifted up his head, and behold, the bright gleam was no ripple down from the snowy roof, but came from the mighty pinions of an angel, into whose beaming face he was gazing. as if from the cup of a lily the angel arose from among the leaves of the bible, and stretching out his arm, the walls of the snow hut sunk down around, as though they had been a light airy veil of mist; the green meadows and hills of home, and its ruddy woods, lay spread around him in the quiet sunshine of a beauteous autumn day; the nest of the stork was empty, but ripe fruit still clung to the wild apple tree, although the leaves, had fallen; the red hips gleamed, and the magpie whistled in the green cage over the window of the peasant's cottage that was his home; the magpie whistled the tune that had been taught him, and the grandmother hung green food around the cage, as he, the grandson, had been accustomed to do; and the daughter of the blacksmith, very young and fair, stood by the well drawing water, and nodded to the granddame, and the old woman nodded to her, and showed her a letter that had come from a long way off. that very morning the letter had arrived from the cold regions of the north--there where the grandson was resting in the hand of god. and they smiled and they wept; and he, far away among the ice and snow, under the pinions of the angel, he, too, smiled and wept with them in spirit, for he saw them and heard them. and from the letter they read aloud the words of holy writ, that in the uttermost parts of the sea his right hand would be a stay and a safety. and the sound of a beauteous hymn welled up all around; and the angel spread his wings like a veil over the sleeping youth. the vision had fled, and it grew dark in the snow hut; but the bible rested beneath his head, and faith and hope dwelt in his soul. god was with him; and he carried home about with him in his heart, even in the uttermost parts of the sea. the phoenix bird. in the garden of paradise, beneath the tree of knowledge, bloomed a rose bush. here, in the first rose, a bird was born: his flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous, and his song ravishing. but when eve plucked the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, when she and adam were driven from paradise, there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub a spark into the nest of the bird, which blazed up forthwith. the bird perished in the flames; but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered aloft a new one--the one solitary phoenix bird. the fable tells us that he dwells in arabia, and that every year he burns himself to death in his nest; but each time a new phoenix, the only one in the world, rises up from the red egg. the bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in colour, charming in song. when a mother sits by her infant's cradle, he stands on the pillow, and, with his wings, forms a glory around the infant's head. he flies through the chamber of content, and brings sunshine into it, and the violets on the humble table smell doubly sweet. but the phoenix is not the bird of arabia alone. he wings his way in the glimmer of the northern lights over the plains of lapland, and hops among the yellow flowers in the short greenland summer. beneath the copper mountains of fablun, and england's coal mines, he flies, in the shape of a dusty moth, over the hymn-book that rests on the knees of the pious miner. on a lotus leaf he floats down the sacred waters of the ganges, and the eye of the hindoo maid gleams bright when she beholds him. the phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? the bird of paradise, the holy swan of song! on the car of thespis he sat in the guise of a chattering raven, and flapped his black wings, smeared with the lees of wine; over the sounding harp of iceland swept the swan's red beak; on shakespeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of odin's raven, and whispered in the poet's ear "immortality!" and at the minstrels' feast he fluttered through the halls of the wartburg. the phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? he sang to thee the _marseillaise_, and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing; he came in the radiance of paradise, and perchance thou didst turn away from him towards the sparrow who sat with tinsel on his wings. the bird of paradise--renewed each century--born in flame, ending in flame! thy picture, in a golden frame, hangs in the halls of the rich; and thou thyself often fliest around, lonely and disregarded, a myth--"the phoenix of arabia." in paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath the tree of knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name was given thee--thy name, poetry. 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its branches are as the sands of the sea, and from it all other generations can be traced. here it cropped out as time went on--then twined back when its strength was spent and its part played out. the man family is in a way as the mighty ocean, from which the waves mount lightly towards the skies, only to retreat in a sullen flow. according to tradition, the first mother of the family is said to have been a field worker who, by resting on the cultivated ground, became pregnant and brought forth a son. and it was this son who founded the numerous and hardy family for whom all things prospered. the most peculiar characteristic of the man family in him was that everything he touched became full of life and throve. this boy for a long time bore the marks of the clinging earth, but he outgrew it and became an able worker of the field; with him began the cultivation of the land. that he had no father gave him much food for thought, and became the great and everlasting problem of his life. in his leisure he created a whole religion out of it. he could hold his own when it came to blows; in his work there was no one to equal him, but his wife had him well in hand. the name man is said to have originated in his having one day, when she had driven him forth by her sharp tongue, sworn threateningly that he was master in his own house, "master" being equivalent to "man." several of the male members of this family have since found it hard to bow their pride before their women folk. a branch of the family settled down on the desert coast up near the cattegat, and this was the beginning of the hamlet. it was in those times when forest and swamp still made the country impassable, and the sea was used as a highway. the reefs are still there on which the men landed from the boats, carrying women and children ashore; by day and by night white seagulls take turns to mark the place--and have done so through centuries. this branch had in a marked degree the typical characteristics of the family: two eyes--and a nose in the middle of their faces; one mouth which could both kiss and bite, and a pair of fists which they could make good use of. in addition to this the family was alike in that most of its members were better than their circumstances. one could recognize the man family anywhere by their bad qualities being traceable to definite causes, while for the good in them there was no explanation at all: it was inbred. it was a desolate spot they had settled upon, but they took it as it was, and gave themselves up patiently to the struggle for existence, built huts, chopped wood and made ditches. they were contented and hardy, and had the man's insatiable desire to overcome difficulties; for them there was no bitterness in work, and before long the result of their labors could be seen. but keep the profit of their work they could not; they allowed others to have the spending of it, and thus it came about, that in spite of their industry they remained as poor as ever. over a century ago, before the north part of the coast was discovered by the land folk, the place still consisted of a cluster of hunch-backed, mildewed huts, which might well have been the originals, and on the whole resembled a very ancient hamlet. the beach was strewn with tools and drawn-up boats. the water in the little bay stank of castaway fish, catfish and others which, on account of their singular appearance, were supposed to be possessed of devils, and therefore not eaten. a quarter of an hour's walk from the hamlet, out on the point, lived sören man. in his young days he had roamed the seas like all the others, but according to custom had later on settled himself down as a fisherman. otherwise, he was really more of a peasant and belonged to that branch of the family which had devoted itself to the soil, and for this had won much respect. sören man was the son of a farmer, but on reaching man's estate, he married a fisher girl and gave himself up to fishing together with agriculture--exactly as the first peasant in the family had done. the land was poor, two or three acres of downs where a few sheep struggled for their food, and this was all that remained of a large farm which had once been there, and where now seagulls flocked screaming over the white surf. the rest had been devoured by the ocean. it was sören's, and more particularly maren's foolish pride that his forefathers had owned a farm. it had been there sure enough three or four generations back; with a fairly good ground, a clay bank jutting out into the sea. a strong four-winged house, built of oak--taken from wrecks--could be seen from afar, a picture of strength. but then suddenly the ocean began to creep in. three generations, one after the other, were forced to shift the farm further back to prevent its falling into the sea, and to make the moving easier, each time a wing was left behind; there was, of course, no necessity for so much house-room, when the land was eaten by the sea. all that now remained was the heavy-beamed old dwelling-house which had prudently been placed on the landward side of the road, and a few sandhills. here the sea no longer encroached. now the best had gone, with the lands of man, it was satiated and took its costly food elsewhere; here, indeed, it gave back again, throwing sand up on to the land, which formed a broad beach in front of the slope, and on windy days would drift, covering the rest of the field. under the thin straggling downs could still be traced the remains of old plowland, broken off crudely on the slope, and of old wheeltracks running outwards and disappearing abruptly in the blue sky over the sea. for many years, after stormy nights with the sea at high tide, it had been the man's invariable custom each morning to find out how much had again been taken by the sea; burrowing animals hastened the destruction; and it happened that whole pieces of field with their crops would suddenly go; down in the muttering ocean it lay, and on it the mark of harrow and plow and the green reflection of winter crops over it. it told on a man to be witness of the inevitable. for each time a piece of their land was taken by the sea with all their toil and daily bread on its back, they themselves declined. for every fathom that the ocean stole nearer to the threshold of their home, nibbling at their good earth, their status and courage grew correspondingly less. for a long time they struggled against it, and clung to the land until necessity drove them back to the sea. sören was the first to give himself entirely up to it: he took his wife from the hamlet and became a fisherman. but they were none the better for it. maren could never forget that her sören belonged to a family who had owned a farm; and so it was with the children. the sons cared little for the sea, it was in them to struggle with the land and therefore they sought work on farms and became day-laborers and ditchers, and as soon as they saved sufficient money, emigrated to america. four sons were farming over there. they were seldom heard of, misfortune seemed to have worn out their feeling of relationship. the daughters went out to service, and after a time sören and maren lost sight of them, too. only the youngest, sörine, stayed at home longer than was usual with poor folks' children. she was not particularly strong, and her parents thought a great deal of her--as being the only one they had left. it had been a long business for sören's ancestors to work themselves up from the sea to the ownership of cultivated land; it had taken several generations to build up the farm on the naze. but the journey down hill was as usual more rapid, and to sören was left the worst part of all when he inherited; not only acres but possessions had gone; nothing was left now but a poor man's remains. the end was in many ways like the beginning. sören was like the original man in this also, that he too was amphibious. he understood everything, farming, fishing and handicraft. but he was not sharp enough to do more than just earn a bare living, there was never anything to spare. this was the difference between the ascent and the descent. moreover, he--like so many of the family--found it difficult to attend to his own business. it was a race which allowed others to gather the first-fruits of their labors. it was said of them that they were just like sheep, the more the wool was clipped, the thicker it grew. the downfall had not made sören any more capable of standing up for himself. when the weather was too stormy for him to go to sea, and there was nothing to do on his little homestead, he sat at home and patched seaboots for his friends down in the hamlet. but he seldom got paid for it. "leave it till next time," said they. and sören had nothing much to say against this arrangement, it was to him just as good as a savings bank. "then one has something for one's old days," said he. maren and the girl were always scolding him for this, but sören in this as in everything else, did not amend his ways. he knew well enough what women were; they never put by for a rainy day. chapter ii before the birth the children were now out of their care--that is to say, all the eight of them. sören and maren were now no longer young. the wear and tear of time and toil began to be felt; and it would have been good to have had something as a stand-by. sörine, the youngest, was as far as that goes, also out of their care, in that she was grown up and ought long ago to have been pushed out of the nest; but there was a reason for her still remaining at home supported by her old parents. she was very much spoiled, this girl--as the youngest can easily be; she was delicate and bashful with strangers. but, as maren thought, when one has given so many children to the world, it was pleasant to keep one of them for themselves; nests without young ones soon become cold. sören in the main thought just the same, even if he did grumble and argue that one woman in the house was more than enough. they were equally fond of children. and hearing so seldom from the others they clung more closely to the last one. so sörine remained at home and only occasionally took outside work in the hamlet or at the nearest farms behind the downs. she was supposed to be a pretty girl, and against this sören had nothing to say: but what he could see was that she did not thrive, her red hair stood like a flame round her clear, slightly freckled forehead, her limbs were fragile, and strength in her there was none. when speaking to people she could not meet their eyes, her own wandered anxiously away. the young boys from the hamlet came wooing over the downs and hung round the hut--preferably on the warm nights; but she hid herself and was afraid of them. "she takes after the bad side of the family," said sören, when he saw how tightly she kept her window closed. "she takes after the fine side," said the mother then. "just you wait and see, she will marry a gentleman's son." "fool," growled sören angrily and went his way: "to fill both her own and the girl's head with such rubbish!" he was fond enough of maren, but her intellect had never won his respect. as the children grew up and did wrong in one way or another, sören always said: "what a fool the child is--it takes after its mother." and maren, as years went on, bore patiently with this; she knew quite as well as sören that it was not intellect that counted. two or three times in the week, sörine went up town with a load of fish and brought goods home again. it was a long way to walk, and part of the road went through a pine wood where it was dark in the evening and tramps hung about. "oh, trash," said sören, "the girl may just as well try a little of everything, it will make a woman of her." but maren wished to shelter her child, as long as she could. and so she arranged it in this way, that her daughter could drive home in the cart from sands farm which was then carrying grain for the brewery. the arrangement was good, inasmuch as sörine need no longer go in fear of tramps, and all that a timid young girl might encounter; but, on the other hand, it did not answer maren's expectations. far from having taken any harm from the long walks, it was now proved what good they had done her. she became even more delicate than before, and dainty about her food. this agreed well with the girl's otherwise gentle manners. in spite of the trouble it gave her, this new phase was a comfort to maren. it took the last remaining doubt from her heart: it was now irrevocably settled. sörine was a gentlefolks' child, not by birth, of course--for maren knew well enough who was father and who mother to the girl, whatever sören might have thought--but by gift of grace. it did happen that such were found in a poor man's cradle, and they were always supposed to bring joy to their parents. herrings and potatoes, flounders and potatoes and a little bacon in between--this was no fare for what one might call a young lady. maren made little delicacies for her, and when sören saw it, he spat as if he had something nasty in his mouth and went his way. but, after all one can be too fastidious, and when at last the girl could not keep down even an omelet, it was too much of a good thing for maren. she took her daughter up to a wise woman who lived on the common. three times did she try her skill on sörine, with no avail. so sören had to borrow a horse and cart and drove them in to the homeopathist. he did it very unwillingly. not because he did not care for the girl, and it might be possible, as maren said, that as she slept, an animal or evil spirit might have found its way into her mouth and now prevented the food from going down. such things had been heard of before. but actually to make fools of themselves on this account--rushing off with horse and cart to the doctor just as the gentry did, and make themselves, too, the laughing stock of the whole hamlet, when a draught of tansy would have the same effect--this was what sören could not put up with. but, of course, although the daily affairs were settled by sören man, there were occasions when maren insisted on having her way--more so when it seriously affected _her_ offspring. then she could--as with witchcraft--suddenly forget her good behavior, brush aside sören's arguments as endless nonsense, and would stand there like a stone wall which one could neither climb over, nor get round. afterwards he would be sorry that the magic word which should have brought maren down from her high and mightiness, failed him at the critical moment. for she _was_ a fool--especially when it affected her offspring. but, whether right or wrong, when she had her great moments, fate spoke through her mouth, and sören was wise enough to remain silent. this time it certainly seemed as if maren was in the right; for the cure which the homeopathist prescribed, effervescent powder and sweet milk, had a wonderful effect. sörine throve and grew fat, so that it was a pleasure to see her. there can be too much of a good thing, and sören man, who had to provide the food, was the first to think of this. sörine and her mother talked much together and wondered what the illness could be, could it be this or could it be that? there was a great to-do and much talking with their heads together; but, as soon as sören appeared, they became silent. he had become quite unreasonable, going about muttering and swearing. as though it was not hard enough already, especially for the poor girl! he had no patience with a sick person, beggar that he was; and one day it broke out from him with bitterness and rage: "she must be--it can be nothing else." but like a tiger, maren was upon him. "what are you talking about, you old stupid? have _you_ borne eight children, or has the girl told you what's amiss? a sin and a shame it is to let her hear such talk; but now it is done, you might just as well ask her yourself. answer your father, sörine--is it true, what he says?" sörine sat drooping by the fireplace, suffering and scared. "then it would be like the virgin mary," she whispered, without looking up. and suddenly sank down, sobbing. "there, you can see yourself, what a blockhead you are," said maren harshly. "the girl is as pure as an unborn child. and here you come, making all this racket in the house, while the child, perhaps, may be on the point of death." sören man bowed his head, and hurried out on to the downs. ugh! it was just like thunder overhead. blockhead she had called him--for the first time in the whole of their life together; he would have liked to have forced that word home again and that, at once, before it stuck to him. but to face a mad, old wife and a howling girl--no, he kept out of it. sören man was an obstinate fellow; when once he got a thing into his three-cornered head, nothing could hammer it out again. he said nothing, but went about with a face which said: "ay, best not to come to words with women folk!" maren, however, did not misunderstand him. well, as long as he kept it to himself. there was the girl torturing herself, drinking petroleum, and eating soft soap as if she were mad, because she had heard it was good for internal weakness. it was too bad; it was adding insult to injury to be jeered at--by her own father too. at that time he was as little at home as possible, and maren had no objection as it kept him and his angry glare out of their way. when not at sea, he lounged about doing odd jobs, or sat gossiping high up on the downs, from where one could keep an eye on every boat going out or coming in. generally, he was allowed to go in peace, but when sörine was worse than usual, maren would come running--piteous to see in her motherly anxiety--and beg him to take the girl in to town to be examined before it was too late. then he would fall into a passion and shout--not caring who might hear: "confound you, you old nuisance--have you had eight children yourself and still can't see what ails the girl?" before long he would repent, for it was impossible to do without house and home altogether; but immediately he put his foot inside the door the trouble began. what was he to do? he had to let off steam, to prevent himself from going mad altogether with all this woman's quibbling. whatever the result might be, he was tempted to stand on the highest hill and shout his opinion over the whole hamlet, just for the pleasure of getting his own back. one day, as he was sitting on the shore weighting the net, maren came flying over the downs: "now, you had better send for the doctor," said she, "or the girl will slip through our fingers. she's taking on so, it's terrible to hear." sören also had himself heard moans from the hut; he was beside himself with anger and flung a pebble at her. "confound you, are you deaf too, that you cannot hear what that sound means?" shouted he. "see and get hold of a midwife--and that at once; or i'll teach you." when maren saw him rise, she turned round and ran home again. sören shrugged his shoulders and fetched the midwife himself. he stayed outside the hut the whole afternoon without going in, and when it was evening he went down to the inn. it was a place within which he seldom set his foot; there was not sufficient money for that; if house and home should have what was due to it. with unaccustomed shaking hand he turned the handle, opened the door with a jerk and stood with an uncertain air in the doorway. "so, that was it, after all," said he with miserable bravado. and he repeated the same sentence over and over again the whole evening, until it was time to stumble home. maren was out on the down waiting for him; when she saw the state he was in, she burst into tears. "so, that was----" he began, with a look which should have been full of withering scorn--but suddenly he stopped. maren's tears moved him strangely deep down under everything else; he had to put his arms round her neck and join in her tears. the two old people sat on the down holding each other until their tears were spent. already considerable evil had fallen in the path of this new being; now fell the first tears. when they had got home and busied themselves with mother and child and had gone to rest in the big double bed, maren felt for sören's hand. so she had always fallen asleep in their young days, and now it was as if something of the sweetness of their young days rose up in her again--was it really owing to the little lovechild's sudden appearance, or what? "now, perhaps, you'll agree 'twas as i told you all along," said sören, just as they were falling asleep. "ay, 'twas so," said maren. "but how it could come about ... for men folk...." "oh, shut up with that nonsense," said sören, and they went to sleep. * * * * * so maren eventually had to give in. "though," as sören said, "like as not one fine day she'd swear the girl had never had a child." womenfolk! ugh! there was no persuading them. anyhow, maren was too clever to deny what even a blind man could see with a stick; and it was ever so much easier for her to admit the hard truth; in spite of the girl's innocent tears and solemn assurances, there was a man in the case all the same, and he moreover, the farmer's son. it was the son of the owner of sands farm, whom sörine had driven home with from the town--in fear of the dark forest. "ay, you managed it finely--keeping the girl away from vagabonds," said sören, looking out of the corners of his eyes towards the new arrival. "rubbish! a farmer's son is better than a vagabond, anyway," answered maren proudly. after all it was she who was right; had she not always said there was refinement in sörine? there was blue blood in the girl! one day, sören had to put on his best clothes and off he went to sands farm. "'twas with child she was, after all," said he, going straight to the point. "'tis just born." "oh, is it," said the farmer's son who stood with his father on the thrashing-floor shaking out some straw. "well, that's as it may be!" "ay, but she says you're the father." "oh, does she! can she prove it, i'd like to know." "she can take her oath on it, she can. so you had better marry the girl." the farmer's son shouted with laughter. "oh, you laugh, do you?" sören picked up a hayfork and made for the lad, who hid behind the threshing-machine, livid with fear. "look here," the boy's father broke in: "don't you think we two old ones had better go outside and talk the matter over? young folk nowadays are foolish. whatever the boy's share in the matter may be, i don't believe he'll marry her," began he, as they were outside. "that he shall, though," answered sören, threateningly. "look you, the one thing to compel him is the law--and that she will not take, if i know anything about her. but, i'll not say but he might help the girl to a proper marriage--will you take two hundred crowns once and for all?" sören thought in his own mind that it was a large sum of money for a poor babe, and hurried to close the bargain in case the farmer might draw back. "but, no gossip, mind you, now. no big talk about relationship and that kind of thing," said the farmer as he followed sören out of the gate. "the child must take the girl's name--and no claim on us." "no, of course not!" said sören, eager to be off. he had got the two hundred crowns in his inner pocket, and was afraid the farmer might demand them back again. "i'll send you down a paper one of these days and get your receipt for the money," said the farmer. "it is best to have it fixed up all right and legal." he said the word "legal" with such emphasis and familiarity that sören was more than a little startled. "yes, yes," was all sören said and slipped into the porch with his cap between his hands. it was not often he took his hat off to any one, but the two hundred crowns had given him respect for the farmer. the people of sands farm were a race who, if they did break down their neighbor's fence, always made good the damage they had done. sören started off and ran over the fields. the money was more than he and maren had ever before possessed. all he had to do now was to lay out the notes in front of her so as to make a show that she might be impressed. for maren had fixed her mind on the farmer's son. chapter iii a child is born there are a milliard and a half of stars in the heavens, and--as far as we know--a milliard and a half of human beings on the earth. exactly the same number of both! one would almost think the old saying was right,--that every human being was born under his own star. in hundreds of costly observatories all over the world, on plain and mountain, talented scientists are adjusting the finest instruments and peering out into the heavens. they watch and take photographic plates, their whole life taken up with the one idea: to make themselves immortal with having discovered a new star. another celestial body--added to the milliard and a half already moving gracefully round. every second a human soul is born into the world. a new flame is lit, a star which perhaps may come to shine with unusual beauty, which in any case has its own unseen spectrum. a new being, fated, perhaps, to bestow genius, perhaps beauty around it, kisses the earth; the unseen becomes flesh and blood. no human being is a repetition of another, nor is any ever reproduced; each new being is like a comet which only once in all eternity touches the path of the earth, and for a brief time takes its luminous way over it--a phosphorescent body between two eternities of darkness. no doubt there is joy amongst human beings for every newly lit soul! and, no doubt they will stand round the cradle with questioning eyes, wondering what this new one will bring forth. alas, a human being is no star, bringing fame to him who discovers and records it! more often, it is a parasite which comes upon peaceful and unsuspecting people, sneaking itself into the world--through months of purgatory. god help it, if into the bargain it has not its papers in order. sörine's little one had bravely pushed itself into the light of day, surmounting all obstacles, denial, tears and preventatives, as a salmon springs against the stream. now she lay in the daylight, red and wrinkled, trying to soften all hearts. the whole of the community had done with her, she was a parasite and nothing else. a newly born human being is a figure in the transaction which implies proper marriage and settling down, and the next step which means a cradle and perambulator and--as it grows up--an engagement ring, marriage and children again. much of this procedure is upset when a child like sörine's little one is vulgar enough to allow itself to be born without marriage. she was from the very first treated accordingly, without maudlin consideration for her tender helplessness. "born out of wedlock" was entered on her certificate of birth which the midwife handed to the schoolmaster when she had helped the little one into the world, and the same was noted on the baptismal certificate. it was as if they all, the midwife, the schoolmaster and the parson, leaders of the community, in righteous vengeance were striking the babe with all their might. what matter if the little soul were begotten by the son of a farmer, when he refused to acknowledge it, and bought himself out of the marriage? a nuisance she was, and a blot on the industrious orderly community. she was just as much of an inconvenience to her mother as to all the others. when sörine was up and about again, she announced that she might just as well go out to service as all her sisters had done. her fear of strangers had quite disappeared: she took a place a little further inland. the child remained with the grandparents. no one in the wide world cared for the little one, not even the old people for that matter. but all the same maren went up into the attic and brought out an old wooden cradle which had for many years been used for yarn and all kinds of lumber; sören put new rockers, and once more maren's old, swollen legs had to accustom themselves to rocking a cradle again. a blot the little one was to her grandparents too--perhaps, when all is said and done, on them alone. they had promised themselves such great things of the girl--and there lay their hopes--an illegitimate child in the cradle! it was brought home to them by the women running to maren, saying: "well, how do you like having little ones again in your old days?" and by the other fishermen when sören man came to the harbor or the inn. his old comrades poked fun at him good-naturedly and said: "all very well for him--strong as a young man and all, sören, you ought to stand treat all round." but it had to be borne--and, after all, it could be got over. and the child was--when one got one's hand in again--a little creature who recalled so much that otherwise belonged to the past. it was just as if one had her oneself--in a way she brought youth to the house. it was utterly impossible not to care for such a helpless little creature. chapter iv ditte's first step strange how often one bears the child while another cares for it. for old maren it was not easy to be a mother again, much as her heart was in it. the girl herself had got over all difficulties, and was right away in service in another county; and here was the babe left behind screaming. maren attended to it as well as she could, procured good milk and gave it soaked bread and sugar, and did all she could to make up for its mother. her daughter she could not make out at all. sörine rarely came home, and preferably in the evening when no one could see her; the child she appeared not to care for at all. she had grown strong and erect, not in the least like the slender, freckled girl who could stand next to nothing. her blood had thickened and her manners were decided; though that, of course, has happened before,--an ailing woman transformed by having a child, as one might say, released from witchcraft. ditte herself did not seem to miss a mother's tender care: she grew well in spite of the artificial food, and soon became so big that she could keep wooden shoes on her small feet, and, with the help of old sören's hand, walk on the downs. and then she was well looked after. however, at times things would go badly. for maren had quite enough of her own work to do, which could not be neglected, and the little one was everywhere. and difficult it was suddenly to throw up what one had in hand--letting the milk boil over and the porridge burn--for the sake of running after the little one. maren took a pride in her housework and found it hard at times to choose between the two. then, god preserve her: the little one had to take her chance. ditte took it as it came and could be thankful that she was with her grandparents. she was an inquisitive little being, eager to meddle with everything; and a miracle it was that the firewood did not fall down. hundreds of times in the day did she get into scrapes, heedless and thoughtless as she was. she would rush out, and lucky it was if there was anything to step on, otherwise she would have fallen down. her little head was full of bruises, and she could never learn to look after herself in spite of all the knocks she got. it was too bad to be whipped into the bargain! when the hurt was very bad, grandfather had to blow it, or granny put the cold blade of the bread-knife on the bruise to make it well again. "better now," said she, turning a smiling face towards her granny; the tears still hanging on the long lashes, and her cheeks gradually becoming roughened by them. "yes, dear," answered maren. "but, girlie must take care." this was her name in those days, and a real little girlie she was, square and funny. it was impossible to be angry with her, although at times she could make it somewhat difficult for the old ones. her little head would not accept the fact that there were things one was not allowed to do; immediately she got an idea, her small hands acted upon it. "she's no forethought," said sören significantly, "she's a woman. wonder if a little rap over the fingers after all wouldn't----" but maren ignored this. took the child inside with her and explained, perhaps for the hundredth time, that girlie must not do so. and one day she had a narrow escape. ditte had been up to mischief as usual in her careless way. but when she had finished, she offered her little pouting mouth to the two old ones: "kiss me then--and say 'beg pardon'," said she. and who could resist her? "now, perhaps, you'll say that she can't be taught what's right and wrong?" said maren. sören laughed: "ay, she first does the thing, and waits till after to think if it's right or wrong. she'll be a true woman, right enough." at one time ditte got into the habit of pulling down and breaking things. she always had her little snub nose into everything, and being too small to see what was on the table, she pulled it down instead. sören had to get a drill and learn to mend earthenware to make up for the worst of her depredations. a great many things fell over ditte without alarming her in the least. "she'll neither break nor bend--she's a woman all over," said sören, inwardly rather proud of her power of endurance. but maren had to be ever on the watch, and was in daily fear for the things and the child herself. one day ditte spilled a basin of hot milk over herself and was badly scalded; that cured her of inquisitiveness. maren put her to bed and treated her burns with egg-oil and slices of new potato; and it was some time before ditte was herself again. but when she was again about, there was not so much as a scar to be seen. this accident made maren famous as a curer of burns and people sought her help for their injuries. "you're a wise one," said they, and gave her bacon or fish by way of thanks. "but 'tis not to be wondered at, after all." the allusion to the fact that her mother had been a "wise woman" did not please maren at all. but the bacon and the herrings came to an empty cupboard, and--as sören said: "beggars cannot be choosers and must swallow their pride with their food." ditte shot up like a young plant, day by day putting forth new leaves. she was no sooner in the midst of one difficult situation, and her troubled grandparents, putting their heads together, had decided to take strong measures, than she was out of it again and into something else. it was just like sailing over a flat bottom--thought sören--passing away under one and making room for something new. the old ones could not help wondering if they themselves and their children had ever been like this. they had never thought of it before, having had little time to spend on their offspring beyond what was strictly necessary; the one had quite enough to do in procuring food and the other in keeping the home together. but now they could not _help_ thinking; however much they had to do, and they marveled much over many things. "'tis strange how a bit of a child can open a body's eyes, for all one's old. ay, there's a lot to learn," said maren. "stupid," said sören. from his tone it could be gathered that he himself had been thinking the same. ditte was indeed full of character. little as she had had to inherit, she nevertheless was richly endowed; her first smile brought joy; her feeble tears, sorrow. a gift she was, born out of emptiness, thrown up on the beach for the wornout old couple. no one had done anything to deserve her,--on the contrary, all had done their utmost to put her out of existence. notwithstanding, there she lay one day with blinking eyes, blue and innocent as the skies of heaven. anxiety she brought from the very beginning, many footsteps had trodden round her cradle, and questioning thoughts surrounded her sleep. it was even more exciting when she began to take notice; when only a week old she knew their faces, and at three she laughed to sören. he was quite foolish that day and in the evening had to go down to the tap-room to tell them all about it. had any one ever known such a child? she could laugh already! and when she first began to understand play, it was difficult to tear oneself away--particularly for sören. every other moment he had to go in and caress her with his crooked fingers. nothing was so delightful as to have the room filled with her gurgling, and maren had to chase him away from the cradle, at least twenty times a day. and when she took her first toddling steps!--that little helpless, illegitimate child who had come defiantly into existence, and who, in return for life brightened the days of the two old wornout people. it had become pleasant once more to wake in the morning to a new day: life was worth living again. her stumbling, slow walk was in itself a pleasure; and the contemplative gravity with which she crossed the doorstep, both hands full, trotted down the road--straight on as if there was nothing behind her, and with drooping head--was altogether irresistible. then maren would slink out round the corner and beckon to sören to make haste and come, and sören would throw down his ax and come racing over the grass of the downs with his tongue between his lips. "heaven only knows what she is up to now," said he, and the two crept after her down the road. when she had wandered a little distance, in deep thought, she would suddenly realize her loneliness, and begin to howl, a picture of misery, left alone and forsaken. then the two old people would appear on the scene, and she would throw herself into their arms overjoyed at finding them again. then quite suddenly she got over it--the idea that things were gone forever if she lost sight of them for a moment. she began to look out and up into people's faces: hitherto, she had only seen the feet of those who came within her horizon. one day she actually went off by herself, having caught sight of the houses down in the hamlet. they had to look after her more seriously now that the outside world had tempted her. "we're not enough for her, seems like," said sören despondently, "got a fancy for the unknown already." it was the first time she had turned away from them, and sören recognized in that something of what he had experienced before, and for a moment a feeling of loneliness came over him. but maren, wise as she had grown since the coming of the little one, again found a way. she threw her kerchief over her head and went down to the hamlet with ditte, to let her play with other children. chapter v grandfather strikes out afresh all that sören possessed--with the exception of the house--was a third share in a boat and gear. he had already, before ditte came into the world, let out his part of the boat to a young fisher boy from the hamlet, who having no money to buy a share in a boat repaid sören with half of his catch. it was not much, but he and maren had frugal habits, and as to sören, she occasionally went out to work and helped to make ends meet. they just managed to scrape along with their sixth share of the catch, and such odd jobs as sören could do at home. once again there was a little one to feed and clothe. for the present, of course, ditte's requirements were small, but her advent had opened out new prospects. it was no good now to be content with toiling the time away, until one's last resting-place was reached, patiently thinking the hut would pay for the burial. it was not sufficient to wear out old clothes, eat dried fish, and keep out of the workhouse until they were well under the ground. sören and maren were now no longer at the end of things, there was one in the cradle who demanded everything from the beginning, and spurred them on to new efforts. it would never do to let their infirmity grow upon them or allow themselves to become pensioners on what a sixth share of a boat might happen to bring home. duty called for a new start. the old days had left their mark on them both. they came into line with the little one, even her childish cries under the low ceiling carried the old couple a quarter of a century back, to the days when the weight of years was not yet felt, and they could do their work with ease. and once there, the way to still earlier days was not so far--to that beautiful time when tiredness was unknown, and sören after a hard day's work would walk miles over the common, to where maren was in service, stay with her until dawn, and then walk miles back home again, to be the first man at work. inevitably they were young again! had they not a little one in the house? a little pouting mouth was screaming and grunting for milk. sören came out of his old man's habit, and turned his gaze once more towards the sea and sky. he took back his share in the boat and went to sea again. things went tolerably well to begin with. it was summer time when ditte had pushed him back to his old occupation again; it was as if she had really given the old people a second youth. but it was hard to keep up with the others, in taking an oar and pulling up nets by the hour. moreover in the autumn when the herrings were deeper in the sea, the nets went right down, and were often caught by the heavy undertow, sören had not strength to draw them up like the other men, and had to put up with the offer of lighter work. this was humiliating; and even more humiliating was it to break down from night watches in the cold, when he knew how strong he had been in days gone by. sören turned to the memories of old days for support, that he might assert himself over the others. far and wide he told tales of his youth, to all who would listen. in those days implements were poor, and clothes were thin, and the winter was harder than now. there was ice everywhere, and in order to obtain food they had to trail over the ice with their gear on a wooden sledge right out to the great channel, and chop holes to fish through. woollen underclothing was unknown, and oilskins were things none could afford; a pair of thick leather trousers were worn--with stockings and wooden shoes. often one fell in--and worked on in wet clothes, which were frozen so stiff that it was impossible to draw them off. to sören it was a consolation to dwell upon all this, when he had to give up such strenuous work as the rowing over to the swedish coast, before he could get a good catch. there he would sit in the stern feeling small and useless, talking away and fidgeting with the sails in spite of the lack of wind. his partners, toiling with the heavy oars, hardly listened to him. it was all true enough, they knew that from their fathers, but it gained nothing in being repeated by sören's toothless mouth. his boasting did not make the boat any lighter to pull; old sören was like a stone in the net. maren was probably the only one, who at her own expense could afford to give a helping hand. she saw how easily he became tired, try as he would to hide it from her--and she made up her mind to trust in providence for food. it was hard for him to turn out in the middle of the night, his old limbs were as heavy as lead, and maren had to help him up in bed. "'tis rough tonight!" said she, "stay at home and rest." and the next night she would persuade him again, with another excuse. she took care not to suggest that he should give up the sea entirely; sören was stubborn and proud. could she only keep him at home from time to time, the question would soon be decided by his partners. so sören remained at home first one day and then another; maren said that he was ill. he fell easily into the trap, and when this had gone on for some little time, his partners got tired of it, and forced him to sell his part of the boat and implements. now that he was driven to remain at home, he grumbled and scolded, but settled down to it after a while. he busied himself with odd jobs, patched oilskins and mended wooden shoes for the fishermen and became quite brisk again. maren could feel the improvement, when he good-naturedly began to chaff her again as before. he was happiest out on the downs, with ditte holding his hand, looking after the sheep. sören could hardly do without the little one; when she was not holding his hand, he felt like a cripple without his staff. was it not he whom she had chosen for her first smile, when but three weeks old! and when only four or five months old dropped her comforter and turned her head on hearing his tottering steps. "'tis all very well for you," said maren half annoyed. "'tis you she plays with, while i've the looking after and feeding of her; and that's another thing." but in her heart she did not grudge him first place with the little one; after all he was the man--and needed a little happiness. there was no one who understood ditte as did her grandfather. they two could entertain each other by the hour. they spoke about sheep and ships and trees, which ditte did not like, because they stood and made the wind blow. sören explained to her that it was god who made the wind blow--so that the fishermen need not toil with their oars so much. trees on the contrary did no work at all and as a punishment god had chained them to the spot. "what does god look like?" asked ditte. the question staggered sören. there he had lived a long life and always professed the religion taught him in childhood; at times when things looked dark, he had even called upon god; nevertheless, it had never occurred to him to consider what the good god really looked like. and here he was confounded by the words of a little child, exactly as in the bible. "god?" began sören hesitating on the word, to gain time. "well, he's both his hands full, he has. and even so it seems to us others, that at times he's taken more upon himself than he can do--and that's what he looks like!" and so ditte was satisfied. to begin with sören talked most, and the child listened. but soon it was she who led the conversation, and the old man who listened entranced. everything his girlie said was simply wonderful, and all of it worth repetition, if only he could remember it. sören remembered a good deal, but was annoyed with himself when some of it escaped his memory. "never knew such a child," said he to maren, when they came in from their walk. "she's different from our girls somehow." "well, you see she's the child of a farmer's son," answered maren, who had never got over the greatest disappointment of her life, and eagerly caught at anything that might soften it. but sören laughed scornfully and said: "you're a fool, maren, and that's all about it." chapter vi the death of sÖren man one day sören came crawling on all fours over the doorstep. once inside, he stumbled to his feet and moved with great difficulty towards the fireplace, where he clung with both hands to the mantelpiece, swaying to and fro and groaning pitifully the while. he collapsed just as maren came in from the kitchen, she ran to him, got off his clothes and put him to bed. "seems like i'm done for now," said sören, when he had rested a little. "what's wrong with you, sören?" asked maren anxiously. "'tis naught but something's given inside," said sören sullenly. he refused to say more, but maren got out of him afterwards that it had happened when drawing the tethering-peg out of the ground. usually it was loose enough. but today it was firm as a rock, as if some one was holding it down in the earth. sören put the tethering-rope round his neck and pulled with all his might, it did give way; but at the same time something seemed to break inside him. everything went dark, and a big black hole appeared in the earth. maren gazed at him with terror. "was 't square?" asked she. sören thought it was square. "and what of girlie?" asked maren suddenly. she had disappeared when sören fainted. maren ran out on the hills with anxious eyes. she found ditte playing in the midst of a patch of wild pansies, fortunately maren could find no hole in the ground. but the old rotten rope had parted. sören, unsteady on his feet, had probably fallen backwards and hurt himself. maren knotted the rope together again and went towards the little one. "come along, dearie," said she, "we'll go home and make a nice cup of coffee for grandad." but suddenly she stood transfixed. was it not a cross the child had plaited of grass, and set among the pansies? quietly maren took the child by the hand and went in. now she knew. sören stayed in bed. there was no outward hurt to be seen, but he showed no inclination to get up. he hardly slept at all, but lay all day long gazing at the ceiling, and fumbling with the bedclothes. now and then he groaned, and maren would hurry to his side. "what ails you, sören, can't you tell me?" said she earnestly. "ails me? nothing ails me, maren, but death," answered sören. maren would have liked to try her own remedies on him, but might just as well spare her arts for a better occasion; sören had seen a black hole in the ground; there was no cure for that. so matters stood. maren knew as well as he, that this was the end; but she was a sturdy nature, and never liked to give in. she would have wrestled with god himself for sören, had there been anything definite to fight about. but he was fading away, and for this there was no cure; though if only the poison could be got out of his blood, he might even yet be strong again. "maybe 'tis bleeding you want." but sören refused to be bled. "folks die quickly enough without," said he, incredulous as he had always been. maren was silent and went back to her work with a sigh. sören never did believe in anything, he was just as unbelieving as he had been in his young days--if only god would not be too hard on him. at first sören longed to have the child with him always, and every other minute maren had to bring her to the bedside. the little one did not like to sit quietly on a chair beside grandad's bed, and as soon as she saw a chance of escape, off she would run. this was hardest of all to sören, he felt alone and forsaken, all was blackness and despair. before long, however, he lost all interest in the child, as he did in everything else. his mind began to wander from the present back to bygone days; maren knew well what it meant. he went further and still further back to his youth and childhood. strange it was how much he could remember things which otherwise had been forgotten. and it was not rambling nonsense that he talked, but all true enough; people older than he who came from the hamlet to visit him confirmed it, and wondered at hearing him speak of events that must have happened when he was but two or three years old. sören forgot the latter years of his life, indeed he might never have lived them so completely had they faded from his mind. this saddened maren. they had lived a long life, and gone through so much together, and how much more pleasant it would have been, if they could have talked of the past together once more before they parted. but sören would not listen, when it came to their mutual memories. no, the garden on the old farm--where sören lived when five years old--that he could remember! where this tree stood, and that--and what kind of fruit it bore. and when he had gone as far back as he could remember, his mind would wander forward again, and in his delirium he would rave of his days as a shepherd boy or sailor boy and heaven knows what. in his uneasy dreams he mixed up all his experiences, the travels of his youth, his work and difficulties. at one minute he would be on the sea furling sail in the storm, the next he would struggle with the ground. maren who stood over him listened with terror to all that he toiled with; he seemed to be taking his life in one long stride. many were the tribulations he had been through, and of which she now heard for the first time. when his mind cleared once more, he would be worn out with beads of perspiration standing on his forehead. his old partners came to see him, and then they went through it again--sören _had_ to talk of old times. he could only say a few words, weak as he was; but then the others would continue. maren begged them not to speak too much, as it made him restless, and he would struggle with it in his dreams. it was worst when he imagined himself on the old farm; pitiful to see how he fought against the sea's greedy advance, clutching the bedclothes with his wasted fingers. it was a wearisome leave-taking with existence, as wearisome as existence itself had been to him. one day when maren had been to the village shop, ditte ran out screaming, as she came back. "grandad's dead!" she burst out sobbing. sören lay bruised and senseless across the doorstep to the kitchen. he had been up on the big chest, meddling with the hands of the clock. maren dragged him to bed and bathed his wounds, and when it was done he lay quietly following her movements with his eyes. now and then he would ask in a low voice what the time was, and from this maren knew that he was nearing his end. on the morning of the day he died he was altogether changed again. it was as if he had come home to take a last farewell of everybody and everything; he was weak but quite in his senses. there was so much he wanted to touch upon once again. his talk jumped from one thing to another and he seemed quite happy. for the first time for many months he could sit on the edge of the bed drinking his morning coffee, chatting to maren whenever she came near. he was exactly like a big child, and maren could not but put his old head to hers and caress it. "you've worn well, sören," said she, stroking his hair--"your hair's as soft as when we were young." sören fell back, and lay with her hand in his, gazing silently at her with worship in his faded eyes. "maren, would you let down your hair for me?" he whispered bashfully at last. the words came with some difficulty. "nay, but what nonsense!" said maren, hiding her face against his chest; "we're old now, you know, dear." "let down your hair for me!" whispered he, persisting, and tried with shaking fingers to loosen it himself. maren remembered an evening long ago, an evening behind a drawn-up boat on the beach, and with sobs she loosened her gray hair and let it fall down over sören's head, so that it hid their faces. "it's long and thick," he whispered softly, "enough to hide us both." the words came as an echo from their bygone youth. "nay, nay," said maren, crying, "it's gray and thin and rough. but how fond you were of it once." with closed eyes sören lay holding maren's hand. there was much to do in the kitchen, and she tried again and again to draw her hand away, but he opened his eyes each time, so she sat down, letting the things look after themselves, and there she was with the tears running down her furrowed face, while her thoughts ran on. she and sören had lived happily together; they had had their quarrels, but if anything serious happened, they always faced it together; neither of them had lived and worked for themselves only. it was so strange that they were now to be separated, maren could not understand it. why could they not be taken together? where sören went, maren felt she too should be. perhaps in the place where he was going he needed no one to mend his clothes and to see that he kept his feet dry, but at least they might have walked hand in hand in the garden of eden. they had often talked about going into the country to see what was hidden behind the big forest. but it never came to anything, as one thing or another always kept maren at home. how beautiful it would have been to go with sören now; maren would willingly have made the journey with him, to see what was on the other side--had it not been for ditte. a child had always kept her back, and thus it was now. maren's own time was not yet; she must wait, letting sören go alone. sören now slept more quietly, and she drew her hand gently out of his. but as soon as she rose, he opened his eyes, gazing at maren's loosened hair and tear-stained face. "don't cry, maren," said he, "you and ditte'll get on all right. but do this for me, put up your hair as you did at our wedding, will you, maren?" "but i can't do it myself, sören," answered the old woman, overwhelmed and beginning to cry again. but sören held to his point. then maren gave in, and as she could not leave sören alone for long, she ran as fast as she could to the hamlet, where one of the women dressed her thin gray hair in bridal fashion. on her return she found sören restless, but he soon calmed down; he looked at her a long time, as she sat crying by the bed with his hand in hers. he was breathing with much difficulty. then suddenly he spoke in a stronger voice than he had done for many days. "we've shared good and bad together, maren--and now it's over. will you be true to me for the time you have left?" he rose on his elbow, looking earnestly into her face. maren dried her bleared eyes, and looked faithfully into his. "ay," she said slowly and firmly--"no one else has ever been in my thought nor ever shall be. 'tis christ himself i take as a witness, you can trust me, sören." sören then fell back with closed eyes, and after a while his hand slipped out of hers. chapter vii the widow and the fatherless after sören's death there were hard days in store for the two in the hut on the naze. feeble as he had been, yet he had always earned something, and had indeed been their sheet anchor. they were now alone, with no man to work for them. not only had maren to make things go as far as possible, but she had to find the money as well. this was a task she had never done before. all they had once received for their share in the boat and its fittings had gone too; and the funeral took what was left. their affairs could be settled by every one, and at the time of sören's death there was much multiplying and subtracting in the homes round about on maren's behalf. but to one question there was no answer; what had become of the two hundred crowns paid for ditte for once and for all? ay, where had they gone? the two old people had bought nothing new at that time, and sören had firmly refused to invest in a new kind of fishing-net--an invention tried in other places and said to be a great success. indeed, there were cases where the net had paid for itself in a single night. however, sören would not, and as so much money never came twice to the hamlet in one generation, they carried on with their old implements as usual. the money had certainly not been used, nor had it been eaten up, that was understood. the two old folk had lived exactly as before, and it would have been known if the money had gone up through the chimney. there was no other explanation, than that maren had put it by; probably as something for ditte to fall back upon, when the two old ones had gone. there was a great deal of talking in the homes, mostly of how maren and ditte were to live. but with that, their interest stopped. she had grown-up children of her own, who were her nearest, and ought to look after her affairs. one or two of them turned up at the funeral, more to see if there was anything to be had, and as soon as sören was well underground they left, practically vanishing without leaving a trace, and with no invitation to maren, who indeed hardly found out where they lived. well, maren was not sorry to see the last of them. she knew, in some measure, the object of her children's homecoming; and for all she cared they might never tread that way again--if only she might keep ditte. henceforth they were the only two in the world. "they might at least have given you a helping hand," said the women of the hamlet--"after all, you're their mother." "nay, why so," said maren. they had used her as a pathway to existence--and it had not always been easy; perhaps they did not thank her for their being here on earth, since they thought they owed her nothing. one mother can care for eight children if necessary, but has any one ever heard of eight children caring for one mother? no, maren was thankful they kept away, and did not come poking round their old home. she tried to sell the hut and the allotment in order to provide means, but as no buyers offered for either, she let the hut to a workman and his family, only keeping one room and an end of the kitchen for herself. after settling this she studded her own and the child's wooden shoes with heavy nails. she brought forth sören's old stick, wrapped herself and the little one well up--and wandered out into the country. day after day, in all weathers, they would set out in the early morning, visiting huts and farms. maren knew fairly well for whom sören had worked, and it was quite time they paid their debts. she never asked directly for the money, but would stand just inside the door with the child in front of her, rattling a big leather purse such as fisher folk used, and drone: "god bless your work and your food--one and all for sure! times is hard--ay, money's scarce--ay, 'tis dear to live, and folks get old! and all's to be bought--fat and meat and bread, ay, every scrap!--faith, an old wife needs the money!" although maren only asked for what was her due, it was called begging, when she went on this errand, and she and the child were treated accordingly. they often stood waiting in the scullery or just inside the living room, while every one ran to and fro to their work without appearing to notice them. people must be taught their proper place, and nothing is so good as letting them stand waiting, and that without any reason. if they are not crushed by this, something must be wrong. maren felt the slight, and the smart went deep; but in no way shook her purpose--inwardly she was furious, though too wise to show it, and, old as she was, quietly added experience to experience. perhaps after all it was the child who made it easier for her to submit to circumstances. so that was how she was treated when she needed help! but when they themselves needed help, it was a different matter; they were not too proud to ask _her_ advice. then they would hurry down to her, often in the middle of the night, knocking at the window with the handle of a whip; she _must_ come, and that at once. maren was not stupid, and could perfectly well put two and two together, only neglecting what she had no use for. as long as sören was by her side and held the reins, she had kept in the background, knowing that one master in the house was quite enough; and only on special occasions--when something of importance was at stake--would she lend a guiding hand, preferably so unostentatiously that sören never noticed it. blockhead, he used to call her--right up to his illness. about a week before his death they had spoken of the future, and sören had comforted maren by saying: "'twill all be right for you, maren--if but you weren't such a blockhead." for the first time maren had protested against this, and sören, as was his wont, referred to the case of sörine: "ay, and did you see what was wrong with the girl, what all saw who set eyes on her? and was it not yourself that fed her with soft soap and paraffin?" "maybe 'twas," answered maren, unmoved. sören looked at her with surprise: well to be sure--but behind her look of innocence gleamed something which staggered him for once. "ay, ay," said he. "ay, ay! 'twas nigh jail that time." maren good-naturedly blinked her heavy eyelids. "'tis too good some folks are to be put there," answered she. sören felt as if cold water were running down his back; here had he lived with maren by his side for forty-five years, and never taken her for anything else but a good-natured blockhead--and he had nearly gone to his grave with that opinion. and perhaps after all it was she who had mastered him, and that by seeming a fool herself. chapter viii wise maren the heavy waves crashed on the shore. large wet flakes of snow hurled themselves on bushes and grass; what was not caught by the high cliffs was frozen to ice in the air and chased before the storm. the sea was foaming. the skies were all one great dark gray whirl, with the roaring breakers beneath. it was as if the abyss itself threw out its inexhaustible flood of cold and wickedness. endlessly it mounted from the great deep; dense to battle against, and as fire of hell to breathe. two clumsy figures worked their way forward over the sandhills, an old grandmother holding a little girl by the hand. they were so muffled up, that they could hardly be distinguished in the thick haze. their movements were followed by watchful eyes, in the huts on the hills women stood with faces pressed flat against the window-panes! "'tis wise maren battling against the storm," they told the old and the sick within. and all who could, crawled to the window. they must see for themselves. "'tis proper weather for witches to be out," said youth, and laughed. "but where is her broomstick?" the old ones shook their heads. maren ought not to be made fun of; she had the _gift_ and did much good. maybe that once or twice she had misused her talents--but who would not have done the same in her place? on a day like this she would be full of power; it would have been wise to consult her. the two outside kept to the path that ran along the edge of the steep cliff, hollowed out in many places by the sea. beneath them thundered the surf, water and air and sand in one yellow ferment, and over it seagulls and other sea birds, shrieking and whipping the air with their wings. when a wave broke they would swoop down and come up again with food in their beaks--some fish left stunned by the waves to roll about in the foam. it seemed foolish of the two keeping just inside the edge of the cliff, against which the storm was throwing itself with all its might, to fall down well inland. the old woman and the child clung to each other, gasping for breath. at one place the path went through a thicket of thorns, bent inland by the strong sea wind, and here they took shelter from the storm to regain their breath. ditte whimpered, she was tired and hungry. "be a big girl," said the old one, "we'll soon be home now." she drew the child towards her under the shawl, with shaking hands brushing the snow from her hair, and blowing her frozen fingers. "ay, just big," she said encouragingly, "and you'll get cakes and nice hot coffee when we get home. i've the coffee beans in the bag--ah, just smell!" granny opened the bag, which she had fastened round her waist underneath her shawl. into it went all that she was given, food and other odds and ends. the little one poked her nose down into the bag, but was not comforted at once. "we've nothing to warm it with," said she sulkily. "and haven't we then? granny was on the beach last night, and saw the old boat, she did. but ditte was in the land of nod, and never knew." "is there more firewood?" "hush, child, the coastguard might hear us. he's long ears--and the magistrate pays him for keeping poor folks from getting warm. that's why he himself takes all that's washed ashore." "but you're not frightened of him, granny, you're a witch and can send him away." "ay, ay, of course granny can--and more too, if he doesn't behave. she'll strike him down with rheumatism, so that he can't move, and have to send for wise maren to rub his back. ah me, old granny's legs are full of water, and aches and pains in every limb; a horrid witch they call her, ay--and a thieving woman too! but there must be some of both when an old worn woman has to feed two mouths; and you may be glad that granny's the witch she is. none but she cares for you--and lazy, no folks shall ever call her that. she's two-and-seventy years now, and 'tis for others her hands have toiled all along. but never a hand that's lifted to help old maren." they sat well sheltered, and soon ditte became sleepy, and they started out again. "we'll fall asleep if we don't, and then the black man'll come and take us," said granny as she tied her shawl round the little one. "who's the black man?" ditte stopped, clinging to her grandmother from very excitement. "the black man lives in the churchyard under the ground. 'tis he who lets out the graves to the dead folks, and he likes to have a full house." ditte had no wish to go down and live with a black man, and tripped briskly along hand in hand with the old one. the path now ran straight inland, and the wind was at their back--the storm had abated somewhat. when they came to the sand farm, she refused to go further. "let's go in there and ask for something," said she, dragging her grandmother. "i'm so hungry." "lord--are you mad, child! we daren't set foot inside there." "then i'll go alone," declared ditte firmly. she let go her granny's hand and ran towards the entrance. when there, however, she hesitated. "and why daren't we go in there?" she shouted back. maren came and took her hand again: "because your own father might come and drive us away with a whip," said she slowly. "come now and be a good girl." "are you afraid of him?" asked the little one persistently. she was not accustomed to seeing her granny turned aside for anything. afraid, indeed no--the times were too bad for that! poor people must be prepared to face all evils and accept them too. and why should they go out of their way to avoid the sand farm as if it were holy ground. if he did not care to take the chance of seeing his own offspring occasionally, he could move his farm elsewhere. they two had done nothing to be shamed into running away, that was true enough. perhaps there was some ulterior motive behind the child's obstinacy? maren was not the one to oppose providence--still less if it lent her a helping hand. "well, come then!" said she, pushing the gate open. "they can but eat us." they went through the deep porch which served as wood and tool house as well. at one side turf was piled neatly up right to the beams. apparently they had no thought of being cold throughout the winter. maren looked at the familiar surroundings as they crossed the yard towards the scullery. once in her young days she had been in service here--for the sake of being nearer the home of her childhood and sören. it was some years ago, that! the grandfather of the present young farmer reigned then--a real tartar who begrudged his servant both food and sleep. but he made money! the old farmer, who died about the same time as sören, was young then, and went with stocking feet under the servants' windows! he and sören cared nought for each other! maren had not been here since--sören would not allow it. and he himself never set foot inside, since that dreary visit about sörine. a promise was a promise. but now it was _so_ long ago, and two hundred crowns could not last forever. sören was dead, and maren saw things differently in her old days. cold and hardship raised her passion, as never before, against those sitting sheltered inside, who had no need to go hunting about like a dog in all weathers, and against those who for a short-lived joy threw years of heavy burden on poor old shoulders. why had she waited so long in presenting his offspring to the farmer? perhaps they were longing for it. and why should not the little one have her own way? perhaps it was the will of providence, speaking through her, in her obstinate desire to enter her father's house. all the same, maren's conscience was not quite clear while standing with ditte beside her, waiting for some one to come. the farmer apparently was out, and for that she was thankful. she could hear the servant milking in the shed, they would hardly have a man at this time of the year. the cracked millstone still lay in front of the door, and in the middle of the floor was a large flat tombstone with ornaments in the corners, the inscription quite worn away. a young woman came from the inner rooms. maren had not seen her before. she was better dressed than the young wives of the neighborhood, and had a kind face and gentle manners. she asked them into the living room, took off their shawls, which she hung by the fire to dry. she then made them sit down and gave them food and drink, speaking kindly to them all the while; to ditte in particular, which softened maren's heart. "and where do you come from?" asked she, seating herself beside them. "ay, where do folk come from?" answered maren mumblingly. "where's there room for poor people like us? some have plenty--and for all that go where they have no right to be; others the lord's given naught but a corner in the churchyard. but you don't belong to these parts, since you ask." no, the young woman came from falster; her voice grew tender as she spoke of her birthplace. "is't far from here?" said maren, glancing at her. "yes, it takes a whole day by train and by coach, and from the town too!" "has it come to that, that the men of the sand farm must travel by train to find wives for themselves? but the hamlet is good enough for sweethearts." the young woman looked uncertainly at her. "we met each other at the continuation school," said she. "well, well, has he been to continuation school too? ay, 'tis fine all must be nowadays. anyway, 'twas time he got settled." the young woman flushed. "you speak so strangely," said she. "belike you'll tell me how an old wife should speak? 'tis strange indeed that a father sits sheltered at home while his little one runs barefoot and begs." "what do you mean?" whispered the young woman anxiously! "what the lord and every one knows, but no-one's told you. look you at the child _there_--faces don't tell lies, she's the image of her father. if all was fair, 'twould be my daughter sitting here in your stead--ay, and no hunger and cold for me." as she spoke, maren sucked a ham bone. she had no teeth, and the fat ran down over her chin and hands. the young woman took out her handkerchief. "let me help you, mother," said she, gently drying her face. she was white to the lips, and her hands shook. maren allowed herself to be cared for. her sunken mouth was set and hard. suddenly she grasped the young woman by the hips with her earth-stained hands. "'tis light and pure!" she mumbled, making signs over her. "in childbirth 'twill go badly with you." the woman swayed in her hands and fell to the ground without a sound; little ditte began to scream. maren was so terrified by the consequence of her act, that she never thought of offering help. she tore down the shawls from the fire and ran out, dragging the child after her. it was not until they reached the last house in the hamlet, the lifeboat shed, that she stopped to wrap themselves up. ditte still shook. "did you kill her?" asked she. the old woman started, alarmed at the word. "nay, but of course not. 'tis nothing to prate about: come along home," said she harshly, pushing the child. ditte was unaccustomed to be spoken to in this manner, and she hurried along. the house was cold as they entered it, and maren put the little one straight to bed. then having gathered sticks for the fire, she put on water for the coffee, talking to herself all the while. "ugh, just so; but who's to blame? the innocent must suffer, to make the guilty speak." "what did you say, granny?" asked ditte from the alcove. "'twas only i'm thinking your father'll soon find his way down here after this." a trap came hurrying through the dark and stopped outside. in burst the owner of the sand farm. there was no good in store for them; his face was red with anger and he started abusing them almost before he got inside the door. maren had her head well wrapped up against the cold, and pretended to hear nothing. "well, well, you're a sight for sore eyes," said she, smilingly inviting him in. "don't suppose that i've come to make a fuss of you, you crafty old hag!" stormed anders olsen in his thin cracked voice. "no, i've come to fetch you, i have, and that at once. so you'd better come!" seizing her by the arm. maren wrenched herself out of his grasp. "what's wrong with you?" asked she, staring at him in amazement. "wrong with me?--you dare to ask that, you old witch, you. haven't you been up to the farm this afternoon--dragging the brat with you? though you were bought and paid to keep off the premises. made trouble you have, you old hag, and bewitched my wife, so she's dazed with pain. but i'll drag you to justice and have you burned at the stake, you old devil!" he foamed at the mouth and shook his clenched fist in her face. "so you order folks to be burnt, do you?" said maren scornfully. "then you'd best light up and stoke up for yourself as well. seemingly you've taken more on your back than you can carry." "what do you mean by that?" hissed the farmer, gesticulating, as if prepared at any moment to pounce upon maren and drag her to the trap. "maybe it's a lie, that you've been to the farm and scared my wife?" he went threateningly round her, but without touching her. "what have you to do with my back?" shouted he loudly, with fear in his eyes. "d'you want to bewitch me too, what?" "'tis nothing with your back i've to do, or yourself either. but all can see that the miser's cake'll be eaten, ay, even by crow and raven if need be. keep your strength for your young wife--you might overstrain yourself on an old witch like me. and where'd she be then, eh?" anders olsen had come with the intention of throwing the old witch into the trap and taking her home with him--by fair means or foul--so that she could undo her magic on the spot. and there he sat on the woodbox, his cap between his hands, a pitiful sight. maren had judged him aright, there was nothing manly about him, he fought with words instead of fists. the men of the sand farm were a poor breed, petty and grasping. this one was already bald, the muscles of his neck stood sharply out, and his mouth was like a tightly shut purse. it was no enviable position to be his wife; the miser was already uppermost in him! already he was shivering with cold down his back--having forgotten his fear for his wife in his thought for himself. maren put a cup of coffee on the kitchen table, then sat down herself on the steps leading to the attic with a cracked cup between her fingers. "just you drink it up," said she, as he hesitated--"there's no-one here that'll harm you and yours." "but you've been home and made mischief," he mumbled, stretching out his hand for the cup; he seemed equally afraid of drinking or leaving the coffee. "we've been at the farm we two, 'tis true enough. the bad storm drove us in, 'twas sore against our will." maren spoke placidly and with forbearance. "and as to your wife, belike it made her ill, and couldn't bear to hear what a man she's got. a kind and good woman she is--miles too good for you. she gave us nought but the best, while you're just longing to burn us. ay, ay, 'twould be plenty warm enough then! for here 'tis cold, and there's no-one to bring a load of peat to the house." "maybe you'd like _me_ to bring you a load?" snapped the farmer, closing his mouth like a trap. "the child's yours for all that; she's cold and hungry, work as i may." "well, she was paid for once and for all." "ay, 'twas easy enough for you! let your own offspring want; 'tis the only child, we'll hope, the lord'll trust you with." the farmer started, as if awakened to his senses. "cast off your spell from my wife!" he shouted, striking the table with his hands. "i've nought against your wife. but just you see, if the lord'll put a child in your care. 'tis not likely to me." "you leave the lord alone--and cast off the spell," he whispered hoarsely, making for the old woman, "or i'll throttle you, old witch that you are." he was gray in the face, and his thin, crooked fingers clutched the air. "have a care, your own child lies abed and can hear you." maren pushed open the door to the inner room. "d'you hear that, ditte, your father's going to throttle me." anders olsen turned away from her and went towards the door. he stood a moment fumbling with the door handle, as if not knowing what he did; then came back, and sank down on the woodbox, gazing at the clay floor. he looked uncommonly old and had always done so ever since his childhood, it was said people of the sand farm were always born toothless. maren came and placed herself in front of him. "maybe you're thinking of the son your wife should bear? and maybe seeing him already running by your side in the fields, just like a little foal, and learning to hold the plow. ay! many a one's no son to save for, but enjoys putting by for all that. and often 'tis a close-fisted father has a spendthrift son; belike 'tis the lord punishing them for their greedy ways. you may fight on till you break up--like many another one. or sell the farm to strangers, when there's no more work in you--and shift in to the town to a fine little house! for folks with money there's many a way!" the farmer lifted his head. "cast off your spell from my wife," he said beseechingly, "and i'll make it worth your while." "on the sand farm we'll never set foot again, neither me nor the child. but you can send your wife down here--'tis no harm she'll come to, but don't forget if good's to come of it, on a load of peat she must ride!" early next morning the pretty young wife from the sand farm, could be seen driving through the hamlet seated on top of a swinging cartload of peat. apparently the farmer did not care to be seen with his wife like this, for he himself was not there; a lad drove the cart. many wondered where they were going, and with their faces against the window-panes watched them pass. from one or another hut, with no outlook, a woman would come throwing a shawl over her head as she hurried towards the naze. as the lad carried the peat into maren's woodshed, and the farmer's wife unpacked eggs, ham, cakes, butter and many other good things on the table in the little sitting room, they came streaming past, staring through the window--visiting the people in the other part of the house with one or other foolish excuse. maren knew quite well why they came, but it did not worry her any longer. she was accustomed to people keeping an eye on her and using her neighbors as a spying ground. a few days afterwards the news ran round the neighborhood that the farmer had begun to take notice of his illegitimate child--not altogether with a good will perhaps. maren was supposed to have had a hand in the arrangement. no-one understood her long patience with him; especially as she had right on her side. but now it would seem she had tired of it and had begun casting spells over the farmer's young wife--first charmed a child into her, and then away again, according to her will. some declared ditte was used for this purpose--by conjuring her backwards, right back to her unborn days, so that the child was obliged to seek a mother, and it was because of this she never grew properly. ditte was extraordinarily small for her age, for all she was never really ill. probably she was not allowed to grow as she should do, or she would be too big to will away to nothing. there was much to be said both for and against having such as wise maren in the district. that she was a witch was well known; but as they went she was in the main a good woman. she never used her talents in the service of the devil, that is as far as any one knew--and she was kind to the poor; curing many a one without taking payment for it. and as to the farmer of the sand farm, he only got what he deserved. maren's fame was established after this. people have short memories, when it is to their own advantage, and anders olsen was seldom generous to them. there would be long intervals in between his visits, then suddenly he would take to coming often. the men of the sand farm had always been plagued by witchcraft. they might be working in the fields, and bending down to pick up a stone or a weed, when all of a sudden some unseen deviltry would strike them with such excruciating pains in the back, that they could not straighten themselves, and had to crawl home on all fours. there they would lie groaning for weeks, suffering greatly from doing nothing, and treated by cupping, leeches and good advice, till one day the pain would disappear as quickly as it had come. they themselves put it down to the evil eye of women, who perhaps felt themselves ignored and took their revenge in this mean fashion; others thought it was a punishment from heaven for having too fat a back. at all events this was their weak spot, and whenever the farmer felt a twinge of pain in his back he would hurry to propitiate wise maren. this was not sufficient to live on, but her fame increased, and with it her circle of patients. maren herself never understood why she had become so famous; but she accepted the fact as it was, and turned it to the best account she could. she took up one thing or another of what she remembered from her childhood of her mother's good advice--and left the rest to look after itself; generally she was guided by circumstances as to what to say and do. maren had heard so often that she was a witch, and occasionally believed it herself. other times she would marvel at people's stupidity. but she always thought with a sigh of the days when sören still lived and she was nothing more than his "blockhead"--those were happy days. now she was lonely. sören lay under the ground, and every one else avoided her like the plague, when they did not require her services. others met and enjoyed a gossip, but no one thought of running in to maren for a cup of coffee. even her neighbors kept themselves carefully away, though they often required a helping hand and got it too. she had but one living friend, who looked to her with confidence and who was not afraid of her--ditte. it was a sad and sorry task to be a wise woman--only more so as it was not her own choice; but it gave her a livelihood. chapter ix ditte visits fairyland ditte was now big enough to venture out alone, and would often run away from home, without making maren uneasy. she needed some one to play with, and sought for playmates in the hamlet and the huts at the edge of the forest. but the parents would call their children in when they saw her coming. eventually the children themselves learned to beware of her; they would throw stones at her when she came near, and shout nicknames: bastard and witch's brat. then she tried children in other places and met the same fate; at last it dawned upon her that she stood apart. she was not even sure of the children at home; just as she was playing with them on the sandhills, making necklaces and rings of small blue scabious, the mother would run out and tear the children away. she had to learn to play alone and be content with the society of the things around her; which she did. ditte quickly invested her playthings with life; sticks and stones were all given a part and they were wonderfully easy to manage. almost too well behaved, and ditte herself sometimes had to put a little naughtiness into them; or they would be too dull. there was an old wornout wooden shoe of sören's; maren had painted a face on it and given it an old shawl as a dress. in ditte's world it took the part of a boy--a rascal of a boy--always up to mischief and in some scrape or other. it was constantly breaking things, and every minute ditte had to punish it and give it a good whipping. one day she was sitting outside in the sun busily engaged in scolding this naughty boy of a doll, in a voice deep with motherly sorrow and annoyance. maren, who stood inside the kitchen door cleaning herrings, listened with amusement. "if you do it once more," said the child, "we'll take you up to the old witch, and she'll eat you all up." maren came quickly out. "who says that?" asked she, her furrowed face quivering. "the bogie-man says it," said ditte cheerfully. "rubbish, child, be serious. who's taught you that? tell me at once." ditte tried hard to be solemn. "bogie-doggie said it--tomorrow!" bubbling over with mirth. no-one could get the better of her; she was bored, and just invented any nonsense that came into her head. maren gave it up and returned to her work quietly and in deep thought. she stood crying over her herrings, with the salt tears dropping down into the pickle. she often cried of late, over herself and over the world in general; the people treated her as if she were infected with the plague, poisoning the air round her with their meanness and hate, while as far as she knew she had always helped them to the best of her ability. they did not hesitate in asking her advice when in trouble, though at the same time they would blame _her_ for having brought it upon them--calling her every name they could think of when she had gone. even the child's _innocent_ lips called her a witch. since sören's death sorrow and tears had reddened maren's eyes with inflammation and turned her eyelids, but her neighbors only took it as another sign of her hardened witchcraft. her sight was failing too, and she often had to depend upon ditte's young eyes; and then it would happen that the child took advantage of the opportunity and played pranks. ditte was not bad--she was neither bad nor good. she was simply a little creature, whose temperament required change. and so little happened in her world, that she seized on whatever offered to prevent herself from being bored to death. one day something did happen! from one of the big farms, lying at the other side of the common, with woods bounding the sandhills, maren had received permission to gather sticks in the wood every tuesday. there was not much heat in them, but they were good enough for making a cup of coffee. these tuesdays were made into picnics. they took their meals with them, which they enjoyed in some pleasant spot, preferably by the edge of the lake, and ditte would sit on the wheelbarrow on both journeys. when they had got their load, they would pick berries or--in the autumn--crab-apples and sloes, which were afterwards cooked in the oven. now granny was ill, having cried so much that she could no longer see--which ditte quite understood--but the extraordinary part of it was that the water seemed to have gone to her legs, so that she could not stand on them. the little one had to trudge all alone to the forest for the sticks. it was a long way, but to make up for it, the forest was full of interest. now she could go right in, where otherwise she was not allowed to go, because granny was afraid of getting lost, and always kept to the outskirts. there were singing birds in there, their twittering sounded wonderful under the green trees, the air was like green water with rays of light in it, and it hummed and seethed in the darkness under the bushes. ditte was not afraid, though it must be admitted she occasionally shivered. every other minute she stopped to listen, and when a dry stick snapped, she started, thrilled with excitement. she was not bored here, her little body was brimming over with the wonder of it; each step brought her fresh experiences full of unknown solemnity. suddenly it would jump out at her with a frightful: pshaw!--exactly as the fire did when granny poured paraffin over it--and she would hurry away, as quickly as her small feet would carry her, until she came to an opening in the wood. on one of these flights she came to a wide river, with trees bending over it. it was like a wide stream of greenness flowing down, and ditte stood transfixed, in breathless wonder. the green of the river she quickly grasped, for this was the color poured down on all trees--and the river here was the end of the world. over on the other side the lord lived; if she looked very hard she could just catch a glimpse of his gray bearded face in a thicket of thorns. but how was all this greenness made? she ran for some distance along the edge of the river, watching it, until she was stopped by two ladies, so beautiful that she had never seen anything like them before. though there was no rain, and they were walking under the trees in the shadow, they held parasols, on which the sun gleamed through the green leaves, looking like glowing coins raining down on to their parasols. they kneeled in front of ditte as if she were a little princess, lifting her bare feet and peeping under the soles, as they questioned her. well, her name was ditte. ditte mischief and ditte goodgirl--and ditte child o' man! the ladies looked at each other and laughed, and asked her where she lived. in granny's house, of course. "what granny?" asked the stupid ladies again. ditte stamped her little bare foot on the grass: "oh, granny! that's blind sometimes 'cos she cries so much. ditte's own granny." then they pretended to be much wiser, and asked her to go home with them for a little while. ditte gave her little hand trustingly to one of them and trotted along; she did not mind seeing if they lived on the other side of the river--with the lord. then it would be angels she had met. they went along the river; ditte, impatient with excitement, thought it would never end. at last they came to a footbridge, arched across the river. at the end of the bridge was a barred gate with railings on each side, which it was impossible to climb over or under. the ladies opened the gate with a key and carefully locked it again, and ditte found herself in a most beautiful garden. by the path stood lovely flowers in clusters, red and blue, swaying their pretty heads; and on low bushes were delicious large red berries such as she had never tasted before. ditte knew at once that this was paradise. she threw herself against one of the ladies, her mouth red with the juice of the berries, looking up at her with an unfathomable expression in her dark blue eyes and said: "am i dead now?" the ladies laughed and took her into the house, through beautiful rooms where one walked on thick soft shawls with one's boots on. in the innermost room a little lady was sitting in an armchair. she was white-haired and wrinkled and had spectacles on her nose; and wore a white nightcap in spite of it being the middle of the day. "this is our granny!" said one of the ladies. "grandmother, look, we have caught a little wood goblin," they shouted into the old lady's ear. just think, this granny was deaf--her own was only blind. ditte went round peeping inquisitively into the different rooms. "where's the lord?" asked she suddenly. "what is the child saying?" exclaimed one of the ladies. but the one who had taken ditte by the hand, drew the little one towards her and said: "the lord does not live here, he lives up in heaven. she thinks this is paradise," she added, turning to her sister. it worried them to see her running about barefooted, and they carefully examined her feet, fearing she might have been bitten by some creeping thing in the wood. "why does not the child wear boots?" said the old lady. her head shook so funnily when she spoke, all the white curls bobbed--just like bluebells. ditte had no boots. "good heavens! do you hear that, grandmother, the child has no boots. have you nothing at all to put on your feet?" "bogie-man," burst out ditte, laughing roguishly. she was tired now of answering all their questions. however, they dragged out of her that she had a pair of wooden shoes, which were being kept for winter. "then with the help of god she shall have a pair of my cloth ones," said the old lady. "give her a pair, asta; and take a fairly good pair." "certainly, grandmother," answered one of the young women--the one ditte liked best. so ditte was put into the cloth boots. then she was given different kinds of food, such as she had never tasted before, and did not care for either; she kept to the bread, being most familiar with that--greatly to the astonishment of the three women. "she is fastidious," said one of the young ladies. "it can hardly be called that, when she prefers bread to anything else," answered miss asta eagerly. "but she is evidently accustomed to very plain food, and yet see how healthy she is." she drew the little one to her and kissed her. "let her take it home with her," said the old lady, "such children of nature never eat in captivity. my husband once captured a little wild monkey down on the gold coast, but was obliged to let it go again because it refused to eat." then ditte was given the food packed into a pretty little basket of red and white straw; a leghorn hat was put upon her head, and a large red bow adorned her breast. she enjoyed all this very much--but suddenly, remembering her granny, wanted to go home. she stood pulling the door handle, and they had to let this amusing little wood goblin out again. hurriedly a few strawberries were put into the basket, and off she disappeared into the wood. "i hope she can find her way back again," said miss asta looking after her with dreaming eyes. ditte certainly found her way home. it was fortunate that in her longing to be there, she entirely forgot what was in the basket. otherwise old maren would have gone to her grave without ever having tasted strawberries. after that ditte often ran deep into the forest, in the hope that the adventure would repeat itself. it had been a wonderful experience, the most wonderful in her life. old maren encouraged her too. "you just go right into the thicket," she said. "naught can harm you, for you're a sunday child. and when you get to the charmed house, you must ask for a pair of cloth boots for me too. say that old granny has water in her legs and can hardly bear shoes on her feet." the river was easily found, but she did not meet the beautiful ladies again, and the footbridge with the gate had disappeared. there were woods on the other side of the river just as on this, the lord's face she could no longer find either, look as she might; fairyland was no more. "you'll see, 'twas naught but a dream," said old maren. "but, granny, the strawberries," answered ditte. ay, the strawberries--that was true enough! maren had eaten some of them herself, and she had never tasted anything so delicious either. twenty times bigger than wild strawberries, and satisfying too--so unlike other berries, which only upset one. "the dream goblin, who took you to fairyland, gave you those so that other folks might taste them too," said the old one at last. and with this explanation they were satisfied. chapter x ditte gets a father on getting up one morning, maren found her tenants had gone, they had moved in the middle of the night. "the devil has been and fetched them," she said cheerfully. she was not at all sorry that they had vanished; they were a sour and quarrelsome family! but the worst of it was that they owed her twelve weeks' rent--twelve crowns--which was all she had to meet the winter with. maren put up a notice and waited for new tenants, but none offered themselves; the old ones had spread the rumor that the house was haunted. maren felt the loss of the rent so much more as she had given up her profession. she would no longer be a wise woman, it was impossible to bear the curse. "go to those who are wiser, and leave me in peace," she answered, when they came for advice or to fetch her, and they had to go away with their object unaccomplished, and soon it was said that maren had lost her witchcraft. yes, her strength diminished, her sight was almost gone, and her legs refused to carry her. she spun and knitted for people and took to begging again, ditte leading her from farm to farm. they were weary journeys; the old woman always complaining and leaning heavily on the child's shoulder. ditte could not understand it at all, the flowers in the ditches and a hundred other things called her, she longed to shake off the leaden arm and run about alone, granny's everlasting wailing filled her with a hopeless loathing. then a mischievous thought would seize her. "i can't find the way, granny," she would suddenly declare, refusing to go a step further, or she would slip away, hiding herself nearby. maren scolded and threatened for a while, but as it had no effect, she would sit down on the edge of the ditch crying; this softened ditte and she would hurry back, putting her arms around her grandmother's neck. thus they cried together, in sorrow over the miserable world and joy at having found each other again. a little way inland lived a baker, who gave them a loaf of bread every week. the child was sent for it when maren was ill in bed. ditte was hungry, and this was a great temptation, so she always ran the whole way home to keep the tempter at bay; when she succeeded in bringing the bread back untouched, she and her granny were equally proud. but it sometimes happened that the pangs of hunger were too strong, and she would tear out the crump from the side of the warm bread as she ran. it was not meant to be seen, and for that reason she took it from the side of the bread--just a little, but before she knew what had happened the whole loaf was hollowed out. then she would be furious, at herself and granny and everything. "here's the bread, granny," she would say in an offhand voice, throwing the bread on the table. "thank you, dear, is it new?" "yes, granny," and ditte disappeared. thereupon the old woman would sit gnawing the crust with her sore gums, all the while grumbling at the child. wicked girl--she should be whipped. she should be turned out, to the workhouse. to their minds there was nothing worse than the workhouse; in all their existence, it had been as a sword over their heads, and when brought forth by maren, ditte would come out from her hiding-place, crying and begging for pardon. the old woman would cry too, and the one would soothe the other, until both were comforted. "ay, ay, 'tis hard to live," old maren would say. "if you'd but had a father--one worth having. maybe you'd have got the thrashings all folks need, and poor old granny'd have lived with you instead of begging her food!" maren had barely finished speaking, when a cart with a bony old nag in the shafts stopped outside on the road. a big stooping man with tousled hair and beard sprang down from the cart, threw the reins over the back of the nag, and came towards the house. he looked like a coalheaver. "he's selling herrings," said ditte, who was kneeling on a stool by the window. "shall i let him in?" "ay, just open the door." ditte unbolted the door, and the man came staggering in. he wore heavy wooden boots, into which his trousers were pushed; and each step he took rang through the room, which was too low for him to stand upright in. he stood looking round just inside the door; ditte had taken refuge behind granny's spinning wheel. he came towards the living room, holding out his hand. ditte burst into laughter at his confusion when the old woman did not accept it. "why, granny's blind!" she said, bubbling over with mirth. "oh, that's it? then it's hardly to be expected that you could see," he said, taking the old woman's hand. "well, i'm your son-in-law, there's news for you." his voice rang with good-humor. maren quickly raised her head. "which of the girls is it?" asked she. "the mother of this young one," answered he, aiming at ditte with his big battered hat. "it's not what you might call legal yet; we've done without the parson till he's needed--so much comes afore that. but a house and a home we've got, though poor it may be. we live a good seven miles inland on the other side of the common--on the _sand_--folks call it the 'crow's nest'!" "and what's your name?" asked maren again. "lars peter hansen, i was christened." the old woman considered for a while, then shook her head. "i've never heard of you." "my father was called the hangman. maybe you know me now?" "ay, 'tis a known name--if not of the best." "folks can't always choose their own names, or character either, and must just be satisfied with a clear conscience. but as i was passing i thought i'd just look in and see you. when we're having the parson to give us his blessing, sörine and me, i'll come with the trap and fetch the two of you to church. that's if you don't care to move down to us at once--seems like that would be best." "did sörine send the message?" asked maren suspiciously. lars peter hansen mumbled something, which might be taken for either yes or no. "ay, i thought so, you hit on it yourself, and thanks to you for your kindness; but we'd better stay where we are. though we'd like to go to the wedding. 'tis eight children i've brought into the world, and nigh all married now, but i've never been asked to a wedding afore." maren became thoughtful. "and what's your trade?" she asked soon after. "i hawk herrings--and anything else to be got. buy rags and bones too when folks have any." "you can hardly make much at that--for folks wear their rags as long as there's a thread left--and there's few better off than that. or maybe they're more well-to-do in other places?" "nay, 'tis the same there as here, clothes worn out to the last thread, and bones used until they crumble," answered the man with a laugh. "but a living's to be made." "ay, that's so, food's to be got from somewhere! but you must be hungry? 'tisn't much we've got to offer you, though we can manage a cup of coffee, if that's good enough--ditte, run along to the baker and tell him what you've done to the bread, and that we've got company. maybe he'll scold you and give you another--if he doesn't, we'll have to go without next week. but tell the truth. hurry up now--and don't pull out the crump." with lingering feet ditte went out of the door. it was a hard punishment, and she hung back in the hope that granny would relent and let her off fetching the bread. pull out the crump--no, never again, today or as long as she lived. her ears burned with shame at the thought that her new father should know her misdeeds, the baker too would know what a wicked girl she was to granny. she would not tell an untruth, for granny always said to clear oneself with a lie was like cutting thistles: cut off the head of one and half a dozen will spring up in its place. ditte knew from experience that lies always came back on one with redoubled trouble; consequently she had made up her little mind, that it did not pay to avoid the truth. lars peter hansen sat by the window gazing after the child, who loitered along the road, and as she suddenly began to run, he turned to the old woman, asking: "can you manage her?" "ay, she's good enough," said maren from the kitchen, fumbling with the sticks in trying to light the fire. "i've no one better to lean on--and don't want it either. but she's a child, and i'm old and troublesome--so the one makes up for the other. the foal will kick backwards, and the old horse will stand. but 'tis dull to spend one's childhood with one that's old and weak and all." ditte was breathless when she reached the baker's, so quickly had she run in order to get back as soon as possible to the big stooping man with the good-natured growl. "now i've got a father, just like other children," she shouted breathlessly. "he's at home with granny--and he's got a horse and cart." "nay, is that so?" said they, opening their eyes, "and what's his name?" "he's called the rag and bone man!" answered ditte proudly. and they knew him here! ditte saw them exchange glances. "then you belong to a grand family," said the baker's wife, laying the loaf of bread on the counter--without realizing that the child had already had her weekly loaf, so taken up was she with the news. and ditte, who was even more so, seized the bread and ran. not until she was halfway home did she remember what she ought to have confessed; it was too late then. before lars peter hansen left, he presented them with a dozen herrings, and repeated his promise of coming to fetch them to the wedding. chapter xi the new father when ditte was six months old, she had the bad habit of putting things into her mouth--everything went that way. this was the proof whether they could be eaten or not. ditte laughed when granny told about it, because she was so much wiser now. there were things one could not eat and yet get pleasure from, and other things which could be eaten, but gave more enjoyment if one left them alone, content in the thought of how they would taste if----then one hugged oneself with delight at keeping it so much longer. "you're foolish," said granny, "eat it up before it goes bad!" but ditte understood how to put by. she would dream over one or other thing she had got: a red apple, for instance, she would press to her cheek and mouth and kiss. or she would hide it and go about thinking of it with silent devotion. should she return and find it spoiled, well, in imagination she had eaten it over and over again. this was beyond granny; her helplessness had made her greedy, and she could never get enough to eat; now it was she who put everything into her mouth. but then they had watched the child, for fear she should eat something which might harm her. more so sören. "not into your mouth!" he often said. whereupon the child would gaze at him, take the thing out of her own mouth and try to put it into his. was it an attempt to get an accomplice, or did the little one think it was because he himself wanted to suck the thing, that he forbade her? sören was never quite clear on this point. at all events, ditte had learned at an early age to reckon with other people's selfishness. if they gave good advice or corrected her, it was not so much out of consideration for her as for their own ends. should she meet the bigger girls on the road, and happen to have an apple in her hand, they would say to her: "fling that horrible apple away, or you'll get worms!" but ditte no longer threw the apple away; she had found out that they only picked it up as soon as she had gone, to eat it themselves. things were not what they appeared to be, more often than not there was something behind what one saw and heard. some people declared, that things really meant for one were put behind a back--a stick, for instance; it was always wise to be on the watch. with granny naturally it was not like this. she was simply granny through all their ups and downs, and one need never beware of her. she was only more whining than she used to be, and could no longer earn their living. ditte had to bear the greatest share of the burden, and was already capable of getting necessities for the house; she knew when the farmers were killing or churning, and would stand barefooted begging for a little for granny. "why don't you get poor relief?" said some, but gave all the same; the needy must not be turned away from one's door, if one's food were to be blessed. but under these new conditions it was impossible to have any respect for granny, who was treated more as a spoiled child, and often corrected and then comforted. "ay, 'tis all very well for you," said the old woman--"you've got sight and good legs, the whole world's afore you. but i've only the grave to look forward to." "do you want to die?" asked ditte, "and go to old grandfather sören?" indeed, no, granny did not wish to die. but she could not help thinking of the grave; it drew her and yet frightened her. her tired limbs were never really rested, and a long, long sleep under the green by sören's side was a tempting thought, if only one could be sure of not feeling the cold. yes, and that the child was looked after, of course. "then i'll go over to my new father," declared ditte whenever it was spoken of. granny need have no fear for her. "but do you think grandfather sören's still there?" yes, that was what old maren was not quite sure of herself. she could so well imagine the grave as the end of everything, and rest peacefully with that thought; oh! the blissfulness of laying one's tired head where no carts could be heard, and to be free for all eternity from aches and pains and troubles, and only rest. perhaps this would not be allowed--there was so much talking: the parson said one thing and the lay preacher another. sören might not be there any longer, and she would have to search for him till she found him, which would be difficult enough if after death he had been transformed to youth again. sören had been wild and dissipated. where he was, maren must also be, there was no doubt about that. but she preferred to have it arranged so that she could have a long rest by sören's side, as a reward for all those weary years. "then i'll go to my new father!" repeated ditte. this had become her refrain. "ay, just as ye like!" answered maren harshly. she did not like the child taking the subject so calmly. but ditte needed some one who could secure her future. granny was no good, she was too old and helpless, and she was a woman. there ought to be a man! and now she had found him. she lay down to sleep behind granny with a new feeling now; she had a real father, just like other children, one who was married to her mother, and in addition possessed a horse and cart. the bald young owner of the sand farm, who was so thin and mean that he froze everybody near him, she never took to, he was too cold for that. but the rag and bone man had taken her on his knee and shouted in her ear with his big blustering voice. they might shout "brat" after her as much as they liked, for all she cared. she had a father taller than any of theirs, he had to bend his head when he stood under the beams in granny's sitting room. the outlook was so much better now, one fell asleep feeling richer and woke again--not disappointed as when one had dreamt--but with a feeling of security. such a father was much better to depend upon, than an old blind granny, who was nothing but a bundle of rags. every night when granny undressed, ditte was equally astonished at seeing her take off skirt after skirt, getting thinner and thinner until, as if by witchcraft, nothing was left of the fat grandmother but a skeleton, a withered little crone, who wheezed like the leaky bellows by the fireplace. they looked forward to the day when the new father would come and fetch them to the wedding. then of course it would be in a grand carriage--the other one was only a cart. it would happen when they were most wearied with life, not knowing where to turn for food or coffee. suddenly they would hear the cheerful crack of a whip outside, and there he would stand, saluting with his whip, the rascal; and as they got into the carriage, he would sit at attention with his whip--like the coachman on the estate. maren, poor soul, had never seen a carriage at her door; she was almost more excited than the child, and described it all to her. "and little i thought any carriage would ever come for me, but the one that took me to the churchyard," she would say each time. "but your mother, she always had a weakness for what is grand." there had come excitement into their poor lives. ditte was no longer bored, and did not have to invent mischief to keep her little mind occupied. she had also developed a certain feeling of responsibility towards her grandmother, now that she was dependent on her--they got on much better together. "you're very good to your old granny, child," maren would often say, and then they would cry over each other without knowing why. the little wide-awake girl now had to be eyes for granny as well, and old maren had to learn to see things through ditte. and as soon as she got used to it and put implicit faith in the child, all went well. whenever ditte was tempted to make fun, maren had only to say: "you're not playing tricks, are you, child?" and she would immediately stop. she was intelligent and quick, and maren could wish for no better eyes than hers, failing the use of her own. there she would sit fumbling and turning her sightless eyes towards every sound without discovering what it could be. but thanks to ditte she was able by degrees to take up part of her old life again. perhaps after all she missed the skies more than anything else. the weather had always played a great part in maren's life; not so much the weather that was, as that to come. this was the fishergirl in her; she took after her mother--and her mother again--from the time she began to take notice she would peer at the skies early and late. everything was governed by them, even their food from day to day, and when they were dark--it cleared the table once and for all by taking the bread-winner. the sky was the first thing her eyes sought for in the morning, and the last to dwell upon at night. "there'll be a storm in the night," she would say, as she came in, or: "it'll be a good day for fishing tomorrow!" ditte never understood how she knew this. maren seldom went out now, so it did not matter to her what the weather was, but she was still as much interested in it. "what's the sky like?" she would often ask. ditte would run out and peer anxiously at the skies, very much taken up with her commission. "'tis red," she announced on her return, "and there's a man riding over it on a wet, wet horse. is it going to rain then?" "is the sun going down into a sack?" asked granny. ditte ran out again to see. "there's no sun at all," she came in and announced with excitement. but granny shook her head, there was nothing to be made of the child's explanation; she was too imaginative. "have you seen the cat eat grass today?" asked maren after a short silence. no, ditte had not seen it do that. but it had jumped after flies. maren considered for a while. well, well, it probably meant nothing good. "go and see if there are stars under the coffee kettle," said she. ditte lifted the heavy copper kettle from the fire--yes, there were stars of fire in the soot, they swarmed over the bottom of the kettle in a glittering mass. "then it'll be stormy," said granny relieved. "i've felt it for days in my bones." should there be a storm, maren always remembered to say: "now, you see, i was right." and ditte wondered over her granny's wisdom. "is that why folks call you 'wise maren'?" asked she. "ay, that's it. but it doesn't need much to be wiser than the others--if only one has sight. for folks are stupid--most of them." lars peter hansen they neither saw nor heard of for nearly a year. when people drove past, who they thought might come from his locality, they would make inquiries; but were never much wiser for all they heard. at last they began to wonder whether he really did exist; it was surely not a dream like the fairy-house in the wood? and then one day he actually stood at the door. he did not exactly crack his whip--a long hazel-stick with a piece of string at the end--but he tried to do it, and the old nag answered by throwing back its head and whinnying. it was the same cart as before, but a seat with a green upholstered back, from which the stuffing protruded, had been put on. his big battered hat was the same too, it was shiny from age and full of dust, and with bits of straw and spiders' webs in the dents. from underneath it his tousled hair showed, so covered with dust and burrs and other things that the birds of the air might be tempted to build their nests in it. "now, what do you say to a little drive today?" he shouted gaily, as he tramped in. "i've brought fine weather with me, what?" he might easily do that, for even yesterday granny had seen to it that the weather should be fine, although she knew nothing of this. last evening she touched the dew on the window-pane with her hand and had said: "there's dew for the morning sun to sparkle on." lars peter hansen had to wait, while ditte lit the fire and made coffee for him. "what a clever girl you are," he burst out, as she put it in front of him, "you must have a kiss." he took her in his arms and kissed her; ditte put her face against his rough cheek and did not speak a word. suddenly he realized his cheek was wet, and turned her face toward his. "have i hurt you?" he asked alarmed, and put her down. "nay, never a bit," said the old woman. "the child has been looking forward to a kiss from her father, and now it has come to pass--little as it is. you let her have her cry out; childish tears only wet the cheeks." but lars peter hansen went into the peat shed, where he found ditte sobbing. gently raising her, he dried her cheeks with his checked handkerchief, which looked as if it had been out many times before today. "we'll be friends sure enough, we two--we'll be friends sure enough," he repeated soothingly. his deep voice comforted the child, she took his hand and followed him back again. granny, who was very fond of coffee, though she would never say so, had seized the opportunity to take an extra cup while they were out. in her haste to pour it out, some had been spilt on the table, and now she was trying to wipe it up in the hope it might not be seen. ditte helped her to take off her apron, and washed her skirt with a wet cloth, so that it should not leave a mark; she looked quite motherly. she herself would have no coffee, she was so overwhelmed with happiness, that she could not eat. then the old woman was well wrapped up, and lars peter lifted them into the cart. granny was put on the seat by his side, while ditte, who was to have sat on the fodder-bag at the back, placed herself at their feet, for company. lars took up the reins, pulled them tightly, and loosened them again; having done this several times, the old nag started with a jerk, which almost upset their balance, and off they went into the country. it was glorious sunshine. straight ahead the rolling downs lay bathed in it--and beyond, the country with forest and hill. it all looked so different from the cart, than when walking with bare feet along the road; all seemed to curtsey to ditte, hills and forests and everything. she was not used to driving, and this was the first time she had driven in state and looked down on things. all those dreary hills that on other days stretched so heavily and monotonously in front of her, and had often been too much for her small feet, today lay down and said: "yes, ditte, you may drive over us with pleasure!" granny did not share in all this, but she could feel the sun on her old back and was quite in holiday mood. the old nag took its own time, and lars peter hansen had no objection. he sat the whole time lightly touching it with his whip, a habit of his, and one without which the horse could not proceed. should he stop for one moment, while pointing with his whip at the landscape, it would toss its head with impatience and look back--greatly to ditte's enjoyment. "can't it gallop at all?" asked she, propping herself up between his knees. "rather, just you wait and see!" answered lars peter hansen proudly. he pulled in the reins, but the nag only stopped, turned round, and looked at him with astonishment. for each lash of the whip, it threw up its tail and sawed the air with its head. ditte's little body tingled with enjoyment. "'tisn't in the mood today," said lars peter hansen, when he had at last got it into its old trot again. "it thinks it's a fraud to expect it to gallop, when it's been taking such long paces all the time." "did it say that?" asked ditte, her eyes traveling from the one to the other. "that's what it's supposed to mean. it's not far wrong." long paces it certainly did take--about that there was no mistake--but never two of equal length, and the cart was rolling in a zigzag all the time. what a funny horse it was. it looked as if it was made of odd parts, so bony and misshapen was it. no two parts matched, and its limbs groaned and creaked with every movement. they drove past the big estate, where the squire lived, over the common, and still further out into the country which granny had never seen before. "but you can't see it now either," corrected ditte pedantically. "oh, you always want to split hairs, 'course i can see it! when i hear you two speak, i see everything quite plainly. 'tis a gift of god, to live through all this in my old days. but i smell something sweet, what is it?" "maybe 'tis the fresh water, granny," said lars peter. "two or three miles down to the left is the big lake. granny has a sharp nose for anything that's wet." he chuckled over his little joke. "'tis water folks can drink without harm," said maren thoughtfully; "sören's told me about it. we were going to take a trip down there fishing for eels, but we never did. ay, they say 'tis a pretty sight over the water to see the glare of the fires on the summer nights." in between lars peter told them about conditions in his home. it was not exactly the wedding they were going to, for they had married about nine months ago--secretly. "'twas done in a hurry," he apologetically explained, "or you two would have been there." maren became silent; she had looked forward to being present at the wedding of one of her girls at least, and nothing had come of it. otherwise, it was a lovely trip. "have you any little ones then?" she asked shortly after. "a boy," answered lars peter, "a proper little monkey--the image of his mother!" he was quite enthusiastic at the thought of the child. "sörine's expecting another one soon," he added quietly. "you're getting on," said maren. "how is she?" "not quite so well this time. 'tis the heartburn, she says." "then 'twill be a long-haired girl," maren declared definitely. "and well on the way she must be, for the hair to stick in the mother's throat." it was a beautiful september day. everything smelt of mold, and the air was full of moisture, which could be seen as crystal drops over the sunlit land; a blue haze hung between the trees sinking to rest in the undergrowth, so that meadow and moor looked like a glimmering white sea. ditte marveled at the endlessness of the world. constantly something new could be seen: forests, villages, churches; only the end of the world, which she expected every moment to see and put an end to everything, failed to appear. to the south some towers shone in the sun; it was a king's palace, said her father--her little heart mounted to her throat when he said that. and still further ahead---- "what's that i smell now?" granny suddenly said, sniffing the air. "'tis salt! we must be near the sea." "not just what one would call near, 'tis over seven miles away. can you really smell the sea?" ay, ay, no-one need tell maren that they neared the sea; she had spent all her life near it and ought to know. "and what sea is that?" asked she. "the same as yours," answered lars peter. "that's little enough to drive through the country for," said maren laughingly. and then they were at the end of their journey. it was quite a shock to them, when the nag suddenly stopped and lars peter sprang down from the cart. "now, then," said he, lifting them down. sörine came out with the boy in her arms; she was big and strong and had rough manners. ditte was afraid of this big red woman, and took refuge behind granny. "she doesn't know you, that's why," said maren, "she'll soon be all right." but sörine was angry. "now, no more nonsense, child," said she, dragging her forward. "kiss your mother at once." ditte began to howl, and tore herself away from her. sörine looked as if she would have liked to use a parent's privilege and punish the child then and there. her husband came between by snatching the child from her and placing her on the back of the horse. "pat the kind horse and say thank you for the nice drive," said he. thus he quieted ditte, and carried her to sörine. "kiss mother," he said, and ditte put forth her little mouth invitingly. but now sörine refused. she looked at the child angrily, and went to get water for the horse. sörine had killed a couple of chickens in their honor, and on the whole made them comfortable, as far as their food and drink went; but there was a lack of friendliness which made itself felt. she had always been cold and selfish, and had not improved with years. by the next morning old maren saw it was quite time for them to return home, and against this sörine did not demur. after dinner lars peter harnessed the old nag, lifted them into the cart, and off they set homewards, relieved that it was over. even lars peter was different out in the open to what he was at home. he sang and cracked jokes, while home he was quiet and said little. they were thankful to be home again in the hut on the naze. "thank the lord, 'tis not your mother we've to look to for our daily bread," said granny, when lars peter hansen had taken leave; and ditte threw her arms round the old woman's neck and kissed her. today she realized fully granny's true worth. it had been somewhat of a disappointment. sörine was not what they had expected her to be, and her home was not up to much. as far as granny found out from ditte's description, it was more like a mud-hut, which had been given the name of dwelling-house, barn, etc. in no way could it be compared with the hut on the naze. but the drive had been beautiful. chapter xii the rag and bone man all who knew lars peter hansen agreed that he was a comical fellow. he was always in a good temper, and really there was no reason why he should be--especially where he was concerned. he belonged to a race of rag and bone men, who as far back as any one could remember, had traded in what others would not touch, and had therefore been given the name of rag and bone folk. his father drove with dogs and bought up rags and bones and other unclean refuse; when a sick or tainted animal had to be done away with he was always sent for. he was a fellow who never minded what he did, and would bury his arms up to the elbows in the worst kind of carrion, and then go straight to his dinner without even rinsing his fingers in water; people declared that in the middle of the night he would go and dig up the dead animals and strip them of their skin. his father, it was said, had gone as a boy to give his uncle a helping hand. as an example of the boy's depravity, it was said that when the rope would not tighten round the neck of a man who was being hung, he would climb up the gallows, drop down on to the unfortunate man's shoulder, and sit there. there was not much to inherit, and there was absolutely nothing to be proud of. lars peter had probably felt this, for when quite young he had turned his back on the home of his childhood. he crossed the water and tried for work in north sea land--his ambition was to be a farmer. he was a steady and respectable fellow, and as strong as a horse, any farmer would willingly employ him. but if he thought he could run away from things, he was mistaken. rumors of his origin followed faithfully at his heels, and harmed him at every turn. he might just as well have tried to fly from his own shadow. fortunately it did not affect him much. he was good-natured--wherever he had got it from--there was not a bad thought in his mind. his strength and trustworthiness made up for his low origin, so that he was able to hold his own with other young men; it even happened, that a well-to-do girl fell in love with his strength and black hair, and wanted him for a husband. in spite of her family's opposition they became engaged; but very soon she died, so he did not get hold of her money. so unlucky was he in everything, that it seemed as if the sins of his fathers were visited upon him. but lars peter took it as the way of the world. he toiled and saved, till he had scraped together sufficient money to clear a small piece of land on the sand--and once again looked for a wife. he met a girl from one of the fishing-hamlets; they took to each other, and he married her. there are people, upon whose roof the bird of misfortune always sits flapping its black wings. it is generally invisible to all but the inmates of the house; but it may happen, that all others see it, except those whom it visits. lars peter was one of those whom people always watched for something to happen. to his race stuck the two biggest mysteries of all--the blood and the curse; that he himself was good and happy made it no less exciting. something surely was in store for him; every one could see the bird of misfortune on his roof. he himself saw nothing, and with confidence took his bride home. no one told him that she had been engaged to a sailor, who was drowned; and anyway, what good would it have done? lars peter was not the man to be frightened away by the dead, he was at odds with no man. and no one can escape his fate. they were as happy together as any two human beings can be; lars peter was good to her, and when he had finished his own work, would help her with the milking, and carry water in for her. hansine was happy and satisfied; every one could see she had got a good husband. the bird that lived on their roof could be none other than the stork, for before long hansine confided in lars peter that she was with child. it was the most glorious news he had ever had in his life, and if he had worked hard before he did even more so now. his evenings were spent in the woodshed; there was a cradle to be made, and a rocking-chair, and small wooden shoes to be carved. as he worked he would hum, something slightly resembling a melody, but always the same tune; then suddenly hansine would come running out throwing herself into his arms. she had become so strange under her pregnancy, she could find no rest, and would sit for hours with her thoughts far away--as if listening to distant voices--and could not be roused up again. lars peter put it down to her condition, and took it all good-humoredly. his even temperament had a soothing effect upon her, and she was soon happy again. but at times she was full of anxiety, and would run out to him in the fields, almost beside herself. it was almost impossible to persuade her to return to the house, he only succeeded after promising to keep within sight. she was afraid of one thing or another at home, but when he urged her to tell him the reason, she would look dumbly at him. after the child's birth, she was her old self again. their delight was great in the little one, and they were happier even than before. but this strange phase returned when she again became pregnant, only in a stronger degree. there were times, when her fear forced her out of the house, and she would run into the fields, wring her hands in anguish. the distracted husband would fetch the screaming child to her, thus tempting her home again. this time she gave in and confided in him, that she had been engaged to a sailor, who had made her promise that she would remain faithful, if anything happened to him at sea. "did he never come back then?" asked lars peter slowly. hansine shook her head. and he had threatened to return and claim her, if she broke her word. he had said, he would tap on the trap-door in the ceiling. "did you promise of your own free will?" lars peter said ponderously. no, hansine thought he had pressed her. "then you're not bound by it," said he. "my family, maybe, are not much to go by, scum of the earth as we are. but my father and my grandfather always used to say, there's no need to fear the dead; they were easier to get away from than the living." she sat bending over the babe, which had cried itself to sleep on her knees, and lars peter stood with his arms round her shoulder, softly rocking her backwards and forwards, as he tried to talk her to reason. "you must think of the little one here--and the other little one to come! the only thing which can't be forgiven, is unkindness to those given to us." hansine took his hand and pressed it against her tearful eyes. then rising herself she put the child to bed; she was calm now. the rag and bone man had no superstition of any kind, or fear either, it was the only bright touch in the darkness of his race that they possessed; this property caused them to be outcasts--and decided their trade. those who are not haunted, haunt others. the only curse he knew, was the curse of being an outcast and feared; and this, thank the lord, had been removed where he was concerned. he did not believe in persecution from a dead man. but he understood the serious effect it had upon hansine, and was much troubled on her account. before going to bed, he took down the trap-door and hid it under the roof. thus they had children one after the other, and with it trouble and depression. instead of becoming better it grew worse with each one; and as much as lars peter loved his children, he hoped each one would be the last. the children themselves bore no mark of having been carried under a heart full of fear. they were like small shining suns, who encircled him all day long from the moment they could move. they added enjoyment to his work, and as each new one made its appearance, he received it as a gift of god. his huge fists entirely covered the newly born babe, when handed to him by the midwife--looking in its swaddling clothes like the leg of a boot--as he lifted it to the ceiling. his voice in its joy was like the deep chime of a bell, and the babe's head rolled from side to side, while blinking its eyes at the light. never had any one been so grateful for children, wife and everything else as lars peter. he was filled with admiration for them all, it was a glorious world. he did not exactly make headway on his little farm. it was poor land, and lars peter was said to be unlucky. either he lost an animal or the crop was spoiled by hail. other people kept an account of these accidents, lars peter himself had no feeling of being treated badly. on the contrary he was thankful for his farm, and toiled patiently on it. nothing affected him. when hansine was to have her fifth child, she was worse than ever. she had made him put up the trap-door again, on the pretense that she could not stay in the kitchen for the draught, and she would be nowhere else but there--she was waiting for the tap. she complained no longer nor on the whole was she anxious either. it was as if she had learned to endure what could not be evaded; she was absent-minded, and lars peter had the sad feeling that she no longer belonged to him. in the night he would suddenly realize that she was missing from his side--and would find her in the kitchen stiff with cold. he carried her back to bed, soothing her like a little child, and she would fall asleep on his breast. her condition was such, that he never dared go from home, and leave her alone with the children; he had to engage a woman to keep an eye on her, and look after the house. she now neglected everything and looked at the children as if they were the cause of her trouble. one day when he was taking a load of peat to town, an awful thing happened. what hansine had been waiting for so long, now actually took place. she sent the woman, who was supposed to be with her, away on some excuse or other; and when lars peter returned, the animals were bellowing and every door open. there was no sign of wife or children. the poultry slipped past him, as he went round calling. he found them all in the well. it was a fearful sight to see the mother and four children lying in a row, first on the cobble-stoned yard, wet and pitiful, and afterwards on the sitting-room table dressed for burial. without a doubt the sailor had claimed his right! the mother had jumped down last, with the youngest in her arms; they found her like this, tightly clasping the child, though she had not deserved it. every one was deeply shocked by this dreadful occurrence. they would willingly have given him a comforting and helping hand now; but it seemed that nothing could be done to help him in his trouble. he did not easily accept favors. he busied himself round and about the dead, until the day of the funeral. no one saw him shed a single tear, not even when the earth was thrown on to the coffins, and people wondered at his composure; he had clung so closely to them. he was probably one of those who were cursed with inability to cry, thought the women. after the funeral, he asked a neighbor to look after his animals; he had to go to town, said he. with that he disappeared, and for two years he was not seen; it was understood that he had gone to sea. the farm was taken over by the creditors; there was no more than would pay what he owed, so that at all events, he did not lose anything by it. one day he suddenly cropped up again, the same old lars peter, prepared, like job, to start again from the beginning. he had saved a little money in the last two years, and bought a partly ruined hut, a short distance north of his former farm. with the hut went a bit of marsh, and a few acres of poor land, which had never been under the plow. he bought a few sheep and poultry, put up an outhouse of peat and reeds taken from the marsh--and settled himself in. he dug peat and sold it, and when there was a good catch of herrings, would go down to the nearest fishing hamlet with his wheelbarrow and buy a load, taking them from hut to hut. he preferred to barter them, taking in exchange old metal, rags and bones, etc. it was the trade of his race he took up again, and although he had never practised it before, he fell into it quite easily. one day he took home a big bony horse, which he had got cheap, because no-one else had any use for it; another day he brought sörine home. everything went well for him. he had met sörine at some gathering down in one of the fishing huts, and they quickly made a match of it. she was tired of her place and he of being alone; so they threw in their lot together. he was out the whole day long, and often at night too. when the fishing season was in full swing, he would leave home at one or two o'clock in the night, to be at the hamlet when the first boats came in. on these occasions sörine stayed up to see that he did not oversleep himself. this irregular life came as naturally to her as to him, and she was a great help to him. so now once more he had a wife, and one who could work too. he possessed a horse, which had no equal in all the land--and a farm! it was not what could be called an estate, the house was built of hay, mud and sticks; people would point laughingly at it as they passed. lars peter alone was thankful for it. he was a satisfied being--rather too much so, thought sörine. she was of a different nature, always straining forward, and pushing him along so that her position might be bettered. she was an ambitious woman. when he was away, she managed everything; and the first summer helped him to build a proper outhouse, of old beams and bricks, which she made herself by drying clay in the sun. "now we've a place for the animals just like other people," said she, when it was finished. but her voice showed that she was not satisfied. at times lars peter hansen would suggest that they ought to take granny and ditte to live with them. "they're so lonely and dull," said he, "and the lord only knows where they get food from." but this sörine would not hear of. "we've enough to do without them," answered she sharply, "and mother's not in want, i'm sure. she was always clever at helping herself. if they come here, i'll have the money paid for ditte. 'tis mine by right." "they'll have eaten that up long ago," said lars peter. but sörine did not think so; it would not be like her father or her mother. she was convinced that her mother had hidden it somewhere or other. "if she would only sell the hut, and give the money to us," said she. "then we could build a new house." "much wants more!" answered lars peter smilingly. in his opinion the house they lived in was quite good enough. but he was a man who thought anything good enough for him, and nothing too good for others. if he were allowed to rule they would soon end in the workhouse! so lars peter avoided the question, and after granny's visit, and having seen her and sörine together, he understood they would be best apart. they did not come to his home again, but when he was buying up in their part of the country, he would call in at the hut on the naze and take a cup of coffee with them. he would then bring a paper of coffee and some cakes with him, so as not to take them unawares, and had other small gifts too. these were days of rejoicing in the little hut. they longed for him, from one visit to another, and could talk of very little else. whenever there were sounds of wheels, ditte would fly to the window, and granny would open wide her sightless eyes. ditte gathered old iron from the shore as a surprise for her father; and when he drove home, she would go with him as far as the big hill, behind which the sun went down. lars peter said nothing of these visits when he got home. chapter xiii ditte has a vision before losing her sight maren had taught ditte to read, which came in very useful now. they never went to church; their clothes were too shabby, and the way too long. maren was not particularly zealous in her attendance, a life-long experience had taught her to take what the parson said with a grain of salt. but on sundays, when people streamed past on their way to church, they were both neatly dressed, ditte with a clean pinafore and polished wooden shoes, and granny with a stringed cap. then granny would be sitting in the armchair at the table, spectacles on her nose and the bible in front of her, and ditte standing beside her reading the scriptures for the day. in spite of her blindness, maren insisted upon wearing her spectacles and having the holy book in front of her, according to custom, otherwise it was not right. ditte was nearly of school age, but maren took no notice of it, and kept her home. she was afraid of the child not getting on with the other children--and could not imagine how she herself could spare her the whole day long. but at the end of six months they were found out, and maren was threatened, that unless the child was sent to school, she would be taken from her altogether. having fitted out ditte as well as she could, she sent her off with a heavy heart. the birth certificate she purposely omitted giving her; as it bore in the corner the fateful: born out of wedlock. maren could not understand why an innocent child should be stamped as unclean; the child had enough to fight against without that. but ditte returned with strict injunctions to bring the certificate the next day, and maren was obliged to give it to her. it was hopeless to fight against injustice. maren knew well that magistrates were no institution of god's making--she had been born with this knowledge! they only oppressed her and her kind; and with this end in view used their own hard method, which was none of god's doing at all. he, on the contrary, was a friend of the poor; at least his only son, who was sitting on his right hand, whispered good things of the poor, and it was reasonable to expect that he would willingly help. but what did it help when the mighty ones would have it otherwise? it was the squire and his like, who had the power! it was towards them the parson turned when preaching, letting the poor folks look after themselves, and towards them the deacon glanced when singing. it was all very fine for them, with the magistrate carrying their trains, and opening their carriage door, with a peasant woman always ready to lay herself on all fours to prevent them wetting their feet as they stepped in. no "born out of wedlock" on _their_ birth certificate; although one often might question their genuineness! "but why does the lord let it be like that?" asked ditte wonderingly. "he has to, or there'd be no churches built nor no fuss made of him," answered maren. "grandfather sören always said, that the lord lived in the pockets of the mighty, and it seems as if he's right." * * * * * ditte now went three times a week to school, which lay an hour's journey away, over the common. she went together with the other children from the hamlet, and got on well with them. children are thoughtless, but not wicked; this they learn from their elders. they had only called after her what they had heard at home; it was their parents' gossip and judgment they had repeated. they meant nothing by it; ditte, who was observant in this respect, soon found out that they treated each other just in the same way. they would shout witch's brat, at her one minute and the next be quite friendly; they did not mean to look down upon her. this discovery took the sting from the abusive word--fortunately she was not sensitive. and the parents no longer, in superstition, warned their children against her; the time when maren rode about as a witch was entirely forgotten. now she was only a poor old woman left alone with an illegitimate child. to the school came children just as far in the opposite direction, from the neighborhood of sand. and it happened, that from them maren and ditte could make inquiries about sörine and lars peter. they had not seen ditte's father for some time, and he might easily have met with an accident, being on the roads night and day in all sorts of weather. it was fortunate that ditte met children from those parts, who could assure her that all was well. sörine had never been any good to her mother, although she was her own flesh and blood. one day ditte came home with the news that she was to go to her parents; one of the children had brought the message. old maren began to shake, so that her knitting needles clinked. "but they said they didn't want you!" she broke out, her face quivering. "yes, but now they want me--you see, i've to help with the little ones," answered ditte proudly, gathering her possessions together and putting them on the table. each time she put a thing down was like a stab to the old woman; then she would comfort and stroke granny's shaking hand, which was nothing but blue veins. maren sat dumbly knitting; her face was strangely set and dead-looking. "of course i'll come home and see you; but then you must take it sensibly. can't you understand that i couldn't stay with you always? i'll bring some coffee when i come, and we'll have a lovely time. but you must promise not to cry, 'cause your eyes can't stand it." ditte stood talking in a would-be wise voice, as she tied up her things. "and now i must go, or i shan't get there till night, and then mother will be angry." she said the word "mother" with a certain reverence as if it swept away all objections. "good-by, dear, _dear_ granny!" she kissed the old woman's cheek and hurried off with her bundle. as soon as the door had closed on her maren began crying, and calling for her; in a monotonous undertone she poured out all her troubles, sorrow and want and longing for death. she had had so many heavy burdens and had barely finished with one when another appeared. her hardships had cut deeply--most of them; and it did her good to live through them again and again. she went on for some time, and would have gone on still longer had she not suddenly felt two arms round her neck and a wet cheek against her own. it was the mischievous child, who had returned, saying that after all she was not leaving her. ditte had gone some distance, as far as the baker's, who wondered where she was going with the big parcel and stopped her. her explanation, that she was going home to her parents, they refused to believe; her father had said nothing about it when the baker had met him at the market the day before, indeed he had sent his love to them. ditte stood perplexed on hearing all this. a sudden doubt flashed through her mind; she turned round with a jerk--quick as she was in all her movements--and set off home for the hut on the naze. how it had all happened she did not bother to think, such was her relief at being allowed to return to granny. granny laughed and cried at the same time, asked questions and could make no sense of it. "aren't you going at all, then?" she broke out, thanking god, and hardly able to believe it. "of course i'm not going. haven't i just told you, the baker said i wasn't to." "ay, the baker, the baker--what's he got to do with it? you'd got the message to go." ditte was busily poking her nose into granny's cheek. maren lifted her head: "hadn't you, child? answer me!" "i don't know, granny," said ditte, hiding her face against her. granny held her at an arm's length: "then you've been playing tricks, you bad girl! shame on you, to treat my poor old heart like this." maren began sobbing again and could not stop; it had all come so unexpectedly. if only one could get to the bottom of it; but the child had declared that she had not told a lie. she was quite certain of having had the message, and was grieved at granny not believing her. she never told an untruth when it came to the point, so after all must have had the message. on the other side the child herself said that she was not going--although the baker's counter orders carried no authority. they had simply stopped her, because her expedition seemed so extraordinary. it was beyond maren--unless the child had imagined it all. ditte kept close to the old woman, constantly taking hold of her chin. "now i know how sorry you'll be to lose me altogether," she said quietly. maren raised her face: "do you think you'll soon be called away?" ditte shook her head so vehemently that granny felt it. old maren was deep in thought; she had known before that the child understood, that it was bound to come. "whatever it may be," said she after a few moments, "you've behaved like the great man i once read about, who rehearsed his own funeral--with four black horses, hearse and everything. all his servants had to pretend they were the procession, dressed in black, they had even to cry. he himself was watching from an attic window, and when he saw the servants laughing behind their handkerchiefs instead of crying, he took it so to heart that he died. 'tis dangerous for folks to make fun of their own passing away--wherever they may be going!" "i wasn't making fun, granny," ditte assured her again. from that day maren went in daily dread of the child being claimed by her parents. "my ears are burning," she often said, "maybe 'tis your mother talking of us." sörine certainly did talk of them in those days. ditte was now old enough to make herself useful; her mother would not mind having her home to look after the little ones. "she's nearly nine years old now and we'll have to take her sooner or later," she explained. lars peter demurred; he thought it was a shame to take her from granny. "let's take them both then," said he. sörine refused to listen, and nagged for so long that she overcame his opposition. "we've been expecting you," said maren when at last he came to fetch the child. "we've known for long that you'd come on this errand." "'tisn't exactly with my good will. but in a way a mother has a right to her own child, and sörine thinks she'd like to have her," answered lars peter. he wanted to smooth it down for both sides. "i know you've done your best. well, it can't be helped. and how's every one at home? there's another mouth to feed, i've heard." "ay, he's nearly six months old now." lars peter brightened up, as he always did when speaking of his children. they got into the cart. "we shan't forget you, either of us," said lars peter huskily, while trying to get the old nag off. then the old woman stumbled in, they saw her feeling her way over the doorstep with her foot and closing the door behind her. "'tis lonely to be old and blind," said lars peter, lashing his whip as usual. ditte heard nothing; she was sitting with her face in one big smile. she was driving towards something new; she had no thought for granny just then. chapter xiv at home with mother the rag and bone man's property--the crow's nest--stood a little way back from the road, and the piece up towards the road he had planted with willows, partly to hide the half-ruined abode, and partly to have material for making baskets during the winter, when there was little business to be done. the willows grew quickly, and already made a beautiful place for playing hide and seek. he made the house look as well as it could, with tar and whitewash, but miserable looking it ever would be, leaking and falling to pieces; it was the dream of sörine's life, that they should build a new dwelling-house up by the road, using this as outhouse. the surroundings were desolate and barren, and a long way from neighbors. the view towards the northwest was shut off by a big forest, and on the opposite side was the big lake, which reflected all kinds of weather. on the dark nights could be heard the quacking of the ducks in the rushes on its banks, and on rainy days, boats would glide like shadows over it, with a dark motionless figure in the bow, the eel-fisher. he held his eel-fork slantingly in front of him, prodded the water sleepily now and then, and slid past. it was like a dream picture, and the whole lake was in keeping. when ditte felt dull she would pretend that she ran down to the banks, hid herself in the rushes, and dream herself home to granny. or perhaps away to something still better; something unknown, which was in store for her somewhere or other. ditte never doubted but that there was something special in reserve for her, so glorious that it was impossible even to imagine it. in her play too, her thoughts would go seawards, and when her longing for granny was too strong, she would run round the corner of the house and gaze over the wide expanse of water. now she knew granny's true worth. she had not yet been down to the sea; as a matter of fact there was no time to play. at six o'clock in the morning, the youngest babe made himself heard, as regularly as clockwork, and she had to get up in a hurry, take him from his mother and dress him. lars peter would be at his morning jobs, if he had not already gone to the beach for fish. when he was at home, sörine would get up with the children; but otherwise she would take a longer nap, letting ditte do the heaviest part of the work for the day. then her morning duties would be left undone, the two animals bellowed from the barn, the pigs squealed over their empty trough, and the hens flocked together at the hen-house door waiting to be let out. ditte soon found out that her mother was more industrious when the father was at home than when he was out; then she would trail about the whole morning, her hair undone and an old skirt over her nightdress, and a pair of down-trodden shoes on her bare feet, while everything was allowed to slide. ditte thought this was a topsy-turvy world. she herself took her duties seriously, and had not yet been sufficiently with grown-up people to learn to shirk work. she washed and dressed the little ones. they were full of life, mischievous and unmanageable, and she had as much as she could do in looking after the three of them. as soon as they saw an opportunity, the two eldest would slip away from her, naked as they were; then she had to tie up the youngest while she went after them. the days she went to school she felt as a relief. she had just time to get the children ready, and eat her porridge, before leaving. at the last moment her mother would find something or other, which had to be done, and she had to run the whole way. she was often late, and was scolded for it, yet she loved going to school. she enjoyed sitting quietly in the warm schoolroom for hours at a stretch, resting body and mind; the lessons were easy, and the schoolmaster kind. he often let them run out for hours, when he would work in his field, and it constantly happened that the whole school helped him to gather in his corn or dig up his potatoes. this was a treat indeed. the children were like a flock of screaming birds, chattering, making fun and racing each other at the work. and when they returned, the schoolmaster's wife would give them coffee. more than anything else ditte loved the singing-class. she had never heard any one but granny sing, and she only did it when she was spinning--to prevent the thread from being uneven, and the wheel from swinging, said she. it was always the same monotonous, gliding melody; ditte thought she had composed it herself, because it was short or long according to her mood. the schoolmaster always closed the school with a song, and the first time ditte heard the full chorus, she burst into tears with emotion. she put her head on the desk, and howled. the schoolmaster stopped the singing and came down to her. "she must have been frightened," said the girls nearest to her. he comforted her, and she stopped crying. "have you never heard singing before, child?" he asked wonderingly, when she had calmed down. "yes, the spinning-song," sniffed ditte. "who sang it to you then?" "granny----" ditte suddenly stopped and began to choke again, the thought of granny was too much for her. "granny used to sing it when she was spinning," she managed at last to say. "that must be a good old granny, you have. do you love her?" ditte did not answer, but the face she turned to him was like sunshine after the storm. "will you sing us the spinning-song?" ditte looked from the one to the other; the whole class gazed breathlessly at her; she felt something was expected of her. she threw a hasty glance at the schoolmaster's face; then fixed her eyes on her desk and began singing in a delicate little voice, which vibrated with conflicting feelings; shyness, the solemnity of the occasion, and sorrow at the thought of granny, who might now sit longing for her. unconsciously she moved one foot up and down as she sang, as one who spins. one or two attempted to giggle, but one look from the master silenced them. now we spin for ditte for stockings and for vest, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! some shall be of silver and golden all the rest, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! ditte went awalking, so soft and round and red, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away, met a little princeling who doff'd his cap and said, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! oh, come with me, fair maiden, to father's castle fine, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! we'll play the livelong day and have a lovely time, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! alas, dear little prince, your question makes me grieve, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! there's granny waits at home for me, and her i cannot leave, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! she's blind, poor old dear, 'tis sad to see, alack! spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! she's water in her legs and pains all down her back, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! --if 'tis but for a child, she's cried her poor eyes out, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! then she shall never want of that there is no doubt, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! when toil and troubles tell and legs begin to ache, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! we'll dress her up in furs and drive her out in state, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! now granny spins once more for sheet and bolster long, spin, spin away, oh, and spin, spin away! for ditte and the prince to lie and rest upon, fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray! when she had finished her song, there was stillness for a few moments in the schoolroom. "she thinks she's going to marry a prince," said one of the girls. "and that she probably will!" answered the schoolmaster. "and then granny can have all she wants," he added, stroking her hair. without knowing it, ditte at one stroke had won both the master's and the other children's liking. she had sung to the whole class, quite alone, which none of the others dared do. the schoolmaster liked her for her fearlessness, and for some time shut his eyes whenever she was late. but one day it was too much for him, and he ordered her to stay in. ditte began to cry. "'tis a shame," said the other girls, "she runs the whole way, and she's whipped if she's late home. her mother stands every day at the corner of the house waiting for her--she's so strict." "then we'll have to get hold of your mother," said the schoolmaster. "this can't go on!" ditte escaped staying in, but was given a note to take home. this having no effect, the schoolmaster went with her home to speak to her mother. but sörine refused to take any responsibility. if the child arrived late at school, it was simply because she loitered on the way. ditte listened to her in amazement; she could not make out how her mother could look so undisturbed when telling such untruths. ditte, to help herself, now began acting a lie too. each morning she seized the opportunity of putting the little swiss clock a quarter of an hour forward. it worked quite well in the morning, so that she was in time for school; but she would be late in arriving home. "you're taking a quarter of an hour longer on the road now," scolded her mother. "we got out late today," lied ditte, trying to copy her mother's unconcerned face, as she had seen it when _she_ lied. her heart was in her mouth, but all went well--wonderful to relate! how much wiser she was now! during the day she quietly put the clock back again. one day, in the dusk, as she stood on the chair putting the clock back, her mother came behind her. ditte threw herself down from the chair, quickly picking up little povl from the floor, where he was crawling; in her fear, she tried to hide behind the little one. but her mother tore him from her, and began thrashing her. ditte had had a rap now and then, when she was naughty, but this was the first time she had been really whipped. she was like an animal, kicking and biting, and shrieking, so that it was all her mother could do to manage her. the three little ones' howls equaled hers. when sörine thought she had had enough, she dragged her to the woodshed and locked her in. "lie there and howl, maybe it'll teach you not to try those tricks again!" she shouted, and went in. she was so out of breath that she had to sit down; that wicked child had almost got the better of her. ditte, quite beyond herself, went on screaming and kicking for some time. her cries gradually quietened down to a despairing wail of: "granny, granny!" it was quite dark in the woodshed, and whenever she called for granny, she heard a comforting rustling sound from the darkness at the back of the shed. she gazed confidently towards it, and saw two green fire-balls shining in the darkness, which came and went by turns. ditte was not afraid of the dark. "puss, puss," she whispered. the fire-balls disappeared, and the next moment she felt something soft touching her. and now she broke down again, this caress was too much for her, and she pitied herself intensely. puss, little puss! there was after all one who cared for her! now she would go home to granny. she got up, dazed and bruised, and felt her way to the shutter. when sörine thought that she had been locked in long enough, and came to release her, she had vanished. * * * * * ditte ran into the darkness, sobbing; it was cold and windy, and the rain was beating on her face. she wore no knickers under her dress--these her mother had taken for the little ones, together with the thick woollen vest granny had knitted for her--the wet edge of her skirt cut her bare legs, which were swollen from the lash of the cane. but the silent rain did her good. suddenly something flew up from beside her; she heard the sound of rushes standing rustling in the water--and knew that she had got away from the road. she collapsed, and crawled into the undergrowth, and lay shivering in a heap, like a sick puppy. there she lay groaning without really having any more pain; the cold had numbed her limbs and deadened the smart. it was distress of soul which made her wince now and then; it was wrung by the emptiness and meaninglessness of her existence. she needed soothing hands, a mother first of all, who would fondle her--but she got only hard words and blows from that quarter. yet it was expected that she should give what she herself missed most of all--a mother's long-suffering patience and tender care to the three tiresome little ones, who were scarcely more helpless than she was. her black despair little by little gave place to numbness. hate and anger, feebleness and want, had all fought in her mind and worn her out. the cold did the rest, and she fell into a doze. a peculiar, grinding, creaking and jolting noise came from the road. only one cart in all the world could produce that sound. ditte opened her eyes, and a feeling of joy went through her--her father! she tried to call, but no sound came, and each time she tried to rise her legs gave way under her. she crawled up with difficulty over the edge of the ditch, out into the middle of the road, and there collapsed. as the nag neared that spot, it stopped, threw up its head, snorted, and refused to go on. lars peter jumped down and ran to the horse's head to see what was wrong; there he found ditte, stiff with cold and senseless. under his warm driving cape she came to herself again, and life returned to the cold limbs. lars peter thawed them one by one in his huge fists. ditte lay perfectly quiet in his arms; she could hear the beat of his great heart underneath his clothes, throb, throb! each beat was like the soft nosing of some animal, and his deep voice sounded to her like an organ. his big hands, which took hold of so much that was hard and ugly, were the warmest she had ever known. just like granny's cheek--the softest thing in all the world--were they. "now we must get out and run a little," said the father suddenly. ditte was unwilling to move, she was so warm and comfortable. there was no help for it however. "we must get the blood to run again," said he, lifting her out of the cart. then they ran for some time by the side of the nag, which threw out its big hoofs in a jog-trot, so as not to be outdone. "shall we soon be home?" asked ditte, when she was in the cart again, well wrapped up. "oh-h, there's a bit left--you've run seven miles, child! now tell me what's the meaning of your running about like this." then ditte told him about the school, the injustice she had had to bear, the whipping and everything. in between there were growls from lars peter, as he stamped his feet on the bottom of the cart--he could hardly tolerate to listen to this tale. "but you won't tell sörine, will you?" she added with fear. "mother, i mean," she hastily corrected herself. "you needn't be afraid," was all he said. he was silent for the rest of the journey, and was very slow in unharnessing; ditte kept beside him. sörine came out with a lantern and spoke to him, but he did not answer. she cast a look of fear at him and the child, hung up the lantern, and hurried in. soon after he came in, holding ditte by the hand, her little hand shaking in his. his face was gray; in his right hand was a thick stick. sörine fled from his glance; right under the clock; pressing herself into the corner, gazing at them with perplexity. "ay, you may well gaze at us," said he, coming forward--"'tis a child accusing you. what's to be done about it?" he had seated himself under the lamp, and lifting ditte's frock, he carefully pressed his palm against the blue swollen weals, which smarted with the slightest touch. "it still hurts--you're good at thrashing! let's see if you're equally good at healing. come and kiss the child, where you've struck her, a kiss for each stroke!" he sat waiting. "well----" sörine's face was full of disgust. "oh, you think your mouth's too good to kiss what your hand's struck." he reached out for the stick. sörine had sunk down on the ground, she put out her hands beseechingly. but he looked inexorably at her, not at all like himself. "well----" sörine lingered a few moments longer, then on her knees went and kissed the child's bruised limbs. ditte threw her arms violently round her mother's neck. "mother," said she. but sörine got up and went out to get the supper. she never looked at them the whole evening. lars peter was his old self the next morning. he woke sörine with a kiss as usual, humming as he dressed. sörine still looked at him with malice, but he pretended not to notice it. it was quite dark, and as he sat eating his breakfast, with the lantern in front of him on the table, he kept looking at the three little ones, in bed. they were all in a heap--like young birds. "when povl has to join them, we'll have to put two at each end," he said thoughtfully. "better still, if we could afford another bed." there was no answer from sörine. when ready to leave, he bent over ditte, who lay like a little mother with the children in her arms. "that's a good little girl, you've given us," said he, straightening himself. "she tells lies," answered sörine from beside the fireplace. "then it's because she's had to. my family's not thought much of, sörine--and maybe they don't deserve it either. but never a hand was laid on us children, i'll tell you. i remember plainly my father's death-bed, how he looked at his hands, and said: 'these have dealt with much, but never has the rag and bone man's hands been turned against the helpless!' i'd like to say that when my time comes, and i'd advise you to think of it too." then he drove away. sörine put the lantern in the window, to act as a guide to him, and crept back to bed, but could not sleep. for the first time lars peter had given her something to think of. she had found that in him which she had never expected, something strange which warned her to be careful. a decent soul, she had always taken him for--just as the others. and how awful he could be in his rage--it made her flesh creep, when thinking of it. she certainly would be careful not to come up against him again. chapter xv rain and sunshine on the days when ditte did not go to school, there were thousands of things for her to do. she had to look after the little ones, care for the sheep and hens too, and gather nettles in a sack for the pigs. at times lars peter came home early, having been unlucky in selling his fish. then she would sit up with her parents until one or two o'clock in the night, cleaning the fish, to prevent it spoiling. sörine was one of those people who fuss about without doing much. she could not bear the child resting for a moment, and drove her from one task to another. often when ditte went to bed, she was so tired that she could not sleep. sörine had the miserable habit of making the day unhappy for the children. she was rough with them should they get in her way; and always left children's tears like streams of water behind her. when ditte went to gather sticks, or pick berries, she always dragged the little ones with her, so as not to leave them to their mother's tender mercy. there were days when sörine was not quite so bad--she was never quite happy and kind, but at other times she was almost mad with anger, and the only thing to do was to keep out of her way. then they would all hide, and only appear when their father came home. sörine was careful not to strike ditte, and sent her off to school in good time--she had no wish to see lars peter again as he was that evening. but she had no love for the child, she wanted to get on in life; it was her ambition to build a new dwelling-house, get more land and animals--and be on the same footing with the other women on the small farms round about. the child was a blot on her. whenever she looked at ditte, she would think: because of that brat, all the other women look down on me! the child certainly was a good worker, even sörine grudgingly admitted it to lars peter. it was ditte who made butter, first in a bottle, which had to be shaken, often by the hour, before the butter would come--and now in the new churn. sörine herself could not stand the hard work of churning. ditte gathered berries and sold them in the market, ran errands, fetched water and sticks, and looked after the sheep, carrying fat little povl wherever she went. he cried if she left him behind, and she was quite crooked with carrying him. autumn was the worst time for the children. it was the herring season, and their father would stay down at the fishing hamlet--often for a month at a time--helping with the catch. sörine was then difficult to get on with; the only thing which kept her within bounds was ditte's threat of running away. there were not many men left in the neighborhood in the autumn, and sörine went in daily dread of tramps. should they knock at the door in the evening, she would let ditte answer it. ditte was not afraid. this and her cleverness gave her moral power over her mother; she had no fear of answering her back now. she was quicker with her fingers than her mother, both in making baskets and brooms, and did better work too. what money they made in this way, sörine had permission to keep for herself. she never spent a penny of it, but put it by, shilling by shilling, towards building the new house. they must try hard to make enough, so that lars peter could work at home instead of hawking his goods on the road. as long as the people had the right to call him rag and bone man, it was natural they should show no respect. land they must have, and for this, money was necessary. money! money! that word was always in sörine's mind and humming in her ears. she scraped together shilling after shilling, and yet the end was far from being in sight, unless something unexpected happened. and what could happen to shorten the wearisome way to her goal, only one thing--that her mother should die. she had really lived long enough and been a burden to others. sörine thought it was quite time she departed, but no such luck. it happened that lars peter returned one day in the middle of the afternoon. the shabby turn-out could be seen from afar. the cart rocked with every turn of the wheels, creaking and groaning as it was dragged along. it was as if all the parts of the cart spoke and sang at once, and when the children heard the well-known noise along the road, they would rush out, full of excitement. the old nag, which grew more and more like a wandering bag of bones, snorted and puffed, and rumbled, as if all the winds from the four corners of the earth were locked in its belly. and lars peter's deep hum joined the happy chorus. when the horse saw the little ones, it whinnied; lars peter raised himself from his stooping position and stopped singing, and the cart came to a standstill. he lifted them up in the air, all three or four together in a bunch, held them up to the sky for a moment, and put them into the cart as carefully as if they were made of glass. the one who had seen him first was allowed to hold the reins. when lars peter came home and found sörine in a temper and the house upside down, he was not disturbed at all, but soon cheered them all up. he always brought something home with him, peppermints for the children, a new shawl for mother--and perhaps love from granny to ditte, whispering it to her so that sörine could not hear. his good humor was infectious; the children forgot their grievances, and even sörine had to laugh whether she wanted to or not. and if the children were fond of him, so too were the animals. they would welcome him with their different cries and run to meet him; he could let the pig out and make it follow him in the funniest gallop round the field. however late he was in returning, and however tired, he never went to bed without having first been the round to see that the animals wanted for nothing. sörine easily forgot them and they were often hungry. then the hens flew down from their perch on hearing his step, the pigs came out and grunted over their trough, and a soft back rubbed itself up against his legs--the cat. lars peter brought joy with him home, and a happier man than he could hardly be found for miles. he loved his wife for what she was, more sharp than really clever. he admired her for her firmness, and thought her an exceedingly capable woman, and was truly thankful for the children she gave him, for those he was father to--and for ditte. perhaps if anything he cared most for her. such was lars peter's nature that he began where others ended. all his troubles had softened instead of hardening him; his mind involuntarily turned to what was neglected, perhaps it was because of this that people thought nothing throve for him. his ground was sour and sandy, none but he would think of plowing it. no-one grudged him his wife, and most of the animals he had saved from being killed, on his trips round the farms. he could afford to be happy with his possessions, thinking they were better than what others had. he was jealous of no-one, and no exchange would tempt him. on sundays the horse had to rest, and it would not do either to go on his rounds that day. therefore lars peter would creep up to the hayloft to have a sleep. he would sleep on until late in the afternoon, having had very little during the week, and ditte had her work cut out to keep the little ones from him; they made as much noise as they possibly could, hoping to waken him so that he might play with them, but ditte watched carefully, that he had his sleep in peace. twice a year they all drove to the market at hilleröd, on top of the loaded cart. the children were put into the baskets which were stacked in the back of the cart, the brooms hung over the sides, under the seat were baskets of butter and eggs, and in front--under lars' and sörine's feet, were a couple of sheep tied up. these were the great events of the year, from which everything was dated. chapter xvi poor granny on rare occasions ditte was permitted to go and stay with granny for a few days. it was the father who managed this, and he arranged his round so that he could either bring or fetch her home. granny was always in bed when she arrived--she never got up now. "why should i trudge on, when you're not here? if i stay in bed, then sometimes kind folks remember me and bring me a little food and clean up for me. oh, dear! 'twould be much better to die; nobody wants me," she complained. but she got up all the same, and put on water for the coffee; ditte cleaned the room, which was in a deplorable condition, and they enjoyed themselves together. when the time was up and ditte had to go, the old woman cried. ditte stood outside listening to her wailings; she held on to the doorpost trying to pull herself together. she _had_ to go home, and began running with closed eyes the first part of the way, until she could hear granny's cries no longer, then----but she got more and more sick at heart, and knew no more, until she found herself with her arms round granny's neck. "i'm allowed to stay until tomorrow," said she. "you're not playing tricks, child?" said the old woman anxiously. "for then sörine'll be angry. ay, ay," said she shortly afterwards, "stay until tomorrow then. the lord'll make it all right for you--for the sake of your good heart. we don't have much chance of seeing each other, we two." the next day it was no better; maren had not the strength to send the child away. there was so much to tell her, and what was one day after the accumulation of months of sorrow and longing? and ditte listened seriously to all her woes; she understood now what sorrow and longing meant. "you've quite changed," said granny. "i notice it from the way you listen to me. if only the time would pass quickly so that you might go out to service." and one day it was all over; lars peter had come to fetch her. "you'd better come home now," said he, wrapping her up, "the little ones are crying for you." "ay, you're not to be feared," said old maren. "but it seems like sörine might be kinder to her." "i think it's better now--and the little ones are fond of her. she's quite a little mother to them." yes, there were the children! ditte's heart warmed at the thought of them. they had gained her affection in their own peculiar way; by adding burdens to her little life they had wound themselves round her heart. "how's povl?" asked she, when they had driven over the big hill, and granny's hut was out of sight. "well, you know, he's always crying when you're not at home," said the father quietly. ditte knew this. he was cutting his teeth just now, and needed nursing, his cheeks were red with fever, and his mouth hot and swollen. he would hang on to his mother's skirt, only to be brushed impatiently aside, and would fall and hurt himself. who then was there to take him on their knee and comfort him? it was like an accusation to ditte's big heart; she was sorry she had deserted him, and longed to have him in her arms again. it hurt her back to carry him--yes, and the schoolmaster scolded her for stooping. "it's your own fault," the mother would say; "stop dragging that big child about! he can walk if he likes, he can." but when he was in pain and cried, ditte knew all too well from her own experience the child's need of being held against a beating heart. she still had that longing herself, though a mother's care had never been offered her. sörine was cross when lars peter returned with ditte, and ignored her for several days. but at last curiosity got the upper hand. "how's the old woman--is she worse?" asked she. ditte, who thought her mother asked out of sympathy, gave full details of the miserable condition that granny was in. "she's always in bed, and only gets food when any one takes it to her." "then she can't last much longer," thought the mother. at this ditte began to cry. then her mother scolded her: "stupid girl, there's nothing to cry for. old folks can't live on forever, being a burden to others. and when granny dies we'll get a new dwelling-house." "no, 'cause granny says, what comes from the house is to be divided equally. and the rest----" ditte broke off suddenly. "what rest?" sörine bent forward with distended nostrils. but ditte closed her lips firmly. granny had strictly forbidden her to mention the subject--and here she had almost let it out. "stupid girl! don't you suppose i know you're thinking of the two hundred crowns that was paid for you? what's to be done with it?" ditte looked with suspicion at her mother. "i'm to have it," she whispered. "then the old woman should let us keep it for you, instead of hanging on to it herself," said sörine. ditte was terrified. that was exactly what granny was afraid of, that sörine should get hold of it. "granny has hidden it safely," said she. "oh, has she, and where?--in the eiderdown of course!" "no!" ditte assured her, shaking her head vehemently. but any one could see that was where it was hidden. "oh, that's lucky, for that eiderdown i'm going to fetch some day. that you can tell granny, with my love, next time you see her. each of my sisters when they married was given an eiderdown, and i claim mine too." "granny only has one eiderdown!" ditte protested--perhaps for the twentieth time. "then she'll just have to take one of her many under-quilts. she lies propped up nearly to the ceiling, with all those bedclothes." yes, granny's bed was soft, ditte knew that better than any one else. granny's bedclothes were heavy, and yet warmer than anything else in the whole world, and there was a straw mat against the wall. it had been so cosy and comfortable sleeping with granny. ditte was small for her age, all the hardships she had endured had stunted her growth. but her mind was above the average; she was thoughtful by nature, and her life had taught her not to shirk, but to take up her burden. she had none of the carelessness of childhood, but was full of forethought and troubles. she _had_ to worry--for her little sisters and brothers the few days she was with granny, and for granny all the time she was not with her. as a punishment, for having prolonged her visit to granny without permission, sörine for a long time refused to let her go again. then ditte went about thinking of the old woman, worrying herself into a morbid self-reproach; most of all at night, when she could not sleep for cold, would her sorrows overwhelm her, and she would bury her head in the eiderdown, so that her mother should not hear her sobs. she would remember all the sweet ways of the old woman, and bitterly repent the tricks and mischief she had played upon her. this was her punishment; she had repaid granny badly for all her care, and now she was alone and forsaken. she had never been really good to the old woman; she would willingly be so now--but it was too late! there were hundreds of ways of making granny happy, and ditte knew them all, but she had been a horrid, lazy girl. if she could only go back now, she certainly would see that granny always had a lump of sugar for her second cup of coffee--instead of stealing it herself. and she would remember every evening to heat the stone, and put it at the foot of the bed, so granny's feet should not be cold. "you've forgotten the stone again," said granny almost every night, "my feet are like ice. and what are yours like? why, they're quite cold, child." then granny would rub the child's feet until they were warm; but nothing was done to her own--it was all so hopeless to think of it now. she thought, if she only promised to be better in the future, something must happen to take her back to granny again. but nothing did happen! and one day she could stand it no longer, and set off running over the fields. sörine wanted her brought home at once; but lars peter took it more calmly. "just wait a few days," said he, "'tis a long time since she's seen the old woman." and he arranged his round so that ditte could spend a few days with her grandmother. "bring back the eiderdown with you," said sörine. "it's cold now, and it'll be useful for the children." "we'll see about it," answered lars peter. when she got a thing into her head, she would nag on and on about it, so that she would have driven most people mad. but lars peter did not belong to the family of man; all her haggling had no effect on his good-natured stubbornness. chapter xvii when the cat's away ditte was awakened by the sound of iron being struck, and opened her eyes. the smoking lamp stood on the table, and in front of the fire was her mother hammering a ring off the kettle with a poker. she was not yet dressed; the flames from the fire flickered over her untidy red hair and naked throat. ditte hastily closed her eyes again, so that her mother should not discover that she was awake. the room was cold, and through the window-panes could be seen the darkness of the night. then her father came tramping in with the lantern, which he put out and hung it up behind the door. he was already dressed, and had been out doing his morning jobs. there was a smell of coffee in the room. "ah!" said he, seating himself by the table. ditte peeped out at him; when he was there, there was no fear of being turned out of bed. "oh, there you are, little wagtail," said he. "go to sleep again, it's only five o'clock---but maybe you're thinking of a cup of coffee in bed?" ditte glanced at her mother, who stood with her back to her. then she nodded her head eagerly. lars peter drank half of his coffee, put some more sugar in the cup, and handed it to the child. sörine was dressing by the fireplace. "now keep quiet," said she, "while i tell you what to do. there's flour and milk for you to make pancakes for dinner; but don't dare to put an egg in." "good lord, what's an egg or two," lars peter tried to say. "you leave the housekeeping to me," answered sörine, "and you'd better get up at once before we leave, and begin work." "what's the good of that?" said lars peter again. "leave the children in bed till it's daylight. i've fed the animals, and it's no good wasting oil." this last appealed to sörine. "very well, then, but be careful with the fire--and don't use too much sugar." then they drove away. lars peter was going to the shore to fetch fish as usual, but would first drive sörine into town, where she would dispose of the month's collection of butter and eggs, and buy in what could not be got from the grocer in the hamlet. ditte listened to the cart until she dropped asleep again. when it was daylight, she got up and lit the fire again. the others wanted to get up too, but by promising them coffee instead of their usual porridge and milk she kept them in bed until she had tidied up the room. they got permission to crawl over to their parents' bed, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves there, while ditte put wet sand on the floor, and swept it. kristian, who was now five years old, told stories in a deep voice of a dreadful cat that went about the fields eating up all the moo-cows; the two little ones lay across him, their eyes fixed on his lips, and breathless with excitement. they could see it quite plainly--the pussy-cat, the moo-cow and everything--and little povl, out of sheer eagerness to hurry up the events, put his fat little hand right down kristian's throat. ditte went about her duties smiling in her old-fashioned way at their childish talk. she looked very mysterious as she gave them their coffee; and when the time came for them to be dressed, the surprise came out. "oh, we're going to have our best clothes on--hip, hip, hooray!" shouted kristian, beginning to jump up and down on the bed. ditte smacked him, he was spoiling the bedclothes! "if you'll be really good and not tell any one, i'll take you out for a drive," said ditte, dressing them in their best clothes. these were of many colors, their mother having made them from odd scraps of material, taken from the rag and bone man's cart. "oh--to the market?" shouted kristian, beginning to jump again. "no, to the forest," said the little sister, stroking ditte's cheeks beseechingly with her dirty little hands, which were blue with cold. she had seen it from afar, and longed to go there. "yes, to the forest. but you must be good; it's a long way." "may we tell pussy?" söster looked at ditte with her big expressive eyes. "yes, and papa," kristian joined in with. "yes, but not any one else," ditte impressed upon them. "now remember that!" the two little ones were put into the wheelbarrow, and kristian held on to the side, and thus they set off. there was snow everywhere, the bushes were weighted down with it, and on the cart track the ice cracked under the wheel. it was all so jolly, the black crows, the magpies which screamed at them from the thorn-bushes, and the rime which suddenly dropped from the trees, right on to their heads. it was three miles to the forest, but ditte was used to much longer distances, and counted this as nothing. kristian and söster took turns in walking, povl wanted to walk in the snow too, but was told to stay where he was and be good. all went well until they had got halfway. then the little ones began to tire of it, asking impatiently for the forest. they were cold, and ditte had to stop every other moment to rub their fingers. the sun had melted the snow, making it dirty and heavy under foot, and she herself was getting tired. she tried to cheer them up, and trailed on a little further; but outside the bailiff's farm they all came to a hopeless standstill. a big fierce dog thought their hesitation suspicious and barred their way. per nielsen came out on the porch to see why the dog barked so furiously; he at once saw what had happened, and took the children indoors. it was dinner-time, the wife was in the kitchen frying bacon and apples together. it smelt delicious. she thawed their frozen fingers in cold water; when they were all right again, all three stood round the fire. ditte tried to get them away, but they were hungry. "you shall have some too," said the bailiff's wife, "but sit down on that bench and be good; you're in my way." they were each given a piece of cake, and then seated at the scoured table. they had never been out before, their eyes went greedily from one thing to another, as they were eating; on the walls hung copperware, which shone like the sun, and on the fire was a big bright copper kettle with a cover to the spout. it was like a huge hen sitting on eggs. when they had finished their meal, per nielsen took them out and showed them the little pigs, lying like rolls of sausages round the mother. then they went into the house again, and the wife gave them apples and cakes, but the best of all came last, when per nielsen harnessed the beautiful spring-cart to drive them home. the wheelbarrow was put in the back, so that too got a drive. the little ones laughed so much that it caught in their throats. "stupid children, coming out like that all alone," said the bailiff's wife, as she stood wrapping them up. "fortunately 'twas more good luck than management that you came here." and they all agreed that the return to the crow's nest was much grander than the set-off. the trip had been glorious, but now there was work to be done. the mother had not taken picnics into account, and had put a large bundle of rags out on the threshing-floor to be sorted, all the wool to be separated from the cotton. kristian and söster could give a helping hand if they liked; but they would not be serious today. they were excited by the trip, and threw the rags at each other's heads. "now, you mustn't fight," repeated ditte every minute, but it did no good. when darkness fell, they had only half finished. ditte fetched the little lamp, in which they used half oil and half petroleum, and went on working; she cried despairingly when she found that they could not finish by the time her parents would return. at the sight of her tears the children became serious, and for a while the work went on briskly. but soon they were on the floor again chasing each other; and by accident kristian kicked the lamp, which fell down and broke. this put an end to their wildness; the darkness fixed them to the spot; they dared not move. "ditte take me," came wailingly from each corner. ditte opened the trap-door. "find your own way out!" said she harshly, fumbling about for povl, who was sleeping on a bundle of rags; she was angry. "now you shall go to bed for punishment," said she. kristian was sobbing all the time. "don't let mother whip me, don't let her!" he said over and over again. he put his arms round ditte's neck as if seeking refuge there. and this put an end to her anger. when she had lit the lantern she helped them to undress. "now if you'll be good and go straight to sleep, then ditte will run to the store and buy a lamp." she dared not leave the children with the light burning, and put it out before she left. as a rule they were afraid of being left alone in the dark; but under the present conditions it was no good making a fuss. ditte had a sixpence! granny had given it to her once in their well-to-do-days, and she had kept it faithfully through all temptations up to now. it was to have bought her so many beautiful things, and now it had to go--to save little kristian from a whipping. slowly she kneeled down in front of the hole at the foot of the wall where it was hidden, and took the stone away; it really hurt her to do it. then she got up and ran off to the store as quickly as she could--before she could repent. on her return the little ones were asleep. she lit the lantern and began to peel off the withered leaves from the birches which were to be made into brooms; she was tired after the long eventful day, but could not idle. the strong fragrance from the birches was penetrating, and she fell asleep over her work. thus her parents found her. sörine's sharp eyes soon saw that everything was not as it should be. "why've you got the lantern lit?" asked she, as she unbuttoned her coat. ditte had to own up, "but i've bought another!" she hastened to add. "oh--and where is it?" said the mother, looking round the room. the next moment sörine stood in the doorway. "who gave you permission to get things on credit?" asked she. "i bought it with my own money," ditte whispered. own money--then began a cross-examination, which looked as if it would never end. lars peter had to interfere. there was no fire in the room, so they went early to bed; ditte had forgotten the fire. "she's had enough to do," said lars peter excusingly. and sörine had nothing to say--she had no objection when it meant saving. there was a hard frost. ditte was cold and could not sleep, she lay gazing at her breath, which showed white, and listening to the crackling of the frost on the walls. outside it was moonlight, and the beams shone coldly over the floor and the chair with the children's clothes. if she lifted her head, she could peep out through the cracks in the wall, catching glimpses of the white landscape; the cold blew in her face. the room got colder and colder. she had to lie with one arm outstretched, holding the eiderdown over the others, and the cold nipped her shoulders. söster began to be restless, she was the most thin-blooded of the three and felt the cold. it was an eiderdown which was little else than a thick cover, the feathers having disappeared, and those they got when killing poultry were too good to be used--the mother wanted them turned into money. now povl began to whimper. ditte took the children's clothes from the chair and spread them over the bed. from their parents' bed came the mother's voice. "you're to be quiet," said she. the father got up, fetched his driving-cape, and spread it over them; it was heavy with dust and dirt, but it warmed them! "'tis dreadful the way the wind blows through these walls," said he when again in bed; "the air's like ice in the room! i must try to get some planks to patch up the walls." "you'd better be thinking of building; this rotten old case isn't worth patching up." lars peter laughed: "ay, that's all very well; but where's the money to come from?" "we've got a little. and then the old woman'll die soon--i can feel it in my bones." ditte's heart began to jump--was granny going to die? her mother had said it so decidedly. she listened breathlessly to the conversation. "and what of that?" she heard her father say, "that won't alter matters." "i believe the old woman's got more than we think," answered sörine in a low voice. "are you asleep, ditte?" she called out, raising herself on her elbow listening. ditte lay perfectly still. "do you know?" sörine began again, "i'm sure the old woman has sewn the money up in the quilt. that's why she won't part with it." lars peter yawned loudly; "what money?" it could be gathered from the sound of his voice, that he wanted to sleep now. "the two hundred crowns, of course." "what's that to do with us?" "isn't she my mother? but the money'll go to the child, and aren't we the proper ones to look after it for her. if the old woman dies and there's an auction--there'll be good bids for it, and whoever buys the quilt'll get the two hundred crowns as well. you'd better go over and have a talk with her, and make her leave everything to us." "why not you?" said lars peter, and turned round towards the wall. then everything was quiet. ditte lay in a heap, with hands pressed against mouth, and her little heart throbbing with fear; she almost screamed with anxiety. perhaps granny would die in the night! it was some time since she had visited her, and she had an overpowering longing for granny. she crept out of bed and put on her shoes. her mother raised herself; "where're you going?" "just going outside," answered ditte faintly. "put a skirt on, it's very cold," said lars peter--"we might just as well have kept the new piece of furniture in here," he growled shortly afterwards. what a long time the child took--lars peter got up and peeped out. he caught sight of her far down the moonlit road. hastily throwing on some clothes, he rushed after her. he could see her ahead, tearing off for all she was worth. he ran and shouted, ran and shouted, his heavy wooden shoes echoing on the road. but the distance between them only increased; at last she disappeared altogether from view. he stood a little longer shouting; his voice resounded in the stillness of the night; and then turned round and went home. ditte tore on through the moonlit country. the road was as hard as stone, and the ice cut through her cloth shoes; from bog and ditch came the sound, crack, crack, crack; and the sea boomed on the shore. but ditte did not feel the cold, her heart was beating wildly. granny's dying, granny's dying! went continuously through her mind. by midnight she had reached the end of her journey, she was almost dropping with fatigue. she stopped at the corner of the house to gain breath; from inside could be heard granny's hacking cough. "i'm coming, granny!" she cried, tapping on the window, sobbing with joy. "how cold you are, child!" said the old woman, when they were both under the eiderdown. "your feet are like lumps of ice--warm them on me." ditte nestled in to her, and lay there quietly. "granny! mother knows you've hidden the money in the eiderdown," she said suddenly. "i guessed that, my child. feel!" the old woman guided ditte's hand to her breast, where a little packet was hidden. "here 'tis, maren can take care of what's trusted to her. ay, ay, 'tis sad to be like us two, no-one to care for us, and always in the way--to our own folks most of all. they can't make much use of you yet, and they're finished with me--i'm worn out. that's how it is." ditte listened to the old woman's talk. it hummed in her ears and gave her a feeling of security. she was now comfortable and warm, and soon fell asleep. but old maren for some time continued pouring out her grievances against existence. chapter xviii the raven flies by night it was a hard winter. all through december the snow swept the fields, drifting into the willows in front of the crow's nest, the only place in the neighborhood where a little shelter was to be found. the lake was entirely frozen; one could walk across it from shore to shore. when there was a moon, the rag and bone man would go down and with his wooden shoe break the ice round the seagulls and wild ducks, which were frozen in the lake, and then carry them home under his snow-covered cape. he would put them on the peat beside the fireplace, where for days they stood on one leg gazing sickly into the embers, until sörine at last took them into the kitchen and wrung their necks. in spite of there being a fire day and night, the cold was felt intensely in the crow's nest; it was impossible to heat the room. sörine, with the bread-knife, stuffed old rags into the cracks in the wall; but one day when doing this, a big piece of the wall collapsed. she filled up the hole with the eiderdown, and when lars peter came home at night, he patched it up and nailed planks across to keep it in place. the roof was not up too much either; the rats and house-martens had worked havoc in it, so that it was like a sieve, and the snow drifted into the loft. it was all bad. every day sörine tried to rouse lars peter to do something. but what could he do? "i can't work harder than i do, and steal i won't," said he. "what do the others do, who live in a pretty and comfortable house?" yes, how did other people manage? lars peter could not imagine. he had never envied any one, nor drawn comparisons, so had never faced the question before. "you toil and toil, but never get any further, that i can see," sörine continued. "do you really mean that?" lars peter looked at her with surprise and sorrow. "yes, i do. what have you done? aren't we just where we started?" lars peter bent his head on hearing her hard words. but it was all quite true; except for strict necessities, they had never money to spare. "there's so much wanted, and everything's so dear," said he excusingly. "there's no trade either! we must just have patience, till it comes round again." "you with your patience and patience--maybe we can live on your being patient and content? d'you know why folk call this the crow's nest? because nothing thrives for us, they say." lars peter took his big hat from the nail behind the door and went out. he was depressed, and sought comfort with the animals; they and the children he understood, but grown-up people he could not. after all, there must be something lacking in him, since all thought him a peculiar fellow, just because he was happy and patient. as soon as he had left the kitchen, the nag recognized his footstep, and welcomed him with a whinny. he went into the stall and stroked its back; it was like a wreck lying keel upwards. it certainly was a skeleton, and could not be called handsome. people smiled when they saw the two of them coming along the road--he knew it quite well! but they had shared bad and good together, and the nag was not particular; it took everything as it came, just as he did. lars peter had never cared for other people's opinion; but now his existence was shaken, and it was necessary to defend himself and his own. in the stall beside the horse lay the cow. true enough, if taken to market now it would not fetch much; it was weak on its legs and preferred to lie down. but with spring, when it got out to grass, this would right itself. and it was a good cow for a small family like his; it did not give much milk at a time, but to make up for it gave milk all the year round. and rich milk too! when uncomplimentary remarks were made about it, lars peter would chaffingly declare that he could skim the milk three times, and then there was nothing but cream left. he was very fond of it, and more so for the good milk it had given the little ones. one corner of the outhouse was boarded off for the pig. it too had heard him, and stood waiting for him to come and scratch its neck. it suffered from intestinal hernia; it had been given to lars peter by a farmer who wanted to get rid of it. it was not a pretty sight, but under the circumstances had thriven well, he thought, and would taste all right when salted. perhaps it was this sörine wanted? the snow lay deep on the fields, but he recognized every landmark through the white covering. it was sandy soil, and yielded poor crops, yet for all that lars peter was fond of it. to him it was like a face with dear living features, and he would no more criticize it than he would his own mother. he stood at the door of the barn gazing lingeringly at his land. he was not happy--as he usually was on sundays when he went about looking at his possessions. today he could understand nothing! every day sörine would return to the same subject, with some new proposal. they would buy her mother's house and move over there; the beams were of oak, and the hut would last for many years. or they would take her as a pensioner, while there was time--in return for getting all she owned. her thoughts were ever with her mother and her possessions. "suppose she goes to some one else as a pensioner, and leaves everything to them! or fritters away ditte's two hundred crowns!" said she. "she's in her second childhood!" she was mad on the subject, but lars peter let her talk on. "isn't it true, ditte, that granny would be much better with us?" sörine would continue. she quite expected the child to agree with her, crazy as she was over her grandmother. "i don't know," answered ditte sullenly. her mother lately had done her best to get her over to her side, but ditte was suspicious of her. she would love to be with granny again, but not in that way. she would only be treated badly. ditte had no faith in her mother's care. it was more for her own wicked ends than for daughterly love, granny herself had said. sörine was beyond comprehension. one morning she would declare that before long they would hear sad news about granny, because she had heard the raven screaming in the willows during the night. "i'd better go over and see her," said she. "ay, that's right, you go," answered lars peter. "i'll drive you over. after all, the nag and i have nothing to do." but sörine wouldn't hear of it. "you've your own work to do at home," said she. however, she did not get off that day--something or other prevented her. she had grown very restless. the next morning she was unusually friendly to the children. "i'll tell you something, granny will soon be coming here--i dreamed it last night," said she, as she helped ditte to dress them. "she can have the alcove, and father and i'll move into the little room. and then you won't be cold any longer." "but yesterday you said that granny was going to die soon," objected ditte. "ay, but that was only nonsense. hurry up home from school. i've some shopping to do, and likely won't be home till late." she put sugar on the bread ditte took to school, and sent her off in good time. ditte set out, with satchel hanging from her arm, and her hands rolled up in the ends of her muffler. the father had driven away early, and she followed the wheel-tracks for some distance, and amused herself by stepping in the old nag's footprints. then the trail turned towards the sea. she could not follow the lessons today, she was perplexed in mind. her mother's friendliness had roused her suspicions. it was so contrary to the conviction which the child from long experience had formed as to her mother's disposition. perhaps she was not such a bad mother when it came to the point. the sugar on the bread almost melted ditte's heart. but at the end of the school hour, a fearful anxiety overwhelmed her; her heart began to flutter like a captured bird, and she pressed her hand against her mouth, to keep herself from screaming aloud. when leaving the school, she started running towards the naze. "that's the wrong way, ditte!" shouted the girls she used to go home with. but she only ran on. it was thick with snow, and the air was still and heavy-laden. it had been like twilight all day long. as she neared the hill above the hut on the naze, darkness began to fall. she had run all the way and only stopped at the corner of the house, to get her breath. there was a humming in her ears, and through the hum she heard angry voices: granny's crying, and her mother's hard and merciless. she was about to tap on the window-pane, but hesitated, her mother's voice made her creep with fear. she shivered as she crept round the house towards the woodshed, opened the door, and stood in the kitchen, listening breathlessly. her mother's voice drowned granny's; it had often forced ditte to her knees, but so frightful she had never heard it before. she was stiff with fear, and she had to squat on the ground, shivering with cold. through the keyhole she caught a glimpse of her mother's big body standing beside the alcove. she was bent over it, and from the movement of her back, it could be seen that she had got hold of the old woman. granny was defending herself. "come out with it at once," sörine shouted hoarsely. "or i'll pull you out of bed." "i'll call for some one," groaned granny, hammering on the wall. "call for help if you like," ridiculed sörine, "there's no-one to hear you. maybe you've got it in the eiderdown, since you hold it so tightly." "oh, hold your mouth, you thief," moaned granny. suddenly there was a scream, sörine must have got hold of the packet on the old woman's breast. ditte jumped in and lifted the latch. "granny," she shrieked, but she was not heard in the fearful noise. they fought, granny's screams were like those of a dying animal. "i'll make you shut up, you witch!" shouted sörine, and the old woman's scream died away to an uncanny rattle; ditte wanted to assist her grandmother, but could not move, and suddenly fell unconscious to the ground. when she came to herself again, she was lying face downwards on the floor; her forehead hurt. she stumbled to her feet. the door stood open, and her mother had gone. large white flakes of snow came floating in, showing white in the darkness. ditte's first thought was that it would be cold for granny. she closed the door and went towards the bed. old maren lay crouched together among the untidy bedclothes. "granny," called ditte and crying groped for the sunken face. "it's only me, dear little granny." she took the old woman's face entreatingly between her thin toil-worn hands, crying over it for a while; then undressed herself and crept into bed beside her. she had once heard granny say about some one she had been called to: "there is nothing to be done for him, he's quite cold!" and she was obsessed with that thought, granny must not be allowed to get cold, or she would have no granny left. she crept close to the body, and worn out by tears and exhaustion soon fell asleep. towards morning she woke feeling cold; granny was dead and cold. suddenly she understood the awfulness of it all, and hurrying into her clothes, she fled. she ran across the fields in the direction of home, but when she reached the road leading to the sea, she went along it to per nielsen's farm. there they picked her up, benumbed with misery. "granny's dead!" she broke out over and over again, looking from one to the other with terror in her eyes. that was all they could get out of her. when they proposed taking her home to the crow's nest, she began to scream, so they put her to bed, to rest. when she woke later in the day, per nielsen came in to her. "well, i suppose you'd better be thinking of getting home," said he. "i'll go with you." ditte gazed at him with fear in her eyes. "are you afraid of your stepfather?" asked he. she did not answer. the wife came in. "i don't know what we're to do," said he, "she's afraid to go home. the stepfather can't be very good to her." ditte turned sharply towards him. "i want to go home to lars peter," she said, sobbing. chapter xix ill luck follows the raven's call on receiving information of old maren's death, four of her children assembled at the hut on the naze, to look after their own interests, and watch that no-one ran off with anything. the other four on the other side of the globe, could of course not be there. there was no money--not as much as a farthing was to be found, in spite of their searching, and the splitting up of the eiderdown--and the house was mortgaged up to the hilt. they then agreed to give sörine and her husband what little there was, on condition that they provided the funeral. on this occasion, sörine did not spare money, she wanted the funeral to be talked about. old maren was put into the ground with more grandeur than she had lived. ditte was at the funeral--naturally, as she was the only one who had ever cared for the dead woman. but in the churchyard she so lost control over herself, that lars peter had to take her aside, to prevent her disturbing the parson. she had such strong feelings, every one thought. but in this respect ditte changed entirely. after granny's death, she seemed to quieten. she went about doing her work, was not particularly lively, but not depressed either. lars peter observed that she and her mother quarreled no longer. this was a pleasant step in the right direction! ditte resigned herself to her lot. it cost her an effort to remain under the same roof as her mother; she would rather have left home. but this would have reflected on her stepfather, and her sense of justice rebelled against this. then too the thought of her little brothers and sisters kept her back; what would become of them if she left? she remained--and took up a definite position towards her mother. sörine was kind and considerate to her, so much so that it was almost painful, but ditte pretended not to notice it. all advances from her mother glanced off her. she was stubborn and determined, carrying through what she set her mind on--the mother was nothing to her. sörine's eyes constantly followed her when unobserved--she was afraid of her. had the child been in the hut when it happened, or had she only arrived later? sörine was not sure whether she herself had overturned the chair that evening in the darkness? how much did ditte know? that she knew something her mother could tell from her face. she would have given much to find out, and often touched upon the question--with her uncertain glance at the girl. "'tis terrible to think that granny should die alone," she would say, hoping the child would give herself away. but ditte was obstinately silent. one day sörine gave lars peter a great surprise, by putting a large sum of money on the table in front of him. "will that build the house, d'you think?" asked she. lars peter looked at her; he was astounded. "i've saved it by selling eggs and butter and wool," said she; "and by starving you," she added with an uncertain smile. "i know that i've been stingy and a miser; but in the end it pays you as well." it was so seldom she smiled. "how pretty it made her!" thought lars peter, looking lovingly at her. she had lately been happier and more even tempered--no doubt the prospect of getting a better home. he counted the money--over three hundred crowns! "that's a step forward," said he. the next evening when returning home he had bricks on the cart; and every evening he continued bringing home materials for building. people who passed the crow's nest saw the erection of beams and bricks shoot up, and rumors began to float round the neighborhood. it began with a whisper that the old woman had left more than had been spoken of. then it was said that perhaps, after all, old maren had not died a natural death. and some remembered having seen sörine on her way from the crow's nest towards the hamlet, on the same afternoon as her mother's death; little by little more was added to this, until it was declared that sörine had strangled her own mother. ditte was probably--with the exception of the mother--the only one who knew the real facts, and nothing could be got out of her when it affected her family--least of all on an occasion like this. but it was strange that she should happen to arrive just at the critical moment; and still more remarkable that she should run to per nielsen's and not home with the news of her grandmother's death. neither sörine herself nor lars peter heard a word of these rumors. ditte heard it at school through the other children, but did not repeat it. when her mother was more than usually considerate, her hate would seethe up in her--"devil!" it whispered inside her, and suddenly she would feel an overwhelming desire to shout to her father: "mother stifled granny with the eiderdown!" it was worst of all when hearing her speak lovingly about the old woman. but the thought of his grief stopped her. he went about now like a great child, seeing nothing, and was more than ever in love with sörine; he was overjoyed by the change for the better. ditte and the others loved him as never before. when sörine was too hard on the children, they would hide from her outside the house, and only appear when their father returned at night. but since granny's death there had been no need for this. the mother was entirely changed; when her temper was about to flare up, an unseen hand seemed to hold it back. but it happened at times that ditte could not bear to stay in the same room with her mother, and then she would go back to her old way and hide herself. one evening she lay crouching in the willows. sörine came time after time to the door, calling her in a friendly voice, and at each call a feeling of disgust went through the girl. "ugh!" said she; it made her almost sick. after having searched for her round the house, sörine went slowly up to the road and back again, peering about all the time: passing so close to ditte that her dress brushed her face: then she went in. ditte was cold, and tired of hiding, but in she would not go--not till her father came home. he might not return until late, or not at all. ditte had experienced this before, but then there had been a reason for it. it was no whipping she expected now! no, but how lovely it had been to walk in holding her father's hand. he asked no question now, but only looked at the mother accusingly, and could not do enough for one. perhaps he would make an excuse for a trip over to ... no ... this ... ditte began to cry. it was terrible that however much she mourned for granny--suddenly she would find she had forgotten granny was dead. "granny's dead, dear little granny's dead," she would repeat to herself, so that it should not happen again, but the next minute it was just the same. it was so disloyal! now that it was too late, she was sorry she had not gone in when her mother called. she drew her feet up under her dress and began pulling up the grass to keep herself awake. hearing a sound from the distance she jumped up--wheels approaching! but alas, it was not the well-known rumbling of her father's cart. the cart turned from the road down in the direction of the crow's nest. two men got out and went into the house; both wore caps with gold braid on. ditte crept down to the house, behind the willows; her heart was beating loudly. the next moment they reappeared with her mother between them; she was struggling and shrieking wildly. "lars peter!" she cried heartrendingly in the darkness; they had to use force to get her into the cart. inside the house the children could be heard crying in fear. this sound made ditte forget everything else, and she rushed forward. one of the men caught her by the arm, but let her go at a sign from the other man. "d'you belong to the house?" asked he. ditte nodded. "then go in to the little ones and tell them not to be afraid.... drive on!" quick as lightning, sörine put both legs over the side of the cart, but the policemen held her back. "ditte, help me!" she screamed, as the cart swung up the road and disappeared. * * * * * lars peter was about three miles from the crow's nest, turning into the road beside the grocer's, when a cart drove past; in the light from the shop windows he caught sight of gold-braided caps. "the police are busy tonight!" said he, and shrugged his shoulders. he proceeded up the road and began humming again, mechanically flicking the nag with the whip as usual. he sat bent forward, thinking of them all at home, of what sörine would have for him tonight--he was starving with hunger--and of the children. it was a shame that he was so late--it was pleasant when they all four rushed to meet him. perhaps, after all, they might not be in bed. the children stood out on the road, all four of them, waiting for him; the little ones dared not stay in the house. he stood as though turned to stone, holding on to the cart for support, while ditte with tears told what had happened; it looked as if the big strong man would collapse altogether. then he pulled himself together and went into the house with them, comforting them all the time; the nag of its own accord followed with the cart. he helped ditte put the children to bed. "can you look after the little ones tonight?" he asked, when they had finished. "i must drive to town and fetch mother--it's all a misunderstanding." his voice sounded hollow. ditte nodded and followed him out to the cart. he turned and set the horse in motion, but suddenly he stopped. "you know all about it, better than any one else, ditte," said he. "you can clear your mother." he waited quietly, without looking at her, and listened. there was no answer. then he turned the cart slowly round and began to unharness. part ii chapter i morning at the crow's nest klavs was munching busily in his stall, with a great deal of noise. he had his own peculiar way of feeding; always separating the corn from the straw, however well lars peter had mixed it. he would first half empty the manger--so as to lay a foundation. then, having still plenty of room for further operations, he would push the whole together in the middle of the manger, blowing vigorously, so that the straw flew in all directions, and proceed to nuzzle all the corn. this once devoured, he would scrape his hoofs on the stone floor and whinny. ditte laughed. "he's asking for more sugar," said she. "just like little povl when he's eating porridge; he scrapes the top off too." but lars peter growled. "eat it all up, you old skeleton," said he. "these aren't times to pick and choose." the nag would answer with a long affectionate whinny, and go on as before. at last lars peter would get up and go to the manger, mixing the straw together in the middle. "eat it up, you obstinate old thing!" said he, giving the horse a slap on the back. the horse, smelling the straw, turned its head towards lars peter; and looked reproachfully at him as though saying: "what's the matter with you today?" and nothing else would serve, but he must take a handful of corn and mix it with the straw. "but no tricks now," said he, letting his big hand rest on the creature's back. and this time everything was eaten up. lars peter came back and sat under the lantern again. "old klavs is wise," said ditte, "he knows exactly how far to go. but he's very faddy all the same." "i'll tell you, he knows that we're going on a long trip; and wants a big feed beforehand," answered lars peter as if in excuse. "ay, he's a wise rascal!" "but pussy's much sharper than that," said ditte proudly, "for she can open the pantry door herself. i couldn't understand how she got in and drank the milk; i thought little povl had left the door open, and was just going to smack him for it. but yesterday i came behind pussy, and can you imagine what she did? jumped up on the sink, and flew against the pantry door, striking the latch with one paw so it came undone. then she could just stand on the floor and push the door open." they sat under the lantern, which hung from one of the beams, sorting rags, which lay round them in bundles; wool, linen and cotton--all carefully separated. outside it was cold and dark, but here it was cosy. the old nag was working at his food like a threshing machine, the cow lay panting with well-being as it chewed the cud, and the hens were cackling sleepily from the hen-house. the new pig was probably dreaming of its mother--now and again a sucking could be heard. it had only left its mother a few days ago. "is this wool?" asked ditte, holding out a big rag. lars peter examined it, drew out a thread and put it in the flame of the lantern. "it should be wool," said he at last, "for it melts and smells of horn. but heaven knows," he felt the piece of cloth again meditatively. "maybe 'tis some of those new-fashioned swindles; 'tis said they can make plant stuff, so folks can't see the difference between it and wool. and they make silk of glass too, i'm told." ditte jumped up and opened the shutter, listening, then disappeared across the yard. she returned shortly afterwards. "was anything wrong with the children?" asked lars peter. "'twas only little povl crying; but how can they make silk of glass?" asked she suddenly, "glass is so brittle!" "ay, 'tis the new-fashioned silk though, and may be true enough. if you see a scrap of silk amongst the rags 'tis nearly always broken." "and what queer thing's glass made of?" "ay, you may well ask that--if i could only tell you. it can't be any relation to ice, as it doesn't melt even when the sun shines on it. maybe--no, i daren't try explaining it to you. 'tis a pity not to have learned things properly; and think things out oneself." "can any folks do that?" "ay, there _must_ be some, or how would everything begin--if no one hit on them. i used to think and ask about everything; but i've given it up now, i never got to the bottom of it. this with your mother doesn't make a fellow care much for life either." lars peter sighed. ditte bent over her work. when this topic came up, it was better to be silent. for a few minutes neither spoke. lars peter's hands were working slowly, and at last stopped altogether. he sat staring straight ahead without perceiving anything; he was often like this of late. he rose abruptly, and went towards the shutter facing east, and opened it; it was still night, but the stars were beginning to pale. the nag was calling from the stall, quietly, almost unnoticeably. lars peter fastened the shutter, and stumbled out to the horse. ditte followed him with her eyes. "what d'you want now?" he asked in a dull voice, stroking the horse. the nag pushed its soft nose into his shoulder. it was the gentlest caress lars peter knew, and he gave it another supply of corn. ditte turned her head towards them--she felt anxious over her father's present condition. it was no good going about hanging one's head. "is it going to have another feed?" said she, trying to rouse him. "that animal'll eat us out of house and home!" "ay, but it's got something to do--and we've a long journey in front of us." lars peter came back and began sorting again. "how many miles is it to copenhagen then?" "six or seven hours' drive, i should say; we've got a load." "ugh, what a long way." ditte shivered. "and it's so cold." "ay, if i'm to go alone. but you might go with me! 'tisn't a pleasant errand, and the time'll go slowly all that long way. and one can't get away from sad thoughts!" "i can't leave home," answered ditte shortly. for about the twentieth time lars peter tried to talk her over. "we can easily get johansens to keep an eye on everything--and can send the children over to them for a few days," said he. but ditte was not to be shaken. her mother was nothing to her, people could say what they liked; she _would_ not go and see her in prison. and her father ought to stop talking like that or she would be angry; it reminded her of granny. she hated her mother with all her heart, in a manner strange for her years. she never mentioned her, and when the others spoke of her, she would be dumb. good and self-sacrificing as she was in all other respects, on this point she was hard as a stone. to lars peter's good-natured mind this hatred was a mystery. however much he tried to reconcile her, in the end he had to give up. "look and see if there's anything you want for the house," said he. "i want a packet of salt, the stuff they have at the grocer's is too coarse to put on the table. and i must have a little spice. i'm going to try making a cake myself, bought cakes get dry so quickly." "d'you think you can?" said lars peter admiringly. "there's more to be got," ditte continued undisturbed, "but i'd better write it down; or you'll forget half the things like you did last time." "ay, that's best," answered lars peter meekly. "my memory's not as good as it used to be. i don't know--i used to do hundreds of errands without forgetting one. maybe 'tis with your mother. and then belike--a man gets old. grandfather, he could remember like a printed book, to the very last." ditte got up quickly and shook out her frock. "there!" said she with a yawn. they put the rags in sacks and tied them up. "this'll fetch a little money," said lars peter dragging the sacks to the door, where heaps of old iron and other metals lay in readiness to be taken to the town. "and what's the time now?--past six. ought to be daylight soon." as ditte opened the door the frosty air poured in. in the east, over the lake, the skies were green, with a touch of gold--it was daybreak. in the openings in the ice the birds began to show signs of life. it was as if the noise from the crow's nest had ushered in the day for them, group after group began screaming and flew towards the sea. "it'll be a fine day," said lars peter as he dragged out the cart. "there ought to be a thaw soon." he began loading the cart, while ditte went in to light the fire for the coffee. as lars peter came in, the flames from the open fireplace were flickering towards the ceiling, the room was full of a delicious fragrance, coffee and something or other being fried. kristian was kneeling in front of the fire, feeding it with heather and dried sticks, and ditte stood over a spluttering frying-pan, stirring with all her might. the two little ones sat on the end of the bench watching the operations with glee, the reflection of the fire gleaming in their eyes. the daylight peeped in hesitatingly through the frozen window-panes. "come along, father!" said ditte, putting the frying-pan on the table on three little wooden supports. "'tis only fried potatoes, with a few slices of bacon, but you're to eat it all yourself!" lars peter laughed and sat down at the table. he soon, however, as was his wont, began giving some to the little ones; they got every alternate mouthful. they stood with their faces over the edge of the table, and wide open mouths--like two little birds. kristian had his own fork, and stood between his father's knees and helped himself. ditte stood against the table looking on, with a big kitchen knife in her hand. "aren't you going to have anything?" asked lars peter, pushing the frying-pan further on to the table. "there's not a scrap more than you can eat yourself; we'll have something afterwards," answered ditte, half annoyed. but lars peter calmly went on feeding them. he did not enjoy his food when there were no open mouths round him. "'tis worth while waking up for this, isn't it?" said he, laughing loudly; his voice was deep and warm again. as he drank his coffee, söster and povl hurried into their clothes; they wanted to see him off. they ran in between his and the nag's legs as he was harnessing. the sun was just rising. there was a red glitter over the ice-covered lake and the frosted landscape, the reeds crackled as if icicles were being crushed. from the horse's nostrils came puffs of air, showing white in the morning light, and the children's quick short breaths were like gusts of steam. they jumped round the cart in their cloth shoes like two frolicsome young puppies. "love to mother!" they shouted over and over again. lars peter bent down from the top of the load, where he was half buried between the sacks. "shan't i give her your love too?" asked he. ditte turned away her head. then he took his whip and cracked it. and slowly klavs set off on his journey. chapter ii the highroad "he's even more fond of the highroad than a human being," lars peter used to say of klavs, and this was true; the horse was always in a good temper whenever preparations were being made for a long journey. for the short trips klavs did not care at all; it was the real highroad trips with calls to right and left, and stopping at night in some stable, which appealed to him. what he found to enjoy in it would be difficult to say; hardly for the sake of a new experience--as with a man. though god knows--'twas a wise enough rascal! at all events klavs liked to feel himself on the highroad, and the longer the trip the happier he would be. he took it all with the same good temper--up hills where he had to strain in the shafts, and downhill where the full weight of the cart made itself felt. he would only stop when the hill was unusually steep--to give lars peter an opportunity of stretching his legs. to lars peter the highroad was life itself. it gave daily bread to him and his, and satisfied his love of roaming. such a piece of highroad between rows of trimmed poplars with endless by-ways off to farms and houses was full of possibilities. one could take this turning or that, according to one's mood at the moment, or leave the choice of the road to the nag. it always brought forth something. and the highroad was only the outward sign of an endless chain. if one liked to wander straight on, instead of turning off, ay, then one would get far out in the world--as far as one cared. he did not do it of course; but the thought that it could be done was something in itself. on the highroad he met people of his own blood: tramps who crawled up without permission on to his load, drawing a bottle from their pocket, offering it to him, and talking away. they were people who traveled far; yesterday they had come from helsingör; in a week's time they would perhaps be over the borders in the south and down in germany. they wore heavily nailed boots, and had a hollow instead of a stomach, a handkerchief round their throat and mittens on their red wrists--and were full of good humor. klavs knew them quite well, and stopped of his own accord. klavs also stopped for poor women and school-children; lars peter and he agreed that all who cared to drive should have that pleasure. but respectable people they passed by; they of course would not condescend to drive with the rag and bone man. they both knew the highroad with its by-ways equally well. when anything was doing, such as a thrashing-machine in the field, or a new house being built, one or other of them always stopped. lars peter pretended that it was the horse's inquisitiveness. "well, have you seen enough?" he growled when they had stood for a short while, and gathered up the reins. klavs did not mind the deception in the least, and in no way let it interfere with his own inclinations; klavs liked his own way. things must be black indeed, if the highroad did not put the rag and bone man into a good temper. the calm rhythmic trot of the nag's hoofs against the firm road encouraged him to hum. the trees, the milestones with the crown above king christian the fifth's initials, the endless perspective ahead of him, with all its life and traffic--all had a cheering effect on him. the snow had been trodden down, and only a thin layer covered with ice remained, which rang under the horse's big hoofs. the thin light air made breathing easy, and the sun shone redly over the snow. it was impossible to be anything but light-hearted. but then he remembered the object of the drive, and all was dark again. lars peter had never done much thinking on his own account, or criticized existence. when something or other happened, it was because it could not be otherwise--and what was the good of speculating about it? when he was on the cart all these hours, he only hummed a kind of melody and had a sense of well-being. "i wonder what mother'll have for supper?" he would think, or "maybe the kiddies'll come to meet me today." that was all. he took bad and good trade as it came, and joy and sorrow just the same; he knew from experience that rain and sunshine come by turns. it had been thus in his parents' and grandparents' time, and his own had confirmed it. then why speculate? if the bad weather lasted longer than usual, well, the good was so much better when it came. and complaints were no good. other people beside himself had to take things as they came. he had never had any strong feeling that there was a guiding hand behind it all. but now he _had_ to think, however useless he found it. suddenly something would take him mercilessly by the neck, and always face him with the same hopeless: _why_? a thousand times the thought of sörine would crop up, making everything heavy and sad. lars peter had been thoroughly out of luck before--and borne it as being part of his life's burden. he had a thick skull and a broad back--what good were they but for burdens; it was not his business to whimper or play the weakling. and fate had heaped troubles upon him: if he could bear that, then he can bear this!--till at last he would break down altogether under the burden. but his old stolidness was gone. he had begun to think of his lot--and could fathom nothing: it was all so meaningless, now he compared himself with others. as soon as ever he got into the cart, and the nag into its old trot, these sad thoughts would reappear, and his mind would go round and round the subject until he was worn out. he could not unravel it. why was he called the rag and bone man, and treated as if he were unclean? he earned his living as honestly as any one else. why should his children be jeered at like outcasts--and his home called the crow's nest? and why did the bad luck follow him?--and fate? there was a great deal now that he did not understand, but which must be cleared up. misfortune, which had so often knocked at his door without finding him at home, had now at last got its foot well inside the door. however much lars peter puzzled over sörine, he could find no way out of it. it was his nature to look on the bright side of things; and should it be otherwise they were no sooner over than forgotten. he had only seen her good points. she had been a clever wife, good at keeping the home together--and a hard worker. and she had given him fine children, that alone made up for everything. he had been fond of her, and proud of her firmness and ambition to get on in the world. and now as a reward for her pride she was in prison! for a long time he had clung to the hope that it must be a mistake. "maybe they'll let her out one day," he thought. "then she'll be standing in the doorway when you return, and it's all been a misunderstanding." it was some time now since the sentence had been pronounced, so it must be right. but it was equally difficult to understand! there lay a horseshoe on the road. the nag stopped, according to custom, and turned its head. lars peter roused himself from his thoughts and peered in front of the horse, then drove on again. klavs could not understand it, but left it at that: lars peter could no longer be bothered to get off the cart to pick up an old horseshoe. he began whistling and looked out over the landscape to keep his thoughts at bay. down in the marsh they were cutting ice for the dairies--it was high time too! and the farmer from gadby was driving off in his best sledge, with his wife by his side. others could enjoy themselves! if only he had his wife in the cart--driving in to the capital. there now--he was beginning all over again! lars peter looked in the opposite direction, but what good was that. he could not get rid of his thoughts. a woman came rushing up the highroad, from a little farm. "lars peter!" she cried. "lars peter!" the nag stopped. "are you going to town?" she asked breathlessly, leaning on the cart. "ay, that i am," lars peter answered quietly, as if afraid of her guessing his errand. "oh! would you mind buying us a chamber?" "what! you're getting very grand!" lars peter's mouth twisted in some semblance of a smile. "ay, the child's got rheumatic fever, and the doctor won't let her go outside," the woman explained excusingly. "i'll do that for you. how big d'you want it?" "well, as we must have it, it might as well be a big one. here's sixpence, it can't be more than that." she gave him the money wrapped in a piece of paper, and the nag set off again. when they had got halfway, lars peter turned off to an inn. the horse needed food, and something enlivening for himself would not come amiss. he felt downhearted. he drove into the yard, partly unharnessed, and put on its nosebag. the fat inn-keeper came to the door, peering out with his small pig's eyes, which were deeply embedded in a huge expanse of flesh, like two raisins in rising dough. "why, here comes the rag and bone man from sand!" he shouted, shaking with laughter. "what brings such fine company today, i wonder?" lars peter had heard this greeting before, and laughed at it, but today it affected him differently. he had come to the end of his patience. his blood began to rise. the long-suffering, thoughtful, slothful lars peter turned his head with a jerk--showing a gleam of teeth. but he checked himself, took off his cape, and spread it over the horse. "'tis he for sure," began the inn-keeper again. "his lordship of the crow's nest, doing us the honor." but this time lars peter blazed out. "hold your mouth, you beer-swilling pig!" he thundered, stepping towards him with his heavy boots, "or i'll soon close it for you!" the inn-keeper's open mouth closed with a snap. his small pig's eyes, which almost disappeared when he laughed, opened widely in terror. he turned round and rushed in. when lars peter, with a frown on his face, came tramping into the tap-room, he was bustling about, whistling softly with his fat tongue between his teeth and looking rather small. "a dram and a beer," growled the rag and bone man, seating himself by the table and beginning to unpack his food. the inn-keeper came towards him with a bottle and two glasses. he glanced uncertainly at lars peter, and poured out two brimming glassfuls. "your health, old friend," said he ingratiatingly. the rag and bone man drank without answering his challenge; he had given the fat lump a fright, and now he was making up to him. it was odd to be able to make people shiver--quite a new feeling. but he rather liked it. and it did him good to give vent to his anger; he had a feeling of well-being after having let off steam. here sat this insolent landlord trying to curry favor, just because one would not put up with everything. lars peter felt a sudden inclination to put his foot upon his neck, and give him a thorough shock. or bend him over so that head and heels met. why should he not use his superior strength once in a while? then perhaps people would treat him with something like respect. the inn-keeper sank down on a chair in front of him. "well, lars peter hansen, so you've become a socialist?" he began, blinking his eyes. lars peter dropped his heavy fist on the table so that everything jumped--the inn-keeper included. "i'm done with being treated like dirt--do you understand! i'm just as good as you and all the rest of them. and if i hear any more nonsense, then to hell with you all." "of course, of course! 'twas only fun, lars peter hansen. and how's every one at home? wife and children well?" he still blinked whenever lars peter moved. lars peter did not answer him, but helped himself to another dram. the rascal knew quite well all about sörine. "d'you know--you should have brought the wife with you. womenfolk love a trip to town," the inn-keeper tried again. lars peter looked suspiciously at him. "what d'you mean by this tomfoolery?" he said darkly. "you know quite well that she's in there." "what--is she? has she run away from you then?" lars peter took another glass. "she's locked up, and you know it--curse you!" he put the glass down heavily on the table. the landlord saw it was no good pretending ignorance. "i think i do remember hearing something about it," said he. "how was it--got into trouble with the law somehow?" the rag and bone man gave a hollow laugh. "i should think so! she killed her own mother, 'tis said." the spirit was beginning to affect him. "dear, dear! was it so bad as that?" sighed the inn-keeper, turning and twisting as if he had a pain inside. "and now you're going to the king, i suppose?" lars peter lifted his head. "to the king?" he asked. the thought struck him, perhaps this was the miracle he had been hoping for. "ay, the king decides whether it's to be life or death, you know. if there's any one he can't stand looking at, he only says: 'take that fellow and chop off his head!' and he can let folk loose again too, if he likes." "and how's the likes of me to get near the king?" the rag and bone man laughed hopelessly. "oh, that's easily done," said the inn-keeper airily. "every one in the country has the right to see the king. when you get in there, just ask where he lives, any one can tell you." "hm, i know that myself," said lars peter with assurance. "i was once nearly taken for the guards myself--for the palace. if it hadn't been for having flat feet, then----" "well, it isn't quite as easy as you think; he's got so many mansions. the king's got no-one to associate with, you see, as there's only one king in every land, and talk to his wife always, no man could stand--the king as little as we others. that's why he gets bored, and moves from one castle to another, and plays at making a visitor of himself. so you'd better make inquiries. 'twouldn't come amiss to get some one to speak for you either. you've got money, i suppose?" "i've got goods on the cart for over a hundred crowns," said lars peter with pride. "that's all right, because in the capital nearly all the doors need oiling before they are opened. maybe the castle gate will creak a little, but then----" the inn-keeper rubbed one palm against the other. "then we'll oil it," said lars peter, with a wave of his arm as he got up. he had plenty of courage now, and hummed as he harnessed the horse and got into the cart. now he knew what to do, and he was anxious to act. day and night he had been faced with the question of getting sörine out of prison, but how? it was no good trying to climb the prison wall at night, and fetch her out, as one read of in books. but he could go to the king! had he not himself nearly been taken into the king's service as a guardsman? "he's got the height and the build," they had said. then they had noticed his flat feet and rejected him; but still he had said he almost---- chapter iii lars peter seeks the king lars peter hansen knew nothing of the capital. as a boy he had been there with his father, but since then no opportunity had arisen for a trip to copenhagen. he and sörine had frequently spoken of taking their goods there and selling direct to the big firms, instead of going the round of the small provincial dealers, but nothing had ever come of it beyond talk. but today the thing was to be done. he had seen posters everywhere advertising: "the largest house in scandinavia for rags and bones and old metals," and "highest prices given." it was the last statement which had attracted him. lars peter sat reckoning up, as he drove along the lyngby road towards the eastern end of the city. going by prices at home he had a good hundred crowns' worth of goods on the cart; and here it ought to fetch at least twenty-five crowns more. that would perhaps pay for sörine's release. this was killing two birds with one stone, getting sörine out--and making money on the top of it! all that was necessary was to keep wide awake. he lifted his big battered hat and ran his hand through his tousled mop of hair--he was in a happy mood. at trianglen he stopped and inquired his way. then driving through blegdamsvej he turned into a side street. over a high wooden paling could be seen mountains of old rusty iron: springs and empty tins, bent iron beds, dented coal-boxes red with rust, and pails. this must be the place. on the signboard stood: _levinsohn & sons, export_. the rag and bone man turned in through the gateway and stopped bewildered as he came into the yard. before him were endless erections of storing-places and sheds, one behind the other, and inclosures with masses of rags, dirty cotton-wool and rusty iron and tin-ware. from every side other yards opened out, and beyond these more again. if he and klavs went gathering rags until doomsday, they would never be able to fill one yard. he sat and gazed, overwhelmed. involuntarily he had taken his hat off, but then, gathering himself together, he drove into one of the sheds and jumped down from the cart. hearing voices, he opened the door. in the darkness sat some young girls sorting some filth or other, which looked like blood-stained rags. "well, well, what a dove-cote to land in," broke out lars peter in high spirits. "what's that you're doing, sorting angels' feathers?" the room was filled with his good-humored chuckles. as quick as lightning one of the girls grasped a bundle and threw it at him. he only just escaped it by bending his head, and the thing brought up against the door-post. it was cotton-wool covered with blood and matter--from the hospital dust-bins. he knew that there was a trade in this in the capital. "puh!" he said in disgust, and hurried out. "filthy, pish!" a shout of laughter went up from the girls. from the head-office a little spectacled gentleman came tripping towards him. "what--what are you doing here?" he barked from afar, almost falling over himself in his eagerness. "it--it's no business of yours prying in here!" he was dreadfully dirty and unshaven, his collar and frock-coat looked as if they had been fished up from a ragbag. no, the trade never made lars peter as dirty as that; why, the dirt was in layers on this old man. but of course--this business was ever so much bigger than his own! good-naturedly, he took off his hat. "are you mr. levinsohn?" asked he, when the old man had finished. "i've got some goods." the old man stared at him speechless with surprise that any one could be so impudent as to take him for the head of the firm. "oh, you're looking for mr. levinsohn," he said searchingly, "indeed?" "ay, i've got some goods i want to sell." now the old man understood. "and you must see him, himself--it's a matter of life and death--eh? no one else in the whole world can buy those goods from you, or the shaft'll break and the rags'll fall out and break to pieces, and heaven knows what! so you must see mr. levinsohn himself." he looked the rag and bone man up and down, almost bursting with scorn. "well, i shouldn't mind seeing him himself," lars peter patiently said. "then you'd better drive down to the riviera with your dust-cart, my good man." "what, where?" "yes, to the riviera!" the old man rubbed his hands. he was enjoying himself immensely. "it's only about fourteen hundred miles from here--over there towards the south. the best place to find him is monte carlo--between five and seven. and his wife and daughters--i suppose you want to see them too? perhaps a little flirtation? a little walk--underneath the palm-trees, what?" "good lord! is he a grand sort like that," said lars peter, crestfallen. "well--maybe i can trade with you?" "at your service, mr. jens petersen from--sengelöse; if you, sir, will condescend to deal with a poor devil like me." "i may just as well tell you that my name is lars peter hansen--from sand." "indeed--the firm feels honored, highly honored, i assure you!" the old man bustled round the cartload, taking in the value at a glance, and talking all the time. suddenly he seized the nag by the head, but quickly let go, as klavs snapped at him. "we'll drive it down to the other yard," said he. "i think we'd better leave the goods on the cart, until we've agreed about the price," lars peter thought; he was beginning to be somewhat suspicious. "no, my man, we must have the whole thing emptied out, so that we can see what we're buying," said the old man in quite another tone. "that's not our way." "and i don't sell till i know my price. it's all weighed and sorted, lars peter's no cheat." "no, no, of course not. so it's really you? lars peter hansen--and from sand too--and no cheat. come with me into the office then." the rag and bone man followed him. he was a little bewildered, was the man making a fool of him, or did he really know him? round about at home lars peter of sand was known by every one; had his name as a buyer preceded him? he had all the weights in his head, and gave the figures, while the old man put them down. in the midst of this he suddenly realized that the cart had disappeared. he rushed out, and down in the other yard found two men engaged in unloading the cart. for the second time today lars peter lost his temper. "see and get those things on to the cart again," he shouted, picking up his whip. the two men hastily took his measure; then without a word reloaded the cart. he was no longer in doubt that they would cheat him. the cursed knaves! if they had emptied it all out on to the heap, then he could have whistled for his own price. he drove the cart right up to the office door, and kept the reins on his arm. the old fox stood by his desk, looking at him out of the corners of his eyes. "were they taking your beautiful horse from you?" he asked innocently. "no, 'twas something else they wanted to have their fingers in," growled lars peter; he would show them that he could be sarcastic too. "now then, will you buy the goods or not?" "of course we'll buy them. look here, i've reckoned it all up. it'll be exactly fifty-six crowns--highest market price." "oh, go to the devil with your highest market price!" lars peter began mounting the cart again. the old man looked at him in surprise through his spectacles: "then you won't sell?" "no, that i won't. i'd rather take it home again--and get double the price." "well, if you say so of course--lars peter hansen's no cheat. but what are we to do, my man? my conscience won't allow me to send you dragging those things home again--it would be a crime to this beautiful horse." he approached the nag as if to pat it, but klavs laid back his ears and lashed his tail. this praise of his horse softened lars peter, and the end of it was that he let the load go for ninety crowns. a cigar was thrown into the bargain. "it's from the cheap box, so please don't light it until you get outside the gate," said the impudent old knave. "come again soon!" thanks! it would be some time before he came here again--a pack of robbers! he asked the way to an inn in vestergade, where people from his neighborhood generally stayed, and there he unharnessed. the yard was full of vehicles. farmers with pipes hanging from their lips and fur-coats unbuttoned were loading their wagons. here and there between the vehicles were loiterers, with broad gold chains across their chest and half-closed eyes. one of them came up to lars peter. "are you doing anything tonight?" said he. "there's a couple of us here--retired farmers--going to have a jolly evening together. we want a partner." he drew a pack of cards from his breast-pocket, and began shuffling them. no, lars peter had no time. "all the same, thanks." "who are those men?" he asked the stable-boy. "oh, they help the farmers to find their way about town, when it's dark," answered the man, laughing. "are they paid for that then?" asked lars peter thoughtfully. "oh, yes--and sometimes a good deal. but then they fix up other things besides--lodging for the night and everything. even a wife they'll get for you, if you like." "well, i don't care about that. if they'd only help a man to get hold of his own wife!" "i don't think they do that. but you can try." no, lars peter would not do that. he realized these were folk it was better to avoid. then he sauntered out into the town. at hauserplads there was an inn kept by a man he knew--he would look him up. maybe he could give him a little help in managing the affair. the street-lamps were just being lit, although it was not nearly dark; evidently there was no lack of money here. lars peter clattered in his big boots down towards frue plads, examining the houses as he went. this stooping giant, with faded hat and cape, looked like a wandering piece of the countryside. when he asked the way his voice rang through the street--although it was not loud for him. people stopped and laughed. then he laughed back again and made some joke or other, which, though he did not mean it, sounded like a storm between the rows of houses. gradually a crowd of children and young people gathered and followed in his wake. when they shouted after him he took it with good humor, but was not altogether at his ease until he reached the tavern. here he took out his red pocket handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "hullo! hans mattisen," he shouted down into the dark cellar. "d'you know an old friend again, what?" his joy over having got so far made his voice sound still more overpowering than usual; there was hardly room for it under the low ceiling. "not so fast, not so fast!" came from a jolly voice behind the counter, "wait until i get a light." when the gas was lit, they found they did not know each other at all. hans mattisen had left years ago. "don't you worry about that," said the inn-keeper, "sit down." after lars peter had seated himself, he was given some lobscouse and a small bottle of wine, and soon felt at peace with the world. the inn-keeper was a pleasant man with a keen sense of humor. lars peter was glad of a talk with him, and before he was aware of it, had poured out all his troubles. well, he had come down here to get advice; and he had not gone far wrong either. "is that all?" said the inn-keeper, "we'll soon put that right. we've only to send a message to the bandmaster." "who's that?" asked lars peter. "oh, he has the cleverest head in the world; there's not a piece of music but he can manage it. curious fellow--never met one like him. for example, he can't bear dogs, because once a police-dog took him for an ordinary thief. he never can forget that. therefore, if he asks, you've only to say that dogs are a damned nuisance--almost as loathsome as the police. he can't stand them either. hi! katrine," he called into the kitchen, "get hold of the bandmaster quick, and tell him to come along--give him plenty of drink too, for he must be thawed before you get anything out of him." "no fear about that," said lars peter airily, putting a ten-crown piece on the table, which the inn-keeper quickly pocketed. "that's right, old man--that's doing the thing properly," said he appreciatively. "i'll see to the whiskey. you're a gentleman, that's certain--you've got a well-filled pocketbook, i suppose?" "i've got about a hundred crowns," answered lars peter, fearing it would not suffice. "you shall see your wife!" shouted the inn-keeper, shaking lars peter's hand violently. "you shall see your wife as certain as i'm your friend! perhaps she'll be with you tonight. what do you think of that, eh, old man?" he put his arm round lars peter's shoulders, shaking him jovially. lars peter laughed and was moved--he almost had tears in his eyes. he was a little overcome by the warmth of the room and the whiskey. a tall thin gentleman came down into the cellar. he wore a black frock-coat, but was without waistcoat and collar--perhaps because he had been sent for in such a hurry. he had spectacles on, and looked on the whole a man of authority. he had a distinguished appearance, somewhat like a town-crier or a conjurer from the market-place. his voice was shrill and cracked, and he had an enormous larynx. the inn-keeper treated him with great deference. "g'day, sir," said he, bowing low--"here's a man wants advice. he's had an accident, his wife's having a holiday at the king's expense." the conductor glanced rather contemptuously at the rag and bone man's big shabby figure. but the inn-keeper winked one eye, and said, "i mustn't forget the beer-man." he went behind the desk and wrote on a slate, " ." the bandmaster glanced at the figure and nodded to himself, then sat down and began to question lars peter--down to every detail. he considered for a few minutes, and then said, turning towards the inn-keeper, "alma must tackle this--she's playing with the _princess_, you know." "yes, of course!" shouted the inn-keeper, delightedly. "of course alma can put it right, but tonight----?" he looked significantly at the bandmaster. "leave it to me, my dear friend. just you leave it to me," said the other firmly. lars peter tried hard to follow their conversation. they were funny fellows to listen to, although the case itself was serious enough. he began to feel drowsy with the heat of the room--after his long day in the fresh air. "well, my good man, you wish to see the king?" said the bandmaster, taking hold of the lapel of his coat. lars peter pulled himself together. "i'd like to try that way, yes," he answered with strained attention. "very well, then listen. i'll introduce you to my niece, who plays with the princess. this is how it stands, you see--but it's between ourselves--the _princess_ rather runs off the lines at times, she gets so sick of things, but it's incognito, you understand--unknowingly, we say--and then my niece is always by her side. you'll meet her--and the rest you must do yourself." "h'm, i'm not exactly dressed for such fine society," said lars peter, looking down at himself. "and i'm out of practice with the womenfolk--if it had been in my young days, now----!" "don't worry about that," said his friend, "people of high degree often have the most extraordinary taste. it would be damned strange if the _princess_ doesn't fall in love with you. and if she once takes a fancy to you, you may bet your last dollar that your case is in good hands." the inn-keeper diligently refilled their glasses, and lars peter looked more and more brightly at things. he was overcome by the bandmaster's grand connections, and his ability in finding ways and means--exceedingly clever people he had struck upon. and when miss alma came, full-figured and with a curled fringe, his whole face beamed. "what a lovely girl," said he warmly, "just the kind i'd have liked in the old days." miss alma at once wanted to sit on his knee, but lars peter kept her at arms' length. "i've got a wife," said he seriously. sörine should have no grounds for complaint. a look from the bandmaster made alma draw herself up. "just wait until the _princess_ comes, then you'll see a lady," said he to lars peter. "she's not coming. she's at a ball tonight," said miss alma with resentment. "then we'll go to the palace and find her." the bandmaster took his hat, and they all got up. outside in the street, a half-grown girl ran up and whispered something to him. "sorry, but i must go," said he to lars peter--"my mother-in-law is at death's door. but you'll have a good time all right." "come along," cried miss alma, taking the rag and bone man by the arm. "we two are going to see life!" "hundred--er--kisses, alma! don't forget," called the bandmaster after them. his voice sounded like a market crier's. "all right," answered miss alma, with a laugh. "what's that he says?" asked lars peter wonderingly. "don't you bother your head about that fool," she answered, and drew him along. * * * * * next morning lars peter woke early--as usual. there was a curious illumination in the sky, and with terror he tumbled quickly out of bed. was the barn on fire? then suddenly he remembered that he was not at home; the gleam of light on the window-panes came from the street lamps, which struggled with the dawn of day. he found himself in a dirty little room, at the top of the house--as far as he could judge from the roofs all round him. how in the name of goodness had he got here? he seated himself on the edge of the bed, and began dressing. slowly one thing after another began to dawn on him. his head throbbed like a piston rod--headache! he heard peculiar sounds: chattering women, hoarse rough laughter, oaths--and from outside came the peal of church bells. through all the noise and tobacco smoke came visions of a fair fringe, and soft red lips--the _princess_! but how did he come to be here, in an iron bed with a lumpy mattress, and ragged quilt? he felt for his watch to see the time--the old silver watch had vanished! anxiously he searched his inner pocket--thank heaven! the pocketbook was there alright. but what had happened to his watch? perhaps it had fallen on the floor. he hurried into his clothes, to look for it--the big leather purse felt light in his pocket. it was empty! he opened his pocketbook--that too was empty! lars peter scrambled downstairs, dreading lest any one should see him, slipped out into one of the side streets, and stumbled to the inn, harnessed the nag and set off. he began to long for the children at home--yes, and for the cows and pigs too. not until he was well outside the town, with a cold wind blowing on his forehead, did he remember sörine. and, suddenly realizing the full extent of his disaster, he broke down and sobbed helplessly. he halted at the edge of the wood--just long enough for klavs to have a feed. he himself had no desire for food then. he was on the highroad again, and sat huddled up in the cart, while the previous evening's debauch sang through his head. at one place a woman came running towards him. "lars peter!" she shouted, "lars peter!" the nag stopped. lars peter came to himself with a jerk; without a word he felt in his waistcoat pocket, gave her back her coin, and whipped up the horse. on the highroad, some distance from home, a group of children stood waiting. ditte had not been able to manage them any longer. they were cold and in tears. lars peter took them up into the cart, and they gathered round him, each anxious to tell him all the news. he took no notice of their chatter. ditte sat quietly, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. when he was seated at his meal, she said, "where're all the things you were to buy for me?" he looked up startled, and began stammering something or other--an excuse--but stopped in the middle. "how was mother getting on?" asked ditte then. she was sorry for him, and purposely used the word "mother" to please him. for a few moments his features worked curiously. then he buried his face in his hands. chapter iv little mother ditte at first, lars peter told them nothing of his visit to the capital. but ditte was old enough to read between the lines, and drew her own conclusions. at all events, her commission had not been executed. sörine, for some reason or other, he had not seen either, as far as she could understand; and no money had been brought home. apparently it had all been squandered--spent in drink no doubt. "now he'll probably take to getting drunk, like johansen and the others in the huts," she thought with resignation. "come home and make a row because there is nothing to eat--and beat us." she was prepared for the worst, and watched him closely. but lars peter came home steady as usual. he returned even earlier than before. he longed for children and home when he was away. and, as was his custom, he gave an account of what he had made and spent. he would clear out the contents of his trouser-pockets with his big fist, spreading the money out over the table, so that they could count it together and lay their plans accordingly. but now he liked a glass with his meals! sörine had never allowed him this, there was no need for it--said she--it was a waste of money. ditte gave it willingly, and took care to have it ready for him--after all, he was a man! lars peter was really ashamed of his trip to town, and not least of all that he had been made such a fool of. the stupid part of it was that he remembered so little of what had happened. where had he spent the night--and in what society? from a certain time in the evening until he woke the following morning in that filthy bedroom, all was like a vague dream--good or bad, he knew not. but in spite of his shame he felt a secret satisfaction in having for once kicked over the traces. he had seen life. how long had he been out? jolting round from farm to farm, he would brood on the question, would recall some parts of the evening and suppress others--to get as much pleasure out of it as possible. but in the end he was none the wiser. however, it was impossible for him to keep any secret for long. first one thing, then another, came out, and eventually ditte had a pretty good idea of what had happened, and would discuss it with him. in the evenings, when the little ones were in bed, they would talk it over. "but don't you think she was a real princess?" asked ditte each time. she always came back to this--it appealed to her vivid imagination and love of adventure. "the lord only knows," answered her father thoughtfully. he could not fathom how he could have been such a fool; he had managed so well with the jews in the stable-yard. "ay, the lord only knows!" "and the bandmaster," said ditte eagerly, "he must have been a wonderful man." "ay, that's true--a conjurer! he made i don't know how many drinks disappear without any one seeing how it was done. he held the glass on the table in his left hand, slapped his elbow with his right--and there it was empty." to ditte it was a most exciting adventure, and incidents that had seemed far from pleasant to lars peter became wonders in ditte's version of the affair. lars peter was grateful for the child's help, and together they spoke of it so long, that slowly, and without his being aware of it, the whole experience assumed quite a different aspect. it certainly had been a remarkable evening. and the princess--yes, she must have been there in reality, strange though it sounded that a beggar like him should have been in such company. but the devil of a woman she was to drink and smoke. "ay, she was real enough--or i wouldn't have been so taken with her," admitted he. "then you've slept with a real princess--just like the giant in the fairy tale," broke out ditte, clapping her hands in glee. "you have, father!" she looked beamingly at him. lars peter was silent with embarrassment, and sat blinking at the lamp--he had not looked upon it in the innocent light of a fairy tale. to him it seemed--well, something rather bad--it was being unfaithful to sörine. "ay, that's true," said he. "but then, will mother forgive it?" "oh, never mind!" answered ditte. "but it was a good thing you didn't cut yourself!" lars peter lifted his head, looking uncertainly at her. "ay, because there must have been a drawn sword between you--there always is. you see, princesses are too grand to be touched." "oh--ay! that's more than likely." lars peter turned this over in his mind. the explanation pleased him, and he took it to himself; it was a comforting idea. "ay, 'tis dangerous to have dealings with princesses, even though a man doesn't know it at the time," said he. * * * * * lars peter thought no more of visiting sörine in prison. he would have liked to see her and clasp her hand, even though it were only through an iron grating; but it was not to be. he must have patience until she had served her time. to him the punishment was that they had to live apart in the coming years. he lacked imagination to comprehend sörine's life behind prison walls, and therefore he could not think of her for long at a time. but unconsciously he missed her, so much so that he felt depressed. lars peter was no longer eager to work--the motive power was lacking. he was too easily contented with things as they were; there was no-one to taunt him with being poorer than others. ditte was too good-natured; she was more given to taking burdens on her own shoulders. he had grown quieter, and stooped more than ever. he played less with the children, and his voice had lost some of its ring. he never sang now, as he drove up to the farms to trade; he felt that people gossiped about him and his affairs, and this took away his confidence. it made itself felt when housewives and maids no longer smiled and enjoyed his jokes or cleared out all their old rubbish for him. he was never invited inside now--he was the husband of a murderess! trade dwindled away--not that he minded--it gave him more time with the children at home. at the same time there was less to keep house on. but, thanks to ditte, they scraped along; little as she was, she knew how to make both ends meet, so they did not starve. there was now plenty of time for lars peter to build. beams and stones lay all round as a silent reproach to him. "aren't you going to do anything with it?" ditte would ask. "folk say it's lying there wasting." "where did you hear that?" asked lars peter bitterly. "oh--at school!" so they talked about that too! there was not much where he was concerned which was not torn to pieces. no, he had no desire to build. "we've got a roof over our heads," said he indifferently. "if any one thinks our hut's not good enough, let them give us another." but the building materials remained there as an accusation; he was not sorry when they were overgrown with grass. what good would it do to build? the crow's nest was, and would remain, the crow's nest, however much they tried to polish it up. it had not grown in esteem by sörine's deed. she had done her best to give them a lift up in the world--and had only succeeded in pushing them down to the uttermost depth. previously, it had only been misfortune which clung to the house, and kept better people away; now it was crime. no-one would come near the house after dusk, and by day they had as little as possible to do with the rag and bone man. the children were shunned; they were the offspring of a murderess, and nothing was too bad to be thought of them. the people tried to excuse their harshness, and justified their behavior towards the family, by endowing them with all the worst qualities. at one time it was reported that they were thieves. but that died down, and then they said that the house was haunted. old maren went about searching for her money; first one, then another, had met her on the highroad at night, on her way to the crow's nest. the full burden of all this fell on the little ones. it was mercilessly thrown in their faces by the other children at school; and when they came home crying, lars peter of course had to bear his share too. no-one dared say anything to him, himself--let them try if they dared! the rag and bone man's fingers tingled when he heard all this backbiting--why couldn't he and his be allowed to go in peace. he wouldn't mind catching one of the rogues red-handed. he would knock him down in cold blood, whatever the consequences might be. kristian now went to school too, in the infants' class. the classes were held every other day, and his did not coincide with ditte's, who was in a higher class. he had great difficulty in keeping up with the other children, and could hardly be driven off in the mornings. "they call me the young crow," he said, crying. "then call them names back again," said ditte; and off he had to go. but one day there came a message from the schoolmaster that the boy was absent too often. the message was repeated. ditte could not understand it. she had a long talk with the boy, and got out of him that he often played truant. he made a pretense of going to school, hung about anywhere all day long, and only returned home when school-time was over. she said nothing of this to lars peter--it would only have made things worse. the unkindness from outside made them cling more closely to one another. there was something of the hunted animal in them; lars peter was reserved in his manner to people, and was ready to fly out if attacked. the whole family grew shy and suspicious. when the children played outside the house, and saw people approaching on the highroad, they would rush in, peeping at them from behind the broken window-panes. ditte watched like a she-wolf, lest other children should harm her little brothers and sister; when necessary, she would both bite and kick, and she could hurl words at them too. one day when lars peter was driving past the school, the schoolmaster came out and complained of her--she used such bad language. he could not understand it; at home she was always good and saw that the little ones behaved properly. when he spoke of this, ditte hardened. "i won't stand their teasing," said she. "then stay at home from school, and then we'll see what they'll do." "we'll only be fined for every day; and then one day they'll come and fetch me," said ditte bitterly. "they won't easily take you away by force. somebody else would have something to say to that." lars peter nodded threateningly. but ditte would not--she would take her chance. "i've just as much right to be there as the others," she said stubbornly. "ay, ay, that's so. but it's a shame you should suffer for other people's wickedness." lars peter seldom went out now, but busied himself cultivating his land, so that he could be near the children and home. he had a feeling of insecurity; people had banded themselves together against him and his family, and meant them no good. he was uneasy when away from home, and constantly felt as if something had happened. the children were delighted at the change. "are you going to stay at home tomorrow too, father?" asked the two little ones every evening, gazing up at him with their small arms round his huge legs. lars peter nodded. "we must keep together here in the crow's nest," said he to ditte as if in excuse. "we can't get rid of the 'rag and bone man'--or the other either; but no-one can prevent us from being happy together." well, ditte did not object to his staying at home. as long as they got food, the rest was of no consequence. yes, they certainly must keep together--and get all they could out of one another, otherwise life would be too miserable to bear. on sundays lars peter would harness the nag and drive them out to frederiksvaerk, or to the other side of the lake. it was pleasant to drive, and as long as they possessed a horse and cart, they could not be utterly destitute. their small circle of acquaintances had vanished, but thanks to klavs they found new friends. they were a cottager's family by the marsh--people whom no-one else would have anything to do with. there were about a dozen children, and though both the man and his wife went out as day laborers, they could not keep them, and the parish had to help. lars peter had frequently given them a hand with his cart, but there had never been much intercourse as long as sörine was in command of the crow's nest. but now it came quite naturally. birds of a feather flock together--so people said. to the children it meant play-fellows and comrades in disgrace. it was quite a treat to be asked over to johansens on a sunday afternoon, or even more so to have them at the crow's nest. there was a certain satisfaction in having visitors under their roof, and giving them the best the house could provide. for days before they came ditte would be busy making preparations: setting out milk for cream to have with the coffee, and buying in all they could afford. on sunday morning she would cut large plates of bread-and-butter, to make it easier for her in the afternoon. as soon as the guests arrived, they would have coffee, bread-and-butter and home-made cakes. then the children would play "touch," or "bobbies and thieves." lars peter allowed them to run all over the place, and there would be wild hunting in and outside the crow's nest. in the meanwhile the grown-ups wandered about in the fields, looking at the crops. ditte went with them, keeping by the side of johansen's wife, with her hands under her apron, just as she did. at six o'clock they had supper, sandwiches with beer and brandy; then they would sit for a short time talking, before going home. there was the evening work to be done, and every one had to get up early the next morning. they were people even poorer than themselves. they came in shining wooden shoes, and in clean blue working clothes. they were so poor that in the winter they never had anything to eat but herrings and potatoes, and it delighted ditte to give them a really good meal: sandwiches of the best, and bottles of beer out of which the cork popped and the froth overflowed. chapter v the little vagabond lars peter stood by the water-trough where klavs was drinking his fill. they had been for a long trip, and both looked tired and glad to be home again. at times a great longing for the highroad came over the rag and bone man, and he would then harness the nag and set off on his old rounds again. the road seemed to ease his trouble, and drew him further and further away, so that he spent the night from home, returning the following day. there was not much made on these trips, but he always managed to do a little--and his depression would pass off for the time being. he had just returned from one of these outings, and stood in deep thought, happy to be home again, and to find all was well. now there should be an end to these fits of wandering. affairs at home required a man. povl and his sister else hurried out to welcome him; they ran in and out between his legs, which to them were like great thick posts, singing all the while. sometimes they would run between the nag's legs too, and the wise creature would carefully lift its hoofs, as though afraid of hurting them--they could stand erect between their father's legs. ditte came out from the kitchen door with a basket on her arm. "now, you're thinking again, father," said she laughingly, "take care you don't step on the children." lars peter pulled himself together and tenderly stroked the rough little heads. "where are you off to?" asked he. "oh, to the shop. i want some things for the house." "let kristian go, you've quite enough to do without that." "he hasn't come home from school yet--most likely i'll meet him on the way." "not home yet?--and it's nearly supper-time." lars peter looked at her in alarm. "d'you think he can be off on the highroad again?" ditte shook her head. "i think he's been kept in--i'm sure to meet him. it's a good thing too--he can help me to carry the things home," she added tactfully. but lars peter could no longer be taken in. he had just been thanking his stars that all was well on his return, and had silently vowed to give up his wanderings--and now this! the boy was at his old tricks again, there was no doubt about that--he could see it in the girl's eyes. it was in his children's blood, it seemed, and much as he cared for them--his sins would be visited on them. for the little ones' sake he was struggling to overcome his own wandering bent, and now it cropped out in them. it was like touching an open wound--he felt sick at heart. lars peter led the horse into its stall, and gave it some corn. he did not take off the harness. unless the boy returned soon, he would go and look for him. it had happened before that lars peter and klavs had spent the night searching. and once ditte had nearly run herself off her legs looking for the boy, while all the time he was quite happy driving round with his father on his rounds. he had been waiting for lars peter on the highroad, telling him he had a holiday--and got permission to go with his father. there was no trusting him. when ditte got as far as the willows, she hid the basket in them. she had only used the shop as an excuse to get away from home and look for the boy, without the father knowing anything was wrong. a short distance along the highroad lived some of kristian's school-fellows, and she went there to make inquiries. kristian had not been at school that day. she guessed as much--he had been in such a hurry to get off in the morning! perhaps he was in one of the fields, behind a bush, hungry and wornout; it would be just like him to lie there until he perished, if no-one found him in the meanwhile. she ran aimlessly over the fields, asking every one she met if they had seen her brother. "oh, is it the young scamp from the crow's nest?" people asked. "ay, he's got vagabond's blood in him." then she ran on, as quickly as she could. her legs gave way, but she picked herself up and stumbled on. she couldn't think of going home without the boy; it would worry her father dreadfully! and kristian himself--her little heart trembled at the thought of his being out all night. a man on a cart told her he had seen a boy seven or eight years old, down by the marsh. she rushed down--and there was kristian. he stood outside a hut, howling, the inhabitants gathered round him, and a man holding him firmly by his collar. "come to look for this young rascal?" said he. "ay, we've caught him, here he is. the children told he'd shirked his school, and we thought we'd better make sure of him, to keep him out of mischief." "oh, he's all right," said ditte, bristling, "he wouldn't do any harm." she pushed the man's hand away, and like a little mother drew the boy towards her. "don't cry, dear," said she, drying his wet cheeks with her apron. "nobody'll dare to touch you." the man grinned and looked taken aback. "do him harm?" said he loudly. "and who is it sets fire to other folk's houses and sets on peaceful womenfolk, but vagabonds. and that's just the way they begin." but ditte and kristian had rushed off. she held him by his hand, scolding him as they went along. "there, you can hear yourself what the man says! and that's what they'll think you are," said she. "and you know it worries father so. don't you think he's enough trouble without that?" "why did mother do it?" said kristian, beginning to cry. he was worn out, and as soon as they got home ditte put him quickly to bed. she gave him camomile tea and put one of her father's stockings--the left one--round his throat. during the evening she and her father discussed what had happened. the boy lay tossing feverishly in bed. "it's those mischievous children," said ditte with passion. "if i were there, they wouldn't dare to touch him." "why does the boy take any notice of it?" growled lars peter. "you've been through it all yourself." "ay, but then i'm a girl--boys mind much more what's said to them. i give it them back again, but when kristian's mad with rage, he can't find anything to say. and then they all shout and laugh at him--and he takes off his wooden shoe to hit them." lars peter sat silent for a while. "we'd better see and get away from here," said he. kristian popped his head over the end of the bed. "yes, far, far away!" he shouted. this at all events he had heard. "we'll go to america then," said ditte, carefully covering him up. "go to sleep now, so that you'll be quite well for the journey." the boy looked at her with big, trusting eyes, and was quiet. "'tis a shame, for the boy's clever enough," whispered lars peter. "'tis wonderful how he can think a thing out in his little head--and understand the ins and outs of everything. he knows more about wheels and their workings than i do. if only he hadn't got my wandering ways in his blood." "that'll wear off in time!" thought ditte. "at one time i used to run away too." the following day kristian was out again, and went singing about the yard. a message had been sent to school that he was ill, so that he had a holiday for a few days--he was in high spirits. he had got hold of the remains of an old perambulator which his father had brought home, and was busy mending it, for the little ones to ride in. wheels were put on axles, now only the body remained to be fixed. the two little ones stood breathlessly watching him. povl chattered away, and wanted to help, every other moment his little hands interfered and did harm. but sister else stood dumbly watching, with big thoughtful eyes. "she's always dreaming, dear little thing," said ditte, "the lord only knows what she dreams about." ditte, to all appearance, never dreamed, but went about wide awake from morning till night. life had already given her a woman's hard duties to fulfil, and she had met them and carried them out with a certain sturdiness. to the little ones she was the strict house-wife and mother, whose authority could not be questioned, and should the occasion arise, she would give them a little slap. but underneath the surface was her childish mind. about all her experiences she formed her own opinions and conclusions, but never spoke of them to any one. the most difficult of all for her to realize was that granny was dead, and that she could never, never, run over to see her any more. her life with granny had been her real childhood, the memory of which remained vivid--unforgettable, as happy childhood is when one is grown up. in the daytime the fact was clear enough. granny was dead and buried, and would never come back again. but at night when ditte was in bed, dead-beat after a hard day, she felt a keen desire to be a child again, and would cuddle herself up in the quilt, pretending she was with granny. and, as she dropped off, she seemed to feel the old woman's arm round her, as was her wont. her whole body ached with weariness, but granny took it away--wise granny who could cure the rheumatism. then she would remember granny's awful fight with sörine. and ditte would awaken to find lars peter standing over her bed trying to soothe her. she had screamed! he did not leave her until she had fallen asleep again--with his huge hand held against her heart, which fluttered like that of a captured bird. at school, she never played, but went about all alone. the others did not care to have her with them, and she was not good at games either. she was like a hard fruit, which had had more bad weather than sunshine. songs and childish rhymes sounded harsh on her lips, and her hands were rough with work. the schoolmaster noticed all this. one day when lars peter was passing, he called him in to talk of ditte. "she ought to be in entirely different surroundings," said he, "a place where she can get new school-fellows. perhaps she has too much responsibility at home for a child of her age. you ought to send her away." to lars peter this was like a bomb-shell. he had a great respect for the schoolmaster--he had passed examinations and things--but how was he to manage without his clever little housekeeper? "all of us ought to go away," he thought. "there're only troubles and worries here." no, there was nothing to look forward to here--they could not even associate with their neighbors! he had begun to miss the fellowship of men, and often thought of his relations, whom he had not seen, and hardly heard of, for many years. he longed for the old homestead, which he had left to get rid of the family nickname, and seriously thought of selling the little he had, and turning homewards. nicknames seemed to follow wherever one went. there was no happiness to be found here, and his livelihood was gone. "nothing seems to prosper here," thought he, saving of course the blessed children--and they would go with him. the thought of leaving did not make things better. everything was at a standstill. it was no good doing anything until he began his new life--whatever that might be. he and ditte talked it over together. she would be glad to leave, and did not mind where they went. she had nothing to lose. a new life offered at least the chance of a more promising future. secretly, she had her own ideas of what should come--but not here; the place was accursed. not exactly the prince in granny's spinning-song, she was too old for that--princes only married princesses. but many other things might happen besides that, given the opportunity. ditte had no great pretensions, but "forward" was her motto. "it must be a place where there're plenty of people," said she. "kind people," she added, thinking most of her little brothers and sister. thus they talked it over until they agreed that it would be best to sell up as soon as possible and leave. in the meantime, something happened which for a time changed their outlook altogether, and made them forget their plans. chapter vi the knife-grinder one afternoon, when the children were playing outside in the sunshine, ditte stood just inside the open kitchen door, washing up after dinner. suddenly soft music was heard a short distance away--a run of notes; even the sunshine seemed to join in. the little ones lifted their heads and gazed out into space; ditte came out with a plate and a dishcloth in her hands. up on the road just where the track to the crow's nest turned off stood a man with a wonderful-looking machine; he blew, to draw attention--on a flute or clarionet, whatever it might be--and looked towards the house. when no-one appeared in answer to his call, he began moving towards the house, pushing the machine in front of him. the little ones rushed indoors. the man left his machine beside the pump and came up to the kitchen door. ditte stood barring the way. "anything want grinding, rivetting or soldering, anything to mend?" he gabbled off, lifting his cap an inch from his forehead. "i sharpen knives, scissors, razors, pitchforks or plowshares! cut your corns, stick pigs, flirt with the mistress, kiss the maids--and never say no to a glass and a crust of bread!" then he screwed up his mouth and finished off with a song. "knives to grind, knives to grind! any scissors and knives to grind? knives and scissors to gri-i-ind!" he sang at the top of his voice. ditte stood in the doorway and laughed, with the children hanging on to her skirt. "i've got a bread-knife that won't cut," said she. the man wheeled his machine up to the door. it was a big thing: water-tank, grindstone, a table for rivetting, a little anvil and a big wheel--all built upon a barrow. the children forgot their fear in their desire to see this funny machine. he handled the bread-knife with many flourishes, whistled over the edge to see how blunt it was, pretended the blade was loose, and put it on the anvil to rivet it. "it must have been used to cut paving-stories with," said he. but this was absurd; the blade was neither loose nor had it been misused. he was evidently a mountebank. he was quite young; thin, and quick in his movements; he rambled on all the time. and such nonsense he talked! but how handsome he was! he had black eyes and black hair, which looked quite blue in the sunshine. lars peter came out from the barn yawning; he had been having an after-dinner nap. there were bits of clover and hay in his tousled hair. "where do you come from?" he cried gaily as he crossed the yard. "from spain," answered the man, showing his white teeth in a broad grin. "from spain--that's what my father always said when any one asked him," said lars peter thoughtfully. "don't come from odsherred by any chance?" the man nodded. "then maybe you can give me some news of an amst hansen--a big fellow with nine sons?... the rag and bone man, he was called." the last was added guiltily. "i should think i could--that's my father." "no!" said lars peter heartily, stretching out his big hand. "then welcome here, for you must be johannes--my youngest brother." he held the youth's hand, looking at him cordially. "oh, so that's what you look like now; last time i saw you, you were only a couple of months old. you're just like mother!" johannes smiled rather shyly, and drew his hand away; he was not so pleased over the meeting as was his brother. "leave the work and come inside," said lars peter, "and the girl will make us a cup of coffee. well, well! to think of meeting like this. ay, just like mother, you are." he blinked his eyes, touched by the thought. as they drank their coffee, johannes told all the news from home. the mother had died some years ago and the brothers were gone to the four corners of the earth. the news of his mother's death was a great blow to lars peter. "so she's gone?" said he quietly. "i've not seen her since you were a baby. i'd looked forward to seeing her again--she was always good, was mother." "well," johannes drawled, "she was rather grumpy." "not when i was at home--maybe she was ill a long time." "we didn't get on somehow. no, the old man for me, he was always in a good temper." "does he still work at his old trade?" asked lars peter with interest. "no, that's done with long ago. he lives on his pension!" johannes laughed. "he breaks stones on the roadside now. he's as hard as ever and will rule the roost. he fights with the peasants as they pass, and swears at them because they drive on his heap of stones." johannes himself had quarreled with his master and had given him a black eye; and as he was the only butcher who would engage him over there, he had left, crossing over at lynoes--with the machine which he had borrowed from a sick old scissor-grinder. "so you're a butcher," said lars peter. "i thought as much. you don't look like a professional grinder. you're young and strong; couldn't you work for the old man and keep him out of the workhouse?" "oh, he's difficult to get on with--and he's all right where he is. if a fellow wants to keep up with the rest--and get a little fun out of life--there's only enough for one." "i dare say. and what do you think of doing now? going on again?" yes, he wanted to see something of life--with the help of the machine outside. "and can you do all you say?" johannes made a grimace. "i learned a bit from the old man when i was a youngster, but it's more by way of patter than anything else. a fellow's only to ramble on, get the money, and make off before they've time to look at the things. it's none so bad, and the police can't touch you so long as you're working." "is that how it is?" said lars peter. "i see you've got the roving blood in you too. 'tis a sad thing to suffer from, brother!" "but why? there's always something new to be seen! 'tis sickening to hang about in the same place, forever." "ay, that's what i used to think; but one day a man finds out that it's no good thinking that way! nothing thrives when you knock about the road to earn your bread. no home and no family, nothing worth having, however much you try to settle down." "but you've got both," said johannes. "ay, but it's difficult to keep things together. living from hand to mouth and nothing at your back--'tis a poor life. and the worst of it is, we poor folk _have_ to turn that way; it seems better not to know where your bread's to come from day by day and go hunting it here, there and everywhere. it's that that makes us go a-roving. but now you must amuse yourself for a couple of hours; i've promised to cart some dung for a neighbor!" during lars peter's absence ditte and the children showed their uncle round the farm. he was a funny fellow and they very soon made friends. he couldn't be used to anything fine, for he admired everything he saw, and won ditte's confidence entirely. she had never heard the crow's nest and its belongings admired before. he helped her with her evening work, and when lars peter returned the place was livelier than it had been for many a day. after supper ditte made coffee and put the brandy bottle on the table, and the brothers had a long chat. johannes told about home; he had a keen sense of humor and spared neither home nor brothers in the telling, and lars peter laughed till he nearly fell off his chair. "ay, that's right enough!" he cried, "just as it would have been in the old days." there was a great deal to ask about and many old memories to be refreshed; the children had not seen their father so genial and happy for goodness knows how long. it was easy to see that his brother's coming had done him good. and they too had a certain feeling of well-being--they had got a relation! since granny's death they had seemed so alone, and when other children spoke of their relations they had nothing to say. they had got an uncle--next after a granny this was the greatest of all relations. and he had come to the crow's nest in the most wonderful manner, taking them unawares--and himself too! their little bodies tingled with excitement; every other minute they crept out, meddling with the wonderful machine, which was outside sleeping in the moonlight. but ditte soon put a stop to this and ordered them to bed. the two brothers sat chatting until after midnight, and the children struggled against sleep as long as they possibly could, so as not to lose anything. but sleep overcame them at last, and ditte too had to give in. she would not go to bed before the men, and fell asleep over the back of a chair. morning came, and with it a sense of joy; the children opened their eyes with the feeling that something had been waiting for them by the bedside the whole night to meet them with gladness when they woke--what was it? yes, over there on the hook by the door hung a cap--uncle johannes was here! he and lars peter were already up and doing. johannes was taken with everything he saw and was full of ideas. "this might be made a nice little property," he said time after time. "'tis neglected, that's all." "ay, it's had to look after itself while i've been out," answered lars peter in excuse. "and this trouble with the wife didn't make things better either. maybe you've heard all about it over there?" johannes nodded. "that oughtn't to make any difference to you, though," said he. that day lars peter had to go down to the marsh and dig a ditch, to drain a piece of the land. johannes got a spade and went with him. he worked with such a will that lars peter had some difficulty in keeping up with him. "'tis easy to see you're young," said he, "the way you go at it." "why don't you ditch the whole and level it out? 'twould make a good meadow," said johannes. ay, why not? lars peter did not know himself. "if only a fellow had some one to work with," said he. "do you get any peat here?" asked johannes once when they were taking a breathing space. "no, nothing beyond what we use ourselves; 'tis a hard job to cut it." "ay, when you use your feet! but you ought to get a machine to work with a horse; then a couple of men can do ever so many square feet in a day." lars peter became thoughtful. ideas and advice had been poured into him and he would have liked to go thoroughly through them and digest them one by one. but johannes gave him no time. the next minute he was by the clay-pit. there was uncommonly fine material for bricks, he thought. ay, lars peter knew it all only too well. the first summer he was married, sörine had made bricks to build the outhouse and it had stood all kinds of weather. but one pair of hands could not do everything. and thus johannes went from one thing to the other. he was observant and found ways for everything; there was no end to his plans. lars peter had to attend; it was like listening to an old, forgotten melody. marsh, clay-pit and the rest had said the same year after year, though more slowly; now he had hardly time to follow. it was inspiriting, all at once to see a way out of all difficulties. "look here, brother," said he, as they were at dinner, "you put heart into a man again. how'd you like to stay on here? then we could put the place in order together. there's not much in that roving business after all." johannes seemed to like the idea--after all, the highroad was unsatisfactory as a means of livelihood! during the day they talked it over more closely and agreed how to set about things; they would share as brothers both the work and what it brought in. "but what about the machine?" said lars peter. "that must be returned." "oh, never mind that," said johannes. "the man can't use it; he's ill." "ay, but when he gets up again, then he'll have nothing to earn his living; we can't have that on our conscience. i'm going down to the beach tomorrow for a load of herrings, so i'll drive round by hundested and put it off there. there's sure to be a fisherman who'll take it over with him. i'd really thought of giving up the herring trade; but long ago i bound myself to take a load, and there should be a good catch these days." at three o'clock next morning lars peter was ready in the yard to drive to the fishing village; at the back of the cart was the wonderful machine. as he was about to start, johannes came running up, unwashed and only half awake; he had just managed to put on his cap and tie a handkerchief round his neck. "i think i'll go with you," he said with a yawn. lars peter thought for a minute--it came as a surprise to him. "very well, just as you like," said he at last, making room. he had reckoned on his brother beginning the ditching today; there was so little water in the meadow now. "do me good to get out a bit!" said johannes as he clambered into the cart. well--yes--but he had only just come in. "don't you want an overcoat?" asked lars peter. "there's an old one of mine you can have." "oh, never mind--i can turn up my collar." the sun was just rising; there was a white haze on the shores of the lake, hanging like a veil over the rushes. in the green fields dewdrops were caught by millions in the spiders' webs, sparkling like diamonds in the first rays of sunshine. lars peter saw it all, and perhaps it was this which turned his mind; at least, today, he thought the crow's nest was a good and pretty little place; it would be a sin to leave it. he had found out all he wanted to know about his relations and home and what had happened to every one in the past years and his longing for home had vanished; now he would prefer to stay where he was. "just you be thankful that you're away from it all!" johannes had said. and he was right--it wasn't worth while moving to go back to the quarreling and jealousies of relations. as a matter of fact there was no inducement to leave: no sense in chasing your luck like a fool, better try to keep what there was. lars peter could not understand what had happened to him--everything looked so different today. it was as if his eyes had been rubbed with some wonderful ointment; even the meager lands of the crow's nest looked beautiful and promising. a new day had dawned for him and his home. "'tis a glorious morning," said he, turning towards johannes. johannes did not answer. he had drawn his cap down over his eyes and gone to sleep. he looked somewhat dejected and his mouth hung loosely as if he had been drinking. it was extraordinary how he resembled his mother! lars peter promised himself that he would take good care of him. chapter vii the sausage-maker nothing was done to the land round the crow's nest this time; it was a fateful moment when johannes, instead of taking his spade and beginning the ditching, felt inclined to go with his brother carting herrings. on one of the farms where they went to trade, a still-born calf lay outside the barn; johannes caught sight of it at once. with one jump he was out of the cart and beside it. "what do you reckon to do with it?" asked he, turning it over with his foot. "bury it, of course," answered the farm-lad. "don't folks sell dead animals in these parts?" asked johannes when they were in the cart again. "why, who could they sell them to?" answered lars peter. "the lord preserve me, you're far behind the times. d'you know what, i've a good mind to settle down here as a cattle-dealer." "and buy up all the still-born calves?" lars peter laughed. "not just that. but it's not a bad idea, all the same; the old butcher at home often made ten to fifteen crowns out of a calf like that." "i thought we were going to start in earnest at home," said lars peter. "we'll do that too, but we shall want money! your trade took up all your time, so everything was left to look after itself, but cattle-dealing's another thing. a hundred crowns a day's easily earned, if you're lucky. let me drive round once a week, and i'll promise it'll give us enough to live on. and then we've the rest of the week to work on the land." "sounds all right," said lars peter hesitatingly. "there's trader's blood in you too, i suppose?" "you may be sure of that, i've often earned hundreds of crowns for my master at home in knarreby." "but how'd you begin?" said peter. "i've got fifty crowns at the most, and that's not much to buy cattle with. it's put by for rent and taxes, and really oughtn't to be touched." "let me have it, and i'll see to the rest," said johannes confidently. the very next day he set off in the cart, with the whole of lars peter's savings in his pocket. he was away for two days, which was not reassuring in itself. perhaps he had got into bad company, and had the money stolen from him--or frittered it away in poor trade. the waiting began to seem endless to lars peter. then at last johannes returned, with a full load and singing at the top of his voice. to the back of the cart was tied an old half-dead horse, so far gone it could hardly move. "well, you seem to have bought something young!" shouted lars peter scoffingly. "what've you got under the sacks and hay?" johannes drove the cart into the porch, closed the gates, and began to unload. a dead calf, a half-rotten pig and another calf just alive. he had bought them on the neighboring farms, and had still some money left. "ay, that's all very well, but what are you going to do with it all?" broke out lars peter amazed. "you'll see that soon enough," answered johannes, running in and out. there was dash and energy in him, he sang and whistled, as he bustled about. the big porch was cleared, and a tree-stump put in as a block; he lit a wisp of hay to see if there was a draught underneath the boiler. the children stood open-mouthed gazing at him, and lars peter shook his head, but did not interfere. he cut up the dead calf, skinned it, and nailed the skin up in the porch to dry. then it was the sick calf's turn, with one blow it was killed, and its skin hung up beside the other. ditte and kristian were set to clean the guts, which they did very unwillingly. "good lord, have you never touched guts before?" said johannes. "a-a-y. but not of animals that had died," answered ditte. "ho, indeed, so you clean the guts while they're alive, eh? i'd like to see that!" they had no answer ready, and went on with their work--while johannes drew in the half-dead horse, and went for the ax. as he ran across the yard, he threw the ax up into the air and caught it again by the handle; he was in high spirits. "takes after the rest of the family!" thought lars peter, who kept in the barn, and busied himself there. he did not like all this, although it was the trade his race had practised for many years, and which now took possession of the crow's nest; it reminded him strongly of his childhood. "folk may well think us the scum of the earth now," thought he moodily. johannes came whistling into the barn for an old sack. "don't look so grumpy, old man," said he as he passed. lars peter had not time to answer before he was out again. he put the sack over the horse's head, measured the distance, and swung the ax backwards; a strange long-drawn crash sounded from behind the sack, and the horse sank to the ground with its skull cracked. the children looked on, petrified. "you'll have to give me a hand now, to lift it," shouted johannes gaily. lars peter came lingeringly across the yard, and gave a helping hand. shortly afterwards the horse hung from a beam, with its head downwards, the body was cut up and the skin folded back like a cape. uncle johannes' movements became more and more mysterious. they understood his care with the skins, these could be sold; but what did he want with the guts and all the flesh he cut up? that evening he lit the fire underneath the boiler, and he worked the whole night, filling the place with a disgusting smell of bones, meat and guts being cooked. "he must be making soap," thought lars peter, "or cart grease." the more he thought of it the less he liked the whole proceeding, and wished that he had let his brother go as he had come. but he could do nothing now, but let him go on. johannes asked no one to help him; he kept the door of the outhouse carefully closed and did his work with great secrecy. he was cooking the whole night, and the next morning at breakfast he ordered the children not to say a word of what he had been doing. during the morning he disappeared and returned with a mincing-machine, he took the block too into the outhouse. he came to his meals covered with blood, fat and scraps of meat. he looked dreadful and smelled even worse. but he certainly worked hard; he did not even allow himself time to sleep. late in the afternoon he opened the door of the outhouse wide: the work was done. "here you are, come and look!" he shouted. from a stick under the ceiling hung a long row of sausages, beautiful to look at, bright and freshly colored; no-one would guess what they were made of. on the big washing-board lay meat, cut into neat joints and bright red in color--this was the best part of the horse. and there was a big pail of fat, which had not quite stiffened. "that's grease," said johannes, stirring it, "but as a matter of fact it's quite nice for dripping. looks quite tasty, eh?" "it shan't come into our kitchen," said ditte, making a face at the things. "you needn't be afraid, my girl; sausage-makers never eat their own meat," answered johannes. "what are you going to do with it now?" asked lars peter, evidently knowing what the answer would be. "sell it, of course!" johannes showed his white teeth, as he took a sausage. "just feel how firm and round it is." "if you think you can sell them here, you're very much mistaken. you don't know the folks in these parts." "here? of course not! drive over to the other side of the lake where no-one knows me, or what they're made of. we often used to make these at my old place. all the bad stuff we bought in one county, we sold in another. no-one ever found us out. simple enough, isn't it?" "i'll have nothing to do with it," said lars peter determinedly. "don't want you to--you're not the sort for this work. i'm off tomorrow, but you must get me another horse. if i have to drive with that rusty old threshing-machine in there, i shan't be back for a whole week. never saw such a beast. if he was mine i'd make him into sausages." "that you shall never do," answered lars peter offendedly. "the horse is good enough, though maybe he's not to your liking." the fact was they did not suit each other--johannes and klavs; they were like fire and water. johannes preferred to fly along the highroad; but soon found out it wouldn't do. then he expected that the nag--since it could no longer gallop and was so slow to set going--should keep moving when he jumped off. as a butcher he was accustomed to jump off the cart, run into a house with a piece of meat, catch up with the cart and jump on again--without stopping the horse. but klavs did not feel inclined for these new tricks. the result was they clashed. johannes made up his mind to train the horse, and kept striking it with the thick end of the whip. klavs stopped in amazement. twice he kicked up his hind legs--warningly, then turned round, broke the shafts, and tried to get up into the cart. he showed his long teeth in a grin, which might mean: just let me get you under my hoofs, you black rascal! this happened on the highroad the day he had gone out to buy cattle. lars peter and the children knew that the two were enemies. when johannes entered the barn, klavs at once laid back his ears and was prepared to both bite and fight. there was no mistaking the signs. next morning, before johannes started out, kristian was sent over with the nag to a neighbor who lived north of the road, and got their horse in exchange. "it belonged to a butcher for many years, so you ought to get on with it," said lars peter as they harnessed it. it was long and thin, just the sort for johannes. as soon as he was in the cart, the horse knew what kind of man held the reins. it set off with a jerk, and passed the corner of the house like a flash of lightning. the next minute they were up on the highroad, rushing along in a whirl of dust. johannes bumped up and down on the seat, shouted and flourished his whip, and held the reins over his head. they seemed possessed by the devil. "he shan't touch klavs again," mumbled lars peter as he went in. the next day johannes came back with notes in his pocketbook and a mare running behind the cart. it was the same kind of horse as the one he drove, only a little more stiff in its movements; he had bought it for next to nothing--to be killed. "but it would be a sin to kill it; it's not too far gone to enjoy life yet, eh, old lady?" said he, slapping its back. the mare whinnied and threw up its hind legs. "'tis nigh on thirty," said lars peter, peering into its mouth. "it may not be up to much, but the will's there right enough, just look at it!" he cracked his whip and the old steed threw its head back and started off. it didn't get very far, however, its movements were jerky and painful. "quite a high flier," said lars peter laughingly, "it looks as if a breath of air would blow it up to heaven. but are you sure it's not against the law to use it, when it's sold to be killed?" johannes nodded. "they won't know it when i've finished with it," said he. as soon as he had had a meal, and got into his working clothes, he started to remodel the horse. he clipped its mane and tail, and cropped the hair round its hoofs. "it only wants a little brown coloring to dye the gray hair--and a couple of bottles of arsenic, and then you'll see how smart and young she'll be. the devil himself wouldn't know her again." "did you learn these tricks from your master?" asked lars peter. "no, from the old man. never seen him at it?" lars peter could not remember. "it must have been after my time," said he, turning away. "'tis a good old family trick," said johannes. * * * * * that there was money to be made from the new business was soon evident, and lars peter got over his indignation. he let johannes drive round buying and selling, while he himself remained at home, making sausages, soap and grease from the refuse. he had been an apt pupil, it was the old family trade. the air round the crow's nest stank that summer. people held their noses and whipped up their horses as they passed by. johannes brought home money in plenty and they lacked for nothing. but neither lars peter nor the children were happy. they felt that the crow's nest was talked about more even than before. and the worst of it was, they no longer felt this to be an injustice. people had every right to look down on them now; there was not the consolation that their honor was unassailable. johannes did not care. he was out on the road most of the time. he made a lot of money, and was proud of it too. he often bought cattle and sold them again. he was dissipated, so it was said--played cards with fellows of his own kidney, and went to dances. sometimes after a brawl, he would come home with a wounded head and a black eye. apparently he spent a great deal of money; no-one could say how much he made. that was his business, but he behaved as if he alone kept things going, and was easily put out. lars peter never interfered, he liked peace in the house. one day, however, they quarreled in earnest. johannes had always had his eye on the nag, and one day when lars peter was away, he dragged it out of the stall and tied it up, he was going to teach it to behave, he said to the children. with difficulty he harnessed it to the cart, it lashed its tail and showed its teeth, and when johannes wanted it to set off, refused to stir, however much it was lashed. at last, beside himself with temper, he jumped off the cart, seized a shaft from the harrow, and began hitting at its legs with all his might. the children screamed. the horse was trembling, bathed in perspiration, its flanks heaving violently. each time he jumped up to it, the nag kicked up its hind legs, and at last giving up the fight, johannes threw away his weapon and went into his room. ditte had tried to throw herself between them, but had been brushed aside; now she went up to the horse. she unharnessed it, gave it water to drink, and put a wet sack over its wounds, while the little ones stood round crying and offering it bread. shortly afterwards johannes came out; he had changed his clothes. quickly, without a look at any one, he harnessed and drove off. the little ones came out from their hiding-place and gazed after him. "is he going away now?" asked sister else. "i only wish he would, or the horse bolt, so he could never find his way back again, nasty brute," said kristian. none of them liked him any longer. a man came along the footpath down by the marsh, it was their father. the children ran to meet him, and all started to tell what had happened. lars peter stared at them for a moment, as if he could not take in what they had said, then set off at a run; ditte followed him into the stable. there stood klavs, looking very miserable; the poor beast still trembled when they spoke to it; its body was badly cut. lars peter's face was gray. "he may thank the lord that he's not here now!" he said to ditte. he examined the horse's limbs to make sure no bones were broken; the nag carefully lifted one leg, then the other, and moaned. "blood-hound," said lars peter, softly stroking its legs, "treating poor old klavs like that." klavs whinnied and scraped the stones with his hoofs. he took advantage of his master's sympathy and begged for an extra supply of corn. "you should give him a good beating," said kristian seriously. "i've a mind to turn him out altogether," answered the father darkly. "'twould be best for all of us." "yes, and d'you know, father? can you guess why the johansens haven't been to see us this summer? they're afraid of what we'll give them to eat; they say we make food from dead animals." "where did you hear that, ditte?" lars peter looked at her in blank despair. "the children shouted it after me today. they asked if i wouldn't like a dead cat to make sausages." "ay, i thought as much," he laughed miserably. "well, we can do without them,--what the devil do i want with them!" he shouted so loudly that little povl began to cry. "hush now, i didn't mean to frighten you," lars peter took him in his arms. "but it's enough to make a man lose his temper." two days afterwards, johannes returned home, looking as dirty and rakish as he possibly could. lars peter had to help him out of the cart, he could hardly stand on his legs. but he was not at loss for words. lars peter was silent at his insolence and dragged him into the barn, where he at once fell asleep. there he lay like a dead beast, deathly white, with a lock of black hair falling over his brow, and plastered on his forehead--he looked a wreck. the children crept over to the barn-door and peered at him through the half dark; when they caught sight of him they rushed out with terror into the fields. it was too horrible. lars peter went to and fro, cutting hay for the horses. as he passed his brother, he stopped, and looked at him thoughtfully. that was how a man should look to keep up with other people: smooth and polished outside, and cold and heartless inside. no-one looked down on him just because he had impudence. women admired him, and made some excuse to pass on the highroad in the evenings, and as for the men--his dissipation and his fights over girls probably overwhelmed them. lars peter put his hand into his brother's pocket and took out the pocketbook--it was empty! he had taken crowns with him from their joint savings--to be used for buying cattle, it was all the money there was in the house; and now he had squandered it all. his hands began to tremble. he leant over his brother, as if to seize him; but straightened himself and left the barn. he hung about for two or three hours, to give his brother time to sleep off the drink, then went in again. this time he would settle up. he shook his brother and wakened him. "where's the money to buy the calf?" asked he. "what's that to you?" johannes threw himself on his other side. lars peter dragged him to his feet. "i want to speak to you," said he. "oh, go to hell," mumbled johannes. he did not open his eyes, and tumbled back into the hay. lars peter brought a pail of ice-cold water from the well. "i'll wake you, whether you like it or not!" said he, throwing the pailful of water over his head. like a cat johannes sprang to his feet, and drew his knife. he turned round, startled by the rude awakening; caught sight of his brother and rushed at him. lars peter felt a stab in his cheek, the blade of the knife struck against his teeth. with one blow he knocked johannes down, threw himself on him, wrestling for the knife. johannes was like a cat, strong and quick in his movements; he twisted and turned, used his teeth, and tried to find an opening to stab again. he was foaming at the mouth. lars peter warded off the attacks with his hands, which were bleeding already from several stabs. at last he got his knee on his brother's chest. johannes lay gasping for breath. "let me go!" he hissed. "ay, if you'll behave properly," said lars peter, relaxing his grip a little. "you're my youngest brother, and i'm loth to harm you; but i'll not be knocked down like a pig by you." with a violent effort johannes tried to throw off his brother. he got one arm free, and threw himself to one side, reaching for the knife, which lay a good arm's length away. "oh, that's your game!" said lars peter, forcing him down on to the floor of the barn with all his weight, "i'd better tie you up. bring a rope, children!" the three stood watching outside the barn-door; one behind the other. "come on!" shouted the father. then kristian rushed in for ditte, and she brought a rope. without hesitation she went up to the two struggling men, and gave it to her father. "shall i help you?" said she. "no need for that, my girl," said lars peter, and laughed. "just hold the rope, while i turn him over." he bound his brother's hands firmly behind his back, then set him on his feet and brushed him. "you look like a pig," said he, "you must have been rolling on the muddy road. go indoors quietly or you'll be sorry for it. no fault of yours that you're not a murderer today." johannes was led in, and set down in the rush-bottomed armchair beside the fire. the children were sent out of doors, and ditte and kristian ordered to harness uncle johannes' horse. "now we're alone, i'll tell you that you've behaved like a scoundrel," said lars peter slowly. "here have i been longing for many a year to see some of my own kin, and when you came it was like a message from home. i'd give much never to have had it now. all of us saw something good in you; we didn't expect much, so there wasn't much for you to live up to. but what have you done? dragged us into a heap of filth and villainy and wickedness. we've done with you here--make no mistake about that. you can take the one horse and cart and whatever else you can call your own, and off you go! there's no money to be got; you've wasted more than you've earned." johannes made no answer, and avoided his brother's eyes. the cart was driven up outside. lars peter led him out, and lifted him like a child on to the seat. he loosened the rope with his cut and bleeding hands; the blood from the wound on his cheek ran down on to his chin and clothes. "get off with you," said he threateningly, wiping the blood from his chin, "and be smart about it." johannes sat for a moment swaying in the cart, as if half asleep. suddenly he pulled himself together, and with a shout of laughter gathered up the reins and quickly set off round the corner of the house up to the highroad. lars peter stood gazing after the horse and cart, then went in and washed off the blood. ditte bathed his wounds in cold water and put on sticking-plaster. for the next few days they were busy getting rid of all traces of that summer's doings. lars peter dug down the remainder of the refuse, threw the block away, and cleaned up. when some farmer or other at night knocked on the window-panes with his whip, shouting: "lars peter, i've got a dead animal for you!" he made no answer. no more sausage-making, no more trading in carrion for him! chapter viii the last of the crow's nest ditte went about singing at her work; she had no-one to help her, and ran about to and fro. one eye was bound up, and each time she crossed the kitchen she lifted the bandage and bathed her eye with something brown in a cup. the eye was bloodshot, and hurt, and showed the colors of the rainbow, but all the same she was happy. indeed, it was the sore eye which put her in such a happy mood. they were going away from the crow's nest, right away and forever, and it was all on account of her eye. lars peter came home; he had been out for a walk. he hung up his stick behind the kitchen door. "well, how's the eye getting on?" he asked, as he began to take off his boots. "oh, it's much better now. and what did the schoolmaster say?" "ay, what did he say? he thought it good and right that you should stand up for your little brothers and sister. but he did not care to be mixed up in the affair, and after all 'tis not to be wondered at." "why not? he knows how it all happened--and he's so truthful!" "hm--well--truthful! when a well-to-do farmer's son's concerned, then----. he's all right, but he's got his living to make. he's afraid of losing his post, if he gets up against the farmers, and they hang together like peas in a pod. he advised me to let it drop--especially as we're leaving the place. nothing would come of it but trouble and rows again. and maybe it's likely enough. they'd get their own back at the auction--agree not to bid the things up, or stay away altogether." "then you didn't go to the police about it?" "ay, but i did. but he thought too there wasn't much to be made of the case. oh, and the schoolmaster said you needn't go to school for the rest of the time--he'd see it was all right. he's a kind man, even if he is afraid of his skin." ditte was not satisfied. it would have done the big boy good to be well punished. he had been the first to attack kristian, and had afterwards kicked her in her eye with his wooden shoe, because she had stood up for her brother. and she had been certain in her childish mind that this time they would get compensation--for the law made no difference whoever the people were. "if i'd been a rich farmer's daughter, and he had come from the crow's nest, what then?" she asked hoarsely. "oh, he'd have got a good thrashing--if not worse!" said the father. "that's the way we poor people are treated, and can only be thankful that we don't get fined into the bargain." "if you meet the boy, won't you give him a good thrashing?" she asked shortly afterwards. "i'd rather give it to his father--but it's better to keep out of it. we're of no account, you see!" kristian came in through the kitchen door. "when i'm bigger, then i'll creep back here at night and set fire to his farm," said he, with flashing eyes. "what's that you say, boy--d'you want to send us all to jail?" shouted lars peter, aghast. "'twould do them good," said ditte, setting to work again. she was very dissatisfied with the result of her father's visit. "when're you going to arrange about the auction?" she said stiffly. "they'll see to that," answered lars peter quickly, "i've seen the clerk about it. he was very kind." lars peter was grateful for this, he did not care to go to the magistrate. "ay, he's glad to get rid of us," said ditte harshly. "that's what they all are. at school they make a ring and sing about a crow and an owl and all ugly birds! and the crow and his young steal the farmer's chickens, but then the farmer takes a long stick and pulls down the crow's nest. do you think i don't know what they mean?" lars peter was silent, and went back to his work. he too felt miserable now. but in the evening, as they sat round the lamp, talking of the future, all unpleasantness was forgotten. lars peter had been looking round for a place to settle down in, and had fixed on the fishing-hamlet where he used to buy fish in the old days. the people seemed to like him, and had often asked him why he didn't settle down there. "and there's a jolly fellow there, the inn-keeper, he can do anything. he's rough till you get to know him, but he's got a kind heart. he's promised to find me a couple of rooms, until we can build a place for ourselves--and help me to a share in a boat. what we get from the auction ought to be enough to build a house." "is that the man you told us about, who's like a dwarf?" asked ditte with interest. "ay, he's like a giant and a dwarf mixed together--so to say--he might well have had the one for a father and the other for a mother. he's hunch-backed in front and behind, and his face as black as a crow's, but he can't help that, and otherwise he's all right. he's a finger in everything down there." ditte shuddered. "sounds like a goblin!" said she. lars peter was going in for fishing now. he had had a great deal to do in this line during his life, but he himself had never gone out; his fingers itched to be at it. ditte too liked the thought of it. then she would be near the sea again, which she dimly remembered from her childhood with granny. and they would have done with everything here, and perhaps get rid of the rag and bone name, and shake off the curse. then they had to decide what to take with them. now that it came to the point, it was dreadful to part with one's possessions. when they had gone through things together, and written on kristian's slate what was to be sold, there wasn't much put down. they would like to take it all with them. "we must go through it again--and have no nonsense," said lars peter. "we can't take the whole bag of tricks with us. money'll be needed too--and not so little either." so they went over the things again one by one. klavs was out of the question. it would be a shame to send him to strangers in his old age; they could feed him on the downs. "it's useful to have," thought lars peter; "it gives a man a better standing. and we can make a little money by him too." this was only said by way of comfort. deep down in his heart, he was very anxious about the nag. but no-one could face the thought of being parted from it. the cow, on the other hand, there was quite a battle about. lars peter wished to take it too. "it's served us faithfully all this while," said he, "and given the little ones their food and health. and it's good to have plenty of milk in the house." but here ditte was sensible. if they took the cow, they would have to take a field as well. lars peter laughed: ay, that was not a bad idea, if only they could take a lump of meadow on the cart--and piece of the marsh. down there, there was nothing but sand. well, he would give up the cow. "but the pig we'll keep--and the hens!" ditte agreed that hens were useful to keep, and the pig could live on anything. the day before the auction they were busily engaged in putting all in order and writing numbers on the things in chalk. the little ones helped too, and were full of excitement. "but they're not all matched," said ditte, pointing at the different lots lars peter had put up together. "that doesn't matter," answered lars peter--"folks see there's a boot in one lot, bid it up and then buy the whole lot. well, then they see the other boot in another lot--and bid that up as well. it's always like that at auctions; folks get far more than they have use for--and most of it doesn't match." ditte laughed: "ay, you ought to know all about it!" her father himself had the bad habit of going to auctions and bringing home a great deal of useless rubbish. it could be bought on credit, which was a temptation. how things collected as years went by, in attics and outhouses! it was a relief to get it all cleared away. but it was difficult to keep it together. the children had a use for it all--as soon as they saw their opportunity, they would run off with something or other--just like rats. * * * * * the day of the auction arrived--a mild, gray, damp october day. the soft air hung like a veil over everything. the landscape, with its scattered houses and trees, lay resting in the all-embracing wet. at the crow's nest they had been early astir. ditte and lars peter had been running busily about from the house to the barn and back again. now they had finished, and everything was in readiness. the children were washed and dressed, and went round full of expectation, with well-combed heads and faces red from scrubbing and soap. ditte did not do things by halves, and when she washed their ears, and made their eyes smart with the soap, weeping was unavoidable. but now the disagreeable task was over, and there would be no more of it for another week; childish tears dry quickly, and their little faces beamingly met the day. little povl was last ready. ditte could hardly keep him on the chair, as she put the finishing touches--he was anxious to be out. "well, what d'you say to sister?" she asked, when he was done, offering her mouth. "hobble!" said he, looking roguishly at her; he was in high spirits. kristian and else laughed. "no, now answer properly," said ditte seriously; she did not allow fun when correcting them. "say, 'thank you, dear'--well?" "thank you, dear lump!" said the youth, laughing immoderately. "oh, you're mad today," said ditte, lifting him down. he ran out into the yard to the father, and continued his nonsense. "what's that he says?" shouted lars peter from outside. "oh, it's only something he's made up himself--he often does that. he seems to think it's something naughty." "you, lumpy, lump!" said the child, taking hold of his father's leg. "mind what you're doing, you little monkey, or i'll come after you!" said lars peter with a terrible roar. the boy laughed and hid behind the well. lars peter caught him and put him on one shoulder, and his sister on the other. "we'll go in the fields," said he. ditte and kristian went with him, it would be their last walk there; involuntarily they each took hold of his coat. thus they went down the pathway to the clay-pit, past the marsh and up on the other side. it was strange how different everything looked now they were going to lose it. the marsh and the clay-pit could have told their own tale about the children's play and lars peter's plans. the brambles in the hedges, the large stone which marked the boundary, the stone behind which they used to hide--all spoke to them in their own way today. the winter seed was in the earth, and everything ready for the new occupier, whoever he might be. lars peter did not wish his successor to have anything to complain of. no-one should say that he had neglected his land, because he was not going to reap the harvest. "ay, our time's up here," said he, when they were back in the house again. "lord knows what the new place'll be like!" there was a catch in his voice as he spoke. a small crowd began to collect on the highroad. they stood in groups and did not go down to the crow's nest, until the auctioneer and his clerk arrived. ditte was on the point of screaming when she saw who the two men were; they were the same who had come to fetch her mother. but now they came on quite a different errand, and spoke kindly. behind their conveyance came group after group of people, quite a procession. it looked as if no-one wanted to be the first to put foot on the rag and bone man's ground. where the officials went, they too could follow, but the auctioneer and his clerk were the only ones to shake hands with lars peter; the others hung aimlessly about, and put their heads together, keeping up a whispering conversation. lars peter summed up the buyers. there were one or two farmers among them, mean old men, who had come in the hope of getting a bargain. otherwise they were nearly all poor people from round about, cottagers and laborers who were tempted by the chance of buying on credit. they took no notice of him, but rubbed up against the farmers--and made up to the clerk; they did not dare to approach the auctioneer. "ay, they behave as if i were dirt," thought lars peter. and what were they after all? most of them did not even own enough ground to grow a carrot in. a good thing he owed them nothing! even the cottagers from the marsh, whom he had often helped in their poverty, followed the others' example and looked down on him today. there was no chance now of getting anything more out of him. after all, it was comical to go round watching people fight over one's goods and chattels. they were not too grand to take the rag and bone man's leavings--if only they could get it on credit and make a good bargain. the auctioneer knew most of them by name, and encouraged them to bid. "now, peter jensen hegnet, make a good bid. you haven't bought anything from me for a whole year!" said he suddenly to one of the cottagers. or, "here's something to take home to your wife, jens petersen!" each time he named them, the man he singled out would laugh self-consciously and make a bid. they felt proud at being known by the auctioneer. "here's a comb, make a bid for it!" shouted the auctioneer, when the farm implements came to be sold. a wave of laughter went through the crowd; it was an old harrow which was put up. the winnowing-machine he called a coffee-grinder. he had something funny to say about everything. at times the jokes were such that the laughter turned on lars peter, and this was quickly followed up. but lars peter shook himself, and took it as it came. it was the auctioneer's profession to say funny things--it all helped on the sale! the poor silly day laborer, johansen, was there too. he stood behind the others, stretching his neck to see what was going on--in ragged working clothes and muddy wooden shoes. each time the auctioneer made a remark, he laughed louder than the rest, to show that he joined in the joke. lars peter looked at him angrily. in his house there was seldom food, except what others were foolish enough to give him--his earnings went in drink. and there he stood, stuck-up idiot that he was! and bless us, if he didn't make a bid too--for lars peter's old boots. no-one bid against him, so they were knocked down to him for a crown. "you'll pay at once, of course," said the auctioneer. this time the laugh was against the buyer; all knew he had no money. "i'll pay it for him," said lars peter, putting the crown on the table. johansen glared at him for a few minutes; then sat down and began putting on the boots. he had not had leather footwear for years and years. indoors, a table was set out with two large dishes of sandwiches and a bottle of brandy, with three glasses round. at one end of the table was a coffee-pot. ditte kept in the kitchen; her cheeks were red with excitement in case her preparations should not be appreciated. she had everything ready to cut more sandwiches as soon as the others gave out; every other minute she peeped through the door to see what was going on, her heart in her mouth. every now and then a stranger strolled into the room, looking round with curiosity, but passed out without eating anything. a man entered--he was not from the neighborhood, and ditte did not know him. he stepped over the bench, took a sandwich, and poured himself out a glass of brandy. ditte could see by his jaws that he was enjoying himself. then in came a farmer's wife, drew him away by his arm, whispering something to him. he got up, spat the food out into his hand, and followed her out of doors. when lars peter came into the kitchen, ditte lay over the table, crying. he lifted her up. "what's the matter now?" he asked. "oh, it's nothing," sniffed ditte, struggling to get away. perhaps she wanted to spare him, or perhaps to hide her shame even from him. only after much persuasion did he get out of her that it was the food. "they won't touch it!" she sobbed. he had noticed it himself. "maybe they're not hungry yet," said he, to comfort her. "and they haven't time either." "they think it's bad!" she broke out, "made from dog's meat or something like that." "don't talk nonsense!" lars peter laughed strangely. "it's not dinner-time either." "i heard a woman telling her husband myself--not to touch it," she said. lars peter was silent for a few minutes. "now, don't worry over it," said he, stroking her hair. "tomorrow we're leaving, and then we shan't care a fig for them. there's a new life ahead of us. well, i must go back to the auction; now, be a sensible girl." lars peter went over to the barn, where the auction was now being held. at twelve o'clock the auctioneer stopped. "now we'll have a rest, good people, and get something inside us!" he cried. the people laughed. lars peter went up to the auctioneer. every one knew what he wanted; they pushed nearer to see the rag and bone man humiliated. he lifted his dented old hat, and rubbed his tousled head. "i only wanted to say"--his big voice rang to the furthermost corners--"that if the auctioneer and his clerk would take us as we are, there's food and beer indoors--you are welcome to a cup of coffee too." people nudged one another--who ever heard such impudence--the rag and bone man to invite an auctioneer to his table, and his wife a murderess into the bargain! they looked on breathlessly; one farmer was even bold enough to warn him with a wink. the auctioneer thanked him hesitatingly. "we've brought something with us, you and your clever little girl have quite enough to do," said he in a friendly manner. then, noticing lars peter's crestfallen appearance, and the triumphant faces of those around, he understood that something was going on in which he was expected to take part. he had been here before--on an unpleasant errand--and would gladly make matters easier for these honest folk who bore their misfortune so patiently. "yes, thanks very much," said he jovially, "strangers' food always tastes much nicer than one's own! and a glass of brandy--what do you say, hansen?" they followed lars peter into the house, and sat down to table. the people looked after them a little taken aback, then slunk in one by one. it would be fun to see how such a great man enjoyed the rag and bone man's food. and once inside, for very shame's sake they had to sit down at the table. appetite is infectious, and the two of them set to with a will. perhaps people did not seriously believe all the tales which they themselves had both listened to and spread. ditte's sandwiches and coffee quickly disappeared, and she was sent for by the auctioneer, who praised her and patted her cheeks. this friendly act took away much of her bitterness of mind, and was a gratifying reward for all her trouble. "i've never had a better cup of coffee at any sale," said the auctioneer. when they began again, a stranger had appeared. he nodded to the auctioneer, but ignored everybody else, and went round looking at the buildings and land. he was dressed like a steward, with high-laced boots. but any one could see with half an eye that he was no countryman. it leaked out by degrees that he was a tradesman from the town, who wished to buy the crow's nest--probably for the fishing on the lake--and use it as a summer residence. otherwise, there was little chance of many bids for the place, but his advent changed the outlook. it really could be made into a good little property, once all was put in order. when the crow's nest eventually was put up for sale, there was some competition, and lars peter got a good price for the place. at last the auction was over, but the people waited about, as if expecting something to happen. a stout farmer's wife went up to lars peter and shook his hand. "i should like to say good-by to you," said she, "and wish you better luck in your new home than you've had here. you've not had much of a time, have you?" "no, and the little good we've had's no thanks to any one here," said lars peter. "folks haven't treated you as they ought to have done, and i've been no better than the rest, but 'tis our way. we farmers can't bear the poor. don't think too badly of us. good luck to you!" she said good-by to all the children with the same wish. many of the people made off, but one or two followed her example, and shook hands with them. lars peter stood looking after them, the children by his side. "after all, folk are often better than a man gives them credit for," said he. he was not a little moved. they loaded the cart with their possessions, so as to make an early start the next morning. it was some distance to the fishing-hamlet, and it was better to get off in good time, to settle down a little before night. then they went to bed; they were tired out after their long eventful day; they slept on the hay in the barn, as the bedclothes were packed. the next morning was a wonderful day to waken up to. they were dressed when they wakened, and had only to dip their faces in the water-trough in the yard. already they felt a sensation of something new and pleasant. there was only the coffee to be drunk, and the cow to be taken to the neighbor's, and they were ready to get into the cart. klavs was in the shafts, and on top of the high load they put the pig, the hens and the three little ones. it was a wonderful beginning to the new life. lars peter was the only one who felt sad. he made an excuse to go over the property again, and stood behind the barn, gazing over the fields. here he had toiled and striven through good and bad; every ditch was dear to him--he knew every stone in the fields, every crack in the walls. what would the future bring? lars peter had begun afresh before, but never with less inclination than now. his thoughts turned to bygone days. the children, on the contrary, thought only of the future. ditte had to tell them about the beach, as she remembered it from her childhood with granny, and they promised themselves delightful times in their new home. chapter ix a death the winter was cold and long. lars peter had counted on getting a share in a boat, but there seemed to be no vacancy, and each time he reminded the inn-keeper of his promise, he was put off with talk. "it'll come soon enough," said the inn-keeper, "just give it time." time--it was easy to say. but here he was waiting, with his savings dwindling away--and what was he really waiting for? that there might be an accident, so he could fill the place--it was not a pleasant thought. it had been arranged that the inn-keeper should help lars peter to get a big boat, and let him manage it; at least, so lars peter had understood before he moved down to the hamlet. but it had evidently been a great misunderstanding. he went about lending a hand here and there, and replacing any one who was ill. "just wait a little longer," said the inn-keeper. "it'll be all right in the end! you can get what you want at the store." it was as if he were keeping lars peter back for some purpose of his own. at last the spring came, heralded by furious storms and accidents round about the coast. one morning lars jensen's boat came in, having lost its master; a wave had swept him overboard. "you'd better go to the inn-keeper at once," said his two partners to lars peter. "but wouldn't it be more natural to go to lars jensen's widow?" asked lars peter. "after all, 'tis she who owns the share now." "we don't want to be mixed up in it," said they cautiously. "go to whoever you like. but if you've money in the house, you should put it into the bank--the hut might easily catch fire." they looked meaningly at each other and turned away. lars peter turned this over in his mind--could that be the case? he took the two thousand crowns he had put by from the sale to build with, and went up to the inn-keeper. "will you take care of some money for me?" he said in a low voice. "you're the savings bank for us down here, i've been told." the inn-keeper counted the money, and locked it up in his desk. "you want a receipt, i suppose?" said he. "no-o, it doesn't really matter," lars peter said slowly. he would have liked a written acknowledgment, but did not like to insist on it. it looked as if he mistrusted the man. the inn-keeper drew down the front of the desk--it sounded to lars peter like earth being thrown on a coffin. "we can call it a deposit on the share in the boat," said he. "i've been thinking you might take lars jensen's share." "oughtn't i to have arranged it with lars jensen's widow, and not with you?" said lars peter. "she owns the share." the inn-keeper turned towards him. "you seem to know more about other people's affairs in the hamlet than i do, it appears to me," said he. "no, but that's how i understood it to be," mumbled lars peter. once outside, he shrugged his shoulders. curse it, a fellow was never himself when with that hunch-backed dwarf. that he had no neck--and that huge head! he was supposed to be as strong as a lion, and there was brain too. he made folk dance to his piping, and got his own way. there was no getting the better of _him_. just as he thought of something cutting which would settle him, the inn-keeper's face would send his thoughts all ways at once. he was not satisfied with the result of his visit, but was glad to get out again. he went down to the beach, and informed the two partners of what he had done. they had no objection; they liked the idea of getting lars peter as a third man: he was big and strong, and a good fellow. "now, you'll have to settle with the widow," said they. "what, that too?" broke out lars peter. "good lord! has the share to be paid for twice?" "you must see about that yourself," they said; "we don't want to be mixed up in it!" he went to see the widow, who lived in a little hut in the southern part of the hamlet. she sat beside the fireplace eating peas from a yellow bowl; the tears ran down her cheeks, dropping into the food. "there's no-one to earn money for me now," she sobbed. "ay, and i'm afraid i've put my foot in it," said lars peter, crestfallen. "i've paid the inn-keeper two thousand crowns for the share of the boat, and now i hear that it's yours." "you couldn't help yourself," said she, and looked kindly at him. "wasn't it yours then?" "my husband took it over from the inn-keeper about a dozen years ago, and paid for it over and over again, he said. but it's hard for a poor widow to say anything, and have to take charity from others. it's hard to live, lars peter! who'll shelter me now? and scold me and make it up again?" she began to cry afresh. "we'll look you up as often as we can, and as to food, we'll get over that too. i shouldn't like to be unfair to any one, and least of all to one who's lost her bread-winner. poor folks must keep together." "i know you won't let me want as long as you have anything yourself. but you've got your own family to provide for, and food doesn't grow on the downs here. if only it doesn't happen here as it generally does--that there's the will but not the means." "ay, ay--one beggar must help the other. you shan't be forgotten, if all goes well. but you must spit three times after me when i've gone." "ay, that i will," said the widow, "and i wish you luck." * * * * * here was an opportunity for him to work. a little luck with the catch, and all would be well. he was glad lars jensen's widow wished him no ill in his new undertaking. the curse of widows and the fatherless was a heavy burden on a man's work. now that lars peter was in the hamlet, he found it not quite what he had imagined it to be; he could easily think of many a better place to settle down in. the whole place was poverty-stricken, and no-one seemed to have any ambition. the fishermen went to sea because they were obliged to. they seized on any excuse to stay at home. "we're just as poor whether we work hard or not," said they. "why, what becomes of it all?" asked lars peter at first, laughing incredulously. "you'll soon see yourself!" they answered, and after a while he began to understand. that they went to work unwillingly was not much to be wondered at. the inn-keeper managed everything. he arranged it all as he liked. he paid for all repairs when necessary, and provided all new implements. he took care that no-one was hungry or cold, and set up a store which supplied all that was needed--on credit. it was all entered in the books, no doubt, but none of them ever knew how much he owed. but they did not care, and went on buying until he stopped their credit for a time. on the other hand, if anything were really wrong in one of the huts, he would step in and help. that was why they put up with the existing condition of things, and even seemed to be content--they had no responsibilities. when they came ashore with their catch, the inn-keeper took it over, and gave them what he thought fit--just enough for a little pocket-money. the rest went to pay off their debts--he said. he never sent in any bills. "we'd better not go into that," he would say with a smile, "do what you can." one and all of them probably owed him money; it would need a big purse to hold it all. they did not have much to spend. but then, on the other hand, they had no expenses. if their implements broke or were lost at sea, the inn-keeper provided new ones, and necessaries had only to be fetched from the store. it was an extraordinary existence, thought lars peter; and yet it appealed to one somehow. it was hard to provide what was needed when a man was on his own, and tempting to become a pensioner as it were, letting others take the whole responsibility. but it left no room for ambition. it was difficult for him to get his partners to do more than was strictly necessary; what good was it exerting themselves? they went about half asleep, and with no spirit in their work. those who did not spend their time at the inn drinking and playing cards had other vices; there was no home life anywhere. lars peter had looked forward to mixing with his fellow-men, discussing the events of the day, and learning something new. many of the fishermen had been abroad in their young days, on merchant vessels or in the navy, and there were events happening in other countries which affected both him and them. but all their talk was of their neighbors' affairs--the inn-keeper always included. he was like a stone wall surrounding them all. the roof of his house--a solid building down by the coast, consisting of inn, farm and store--could be seen from afar, and every one involuntarily glanced at it before anything was said or done. with him, all discussions ended. no-one had much good to say for him. all their earnings went to him in one way or other--some spent theirs at the inn, others preferred to take it out in food--and all cursed him in secret. well, that was their business. in the end, people are treated according to their wisdom or stupidity. lars peter did not feel inclined to sink to the level of the others and be treated like a dumb animal. his business was to see that the children lacked for nothing and led a decent life. chapter x the new world ditte stood in the kitchen, cutting thick slices of bread and dripping for the three hungry little ones, who hung in the doorway following her movements eagerly with their eyes. she scolded them: it was only an hour since dinner, and now they behaved as if they had not tasted food for a week. "me first, me first!" they shouted, stretching out their hands. it stopped her washing up, and might waken her father, who was having a nap up in the attic--it was ridiculous. but it was the sea that gave them such enormous appetites. the more she hushed them, the more noise they made, kicking against the door with their bare feet. they could not wait; as soon as one got a slice of bread, he made off to the beach to play. they were full of spirits--almost too much so indeed. "you mind the king of the cannibal islands doesn't catch sight of you," she shouted after them, putting her head out of the door, but they neither heard nor saw. she went outside, and stood gazing after them, as they tore along, kicking up the sand. oh dear, povl had dropped his bread and dripping in the sand--but he picked it up again and ran on, eating as he went. "it'll clean him inside," said ditte, laughing to herself. they were mad, simply mad--digging in the sand and racing about! they had never been like this before. she was glad of the change herself. even if there had been any opportunity, she could not play; all desires had died long ago. but there was much of interest. all these crooked, broken-down moss-grown huts, clustered together on the downs under the high cliffs, each surrounded by its dust-heap and fish-refuse and implements, were to ditte like so many different worlds; she would have liked to investigate them all. it was her nature to take an interest in most things, though, unlike kristian, she didn't care to roam about. he was never still for a moment; he had barely found out what was behind one hill, before he went on to the next. he always wanted to see beyond the horizon, and his father always said, he might travel round the whole world that way, for the horizon was always changing. lars peter often teased him about this; it became quite a fairy tale to the restless kristian, who wanted to go over the top of every new hill he saw, until at last he fell down in the hamlet again--right down into ditte's stew-pan. he had often been punished for his roaming--but to no good. povl wanted to pick everything to pieces, to see what was inside, or was busy with hammer and nails. he was already nearly as clever with his hands as kristian. most of what he made went to pieces, but if a handle came off a brush, he would quickly mend it again. "he only pulls things to pieces so as to have something to mend again," said his father. sister stood looking on with her big eyes. ditte was always doing something useful, otherwise she was not happy. with granny's death, all her interest in the far-off had vanished; that there was something good in store for her she never doubted, it acted as a star and took away the bitterness of her gloomy childhood. she was not conscious of what it would be, but it was always there like a gleam of light. the good in store for her would surely find her. she stayed at home; the outside world had no attractions for her. her childhood had fallen in places where neighbors were few and far between. the more enjoyment it was to her now to have the society of others. ditte took a keen interest in her fellow-beings, and had not been many days in the hamlet before she knew all about most people's affairs--how married people lived together, and who were sweethearts. she could grasp the situation at a glance--and see all that lay behind it; she was quick to put two and two together. her dull and toilsome life had developed that sense, as a reward for all she had gone through. there was some spite in it too--a feeling of vengeance against all who looked down on the rag and bone man, although they themselves had little to boast about. the long, hunch-backed hut, one end of which the inn-keeper had let off to them, lay almost in the midst of the hamlet, just above the little bay. two other families beside lived in the little hut, so they only had two small rooms and a kitchen to call their own, and lars peter had to sleep in the attic. it was only a hovel, "the workhouse" it was generally called, but it was the only place to be had, and they had to make the best of it, until lars peter could build something himself--and they might thank the inn-keeper that they had a roof above their heads. ditte was not satisfied with the hut--the floors were rotten, and would not dry when she had washed them. it was no better than the crow's nest--and there was much less room. she looked forward to the new house that was to be built. it should be a real house, with a red roof glistening in the sun, and an iron sink that would not rot away. but in spite of this she was quite happy. when she stood washing up inside the kitchen door, she could see the downs, and eagerly her eyes followed all who went to and fro. her little brain wondered where they were going, and on what errand. and if she heard voices through the wall, or from the other end of the hut, she would stop in her work and listen breathlessly. it was all so exciting; the other families in the hut were always bustling and moving about--the old grandmother, who lay lame in bed on the other side of the wall, cursing existence, while the twins screamed at the top of their voices, and the lord only knew where the daughter-in-law was, and jacob the fisherman and his daughter in the other end of the hut. suddenly, as one stood thinking of nothing at all, the inn-keeper would come strolling over the downs, looking like a goblin, to visit the young wife next door; then the old grandmother thumped on the floor with her crutch, cursing everything and everybody. there was much gossip in the hamlet--of sorrow and shame and crime; ditte could follow the stories herself, often to the very end. she was quick to find the thread, even in the most difficult cases. her life was much happier now: there was little to do in the house, and no animals to look after, so she had more time of her own. her schooldays were over, and she was soon to be confirmed. even the nag, whom at first she had been able to keep her eye on from the kitchen window, needed no looking after now. the inn-keeper had forbidden them to let it feed on the downs, and had taken it on to his own farm. there it had been during the winter, and they only saw it when it was carting sea-weed or bringing a load of fish from the beach for the inn-keeper. it was not well-treated in its present home, and had all the hard tasks given it, so as to spare the inn-keeper's own animals. tears came into ditte's eyes when she thought of it. it became like a beast of burden in the fairy tale, and no-one there to defend it. it was long since it had pulled crusts of bread from her mouth with its soft muzzle. ditte lost her habit of stooping, and began to fill out as she grew up. she enjoyed the better life and the children's happiness--the one with the other added to her well-being. her hair had grown, and allowed itself the luxury of curling over her forehead, and her chin was soft and round. no-one could say she was pretty, but her eyes were beautiful--always on the alert, watching for something useful to do. her hands were red and rough--she had not yet learned how to take care of them. ditte had finished in the kitchen, and went into the living room. she sat down on the bench under the window, and began patching the children's clothes; at the same time she could see what was happening on the beach and on the downs. down on the shore the children were digging with all their might, building sand-gardens and forts. to the right was a small hut, neat and well cared for, outside which rasmus olsen, the fisherman, stood shouting in through the window. his wife had turned him out--it always sounded so funny when he had words with his wife, he mumbled on loudly and monotonously as a preacher--it made one feel quite sleepy. there was not a scrap of bad temper in him. most likely his wife would come out soon, and she would give it him in another fashion. they were always quarreling, those two--and always about the daughter. both spoiled her, and each tried to get her over to their side--and came to blows over it. and martha, the wretch, sided first with one and then with the other--whichever paid her best. she was a pretty girl, slim but strong enough to push a barrow full of fish or gear through the loose sand on the downs, but she was wild--and had plenty to say for herself. when she had had a sweetheart for a short time, she always ended by quarreling with him. the two old people were deaf, and always came outside to quarrel--as if they needed air. they themselves thought they spoke in a low voice, all the time shouting so loudly that the whole hamlet knew what the trouble was about. ditte could see the sea from the window--it glittered beneath the blazing sun, pale blue and wonderful. it was just like a big being, softly caressing--and then suddenly it would flare up! the boats were on the beach, looking like cattle in their stalls, side by side. on the bench, two old fishermen sat smoking. now all the children from the hamlet came rushing up from the beach, like a swarm of frightened bees. they must have caught sight of the inn-keeper! he did not approve of children playing; they ought to be doing something useful. they fled as soon as he appeared, imagining that he had the evil eye. the swarm spread over the downs in all directions, and suddenly vanished, as if the earth had swallowed them. then he came tramping in his heavy leather boots. his long arms reached to his knees. when he went through the loose sand, his great bony hands on his thighs, he looked as if he were walking on all fours. his misshapen body was like a pair of bellows, his head resting between his broad shoulders, moved up and down like a buoy; every breath sounded like a steam-whistle, and could be heard from afar. heavens, how ugly he looked! he was like a crouching goblin, who could make himself as big as he pleased, and see over all the huts in his search for food. the hard shut mouth was so big that it could easily swallow a child's head--and his eyes! ditte shut her own, and shivered. she quickly opened them, however; she must find out what his business was, taking care not to be seen herself. the ogre, as the children called him, mainly because of his big mouth, came to a standstill at rasmus olsen's house. "well, are you two quarreling again?" he shouted jovially. "what's wrong now--martha, i suppose?" rasmus olsen was silent, and shuffled off towards the beach. but his wife was not afraid, and turned her wrath on to the inn-keeper. "what's it to do with you?" she cried. "mind your own business!" the inn-keeper passed on without taking any notice of her, and entered the house. most likely he wanted to see martha; she followed on his heels. "you can save yourself the trouble, there's nothing for you to pry into!" she screamed. shortly afterwards he came out again, with the woman still scolding at his heels, and went across the downs. the fisherman's wife stood looking round, then catching sight of ditte, she came over. she had not finished yet, and needed some object to go on with. "here he goes round prying, the beastly hunch-back!" she screamed, still beside herself with rage, "walking straight into other people's rooms as if they were his own. and that doddering old idiot daren't throw him out, but slinks off. ay, they're fine men here on the downs; a woman has to manage it all, the food and the shame and everything! if only the boy had lived." and throwing her apron over her head, she began to cry. "was he drowned?" asked ditte sympathetically. "i think of it all day long; i shall never forget him; there'll be no happiness in life for me. maybe it's stupid to cry, but i can't help it--it's the mean way he met his death. if he had been struck down by illness, and the lord had had a finger in it--'twould be quite another thing! but that he was strong and well--'twas his uncle wanted him to go out shooting wild duck. i tried to stop him, but the boy _would_ go, and there was no peace until he did. 'but, mother,' he said, 'you know i can handle a gun; why, i shoot every day.' then they went out in the boat with two guns, and not ten minutes afterwards he was back again, lying dead in a pool of blood. that's why i can't bear to see wild ducks, or taste 'em either. whenever i sit by the window, i can see them bringing him in--there they are again. that's why my eyes are dimmed, i'm always crying: 'tis all over with me now." the woman was overcome by grief. her hands trembled, and moved aimlessly over the table and back again. ditte looked at her from a new point of view. "hush, hush, don't cry any more," said she, putting her arms round her and joining in her tears. "wait--i'll make a cup of coffee." and gradually she succeeded in comforting her. "you've good hands," said the old woman, taking ditte's hand gratefully. "they're rough and red because your heart's in the right place." as they were having their coffee, lars peter returned. he had been to see the inn-keeper, to hear how the nag was being treated, and was out of humor. ditte asked what was troubling him. "oh, it's the nag--they'll finish it soon," said he miserably. the fisherman's wife looked at him kindly. "at least i can hear your voice, even though you're talking to some one else," said she. "ay, he's taken your horse--and cart too! he can find a use for everything, honor and money--and food too! d'you go to the tap-room?" "no, i haven't been there yet," said lars peter, "and i don't think to go there every day." "no, that's just it: you're not a drinker, and such are treated worse than the others. he likes folks to spend their money in the tap-room more than in the store--that's his way. he wants your money, and there's no getting out of it." "how did he come to lord it over the place? it hasn't always been like this," said lars peter. "how--because the folk here are no good--at all events here in the hamlet. if we've no-one to rule us, then we run about whining like dogs without a master until we find some one to kick us. we lick his boots and choose him for our master, and then we're satisfied. in my childhood it was quite different here, everybody owned their own hut. but then he came and got hold of everything. there was an inn here of course, and when he found he couldn't get everything his own way, he started all these new ideas with costly fishing-nets and better ways and gear, and god knows what. he gave them new-fangled things--and grabbed the catch. the fishermen get much more now, but what's the good, when he takes it all! i'd like to know what made you settle down here?" "round about it was said that he was so good to you fisher-people, and as far as i could see there was no mistake about it either. but it looks rather different now a man's got into the thing." "heavens! _good_, you say! he helps and helps, until a man hasn't a shirt left to his back. just you wait; you'll be drawn in too--and the girl as well if she's pretty enough for him. at present he's only taking what you've got. afterwards he'll help you till you're so deep in debt that you'd like to hang yourself. then he'll talk to you about god and holy scripture. for he can preach too--like the devil!" lars peter stared hopelessly. "i've heard that he and his wife hold some kind of meetings, but we've never been; we don't care much for that sort of thing. not that we're unbelievers, but so far we've found it best to mind our own affairs, and leave the lord to look after his." "we don't go either, but then rasmus drinks--ay, ay, you'll go through it all yourself. and here am i sitting gossiping instead of getting home." she went home to get supper ready for the doddering idiot. they sat silent for a few minutes. then ditte said: "if only we'd gone to some other place!" "oh, things are never as black as they're painted! and i don't feel inclined to leave my money and everything behind me," answered lars peter. chapter xi gingerbread house now that the children were surrounded by people, they felt as if they lived in an ant-hill. the day was full of happenings, all equally exciting--and the most exciting of it all was their fear of the "ogre." suddenly, when they were playing hide-and-seek amongst the boats, or sat riding on the roof of the engine-house, he would appear, his long arms grasping the air, and if he caught hold of one of them, they would get something else to add to their fear. his breath smelt of raw meat, the children declared; they did not make him out better than he was. to run away from him, with their hearts thumping, gave zest to their existence. and when they lay in bed at night listening, they heard sounds in the house, which did not come from any of their people. then came steps in stocking-feet up in the attic, and they would look towards ditte. kristian knew what it meant, and they buried their heads underneath the bedclothes, whispering. it was jacob, the fisherman, creeping about upstairs, listening to what they said. he always stole about, trying to find out from the talk a certain _word_ he could use to drive the devil out of the inn-keeper. the children worried over the question, because he had promised them sixpence if they could discover the word. and from the other side of the wall, they could hear the old grandmother's cough. she had dropsy, which made her fatter and fatter outside, but was hollow within. she coughed up her inside. the son was on a long voyage, and seldom came home; but each time he returned, he found one of the children dead and his wife with a new baby to make up for it. she neglected her children, and in consequence they died. "light come, light go!" said folk, and laughed. now only the twins remained: there they lay in the big wooden cradle, screaming day and night, with a crust of bread as a comforter. the mother was never at home. ditte looked after them, or they would have perished. a short distance away on the downs, was a little house, quite different from the others. it was the most beautiful house the little ones had ever seen: the door and the window-panes were painted blue; the beams were not tarred as in the other huts, but painted brown; the bricks were red with a blue stripe. the ground round the house was neat: the sand was raked, and by the well it was dry and clean. a big elder--the only tree in the whole hamlet--grew beside the well. on the window-sill were plants, with red and blue flowers, and behind them sat an old woman peeping out. she wore a white cap, and the old man had snow-white hair. when the weather was fine he was always pottering round the house. and occasionally the old woman appeared at the door, admiring his handiwork. "how nice you've made everything look, little father!" said she. "ay, it's all for you, little mother," he answered, and they laughed at each other. then he took hold of her hand, and they tripped towards the elder tree and sat down in the shade; they were like a couple of children, but she soon wanted to go back to her window, and it was said that she had not gone beyond the well for many a year. the old people kept to themselves, and did not mix with the other inhabitants of the hamlet, but when lars peter's children passed, the old woman always looked out and nodded and smiled. they made some excuse to pass the house several times a day: there was something in the pretty little place and the two old people which attracted them. the same cleanness and order that ruled their house was apparent in their lives; no-one in the hamlet had anything but good to say of them. amongst themselves, the children called it gingerbread house, and imagined wonderful things inside it. one day, hand in hand, the three went up and knocked on the door. the old man opened it. "what do you want, children?" he asked kindly, but blocking the door. yes, what did they want--none of them knew. and there they stood open-mouthed. "let them come inside, father," a voice said. "come in then, children." they entered a room that smelt of flowers and apples. everything was painted: ceiling, beams and walls; it all shone; the floor was painted white, and the table was so brightly polished that the window was reflected in it. in a softly cushioned armchair a cat lay sleeping. the children were seated underneath the window, each with a plate of jelly. a waterproof cloth was put on the table, in case they spilled anything. the old couple trotted round them anxiously; their eyes gleamed with pleasure at the unexpected visit, but they were uneasy about their furniture. they were not accustomed to children, and povl nearly frightened their lives out of them, the way he behaved. he lifted his plate with his little hands, nearly upsetting its contents, and said: "potatoes too!" he thought it was jam. but sister helped him to finish, and then it was happily over. kristian had gulped his share in a couple of spoonfuls, and stood by the door, ready to run off to the beach--already longing for something new. they were each given a red apple, and shown politely to the door; the old couple were tired. povl put his cheek on the old woman's skirt. "me likes you!" said he. "god bless you, little one! did you hear that, father?" she said, nodding her withered old head. kristian thought he too ought to show his appreciation. "if you want any errands done, only tell me," said he, throwing back his head. "i can run ever so fast." and to show how clever he was on his legs, he rushed down the path. a little way down, he turned triumphantly. "as quick as that," he shouted. "yes, thanks, we'll remember," nodded the two old people. this little visit was the introduction to a pleasant acquaintance. the old people liked the children, and even fetched them in when passing, and bore patiently with all their awkwardness. not that they were allowed to tumble about--they could do that on the downs. the old man would tell them a story, or get his flute and play to them. the children came home with sparkling eyes, and quieter than usual, to tell ditte all about it. the following day, ditte went about pondering how she could do the old people a service for their kindness towards the children, and, as she could think of nothing, she took kristian into her confidence. he was so clever in finding ways out of difficulties. it was the fisher-people's custom to put aside some of the catch before it was delivered to the inn-keeper, and one day ditte took a beautiful thick plaice, and told kristian to run with it to the old couple. "but they mustn't know that it is from us," said she. "they'll be having their after-dinner nap, so you can easily leave it without their seeing you." kristian put it down on the little bench underneath the elder; but when later on he crept past, to see if it had been taken, only the tail and the fins remained--the cat had eaten it up. ditte scolded him well, and kristian had to puzzle his brains once more. "father might get klavs, and take them for a drive on sunday," said he. "they never get anywhere--their legs are too old." "you silly!--we've nothing to do with klavs now," ditte said sharply. but now she knew what to do! she would scrub out the _little house_ for them every night; the old woman had to kneel down to do it every morning. it was a sin she should have to do it. after the old people had gone to bed--they went to rest early--ditte took a pail of water and a scrubbing brush, and some sand in her pinafore, and crept up. kristian stood outside at home, waiting for her. he was not allowed to go with her, for fear of disturbing the old couple--he was so noisy. "what d'you think they'll say when they come down in the morning and find it all so clean?" cried he, hopping first on one foot and then the other. he would have liked to stay up all night to see their surprise. next time the children visited the old people, the old man told them a story about a little fairy who came every night to scour and scrub, to save his little mother. then kristian laughed--he knew better. "it was ditte!" he burst out. he put his hand to his mouth next moment, but it was too late. "but ditte isn't a fairy!" broke out sister else, offended. they all three laughed at her until she began to cry, and had to be comforted with a cake. on their way home, whom should they meet but uncle johannes, who was looking for their house. he was rigged out very smartly, and looked like a well-to-do tradesman. lars peter was pleased to see him. they had not met since their unfortunate parting in the crow's nest, and now all was forgotten. he had heard one or two things about him--johannes kept the gossips busy. the two brothers shook hands as if no unpleasantness had come between them. "sit down and have something to eat," said lars peter. "there's boiled cod today." "thanks, but i'm feeding up at the inn later on; we're a few tradesmen up there together." "that'll be a grand dinner, i suppose?" lars peter's eyes shone; he had never been to a dinner party himself. "ay, that it will--they do things pretty well up there. he's a good sort, the inn-keeper." "some think so; others don't. it all depends how you look at him. you'd better not tell them you're my brother--it'll do you no good to have poor relations down here." johannes laughed: "i've told the inn-keeper--he spoke well of you. you were his best fisherman, he said." "really, did he say that?" lars peter flushed with pride. "but a bit close, he said. you thought codfish could talk reason." "well, now--what the devil did he mean by it? what nonsense! of course codfish can't speak!" "i don't know. but he's a clever man--he might have been one of the learned sort." "you're getting on well, i hear," said lars peter, to change the subject. "is it true you're half engaged to a farmer's daughter?" johannes smiled, stroking his woman-like mouth, where a small mustache was visible. "there's a deal of gossip about," was all he said. "if only you keep her--and don't have the same bad luck that i had. i had a sweetheart who was a farmer's daughter, but she died before we were married." "is that true, father?" broke out ditte, proud of her father's standing. * * * * * "what do you think of him, my girl?" asked lars peter, when his brother had gone. "picked up a bit, hasn't he?" "ay, he looks grand," admitted ditte. "but i don't like him all the same." "you're so hard to please." lars peter was offended. "other folks seem to like him. he'll marry well." "ay, that may be. it's because he's got black hair--we women are mad on that. but i don't think he's good." chapter xii daily troubles it was getting on towards christmas, a couple of months after they had come to the hamlet, when one day lars peter was mad enough to quarrel with the inn-keeper. he was not even drunk and it was a thing unheard of in the hamlet for a sober man to give the inn-keeper a piece of his mind. but he had been more than stupid, every one agreed, and he himself too. it was over the nag. lars peter could not get used to seeing the horse work for others, and it cut him to the heart that it should have to work so hard. it angered him, too, to be idle himself, in spite of the inn-keeper's promises--and there were many other things besides. one day he declared that klavs should come home, and he would begin to drive round again. he went up to the farm and demanded his horse. "certainly!" the inn-keeper followed him out and ordered the horse to be harnessed. "here's your horse, cart and everything belonging to it--is there anything more of yours?" lars peter was somewhat taken aback. he had expected opposition and here was the inn-keeper quite friendly, in fact almost fawning on him. "i wanted to cart some things home," said he, rather crestfallen. "certainly, lars peter hansen," said the inn-keeper, preceding him into the shop. he weighed out all lars peter ordered, reminded him of one thing after another, laying the articles in a heap on the counter. "have you raisins for the christmas cakes?" he asked. "ditte bakes herself." he knew every one's doings and was thoughtful in helping them. when lars peter was about to carry the things out to the cart, he said smilingly, "that will be--let me see, how much do you owe for last time?" "i'd like to let it wait a bit--till i get settled up after the auction!" "well, i'm afraid it can't. i don't know anything about you yet." "oh, so you're paying me out." lars peter began to fume. "paying you out? not at all. but i like to know what sort of a man i'm dealing with before i can trust him." "oh, indeed! it's easy enough to see what sort of a fellow you are!" shouted lars peter and rushed out. the inn-keeper followed him out to the cart. "you'll have a different opinion of me some day," said he gently, "then we can talk it over again. never mind. but another thing--where'll you get food for the horse?" "i'll manage somehow," answered lars peter shortly. "and stabling? it's setting in cold now." "you leave that to me!" lars peter drove off at a walking pace. he knew perfectly well that he could find neither food nor stabling for the horse without the inn-keeper's help. two or three days afterwards he sent kristian with the horse and cart back to the farm. he had done this once, but he was wiser now--or at all events more careful. when occasionally he felt a longing for the road and wanted to spend a day on it in company with klavs, he asked politely for the loan of it, and he was allowed to have it. then he and the horse were like sweethearts who seldom saw each other. he was no wiser than before. the inn-keeper he couldn't make out--with his care for others and his desire to rule. his partners and the other men he didn't understand either. he had spent his life in the country where people kept to themselves--where he had often longed for society. it looked cosy--as seen from the lonely crow's nest--people lived next door to each other; they could give a helping hand occasionally and chat with each other. but what pleasure had a man here? they toiled unwillingly, pushing responsibilities and troubles on to others, getting only enough for a meager meal from day to day and letting another man run off with their profits. it was extraordinary how that crooked devil scraped in everything with his long arms, without any one daring to protest. he must have an enormous hold on them somehow. lars peter did not think of rebelling again. when his anger rose he had only to think of fisher-jacob, who was daily before his eyes. every one knew how he had become the wreck he was. he had once owned a big boat, and had hired men to work with him, so he thought it unnecessary to submit to the inn-keeper. but the inn-keeper licked him into shape. he refused to buy his fish, so that they had to sail elsewhere with it, but this outlet he closed for them too. they could buy no goods nor gear in the village--they were shunned like lepers, no one dared help them. then his partners turned against him, blaming him for their ill-luck. he tried to sell up and moved to another place, but the inn-keeper would not buy his possessions and no-one else dared; he had to stay on--and learn to submit. although he owned a boat and gear, he had to hire it from the inn-keeper. it told so heavily on him that he lost his reason; now he muddled about looking for a magic word to fell the inn-keeper; at times he went round with a gun, declaring he would shoot him. but the inn-keeper only laughed. ditte talked a great deal with the women. they all agreed that the inn-keeper had the evil eye. he was always in her mind; she went in an everlasting dread of him. when she saw him on the downs she almost screamed; lars peter tried to reason her out of it. little povl came home from the beach one morning feeling ill. he was sick, and his head ached, he was hot one moment and cold the next. ditte undressed him and put him to bed; then called her father, who was asleep in the attic. lars peter hurried down. he had been out at sea the whole night and stumbled as he walked. "why, povl, little man, got a tummy-ache?" asked he, putting his hand on the boy's forehead. it throbbed, and was burning hot. the boy turned his head away. "he looks really bad," he said, seating himself on the edge of the bed, "he doesn't even know us. it's come on quickly, there was nothing the matter with him this morning." "he came home a few minutes ago--he was all gray in the face and cold, and he's burning hot now. just listen to the way he's breathing." they sat by the bedside, looking at him in silence; lars peter held his little hand in his. it was black, with short stumpy fingers, the nails almost worn down into the flesh. he never spared himself, the little fellow, always ready; wide awake from the moment he opened his eyes. here he lay, gasping. it was a sad sight! was it serious? was there to be trouble with the children again? the accident with his first children he had shaken off--but he had none to spare now! if anything happened to them, he had nothing more to live for--it would be the end. he understood now that they had kept him up--through the business with sörine and all that followed. it was the children who gave him strength for each new day. all his broken hopes, all his failures, were dimmed in the cheery presence of the children; that was perhaps why he clung to them, as he did. suddenly povl jumped up and wanted to get out of bed. "povl do an' play, do an' play!" he said over and over again. "he wants to go out and play," said ditte, looking questioningly at her father. "then maybe he's better already," broke out lars peter cheerily. "let him go if he wants to." ditte dressed him, but he drooped like a withered flower, and she put him to bed again. "shall i fetch lars jensen's widow?" she asked. "she knows about illness and what to do." no--lars peter thought not. he would rather have a proper doctor. "as soon as kristian comes home from school, he can run up to the inn, and ask for the loan of the nag," said he. "they can hardly refuse it when the child's ill." kristian came back without the horse and cart, but with the inn-keeper at his heels. he came in without knocking at the door, as was his custom. "i hear your little boy's ill," he said kindly. "i thought i ought to come and see you, and perhaps give you a word of comfort. i've brought a bottle of something to give him every half hour; it's mixed with prayers, so at all events it can't do him any harm. keep him well wrapped up in bed." he leaned over the bed, listening to the child's breathing. povl's eyes were stiff with fear. "you'd better keep away from the bed," said lars peter. "can't you see the boy's afraid of you?" his voice trembled with restrained fury. "there's many that way," answered the inn-keeper good-naturedly, moving away from the bed. "and yet i live on, and thrive--and do my duty as far as i can. well, i comfort myself with the thought that the lord has some reward in store. perhaps it does folks no harm to be afraid of something, lars peter! but give him the mixture at once." "i'd rather fetch the doctor," said lars peter, reluctantly giving the child the medicine. he would have preferred to throw it out of the window--and the inn-keeper with it. "ay, so i understood, but i thought i'd just have a talk to you first. what good's a doctor? it's only an expense, and he can't change god's purpose. poor people should learn to save." "ay, of course, when a man's poor he must take things as they come!" lars peter laughed bitterly. "up at the inn we never send for the doctor. we put our lives in god's keeping. if so be it's his will, then----" "it seems to me there's much that happens that's not his will at all--and in this place too," said lars peter defiantly. "and yet i'll tell you that not even the smallest cod is caught--in the hamlet either--without the will of the father." the inn-keeper's voice was earnest; it sounded like scripture itself, but there was a look in his eyes, which made lars peter uncomfortable all the same. he was quite relieved when this unpleasant guest took his departure and disappeared over the downs. ditte came down from the attic, where she had hidden. "what d'you want to hide from that hunch-back for?" shouted lars peter. he needed an outlet for his temper. ditte flushed and turned away her face. soon afterwards a knock sounded on the wall. it was their lame neighbor. the daughter-in-law was at home, and sat with the twins in her arms. "i heard he was in your house," said the old one--"his strong voice sounded through the walls. you be careful of him!" "he was very kind," said ditte evasively. "he spoke kindly to father, and brought something for little povl." "so he brought something--was it medicine? pour it into the gutter at once. it can't do any harm there." "but povl's had some." the old woman threw up her hands. "for the love of jesus! for the love of jesus! poor child!" she wailed. "did he say anything about death? they say in the village here every family owes him a death! did he say he'd provide the coffin? he manages everything--he's always so good and helpful when anything's wrong. ay, maybe he was good-tempered--and the child'll be allowed to live." ditte burst into tears; she thought it looked bad for little povl, if his life depended on the inn-keeper. he was vexed with them because the little ones were not sent to sunday-school--perhaps he was taking his revenge. but in a few days povl recovered, and was as lively as ever, running about and never still for a minute, until suddenly he would fall asleep in the midst of his play. lars peter was cheerful again, and went about humming. ditte sang at her washing up, following the little lad's movements with her motherly eyes. but for safety's sake she sent the children to sunday-school. chapter xiii ditte's confirmation that autumn ditte was to be confirmed. she found it very hard to learn by rote all the psalms and hymns. she had not much time for preparation, and her little brain had been trained in an entirely different direction than that of learning by heart; when she had finished her work, and brought out her catechism, it refused to stay in her mind. one day she came home crying. the parson had declared that she was too far behind the others and must wait for the next confirmation; he dared not take the responsibility of presenting her. she was in the depths of despair; it was considered a disgrace to be kept back. "well,--there's no end of our troubles, it seems," broke out lars peter bitterly. "they can do what they like with folks like us. i suppose we should be thankful for being allowed to live." "i know just as much as the others, it's not fair," sobbed ditte. "fair--as if that had anything to do with it! if you did not know a line of your catechism, i'd like to see the girl that's better prepared to meet the lord than you. you could easily take his housekeeping on your shoulders; and he would be pretty blind if he couldn't see that his little angels could never be better looked after. the fact is we haven't given the parson enough, they're like that--all of them--and it's the likes of them that have the keys of heaven! well, it can't be helped, it won't kill us, i suppose." ditte refused to be comforted. "i _will_ be confirmed," she cried. "i won't go to another class and be jeered at." "maybe if we tried oiling the parson a little," lars peter said thoughtfully. "but it'll cost a lot of money." "go to the inn-keeper then--he can make it all right." "ay, that he can--there's not much he can't put right, if he's the mind to. but i'm not in his good books, i'm afraid." "that doesn't matter. he treats every one alike whether he likes them or not." lars peter did not like his errand; he was loth to ask favors of the man; however, it must be done for the sake of the child. much to his surprise the inn-keeper received him kindly. "i'll certainly speak to the parson and have it seen to," said he. "and you can send the girl up here some day; it's the custom in the hamlet for _the ogre's_ wife to provide clothes for girls going to be confirmed." his big mouth widened in a grin. lars peter felt rather foolish. so ditte was confirmed after all. for a whole week she wore a long black dress, and her hair in a thin plait down her back. in the church she had cried; whether it was the joy of feeling grown-up, or because it was the custom to cry, would be difficult to say. but she enjoyed the following week, when lars jensen's widow came and did her work, while she made calls and received congratulations. she was followed by a crowd of admiring girls, and small children of the hamlet rushed out to her shouting: "hi, give us a ha'penny!" lars peter had to give all the halfpennies he could gather together. the week over, she returned to her old duties. ditte discovered that she had been grown-up for several years; her duties were neither heavier nor lighter. she soon got accustomed to her new estate; when they were invited out, she would take her knitting with her and sit herself with the grown-ups. "won't you go with the young people?" lars peter would say. "they're playing on the green tonight." she went, but soon returned. lars peter was getting used to things in the hamlet; at least he only grumbled when he had been to the tap-room and was a little drunk. he no longer looked after the house so well; when ditte was short of anything she had always to ask for it--and often more than once. it was not the old lars peter of the crow's nest, who used to say, "well, how goes it, ditte, got all you want?" having credit at the store had made him careless. when ditte reproached him, he answered: "well, what the devil, a man never sees a farthing now, and must take things as they come!" the extraordinary thing about the inn-keeper was, that he seemed to know everything. as long as lars peter had a penny left, the inn-keeper was unwilling to give him credit, and made him pay up what he owed before starting a new account. in this way he had stripped him of one hundred-crown note after the other, until by christmas nothing was left. "there!" said lars peter when the last note went, "that's the last of the crow's nest. maybe now we'll have peace! and he can treat us like the others in the hamlet--or i don't know where the food's to come from." but the inn-keeper thought differently. however often the children came in with basket and list, they returned empty-handed. "he seems to think there's still something to get out of us," said lars peter. it was a sad lookout. ditte had promised herself that they should have a really good time this christmas; she had ordered flour, and things for cakes, and a piece of pork to be stuffed and cooked like a goose. here she was empty-handed; all her beautiful plans had come to nothing. up in the attic was the christmas tree which the little ones had taken from the plantation; what good was it now, without candles and ornaments? "never mind," said lars peter, "we'll get over that too. we've got fish and potatoes, so we shan't starve!" but the little ones cried. ditte made the best of a bad job, and went down to the beach, where she got a pair of wild ducks that had been caught in the nets: she cleaned and dressed them--and thus their christmas dinner was provided. a few red apples--which from time to time had been given her by the old couple at the gingerbread house, and which she had not eaten because they were so beautiful--were put on the christmas tree. "we'll hang the lantern on the top, and then it'll look quite fine," she explained to the little ones. she had borrowed some coffee and some brandy--her father should not be without his christmas drink. she had scrubbed and cleaned the whole day, to make everything look as nice as possible; now she went into the kitchen and lit the fire. lars peter and the children were in the living room in the dusk--she could hear her father telling stories of when he was a boy. ditte hummed, feeling pleased with everything. suddenly she screamed. the upper half of the kitchen door had opened. against the evening sky she saw the head and shoulders of a deformed body, a goblin, in the act of lifting a parcel in over the door. "here's a few things for you," he said, panting, pushing the parcel along the kitchen-table. "a happy christmas!" and he was gone. they unpacked the parcel in the living room. it contained everything they had asked for, and many other things beside, which they had often wished for but had never dreamt of ordering: a calendar with stories, a pound of cooking chocolate, and a bottle of old french wine. "it's just like the lord," said ditte in whose mind there were still the remains of the parson's teaching--"when it looks blackest he always helps." "ah, the inn-keeper's a funny fellow, there we've been begging for things and got nothing but kicks in return; and then he brings everything himself! he's up to something, i'm afraid. well, whatever it may be--the things'll taste none the worse for it!" lars peter was not in the least touched by the gift. whatever it might be--at all events it did not end with christmas. they continued to get goods from the store. the inn-keeper often crossed off things from the list, which he considered superfluous, but the children never returned with an empty basket. ditte still thought she saw the hand of providence in this, but lars peter viewed it more soberly. "the devil, he can't let us starve to death, when we're working for him," said he. "you'll see the rascal's found out that there's nothing more to be got out of us, he's a sharp nose, he has." the explanation was not entirely satisfactory--even to lars peter himself. there was something about the inn-keeper which could not be reckoned as money. he was anxious to rule, and did not spare himself in any way. he was always up and doing; he had every family's affairs in his head, knew them better than they did themselves, and interfered. there was both good and bad in his knowledge; no-one knew when to expect him. lars peter was to feel his fatherly care in a new direction. one day the inn-keeper said casually: "that's a big girl, you've got there, lars peter; she ought to be able to pay for her keep soon." "she's earned her bread for many a year, and more too!" answered lars peter. "i don't know what i'd have done without her." the inn-keeper went on his way, but another time when lars peter was outside chopping wood he came again and began where he left off. "i don't like to see children hanging about after they've been confirmed," said he. "the sooner they get out the quicker they learn to look after themselves." "poor people learn that soon enough whether they are at home or out at service," answered lars peter. "we couldn't do without our little housekeeper." "they'd like to have ditte at the hill-farm next may--it's a good place. i've been thinking lars jensen's widow could come and keep house for you; she's a good worker and she's nothing to do. you might do worse than marry her." "i've a wife that's good enough for me," answered lars peter shortly. "but she's in prison--and you're not obliged to stick to her if you don't want to." "ay, i've heard that, but sörine'll want somewhere to go when she comes out." "well, that's a matter for your own conscience, lars peter. but the scriptures say nothing about sharing your home with a murderess. what i wanted to say was, that lars jensen's wife takes up a whole house." "then perhaps we could move down to her?" said lars peter brightly. "it's not very pleasant living here in the long run." he had given up all hope of building himself. "if you marry her, you can consider the house your own." "i'll stick to sörine, i tell you," shouted lars peter, thumping his ax into the block. "now, you know it." the inn-keeper went off, as quietly and kindly as he had come. jacob the fisherman stood behind the house pointing at him with his gun; it was loaded with salt, he was only waiting for the _word_ to shoot. the inn-keeper looked at him as he passed and said, "well, are you out with your gun today?" jacob shuffled out of the way. the inn-keeper's new order brought sorrow to the little house. it was like losing a mother. what would they do without their house-wife, ditte, who looked after them all? ditte herself took it more quietly. she had always known that sooner or later she would have to go out to service--she was born to it. and all through her childhood it ran like a crimson thread; she must prepare herself for a future master and mistress. "eat, child," granny had said, "and grow big and strong and able to make the most of yourself when you're out amongst strangers!" and sörine--when her turn came--had made it a daily saying: "you'd better behave, or no-one'll have you." the schoolmaster had interwoven it with his teachings, and the parson involuntarily turned to her when speaking of faithful service. she had performed her daily tasks with the object of becoming a clever servant--and she thought with a mixture of fear and expectation of the great moment when she should enter service in reality. the time was drawing near. she was sorry, and more so for those at home. for herself--it was something that could not be helped. she prepared everything as far as possible beforehand, taught sister else her work, and showed her where everything was kept. she was a thoughtful child, easily managed. it was more difficult with kristian. ditte was troubled at the thought of what would happen, when she was not there to keep him in order. every day she spoke seriously to him. "you'll have to give up your foolish ways, and running off when you're vexed with any one," said she. "remember, you're the eldest; it'll be your fault if povl and sister turn out badly! they've nobody but you to look to now. and stop teasing old jacob, it's a shame to do it." kristian promised everything--he had the best will in the world. only he could never remember to keep his good resolutions. there was no need to give povl advice, he was too small. and good enough as he was. dear, fat, little fellow! it was strange to think that she was going to leave him; several times during the day ditte would hug him. "if only lars jensen's widow'll be good to the children--and understand how to manage them!" she said to her father. "you see, she's never had children of her own. it must be strange after all!" lars peter laughed. "it'll be all right," he thought, "she's a good woman. but we shall miss you sorely." "i'm sure you will," answered ditte seriously. "but she's not wasteful--that's one good thing." in the evening, when she had done her daily tasks and the children were in bed, ditte went through drawers and cupboards so as to leave everything in order for her successor. the children's clothes were carefully examined--and the linen; clean paper was put in the drawers and everything tidied up. ditte lingered over her work: it was like a silent devotion. the child was bidding farewell to her dear troublesome world, feeling grateful even for the toil and trouble they had given her. when lars peter was not out fishing she would sit beside him under the lamp with some work or other in her hands, and they spoke seriously about the future, giving each other good advice. "when you get amongst strangers you must listen carefully to everything that's said to you," lars peter would say. "nothing vexes folks more than having to say a thing twice. and then you must remember that it doesn't matter so much how you do a thing, as to do it as they like it. they've all got their own ways, and it's hard to get into sometimes." "oh, i'll get on all right," answered ditte--rather more bravely than she really felt. "ay, you're clever enough for your age, but it's not always that. you must always show a good-tempered face--whether you feel it or not. it's what's expected from folks that earn their bread." "if anything happens, i'll just give them a piece of my mind." "ay, but don't be too ready with your mouth! the truth's not always wanted, and least of all from a servant: the less they have to say the better they get on. just you keep quiet and think what you like--that no-one can forbid you. and then you know, you've always got a home here if you're turned out of your place. you must never leave before your term is up; it's a bad thing to do--whatever you do it for. rather bear a little unfairness." "but can't i stand up for my rights?" ditte did not understand. "ay, so you ought--but what is your right? anyone that's got the power gets the right on his side, that's often proved. but you'll be all right if you're sensible and put your back to the wall." * * * * * then came the last night. ditte had spent the day saying good-by in the different huts. she could have found a better way to spend these last precious hours, but it was a necessary evil, and if she did not do it they would talk of it behind her back. the three little ones followed close at her heels. "you mustn't come in," said she. "we can't all go, there's too many, they'll think we want to be treated to something." so they hid themselves nearby, while she was inside, and went with her to the next house; today they _would_ be near her. and they had been so the whole day long. the walk along the beach out to the naze, where they could see the hill-farm had come to nothing. it was too late, and ditte had to retract her promise. it cost some tears. the farm where ditte was going out to service played a strong part in their imagination. they were only comforted, when their father promised that on sunday morning he would take them for a row. "out there you can see the hill-farm and all the land round about it, and maybe ditte'll be standing there and waving to us," he said. "isn't it really further off than that?" asked ditte. "oh, it's about fourteen miles, so of course you'd have to have good eyes," answered lars peter, trying to smile. he was not in the humor for fun. now at last the three little ones were in the big bed, sleeping peacefully, povl at one end, sister and kristian at the other. there was just room for ditte, who had promised to sleep with them the last night. ditte busied herself in the living room, lars peter sat by the window trying to read sörine's last letter. it was only a few words. sörine was not good at writing; he read and re-read it, in a half-whisper. there was a feeling of oppression in the room. "when's mother coming out?" asked ditte, suddenly coming towards him. lars peter took up a calendar. "as far as i can make out, there's still another year," he said quietly. "d'you want to see her too?" ditte made no answer. shortly afterwards she asked him: "d'you think she's altered?" "you're thinking of the little ones, i suppose. i think she cares a little more for them now. want makes a good teacher. you must go to bed now, you'll have to be up early in the morning, and it's a long way. let kristian go with you--and let him carry your bundle as far as he goes. it'll be a tiresome way for you. i'm sorry i can't go with you!" "oh, i shall be all right," said ditte, trying to speak cheerfully, but her voice broke, and suddenly she threw her arms round him. lars peter stayed beside her until she had fallen asleep, then went up to bed himself. from the attic he could hear her softly moaning in her sleep. at midnight he came downstairs again, he was in oilskins and carried a lantern. the light shone on the bed--all four were asleep. but ditte was tossing restlessly, fighting with something in her dreams. "sister must eat her dinner," she moaned, "it'll never do ... she'll get so thin." "ay, ay," said lars peter with emotion. "father'll see she gets enough to eat." carefully he covered them up, and went down to the sea. the sand-hills of jutland. by hans christian andersen, author of "the improvisatore," etc. translated by mrs. bushby. london: richard bentley, new burlington street. . * * * * * the following tales are dedicated, with the highest sentiments of esteem and regard, to the baron charles joachim hambro, by hans christian andersen. * * * * * contents. page the sand-hills of jutland the mud-king's daughter the quickest runners the bell's hollow soup made of a sausage-stick the neck of a bottle the old bachelor's nightcap something the old oak tree's last dream the wind relates the story of waldemar daae and his daughters the girl who trod upon bread olÉ, the watchman of the tower anne lisbeth; or, the apparition of the beach children's prattle a row of pearls the pen and the inkstand the child in the grave charming. * * * * * _the sand-hills of jutland._ this is a story from the jutland sand-hills, but it does not commence there; on the contrary, it commences far away towards the south, in spain. the sea is the highway between the two countries. fancy yourself there. the scenery is beautiful; the climate is warm. there blooms the scarlet pomegranate amidst the dark laurel trees; from the hills a refreshing breeze is wafted over the orange groves and the magnificent moorish halls, with their gilded cupolas and their painted walls. processions of children parade the streets with lights and waving banners; and, above these, clear and lofty rises the vault of heaven, studded with glittering stars. songs and castanets are heard; youths and girls mingle in the dance under the blossoming acacias; whilst beggars sit upon the sculptured blocks of marble, and refresh themselves with the juicy water-melon. life dozes here: it is all like a charming dream, and one indulges in it. yes, thus did two young newly-married persons, who also possessed all the best gifts of earth--health, good humour, riches, and rank. "nothing could possibly exceed our happiness," they said in the fulness of their joyful hearts; yet there was one degree of still higher happiness to which they might attain, and that would be when god blessed them with a child--a son, to resemble them in features and in disposition. that fortunate child would be hailed with rapture; would be loved and daintily cared for; would be the heir to all the advantages that wealth and high birth can bestow. the days flew by as a continual festival to them. "life is a merciful gift of love--almost inconceivably great," said the young wife; "but the fulness of this happiness shall be tasted in that future life, when it will increase and exist to all eternity. the idea is incomprehensible to me." "that is only an assumption among mankind," said her husband. "in reality, it is frightful pride and overweening arrogance to think that we shall live for ever--become like god. these were the serpent's wily words, and he is the father of lies." "you do not, however, doubt that there is a life after this one?" asked his wife; and for the first time a cloud seemed to pass over their sunny heaven of thought. "faith holds forth the promise of it, and the priests proclaim it," said the young man; "but, in the midst of all my happiness, i feel that it would be too craving, too presumptuous, to demand another life after this one--a happiness to be continual. is there not so much granted in this existence that we might and ought to be content with it?" "to us--yes, there has been much granted," replied the young wife; "but to how many thousands does not this life become merely a heavy trial? how many are not, as it were, cast into this world to be the victims of poverty, wrangling, sickness, and misfortune? nay, if there were no life after this one, then everything in this globe has been unequally dealt out; then god would not be just." "the beggar down yonder has joys as great, to his ideas, as are those of the monarch in his splendid palace to him," said the young man; "and do you not think that the beasts of burden, which are beaten, starved, and toiled to death, feel the oppressiveness of their lot? they also might desire another life, and call it unjust that they had not been placed amidst a higher grade of beings." "in the kingdom of heaven there are many mansions, christ has told us," answered the lady. "the kingdom of heaven is infinite, as is the love of god. the beasts of the field are also his creation; and my belief is that no life will be extinguished, but will win that degree of happiness which may be suitable to it, and that will be sufficient." "well, this world is enough for me," said her husband, as he threw his arms round his beautiful, amiable wife, and smoked his cigarette upon the open balcony, where the deliciously cool air was laden with the perfume of orange trees and beds of carnations. music and the sound of castanets arose from the street beneath; the stars shone brightly above; and two eyes full of affection, the eyes of his charming wife, looked at him with love which would live in eternity. "such moments as these," he exclaimed, "are they not well worth being born for--born to enjoy them, and then to vanish into nothingness?" he smiled; his wife lifted her hand and shook it at him with a gesture of mild reproach, and the cloud had passed over--they were too happy. everything seemed to unite for their advancement in honour, in happiness, and in prosperity. there came a change, but in place--not in anything to affect their well-being, to damp their joy, or to ruffle the smooth current of their lives. the young nobleman was appointed by his king ambassador to the court of russia. it was a post of honour to which he was entitled by his birth and education. he had a large private fortune, and his young wife had brought him one not inferior to his own, for she was the daughter of one of the richest men in the kingdom. a large ship was about that time to go to stockholm. it was selected to convey the rich man's dear daughter and son-in-law to st. petersburg; and its cabin was fitted up as if for the use of royalty--soft carpets under the feet, silken hangings, and every luxury around. amidst the ancient scandinavian ballads, known to all danes under their general title of _koempeviser_, there is one called "the king of england's son." he likewise sailed in a costly ship; its anchor was inlaid with pure gold, and every rope was of twisted silk. every one who saw the spanish vessel must have remembered the ship in this legend, for there was the same pageantry, the same thoughts on their departure. "god, let us meet again in joy!" the wind blew freshly from off the spanish shore, and the last adieux were therefore hurried; but in a few weeks they would reach their destination. they had not gone far, however, before the wind lulled, the sea became calm, its surface sparkled, the stars above shone brightly, and all was serenity in the splendid cabin. at length they became tired of the continued calm, and wished that the breeze would rise and swell into a good strong wind, if it would only be fair for them; but they still lacked wind, and if it did arise, it was always a contrary one. thus passed weeks, and when at length the wind became fair, and blew from the south-west, they were half way between scotland and jutland. just then the wind shifted, and increased to a gale, as it is described to have done in the ballad of "the king of england's son." "the sky grew dark, and the wind it blew, they could see neither land nor haven of rest; so then they cast out their anchor true, but to denmark they drove with the gale from the west." this was many years ago. king christian the seventh occupied the danish throne, and was then a young man. much has happened since that time, much has changed; lakes and morasses have become fruitful meadows, wild moors have become cultivated land, and on the lee of the west jutlander's house grow apple trees and roses; but they must be sheltered from the sharp west winds. up there one can still, however, fancy one's self back in the period of christian the seventh's reign. as then in jutland, so even now, stretch for miles and miles the brown heaths, with their tumuli, their meteors, their knolly, sandy cross roads. towards the west, where large streams fall into the fiords, are to be seen wide plains and bogs, encircled by high hills, which, like a row of alpine mountains with pinnacles formed like saws, frown over the sea, which is separated from them only by high clay banks; and year after year the sea bites a large mouthful off of these, so that their edges and summits topple over as if shaken by an earthquake. thus they look at this day, and thus they were many years ago, when the happy young couple sailed from spain in the magnificent ship. it was the end of september. it was sunday and sunshine: the sound of the church bells reached afar, even to nissumfiord. the churches up there were like rocks with spaces hewn out in them: each one of them was like a piece of a mountain, so heavy and massive. the german ocean might have rolled over them, and they would have stood firmly. many of them had no spires or towers, and the bells hung out in the open air between two beams. the church service was over. the congregation had passed from the house of god out into the churchyard, where then, as now, not a tree, not a bush was to be seen--not a single flower, not a garland laid upon a grave. little knolls or heaps of earth point out where the dead are buried; a sharp kind of grass, lashed by the wind, grows over the whole churchyard. a solitary grave here and there has, perhaps, a monument; that is to say, the mouldering trunk of a tree, rudely carved into the shape of a coffin. the pieces of tree are brought from the woods of the west. the wild ocean provides, for the dwellers on the coast, beams, planks, and trees, which the dashing billows cast upon the shore. the wind and the sea spray soon decay these tree monuments. such a stump was lying over the grave of a child, and one of the women who had come out of the church went towards it. she stood gazing upon the partially loosened piece of wood. shortly afterwards her husband joined her. they remained for a time without either of them uttering a single word; then he took her hand, and led her from the grave out upon the heath, across the moor, in the direction of the sand-hills. for a long time they walked in silence. at last the husband said,-- "it was an excellent sermon to-day. if we had not our lord we should have nothing." "yes," said the wife, "he sends joy, and he sends affliction. he is right in all things. to-morrow our little boy would have been five years old if he had been spared to us." "there is no use in your grieving for his loss," replied the husband. "he has escaped much evil. he is now where we must pray to be also received." they dropped the painful subject, and pursued their way towards their house amidst the sand-hills. suddenly, from one of these where there was no lyme-grass to keep down the sand, there arose as it were a thick smoke. it was a furious gust of wind, that had pierced the sand-hill, and whirled about in the air the fine particles of sand. the wind veered round for a minute; and all the dried fish that was hung up on cords outside of the house knocked against its walls, then everything was still again. the sun was shining warmly. the man and his wife entered their house, and having soon divested themselves of their sunday clothes, they hastened over the sand-hills, which stood like enormous waves of sand suddenly arrested in their course. the sea-reed's and the lyme-grass's blue-green sharp blades gave some variety to the white sand. some neighbours joined the couple who had just come from church, and they assisted each other in dragging the boats higher up the beach. the gale was increasing; it was bitterly cold; and when they were returning over the hills, the sand and small stones whisked into their faces, the waves mounted high with their white crests, and the spray dashed after them. it was evening; there was a doleful whistling in the air, increasing every moment--a wild howling, as if a host of unseen despairing spirits were uttering their complaints. the moaning sound overpowered even the angry dashing of the waves, although the fisherman's house lay so near to the shore. the sand drifted against the windows, and every now and then came a blast that shook the house to its foundation. it was very dark, but the moon would rise at midnight. the air cleared; yet the storm still raged in all its might over the deep gloomy sea. the fishermen and their families had retired for some time to rest, but no one could close his eyes in such terrible weather. some one knocked at the windows of some of the cottages, and when the doors were opened the person said,-- "a large ship is lying fast upon the outer shoal." in a moment the fishermen and their wives were up and dressed. the moon had risen, and there was light enough to see if they had not been blinded by the sand that was flying about. the wind was so strong that they were obliged to lie down, and creep amidst the gusts over the sand-hills; and there flew through the air, like swan's down, the salt foam and spray from the sea, which, like a roaring, boiling cataract, dashed upon the beach. a practised eye was required to discern quickly the vessel outside. it was a large ship; it was lifted a few cable lengths forward, then driven on towards the land, struck upon the inner sand-bank, and stood fast. it was impossible to go to the assistance of the ship, the sea was running too high: it beat against the unfortunate vessel, and dashed over her. the people on shore thought that they heard cries of distress--cries of those in the agony of death; and they saw the desperate, useless activity on board. then came a sea that, like a crushing avalanche, fell upon the bowsprit, and it was gone. the stern of the vessel rose high above the water--two people sprang from it together into the sea--a moment, and one of the most gigantic billows that were rolling up against the sand-hills cast a body upon the shore: it was that of a female, and every one believed it was a corpse. two women, however, knelt down by the body, and thinking that they found in it some sign of life, it was carried over the sand-hills to a fisherman's house. how beautiful she was, and how handsomely dressed!--evidently a lady of rank. they placed her in the humble bed; there was no linen on it, only blankets to wrap her in, yet these were very warm. she soon came to life, but was in a high fever. she did not seem to know what had happened, or to remark where she was; and this was probably fortunate, since all who were dear to her on board the ill-fated ship were lying at the bottom of the sea. it had been with them as described in the song, "the king of england's son:"-- "it was, in sooth, a piteous sight! the ship broke up to bits that night." portions of the wreck were washed ashore. she was the only living creature out of all that had so lately breathed and moved on board the doomed ship. the wind was howling their requiem over the inhospitable coast. for a few minutes she slept peacefully, but soon she awoke and uttered groans of pain; she cast up her beautiful eyes towards heaven, and said a few words, but no one there could understand them. another helpless being soon made its appearance, and her new-born babe was placed in her arms. it ought to have reposed on a stately couch, with silken curtains, in a splendid house. it ought to have been welcomed with joy to a life rich in all this world's goods; but our lord had ordained that it should be born in a peasant's hut, in a miserable nook. not even one kiss did it receive from its mother. the fisherman's wife laid the infant on its mother's breast, and it rested near her heart; but that heart had ceased to beat--she was dead! the child who should have been nurtured amidst happiness and wealth was cast a stranger into the world--thrown up by the sea among the sand-hills, to experience heavy days and the fate of the poor. and again we call to mind the old song:-- "the king's son's eyes with big tears fill: 'alas! that i came to this robber-hill. here nothing awaits me but evil and pain. had i haply but come to herr buggé's domain, neither knight nor squire would have treated me ill.'" a little to the south of nissumfiord, on that portion of the shore which herr buggé had formerly called his, the vessel had stranded. those rough, inhuman times, when the inhabitants of the west coast dealt cruelly, it is said, with the shipwrecked, had long passed away; and now the utmost compassion was felt, and the kindest attention paid to those whom the engulfing sea had spared. the dying mother and the forlorn child would have met with every care wherever "the wild wind had blown;" but nowhere could they have been received with more cordial kindness than by the poor fishwife who, only the previous morning, had stood with a heavy heart by the grave wherein reposed her child, who on that very day would have attained his fifth year if the almighty had permitted him to live. no one knew who the foreign dead woman was, or whence she came. the broken planks and fragments of the ship told nothing. in spain, at that opulent house, there never arrived either letter or message from the daughter and son-in-law; they had not reached their destination; fearful storms had raged for some weeks. they waited with anxiety for months. at last they heard, "totally lost--every one on board perished!" but at huusby-klitter, in the fisherman's cottage, there dwelt now a little urchin. where god bestows food for two, there is always something for a third; and near the sea there is plenty of fish to be found. the little stranger was named jörgen. "he is surely a jewish child," said some people, "he has so dark a complexion." "he may, however, be an italian or a spaniard," said the priest. the whole tribe of fishermen and women comforted themselves that, whatever was his origin, the child had received christian baptism. the boy throve, his noble blood mantled in his cheek, and he grew strong, notwithstanding poor living. the danish language, as it is spoken in west jutland, became his mother tongue. the pomegranate seed from the spanish soil became the coarse grass on the west coast of jutland. such are the vicissitudes of life! to that home he attached himself with his young life's roots. hunger and cold, the poor man's toil and want, he was to experience, but also the poor man's joys. childhood has its bright periods, which shine in recollection through the whole of after life. how much had he not to amuse him, and to play with! the entire seashore, for miles in length, was covered with playthings for him--a mosaic of pebbles red as coral, yellow as amber, and pure white, round as birds' eggs, all smoothed and polished by the sea. even the scales of the dried fish, the aquatic plants dried by the wind, the shining seaweed fluttering among the rocks--all were pleasant to his eye, and matter for his thoughts; and the boy was an excitable, clever child. much genius and great abilities lay dormant in him. how well he remembered all the stories and old ballads he heard; and he was very quick with his fingers. with stones and shells he would plan out whole scenes he had heard as if in a picture: one might have ornamented a room with these handiworks of his. "he could cut out his thoughts with a stick," said his foster-mother; and yet he was but a little boy. his voice was very sweet--melody seemed to have been born with him. there were many finely-toned strings in that breast; they might have sounded forth in the world, had his lot been otherwise cast than in a fisherman's house on the shores of the german ocean. one day a ship foundered near. a case was thrown up on the land containing a number of flower-bulbs. some took them and put them into their cooking pots, thinking they were to be eaten; others were left to rot upon the sand; none of them fulfilled their destination--to unfold the lovely colours, the beauty that lay in them. would it be better with jörgen? the poor flower-roots were soon done for: there might be years of trial before him. it never occurred to him, or to any of the people around him, to think their days lonely and monotonous: there was abundance to do, to hear, and to see. the ocean itself was a great book; every day he read a new page in it--the calm, the swell of the sea, the breeze, the storm. the beach was his favourite resort; going to church was his event, his visit of importance, though of visits there was one which occasionally took place at the fisherman's house that was particularly welcome to him. twice a year his foster-mother's brother, the eel-man from fjaltring, up near rovbierg, paid them a visit. he came in a painted cart full of eels. the cart was closed and locked like a chest, and painted with blue, red, and white tulips; it was drawn by two dun-coloured bullocks, and jörgen was allowed to drive them. the eel-man was a very good-natured, lively guest. he always brought a keg of brandy with him; every one got a dram of it, or a coffee-cup full if glasses were scarce; even jörgen, though he was but a little fellow, was treated to a good thimbleful. that was to keep down the fat eels, said the eel-man; and then he never failed to tell a story he had often told before, and, when people laughed at it, he immediately told it over again to the same persons; but this is a habit with all talkative individuals; and as jörgen, during the whole time that he was growing up, and into the years of his manhood, often quoted phrases in this story, and applied them to himself, we may as well listen to it. "out in the rivulet dwelt eels, and the eel-mother said to her daughters, when they begged to be allowed to go a little way alone up the stream. 'do not go far, lest the horrible eel-spearer should come, and take you all away.' "but they went very far, and of eight daughters only three returned to their mother, and these came wailing, 'we only went a short way from the door, when the terrible eel-spearer came and killed our five sisters.' 'they will come back again,' said the eel-mother. 'no,' said the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in pieces, and fried them.' 'they will come again,' repeated the mother. 'impossible, for he ate them.' 'they will come again,' still persisted the eel-mother. 'but he drank brandy after he had eaten them,' said the daughter. 'did he? oh! oh! then they will never come again,' howled the mother. 'brandy buries eels.' "and therefore one must always drink a little brandy after that dish," said the eel-man. and this story made a great impression on little jörgen, and partly influenced his life. he took the tinsel for the gold. he also wished to go "a little way up the stream"--that is to say, to go away in a ship to see the world--and his mother said as the eel-mother had done. "there are many bad men--eel-spearers." but a little way beyond the sand-hills, and a little way on the heath, he was allowed to go, he begged so hard. four happy days, however--days that seemed the brightest among his childish years, turned up: he was to go to a large meeting. what pleasure, although it was to a funeral! a relation of the fisherman's family, who had been in easy circumstances, was dead. the farm lay inland--"eastward, a little to the north," it was said. the father and mother were both going, and jörgen was to accompany them. on leaving the sand-hills, they passed over heaths and boggy lands, until they came to the green meadows where skjærumaa winds its way--the river with the numerous eels, where the eel-mother with her daughters lived, those whom the cruel man speared and cut in pieces, though there were men who had scarcely treated their fellow-men better. even herr buggé, the knight who was celebrated in the old song, was murdered by a wicked man; and though he was himself called so good, he wished to put to death the builder who had built for him his castle, with its tower and thick walls, just where jörgen and his foster-parents stood, where skjærumaa falls into the nissumfiord. the sloping bank or ascent to the ramparts was still to be seen, and red fragments of the walls still marked out the circumference of the ancient building. here had herr buggé, when the builder had taken his departure, said to his squire--"follow him, and say, master, the tower leans to one side. if he turns, slay him on the spot, and take the money from him that he got from me; but, if he does not turn, let him go on in peace." and the squire overtook the builder, and said what he was ordered to say; and the builder replied, "the tower does not lean to one side, but by and by there will come from the westward one in a blue cloak, and _he_ will make it bend." a hundred years afterwards this prediction was fulfilled, for the german ocean rushed in, and the tower fell; but the then owner of the property, prebjörn gyldenstierne, erected a habitation higher up, and that stands now, and is called nörre-vosborg. jörgen, with his foster-parents, had to pass this place. of every little town hereabout he had heard stories during the long winter evenings; now he saw the castle, with its double moats, its trees and bushes, its ramparts overgrown with bracken. but the most beautiful sight was the lofty linden trees, that filled the air with so sweet a perfume. towards the north-west, in a corner of the garden, stood a large bush with flowers that were like winter's snow amidst summer's green. it was an elder tree, the first jörgen had ever seen in bloom. that and the linden trees were always remembered during his future years as denmark's sweetest perfume and beauty, which the soul of childhood "for the old man laid by." the journey soon became more extended, and the country less wild. after passing nörre-vosborg, where the elder tree was in bloom, he had the pleasure of travelling in a sort of carriage, for they met some of the other guests who were going to the funeral feast, as it might be called, and were invited into their conveyance. to be sure they had all three to stuff themselves into a very narrow back seat, but that was better, they thought, than walking. they drove over the uneven heaths; the bullocks which drew their cart stopped whenever they came to a little patch of green grass among the heather. the sun was shining warmly, and it was wonderful to see, far in the distance, a smoke that undulated, yet was clearer than the air--one could see through it: it was as if rays of light were rolling and dancing over the heath. "it is the lokéman, who is driving his sheep," was told jörgen, and that was enough for him. he fancied he was driving into the land of marvellous adventures and fairy tales; yet he was only amidst realities. how still it was there! far before them stretched the heath, but it looked like a beautifully variegated carpet; the ling was in flower, the cyprus-green juniper bushes and the fresh oak shoots seemed like bouquets among the heather. but for the many poisonous vipers, how delightful it would have been to roll about there! the party spoke of them, and of the numerous wolves that had abounded in that neighbourhood, on account of which the district was called ulvborg-herred. the old man who was driving related how, in his father's time, the horses had often to fight a hard battle with these now extirpated wild animals; and that one morning, on coming out, he found one of his horses treading upon a wolf he had killed; but the flesh was entirely stripped from the horse's legs. too quickly for jörgen did they drive over the uneven heath, and through the deep sand. they stopped at length before the house of mourning, which was crowded with strangers, some inside, some on the outside. vehicle after vehicle stood together; the horses and oxen were turned out amidst the meagre grass; large sand-hills, like those at home by the german ocean, were to be seen behind the farm, and stretched far away in wide long ranges. how had they come there, twelve miles inland, and nearly as high and as large as those near the shore? the wind had lifted them and removed them: they also had their history. psalms were sung, and tears were shed by some of the old people, otherwise all was very pleasant thought jörgen. here was plenty to eat and drink--the nicest fat eels; and it was necessary to drink brandy-snaps after eating them, "to keep them down," the eel-man had said; and his words were acted upon here with all due honour. jörgen was in, and jörgen was out. by the third day he felt himself as much at home here as he had done in the fisherman's cottage, where he had lived all his earlier days. up here on the heath it was different from down there, but it was very nice. it was covered with heather-bells and bilberries; they were so large and so sweet; one could mash them with one's foot, so that the heather should be dripping with the red juice. here lay one tumulus, there another; columns of smoke arose in the calm air; it was the heath on fire, they said, it shone brightly in the evening. the fourth day came, and the funeral solemnities were over--the fisherman and his family were to leave the land sand-hills for the strand sand-hills. "ours are the largest though;" said the father, "these are not at all important-looking." and the conversation fell on how they came there, and it was all very intelligible and very rational. a body had been found on the beach, and the peasants had buried it in the churchyard; then commenced a drifting of sand--the sea broke wildly on the shore, and a man in the parish who was noted for his sagacity advised that the grave should be opened, to ascertain if the buried corpse lay and sucked his thumb; for if he did that, it was a merman whom they had buried, and the sea would force its way up to take him back. the grave was accordingly opened, and lo! he they had buried was found sucking his thumb; so they took him up instantly, placed him on a car, harnessed two oxen to it, and dragged him over heaths and bogs out to the sea; then the sand drift stopped, but the sand-hills have always remained. to all this jörgen listened eagerly; and he treasured this ancient legend in his memory, along with all that had happened during the pleasantest days of his childhood--the days of the funeral feast. it was delightful to go from home, and to see new places and new people; and he was to go still farther away. he went on board a ship. he went forth to see what the world produced; and he found bad weather, rough seas, evils dispositions, and harsh masters. he went as a cabin-boy! poor living, cold nights, the rope's end, and hard thumps with the fist were his portion. there was something in his noble spanish blood which always boiled up, so that angry words rose often to his lips; but he was wise enough to keep them back, and he felt pretty much like an eel being skinned, cut up, and laid on the pan. "i will come again," said he to himself. the spanish coast, his parents' native land, the very town where they had lived in grandeur and happiness, he saw; but he knew nothing of kindred and a paternal home, and his family knew as little of him. the dirty ship-boy was not allowed to land for a long time, but the last day the ship lay there he was sent on shore to bring off some purchases that had been made. there stood jörgen in wretched clothes, that looked as if they had been washed in a ditch and dried in the chimney: it was the first time that he, a denizen of the solitary sand-hills, had seen a large town. how high the houses were, how narrow the streets, swarming with human beings; some hurrying this way, others going that way--it was like a whirlpool of townspeople, peasants, monks, and soldiers. there were a rushing along, a screaming, a jingling of the bells on the asses and the mules, and the church bells ringing too. there were to be heard singing and babbling, hammering and banging; for every trade had its workshop either in the doorway or on the pavement. the sun was burning hot, the air was heavy: it was as if one had entered a baker's oven full of beetles, lady-birds, bees, and flies, that hummed and buzzed. jörgen scarcely knew, as the saying is, whether he was on his head or his heels. then he beheld, at a little distance, the immense portals of the cathedral; light streamed forth from the arches that were so dim and gloomy above; and there came a strong scent from the incense. even the poorest, most tattered beggars ascended the wide stairs to the church, and the sailor who was with jörgen showed him the way in. jörgen stood in a sacred place; splendidly-painted pictures hung round in richly-gilded frames; the holy virgin, with the infant jesus in her arms, was on the altar amidst flowers and light; priests in their magnificent robes were chanting; and beautiful, handsomely-dressed choristers swung backwards and forwards silver censers. there was in everything a splendour, a charm, that penetrated to jörgen's very soul, and overwhelmed him. the church and the faith of his parents and his ancestors surrounded him, and touched a chord in his heart which caused tears to start to his eyes. from the church they proceeded to the market. he had many articles of food and matters for the use of the cook, to carry. the way was long, and he became very tired; so he stopped to rest outside of a large handsome house, that had marble pillars, statues, and wide stairs. he was leaning with his burden against the wall, when a finely-bedizened porter came forward, raised his silver-mounted stick to him, and drove him away--him, the grandchild of its owner, the heir of the family; but none there knew this, nor did he himself. he returned on board, was thumped and scolded, had little sleep and much work. such was his life! and it is very good for youth to put up with hard usage, it is said. yes, if it makes age good. the period for which he had been engaged was expired--the vessel lay again at ringkiöbingfiord. he landed, and went home to huusby-klitter; but his mother had died during his absence. the winter which followed was a severe one. snow storms drove over sea and land: one could scarcely face them. how differently were not things dealt out in this world! such freezing cold and drifting snow here, whilst in spain was burning heat, almost too great; and yet when, one clear, frosty day at home, jörgen saw swans flying in large flocks from the sea over nissumfiord, and towards nörre-vosborg, he thought that the course they pursued was the best, and all summer pleasures were to be found there. in fancy he saw the heath in bloom, and mingling with it the ripe, juicy berries; the linden trees and elder bushes at nörre-vosborg were in flower. he must return there yet. spring was approaching, the fishing was commencing, and jörgen lent his help. he had grown much during the last year, and was extremely active. there was plenty of life in him; he could swim, tread the water, and turn and roll about in it. he was much inclined to offer himself for the mackerel shoals: they take the best swimmer, draw him under the water, eat him up, and so there is an end of him; but this was not jörgen's fate. among the neighbours in the sand-hills was a boy named morten. he and jörgen left the fishing, and they both hired themselves on board a vessel bound to norway, and went afterwards to holland. they were always at odds with each other, but that might easily happen when people were rather warm-tempered; and they could not help showing their feelings sometimes in expressive gestures. this was what jörgen did once on board when they came up from below quarrelling about something. they were sitting together, eating out of an earthen dish they had between them, when jörgen, who was holding his clasp-knife in his hand, raised it against morten, looking at the moment as white as chalk, and ghastly about the eyes. morten only said,-- "so you are of that sort that will use the knife!" scarcely had he uttered these words before jörgen's hand was down again; he did not say a syllable, ate his dinner, and went to his work; but when he had finished that, he sought morten, and said,-- "strike me on the face if you will--i have deserved it. there is something in me that always boils up so." "let bygones be bygones," said morten; and thereupon they became much better friends. when they returned to jutland and the sand-hills, and told all that had passed, it was remarked that jörgen might boil over, but he was an honest pot for all that. "but not of jutland manufacture--he cannot be called a jutlander," was morten's witty reply. they were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but jörgen was the most active. up in norway the country people repair to the summer pastures among the mountains, and take their cattle there to grass. on the west coast of jutland, among the sand-hills, are huts built of pieces of wrecks, and covered with peat and layers of heather. the sleeping-places stretch round the principal room; and there sleep and live, during the early spring time, the people employed in the fishing. every one has his _Æsepige_, as she is called, whose business it is to put bait on the hooks, to await the fishermen at their landing-place with warm ale, and have their food ready for them when they return weary to the house. these girls carry the fish from the boats, and cut them up; in short, they have a great deal to do. jörgen, his father, and a couple of other fishermen, with their _Æsepiger_, or serving girls, were together in one house. morten lived in the house next to theirs. there was one of these girls called elsé, whom jörgen had known from her infancy. they were great friends, and much alike in disposition, though very different in appearance. he was of a dark complexion, and she was very fair, with hair almost of a golden colour; her eyes were as blue as the sea when the sun is shining upon it. one day when they were walking together, and jörgen was holding her hand with a tight and affectionate grasp, she said to him,-- "jörgen, i have something on my mind. let me be your _Æsepige_, for you are to me like a brother; but morten, who has hired me at present--he and i are sweethearts. do not mention this, however, to any one." and jörgen felt as if a sand-hill had opened under him. he did not utter a single word, but nodded his head by way of a yes--more was not necessary; but he felt suddenly in his heart that he could not endure morten, and the longer he reflected on the matter the clearer it became to him. morten had stolen from him the only one he cared for, and that was elsé. she was now lost to him. if the sea should be boisterous when the fishermen return with their little smacks, it is curious to see them cross the reefs. one of the fishermen stands erect in advance, the others watch him intently, while sitting with their oars ready to use when he gives them a sign that now are coming the great waves which will lift the boats over; and they are lifted, so that those on shore can only see their keels. the next moment the entire boat is hidden by the surging waves--neither boat, nor mast, nor people are to be seen: one would fancy the sea had swallowed them up. a minute or two more, and they show themselves, looking as if some mighty marine monsters were creeping out of the foaming sea, the oars moving like their legs. with the second and the third reef the same process takes place as with the first; and now the fishermen spring into the water and drag the boats on shore, every succeeding billow helping and giving them a good lift until they are fairly out of the water. one false move on the outside of the reefs--one moment's delay, and they would be shipwrecked. "then it would be all over with me, and with morten at the same time." this thought came across jörgen's mind out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenly ill: he was in a high fever. this was just a little way from the outer reef. jörgen sprang up. "father, allow me," he cried, and his eye glanced over morten and over the waves; but just then every oar was raised for the great struggle, and as the first enormous billow came, he observed his father's pale suffering countenance, and he could not carry out the wicked design that had suggested itself to his mind. the boat got safely over the reefs, and in to the land; but jörgen's evil thoughts remained, and his blood boiled at every little disagreeable act that started up in his recollection from the time that he and morten had been comrades, and his anger increased as he remembered each offence. morten had supplanted him, he felt assured of that; and that was enough to make him hateful to him. a few of the fishermen remarked his scowling looks at morten, but morten himself did not; he was, just as usual, ready to give every assistance, and very talkative--a little too much of the latter, perhaps. jörgen's foster-father was obliged to keep his bed; he became worse, and died within a week; and jörgen inherited the house behind the sand-hills--a humble habitation to be sure, but it was always something. morten had not so much. "you will not take service any more, jörgen, i suppose, but will remain among us now," said one of the old fishermen. but jörgen had no such intention. he was thinking, on the contrary, of going away to see a little of the world. the eel-man of fjaltring had an uncle up at gammel-skagen; he was a fisherman, but also a thriving trader who owned some little vessels. he was such an excellent old man, it would be a good thing to take service with him. gammel-skagen lies on the northern part of jutland, at the other extremity of the country from huusby-klitter, and that was what jörgen thought most of. he was determined not to stay for elsé and morten's wedding, which was to take place in a couple of weeks. "it was foolish to take his departure now," was the opinion of the old fisherman who had spoken to him before. "now jörgen had a house, elsé would most likely prefer taking him." jörgen answered so shortly, when thus spoken to, that it was difficult to ascertain what he thought; but the old man brought elsé to him. she did not say much; but this she did say,-- "you have now a house: one must take that into consideration." and jörgen also took much into consideration. in the ocean there are many heavy seas--the human heart has still heavier ones. there passed many thoughts, strong and weak mingled together, through jörgen's head and heart, and he asked elsé,-- "if morten had a house as well as i, which of us two would you rather take?" "but morten has no house, and has no chance of getting one." "but we think it is very likely he will have one." "oh! then i would take morten, of course; but one can't live upon love." and jörgen reflected for the whole night over what had passed. there was something in him he could not himself account for; but he had one idea--it overpowered his love for elsé, and it led him to morten. what he said and did there had been well considered by him--he made his house over to morten on the lowest possible terms, saying that he would himself prefer to go into service. and elsé kissed him in her gratitude when she heard it, for she certainly loved morten best. at an early hour in the morning jörgen was to take his departure. the evening before, though it was already late, he fancied he would like to visit morten once more, so he went; and amongst the sand-hills he met the old fisherman, who did not seem to think of his going away, and who jested about all the girls being so much in love with morten. jörgen cut him short, bade him farewell, and proceeded to the house where morten lived. when he reached it he heard loud talking within: morten was not alone. jörgen was somewhat capricious. of all persons he would least wish to find elsé there; and, on second thoughts, he would rather not give morten an opportunity of renewing his thanks, so he turned back again. early next morning, before the dawn of day, he tied up his bundle, took his provision box, and went down from the sand-hills to the sea-beach. it was easier to walk there than on the heavy sandy road; besides, it was shorter, for he was first going to fjaltring, near vosbjerg, where the eel-man lived, to whom he had promised a visit. the sea was smooth and beautifully blue--shells of different sorts lay around. these were the playthings of his childhood--he now trod them under his feet. as he was walking along his nose began to bleed. that was only a trifle in itself, but it might have some meaning. a few large drops of blood fell upon his arms; he washed them off, stopped the bleeding, and found that the loss of a little blood had actually made him feel lighter in his head and in his heart. a small quantity of sea-kale was growing in the sand; he broke a blade off of it, and stuck it in his hat. he tried to feel happy and confident now that he was going out into the wide world--"away from the door, a little way up the stream," as the eel's children had said; and the mother said, "take care of bad men; they will catch you, skin you, cut you in pieces, and fry you." he repeated this to himself, and laughed at it. he would get through the world with a whole skin--no fear of that; for he had plenty of courage, and that was a good weapon of defence. the sun was already high up, when, as he approached the small inlet between the german ocean and nissumfiord, he happened to look back, and perceived at a considerable distance two people on horseback, and others following on foot: they were evidently making great haste, but it was nothing to him. the ferry-boat lay on the other side of the narrow arm of the sea. jörgen beckoned and called to the person who had charge of it. it came over, and he entered it; but before he and the man who was rowing had got half way across, the men he had seen hurrying on reached the banks, and with threatening gestures shouted the name of the magistrate. jörgen could not comprehend what they wanted, but considered it would be best to go back, and even took one of the oars to row the faster. the moment the boat neared the shore, people sprang into it, and before he had an idea of what they were going to do, they had thrown a rope round his hands, and made him their prisoner. "your evil deed will cost you your life," said they. "it is lucky we arrived in time to catch you." it was neither more nor less than a murder he was accused of having committed. morten had been found stabbed by a knife in his neck. one of the fishermen had, late the night before, met jörgen going to the place where morten lived. it was not the first time he had lifted a knife at him, they knew. he must be the murderer; therefore he must be taken into custody. ringkjöbing was the most proper place to which to carry him, but it was a long way off. the wind was from the west. in less than half an hour they could cross the fiord at skjærumaa, and from thence they had only a short way to go to nörre-vosborg, which was a strong place, with ramparts and moats. in the boat was a brother of the bailiff there, and he promised to obtain permission to put jörgen for the present into the cell where lange margrethe had been confined before her execution. jörgen's defence of himself was not listened to; for a few drops of blood on his clothes spoke volumes against him. his innocence was clear to himself; and, if justice were not done him, he must give himself up to his fate. they landed near the site of the old ramparts, where sir buggé's castle had stood--there, where jörgen, with his foster-father and mother, had passed on their way to the funeral meeting, at which had been spent the four brightest and pleasantest days of his childhood. he was conveyed again the same way by the fields up to nörre-vosborg, and yonder stood in full flower the elder tree, and yonder the lindens shed their sweet perfume around; and he felt as if it had been only yesterday that he had been there. in the west wing of the castle is a subterranean passage under the high stairs; this leads to a low, vaulted cell, in which lange margrethe had been imprisoned, and whence she had been taken to the place of execution. she had eaten the hearts of five children, and believed that, could she have added two more to the number, she would have been able to fly and to render herself invisible. in the wall there was a small, narrow air-hole. no glass was in this rude window; yet the sweetly-scented linden tree on the outside could not send the slightest portion of its refreshing perfume into that close, mouldy dungeon. there was only a miserable pallet there; but a good conscience is a good pillow, therefore jörgen could sleep soundly. the thick wooden door was locked, and it was further secured by an iron bolt; but the nightmare of superstition can creep through a key-hole in the baronial castle as in the fisherman's hut. it stole in where jörgen was sitting and thinking upon lange margrethe and her misdeeds. her last thoughts had filled that little room the night before her execution; he remembered all the magic that, in the olden times, was practised when the lord of the manor, svanwedel, lived there; and it was well known how, even now, the chained dog that stood on the bridge was found every morning hung over the railing in his chain. all these tales recurred to jörgen's mind, and made him shiver; and there was but one sun ray which shone upon him, and that was the recollection of the blooming elder and linden trees. he would not be kept long here; he would be removed to ringkjöbing, where the prison was equally strong. these times were not like ours. it went hard with the poor then; for then it had not come to pass that peasants found their way up to lordly mansions, and that from these regiments coachmen and other servants became judges in the petty courts, which were invested with the power to condemn, for perhaps a trifling fault, the poor man to be deprived of all his goods and chattels, or to be flogged at the whipping-post. a few of these courts still remain; and in jutland, far from "the king's copenhagen," and the enlightened and liberal government, even now the law is not always very wisely administered: it certainly was not so in the case of poor jörgen. it was bitterly cold in the place where he was confined. when was this imprisonment to be at an end? though innocent, he had been cast into wretchedness and solitude--that was his fate. how things had been ordained for him in this world, he had now time to think over. why had he been thus treated--his portion made so hard to bear? well, this would be revealed "in that other life" which assuredly awaits all. in the humble cottage that belief had been engrafted into him, which, amidst the grandeur and brightness of his spanish home, had never shone upon his father's heart: _that_ now, in the midst of cold and darkness, became his consolation, god's gift of grace, which never can deceive. the storms of spring were now raging; the roaring of the german ocean was heard far inland; but just when the tempest had lulled, it sounded as if hundreds of heavy wagons were driving over a hard tunnelled road. jörgen heard it even in his dungeon, and it was a change in the monotony of his existence. no old melody could have gone more deeply to his heart than these sounds--the rolling ocean--the free ocean--on which one can be borne throughout the world, fly with the wind, and wherever one went have one's own house with one, as the snail has his--to stand always upon home's ground, even in a foreign land. how eagerly he listened to the deep rolling! how remembrances hurried through his mind! "free--free--how delightful to be free, even without soles to one's shoes, and in a coarse patched garment!" the very idea brought the warm blood rushing into his cheeks, and he struck the wall with his fist in his vain impatience. weeks, months, a whole year had elapsed, when a gipsy named niels tyv--"the horse-dealer," as he was also called--was arrested, and then came better times: it was ascertained what injustice had been done to jörgen. to the north of ringkjöbing fiord, at a small country inn, on the evening of the day previous to jörgen's leaving home, and the committal of the murder, niels tyv and morten had met each other. they drank a little together, not enough certainly to get into any man's head, but enough to set morten talking too freely. he went on chattering, as he was fond of doing, and he mentioned that he had bought a house and some ground, and was going to be married. niels thereupon asked him where was the money which was to pay it, and morten struck his pocket pompously, exclaiming in a vaunting manner,-- "here, where it should be!" that foolish bragging answer cost him his life; for when he left the little inn niels followed him, and stabbed him in the neck with his knife, in order to rob him of the money, which, after all, was not to be found. there was a long trial and much deliberation: it is enough for us to know that jörgen was set free at last. but what compensation was made to him for all he had suffered that long weary year in a cold, gloomy prison; secluded from all mankind? why, he was assured that it was fortunate he was innocent, and he might now go about his business! the burgomaster gave him ten marks for his travelling expenses, and several of the townspeople gave him ale and food. they were very good people. not all, then, would "skin you, and lay you on the frying-pan!" but the best of all was that the trader brönne from skagen, he to whom, a year before, jörgen intended to have hired himself, was just at the time of his liberation on business at ringkjöbing. he heard the whole story; he had a heart and understanding; and, knowing what jörgen must have suffered and felt, he was determined to do what he could to improve his situation, and let him see that there were some kind-hearted people in the world. from a jail to freedom--from solitude and misery to a home which, by comparison, might be called a heaven--to kindness and love, he now passed. this also was to be a trial of his character. no chalice of life is altogether wormwood. a good person would not fill such for a child: would, then, the almighty father, who is all love, do so? "let all that has taken place be now buried and forgotten," said the worthy mr. brönne. "we shall draw a thick line over last year. we shall burn the almanac. in two days we shall start for that blessed, peaceful, pleasant skagen. it is said to be only a little insignificant nook in the country; but a nice warm nook it is, with windows open to the wide world." that _was_ a journey--that _was_ to breathe the fresh air again--to come from the cold, damp prison-cell out into the warm sunshine! the heather was blooming on the moorlands; the shepherd boys sat on the tumuli and played their flutes, which were manufactured out of the bones of sheep; the fata morgana, the beautiful mirage of the desert, with its hanging seas and undulating woods, showed itself; and that bright, wonderful phenomenon in the air, which is called the "lokéman driving his sheep." towards limfiorden they passed over the vandal's land; and towards skagen they journeyed where the men with the long beards, _langbarderne_,[ ] came from. in that locality it was that, during the famine under king snio, all old people and young children were ordered to be put to death; but the noble lady, gambaruk, who was the heiress of that part of the country, insisted that the children should rather be sent out of the country. jörgen was learned enough to know all about this; and, though he was not acquainted with the langobarders' country beyond the lofty alps, he had a good idea what it must be, as he had himself, when a boy, been in the south of europe, in spain. well did he remember the heaped-up piles of fruit, the red pomegranate flowers, the din, the clamour, the tolling of bells in the spanish city's great hive; but all was more charming at home, and denmark was jörgen's home. [footnote : langobarder, a northern tribe, which, in very ancient times, dwelt in the north of jutland. from thence they migrated to the north of germany, where, according to tacitus, they lived bout the period of the birth of christ, and were a poor but brave people. their original name was vinuler, or viniler. "when these viniler," say the traditions, or rather fables of scandinavia, "were at war with the vandals, and the latter went to odin to beseech him to grant them the victory, and received for answer that odin would award the victory to those whom he beheld first at sunrise, the warlike female, gambaruk, or gunborg, who was mother to the leaders of the viniler--ebbe and aage--applied to frigga, odin's wife, to entreat victory for her people. the goddess advised that the females of the tribe should let down their long hair so as to imitate beards, and, early in the morning, should stand with their husbands in the east, where odin would look out. when, at sunrise, odin saw them, he exclaimed, 'who are these long-bearded people?' whereupon frigga replied, that since he had bestowed, a name upon them, he must also give them the victory. this was the origin of the _longobardi_, who, after many wanderings, found their way into italy, and, under alboin, founded the kingdom of lombardy."--_trans._] at length they reached vendilskaga, as skagen is called in the old norse and icelandic writings. for miles and miles, interspersed with sand-hills and cultivated land, houses, farms, and drifting sand-banks, stretched, and stretch still, towards gammel-skagen, wester and osterby, out to the lighthouse near grenen, a waste, a desert, where the wind drives before it the loose sand, and where sea-gulls and wild swans send forth their discordant cries in concert. to the south-west, a few miles from grenen, lies high, or old skagen, where the worthy brönne lived, and where jörgen was also to reside. the house was tarred, the small out-houses had each an inverted boat for a roof. pieces of wrecks were knocked up together to form pigsties. fences there were none, for there was nothing to inclose; but upon cords, stretched in long rows one over the other, hung fish cut open, and drying in the wind. the whole beach was covered with heaps of putrefying herrings: nets were scarcely ever thrown into the water, for the herrings were taken in loads on the land. there was so vast a supply of this sort of fish, that people either threw them back into the sea, or left them to rot on the sands. the trader's wife and daughter--indeed, the whole household--came out rejoicing to meet the father of the family when he returned home. there was such a shaking of hands--such exclamations and questions! and what a charming countenance and beautiful eyes the daughter had! the interior of the house was large and extremely comfortable. various dishes of fish were placed upon the table; among others some delicious plaice, which might have been a treat for a king; wine from skagen's vineyard--the vast ocean--from which the juice of the grape was brought on shore both in casks and bottles. when the mother and daughter afterwards heard who jörgen was, and how harshly he had been treated, though innocent of all crime, they looked very kindly at him; and most sympathising was the expression of the daughter's eyes, the lovely miss clara. jörgen found a happy home at gammel-skagen. it did his heart good, and the poor young man had suffered much, even the bitterness of unrequited love, which either hardens or softens the heart. jörgen's was soft enough now; there was a vacant place within it, and he was still so young. it was, perhaps, fortunate that in about three weeks miss clara was going in one of her father's ships up to christiansand, in norway, to visit an aunt, and remain there the whole winter. the sunday before her departure they all went to church together, intending to partake of the sacrament. it was a large, handsome church, and had several hundred years before been built by the scotch and dutch a little way from where the town was now situated. it had become somewhat dilapidated, was difficult of access, the way to it being through deep, heavy sand; but the disagreeables of the road were willingly encountered in order to enter the house of god--to pray, sing psalms, and hear a sermon there. the sand was, as it were, banked up against, and even higher than, the circular wall of the churchyard; but the graves therein were kept carefully free of the drifting sand. this was the largest church to the north of limfiorden. the virgin mary, with a crown of gold on her head, and the infant jesus in her arms, stood as if in life in the altar-piece; the holy apostles were carved on the chancel; and on the walls above were to be seen the portraits of the old burgomasters and magistrates of skagen, with their insignia of office: the pulpit was richly carved. the sun was shining brightly into the church, and glancing on the crown of brass and the little ship that hung from the roof. jörgen felt overcome by a kind of childish feeling of awe, mingled with reverence, such as he had experienced when as a boy he had stood within the magnificent spanish cathedral; but he knew that here his feelings were shared by many. after the sermon the sacrament was administered. like the others, he tasted the consecrated bread and wine, and he found that he was kneeling by the side of miss clara; but he was so much absorbed in his devotions, and in the sacred rite, that it was only when about to rise that he observed who was his immediate neighbour, and perceived that tears were streaming down her cheeks. two days after this she sailed for norway, and jörgen made himself useful on the farm, and at the fishery, in which there was much more done then than is now-a-days. the shoals of mackerel glittered in the dark nights, and showed the course they were taking; the crabs gave piteous cries when pursued, for fishes are not so mute as they are said to be. every sunday when he went to church, and gazed on the picture of the virgin in the altar-piece, jörgen's eyes always wandered to the spot where clara had knelt by his side; and he thought of her, and how kind she had been to him. autumn came, with its hail and sleet; the water washed up to the very town of skagen; the sand could not absorb all the water, so that people had to wade through it. the tempests drove vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow storms and sand storms; the sand drifted against the houses, and closed up the entrances in some places, so that people had to creep out by the chimneys; but that was nothing remarkable up there. while all was thus bleak and wretched without, within there were warmth and comfort. the mingled peat and wood fires--the wood obtained from wrecked ships--crackled and blazed cheerfully, and mr. brönne read aloud old chronicles and legends; among others, the story of prince hamlet of denmark, who, coming from england, landed near bovbjerg, and fought a battle there. his grave was at ramme, only a few miles from the place where the eel-man lived. hundreds of tumuli, the graves of the giants and heroes of old, were still visible all over the wide heath--a great churchyard. mr. brönne had himself been there, and had seen hamlet's grave. they talked of the olden times--of their neighbours, the english and scotch; and jörgen sang the ballad about "the king of england's son"--about the splendid ship--how it was fitted up:-- "how on the gilded panels stood engraved our lord's commandments good; * * * * * and clasping a sweet maiden, how the prince stood sculptured on the prow!" jörgen sang these lines in particular with much emphasis, whilst his dark eyes sparkled; but his eyes had always been bright from his earliest infancy. there were songs, and reading, and conversation, and everything to make the winter season pass as pleasantly as possible; there was prosperity in the house, plenty of comfort for the family, and plenty even for the lowest animals on the property; the shelves shone with rows of bright, well-scoured pewter plates and dishes; and from the roof hung sausages and hams, and other winter stores in abundance. such may be seen even now in the many rich farm-houses on the west coast--the same evidences of plenty, the same comfortable rooms, the same good-humour, the same, and perhaps a little more, information. hospitality reigns there as in an arab's tent. jörgen had never before spent his time so happily since the pleasant days of his childhood at the funeral feast; and yet miss clara was absent--present only in thought and conversation. in april a vessel was going up to norway, and jörgen was to go in it. he was in high spirits, and, according to mrs. brönne, he was so lively and good-humoured, it was quite a pleasure to see him. "and it is quite a pleasure to see you also," said her husband. "jörgen has enlivened all our winter evenings, and you with them; you have become young again, and really look quite handsome. you were formerly the prettiest girl in viborg, and that is saying a great deal, for i have always thought the girls prettier there than anywhere else." jörgen said nothing to this. perhaps he did not believe that the viborg girls were prettier than any others; at any rate, he was thinking of one from skagen, and he was now about to join her. the vessel had a fair, fresh breeze; therefore he arrived at christiansand in half a day. early one morning the trader, mr. brönne, went out to the lighthouse that is situated at some distance from gammel-skagen, and near grenen. the signal-lights had been extinguished for some time, for the sun had risen tolerably high before he reached the tower. away, to some distance beyond the most remote point of land, stretched the sand-banks under the water. beyond these, again, he perceived many ships, and among them he thought he recognised, by aid of the spy-glass, the "karen brönne," as his own vessel was called; and he was right. it was approaching the coast, and clara and jörgen were on board. the skagen lighthouse and the spire of its church looked to them like a heron and a swan upon the blue water. clara sat by the gunwale, and saw the sand-hills becoming little by little more and more apparent. if the wind only held fair, in less than an hour they would reach home; so near were they to happiness, and yet, alas! how near to death! a plank sprung in the ship. the water rushed in. they stopped it as well as they could, and used the pumps vigorously. all sail was set, and the flag of distress was hoisted. they were about a danish mile off. fishing-boats were to be seen, but were far away. the wind was fair for them. the current was also in their favour, but not strong enough. the vessel sank. jörgen threw his right arm around clara. with what a speaking look did she not gaze into his eyes when, imploring our lord for help, he threw himself with her into the sea! she uttered one shriek, but she was safe. he would not let her slip from his grasp. the words of the old ballad,-- "and, clasping a sweet maiden, how the prince stood sculptured on the prow," were now carried into effect by jörgen in that agonising hour of danger and deep anxiety. he felt the advantage of being a good swimmer, and exerted himself to the utmost with his feet and one hand; the other was holding fast the young girl. every possible effort he made to keep up his strength in order to reach the land. he heard clara sigh, and perceived that a kind of convulsive shuddering had seized her; and he held her the tighter. a single heavy wave broke over them--the current lifted them. the water was so clear, though deep, that jörgen thought for a moment he could see the shoals of mackerel beneath; or was it leviathan himself who was waiting to swallow them? the clouds cast a shadow over the water, then again came the dancing sunbeams; harshly-screaming birds, in flocks, wheeled over him; and the wild ducks that, heavy and sleepy, allow themselves to drive on with the waves, flew up in alarm from before the swimmer. he felt that his strength was failing; but the shore was close at hand, and help was coming, for a boat was near. just then he saw distinctly under the water a white, staring figure; a wave lifted him, the figure came nearer, he felt a violent blow, it became night before his eyes--all had disappeared for him. there lay, partially imbedded in the sand-bank, the wreck of a ship; the sea rolled over it, but the white figure-head was supported by an anchor, the sharp iron of which stuck up almost to the surface of the water. it was against this that jörgen had struck himself when the current had driven him forward with sudden force. stunned and fainting, he sank with his burden, but the succeeding wave threw him and the young girl up again. the fishermen had now reached them, and they were taken into the boat. blood was streaming over jörgen's face; he looked as if he were dead, but he still held the girl in so tight a grasp that it was with the utmost difficulty she could be wrenched from his encircling arm. as pale as death, and quite insensible, she lay at full length at the bottom of the boat, which steered towards skagen. all possible means were tried to restore clara to animation, but in vain--the poor young woman was dead. long had jörgen been buffeting the waves with a corpse--exerting his utmost strength and straining every nerve for a dead body. jörgen still breathed; he was carried to the nearest house on the inner side of the sand-hills. a sort of army surgeon who happened to be at the place, who also acted in the capacities of smith and huckster, attended him until the next day, when a physician from hjörring, who had been sent for, arrived. the patient was severely wounded in the head, and suffering from a brain fever. for a time he uttered fearful shrieks, but on the third day he sank into a state of drowsiness, and his life seemed to hang upon a thread: that it might snap, the physician said, was the best that could be wished for jörgen. "let us pray our lord that he may be taken; he will never more be a rational man." but he was not taken; the thread of life would not break, though memory was swept away, and all the powers and faculties of his mind were gone. it was a frightful change. a living body was left--a body that was to regain health and go about again. jörgen remained in the trader brönne's house. "he was brought into this lamentable condition by his efforts to save our child," said the old man; "he is now our son." jörgen was called "an idiot;" but that was a term not exactly applicable to him. he was like a musical instrument, the strings of which are loose, and can no longer, therefore, be made to sound. only once, for a few minutes, they seemed to resume their elasticity, and they vibrated again. old melodies were played, and played in time. old images seemed to start up before him. they vanished--all glimmering of reason vanished, and he sat again staring vacantly around, without thought, without mind. it was to be hoped that he did not suffer anything. his dark eyes had lost their intelligence; they looked only like black glass that could move about. everybody was sorry for the poor idiot jörgen. it was he who, before he saw the light of day, was destined to a career of earthly prosperity, of wealth and happiness, so great that it was "_frightful pride, overweening arrogance_," to wish for, or to believe in, a future life! all the high powers of his soul were wasted. nothing but hardships, sufferings, and disappointments had been dealt out to him. a valuable bulb he was, torn up from his rich native soil, and cast upon distant sands to rot and perish. was that being, made in the image of god, worth nothing more? was he but the sport of accidents or of chance? no! the god of infinite love would give him a portion in another life for what he had suffered and been deprived of here. "the lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works." these consolatory words, from one of the psalms of david, were repeated in devout faith by the pious old wife of the trader brönne; and her heartfelt prayer was, that our lord would soon release the poor benighted being, and receive him into god's gift of grace--everlasting life. * * * * * in the churchyard, where the sand had drifted into piles against the walls, was clara buried. it appeared as if jörgen had never thought about her grave; it did not enter into the narrow circle of his ideas, which now only dwelt among wrecks of the past. every sunday he accompanied the family to church, and he generally sat quiet with a totally vacant look; but one day, while a psalm was being sung, he breathed a sigh, his eyes lightened up, he turned them towards the altar--towards that spot where, more than a year before, he had knelt, with his dead friend at his side. he uttered her name, became as white as a sheet, and tears rolled down his cheeks. he was helped out of church, and then he said that he felt quite well, and did not think anything had been the matter with him; the short flash of memory had already faded away from him--the much-tried, the sorely-smitten of god. yet that god, our creator, is all wisdom and all love, who can doubt? our hearts and our reason acknowledge it, and the bible proclaims it. "his tender mercies are over all his works." in spain, where, amidst laurels and orange trees, the moorish golden cupolas glitter in the warm air, where songs and castanets are heard, sat, in a splendid mansion, a childless old man. children were passing through the streets in a procession, with lights and waving banners. how much of his enormous wealth would he not have given to possess one child--to have had spared to him his daughter and her little one, who perhaps never beheld the light of day in this world. if so, how would it behold the light of eternity--of paradise? "poor, poor child!" yes; poor child--nothing but a child--and yet in his thirtieth year! for to such an age had jörgen attained there in gammel-skagen. the sand-drifts had found their way even over the graves in the churchyard, and up to the very walls of the church itself; yet here, amidst those who had gone before them--amidst relatives and friends--the dead were still buried. the good old brönne and his wife reposed there, near their daughter, under the white sand. it was late in the year--the time of storms; the sand-hills smoked, the waves rolled mountains high on the raging sea; the birds in hosts, like dark tempestuous clouds, passed screeching over the sand-hills; ship after ship went ashore on the terrible reefs between skagen's green and huusby-klitter. one afternoon jörgen was sitting alone in the parlour, and suddenly there rushed upon his shattered mind a feeling akin to the restlessness which so often, in his younger years, had driven him out among the sand-hills, or upon the heath. "home! home!" he exclaimed. no one heard him. he left the house, and took his way to the sand-hills. the sand and the small stones dashed against his face, and whirled around him. he went towards the church; the sand was lying banked up against the walls, and half way up the windows; but the walk up to the church was freer of it. the church door was not locked, it opened easily, and jörgen entered the sacred edifice. the wind went howling over the town of skagen; it was blowing a perfect hurricane, such as had not been known in the memory of the oldest man living--it was most fearful weather. but jörgen was in god's house, and while dark night came on around him, all seemed light within; it was the light of the immortal soul which is never to be extinguished. he felt as if a heavy stone had fallen from his head; he fancied that he heard the organ playing, but the sounds were those of the storm and the roaring sea. he placed himself in one of the pews, and he fancied that the candles were lighted one after the other, until there was a blaze of brilliancy such as he had beheld in the cathedral in spain; and all the portraits of the old magistrates and burgomasters became imbued with life, descended from the frames in which they had stood for years, and placed themselves in the choir. the gates and side doors of the church opened, he thought, and in walked all the dead, clothed in the grandest costumes of their times, whilst music floated in the air; and when they had seated themselves in the different pews, a solemn hymn arose, and swelled like the rolling of the sea. among those who had joined the spirit throng were his old foster-father and mother from huusby-klitter, and his kind friend brönne and his wife; and at their side, but close to himself, sat their mild, lovely daughter. she held out her hand to him, jörgen thought, and they went up to the altar where once they had knelt together; the priest joined their hands, and pronounced those words and that blessing which were to hallow for them life and love. then music's tones peeled around--the organ, wind instruments, and voices combined--until there arose a volume of sound sufficient to shake the very tombstones over the graves. presently the little ship that hung under the roof moved towards him and clara. it became large and magnificent, with silken sails and gilded masts; the anchor was of the brightest gold, and every rope was of silk cord, as described in the old song. he and his bride stepped on board, then the whole multitude in the church followed them, and there was room for all. he fancied that the walls and vaulted roof of the church turned into blooming elder and linden trees, which diffused a sweet perfume around. it was all one mass of verdure. the trees bowed themselves, and left an open space; then the ship ascended gently, and sailed out through the air above the sea. every light in the church looked like a star. the wind commenced a hymn, and all sang with it: "in love to glory!" "no life shall be lost!" "away to supreme happiness!" "hallelujah!" these words were his last in this world. the cord had burst which held the undying soul. there lay but a cold corpse in the dark church, around which the storm was howling, and which it was overwhelming with the drifting sand. * * * * * the next morning was a sunday; the congregation and their pastor came at the hour of church service. the approach to the church had been almost impassable on account of the depth of the sand, and when at length they reached it, they found an immense sand-heap piled up before the door of the church--the drifting sand had closed up all entrance to its interior. the clergyman read a prayer, and then said that, as god had locked the doors of that holy house, they must go elsewhere and erect another for his service. they sang a psalm, and retired to their homes. jörgen could not be found either at skagen or amidst the sand-hills, where every search was made for him. it was supposed that the wild waves, which had rolled so far up on the sands, had swept him off. but his body lay entombed in a large sarcophagus--in the church itself. during the storm god had cast earth upon his coffin--heavy piles of quicksand had accumulated there, and lie there even now. the sand had covered the lofty arches, sand-thorns and wild roses grow over the church, where the wayfarer now struggles on towards its spire, which towers above the sand, an imposing tombstone over the grave, seen from miles around--no king had ever a grander one! none disturb the repose of the dead--none knew where jörgen lay, until now--the storm sang the secret for me among the sand-hills! _the mud-king's daughter._ the storks are in the habit of relating to their little ones many tales, all from the swamps and the bogs. they are, in general, suitable to the ages and comprehensions of the hearers. the smallest youngsters are contented with mere sound, such as "krible, krable, plurremurre." they think that wonderful; but the more advanced require something rational, or at least something about their family. of the two most ancient and longest traditions that have been handed down among the storks, we are all acquainted with one--that about moses, who was placed by his mother on the banks of the nile, was found there by the king's daughter, was well brought up, and became a great man, such as has never been heard of since in the place where he was buried. the other story is not well known, probably because it is a tale of home; yet it has passed down from one stork grandam to another for a thousand years, and each succeeding narrator has told it better and better, and now we shall tell it best of all. the first pair of storks who related this tale had themselves something to do with its events. the place of their summer sojourn was at the viking's loghouse, up by _the wild morass_, at vendsyssel. it is in hjöring district, away near skagen, in the north of jutland, speaking with geographical precision. it is now an enormous bog, and an account of it can be read in descriptions of the country. this place was once the bottom of the sea; but the waters have receded, and the ground has risen. it stretches itself for miles on all sides, surrounded by wet meadows and pools of water, by peat-bogs, cloudberries, and miserable stunted trees. a heavy mist almost always hangs over this place, and about seventy years ago wolves were found there. it is rightly called, the wild morass; and one may imagine how savage it must have been, and how much swamp and sea must have existed there a thousand years ago. yes, in these respects the same was to be seen there as is to be seen now. the rushes had the same height, the same sort of long leaves, and blue-brown, feather-like flowers that they bear now; the birch tree stood with its white bark, and delicate drooping leaves, as now; and, in regard to the living creatures, the flies had the same sort of crape clothing as they wear now; and the storks' bodies were white, with black and red stockings. mankind, on the contrary, at that time wore coats cut in another fashion from what they do in our days; but every one of them, serf or huntsman, whosoever he might be who trod upon the quagmire, fared a thousand years ago as they fare now: one step forward--they fell in, and sank down to the mud-king, as _he_ was called who reigned below in the great morass kingdom. very little is known about his government; but that is, perhaps, a good thing. near the bog, close by liimfjorden, lay the viking's loghouse of three stories high, and with a tower and stone cellars. the storks had built their nest upon the roof of this dwelling. the female stork sat upon her eggs, and felt certain they would be all hatched. one evening the male stork remained out very long, and when he came home he looked rumpled and flurried. "i have something very terrible to tell thee," he said to the female stork. "thou hadst better keep it to thyself," said she. "remember i am sitting upon the eggs: a fright might do me harm, and the eggs might be injured." "but it _must_ be told thee," he replied. "she has come here--the daughter of our host in egypt. she has ventured the long journey up hither, and she is lost." "she who is of the fairies' race? speak, then! thou knowest that i cannot bear suspense while i am sitting." "know, then, that she believed what the doctors said, which thou didst relate to me. she believed that the bog-plants up here could cure her invalid father; and she has flown hither, in the magic disguise of a swan, with the two other swan princesses, who every year come hither to the north to bathe and renew their youth. she has come, and she is lost." "thou dost spin the matter out so long," muttered the female stork, "the eggs will be quite cooled. i cannot bear suspense just now." "i will come to the point," replied the male. "this evening i went to the rushes where the quagmire could bear me. then came three swans. there was something in their motions which said to me, 'take care; they are not real swans; they are only the appearance of swans, created by magic.' thou wouldst have known as well as i that they were not of the right sort." "yes, surely," she said; "but tell me about the princess. i am tired of hearing about the swans." "in the midst of the morass--here, i must tell thee, it is like a lake," said the male stork--"thou canst see a portion of it if thou wilt raise thyself up a moment--yonder, by the rushes and the green morass, lay a large stump of an alder tree. the three swans alighted upon it, flapped their wings, and looked about them. one of them cast off her swan disguise, and i recognised in her our royal princess from egypt. she sat now with no other mantle around her than her long dark hair. i heard her desire the other two to take good care of her magic swan garb, while she ducked down under the water to pluck the flower which she thought she saw. they nodded, and raised the empty feather dress between them. 'what are they going to do with it?' said i to myself; and she probably asked herself the same question. the answer came too soon, for i saw them take flight up into the air with her charmed feather dress. 'dive thou there!' they cried. 'never more shalt thou fly in the form of a magic swan--never more shalt thou behold the land of egypt. dwell thou in _the wild morass_!' and they tore her magic disguise into a hundred pieces, so that the feathers whirled round about as if there were a fall of snow; and away flew the two worthless princesses." "it is shocking!" said the lady stork; "i can't bear to hear it. tell me what more happened." "the princess sobbed and wept. her tears trickled down upon the trunk of the alder tree, and then it moved; for it was the mud-king himself--he who dwells in the morass. i saw the trunk turn itself, and then there was no more trunk--it struck up two long miry branches like arms; then the poor child became dreadfully alarmed, and she sprang aside upon the green slimy coating of the marsh; but it could not bear me, much less her, and she sank immediately in. the trunk of the alder tree went down with her--it was that which had dragged her down: then arose to the surface large black bubbles, and all further traces of her disappeared. she is now buried in 'the wild morass;' and never, never shall she return to egypt with the flower she sought. thou couldst not have borne to have seen all this, mother." "thou hadst no business to tell me such a startling tale at a time like this. the eggs may suffer. the princess can take care of herself: she will no doubt be rescued. if it had been me or thee, or any of our family, it would have been all over with us." "i will look after her every day, however," said the male stork; and so he did. a long time had elapsed, when one day he saw that far down from the bottom was shooting up a green stem, and when it reached the surface a leaf grew on it. the leaf became broader and broader; close by it came a bud; and one morning, when the stork flew over it, the bud opened in the warm sunshine, and in the centre of it lay a beautiful infant, a little girl, just as if she had been taken out of a bath. she so strongly resembled the princess from egypt, that the stork at first thought it was herself who had become an infant again; but when he considered the matter he came to the conclusion that she was the daughter of the princess and the mud-king, therefore she lay in the calyx of a water-lily. "she cannot be left lying there," said the stork to himself; "yet in my nest we are already too overcrowded. but a thought strikes me. the viking's wife has no children; she has much wished to have a pet. i am often blamed for bringing little ones. i shall now, for once, do so in reality. i shall fly with this infant to the viking's wife: it will be a great pleasure to her." and the stork took the little girl, flew to the loghouse, knocked with his beak a hole in the window-pane of stretched bladder, laid the infant in the arms of the viking's wife, then flew to his mate, and unburdened his mind to her; while the little ones listened attentively, for they were old enough now to do that. "only think, the princess is not dead. she has sent her little one up here, and now it is well provided for." "i told thee from the beginning it would be all well," said the mother stork. "turn thy thoughts now to thine own family. it is almost time for our long journey; i begin now to tingle under the wings. the cuckoo and the nightingale are already gone, and i hear the quails saying that we shall soon have a fair wind. our young ones are quite able to go, i know that." how happy the viking's wife was when, in the morning, she awoke and found the lovely little child lying on her breast! she kissed it and caressed it, but it screeched frightfully, and floundered about with its little arms and legs: it evidently seemed little pleased. at last it cried itself to sleep, and as it lay there it was one of the most beautiful little creatures that could be seen. the viking's wife was so pleased and happy, she took it into her head that her husband, with all his retainers, would come as unexpectedly as the little one had done; and she set herself and the whole household to work, in order that everything might be ready for their reception. the coloured tapestry which she and her women had embroidered with representations of their gods--odin, thor, and freia, as they were called--were hung up; the serfs were ordered to clean and polish the old shields with which the walls were to be decorated; cushions were laid on the benches; and dry logs of wood were heaped on the fireplace in the centre of the hall, so that the pile might be easily lighted. the viking's wife laboured so hard herself that she was quite tired by the evening, and slept soundly. when she awoke towards morning she became much alarmed, for the little child was gone. she sprang up, lighted a twig of the pine tree, and looked about; and, to her amazement, she saw, in the part of the bed to which she stretched her feet, not the beautiful infant, but a great ugly frog. she was so much disgusted with it that she took up a heavy stick, and was going to kill the nasty creature; but it looked at her with such wonderfully sad and speaking eyes that she could not strike it. again she searched about. the frog gave a faint, pitiable cry. she started up, and sprang from the bed to the window; she opened the shutters, and at the same moment the sun streamed in, and cast its bright beams upon the bed and upon the large frog; and all at once it seemed as if the broad mouth of the noxious animal drew itself in, and became small and red--the limbs stretched themselves into the most beautiful form--it was her own little lovely child that lay there, and no ugly frog. "what is all this?" she exclaimed. "have i dreamed a bad dream? that certainly is my pretty little elfin child lying yonder." and she kissed it and strained it affectionately to her heart; but it struggled, and tried to bite like the kitten of a wild cat. neither the next day nor the day after came the viking, though he was on the way, but the wind was against him; it was for the storks. a fair wind for one is a contrary wind for another. in the course of a few days and nights it became evident to the viking's wife how things stood with the little child--that it was under the influence of some terrible witchcraft. by day it was as beautiful as an angel, but it had a wild, evil disposition; by night, on the contrary, it was an ugly frog, quiet, except for its croaking, and with melancholy eyes. it had two natures, that changed about, both without and within. this arose from the little girl whom the stork had brought possessing by day her own mother's external appearance, and at the same time her father's temper; while by night, on the contrary, she showed her connection with him outwardly in her form, whilst her mother's mind and heart inwardly became hers. what art could release her from the power which exercised such sorcery over her? the viking's wife felt much anxiety and distress about it, and yet her heart hung on the poor little being, of whose strange state she thought she should not dare to inform her husband when he came home; for he assuredly, as was the custom, would put the poor child out on the high road, and let any one take it who would. the viking's good-natured wife had not the heart to allow this; therefore she resolved that he should never see the child but by day. at dawn of day the wings of the storks were heard fluttering over the roof. during the night more than a hundred pairs of storks had been making their preparations, and now they flew up to wend their way to the south. "let all the males be ready," was the cry. "let their mates and little ones join them." "how light we feel!" said the young storks, who were all impatience to be off. "how charming to be able to travel to other lands!" "keep ye all together in one flock," cried the father and mother, "and don't chatter so much--it will take away your breath." so they all flew away. about the same time the blast of a horn sounding over the heath gave notice that the viking had landed with all his men; they were returning home with rich booty from the gallic coast, where the people, as in britain, sang in their terror,-- "save us from the savage normands!" what life and bustle were now apparent in the viking's castle near "the wild morass!" casks of mead were brought into the hall, the pile of wood was lighted, and horses were slaughtered for the grand feast which was to be prepared. the sacrificial priests sprinkled with the horses' warm blood the slaves who were to assist in the offering. the fires crackled, the smoke rolled up under the roof, the soot dropped from the beams; but people were accustomed to that. guests were invited, and they brought handsome gifts; rancour and falseness were forgotten--they all became drunk together, and they thrust their doubled fists into each other's faces--which was a sign of good-humour. the skald--he was a sort of poet and musician, but at the same time a warrior--who had been with them, and had witnessed what he sang about, gave them a song, wherein they heard recounted all their achievements in battle, and wonderful adventures. at the end of every verse came the same refrain,-- "fortune dies, friends die, one dies one's self; but a glorious name never dies." and then they all struck on their shields, and thundered with their knives or their knuckle-bones on the table, so that they made a tremendous noise. the viking's wife sat on the cross bench in the open banquet hall. she wore a silk dress, gold bracelets, and large amber beads. she was in her grandest attire, and the skald named her also in his song, and spoke of the golden treasure she had brought her husband; and he rejoiced in the lovely child he had only seen by daylight, in all its wondrous beauty. the fierce temper which accompanied her exterior charms pleased him. "she might become," he said, "a stalwart female warrior, and able to kill a giant adversary." she never even blinked her eyes when a practised hand, in sport, cut off her eyebrows with a sharp sword. the mead casks were emptied, others were brought up, and these, too, were drained; for there were folks present who could stand a good deal. to them might have been applied the old proverb, "the cattle know when to leave the pasture; but an unwise man never knows the depth of his stomach." yes, they all knew it; but people often know the right thing, and do the wrong. they knew also that "one wears out one's welcome when one stays too long in another man's house;" but they remained there for all that. meat and mead are good things. all went on merrily, and towards night the slaves slept amidst the warm ashes, and dipped their fingers into the fat skimmings of the soup, and licked them. it was a rare time! and again the viking went forth on an expedition, notwithstanding the stormy weather. he went after the crops were gathered in. he went with his men to the coast of britain--"it was only across the water," he said--and his wife remained at home with her little girl; and it was soon to be seen that the foster-mother cared almost more for the poor frog, with the honest eyes and plaintive croaking, than for the beauty who scratched and bit everybody around. the raw, damp, autumn, mist, that loosens the leaves from the trees, lay over wood and hedge; "birdfeatherless," as the snow is called, was falling thickly; winter was close at hand. the sparrows seized upon the storks' nest, and talked over, in their fashion, the absent owners. they themselves, the stork pair, with all their young ones, where were they now? * * * * * the storks were now in the land of egypt, where the sun was shining warmly as with us on a lovely summer day. the tamarind and the acacia grew there; the moonbeams streamed over the temples of mahomet. on the slender minarets sat many a pair of storks, reposing after their long journey; the whole immense flock had fixed themselves, nest by nest, amidst the mighty pillars and broken porticos of temples and forgotten edifices. the date tree elevated to a great height its broad leafy roof, as if it wished to form a shelter from the sun. the grey pyramids stood with their outlines sharply defined in the clear air towards the desert, where the ostrich knew he could use his legs; and the lion sat with his large grave eyes, and gazed on the marble sphinxes that lay half imbedded in the sand. the waters of the nile had receded, and a great part of the bed of the river was swarming with frogs; and that, to the stork family, was the pleasantest sight in the country where they had arrived. the young ones were astonished at all they saw. "such are the sights here, and thus it always is in our warm country," said the stork-mother good-humouredly. "is there yet more to be seen?" they asked. "shall we go much further into the country?" "there is nothing more worth seeing," replied the stork-mother. "beyond this luxuriant neighbourhood there is nothing but wild forests, where the trees grow close to each other, and are still more closely entangled by prickly creeping plants, weaving such a wall of verdure, that only the elephant, with his strong clumsy feet, can there tread his way. the snakes are too large for us there, and the lizards too lively. if ye would go to the desert, ye will meet with nothing but sand; it will fill your eyes, it will come in gusts, and cover your feathers. no, it is best here. here are frogs and grass-hoppers. i shall remain here, and so shall you." and they remained. the old ones sat in their nest upon the graceful minaret; they reposed themselves, and yet they had enough to do to smooth their wings and rub their beaks on their red stockings; and they stretched out their necks, saluted gravely, and lifted up their heads with their high foreheads and fine soft feathers, and their brown eyes looked so wise. the female young ones strutted about proudly among the juicy reeds, stole sly glances at the other young storks, made acquaintances, and slaughtered a frog at every third step, or went lounging about with little snakes in their bills, which they fancied looked well, and which they knew would taste well. the male young ones got into quarrels; struck each other with their wings; pecked at each other with their beaks, even until blood flowed. then they all thought of engaging themselves--the male and the female young ones. it was for that they lived, and they built nests, and got again into new quarrels; for in these warm countries every one is so hot-headed. nevertheless they were very happy, and this was a great joy to the old storks. every day there was warm sunshine--every day plenty to eat. they had nothing to think of except pleasure. but yonder, within the splendid palace of their egyptian host, as they called him, there was but little pleasure to be found. the wealthy, mighty chief lay upon his couch, stiffened in all his limbs--stretched out like a mummy in the centre of the grand saloon with the many-coloured painted walls: it was as if he were lying in a tulip. kinsmen and servants stood around him. dead he was not, yet it could hardly be said that he lived. the healing bog-flower from the faraway lands in the north--that which she was to have sought and plucked for him--she who loved him best--would never now be brought. his beautiful young daughter, who in the magic garb of a swan had flown over sea and land away to the distant north, would never more return. "she is dead and gone," had the two swan ladies, her companions, declared on their return home. they had concocted a tale, and they told it as follows:-- "we had flown all three high up in the air when a sportsman saw us, and shot at us with his arrow. it struck our young friend; and, slowly singing her farewell song, she sank like a dying swan down into the midst of the lake in the wood. there, on its banks, under a fragrant weeping birch tree, we buried her. but we took a just revenge: we bound fire under the wings of the swallow that built under the sportman's thatched roof. it kindled--his house was soon in flames--he was burned within it--and the flames shone as far over the sea as to the drooping birch, where she is now earth within the earth. alas! never will she return to the land of egypt." and they both wept bitterly; and the old stork-father, when he heard it, rubbed his bill until it was quite sore. "lies and deceit!" he cried. "i should like, above all things, to run my beak into their breasts." "and break it off," said the stork-mother; "you would look remarkably well then. think first of yourself, and the interests of your own family; everything else is of little consequence." "i will, however, place myself upon the edge of the open cupola to-morrow, when all the learned and the wise are to assemble to take the case of the sick man into consideration: perhaps they may then arrive a little nearer to the truth." and the learned and the wise met together, and talked much, deeply, and profoundly of which the stork could make nothing at all; and, sooth to say, there was no result obtained from all this talking, either for the invalid or for his daughter in "the wild morass;" yet, nevertheless, it was all very well to listen to--one _must_ listen to a great deal in this world. but now it were best, perhaps, for us to hear what had happened formerly. we shall then be better acquainted with the story--at least, we shall know as much as the stork-father did. "love bestows life; the highest love bestows the highest life; it is only through love that his life can be saved," was what had been said; and it was amazingly wisely and well said, the learned declared. "it is a beautiful thought," said the stork-father. "i don't quite comprehend it," said the stork-mother, "but that is not my fault--it is the fault of the thought; though it is all one to me, for i have other things to think upon." and then the learned talked of love between this and that--that there was a difference. love such as lovers felt, and that between parents and children; between light and plants; how the sunbeams kissed the ground, and how thereby the seeds sprouted forth--it was all so diffusely and learnedly expounded, that it was impossible for the stork-father to follow the discourse, much less to repeat it. it made him very thoughtful, however; he half closed his eyes, and actually stood on one leg the whole of the next day, reflecting on what he had heard. so much learning was difficult for him to digest. but this much the stork-father understood. he had heard both common people and great people speak as if they really felt it, that it was a great misfortune to many thousands, and to the country in general, that the king lay so ill, and that nothing could be done to bring about his recovery. it would be a joy and a blessing to all if he could but be restored to health. "but where grew the health-giving flower that might cure him?" everybody asked that question. scientific writings were searched, the glittering stars were consulted, the wind and the weather. every traveller that could be found was appealed to, until at length the learned and the wise, as before stated, pitched upon this: "love bestows life--life to a father." and though this dictum was really not understood by themselves, they adopted it, and wrote it out as a prescription. "love bestows life"--well and good. but how was this to be applied? here they were at a stand. at length, however, they agreed that the princess must be the means of procuring the necessary help, as she loved her father with all her heart and soul. they also agreed on a mode of proceeding. it is more than a year and a day since then. they settled that when the new moon had just disappeared, she was to betake herself by night to the marble sphinx in the desert, to remove the sand from the entrance with her foot, and then to follow one of the long passages which led to the centre of the great pyramids, where one of the most mighty monarchs of ancient times, surrounded by splendour and magnificence, lay in his mummy-coffin. there she was to lean her head over the corpse, and then it would be revealed to her where life and health for her father were to be found. all this she had performed, and in a dream had been instructed that from the deep morass high up in the danish land--the place was minutely described to her--she might bring home a certain lotus flower, which beneath the water would touch her breast, that would cure him. and therefore she had flown, in the magical disguise of a swan, from egypt up to "the wild morass." all this was well known to the stork-father and the stork-mother; and now, though rather late, we also know it. we know that the mud-king dragged her down with him, and that, as far as regarded her home, she was dead and gone; only the wisest of them all said, like the stork-mother, "she can take care of herself;" and, knowing no better, they waited to see what would turn up. "i think i shall steal their swan garbs from the two wicked princesses," said the stork-father; "then they will not be able to go to 'the wild morass' and do mischief. i shall leave the swan disguises themselves up yonder till there is some use for them." "where could you keep them?" asked the old female stork. "in our nest near 'the wild morass,'" he replied. "i and our eldest young ones can carry them; and if we find them too troublesome, there are plenty of places on the way where we can hide them until our next flight. one swan's dress would be enough for her, to be sure; but two are better. it is a good thing to have abundant means of travelling at command in a country so far north." "you will get no thanks for what you propose doing," said the stork-mother; "but you are the master, and must please yourself. i have nothing to say except at hatching-time." * * * * * at the viking's castle near "the wild morass," whither the storks were flying in the spring, the little girl had received her name. she was called helga; but this name was too soft for one with such dispositions as that lovely creature had. she grew fast month by month; and in a few years, even while the storks were making their habitual journeys in autumn towards the nile, in spring towards "the wild morass," the little child had grown up into a big girl, and before any one could have thought it, she was in her sixteenth year, and a most beautiful young lady--charming in appearance, but hard and fierce in temper--the most savage of the savage in that gloomy, cruel time. it was a pleasure to her to sprinkle with her white hands the reeking blood of the horse slaughtered for an offering. she would bite, in her barbarous sport, the neck of the black-cock which was to be slaughtered by the sacrificial priest; and to her foster-father she said in positive earnestness,-- "if your enemy were to come and cast ropes over the beams that support the roof, and drag them down upon your chamber whilst you were sleeping, i would not awaken you if i could--i would not hear it--the blood would tingle as it does now in that ear on which, years ago, you dared to give me a blow. i remember it well." but the viking did not believe she spoke seriously. like every one else, he was fascinated by her extreme beauty, and never troubled himself to observe if the mind of little helga were in unison with her looks. she would sit on horseback without a saddle, as if grown fast to the animal, and go at full gallop; nor would she spring off, even if her horse and other ill-natured ones were biting each other. entirely dressed as she was, she would cast herself from the bank into the strong current of the fiord, and swim out to meet the viking when his boat was approaching the land. of her thick, splendid hair she had cut off the longest lock, and plaited for herself a string to her bow. "self-made is well made," she said. the viking's wife, according to the manners and customs of the age in which she lived, was strong in mind, and decided in purpose; but with her daughter she was like a soft, timid woman. she was well aware that the dreadful child was under the influence of sorcery. and helga apparently took a malicious pleasure in frightening her mother. often when the latter was standing on the balcony, or walking in the courtyard, helga would place herself on the side of the well, throw her arms up in the air, and then let herself fall headlong into the narrow, deep hole, where, with her frog nature, she would duck and raise herself up again, and then crawl up as if she had been a cat, and run dripping of water into the grand saloon, so that the green rushes which were strewed over the floor partook of the wet stream. there was but one restraint upon little helga--that was the _evening twilight_. in it she became quiet and thoughtful--would allow herself to be called and guided; then too, she would seem to feel some affection for her mother; and when the sun sank, and the outer and inward change took place, she would sit still and sorrowful, shrivelled up into the form of a frog, though the head was now much larger than that little animal's, and therefore she was uglier than ever: she looked like a miserable dwarf, with a frog's head and webbed fingers. there was something very sad in her eyes; voice she had none except a kind of croak like a child sobbing in its dreams. then would the viking's wife take her in her lap; she would forget the ugly form, and look only at the melancholy eyes; and more than once she exclaimed,-- "i could almost wish that thou wert always my dumb fairy-child, for thou art more fearful to look at when thy form resumes its beauty." and she wrote runic rhymes against enchantment and infirmity, and threw them over the poor creature; but there was no change for the better. * * * * * "one could hardly believe that she was once so small as to lie in the calyx of a water-lily," said the stork-father. "she is now quite a woman, and the image of her egyptian mother. her, alas! we have never seen again. she did not take good care of herself, as thou didst expect and the learned people predicted. year after year i have flown backwards and forwards over 'the wild morass,' but never have i seen a sign of her. yes, i can assure thee, during the years we have been coming up here, when i have arrived some days before thee, that i might mend the nest and set everything in order in it, i have for a whole night flown, as if i had been an owl or a bat, continually over the open water, but to no purpose. we have had no use either for the two swan disguises which i and the young ones dragged all the way up here from the banks of the nile. it was hard enough work, and it took us three journeys to bring them up. they have now lain here for years at the bottom of our nest; and should a fire by any chance break out, and the viking's house be burned down, they would be lost." "and our good nest would be lost," said the old female stork; "but thou thinkest less of that than of these feather things and thy bog princess. thou hadst better go down to her at once, and remain in the mire. thou art a hard-hearted father to thine own: _that_ i have said since i laid my first eggs. what if i or one of our young ones should get an arrow under our wings from that fierce crazy brat at the viking's? she does not care what she does. this has been much longer our home than hers, she ought to recollect. we do not forget our duty; we pay our rent every year--a feather, an egg, and a young one--as we ought to do. dost thou think that when _she_ is outside _i_ can venture to go below, as in former days, or as i do in egypt, where i am almost everybody's comrade, not to mention that i can there even peep into the pots and pans without any fear? no; i sit up here and fret myself about her--the hussy! and i fret myself at thee too. thou shouldst have left her lying in the water-lily, and there would have been an end of her." "thy words are much harder than thy heart," said the stork-father. "i know thee better than thou knowest thyself." and then he made a hop, flapped his wings twice, stretched his legs out behind him, and away he flew, or rather sailed, without moving his wings, until he had got to some distance. then he brought his wings into play; the sun shone upon his white feathers; he stretched his head and his neck forward, and hastened on his way. "he is, nevertheless, still the handsomest of them all," said his admiring mate; "but i will not tell him that." * * * * * late that autumn the viking returned home, bringing with him booty and prisoners. among these was a young christian priest, one of the men who denounced the gods of the northern mythology. often about this time was the new religion talked of in baronial halls and ladies' bowers--the religion that was spreading over all lands of the south, and which, with the holy ansgarius,[ ] had even reached as far as hedeby. even little helga had heard of the pure religion of christ, who, from love to mankind, had given himself as a sacrifice to save them; but with her it went in at one ear and out at the other, to use a common saying. the word _love_ alone seemed to have made some impression upon her, when she shrunk into the miserable form of a frog in the closed-up chamber. but the viking's wife had listened to, and felt herself wonderfully affected by, the rumour and the saga about the son of the one only true god. [footnote : ansgarius was originally a monk from the monastery of new corbie, in saxony, to which several of the monks of corbie in france had migrated in a.d. . its abbot, paschasius radbert, who died in , was, according to cardinal bellarmine, the first fully to propagate the belief, now entertained in the roman catholic church, of the corporeal presence of the saviour in the sacrament. ansgarius, who was very enthusiastic, accepted a mission to the north of europe, and preached christianity in denmark and sweden. jutland was for some time the scene of his labours, and he made many converts there; also in sleswig, where a christian school for children was established, who, on leaving it, were sent to spread christianity throughout the country. an archbishopric was founded by the then emperor of germany in conformity to a plan which had been traced, though not carried out, by charlemagne; and this was bestowed upon ansgarius. but the church he had built was burnt by some still heathen danes, who, gathering a large fleet, invaded hamburg, which they also reduced to ashes. the emperor then constituted him bishop of bremen.--_trans._] the men, returning from their expedition, had told of the splendid temples of costly hewn stone raised to him whose errand was love. a pair of heavy golden vessels, beautifully wrought out of pure gold, were brought home, and both had a charming, spicy perfume. they were the censers which the christian priests swung before the altars, on which blood never flowed; but wine and the consecrated bread were changed into the blood of him who had given himself for generations yet unborn. to the deep, stone-walled cellars of the viking's loghouse was the young captive, the christian priest, consigned, fettered with cords round his feet and his hands. he was as beautiful as baldur to look at, said the viking's wife, and she was grieved at his fate; but young helga wished that he should be ham-strung, and bound to the tails of wild oxen. "then i should let loose the dogs. halloo! then away over bogs and pools to the naked heath. hah! that would be something pleasant to see--still pleasanter to follow him on the wild journey." but the viking would not hear of his being put to such a death. on the morrow, as a scoffer and denier of the high gods, he was to be offered up as a sacrifice to them upon the blood stone in the sacred grove. he was to be the first human sacrifice ever offered up there. young helga prayed that she might be allowed to sprinkle with the blood of the captive the images of the gods and the assembled spectators. she sharpened her gleaming knife, and, as one of the large ferocious dogs, of which there were plenty in the courtyard, leaped over her feet, she stuck the knife into his side. "that is to prove the blade," she exclaimed. and the viking's wife was shocked at the savage-tempered, evil-minded girl; and when night came, and the beauteous form and the disposition of her daughter changed, she poured forth her sorrow to her in warm words, which came from the bottom of her heart. the hideous frog with the ogre head stood before her, and fixed its brown sad eyes upon her, listened, and seemed to understand with a human being's intellect. "never, even to my husband, have i hinted at the double sufferings i have through you," said the viking's wife. "there is more sorrow in my heart on your account than i could have believed. great is a mother's love. but love never enters your mind. your heart is like a lump of cold hard mud. from whence did you come to my house?" then the ugly shape trembled violently; it seemed as if these words touched an invisible tie between the body and the soul--large tears started to its eyes. "your time of trouble will come some day, depend on it," said the viking's wife, "and dreadful will it also be for me. better had it been that you had been put out on the highway, and the chillness of the night had benumbed you until you slept in death;" and the viking's wife wept salt tears, and went angry and distressed away, passing round behind the loose skin partition that hung over an upper beam to divide the chamber. alone in a corner sat the shrivelled frog. she was mute, but after a short interval she uttered a sort of half-suppressed sigh. it was as if in sorrow a new life had awoke in some nook of her heart. she took a step forward, listened, advanced again, and grasping with her awkward hands the heavy bar that was placed across the door, she removed it softly, and quietly drew away the pin that was stuck in over the latch. she then seized the lighted lamp that stood in the room beyond: it seemed as if a great resolution had given her strength. she made her way down to the dungeon, drew back the iron bolt that fastened the trap-door, and slid down to where the prisoner was lying. he was sleeping. she touched him with her cold, clammy hand; and when he awoke, and beheld the disgusting creature, he shuddered as if he had seen an evil apparition. she drew her knife, severed his bonds, and beckoned to him to follow her. he named holy names, made the sign of the cross, and when the strange shape stood without moving, he exclaimed, in the words of the bible,-- "'blessed is he that considereth the poor: the lord will deliver him in time of trouble.' who art thou? how comes it that, under the exterior of such an animal, there is so much compassionate feeling?" the frog beckoned to him, and led him, behind tapestry that concealed him, through private passages out to the stables, and pointed to a horse. he sprang on it, and she also jumped up; and, placing herself before him, she held by the animal's mane. the prisoner understood her movement; and at full gallop they rode, by a path he never could have found, away to the open heath. he forgot her ugly form--he knew that the grace and mercy of god could be evinced even by means of hobgoblins--he put up earnest prayers, and sang holy hymns. she trembled. was it the power of the prayers and hymns that affected her thus? or was it a cold shivering at the approach of morning, that was about to dawn? what was it that she felt? she raised herself up into the air, attempted to stop the horse, and was on the point of leaping down; but the christian priest held her fast with all his might, and chanted a psalm, which he thought would have sufficient strength to overcome the influence of the witchcraft under which she was kept in the hideous disguise of a frog. and the horse dashed more wildly forward, the heavens became red, the first ray of the sun burst forth through the morning sky, and with that clear gush of light came the miraculous change--she was the young beauty, with the cruel, demoniacal spirit. the astonished priest held the loveliest maiden in his arms he had ever beheld; but he was horror-struck, and, springing from the horse, he stopped it, expecting to see it also the victim of some fearful sorcery. young helga sprang at the same moment to the ground, her short childlike dress reaching no lower than her knees. suddenly she drew her sharp knife from her belt, and rushed furiously upon him. "let me but reach thee--let me but reach thee, and my knife shall find its way to thy heart. thou art pale in thy terror, beardless slave!" she closed with him; a severe struggle ensued, but it seemed as if some invincible power bestowed strength upon the christian priest. he held her fast; and the old oak tree close by came to his assistance by binding down her feet with its roots, which were half loosened from the earth, her feet having slid under them. there was a fountain near, and he splashed the clear, fresh water over her face and neck, commanding the unclean spirit to pass out of her, and signed her according to the christian rites; but the baptismal water had no power where the fountain of belief had not streamed upon the heart. yet still he was the victor. yes, more than human strength could have accomplished against the powers of evil lay in his acts, which, as it were, overpowered her. she suffered her arms to sink, and gazed with wondering looks and blanched cheeks upon the man whom she deemed some mighty wizard, strong in sorcery and the black art. these were mystic rhunes he had recited, and magic characters he had traced in the air. not for the glancing axe or the well-sharpened knife, if he had brandished these before her eyes, would they have blinked, or would she have winced; but she winced now when he made the sign of the cross upon her brow and bosom, and she stood now like a tame bird, her head bowed down upon her breast. then he spoke kindly to her of the work of mercy she had performed towards him that night, when, in the ugly disguise of a frog, she had come to him, had loosened his bonds, and brought him forth to light and life. she also was bound--bound even with stronger fetters than he had been, he said; but she also should be set free, and like him attain to light and life. he would take her to hedeby, to the holy ansgarius. there, in the christian city, the witchcraft in which she was held would be exorcised; but not before him must she sit on horseback, even if she wished it herself--he dared not place her there. "thou must sit behind me on the horse, not before me. thine enchanting beauty has a magic power bestowed by the evil one. i fear it; and yet the victory shall be mine through christ." he knelt down and prayed fervently. it seemed as if the surrounding wood had been consecrated into a holy temple; the birds began to sing, as if they belonged to the new congregation; the wild thyme sent forth its fragrant scent, as if to take the place of incense; while the priest proclaimed these bible words: "to give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death; to guide our feet into the way of peace." and he spoke of everlasting life; and as he discoursed, the horse which had carried them in their wild flight stood still, and pulled at the large bramble berries, so that the ripest ones fell on little helga's hand, inviting her to pluck them for herself. she allowed herself patiently to be lifted upon the horse, and she sat on its back like a somnambulist, who was neither in a waking nor a sleeping state. the christian priest tied two small green branches together in the form of a cross, which he held high aloft; and thus they rode through the forest, which became thicker and thicker, and the path, if path it could be called, taking them farther into it. the blackthorn stood as if to bar their way, and they had to ride round outside of it; the trickling streams swelled no longer into mere rivulets, but into stagnant pools, and they had to ride round them; but as the soft wind that played among the foliage of the trees was refreshing and strengthening to the travellers, so the mild words that were spoken in christian charity and truth served to lead the benighted one to light and life. it is said that a constant dripping of water will make a hollow in the hardest stone, and that the waves of the sea will in time round the edges of the sharpest rocks. the dew of grace which fell for little helga softened the hard, and smoothed the sharp, in her nature. true, it was not discernible yet in her, nor was she aware of it herself. what knows the seed in the ground of the effect which the refreshing dew and the warm sunbeams are to have in producing from it vegetation and flowers? as a mother's song to her child, unmarked, makes an impression upon its infant mind, and it prattles after her several of the words without understanding them, but in time these words arrange themselves into order, and they become clearer, so in the case of helga worked _that word_ which is mighty to save. they rode out of the forest, and crossed an open heath; then again they entered a pathless wood, where, towards evening, they encountered a band of robbers. "whence didst thou steal that beautiful wench?" they shouted, as they stopped the horse, and dragged its two riders down; for they were strong and robust men. the priest had no other weapon than the knife which he had taken from little helga. with that he now stood on his defence. one of the robbers swung his ponderous axe, but the young christian fortunately sprang aside in time to avoid the blow, which then fell upon the unfortunate horse, and the sharp edge entered into its neck; blood streamed from the wound, and the poor animal fell to the ground. helga, who had only at that moment awoke from her long deep trance, sprang forward, and cast herself over the gasping creature. the christian priest placed himself before her as a shield and protection from the lawless men; but one of them struck him on the forehead with an iron hammer, so that it was dashed in, and the blood and brains gushed forth, while he fell down dead on the spot. the robbers seized helga by her white arms; but at that moment the sun went down, its last beam faded away, and she was transformed into a hideous-looking frog. the pale green mouth stretched itself over half the face, its arms became thin and slimy, and a broad hand, with webbed-like membranes, extended itself like a fan. then the robbers withdrew their hold of her in terror and astonishment. she stood like the ugly animal among them, and, according to the nature of a frog, she began to hop about, and, jumping faster than usual, she soon escaped into the depths of the thicket. the robbers were then convinced that it was some evil artifice of the mischief loving loke, or else some secret magical deception; and in dismay they fled from the place. * * * * * the full moon had risen, and its silver light penetrated even the gloomy recesses of the forest, when from among the low thick brushwood, in the frog's hideous form, crept the young helga. she stopped when she reached the bodies of the christian priest and the slaughtered horse: she gazed on them with eyes that seemed full of tears, and the frog uttered a sound that somewhat resembled the sob of a child who was on the point of crying. she threw herself first over the one, then over the other; then took water up in her webbed hand, and poured it over them; but all was in vain--they were dead, and dead they would remain. she knew that. wild beasts would soon come and devour their bodies. no, that must not be; therefore she determined to dig a grave in the ground for them, but she had nothing to dig it with except the branch of a tree and both her own hands. with these she worked away until her fingers bled. she found she made so little progress, that she feared the work would never be completed. then she took water, and washed the dead man's face; covered it with fresh green leaves; brought large boughs of the trees, and laid them over him; sprinkled dead leaves amongst the branches; fetched the largest stones she could carry, and placed them over the bodies, and filled up the openings with moss. when she had done all this she thought that their tomb might be strong and safe; but during her long and arduous labour the night had passed away. the sun arose, and young helga stood again in all her beauty, with bloody hands, and, for the first time, with tears on her blooming cheeks. during this change it seemed as if two natures were wrestling within her; she trembled, looked around her as if awakening from a painful dream, then seized upon the slender branch of a tree near, and held fast by it as if for support; and in another moment she climbed like a cat up to the top of the tree, and placed herself firmly there. for a whole long day she sat there like a frightened squirrel in the deep loneliness of the forest, where all is still and dead, people say. dead! there flew by butterflies chasing each other either in sport or in strife. there were ant-hills near, each covered with hundreds of little busy labourers, passing in swarms to and fro. in the air danced innumerable gnats; crowds of buzzing flies swept past; lady-birds, dragon-flies, and other winged insects floated hither and thither; earth-worms crept forth from the damp ground; moles crawled about; otherwise it was still--_dead_, as people say and think. none remarked helga, except the jays that flew screeching to the top of the tree where she sat; they hopped on the branches around her with impudent curiosity, but there was something in the glance of her eye that speedily drove them away; they were none the wiser about her, nor, indeed, was she about herself. when the evening approached, and the sun began to sink, the transformation time rendered a change of position necessary. she slipped down from the tree, and, as the last ray of the sun faded away, she was again the shrivelled frog, with the webbed-fingered hands; but her eyes beamed now with a charming expression, which they had not worn in the beautiful form; they were the mildest, sweetest girlish eyes that glanced from behind the mask of a frog--they bore witness to the deeply-thinking human mind, the deeply-feeling human heart; and these lovely eyes burst into tears--tears of unfeigned sorrow. close to the lately raised grave lay the cross of green boughs that had been tied together--the last work of him who was now dead and gone. helga took it up, and the thought presented itself to her that it would be well to place it amidst the stones, above him and the slaughtered horse. with the sad remembrances thus awakened, her tears flowed faster; and in the fulness of her heart she scratched the same sign in the earth round the grave--it would be a fence that would decorate it so well. and just as she was forming, with both of her hands, the figure of the cross, her magic disguise fell off like a torn glove; and when she had washed herself in the clear water of the fountain near, and in amazement looked at her delicate white hands, she made the sign of the cross between herself and the dead priest; then her lips moved, then her tongue was loosened; and that name which so often, during the ride through the forest, she had heard spoken and chanted, became audible from her mouth--she exclaimed, "jesus christ!" when the frog's skin had fallen off she was again the beautiful maiden; but her head drooped heavily, her limbs seemed to need repose--she slept. her sleep was only a short one, however; she awoke about midnight, and before her stood the dead horse full of life; its eyes glittered, and light seemed to proceed from the wound in its neck. close to it the dead christian priest showed himself--"more beautiful than baldur," the viking's wife would have said; and yet he came as a flash of fire. there was an earnestness in his large, mild eyes, a searching, penetrating look--grave, almost stern--that thrilled the young proselyte to the utmost depths of her heart. helga trembled before him; and her memory awoke as if with the power it would exercise on the great day of doom. all the kindness that had been bestowed on her, every affectionate word that had been said to her, came back to her mind with an impression deeper than they had ever before made. she understood that it was love that, during the days of trial here, had supported her--those days of trial in which the offspring of a being with a soul, and a form of mud, had writhed and struggled. she understood that she had only followed the promptings of her own disposition, and done nothing to help herself. all had been bestowed on her--all had been ordained for her. she bowed herself in lowly humility and shame before him who must be able to read every thought of the heart; and at that moment she felt as if a purifying flame darted through her--a light from the holy spirit. "daughter of the dust!" said the christian priest, "from dust, from earth hast thou arisen--from earth shalt thou again arise! a ray from god's invisible sun shall stream on thee. no soul shall be lost. but far off is the time when life takes flight into eternity. i come from the land of the dead. thou also shalt once pass through the dark valley into yon lofty realms of brightness, where grace and perfection dwell. i shall not guide thee now to hedeby for christian baptism. first must thou disperse the slimy surface over the deep morass, draw up the living root of thy life and thy cradle, and perform thy appointed task, ere thou darest to seek the holy rite." and he lifted her up on the horse, and gave her a golden censer like those she had formerly seen at the viking's castle; and strong was the perfume which issued from it. the open wound on the forehead of the murdered man shone like a diadem of brilliants. he took the cross from the grave, and raised it high above him; then away they went through the air, away over the rustling woods, away over the mountains where the giant heroes are buried, sitting on the slaughtered steed. still onward the phantom forms pursued their way; and in the clear moonlight glittered the gold circlet round their brows, and the mantle fluttered in the breeze. the magic dragon, who was watching over his treasures, raised his head and gazed at them. the hill dwarfs peeped out from their mountain recesses and plough-furrows. there were swarms of them, with red, blue, and green lights, that looked like the numerous sparks in the ashes of newly-burned paper. away over forest and heath, over limpid streams and stagnant pools, they hastened towards "the wild morass," and over it they flew in wide circles. the christian priest held aloft the cross, which looked as dazzling as burnished gold, and as he did so he chanted the mass hymns. little helga sang with him as a child follows its mother's song. she swung the censer about as if before the altar, and there came a perfume so strong, so powerful in its effect, that it caused the reeds and sedges to blossom; every sprout shot up from the deep bottom--everything that had life raised itself up; and with the rest arose a mass of water-lilies, which looked like a carpet of embroidered flowers. upon it lay a sleeping female, young and beautiful. helga thought she beheld herself mirrored in the calm water; but it was her mother whom she saw--the mud-king's wife--the princess from the banks of the nile. the dead christian priest prayed that the sleeper might be lifted upon the horse. at first the latter sank under the additional burden, as if its body were but a winding-sheet fluttering in the wind; but the sign of the cross gave strength to the airy phantom, and all three rode on it to the solid ground. then crowed the cock at the viking's castle, and the apparitions seemed to disappear in a mist, which was wafted away by the wind; but the mother and daughter stood together. "is that myself i behold in the deep water?" exclaimed the mother. "is that myself i see on the shining surface?" said the daughter. and they approached each other till form met form in a warm embrace, and wildly the mother's heart beat when she perceived the truth. "my child! my heart's own flower! my lotus from the watery deep!" and she encircled her daughter with her arm, and wept her tears caused a new sensation to helga--they were the baptism of love for her. "i came hither in the magic disguise of a swan, and i threw it off," said the mother. "i sank through the swaying mire deep into the mud of the morass, which like a wall closed around me; but soon i perceived that i was in a fresher stream--some power drew me deeper and still deeper down. i felt my eyelids heavy with sleep--i slumbered and i dreamed. i thought that i was again in the interior of the egyptian pyramid, but before me still stood the heaving alder trunk that had so terrified me on the surface of the morass. i saw the cracks in the bark, and they changed their appearance, and became hieroglyphics. it was the mummy's coffin i was looking at; it burst open, and out issued from it the monarch of a thousand years ago--the mummy form, black as pitch, dark and shining as a wood-snail, or as that thick slimy mud. it was the mud-king, or the mummy of the pyramids; i knew not which. he threw his arms around me, and i felt as if i were dying. i only felt that i was alive again when i found something warm on my breast, and there a little bird was flapping with its wings, twittering and singing. it flew from my breast high up in the dark, heavy space; but a long green string bound it still to me. i heard and i comprehended its tones and its longing: "freedom! sunshine! to the father!" then i thought of my father in my distant home, that dear sunny land--my life, my affection--and i loosened the cord, and let it flutter away home to my father. since that hour i have not dreamed. i have slept a long, dark, heavy sleep until now, when the strange sounds and perfume awoke me and set me free." that green tie between the mother's heart and the bird's wings, where now did it flutter? what now had become of it? the stork alone had seen it. the cord was the green stem; the knot was the shining flower--the cradle for that child who now had grown up in beauty, and again rested near her mother's heart. and as they stood there embracing each other the stork-father flew in circles round them, hastened back to his nest, took from it the magic feather disguises that had been hidden away for so many years, cast one down before each of them, and then joined them as they raised themselves from the ground like two white swans. "let us now have some chat," said the stork-father, "now we understand each other's language, even though one bird's beak is not exactly made after the pattern of another's. it is most fortunate that you came to night; to-morrow we should all have been away--the mother, the young ones, and myself. we are off to the south. look at me! i am an old friend from the country where the nile flows, and so is the mother, though there is more kindness in her heart than in her tongue. she always believed that the princess would make her escape. the young ones and i brought these swan garbs up here. well, how glad i am, and how fortunate it is that i am here still! at dawn of day we shall take our departure--a large party of storks. we shall fly foremost, and if you will follow us you will not miss the way. the young ones and myself will have an eye to you." "and the lotus flower i was to have brought," said the egyptian princess; "it shall go within the swan disguise, by my side, and i shall have my heart's darling with me. then homewards--homewards!" then helga said that she could not leave the danish land until she had once more seen her foster-mother, the viking's excellent wife. to helga's thoughts arose every pleasing recollection, every kind word, even every tear her adopted mother had shed on her account; and, at that moment, she felt that she almost loved that mother best. "yes, we must go to the viking's castle," said the stork; "there my young ones and their mother await me. how they will stare! the mother does not speak much; but, though she is rather abrupt, she means well. i will presently make a little noise, that she may know we are coming." and he clattered with his bill as he and the swans flew close to the viking's castle. within it all were lying in deep sleep. the viking's wife had retired late to rest; she lay in anxious thought about little helga, who now for full three days and nights had disappeared along with the christian priest: she had probably assisted him in his escape, for it was her horse that was missing from the stables. by what power had all this been accomplished? the viking's wife thought upon the wondrous works she had heard had been performed by the immaculate christ, and by those who believed on him and followed him. her changing thoughts assumed the shapes of life in her dreams; she fancied she was still awake, lost in deep reflection; she imagined that a storm arose--that she heard the sea roaring in the east and in the west, the waves dashing from the kattegat and the north sea; the hideous serpents which encircled the earth in the depths of the ocean struggling in deadly combat. it was the night of the gods--ragnarok, as the heathens called the last hour, when all should be changed, even the high gods themselves. the reverberating horn sounded, and forth over the rainbow[ ] rode the gods, clad in steel, to fight the final battle; before them flew the winged valkyries, and the rear was brought up by the shades of the dead giant-warriors; the whole atmosphere was illuminated around them by the northern lights, but darkness conquered all--it was an awful hour! [footnote : the bridge of heaven in the fables of the scandinavian mythology.--_trans._] and near the terrified viking's wife sat upon the floor little helga in the ugly disguise of the frog; and she shivered and worked her way up to her foster-mother, who took her in her lap, and disgusting as she was in that form, lovingly caressed her. the air was filled with the sounds of the clashing of swords, the blows of clubs, the whizzing of arrows, like a violent hail-storm. the time was come when heaven and earth should be destroyed, the stars should fall, and all be swallowed up below in surtur's fire; but a new earth and a new heaven she knew were to come; the corn was to wave where the sea now rolled over the golden sands; the unknown god at length reigned; and to him ascended baldur, the mild, the lovable, released from the kingdom of death. he came; the viking's wife beheld him--she recognised his countenance: it was that of the captive christian priest. "immaculate christ!" she cried aloud; and whilst uttering this holy name she impressed a kiss upon the ugly brow of the frog-child. then fell the magic disguise, and helga stood before her in all her radiant beauty, gentle as she had never looked before, and with speaking eyes. she kissed her foster-mother's hands, blessed her for all the care and kindness which she, in the days of distress and trial, had lavished upon her; thanked her for the thoughts with which she had inspired her mind--thanked her for mentioning _that name_ which she now repeated, "immaculate christ!" and then lifting herself up in the suddenly adopted shape of a graceful swan, little helga spread her wings widely out with the rustling sound of a flock of birds of passage on the wing, and in another moment she was gone. the viking's wife awoke, and on the outside of her casement were to be heard the same rustling and flapping of wings. it was the time, she knew, when the storks generally took their departure; it was them she heard. she wished to see them once more before their journey to the south, and bid them farewell. she got up, went out on the balcony, and then she saw, on the roof of an adjoining outhouse, stork upon stork, while all around the place, above the highest trees, flew crowds of them, wheeling in large circles; but below, on the brink of the well, where little helga had but so lately often sat, and frightened her with her wild actions, sat now two swans, looking up at her with expressive eyes; and she remembered her dream, which seemed to her almost a reality. she thought of helga in the appearance of a swan; she thought of the christian priest, and felt a strange gladness in her heart. the swans fluttered their wings and bowed their necks, as if they were saluting her; and the viking's wife opened her arms, as if she understood them, and smiled amidst her tears and manifold thoughts. then, with a clattering of bills and a noise of wings, the storks all turned towards the south to commence their long journey. "we will not wait any longer for the swans," said the stork-mother. "if they choose to go with us, they must come at once; we cannot be lingering here till the plovers begin their flight. it is pleasant to travel as we do in a family party, not like the chaffinches and strutting cocks. among their species the males fly by themselves, and the females by themselves: that, to say the least of it, is not at all seemly. what a miserable sound the stroke of the swans' wings has compared with ours!" "every one flies in his own way," said the stork-father. "swans fly slantingly, cranes in triangles, and plovers in serpentine windings." "name not serpents or snakes when we are about to fly up yonder," said the stork-mother. "it will only make the young ones long for a sort of food which they can't get just now." * * * * * "are these the high hills, beneath yonder, of which i have heard?" asked helga, in the disguise of a swan. "these are thunder-clouds driving under us," replied her mother. "what are these white clouds that seem so stationary?" asked helga. "these are the mountains covered with everlasting snow that thou seest," said her mother; and they flew over the alps towards the blue mediterranean. * * * * * "there is africa! there is egypt!" cried in joyful accents, under her swan disguise, the daughter of the nile, as high up in the air she descried, like a whitish-yellow, billow-shaped streak, her native soil. the storks also saw it, and quickened their flight. "i smell the mud of the nile and the wet frogs," exclaimed the stork-mother. "it makes my mouth water. yes, now ye shall have nice things to eat, and ye shall see the marabout, the ibis, and the crane: they are all related to our family, but are not nearly so handsome as we are. they think a great deal, however, of themselves, particularly the ibis: he has been spoiled by the egyptians, who make a mummy of him, and stuff him with aromatic herbs. _i_ would rather be stuffed with living frogs; and that is what ye would all like also, and what ye shall be. better a good dinner when one is living than to be made a grand show of when one is dead. that is what i think, and i know i am right." "the storks have returned," was told in the splendid house on the banks of the nile, where, within the open hall, upon soft cushions, covered with a leopard's skin, the king lay, neither living nor dead, hoping for the lotus flower from the deep morass of the north. his kindred and his attendants were standing around him. and into the hall flew two magnificent white swans--they had arrived with the storks. they cast off the dazzling magic feather garbs, and there stood two beautiful women, as like each other as two drops of water. they leaned over the pallid, faded old man; they threw back their long hair; and, as little helga bowed over her grandfather, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkled, life returned to his stiffened limbs. the old man rose hale and hearty; his daughter and his grand-daughter pressed him in their arms, as if in a glad morning salutation after a long heavy dream. * * * * * and there was joy throughout the palace, and in the storks' nest also; but _there_ the joy was principally for the good food, the swarms of nice frogs; and whilst the learned noted down in haste, and very carelessly, the history of the two princesses and of the lotus flower as an important event, and a blessing to the royal house, and to the country in general, the old storks related the history in their own way to their own family; but not until they had all eaten enough, else these would have had other things to think of than listening to any story. "now thou wilt be somebody," whispered the stork-mother; "it is only reasonable to expect that." "oh! what should _i_ be?" said the stork-father. "and what have _i_ done? nothing!" "thou hast done more than all the others put together. without thee and the young ones the two princesses would never have seen egypt again, or cured the old man. thou wilt be nothing! thou shouldst, at the very least, be appointed court doctor, and have a title bestowed on thee, which our young ones would inherit, and their little ones after them. thou dost look already exactly like an egyptian doctor in my eyes." the learned and the wise lectured upon "the fundamental notion," as they called it, which pervaded the whole tissue of events. "love bestows life." then they expounded their meaning in this manner:-- "the warm sunbeam was the egyptian princess; she descended to the mud-king, and from their meeting sprang a flower----" "i cannot exactly repeat the words," said the stork-father, who had been listening to the discussion from the roof, and was now telling in his nest what he had heard. "what they said was not easy of comprehension, but it was so exceedingly wise that they were immediately rewarded with rank and marks of distinction. even the prince's head cook got a handsome present--that was, doubtless, for having prepared the repast." "and what didst thou get?" asked the stork-mother. "they had no right to overlook the most important actor in the affair, and that was thyself. the learned only babbled about the matter. but so it is always." late at night, when the now happy household reposed in peaceful slumbers, there was one who was still awake; and that was not the stork-father, although he was standing upon his nest on one leg, and dozing like a sentry. no; little helga was awake, leaning over the balcony, and gazing through the clear air at the large blazing stars, larger and brighter than she had ever seen them in the north, and yet the same. she was thinking upon the viking's wife near "the wild morass"--upon her foster-mother's mild eyes--upon the tears she had shed over the poor frog-child, who was now standing under the light of the glorious stars, on the banks of the nile, in the soft spring air. she thought of the love in the heathen woman's breast--the love she had shown towards an unfortunate being, who in human form was as vicious as a wild beast, and in the form of a noxious animal was horrible to look upon or to touch. she gazed at the glittering stars, and thought of the shining circle on the brow of the dead priest, when they flew over the forest and the morass. tones seemed again to sound on her ears--words she had heard spoken when they rode together, and she sat like an evil spirit there--words about the great source of love, the highest love, that which included all races and all generations. yes, what was not bestowed, won, obtained? helga's thoughts embraced by day, by night, the whole of her good fortune; she stood contemplating it like a child who turns precipitately from the giver to the beautiful gifts; she passed on to the increasing happiness which might come, and would come. higher and higher rose her thoughts, till she so lost herself in the dreams of future bliss that she forgot the giver of all good. it was the superabundance of youthful spirits which caused her imagination to take so bold a flight. her eyes were flashing with her thoughts, when suddenly a loud noise in the court beneath recalled her to mundane objects. she saw there two enormous ostriches running angrily round in a narrow circle. she had never before seen these large heavy birds, who looked as if their wings were clipped; and when she asked what had happened to them, she heard for the first time the egyptian legend about the ostrich. its race had once been beautiful, its wings broad and strong. then one evening the largest forest birds said to it, "brother, shall we fly to-morrow, god willing, to the river, and drink?" and the ostrich answered, "yes, i will." at dawn they flew away, first up towards the sun, higher and higher, the ostrich far before the others. it flew on in its pride up towards the light; it relied upon its own strength, not upon the giver of that strength; it did not say, "god willing." then the avenging angel drew aside the veil from the streaming flames, and in that moment the bird's wings were burnt, and he sank in wretchedness to the earth. neither he nor his species were ever afterwards able to raise themselves up in the air. they fly timidly--hurry along in a narrow space; they are a warning to mankind in all our thoughts and all our enterprises to say, "god willing." and helga humbly bowed her head, looked at the ostriches rushing past, saw their surprise and their simple joy at the sight of their own large shadows on the white wall, and more serious thoughts took possession of her mind, adding to her present happiness--inspiring brighter hopes for the future. what was yet to happen? the best for her, "god willing." * * * * * in the early spring, when the storks were about to go north again, helga took from her arm a golden bracelet, scratched her name upon it, beckoned to the stork-father, hung the gold band round his neck, and bade him carry it to the viking's wife, who would thereby know that her adopted daughter lived, was happy, and remembered her. "it is heavy to carry," thought the stork, when it was hung round his neck; "but gold and honour must not be flung away upon the high road. the stork brings luck--they must admit that up yonder." "thou layest gold, and i lay eggs," said the stork-mother; "but thou layest only once, and i lay every year. but neither of us gets any thanks, which is very vexatious." "one knows, however, that one has done one's duty," said the stork-father. "but that can't be hung up to be seen and lauded; and if it could be, fine words butter no parsnips." so they flew away. the little nightingale that sang upon the tamarind tree would also soon be going north, up yonder near "the wild morass." helga had often heard it--she would send a message by it; for, since she had flown in the magical disguise of the swan, she had often spoken to the storks and the swallows. the nightingale would therefore understand her, and she prayed it to fly to the beech wood upon the jutland peninsula, where the tomb of stone and branches had been erected. she asked it to beg all the little birds to protect the sacred spot, and frequently to sing over it. and the nightingale flew away, and time flew also. * * * * * and the eagle stood upon a pyramid, and looked in the autumn on a stately procession with richly-laden camels, with armed and splendidly equipped men on snorting arabian horses shining white like silver, with red trembling nostrils, with long thick manes hanging down to their slender legs. rich guests--a royal arabian prince, handsome as a prince should be--approached the gorgeous palace where the storks' nests stood empty. those who dwelt in these nests were away in the far north, but they were soon to return; and they arrived on the very day that was most marked by joy and festivities. it was a wedding feast; and the beautiful helga, clad in silk and jewels, was the bride. the bridegroom was the young prince from arabia. they sat at the upper end of the table, between her mother and grandfather. but she looked not at the bridegroom's bronzed and manly cheek, where the dark beard curled. she looked not at his black eyes, so full of fire, that were fastened upon her. she gazed outwards upon the bright twinkling stars that glittered in the heavens. then a loud rustling of strong wings was heard in the air. the storks had come back; and the old pair, fatigued as they were after their journey, and much in need of rest, flew immediately down to the rails of the verandah, for they knew what festival was going on. they had heard already at the frontiers that helga had had them painted upon the wall, introducing them into her own history. "it was a kind thought of hers," said the stork-father. "it is very little," said the stork-mother. "she could hardly have done less." and when helga saw them she rose, and went out into the verandah to stroke their backs. the old couple bowed their necks, and the youngest little ones felt themselves much honoured by being so well received. and helga looked up towards the shining stars, that glittered more and more brilliantly; and between them and her she beheld in the air a transparent form. it floated nearer to her. it was the dead christian priest, who had also come to her bridal solemnity--come from the kingdom of heaven. "the glory and the beauty up yonder far exceed all that is known on earth," he said. and helga pleaded softly, earnestly, that but for one moment she might be allowed to ascend up thither, and to cast one single glance on those heavenly scenes. then he raised her amidst splendour and magnificence, and a stream of delicious music. it was not around her only that all seemed to be brightness and music, but the light seemed to stream in her soul, and the sweet tones to be echoed there. words cannot describe what she felt. "we must now return," he said; "thou wilt be missed." "only one more glance!" she entreated. "only one short minute!" "we must return to earth--the guests are all departing." "but one more glance--the last!" and helga stood again in the verandah, but all the torches outside were extinguished; all the light in the bridal saloon was gone; the storks were gone; no guests were to be seen--no bridegroom. all had vanished in these three short minutes. then helga felt anxious. she wandered through the vast empty halls--there slept foreign soldiers. she opened the side door which led to her own chambers, and, as she fancied she was entering them, she found herself in the garden: it had not stood there. red streaks crossed the skies; it was the dawn of day. only three minutes in heaven, and a whole night on earth had passed away. then she perceived the storks. she called to them, spoke their language, and the old stork turned his head towards her, listened, and drew near. "thou dost speak our language," said he. "what wouldst thou? whence comest thou, thou foreign maiden?" "it is i--it is helga! dost thou not know me? three minutes ago we were talking together in the verandah." "that is a mistake," said the stork. "thou must have dreamt this." "no, no," she said, and reminded him of the viking's castle, "the wild morass," the journey thence. then the old stork winked with his eyes. "that is a very old story; i have heard it from my great, great-grandmother's time. yes, truly there was once in egypt a princess from the danish land; but she disappeared on the evening of her wedding, many hundred years ago, and was never seen again. thou canst read that thyself upon the monument in the garden, upon which are sculptured both swans and storks, and above it stands one like thyself in the white marble." and so it was. helga saw, comprehended it all, and sank on her knees. the sun burst forth in all its morning splendour, and as, in former days, with its first rays fell the frog disguise, and the lovely form became visible; so now, in the baptism of light, arose a form of celestial beauty, purer than the air, as if in a veil of radiance to the father above. the body sank into dust, and where she had stood lay a faded lotus flower! * * * * * "well, this is a new finale to the story," said the stork-father, "which i by no means expected; but i am quite satisfied with it." "i wonder what the young ones will say to it?" replied the stork-mother. "ah! that, indeed, is of the most consequence," said the stork-father. _the quickest runners._ there was a large reward offered--indeed, there were two rewards offered, a larger and a lesser one--for the greatest speed, not in one race alone, but to such as had got on fastest throughout the year. "i got the highest prize," said the hare. "one had a right to expect justice when one's own family and best friends were in the council; but that the snail should have got the second prize i consider as almost an insult to me." "no," observed the wooden fence, which had been a witness to the distribution of the prizes; "you must take diligence and good will into consideration. that remark was made by several very estimable persons, and that was also my opinion. to be sure the snail took half a year to cross the threshold; but he broke his thigh-bone in the tremendous exertion which that was for him. he devoted himself entirely to this race; and, moreover, he ran with his house on his back. all these weighed in his favour, and so he obtained the second prize." "i think my claims might also have been taken into consideration," said the swallow. "more speedy than i, in flight and motion, i believe no one has shown himself. and where have i not been? far, far away!" "and that is just your misfortune," said the wooden fence. "you gad about too much. you are always on the wing, ready to start out of the country when it begins to freeze. you have no love for your fatherland. you cannot claim any consideration in it." "but if i were to sleep all the winter through on the moor," inquired the swallow--"sleep my whole time away--should i be thus entitled to be taken into consideration?" "obtain an affidavit from the old woman of the moor that you did sleep half the year in your fatherland, then your claims will be taken into consideration." "i deserved the first prize instead of the second," said the snail. "i know very well that the hare only ran from cowardice, whenever he thought there was danger near. i, on the contrary, made the trial the business of my life, and i have become a cripple in consequence of my exertions. if any one had a right to the first prize it was i; but i make no fuss; i scorn to do so." "i can declare upon my honour that each prize, at least as far as my voice in the matter went, was accorded with strict justice," said the old sign-post in the wood, who had been one of the arbitrators. "i always act with due reflection, and according to order. seven times before have i had the honour to be engaged in the distribution of the prizes, but never until to-day have i had my own way carried out. my plan has always hitherto been thwarted--that was, to give the first prize to one of the first letters in the alphabet, and the second prize to one of the last letters. if you will be so good as to grant me your attention, i will explain it to you. the eighth letter in the alphabet from _a_ is _h_--that stands for _hare_, and therefore i awarded the greatest prize to the hare; and the eighth letter from the end is _s_, therefore the _snail_ obtained the second prize. next time the _i_ will carry off the first prize, and _r_ the second. a due attention to order and rotation should prevail in all rewards and appointments. everything should go according to rule. _rule_ must precede merit." "i should certainly have voted for myself, had i not been among the judges," said the mule. "people must take into account not only how quickly one goes, but what other circumstances are in question; as, for instance, how much one carries. but i would not this time have thought about that, neither about the hare's wisdom in his flight--his tact in springing suddenly to one side, to put his pursuers on the wrong scent, away from his place of concealment. no; there is one thing many people think much of, and which ought never to be disregarded. it is called the beautiful. i saw that in the hare's charming well-grown ears; it is quite a pleasure to see how long they are. i fancied that i beheld myself when i was little, and so i voted for him." "hush!" said the fly. "as for me, i will not speak; i will only say one word. i know right well that i have outrun more than one hare. the other day i broke the hind legs of one of the young ones. i was sitting on the locomotive before the train: i often do that. one sees so well there one's own speed. a young hare ran for a long time in front of the engine: he had no idea that i was there. at length he was just going to turn off the line, when the locomotive went over his hind legs and broke them, for i was sitting on it. the hare remained lying there, but i drove on. that was surely getting before him; but i do not care for the prize." "it appears to me," thought the wild rose, but she did not say it--it is not her nature to express her ideas openly, though it might have been well had she done so--"it appears to me that the sunbeam should have had the first prize of honour, and the second also. it passes in a moment the immeasurable space from the sun down to us, and comes with such power that all nature is awakened by it. it has such beauty, that all we roses redden and become fragrant under it. the high presiding authorities do not seem to have noticed _it_ at all. were i the sunbeam, i would give each of them a sunstroke, that i would; but it would only make them crazy, and they will very likely be that without it. i shall say nothing," thought the wild rose. "there is peace in the wood; it is delightful to blossom, to shed refreshing perfume around, to live amidst the songs of birds and the rustling of trees; but the sun's rays will outlive us all." "what is the first prize?" asked the earth-worm, who had overslept himself, and only now joined them. "it gives free entrance to the kitchen garden," said the mule. "i proposed the prize, as a clear-sighted and judicious member of the meeting, with a view to the hare's advantage. i was resolved he should have it, and he is now provided for. the snail has permission to sit on the stone fence, and to enjoy the moss and the sunshine; and, moreover, he is appointed to be one of the chief judges of the next race. it is well to have one who is practically acquainted with the business in hand--on a committee, as human beings call it. i must say i expect great things from the future--we have made so good a beginning." _the bell's hollow._ "ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded from the buried bell in odensee river. what sort of a river is that? every child in the town of odensee knows it. it flows round the foot of the gardens, from the locks to the water-mill, away under the wooden bridges. in the river grow yellow water-lilies, brown feather-like reeds, and the soft velvet-like bulrushes, so high and so large. old, split willow trees, bent and twisted, hang far over the water by the side of the monks' meadows and the bleaching greens; but a little above is garden after garden--the one very different from the other; some with beautiful flowers and arbours, clean and in prim array, like dolls' villages; some only filled with cabbages; while in others there are no attempts at a garden to be seen at all, only great elder trees stretching themselves out, and hanging over the running water, which here and there is deeper than an oar can fathom. opposite to the nunnery is the deepest part. it is called "the bell's hollow," and there dwells the merman. he sleeps by day when the sun shines through the water, but comes forth on the clear starry nights, and by moonlight. he is very old. grandmothers have heard of him from their grandmothers. they said he lived a lonely life, and had scarcely any one to speak to except the large old church bell. once upon a time it hung up in the steeple of the church; but now there is no trace either of the steeple or the church, which was then called saint albani. "ding-dong! ding-dong!" rang the bell while it stood in the steeple; and one evening when the sun was setting, and the bell was in full motion, it broke loose, and flew through the air, its shining metal glowing in the red sunbeams. "ding-dong! ding-dong! now i am going to rest," sang the bell; and it flew out to odensee river, where it was deepest, and therefore that spot is now called "the bell's hollow." but it found neither sleep nor rest there. down at the merman's it still rings; so that at times it is heard above, through the water, and many people say that its tones foretell a death; but there is no truth in that, for it rings to amuse the merman, who is now no longer alone. and what does the bell relate? it was so very old, it was there before our grandmothers' grandmothers were born, and yet it was a child compared with the merman, who is an old, quiet, strange-looking person, with eel-skin leggings, a scaly tunic adorned with yellow water-lilies, a wreath of sedges in his hair, and weeds in his beard. it must be confessed he was not very handsome to look at. it would take a year and a day to repeat all that the bell said, for it told the same old stories over and over again very minutely, making them sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, according to its mood. it told of the olden days--the rigorous, dark times. to the tower upon st. albani church, where the bell hung, ascended a monk. he was both young and handsome, but had an air of deep melancholy. he looked through an aperture out over the odensee river. its bed then was broad, and the monks' meadows were a lake. he gazed over them, and over the green mound called "the nuns hill," beyond which the cloister lay, where the light shone from a nun's cell. he had known her well, and he remembered the past, and his heart beat wildly at the recollection. "ding-dong! ding-dong!" this was one of the bell's stories:-- "there came up to the tower one day an idiot servant of the bishop; and when i, the bell, who am cast in hard and heavy metal, swung about and pealed, i could have broken his head, for he seated himself immediately under me, and began to play with two sticks, exactly as if it had been a stringed instrument, and he sang to it thus: 'now i may venture to sing aloud what elsewhere i dare not whisper--sing of all that is kept hidden behind locks and bolts. yonder it is cold and damp. the rats eat the living bodies. no one knows of it; no one hears of it--not even now, when the bell is pouring forth its loudest peal--ding-dong! ding-dong!' "there was a king: he was called knud. he humbled himself both before bishops and monks; but as he unjustly oppressed the people, and laid heavy taxes on them, they armed themselves with all sorts of weapons, and chased him away as if he had been a wild beast. he sought shelter in the church, and had the doors and windows closed. the furious multitude surrounded the sacred edifice, as i heard related; the crows and the ravens, and the jackdaws to boot, became scared by the noise and the tumult; they flew up into the tower, and out again; they looked on the multitude below, they looked also in at the church windows, and shrieked out what they saw. "king knud knelt before the altar and prayed; his brothers erik and benedict stood guarding him with their drawn swords; but the king's servitor, the false blake, betrayed his lord. they knew outside where he could be reached. a stone was cast in through the window at him, and the king lay dead. there were shouts and cries among the angry crowd, and cries among the flocks of frightened birds; and i joined them too. i pealed forth, 'ding-dong! ding-dong!' "the church bell hangs high, sees far around, receives visits from birds, and understands their language. to it whispers the wind through the wickets and apertures, and through every little chink; and the wind knows everything. he hears it from the air, for it encompasses all living things; it even enters into the lungs of human beings--it hears every word and every sigh. the air knows all, the wind repeats all, and the bell understands their speech, and rings it forth to the whole world--'ding dong! ding dong!' "but all this was too much for me to hear and to know. i had not strength enough to ring it all out. i became so wearied, so heavy, that the beam from which i hung broke, and i flew through the luminous air down to where the river is deepest, where the merman dwells alone in solitude; and here i am, year after year, relating to him what i have seen and what i have heard. 'ding-dong! ding-dong!'" thus rang the chimes from "the bell's hollow" in the odensee river, as my grandmother declares. but our schoolmaster says there is no bell ringing down there, for it could not be; and there is no merman down there, for there are no mermen; and, when all the church bells are ringing loudly, he says that it is not the bells, but the air that makes the sound. my grandmother told me that the bell also said this; so, since the schoolmaster and the bell agree in this, no doubt it is true. the air knows everything. it is round us, it is in us; it speaks of our thoughts and our actions; and it proclaims them farther than did the bell now down in the hollow in odensee river, where the merman dwells--it proclaims all out into the great vault of heaven, far, far away, even into eternity, up to where the glorious bells of paradise peal in tones unknown to mortal ears. _soup made of a sausage-stick._ i. "we had a capital dinner yesterday," said an aged female mouse to one who had not been at the feast. "i sat only twenty-one from the old king of the mice: that was not being badly placed. shall i tell you what we had for dinner? it was all very well arranged. we had mouldy bread, the skin of bacon, tallow candles, and sausages. twice we returned to the charge: it was as good as if we had had two dinners. there was nothing but good-humour and pleasant chit-chat, as in an agreeable family circle. not a mite was left except the sausage-stick. the conversation happened to fall upon the possibility of making soup of a sausage-stick. all said they had heard of it, but no one had ever tasted that soup, or knew how to prepare it. a health was proposed to the inventor, who, it was remarked, deserved to be superintendent of the poor. was not that witty? and the old king of the mice arose and declared that the one among the young mice who could prepare the soup in question most palatably should be his queen, and he would grant them a year and a day for the trial." "well, that was not a bad idea," said the other mouse. "but how is the soup made?" "ay, how is it made? that was what they were all asking, the young and the old. every one was willing enough to become the queen, but they were all loath to take the trouble of going out into the world to acquire the prescribed qualification; yet it was absolutely necessary to do so. but it does not suit every one to leave her family and her snug old mouse-hole. one cannot be going out every day after cheese parings, and sniffing the rind of bacon. no: such pursuits, too often indulged in, would perchance put them in the way of being eaten alive by a cat." these apprehensions were quite terrible enough to scare most of the mice from going forth upon the search of knowledge. only four presented themselves for the undertaking. they were young and active, but very poor. they would have gone to the four corners of the earth, if only good fortune might attend their enterprise. each of them took with her a sausage-stick to remind her what she was travelling for. it was to be her walking staff. on the st of may they set out, and on the st of may, a year after, they returned; but only three of them. the fourth did not report herself, and sent no tidings of herself; and yet it was the day fixed for the royal decision. "there shall be no sadness or no drawback to our pleasure," said the king of the mice, as he gave orders that every mouse within several miles round should be invited. they were to assemble in the kitchen. the three travelled mice were drawn up in a row alone. in the place of the fourth, who was absent, was deposited a sausage-stick covered with black crepe. no one ventured to utter a word until the three had made their statements, and the king had determined what more was to be said. we have now to hear all this. ii. what the first little mouse had seen and learnt on her journey. "when i first went forth into the wide world," said the little mouse, "i thought, as so many of my age do, that i had swallowed all the wisdom of the earth; but that was not the case--it required a year and a day for that to come to pass. i went at once to sea, on board a ship which was bound for the north. i had heard that cooks at sea were pretty well acquainted with their business; but there is little to do when one has plenty of sides of bacon, barrels of salt meat, and musty meal at hand. one lives delicately on these nice things; but one learns nothing like making soup of a sausage-stick. we sailed for many days and nights, and a stormy and wet time we had of it. when we reached our destination i left the vessel: this was far away up in the north. "one has a strange feeling on leaving one's own mouse-hole at home, being carried away in a ship, which becomes a home for the time, and suddenly finding one's self, at the distance of more than a hundred miles, standing alone in a foreign land. i saw myself amidst a large tangled wood full of pine and birch trees. their scent was so strong! it is not at all my taste; but the perfume from the wild plants was so spicy that i was quite charmed, and thought of the sausage and the seasoning for the soup. there were lakes amidst the forest, the water was beautifully clear close at hand, but looking in the distance as black as ink. there were white swans upon the lake. i mistook them at first for foam, they lay so still; but when i saw them fly i recognised them. they, however, belong to the race of geese. no one can deny his kindred. i like mine, and i hastened to seek the field mice, who, truth to tell, know very little except what concerns their food; and it was just that on account of which i had travelled to a foreign country. that any one should think of making soup out of a sausage-stick seemed to them so extraordinary an idea, that it was speedily circulated through the whole wood; but that the problem should be solved they considered an impossibility. little did i think then that the very same night i should be initiated into the process. "it was midsummer; therefore it was that the woods scented so strongly, they said; therefore were the plants so aromatic in their perfume, the lake so clear, and yet so dark with the white swans upon them. on the borders of the forest, amidst three or four houses, was erected a pole as high as a mainmast, and around it hung wreaths and ribbons. this was the maypole. girls and young men danced round it, and sang to the accompaniment of the fiddler's violin. all went on merrily till after the sun had set, and the moon had risen, but i took no part in the festivity; for what had a little mouse to do with a forest ball? i sat down amidst the soft moss, and held fast my sausage-stick. the moon shone brightly on a place where there was a solitary tree surrounded by moss so fine--yes, i venture to say as fine as the mice-king's skin--but it had a green tint, and its colour was very soothing to the eye. all at once i saw approaching a set of the most beautiful little people, so little that they would only have reached to my knee; they looked like men and women, but they were better proportioned. they called themselves elves, and their garments were composed of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the wings of gnats and flies--not at all ugly. they seemed as if they were searching for something--what i did not know; but when they came a little nearer to me their leader tapped my sausage-stick, and said, 'this is what we want; it is all ready, all prepared;' and he became more and more joyful as he gazed upon my walking-stick. "'you may borrow it, but not keep it,' said i. "'not keep it!' they all exclaimed together, as they seized my sausage-stick, and, dancing away to the green mossy spot, placed the sausage-stick there in the centre of it. they determined also on having a maypole; and the stick they had just captured seeming quite suited to their purpose, it was soon ornamented. "small spiders spun gold threads around it--hung up waving veils and flags so finely worked, shining so snow-white under the moonbeams, that my eyes were quite dazzled. they took the colours from the wings of the butterflies, and sprinkled them on the white webs, till they seemed to be laden with flowers and diamonds. i did not know my own sausage-stick--it had become such a magnificent maypole, that certainly had not its equal in the world. and now came tripping forwards the great mass of the elves, most of them very slightly clad; but what they did wear was of the finest materials. i looked on, of course, but in the background, for i was too big for them. "then what a game commenced! it was as if a thousand glass bells were ringing, the sound was so clear and full. i fancied the swans were singing, and i also thought i heard cuckoos and thrushes. at length it seemed as if the whole wood was filled with music. there were the sweet voices of children, the ringing of bells, and the songs of birds; and all these melodious sounds seemed to proceed from the elves' maypole--an orchestra in itself--and that was my sausage-stick. i never would have believed that so much could have come from it; but much, of course, depended on what hands it fell into. i became very much agitated, and i wept, as a little mouse can weep, from sheer pleasure. "the night was all too short; but, at this time of the year, the nights are not long up yonder. at the dawn of day there arose a fresh breeze; the surface of the lake became ruffled; all the delicately fine veils and flags disappeared in the air; the swinging kiosks of cobwebs, the suspension bridges and balustrades, or whatever they are called, which were constructed from leaf to leaf, vanished into nothing; six elves brought me my sausage-stick, and at the same time asked if i had any wish they could fulfil; whereupon i begged them to tell me how soup could be made from a sausage-stick. "'what we can do,' said the foremost, laughing, 'you have just seen. you could scarcely have recognised your sausage-stick.' "'you mean as you transformed it,' said i; and then i told them the cause of my journey, and what was expected at home from it. 'of what use,' i asked, 'will it be to the king of the mice and all our large community that i have seen this beautiful sight? i cannot shake the sausage-stick and say, you see here the stick--now comes the soup! that would be like a hoax.' "then the elf dipped its little finger into a blue violet, and said to me,-- "'look! i spread a charm over your walking-stick, and when you return to the palace of the king of the mice make it touch the king's warm breast, and violets will spring from every part of the staff, even in the coldest winter weather. see! you have now something worth taking home, and perhaps a little more.'" but before the little mouse had finished repeating what the elf had said she laid her staff against the king's breast, and sure enough there sprang forth from it the loveliest flowers. they yielded so strong a perfume that the king commanded that the mice who stood nearest the chimney should stick their tails in the fire, in order that the smell of the singed hair should overpower the odour from the flowers, which was very offensive. "but what was 'the little more' you spoke of?" asked the king of the mice. "oh!" said the little mouse, "it is what is called an _effect_;" and so she turned her sausage-stick. and behold, there were no more flowers visible! she held only the naked stick, and she moved it like a stick for beating time. "the violets are for sight, smell, and touch, the elf told me; but there are still wanting hearing and taste." she beat time, and there was music--not such, however, as sounded in the wood at the elfin fête; no, such as is heard at times in the kitchen. it came suddenly, like the wind whistling down the chimney. the pots and the pans boiled over, and the shovel thundered against the large brass kettle. it stopped as suddenly as it had commenced; and then was only to be heard the smothered song of the tea-kettle, which was so strange with its tones rising and falling, and the little pot and the large pot boiling, the one not troubling itself about the other, as if neither could think. then the little mouse moved her time-stick faster and faster; the pots bubbled up and boiled over; the wind roared in the chimney; the commotion was so great that the little mouse herself got frightened, and dropped the stick. "it was hard work to make that soup," cried the old king; "but where is the result--the dish?" "that is all," said the little mouse, courtesying. "all! then let us hear what the next has to tell," said the king. iii. what the second mouse had to relate. "i was born in the palace library," said the second mouse. "i, and several members of my family there, have never had the good fortune to enter the dining-room, let alone the pantry. it was only when i first began my travels, and now again to-day, that i have even beheld a kitchen. we had often to endure hunger in the library, but we acquired much knowledge. the report of the reward offered by royalty for the discovery of the process by which soup could be made of a sausage-stick reached us even up there, and my grandmother thereupon looked for a manuscript which, though she could not read herself, she had heard read, wherein it was said,-- "'a poet can make soup out of a sausage-stick.' "she asked me if i were a poet. i confessed i was not, to which she replied that i must go and try to become one. i begged to know what was to be done to acquire this art, for it appeared to me about as difficult to attain as to make the soup itself. but my grandmother had heard a good deal of reading, and she told me that the three things principally necessary were--good sense, imagination, and feeling. 'if thou canst go and furnish thyself with _these_, thou wilt be a poet; and there will be every chance of thy success in the matter of the sausage-stick.' "so i set off to the westward, out into the wide world, to become a poet. "_good sense_ i knew was the most important of all things, the two other qualities not being so highly esteemed. so i went first after good sense. well, where did it dwell? 'go to the ant; consider her ways, and be wise,' a great king of the hebrews has said. i knew this from the library, and i never stopped until i reached a large ant-hill; and there i settled myself to watch them. "they are a very respectable tribe, the ants, and full of good sense; everything among them is as correctly done as a well-calculated sum in arithmetic. 'to labour and to lay eggs,' say they, 'is to live in the present, and to provide for the future;' and that they assuredly do. they divide themselves into the clean ants and the dirty ones. rank is distinguished by a number. the queen ant is number one, and her will is their only law. she has swallowed all the wisdom, and it was of consequence to me to listen to her; but she said so much and was so profoundly wise, that i could scarcely comprehend her. "she said that their hill was the highest in the world; but close to the hill stood a tree that was higher, certainly much higher. she could not deny this, so she did not allude to it. one evening an ant had lost his way, and finding himself on the tree, he crept up the trunk, not as far as the top, but much higher than any ant had ever gone before; and when he descended, and found his way home at last, he imprudently told in the ant-hill of something much higher at a little distance from it. this was taken by one and all as an affront to the whole community, and the offending ant was condemned to have his mouth muzzled, as well as to perpetual solitude. but shortly after another ant got as far as the tree, and made a similar journey and a similar discovery. he spoke of it, however, discreetly and mysteriously, and as he happened to be an ant of consideration--one of the clean--they believed him; and when he died they placed an egg-shell over him as a monument in honour of his extensive knowledge. "i observed," said the little mouse, "that the ants continually move with their eggs on their backs. one of them dropped hers. she tried very hard to get it up again, but could not succeed; then two others came and helped her with all their might, until they had nearly lost their own eggs, whereupon they let the attempt alone, for one is nearest to one's self; and the queen ant remarked that both heart and good sense had been shown. 'these two qualities place us ants among reasonable beings,' she said. 'sense ought to be, and is, of the most consequence; and i have the most of that;' and she raised herself, in her self-satisfaction, on her hind leg. i could not mistake her, and i swallowed her. 'go to the ant; consider her ways, and be wise.' i had now the queen. "i then went nearer to the above-mentioned large tree: it was an oak. it had high branches, a majestic crown of leaves, and was very old. i perceived that a living creature resided in it--a female. she was called a dryad. she had been born with the tree, and would die with it. i had heard of this in the library; and now i beheld one of the real trees, and a real oak-nymph. she uttered a frightful shriek when she saw me near her; for she was like all women, very much afraid of mice. she, however, had more reason to be afraid of me than others of her sex have, for i could have gnawed the tree in two, and on it hung her life. i spoke to her kindly and cordially. this gave her courage, and she took me in her slender hand; and when she understood what had brought me out into the wide world, she promised that i should, perhaps that very night, become possessed of one of the two treasures of which i was in search. she told me that imagination was her very particular friend; that he was as charming as the god of love; and that he often, for many an hour, sought repose under the spreading foliage of the tree, which then sighed more musically over the two. he called her _his_ dryad, she said, and the tree _his_ tree. the mighty, gnarled, majestic oak was just to his taste, with its broad roots sunk deep into the earth, its trunk and its coronal rising so high in the free air, meeting the drifting snow, the cutting winds, and the bright sunshine, before they had reached the ground. all this she said, and she continued: 'the birds sing up yonder, and tell of foreign lands, and upon the only decayed branch the stork has built a nest; and it is a pleasure to hear of the country where the pyramids stand. all this fancy can well depict, and very much more. i myself can describe life in the woods from the time that i was quite little, and this tree was so tiny that a nettle could have covered it, until now, when it is so strong and mighty. sit down yonder under the woodruffs, and be on the look-out. when fancy comes i shall find an opportunity of pinching his wing, and stealing a little feather from it. you shall take that, and no poet will ever have been better provided. will that do?' "and imagination came; a feather was plucked from him, and i got it," said the little mouse. "i held it in the water till it became soft. it was still hard of digestion, but i managed to gnaw it all up. it is not at all easy to stuff one's self so as to be a poet--there is so much to be put in one. i had now got two of the ingredients--good sense and imagination; and i knew by their help that the third ingredient was to be found in the library; for a great man has said and written that there are romances which are useful in easing people of a superfluity of tears, and which also act as a sort of swamp to cast feelings into. i remembered some of these books; they had always looked very enticing to me. they were so thumbed, so greasy, they must have been very popular. "i returned home to the library, ate almost as much as a whole romance--that is to say, the soft part of it, the pith--but the crust, the binding, i let alone. when i had digested this, and another to boot, i perceived how my inside was stirred up; so i ate part of a third, and then i considered myself a poet, and every one about me said i was. i had headaches, of course, and all sorts of aches. i thought over what story i could work up about a sausage-stick, and there was no end of sticks and pegs crowding my mind. the queen ant had had an uncommon intellect. i remembered the man who took a white peg into his mouth, and both he and it became invisible. all my thoughts ran upon sticks. a poet can write even upon these; and i am a poet i trust, for i have fagged hard to be one. i shall be able every day in the week to amuse you with the story of a stick. this is my soup." "let us hear the third," said the king of the mice. "pip, pip!" said a little mouse at the kitchen door. it was the fourth of them, the one they thought dead. she tripped in, and jumped upon the upper end of the sausage-stick with the black crape. she had been journeying day and night, travelling on the railroad by the goods train, in which she took great pleasure, and yet she had almost arrived too late; but she hurried forward, puffing and panting, and looking very much jaded. she had lost her sausage-stick, but not her voice; for she began talking with the utmost velocity, as if every one was dying to hear her, and no one could say anything to the purpose but herself. how she did chatter! but she had arrived so unexpectedly that no one had time to find fault with her or her talking, so she went on. now let us listen. iv. what the fourth mouse--who spoke before the third one had spoken--had to relate. "i went straight to the greatest city," she said. "i do not remember its name. i do not recollect names well. i came from the railway with confiscated goods to the town council-hall, and there i ran to the jailer. he spoke of his prisoners, especially of one of them, who had uttered some very imprudent words; and when these had been repeated, and written down and read, 'the whole,' said he, 'was only--soup of a sausage-stick; but that soup may cost him dear.' i felt interested in the prisoner," continued the little mouse, "and i watched for an opportunity to go in where he was. there is always a mouse-hole behind locked doors. he looked very pale, had a dark beard, and large shining eyes. the lamp smoked; but the walls were accustomed to this. they did not turn any blacker. the prisoner was scratching on them both pictures and verses; but i did not read the latter. i fancy he was tired of being alone, for i was a welcome guest. he enticed me with crumbs of bread, with his flute, and kind words. he was so happy with me! i put confidence in him, and we became friends. he shared with me bread and water, and gave me cheese and sausages. i lived luxuriously; but it was not alone the good cheer that detained me. he allowed me to run upon his hand and arm all the way up to his shoulder; he allowed me to creep into his beard, and called me his little friend. i became very dear to him, and our regard was mutual. i forgot my errand out in the wide world; i forgot my sausage-stick in a crevice in the floor; and there it still lies. i wished to remain where i was; for, if i left him, the poor prisoner would have nothing to care for in this world. i remained; but he, alas! did not. he spoke to me so sadly for the last time, gave me a double allowance of bread and cheese parings, kissed his finger to me, and then he was gone--gone, never to return. i do not know his history. 'soup of a sausage-stick!' said the jailer, and i went to him; but i was wrong to trust in him. he took me up, indeed, in his hand; but he put me in a cage, a treadmill. that was hard work--jumping and jumping without getting on a bit, and only to be laughed at. "the jailer's grandchild was a pretty little fellow, with waving hair as yellow as gold, sparkling, joyous eyes, and a laughing mouth. "'poor little mouse!' he exclaimed, peeping in at my horrid cage, and at the same time drawing up the iron pin that closed it. "i seized the opportunity, and sprang first to the window-ledge, and thence to the conduit-pipe. free, free! that was all i could think of, and not the object of my journey. "it became dark--it was almost night. i took up my lodgings in a tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. i could not trust either of them, and the owl least of the two. it resembles a cat, and has one great fault--that it eats mice. but one can be on one's guard, and that i assuredly would be. she was a respectable, extremely well-educated old owl. she knew more than the watchman, and almost as much as i myself did. the young owls made a great fuss about everything. "'don't make soup of a sausage-stick,' said she. "this was the severest thing she could say to them, she was so very fond of her family. i felt so much inclined to place some reliance in her that i cried "pip!" from the crevice in which i was concealed. my confidence in her seemed to please her, and she assured me that i should be safe under her protection; that no animal would be permitted to injure me until winter, when she might herself fall upon me, as food would be scarce. "she was very wise in all things. she proved to me that the watchman could not blow a blast without his horn, which hung loosely about him. "he piques himself exceedingly upon his performances, and fancies he is the owl of the tower. the sound ought to be very loud, but it is extremely weak. 'soup of a sausage-stick!' "i begged her to give me the recipe for the soup, and she explained it to me thus:-- "'soup of a sausage-stick is but a cant phrase among men, and is differently interpreted. every one fancies his own interpretation the best, but in sober reality there is nothing in it whatsoever.' "'nothing!' cried i. that was a poser. 'truth is not always pleasant, but truth is always the best.' so also said the old owl. i considered the matter, and came to the conclusion that when i brought _the best_ i brought more than 'soup of a sausage-stick;' and thereupon i hastened homewards, so that i might arrive in good time to bring what is most valuable--the truth. the mice are an enlightened community, and their king is the cleverest of them all. he can make me his queen for the sake of truth." "thy truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet had an opportunity of speaking. "i can make the soup, and i will do it." v. how the soup was made. "i have not travelled at all," said the last mouse. "i remained in our own country. it is not necessary to go to foreign lands--one can learn as well at home. i remained there. i have not acquired any information of unnatural beings. i have not eaten information, or conversed with owls. i confined myself to original thoughts. will some one now be so good as to fill the kettle with water, and put it on? let there be plenty of fire under it. let the water boil--boil briskly; then throw the sausage-stick in. will his majesty the king of the mice be so condescending as to put his tail into the boiling pot, and stir it about? the longer he stirs it, the richer the soup will become. it costs nothing, and requires no other ingredients--it only needs to be stirred." "cannot another do this?" asked the king. "no," said the mouse. "the effect can only be produced by the royal tail." the water was boiled, and the king of the mice prepared himself for the operation, though it was rather dangerous. he stuck his tail out, as mice are in the habit of doing in the dairy, when they skim the cream off the dish with their tails; but he had no sooner popped his tail into the warm steam than he drew it out and sprang down. "of course you are my queen," said he; "but we shall wait for the soup till our golden wedding, and the poor in my kingdom will have something to rejoice over in the future." so the nuptials were celebrated; but many of the mice, when they went home, said, "it could not well be called soup of a sausage-stick, but rather soup of a mouse's tail." they allowed that each of the narratives was very well told, but the whole might have been better. "i, for instance, would have related my adventures in such and such words...." these were the critics, and they are always so wise--afterwards. * * * * * and this history went round the world. opinions were divided about it, but the historian himself remained unmoved. and this is best in great things and in small. _the neck of a bottle._ yonder, in the confined, crooked streets, amidst several poor-looking houses, stood a narrow high tenement, run up of framework that was much misshapen, with corners and ends awry. it was inhabited by poor people, the poorest of whom looked out from the garret, where, outside the little window, hung in the sunshine an old, dented bird-cage, which had not even a common cage-glass, but only the neck of a bottle inverted, with a cork below, and filled with water. an old maid stood near the open window; she had just been putting some chickweed into the cage, wherein a little linnet was hopping from perch to perch, and singing until her warbling became almost overpowering. "yes, you may well sing," said the neck of the bottle; but it did not say this as we should say it, for the neck of a bottle cannot speak, but it thought so within itself, just as we human beings speak inwardly. "yes, you may well sing, you who have your limbs entire. you should have experienced, like me, what it is to have lost your lower part, to have only a neck and a mouth, and the latter stopped up with a cork, as i have; then you would not sing. but it is well that somebody is contented. i have no cause to sing, and i cannot. i could once though, when i was a whole bottle. how i was praised at the furrier's in the wood, when his daughter was betrothed! yes, i remember that day as if it were yesterday. i have gone through a great deal when i look back. i have been in fire and in water, down in the dark earth, and higher up than many; and now i am suspended outside of a bird-cage in the air and sunshine. it might be worth while to listen to my story; but i do not speak it aloud, because i cannot." so it went on thinking over its own history, which was curious enough; and the little bird poured forth its strains, and in the street below people walked and drove, every one thinking of himself, some scarcely thinking at all; but the neck of the bottle _was_ thinking. it remembered the blazing smelt-furnace at the manufactory where it was blown into life. it remembered even now that it had been extremely warm; that it had looked into the roaring oven, its original home, and had felt strongly inclined to spring back into it; but that by degrees, as it felt cooler, it found itself comfortable enough where it was, placed in a row with a whole regiment of brothers and sisters from the same furnace, some of which, however, were blown into champagne bottles, others into ale bottles; and that made a difference, since out in the world an ale bottle may contain the costly lacrymÆ christi, and a champagne bottle may be filled with blacking; but what they were born to every one can see by their shape, so that noble remains noble even with blacking in it. all the bottles were packed up, and our bottle with them. it then little thought that it would end in being only the neck of a bottle serving as a bird's glass--an honourable state of existence truly, but still something. it did not see daylight again until it was unpacked along with its comrades in the wine merchant's cellar, and was washed for the first time. that was a funny sensation. after that it lay empty and uncorked, and felt so very listless; it wanted something, but did not know what it wanted. at length it was filled with an excellent, superior wine, and, when corked and sealed, a label was stuck on it outside with the words, "best quality." it was as if it had taken its first academic degree. but the wine was good, and the bottle was good. the young are fond of music, and much singing went on in it, the songs being on themes about which it scarcely knew anything--the green sunlit hills where the wine grapes grew, where beautiful girls and handsome swains met, and danced, and sang, and loved. ah! there it is delightful to dwell. and all this was made into songs in the bottle, as it is made into songs by young poets, who also frequently know nothing at all about the subjects they choose. one morning it was bought. the furrier's boy was ordered to purchase a bottle of the best wine, and this one was carried away in a basket, with ham, cheese, and sausage; there were also the nicest butter and the finest bread. the furrier's daughter herself packed the basket. she was so young, so pretty! her brown eyes laughed, and the smile on her sweet mouth was almost as expressive as her eyes. she had beautiful soft hands--they were so white; yet her throat and neck were still whiter. it could be seen at once that she was one of the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood, and, strange to say, not yet engaged. the basket of provisions was placed in her lap when the family drove out to the wood. the neck of the bottle stuck out above the parts of the white napkins that were visible. there was red wax on its cork, and it looked straight into the eyes of the pretty girl, and also into those of the young sailor--the mate of a ship--who sat beside her. he was the son of a portrait painter, and had just passed a first-rate examination for mate, and was to go on board his vessel the next day to sail for far-distant countries. much was said about his voyage during the drive; and when _it_ was spoken of, there was not exactly an expression of joy in the eyes and about the mouth of the furrier's daughter. the two young people wandered away into the green wood. they were in earnest conversation. of what were they speaking? the bottle did not hear that, for it was still standing in the basket of provisions. it seemed a long time before it was taken out, but then it saw pleasant faces round. everybody was smiling, and the furrier's daughter also smiled; but she spoke less, and her cheeks were blushing like two red roses. the father took the full bottle and the corkscrew. oh! it is astonishing to a bottle the first time a cork is drawn from it. the neck of the bottle could never afterwards forget that important moment when, with a low sound, the cork flew, and the wine streamed out into the awaiting glasses. "to the health of the betrothed pair!" cried the father, and every glass was drained; and the young mate kissed his lovely bride. "may happiness and every blessing attend you both!" said the old people; and the young man begged them to fill their glasses again for his toast. "to my return home and my wedding, within a year and a day!" he cried; and when the glasses were empty he took the bottle, and lifted it high above his head. "thou hast been present during the happiest day of my life; thou shalt never serve another!" and he cast the bottle high up in the air. ah! little did the furrier's daughter think then that she should often look on that which was flung up; but she was destined to do so. it fell among the thick mass of reeds that bordered a pond in the woods. the neck of the bottle remembered distinctly what it thought as it lay there, and it was this: "i gave them wine, and they give me bog-water; but it was well meant." it could no more see the betrothed young couple, or the happy old people; but it heard in the distance the sounds of music and of mirth. then came two little peasant children peering among the reeds. they saw the bottle, and carried it off with them: so it was provided for. at home, in the cottage among the woods where they lived, their eldest brother, who was a sailor, had, the day before, come to say farewell; for he was about to start on a long voyage. the mother was busy packing various little matters, which the father was to take with him to the town in the evening, when he went to see his son once more before his departure, and give him again his mother's blessing. a phial with spiced brandy was placed in the package; but at that moment the children came in with the larger, stronger bottle which they had found. a larger quantity could go into it than into the phial. it was not the red wine, as before, that the bottle received, but some bitter stuff. however, it also was excellent as a stomachic. our bottle was thus again to set forth on its travels. it was carried on board to peter jensen, who happened to be in the same ship as was the young mate; but he did not see the bottle, and, if he had seen it, he would not have known it to have been the same from which were drunk the toasts in honour of his betrothal, and to his safe return. although there was no longer wine in it, there was something quite as good; and whenever peter jensen brought it forth, his comrades called it "the apothecary." the nice medicine was so much in vogue that very soon there was not a drop of it left. the bottle had a pleasant time of it, upon the whole, while its contents were in such high favour. it acquired the name of the great "loerke"--"peter jensen's loerke."[ ] [footnote : "loerke," which generally means "lark," is the name given among the lower classes in denmark to a spirit bottle of a peculiar shape. there is no word that corresponds with it in english.--_trans._] but this time was passed, and it had lain long neglected in a corner. it did not know whether it was on the voyage out or homewards; for it had never been on shore anywhere. one day a great storm arose; the black, heavy waves rolled mountains high, and heaved the ship up and cast it down by turns; the mast came down with a crash; the sea stove in a plank; the pumps were no longer of any avail. it was a pitch-dark night. the ship sank; but at the last minute the young mate wrote on a slip of paper, "_in the name of jesus--we are lost!_" he wrote down the name of his bride, his own name, and that of his ship; then he thrust the note into an empty bottle that was within reach, pressed in the cork tightly, and cast the bottle out into the raging sea. little did he know that it was the identical bottle which had contained the wine in which had been drunk the toasts of joy and hope for him and her, that was now tossing on the billows with these last remembrances, and the message of death. the ship sank--the crew sank--but the bottle skimmed the waves like a sea-fowl. it had a heart then--the letter of love within it. and the sun rose, and the sun set. this sight recalled to the bottle the scene of its earliest life--the red glowing furnace, to which it had once longed to return. it encountered calms and storms; but it was not dashed to pieces against any rocks. it was not swallowed by any shark. for more than a year and a day it drifted on--now towards the north, now towards the south--as the currents carried it. in other respects it was its own master; but one can become tired even of that. the written paper--the last farewell from the bridegroom to his bride--would only bring deep sorrow if it ever reached the proper hands. but where were these hands, that had looked so white when they spread the tablecloth on the fresh grass in the green wood on the betrothal-day? where was the furrier's daughter? nay, where was her country? and to what country was it nearest? the bottle knew not. it drifted and drifted, and it was so tired of always drifting on; but it could not help itself. still, still it had to drift, until at last it reached the land; but it was a foreign country. it did not understand a word that was said, for the language was not such as it had been formerly accustomed to hear; and one feels quite lost if one does not understand the language spoken around. the bottle was taken up and examined; the slip of paper in it was observed, taken out, and opened; but nobody could make out what was written on it, though every one knew that the bottle must have been cast overboard, and that some information was contained in the paper; but what _that_ was remained a mystery, and it was put back into the bottle, and the latter laid by in a large press, in a large room, in a large house. whenever any stranger came the slip of paper was taken out, opened, and examined, so that the writing, which was only in pencil, became more and more illegible from the frequent folding and unfolding of the paper, till at length the letters could no longer be discerned. after the bottle had remained about a year in the press it was removed to the loft, and was soon covered with dust and cobwebs. ah! then it thought of its better days, when red wine was poured from it in the shady wood, and when it swayed about upon the waves, and had a secret to carry--a letter, a farewell sigh. it now remained in the loft for twenty mortal years, and it might have remained longer, had not the house been going to be rebuilt. the roof was taken off, the bottle discovered and talked about; but it did not understand what was said. one does not learn languages, living up alone in a loft, even in twenty years. "had i but been down in the parlour," it thought, and with truth, "i would, of course, have learned it." it was now washed and rinsed. it certainly wanted cleaning sadly, and very clear and transparent it felt itself after it--indeed, quite young again in its old age; but the slip of paper committed to its charge, that was lost in the washing. the bottle was now filled with seeds. such contents were new to it. well stopped up and wrapped up it was, and it could see neither a lantern nor a candle, not to mention the sun or the moon. "one ought to see something when one goes on a journey," thought the bottle; but it did not, however, until it reached the place it was going to, and was there unpacked. "what trouble these people abroad have taken about it!" was remarked; "yet no doubt it is cracked." but it was not cracked. the bottle understood every word that was said, for they were spoken in the language it had heard at the furnace, at the wine merchant's, in the wood, and on board ship--the only right good old language, one which could be understood. the bottle had returned to its own country, and in its joy had nearly jumped out of the hands that were holding it. it scarcely observed that the cork had been removed, its contents shaken out, and itself put away in the cellar to be kept and forgotten. but home is dearest, even in a cellar. it had enough to think over, and time enough to think, for it lay there for years; but at last one day folks came down there to look for some bottles, and took this one with them. outside, in the garden, there were great doings; coloured lamps hung in festoons; paper lanterns, formed like large tulips, gave forth their subdued light. it was also a charming evening; the air was calm and clear; the stars began, one after the other, to shine in the deep blue heavens above; while the round moon looked like a pale bluish-grey ball, with a golden border encircling it. there were also some illuminations in the side walks, at least enough to let people see their way; bottles with lights in them were placed here and there among the hedges; and amidst these stood the bottle we know, the one that was destined to end as the mere neck of a bottle and the glass of a bird-cage. at the period just named, however, it found everything so exquisitely charming. it was again among flowers and verdure, again surrounded by joy and festivity; it again heard singing and musical instruments, and the hum and buzz of a crowd of people, especially from that part of the gardens which were most brilliantly illuminated. it had a good situation itself, and stood there useful and happy, bearing its appointed light. during such a pleasant time it forgot the twenty years up in the loft, and it is good to be able to forget. close by it passed a couple arm-in-arm, like the happy pair in the wood, the mate and the furrier's daughter. it seemed to the bottle as if it were living that time over again. guests and visitors of different ages wandered up and down, gazing upon the illuminations; and among these was an old maid, without relations, but not without friends. probably her thoughts were occupied, as were those of the bottle; for she was thinking of the green woods, and of a young couple just betrothed. these _souvenirs_ affected her much, for she had been a party in them--a prominent party. this was in her happier hours; and one never forgets these, even when one becomes a very old maid. but she did not recognise the bottle, and it did not recognise her. so it is we wear out of each other's knowledge in this world, until people meet again as these two did. the bottle passed from the public gardens to the wine merchant's; it was there again filled with wine, and sold to an aëronaut, who was to go up in a balloon the following sunday. there was a multitude of people to witness the ascent, there was a regimental band, and there were many preparations going on. the bottle saw all this from a basket, in which it lay with a living rabbit, who was very much frightened when it saw it was to go up in the parachute. the bottle did not know where it was to go; it beheld the balloon extending wider and wider, and becoming so large that it could not be larger; then lifting itself up higher and higher, and rolling restlessly until the ropes that held it were cut, when it arose majestically into the air, with the aëronaut, the basket, the bottle, and the rabbit; then the music played loudly, and the assembled crowd shouted, "hurra! hurra!" "it is droll to go aloft," thought the bottle; "it is a novel sort of a voyage. up yonder one cannot run away." many thousand human beings gazed up at the balloon, and the old maid gazed among the rest. she stood by her open garret window, where a cage hung with a little linnet, which at that time had no water-glass, but had to content itself with a cup. just within the window stood a myrtle tree, that was moved a little aside, that it might not come in the way while the old maid was leaning out to look at the balloon. and she could perceive the aëronaut in it; she saw him let the rabbit down in the parachute, and then, having drunk the health of the crowd below, throw the bottle high up in the air. little did she think that it was just the same bottle she had seen thrown up high in honour of herself and her lover, on a well-remembered happy day amidst the green wood, when she was young. the bottle had no time to think, it was so unexpectedly exalted to the highest position it had ever attained in its life. the roofs and the spires lay far below, and the people looked as small as pigmies. it now descended, and that at a different rate of speed from the rabbit. the bottle cast somersaults in the air--it felt itself so young, so buoyant. it was half full of wine, but not long. what a trip that was! the sun shone upon the bottle, and all the crowd looked up at it. the balloon was soon far away, and the bottle was soon also out of sight, for it fell upon a roof and broke in two; but the fragments rebounded again, and leaped and rolled till they reached the yard below, where they lay in smaller pieces; for only the neck of the bottle escaped destruction, and it looked as if it had been cut round by a diamond. "it may still serve as a glass for a bird's cage," said the man in the cellar. but he himself had neither a bird nor a cage, and it would have cost too much to buy these because he had found the neck of a bottle that would answer for a glass. the old maid, however, up in the garret, might make use of it; and so the neck of the bottle was sent up to her. a cork was fitted to it, and, as first mentioned, after its many changes, it was filled with fresh water, and was hung in front of the cage of the little bird, that sang until its warbling became almost overpowering. "yes, you may well sing," was what the neck of the bottle had said. it was somewhat of a wonder, as it had been up in a balloon; but with more of its history no one was acquainted. now it hung as a bird's glass, it could hear the people driving and walking in the street below, and it could hear the old maid talking in her room to a female friend of her youthful days. they were chatting together, but speaking of the myrtle plant in the window, not of the neck of the bottle. "you must not throw away two rix dollars for a wedding bouquet for your daughter," said the old maid. "you shall have one from me full of flowers. look how pretty that plant is! ah! it is a slip of the myrtle tree you gave me the day after my betrothal, that i myself, when the year was past, might take my wedding bouquet from it. but that day never came. the eyes were for ever closed that were to have illumined for me the path of happiness in this life. away, down in the ocean's depths, he sleeps calmly--that angel soul! the tree became an old tree, but i have become still older; and when it died, i took its last green branch and planted it in the earth. that slip has now grown into a high plant, and will at last appear amidst bridal array, and form a wedding bouquet for my friend's daughter." and tears started to the old maid's eyes. she spoke of the lover of her youth--of the betrothal in the wood; she thought of the toasts that were there drunk; she thought of the first kiss, but she did not speak of that, for she was now but an old maid. she thought of much--much; but little did she think that outside of her window was even then a _souvenir_ from that regretted time--the neck of the very bottle that had been drawn when the unforgotten toasts were drunk! nor did the bottle-neck know her; for it had not heard all she had said, because it had been thinking only of itself. _the old bachelor's nightcap._ there is a street in copenhagen which bears the extraordinary name of "hyskenstroede." and why is it so called? and what is the meaning of that name? it is german; but the german has been corrupted. "häuschen" it ought to be called, and that signifies "small houses." those which stood there formerly--and, indeed, for several years--were not much larger than the wooden booths that we see now-a-days erected at fairs. yes, only a little larger, and with windows; but the panes were of horn or stretched bladder, for in these days it was too expensive to have glass windows in all houses; but the time in question was so far back that our grandfathers' grandfathers, when they mentioned it, also spoke of it as "in ancient days," for it was several hundred years ago. many rich merchants in bremen and lubeck carried on business in copenhagen. they did not, however, go there themselves--they sent their clerks; and these persons generally resided in the wooden houses in the "small houses' street," and held sales of ale and spices. the german ale was so excellent, and there were so many kinds--"bremer, prysing, emser ale," even "brunswick mumme;" also, all sorts of spices, such as saffron, anise, ginger, and especially pepper, that was the most valued; and from this the german commercial travellers acquired the name in denmark of "pepper swains, or bachelors." they entered into an agreement before they left home not to marry; and many of them lived there to old age. they had to do entirely for themselves, attend to all little domestic matters, even make their own fires if they had any. several of them became lonely old men, with peculiar thoughts and peculiar habits. every unmarried man who has arrived at a certain age is now here called after them in derision, "pebersvend"--old bachelor. it was necessary to relate all this, in order that our story might be understood. people made great fun of these old bachelors; laughed at their nightcaps, at their drawing them down over their eyes, and so retiring to their couches. "saw the firewood, saw it through! old bachelors, there's work for you. to bed with you your nightcaps go; put out your lights, and cry, 'o woe!'" yes, such songs were made on them. people ridiculed the old bachelor and his nightcap, just because they knew so little about him, or it. alas! let no one desire such a nightcap. and why not? listen! over in the "small houses' street," in ancient days, there was no pavement; people stepped from hole to hole as in a narrow, cut-up defile; and narrow enough this was, too. the dwellings on the opposite side of the street stood so close together, that in summer a sail was spread across the street from one booth to another, and the whole place was redolent of pepper, saffron, ginger, and various spices. behind the desks stood few young men; no, they were almost all old fellows; and they were by no means, as we would represent them, crowned with a peruke or a nightcap, and equipped in shaggy pantaloons, a vest and coat buttoned tightly up. this was the costume in which our forefathers were painted, it is true; but this community of old bachelors could not afford to have their pictures taken. yet it would have been worth while now to have preserved a portrait of one of them, as they stood behind their desks, or on festival days, when they wended their way to church. the hat they wore was broad-brimmed, and with a high crown; and sometimes one of the younger men would stick a feather in his. the woollen shirt was concealed by a deep linen collar; the tight-fitting jacket was closely buttoned, a loose cloak over it; and the pantaloons descended almost into the square-toed shoes, for stockings they wore none. in the belt were stuck the eating knife and the spoon; and, moreover, a large knife as a weapon of defence, for such was often needed in these days. thus was equipped, on grand occasions, old anthon, one of the oldest bachelors of the "small houses;" only he did not wear the high-crowned hat, but a fur cap, and under that a knitted cap, a veritable nightcap, to which he had so accustomed himself that it was never off his head: he actually possessed two of the same description. he would have made an excellent subject for a painter; he was so skinny, so wrinkled about the mouth and the eyes; had long fingers, with such large joints; and his grey eyebrows were so thick. a bunch of grey hair from one of these hung over his left eye: it certainly was not pretty, but it made him very remarkable. it was known that he came from bremen, at least that his master lived there; but he himself was from thüringen, from the town of eisenach, close to wartburg. old anthon spoke little of his native place, but he thought of it the more. the old lodgers in the street did not associate much with each other. each remained in his own booth, which, was locked early in the evening, and then looked very dismal; for only a glimmering light could be seen through the horn panes of the window in the roof, beneath which sat, most frequently on his bed, the old man with his german psalm-book, and chanted the evening hymn, or else he went out and strolled about at night by way of amusement; but amusement it could hardly be called. to be a stranger in a foreign country is a very sad situation. no notice is taken of him unless he stands in anyone's way. often when it was a pitch-dark night, with pouring rain, all around looked woefully gloomy and desolate. no lanterns were to be seen, except the little one that hung at one end of the street, before the image of the virgin mary that adorned the wall there. the water was heard dashing and splashing against the wooden work near, out by slotsholm, on which the other end of the street opened. such evenings are always long and lonely if there be nothing to interest one. it is not necessary every day to pack and unpack, to make up parcels, and to polish scales; but one must have something to do, and accordingly old anthon industriously mended his clothes and cleaned his shoes. when at length he retired to rest, it was his custom to keep on his nightcap. at first he would draw it well down, but he would soon push it up again to look if the light were totally extinguished; nor would he be satisfied without getting up and feeling it. he would then lie down again, and turn on the other side, and again draw down the nightcap; but soon the idea would cross his mind that possibly the coals might not have become cold in the little fire-pot beneath--the fire might not be totally out--that a spark might be kindled, fly forth, and do mischief; and he would get out of his bed and creep down the ladder, for it could not be called the stairs; and when, on reaching the fire-pot, he perceived that not a spark was visible, and he might retire to rest in peace, he would stop half way up, being seized with the fear that the iron bolt might not be properly drawn across the door, or the shutters properly secured; and down he would go again, wearying his poor thin legs. by the time he crept back to his humble couch he would be half frozen, and his teeth would be chattering in his head with the cold. then he would draw the covering higher up around him, and his nightcap lower down over his eyes, and his thoughts would wander from the business and burdens of the day; but ah! not to soothing scenes. his reveries were never fraught with pleasure, for then came old reminiscences, and hung their curtains up; and sometimes they were full of pins, that pricked so severely as to bring tears into his eyes. such wounds old anthon often received, and his warm tears fell on the coverlet or the floor, sounding as if one of sorrow's deepest strings had burst; they did not dry up, but kindled into a flame, which cast its light for him on the panorama of a life--a picture which never vanished from his mind. then he would dry his eyes with his nightcap, and chase away the tears, and endeavour to chase away the picture with them; but it would not go, for it was imbedded in his heart. the panorama did not follow the exact order of events; also the saddest parts were generally most prominent. and what were these? "beautiful are the beech groves in denmark," it is said; but still more beautiful did the beech trees in the meadows near wartburg seem to anthon. mightier and more majestic seemed to him the old oak up at the proud baronial castle, where the swinging lantern hung over the dark masses of rock; sweeter was the perfume of the apple blossoms there than in the danish land; he seemed to feel the charming scent even now. a tear trickled down his cheeks, and he saw two little children, a boy and a girl, playing together. the boy had rosy cheeks, yellow waving hair, and honest blue eyes--he was the rich merchant's son, little anthon himself. the little girl had dark hair and eyes, and she looked bold and clever--she was the burgomaster's daughter molly. the childish couple were playing with an apple. at length they divided it in two, and each took a half. they also divided the seeds between them, and ate them all to one; and the little girl proposed to plant that in the ground. "you will see what will come of this--something will come which you can hardly fancy. an apple tree will come up, but not all at once." and they planted the seed in a flower-pot: both of them were very eager about it. the boy dug a hole in the mould with his finger; the little girl placed the seed in it, and both of them filled up the hole with earth. "you must not pull it up to-morrow to see if it has taken root," she said; "that should not be done. i did that with my flower: twice i took it up to see if it was growing. i had very little sense then, and the flower died." the flower-pot was left in anthon's care, and every morning, the whole winter through, he looked at it; but nothing was to be seen except the black earth. then came spring; the sun shone so warmly, and two tiny green leaves at last made their appearance in the flower-pot. "these are molly and me," said anthon. "they are charming--they are lovely." soon there came a third leaf. who did that represent? and leaf after leaf came up; while day by day, and week by week, the plant became larger and stronger, until it grew into quite a tree. and another tear fell again from its fountain--from old anthon's heart. there stretched out, near eisenach, a range of stony hills, one of which, round in shape, was very conspicuous: neither tree, nor bush, nor grass grew on it. it was named mount venus. therein dwelt venus, a goddess from the heathen ages. she was here called fru holle, and she knew and could see every child in eisenach. she had decoyed into her power the noble knight tannhäuser, the minnesinger, from the musical circle of wartburg. little molly and anthon often went to this hill, and she one day said to him,-- "would you dare to knock on the side of the hill and cry, 'fru holle! fru holle! open the gate; here is tannhäuser?' but anthon dared not do it. molly dared, however; yet only these words--"fru holle! fru holle!"--did she say very loudly and distinctly--the rest seemed to die away on the wind; and she certainly did pronounce the rest of the sentence so indistinctly, that anthon was sure she had not really added the other words. yet she looked very confident--as bold as when, in the summer evening, she and several other little girls came to play in the garden with him, and when they all wanted to kiss him, just because he would not be kissed, and defended himself from them, she alone ventured to achieve the feat. "_i_ dare to kiss him!" she used to say, with a proud toss of her little head. then she would take him round his neck to prove her power, and anthon would put up with it, and think it all right from her. how pretty and how clever she was! fru holle within the hill was also very charming, but her charms, it had been said, sprung from the seducing beauty bestowed on her by the evil one; but still greater beauty was to be found in the holy elizabeth, the patron saint of the country, the pious thüringian princess, whose good works, known through traditions and legends, were celebrated in so many places. a picture of her hung in the chapel with a silver lamp before it, but molly did not resemble her. the apple tree the two children had planted grew year after year; it became so large that it had to be transferred to the garden, out in the open air, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly; it became strong enough to withstand the severity of winter, and after winter's hard trials it seemed as if rejoicing in the return of spring: it then put forth blossoms. in august it had two apples, one for molly and one for anthon: it would not have been well if it had had less. the tree had grown rapidly, and molly had grown as fast as the tree; she was as fresh as an apple blossom, but she was no longer to see that flower. everything changes in this world. molly's father left his old home, and molly went with him--far, far away. in our time it might be only a few hours' journey by railway, but in those days it took more than a day and a night to arrive so far east from eisenach. it was to the other extremity of thüringia they had to go, to a town which is now called weimar. and molly wept, and anthon wept. all these were now concentrated in one single tear, and it had the happy rosy tinge of joy. molly had assured him that she cared much more for him than for all the grandeur of weimar. one year passed on, two passed, and a third followed, and in all that time there came only two letters. one was brought by the carrier, the other by a traveller, who had taken a circuitous course, besides visiting several cities and other places. how often had not anthon and molly heard together the story of tristand and isolde, and how often did not anthon think of himself and molly as them! although the name "tristand" signified that he was born to sorrow, and that did not apply to anthon, he never thought as tristand did, "she has forgotten me!" but isolde had not forgotten her heart's dear friend; and when they were both dead and buried, one on each side of the church, two linden trees grew out of their graves, and, stretching over the roof of the church, met there in full bloom. this was very delightful, thought anthon, and yet so sad! but there could be no sadness where he and molly were concerned. and then he whistled an air of the minnesinger's "walther von der vogelweide,"-- "under the lime tree by the hedge;" and especially that favourite verse,-- "beyond the wood, in the quiet dale, tandaradai, sang the melodious nightingale." this song was always on his lips. he hummed it, and he whistled it on the clear moonlight night, when, passing on horseback through the deep ravine, he rode in haste to weimar to visit molly. he wished to arrive unexpectedly, and he _did_ arrive unexpectedly. he was well received. wine sparkled in the goblets; there was gay society, distinguished society. he had a comfortable room and an excellent bed; and yet he found nothing as he had dreamt and thought to find it. he did not understand himself; he did not understand those about him; but we can understand all. one can be in a house, can mingle with a family, and yet be a total stranger. one may converse, but it is like conversing in a stage coach; may know each other as people know each other in a stage coach; be a restraint upon each other; wish that one were away, or that one's good neighbour were away; and it was thus that anthon felt. "i will be sincere with you," said molly to him. "things have changed much since we were together as children--changed within and without. habit and will have no power over our hearts. anthon, i do not wish to have an enemy in you when i am far away from this, as i soon shall be. believe me, i have a great regard for you; but to love you--as i now know how one can love another human being--that i have never done. you must put up with this. farewell, anthon!" and anthon also said farewell. no tears sprang to his eyes, but he perceived that he was no longer molly's friend. if we were to kiss a burning bar of iron, or a frozen bar of iron, we should experience the same sensation when the skin came off our lips. within twenty-four hours anthon had reached eisenach again, but the horse he rode was ruined. "what of that?" cried he. "i am ruined, and i will ruin all that can remind me of her. fru holle! fru holle! thou heathenish woman! i will tear down and smash the apple tree, and pull it up by the roots. it shall never blossom or bear fruit more." but the tree was not destroyed; he himself was knocked down, and lay long in a violent fever. what was to raise him from his sick bed? the medicine that did it was the bitterest that could be--one that shook the languid body and the shrinking soul. anthon's father was no longer the rich merchant. days of adversity, days of trial, were close at hand. misfortune rushed in like overwhelming billows--it surged into that once wealthy house. his father became a poor man, and sorrow and calamity paralysed him. then anthon found that he had something else to think of than disappointed love, or being angry with molly. he had now to be both father and mother in his desolate home. he had to arrange everything, look after everything, and to go forth into the world to work for his own and his parents' bread. he went to bremen. there he suffered many privations, and passed many melancholy days; and all that he went through sometimes soured his temper, sometimes saddened him, till strength and mind seemed failing. how different were the world and mankind from what he had fancied them in his childhood! what were now to him minnesingers' poems and songs? they were gall and wormwood. yes, this was what he often felt; but there were other times when the songs vibrated to his soul, and his mind became calm and peaceful. "what god wills is always the best," said he then. "it was well that our lord did not permit molly's heart to hang on me. what could it have led to, now that prosperity has left me and mine? she gave me up before she knew or dreamed of this reverse from more fortunate days which was hanging over us. it was the mercy of our lord towards me. everything is ordained for the best. yes, all happens wisely. she could not, therefore, have acted otherwise, and yet how bitter have not my feelings been towards her!" years passed on. anthon's father was dead, and strangers dwelt in his paternal home. anthon, however, was to see it once more; for his wealthy master sent him on an errand of business, which obliged him to pass through his native town, eisenach. the old wartburg stood unchanged, high up on the hill above, with "the monk and the nun" in unhewn stone. the mighty oak trees seemed as imposing as in his childish days. the venus mount looked like a grey mass frowning over the valley. he would willingly have cried,-- "fru holle! fru holle! open the hill, and let me stay there, upon the soil of my native home!" it was a sinful thought, and he crossed himself. then a little bird sang among the bushes, and the old minnesong came back to his thoughts:-- "beyond the wood, in the quiet dale, tandaradai! sang the melodious nightingale." how remembrances rushed upon him as he approached the town where his childhood had been spent, which he now saw through tears! his father's house remained where it used to be, but the garden was altered; a field footpath was made across a portion of the old garden; and the apple tree that he had not uprooted stood there, but no longer within the garden: it was on the opposite side of the road, though the sun shone on it as cheerfully as of old, and the dew fell on it there. it bore such a quantity of fruit that the branches were weighed down to the ground. "it thrives!" he exclaimed. "yes, _it_ can do so." one of its well-laden boughs was broken. wanton hands had done this, for the tree was now on the side of the public road. "its blossoms are carried off without thanks; its fruit is stolen, its branches are broken. it may be said of a tree as of a man, 'it was not sung at the tree's cradle that things should turn out thus.' this one began its life so charmingly; and what has now become of it? forsaken and forgotten--a garden tree standing in a common field, close to a public road, and bending over a miserable ditch! there it stood now, unsheltered, ill-used, and disfigured! it was not, indeed, withered by all this; but as years advanced its blossoms would become fewer--its fruit, if it bore any, late; and so it is all over with it." thus thought anthon under the tree, and thus he thought many a night in the little lonely chamber of the wooden house in the "small houses' street," in copenhagen, whither his rich master had sent him, having stipulated that he was not to marry. "_he_ marry!" he laughed a strange and hollow laugh. the winter had commenced early. there was a sharp frost, and without there was a heavy snow storm, so that all who could do so kept within doors. therefore it was that anthon's neighbours did not observe that his booth had not been opened for two whole days, and that he had not shown himself during that time. but who would go out in such weather when he could stay at home? these were dark, dismal days; and in the booth, where the window was not of glass, it looked like twilight, if not sombre night. old anthon had scarcely left his bed for two days. he had not strength to get up. the intensely cold weather had brought on a severe fit of rheumatism in his limbs, and the old bachelor lay forsaken and helpless, almost too feeble to stretch out his hand to the pitcher of water which he had placed near his bed; and if he could have done so, it would have been of no avail, for the last drop had been drained from it. it was not the fever, not illness alone that had thus prostrated him; it was also old age that had crept upon him. it seemed to be constant night up yonder where he lay. a little spider, which he could not see, spun contentedly its gossamer web over his face. it was soon to stretch like a crepe veil across the features, when the old man closed his eyes. he dozed a good deal; yet time seemed long and weary. he shed no tears, and had but little suffering. molly was scarcely ever in his thoughts. he had a conviction that this world and its bustle were no more for him. at one time he seemed to feel hunger and thirst. he did feel them; but no one came to give him nourishment or drink--no one would come. he thought of those who might be fainting or dying of want. he remembered how the pious elizabeth, while living on this earth--she who had been the favourite heroine of his childish days at home, the magnanimous duchess of thüringia--had herself entered the most miserable abodes, and brought to the sick and wretched refreshments and hope. his thoughts dwelt with pleasure on her good deeds. he remembered how she went to feed the hungry, to speak words of comfort to those who were suffering, and to bind up their wounds, although her austere husband was angry at these works of mercy. he recalled to memory the legend about her, that, as she was going on one of her charitable errands, with a basket well filled with food and wine, her husband, who had watched her steps, rushed out on her, and demanded in high wrath what she was carrying; that, in her fear of him, she replied, "roses which i have plucked in the garden;" whereupon he dragged the cover off of her basket, and lo! a miracle was worked in favour of the charitable lady, for the wine and bread, and everything in the basket, lay turned into roses. thus old anthon's thoughts wandered to the heroine in history whom he had always so much admired, until her image seemed to stand before his dimming sight, close to his humble pallet in the poor wooden hut in a foreign land. he uncovered his head, looked in fancy into her mild eyes, and all around him seemed a mingling of lustre and of roses redolent with sweet perfume. then he felt the charming scent of the apple blossom, and he beheld an apple tree spreading its blooming branches above him. yes, it was the very tree, the seeds of which he and molly had planted together. and the tree swept its fragrant leaves over his hot brow, and cooled it; they touched his parched lips, and they were like refreshing wine and bread; they fell upon his breast, and he felt himself softly sinking into a calm slumber. "i shall sleep now," he whispered feebly to himself. "sleep restores strength--to-morrow i shall be well and up again. beautiful, beautiful! the apple tree planted in love i see again in glory." and he slept. the following day--it was the third day the booth had been shut up--the snow drifted no longer, and the neighbours went to see about anthon, who had not yet shown himself. they found him lying stiff and dead, with his old nightcap pressed between his hands. they did not put it upon him in his coffin--he had also another which was clean and white. where now were the tears he had wept? where were these pearls? they remained in the nightcap. such precious things do not pass away in the washing. they were preserved and forgotten with the nightcap. the old thoughts, the old dreams--yes, they remained still in _the old bachelor's nightcap_. wish not for that. it will make your brow too hot, make your pulses beat too violently, bring dreams that seem reality. this was proved by the first person who put it on--and that was not till fifty years after--by the burgomaster himself, who was blessed with a wife and eleven children. he dreamt of unhappy love, bankruptcy, and short commons. "how warm this nightcap is!" he exclaimed, as he dragged it off. then pearl after pearl began to fall from it, and they jingled and glittered. "i must have got the rheumatism in my head," said the burgomaster. "sparks seem falling from my eyes." they were tears wept half a century before--wept by old anthon from eisenach. whoever has since worn that nightcap has sure enough had visions and dreams; his own history has been turned into anthon's; his dream has become quite a tale, and there were many of them. let others relate the rest. we have now told the first, and with it our last words are--never covet an old bachelor's nightcap. _something._ "i will be something," said the oldest of five brothers. "i will be of use in the world, let the position be ever so insignificant which i may fill. if it be only respectable, it will be something. i will make bricks--people can't do without these--and then i shall have done something." "but something too trifling," said the second brother. "what you propose to do is much the same as doing nothing; it is no better than a hodman's work, and can be done by machinery. you had much better become a mason. _that_ is something, and that is what i will be. yes, that is a good trade. a mason can get into a trade's corporation, become a burgher, have his own colours and his own club. indeed, if i prosper, i may have workmen under me, and be called 'master,' and my wife 'mistress;' and that would be something." "that is next to nothing," said the third. "there are many classes in a town, and that is about the lowest. it is nothing to be called 'master.' you might be very superior yourself; but as a master mason you would be only what is called 'a common man.' i know of something better. i will be an architect; enter upon the confines of science; work myself up to a high place in the kingdom of mind. i know i must begin at the foot of the ladder. i can hardly bear to say it--i must begin as a carpenter's apprentice, and wear a cap, though i have been accustomed to go about in a silk hat. i must run to fetch beer and spirits for the common workmen, and let them be 'hail fellow well met' with me. this will be disagreeable; but i will fancy that it is all a masquerade and the freedom of maskers. to-morrow--that is to say, when i am a journeyman--i will go my own way. the others will not join me. i shall go to the academy, and learn to draw and design; then i shall be called an architect. that is something! that is much! i may become 'honourable,' or even 'noble'--perhaps both. i shall build and build, as others have done before me. _there_ is something to look forward to--something worth being!" "but that something i should not care about," said the fourth. "i will not march in the wake of anybody. i will not be a copyist; i will be a genius--will be cleverer than you all put together. i shall create a new style, furnish ideas for a building adapted to the climate and materials of the country--something which shall be a nationality, a development of the resources of our age, and, at the same time, an exhibition of my own genius." "but if by chance the climate and the materials did not suit each other," said the fifth, "that would be unfortunate for the result. nationalities may be so amplified as to become affectation. the discoveries of the age, like youth, may leave you far behind. i perceive right well that none of you will, in reality, become anything, whatever may be your expectations. but do all of you what you please; i shall not follow your examples. i shall keep myself disengaged, and shall reason upon what you perform. there is something wrong in everything. i will pick that out, and reason upon it. that will be something." and so he did; and people said of the fifth, "he has not settled to anything. he has a good head, but he does nothing." even this, however, made him something. this is but a short history; yet it is one which will not end as long as the world stands. but is there nothing more about the five brothers? what has been told is absolutely nothing. hear further; it is quite a romance. the eldest brother, who made bricks, perceived that from every stone, when it was finished, rolled a small coin; and though these little coins were but of copper, many of them heaped together became a silver dollar; and when one knocks with such at the baker's, the butcher's, and other shops, the doors fly open, and one gets what one wants. the bricks produced all this. the damaged and broken bricks were also made good use of. yonder, above the embankment, mother margrethe, a poor old woman, wanted to build a small house for herself. she got all the broken bricks, and some whole ones to boot; for the eldest brother had a good heart. the poor woman built her house herself. it was very small; the only window was put in awry, the door was very low, and the thatched roof might have been laid better; but it was at least a shelter and a cover for her. there was a fine view from it of the sea, which broke in its might against the embankment. the salt spray often dashed over the whole tiny house, which still stood there when he was dead and gone who had given the bricks:-- the second brother could build in another way. he was also clever in his business. when his apprenticeship was over he strapped on his knapsack, and sang the mechanic's song:-- "while young, far-distant lands i'll tread. away from home to build, my handiwork shall win my bread, my heart with hope be filled. and when my fatherland i see, and meet my bride--hurra! an active workman i shall be: then who so happy and gay?" and he _was_ that. when he returned to his native town, and became a master, he built house after house--a whole street. it was a very handsome one, and a great ornament to the town. these houses built for him a small house, which was to be his own. but how could the houses build? ay, ask them that, and they will not answer you; but people will answer for them, and tell you, "it certainly was that street which built him a house." it was only a small one, to be sure, and with a clay floor; but when he and his bride danced on it the floor became polished and bright, and from every stone in the wall sprang a flower which was quite as good as any costly tapestry. it was a pleasant house, and they were a happy couple. the colours of the masons' company floated outside, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "hurra!" yes, that was something; and so he died--and that was also something. then came the architect, the third brother, who had been first a carpenter's apprentice, wearing a cap and going on errands; but, on leaving the academy, rose to be an architect, and he became a man of consequence. yes, if the houses in the street built by his brother, the master mason, had provided him with a house, a street was called after the architect, and the handsomest house in it was his own. that was something; and he was somebody, with a long, high-sounding title besides. his children were called people of quality, and when he died his widow was a widow of rank--that was something. and his name stood as a fixture at the corner of the street, and was often in folks' mouths, being the name of a street--and that was certainly something. next came the genius--the fourth brother--who was to devote himself to new inventions. in one of his ambitious attempts he fell, and broke his neck; but he had a splendid funeral, with a procession, and flags, and music. he was noticed in the newspapers, and three funeral orations were pronounced over him, the one longer than the others; and much delighted he would have been with them if he had heard them, for he was fond of being talked about. a monument was erected over his grave. it was not very grand, but a monument is always something. he now was dead, as well as the three other brothers; but the fifth--he who was fond of reasoning or arguing--out-lived them all; and that was quite right, for he had thus the last word. and he thought it a matter of great importance to have the last word. it was he who, folks said, "had a good head." at length his last hour also struck. he died, and he arrived at the gate of the kingdom of heaven. spirits always come there two and two, and along with him stood there another soul, which wanted also to get in, and this was no other than the old mother margrethe, from the house on the embankment. "it must surely be for the sake of contrast that i and yon paltry soul should come here at the same moment," said the reasoner. "why, who are you, old one? do you also expect to enter here?" he asked. and the old woman courtesied as well as she could. she thought it was st. peter himself who spoke. "i am a miserable old creature without any family. my name is margrethe." "well, now, what have you done and effected down yonder?" "i have effected scarcely anything in yonder world--nothing that can tell in my favour here. it will be a pure act of mercy if i am permitted to enter this gate." "how did you leave yon world?" he asked, merely for something to say. he was tired of standing waiting there. "oh! how i left it i really do not know. i had been very poorly, often quite ill, for some years past, and i was not able latterly to leave my bed, and go out into the cold and frost. it was a very severe winter; but i was getting through it. for a couple of days there was a dead calm; but it was bitterly cold, as your honour may remember. the ice had remained so long on the ground, that the sea was frozen over as far as the eye could reach. the townspeople flocked in crowds to the ice. i could hear it all as i lay in my poor room. the same scene continued till late in the evening--till the moon rose. from my bed i could see through the window far out beyond the seashore; and there lay on the horizon, just where the sea and sky seemed to meet, a singular-looking white cloud. i lay and looked at it; looked at the black spot in the middle of it, which became larger and larger; and i knew what that betokened, for i was old and experienced, though i had not often seen that sign. i saw it and shuddered. twice before in my life had i seen that strange appearance in the sky, and i knew that there would be a terrible storm at the springtide, which would burst over the poor people out upon the ice, who were now drinking and rushing about, and amusing themselves. young and old--the whole town in fact--were assembled yonder. who was to warn them of coming danger, if none of them observed or knew what i now perceived? i became so alarmed, so anxious, that i got out of my bed, and crawled to the window. i was incapable of going further; but i put up the window, and, on looking out, i could see the people skating and sliding and running on the ice. i could see the gay flags, and could hear the boys shouting hurra, and the girls and the young men singing in chorus. all was jollity and merriment there. but higher and higher arose the white cloud with the black spot in it. i cried out as loud as i could, but nobody heard me. i was too far away from them. the wind would soon break loose, the ice give away, and all upon it sink, without any chance of rescue. hear me they could not, and for me to go to them was impossible. was there nothing that i could do to bring them back to land? then our lord inspired me with the idea of setting fire to my bed; it would be better that my house were to be burned down than that the many should meet with such a miserable death. then i kindled the fire. i saw the red flames, and i gained the outside of the house; but i remained lying there. i could do no more, for my strength was exhausted. the blaze pursued me--it burst from the window, and out upon the roof. the crowds on the ice perceived it, and they came running as fast as they could to help me, a poor wretch, whom they thought would be burned in my bed. it was not one or two only who came--they all came. i heard them coming; but i also heard all at once the shrill whistle, the loud roar of the wind. i heard it thunder like the report of a cannon. the springtide lifted the ice, and suddenly it broke asunder; but the crowd had reached the embankment, where the sparks were flying over me. i had been the means of saving them all; but i was not able to survive the cold and fright, and so i have come up here to the gate of the kingdom of heaven; but i am told it is locked against such poor creatures as i. and now i have no longer a home down yonder on the embankment, though that does not insure me any admittance here." at that moment the gate of heaven was opened, and an angel took the old woman in. she dropped a straw; it was one of the pieces of straw which had stuffed the bed to which she had set fire to save the lives of many, and it had turned to pure gold, but gold that was flexible, and twisted itself into pretty shapes. "see! the poor old woman brought this," said the angel. "what dost thou bring? ah! i know well; thou hast done nothing--not even so much as making a brick. if thou couldst go back again, and bring only so much as that, if done with good intentions, it would be something: as thou wouldst do it, however, it would be of no avail. but thou canst not go back, and i can do nothing for thee." then the poor soul, the old woman from the house on the embankment, begged for him. "his brother kindly gave me all the stones with which i built my humble dwelling. they were a great gift to a poor creature like me. may not all these stones and fragments be permitted to value as one brick for him? it was a deed of mercy. he is now in want, and this is mercy's home." "thy brother whom thou didst think the most inferior to thyself--him whose honest business thou didst despise--shares with thee his heavenly portion. thou shalt not be ordered away; thou shalt have leave to remain outside here to think over and to repent thy life down yonder; but within this gate thou shalt not enter until in good works thou hast performed _something_." "i could have expressed that sentence better," thought the conceited logician; but he did not say this aloud, and that was surely already--something. _the old oak tree's last dream._ a christmas tale. there stood in a wood, high up on the side of a sloping hill near the open shore, a very old oak tree. it was about three hundred and sixty-five years old, but those long years were not more than as many single rotations of the earth for us men. we are awake during the day, and sleep during the night, and have then our dreams: with the tree it is otherwise. a tree is awake for three quarters of a year. it only sleeps in winter--that is _its_ night--after the long day which is called spring, summer, and autumn. many a warm summer day had the ephemeron insect frolicked round the oak tree's head--lived, moved about, and found itself happy; and when the little creature reposed for a moment in calm enjoyment on one of the great fresh oak leaves, the tree always said,-- "poor little thing! one day alone is the span of thy whole life. ah, how short! it is very sad." "sad!" the ephemeron always replied. "what dost thou mean by that? everything is so charming, so warm and delightful, that i am quite happy." "but for only one day; then all is over." "all is over!" exclaimed the insect. "what is the meaning of 'all is over?' is all over with thee also?" "no; i may live, perhaps, thousands of thy days, and my lifetime is for centuries. it is so long a period that thou couldst not calculate it." "no, for i do not understand thee. thou hast thousands of my days, but i have thousands of moments to be happy in. is all the beauty in the world at an end when thou diest?" "oh! by no means," replied the tree. "it will last longer--much, much longer than i can conceive." "well, i think we are much on a par, only that we reckon differently." and the ephemeron danced and floated about in the sunshine, and enjoyed itself with its pretty little delicate wings, like the most minute flower--enjoyed itself in the warm air, which was so fragrant with the sweet perfumes of the clover-fields, of the wild roses in the hedges, and of the elder-flower, not to speak of the woodbine, the primrose, and the wild mint. the scent was so strong that the ephemeron was almost intoxicated by it. the day was long and pleasant, full of gladness and sweet perceptions; and when the sun set, the little insect felt a sort of pleasing languor creeping over it after all its enjoyments. its wings would no longer carry it, and very gently it glided down upon the soft blade of grass that was slightly waving in the evening breeze; there it drooped its tiny head, and fell into a calm sleep--the sleep of death. "poor little insect!" exclaimed the oak tree, "thy life was far too short." and every summer's day were repeated a similar dance, a similar conversation, and a similar death. this went on with the whole generation of ephemera, and all were equally happy, equally gay. the oak tree remained awake during its spring morning, its summer day, and its autumn evening; now it was near its sleeping time, its night--the winter was close at hand. already the tempests were singing, "good night, good night! thy leaves are falling--we pluck them, we pluck them! try if thou canst slumber; we shall sing thee to sleep, we shall rock thee to sleep; and thy old boughs like this--they are creaking in their joy! softly, softly sleep! it is thy three hundred and sixty-fifth night. sleep calmly! the snow is falling from the heavy clouds; it will soon be a wide sheet, a warm coverlet for thy feet. sleep calmly and dream pleasantly!" and the oak tree stood disrobed of all its leaves to go to rest for the whole long winter, and during that time to dream many dreams, often something stirring and exciting, like the dreams of human beings. it, too, had once been little. yes, an acorn had been its cradle. according to man's reckoning of time it was now living in its fourth century. it was the strongest and loftiest tree in the wood, with its venerable head reared high above all the other trees; and it was seen far away at sea, and looked upon as a beacon by the navigators of the passing ships. it little thought how many eyes looked out for it. high up amidst its green coronal the wood-pigeons built their nests, and the cuckoo's note was heard from thence; and in the autumn, when the leaves looked like hammered plates of copper, came birds of passage, and rested there before they flew far over the sea. but now it was winter, and the tree stood leafless, and the bended and gnarled branches were naked. crows and jackdaws came and sat themselves there alternately, and talked of the rigorous weather which was commencing, and how difficult it was to find food in winter. it was just at the holy christmas time that the tree dreamt its most charming dream. let us listen to it. the tree had a distinct idea that it was a period of some solemn festival; it thought it heard all the church bells round ringing, and it seemed to be a mild summer day. its lofty head, it fancied, looked fresh and green, while the bright rays of the sun played among its thick foliage. the air was laden with the perfume of wild flowers; various butterflies chased each other in sport around its boughs, and the ephemera danced and amused themselves. all that during years the tree had known and seen around it now passed before it as in a festive procession. it beheld, as in the olden time, knights and ladies on horseback, with feathers in their hats and falcons on their hands, riding through the greenwood; it heard the horns of the huntsmen, and the baying of the hounds; it saw the enemies' troops, with their various uniforms, their polished armour, their lances and halberds, pitch their tents and take them down again; the watch-fires blazed, and the soldiers sang and slept under the sheltering branches of the tree. it beheld lovers meet in the soft moonlight, and cut their names--that first letter--upon its olive-green bark. guitars and Æolian harps were again--but there were very many years between them--hung up on the boughs of the tree by gay travelling swains, and again their sweet sounds broke on the stillness around. the wood-pigeons cooed, as if they were describing the feelings of the tree, and the cuckoo told how many summer days it should yet live. then it was as if a new current of life rushed from its lowest roots up to its highest branches, even to the farthest leaves; the tree felt that it extended itself therewith, yet it perceived that its roots down in the ground were also full of life and warmth; it felt its strength increasing, and that it was growing taller and taller. the trunk shot up--there was no pause--more and more it grew--its head became fuller, broader--and as the tree grew it became happier, and its desire increased to rise up still higher, even until it could reach the warm, blazing sun. already had it mounted above the clouds, which, like multitudes of dark migratory birds, or flocks of white swans, were floating under it; and every leaf of the tree that had eyes could see. the stars became visible during the day, and looked so large and bright: each of them shone like a pair of mild, clear eyes. they might have recalled to memory dear, well-known eyes--the eyes of children--the eyes of lovers when they met beneath the tree. it was a moment of exquisite delight. yet in the midst of its pleasure it felt a desire, a longing that all the other trees in the wood beneath--all the bushes, plants, and flowers--might be able to lift themselves like it, and to participate in its joyful and triumphant feelings. the mighty oak tree, in the midst of its glorious dream, could not be entirely happy unless it had all its old friends with it, great and small; and this feeling pervaded every branch and leaf of the tree as strongly as if it had lived in the breast of a human being. the summit of the tree moved about as if it missed and sought something left behind. then it perceived the scent of the woodbine, and soon the still stronger scent of the violets and wild thyme; and it fancied it could hear the cuckoo repeat its note. at length amidst the clouds peeped forth the tops of the green trees of the wood; they also grew higher and higher, as the oak had done; the bushes and the flowers shot up high in the air; and some of these, dragging their slender roots after them, flew up more rapidly. the birch was the swiftest among the trees: like a white flash of lightning it darted its slender stem upwards, its branches waving like green wreaths and flags. the wood and all its leafy contents, even the brown-feathered rushes, grew, and the birds followed them singing; and in the fluttering blades of silken grass the grasshopper sat and played with his wings against his long thin legs, and the wild bees hummed, and all was song and gladness as up in heaven. "but the blue-bell and the little wild tansy," said the oak tree; "i should like them with me too." "we are with you," they sang in their low, sweet tones. "but the pretty water-lily of last year, and the wild apple tree that stood down yonder, and looked so fresh, and all the forest flowers of years past, had they lived and bloomed till now, they might have been with me." "we are with you--we are with you," sang their voices far above, as if they had gone up before. "well, this is quite enchanting," cried the old tree. "i have them all, small and great--not one is forgotten. how is all this happiness possible and conceivable?" "in the celestial paradise all this is possible and conceivable," voices chanted around. and the tree, which continued to rise, observed that its roots were loosening from their hold in the earth. "this is well," said the tree. "nothing now retains me. i am free to mount to the highest heaven--to splendour and light; and all that are dear to me are with me--small and great--all with me." "all!" this was the oak tree's dream; and whilst it dreamt a fearful storm had burst over sea and land that holy christmas eve. the ocean rolled heavy billows on the beach--the tree rocked violently, and was torn up by the roots at the moment it was dreaming that its roots were loosening. it fell. its three hundred and sixty-five years were now as but the day of the ephemeron. on christmas morning, when the sun arose, the storm was passed. all the church bells were ringing joyously; and from every chimney, even the lowest in the peasant's cot, curled from the altars of the druidical feast the blue smoke of the thanksgiving oblation. the sea became more and more calm, and on a large vessel in the offing, which had weathered the tempest during the night, were hoisted all its flags in honour of the day. "the tree is gone--that old oak tree which was always our landmark!" cried the sailors. "it must have fallen in the storm last night. who shall replace it? alas! no one can." this was the tree's funeral oration--short, but well meant--as it lay stretched at full length amidst the snow upon the shore, and over it floated the melody of the psalm tunes from the ship--hymns of christmas joy, and thanksgivings for the salvation of the souls of mankind by jesus christ, and the blessed promise of everlasting life. "let sacred songs arise on high, loud hallelujahs reach the sky; let joy and peace each mortal share, while hymns of praise shall fill the air." thus ran the old psalm, and every one out yonder, on the deck of the ship, lifted up his voice in thanksgiving and prayer, just as the old oak tree was lifted up in its last and most delightful dream on that christmas eve. _the wind relates the story of waldemar daae and his daughters._ when the wind sweeps over the grass it ripples like water; when it sweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. all that is the wind's dance. but listen to what the wind tells. it sings it aloud, and it is repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carried through the loopholes and the chinks in the wall. look how the wind chases the skies up yonder, as if they were a flock of sheep! listen how the wind howls below through the half-open gate, as if it were the warder blowing his horn! strangely does it sound down the chimney and in the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and the flames, instead of ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is warm and comfortable to sit and listen to it. let the wind speak. it knows more tales and adventures than all of us put together. hearken now to what it is about to relate. it blew a tremendous blast: that was a prelude to its story. * * * * * "there lay close to the great belt an old castle with thick red walls," said the wind. "i knew every stone in it. i had seen them before, when they were in marshal stig's castle at the næs. it was demolished. the stones were used again, and became new walls--a new building--at another place, and that was borreby castle as it now stands. i have seen and known the high-born ladies and gentlemen, the various generations that have dwelt in it; and now i shall tell about waldemar daae and his daughters. "he held his head so high: he was of royal extraction. he could do more than hunt a stag and drain a goblet: that would be proved some day, he said to himself. "his proud lady, apparelled in gold brocade, walked erect over her polished inlaid floor. the tapestry was magnificent, the furniture costly, and beautifully carved; vessels of gold and silver she had in profusion; there were stores of german ale in the cellars; handsome spirited horses neighed in the stables; all was superb within borreby castle when wealth was there. "and children were there; three fine girls--idé, johanné, and anna dorthea. i remember their names well even now. "they were rich people, they were people of distinction--born in grandeur, and brought up in it. wheugh--wheugh!" whistled the wind; then it continued the tale. "i never saw there, as in other old mansions, the high-born lady sitting in her boudoir with her maidens and spinning-wheels. she played on the lute, and sang to it, though never the old danish ballads, but songs in foreign languages. here were banqueting and mirth, titled guests came from far and near, music's tones were heard, goblets rang. i could not drown the noise," said the wind. "here were arrogance, ostentation, and display; here was power, but not our lord." "it was one may-day evening," said the wind. "i came from the westward. i had seen ships crushed into wrecks on the west coast of jutland. i had hurried over the dreary heaths and green woody coast, had crossed the island of funen, and swept over the great belt, and i was hoarse with blowing. then i laid myself down to rest on the coast of zealand, near borreby, where there stood the forest and the charming meadows. the young men from the neighbourhood assembled there, and collected brushwood and branches of trees, the largest and driest they could find. they carried them to the village, laid them in a heap, and set fire to it; then they and the village girls sang and danced round it. "i lay still," said the wind; "but i softly stirred one branch--one which had been placed on the bonfire by the handsomest youth. his piece of wood blazed up, blazed highest. he was chosen the leader of the rustic game, became 'the wild boar,' and had the first choice among the girls for his 'pet lamb.' there were more happiness and merriment amongst them than up at the grand house at borreby. "and then from the great house at borreby came, driving in a gilded coach with six horses, the noble lady and her three daughters, so fine, so young--three lovely blossoms--rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth. the mother herself was like a flaunting tulip; she did not deign to notice one of the crowd of villagers, though they stopped their game, and courtesied and bowed with profound respect. "rose, lily, and the pale hyacinth--yes, i saw them all three. whose 'pet lambs' should they one day become? i thought. the 'wild boar' for each of them would assuredly be a proud knight--perhaps a prince. wheugh--wheugh! "well, their equipage drove on with them, and the young peasants went on with their dancing. and the summer advanced in the village near borreby, in tjæreby, and all the surrounding towns. "but one night when i arose," continued the wind, "the great lady was lying ill, never to move again. that something had come over her which comes over all mankind sooner or later: it is nothing new. waldemar daae stood in deep and melancholy thought for a short time. 'the proudest tree may bend, but not break,' said he to himself. the daughters wept; but at last they all dried their eyes at the great house, and the noble lady was carried away; and i also went away," said the wind. * * * * * "i returned--i returned soon, over funen and the belt, and set myself down by borreby beach, near the large oak wood. there water-wagtails, wood-pigeons, blue ravens, and even black storks built their nests. it was late in the year: some had eggs, and some had young birds. how they were flying about, and how they were shrieking! the strokes of the axe were heard--stroke after stroke. the trees were to be felled. waldemar daae was going to build a costly ship, a man-of-war with three decks, which the king would be glad to purchase: and therefore the wood--the seamen's landmark, the birds' home--was to be sacrificed. the great red-backed shrike flew in alarm--his nest was destroyed; the ravens and all the other birds had lost their homes, and flew wildly about with cries of distress and anger. i understood them well. the crows and the jackdaws screamed high in derision, 'from the nest--from the nest! away--away!' "and in the midst of the wood, looking on at the crowd of labourers, stood waldemar daae and his three daughters, and they all laughed together at the wild cries of the birds; but his youngest daughter, anna dorthea, was sorry for them in her heart; and when the men were about to cut down a partially decayed tree, amidst whose naked branches the black storks had built their nests, and from which the tiny little ones peeped out their heads, she begged it might be spared. she begged--begged with tears in her eyes; and the tree was permitted to remain with the nest of black storks. it was not a great boon after all. "the fine trees were cut down, the wood was sawn, and a large ship with three decks was built. the master shipbuilder himself was of low birth, but of noble appearance. his eyes and his forehead evinced how clever he was, and waldemar daae liked to listen to his conversation; so also did little idé, his eldest daughter, who was fifteen years of age. and while he was building the ship for the father, he was also building castles in the air for himself, wherein he and idé sat as man and wife; and that might have happened had the castles been of stone walls, with ramparts and moats, woods and gardens. but, with all his talents, the master shipbuilder was but a humble bird. what should a sparrow do in an eagle's nest? "wheugh--wheugh! i flew away, and he flew away, for he dared not remain longer; and little idé got over his departure, for she was obliged to get over it. "splendid dark chargers neighed in the stables, worth being looked at; and they were looked at and admired. an admiral was sent by the king himself to examine the new man-of-war, and to make arrangements for its purchase. he praised the spirited horses loudly. i heard him myself," said the wind. "i followed the gentlemen through the open door, and strewed straw before their feet. waldemar daae wanted gold, the admiral wanted the horses--he admired them so much; but the bargain was not concluded, nor was the ship bought--the ship that was lying near the strand, with its white planks--a noah's ark that was never to be launched upon the deep. "wheugh! it was a sad pity. "in the winter time, when the fields were covered with snow, drift-ice filled the belt, and i screwed it up to the shore," said the wind. "then came ravens and crows, all as black as they could be, in large flocks. they perched themselves upon the deserted, dead, lonely ship, that lay high up on the beach; and they cried and lamented, with their hoarse voices, about the wood that was gone, the many precious birds' nests that were laid waste, the old ones rendered homeless, the little ones rendered homeless; and all for the sake of a great lumbering thing, a gigantic vessel, that never was to float upon the deep. "i whirled the snow in the snow storms, and raised the snow-drifts. the snow lay like a sea high around the vessel. i let it hear my voice, and know what a tempest can say. i knew if i exerted myself it would get some of the knowledge other ships have. "and winter passed--winter and summer; they come and go as i come and go; the snow melts, the apple blossom blooms, the leaves fall--all is change, change, and with mankind among the rest. "but the daughters were still young--little idé a rose, beautiful to look at, as the shipbuilder had seen her. often did i play with her long brown hair, when, under the apple tree in the garden, she was standing lost in thought, and did not observe that i was showering down the blossoms upon her head. then she would start, and gaze at the red sun, and the golden clouds around it, through the space among the dark foliage of the trees. "her sister johanné resembled a lily--fair, slender, and erect; and, like her mother, she was stately and haughty. it was a great pleasure to her to wander up and down the grand saloon where hung the portraits of her ancestors. the high-born dames were painted in silks and velvets, with little hats looped up with pearls on their braided locks--they were beautiful ladies. their lords were depicted in steel armour, or in costly mantles trimmed with squirrels' fur, and wearing blue ruffs; the sword was buckled round the thigh, and not round the loins. johanné's own portrait would hang at some future day on that wall, and what would her noble husband be like? yes, she thought of this, and she said this in low accents to herself. i heard her when i rushed through the long corridor into the saloon, and out again. "anna dorthea, the pale hyacinth, who was only fourteen years of age, was quiet and thoughtful. her large swimming blue eyes looked somewhat pensive, but a childish smile played around her mouth, and i could not blow it off; nor did i wish to do so. "i met her in the garden, in the ravine, in the fields. she was gathering plants and flowers, those which she knew her father made use of for the drinks and drops he was fond of distilling. waldemar daae was arrogant and conceited, but also he had a great deal of knowledge. everybody knew that, and everybody talked in whispers about it. even in summer a fire burned in his private cabinet; its doors were always locked. he passed days and nights there, but he spoke little about his pursuits. the mysteries of nature are studied in silence. he expected soon to discover its greatest secret--the transmutation of other substances into gold. "it was for this that smoke was ever issuing from the chimney of his laboratory; for this that sparks and flames were always there. and i was there too," said the wind. "'hollo, hollo!' i sang through the chimney. there were steam, smoke, embers, ashes. 'you will burn yourself up--take care, take care!' but waldemar daae did _not_ take care. "the splendid horses in the stables, what became of them?--the silver and the gold plate, the cows in the fields, the furniture, the house itself? yes, they could be smelted--smelted in the crucibles; and yet no gold was obtained. "all was empty in the barns and in the pantry, in the cellars and in the loft. the fewer people, the more mice. one pane of glass was cracked, another was broken. i did not require to go in by the door," said the wind. "when the kitchen chimney is smoking, dinner is preparing; but there the smoke rolled from the chimney for that which devoured all repasts--for the yellow gold. "i blew through the castle gate like a warder blowing his horn; but there was no warder," said the wind. "i turned the weathercock above the tower--it sounded like a watchman snoring inside the tower; but no watchman was there--it was only kept by rats and mice. poverty presided at the table--poverty sat in the clothes' chests and in the store-rooms. the doors fell off their hinges--there came cracks and crevices everywhere. i went in, and i went out," said the wind; "therefore i knew what was going on. "amidst smoke and ashes--amidst anxiety and sleepless nights--waldemar daae's hair had turned grey; so had his beard and the thin locks on his forehead; his skin had become wrinkled and yellow, his eyes ever straining after gold--the expected gold. "i whisked smoke and ashes into his face and beard: debts came instead of gold. i sang through the broken windows and cracked walls--came moaning in to the daughter's cheerless room, where the old bed-gear was faded and threadbare, but had still to hold out. such a song was not sung at the children's cradles. high life had become wretched life. i was the only one then who sang loudly in the castle," said the wind. "i snowed them in, and they said they were comfortable. they had no wood to burn--the trees had been felled from which they would have got it. it was a sharp frost. i rushed through loopholes and corridors, over roofs and walls, to keep up my activity. in their poor chamber lay the three aristocratic daughters in their bed to keep themselves warm. to be as poor as church mice--that was high life! wheugh! would they give it up? but herr daae could not. "'after winter comes spring,' said he. 'after want come good times; but they make one wait. the castle is now mortgaged--we have arrived at the worst--we shall have gold now at easter!' "i heard him murmuring near a spider's web:-- "'thou active little weaver! thou teachest me to persevere. even if thy web be swept away thou dost commence again, and dost complete it. again let it be torn asunder, and, unwearied, thou dost again recommence thy work over and over again. i shall follow thy example. i will go on, and i shall be rewarded.' "it was easter morning--the church bells were ringing. the sun was careering in the heavens. under a burning fever the alchemist had watched all night: he had boiled and cooled--mixed and distilled. i heard him sigh like a despairing creature; i heard him pray; i perceived that he held his breath in his anxiety. the lamp had gone out--he did not seem to notice it. i blew on the red-hot cinders; they brightened up, and shone on his chalky-white face, and tinged it with a momentary brightness. the eyes had almost closed in their deep sockets; now they opened wider--wider--as if they were about to spring forth. "look at the alchemical glass! there is something sparkling in it! it is glowing, pure, heavy! he lifted it with a trembling hand. he cried with trembling lips, 'gold--gold!' he staggered, and seemed quite giddy at the sight. i could have blown him away," said the wind; "but i only blew in the ruddy fire, and followed him through the door in to where his daughters were freezing. his dress was covered with ashes; they were to be seen in his beard, and in his matted hair. he raised his head proudly, stretched forth his rich treasure in the fragile glass, and 'won--won! gold!' he cried, as he held high in the air the glass that glittered in the dazzling sunshine. but his hand shook, and the alchemical glass fell to the ground, and broke into a thousand pieces. the last bubble of his prosperity had burst. wheugh--wheugh! and i darted away from the alchemist's castle. "later in the year, during the short days, when fogs come with their damp drapery, and wring out wet drops on the red berries and the leafless trees, i came in a hearty humour, sent breezes aloft to clear the air, and began to sweep down the rotten branches. that was no hard work, but it was a useful one. there was sweeping of another sort within borreby castle, where waldemar daae dwelt. his enemy, ové ramel, from basnæs, was there, with the mortgage bonds upon the property and the dwelling-house, which he had purchased. i thundered against the cracked window-panes, slammed the rickety doors, whistled through the cracks and crevices, 'wheu-gh!' herr ové should have no pleasure in the prospect of living there. idé and anna dorthea wept bitterly. johanné stood erect and composed; but she looked very pale, and bit her lips till they bled. much good would that do! ové ramel vouchsafed his permission to herr daae to remain at the castle during the rest of his days; but he got no thanks for the offer. i overheard all that passed. i saw the homeless man draw himself up haughtily, and toss his head; and i sent a blast against the castle and the old linden trees, so that the thickest branch among them broke, though it was not rotten. it lay before the gate like a broom, in case something had to be swept out; and to be sure there _was_ a clean sweep. "it was a sad day, a cruel hour, a heavy trial to sustain; but the heart was hard--the neck was stiff. "they possessed nothing but the clothes they had on. yes, they had a newly-bought alchemist's glass, which was filled with what had been wasted on the floor: it had been scraped up, the treasure promised, but not yielded. waldemar daae concealed this near his breast, took his stick in his hand, and the once wealthy man went, with his three daughters, away from borreby castle. i blew coldly on his wan cheeks, and ruffled his grey beard and his long white hair. i sang around them, 'wheu-gh--wheu-gh!' "there was an end to all their grandeur! "idé and anna dorthea walked on each side of their father; johanné turned round at the gate. why did she do so? fortune would not turn. she gazed at the red stones of the wall, the stones from marshal stig's castle, and she thought of his daughters:-- 'the eldest took the younger's hand, and out in the wide world they went.' she thought upon that song. here there were three, and their father was with them. they passed as beggars over the same road where they had so often driven in their splendid carriage to smidstrup mark, to a house with mud floors that was let for ten marks a year--their new manor-house, with bare walls and empty closets. the crows and the jackdaws flew after them, and cried, as if in derision, 'from the nest--from the nest! away--away!' as the birds had screeched at borreby wood when the trees were cut down. "and thus they entered the humble house at smidstrup mark, and i wandered away over moors and meadows, through naked hedges and leafless woods, to the open sea--to other lands. wheugh--wheugh! on--on--on!" what became of waldemar daae? what became of his daughters? the wind will tell. "the last of them i saw was anna dorthea, the pale hyacinth. she had become old and decrepit: that was about fifty years after she had left the castle. she lived the longest--she saw them all out." * * * * * "yonder, on the heath, near the town of viborg, stood the dean's handsome house, built of red granite. the smoke rolled plentifully from its chimneys. the gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat on the balcony, and looked over their pretty garden on the brown heath. at what were they gazing? they were looking at the storks' nests, on a castle that was almost in ruins. the roof, where there was any roof, was covered with moss and houseleeks; but the best part of it sustained the storks' nests--that was the only portion which was in tolerable repair. "it was a place to look at, not to dwell in. i had to be cautious with it," said the wind. "for the sake of the storks the house was allowed to stand, else it was really a disgrace to the heath. the dean would not have the storks driven away; so the dilapidated building was permitted to remain, and a poor woman was permitted to live in it. she had to thank the egyptian birds for that--or was it a reward for having formerly begged that the nests of their wild black kindred might be spared in borreby wood? _then_ the wretched pauper was a young girl--a lovely pale hyacinth in the noble flower parterre. she remembered it well--poor anna dorthea! "'oh! oh! yes, mankind can sigh as the wind does amidst the sedges and the rushes--oh! no church bell tolled at _thy_ death, waldemar daae! no charity-school children sang over his grave when the former lord of borreby was laid in the cold earth! oh, all shall come to an end, even misery! sister idé became a peasant's wife. that was the hardest trial to her poor father. his daughter's husband a lowly serf, who could be obliged by his master to perform the meanest tasks! he, too, is now under the sod, and thou art there with him, unhappy idé! o yes--o yes! it was not all over, even then; for i am left a poor, old, helpless creature. blessed christ! take me hence!' "such was anna dorthea's prayer in the ruined castle, where she was permitted to live--thanks to the storks. "the boldest of the sisters i disposed of," said the wind. "she dressed herself in men's clothes, went on board a ship as a poor boy, and hired herself as a sailor. she spoke very little, and looked very cross, but was willing to work. she was a bad hand at climbing, however; so i blew her overboard before any one had found out that she was a female; and i think that was very well done on my part," said the wind. * * * * * "it was one easter morning, the anniversary of the very day on which waldemar daae had fancied that he had found out the secret of making gold, that i heard under the storks' nests, from amidst the crumbling walls, a psalm tune--it was anna dorthea's last song. "there was no window. there was only a hole in the wall. the sun came like a mass of gold, and placed itself there. it shone in brightly. her eyes closed--her heart broke! they would have done so all the same, had the sun not that morning blazed in upon her. "the storks had provided a roof over her head until her death. "i sang over her grave," said the wind; "i had also sung over her father's grave, for i knew where it was, and none else did. "new times came--new generations. the old highway had disappeared in inclosed fields. even the tombs, that were fenced around, have been converted into a new road; and the railway's steaming engine, with its lines of carriages, dashes over the graves, which are as much forgotten as the names of those who moulder into dust in them! wheugh--wheugh! "this is the history of waldemar daae and his daughters. let any one relate it better who can," said the wind, turning round. and he was gone! _the girl who trod upon bread._ you have doubtless heard of the girl who trod upon bread, not to soil her pretty shoes, and what evil this brought upon her. the tale is both written and printed. she was a poor child, but proud and vain. she had a bad disposition, people said. when she was little more than an infant it was a pleasure to her to catch flies, to pull off their wings, and maim them entirely. she used, when somewhat older, to take lady-birds and beetles, stick them all upon a pin, then put a large leaf or a piece of paper close to their feet, so that the poor things held fast to it, and turned and twisted in their endeavours to get off the pin. "now the lady-birds shall read," said little inger. "see how they turn the paper!" as she grew older she became worse instead of better; but she was very beautiful, and that was her misfortune. she would have been punished otherwise, and in the long run she was. "you will bring evil on your own head," said her mother. "as a little child you used often to tear my aprons; i fear that when you are older you will break my heart." and she did so sure enough. at length she went into the country to wait on people of distinction. they were as kind to her as if she had been one of their own family; and she was so well dressed that she looked very pretty, and became extremely arrogant. when she had been a year in service her employers said to her,-- "you should go and visit your relations, little inger." she went, resolved to let them see how fine she had become. when, however, she reached the village, and saw the lads and lasses gossiping together near the pond, and her mother sitting close by on a stone, resting her head against a bundle of firewood which she had picked up in the forest, inger turned back. she felt ashamed that she who was dressed so smartly should have for her mother such a ragged creature, one who gathered sticks for her fire. it gave her no concern that she was expected--she was so vexed. a half year more had passed. "you must go home some day and see your old parents, little inger," said the mistress of the house. "here is a large loaf of white bread--you can carry this to them; they will be rejoiced to see you." and inger put on her best clothes and her nice new shoes, and she lifted her dress high, and walked so carefully, that she might not soil her garments or her feet. there was no harm at all in that. but when she came to where the path went over some damp marshy ground, and there were water and mud in the way, she threw the bread into the mud, in order to step upon it and get over with dry shoes; but just as she had placed one foot on the bread, and had lifted the other up, the bread sank in with her deeper and deeper, till she went entirely down, and nothing was to be seen but a black bubbling pool. that is the story. what became of the girl? she went below to the _old woman of the bogs_, who brews down there. the old woman of the bogs is an aunt of the fairies. _they_ are very well known. many poems have been written about them, and they have been printed; but nobody knows anything more of the old woman of the bogs than that, when the meadows and the ground begin to reek in summer, it is the old woman below who is brewing. into her brewery it was that inger sank, and no one could hold out very long there. a cesspool is a charming apartment compared with the old bog-woman's brewery. every vessel is redolent of horrible smells, which would make any human being faint, and they are packed closely together and over each other; but even if there were a small space among them which one might creep through, it would be impossible, on account of all the slimy toads and snakes that are always crawling and forcing themselves through. into this place little inger sank. all this nauseous mess was so ice-cold that she shivered in every limb. yes, she became stiffer and stiffer. the bread stuck fast to her, and it drew her as an amber bead draws a slender thread. the old woman of the bogs was at home. the brewery was that day visited by the devil and his dam, and she was a venomous old creature who was never idle. she never went out without having some needlework with her. she had brought some there. she was sewing running leather to put into the shoes of human beings, so that they should never be at rest. she embroidered lies, and worked up into mischief and discord thoughtless words, that would otherwise have fallen to the ground. yes, she knew how to sew and embroider, and transfer with a vengeance, that old grandam! she beheld inger, put on her spectacles, and looked at her. "that is a girl with talents," said she. "i shall ask for her as a _souvenir_ of my visit here; she may do very well as a statue to ornament my great-grandchildren's antechamber;" and she took her. it was thus little inger went to the infernal regions. people do not generally go straight through the air to them: they can go by a roundabout path when they know the way. it was an antechamber in an infinity. one became giddy there at looking forwards, and giddy at looking backwards, and there stood a crowd of anxious, pining beings, who were waiting and hoping for the time when the gates of grace should be opened. they would have long to wait. hideous, large, waddling spiders wove thousands of webs over their feet; and these webs were like gins or foot-screws, and held them as fast as chains of iron, and were a cause of disquiet to every soul--a painful annoyance. misers stood there, and lamented that they had forgotten the keys of their money chests. it would be too tiresome to repeat all the complaints and troubles that were poured forth there. inger thought it shocking to stand there like a statue: she was, as it were, fastened to the ground by the bread. "this comes of wishing to have clean shoes," said she to herself. "see how they all stare at me!" yes, they did all stare at her; their evil passions glared from their eyes, and spoke, without sound, from the corner of their mouths: they were frightful. "it must be a pleasure to them to see me," thought little inger. "i have a pretty face, and am well dressed;" and she dried her eyes. she had not lost her conceit. she had not then perceived how her fine clothes had been soiled in the brewhouse of the old woman of the bogs. her dress was covered with dabs of nasty matter; a snake had wound itself among her hair, and it dangled over her neck; and from every fold in her garment peeped out a toad, that puffed like an asthmatic lap-dog. it was very disagreeable. "but all the rest down here look horrid too," was the reflection with which she consoled herself. but the worst of all was the dreadful hunger she felt. could she not stoop down and break off a piece of the bread on which she was standing? no; her back was stiffened; her hands and her arms were stiffened; her whole body was like a statue of stone; she could only move her eyes, and these she could turn entirely round, and that was an ugly sight. and flies came and crept over her eyes backwards and forwards. she winked her eyes; but the intruders did not fly away, for they could not--their wings had been pulled off. that was another misery added to the hunger--the gnawing hunger that was so terrible to bear! "if this goes on i cannot hold out much longer," she said. but she had to hold out, and her sufferings became greater. then a warm tear fell upon her head. it trickled over her face and her neck, all the way down to the bread. another tear fell, then many followed. who was weeping over little inger? had she not a mother up yonder on the earth? the tears of anguish which a mother sheds over her erring child always reach it; but they do not comfort the child--they burn, they increase the suffering. and oh! this intolerable hunger; yet not to be able to snatch one mouthful of the bread she was treading under foot! she became as thin, as slender as a reed. another trial was that she heard distinctly all that was said of her above on the earth, and it was nothing but blame and evil. though her mother wept, and was in much affliction, she still said,-- "pride goes before a fall. that was your great fault, inger. oh, how miserable you have made your mother!" her mother and all who were acquainted with her were well aware of the sin she had committed in treading upon bread. they knew that she had sunk into the bog, and was lost; the cowherd had told that, for he had seen it himself from the brow of the hill. "what affliction you have brought on your mother, inger!" exclaimed her mother. "ah, well! i expected no better from you." "would that i had never been born!" thought inger; "that would have been much better for me. my mother's whimpering can do no good now." she heard how the family, the people of distinction who had been so kind to her, spoke. "she was a wicked child," they said; "she valued not the gifts of our lord, but trod them under her feet. it will be difficult for her to get the gates of grace open to admit her." "they ought to have brought me up better," thought inger. "they should have taken the whims out of me, if i had any." she heard that there was a common ballad made about her, "the bad girl who trod upon bread, to keep her shoes nicely clean," and this ballad was sung from one end of the country to the other. "that any one should have to suffer so much for such as that--be punished so severely for such a trifle!" thought inger. "all these others are punished justly, for no doubt there was a great deal to punish; but ah, how i suffer!" and her heart became still harder than the substance into which she had been turned. "no one can be better in such society. i will not grow better here. see how they glare at me!" and her heart became still harder, and she felt a hatred towards all mankind. "they have a nice story to tell up there now. oh, how i suffer!" she listened, and heard them telling her history as a warning to children, and the little ones called her "ungodly inger." "she was so naughty," they said, "so very wicked, that she deserved to suffer." the children always spoke harshly of her. one day, however, that hunger and misery were gnawing her most dreadfully, and she heard her name mentioned, and her story told to an innocent child--a little girl--she observed that the child burst into tears in her distress for the proud, finely-dressed inger. "but will she never come up again?" asked the child. the answer was,-- "she will never come up again." "but if she will beg pardon, and promise never to be naughty again?" "but she will _not_ beg pardon," they said. "oh, how i wish she would do it!" sobbed the little girl in great distress. "i will give my doll, and my doll's house too, if she may come up! it is so shocking for poor little inger to be down there!" these words touched inger's heart; they seemed almost to make her good. it was the first time any one had said "poor inger," and had not dwelt upon her faults. an innocent child cried and prayed for her. she was so much affected by this that she felt inclined to weep herself; but she could not, and this was an additional pain. years passed on in the earth above; but down where she was there was no change, except that she heard more and more rarely sounds from above, and that she herself was more seldom mentioned. at last one day she heard a sigh, and "inger, inger, how miserable you have made me! i foretold that you would!" these were her mother's last words on her deathbed. and again she heard herself named by her former employers, and her mistress said,-- "perhaps i may meet you once more, inger. none know whither they are to go." but inger knew full well that her excellent mistress would never come to the place where _she_ was. time passed on, and on, slowly and wretchedly. then once more inger heard her name mentioned, and she beheld as it were, directly above her, two clear stars shining. these were two mild eyes that were closing upon earth. so many years had elapsed since a little girl had cried in childish sorrow over "poor inger," that that child had become an old woman, whom our lord was now about to call to himself. at that hour, when the thoughts and the actions of a whole life stand in review before the parting soul, she remembered how, as a little child, she had wept bitterly on hearing the history of inger. that time, and those feelings, stood so prominently before the old woman's mind in the hour of death, that she cried with intense emotion,-- "lord, my god! have not i often, like inger, trod under foot thy blessed gifts, and placed no value on them? have i not often been guilty of pride and vanity in my secret heart? but thou, in thy mercy, didst not let me sink; thou didst hold me up. oh, forsake me not in my last hour!" and the aged woman's eyes closed, and her spirit's eyes opened to what had been formerly invisible; and as inger had been present in her latest thoughts, she beheld her, and perceived how deep she had been dragged downwards. at that sight the gentle being burst into tears; and in the kingdom of heaven she stood like a child, and wept for the fate of the unfortunate inger. her tears and her prayers sounded like an echo down in the hollow form that confined the imprisoned, miserable soul. that soul was overwhelmed by the unexpected love from those realms afar. one of god's angels wept for her! why was this vouchsafed to her? the tortured spirit gathered, as it were, into one thought, all the actions of its life--all that it had done; and it shook with the violence of its remorse--remorse such as inger had never felt. grief became her predominating feeling. she thought that for her the gates of mercy would never open, and as in deep contrition and self-abasement she thought thus, a ray of brightness penetrated into the dismal abyss--a ray more vivid and glorious than the sunbeams which thaw the snow figures that the children make in their gardens. and this ray, more quickly than the snow-flake that falls upon a child's warm mouth can be melted into a drop of water, caused inger's petrified figure to evaporate, and a little bird arose, following the zigzag course of the ray, up towards the world that mankind inhabit. but it seemed afraid and shy of everything around it; it felt ashamed of itself; and apparently wishing to avoid all living creatures, it sought, in haste, concealment in a dark recess in a crumbling wall. here it sat, and it crept into the farthest corner, trembling all over. it could not sing, for it had no voice. for a long time it sat quietly there before it ventured to look out and behold all the beauty around. yes, it was beauty! the air was so fresh, yet so soft; the moon shone so clearly; the trees and the flowers scented so sweetly; and it was so comfortable where she sat--her feather garb so clean and nice! how all creation told of love and glory! the grateful thoughts that awoke in the bird's breast she would willingly have poured forth in song, but the power was denied to her. yes, gladly would she have sung as do the cuckoo and the nightingale in spring. our gracious lord, who hears the mute worm's hymn of praise, understood the thanksgiving that lifted itself up in the tones of thought, as the psalm floated in david's mind before it resolved itself into words and melody. as weeks passed on these unexpressed feelings of gratitude increased. they would surely find a voice some day, with the first stroke of the wing, to perform some good act. might not this happen? now came the holy christmas festival. the peasants raised a pole close by the old wall, and bound an unthrashed bundle of oats on it, that the birds of the air might also enjoy the christmas, and have plenty to eat at that time which was held in commemoration of the redemption brought to mankind. and the sun rose brightly that christmas morning, and shone upon the oat-sheaf, and upon all the chirping birds that flew around the pole; and from the wall issued a faint twittering. the swelling thoughts had at last found vent, and the low sound was a hymn of joy, as the bird flew forth from its hiding-place. the winter was an unusually severe one. the waters were frozen thickly over; the birds and the wild animals in the woods had great difficulty in obtaining food. the little bird, that had so recently left its dark solitude, flew about the country roads, and when it found by chance a little corn dropped in the ruts, it would eat only a single grain itself, while it called all the starving sparrows to partake of it. it would also fly to the villages and towns, and look well about; and where kind hands had strewed crumbs of bread outside the windows for the birds, it would eat only one morsel itself, and give all the rest to the others. at the end of the winter the bird had found and given away so many crumbs of bread, that the number put together would have weighed as much as the loaf upon which little inger had trodden in order to save her fine shoes from being soiled; and when she had found and given away the very last crumb, the grey wings of the bird became white, and expanded wonderfully. "it is flying over the sea!" exclaimed the children who saw the white bird. now it seemed to dip into the ocean, now it arose into the clear sunshine; it glittered in the air; it disappeared high, high above; and the children said that it had flown up to the sun. _olé, the watchman of the tower._ "in the world it is always going up and down, and down and up again; but i can't go higher than i am," said olé, the watchman of the church tower. "ups and downs most people have to experience; in point of fact, we each become at last a kind of tower-watchman--we look at life and things from above." thus spoke olé up in the lofty tower--my friend the watchman, a cheerful, chatty old fellow, who seemed to blurt everything out at random, though there were, in reality, deep and earnest feelings concealed in his heart. he had come of a good stock; some people even said that he was the son of a _conferentsraad_,[ ] or might have been that. he had studied, had been a teacher's assistant, assistant clerk in the church; but these situations had not done much for him. at one time he lived at the chief clerk's, and was to have bed and board free. he was then young, and somewhat particular about his dress, as i have heard. he insisted on having his boots polished and brushed with blacking, but the head clerk would only allow grease; and this was a cause of dissension between them. the one talked of stinginess, the other talked of foolish vanity. the blacking became the dark foundation of enmity, and so they parted; but what he had demanded from the clerk he also demanded from the world--real blacking; and he always got its substitute, grease; so he turned his back upon all mankind, and became a hermit. but a hermitage coupled with a livelihood is not to be had in the midst of a large city except up in the steeple of a church. thither he betook himself, and smoked his pipe in solitude. he looked up, and he looked down; reflected according to his fashion upon all he saw, and all he did not see--on what he read in books, and what he read in himself. [footnote : a danish title.] i often lent him books, good books; and people can converse about these, as everybody knows. he did not care for fashionable english novels, he said, nor for french ones either--they were all too frivolous. no, he liked biographies, and books that relate to the wonders of nature. i visited him at least once a year, generally immediately after the new year. he had then always something to say that the peculiar period suggested to his thoughts. i shall relate what passed during two of my visits, and give his own words as nearly as i can. the first visit. among the books i had last lent olé was one about pebbles, and it pleased him extremely. "yes, sure enough they are veterans from old days, these pebbles," said he; "and yet we pass them carelessly by. i have myself often done so in the fields and on the beach, where they lie in crowds. we tread them under foot in some of our pathways, these fragments from the remains of antiquity. i have myself done that; but now i hold all these pebble-formed pavements in high respect. thanks for that book; it has driven old ideas and habits of thinking aside, and has replaced them by other ideas, and made me eager to read something more of the same kind. the romance of the earth is the most astonishing of all romances. what a pity that one cannot read the first portion of it--that it is composed in a language we have not learned! one must read it in the layers of the ground, in the strata of the rocks, in all the periods of the earth. it was not until the sixth part that the living and acting persons, mr. adam and mrs. eve, were introduced, though some will have it they came immediately. that, however, is all one to me. it is a most eventful tale, and we are all in it. we go on digging and groping, but always find ourselves where we were; yet the globe is ever whirling round, and without the waters of the world overwhelming us. the crust we tread on holds together--we do not fall through it; and this is a history of a million of years, with constant advancement. thanks for the book about the pebbles. they could tell many a strange tale if they were able. "is it not pleasant once and away to become like a nix, when one is perched so high as i am, and then to remember that we all are but minute ants upon the earth's ant-hill, although some of us are distinguished ants, some are laborious, and some are indolent ants? one seems to be so excessively young by the side of these million years old, reverend pebbles. i was reading the book on new year's eve, and was so wrapped up in it that i forgot my accustomed amusement on that night, looking at 'the wild host to amager,' of which you may have heard. "the witches' journey on broomsticks is well known--that takes place on st. john's night, and to bloksberg. but we have also the wild host, here at home and in our own time, which goes to amager every new year's eve. all the bad poets and poetesses, newspaper writers, musicians, and artists of all sorts, who come before the public, but make no sensation--those, in short, who are very mediocre, ride--on new year's eve, out to amager: they sit astride on their pencils or quill pens. steel pens don't answer, they are too stiff. i see this troop, as i have said, every new year's eve. i could name most of them, but it is not worth while to get into a scrape with them; they do not like people to know of their amager flight upon quill pens. i have a kind of a cousin, who is a fisherman's wife, and furnishes abusive articles to three popular periodicals: she says she has been out there as an invited guest. she has described the whole affair. half that she says, of course, are lies, but part might be true. when she was there they commenced with a song; each of the visitors had written his own song, and each sang his own composition: they all performed together, so it was a kind of 'cats' chorus'. small groups marched about, consisting of those who labour at improving that gift which is called 'the gift of the gab:' they had their own shrill songs. then came the little drummers, and those who write without giving their names--that is to say, whose grease is imposed on people for blacking; then there were the executioners, and the puffers of bad wares. in the midst of all the merriment, as it must have been, that was going on, shot up from a pit a stem, a tree, a monstrous flower, a large toadstool, and a cupola. these were the utopian productions of the honoured assembly, the entire amount of their offerings to the world during the past year. sparks flew from these various objects; they were the thoughts and ideas which had been borrowed or stolen, which now took wings to themselves, and flew away as if by magic. my cousin told me a good deal more, which, though laughable, was too malicious for me to repeat. "i always watch this wild host fly past every new year's eve; but on the last one, as i told you, i neglected to look at them, for i was rolling away in thought upon the round pebbles--rolling through thousands and thousands of years. i saw them detached from rocks far away in the distant north; saw them driven along in masses of ice before noah's ark was put together; saw them sink to the bottom, and rise again in a sand-bank, which grew higher and higher above the water; and i said, 'that will be zealand!' it became the resort of birds of various species unknown to us--the home of savage chiefs as little known to us, until the axe cut the runic characters which then brought them into our chronology. as i was thus musing three or four falling stars attracted my eye. my thoughts took another turn. do you know what falling stars are? the scientific themselves do not know what they are. i have my own ideas about them. how often in secret are not thanks and blessings poured out on those who have done anything great or good! sometimes these thanks are voiceless, but they do not fall to the ground. i fancy that they are caught by the sunshine, and that the sunbeam brings the silent, secret praise down over the head of the benefactor. if it be an entire people that through time bestow their thanks, then the thanks come as a banquet--fall like a falling star over the grave of the benefactor. it is one of my pleasures, especially when on a new year's eve i observe a falling star, to imagine to whose grave the starry messenger of gratitude is speeding. one of the last falling stars i saw took its blazing course towards the south-west. for whom was it dispatched? it fell, i thought, on the slope by flensborg fiord, where the danish flag waves over schleppegrell's, læssöe's, and their comrades' graves. one fell in the centre of the country near sorö. it was a banquet for holberg's grave--a thank offering of years from many--a thank offering for his splendid comedies! it is a glorious and gratifying fancy that a falling star could illumine our graves. that will not be the case with mine; not even a single sunbeam will bring me thanks, for i have done nothing to deserve them. i have not even attained to blacking," said olé; "my lot in life has been only to get grease." the second visit. it was on a new year's day that i again ascended to the church tower. olé began to speak of toasts. we drank one to the transition from the old drop in eternity to the new drop in eternity, as he called the year. then he gave me his story about the glasses, and there was some sense in it. "when the clocks strike twelve on new year's night every one rises from table with a brimful glass, and drinks to the new year. to commence the year with a glass in one's hand is a good beginning for a drunkard. to begin the year by going to bed is a good beginning for a sluggard. sleep will, in the course of his year, play a prominent part; so will the glass. "do you know what dwells in glasses?" he asked. "there dwell in them health, glee, and folly. within them dwell, also, vexations and bitter calamity. when i count up the glasses i can tell the gradations in the glass for different people. the first glass, you see, is the glass of health; in it grow health-giving plants. stick to that one glass, and at the end of the year you can sit peacefully in the leafy bowers of health. "if you take the second glass a little bird will fly out of it, chirping in innocent gladness, and men will laugh and sing with it, 'life is pleasant. away with care, away with fear!' "from the third glass springs forth a little winged creature--a little angel he cannot well be called, for he has nix blood and a nix mind. he does not come to tease, but to amuse. he places himself behind your ear, and whispers some humorous idea; he lays himself close to your heart and warms it, so that you become very merry, and fancy yourself the cleverest among a set of great wits. "in the fourth glass is neither plant, bird, nor little figure: it is the boundary line of sense, and beyond that line let no one go. "if you take the fifth glass you will weep over yourself--you will be foolishly happy, or become stupidly noisy. from this glass will spring prince carnival, flippant and crack-brained. he will entice you to accompany him; you will forget your respectability, if you have any; you will forget more than you ought or dare forget. all is pleasure, gaiety, excitement; the maskers carry you off with them; the daughters of the evil one, in silks and flowers, come with flowing hair and voluptuous charms. escape them if you can. "the sixth glass! in that sits satan himself--a well-dressed, conversable, lively, fascinating little man--who never contradicts you, allows that you are always in the right--in fact, seems quite to adopt all your opinions. he comes with a lantern to convey you home to his own habitation. there is an old legend about a saint who was to choose one of the seven mortal sins, and he chose, as he thought, the least--drunkenness; but in that state he perpetrated all the other six sins. the human nature and the devilish nature mingle. this is the sixth glass; and after that all the germs of evil thrive in us, every one of them spreading with a rapidity and vigour that cause them to be like the mustard-seed in the bible, 'which, indeed, is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree.' most of them have nothing before them but to be cast into the furnace, and be smelted there. "this is the story of the glasses," said olé, the watchman of the church tower; "and it applies both to those who use blacking, and to those who use only grease." such was the result of the second visit to olé. more may be forthcoming at some future time. _anne lisbeth; or, the apparition of the beach._ anne lisbeth was like milk and blood, young and happy, lovely to look at; her teeth were so dazzlingly white, her eyes were so clear; her foot was light in the dance, and her head was still lighter. what did all this lead to? to no good. "the vile creature!" "she was not pretty!" she was placed with the grave-digger's wife, and from thence she went to the count's splendid country-seat, where she lived in handsome rooms, and was dressed in silks and fineries; not a breath of wind was to blow on her; no one dared to say a rough word to her, nothing was to be done to annoy her; for she nursed the count's son and heir, who was as carefully tended as a prince, and as beautiful as an angel. how she loved that child! her own child was away from her--he was in the grave-digger's house, where there was more hunger than plenty, and where often there was no one at home. the poor deserted child cried, but what nobody hears nobody cares about. he cried himself to sleep, and in sleep one feels neither hungry nor thirsty: sleep is, therefore, a great blessing. in the course of time anne lisbeth's child shot up. ill weeds grow apace, it is said: and this poor weed grew, and seemed a member of the family, who were paid for keeping him. anne lisbeth was quite free of him. she was a village fine lady, had everything of the best, and wore a smart bonnet whenever she went out. but she never went to the grave-digger's; it was so far from where she lived, and she had nothing to do there. the child was under their charge; _he_ who paid its board could well afford it, and the child would be taken very good care of. the watch-dog at the lord of the manor's bleach-field sits proudly in the sunshine outside of his kennel, and growls at every one that goes past. in rainy weather he creeps inside, and lies down dry and sheltered. anne lisbeth's boy sat on the side of a ditch in the sunshine, amusing himself by cutting a bit of stick. in spring he saw three strawberry bushes in bloom: they would surely bear fruit. this was his pleasantest thought; but there was no fruit. he sat out in the drizzling rain, and in the heavy rain--was wet to the skin--and the sharp wind dried his clothes upon him. if he went to the farm-houses near, he was thumped and shoved about. he was "grim-looking and ugly," the girls and the boys said. what became of anne lisbeth's boy? what _could_ become of him? it was his fate to be "_never loved_." at length he was transferred from his joyless village life to the still worse life of a sailor boy. he went on board a wretched little vessel, to stand by the rudder while the skipper drank. filthy and disgusting the poor boy looked; starving and benumbed with cold he was. one would have thought, from his appearance, that he never had been well fed; and, indeed, that was the fact. it was late in the year; it was raw, wet, stormy weather; the cold wind penetrated even through thick clothing, especially at sea; and only two men on board were too few to work the sails; indeed, it might be said only one man and a half--the master and his boy. it had been black and gloomy all day; now it became still more dark, and it was bitterly cold. the skipper took a dram to warm himself. the flask was old, and so was the glass; its foot was broken off, but it was inserted into a piece of wood painted blue, which served as a stand for it. if one dram was good, two would be better, thought the master. the boy stood by the helm, and held on to it with his hard, tar-covered hands. he looked frightened. his hair was rough, and he was wrinkled, and stunted in his growth. the young sailor was the grave-digger's boy; in the church register he was called anne lisbeth's son. the wind blew as it list; the sail flapped, then filled; the vessel flew on. it was wet, chill, dark as pitch; but worse was yet to come. hark! what was that? with what had the boat come in contact? what had burst? what seemed to have caught it? it shifted round. was it a sudden squall? the boy at the helm cried aloud, "in the name of jesus!" the little bark had struck on a large sunken rock, and sank as an old shoe would sink in a small pool--sank with men and mice on board, as the saying is; and there certainly were mice, but only one man and a half--the skipper and the grave-digger's boy. none witnessed the catastrophe except the screaming sea-gulls and the fishes below; and even they did not see much of it, for they rushed aside in alarm when the water gushed thundering into the little vessel as it sank. scarcely a fathom beneath the surface it stood; yet the two human beings who had been on board were lost--lost--forgotten! only the glass with the blue-painted wooden foot did not sink; the wooden foot floated it. but the glass was broken when it was washed far up on the beach. how and when? that is of no consequence. it had served its time, and it had been liked; that anne lisbeth's child had never been. but in the kingdom of heaven no soul can say again, "never loved!" * * * * * anne lisbeth resided in the large market town, and had done so for some years. she was called "madam," and held her head very high, especially when she spoke of old reminiscences of the time she had passed at the count's lordly mansion, when she used to drive out in a carriage, and used to converse with countesses and baronesses. her sweet nursling, the little count, was a lovely angel, a darling creature. she was so fond of him, and he had been so fond of her. how she used to pet him, and how he used to kiss her! he was her delight--was as dear to her as herself. he was now quite a big boy; he was fourteen years of age, and had plenty of learning and accomplishments. she had not seen him since she carried him in her arms. it was many years since she had been at the count's castle, for it was such a long way off. "but i must go over and see them again," said anne lisbeth. "i must go to my noble friends, to my darling child, the young count--yes, yes, for he is surely longing to see me. he thinks of me, he loves me as he did when he used to throw his little cherub arms round my neck and lisp, 'an lis!' oh, it was like a violin! yes, i must go over and see him again." she went part of the way in the carrier's wagon, part of the way on foot. she arrived at the castle. it looked as grand and imposing as ever. the gardens were not at all changed; but the servants were all strangers. not one of them knew anything about anne lisbeth. they did not know what an important person she had been in the house formerly; but surely the countess would tell them who she was, so would her own boy. how she longed to see them both! well, anne lisbeth was there; but she had to wait a long time, and waiting is always so tedious. before the family and their guests went to dinner she was called in to the countess, and very kindly spoken to. she was told she should see her dear boy after dinner, and after dinner she was sent for again. how much he had grown! how tall and thin! but he had the same charming eyes, and the same angelic mouth. he looked at her, but he did not say a word. it was evident that he did not remember her. he turned away, and was going, but she caught his hand and carried it to her lips. "ah! well, that will do!" he said, and hastily left the room--he, the darling of her soul--he on whom her thoughts had centred for so many years--he whom she had loved the best--her greatest earthly pride! anne lisbeth left the castle, and turned into the open high road. she was very sad--he had been so cold and distant to her. he had not a word, not a thought for her who, by day and by night, had so cherished _him_ in her heart. at that moment a large black raven flew across the road before her, screeching harshly. "oh!" she exclaimed, "what do you want, bird of ill omen that you are?" she passed by the grave-digger's house; his wife was standing in the doorway, and they spoke to each other. "you are looking very well," said the grave-digger's wife. "you are stout and hearty. the world goes well with you apparently." "pretty well," replied anne lisbeth. "the little vessel has been lost," said the grave-digger's wife. "lars the skipper, and the boy, are both drowned; so there is an end of that matter. i had hoped, though, that the boy might by and by have helped me with a shilling now and then. he never cost you anything, anne lisbeth." "drowned are they?" exclaimed anne lisbeth; and she did not say another word on the subject--she was so distressed that her nursling, the young count, did not care to speak to her--she who loved him so much, and had taken such a long journey to see him--a journey that had cost her some money too. the pleasure she had received was not great, but she was not going to admit this. she would not say one word to the grave-digger's wife to lead her to think that she was no longer a person of consequence at the count's. the raven screeched again just over her head. "that horrid noise!" said anne lisbeth; "it has quite startled me to-day." she had brought some coffee-beans and chicory with her; it would be a kindness to the grave-digger's wife to make her a present of these; and, when she did so, it was agreed that they should take a cup of coffee together. the mistress of the house went to prepare it, and anne lisbeth sat down to wait for it. while waiting she fell asleep, and she dreamed of one of whom she had never before dreamt: that was very strange. she dreamed of her own child, who in that very house had starved and squalled, and never tasted anything better than cold water, and who now lay in the deep sea, our lord only knew where. she dreamed that she was sitting just where she really was seated, and that the grave-digger's wife had gone to make some coffee, but had first to grind the coffee-beans, and that a beautiful boy stood in the doorway--a boy as charming as the little count had been; and the child said,-- "the world is now passing away. hold fast to me, for thou art my mother. thy child is an angel in the kingdom of heaven. hold fast to me!" and he seized her. but there was a frightful uproar around, as if worlds were breaking asunder; and the angel raised her up, and held her fast by the sleeves of her dress--so fast, it seemed to her, that she was lifted from the ground; but something hung so heavily about her feet, something lay so heavily on her back: it was as if hundreds of women were clinging fast to her, and crying, "if thou canst be saved, so may we. we will hold on--hold on!" and they all appeared to be holding on by her. then the sleeves of her garments gave way, and she fell, overcome with terror. the sensation of fear awoke her, and she found herself on the point of falling off her chair. her head was so confused that at first she could not remember what she had dreamt, though she knew it had been something disagreeable. the coffee was drunk, and anne lisbeth took her departure to the nearest village, where she might meet the carrier, and get him to convey her that evening to the town where she lived. but the carrier said he was not going until the following evening; and, on calculating what it would cost her to remain till then, she determined to walk home. she would not go by the high road, but by the beach: that was at least eight or nine miles shorter. the weather was fine, and it was full moon. she would be at home the next morning. the sun had set; the evening bells that had been chiming were hushed. all was still; not a bird was to be heard twittering among the leaves--they had all gone to rest: the owls were away. all was silence in the wood; and on the beach, where she was walking, she could hear her own foot fall on the sand. the very sea seemed slumbering; the waves rolled lazily and noiselessly on the shore, and away on the open deep there seemed to be a dead calm: not a line of foam, not a ripple was visible on the water. all were quiet beneath, the living and the dead. anne lisbeth walked on, and her thoughts were not engrossed by anything in particular. she was not at all lost in thought, but thoughts were not lost to her. they are never lost to us; they lie only in a state of torpor, as it were, both the lately active thoughts that have lulled themselves to rest, and those which have not yet awoke. but thoughts come often undesired; they can touch the heart, they can distract the head, they can at times overpower us. "good actions have their reward," it is written. "the wages of sin is death," it is also written. much is written--much is said. but many give no heed to the words of truth--they remember them not; and so it was with anne lisbeth; but they can force themselves upon the mind. all sins and all virtues lie in our hearts--in thine, in mine. they lie like small invisible seeds. from without fall upon them a sunbeam, or the contact of an evil hand--they take their bent in their hidden nook, to the right or to the left. yes, there it is decided, and the little grain of seed quivers, swells, springs up, and pours its juice into your blood, and there you are, fairly launched. these are thoughts fraught with anxiety; they do not haunt one when one is in a state of mental slumber, but they are fermenting. anne lisbeth was slumbering--hidden thoughts were fermenting. from candlemas to candlemas the heart has much on its tablets--it has the year's account. much is forgotten--sins in word and deed against god, against our neighbour, and against our own consciences. we reflect little upon all this; neither did anne lisbeth. she had not broken the laws of her country, she kept up good appearances, she did not run in debt, she wronged no one; and so, well satisfied with herself, she walked on by the seashore. what was that lying in her path? she stopped. what was that washed up from the sea? a man's old hat lay there. it might have fallen overboard. she approached closer to it, stood still, and looked at it. heavens! what was lying there? she was almost frightened; but there was nothing to be frightened at; it was only a mass of seaweed that lay twined over a large, oblong, flat rock, that was shaped something like a human being--it was nothing but seaweed. still she felt frightened, and hastened on; and as she hurried on, many things she had heard in her childhood recurred to her thoughts, especially all the superstitious tales about "_the apparition of the beach_"--the spectre of the unburied that lay washed up on the lonely, deserted shore. the body thrown up from the deep, the dead body itself, she thought nothing of; but its ghost followed the solitary wanderer, attached itself closely to him or her, and demanded to be carried to the churchyard, to receive christian burial. "hold on--hold on!" it was wont to say; and, as anne lisbeth repeated these words inwardly to herself, she suddenly remembered her strange dream, in which the women had clung to her, shrieking, "hold on--hold on!" how the world had sunk; how her sleeves had given way, and she had fallen from the grasp of her child, who wished, in the hour of doom, to save her. her child--her own flesh and blood--the little one she had never loved, never spared a thought to--that child was now at the bottom of the sea, and it might come like "the apparition of the beach," and cry, "hold on--hold on! give me christian burial!" and as these thoughts crowded on her mind, terror gave wings to her feet, and she hurried faster and faster on; but fear came like a cold, clammy hand, and laid itself on her beating heart, so that she felt quite faint; and as she glanced towards the sea, she saw it looked dark and threatening; a thick mist arose, and soon spread around, lying heavily over the very trees and bushes, which assumed strange appearances through it. she turned round to look for the moon, which was behind her: it was like a pale disc, without any rays. something seemed to hang heavily about her limbs as she attempted to hurry on. she thought of the apparition; and, turning again, she beheld the white moon as if close to her, while the mist seemed to hang like a mantle over her shoulders. "hold on--hold on! give me christian burial!" she expected every moment to hear; and she did hear a hollow, terrific sound, which seemed to cry hoarsely, "bury me--bury me!" yes, it must be the spectre of her child--her child who was lying at the bottom of the sea, and who would not rest quietly until the corpse was carried to the churchyard, and placed like a christian in consecrated ground. she would go there--she would dig his grave herself; and she went in the direction in which the church lay, and as she proceeded she felt her invisible burden become lighter--it left her; and again she returned to the shore to reach her home as speedily as possible. but no sooner did her foot tread the sands than the wild sound seemed to moan around her, and it seemed ever to repeat, "bury me--bury me!" the fog was cold and damp; her hands and her face were cold and damp. she shivered in her fright. without, space seemed to close up around her; within her there seemed to be endless room for thoughts that had never before entered her mind. during one spring night here in the north the beech groves can sprout, and the next day's early sun can shine on them in all their fresh young beauty. in one single second within us can the germ of sin bud forth, swelling by degrees into thoughts, words, and deeds, though all remorse for them lies dormant. _it_ is quickened and unfolds itself in one single second, when conscience awakens; and our lord awakens _that_ when we least expect it. then there is nothing to be excused; deeds stand forth and bear witness, thoughts find words, and words ring out over the world. we are shocked at what we have permitted to dwell within us, and not stifled; shocked at what, in our thoughtlessness or our presumption, we have scattered abroad. the heart is the depository of all virtues, but also of all vices; and these can thrive in the most barren ground. anne lisbeth reviewed in thought what we have expressed in words. she was overwhelmed with it all. she sank to the ground, and crawled a little way over it. "bury me--bury me!" she still seemed to hear. she would rather have buried herself, if the grave could be an eternal forgetfulness of everything. it was the awakening hour of serious thought, of terrible thoughts, that made her shudder. superstition came, too, by turns heating and chilling her blood; and things she would scarcely have ventured to mention rushed on her mind. noiseless as the clouds that crossed the sky in the clear moonlight floated past her a vision she had heard of. immediately before her sped four foaming horses, flames flashing from their eyes and from their distended nostrils; they drew a fiery chariot, in which sat the evil lord of the manor, who, more than a hundred years before, had dwelt in that neighbourhood. every night, it is said, he drives to his former home, and then instantly turns back again. he was not white, as the dead are said to be: no, he was as black as a coal--a burnt-out coal. he nodded to anne lisbeth, and beckoned to her: "hold on--hold on! so mayst thou again drive in a nobleman's carriage, and forget thine own child!" in still greater terror, and with still greater precipitation than before, she fled in the direction of the church. she reached the churchyard; but the dark crosses above the graves, and the dark ravens, seemed to mingle together before her eyes. the ravens screeched as they had screeched in the daytime; but she now understood what they said, and each cried, "i am a raven-mother; i am a raven-mother!" and anne lisbeth thought that they were taunting her. she fancied that she might, perhaps, be changed into such a dark bird, and might have to screech like them, if she could not get the grave demanded of her dug. and she threw herself down upon the ground, and she dug a grave with her hands in the hard earth, so that blood sprang from her fingers. "bury me--bury me!" resounded still about her. she dreaded the crowing of the cock, and the first red streak in the east, because, if they came before her labours were ended, she would be lost. and the cock crowed, and in the east it began to be light. the grave was but half dug. an ice-cold hand glided over her head and her face, down to where her heart was. "only half a grave!" sighed a voice near her; and something seemed to vanish away--vanish into the deep sea. it was "the apparition of the beach." anne lisbeth sank, terror-stricken and benumbed, on the ground. she had lost feeling and consciousness. it was broad daylight when she came to herself. two young men lifted her up. she was lying, not in the churchyard, but down on the shore; and she had dug there a deep hole in the sand, and cut her fingers till they bled with a broken glass, the stem of which was stuck into a piece of wood painted blue. anne lisbeth was ill. conscience had mingled in superstition's game, and had imbued her with the idea that she had only half a soul--that her child had taken the other half away with him down to the bottom of the sea. never could she ascend upwards towards the mercy-seat, until she had again the half soul that was imprisoned in the depths of the ocean. anne lisbeth was taken to her home, but she never was the same as she had formerly been. her thoughts were disordered like tangled yarn; one thread alone was straight--that was to let "the apparition of the beach" see that a grave was dug for him in the churchyard, and thus to win back her entire soul. many a night she was missed from her home, and she was always found on the seashore, where she waited for the spectre of the dead. thus passed a whole year. then she disappeared one night, and was not to be found. the whole of the next day they searched for her in vain. towards the evening, when the bell-ringer entered the church to ring the evening chimes, he saw anne lisbeth lying before the altar. she had been there from a very early hour in the morning; her strength was almost exhausted, but her eyes sparkled, her face glowed with a sort of rosy tint. the departing rays of the sun shone in on her, and streamed over the altar-piece, and on the silver clasps of the bible, that lay open at the words of the prophet joel: "rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the lord your god." "it was a strange occurrence," people said--as if everything were chance. on anne lisbeth's countenance, when lighted up by the sun, were to be read peace and comfort. "she felt so well," she said. "she had won back her soul." during the night "the apparition of the beach"--her own child--had been with her, and it had said,-- "thou hast only dug half a grave for me; but now for a year and a day thou hast entombed me in thy heart, and there a mother best inters her child." and he had restored to her her lost half soul, and had led her into the church. "now i am in god's house," said she, "and in it one is blessed." when the sun had sunk entirely anne lisbeth's spirit had soared far away up yonder, where there is no more fear when one's sins are blotted out; and hers, it might be hoped, had been blotted out by the saviour of the world. _children's prattle_. at the merchant's house there was a large party of children--rich people's children and great people's children. the merchant was a man of good standing in society, and a learned man. he had taken, in his youth, a college examination. he had been kept to his studies by his worthy father, who had not gone very deep into learning himself, but was honest and active. he had made money, and the merchant had increased the fortune left to him. he had intellect, and heart too; but less was said of these good qualities than of his money. there visited at his house several distinguished persons, both people of birth, as it is called, and people of talents, as it is called--people who came under both of these heads, and people who came under neither of these heads. the meeting now in question was a children's party, where there was childish talk; and children generally speak like parrots. there was one little girl so excessively proud. she had been flattered into her foolish pride by the servants, not by her parents--they were too sensible to have done that. her father was _kammerjunker_[ ] and she thought this was monstrously grand. [footnote : a title at court.] "i am a court child," she said. she might as well have been a cellar child, as far as she was herself concerned; and she informed the other children that she was "born" (_well born_, she meant); that when people were not "born," they could never be anybody; and that, however much they might read, however clever and industrious they might be, if they were not "born" they could never become great. "and those whose names end in '_sen_,'" she continued, "are all low people, and can never be of any consequence in the world. ladies and gentlemen would put their hands on their sides, and keep them at a distance, these 'sen--sens!'" and she threw herself into the attitude she had described, and stuck her pretty little arms akimbo, to show how people of her grade would carry themselves in the presence of such common creatures. she really looked very pretty. but the merchant's little daughter became extremely angry. her father was called "madsen," and that name, she knew, ended in "sen;" so she said, as proudly as she could,-- "but my father can buy hundreds of rix dollars' worth of sugar-plums, and think nothing of it. can your father do that?" "that's all very well," said the little daughter of a popular journalist; "but my father can put both of your fathers and all 'fathers' into the newspaper. every one is afraid of him, my mother says; for it is my father who rules everything through the newspaper." and the little girl tossed her head and strutted about as if she thought herself a princess. but on the outside of the half-open door stood a poor little boy peeping in. it was, of course, out of the question that so poor a child should enter the drawing-room; but he had been turning the spit for the cook, and he had obtained permission to look in behind the door at the splendidly dressed children who were amusing themselves, and that was a treat to him. he would have liked to have been one of them, he thought; but at that moment he heard what had been said, and it was enough to make him very sad. not one shilling had his parents at home to spare. they were not able to set up a newspaper, to say nothing of writing for one. and the worse was yet to come; for his father's name, and of course also his own name, certainly ended in "sen." he, therefore, could never become anybody in this world. this was very disheartening. though he felt assured that he was _born_, it was impossible to think otherwise. this was what passed that evening. * * * * * several years had elapsed, and during their course the children had grown up to be men and women. there stood in the town a handsome house, which was filled with magnificent objects of art. every one went to see it. even people who lived at a distance came to town to see it. which prodigy, among the children we have spoken of, could call that edifice his or hers? it is easy to tell that. no; it is not so easy, after all. that house belonged to the poor little boy, who became somebody, although his name _did_ end in "sen."--thorwaldsen! and the three other children--the children of high birth, money, and literary arrogance? well; there is nothing to be said about them. they are all alike. they grew up to be all very respectable, comfortable, and commonplace. they were well-meaning people. what they had formerly said and thought was only--children's prattle. _a row of pearls._ i. the railroad in denmark extends no farther as yet than from copenhagen to korsör. it is a row of pearls. europe has a wealth of these. its most costly pearls are named paris, london, vienna, naples; though many a one does not point out these great cities as his most beautiful pearl, but, on the contrary, names some small, by no means remarkable town, for it is _his_ home--the home where those he loves reside. nay, sometimes it is but a country-seat--a small cottage hidden among green hedges--a mere spot that he hastens towards, while the railway train rushes on. how many pearls are there upon the line from copenhagen to korsör? we will say six. most people must remark these. old remembrances and poetry itself bestow a radiance on these pearls, so that they shine in on our thoughts. near the rising ground where the palace of frederick vi. stands--the home of ochlenschläger's childhood--shines, under the lee of sondermarken's woody ground, one of these pearls. it is called the "cottage of philemon and baucis;" that is to say, the home of two loving old people. here dwelt rahbek and his wife camma; here, under their hospitable roof, were collected from the busy copenhagen all the superior intellects of their day; here was the home of genius; and now say not, "ah, how changed!" no; it is still the spirits' home--a hothouse for sickly plants. buds that are not strong enough to expand into flowers, preserve, though hidden, all the germs of a luxuriant tree. here the sun of mind shines in on a home of stagnant spirits, reviving and cheering it. the world around beams through the eyes into the soul's unfathomable depths. _the idiot's home_, surrounded by the love and kindness of human beings, is a holy place--a hothouse for those sickly plants that shall in future be transplanted to bloom in the garden of paradise. the weakest in the world are now gathered here, where once the greatest and the wisest met, exchanged thoughts, and were lifted upwards. their memories will ever be associated with the "cottage of philemon and baucis." the burial-place of kings by hroar's spring--the ancient roeskilde--lies before us. the cathedral's slender spires tower over the low town, and are reflected on the surface of the fiord. one grave alone shall we seek here; that shall not be the tomb of the mighty margrethe--the union queen. no; within the churchyard, near whose white walls we have so closely flown, is the grave: a humble stone is laid over it. here reposes the great organist--the reviver of the old danish romances. with the melodies we can recall the words,-- "the clear waves rolled," and "there dwelt a king in leiré."[ ] roeskilde! thou burial-place of kings, in thy pearl we shall see the lonely grave on whose stone is chiselled a lyre and the name--weyse. [footnote : leiré, the original residence of the danish kings, said to have been founded by skiold, a son of odin, was, during the heathen ages, a place of note. it contained a large and celebrated temple for offerings, to which people thronged every ninth year, at the period of the great yule feast, which was held annually in mid-winter, commencing on the th of january. in norway this ancient festival was held in honour of thor; in denmark, in honour of odin. every ninth year the sacrifices were on a larger scale than usual, consisting then of ninety-nine horses, dogs, and cocks--human beings were also sometimes offered. when christianity was established in denmark the seat of royalty was transferred to roeskilde, and leiré fell into total insignificance. it is now merely a village in zealand.--_trans._] now come we to sigersted, near ringsted. the river is shallow--the yellow corn waves where hagbarth's boat was moored, not far from signé's maiden bower. who does not know the tradition about hagbarth[ ] and signelil, and their passionate love--that hagbarth was hanged in the galley, while signelil's tower stood in flames? [footnote : hagbarth, a son of the norwegian king, amund, and his three brothers, hake, helvin, and hamund, scoured the seas with a hundred ships, and fell in with the king of zealand's three sons, sivald, alf, and alger. they attacked each other, and continued their bloody strife until a late hour at night. next day they all found their ships so disabled that they could not renew the conflict. thereupon they made friends, and the norwegian princes or pirates accompanied the zealanders to the court of their father, king sigar. here hagbarth won the heart of the king's daughter signé, and they became secretly engaged. hildigeslev, a handsome german prince, was at that time her suitor; but she refused him, and in revenge he sowed discord between her lover and his brothers and her brothers. alf and alger murdered hagbarth's brothers, helvin and hamund, but were killed in their turn by hagbarth and hake. after this deed hagbarth dared not remain at sigar's court; but he longed so much to be with signé, that he dressed himself as a woman, and in this disguise he obtained admission to the palace, and contrived to be named one of her attendants. the damsels of her suite were much surprised at the hardness of the new waiting-maid's hands, and at other unfeminine peculiarities which they remarked; but signé appointed him her especial attendant, and thus partially removed him from their troublesome curiosity. fancying themselves safe, they relaxed their precautions. hagbarth was discovered, secured, and carried before the _thing_, or judicial assembly. before he left her he received a promise from signé that she would not survive him. he was condemned to death; to be hanged on board a galley, in view of signé's dwelling. to prove her love and faith, he entreated that his mantle might be hung up first, in order, he said, that the sight of it might prepare him for his own death. it was done; and when signé saw it she fancied her lover was dead, and instantly set fire to her abode. hagbarth beheld the flames; and no longer doubting the constancy of the princess, he died rejoicing in following her to the other world.--_trans._] "beautiful sorö, encircled by woods!" thy tranquil, cloistered town peeps forth from among thy moss-covered trees; the keen bright eyes of youth gaze from the academy, over the lake, to the busy highway, where the locomotive's dragon snorts, while it is flying through the wood. sorö, thou poet's pearl, that hast in thy custody the honoured dust of holberg! like a majestic white swan by the deep lake stands thy far-famed seat of learning. we fix our eyes on it, and then they wander in search of the simple star-flower in the wooded ground--a small house. pious hymns are chanted there, that echo over the length and breadth of the land; words are uttered there to which the very rustics listen, and hear of denmark's bygone ages. as the greenwood and the birds' songs belong to each other, so are associated the names of sorö and ingemann. to slagelsé! what is the pearl that dazzles us here? the monastery of antoorskov has vanished, even the last solitary remaining wing, though one old relic still exists--renovated and renovated again--a wooden cross upon the heights above, where, in legendary lore, it is said that holy anders, the warrior priest, woke up, borne thither in one night from jerusalem! korsör--there wert thou[ ] born, who gave us "mirth with melancholy mingled, in stories of 'knud sjællandsfar.'" [footnote : jeus baggesen.--_trans._] thou master of language and of wit! the old decaying ramparts of the deserted fortification are now the last visible mementos of thy childhood's home. when the sun is sinking, their shadows fall upon the spot where stood the house in which thine eyes first opened on the light. from these ramparts, looking towards sprogös hills, thou sawest, when thou "wert little," "the moon behind the island sink;" and sang it in undying verse, as afterwards thou didst sing the mountains of switzerland; thou, who didst wander through the vast labyrinth of the world, and found that "nowhere do the roses seem so red-- ah! nowhere else the thorn so small appears, and nowhere makes the down so soft a bed, as that where innocence reposed in bygone years!" capricious, charming warbler! we will weave a wreath of woodbine. we will cast it into the waves, and they will bear it to kielerfiord, upon whose coast thine ashes repose. it will bring a greeting from a younger race, a greeting from thy native town, korsör, where ends the row of pearls. ii. "it is, truly enough, a row of pearls from copenhagen to korsör," said my grandmother, who had heard read aloud what we have just been reading. "it is a row of pearls for me, and it was that more than forty years ago," she added. "we had no steam engines then. it took us days to make a journey which you can make now in a few hours. for instance, in , i was then one-and-twenty years old. that is a pleasant age. even up in the thirties it is also a pleasant age. in my young days it was much rarer than now to go to copenhagen, the city of all cities, as we thought it. after twenty years' absence from it, my parents determined to visit it once more, and i was to accompany them. the journey had been projected and talked of for years. at length it was positively to be accomplished. i fancied that i was beginning quite a new life, and certainly, in one way, a new life did begin for me. "after a great deal of packing and preparations we were ready to start. then what numbers of our neighbours came to bid us good-by! it was a very long journey we had before us. shortly before mid-day we drove out of odense in my father's holstern wagon--a roomy carriage. our acquaintances bowed to us from the windows of almost every house until we were outside of st. jörgen's port. the weather was delightful, the birds were singing, all was pleasure. we forgot that it was a long way and a rough road to nyborg. we reached that place towards evening. the post did not arrive till midnight, and until it came the packet could not sail. at length we went on board. before us lay the wide waters, as far as the eye could see, and it was a dead calm. we lay down in our clothes and slept. when i awoke in the morning, and went on deck, nothing could be seen on either side of us, there was such a thick fog. i heard the cocks crowing, and i knew the sun must have risen. bells were ringing: where could they be? the mist cleared away, and we found we were lying a little way from nyborg. as the day advanced we had a little wind: it stiffened, and we got on faster. at last we were so fortunate, at a little after eleven o'clock at night, as to reach korsör. we had taken twenty-two hours to go sixteen miles. "glad we were to land; but it was extremely dark, and the lanterns gave very little light. however, all was wonderful to me, who had never been in any other town but odense. "'here baggesen was born,' said my father, 'and here birckner lived.' "it seemed to me that the old town, with its small houses, became at once larger and more important. we were also rejoiced to have the firm earth under us once more; but i could not sleep that night, i was so excited thinking over all i had seen and encountered since i had left home two days before. "next morning we rose early. we had before us a bad road, with frightful hills and many valleys, till we reached slagelsé; and beyond it, on the other side, it was but little better; therefore we were anxious to get to krebsehuset, that we might early next day go on to sorö, and visit möllers emil, as we called him. he was your grandfather, my worthy husband, the dean. he was then a student at sorö, and very busy about his second examination. "well, we arrived about noon at krebsehuset. it was a gay little town then, and had the best inn on the road, and the prettiest country round it: you must all admit that it is pretty still. she was a very active landlady, madame plambek, and everything in her house was as clean as a new pin. there hung up on her wall a letter from baggesen to her. it was framed, and had a glass over it; it was a very interesting object to look at, and to me it was quite a curiosity. we then went into sorö, and found emil there. you may believe he was very glad to see us, and we were very glad to see him--he was so good and so attentive. we went with him to see the church, with absolon's grave and holberg's coffin. we saw the old monkish inscriptions, and we sailed over the lake to parnasset--the sweetest evening i remember. i recollect well that i thought, if one could write poetry anywhere in the world, it would be at sorö, amidst those charming, peaceful scenes, where nature reigns in all her beauty. afterwards we visited by moonlight the 'philosopher's walk,' as it was called--the beautiful, lonely path by the lake and the moor that leads towards the highway to krebsehuset. emil remained to supper with us, and my father and mother thought he had become very clever and very good-looking. he promised us that he would be in copenhagen within a few days, and would join us there: it was then whitsuntide. we were going to stay with his family. these hours at sorö and krebsehuset, may they not be deemed the most beautiful pearls of my life? "the next morning we commenced our journey at a very early hour, for we had a long way to go to reach roeskilde, and we were anxious to get there in time to see the church. in the evening my father wished to visit an old friend, so we stopped at roeskilde that night, and the next day we arrived at copenhagen. it took us three days to go from korsör to copenhagen; now the journey is made in three hours. the pearls have not become more valuable--that they could not be--but they are strung together in a new and wonderful manner. i remained three weeks with my parents in copenhagen, and emil was with us there for a fortnight. when we returned to fyen, he accompanied us as far as korsör. there, before parting, we were betrothed; so you can well believe that _i_ call from copenhagen to korsör a row of pearls. "afterwards, when emil and i were married, we often spoke of the journey to copenhagen, and of undertaking it once more. but then came first your mother, then she had brothers and sisters, and there was a great deal to do; so the journey was put off. and when your grandfather got preferment, and was made dean, all was thankfulness and joy; but we never got to copenhagen. no, never have i set foot in it again, as often as we thought of it and projected going. now i am too old, and i could not stand travelling by a railroad; but i am very glad that there are railroads--they are a blessing to many. you can come more speedily to me; and odense is now not farther from copenhagen than in my young days it was from nyborg. you could now go in almost the same space of time to italy as it took us to travel to copenhagen. yes, that is something! "nevertheless, i shall stay in one place, and let others travel and come to me if they please. but you should not laugh at me for keeping so quiet; i have a greater journey before me than any by the railroad. when it shall please our lord, i have to travel up to your grandfather; and when you have finished your appointed time on earth, and enjoyed the blessings bestowed here by the almighty, then i trust that you will ascend to us; and if we then revert to our earthly days, believe me, children, i shall say then as now, 'from copenhagen to korsör is indeed a row of pearls.'" _the pen and the inkstand._ the following remark was made in a poet's room, as the speaker looked at the inkstand that stood upon his table:-- "it is astonishing all that can come out of that inkstand! what will it produce next? yes, it is wonderful!" "so it is!" exclaimed the inkstand. "it is incomprehensible! that is what i always say." it was thus the inkstand addressed itself to the pen, and to everything else that could hear it on the table. "it is really astonishing all that can come from me! it is almost incredible! i positively do not know myself what the next production may be, when a person begins to dip into me. one drop of me serves for half a side of paper; and what may not then appear upon it? i am certainly something extraordinary. from me proceed all the works of the poets. these animated beings, whom people think they recognise--these deep feelings, that gay humour, these charming descriptions of nature--i do not understand them myself, for i know nothing about nature; but still it is all in me. from me have gone forth, and still go forth, these warrior hosts, these lovely maidens, these bold knights on snorting steeds, those droll characters in humbler life. the fact is, however, that i do not know anything about them myself. i assure you they are not my ideas." "you are right there," replied the pen. "you have few ideas, and do not trouble yourself much with thinking. if you _did_ exert yourself to think, you would perceive that you ought to give something that was not dry. you supply me with the means of committing to paper what i have in me; i write with that. it is the pen that writes. mankind do not doubt that; and most men have about as much genius for poetry as an old inkstand." "you have but little experience," said the inkstand. "you have scarcely been a week in use, and you are already half worn out. do you fancy that you are a poet? you are only a servant; and i have had many of your kind before you came--many of the goose family, and of english manufacture. i know both quill pens and steel pens. i have had a great many in my service, and i shall have many more still, when he, the man who stirs me up, comes and puts down what he takes from me. i should like very much to know what will be the next thing he will take from me." late in the evening the poet returned home. he had been at a concert, had heard a celebrated violin player, and was quite enchanted with his wonderful performance. it had been a complete gush of melody that he had drawn from the instrument. sometimes it seemed like the gentle murmur of a rippling stream, sometimes like the singing of birds, sometimes like the tempest sweeping through the mighty pine forests. he fancied he heard his own heart weep, but in the sweet tones that can be heard in a woman's charming voice. it seemed as if not only the strings of the violin made music, but its bridge, its pegs, and its sounding-board. it was astonishing! the piece had been a most difficult one; but it seemed like play--as if the bow were but wandering capriciously over the strings. such was the appearance of facility, that every one might have supposed he could do it. the violin seemed to sound of itself, the bow to play of itself. these two seemed to do it all. one forgot the master who guided them, who gave them life and soul. yes, they forgot the master; but the poet thought of him. he named him, and wrote down his thoughts as follows: "how foolish it would be of the violin and the bow, were they to be vain of their performance! and yet this is what so often we of the human species are. poets, artists, those who make discoveries in science, military and naval commanders--we are all proud of ourselves; and yet we are all only the instruments in our lord's hands. to him alone be the glory! we have nothing to arrogate to ourselves." this was what the poet wrote; and he headed it with, "the master and the instruments." when the inkstand and the pen were again alone, the latter said,-- "well, madam, you heard him read aloud what i had written." "yes, what i gave you to write," said the inkstand. "it was a hit at you for your conceit. strange that you cannot see that people make a fool of you! i gave you that hit pretty cleverly. i confess, though, it was rather malicious." "ink-holder!" cried the pen. "writing-stick!" cried the inkstand. they both felt assured that they had answered well; and it is a pleasant reflection that one has made a smart reply--one sleeps comfortably after it. and they both went to sleep; but the poet could not sleep. his thoughts welled forth like the tones from the violin, murmuring like a pearly rivulet, rushing like a storm through the forest. he recognised the feelings of his own heart--he perceived the gleam from the everlasting master. to him alone be the glory! _the child in the grave._ there was sorrow in the house, there was sorrow in the heart; for the youngest child, a little boy of four years of age, the only son, his parents' present joy and future hope, was dead. two daughters they had, indeed, older than their boy--the eldest was almost old enough to be confirmed--amiable, sweet girls they both were; but the lost child is always the dearest, and he was the youngest, and a son. it was a heavy trial. the sisters sorrowed as young hearts sorrow, and were much afflicted by their parents' grief; the father was weighed down by the affliction; but the mother was quite overwhelmed by the terrible blow. by night and by day had she devoted herself to her sick child, watched by him, lifted him, carried him about, done everything for him herself. she had felt as if he were a part of herself: she could not bring herself to believe that he was dead--that he should be laid in a coffin, and concealed in the grave. god would not take that child from her--o no! and when he was taken, and she could no longer refuse to believe the truth, she exclaimed in her wild grief,-- "god has not ordained this! he has heartless agents here on earth. they do what they list--they hearken not to a mother's prayers!" she dared in her woe to arraign the most high; and then came dark thoughts, the thoughts of death--everlasting death--that human beings returned as earth to earth, and then all was over. amidst thoughts morbid and impious as these were there could be nothing to console her, and she sank into the darkest depth of despair. in these hours of deepest distress she could not weep. she thought not of the young daughters who were left to her; her husband's tears fell on her brow, but she did not look up at him; her thoughts were with her dead child; her whole heart and soul were wrapped up in recalling every reminiscence of the lost one--every syllable of his infantine prattle. the day of the funeral came. she had not slept the night before, but towards morning she was overcome by fatigue, and sank for a short time into repose. during that time the coffin was removed into another apartment, and the cover was screwed down with as little noise as possible. when she awoke she rose, and wished to see her child; then her husband, with tears in his eyes, told her, "we have closed the coffin--it had to be done!" "when the almighty is so hard on me," she exclaimed, "why should human beings be kinder?" and she burst into tears. the coffin was carried to the grave. the inconsolable mother sat with her young daughters; she looked at them, but she did not see them; her thoughts had nothing more to do with home; she gave herself up to wretchedness, and it tossed her about as the sea tosses the ship which has lost its helmsman and its rudder. thus passed the day of the funeral, and several days followed amidst the same uniform, heavy grief. with tearful eyes and melancholy looks her afflicted family gazed at her. she did not care for what comforted them. what could they say to change the current of her mournful thoughts? it seemed as if sleep had fled from her for ever; it alone would be her best friend, strengthen her frame, and recall peace to her mind. her family persuaded her to keep her bed, and she lay there as still as if buried in sleep. one night her husband had listened to her breathing, and believing from it that she had at length found repose and relief, he clasped his hands, prayed for her and for them all, then sank himself into peaceful slumber. while sleeping soundly he did not perceive that she rose, dressed herself, and softly left the room and the house, to go--whither her thoughts wandered by day and by night--to the grave that hid her child. she passed quietly through the garden, out to the fields, beyond which the road led outside of the town to the churchyard. no one saw her, and she saw no one. it was a fine night; the stars were shining brightly, and the air was mild, although it was the st of september. she entered the churchyard, and went to the little grave; it looked like one great bouquet of sweet-scented flowers. she threw herself down, and bowed her head over the grave, as if she could through the solid earth behold her little boy, whose smile she remembered so vividly. the affectionate expression of his eyes, even upon his sick bed, was never, never to be forgotten. how speaking had not his glance been when she had bent over him, and taken the little hand he was himself too weak to raise! as she had sat by his couch, so now she sat by his grave; but here her tears might flow freely over the sod that covered him. "wouldst thou descend to thy child?" said a voice close by. it sounded so clear, so deep--its tones went to her heart. she looked up, and near her stood a man wrapped in a large mourning cloak, with a hood drawn over the head; but she could see the countenance under this. it was severe, and yet encouraging, his eyes were bright as those of youth. "descend to my child!" she repeated; and there was the agony of despair in her voice. "darest thou follow me?" asked the figure. "i am death!" she bowed her assent. then it seemed all at once as if every star in the heavens above shone with the light of the moon. she saw the many-coloured flowers on the surface of the grave move like a fluttering garment. she sank, and the figure threw his dark cloak round her. it became night--the night of death. she sank deeper than the sexton's spade could reach. the churchyard lay like a roof above her head. the cloak that had enveloped her glided to one side. she stood in an immense hall, whose extremities were lost in the distance. it was dusk around her; but before her stood, and in one moment was clasped to her heart, her child, who smiled on her in beauty far surpassing what he had possessed before. she uttered a cry, though it was scarcely audible, for close by, and then far away, and afterwards near again, came delightful music. never before had such glorious, such blessed sounds reached her ear. they rang from the other side of the thick curtain--black as night--that separated the hall from the boundless space of eternity. "my sweet mother! my own mother!" she heard her child exclaim. it was his well-known, most beloved voice. and kiss followed kiss in rapturous joy. at length the child pointed to the sable curtain. "there is nothing so charming up yonder on earth, mother. look, mother!--look at them all! that is felicity!" the mother saw nothing--nothing in the direction to which the child pointed, except darkness like that of night. _she_ saw with earthly eyes. she did not see as did the child whom god had called to himself. she heard, indeed, sounds--music; but she did not understand the words that were conveyed in these exquisite tones. "i can fly now, mother," said the child. "i can fly with all the other happy children, away, even into the presence of god. i wish so much to go; but if you cry on as you are crying now i cannot leave you, and yet i should be so glad to go. may i not? you will come back soon, will you not, dear mother?" "oh, stay! oh, stay!" she cried, "only one moment more. let me gaze on you one moment longer; let me kiss you, and hold you a moment longer in my arms." and she kissed him, and held him fast. then her name was called from above--the tones were those of piercing grief. what could they be? "hark!" said the child; "it is my father calling on you." and again, in a few seconds, deep sobs were heard, as of children weeping. "these are my sisters' voices," said the child. "mother, you have surely not forgotten them?" then she remembered those who were left behind. a deep feeling of anxiety pervaded her mind; she gazed intently before her, and spectres seemed to hover around her; she fancied that she knew some of them; they floated through the hall of death, on towards the dark curtain, and there they vanished. would her husband, her daughters, appear there? no; their lamentations were still to be heard from above. she had nearly forgotten them for the dead. "mother, the bells of heaven are ringing," said the child. "now the sun is about to rise." and an overwhelming, blinding light streamed around her. the child was gone, and she felt herself lifted up. she raised her head, and saw that she was lying in the churchyard, upon the grave of her child. but in her dream god had become a prop for her feet, and a light to her mind. she threw herself on her knees and prayed:-- "forgive me, o lord my god, that i wished to detain an everlasting soul from its flight into eternity, and that i forgot my duties to the living thou hast graciously spared to me!" and as she uttered this prayer it appeared as if her heart felt lightened of the burden that had crushed it. then the sun broke forth in all its splendour, a little bird sang over her head, and all the church bells around began to ring the matin chimes. all seemed holy around her; her heart seemed to have drunk in faith and holiness; she acknowledged the might and the mercy of god; she remembered her duties, and felt a longing to regain her home. she hurried thither, and leaning over her still sleeping husband, she awoke him with the touch of her warm lips on his cheek. her words were those of love and consolation, and in a tone of mild resignation she exclaimed,-- "god's will is always the best!" her husband and her daughters were astonished at the change in her, and her husband asked her,-- "where did you so suddenly acquire this strength--this pious resignation?" and she smiled on him and her daughters as she replied,-- "i derived it from god, by the grave of my child." _charming._ the sculptor alfred--surely you know him? we all know him. he used to engrave gold medallions; went to italy, and returned again. he was young then; indeed, he is young now, though about half a score of years older than he was at that time. he returned home, and went on a visit to one of the small towns in zealand. the whole community knew of the arrival of the stranger, and who he was. there was a party given on his account by one of the richest families in the place; every one who was anybody, or had anything, was invited; it was quite an event, and the whole town heard of it without beat of drum. a good many apprentice boys and poor people's children, with a few of their parents, ranged themselves outside, and looked at the windows with their drawn blinds, through which a blaze of light was streaming. the watchman might have fancied he had a party himself, so many people occupied his quarters in the street. they all seemed merry on the outside; and in the inside of the house everything was pleasant, for herr alfred, the sculptor, was there. he talked, and he told anecdotes, and every one present listened to him with pleasure and deep attention, but no one with more eagerness than an elderly widow of good standing in society; and she was, in reference to all that herr alfred said, like a blank sheet of whity-brown paper, that quickly sucks the sweet things in, and is ready for more. she was very susceptible, and totally ignorant--quite a female caspar hauser. "i should like to see rome," said she. "that must be a charming town, with the numerous strangers that go there. describe rome to us now. how does it look as you enter the gate?" "it is not easy to describe rome," said the young sculptor. "it is a very large place; in the centre of it stands an obelisk, which is four thousand years old." "an organist!" exclaimed the astonished lady, who had never before heard the word _obelisk_. many of the party could scarcely refrain from laughing, and among the rest the sculptor. but the satirical smile that was gathering round his mouth glided into one of pleasure; for he saw, close to the lady, a pair of large eyes, blue as the sea. they appertained to the daughter of the talkative dame, and when one had such a daughter one could not be altogether ridiculous. the mother was like a bubbling fountain of questions, constantly pouring forth; the daughter like the fountain's beautiful naiad, listening to its murmurs. how lovely she was! she was something worth a sculptor's while to gaze at; but not to converse with; and she said nothing, at least very little. "has the pope a great family?" asked the widow. and the young man answered as if the question might have been better worded,-- "no, he is not of a high family." "i don't mean that," said the lady; "i mean has he a wife and children?" "the pope dare not marry," he replied. "i don't approve of that," said the lady. she could scarcely have spoken more foolishly, or asked sillier questions; but what did all that signify when her daughter looked over her shoulder with that most winning smile? herr alfred talked of the brilliant skies of italy, and its cloud-capped hills; the blue mediterranean; the soft south; the beauty which could only be rivalled by the blue eyes of the females of the north. and this was said pointedly; but she who ought to have understood it did not allow it to be seen that she had detected any compliment in his words, and this was also charming. "italy!" sighed some. "travelling!" sighed others. "charming, charming!" "well, when i win the fifty-thousand-dollar prize in the lottery," said the widow, "we shall set off on our travels too--my daughter and i; and you, herr alfred, shall be our escort. we shall all three go, and a few other friends will go with us, i hope;" and she bowed invitingly to them all round, so that each individual might have thought, "it is i she wishes to accompany her." "yes, we will go to italy, but not where the robbers are; we will stay in rome, or only go by the great high roads, where people are safe, of course." and the daughter heaved a gentle sigh. how much can there not lie in a slight sigh, or be supposed to lie in it! the young man put a world of feeling into it; the two blue eyes that had beamed on him that evening concealed the treasure--the treasure of heart and of mind, richer far than all the glories of rome; and when he left the party he was over head and ears in love with the widow's pretty daughter. the widow's house became the house of all others most visited by herr alfred, the sculptor. people knew that it could not be for the mother's sake he sought it so often, although he and she were always the speakers; it must be for the daughter's sake he went. she was called kala, though christened karen malene: the two names had been mutilated, and thrown together into the one appellation, _kala_. she was very beautiful, but rather silly, some people hinted, and rather indolent. she was certainly a very late riser in the morning. "she has been accustomed to that from her childhood," said her mother. "she has always been such a little venus that she was scarcely ever found fault with. she is not a very early riser, but to this she owes her fine clear eyes." what power there was in these clear eyes--these swimming blue eyes! the young man felt it. he told anecdote upon anecdote, and answered question after question; and mamma always asked the same lively, sensible, pertinent questions as she had asked at first. it was a pleasure to hear herr alfred speak. he described naples, the ascent of mount vesuvius, and several of its eruptions; and the widow lady, who had never heard of them before, was lost in surprise. "mercy on us!" she exclaimed; "then it is a volcano? does it ever do any harm to anybody?" "it has destroyed entire towns," he replied: "pompeii and herculaneum." "but the poor inhabitants! did you see it yourself?" "no, not either of these eruptions, but i have a sketch taken by myself of an eruption which i did witness." then he selected from his portfolio a sketch done with a black-lead pencil; but mamma, who delighted in highly-coloured pictures, looked at the pale sketch, and exclaimed in amazement,-- "you saw it gush out white?" mamma got into herr alfred's black books for a few minutes, and he felt profound contempt for her; but the light from kala's eyes soon dispelled his gloom. he bethought him that her mother had no knowledge of drawing, that was all; but she had what was far better--she had the sweet, beautiful kala. as might have been expected, alfred and kala became engaged, and their betrothal was announced in the newspaper of the town. mamma bought thirty copies of it, that she might cut the paragraphs out, and inclose them to various friends. the betrothed pair were very happy, and so was the mamma: she felt almost as proud as if her family were going to be connected with thorwaldsen. "you are his successor at any rate," she said; and alfred thought that she had said something very clever. kala said nothing, but her eyes brightened, and a lovely smile played around her well-formed mouth. every movement of hers was graceful: she was very beautiful--that cannot be said too often. alfred was making busts of kala and her mother: they sat for him, and saw how with his finger he smoothed and moulded the soft clay. "it is a compliment to us," said his mother-in-law elect, "that you condescend to do that simple work yourself, instead of letting your men dab all that for you." "no; it is absolutely necessary that i should do this myself in the clay," he replied. "oh! you are always so exceedingly gallant!" said mamma; and kala gently pressed his hand, to which pieces of clay were sticking. he discoursed to them about the magnificence of nature in its creations, the superiority of the living over the dead, plants over minerals, animals over plants, human beings over mere animals; how mind and beauty manifested themselves through form, and that the sculptor sought to bestow on his forms of clay the greatest possible beauty and expression. kala remained silent, revolving his words. her mother said, "it is difficult to follow you; but though my thoughts go slowly, i hold fast what i hear." and the power of beauty held him fast; it had subdued him--entranced and enslaved him. kala's beauty certainly was extraordinary; it was enthroned in every feature of her face, in her whole figure, even to the points of her fingers. the sculptor was bewildered by it; he thought only of her--spoke only of her; and his fancy endowed her with all perfection. then came the wedding-day, with the bridal gifts and the bride's-maids; and the marriage ceremony was duly performed. his mother-in-law had placed in the room where the bridal party assembled the bust of thorwaldsen, enveloped in a dressing-gown. "he ought to be a guest, according to her idea," she said. songs were sung, and healths were drunk. it was a handsome wedding, and they were a handsome couple. "pygmalion got his galathea" was a line in one of the songs. "that was something from mythology," remarked the widow. the following day the young couple started for copenhagen, where they intended to reside; and the mamma accompanied them, to give them a helping hand, she said, which meant to take charge of the house. kala was to be a mere doll. everything was new, bright, and charming. there they settled themselves all three; and alfred, what can be said of him, only that he was like a bishop among a flock of geese? the magic of beauty had infatuated him. he had gazed upon the case, and not thought of what was in it; and this is unfortunate, very unfortunate, in the marriage state. when the case decays, and the gilding rubs off, one then begins to repent of one's bargain. it was very mortifying to alfred that in society neither his wife nor his mother-in-law was capable of entering into general conversation--that they said very silly things, which, with all his wittiest efforts, he could not cover. how often the young couple sat hand in hand, and he spoke, and she dropped a word now and then, always in the same tone, like a clock striking one, two, three! it was quite a relief when sophie, a female friend, came. sophie was not very pretty; she was slightly awry, kala said; but this was not perceptible except to her female friends. kala allowed that she was clever. it never occurred to her that her talents might make her dangerous. she came like fresh air into a close, confined puppet show; and fresh air is always pleasant. after a time the young couple and the mother-in-law went to breathe the soft air of italy. their wishes were fulfilled. * * * * * "thank heaven, we are at home again!" exclaimed both the mother and the daughter, when, the following year, they and alfred returned to denmark. "there is no pleasure in travelling," said the mamma; "on the contrary, it is very fatiguing--excuse my saying so. i was excessively tired, notwithstanding that i had my children with me. and travelling is extremely expensive. what hosts of galleries you have to see! what quantities of things to be rushing after! and you are so teased with questions when you come home, as if it were possible to know everything. and then to hear that you have just forgotten to see what was most charming! i am sure i was quite tired of these everlasting madonnas; one was almost turned into a madonna one's self." "and the living was so bad," said kala. "not a single spoonful of honest meat soup," rejoined the mamma. "they dress the victuals so absurdly." kala was much fatigued after her journey. she continued very languid, and did not seem to rally--that was the worst of it. sophie came to stay with them, and she was extremely useful. the mother-in-law allowed that sophie understood household affairs well, and had many accomplishments, which she, with her fortune, had no need to trouble herself about; and she confessed, also, that sophie was very estimable and kind. she could not help seeing this when kala was lying ill, without making the slightest exertion in any way. if there be nothing but the case or framework, when it gives way it is all over with the case. and the case had given way. kala died. "she was charming!" said her mother. "she was very different from all these antiquities that are half mutilated. kala was a perfect beauty!" alfred wept, and his mother-in-law wept, and they both went into mourning. the mamma went into the deepest mourning, and she wore her mourning longest. she also retained her sorrow the longest; in fact, she remained weighed down with grief until alfred married again. he took sophie, who had nothing to boast of in respect to outward charms. "he has gone to the other extremity," said his mother-in-law; "passed from the most beautiful to the ugliest. he has found it possible to forget his first wife. there is no constancy in man. my husband, indeed, was different; but he died before me." "pygmalion got his galathea," said alfred. "these words were in the bridal song. i certainly did fall in love with the beautiful statue that became imbued with life in my arms. but the kindred soul, which heaven sends us, one of those angels who can feel with us, think with us, raise us when we are sinking, i have now found and won. you have come, sophie, not as a beautiful form, fascinating the eye, but prettier, more pleasing than was necessary. you excel in the main point. you have come and taught the sculptor that his work is but clay--dust; only a copy of the outer shell of the kernel we ought to seek. poor kala! her earthly life was but like a short journey. yonder above, where those who sympathise shall be gathered together, she and i will probably be almost strangers." "that is not a kind speech," said sophie; "it is not a christian one. up yonder, where 'they neither marry nor are given in marriage,' but, as you say, where spirits shall meet in sympathy--there, where all that is beautiful shall unfold and improve, her soul may perhaps appear so glorious in its excellence that it may far outshine mine and yours. you may then again exclaim, as you did in the first excitement of your earthly admiration, 'charming--charming!'" the end. * * * * * ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (# ) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/ ******************************************************************* andersen's fairy tales by hans christian andersen contents the emperor's new clothes the swineherd the real princess the shoes of fortune the fir tree the snow queen the leap-frog the elderbush the bell the old house the happy family the story of a mother the false collar the shadow the little match girl the dream of little tuk the naughty boy the red shoes the emperor's new clothes many years ago, there was an emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. he did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his new clothes. he had a different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, “he is sitting in council,” it was always said of him, “the emperor is sitting in his wardrobe.” time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. one day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. they gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character. “these must, indeed, be splendid clothes!” thought the emperor. “had i such a suit, i might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! this stuff must be woven for me immediately.” and he caused large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly. so the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. they asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at night. “i should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth,” said the emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. to be sure, he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. all the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be. “i will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,” said the emperor at last, after some deliberation, “he will be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable for his office than he is.” so the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were working with all their might, at their empty looms. “what can be the meaning of this?” thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. “i cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms.” however, he did not express his thoughts aloud. the impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the empty frames. the poor old minister looked and looked, he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there. “what!” thought he again. “is it possible that i am a simpleton? i have never thought so myself; and no one must know it now if i am so. can it be, that i am unfit for my office? no, that must not be said either. i will never confess that i could not see the stuff.” “well, sir minister!” said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. “you do not say whether the stuff pleases you.” “oh, it is excellent!” replied the old minister, looking at the loom through his spectacles. “this pattern, and the colors, yes, i will tell the emperor without delay, how very beautiful i think them.” “we shall be much obliged to you,” said the impostors, and then they named the different colors and described the pattern of the pretended stuff. the old minister listened attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat them to the emperor; and then the knaves asked for more silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. however, they put all that was given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty looms. the emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready. it was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty frames. “does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the minister?” asked the impostors of the emperor's second ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and colors which were not there. “i certainly am not stupid!” thought the messenger. “it must be, that i am not fit for my good, profitable office! that is very odd; however, no one shall know anything about it.” and accordingly he praised the stuff he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns. “indeed, please your imperial majesty,” said he to his sovereign when he returned, “the cloth which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily magnificent.” the whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the emperor had ordered to be woven at his own expense. and now the emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was still in the loom. accompanied by a select number of officers of the court, among whom were the two honest men who had already admired the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the emperor's approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did not pass a single thread through the looms. “is not the work absolutely magnificent?” said the two officers of the crown, already mentioned. “if your majesty will only be pleased to look at it! what a splendid design! what glorious colors!” and at the same time they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship. “how is this?” said the emperor to himself. “i can see nothing! this is indeed a terrible affair! am i a simpleton, or am i unfit to be an emperor? that would be the worst thing that could happen--oh! the cloth is charming,” said he, aloud. “it has my complete approbation.” and he smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he say that he could not see what two of the officers of his court had praised so much. all his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on the looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, “oh, how beautiful!” and advised his majesty to have some new clothes made from this splendid material, for the approaching procession. “magnificent! charming! excellent!” resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly gay. the emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes, and the title of “gentlemen weavers.” the rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the emperor's new suit. they pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread in them. “see!” cried they, at last. “the emperor's new clothes are ready!” and now the emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying, “here are your majesty's trousers! here is the scarf! here is the mantle! the whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth.” “yes indeed!” said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture. “if your imperial majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking glass.” the emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the emperor turning round, from side to side, before the looking glass. “how splendid his majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they fit!” everyone cried out. “what a design! what colors! these are indeed royal robes!” “the canopy which is to be borne over your majesty, in the procession, is waiting,” announced the chief master of the ceremonies. “i am quite ready,” answered the emperor. “do my new clothes fit well?” asked he, turning himself round again before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit. the lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his majesty's train felt about on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office. so now the emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, “oh! how beautiful are our emperor's new clothes! what a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!” in short, no one would allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. certainly, none of the emperor's various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones. “but the emperor has nothing at all on!” said a little child. “listen to the voice of innocence!” exclaimed his father; and what the child had said was whispered from one to another. “but he has nothing at all on!” at last cried out all the people. the emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he thought the procession must go on now! and the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no train to hold. the swineherd there was once a poor prince, who had a kingdom. his kingdom was very small, but still quite large enough to marry upon; and he wished to marry. it was certainly rather cool of him to say to the emperor's daughter, “will you have me?” but so he did; for his name was renowned far and wide; and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered, “yes!” and “thank you kindly.” we shall see what this princess said. listen! it happened that where the prince's father lay buried, there grew a rose tree--a most beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once in every five years, and even then bore only one flower, but that was a rose! it smelt so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who inhaled its fragrance. and furthermore, the prince had a nightingale, who could sing in such a manner that it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt in her little throat. so the princess was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and they were accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her. the emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the princess was playing at “visiting,” with the ladies of the court; and when she saw the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy. “ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!” said she; but the rose tree, with its beautiful rose came to view. “oh, how prettily it is made!” said all the court ladies. “it is more than pretty,” said the emperor, “it is charming!” but the princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry. “fie, papa!” said she. “it is not made at all, it is natural!” “let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad humor,” said the emperor. so the nightingale came forth and sang so delightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humored of her. “superbe! charmant!” exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter french, each one worse than her neighbor. “how much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our blessed empress,” said an old knight. “oh yes! these are the same tones, the same execution.” “yes! yes!” said the emperor, and he wept like a child at the remembrance. “i will still hope that it is not a real bird,” said the princess. “yes, it is a real bird,” said those who had brought it. “well then let the bird fly,” said the princess; and she positively refused to see the prince. however, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and black; pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door. “good day to my lord, the emperor!” said he. “can i have employment at the palace?” “why, yes,” said the emperor. “i want some one to take care of the pigs, for we have a great many of them.” so the prince was appointed “imperial swineherd.” he had a dirty little room close by the pigsty; and there he sat the whole day, and worked. by the evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-pot. little bells were hung all round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells tinkled in the most charming manner, and played the old melody, “ach! du lieber augustin, alles ist weg, weg, weg!”* * “ah! dear augustine! all is gone, gone, gone!” but what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of the kitchen-pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on every hearth in the city--this, you see, was something quite different from the rose. now the princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune, she stood quite still, and seemed pleased; for she could play “lieber augustine”; it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one finger. “why there is my piece,” said the princess. “that swineherd must certainly have been well educated! go in and ask him the price of the instrument.” so one of the court-ladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden slippers first. “what will you take for the kitchen-pot?” said the lady. “i will have ten kisses from the princess,” said the swineherd. “yes, indeed!” said the lady. “i cannot sell it for less,” rejoined the swineherd. “he is an impudent fellow!” said the princess, and she walked on; but when she had gone a little way, the bells tinkled so prettily “ach! du lieber augustin, alles ist weg, weg, weg!” “stay,” said the princess. “ask him if he will have ten kisses from the ladies of my court.” “no, thank you!” said the swineherd. “ten kisses from the princess, or i keep the kitchen-pot myself.” “that must not be, either!” said the princess. “but do you all stand before me that no one may see us.” and the court-ladies placed themselves in front of her, and spread out their dresses--the swineherd got ten kisses, and the princess--the kitchen-pot. that was delightful! the pot was boiling the whole evening, and the whole of the following day. they knew perfectly well what was cooking at every fire throughout the city, from the chamberlain's to the cobbler's; the court-ladies danced and clapped their hands. “we know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner to-day, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. how interesting!” “yes, but keep my secret, for i am an emperor's daughter.” the swineherd--that is to say--the prince, for no one knew that he was other than an ill-favored swineherd, let not a day pass without working at something; he at last constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung round, played all the waltzes and jig tunes, which have ever been heard since the creation of the world. “ah, that is superbe!” said the princess when she passed by. “i have never heard prettier compositions! go in and ask him the price of the instrument; but mind, he shall have no more kisses!” “he will have a hundred kisses from the princess!” said the lady who had been to ask. “i think he is not in his right senses!” said the princess, and walked on, but when she had gone a little way, she stopped again. “one must encourage art,” said she, “i am the emperor's daughter. tell him he shall, as on yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest from the ladies of the court.” “oh--but we should not like that at all!” said they. “what are you muttering?” asked the princess. “if i can kiss him, surely you can. remember that you owe everything to me.” so the ladies were obliged to go to him again. “a hundred kisses from the princess,” said he, “or else let everyone keep his own!” “stand round!” said she; and all the ladies stood round her whilst the kissing was going on. “what can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pigsty?” said the emperor, who happened just then to step out on the balcony; he rubbed his eyes, and put on his spectacles. “they are the ladies of the court; i must go down and see what they are about!” so he pulled up his slippers at the heel, for he had trodden them down. as soon as he had got into the court-yard, he moved very softly, and the ladies were so much engrossed with counting the kisses, that all might go on fairly, that they did not perceive the emperor. he rose on his tiptoes. “what is all this?” said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed the princess's ears with his slipper, just as the swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss. “march out!” said the emperor, for he was very angry; and both princess and swineherd were thrust out of the city. the princess now stood and wept, the swineherd scolded, and the rain poured down. “alas! unhappy creature that i am!” said the princess. “if i had but married the handsome young prince! ah! how unfortunate i am!” and the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown color from his face, threw off his dirty clothes, and stepped forth in his princely robes; he looked so noble that the princess could not help bowing before him. “i am come to despise thee,” said he. “thou would'st not have an honorable prince! thou could'st not prize the rose and the nightingale, but thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery plaything. thou art rightly served.” he then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut the door of his palace in her face. now she might well sing, “ach! du lieber augustin, alles ist weg, weg, weg!” the real princess there was once a prince who wished to marry a princess; but then she must be a real princess. he travelled all over the world in hopes of finding such a lady; but there was always something wrong. princesses he found in plenty; but whether they were real princesses it was impossible for him to decide, for now one thing, now another, seemed to him not quite right about the ladies. at last he returned to his palace quite cast down, because he wished so much to have a real princess for his wife. one evening a fearful tempest arose, it thundered and lightened, and the rain poured down from the sky in torrents: besides, it was as dark as pitch. all at once there was heard a violent knocking at the door, and the old king, the prince's father, went out himself to open it. it was a princess who was standing outside the door. what with the rain and the wind, she was in a sad condition; the water trickled down from her hair, and her clothes clung to her body. she said she was a real princess. “ah! we shall soon see that!” thought the old queen-mother; however, she said not a word of what she was going to do; but went quietly into the bedroom, took all the bed-clothes off the bed, and put three little peas on the bedstead. she then laid twenty mattresses one upon another over the three peas, and put twenty feather beds over the mattresses. upon this bed the princess was to pass the night. the next morning she was asked how she had slept. “oh, very badly indeed!” she replied. “i have scarcely closed my eyes the whole night through. i do not know what was in my bed, but i had something hard under me, and am all over black and blue. it has hurt me so much!” now it was plain that the lady must be a real princess, since she had been able to feel the three little peas through the twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. none but a real princess could have had such a delicate sense of feeling. the prince accordingly made her his wife; being now convinced that he had found a real princess. the three peas were however put into the cabinet of curiosities, where they are still to be seen, provided they are not lost. wasn't this a lady of real delicacy? the shoes of fortune i. a beginning every author has some peculiarity in his descriptions or in his style of writing. those who do not like him, magnify it, shrug up their shoulders, and exclaim--there he is again! i, for my part, know very well how i can bring about this movement and this exclamation. it would happen immediately if i were to begin here, as i intended to do, with: “rome has its corso, naples its toledo”--“ah! that andersen; there he is again!” they would cry; yet i must, to please my fancy, continue quite quietly, and add: “but copenhagen has its east street.” here, then, we will stay for the present. in one of the houses not far from the new market a party was invited--a very large party, in order, as is often the case, to get a return invitation from the others. one half of the company was already seated at the card-table, the other half awaited the result of the stereotype preliminary observation of the lady of the house: “now let us see what we can do to amuse ourselves.” they had got just so far, and the conversation began to crystallise, as it could but do with the scanty stream which the commonplace world supplied. amongst other things they spoke of the middle ages: some praised that period as far more interesting, far more poetical than our own too sober present; indeed councillor knap defended this opinion so warmly, that the hostess declared immediately on his side, and both exerted themselves with unwearied eloquence. the councillor boldly declared the time of king hans to be the noblest and the most happy period.* * a.d. - while the conversation turned on this subject, and was only for a moment interrupted by the arrival of a journal that contained nothing worth reading, we will just step out into the antechamber, where cloaks, mackintoshes, sticks, umbrellas, and shoes, were deposited. here sat two female figures, a young and an old one. one might have thought at first they were servants come to accompany their mistresses home; but on looking nearer, one soon saw they could scarcely be mere servants; their forms were too noble for that, their skin too fine, the cut of their dress too striking. two fairies were they; the younger, it is true, was not dame fortune herself, but one of the waiting-maids of her handmaidens who carry about the lesser good things that she distributes; the other looked extremely gloomy--it was care. she always attends to her own serious business herself, as then she is sure of having it done properly. they were telling each other, with a confidential interchange of ideas, where they had been during the day. the messenger of fortune had only executed a few unimportant commissions, such as saving a new bonnet from a shower of rain, etc.; but what she had yet to perform was something quite unusual. “i must tell you,” said she, “that to-day is my birthday; and in honor of it, a pair of walking-shoes or galoshes has been entrusted to me, which i am to carry to mankind. these shoes possess the property of instantly transporting him who has them on to the place or the period in which he most wishes to be; every wish, as regards time or place, or state of being, will be immediately fulfilled, and so at last man will be happy, here below.” “do you seriously believe it?” replied care, in a severe tone of reproach. “no; he will be very unhappy, and will assuredly bless the moment when he feels that he has freed himself from the fatal shoes.” “stupid nonsense!” said the other angrily. “i will put them here by the door. some one will make a mistake for certain and take the wrong ones--he will be a happy man.” such was their conversation. ii. what happened to the councillor it was late; councillor knap, deeply occupied with the times of king hans, intended to go home, and malicious fate managed matters so that his feet, instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped into those of fortune. thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the well-lighted rooms into east street. by the magic power of the shoes he was carried back to the times of king hans; on which account his foot very naturally sank in the mud and puddles of the street, there having been in those days no pavement in copenhagen. “well! this is too bad! how dirty it is here!” sighed the councillor. “as to a pavement, i can find no traces of one, and all the lamps, it seems, have gone to sleep.” the moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that in the darkness all objects seemed mingled in chaotic confusion. at the next corner hung a votive lamp before a madonna, but the light it gave was little better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell upon the bright colors of the pictures which represented the well-known group of the virgin and the infant jesus. “that is probably a wax-work show,” thought he; “and the people delay taking down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or two.” a few persons in the costume of the time of king hans passed quickly by him. “how strange they look! the good folks come probably from a masquerade!” suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the bright blaze of a fire shot up from time to time, and its ruddy gleams seemed to contend with the bluish light of the torches. the councillor stood still, and watched a most strange procession pass by. first came a dozen drummers, who understood pretty well how to handle their instruments; then came halberdiers, and some armed with cross-bows. the principal person in the procession was a priest. astonished at what he saw, the councillor asked what was the meaning of all this mummery, and who that man was. “that's the bishop of zealand,” was the answer. “good heavens! what has taken possession of the bishop?” sighed the councillor, shaking his head. it certainly could not be the bishop; even though he was considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom, and people told the drollest anecdotes about him. reflecting on the matter, and without looking right or left, the councillor went through east street and across the habro-platz. the bridge leading to palace square was not to be found; scarcely trusting his senses, the nocturnal wanderer discovered a shallow piece of water, and here fell in with two men who very comfortably were rocking to and fro in a boat. “does your honor want to cross the ferry to the holme?” asked they. “across to the holme!” said the councillor, who knew nothing of the age in which he at that moment was. “no, i am going to christianshafen, to little market street.” both men stared at him in astonishment. “only just tell me where the bridge is,” said he. “it is really unpardonable that there are no lamps here; and it is as dirty as if one had to wade through a morass.” the longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more unintelligible did their language become to him. “i don't understand your bornholmish dialect,” said he at last, angrily, and turning his back upon them. he was unable to find the bridge: there was no railway either. “it is really disgraceful what a state this place is in,” muttered he to himself. never had his age, with which, however, he was always grumbling, seemed so miserable as on this evening. “i'll take a hackney-coach!” thought he. but where were the hackney-coaches? not one was to be seen. “i must go back to the new market; there, it is to be hoped, i shall find some coaches; for if i don't, i shall never get safe to christianshafen.” so off he went in the direction of east street, and had nearly got to the end of it when the moon shone forth. “god bless me! what wooden scaffolding is that which they have set up there?” cried he involuntarily, as he looked at east gate, which, in those days, was at the end of east street. he found, however, a little side-door open, and through this he went, and stepped into our new market of the present time. it was a huge desolate plain; some wild bushes stood up here and there, while across the field flowed a broad canal or river. some wretched hovels for the dutch sailors, resembling great boxes, and after which the place was named, lay about in confused disorder on the opposite bank. “i either behold a fata morgana, or i am regularly tipsy,” whimpered out the councillor. “but what's this?” he turned round anew, firmly convinced that he was seriously ill. he gazed at the street formerly so well known to him, and now so strange in appearance, and looked at the houses more attentively: most of them were of wood, slightly put together; and many had a thatched roof. “no--i am far from well,” sighed he; “and yet i drank only one glass of punch; but i cannot suppose it--it was, too, really very wrong to give us punch and hot salmon for supper. i shall speak about it at the first opportunity. i have half a mind to go back again, and say what i suffer. but no, that would be too silly; and heaven only knows if they are up still.” he looked for the house, but it had vanished. “it is really dreadful,” groaned he with increasing anxiety; “i cannot recognise east street again; there is not a single decent shop from one end to the other! nothing but wretched huts can i see anywhere; just as if i were at ringstead. oh! i am ill! i can scarcely bear myself any longer. where the deuce can the house be? it must be here on this very spot; yet there is not the slightest idea of resemblance, to such a degree has everything changed this night! at all events here are some people up and stirring. oh! oh! i am certainly very ill.” he now hit upon a half-open door, through a chink of which a faint light shone. it was a sort of hostelry of those times; a kind of public-house. the room had some resemblance to the clay-floored halls in holstein; a pretty numerous company, consisting of seamen, copenhagen burghers, and a few scholars, sat here in deep converse over their pewter cans, and gave little heed to the person who entered. “by your leave!” said the councillor to the hostess, who came bustling towards him. “i've felt so queer all of a sudden; would you have the goodness to send for a hackney-coach to take me to christianshafen?” the woman examined him with eyes of astonishment, and shook her head; she then addressed him in german. the councillor thought she did not understand danish, and therefore repeated his wish in german. this, in connection with his costume, strengthened the good woman in the belief that he was a foreigner. that he was ill, she comprehended directly; so she brought him a pitcher of water, which tasted certainly pretty strong of the sea, although it had been fetched from the well. the councillor supported his head on his hand, drew a long breath, and thought over all the wondrous things he saw around him. “is this the daily news of this evening?” he asked mechanically, as he saw the hostess push aside a large sheet of paper. the meaning of this councillorship query remained, of course, a riddle to her, yet she handed him the paper without replying. it was a coarse wood-cut, representing a splendid meteor “as seen in the town of cologne,” which was to be read below in bright letters. “that is very old!” said the councillor, whom this piece of antiquity began to make considerably more cheerful. “pray how did you come into possession of this rare print? it is extremely interesting, although the whole is a mere fable. such meteorous appearances are to be explained in this way--that they are the reflections of the aurora borealis, and it is highly probable they are caused principally by electricity.” those persons who were sitting nearest him and heard his speech, stared at him in wonderment; and one of them rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said with a serious countenance, “you are no doubt a very learned man, monsieur.” “oh no,” answered the councillor, “i can only join in conversation on this topic and on that, as indeed one must do according to the demands of the world at present.” “modestia is a fine virtue,” continued the gentleman; “however, as to your speech, i must say mihi secus videtur: yet i am willing to suspend my judicium.” “may i ask with whom i have the pleasure of speaking?” asked the councillor. “i am a bachelor in theologia,” answered the gentleman with a stiff reverence. this reply fully satisfied the councillor; the title suited the dress. “he is certainly,” thought he, “some village schoolmaster--some queer old fellow, such as one still often meets with in jutland.” “this is no locus docendi, it is true,” began the clerical gentleman; “yet i beg you earnestly to let us profit by your learning. your reading in the ancients is, sine dubio, of vast extent?” “oh yes, i've read something, to be sure,” replied the councillor. “i like reading all useful works; but i do not on that account despise the modern ones; 'tis only the unfortunate 'tales of every-day life' that i cannot bear--we have enough and more than enough such in reality.” “'tales of every-day life?'” said our bachelor inquiringly. “i mean those new fangled novels, twisting and writhing themselves in the dust of commonplace, which also expect to find a reading public.” “oh,” exclaimed the clerical gentleman smiling, “there is much wit in them; besides they are read at court. the king likes the history of sir iffven and sir gaudian particularly, which treats of king arthur, and his knights of the round table; he has more than once joked about it with his high vassals.” “i have not read that novel,” said the councillor; “it must be quite a new one, that heiberg has published lately.” “no,” answered the theologian of the time of king hans: “that book is not written by a heiberg, but was imprinted by godfrey von gehmen.” “oh, is that the author's name?” said the councillor. “it is a very old name, and, as well as i recollect, he was the first printer that appeared in denmark.” “yes, he is our first printer,” replied the clerical gentleman hastily. so far all went on well. some one of the worthy burghers now spoke of the dreadful pestilence that had raged in the country a few years back, meaning that of . the councillor imagined it was the cholera that was meant, which people made so much fuss about; and the discourse passed off satisfactorily enough. the war of the buccaneers of was so recent that it could not fail being alluded to; the english pirates had, they said, most shamefully taken their ships while in the roadstead; and the councillor, before whose eyes the herostratic [*] event of still floated vividly, agreed entirely with the others in abusing the rascally english. with other topics he was not so fortunate; every moment brought about some new confusion, and threatened to become a perfect babel; for the worthy bachelor was really too ignorant, and the simplest observations of the councillor sounded to him too daring and phantastical. they looked at one another from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet; and when matters grew to too high a pitch, then the bachelor talked latin, in the hope of being better understood--but it was of no use after all. * herostratus, or eratostratus--an ephesian, who wantonly set fire to the famous temple of diana, in order to commemorate his name by so uncommon an action. “what's the matter?” asked the hostess, plucking the councillor by the sleeve; and now his recollection returned, for in the course of the conversation he had entirely forgotten all that had preceded it. “merciful god, where am i!” exclaimed he in agony; and while he so thought, all his ideas and feelings of overpowering dizziness, against which he struggled with the utmost power of desperation, encompassed him with renewed force. “let us drink claret and mead, and bremen beer,” shouted one of the guests--“and you shall drink with us!” two maidens approached. one wore a cap of two staring colors, denoting the class of persons to which she belonged. they poured out the liquor, and made the most friendly gesticulations; while a cold perspiration trickled down the back of the poor councillor. “what's to be the end of this! what's to become of me!” groaned he; but he was forced, in spite of his opposition, to drink with the rest. they took hold of the worthy man; who, hearing on every side that he was intoxicated, did not in the least doubt the truth of this certainly not very polite assertion; but on the contrary, implored the ladies and gentlemen present to procure him a hackney-coach: they, however, imagined he was talking russian. never before, he thought, had he been in such a coarse and ignorant company; one might almost fancy the people had turned heathens again. “it is the most dreadful moment of my life: the whole world is leagued against me!” but suddenly it occurred to him that he might stoop down under the table, and then creep unobserved out of the door. he did so; but just as he was going, the others remarked what he was about; they laid hold of him by the legs; and now, happily for him, off fell his fatal shoes--and with them the charm was at an end. the councillor saw quite distinctly before him a lantern burning, and behind this a large handsome house. all seemed to him in proper order as usual; it was east street, splendid and elegant as we now see it. he lay with his feet towards a doorway, and exactly opposite sat the watchman asleep. “gracious heaven!” said he. “have i lain here in the street and dreamed? yes; 'tis east street! how splendid and light it is! but really it is terrible what an effect that one glass of punch must have had on me!” two minutes later, he was sitting in a hackney-coach and driving to frederickshafen. he thought of the distress and agony he had endured, and praised from the very bottom of his heart the happy reality--our own time--which, with all its deficiencies, is yet much better than that in which, so much against his inclination, he had lately been. iii. the watchman's adventure “why, there is a pair of galoshes, as sure as i'm alive!” said the watchman, awaking from a gentle slumber. “they belong no doubt to the lieutenant who lives over the way. they lie close to the door.” the worthy man was inclined to ring and deliver them at the house, for there was still a light in the window; but he did not like disturbing the other people in their beds, and so very considerately he left the matter alone. “such a pair of shoes must be very warm and comfortable,” said he; “the leather is so soft and supple.” they fitted his feet as though they had been made for him. “'tis a curious world we live in,” continued he, soliloquizing. “there is the lieutenant, now, who might go quietly to bed if he chose, where no doubt he could stretch himself at his ease; but does he do it? no; he saunters up and down his room, because, probably, he has enjoyed too many of the good things of this world at his dinner. that's a happy fellow! he has neither an infirm mother, nor a whole troop of everlastingly hungry children to torment him. every evening he goes to a party, where his nice supper costs him nothing: would to heaven i could but change with him! how happy should i be!” while expressing his wish, the charm of the shoes, which he had put on, began to work; the watchman entered into the being and nature of the lieutenant. he stood in the handsomely furnished apartment, and held between his fingers a small sheet of rose-colored paper, on which some verses were written--written indeed by the officer himself; for who has not, at least once in his life, had a lyrical moment? and if one then marks down one's thoughts, poetry is produced. but here was written: oh, were i rich! “oh, were i rich! such was my wish, yea such when hardly three feet high, i longed for much. oh, were i rich! an officer were i, with sword, and uniform, and plume so high. and the time came, and officer was i! but yet i grew not rich. alas, poor me! have pity, thou, who all man's wants dost see. “i sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss, a maid of seven years old gave me a kiss, i at that time was rich in poesy and tales of old, though poor as poor could be; but all she asked for was this poesy. then was i rich, but not in gold, poor me! as thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see. “oh, were i rich! oft asked i for this boon. the child grew up to womanhood full soon. she is so pretty, clever, and so kind oh, did she know what's hidden in my mind-- a tale of old. would she to me were kind! but i'm condemned to silence! oh, poor me! as thou dost know, who all men's hearts canst see. “oh, were i rich in calm and peace of mind, my grief you then would not here written find! o thou, to whom i do my heart devote, oh read this page of glad days now remote, a dark, dark tale, which i tonight devote! dark is the future now. alas, poor me! have pity thou, who all men's pains dost see.” such verses as these people write when they are in love! but no man in his senses ever thinks of printing them. here one of the sorrows of life, in which there is real poetry, gave itself vent; not that barren grief which the poet may only hint at, but never depict in its detail--misery and want: that animal necessity, in short, to snatch at least at a fallen leaf of the bread-fruit tree, if not at the fruit itself. the higher the position in which one finds oneself transplanted, the greater is the suffering. everyday necessity is the stagnant pool of life--no lovely picture reflects itself therein. lieutenant, love, and lack of money--that is a symbolic triangle, or much the same as the half of the shattered die of fortune. this the lieutenant felt most poignantly, and this was the reason he leant his head against the window, and sighed so deeply. “the poor watchman out there in the street is far happier than i. he knows not what i term privation. he has a home, a wife, and children, who weep with him over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is glad. oh, far happier were i, could i exchange with him my being--with his desires and with his hopes perform the weary pilgrimage of life! oh, he is a hundred times happier than i!” in the same moment the watchman was again watchman. it was the shoes that caused the metamorphosis by means of which, unknown to himself, he took upon him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we have just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much less contented, and now preferred the very thing which but some minutes before he had rejected. so then the watchman was again watchman. “that was an unpleasant dream,” said he; “but 'twas droll enough altogether. i fancied that i was the lieutenant over there: and yet the thing was not very much to my taste after all. i missed my good old mother and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer love.” he seated himself once more and nodded: the dream continued to haunt him, for he still had the shoes on his feet. a falling star shone in the dark firmament. “there falls another star,” said he: “but what does it matter; there are always enough left. i should not much mind examining the little glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would not slip so easily through a man's fingers. when we die--so at least says the student, for whom my wife does the washing--we shall fly about as light as a feather from one such a star to the other. that's, of course, not true: but 'twould be pretty enough if it were so. if i could but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here on the steps for what i care.” behold--there are certain things in the world to which one ought never to give utterance except with the greatest caution; but doubly careful must one be when we have the shoes of fortune on our feet. now just listen to what happened to the watchman. as to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of steam; we have experienced it either on railroads, or in boats when crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in comparison with the velocity with which light moves. it flies nineteen million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet electricity is quicker still. death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the freed soul soars upwards on the wings of electricity. the sun's light wants eight minutes and some seconds to perform a journey of more than twenty million of our danish [*] miles; borne by electricity, the soul wants even some minutes less to accomplish the same flight. to it the space between the heavenly bodies is not greater than the distance between the homes of our friends in town is for us, even if they live a short way from each other; such an electric shock in the heart, however, costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the watchman of east street, we happen to have on the shoes of fortune. * a danish mile is nearly / english. in a few seconds the watchman had done the fifty-two thousand of our miles up to the moon, which, as everyone knows, was formed out of matter much lighter than our earth; and is, so we should say, as soft as newly-fallen snow. he found himself on one of the many circumjacent mountain-ridges with which we are acquainted by means of dr. madler's “map of the moon.” within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a caldron, about a danish mile in depth; while below lay a town, whose appearance we can, in some measure, realize to ourselves by beating the white of an egg in a glass of water. the matter of which it was built was just as soft, and formed similar towers, and domes, and pillars, transparent and rocking in the thin air; while above his head our earth was rolling like a large fiery ball. he perceived immediately a quantity of beings who were certainly what we call “men”; yet they looked different to us. a far more correct imagination than that of the pseudo-herschel* had created them; and if they had been placed in rank and file, and copied by some skilful painter's hand, one would, without doubt, have exclaimed involuntarily, “what a beautiful arabesque!” *this relates to a book published some years ago in germany, and said to be by herschel, which contained a description of the moon and its inhabitants, written with such a semblance of truth that many were deceived by the imposture. probably a translation of the celebrated moon hoax, written by richard a. locke, and originally published in new york. they had a language too; but surely nobody can expect that the soul of the watchman should understand it. be that as it may, it did comprehend it; for in our souls there germinate far greater powers than we poor mortals, despite all our cleverness, have any notion of. does she not show us--she the queen in the land of enchantment--her astounding dramatic talent in all our dreams? there every acquaintance appears and speaks upon the stage, so entirely in character, and with the same tone of voice, that none of us, when awake, were able to imitate it. how well can she recall persons to our mind, of whom we have not thought for years; when suddenly they step forth “every inch a man,” resembling the real personages, even to the finest features, and become the heroes or heroines of our world of dreams. in reality, such remembrances are rather unpleasant: every sin, every evil thought, may, like a clock with alarm or chimes, be repeated at pleasure; then the question is if we can trust ourselves to give an account of every unbecoming word in our heart and on our lips. the watchman's spirit understood the language of the inhabitants of the moon pretty well. the selenites* disputed variously about our earth, and expressed their doubts if it could be inhabited: the air, they said, must certainly be too dense to allow any rational dweller in the moon the necessary free respiration. they considered the moon alone to be inhabited: they imagined it was the real heart of the universe or planetary system, on which the genuine cosmopolites, or citizens of the world, dwelt. what strange things men--no, what strange things selenites sometimes take into their heads! * dwellers in the moon. about politics they had a good deal to say. but little denmark must take care what it is about, and not run counter to the moon; that great realm, that might in an ill-humor bestir itself, and dash down a hail-storm in our faces, or force the baltic to overflow the sides of its gigantic basin. we will, therefore, not listen to what was spoken, and on no condition run in the possibility of telling tales out of school; but we will rather proceed, like good quiet citizens, to east street, and observe what happened meanwhile to the body of the watchman. he sat lifeless on the steps: the morning-star,* that is to say, the heavy wooden staff, headed with iron spikes, and which had nothing else in common with its sparkling brother in the sky, had glided from his hand; while his eyes were fixed with glassy stare on the moon, looking for the good old fellow of a spirit which still haunted it. *the watchmen in germany, had formerly, and in some places they still carry with them, on their rounds at night, a sort of mace or club, known in ancient times by the above denomination. “what's the hour, watchman?” asked a passer-by. but when the watchman gave no reply, the merry roysterer, who was now returning home from a noisy drinking bout, took it into his head to try what a tweak of the nose would do, on which the supposed sleeper lost his balance, the body lay motionless, stretched out on the pavement: the man was dead. when the patrol came up, all his comrades, who comprehended nothing of the whole affair, were seized with a dreadful fright, for dead he was, and he remained so. the proper authorities were informed of the circumstance, people talked a good deal about it, and in the morning the body was carried to the hospital. now that would be a very pretty joke, if the spirit when it came back and looked for the body in east street, were not to find one. no doubt it would, in its anxiety, run off to the police, and then to the “hue and cry” office, to announce that “the finder will be handsomely rewarded,” and at last away to the hospital; yet we may boldly assert that the soul is shrewdest when it shakes off every fetter, and every sort of leading-string--the body only makes it stupid. the seemingly dead body of the watchman wandered, as we have said, to the hospital, where it was brought into the general viewing-room: and the first thing that was done here was naturally to pull off the galoshes--when the spirit, that was merely gone out on adventures, must have returned with the quickness of lightning to its earthly tenement. it took its direction towards the body in a straight line; and a few seconds after, life began to show itself in the man. he asserted that the preceding night had been the worst that ever the malice of fate had allotted him; he would not for two silver marks again go through what he had endured while moon-stricken; but now, however, it was over. the same day he was discharged from the hospital as perfectly cured; but the shoes meanwhile remained behind. iv. a moment of head importance--an evening's “dramatic readings”--a most strange journey every inhabitant of copenhagen knows, from personal inspection, how the entrance to frederick's hospital looks; but as it is possible that others, who are not copenhagen people, may also read this little work, we will beforehand give a short description of it. the extensive building is separated from the street by a pretty high railing, the thick iron bars of which are so far apart, that in all seriousness, it is said, some very thin fellow had of a night occasionally squeezed himself through to go and pay his little visits in the town. the part of the body most difficult to manage on such occasions was, no doubt, the head; here, as is so often the case in the world, long-headed people get through best. so much, then, for the introduction. one of the young men, whose head, in a physical sense only, might be said to be of the thickest, had the watch that evening. the rain poured down in torrents; yet despite these two obstacles, the young man was obliged to go out, if it were but for a quarter of an hour; and as to telling the door-keeper about it, that, he thought, was quite unnecessary, if, with a whole skin, he were able to slip through the railings. there, on the floor lay the galoshes, which the watchman had forgotten; he never dreamed for a moment that they were those of fortune; and they promised to do him good service in the wet; so he put them on. the question now was, if he could squeeze himself through the grating, for he had never tried before. well, there he stood. “would to heaven i had got my head through!” said he, involuntarily; and instantly through it slipped, easily and without pain, notwithstanding it was pretty large and thick. but now the rest of the body was to be got through! “ah! i am much too stout,” groaned he aloud, while fixed as in a vice. “i had thought the head was the most difficult part of the matter--oh! oh! i really cannot squeeze myself through!” he now wanted to pull his over-hasty head back again, but he could not. for his neck there was room enough, but for nothing more. his first feeling was of anger; his next that his temper fell to zero. the shoes of fortune had placed him in the most dreadful situation; and, unfortunately, it never occurred to him to wish himself free. the pitch-black clouds poured down their contents in still heavier torrents; not a creature was to be seen in the streets. to reach up to the bell was what he did not like; to cry aloud for help would have availed him little; besides, how ashamed would he have been to be found caught in a trap, like an outwitted fox! how was he to twist himself through! he saw clearly that it was his irrevocable destiny to remain a prisoner till dawn, or, perhaps, even late in the morning; then the smith must be fetched to file away the bars; but all that would not be done so quickly as he could think about it. the whole charity school, just opposite, would be in motion; all the new booths, with their not very courtier-like swarm of seamen, would join them out of curiosity, and would greet him with a wild “hurrah!” while he was standing in his pillory: there would be a mob, a hissing, and rejoicing, and jeering, ten times worse than in the rows about the jews some years ago--“oh, my blood is mounting to my brain; 'tis enough to drive one mad! i shall go wild! i know not what to do. oh! were i but loose; my dizziness would then cease; oh, were my head but loose!” you see he ought to have said that sooner; for the moment he expressed the wish his head was free; and cured of all his paroxysms of love, he hastened off to his room, where the pains consequent on the fright the shoes had prepared for him, did not so soon take their leave. but you must not think that the affair is over now; it grows much worse. the night passed, the next day also; but nobody came to fetch the shoes. in the evening “dramatic readings” were to be given at the little theatre in king street. the house was filled to suffocation; and among other pieces to be recited was a new poem by h. c. andersen, called, my aunt's spectacles; the contents of which were pretty nearly as follows: “a certain person had an aunt, who boasted of particular skill in fortune-telling with cards, and who was constantly being stormed by persons that wanted to have a peep into futurity. but she was full of mystery about her art, in which a certain pair of magic spectacles did her essential service. her nephew, a merry boy, who was his aunt's darling, begged so long for these spectacles, that, at last, she lent him the treasure, after having informed him, with many exhortations, that in order to execute the interesting trick, he need only repair to some place where a great many persons were assembled; and then, from a higher position, whence he could overlook the crowd, pass the company in review before him through his spectacles. immediately 'the inner man' of each individual would be displayed before him, like a game of cards, in which he unerringly might read what the future of every person presented was to be. well pleased the little magician hastened away to prove the powers of the spectacles in the theatre; no place seeming to him more fitted for such a trial. he begged permission of the worthy audience, and set his spectacles on his nose. a motley phantasmagoria presents itself before him, which he describes in a few satirical touches, yet without expressing his opinion openly: he tells the people enough to set them all thinking and guessing; but in order to hurt nobody, he wraps his witty oracular judgments in a transparent veil, or rather in a lurid thundercloud, shooting forth bright sparks of wit, that they may fall in the powder-magazine of the expectant audience.” the humorous poem was admirably recited, and the speaker much applauded. among the audience was the young man of the hospital, who seemed to have forgotten his adventure of the preceding night. he had on the shoes; for as yet no lawful owner had appeared to claim them; and besides it was so very dirty out-of-doors, they were just the thing for him, he thought. the beginning of the poem he praised with great generosity: he even found the idea original and effective. but that the end of it, like the rhine, was very insignificant, proved, in his opinion, the author's want of invention; he was without genius, etc. this was an excellent opportunity to have said something clever. meanwhile he was haunted by the idea--he should like to possess such a pair of spectacles himself; then, perhaps, by using them circumspectly, one would be able to look into people's hearts, which, he thought, would be far more interesting than merely to see what was to happen next year; for that we should all know in proper time, but the other never. “i can now,” said he to himself, “fancy the whole row of ladies and gentlemen sitting there in the front row; if one could but see into their hearts--yes, that would be a revelation--a sort of bazar. in that lady yonder, so strangely dressed, i should find for certain a large milliner's shop; in that one the shop is empty, but it wants cleaning plain enough. but there would also be some good stately shops among them. alas!” sighed he, “i know one in which all is stately; but there sits already a spruce young shopman, which is the only thing that's amiss in the whole shop. all would be splendidly decked out, and we should hear, 'walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in; here you will find all you please to want.' ah! i wish to heaven i could walk in and take a trip right through the hearts of those present!” and behold! to the shoes of fortune this was the cue; the whole man shrunk together and a most uncommon journey through the hearts of the front row of spectators, now began. the first heart through which he came, was that of a middle-aged lady, but he instantly fancied himself in the room of the “institution for the cure of the crooked and deformed,” where casts of mis-shapen limbs are displayed in naked reality on the wall. yet there was this difference, in the institution the casts were taken at the entry of the patient; but here they were retained and guarded in the heart while the sound persons went away. they were, namely, casts of female friends, whose bodily or mental deformities were here most faithfully preserved. with the snake-like writhings of an idea he glided into another female heart; but this seemed to him like a large holy fane. [*] the white dove of innocence fluttered over the altar. how gladly would he have sunk upon his knees; but he must away to the next heart; yet he still heard the pealing tones of the organ, and he himself seemed to have become a newer and a better man; he felt unworthy to tread the neighboring sanctuary which a poor garret, with a sick bed-rid mother, revealed. but god's warm sun streamed through the open window; lovely roses nodded from the wooden flower-boxes on the roof, and two sky-blue birds sang rejoicingly, while the sick mother implored god's richest blessings on her pious daughter. * temple he now crept on hands and feet through a butcher's shop; at least on every side, and above and below, there was nought but flesh. it was the heart of a most respectable rich man, whose name is certain to be found in the directory. he was now in the heart of the wife of this worthy gentleman. it was an old, dilapidated, mouldering dovecot. the husband's portrait was used as a weather-cock, which was connected in some way or other with the doors, and so they opened and shut of their own accord, whenever the stern old husband turned round. hereupon he wandered into a boudoir formed entirely of mirrors, like the one in castle rosenburg; but here the glasses magnified to an astonishing degree. on the floor, in the middle of the room, sat, like a dalai-lama, the insignificant “self” of the person, quite confounded at his own greatness. he then imagined he had got into a needle-case full of pointed needles of every size. “this is certainly the heart of an old maid,” thought he. but he was mistaken. it was the heart of a young military man; a man, as people said, of talent and feeling. in the greatest perplexity, he now came out of the last heart in the row; he was unable to put his thoughts in order, and fancied that his too lively imagination had run away with him. “good heavens!” sighed he. “i have surely a disposition to madness--'tis dreadfully hot here; my blood boils in my veins and my head is burning like a coal.” and he now remembered the important event of the evening before, how his head had got jammed in between the iron railings of the hospital. “that's what it is, no doubt,” said he. “i must do something in time: under such circumstances a russian bath might do me good. i only wish i were already on the upper bank.” [*] *in these russian (vapor) baths the person extends himself on a bank or form, and as he gets accustomed to the heat, moves to another higher up towards the ceiling, where, of course, the vapor is warmest. in this manner he ascends gradually to the highest. and so there he lay on the uppermost bank in the vapor-bath; but with all his clothes on, in his boots and galoshes, while the hot drops fell scalding from the ceiling on his face. “holloa!” cried he, leaping down. the bathing attendant, on his side, uttered a loud cry of astonishment when he beheld in the bath, a man completely dressed. the other, however, retained sufficient presence of mind to whisper to him, “'tis a bet, and i have won it!” but the first thing he did as soon as he got home, was to have a large blister put on his chest and back to draw out his madness. the next morning he had a sore chest and a bleeding back; and, excepting the fright, that was all that he had gained by the shoes of fortune. v. metamorphosis of the copying-clerk the watchman, whom we have certainly not forgotten, thought meanwhile of the galoshes he had found and taken with him to the hospital; he now went to fetch them; and as neither the lieutenant, nor anybody else in the street, claimed them as his property, they were delivered over to the police-office.* *as on the continent, in all law and police practices nothing is verbal, but any circumstance, however trifling, is reduced to writing, the labor, as well as the number of papers that thus accumulate, is enormous. in a police-office, consequently, we find copying-clerks among many other scribes of various denominations, of which, it seems, our hero was one. “why, i declare the shoes look just like my own,” said one of the clerks, eying the newly-found treasure, whose hidden powers, even he, sharp as he was, was not able to discover. “one must have more than the eye of a shoemaker to know one pair from the other,” said he, soliloquizing; and putting, at the same time, the galoshes in search of an owner, beside his own in the corner. “here, sir!” said one of the men, who panting brought him a tremendous pile of papers. the copying-clerk turned round and spoke awhile with the man about the reports and legal documents in question; but when he had finished, and his eye fell again on the shoes, he was unable to say whether those to the left or those to the right belonged to him. “at all events it must be those which are wet,” thought he; but this time, in spite of his cleverness, he guessed quite wrong, for it was just those of fortune which played as it were into his hands, or rather on his feet. and why, i should like to know, are the police never to be wrong? so he put them on quickly, stuck his papers in his pocket, and took besides a few under his arm, intending to look them through at home to make the necessary notes. it was noon; and the weather, that had threatened rain, began to clear up, while gaily dressed holiday folks filled the streets. “a little trip to fredericksburg would do me no great harm,” thought he; “for i, poor beast of burden that i am, have so much to annoy me, that i don't know what a good appetite is. 'tis a bitter crust, alas! at which i am condemned to gnaw!” nobody could be more steady or quiet than this young man; we therefore wish him joy of the excursion with all our heart; and it will certainly be beneficial for a person who leads so sedentary a life. in the park he met a friend, one of our young poets, who told him that the following day he should set out on his long-intended tour. “so you are going away again!” said the clerk. “you are a very free and happy being; we others are chained by the leg and held fast to our desk.” “yes; but it is a chain, friend, which ensures you the blessed bread of existence,” answered the poet. “you need feel no care for the coming morrow: when you are old, you receive a pension.” “true,” said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders; “and yet you are the better off. to sit at one's ease and poetise--that is a pleasure; everybody has something agreeable to say to you, and you are always your own master. no, friend, you should but try what it is to sit from one year's end to the other occupied with and judging the most trivial matters.” the poet shook his head, the copying-clerk did the same. each one kept to his own opinion, and so they separated. “it's a strange race, those poets!” said the clerk, who was very fond of soliloquizing. “i should like some day, just for a trial, to take such nature upon me, and be a poet myself; i am very sure i should make no such miserable verses as the others. today, methinks, is a most delicious day for a poet. nature seems anew to celebrate her awakening into life. the air is so unusually clear, the clouds sail on so buoyantly, and from the green herbage a fragrance is exhaled that fills me with delight. for many a year have i not felt as at this moment.” we see already, by the foregoing effusion, that he is become a poet; to give further proof of it, however, would in most cases be insipid, for it is a most foolish notion to fancy a poet different from other men. among the latter there may be far more poetical natures than many an acknowledged poet, when examined more closely, could boast of; the difference only is, that the poet possesses a better mental memory, on which account he is able to retain the feeling and the thought till they can be embodied by means of words; a faculty which the others do not possess. but the transition from a commonplace nature to one that is richly endowed, demands always a more or less breakneck leap over a certain abyss which yawns threateningly below; and thus must the sudden change with the clerk strike the reader. “the sweet air!” continued he of the police-office, in his dreamy imaginings; “how it reminds me of the violets in the garden of my aunt magdalena! yes, then i was a little wild boy, who did not go to school very regularly. o heavens! 'tis a long time since i have thought on those times. the good old soul! she lived behind the exchange. she always had a few twigs or green shoots in water--let the winter rage without as it might. the violets exhaled their sweet breath, whilst i pressed against the windowpanes covered with fantastic frost-work the copper coin i had heated on the stove, and so made peep-holes. what splendid vistas were then opened to my view! what change--what magnificence! yonder in the canal lay the ships frozen up, and deserted by their whole crews, with a screaming crow for the sole occupant. but when the spring, with a gentle stirring motion, announced her arrival, a new and busy life arose; with songs and hurrahs the ice was sawn asunder, the ships were fresh tarred and rigged, that they might sail away to distant lands. but i have remained here--must always remain here, sitting at my desk in the office, and patiently see other people fetch their passports to go abroad. such is my fate! alas!”--sighed he, and was again silent. “great heaven! what is come to me! never have i thought or felt like this before! it must be the summer air that affects me with feelings almost as disquieting as they are refreshing.” he felt in his pocket for the papers. “these police-reports will soon stem the torrent of my ideas, and effectually hinder any rebellious overflowing of the time-worn banks of official duties”; he said to himself consolingly, while his eye ran over the first page. “dame tigbrith, tragedy in five acts.” “what is that? and yet it is undeniably my own handwriting. have i written the tragedy? wonderful, very wonderful!--and this--what have i here? 'intrigue on the ramparts; or the day of repentance: vaudeville with new songs to the most favorite airs.' the deuce! where did i get all this rubbish? some one must have slipped it slyly into my pocket for a joke. there is too a letter to me; a crumpled letter and the seal broken.” yes; it was not a very polite epistle from the manager of a theatre, in which both pieces were flatly refused. “hem! hem!” said the clerk breathlessly, and quite exhausted he seated himself on a bank. his thoughts were so elastic, his heart so tender; and involuntarily he picked one of the nearest flowers. it is a simple daisy, just bursting out of the bud. what the botanist tells us after a number of imperfect lectures, the flower proclaimed in a minute. it related the mythus of its birth, told of the power of the sun-light that spread out its delicate leaves, and forced them to impregnate the air with their incense--and then he thought of the manifold struggles of life, which in like manner awaken the budding flowers of feeling in our bosom. light and air contend with chivalric emulation for the love of the fair flower that bestowed her chief favors on the latter; full of longing she turned towards the light, and as soon as it vanished, rolled her tender leaves together and slept in the embraces of the air. “it is the light which adorns me,” said the flower. “but 'tis the air which enables thee to breathe,” said the poet's voice. close by stood a boy who dashed his stick into a wet ditch. the drops of water splashed up to the green leafy roof, and the clerk thought of the million of ephemera which in a single drop were thrown up to a height, that was as great doubtless for their size, as for us if we were to be hurled above the clouds. while he thought of this and of the whole metamorphosis he had undergone, he smiled and said, “i sleep and dream; but it is wonderful how one can dream so naturally, and know besides so exactly that it is but a dream. if only to-morrow on awaking, i could again call all to mind so vividly! i seem in unusually good spirits; my perception of things is clear, i feel as light and cheerful as though i were in heaven; but i know for a certainty, that if to-morrow a dim remembrance of it should swim before my mind, it will then seem nothing but stupid nonsense, as i have often experienced already--especially before i enlisted under the banner of the police, for that dispels like a whirlwind all the visions of an unfettered imagination. all we hear or say in a dream that is fair and beautiful is like the gold of the subterranean spirits; it is rich and splendid when it is given us, but viewed by daylight we find only withered leaves. alas!” he sighed quite sorrowful, and gazed at the chirping birds that hopped contentedly from branch to branch, “they are much better off than i! to fly must be a heavenly art; and happy do i prize that creature in which it is innate. yes! could i exchange my nature with any other creature, i fain would be such a happy little lark!” he had hardly uttered these hasty words when the skirts and sleeves of his coat folded themselves together into wings; the clothes became feathers, and the galoshes claws. he observed it perfectly, and laughed in his heart. “now then, there is no doubt that i am dreaming; but i never before was aware of such mad freaks as these.” and up he flew into the green roof and sang; but in the song there was no poetry, for the spirit of the poet was gone. the shoes, as is the case with anybody who does what he has to do properly, could only attend to one thing at a time. he wanted to be a poet, and he was one; he now wished to be a merry chirping bird: but when he was metamorphosed into one, the former peculiarities ceased immediately. “it is really pleasant enough,” said he: “the whole day long i sit in the office amid the driest law-papers, and at night i fly in my dream as a lark in the gardens of fredericksburg; one might really write a very pretty comedy upon it.” he now fluttered down into the grass, turned his head gracefully on every side, and with his bill pecked the pliant blades of grass, which, in comparison to his present size, seemed as majestic as the palm-branches of northern africa. unfortunately the pleasure lasted but a moment. presently black night overshadowed our enthusiast, who had so entirely missed his part of copying-clerk at a police-office; some vast object seemed to be thrown over him. it was a large oil-skin cap, which a sailor-boy of the quay had thrown over the struggling bird; a coarse hand sought its way carefully in under the broad rim, and seized the clerk over the back and wings. in the first moment of fear, he called, indeed, as loud as he could--“you impudent little blackguard! i am a copying-clerk at the police-office; and you know you cannot insult any belonging to the constabulary force without a chastisement. besides, you good-for-nothing rascal, it is strictly forbidden to catch birds in the royal gardens of fredericksburg; but your blue uniform betrays where you come from.” this fine tirade sounded, however, to the ungodly sailor-boy like a mere “pippi-pi.” he gave the noisy bird a knock on his beak, and walked on. he was soon met by two schoolboys of the upper class--that is to say as individuals, for with regard to learning they were in the lowest class in the school; and they bought the stupid bird. so the copying-clerk came to copenhagen as guest, or rather as prisoner in a family living in gother street. “'tis well that i'm dreaming,” said the clerk, “or i really should get angry. first i was a poet; now sold for a few pence as a lark; no doubt it was that accursed poetical nature which has metamorphosed me into such a poor harmless little creature. it is really pitiable, particularly when one gets into the hands of a little blackguard, perfect in all sorts of cruelty to animals: all i should like to know is, how the story will end.” the two schoolboys, the proprietors now of the transformed clerk, carried him into an elegant room. a stout stately dame received them with a smile; but she expressed much dissatisfaction that a common field-bird, as she called the lark, should appear in such high society. for to-day, however, she would allow it; and they must shut him in the empty cage that was standing in the window. “perhaps he will amuse my good polly,” added the lady, looking with a benignant smile at a large green parrot that swung himself backwards and forwards most comfortably in his ring, inside a magnificent brass-wired cage. “to-day is polly's birthday,” said she with stupid simplicity: “and the little brown field-bird must wish him joy.” mr. polly uttered not a syllable in reply, but swung to and fro with dignified condescension; while a pretty canary, as yellow as gold, that had lately been brought from his sunny fragrant home, began to sing aloud. “noisy creature! will you be quiet!” screamed the lady of the house, covering the cage with an embroidered white pocket handkerchief. “chirp, chirp!” sighed he. “that was a dreadful snowstorm”; and he sighed again, and was silent. the copying-clerk, or, as the lady said, the brown field-bird, was put into a small cage, close to the canary, and not far from “my good polly.” the only human sounds that the parrot could bawl out were, “come, let us be men!” everything else that he said was as unintelligible to everybody as the chirping of the canary, except to the clerk, who was now a bird too: he understood his companion perfectly. “i flew about beneath the green palms and the blossoming almond-trees,” sang the canary; “i flew around, with my brothers and sisters, over the beautiful flowers, and over the glassy lakes, where the bright water-plants nodded to me from below. there, too, i saw many splendidly-dressed paroquets, that told the drollest stories, and the wildest fairy tales without end.” “oh! those were uncouth birds,” answered the parrot. “they had no education, and talked of whatever came into their head. “if my mistress and all her friends can laugh at what i say, so may you too, i should think. it is a great fault to have no taste for what is witty or amusing--come, let us be men.” “ah, you have no remembrance of love for the charming maidens that danced beneath the outspread tents beside the bright fragrant flowers? do you no longer remember the sweet fruits, and the cooling juice in the wild plants of our never-to-be-forgotten home?” said the former inhabitant of the canary isles, continuing his dithyrambic. “oh, yes,” said the parrot; “but i am far better off here. i am well fed, and get friendly treatment. i know i am a clever fellow; and that is all i care about. come, let us be men. you are of a poetical nature, as it is called--i, on the contrary, possess profound knowledge and inexhaustible wit. you have genius; but clear-sighted, calm discretion does not take such lofty flights, and utter such high natural tones. for this they have covered you over--they never do the like to me; for i cost more. besides, they are afraid of my beak; and i have always a witty answer at hand. come, let us be men!” “o warm spicy land of my birth,” sang the canary bird; “i will sing of thy dark-green bowers, of the calm bays where the pendent boughs kiss the surface of the water; i will sing of the rejoicing of all my brothers and sisters where the cactus grows in wanton luxuriance.” “spare us your elegiac tones,” said the parrot giggling. “rather speak of something at which one may laugh heartily. laughing is an infallible sign of the highest degree of mental development. can a dog, or a horse laugh? no, but they can cry. the gift of laughing was given to man alone. ha! ha! ha!” screamed polly, and added his stereotype witticism. “come, let us be men!” “poor little danish grey-bird,” said the canary; “you have been caught too. it is, no doubt, cold enough in your woods, but there at least is the breath of liberty; therefore fly away. in the hurry they have forgotten to shut your cage, and the upper window is open. fly, my friend; fly away. farewell!” instinctively the clerk obeyed; with a few strokes of his wings he was out of the cage; but at the same moment the door, which was only ajar, and which led to the next room, began to creak, and supple and creeping came the large tomcat into the room, and began to pursue him. the frightened canary fluttered about in his cage; the parrot flapped his wings, and cried, “come, let us be men!” the clerk felt a mortal fright, and flew through the window, far away over the houses and streets. at last he was forced to rest a little. the neighboring house had a something familiar about it; a window stood open; he flew in; it was his own room. he perched upon the table. “come, let us be men!” said he, involuntarily imitating the chatter of the parrot, and at the same moment he was again a copying-clerk; but he was sitting in the middle of the table. “heaven help me!” cried he. “how did i get up here--and so buried in sleep, too? after all, that was a very unpleasant, disagreeable dream that haunted me! the whole story is nothing but silly, stupid nonsense!” vi. the best that the galoshes gave the following day, early in the morning, while the clerk was still in bed, someone knocked at his door. it was his neighbor, a young divine, who lived on the same floor. he walked in. “lend me your galoshes,” said he; “it is so wet in the garden, though the sun is shining most invitingly. i should like to go out a little.” he got the galoshes, and he was soon below in a little duodecimo garden, where between two immense walls a plumtree and an apple-tree were standing. even such a little garden as this was considered in the metropolis of copenhagen as a great luxury. the young man wandered up and down the narrow paths, as well as the prescribed limits would allow; the clock struck six; without was heard the horn of a post-boy. “to travel! to travel!” exclaimed he, overcome by most painful and passionate remembrances. “that is the happiest thing in the world! that is the highest aim of all my wishes! then at last would the agonizing restlessness be allayed, which destroys my existence! but it must be far, far away! i would behold magnificent switzerland; i would travel to italy, and--” it was a good thing that the power of the galoshes worked as instantaneously as lightning in a powder-magazine would do, otherwise the poor man with his overstrained wishes would have travelled about the world too much for himself as well as for us. in short, he was travelling. he was in the middle of switzerland, but packed up with eight other passengers in the inside of an eternally-creaking diligence; his head ached till it almost split, his weary neck could hardly bear the heavy load, and his feet, pinched by his torturing boots, were terribly swollen. he was in an intermediate state between sleeping and waking; at variance with himself, with his company, with the country, and with the government. in his right pocket he had his letter of credit, in the left, his passport, and in a small leathern purse some double louis d'or, carefully sewn up in the bosom of his waistcoat. every dream proclaimed that one or the other of these valuables was lost; wherefore he started up as in a fever; and the first movement which his hand made, described a magic triangle from the right pocket to the left, and then up towards the bosom, to feel if he had them all safe or not. from the roof inside the carriage, umbrellas, walking-sticks, hats, and sundry other articles were depending, and hindered the view, which was particularly imposing. he now endeavored as well as he was able to dispel his gloom, which was caused by outward chance circumstances merely, and on the bosom of nature imbibe the milk of purest human enjoyment. grand, solemn, and dark was the whole landscape around. the gigantic pine-forests, on the pointed crags, seemed almost like little tufts of heather, colored by the surrounding clouds. it began to snow, a cold wind blew and roared as though it were seeking a bride. “augh!” sighed he, “were we only on the other side the alps, then we should have summer, and i could get my letters of credit cashed. the anxiety i feel about them prevents me enjoying switzerland. were i but on the other side!” and so saying he was on the other side in italy, between florence and rome. lake thracymene, illumined by the evening sun, lay like flaming gold between the dark-blue mountain-ridges; here, where hannibal defeated flaminius, the rivers now held each other in their green embraces; lovely, half-naked children tended a herd of black swine, beneath a group of fragrant laurel-trees, hard by the road-side. could we render this inimitable picture properly, then would everybody exclaim, “beautiful, unparalleled italy!” but neither the young divine said so, nor anyone of his grumbling companions in the coach of the vetturino. the poisonous flies and gnats swarmed around by thousands; in vain one waved myrtle-branches about like mad; the audacious insect population did not cease to sting; nor was there a single person in the well-crammed carriage whose face was not swollen and sore from their ravenous bites. the poor horses, tortured almost to death, suffered most from this truly egyptian plague; the flies alighted upon them in large disgusting swarms; and if the coachman got down and scraped them off, hardly a minute elapsed before they were there again. the sun now set: a freezing cold, though of short duration pervaded the whole creation; it was like a horrid gust coming from a burial-vault on a warm summer's day--but all around the mountains retained that wonderful green tone which we see in some old pictures, and which, should we not have seen a similar play of color in the south, we declare at once to be unnatural. it was a glorious prospect; but the stomach was empty, the body tired; all that the heart cared and longed for was good night-quarters; yet how would they be? for these one looked much more anxiously than for the charms of nature, which every where were so profusely displayed. the road led through an olive-grove, and here the solitary inn was situated. ten or twelve crippled-beggars had encamped outside. the healthiest of them resembled, to use an expression of marryat's, “hunger's eldest son when he had come of age”; the others were either blind, had withered legs and crept about on their hands, or withered arms and fingerless hands. it was the most wretched misery, dragged from among the filthiest rags. “excellenza, miserabili!” sighed they, thrusting forth their deformed limbs to view. even the hostess, with bare feet, uncombed hair, and dressed in a garment of doubtful color, received the guests grumblingly. the doors were fastened with a loop of string; the floor of the rooms presented a stone paving half torn up; bats fluttered wildly about the ceiling; and as to the smell therein--no--that was beyond description. “you had better lay the cloth below in the stable,” said one of the travellers; “there, at all events, one knows what one is breathing.” the windows were quickly opened, to let in a little fresh air. quicker, however, than the breeze, the withered, sallow arms of the beggars were thrust in, accompanied by the eternal whine of “miserabili, miserabili, excellenza!” on the walls were displayed innumerable inscriptions, written in nearly every language of europe, some in verse, some in prose, most of them not very laudatory of “bella italia.” the meal was served. it consisted of a soup of salted water, seasoned with pepper and rancid oil. the last ingredient played a very prominent part in the salad; stale eggs and roasted cocks'-combs furnished the grand dish of the repast; the wine even was not without a disgusting taste--it was like a medicinal draught. at night the boxes and other effects of the passengers were placed against the rickety doors. one of the travellers kept watch while the others slept. the sentry was our young divine. how close it was in the chamber! the heat oppressive to suffocation--the gnats hummed and stung unceasingly--the “miserabili” without whined and moaned in their sleep. “travelling would be agreeable enough,” said he groaning, “if one only had no body, or could send it to rest while the spirit went on its pilgrimage unhindered, whither the voice within might call it. wherever i go, i am pursued by a longing that is insatiable--that i cannot explain to myself, and that tears my very heart. i want something better than what is but what is fled in an instant. but what is it, and where is it to be found? yet, i know in reality what it is i wish for. oh! most happy were i, could i but reach one aim--could but reach the happiest of all!” and as he spoke the word he was again in his home; the long white curtains hung down from the windows, and in the middle of the floor stood the black coffin; in it he lay in the sleep of death. his wish was fulfilled--the body rested, while the spirit went unhindered on its pilgrimage. “let no one deem himself happy before his end,” were the words of solon; and here was a new and brilliant proof of the wisdom of the old apothegm. every corpse is a sphynx of immortality; here too on the black coffin the sphynx gave us no answer to what he who lay within had written two days before: “o mighty death! thy silence teaches nought, thou leadest only to the near grave's brink; is broken now the ladder of my thoughts? do i instead of mounting only sink? our heaviest grief the world oft seeth not, our sorest pain we hide from stranger eyes: and for the sufferer there is nothing left but the green mound that o'er the coffin lies.” two figures were moving in the chamber. we knew them both; it was the fairy of care, and the emissary of fortune. they both bent over the corpse. “do you now see,” said care, “what happiness your galoshes have brought to mankind?” “to him, at least, who slumbers here, they have brought an imperishable blessing,” answered the other. “ah no!” replied care. “he took his departure himself; he was not called away. his mental powers here below were not strong enough to reach the treasures lying beyond this life, and which his destiny ordained he should obtain. i will now confer a benefit on him.” and she took the galoshes from his feet; his sleep of death was ended; and he who had been thus called back again to life arose from his dread couch in all the vigor of youth. care vanished, and with her the galoshes. she has no doubt taken them for herself, to keep them to all eternity. the fir tree out in the woods stood a nice little fir tree. the place he had was a very good one: the sun shone on him: as to fresh air, there was enough of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as firs. but the little fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree. he did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they were in the woods looking for wild-strawberries. the children often came with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, “oh, how pretty he is! what a nice little fir!” but this was what the tree could not bear to hear. at the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was another long bit taller; for with fir trees one can always tell by the shoots how many years old they are. “oh! were i but such a high tree as the others are,” sighed he. “then i should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into the wide world! then would the birds build nests among my branches: and when there was a breeze, i could bend with as much stateliness as the others!” neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and evening sailed above him, gave the little tree any pleasure. in winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would often come leaping along, and jump right over the little tree. oh, that made him so angry! but two winters were past, and in the third the tree was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. “to grow and grow, to get older and be tall,” thought the tree--“that, after all, is the most delightful thing in the world!” in autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest trees. this happened every year; and the young fir tree, that had now grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be recognised; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the wood. where did they go to? what became of them? in spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the tree asked them, “don't you know where they have been taken? have you not met them anywhere?” the swallows did not know anything about it; but the stork looked musing, nodded his head, and said, “yes; i think i know; i met many ships as i was flying hither from egypt; on the ships were magnificent masts, and i venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. i may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most majestically!” “oh, were i but old enough to fly across the sea! but how does the sea look in reality? what is it like?” “that would take a long time to explain,” said the stork, and with these words off he went. “rejoice in thy growth!” said the sunbeams. “rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!” and the wind kissed the tree, and the dew wept tears over him; but the fir understood it not. when christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often were not even as large or of the same age as this fir tree, who could never rest, but always wanted to be off. these young trees, and they were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and the horses drew them out of the wood. “where are they going to?” asked the fir. “they are not taller than i; there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they retain all their branches? whither are they taken?” “we know! we know!” chirped the sparrows. “we have peeped in at the windows in the town below! we know whither they are taken! the greatest splendor and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. we peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the warm room and ornamented with the most splendid things, with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!” “and then?” asked the fir tree, trembling in every bough. “and then? what happens then?” “we did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful.” “i would fain know if i am destined for so glorious a career,” cried the tree, rejoicing. “that is still better than to cross the sea! what a longing do i suffer! were christmas but come! i am now tall, and my branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! oh! were i but already on the cart! were i in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! yes; then something better, something still grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me? something better, something still grander must follow--but what? oh, how i long, how i suffer! i do not know myself what is the matter with me!” “rejoice in our presence!” said the air and the sunlight. “rejoice in thy own fresh youth!” but the tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both winter and summer. people that saw him said, “what a fine tree!” and towards christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. the axe struck deep into the very pith; the tree fell to the earth with a sigh; he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place where he had sprung up. he well knew that he should never see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, anymore; perhaps not even the birds! the departure was not at all agreeable. the tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a court-yard with the other trees, and heard a man say, “that one is splendid! we don't want the others.” then two servants came in rich livery and carried the fir tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. portraits were hanging on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large chinese vases with lions on the covers. there, too, were large easy-chairs, silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books and full of toys, worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said so. and the fir tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all round it, and it stood on a large gaily-colored carpet. oh! how the tree quivered! what was to happen? the servants, as well as the young ladies, decorated it. on one branch there hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with sugarplums; and among the other boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. dolls that looked for all the world like men--the tree had never beheld such before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a large star of gold tinsel was fixed. it was really splendid--beyond description splendid. “this evening!” they all said. “how it will shine this evening!” “oh!” thought the tree. “if the evening were but come! if the tapers were but lighted! and then i wonder what will happen! perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me! perhaps the sparrows will beat against the windowpanes! i wonder if i shall take root here, and winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!” he knew very much about the matter--but he was so impatient that for sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a headache with us. the candles were now lighted--what brightness! what splendor! the tree trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. it blazed up famously. “help! help!” cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire. now the tree did not even dare tremble. what a state he was in! he was so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendor, that he was quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both folding-doors opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the tree. the older persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. but it was only for a moment; then they shouted that the whole place re-echoed with their rejoicing; they danced round the tree, and one present after the other was pulled off. “what are they about?” thought the tree. “what is to happen now!” and the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were put out one after the other, and then the children had permission to plunder the tree. so they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have tumbled down. the children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked at the tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been forgotten. “a story! a story!” cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards the tree. he seated himself under it and said, “now we are in the shade, and the tree can listen too. but i shall tell only one story. now which will you have; that about ivedy-avedy, or about humpy-dumpy, who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married the princess?” “ivedy-avedy,” cried some; “humpy-dumpy,” cried the others. there was such a bawling and screaming--the fir tree alone was silent, and he thought to himself, “am i not to bawl with the rest? am i to do nothing whatever?” for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to do. and the man told about humpy-dumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess. and the children clapped their hands, and cried. “oh, go on! do go on!” they wanted to hear about ivedy-avedy too, but the little man only told them about humpy-dumpy. the fir tree stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the wood had never related the like of this. “humpy-dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! yes, yes! that's the way of the world!” thought the fir tree, and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so good-looking. “well, well! who knows, perhaps i may fall downstairs, too, and get a princess as wife!” and he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel. “i won't tremble to-morrow!” thought the fir tree. “i will enjoy to the full all my splendor! to-morrow i shall hear again the story of humpy-dumpy, and perhaps that of ivedy-avedy too.” and the whole night the tree stood still and in deep thought. in the morning the servant and the housemaid came in. “now then the splendor will begin again,” thought the fir. but they dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft: and here, in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. “what's the meaning of this?” thought the tree. “what am i to do here? what shall i hear now, i wonder?” and he leaned against the wall lost in reverie. time enough had he too for his reflections; for days and nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner, out of the way. there stood the tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely forgotten. “'tis now winter out-of-doors!” thought the tree. “the earth is hard and covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore i have been put up here under shelter till the spring-time comes! how thoughtful that is! how kind man is, after all! if it only were not so dark here, and so terribly lonely! not even a hare! and out in the woods it was so pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by; yes--even when he jumped over me; but i did not like it then! it is really terribly lonely here!” “squeak! squeak!” said a little mouse, at the same moment, peeping out of his hole. and then another little one came. they snuffed about the fir tree, and rustled among the branches. “it is dreadfully cold,” said the mouse. “but for that, it would be delightful here, old fir, wouldn't it?” “i am by no means old,” said the fir tree. “there's many a one considerably older than i am.” “where do you come from,” asked the mice; “and what can you do?” they were so extremely curious. “tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth. have you never been there? were you never in the larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow candles: that place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?” “i know no such place,” said the tree. “but i know the wood, where the sun shines and where the little birds sing.” and then he told all about his youth; and the little mice had never heard the like before; and they listened and said, “well, to be sure! how much you have seen! how happy you must have been!” “i!” said the fir tree, thinking over what he had himself related. “yes, in reality those were happy times.” and then he told about christmas-eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles. “oh,” said the little mice, “how fortunate you have been, old fir tree!” “i am by no means old,” said he. “i came from the wood this winter; i am in my prime, and am only rather short for my age.” “what delightful stories you know,” said the mice: and the next night they came with four other little mice, who were to hear what the tree recounted: and the more he related, the more he remembered himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy times. “but they may still come--they may still come! humpy-dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!” and he thought at the moment of a nice little birch tree growing out in the woods: to the fir, that would be a real charming princess. “who is humpy-dumpy?” asked the mice. so then the fir tree told the whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the little mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the tree. next night two more mice came, and on sunday two rats even; but they said the stories were not interesting, which vexed the little mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so very amusing either. “do you know only one story?” asked the rats. “only that one,” answered the tree. “i heard it on my happiest evening; but i did not then know how happy i was.” “it is a very stupid story! don't you know one about bacon and tallow candles? can't you tell any larder stories?” “no,” said the tree. “then good-bye,” said the rats; and they went home. at last the little mice stayed away also; and the tree sighed: “after all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little mice sat round me, and listened to what i told them. now that too is over. but i will take good care to enjoy myself when i am brought out again.” but when was that to be? why, one morning there came a quantity of people and set to work in the loft. the trunks were moved, the tree was pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a man drew him towards the stairs, where the daylight shone. “now a merry life will begin again,” thought the tree. he felt the fresh air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. all passed so quickly, there was so much going on around him, the tree quite forgot to look to himself. the court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the swallows flew by, and said, “quirre-vit! my husband is come!” but it was not the fir tree that they meant. “now, then, i shall really enjoy life,” said he exultingly, and spread out his branches; but, alas, they were all withered and yellow! it was in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. the golden star of tinsel was still on the top of the tree, and glittered in the sunshine. in the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced at christmas round the fir tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. one of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star. “only look what is still on the ugly old christmas tree!” said he, trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet. and the tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the wood, of the merry christmas-eve, and of the little mice who had listened with so much pleasure to the story of humpy-dumpy. “'tis over--'tis past!” said the poor tree. “had i but rejoiced when i had reason to do so! but now 'tis past, 'tis past!” and the gardener's boy chopped the tree into small pieces; there was a whole heap lying there. the wood flamed up splendidly under the large brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! each sigh was like a shot. the boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star on his breast which the tree had had on the happiest evening of his life. however, that was over now--the tree gone, the story at an end. all, all was over--every tale must end at last. the snow queen first story. which treats of a mirror and of the splinters now then, let us begin. when we are at the end of the story, we shall know more than we know now: but to begin. once upon a time there was a wicked sprite, indeed he was the most mischievous of all sprites. one day he was in a very good humor, for he had made a mirror with the power of causing all that was good and beautiful when it was reflected therein, to look poor and mean; but that which was good-for-nothing and looked ugly was shown magnified and increased in ugliness. in this mirror the most beautiful landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the best persons were turned into frights, or appeared to stand on their heads; their faces were so distorted that they were not to be recognised; and if anyone had a mole, you might be sure that it would be magnified and spread over both nose and mouth. “that's glorious fun!” said the sprite. if a good thought passed through a man's mind, then a grin was seen in the mirror, and the sprite laughed heartily at his clever discovery. all the little sprites who went to his school--for he kept a sprite school--told each other that a miracle had happened; and that now only, as they thought, it would be possible to see how the world really looked. they ran about with the mirror; and at last there was not a land or a person who was not represented distorted in the mirror. so then they thought they would fly up to the sky, and have a joke there. the higher they flew with the mirror, the more terribly it grinned: they could hardly hold it fast. higher and higher still they flew, nearer and nearer to the stars, when suddenly the mirror shook so terribly with grinning, that it flew out of their hands and fell to the earth, where it was dashed in a hundred million and more pieces. and now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that which was evil. this happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed. some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice. some of the broken pieces were so large that they were used for windowpanes, through which one could not see one's friends. other pieces were put in spectacles; and that was a sad affair when people put on their glasses to see well and rightly. then the wicked sprite laughed till he almost choked, for all this tickled his fancy. the fine splinters still flew about in the air: and now we shall hear what happened next. second story. a little boy and a little girl in a large town, where there are so many houses, and so many people, that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and where, on this account, most persons are obliged to content themselves with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden somewhat larger than a flower-pot. they were not brother and sister; but they cared for each other as much as if they were. their parents lived exactly opposite. they inhabited two garrets; and where the roof of the one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme end of it, there was to each house a small window: one needed only to step over the gutter to get from one window to the other. the children's parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for the kitchen were planted, and little rosetrees besides: there was a rose in each box, and they grew splendidly. they now thought of placing the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window to the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers. the tendrils of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other: it was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers. the boxes were very high, and the children knew that they must not creep over them; so they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where they could play delightfully. in winter there was an end of this pleasure. the windows were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle friendly eye--it was the little boy and the little girl who were looking out. his name was kay, hers was gerda. in summer, with one jump, they could get to each other; but in winter they were obliged first to go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again: and out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm. “it is the white bees that are swarming,” said kay's old grandmother. “do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy; for he knew that the honey-bees always have one. “yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm hangs in the thickest clusters. she is the largest of all; and she can never remain quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. many a winter's night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they look like flowers.” “yes, i have seen it,” said both the children; and so they knew that it was true. “can the snow queen come in?” said the little girl. “only let her come in!” said the little boy. “then i'd put her on the stove, and she'd melt.” and then his grandmother patted his head and told him other stories. in the evening, when little kay was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the chair by the window, and peeped out of the little hole. a few snow-flakes were falling, and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot. the flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars. she was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes gazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quiet nor repose in them. she nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand. the little boy was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window. the next day it was a sharp frost--and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house. that summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty. the little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her: “the rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, and angels descend there the children to greet.” and the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there. what lovely summer-days those were! how delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blossoming! kay and gerda looked at the picture-book full of beasts and of birds; and it was then--the clock in the church-tower was just striking five--that kay said, “oh! i feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!” the little girl put her arms around his neck. he winked his eyes; now there was nothing to be seen. “i think it is out now,” said he; but it was not. it was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor kay had got another piece right in his heart. it will soon become like ice. it did not hurt any longer, but there it was. “what are you crying for?” asked he. “you look so ugly! there's nothing the matter with me. ah,” said he at once, “that rose is cankered! and look, this one is quite crooked! after all, these roses are very ugly! they are just like the box they are planted in!” and then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up. “what are you doing?” cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hastened off from dear little gerda. afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked, “what horrid beasts have you there?” and if his grandmother told them stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him. he was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street. everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them--that kay knew how to imitate: and at such times all the people said, “the boy is certainly very clever!” but it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little gerda, whose whole soul was devoted to him. his games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing. one winter's day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell. “look through this glass, gerda,” said he. and every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower, or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at! “look, how clever!” said kay. “that's much more interesting than real flowers! they are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if they did not melt!” it was not long after this, that kay came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into gerda's ears, “i have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing”; and off he was in a moment. there, in the market-place, some of the boldest of the boys used to tie their sledges to the carts as they passed by, and so they were pulled along, and got a good ride. it was so capital! just as they were in the very height of their amusement, a large sledge passed by: it was painted quite white, and there was someone in it wrapped up in a rough white mantle of fur, with a rough white fur cap on his head. the sledge drove round the square twice, and kay tied on his sledge as quickly as he could, and off he drove with it. on they went quicker and quicker into the next street; and the person who drove turned round to kay, and nodded to him in a friendly manner, just as if they knew each other. every time he was going to untie his sledge, the person nodded to him, and then kay sat quiet; and so on they went till they came outside the gates of the town. then the snow began to fall so thickly that the little boy could not see an arm's length before him, but still on he went: when suddenly he let go the string he held in his hand in order to get loose from the sledge, but it was of no use; still the little vehicle rushed on with the quickness of the wind. he then cried as loud as he could, but no one heard him; the snow drifted and the sledge flew on, and sometimes it gave a jerk as though they were driving over hedges and ditches. he was quite frightened, and he tried to repeat the lord's prayer; but all he could do, he was only able to remember the multiplication table. the snow-flakes grew larger and larger, till at last they looked just like great white fowls. suddenly they flew on one side; the large sledge stopped, and the person who drove rose up. it was a lady; her cloak and cap were of snow. she was tall and of slender figure, and of a dazzling whiteness. it was the snow queen. “we have travelled fast,” said she; “but it is freezingly cold. come under my bearskin.” and she put him in the sledge beside her, wrapped the fur round him, and he felt as though he were sinking in a snow-wreath. “are you still cold?” asked she; and then she kissed his forehead. ah! it was colder than ice; it penetrated to his very heart, which was already almost a frozen lump; it seemed to him as if he were about to die--but a moment more and it was quite congenial to him, and he did not remark the cold that was around him. “my sledge! do not forget my sledge!” it was the first thing he thought of. it was there tied to one of the white chickens, who flew along with it on his back behind the large sledge. the snow queen kissed kay once more, and then he forgot little gerda, grandmother, and all whom he had left at his home. “now you will have no more kisses,” said she, “or else i should kiss you to death!” kay looked at her. she was very beautiful; a more clever, or a more lovely countenance he could not fancy to himself; and she no longer appeared of ice as before, when she sat outside the window, and beckoned to him; in his eyes she was perfect, he did not fear her at all, and told her that he could calculate in his head and with fractions, even; that he knew the number of square miles there were in the different countries, and how many inhabitants they contained; and she smiled while he spoke. it then seemed to him as if what he knew was not enough, and he looked upwards in the large huge empty space above him, and on she flew with him; flew high over the black clouds, while the storm moaned and whistled as though it were singing some old tune. on they flew over woods and lakes, over seas, and many lands; and beneath them the chilling storm rushed fast, the wolves howled, the snow crackled; above them flew large screaming crows, but higher up appeared the moon, quite large and bright; and it was on it that kay gazed during the long long winter's night; while by day he slept at the feet of the snow queen. third story. of the flower-garden at the old woman's who understood witchcraft but what became of little gerda when kay did not return? where could he be? nobody knew; nobody could give any intelligence. all the boys knew was, that they had seen him tie his sledge to another large and splendid one, which drove down the street and out of the town. nobody knew where he was; many sad tears were shed, and little gerda wept long and bitterly; at last she said he must be dead; that he had been drowned in the river which flowed close to the town. oh! those were very long and dismal winter evenings! at last spring came, with its warm sunshine. “kay is dead and gone!” said little gerda. “that i don't believe,” said the sunshine. “kay is dead and gone!” said she to the swallows. “that i don't believe,” said they: and at last little gerda did not think so any longer either. “i'll put on my red shoes,” said she, one morning; “kay has never seen them, and then i'll go down to the river and ask there.” it was quite early; she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep, put on her red shoes, and went alone to the river. “is it true that you have taken my little playfellow? i will make you a present of my red shoes, if you will give him back to me.” and, as it seemed to her, the blue waves nodded in a strange manner; then she took off her red shoes, the most precious things she possessed, and threw them both into the river. but they fell close to the bank, and the little waves bore them immediately to land; it was as if the stream would not take what was dearest to her; for in reality it had not got little kay; but gerda thought that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough, so she clambered into a boat which lay among the rushes, went to the farthest end, and threw out the shoes. but the boat was not fastened, and the motion which she occasioned, made it drift from the shore. she observed this, and hastened to get back; but before she could do so, the boat was more than a yard from the land, and was gliding quickly onward. little gerda was very frightened, and began to cry; but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land; but they flew along the bank, and sang as if to comfort her, “here we are! here we are!” the boat drifted with the stream, little gerda sat quite still without shoes, for they were swimming behind the boat, but she could not reach them, because the boat went much faster than they did. the banks on both sides were beautiful; lovely flowers, venerable trees, and slopes with sheep and cows, but not a human being was to be seen. “perhaps the river will carry me to little kay,” said she; and then she grew less sad. she rose, and looked for many hours at the beautiful green banks. presently she sailed by a large cherry-orchard, where was a little cottage with curious red and blue windows; it was thatched, and before it two wooden soldiers stood sentry, and presented arms when anyone went past. gerda called to them, for she thought they were alive; but they, of course, did not answer. she came close to them, for the stream drifted the boat quite near the land. gerda called still louder, and an old woman then came out of the cottage, leaning upon a crooked stick. she had a large broad-brimmed hat on, painted with the most splendid flowers. “poor little child!” said the old woman. “how did you get upon the large rapid river, to be driven about so in the wide world!” and then the old woman went into the water, caught hold of the boat with her crooked stick, drew it to the bank, and lifted little gerda out. and gerda was so glad to be on dry land again; but she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. “but come and tell me who you are, and how you came here,” said she. and gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head and said, “a-hem! a-hem!” and when gerda had told her everything, and asked her if she had not seen little kay, the woman answered that he had not passed there, but he no doubt would come; and she told her not to be cast down, but taste her cherries, and look at her flowers, which were finer than any in a picture-book, each of which could tell a whole story. she then took gerda by the hand, led her into the little cottage, and locked the door. the windows were very high up; the glass was red, blue, and green, and the sunlight shone through quite wondrously in all sorts of colors. on the table stood the most exquisite cherries, and gerda ate as many as she chose, for she had permission to do so. while she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a golden comb, and her hair curled and shone with a lovely golden color around that sweet little face, which was so round and so like a rose. “i have often longed for such a dear little girl,” said the old woman. “now you shall see how well we agree together”; and while she combed little gerda's hair, the child forgot her foster-brother kay more and more, for the old woman understood magic; but she was no evil being, she only practised witchcraft a little for her own private amusement, and now she wanted very much to keep little gerda. she therefore went out in the garden, stretched out her crooked stick towards the rose-bushes, which, beautifully as they were blowing, all sank into the earth and no one could tell where they had stood. the old woman feared that if gerda should see the roses, she would then think of her own, would remember little kay, and run away from her. she now led gerda into the flower-garden. oh, what odour and what loveliness was there! every flower that one could think of, and of every season, stood there in fullest bloom; no picture-book could be gayer or more beautiful. gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun set behind the tall cherry-tree; she then had a pretty bed, with a red silken coverlet filled with blue violets. she fell asleep, and had as pleasant dreams as ever a queen on her wedding-day. the next morning she went to play with the flowers in the warm sunshine, and thus passed away a day. gerda knew every flower; and, numerous as they were, it still seemed to gerda that one was wanting, though she did not know which. one day while she was looking at the hat of the old woman painted with flowers, the most beautiful of them all seemed to her to be a rose. the old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made the others vanish in the earth. but so it is when one's thoughts are not collected. “what!” said gerda. “are there no roses here?” and she ran about amongst the flowerbeds, and looked, and looked, but there was not one to be found. she then sat down and wept; but her hot tears fell just where a rose-bush had sunk; and when her warm tears watered the ground, the tree shot up suddenly as fresh and blooming as when it had been swallowed up. gerda kissed the roses, thought of her own dear roses at home, and with them of little kay. “oh, how long i have stayed!” said the little girl. “i intended to look for kay! don't you know where he is?” she asked of the roses. “do you think he is dead and gone?” “dead he certainly is not,” said the roses. “we have been in the earth where all the dead are, but kay was not there.” “many thanks!” said little gerda; and she went to the other flowers, looked into their cups, and asked, “don't you know where little kay is?” but every flower stood in the sunshine, and dreamed its own fairy tale or its own story: and they all told her very many things, but not one knew anything of kay. well, what did the tiger-lily say? “hearest thou not the drum? bum! bum! those are the only two tones. always bum! bum! hark to the plaintive song of the old woman, to the call of the priests! the hindoo woman in her long robe stands upon the funeral pile; the flames rise around her and her dead husband, but the hindoo woman thinks on the living one in the surrounding circle; on him whose eyes burn hotter than the flames--on him, the fire of whose eyes pierces her heart more than the flames which soon will burn her body to ashes. can the heart's flame die in the flame of the funeral pile?” “i don't understand that at all,” said little gerda. “that is my story,” said the lily. what did the convolvulus say? “projecting over a narrow mountain-path there hangs an old feudal castle. thick evergreens grow on the dilapidated walls, and around the altar, where a lovely maiden is standing: she bends over the railing and looks out upon the rose. no fresher rose hangs on the branches than she; no appleblossom carried away by the wind is more buoyant! how her silken robe is rustling! “'is he not yet come?'” “is it kay that you mean?” asked little gerda. “i am speaking about my story--about my dream,” answered the convolvulus. what did the snowdrops say? “between the trees a long board is hanging--it is a swing. two little girls are sitting in it, and swing themselves backwards and forwards; their frocks are as white as snow, and long green silk ribands flutter from their bonnets. their brother, who is older than they are, stands up in the swing; he twines his arms round the cords to hold himself fast, for in one hand he has a little cup, and in the other a clay-pipe. he is blowing soap-bubbles. the swing moves, and the bubbles float in charming changing colors: the last is still hanging to the end of the pipe, and rocks in the breeze. the swing moves. the little black dog, as light as a soap-bubble, jumps up on his hind legs to try to get into the swing. it moves, the dog falls down, barks, and is angry. they tease him; the bubble bursts! a swing, a bursting bubble--such is my song!” “what you relate may be very pretty, but you tell it in so melancholy a manner, and do not mention kay.” what do the hyacinths say? “there were once upon a time three sisters, quite transparent, and very beautiful. the robe of the one was red, that of the second blue, and that of the third white. they danced hand in hand beside the calm lake in the clear moonshine. they were not elfin maidens, but mortal children. a sweet fragrance was smelt, and the maidens vanished in the wood; the fragrance grew stronger--three coffins, and in them three lovely maidens, glided out of the forest and across the lake: the shining glow-worms flew around like little floating lights. do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? the odour of the flowers says they are corpses; the evening bell tolls for the dead!” “you make me quite sad,” said little gerda. “i cannot help thinking of the dead maidens. oh! is little kay really dead? the roses have been in the earth, and they say no.” “ding, dong!” sounded the hyacinth bells. “we do not toll for little kay; we do not know him. that is our way of singing, the only one we have.” and gerda went to the ranunculuses, that looked forth from among the shining green leaves. “you are a little bright sun!” said gerda. “tell me if you know where i can find my playfellow.” and the ranunculus shone brightly, and looked again at gerda. what song could the ranunculus sing? it was one that said nothing about kay either. “in a small court the bright sun was shining in the first days of spring. the beams glided down the white walls of a neighbor's house, and close by the fresh yellow flowers were growing, shining like gold in the warm sun-rays. an old grandmother was sitting in the air; her grand-daughter, the poor and lovely servant just come for a short visit. she knows her grandmother. there was gold, pure virgin gold in that blessed kiss. there, that is my little story,” said the ranunculus. “my poor old grandmother!” sighed gerda. “yes, she is longing for me, no doubt: she is sorrowing for me, as she did for little kay. but i will soon come home, and then i will bring kay with me. it is of no use asking the flowers; they only know their own old rhymes, and can tell me nothing.” and she tucked up her frock, to enable her to run quicker; but the narcissus gave her a knock on the leg, just as she was going to jump over it. so she stood still, looked at the long yellow flower, and asked, “you perhaps know something?” and she bent down to the narcissus. and what did it say? “i can see myself--i can see myself! oh, how odorous i am! up in the little garret there stands, half-dressed, a little dancer. she stands now on one leg, now on both; she despises the whole world; yet she lives only in imagination. she pours water out of the teapot over a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is the bodice; cleanliness is a fine thing. the white dress is hanging on the hook; it was washed in the teapot, and dried on the roof. she puts it on, ties a saffron-colored kerchief round her neck, and then the gown looks whiter. i can see myself--i can see myself!” “that's nothing to me,” said little gerda. “that does not concern me.” and then off she ran to the further end of the garden. the gate was locked, but she shook the rusted bolt till it was loosened, and the gate opened; and little gerda ran off barefooted into the wide world. she looked round her thrice, but no one followed her. at last she could run no longer; she sat down on a large stone, and when she looked about her, she saw that the summer had passed; it was late in the autumn, but that one could not remark in the beautiful garden, where there was always sunshine, and where there were flowers the whole year round. “dear me, how long i have staid!” said gerda. “autumn is come. i must not rest any longer.” and she got up to go further. oh, how tender and wearied her little feet were! all around it looked so cold and raw: the long willow-leaves were quite yellow, and the fog dripped from them like water; one leaf fell after the other: the sloes only stood full of fruit, which set one's teeth on edge. oh, how dark and comfortless it was in the dreary world! fourth story. the prince and princess gerda was obliged to rest herself again, when, exactly opposite to her, a large raven came hopping over the white snow. he had long been looking at gerda and shaking his head; and now he said, “caw! caw!” good day! good day! he could not say it better; but he felt a sympathy for the little girl, and asked her where she was going all alone. the word “alone” gerda understood quite well, and felt how much was expressed by it; so she told the raven her whole history, and asked if he had not seen kay. the raven nodded very gravely, and said, “it may be--it may be!” “what, do you really think so?” cried the little girl; and she nearly squeezed the raven to death, so much did she kiss him. “gently, gently,” said the raven. “i think i know; i think that it may be little kay. but now he has forgotten you for the princess.” “does he live with a princess?” asked gerda. “yes--listen,” said the raven; “but it will be difficult for me to speak your language. if you understand the raven language i can tell you better.” “no, i have not learnt it,” said gerda; “but my grandmother understands it, and she can speak gibberish too. i wish i had learnt it.” “no matter,” said the raven; “i will tell you as well as i can; however, it will be bad enough.” and then he told all he knew. “in the kingdom where we now are there lives a princess, who is extraordinarily clever; for she has read all the newspapers in the whole world, and has forgotten them again--so clever is she. she was lately, it is said, sitting on her throne--which is not very amusing after all--when she began humming an old tune, and it was just, 'oh, why should i not be married?' 'that song is not without its meaning,' said she, and so then she was determined to marry; but she would have a husband who knew how to give an answer when he was spoken to--not one who looked only as if he were a great personage, for that is so tiresome. she then had all the ladies of the court drummed together; and when they heard her intention, all were very pleased, and said, 'we are very glad to hear it; it is the very thing we were thinking of.' you may believe every word i say,” said the raven; “for i have a tame sweetheart that hops about in the palace quite free, and it was she who told me all this. “the newspapers appeared forthwith with a border of hearts and the initials of the princess; and therein you might read that every good-looking young man was at liberty to come to the palace and speak to the princess; and he who spoke in such wise as showed he felt himself at home there, that one the princess would choose for her husband. “yes, yes,” said the raven, “you may believe it; it is as true as i am sitting here. people came in crowds; there was a crush and a hurry, but no one was successful either on the first or second day. they could all talk well enough when they were out in the street; but as soon as they came inside the palace gates, and saw the guard richly dressed in silver, and the lackeys in gold on the staircase, and the large illuminated saloons, then they were abashed; and when they stood before the throne on which the princess was sitting, all they could do was to repeat the last word they had uttered, and to hear it again did not interest her very much. it was just as if the people within were under a charm, and had fallen into a trance till they came out again into the street; for then--oh, then--they could chatter enough. there was a whole row of them standing from the town-gates to the palace. i was there myself to look,” said the raven. “they grew hungry and thirsty; but from the palace they got nothing whatever, not even a glass of water. some of the cleverest, it is true, had taken bread and butter with them: but none shared it with his neighbor, for each thought, 'let him look hungry, and then the princess won't have him.'” “but kay--little kay,” said gerda, “when did he come? was he among the number?” “patience, patience; we are just come to him. it was on the third day when a little personage without horse or equipage, came marching right boldly up to the palace; his eyes shone like yours, he had beautiful long hair, but his clothes were very shabby.” “that was kay,” cried gerda, with a voice of delight. “oh, now i've found him!” and she clapped her hands for joy. “he had a little knapsack at his back,” said the raven. “no, that was certainly his sledge,” said gerda; “for when he went away he took his sledge with him.” “that may be,” said the raven; “i did not examine him so minutely; but i know from my tame sweetheart, that when he came into the court-yard of the palace, and saw the body-guard in silver, the lackeys on the staircase, he was not the least abashed; he nodded, and said to them, 'it must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs; for my part, i shall go in.' the saloons were gleaming with lustres--privy councillors and excellencies were walking about barefooted, and wore gold keys; it was enough to make any one feel uncomfortable. his boots creaked, too, so loudly, but still he was not at all afraid.” “that's kay for certain,” said gerda. “i know he had on new boots; i have heard them creaking in grandmama's room.” “yes, they creaked,” said the raven. “and on he went boldly up to the princess, who was sitting on a pearl as large as a spinning-wheel. all the ladies of the court, with their attendants and attendants' attendants, and all the cavaliers, with their gentlemen and gentlemen's gentlemen, stood round; and the nearer they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. it was hardly possible to look at the gentleman's gentleman, so very haughtily did he stand in the doorway.” “it must have been terrible,” said little gerda. “and did kay get the princess?” “were i not a raven, i should have taken the princess myself, although i am promised. it is said he spoke as well as i speak when i talk raven language; this i learned from my tame sweetheart. he was bold and nicely behaved; he had not come to woo the princess, but only to hear her wisdom. she pleased him, and he pleased her.” “yes, yes; for certain that was kay,” said gerda. “he was so clever; he could reckon fractions in his head. oh, won't you take me to the palace?” “that is very easily said,” answered the raven. “but how are we to manage it? i'll speak to my tame sweetheart about it: she must advise us; for so much i must tell you, such a little girl as you are will never get permission to enter.” “oh, yes i shall,” said gerda; “when kay hears that i am here, he will come out directly to fetch me.” “wait for me here on these steps,” said the raven. he moved his head backwards and forwards and flew away. the evening was closing in when the raven returned. “caw--caw!” said he. “she sends you her compliments; and here is a roll for you. she took it out of the kitchen, where there is bread enough. you are hungry, no doubt. it is not possible for you to enter the palace, for you are barefooted: the guards in silver, and the lackeys in gold, would not allow it; but do not cry, you shall come in still. my sweetheart knows a little back stair that leads to the bedchamber, and she knows where she can get the key of it.” and they went into the garden in the large avenue, where one leaf was falling after the other; and when the lights in the palace had all gradually disappeared, the raven led little gerda to the back door, which stood half open. oh, how gerda's heart beat with anxiety and longing! it was just as if she had been about to do something wrong; and yet she only wanted to know if little kay was there. yes, he must be there. she called to mind his intelligent eyes, and his long hair, so vividly, she could quite see him as he used to laugh when they were sitting under the roses at home. “he will, no doubt, be glad to see you--to hear what a long way you have come for his sake; to know how unhappy all at home were when he did not come back.” oh, what a fright and a joy it was! they were now on the stairs. a single lamp was burning there; and on the floor stood the tame raven, turning her head on every side and looking at gerda, who bowed as her grandmother had taught her to do. “my intended has told me so much good of you, my dear young lady,” said the tame raven. “your tale is very affecting. if you will take the lamp, i will go before. we will go straight on, for we shall meet no one.” “i think there is somebody just behind us,” said gerda; and something rushed past: it was like shadowy figures on the wall; horses with flowing manes and thin legs, huntsmen, ladies and gentlemen on horseback. “they are only dreams,” said the raven. “they come to fetch the thoughts of the high personages to the chase; 'tis well, for now you can observe them in bed all the better. but let me find, when you enjoy honor and distinction, that you possess a grateful heart.” “tut! that's not worth talking about,” said the raven of the woods. they now entered the first saloon, which was of rose-colored satin, with artificial flowers on the wall. here the dreams were rushing past, but they hastened by so quickly that gerda could not see the high personages. one hall was more magnificent than the other; one might indeed well be abashed; and at last they came into the bedchamber. the ceiling of the room resembled a large palm-tree with leaves of glass, of costly glass; and in the middle, from a thick golden stem, hung two beds, each of which resembled a lily. one was white, and in this lay the princess; the other was red, and it was here that gerda was to look for little kay. she bent back one of the red leaves, and saw a brown neck. oh! that was kay! she called him quite loud by name, held the lamp towards him--the dreams rushed back again into the chamber--he awoke, turned his head, and--it was not little kay! the prince was only like him about the neck; but he was young and handsome. and out of the white lily leaves the princess peeped, too, and asked what was the matter. then little gerda cried, and told her her whole history, and all that the ravens had done for her. “poor little thing!” said the prince and the princess. they praised the ravens very much, and told them they were not at all angry with them, but they were not to do so again. however, they should have a reward. “will you fly about here at liberty,” asked the princess; “or would you like to have a fixed appointment as court ravens, with all the broken bits from the kitchen?” and both the ravens nodded, and begged for a fixed appointment; for they thought of their old age, and said, “it is a good thing to have a provision for our old days.” and the prince got up and let gerda sleep in his bed, and more than this he could not do. she folded her little hands and thought, “how good men and animals are!” and she then fell asleep and slept soundly. all the dreams flew in again, and they now looked like the angels; they drew a little sledge, in which little kay sat and nodded his head; but the whole was only a dream, and therefore it all vanished as soon as she awoke. the next day she was dressed from head to foot in silk and velvet. they offered to let her stay at the palace, and lead a happy life; but she begged to have a little carriage with a horse in front, and for a small pair of shoes; then, she said, she would again go forth in the wide world and look for kay. shoes and a muff were given her; she was, too, dressed very nicely; and when she was about to set off, a new carriage stopped before the door. it was of pure gold, and the arms of the prince and princess shone like a star upon it; the coachman, the footmen, and the outriders, for outriders were there, too, all wore golden crowns. the prince and the princess assisted her into the carriage themselves, and wished her all success. the raven of the woods, who was now married, accompanied her for the first three miles. he sat beside gerda, for he could not bear riding backwards; the other raven stood in the doorway, and flapped her wings; she could not accompany gerda, because she suffered from headache since she had had a fixed appointment and ate so much. the carriage was lined inside with sugar-plums, and in the seats were fruits and gingerbread. “farewell! farewell!” cried prince and princess; and gerda wept, and the raven wept. thus passed the first miles; and then the raven bade her farewell, and this was the most painful separation of all. he flew into a tree, and beat his black wings as long as he could see the carriage, that shone from afar like a sunbeam. fifth story. the little robber maiden they drove through the dark wood; but the carriage shone like a torch, and it dazzled the eyes of the robbers, so that they could not bear to look at it. “'tis gold! 'tis gold!” they cried; and they rushed forward, seized the horses, knocked down the little postilion, the coachman, and the servants, and pulled little gerda out of the carriage. “how plump, how beautiful she is! she must have been fed on nut-kernels,” said the old female robber, who had a long, scrubby beard, and bushy eyebrows that hung down over her eyes. “she is as good as a fatted lamb! how nice she will be!” and then she drew out a knife, the blade of which shone so that it was quite dreadful to behold. “oh!” cried the woman at the same moment. she had been bitten in the ear by her own little daughter, who hung at her back; and who was so wild and unmanageable, that it was quite amusing to see her. “you naughty child!” said the mother: and now she had not time to kill gerda. “she shall play with me,” said the little robber child. “she shall give me her muff, and her pretty frock; she shall sleep in my bed!” and then she gave her mother another bite, so that she jumped, and ran round with the pain; and the robbers laughed, and said, “look, how she is dancing with the little one!” “i will go into the carriage,” said the little robber maiden; and she would have her will, for she was very spoiled and very headstrong. she and gerda got in; and then away they drove over the stumps of felled trees, deeper and deeper into the woods. the little robber maiden was as tall as gerda, but stronger, broader-shouldered, and of dark complexion; her eyes were quite black; they looked almost melancholy. she embraced little gerda, and said, “they shall not kill you as long as i am not displeased with you. you are, doubtless, a princess?” “no,” said little gerda; who then related all that had happened to her, and how much she cared about little kay. the little robber maiden looked at her with a serious air, nodded her head slightly, and said, “they shall not kill you, even if i am angry with you: then i will do it myself”; and she dried gerda's eyes, and put both her hands in the handsome muff, which was so soft and warm. at length the carriage stopped. they were in the midst of the court-yard of a robber's castle. it was full of cracks from top to bottom; and out of the openings magpies and rooks were flying; and the great bull-dogs, each of which looked as if he could swallow a man, jumped up, but they did not bark, for that was forbidden. in the midst of the large, old, smoking hall burnt a great fire on the stone floor. the smoke disappeared under the stones, and had to seek its own egress. in an immense caldron soup was boiling; and rabbits and hares were being roasted on a spit. “you shall sleep with me to-night, with all my animals,” said the little robber maiden. they had something to eat and drink; and then went into a corner, where straw and carpets were lying. beside them, on laths and perches, sat nearly a hundred pigeons, all asleep, seemingly; but yet they moved a little when the robber maiden came. “they are all mine,” said she, at the same time seizing one that was next to her by the legs and shaking it so that its wings fluttered. “kiss it,” cried the little girl, and flung the pigeon in gerda's face. “up there is the rabble of the wood,” continued she, pointing to several laths which were fastened before a hole high up in the wall; “that's the rabble; they would all fly away immediately, if they were not well fastened in. and here is my dear old bac”; and she laid hold of the horns of a reindeer, that had a bright copper ring round its neck, and was tethered to the spot. “we are obliged to lock this fellow in too, or he would make his escape. every evening i tickle his neck with my sharp knife; he is so frightened at it!” and the little girl drew forth a long knife, from a crack in the wall, and let it glide over the reindeer's neck. the poor animal kicked; the girl laughed, and pulled gerda into bed with her. “do you intend to keep your knife while you sleep?” asked gerda; looking at it rather fearfully. “i always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber maiden. “there is no knowing what may happen. but tell me now, once more, all about little kay; and why you have started off in the wide world alone.” and gerda related all, from the very beginning: the wood-pigeons cooed above in their cage, and the others slept. the little robber maiden wound her arm round gerda's neck, held the knife in the other hand, and snored so loud that everybody could hear her; but gerda could not close her eyes, for she did not know whether she was to live or die. the robbers sat round the fire, sang and drank; and the old female robber jumped about so, that it was quite dreadful for gerda to see her. then the wood-pigeons said, “coo! coo! we have seen little kay! a white hen carries his sledge; he himself sat in the carriage of the snow queen, who passed here, down just over the wood, as we lay in our nest. she blew upon us young ones; and all died except we two. coo! coo!” “what is that you say up there?” cried little gerda. “where did the snow queen go to? do you know anything about it?” “she is no doubt gone to lapland; for there is always snow and ice there. only ask the reindeer, who is tethered there.” “ice and snow is there! there it is, glorious and beautiful!” said the reindeer. “one can spring about in the large shining valleys! the snow queen has her summer-tent there; but her fixed abode is high up towards the north pole, on the island called spitzbergen.” “oh, kay! poor little kay!” sighed gerda. “do you choose to be quiet?” said the robber maiden. “if you don't, i shall make you.” in the morning gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons had said; and the little maiden looked very serious, but she nodded her head, and said, “that's no matter--that's no matter. do you know where lapland lies!” she asked of the reindeer. “who should know better than i?” said the animal; and his eyes rolled in his head. “i was born and bred there--there i leapt about on the fields of snow.” “listen,” said the robber maiden to gerda. “you see that the men are gone; but my mother is still here, and will remain. however, towards morning she takes a draught out of the large flask, and then she sleeps a little: then i will do something for you.” she now jumped out of bed, flew to her mother; with her arms round her neck, and pulling her by the beard, said, “good morrow, my own sweet nanny-goat of a mother.” and her mother took hold of her nose, and pinched it till it was red and blue; but this was all done out of pure love. when the mother had taken a sup at her flask, and was having a nap, the little robber maiden went to the reindeer, and said, “i should very much like to give you still many a tickling with the sharp knife, for then you are so amusing; however, i will untether you, and help you out, so that you may go back to lapland. but you must make good use of your legs; and take this little girl for me to the palace of the snow queen, where her playfellow is. you have heard, i suppose, all she said; for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.” the reindeer gave a bound for joy. the robber maiden lifted up little gerda, and took the precaution to bind her fast on the reindeer's back; she even gave her a small cushion to sit on. “here are your worsted leggins, for it will be cold; but the muff i shall keep for myself, for it is so very pretty. but i do not wish you to be cold. here is a pair of lined gloves of my mother's; they just reach up to your elbow. on with them! now you look about the hands just like my ugly old mother!” and gerda wept for joy. “i can't bear to see you fretting,” said the little robber maiden. “this is just the time when you ought to look pleased. here are two loaves and a ham for you, so that you won't starve.” the bread and the meat were fastened to the reindeer's back; the little maiden opened the door, called in all the dogs, and then with her knife cut the rope that fastened the animal, and said to him, “now, off with you; but take good care of the little girl!” and gerda stretched out her hands with the large wadded gloves towards the robber maiden, and said, “farewell!” and the reindeer flew on over bush and bramble through the great wood, over moor and heath, as fast as he could go. “ddsa! ddsa!” was heard in the sky. it was just as if somebody was sneezing. “these are my old northern-lights,” said the reindeer, “look how they gleam!” and on he now sped still quicker--day and night on he went: the loaves were consumed, and the ham too; and now they were in lapland. sixth story. the lapland woman and the finland woman suddenly they stopped before a little house, which looked very miserable. the roof reached to the ground; and the door was so low, that the family were obliged to creep upon their stomachs when they went in or out. nobody was at home except an old lapland woman, who was dressing fish by the light of an oil lamp. and the reindeer told her the whole of gerda's history, but first of all his own; for that seemed to him of much greater importance. gerda was so chilled that she could not speak. “poor thing,” said the lapland woman, “you have far to run still. you have more than a hundred miles to go before you get to finland; there the snow queen has her country-house, and burns blue lights every evening. i will give you a few words from me, which i will write on a dried haberdine, for paper i have none; this you can take with you to the finland woman, and she will be able to give you more information than i can.” when gerda had warmed herself, and had eaten and drunk, the lapland woman wrote a few words on a dried haberdine, begged gerda to take care of them, put her on the reindeer, bound her fast, and away sprang the animal. “ddsa! ddsa!” was again heard in the air; the most charming blue lights burned the whole night in the sky, and at last they came to finland. they knocked at the chimney of the finland woman; for as to a door, she had none. there was such a heat inside that the finland woman herself went about almost naked. she was diminutive and dirty. she immediately loosened little gerda's clothes, pulled off her thick gloves and boots; for otherwise the heat would have been too great--and after laying a piece of ice on the reindeer's head, read what was written on the fish-skin. she read it three times: she then knew it by heart; so she put the fish into the cupboard--for it might very well be eaten, and she never threw anything away. then the reindeer related his own story first, and afterwards that of little gerda; and the finland woman winked her eyes, but said nothing. “you are so clever,” said the reindeer; “you can, i know, twist all the winds of the world together in a knot. if the seaman loosens one knot, then he has a good wind; if a second, then it blows pretty stiffly; if he undoes the third and fourth, then it rages so that the forests are upturned. will you give the little maiden a potion, that she may possess the strength of twelve men, and vanquish the snow queen?” “the strength of twelve men!” said the finland woman. “much good that would be!” then she went to a cupboard, and drew out a large skin rolled up. when she had unrolled it, strange characters were to be seen written thereon; and the finland woman read at such a rate that the perspiration trickled down her forehead. but the reindeer begged so hard for little gerda, and gerda looked so imploringly with tearful eyes at the finland woman, that she winked, and drew the reindeer aside into a corner, where they whispered together, while the animal got some fresh ice put on his head. “'tis true little kay is at the snow queen's, and finds everything there quite to his taste; and he thinks it the very best place in the world; but the reason of that is, he has a splinter of glass in his eye, and in his heart. these must be got out first; otherwise he will never go back to mankind, and the snow queen will retain her power over him.” “but can you give little gerda nothing to take which will endue her with power over the whole?” “i can give her no more power than what she has already. don't you see how great it is? don't you see how men and animals are forced to serve her; how well she gets through the world barefooted? she must not hear of her power from us; that power lies in her heart, because she is a sweet and innocent child! if she cannot get to the snow queen by herself, and rid little kay of the glass, we cannot help her. two miles hence the garden of the snow queen begins; thither you may carry the little girl. set her down by the large bush with red berries, standing in the snow; don't stay talking, but hasten back as fast as possible.” and now the finland woman placed little gerda on the reindeer's back, and off he ran with all imaginable speed. “oh! i have not got my boots! i have not brought my gloves!” cried little gerda. she remarked she was without them from the cutting frost; but the reindeer dared not stand still; on he ran till he came to the great bush with the red berries, and there he set gerda down, kissed her mouth, while large bright tears flowed from the animal's eyes, and then back he went as fast as possible. there stood poor gerda now, without shoes or gloves, in the very middle of dreadful icy finland. she ran on as fast as she could. there then came a whole regiment of snow-flakes, but they did not fall from above, and they were quite bright and shining from the aurora borealis. the flakes ran along the ground, and the nearer they came the larger they grew. gerda well remembered how large and strange the snow-flakes appeared when she once saw them through a magnifying-glass; but now they were large and terrific in another manner--they were all alive. they were the outposts of the snow queen. they had the most wondrous shapes; some looked like large ugly porcupines; others like snakes knotted together, with their heads sticking out; and others, again, like small fat bears, with the hair standing on end: all were of dazzling whiteness--all were living snow-flakes. little gerda repeated the lord's prayer. the cold was so intense that she could see her own breath, which came like smoke out of her mouth. it grew thicker and thicker, and took the form of little angels, that grew more and more when they touched the earth. all had helms on their heads, and lances and shields in their hands; they increased in numbers; and when gerda had finished the lord's prayer, she was surrounded by a whole legion. they thrust at the horrid snow-flakes with their spears, so that they flew into a thousand pieces; and little gerda walked on bravely and in security. the angels patted her hands and feet; and then she felt the cold less, and went on quickly towards the palace of the snow queen. but now we shall see how kay fared. he never thought of gerda, and least of all that she was standing before the palace. seventh story. what took place in the palace of the snow queen, and what happened afterward. the walls of the palace were of driving snow, and the windows and doors of cutting winds. there were more than a hundred halls there, according as the snow was driven by the winds. the largest was many miles in extent; all were lighted up by the powerful aurora borealis, and all were so large, so empty, so icy cold, and so resplendent! mirth never reigned there; there was never even a little bear-ball, with the storm for music, while the polar bears went on their hind legs and showed off their steps. never a little tea-party of white young lady foxes; vast, cold, and empty were the halls of the snow queen. the northern-lights shone with such precision that one could tell exactly when they were at their highest or lowest degree of brightness. in the middle of the empty, endless hall of snow, was a frozen lake; it was cracked in a thousand pieces, but each piece was so like the other, that it seemed the work of a cunning artificer. in the middle of this lake sat the snow queen when she was at home; and then she said she was sitting in the mirror of understanding, and that this was the only one and the best thing in the world. little kay was quite blue, yes nearly black with cold; but he did not observe it, for she had kissed away all feeling of cold from his body, and his heart was a lump of ice. he was dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the chinese puzzle. kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. in his eyes the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. he found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just the word he wanted--that word was “eternity”; and the snow queen had said, “if you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master, and i will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new skates.” but he could not find it out. “i am going now to warm lands,” said the snow queen. “i must have a look down into the black caldrons.” it was the volcanoes vesuvius and etna that she meant. “i will just give them a coating of white, for that is as it ought to be; besides, it is good for the oranges and the grapes.” and then away she flew, and kay sat quite alone in the empty halls of ice that were miles long, and looked at the blocks of ice, and thought and thought till his skull was almost cracked. there he sat quite benumbed and motionless; one would have imagined he was frozen to death. suddenly little gerda stepped through the great portal into the palace. the gate was formed of cutting winds; but gerda repeated her evening prayer, and the winds were laid as though they slept; and the little maiden entered the vast, empty, cold halls. there she beheld kay: she recognised him, flew to embrace him, and cried out, her arms firmly holding him the while, “kay, sweet little kay! have i then found you at last?” but he sat quite still, benumbed and cold. then little gerda shed burning tears; and they fell on his bosom, they penetrated to his heart, they thawed the lumps of ice, and consumed the splinters of the looking-glass; he looked at her, and she sang the hymn: “the rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, and angels descend there the children to greet.” hereupon kay burst into tears; he wept so much that the splinter rolled out of his eye, and he recognised her, and shouted, “gerda, sweet little gerda! where have you been so long? and where have i been?” he looked round him. “how cold it is here!” said he. “how empty and cold!” and he held fast by gerda, who laughed and wept for joy. it was so beautiful, that even the blocks of ice danced about for joy; and when they were tired and laid themselves down, they formed exactly the letters which the snow queen had told him to find out; so now he was his own master, and he would have the whole world and a pair of new skates into the bargain. gerda kissed his cheeks, and they grew quite blooming; she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed his hands and feet, and he was again well and merry. the snow queen might come back as soon as she liked; there stood his discharge written in resplendent masses of ice. they took each other by the hand, and wandered forth out of the large hall; they talked of their old grandmother, and of the roses upon the roof; and wherever they went, the winds ceased raging, and the sun burst forth. and when they reached the bush with the red berries, they found the reindeer waiting for them. he had brought another, a young one, with him, whose udder was filled with milk, which he gave to the little ones, and kissed their lips. they then carried kay and gerda--first to the finland woman, where they warmed themselves in the warm room, and learned what they were to do on their journey home; and they went to the lapland woman, who made some new clothes for them and repaired their sledges. the reindeer and the young hind leaped along beside them, and accompanied them to the boundary of the country. here the first vegetation peeped forth; here kay and gerda took leave of the lapland woman. “farewell! farewell!” they all said. and the first green buds appeared, the first little birds began to chirrup; and out of the wood came, riding on a magnificent horse, which gerda knew (it was one of the leaders in the golden carriage), a young damsel with a bright-red cap on her head, and armed with pistols. it was the little robber maiden, who, tired of being at home, had determined to make a journey to the north; and afterwards in another direction, if that did not please her. she recognised gerda immediately, and gerda knew her too. it was a joyful meeting. “you are a fine fellow for tramping about,” said she to little kay; “i should like to know, faith, if you deserve that one should run from one end of the world to the other for your sake?” but gerda patted her cheeks, and inquired for the prince and princess. “they are gone abroad,” said the other. “but the raven?” asked little gerda. “oh! the raven is dead,” she answered. “his tame sweetheart is a widow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg; she laments most piteously, but it's all mere talk and stuff! now tell me what you've been doing and how you managed to catch him.” and gerda and kay both told their story. and “schnipp-schnapp-schnurre-basselurre,” said the robber maiden; and she took the hands of each, and promised that if she should some day pass through the town where they lived, she would come and visit them; and then away she rode. kay and gerda took each other's hand: it was lovely spring weather, with abundance of flowers and of verdure. the church-bells rang, and the children recognised the high towers, and the large town; it was that in which they dwelt. they entered and hastened up to their grandmother's room, where everything was standing as formerly. the clock said “tick! tack!” and the finger moved round; but as they entered, they remarked that they were now grown up. the roses on the leads hung blooming in at the open window; there stood the little children's chairs, and kay and gerda sat down on them, holding each other by the hand; they both had forgotten the cold empty splendor of the snow queen, as though it had been a dream. the grandmother sat in the bright sunshine, and read aloud from the bible: “unless ye become as little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” and kay and gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn: “the rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, and angels descend there the children to greet.” there sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer! the leap-frog a flea, a grasshopper, and a leap-frog once wanted to see which could jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and everybody else besides who chose to come to see the festival. three famous jumpers were they, as everyone would say, when they all met together in the room. “i will give my daughter to him who jumps highest,” exclaimed the king; “for it is not so amusing where there is no prize to jump for.” the flea was the first to step forward. he had exquisite manners, and bowed to the company on all sides; for he had noble blood, and was, moreover, accustomed to the society of man alone; and that makes a great difference. then came the grasshopper. he was considerably heavier, but he was well-mannered, and wore a green uniform, which he had by right of birth; he said, moreover, that he belonged to a very ancient egyptian family, and that in the house where he then was, he was thought much of. the fact was, he had been just brought out of the fields, and put in a pasteboard house, three stories high, all made of court-cards, with the colored side inwards; and doors and windows cut out of the body of the queen of hearts. “i sing so well,” said he, “that sixteen native grasshoppers who have chirped from infancy, and yet got no house built of cards to live in, grew thinner than they were before for sheer vexation when they heard me.” it was thus that the flea and the grasshopper gave an account of themselves, and thought they were quite good enough to marry a princess. the leap-frog said nothing; but people gave it as their opinion, that he therefore thought the more; and when the housedog snuffed at him with his nose, he confessed the leap-frog was of good family. the old councillor, who had had three orders given him to make him hold his tongue, asserted that the leap-frog was a prophet; for that one could see on his back, if there would be a severe or mild winter, and that was what one could not see even on the back of the man who writes the almanac. “i say nothing, it is true,” exclaimed the king; “but i have my own opinion, notwithstanding.” now the trial was to take place. the flea jumped so high that nobody could see where he went to; so they all asserted he had not jumped at all; and that was dishonorable. the grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he leaped into the king's face, who said that was ill-mannered. the leap-frog stood still for a long time lost in thought; it was believed at last he would not jump at all. “i only hope he is not unwell,” said the house-dog; when, pop! he made a jump all on one side into the lap of the princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool close by. hereupon the king said, “there is nothing above my daughter; therefore to bound up to her is the highest jump that can be made; but for this, one must possess understanding, and the leap-frog has shown that he has understanding. he is brave and intellectual.” and so he won the princess. “it's all the same to me,” said the flea. “she may have the old leap-frog, for all i care. i jumped the highest; but in this world merit seldom meets its reward. a fine exterior is what people look at now-a-days.” the flea then went into foreign service, where, it is said, he was killed. the grasshopper sat without on a green bank, and reflected on worldly things; and he said too, “yes, a fine exterior is everything--a fine exterior is what people care about.” and then he began chirping his peculiar melancholy song, from which we have taken this history; and which may, very possibly, be all untrue, although it does stand here printed in black and white. the elderbush once upon a time there was a little boy who had taken cold. he had gone out and got his feet wet; though nobody could imagine how it had happened, for it was quite dry weather. so his mother undressed him, put him to bed, and had the tea-pot brought in, to make him a good cup of elderflower tea. just at that moment the merry old man came in who lived up a-top of the house all alone; for he had neither wife nor children--but he liked children very much, and knew so many fairy tales, that it was quite delightful. “now drink your tea,” said the boy's mother; “then, perhaps, you may hear a fairy tale.” “if i had but something new to tell,” said the old man. “but how did the child get his feet wet?” “that is the very thing that nobody can make out,” said his mother. “am i to hear a fairy tale?” asked the little boy. “yes, if you can tell me exactly--for i must know that first--how deep the gutter is in the little street opposite, that you pass through in going to school.” “just up to the middle of my boot,” said the child; “but then i must go into the deep hole.” “ah, ah! that's where the wet feet came from,” said the old man. “i ought now to tell you a story; but i don't know any more.” “you can make one in a moment,” said the little boy. “my mother says that all you look at can be turned into a fairy tale: and that you can find a story in everything.” “yes, but such tales and stories are good for nothing. the right sort come of themselves; they tap at my forehead and say, 'here we are.'” “won't there be a tap soon?” asked the little boy. and his mother laughed, put some elder-flowers in the tea-pot, and poured boiling water upon them. “do tell me something! pray do!” “yes, if a fairy tale would come of its own accord; but they are proud and haughty, and come only when they choose. stop!” said he, all on a sudden. “i have it! pay attention! there is one in the tea-pot!” and the little boy looked at the tea-pot. the cover rose more and more; and the elder-flowers came forth so fresh and white, and shot up long branches. out of the spout even did they spread themselves on all sides, and grew larger and larger; it was a splendid elderbush, a whole tree; and it reached into the very bed, and pushed the curtains aside. how it bloomed! and what an odour! in the middle of the bush sat a friendly-looking old woman in a most strange dress. it was quite green, like the leaves of the elder, and was trimmed with large white elder-flowers; so that at first one could not tell whether it was a stuff, or a natural green and real flowers. “what's that woman's name?” asked the little boy. “the greeks and romans,” said the old man, “called her a dryad; but that we do not understand. the people who live in the new booths [*] have a much better name for her; they call her 'old granny'--and she it is to whom you are to pay attention. now listen, and look at the beautiful elderbush. * a row of buildings for seamen in copenhagen. “just such another large blooming elder tree stands near the new booths. it grew there in the corner of a little miserable court-yard; and under it sat, of an afternoon, in the most splendid sunshine, two old people; an old, old seaman, and his old, old wife. they had great-grand-children, and were soon to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of their marriage; but they could not exactly recollect the date: and old granny sat in the tree, and looked as pleased as now. 'i know the date,' said she; but those below did not hear her, for they were talking about old times. “'yes, can't you remember when we were very little,' said the old seaman, 'and ran and played about? it was the very same court-yard where we now are, and we stuck slips in the ground, and made a garden.' “'i remember it well,' said the old woman; 'i remember it quite well. we watered the slips, and one of them was an elderbush. it took root, put forth green shoots, and grew up to be the large tree under which we old folks are now sitting.' “'to be sure,' said he. 'and there in the corner stood a waterpail, where i used to swim my boats.' “'true; but first we went to school to learn somewhat,' said she; 'and then we were confirmed. we both cried; but in the afternoon we went up the round tower, and looked down on copenhagen, and far, far away over the water; then we went to friedericksberg, where the king and the queen were sailing about in their splendid barges.' “'but i had a different sort of sailing to that, later; and that, too, for many a year; a long way off, on great voyages.' “'yes, many a time have i wept for your sake,' said she. 'i thought you were dead and gone, and lying down in the deep waters. many a night have i got up to see if the wind had not changed: and changed it had, sure enough; but you never came. i remember so well one day, when the rain was pouring down in torrents, the scavengers were before the house where i was in service, and i had come up with the dust, and remained standing at the door--it was dreadful weather--when just as i was there, the postman came and gave me a letter. it was from you! what a tour that letter had made! i opened it instantly and read: i laughed and wept. i was so happy. in it i read that you were in warm lands where the coffee-tree grows. what a blessed land that must be! you related so much, and i saw it all the while the rain was pouring down, and i standing there with the dust-box. at the same moment came someone who embraced me.' “'yes; but you gave him a good box on his ear that made it tingle!' “'but i did not know it was you. you arrived as soon as your letter, and you were so handsome--that you still are--and had a long yellow silk handkerchief round your neck, and a bran new hat on; oh, you were so dashing! good heavens! what weather it was, and what a state the street was in!' “'and then we married,' said he. 'don't you remember? and then we had our first little boy, and then mary, and nicholas, and peter, and christian.' “'yes, and how they all grew up to be honest people, and were beloved by everybody.' “'and their children also have children,' said the old sailor; 'yes, those are our grand-children, full of strength and vigor. it was, methinks about this season that we had our wedding.' “'yes, this very day is the fiftieth anniversary of the marriage,' said old granny, sticking her head between the two old people; who thought it was their neighbor who nodded to them. they looked at each other and held one another by the hand. soon after came their children, and their grand-children; for they knew well enough that it was the day of the fiftieth anniversary, and had come with their gratulations that very morning; but the old people had forgotten it, although they were able to remember all that had happened many years ago. and the elderbush sent forth a strong odour in the sun, that was just about to set, and shone right in the old people's faces. they both looked so rosy-cheeked; and the youngest of the grandchildren danced around them, and called out quite delighted, that there was to be something very splendid that evening--they were all to have hot potatoes. and old nanny nodded in the bush, and shouted 'hurrah!' with the rest.” “but that is no fairy tale,” said the little boy, who was listening to the story. “the thing is, you must understand it,” said the narrator; “let us ask old nanny.” “that was no fairy tale, 'tis true,” said old nanny; “but now it's coming. the most wonderful fairy tales grow out of that which is reality; were that not the case, you know, my magnificent elderbush could not have grown out of the tea-pot.” and then she took the little boy out of bed, laid him on her bosom, and the branches of the elder tree, full of flowers, closed around her. they sat in an aerial dwelling, and it flew with them through the air. oh, it was wondrous beautiful! old nanny had grown all of a sudden a young and pretty maiden; but her robe was still the same green stuff with white flowers, which she had worn before. on her bosom she had a real elderflower, and in her yellow waving hair a wreath of the flowers; her eyes were so large and blue that it was a pleasure to look at them; she kissed the boy, and now they were of the same age and felt alike. hand in hand they went out of the bower, and they were standing in the beautiful garden of their home. near the green lawn papa's walking-stick was tied, and for the little ones it seemed to be endowed with life; for as soon as they got astride it, the round polished knob was turned into a magnificent neighing head, a long black mane fluttered in the breeze, and four slender yet strong legs shot out. the animal was strong and handsome, and away they went at full gallop round the lawn. “huzza! now we are riding miles off,” said the boy. “we are riding away to the castle where we were last year!” and on they rode round the grass-plot; and the little maiden, who, we know, was no one else but old nanny, kept on crying out, “now we are in the country! don't you see the farm-house yonder? and there is an elder tree standing beside it; and the cock is scraping away the earth for the hens, look, how he struts! and now we are close to the church. it lies high upon the hill, between the large oak-trees, one of which is half decayed. and now we are by the smithy, where the fire is blazing, and where the half-naked men are banging with their hammers till the sparks fly about. away! away! to the beautiful country-seat!” and all that the little maiden, who sat behind on the stick, spoke of, flew by in reality. the boy saw it all, and yet they were only going round the grass-plot. then they played in a side avenue, and marked out a little garden on the earth; and they took elder-blossoms from their hair, planted them, and they grew just like those the old people planted when they were children, as related before. they went hand in hand, as the old people had done when they were children; but not to the round tower, or to friedericksberg; no, the little damsel wound her arms round the boy, and then they flew far away through all denmark. and spring came, and summer; and then it was autumn, and then winter; and a thousand pictures were reflected in the eye and in the heart of the boy; and the little girl always sang to him, “this you will never forget.” and during their whole flight the elder tree smelt so sweet and odorous; he remarked the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder tree had a more wondrous fragrance, for its flowers hung on the breast of the little maiden; and there, too, did he often lay his head during the flight. “it is lovely here in spring!” said the young maiden. and they stood in a beech-wood that had just put on its first green, where the woodroof [*] at their feet sent forth its fragrance, and the pale-red anemony looked so pretty among the verdure. “oh, would it were always spring in the sweetly-smelling danish beech-forests!” * asperula odorata. “it is lovely here in summer!” said she. and she flew past old castles of by-gone days of chivalry, where the red walls and the embattled gables were mirrored in the canal, where the swans were swimming, and peered up into the old cool avenues. in the fields the corn was waving like the sea; in the ditches red and yellow flowers were growing; while wild-drone flowers, and blooming convolvuluses were creeping in the hedges; and towards evening the moon rose round and large, and the haycocks in the meadows smelt so sweetly. “this one never forgets!” “it is lovely here in autumn!” said the little maiden. and suddenly the atmosphere grew as blue again as before; the forest grew red, and green, and yellow-colored. the dogs came leaping along, and whole flocks of wild-fowl flew over the cairn, where blackberry-bushes were hanging round the old stones. the sea was dark blue, covered with ships full of white sails; and in the barn old women, maidens, and children were sitting picking hops into a large cask; the young sang songs, but the old told fairy tales of mountain-sprites and soothsayers. nothing could be more charming. “it is delightful here in winter!” said the little maiden. and all the trees were covered with hoar-frost; they looked like white corals; the snow crackled under foot, as if one had new boots on; and one falling star after the other was seen in the sky. the christmas-tree was lighted in the room; presents were there, and good-humor reigned. in the country the violin sounded in the room of the peasant; the newly-baked cakes were attacked; even the poorest child said, “it is really delightful here in winter!” yes, it was delightful; and the little maiden showed the boy everything; and the elder tree still was fragrant, and the red flag, with the white cross, was still waving: the flag under which the old seaman in the new booths had sailed. and the boy grew up to be a lad, and was to go forth in the wide world-far, far away to warm lands, where the coffee-tree grows; but at his departure the little maiden took an elder-blossom from her bosom, and gave it him to keep; and it was placed between the leaves of his prayer-book; and when in foreign lands he opened the book, it was always at the place where the keepsake-flower lay; and the more he looked at it, the fresher it became; he felt as it were, the fragrance of the danish groves; and from among the leaves of the flowers he could distinctly see the little maiden, peeping forth with her bright blue eyes--and then she whispered, “it is delightful here in spring, summer, autumn, and winter”; and a hundred visions glided before his mind. thus passed many years, and he was now an old man, and sat with his old wife under the blooming tree. they held each other by the hand, as the old grand-father and grand-mother yonder in the new booths did, and they talked exactly like them of old times, and of the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding. the little maiden, with the blue eyes, and with elder-blossoms in her hair, sat in the tree, nodded to both of them, and said, “to-day is the fiftieth anniversary!” and then she took two flowers out of her hair, and kissed them. first, they shone like silver, then like gold; and when they laid them on the heads of the old people, each flower became a golden crown. so there they both sat, like a king and a queen, under the fragrant tree, that looked exactly like an elder: the old man told his wife the story of “old nanny,” as it had been told him when a boy. and it seemed to both of them it contained much that resembled their own history; and those parts that were like it pleased them best. “thus it is,” said the little maiden in the tree, “some call me 'old nanny,' others a 'dryad,' but, in reality, my name is 'remembrance'; 'tis i who sit in the tree that grows and grows! i can remember; i can tell things! let me see if you have my flower still?” and the old man opened his prayer-book. there lay the elder-blossom, as fresh as if it had been placed there but a short time before; and remembrance nodded, and the old people, decked with crowns of gold, sat in the flush of the evening sun. they closed their eyes, and--and--! yes, that's the end of the story! the little boy lay in his bed; he did not know if he had dreamed or not, or if he had been listening while someone told him the story. the tea-pot was standing on the table, but no elder tree was growing out of it! and the old man, who had been talking, was just on the point of going out at the door, and he did go. “how splendid that was!” said the little boy. “mother, i have been to warm countries.” “so i should think,” said his mother. “when one has drunk two good cupfuls of elder-flower tea, 'tis likely enough one goes into warm climates”; and she tucked him up nicely, least he should take cold. “you have had a good sleep while i have been sitting here, and arguing with him whether it was a story or a fairy tale.” “and where is old nanny?” asked the little boy. “in the tea-pot,” said his mother; “and there she may remain.” the bell people said “the evening bell is sounding, the sun is setting.” for a strange wondrous tone was heard in the narrow streets of a large town. it was like the sound of a church-bell: but it was only heard for a moment, for the rolling of the carriages and the voices of the multitude made too great a noise. those persons who were walking outside the town, where the houses were farther apart, with gardens or little fields between them, could see the evening sky still better, and heard the sound of the bell much more distinctly. it was as if the tones came from a church in the still forest; people looked thitherward, and felt their minds attuned most solemnly. a long time passed, and people said to each other--“i wonder if there is a church out in the wood? the bell has a tone that is wondrous sweet; let us stroll thither, and examine the matter nearer.” and the rich people drove out, and the poor walked, but the way seemed strangely long to them; and when they came to a clump of willows which grew on the skirts of the forest, they sat down, and looked up at the long branches, and fancied they were now in the depth of the green wood. the confectioner of the town came out, and set up his booth there; and soon after came another confectioner, who hung a bell over his stand, as a sign or ornament, but it had no clapper, and it was tarred over to preserve it from the rain. when all the people returned home, they said it had been very romantic, and that it was quite a different sort of thing to a pic-nic or tea-party. there were three persons who asserted they had penetrated to the end of the forest, and that they had always heard the wonderful sounds of the bell, but it had seemed to them as if it had come from the town. one wrote a whole poem about it, and said the bell sounded like the voice of a mother to a good dear child, and that no melody was sweeter than the tones of the bell. the king of the country was also observant of it, and vowed that he who could discover whence the sounds proceeded, should have the title of “universal bell-ringer,” even if it were not really a bell. many persons now went to the wood, for the sake of getting the place, but one only returned with a sort of explanation; for nobody went far enough, that one not further than the others. however, he said that the sound proceeded from a very large owl, in a hollow tree; a sort of learned owl, that continually knocked its head against the branches. but whether the sound came from his head or from the hollow tree, that no one could say with certainty. so now he got the place of “universal bell-ringer,” and wrote yearly a short treatise “on the owl”; but everybody was just as wise as before. it was the day of confirmation. the clergyman had spoken so touchingly, the children who were confirmed had been greatly moved; it was an eventful day for them; from children they become all at once grown-up-persons; it was as if their infant souls were now to fly all at once into persons with more understanding. the sun was shining gloriously; the children that had been confirmed went out of the town; and from the wood was borne towards them the sounds of the unknown bell with wonderful distinctness. they all immediately felt a wish to go thither; all except three. one of them had to go home to try on a ball-dress; for it was just the dress and the ball which had caused her to be confirmed this time, for otherwise she would not have come; the other was a poor boy, who had borrowed his coat and boots to be confirmed in from the innkeeper's son, and he was to give them back by a certain hour; the third said that he never went to a strange place if his parents were not with him--that he had always been a good boy hitherto, and would still be so now that he was confirmed, and that one ought not to laugh at him for it: the others, however, did make fun of him, after all. there were three, therefore, that did not go; the others hastened on. the sun shone, the birds sang, and the children sang too, and each held the other by the hand; for as yet they had none of them any high office, and were all of equal rank in the eye of god. but two of the youngest soon grew tired, and both returned to town; two little girls sat down, and twined garlands, so they did not go either; and when the others reached the willow-tree, where the confectioner was, they said, “now we are there! in reality the bell does not exist; it is only a fancy that people have taken into their heads!” at the same moment the bell sounded deep in the wood, so clear and solemnly that five or six determined to penetrate somewhat further. it was so thick, and the foliage so dense, that it was quite fatiguing to proceed. woodroof and anemonies grew almost too high; blooming convolvuluses and blackberry-bushes hung in long garlands from tree to tree, where the nightingale sang and the sunbeams were playing: it was very beautiful, but it was no place for girls to go; their clothes would get so torn. large blocks of stone lay there, overgrown with moss of every color; the fresh spring bubbled forth, and made a strange gurgling sound. “that surely cannot be the bell,” said one of the children, lying down and listening. “this must be looked to.” so he remained, and let the others go on without him. they afterwards came to a little house, made of branches and the bark of trees; a large wild apple-tree bent over it, as if it would shower down all its blessings on the roof, where roses were blooming. the long stems twined round the gable, on which there hung a small bell. was it that which people had heard? yes, everybody was unanimous on the subject, except one, who said that the bell was too small and too fine to be heard at so great a distance, and besides it was very different tones to those that could move a human heart in such a manner. it was a king's son who spoke; whereon the others said, “such people always want to be wiser than everybody else.” they now let him go on alone; and as he went, his breast was filled more and more with the forest solitude; but he still heard the little bell with which the others were so satisfied, and now and then, when the wind blew, he could also hear the people singing who were sitting at tea where the confectioner had his tent; but the deep sound of the bell rose louder; it was almost as if an organ were accompanying it, and the tones came from the left hand, the side where the heart is placed. a rustling was heard in the bushes, and a little boy stood before the king's son, a boy in wooden shoes, and with so short a jacket that one could see what long wrists he had. both knew each other: the boy was that one among the children who could not come because he had to go home and return his jacket and boots to the innkeeper's son. this he had done, and was now going on in wooden shoes and in his humble dress, for the bell sounded with so deep a tone, and with such strange power, that proceed he must. “why, then, we can go together,” said the king's son. but the poor child that had been confirmed was quite ashamed; he looked at his wooden shoes, pulled at the short sleeves of his jacket, and said that he was afraid he could not walk so fast; besides, he thought that the bell must be looked for to the right; for that was the place where all sorts of beautiful things were to be found. “but there we shall not meet,” said the king's son, nodding at the same time to the poor boy, who went into the darkest, thickest part of the wood, where thorns tore his humble dress, and scratched his face and hands and feet till they bled. the king's son got some scratches too; but the sun shone on his path, and it is him that we will follow, for he was an excellent and resolute youth. “i must and will find the bell,” said he, “even if i am obliged to go to the end of the world.” the ugly apes sat upon the trees, and grinned. “shall we thrash him?” said they. “shall we thrash him? he is the son of a king!” but on he went, without being disheartened, deeper and deeper into the wood, where the most wonderful flowers were growing. there stood white lilies with blood-red stamina, skyblue tulips, which shone as they waved in the winds, and apple-trees, the apples of which looked exactly like large soapbubbles: so only think how the trees must have sparkled in the sunshine! around the nicest green meads, where the deer were playing in the grass, grew magnificent oaks and beeches; and if the bark of one of the trees was cracked, there grass and long creeping plants grew in the crevices. and there were large calm lakes there too, in which white swans were swimming, and beat the air with their wings. the king's son often stood still and listened. he thought the bell sounded from the depths of these still lakes; but then he remarked again that the tone proceeded not from there, but farther off, from out the depths of the forest. the sun now set: the atmosphere glowed like fire. it was still in the woods, so very still; and he fell on his knees, sung his evening hymn, and said: “i cannot find what i seek; the sun is going down, and night is coming--the dark, dark night. yet perhaps i may be able once more to see the round red sun before he entirely disappears. i will climb up yonder rock.” and he seized hold of the creeping-plants, and the roots of trees--climbed up the moist stones where the water-snakes were writhing and the toads were croaking--and he gained the summit before the sun had quite gone down. how magnificent was the sight from this height! the sea--the great, the glorious sea, that dashed its long waves against the coast--was stretched out before him. and yonder, where sea and sky meet, stood the sun, like a large shining altar, all melted together in the most glowing colors. and the wood and the sea sang a song of rejoicing, and his heart sang with the rest: all nature was a vast holy church, in which the trees and the buoyant clouds were the pillars, flowers and grass the velvet carpeting, and heaven itself the large cupola. the red colors above faded away as the sun vanished, but a million stars were lighted, a million lamps shone; and the king's son spread out his arms towards heaven, and wood, and sea; when at the same moment, coming by a path to the right, appeared, in his wooden shoes and jacket, the poor boy who had been confirmed with him. he had followed his own path, and had reached the spot just as soon as the son of the king had done. they ran towards each other, and stood together hand in hand in the vast church of nature and of poetry, while over them sounded the invisible holy bell: blessed spirits floated around them, and lifted up their voices in a rejoicing hallelujah! the old house in the street, up there, was an old, a very old house--it was almost three hundred years old, for that might be known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. the one story stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under the eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon's head; the rain-water should have run out of the mouth, but it ran out of the belly, for there was a hole in the spout. all the other houses in the street were so new and so neat, with large window panes and smooth walls, one could easily see that they would have nothing to do with the old house: they certainly thought, “how long is that old decayed thing to stand here as a spectacle in the street? and then the projecting windows stand so far out, that no one can see from our windows what happens in that direction! the steps are as broad as those of a palace, and as high as to a church tower. the iron railings look just like the door to an old family vault, and then they have brass tops--that's so stupid!” on the other side of the street were also new and neat houses, and they thought just as the others did; but at the window opposite the old house there sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and bright beaming eyes: he certainly liked the old house best, and that both in sunshine and moonshine. and when he looked across at the wall where the mortar had fallen out, he could sit and find out there the strangest figures imaginable; exactly as the street had appeared before, with steps, projecting windows, and pointed gables; he could see soldiers with halberds, and spouts where the water ran, like dragons and serpents. that was a house to look at; and there lived an old man, who wore plush breeches; and he had a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig that one could see was a real wig. every morning there came an old fellow to him who put his rooms in order, and went on errands; otherwise, the old man in the plush breeches was quite alone in the old house. now and then he came to the window and looked out, and the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded again, and so they became acquaintances, and then they were friends, although they had never spoken to each other--but that made no difference. the little boy heard his parents say, “the old man opposite is very well off, but he is so very, very lonely!” the sunday following, the little boy took something, and wrapped it up in a piece of paper, went downstairs, and stood in the doorway; and when the man who went on errands came past, he said to him-- “i say, master! will you give this to the old man over the way from me? i have two pewter soldiers--this is one of them, and he shall have it, for i know he is so very, very lonely.” and the old errand man looked quite pleased, nodded, and took the pewter soldier over to the old house. afterwards there came a message; it was to ask if the little boy himself had not a wish to come over and pay a visit; and so he got permission of his parents, and then went over to the old house. and the brass balls on the iron railings shone much brighter than ever; one would have thought they were polished on account of the visit; and it was as if the carved-out trumpeters--for there were trumpeters, who stood in tulips, carved out on the door--blew with all their might, their cheeks appeared so much rounder than before. yes, they blew--“trateratra! the little boy comes! trateratra!”--and then the door opened. the whole passage was hung with portraits of knights in armor, and ladies in silken gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silken gowns rustled! and then there was a flight of stairs which went a good way upwards, and a little way downwards, and then one came on a balcony which was in a very dilapidated state, sure enough, with large holes and long crevices, but grass grew there and leaves out of them altogether, for the whole balcony outside, the yard, and the walls, were overgrown with so much green stuff, that it looked like a garden; only a balcony. here stood old flower-pots with faces and asses' ears, and the flowers grew just as they liked. one of the pots was quite overrun on all sides with pinks, that is to say, with the green part; shoot stood by shoot, and it said quite distinctly, “the air has cherished me, the sun has kissed me, and promised me a little flower on sunday! a little flower on sunday!” and then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog's leather, and printed with gold flowers. “the gilding decays, but hog's leather stays!” said the walls. and there stood easy-chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out, and with arms on both sides. “sit down! sit down!” said they. “ugh! how i creak; now i shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress, ugh!” and then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat. “i thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!” said the old man. “and i thank you because you come over to me.” “thankee! thankee!” or “cranky! cranky!” sounded from all the furniture; there was so much of it, that each article stood in the other's way, to get a look at the little boy. in the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said “thankee, thankee!” nor “cranky, cranky!” but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old man, “where did you get her?” “yonder, at the broker's,” said the old man, “where there are so many pictures hanging. no one knows or cares about them, for they are all of them buried; but i knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been dead and gone these fifty years!” under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so very old! the pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became still older; but they did not observe it. “they say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are so very, very lonely!” “oh!” said he. “the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also come! i am very well off!” then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were whole long processions and pageants, with the strangest characters, which one never sees now-a-days; soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving flags: the tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lions--and the shoemakers theirs, without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can say, it is a pair! yes, that was a picture book! the old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts--yes, it was delightful over there in the old house. “i cannot bear it any longer!” said the pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers. “it is so lonely and melancholy here! but when one has been in a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life! i cannot bear it any longer! the whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer! here it is not at all as it is over the way at your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise. nay, how lonely the old man is--do you think that he gets kisses? do you think he gets mild eyes, or a christmas tree? he will get nothing but a grave! i can bear it no longer!” “you must not let it grieve you so much,” said the little boy. “i find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here.” “yes, it's all very well, but i see nothing of them, and i don't know them!” said the pewter soldier. “i cannot bear it!” “but you must!” said the little boy. then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier. the little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again. the carved trumpeters blew, “trateratra! there is the little boy! trateratra!” and the swords and armor on the knights' portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hog's leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs: ugh! it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just like another. “i cannot bear it!” said the pewter soldier. “i have shed pewter tears! it is too melancholy! rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! it would at least be a change. i cannot bear it longer! now, i know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! i have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; i was at last about to jump down from the drawers. “i saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here; it was again that sunday morning; all you children stood before the table and sung your psalms, as you do every morning. you stood devoutly with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious; and then the door was opened, and little sister mary, who is not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of whatever kind it may be, was put into the room--though she ought not to have been there--and then she began to dance, but could not keep time, because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one leg, and bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent her head forwards--but all would not do. you stood very seriously all together, although it was difficult enough; but i laughed to myself, and then i fell off the table, and got a bump, which i have still--for it was not right of me to laugh. but the whole now passes before me again in thought, and everything that i have lived to see; and these are the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them. “tell me if you still sing on sundays? tell me something about little mary! and how my comrade, the other pewter soldier, lives! yes, he is happy enough, that's sure! i cannot bear it any longer!” “you are given away as a present!” said the little boy. “you must remain. can you not understand that?” the old man now came with a drawer, in which there was much to be seen, both “tin boxes” and “balsam boxes,” old cards, so large and so gilded, such as one never sees them now. and several drawers were opened, and the piano was opened; it had landscapes on the inside of the lid, and it was so hoarse when the old man played on it! and then he hummed a song. “yes, she could sing that!” said he, and nodded to the portrait, which he had bought at the broker's, and the old man's eyes shone so bright! “i will go to the wars! i will go to the wars!” shouted the pewter soldier as loud as he could, and threw himself off the drawers right down on the floor. what became of him? the old man sought, and the little boy sought; he was away, and he stayed away. “i shall find him!” said the old man; but he never found him. the floor was too open--the pewter soldier had fallen through a crevice, and there he lay as in an open tomb. that day passed, and the little boy went home, and that week passed, and several weeks too. the windows were quite frozen, the little boy was obliged to sit and breathe on them to get a peep-hole over to the old house, and there the snow had been blown into all the carved work and inscriptions; it lay quite up over the steps, just as if there was no one at home--nor was there any one at home--the old man was dead! in the evening there was a hearse seen before the door, and he was borne into it in his coffin: he was now to go out into the country, to lie in his grave. he was driven out there, but no one followed; all his friends were dead, and the little boy kissed his hand to the coffin as it was driven away. some days afterwards there was an auction at the old house, and the little boy saw from his window how they carried the old knights and the old ladies away, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs, and the old clothes-presses. something came here, and something came there; the portrait of her who had been found at the broker's came to the broker's again; and there it hung, for no one knew her more--no one cared about the old picture. in the spring they pulled the house down, for, as people said, it was a ruin. one could see from the street right into the room with the hog's-leather hanging, which was slashed and torn; and the green grass and leaves about the balcony hung quite wild about the falling beams. and then it was put to rights. “that was a relief,” said the neighboring houses. a fine house was built there, with large windows, and smooth white walls; but before it, where the old house had in fact stood, was a little garden laid out, and a wild grapevine ran up the wall of the neighboring house. before the garden there was a large iron railing with an iron door, it looked quite splendid, and people stood still and peeped in, and the sparrows hung by scores in the vine, and chattered away at each other as well as they could, but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember it, so many years had passed--so many that the little boy had grown up to a whole man, yes, a clever man, and a pleasure to his parents; and he had just been married, and, together with his little wife, had come to live in the house here, where the garden was; and he stood by her there whilst she planted a field-flower that she found so pretty; she planted it with her little hand, and pressed the earth around it with her fingers. oh! what was that? she had stuck herself. there sat something pointed, straight out of the soft mould. it was--yes, guess! it was the pewter soldier, he that was lost up at the old man's, and had tumbled and turned about amongst the timber and the rubbish, and had at last laid for many years in the ground. the young wife wiped the dirt off the soldier, first with a green leaf, and then with her fine handkerchief--it had such a delightful smell, that it was to the pewter soldier just as if he had awaked from a trance. “let me see him,” said the young man. he laughed, and then shook his head. “nay, it cannot be he; but he reminds me of a story about a pewter soldier which i had when i was a little boy!” and then he told his wife about the old house, and the old man, and about the pewter soldier that he sent over to him because he was so very, very lonely; and he told it as correctly as it had really been, so that the tears came into the eyes of his young wife, on account of the old house and the old man. “it may possibly be, however, that it is the same pewter soldier!” said she. “i will take care of it, and remember all that you have told me; but you must show me the old man's grave!” “but i do not know it,” said he, “and no one knows it! all his friends were dead, no one took care of it, and i was then a little boy!” “how very, very lonely he must have been!” said she. “very, very lonely!” said the pewter soldier. “but it is delightful not to be forgotten!” “delightful!” shouted something close by; but no one, except the pewter soldier, saw that it was a piece of the hog's-leather hangings; it had lost all its gilding, it looked like a piece of wet clay, but it had an opinion, and it gave it: “the gilding decays, but hog's leather stays!” this the pewter soldier did not believe. the happy family really, the largest green leaf in this country is a dock-leaf; if one holds it before one, it is like a whole apron, and if one holds it over one's head in rainy weather, it is almost as good as an umbrella, for it is so immensely large. the burdock never grows alone, but where there grows one there always grow several: it is a great delight, and all this delightfulness is snails' food. the great white snails which persons of quality in former times made fricassees of, ate, and said, “hem, hem! how delicious!” for they thought it tasted so delicate--lived on dock-leaves, and therefore burdock seeds were sown. now, there was an old manor-house, where they no longer ate snails, they were quite extinct; but the burdocks were not extinct, they grew and grew all over the walks and all the beds; they could not get the mastery over them--it was a whole forest of burdocks. here and there stood an apple and a plum-tree, or else one never would have thought that it was a garden; all was burdocks, and there lived the two last venerable old snails. they themselves knew not how old they were, but they could remember very well that there had been many more; that they were of a family from foreign lands, and that for them and theirs the whole forest was planted. they had never been outside it, but they knew that there was still something more in the world, which was called the manor-house, and that there they were boiled, and then they became black, and were then placed on a silver dish; but what happened further they knew not; or, in fact, what it was to be boiled, and to lie on a silver dish, they could not possibly imagine; but it was said to be delightful, and particularly genteel. neither the chafers, the toads, nor the earth-worms, whom they asked about it could give them any information--none of them had been boiled or laid on a silver dish. the old white snails were the first persons of distinction in the world, that they knew; the forest was planted for their sake, and the manor-house was there that they might be boiled and laid on a silver dish. now they lived a very lonely and happy life; and as they had no children themselves, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own; but the little one would not grow, for he was of a common family; but the old ones, especially dame mother snail, thought they could observe how he increased in size, and she begged father, if he could not see it, that he would at least feel the little snail's shell; and then he felt it, and found the good dame was right. one day there was a heavy storm of rain. “hear how it beats like a drum on the dock-leaves!” said father snail. “there are also rain-drops!” said mother snail. “and now the rain pours right down the stalk! you will see that it will be wet here! i am very happy to think that we have our good house, and the little one has his also! there is more done for us than for all other creatures, sure enough; but can you not see that we are folks of quality in the world? we are provided with a house from our birth, and the burdock forest is planted for our sakes! i should like to know how far it extends, and what there is outside!” “there is nothing at all,” said father snail. “no place can be better than ours, and i have nothing to wish for!” “yes,” said the dame. “i would willingly go to the manorhouse, be boiled, and laid on a silver dish; all our forefathers have been treated so; there is something extraordinary in it, you may be sure!” “the manor-house has most likely fallen to ruin!” said father snail. “or the burdocks have grown up over it, so that they cannot come out. there need not, however, be any haste about that; but you are always in such a tremendous hurry, and the little one is beginning to be the same. has he not been creeping up that stalk these three days? it gives me a headache when i look up to him!” “you must not scold him,” said mother snail. “he creeps so carefully; he will afford us much pleasure--and we have nothing but him to live for! but have you not thought of it? where shall we get a wife for him? do you not think that there are some of our species at a great distance in the interior of the burdock forest?” “black snails, i dare say, there are enough of,” said the old one. “black snails without a house--but they are so common, and so conceited. but we might give the ants a commission to look out for us; they run to and fro as if they had something to do, and they certainly know of a wife for our little snail!” “i know one, sure enough--the most charming one!” said one of the ants. “but i am afraid we shall hardly succeed, for she is a queen!” “that is nothing!” said the old folks. “has she a house?” “she has a palace!” said the ant. “the finest ant's palace, with seven hundred passages!” “i thank you!” said mother snail. “our son shall not go into an ant-hill; if you know nothing better than that, we shall give the commission to the white gnats. they fly far and wide, in rain and sunshine; they know the whole forest here, both within and without.” “we have a wife for him,” said the gnats. “at a hundred human paces from here there sits a little snail in her house, on a gooseberry bush; she is quite lonely, and old enough to be married. it is only a hundred human paces!” “well, then, let her come to him!” said the old ones. “he has a whole forest of burdocks, she has only a bush!” and so they went and fetched little miss snail. it was a whole week before she arrived; but therein was just the very best of it, for one could thus see that she was of the same species. and then the marriage was celebrated. six earth-worms shone as well as they could. in other respects the whole went off very quietly, for the old folks could not bear noise and merriment; but old dame snail made a brilliant speech. father snail could not speak, he was too much affected; and so they gave them as a dowry and inheritance, the whole forest of burdocks, and said--what they had always said--that it was the best in the world; and if they lived honestly and decently, and increased and multiplied, they and their children would once in the course of time come to the manor-house, be boiled black, and laid on silver dishes. after this speech was made, the old ones crept into their shells, and never more came out. they slept; the young couple governed in the forest, and had a numerous progeny, but they were never boiled, and never came on the silver dishes; so from this they concluded that the manor-house had fallen to ruins, and that all the men in the world were extinct; and as no one contradicted them, so, of course it was so. and the rain beat on the dock-leaves to make drum-music for their sake, and the sun shone in order to give the burdock forest a color for their sakes; and they were very happy, and the whole family was happy; for they, indeed were so. the story of a mother a mother sat there with her little child. she was so downcast, so afraid that it should die! it was so pale, the small eyes had closed themselves, and it drew its breath so softly, now and then, with a deep respiration, as if it sighed; and the mother looked still more sorrowfully on the little creature. then a knocking was heard at the door, and in came a poor old man wrapped up as in a large horse-cloth, for it warms one, and he needed it, as it was the cold winter season! everything out-of-doors was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so that it cut the face. as the old man trembled with cold, and the little child slept a moment, the mother went and poured some ale into a pot and set it on the stove, that it might be warm for him; the old man sat and rocked the cradle, and the mother sat down on a chair close by him, and looked at her little sick child that drew its breath so deep, and raised its little hand. “do you not think that i shall save him?” said she. “our lord will not take him from me!” and the old man--it was death himself--he nodded so strangely, it could just as well signify yes as no. and the mother looked down in her lap, and the tears ran down over her cheeks; her head became so heavy--she had not closed her eyes for three days and nights; and now she slept, but only for a minute, when she started up and trembled with cold. “what is that?” said she, and looked on all sides; but the old man was gone, and her little child was gone--he had taken it with him; and the old clock in the corner burred, and burred, the great leaden weight ran down to the floor, bump! and then the clock also stood still. but the poor mother ran out of the house and cried aloud for her child. out there, in the midst of the snow, there sat a woman in long, black clothes; and she said, “death has been in thy chamber, and i saw him hasten away with thy little child; he goes faster than the wind, and he never brings back what he takes!” “oh, only tell me which way he went!” said the mother. “tell me the way, and i shall find him!” “i know it!” said the woman in the black clothes. “but before i tell it, thou must first sing for me all the songs thou hast sung for thy child! i am fond of them. i have heard them before; i am night; i saw thy tears whilst thou sang'st them!” “i will sing them all, all!” said the mother. “but do not stop me now--i may overtake him--i may find my child!” but night stood still and mute. then the mother wrung her hands, sang and wept, and there were many songs, but yet many more tears; and then night said, “go to the right, into the dark pine forest; thither i saw death take his way with thy little child!” the roads crossed each other in the depths of the forest, and she no longer knew whither she should go! then there stood a thorn-bush; there was neither leaf nor flower on it, it was also in the cold winter season, and ice-flakes hung on the branches. “hast thou not seen death go past with my little child?” said the mother. “yes,” said the thorn-bush; “but i will not tell thee which way he took, unless thou wilt first warm me up at thy heart. i am freezing to death; i shall become a lump of ice!” and she pressed the thorn-bush to her breast, so firmly, that it might be thoroughly warmed, and the thorns went right into her flesh, and her blood flowed in large drops, but the thornbush shot forth fresh green leaves, and there came flowers on it in the cold winter night, the heart of the afflicted mother was so warm; and the thorn-bush told her the way she should go. she then came to a large lake, where there was neither ship nor boat. the lake was not frozen sufficiently to bear her; neither was it open, nor low enough that she could wade through it; and across it she must go if she would find her child! then she lay down to drink up the lake, and that was an impossibility for a human being, but the afflicted mother thought that a miracle might happen nevertheless. “oh, what would i not give to come to my child!” said the weeping mother; and she wept still more, and her eyes sunk down in the depths of the waters, and became two precious pearls; but the water bore her up, as if she sat in a swing, and she flew in the rocking waves to the shore on the opposite side, where there stood a mile-broad, strange house, one knew not if it were a mountain with forests and caverns, or if it were built up; but the poor mother could not see it; she had wept her eyes out. “where shall i find death, who took away my little child?” said she. “he has not come here yet!” said the old grave woman, who was appointed to look after death's great greenhouse! “how have you been able to find the way hither? and who has helped you?” “our lord has helped me,” said she. “he is merciful, and you will also be so! where shall i find my little child?” “nay, i know not,” said the woman, “and you cannot see! many flowers and trees have withered this night; death will soon come and plant them over again! you certainly know that every person has his or her life's tree or flower, just as everyone happens to be settled; they look like other plants, but they have pulsations of the heart. children's hearts can also beat; go after yours, perhaps you may know your child's; but what will you give me if i tell you what you shall do more?” “i have nothing to give,” said the afflicted mother, “but i will go to the world's end for you!” “nay, i have nothing to do there!” said the woman. “but you can give me your long black hair; you know yourself that it is fine, and that i like! you shall have my white hair instead, and that's always something!” “do you demand nothing else?” said she. “that i will gladly give you!” and she gave her her fine black hair, and got the old woman's snow-white hair instead. so they went into death's great greenhouse, where flowers and trees grew strangely into one another. there stood fine hyacinths under glass bells, and there stood strong-stemmed peonies; there grew water plants, some so fresh, others half sick, the water-snakes lay down on them, and black crabs pinched their stalks. there stood beautiful palm-trees, oaks, and plantains; there stood parsley and flowering thyme: every tree and every flower had its name; each of them was a human life, the human frame still lived--one in china, and another in greenland--round about in the world. there were large trees in small pots, so that they stood so stunted in growth, and ready to burst the pots; in other places, there was a little dull flower in rich mould, with moss round about it, and it was so petted and nursed. but the distressed mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and heard within them how the human heart beat; and amongst millions she knew her child's. “there it is!” cried she, and stretched her hands out over a little blue crocus, that hung quite sickly on one side. “don't touch the flower!” said the old woman. “but place yourself here, and when death comes--i expect him every moment--do not let him pluck the flower up, but threaten him that you will do the same with the others. then he will be afraid! he is responsible for them to our lord, and no one dares to pluck them up before he gives leave.” all at once an icy cold rushed through the great hall, and the blind mother could feel that it was death that came. “how hast thou been able to find thy way hither?” he asked. “how couldst thou come quicker than i?” “i am a mother,” said she. and death stretched out his long hand towards the fine little flower, but she held her hands fast around his, so tight, and yet afraid that she should touch one of the leaves. then death blew on her hands, and she felt that it was colder than the cold wind, and her hands fell down powerless. “thou canst not do anything against me!” said death. “but our lord can!” said she. “i only do his bidding!” said death. “i am his gardener, i take all his flowers and trees, and plant them out in the great garden of paradise, in the unknown land; but how they grow there, and how it is there i dare not tell thee.” “give me back my child!” said the mother, and she wept and prayed. at once she seized hold of two beautiful flowers close by, with each hand, and cried out to death, “i will tear all thy flowers off, for i am in despair.” “touch them not!” said death. “thou say'st that thou art so unhappy, and now thou wilt make another mother equally unhappy.” “another mother!” said the poor woman, and directly let go her hold of both the flowers. “there, thou hast thine eyes,” said death; “i fished them up from the lake, they shone so bright; i knew not they were thine. take them again, they are now brighter than before; now look down into the deep well close by; i shall tell thee the names of the two flowers thou wouldst have torn up, and thou wilt see their whole future life--their whole human existence: and see what thou wast about to disturb and destroy.” and she looked down into the well; and it was a happiness to see how the one became a blessing to the world, to see how much happiness and joy were felt everywhere. and she saw the other's life, and it was sorrow and distress, horror, and wretchedness. “both of them are god's will!” said death. “which of them is misfortune's flower and which is that of happiness?” asked she. “that i will not tell thee,” said death; “but this thou shalt know from me, that the one flower was thy own child! it was thy child's fate thou saw'st--thy own child's future life!” then the mother screamed with terror, “which of them was my child? tell it me! save the innocent! save my child from all that misery! rather take it away! take it into god's kingdom! forget my tears, forget my prayers, and all that i have done!” “i do not understand thee!” said death. “wilt thou have thy child again, or shall i go with it there, where thou dost not know!” then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayed to our lord: “oh, hear me not when i pray against thy will, which is the best! hear me not! hear me not!” and she bowed her head down in her lap, and death took her child and went with it into the unknown land. the false collar there was once a fine gentleman, all of whose moveables were a boot-jack and a hair-comb: but he had the finest false collars in the world; and it is about one of these collars that we are now to hear a story. it was so old, that it began to think of marriage; and it happened that it came to be washed in company with a garter. “nay!” said the collar. “i never did see anything so slender and so fine, so soft and so neat. may i not ask your name?” “that i shall not tell you!” said the garter. “where do you live?” asked the collar. but the garter was so bashful, so modest, and thought it was a strange question to answer. “you are certainly a girdle,” said the collar; “that is to say an inside girdle. i see well that you are both for use and ornament, my dear young lady.” “i will thank you not to speak to me,” said the garter. “i think i have not given the least occasion for it.” “yes! when one is as handsome as you,” said the collar, “that is occasion enough.” “don't come so near me, i beg of you!” said the garter. “you look so much like those men-folks.” “i am also a fine gentleman,” said the collar. “i have a bootjack and a hair-comb.” but that was not true, for it was his master who had them: but he boasted. “don't come so near me,” said the garter: “i am not accustomed to it.” “prude!” exclaimed the collar; and then it was taken out of the washing-tub. it was starched, hung over the back of a chair in the sunshine, and was then laid on the ironing-blanket; then came the warm box-iron. “dear lady!” said the collar. “dear widow-lady! i feel quite hot. i am quite changed. i begin to unfold myself. you will burn a hole in me. oh! i offer you my hand.” “rag!” said the box-iron; and went proudly over the collar: for she fancied she was a steam-engine, that would go on the railroad and draw the waggons. “rag!” said the box-iron. the collar was a little jagged at the edge, and so came the long scissors to cut off the jagged part. “oh!” said the collar. “you are certainly the first opera dancer. how well you can stretch your legs out! it is the most graceful performance i have ever seen. no one can imitate you.” “i know it,” said the scissors. “you deserve to be a baroness,” said the collar. “all that i have is a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a hair-comb. if i only had the barony!” “do you seek my hand?” said the scissors; for she was angry; and without more ado, she cut him, and then he was condemned. “i shall now be obliged to ask the hair-comb. it is surprising how well you preserve your teeth, miss,” said the collar. “have you never thought of being betrothed?” “yes, of course! you may be sure of that,” said the hair-comb. “i am betrothed--to the boot-jack!” “betrothed!” exclaimed the collar. now there was no other to court, and so he despised it. a long time passed away, then the collar came into the rag chest at the paper mill; there was a large company of rags, the fine by themselves, and the coarse by themselves, just as it should be. they all had much to say, but the collar the most; for he was a real boaster. “i have had such an immense number of sweethearts!” said the collar. “i could not be in peace! it is true, i was always a fine starched-up gentleman! i had both a boot-jack and a hair-comb, which i never used! you should have seen me then, you should have seen me when i lay down! i shall never forget my first love--she was a girdle, so fine, so soft, and so charming, she threw herself into a tub of water for my sake! there was also a widow, who became glowing hot, but i left her standing till she got black again; there was also the first opera dancer, she gave me that cut which i now go with, she was so ferocious! my own hair-comb was in love with me, she lost all her teeth from the heart-ache; yes, i have lived to see much of that sort of thing; but i am extremely sorry for the garter--i mean the girdle--that went into the water-tub. i have much on my conscience, i want to become white paper!” and it became so, all the rags were turned into white paper; but the collar came to be just this very piece of white paper we here see, and on which the story is printed; and that was because it boasted so terribly afterwards of what had never happened to it. it would be well for us to beware, that we may not act in a similar manner, for we can never know if we may not, in the course of time, also come into the rag chest, and be made into white paper, and then have our whole life's history printed on it, even the most secret, and be obliged to run about and tell it ourselves, just like this collar. the shadow it is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people become quite a mahogany brown, ay, and in the hottest lands they are burnt to negroes. but now it was only to the hot lands that a learned man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about just as when at home, but he soon found out his mistake. he, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doors--the window-shutters and doors were closed the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept, or there was no one at home. the narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine must fall there from morning till evening--it was really not to be borne. the learned man from the cold lands--he was a young man, and seemed to be a clever man--sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became quite meagre--even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an effect on it. it was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they began to freshen up again. in the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on all the balconies in the street--for one must have air, even if one be accustomed to be mahogany!* it was lively both up and down the street. tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the street--chairs and tables were brought forth--and candles burnt--yes, above a thousand lights were burning--and the one talked and the other sung; and people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along with a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on. the street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils and detonating balls--and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers--for there were funerals with psalm and hymn--and then the din of carriages driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down in the street. only in that single house, which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one lived there, for there stood flowers in the balcony--they grew so well in the sun's heat! and that they could not do unless they were watered--and some one must water them--there must be somebody there. the door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at least in the front room; further in there was heard the sound of music. the learned foreigner thought it quite marvellous, but now--it might be that he only imagined it--for he found everything marvellous out there, in the warm lands, if there had only been no sun. the stranger's landlord said that he didn't know who had taken the house opposite, one saw no person about, and as to the music, it appeared to him to be extremely tiresome. “it is as if some one sat there, and practised a piece that he could not master--always the same piece. 'i shall master it!' says he; but yet he cannot master it, however long he plays.” * the word mahogany can be understood, in danish, as having two meanings. in general, it means the reddish-brown wood itself; but in jest, it signifies “excessively fine,” which arose from an anecdote of nyboder, in copenhagen, (the seamen's quarter.) a sailor's wife, who was always proud and fine, in her way, came to her neighbor, and complained that she had got a splinter in her finger. “what of?” asked the neighbor's wife. “it is a mahogany splinter,” said the other. “mahogany! it cannot be less with you!” exclaimed the woman--and thence the proverb, “it is so mahogany!”--(that is, so excessively fine)--is derived. one night the stranger awoke--he slept with the doors of the balcony open--the curtain before it was raised by the wind, and he thought that a strange lustre came from the opposite neighbor's house; all the flowers shone like flames, in the most beautiful colors, and in the midst of the flowers stood a slender, graceful maiden--it was as if she also shone; the light really hurt his eyes. he now opened them quite wide--yes, he was quite awake; with one spring he was on the floor; he crept gently behind the curtain, but the maiden was gone; the flowers shone no longer, but there they stood, fresh and blooming as ever; the door was ajar, and, far within, the music sounded so soft and delightful, one could really melt away in sweet thoughts from it. yet it was like a piece of enchantment. and who lived there? where was the actual entrance? the whole of the ground-floor was a row of shops, and there people could not always be running through. one evening the stranger sat out on the balcony. the light burnt in the room behind him; and thus it was quite natural that his shadow should fall on his opposite neighbor's wall. yes! there it sat, directly opposite, between the flowers on the balcony; and when the stranger moved, the shadow also moved: for that it always does. “i think my shadow is the only living thing one sees over there,” said the learned man. “see, how nicely it sits between the flowers. the door stands half-open: now the shadow should be cunning, and go into the room, look about, and then come and tell me what it had seen. come, now! be useful, and do me a service,” said he, in jest. “have the kindness to step in. now! art thou going?” and then he nodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded again. “well then, go! but don't stay away.” the stranger rose, and his shadow on the opposite neighbor's balcony rose also; the stranger turned round and the shadow also turned round. yes! if anyone had paid particular attention to it, they would have seen, quite distinctly, that the shadow went in through the half-open balcony-door of their opposite neighbor, just as the stranger went into his own room, and let the long curtain fall down after him. next morning, the learned man went out to drink coffee and read the newspapers. “what is that?” said he, as he came out into the sunshine. “i have no shadow! so then, it has actually gone last night, and not come again. it is really tiresome!” this annoyed him: not so much because the shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story about a man without a shadow.* it was known to everybody at home, in the cold lands; and if the learned man now came there and told his story, they would say that he was imitating it, and that he had no need to do. he would, therefore, not talk about it at all; and that was wisely thought. *peter schlemihl, the shadowless man. in the evening he went out again on the balcony. he had placed the light directly behind him, for he knew that the shadow would always have its master for a screen, but he could not entice it. he made himself little; he made himself great: but no shadow came again. he said, “hem! hem!” but it was of no use. it was vexatious; but in the warm lands everything grows so quickly; and after the lapse of eight days he observed, to his great joy, that a new shadow came in the sunshine. in the course of three weeks he had a very fair shadow, which, when he set out for his home in the northern lands, grew more and more in the journey, so that at last it was so long and so large, that it was more than sufficient. the learned man then came home, and he wrote books about what was true in the world, and about what was good and what was beautiful; and there passed days and years--yes! many years passed away. one evening, as he was sitting in his room, there was a gentle knocking at the door. “come in!” said he; but no one came in; so he opened the door, and there stood before him such an extremely lean man, that he felt quite strange. as to the rest, the man was very finely dressed--he must be a gentleman. “whom have i the honor of speaking?” asked the learned man. “yes! i thought as much,” said the fine man. “i thought you would not know me. i have got so much body. i have even got flesh and clothes. you certainly never thought of seeing me so well off. do you not know your old shadow? you certainly thought i should never more return. things have gone on well with me since i was last with you. i have, in all respects, become very well off. shall i purchase my freedom from service? if so, i can do it”; and then he rattled a whole bunch of valuable seals that hung to his watch, and he stuck his hand in the thick gold chain he wore around his neck--nay! how all his fingers glittered with diamond rings; and then all were pure gems. “nay; i cannot recover from my surprise!” said the learned man. “what is the meaning of all this?” “something common, is it not,” said the shadow. “but you yourself do not belong to the common order; and i, as you know well, have from a child followed in your footsteps. as soon as you found i was capable to go out alone in the world, i went my own way. i am in the most brilliant circumstances, but there came a sort of desire over me to see you once more before you die; you will die, i suppose? i also wished to see this land again--for you know we always love our native land. i know you have got another shadow again; have i anything to pay to it or you? if so, you will oblige me by saying what it is.” “nay, is it really thou?” said the learned man. “it is most remarkable: i never imagined that one's old shadow could come again as a man.” “tell me what i have to pay,” said the shadow; “for i don't like to be in any sort of debt.” “how canst thou talk so?” said the learned man. “what debt is there to talk about? make thyself as free as anyone else. i am extremely glad to hear of thy good fortune: sit down, old friend, and tell me a little how it has gone with thee, and what thou hast seen at our opposite neighbor's there--in the warm lands.” “yes, i will tell you all about it,” said the shadow, and sat down: “but then you must also promise me, that, wherever you may meet me, you will never say to anyone here in the town that i have been your shadow. i intend to get betrothed, for i can provide for more than one family.” “be quite at thy ease about that,” said the learned man; “i shall not say to anyone who thou actually art: here is my hand--i promise it, and a man's bond is his word.” “a word is a shadow,” said the shadow, “and as such it must speak.” it was really quite astonishing how much of a man it was. it was dressed entirely in black, and of the very finest cloth; it had patent leather boots, and a hat that could be folded together, so that it was bare crown and brim; not to speak of what we already know it had--seals, gold neck-chain, and diamond rings; yes, the shadow was well-dressed, and it was just that which made it quite a man. “now i shall tell you my adventures,” said the shadow; and then he sat, with the polished boots, as heavily as he could, on the arm of the learned man's new shadow, which lay like a poodle-dog at his feet. now this was perhaps from arrogance; and the shadow on the ground kept itself so still and quiet, that it might hear all that passed: it wished to know how it could get free, and work its way up, so as to become its own master. “do you know who lived in our opposite neighbor's house?” said the shadow. “it was the most charming of all beings, it was poesy! i was there for three weeks, and that has as much effect as if one had lived three thousand years, and read all that was composed and written; that is what i say, and it is right. i have seen everything and i know everything!” “poesy!” cried the learned man. “yes, yes, she often dwells a recluse in large cities! poesy! yes, i have seen her--a single short moment, but sleep came into my eyes! she stood on the balcony and shone as the aurora borealis shines. go on, go on--thou wert on the balcony, and went through the doorway, and then--” “then i was in the antechamber,” said the shadow. “you always sat and looked over to the antechamber. there was no light; there was a sort of twilight, but the one door stood open directly opposite the other through a long row of rooms and saloons, and there it was lighted up. i should have been completely killed if i had gone over to the maiden; but i was circumspect, i took time to think, and that one must always do.” “and what didst thou then see?” asked the learned man. “i saw everything, and i shall tell all to you: but--it is no pride on my part--as a free man, and with the knowledge i have, not to speak of my position in life, my excellent circumstances--i certainly wish that you would say you* to me!” * it is the custom in denmark for intimate acquaintances to use the second person singular, “du,” (thou) when speaking to each other. when a friendship is formed between men, they generally affirm it, when occasion offers, either in public or private, by drinking to each other and exclaiming, “thy health,” at the same time striking their glasses together. this is called drinking “duus”: they are then, “duus brodre,” (thou brothers) and ever afterwards use the pronoun “thou,” to each other, it being regarded as more familiar than “de,” (you). father and mother, sister and brother say thou to one another--without regard to age or rank. master and mistress say thou to their servants the superior to the inferior. but servants and inferiors do not use the same term to their masters, or superiors--nor is it ever used when speaking to a stranger, or anyone with whom they are but slightly acquainted--they then say as in english--you. “i beg your pardon,” said the learned man; “it is an old habit with me. you are perfectly right, and i shall remember it; but now you must tell me all you saw!” “everything!” said the shadow. “for i saw everything, and i know everything!” “how did it look in the furthest saloon?” asked the learned man. “was it there as in the fresh woods? was it there as in a holy church? were the saloons like the starlit firmament when we stand on the high mountains?” “everything was there!” said the shadow. “i did not go quite in, i remained in the foremost room, in the twilight, but i stood there quite well; i saw everything, and i know everything! i have been in the antechamber at the court of poesy.” “but what did you see? did all the gods of the olden times pass through the large saloons? did the old heroes combat there? did sweet children play there, and relate their dreams?” “i tell you i was there, and you can conceive that i saw everything there was to be seen. had you come over there, you would not have been a man; but i became so! and besides, i learned to know my inward nature, my innate qualities, the relationship i had with poesy. at the time i was with you, i thought not of that, but always--you know it well--when the sun rose, and when the sun went down, i became so strangely great; in the moonlight i was very near being more distinct than yourself; at that time i did not understand my nature; it was revealed to me in the antechamber! i became a man! i came out matured; but you were no longer in the warm lands; as a man i was ashamed to go as i did. i was in want of boots, of clothes, of the whole human varnish that makes a man perceptible. i took my way--i tell it to you, but you will not put it in any book--i took my way to the cake woman--i hid myself behind her; the woman didn't think how much she concealed. i went out first in the evening; i ran about the streets in the moonlight; i made myself long up the walls--it tickles the back so delightfully! i ran up, and ran down, peeped into the highest windows, into the saloons, and on the roofs, i peeped in where no one could peep, and i saw what no one else saw, what no one else should see! this is, in fact, a base world! i would not be a man if it were not now once accepted and regarded as something to be so! i saw the most unimaginable things with the women, with the men, with parents, and with the sweet, matchless children; i saw,” said the shadow, “what no human being must know, but what they would all so willingly know--what is bad in their neighbor. had i written a newspaper, it would have been read! but i wrote direct to the persons themselves, and there was consternation in all the towns where i came. they were so afraid of me, and yet they were so excessively fond of me. the professors made a professor of me; the tailors gave me new clothes--i am well furnished; the master of the mint struck new coin for me, and the women said i was so handsome! and so i became the man i am. and i now bid you farewell. here is my card--i live on the sunny side of the street, and am always at home in rainy weather!” and so away went the shadow. “that was most extraordinary!” said the learned man. years and days passed away, then the shadow came again. “how goes it?” said the shadow. “alas!” said the learned man. “i write about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, but no one cares to hear such things; i am quite desperate, for i take it so much to heart!” “but i don't!” said the shadow. “i become fat, and it is that one wants to become! you do not understand the world. you will become ill by it. you must travel! i shall make a tour this summer; will you go with me? i should like to have a travelling companion! will you go with me, as shadow? it will be a great pleasure for me to have you with me; i shall pay the travelling expenses!” “nay, this is too much!” said the learned man. “it is just as one takes it!” said the shadow. “it will do you much good to travel! will you be my shadow? you shall have everything free on the journey!” “nay, that is too bad!” said the learned man. “but it is just so with the world!” said the shadow, “and so it will be!” and away it went again. the learned man was not at all in the most enviable state; grief and torment followed him, and what he said about the true, and the good, and the beautiful, was, to most persons, like roses for a cow! he was quite ill at last. “you really look like a shadow!” said his friends to him; and the learned man trembled, for he thought of it. “you must go to a watering-place!” said the shadow, who came and visited him. “there is nothing else for it! i will take you with me for old acquaintance' sake; i will pay the travelling expenses, and you write the descriptions--and if they are a little amusing for me on the way! i will go to a watering-place--my beard does not grow out as it ought--that is also a sickness--and one must have a beard! now you be wise and accept the offer; we shall travel as comrades!” and so they travelled; the shadow was master, and the master was the shadow; they drove with each other, they rode and walked together, side by side, before and behind, just as the sun was; the shadow always took care to keep itself in the master's place. now the learned man didn't think much about that; he was a very kind-hearted man, and particularly mild and friendly, and so he said one day to the shadow: “as we have now become companions, and in this way have grown up together from childhood, shall we not drink 'thou' together, it is more familiar?” “you are right,” said the shadow, who was now the proper master. “it is said in a very straight-forward and well-meant manner. you, as a learned man, certainly know how strange nature is. some persons cannot bear to touch grey paper, or they become ill; others shiver in every limb if one rub a pane of glass with a nail: i have just such a feeling on hearing you say thou to me; i feel myself as if pressed to the earth in my first situation with you. you see that it is a feeling; that it is not pride: i cannot allow you to say thou to me, but i will willingly say thou to you, so it is half done!” so the shadow said thou to its former master. “this is rather too bad,” thought he, “that i must say you and he say thou,” but he was now obliged to put up with it. so they came to a watering-place where there were many strangers, and amongst them was a princess, who was troubled with seeing too well; and that was so alarming! she directly observed that the stranger who had just come was quite a different sort of person to all the others; “he has come here in order to get his beard to grow, they say, but i see the real cause, he cannot cast a shadow.” she had become inquisitive; and so she entered into conversation directly with the strange gentleman, on their promenades. as the daughter of a king, she needed not to stand upon trifles, so she said, “your complaint is, that you cannot cast a shadow?” “your royal highness must be improving considerably,” said the shadow, “i know your complaint is, that you see too clearly, but it has decreased, you are cured. i just happen to have a very unusual shadow! do you not see that person who always goes with me? other persons have a common shadow, but i do not like what is common to all. we give our servants finer cloth for their livery than we ourselves use, and so i had my shadow trimmed up into a man: yes, you see i have even given him a shadow. it is somewhat expensive, but i like to have something for myself!” “what!” thought the princess. “should i really be cured! these baths are the first in the world! in our time water has wonderful powers. but i shall not leave the place, for it now begins to be amusing here. i am extremely fond of that stranger: would that his beard should not grow, for in that case he will leave us!” in the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in the large ball-room. she was light, but he was still lighter; she had never had such a partner in the dance. she told him from what land she came, and he knew that land; he had been there, but then she was not at home; he had peeped in at the window, above and below--he had seen both the one and the other, and so he could answer the princess, and make insinuations, so that she was quite astonished; he must be the wisest man in the whole world! she felt such respect for what he knew! so that when they again danced together she fell in love with him; and that the shadow could remark, for she almost pierced him through with her eyes. so they danced once more together; and she was about to declare herself, but she was discreet; she thought of her country and kingdom, and of the many persons she would have to reign over. “he is a wise man,” said she to herself--“it is well; and he dances delightfully--that is also good; but has he solid knowledge? that is just as important! he must be examined.” so she began, by degrees, to question him about the most difficult things she could think of, and which she herself could not have answered; so that the shadow made a strange face. “you cannot answer these questions?” said the princess. “they belong to my childhood's learning,” said the shadow. “i really believe my shadow, by the door there, can answer them!” “your shadow!” said the princess. “that would indeed be marvellous!” “i will not say for a certainty that he can,” said the shadow, “but i think so; he has now followed me for so many years, and listened to my conversation--i should think it possible. but your royal highness will permit me to observe, that he is so proud of passing himself off for a man, that when he is to be in a proper humor--and he must be so to answer well--he must be treated quite like a man.” “oh! i like that!” said the princess. so she went to the learned man by the door, and she spoke to him about the sun and the moon, and about persons out of and in the world, and he answered with wisdom and prudence. “what a man that must be who has so wise a shadow!” thought she. “it will be a real blessing to my people and kingdom if i choose him for my consort--i will do it!” they were soon agreed, both the princess and the shadow; but no one was to know about it before she arrived in her own kingdom. “no one--not even my shadow!” said the shadow, and he had his own thoughts about it! now they were in the country where the princess reigned when she was at home. “listen, my good friend,” said the shadow to the learned man. “i have now become as happy and mighty as anyone can be; i will, therefore, do something particular for thee! thou shalt always live with me in the palace, drive with me in my royal carriage, and have ten thousand pounds a year; but then thou must submit to be called shadow by all and everyone; thou must not say that thou hast ever been a man; and once a year, when i sit on the balcony in the sunshine, thou must lie at my feet, as a shadow shall do! i must tell thee: i am going to marry the king's daughter, and the nuptials are to take place this evening!” “nay, this is going too far!” said the learned man. “i will not have it; i will not do it! it is to deceive the whole country and the princess too! i will tell everything! that i am a man, and that thou art a shadow--thou art only dressed up!” “there is no one who will believe it!” said the shadow. “be reasonable, or i will call the guard!” “i will go directly to the princess!” said the learned man. “but i will go first!” said the shadow. “and thou wilt go to prison!” and that he was obliged to do--for the sentinels obeyed him whom they knew the king's daughter was to marry. “you tremble!” said the princess, as the shadow came into her chamber. “has anything happened? you must not be unwell this evening, now that we are to have our nuptials celebrated.” “i have lived to see the most cruel thing that anyone can live to see!” said the shadow. “only imagine--yes, it is true, such a poor shadow-skull cannot bear much--only think, my shadow has become mad; he thinks that he is a man, and that i--now only think--that i am his shadow!” “it is terrible!” said the princess; “but he is confined, is he not?” “that he is. i am afraid that he will never recover.” “poor shadow!” said the princess. “he is very unfortunate; it would be a real work of charity to deliver him from the little life he has, and, when i think properly over the matter, i am of opinion that it will be necessary to do away with him in all stillness!” “it is certainly hard,” said the shadow, “for he was a faithful servant!” and then he gave a sort of sigh. “you are a noble character!” said the princess. the whole city was illuminated in the evening, and the cannons went off with a bum! bum! and the soldiers presented arms. that was a marriage! the princess and the shadow went out on the balcony to show themselves, and get another hurrah! the learned man heard nothing of all this--for they had deprived him of life. the little match girl most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening--the last evening of the year. in this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. when she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? they were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast. one slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. so the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. she carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing. she crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing! the flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. from all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was new year's eve; yes, of that she thought. in a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags. her little hands were almost numbed with cold. oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. she drew one out. “rischt!” how it blazed, how it burnt! it was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. it seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. the fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. the little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand. she rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. on the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. and what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. she lighted another match. now there she was sitting under the most magnificent christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house. thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. the little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. the lights of the christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire. “someone is just dead!” said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to god. she drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love. “grandmother!” cried the little one. “oh, take me with you! you go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent christmas tree!” and she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. and the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. she took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with god. but in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. “she wanted to warm herself,” people said. no one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year. the dream of little tuk ah! yes, that was little tuk: in reality his name was not tuk, but that was what he called himself before he could speak plain: he meant it for charles, and it is all well enough if one does but know it. he had now to take care of his little sister augusta, who was much younger than himself, and he was, besides, to learn his lesson at the same time; but these two things would not do together at all. there sat the poor little fellow, with his sister on his lap, and he sang to her all the songs he knew; and he glanced the while from time to time into the geography-book that lay open before him. by the next morning he was to have learnt all the towns in zealand by heart, and to know about them all that is possible to be known. his mother now came home, for she had been out, and took little augusta on her arm. tuk ran quickly to the window, and read so eagerly that he pretty nearly read his eyes out; for it got darker and darker, but his mother had no money to buy a candle. “there goes the old washerwoman over the way,” said his mother, as she looked out of the window. “the poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and she must now drag the pail home from the fountain. be a good boy, tukey, and run across and help the old woman, won't you?” so tuk ran over quickly and helped her; but when he came back again into the room it was quite dark, and as to a light, there was no thought of such a thing. he was now to go to bed; that was an old turn-up bedstead; in it he lay and thought about his geography lesson, and of zealand, and of all that his master had told him. he ought, to be sure, to have read over his lesson again, but that, you know, he could not do. he therefore put his geography-book under his pillow, because he had heard that was a very good thing to do when one wants to learn one's lesson; but one cannot, however, rely upon it entirely. well, there he lay, and thought and thought, and all at once it was just as if someone kissed his eyes and mouth: he slept, and yet he did not sleep; it was as though the old washerwoman gazed on him with her mild eyes and said, “it were a great sin if you were not to know your lesson tomorrow morning. you have aided me, i therefore will now help you; and the loving god will do so at all times.” and all of a sudden the book under tuk's pillow began scraping and scratching. “kickery-ki! kluk! kluk! kluk!”--that was an old hen who came creeping along, and she was from kjoge. “i am a kjoger hen,” [*] said she, and then she related how many inhabitants there were there, and about the battle that had taken place, and which, after all, was hardly worth talking about. * kjoge, a town in the bay of kjoge. “to see the kjoge hens,” is an expression similar to “showing a child london,” which is said to be done by taking his head in both bands, and so lifting him off the ground. at the invasion of the english in , an encounter of a no very glorious nature took place between the british troops and the undisciplined danish militia. “kribledy, krabledy--plump!” down fell somebody: it was a wooden bird, the popinjay used at the shooting-matches at prastoe. now he said that there were just as many inhabitants as he had nails in his body; and he was very proud. “thorwaldsen lived almost next door to me.* plump! here i lie capitally.” * prastoe, a still smaller town than kjoge. some hundred paces from it lies the manor-house ny soe, where thorwaldsen, the famed sculptor, generally sojourned during his stay in denmark, and where he called many of his immortal works into existence. but little tuk was no longer lying down: all at once he was on horseback. on he went at full gallop, still galloping on and on. a knight with a gleaming plume, and most magnificently dressed, held him before him on the horse, and thus they rode through the wood to the old town of bordingborg, and that was a large and very lively town. high towers rose from the castle of the king, and the brightness of many candles streamed from all the windows; within was dance and song, and king waldemar and the young, richly-attired maids of honor danced together. the morn now came; and as soon as the sun appeared, the whole town and the king's palace crumbled together, and one tower after the other; and at last only a single one remained standing where the castle had been before,* and the town was so small and poor, and the school boys came along with their books under their arms, and said, “ inhabitants!” but that was not true, for there were not so many. *bordingborg, in the reign of king waldemar, a considerable place, now an unimportant little town. one solitary tower only, and some remains of a wall, show where the castle once stood. and little tukey lay in his bed: it seemed to him as if he dreamed, and yet as if he were not dreaming; however, somebody was close beside him. “little tukey! little tukey!” cried someone near. it was a seaman, quite a little personage, so little as if he were a midshipman; but a midshipman it was not. “many remembrances from corsor.* that is a town that is just rising into importance; a lively town that has steam-boats and stagecoaches: formerly people called it ugly, but that is no longer true. i lie on the sea,” said corsor; “i have high roads and gardens, and i have given birth to a poet who was witty and amusing, which all poets are not. i once intended to equip a ship that was to sail all round the earth; but i did not do it, although i could have done so: and then, too, i smell so deliciously, for close before the gate bloom the most beautiful roses.” *corsor, on the great belt, called, formerly, before the introduction of steam-vessels, when travellers were often obliged to wait a long time for a favorable wind, “the most tiresome of towns.” the poet baggesen was born here. little tuk looked, and all was red and green before his eyes; but as soon as the confusion of colors was somewhat over, all of a sudden there appeared a wooded slope close to the bay, and high up above stood a magnificent old church, with two high pointed towers. from out the hill-side spouted fountains in thick streams of water, so that there was a continual splashing; and close beside them sat an old king with a golden crown upon his white head: that was king hroar, near the fountains, close to the town of roeskilde, as it is now called. and up the slope into the old church went all the kings and queens of denmark, hand in hand, all with their golden crowns; and the organ played and the fountains rustled. little tuk saw all, heard all. “do not forget the diet,” said king hroar.* *roeskilde, once the capital of denmark. the town takes its name from king hroar, and the many fountains in the neighborhood. in the beautiful cathedral the greater number of the kings and queens of denmark are interred. in roeskilde, too, the members of the danish diet assemble. again all suddenly disappeared. yes, and whither? it seemed to him just as if one turned over a leaf in a book. and now stood there an old peasant-woman, who came from soroe,* where grass grows in the market-place. she had an old grey linen apron hanging over her head and back: it was so wet, it certainly must have been raining. “yes, that it has,” said she; and she now related many pretty things out of holberg's comedies, and about waldemar and absalon; but all at once she cowered together, and her head began shaking backwards and forwards, and she looked as she were going to make a spring. “croak! croak!” said she. “it is wet, it is wet; there is such a pleasant deathlike stillness in sorbe!” she was now suddenly a frog, “croak”; and now she was an old woman. “one must dress according to the weather,” said she. “it is wet; it is wet. my town is just like a bottle; and one gets in by the neck, and by the neck one must get out again! in former times i had the finest fish, and now i have fresh rosy-cheeked boys at the bottom of the bottle, who learn wisdom, hebrew, greek--croak!” * sorbe, a very quiet little town, beautifully situated, surrounded by woods and lakes. holberg, denmark's moliere, founded here an academy for the sons of the nobles. the poets hauch and ingemann were appointed professors here. the latter lives there still. when she spoke it sounded just like the noise of frogs, or as if one walked with great boots over a moor; always the same tone, so uniform and so tiring that little tuk fell into a good sound sleep, which, by the bye, could not do him any harm. but even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else it was: his little sister augusta, she with the blue eyes and the fair curling hair, was suddenly a tall, beautiful girl, and without having wings was yet able to fly; and she now flew over zealand--over the green woods and the blue lakes. “do you hear the cock crow, tukey? cock-a-doodle-doo! the cocks are flying up from kjoge! you will have a farm-yard, so large, oh! so very large! you will suffer neither hunger nor thirst! you will get on in the world! you will be a rich and happy man! your house will exalt itself like king waldemar's tower, and will be richly decorated with marble statues, like that at prastoe. you understand what i mean. your name shall circulate with renown all round the earth, like unto the ship that was to have sailed from corsor; and in roeskilde--” “do not forget the diet!” said king hroar. “then you will speak well and wisely, little tukey; and when at last you sink into your grave, you shall sleep as quietly--” “as if i lay in soroe,” said tuk, awaking. it was bright day, and he was now quite unable to call to mind his dream; that, however, was not at all necessary, for one may not know what the future will bring. and out of bed he jumped, and read in his book, and now all at once he knew his whole lesson. and the old washerwoman popped her head in at the door, nodded to him friendly, and said, “thanks, many thanks, my good child, for your help! may the good ever-loving god fulfil your loveliest dream!” little tukey did not at all know what he had dreamed, but the loving god knew it. the naughty boy along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. as he was sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and comfortable in his chimney-corner, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed. “those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin,” said the good old poet. “oh let me in! let me in! i am cold, and i'm so wet!” exclaimed suddenly a child that stood crying at the door and knocking for admittance, while the rain poured down, and the wind made all the windows rattle. “poor thing!” said the old poet, as he went to open the door. there stood a little boy, quite naked, and the water ran down from his long golden hair; he trembled with cold, and had he not come into a warm room he would most certainly have perished in the frightful tempest. “poor child!” said the old poet, as he took the boy by the hand. “come in, come in, and i will soon restore thee! thou shalt have wine and roasted apples, for thou art verily a charming child!” and the boy was so really. his eyes were like two bright stars; and although the water trickled down his hair, it waved in beautiful curls. he looked exactly like a little angel, but he was so pale, and his whole body trembled with cold. he had a nice little bow in his hand, but it was quite spoiled by the rain, and the tints of his many-colored arrows ran one into the other. the old poet seated himself beside his hearth, and took the little fellow on his lap; he squeezed the water out of his dripping hair, warmed his hands between his own, and boiled for him some sweet wine. then the boy recovered, his cheeks again grew rosy, he jumped down from the lap where he was sitting, and danced round the kind old poet. “you are a merry fellow,” said the old man. “what's your name?” “my name is cupid,” answered the boy. “don't you know me? there lies my bow; it shoots well, i can assure you! look, the weather is now clearing up, and the moon is shining clear again through the window.” “why, your bow is quite spoiled,” said the old poet. “that were sad indeed,” said the boy, and he took the bow in his hand and examined it on every side. “oh, it is dry again, and is not hurt at all; the string is quite tight. i will try it directly.” and he bent his bow, took aim, and shot an arrow at the old poet, right into his heart. “you see now that my bow was not spoiled,” said he laughing; and away he ran. the naughty boy, to shoot the old poet in that way; he who had taken him into his warm room, who had treated him so kindly, and who had given him warm wine and the very best apples! the poor poet lay on the earth and wept, for the arrow had really flown into his heart. “fie!” said he. “how naughty a boy cupid is! i will tell all children about him, that they may take care and not play with him, for he will only cause them sorrow and many a heartache.” and all good children to whom he related this story, took great heed of this naughty cupid; but he made fools of them still, for he is astonishingly cunning. when the university students come from the lectures, he runs beside them in a black coat, and with a book under his arm. it is quite impossible for them to know him, and they walk along with him arm in arm, as if he, too, were a student like themselves; and then, unperceived, he thrusts an arrow to their bosom. when the young maidens come from being examined by the clergyman, or go to church to be confirmed, there he is again close behind them. yes, he is forever following people. at the play, he sits in the great chandelier and burns in bright flames, so that people think it is really a flame, but they soon discover it is something else. he roves about in the garden of the palace and upon the ramparts: yes, once he even shot your father and mother right in the heart. ask them only and you will hear what they'll tell you. oh, he is a naughty boy, that cupid; you must never have anything to do with him. he is forever running after everybody. only think, he shot an arrow once at your old grandmother! but that is a long time ago, and it is all past now; however, a thing of that sort she never forgets. fie, naughty cupid! but now you know him, and you know, too, how ill-behaved he is! the red shoes there was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in summer she was forced to run about with bare feet, she was so poor, and in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little insteps quite red, and that looked so dangerous! in the middle of the village lived old dame shoemaker; she sat and sewed together, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes out of old red strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind thought. they were meant for the little girl. the little girl was called karen. on the very day her mother was buried, karen received the red shoes, and wore them for the first time. they were certainly not intended for mourning, but she had no others, and with stockingless feet she followed the poor straw coffin in them. suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old lady sat in it: she looked at the little girl, felt compassion for her, and then said to the clergyman: “here, give me the little girl. i will adopt her!” and karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought they were horrible, and they were burnt. but karen herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read and sew; and people said she was a nice little thing, but the looking-glass said: “thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!” now the queen once travelled through the land, and she had her little daughter with her. and this little daughter was a princess, and people streamed to the castle, and karen was there also, and the little princess stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but splendid red morocco shoes. they were certainly far handsomer than those dame shoemaker had made for little karen. nothing in the world can be compared with red shoes. now karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was to have new shoes also. the rich shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot. this took place at his house, in his room; where stood large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. all this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well, and so had no pleasure in them. in the midst of the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. how beautiful they were! the shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a count, but had not fitted. “that must be patent leather!” said the old lady. “they shine so!” “yes, they shine!” said karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but the old lady knew nothing about their being red, else she would never have allowed karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. yet such was the case. everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel door on the church pavement, it seemed to her as if the old figures on the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers' wives, with stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red shoes. and she thought only of them as the clergyman laid his hand upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with god, and how she should be now a matured christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly; the sweet children's voices sang, and the old music-directors sang, but karen only thought of her red shoes. in the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had been red, and she said that it was very wrong of karen, that it was not at all becoming, and that in future karen should only go in black shoes to church, even when she should be older. the next sunday there was the sacrament, and karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones--looked at them again, and put on the red shoes. the sun shone gloriously; karen and the old lady walked along the path through the corn; it was rather dusty there. at the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a wonderfully long beard, which was more red than white, and he bowed to the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes. and karen stretched out her little foot. “see, what beautiful dancing shoes!” said the soldier. “sit firm when you dance”; and he put his hand out towards the soles. and the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went into the church with karen. and all the people in the church looked at karen's red shoes, and all the pictures, and as karen knelt before the altar, and raised the cup to her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, “our father in heaven!” now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her carriage. karen raised her foot to get in after her, when the old soldier said, “look, what beautiful dancing shoes!” and karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her feet continued to dance; it was just as though the shoes had power over them. she danced round the church corner, she could not leave off; the coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he lifted her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance so that she trod on the old lady dreadfully. at length she took the shoes off, and then her legs had peace. the shoes were placed in a closet at home, but karen could not avoid looking at them. now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. she must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was so much as karen's. but there was a great ball in the city, to which karen was invited. she looked at the old lady, who could not recover, she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in it; she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought. but then she went to the ball and began to dance. when she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced back again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. she danced, and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood. then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, “look, what beautiful dancing shoes!” then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet. and she danced, and must dance, over fields and meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was the most fearful. she danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance--they had something better to do than to dance. she wished to seat herself on a poor man's grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church door, she saw an angel standing there. he wore long, white garments; he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance was severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and glittering. “dance shalt thou!” said he. “dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold! till thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton! dance shalt thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! dance shalt thou--!” “mercy!” cried karen. but she did not hear the angel's reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever dancing. one morning she danced past a door which she well knew. within sounded a psalm; a coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. then she knew that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all, and condemned by the angel of god. she danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. the shoes carried her over stack and stone; she was torn till she bled; she danced over the heath till she came to a little house. here, she knew, dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window, and said, “come out! come out! i cannot come in, for i am forced to dance!” and the executioner said, “thou dost not know who i am, i fancy? i strike bad people's heads off; and i hear that my axe rings!” “don't strike my head off!” said karen. “then i can't repent of my sins! but strike off my feet in the red shoes!” and then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep wood. and he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught her the psalm criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and went over the heath. “now i have suffered enough for the red shoes!” said she. “now i will go into the church that people may see me!” and she hastened towards the church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before her, and she was terrified, and turned round. the whole week she was unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but when sunday returned, she said, “well, now i have suffered and struggled enough! i really believe i am as good as many a one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!” and away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing before her; and she was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her heart. and she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her into service; she would be very industrious, she said, and would do everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she wished to have a home, and be with good people. and the clergyman's wife was sorry for her and took her into service; and she was industrious and thoughtful. she sat still and listened when the clergyman read the bible in the evenings. all the children thought a great deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her head. the following sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. the family went to hear the word of god; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sat down with her prayer-book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful countenance, and said, “o god, help me!” and the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel of god in white garments, the same she had seen that night at the church door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid green spray, full of roses. and he touched the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had touched it there gleamed a golden star. and he touched the walls, and they widened out, and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the preachers and the preachers' wives. the congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their prayer-books. for the church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. she sat in the pew with the clergyman's family, and when they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, “it is right that thou art come!” “it was through mercy!” she said. and the organ pealed, and the children's voices in the choir sounded so sweet and soft! the clear sunshine streamed so warmly through the window into the pew where karen sat! her heart was so full of sunshine, peace, and joy, that it broke. her soul flew on the sunshine to god, and there no one asked after the red shoes. the danish history, books i-ix by saxo grammaticus ("saxo the learned") fl. late th - early th century a.d. preparer's note: originally written in latin in the early years of the th century a.d. by the danish historian saxo, of whom little is known except his name. the text of this edition is based on that published as "the nine books of the danish history of saxo grammaticus", translated by oliver elton (norroena society, new york, ). this edition is in the public domain in the united states. this electronic edition was edited, proofed, and prepared by douglas b. killings. the preparer would like to thank mr. james w. marchand and mr. jessie d. hurlbut for their invaluable assistance in the production of this electronic text. thank you. i am indebted to you both. although saxo wrote books of his "danish history", only the first nine were ever translated by mr. oliver elton; it is these nine books that are here included. as far as the preparer knows, there is (unfortunately) no public domain english translation of books x-xvi. those interested in the latter books should search for the translation mentioned below. selected bibliography: original text-- olrik, j and raeder (ed.): "saxo grammaticus: gesta danorum" (copenhagen, ). dansk nationallitteraert arkiv: "saxo grammaticus: gesta danorum" (dna, copenhagen, ). web-based latin edition of saxo, substantiallly based on the above edition; currently at the other translations-- fisher, peter (trans.) and hilda ellis davidson (ed.): "saxo grammaticus: history of the danes" (brewer, cambridge, ). recommended reading-- jones, gwyn: "history of the vikings" (oxford university press, oxford, , , ). sturlson, snorri: "the heimskringla" (translation: samual laing, london, ; released as online medieval and classical library e-text # , ). web version at the following url: http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/omacl/heimskringla/ introduction. saxo's position. saxo grammaticus, or "the lettered", one of the notable historians of the middle ages, may fairly be called not only the earliest chronicler of denmark, but her earliest writer. in the latter half of the twelfth century, when iceland was in the flush of literary production, denmark lingered behind. no literature in her vernacular, save a few runic inscriptions, has survived. monkish annals, devotional works, and lives were written in latin; but the chronicle of roskild, the necrology of lund, the register of gifts to the cloister of sora, are not literature. neither are the half-mythological genealogies of kings; and besides, the mass of these, though doubtless based on older verses that are lost, are not proved to be, as they stand, prior to saxo. one man only, saxo's elder contemporary, sueno aggonis, or sweyn (svend) aageson, who wrote about , shares or anticipates the credit of attempting a connected record. his brief draft of annals is written in rough mediocre latin. it names but a few of the kings recorded by saxo, and tells little that saxo does not. yet there is a certain link between the two writers. sweyn speaks of saxo with respect; he not obscurely leaves him the task of filling up his omissions. both writers, servants of the brilliant bishop absalon, and probably set by him upon their task, proceed, like geoffrey of monmouth, by gathering and editing mythical matter. this they more or less embroider, and arrive in due course insensibly at actual history. both, again, thread their stories upon a genealogy of kings in part legendary. both write at the spur of patriotism, both to let denmark linger in the race for light and learning, and desirous to save her glories, as other nations have saved theirs, by a record. but while sweyn only made a skeleton chronicle, saxo leaves a memorial in which historian and philologist find their account. his seven later books are the chief danish authority for the times which they relate; his first nine, here translated, are a treasure of myth and folk-lore. of the songs and stories which denmark possessed from the common scandinavian stock, often her only native record is in saxo's latin. thus, as a chronicler both of truth and fiction, he had in his own land no predecessor, nor had he any literary tradition behind him. single-handed, therefore, he may be said to have lifted the dead-weight against him, and given denmark a writer. the nature of his work will be discussed presently. life of saxo. of saxo little is known but what he himself indicates, though much doubtful supposition has gathered round his name. that he was born a dane his whole language implies; it is full of a glow of aggressive patriotism. he also often praises the zealanders at the expense of other danes, and zealand as the centre of denmark; but that is the whole contemporary evidence for the statement that he was a zealander. this statement is freely taken for granted three centuries afterwards by urne in the first edition of the book ( ), but is not traced further back than an epitomator, who wrote more than years after saxo's death. saxo tells us that his father and grandfather fought for waldemar the first of denmark, who reigned from to . of these men we know nothing further, unless the saxo whom he names as one of waldemar's admirals be his grandfather, in which case his family was one of some distinction and his father and grandfather probably "king's men". but saxo was a very common name, and we shall see the licence of hypothesis to which this fact has given rise. the notice, however, helps us approximately towards saxo's birth-year. his grandfather, if he fought for waldemar, who began to reign in , can hardly have been born before , nor can saxo himself have been born before or . but he was undoubtedly born before , since he speaks of the death of bishop asker, which took place in that year, as occurring "in our time". his life therefore covers and overlaps the last half of the twelfth century. his calling and station in life are debated. except by the anonymous zealand chronicler, who calls him saxo "the long", thus giving us the one personal detail we have, he has been universally known as saxo "grammaticus" ever since the epitomator of headed his compilation with the words, "a certain notable man of letters ("grammaticus"), a zealander by birth, named saxo, wrote," etc. it is almost certain that this general term, given only to men of signal gifts and learning, became thus for the first time, and for good, attached to saxo's name. such a title, in the middle ages, usually implied that its owner was a churchman, and saxo's whole tone is devout, though not conspicuously professional. but a number of saxos present themselves in the same surroundings with whom he has been from time to time identified. all he tells us himself is, that absalon, archbishop of lund from to , pressed him, who was "the least of his companions, since all the rest refused the task", to write the history of denmark, so that it might record its glories like other nations. absalon was previously, and also after his promotion, bishop of roskild, and this is the first circumstance giving colour to the theory--which lacks real evidence--that saxo the historian was the same as a certain saxo, provost of the chapter of roskild, whose death is chronicled in a contemporary hand without any mark of distinction. it is unlikely that so eminent a man would be thus barely named; and the appended eulogy and verses identifying the provost and the historian are of later date. moreover, the provost saxo went on a mission to paris in , and was thus much too old for the theory. nevertheless, the good bishop of roskild, lave urne, took this identity for granted in the first edition, and fostered the assumption. saxo was a cleric; and could such a man be of less than canonical rank? he was (it was assumed) a zealander; he was known to be a friend of absalon, bishop of roskild. what more natural than that he should have been the provost saxo? accordingly this latter worthy had an inscription in gold letters, written by lave urne himself, affixed to the wall opposite his tomb. even less evidence exists for identifying our saxo with the scribe of that name--a comparative menial--who is named in the will of bishop absalon; and hardly more warranted is the theory that he was a member, perhaps a subdeacon, of the monastery of st. laurence, whose secular canons formed part of the chapter of lund. it is true that sweyn aageson, saxo's senior by about twenty years, speaks (writing about ) of saxo as his "contubernalis". sweyn aageson is known to have had strong family connections with the monastery of st. laurence; but there is only a tolerably strong probability that he, and therefore that saxo, was actually a member of it. ("contubernalis" may only imply comradeship in military service.) equally doubtful is the consequence that since saxo calls himself "one of the least" of absalon's "followers" ("comitum"), he was probably, if not the inferior officer, who is called an "acolitus", at most a sub-deacon, who also did the work of a superior "acolitus". this is too poor a place for the chief writer of denmark, high in absalon's favor, nor is there any direct testimony that saxo held it. his education is unknown, but must have been careful. of his training and culture we only know what his book betrays. possibly, like other learned danes, then and afterwards, he acquired his training and knowledge at some foreign university. perhaps, like his contemporary anders suneson, he went to paris; but we cannot tell. it is not even certain that he had a degree; for there is really little to identify him with the "m(agister) saxo" who witnessed the deed of absalon founding the monastery at sora. the history. how he was induced to write his book has been mentioned. the expressions of modesty saxo uses, saying that he was "the least" of absalon's "followers", and that "all the rest refused the task", are not to be taken to the letter. a man of his parts would hardly be either the least in rank, or the last to be solicited. the words, however, enable us to guess an upward limit for the date of the inception of the work. absalon became archbishop in , and the language of the preface (written, as we shall see, last) implies that he was already archbishop when he suggested the history to saxo. but about we find sweyn aageson complimenting saxo, and saying that saxo "had `determined' to set forth all the deeds" of sweyn estridson, in his eleventh book, "at greater length in a more elegant style". the exact bearing of this notice on the date of saxo's history is doubtful. it certainly need not imply that saxo had already written ten books, or indeed that he had written any, of his history. all we call say is, that by a portion of the history was planned. the order in which its several parts were composed, and the date of its completion, are not certainly known, as absalon died in . but the work was not then finished; for, at the end of bk. xi, one birger, who died in , is mentioned as still alive. we have, however, a yet later notice. in the preface, which, as its whole language implies, was written last, saxo speaks of waldemar ii having "encompassed (`complexus') the ebbing and flowing waves of elbe." this language, though a little vague, can hardly refer to anything but an expedition of waldemar to bremen in . the whole history was in that case probably finished by about . as to the order in which its parts were composed, it is likely that absalon's original instruction was to write a history of absalon's own doings. the fourteenth and succeeding books deal with these at disproportionate length, and absalon, at the expense even of waldemar, is the protagonist. now saxo states in his preface that he "has taken care to follow the statements ("asserta") of absalon, and with obedient mind and pen to include both his own doings and other men's doings of which he learnt." the latter books are, therefore, to a great extent, absalon's personally communicated memoirs. but we have seen that absalon died in , and that bk. xi, at any rate, was not written after . it almost certainly follows that the latter books were written in absalon's life; but the preface, written after them, refers to events in . therefore, unless we suppose that the issue was for some reason delayed, or that saxo spent seven years in polishing--which is not impossible--there is some reason to surmise that he began with that portion of his work which was nearest to his own time, and added the previous (especially the first nine, or mythical) books, as a completion, and possibly as an afterthought. but this is a point which there is no real means of settling. we do not know how late the preface was written, except that it must have been some time between and , when anders suneson ceased to be archbishop; nor do we know when saxo died. history of the work. nothing is stranger than that a work of such force and genius, unique in danish letters, should have been forgotten for three hundred years, and have survived only in an epitome and in exceedingly few manuscripts. the history of the book is worth recording. doubtless its very merits, its "marvellous vocabulary, thickly-studded maxims, and excellent variety of images," which erasmus admired long afterwards, sealed it to the vulgar. a man needed some latin to appreciate it, and erasmus' natural wonder "how a dane at that day could have such a force of eloquence" is a measure of the rarity both of the gift and of a public that could appraise it. the epitome (made about ) shows that saxo was felt to be difficult, its author saying: "since saxo's work is in many places diffuse, and many things are said more for ornament than for historical truth, and moreover his style is too obscure on account of the number of terms ("plurima vocabula") and sundry poems, which are unfamiliar to modern times, this opuscle puts in clear words the more notable of the deeds there related, with the addition of some that happened after saxo's death." a low-german version of this epitome, which appeared in , had a considerable vogue, and the two together "helped to drive the history out of our libraries, and explains why the annalists and geographers of the middle ages so seldom quoted it." this neglect appears to have been greatest of all in denmark, and to have lasted until the appearance of the "first edition" in . the first impulse towards this work by which saxo was saved, is found in a letter from the bishop of roskild, lave urne, dated may , to christian pederson, canon of lund, whom he compliments as a lover of letters, antiquary, and patriot, and urges to edit and publish "tam divinum latinae eruditionis culmen et splendorem saxonem nostrum". nearly two years afterwards christian pederson sent lave urne a copy of the first edition, now all printed, with an account of its history. "i do not think that any mortal was more inclined and ready for" the task. "when living at paris, and paying heed to good literature, i twice sent a messenger at my own charges to buy a faithful copy at any cost, and bring it back to me. effecting nothing thus, i went back to my country for this purpose; i visited and turned over all the libraries, but still could not pull out a saxo, even covered with beetles, bookworms, mould, and dust. so stubbornly had all the owners locked it away." a worthy prior, in compassion offered to get a copy and transcribe it with his own hand, but christian, in respect for the prior's rank, absurdly declined. at last birger, the archbishop of lund, by some strategy, got a copy, which king christian the second allowed to be taken to paris on condition of its being wrought at "by an instructed and skilled graver (printer)." such a person was found in jodocus badius ascenshls, who adds a third letter written by himself to bishop urne, vindicating his application to saxo of the title grammaticus, which he well defines as "one who knows how to speak or write with diligence, acuteness, or knowledge." the beautiful book he produced was worthy of the zeal, and unsparing, unweariable pains, which had been spent on it by the band of enthusiasts, and it was truly a little triumph of humanism. further editions were reprinted during the sixteenth century at basic and at frankfort-on-main, but they did not improve in any way upon the first; and the next epoch in the study of saxo was made by the edition and notes of stephanus johansen stephanius, published at copenhagen in the middle of the seventeenth century ( ). stephanius, the first commentator on saxo, still remains the best upon his language. immense knowledge of latin, both good and bad (especially of the authors saxo imitated), infinite and prolix industry, a sharp eye for the text, and continence in emendation, are not his only virtues. his very bulkiness and leisureliness are charming; he writes like a man who had eternity to write in, and who knew enough to fill it, and who expected readers of an equal leisure. he also prints some valuable notes signed with the famous name of bishop bryniolf of skalholt, a man of force and talent, and others by casper barth, "corculum musarum", as stephanius calls him, whose textual and other comments are sometimes of use, and who worked with a ms. of saxo. the edition of klotz, , based on that of stephanius, i have but seen; however, the first standard commentary is that begun by p. e. muller, bishop of zealand, and finished after his death by johan velschow, professor of history at copenhagen, where the first part of the work, containing text and notes, was published in ; the second, with prolegomena and fuller notes, appearing in . the standard edition, containing bibliography, critical apparatus based on all the editions and ms. fragments, text, and index, is the admirable one of that indefatigable veteran, alfred holder, strasburg, . hitherto the translations of saxo have been into danish. the first that survives, by anders soffrinson vedel, dates from , some sixty years after the first edition. in such passages as i have examined it is vigorous, but very free, and more like a paraphrase than a translation, saxo's verses being put into loose prose. yet it has had a long life, having been modified by vedel's grandson, john laverentzen, in , and reissued in . the present version has been much helped by the translation of seier schousbolle, published at copenhagen in . it is true that the verses, often the hardest part, are put into periphrastic verse (by laurentius thura, c. ), and schousbolle often does not face a difficulty; but he gives the sense of saxo simply and concisely. the lusty paraphrase by the enthusiastic nik. fred. sev. grundtvig, of which there have been several editions, has also been of occasional use. no other translations, save of a scrap here and there into german, seem to be extant. the mss. it will be understood, from what has been said, that no complete ms. of saxo's history is known. the epitomator in the fourteenth century, and krantz in the seventeenth, had mss. before them; and there was that one which christian pedersen found and made the basis of the first edition, but which has disappeared. barth had two manuscripts, which are said to have been burnt in . another, possessed by a swedish parish priest, aschaneus, in , which stephenhis unluckily did not know of, disappeared in the royal archives of stockholm after his death. these are practically the only mss. of which we have sure information, excepting the four fragments that are now preserved. of these by far the most interesting is the "angers fragment." this was first noticed in , in the angers library, where it was found degraded into the binding of a number of devotional works and a treatise on metric, dated , and once the property of a priest at alencon. in m. gaston paris called the attention of the learned to it, and the result was that the danish government received it next year in exchange for a valuable french manuscript which was in the royal library at copenhagen. this little national treasure, the only piece of contemporary writing of the history, has been carefully photographed and edited by that enthusiastic and urbane scholar, christian bruun. in the opinion both of dr. vigfusson and m. paris, the writing dates from about ; and this date, though difficult to determine, owing to the paucity of danish mss. of the th and early lath centuries, is confirmed by the character of the contents. for there is little doubt that the fragment shows us saxo in the labour of composition. the mss. looks as if expressly written for interlineation. besides a marginal gloss by a later, fourteenth century hand, there are two distinct sets of variants, in different writings, interlined and running over into the margin. these variants are much more numerous in the prose than in the verse. the first set are in the same hand as the text, the second in another hand: but both of them have the character, not of variants from some other mss., but of alternative expressions put down tentatively. if either hand is saxo's it is probably the second. he may conceivably have dictated both at different times to different scribes. no other man would tinker the style in this fashion. a complete translation of all these changes has been deemed unnecessary in these volumes; there is a full collation in holder's "apparatus criticus". the verdict of the angers-fragment, which, for the very reason mentioned, must not be taken as the final form of the text, nor therefore, despite its antiquity, as conclusive against the first edition where the two differ, is to confirm, so far as it goes, the editing of ascensius and pederson. there are no vital differences, and the care of the first editors, as well as the authority of their source, is thus far amply vindicated. a sufficient account of the other fragments will be found in holder's list. in m. kall-rasmussen found in the private archives at kronborg a scrap of fourteenth century ms., containing a short passage from bk. vii. five years later g. f. lassen found, at copenhagen, a fragment of bk. vi believed to be written in north zealand, and in the opinion of bruun belonging to the same codex as kall-rasmussen's fragment. of another longish piece, found in copenhagen at the end of the seventeenth century by johannes laverentzen, and belonging to a codex burnt in the fire of , a copy still extant in the copenhagen museum, was made by otto sperling. for fragments, either extant or alluded to, of the later books, the student should consult the carefully collated text of holder. the whole ms. material, therefore, covers but a little of saxo's work, which was practically saved for europe by the perseverance and fervour for culture of a single man, bishop urne. saxo as a writer. saxo's countrymen have praised without stint his remarkable style, for he has a style. it is often very bad; but he writes, he is not in vain called grammaticus, the man of letters. his style is not merely remarkable considering its author's difficulties; it is capable at need of pungency and of high expressiveness. his latin is not that of the golden age, but neither is it the common latin of the middle ages. there are traces of his having read virgil and cicero. but two writers in particular left their mark on him. the first and most influential is valerius maximus, the mannered author of the "memorabilia", who lived in the first half of the first century, and was much relished in the middle ages. from him saxo borrowed a multitude of phrases, sometimes apt but often crabbed and deformed, as well as an exemplary and homiletic turn of narrative. other idioms, and perhaps the practice of interspersing verses amid prose (though this also was a twelfth century icelandic practice), saxo found in a fifth-century writer, martianus capella, the pedantic author of the "de nuptiis philologiae et mercurii" such models may have saved him from a base mediaeval vocabulary; but they were not worthy of him, and they must answer for some of his falsities of style. these are apparent. his accumulation of empty and motley phrase, like a garish bunch of coloured bladders; his joy in platitude and pomposity, his proneness to say a little thing in great words, are only too easy to translate. we shall be well content if our version also gives some inkling of his qualities; not only of what erasmus called his "wonderful vocabulary, his many pithy sayings, and the excellent variety of his images"; but also of his feeling for grouping, his barbaric sense of colour, and his stateliness. for he moves with resource and strength both in prose and verse, and is often only hindered by his own wealth. with no kind of critical tradition to chasten him, his force is often misguided and his work shapeless; but he stumbles into many splendours. folk lore index. the mass of archaic incidents, beliefs, and practices recorded by the th-century writer seemed to need some other classification than a bare alphabetic index. the present plan, a subject-index practically, has been adopted with a view to the needs of the anthropologist and folk-lorist. its details have been largely determined by the bulk and character of the entries themselves. no attempt has been made to supply full parallels from any save the more striking and obvious old scandinavian sources, the end being to classify material rather than to point out its significance of geographic distribution. with regard to the first three heads, the reader who wishes to see how saxo compares with the old northern poems may be referred to the grimm centenary papers, oxford, , and the corpus poeticurn boreale, oxford, . political institutions. king--as portrayed by saxo, the ideal king should be (as in "beowulf's lay") generous, brave and just. he should be a man of accomplishments, of unblemished body, presumably of royal kin (peasant-birth is considered a bar to the kingship), usually a son or a nephew, or brother of his foregoer (though no strict rule of succession seems to appear in saxo), and duly chosen and acknowledged at the proper place of election. in denmark this was at a stone circle, and the stability of these stones was taken as an omen for the king's reign. there are exceptional instances noted, as the serf-king eormenric (cf. guthred-canute of northumberland), whose noble birth washed out this blot of his captivity, and there is a curious tradition of a conqueror setting his hound as king over a conquered province in mockery. the king was of age at twelve. a king of seven years of age has twelve regents chosen in the moot, in one case by lot, to bring him up and rule for him till his majority. regents are all appointed in denmark, in one case for lack of royal blood, one to scania, one to zealand, one to funen, two to jutland. underkings and earls are appointed by kings, and though the earl's office is distinctly official, succession is sometimes given to the sons of faithful fathers. the absence of a settled succession law leads (as in muslim states) to rebellions and plots. kings sometimes abdicated, giving up the crown perforce to a rival, or in high age to a kinsman. in heathen times, kings, as thiodwulf tells us in the case of domwald and yngwere, were sometimes sacrificed for better seasons (african fashion), and wicar of norway perishes, like iphigeneia, to procure fair winds. kings having to lead in war, and sometimes being willing to fight wagers of battle, are short-lived as a rule, and assassination is a continual peril, whether by fire at a time of feast, of which there are numerous examples, besides the classic one on which biarea-mal is founded and the not less famous one of hamlet's vengeance, or whether by steel, as with hiartuar, or by trick, as in wicar's case above cited. the reward for slaying a king is in one case gold lbs.; "talents" of gold from each ringleader, oz. of gold from each commoner, in the story of godfred, known as ref's gild, "i.e., fox tax". in the case of a great king, frode, his death is concealed for three years to avoid disturbance within and danger from without. captive kings were not as a rule well treated. a slavonic king, daxo, offers ragnar's son whitesark his daughter and half his realm, or death, and the captive strangely desires death by fire. a captive king is exposed, chained to wild beasts, thrown into a serpent-pit, wherein ragnar is given the fate of the elder gunnar in the eddic lays, atlakvida. the king is treated with great respect by his people, he is finely clad, and his commands are carried out, however abhorrent or absurd, as long as they do not upset customary or statute law. the king has slaves in his household, men and women, besides his guard of housecarles and his bearsark champions. a king's daughter has thirty slaves with her, and the footmaiden existed exactly as in the stories of the wicked waiting maid. he is not to be awakened in his slumbers (cf. st. olaf's life, where the naming of king magnus is the result of adherence to this etiquette). a champion weds the king's leman. his thanes are created by the delivery of a sword, which the king bolds by the blade and the thane takes by the hilt. (english earls were created by the girding with a sword. "taking treasure, and weapons and horses, and feasting in a hall with the king" is synonymous with thane-hood or gesith-ship in "beowulf's lay"). a king's thanes must avenge him if he falls, and owe him allegiance. (this was paid in the old english monarchies by kneeling and laying the head down at the lord's knee.) the trick by which the mock-king, or king of the beggars (parallel to our boy-bishop, and perhaps to that enigmatic churls' king of the "o. e. chronicle", s.a. , eadwiceorla-kyning) gets allegiance paid to him, and so secures himself in his attack on the real king, is cleverly devised. the king, besides being a counsel giver himself, and speaking the law, has "counsellors", old and wise men, "sapientes" (like the . e. thyle). the aged warrior counsellor, as starcad here and master hildebrand in the "nibelungenlied", is one type of these persons, another is the false counsellor, as woden in guise of bruni, another the braggart, as hunferth in "beowulf's lay". at "moots" where laws are made, kings and regents chosen, cases judged, resolutions taken of national importance, there are discussions, as in that armed most the host. the king has, beside his estates up and down the country, sometimes (like hrothgar with his palace heorot in "beowulf's lay") a great fort and treasure house, as eormenric, whose palace may well have really existed. there is often a primitive and negroid character about dwellings of formidable personages, heads placed on stakes adorn their exterior, or shields are ranged round the walls. the provinces are ruled by removable earls appointed by the king, often his own kinsmen, sometimes the heads of old ruling families. the "hundreds" make up the province or subkingdom. they may be granted to king's thanes, who became "hundred-elders". twelve hundreds are in one case bestowed upon a man. the "yeoman's" estate is not only honourable but useful, as starcad generously and truly acknowledges. agriculture should be fostered and protected by the king, even at the cost of his life. but gentle birth and birth royal place certain families above the common body of freemen (landed or not); and for a commoner to pretend to a king's daughter is an act of presumption, and generally rigorously resented. the "smith" was the object of a curious prejudice, probably akin to that expressed in st. patrick's "lorica", and derived from the smith's having inherited the functions of the savage weapon-maker with his poisons and charms. the curious attempt to distinguish smiths into good and useful swordsmiths and base and bad goldsmiths seems a merely modern explanation: weland could both forge swords and make ornaments of metal. starcad's loathing for a smith recalls the mockery with which the homeric gods treat hephaistos. slavery.--as noble birth is manifest by fine eyes and personal beauty, courage and endurance, and delicate behaviour, so the slave nature is manifested by cowardice, treachery, unbridled lust, bad manners, falsehood, and low physical traits. slaves had, of course, no right either of honour, or life, or limb. captive ladies are sent to a brothel; captive kings cruelly put to death. born slaves were naturally still less considered, they were flogged; it was disgraceful to kill them with honourable steel; to accept a slight service from a slave-woman was beneath old starcad's dignity. a man who loved another man's slave-woman, and did base service to her master to obtain her as his consort, was looked down on. slaves frequently ran away to escape punishment for carelessness, or fault, or to gain liberty. customary law. the evidence of saxo to archaic law and customary institutions is pretty much (as we should expect) that to be drawn from the icelandic sagas, and even from the later icelandic rimur and scandinavian kaempe-viser. but it helps to complete the picture of the older stage of north teutonic law, which we are able to piece together out of our various sources, english, icelandic, and scandinavian. in the twilight of yore every glowworm is a helper to the searcher. there are a few maxims of various times, but all seemingly drawn from custom cited or implied by saxo as authoritative:-- "it is disgraceful to be ruled by a woman."--the great men of teutonic nations held to this maxim. there is no boudicea or maidhbh in our own annals till after the accession of the tudors, when great eliza rivals her elder kins-women's glories. though tacitus expressly notices one tribe or confederacy, the sitones, within the compass of his germania, ruled by a woman, as an exceptional case, it was contrary to the feeling of mediaeval christendom for a woman to be emperor; it was not till late in the middle ages that spain saw a queen regnant, and france has never yet allowed such rule. it was not till long after saxo that the great queen of the north, margaret, wielded a wider sway than that rejected by gustavus' wayward daughter. "the suitor ought to urge his own suit."--this, an axiom of the most archaic law, gets evaded bit by bit till the professional advocate takes the place of the plaintiff. "njal's saga", in its legal scenes, shows the transition period, when, as at rome, a great and skilled chief was sought by his client as the supporter of his cause at the moot. in england, the idea of representation at law is, as is well known, late and largely derived from canon law practice. "to exact the blood-fine was as honourable as to take vengeance."--this maxim, begotten by interest upon legality, established itself both in scandinavia and arabia. it marks the first stage in a progress which, if carried out wholly, substitutes law for feud. in the society of the heathen danes the maxim was a novelty; even in christian denmark men sometimes preferred blood to fees. marriage.--there are many reminiscences of "archaic marriage customs in saxo." the capture marriage has left traces in the guarded king's daughters, the challenging of kings to fight or hand over their daughters, in the promises to give a daughter or sister as a reward to a hero who shall accomplish some feat. the existence of polygamy is attested, and it went on till the days of charles the great and harold fairhair in singular instances, in the case of great kings, and finally disappeared before the strict ecclesiastic regulations. but there are evidences also of later customs, such as "marriage by purchase", already looked on as archaic in saxo's day; and the free women in denmark had clearly long had a veto or refusal of a husband for some time back, and sometimes even free choice. "go-betweens" negotiate marriages. betrothal was of course the usage. for the groom to defile an espoused woman is a foul reproach. gifts made to father-in-law after bridal by bridegroom seem to denote the old bride-price. taking the bride home in her car was an important ceremony, and a bride is taken to her future husband's by her father. the wedding-feast, as in france in rabelais' time, was a noisy and drunken and tumultuous rejoicing, when bone-throwing was in favor, with other rough sports and jokes. the three days after the bridal and their observance in "sword-bed" are noticed below. a commoner or one of slave-blood could not pretend to wed a high-born lady. a woman would sometimes require some proof of power or courage at her suitor's hands; thus gywritha, like the famous lady who weds harold fairhair, required her husband siwar to be over-king of the whole land. but in most instances the father or brother betrothed the girl, and she consented to their choice. unwelcome suitors perish. the prohibited degrees were, of course, different from those established by the mediaeval church, and brother weds brother's widow in good archaic fashion. foster-sister and foster-brother may marry, as saxo notices carefully. the wolsung incest is not noticed by saxo. he only knew, apparently, the north-german form of the niflung story. but the reproachfulness of incest is apparent. birth and beauty were looked for in a bride by saxo's heroes, and chastity was required. the modesty of maidens in old days is eulogised by saxo, and the penalty for its infraction was severe: sale abroad into slavery to grind the quern in the mud of the yard. one of the tests of virtue is noticed, "lac in ubere". that favourite "motif", the "patient grizzle", occurs, rather, however, in the border ballad than the petrarcan form. "good wives" die with their husbands as they have vowed, or of grief for their loss, and are wholly devoted to their interests. among "bad wives" are those that wed their husband's slayer, run away from their husbands, plot against their husbands' lives. the penalty for adultery is death to both, at husband's option--disfigurement by cutting off the nose of the guilty woman, an archaic practice widely spread. in one case the adulterous lady is left the choice of her own death. married women's homeric duties are shown. there is a curious story, which may rest upon fact, and not be merely typical, where a mother who had suffered wrong forced her daughter to suffer the same wrong. captive women are reduced to degrading slavery as "harlots" in one case, according to the eleventh century english practice of gytha. the family and blood revenge.--this duty, one of the strongest links of the family in archaic teutonic society, has left deep traces in saxo. to slay those most close in blood, even by accident, is to incur the guilt of parricide, or kin-killing, a bootless crime, which can only be purged by religious ceremonies; and which involves exile, lest the gods' wrath fall on the land, and brings the curse of childlessness on the offender until he is forgiven. bootless crimes.--as among the ancient teutons, botes and were-gilds satisfy the injured who seek redress at law rather than by the steel. but there are certain bootless crimes, or rather sins, that imply "sacratio", devotion to the gods, for the clearing of the community. such are treason, which is punishable by hanging; by drowning in sea. rebellion is still more harshly treated by death and forfeiture; the rebels' heels are bored and thonged under the sinew, as hector's feet were, and they are then fastened by the thongs to wild bulls, hunted by hounds, till they are dashed to pieces (for which there are classic parallels), or their feet are fastened with thongs to horses driven apart, so that they are torn asunder. for "parricide", i.e., killing within near degrees, the criminal is hung up, apparently by the heels, with a live wolf (he having acted as a wolf which will slay its fellows). cunning avoidance of the guilt by trick is shown. for "arson" the appropriate punishment is the fire. for "incestuous adultery" of stepson with his stepmother, hanging is awarded to the man. in the same case swanwhite, the woman, is punished, by treading to death with horses. a woman accomplice in adultery is treated to what homer calls a "stone coat." incestuous adultery is a foul slur. for "witchcraft", the horror of heathens, hanging was the penalty. "private revenge" sometimes deliberately inflicts a cruel death for atrocious wrong or insult, as when a king, enraged at the slaying of his son and seduction of his daughter, has the offender hanged, an instance famous in nathan's story, so that hagbard's hanging and hempen necklace were proverbial. for the slayer by a cruel death of their captive father, ragnar's sons act the blood-eagle on ella, and salt his flesh. there is an undoubted instance of this act of vengeance (the symbolic meaning of which is not clear as yet) in the "orkney saga". but the story of daxo and of ref's gild show that for such wrongs were-gilds were sometimes exacted, and that they were considered highly honourable to the exactor. among offences not bootless, and left to individual pursuit, are:-- "highway robbery".--there are several stories of a type such as that of ingemund and ioknl (see "landnamaboc") told by saxo of highwaymen; and an incident of the kind that occurs in the theseus story (the bent-tree, which sprung back and slew the wretch bound to it) is given. the romantic trick of the mechanic bed, by which a steel-shod beam is let fall on the sleeping traveller, also occurs. slain highwaymen are gibbeted as in christian days. "assassination", as distinct from manslaughter in vengeance for a wrong, is not very common. a hidden mail-coat foils a treacherous javelin-cast (cf. the story of olaf the stout and the blind king, hrorec); murderers lurk spear-armed at the threshold, sides, as in the icelandic sagas; a queen hides a spear-head in her gown, and murders her husband (cf. olaf tryggvason's life). godfred was murdered by his servant (and ynglingatal). "burglary".--the crafty discovery of the robber of the treasury by hadding is a variant of the world-old rhampsinitos tale, but less elaborate, possibly abridged and cut down by saxo, and reduced to a mere moral example in favour of the goldenness of silence and the danger of letting the tongue feed the gallows. among other disgraceful acts, that make the offender infamous, but do not necessarily involve public action:-- "manslaughter in breach of hospitality".--probably any gross breach of hospitality was disreputable and highly abhorred, but "guest-slaughter" is especially mentioned. the ethical question as to whether a man should slay his guest or forego his just vengeance was often a "probleme du jour" in the archaic times to which these traditions witness. ingeld prefers his vengeance, but thuriswend, in the lay cited by paul the deacon, chooses to protect his guest. heremod slew his messmates in his wrath, and went forth alone into exile. ("beowulf's lay".) "suicide".--this was more honourable than what earl siward of northumberland called a "cow-death." hadding resolves to commit suicide at his friend's death. wermund resolves to commit suicide if his son be slain (in hopelessness of being able to avenge him, cf. "njal's saga", where the hero, a christian, prefers to perish in his burning house than live dishonoured, "for i am an old man and little fitted to avenge my sons, but i will not live in shame"). persons commit suicide by slaying each other in time of famine; while in england (so baeda tells) they "decliffed" themselves in companies, and, as in the comic little icelandic tale gautrec's birth, a tarpeian death is noted as the customary method of relieving folks from the hateful starvation death. it is probable that the violent death relieved the ghost or the survivors of some inconveniences which a "straw death" would have brought about. "procedure by wager of battle".--this archaic process pervades saxo's whole narrative. it is the main incident of many of the sagas from which he drew. it is one of the chief characteristics of early teutonic custom-law, and along with "cormac's saga", "landnamaboc", and the walter saga, our author has furnished us with most of the information we have upon its principles and practice. steps in the process are the challenge, the acceptance and settlement of conditions, the engagement, the treatment of the vanquished, the reward of the conqueror, and there are rules touching each of these, enough almost to furnish a kind of "galway code". a challenge could not, either to war or wager of battle, be refused with honor, though a superior was not bound to fight an inferior in rank. an ally might accept for his principal, or a father for a son, but it was not honourable for a man unless helpless to send a champion instead of himself. men were bound to fight one to one, and one man might decline to fight two at once. great champions sometimes fought against odds. the challenged man chose the place of battle, and possibly fixed the time. this was usually an island in the river. the regular weapons were swords and shields for men of gentle blood. they fought by alternate separate strokes; the senior had the first blow. the fight must go on face to face without change of place; for the ground was marked out for the combatants, as in our prize ring, though one can hardly help fancying that the fighting ground so carefully described in "cormac's saga", ch. , may have been saxo's authority. the combatants change places accidentally in the struggle in one story. the combat might last, like cuchullin's with ferdia, several days; a nine days' fight occurs; but usually a few blows settled the matter. endurance was important, and we are told of a hero keeping himself in constant training by walking in a mail coat. the conqueror ought not to slay his man if he were a stripling, or maimed, and had better take his were-gild for his life, the holmslausn or ransom of "cormac's saga" (three marks in iceland); but this was a mere concession to natural pity, and he might without loss of honor finish his man, and cut off his head, though it was proper, if the slain adversary has been a man of honor, to bury him afterward. the stakes are sometimes a kingdom or a kingdom's tribute, often a lady, or the combatants fought for "love" or the point of honor. giants and noted champions challenge kings for their daughters (as in the fictitious parts of the icelandic family sagas) in true archaic fashion, and in true archaic fashion the prince rescues the lady from a disgusting and evil fate by his prowess. the champion's fee or reward when he was fighting for his principal and came off successful was heavy--many lands and sixty slaves. bracelets are given him; a wound is compensated for at ten gold pieces; a fee for killing a king is of the same. of the incidents of the combat, beside fair sleight of fence, there is the continual occurrence of the sword-blunting spell, often cast by the eye of the sinister champion, and foiled by the good hero, sometimes by covering his blade with thin skin, sometimes by changing the blade, sometimes by using a mace or club. the strength of this tradition sufficiently explains the necessity of the great oath against magic taken by both parties in a wager of battle in christian england. the chief combats mentioned by saxo are:-- sciold v. attila. sciold v. scate, for the hand of alfhild. gram v. swarin and eight more, for the crown of the swedes. hadding v. toste, by challenge. frode v. hunding, on challenge. frode v. hacon, on challenge. helge v. hunding, by challenge at stad. agnar v. bearce, by challenge. wizard v. danish champions, for truage of the slavs. wizard v. ubbe, for truage of the slavs. coll v. horwendill, on challenge. athisl v. frowine, meeting in battle. athisl v. ket and wig, on challenge. uffe v. prince of saxony and champion, by challenge. frode v. froger, on challenge. eric v. grep's brethren, on challenge, twelve a side. eric v. alrec, by challenge. hedin v. hogni, the mythic everlasting battle. arngrim v. scalc, by challenge. arngrim v. egtheow, for truage of permland. arrow-odd and hialmar v. twelve sons of arngrim samsey fight. ane bow-swayer v. beorn, by challenge. starkad v. wisin, by challenge. starkad v. tanlie, by challenge. starkad v. wasce--wilzce, by challenge. starkad v. hame, by challenge. starkad v. angantheow and eight of his brethren, on challenge. halfdan v. hardbone and six champions, on challenge. halfdan v. egtheow, by challenge. halfdan v. grim, on challenge. halfdan v. ebbe, on challenge, by moonlight. halfdan v. twelve champions, on challenge. halfdan v. hildeger, on challenge. ole v. skate and hiale, on challenge. homod and thole v. beorn and thore, by challenge. ref. v. gaut, on challenge. ragnar and three sons v. starcad of sweden and seven sons, on challenge. civil procedure.--"oaths" are an important art of early procedure, and noticed by saxo; one calling the gods to witness and therefor, it is understood, to avenge perjury if he spake not truth. "testification", or calling witnesses to prove the steps of a legal action, was known, "glum's saga" and "landnamaboc", and when a manslayer proceeded (in order to clear himself of murder) to announce the manslaughter as his act, he brings the dead man's head as his proof, exactly as the hero in the folk-tales brings the dragon's head or tongue as his voucher. a "will" is spoken of. this seems to be the solemn declaration of a childless man to his kinsfolk, recommending some person as his successor. nothing more was possible before written wills were introduced by the christian clergy after the roman fashion. statute laws. "lawgivers".--the realm of custom had already long been curtailed by the conquests of law when saxo wrote, and some epochs of the invasion were well remembered, such as canute's laws. but the beginnings were dim, and there were simply traditions of good and bad lawyers of the past; such were "sciold" first of all the arch-king, "frode" the model lawgiver, "helge" the tyrant, "ragnar" the shrewd conqueror. "sciold", the patriarch, is made by tradition to fulfil, by abolishing evil customs and making good laws, the ideal of the saxon and frankish coronation oath formula (which may well go back with its two first clauses to heathen days). his fame is as widely spread. however, the only law saxo gives to him has a story to it that he does not plainly tell. sciold had a freedman who repaid his master's manumission of him by the ingratitude of attempting his life. sciold thereupon decrees the unlawfulness of manumissions, or (as saxo puts it), revoked all manumissions, thus ordaining perpetual slavery on all that were or might become slaves. the heathen lack of pity noticed in alfred's preface to "gregory's handbook" is illustrated here by contrast with the philosophic humanity of the civil law, and the sympathy of the mediaeval church. but frode (known also to the compiler of "beowulf's lay", ) had, in the dane's eyes, almost eclipsed sciold as conqueror and lawgiver. his name frode almost looks as if his epithet sapiens had become his popular appellation, and it befits him well. of him were told many stories, and notably the one related of our edwin by bede (and as it has been told by many men of many rulers since bede wrote, and before). frode was able to hang up an arm-ring of gold in three parts of his kingdom that no thief for many years dared touch. how this incident (according to our version preserved by saxo), brought the just king to his end is an archaic and interesting story. was this ring the brosinga men? saxo has even recorded the laws of frode in four separate bits, which we give as a, b, c, d. a. is mainly a civil and military code of archaic kind: (a) the division of spoil shall be--gold to captains, silver to privates, arms to champions, ships to be shared by all. cf. jomswickinga s. on the division of spoil by the law of the pirate community of jom. (b) no house stuff to be locked; if a man used a lock he must pay a gold mark. (c) he who spares a thief must bear his punishment. (d) the coward in battle is to forfeit all rights (cf. "beowulf", ). (e) women to have free choice (or, at least, veto) in taking husbands. (f) a free woman that weds a slave loses rank and freedom (cf. roman law). (g) a man must marry a girl he has seduced. (h) an adulterer to be mutilated at pleasure of injured husband. (i) where dane robbed dane, the thief to pay double and peace-breach. (k) receivers of stolen goods suffer forfeiture and flogging at most. (l) deserter bearing shield against his countrymen to lose life and property. (m) contempt of fyrd-summons or call to military service involves outlawry and exile. (n) bravery in battle to bring about increase in rank (cf. the old english "ranks of men"). (o) no suit to lie on promise and pledge; fine of a gold lb. for asking pledge. (p) wager of battle is to be the universal mode of proof. (q) if an alien kill a dane two aliens must suffer. (this is practically the same principle as appears in the half weregild of the welsh in west saxon law.) b. an illustration of the more capricious of the old enactments and the jealousy of antique kings. (a) loss of gifts sent to the king involves the official responsible; he shall be hanged. (this is introduced as illustration of the cleverness of eric and the folly of coll.) c. saxo associates another set of enactments with the completion of a successful campaign of conquest over the ruthenians, and shows frode chiefly as a wise and civilising statesman, making conquest mean progress. (a) every free householder that fell in war was to be set in his barrow with horse and arms (cf. "vatzdaela saga", ch. ). the body-snatcher was to be punished by death and the lack of sepulture. earl or king to be burned in his own ship. ten sailors may be burnt on one ship. (b) ruthenians to have the same law of war as danes. (c) ruthenians must adopt danish sale-marriage. (this involves the abolition of the baltic custom of capture-marriage. that capture-marriage was a bar to social progress appears in the legislation of richard ii, directed against the custom as carried out on the borders of the palatine county of chester, while cases such as the famous one of rob roy's sons speak to its late continuance in scotland. in ireland it survived in a stray instance or two into this century, and songs like "william riley" attest the sympathy of the peasant with the eloping couple.) (d) a veteran, one of the doughty, must be such a man as will attack one foe, will stand two, face three without withdrawing more than a little, and be content to retire only before four. (one of the traditional folk-sayings respecting the picked men, the doughty or old guard, as distinguished from the youth or young guard, the new-comers in the king's company of house-carles. in harald hardrede's life the norwegians dread those english house-carles, "each of whom is a match for four," who formed the famous guard that won stamford bridge and fell about their lord, a sadly shrunken band, at senlake.) (f) the house-carles to have winter-pay. the house-carle three pieces of silver, a hired soldier two pieces, a soldier who had finished his service one piece. (the treatment of the house-carles gave harald harefoot a reputation long remembered for generosity, and several old northern kings have won their nicknames by their good or ill feeding and rewarding their comitatus.) d. again a civil code, dealing chiefly with the rights of travellers. (a) seafarers may use what gear they find (the "remis" of the text may include boat or tackle). (b) no house is to be locked, nor coffer, but all thefts to be compensated threefold. (this, like a, b, which it resembles, seems a popular tradition intended to show the absolute security of frode's reign of seven or three hundred years. it is probably a gloss wrongly repeated.) (c) a traveller may claim a single supper; if he take more he is a thief (the mark of a prae-tabernal era when hospitality was waxing cold through misuse). (d) thief and accomplices are to be punished alike, being hung up by a line through the sinews and a wolf fastened beside. (this, which contradicts a, i, k, and allots to theft the punishment proper for parricide, seems a mere distorted tradition.) but beside just frode, tradition spoke of the unjust kinge helge, whose laws represent ill-judged harshness. they were made for conquered races, (a) the saxons and (b) the swedes. (a) noble and freedmen to have the same were-gild (the lower, of course, the intent being to degrade all the conquered to one level, and to allow only the lowest were-gild of a freedman, fifty pieces, probably, in the tradition). (b) no remedy for wrong done to a swede by a dane to be legally recoverable. (this is the traditional interpretation of the conqueror's haughty dealing; we may compare it with the middle-english legends of the pride of the dane towards the conquered english. the tradition sums up the position in such concrete forms as this law of helge's.) two statutes of ragnar are mentioned:-- (a) that any householder should give up to his service in war the worst of his children, or the laziest of his slaves (a curious tradition, and used by saxo as an opportunity for patriotic exaltation). (b) that all suits shall be absolutely referred to the judgment of twelve chosen elders (lodbroc here appearing in the strange character of originator of trial by jury). "tributes".--akin to laws are the tributes decreed and imposed by kings and conquerors of old. tribute infers subjection in archaic law. the poll-tax in the fourteenth century in england was unpopular, because of its seeming to degrade englishmen to the level of frenchmen, who paid tribute like vanquished men to their absolute lord, as well as for other reasons connected with the collection of the tax. the old fur tax (mentioned in "egil's saga") is here ascribed to frode, who makes the finns pay him, every three years, a car full or sledge full of skins for every ten heads; and extorts one skin per head from the perms. it is frode, too (though saxo has carved a number of frodes out of one or two kings of gigantic personality), that made the saxons pay a poll-tax, a piece of money per head, using, like william the conqueror, his extraordinary revenue to reward his soldiers, whom he first regaled with double pay. but on the conquered folks rebelling, he marked their reduction by a tax of a piece of money on every limb a cubit long, a "limb-geld" still more hateful than the "neb-geld." hotherus (hodr) had set a tribute on the kurlanders and swedes, and hrolf laid a tribute on the conquered swedes. godefridus-gotric is credited with a third saxon tribute, a heriot of snow-white horses payable to each danish king at his succession, and by each saxon chief on his accession: a statement that, recalling sacred snow-white horses kept in north germany of yore makes one wish for fuller information. but godefridus also exacted from the swedes the "ref-gild", or fox-money; for the slaying of his henchman ref, twelve pieces of gold from each man of rank, one from every commoner. and his friesland tribute is stranger still, nor is it easy to understand from saxo's account. there was a long hall built, feet, and divided up into twelve "chases" of feet each (probably square). there was a shield set up at one end, and the taxpayers hurled their money at it; if it struck so as to sound, it was good; if not, it was forfeit, but not reckoned in the receipt. this (a popular version, it may be, of some early system of treasury test) was abolished, so the story goes, by charles the great. ragnar's exaction from daxo, his son's slayer, was a yearly tribute brought by himself and twelve of his elders barefoot, resembling in part such submissions as occur in the angevin family history, the case of the calais burgesses, and of such criminals as the corporation of oxford, whose penance was only finally renounced by the local patriots in our own day. war. "weapons".--the sword is the weapon par excellence in saxo's narrative, and he names several by name, famous old blades like our royal curtana, which some believed was once tristrem's, and that sword of carlus, whose fortunes are recorded in irish annals. such are "snyrtir", bearce's sword; "hothing", agnar's blade; "lauf", or "leaf", bearce's sword; "screp", wermund's sword, long buried and much rust-eaten, but sharp and trusty, and known by its whistle; miming's sword ("mistletoe"), which slew balder. wainhead's curved blade seems to be a halbert; "lyusing" and "hwiting", ragnald of norway's swords; "logthe", the sword of ole siward's son. the "war-club" occurs pretty frequently. but it is usually introduced as a special weapon of a special hero, who fashions a gold-headed club to slay one that steel cannot touch, or who tears up a tree, like the spanish knight in the ballad, or who uses a club to counteract spells that blunt steel. the bat-shapen archaic rudder of a ship is used as a club in the story of the sons of arngrim. the "spear" plays no particular part in saxo: even woden's spear gungne is not prominent. "bows and arrows" are not often spoken of, but archer heroes, such as toki, ane bow-swayer, and orwar-odd, are known. slings and stones are used. the shield, of all defensive armour, is far the most prominent. they were often painted with devices, such as hamlet's shield, hildiger's swedish shield. dr. vigfusson has shown the importance of these painted shields in the poetic history of the scandinavians. a red shield is a signal of peace. shields are set round ramparts on land as round ships at sea. "mail-coats" are worn. frode has one charmed against steel. hother has another; a mail-coat of proof is mentioned and their iron meshes are spoken of. "helmets" are used, but not so carefully described as in "beowulf's lay"; crested helmets and a gilded helmet occur in bearca-mal and in another poem. "banners" serve as rallying points in the battle and on the march. the huns' banners are spoken of in the classic passage for the description of a huge host invading a country. bearcamal talks of golden banners. "horns" ( ) were blown pp at the beginning of the engagement and for signalling. the gathering of the host was made by delivery of a wooden arrow painted to look like iron. "tactics".--the hand-to-hand fight of the wager of battle with sword and shield, and the fighting in ranks and the wedge-column at close quarters, show that the close infantry combat was the main event of the battle. the preliminary hurling of stones, and shooting of arrows, and slinging of pebbles, were harassing and annoying, but seldom sufficiently important to affect the result of the main engagement. men ride to battle, but fight on foot; occasionally an aged king is car-borne to the fray, and once the car, whether by saxo's adorning hand, or by tradition, is scythe-armed. the gathered host is numbered, once, where, as with xerxes, counting was too difficult, by making each man as he passed put a pebble in a pile (which piles survive to mark the huge size of frode's army). this is, of course, a folktale, explaining the pebble-hills and illustrating the belief in frode's power; but armies were mustered by such expedients of old. burton tells of an african army each man of whom presented an egg, as a token of his presence and a means of taking the number of the host. we hear of men marching in light order without even scabbards, and getting over the ice in socks. the war equipment and habits of the irish, light armoured, clipped at back of head, hurling the javelin backwards in their feigned flight; of the slavs, small blue targets and long swords; of the finns, with their darts and skees, are given. watches are kept, and it is noted that "uht", the early watch after midnight, is the worst to be attacked in (the duke's two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage being needed, and the darkness and cold helping the enemy). spies were, of course, slain if discovered. but we have instances of kings and heroes getting into foeman's camps in disguise (cf. stories of alfred and anlaf). the order of battle of bravalla fight is given, and the ideal array of a host. to woden is ascribed the device of the boar's head, hamalt fylking (the swine-head array of manu's indian kings), the terrible column with wedge head which could cleave the stoutest line. the host of ring has men from wener, wermland, gotaelf, thotn, wick, thelemark, throndham, sogn, firths, fialer, iceland; sweden, gislamark, sigtun, upsala, pannonia. the host of harold had men from iceland, the danish provinces, frisia, lifland; slavs, and men from jom, aland, and sleswick. the battle of bravalla is said to have been won by the gotland archers and the men of throndham, and the dales. the death of harald by treachery completed the defeat, which began when ubbe fell (after he had broken the enemy's van) riddled with arrows. the defeated, unless they could fly, got little quarter. one-fifth only of the population of a province are said to have survived an invasion. after sea-battles (always necessarily more deadly) the corpses choke the harbours. seventy sea-kings are swept away in one sea-fight. heads seem to have been taken in some cases, but not as a regular teutonic usage, and the practice, from its being attributed to ghosts and aliens, must have already been considered savage by saxo, and probably by his informants and authorities. prisoners were slaves; they might be killed, put to cruel death, outraged, used as slaves, but the feeling in favour of mercy was growing, and the cruelty of eormenric, who used tortures to his prisoners, of rothe, who stripped his captives, and of fro, who sent captive ladies to a brothel in insult, is regarded with dislike. wounds were looked on as honourable, but they must be in front or honourably got. a man who was shot through the buttocks, or wounded in the back, was laughed at and disgraced. we hear of a mother helping her wounded son out of battle. that much of human interest centered round war is evident by the mass of tradition that surrounds the subject in saxo, both in its public and private aspects. quaint is the analysis of the four kinds of warriors: (a) the veterans, or doughty, who kill foes and spare flyers; (b) the young men who kill foes and flyers too; (c) the well-to-do, landed, and propertied men of the main levy, who neither fight for fear nor fly for shame; (d) the worthless, last to fight and first to fly; and curious are the remarks about married and unmarried troops, a matter which chaka pondered over in later days. homeric speeches precede the fight. "stratagems of war" greatly interested saxo (probably because valerius maximus, one of his most esteemed models, was much occupied with such matters), so that he diligently records the military traditions of the notably skillful expedients of famous commanders of old. there is the device for taking a town by means of the "pretended death" of the besieging general, a device ascribed to hastings and many more commanders (see steenstrup normannerne); the plan of "firing" a besieged town by fire-bearing birds, ascribed here to fridlev, in the case of dublin to hadding against duna (where it was foiled by all tame birds being chased out of the place). there is the "birnam wood" stratagem, by which men advanced behind a screen of boughs, which is even used for the concealment of ships, and the curious legend (occurring in irish tradition also, and recalling capt. b. hall's "quaker gun" story) by which a commander bluffs off his enemy by binding his dead to stakes in rows, as if they were living men. less easy to understand are the "brazen horses" or "machines" driven into the close lines of the enemy to crush and open them, an invention of gewar. the use of hooked weapons to pull down the foes' shields and helmets was also taught to hother by gewar. the use of black tents to conceal encampment; the defence of a pass by hurling rocks from the heights; the bridge of boats across the elbe; and the employment of spies, and the bold venture, ascribed in our chronicles to alfred and anlaf, of visiting in disguise the enemy's camp, is here attributed to frode, who even assumed women's clothes for the purpose. frode is throughout the typical general, as he is the typical statesman and law-giver of archaic denmark. there are certain heathen usages connected with war, as the hurling of a javelin or shooting of an arrow over the enemy's ranks as a "sacratio" to woden of the foe at the beginning of a battle. this is recorded in the older vernacular authorities also, in exact accordance with the homeric usage, "odyssey" xxiv, - . the dedication of part of the spoils to the god who gave good omens for the war is told of the heathen baltic peoples; but though, as sidonius records, it had once prevailed among the saxons, and, as other witnesses add, among the scandinavian people, the tradition is not clearly preserved by saxo. "sea and sea warfare."--as might be expected, there is much mention of wicking adventure and of maritime warfare in saxo. saxo tells of asmund's huge ship (gnod), built high that he might shoot down on the enemy's craft; he speaks of a ship (such as godwin gave as a gift to the king his master), and the monk of st. bertin and the court-poets have lovingly described a ship with gold-broidered sails, gilt masts, and red-dyed rigging. one of his ships has, like the ships in the chansons de geste, a carbuncle for a lantern at the masthead. hedin signals to frode by a shield at the masthead. a red shield was a peace signal, as noted above. the practice of "strand-hewing", a great feature in wicking-life (which, so far as the victualling of raw meat by the fishing fleets, and its use raw, as mr. p. h. emerson informs me, still survives), is spoken of. there was great fear of monsters attacking them, a fear probably justified by such occasional attacks of angry whales as melville (founding his narrative on repeated facts) has immortalised. the whales, like moby dick, were uncanny, and inspired by troll-women or witches (cf. "frithiof saga" and the older "lay of atle and rimegerd"). the clever sailing of hadding, by which he eludes pursuit, is tantalising, for one gathers that, saxo knows the details that he for some reason omits. big fleets of and a monster armada of , vessels are recorded. the ships were moved by oars and sails; they had rudders, no doubt such as the gokstad ship, for the hero arrow-odd used a rudder as a weapon. "champions".--professed fighting men were often kept by kings and earls about their court as useful in feud and fray. harald fairhair's champions are admirably described in the contemporary raven song by hornclofe-- "wolf-coats they call them that in battle bellow into bloody shields. they wear wolves' hides when they come into the fight, and clash their weapons together." and saxo's sources adhere closely to this pattern. these "bear-sarks", or wolf-coats of harald give rise to an o. n. term, "bear-sarks' way", to describe the frenzy of fight and fury which such champions indulged in, barking and howling, and biting their shield-rims (like the ferocious "rook" in the narwhale ivory chessmen in the british museum) till a kind of state was produced akin to that of the malay when he has worked himself up to "run-a-muck." there seems to have been in the th century a number of such fellows about unemployed, who became nuisances to their neighbours by reason of their bullying and highhandedness. stories are told in the icelandic sagas of the way such persons were entrapped and put to death by the chiefs they served when they became too troublesome. a favourite (and fictitious) episode in an "edited" icelandic saga is for the hero to rescue a lady promised to such a champion (who has bullied her father into consent) by slaying the ruffian. it is the same "motif" as guy of warwick and the saracen lady, and one of the regular giant and knight stories. beside men-warriors there were "women-warriors" in the north, as saxo explains. he describes shield-maidens, as alfhild, sela, rusila (the ingean ruadh, or red maid of the irish annals, as steenstrup so ingeniously conjectures); and the three she-captains, wigbiorg, who fell on the field, hetha, who was made queen of zealand, and wisna, whose hand starcad cut off, all three fighting manfully at bravalla fight. social life and manners. "feasts".--the hall-dinner was an important feature in the old teutonic court-life. many a fine scene in a saga takes place in the hall while the king and his men are sitting over their ale. the hall decked with hangings, with its fires, lights, plate and provisions, appears in saxo just as in the eddic lays, especially rigsmal, and the lives of the norwegian kings and orkney earls. the order of seats is a great point of archaic manners. behaviour at table was a matter of careful observance. the service, especially that of the cup-bearer, was minutely regulated by etiquette. an honoured guest was welcomed by the host rising to receive him and giving him a seat near himself, but less distinguished visitors were often victims to the rough horseplay of the baser sort, and of the wanton young gentleman at court. the food was simple, boiled beef and pork, and mutton without sauce, ale served in horns from the butt. roast meat, game, sauces, mead, and flagons set on the table, are looked on by starcad as foreign luxuries, and germany was credited with luxurious cookery. "mimes and jugglers", who went through the country or were attached to the lord's court to amuse the company, were a despised race because of their ribaldry, obscenity, cowardice, and unabashed self-debasement; and their newfangled dances and piping were loathsome to the old court-poets, who accepted the harp alone as an instrument of music. the story that once a king went to war with his jugglers and they ran away, would represent the point of view of the old house-carle, who was neglected, though "a first-class fighting man", for these debauched foreign buffoons. supernatural beings. gods and goddesses.--the gods spring, according to saxo's belief, from a race of sorcerers, some of whom rose to pre-eminence and expelled and crushed the rest, ending the "wizard-age", as the wizards had ended the monster or "giant-age". that they were identic with the classic gods he is inclined to believe, but his difficulty is that in the week-days we have jove : thor; mercury : woden; whereas it is perfectly well known that mercury is jove's son, and also that woden is the father of thor--a comic "embarras". that the persians the heathens worshipped as gods existed, and that they were men and women false and powerful, saxo plainly believes. he has not snorre's appreciation of the humorous side of the mythology. he is ironic and scornful, but without the kindly, naive fun of the icelander. the most active god, the dane's chief god (as frey is the swede's god, and patriarch), is "woden". he appears in heroic life as patron of great heroes and kings. cf. "hyndla-lay", where it is said of woden:-- "let us pray the father of hosts to be gracious to us! he granteth and giveth gold to his servants, he gave heremod a helm and mail-coat, and sigmund a sword to take. he giveth victory to his sons, to his followers wealth, ready speech to his children and wisdom to men. fair wind to captains, and song to poets; he giveth luck in love to many a hero." he appears under various disguises and names, but usually as a one-eyed old man, cowled and hooded; sometimes with another, bald and ragged, as before the battle hadding won; once as "hroptr", a huge man skilled in leechcraft, to ragnar's son sigfrid. often he is a helper in battle or doomer of feymen. as "lysir", a rover of the sea, he helps hadding. as veteran slinger and archer he helps his favourite hadding; as charioteer, "brune", he drives harald to his death in battle. he teaches hadding how to array his troops. as "yggr" the prophet he advises the hero and the gods. as "wecha" (waer) the leech he woos wrinda. he invented the wedge array. he can grant charmed lives to his favourites against steel. he prophesies their victories and death. he snatches up one of his disciples, sets him on his magic horse that rides over seas in the air, as in skida-runa the god takes the beggar over the north sea. his image (like that of frey in the swedish story of ogmund dytt and gunnar helming, "flatey book", i, ) could speak by magic power. of his life and career saxo gives several episodes. woden himself dwelt at upsala and byzantium (asgard); and the northern kings sent him a golden image ring-bedecked, which he made to speak oracles. his wife frigga stole the bracelets and played him false with a servant, who advised her to destroy and rob the image. when woden was away (hiding the disgrace brought on him by frigga his wife), an imposter, mid odin, possibly loke in disguise, usurped his place at upsala, instituted special drink-offerings, fled to finland on woden's return, and was slain by the fins and laid in barrow. but the barrow smote all that approached it with death, till the body was unearthed, beheaded, and impaled, a well-known process for stopping the haunting of an obnoxious or dangerous ghost. woden had a son balder, rival of hother for the love of nanna, daughter of king gewar. woden and thor his son fought for him against hother, but in vain, for hother won the laity and put balder to shameful flight; however, balder, half-frenzied by his dreams of nanna, in turn drove him into exile (winning the lady); finally hother, befriended hy luck and the wood maidens, to whom he owed his early successes and his magic coat, belt, and girdle (there is obvious confusion here in the text), at last met balder and stabbed him in the side. of this wound balder died in three days, as was foretold by the awful dream in which proserpina (hela) appeared to him. balder's grand burial, his barrow, and the magic flood which burst from it when one harald tried to break into it, and terrified the robbers, are described. the death of balder led woden to seek revenge. hrossthiof the wizard, whom he consulted, told him he must beget a son by "wrinda" (rinda, daughter of the king of the ruthenians), who should avenge his half-brother. woden's wooing is the best part of this story, half spoilt, however, by euhemeristic tone and lack of epic dignity. he woos as a victorious warrior, and receives a cuff; as a generous goldsmith, and gets a buffet; as a handsome soldier, earning a heavy knock-down blow; but in the garb of a women as wecha (wakr), skilled in leechcraft, he won his way by trickery; and ("wale") "bous" was born, who, after some years, slew hother in battle, and died himself of his wounds. bous' barrow in bohusland, balder's haven, balder's well, are named as local attestations of the legend, which is in a late form, as it seems. the story of woden's being banished for misbehaviour, and especially for sorcery and for having worn woman's attire to trick wrinda, his replacement by "wuldor" ("oller"), a high priest who assumed woden's name and flourished for ten years, but was ultimately expelled by the returning woden, and killed by the danes in sweden, is in the same style. but wuldor's bone vessel is an old bit of genuine tradition mangled. it would cross the sea as well as a ship could, by virtue of certain spells marked on it. of "frey", who appears as "satrapa" of the gods at upsala, and as the originator of human sacrifice, and as appeased by black victims, at a sacrifice called froblod (freys-blot) instituted by hadding, who began it as an atonement for having slain a sea-monster, a deed for which he had incurred a curse. the priapic and generative influences of frey are only indicated by a curious tradition mentioned. it almost looks as if there had once been such an institution at upsala as adorned the phoenician temples, under frey's patronage and for a symbolic means of worship. "thunder", or "thor", is woden's son, strongest of gods or men, patron of starcad, whom he turned, by pulling off four arms, from a monster to a man. he fights by woden's side and balder's against hother, by whose magic wand his club (hammer) was lopped off part of its shaft, a wholly different and, a much later version than the one snorre gives in the prose edda. saxo knows of thor's journey to the haunt of giant garfred (geirrod) and his three daughters, and of the hurling of the iron "bloom", and of the crushing of the giantesses, though he does not seem to have known of the river-feats of either the ladies or thor, if we may judge (never a safe thing wholly) by his silence. whether "tew" is meant by the mars of the song of the voice is not evident. saxo may only be imitating the repeated catch-word "war" of the original. "loke" appears as utgard-loke, loke of the skirts of the world, as it were; is treated as a venomous giant bound in agony under a serpent-haunted cavern (no mention is made of "sigyn" or her pious ministry). "hela" seems to be meant by saxo's proserpina. "nanna" is the daughter of gewar, and balder sees her bathing and falls in love with her, as madly as frey with gertha in skirnismal. "freya", the mistress of od, the patroness of othere the homely, the sister of frey-frode, and daughter of niord-fridlaf, appears as gunwara eric's love and syritha ottar's love and the hair-clogged maiden, as dr. rydberg has shown. the gods can disguise their form, change their shape, are often met in a mist, which shrouds them save from the right person; they appear and disappear at will. for the rest they have the mental and physical characteristics of the kings and queens they protect or persecute so capriciously. they can be seen by making a magic sign and looking through a witch's arm held akimbo. they are no good comates for men or women, and to meddle with a goddess or nymph or giantess was to ensure evil or death for a man. the god's loves were apparently not always so fatal, though there seems to be some tradition to that effect. most of the god-sprung heroes are motherless or unborn (i.e., born like macduff by the caesarean operation)--sigfred, in the eddic lays for instance. besides the gods, possibly older than they are, and presumably mightier, are the "fates" (norns), three ladies who are met with together, who fulfil the parts of the gift-fairies of our sleeping beauty tales, and bestow endowments on the new-born child, as in the beautiful "helge lay", a point of the story which survives in ogier of the chansons de geste, wherein eadgar (otkerus or otgerus) gets what belonged to holger (holge), the helga of "beowulf's lay". the caprices of the fates, where one corrects or spoils the others' endowments, are seen in saxo, when beauty, bounty, and meanness are given together. they sometimes meet heroes, as they met helgi in the eddic lay (helgi and sigrun lay), and help or begift them; they prepare the magic broth for balder, are charmed with hother's lute-playing, and bestow on him a belt of victory and a girdle of splendour, and prophesy things to come. the verse in biarca-mal, where "pluto weaves the dooms of the mighty and fills phlegethon with noble shapes," recalls darrada-liod, and points to woden as death-doomer of the warrior. "giants".--these are stupid, mischievous, evil and cunning in saxo's eyes. oldest of beings, with chaotic force and exuberance, monstrous in extravagant vitality. the giant nature of the older troll-kind is abhorrent to man and woman. but a giantess is enamoured of a youth she had fostered, and giants carry off king's daughters, and a three-bodied giant captures young children. giants live in caves by the sea, where they keep their treasure. one giant, unfoot (ofoti), is a shepherd, like polyphemus, and has a famous dog which passed into the charge of biorn, and won a battle; a giantess is keeping goats in the wilds. a giant's fury is so great that it takes twelve champions to control him, when the rage is on him. the troll (like our puss-in-boots ogre) can take any shape. monstrous apparitions are mentioned, a giant hand (like that in one story of finn) searching for its prey among the inmates of a booth in the wilds. but this grendel-like arm is torn off by a giantess, hardgrip, daughter of wainhead and niece possibly of hafle. the voice heard at night prophesying is that of some god or monster, possibly woden himself. "dwarves".--these saxo calls satyrs, and but rarely mentions. the dwarf miming, who lives in the desert, has a precious sword of sharpness (mistletoe?) that could even pierce skin-hard balder, and a ring (draupnir) that multiplied itself for its possessor. he is trapped by the hero and robbed of his treasures. funeral rites and man's future state. "barrow-burials".--the obsequies of great men (such as the classic funeral of "beowulf's lay", - ) are much noticed by saxo, and we might expect that he knew such a poem (one similar to ynglingatal, but not it) which, like the books of the kings of israel and judah, recorded the deaths and burials, as well as the pedigrees and deeds, of the danish kings. the various stages of the "obsequy by fire" are noted; the byre sometimes formed out of a ship; the "sati"; the devoted bower-maidens choosing to die with their mistress, the dead man's beloved (cf. the eddic funerals of balder, sigfred, and brunhild, in the long "brunhild's lay", tregrof gudrumar and the lost poem of balder's death paraphrased in the prose edda); the last message given to the corpse on the pyre (woden's last words to balder are famous); the riding round the pyre; the eulogium; the piling of the barrow, which sometimes took whole days, as the size of many existing grass mounds assure us; the funeral feast, where an immense vat of ale or mead is drunk in honor of the dead; the epitaph, like an ogham, set up on a stone over the barrow. the inclusion of a live man with the dead in a barrow, with the live or fresh-slain beasts (horse and bound) of the dead man, seems to point to a time or district when burning was not used. apparently, at one time, judging from frode's law, only chiefs and warriors were burnt. not to bury was, as in hellas, an insult to the dead, reserved for the bodies of hated foes. conquerors sometimes show their magnanimity (like harald godwineson) by offering to bury their dead foes. the buried "barrow-ghost" was formidable; he could rise and slay and eat, vampire-like, as in the tale of asmund and aswit. he must in such case be mastered and prevented doing further harm by decapitation and thigh-forking, or by staking and burning. so criminals' bodies were often burnt to stop possible haunting. witches and wizards could raise corpses by spells to make them prophesy. the dead also appeared in visions, usually foretelling death to the person they visited. other worlds.--the "land of undeath" is spoken of as a place reached by an exiled hero in his wanderings. we know it from eric the traveller's s., helge thoreson's s., herrand and bose s., herwon s., thorstan baearmagn s., and other icelandic sources. but the voyage to the other worlds are some of the most remarkable of the narratives saxo has preserved for us. "hadding's voyage underground".--(a) a woman bearing in her lap angelica fresh and green, though it was deep winter, appears to the hero at supper, raising her head beside the brazier. hadding wishes to know where such plants grow. (b) she takes him with her, under cover of her mantle, underground. (c) they pierce a mist, get on a road worn by long use, pass nobly-clad men, and reach the sunny fields that bear the angelica:-- "through griesly shadowes by a beaten path, into a garden goodly garnished." --f.q. ii. , . (d) next they cross, by a bridge, the "river of blades", and see "two armies fighting", ghosts of slain soldiers. (e) last they came to a high wall, which surrounds the land of life, for a cock the woman brought with her, whose neck she wrung and tossed over this wall, came to life and crowed merrily. here the story breaks off. it is unfinished, we are only told that hadfling got back. why he was taken to this under-world? who took him? what followed therefrom? saxo does not tell. it is left to us to make out. that it is an archaic story of the kind in the thomas of ercildoune and so many more fairy-tales, e.g., kate crack-a-nuts, is certain. the "river of blades" and "the fighting warriors" are known from the eddic poems. the angelica is like the green birk of that superb fragment, the ballad of the wife of usher's well--a little more frankly heathen, of course-- "it fell about the martinmas, when nights are long and mirk, the carline wife's three sons cam hame, and their hats were o' the birk. it neither grew in syke nor dyke, nor yet in ony sheugh, but at the gates o' paradise that birk grew fair eneuch." the mantel is that of woden when he bears the hero over seas; the cock is a bird of sorcery the world over; the black fowl is the proper gift to the underground powers--a heriot really, for did not the culture god steal all the useful beasts out of the underground world for men's use? dr. rydberg has shown that the "seven sleepers" story is an old northern myth, alluded to here in its early pre-christian form, and that with this is mixed other incidents from voyages of swipdag, the teutonic odusseus. "thorkill's second voyage to outgarth-loke to get knowledge".--(a) guthrum is troubled as to the immortality and fate of the soul, and the reward of piety after death. to spite thorkill, his enviers advised the king to send him to consult outgarth-loke. he required of the king that his enemies should be sent with him. (b) in one well-stored and hide-defended ship they set out, reached a sunless, starless land, without fuel; ate raw food and suffered. at last, after many days, a fire was seen ashore. thorkill, setting a jewel at the mast-head to be able to regain his vessel easily, rows ashore to get fire. (c) in a filthy, snake-paved, stinking cavern he sees two horny-nebbed giants, ( ) making a fire. one of the giants offers to direct him to loke if he will say three true things in three phrases, and this done, tells him to row four days and then he would reach a dark and grassless land. for three more true sayings he obtains fire, and gets back to his vessel. (d) with good wind they make grassless land, go ashore, find a huge, rocky cavern, strike a flint to kindle a fire at the entrance as a safeguard against demons, and a torch to light them as they explored the cavern. (e) first appears iron seats set amid crawling snakes. (f) next is sluggish water flowing over sand. (g) last a steep, sloping cavern is reached, in a chamber of which lay outgarth-loke chained, huge and foul. (h) thorkill plucks a hair of his beard "as big as a cornel-wood spear." the stench that arose was fearful; the demens and snakes fell upon the invaders at once; only thorkill and five of the crew, who had sheltered themselves with hides against the virulent poison the demons and snakes cast, which would take a head off at the neck if it fell upon it, got back to their ship. (i) by vow to the "god that made the world", and offerings, a good voyage was made back, and germany reached, where thorkill became a christian. only two of his men survived the effects of the poison and stench, and he himself was scarred and spoilt in the face. (k) when he reached the king, guthrum would not listen to his tale, because it was prophesied to him that he would die suddenly if he heard it; nay, he even sent men to smite him as he lay in bed, but, by the device of laying a log in his place, he escaped, and going to the king as he sat at meat, reproached him for his treachery. (l) guthrum bade him tell his story, but died of horror at hearing his god loke foully spoken of, while the stench of the hair that thorkill produced, as othere did his horn for a voucher of his speech, slew many bystanders. this is the regular myth of loke, punished by the gods, lying bound with his own soils' entrails on three sharp stones and a sword-blade, (this latter an addition, when the myth was made stones were the only blades), with snakes' venom dripping on to him, so that when it falls on him he shakes with pain and makes earthquakes--a titan myth in answer to the question, "why does the earth quake?" the vitriolic power of the poison is excellently expressed in the story. the plucking of the hair as a token is like the plucking of a horn off the giant or devil that occurs in some folk-tale. magic and folk-science. there is a belief in magic throughout saxo's work, showing how fresh heathendom still was in men's minds and memories. his explanations, when he euhemerizes, are those of his day. by means of spells all kinds of wonders could be effected, and the powers of nature forced to work for the magician or his favourite. "skin-changing" (so common in "landnamaboc") was as well known as in the classic world of lucian and apuleius; and, where frode perishes of the attacks of a witch metamorphosed into a walrus. "mist" is induced by spells to cover and hide persons, as in homer, and "glamour" is produced by spells to dazzle foemen's sight. to cast glamour and put confusion into a besieged place a witch is employed by the beleaguerer, just as william the conqueror used the witch in the fens against hereward's fortalice. a soothsayer warns charles the great of the coming of a danish fleet to the seine's mouth. "rain and bad weather" may be brought on, as in a battle against the enemy, but in this, as in other instances, the spell may be counteracted. "panic terror" may be induced by the spell worked with a dead horse's head set up on a pole facing the antagonist, but the spell may be met and combatted by silence and a counter-curse. "magic help" may be got by calling on the friendly magician's name. the magician has also the power of summoning to him anyone, however unwilling, to appear. of spells and magic power to blunt steel there are several instances; they may be counteracted (as in the icelandic sagas) by using the hilt, or a club, or covering the blade with fine skin. in another case the champion can only be overcome by one that will take up some of the dust from under his feet. this is effected by the combatants shifting their ground and exchanging places. in another case the foeman can only be slain by gold, whereupon the hero has a gold-headed mace made and batters the life out of him therewith. the brothers of swanhild cannot be cut by steel, for their mail was charmed by the witch gudrun, but woden taught eormenric, the gothic king, how to overcome them with stones (which apparently cannot, as archaic weapons, be charmed against at all, resisting magic like wood and water and fire). jordanis tells the true history of ermanaric, that great gothic emperor whose rule from the dnieper to the baltic and rhine and danube, and long reign of prosperity, were broken by the coming of the huns. with him vanished the first great teutonic empire. magic was powerful enough even to raise the dead, as was practised by the perms, who thus renewed their forces after a battle. in the everlasting battle the combatants were by some strange trick of fate obliged to fulfil a perennial weird (like the unhappy vanderdecken). spells to wake the dead were written on wood and put under the corpses' tongue. spells (written on bark) induce frenzy. "charms" would secure a man against claw or tooth. "love philtres" (as in the long "lay of gudrun) appear as everywhere in savage and archaic society. "food", porridge mixed with the slaver of tortured snakes, gives magic strength or endues the eater with eloquence and knowledge of beast and bird speech (as finn's broiled fish and sigfred's broiled dragon-heart do). "poison" like these hell-broths are part of the witch or obi stock-in-trade, and frode uses powdered gold as an antidote. "omens" are observed; tripping as one lands is lucky (as with our william the norman). portents, such as a sudden reddening of the sea where the hero is drowned, are noticed and interpreted. "dreams" (cf. eddic lays of attila, and the border ballads) are prophetic (as nine-tenths of europeans firmly believe still); thus the visionary flame-spouting dragon is interpreted exactly as hogne's and attila's dreams. the dreams of the three first bridals nights (which were kept hallowed by a curious superstition, either because the dreams would then bold good, or as is more likely, for fear of some asmodeus) were fateful. animals and birds in dreams are read as persons, as nowadays. a "curse" is powerful unless it can be turned back, when it will harm its utterer, for harm someone it must. the "curse" of a dying man on his slayer, and its lack of effect, is noted. sometimes "magic messengers" are sent, like the swans that bore a token and uttered warning songs to the hero. "witches and wizards" (as belonging to the older layer of archaic beliefs) are hateful to the gods, and woden casts them out as accursed, though he himself was the mightiest of wizards. heathen teutonic life was a long terror by reason of witchcraft, as is the heathen african life to-day, continual precautions being needful to escape the magic of enemies. the icelandic sagas, such as gretter's, are full of magic and witchcraft. it is by witchcraft that gretter is first lamed and finally slain; one can see that glam's curse, the beowulf motif, was not really in the original gretter story. "folk-medicine" is really a branch of magic in old days, even to such pioneers of science as paracelsus. saxo's traditions note drinking of a lion's blood that eats men as a means of gaining might and strength; the drinking of bear's blood is also declared to give great bodily power. the tests for "madness" are of a primitive character, such as those applied to odusseus, who, however, was not able, like hamlet, to evade them. the test for death is the red-hot iron or hot brand (used by the abyssinians of to-day, as it was supposed in the thirteenth century to have been used by grimhild. "and now grimhild goes and takes a great brand, where the house had burnt, and goes to gernot her brother, and thrusts the burning brand in his mouth, and will know whether he is dead or living. but gernot was clearly dead. and now she goes to gislher and thrusts the firebrand in his mouth. he was not dead before, but gislher died of that. now king thidrec of bern saw what grimhild is doing, and speaks to king attila. `see how that devil grimhild, thy wife, is killing her brothers, the good warriors, and how many men have lost their lives for her sake, and how many good men she has destroyed, huns and amalungs and niflungs; and in the same way would she bring thee and me to hell, if she could do it?' then spake king attila, `surely she is a devil, and slay thou her, and that were a good work if thou had done it seven nights ago! then many a gallant fellow were whole that is now dead.' now king thidrec springs at grimhild and swings up his sword eckisax, and hews her asunder at the middle"). it was believed (as in polynesia, where "captain cook's path" was shown in the grass) that the heat of the hero's body might blast the grass; so starcad's entrails withered the grass. it was believed that a severed head might bite the ground in rage, and there were certainly plenty of opportunities for observation of such cases. it was believed that a "dumb man" might be so wrought on by passion that he would speak, and wholly acquire speech-power. little is told of "surgery", but in one case of intestines protruding owing to wounds, withies were employed to bind round the trunk and keep the bowels from risk till the patient could be taken to a house and his wounds examined and dressed. it was considered heroic to pay little heed to wounds that were not dangerous, but just to leave them to nature. personal "cleanliness" was not higher than among savages now. a lover is loused by his lady after the mediaeval fashion. christianity--in the first nine books of saxo, which are devoted to heathendom, there is not much save the author's own christian point of view that smacks of the new faith. the apostleships of ansgarius in denmark, the conversion of king eric, the christianity of several later danish kings, one of whom was (like olaf tryggwason) baptised in britain are also noticed. of "christian legends" and beliefs, besides the euhemerist theory, widely held, of the heathen gods there are few hints, save the idea that christ was born in the reign of frode, frode having been somehow synchronised with augustus, in whose reign also there was a world-peace. of course the christening of scandinavia is history, and the mythic books are little concerned with it. the episode in adam of bremen, where the king offers the people, if they want a new god, to deify eric, one of their hero-kings, is eminently characteristic and true. folk-tales. there might be a classification of saxo's stories akin to that of the irish poets, battles, sieges, voyages, rapes, cattle forays, etc.; and quite apart from the historic element, however faint and legendary, there are a set of stories ascribed by him, or rather his authorities, to definite persons, which had, even in his day, probably long been the property of tis, their original owners not being known owing to lapse of time and the wear of memory, and the natural and accidental catastrophies that impair the human record. such are the "dragon-slayer" stories. in one type of these the hero (frithlaf) is cast on a desolate island, and warned by a dream to attack and slay a dragon guarding treasure. he wakes, sees the dragon arise out of the waves, apparently, to come ashore and go back to the cavern or mound wherein the treasure lay. his scales are too hard to pierce; he is terribly strong, lashing trees down with his tail, and wearing a deep path through the wood and over the stones with his huge and perpetual bulk; but the hero, covered with hide-wrapped shield against the poison, gets down into the hollow path, and pierces the monster from below, afterward rifling its underground store and carrying off its treasure. again the story is repeated; the hero (frode haddingsson) is warned by a countryman of the island-dragon and its hoard, is told to cover his shield and body with bulls' hides against the poison, and smite the monster's belly. the dragon goes to drink, and, as it is coming back, it is attacked, slain, and its treasure lifted precisely as before. the analogies with the beowulf and sigfred stories are evident; but no great poet has arisen to weave the dragon-slaying intimately into the lives of frode and frithlaf as they have been woven into the tragedy of sigfred the wooer of brunhild and, if dr. vigffisson be right the conqueror of varus, or into the story of beowulf, whose real engagements were with sea-monsters, not fiery dragons. another type is that of the "loathly worm". a king out hunting (herod or herraud, king of sweden), for some unexplained reason brings home two small snakes as presents for his daughter. they wax wonderfully, have to be fed a whole ox a day, and proceed to poison and waste the countryside. the wretched king is forced to offer his daughter (thora) to anyone who will slay them. the hero (ragnar) devises a dress of a peculiar kind (by help of his nurse, apparently), in this case, woolly mantle and hairy breeches all frozen and ice-covered to resist the venom, then strapping his spear to his hand, he encounters them boldly alone. the courtiers hide "like frightened little girls", and the king betakes him to a "narrow shelter", an euphemism evidently of saxo's, for the scene is comic. the king comes forth when the hero is victorious, and laughing at his hairy legs, nick-names him shaggy-breech, and bids him to the feast. ragnar fetches up his comrades, and apparently seeks out the frightened courtiers (no doubt with appropriate quip, omitted by saxo, who hurries on), feasts, marries the king's daughter, and begets on her two fine sons. of somewhat similar type is the proud "maiden guarded" by beasts. here the scene is laid in gaulardale in norway. the lady is ladgerda, the hero ragnar. enamoured of the maiden by seeing her prowess in war, he accepts no rebuffs, but leaving his followers, enters the house, slays the guardian bear and dog, thrusting one through with a spear and throttling the other with his hand. the lady is won and wed, and two daughters and a son (frithlaf) duly begotten. the story of alf and alfhild combines several types. there are the tame snakes, the baffled suitors' heads staked to terrify other suitors, and the hero using red-hot iron and spear to slay the two reptiles. the "proud lady", (cf. kudrun and the niebelungen, and are's story of the queen that burnt her suitors) appears in hermintrude, queen of scotland, who battles and slays her lovers, but is out-witted by the hero (hamlet), and, abating her arrogance, agrees to wed him. this seems an obvious accretion in the original hamlet story, and probably owing not to saxo, but to his authority. the "beggar that stole the lady" (told of snio siwaldson and the daughter of the king of the goths), with its brisk dialogue, must have been one of the most artful of the folk-tales worked on by saxo or his informants; but it is only half told, unfortunately. the "crafty soaker" is another excellent comic folk-tale. a terrible famine made the king (snio) forbid brewing to save the barley for bread, and abolished all needless toping. the soaker baffled the king by sipping, never taking a full draught. rebuked, he declared that he never drank, but only sucked a drop. this was forbidden him for the future, so he sopped his bread in ale, and in that inconvenient manner continued to get drunk, excusing himself with the plea that though it was forbidden to drink or sip beer, it was not forbidden to eat it. when this was in turn prohibited, the soaker gave up any pretence, and brewed and drank unabashed, telling the angry king that he was celebrating his approaching funeral with due respect, which excuse led to the repeal of the obnoxious decree. a good rabelaisian tale, that must not have been wide-spread among the danish topers, whose powers both saxo and shakespeare have celebrated, from actual experience no doubt. the "magician's tricks to elude pursuit", so common an incident in our fairy tales, e.g., michael scot's flight, is ascribed here to the wonder-working and uncanny finns, who, when pursued, cast behind them successively three pebbles, which become to their enemies' eyes mountains, then snow, which appeared like a roaring torrent. but they could not cast the glamour on arngrim a third time, and were forced to submit. the glamour here and in the case of the breaking of balder's barrow is akin to that which the druid puts on the sons of uisnach. the tale of the king who shuts up his daughter in an "earth-house" or underground chamber with treasures (weapons and gold and silver), in fear of invasion, looks like a bit of folk-tale, such as the "hind in the wood", but it may have a traditional base of some kind here. a folk-tale, very imperfectly narrated, is the "clever king's daughter", who evidently in the original story had to choose her suitor by his feet (as the giantess in the prose edda chooses her husband), and was able to do so by the device she had practised of sewing up her ring in his leg sometime before, so that when she touched the flesh she could feel the hardness of the ring beneath the scar. bits of folk-tales are the "device for escaping threatened death by putting a log in one's bed" (as in our jack the giant-killer). the device, as old as david's wife, of dressing up a dummy (here a basket with a dog inside, covered outside with clothes), while the hero escapes, is told of eormenric, the mighty gothic king of kings, who, like walter of aquitaine, theodoric of varona, ecgherht, and arminius, was an exile in his youth. this traditional escape of the two lads from the scyths should be compared with the true story in paul the deacon of his little ancestor's captivity and bold and successful stroke for freedom. "disguise" plays a great part in the folk-tales used by saxo. woden disguises himself in a cowl on his earthly travels, and heroes do the same; a king disguises himself as a slave at his rival's court, to try and find occasion of slaying him; a hero wraps himself up in skins, like alleleirah. "escaped recognition" is accordingly a feature in many of these simple but artistic plots. a son is not known by his mother in the story of hrolf. other "devices" are exemplified, such as the "booby-trap" loaded with a millstone, which slays a hateful and despised tyrant, imposed by a foreign conqueror; evasion by secret passages, and concealment in underground vaults or earth-houses. the feigning of madness to escape death occurs, as well as in the better-known hamlet story. these stratagems are universal in folk-history. to eric, the clever and quick of speech, is ascribed an excellent sailor's smuggling trick to hide slaughtered cattle, by sinking them till the search is over. the "hero's mighty childhood" (like david's) of course occurs when he binds a bear with his girdle. sciold is full grown at fifteen, and hadding is full grown in extreme youth. the hero in his boyhood slays a full-grown man and champion. the cinder-biting, lazy stage of a mighty youth is exemplified. the "fierce eyes" of the hero or heroine, which can daunt an assassin as could the piercing glance of marius, are the "falcon eyes" of the eddic lays. the shining, effulgent, "illuminating hair" of the hero, which gives light in the darkness, is noticed here, as it obtains in cuaran's thirteenth century english legend. the wide-spread tale of the "city founded on a site marked out by a hide cut into finest thongs", occurs, told of hella and iwarus exactly as our kentishmen told it of hengist, and as it is also told of dido. the incidents of the "hero sleeping by a rill", of the guarded king's daughter, with her thirty attendants, the king's son keeping sheep, are part of the regular stock incidents in european folk-tales. so are the nausicaa incident of the "king's daughter going a washing", the hero disguising himself as a woman and winding wool (like a second heracles). there are a certain number of stories, which only occur in saxo and in our other northern sources with attributions, though they are of course legendary; such are: the "everlasting battle" between hedhin and hogne, a legend connected with the great brisinga-men story, and paralleled by the cordelia-tale among the britons. the story of the "children preserved" is not very clearly told, and saxo seems to have euhemerized. it is evidently of the same type as the lionel-lancelot story in the arthurian cycle. two children, ordered to be killed, are saved by the slaying of other children in their place; and afterwards by their being kept and named as dogs; they come to their own and avenge their wrongs. the "journey to hell" story is told of eric, who goes to a far land to fetch a princess back, and is successful. it is apparently an adventure of swipdag, if everyone had their rights. it is also told of thorkill, whose adventures are rather of the "true thomas" type. the "test of endurance" by sitting between fires, and the relief of the tortured and patient hero by a kindly trick, is a variant of the famous eddic lays concerning agnar. the "robbers of the island", evidently comes from an icelandic source (cf. the historic "holmveria saga" and icelandic folk-tales of later date), the incident of the hero slaying his slave, that the body might be mistaken for his, is archaic in tone; the powerful horse recalls grani, bayard, and even sleipner; the dog which had once belonged to unfoot (ofote), the giant shepherd (cf. its analogues in old welsh tales), is not quite assimilated or properly used in this story. it seems (as dr. rydberg suspects) a mythical story coloured by the icelandic relater with memory full of the robber-hands of his own land. the stratagem of "starcad", who tried even in death to slay his slayer, seems an integral part of the starcad story; as much as the doom of three crimes which are to be the price for the threefold life that a triple man or giant should enjoy. the noose story in starcad (cf. that told of bicce in the eormenric story), is also integral. saxo's mythology. no one has commented upon saxo's mythology with such brilliancy, such minute consideration, and such success as the swedish scholar, victor rydberg. more than occasionally he is over-ingenious and over-anxious to reduce chaos to order; sometimes he almost loses his faithful reader in the maze he treads so easily and confidently, and sometimes he stumbles badly. but he has placed the whole subject on a fresh footing, and much that is to follow will be drawn from his "teutonic mythology" (cited here from the english version by rasmus b. anderson, london, , as "t.m."). let us take first some of the incontestable results of his investigations that affect saxo. sciold is the father of gram in saxo, and the son of sceaf in other older authorities. dr. rydberg ( - ) forms the following equations for the sciolding patriarchs:-- a. scef--heimdal--rig. b. sciold--borgar--jarl. c. gram--halfdan--koming. chief among the mythic tales that concern saxo are the various portions of the swipdag-myth, which dr. rydberg has been able to complete with much success. they may be resumed briefly as follows:-- swipdag, helped by the incantations of his dead mother, whom he had raised from the dead to teach him spells of protection, sets forth on his quests. he is the odusseus of the teutonic mythology. he desires to avenge his father on halfdan that slew him. to this end he must have a weapon of might against halfdan's club. the moon-god tells him of the blade thiasse has forged. it has been stolen by mimer, who has gone out into the cold wilderness on the rim of the world. swipdag achieves the sword, and defeats and slays halfdan. he now buys a wife, menglad, of her kinsmen the gods by the gift of the sword, which thus passes into frey's hands. how he established a claim upon frey, and who menglad was, is explained in saxo's story of eric, where the characters may be identified thus:-- swipdag--eric freya--gunwara frey--frode iii niord--fridlaf wuldor--roller thor--brac giants--the greps giants--coller. frey and freya had been carried off by the giants, and swipdag and his faithful friend resolve to get them back for the anses, who bewail their absence. they journey to monster-land, win back the lady, who ultimately is to become the hero's wife, and return her to her kindred; but her brother can only be rescued by his father niord. it is by wit rather than by force that swipdag is successful here. the third journey of swipdag is undertaken on frey's behalf; he goes under the name of scirner to woo giant gymer's daughter gerth for his brother-in-law, buying her with the sword that he himself had paid to frey as his sister's bride-price. so the sword gets back to the giants again. swipdag's dead foe halfdan left two young "avengers", hadding and guthorm, whom he seeks to slay. but thor-brache gives them in charge of two giant brothers. wainhead took care of hadding, hafle of guthorm. swipdag made peace with guthorm, in a way not fully explained to us, but hadding took up the blood-feud as soon as he was old enough. hadding was befriended by a woman, who took him to the underworld--the story is only half told in saxo, unluckily--and by woden, who took him over-sea wrapt in his mantle as they rode sleipner over the waves; but here again saxo either had not the whole story before him, or he wished to abridge it for some reason or prejudice, and the only result of this astonishing pilgrimage is that woden gives the young hero some useful counsels. he falls into captivity, entrapped by loke (for what reason again we are left to guess), and is exposed to wild beasts, but he slays the wolf that attacks him, and eating its heart as woden had bidden him, he gains wisdom and foresight. prepared by these adventures, he gets guthorm to join him (how or why the peace between him and swipdag was broken, we know not), and they attack their father's slayer, but are defeated, though woden sunk asmund swipdag's son's ship, grio, at hlessey, and wainhead and hardgrip his daughter fought for hadding. hadding wanders off to the east with his foster-sister and mistress and hardgrip, who is slain protecting him against an angry ghost raised from the underworld by her spells. however, helped by heimdal and woden (who at this time was an exile), hadding's ultimate success is assured. when woden came back to power, swipdag, whose violence and pride grew horribly upon him, was exiled, possibly by some device of his foes, and took upon him, whether by will or doom, a sea-monster's shape. his faithful wife follows him over land and sea, but is not able to save him. he is met by hadding and, after a fierce fight, slain. swipdag's wife cursed the conqueror, and he was obliged to institute an annual sacrifice to frey (her brother) at upsale, who annuls the curse. loke, in seal's guise, tried to steal the necklace of freya at the reef of treasures, where swipdag was slain, but haimdal, also in sealskin, fought him, and recovered it for the gods. other myths having reference to the goddesses appear in saxo. there is the story of "heimdall and sol", which dr. rydberg has recognised in the tale of alf and alfhild. the same tale of how the god won the sun for his wife appears in the mediaeval german king ruther (in which title dr. ryuberg sees hrutr, a name of the ram-headed god). the story of "othar" (od) and "syritha" (sigrid) is obviously that of freya and her lover. she has been stolen by the giants, owing to the wiles of her waiting-maid, loke's helper, the evil witch angrbode. od seeks her, finds her, slays the evil giant who keeps her in the cave; but she is still bewitched, her hair knotted into a hard, horny mass, her eyes void of brightness. unable to gain recognition he lets her go, and she is made by a giantess to herd her flocks. again found by od, and again refusing to recognise him, she is let go again. but this time she flies to the world of men, and takes service with od's mother and father. here, after a trial of her love, she and od are reconciled. sywald (sigwald), her father, weds od's sister. the tale of the vengeance of balder is more clearly given by the dane, and with a comic force that recalls the aristophanic fun of loka-senna. it appears that the story had a sequel which only saxo gives. woden had the giantess angrbode, who stole freya, punished. frey, whose mother-in-law she was, took up her quarrel, and accusing woden of sorcery and dressing up like a woman to betray wrind, got him banished. while in exile wuldor takes woden's place and name, and woden lives on earth, part of the time at least, with scathe thiasse's daughter, who had parted from niord. the giants now resolved to attack ansegard; and woden, under the name of yggr, warned the gods, who recall him after ten years' exile. but for saxo this part of the story of the wars of the gods would be very fragmentary. the "hildiger story", where a father slays his son unwittingly, and then falls at his brother's hand, a tale combining the rustam and the balin-balan types, is one of the hilding tragedies, and curiously preserved in the late "saga of asmund the champions' bane". it is an antithesis, as dr. rydberg remarks, to the hildebrand and hadubrand story, where father and son must fight and are reconciled. the "story of orwandel" (the analogue of orion the hunter) must be gathered chiefly from the prose edda. he was a huntsman, big enough and brave enough to cope with giants. he was the friend of thor, the husband of groa, the father of swipdag, the enemy of giant coller and the monster sela. the story of his birth, and of his being blinded, are lost apparently in the teutonic stories, unless we may suppose that the bleeding of robin hood till he could not see by the traitorous prioress is the last remains of the story of the great archer's death. great part of the troubles which befell the gods arose from the antagonism of the sons of iwalde and the brethren sindre and brokk (cinder and brank), rival artist families; and it was owing to the retirement of their artist foster-parents that frey and freya were left among the giants. the hniflung hoard is also supposed to have consisted of the treasures of one band of primaeval artists, the iwaldings. whether we have here the phenomenon of mythological doublets belonging to different tribes, or whether we have already among these early names that descent of story which has led to an adventure of moses being attributed to garibaldi, given to theodoric the king the adventures of theodoric the god, taken arthur to rome, and charles the great to constantinople, it is hard to say. the skeleton-key of identification, used even as ably as dr. rydberg uses it, will not pick every mythologic lock, though it undoubtedly has opened many hitherto closed. the truth is that man is a finite animal; that he has a limited number of types of legend; that these legends, as long as they live and exist, are excessively prehensile; that, like the opossum, they can swing from tree to tree without falling; as one tree dies out of memory they pass on to another. when they are scared away by what is called exact intelligence from the tall forest of great personalities, they contrive to live humbly clinging to such bare plain stocks and poles (tis and jack and cinderella) as enable them to find a precarious perch. to drop similitudes, we must be prepared, in unravelling our tangled mythology, to go through several processes. we must, of course, note the parallelisms and get back to the earliest attribution-names we can find. but all system is of late creation, it does not begin till a certain political stage, a stage where the myths of coalescing clans come into contact, and an official settlement is attempted by some school of poets or priests. moreover, systematization is never so complete that it effaces all the earlier state of things. behind the official systems of homer and hesiod lies the actual chaos of local faiths preserved for us by pausanias and other mythographers. the common factors in the various local faiths are much the majority among the factors they each possess; and many of these common factors are exceedingly primitive, and resolve themselves into answers to the questions that children still ask, still receiving no answer but myth--that is, poetic and subjective hypothesis, containing as much truth as they can receive or their inventors can grasp. who were our forbears? how did day and night, sun and moon, earth and water, and fire come? how did the animals come? why has the bear no tail? why are fishes dumb, the swallow cleft-tail? how did evil come? why did men begin to quarrel? how did death arise? what will the end be? why do dead persons come back? what do the dead do? what is the earth shaped like? who invented tools and weapons, and musical instruments, and how? when did kings and chiefs first come? from accepted answers to such questions most of the huge mass of mythology arises. man makes his gods in his own image, and the doctrines of omen, coincidence, and correspondence helped by incessant and imperfect observation and logic, bring about a system of religious observance, of magic and ritual, and all the masses of folly and cruelty, hope and faith, and even charity, that group about their inventions, and seem to be the necessary steps in the onward path of progressive races. when to these we add the true and exaggerated memories of actual heroes, the material before the student is pretty completely comprised. though he must be prepared to meet the difficulties caused in the contact of races, of civilisations, by the conversion of persons holding one set of mythical ideas to belief in another set of different, more attractive, and often more advanced stage. the task of arriving at the scientific, speculative ethic, and the actual practice of our remote ancestry (for to that end is the student of mythology and folk-lore aiming) is not therefore easy. nor is the record perfect, though it is not so poor in most cases as was once believed. the brothers grimm, patriarchs alike as mythologists and folk-lorists, the castor and pollox of our studies, have proved this as regards the teutonic nations, just as they showed us, by many a striking example, that in great part folk-lore was the mythology of to-day, and mythology the folk-lore of yesterday. in many cases we are helped by quite modern material to make out some puzzle that an old tale presents, and there is little doubt but that the present activity in the field of folklore will not only result in fresh matter but in fresh methods freshly applied. the scandinavian material, at all events, is particularly rich: there is the extensive icelandic written literature touching the ninth and tenth and eleventh centuries; the noble, if fragmentary remains of old northern poetry of the wickingtide; and lastly, the mass of tradition which, surviving in oral form, and changing in colour from generation to generation, was first recorded in part in the seventeenth, and again in part, in the present century; and all these yield a plentiful field for research. but their evidence gains immensely by the existence of saxo's nine books of traditional and mythic lore, collected and written down in an age when much that was antique and heathen was passing away forever. the gratitude due to the welshman of the twelfth century, whose garnered hoard has enriched so many poets and romances from his day to now, is no less due to the twelfth-century dane, whose faithful and eloquent enthusiasm has swept much dust from antique time, and saved us such a story as shakespeare has not disdained to consecrate to highest use. not only celtic and teutonic lore are the richer for these two men, but the whole western world of thought and speech. in the history of modern literature, it is but right that by the side of geoffrey an honourable place should be maintained for saxo, and "awake remembrance of these mighty dead." --oliver elton endnotes: ( ) a horn and a tusk of great size are described as things of price, and great uroch's horns are mentioned in thorkill's second journey. horns were used for feast as well as fray. ( ) such bird-beaked, bird-legged figures occur on the cross at papil, burra island, shetland. cf. abbey morne cross, and an onchan cross, isle of man. the danish history of saxo grammaticus. preface. forasmuch as all other nations are wont to vaunt the glory of their achievements, and reap joy from the remembrance of their forefathers: absalon, chief pontiff of the danes, whose zeal ever burned high for the glorification of our land, and who would not suffer it to be defrauded of like renown and record, cast upon me, the least of his followers--since all the rest refused the task--the work of compiling into a chronicle the history of denmark, and by the authority of his constant admonition spurred my weak faculty to enter on a labour too heavy for its strength. for who could write a record of the deeds of denmark? it had but lately been admitted to the common faith: it still languished as strange to latin as to religion. but now that the holy ritual brought also the command of the latin tongue, men were as slothful now as they were unskilled before, and their sluggishness proved as faultful as that former neediness. thus it came about that my lowliness, though perceiving itself too feeble for the aforesaid burden, yet chose rather to strain beyond its strength than to resist his bidding; fearing that while our neighbours rejoiced and transmitted records of their deeds, the repute of our own people might appear not to possess any written chronicle, but rather to be sunk in oblivion and antiquity. thus i, forced to put my shoulder, which was unused to the task, to a burden unfamiliar to all authors of preceding time, and dreading to slight his command, have obeyed more boldly than effectually, borrowing from the greatness of my admonisher that good heart which the weakness of my own wit denied me. and since, ere my enterprise reached its goal, his death outran it; i entreat thee chiefly, andrew, who wast chosen by a most wholesome and accordant vote to be successor in the same office and to headship of spiritual things, to direct and inspire my theme; that i may baulk by the defence of so great an advocate that spiteful detraction which ever reviles what is most conspicuous. for thy breast, very fruitful in knowledge, and covered with great store of worshipful doctrines, is to be deemed a kind of shrine of heavenly treasures. thou who hast searched through gaul and italy and britain also in order to gather knowledge of letters and amass them abundantly, didst after thy long wandering obtain a most illustrious post in a foreign school, and proved such a pillar thereof, that thou seemedst to confer more grace on thy degree than it did on thee. then being made, on account of the height of thy honours and the desert of thy virtues, secretary to the king, thou didst adorn that employment, in itself bounded and insignificant, with such works of wisdom as to leave it a piece of promotion for men of greatest rank to covet afterwards, when thou wert transferred to that office which now thou holdest. wherefore skaane has been found to leap for joy that she has borrowed a pontiff from her neighbours rather than chosen one from her own people; inasmuch as she both elected nobly and deserved joy of her election. being a shining light, therefore, in lineage, in letters, and in parts, and guiding the people with the most fruitful labours of thy teaching, thou hast won the deepest love of thy flock, and by thy boldness in thy famous administration hast conducted the service thou hast undertaken unto the summit of renown. and lest thou shouldst seem to acquire ownership on the strength of prescription, thou hast, by a pious and bountiful will, made over a very rich inheritance to holy church; choosing rather honourably to reject riches (which are covered with the rust of cares) than to be shackled with the greed of them and with their burden. likewise thou hast set about an amazing work upon the reverend tenets of the faith; and in thy zeal to set the service of public religion before thy private concerns, hast, by the lesson of thy wholesome admonitions, driven those men who refused payment of the dues belonging to religion to do to holy things the homage that they ought; and by thy pious gift of treasure hast atoned for the ancient neglect of sacred buildings. further, those who pursued a wanton life, and yielded to the stress of incontinence above measure, thou hast redeemed from nerveless sloth to a more upright state of mind, partly by continuing instant in wholesome reproof, and partly by the noble example of simple living; leaving it in doubt whether thou hast edified them more by word or deed. thus thou, by mere counsels of wisdom, hast achieved what it was not granted to any of thy forerunners to obtain. and i would not have it forgotten that the more ancient of the danes, when any notable deeds of mettle had been done, were filled with emulation of glory, and imitated the roman style; not only by relating in a choice kind of composition, which might be called a poetical work, the roll of their lordly deeds; but also by having graven upon rocks and cliffs, in the characters of their own language, the works of their forefathers, which were commonly known in poems in the mother tongue. in the footsteps of these poems, being as it were classic books of antiquity, i have trod; and keeping true step with them as i translated, in the endeavour to preserve their drift, i have taken care to render verses by verses; so that the chronicle of what i shall have to write, being founded upon these, may thus be known, not for a modern fabrication, but for the utterance of antiquity; since this present work promises not a trumpery dazzle of language, but faithful information concerning times past. moreover, how many histories must we suppose that men of such genius would have written, could they have had skill in latin and so slaked their thirst for writing! men who though they lacked acquaintance with, the speech of rome, were yet seized with such a passion for bequeathing some record of their history, that they encompassed huge boulders instead of scrolls, borrowing rocks for the usage of books. nor may the pains of the men of thule be blotted in oblivion; for though they lack all that can foster luxury (so naturally barren is the soil), yet they make up for their neediness by their wit, by keeping continually every observance of soberness, and devoting every instant of their lives to perfecting our knowledge of the deeds of foreigners. indeed, they account it a delight to learn and to consign to remembrance the history of all nations, deeming it as great a glory to set forth the excellences of others as to display their own. their stores, which are stocked with attestations of historical events, i have examined somewhat closely, and have woven together no small portion of the present work by following their narrative, not despising the judgment of men whom i know to be so well versed in the knowledge of antiquity. and i have taken equal care to follow the statements of absalon, and with obedient mind and pen to include both his own doings and other men's doings of which he learnt; treasuring the witness of his august narrative as though it were some teaching from the skies. wherefore, waldemar, ( ) healthful prince and father of us all, shining light of thy land, whose lineage, most glorious from times of old, i am to relate, i beseech thee let thy grace attend the faltering course of this work; for i am fettered under the weight of my purpose, and dread that i may rather expose my unskillfulness and the feebleness of my parts, than portray thy descent as i duly should. for, not to speak of thy rich inheritance from thy fathers, thou hast nobly increased thy realm by conquering thy neighbours, and in the toil of spreading thy sovereignty hast encompassed the ebbing and flowing waves of elbe, thus adding to thy crowded roll of honours no mean portion of fame. and after outstripping the renown and repute of thy forerunners by the greatness of thy deeds, thou didst not forbear to make armed, assault even upon part of the roman empire. and though thou art deemed to be well endowed with courage and generosity, thou hast left it in doubt whether thou dost more terrify to thy foes in warfare or melt thy people by thy mildness. also thy most illustrious grandsire, who was sanctioned with the honours of public worship, and earned the glory of immortality by an unmerited death, now dazzles by the refulgence of his holiness those whom living he annexed in his conquests. and from his most holy wounds more virtue than blood hath flowed. moreover i, bound by an old and inherited duty of obedience, have set my heart on fighting for thee, if it be only with all the forces of my mind; my father and grandfather being known to have served thy illustrious sire in camp with loyal endurance of the toils of war. relying therefore on thy guidance and regard, i have resolved to begin with the position and configuration of our own country; for i shall relate all things as they come more vividly, if the course of this history first traverse the places to which the events belong, and take their situation as the starting-point for its narrative. the extremes, then, of this country are partly bounded by a frontier of another land, and partly enclosed by the waters of the adjacent sea. the interior is washed and encompassed by the ocean; and this, through the circuitous winds of the interstices, now straitens into the narrows of a firth, now advances into ampler bays, forming a number of islands. hence denmark is cut in pieces by the intervening waves of ocean, and has but few portions of firm and continuous territory; these being divided by the mass of waters that break them up, in ways varying with the different angle of the bend of the sea. of all these, jutland, being the largest and first settled, holds the chief place in the danish kingdom. it both lies fore-most and stretches furthest, reaching to the frontiers of teutonland, from contact with which it is severed by the bed of the river eyder. northwards it swells somewhat in breadth, and runs out to the shore of the noric channel (skagerrak). in this part is to be found the fjord called liim, which is so full of fish that it seems to yield the natives as much food as the whole soil. close by this fjord also lies lesser (north) friesland, which curves in from the promontory of jutland in a cove of sinking plains and shelving lap, and by the favour of the flooding ocean yields immense crops of grain. but whether this violent inundation bring the inhabitants more profit or peril, remains a vexed question. for when the (dykes of the) estuaries, whereby the waves of the sea are commonly checked among that people, are broken through by the greatness of the storm, such a mass of waters is wont to overrun the fields that it sometimes overwhelms not only the tilled lands, but people and their dwellings likewise. eastwards, after jutland, comes the isle of funen, cut off from the mainland by a very narrow sound of sea. this faces jutland on the west, and on the east zealand, which is famed for its remarkable richness in the necessaries of life. this latter island, being by far the most delightful of all the provinces of our country, is held to occupy the heart of denmark, being divided by equal distances from the extreme frontier; on its eastern side the sea breaks through and cuts off the western side of skaane; and this sea commonly yields each year an abundant haul to the nets of the fishers. indeed, the whole sound is apt to be so thronged with fish that any craft which strikes on them is with difficulty got off by hard rowing, and the prize is captured no longer by tackle, but by simple use of the hands. moreover, halland and bleking, shooting forth from the mass of the skaane like two branches from a parent trunk, are linked to gothland and to norway, though with wide deviations of course, and with various gaps consisting of fjords. now in bleking is to be seen a rock which travellers can visit, dotted with letters in a strange character. for there stretches from the southern sea into the desert of vaarnsland a road of rock, contained between two lines a little way apart and very prolonged, between which is visible in the midst a level space, graven all over with characters made to be read. and though this lies so unevenly as sometimes to break through the tops of the hills, sometimes to pass along the valley bottoms, yet it can be discerned to preserve continuous traces of the characters. now waldemar, well-starred son of holy canute, marvelled at these, and desired to know their purport, and sent men to go along the rock and gather with close search the series of the characters that were to be seen there; they were then to denote them with certain marks, using letters of similar shape. these men could not gather any sort of interpretation of them, because owing to the hollow space of the graving being partly smeared up with mud and partly worn by the feet of travellers in the trampling of the road, the long line that had been drawn became blurred. hence it is plain that crevices, even in the solid rock, if long drenched with wet, become choked either by the solid washings of dirt or the moistening drip of showers. but since this country, by its closeness of language as much as of position, includes sweden and norway, i will record their divisions and their climates also as i have those of denmark. these territories, lying under the northern pole, and facing bootes and the great bear, reach with their utmost outlying parts the latitude of the freezing zone; and beyond these the extraordinary sharpness of the cold suffers not human habitation. of these two, norway has been allotted by the choice of nature a forbidding rocky site. craggy and barren, it is beset all around by cliffs, and the huge desolate boulders give it the aspect of a rugged and a gloomy land; in its furthest part the day-star is not hidden even by night; so that the sun, scorning the vicissitudes of day and night, ministers in unbroken presence an equal share of his radiance to either season. on the west of norway comes the island called iceland, with the mighty ocean washing round it: a land very squalid to dwell in, but noteworthy for marvels, both strange occurrences and objects that pass belief. a spring is there which, by the malignant reek of its water, destroys the original nature of anything whatsoever. indeed, all that is sprinkled with the breath of its vapour is changed into the hardness of stone. it remains a doubt whether it be more marvellous or more perilous, that soft and flowing water should be invested with such a stiffness, as by a sudden change to transmute into the nature of stone whatsoever is put to it and drenched with its reeking fume, nought but the shape surviving. here also are said to be other springs, which now are fed with floods of rising water, and, overflowing in full channels, cast a mass of spray upwards; and now again their bubbling flags, and they can scarce be seen below at the bottom, and are swallowed into deep hiding far under ground. hence, when they are gushing over, they bespatter everything about them with the white spume, but when they are spent the sharpest eye cannot discern them. in this island there is likewise a mountain, whose floods of incessant fire make it look like a glowing rock, and which, by belching out flames, keeps its crest in an everlasting blaze. this thing awakens our wonder as much as those aforesaid; namely, when a land lying close to the extreme of cold can have such abundance of matter to keep up the heat, as to furnish eternal fires with unseen fuel, and supply an endless provocative to feed the burning. to this isle also, at fixed and appointed seasons, there drifts a boundless mass of ice, and when it approaches and begins to dash upon the rugged reefs, then, just as if the cliffs rang reply, there is heard from the deep a roar of voices and a changing din of extraordinary clamour. whence it is supposed that spirits, doomed to torture for the iniquity of their guilty life, do here pay, by that bitter cold, the penalty of their sins. and so any portion of this mass that is cut off when the aforesaid ice breaks away from the land, soon slips its bonds and bars, though it be made fast with ever so great joins and knots. the mind stands dazed in wonder, that a thing which is covered with bolts past picking, and shut in by manifold and intricate barriers, should so depart after that mass whereof it was a portion, as by its enforced and inevitable flight to baffle the wariest watching. there also, set among the ridges and crags of the mountains, is another kind of ice which is known periodically to change and in a way reverse its position, the upper parts sinking to the bottom, and the lower again returning to the top. for proof of this story it is told that certain men, while they chanced to be running over the level of ice, rolled into the abyss before them, and into the depths of the yawning crevasses, and were a little later picked up dead without the smallest chink of ice above them. hence it is common for many to imagine that the urn of the sling of ice first swallows them, and then a little after turns upside down and restores them. here also, is reported to bubble up the water of a pestilent flood, which if a man taste, he falls struck as though by poison. also there are other springs, whose gushing waters are said to resemble the quality of the bowl of ceres. there are also fires, which, though they cannot consume linen, yet devour so fluent a thing as water. also there is a rock, which flies over mountain-steeps, not from any outward impulse, but of its innate and proper motion. and now to unfold somewhat more thoroughly our delineation of norway. it should be known that on the east it is conterminous with sweden and gothland, and is bounded on both sides by the waters of the neighbouring ocean. also on the north it faces a region whose position and name are unknown, and which lacks all civilisation, but teems with peoples of monstrous strangeness; and a vast interspace of flowing sea severs it from the portion of norway opposite. this sea is found hazardous for navigation, and suffers few that venture thereon to return in peace. moreover, the upper bend of the ocean, which cuts through denmark and flows past it, washes the southern side of gothland with a gulf of some width; while its lower channel, passing the northern sides of gothland and norway, turns eastwards, widening much in breadth, and is bounded by a curve of firm land. this limit of the sea the elders of our race called grandvik. thus between grandvik and the southern sea there lies a short span of mainland, facing the seas that wash on either shore; and but that nature had set this as a boundary where the billows almost meet, the tides of the two seas would have flowed into one, and cut off sweden and norway into an island. the regions on the east of these lands are inhabited by the skric-finns. this people is used to an extraordinary kind of carriage, and in its passion for the chase strives to climb untrodden mountains, and attains the coveted ground at the cost of a slippery circuit. for no crag juts out so high, but they can reach its crest by fetching a cunning compass. for when they first leave the deep valleys, they glide twisting and circling among the bases of the rocks, thus making the route very roundabout by dint of continually swerving aside, until, passing along the winding curves of the tracks, they conquer the appointed summit. this same people is wont to use the skins of certain beasts for merchandise with its neighbours. now sweden faces denmark and norway on the west, but on the south and on much of its eastern side it is skirted by the ocean. past this eastward is to be found a vast accumulation of motley barbarism. that the country of denmark was once cultivated and worked by giants, is attested by the enormous stones attached to the barrows and caves of the ancients. should any man question that this is accomplished by superhuman force, let him look up at the tops of certain mountains and say, if he knows how, what man hath carried such immense boulders up to their crests. for anyone considering this marvel will mark that it is inconceivable how a mass, hardly at all or but with difficulty movable upon a level, could have been raised to so mighty a peak of so lofty a mountain by mere human effort, or by the ordinary exertion of human strength. but as to whether, after the deluge went forth, there existed giants who could do such deeds, or men endowed beyond others with bodily force, there is scant tradition to tell us. but, as our countrymen aver, those who even to-day are said to dwell in that rugged and inaccessible desert aforesaid, are, by the mutable nature of their bodies, vouchsafed the power of being now near, now far, and of appearing and vanishing in turn. the approach to this desert is beset with perils of a fearful kind, and has seldom granted to those who attempted it an unscathed return. now i will let my pen pass to my theme. endnotes: ( ) waldemar the second ( - ); saxo does not reach his history. book one. now dan and angul, with whom the stock of the danes begins, were begotten of humble, their father, and were the governors and not only the founders of our race. (yet dudo, the historian of normandy, considers that the danes are sprung and named from the danai.) and these two men, though by the wish and favour of their country they gained the lordship of the realm, and, owing to the wondrous deserts of their bravery, got the supreme power by the consenting voice of their countrymen, yet lived without the name of king: the usage whereof was not then commonly resorted to by any authority among our people. of these two, angul, the fountain, so runs the tradition, of the beginnings of the anglian race, caused his name to be applied to the district which he ruled. this was an easy kind of memorial wherewith to immortalise his fame: for his successors a little later, when they gained possession of britain, changed the original name of the island for a fresh title, that of their own land. this action was much thought of by the ancients: witness bede, no mean figure among the writers of the church, who was a native of england, and made it his care to embody the doings of his country in the most hallowed treasury of his pages; deeming it equally a religious duty to glorify in writing the deeds of his land, and to chronicle the history of the church. from dan, however, so saith antiquity; the pedigrees of our kings have flowed in glorious series, like channels from some parent spring. grytha, a matron most highly revered among the teutons, bore him two sons, humble and lother. the ancients, when they were to choose a king, were wont to stand on stones planted in the ground, and to proclaim their votes, in order to foreshadow from the steadfastness of the stones that the deed would be lasting. by this ceremony humble was elected king at his father's death, thus winning a novel favour from his country; but by the malice of ensuing fate he fell from a king into a common man. for he was taken by lother in war, and bought his life by yielding up his crown; such, in truth, were the only terms of escape offered him in his defeat. forced, therefore, by the injustice of a brother to lay down his sovereignty, he furnished the lesson to mankind, that there is less safety, though more pomp, in the palace than in the cottage. also, he bore his wrong so meekly that he seemed to rejoice at his loss of title as though it were a blessing; and i think he had a shrewd sense of the quality of a king's estate. but lother played the king as insupportably as he had played the soldier, inaugurating his reign straightway with arrogance and crime; for he counted it uprightness to strip all the most eminent of life or goods, and to clear his country of its loyal citizens, thinking all his equals in birth his rivals for the crown. he was soon chastised for his wickedness; for he met his end in an insurrection of his country; which had once bestowed on him his kingdom, and now bereft him of his life. skiold, his son, inherited his natural bent, but not his behaviour; avoiding his inborn perversity by great discretion in his tender years, and thus escaping all traces of his father's taint. so he appropriated what was alike the more excellent and the earlier share of the family character; for he wisely departed from his father's sins, and became a happy counterpart of his grandsire's virtues. this man was famous in his youth among the huntsmen of his father for his conquest of a monstrous beast: a marvellous incident, which augured his future prowess. for he chanced to obtain leave from his guardians, who were rearing him very carefully, to go and see the hunting. a bear of extraordinary size met him; he had no spear, but with the girdle that he commonly wore he contrived to bind it, and gave it to his escort to kill. more than this, many champions of tried prowess were at the same time of his life vanquished by him singly; of these attal and skat were renowned and famous. while but fifteen years of age he was of unusual bodily size and displayed mortal strength in its perfection, and so mighty were the proofs of his powers that the rest of the kings of the danes were called after him by a common title, the skioldung's. those who were wont to live an abandoned and flaccid life, and to sap their self-control by wantonness, this man vigilantly spurred to the practice of virtue in an active career. thus the ripeness of skiold's spirit outstripped the fulness of his strength, and he fought battles at which one of his tender years could scarce look on. and as he thus waxed in years and valour he beheld the perfect beauty of alfhild, daughter of the king of the saxons, sued for her hand, and, for her sake, in the sight of the armies of the teutons and the danes, challenged and fought with skat, governor of allemannia, and a suitor for the same maiden; whom he slew, afterwards crushing the whole nation of the allemannians, and forcing them to pay tribute, they being subjugated by the death of their captain. skiold was eminent for patriotism as well as arms. for he annulled unrighteous laws, and most heedfully executed whatsoever made for the amendment of his country's condition. further, he regained by his virtue the realm that his father's wickedness had lost. he was the first to proclaim the law abolishing manumissions. a slave, to whom he had chanced to grant his freedom, had attempted his life by stealthy treachery, and he exacted a bitter penalty; as though it were just that the guilt of one freedman should be visited upon all. he paid off all men's debts from his own treasury, and contended, so to say, with all other monarchs in courage, bounty, and generous dealing. the sick he used to foster, and charitably gave medicines to those sore stricken; bearing witness that he had taken on him the care of his country and not of himself. he used to enrich his nobles not only with home taxes, but also with plunder taken in war; being wont to aver that the prize-money should flow to the soldiers, and the glory to the general. thus delivered of his bitterest rival in wooing, he took as the prize of combat the maiden, for the love of whom he had fought, and wedded her in marriage. soon after, he had by her a son, gram, whose wondrous parts savoured so strongly of his father's virtues that he was deemed to tread in their very footsteps. the days of gram's youth were enriched with surpassing gifts of mind and body, and he raised them to the crest of renown. posterity did such homage to his greatness that in the most ancient poems of the danes royal dignity is implied in his very name. he practiced with the most zealous training whatsoever serves to sharpen and strengthen the bodily powers. taught by the fencers, he trained himself by sedulous practice to parrying and dealing blows. he took to wife the daughter of his upbringer, roar, she being his foster-sister and of his own years, in order the better to show his gratefulness for his nursing. a little while after he gave her in marriage to a certain bess, since he had ofttimes used his strenuous service. in this partner of his warlike deeds he put his trust; and he has left it a question whether he has won more renown by bess's valour or his own. gram, chancing to hear that groa, daughter of sigtryg, king of the swedes, was plighted to a certain giant, and holding accursed an union so unworthy of the blood royal, entered on a swedish war; being destined to emulate the prowess of hercules in resisting the attempts of monsters. he went into gothland, and, in order to frighten people out of his path, strode on clad in goats' skins, swathed in the motley hides of beasts, and grasping in his right hand a dreadful weapon, thus feigning the attire of a giant; when he met groa herself riding with a very small escort of women on foot, and making her way, as it chanced, to the forest-pools to bathe, she thought it was her betrothed who had hastened to meet her, and was scared with feminine alarm at so strange a garb: so, flinging up the reins, and shaking terribly all over, she began in the song of her country, thus: "i see that a giant, hated of the king, has come, and darkens the highways with his stride. or my eyes play me false; for it has oft befallen bold warriors to skulk behind the skin of a beast." then began bess: "maiden, seated on the shoulders of the steed, tell me, pouring forth in thy turn words of answer, what is thy name, and of what line art thou born?" groa replied: "groa is my name; my sire is a king, glorious in blood, gleaming in armour. disclose to us, thou also, who thou art, or whence sprung!" to whom bess: "i am bess, brave in battle, ruthless to foes, a terror to nations, and oft drenching my right hand in the blood of foes." then said groa: "who, prithee, commands your lines? under what captain raise ye the war-standards? what prince controls the battle? under whose guidance is the war made ready?" bess in answer: "gram, the blest in battle, rules the array: force nor fear can swerve him; flaming pyre and cruel sword and ocean billow have never made him afraid. led by him, maiden, we raise the golden standards of war." groa once more: "turn your feet and go back hence, lest sigtryg vanquish you all with his own array, and fasten you to a cruel stake, your throats haltered with the cord, and doom your carcases to the stiff noose, and, glaring evilly, thrust out your corpses to the hungry raven." bess again: "gram, ere he shall shut his own eyes in death, shall first make him a ghost, and, smiting him on the crest, shall send him to tartarus. we fear no camp of the swedes. why threaten us with ghastly dooms, maiden?" groa answered him: "behold, i will ride thence to see again the roof of my father which i know, that i may not rashly set eyes on the array of my brother who is coming. and i pray that your death-doom may tarry for you who abide." bess replied: "daughter, to thy father go back with good cheer; nor imprecate swift death upon us, nor let choler shake thy bosom. for often has a woman, harsh at first and hard to a wooer, yielded the second time." whereupon gram could brook no longer to be silent, and pitching his tones gruffly, so as to mimic a gruesome and superhuman voice, accosted the maiden thus: "let not the maiden fear the brother of the fleet giant, nor turn pale because i am nigh her. for i am sent by grip, and never seek the couch and embrace of damsels save when their wish matches mine." groa answered: "who so mad as to wish to be the leman of giants? or what woman could love the bed that genders monsters? who could be the wife of demons, and know the seed whose fruit is monstrous? or who would fain share her couch with a barbarous giant? who caresses thorns with her fingers? who would mingle honest kisses with mire? who would unite shaggy limbs to smooth ones which correspond not? full ease of love cannot be taken when nature cries out against it: nor doth the love customary in the use of women sort with monsters." gram rejoined: "oft with conquering hand i have tamed the necks of mighty kings, defeating with stronger arm their insolent pride. thence take red-glowing gold, that the troth may be made firm by the gift, and that the faith to be brought to our wedlock may stand fast." thus speaking, he cast off his disguises, and revealed his natural comeliness; and by a single sight of him he filled the damsel with well-nigh as much joy as he had struck her with fear before at his counterfeit. she was even incited to his embraces by the splendour of his beauty; nor did he fail to offer her the gifts of love. having won groa, bess proceeded and learnt that the road was beset by two robbers. these he slew simply by charging them as they rushed covetously forth to despoil him. this done, loth to seem to have done any service to the soil of an enemy, he put timbers under the carcases of the slain, fastened them thereto, and stretched them so as to counterfeit an upright standing position; so that in their death they might menace in seeming those whom their life had harmed in truth; and that, terrible even after their decease, they might block the road in effigy as much as they had once in deed. whence it appears that in slaying the robbers he took thought for himself and not for sweden: for he betokened by so singular an act how great a hatred of sweden filled him. having heard from the diviners that sigtryg could only be conquered by gold, he straightway fixed a knob of gold to a wooden mace, equipped himself therewith in the war wherein he attacked the king, and obtained his desire. this exploit was besung by bess in a most zealous strain of eulogy: "gram, the fierce wielder of the prosperous mace, knowing not the steel, rained blows on the outstretched sword, and with a stock beat off the lances of the mighty. "following the decrees and will of the gods, he brought low the glory of the powerless swedes, doing their king to death and crushing him with the stiff gold. "for he pondered on the arts of war: he wielded in his clasp the ruddy-flashing wood, and victoriously with noble stroke made their fallen captain writhe. "shrewdly he conquered with the hardness of gold him whom fate forbade should be slain by steel; unsworded, waging war with the worthier metal. "this treasure, for which its deviser claims glory and the height of honour, shall abide yet more illustrious hereafter, known far and wide in ampler fame." having now slain sigtryg, the king of sweden, gram desired to confirm his possession of the empire which he had won in war; and therefore, suspecting swarin the governor of gothland of aspiring to the crown, he challenged him to combat, and slew him. this man's brethren, of whom he had seven lawfully born, and nine the sons of a concubine, sought to avenge their brother's death, but gram, in an unequal contest, cut them off. gram, for his marvellous prowess, was granted a share in the sovereignty by his father, who was now in extreme age, and thought it better and likewise more convenient to give his own blood a portion of the supremacy of the realm, than now in the setting of his life to administer it without a partner. therefore ring, a nobly-born zealander, stirred the greater part of the danes with desire for insurrection; fancying that one of these men was unripe for his rank, and that the other had run the course of his powers, alleging the weakness in years of both, and declaring that the wandering wit of an old man made the one, and that of a boy the other, unfit for royal power. but they fought and crushed him, making him an example to all men, that no season of life is to be deemed incompatible with valour. many other deeds also king gram did. he declared war against sumble, king of the finns; but when he set eyes upon the king's daughter, signe, he laid down his arms, the foeman turned into the suitor, and, promising to put away his own wife, he plighted troth with her. but, while much busied with a war against norway, which he had taken up against king swipdag for debauching his sister and his daughter, he heard from a messenger that signe had, by sumble's treachery, been promised in marriage to henry, king of saxony. then, inclining to love the maiden more than his soldiers, he left his army, privily made his way to finland, and came in upon the wedding, which was already begun. putting on a garb of the utmost meanness, he lay down at the table in a seat of no honour. when asked what he brought, he professed skill in leechcraft. at last, when all were drenched in drunkenness, he gazed at the maiden, and amid the revels of the riotous banquet, cursing deep the fickleness of women, and vaunting loud his own deeds of valour, he poured out the greatness of his wrath in a song like this: "singly against eight at once i drove the darts of death, and smote nine with a back-swung sword, when i slew swarin, who wrongfully assumed his honours and tried to win fame unmerited; wherefore i have oft dyed in foreign blood my blade red with death and reeking with slaughter, and have never blenched at the clash of dagger or the sheen of helmet. now signe, the daughter of sumble, vilely spurns me, and endures vows not mine, cursing her ancient troth; and, conceiving an ill-ordered love, commits a notable act of female lightness; for she entangles, lures, and bestains princes, rebuffing beyond all others the lordly of birth; yet remaining firm to none, but ever wavering, and bringing to birth impulses doubtful and divided." and as he spoke he leapt up from where he lay, and there he cut henry down while at the sacred board and the embraces of his friends, carried off his bride from amongst the bridesmaids, felled most of the guests, and bore her off with him in his ship. thus the bridal was turned into a funeral; and the finns might learn the lesson, that hands should not be laid upon the loves of other men. after this swipdag, king of norway, destroyed gram, who was attempting to avenge the outrage on his sister and the attempt on his daughter's chastity. this battle was notable for the presence of the saxon forces, who were incited to help swipdag, not so much by love of him, as by desire to avenge henry. guthorm and hadding, the son of gram (groa being the mother of the first and signe of the second), were sent over to sweden in a ship by their foster-father, brage (swipdag being now master of denmark), and put in charge of the giants wagnhofde and hafle, for guard as well as rearing. as i shall have briefly to relate doings of these folk, and would fain not seem to fabricate what conflicts with common belief or outsteps the faithful truth, it is worth the knowing that there were in old times three kinds of magicians who by diverse sleights practiced extraordinary marvels. the first of these were men of monstrous stock, termed by antiquity giants; these by their exceeding great bodily stature surpassed the size natural to mankind. those who came after these were the first who gained skill in divination from entrails, and attained the pythonic art. these surpassed the former in briskness of mental parts as much as they fell behind them in bodily condition. constant wars for the supremacy were waged between these and the giants; till at last the sorcerers prevailed, subdued the tribe of giants by arms, and acquired not merely the privilege of ruling, but also the repute of being divine. both of these kinds had extreme skill in deluding the eyesight, knowing how to obscure their own faces and those of others with divers semblances, and to darken the true aspects of things with beguiling shapes. but the third kind of men, springing from the natural union of the first two, did not answer to the nature of their parents either in bodily size or in practice of magic arts; yet these gained credit for divinity with minds that were befooled by their jugglings. nor must we marvel if, tempted by the prodigious miracles of these folk, the barbaric world fell to worshipping a false religion, when others like unto these, who were mere mortals, but were reverenced with divine honours, beguiled even the shrewdness of the latins. i have touched on these things lest, when i relate of sleights and marvels, i be checked by the disbelief of the reader. now i will leave these matters and return to my theme. swipdag, now that he had slain gram, was enriched with the realms of denmark and sweden; and because of the frequent importunities of his wife he brought back from banishment her brother guthorm, upon his promising tribute, and made him ruler of the danes. but hadding preferred to avenge his father rather than take a boon from his foe. this man's nature so waxed and throve that in the early season of his youth he was granted the prime of manhood. leaving the pursuit of pleasure, he was constantly zealous in warlike exercises; remembering that he was the son of a fighting father, and was bound to spend his whole span of life in approved deeds of warfare. hardgrep, daughter of wagnhofde, tried to enfeeble his firm spirit with her lures of love, contending and constantly averring that he ought to offer the first dues of the marriage bed in wedlock with her, who had proffered to his childhood most zealous and careful fostering, and had furnished him with his first rattle. nor was she content with admonishing in plain words, but began a strain of song as follows: "why doth thy life thus waste and wander? why dost thou pass thy years unwed, following arms, thirsting for throats? nor does my beauty draw thy vows. carried away by excess of frenzy, thou art little prone to love. steeped in blood and slaughter, thou judgest wars better than the bed, nor refreshest thy soul with incitements. thy fierceness finds no leisure; dalliance is far from thee, and savagery fostered. nor is thy hand free from blasphemy while thou loathest the rites of love. let this hateful strictness pass away, let that loving warmth approach, and plight the troth of love to me, who gave thee the first breasts of milk in childhood, and helped thee, playing a mother's part, duteous to thy needs." when he answered that the size of her body was unwieldy for the embraces of a mortal, since doubtless her nature was framed in conformity to her giant stock, she said: "be not moved by my unwonted look of size. for my substance is sometimes thinner, sometimes ampler; now meagre, now abundant; and i alter and change at my pleasure the condition of my body, which is at one time shrivelled up and at another time expanded: now my tallness rises to the heavens, and now i settle down into a human being, under a more bounded shape." as he still faltered, and was slow to believe her words, she added the following song: "youth, fear not the converse of my bed. i change my bodily outline in twofold wise, and am wont to enjoin a double law upon my sinews. for i conform to shapes of different figure in turn, and am altered at my own sweet will: now my neck is star-high, and soars nigh to the lofty thunderer; then it falls and declines to human strength, and plants again on earth that head which was near the firmament. thus i lightly shift my body into diverse phases, and am beheld in varying wise; for changefully now cramped stiffness draws in my limbs, now the virtue of my tall body unfolds them, and suffers them to touch the cloud-tops. now i am short and straitened, now stretch out with loosened knee; and i have mutably changed myself like wax into strange aspects. he who knows of proteus should not marvel at me. my shape never stays the same, and my aspect is twofold: at one time it contrasts its outstretched limbs, at another shoots them out when closed; now disentangling the members and now rolling them back into a coil. i dart out my ingathered limbs, and presently, while they are strained, i wrinkle them up, dividing my countenance between shapes twain, and adopting two forms; with the greater of these i daunt the fierce, while with the shorter i seek the embraces of men." by thus averring she obtained the embraces of hadding; and her love for the youth burned so high that when she found him desirous of revisiting his own land, she did not hesitate to follow him in man's attire, and counted it as joy to share his hardships and perils. while upon the journey she had undertaken, she chanced to enter in his company, in order to pass the night, a dwelling, the funeral of whose dead master was being conducted with melancholy rites. here, desiring to pry into the purposes of heaven by the help of a magical espial, she graved on wood some very dreadful spells, and caused hadding to put them under the dead man's tongue; thus forcing him to utter, with the voice so given, a strain terrible to hear: "perish accursed he who hath dragged me back from those below, let him be punished for calling a spirit out of bale! "whoso hath called me, who am lifeless and dead, back from the abode below, and hath brought me again into upper air, let him pay full penalty with his own death in the dreary shades beneath livid styx. behold, counter to my will and purpose, i must declare some bitter tidings. for as ye go away from this house ye will come to the narrow path of a grove, and will be a prey to demons all about. then she who hath brought our death back from out of void, and has given us a sight of this light once more, by her prayers wondrously drawing forth the ghost and casting it into the bonds of the body, shall bitterly bewail her rash enterprise. "perish accursed he who hath dragged me back from those below, let him be punished for calling a spirit out of bale! "for when the black pestilence of the blast that engenders monsters has crushed out the inmost entrails with stern effort, and when their hand has swept away the living with cruel nail, tearing off limbs and rending ravished bodies; then hadding, thy life shall survive, nor shall the nether realms bear off thy ghost, nor thy spirit pass heavily to the waters of styx; but the woman who hath made the wretched ghost come back hither, crushed by her own guilt, shall appease our dust; she shall be dust herself. "perish accursed he who hath dragged me back from those below, let him be punished for calling a spirit out of bale!" so, while they were passing the night in the forest foretold them, in a shelter framed of twigs, a hand of extraordinary size was seen to wander over the inside of the dwelling. terrified at this portent, hadding entreated the aid of his nurse. then hardgrep, expanding her limbs and swelling to a mighty bigness, gripped the hand fast and held it to her foster-child to hew off. what flowed from the noisesome wounds he dealt was not so much blood as corrupt matter. but she paid the penalty of this act, presently being torn in pieces by her kindred of the same stock; nor did her constitution or her bodily size help her against feeling the attacks of her foes' claws. hadding, thus bereft of his foster-mother, chanced to be made an ally in a solemn covenant to a rover, lysir, by a certain man of great age that had lost an eye, who took pity on his loneliness. now the ancients, when about to make a league, were wont to besprinkle their footsteps with blood of one another, so to ratify their pledge of friendship by reciprocal barter of blood. lysir and hadding, being bound thus in the strictest league, declared war against loker, the tyrant of the kurlanders. they were defeated; and the old man aforementioned took hadding, as he fled on horseback, to his own house, and there refreshed him with a certain pleasant draught, telling him that he would find himself quite brisk and sound in body. this prophetic advice he confirmed by a song as follows: "as thou farest hence, a foe, thinking thee a deserter, will assail thee, that he may keep thee bound and cast thee to be devoured by the mangling jaws of beasts. but fill thou the ears of the warders with divers tales, and when they have done the feast and deep sleep holds them, snap off the fetters upon thee and the loathly chains. turn thy feet thence, and when a little space has fled, with all thy might rise up against a swift lion who is wont to toss the carcases of the prisoners, and strive with thy stout arms against his savage shoulders, and with naked sword search his heart-strings. straightway put thy throat to him and drink the steaming blood, and devour with ravenous jaws the banquet of his body. then renewed strength will come to thy limbs, then shall undreamed-of might enter thy sinews, and an accumulation of stout force shall bespread and nerve thy frame through-out. i myself will pave the path to thy prayers, and will subdue the henchmen in sleep, and keep them snoring throughout the lingering night." and as he spoke, he took back the young man on his horse, and set him where he had found him. hadding cowered trembling under his mantle; but so extreme was his wonder at the event, that with keen vision he peered through its holes. and he saw that before the steps of the horse lay the sea; but was told not to steal a glimpse of the forbidden thing, and therefore turned aside his amazed eyes from the dread spectacle of the roads that he journeyed. then he was taken by loker, and found by very sure experience that every point of the prophecy was fulfilled upon him. so he assailed handwan, king of the hellespont, who was entrenched behind an impregnable defence of wall in his city duna, and withstood him not in the field, but with battlements. its summit defying all approach by a besieger, he ordered that the divers kinds of birds who were wont to nest in that spot should be caught by skilled fowlers, and he caused wicks which had been set on fire to be fastened beneath their wings. the birds sought the shelter of their own nests, and filled the city with a blaze; all the townsmen flocked to quench it, and left the gates defenceless. he attacked and captured handwan, but suffered him to redeem his life with gold for ransom. thus, when he might have cut off his foe, he preferred to grant him the breath of life; so far did his mercy qualify his rage. after this he prevailed over a great force of men of the east, and came back to sweden. swipdag met him with a great fleet off gottland; but hadding attacked and destroyed him. and thus he advanced to a lofty pitch of renown, not only by the fruits of foreign spoil, but by the trophies of his vengeance for his brother and his father. and he exchanged exile for royalty, for he became king of his own land as soon as he regained it. at this time there was one odin, who was credited over all europe with the honour, which was false, of godhead, but used more continually to sojourn at upsala; and in this spot, either from the sloth of the inhabitants or from its own pleasantness, he vouchsafed to dwell with somewhat especial constancy. the kings of the north, desiring more zealously to worship his deity, embounded his likeness in a golden image; and this statue, which betokened their homage, they transmitted with much show of worship to byzantium, fettering even the effigied arms with a serried mass of bracelets. odin was overjoyed at such notoriety, and greeted warmly the devotion of the senders. but his queen frigga, desiring to go forth more beautified, called smiths, and had the gold stripped from the statue. odin hanged them, and mounted the statue upon a pedestal, which by the marvellous skill of his art he made to speak when a mortal touched it. but still frigga preferred the splendour of her own apparel to the divine honours of her husband, and submitted herself to the embraces of one of her servants; and it was by this man's device she broke down the image, and turned to the service of her private wantonness that gold which had been devoted to public idolatry. little thought she of practicing unchastity, that she might the easier satisfy her greed, this woman so unworthy to be the consort of a god; but what should i here add, save that such a godhead was worthy of such a wife? so great was the error that of old befooled the minds of men. thus odin, wounded by the double trespass of his wife, resented the outrage to his image as keenly as that to his bed; and, ruffled by these two stinging dishonours, took to an exile overflowing with noble shame, imagining so to wipe off the slur of his ignominy. when he had retired, one mit-othin, who was famous for his juggling tricks, was likewise quickened, as though by inspiration from on high, to seize the opportunity of feigning to be a god; and, wrapping the minds of the barbarians in fresh darkness, he led them by the renown of his jugglings to pay holy observance to his name. he said that the wrath of the gods could never be appeased nor the outrage to their deity expiated by mixed and indiscriminate sacrifices, and therefore forbade that prayers for this end should be put up without distinction, appointing to each of those above his especial drink-offering. but when odin was returning, he cast away all help of jugglings, went to finland to hide himself, and was there attacked and slain by the inhabitants. even in his death his abominations were made manifest, for those who came nigh his barrow were cut off by a kind of sudden death; and after his end, he spread such pestilence that he seemed almost to leave a filthier record in his death than in his life: it was as though he would extort from the guilty a punishment for his slaughter. the inhabitants, being in this trouble, took the body out of the mound, beheaded it, and impaled it through the breast with a sharp stake; and herein that people found relief. the death of odin's wife revived the ancient splendour of his name, and seemed to wipe out the disgrace upon his deity; so, returning from exile, he forced all those, who had used his absence to assume the honours of divine rank, to resign them as usurped; and the gangs of sorcerers that had arisen he scattered like a darkness before the advancing glory of his godhead. and he forced them by his power not only to lay down their divinity, but further to quit the country, deeming that they, who tried to foist themselves so iniquitously into the skies, ought to be outcasts from the earth. meanwhile asmund, the son of swipdag, fought with hadding to avenge his father. and when he heard that henry his son, his love for whom he set even before his own life, had fallen fighting valiantly, his soul longed for death, and loathed the light of day, and made a song in a strain like this: "what brave hath dared put on my armour? the sheen of the helmet serves not him who tottereth, nor doth the breastplate fitly shelter him that is sore spent. our son is slain, let us riot in battle; my eager love for him driveth me to my death, that i may not be left outliving my dear child. in each hand i am fain to grasp the sword; now without shield let us ply our warfare bare-breasted, with flashing blades. let the rumour of our rage beacon forth: boldly let us grind to powder the column of the foe; nor let the battle be long and chafe us; nor let our onset be shattered in rout and be still." when he had said this, he gripped his hilt with both hands, and, fearless of peril, swung his shield upon his back and slew many. hadding therefore called on the powers with which he was allied to protect him, and on a sudden wagnhofde rode up to fight on his side. and when asmund saw his crooked sword, he cried out, and broke into the following strain: "why fightest thou with curved sword? the short sword shall prove thy doom, the javelin shall be flung and bring forth death. thou shouldst conquer thy foe by thy hand, but thou trustest that he can be rent by spells; thou trustest more in words than rigour, and puttest thy strength in thy great resource. why dost thus beat me back with thy shield, threatening with thy bold lance, when thou art so covered with wretched crimes and spotted all over? thus hath the brand of shame bestained thee, rotting in sin, lubber-lipped." while he thus clamoured, hadding, flinging his spear by the thong, pierced him through. but asmund lacked not comfort even for his death; for while his life flickered in the socket he wounded the foot of his slayer, and by this short instant of revenge he memorized his fall, punishing the other with an incurable limp. thus crippling of a limb befell one of them and loss of life the other. asmund's body was buried in solemn state at upsala and attended with royal obsequies. his wife gunnhild, loth to outlive him, cut off her own life with the sword, choosing rather to follow her lord in death than to forsake him by living. her friends, in consigning her body to burial, laid her with her husband's dust, thinking her worthy to share the mound of the man, her love for whom she had set above life. so there lies gunnhild, clasping her lord somewhat more beautifully in the tomb than she had ever done in the bed. after this hadding, now triumphant, wasted sweden. but asmund's son, named uffe, shrinking from a conflict, transported his army into denmark, thinking it better to assail the house of his enemy than to guard his own, and deeming it a timely method of repelling his wrongs to retaliate upon his foe what he was suffering at his hands. thus the danes had to return and defend their own, preferring the safety of their land to lordship of a foreign realm; and uffe went back to his own country, now rid of an enemy's arms. hadding, on returning from the swedish war, perceived that his treasury, wherein he was wont to store the wealth he had gotten by the spoils of war, had been forced and robbed, and straightway hanged its keeper glumer, proclaiming by a crafty device, that, if any of the culprits brought about the recovery of the stolen goods, he should have the same post of honour as glumer had filled. upon this promise, one of the guilty men became more zealous to reap the bounty than to hide his crime, and had the money brought back to the king. his confederates fancied he had been received into the king's closest friendship, and believed that the honours paid him were as real as they were lavish; and therefore they also, hoping to be as well rewarded, brought back their moneys and avowed their guilt. their confession was received at first with promotion and favours, and soon visited with punishment, thus bequeathing a signal lesson against being too confiding. i should judge that men, whose foolish blabbing brought them to destruction, when wholesome silence could have ensured their safety, well deserved to atone upon the gallows for their breach of reticence. after this hadding passed the whole winter season in the utmost preparation for the renewal of the war. when the frosts had been melted by the springtime sun, he went back to sweden and there spent five years in warfare. by dint of this prolonged expedition, his soldiers, having consumed all their provision, were reduced almost to the extremity of emaciation, and began to assuage their hunger with mushrooms from the wood. at last, under stress of extreme necessity, they devoured their horses, and finally satisfied themselves with the carcases of dogs. worse still, they did not scruple to feed upon human limbs. so, when the danes were brought unto the most desperate straits, there sounded in the camp, in the first sleep of the night, and no man uttering it, the following song: "with foul augury have ye left the abode of your country, thinking to harry these fields in war. what idle notion mocks your minds? what blind self-confidence has seized your senses, that ye think this soil can thus be won. the might of sweden cannot yield or quail before the war of the stranger; but the whole of your column shall melt away when it begins to assault our people in war. for when flight has broken up the furious onset, and the straggling part of the fighters wavers, then to those who prevail in the war is given free scope to slay those who turn their backs, and they have earned power to smite the harder when fate drives the renewer of the war headlong. nor let him whom cowardice deters aim the spears." this prophecy was accomplished on the morrow's dawn by a great slaughter of the danes. on the next night the warriors of sweden heard an utterance like this, none knowing who spake it: "why doth uffe thus defy me with grievous rebellion? he shall pay the utmost penalty. for he shall be buried and transpierced under showers of lances, and shall fall lifeless in atonement for his insolent attempt. nor shall the guilt of his wanton rancour be unpunished; and, as i forebode, as soon as he joins battle and fights, the points shall fasten in his limbs and strike his body everywhere, and his raw gaping wounds no bandage shall bind up; nor shall any remedy heal over thy wide gashes." on that same night the armies fought; when two hairless old men, of appearance fouler than human, and displaying their horrid baldness in the twinkling starlight, divided their monstrous efforts with opposing ardour, one of them being zealous on the danish side, and the other as fervent for the swedes. hadding was conquered and fled to helsingland, where, while washing in the cold sea-water his body which was scorched with heat, he attacked and cut down with many blows a beast of unknown kind, and having killed it had it carried into camp. as he was exulting in this deed a woman met him and addressed him in these words: "whether thou tread the fields afoot, or spread canvas overseas, thou shalt suffer the hate of the gods, and through all the world shalt behold the elements oppose thy purposes. afield thou shalt fall, on sea thou shalt be tossed, an eternal tempest shall attend the steps of thy wandering, nor shall frost-bind ever quit thy sails; nor shall thy roof-tree roof thee, but if thou seekest it, it shall fall smitten by the hurricane; thy herd shall perish of bitter chill. all things shall be tainted, and shall lament that thy lot is there. thou shalt be shunned like a pestilent tetter, nor shall any plague be fouler than thou. such chastisement doth the power of heaven mete out to thee, for truly thy sacrilegious hands have slain one of the dweller's above, disguised in a shape that was not his: thus here art thou, the slayer of a benignant god! but when the sea receives thee, the wrath of the prison of eolus shall be loosed upon thy head. the west and the furious north, the south wind shall beat thee down, shall league and send forth their blasts in rivalry; until with better prayers thou hast melted the sternness of heaven, and hast lifted with appeasement the punishment thou hast earned." so, when hadding went back, he suffered all things after this one fashion, and his coming brought disquiet upon all peaceful places. for when he was at sea a mighty storm arose and destroyed his fleet in a great tempest: and when, a shipwrecked man, he sought entertainment, he found a sudden downfall of that house. nor was there any cure for his trouble, ere he atoned by sacrifice for his crime, and was able to return into favour with heaven. for, in order to appease the deities, he sacrificed dusky victims to the god frey. this manner of propitiation by sacrifice he repeated as an annual feast, and left posterity to follow. this rite the swedes call froblod (the sacrifice or feast of frey). hadding chanced to hear that a certain giant had taken in troth ragnhild, daughter of hakon, king of the nitherians; and, loathing so ignominious a state of affairs, and utterly abominating the destined union, he forestalled the marriage by noble daring. for he went to norway and overcame by arms him that was so foul, a lover for a princess. for he thought so much more of valour than of ease, that, though he was free to enjoy all the pleasures of a king, he accounted it sweeter than any delight to repel the wrongs done, not only to himself, but to others. the maiden, not knowing him, ministered with healing tendance to the man that had done her kindness and was bruised with many wounds. and in order that lapse of time might not make her forget him, she shut up a ring in his wound, and thus left a mark on his leg. afterwards her father granted her freedom to choose her own husband; so when the young men were assembled at banquet, she went along them and felt their bodies carefully, searching for the tokens she had stored up long ago. all the rest she rejected, but hadding she discovered by the sign of the secret ring; then she embraced him, and gave herself to be the wife of him who had not suffered a giant to win her in marriage. while hadding was sojourning with her a marvellous portent befell him. while he was at supper, a woman bearing hemlocks was seen to raise her head beside the brazier, and, stretching out the lap of her robe, seemed to ask, "in what part of the world such fresh herbs had grown in winter?" the king desired to know; and, wrapping him in her mantle, she drew him with her underground, and vanished. i take it that the nether gods purposed that he should pay a visit in the flesh to the regions whither he must go when he died. so they first pierced through a certain dark misty cloud, and then advancing along a path that was worn away with long thoroughfaring, they beheld certain men wearing rich robes, and nobles clad in purple; these passed, they at last approached sunny regions which produced the herbs the woman had brought away. going further, they came on a swift and tumbling river of leaden waters, whirling down on its rapid current divers sorts of missiles, and likewise made passable by a bridge. when they had crossed this, they beheld two armies encountering one another with might and main. and when hadding inquired of the woman about their estate: "these," she said, "are they who, having been slain by the sword, declare the manner of their death by a continual rehearsal, and enact the deeds of their past life in a living spectacle." then a wall hard to approach and to climb blocked their further advance. the woman tried to leap it, but in vain, being unable to do so even with her slender wrinkled body; then she wrung off the head of a cock which she chanced to be taking down with her, and flung it beyond the barrier of the walls; and forthwith the bird came to life again, and testified by a loud crow to recovery of its breathing. then hadding turned back and began to make homewards with his wife; some rovers bore down on him, but by swift sailing he baffled their snares; for though it was almost the same wind that helped both, they were behind him as he clove the billows, and, as they had only just as much sail, could not overtake him. meantime uffe, who had a marvellously fair daughter, decreed that the man who slew hadding should have her. this sorely tempted one thuning, who got together a band of men of perm (byarmenses), being fain so to win the desired advancement. hadding was going to fall upon him, but while he was passing norway in his fleet he saw upon the beach an old man signing to him, with many wavings of his mantle, to put into shore. his companions opposed it, and declared that it would be a ruinous diversion from their journey; but he took the man on board, and was instructed by him how to order his army. for this man, in arranging the system of the columns, used to take special care that the front row consisted of two, the second of four, while the third increased and was made up to eight, and likewise each row was double that in front of it. also the old man bade the wings of the slingers go back to the extremity of the line, and put with them the ranks of the archers. so when the squadrons were arranged in the wedge, he stood himself behind the warriors, and from the wallet which was slung round his neck drew an arbalist. this seemed small at first, but soon projected with more prolonged tip, and accommodated ten arrows to its string at once, which were shot all at once at the enemy in a brisk volley, and inflicted as many wounds. then the men of perm, quitting arms for cunning, by their spells loosed the sky in clouds of rain, and melted the joyous visage of the air in dismal drenching showers. but the old man, on the other hand, drove back with a cloud the heavy mass of storm which had arisen, and checked the dripping rain by this barrier of mist. thus hadding prevailed. but the old man, when he parted from him, foretold that the death whereby he would perish would be inflicted, not by the might of an enemy, but by his own hand. also he forbade him to prefer obscure wars to such as were glorious, and border wars to those remote. hadding, after leaving him, was bidden by uffe to upsala on pretence of a interview; but lost all his escort by treachery, and made his escape sheltered by the night. for when the danes sought to leave the house into which they had been gathered on pretext of a banquet, they found one awaiting them, who mowed off the head of each of them with his sword as it was thrust out of the door. for this wrongful act hadding retaliated and slew uffe; but put away his hatred and consigned his body to a sepulchre of notable handiwork, thus avowing the greatness of his foe by his pains to beautify his tomb, and decking in death with costly distinctions the man whom he used to pursue in his life with hot enmity. then, to win the hearts of the people he had subdued, he appointed hunding, the brother of uffe, over the realm, that the sovereignty might seem to be maintained in the house of asmund, and not to have passed into the hand of a stranger. thus his enemy was now removed, and he passed several years without any stirring events and in utter disuse of arms; but at last he pleaded the long while he had been tilling the earth, and the immoderate time he had forborne from exploits on the seas; and seeming to think war a merrier thing than peace, he began to upbraid himself with slothfulness in a strain like this: "why loiter i thus in darksome hiding, in the folds of rugged hills, nor follow seafaring as of old? the continual howling of the band of wolves, and the plaintive cry of harmful beasts that rises to heaven, and the fierce impatient lions, all rob my eyes of sleep. dreary are the ridges and the desolation to hearts that trusted to do wilder work. the stark rocks and the rugged lie of the ground bar the way to spirits who are wont to love the sea. it were better service to sound the firths with the oars, to revel in plundered wares, to pursue the gold of others for my coffer, to gloat over sea-gotten gains, than to dwell in rough lands and winding woodlands and barren glades." then his wife, loving a life in the country, and weary of the marin harmony of the sea-birds, declared how great joy she found in frequenting the woodlands, in the following strain: "the shrill bird vexes me as i tarry by the shore, and with its chattering rouses me when i cannot sleep. wherefore the noisy sweep of its boisterous rush takes gentle rest from my sleeping eye, nor doth the loud-chattering sea-mew suffer me to rest in the night, forcing its wearisome tale into my dainty ears; nor when i would lie down doth it suffer me to be refreshed, clamouring with doleful modulation of its ill-boding voice. safer and sweeter do i deem the enjoyment of the woods. how are the fruits of rest plucked less by day or night than by tarrying tossed on the shifting sea?" at this time one toste emerged, from the obscure spot of jutland where he was born, into bloody notoriety. for by all manner of wanton attacks upon the common people he spread wide the fame of his cruelty, and gained so universal a repute for rancour, that he was branded with the name of the wicked. nor did he even refrain from wrongdoing to foreigners, but, after foully harrying his own land, went on to assault saxony. the saxon general syfrid, when his men were hard put to it in the battle, entreated peace. toste declared that he should have what he asked, but only if he would promise to become his ally in a war against hadding. syfrid demurred, dreading to fulfill the condition, but by sharp menaces toste induced him to promise what he asked. for threats can sometimes gain a request which soft-dealing cannot compass. hadding was conquered by this man in an affair by land; but in the midst of his flight he came on his enemy's fleet, and made it unseaworthy by boring the sides; then he got a skiff and steered it out to sea. toste thought he was slain, but though he sought long among the indiscriminate heaps of dead, could not find him, and came back to his fleet; when he saw from afar off a light boat tossing on the ocean billows. putting out some vessels, he resolved to give it chase, but was brought back by peril of shipwreck, and only just reached the shore. then he quickly took some sound craft, and accomplished the journey which he had before begun. hadding, seeing he was caught, proceeded to ask his companion whether he was a skilled and practised swimmer; and when the other said he was not, hadding despairing of flight, deliberately turned the vessel over and held on inside to its hollow, thus making his pursuers think him dead. then he attacked toste, who, careless and unaware, was greedily watching over the remnants of his spoil; cut down his army, forced him to quit his plunder, and avenged his own rout by that of toste. but toste lacked not heart to avenge himself. for, not having store enough in his own land to recruit his forces--so heavy was the blow he had received--he went to britain, calling himself an ambassador. upon his outward voyage, for sheer wantonness, he got his crew together to play dice, and when a wrangle arose from the throwing of the cubes, he taught them to wind it up with a fatal affray. and so, by means of this peaceful sport, he spread the spirit of strife through the whole ship, and the jest gave place to quarrelling, which engendered bloody combat. also, fain to get some gain out of the misfortunes of others, he seized the moneys of the slain, and attached to him a certain rover then famous, named koll; and a little after returned in his company to his own land, where he was challenged and slain by hadding, who preferred to hazard his own fortune rather than that of his soldiers. for generals of antique valour were loth to accomplish by general massacre what could be decided by the lot of a few. after these deeds the figure of hadding's dead wife appeared before him in his sleep, and sang thus: "a monster is born to thee that shall tame the rage of wild beasts, and crush with fierce mouth the fleet wolves." then she added a little: "take thou heed; from thee hath issued a bird of harm, in choler a wild screech-owl, in tongue a tuneful swan." on the morrow the king, when he had shaken off slumber, told the vision to a man skilled in interpretations, who explained the wolf to denote a son that would be truculent and the word swan as signifying a daughter; and foretold that the son would be deadly to enemies and the daughter treacherous to her father. the result answered to the prophecy. hadding's daughter, ulfhild, who was wife to a certain private person called guthorm, was moved either by anger at her match, or with aspirations to glory, and throwing aside all heed of daughterly love, tempted her husband to slay her father; declaring that she preferred the name of queen to that of princess. i have resolved to set forth the manner of her exhortation almost in the words in which she uttered it; they were nearly these: "miserable am i, whose nobleness is shadowed by an unequal yoke! hapless am i, to whose pedigree is bound the lowliness of a peasant! luckless issue of a king, to whom a common man is equal by law of marriage! pitiable daughter of a prince, whose comeliness her spiritless father hath made over to base and contemptible embraces! unhappy child of thy mother, with thy happiness marred by consorting with this bed! thy purity is handled by the impurity of a peasant, thy nobility is bowed down by ignoble commonness, thy high birth is impaired by the estate of thy husband! but thou, if any pith be in thee, if valour reign in thy soul at all, if thou deem thyself fit husband for a king's daughter, wrest the sceptre from her father, retrieve thy lineage by thy valour, balance with courage thy lack of ancestry, requite by bravery thy detriment of blood. power won by daring is more prosperous than that won by inheritance. boldness climbs to the top better than inheritance, and worth wins power better than birth. moreover, it is no shame to overthrow old age, which of its own weight sinks and totters to its fall. it shall be enough for my father to have borne the sceptre for so long; let the dotard's power fall to thee; if it elude thee, it will pass to another. whatsoever rests on old age is near its fall. think that his reign has been long enough, and be it thine, though late in the day, to be first. further, i would rather have my husband than my father king--would rather be ranked a king's wife than daughter. it is better to embrace a monarch in one's home, than to give him homage from afar; it is nobler to be a king's bride than his courtier. thou, too, must surely prefer thyself to thy wife's father for bearing the sceptre; for nature has made each one nearest to himself. if there be a will for the deed, a way will open; there is nothing but yields to the wit of man. the feast must be kept, the banquet decked, the preparations looked to, and my father bidden. the path to treachery shall be smoothed by a pretence of friendship, for nothing cloaks a snare better than the name of kindred. also his soddenness shall open a short way to his slaughter; for when the king shall be intent upon the dressing of his hair, and his hand is upon his beard and his mind upon stories; when he has parted his knotted locks, either with hairpin or disentangling comb, then let him feel the touch of the steel in his flesh. busy men commonly devise little precaution. let thy hand draw near to punish all his sins. it is a righteous deed to put forth thy hand to avenge the wretched!" thus ulfhild importuned, and her husband was overcome by her promptings, and promised his help to the treachery. but meantime hadding was warned in a dream to beware of his son-in-law's guile. he went to the feast, which his daughter had made ready for him with a show of love, and posted an armed guard hard by to use against the treachery when need was. as he ate, the henchman who was employed to do the deed of guile silently awaited a fitting moment for his crime, his dagger hid under his robe. the king, remarking him, blew on the trumpet a signal to the soldiers who were stationed near; they straightway brought aid, and he made the guile recoil on its deviser. meanwhile hunding, king of the swedes, heard false tidings that hadding was dead, and resolved to greet them with obsequies. so he gathered his nobles together, and filled a jar of extraordinary size with ale, and had this set in the midst of the feasters for their delight, and, to omit no mark of solemnity, himself assumed a servant's part, not hesitating to play the cupbearer. and while he was passing through the palace in fulfilment of his office, he stumbled and fell into the jar, and, being choked by the liquor, gave up the ghost; thus atoning either to orcus, whom he was appeasing by a baseless performance of the rites, or to hadding, about whose death he had spoken falsely. hadding, when he heard this, wished to pay like thanks to his worshipper, and, not enduring to survive his death, hanged himself in sight of the whole people. book two hadding was succeeded by frode, his son, whose fortunes were many and changeful. when he had passed the years of a stripling, he displayed the fulness of a warrior's prowess; and being loth that this should be spoilt by slothfulness, he sequestered his mind from delights and perseveringly constrained it to arms. warfare having drained his father's treasury, he lacked a stock of pay to maintain his troops, and cast about diligently for the supplies that he required; and while thus employed, a man of the country met him and roused his hopes by the following strain: "not far off is an island rising in delicate slopes, hiding treasure in its hills and ware of its rich booty. here a noble pile is kept by the occupant of the mount, who is a snake wreathed in coils, doubled in many a fold, and with tail drawn out in winding whorls, shaking his manifold spirals and shedding venom. if thou wouldst conquer him, thou must use thy shield and stretch thereon bulls' hides, and cover thy body with the skins of kine, nor let thy limbs lie bare to the sharp poison; his slaver burns up what it bespatters. though the three-forked tongue flicker and leap out of the gaping mouth, and with awful yawn menace ghastly wounds remember to keep the dauntless temper of thy mind; nor let the point of the jagged tooth trouble thee, nor the starkness of the beast, nor the venom spat from the swift throat. though the force of his scales spurn thy spears, yet know there is a place under his lowest belly whither thou mayst plunge the blade; aim at this with thy sword, and thou shalt probe the snake to his centre. thence go fearless up to the hill, drive the mattock, dig and ransack the holes; soon fill thy pouch with treasure, and bring back to the shore thy craft laden." frode believed, and crossed alone to the island, loth to attack the beast with any stronger escort than that wherewith it was the custom for champions to attack. when it had drunk water and was repairing to its cave, its rough and sharp hide spurned the blow of frode's steel. also the darts that he flung against it rebounded idly, foiling the effort of the thrower. but when the hard back yielded not a whit, he noted the belly heedfully, and its softness gave entrance to the steel. the beast tried to retaliate by biting, but only struck the sharp point of its mouth upon the shield. then it shot out its flickering tongue again and again, and gasped away life and venom together. the money which the king found made him rich; and with this supply he approached in his fleet the region of the kurlanders, whose king dorn, dreading a perilous war, is said to have made a speech of the following kind to his soldiers: "nobles! our enemy is a foreigner, begirt with the arms and the wealth of almost all the west; let us, by endeavouring to defer the battle for our profit, make him a prey to famine, which is all inward malady; and he will find it very hard to conquer a peril among his own people. it is easy to oppose the starving. hunger will be a better weapon against our foe than arms; famine will be the sharpest lance we shall hurl at him. for lack of food nourishes the pestilence that eats away men's strength, and lack of victual undermines store of weapons. let this whirl the spears while we sit still; let this take up the prerogative and the duty of fighting. unimperilled, we shall be able to imperil others; we can drain their blood and lose no drop of ours. one may defeat an enemy by inaction. who would not rather fight safely than at a loss? who would strive to suffer chastisement when he may contend unhurt? our success in arms will be more prosperous if hunger joins battle first. let hunger captain us, and so let us take the first chance of conflict. let it decide the day in our stead, and let our camp remain free from the stir of war; if hunger retreat beaten, we must break off idleness. he who is fresh easily overpowers him who is shaken with languor. the hand that is flaccid and withered will come fainter to the battle. he whom any hardship has first wearied, will bring slacker hands to the steel. when he that is wasted with sickness engages with the sturdy, the victory hastens. thus, undamaged ourselves, we shall be able to deal damage to others." having said this, he wasted all the places which he saw would be hard to protect, distrusting his power to guard them, and he so far forestalled the ruthlessness of the foe in ravaging his own land, that he left nothing untouched which could be seized by those who came after. then he shut up the greater part of his forces in a town of undoubted strength, and suffered the enemy to blockade him. frode, distrusting his power of attacking this town, commanded several trenches of unwonted depth to be made within the camp, and the earth to be secretly carried out in baskets and cast quietly into the river bordering the walls. then he had a mass of turf put over the trenches to hide the trap: wishing to cut off the unwary enemy by tumbling them down headlong, and thinking that they would be overwhelmed unawares by the slip of the subsiding earth. then he feigned a panic, and proceeded to forsake the camp for a short while. the townsmen fell upon it, missed their footing everywhere, rolled forward into the pits, and were massacred by him under a shower of spears. thence he travelled and fell in with trannon, the monarch of the ruthenians. desiring to spy out the strength of his navy, he made a number of pegs out of sticks, and loaded a skiff with them; and in this he approached the enemy's fleet by night, and bored the hulls of the vessels with an auger. and to save them from a sudden influx of the waves, he plugged up the open holes with the pegs he had before provided, and by these pieces of wood he made good the damage done by the auger. but when he thought there were enough holes to drown the fleet, he took out the plugs, thus giving instant access to the waters, and then made haste to surround the enemy's fleet with his own. the ruthenians were beset with a double peril, and wavered whether they should first withstand waves or weapons. fighting to save their ships from the foe, they were shipwrecked. within, the peril was more terrible than without: within, they fell back before the waves, while drawing the sword on those without. for the unhappy men were assaulted by two dangers at once; it was doubtful whether the swiftest way of safety was to swim or to battle to the end; and the fray was broken off at its hottest by a fresh cause of doom. two forms of death advanced in a single onset; two paths of destruction offered united peril: it was hard to say whether the sword or the sea hurt them more. while one man was beating off the swords, the waters stole up silently and took him. contrariwise, another was struggling with the waves, when the steel came up and encompassed him. the flowing waters were befouled with the gory spray. thus the ruthenians were conquered, and frode made his way back home. finding that some envoys, whom he had sent into russia to levy tribute, had been horribly murdered through the treachery of the inhabitants, frode was stung by the double wrong and besieged closely their town rotel. loth that the intervening river should delay his capture of the town, he divided the entire mass of the waters by making new and different streams, thus changing what had been a channel of unknown depth into passable fords; not ceasing till the speed of the eddy, slackened by the division of its outlet, rolled its waves onward in fainter current, and winding along its slender reaches, slowly thinned and dwindled into a shallow. thus he prevailed over the river; and the town, which lacked natural defences, he overthrew, his soldiers breaking in without resistance. this done, he took his army to the city of paltisca. thinking no force could overcome it, he exchanged war for guile. he went into a dark and unknown hiding-place, only a very few being in the secret, and ordered a report of his death to be spread abroad, so as to inspire the enemy with less fear; his obsequies being also held, and a barrow raised, to give the tale credit. even the soldiers bewailed his supposed death with a mourning which was in the secret of the trick. this rumour led vespasins, the king of the city, to show so faint and feeble a defence, as though the victory was already his, that the enemy got a chance of breaking in, and slew him as he sported at his ease. frode, when he had taken this town, aspired to the empire of the east, and attacked the city of handwan. this king, warned by hadding's having once fired his town, accordingly cleared the tame birds out of all his houses, to save himself from the peril of like punishment. but frode was not at a loss for new trickery. he exchanged garments with a serving-maid, and feigned himself to be a maiden skilled in fighting; and having thus laid aside the garb of man and imitated that of woman, he went to the town, calling himself a deserter. here he reconnoitred everything narrowly, and on the next day sent out an attendant with orders that the army should be up at the walls, promising that he would see to it that the gates were opened. thus the sentries were eluded and the city despoiled while it was buried in sleep; so that it paid for its heedlessness with destruction, and was more pitiable for its own sloth than by reason of the valour of the foe. for in warfare nought is found to be more ruinous than that a man, made foolhardy by ease, should neglect and slacken his affairs and doze in arrogant self-confidence. handwan, seeing that the fortunes of his country were lost and overthrown, put all his royal wealth on shipboard and drowned it in the sea, so as to enrich the waves rather than his enemy. yet it had been better to forestall the goodwill of his adversaries with gifts of money than to begrudge the profit of it to the service of mankind. after this, when frode sent ambassadors to ask for the hand of his daughter, he answered, that he must take heed not to be spoiled by his thriving fortunes, or to turn his triumph into haughtiness; but let him rather bethink him to spare the conquered, and in this their abject estate to respect their former bright condition; let him learn to honour their past fortune in their present pitiable lot. therefore, said handwan, he must mind that he did not rob of his empire the man with whom he sought alliance, nor bespatter her with the filth of ignobleness whom he desired to honour with marriage: else he would tarnish the honour of the union with covetousness. the courtliness of this saying not only won him his conqueror for son-in-law, but saved the freedom of his realm. meantime thorhild, wife of hunding, king of the swedes, possessed with a boundless hatred for her stepsons ragnar and thorwald, and fain to entangle them in divers perils, at last made them the king's shepherds. but swanhwid, daughter of hadding, wished to arrest by woman's wit the ruin of natures so noble; and taking her sisters to serve as retinue, journeyed to sweden. seeing the said youths beset with sundry prodigies while busy watching at night over their flocks, she forbade her sisters, who desired to dismount, in a poem of the following strain: "monsters i behold taking swift leaps and flinging themselves over the night places. the demon is at war, and the unholy throng, devoted to the mischievous fray, battles in the mid-thoroughfare. prodigies of aspect grim to behold pass by, and suffer no mortal to enter this country. the ranks galloping in headlong career through the void bid us stay our advance in this spot; they warn us to turn our rein and hold off from the accursed fields, they forbid us to approach the country beyond. a scowling horde of ghosts draws near, and scurries furiously through the wind, bellowing drearily to the stars. fauns join satyrs, and the throng of pans mingles with the spectres and battles with fierce visage. the swart ones meet the woodland spirits, and the pestilent phantoms strive to share the path with the witches. furies poise themselves on the leap, and on them huddle the phantoms, whom foreboder (fantua) joined to the flatnoses (satyrs), jostles. the path that the footfarer must tread brims with horror. it were safer to burden the back of the tall horse." thereon ragnar declared that he was a slave of the king, and gave as reason of his departure so far from home that, when he had been banished to the country on his shepherd's business, he had lost the flock of which he had charge, and despairing to recover it, had chosen rather to forbear from returning than to incur punishment. also, loth to say nothing about the estate of his brother, he further spoke the following poem: "think us men, not monsters; we are slaves who drove our lingering flocks for pasture through the country. but while we took our pastime in gentle sports, our flock chanced to stray and went into far-off fields. and when our hope of finding them, our long quest failed, trouble came upon the mind of the wretched culprits. and when sure tracks of our kine were nowhere to be seen, dismal panic filled our guilty hearts. that is why, dreading the penal stripe of the rod, we thought it doleful to return to our own roof. we supposed it safer to hold aloof from the familiar hearth than to bear the hand of punishment. thus we are fain to put off the punishment; we loathe going back and our wish is to lie hid here and escape our master's eye. this will aid us to elude the avenger of his neglected flock; and this is the one way of escape that remains safe for us." then swanhwid gazed intently, and surveying his features, which were very comely, admired them ardently, and said: "the radiant flashing of thine eyes is eloquent that thou art of kingly and not of servile stock. beauty announces blood, and loveliness of soul glitters in the flash of the eyes. a keen glance betokens lordly birth, and it is plain that he whom fairness, that sure sign of nobleness, commends, is of no mean station. the outward alertness of thine eyes signifies a spirit of radiance within. face vouches for race; and the lustre of forefathers is beheld in the brightness of the countenance. for an aspect so benign and noble could never have issued from base parentage. the grace of thy blood makes thy brow mantle with a kindred grace, and the estate of thy birth is reflected in the mirror of thy countenance. it is no obscure craftsman, therefore, that has finished the portrait of so choice a chasing. now therefore turn aside with all speed, seek constantly to depart out of the road, shun encounters with monsters, lest ye yield your most gracious bodies to be the prey and pasture of the vilest hordes." but ragnar was seized with great shame for his unsightly attire, which he thought was the only possible device to disguise his birth. so he rejoined, "that slaves were not always found to lack manhood; that a strong hand was often hidden under squalid raiment, and sometimes a stout arm was muffled trader a dusky cloak; thus the fault of nature was retrieved by valour, and deficiency in race requited by nobleness of spirit. he therefore feared the might of no supernatural prowess, save of the god thor only, to the greatness of whose force nothing human or divine could fitly be compared. the hearts of men ought not to be terrified at phantoms, which were only awful from their ghastly foulness, and whose semblances, marked by counterfeit ghostliness, were wont for a moment to borrow materiality from the fluent air. swanhwid therefore erred in trying, womanlike, to sap the firm strength of men, and to melt in unmanly panic that might which knew not defeat." swanhwid marvelled at the young man's steadfastness, and cast off the cloud of mist which overshadowed her, dispelling the darkness which shrouded her face, till it was clear and cloudless. then, promising that she would give him a sword fitted for diver's kinds of battle, she revealed the marvellous maiden beauty of her lustrous limbs. thus was the youth kindled, and she plighted her troth with him, and proffering the sword, she thus began: "king, in this sword, which shall expose the monsters to thy blows, take the first gift of thy betrothed. show thyself duly deserving hereof; let hand rival sword, and aspire to add lustre to its weapon. let the might of steel strengthen the defenceless point of thy wit, and let spirit know how to work with hand. let the bearer match the burden: and that thy deed may sort with thy blade, let equal weight in each be thine. what avails the javelin when the breast is weak and faint, and the quivering hands have dropped the lance? let steel join soul, and be both the body's armour! let the right hand be linked with its hilt in alliance. these fight famous battles, because they always keep more force when together; but less when parted. therefore if it be joy to thee to win fame by the palm of war, pursue with daring whatsoever is hard pressed by thy hand." after thus discoursing long in harmoniously-adjusted strains, she sent away her retinue, and passed all the night in combat against the foulest throngs of monsters; and at return of daybreak she perceived fallen all over the fields diverse shapes of phantoms, and figures extraordinary to look on; and among them was seen the semblance of thorhild herself covered with wounds. all these she piled in a heap and burnt, kindling a huge pyre, lest the foul stench of the filthy carcases might spread in pestilent vapour and hurt those who came nigh with its taint of corruption. this done, she won the throne of sweden for ragnar, and ragnar for her husband. and though he deemed it uncomely to inaugurate his first campaign with a wedding, yet, moved by gratitude for the preservation of his safety, he kept his promise. meantime one ubbe, who had long since wedded ulfhild the sister of frode, trusting in the high birth of his wife, seized the kingdom of denmark, which he was managing carelessly as deputy. frode was thus forced to quit the wars of the east and fought a great battle in sweden with his sister swanhwid, in which he was beaten. so he got on board a skiff, and sailed stealthily in a circuit, seeking some way of boring through the enemy's fleet. when surprised by his sister and asked why he was rowing silently and following divers meandering courses, he cut short her inquiry by a similar question; for swanhwid had also, at the same time of the night, taken to sailing about alone, and was stealthily searching out all the ways of approach and retreat through devious and dangerous windings. so she reminded her brother of the freedom he had given her long since, and went on to ask him that he should allow her full enjoyment of the husband she had taken; since, before he started on the russian war, he had given her the boon of marrying as she would; and that he should hold valid after the event what he had himself allowed to happen. these reasonable entreaties touched frode, and he made a peace with ragnar, and forgave, at his sister's request, the wrongdoing which ragnar, seemed to have begun because of her wantonness. they presented him with a force equal to that which they had caused him to lose: a handsome gift in which he rejoiced as compensation for so ugly a reverse. ragnar, entering denmark, captured ubbe, had him brought before him, and pardoned him, preferring to visit his ill deserts with grace rather than chastisement; because the man seemed to have aimed at the crown rather at his wife's instance than of his own ambition, and to have been the imitator and not the cause of the wrong. but he took ulfhild away from him and forced her to wed his friend scot, the same man that founded the scottish name; esteeming change of wedlock a punishment for her. as she went away he even escorted her in the royal chariot, requiting evil with good; for he regarded the kinship of his sister rather than her disposition, and took more thought for his own good name than of her iniquity. but the fair deeds of her brother did not make her obstinate and wonted hatred slacken a whit; she wore the spirit of her new husband with her design of slaying frode and mastering the sovereignty of the danes. for whatsoever design the mind has resolutely conceived, it is slow to quit; nor is a sin that is long schemed swept away by the stream of years. for the temper of later life follows the mind of childhood; nor do the traces easily fade of vices which have been stamped upon the character in the impressible age. finding the ears of her husband deaf, she diverted her treachery from her brother against her lord, hiring bravoes to cut his throat while he slept. scot was told about this by a waiting-woman, and retired to bed in his cuirass on the night on which he had heard the deed of murder was to be wrought upon him. ulfhild asked him why he had exchanged his wonted ways to wear the garb of steel; he rejoined that such was just then his fancy. the agents of the treachery, when they imagined him in a deep sleep, burst in; but he slipped from his bed and cut them down. the result was, that he prevented ulfhild from weaving plots against her brother, and also left a warning to others to beware of treachery from their wives. meantime the design occurred to frode of a campaign against friesland; he was desirous to dazzle the eyes of the west with the glory he had won in conquering the east. he put out to ocean, and his first contest was with witthe, a rover of the frisians; and in this battle he bade his crews patiently bear the first brunt of the enemy's charge by merely opposing their shields, ordering that they should not use their missiles before they perceived that the shower of the enemy's spears was utterly silent. this the frisians hurled as vehemently as the danes received it impassively; for witthe supposed that the long-suffering of frode was due to a wish for peace. high rose the blast of the trumpet, and loud whizzed the javelins everywhere, till at last the heedless frisians had not a single lance remaining, and they were conquered, overwhelmed by the missiles of the danes. they fled hugging the shore, and were cut to pieces amid the circuitous windings of the canals. then frode explored the rhine in his fleet, and laid hands on the farthest parts of germany. then he went back to the ocean, and attacked the frisian fleet, which had struck on shoals; and thus he crowned shipwreck with slaughter. nor was he content with the destruction of so great an army of his foes, but assailed britain, defeated its king, and attacked melbrik, the governor of the scottish district. just as he was preparing to fight him, he heard from a scout that the king of the britons was at hand, and could not look to his front and his rear both at once. so he assembled the soldiers, and ordered that they should abandon their chariots, fling away all their goods, and scatter everywhere over the fields the gold which they had about them; for he declared that their one chance was to squander their treasure; and that, now they were hemmed in, their only remaining help was to tempt the enemy from combat to covetousness. they ought cheerfully to spend on so extreme a need the spoil they had gotten among foreigners; for the enemy would drop it as eagerly, when it was once gathered, as they would snatch it when they first found it; for it would be to them more burden than profit. then thorkill, who was a more notable miser and a better orator than them all, dishelming and leaning on his shield, said: "o king! most of us who rate high what we have bought with our life-blood find thy bidding hard. we take it ill that we should fling away what we have won with utmost hazard; and men are loth to forsake what they have purchased at peril of their lives. for it is utter madness to spurn away like women what our manly hearts and hands have earned, and enrich the enemy beyond their hopes. what is more odious than to anticipate the fortune of war by despising the booty which is ours, and, in terror of an evil that may never come, to quit a good which is present and assured? shall we scatter our gold upon the earth, ere we have set eyes upon the scots? those who faint at the thought of warring when they are out for war, what manner of men are they to be thought in the battle? shall we be a derision to our foes, we who were their terror? shall we take scorn instead of glory? the briton will marvel that he was conquered by men whom he sees fear is enough to conquer. we struck them before with panic; shall we be panic-stricken by them? we scorned them when before us; shall we dread them when they are not here? when will our bravery win the treasure which our cowardice rejects? shall we shirk the fight, in scorn of the money which we fought to win, and enrich those whom we should rightly have impoverished? what deed more despicable can we do than to squander gold on those whom we should smite with steel? panic must never rob us of the spoils of valour; and only war must make us quit what in warfare we have won. let us sell our plunder at the price at which we bought it; let the purchase-money be weighed out in steel. it is better to die a noble death, than to molder away too much in love with the light life. in a fleeting instant of time life forsakes us, but shame pursues us past the grave. further, if we cast away this gold, the greater the enemy thinks our fear, the hotter will be his chase. besides, whichever the issue of the day, the gold is not hateful to us. conquerors, we shall triumph in the treasure which now we bear; conquered, we shall leave it to pay our burying." so spoke the old man; but the soldiers regarded the advice of their king rather than of their comrade, and thought more of the former than of the latter counsel. so each of them eagerly drew his wealth, whatever he had, from his pouch; they unloaded their ponies of the various goods they were carrying; and having thus cleared their money-bags, girded on their arms more deftly. they went on, and the britons came up, but broke away after the plunder which lay spread out before them. their king, when he beheld them too greedily busied with scrambling for the treasure, bade them "take heed not to weary with a load of riches those hands which were meant for battle, since they ought to know that a victory must be culled ere it is counted. therefore let them scorn the gold and give chase to the possessors of the gold; let them admire the lustre, not of lucre, but of conquest; remembering, that a trophy gave more reward than gain. courage was worth more than dross, if they measured aright the quality of both; for the one furnished outward adorning, but the other enhanced both outward and inward grace. therefore they must keep their eyes far from the sight of money, and their soul from covetousness, and devote it to the pursuits of war. further, they should know that the plunder had been abandoned by the enemy of set purpose, and that the gold had been scattered rather to betray them than to profit them. moreover, the honest lustre of the silver was only a bait on the barb of secret guile. it was not thought to be that they, who had first forced the britons to fly, would lightly fly themselves. besides, nothing was more shameful than riches which betrayed into captivity the plunderer whom they were supposed to enrich. for the danes thought that the men to whom they pretended to have offered riches ought to be punished with sword and slaughter. let them therefore feel that they were only giving the enemy a weapon if they seized what he had scattered. for if they were caught by the look of the treasure that had been exposed, they must lose, not only that, but any of their own money that might remain. what could it profit them to gather what they must straightway disgorge? but if they refuse to abase themselves before money, they would doubtless abase the foe. thus it was better for them to stand erect in valour than be grovelling in greed; with their souls not sinking into covetousness, but up and doing for renown. in the battle they would have to use not gold but swords." as the king ended, a british knight, shewing them all his lapful of gold, said: "o king! from thy speech can be gathered two feelings; and one of them witnesses to thy cowardice and the other to thy ill will: inasmuch as thou forbiddest us the use of the wealth because of the enemy, and also thinkest it better that we should serve thee needy than rich. what is more odious than such a wish? what more senseless than such a counsel? we recognise these as the treasures of our own homes, and having done so, shall we falter to pick them up? we were on our way to regain them by fighting, we were zealous to win them back by our blood: shall we shun them when they are restored unasked? shall we hesitate to claim our own? which is the greater coward, he who squanders his winnings, or he who is fearful to pick up what is squandered? look how chance has restored what compulsion took! these are, not spoils from the enemy, but from ourselves; the dane took gold from britain, he brought none. beaten and loth we lost it; it comes back for nothing, and shall we run away from it? such a gift of fortune it were a shame to take in an unworthy spirit. for what were madder than to spurn wealth that is set openly before us, and to desire it when it is shut up and kept from us? shall we squeamishly yield what is set under our eyes, and clutch at it when it vanishes? shall we seek distant and foreign treasure, refraining from what is made public property? if we disown what is ours, when shall we despoil the goods of others? no anger of heaven can i experience which can force me to unload of its lawful burden the lap which is filled with my father's and my grandsire's gold. i know the wantonness of the danes: never would they have left jars full of wine had not fear forced them to flee. they would rather have sacrificed their life than their liquor. this passion we share with them, and herein we are like them. grant that their flight is feigned; yet they will light upon the scots ere they can come back. this gold shall never rust in the country, to be trodden underfoot of swine or brutes: it will better serve the use of men. besides, if we plunder the spoil of the army that prevailed over us, we transfer the luck of the conqueror to ourselves. for what surer omen of triumph could be got, than to bear off the booty before the battle, and to capture ere the fray the camp which the enemy have forsaken? better conquer by fear than by steel." the knight had scarce ended, when behold; the hands of all were loosed upon the booty and everywhere plucked up the shining treasure. there you might have marvelled at their disposition of filthy greed, and watched a portentous spectacle of avarice. you could have seen gold and grass clutched up together; the birth of domestic discord; fellow-countrymen in deadly combat, heedless of the foe; neglect of the bonds of comradeship and of reverence for ties; greed the object of all minds, and friendship of none. meantime frode traversed in a great march the forest which separates scotland and britain, and bade his soldiers arm. when the scots beheld his line, and saw that they had only a supply of light javelins, while the danes were furnished with a more excellent style of armour, they forestalled the battle by flight. frode pursued them but a little way, fearing a sally of the british, and on returning met scot, the husband of ulfhild, with a great army; he had been brought from the utmost ends of scotland by the desire of aiding the danes. scot entreated him to abandon the pursuit of the scottish and turn back into britain. so he eagerly regained the plunder which he had cunningly sacrificed; and got back his wealth with the greater ease, that he had so tranquilly let it go. then did the british repent of their burden and pay for their covetousness with their blood. they were sorry to have clutched at greed with insatiate arms, and ashamed to have hearkened to their own avarice rather than to the counsel of their king. then frode attacked london, the most populous city of britain; but the strength of its walls gave him no chance of capturing it. therefore he reigned to be dead, and his guile strengthened him. for daleman, the governor of london, on hearing the false news of his death, accepted the surrender of the danes, offered them a native general, and suffered them to enter the town, that they might choose him out of a great throng. they feigned to be making a careful choice, but beset daleman in a night surprise and slew him. when he had done these things, and gone back to his own land, one skat entertained him at a banquet, desirous to mingle his toilsome warfare with joyous licence. frode was lying in his house, in royal fashion, upon cushions of cloth of gold, and a certain hunding challenged him to fight. then, though he had bent his mind to the joys of wassail, he had more delight in the prospect of a fray than in the presence of a feast, and wound up the supper with a duel and the duel with a triumph. in the combat he received a dangerous wound; but a taunt of hakon the champion again roused him, and, slaying his challenger, he took vengeance for the disturbance of his rest. two of his chamber-servants were openly convicted of treachery, and he had them tied to vast stones and drowned in the sea; thus chastising the weighty guilt of their souls by fastening boulders to their bodies. some relate that ulfhild gave him a coat which no steel could pierce, so that when he wore it no missile's point could hurt him. nor must i omit how frode was wont to sprinkle his food with brayed and pounded atoms of gold, as a resource against the usual snares of poisoners. while he was attacking ragnar, the king of sweden, who had been falsely accused of treachery, he perished, not by the spears, but stifled in the weight of his arms and by the heat of his own body. frode left three sons, halfdan, ro, and skat, who were equal in valour, and were seized with an equal desire for the throne. all thought of sway, none was constrained by brotherly regard: for love of others forsaketh him who is eaten up with love of self, nor can any man take thought at once for his own advancement and for his friendship with others. halfdan, the eldest son, disgraced his birth with the sin of slaying his brethren, winning his kingdom by the murder of his kin; and, to complete his display of cruelty, arrested their adherents, first confining them in bonds, and presently hanging them. the most notable thing in the fortunes of halfdan was this, that though he devoted every instant of his life to the practice of cruel deeds, yet he died of old age, and not by the steel. halfdan's sons were ro and helge. ro is said to have been the founder of roskild, which was later increased in population and enhanced in power by sweyn, who was famous for the surname forkbeard. ro was short and spare, while helge was rather tall of stature. dividing the realm with his brother, helge was allotted the domain of the sea; and attacking skalk, the king of sklavia, with his naval force, he slew him. having reduced sklavia into a province, he scoured the various arms of the sea in a wandering voyage. savage of temper as helge was, his cruelty was not greater than his lust. for he was so immoderately prone to love, that it was doubtful whether the heat of his tyranny or of his concupiscence was the greater. in thorey he ravished the maiden thora, who bore a daughter, to whom she afterwards gave the name of urse. then he conquered in battle, before the town of stad, the son of syrik, king of saxony, hunding, whom he challenged, attacked, and slew in duel. for this he was called hunding's-bane, and by that name gained glory of his victory. he took jutland out of the power of the saxons, and entrusted its management to his generals, heske, eyr, and ler. in saxony he enacted that the slaughter of a freedman and of a noble should be visited with the same punishment; as though he wished it to be clearly known that all the households of the teutons were held in equal slavery, and that the freedom of all was tainted and savoured equally of dishonour. then helge went freebooting to thorey. but thora had not ceased to bewail her lost virginity, and planned a shameful device in abominable vengeance for her rape. for she deliberately sent down to the beach her daughter, who was of marriageable age, and prompted her father to deflower her. and though she yielded her body to the treacherous lures of delight, yet she must not be thought to have abjured her integrity of soul, inasmuch as her fault had a ready excuse by virtue of her ignorance. insensate mother, who allowed the forfeiture of her child's chastity in order to avenge her own; caring nought for the purity of her own blood, so she might stain with incest the man who had cost her her own maidenhood at first! infamous-hearted woman, who, to punish her defiler, measured out as it were a second defilement to herself, whereas she clearly by the selfsame act rather swelled than lessened the transgression! surely, by the very act wherewith she thought to reach her revenge, she accumulated guilt; she added a sin in trying to remove a crime: she played the stepdame to her own offspring, not sparing her daughter abomination in order to atone for her own disgrace. doubtless her soul was brimming over with shamelessness, since she swerved so far from shamefastness, as without a blush to seek solace for her wrong in her daughter's infamy. a great crime, with but one atonement; namely, that the guilt of this intercourse was wiped away by a fortunate progeny, its fruits being as delightful as its repute was evil. rolf, the son of urse, retrieved the shame of his birth by signal deeds of valour; and their exceeding lustre is honoured with bright laudation by the memory of all succeeding time. for lamentation sometimes ends in laughter, and foul beginnings pass to fair issues. so that the father's fault, though criminal, was fortunate, being afterwards atoned for by a son of such marvellous splendour. meantime ragnar died in sweden; and swanhwid his wife passed away soon after of a malady which she had taken from her sorrow, following in death the husband from whom she had not endured severance in life. for it often happens that some people desire to follow out of life those whom they loved exceedingly when alive. their son hothbrodd succeeded them. fain to extend his empire, he warred upon the east, and after a huge massacre of many peoples begat two sons, athisl and hother, and appointed as their tutor a certain gewar, who was bound to him by great services. not content with conquering the east, he assailed denmark, challenged its king, ro, in three battles, and slew him. helge, when he heard this, shut up his son rolf in leire, wishing, however he might have managed his own fortunes, to see to the safety of his heir. when hothbrodd sent in governors, wanting to free his country from alien rule, he posted his people about the city and prevailed and slew them. also he annihilated hothbrodd himself and all his forces in a naval battle; so avenging fully the wrongs of his country as well as of his brother. hence he who had before won a nickname for slaying hunding, now bore a surname for the slaughter of hothbrodd. besides, as if the swedes had not been enough stricken in the battles, he punished them by stipulating for most humiliating terms; providing by law that no wrong done to any of them should receive amends according to the form of legal covenants. after these deeds, ashamed of his former infamy, he hated his country and his home, went back to the east, and there died. some think that he was affected by the disgrace which was cast in his teeth, and did himself to death by falling upon his drawn sword. he was succeeded by his son rolf, who was comely with every gift of mind and body, and graced his mighty stature with as high a courage. in his time sweden was subject to the sway of the danes; wherefore athisl, the son of hothbrodd, in pursuit of a crafty design to set his country free, contrived to marry rolf's mother, urse, thinking that his kinship by marriage would plead for him, and enable him to prompt his stepson more effectually to relax the tribute; and fortune prospered his wishes. but athisl had from his boyhood been imbued with a hatred of liberality, and was so grasping of money, that he accounted it a disgrace to be called openhanded. urse, seeing him so steeped in filthy covetousness, desired to be rid of him; but, thinking that she must act by cunning, veiled the shape of her guile with a marvellous skill. feigning to be unmotherly, she spurred on her husband to grasp his freedom, and urged and tempted him to insurrection; causing her son to be summoned to sweden with a promise of vast gifts. for she thought that she would best gain her desire if, as soon as her son had got his stepfather's gold, she could snatch up the royal treasures and flee, robbing her husband of bed and money to hoot. for she fancied that the best way to chastise his covetousness would be to steal away his wealth. this deep guilefulness was hard to detect, from such recesses of cunning did it spring; because she dissembled her longing for a change of wedlock under a show of aspiration for freedom. blind-witted husband, fancying the mother kindled against the life of the son, never seeing that it was rather his own ruin being compassed! doltish lord, blind to the obstinate scheming of his wife, who, out of pretended hatred of her son, devised opportunity for change of wedlock! though the heart of woman should never be trusted, he believed in a woman all the more insensately, because he supposed her faithful to himself and treacherous to her son. accordingly, rolf, tempted by the greatness of the gifts, chanced to enter the house of athisl. he was not recognised by his mother owing to his long absence and the cessation of their common life; so in jest he first asked for some victual to appease his hunger. she advised him to ask the king for a luncheon. then he thrust out a torn piece of his coat, and begged of her the service of sewing it up. finding his mother's ears shut to him, he observed, "that it was hard to discover a friendship that was firm and true, when a mother refused her son a meal, and a sister refused a brother the help of her needle." thus he punished his mother's error, and made her blush deep for her refusal of kindness. athisl, when he saw him reclining close to his mother at the banquet, taunted them both with wantonness, declaring that it was an impure intercourse of brother and sister. rolf repelled the charge against his honour by an appeal to the closest of natural bonds, and answered, that it was honourable for a son to embrace a beloved mother. also, when the feasters asked him what kind of courage he set above all others, he named endurance. when they also asked athisl, what was the virtue which above all he desired most devotedly, he declared, generosity. proofs were therefore demanded of bravery on the one hand and munificence on the other, and rolf was asked to give an evidence of courage first. he was placed to the fire, and defending with his target the side that was most hotly assailed, had only the firmness of his endurance to fortify the other, which had no defence. how dexterous, to borrow from his shield protection to assuage the heat, and to guard his body, which was exposed to the flames, with that which sometime sheltered it amid the hurtling spears! but the glow was hotter than the fire of spears; as though it could not storm the side that was entrenched by the shield, yet it assaulted the flank that lacked its protection. but a waiting-maid who happened to be standing near the hearth, saw that he was being roasted by the unbearable heat upon his ribs; so taking the stopper out of a cask, she spilt the liquid and quenched the flame, and by the timely kindness of the shower checked in its career the torturing blaze. rolf was lauded for supreme endurance, and then came the request for athisl's gifts. and they say that he showered treasures on his stepson, and at last, in order to crown the gift, bestowed on him an enormously heavy necklace. now urse, who had watched her chance for the deed of guile, on the third day of the banquet, without her husband ever dreaming of such a thing, put all the king's wealth into carriages, and going out stealthily, stole away from her own dwelling and fled in the glimmering twilight, departing with her son. thrilled with fear of her husband's pursuit, and utterly despairing of escape beyond, she begged and bade her companions to cast away the money, declaring that they must lose either life or riches; the short and only path to safety lay in flinging away the treasure, nor could any aid to escape be found save in the loss of their possessions. therefore, said she, they must follow the example of the manner in which frode was said to have saved himself among the britons. she added, that it was not paying a great price to lay down the swedes' own goods for them to regain; if only they could themselves gain a start in flight, by the very device which would check the others in their pursuit, and if they seemed not so much to abandon their own possessions as to restore those of other men. not a moment was lost; in order to make the flight swifter, they did the bidding of the queen. the gold is cleared from their purses; the riches are left for the enemy to seize. some declare that urse kept back the money, and strewed the tracks of her flight with copper that was gilt over. for it was thought credible that a woman who could scheme such great deeds could also have painted with lying lustre the metal that was meant to be lost, mimicking riches of true worth with the sheen of spurious gold. so athisl, when he saw the necklace that he had given to rolf left among the other golden ornaments, gazed fixedly upon the dearest treasure of his avarice, and, in order to pick up the plunder, glued his knees to the earth and deigned to stoop his royalty unto greed. rolf, seeing him lie abjectly on his face in order to gather up the money, smiled at the sight of a man prostrated by his own gifts, just as if he were seeking covetously to regain what he had craftily yielded up. the swedes were content with their booty, and rolf quickly retired to his ships, and managed to escape by rowing violently. now they relate that rolf used with ready generosity to grant at the first entreaty whatsoever he was begged to bestow, and never put off the request till the second time of asking. for he preferred to forestall repeated supplication by speedy liberality, rather than mar his kindness by delay. this habit brought him a great concourse of champions; valour having commonly either rewards for its food or glory for its spur. at this time, a certain agnar, son of ingild, being about to wed rute, the sister of rolf, celebrated his bridal with a great banquet. the champions were rioting at this banquet with every sort of wantonness, and flinging from all over the room knobbed bones at a certain hjalte; but it chanced that his messmate, named bjarke, received a violent blow on the head through the ill aim of the thrower; at whom, stung both by the pain and the jeering, he sent the bone back, so that he twisted the front of his head to the back, and wrung the back of it to where the front had been; punishing the wryness of the man's temper by turning his face sidelong. this deed moderated their wanton and injurious jests, and drove the champions to quit the place. the bridegroom, nettled at this affront to the banquet, resolved to fight bjarke, in order to seek vengeance by means of a duel for the interruption of their mirth. at the outset of the duel there was a long dispute, which of them ought to have the chance of striking first. for of old, in the ordering of combats, men did not try to exchange their blows thick and fast; but there was a pause, and at the same time a definite succession in striking: the contest being carried on with few strokes, but those terrible, so that honour was paid more to the mightiness than to the number of the blows. agnar, being of higher rank, was put first; and the blow which he dealt is said to have been so furious, that he cut through the front of the helmet, wounded the skin on the scalp, and had to let go his sword, which became locked in the vizor-holes. then bjarke, who was to deal the return-stroke, leaned his foot against a stock, in order to give the freer poise to his steel, and passed his fine-edged blade through the midst of agnar's body. some declare that agnar, in supreme suppression of his pain, gave up the ghost with his lips relaxed into a smile. the champions passionately sought to avenge him, but were visited by bjarke with like destruction; for he used a sword of wonderful sharpness and unusual length which he called lovi. while he was triumphing in these deeds of prowess, a beast of the forest furnished him fresh laurels. for he met a huge bear in a thicket, and slew it with a javelin; and then bade his companion hjalte put his lips to the beast and drink the blood that came out, that he might be the stronger afterwards. for it was believed that a draught of this sort caused an increase of bodily strength. by these valorous achievements he became intimate with the most illustrious nobles, and even, became a favourite of the king; took to wife his sister rute, and had the bride of the conquered as the prize of the conquest. when rolf was harried by athisl he avenged himself on him in battle and overthrew athisl in war. then rolf gave his sister skulde in marriage to a youth of keen wit, called hiartuar, and made him governor of sweden, ordaining a yearly tax; wishing to soften the loss of freedom to him by the favour of an alliance with himself. here let me put into my work a thing that it is mirthful to record. a youth named wigg, scanning with attentive eye the bodily size of rolf, and smitten with great wonder thereat, proceeded to inquire in jest who was that "krage" whom nature in her beauty had endowed with such towering stature? meaning humorously to banter his uncommon tallness. for "krage" in the danish tongue means a tree-trunk, whose branches are pollarded, and whose summit is climbed in such wise that the foot uses the lopped timbers as supports, as if leaning on a ladder, and, gradually advancing to the higher parts, finds the shortest way to the top. rolf accepted this random word as though it were a name of honour for him, and rewarded the wit of the saying with a heavy bracelet. then wigg, thrusting out his right arm decked with the bracelet, put his left behind his back in affected shame, and walked with a ludicrous gait, declaring that he, whose lot had so long been poverty-stricken, was glad of a scanty gift. when he was asked why he was behaving so, he said that the arm which lacked ornament and had no splendour to boast of was mantling with the modest blush of poverty to behold the other. the ingenuity of this saying won him a present to match the first. for rolf made him bring out to view, like the other, the hand which he was hiding. nor was wigg heedless to repay the kindness; for he promised, uttering a strict vow, that, if it befell rolf to perish by the sword, he would himself take vengeance on his slayers. nor should it be omitted that in old time nobles who were entering. the court used to devote to their rulers the first-fruits of their service by vowing some mighty exploit; thus bravely inaugurating their first campaign. meantime, skulde was stung with humiliation at the payment of the tribute, and bent her mind to devise deeds of horror. taunting her husband with his ignominious estate, she urged and egged him to break off his servitude, induced him to weave plots against rolf, and filled his mind with the most abominable plans of disloyalty, declaring that everyone owed more to their freedom than to kinship. accordingly, she ordered huge piles of arms to be muffled up under divers coverings, to be carried by hiartuar into denmark, as if they were tribute: these would furnish a store wherewith to slay the king by night. so the vessels were loaded with the mass of pretended tribute, and they proceeded to leire, a town which rolf had built and adorned with the richest treasure of his realm, and which, being a royal foundation and a royal seat, surpassed in importance all the cities of the neighbouring districts. the king welcomed the coming of hiartuar with a splendid banquet, and drank very deep, while his guests, contrary to their custom, shunned immoderate tippling. so, while all the others were sleeping soundly, the swedes, who had been kept from their ordinary rest by their eagerness on their guilty purpose, began furtively to slip down from their sleeping-rooms. straightway uncovering the hidden heap of weapons, each girded on his arms silently and then went to the palace. bursting into its recesses, they drew their swords upon the sleeping figures. many awoke; but, invaded as much by the sudden and dreadful carnage as by the drowsiness of sleep, they faltered in their resistance; for the night misled them and made it doubtful whether those they met were friends or foes. hjalte, who was foremost in tried bravery among the nobles of the king, chanced to have gone out in the dead of that same night into the country and given himself to the embraces of a harlot. but when his torpid hearing caught from afar the rising din of battle, preferring valour to wantonness, he chose rather to seek the deadly perils of the war-god than to yield to the soft allurements of love. what a love for his king, must we suppose, burned in this warrior! for he might have excused his absence by feigning not to have known; but he thought it better to expose his life to manifest danger than save it for pleasure. as he went away, his mistress asked him how aged a man she ought to marry if she were to lose him? then hjalte bade her come closer, as though he would speak to her more privately; and, resenting that she needed a successor to his love, he cut off her nose and made her unsightly, punishing the utterance of that wanton question with a shameful wound, and thinking that the lecherousness of her soul ought to be cooled by outrage to her face. when he had done this, he said he left her choice free in the matter she had asked about. then he went quickly back to the town and plunged into the densest of the fray, mowing down the opposing ranks as he gave blow for blow. passing the sleeping-room of bjarke, who was still slumbering, he bade him wake up, addressing him as follows: "let him awake speedily, whoso showeth himself by service or avoweth himself in mere loyalty, a friend of the king! let the princes shake off slumber, let shameless lethargy begone; let their spirits awake and warm to the work; each man's own right hand shall either give him to glory, or steep him in sluggard shame; and this night shall be either end or vengeance of our woes. "i do not now bid ye learn the sports of maidens, nor stroke soft cheeks, nor give sweet kisses to the bride and press the slender breasts, nor desire the flowing wine and chafe the soft thigh and cast eyes upon snowy arms. i call you out to the sterner fray of war. we need the battle, and not light love; nerveless languor has no business here: our need calls for battles. whoso cherishes friendship for the king, let him take up arms. prowess in war is the readiest appraiser of men's spirits. therefore let warriors have no fearfulness and the brave no fickleness: let pleasure quit their soul and yield place to arms. glory is now appointed for wages; each can be the arbiter of his own renown, and shine by his own right hand. let nought here be tricked out with wantonness: let all be full of sternness, and learn how to rid them of this calamity. he who covets the honours or prizes of glory must not be faint with craven fear, but go forth to meet the brave, nor whiten at the cold steel." at this utterance, bjarke, awakened, roused up his chamber-page skalk speedily, and addressed him as follows: "up, lad, and fan the fire with constant blowing; sweep the hearth clear of wood, and scatter the fine ashes. strike out sparks from the fire, rouse the fallen embers, draw out the smothered blaze. force the slackening hearth to yield light by kindling the coals to a red glow with a burning log. it will do me good to stretch out my fingers when the fire is brought nigh. surely he that takes heed for his friend should have warm hands, and utterly drive away the blue and hurtful chill." hjalte said again: "sweet is it to repay the gifts received from our lord, to grip the swords, and devote the steel to glory. behold, each man's courage tells him loyally to follow a king of such deserts, and to guard our captain with fitting earnestness. let the teuton swords, the helmets, the shining armlets, the mail-coats that reach the heel, which rolf of old bestowed upon his men, let these sharpen our mindful hearts to the fray. the time requires, and it is just, that in time of war we should earn whatsoever we have gotten in the deep idleness of peace, that we should not think more of joyous courses than of sorrowful fortunes, or always prefer prosperity to hardship. being noble, let us with even soul accept either lot, nor let fortune sway our behaviour, for it beseems us to receive equably difficult and delightsome days; let us pass the years of sorrow with the same countenance wherewith we took the years of joy. let us do with brave hearts all the things that in our cups we boasted with sodden lips; let us keep the vows which we swore by highest jove and the mighty gods. my master is the greatest of the danes: let each man, as he is valorous, stand by him; far, far hence be all cowards! we need a brave and steadfast man, not one that turns his back on a dangerous pass, or dreads the grim preparations for battle. often a general's greatest valour depends on his soldiery, for the chief enters the fray all the more at ease that a better array of nobles throngs him round. let the thane catch up his arms with fighting fingers, setting his right hand on the hilt and holding fast the shield: let him charge upon the foes, nor pale at any strokes. let none offer himself to be smitten by the enemy behind, let none receive the swords in his back: let the battling breast ever front the blow. `eagles fight brow foremost', and with swift gaping beaks speed onward in the front: be ye like that bird in mien, shrinking from no stroke, but with body facing the foe. "see how the enemy, furious and confident overduly, his limbs defended by the steel, and his face with a gilded helmet, charges the thick of the battle-wedges, as though sure of victory, fearless of rout and invincible by any endeavour. ah, misery! swedish assurance spurns the danes. behold, the goths with savage eyes and grim aspect advance with crested helms and clanging spears: wreaking heavy slaughter in our blood, they wield their swords and their battle-axes hone-sharpened. "why name thee, hiartuar, whom skulde hath filled with guilty purpose, and hath suffered thus to harden in sin? why sing of thee, villain, who hast caused our peril, betrayer of a noble king? furious lust of sway hath driven thee to attempt an abomination, and, stung with frenzy, to screen thyself behind thy wife's everlasting guilt. what error hath made thee to hurt the danes and thy lord, and hurled thee into such foul crime as this? whence entered thy heart the treason framed with such careful guile? "why do i linger? now we have swallowed our last morsel. our king perishes, and utter doom overtakes our hapless city. our last dawn has risen, unless perchance there be one here so soft that he fears to offer himself to the blows, or so unwarlike that he dares not avenge his lord, and disowns all honours worthy of his valour. "thou, ruta, rise and put forth thy snow-white head, come forth from thy hiding into the battle. the carnage that is being done without calls thee. by now the council-chamber is shaken with warfare, and the gates creak with the dreadful fray. steel rends the mail-coats, the woven mesh is torn apart, and the midriff gives under the rain of spears. by now the huge axes have hacked small the shield of the king; by now the long swords clash, and the battle-axe clatters its blows upon the shoulders of men, and cleaves their breasts. why are your hearts afraid? why is your sword faint and blunted? the gate is cleared of our people, and is filled with the press of the strangers." and when hjalte had wrought very great carnage and stained the battle with blood, he stumbled for the third time on bjarke's berth, and thinking he desired to keep quiet because he was afraid, made trial of him with such taunts at his cowardice as these: "bjarke, why art thou absent? doth deep sleep hold thee? i prithee, what makes thee tarry? come out, or the fire will overcome thee. ho! choose the better way, charge with me! bears may be kept off with fire; let us spread fire in the recesses, and let the blaze attack the door-posts first. let the firebrand fall upon the bedchamber, let the falling roof offer fuel for the flames and serve to feed the fire. it is right to scatter conflagration on the doomed gates. but let us who honour our king with better loyalty form the firm battle-wedges, and, having measured the phalanx in safe rows, go forth in the way the king taught us: our king, who laid low rorik, the son of bok the covetous, and wrapped the coward in death. he was rich in wealth, but in enjoyment poor, stronger in gain than bravery; and thinking gold better than warfare, he set lucre above all things, and ingloriously accumulated piles of treasure, scorning the service of noble friends. and when he was attacked by the navy of rolf, he bade his servants take the gold from the chests and spread it out in front of the city gates, making ready bribes rather than battle, because he knew not the soldier, and thought that the foe should be attempted with gifts and not with arms: as though he could fight with wealth alone, and prolong the war by using, not men, but wares! so he undid the heavy coffers and the rich chests; he brought forth the polished bracelets and the heavy caskets; they only fed his destruction. rich in treasure, poor in warriors, he left his foes to take away the prizes which he forebore to give to the friends of his own land. he who once shrank to give little rings of his own will, now unwillingly squandered his masses of wealth, rifling his hoarded heap. but our king in his wisdom spurned him and the gifts he proffered, and took from him life and goods at once; nor was his foe profited by the useless wealth which he had greedily heaped up through long years. but rolf the righteous assailed him, slew him, and captured his vast wealth, and shared among worthy friends what the hand of avarice had piled up in all those years; and, bursting into the camp which was wealthy but not brave, gave his friends a lordly booty without bloodshed. nothing was so fair to him that he would not lavish it, or so dear that he would not give it to his friends, for he used treasure like ashes, and measured his years by glory and not by gain. whence it is plain that the king who hath died nobly lived also most nobly, that the hour of his doom is beautiful, and that he graced the years of his life with manliness. for while he lived his glowing valour prevailed over all things, and he was allotted might worthy of his lofty stature. he was as swift to war as a torrent tearing down to sea, and as speedy to begin battle as a stag is to fly with cleft foot upon his fleet way. "see now, among the pools dripping with human blood, the teeth struck out of the slain are carried on by the full torrent of gore, and are polished on the rough sands. dashed on the slime they glitter, and the torrent of blood bears along splintered bones and flows above lopped limbs. the blood of the danes is wet, and the gory flow stagnates far around, and the stream pressed out of the steaming veins rolls back the scattered bodies. tirelessly against the danes advances hiartuar, lover of battle, and challenges the fighters with outstretched spear. yet here, amid the dangers and dooms of war, i see frode's grandson smiling joyously, who once sowed the fields of fyriswald with gold. let us also be exalted with an honourable show of joy, following in death the doom of our noble father. be we therefore cheery in voice and bold in daring; for it is right to spurn all fear with words of courage, and to meet our death in deeds of glory. let fear quit heart and face; in both let us avow our dauntless endeavours, that no sign anywhere may show us to betray faltering fear. let our drawn sword measure the weight of our service. fame follows us in death, and glory shall outlive our crumbling ashes! and that which perfect valour hath achieved during its span shall not fade for ever and ever. what want we with closed floors? why doth the locked bolt close the folding-gates? for it is now the third cry, bjarke, that calls thee, and bids thee come forth from the barred room." bjarke rejoined: "warlike hjalte, why dost thou call me so loud? i am the son-in-law of rolf. he who boasts loud and with big words challenges other men to battle, is bound to be venturous and act up to his words, that his deed may avouch his vaunt. but stay till i am armed and have girded on the dread attire of war. "and now i tie my sword to my side, now first i get my body guarded with mail-coat and headpiece, the helm keeping my brows and the stout iron shrouding my breast. none shrinks more than i from being burnt a prisoner inside, and made a pyre together with my own house: though an island brought me forth, and though the land of my birth be bounded, i shall hold it a debt to repay to the king the twelve kindreds which he added to my honours. hearken, warriors! let none robe in mail his body that shall perish; let him last of all draw tight the woven steel; let the shields go behind the back; let us fight with bared breasts, and load all your arms with gold. let your right hands receive the bracelets, that they may swing their blows the more heavily and plant the grievous wound. let none fall back! let each zealously strive to meet the swords of the enemy and the threatening spears, that we may avenge our beloved master. happy beyond all things is he who can mete out revenge for such a crime, and with righteous steel punish the guilt of treacheries. "lo, methinks i surely pierced a wild stag with the teutonic sword which is called snyrtir: from which i won the name of warrior, when i felled agnar, son of ingild, and brought the trophy home. he shattered and broke with the bite the sword hoding which smote upon my head, and would have dealt worse wounds if the edge of his blade had held out better. in return i clove asunder his left arm and part of his left side and his right foot, and the piercing steel ran down his limbs and smote deep into his ribs. by hercules! no man ever seemed to me stronger than he. for he sank down half-conscious, and, leaning on his elbow, welcomed death with a smile, and spurned destruction with a laugh, and passed rejoicing in the world of elysium. mighty was the man's courage, which knew how with one laugh to cover his death-hour, and with a joyous face to suppress utter anguish of mind and body! "now also with the same blade i searched the heart of one sprung from an illustrious line, and plunged the steel deep in his breast. he was a king's son, of illustrious ancestry, of a noble nature, and shone with the brightness of youth. the mailed metal could not avail him, nor his sword, nor the smooth target-boss; so keen was the force of my steel, it knew not how to be stayed by obstacles. "where, then, are the captains of the goths, and the soldiery of hiartuar? let them come, and pay for their might with their life-blood. who can cast, who whirl the lance, save scions of kings? war springs from the nobly born: famous pedigrees are the makers of war. for the perilous deeds which chiefs attempt are not to be done by the ventures of common men. renowned nobles are passing away. lo! greatest rolf, thy great ones have fallen, thy holy line is vanishing. no dim and lowly race, no low-born dead, no base souls are pluto's prey, but he weaves the dooms of the mighty, and fills phlegethon with noble shapes. "i do not remember any combat wherein swords were crossed in turn and blow dealt out for blow more speedily. i take three for each i give; thus do the goths requite the wounds i deal them, and thus doth the stronger hand of the enemy avenge with heaped interest the punishment that they receive. yet singly in battle i have given over the bodies of so many men to the pyre of destruction, that a mound like a hill could grow up and be raised out of their lopped limbs, and the piles of carcases would look like a burial-barrow. and now what doeth he, who but now bade me come forth, vaunting himself with mighty praise, and chafing others with his arrogant words, and scattering harsh taunts, as though in his one body he enclosed twelve lives?" hjalte answered: "though i have but scant help, i am not far off. even here, where i stand, there is need of aid, and nowhere is a force or a chosen band of warriors ready for battle wanted more. already the hard edges and the spear-points have cleft my shield in splinters, and the ravening steel has rent and devoured its portions bit by bit in the battle. the first of these things testifies to and avows itself. seeing is better than telling, eyesight faithfuller than hearing. for of the broken shield only the fastenings remain, and the boss, pierced and broken in its circle, is all left me. and now, bjarke, thou art strong, though thou hast come forth more tardily than was right, and thou retrievest by bravery the loss caused by thy loitering." but bjarke said: "art thou not yet weary of girding at me and goading me with taunts? many things often cause delay. the reason why i tarried was the sword in my path, which the swedish foe whirled against my breast with mighty effort. nor did the guider of the hilt drive home the sword with little might; for though the body was armed he smote it as far as one may when it is bare or defenceless; he pierced the armour of hard steel like yielding waters; nor could the rough, heavy breastplate give me any help. "but where now is he that is commonly called odin, the mighty in battle, content ever with a single eye? if thou see him anywhere, rute, tell me." rute replied: "bring thine eye closer and look under my arm akimbo: thou must first hallow thine eyes with the victorious sign, if thou wilt safely know the war-god face to face." then said bjarke: "if i may look on the awful husband of frigg, howsoever he be covered with his white shield, and guide his tall steed, he shall in no wise go safe out of leire; it is lawful to lay low in war the war-waging god. let a noble death come to those that fall before the eyes of their king. while life lasts, let us strive for the power to die honourably and to reap a noble end by our deeds. i will die overpowered near the head of my slain captain, and at his feet thou also shalt slip on thy face in death, so that whoso scans the piled corpses may see in what wise we rate the gold our lord gave us. we shall be the prey of ravens and a morsel for hungry eagles, and the ravening bird shall feast on the banquet of our body. thus should fall princes dauntless in war, clasping their famous king in a common death." i have composed this particular series of harangues in metrical shape, because the gist of the same thoughts is found arranged in a short form in a certain ancient danish song, which is repeated by heart by many conversant with antiquity. now, it came to pass that the goths gained the victory and all the array of rolf fell, no man save wigg remaining out of all those warriors. for the soldiers of the king paid this homage to his noble virtues in that battle, that his slaying inspired in all the longing to meet their end, and union with him in death was accounted sweeter than life. hiartuar rejoiced, and had the tables spread for feasting, bidding the banquet come after the battle, and fain to honour his triumph with a carouse. and when he was well filled therewith, he said that it was matter of great marvel to him, that out of all the army of rolf no man had been found to take thought for his life by flight or fraud. hence, he said, it had been manifest with what zealous loyalty they had kept their love for their king, because they had not endured to survive him. he also blamed his ill fortune, because it had not suffered the homage of a single one of them to be left for himself: protesting that he would very willingly accept the service of such men. then wigg came forth, and hiartuar, as though he were congratulating him on the gift, asked him if he were willing to fight for him. wigg assenting, he drew and proferred him a sword. but wigg refused the point, and asked for the hilt, saying first that this had been rolf's custom when he handed forth a sword to his soldiers. for in old time those who were about to put themselves in dependence on the king used to promise fealty by touching the hilt of the sword. and in this wise wigg clasped the hilt, and then drove the point through hiartuar; thus gaining the vengeance which he had promised rolf to accomplish for him. when he had done this, and the soldiers of hiartuar rushed at him, he exposed his body to them eagerly and exultantly, shouting that he felt more joy in the slaughter of the tyrant than bitterness at his own. thus the feast was turned into a funeral, and the wailing of burial followed the joy of victory. glorious, ever memorable hero, who valiantly kept his vow, and voluntarily courted death, staining with blood by his service the tables of the despot! for the lively valour of his spirit feared not the hands of the slaughterers, when he had once beheld the place where rolf had been wont to live bespattered with the blood of his slayer. thus the royalty of hiartuar was won and ended on the same day. for whatsoever is gotten with guile melts away in like fashion as it is sought, and no fruits are long-lasting that have been won by treachery and crime. hence it came to pass that the swedes, who had a little before been the possessors of denmark, came to lose even their own liberty. for they were straightway cut off by the zealanders, and paid righteous atonement to the injured shades of rolf. in this way does stern fortune commonly avenge the works of craft and cunning. book three. after hiartuar, hother, whom i mentioned above, the brother of athisl, and also the fosterling of king gewar, became sovereign of both realms. it will be easier to relate his times if i begin with the beginning of his life. for if the earlier years of his career are not doomed to silence, the latter ones can be more fully and fairly narrated. when helgi had slain hodbrodd, his son hother passed the length of his boyhood under the tutelage of king gewar. while a stripling, he excelled in strength of body all his foster-brethren and compeers. moreover, he was gifted with many accomplishments of mind. he was very skilled in swimming and archery, and also with the gloves; and further was as nimble as such a youth could be, his training being equal to his strength. though his years were unripe, his richly-dowered spirit surpassed them. none was more skilful on lyre or harp; and he was cunning on the timbrel, on the lute, and in every modulation of string instruments. with his changing measures he could sway the feelings of men to what passions he would; he knew how to fill human hearts with joy or sadness, with pity or with hatred, and used to enwrap the soul with the delight or terror of the ear. all these accomplishments of the youth pleased nanna, the daughter of gewar, mightily, and she began to seek his embraces. for the valour of a youth will often kindle a maid, and the courage of those whose looks are not so winning is often acceptable. for love hath many avenues; the path of pleasure is opened to some by grace, to others by bravery of soul, and to some by skill in accomplishments. courtesy brings to some stores of love, while most are commended by brightness of beauty. nor do the brave inflict a shallower wound on maidens than the comely. now it befell that balder the son of odin was troubled at the sight of nanna bathing, and was seized with boundless love. he was kindled by her fair and lustrous body, and his heart was set on fire by her manifest beauty; for nothing exciteth passion like comeliness. therefore he resolved to slay with the sword hother, who, he feared, was likeliest to baulk his wishes; so that his love, which brooked no postponement, might not be delayed in the enjoyment of its desire by any obstacle. about this time hother chanced, while hunting, to be led astray by a mist, and he came on a certain lodge in which were wood-maidens; and when they greeted him by his own name, he asked who they were. they declared that it was their guidance and government that mainly determined the fortunes of war. for they often invisibly took part in battles, and by their secret assistance won for their friends the coveted victories. they averted, indeed, that they could win triumphs and inflict defeats as they would; and further told him how balder had seen his foster-sister nanna while she bathed, and been kindled with passion for her; but counselled hother not to attack him in war, worthy as he was of his deadliest hate, for they declared that balder was a demigod, sprung secretly from celestial seed. when hother had heard this, the place melted away and left him shelterless, and he found himself standing in the open and out in the midst of the fields, without a vestige of shade. most of all he marvelled at the swift flight of the maidens, the shifting of the place, and the delusive semblance of the building. for he knew not that all that had passed around him had been a mere mockery and an unreal trick of the arts of magic. returning thence, he related to gewar the mystification that had followed on his straying, and straightway asked him for his daughter. gewar answered that he would most gladly favour him, but that he feared if he rejected balder he would incur his wrath; for balder, he said, had proffered him a like request. for he said that the sacred strength of balder's body was proof even against steel; adding, however, that he knew of a sword which could deal him his death, which was fastened up in the closest bonds; this was in the keeping of miming, the satyr of the woods, who also had a bracelet of a secret and marvellous virtue, that used to increase the wealth of the owner. moreover, the way to these regions was impassable and filled with obstacles, and therefore hard for mortal men to travel. for the greater part of the road was perpetually beset with extraordinary cold. so he advised him to harness a car with reindeer, by means of whose great speed he could cross the hard-frozen ridges. and when he had got to the place, he should set up his tent away from the sun in such wise that it should catch the shadow of the cave where miming was wont to be; while he should not in return cast a shade upon miming, so that no unaccustomed darkness might be thrown and prevent the satyr from going out. thus both the bracelet and the sword would be ready to his hand, one being attended by fortune in wealth and the other by fortune in war, and each of them thus bringing a great prize to the owner. thus much said gewar; and hother was not slow to carry out his instructions. planting his tent in the manner aforesaid, he passed the nights in anxieties and the days in hunting. but through either season he remained very wakeful and sleepless, allotting the divisions of night and day so as to devote the one to reflection on events, and to spend the other in providing food for his body. once as he watched all night, his spirit was drooping and dazed with anxiety, when the satyr cast a shadow on his tent. aiming a spear at him, he brought him down with the blow, stopped him, and bound him, while he could not make his escape. then in the most dreadful words he threatened him with the worst, and demanded the sword and bracelets. the satyr was not slow to tender him the ransom of his life for which he was asked. so surely do all prize life beyond wealth; for nothing is ever cherished more among mortals than the breath of their own life. hother, exulting in the treasure he had gained, went home enriched with trophies which, though few, were noble. when gelder, the king of saxony, heard that hother had gained these things, he kept constantly urging his soldiers to go and carry off such glorious booty; and the warriors speedily equipped a fleet in obedience to their king. gewar, being very learned in divining and an expert in the knowledge of omens, foresaw this; and summoning hother, told him, when gelder should join battle with him, to receive his spears with patience, and not let his own fly until he saw the enemy's missiles exhausted; and further, to bring up the curved scythes wherewith the vessels could be rent and the helmets and shields plucked from the soldiers. hother followed his advice and found its result fortunate. for he bade his men, when gelder began to charge, to stand their ground and defend their bodies with their shields, affirming that the victory in that battle must be won by patience. but the enemy nowhere kept back their missiles, spending them all in their extreme eagerness to fight; and the more patiently they found hother bear himself in his reception of their spears and lances, the more furiously they began to hurl them. some of these stuck in the shields and some in the ships, and few were the wounds they inflicted; many of them were seen to be shaken off idly and to do no hurt. for the soldiers of hother performed the bidding of their king, and kept off the attack of the spears by a penthouse of interlocked shields; while not a few of the spears smote lightly on the bosses and fell into the waves. when gelder was emptied of all his store, and saw the enemy picking it up, and swiftly hurling it back at him, he covered the summit of the mast with a crimson shield, as a signal of peace, and surrendered to save his life. hother received him with the friendliest face and the kindliest words, and conquered him as much by his gentleness as he had by his skill. at this time helgi, king of halogaland, was sending frequent embassies to press his suit for thora, daughter of kuse, sovereign of the finns and perms. thus is weakness ever known by its wanting help from others. for while all other young men of that time used to sue in marriage with their own lips, this man was afflicted with so faulty an utterance that he was ashamed to be heard not only by strangers, but by those of his own house. so much doth calamity shun all witnesses; for natural defects are the more vexing the more manifest they are. kuse despised his embassy, answering that that man did not deserve a wife who trusted too little to his own manhood, and borrowed by entreaty the aid of others in order to gain his suit. when helgi heard this, he besought hother, whom he knew to be an accomplished pleader, to favour his desires, promising that he would promptly perform whatsoever he should command him. the earnest entreaties of the youth prevailed on hother, and he went to norway with an armed fleet, intending to achieve by arms the end which he could not by words. and when he had pleaded for helgi with the most dulcet eloquence, kuse rejoined that his daughter's wish must be consulted, in order that no paternal strictness might forestall anything against her will. he called her in and asked her whether she felt a liking for her wooer; and when she assented he promised helgi her hand. in this way hother, by the sweet sounds of his fluent and well-turned oratory, opened the ears of kuse, which were before deaf to the suit he urged. while this was passing in halogaland, balder entered the country of gewar armed, in order to sue for nanna. gewar bade him learn nanna's own mind; so he approached the maiden with the most choice and cajoling words; and when he could win no hearing for his prayers, he persisted in asking the reason of his refusal. she replied, that a god could not wed with a mortal, because the vast difference of their natures prevented any bond of intercourse. also the gods sometimes used to break their pledges; and the bond contracted between unequals was apt to snap suddenly. there was no firm tie between those of differing estate; for beside the great, the fortunes of the lowly were always dimmed. also lack and plenty dwelt in diverse tents, nor was there any fast bond of intercourse between gorgeous wealth and obscure poverty. in fine, the things of earth would not mate with those of heaven, being sundered by a great original gulf through a difference in nature; inasmuch as mortal man was infinitely far from the glory of the divine majesty. with this shuffling answer she eluded the suit of balder, and shrewdly wove excuses to refuse his hand. when hother heard this from gewar, he complained long to helgi of balder's insolence. both were in doubt as to what should be done, and beat their brains over divers plans; for converse with a friend in the day of trouble, though it removeth not the peril, yet maketh the heart less sick. amid all the desires of their souls the passion of valour prevailed, and a naval battle was fought with balder. one would have thought it a contest of men against gods, for odin and thor and the holy array of the gods fought for balder. there one could have beheld a war in which divine and human might were mingled. but hother was clad in his steel-defying tunic, and charged the closest bands of the gods, assailing them as vehemently as a son of earth could assail the powers above. however, thor was swinging his club with marvellous might, and shattered all interposing shields, calling as loudly on his foes to attack him as upon his friends to back him up. no kind of armour withstood his onset, no man could receive his stroke and live. whatsoever his blow fended off it crushed; neither shield nor helm endured the weight of its dint; no greatness of body or of strength could serve. thus the victory would have passed to the gods, but that hother, though his line had already fallen back, darted up, hewed off the club at the haft, and made it useless. and the gods, when they had lost this weapon, fled incontinently. but that antiquity vouches for it, it were quite against common belief to think that men prevailed against gods. (we call them gods in a supposititious rather than in a real sense; for to such we give the title of deity by the custom of nations, not because of their nature.) as for balder, he took to flight and was saved. the conquerors either hacked his ships with their swords or sunk them in the sea; not content to have defeated gods, they pursued the wrecks of the fleet with such rage, as if they would destroy them to satiate their deadly passion for war. thus doth prosperity commonly whet the edge of licence. the haven, recalling by its name balder's flight, bears witness to the war. gelder, the king of saxony, who met his end in the same war, was set by hother upon the corpses of his oarsmen, and then laid on a pyre built of vessels, and magnificently honoured in his funeral by hother, who not only put his ashes in a noble barrow, treating them as the remains of a king, but also graced them with most reverent obsequies. then, to prevent any more troublesome business delaying his hopes of marriage, he went back to gewar and enjoyed the coveted embraces of nanna. next, having treated helgi and thora very generously, he brought his new queen back to sweden, being as much honoured by all for his victory as balder was laughed at for his flight. at this time the nobles of the swedes repaired to demnark to pay their tribute; but hother, who had been honoured as a king by his countrymen for the splendid deeds of his father, experienced what a lying pander fortune is. for he was conquered in the field by balder, whom a little before he had crushed, and was forced to flee to gewar, thus losing while a king that victory which he had won as a common man. the conquering balder, in order to slake his soldiers, who were parched with thirst, with the blessing of a timely draught, pierced the earth deep and disclosed a fresh spring. the thirsty ranks made with gaping lips for the water that gushed forth everywhere. the traces of these springs, eternised by the name, are thought not quite to have dried up yet, though they have ceased to well so freely as of old. balder was continually harassed by night phantoms feigning the likeness of nanna, and fell into such ill health that he could not so much as walk, and began the habit of going his journeys in a two horse car or a four-wheeled carriage. so great was the love that had steeped his heart and now had brought him down almost to the extremity of decline. for he thought that his victory had brought him nothing if nanna was not his prize. also frey, the regent of the gods, took his abode not far from upsala, where he exchanged for a ghastly and infamous sin-offering the old custom of prayer by sacrifice, which had been used by so many ages and generations. for he paid to the gods abominable offerings, by beginning to slaughter human victims. meantime hother ( ) learned that denmark lacked leaders, and that hiartuar had swiftly expiated the death of rolf; and he used to say that chance had thrown into his hands that to which he could scarce have aspired. for first, rolf, whom he ought to have killed, since he remembered that rolf's father had slain his own, had been punished by the help of another; and also, by the unexpected bounty of events, a chance had been opened to him of winning denmark. in truth, if the pedigree of his forefathers were rightly traced, that realm was his by ancestral right! thereupon he took possession, with a very great fleet, of isefjord, a haven of zealand, so as to make use of his impending fortune. there the people of the danes met him and appointed him king; and a little after, on hearing of the death of his brother athisl, whom he had bidden rule the swedes, he joined the swedish empire to that of denmark. but athisl was cut off by an ignominious death. for whilst, in great jubilation of spirit, he was honouring the funeral rites of rolf with a feast, he drank too greedily, and paid for his filthy intemperance by his sudden end. and so, while he was celebrating the death of another with immoderate joviality, he forced on his own apace. while hother was in sweden, balder also came to zealand with a fleet; and since he was thought to be rich in arms and of singular majesty, the danes accorded him with the readiest of voices whatever he asked concerning the supreme power. with such wavering judgment was the opinion of our forefathers divided. hother returned from sweden and attacked him. they both coveted sway, and the keenest contest for the sovereignty began between them; but it was cut short by the flight of hother. he retired to jutland, and caused to be named after him the village in which he was wont to stay. here he passed the winter season, and then went back to sweden alone and unattended. there he summoned the grandees, and told them that he was weary of the light of life because of the misfortunes wherewith balder had twice victoriously stricken him. then he took farewell of all, and went by a circuitous path to a place that was hard of access, traversing forests uncivilised. for it oft happens that those upon whom has come some inconsolable trouble of spirit seek, as though it were a medicine to drive away their sadness, far and sequestered retreats, and cannot bear the greatness of their grief amid the fellowship of men; so dear, for the most part, is solitude to sickness. for filthiness and grime are chiefly pleasing to those who have been stricken with ailments of the soul. now he had been wont to give out from the top of a hill decrees to the people when they came to consult him; and hence when they came they upbraided the sloth of the king for hiding himself, and his absence was railed at by all with the bitterest complaints. but hother, when he had wandered through remotest byways and crossed an uninhabited forest, chanced to come upon a cave where dwelt some maidens whom he knew not; but they proved to be the same who had once given him the invulnerable coat. asked by them wherefore he had come thither, he related the disastrous issue of the war. so he began to bewail the ill luck of his failures and his dismal misfortunes, condemning their breach of faith, and lamenting that it had not turned out for him as they had promised him. but the maidens said that though he had seldom come off victorious, he had nevertheless inflicted as much defeat on the enemy as they on him, and had dealt as much carnage as he had shared in. moreover, the favour of victory would be speedily his, if he could first lay hands upon a food of extraordinary delightsomeness which had been devised to increase the strength of balder. for nothing would be difficult if he could only get hold of the dainty which was meant to enhance the rigour of his foe. hard as it sounded for earthborn endeavours to make armed assault upon the gods, the words of the maidens inspired hother's mind with instant confidence to fight with balder. also some of his own people said that he could not safely contend with those above; but all regard for their majesty was expelled by the boundless fire of his spirit. for in brave souls vehemence is not always sapped by reason, nor doth counsel defeat rashness. or perchance it was that hother remembered how the might of the lordliest oft proveth unstable, and how a little clod can batter down great chariots. on the other side, balder mustered the danes to arms and met hother in the field. both sides made a great slaughter; the carnage of the opposing parties was nearly equal, and night stayed the battle. about the third watch, hother, unknown to any man, went out to spy upon the enemy, anxiety about the impending peril having banished sleep. this strong excitement favours not bodily rest, and inward disquiet suffers not outward repose. so, when he came to the camp of the enemy he heard that three maidens had gone out carrying the secret feast of balder. he ran after them (for their footsteps in the dew betrayed their flight), and at last entered their accustomed dwelling. when they asked him who he was, he answered, a lutanist, nor did the trial belie his profession. for when the lyre was offered him, he tuned its strings, ordered and governed the chords with his quill, and with ready modulation poured forth a melody pleasant to the ear. now they had three snakes, of whose venom they were wont to mix a strengthening compound for the food of balder, and even now a flood of slaver was dripping on the food from the open mouths of the serpents. and some of the maidens would, for kindness sake, have given hother a share of the dish, had not eldest of the three forbidden them, declaring that balder would be cheated if they increased the bodily powers of his enemy. he had said, not that he was hother, but that he was one of his company. now the same nymphs, in their gracious kindliness, bestowed on him a belt of perfect sheen and a girdle which assured victory. retracing the path by which he had come, he went back on the same road, and meeting balder plunged his sword into his side, and laid him low half dead. when the news was told to the soldiers, a cheery shout of triumph rose from all the camp of hother, while the danes held a public mourning for the fate of balder. he, feeling no doubt of his impending death, and stung by the anguish of his wound, renewed the battle on the morrow; and, when it raged hotly, bade that he should be borne on a litter into the fray, that he might not seem to die ignobly within his tent. on the night following, proserpine was seen to stand by him in a vision, and to promise that on the morrow he should have her embrace. the boding of the dream was not idle; for when three days had passed, balder perished from the excessive torture of his wound; and his body given a royal funeral, the army causing it to be buried in a barrow which they had made. certain men of our day, chief among whom was harald, ( ) since the story of the ancient burial-place still survived, made a raid on it by night in the hope of finding money, but abandoned their attempt in sudden panic. for the hill split, and from its crest a sudden and mighty torrent of loud-roaring waters seemed to burst; so that its flying mass, shooting furiously down, poured over the fields below, and enveloped whatsoever it struck upon, and at its onset the delvers were dislodged, flung down their mattocks, and fled divers ways; thinking that if they strove any longer to carry through their enterprise they would be caught in the eddies of the water that was rushing down. thus the guardian gods of that spot smote fear suddenly into the minds of the youths, taking them away from covetousness, and turning them to see to their safety; teaching them to neglect their greedy purpose and be careful of their lives. now it is certain that this apparent flood was not real but phantasmal; not born in the bowels of the earth (since nature suffereth not liquid springs to gush forth in a dry place), but produced by some magic agency. all men afterwards, to whom the story of that breaking in had come down, left this hill undisturbed. wherefore it has never been made sure whether it really contains any wealth; for the dread of peril has daunted anyone since harald from probing its dark foundations. but odin, though he was accounted the chief of the gods, began to inquire of the prophets and diviners concerning the way to accomplish vengeance for his son, as well as all others whom he had beard were skilled in the most recondite arts of soothsaying. for godhead that is incomplete is oft in want of the help of man. rostioph (hrossthiof), the finn, foretold to him that another son must be born to him by rinda (wrinda), daughter of the king of the ruthenians; this son was destined to exact punishment for the slaying of his brother. for the gods had appointed to the brother that was yet to be born the task of avenging his kinsman. odin, when he heard this, muffled his face with a cap, that his garb might not betray him, and entered the service of the said king as a soldier; and being made by him captain of the soldiers, and given an army, won a splendid victory over the enemy. and for his stout achievement in this battle the king admitted him into the chief place in his friendship, distinguishing him as generously with gifts as with honours. a very little while afterwards odin routed the enemy single-handed, and returned, at once the messenger and the doer of the deed. all marvelled that the strength of one man could deal such slaughter upon a countless host. trusting in these services, he privily let the king into the secret of his love, and was refreshed by his most gracious favour; but when he sought a kiss from the maiden, he received a cuff. but he was not driven from his purpose either by anger at the slight or by the odiousness of the insult. next year, loth to quit ignobly the quest he had taken up so eagerly, he put on the dress of a foreigner and went back to dwell with the king. it was hard for those who met him to recognise him; for his assumed filth obliterated his true features, and new grime hid his ancient aspect. he said that his name was roster (hrosstheow), and that he was skilled in smithcraft. and his handiwork did honour to his professions: for he portrayed in bronze many and many a shape most beautifully, so that he received a great mass of gold from the king, and was ordered to hammer out the ornaments of the matrons. so, after having wrought many adornments for women's wearing, he at last offered to the maiden a bracelet which he had polished more laboriously than the rest and several rings which were adorned with equal care. but no services could assuage the wrath of rinda; when he was fain to kiss her she cuffed him; for gifts offered by one we hate are unacceptable, while those tendered by a friend are far more grateful: so much doth the value of the offering oft turn on the offerer. for this stubborn-hearted maiden never doubted that the crafty old man was feigning generosity in order to seize an opening to work his lust. his temper, moreover, was keen and indomitable; for she knew that his homage covered guile, and that under the devotion of his gifts there lay a desire for crime. her father fell to upbraiding her heavily for refusing the match; but she loathed to wed an old man, and the plea of her tender years lent her some support in her scorning of his hand; for she said that a young girl ought not to marry prematurely. but odin, who had found that nothing served the wishes of lovers more than tough persistency, though he was stung with the shame of his double rebuff, nevertheless, effacing the form he had worn before, went to the king for the third time, professing the completest skill in soldiership. he was led to take this pains not only by pleasure but by the wish to wipe out his disgrace. for of old those who were skilled in magic gained this power of instantly changing their aspect and exhibiting the most different shapes. indeed, they were clever at imitating any age, not only in its natural bodily appearance, but also in its stature; and so the old man, in order to exhibit his calling agreeably, used to ride proudly up and down among the briskest of them. but not even such a tribute could move the rigour of the maiden; for it is hard for the mind to come back to a genuine liking for one against whom it has once borne heavy dislike. when he tried to kiss her at his departure, she repulsed him so that he tottered and smote his chin upon the ground. straightway he touched her with a piece of bark whereon spells were written, and made her like unto one in frenzy: which was a gentle revenge to take for all the insults he had received. but still he did not falter in the fulfilment of his purpose; for trust in his divine majesty buoyed him up with confidence; so, assuming the garb of a maiden, this indefatigable journeyer repaired for the fourth time to the king, and, on being received by him, showed himself assiduous and even forward. most people believed him to be a woman, as he was dressed almost in female attire. also he declared that his name was wecha, and his calling that of a physician: and this assertion he confirmed by the readiest services. at last he was taken into the household of the queen, and played the part of a waiting-woman to the princess, and even used to wash the soil off her feet at eventide; and as he was applying the water he was suffered to touch her calves and the upper part of the thighs. but fortune goes with mutable steps, and thus chance put into his hand what his address had never won. for it happened that the girl fell sick, and looked around for a cure; and she summoned to protect her health those very hands which aforetime she had rejected, and appealed for preservation to him whom she had ever held in loathing. he examined narrowly all the symptoms of the trouble, and declared that, in order to check the disease as soon as possible, it was needful to use a certain drugged draught; but that it was so bitterly compounded, that the girl could never endure so violent a cure unless she submitted to be bound; since the stuff of the malady must be ejected from the very innermost tissues. when her father heard this he did not hesitate to bind his daughter; and laying her on the bed, he bade her endure patiently all the applications of the doctor. for the king was tricked by the sight of the female dress, which the old man was using to disguise his persistent guile; and thus the seeming remedy became an opportunity of outrage. for the physician seized the chance of love, and, abandoning his business of healing, sped to the work, not of expelling the fever, but of working his lust; making use of the sickness of the princess, whom in sound health he had found adverse to him. it will not be wearisome if i subjoin another version of this affair. for there are certain who say that the king, when he saw the physician groaning with love, but despite all his expense of mind and body accomplishing nothing, did not wish to rob of his due reward one who had so well earned it, and allowed him to lie privily with his daughter. so doth the wickedness of the father sometimes assail the child, when vehement passion perverts natural mildness. but his fault was soon followed by a remorse that was full of shame, when his daughter bore a child. but the gods, whose chief seat was then at byzantium, (asgard), seeing that odin had tarnished the fair name of godhead by divers injuries to its majesty, thought that he ought to be removed from their society. and they had him not only ousted from the headship, but outlawed and stripped of all worship and honour at home; thinking it better that the power of their infamous president should be overthrown than that public religion should be profaned; and fearing that they might themselves be involved in the sin of another, and though guiltless be punished for the crime of the guilty. for they saw that, now the derision of their great god was brought to light, those whom they had lured to proffer them divine honours were exchanging obeisance for scorn and worship for shame; that holy rites were being accounted sacrilege, and fixed and regular ceremonies deemed so much childish raving. fear was in their souls, death before their eyes, and one would have supposed that the fault of one was visited upon the heads of all. so, not wishing odin to drive public religion into exile, they exiled him and put one oller (wulder?) in his place, to bear the symbols not only of royalty but also of godhead, as though it had been as easy a task to create a god as a king. and though they had appointed him priest for form's sake, they endowed him actually with full distinction, that he might be seen to be the lawful heir to the dignity, and no mere deputy doing another's work. also, to omit no circumstance of greatness, they further gave his the name of odin, trying by the prestige of that title to be rid of the obloquy of innovation. for nearly ten years oller held the presidency of the divine senate; but at last the gods pitied the horrible exile of odin, and thought that he had now been punished heavily enough; so he exchanged his foul and unsightly estate for his ancient splendour; for the lapse of time had now wiped out the brand of his earlier disgrace. yet some were to be found who judged that he was not worthy to approach and resume his rank, because by his stage-tricks and his assumption of a woman's work he had brought the foulest scandal on the name of the gods. some declare that he bought back the fortune of his lost divinity with money; flattering some of the gods and mollifying some with bribes; and that at the cost of a vast sum he contrived to get back to the distinction which he had long quitted. if you ask how much he paid for them, inquire of those who have found out what is the price of a godhead. i own that to me it is but little worth. thus oller was driven out from byzantium by odin and retired into sweden. here, while he was trying, as if in a new world, to repair the records of his glory, the danes slew him. the story goes that he was such a cunning wizard that he used a certain bone, which he had marked with awful spells, wherewith to cross the seas, instead of a vessel; and that by this bone he passed over the waters that barred his way as quickly as by rowing. but odin, now that he had regained the emblems of godhead, shone over all parts of the world with such a lustre of renown that all nations welcomed him as though he were light restored to the universe; nor was any spot to be found on the earth which did not hornage to his might. then finding that boe, his son by rhlda, was enamoured of the hardships of war, he called him, and bade him bear in mind the slaying of his brother: saying that it would be better for him to take vengeande on the murderers of balder than to overcome them in battle; for warfare was most fitting and wholesome when a holy occasion for waging it was furnished by a righteous opening for vengeande. news came meantime that gewar had been slain by the guile of his own satrap (jarl), gunne. hother determined to visit his murder with the strongest and sharpest revenge. so he surprised gunne, cast him on a blazing pyre, and burnt him; for gunne had himself treacherously waylaid gewar, and burnt him alive in the night. this was his offering of vengeance to the shade of his foster-father; and then he made his sons, herlek and gerit, rulers of norway. then he summoned the elders to assembly, and told them that he would perish in the war wherein he was bound to meet boe, and said that he knew this by no doubtful guesswork, but by sure prophecies of seers. so he besought them to make his son rorik king, so that the judgment of wicked men should not transfer the royalty to strange and unknown houses; averring that he would reap more joy from the succession of his son than bitterness from his own impending death. this request was speedily granted. then he met boe in battle and was killed; but small joy the victory gave boe. indeed, he left the battle so sore stricken that he was lifted on his shield and carried home by his foot-soldiers supporting him in turn, to perish next day of the pain of his wounds. the ruthenian army gave his body a gorgeous funeral and buried it in a splendid howe, which it piled in his name, to save the record of so mighty a warrior from slipping out of the recollection of after ages. so the kurlanders and the swedes, as though the death of hother set them free from the burden of their subjection, resolved to attack denmark, to which they were accustomed to do homage with a yearly tax. by this the slavs also were emboldened to revolt, and a number of others were turned from subjects into foes. rorik, in order to check this wrongdoing, summoned his country to arms, recounted the deeds of his forefathers, and urged them in a passionate harangue unto valorous deeds. but the barbarians, loth to engage without a general, and seeing that they needed a head, appointed a king over them; and, displaying all the rest of their military force, hid two companies of armed men in a dark spot. but rorik saw the trap; and perceiving that his fleet was wedged in a certain narrow creek among the shoal water, took it out from the sands where it was lying, and brought it forth to sea; lest it should strike on the oozy swamps, and be attacked by the foe on different sides. also, he resolved that his men should go into hiding during the day, where they could stay and suddenly fall on the invaders of his ships. he said that perchance the guile might in the end recoil on the heads of its devisors. and in fact the barbarians who had been appointed to the ambuscade knew nothing of the wariness of the danes, and sallying against them rashly, were all destroyed. the remaining force of the slavs, knowing nothing of the slaughter of their friends, hung in doubt wondering over the reason of rorik's tarrying. and after waiting long for him as the months wearily rolled by, and finding delay every day more burdensome, they at last thought they should attack him with their fleet. now among them there was a man of remarkable stature, a wizard by calling. he, when he beheld the squadrons of the danes, said: "suffer a private combat to forestall a public slaughter, so that the danger of many may be bought off at the cost of a few. and if any of you shall take heart to fight it out with me, i will not flinch from these terms of conflict. but first of all i demand that you accept the terms i prescribe, the form whereof i have devised as follows: if i conquer, let freedom be granted us from taxes; if i am conquered, let the tribute be paid you as of old: for to-day i will either free my country from the yoke of slavery by my victory or bind her under it by my defeat. accept me as the surety and the pledge for either issue." one of the danes, whose spirit was stouter than his strength, heard this, and proceeded to ask rorik, what would be the reward for the man who met the challenger in combat? rorik chanced to have six bracelets, which were so intertwined that they could not be parted from one another, the chain of knots being inextricaly laced; and he promised them as a reward for the man who would venture on the combat. but the youth, who doubted his fortune, said: "rorik, if i prove successful, let thy generosity award the prize of the conqueror, do thou decide and allot the palm; but if my enterprise go little to my liking, what prize canst thou owe to the beaten, who will be wrapped either in cruel death or in bitter shame? these things commonly go with feebleness, these are the wages of the defeated, for whom naught remains but utter infamy. what guerdon must be paid, what thanks offered, to him who lacks the prize of courage? who has ever garlanded with ivy the weakling in war, or decked him with a conqueror's wage? valour wins the prize, not sloth, and failure lacks renown. for one is followed by triumph and honour, the other by an unsightly life or by a stagnant end. i, who know not which way the issue of this duel inclines, dare not boldly anticipate that as a reward, of which i know not whether it be rightly mine. for one whose victory is doubtful may not seize the assured reward of the victor. i forbear, while i am not sure of the day, to claim firmly the title to the wreath. i refuse the gain, which may be the wages of my death as much as of my life. it is folly to lay hands on the fruit before it is ripe, and to be fain to pluck that which one is not yet sure is one's title. this hand shall win me the prize, or death." having thus spoken, he smote the barbarian with his sword; but his fortune was tardier than his spirit; for the other smote him back, and he fell dead under the force of the first blow. thus he was a sorry sight unto the danes, but the slavs granted their triumphant comrade a great procession, and received him with splendid dances. on the morrow the same man, whether he was elated with the good fortune of his late victory, or was fired with the wish to win another, came close to the enemy, and set to girding at them in the words of his former challenge. for, supposing that he had laid low the bravest of the danes, he did not think that any of them would have any heart left to fight further with him upon his challenge. also, trusting that, now one champion had fallen, he had shattered the strength of the whole army, he thought that naught would be hard to achieve upon which his later endeavours were bent. for nothing pampers arrogance more than success, or prompts to pride more surely than prosperity. so rorik was vexed that the general courage should be sapped by the impudence of one man; and that the danes, with their roll of victories, should be met presumptuously by those whom they had beaten of old; nay, should be ignominiously spurned; further, that in all that host not one man should be found so quick of spirit or so vigorous of arm, that he longed to sacrifice his life for his country. it was the high-hearted ubbe who first wiped off this infamous reproach upon the hesitating danes. for he was of great bodily strength and powerful in incantations. he also purposely asked the prize of the combat, and the king promised him the bracelets. then said he: "how can i trust the promise when thou keepest the pledge in thine own hands, and dost not deposit the gift in the charge of another? let there be some one to whom thou canst entrust the pledge, that thou mayst not be able to take thy promise back. for the courage of the champion is kindled by the irrevocable certainty of the prize." of course it was plain that he had said this in jest; sheer courage had armed him to repel the insult to his country. but rorik thought he was tempted by avarice, and was loth to seem as if, contrary to royal fashion, he meant to take back the gift or revoke his promise; so, being stationed on his vessel, he resolved to shake off the bracelets, and with a mighty swing send them to the asker. but his attempt was baulked by the width of the gap between them; for the bracelets fell short of the intended spot, the impulse being too faint and slack, and were reft away by the waters. for this nickname of slyngebond, (swing-bracelet) clung to rorik. but this event testified much to the valour of ubbe. for the loss of his drowned prize never turned his mind from his bold venture; he would not seem to let his courage be tempted by the wages of covetousness. so he eagerly went to fight, showing that he was a seeker of honour and not the slave of lucre, and that he set bravery before lust of pelf; and intent to prove that his confidence was based not on hire, but on his own great soul. not a moment is lost; a ring is made; the course is thronged with soldiers; the champions engage; a din arises; the crowd of onlookers shouts in discord, each backing his own. and so the valour of the champions blazes to white-heat; falling dead under the wounds dealt by one another, they end together the combat and their lives. i think that it was a provision of fortune that neither of them should reap joy and honour by the other's death. this event won back to rorik the hearts of the insurgents and regained him the tribute. at this time horwendil and feng, whose father gerwendil had been governor of the jutes, were appointed in his place by rorik to defend jutland. but horwendil held the monarchy for three years, and then, to will the height of glory, devoted himself to roving. then koller, king of norway, in rivalry of his great deeds and renown, deemed it would be a handsome deed if by his greater strength in arms he could bedim the far-famed glory of the rover; and cruising about the sea, he watched for horwendil's fleet and came up with it. there was an island lying in the middle of the sea, which each of the rovers, bringing his ships up on either side, was holding. the captains were tempted by the pleasant look of the beach, and the comeliness of the shores led them to look through the interior of the springtide woods, to go through the glades, and roam over the sequestered forests. it was here that the advance of koller and horwendil brought them face to face without any witness. then horwendil endeavoured to address the king first, asking him in what way it was his pleasure to fight, and declaring that one best which needed the courage of as few as possible. for, said he, the duel was the surest of all modes of combat for winning the meed of bravery, because it relied only upon native courage, and excluded all help from the hand of another. koller marvelled at so brave a judgment in a youth, and said: "since thou hast granted me the choice of battle, i think it is best to employ that kind which needs only the endeavours of two, and is free from all the tumult. certainly it is more venturesome, and allows of a speedier award of the victory. this thought we share, in this opinion we agree of our own accord. but since the issue remains doubtful, we must pay some regard to gentle dealing, and must not give way so far to our inclinations as to leave the last offices undone. hatred is in our hearts; yet let piety be there also, which in its due time may take the place of rigour. for the rights of nature reconcile us, though we are parted by differences of purpose; they link us together, howsoever rancour estrange our spirit. let us, therefore, have this pious stipulation, that the conqueror shall give funeral rites to the conquered. for all allow that these are the last duties of human kind, from which no righteous man shrinks. let each army lay aside its sternness and perform this function in harmony. let jealousy depart at death, let the feud be buried in the tomb. let us not show such an example of cruelty as to persecute one another's dust, though hatred has come between us in our lives. it will be a boast for the victor if he has borne his beaten foe in a lordly funeral. for the man who pays the rightful dues over his dead enemy wins the goodwill of the survivor; and whoso devotes gentle dealing to him who is no more, conquers the living by his kindness. also there is another disaster, not less lamentable, which sometimes befalls the living--the loss of some part of their body; and i think that succor is due to this just as much as to the worst hap that may befall. for often those who fight keep their lives safe, but suffer maiming; and this lot is commonly thought more dismal than any death; for death cuts off memory of all things, while the living cannot forget the devastation of his own body. therefore this mischief also must be helped somehow; so let it be agreed, that the injury of either of us by the other shall be made good with ten talents (marks) of gold. for if it be righteous to have compassion on the calamities of another, how much more is it to pity one's own? no man but obeys nature's prompting; and he who slights it is a self-murderer." after mutually pledging their faiths to these terms, they began the battle. nor was their strangeness his meeting one another, nor the sweetness of that spring-green spot, so heeded as to prevent them from the fray. horwendil, in his too great ardour, became keener to attack his enemy than to defend his own body; and, heedless of his shield, had grasped his sword with both hands; and his boldness did not fail. for by his rain of blows he destroyed koller's shield and deprived him of it, and at last hewed off his foot and drove him lifeless to the ground. then, not to fail of his compact, he buried him royally, gave him a howe of lordly make and pompous obsequies. then he pursued and slew koller's sister sela, who was a skilled warrior and experienced in roving. he had now passed three years in valiant deeds of war; and, in order to win higher rank in rorik's favour, he assigned to him the best trophies and the pick of the plunder. his friendship with rorik enabled him to woo and will in marriage his daughter gerutha, who bore him a son amleth. such great good fortune stung feng with jealousy, so that he resolved treacherously to waylay his brother, thus showing that goodness is not safe even from those of a man's own house. and behold, when a chance came to murder him, his bloody hand sated the deadly passion of his soul. then he took the wife of the brother he had butchered, capping unnatural murder with incest. for whoso yields to one iniquity, speedily falls an easier victim to the next, the first being an incentive to the second. also, the man veiled the monstrosity of his deed with such hardihood of cunning, that he made up a mock pretence of goodwill to excuse his crime, and glossed over fratricide with a show of righteousness. gerutha, said he, though so gentle that she would do no man the slightest hurt, had been visited with her husband's extremest hate; and it was all to save her that he had slain his brother; for he thought it shameful that a lady so meek and unrancorous should suffer the heavy disdain of her husband. nor did his smooth words fail in their intent; for at courts, where fools are sometimes favoured and backbiters preferred, a lie lacks not credit. nor did feng keep from shameful embraces the hands that had slain a brother; pursuing with equal guilt both of his wicked and impious deeds. amleth beheld all this, but feared lest too shrewd a behaviour might make his uncle suspect him. so he chose to feign dulness, and pretend an utter lack of wits. this cunning course not only concealed his intelligence but ensured his safety. every day he remained in his mother's house utterly listless and unclean, flinging himself on the ground and bespattering his person with foul and filthy dirt. his discoloured face and visage smutched with slime denoted foolish and grotesque madness. all he said was of a piece with these follies; all he did savoured of utter lethargy. in a word, you would not have thought him a man at all, but some absurd abortion due to a mad fit of destiny. he used at times to sit over the fire, and, raking up the embers with his hands, to fashion wooden crooks, and harden them in the fire, shaping at their lips certain barbs, to make them hold more tightly to their fastenings. when asked what he was about, he said that he was preparing sharp javelins to avenge his father. this answer was not a little scoffed at, all men deriding his idle and ridiculous pursuit; but the thing helped his purpose afterwards. now it was his craft in this matter that first awakened in the deeper observers a suspicion of his cunning. for his skill in a trifling art betokened the hidden talent of the craftsman; nor could they believe the spirit dull where the hand had acquired so cunning a workmanship. lastly, he always watched with the most punctual care over his pile of stakes that he had pointed in the fire. some people, therefore, declared that his mind was quick enough, and fancied that he only played the simpleton in order to hide his understanding, and veiled some deep purpose under a cunning feint. his wiliness (said these) would be most readily detected, if a fair woman were put in his way in some secluded place, who should provoke his mind to the temptations of love; all men's natural temper being too blindly amorous to be artfully dissembled, and this passion being also too impetuous to be checked by cunning. therefore, if his lethargy were feigned, he would seize the opportunity, and yield straightway to violent delights. so men were commissioned to draw the young man in his rides into a remote part of the forest, and there assail him with a temptation of this nature. among these chanced to be a foster-brother of amleth, who had not ceased to have regard to their common nurture; and who esteemed his present orders less than the memory of their past fellowship. he attended amleth among his appointed train, being anxious not to entrap, but to warn him; and was persuaded that he would suffer the worst if he showed the slightest glimpse of sound reason, and above all if he did the act of love openly. this was also plain enough to amleth himself. for when he was bidden mount his horse, he deliberately set himself in such a fashion that he turned his back to the neck and faced about, fronting the tail; which he proceeded to encompass with the reins, just as if on that side he would check the horse in its furious pace. by this cunning thought he eluded the trick, and overcame the treachery of his uncle. the reinless steed galloping on, with rider directing its tail, was ludicrous enough to behold. amleth went on, and a wolf crossed his path amid the thicket. when his companions told him that a young colt had met him, he retorted, that in feng's stud there were too few of that kind fighting. this was a gentle but witty fashion of invoking a curse upon his uncle's riches. when they averred that he had given a cunning answer, he answered that he had spoken deliberately; for he was loth, to be thought prone to lying about any matter, and wished to be held a stranger to falsehood; and accordingly he mingled craft and candour in such wise that, though his words did lack truth, yet there was nothing to betoken the truth and betray how far his keenness went. again, as he passed along the beach, his companions found the rudder of a ship, which had been wrecked, and said they had discovered a huge knife. "this," said he, "was the right thing to carve such a huge ham;" by which he really meant the sea, to whose infinitude, he thought, this enormous rudder matched. also, as they passed the sandhills, and bade him look at the meal, meaning the sand, he replied that it had been ground small by the hoary tempests of the ocean. his companions praising his answer, he said that he had spoken it wittingly. then they purposely left him, that he might pluck up more courage to practise wantonness. the woman whom his uncle had dispatched met him in a dark spot, as though she had crossed him by chance; and he took her and would have ravished her, had not his foster-brother, by a secret device, given him an inkling of the trap. for this man, while pondering the fittest way to play privily the prompter's part, and forestall the young man's hazardous lewdness, found a straw on the ground and fastened it underneath the tail of a gadfly that was flying past; which he then drove towards the particular quarter where he knew amleth to be: an act which served the unwary prince exceedingly well. the token was interpreted as shrewdly as it had been sent. for amleth saw the gadfly, espied with curiosity the straw which it wore embedded in its tail, and perceived that it was a secret warning to beware of treachery. alarmed, scenting a trap, and fain to possess his desire in greater safety, he caught up the woman in his arms and dragged her off to a distant and impenetrable fen. moreover, when they had lain together, he conjured her earnestly to disclose the matter to none, and the promise of silence was accorded as heartily as it was asked. for both of them had been under the same fostering in their childhood; and this early rearing in common had brought amleth and the girl into great intimacy. so, when he had returned home, they all jeeringly asked him whether he had given way to love, and he avowed that he had ravished the maid. when he was next asked where he did it, and what had been his pillow, he said that he had rested upon the hoof of a beast of burden, upon a cockscomb, and also upon a ceiling. for, when he was starting into temptation, he had gathered fragments of all these things, in order to avoid lying. and though his jest did not take aught of the truth out of the story, the answer was greeted with shouts of merriment from the bystanders. the maiden, too, when questioned on the matter, declared that he had done no such thing; and her denial was the more readily credited when it was found that the escort had not witnessed the deed. then he who had marked the gadfly in order to give a hint, wishing to show amleth that to his trick he owed his salvation, observed that latterly he had been singly devoted to amleth. the young man's reply was apt. not to seem forgetful of his informant's service, he said that he had seen a certain thing bearing a straw flit by suddenly, wearing a stalk of chaff fixed in its hinder parts. the cleverness of this speech, which made the rest split with laughter, rejoiced the heart of amleth's friend. thus all were worsted, and none could open the secret lock of the young man's wisdom. but a friend of feng, gifted more with assurance than judgment, declared that the unfathomable cunning of such a mind could not be detected by any vulgar plot, for the man's obstinacy was so great that it ought not to be assailed with any mild measures; there were many sides to his wiliness, and it ought not to be entrapped by any one method. accordingly, said he, his own profounder acuteness had hit on a more delicate way, which was well fitted to be put in practice, and would effectually discover what they desired to know. feng was purposely to absent himself, pretending affairs of great import. amleth should be closeted alone with his mother in her chamber; but a man should first be commissioned to place himself in a concealed part of the room and listen heedfully to what they talked about. for if the son had any wits at all he would not hesitate to speak out in the hearing of his mother, or fear to trust himself to the fidelity of her who bore him. the speaker, loth to seem readier to devise than to carry out the plot, zealously proffered himself as the agent of the eavesdropping. feng rejoiced at the scheme, and departed on pretence of a long journey. now he who had given this counsel repaired privily to the room where amleth was shut up with his mother, and lay flown skulking in the straw. but amleth had his antidote for the treachery. afraid of being overheard by some eavesdropper, he at first resorted to his usual imbecile ways, and crowed like a noisy cock, beating his arms together to mimic the flapping of wings. then he mounted the straw and began to swing his body and jump again and again, wishing to try if aught lurked there in hiding. feeling a lump beneath his feet, he drove his sword into the spot, and impaled him who lay hid. then he dragged him from his concealment and slew him. then, cutting his body into morsels, he seethed it in boiling water, and flung it through the mouth of an open sewer for the swine to eat, bestrewing the stinking mire with his hapless limbs. having in this wise eluded the snare, he went back to the room. then his mother set up a great wailing, and began to lament her son's folly to his face; but he said: "most infamous of women; dost thou seek with such lying lamentations to hide thy most heavy guilt? wantoning like a harlot, thou hast entered a wicked and abominable state of wedlock, embracing with incestuous bosom thy husband's slayer, and wheedling with filthy lures of blandishment him who had slain the father of thy son. this, forsooth, is the way that the mares couple with the vanquishers of their mates; for brute beasts are naturally incited to pair indiscriminately; and it would seem that thou, like them, hast clean forgot thy first husband. as for me, not idly do i wear the mask of folly; for i doubt not that he who destroyed his brother will riot as ruthlessly in the blood of his kindred. therefore it is better to choose the garb of dulness than that of sense, and to borrow some protection from a show of utter frenzy. yet the passion to avenge my father still burns in my heart; but i am watching the chances, i await the fitting hour. there is a place for all things; against so merciless and dark spirit must be used the deeper devices of the mind. and thou, who hadst been better employed in lamenting thine own disgrace, know it is superfluity to bewail my witlessness; thou shouldst weep for the blemish in thine own mind, not for that in another's. on the rest see thou keep silence." with such reproaches he rent the heart of his mother and redeemed her to walk in the ways of virtue; teaching her to set the fires of the past above the seductions of the present. when feng returned, nowhere could he find the man who had suggested the treacherous espial; he searched for him long and carefully, but none said they had seen him anywhere. amleth, among others, was asked in jest if he had come on any trace of him, and replied that the man had gone to the sewer, but had fallen through its bottom and been stifled by the floods of filth, and that he had then been devoured by the swine that came up all about that place. this speech was flouted by those who heard; for it seemed senseless, though really it expressly avowed the truth. feng now suspected that his stepson was certainly full of guile, and desired to make away with him, but durst not do the deed for fear of the displeasure, not only of amleth's grandsire rorik, but also of his own wife. so he thought that the king of britain should be employed to slay him, so that another could do the deed, and he be able to feign innocence. thus, desirous to hide his cruelty, he chose rather to besmirch his friend than to bring disgrace on his own head. amleth, on departing, gave secret orders to his mother to hang the hall with woven knots, and to perform pretended obsequies for him a year thence; promising that he would then return. two retainers of feng then accompanied him, bearing a letter graven on wood--a kind of writing material frequent in old times; this letter enjoined the king of the britons to put to death the youth who was sent over to him. while they were reposing, amleth searched their coffers, found the letter, and read the instructions therein. whereupon he erased all the writing on the surface, substituted fresh characters, and so, changing the purport of the instructions, shifted his own doom upon his companions. nor was he satisfied with removing from himself the sentence of death and passing the peril on to others, but added an entreaty that the king of britain would grant his daughter in marriage to a youth of great judgment whom he was sending to him. under this was falsely marked the signature of feng. now when they had reached britain, the envoys went to the king, and proffered him the letter which they supposed was an implement of destruction to another, but which really betokened death to themselves. the king dissembled the truth, and entreated them hospitably and kindly. then amleth scouted all the splendour of the royal banquet like vulgar viands, and abstaining very strangely, rejected that plenteous feast, refraining from the drink even as from the banquet. all marvelled that a youth and a foreigner should disdain the carefully cooked dainties of the royal board and the luxurious banquet provided, as if it were some peasant's relish. so, when the revel broke up, and the king was dismissing his friends to rest, he had a man sent into the sleeping-room to listen secretly, in order that he might hear the midnight conversation of his guests. now, when amleth's companions asked him why he had refrained from the feast of yestereve, as if it were poison, he answered that the bread was flecked with blood and tainted; that there was a tang of iron in the liquor; while the meats of the feast reeked of the stench of a human carcase, and were infected by a kind of smack of the odour of the charnel. he further said that the king had the eyes of a slave, and that the queen had in three ways shown the behaviour of a bondmaid. thus he reviled with insulting invective not so much the feast as its givers. and presently his companions, taunting him with his old defect of wits, began to flout him with many saucy jeers, because he blamed and cavilled at seemly and worthy things, and because he attacked thus ignobly an illustrious king and a lady of so refined a behaviour, bespattering with the shamefullest abuse those who merited all praise. all this the king heard from his retainer; and declared that he who could say such things had either more than mortal wisdom or more than mortal folly; in these few words fathoming the full depth of amleth's penetration. then he summoned his steward and asked him whence he had procured the bread. the steward declared that it had been made by the king's own baker. the king asked where the corn had grown of which it was made, and whether any sign was to be found there of human carnage? the other answered, that not far off was a field, covered with the ancient bones of slaughtered men, and still bearing plainly all the signs of ancient carnage; and that he had himself planted this field with grain in springtide, thinking it more fruitful than the rest, and hoping for plenteous abundance; and so, for aught he knew, the bread had caught some evil savour from this bloodshed. the king, on hearing this, surmised that amleth had spoken truly, and took the pains to learn also what had been the source of the lard. the other declared that his hogs had, through negligence, strayed from keeping, and battened on the rotten carcase of a robber, and that perchance their pork had thus come to have something of a corrupt smack. the king, finding that amletll's judgment was right in this thing also, asked of what liquor the steward had mixed the drink? hearing that it had been brewed of water and meal, he had the spot of the spring pointed out to him, and set to digging deep down; and there he found, rusted away, several swords, the tang whereof it was thought had tainted the waters. others relate that amleth blamed the drink because, while quaffing it, he had detected some bees that had fed in the paunch of a dead man; and that the taint, which had formerly been imparted to the combs, had reappeared in the taste. the king, seeing that amleth had rightly given the causes of the taste he had found so faulty, and learning that the ignoble eyes wherewith amleth had reproached him concerned some stain upon his birth, had a secret interview with his mother, and asked her who his father had really been. she said she had submitted to no man but the king. but when he threatened that he would have the truth out of her by a trial, he was told that he was the offspring of a slave. by the evidence of the avowal thus extorted he understood the whole mystery of the reproach upon his origin. abashed as he was with shame for his low estate, he was so ravished with the young man's cleverness, that he asked him why he had aspersed the queen with the reproach that she had demeaned herself like a slave? but while resenting that the courtliness of his wife had been accused in the midnight gossip of guest, he found that her mother had been a bondmaid. for amleth said he had noted in her three blemishes showing the demeanor of a slave; first, she had muffled her head in her mantle as handmaids do; next, that she had gathered up her gown for walking; and thirdly, that she had first picked out with a splinter, and then chewed up, the remnant of food that stuck in the crevices between her teeth. further, he mentioned that the king's mother had been brought into slavery from captivity, lest she should seem servile only in her habits, yet not in her birth. then the king adored the wisdom of amleth as though it were inspired, and gave him his daughter to wife; accepting his bare word as though it were a witness from the skies. moreover, in order to fulfil the bidding of his friend, he hanged amleth's companions on the morrow. amleth, feigning offence, treated this piece of kindness as a grievance, and received from the king, as compensation, some gold, which he afterwards melted in the fire, and secretly caused to be poured into some hollowed sticks. when he had passed a whole year with the king he obtained leave to make a journey, and returned to his own land, carrying away of all his princely wealth and state only the sticks which held the gold. on reaching jutland, he exchanged his present attire for his ancient demeanour, which he had adopted for righteous ends, purposely assuming an aspect of absurdity. covered with filth, he entered the banquet-room where his own obsequies were being held, and struck all men utterly aghast, rumour having falsely noised abroad his death. at last terror melted into mirth, and the guests jeered and taunted one another, that he whose last rites they were celebrating as through he were dead, should appear in the flesh. when he was asked concerning his comrades, he pointed to the sticks he was carrying, and said, "here is both the one and the other." this he observed with equal truth and pleasantry; for his speech, though most thought it idle, yet departed not from the truth; for it pointed at the weregild of the slain as though it were themselves. thereon, wishing to bring the company into a gayer mood, he jollied the cupbearers, and diligently did the office of plying the drink. then, to prevent his loose dress hampering his walk, he girdled his sword upon his side, and purposely drawing it several times, pricked his fingers with its point. the bystanders accordingly had both sword and scabbard riveted across with all iron nail. then, to smooth the way more safely to his plot, he went to the lords and plied them heavily with draught upon draught, and drenched them all so deep in wine, that their feet were made feeble with drunkenness, and they turned to rest within the palace, making their bed where they had revelled. then he saw they were in a fit state for his plots, and thought that here was a chance offered to do his purpose. so he took out of his bosom the stakes he has long ago prepared, and went into the building, where the ground lay covered with the bodies of the nobles wheezing off their sleep and their debauch. then, cutting away its support, he brought down the hanging his mother had knitted, which covered the inner as well as the outer walls of the hall. this he flung upon the snorers, and then applying the crooked stakes, he knotted and bound them up in such insoluble intricacy, that not one of the men beneath, however hard he might struggle, could contrive to rise. after this he set fire to the palace. the flames spread, scattering the conflagration far and wide. it enveloped the whole dwelling, destroyed the palace, and burnt them all while they were either buried in deep sleep or vainly striving to arise. then he went to the chamber of feng, who had before this been conducted by his train into his pavilion; plucked up a sword that chanced to be hanging to the bed, and planted his own in its place. then, awakening his uncle, he told him that his nobles were perishing in the flames, and that amleth was here, armed with his crooks to help him, and thirsting to exact the vengeance, now long overdue, for his father's murder. feng, on hearing this, leapt from his couch, but was cut down while deprived of his own sword, and as he strove in vain to draw the strange one. o valiant amleth, and worthy of immortal fame, who being shrewdly armed with a feint of folly, covered a wisdom too high for human wit under a marvellous disguise of silliness! and not only found in his subtlety means to protect his own safety, but also by its guidance found opportunity to avenge his father. by this skilful defence of himself, and strenuous revenge for his parent, he has left it doubtful whether we are to think more of his wit or his bravery. ( ) endnotes: ( ) saxo now goes back to the history of denmark. all the events hitherto related in bk. iii, after the first paragraph, are a digression in retrospect. ( ) m. conjectures that this was a certain harald, the bastard son of erik the good, and a wild and dissolute man, who died in , not long before the probable date of saxo's birth. ( ) shakespere's tragedy, "hamlet", is derived from this story. book four. amleth, when he had accomplished the slaughter of his stepfather, feared to expose his deed to the fickle judgment of his countrymen, and thought it well to lie in hiding till he had learnt what way the mob of the uncouth populace was tending. so the whole neighbourhood, who had watched the blaze during the night, and in the morning desired to know the cause of the fire they had seen, perceived the royal palace fallen in ashes; and, on searching through its ruins, which were yet warm, found only some shapeless remains of burnt corpses. for the devouring flame had consumed everything so utterly that not a single token was left to inform them of the cause of such a disaster. also they saw the body of feng lying pierced by the sword, amid his blood-stained raiment. some were seized with open anger, others with grief, and some with secret delight. one party bewailed the death of their leader, the other gave thanks that the tyranny of the fratricide was now laid at rest. thus the occurrence of the king's slaughter was greeted by the beholders with diverse minds. amleth, finding the people so quiet, made bold to leave his hiding. summoning those in whom he knew the memory of his father to be fast-rooted, he went to the assembly and there made a speech after this manner: "nobles! let not any who are troubled by the piteous end of horwendil be worried by the sight of this disaster before you; be not ye, i say, distressed, who have remained loyal to your king and duteous to your father. behold the corpse, not of a prince, but of a fratricide. indeed, it was a sorrier sight when ye saw our prince lying lamentably butchered by a most infamous fratricide-brother, let me not call him. with your own compassionating eyes ye have beheld the mangled limbs of horwendil; they have seen his body done to death with many wounds. surely that most abominable butcher only deprived his king of life that he might despoil his country of freedom! the hand that slew him made you slaves. who then so mad as to choose feng the cruel before horwendil the righteous? remember how benignantly horwendil fostered you, how justly he dealt with you, how kindly he loved you. remember how you lost the mildest of princes and the justest of fathers, while in his place was put a tyrant and an assassin set up; how your rights were confiscated; how everything was plague-stricken; how the country was stained with infamies; how the yoke was planted on your necks, and how, your free will was forfeited! and now all this is over; for ye see the criminal stifled in his own crimes, the slayer of his kin punished for his misdoings. what man of but ordinary wit, beholding it, would account this kindness a wrong? what sane man could be sorry that the crime has recoiled upon the culprit? who could lament the killing of a most savage executioner? or bewail the righteous death of a most cruel despot? ye behold the doer of the deed; he is before you. yea, i own that i have taken vengeance for my country and my father. your hands were equally bound to the task which mine fulfilled. what it would have beseemed you to accomplish with me, i achieved alone. nor had i any partner in so glorious a deed, or the service of any man to help me. not that i forget that you would have helped this work, had i asked you; for doubtless you have remained loyal to your king and loving to your prince. but i chose that the wicked should be punished without imperilling you; i thought that others need not set their shoulders to the burden when i deemed mine strong enough to bear it. therefore i consumed all the others to ashes, and left only the trunk of feng for your hands to burn, so that on this at least you may wreak all your longing for a righteous vengeance. now haste up speedily, heap the pyre, burn up the body of the wicked, consume away his guilty limbs, scatter his sinful ashes, strew broadcast his ruthless dust; let no urn or barrow enclose the abominable remnants of his bones. let no trace of his fratricide remain; let there be no spot in his own land for his tainted limbs; let no neighbourhood suck infection from him; let not sea nor soil be defiled by harboring his accursed carcase. i have done the rest; this one loyal duty is left for you. these must be the tyrant's obsequies, this the funeral procession of the fratricide. it is not seemly that he who stripped his country of her freedom should have his ashes covered by his country's earth. "besides, why tell again my own sorrows? why count over my troubles? why weave the thread of my miseries anew? ye know them more fully than i myself. i, pursued to the death by my stepfather, scorned by my mother, spat upon by friends, have passed my years in pitiable wise, and my days in adversity; and my insecure life has teemed with fear and perils. in fine, i passed every season of my age wretchedly and in extreme calamity. often in your secret murmurings together you have sighed over my lack of wits; there was none (you said) to avenge the father, none to punish the fratricide. and in this i found a secret testimony of your love; for i saw that the memory of the king's murder had not yet faded from your minds. "whose breast is so hard that it can be softened by no fellow-feeling for what i have felt? who is so stiff and stony, that he is swayed by no compassion for my griefs? ye whose hands are clean of the blood of horwendil, pity your fosterling, be moved by my calamities. pity also my stricken mother, and rejoice with me that the infamy of her who was once your queen is quenched. for this weak woman had to bear a twofold weight of ignominy, embracing one who was her husband's brother and murderer. therefore, to hide my purpose of revenge and to veil my wit, i counterfeited a listless bearing; i feigned dulness; i planned a stratagem; and now you can see with your own eyes whether it has succeeded, whether it has achieved its purpose to the full; i am content to leave you to judge so great a matter. it is your turn; trample under foot the ashes of the murderer! disdain the dust of him who slew his brother, and defiled his brother's queen with infamous desecration, who outraged his sovereign and treasonably assailed his majesty, who brought the sharpest tyranny upon you, stole your freedom, and crowned fratricide with incest. i have been the agent of this just vengeance; i have burned for this righteous retribution; uphold me with a high-born spirit; pay me the homage that you owe; warm me with your kindly looks. it is i who have wiped off my country's shame; i who have quenched my mother's dishonour; i who have beaten back oppression; i who have put to death the murderer; i who have baffled the artful hand of my uncle with retorted arts. were he living, each new day would have multiplied his crimes. i resented the wrong done to father and to fatherland: i slew him who was governing you outrageously and more hardly than it beseemed men. acknowledge my service, honour my wit, give me the throne if i have earned it; for you have in me one who has done you a mighty service, and who is no degenerate heir to his father's power; no fratricide, but the lawful successor to the throne; and a dutiful avenger of the crime of murder. it is i who have stripped you of slavery, and clothed you with freedom; i have restored your height of fortune, and given you your glory back; i have deposed the despot and triumphed over the butcher. in your hands is the reward; you know what i have done for you, and from your righteousness i ask my wage." every heart had been moved while the young man thus spoke; he affected some to compassion, and some even to tears. when the lamentation ceased, he was appointed king by prompt and general acclaim. for one and all rested their greatest hopes on his wisdom, since he had devised the whole of such an achievement with the deepest cunning, and accomplished it with the most astonishing contrivance. many could have been seen marvelling how he had concealed so subtle a plan over so long a space of time. after these deeds in denmark, amleth equipped three vessels, and went back to britain to see his wife and her father. he had also enrolled in his service the flower of the warriors, and arrayed them very choicely, wishing to have everything now magnificently appointed, even as of old he had always worn contemptible gear, and to change all his old devotion to poverty for outlay on luxury. he also had a shield made for him, whereon the whole series of his exploits, beginning with his earliest youth, was painted in exquisite designs. this he bore as a record of his deeds of prowess, and gained great increase of fame thereby. here were to be seen depicted the slaying of horwendil; the fratricide and incest of feng; the infamous uncle, the whimsical nephew; the shapes of the hooked stakes; the stepfather suspecting, the stepson dissembling; the various temptations offered, and the woman brought to beguile him; the gaping wolf; the finding of the rudder; the passing of the sand; the entering of the wood; the putting of the straw through the gadfly; the warning of the youth by the tokens; and the privy dealings with the maiden after the escort was eluded. and likewise could be seen the picture of the palace; the queen there with her son; the slaying of the eavesdropper; and how, after being killed, he was boiled down, and so dropped into the sewer, and so thrown out to the swine; how his limbs were strewn in the mud, and so left for the beasts to finish. also it could be seen how amleth surprised the secret of his sleeping attendants, how he erased the letters, and put new characters in their places; how he disdained the banquet and scorned the drink; how he condemned time face of the king and taxed the queen with faulty behaviour. there was also represented the hanging of the envoys, and the young man's wedding; then the voyage back to denmark; the festive celebration of the funeral rites; amleth, in answer to questions, pointing to the sticks in place of his attendants, acting as cupbearer, and purposely drawing his sword and pricking his fingers; the sword riveted through, the swelling cheers of the banquet, the dance growing fast and furious; the hangings flung upon the sleepers, then fastened with the interlacing crooks, and wrapped tightly round them as they slumbered; the brand set to the mansion, the burning of the guests, the royal palace consumed with fire and tottering down; the visit to the sleeping-room of feng, the theft of his sword, the useless one set in its place; and the king slain with his own sword's point by his stepson's hand. all this was there, painted upon amleth's battle-shield by a careful craftsman in the choicest of handiwork; he copied truth in his figures, and embodied real deeds in his outlines. moreover, amleth's followers, to increase the splendour of their presence, wore shields which were gilt over. the king of britain received them very graciously, and treated them with costly and royal pomp. during the feast he asked anxiously whether feng was alive and prosperous. his son-in-law told him that the man of whose welfare he was vainly inquiring had perished by the sword. with a flood of questions he tried to find out who had slain feng, and learnt that the messenger of his death was likewise its author. and when the king heard this, he was secretly aghast, because he found that an old promise to avenge feng now devolved upon himself. for feng and he had determined of old, by a mutual compact, that one of them should act as avenger of the other. thus the king was drawn one way by his love for his daughter and his affection for his son-in-law; another way by his regard for his friend, and moreover by his strict oath and the sanctity of their mutual declarations, which it was impious to violate. at last he slighted the ties of kinship, and sworn faith prevailed. his heart turned to vengeance, and he put the sanctity of his oath before family bonds. but since it was thought sin to wrong the holy ties of hospitality, he preferred to execrate his revenge by the hand of another, wishing to mask his secret crime with a show of innocence. so he veiled his treachery with attentions, and hid his intent to harm under a show of zealous goodwill. his queen having lately died of illness, he requested amleth to undertake the mission of making him a fresh match, saying that he was highly delighted with his extraordinary shrewdness. he declared that there was a certain queen reigning in scotland, whom he vehemently desired to marry. now he knew that she was not only unwedded by reason of her chastity, but that in the cruelty of her arrogance she had always loathed her wooers, and had inflicted on her lovers the uttermost punishment, so that not one but of all the multitude was to be found who had not paid for his insolence with his life. perilous as this commission was amleth started, never shrinking to obey the duty imposed upon him, but trusting partly in his own servants, and partly in the attendants of the king. he entered scotland, and, when quite close to the abode of the queen, he went into a meadow by the wayside to rest his horses. pleased by the look of the spot, he thought of resting--the pleasant prattle of the stream exciting a desire to sleep--and posted men to keep watch some way off. the queen on hearing of this, sent out ten warriors to spy on the approach of the foreigners and their equipment. one of these, being quick-witted, slipped past the sentries, pertinaciously made his way up, and took away the shield, which amleth had chanced to set at his head before he slept, so gently that he did not ruffle his slumbers, though he was lying upon it, nor awaken one man of all that troop; for he wished to assure his mistress not only by report but by some token. with equal address he filched the letter entrusted to amleth from the coffer in which it was kept. when these things were brought to the queen, she scanned the shield narrowly, and from the notes appended made out the whole argument. then she knew that here was the man who, trusting in his own nicely calculated scheme, had avenged on his uncle the murder of his father. she also looked at the letter containing the suit for her band, and rubbed out all the writing; for wedlock with the old she utterly abhorred, and desired the embraces of young men. but she wrote in its place a commission purporting to be sent from the king of britain to herself, signed like the other with his name and title, wherein she pretended that she was asked to marry the bearer. moreover, she included an account of the deeds of which she had learnt from amleth's shield, so that one would have thought the shield confirmed the letter, while the letter explained the shield. then she told the same spies whom she had employed before to take the shield back, and put the letter in its place again; playing the very trick on amleth which, as she had learnt, he had himself used in outwitting his companions. amleth, meanwhile, who found that his shield had been filched from under his head, deliberately shut his eyes and cunningly feigned sleep, hoping to regain by pretended what he had lost by real slumbers. for he thought that the success of his one attempt would incline the spy to deceive him a second time. and he was not mistaken. for as the spy came up stealthily, and wanted to put back the shield and the writing in their old place, amleth leapt up, seized him, and detained him in bonds. then he roused his retinue, and went to the abode of the queen. as representing his father-in-law, he greeted her, and handled her the writing, sealed with the king's seal. the queen, who was named hermutrude, took and read it, and spoke most warmly of amleth's diligence and shrewdness, saying, that feng had deserved his punishment, and that the unfathomable wit of amleth had accomplished a deed past all human estimation; seeing that not only had his impenetrable depth devised a mode of revenging his father's death and his mother's adultery, but it had further, by his notable deeds of prowess, seized the kingdom of the man whom he had found constantly plotting against him. she marvelled therefore that a man of such instructed mind could have made the one slip of a mistaken marriage; for though his renown almost rose above mortality, he seemed to have stumbled into an obscure and ignoble match. for the parents of his wife had been slaves, though good luck had graced them with the honours of royalty. now (said she), when looking for a wife a wise man must reckon the lustre of her birth and not of her beauty. therefore, if he were to seek a match in a proper spirit, he should weigh the ancestry, and not be smitten by the looks; for though looks were a lure to temptation, yet their empty bedizenment had tarnished the white simplicity of many a man. now there was a woman, as nobly born as himself, whom he could take. she herself, whose means were not poor nor her birth lowly, was worthy his embraces, since he did not surpass her in royal wealth nor outshine her in the honour of his ancestors. indeed she was a queen, and but that her sex gainsaid it, might be deemed a king; may (and this is yet truer), whomsoever she thought worthy of her bed was at once a king, and she yielded her kingdom with herself. thus her sceptre and her hand went together. it was no mean favour for such a woman to offer her love, who in the case of other men had always followed her refusal with the sword. therefore she pressed him to transfer his wooing, to make over to her his marriage vows, and to learn to prefer birth to beauty. so saying, she fell upon him with a close embrace. amleth was overjoyed at the gracious speech of the maiden, fell to kissing back, and returned her close embrace, protesting that the maiden's wish was his own. then a banquet was held, friends bidden, the nobles gathered, and the marriage rites performed. when they were accomplished, he went back to britain with his bride, a strong band of scots being told to follow close behind, that he might have its help against the diverse treacheries in his path. as he was returning, the daughter of the king of britain, to whom he was still married, met him. though she complained that she was slighted by the wrong of having a paramour put over her, yet, she said, it would be unworthy for her to hate him as an adulterer more than she loved him as a husband: nor would she so far shrink from her lord as to bring herself to hide in silence the guile which she knew was intended against him. for she had a son as a pledge of their marriage, and regard for him, if nothing else, must have inclined his mother to the affection of a wife. "he," she said, "may hate the supplanter of his mother, i will love her; no disaster shall put out my flame for thee; no ill-will shall quench it, or prevent me from exposing the malignant designs against thee, or from revealing the snares i have detected. bethink thee, then, that thou must beware of thy father-in-law, for thou hast thyself reaped the harvest of thy mission, foiled the wishes of him who sent thee, and with willful trespass seized over all the fruit for thyself." by this speech she showed herself more inclined to love her husband than her father. while she thus spoke, the king of britain came up and embraced his son-in-law closely, but with little love, and welcomed him with a banquet, to hide his intended guile under a show of generosity. but amleth, having learnt the deceit, dissembled his fear, took a retinue of two hundred horsemen, put on an under-shirt (of mail), and complied with the invitation, preferring the peril of falling in with the king's deceit to the shame of hanging back. so much heed for honour did he think that he must take in all things. as he rode up close, the king attacked him just under the porch of the folding doors, and would have thrust him through with his javelin, but that the hard shirt of mail threw off the blade. amleth received a slight wound, and went to the spot where he had bidden the scottish warriors wait on duty. he then sent back to the king his new wife's spy, whom he had captured. this man was to bear witness that he had secretly taken from the coffer where it was kept the letter which was meant for his mistress, and thus was to make the whole blame recoil on hermutrude, by this studied excuse absolving amleth from the charge of treachery. the king without tarrying pursued amleth hotly as he fled, and deprived him of most of his forces. so amleth, on the morrow, wishing to fight for dear life, and utterly despairing of his powers of resistance, tried to increase his apparent numbers. he put stakes under some of the dead bodies of his comrades to prop them up, set others on horseback like living men, and tied others to neighbouring stones, not taking off any of their armour, and dressing them in due order of line and wedge, just as if they were about to engage. the wing composed of the dead was as thick as the troop of the living. it was an amazing spectacle this, of dead men dragged out to battle, and corpses mustered to fight. the plan served him well, for the very figures of the dead men showed like a vast array as the sunbeams struck them. for those dead and senseless shapes restored the original number of the army so well, that the mass might have been unthinned by the slaughter of yesterday. the britons, terrified at the spectacle, fled before fighting, conquered by the dead men whom they had overcome in life. i cannot tell whether to think more of the cunning or of the good fortune of this victory. the danes came down on the king as he was tardily making off, and killed him. amleth, triumphant, made a great plundering, seized the spoils of britain, and went back with his wives to his own land. meanwhile rorik had died, and wiglek, who had come to the throne, had harassed amleth's mother with all manner of insolence and stripped her of her royal wealth, complaining that her son had usurped the kingdom of jutland and defrauded the king of leire, who had the sole privilege of giving and taking away the rights of high offices. this treatment amleth took with such forbearance as apparently to return kindness for slander, for he presented wiglek with the richest of his spoils. but afterwards he seized a chance of taking vengeance, attacked him, subdued him, and from a covert became an open foe. fialler, the governor of skaane, he drove into exile; and the tale is that fialler retired to a spot called undensakre, which is unknown to our peoples. after this, wiglek, recruited with the forces of skaane and zealand, sent envoys to challenge amleth to a war. amleth, with his marvellous shrewdness, saw that he was tossed between two difficulties, one of which involved disgrace and the other danger. for he knew that if he took up the challenge he was threatened with peril of his life, while to shrink from it would disgrace his reputation as a soldier. yet in that spirit ever fixed on deeds of prowess the desire to save his honour won the day. dread of disaster was blunted by more vehement thirst for glory; he would not tarnish the unblemished lustre of his fame by timidly skulking from his fate. also he saw that there is almost as wide a gap between a mean life and a noble death as that which is acknowledged between honour and disgrace themselves. yet amleth was enchained by such great love for hermutrude, that he was more deeply concerned in his mind about her future widowhood than about his own death, and cast about very zealously how he could decide on some second husband for her before the opening of the war. hermutrude, therefore, declared that she had the courage of a man, and promised that she would not forsake him even on the field, saying that the woman who dreaded to be united with her lord in death was abominable. but she kept this rare promise ill; for when amleth had been slain by wiglek in battle in jutland, she yielded herself up unasked to be the conqueror's spoil and bride. thus all vows of woman are loosed by change of fortune and melted by the shifting of time; the faith of their soul rests on a slippery foothold, and is weakened by casual chances; glib in promises, and as sluggish in performance, all manner of lustful promptings enslave it, and it bounds away with panting and precipitate desire, forgetful of old things in the ever hot pursuit after something fresh. so ended amleth. had fortune been as kind to him as nature, he would have equalled the gods in glory, and surpassed the labours of hercules by his deeds of prowess. a plain in jutland is to be found, famous for his name and burial-place. wiglek's administration of the kingdom was long and peaceful, and he died of disease. wermund, his son, succeeded him. the long and leisurely tranquillity of a most prosperous and quiet time flowed by and wermund in undisturbed security maintained a prolonged and steady peace at home. he had no children during the prime of his life, but in his old age, by a belated gift of fortune, he begat a son, uffe, though all the years which had glided by had raised him up no offspring. this uffe surpassed all of his age in stature, but in his early youth was supposed to have so dull and foolish a spirit as to be useless for all affairs public or private. for from his first years he never used to play or make merry, but was so void of all human pleasure that he kept his lips sealed in a perennial silence, and utterly restrained his austere visage from the business of laughter. but though through the years of his youth he was reputed for an utter fool, he afterwards left that despised estate and became famous, turning out as great a pattern of wisdom and hardihood as he had been a picture of stagnation. his father, seeing him such a simpleton, got him for a wife the daughter of frowin, the governor of the men of sleswik; thinking that by his alliance with so famous a man uffe would receive help which would serve him well in administering the realm. frowin had two sons, ket and wig, who were youths of most brilliant parts, and their excellence, not less than that of frowin, wermund destined to the future advantage of his son. at this time the king of sweden was athisl, a man of notable fame and energy. after defeating his neighbours far around, he was loth to leave the renown won by his prowess to be tarnished in slothful ease, and by constant and zealous practice brought many novel exercises into vogue. for one thing he had a daily habit of walking alone girt with splendid armour: in part because he knew that nothing was more excellent in warfare than the continual practice of arms; and in part that he might swell his glory by ever following this pursuit. self-confidence claimed as large a place in this man as thirst for fame. nothing, he thought, could be so terrible as to make him afraid that it would daunt his stout heart by its opposition. he carried his arms into denmark, and challenged frowin to battle near sleswik. the armies routed one another with vast slaughter, and it happened that the generals came to engage in person, so that they conducted the affair like a duel; and, in addition to the public issues of the war, the fight was like a personal conflict. for both of them longed with equal earnestness for an issue of the combat by which they might exhibit their valour, not by the help of their respective sides, but by a trial of personal strength. the end was that, though the blows rained thick on either side, athisl prevailed and overthrew frowin, and won a public victory as well as a duel, breaking up and shattering the danish ranks in all directions. when he returned to sweden, he not only counted the slaying of frowin among the trophies of his valour, but even bragged of it past measure, so ruining the glory of the deed by his wantonness of tongue. for it is sometimes handsomer for deeds of valour to be shrouded in the modesty of silence than to be blazoned in wanton talk. wermund raised the sons of frowin to honours of the same rank as their father's, a kindness which was only due to the children of his friend who had died for the country. this prompted athisl to carry the war again into denmark. emboldened therefore by his previous battle, he called back, bringing with him not only no slender and feeble force, but all the flower of the valour of sweden, thinking he would seize the supremacy of all denmark. ket, the son of frowin, sent folk, his chief officer, to take this news to wermund, who then chanced to be in his house jellinge. ( ) folk found the king feasting with his friends, and did his errand, admonishing him that here was the long-wished-for chance of war at hand, and pressing itself upon the wishes of wermund, to whom was give an immediate chance of victory and the free choice of a speedy and honourable triumph. great and unexpected were the sweets of good fortune, so long sighed for, and now granted to him by this lucky event. for athisl had come encompassed with countless forces of the swedes, just as though in his firm assurance he had made sure of victory; and since the enemy who was going to fight would doubtless prefer death to flight, this chance of war gave them a fortunate opportunity to take vengeance for their late disaster. wermund, declaring that he had performed his mission nobly and bravely, ordered that he should take some little refreshment of the banquet, since "far-faring ever hurt fasters." when folk said that he had no kind of leisure to take food, he begged him to take a draught to quench his thirst. this was given him; and wermund also bade him keep the cup, which was of gold, saying that men who were weary with the heat of wayfaring found it handier to take up the water in a goblet than in the palms, and that it was better to use a cup for drinking than the hand. when the king accompanied his great gift with such gracious words, the young man, overjoyed at both, promised that, before the king should see him turn and flee, he would take a draught of his own blood to the full measure of the liquor he had drunk. with this doughty vow wermund accounted himself well repaid, and got somewhat more joy from giving the boon than the soldier had from gaining it. nor did he find that folk's talk was braver than his fighting. for, when battle had begun, it came to pass that amidst divers charges of the troops folk and athisl met and fought a long while together; and that the host of the swedes, following the fate of their captain, took to flight, and athisl also was wounded and fled from the battle to his ships. and when folk, dazed with wounds and toils, and moreover steeped alike in heat and toil and thirst, had ceased to follow the rout of the enemy, then, in order to refresh himself, he caught his own blood in his helmet, and put it to his lips to drain: by which deed he gloriously requited the king's gift of the cup. wermund, who chanced to see this, praised him warmly for fulfilling his vow. folk answered, that a noble vow ought to be strictly performed to the end: a speech wherein he showed no less approval of his own deed than wermund. now, while the conquerors had laid down their arms, and, as is usual after battle, were exchanging diverse talk with one another, ket, the governor of the men of sleswik, declared that it was a matter of great marvel to him how it was that athisl, though difficulties strewed his path, had contrived an opportunity to escape, especially as he had been the first and foremost in the battle, but last of all in the retreat; and though there had not been one of the enemy whose fall was so vehemently desired by the danes. wermund rejoined that he should know that there were four kinds of warrior to be distinguished in every army. the fighters of the first order were those who, tempering valour with forbearance, were keen to slay those who resisted, but were ashamed to bear hard on fugitives. for these were the men who had won undoubted proofs of prowess by veteran experience in arms, and who found their glory not in the flight of the conquered, but in overcoming those whom they had to conquer. then there was a second kind of warriors, who were endowed with stout frame and spirit, but with no jot of compassion, and who raged with savage and indiscriminate carnage against the backs as well as the breasts of their foes. now of this sort were the men carried away by hot and youthful blood, and striving to grace their first campaign with good auguries of warfare. they burned as hotly with the glow of youth as with the glow for glory, and thus rushed headlong into right or wrong with equal recklessness. there was also the third kind, who, wavering betwixt shame and fear, could not go forward for terror, while shame barred retreat. of distinguished blood, but only notable for their useless stature, they crowded the ranks with numbers and not with strength, smote the foe more with their shadows than with their arms, and were only counted among the throng of warriors as so many bodies to be seen. these men were lords of great riches, but excelled more in birth than bravery; hungry for life because owning great possessions, they were forced to yield to the sway of cowardice rather than nobleness. there were others, again, who brought show to the war, and not substance, and who, foisting themselves into the rear of their comrades, were the first to fly and the last to fight. one sure token of fear betrayed their feebleness; for they always deliberately sought excuses to shirk, and followed with timid and sluggish advance in the rear of the fighters. it must be supposed, therefore, that these were the reasons why the king had escaped safely; for when he fled he was not pursued pertinaciously by the men of the front rank; since these made it their business to preserve the victory, not to arrest the conquered, and massed their wedges, in order that the fresh-won victory might be duly and sufficiently guarded, and attain the fulness of triumph. now the second class of fighters, whose desire was to cut down everything in their way, had left athisl unscathed, from lack not of will but of opportunity; for they had lacked the chance to hurt him rather than the daring. moreover, though the men of the third kind, who frittered away the very hour of battle by wandering about in a flurried fashion, and also hampered the success of their own side, had had their chance of harming the king, they yet lacked courage to assail him. in this way wermund satisfied the dull amazement of ket, and declared that he had set forth and expounded the true reasons of the king's safe escape. after this athisl fled back to sweden, still wantonly bragging of the slaughter of frowin, and constantly boasting the memory of his exploit with prolix recital of his deeds; not that he bore calmly the shame of his defeat, but that he might salve the wound of his recent flight by the honours of his ancient victory. this naturally much angered ket and wig, and they swore a vow to unite in avenging their father. thinking that they could hardly accomplish this in open war, they took an equipment of lighter armament, and went to sweden alone. then, entering a wood in which they had learnt by report that the king used to take his walks unaccompanied, they hid their weapons. then they talked long with athisl, giving themselves out as deserters; and when he asked them what was their native country, they said they were men of sleswik, and had left their land "for manslaughter". the king thought that this statement referred not to their vow to commit the crime, but to the guilt of some crime already committed. for they desired by this deceit to foil his inquisitiveness, so that the truthfulness of the statement might baffle the wit of the questioner, and their true answer, being covertly shadowed forth in a fiction, might inspire in him a belief that it was false. for famous men of old thought lying a most shameful thing. then athisl said he would like to know whom the danes believed to be the slayer of frowin. ket replied that there was a doubt as to who ought to claim so illustrious a deed, especially as the general testimony was that he had perished on the field of battle. athisl answered that it was idle to credit others with the death of frowin, which he, and he alone, had accomplished in mutual combat. soon he asked whether frowin had left any children. ket answering that two sons of his were alive, said that he would be very glad to learn their age and stature. ket replied that they were almost of the same size as themselves in body, alike in years, and much resembling them in tallness. then athisl said: "if the mind and the valour of their sire were theirs, a bitter tempest would break upon me." then he asked whether those men constantly spoke of the slaying of their father. ket rejoined that it was idle to go on talking and talking about a thing that could not be softened by any remedy, and declared that it was no good to harp with constant vexation on an inexpiable ill. by saying this he showed that threats ought not to anticipate vengeance. when ket saw that the king regularly walked apart alone in order to train his strength, he took up his arms, and with his brother followed the king as he walked in front of them. athisl, when he saw them, stood his ground on the sand, thinking it shameful to avoid threateners. then they said that they would take vengeance for his slaying of frowin, especially as he avowed with so many arrogant vaunts that he alone was his slayer. but he told them to take heed lest while they sought to compass their revenge, they should be so foolhardy as to engage him with their feeble and powerless hand, and while desiring the destruction of another, should find they had fallen themselves. thus they would cut off their goodly promise of overhasty thirst for glory. let them then save their youth and spare their promise; let them not be seized so lightly with a desire to perish. therefore, let them suffer him to requite with money the trespass done them in their father's death, and account it great honour that they would be credited with forcing so mighty a chief to pay a fine, and in a manner with shaking him with overmastering fear. yet he said he advised them thus, not because he was really terrified, but because he was moved with compassion for their youth. ket replied that it was idle to waste time in beating so much about the bush and trying to sap their righteous longing for revenge by an offer of pelf. so he bade him come forward and make trial with him in single combat of whatever strength he had. he himself would do without the aid of his brother, and would fight with his own strength, lest it should appear a shameful and unequal combat, for the ancients held it to be unfair, and also infamous, for two men to fight against one; and a victory gained by this kind of fighting they did not account honourable, but more like a disgrace than a glory. indeed, it was considered not only a poor, but a most shameful exploit for two men to overpower one. but athisl was filled with such assurance that he bade them both assail him at once, declaring that if he could not cure them of the desire to fight, he would at least give them the chance of fighting more safely. but ket shrank so much from this favour that he swore he would accept death sooner: for he thought that the terms of battle thus offered would be turned into a reproach to himself. so he engaged hotly with athisl, who desirous to fight him in a forbearing fashion, merely thrust lightly with his blade and struck upon his shield; thus guarding his own safety with more hardihood than success. when he had done this some while, he advised him to take his brother to share in his enterprise, and not be ashamed to ask for the help of another hand, since his unaided efforts were useless. if he refused, said athisl, he should not be spared; then making good his threats, he assailed him with all his might. but ket received him with so sturdy a stroke of his sword, that it split the helmet and forced its way down upon the head. stung by the wound (for a stream of blood flowed from his poll), he attacked ket with a shower of nimble blows, and drove him to his knees. wig, leaning more to personal love than to general usage, ( ) could not bear the sight, but made affection conquer shame, and attacking athisl, chose rather to defend the weakness of his brother than to look on at it. but he won more infamy than glory by the deed. in helping his brother he had violated the appointed conditions of the duel; and the help that he gave him was thought more useful than honourable. for on the one scale he inclined to the side of disgrace, and on the other to that of affection. thereupon they perceived themselves that their killing of athisl had been more swift than glorious. yet, not to hide the deed from the common people, they cut off his head, slung his body on a horse, took it out of the wood, and handed it over to the dwellers in a village near, announcing that the sons of frowin had taken vengeance upon athisl, king of the swedes, for the slaying of their father. boasting of such a victory as this, they were received by wermund with the highest honours; for he thought they had done a most useful deed, and he preferred to regard the glory of being rid of a rival with more attention than the infamy of committing an outrage. nor did he judge that the killing of a tyrant was in any wise akin to shame. it passed into a proverb among foreigners, that the death of the king had broken down the ancient principle of combat. when wermund was losing his sight by infirmity of age, the king of saxony, thinking that denmark lacked a leader, sent envoys ordering him to surrender to his charge the kingdom which he held beyond the due term of life; lest, if he thirsted to hold sway too long, he should strip his country of laws and defence. for how could he be reckoned a king, whose spirit was darkened with age, and his eyes with blindness not less black and awful? if he refused, but yet had a son who would dare to accept a challenge and fight with his son, let him agree that the victor should possess the realm. but if he approved neither offer, let him learn that he must be dealt with by weapons and not by warnings; and in the end he must unwillingly surrender what he was too proud at first to yield uncompelled. wermund, shaken by deep sighs, answered that it was too insolent to sting him with these taunts upon his years; for he had passed no timorous youth, nor shrunk from battle, that age should bring him to this extreme misery. it was equally unfitting to cast in his teeth the infirmity of his blindness: for it was common for a loss of this kind to accompany such a time of life as his, and it seemed a calamity fitter for sympathy than for taunts. it were juster to fix the blame on the impatience of the king of saxony, whom it would have beseemed to wait for the old man's death, and not demand his throne; for it was somewhat better to succeed to the dead than to rob the living. yet, that he might not be thought to make over the honours of his ancient freedom, like a madman, to the possession of another, he would accept the challenge with his own hand. the envoys answered that they knew that their king would shrink from the mockery of fighting a blind man, for such an absurd mode of combat was thought more shameful than honourable. it would surely be better to settle the affair by means of their offspring on either side. the danes were in consternation, and at a sudden loss for a reply: but uffe, who happened to be there with the rest, craved his father's leave to answer; and suddenly the dumb as it were spake. when wermund asked who had thus begged leave to speak, and the attendants said that it was uffe, he declared that it was enough that the insolent foreigner should jeer at the pangs of his misery, without those of his own household vexing him with the same wanton effrontery. but the courtiers persistently averred that this man was uffe; and the king said: "he is free, whosoever he be, to say out what he thinks." then said uffe, "that it was idle for their king to covet a realm which could rely not only on the service of its own ruler, but also on the arms and wisdom of most valiant nobles. moreover, the king did not lack a son nor the kingdom an heir; and they were to know that he had made up his mind to fight not only the son of their king, but also, at the same time, whatsoever man the prince should elect as his comrade out of the bravest of their nation." the envoys laughed when they beard this, thinking it idle lip-courage. instantly the ground for the battle was agreed on, and a fixed time appointed. but the bystanders were so amazed by the strangeness of uffe's speaking and challenging, that one can scarce say if they were more astonished at his words or at his assurance. but on the departure of the envoys wermund praised him who had made the answer, because he had proved his confidence in his own valour by challenging not one only, but two; and said that he would sooner quit his kingdom for him, whoever he was, than for an insolent foe. but when one and all testified that he who with lofty self-confidence had spurned the arrogance of the envoys was his own son, he bade him come nearer to him, wishing to test with his hands what he could not with his eyes. then he carefully felt his body, and found by the size of his limbs and by his features that he was his son; and then began to believe their assertions, and to ask him why he had taken pains to hide so sweet an eloquence with such careful dissembling, and had borne to live through so long a span of life without utterance or any intercourse of talk, so as to let men think him utterly incapable of speech, and a born mute. he replied that he had been hitherto satisfied with the protection of his father, that he had not needed the use of his own voice, until he saw the wisdom of his own land hard pressed by the glibness of a foreigner. the king also asked him why he had chosen to challenge two rather than one. he said he had desired this mode of combat in order that the death of king athisl, which, having been caused by two men, was a standing reproach to the danes, might be balanced by the exploit of one, and that a new ensample of valour might erase the ancient record of their disgrace. fresh honour, he said, would thus obliterate the guilt of their old dishonour. wermund said that his son had judged all things rightly, and bade him first learn the use of arms, since he had been little accustomed to them. when they were offered to uffe, he split the narrow links of the mail-coats by the mighty girth of his chest, nor could any be found large enough to hold him properly. for he was too hugely built to be able to use the arms of any other man. at last, when he was bursting even his father's coat of mail by the violent compression of his body, wermund ordered it to be cut away on the left side and patched with a buckle; thinking it mattered little if the side guarded by the shield were exposed to the sword. he also told him to be most careful in fixing on a sword which he could use safely. several were offered him; but uffe, grasping the hilt, shattered them one after the other into flinders by shaking them, and not a single blade was of so hard a temper but at the first blow he broke it into many pieces. but the king had a sword of extraordinary sharpness, called "skrep", which at a single blow of the smiter struck straight through and cleft asunder any obstacle whatsoever; nor would aught be hard enough to check its edge when driven home. the king, loth to leave this for the benefit of posterity, and greatly grudging others the use of it, had buried it deep in the earth, meaning, since he had no hopes of his son's improvement, to debar everyone else from using it. but when he was now asked whether he had a sword worthy of the strength of uffe, he said that he had one which, if he could recognize the lie of the ground and find what he had consigned long ago to earth, he could offer him as worthy of his bodily strength. then he bade them lead him into a field, and kept questioning his companions over all the ground. at last he recognised the tokens, found the spot where he had buried the sword, drew it out of its hole, and handed it to his son. uffe saw it was frail with great age and rusted away; and, not daring to strike with it, asked if he must prove this one also like the rest, declaring that he must try its temper before the battle ought to be fought. wermund replied that if this sword were shattered by mere brandishing, there was nothing left which could serve for such strength as his. he must, therefore, forbear from the act, whose issue remained so doubtful. so they repaired to the field of battle as agreed. it is fast encompassed by the waters of the river eider, which roll between, and forbid any approach save by ship. hither uffe went unattended, while the prince of saxony was followed by a champion famous for his strength. dense crowds on either side, eager to see, thronged each winding bank, and all bent their eyes upon this scene. wermund planted himself on the end of the bridge, determined to perish in the waters if defeat were the lot of his son: he would rather share the fall of his own flesh and blood than behold, with heart full of anguish, the destruction of his own country. both the warriors assaulted uffe; but, distrusting his sword, he parried the blows of both with his shield, being determined to wait patiently and see which of the two he must beware of most heedfully, so that he might reach that one at all events with a single stroke of his blade. wermund, thinking that his feebleness was at fault, that he took the blows so patiently, dragged himself little by little, in his longing for death, forward to the western edge of the bridge, meaning to fling himself down and perish, should all be over with his son. fortune shielded the old father, for uffe told the prince to engage with him more briskly, and to do some deed of prowess worthy of his famous race; lest the lowborn squire should seem braver than the prince. then, in order to try the bravery of the champion, he bade him not skulk timorously at his master's heels, but requite by noble deeds of combat the trust placed in him by his prince, who had chosen him to be his single partner in the battle. the other complied, and when shame drove him to fight at close quarters, uffe clove him through with the first stroke of his blade. the sound revived wermund, who said that he heard the sword of his son, and asked "on what particular part he had dealt the blow?" then the retainers answered that it had gone through no one limb, but the man's whole frame; whereat wermund drew back from the precipice and came on the bridge, longing now as passionately to live as he had just wished to die. then uffe, wishing to destroy his remaining foe after the fashion of the first, incited the prince with vehement words to offer some sacrifice by way of requital to the shade of the servant slain in his cause. drawing him by those appeals, and warily noting the right spot to plant his blow, he turned the other edge of his sword to the front, fearing that the thin side of his blade was too frail for his strength, and smote with a piercing stroke through the prince's body. when wermund heard it, he said that the sound of his sword "skrep" had reached his ear for the second time. then, when the judges announced that his son had killed both enemies, he burst into tears from excess of joy. thus gladness bedewed the cheeks which sorrow could not moisten. so while the saxons, sad and shamefaced, bore their champions to burial with bitter shame, the danes welcomed uffe and bounded for joy. then no more was heard of the disgrace of the murder of athisl, and there was an end of the taunts of the saxons. thus the realm of saxony was transferred to the danes, and uffe, after his father, undertook its government; and he, who had not been thought equal to administering a single kingdom properly, was now appointed to manage both. most men have called him olaf, and he has won the name of "the gentle" for his forbearing spirit. his later deeds, lost in antiquity, have lacked formal record. but it may well be supposed that when their beginnings were so notable, their sequel was glorious. i am so brief in considering his doings, because the lustre of the famous men of our nation has been lost to memory and praise by the lack of writings. but if by good luck our land had in old time been endowed with the latin tongue, there would have been countless volumes to read of the exploits of the danes. uffe was succeeded by his son dan, who carried his arms against foreigners, and increased his sovereignty with many a trophy; but he tarnished the brightness of the glory he had won by foul and abominable presumption; falling so far away from the honour of his famous father, who surpassed all others in modesty, that he contrariwise was puffed up and proudly exalted in spirit, so that he scorned all other men. he also squandered the goods of his father on infamies, as well as his own winnings from the spoils of foreign nations; and he devoured in expenditure on luxuries the wealth which should have ministered to his royal estate. thus do sons sometimes, like monstrous births, degenerate from their ancestors. after this hugleik was king, who is said to have defeated in battle at sea homod and hogrim, the despots of sweden. to him succeeded frode, surnamed the vigorous, who bore out his name by the strength of his body and mind. he destroyed in war ten captains of norway, and finally approached the island which afterwards had its name from him, meaning to attack the king himself last of all. this king, froger, was in two ways very distinguished, being notable in arms no less than in wealth; and graced his sovereignty with the deeds of a champion, being as rich in prizes for bodily feats as in the honours of rank. according to some, he was the son of odin, and when he begged the immortal gods to grant him a boon, received the privilege that no man should conquer him, save he who at the time of the conflict could catch up in his hand the dust lying beneath froger's feet. when frode found that heaven had endowed this king with such might, he challenged him to a duel, meaning to try to outwit the favour of the gods. so at first, feigning inexperience, he besought the king for a lesson in fighting, knowing (he said) his skill and experience in the same. the other, rejoicing that his enemy not only yielded to his pretensions, but even made him a request, said that he was wise to submit his youthful mind to an old man's wisdom; for his unscarred face and his brow, ploughed by no marks of battle, showed that his knowledge of such matters was but slender. so he marked off on the ground two square spaces with sides an ell long, opposite one another, meaning to begin by instructing him about the use of these plots. when they had been marked off, each took the side assigned to him. then frode asked froger to exchange arms and ground with him, and the request was readily granted. for froger was excited with the dashing of his enemy's arms, because frode wore a gold-hilted sword, a breastplate equally bright, and a headpiece most brilliantly adorned in the same manner. so frode caught up some dust from the ground whence froger had gone, and thought that he had been granted an omen of victory. nor was he deceived in his presage; for he straightway slew froger, and by this petty trick won the greatest name for bravery; for he gained by craft what had been permitted to no man's strength before. after him dan came to the throne. when he was in the twelfth year of his age, he was wearied by the insolence of the embassies, which commanded him either to fight the saxons or to pay them tribute. ashamed, he preferred fighting to payment and was moved to die stoutly rather than live a coward. so he elected to fight; and the warriors of the danes filled the elbe with such a throng of vessels, that the decks of the ships lashed together made it quite easy to cross, as though along a continuous bridge. the end was that the king of saxony had to accept the very terms he was demanding from the danes. after dan, fridleif, surnamed the swift, assumed the sovereignty. during his reign, huyrwil, the lord of oland, made a league with the danes and attacked norway. no small fame was added to his deeds by the defeat of the amazon rusila, who aspired with military ardour to prowess in battle: but he gained manly glory over a female foe. also he took into his alliance, on account of their deeds of prowess, her five partners, the children of finn, named brodd, bild, bug, fanning, and gunholm. their confederacy emboldened him to break the treaty which he made with the danes; and the treachery of the violation made it all the more injurious, for the danes could not believe that he could turn so suddenly from a friend into an enemy; so easily can some veer from goodwill into hate. i suppose that this man inaugurated the morals of our own day, for we do not account lying and treachery as sinful and sordid. when huyrwil attacked the southern side of zealand, fridleif assailed him in the harbour which was afterwards called by huyrwil's name. in this battle the soldiers, in their rivalry for glory, engaged with such bravery that very few fled to escape peril, and both armies were utterly destroyed; nor did the victory fall to either side, where both were enveloped in an equal ruin. so much more desirous were they all of glory than of life. so the survivors of huyrwil's army, in order to keep united, had the remnants of their fleet lashed together at night. but, in the same night, bild and brodd cut the cables with which the ships were joined, and stealthily severed their own vessels from the rest, thus yielding to their own terrors by deserting their brethren, and obeying the impulses of fear rather than fraternal love. when daylight returned, fridleif, finding that after the great massacre of their friends only huyrwil, gunholm, bug, and fanning were left, determined to fight them all single-handed, so that the mangled relics of his fleet might not again have to be imperilled. besides his innate courage, a shirt of steel-defying mail gave him confidence; a garb which he used to wear in all public battles and in duels, as a preservative of his life. he accomplished his end with as much fortune as courage, and ended the battle successfully. for, after slaying huyrwil, bug, and fanning, he killed gunholm, who was accustomed to blunt the blade of an enemy with spells, by a shower of blows from his hilt. but while he gripped the blade too eagerly, the sinews, being cut and disabled, contracted the fingers upon the palm, and cramped them with life-long curvature. while fridleif was besieging dublin, a town in ireland, and saw from the strength of the walls that there was no chance of storming them, he imitated the shrewd wit of hadding, and ordered fire to be shut up in wicks and fastened to the wings of swallows. when the birds got back in their own nesting-place, the dwellings suddenly flared up; and while the citizens all ran up to quench them, and paid more heed to abating the fire than to looking after the enemy, fridleif took dublin. after this he lost his soldiers in britain, and, thinking that he would find it hard to get back to the coast, he set up the corpses of the slain (amleth's device) and stationed them in line, thus producing so nearly the look of his original host that its great reverse seemed not to have lessened the show of it a whit. by this deed he not only took out of the enemy all heart for fighting, but inspired them with the desire to make their escape. endnotes: ( ) jellinge. lat. "ialunga", icel. "jalangr". ( ) general usage. "publicus consuetudini": namely, the rule of combat that two should not fight against one. book five. after the death of fridleif, his son frode, aged seven, was elected in his stead by the unanimous decision of the danes. but they held an assembly first, and judged that the minority of the king should be taken in charge by guardians, lest the sovereignty should pass away owing to the boyishness of the ruler. for one and all paid such respect to the name and memory of fridleif, that the royalty was bestowed on his son despite his tender years. so a selection was made, and the brothers westmar and koll were summoned to the charge of bringing up the king. isulf, also, and agg and eight other men of mark were not only entrusted with the guardianship of the king, but also granted authority to administer the realm under him. these men were rich in strength and courage, and endowed with ample gifts of mind as well as of body. thus the state of the danes was governed with the aid of regents until the time when the king should be a man. the wife of koll was gotwar, who used to paralyse the most eloquent and fluent men by her glib and extraordinary insolence; for she was potent in wrangling, and full of resource in all kinds of disputation. words were her weapons; and she not only trusted in questions, but was armed with stubborn answers. no man could subdue this woman, who could not fight, but who found darts in her tongue instead. some she would argue down with a flood of impudent words, while others she seemed to entangle in the meshes of her quibbles, and strangle in the noose of her sophistries; so nimble a wit had the woman. moreover, she was very strong, either in making or cancelling a bargain, and the sting of her tongue was the secret of her power in both. she was clever both at making and at breaking leagues; thus she had two sides to her tongue, and used it for either purpose. westmar had twelve sons, three of whom had the same name--grep in common. these three men were conceived at once and delivered at one birth, and their common name declared their simultaneous origin. they were exceedingly skillful swordsmen and boxers. frode had also given the supremacy of the sea to odd; who was very closely related to the king. koll rejoiced in an offspring of three sons. at this time a certain son of frode's brother held the chief command of naval affairs for the protection of the country, now the king had a sister, gunwar, surnamed the fair because of her surpassing beauty. the sons of westmar and koll, being ungrown in years and bold in spirit, let their courage become recklessness and devoted their guilt-stained minds to foul and degraded orgies. their behaviour was so outrageous and uncontrollable that they ravished other men's brides and daughters, and seemed to have outlawed chastity and banished it to the stews. nay, they defiled the couches of matrons, and did not even refrain from the bed of virgins. a man's own chamber was no safety to him: there was scarce a spot in the land but bore traces of their lust. husbands were vexed with fear, and wives with insult to their persons: and to these wrongs folk bowed. no ties were respected, and forced embraces became a common thing. love was prostituted, all reverence for marriage ties died out, and lust was greedily run after. and the reason of all this was the peace; for men's bodies lacked exercise and were enervated in the ease so propitious to vices. at last the eldest of those who shared the name of grep, wishing to regulate and steady his promiscuous wantonness, ventured to seek a haven for his vagrant amours in the love of the king's sister. yet he did amiss. for though it was right that his vagabond and straying delights should be bridled by modesty, yet it was audacious for a man of the people to covet the child of a king. she, much fearing the impudence of her wooer, and wishing to be safer from outrage, went into a fortified building. thirty attendants were given to her, to keep guard and constant watch over her person. now the comrades of frode, sadly lacking the help of women in the matter of the wear of their garments, inasmuch as they had no means of patching or of repairing rents, advised and urged the king to marry. at first he alleged his tender years as an excuse, but in the end yielded to the persistent requests of his people. and when he carefully inquired of his advisers who would be a fit wife for him, they all praised the daughter of the king of the huns beyond the rest. when the question was pushed, what reason frode had for objecting to her, he replied that he had heard from his father that it was not expedient for kings to seek alliance far afield, or to demand love save from neighbours. when gotwar heard this she knew that the king's resistance to his friends was wily. wishing to establish his wavering spirit, and strengthen the courage of his weakling soul, she said: "bridals are for young men, but the tomb awaits the old. the steps of youth go forward in desires and in fortune; but old age declines helpless to the sepulchre. hope attends youth; age is bowed with hopeless decay. the fortune of young men increases; it will never leave unfinished what it begins." respecting her words, he begged her to undertake the management of the suit. but she refused, pleading her age as her pretext, and declaring herself too stricken in years to bear so difficult a commission. the king saw that a bribe was wanted, and, proffering a golden necklace, promised it as the reward of her embassy. for the necklace had links consisting of studs, and figures of kings interspersed in bas-relief, which could be now separated and now drawn together by pulling a thread inside; a gewgaw devised more for luxury than use. frode also ordered that westmar and koll, with their sons, should be summoned to go on the same embassy, thinking that their cunning would avoid the shame of a rebuff. they went with gotwar, and were entertained by the king of the huns at a three days' banquet, ere they uttered the purpose of their embassy. for it was customary of old thus to welcome guests. when the feast had been prolonged three days, the princess came forth to make herself pleasant to the envoys with a most courteous address, and her blithe presence added not a little to the festal delights of the banqueters. and as the drink went faster westmar revealed his purpose in due course, in a very merry declaration, wishing to sound the mind of the maiden in talk of a friendly sort. and, in order not to inflict on himself a rebuff, he spoke in a mirthful vein, and broke the ground of his mission, by venturing to make up a sportive speech amid the applause of the revellers. the princess said that she disdained frode because he lacked honour and glory. for in days of old no men were thought fit for the hand of high-born women but those who had won some great prize of glory by the lustre of their admirable deeds. sloth was the worst of vices in a suitor, and nothing was more of a reproach in one who sought marriage than the lack of fame. a harvest of glory, and that alone, could bring wealth in everything else. maidens admired in their wooers not so much good looks as deeds nobly done. so the envoys, flagging and despairing of their wish, left the further conduct of the affair to the wisdom of gotwar, who tried to subdue the maiden not only with words but with love-philtres, and began to declare that frode used his left hand as well as his right, and was a quick and skillful swimmer and fighter. also by the drink which she gave she changed the strictness of the maiden to desire, and replaced her vanished anger with love and delight. then she bade westmar, koll, and their sons go to the king and urge their mission afresh; and finally, should they find him froward, to anticipate a rebuff by a challenge to fight. so westmar entered the palace with his men-at-arms, and said: "now thou must needs either consent to our entreaties, or meet in battle us who entreat thee. we would rather die nobly than go back with our mission unperformed; lest, foully repulsed and foiled of our purpose, we should take home disgrace where we hoped to will honour. if thou refuse thy daughter, consent to fight: thou must needs grant one thing or the other. we wish either to die or to have our prayers beard. something--sorrow if not joy--we will get from thee. frode will be better pleased to hear of our slaughter than of our repulse." without another word, he threatened to aim a blow at the king's throat with his sword. the king replied that it was unseemly for the royal majesty to meet an inferior in rank in level combat, and unfit that those of unequal station should fight as equals. but when westmar persisted in urging him to fight, he at last bade him find out what the real mind of the maiden was; for in old time men gave women who were to marry, free choice of a husband. for the king was embarrassed, and hung vacillating betwixt shame and fear of battle. thus westmar, having been referred to the thoughts of the girl's heart, and knowing that every woman is as changeable in purpose as she is fickle in soul, proceeded to fulfil his task all the more confidently because he knew how mutable the wishes of maidens were. his confidence in his charge was increased and his zeal encouraged, because she had both a maiden's simplicity, which was left to its own counsels, and a woman's freedom of choice, which must be wheedled with the most delicate and mollifying flatteries; and thus she would be not only easy to lead away, but even hasty in compliance. but her father went after the envoys, that he might see more surely into his daughter's mind. she had already been drawn by the stealthy working of the draught to love her suitor, and answered that the promise of frode, rather than his present renown, had made her expect much of his nature: since he was sprung from so famous a father, and every nature commonly answered to its origin. the youth therefore had pleased her by her regard of his future, rather than his present, glory. these words amazed the father; but neither could he bear to revoke the freedom he had granted her, and he promised her in marriage to frode. then, having laid in ample stores, he took her away with the most splendid pomp, and, followed by the envoys, hastened to denmark, knowing that a father was the best person to give away a daughter in marriage. frode welcomed his bride most joyfully, and also bestowed the highest honours upon his future royal father-in-law; and when the marriage rites were over, dismissed him with a large gift of gold and silver. and so with hanund, the daughter of the king of the huns, for his wife, he passed three years in the most prosperous peace. but idleness brought wantonness among his courtiers, and peace begot lewdness, which they displayed in the most abominable crimes. for they would draw some men up in the air on ropes, and torment them, pushing their bodies as they hung, like a ball that is tossed; or they would put a kid's hide under the feet of others as they walked, and, by stealthily pulling a rope, trip their unwary steps on the slippery skill in their path; others they would strip of their clothes, and lash with sundry tortures of stripes; others they fastened to pegs, as with a noose, and punished with mock-hanging. they scorched off the beard and hair with tapers; of others they burned the hair of the groin with a brand. only those maidens might marry whose chastity they had first deflowered. strangers they battered with bones; others they compelled to drunkenness with immoderate draughts, and made them burst. no man might give his daughter to wife unless he had first bought their favour and goodwill. none might contract any marriage without first purchasing their consent with a bribe. moreover, they extended their abominable and abandoned lust not only to virgins, but to the multitude of matrons indiscriminately. thus a twofold madness incited this mixture of wantonness and frenzy. guests and strangers were proffered not shelter but revilings. all these maddening mockeries did this insolent and wanton crew devise, and thus under a boy-king freedom fostered licence. for nothing prolongs reckless sin like the procrastination of punishment and vengeance. this unbridled impudence of the soldiers ended by making the king detested, not only by foreigners, but even by his own people, for the danes resented such an arrogant and cruel rule. but grep was contented with no humble loves; he broke out so outrageously that he was guilty of intercourse with the queen, and proved as false to the king as he was violent to all other men. then by degrees the scandal grew, and the suspicion of his guilt crept on with silent step. the common people found it out before the king. for grep, by always punishing all who alluded in the least to this circumstance, had made it dangerous to accuse him. but the rumour of his crime, which at first was kept alive in whispers, was next passed on in public reports; for it is hard for men to hide another's guilt if they are aware of it. gunwar had many suitors; and accordingly grep, trying to take revenge for his rebuff by stealthy wiles, demanded the right of judging the suitors, declaring that the princess ought to make the choicest match. but he disguised his anger, lest he should seem to have sought the office from hatred of the maiden. at his request the king granted him leave to examine the merits of the young men. so he first gathered all the wooers of gunwar together on the pretence of a banquet, and then lined the customary room of the princess with their heads--a gruesome spectacle for all the rest. yet he forfeited none of his favour with frode, nor abated his old intimacy with him. for he decided that any opportunity of an interview with the king must be paid for, and gave out that no one should have any conversation with him who brought no presents. access, he announced, to so great a general must be gained by no stale or usual method, but by making interest most zealously. he wished to lighten the scandal of his cruelty by the pretence of affection to his king. the people, thus tormented, vented their complaint of their trouble in silent groans. none had the spirit to lift up his voice in public against this season of misery. no one had become so bold as to complain openly of the affliction that was falling upon them. inward resentment vexed the hearts of men, secretly indeed, but all the more bitterly. when gotar, the king of norway, heard this, he assembled his soldiers, and said that the danes were disgusted with their own king, and longed for another if they could get the opportunity; that he had himself resolved to lead an army thither, and that denmark would be easy to seize if attacked. frode's government of his country was as covetous as it was cruel. then erik rose up and gainsaid the project with contrary reasons. "we remember," he said, "how often coveters of other men's goods lose their own. he who snatches at both has oft lost both. it must be a very strong bird that can wrest the prey from the claws of another. it is idle for thee to be encouraged by the internal jealousies of the country, for these are oft blown away by the approach of an enemy. for though the danes now seem divided in counsel, yet they will soon be of one mind to meet the foe. the wolves have often made peace between the quarrelling swine. every man prefers a leader of his own land to a foreigner, and every province is warmer in loyalty to a native than to a stranger king. for frode will not await thee at home, but will intercept thee abroad as thou comest. eagles claw each other with their talons, and fowls fight fronting. thou thyself knowest that the keen sight of the wise man must leave no cause for repentance. thou hast an ample guard of nobles. keep thou quiet as thou art; indeed thou wilt almost be able to find out by means of others what are thy resources for war. let the soldiers first try the fortunes of their king. provide in peace for thine own safety, and risk others if thou dost undertake the enterprise: better that the slave should perish than the master. let thy servant do for thee what the tongs do for the smith, who by the aid of his iron tool guards his hand from scorching, and saves his fingers from burning. learn thou also, by using thy men, to spare and take thought for thyself." so spake erik, and gotar, who had hitherto held him a man of no parts, now marvelled that he had graced his answer with sentences so choice and weighty, and gave him the name of shrewd-spoken, thinking that his admirable wisdom deserved some title. for the young man's reputation had been kept in the shade by the exceeding brilliancy of his brother roller. erik begged that some substantial gift should be added to the name, declaring that the bestowal of the title ought to be graced by a present besides. the king gave him a ship, and the oarsmen called it "skroter." now erik and roller were the sons of ragnar, the champion, and children of one father by different mothers; roller's mother and erik's stepmother was named kraka. and so, by leave of gotar, the task of making a raid on the danes fell to one hrafn. he was encountered by odd, who had at that time the greatest prestige among the danes as a rover, for he was such a skilled magician that he could range over the sea without a ship, and could often raise tempests by his spells, and wreck the vessels of the enemy. accordingly, that he might not have to condescend to pit his sea-forces against the rovers, he used to ruffle the waters by enchantment, and cause them to shipwreck his foes. to traders this man was ruthless, but to tillers of the soil he was merciful, for he thought less of merchandise than of the plough-handle, but rated the clean business of the country higher than the toil for filthy lucre. when he began to fight with the northmen he so dulled the sight of the enemy by the power of his spells that they thought the drawn swords of the danes cast their beams from afar off, and sparkled as if aflame. moreover, their vision was so blunted that they could not so much as look upon the sword when it was drawn from the sheath: the dazzle was too much for their eyesight, which could not endure the glittering mirage. so hrafn and many of his men were slain, and only six vessels slipped back to norway to teach the king that it was not so easy to crush the danes. the survivors also spread the news that frode trusted only in the help of his champions, and reigned against the will of his people, for his rule had become a tyranny. in order to examine this rumour, roller, who was a great traveller abroad, and eager to visit unknown parts, made a vow that he would get into the company of frode. but erik declared that, splendid as were his bodily parts, he had been rash in pronouncing the vow. at last, seeing him persisting stubbornly in his purpose, erik bound himself under a similar vow; and the king promised them that he would give them for companions whomsoever they approved by their choice. the brethren, therefore, first resolved to visit their father and beg for the stores and the necessaries that were wanted for so long a journey. he welcomed them paternally, and on the morrow took them to the forest to inspect the herd, for the old man was wealthy in cattle. also he revealed to them treasures which had long lain hid in caverns of the earth; and they were suffered to gather up whatsoever of these they would. the boon was accepted as heartily as it was offered: so they took the riches out of the ground, and bore away what pleased them. their rowers meanwhile were either refreshing themselves or exercising their skill with casting weights. some sped leaping, some running; others tried their strength by sturdily hurling stones; others tested their archery by drawing the bow. thus they essayed to strengthen themselves with divers exercises. some again tried to drink themselves into a drowse. roller was sent by his father to find out what had passed at home in the meanwhile. and when he saw smoke coming from his mother's hut he went up outside, and, stealthily applying his eye, saw through the little chink and into the house, where he perceived his mother stirring a cooked mess in an ugly-looking pot. also he looked up at three snakes hanging from above by a thin cord, from whose mouths flowed a slaver which dribbled drops of moisture on the meal. now two of these were pitchy of hue, while the third seemed to have whitish scales, and was hung somewhat higher than the others. this last had a fastening on its tail, while the others were held by a cord round their bellies. roller thought the affair looked like magic, but was silent on what he had seen, that he might not be thought to charge his mother with sorcery. for he did not know that the snakes were naturally harmless, or how much strength was being brewed for that meal. then ragnar and erik came up, and, when they saw the smoke issuing from the cottage, entered and went to sit at meat. when they were at table, and kraka's son and stepson were about to eat together, she put before them a small dish containing a piebald mess, part looking pitchy, but spotted with specks of yellow, while part was whitish: the pottage having taken a different hue answering to the different appearance of the snakes. and when each had tasted a single morsel, erik, judging the feast not by the colours but by the inward strengthening effected, turned the dish around very quickly, and transferred to himself the part which was black but compounded of stronger juices; and, putting over to roller the whitish part which had first been set before himself, throve more on his supper. and, to avoid showing that the exchange was made on purpose, he said, "thus does prow become stern when the sea boils up." the man had no little shrewdness, thus to use the ways of a ship to dissemble his cunning act. so erik, now refreshed by this lucky meal, attained by its inward working to the highest pitch of human wisdom. for the potency of the meal bred in him the fulness of all kinds of knowledge to an incredible degree, so that he had cunning to interpret even the utterances of wild beasts and cattle. for he was not only well versed in all the affairs of men, but he could interpret the particular feelings which brutes experienced from the sounds which expressed them. he was also gifted with an eloquence so courteous and graceful, that he adorned whatsoever he desired to expound with a flow of witty adages. but when kraka came up, and found that the dish had been turned round, and that erik had eaten the stronger share of the meal, she lamented that the good luck she had bred for her son should have passed to her stepson. soon she began to sigh, and entreat eric that he should never fail to help his brother, whose mother had heaped on him fortune so rich and strange: for by tasting a single savoury meal he had clearly attained sovereign wit and eloquence, besides the promise of success in combat. she added also, that roller was almost as capable of good counsel, and that he should not utterly miss the dainty that had been intended for him. she also told him that in case of extreme and violent need, he could find speedy help by calling on her name; declaring that she trusted partially in her divine attributes, and that, consorting as she did in a manner with the gods, she wielded an innate and heavenly power. erik said that he was naturally drawn to stand by his brother, and that the bird was infamous which fouled its own nest. but kraka was more vexed by her own carelessness than weighed down by her son's ill-fortune: for in old time it made a craftsman bitterly ashamed to be outwitted by his own cleverness. then kraka, accompanied by her husband, took away the brothers on their journey to the sea. they embarked in a single ship, but soon attached two others. they had already reached the coast of denmark, when, reconnoitering, they learned that seven ships had come up at no great distance. then erik bade two men who could speak the danish tongue well, to go to them unclothed, and, in order to spy better, to complain to odd of their nakedness, as if erik had caused it, and to report when they had made careful scrutiny. these men were received as friends by odd, and hunted for every plan of the general with their sharp ears. he had determined to attack the enemy unawares at daybreak, that he might massacre them the more speedily while they were swathed in their night garments: for he said that men's bodies were wont to be most dull and heavy at that hour of dawn. he also told them, thereby hastening what was to prove his own destruction, that his ships were laden with stones fit for throwing. the spies slipped off in the first sleep of the night, reported that odd had filled all his vessels with pebbles, and also told everything else they had heard. erik now quite understood the case, and, when he considered the smallness of his own fleet, thought that he must call the waters to destroy the enemy, and win their aid for himself. so he got into a boat and rowed, pulling silently, close up to the keels of the enemy; and gradually, by screwing in an auger, he bored the planks (a device practiced by hadding and also by frode), nearest to the water, and soon made good his return, the oar-beat being scarce audible. now he bore himself so warily, that not one of the watchers noted his approach or departure. as he rowed off, the water got in through the chinks of odd's vessels, and sank them, so that they were seen disappearing in the deep, as the water flooded them more and more within. the weight of the stones inside helped them mightily to sink. the billows were washing away the thwarts, and the sea was flush with the decks, when odd, seeing the vessels almost on a level with the waves, ordered the heavy seas that had been shipped to be baled out with pitchers. and so, while the crews were toiling on to protect the sinking parts of the vessels from the flood of waters, the enemy hove close up. thus, as they fell to their arms, the flood came upon them harder, and as they prepared to fight, they found they must swim for it. waves, not weapons, fought for erik, and the sea, which he had himself enabled to approach and do harm, battled for him. thus erik made better use of the billow than of the steel, and by the effectual aid of the waters seemed to fight in his own absence, the ocean lending him defence. the victory was given to his craft; for a flooded ship could not endure a battle. thus was odd slain with all his crew; the look-outs were captured, and it was found that no man escaped to tell the tale of the disaster. erik, when the massacre was accomplished, made a rapid retreat, and put in at the isle lesso. finding nothing there to appease his hunger, he sent the spoil homeward on two ships, which were to bring back supplies for another year. he tried to go by himself to the king in a single ship. so he put in to zealand, and the sailors ran about over the shore, and began to cut down the cattle: for they must either ease their hunger or perish of famine. so they killed the herd, skinned the carcases, and cast them on board. when the owners of the cattle found this out, they hastily pursued the free-booters with a fleet. and when erik found that he was being attacked by the owners of the cattle, he took care that the carcases of the slaughtered cows should be tied with marked ropes and hidden under water. then, when the zealanders came up, he gave them leave to look about and see if any of the carcases they were seeking were in his hands; saying that a ship's corners were too narrow to hide things. unable to find a carcase anywhere, they turned their suspicions on others, and thought the real criminals were guiltless of the plunder. since no traces of free-booting were to be seen, they fancied that others had injured them, and pardoned the culprits. as they sailed off, erik lifted the carcase out of the water and took it in. meantime frode learnt that odd and his men had gone down. for a widespread rumour of the massacre had got wind, though the author of the deed was unknown. there were men, however, who told how they had seen three sails putting in to shore, and departing again northwards. then erik went to the harbour, not far from which frode was tarrying, and, the moment that he stepped out of the ship, tripped inadvertently, and came tumbling to the ground. he found in the slip a presage of a lucky issue, and forecast better results from this mean beginning. when grep heard of his coming, he hastened down to the sea, intending to assail with chosen and pointed phrases the man whom he had heard was better-spoken than all other folk. grep's eloquence was not so much excellent as impudent, for he surpassed all in stubbornness of speech. so he began the dispute with reviling, and assailed erik as follows: grep: "fool, who art thou? what idle quest is thine? tell me, whence or whither dost thou journey? what is thy road? what thy desire? who thy father? what thy lineage? those have strength beyond others who have never left their own homes, and the luck of kings is their houseluck. for the things of a vile man are acceptable unto few, and seldom are the deeds of the hated pleasing." erik: "ragnar is my father; eloquence clothes my tongue; i have ever loved virtue only. wisdom hath been my one desire; i have travelled many ways over the world, and seen the different manners of men. the mind of the fool can keep no bounds in aught: it is base and cannot control its feelings. the use of sails is better than being drawn by the oar; the gale troubles the waters, a drearier gust the land. for rowing goes through the seas and lying the lands; and it is certain that the lands are ruled with the lips, but the seas with the hand." grep: "thou art thought to be as full of quibbling as a cock of dirt. thou stinkest heavy with filth, and reekest of nought but sin. there is no need to lengthen the plea against a buffoon, whose strength is in an empty and voluble tongue." erik: "by hercules, if i mistake not, the coward word is wont to come back to the utterer. the gods with righteous endeavour bring home to the speaker words cast forth without knowledge. as soon as we espy the sinister ears of the wolf, we believe that the wolf himself is near. men think no credit due to him that hath no credit, whom report accuses of treachery." grep: "shameless boy, owl astray from the path, night-owl in the darkness, thou shalt pay for thy reckless words. thou shalt be sorry for the words thou now belchest forth madly, and shalt pay with thy death for thy unhallowed speech. lifeless thou shalt pasture crows on thy bloodless corpse, to be a morsel for beasts, a prey to the ravenous bird." erik: "the boding of the coward, and the will that is trained to evil, have never kept themselves within due measure. he who betrays his lord, he who conceives foul devices, will be as great a snare to himself as to his friends. whoso fosters a wolf in his house is thought to feed a thief and a pest for his own hearth." grep: "i did not, as thou thinkest, beguile the queen, but i was the guardian of her tender estate. she increased my fortunes, and her favour first brought me gifts and strength, and wealth and counsel." erik: "lo, thy guilty disquiet lies heavy on thee; that man's freedom is safest whose mind remains untainted. whoso asks a slave to be a friend, is deceived; often the henchman hurts his master." at this grep, shorn of his glibness of rejoinder, set spurs to his horse and rode away. now when he reached home, he filled the palace with uproarious and vehement clamour; and shouting that he had been worsted in words, roused all his soldiers to fight, as though he would avenge by main force his luckless warfare of tongues. for he swore that he would lay the host of the foreigners under the claws of eagles. but the king warned him that he should give his frenzy pause for counsel, that blind plans were commonly hurtful; that nothing could be done both cautiously and quickly at once; that headstrong efforts were the worst obstacle; and lastly, that it was unseemly to attack a handful with a host. also, said he, the sagacious man was he who could bridle a raging spirit, and stop his frantic empetuosity in time. thus the king forced the headlong rage of the young man to yield to reflection. but he could not wholly recall to self-control the frenzy of his heated mind, or prevent the champion of wrangles, abashed by his hapless debate, and finding armed vengeance refused him, from asking leave at least to try his sorceries by way of revenge. he gained his request, and prepared to go back to the shore with a chosen troop of wizards. so he first put on a pole the severed head of a horse that had been sacrificed to the gods, and setting sticks beneath displayed the jaws grinning agape; hoping that he would foil the first efforts of erik by the horror of this wild spectacle. for he supposed that the silly souls of the barbarians would give away at the bogey of a protruding neck. erik was already on his road to meet them, and saw the head from afar off, and, understanding the whole foul contrivance, he bade his men keep silent and behave warily; no man was to be rash or hasty of speech, lest by some careless outburst they might give some opening to the sorceries; adding that if talking happened to be needed, he would speak for all. and they were now parted by a river; when the wizards, in order to dislodge erik from the approach to the bridge, set up close to the river, on their own side, the pole on which they had fixed the horse's head. nevertheless erik made dauntlessly for the bridge, and said: "on the bearer fall the ill-luck of what he bears! may a better issue attend our steps! evil befall the evil-workers! let the weight of the ominous burden crush the carrier! let the better auguries bring us safety!" and it happened according to his prayer. for straightway the head was shaken off, the stick fell and crushed the bearer. and so all that array of sorceries was baffled at the bidding of a single curse, and extinguished. then, as erik advanced a little, it came into his mind that strangers ought to fix on gifts for the king. so he carefully wrapped up in his robe a piece of ice which he happened to find, and managed to take it to the king by way of a present. but when they reached the palace he sought entrance first, and bade his brother follow close behind. already the slaves of the king, in order to receive him with mockery as he entered, had laid a slippery hide on the threshold; and when erik stepped upon it, they suddenly jerked it away by dragging a rope, and would have tripped him as he stood upon it, had not roller, following behind, caught his brother on his breast as he tottered. so erik, having half fallen, said that "bare was the back of the brotherless." and when gunwar said that such a trick ought not to be permitted by a king, the king condemned the folly of the messenger who took no heed against treachery. and thus he excused his flout by the heedlessness of the man he flouted. within the palace was blazing a fire, which the aspect of the season required: for it was now gone midwinter. by it, in different groups, sat the king on one side and the champions on the other. these latter, when erik joined them, uttered gruesome sounds like things howling. the king stopped the clamour, telling them that the noises of wild beasts ought not to be in the breasts of men. erik added, that it was the way of dogs, for all the others to set up barking when one started it; for all folk by their bearing betrayed their birth and revealed their race. but when koll, who was the keeper of the gifts offered to the king, asked him whether he had brought any presents with him, he produced the ice which he had hidden in his breast. and when he had handed it to koll across the hearth, he purposely let it go into the fire, as though it had slipped from the hand of the receiver. all present saw the shining fragment, and it seemed as though molten metal had fallen into the fire. erik, maintaining that it had been jerked away by the carelessness of him who took it, asked what punishment was due to the loser of the gift. the king consulted the opinion of the queen, who advised him not to relax the statute of the law which he had passed, whereby he gave warning that all who lost presents that were transmitted to him should be punished with death. everyone else also said that the penalty by law appointed ought not to be remitted. and so the king, being counselled to allow the punishment as inevitable, gave leave for koll to be hanged. then frode began to accost erik thus: "o thou, wantoning in insolent phrase, in boastful and bedizened speech, whence dost thou say that thou hast come hither, and why?" erik answered: "i came from rennes isle, and i took my seat by a stone." frode rejoined: "i ask, whither thou wentest next?" erik answered. "i went off from the stone riding on a beam, and often again took station by a stone." frode replied: "i ask thee whither thou next didst bend thy course, or where the evening found thee?" then said erik: "leaving a crag, i came to a rock, and likewise lay by a stone." frode said: "the boulders lay thick in those parts." erik answered: "yet thicker lies the sand, plain to see." frode said: "tell what thy business was, and whither thou struckest off thence." then said erik: "leaving the rock, as my ship ran on, i found a dolphin." frode said: "now thou hast said something fresh, though both these things are common in the sea: but i would know what path took thee after that?" erik answered: "after a dolphin i went to a dolphin." frode said: "the herd of dolphins is somewhat common." then said erik: "it does swim somewhat commonly on the waters." frode said: "i would fain blow whither thou wert borne on thy toilsome journey after leaving the dolphins?" erik answered: "i soon came upon the trunk of a tree." frode rejoined: "whither didst thou next pass on thy journey?" then said erik: "from a trunk i passed on to a log." frode said: "that spot must be thick with trees, since thou art always calling the abodes of thy hosts by the name of trunks." erik replied: "there is a thicker place in the woods." frode went on: "relate whither thou next didst bear thy steps." erik answered: "oft again i made my way to the lopped timbers of the woods; but, as i rested there, wolves that were sated on human carcases licked the points of the spears. there a lance-head was shaken from the shaft of the king, and it was the grandson of fridleif." frode said: "i am bewildered, and know not what to think about the dispute: for thou hast beguiled my mind with very dark riddling." erik answered: "thou owest me the prize for this contest that is finished: for under a veil i have declared to thee certain things thou hast ill understood. for under the name i gave before of `spear-point' i signified odd, whom my hand had slain." and when the queen also had awarded him the palm of eloquence and the prize for flow of speech, the king straightway took a bracelet from his arm, and gave it to him as the appointed reward, adding: "i would fain learn from thyself thy debate with grep, wherein he was not ashamed openly to avow himself vanquished." then said erik: "he was smitten with shame for the adultery wherewith he was taxed; for since he could bring no defence, he confessed that he had committed it with thy wife." the king turned to hanund and asked her in what spirit she received the charge; and she not only confessed her guilt by a cry, but also put forth in her face a blushing signal of her sin, and gave manifest token of her fault. the king, observing not only her words, but also the signs of her countenance, but doubting with what sentence he should punish the criminal, let the queen settle by her own choice the punishment which her crime deserved. when she learnt that the sentence committed to her concerned her own guilt, she wavered awhile as she pondered how to appraise her transgression; but grep sprang up and ran forward to transfix erik with a spear, wishing to buy off his own death by slaying the accuser. but roller fell on him with drawn sword, and dealt him first the doom he had himself purposed. erik said: "the service of kin is best for the helpless." and roller said: "in sore needs good men should be dutifully summoned." then frode said: "i think it will happen to you according to the common saying, `that the striker sometimes has short joy of his stroke', and `that the hand is seldom long glad of the smiting'." erik answered: "the man must not be impeached whose deed justice excuses. for my work is as far as from that of grep, as an act of self-defence is from an attack upon another." then the brethren of grep began to spring up and clamour and swear that they would either bring avengers upon the whole fleet of erik, or would fight him and ten champions with him. erik said to them: "sick men have to devise by craft some provision for their journey. he whose sword-point is dull should only probe things that are soft and tender. he who has a blunt knife must search out the ways to cut joint by joint. since, therefore, it is best for a man in distress to delay the evil, and nothing is more fortunate in trouble than to stave off hard necessity, i ask three days' space to get ready, provided that i may obtain from the king the skill of a freshly slain ox." frode answered: "he who fell on a hide deserves a hide"; thus openly taunting the asker with his previous fall. but erik, when the hide was given him, made some sandals, which he smeared with a mixture of tar and sand, in order to plant his steps the more firmly, and fitted them on to the feet of himself and his people. at last, having meditated what spot he should choose for the fight--for he said that he was unskilled in combat by land and in all warfare--he demanded it should be on the frozen sea. to this both sides agreed. the king granted a truce for preparations, and bade the sons of westmar withdraw, saying that it was amiss that a guest, even if he had deserved ill should be driven from his lodging. then he went back to examine into the manner of the punishment, which he had left to the queen's own choice to exact. for she forebore to give judgment, and begged pardon for her slip. erik added, that woman's errors must often be forgiven, and that punishment ought not to be inflicted, unless amendment were unable to get rid of her fault. so the king pardoned hanund. as twilight drew near, erik said: "with gotar, not only are rooms provided when the soldiers are coming to feast at the banquet, but each is appointed a separate place and seat where he is to lie." then the king gave up for their occupation the places where his own champions had sat; and next the servants brought the banquet. but erik, knowing well the courtesy of the king, which made him forbid them to use up any of the meal that was left, cast away the piece of which he had tasted very little, calling whole portions broken bits of food. and so, as the dishes dwindled, the servants brought up fresh ones to the lacking and shamefaced guests, thus spending on a little supper what might have served for a great banquet. so the king said: "are the soldiers of gotar wont to squander the meat after once touching it, as if it were so many pared-off crusts? and to spurn the first dishes as if they were the last morsels?" erik said: "uncouthness claims no place in the manners of gotar, neither does any disorderly habit feign there." but frode said: "then thy manners are not those of thy lord, and thou hast proved that thou hast not taken all wisdom to heart. for he who goes against the example of his elders shows himself a deserter and a renegade." then said erik: "the wise man must be taught by the wiser. for knowledge grows by learning, and instruction is advanced by doctrine." frode rejoined: "this affectation of thine of superfluous words, what exemplary lesson will it teach me?" erik said: "a loyal few are a safer defence for a king than many traitors." frode said to him: "wilt thou then show us closer allegiance than the rest?" erik answered: "no man ties the unborn (horse) to the crib, or the unbegotten to the stall. for thou hast not yet experienced all things. besides, with gotar there is always a mixture of drinking with feasting; liquor, over and above, and as well as meat, is the joy of the reveller." frode said: "never have i found a more shameless beggar of meat and drink." erik replied: "few reckon the need of the silent, or measure the wants of him who holds his peace." then the king bade his sister bring forth the drink in a great goblet. erik caught hold of her right hand and of the goblet she offered at the same time, and said: "noblest of kings, hath thy benignity granted me this present? dost thou assure me that what i hold shall be mine as an irrevocable gift?" the king, thinking that he was only asking for the cup, declared it was a gift. but erik drew the maiden to him, as if she was given with the cup. when the king saw it, he said: "a fool is shown by his deed; with us freedom of maidens is ever held inviolate." then erik, feigning that he would cut off the girl's hand with his sword, as though it had been granted under the name of the cup, said: "if i have taken more than thou gavest, or if i am rash to keep the whole, let me at least get some." the king saw his mistake in his promise, and gave him the maiden, being loth to undo his heedlessness by fickleness, and that the weight of his pledge might seem the greater; though it is held an act more of ripe judgment than of unsteadfastness to take back a foolish promise. then, taking from erik security that he would return, he sent him to the ships; for the time appointed for the battle was at hand. erik and his men went on to the sea, then covered near with ice; and, thanks to the stability of their sandals, felled the enemy, whose footing was slippery and unsteady. for frode had decreed that no man should help either side if it wavered or were distressed. then he went back in triumph to the king. so gotwar, sorrowing at the destruction of her children who had miserably perished, and eager to avenge them, announced that it would please her to have a flyting with erik, on condition that she should gage a heavy necklace and he his life; so that if he conquered he should win gold, but if he gave in, death. erik agreed to the contest, and the gage was deposited with gunwar. so gotwar began thus: "quando tuam limas admissa cote bipennem, nonne terit tremulas mentula quassa nates?" erik rejoined: "ut cuivis natura pilos in corpore sevit, omnis nempe suo barba ferenda loco est. re veneris homines artus agitare necesse est; motus quippe suos nam labor omnis habet. cum natis excipitur nate, vel cum subdita penem vulva capit, quid ad haec addere mas renuit?" powerless to answer this, gotwar had to give the gold to the man whom she had meant to kill, and thus wasted a lordly gift instead of punishing the slayer of her son. for her ill fate was crowned, instead of her ill-will being avenged. first bereaved, and then silenced by furious words, she lost at once her wealth and all reward of her eloquence. she made the man blest who had taken away her children, and enriched her bereaver with a present: and took away nothing to make up the slaughter of her sons save the reproach of ignorance and the loss of goods. westmar, when he saw this, determined to attack the man by force, since he was the stronger of tongue, and laid down the condition that the reward of the conqueror should be the death of the conquered, so that the life of both parties was plainly at stake. erik, unwilling to be thought quicker of tongue than of hand, did not refuse the terms. now the manner of combat was as follows. a ring, plaited of withy or rope, used to be offered to the combatants for them to drag away by wrenching it with a great effort of foot and hand; and the prize went to the stronger, for if either of the combatants could wrench it from the other, he was awarded the victory. erik struggled in this manner, and, grasping the rope sharply, wrested it out of the hands of his opponent. when erode saw this, he said: "i think it is hard to tug at a rope with a strong man." and erik said: "hard, at any rate, when a tumour is in the body or a hunch sits on the back." and straightway, thrusting his foot forth, he broke the infirm neck and back of the old man, and crushed him. and so westmar failed to compass his revenge: zealous to retaliate, he fell into the portion of those who need revenging; being smitten down even as those whose slaughter he had desired to punish. now frode intended to pierce erik by throwing a dagger at him. but gunwar knew her brother's purpose, and said, in order to warn her betrothed of his peril, that no man could be wise who took no forethought for himself. this speech warned erik to ward off the treachery, and he shrewdly understood the counsel of caution. for at once he sprang up and said that the glory of the wise man would be victorious, but that guile was its own punishment; thus censuring his treacherous intent in very gentle terms. but the king suddenly flung his knife at him, yet was too late to hit him; for he sprang aside, and the steel missed its mark and ran into the wall opposite. then said erik: "gifts should be handed to friends, and not thrown; thou hadst made the present acceptable if thou hadst given the sheath to keep the blade company." on this request the king at once took the sheath from his girdle and gave it to him, being forced to abate his hatred by the self-control of his foe. thus he was mollified by the prudent feigning of the other, and with goodwill gave him for his own the weapon which he had cast with ill will. and thus erik, by taking the wrong done him in a dissembling manner, turned it into a favour, accepting as a splendid gift the steel which had been meant to slay him. for he put a generous complexion on what frode had done with intent to harm. then they gave themselves up to rest. in the night gunwar awoke erik silently, and pointed out to him that they ought to fly, saying that it was very expedient to return with safe chariot ere harm was done. he went with her to the shore, where he happened to find the king's fleet beached: so, cutting away part of the sides, he made it unseaworthy, and by again replacing some laths he patched it so that the damage might be unnoticed by those who looked at it. then he caused the vessel whither he and his company had retired to put off a little from the shore. the king prepared to give them chase with his mutilated ships, but soon the waves broke through; and though he was very heavily laden with his armour, he began to swim off among the rest, having become more anxious to save his own life than to attack that of others. the bows plunged over into the sea, the tide flooded in and swept the rowers from their seats. when erik and roller saw this they instantly flung themselves into the deep water, spurning danger, and by swimming picked up the king, who was tossing about. thrice the waves had poured over him and borne him down when erik caught him by the hair, and lifted him out of the sea. the remaining crowd of the wrecked either sank in the waters, or got with trouble to the land. the king was stripped of his dripping attire and swathed round with dry garments, and the water poured in floods from his chest as he kept belching it; his voice also seemed to fail under the exhaustion of continual pantings. at last heat was restored to his limbs, which were numbed with cold, and his breathing became quicker. he had not fully got back his strength, and could sit but not rise. gradually his native force returned. but when he was asked at last whether he sued for life and grace, he put his hand to his eyes, and strove to lift up their downcast gaze. but as, little by little, power came back to his body, and as his voice became more assured, he said: "by this light, which i am loth to look on, by this heaven which i behold and drink in with little joy, i beseech and conjure you not to persuade me to use either any more. i wished to die; ye have saved me in vain. i was not allowed to perish in the waters; at least i will die by the sword. i was unconquered before; thine, erik, was the first wit to which i yielded: i was all the more unhappy, because i had never been beaten by men of note, and now i let a low-born man defeat me. this is great cause for a king to be ashamed. this is a good and sufficient reason for a general to die; it is right that he should care for nothing so much as glory. if he want that, then take it that he lacks all else. for nothing about a king is more on men's lips than his repute. i was credited with the height of understanding and eloquence. but i have been stripped of both the things wherein i was thought to excel, and am all the more miserable because i, the conqueror of kings, am seen conquered by a peasant. why grant life to him whom thou hast robbed of honour? i have lost sister, realm, treasure, household gear, and, what is greater than them all, renown: i am luckless in all chances, and in all thy good fortune is confessed. why am i to be kept to live on for all this ignominy? what freedom can be so happy for me that it can wipe out all the shame of captivity? what will all the following time bring for me? it can beget nothing but long remorse in my mind, and will savour only of past woes. what will prolonging of life avail, if it only brings back the memory of sorrow? to the stricken nought is pleasanter than death, and that decease is happy which comes at a man's wish, for it cuts not short any sweetness of his days, but annihilates his disgust at all things. life in prosperity, but death in adversity, is best to seek. no hope of better things tempts me to long for life. what hap can quite repair my shattered fortunes? and by now, had ye not rescued me in my peril, i should have forgotten even these. what though thou shouldst give me back my realm, restore my sister, and renew my treasure? thou canst never repair my renown. nothing that is patched up can have the lustre of the unimpaired, and rumour will recount for ages that frode was taken captive. moreover, if ye reckon the calamities i have inflicted on you, i have deserved to die at your hands; if ye recall the harms i have done, ye will repent your kindness. ye will be ashamed of having aided a foe, if ye consider how savagely he treated you. why do ye spare the guilty? why do ye stay your hand from the throat of your persecutor? it is fitting that the lot which i had prepared for you should come home to myself. i own that if i had happened to have you in my power as ye now have me, i should have paid no heed to compassion. but if i am innocent before you in act, i am guilty at least in will. i pray you, let my wrongful intention, which sometimes is counted to stand for the deed, recoil upon me. if ye refuse me death by the sword i will take care to kill myself with my own hand." erik rejoined thus: "i pray that the gods may turn thee from the folly of thy purpose; turn thee, i say, that thou mayst not try to end a most glorious life abominably. why, surely the gods themselves have forbidden that a man who is kind to others should commit unnatural self-murder. fortune has tried thee to find out with what spirit thou wouldst meet adversity. destiny has proved thee, not brought thee low. no sorrow has been inflicted on thee which a happier lot cannot efface. thy prosperity has not been changed; only a warning has been given thee. no man behaves with self-control in prosperity who has not learnt to endure adversity. besides, the whole use of blessings is reaped after misfortunes have been graciously acknowledged. sweeter is the joy which follows on the bitterness of fate. wilt thou shun thy life because thou hast once had a drenching, and the waters closed over thee? but if the waters can crush thy spirit, when wilt thou with calm courage bear the sword? who would not reckon swimming away in his armour more to his glory than to his shame? how many men would think themselves happy were they unhappy with thy fortune? the sovereignty is still thine; thy courage is in its prime; thy years are ripening; thou canst hope to compass more than thou hast yet achieved. i would not find thee fickle enough to wish, not only to shun hardships, but also to fling away thy life, because thou couldst not bear them. none is so unmanly as he who from fear of adversity loses heart to live. no wise man makes up for his calamities by dying. wrath against another is foolish, but against a man's self it is foolhardy; and it is a coward frenzy which dooms its owner. but if thou go without need to thy death for some wrong suffered, or for some petty perturbation of spirit, whom dost thou leave behind to avenge thee? who is so mad that he would wish to punish the fickleness of fortune by destroying himself? what man has lived so prosperously but that ill fate has sometimes stricken him? hast thou enjoyed felicity unbroken and passed thy days without a shock, and now, upon a slight cloud of sadness, dost thou prepare to quit thy life, only to save thy anguish? if thou bear trifles so ill, how shalt thou endure the heavier frowns of fortune? callow is the man who has never tasted of the cup of sorrow; and no man who has not suffered hardships is temperate in enjoying ease. wilt thou, who shouldst have been a pillar of courage, show a sign of a palsied spirit? born of a brave sire, wilt thou display utter impotence? wilt thou fall so far from thy ancestors as to turn softer than women? hast thou not yet begun thy prime, and art thou already taken with weariness of life? whoever set such an example before? shall the grandson of a famous man, and the child of the unvanquished, be too weak to endure a slight gust of adversity? thy nature portrays the courage of thy sires; none has conquered thee, only thine own heedlessness has hurt thee. we snatched thee from peril, we did not subdue thee; wilt thou give us hatred for love, and set our friendship down as wrongdoing? our service should have appeased thee, and not troubled thee. may the gods never desire thee to go so far in frenzy, as to persist in branding thy preserver as a traitor! shall we be guilty before thee in a matter wherein we do thee good? shall we draw anger on us for our service? wilt thou account him thy foe whom thou hast to thank for thy life? for thou wert not free when we took thee, but in distress, and we came in time to help thee. and, behold, i restore thy treasure, thy wealth, thy goods. if thou thinkest thy sister was betrothed to me over-hastily, let her marry the man whom thou commandest; for her chastity remains inviolate. moreover, if thou wilt accept me, i wish to fight for thee. beware lest thou wrongfully steel thy mind in anger. no loss of power has shattered thee, none of thy freedom has been forfeited. thou shalt see that i am obeying, not commanding thee. i agree to any sentence thou mayst pronounce against my life. be assured that thou art as strong here as-in thy palace; thou hast the same power to rule here as in thy court. enact concerning us here whatsoever would have been thy will in the palace: we are ready to obey." thus much said erik. now this speech softened the king towards himself as much as towards his foe. then, everything being arranged and made friendly, they returned to the shore. the king ordered that erik and his sailors should be taken in carriages. but when they reached the palace he had an assembly summoned, to which he called erik, and under the pledge of betrothal gave him his sister and command over a hundred men. then he added that the queen would be a weariness to him, and that the daughter of gotar had taken his liking. he must, therefore, have a fresh embassy, and the business could best be done by erik, for whose efforts nothing seemed too hard. he also said that he would stone gotwar to death for her complicity in concealing the crime; but hanund he would restore to her father, that he might not have a traitress against his life dwelling amongst the danes. erik approved his plans, and promised his help to carry out his bidding; except that he declared that it would be better to marry the queen, when she had been put away, to roller, of whom his sovereignty need have no fears. this opinion frode received reverentially, as though it were some lesson vouchsafed from above. the queen also, that she might not seem to be driven by compulsion, complied, as women will, and declared that there was no natural necessity to grieve, and that all distress of spirit was a creature of fancy: and, moreover, that one ought not to bewail the punishment that befell one's deserts. and so the brethren celebrated their marriages together, one wedding the sister of the king, and the other his divorced queen. then they sailed back to norway, taking their wives with them. for the women could not be torn from the side of their husbands, either by distance of journey or by dread of peril, but declared that they would stick to their lords like a feather to something shaggy. they found that ragnar was dead, and that kraka had already married one brak. then they remembered the father's treasure, dug up the money, and bore it off. but erik's fame had gone before him, and gotar had learnt all his good fortune. now when gotar learnt that he had come himself, he feared that his immense self-confidence would lead him to plan the worst against the norwegians, and was anxious to take his wife from him and marry him to his own daughter in her place: for his queen had just died, and he was anxious to marry the sister of frode more than anyone. erik, when he learnt of his purpose, called his men together, and told them that his fortune had not yet got off from the reefs. also he said that he saw, that as a bundle that was not tied by a band fell to pieces, so likewise the heaviest punishment that was not constrained on a man by his own fault suddenly collapsed. they had experienced this of late with frode; for they saw how at the hardest pass their innocence had been protected by the help of the gods; and if they continued to preserve it they should hope for like aid in their adversity. next, they must pretend flight for a little while, if they were attacked by gotar, for so they would have a juster plea for fighting. for they had every right to thrust out the hand in order to shield the head from peril. seldom could a man carry to a successful end a battle he had begun against the innocent; so, to give them a better plea for assaulting the enemy, he must be provoked to attack them first. erik then turned to gunwar, and asked her, in order to test her fidelity, whether she had any love for gotar, telling her it was unworthy that a maid of royal lineage should be bound to the bed of a man of the people. then she began to conjure him earnestly by the power of heaven to tell her whether his purpose was true or reigned? he said that he had spoken seriously, and she cried: "and so thou art prepared to bring on me the worst of shame by leaving me a widow, whom thou lovedst dearly as a maid! common rumour often speaks false, but i have been wrong in my opinion of thee. i thought i had married a steadfast man; i hoped his loyalty was past question; but now i find him to be more fickle than the winds." saying this, she wept abundantly. dear to erik was his wife's fears; presently he embraced her and said: "i wished to know how loyal thou wert to me. nought but death has the right to sever us, but gotar means to steal thee away, seeking thy love by robbery. when he has committed the theft, pretend it is done with thy goodwill; yet put off the wedding till he has given me his daughter in thy place. when she has been granted, gotar and i will hold our marriage on the same day. and take care that thou prepare rooms for our banqueting which have a common party-wall, yet are separate: lest perchance, if i were before thine eyes, thou shouldst ruffle the king with thy lukewarm looks at him. for this will be a most effective trick to baffle the wish of the ravisher." then he bade brak (one of his men), to lie in ambush not far from the palace with a chosen band of his quickest men, that he might help him at need. then he summoned roller, and fled in his ship with his wife and all his goods, in order to tempt the king out, pretending panic: so, when he saw that the fleet of gotar was pressing him hard, he said: "behold how the bow of guile shooteth the shaft of treachery;" and instantly rousing his sailors with the war-shout, he steered the ship about. gotar came close up to him and asked who was the pilot of the ship, and he was told that it was erik. he also shouted a question whether he was the same man who by his marvellous speaking could silence the eloquence of all other men. erik, when he heard this, replied that he had long since received the surname of the "shrewd-spoken", and that he had not won the auspicious title for nothing. then both went back to the nearest shore, where gotar, when he learnt the mission of erik, said that he wished for the sister of frode, but would rather offer his own daughter to frode's envoy, that erik might not repent the passing of his own wife to another man. thus it would not be unfitting for the fruit of the mission to fall to the ambassador. erik, he said, was delightful to him as a son-in-law, if only he could win alliance with frode through gunwar. erik lauded the kindness of the king and approved his judgment, declaring he could not have expected a greater thing from the immortal gods than what was now offered him unasked. still, he said, the king must first discover gunwar's own mind and choice. she accepted the flatteries of the king with feigned goodwill, and seemed to consent readily to his suit, but besought him to suffer erik's nuptials to precede hers; because, if erik's were accomplished first, there would be a better opportunity for the king's; but chiefly on this account, that, if she were to marry again, she might not be disgusted at her new marriage troth by the memory of the old recurring. she also declared it inexpedient for two sets of preparations to be confounded in one ceremony. the king was prevailed upon by her answers, and highly approved her requests. gotar's constant talks with erik furnished him with a store of most fairshapen maxims, wherewith to rejoice and refresh his mind. so, not satisfied with giving him his daughter in marriage he also made over to him the district of lither, thinking that their connection deserved some kindness. now kraka, whom erik, because of her cunning in witchcraft, had brought with him on his travels, feigned weakness of the eyes, and muffled up her face in her cloak, so that not a single particle of her head was visible for recognition. when people asked her who she was, she said that she was gunwar's sister, child of the same mother but a different father. now when they came to the dwelling of gotar, the wedding-feast of alfhild (this was his daughter's name) was being held. erik and the king sat at meat in different rooms, with a party-wall in common, and also entirely covered on the inside with hanging tapestries. gunwar sat by gotar, but erik sat close between kraka on the one side and alfhild on the other. amid the merrymaking, he gradually drew a lath out of the wall, and made an opening large enough to allow the passage of a human body; and thus, without the knowledge of the guests, he made a space wide enough to go through. then, in the course of the feast, he began to question his betrothed closely whether she would rather marry himself or frode: especially since, if due heed were paid to matches, the daughter of a king ought to go to the arms of one as noble as herself, so that the lowliness of one of the pair might not impair the lordliness of the other. she said that she would never marry against the permission of her father; but he turned her aversion into compliance by promises that she should be queen, and that she should be richer than all other women, for she was captivated by the promise of wealth quite as much as of glory. there is also a tradition that kraka turned the maiden's inclinations to frode by a drink which she mixed and gave to her. now gotar, after the feast, in order to make the marriage-mirth go fast and furious, went to the revel of erik. as he passed out, gunwar, as she had been previously bidden, went through the hole in the party-wall where the lath had been removed, and took the seat next to erik. gotar marvelled that she was sitting there by his side, and began to ask eagerly how and why she had come there. she said that she was gunwar's sister, and that the king was deceived by the likeness of their looks. and when the king, in order to look into the matter, hurried back to the royal room, gunwar returned through the back door by which she had come and sat in her old place in the sight of all. gotar, when he saw her, could scarcely believe his eyes, and in the utmost doubt whether he had recognized her aright, he retraced his steps to erik; and there he saw before him gunwar, who had got back in her own fashion. and so, as often as he changed to go from one hall to the other, he found her whom he sought in either place. by this time the king was tormented by great wonder at what was no mere likeness, but the very same face in both places. for it seemed flatly impossible that different people should look exactly and undistinguishably alike. at last, when the revel broke up, he courteously escorted his daughter and erik as far as their room, as the manner is at weddings, and went back himself to bed elsewhere. but erik suffered alfhild, who was destined for frode, to lie apart, and embraced gunwar as usual, thus outwitting the king. so gotar passed a sleepless night, revolving how he had been apparently deluded with a dazed and wandering mind: for it seemed to him no mere likeness of looks, but sameness. thus he was filled with such wavering and doubtful judgment, that though he really discerned the truth he thought he must have been mistaken. at last it flashed across his mind that the wall might have been tampered with. he gave orders that it should be carefully surveyed and examined, but found no traces of a breakage: in fact, the entire room seemed to be whole and unimpaired. for erik, early in the night, had patched up the damage of the broken wall, that his trick might not be detected. then the king sent two men privily into the bedroom of erik to learn the truth, and bade them stand behind the hangings and note all things carefully. they further received orders to kill erik if they found him with gunwar. they went secretly into the room, and, concealing themselves in the curtained corners, beheld erik and gunwar in bed together with arms entwined. thinking them only drowsy, they waited for their deeper sleep, wishing to stay until a heavier slumber gave them a chance to commit their crime. erik snored lustily, and they knew it was a sure sign that he slept soundly; so they straightway came forth with drawn blades in order to butcher him. erik was awakened by their treacherous onset, and seeing their swords hanging over his head, called out the name of his stepmother, (kraka), to which long ago he had been bidden to appeal when in peril, and he found a speedy help in his need. for his shield, which hung aloft from the rafter, instantly fell and covered his unarmed body, and, as if on purpose, covered it from impalement by the cutthroats. he did not fail to make use of his luck, but, snatching his sword, lopped off both feet of the nearest of them. gunwar, with equal energy, ran a spear through the other: she had the body of a woman, but the spirit of a man. thus erik escaped the trap; whereupon he went back to the sea and made ready to sail off by night. but roller sounded on his horn the signal for those who had been bidden to watch close by, to break into the palace. when the king heard this, he thought it meant that the enemy was upon them, and made off hastily in a ship. meanwhile brak, and those who had broken in with him, snatched up the goods of the king, and got them on board erik's ships. almost half the night was spent in pillaging. in the morning, when the king found that they had fled, he prepared to pursue them, but was advised by one of his friends not to plan anything on a sudden or do it in haste. his friend, indeed, tried to convince him that he needed a larger equipment, and that it was ill-advised to pursue the fugitives to denmark with a handful. but neither could this curb the king's impetuous spirit; it could not bear the loss; for nothing had stung him more than this, that his preparations to slay another should have recoiled on his own men. so he sailed to the harbour which is now called omi. here the weather began to be bad, provision failed, and they thought it better, since die they must, to die by the sword than by famine. and so the sailors turned their hand against one another, and hastened their end by mutual blows. the king with a few men took to the cliffs and escaped. lofty barrows still mark the scene of the slaughter. meanwhile erik ended his voyage fairly, and the wedding of alfhild and frode was kept. then came tidings of an inroad of the sclavs, and erik was commissioned to suppress it with eight ships, since frode as yet seemed inexperienced in war. erik, loth ever to flinch from any manly undertaking, gladly undertook the business and did it bravely. learning that the pirates had seven ships, he sailed up to them with only one of his own, ordering the rest to be girt with timber parapets, and covered over with pruned boughs of trees. then he advanced to observe the number of the enemy more fully, but when the sclavs pursued closely, he beat a quick retreat to his men. but the enemy, blind to the trap, and as eager to take the fugitives, rowed smiting the waters fast and incessantly. for the ships of erik could not be clearly distinguished, looking like a leafy wood. the enemy, after venturing into a winding strait, suddenly saw themselves surrounded by the fleet of erik. first, confounded by the strange sight, they thought that a wood was sailing; and then they saw that guile lurked under the leaves. therefore, tardily repenting their rashness, they tried to retrace their incautious voyage: but while they were trying to steer about, they saw the enemy boarding them; erik, however, put his ship ashore, and slung stones against the enemy from afar. thus most of the sclavs were killed, and forty taken, who afterwards under stress of bonds and famine, and in strait of divers torments, gave up the ghost. meantime frode, in order to cross on an expedition into sclavia, had mustered a mighty fleet from the danes, as well as from neighbouring peoples. the smallest boat of this fleet could carry twelve sailors, and be rowed by as many oars. then erik, bidding his men await him patiently went to tell frode the tidings of the defeat he had inflicted. as he sailed along he happened to see a pirate ship aground on some shallows; and being wont to utter weighty words upon chance occurrences, he said, "obscure is the lot of the base-born, and mean is the fortune of the lowly." then he brought his ship up close and destroyed the pirates, who were trying to get off their own vessel with poles, and busily engrossed in saving her. this accomplished, he made his way back to the king's fleet; and wishing to cheer frode with a greeting that heralded his victory, he said, "hail to the maker of a most prosperous peace!" the king prayed that his word might come true, and declared that the spirit of the wise man was prophetic. erik answered that he spoke truly, and that the petty victory brought an omen of a greater one; declaring that a presage of great matters could often be got from trifles. then the king counselled him to scatter his force, and ordered the horsemen of jutland to go by the land way, while the rest of the army went by the short sea-passage. but the sea was covered with such a throng of vessels, that there were not enough harbours to take them in, nor shores for them to encamp on, nor money for their provisions; while the land army is said to have been so great that, in order to shorten the way, it levelled mountains, made marshes passable, filled up pits with material, and the hugest chasms by casting in great boulders. meanwhile strunik the king of the sclavs sent envoys to ask for a truce; but frode refused him time to equip himself, saying that an enemy ought not to be furnished with a truce. moreover, he said, he had hitherto passed his life without experience of war, and now he ought not to delay its beginning by waiting in doubt; for the man that conducted his first campaign successfully might hope for as good fortune in the rest. for each side would take the augury afforded by the first engagements as a presage of the combat; since the preliminary successes of war were often a prophecy of the sequel. erik commended the wisdom of the reply, declaring that the game ought to be played abroad just as it had been begun at home: meaning that the danes had been challenged by the sclavs. after these words he fought a furious battle, slew strunik with the bravest of his race, and received the surrender of the rest. then frode called the sclavs together, and proclaimed by a herald that any man among them who had been trained to theft or plunder should be speedily given up; promising that he would reward the character of such men with the highest honours. he also ordered that all of them, who were versed in evil arts should come forth to have their reward. this offer pleased the sclavs: and some of them, tempted by their hopes of the gift, betrayed themselves with more avarice than judgment, before the others could make them known. these were misled by such great covetousness, that they thought less of shame than lucre, and accounted as their glory what was really their guilt. when these had given themselves up of their own will, he said: "sclavs! this is the pest from which you must clear your land yourselves." and straightway he ordered the executioners to seize them, and had them fixed upon the highest gallows by the hand of their own countrymen. the punishers looked fewer than the punished. and thus the shrewd king, by refusing to those who owned their guilt the pardon which he granted to the conquered foe, destroyed almost the entire stock of the sclavic race. thus the longing for an undeserved reward was visited with a deserved penalty, and the thirst for an undue wage justly punished. i should think that these men were rightly delivered to their doom, who brought the peril on their own heads by speaking, when they could have saved their lives by the protection of silence. the king, exalted by the honours of his fresh victory, and loth to seem less strong in justice than in battle, resolved to remodel his army by some new laws, some of which are retained by present usage, while others men have chosen to abolish for new ones. (a) for he decreed, when the spoil was divided, that each of the vanguard should receive a greater share than the rest of the soldiery: while he granted all gold that was taken to the generals (before whom the standards were always borne in battle) on account of their rank; wishing the common soldiers to be content with silver. he ordered that the arms should go to the champions, but the captured ships should pass to the common people, as the due of those who had the right of building and equipping vessels. (b) also he forbade that anyone should venture to lock up his household goods, as he would receive double the value of any losses from the treasury of the king; but if anyone thought fit to keep it in locked coffers, he must pay the king a gold mark. he also laid down that anyone who spared a thief should be punished as a thief. (d) further, that the first man to flee in battle should forfeit all common rights. (e) but when he had returned into denmark he wished to amend by good measures any corruption caused by the evil practices of grep; and therefore granted women free choice in marriage, so that there might be no compulsory wedlock. and so he provided by law that women should be held duly married to those whom they had wedded without consulting their fathers. (f) but if a free woman agreed to marry a slave, she must fall to his rank, lose the blessing of freedom, and adopt the standing of a slave. (g) he also imposed on men the statute that they must marry any woman whom they had seduced. (h) he ordained that adulterers should be deprived of a member by the lawful husbands, so that continence might not be destroyed by shameful sins. (i) also he ordained that if a dane plundered another dane, he should repay double, and be held guilty of a breach of the peace. (k) and if any man were to take to the house of another anything which he had got by thieving, his host, if he shut the door of his house behind the man, should incur forfeiture of all his goods, and should be beaten in full assembly, being regarded as having made himself guilty of the same crime. (l) also, whatsoever exile should turn enemy to his country, or bear a shield against his countrymen, should be punished with the loss of life and goods. (m) but if any man, from a contumacious spirit, were slack in fulfilling the orders of the king, he should be punished with exile. for, on all occasion of any sudden and urgent war, an arrow of wood, looking like iron, used to be passed on everywhere from man to man as a messenger. (n) but if any one of the commons went in front of the vanguard in battle, he was to rise from a slave into a freeman, and from a peasant into a nobleman; but if he were nobly-born already, he should be created a governor. so great a guerdon did valiant men earn of old; and thus did the ancients think noble rank the due of bravery. for it was thought that the luck a man had should be set down to his valour, and not his valour to his luck. (o) he also enacted that no dispute should be entered on with a promise made under oath and a gage deposited; but whosoever requested another man to deposit a gage against him should pay that man half a gold mark, on pain of severe bodily chastisement. for the king had foreseen that the greatest occasions of strife might arise from the depositing of gages. (p) but he decided that any quarrel whatsoever should be decided by the sword, thinking a combat of weapons more honourable than one of words. but if either of the combatants drew back his foot, and stepped out of the ring of the circle previously marked, he was to consider himself conquered, and suffer the loss of his case. but a man of the people, if he attacked a champion on any score, should be armed to meet him; but the champion should only fight with a truncheon an ell long. (q) further, he appointed that if an alien killed a dane, his death should be redressed by the slaying of two foreigners. meanwhile, gotar, in order to punish erik, equipped his army for war: and frode, on the other side, equipped a great fleet to go against norway. when both alike had put into rennes-isle, gotar, terrified by the greatness of frode's name, sent ambassadors to pray for peace. erik said to them, "shameless is the robber who is the first to seek peace, or ventures to offer it to the good. he who longs to win must struggle: blow must counter blow, malice repel malice." gotar listened attentively to this from a distance, and then said, as loudly as he could: "each man fights for valour according as he remembers kindness." erik said to him: "i have requited thy kindness by giving thee back counsel." by this speech he meant that his excellent advice was worth more than all manner of gifts. and, in order to show that gotar was ungrateful for the counsel he had received, he said: "when thou desiredst to take my life and my wife, thou didst mar the look of thy fair example. only the sword has the right to decide between us." then gotar attacked the fleet of the danes; he was unsuccessful in the engagement, and slain. afterwards roller received his realm from frode as a gift; it stretched over seven provinces. erik likewise presented roller with the province which gotar had once bestowed upon him. after these exploits frode passed three years in complete and tranquil peace. meanwhile the king of the huns, when he heard that his daughter had been put away, allied himself with olmar, king of the easterlings, and in two years equipped an armament against the danes. so frode levied an army not only of native danes, but also of norwegians and sclavs. erik, whom he had sent to spy out the array of the enemy, found olmar, who had received the command of the fleet, not far from russia; while the king of the huns led the land forces. he addressed olmar thus: "what means, prithee, this strong equipment of war? or whither dost thou speed, king olmar, mighty in thy fleet?" olmar. "we are minded to attack the son of fridleif. and who art thou, whose bold lips ask such questions?" erik. "vain hope of conquering the unconquered hath filled thy heart; over frode no man can prevail." olmar. "whatsoever befalls, must once happen for the first time; and often enough the unexpected comes to pass." by this saying he let him know that no man must put too much trust in fortune. then erik rode up to inspect the army of the huns. as it passed by him, and he in turn by it, it showed its vanguard to the rising and its rear to the setting sun. so he asked those whom he met, who had the command of all those thousands. hun, the king of the huns, happened to see him, and heard that he had undertaken to reconnoitre, and asked what was the name of the questioner. erik said he was the man who came everywhere and was found nowhere. then the king, when an interpreter was brought, asked what work frode was about. erik replied, "frode never waits at home for a hostile army, nor tarries in his house for his foe. for he who covets the pinnacle of another's power must watch and wake all night. no man has ever won a victory by snoring, and no wolf has ever found a carcase by lying asleep." the king, perceiving that he was a cunning speaker of choice maxims, said: "here, perchance, is that erik who, as i have heard, accused my daughter falsely." but erik, when they were bidden to seize him instantly, said that it was unseemly for one man to be dragged off by really; and by this saying he not only appeased the mind of the king, but even inclined him to be willing to pardon him. but it was clear that this impunity came more from cunning than kindness; for the chief reason why he was let go was that he might terrify frode by the report of their vast numbers. when he returned, frode bad him relate what he had discovered, and he said that he had seen six kings each with his fleet; and that each of these fleets contained five thousand ships, each ship being known to hold three hundred rowers. each millenary of the whole total he said consisted of four wings; now, since the full number of a wing is three hundred, he meant that a millenary should be understood to contain twelve hundred men. when frode wavered in doubt what he could do against so many, and looked eagerly round for reinforcements, erik said: "boldness helps the righteous; a valiant dog must attack the bear; we want wolf-hounds, and not little unwarlike birds." this said, he advised frode to muster his fleet. when it was drawn up they sailed off against the enemy; and so they fought and subdued the islands lying between denmark and the east; and as they advanced thence, met some ships of the ruthenian fleet. frode thought it shameful to attack such a handful, but erik said: "we must seek food from the gaunt and lean. he who falls shall seldom fatten, nor has that man the power to bite whom the huge sack has devoured." by this warning he cured the king of all shame about making an assault, and presently induced him to attack a small number with a throng; for he showed him that advantage must be counted before honour. after this they went on to meet olmar, who because of the slowness of his multitude preferred awaiting the enemy to attacking it; for the vessels of the ruthenians seemed disorganized, and, owing to their size, not so well able to row. but not even did the force of his multitudes avail him. for the extraordinary masses of the ruthenians were stronger in numbers than in bravery, and yielded the victory to the stout handful of the danes. when frode tried to return home, his voyage encountered an unheard-of difficulty. for the crowds of dead bodies, and likewise the fragments of shields and spears, bestrewed the entire gulf of the sea, and tossed on the tide, so that the harbours were not only straitened, but stank. the vessels stuck, hampered amid the corpses. they could neither thrust off with oars, nor drive away with poles, the rotting carcases that floated around, or prevent, when they had put one away, another rolling up and driving against the fleet. you would have thought that a war had arisen with the dead, and there was a strange combat with the lifeless. so frode summoned the nations which he had conquered, and enacted (a) that any father of a family who had fallen in that war should be buried with his horse and all his arms and decorations. and if any body-snatcher, in his abominable covetousness, made an attempt on him, he was to suffer for it, not only with his life, but also with the loss of burial for his own body; he should have no barrow and no funeral. for he thought it just that he who despoiled another's ashes should be granted no burial, but should repeat in his own person the fate he had inflicted on another. he appointed that the body of a centurion or governor should receive funeral on a pyre built of his own ship. he ordered that the bodies of every ten pilots should be burnt together with a single ship, but that every earl or king that was killed should be put on his own ship and burnt with it. he wished this nice attention to be paid in conducting the funerals of the slain, because he wished to prevent indiscriminate obsequies. by this time all the kings of the russians except olmar and dag had fallen in battle. (b) he also ordered the russians to conduct their warfare in imitation of the danes, and never to marry a wife without buying her. he thought that bought marriages would have more security, believing that the troth which was sealed with a price was the safest. (d) moreover, anyone who durst attempt the violation of a virgin was to be punished with the severance of his bodily parts, or else to requite the wrong of his intercourse with a thousand talents. (e) he also enacted that any man that applied himself to war, who aspired to the title of tried soldier, should attack a single man, should stand the attack of two, should only withdraw his foot a little to avoid three, but should not blush to flee from four. (f) he also proclaimed that a new custom concerning the pay of the soldiers should be observed by the princes under his sway. he ordered that each native soldier and housecarl should be presented in the winter season with three marks of silver, a common or hired soldier with two, a private soldier who had finished his service with only one. by this law he did injustice to valour, reckoning the rank of the soldiers and not their courage; and he was open to the charge of error in the matter, because he set familiar acquaintance above desert. after this the king asked erik whether the army of the huns was as large as the forces of olmar, and erik answered in the following song: "by hercules, i came on a countless throng, a throng that neither earth nor wave could hold. thick flared all their camp-fires, and the whole wood blazed up; the flame betokened a numberless array. the earth sank under the fraying of the horse-hoofs; creaking waggons rattled swiftly. the wheels rumbled, the driver rode upon the winds, so that the chariots sounded like thunder. the earth hardly bore the throngs of men-at-arms, speeding on confusedly; they trod it, but it could not bear their weight. i thought that the air crashed and the earth was shaken, so mighty was the motion of the stranger army. for i saw fifteen standards flickering at once; each of them had a hundred lesser standards, and after each of these could have been seen twenty; and the captains in their order were equal in number to the standards." now when frode asked wherewithal he was to resist so many, erik instructed him that he must return home and suffer the enemy first to perish of their own hugeness. his counsel was obeyed, the advice being approved as heartily as it was uttered. but the huns went on through pathless deserts, and, finding provisions nowhere, began to run the risk of general starvation; for it was a huge and swampy district, and nothing could be found to relieve their want. at last, when the beasts of burden had been cut down and eaten, they began to scatter, lacking carriages as much as food. now their straying from the road was as perilous to them as their hunger. neither horses nor asses were spared, nor did they refrain from filthy garbage. at last they did not even spare dogs: to dying men every abomination was lawful; for there is nothing too hard for the bidding of extreme need. at last when they were worn out with hunger, there came a general mortality. bodies were carried out for burial without end, for all feared to perish, and none pitied the perishing. fear indeed had cast out humanity. so first the divisions deserted from the king little by little; and then the army melted away by companies. he was also deserted by the prophet ygg, a man of unknown age, which was prolonged beyond the human span; this man went as a deserter to frode, and told him of all the preparations of the huns. meanwhile hedin, prince of a considerable tribe of the norwegians, approached the fleet of frode with a hundred and fifty vessels. choosing twelve out of these, he proceeded to cruise nearer, signalling the approach of friends by a shield raised on the mast. he thus greatly augmented the forces of the king, and was received into his closest friendship. a mutual love afterwards arose between this man and hilda, the daughter of hogni, a chieftain of the jutes, and a maiden of most eminent renown. for, though they had not yet seen one another, each had been kindled by the other's glory. but when they had a chance of beholding one another, neither could look away; so steadfast was the love that made their eyes linger. meanwhile, frode distributed his soldiers through the towns, and carefully gathered in the materials needed for the winter supplies; but even so he could not maintain his army, with its burden of expense: and plague fell on him almost as great as the destruction that met the huns. therefore, to prevent the influx of foreigners, he sent a fleet to the elbe to take care that nothing should cross; the admirals were revil and mevil. when the winter broke up, hedin and hogni resolved to make a roving-raid together; for hogni did not know that his partner was in love with his daughter. now hogni was of unusual stature, and stiff in temper; while hedin was very comely, but short. also, when frode saw that the cost of keeping up his army grew daily harder to bear, he sent roller to norway, olmar to sweden, king onef and glomer, a rover captain, to the orkneys for supplies, each with his own forces. thirty kings followed frode, and were his friends or vassals. but when hun heard that frode had sent away his forces he mustered another and a fresh army. but hogni betrothed his daughter to hedin, after they had sworn to one another that whichever of them should perish by the sword should be avenged by the other. in the autumn, the men in search of supplies came back, but they were richer in trophies than in food. for roller had made tributary the provinces sundmor and nordmor, after slaying arthor their king. but olmar conquered thor the long, the king of the jemts and the helsings, with two other captains of no less power, and also took esthonia and kurland, with oland, and the isles that fringe sweden; thus he was a most renowned conqueror of savage lands. so he brought back ships, thus doubling the numbers of those previously taken out. onef and glomer, hedin and hogni, won victories over the orkneys, and returned with ships. and by this time revenues had been got in from far and wide, and there were ample materials gathered by plunder to recruit their resources. they had also added twenty kingdoms to the sway of frode, whose kings, added to the thirty named before, fought on the side of the danes. trusting in their strength, they engaged with the huns. such a carnage broke out on the first day of this combat that the three chief rivers of russia were bestrewn with a kind of bridge of corpses, and could be crossed and passed over. also the traces of the massacre spread so wide that for the space of three days' ride the ground was to be seen covered with human carcases. so, when the battle had been seven days prolonged, king hun fell; and his brother of the same name, when he saw the line of the huns giving way, without delay surrendered himself and his company. in that war kings, who were either huns or fighting amongst the huns, surrendered to the king. this great number erik had comprised in his previous description of the standards, when he was giving an account of the multitude of the huns in answer to the questions of frode. so frode summoned the kings to assembly, and imposed a rule upon them that they should all live under one and the same law. now he set olmar over holmgard; onef over conogard; and he bestowed saxony on hun, his prisoner, and gave revil the orkneys. to one dimar he allotted the management of the provinces of the helsings, of the jarnbers, and the jemts, as well as both laplands; while on dag he bestowed the government of esthonia. each of these men he burdened with fixed conditions of tribute, thus making allegiance a condition of his kindness. so the realms of frode embraced russia on the east, and on the west were bounded by the rhine. meantime, certain slanderous tongues accused hedin to hogni of having tempted and defiled his daughter before the rites of betrothal; which was then accounted an enormous crime by all nations. so the credulous ears of hogni drank in this lying report, and with his fleet he attacked hedin, who was collecting the king's dues among the slavs; there was an engagement, and hogni was beaten, and went to jutland. and thus the peace instituted by frode was disturbed by intestine war, and natives were the first to disobey the king's law. frode, therefore, sent men to summon them both at once, and inquired closely what was the reason of their feud. when he had heard it, he gave judgment according to the terms of the law he had enacted; but when he saw that even this could not reconcile them (for the father obstinately demanded his daughter back), he decreed that the quarrel should be settled by the sword--it seemed the only remedy for ending the dispute. the fight began, and hedin was grievously wounded; but when he began to lose blood and bodily strength, he received unexpected mercy from his enemy. for though hogni had an easy chance of killing him, yet, pitying youth and beauty, he constrained his cruelty to give way to clemency. and so, loth to cut off a stripling who was panting at his last gasp, he refrained his sword. for of old it was accounted shameful to deprive of his life one who was ungrown or a weakling; so closely did the antique bravery of champions take heed of all that could incline them to modesty. so hedin, with the help of his men, was taken back to his ship, saved by the kindness of his foe. in the seventh year after, these same men began to fight on hedin's isle, and wounded each other so that they died. hogni would have been lucky if he had shown severity rather than compassion to hedin when he had once conquered him. they say that hilda longed so ardently for her husband, that she is believed to have conjured up the spirits of the combatants by her spells in the night in order to renew the war. at the same time came to pass a savage war between alrik, king of the swedes, and gestiblind, king of the goths. the latter, being the weaker, approached frode as a suppliant, willing, if he might get his aid, to surrender his kingdom and himself. he soon received the aid of skalk, the skanian, and erik, and came back with reinforcements. he had determined to let loose his attack on alrik, but erik thought that he should first assail his son gunthion, governor of the men of wermland and solongs, declaring that the storm-weary mariner ought to make for the nearest shore, and moreover that the rootless trunk seldom burgeoned. so he made an attack, wherein perished gunthion, whose tomb records his name. alrik, when he heard of the destruction of his son, hastened to avenge him, and when he had observed his enemies, he summoned erik, and, in a secret interview, recounted the leagues of their fathers, imploring him to refuse to fight for gestiblind. this erik steadfastly declined, and alrik then asked leave to fight gestiblind, thinking that a duel was better than a general engagement. but erik said that gestiblind was unfit for arms by reason of old age, pleading his bad health, and above all his years; but offered himself to fight in his place, explaining that it would be shameful to decline a duel on behalf of the man for whom he had come to make a war. then they fought without delay: alrik was killed, and erik was most severely wounded; it was hard to find remedies, and he did not for long time recover health. now a false report had come to frode that erik had fallen, and was tormenting the king's mind with sore grief; but erik dispelled this sadness with his welcome return; indeed, he reported to frode that by his efforts sweden, wermland, helsingland, and the islands of the sun (soleyar) had been added to his realm. frode straightway made him king of the nations he had subdued, and also granted to him helsingland with the two laplands, finland and esthonia, under a yearly tribute. none of the swedish kings before him was called by the name of erik, but the title passed from him to the rest. at the same time alf was king in hethmark, and he had a son asmund. biorn ruled in the province of wik, and had a son aswid. asmund was engaged on an unsuccessful hunt, and while he was proceeding either to stalk the game with dogs or to catch it in nets, a mist happened to come on. by this he was separated from his sharers on a lonely track, wandered over the dreary ridges, and at last, destitute of horse and clothing, ate fungi and mushrooms, and wandered on aimlessly till he came to the dwelling of king biorn. moreover, the son of the king and he, when they had lived together a short while, swore by every vow, in order to ratify the friendship which they observed to one another, that whichever of them lived longest should be buried with him who died. for their fellowship and love were so strong, that each determined he would not prolong his days when the other was cut off by death. after this frode gathered together a host of all his subject nations, and attacked norway with his fleet, erik being bidden to lead the land force. for, after the fashion of human greed, the more he gained the more he wanted, and would not suffer even the dreariest and most rugged region of the world to escape this kind of attack; so much is increase of wealth wont to encourage covetousness. so the norwegians, casting away all hope of self-defence, and losing all confidence in their power to revolt, began to flee for the most part to halogaland. the maiden stikla also withdrew from her country to save her chastity, proferring the occupations of war to those of wedlock. meanwhile aswid died of an illness, and was consigned with his horse and dog to a cavern in the earth. and asmund, because of his oath of friendship, had the courage to be buried with him, food being put in for him to eat. now just at this time erik, who had crossed the uplands with his army, happened to draw near the barrow of aswid; and the swedes, thinking that treasures were in it, broke the hill open with mattocks, and saw disclosed a cave deeper than they had thought. to examine it, a man was wanted, who would lower himself on a hanging rope tied around him. one of the quickest of the youths was chosen by lot; and asmund, when he saw him let down in a basket following a rope, straightway cast him out and climbed into the basket. then he gave the signal to draw him up to those above who were standing by and controlling the rope. they drew in the basket in the hopes of great treasure; but when they saw the unknown figure of the man they had taken out, they were scared by his extraordinary look, and, thinking that the dead had come to life, flung down the rope and fled all ways. for asmund looked ghastly and seemed to be covered as with the corruption of the charnel. he tried to recall the fugitives, and began to clamour that they were wrongfully afraid of a living man. and when erik saw him, he marvelled most at the aspect of his bloody face: the blood flowing forth and spurting over it. for aswid had come to life in the nights, and in his continual struggles had wrenched off his left ear; and there was to be seen the horrid sight of a raw and unhealed scar. and when the bystanders bade him tell how he had got such a wound, he began to speak thus:-- "why stand ye aghast, who see me colourless? surely every live man fades among the dead. evil to the lonely man, and burdensome to the single, remains every dwelling in the world. hapless are they whom chance hath bereft of human help. the listless night of the cavern, the darkness of the ancient den, have taken all joy from my eyes and soul. the ghastly ground, the crumbling barrow, and the heavy tide of filthy things have marred the grace of my youthful countenance, and sapped my wonted pith and force. besides all this, i have fought with the dead, enduring the heavy burden and grievous peril of the wrestle; aswid rose again and fell on me with rending nails, by hellish might renewing ghastly warfare after he was ashes. "why stand ye aghast, who see me colourless? surely every live man fades among the dead. "by some strange enterprise of the power of hell the spirit of aswid was sent up from the nether world, and with cruel tooth eats the fleet-footed (horse), and has given his dog to his abominable jaws. not sated with devouring the horse or hound, he soon turned his swift nails upon me, tearing my cheek and taking off my ear. hence the hideous sight of my slashed countenance, the blood-spurts in the ugly wound. yet the bringer of horrors did it not unscathed; for soon i cut off his head with my steel, and impaled his guilty carcase with a stake. "why stand ye aghast who see me colourless? surely every live man fades among the dead." frode had by this taken his fleet over to halogaland; and here, in order to learn the numbers of his host, which seemed to surpass all bounds and measure that could be counted, he ordered his soldiers to pile up a hill, one stone being cast upon the heap for each man. the enemy also pursued the same method of numbering their host, and the hills are still to be seen to convince the visitor. here frode joined battle with the norwegians, and the day was bloody. at nightfall both sides determined to retreat. as daybreak drew near, erik, who had come across the land, came up and advised the king to renew the battle. in this war the danes suffered such slaughter that out of , ships only are supposed to have survived. the northmen, however, were exterminated in such a mighty massacre, that (so the story goes) there were not men left to till even a fifth of their villages. frode, now triumphant, wished to renew peace among all nations, that he might ensure each man's property from the inroads of thieves and now ensure peace to his realms after war. so he hung one bracelet on a crag which is called frode's rock, and another in the district of wik, after he had addressed the assembled norwegians; threatening that these necklaces should serve to test the honesty which he had decreed, and threatening that if they were filched punishment should fall on all the governors of the district. and thus, sorely imperilling the officers, there was the gold unguarded, hanging up full in the parting of the roads, and the booty, so easy to plunder, a temptation to all covetous spirits. (a) frode also enacted that seafarers should freely use oars wherever they found them; while to those who wished to cross a river he granted free use of the horse which they found nearest to the ford. he decreed that they must dismount from this horse when its fore feet only touched land and its hind feet were still washed by the waters. for he thought that services such as these should rather be accounted kindness than wrongdoing. moreover, he ordained that whosoever durst try and make further use of the horse after he had crossed the river should be condemned to death. (b) he also ordered that no man should hold his house or his coffer under lock and key, or should keep anything guarded by bolts, promising that all losses should be made good threefold. also, he appointed that it was lawful to claim as much of another man's food for provision as would suffice for a single supper. if anyone exceeded this measure in his takings, he was to be held guilty of theft. now, a thief (so he enacted) was to be hung up with a sword passed through his sinews, with a wolf fastened by his side, so that the wicked man might look like the savage beast, both being punished alike. he also had the same penalty extended to accomplices in thefts. here he passed seven most happy years of peace, begetting a son alf and a daughter eyfura. it chanced that in these days arngrim, a champion of sweden, who had challenged, attacked, and slain skalk the skanian because he had once robbed him of a vessel, came to frode. elated beyond measure with his deed, he ventured to sue for frode's daughter; but, finding the king deaf to him, he asked erik, who was ruling sweden, to help him. erik advised him to win frode's goodwill by some illustrious service, and to fight against egther, the king of permland, and thengil, the king of finmark, since they alone seemed to repudiate the danish rule, while all men else submitted. without delay he led his army to that country. now, the finns are the uttermost peoples of the north, who have taken a portion of the world that is barely habitable to till and dwell in. they are very keen spearmen, and no nation has a readier skill in throwing the javelin. they fight with large, broad arrows; they are addicted to the study of spells; they are skilled hunters. their habitation is not fixed, and their dwellings are migratory; they pitch and settle wherever they have caught game. riding on curved boards (skees or snow-skates), they run over ridges thick with snow. these men arngrim attacked, in order to win renown, and he crushed them. they fought with ill success; but, as they were scattering in flight, they cast three pebbles behind them, which they caused to appear to the eyes of the enemy like three mountains. arngrim's eyes were dazzled and deluded, and he called back his men from the pursuit of the enemy, fancying that he was checked by a barrier of mighty rocks. again, when they engaged and were beaten on the morrow, the finns cast snow upon the ground and made it look like a mighty river. so the swedes, whose eyes were utterly deluded, were deceived by their misjudgment, for it seemed the roaring of an extraordinary mass of waters. thus, the conqueror dreading the unsubstantial phantom of the waters, the finns managed to escape. they renewed the war again on the third day; but there was no effective means of escape left any longer, for when they saw that their lines were falling back, they surrendered to the conqueror. arngrim imposed on them the following terms of tribute: that the number of the finns should be counted, and that, after the lapse of (every) three years, every ten of them should pay a carriage-full of deer-skins by way of assessment. then he challenged and slew in single combat egther, the captain of the men of permland, imposing on the men of permland the condition that each of them should pay one skin. enriched with these spoils and trophies, he returned to erik, who went with him into denmark, and poured loud praises of the young warrior into the ear of frode, declaring that he who had added the ends of the world to his realms deserved his daughter. then frode, considering his splendid deserts, thought it was not amiss to take for a son-in-law a man who had won wide-resounding fame by such a roll of noble deeds. arngrim had twelve sons by eyfura, whose names i here subjoin: brand, biarbe, brodd, hiarrande; tand, tyrfing, two haddings; hiortuar, hiartuar, hrane, anganty. these followed the business of sea-roving from their youth up; and they chanced to sail all in one ship to the island samso, where they found lying off the coast two ships belonging to hialmar and arvarodd (arrow-odd) the rovers. these ships they attacked and cleared of rowers; but, not knowing whether they had cut down the captains, they fitted the bodies of the slain to their several thwarts, and found that those whom they sought were missing. at this they were sad, knowing that the victory they had won was not worth a straw, and that their safety would run much greater risk in the battle that was to come. in fact, hialmar and arvarodd, whose ships had been damaged by a storm, which had torn off their rudders, went into a wood to hew another; and, going round the trunk with their axes, pared down the shapeless timber until the huge stock assumed the form of a marine implement. this they shouldered, and were bearing it down to the beach, ignorant of the disaster of their friends, when the sons of eyfura, reeking with the fresh blood of the slain, attacked them, so that they two had to fight many; the contest was not even equal, for it was a band of twelve against two. but the victory did not go according to the numbers. for all the sons of eyfura were killed; hialmar was slain by them, but arvarodd gained the honours of victory, being the only survivor left by fate out of all that band of comrades. he, with an incredible effort, poised the still shapeless hulk of the rudder, and drove it so strongly against the bodies of his foes that, with a single thrust of it, he battered and crushed all twelve. and, so, though they were rid of the general storm of war, the band of rovers did not yet quit the ocean. this it was that chiefly led frode to attack the west, for his one desire was the spread of peace. so he summoned erik, and mustered a fleet of all the kingdoms that bid him allegiance, and sailed to britain with numberless ships. but the king of that island, perceiving that he was unequal in force (for the ships seemed to cover the sea), went to frode, affecting to surrender, and not only began to flatter his greatness, but also promised to the danes, the conquerors of nations, the submission of himself and of his country; proffering taxes, assessment, tribute, what they would. finally, he gave them a hospitable invitation. frode was pleased with the courtesy of the briton, though his suspicions of treachery were kept by so ready and unconstrained a promise of everything, so speedy a surrender of the enemy before fighting; such offers being seldom made in good faith. they were also troubled with alarm about the banquet, fearing that as drunkenness came on their sober wits might be entangled in it, and attacked by hidden treachery. so few guests were bidden, moreover, that it seemed unsafe for them to accept the invitation; and it was further thought foolish to trust their lives to the good faith of an enemy whom they did not know. when the king found their minds thus wavering he again approached frode, and invited him to the banquet with , men; having before bidden him to come to the feast with , nobles. frode was encouraged by the increase in the number of guests, and was able to go to the banquet with greater inward confidence; but he could not yet lay aside his suspicions, and privily caused men to scour the interior and let him know quickly of any treachery which they might espy. on this errand they went into the forest, and, coming upon the array of an armed encampment belonging to the forces of the britons, they halted in doubt, but hastily retraced their steps when the truth was apparent. for the tents were dusky in colour, and muffled in a sort of pitchy coverings, that they might not catch the eye of anyone who came near. when frode learned this, he arranged a counter-ambuscade with a strong force of nobles, that he might not go heedlessly to the banquet, and be cheated of timely aid. they went into hiding, and he warned them that the note of the trumpet was the signal for them to bring assistance. then with a select band, lightly armed, he went to the banquet. the hall was decked with regal splendour; it was covered all round with crimson hangings of marvellous rich handiwork. a curtain of purple dye adorned the propelled walls. the flooring was bestrewn with bright mantles, which a man would fear to trample on. up above was to be seen the twinkle of many lanterns, the gleam of lamps lit with oil, and the censers poured forth fragrance whose sweet vapour was laden with the choicest perfumes. the whole way was blocked by the tables loaded with good things; and the places for reclining were decked with gold-embroidered couches; the seats were full of pillows. the majestic hall seemed to smile upon the guests, and nothing could be noticed in all that pomp either inharmonious to the eye or offensive to the smell. in the midst of the hall stood a great butt ready for refilling the goblets, and holding an enormous amount of liquor; enough could be drawn from it for the huge revel to drink its fill. servants, dressed in purple, bore golden cups, and courteously did the office of serving the drink, pacing in ordered ranks. nor did they fail to offer the draught in the horns of the wild ox. the feast glittered with golden bowls, and was laden with shining goblets, many of them studded with flashing jewels. the place was filled with an immense luxury; the tables groaned with the dishes, and the bowls brimmed over with divers liquors. nor did they use wine pure and simple, but, with juices sought far and wide, composed a nectar of many flavours. the dishes glistened with delicious foods, being filled mostly with the spoils of the chase; though the flesh of tame animals was not lacking either. the natives took care to drink more sparingly than the guests; for the latter felt safe, and were tempted to make an orgy; while the others, meditating treachery, had lost all temptations to be drunken. so the danes, who, if i may say so with my country's leave, were seasoned to drain the bowl against each other, took quantities of wine. the britons, when they saw that the danes were very drunk, began gradually to slip away from the banquet, and, leaving their guests within the hall, made immense efforts, first to block the doors of the palace by applying bars and all kinds of obstacles, and then to set fire to the house. the danes were penned inside the hall, and when the fire began to spread, battered vainly at the doors; but they could not get out, and soon attempted to make a sally by assaulting the wall. and the angles, when they saw that it was tottering under the stout attack of the danes, began to shove against it on their side, and to prop the staggering pile by the application of large blocks on the outside, to prevent the wall being shattered and releasing the prisoners. but at last it yielded to the stronger hand of the danes, whose efforts increased with their peril; and those pent within could sally out with ease. then frode bade the trumpet strike in, to summon the band that had been posted in ambush; and these, roused by the note of the clanging bugle, caught the enemy in their own trap; for the king of the britons, with countless hosts of his men, was utterly destroyed. thus the band helped frode doubly, being both the salvation of his men and the destruction of his enemies. meantime the renown of the danish bravery spread far, and moved the irish to strew iron calthrops on the ground, in order to make their land harder to invade, and forbid access to their shores. now the irish use armour which is light and easy to procure. they crop the hair close with razors, and shave all the hair off the back of the head, that they may not be seized by it when they run away. they also turn the points of their spears towards the assailant, and deliberately point their sword against the pursuer; and they generally fling their lances behind their back, being more skilled at conquering by flight than by fighting. hence, when you fancy that the victory is yours, then is the moment of danger. but frode was wary and not rash in his pursuit of the foe who fled so treacherously, and he routed kerwil (cearbal), the leader of the nation, in battle. kerwil's brother survived, but lost heart for resistance, and surrendered his country to the king (frode), who distributed among his soldiers the booty he had won, to show himself free from all covetousness and excessive love of wealth, and only ambitious to gain honour. after the triumphs in britain and the spoiling of the irish they went back to denmark; and for thirty years there was a pause from all warfare. at this time the danish name became famous over the whole world almost for its extraordinary valour. frode, therefore, desired to prolong and establish for ever the lustre of his empire, and made it his first object to inflict severe treatment upon thefts and brigandage, feeling these were domestic evils and intestine plagues, and that if the nations were rid of them they would come to enjoy a more tranquil life; so that no ill-will should mar and hinder the continual extention of peace. he also took care that the land should not be devoured by any plague at home when the enemy was at rest, and that intestine wickedness should not encroach when there was peace abroad. at last he ordered that in jutland, the chief district of his realm, a golden bracelet, very heavy, should be set up on the highways (as he had done before in the district of wik), wishing by this magnificent price to test the honesty which he had enacted. now, though the minds of the dishonest were vexed with the provocation it furnished, and the souls of the evil tempted, yet the unquestioned dread of danger prevailed. for so potent was the majesty of frode, that it guarded even gold that was thus exposed to pillage, as though it were fast with bolts and bars. the strange device brought great glory upon its inventor. after dealing destruction everywhere, and gaining famous victories far and wide, he resolved to bestow quiet on all men, that the cheer of peace should follow the horrors of war, and the end of slaughter might be the beginning of safety. he further thought that for the same reason all men's property should be secured to them by a protective decree, so that what had been saved from a foreign enemy might not find a plunderer at home. about the same time, the author of our general salvation, coming to the earth in order to save mortals, bore to put on the garb of mortality; at which time the fires of war were quenched, and all the lands were enjoying the calmest and most tranquil peace. it has been thought that the peace then shed abroad so widely, so even and uninterrupted over the whole world, attended not so much an earthly rule as that divine birth; and that it was a heavenly provision that this extraordinary gift of time should be a witness to the presence of him who created all times. meantime a certain matron, skilled in sorcery, who trusted in her art more than she feared the severity of the king, tempted the covetousness of her son to make a secret effort for the prize; promising him impunity, since frode was almost at death's door, his body failing, and the remnant of his doting spirit feeble. to his mother's counsels he objected the greatness of the peril; but she bade him take hope, declaring, that either a sea-cow should have a calf, or that the king's vengeance should be baulked by some other chance. by this speech she banished her son's fears, and made him obey her advice. when the deed was done, frode, stung by the affront, rushed with the utmost heat and fury to raze the house of the matron, sending men on to arrest her and bring her with her children. this the woman foreknew, and deluded her enemies by a trick, changing from the shape of a woman into that of a mare. when frode came up she took the shape of a sea-cow, and seemed to be straying and grazing about the shore; and she also made her sons look like calves of smaller size. this portent amazed the king, and he ordered that they should be surrounded and cut off from returning to the waters. then he left the carriage, which he used because of the feebleness of his aged body, and sat on the ground marvelling. but the mother, who had taken the shape of the larger beast, charged at the king with outstretched tusk, and pierced one of his sides. the wound killed him; and his end was unworthy of such majesty as his. his soldiers, thirsting to avenge his death, threw their spears and transfixed the monsters, and saw, when they were killed, that they were the corpses of human beings with the heads of wild beasts: a circumstance which exposed the trick more than anything. so ended frode, the most famous king in the whole world. the nobles, when he had been disembowelled, had his body kept embalmed for three years, for they feared the provinces would rise if the king's end were published. they wished his death to be concealed above all from foreigners, so that by the pretence that he was alive they might preserve the boundaries of the empire, which had been extended for so long; and that, on the strength of the ancient authority of their general, they might exact the usual tribute from their subjects. so, the lifeless corpse was carried away by them in such a way that it seemed to be taken, not in a funeral bier, but in a royal carriage, as if it were a due and proper tribute from the soldiers to an infirm old man not in full possession of his forces. such splendour did his friends bestow on him even in death. but when his limbs rotted, and were seized with extreme decay, and when the corruption could not be arrested, they buried his body with a royal funeral in a barrow near waere, a bridge of zealand; declaring that frode had desired to die and be buried in what was thought the chief province of his kingdom. book six. after the death of frode, the danes wrongly supposed that fridleif, who was being reared in russia, had perished; and, thinking that the sovereignty halted for lack of an heir, and that it could no longer be kept on in the hands of the royal line, they considered that the sceptre would be best deserved by the man who should affix to the yet fresh grave of frode a song of praise in his glorification, and commit the renown of the dead king to after ages by a splendid memorial. then one hiarn, very skilled in writing danish poetry, wishing to give the fame of the hero some notable record of words, and tempted by the enormous prize, composed, after his own fashion, a barbarous stave. its purport, expressed in four lines, i have transcribed as follows: "frode, whom the danes would have wished to live long, they bore long through their lands when he was dead. the great chief's body, with this turf heaped above it, bare earth covers under the lucid sky." when the composer of this song had uttered it, the danes rewarded him with the crown. thus they gave a kingdom for an epitaph, and the weight of a whole empire was presented to a little string of letters. slender expense for so vast a guerdon! this huge payment for a little poem exceeded the glory of caesar's recompense; for it was enough for the divine julius to pension with a township the writer and glorifier of those conquests which he had achieved over the whole world. but now the spendthrift kindness of the populace squandered a kingdom on a churl. nay, not even africanus, when he rewarded the records of his deed, rose to the munificence of the danes. for there the wage of that laborious volume was in mere gold, while here a few callow verses won a sceptre for a peasant. at the same time erik, who held the governorship of sweden, died of disease; and his son halfdan, who governed in his father's stead, alarmed by the many attacks of twelve brothers of norwegian birth, and powerless to punish their violence, fled, hoping for reinforcements, to ask aid of fridleif, then sojourning in russia. approaching him with a suppliant face, he lamented that he was himself shattered and bruised by a foreign foe, and brought a dismal plaint of his wrongs. from him fridleif heard the tidings of his father's death, and granting the aid he sought, went to norway in armed array. at this time the aforesaid brothers, their allies forsaking them, built a very high rampart within an island surrounded by a swift stream, also extending their earthworks along the level. trusting to this refuge, they harried the neighborhood with continual raids. for they built a bridge on which they used to get to the mainland when they left the island. this bridge was fastened to the gate of the stronghold; and they worked it by the guidance of ropes, in such a way that it turned as if on some revolving hinge, and at one time let them pass across the river; while at another, drawn back from above by unseen cords, it helped to defend the entrance. these warriors were of valiant temper, young and stalwart, of splendid bodily presence, renowned for victories over giants, full of trophies of conquered nations, and wealthy with spoil. i record the names of some of them--for the rest have perished in antiquity--gerbiorn, gunbiorn, arinbiorn, stenbiorn, esbiorn, thorbiorn, and biorn. biorn is said to have had a horse which was splendid and of exceeding speed, so that when all the rest were powerless to cross the river it alone stemmed the roaring eddy without weariness. this rapid comes down in so swift and sheer a volume that animals often lose all power of swimming in it, and perish. for, trickling from the topmost crests of the hills, it comes down the steep sides, catches on the rocks, and is shattered, falling into the deep valleys with a manifold clamour of waters; but, being straightway rebuffed by the rocks that bar the way, it keeps the speed of its current ever at the same even pace. and so, along the whole length of the channel, the waves are one turbid mass, and the white foam brims over everywhere. but, after rolling out of the narrows between the rocks, it spreads abroad in a slacker and stiller flood, and turns into an island a rock that lies in its course. on either side of the rock juts out a sheer ridge, thick with divers trees, which screen the river from distant view. biorn had also a dog of extraordinary fierceness, a terribly vicious brute, dangerous for people to live with, which had often singly destroyed twelve men. but, since the tale is hearsay rather than certainty, let good judges weigh its credit. this dog, as i have heard, was the favourite of the giant offot (un-foot), and used to watch his herd amid the pastures. now the warriors, who were always pillaging the neighbourhood, used often to commit great slaughters. plundering houses, cutting down cattle, sacking everything, making great hauls of booty, rifling houses, then burning them, massacring male and female promiscuously--these, and not honest dealings, were their occupations. fridleif surprised them while on a reckless raid, and drove them all back for refuge to the stronghold; he also seized the immensely powerful horse, whose rider, in the haste of his panic, had left it on the hither side of the river in order to fly betimes; for he durst not take it with him over the bridge. then fridleif proclaimed that he would pay the weight of the dead body in gold to any man who slew one of those brothers. the hope of the prize stimulated some of the champions of the king; and yet they were fired not so much with covetousness as with valour; so, going secretly to fridleif, they promised to attempt the task, vowing to sacrifice their lives if they did not bring home the severed heads of the robbers. fridleif praised their valour and their vows, but bidding the onlookers wait, went in the night to the river, satisfied with a single companion. for, not to seem better provided with other men's valour than with his own, he determined to forestall their aid by his own courage. thereupon he crushed and killed his companion with a shower of flints, and flung his bloodless corpse into the waves, having dressed it in his own clothes; which he stripped off, borrowing the cast-off garb of the other, so that when the corpse was seen it might look as if the king had perished. he further deliberately drew blood from the beast on which he had ridden, and bespattered it, so that when it came back into camp he might make them think he himself was dead. then he set spur to his horse and drove it into the midst of the eddies, crossed the river and alighted, and tried to climb over the rampart that screened the stronghold by steps set up against the mound. when he got over the top and could grasp the battlements with his hand, he quietly put his foot inside, and, without the knowledge of the watch, went lightly on tiptoe to the house into which the bandits had gone to carouse. and when he had reached its hall, he sat down under the porch overhanging the door. now the strength of their fastness made the warriors feel so safe that they were tempted to a debauch; for they thought that the swiftly rushing river made their garrison inaccessible, since it seemed impossible either to swim over or to cross in boats. for no part of the river allowed of fording. biorn, moved by the revel, said that in his sleep he had seen a beast come out of the waters, which spouted ghastly fire from its mouth, enveloping everything in a sheet of flame. therefore the holes and corners of the island should, he said, be searched; nor ought they to trust so much to their position, as rashly to let overweening confidence bring them to utter ruin. no situation was so strong that the mere protection of nature was enough for it without human effort. moreover they must take great care that the warning of his slumbers was not followed by a yet more gloomy and disastrous fulfilment. so they all sallied forth from the stronghold, and narrowly scanned the whole circuit of the island; and finding the horse they surmised that fridleif had been drowned in the waters of the river. they received the horse within the gates with rejoicing, supposing that it had flung off its rider and swum over. but biorn, still scared with the memory of the visions of the night, advised them to keep watch, since it was not safe for them yet to put aside suspicion of danger. then he went to his room to rest, with the memory of his vision deeply stored in his heart. meanwhile the horse, which fridleif, in order to spread a belief in his death, had been loosed and besprinkled with blood (though only with that which lies between flesh and skin), burst all bedabbled into the camp of his soldiers. they went straight to the river, and finding the carcase of the slave, took it for the body of the king; the hissing eddies having cast it on the bank, dressed in brave attire. nothing helped their mistake so much as the swelling of the battered body; inasmuch as the skin was torn and bruised with the flints, so that all the features were blotted out, bloodless and wan. this exasperated the champions who had just promised fridleif to see that the robbers were extirpated: and they approached the perilous torrent, that they might not seem to tarnish the honour of their promise by a craven neglect of their vow. the rest imitated their boldness, and with equal ardour went to the river, ready to avenge their king or to endure the worst. when fridleif saw them he hastened to lower the bridge to the mainland; and when he had got the champions he cut down the watch at the first attack. thus he went on to attack the rest and put them to the sword, all save biorn; whom he tended very carefully and cured of his wounds; whereupon, under pledge of solemn oath, he made him his colleague, thinking it better to use his services than to boast of his death. he also declared it would be shameful if such a flower of bravery were plucked in his first youth and perished by an untimely death. now the danes had long ago had false tidings of fridleif's death, and when they found that he was approaching, they sent men to fetch him, and ordered hiarn to quit the sovereignty, because he was thought to be holding it only on sufferance and carelessly. but he could not bring himself to resign such an honour, and chose sooner to spend his life for glory than pass into the dim lot of common men. therefore he resolved to fight for his present estate, that he might not have to resume his former one stripped of his royal honours. thus the land was estranged and vexed with the hasty commotion of civil strife; some were of hiarn's party, while others agreed to the claims of fridleif, because of the vast services of frode; and the voice of the commons was perplexed and divided, some of them respecting things as they were, others the memory of the past. but regard for the memory of frode weighed most, and its sweetness gave fridleif the balance of popularity. many wise men thought that a person of peasant rank should be removed from the sovereignty; since, contrary to the rights of birth, and only by the favour of fortune, he had reached an unhoped-for eminence; and in order that the unlawful occupant might not debar the rightful heir to the office, fridleif told the envoys of the danes to return, and request hiarn either to resign the kingdom or to meet him in battle. hiarn thought it more grievous than death to set lust of life before honour, and to seek safety at the cost of glory. so he met fridleif in the field, was crushed, and fled into jutland, where, rallying a band, he again attacked his conqueror. but his men were all consumed with the sword, and he fled unattended, as the island testifies which has taken its name from his (hiarno). and so, feeling his lowly fortune, and seeing himself almost stripped of his forces by the double defeat, he turned his mind to craft, and went to fridleif with his face disguised, meaning to become intimate, and find an occasion to slay him treacherously. hiarn was received by the king, hiding his purpose under the pretence of servitude. for, giving himself out as a salt-distiller, he performed base offices among the servants who did the filthiest work. he used also to take the last place at meal-time, and he refrained from the baths, lest his multitude of scars should betray him if he stripped. the king, in order to ease his own suspicions, made him wash; and when he knew his enemy by the scars, he said: "tell me now, thou shameless bandit, how wouldst thou have dealt with me, if thou hadst found out plainly that i wished to murder thee?" hiarn, stupefied, said: "had i caught thee i would have first challenged thee, and then fought thee, to give thee a better chance of wiping out thy reproach." fridleif presently took him at his word, challenged him and slew him, and buried his body in a barrow that bears the dead man's name. soon after fridleif was admonished by his people to think about marrying, that he might prolong his line; but he maintained that the unmarried life was best, quoting his father frode, on whom his wife's wantonness had brought great dishonour. at last, yielding to the persistent entreaties of all, he proceeded to send ambassadors to ask for the daughter of amund, king of norway. one of these, named frok, was swallowed by the waves in mid-voyage, and showed a strange portent at his death. for when the closing flood of billows encompassed him, blood arose in the midst of the eddy, and the whole face of the sea was steeped with an alien redness, so that the ocean, which a moment before was foaming and white with tempest, was presently swollen with crimson waves, and was seen to wear a colour foreign to its nature. around implacably declined to consent to the wishes of the king, and treated the legates shamefully, declaring that he spurned the embassy because the tyranny of frode had of old borne so heavily upon norway. but amund's daughter, frogertha, not only looking to the birth of fridleif, but also honouring the glory of his deeds, began to upbraid her father, because he scorned a son-in-law whose nobility was perfect, being both sufficient in valour and flawless in birth. she added that the portentous aspect of the sea, when the waves were suddenly turned into blood, simply and solely signified the defeat of norway, and was a plain presage of the victory of denmark. and when fridleif sent a further embassy to ask for her, wishing to vanquish the refusal by persistency, amund was indignant that a petition he had once denied should be obstinately pressed, and hurried the envoys to death, wishing to offer a brutal check to the zeal of this brazen wooer. fridleif heard news of this outrage, and summoning halfdan and biorn, sailed round norway. amund, equipped with his native defences, put out his fleet against him. the firth into which both fleets had mustered is called frokasund. here fridleif left the camp at night to reconnoitre; and, hearing an unusual kind of sound close to him as of brass being beaten, he stood still and looked up, and heard the following song of three swans, who were crying above him: "while hythin sweeps the sea and cleaves the ravening tide, his serf drinks out of gold and licks the cups of milk. best is the estate of the slave on whom waits the heir, the king's son, for their lots are rashly interchanged." next, after the birds had sung, a belt fell from on high, which showed writing to interpret the song. for while the son of hythin, the king of tellemark, was at his boyish play, a giant, assuming the usual appearance of men, had carried him off, and using him as an oarsman (having taken his skiff over to the neighbouring shore), was then sailing past fridleif while he was occupied reconnoitering. but the king would not suffer him to use the service of the captive youth, and longed to rob the spoiler of his prey. the youth warned him that he must first use sharp reviling against the giant, promising that he would prove easy to attack, if only he were assailed with biting verse. then fridleif began thus: "since thou art a giant of three bodies, invincible, and almost reachest heaven with thy crest, why does this silly sword bind thy thigh? why doth a broken spear gird thy huge side? why, perchance, dost thou defend thy stalwart breast with a feeble sword, and forget the likeness of thy bodily stature, trusting in a short dagger, a petty weapon? soon, soon will i balk thy bold onset, when with blunted blade thou attemptest war. since thou art thyself a timid beast, a lump lacking proper pith, thou art swept headlong like a flying shadow, having with a fair and famous body got a heart that is unwarlike and unstable with fear, and a spirit quite unmatched to thy limbs. hence thy frame totters, for thy goodly presence is faulty through the overthrow of thy soul, and thy nature in all her parts is at strife. hence shall all tribute of praise quit thee, nor shalt thou be accounted famous among the brave, but shalt be reckoned among ranks obscure." when he had said this he lopped off a hand and foot of the giant, made him fly, and set his prisoner free. then he went straightway to the giant's headland, took the treasure out of his cave, and carried it away. rejoicing in these trophies, and employing the kidnapped youth to row him over the sea, he composed with cheery voice the following strain: "in the slaying of the swift monster we wielded our blood-stained swords and our crimsoned blade, whilst thou, amund, lord of the norwegian ruin, wert in deep slumber; and since blind night covers thee, without any light of soul, thy valour has melted away and beguiled thee. but we crushed a giant who lost use of his limbs and wealth, and we pierced into the disorder of his dreary den. there we seized and plundered his piles of gold. and now with oars we sweep the wave-wandering main, and joyously return, rowing back to the shore our booty-laden ship; we fleet over the waves in a skiff that travels the sea; gaily let us furrow those open waters, lest the dawn come and betray us to the foe. lightly therefore, and pulling our hardest, let us scour the sea, making for our camp and fleet ere titan raise his rosy head out of the clear waters; that when fame noises the deed about, and frogertha knows that the spoil has been won with a gallant struggle, her heart may be stirred to be more gentle to our prayer." on the morrow there was a great muster of the forces, and fridleif had a bloody battle with amund, fought partly by sea and partly by land. for not only were the lines drawn up in the open country, but the warriors also made an attack with their fleet. the battle which followed cost much blood. so biorn, when his ranks gave back, unloosed his hound and sent it against the enemy; wishing to win with the biting of a dog the victory which he could not achieve with the sword. the enemy were by this means shamefully routed, for a square of the warriors ran away when attacked with its teeth. there is no saying whether their flight was more dismal or more disgraceful. indeed, the army of the northmen was a thing to blush for; for an enemy crushed it by borrowing the aid of a brute. nor was it treacherous of fridleif to recruit the failing valour of his men with the aid of a dog. in this war amund fell; and his servant ane, surnamed the archer, challenged fridleif to fight him; but biorn, being a man of meaner estate, not suffering the king to engage with a common fellow, attacked him himself. and when biorn had bent his bow and was fitting the arrow to the string, suddenly a dart sent by ane pierced the top of the cord. soon another arrow came after it and struck amid the joints of his fingers. a third followed, and fell on the arrow as it was laid to the string. for ane, who was most dexterous at shooting arrows from a distance, had purposely only struck the weapon of his opponent, in order that, by showing it was in his power to do likewise to his person, he might recall the champion from his purpose. but biorn abated none of his valour for this, and, scorning bodily danger, entered the fray with heart and face so steadfast, that he seemed neither to yield anything to the skill of ane, nor lay aside aught of his wonted courage. thus he would in nowise be made to swerve from his purpose, and dauntlessly ventured on the battle. both of them left it wounded; and fought another also on agdar ness with an emulous thirst for glory. by the death of amund, fridleif was freed from a most bitter foe, and obtained a deep and tranquil peace; whereupon he forced his savage temper to the service of delight; and, transferring his ardour to love, equipped a fleet in order to seek the marriage which had once been denied him. at last he set forth on his voyage; and his fleet being becalmed, he invaded some villages to look for food; where, being received hospitably by a certain grubb, and at last winning his daughter in marriage, he begat a son named olaf. after some time had passed he also won frogertha; but, while going back to his own country, he had a bad voyage, and was driven on the shores of an unknown island. a certain man appeared to him in a vision, and instructed him to dig up a treasure that was buried in the ground, and also to attack the dragon that guarded it, covering himself in an ox-hide to escape the poison; teaching him also to meet the envenomed fangs with a hide stretched over his shield. therefore, to test the vision, he attacked the snake as it rose out of the waves, and for a long time cast spears against its scaly side; in vain, for its hard and shelly body foiled the darts flung at it. but the snake, shaking its mass of coils, uprooted the trees which it brushed past by winding its tail about them. moreover, by constantly dragging its body, it hollowed the ground down to the solid rock, and had made a sheer bank on either hand, just as in some places we see hills parted by an intervening valley. so fridleif, seeing that the upper part of the creature was proof against attack, assailed the lower side with his sword, and piercing the groin, drew blood from the quivering beast. when it was dead, he unearthed the money from the underground chamber and had it taken off in his ships. when the year had come to an end, he took great pains to reconcile biorn and ane, who had often challenged and fought one another, and made them exchange their hatred for friendship; and even entrusted to them his three-year-old son, olaf, to rear. but his mistress, juritha, the mother of olaf, he gave in marriage to ane, whom he made one of his warriors; thinking that she would endure more calmly to be put away, if she wedded such a champion, and received his robust embrace instead of a king's. the ancients were wont to consult the oracles of the fates concerning the destinies of their children. in this way fridleif desired to search into the fate of his son olaf; and, after solemnly offering up his vows, he went to the house of the gods in entreaty; where, looking into the chapel, he saw three maidens, sitting on three seats. the first of them was of a benignant temper, and bestowed upon the boy abundant beauty and ample store of favour in the eyes of men. the second granted him the gift of surpassing generosity. but the third, a woman of more mischievous temper and malignant disposition, scorning the unanimous kindness of her sisters, and likewise wishing to mar their gifts, marked the future character of the boy with the slur of niggardliness. thus the benefits of the others were spoilt by the poison of a lamentable doom; and hence, by virtue of the twofold nature of these gifts olaf got his surname from the meanness which was mingled with his bounty. so it came about that this blemish which found its way into the gift marred the whole sweetness of its first benignity. when fridleif had returned from norway, and was traveling through sweden, he took on himself to act as ambassador, and sued successfully for hythin's daughter, whom he had once rescued from a monster, to be the wife of halfdan, he being still unwedded. meantime his wife frogertha bore a son frode, who afterwards got his surname from his noble munificence. and thus frode, because of the memory of his grandsire's prosperity, which he recalled by his name, became from his very cradle and earliest childhood such a darling of all men, that he was not suffered even to step or stand on the ground, but was continually cherished in people's laps and kissed. thus he was not assigned to one upbringer only, but was in a manner everybody's fosterling. and, after his father's death, while he was in his twelfth year, swerting and hanef, the kings of saxony, disowned his sway, and tried to rebel openly. he overcame them in battle, and imposed on the conquered peoples a poll-tax of a coin, which they were to pay as his slaves. for he showed himself so generous that he doubled the ancient pay of the soldiers: a fashion of bounty which then was novel. for he did not, as despots do, expose himself to the vulgar allurements of vice, but strove to covet ardently whatsoever he saw was nearest honour; to make his wealth public property; to surpass all other men in bounty, to forestall them all in offices of kindness; and, hardest of all, to conquer envy by virtue. by this means the youth soon won such favour with all men, that he not only equalled in renown the honours of his forefathers, but surpassed the most ancient records of kings. at the same time one starkad, the son of storwerk, escaped alone, either by force or fortune, from a wreck in which his friends perished, and was received by frode as his guest for his incredible excellence both of mind and body. and, after being for some little time his comrade, he was dressed in a better and more comely fashion every day, and was at last given a noble vessel, and bidden to ply the calling of a rover, with the charge of guarding the sea. for nature had gifted him with a body of superhuman excellence; and his greatness of spirit equalled it, so that folk thought him behind no man in valour. so far did his glory spread, that the renown of his name and deeds continues famous even yet. he shone out among our own countrymen by his glorious roll of exploits, and he had also won a most splendid record among all the provinces of the swedes and saxons. tradition says that he was born originally in the country which borders sweden on the east, where barbarous hordes of esthonians and other nations now dwell far and wide. but a fabulous yet common rumour has invented tales about his birth which are contrary to reason and flatly incredible. for some relate that he was sprung from giants, and betrayed his monstrous birth by an extraordinary number of hands, four of which, engendered by the superfluity of his nature, they declare that the god thor tore off, shattering the framework of the sinews and wrenching from his whole body the monstrous bunches of fingers; so that he had but two left, and that his body, which had before swollen to the size of a giant's, and, by reason of its shapeless crowd of limbs looked gigantic, was thenceforth chastened to a better appearance, and kept within the bounds of human shortness. for there were of old certain men versed in sorcery, thor, namely, and odin, and many others, who were cunning in contriving marvellous sleights; and they, winning the minds of the simple, began to claim the rank of gods. for, in particular, they ensnared norway, sweden and denmark in the vainest credulity, and by prompting these lands to worship them, infected them with their imposture. the effects of their deceit spread so far, that all other men adored a sort of divine power in them, and, thinking them either gods or in league with gods, offered up solemn prayers to these inventors of sorceries, and gave to blasphemous error the honour due to religion. hence it has come about that the holy days, in their regular course, are called among us by the names of these men; for the ancient latins are known to have named these days severally, either after the titles of their own gods, or after the planets, seven in number. but it can be plainly inferred from the mere names of the holy days that the objects worshipped by our countrymen were not the same as those whom the most ancient of the romans called jove and mercury, nor those to whom greece and latium paid idolatrous homage. for the days, called among our countrymen thors-day or odins-day, the ancients termed severally the holy day of jove or of mercury. if, therefore, according to the distinction implied in the interpretation i have quoted, we take it that thor is jove and odin mercury, it follows that jove was the son of mercury; that is, if the assertion of our countrymen holds, among whom it is told as a matter of common belief, that thor was odin's son. therefore, when the latins, believing to the contrary effect, declare that mercury was sprung from jove, then, if their declaration is to stand, we are driven to consider that thor was not the same as jove, and that odin was also different from mercury. some say that the gods, whom our countrymen worshipped, shared only the title with those honoured by greece or latium, but that, being in a manner nearly equal to them in dignity, they borrowed from them the worship as well as the name. this must be sufficient discourse upon the deities of danish antiquity. i have expounded this briefly for the general profit, that my readers may know clearly to what worship in its heathen superstition our country has bowed the knee. now i will go back to my subject where i left it. ancient tradition says that starkad, whom i mentioned above, offered the first-fruits of his deeds to the favour of the gods by slaying wikar, the king of the norwegians. the affair, according to the version of some people, happened as follows:-- odin once wished to slay wikar by a grievous death; but, loth to do the deed openly, he graced starkad, who was already remarkable for his extraordinary size, not only with bravery, but also with skill in the composing of spells, that he might the more readily use his services to accomplish the destruction of the king. for that was how he hoped that starkad would show himself grateful for the honour he paid him. for the same reason he also endowed him with three spans of mortal life, that he might be able to commit in them as many abominable deeds. so odin resolved that starkad's days should be prolonged by the following crime: starkad presently went to wikar and dwelt awhile in his company, hiding treachery under homage. at last he went with him sea-roving. and in a certain place they were troubled with prolonged and bitter storms; and when the winds checked their voyage so much that they had to lie still most of the year, they thought that the gods must be appeased with human blood. when the lots were cast into the urn it so fell that the king was required for death as a victim. then starkad made a noose of withies and bound the king in it; saying that for a brief instant he should pay the mere semblance of a penalty. but the tightness of the knot acted according to its nature, and cut off his last breath as he hung. and while he was still quivering starkad rent away with his steel the remnant of his life; thus disclosing his treachery when he ought to have brought aid. i do not think that i need examine the version which relates that the pliant withies, hardened with the sudden grip, acted like a noose of iron. when starkad had thus treacherously acted he took wikar's ship and went to one bemon, the most courageous of all the rovers of denmark, in order to take up the life of a pirate. for bemon's partner, named frakk, weary of the toil of sea-roving, had lately withdrawn from partnership with him, after first making a money-bargain. now starkad and bemon were so careful to keep temperate, that they are said never to have indulged in intoxicating drink, for fear that continence, the greatest bond of bravery, might be expelled by the power of wantonness. so when, after overthrowing provinces far and wide, they invaded russia also in their lust for empire, the natives, trusting little in their walls or arms, began to bar the advance of the enemy with nails of uncommon sharpness, that they might check their inroad, though they could not curb their onset in battle; and that the ground might secretly wound the soles of the men whom their army shrank from confronting in the field. but not even such a barrier could serve to keep off the foe. the danes were cunning enough to foil the pains of the russians. for they straightway shod themselves with wooden clogs, and trod with unhurt steps upon the points that lay beneath their soles. now this iron thing is divided into four spikes, which are so arranged that on whatsoever side chance may cast it, it stands steadily on three equal feet. then they struck into the pathless glades, where the woods were thickets, and expelled flokk, the chief of the russians, from the mountain hiding-places into which he had crept. and here they got so much booty, that there was not one of them but went back to the fleet laden with gold and silver. now when bemon was dead, starkad was summoned because of his valour by the champions of permland. and when he had done many noteworthy deeds among them, he went into the land of the swedes, where he lived at leisure for seven years' space with the sons of frey. at last he left them and betook himself to hakon, the tyrant of denmark, because when stationed at upsala, at the time of the sacrifices, he was disgusted by the effeminate gestures and the clapping of the mimes on the stage, and by the unmanly clatter of the bells. hence it is clear how far he kept his soul from lasciviousness, not even enduring to look upon it. thus does virtue withstand wantonness. starkad took his fleet to the shore of ireland with hakon, in order that even the furthest kingdoms of the world might not be untouched by the danish arms. the king of the island at this time was hugleik, who, though he had a well-filled treasury, was yet so prone to avarice, that once, when he gave a pair of shoes which had been adorned by the hand of a careful craftsman, he took off the ties, and by thus removing the latches turned his present into a slight. this unhandsome act blemished his gift so much that he seemed to reap hatred for it instead of thanks. thus he used never to be generous to any respectable man, but to spend all his bounty upon mimes and jugglers. for so base a fellow was bound to keep friendly company with the base, and such a slough of vices to wheedle his partners in sin with pandering endearments. still hugleik had the friendship of geigad and swipdag, nobles of tried valour, who, by the lustre of their warlike deeds, shone out among their unmanly companions like jewels embedded in ordure; these alone were found to defend the riches of the king. when a battle began between hugleik and hakon, the hordes of mimes, whose light-mindedness unsteadied their bodies, broke their ranks and scurried off in panic; and this shameful flight was their sole requital for all their king's benefits. then geigad and swipdag faced all those thousands of the enemy single-handed, and fought with such incredible courage, that they seemed to do the part not merely of two warriors, but of a whole army. geigad, moreover, dealt hakon, who pressed him hard, such a wound in the breast that he exposed the upper part of his liver. it was here that starkad, while he was attacking geigad with his sword, received a very sore wound on the head; wherefore he afterwards related in a certain song that a ghastlier wound had never befallen him at any time; for, though the divisions of his gashed head were bound up by the surrounding outer skin, yet the livid unseen wound concealed a foul gangrene below. starkad conquered, killed hugleik and routed the irish; and had the actors beaten whom chance made prisoner; thinking it better to order a pack of buffoons to be ludicrously punished by the loss of their skins than to command a more deadly punishment and take their lives. thus he visited with a disgraceful chastisement the baseborn throng of professional jugglers, and was content to punish them with the disgusting flouts of the lash. then the danes ordered that the wealth of the king should be brought out of the treasury in the city of dublin and publicly pillaged. for so vast a treasure had been found that none took much pains to divide it strictly. after this, starkad was commissioned, together with win, the chief of the sclavs, to check the revolt of the east. they, having fought against the armies of the kurlanders, the sembs, the sangals, and, finally, all the easterlings, won splendid victories everywhere. a champion of great repute, named wisin, settled upon a rock in russia named ana-fial, and harried both neighbouring and distant provinces with all kinds of outrage. this man used to blunt the edge of every weapon by merely looking at it. he was made so bold in consequence, by having lost all fear of wounds, that he used to carry off the wives of distinguished men and drag them to outrage before the eyes of their husbands. starkad was roused by the tale of this villainy, and went to russia to destroy the criminal; thinking nothing too hard to overcome, he challenged wisin, attacked him, made even his tricks useless to him, and slew him. for starkad covered his blade with a very fine skin, that it might not met the eye of the sorcerer; and neither the power of his sleights nor his great strength were any help to wisin, for he had to yield to starkad. then starkad, trusting in his bodily strength, fought with and overcame a giant at byzantium, reputed invincible, named tanne, and drove him to fly an outlaw to unknown quarters of the earth. therefore, finding that he was too mighty for any hard fate to overcome him, he went to the country of poland, and conquered in a duel a champion whom our countrymen name wasce; but the teutons, arranging the letters differently, call him wilzce. meanwhile the saxons began to attempt a revolt, and to consider particularly how they could destroy frode, who was unconquered in war, by some other way than an open conflict. thinking that it would be best done by a duel, they sent men to provoke the king with a challenge, knowing that he was always ready to court any hazard, and that his high spirit would not yield to any admonition whatever. they fancied that this was the best time to attack him, because they knew that starkad, whose valour most men dreaded, was away on business. but while frode hesitated, and said that he would talk with his friends about the answer to be given, starkad, who had just returned from his sea-roving, appeared, and blamed such a challenge, principally (he said) because it was fitting for kings to fight only with their equals, and because they should not take up arms against men of the people; but it was more fitting for himself, who was born in a lowlier station, to manage the battle. the saxons approached hame, who was accounted their most famous champion, with many offers, and promised him that, if he would lend his services for the duel they would pay him his own weight in gold. the fighter was tempted by the money, and, with all the ovation of a military procession, they attended him to the ground appointed for the combat. thereupon the danes, decked in warlike array, led starkad, who was to represent his king, out to the duelling-ground. hame, in his youthful assurance, despised him as withered with age, and chose to grapple rather than fight with an outworn old man. attacking starkad, he would have flung him tottering to the earth, but that fortune, who would not suffer the old man to be conquered, prevented him from being hurt. for he is said to have been so crushed by the fist of hame, as he dashed on him, that he touched the earth with his chin, supporting himself on his knees. but he made up nobly for his tottering; for, as soon as he could raise his knee and free his hand to draw his sword, he clove hame through the middle of the body. many lands and sixty bondmen apiece were the reward of the victory. after hame was killed in this manner the sway of the danes over the saxons grew so insolent, that they were forced to pay every year a small tax for each of their limbs that was a cubit (ell) long, in token of their slavery. this hanef could not bear, and he meditated war in his desire to remove the tribute. steadfast love of his country filled his heart every day with greater compassion for the oppressed; and, longing to spend his life for the freedom of his countrymen, he openly showed a disposition to rebel. frode took his forces over the elbe, and killed him near the village of hanofra (hanover), so named after hanef. but swerting, though he was equally moved by the distress of his countrymen, said nothing about the ills of his land, and revolved a plan for freedom with a spirit yet more dogged than hanef's. men often doubt whether this zeal was liker to vice or to virtue; but i certainly censure it as criminal, because it was produced by a treacherous desire to revolt. it may have seemed most expedient to seek the freedom of the country, but it was not lawful to strive after this freedom by craft and treachery. therefore, since the deed of swerting was far from honourable, neither will it be called expedient; for it is nobler to attack openly him whom you mean to attack, and to exhibit hatred in the light of day, than to disguise a real wish to do harm under a spurious show of friendship. but the gains of crime are inglorious, its fruits are brief and fading. for even as that soul is slippery, which hides its insolent treachery by stealthy arts, so is it right that whatsoever is akin to guilt should be frail and fleeting. for guilt has been usually found to come home to its author; and rumour relates that such was the fate of swerting. for he had resolved to surprise the king under the pretence of a banquet, and burn him to death; but the king forestalled and slew him, though slain by him in return. hence the crime of one proved the destruction of both; and thus, though the trick succeeded against the foe, it did not bestow immunity on its author. frode was succeeded by his son ingild, whose soul was perverted from honour. he forsook the examples of his forefathers, and utterly enthralled himself to the lures of the most wanton profligacy. thus he had not a shadow of goodness and righteousness, but embraced vices instead of virtue; he cut the sinews of self-control, neglected the duties of his kingly station, and sank into a filthy slave of riot. indeed, he fostered everything that was adverse or ill-fitted to an orderly life. he tainted the glories of his father and grandfather by practising the foulest lusts, and bedimmed the brightest honours of his ancestors by most shameful deeds. for he was so prone to gluttony, that he had no desire to avenge his father, or repel the aggressions of his foes; and so, could he but gratify his gullet, he thought that decency and self-control need be observed in nothing. by idleness and sloth he stained his glorious lineage, living a loose and sensual life; and his soul, so degenerate, so far perverted and astray from the steps of his fathers, he loved to plunge into most abominable gulfs of foulness. fowl-fatteners, scullions, frying-pans, countless cook-houses, different cooks to roast or spice the banquet--the choosing of these stood to him for glory. as to arms, soldiering, and wars, he could endure neither to train himself to them, nor to let others practise them. thus he cast away all the ambitions of a man and aspired to those of women; for his incontinent itching of palate stirred in him love of every kitchen-stench. ever breathing of his debauch, and stripped of every rag of soberness, with his foul breath he belched the undigested filth in his belly. he was as infamous in wantonness as frode was illustrious in war. so utterly had his spirit been enfeebled by the untimely seductions of gluttony. starkad was so disgusted at the excess of ingild, that he forsook his friendship, and sought the fellowship of halfdan, the king of swedes, preferring work to idleness. thus he could not bear so much as to countenance excessive indulgence. now the sons of swerting, fearing that they would have to pay to ingild the penalty of their father's crime, were fain to forestall his vengeance by a gift, and gave him their sister in marriage. antiquity relates that she bore him sons, frode, fridleif, ingild, and olaf (whom some say was the son of ingild's sister). ingild's sister helga had been led by amorous wooing to return the flame of a certain low-born goldsmith, who was apt for soft words, and furnished with divers of the little gifts which best charm a woman's wishes. for since the death of the king there had been none to honour the virtues of the father by attention to the child; she had lacked protection, and had no guardians. when starkad had learnt this from the repeated tales of travellers, he could not bear to let the wantonness of the smith pass unpunished. for he was always heedful to bear kindness in mind, and as ready to punish arrogance. so he hastened to chastise such bold and enormous insolence, wishing to repay the orphan ward the benefits he had of old received from frode. then he travelled through sweden, went into the house of the smith, and posted himself near the threshold muffling his face in a cap to avoid discovery. the smith, who had not learnt the lesson that "strong hands are sometimes found under a mean garment", reviled him, and bade him quickly leave the house, saying that he should have the last broken victuals among the crowd of paupers. but the old man, whose ingrained self-control lent him patience, was nevertheless fain to rest there, and gradually study the wantonness of his host. for his reason was stronger than his impetuosity, and curbed his increasing rage. then the smith approached the girl with open shamelessness, and cast himself in her lap, offering the hair of his head to be combed out by her maidenly hands. also he thrust forward his loin cloth, and required her help in picking out the fleas; and exacted from this woman of lordly lineage that she should not blush to put her sweet fingers in a foul apron. then, believing that he was free to have his pleasure, he ventured to put his longing palms within her gown and to set his unsteady hands close to her breast. but she, looking narrowly, was aware of the presence of the old man whom she once had known, and felt ashamed. she spurned the wanton and libidinous fingering, and repulsed the unchaste hands, telling the man also that he had need of arms, and urging him to cease his lewd sport. starkad, who had sat down by the door, with the hat muffling his head, had already become so deeply enraged at this sight, that he could not find patience to hold his hand any longer, but put away his covering and clapped his right hand to his sword to draw it. then the smith, whose only skill was in lewdness, faltered with sudden alarm, and finding that it had come to fighting, gave up all hope of defending himself, and saw in flight the only remedy for his need. thus it was as hard to break out of the door, of which the enemy held the approach, as it was grievous to await the smiter within the house. at last necessity forced him to put an end to his delay, and he judged that a hazard wherein there lay but the smallest chance of safety was more desirable than sure and manifest danger. also, hard as it was to fly, the danger being so close, yet he desired flight because it seemed to bring him aid, and to be the nearer way to safety; and he cast aside delay, which seemed to be an evil bringing not the smallest help, but perhaps irretrievable ruin. but just as he gained the threshold, the old man watching at the door smote him through the hams, and there, half dead, he tottered and fell. for the smiter thought he ought carefully to avoid lending his illustrious hands to the death of a vile cinder-blower, and considered that ignominy would punish his shameless passion worse than death. thus some men think that he who suffers misfortune is worse punished than he who is slain outright. thus it was brought about, that the maiden, who had never had parents to tend her, came to behave like a woman of well-trained nature, and did the part, as it were, of a zealous guardian to herself. and when starkad, looking round, saw that the household sorrowed over the late loss of their master, he heaped shame on the wounded man with more invective, and thus began to mock: "why is the house silent and aghast? what makes this new grief? or where now rest that doting husband whom the steel has just punished for his shameful love? keeps he still aught of his pride and lazy wantonness? holds he to his quest, glows his lust as hot as before? let him while away an hour with me in converse, and allay with friendly words my hatred of yesterday. let your visage come forth with better cheer; let not lamentation resound in the house, or suffer the faces to become dulled with sorrow. "wishing to know who burned with love for the maiden, and was deeply enamoured of my beloved ward, i put on a cap, lest my familiar face might betray me. then comes in that wanton smith, with lewd steps, bending his thighs this way and that with studied gesture, and likewise making eyes as he ducked all ways. his covering was a mantle fringed with beaver, his sandals were inlaid with gems, his cloak was decked with gold. gorgeous ribbons bound his plaited hair, and a many-coloured band drew tight his straying locks. hence grew a sluggish and puffed-up temper; he fancied that wealth was birth, and money forefathers, and reckoned his fortune more by riches than by blood. hence came pride unto him, and arrogance led to fine attire. for the wretch began to think that his dress made him equal to the high-born; he, the cinder-blower, who hunts the winds with hides, and puffs with constant draught, who rakes the ashes with his fingers, and often by drawing back the bellows takes in the air, and with a little fan makes a breath and kindles the smouldering fires! then he goes to the lap of the girl, and leaning close, says, `maiden, comb my hair and catch the skipping fleas, and remove what stings my skin.' then he sat and spread his arms that sweated under the gold, lolling on the smooth cushion and leaning back on his elbow, wishing to flaunt his adornment, just as a barking brute unfolds the gathered coils of its twisted tail. but she knew me, and began to check her lover and rebuff his wanton hands; and, declaring that it was i, she said, `refrain thy fingers, check thy promptings, take heed to appease the old man sitting close by the doors. the sport will turn to sorrow. i think starkad is here, and his slow gaze scans thy doings.' the smith answered: `turn not pale at the peaceful raven and the ragged old man; never has that mighty one whom thou fearest stooped to such common and base attire. the strong man loves shining raiment, and looks for clothes to match his courage.' then i uncovered and drew my sword, and as the smith fled i clove his privy parts; his hams were laid open, cut away from the bone; they showed his entrails. presently i rise and crush the girl's mouth with my fist, and draw blood from her bruised nostril. then her lips, used to evil laughter, were wet with tears mingled with blood, and foolish love paid for all the sins it committed with soft eyes. over is the sport of the hapless woman who rushed on, blind with desire, like a maddened mare, and makes her lust the grave of her beauty. thou deservest to be sold for a price to foreign peoples and to grind at the mill, unless blood pressed from thy breasts prove thee falsely accused, and thy nipple's lack of milk clear thee of the crime. howbeit, i think thee free from this fault; yet bear not tokens of suspicion, nor lay thyself open to lying tongues, nor give thyself to the chattering populace to gird at. rumour hurts many, and a lying slander often harms. a little word deceives the thoughts of common men. respect thy grandsires, honour thy fathers, forget not thy parents, value thy forefathers; let thy flesh and blood keep its fame. what madness came on thee? and thou, shameless smith, what fate drove thee in thy lust to attempt a high-born race? or who sped thee, maiden, worthy of the lordliest pillows, to loves obscure? tell me, how durst thou taste with thy rosy lips a mouth reeking of ashes, or endure on thy breast hands filthy with charcoal, or bring close to thy side the arms that turn the live coals over, and put the palms hardened with the use of the tongs to thy pure cheeks, and embrace the head sprinkled with embers, taking it to thy bright arms? "i remember how smiths differ from one another, for once they smote me. all share alike the name of their calling, but the hearts beneath are different in temper. i judge those best who weld warriors' swords and spears for the battle, whose temper shows their courage, who betoken their hearts by the sternness of their calling, whose work declares their prowess. there are also some to whom the hollow mould yields bronze, as they make the likeness of divers things in molten gold, who smelt the veins and recast the metal. but nature has fashioned these of a softer temper, and has crushed with cowardice the hands which she has gifted with rare skill. often such men, while the heat of the blast melts the bronze that is poured in the mould, craftily filch flakes of gold from the lumps, when the vessel thirsts after the metal they have stolen." so speaking, starkad got as much pleasure from his words as from his works, and went back to halfdan, embracing his service with the closest friendship, and never ceasing from the exercise of war; so that he weaned his mind from delights, and vexed it with incessant application to arms. now ingild had two sisters, helga and asa; helga was of full age to marry, while asa was younger and unripe for wedlock. then helge the norwegian was moved with desire to ask for helga for his wife, and embarked. now he had equipped his vessel so luxuriously that he had lordly sails decked with gold, held up also on gilded masts, and tied with crimson ropes. when he arrived ingild promised to grant him his wish if, to test his reputation publicly, he would first venture to meet in battle the champions pitted against him. helge did not flinch at the terms; he answered that he would most gladly abide by the compact. and so the troth-plight of the future marriage was most ceremoniously solemnized. a story is remembered that there had grown up at the same time, on the isle of zealand, the nine sons of a certain prince, all highly gifted with strength and valour, the eldest of whom was anganty. this last was a rival suitor for the same maiden; and when he saw that the match which he had been denied was promised to helge, he challenged him to a struggle, wishing to fight away his vexation. helge agreed to the proposed combat. the hour of the fight was appointed for the wedding-day by the common wish of both. for any man who, being challenged, refused to fight, used to be covered with disgrace in the sight of all men. thus helge was tortured on the one side by the shame of refusing the battle, on the other by the dread of waging it. for he thought himself attacked unfairly and counter to the universal laws of combat, as he had apparently undertaken to fight nine men single-handed. while he was thus reflecting his betrothed told him that he would need help, and counselled him to refrain from the battle, wherein it seemed he would encounter only death and disgrace, especially as he had not stipulated for any definite limit to the number of those who were to be his opponents. he should therefore avoid the peril, and consult his safety by appealing to starkad, who was sojourning among the swedes; since it was his way to help the distressed, and often to interpose successfully to retrieve some dismal mischance. then helge, who liked the counsel thus given very well, took a small escort and went into sweden; and when he reached its most famous city, upsala, he forbore to enter, but sent in a messenger who was to invite starkad to the wedding of frode's daughter, after first greeting him respectfully to try him. this courtesy stung starkad like an insult. he looked sternly on the youth, and said, "that had he not had his beloved frode named in his instructions, he should have paid dearly for his senseless mission. he must think that starkad, like some buffoon or trencherman, was accustomed to rush off to the reek of a distant kitchen for the sake of a richer diet." helge, when his servant had told him this, greeted the old man in the name of frode's daughter, and asked him to share a battle which he had accepted upon being challenged, saying that he was not equal to it by himself, the terms of the agreement being such as to leave the number of his adversaries uncertain. starkad, when he had heard the time and place of the combat, not only received the suppliant well, but also encouraged him with the offer of aid, and told him to go back to denmark with his companions, telling him that he would find his way to him by a short and secret path. helge departed, and if we may trust report, starkad, by sheer speed of foot, travelled in one day's journeying over as great a space as those who went before him are said to have accomplished in twelve; so that both parties, by a chance meeting, reached their journey's end, the palace of ingild, at the very same time. here starkad passed, just as the servants did, along the tables filled with guests; and the aforementioned nine, howling horribly with repulsive gestures, and running about as if they were on the stage, encouraged one another to the battle. some say that they barked like furious dogs at the champion as he approached. starkad rebuked them for making themselves look ridiculous with such an unnatural visage, and for clowning with wide grinning cheeks; for from this, he declared, soft and effeminate profligates derived their wanton incontinence. when starkad was asked banteringly by the nine whether he had valour enough to fight, he answered that doubtless he was strong enough to meet, not merely one, but any number that might come against him. and when the nine heard this they understood that this was the man whom they had heard would come to the succour of helge from afar. starkad also, to protect the bride-chamber with a more diligent guard, voluntarily took charge of the watch; and, drawing back the doors of the bedroom, barred them with a sword instead of a bolt, meaning to post himself so as to give undisturbed quiet to their bridal. when helge woke, and, shaking off the torpor of sleep, remembered his pledge, he thought of buckling on his armour. but, seeing that a little of the darkness of night yet remained, and wishing to wait for the hour of dawn, he began to ponder the perilous business at hand, when sleep stole on him and sweetly seized him, so that he took himself back to bed laden with slumber. starkad, coming in on him at daybreak, saw him locked asleep in the arms of his wife, and would not suffer him to be vexed with a sudden shock, or summoned from his quiet slumbers; lest he should seem to usurp the duty of wakening him and breaking upon the sweetness of so new a union, all because of cowardice. he thought it, therefore, more handsome to meet the peril alone than to gain a comrade by disturbing the pleasure of another. so he quietly retraced his steps, and scorning his enemies, entered the field which in our tongue is called roliung, and finding a seat under the slope of a certain hill, he exposed himself to wind and snow. then, as though the gentle airs of spring weather were breathing upon him, he put off his cloak, and set to picking out the fleas. he also cast on the briars a purple mantle which helga had lately given him, that no clothing might seem to lend him shelter against the raging shafts of hail. then the champions came and climbed the hill on the opposite side; and, seeking a spot sheltered from the winds wherein to sit, they lit a fire and drove off the cold. at last, not seeing starkad, they sent a man to the crest of the hill, to watch his coming more clearly, as from a watch-tower. this man climbed to the top of the lofty mountain, and saw, on its sloping side, an old man covered shoulder-high with the snow that showered down. he asked him if he was the man who was to fight according to the promise. starkad declared that he was. then the rest came up and asked him whether he had resolved to meet them all at once or one by one. but he said, "whenever a surly pack of curs yelps at me, i commonly send them flying all at once, and not in turn." thus he let them know that he would rather fight with-them all together than one by one, thinking that his enemies should be spurned with words first and deeds afterwards. the fight began furiously almost immediately, and he felled six of them without receiving any wound in return; and though the remaining three wounded him so hard in seventeen places that most of his bowels gushed out of his belly, he slew them notwithstanding, like their brethren. disembowelled, with failing strength, he suffered from dreadful straits of thirst, and, crawling on his knees in his desire to find a draught, he longed for water from the streamlet that ran close by. but when he saw it was tainted with gore he was disgusted at the look of the water, and refrained from its infected draught. for anganty had been struck down in the waves of the river, and had dyed its course so deep with his red blood that it seemed now to flow not with water, but with some ruddy liquid. so starkad thought it nobler that his bodily strength should fail than that he should borrow strength from so foul a beverage. therefore, his force being all but spent, he wriggled on his knees, up to a rock that happened to be lying near, and for some little while lay leaning against it. a hollow in its surface is still to be seen, just as if his weight as he lay had marked it with a distinct impression of his body. but i think this appearance is due to human handiwork, for it seems to pass all belief that the hard and uncleavable rock should so imitate the softness of wax, as, merely by the contact of a man leaning on it, to present the appearance of a man having sat there, and assume concavity for ever. a certain man, who chanced to be passing by in a cart, saw starkad wounded almost all over his body. equally aghast and amazed, he turned and drove closer, asking what reward he should have if he were to tend and heal his wounds. but starkad would rather be tortured by grievous wounds than use the service of a man of base estate, and first asked his birth and calling. the man said that his profession was that of a sergeant. starkad, not content with despising him, also spurned him with revilings, because, neglecting all honourable business, he followed the calling of a hanger-on; and because he had tarnished his whole career with ill repute, thinking the losses of the poor his own gains; suffering none to be innocent, ready to inflict wrongful accusation upon all men, most delighted at any lamentable turn in the fortunes of another; and toiling most at his own design, namely of treacherously spying out all men's doings, and seeking some traitorous occasion to censure the character of the innocent. as this first man departed, another came up, promising aid and remedies. like the last comer, he was bidden to declare his condition; and he said that he had a certain man's handmaid to wife, and was doing peasant service to her master in order to set her free. starkad refused to accept his help, because he had married in a shameful way by taking a slave to his embrace. had he had a shred of virtue he should at least have disdained to be intimate with the slave of another, but should have enjoyed some freeborn partner of his bed. what a mighty man, then, must we deem starkad, who, when enveloped in the most deadly perils, showed himself as great in refusing aid as in receiving wounds! when this man departed a woman chanced to approach and walk past the old man. she came up to him in order to wipe his wounds, but was first bidden to declare what was her birth and calling. she said that she was a handmaid used to grinding at the mill. starkad then asked her if she had children; and when he was told that she had a female child, he told her to go home and give the breast to her squalling daughter; for he thought it most uncomely that he should borrow help from a woman of the lowest degree. moreover, he knew that she could nourish her own flesh and blood with milk better than she could minister to the wounds of a stranger. as the woman was departing, a young man came riding up in a cart. he saw the old man, and drew near to minister to his wounds. on being asked who he was, he said his father was a labourer, and added that he was used to the labours of a peasant. starkad praised his origin, and pronounced that his calling was also most worthy of honour; for, he said, such men sought a livelihood by honourable traffic in their labour, inasmuch as they knew not of any gain, save what they had earned by the sweat of their brow. he also thought that a country life was justly to be preferred even to the most splendid riches; for the most wholesome fruits of it seemed to be born and reared in the shelter of a middle estate, halfway between magnificence and squalor. but he did not wish to pass the kindness of the youth unrequited, and rewarded the esteem he had shown him with the mantle he had cast among the thorns. so the peasant's son approached, replaced the parts of his belly that had been torn away, and bound up with a plait of withies the mass of intestines that had fallen out. then he took the old man to his car, and with the most zealous respect carried him away to the palace. meantime helga, in language betokening the greatest wariness, began to instruct her husband, saying that she knew that starkad, as soon as he came back from conquering the champions, would punish him for his absence, thinking that he had inclined more to sloth and lust than to his promise to fight as appointed. therefore he must withstand starkad boldly, because he always spared the brave but loathed the coward. helge respected equally her prophecy and her counsel, and braced his soul and body with a glow of valorous enterprise. starkad, when he had been driven to the palace, heedless of the pain of his wounds, leaped swiftly out of the cart, and just like a man who was well from top to toe, burst into the bridal-chamber, shattering the doors with his fist. then helge leapt from his bed, and, as he had been taught by the counsel of his wife, plunged his blade full at starkad's forehead. and since he seemed to be meditating a second blow, and to be about to make another thrust with his sword, helga flew quickly from the couch, caught up a shield, and, by interposing it, saved the old man from impending destruction; for, notwithstanding, helge with a stronger stroke of his blade smote the shield right through to the boss. thus the praiseworthy wit of the woman aided her friend, and her hand saved him whom her counsel had injured; for she protected the old man by her deed, as well as her husband by her warning. starkad was induced by this to let helge go scot-free; saying that a man whose ready and assured courage so surely betokened manliness, ought to be spared; for he vowed that a man ill deserved death whose brave spirit was graced with such a dogged will to resist. starkad went back to sweden before his wounds had been treated with medicine, or covered with a single scar. halfdan had been killed by his rivals; and starkad, after quelling certain rebels, set up siward as the heir to his father's sovereignty. with him he sojourned a long time; but when he heard--for the rumour spread--that ingild, the son of frode (who had been treacherously slain), was perversely minded, and instead of punishing his father's murderers, bestowed upon them kindness and friendship, he was vexed with stinging wrath at so dreadful a crime. and, resenting that a youth of such great parts should have renounced his descent from his glorious father, he hung on his shoulders a mighty mass of charcoal, as though it were some costly burden, and made his way to denmark. when asked by those he met why he was taking along so unusual a load, he said that he would sharpen the dull wits of king ingild to a point by bits of charcoal. so he accomplished a swift and headlong journey, as though at a single breath, by a short and speedy track; and at last, becoming the guest of ingild, he went up, as his custom was, in to the seat appointed for the great men; for he had been used to occupy the highest post of distinction with the kings of the last generation. when the queen came in, and saw him covered over with filth and clad in the mean, patched clothes of a peasant, the ugliness of her guest's dress made her judge him with little heed; and, measuring the man by the clothes, she reproached him with crassness of wit, because he had gone before greater men in taking his place at table, and had assumed a seat that was too good for his boorish attire. she bade him quit the place, that he might not touch the cushions with his dress, which was fouler than it should have been. for she put down to crassness and brazenness what starkad only did from proper pride; she knew not that on a high seat of honour the mind sometimes shines brighter than the raiment. the spirited old man obeyed, though vexed at the rebuff, and with marvellous self-control choked down the insult which his bravery so ill deserved; uttering at this disgrace he had received neither word nor groan. but he could not long bear to hide the bitterness of his anger in silence. rising, and retreating to the furthest end of the palace, he flung his body against the walls; and strong as they were, he so battered them with the shock, that the beams quaked mightily; and he nearly brought the house down in a crash. thus, stung not only with his rebuff, but with the shame of having poverty cast in his teeth, he unsheathed his wrath against the insulting speech of the queen with inexorable sternness. ingild, on his return from hunting, scanned him closely, and, when he noticed that he neither looked cheerfully about, nor paid him the respect of rising, saw by the sternness written on his brow that it was starkad. for when he noted his hands horny with fighting, his scars in front, the force and fire of his eye, he perceived that a man whose body was seamed with so many traces of wounds had no weakling soul. he therefore rebuked his wife, and charged her roundly to put away her haughty tempers, and to soothe and soften with kind words and gentle offices the man she had reviled; to comfort him with food and drink, and refresh him with kindly converse; saying, that this man had been appointed his tutor by his father long ago, and had been a most tender guardian of his childhood. then, learning too late the temper of the old man, she turned her harshness into gentleness, and respectfully waited on him whom she had rebuffed and railed at with bitter revilings. the angry hostess changed her part, and became the most fawning of flatterers. she wished to check his anger with her attentiveness; and her fault was the less, inasmuch as she was so quick in ministering to him after she had been chidden. but she paid dearly for it, for she presently beheld stained with the blood of her brethren the place where she had flouted and rebuffed the brave old man from his seat. now, in the evening, ingild took his meal with the sons of swerting, and fell to a magnificent feast, loading the tables with the profusest dishes. with friendly invitation he kept the old man back from leaving the revel too early; as though the delights of elaborate dainties could have undermined that staunch and sturdy virtue! but when starkad had set eyes on these things, he scorned so wanton a use of them; and, not to give way a whit to foreign fashions, he steeled his appetite against these tempting delicacies with the self-restraint which was his greatest strength. he would not suffer his repute as a soldier to be impaired by the allurements of an orgy. for his valour loved thrift, and was a stranger to all superfluity of food, and averse to feasting in excess. for his was a courage which never at any moment had time to make luxury of aught account, and always forewent pleasure to pay due heed to virtue. so, when he saw that the antique character of self-restraint, and all good old customs, were being corrupted by new-fangled luxury and sumptuosity, he wished to be provided with a morsel fitter for a peasant, and scorned the costly and lavish feast. spurning profuse indulgence in food, starkad took some smoky and rather rancid fare, appeasing his hunger with a bitter relish because more simply; and being unwilling to enfeeble his true valour with the tainted sweetness of sophisticated foreign dainties, or break the rule of antique plainness by such strange idolatries of the belly. he was also very wroth that they should go, to the extravagance of having the same meat both roasted and boiled at the same meal; for he considered an eatable which was steeped in the vapours of the kitchen, and which the skill of the cook rubbed over with many kinds of flavours, in the light of a monstrosity. unlike starkad ingild flung the example of his ancestors to the winds, and gave himself freer licence of innovation in the fashions of the table than the custom of his fathers allowed. for when he had once abandoned himself to the manners of teutonland, he did not blush to yield to its unmanly wantonness. no slight incentives to debauchery have flowed down our country's throat from that sink of a land. hence came magnificent dishes, sumptuous kitchens, the base service of cooks, and all sorts of abominable sausages. hence came our adoption, wandering from the ways of our fathers, of a more dissolute dress. thus our country, which cherished self-restraint as its native quality, has gone begging to our neighbours for luxury; whose allurements so charmed ingild, that he did not think it shameful to requite wrongs with kindness; nor did the grievous murder of his father make him heave one sigh of bitterness when it crossed his mind. but the queen would not depart without effecting her purpose. thinking that presents would be the best way to banish the old man's anger, she took off her own head a band of marvellous handiwork, and put it in his lap as he supped: desiring to buy his favour since she could not blunt his courage. but starkad, whose bitter resentment was not yet abated, flung it back in the face of the giver, thinking that in such a gift there was more scorn than respect. and he was wise not to put this strange ornament of female dress upon the head that was all bescarred and used to the helmet; for he knew that the locks of a man ought not to wear a woman's head-band. thus he avenged slight with slight, and repaid with retorted scorn the disdain he had received; thereby bearing himself well-nigh as nobly in avenging his disgrace as he had borne himself in enduring it. to the soul of starkad reverence for frode was grappled with hooks of love. drawn to him by deeds of bounty, countless kindnesses, he could not be wheedled into giving up his purpose of revenge by any sort of alluring complaisance. even now, when frode was no more, he was eager to pay the gratitude due to his benefits, and to requite the kindness of the dead, whose loving disposition and generous friendship he had experienced while he lived. for he bore graven so deeply in his heart the grievous picture of frode's murder, that his honour for that most famous captain could never be plucked from the inmost chamber of his soul; and therefore he did not hesitate to rank his ancient friendship before the present kindness. besides, when he recalled the previous affront, he could not thank the complaisance that followed; he could not put aside the disgraceful wound to his self-respect. for the memory of benefits or injuries ever sticks more firmly in the minds of brave men than in those of weaklings. for he had not the habits of those who follow their friends in prosperity and quit them in adversity, who pay more regard to fortune than to looks, and sit closer to their own gain than to charity toward others. but the woman held to her purpose, seeing that even so she could not win the old man to convivial mirth. continuing with yet more lavish courtesy her efforts to soothe him, and to heap more honours on the guest, she bade a piper strike up, and started music to melt his unbending rage. for she wanted to unnerve his stubborn nature by means of cunning sounds. but the cajolery of pipe or string was just as powerless to enfeeble that dogged warrior. when he heard it, he felt that the respect paid him savoured more of pretence than of love. hence the crestfallen performer seemed to be playing to a statue rather than a man, and learnt that it is vain for buffoons to assail with, their tricks a settled and weighty sternness, and that a mighty mass cannot be shaken with the idle puffing of the lips. for starkad had set his face so firmly in his stubborn wrath, that he seemed not a whit easier to move than ever. for the inflexibility which he owed his vows was not softened either by the strain of the lute or the enticements of the palate; and he thought that more respect should be paid to his strenuous and manly purpose than to the tickling of the ears or the lures of the feast. accordingly he flung the bone, which he had stripped in eating the meat, in the face of the harlequin, and drove the wind violently out of his puffed cheeks, so that they collapsed. by this he showed how his austerity loathed the clatter of the stage; for his ears were stopped with anger and open to no influence of delight. this reward, befitting an actor, punished an unseemly performance with a shameful wage. for starkad excellently judged the man's deserts, and bestowed a shankbone for the piper to pipe on, requiting his soft service with a hard fee. none could say whether the actor piped or wept the louder; he showed by his bitter flood of tears how little place bravery has in the breasts of the dissolute. for the fellow was a mere minion of pleasure, and had never learnt to bear the assaults of calamity. this man's hurt was ominous of the carnage that was to follow at the feast. right well did starkad's spirit, heedful of sternness, hold with stubborn gravity to steadfast revenge; for he was as much disgusted at the lute as others were delighted, and repaid the unwelcome service by insultingly flinging a bone; thus avowing that he owed a greater debt to the glorious dust of his mighty friend than to his shameless and infamous ward. but when starkad saw that the slayers of frode were in high favour with the king, his stern glances expressed the mighty wrath which he harboured, and his face betrayed what he felt. the visible fury of his gaze betokened the secret tempest in his heart. at last, when ingild tried to appease him with royal fare, he spurned the dainty. satisfied with cheap and common food, he utterly spurned outlandish delicacies; he was used to plain diet, and would not pamper his palate with any delightful flavour. when he was asked why he had refused the generous attention of the king with such a clouded brow, he said that he had come to denmark to find the son of frode, not a man who crammed his proud and gluttonous stomach with rich elaborate feasts. for the teuton extravagance which the king favoured had led him, in his longing for the pleasures of abundance, to set to the fire again, for roasting, dishes which had been already boiled. thereupon he could not forbear from attacking ingild's character, but poured out the whole bitterness of his reproaches on his head. he condemned his unfilial spirit, because he gaped with repletion and vented his squeamishness in filthy hawkings; because, following the lures of the saxons, he strayed and departed far from soberness; because he was so lacking in manhood as not to pursue even the faintest shadow of it. but, declared starkad, he bore the heaviest load of infamy, because, even when he first began to see service, he forgot to avenge his father, to whose butchers, forsaking the law of nature, he was kind and attentive. men whose deserts were most vile he welcomed with loving affection; and not only did he let those go scot-free, whom he should have punished most sharply, but he even judged them fit persons to live with and entertain at his table, whereas he should rather have put them to death. hereupon starkad is also said to have sung as follows: "let the unwarlike youth yield to the aged, let him honour all the years of him that is old. when a man is brave, let none reproach the number of his days. "though the hair of the ancient whiten with age, their valour stays still the same; nor shall the lapse of time have power to weaken their manly heart. "i am elbowed away by the offensive guest, who taints with vice his outward show of goodness, whilst he is the slave of his belly and prefers his daily dainties to anything. "when i was counted as a comrade of frode, i ever sat in the midst of warriors on a high seat in the hall, and i was the first of the princes to take my meal. "now, the lot of a nobler age is reversed; i am shut in a corner, i am like the fish that seeks shelter as it wanders to and fro hidden in the waters. "i, who used surely in the former age to lie back on a couch handsomely spread, am now thrust among the hindmost and driven from the crowded hall. "perchance i had been driven on my back at the doors, had not the wall struck my side and turned me back, and had not the beam, in the way made it hard for me to fly when i was thrust forth. "i am baited with the jeers of the court-folk; i am not received as a guest should be; i am girded at with harsh gibing, and stung with babbling taunts. "i am a stranger, and would gladly know what news are spread abroad by busy rumour; what is the course of events; what the order of the land; what is doing in your country. "thou, ingild, buried in sin, why dost thou tarry in the task of avenging thy father? wilt thou think tranquilly of the slaughter of thy righteous sire? "why dost thou, sluggard, think only of feasting, and lean thy belly back in ease, more effeminate than harlots? is the avenging of thy slaughtered father a little thing to thee? "when last i left thee, frode, i learned by my prophetic soul that thou, mightiest of kings, wouldst surely perish by the sword of enemies. "and while i travelled long in the land, a warning groan rose in my soul, which augured that thereafter i was never to see thee more. "wo is me, that then i was far away, harrying the farthest peoples of the earth, when the traitorous guest aimed craftily at the throat of his king. "else i would either have shown myself the avenger of my lord, or have shared his fate and fallen where he fell, and would joyfully have followed the blessed king in one and the same death. "i have not come to indulge in gluttonous feasting, the sin whereof i will strive to chastise; nor will i take mine ease, nor the delights of the fat belly. "no famous king has ever set me before in the middle by the strangers. i have been wont to sit in the highest seats among friends. "i have come from sweden, travelling over wide lands, thinking that i should be rewarded, if only i had the joy to find the son of my beloved frode. "but i sought a brave man, and i have come to a glutton, a king who is the slave of his belly and of vice, whose liking has been turned back towards wantonness by filthy pleasure. "famous is the speech men think that halfdan spoke: he warned us it would soon come to pass that an understanding father should beget a witless son. "though the heir be deemed degenerate, i will not suffer the wealth of mighty frode to profit strangers or to be made public like plunder." at these words the queen trembled, and she took from her head the ribbon with which she happened, in woman's fashion, to be adorning her hair, and proffered it to the enraged old man, as though she could avert his anger with a gift. starkad in anger flung it back most ignominiously in the face of the giver, and began again in a loud voice: "take hence, i pray thee, thy woman's gift, and set back thy headgear on thy head; no brave man assumes the chaplets that befit love only. "for it is amiss that the hair of men that are ready for battle should be bound back with wreathed gold; such attire is right for the throngs of the soft and effeminate. "but take this gift to thy husband, who loves luxury, whose finger itches, while he turns over the rump and handles the flesh of the bird roasted brown. "the flighty and skittish wife of ingild longs to observe the fashions of the teutons; she prepares the orgy and makes ready the artificial dainties. "for she tickles the palate with a new-fangled feast; she pursues the zest of an unknown flavour, raging to load all the tables with dishes yet more richly than before. "she gives her lord wine to drink in bowls, pondering all things with zealous preparation; she bids the cooked meats be roasted, and intends them for a second fire. "wantonly she feeds her husband like a hog; a shameless whore, trusting.... "she roasts the boiled, and recooks the roasted meats, planning the meal with spendthrift extravagance, careless of right and wrong, practising sin, a foul woman. "wanton in arrogance, a soldier of love, longing for dainties, she abjures the fair ways of self-control, and also provides devices for gluttony. "with craving stomach she desires turnip strained in a smooth pan, cakes with thin juice, and shellfish in rows. "i do not remember the great frode putting his hand to the sinews of birds, or tearing the rump of a cooked fowl with crooked thumb. "what former king could have been so gluttonous as to stir the stinking filthy flesh, or rummage in the foul back of a bird with plucking fingers? "the food of valiant men is raw; no need, methinks, of sumptuous tables for those whose stubborn souls are bent on warfare. "it had been fitter for thee to have torn the stiff beard, biting hard with thy teeth, than greedily to have drained the bowl of milk with thy wide mouth. "we fled from the offence of the sumptuous kitchen; we stayed our stomach with rancid fare; few in the old days loved cooked juices. "a dish with no sauce of herbs gave us the flesh of rams and swine. we partook temperately, tainting nothing with bold excess. "thou who now lickest the milk-white fat, put on, prithee, the spirit of a man; remember frode, and avenge thy father's death. "the worthless and cowardly heart shall perish, and shall not parry the thrust of death by flight, though it bury itself in a valley, or crouch in darkling dens. "once we were eleven princes, devoted followers of king hakon, and here geigad sat above helge in the order of the meal. "geigad used to appease the first pangs of hunger with a dry rump of ham; and plenty of hard crust quelled the craving of his stomach. "no one asked for a sickly morsel; all took their food in common; the meal of mighty men cost but slight display. "the commons shunned foreign victual, and the greatest lusted not for a feast; even the king remembered to live temperately at little cost. "scorning to look at the mead, he drank the fermented juice of ceres; he shrank not from the use of undercooked meats, and hated the roast. "the board used to stand with slight display, a modest salt-cellar showed the measure of its cost; lest the wise ways of antiquity should in any wise be changed by foreign usage. "of old, no man put flagons or mixing-bowls on the tables; the steward filled the cup from the butt, and there was no abundance of adorned vessels. "no one who honoured past ages put the smooth wine-jars beside the tankards, and of old no bedizened lackey heaped the platter with dainties. "nor did the vainglorious host deck the meal with little salt-shell or smooth cup; but all has been now abolished in shameful wise by the new-fangled manners. "who would ever have borne to take money in ransom for the death of a lost parent, or to have asked a foe for a gift to atone for the murder of a father? "what strong heir or well-starred son would have sat side by side with such as these, letting a shameful bargain utterly unnerve the warrior? "wherefore, when the honours of kings are sung, and bards relate the victories of captains, i hide my face for shame in my mantle, sick at heart. "for nothing shines in thy trophies, worthy to be recorded by the pen; no heir of frode is named in the roll of the honourable. "why dost thou vex me with insolent gaze, thou who honourest the foe guilty of thy father's blood, and art thought only to take thy vengeance with loaves and warm soup? "when men speak well of the avengers of crimes, then long thou to lose thy quick power of hearing, that thy impious spirit may not be ashamed. "for oft has the virtue of another vexed a heart that knows its guilt, and the malice in the breast is abashed by the fair report of the good. "though thou go to the east, or live sequestered in the countries of the west, or whether, driven thence, thou seek the midmost place of the earth; "whether thou revisit the cold quarter of the heaven where the pole is to be seen, and carries on the sphere with its swift spin, and looks down upon the neighbouring bear; "shame shall accompany thee far, and shall smite thy countenance with heavy disgrace, when the united assembly of the great kings is taking pastime. "since everlasting dishonour awaits thee, thou canst not come amidst the ranks of the famous; and in every clime thou shalt pass thy days in infamy. "the fates have given frode an offspring born into the world when gods were adverse, whose desires have been enthralled by crime and ignoble lust. "even as in a ship all things foul gather to the filthy hollow of the bilge, even so hath a flood of vices poured into ingild. "therefore, in terror of thy shame being published, thou shalt lie crushed in the corners of the land, sluggish on thy foul hearth, and never to be seen in the array of the famous. "then shalt thou shake thy beard at thine evil fate, kept down by the taunts of thy mistresses, when thy paramour galls thy ear with her querulous cries. "since chill fear retards thy soul, and thou dreadest to become the avenger of thy sire, thou art utterly degenerate, and thy ways are like a slave's. "it would have needed scant preparation to destroy thee; even as if a man should catch and cut the throat of a kid, or slit the weazand of a soft sheep and butcher it. "behold, a son of the tyrant swerting shall take the inheritance of denmark after thee; he whose slothful sister thou keepest in infamous union. "whilst thou delightest to honour thy bride, laden with gems and shining in gold apparel, we burn with all indignation that is linked with shame, lamenting thy infamies. "when thou art stirred by furious lust, our mind is troubled, and recalls the fashion of ancient times, and bids us grieve sorely. "for we rate otherwise than thou the crime of the foes whom now thou holdest in honour; wherefore the face of this age is a burden to me, remembering the ancient ways. "i would crave no greater blessing, o frode, if i might see those guilty of thy murder duly punished for such a crime." now he prevailed so well by this stirring counsel, that his reproach served like a flint wherewith to strike a blazing flame of valour in the soul that had been chill and slack. for the king had at first heard the song inattentively; but, stirred by the earnest admonition of his guardian, he conceived in his heart a tardy fire of revenge; and, forgetting the reveller, he changed into the foeman. at last he leapt up from where he lay, and poured the whole flood of his anger on those at table with him; insomuch that he unsheathed his sword upon the sons of swerting with bloody ruthlessness, and aimed with drawn blade at the throats of those whose gullets he had pampered with the pleasures of the table. these men he forthwith slew; and by so doing he drowned the holy rites of the table in blood. he sundered the feeble bond of their league, and exchanged a shameful revel for enormous cruelty; the host became the foe, and that vilest slave of excess the bloodthirsty agent of revenge. for the vigorous pleading of his counsellor bred a breath of courage in his soft and unmanly youth; it drew out his valour from its lurking-place, and renewed it, and so fashioned it that the authors of a most grievous murder were punished even as they deserved. for the young man's valour had been not quenched, but only in exile, and the aid of an old man had drawn it out into the light; and it accomplished a deed which was all the greater for its tardiness; for it was somewhat nobler to steep the cups in blood than in wine. what a spirit, then, must we think that old man had, who by his eloquent adjuration expelled from that king's mind its infinite sin, and who, bursting the bonds of iniquity, implanted a most effectual seed of virtue. starkad aided the king with equal achievements; and not only showed the most complete courage in his own person, but summoned back that which had been rooted out of the heart of another. when the deed was done, he thus begun: "king ingild, farewell; thy heart, full of valour, hath now shown a deed of daring. the spirit that reigns in thy body is revealed by its fair beginning; nor did there lack deep counsel in thy heart, though thou wert silent till this hour; for thou dost redress by thy bravery what delay had lost, and redeemest the sloth of thy spirit by mighty valour. come now, let us rout the rest, and let none escape the peril which all alike deserve. let the crime come home to the culprit; let the sin return and crush its contriver. "let the servants take up in a car the bodies of the slain, and let the attendant quickly bear out the carcases. justly shall they lack the last rites; they are unworthy to be covered with a mound; let no funeral procession or pyre suffer them the holy honour of a barrow; let them be scattered to rot in the fields, to be consumed by the beaks of birds; let them taint the country all about with their deadly corruption. "do thou too, king, if thou hast any wit, flee thy savage bride, lest the she-wolf bring forth a litter like herself, and a beast spring from thee that shall hurt its own father. "tell me, rote, continual derider of cowards, thinkest thou that we have avenged frode enough, when we have spent seven deaths on the vengeance of one? lo, those are borne out dead who paid homage not to thy sway in deed, but only in show, and though obsequious they planned treachery. but i always cherished this hope, that noble fathers have noble offspring, who will follow in their character the lot which they received by their birth. therefore, ingild, better now than in time past dost thou deserve to be called lord of leire and of denmark. "when, o king hakon, i was a beardless youth, and followed thy leading and command in warfare, i hated luxury and wanton souls, and practiced only wars. training body and mind together, i banished every unholy thing from my soul, and shunned the pleasures of the belly, loving deeds of prowess. for those that followed the calling of arms had rough clothing and common gear and short slumbers and scanty rest. toil drove ease far away, and the time ran by at scanty cost. not as with some men now, the light of whose reason is obscured by insatiate greed with its blind maw. some one of these clad in a covering of curiously wrought raiment effeminately guides the fleet-footed (steed), and unknots his dishevelled locks, and lets his hair fly abroad loosely. "he loves to plead often in the court, and to covet a base pittance, and with this pursuit he comforts his sluggish life, doing with venal tongue the business entrusted to him. "he outrages the laws by force, he makes armed assault upon men's rights, he tramples on the innocent, he feeds on the wealth of others, he practices debauchery and gluttony, he vexes good fellowship with biting jeers, and goes after harlots as a hoe after the grass. "the coward falls when battles are lulled in peace. though he who fears death lie in the heart of the valley, no mantlet shall shelter him. his final fate carries off every living man; doom is not to be averted by skulking. but i, who have shaken the whole world with my slaughters, shall i enjoy a peaceful death? shall i be taken up to the stars in a quiet end? shall i die in my bed without a wound?" book seven. we are told by historians of old, that ingild had four sons, of whom three perished in war, while olaf alone reigned after his father; but some say that olaf was the son of ingild's sister, though this opinion is doubtful. posterity has but an uncertain knowledge of his deeds, which are dim with the dust of antiquity; nothing but the last counsel of his wisdom has been rescued by tradition. for when he was in the last grip of death he took thought for his sons frode and harald, and bade them have royal sway, one over the land and the other over the sea, and receive these several powers, not in prolonged possession, but in yearly rotation. thus their share in the rule was made equal; but frode, who was the first to have control of the affairs of the sea, earned disgrace from his continual defeats in roving. his calamity was due to his sailors being newly married, and preferring nuptial joys at home to the toils of foreign warfare. after a time harald, the younger son, received the rule of the sea, and chose soldiers who were unmarried, fearing to be baffled like his brother. fortune favoured his choice; for he was as glorious a rover as his brother was inglorious; and this earned him his brother's hatred. moreover, their queens, signe and ulfhild, one of whom was the daughter of siward, king of sweden, the other of karl, the governor of gothland, were continually wrangling as to which was the nobler, and broke up the mutual fellowship of their husbands. hence harald and frode, when their common household was thus shattered, divided up the goods they held in common, and gave more heed to the wrangling altercations of the women than to the duties of brotherly affection. moreover, frode, judging that his brother's glory was a disgrace to himself and brought him into contempt, ordered one of his household to put him to death secretly; for he saw that the man of whom he had the advantage in years was surpassing him in courage. when the deed was done, he had the agent of his treachery privily slain, lest the accomplice should betray the crime. then, in order to gain the credit of innocence and escape the brand of crime, he ordered a full inquiry to be made into the mischance that had cut off his brother so suddenly. but he could not manage, by all his arts, to escape silent condemnation in the thoughts of the common people. he afterwards asked karl, "who had killed harald?" and karl replied that it was deceitful in him to ask a question about something which he knew quite well. these words earned him his death; for frode thought that he had reproached him covertly with fratricide. after this, the lives of harald and halfdan, the sons of harald by signe the daughter of karl, were attempted by their uncle. but the guardians devised a cunning method of saving their wards. for they cut off the claws of wolves and tied them to the soles of their feet; and then made them run along many times so as to harrow up the mud near their dwelling, as well as the ground (then covered with, snow), and give the appearance of an attack by wild beasts. then they killed the children of some bond-women, tore their bodies into little pieces, and scattered their mangled limbs all about. so when the youths were looked for in vain, the scattered limbs were found, the tracks of the beasts were pointed out, and the ground was seen besmeared with blood. it was believed that the boys had been devoured by ravening wolves; and hardly anyone was suffered to doubt so plain a proof that they were mangled. the belief in this spectacle served to protect the wards. they were presently shut up by their guardians in a hollow oak, so that no trace of their being alive should get abroad, and were fed for a long time under pretence that they were dogs; and were even called by hounds' names, to prevent any belief getting abroad that they were hiding. ( ) frode alone refused to believe in their death; and he went and inquired of a woman skilled in divination where they were hid. so potent were her spells, that she seemed able, at any distance, to perceive anything, however intricately locked away, and to summon it out to light. she declared that one ragnar had secretly undertaken to rear them, and had called them by the names of dogs to cover the matter. when the young men found themselves dragged from their hiding by the awful force of her spells, and brought before the eyes of the enchantress, loth to be betrayed by this terrible and imperious compulsion, they flung into her lap a shower of gold which they had received from their guardians. when she had taken the gift, she suddenly feigned death, and fell like one lifeless. her servants asked the reason why she fell so suddenly; and she declared that the refuge of the sons of harald was inscrutable; for their wondrous might qualified even the most awful effects of her spells. thus she was content with a slight benefit, and could not bear to await a greater reward at the king's hands. after this ragnar, finding that the belief concerning himself and his wards was becoming rife in common talk, took them, both away into funen. here he was taken by frode, and confessed that he had put the young men in safe keeping; and he prayed the king to spare the wards whom he had made fatherless, and not to think it a piece of good fortune to be guilty of two unnatural murders. by this speech he changed the king's cruelty into shame; and he promised that if they attempted any plots in their own land, he would give information to the king. thus he gained safety for his wards, and lived many years in freedom from terror. when the boys grew up, they went to zealand, and were bidden by their friends to avenge their father. they vowed that they and their uncle should not both live out the year. when ragnar found this out, he went by night to the palace, prompted by the recollection of his covenant, and announced that he was come privily to tell the king something he had promised. but the king was asleep, and he would not suffer them to wake him up, because frode had been used to punish any disturbance of his rest with the sword. so mighty a matter was it thought of old to break the slumbers of a king by untimely intrusion. frode heard this from the sentries in the morning; and when he perceived that ragnar had come to tell him of the treachery, he gathered together his soldiers, and resolved to forestall deceit by ruthless measures. harald's sons had no help for it but to feign madness. for when they found themselves suddenly attacked, they began to behave like maniacs, as if they were distraught. and when frode thought that they were possessed, he gave up his purpose, thinking it shameful to attack with the sword those who seemed to be turning the sword against themselves. but he was burned to death by them on the following night, and was punished as befitted a fratricide. for they attacked the palace, and first crushing the queen with a mass of stones and then, having set fire to the house, they forced frode to crawl into a narrow cave that had been cut out long before, and into the dark recesses of tunnels. here he lurked in hiding and perished, stifled by the reek and smoke. after frode was killed, halfdan reigned over his country about three years, and then, handing over his sovereignty to his brother harald as deputy, went roving, and attacked and ravaged oland and the neighbouring isles, which are severed from contact with sweden by a winding sound. here in the winter he beached and entrenched his ships, and spent three years on the expedition. after this he attacked sweden, and destroyed its king in the field. afterwards he prepared to meet the king's grandson erik, the son of his own uncle frode, in battle; and when he heard that erik's champion, hakon, was skillful in blunting swords with his spells, he fashioned, to use for clubbing, a huge mace studded with iron knobs, as if he would prevail by the strength of wood over the power of sorcery. then--for he was conspicuous beyond all others for his bravery--amid the hottest charges of the enemy, he covered his head with his helmet, and, without a shield, poised his club, and with the help of both hands whirled it against the bulwark of shields before him. no obstacle was so stout but it was crushed to pieces by the blow of the mass that smote it. thus he overthrew the champion, who ran against him in the battle, with a violent stroke of his weapon. but he was conquered notwithstanding, and fled away into helsingland, where he went to one witolf (who had served of old with harald), to seek tendance for his wounds. this man had spent most of his life in camp; but at last, after the grievous end of his general, he had retreated into this lonely district, where he lived the life of a peasant, and rested from the pursuits of war. often struck himself by the missiles of the enemy, he had gained no slight skill in leechcraft by constantly tending his own wounds. but if anyone came with flatteries to seek his aid, instead of curing him he was accustomed to give him something that would secretly injure him, thinking it somewhat nobler to threaten than to wheedle for benefits. when the soldiers of erik menaced his house, in their desire to take halfdan, he so robbed them of the power of sight that they could neither perceive the house nor trace it with certainty, though it was close to them. so utterly had their eyesight been dulled by a decisive mist. when halfdan had by this man's help regained his full strength, he summoned thore, a champion of notable capacity, and proclaimed war against erik. but when the forces were led out on the other side, and he saw that erik was superior in numbers, he hid a part of his army, and instructed it to lie in ambush among the bushes by the wayside, in order to destroy the enemy by an ambuscade as he marched through the narrow part of the path. erik foresaw this, having reconnoitred his means of advancing, and thought he must withdraw for fear, if he advanced along the track he had intended, of being hard-pressed by the tricks of the enemy among the steep windings of the hills. they therefore joined battle, force against force, in a deep valley, inclosed all round by lofty mountain ridges. here halfdan, when he saw the line of his men wavering, climbed with thore up a crag covered with stones and, uprooting boulders, rolled them down upon the enemy below; and the weight of these as they fell crushed the line that was drawn up in the lower position. thus he regained with stones the victory which he had lost with arms. for this deed of prowess he received the name of biargramm ("rock strong"), a word which seems to have been compounded from the name of his fierceness and of the mountains. he soon gained so much esteem for this among the swedes that he was thought to be the son of the great thor, and the people bestowed divine honours upon him, and judged him worthy of public libation. but the souls of the conquered find it hard to rest, and the insolence of the beaten ever struggles towards the forbidden thing. so it came to pass that erik, in his desire to repair the losses incurred in flight, attacked the districts subject to halfdan. even denmark he did not exempt from this harsh treatment; for he thought it a most worthy deed to assail the country of the man who had caused him to be driven from his own. and so, being more anxious to inflict injury than to repel it, he set sweden free from the arms of the enemy. when halfdan heard that his brother harald had been beaten by erik in three battles, and slain in the fourth, he was afraid of losing his empire; he had to quit the land of the swedes and go back to his own country. thus erik regained the kingdom of sweden all the more quickly, that he quitted it so lightly. had fortune wished to favour him in keeping his kingdom as much as she had in regaining it, she would in nowise have given him into the hand of halfdan. this capture was made in the following way: when halfdan had gone back into sweden, he hid his fleet craftily, and went to meet erik with two vessels. erik attacked him with ten; and halfdan, sailing through sundry winding channels, stole back to his concealed forces. erik pursued him too far, and the danish fleet came out on the sea. thus erik was surrounded; but he rejected the life, which was offered him under condition of thraldom. he could not bear to think more of the light of day than liberty, and chose to die rather than serve; lest he should seem to love life so well as to turn from a slave into a freeman; and that he might not court with new-born obeisance the man whom fortune had just before made only his equal. so little knows virtue how to buy life with dishonour. wherefore he was put in chains, and banished to a place haunted by wild beasts; an end unworthy of that lofty spirit. halfdan had thus become sovereign of both kingdoms, and graced his fame with a triple degree of honour. for he was skillful and eloquent in composing poems in the fashion of his country; and he was no less notable as a valorous champion than as a powerful king. but when he heard that two active rovers, toke and anund, were threatening the surrounding districts, he attacked and routed them in a sea-fight. for the ancients thought that nothing was more desirable than glory which was gained, not by brilliancy of wealth, but by address in arms. accordingly, the most famous men of old were so minded as to love seditions, to renew quarrels, to loathe ease, to prefer fighting to peace, to be rated by their valour and not by their wealth, to find their greatest delight in battles, and their least in banquetings. but halfdan was not long to seek for a rival. a certain siwald, of most illustrious birth, related with lamentation in the assembly of the swedes the death of frode and his queen; and inspired in almost all of them such a hatred of halfdan, that the vote of the majority granted him permission to revolt. nor was he content with the mere goodwill of their voices, but so won the heart of the commons by his crafty canvassing that he induced almost all of them to set with their hands the royal emblem on his head. siwald had seven sons, who were such clever sorcerers that often, inspired with the force of sudden frenzy, they would roar savagely, bite their shields, swallow hot coals, and go through any fire that could be piled up; and their frantic passion could only be checked by the rigour of chains, or propitiated by slaughter of men. with such a frenzy did their own sanguinary temper, or else the fury of demons, inspire them. when halfdan had heard of these things while busy roving, he said it was right that his soldiers, who had hitherto spent their rage upon foreigners, should now smite with the steel the flesh of their own countrymen, and that they who had been used to labour to extend their realm should now avenge its wrongful seizure. on halfdan approaching, siwald sent him ambassadors and requested him, if he was as great in act as in renown, to meet himself and his sons in single combat, and save the general peril by his own. when the other answered, that a combat could not lawfully be fought by more than two men, siwald said, that it was no wonder that a childless bachelor should refuse the proffered conflict, since his nature was void of heat, and had struck a disgraceful frost into his soul and body. children, he added, were not different from the man who begot them, since they drew from him their common principle of birth. thus he and his sons were to be accounted as one person, for nature seemed in a manner to have bestowed on them a single body. halfdan, stung with this shameful affront, accepted the challenge; meaning to wipe out with noble deeds of valour such an insulting taunt upon his celibacy. and while he chanced to be walking through a shady woodland, he plucked up by the roots all oak that stuck in his path, and, by simply stripping it of its branches, made it look like a stout club. having this trusty weapon, he composed a short song as follows: "behold! the rough burden which i bear with straining crest, shall unto crests bring wounds and destruction. never shall any weapon of leafy wood crush the goths with direr augury. it shall shatter the towering strength of the knotty neck, and shall bruise the hollow temples with the mass of timber. the club which shall quell the wild madness of the land shall be no less fatal to the swedes. breaking bones, and brandished about the mangled limbs of warriors, the stock i have wrenched off shall crush the backs of the wicked, crush the hearths of our kindred, shed the blood of our countrymen, and be a destructive pest upon our land." when he had said this, he attacked siwald and his seven sons, and destroyed them, their force and bravery being useless against the enormous mass of his club. at this time one hardbeen, who came from helsingland, gloried in kidnapping and ravishing princesses, and used to kill any man who hindered him in his lusts. he preferred high matches to those that were lowly; and the more illustrious the victims he could violate, the more noble he thought himself. no man escaped unpunished who durst measure himself with hardbeen in valour. he was so huge, that his stature reached the measure of nine ells. he had twelve champions dwelling with him, whose business it was to rise up and to restrain his fury with the aid of bonds, whenever the rage came on him that foreboded of battle. these men asked halfdan to attack hardbeen and his champions man by man; and he not only promised to fight, but assured himself the victory with most confident words. when hardbeen heard this, a demoniacal frenzy suddenly took him; he furiously bit and devoured the edges of his shield; he kept gulping down fiery coals; he snatched live embers in his mouth and let them pass down into his entrails; he rushed through the perils of crackling fires; and at last, when he had raved through every sort of madness, he turned his sword with raging hand against the hearts of six of his champions. it is doubtful whether this madness came from thirst for battle or natural ferocity. then with the remaining band of his champions he attacked halfdan, who crushed him with a hammer of wondrous size, so that he lost both victory and life; paying the penalty both to halfdan, whom he had challenged, and to the kings whose offspring he had violently ravished. fortune never seemed satisfied with the trying of halfdan's strength, and used to offer him unexpected occasions for fighting. it so happened that egther, a finlander, was harrying the swedes on a roving raid. halfdan, having found that he had three ships, attacked him with the same number. night closed the battle, so that he could not conquer him; but he challenged egther next day, fought with and overthrew him. he next heard that grim, a champion of immense strength, was suing, under threats of a duel, for thorhild, the daughter of the chief hather, and that her father had proclaimed that he who put the champion out of the way should have her. halfdan, though he had reached old age a bachelor, was stirred by the promise of the chief as much as by the insolence of the champion, and went to norway. when he entered it, he blotted out every mark by which he could be recognized, disguising his face with splashes of dirt; and when he came to the spot of the battle, drew his sword first. and when he knew that it had been blunted by the glance of the enemy, he cast it on the ground, drew another from the sheath, with which he attacked grim, cutting through the meshes on the edge of his cuirass, as well as the lower part of his shield. grim wondered at the deed, and said, "i cannot remember an old man who fought more keenly;" and, instantly drawing his sword, he pierced through and shattered the target that was opposed to his blade. but as his right arm tarried on the stroke, halfdan, without wavering, met and smote it swiftly with his sword. the other, notwithstanding, clasped his sword with his left hand, and cut through the thigh of the striker, revenging the mangling of his own body with a slight wound. halfdan, now conqueror, allowed the conquered man to ransom the remnant of his life with a sum of money; he would not be thought shamefully to rob a maimed man, who could not fight, of the pitiful remainder of his days. by this deed he showed himself almost as great in saving as in conquering his enemy. as a prize for this victory he won thorhild in marriage, and had by her a son asmund, from whom the kings of norway treasure the honour of being descended; retracing the regular succession of their line down from halfdan. after this, ebbe, a rover of common birth, was so confident of his valour, that he was moved to aspire to a splendid marriage. he was a suitor for sigrid, the daughter of yngwin, king of the goths, and moreover demanded half the gothic kingdom for her dowry. halfdan was consulted whether the match should be entertained, and advised that a feigned consent should be given, promising that he would baulk the marriage. he also gave instructions that a seat should be allotted to himself among the places of the guests at table. yngwin approved the advice; and halfdan, utterly defacing the dignity of his royal presence with an unsightly and alien disguise, and coming by night on the wedding feast, alarmed those who met him; for they marvelled at the coming of a man of such superhuman stature. when halfdan entered the palace, he looked round on all and asked, who was he that had taken the place next to the king? upon ebbe replying that the future son-in-law of the king was next to his side, halfdan asked him, in the most passionate language, what madness, or what demons, had brought him to such wantonness, as to make bold to unite his contemptible and filthy race with a splendid and illustrious line, or to dare to lay his peasant finger upon the royal family: and, not content even with such a claim, to aspire, as it seemed, to a share even in the kingdom of another. then he bade ebbe fight him, saying that he must get the victory before he got his wish. the other answered that the night was the time to fight with monsters, but the day the time with men; but halfdan, to prevent him shirking the battle by pleading the hour, declared that the moon was shining with the brightness of daylight. thus he forced ebbe to fight, and felled him, turning the banquet into a spectacle, and the wedding into a funeral. some years passed, and halfdan went back to his own country, and being childless he bequeathed the royal wealth by will to yngwin, and appointed him king. yngwin was afterwards overthrown in war by a rival named ragnald, and he left a son siwald. siwald's daughter, sigrid, was of such excellent modesty, that though a great concourse of suitors wooed her for her beauty, it seemed as if she could not be brought to look at one of them. confident in this power of self-restraint, she asked her father for a husband who by the sweetness of his blandishments should be able to get a look back from her. for in old time among us the self-restraint of the maidens was a great subduer of wanton looks, lest the soundness of the soul should be infected by the licence of the eyes; and women desired to avouch the purity of their hearts by the modesty of their faces. then one ottar, the son of ebb, kindled with confidence in the greatness either of his own achievements, or of his courtesy and eloquent address, stubbornly and ardently desired to woo the maiden. and though he strove with all the force of his wit to soften her gaze, no device whatever could move her downcast eyes; and, marvelling at her persistence in her indomitable rigour, he departed. a giant desired the same thing, but, finding himself equally foiled, he suborned a woman; and she, pretending friendship for the girl, served her for a while as her handmaid, and at last enticed her far from her father's house, by cunningly going out of the way; then the giant rushed upon her and bore her off into the closest fastnesses of a ledge on the mountain. others think that he disguised himself as a woman, treacherously continued his devices so as to draw the girl away from her own house, and in the end carried her off. when ottar heard of this, he ransacked the recesses of the mountain in search of the maiden, found her, slew the giant, and bore her off. but the assiduous giant had bound back the locks of the maiden, tightly twisting her hair in such a way that the matted mass of tresses was held in a kind of curled bundle; nor was it easy for anyone to unravel their plaited tangle, without using the steel. again, he tried with divers allurements to provoke the maiden to look at him; and when he had long laid vain siege to her listless eyes, he abandoned his quest, since his purpose turned out so little to his liking. but he could not bring himself to violate the girl, loth to defile with ignoble intercourse one of illustrious birth. she then wandered long, and sped through divers desert and circuitous paths, and happened to come to the hut of a certain huge woman of the woods, who set her to the task of pasturing her goats. again ottar granted her his aid to set her free, and again he tried to move her, addressing her in this fashion: "wouldst thou rather hearken to my counsels, and embrace me even as i desire, than be here and tend the flock of rank goats? "spurn the hand of thy wicked mistress, and flee hastily from thy cruel taskmistress, that thou mayst go back with me to the ships of thy friends and live in freedom. "quit the care of the sheep entrusted to thee; scorn to drive the steps of the goats; share my bed, and fitly reward my prayers. "o thou whom i have sought with such pains, turn again thy listless beams; for a little while--it is an easy gesture--lift thy modest face. "i will take thee hence, and set thee by the house of thy father, and unite thee joyfully with thy loving mother, if but once thou wilt show me thine eyes stirred with soft desires. "thou, whom i have borne so oft from the prisons of the giants, pay thou some due favour to my toil of old; pity my hard endeavours, and be stern no more. "for why art thou become so distraught and brainsick, that thou wilt choose to tend the flock of another, and be counted among the servants of monsters, sooner than encourage our marriage-troth with fitting and equal consent?" but she, that she might not suffer the constancy of her chaste mind to falter by looking at the world without, restrained her gaze, keeping her lids immovably rigid. how modest, then, must we think, were the women of that age, when, under the strongest provocations of their lovers, they could not be brought to make the slightest motion of their eyes! so when ottar found that even by the merits of his double service he could not stir the maiden's gaze towards him, he went back to the fleet, wearied out with shame and chagrin. sigrid, in her old fashion, ran far away over the rocks, and chanced to stray in her wanderings to the abode of ebb; where, ashamed of her nakedness and distress, she pretended to be a daughter of paupers. the mother of ottar saw that this woman, though bestained and faded, and covered with a meagre cloak, was the scion of some noble stock; and took her, and with honourable courtesy kept her by her side in a distinguished seat. for the beauty of the maiden was a sign that betrayed her birth, and her telltale features echoed her lineage. ottar saw her, and asked why she hid her face in her robe. also, in order to test her mind more surely, he feigned that a woman was about to become his wife, and, as he went up into the bride-bed, gave sigrid the torch to hold. the lights had almost burnt down, and she was hard put to it by the flame coming closer; but she showed such an example of endurance that she was seen to hold her hand motionless, and might have been thought to feel no annoyance from the heat. for the fire within mastered the fire without, and the glow of her longing soul deadened the burn of her scorched skin. at last ottar bade her look to her hand. then, modestly lifting her eyes, she turned her calm gaze upon him; and straightway, the pretended marriage being put away, went up unto the bride-bed to be his wife. siwald afterwards seized ottar, and thought that he ought to be hanged for defiling his daughter. but sigrid at once explained how she had happened to be carried away, and not only brought ottar back into the king's favour, but also induced her father himself to marry ottar's sister. after this a battle was fought between siwald and ragnald in zealand, warriors of picked valour being chosen on both sides. for three days they slaughtered one another; but so great was the bravery of both sides, that it was doubtful how the victory would go. then ottar, whether seized with weariness at the prolonged battle, or with desire of glory, broke, despising death, through the thickest of the foe, cut down ragnald among the bravest of his soldiers, and won the danes a sudden victory. this battle was notable for the cowardice of the greatest nobles. for the whole mass fell into such a panic, that forty of the bravest of the swedes are said to have turned and fled. the chief of these, starkad, had been used to tremble at no fortune, however cruel, and no danger, however great. but some strange terror stole upon him, and he chose to follow the flight of his friends rather than to despise it. i should think that he was filled with this alarm by the power of heaven, that he might not think himself courageous beyond the measure of human valour. thus the prosperity of mankind is wont ever to be incomplete. then all these warriors embraced the service of king hakon, the mightiest of the rovers, like remnants of the war drifting to him. after this siwald was succeeded by his son sigar, who had sons siwald, alf, and alger, and a daughter signe. all excelled the rest in spirit and beauty, and devoted himself to the business of a rover. such a grace was shed on his hair, which had a wonderful dazzling glow, that his locks seemed to shine silvery. at the same time siward, the king of the goths, is said to have had two sons, wemund and osten, and a daughter alfhild, who showed almost from her cradle such faithfulness to modesty that she continually kept her face muffled in her robe, lest she should cause her beauty to provoke the passion of another. her father banished her into very close keeping, and gave her a viper and a snake to rear, wishing to defend her chastity by the protection of these reptiles when they came to grow up. for it would have been hard to pry into her chamber when it was barred by so dangerous a bolt. he also enacted that if any man tried to enter it, and failed, he must straightway yield his head to be taken off and impaled on a stake. the terror which was thus attached to wantonness chastened the heated spirits of the young men. alf, the son of sigar, thinking that peril of the attempt only made it nobler, declared himself a wooer, and went to subdue the beasts that kept watch beside the room of the maiden; inasmuch as, according to the decree, the embraces of the maiden were the prize of their subduer. alf covered his body with a blood-stained hide in order to make them more frantic against him. girt with this, as soon as he had entered the doors of the enclosure, he took a piece of red-hot steel in the tongs, and plunged it into the yawning throat of the viper, which he laid dead. then he flung his spear full into the gaping mouth of the snake as it wound and writhed forward, and destroyed it. and when he demanded the gage which was attached to victory by the terms of the covenant, siward answered that he would accept that man only for his daughter's husband of whom she made a free and decided choice. none but the girl's mother was stiff against the wooer's suit; and she privately spoke to her daughter in order to search her mind. the daughter warmly praised her suitor for his valour; whereon the mother upbraided her sharply, that her chastity should be unstrung, and she be captivated by charming looks; and because, forgetting to judge his virtue, she cast the gaze of a wanton mind upon the flattering lures of beauty. thus alfhild was led to despise the young dane; whereupon she exchanged woman's for man's attire, and, no longer the most modest of maidens, began the life of a warlike rover. enrolling in her service many maidens who were of the same mind, she happened to come to a spot where a band of rovers were lamenting the death of their captain, who had been lost in war; they made her their rover captain for her beauty, and she did deeds beyond the valour of woman. alf made many toilsome voyages in pursuit of her, and in winter happened to come on a fleet of the blacmen. the waters were at this time frozen hard, and the ships were caught in such a mass of ice that they could not get on by the most violent rowing. but the continued frost promised the prisoners a safer way of advance; and alf ordered his men to try the frozen surface of the sea in their brogues, after they had taken off their slippery shoes, so that they could run over the level ice more steadily. the blacmen supposed that they were taking to flight with all the nimbleness of their heels, and began to fight them, but their steps tottered exceedingly and they gave back, the slippery surface under their soles making their footing uncertain. but the danes crossed the frozen sea with safer steps, and foiled the feeble advance of the enemy, whom they conquered, and then turned and sailed to finland. here they chanced to enter a rather narrow gulf, and, on sending a few men to reconnoitre, they learnt that the harbour was being held by a few ships. for alfhild had gone before them with her fleet into the same narrows. and when she saw the strange ships afar off, she rowed in swift haste forward to encounter them, thinking it better to attack the foe than to await them. alf's men were against attacking so many ships with so few; but he replied that it would be shameful if anyone should report to alfhild that his desire to advance could be checked by a few ships in the path; for he said that their record of honours ought not to be tarnished by such a trifle. the danes wondered whence their enemies got such grace of bodily beauty and such supple limbs. so, when they began the sea-fight, the young man alf leapt on alfhild's prow, and advanced towards the stern, slaughtering all that withstood him. his comrade borgar struck off alfhild's helmet, and, seeing the smoothness of her chin, saw that he must fight with kisses and not with arms; that the cruel spears must be put away, and the enemy handled with gentler dealings. so alf rejoiced that the woman whom he had sought over land and sea in the face of so many dangers was now beyond all expectation in his power; whereupon he took hold of her eagerly, and made her change her man's apparel for a woman's; and afterwards begot on her a daughter, gurid. also borgar wedded the attendant of alfhild, groa, and had by her a son, harald, to whom the following age gave the surname hyldeland. and that no one may wonder that this sex laboured at warfare, i will make a brief digression, in order to give a short account of the estate and character of such women. there were once women among the danes who dressed themselves to look like men, and devoted almost every instant of their lives to the pursuit of war, that they might not suffer their valour to be unstrung or dulled by the infection of luxury. for they abhorred all dainty living, and used to harden their minds and bodies with toil and endurance. they put away all the softness and lightmindedness of women, and inured their womanish spirit to masculine ruthlessness. they sought, moreover, so zealously to be skilled in warfare, that they might have been thought to have unsexed themselves. those especially, who had either force of character or tall and comely persons, used to enter on this kind of life. these women, therefore (just as if they had forgotten their natural estate, and preferred sternness to soft words), offered war rather than kisses, and would rather taste blood than busses, and went about the business of arms more than that of amours. they devoted those hands to the lance which they should rather have applied to the loom. they assailed men with their spears whom they could have melted with their looks, they thought of death and not of dalliance. now i will cease to wander, and will go back to my theme. in the early spring, alf and alger, who had gone back to sea-roving, were exploring the sea in various directions, when they lighted with a hundred ships upon helwin, hagbard, and hamund, sons of the kinglet hamund. these they attacked and only the twilight stayed their blood-wearied hands; and in the night the soldiers were ordered to keep truce. on the morrow this was ratified for good by a mutual oath; for such loss had been suffered on both sides in the battle of the day before that they had no force left to fight again. thus, exhausted bye quality of valour, they were driven perforce to make peace. about the same time hildigisl, a teuton of noble birth, relying on his looks and his rank, sued for signe, the daughter of sigar. but she scorned him, chiefly for his insignificance, inasmuch as he was not brave, but wished to adorn his fortunes with the courage of other people. but this woman was inclined to love hakon, chiefly for the high renown of his great deeds. for she thought more of the brave than the feeble; she admired notable deeds more than looks, knowing that every allurement of beauty is mere dross when reckoned against simple valour, and cannot weigh equal with it in the balance. for there are maids that are more charmed by the fame than by the face of their lovers; who go not by the looks, but by the mind, and whom naught but regard for a man's spirit can kindle to pledge their own troth. now hagbard, going to denmark with the sons of sigar, gained speech of their sister without their knowledge, and in the end induced her to pledge her word to him that she would secretly become his mistress. afterwards, when the waiting-women happened to be comparing the honourable deeds of the nobles, she preferred hakon to hildigisl, declaring that the latter had nothing to praise but his looks, while in the case of the other a wrinkled visage was outweighed by a choice spirit. not content with this plain kind of praise, she is said to have sung as follows: "this man lacks fairness, but shines with foremost courage, measuring his features by his force. "for the lofty soul redeems the shortcoming of harsh looks, and conquers the body's blemish. "his look flashes with spirit, his face, notable in its very harshness, delights in fierceness. "he who strictly judges character praises not the mind for the fair hue, but rather the complexion for the mind. "this man is not prized for beauty, but for brave daring and war-won honour. "while the other is commended by his comely head and radiant countenance and crest of lustrous locks. "vile is the empty grace of beauty, self-confounded the deceptive pride of comeliness. "valour and looks are swayed by different inclinations: one lasts on, the other perishes. "empty red and white brings in vice, and is frittered away little by little by the lightly gliding years; "but courage plants firmer the hearts devoted to it, and does not slip and straightway fall. "the voice of the multitude is beguiled by outward good, and forsakes the rule of right; "but i praise virtue at a higher rate, and scorn the grace of comeliness." this utterance fell on the ears of the bystanders in such a way, that they thought she praised hagbard under the name of hakon. and hildigisl, vexed that she preferred hagbard to himself, bribed a certain blind man, bolwis, to bring the sons of sigar and the sons of hamund to turn their friendship into hatred. for king sigar had been used to transact almost all affairs by the advice of two old men, one of whom was bolwis. the temper of these two men was so different, that one used to reconcile folk who were at feud, while the other loved to sunder in hatred those who were bound by friendship, and by estranging folk to fan pestilent quarrels. so bolwis began by reviling the sons of hamund to the sons of sigar, in lying slanders, declaring that they never used to preserve the bonds of fellowship loyally, and that they must be restrained by war rather than by league. thus the alliance of the young men was broken through; and while hagbard was far away, the sons of sigar, alf and alger, made an attack, and helwin and hamund were destroyed by the harbour which is called hamund's bay. hagbard then came up with fresh forces to avenge his brothers, and destroyed them in battle. hildigisl slunk off with a spear through both buttocks, which was the occasion for a jeer at the teutons, since the ugliness of the blow did not fail to brand it with disgrace. afterwards hagbard dressed himself in woman's attire, and, as though he had not wronged sigar's daughter by slaying her brothers, went back to her alone, trusting in the promise he had from her, and feeling more safe in her loyalty than alarmed by reason of his own misdeed. thus does lust despise peril. and, not to lack a pretext for his journey, he gave himself out as a fighting-maid of hakon, saying that he took an embassy from him to sigar. and when he was taken to bed at night among the handmaids, and the woman who washed his feet were wiping them, they asked him why he had such hairy legs, and why his hands were not at all soft to touch, he answered: "what wonder that the soft hollow of my foot should harden, and that long hairs should stay on my shaggy leg, when the sand has so often smitten my soles beneath, and the briars have caught me in mid-step? "now i scour the forest with leaping, now the waters with running. now the sea, now the earth, now the wave is my path. "nor could my breast, shut in bonds of steel, and wont to be beaten with lance and missile, ever have been soft to the touch, as with you who are covered by the mantle or the smooth gown. "not the distaff or the wool-frails, but spears dripping from the slaughter, have served for our handling." signe did not hesitate to back up his words with like dissembling, and replied that it was natural that hands which dealt more in wounds than wools, and in battle than in tasks of the house should show the hardness that befitted their service; and that, unenfeebled with the pliable softness of women, they should not feel smooth to the touch of others. for they were hardened partly by the toils of war, partly by the habit of seafaring. for, said she, the warlike handmaid of hakon did not deal in woman's business, but had been wont to bring her right hand blood-stained with hurling spears and flinging missiles. it was no wonder, therefore, if her soles were hardened by the immense journeys she had gone; and that, when the shores she had scoured so often had bruised them with their rough and broken shingle, they should toughen in a horny stiffness, and should not feel soft to the touch like theirs, whose steps never strayed, but who were forever cooped within the confines of the palace. hagbard received her as his bedfellow, under plea that he was to have the couch of honour; and, amid their converse of mutual delight, he addressed her slowly in such words as these: "if thy father takes me and gives me to bitter death, wilt thou ever, when i am dead, forget so strong a troth, and again seek the marriage-plight? "for if the chance should fall that way, i can hope for no room for pardon; nor will the father who is to avenge his sons spare or have pity. "for i stripped thy brothers of their power on the sea and slew them; and now, unknown to thy father, as though i had done naught before counter to his will, i hold thee in the couch we share. "say, then, my one love, what manner of wish wilt thou show when thou lackest the accustomed embrace?" signe answered: "trust me, dear; i wish to die with thee, if fate brings thy turn to perish first, and not to prolong my span of life at all, when once dismal death has cast thee to the tomb. "for if thou chance to close thy eyes for ever, a victim to the maddened attack of the men-at-arms;--by whatsoever doom thy breath be cut off, by sword or disease, by sea or soil, i forswear every wanton and corrupt flame, and vow myself to a death like thine; that they who were bound by one marriage-union may be embraced in one and the same punishment. nor will i quit this man, though i am to feel the pains of death; i have resolved he is worthy of my love who gathered the first kisses of my mouth, and had the first fruits of my delicate youth. i think that no vow will be surer than this, if speech of woman have any loyalty at all." this speech so quickened the spirit of hagbard, that he found more pleasure in her promise than peril in his own going away (to his death). the serving-women betrayed him; and when sigar's men-at-arms attacked him, he defended himself long and stubbornly, and slew many of them in the doorway. but at last he was taken, and brought before the assembly, and found the voices of the people divided over him. for very many said that he should be punished for so great an offence; but bilwis, the brother of bolwis, and others, conceived a better judgment, and advised that it would be better to use his stout service than to deal with him too ruthlessly. then bolwis came forward and declared that it was evil advice which urged the king to pardon when he ought to take vengeance, and to soften with unworthy compassion his righteous impulse to anger. for how could sigar, in the case of this man, feel any desire to spare or pity him, when he had not only robbed him of the double comfort of his sons, but had also bestained him with the insult of deflowering his daughter? the greater part of the assembly voted for this opinion; hagbard was condemned, and a gallows-tree planted to receive him. hence it came about that he who at first had hardly one sinister voice against him was punished with general harshness. soon after the queen handed him a cup, and, bidding him assuage his thirst, vexed him with threats after this manner: "now, insolent hagbard, whom the whole assembly has pronounced worthy of death, now to quench thy thirst thou shalt give thy lips liquor to drink in a cup of horn. "wherefore cast away fear, and, at this last hour of thy life, taste with bold lips the deadly goblet; "that, having drunk it, thou mayst presently land by the dwellings of those below, passing into the sequestered palace of stern dis, giving thy body to the gibbet and thy spirit to orcus." then the young man took the cup offered him, and is said to have made answer as follows: "with this hand, wherewith i cut off thy twin sons, i will take my last taste, yea the draught of the last drink. "now not unavenged shall i go to the elysian regions, not unchastising to the stern ghosts. for these men have first been shut in the dens of tartarus by a slaughter wrought by my endeavours. this right hand was wet with blood that was yours, this hand robbed thy children of the years of their youth, children whom thy womb brought to light; but the deadly sword spared it not then. infamous woman, raving in spirit, hapless, childless mother, no years shall restore to thee the lost, no time and no day whatsoever shall save thy child from the starkness of death, or redeem him!" thus he avenged the queen's threats of death by taunting her with the youths whom he had slain; and, flinging back the cup at her, drenched her face with the sprinkled wine. meantime signe asked her weeping women whether they could endure to bear her company in the things which she purposed. they promised that they would carry out and perform themselves whatsoever their mistress should come to wish, and their promise was loyally kept. then, drowned in tears, she said that she wished to follow in death the only partner of her bed that she had ever had; and ordered that, as soon as the signal had been given from a place of watch, torches should be put to the room, then that halters should be made out of their robes; and to these they should proffer their throats to be strangled, thrusting away the support to the feet. they agreed, and that they might blench the less at death, she gave them a draught of wine. after this hagbard was led to the hill, which afterwards took its name from him, to be hanged. then, to test the loyalty of his true love, he told the executioners to hang up his mantle, saying that it would be a pleasure to him if he could see the likeness of his approaching death rehearsed in some way. the request was granted; and the watcher on the outlook, thinking that the thing was being done to hagbard, reported what she saw to the maidens who were shut within the palace. they quickly fired the house, and thrusting away the wooden support under their feet, gave their necks to the noose to be writhen. so hagbard, when he saw the palace wrapped in fire, and the familiar chamber blazing, said that he felt more joy from the loyalty of his mistress than sorrow at his approaching death. he also charged the bystanders to do him to death, witnessing how little he made of his doom by a song like this: "swiftly, o warriors! let me be caught and lifted into the air. sweet, o my bride! is it for me to die when thou hast gone. "i perceive the crackling and the house ruddy with flames; and the love, long-promised, declares our troth. "behold, thy covenant is fulfilled with no doubtful vows, since thou sharest my life and my destruction. "we shall have one end, one bond after our troth, and somewhere our first love will live on. "happy am i, that have deserved to have joy of such a consort, and not to go basely alone to the gods of tartarus! "then let the knot gripe the midst of the throat; nought but pleasure the last doom shall bring, "since there remains a sure hope of the renewal of love, and a death which will soon have joys of its own. "either country is sweet; in both worlds shall be held in honour the repose of our souls together, our equal truth in love, "for, see now, i welcome the doom before me; since not even among the shades does very love suffer the embrace of its partner to perish." and as he spoke the executioners strangled him. and, that none may think that all traces of antiquity have utterly disappeared, a proof of the aforesaid event is afforded by local marks yet existing; for the killing of hagbard gave his name to the stead; and not far from the town of sigar there is a place to be seen, where a mound a little above the level, with the appearance of a swelling in the ground, looks like an ancient homestead. moreover, a man told absalon that he had seen a beam found in the spot, which a countryman struck with his ploughshare as he burrowed into the clods. hakon, the son of hamund, heard of this; but when he was seen to be on the point of turning his arms from the irish against the danes in order to avenge his brother, hakon the zealander, the son of wigar, and starkad deserted him. they had been his allies from the death of ragnald up to that hour: one, because he was moved by regard for friendship, the other by regard for his birth; so that different reasons made both desire the same thing. now patriotism diverted hakon (of zealand) from attacking his country; for it was apparent that he was going to fight his own people, while all the rest warred with foreigners. but starkad forbore to become the foe of the aged sigar, whose hospitality he had enjoyed, lest he should be thought to wrong one who deserved well of him. for some men pay such respect to hospitality that, if they can remember ever to have experienced kindly offices from folk, they cannot be thought to inflict any annoyance on them. but hakon thought the death of his brother a worse loss than the defection of his champions; and, gathering his fleet into the haven called herwig in danish, and in latin hosts' bight, he drew up his men, and posted his line of foot-soldiers in the spot where the town built by esbern now defends with its fortifications those who dwell hard by, and repels the approach of barbarous savages. then he divided his forces in three, and sent on two-thirds of his ships, appointing a few men to row to the river susa. this force was to advance on a dangerous voyage along its winding reaches, and to help those on foot if necessary. he marched in person by land with the remainder, advancing chiefly over wooded country to escape notice. part of this path, which was once closed up with thick woods, is now land ready for the plough, and fringed with a scanty scrub. and, in order that when they got out into the plain they might not lack the shelter of trees, he told them to cut and carry branches. also, that nothing might burden their rapid march, he bade them cast away some of their clothes, as well as their scabbards; and carry their swords naked. in memory of this event he left the mountain and the ford a perpetual name. thus by his night march he eluded two pickets of sentries; but when he came upon the third, a scout, observing the marvellous event, went to the sleeping-room of sigar, saying that he brought news of a portentous thing; for he saw leaves and shrubs like men walking. then the king asked him how far off was the advancing forest; and when he heard that it was near, he added that this prodigy boded his own death. hence the marsh where the shrubs were cut down was styled in common parlance deadly marsh. therefore, fearing the narrow passages, he left the town, and went to a level spot which was more open, there to meet the enemy in battle. sigar fought unsuccessfully, and was crushed and slain at the spot that is called in common speech walbrunna, but in latin the spring of corpses or carnage. then hakon used his conquest to cruel purpose, and followed up his good fortune so wickedly, that he lusted for an indiscriminate massacre, and thought no forbearance should be shown to rank or sex. nor did he yield to any regard for compassion or shame, but stained his sword in the blood of women, and attacked mothers and children in one general and ruthless slaughter. siwald, the son of sigar, had thus far stayed under his father's roof. but when he heard of this, he mustered an army in order to have his vengeance. so hakon, alarmed at the gathering of such numbers, went back with a third of his army to his fleet at herwig, and planned to depart by sea. but his colleague, hakon, surnamed the proud, thought that he ought himself to feel more confidence at the late victory than fear at the absence of hakon; and, preferring death to flight, tried to defend the remainder of the army. so he drew back his camp for a little, and for a long time waited near the town of axelsted, for the arrival of the fleet, blaming his friends for their tardy coming. for the fleet that had been sent into the river had not yet come to anchor in the appointed harbour. now the killing of sigar and the love of siwald were stirring the temper of the people one and all, so that both sexes devoted themselves to war, and you would have thought that the battle did not lack the aid of women. on the morrow hakon and siwald met in an encounter and fought two whole days. the combat was most frightful; both generals fell; and victory graced the remnants of the danes. but, in the night after the battle, the fleet, having penetrated the susa, reached the appointed haven. it was once possible to row along this river; but its bed is now choked with solid substances, and is so narrowed by its straits that few vessels can get in, being prevented by its sluggishness and contractedness. at daybreak, when the sailors saw the corpses of their friends, they heaped up, in order to bury the general, a barrow of notable size, which is famous to this day, and is commonly named hakon's howe. but borgar, with skanian chivalry suddenly came up and slaughtered a multitude of them. when the enemy were destroyed, he manned their ships, which now lacked their rowers, and hastily, with breathless speed, pursued the son of hamund. he encountered him, and ill-fortune befell hakon, who fled in hasty panic with three ships to the country of the scots, where, after two years had gone by, he died. all these perilous wars and fortunes had so exhausted the royal line among the danes, that it was found to be reduced to gurid alone, the daughter of alf, and granddaughter of sigar. and when the danes saw themselves deprived of their usual high-born sovereigns, they committed the kingdom to men of the people, and appointed rulers out of the commons, assigning to ostmar the regency of skaane, and that of zealand to hunding; on hane they conferred the lordship of funen; while in the hands of rorik and hather they put the supreme power of jutland, the authority being divided. therefore, that it may not be unknown from what father sprang the succeeding line of kings, some matters come to my mind which must be glanced at for a while in a needful digression. they say that gunnar, the bravest of the swedes, was once at feud with norway for the most weighty reasons, and that he was granted liberty to attack it, but that he turned this liberty into licence by the greatest perils, and fell, in the first of the raids he planned, upon the district of jather, which he put partly to the sword and partly to the flames. forbearing to plunder, he rejoiced only in passing through the paths that were covered with corpses, and the blood-stained ways. other men used to abstain from bloodshed, and love pillage more than slaughter; but he preferred bloodthirstiness to booty, and liked best to wreak his deadly pleasure by slaughtering men. his cruelty drove the islanders to forestall the impending danger by a public submission. moreover, ragnald, the king of the northmen, now in extreme age, when he heard how the tyrant busied himself, had a cave made and shut up in it his daughter drota, giving her due attendance, and providing her maintenance for a long time. also he committed to the cave some swords which had been adorned with the choicest smith-craft, besides the royal household gear; so that he might not leave the enemy to capture and use the sword, which he saw that he could not wield himself. and, to prevent the cave being noticed by its height, he levelled the hump down to the firmer ground. then he set out to war; but being unable with his aged limbs to go down into battle, he leaned on the shoulders of his escort and walked forth propped by the steps of others. so he perished in the battle, where he fought with more ardour than success, and left his country a sore matter for shame. for gunnar, in order to punish the cowardice of the conquered race by terms of extraordinary baseness, had a dog set over them as a governor. what can we suppose to have been his object in this action, unless it were to make a haughty nation feel that their arrogance was being more signally punished when they bowed their stubborn heads before a yapping hound? to let no insult be lacking, he appointed governors to look after public and private affairs in its name; and he appointed separate ranks of nobles to keep continual and steadfast watch over it. he also enacted that if any one of the courtiers thought it contemptible to do allegiance to their chief, and omitted offering most respectful homage to its various goings and comings as it ran hither and thither, he should be punished with loss of his limbs. also gunnar imposed on the nation a double tribute, one to be paid out of the autumn harvest, the other in the spring. thus he burst the bubble conceit of the norwegians, to make them feel clearly how their pride was gone, when they saw it forced to do homage to a dog. when he heard that the king's daughter was shut up in some distant hiding-place, gunnar strained his wits in every nerve to track her out. hence, while he was himself conducting the search with others, his doubtful ear caught the distant sound of a subterranean hum. then he went on slowly, and recognized a human voice with greater certainty. he ordered the ground underfoot to be dug down to the solid rock; and when the cave was suddenly laid open, he saw the winding tunnels. the servants were slain as they tried to guard the now uncovered entrance to the cave, and the girl was dragged out of the hole, together with the booty therein concealed. with great foresight, she had consigned at any rate her father's swords to the protection of a more secret place. gunnar forced her to submit to his will, and she bore a son hildiger. this man was such a rival to his father in cruelty, that he was ever thirsting to kill, and was bent on nothing but the destruction of men, panting with a boundless lust for bloodshed. outlawed by his father on account of his unbearable ruthlessness, and soon after presented by alver with a government, he spent his whole life in arms, visiting his neighbours with wars and slaughters; nor did he, in his estate of banishment, relax his accustomed savagery a whir, but would not change his spirit with his habitation. meanwhile borgar, finding that gunnar had married drota, the daughter of ragnald, by violence, took from him both life and wife, and wedded drota himself. she was not an unwilling bride; she thought it right for her to embrace the avenger of her parent. for the daughter mourned her father, and could never bring herself to submit with any pleasure to his murderer. this woman and borgar had a son halfdan, who through all his early youth was believed to be stupid, but whose later years proved illustrious for the most glorious deeds, and famous for the highest qualities that can grace life. once, when a stripling, he mocked in boyish fashion at a champion of noble repute, who smote him with a buffet; whereupon halfdan attacked him with the staff he was carrying and killed him. this deed was an omen of his future honours; he had hitherto been held in scorn, but henceforth throughout his life he had the highest honour and glory. the affair, indeed, was a prophecy of the greatness of his deeds in war. at this period, rothe, a ruthenian rover, almost destroyed our country with his rapine and cruelty. his harshness was so notable that, while other men spared their prisoners utter nakedness, he did not think it uncomely to strip of their coverings even the privy parts of their bodies; wherefore we are wont to this day to call all severe and monstrous acts of rapine rothe-ran (rothe's robbery). he used also sometimes to inflict the following kind of torture: fastening the men's right feet firmly to the earth, he tied the left feet to boughs for the purpose that when these should spring back the body would be rent asunder. hane, prince of funen, wishing to win honour and glory, tried to attack this man with his sea-forces, but took to flight with one attendant. it was in reproach of him that the proverb arose: "the cock (hane) fights better on its own dunghill." then borgar, who could not bear to see his countrymen perishing any longer, encountered rothe. together they fought and together they perished. it is said that in this battle halfdan was sorely stricken, and was for some time feeble with the wounds he had received. one of these was inflicted conspicuously on his mouth, and its scar was so manifest that it remained as an open blotch when all the other wounds were healed; for the crushed portion of the lip was so ulcerated by the swelling, that the flesh would not grow out again and mend the noisome gash. this circumstance fixed on him a most insulting nickname,... although wounds in the front of the body commonly bring praise and not ignominy. so spiteful a colour does the belief of the vulgar sometimes put upon men's virtues. meanwhile gurid, the daughter of alf, seeing that the royal line was reduced to herself alone, and having no equal in birth whom she could marry, proclaimed a vow imposing chastity on herself, thinking it better to have no husband than to take one from the commons. moreover, to escape outrage, she guarded her room with a chosen band of champions. once halfdan happened to come to see her. the champions, whose brother he had himself slain in his boyhood, were away. he told her that she ought to loose her virgin zone, and exchange her austere chastity for deeds of love; that she ought not to give in so much to her inclination for modesty as to be too proud to make a match, and so by her service repair the fallen monarchy. so he bade her look on himself, who was of eminently illustrious birth, in the light of a husband, since it appeared that she would only admit pleasure for the reason he had named. gurid answered that she could not bring her mind to ally the remnants of the royal line to a man of meaner rank. not content with reproaching his obscure birth, she also taunted his unsightly countenance. halfdan rejoined that she brought against him two faults: one that his blood was not illustrious enough; another, that he was blemished with a cracked lip whose scar had never healed. therefore he would not come back to ask for her before he had wiped away both marks of shame by winning glory in war. halfdan entreated her to suffer no man to be privy to her bed until she heard certain tidings either of his return or his death. the champions, whom he had bereaved of their brother long ago, were angry that he had spoken to gurid, and tried to ride after him as he went away. when he saw it, he told his comrades to go into ambush, and said he would encounter the champions alone. his followers lingered, and thought it shameful to obey his orders, but he drove them off with threats, saying that gurid should not find that fear had made him refuse to fight. presently he cut down an oak-tree and fashioned it into a club, fought the twelve single-handed, and killed them. after their destruction, not content with the honours of so splendid an action, and meaning to do one yet greater, he got from his mother the swords of his grandfather, one of which was called lyusing.... and the other hwyting, after the sheen of its well-whetted point. but when he heard that war was raging between alver, the king of sweden, and the ruthenians (russians), he instantly went to russia, offered help to the natives, and was received by all with the utmost honour. alver was not far off, there being only a little ground to cross to cover the distance between the two. alver's soldier hildiger, the son of gunnar, challenged the champions of the ruthenians to fight him; but when he saw that halfdan was put up against him, though knowing well that he was halfdan's brother, he let natural feeling prevail over courage, and said that he, who was famous for the destruction of seventy champions, would not fight with an untried man. therefore he told him to measure himself in enterprises of lesser moment, and thenceforth to follow pursuits fitted to his strength. he made this announcement not from distrust in his own courage, but in order to preserve his uprightness; for he was not only very valiant, but also skilled at blunting the sword with spells. for when he remembered that halfdan's father had slain his own, he was moved by two feelings--the desire to avenge his father, and his love for his brother. he therefore thought it better to retire from the challenge than to be guilty of a very great crime. halfdan demanded another champion in his place, slew him when he appeared, and was soon awarded the palm of valour even by the voice of the enemy, being accounted by public acclamation the bravest of all. on the next day he asked for two men to fight with, and slew them both. on the third day he subdued three; on the fourth he overcame four who met him; and on the fifth he asked for five. when halfdan conquered these, and when the eighth day had been reached with an equal increase in the combatants and in the victory, he laid low eleven who attacked him at once. hildiger, seeing that his own record of honours was equalled by the greatness of halfdan's deeds could not bear to decline to meet him any longer. and when he felt that halfdan had dealt him a deadly wound with a sword wrapped in rags, he threw away his arms, and, lying on the earth, addressed his brother as follows: "it is pleasing to pass an hour away in mutual talk; and, while the sword rests, to sit a little on the ground and while away the time by speaking in turn, and keep ourselves in good heart. time is left for our purpose; our two destinies have a different lot; one is surely doomed to die by a fatal weird, while triumph and glory and all the good of living await the other in better years. thus our omens differ, and our portions are distinguished. thou art a son of the danish land, i of the country of sweden. once, drota thy mother had her breast swell for thee; she bore me, and by her i am thy foster-brother. lo now, there perishes a righteous offspring, who had the heart to fight with savage spears; brothers born of a shining race charge and bring death on one another; while they long for the height of power, they lose their days, and, having now received a fatal mischief in their desire for a sceptre, they will go to styx in a common death. fast by my head stands my swedish shield, which is adorned with (as) a fresh mirror of diverse chasing, and ringed with layers of marvellous fretwork. there a picture of really hues shows slain nobles and conquered champions, and the wars also and the notable deed of my right hand. in the midst is to be seen, painted in bright relief, the figure of my son, whom this hand bereft of his span of life. he was our only heir, the only thought of his father's mind, and given to his mother with comfort from above. an evil lot, which heaps years of ill-fortune on the joyous, chokes mirth in mourning, and troubles our destiny. for it is lamentable and wretched to drag out a downcast life, to draw breath through dismal days and to chafe at foreboding. but whatsoever things are bound by the prophetic order of the fates, whatsoever are shadowed in the secrets of the divine plan, whatsoever are foreseen and fixed in the course of the destinies, no change of what is transient shall cancel these things." when he had thus spoken, halfdan condemned hildiger for sloth in avowing so late their bond of brotherhood; he declared he had kept silence that he might not be thought a coward for refusing to fight, or a villain if he fought; and while intent on these words of excuse, he died. but report had given out among the danes that hildiger had overthrown halfdan. after this, siwar, a saxon of very high birth, began to be a suitor for gurid, the only survivor of the royal blood among the danes. secretly she preferred halfdan to him, and imposed on her wooer the condition that he should not ask her in marriage till he had united into one body the kingdom of the danes, which was now torn limb from limb, and restored by arms what had been wrongfully taken from her. siwar made a vain attempt to do this; but as he bribed all the guardians, she was at last granted to him in betrothal. halfdan heard of this in russia through traders, and voyaged so hard that he arrived before the time of the wedding-rites. on their first day, before he went to the palace, he gave orders that his men should not stir from the watches appointed them till their ears caught the clash of the steel in the distance. unknown to the guests, he came and stood before the maiden, and, that he might not reveal his meaning to too many by bare and common speech, he composed a dark and ambiguous song as follows: "as i left my father's sceptre, i had no fear of the wiles of woman's device nor of female subtlety. "when i overthrew, one and two, three and four, and soon five, and next six, then seven, and also eight, yea eleven single-handed, triumphant in battle. "but neither did i then think that i was to be shamed with the taint of disgrace, with thy frailness to thy word and thy beguiling pledges." gurid answered: "my soul wavered in suspense, with slender power over events, and shifted about with restless fickleness. the report of thee was so fleeting, so doubtful, borne on uncertain stories, and parched by doubting heart. i feared that the years of thy youth had perished by the sword. could i withstand singly my elders and governors, when they forbade me to refuse that thing, and pressed me to become a wife? my love and my flame are both yet unchanged, they shall be mate and match to thine; nor has my troth been disturbed, but shall have faithful approach to thee. "for my promise has not yet beguiled thee at all, though i, being alone, could not reject the counsel of such manifold persuasion, nor oppose their stern bidding in the matter of my consent to the marriage bond." before the maiden had finished her answer, halfdan had already run his sword through the bridegroom. not content with having killed one man, he massacred most of the guests. staggering tipsily backwards, the saxons ran at him, but his servants came up and slaughtered them. after this halfdan took gurid to wife. but finding in her the fault of barrenness, and desiring much to have offspring, he went to upsala in order to procure fruitfulness for her; and being told in answer, that he must make atonement to the shades of his brother if he would raise up children, he obeyed the oracle, and was comforted by gaining his desire. for he had a son by gurid, to whom he gave the name of harald. under his title halfdan tried to restore the kingdom of the danes to its ancient estate, as it was torn asunder by the injuries of the chiefs; but, while fighting in zealand, he attacked wesete, a very famous champion, in battle, and was slain. gurid was at the battle in man's attire, from love for her son. she saw the event; the young man fought hotly, but his companions fled; and she took him on her shoulders to a neighbouring wood. weariness, more than anything else, kept the enemy from pursuing him; but one of them shot him as he hung, with an arrow, through the hinder parts, and harald thought that his mother's care brought him more shame than help. harald, being of great beauty and unusual size, and surpassing those of his age in strength and stature, received such favour from odin (whose oracle was thought to have been the cause of his birth), that steel could not injure his perfect soundness. the result was, that shafts which wounded others were disabled from doing him any harm. nor was the boon unrequited; for he is reported to have promised to odin all the souls which his sword cast out of their bodies. he also had his father's deeds recorded for a memorial by craftsmen on a rock in bleking, whereof i have made mention. after this, hearing that wesete was to hold his wedding in skaane, he went to the feast disguised as a beggar; and when all were sunken in wine and sleep, he battered the bride-chamber with a beam. but wesete, without inflicting a wound, so beat his mouth with a cudgel, that he took out two teeth; but two grinders unexpectedly broke out afterwards and repaired their loss: an event which earned him the name of hyldetand, which some declare he obtained on account of a prominent row of teeth. here he slew wesete, and got the sovereignty of skaane. next he attacked and killed hather in jutland; and his fall is marked by the lasting name of the town. after this he overthrew hunding and rorik, seized leire, and reunited the dismembered realm of denmark into its original shape. then he found that asmund, the king of the wikars, had been deprived of his throne by his elder sister; and, angered by such presumption on the part of a woman, went to norway with a single ship, while the war was still undecided, to help him. the battle began; and, clothed in a purple cloak, with a coif broidered with gold, and with his hair bound up, he went against the enemy trusting not in arms, but in his silent certainty of his luck, insomuch that he seemed dressed more for a feast than a fray. but his spirit did not match his attire. for, though unarmed and only adorned with his emblems of royalty, he outstripped the rest who bore arms, and exposed himself, lightly-armed as he was, to the hottest perils of the battle. for the shafts aimed against him lost all power to hurt, as if their points had been blunted. when the other side saw him fighting unarmed, they made an attack, and were forced for very shame into assailing him more hotly. but harald, whole in body, either put them to the sword, or made them take to flight; and thus he overthrew the sister of asmund, and restored him his kingdom. when asmund offered him the prizes of victory, he said that the reward of glory was enough by itself; and demeaned himself as greatly in refusing the gifts as he had in earning them. by this he made all men admire his self-restraint as much as his valour; and declared that the victory should give him a harvest not of gold but glory. meantime alver, the king of the swedes, died leaving sons olaf, ing, and ingild. one of these, ing, dissatisfied with the honours his father bequeathed him, declared war with the danes in order to extend his empire. and when harald wished to inquire of oracles how this war would end, an old man of great height, but lacking one eye, and clad also in a hairy mantle, appeared before him, and declared that he was called odin, and was versed in the practice of warfare; and he gave him the most useful instruction how to divide up his army in the field. now he told him, whenever he was going to make war with his land-forces, to divide his whole army into three squadrons, each of which he was to pack into twenty ranks; the centre squadron, however, he was to extend further than the rest by the number of twenty men. this squadron he was also to arrange in the form of the point of a cone or pyramid, and to make the wings on either side slant off obliquely from it. he was to compose the successive ranks of each squadron in the following way: the front should begin with two men, and the number in each succeeding rank should only increase by one; he was, in fact, to post a rank of three in the second line, four in the third, and so on behind. and thus, when the men mustered, all the succeeding ranks were to be manned at the same rate of proportion, until the end of (the edge that made) the junction of men came down to the wings; each wing was to be drawn up in ten lines from that point. likewise after these squadrons he was to put the young men, equipped with lances, and behind these to set the company of aged men, who would support their comrades with what one might call a veteran valour if they faltered; next, a skilful reckoner should attach wings of slingers to stand behind the ranks of their fellows and attack the enemy from a distance with missiles. after these he was to enroll men of any age or rank indiscriminately, without heed of their estate. moreover, he was to draw up the rear like the vanguard, in three separated divisions, and arranged in ranks similarly proportioned. the back of this, joining on to the body in front would protect it by facing in the opposite direction. but if a sea-battle happened to occur, he should withdraw a portion of his fleet, which when he began the intended engagement, was to cruise round that of the enemy, wheeling to and fro continually. equipped with this system of warfare, he forestalled matters in sweden, and killed ing and olaf as they were making ready to fight. their brother ingild sent messengers to beg a truce, on pretence of his ill-health. harald granted his request, that his own valour, which had learnt to spare distress, might not triumph over a man in the hour of lowliness and dejection. when ingild afterwards provoked harald by wrongfully ravishing his sister, harald vexed him with long and indecisive war, but then took him into his friendship, thinking it better to have him for ally than for enemy. after this he heard that olaf, king of the thronds, had to fight with the maidens stikla and rusila for the kingdom. much angered at this arrogance on the part of women, he went to olaf unobserved, put on dress which concealed the length of his teeth, and attacked the maidens. he overthrew them both, leaving to two harbours a name akin to theirs. it was then that he gave a notable exhibition of valour; for defended only by a shirt under his shoulders, he fronted the spears with unarmed breast. when olaf offered harald the prize of victory, he rejected the gift, thus leaving it a question whether he had shown a greater example of bravery or self-control. then he attacked a champion of the frisian nation, named ubbe, who was ravaging the borders of jutland and destroying numbers of the common people; and when harald could not subdue him to his arms, he charged his soldiers to grip him with their hands, throw him on the ground, and to bind him while thus overpowered. thus he only overcame the man and mastered him by a shameful kind of attack, though a little before he thought he would inflict a heavy defeat on him. but harald gave him his sister in marriage, and thus gained him for his soldier. harald made tributaries of the nations that lay along the rhine, levying troops from the bravest of that race. with these forces he conquered sclavonia in war, and caused its generals, duk and dal, because of their bravery, to be captured, and not killed. these men he took to serve with him, and, after overcoming aquitania, soon went to britain, where he overthrew the king of the humbrians, and enrolled the smartest of the warriors he had conquered, the chief of whom was esteemed to be orm, surnamed the briton. the fame of these deeds brought champions from divers parts of the world, whom he formed into a band of mercenaries. strengthened by their numbers, he kept down insurrections in all kingdoms by the terror of his name, so that he took out of their rulers all courage to fight with one another. moreover, no man durst assume any sovereignty on the sea without his consent; for of old the state of the danes had the joint lordship of land and sea. meantime ingild died in sweden, leaving only a very little son, ring, whom he had by the sister of harald. harald gave the boy guardians, and put him over his father's kingdom. thus, when he had overcome princes and provinces, he passed fifty years in peace. to save the minds of his soldiers from being melted into sloth by this inaction, he decreed that they should assiduously learn from the champions the way of parrying and dealing blows. some of these were skilled in a remarkable manner of fighting, and used to smite the eyebrow on the enemy's forehead with an infallible stroke; but if any man, on receiving the blow, blinked for fear, twitching his eyebrow, he was at once expelled the court and dismissed the service. at this time ole, the son of siward and of harald's sister, came to denmark from the land of norway in the desire to see his uncle. since it is known that he had the first place among the followers of harald, and that after the swedish war he came to the throne of denmark, it bears somewhat on the subject to relate the traditions of his deeds. ole, then, when he had passed his tenth to his fifteenth year with his father, showed incredible proofs of his brilliant gifts both of mind and body. moreover, he was so savage of countenance that his eyes were like the arms of other men against the enemy, and he terrified the bravest with his stern and flashing glance. he heard the tidings that gunn, ruler of tellemark, with his son grim, was haunting as a robber the forest of etha-scog, which was thick with underbrush and full of gloomy glens. the offence moved his anger; then he asked his father for a horse, a dog, and such armour as could be got, and cursed his youth, which was suffering the right season for valour to slip sluggishly away. he got what he asked, and explored the aforesaid wood very narrowly. he saw the footsteps of a man printed deep on the snow; for the rime was blemished by the steps, and betrayed the robber's progress. thus guided, he went over a hill, and came on a very great river. this effaced the human tracks he had seen before, and he determined that he must cross. but the mere mass of water, whose waves ran down in a headlong torrent, seemed to forbid all crossing; for it was full of hidden reefs, and the whole length of its channel was turbid with a kind of whirl of foam. yet all fear of danger was banished from ole's mind by his impatience to make haste. so valour conquered fear, and rashness scorned peril; thinking nothing hard to do if it were only to his mind, he crossed the hissing eddies on horseback. when he had passed these, he came upon defiles surrounded on all sides with swamps, the interior of which was barred from easy approach by the pinnacle of a bank in front. he took his horse over this, and saw an enclosure with a number of stalls. out of this he turned many horses, and was minded to put in his own, when a certain tok, a servant of gunn, angry that a stranger should wax so insolent, attacked him fiercely; but ole foiled his assailant by simply opposing his shield. thinking it a shame to slay the fellow with the sword, he seized him, shattered him limb by limb, and flung him across into the house whence he had issued in his haste. this insult quickly aroused gunn and grim: they ran out by different side-doors, and charged ole both at once, despising his age and strength. he wounded them fatally; and, when their bodily powers were quite spent, grim, who could scarce muster a final gasp, and whose force was almost utterly gone, with his last pants composed this song: "though we be weak in frame, and the loss of blood has drained our strength; since the life-breath, now drawn out by my wound, scarce quivers softly in my pierced breast: "i counsel that we should make the battle of our last hour glorious with dauntless deeds, that none may say that a combat has anywhere been bravelier waged or harder fought; "and that our wild strife while we bore arms may, when our weary flesh has found rest in the tomb, win us the wage of immortal fame. "let our first stroke crush the shoulder-blades of the foe, let our steel cut off both his hands; so that, when stygian pluto has taken us, a like doom may fall on ole also, and a common death tremble over three, and one urn cover the ashes of three." here grim ended. but his father, rivalling his indomitable spirit, and wishing to give some exhortation in answer to his son's valiant speech, thus began: "what though our veins be wholly bloodless, and in our frail body the life be brief, yet our last fight be so strong and strenuous that it suffer not the praise of us to be brief also. "therefore aim the javelin first at the shoulders and arms of the foe, so that the work of his hands may be weakened; and thus when we are gone three shall receive a common sepulchre, and one urn alike for three shall cover our united dust." when he had said this, both of them, resting on their knees (for the approach of death had drained their strength), made a desperate effort to fight ole hand to hand, in order that, before they perished, they might slay their enemy also; counting death as nothing if only they might envelope their slayer in a common fall. ole slew one of them with his sword, the other with his hound. but even he gained no bloodless victory; for though he had been hitherto unscathed, now at last he received a wound in front. his dog diligently licked him over, and he regained his bodily strength: and soon, to publish sure news of his victory, he hung the bodies of the robbers upon gibbets in wide view. moreover, he took the stronghold, and put in secret keeping all the booty he found there, in reserve for future use. at this time the arrogant wantonness of the brothers skate and hiale waxed so high that they would take virgins of notable beauty from their parents and ravish them. hence it came about that they formed the purpose of seizing esa, the daughter of olaf, prince of the werms; and bade her father, if he would not have her serve the passion of a stranger, fight either in person, or by some deputy, in defence of his child. when ole had news of this, he rejoiced in the chance of a battle, and borrowing the attire of a peasant, went to the dwelling of olaf. he received one of the lowest places at table; and when he saw the household of the king in sorrow, he called the king's son closer to him, and asked why they all wore so lamentable a face. the other answered, that unless someone quickly interposed to protect them, his sister's chastity would soon be outraged by some ferocious champions. ole next asked him what reward would be received by the man who devoted his life for the maiden. olaf, on his son asking him about this matter, said that his daughter should go to the man who fought for her: and these words, more than anything, made ole long to encounter the danger. now the maiden was wont to go from one guest to another in order to scan their faces narrowly, holding out a light that she might have a surer view of the dress and character of those who were entertained. it is also believed that she divined their lineage from the lines and features of the face, and could discern any man's birth by sheer shrewdness of vision. when she stood and fixed the scrutiny of her gaze upon olaf, she was stricken with the strange awfulness of his eyes, and fell almost lifeless. but when her strength came slowly back, and her breath went and came more freely, she again tried to look at the young man, but suddenly slipped and fell forward, as though distraught. a third time also she strove to lift her closed and downcast gaze, but suddenly tottered and fell, unable not only to move her eyes, but even to control her feet; so much can strength be palsied by amazement. when olaf saw it, he asked her why she had fallen so often. she averred that she was stricken by the savage gaze of the guest; that he was born of kings; and she declared that if he could baulk the will of the ravishers, he was well worthy of her arms. then all of them asked ole, who was keeping his face muffled in a hat, to fling off his covering, and let them see something by which to learn his features. then, bidding them all lay aside their grief, and keep their heart far from sorrow, he uncovered his brow; and he drew the eyes of all upon him in marvel at his great beauty. for his locks were golden and the hair of his head was radiant; but he kept the lids close over his pupils, that they might not terrify the beholders. all were heartened with the hope of better things; the guests seemed to dance and the courtiers to leap for joy; the deepest melancholy seemed to be scattered by an outburst of cheerfulness. thus hope relieved their fears; the banquet wore a new face, and nothing was the same, or like what it had been before. so the kindly promise of a single guest dispelled the universal terror. meanwhile hiale and skate came up with ten servants, meaning to carry off the maiden then and there, and disturbed all the place with their noisy shouts. they called on the king to give battle, unless he produced his daughter instantly. ole at once met their frenzy with the promise to fight, adding the condition that no one should stealthily attack an opponent in the rear, but should only combat in the battle face to face. then, with his sword called logthi, he felled them all, single-handed--an achievement beyond his years. the ground for the battle was found on an isle in the middle of a swamp, not far from which is a stead that serves to memorise this slaughter, bearing the names of the brothers hiale and skate together. so the girl was given him as prize of the combat, and bore him a son omund. then he gained his father-in-law's leave to revisit his father. but when he heard that his country was being attacked by thore, with the help of toste sacrificer, and leotar, surnamed.... he went to fight them, content with a single servant, who was dressed as a woman. when he was near the house of thore, he concealed his own and his attendant's swords in hollowed staves. and when he entered the palace, he disguised his true countenance, and feigned to be a man broken with age. he said that with siward he had been king of the beggars, but that he was now in exile, having been stubbornly driven forth by the hatred of the king's son ole. presently many of the courtiers greeted him with the name of king, and began to kneel and offer him their hands in mockery. he told them to bear out in deeds what they had done in jest; and, plucking out the swords which he and his man kept shut in their staves, attacked the king. so some aided ole, taking it more as jest than earnest, and would not be false to the loyalty which they mockingly yielded him; but most of them, breaking their idle vow, took the side of thore. thus arose an internecine and undecided fray. at last thore was overwhelmed and slain by the arms of his own folk, as much as by these of his guests; and leotar, wounded to the death, and judging that his conqueror, ole, was as keen in mind as he was valorous in deeds, gave him the name of the vigorous, and prophesied that he should perish by the same kind of trick as he had used with thore; for, without question he should fall by the treachery of his own house. and, as he spoke, he suddenly passed away. thus we can see that the last speech of the dying man expressed by its shrewd divination the end that should come upon his conqueror. after these deeds ole did not go back to his father till he had restored peace to his house. his father gave him the command of the sea, and he destroyed seventy sea-kings in a naval battle. the most distinguished among these were birwil and hwirwil, thorwil, nef and onef, redward (?), rand and erand (?). by the honour and glory of this exploit he excited many champions, whose whole heart's desire was for bravery, to join in alliance with him. he also enrolled into a bodyguard the wild young warriors who were kindled with a passion for glory. among these he received starkad with the greatest honour, and cherished him with more friendship than profit. thus fortified, he checked, by the greatness of his name, the wantonness of the neighbouring kings, in that he took from them all their forces and all liking and heart for mutual warfare. after this he went to harald, who made him commander of the sea; and at last he was transferred to the service of ring. at this time one brun was the sole partner and confidant of all harald's councils. to this man both harald and ring, whenever they needed a secret messenger, used to entrust their commissions. this degree of intimacy he obtained because he had been reared and fostered with them. but brun, amid the toils of his constant journeys to and fro, was drowned in a certain river; and odin, disguised under his name and looks, shook the close union of the kings by his treacherous embassage; and he sowed strife so guilefully that he engendered in men, who were bound by friendship and blood, a bitter mutual hate, which seemed unappeasable except by war. their dissensions first grew up silently; at last both sides betrayed their leanings, and their secret malice burst into the light of day. so they declared their feuds, and seven years passed in collecting the materials of war. some say that harald secretly sought occasions to destroy himself, not being moved by malice or jealousy for the crown, but by a deliberate and voluntary effort. his old age and his cruelty made him a burden to his subjects; he preferred the sword to the pangs of disease, and liked better to lay down his life in the battle-field than in his bed, that he might have an end in harmony with the deeds of his past life. thus, to make his death more illustrious, and go to the nether world in a larger company, he longed to summon many men to share his end; and he therefore of his own will prepared for war, in order to make food for future slaughter. for these reasons, being seized with as great a thirst to die himself as to kill others, and wishing the massacre on both sides to be equal, he furnished both sides with equal resources; but let ring have a somewhat stronger force, preferring he should conquer and survive him. endnotes: ( ) a parallel is the lionel-lancelot story of children saved by being turned into dogs. book eight. starkad was the first to set in order in danish speech the history of the swedish war, a conflict whereof he was himself a mighty pillar; the said history being rather an oral than a written tradition. he set forth and arranged the course of this war in the mother tongue according to the fashion of our country; but i purpose to put it into latin, and will first recount the most illustrious princes on either side. for i have felt no desire to include the multitude, which are even past exact numbering. and my pen shall relate first those on the side of harald, and presently those who served under ring. now the most famous of the captains that mustered to harald are acknowledged to have been sweyn and sambar (sam?), ambar and elli; rati of funen, salgard and roe (hrothgar), whom his long beard distinguished by a nickname. besides these, skalk the scanian, and alf the son of agg; to whom are joined olwir the broad, and gnepie the old. besides these there was gardh, founder of the town stang. to these are added the kinsfolk or bound followers of harald: blend (blaeng?), the dweller in furthest thule, ( ) and brand, whose surname was crumb (bitling?). allied with these were thorguy, with thorwig, tatar (teit), and hialte. these men voyaged to leire with bodies armed for war; but they were also mighty in excellence of wit, and their trained courage matched their great stature; for they had skill in discharging arrows both from bow and catapult, and at fighting their foe as they commonly did, man to man; and also at readily stringing together verse in the speech of their country: so zealously had they trained mind and body alike. now out of leire came hortar (hjort) and borrhy (borgar or borgny), and also belgi and beigad, to whom were added bari and toli. now out of the town of sle, under the captains hetha (heid) and wisna, with hakon cut-cheek came tummi the sailmaker. on these captains, who had the bodies of women, nature bestowed the souls of men. webiorg was also inspired with the same spirit, and was attended by bo (bui) bramason and brat the jute, thirsting for war. in the same throng came orm of england, ubbe the frisian, ari the one-eyed, and alf gotar. next in the count came dal the fat and duk the sclav; wisna, a woman, filled with sternness, and a skilled warrior, was guarded by a band of sclavs: her chief followers were barri and gnizli. but the rest of the same company had their bodies covered by little shields, and used very long swords and targets of skiey hue, which, in time of war, they either cast behind their backs or gave over to the baggage-bearers; while they cast away all protection to their breasts, and exposed their bodies to every peril, offering battle with drawn swords. the most illustrious of these were tolkar and ymi. after these, toki of the province of wohin was conspicuous together with otrit surnamed the young. hetha, guarded by a retinue of very active men, brought an armed company to the war, the chiefs of whom were grim and grenzli; next to whom are named geir the livonian, hame also and hunger, humbli and biari, bravest of the princes. these men often fought duels successfully, and won famous victories far and wide. the maidens i have named, in fighting as well as courteous array, led their land-forces to the battle-field. thus the danish army mustered company by company. there were seven kings, equal in spirit but differing in allegiance, some defending harald, and some ring. moreover, the following went to the side of harald: homi and hosathul (eysothul?), him...., hastin and hythin (hedin) the slight, also dahar (dag), named grenski, and harald olafsson also. from the province of aland came har and herlewar (herleif), with hothbrodd, surnamed the furious; these fought in the danish camp. but from imisland arrived humnehy (?) and harald. they were joined by haki and by sigmund and serker the sons of bemon, all coming from the north. all these were retainers of the king, who befriended them most generously; for they were held in the highest distinction by him, receiving swords adorned with gold, and the choicest spoils of war. there came also.... the sons of gandal the old, who were in the intimate favour of harald by reason of ancient allegiance. thus the sea was studded with the danish fleet, and seemed to interpose a bridge, uniting zealand to skaane. to those that wished to pass between those provinces, the sea offered a short road on foot over the dense mass of ships. but harald would not have the swedes unprepared in their arrangements for war, and sent men to ring to carry his public declaration of hostilities, and notify the rupture of the mediating peace. the same men were directed to prescribe the place of combat. these then whom i have named were the fighters for harald. now, on the side of ring were numbered ulf, aggi (aki?), windar (eywind?), egil the one-eyed; gotar, hildi, guti alfsson; styr the stout, and (tolo-) stein, who lived by the wienic mere. to these were joined gerd the glad and gromer (glum?) from wermland. after these are reckoned the dwellers north on the elbe, saxo the splitter, sali the goth; thord the stumbler, throndar big-nose; grundi, oddi, grindir, tovi; koll, biarki, hogni the clever, rokar the swart. now these scorned fellowship with the common soldiers, and had formed themselves into a separate rank apart from the rest of the company. besides these are numbered hrani hildisson and lyuth guthi (hljot godi), svein the topshorn, (soknarsoti?), rethyr (hreidar?) hawk, and rolf the uxorious (woman-lover). massed with these were ring adilsson and harald who came from thotn district. joined to these were walstein of wick, thorolf the thick, thengel the tall, hun, solwe, birwil the pale, borgar and skumbar (skum). but from, tellemark came the bravest of all, who had most courage but least arrogance--thorleif the stubborn, thorkill the gute (gothlander), grettir the wicked and the lover of invasions. next to these came hadd the hard and rolder (hroald) toe-joint. from norway we have the names of thrand of throndhjem, thoke (thore) of more, hrafn the white, haf (war), biarni, blihar (blig?) surnamed snub-nosed; biorn from the district of sogni; findar (finn) born in the firth; bersi born in the town f(i)alu; siward boarhead, erik the story-teller, holmstein the white, hrut rawi (or vafi, the doubter), erling surnamed snake. now from the province of jather came odd the englishman, alf the far-wanderer, enar the paunched, and ywar surnamed thriug. now from thule (iceland) came mar the red, born and bred in the district called midfirth; grombar the aged, gram brundeluk (bryndalk?) grim from the town of skier (um) born in skagafiord. next came berg the seer, accompanied by bragi and rafnkel. now the bravest of the swedes were these: arwakki, keklu-karl (kelke-karl), krok the peasant, (from akr), gudfast and gummi from gislamark. these were kindred of the god frey, and most faithful witnesses to the gods. ingi (yngwe) also, and oly, alver, folki, all sons of elrik (alrek), embraced the service of ring; they were men ready of hand, quick in counsel, and very close friends of ring. they likewise held the god frey to be the founder of their race. amongst these from the town of sigtun also came sigmund, a champion advocate, versed in making contracts of sale and purchase; besides him frosti surnamed bowl: allied with him was alf the lofty (proud?) from the district of upsala; this man was a swift spear-thrower, and used to go in the front of the battle. ole had a body-guard in which were seven kings, very ready of hand and of counsel; namely, holti, hendil, holmar, lewy (leif), and hame; with these was enrolled regnald the russian, the grandson of radbard; and siwald also furrowed the sea with eleven light ships. lesy (laesi), the conqueror of the pannonians (huns), fitted with a sail his swift galley ringed with gold. thririkar (erik helsing) sailed in a ship whose prows were twisted like a dragon. also thrygir (tryggve) and torwil sailed and brought twelve ships jointly. in the entire fleet of ring there were , ships. the fleet of gotland was waiting for the swedish fleet in the harbour named garnum. so ring led the land-force, while ole was instructed to command the fleet. now the goths were appointed a time and a place between wik and werund for the conflict with the swedes. then was the sea to be seen furrowed up with prows, and the canvas unfurled upon the masts cut off the view over the ocean. the danes had so far been distressed with bad weather; but the swedish fleet had a fair voyage, and had reached the scene of battle earlier. here ring disembarked his forces from his fleet, and then massed and prepared to draw up in line both these and the army he had himself conducted overland. when these forces were at first loosely drawn up over the open country, it was found that one wing reached all the way to werund. the multitude was confused in its places and ranks; but the king rode round it, and posted in the van all the smartest and most excellently-armed men, led by ole, regnald, and wivil; then he massed the rest of the army on the two wings in a kind of curve. ung, with the sons of alrek, and trig, he ordered to protect the right wing, while the left was put under the command of laesi. moreover, the wings and the masses were composed mainly of a close squadron of kurlanders and of esthonians. last stood the line of slingers. meantime the danish fleet, favoured by kindly winds, sailed, without stopping, for twelve days, and came to the town (stead) of kalmar. the wind-blown sails covering the waters were a marvel; and the canvas stretched upon the yards blotted out the sight of the heavens. for the fleet was augmented by the sclavs and the livonians and , saxons. but the skanians, knowing the country, were appointed as guides and scouts to those who were going over the dry land. so when the danish army came upon the swedes, who stood awaiting them, ring told his men to stand quietly until harald had drawn up his line of battle; bidding them not to sound the signal before they saw the king settled in his chariot beside the standards; for he said he should hope that an army would soon come to grief which trusted in the leading of a blind man. harald, moreover, he said, had been seized in extreme age with the desire of foreign empire, and was as witless as he was sightless; wealth could not satisfy a man who, if he looked to his years, ought to be well-nigh contented with a grave. the swedes therefore were bound to fight for their freedom, their country, and their children, while the enemy had undertaken the war in rashness and arrogance. moreover, on the other side, there were very few danes, but a mass of saxons and other unmanly peoples stood arrayed. swedes and norwegians should therefore consider, how far the multitudes of the north had always surpassed the germans and the sclavs. they should therefore despise an army which seemed to be composed more of a mass of fickle offscourings than of a firm and stout soldiery. by this harangue of king ring he kindled high the hearts of the soldiers. now brun, being instructed to form the line on harald's behalf, made the front in a wedge, posting hetha on the right flank, putting hakon in command of the left, and making wisna standard-bearer. harald stood up in his chariot and complained, in as loud a voice as he could, that ring was requiting his benefits with wrongs; that the man who had got his kingdom by harald's own gift was now attacking him; so that ring neither pitied an old man nor spared an uncle, but set his own ambitions before any regard for harald's kinship or kindness. so he bade the danes remember how they had always won glory by foreign conquest, and how they were more wont to command their neighbours than to obey them. he adjured them not to let such glory as theirs to be shaken by the insolence of a conquered nation, nor to suffer the empire, which he had won in the flower of his youth, to be taken from him in his outworn age. then the trumpets sounded, and both sides engaged in battle with all their strength. the sky seemed to fall suddenly on the earth, fields and woods to sink into the ground; all things were confounded, and old chaos come again; heaven and earth mingling in one tempestuous turmoil, and the world rushing to universal ruin. for, when the spear-throwing began, the intolerable clash of arms filled the air with an incredible thunder. the steam of the wounds suddenly hung a mist over the sky, the daylight was hidden under the hail of spears. the help of the slingers was of great use in the battle. but when the missiles had all been flung from hand or engines, they fought with swords or iron-shod maces; and it was now at close quarters that most blood was spilt. then the sweat streamed down their weary bodies, and the clash of the swords could be heard afar. starkad, who was the first to set forth the history of this war in the telling, fought foremost in the fray, and relates that he overthrew the nobles of harald, hun and elli, hort and burgha, and cut off the right hand of wisna. he also relates that one roa, with two others, gnepie and gardar, fell wounded by him in the field. to these he adds the father of skalk, whose name is not given. he also declares that he cast hakon, the bravest of the danes, to the earth, but received from him such a wound in return that he had to leave the war with his lung protruding from his chest, his neck cleft to the centre, and his hand deprived of one finger; so that he long had a gaping wound, which seemed as if it would never either scar over or be curable. the same man witnesses that the maiden weghbiorg (webiorg) fought against the enemy and felled soth the champion. while she was threatening to slay more champions, she was pierced through by an arrow from the bowstring of thorkill, a native of tellemark. for the skilled archers of the gotlanders strung their bows so hard that the shafts pierced through even the shields; nothing proved more murderous; for the arrow-points made their way through hauberk and helmet as if they were men's defenceless bodies. meanwhile ubbe the frisian, who was the readiest of harald's soldiers, and of notable bodily stature, slew twenty-five picked champions, besides eleven whom he had wounded in the field. all these were of swedish or gothic blood. then he attacked the vanguard and burst into the thickest of the enemy, driving the swedes struggling in a panic every way with spear and sword. it had all but come to a flight, when hagder (hadd), rolder (hroald), and grettir attacked the champion, emulating his valour, and resolving at their own risk to retrieve the general ruin. but, fearing to assault him at close quarters, they accomplished their end with arrows from afar; and thus ubbe was riddled by a shower of arrows, no one daring to fight him hand to hand. a hundred and forty-four arrows had pierced the breast of the warrior before his bodily strength failed and he bent his knee to the earth. then at last the danes suffered a great defeat, owing to the thronds and the dwellers in the province of dala. for the battle began afresh by reason of the vast mass of the archers, and nothing damaged our men more. but when harald, being now blind with age, heard the lamentable murmur of his men, he perceived that fortune had smiled on his enemies. so, as he was riding in a chariot armed with scythes, he told brun, who was treacherously acting as charioteer, to find out in what manner ring had his line drawn up. brun's face relaxed into something of a smile, and he answered that he was fighting with a line in the form of a wedge. when the king heard this he began to be alarmed, and to ask in great astonishment from whom ring could have learnt this method of disposing his line, especially as odin was the discoverer and imparter of this teaching, and none but himself had ever learnt from him this new pattern of warfare. at this brun was silent, and it came into the king's mind that here was odin, and that the god whom he had once known so well was now disguised in a changeful shape, in order either to give help or withhold it. presently he began to beseech him earnestly to grant the final victory to the danes, since he had helped them so graciously before, and to fill up his last kindness to the measure of the first; promising to dedicate to him as a gift the spirits of all who fell. but brun, utterly unmoved by his entreaties, suddenly jerked the king out of the chariot, battered him to the earth, plucked the club from him as he fell, whirled it upon his head, and slew him with his own weapon. countless corpses lay round the king's chariot, and the horrid heap overtopped the wheels; the pile of carcases rose as high as the pole. for about , of the nobles of ring fell upon the field. but on the side of harald about , nobles fell, not to name the slaughter of the commons. when ring heard that harald was dead, he gave the signal to his men to break up their line and cease fighting. then under cover of truce he made treaty with the enemy, telling them that it was vain to prolong the fray without their captain. next he told the swedes to look everywhere among the confused piles of carcases for the body of harald, that the corpse of the king might not wrongfully lack its due rights. so the populace set eagerly to the task of turning over the bodies of the slain, and over this work half the day was spent. at last the body was found with the club, and he thought that propitiation should be made to the shade of harald. so he harnessed the horse on which he rode to the chariot of the king, decked it honourably with a golden saddle, and hallowed it in his honour. then he proclaimed his vows, and added his prayer that harald would ride on this and outstrip those who shared his death in their journey to tartarus; and that he would pray pluto, the lord of orcus, to grant a calm abode there for friend and foe. then he raised a pyre, and bade the danes fling on the gilded chariot of their king as fuel to the fire. and while the flames were burning the body cast upon them, he went round the mourning nobles and earnestly charged them that they should freely give arms, gold, and every precious thing to feed the pyre in honour of so great a king, who had deserved so nobly of them all. he also ordered that the ashes of his body, when it was quite burnt, should be transferred to an urn, taken to leire, and there, together with the horse and armour, receive a royal funeral. by paying these due rites of honour to his uncle's shade, he won the favour of the danes, and turned the hate of his enemies into goodwill. then the danes besought him to appoint hetha over the remainder of the realm; but, that the fallen strength of the enemy might not suddenly rally, he severed skaane from the mass of denmark, and put it separately under the governorship of ole, ordering that only zealand and the other lands of the realm should be subject to hetha. thus the changes of fortune brought the empire of denmark under the swedish rule. so ended the bravic war. but the zealanders, who had had harald for their captain, and still had the picture of their former fortune hovering before their minds, thought it shameful to obey the rule of a woman, and appealed to ole not to suffer men that had been used to serve under a famous king to be kept under a woman's yoke. they also promised to revolt to him if he would take up arms to remove their ignominious lot. ole, tempted as much by the memory of his ancestral glory as by the homage of the soldiers, was not slow to answer their entreaties. so he summoned hetha, and forced her by threats rather than by arms to quit every region under her control except jutland; and even jutland he made a tributary state, so as not to allow a woman the free control of a kingdom. he also begot a son whom he named omund. but he was given to cruelty, and showed himself such an unrighteous king, that all who had found it a shameful thing to be ruled by a queen now repented of their former scorn. twelve generals, whether moved by the disasters of their country, or hating ole for some other reason, began to plot against his life. among these were hlenni, atyl, thott, and withne, the last of whom was a dane by birth, though he held a government among the sclavs. moreover, not trusting in their strength and their cunning to accomplish their deed, they bribed starkad to join them. he was prevailed to do the deed with the sword; he undertook the bloody work, and resolved to attack the king while at the bath. in he went while the king was washing, but was straightway stricken by the keenness of his gaze and by the restless and quivering glare of his eyes. his limbs were palsied with sudden dread; he paused, stepped back, and stayed his hand and his purpose. thus he who had shattered the arms of so many captains and champions could not bear the gaze of a single unarmed man. but ole, who well knew about his own countenance, covered his face, and asked him to come closer and tell him what his message was; for old fellowship and long-tried friendship made him the last to suspect treachery. but starkad drew his sword, leapt forward, thrust the king through, and struck him in the throat as he tried to rise. one hundred and twenty marks of gold were kept for his reward. soon afterwards he was smitten with remorse and shame, and lamented his crime so bitterly, that he could not refrain from tears if it happened to be named. thus his soul, when he came to his senses, blushed for his abominable sin. moreover, to atone for the crime he had committed, he slew some of those who had inspired him to it, thus avenging the act to which he had lent his hand. now the danes made omund, the son of ole, king, thinking that more heed should be paid to his father's birth than to his deserts. omund, when he had grown up, fell in nowise behind the exploits of his father; for he made it his aim to equal or surpass the deeds of ole. at this time a considerable tribe of the northmen (norwegians) was governed by ring, and his daughter esa's great fame commended her to omund, who was looking out for a wife. but his hopes of wooing her were lessened by the peculiar inclination of ring, who desired no son-in-law but one of tried valour; for he found as much honour in arms as others think lies in wealth. omund therefore, wishing to become famous in that fashion, and to win the praise of valour, endeavoured to gain his desire by force, and sailed to norway with a fleet, to make an attempt on the throne of ring under plea of hereditary right. odd, the chief of jather, who declared that ring had assuredly seized his inheritance, and lamented that he harried him with continual wrongs, received omund kindly. ring, in the meantime, was on a roving raid in ireland, so that omund attacked a province without a defender. sparing the goods of the common people, he gave the private property of ring over to be plundered, and slew his kinsfolk; odd also having joined his forces to omund. now, among all his divers and manifold deeds, he could never bring himself to attack an inferior force, remembering that he was the son of a most valiant father, and that he was bound to fight armed with courage, and not with numbers. meanwhile ring had returned from roving; and when omund heard he was back, he set to and built a vast ship, whence, as from a fortress, he could rain his missiles on the enemy. to manage this ship he enlisted homod and thole the rowers, the soils of atyl the skanian, one of whom was instructed to act as steersman, while the other was to command at the prow. ring lacked neither skill nor dexterity to encounter them. for he showed only a small part of his forces, and caused the enemy to be attacked on the rear. omund, when told of his strategy by odd, sent men to overpower those posted in ambush, telling atyl the skanian to encounter ring. the order was executed with more rashness than success; and atyl, with his power defeated and shattered, fled beaten to skaane. then omund recruited his forces with the help of odd, and drew up his fleet to fight on the open sea. atyl at this time had true visions of the norwegian war in his dreams, and started on his voyage in order to make up for his flight as quickly as possible, and delighted omund by joining him on the eve of battle. trusting in his help, omund began to fight with equal confidence and success. for, by fighting himself, he retrieved the victory which he had lost when his servants were engaged. ring, wounded to the death, gazed at him with faint eyes, and, beckoning to him with his hand, as well as he could--for his voice failed him--he besought him to be his son-in-law, saying that he would gladly meet his end if he left his daughter to such a husband. before he could receive an answer he died. omund wept for his death, and gave homod, whose trusty help he had received in the war, in marriage to one of the daughters of ring, taking the other himself. at the same time the amazon rusla, whose prowess in warfare exceeded the spirit of a woman, had many fights in norway with her brother, thrond, for the sovereignty. she could not endure that omund rule over the norwegians, and she had declared war against all the subjects of the danes. omund, when he heard of this, commissioned his most active men to suppress the rising. rusla conquered them, and, waxing haughty on her triumph, was seized with overweening hopes, and bent her mind upon actually acquiring the sovereignty of denmark. she began her attack on the region of halland, but was met by homod and thode, whom the king had sent over. beaten, she retreated to her fleet, of which only thirty ships managed to escape, the rest being taken by the enemy. thrond encountered his sister as she was eluding the danes, but was conquered by her and stripped of his entire army; he fled over the dovrefjeld without a single companion. thus she, who had first yielded before the danes, soon overcame her brother, and turned her flight into a victory. when omund heard of this, he went back to norway with a great fleet, first sending homod and thole by a short and secret way to rouse the people of tellemark against the rule of rusla. the end was that she was driven out of her kingdom by the commons, fled to the isles for safety, and turned her back, without a blow, upon the danes as they came up. the king pursued her hotly, caught up her fleet on the sea, and utterly destroyed it, the enemy suffered mightily, and he won a bloodless victory and splendid spoils. but rusla escaped with a very few ships, and rowed ploughing the waves furiously; but, while she was avoiding the danes, she met her brother and was killed. so much more effectual for harm are dangers unsurmised; and chance sometimes makes the less alarming evil worse than that which threatens. the king gave thrond a governorship for slaying his sister, put the rest under tribute, and returned home. at this time thorias (?) and ber (biorn), the most active of the soldiers of rusla, were roving in ireland; but when they heard of the death of their mistress, whom they had long ago sworn to avenge, they hotly attacked omund, and challenged him to a duel, which it used to be accounted shameful for a king to refuse; for the fame of princes of old was reckoned more by arms than by riches. so homod and thole came forward, offering to meet in battle the men who had challenged the king. omund praised them warmly, but at first declined for very shame to allow their help. at last, hard besought by his people, he brought himself to try his fortune by the hand of another. we are told that ber fell in this combat, while thorias left the battle severely wounded. the king, having first cured him of his wounds, took him into his service, and made him prince (earl) over norway. then he sent ambassadors to exact the usual tribute from the sclavs; these were killed, and he was even attacked in jutland by a sclavish force; but he overcame seven kings in a single combat, and ratified by conquest his accustomed right to tribute. meantime, starkad, who was now worn out with extreme age, and who seemed to be past military service and the calling of a champion, was loth to lose his ancient glory through the fault of eld, and thought it would be a noble thing if he could make a voluntary end, and hasten his death by his own free will. having so often fought nobly, he thought it would be mean to die a bloodless death; and, wishing to enhance the glory of his past life by the lustre of his end, he preferred to be slain by some man of gallant birth rather than await the tardy shaft of nature. so shameful was it thought that men devoted to war should die by disease. his body was weak, and his eyes could not see clearly, so that he hated to linger any more in life. in order to buy himself an executioner, he wore hanging on his neck the gold which he had earned for the murder of ole; thinking there was no fitter way of atoning for the treason he had done than to make the price of ole's death that of his own also, and to spend on the loss of his own life what he had earned by the slaying of another. this, he thought, would be the noblest use he could make of that shameful price. so he girded him with two swords, and guided his powerless steps leaning on two staves. one of the common people, seeing him, thinking two swords superfluous for the use of an old man, mockingly asked him to make him a present of one of them. starkad, holding out hopes of consent, bade him come nearer, drew the sword from his side, and ran him through. this was seen by a certain hather, whose father hlenne starkad had once killed in repentance for his own impious crime. hatfier was hunting game with his dogs, but now gave over the chase, and bade two of his companions spur their horses hard and charge at the old man to frighten him. they galloped forward, and tried to make off, but were stopped by the staves of starkad, and paid for it with their lives. hather, terrified by the sight, galloped up closer, and saw who the old man was, but without being recognized by him in turn; and asked him if he would like to exchange his sword for a carriage. starkad replied that he used in old days to chastise jeerers, and that the insolent had never insulted him unpunished. but his sightless eyes could not recognize the features of the youth; so he composed a song, wherein he should declare the greatness of his anger, as follows: "as the unreturning waters sweep down the channel; so, as the years run by, the life of man flows on never to come back; fast gallops the cycle of doom, child of old age who shall make an end of all. old age smites alike the eyes and the steps of men, robs the warrior of his speech and soul, tarnishes his fame by slow degrees, and wipes out his deeds of honour. it seizes his failing limbs, chokes his panting utterance, and numbs his nimble wit. when a cough is taken, when the skin itches with the scab, and the teeth are numb and hollow, and the stomach turns squeamish,--then old age banishes the grace of youth, covers the complexion with decay, and sows many a wrinkle in the dusky skin. old age crushes noble arts, brings down the memorials of men of old, and scorches ancient glories up; shatters wealth, hungrily gnaws away the worth and good of virtue, turns athwart and disorders all things. "i myself have felt the hurtful power of injurious age, i, dim-sighted, and hoarse in my tones and in my chest; and all helpful things have turned to my hurt. now my body is less nimble, and i prop it up, leaning my faint limbs on the support of staves. sightless i guide my steps with two sticks, and follow the short path which the rod shows me, trusting more in the leading of a stock than in my eyes. none takes any charge of me, and no man in the ranks brings comfort to the veteran, unless, perchance, hather is here, and succours his shattered friend. whomsoever hather once thinks worthy of his duteous love, that man he attends continually with even zeal, constant to his purpose, and fearing to break his early ties. he also often pays fit rewards to those that have deserved well in war, and fosters their courage; he bestows dignities on the brave, and honours his famous friends with gifts. free with his wealth, he is fain to increase with bounty the brightness of his name, and to surpass many of the mighty. nor is he less in war: his strength is equal to his goodness; he is swift in the fray, slow to waver, ready to give battle; and he cannot turn his back when the foe bears him hard. but for me, if i remember right, fate appointed at my birth that wars i should follow and in war i should die, that i should mix in broils, watch in arms, and pass a life of bloodshed. i was a man of camps, and rested not; hating peace, i grew old under thy standard, o war-god, in utmost peril; conquering fear, i thought it comely to fight, shameful to loiter, and noble to kill and kill again, to be for ever slaughtering! oft have i seen the stern kings meet in war, seen shield and helmet bruised, and the fields redden with blood, and the cuirass broken by the spear-point, and the corselets all around giving at the thrust of the steel, and the wild beasts battening on the unburied soldier. here, as it chanced, one that attempted a mighty thing, a strong-handed warrior, fighting against the press of the foe, smote through the mail that covered my head, pierced my helmet, and plunged his blade into my crest. this sword also hath often been driven by my right hand in war, and, once unsheathed, hath cleft the skin and bitten into the skull." hather, in answer, sang as follows: "whence comest thou, who art used to write the poems of thy land, leaning thy wavering steps on a frail staff? or whither dost thou speed, who art the readiest bard of the danish muse? all the glory of thy great strength is faded and lost; the hue is banished from thy face, the joy is gone out of thy soul; the voice has left thy throat, and is hoarse and dull; thy body has lost its former stature; the decay of death begins, and has wasted thy features and thy force. as a ship wearies, buffeted by continual billows, even so old age, gendered by a long course of years, brings forth bitter death; and the life falls when its strength is done, and suffers the loss of its ancient lot. famous old man, who has told thee that thou mayst not duly follow the sports of youth, or fling balls, or bite and eat the nut? i think it were better for thee now to sell thy sword, and buy a carriage wherein to ride often, or a horse easy on the bit, or at the same cost to purchase a light cart. it will be more fitting for beasts of burden to carry weak old men, when their steps fail them; the wheel, driving round and round, serves for him whose foot totters feebly. but if perchance thou art loth to sell the useless steel, thy sword, if it be not for sale, shall be taken from thee and shall slay thee." starkad answered: "wretch, thy glib lips scatter idle words, unfit for the ears of the good. why seek the gifts to reward that guidance, which thou shouldst have offered for naught? surely i will walk afoot, and will not basely give up my sword and buy the help of a stranger; nature has given me the right of passage, and hath bidden me trust in my own feet. why mock and jeer with insolent speech at him whom thou shouldst have offered to guide upon his way? why give to dishonour my deeds of old, which deserve the memorial of fame? why requite my service with reproach? why pursue with jeers the old man mighty in battle, and put to shame my unsurpassed honours and illustrious deeds, belittling my glories and girding at my prowess? for what valour of thine dost thou demand my sword, which thy strength does not deserve? it befits not the right hand or the unwarlike side of a herdsman, who is wont to make his peasant-music on the pipe, to see to the flock, to keep the herds in the fields. surely among the henchmen, close to the greasy pot, thou dippest thy crust in the bubbles of the foaming pan, drenching a meagre slice in the rich, oily fat, and stealthily, with thirsty finger, licking the warm juice; more skilled to spread thy accustomed cloak on the ashes, to sleep on the hearth, and slumber all day long, and go busily about the work of the reeking kitchen, than to make the brave blood flow with thy shafts in war. men think thee a hater of the light and a lover of a filthy hole, a wretched slave of thy belly, like a whelp who licks the coarse grain, husk and all. "by heaven, thou didst not try to rob me of my sword when thrice at great peril i fought (for?) the son of ole. for truly, in that array, my hand either broke the sword or shattered the obstacle, so heavy was the blow of the smiter. what of the day when i first taught them, to run with wood-shod feet over the shore of the kurlanders, and the path bestrewn with countless points? for when i was going to the fields studded with calthrops, i guarded their wounded feet with clogs below them. after this i slew hame, who fought me mightily; and soon, with the captain rin the son of flebak, i crushed the kurlanders, yea, or all the tribes esthonia breeds, and thy peoples, o semgala! then i attacked the men of tellemark, and took thence my head bloody with bruises, shattered with mallets, and smitten with the welded weapons. here first i learnt how strong was the iron wrought on the anvil, or what valour the common people had. also it was my doing that the teutons were punished, when, in avenging my lord, i laid low over their cups thy sons, o swerting, who were guilty of the wicked slaughter of frode. "not less was the deed when, for the sake of a beloved maiden, i slew nine brethren in one fray;--witness the spot, which was consumed by the bowels that left me, and brings not forth the grain anew on its scorched sod. and soon, when ker the captain made ready a war by sea, with a noble army we beat his serried ships. then i put waske to death, and punished the insolent smith by slashing his hinder parts; and with the sword i slew wisin, who from the snowy rocks blunted the spears. then i slew the four sons of ler, and the champions of permland; and then having taken the chief of the irish race, i rifled the wealth of dublin; and our courage shall ever remain manifest by the trophies of bravalla. why do i linger? countless are the deeds of my bravery, and when i review the works of my hands i fail to number them to the full. the whole is greater than i can tell. my work is too great for fame, and speech serves not for my doings." so sang starkad. at last, when he found by their talk that hather was the son of hlenne, and saw that the youth was of illustrious birth, he offered him his throat to smite, bidding him not to shrink from punishing the slayer of his father. he promised him that if he did so he should possess the gold which he had himself received from hlenne. and to enrage his heart more vehemently against him, he is said to have harangued him as follows: "moreover, hather, i robbed thee of thy father hlenne; requite me this, i pray, and strike down the old man who longs to die; aim at my throat with the avenging steel. for my soul chooses the service of a noble smiter, and shrinks to ask its doom at a coward's hand. righteously may a man choose to forstall the ordinance of doom. what cannot be escaped it will be lawful also to anticipate. the fresh tree must be fostered, the old one hewn down. he is nature's instrument who destroys what is near its doom and strikes down what cannot stand. death is best when it is sought: and when the end is loved, life is wearisome. let not the troubles of age prolong a miserable lot." so saying, he took money from his pouch and gave it him. but hather, desiring as much to enjoy the gold as to accomplish vengeance for his father, promised that he would comply with his prayer, and would not refuse the reward. starkad eagerly handed him the sword, and at once stooped his neck beneath it, counselling him not to do the smiter's work timidly, or use the sword like a woman; and telling him that if, when he had killed him, he could spring between the head and the trunk before the corpse fell, he would be rendered proof against arms. it is not known whether he said this in order to instruct his executioner or to punish him, for perhaps, as he leapt, the bulk of the huge body would have crushed him. so hather smote sharply with the sword and hacked off the head of the old man. when the severed head struck the ground, it is said to have bitten the earth; thus the fury of the dying lips declared the fierceness of the soul. but the smiter, thinking that the promise hid some treachery, warily refrained from leaping. had he done so rashly, perhaps he would have been crushed by the corpse as it fell, and have paid with his own life for the old man's murder. but he would not allow so great a champion to lie unsepulchred, and had his body buried in the field that is commonly called rolung. now omund, as i have heard, died most tranquilly, while peace was unbroken, leaving two sons and two daughters. the eldest of these, siward, came to the throne by right of birth, while his brother budle was still of tender years. at this time gotar, king of the swedes, conceived boundless love for one of the daughters of omund, because of the report of her extraordinary beauty, and entrusted one ebb, the son of sibb, with the commission of asking for the maiden. ebb did his work skilfully, and brought back the good news that the girl had consented. nothing was now lacking to gotar's wishes but the wedding; but, as he feared to hold this among strangers, he demanded that his betrothed should be sent to him in charge of ebb, whom he had before used as envoy. ebb was crossing halland with a very small escort, and went for a night's lodging to a country farm, where the dwellings of two brothers faced one another on the two sides of a river. now these men used to receive folk hospitably and then murder them, but were skilful to hide their brigandage under a show of generosity. for they had hung on certain hidden chains, in a lofty part of the house, an oblong beam like a press, and furnished it with a steel point; they used to lower this in the night by letting down the fastenings, and cut off the heads of those that lay below. many had they beheaded in this way with the hanging mass. so when ebb and his men had been feasted abundantly, the servants laid them out a bed near the hearth, so that by the swing of the treacherous beam they might mow off their heads, which faced the fire. when they departed, ebb, suspecting the contrivance slung overhead, told his men to feign slumber and shift their bodies, saying that it would be very wholesome for them to change their place. now among these were some who despised the orders which the others obeyed, and lay unmoved, each in the spot where he had chanced to lie down. then towards the mirk of night the heavy hanging machine was set in motion by the doers of the treachery. loosened from the knots of its fastening, it fell violently on the ground, and slew those beneath it. thereupon those who had the charge of committing the crime brought in a light, that they might learn clearly what had happened, and saw that ebb, on whose especial account they had undertaken the affair, had wisely been equal to the danger. he straightway set on them and punished them with death; and also, after losing his men in the mutual slaughter, he happened to find a vessel, crossed a river full of blocks of ice, and announced to gotar the result, not so much of his mission as of his mishap. gotar judged that this affair had been inspired by siward, and prepared to avenge his wrongs by arms. siward, defeated by him in halland, retreated into jutland, the enemy having taken his sister. here he conquered the common people of the sclavs, who ventured to fight without a leader; and he won as much honour from this victory as he had got disgrace by his flight. but a little afterwards, the men whom he had subdued when they were ungeneraled, found a general and defeated siward in funen. several times he fought them in jutland, but with ill-success. the result was that he lost both skaane and jutland, and only retained the middle of his realm without the head, like the fragments of some body that had been consumed away. his son jarmerik (eormunrec), with his child-sisters, fell into the hands of the enemy; one of these was sold to the germans, the other to the norwegians; for in old time marriages were matters of purchase. thus the kingdom of the danes, which had been enlarged with such valour, made famous by such ancestral honours, and enriched by so many conquests, fell, all by the sloth of one man, from the most illustrious fortune and prosperity into such disgrace that it paid the tribute which it used to exact. but siward, too often defeated and guilty of shameful flights, could not endure, after that glorious past, to hold the troubled helm of state any longer in this shameful condition of his land; and, fearing that living longer might strip him of his last shred of glory, he hastened to win an honourable death in battle. for his soul could not forget his calamity, it was fain to cast off its sickness, and was racked with weariness of life. so much did he abhor the light of life in his longing to wipe out his shame. so he mustered his army for battle, and openly declared war with one simon, who was governor of skaane under gotar. this war he pursued with stubborn rashness; he slew simon, and ended his own life amid a great slaughter of his foes. yet his country could not be freed from the burden of the tribute. jarmerik, meantime, with his foster-brother of the same age as himself, gunn, was living in prison, in charge of ismar, the king of the sclavs. at last he was taken out and put to agriculture, doing the work of a peasant. so actively did he manage this matter that he was transferred and made master of the royal slaves. as he likewise did this business most uprightly, he was enrolled in the band of the king's retainers. here he bore himself most pleasantly as courtiers use, and was soon taken into the number of the king's friends and obtained the first place in his intimacy; thus, on the strength of a series of great services, he passed from the lowest estate to the most distinguished height of honour. also, loth to live a slack and enfeebled youth, he trained himself to the pursuits of war, enriching his natural gifts by diligence. all men loved jarmerik, and only the queen mistrusted the young man's temper. a sudden report told them that the king's brother had died. ismar, wishing to give his body a splendid funeral, prepared a banquet of royal bounty to increase the splendour of the obsequies. but jarmerik, who used at other times to look after the household affairs together with the queen, began to cast about for means of escape; for a chance seemed to be offered by the absence of the king. for he saw that even in the lap of riches he would be the wretched thrall of a king, and that he would draw, as it were, his very breath on sufferance and at the gift of another. moreover, though he held the highest offices with the king, he thought that freedom was better than delights, and burned with a mighty desire to visit his country and learn his lineage. but, knowing that the queen had provided sufficient guards to see that no prisoner escaped, he saw that he must approach by craft where he could not arrive by force. so he plaited one of those baskets of rushes and withies, shaped like a man, with which countrymen used to scare the birds from the corn, and put a live dog in it; then he took off his own clothes, and dressed it in them, to give a more plausible likeness to a human being. then he broke into the private treasury of the king, took out the money, and hid himself in places of which he alone knew. meantime gunn, whom he had told to conceal the absence of his friend, took the basket into the palace and stirred up the dog to bark; and when the queen asked what this was, he answered that jarmerik was out of his mind and howling. she, beholding the effigy, was deceived by the likeness, and ordered that the madman should be cast out of the house. then gunn took the effigy out and put it to bed, as though it were his distraught friend. but towards night he plied the watch bountifully with wine and festal mirth, cut off their heads as they slept, and set them at their groins, in order to make their slaying more shameful. the queen, roused by the din, and wishing to learn the reason of it, hastily rushed to the doors. but while she unwarily put forth her head, the sword of gunn suddenly pierced her through. feeling a mortal wound, she sank, turned her eyes on her murderer, and said, "had it been granted me to live unscathed, no screen or treachery should have let thee leave this land unpunished." a flood of such threats against her slayer poured from her dying lips. then jarmerik, with gunn, the partner of his noble deed, secretly set fire to the tent wherein the king was celebrating with a banquet the obsequies of his brother; all the company were overcome with liquor. the fire filled the tent and spread all about; and some of them, shaking off the torpor of drink, took horse and pursued those who had endangered them. but the young men fled at first on the beasts they had taken; and at last, when these were exhausted with their long gallop, took to flight on foot. they were all but caught, when a river saved them. for they crossed a bridge, of which, in order to delay the pursuer, they first cut the timbers down to the middle, thus making it not only unequal to a burden, but ready to come down; then they retreated into a dense morass. the sclavs pressed on them hard and, not forseeing the danger, unwarily put the weight of their horses on the bridge; the flooring sank, and they were shaken off and flung into the river. but, as they swam up to the bank, they were met by gunn and jarmerik, and either drowned or slain. thus the young men showed great cunning, and did a deed beyond their years, being more like sagacious old men than runaway slaves, and successfully achieving their shrewd design. when they reached the strand they seized a vessel chance threw in their way, and made for the deep. the barbarians who pursued them, tried, when they saw them sailing off, to bring them back by shouting promises after them that they should be kings if they returned; "for, by the public statute of the ancients, the succession was appointed to the slayers of the kings." as they retreated, their ears were long deafened by the sclavs obstinately shouting their treacherous promises. at this time budle, the brother of siward, was regent over the danes, who forced him to make over the kingdom to jarmerik when he came; so that budle fell from a king into a common man. at the same time gotar charged sibb with debauching his sister, and slew him. sibb's kindred, much angered by his death, came wailing to jarmerik, and promised to attack gotar with him, in order to avenge their kinsman. they kept their promise well, for jarmerik, having overthrown gotar by their help, gained sweden. thus, holding the sovereignty of both nations, he was encouraged by his increased power to attack the sclavs, forty of whom he took and hung with a wolf tied to each of them. this kind of punishment was assigned of old to those who slew their own kindred; but he chose to inflict it upon enemies, that all might see plainly, just from their fellowship with ruthless beasts, how grasping they had shown themselves towards the danes. when jarmerik had conquered the country, he posted garrisons in all the fitting places, and departing thence, he made a slaughter of the sembs and the kurlanders, and many nations of the east. the sclavs, thinking that this employment of the king gave them a chance of revolting, killed the governors whom he had appointed, and ravaged denmark. jarmerik, on his way back from roving, chanced to intercept their fleet, and destroyed it, a deed which added honour to his roll of conquests. he also put their nobles to death in a way that one would weep to see; namely, by first passing thongs through their legs, and then tying them to the hoofs of savage bulls; then hounds set on them and dragged them into miry swamps. this deed took the edge off the valour of the sclavs, and they obeyed the authority of the king in fear and trembling. jarmerik, enriched with great spoils, wished to provide a safe storehouse for his booty, and built on a lofty hill a treasure-house of marvellous handiwork. gathering sods, he raised a mound, laying a mass of rocks for the foundation, and girt the lower part with a rampart, the centre with rooms, and the top with battlements. all round he posted a line of sentries without a break. four huge gates gave free access on the four sides; and into this lordly mansion he heaped all his splendid riches. having thus settled his affairs at home, he again turned his ambition abroad. he began to voyage, and speedily fought a naval battle with four brothers whom he met on the high seas, hellespontines by race, and veteran rovers. after this battle had lasted three days, he ceased fighting, having bargained for their sister and half the tribute which they had imposed on those they had conquered. after this, bikk, the son of the king of the livonians, escaped from the captivity in which he lay under these said brothers, and went to jarmerik. but he did not forget his wrongs, jarmerik having long before deprived him of his own brothers. he was received kindly by the king, in all whose secret counsels he soon came to have a notable voice; and, as soon as he found the king pliable to his advice in all things, he led him, when his counsel was asked, into the most abominable acts, and drove him to commit crimes and infamies. thus he sought some device to injure the king by a feint of loyalty, and tried above all to steel him against his nearest of blood; attempting to accomplish the revenge of his brother by guile, since he could not by force. so it came to pass that the king embraced filthy vices instead of virtues, and made himself generally hated by the cruel deeds which he committed at the instance of his treacherous adviser. even the sclavs began to rise against him; and, as a means of quelling them, he captured their leaders, passed a rope through their shanks, and delivered them to be torn asunder by horses pulling different ways. so perished their chief men, punished for their stubbornness of spirit by having their bodies rent apart. this kept the sclavs duly obedient in unbroken and steady subjugation. meantime, the sons of jarmerik's sister, who had all been born and bred in germany, took up arms, on the strength of their grandsire's title, against their uncle, contending that they had as good a right to the throne as he. the king demolished their strongholds in germany with engines, blockaded or took several towns, and returned home with a bloodless victory. the hellespontines came to meet him, proffering their sister for the promised marriage. after this had been celebrated, at bikk's prompting he again went to germany, took his nephews in war, and incontinently hanged them. he also got together the chief men under the pretence of a banquet and had them put to death in the same fashion. meantime, the king appointed broder, his son by another marriage, to have charge over his stepmother, a duty which he fulfilled with full vigilance and integrity. but bikk accused this man to his father of incest; and, to conceal the falsehood of the charge, suborned witnesses against him. when the plea of the accusation had been fully declared, broder could not bring any support for his defence, and his father bade his friends pass sentence upon the convicted man, thinking it less impious to commit the punishment proper for his son to the judgment of others. all thought that he deserved outlawry except bikk, who did not shrink from giving a more terrible vote against his life, and declaring that the perpetrator of an infamous seduction ought to be punished with hanging. but lest any should think that this punishment was due to the cruelty of his father, bikk judged that, when he had been put in the noose, the servants should hold him up on a beam put beneath him, so that, when weariness made them take their hands from the burden, they might be as good as guilty of the young man's death, and by their own fault exonerate the king from an unnatural murder. he also pretended that, unless the accused were punished, he would plot against his father's life. the adulteress swanhild, he said, ought to suffer a shameful end, trampled under the hoofs of beasts. the king yielded to bikk; and, when his son was to be hanged, he made the bystanders hold him up by means of a plank, that he might not be choked. thus his throat was only a little squeezed, the knot was harmless, and it was but a punishment in show. but the king had the queen tied very tight on the ground, and delivered her to be crushed under the hoofs of horses. the story goes that she was so beautiful, that even the beasts shrank from mangling limbs so lovely with their filthy feet. the king, divining that this proclaimed the innocence of his wife, began to repent of his error, and hastened to release the slandered lady. but meantime bikk rushed up, declaring that when she was on her back she held off the beasts by awful charms, and could only be crushed if she lay on her face; for he knew that her beauty saved her. when the body of the queen was placed in this manner, the herd of beasts was driven upon it, and trod it down deep with their multitude of feet. such was the end of swanhild. meantime, the favourite dog of broder came creeping to the king making a sort of moan, and seemed to bewail its master's punishment; and his hawk, when it was brought in, began to pluck out its breast-feathers with its beak. the king took its nakedness as an omen of his bereavement, to frustrate which he quickly sent men to take his son down from the noose: for he divined by the featherless bird that he would be childless unless he took good heed. thus broder was freed from death, and bikk, fearing he would pay the penalty of an informer, went and told the men of the hellespont that swanhild had been abominably slain by her husband. when they set sail to avenge their sister, he came back to jarmerik, and told him that the hellespontines were preparing war. the king thought that it would be safer to fight with walls than in the field, and retreated into the stronghold which he had built. to stand the siege, he filled its inner parts with stores, and its battlements with men-at-arms. targets and shields flashing with gold were hung round and adorned the topmost circle of the building. it happened that the hellespontines, before sharing their booty, accused a great band of their men of embezzling, and put them to death. having now destroyed so large a part of their forces by internecine slaughter, they thought that their strength was not equal to storming the palace, and consulted a sorceress named gudrun. she brought it to pass that the defenders of the king's side were suddenly blinded and turned their arms against one another. when the hellespontines saw this, they brought up a shield-mantlet, and seized the approaches of the gates. then they tore up the posts, burst into the building, and hewed down the blinded ranks of the enemy. in this uproar odin appeared, and, making for the thick of the ranks of the fighters, restored by his divine power to the danes that vision which they had lost by sleights; for he ever cherished them with fatherly love. he instructed them to shower stones to batter the hellespontines, who used spells to harden their bodies against weapons. thus both companies slew one another and perished. jarmerik lost both feet and both hands, and his trunk was rolled among the dead. broder, little fit for it, followed him as king. the next king was siwald. his son snio took vigorously to roving in his father's old age, and not only preserved the fortunes of his country, but even restored them, lessened as they were, to their former estate. likewise, when he came to the sovereignty, he crushed the insolence of the champions eskil and alkil, and by this conquest reunited to his country skaane, which had been severed from the general jurisdiction of denmark. at last he conceived a passion for the daughter of the king of the goths; it was returned, and he sent secret messengers to seek a chance of meeting her. these men were intercepted by the father of the damsel and hanged: thus paying dearly for their rash mission. snio, wishing to avenge their death, invaded gothland. its king met him with his forces, and the aforesaid champions challenged him to send strong men to fight. snio laid down as condition of the duel, that each of the two kings should either lose his own empire or gain that of the other, according to the fortune of the champions, and that the kingdom of the conquered should be staked as the prize of the victory. the result was that the king of the goths was beaten by reason of the ill-success of his defenders, and had to quit his kingdom for the danes. snio, learning that this king's daughter had been taken away at the instance of her father to wed the king of the swedes, sent a man clad in ragged attire, who used to ask alms on the public roads, to try her mind. and while he lay, as beggars do, by the threshold, he chanced to see the queen, and whined in a weak voice, "snio loves thee." she feigned not to have heard the sound that stole on her ears, and neither looked nor stepped back, but went on to the palace, then returned straightway, and said in a low whisper, which scarcely reached his ears, "i love him who loves me"; and having said this she walked away. the beggar rejoiced that she had returned a word of love, and, as he sat on the next day at the gate, when the queen came up, he said, briefly as ever, "wishes should have a tryst." again she shrewdly caught his cunning speech, and passed on, dissembling wholly. a little later she passed by her questioner, and said that she would shortly go to bocheror; for this was the spot to which she meant to flee. and when the beggar heard this, he insisted, with his wonted shrewd questions, upon being told a fitting time for the tryst. the woman was as cunning as he, and as little clear of speech, and named as quickly as she could the beginning of the winter. her train, who had caught a flying word of this love-message, took her great cleverness for the raving of utter folly. and when snio had been told all this by the beggar, he contrived to carry the queen off in a vessel; for she got away under pretence of bathing, and took her husband's treasures. after this there were constant wars between snio and the king of sweden, whereof the issue was doubtful and the victory changeful; the one king seeking to regain his lawful, the other to keep his unlawful love. at this time the yield of crops was ruined by most inclement weather, and a mighty dearth of corn befell. victuals began to be scarce, and the commons were distressed with famine, so that the king, anxiously pondering how to relieve the hardness of the times, and seeing that the thirsty spent somewhat more than the hungry, introduced thrift among the people. he abolished drinking-bouts, and decreed that no drink should be prepared from gram, thinking that the bitter famine should be got rid of by prohibiting needless drinking, and that plentiful food could be levied as a loan on thirst. then a certain wanton slave of his belly, lamenting the prohibition against drink, adopted a deep kind of knavery, and found a new way to indulge his desires. he broke the public law of temperance by his own excess, contriving to get at what he loved by a device both cunning and absurd. for he sipped the forbidden liquor drop by drop, and so satisfied his longing to be tipsy. when he was summoned for this by the king, he declared that there was no stricter observer of sobriety than he, inasmuch as he mortified his longing to quaff deep by this device for moderate drinking. he persisted in the fault with which he was taxed, saying that he only sucked. at last he was also menaced with threats, and forbidden not only to drink, but even to sip; yet he could not check his habits. for in order to enjoy the unlawful thing in a lawful way, and not to have his throat subject to the command of another, he sopped morsels of bread in liquor, and fed on the pieces thus soaked with drink; tasting slowly, so as to prolong the desired debauch, and attaining, though in no unlawful manner, the forbidden measure of satiety. thus his stubborn and frantic intemperance risked his life, all for luxury; and, undeterred even by the threats of the king, he fortified his rash appetite to despise every peril. a second time he was summoned by the king on the charge of disobeying his regulation. yet he did not even theft cease to defend his act, but maintained that he had in no wise contravened the royal decree, and that the temperance prescribed by the ordinance had been in no way violated by that which allured him; especially as the thrift ordered in the law of plain living was so described, that it was apparently forbidden to drink liquor, but not to eat it. then the king called heaven to witness, and swore by the general good, that if he ventured on any such thing hereafter he would punish him with death. but the man thought that death was not so bad as temperance, and that it was easier to quit life than luxury; and he again boiled the grain in water, and then fermented the liquor; whereupon, despairing of any further plea to excuse his appetite, he openly indulged in drink, and turned to his cups again unabashed. giving up cunning for effrontery, he chose rather to await the punishment of the king than to turn sober. therefore, when the king asked him why he had so often made free to use the forbidden thing, he said: "o king, this craving is begotten, not so much of my thirst, as of my goodwill towards thee! for i remembered that the funeral rites of a king must be paid with a drinking-bout. therefore, led by good judgment more than the desire to swill, i have, by mixing the forbidden liquid, taken care that the feast whereat thy obsequies are performed should not, by reason of the scarcity of corn, lack the due and customary drinking. now i do not doubt that thou wilt perish of famine before the rest, and be the first to need a tomb; for thou hast passed this strange law of thrift in fear that thou wilt be thyself the first to lack food. thou art thinking for thyself, and not for others, when thou bringest thyself to start such strange miserly ways." this witty quibbling turned the anger of the king into shame; and when he saw that his ordinance for the general good came home in mockery to himself, he thought no more of the public profit, but revoked the edict, relaxing his purpose sooner than anger his subjects. whether it was that the soil had too little rain, or that it was too hard baked, the crops, as i have said, were slack, and the fields gave but little produce; so that the land lacked victual, and was worn with a weary famine. the stock of food began to fail, and no help was left to stave off hunger. then, at the proposal of agg and of ebb, it was provided by a decree of the people that the old men and the tiny children should be slain; that all who were too young to bear arms should be taken out of the land, and only the strong should be vouchsafed their own country; that none but able-bodied soldiers and husbandmen should continue to abide under their own roofs and in the houses of their fathers. when agg and ebb brought news of this to their mother gambaruk, she saw that the authors of this infamous decree had found safety in crime. condemning the decision of the assembly, she said that it was wrong to relieve distress by murder of kindred, and declared that a plan both more honourable and more desirable for the good of their souls and bodies would be, to preserve respect towards their parents and children, and choose by lot men who should quit the country. and if the lot fell on old men and weak, then the stronger should offer to go into exile in their place, and should of their own free will undertake to bear the burden of it for the feeble. but those men who had the heart to save their lives by crime and impiety, and to prosecute their parents and their children by so abominable a decree, did not deserve life; for they would be doing a work of cruelty and not of love. finally, all those whose own lives were dearer to them than the love of their parents or their children, deserved but ill of their country. these words were reported to the assembly, and assented to by the vote of the majority. so the fortunes of all were staked upon the lot and those upon whom it fell were doomed to be banished. thus those who had been loth to obey necessity of their own accord had now to accept the award of chance. so they sailed first to bleking, and then, sailing past moring, they came to anchor at gothland; where, according to paulus, they are said to have been prompted by the goddess frigg to take the name of the longobardi (lombards), whose nation they afterwards founded. in the end they landed at rugen, and, abandoning their ships, began to march overland. they crossed and wasted a great portion of the world; and at last, finding an abode in italy, changed the ancient name of the nation for their own. meanwhile, the land of the danes, where the tillers laboured less and less, and all traces of the furrows were covered with overgrowth, began to look like a forest. almost stripped of its pleasant native turf, it bristled with the dense unshapely woods that grew up. traces of this are yet seen in the aspect of its fields. what were once acres fertile in grain are now seen to be dotted with trunks of trees; and where of old the tillers turned the earth up deep and scattered the huge clods there has now sprung up a forest covering the fields, which still bear the tracks of ancient tillage. had not these lands remained untilled and desolate with long overgrowth, the tenacious roots of trees could never have shared the soil of one and the same land with the furrows made by the plough. moreover, the mounds which men laboriously built up of old on the level ground for the burial of the dead are now covered by a mass of woodland. many piles of stones are also to be seen interspersed among the forest glades. these were once scattered over the whole country, but the peasants carefully gathered the boulders and piled them into a heap that they might not prevent furrows being cut in all directions; for they would sooner sacrifice a little of the land than find the whole of it stubborn. from this work, done by the toil of the peasants for the easier working of the fields, it is judged that the population in ancient times was greater than the present one, which is satisfied with small fields, and keeps its agriculture within narrower limits than those of the ancient tillage. thus the present generation is amazed to behold that it has exchanged a soil which could once produce grain for one only fit to grow acorns, and the plough-handle and the cornstalks for a landscape studded with trees. let this account of snio, which i have put together as truly as i could, suffice. snio was succeeded by biorn; and after him harald became sovereign. harald's son gorm won no mean place of honour among the ancient generals of the danes by his record of doughty deeds. for he ventured into fresh fields, preferring to practise his inherited valour, not in war, but in searching the secrets of nature; and, just as other kings are stirred by warlike ardour, so his heart thirsted to look into marvels; either what he could experience himself, or what were merely matters of report. and being desirous to go and see all things foreign and extraordinary, he thought that he must above all test a report which he had heard from the men of thule concerning the abode of a certain geirrod. for they boasted past belief of the mighty piles of treasure in that country, but said that the way was beset with peril, and hardly passable by mortal man. for those who had tried it declared that it was needful to sail over the ocean that goes round the lands, to leave the sun and stars behind, to journey down into chaos, and at last to pass into a land where no light was and where darkness reigned eternally. but the warrior trampled down in his soul all fear of the dangers that beset him. not that he desired booty, but glory; for he hoped for a great increase of renown if he ventured on a wholly unattempted quest. three hundred men announced that they had the same desire as the king; and he resolved that thorkill, who had brought the news, should be chosen to guide them on the journey, as he knew the ground and was versed in the approaches to that country. thorkill did not refuse the task, and advised that, to meet the extraordinary fury of the sea they had to cross, strongly-made vessels should be built, fitted with many knotted cords and close-set nails, filled with great store of provision, and covered above with ox-hides to protect the inner spaces of the ships from the spray of the waves breaking in. then they sailed off in only three galleys, each containing a hundred chosen men. now when they had come to halogaland (helgeland), they lost their favouring breezes, and were driven and tossed divers ways over the seas in perilous voyage. at last, in extreme want of food, and lacking even bread, they staved off hunger with a little pottage. some days passed, and they heard the thunder of a storm brawling in the distance, as if it were deluging the rocks. by this perceiving that land was near, they bade a youth of great nimbleness climb to the masthead and look out; and he reported that a precipitous island was in sight. all were overjoyed, and gazed with thirsty eyes at the country at which he pointed, eagerly awaiting the refuge of the promised shore. at last they managed to reach it, and made their way out over the heights that blocked their way, along very steep paths, into the higher ground. then thorkill told them to take no more of the herds that were running about in numbers on the coast, than would serve once to appease their hunger. if they disobeyed, the guardian gods of the spot would not let them depart. but the seamen, more anxious to go on filling their bellies than to obey orders, postponed counsels of safety to the temptations of gluttony, and loaded the now emptied holds of their ships with the carcases of slaughtered cattle. these beasts were very easy to capture, because they gathered in amazement at the unwonted sight of men, their fears being made bold. on the following night monsters dashed down upon the shore, filled the forest with clamour, and beleaguered and beset the ships. one of them, huger than the rest, strode over the waters, armed with a mighty club. coming close up to them, he bellowed out that they should never sail away till they had atoned for the crime they had committed in slaughtering the flock, and had made good the losses of the herd of the gods by giving up one man for each of their ships. thorkill yielded to these threats; and, in order to preserve the safety of all by imperilling a few, singled out three men by lot and gave them up. this done, a favouring wind took them, and they sailed to further permland. it is a region of eternal cold, covered with very deep snows, and not sensible to the force even of the summer heats; full of pathless forests, not fertile in grain and haunted by beasts uncommon elsewhere. its many rivers pour onwards in a hissing, foaming flood, because of the reefs imbedded in their channels. here thorkill drew up his ships ashore, and bade them pitch their tents on the beach, declaring that they had come to a spot whence the passage to geirrod would be short. moreover, he forbade them to exchange any speech with those that came up to them, declaring that nothing enabled the monsters to injure strangers so much as uncivil words on their part: it would be therefore safer for his companions to keep silence; none but he, who had seen all the manners and customs of this nation before, could speak safely. as twilight approached, a man of extraordinary bigness greeted the sailors by their names, and came among them. all were aghast, but thorkill told them to greet his arrival cheerfully, telling them that this was gudmund, the brother of geirrod, and the most faithful guardian in perils of all men who landed in that spot. when the man asked why all the rest thus kept silence, he answered that they were very unskilled in his language, and were ashamed to use a speech they did not know. then gudmund invited them to be his guests, and took them up in carriages. as they went forward, they saw a river which could be crossed by a bridge of gold. they wished to go over it, but gudmund restrained them, telling them that by this channel nature had divided the world of men from the world of monsters, and that no mortal track might go further. then they reached the dwelling of their guide; and here thorkill took his companions apart and warned them to behave like men of good counsel amidst the divers temptations chance might throw in their way; to abstain from the food of the stranger, and nourish their bodies only on their own; and to seek a seat apart from the natives, and have no contact with any of them as they lay at meat. for if they partook of that food they would lose recollection of all things, and must live for ever in filthy intercourse amongst ghastly hordes of monsters. likewise he told them that they must keep their hands off the servants and the cups of the people. round the table stood twelve noble sons of gudmund, and as many daughters of notable beauty. when gudmund saw that the king barely tasted what his servants brought, he reproached him with repulsing his kindness, and complained that it was a slight on the host. but thorkill was not at a loss for a fitting excuse. he reminded him that men who took unaccustomed food often suffered from it seriously, and that the king was not ungrateful for the service rendered by another, but was merely taking care of his health, when he refreshed himself as he was wont, and furnished his supper with his own viands. an act, therefore, that was only done in the healthy desire to escape some bane, ought in no wise to be put down to scorn. now when gudmund saw that the temperance of his guest had baffled his treacherous preparations, he determined to sap their chastity, if he could not weaken their abstinence, and eagerly strained every nerve of his wit to enfeeble their self-control. for he offered the king his daughter in marriage, and promised the rest that they should have whatever women of his household they desired. most of them inclined to his offer: but thorkill by his healthy admonitions prevented them, as he had done before, from falling into temptation. with wonderful management thorkill divided his heed between the suspicious host and the delighted guests. four of the danes, to whom lust was more than their salvation, accepted the offer; the infection maddened them, distraught their wits, and blotted out their recollection: for they are said never to have been in their right mind after this. if these men had kept themselves within the rightful bounds of temperance, they would have equalled the glories of hercules, surpassed with their spirit the bravery of giants, and been ennobled for ever by their wondrous services to their country. gudmund, stubborn to his purpose, and still spreading his nets, extolled the delights of his garden, and tried to lure the king thither to gather fruits, desiring to break down his constant wariness by the lust of the eye and the baits of the palate. the king, as before, was strengthened against these treacheries by thorkill, and rejected this feint of kindly service; he excused himself from accepting it on the plea that he must hasten on his journey. gudmund perceived that thorkill was shrewder than he at every point; so, despairing to accomplish his treachery, he carried them all across the further side of the river, and let them finish their journey. they went on; and saw, not far off, a gloomy, neglected town, looking more like a cloud exhaling vapour. stakes interspersed among the battlements showed the severed heads of warriors and dogs of great ferocity were seen watching before the doors to guard the entrance. thorkill threw them a horn smeared with fat to lick, and so, at slight cost, appeased their most furious rage. high up the gates lay open to enter, and they climbed to their level with ladders, entering with difficulty. inside the town was crowded with murky and misshapen phantoms, and it was hard to say whether their shrieking figures were more ghastly to the eye or to the ear; everything was foul, and the reeking mire afflicted the nostrils of the visitors with its unbearable stench. then they found the rocky dwelling which geirrod was rumoured to inhabit for his palace. they resolved to visit its narrow and horrible ledge, but stayed their steps and halted in panic at the very entrance. then thorkill, seeing that they were of two minds, dispelled their hesitation to enter by manful encouragement, counselling them, to restrain themselves, and not to touch any piece of gear in the house they were about to enter, albeit it seemed delightful to have or pleasant to behold; to keep their hearts as far from all covetousness as from fear; neither to desire what was pleasant to take, nor dread what was awful to look upon, though they should find themselves amidst abundance of both these things. if they did, their greedy hands would suddenly be bound fast, unable to tear themselves away from the thing they touched, and knotted up with it as by inextricable bonds. moreover, they should enter in order, four by four. broder and buchi (buk?) were the first to show courage to attempt to enter the vile palace; thorkill with the king followed them, and the rest advanced behind these in ordered ranks. inside, the house was seen to be ruinous throughout, and filled with a violent and abominable reek. and it also teemed with everything that could disgust the eye or the mind: the door-posts were begrimed with the soot of ages, the wall was plastered with filth, the roof was made up of spear-heads, the flooring was covered with snakes and bespattered with all manner of uncleanliness. such an unwonted sight struck terror into the strangers, and, over all, the acrid and incessant stench assailed their afflicted nostrils. also bloodless phantasmal monsters huddled on the iron seats, and the places for sitting were railed off by leaden trellises; and hideous doorkeepers stood at watch on the thresholds. some of these, armed with clubs lashed together, yelled, while others played a gruesome game, tossing a goat's hide from one to the other with mutual motion of goatish backs. here thorkill again warned the men, and forbade them to stretch forth their covetous hands rashly to the forbidden things. going on through the breach in the crag, they beheld an old man with his body pierced through, sitting not far off, on a lofty seat facing the side of the rock that had been rent away. moreover, three women, whose bodies were covered with tumours, and who seemed to have lost the strength of their back-bones, filled adjoining seats. thorkill's companions were very curious; and he, who well knew the reason of the matter, told them that long ago the god thor had been provoked by the insolence of the giants to drive red-hot irons through the vitals of geirrod, who strove with him, and that the iron had slid further, torn up the mountain, and battered through its side; while the women had been stricken by the might of his thunderbolts, and had been punished (so he declared) for their attempt on the same deity, by having their bodies broken. as the men were about to depart thence, there were disclosed to them seven butts hooped round with belts of gold; and from these hung circlets of silver entwined with them in manifold links. near these was found the tusk of a strange beast, tipped at both ends with gold. close by was a vast stag-horn, laboriously decked with choice and flashing gems, and this also did not lack chasing. hard by was to be seen a very heavy bracelet. one man was kindled with an inordinate desire for this bracelet, and laid covetous hands upon the gold, not knowing that the glorious metal covered deadly mischief, and that a fatal bane lay hid under the shining spoil. a second also, unable to restrain his covetousness, reached out his quivering hands to the horn. a third, matching the confidence of the others, and having no control over his fingers, ventured to shoulder the tusk. the spoil seemed alike lovely to look upon and desirable to enjoy, for all that met the eye was fair and tempting to behold. but the bracelet suddenly took the form of a snake, and attacked him who was carrying it with its poisoned tooth; the horn lengthened out into a serpent, and took the life of the man who bore it; the tusk wrought itself into a sword, and plunged into the vitals of its bearer. the rest dreaded the fate of perishing with their friends, and thought that the guiltless would be destroyed like the guilty; they durst not hope that even innocence would be safe. then the side-door of another room showed them a narrow alcove: and a privy chamber with a yet richer treasure was revealed, wherein arms were laid out too great for those of human stature. among these were seen a royal mantle, a handsome hat, and a belt marvellously wrought. thorkill, struck with amazement at these things, gave rein to his covetousness, and cast off all his purposed self-restraint. he who so oft had trained others could not so much as conquer his own cravings. for he laid his hand upon the mantle, and his rash example tempted the rest to join in his enterprise of plunder. thereupon the recess shook from its lowest foundations, and began suddenly to reel and totter. straightway the women raised a shriek that the wicked robbers were being endured too long. then they, who were before supposed to be half-dead or lifeless phantoms, seemed to obey the cries of the women, and, leaping suddenly up from their seats, attacked the strangers with furious onset. the other creatures bellowed hoarsely. but broder and buchi fell to their old and familiar arts, and attacked the witches, who ran at them, with a shower of spears from every side; and with the missiles from their bows and slings they crushed the array of monsters. there could be no stronger or more successful way to repulse them; but only twenty men out of all the king's company were rescued by the intervention of this archery; the rest were torn in pieces by the monsters. the survivors returned to the river, and were ferried over by gudmund, who entertained them at his house. long and often as he besought them, he could not keep them back; so at last he gave them presents and let them go. buchi relaxed his watch upon himself; his self-control became unstrung, and he forsook the virtue in which he hitherto rejoiced. for he conceived an incurable love for one of the daughters of gudmund, and embraced her; but he obtained a bride to his undoing, for soon his brain suddenly began to whirl, and he lost his recollection. thus the hero who had subdued all the monsters and overcome all the perils was mastered by passion for one girl; his soul strayed far from temperance, and he lay under a wretched sensual yoke. for the sake of respect, he started to accompany the departing king; but as he was about to ford the river in his carriage, his wheels sank deep, he was caught up in the violent eddies and destroyed. the king bewailed his friend's disaster and departed hastening on his voyage. this was at first prosperous, but afterwards he was tossed by bad weather; his men perished of hunger, and but few survived, so that he began to feel awe in his heart, and fell to making vows to heaven, thinking the gods alone could help him in his extreme need. at last the others besought sundry powers among the gods, and thought they ought to sacrifice to the majesty of divers deities; but the king, offering both vows and peace-offerings to utgarda-loki, obtained that fair season of weather for which he prayed. coming home, and feeling that he had passed through all these seas and toils, he thought it was time for his spirit, wearied with calamities, to withdraw from his labours. so he took a queen from sweden, and exchanged his old pursuits for meditative leisure. his life was prolonged in the utmost peace and quietness; but when he had almost come to the end of his days, certain men persuaded him by likely arguments that souls were immortal; so that he was constantly turning over in his mind the questions, to what abode he was to fare when the breath left his limbs, or what reward was earned by zealous adoration of the gods. while he was thus inclined, certain men who wished ill to thorkill came and told gorm that it was needful to consult the gods, and that assurance about so great a matter must be sought of the oracles of heaven, since it was too deep for human wit and hard for mortals to discover. therefore, they said, utgarda-loki must be appeased, and no man would accomplish this more fitly than thorkill. others, again, laid information against him as guilty of treachery and an enemy of the king's life. thorkill, seeing himself doomed to extreme peril, demanded that his accusers should share his journey. then they who had aspersed an innocent man saw that the peril they had designed against the life of another had recoiled upon themselves, and tried to take back their plan. but vainly did they pester the ears of the king; he forced them to sail under the command of thorkill, and even upbraided them with cowardice. thus, when a mischief is designed against another, it is commonly sure to strike home to its author. and when these men saw that they were constrained, and could not possibly avoid the peril, they covered their ship with ox-hides, and filled it with abundant store of provision. in this ship they sailed away, and came to a sunless land, which knew not the stars, was void of daylight, and seemed to overshadow them with eternal night. long they sailed under this strange sky; at last their timber fell short, and they lacked fuel; and, having no place to boil their meat in, they staved off their hunger with raw viands. but most of those who ate contracted extreme disease, being glutted with undigested food. for the unusual diet first made a faintness steal gradually upon their stomachs; then the infection spread further, and the malady reached the vital parts. thus there was danger in either extreme, which made it hurtful not to eat, and perilous to indulge; for it was found both unsafe to feed and bad for them to abstain. then, when they were beginning to be in utter despair, a gleam of unexpected help relieved them, even as the string breaks most easily when it is stretched tightest. for suddenly the weary men saw the twinkle of a fire at no great distance, and conceived a hope of prolonging their lives. thorkill thought this fire a heaven-sent relief, and resolved to go and take some of it. to be surer of getting back to his friends, thorkill fastened a jewel upon the mast-head, to mark it by the gleam. when he got to the shore, his eyes fell on a cavern in a close defile, to which a narrow way led. telling his companions to await him outside, he went in, and saw two men, swart and very huge, with horny noses, feeding their fire with any chance-given fuel. moreover, the entrance was hideous, the door-posts were decayed, the walls grimy with mould, the roof filthy, and the floor swarming with snakes; all of which disgusted the eye as much as the mind. then one of the giants greeted him, and said that he had begun a most difficult venture in his burning desire to visit a strange god, and his attempt to explore with curious search an untrodden region beyond the world. yet he promised to tell thorkill the paths of the journey he proposed to make, if he would deliver three true judgments in the form of as many sayings. then said thorkill: "in good truth, i do not remember ever to have seen a household with more uncomely noses; nor have i ever come to a spot where i had less mind to live." also he said: "that, i think, is my best foot which can get out of this foremost." the giant was pleased with the shrewdness of thorkill, and praised his sayings, telling him that he must first travel to a grassless land which was veiled in deep darkness; but he must first voyage for four days, rowing incessantly, before he could reach his goal. there he could visit utgarda-loki, who had chosen hideous and grisly caves for his filthy dwelling. thorkill was much aghast at being bidden to go on a voyage so long and hazardous; but his doubtful hopes prevailed over his present fears, and he asked for some live fuel. then said the giant: "if thou needest fire, thou must deliver three more judgments in like sayings." then said thorkill: "good counsel is to be obeyed, though a mean fellow gave it." likewise: "i have gone so far in rashness, that if i can get back i shall owe my safety to none but my own legs." and again: "were i free to retreat this moment, i would take good care never to come back." thereupon thorkill took the fire along to his companions; and finding a kindly wind, landed on the fourth day at the appointed harbour. with his crew he entered a land where an aspect of unbroken night checked the vicissitude of light and darkness. he could hardly see before him, but beheld a rock of enormous size. wishing to explore it, he told his companions, who were standing posted at the door, to strike a fire from flints as a timely safeguard against demons, and kindle it in the entrance. then he made others bear a light before him, and stooped his body through the narrow jaws of the cavern, where he beheld a number of iron seats among a swarm of gliding serpents. next there met his eye a sluggish mass of water gently flowing over a sandy bottom. he crossed this, and approached a cavern which sloped somewhat more steeply. again, after this, a foul and gloomy room was disclosed to the visitors, wherein they saw utgarda-loki, laden hand and foot with enormous chains. each of his reeking hairs was as large and stiff as a spear of cornel. thorkill (his companions lending a hand), in order that his deeds might gain more credit, plucked one of these from the chin of utgarda-loki, who suffered it. straightway such a noisome smell reached the bystanders, that they could not breathe without stopping their noses with their mantles. they could scarcely make their way out, and were bespattered by the snakes which darted at them on every side. only five of thorkill's company embarked with their captain: the poison killed the rest. the demons hung furiously over them, and cast their poisonous slaver from every side upon the men below them. but the sailors sheltered themselves with their hides, and cast back the venom that fell upon them. one man by chance at this point wished to peep out; the poison touched his head, which was taken off his neck as if it had been severed with a sword. another put his eyes out of their shelter, and when he brought them back under it they were blinded. another thrust forth his hand while unfolding his covering, and, when he withdrew his arm, it was withered by the virulence of the same slaver. they besought their deities to be kinder to them; vainly, until thorkill prayed to the god of the universe, and poured forth unto him libations as well as prayers; and thus, presently finding the sky even as before and the elements clear, he made a fair voyage. and now they seemed to behold another world, and the way towards the life of man. at last thorkill landed in germany, which had then been admitted to christianity; and among its people he began to learn how to worship god. his band of men were almost destroyed, because of the dreadful air they had breathed, and he returned to his country accompanied by two men only, who had escaped the worst. but the corrupt matter which smeared his face so disguised his person and original features that not even his friends knew him. but when he wiped off the filth, he made himself recognizable by those who saw him, and inspired the king with the greatest eagerness to hear about his quest. but the detraction of his rivals was not yet silenced; and some pretended that the king would die suddenly if he learnt thorkill's tidings. the king was the more disposed to credit this saying, because he was already credulous by reason of a dream which falsely prophesied the same thing. men were therefore hired by the king's command to slay thorkill in the night. but somehow he got wind of it, left his bed unknown to all, and put a heavy log in his place. by this he baffled the treacherous device of the king, for the hirelings smote only the stock. on the morrow thorkill went up to the king as he sat at meat, and said: "i forgive thy cruelty and pardon thy error, in that thou hast decreed punishment, and not thanks, to him who brings good tidings of his errand. for thy sake i have devoted my life to all these afflictions, and battered it in all these perils; i hoped that thou wouldst requite my services with much gratitude; and behold! i have found thee, and thee alone, punish my valour sharpliest. but i forbear all vengeance, and am satisfied with the shame within thy heart--if, after all, any shame visits the thankless--as expiation for this wrongdoing towards me. i have a right to surmise that thou art worse than all demons in fury, and all beasts in cruelty, if, after escaping the snares of all these monsters, i have failed to be safe from thine." the king desired to learn everything from thorkill's own lips; and, thinking it hard to escape destiny, bade him relate what had happened in due order. he listened eagerly to his recital of everything, till at last, when his own god was named, he could not endure him to be unfavourably judged. for he could not bear to hear utgarda-loki reproached with filthiness, and so resented his shameful misfortunes, that his very life could not brook such words, and he yielded it up in the midst of thorkill's narrative. thus, whilst he was so zealous in the worship of a false god, he came to find where the true prison of sorrows really was. moreover, the reek of the hair, which thorkill plucked from the locks of the giant to testify to the greatness of his own deeds, was exhaled upon the bystanders, so that many perished of it. after the death of gorm, gotrik his son came to the throne. he was notable not only for prowess but for generosity, and none can say whether his courage or his compassion was the greater. he so chastened his harshness with mercy, that he seemed to counterweigh the one with the other. at this time gaut, the king of norway, was visited by ber (biorn?) and ref, men of thule. gaut treated ref with attention and friendship, and presented him with a heavy bracelet. one of the courtiers, when he saw this, praised the greatness of the gift over-zealously, and declared that no one was equal to king gaut in kindliness. but ref, though he owed thanks for the benefit, could not approve the inflated words of this extravagant praiser, and said that gotrik was more generous than gaut. wishing to crush the empty boast of the flatterer, he chose rather to bear witness to the generosity of the absent than tickle with lies the vanity of his benefactor who was present. for another thing, he thought it somewhat more desirable to be charged with ingratitude than to support with his assent such idle and boastful praise, and also to move the king by the solemn truth than to beguile him with lying flatteries. but ulf persisted not only in stubbornly repeating his praises of the king, but in bringing them to the proof; and proposed their gainsayer a wager. with his consent ref went to denmark, and found gotrik seated in state, and dealing out the pay to his soldiers. when the king asked him who he was, he said that his name was "fox-cub" the answer filled some with mirth and some with marvel, and gotrik said, "yea, and it is fitting that a fox should catch his prey in his mouth." and thereupon he drew a bracelet from his arm, called the man to him, and put it between his lips. straightway ref put it upon his arm, which he displayed to them all adorned with gold, but the other arm he kept hidden as lacking ornament; for which shrewdness he received a gift equal to the first from that hand of matchless generosity. at this he was overjoyed, not so much because the reward was great, as because he had won his contention. and when the king learnt from him about the wager he had laid, he rejoiced that he had been lavish to him more by accident than of set purpose, and declared that he got more pleasure from the giving than the receiver from the gift. so ref returned to norway and slew his opponent, who refused to pay the wager. then he took the daughter of gaut captive, and brought her to gotrik for his own. gotrik, who is also called godefride, carried his arms against foreigners, and increased his strength and glory by his successful generalship. among his memorable deeds were the terms of tribute he imposed upon the saxons; namely, that whenever a change of kings occurred among the danes, their princes should devote a hundred snow-white horses to the new king on his accession. but if the saxons should receive a new chief upon a change in the succession, this chief was likewise to pay the aforesaid tribute obediently, and bow at the outset of his power to the sovereign majesty of denmark; thereby acknowledging the supremacy of our nation, and solemnly confessing his own subjection. nor was it enough for gotrik to subjugate germany: he appointed ref on a mission to try the strength of sweden. the swedes feared to slay him with open violence, but ventured to act like bandits, and killed him, as he slept, with the blow of a stone. for, hanging a millstone above him, they cut its fastenings, and let it drop upon his neck as he lay beneath. to expiate this crime it was decreed that each of the ringleaders should pay twelve golden talents, while each of the common people should pay gotrik one ounce. men called this "the fox-cub's tribute". (refsgild). meanwhile it befell that karl, king of the franks, crushed germany in war, and forced it not only to embrace the worship of christianity, but also to obey his authority. when gotrik heard of this, he attacked the nations bordering on the elbe, and attempted to regain under his sway as of old the realm of saxony, which eagerly accepted the yoke of karl, and preferred the roman to the danish arms. karl had at this time withdrawn his victorious camp beyond the rhine, and therefore forbore to engage the stranger enemy, being prevented by the intervening river. but when he was intending to cross once more to subdue the power of gotrik, he was summoned by leo the pope of the romans to defend the city. obeying this command, karl intrusted his son pepin with the conduct of the war against gotrik; so that while he himself was working against a distant foe, pepin might manage the conflict he had undertaken with his neighbour. for karl was distracted by two anxieties, and had to furnish sufficient out of a scanty band to meet both of them. meanwhile gotrik won a glorious victory over the saxons. then gathering new strength, and mustering a larger body of forces, he resolved to avenge the wrong he had suffered in losing his sovereignty, not only upon the saxons, but upon the whole people of germany. he began by subduing friesland with his fleet. this province lies very low, and whenever the fury of the ocean bursts the dykes that bar its waves, it is wont to receive the whole mass of the deluge over its open plains. on this country gotrik imposed a kind of tribute, which was not so much harsh as strange. i will briefly relate its terms and the manner of it. first, a building was arranged, two hundred and forty feet in length, and divided into twelve spaces; each of these stretching over an interval of twenty feet, and thus making together, when the whole room was exhausted, the aforesaid total. now at the upper end of this building sat the king's treasurer, and in a line with him at its further end was displayed a round shield. when the frisians came to pay tribute, they used to cast their coins one by one into the hollow of this shield; but only those coins which struck the ear of the distant toll-gatherer with a distinct clang were chosen by him, as he counted, to be reckoned among the royal tribute. the result was that the collector only reckoned that money towards the treasury of which his distant ear caught the sound as it fell. but that of which the sound was duller, and which fell out of his earshot, was received indeed into the treasury, but did not count as any increase to the sum paid. now many coins that were cast in struck with no audible loudness whatever on the collector's ear, so that men who came to pay their appointed toll sometimes squandered much of their money in useless tribute. karl is said to have freed them afterwards from the burden of this tax. after gotrik had crossed friesland, and karl had now come back from rome, gotrik determined to swoop down upon the further districts of germany, but was treacherously attacked by one of his own servants, and perished at home by the sword of a traitor. when karl heard this, he leapt up overjoyed, declaring that nothing more delightful had ever fallen to his lot than this happy chance. endnotes: ( ) furthest thule--the names of icelanders have thus crept into the account of a battle fought before the discovery of iceland. book nine. after gotrik's death reigned his son olaf; who, desirous to avenge his father, did not hesitate to involve his country in civil wars, putting patriotism after private inclination. when he perished, his body was put in a barrow, famous for the name of olaf, which was built up close by leire. he was succeeded by hemming, of whom i have found no deed worthy of record, save that he made a sworn peace with kaiser ludwig; and yet, perhaps, envious antiquity hides many notable deeds of his time, albeit they were then famous. after these men there came to the throne, backed by the skanians and zealanders, siward, surnamed ring. he was the son, born long ago, of the chief of norway who bore the same name, by gotrik's daughter. now ring, cousin of siward, and also a grandson of gotrik, was master of jutland. thus the power of the single kingdom was divided; and, as though its two parts were contemptible for their smallness, foreigners began not only to despise but to attack it. these siward assailed with greater hatred than he did his rival for the throne; and, preferring wars abroad to wars at home, he stubbornly defended his country against dangers for five years; for he chose to put up with a trouble at home that he might the more easily cure one which came from abroad. wherefore ring (desiring his) command, seized the opportunity, tried to transfer the whole sovereignty to himself, and did not hesitate to injure in his own land the man who was watching over it without; for he attacked the provinces in the possession of siward, which was an ungrateful requital for the defence of their common country. therefore, some of the zealanders who were more zealous for siward, in order to show him firmer loyalty in his absence, proclaimed his son ragnar as king, when he was scarcely dragged out of his cradle. not but what they knew he was too young to govern; yet they hoped that such a gage would serve to rouse their sluggish allies against ring. but, when ring heard that siward had meantime returned from his expedition, he attacked the zealanders with a large force, and proclaimed that they should perish by the sword if they did not surrender; but the zealanders, who were bidden to choose between shame and peril, were so few that they distrusted their strength, and requested a truce to consider the matter. it was granted; but, since it did not seem open to them to seek the favour of siward, nor honourable to embrace that of ring, they wavered long in perplexity between fear and shame. in this plight even the old were at a loss for counsel; but ragnar, who chanced to be present at the assembly, said: "the short bow shoots its shaft suddenly. though it may seem the hardihood of a boy that i venture to forestall the speech of the elders, yet i pray you to pardon my errors, and be indulgent to my unripe words. yet the counsellor of wisdom is not to be spurned, though he seem contemptible; for the teaching of profitable things should be drunk in with an open mind. now it is shameful that we should be branded as deserters and runaways, but it is just as foolhardy to venture above our strength; and thus there is proved to be equal blame either way. we must, then, pretend to go over to the enemy, but, when a chance comes in our way, we must desert him betimes. it will thus be better to forestall the wrath of our foe by reigned obedience than, by refusing it, to give him a weapon wherewith to attack us yet more harshly; for if we decline the sway of the stronger, are we not simply turning his arms against our own throat? intricate devices are often the best nurse of craft. you need cunning to trap a fox." by this sound counsel he dispelled the wavering of his countrymen, and strengthened the camp of the enemy to its own hurt. the assembly, marvelling at the eloquence as much as at the wit of one so young, gladly embraced a proposal of such genius, which they thought excellent beyond his years. nor were the old men ashamed to obey the bidding of a boy when they lacked counsel themselves; for, though it came from one of tender years, it was full, notwithstanding, of weighty and sound instruction. but they feared to expose their adviser to immediate peril, and sent him over to norway to be brought up. soon afterwards, siward joined battle with ring and attacked him. he slew ring, but himself received an incurable wound, of which he died a few days afterwards. he was succeeded on the throne by ragnar. at this time fro (frey?), the king of sweden, after slaying siward, the king of the norwegians, put the wives of siward's kinsfolk in bonds in a brothel, and delivered them to public outrage. when ragnar heard of this, he went to norway to avenge his grandfather. as he came, many of the matrons, who had either suffered insult to their persons or feared imminent peril to their chastity, hastened eagerly to his camp in male attire, declaring that they would prefer death to outrage. nor did ragnar, who was to punish this reproach upon the women, scorn to use against the author of the infamy the help of those whose shame he had come to avenge. among them was ladgerda, a skilled amazon, who, though a maiden, had the courage of a man, and fought in front among the bravest with her hair loose over her shoulders. all-marvelled at her matchless deeds, for her locks flying down her back betrayed that she was a woman. ragnar, when he had justly cut down the murderer of his grandfather, asked many questions of his fellow soldiers concerning the maiden whom he had seen so forward in the fray, and declared that he had gained the victory by the might of one woman. learning that she was of noble birth among the barbarians, he steadfastly wooed her by means of messengers. she spurned his mission in her heart, but feigned compliance. giving false answers, she made her panting wooer confident that he would gain his desires; but ordered that a bear and a dog should be set at the porch of her dwelling, thinking to guard her own room against all the ardour of a lover by means of the beasts that blocked the way. ragnar, comforted by the good news, embarked, crossed the sea, and, telling his men to stop in gaulardale, as the valley is called, went to the dwelling of the maiden alone. here the beasts met him, and he thrust one through with a spear, and caught the other by the throat, wrung its neck, and choked it. thus he had the maiden as the prize of the peril he had overcome. by this marriage he had two daughters, whose names have not come down to us, and a son fridleif. then he lived three years at peace. the jutlanders, a presumptuous race, thinking that because of his recent marriage he would never return, took the skanians into alliance, and tried to attack the zealanders, who preserved the most zealous and affectionate loyalty towards ragnar. he, when he heard of it, equipped thirty ships, and, the winds favouring his voyage, crushed the skanians, who ventured to fight, near the stead of whiteby, and when the winter was over he fought successfully with the jutlanders who dwelt near the liim-fjord in that region. a third and a fourth time he conquered the skanians and the hallanders triumphantly. afterwards, changing his love, and desiring thora, the daughter of the king herodd, to wife, ragnar divorced himself from ladgerda; for he thought ill of her trustworthiness, remembering that she had long ago set the most savage beasts to destroy him. meantime herodd, the king of the swedes, happening to go and hunt in the woods, brought home some snakes, found by his escort, for his daughter to rear. she speedily obeyed the instructions of her father, and endured to rear a race of adders with her maiden hands. moreover, she took care that they should daily have a whole ox-carcase to gorge upon, not knowing that she was privately feeding and keeping up a public nuisance. the vipers grew up, and scorched the country-side with their pestilential breath. whereupon the king, repenting of his sluggishness, proclaimed that whosoever removed the pest should have his daughter. many warriors were thereto attracted by courage as much as by desire; but all idly and perilously wasted their pains. ragnar, learning from men who travelled to and fro how the matter stood, asked his nurse for a woolen mantle, and for some thigh-pieces that were very hairy, with which he could repel the snake-bites. he thought that he ought to use a dress stuffed with hair to protect himself, and also took one that was not unwieldy, that he might move nimbly. and when he had landed in sweden, he deliberately plunged his body in water, while there was a frost falling, and, wetting his dress, to make it the less penetrable, he let the cold freeze it. thus attired, he took leave of his companions, exhorted them to remain loyal to fridleif, and went on to the palace alone. when he saw it, he tied his sword to his side, and lashed a spear to his right hand with a thong. as he went on, an enormous snake glided up and met him. another, equally huge, crawled up, following in the trail of the first. they strove now to buffet the young man with the coils of their tails, and now to spit and belch their venom stubbornly upon him. meantime the courtiers, betaking themselves to safer hiding, watched the struggle from afar like affrighted little girls. the king was stricken with equal fear, and fled, with a few followers, to a narrow shelter. but ragnar, trusting in the hardness of his frozen dress, foiled the poisonous assaults not only with his arms, but with his attire, and, singlehanded, in unweariable combat, stood up against the two gaping creatures, who stubbornly poured forth their venom upon him. for their teeth he repelled with his shield, their poison with his dress. at last he cast his spear, and drove it against the bodies of the brutes, who were attacking him hard. he pierced both their hearts, and his battle ended in victory. after ragnar had thus triumphed the king scanned his dress closely, and saw that he was rough and hairy; but, above all, he laughed at the shaggy lower portion of his garb, and chiefly the uncouth aspect of his breeches; so that he gave him in jest the nickname of lodbrog. also he invited him to feast with his friends, to refresh him after his labours. ragnar said that he would first go back to the witnesses whom he had left behind. he set out and brought them back, splendidly attired for the coming feast. at last, when the banquet was over, he received the prize that was appointed for the victory. by her he begot two nobly-gifted sons, radbard and dunwat. these also had brothers--siward, biorn, agnar, and iwar. meanwhile, the jutes and skanians were kindled with an unquenchable fire of sedition; they disallowed the title of ragnar, and gave a certain harald the sovereign power. ragnar sent envoys to norway, and besought friendly assistance against these men; and ladgerda, whose early love still flowed deep and steadfast, hastily sailed off with her husband and her son. she brought herself to offer a hundred and twenty ships to the man who had once put her away. and he, thinking himself destitute of all resources, took to borrowing help from folk of every age, crowded the strong and the feeble all together, and was not ashamed to insert some old men and boys among the wedges of the strong. so he first tried to crush the power of the skanians in the field which in latin is called laneus (woolly); here he had a hard fight with the rebels. here, too, iwar, who was in his seventh year, fought splendidly, and showed the strength of a man in the body of a boy. but siward, while attacking the enemy face to face, fell forward upon the ground wounded. when his men saw this, it made them look round most anxiously for means of flight; and this brought low not only siward, but almost the whole army on the side of ragnar. but ragnar by his manly deeds and exhortations comforted their amazed and sunken spirits, and, just when they were ready to be conquered, spurred them on to try and conquer. ladgerda, who had a matchless spirit though a delicate frame, covered by her splendid bravery the inclination of the soldiers to waver. for she made a sally about, and flew round to the rear of the enemy, taking them unawares, and thus turned the panic of her friends into the camp of the enemy. at last the lines of harald became slack, and harald himself was routed with a great slaughter of his men. ladgerda, when she had gone home after the battle, murdered her husband.... in the night with a spear-head, which she had hid in her gown. then she usurped the whole of his name and sovereignty; for this most presumptuous dame thought it pleasanter to rule without her husband than to share the throne with him. meantime, siward was taken to a town in the neighbourhood, and gave himself to be tended by the doctors, who were reduced to the depths of despair. but while the huge wound baffled all the remedies they applied, a certain man of amazing size was seen to approach the litter of the sick man, and promised that siward should straightway rejoice and be whole, if he would consecrate unto him the souls of all whom he should overcome in battle. nor did he conceal his name, but said that he was called rostar. now siward, when he saw that a great benefit could be got at the cost of a little promise, eagerly acceded to this request. then the old man suddenly, by the help of his hand, touched and banished the livid spot, and suddenly scarred the wound over. at last he poured dust on his eyes and departed. spots suddenly arose, and the dust, to the amaze of the beholders, seemed to become wonderfully like little snakes. i should think that he who did this miracle wished to declare, by the manifest token of his eyes, that the young man was to be cruel in future, in order that the more visible part of his body might not lack some omen of his life that was to follow. when the old woman, who had the care of his draughts, saw him showing in his face signs of little snakes; she was seized with an extraordinary horror of the young man, and suddenly fell and swooned away. hence it happened that siward got the widespread name of snake-eye. meantime thora, the bride of ragnar, perished of a violent malady, which caused infinite trouble and distress to the husband, who dearly loved his wife. this distress, he thought, would be best dispelled by business, and he resolved to find solace in exercise and qualify his grief by toil. to banish his affliction and gain some comfort, he bent his thoughts to warfare, and decreed that every father of a family should devote to his service whichever of his children he thought most contemptible, or any slave of his who was lazy at his work or of doubtful fidelity. and albeit that this decree seemed little fitted for his purpose, he showed that the feeblest of the danish race were better than the strongest men of other nations; and it did the young men great good, each of those chosen being eager to wipe off the reproach of indolence. also he enacted that every piece of litigation should be referred to the judgment of twelve chosen elders, all ordinary methods of action being removed, the accuser being forbidden to charge, and the accused to defend. this law removed all chance of incurring litigation lightly. thinking that there was thus sufficient provision made against false accusations by unscrupulous men, he lifted up his arms against britain, and attacked and slew in battle its king, hame, the father of ella, who was a most noble youth. then he killed the earls of scotland and of pictland, and of the isles that they call the southern or meridional (sudr-eyar), and made his sons siward and radbard masters of the provinces, which were now without governors. he also deprived norway of its chief by force, and commanded it to obey fridleif, whom he also set over the orkneys, from which he took their own earl. meantime, some of the danes who were most stubborn in their hatred against ragnar were obstinately bent on rebellion. they rallied to the side of harald, once an exile, and tried to raise the fallen fortunes of the tyrant. by this hardihood they raised up against the king the most virulent blasts of civil war, and entangled him in domestic perils when he was free from foreign troubles. ragnar, setting out to check them with a fleet of the danes who lived in the isles, crushed the army of the rebels, drove harald, the leader of the conquered army, a fugitive to germany, and forced him to resign unbashfully an honour which he had gained without scruple. nor was he content simply to kill his prisoners: he preferred to torture them to death, so that those who could not be induced to forsake their disloyalty might not be so much as suffered to give up the ghost save under the most grievous punishment. moreover, the estates of those who had deserted with harald he distributed among those who were serving as his soldiers, thinking that the fathers would be worse punished by seeing the honour of their inheritance made over to the children whom they had rejected, while those whom they had loved better lost their patrimony. but even this did not sate his vengeance, and he further determined to attack saxony, thinking it the refuge of his foes and the retreat of harald. so, begging his sons to help him, he came on karl, who happened then to be tarrying on those borders of his empire. intercepting his sentries, he eluded the watch that was posted on guard. but while he thought that all the rest would therefore be easy and more open to his attacks, suddenly a woman who was a soothsayer, a kind of divine oracle or interpreter of the will of heaven, warned the king with a saving prophecy, and by her fortunate presage forestalled the mischief that impended, saying that the fleet of siward had moored at the mouth of the river seine. the emperor, heeding the warning, and understanding that the enemy was at hand, managed to engage with and stop the barbarians, who were thus pointed out to him. a battle was fought with ragnar; but karl did not succeed as happily in the field as he had got warning of the danger. and so that tireless conqueror of almost all europe, who in his calm and complete career of victory had travelled over so great a portion of the world, now beheld his army, which had vanquished all these states and nations, turning its face from the field, and shattered by a handful from a single province. ragnar, after loading the saxons with tribute, had sure tidings from sweden of the death of herodd, and also heard that his own sons, owing to the slander of sorle, the king chosen in his stead, had been robbed of their inheritance. he besought the aid of the brothers biorn, fridleif, and ragbard (for ragnald, hwitserk, and erik, his sons by swanloga, had not yet reached the age of bearing arms), and went to sweden. sorle met him with his army, and offered him the choice between a public conflict and a duel; and when ragnar chose personal combat, he sent against him starkad, a champion of approved daring, with his band of seven sons, to challenge and fight with him. ragnar took his three sons to share the battle with him, engaged in the sight of both armies, and came out of the combat triumphant. biorn, having inflicted great slaughter on the foe without hurt to himself, gained from the strength of his sides, which were like iron, a perpetual name (ironsides). this victory emboldened ragnar to hope that he could overcome any peril, and he attacked and slew sorle with the entire forces he was leading. he presented biorn with the lordship of sweden for his conspicuous bravery and service. then for a little interval he rested from wars, and chanced to fall deeply in love with a certain woman. in order to find some means of approaching and winning her the more readily, he courted her father (esbern) by showing him the most obliging and attentive kindness. he often invited him to banquets, and received him with lavish courtesy. when he came, he paid him the respect of rising, and when he sat, he honoured him with a set next to himself. he also often comforted him with gifts, and at times with the most kindly speech. the man saw that no merits of his own could be the cause of all this distinction, and casting over the matter every way in his mind, he perceived that the generosity of his monarch was caused by his love for his daughter, and that he coloured this lustful purpose with the name of kindness. but, that he might balk the cleverness of the lover, however well calculated, he had the girl watched all the more carefully that he saw her beset by secret aims and obstinate methods. but ragnar, who was comforted by the surest tidings of her consent, went to the farmhouse in which she was kept, and fancying that love must find out a way, repaired alone to a certain peasant in a neighbouring lodging. in the morning he exchanged dress with the women, and went in female attire, and stood by his mistress as she was unwinding wool. cunningly, to avoid betrayal, he set his hands to the work of a maiden, though they were little skilled in the art. in the night he embraced the maiden and gained his desire. when her time drew near, and the girl growing big, betrayed her outraged chastity, the father, not knowing to whom his daughter had given herself to be defiled, persisted in asking the girl herself who was the unknown seducer. she steadfastly affirmed that she had had no one to share her bed except her handmaid, and he made the affair over to the king to search into. he would not allow an innocent servant to be branded with an extraordinary charge, and was not ashamed to prove another's innocence by avowing his own guilt. by this generosity he partially removed the woman's reproach, and prevented an absurd report from being sown in the ears of the wicked. also he added, that the son to be born of her was of his own line, and that he wished him to be named ubbe. when this son had grown up somewhat, his wit, despite his tender years, equalled the discernment of manhood. for he took to loving his mother, since she had had converse with a noble bed, but cast off all respect for his father, because he had stooped to a union too lowly. after this ragnar prepared an expedition against the hellespontines, and summoned an assembly of the danes, promising that he would give the people most wholesome laws. he had enacted before that each father of a household should offer for service that one among his sons whom he esteemed least; but now he enacted that each should arm the son who was stoutest of hand or of most approved loyalty. thereon, taking all the sons he had by thora, in addition to ubbe, he attacked, crushed in sundry campaigns, and subdued the hellespont with its king dia. at last he involved the same king in disaster after disaster, and slew him. dia's sons, dia and daxo, who had before married the daughters of the russian king, begged forces from their father-in-law, and rushed with most ardent courage to the work of avenging their father. but ragnar, when he saw their boundless army, distrusted his own forces; and he put brazen horses on wheels that could be drawn easily, took them round on carriages that would turn, and ordered that they should be driven with the utmost force against the thickest ranks of the enemy. this device served so well to break the line of the foe, that the danes' hope of conquest seemed to lie more in the engine than in the soldiers: for its insupportable weight overwhelmed whatever it struck. thus one of the leaders was killed, while one made off in flight, and the whole army of the area of the hellespont retreated. the scythians, also, who were closely related by blood to daxo on the mother's side, are said to have been crushed in the same disaster. their province was made over to hwitserk, and the king of the russians, trusting little in his own strength, hastened to fly out of the reach of the terrible arms of ragnar. now ragnar had spent almost five years in sea-roving, and had quickly compelled all other nations to submit; but he found the perms in open defiance of his sovereignty. he had just conquered them, but their loyalty was weak. when they heard that he had come they cast spells upon the sky, stirred up the clouds, and drove them into most furious storms. this for some time prevented the danes from voyaging, and caused their supply of food to fail. then, again, the storm suddenly abated, and now they were scorched by the most fervent and burning heat; nor was this plague any easier to bear than the great and violent cold had been. thus the mischievous excess in both directions affected their bodies alternately, and injured them by an immoderate increase first of cold and then of heat. moreover, dysentery killed most of them. so the mass of the danes, being pent in by the dangerous state of the weather, perished of the bodily plague that arose on every side. and when ragnar saw that he was hindered, not so much by a natural as by a factitious tempest, he held on his voyage as best he could, and got to the country of the kurlanders and sembs, who paid zealous honour to his might and majesty, as if he were the most revered of conquerors. this service enraged the king all the more against the arrogance of the men of permland, and he attempted to avenge his slighted dignity by a sudden attack. their king, whose name is not known, was struck with panic at such a sudden invasion of the enemy, and at the same time had no heart to join battle with them; and fled to matul, the prince of finmark. he, trusting in the great skill of his archers, harassed with impunity the army of ragnar, which was wintering in permland. for the finns, who are wont to glide on slippery timbers (snowskates), scud along at whatever pace they will, and are considered to be able to approach or depart very quickly; for as soon as they have damaged the enemy they fly away as speedily as they approach, nor is the retreat they make quicker than their charge. thus their vehicles and their bodies are so nimble that they acquire the utmost expertness both in advance and flight. ragnar was filled with amazement at the poorness of his fortunes when he saw that he, who had conquered rome at its pinnacle of power, was dragged by an unarmed and uncouth race into the utmost peril. he, therefore, who had signally crushed the most glorious flower of the roman soldiery, and the forces of a most great and serene captain, now yielded to a base mob with the poorest and slenderest equipment; and he whose lustre in war the might of the strongest race on earth had failed to tarnish, was now too weak to withstand the tiny band of a miserable tribe. hence, with that force which had helped him bravely to defeat the most famous pomp in all the world and the weightiest weapon of military power, and to subdue in the field all that thunderous foot, horse, and encampment; with this he had now, stealthily and like a thief, to endure the attacks of a wretched and obscure populace; nor must he blush to stain by a treachery in the night that noble glory of his which had been won in the light of day, for he took to a secret ambuscade instead of open bravery. this affair was as profitable in its issue as it was unhandsome in the doing. ragnar was equally as well pleased at the flight of the finns as he had been at that of karl, and owned that he had found more strength in that defenceless people than in the best equipped soldiery; for he found the heaviest weapons of the romans easier to bear than the light darts of this ragged tribe. here, after killing the king of the perms and routing the king of the finns, ragnar set an eternal memorial of his victory on the rocks, which bore the characters of his deeds on their face, and looked down upon them. meanwhile ubbe was led by his grandfather, esbern, to conceive an unholy desire for the throne; and, casting away all thought of the reverence due to his father, he claimed the emblem of royalty for his own head. when ragnar heard of his arrogance from kelther and thorkill, the earls of sweden, he made a hasty voyage towards gothland. esbern, finding that these men were attached with a singular loyalty to the side of ragnar, tried to bribe them to desert the king. but they did not swerve from their purpose, and replied that their will depended on that of biorn, declaring that not a single swede would dare to do what went against his pleasure. esbern speedily made an attempt on biorn himself, addressing him most courteously through his envoys. biorn said that he would never lean more to treachery than to good faith, and judged that it would be a most abominable thing to prefer the favour of an infamous brother to the love of a most righteous father. the envoys themselves he punished with hanging, because they counselled him to so grievous a crime. the swedes, moreover, slew the rest of the train of the envoys in the same way, as a punishment for their mischievous advice. so esbern, thinking that his secret and stealthy manoeuvres did not succeed fast enough, mustered his forces openly, and went publicly forth to war. but iwar, the governor of jutland, seeing no righteousness on either side of the impious conflict, avoided all unholy war by voluntary exile. ragnar attacked and slew esbern in the bay that is called in latin viridis; he cut off the dead man's head and bade it be set upon the ship's prow, a dreadful sight for the seditious. but ubbe took to flight, and again attacked his father, having revived the war in zealand. ubbe's ranks broke, and he was assailed single-handed from all sides; but he felled so many of the enemy's line that he was surrounded with a pile of the corpses of the foe as with a strong bulwark, and easily checked his assailants from approaching. at last he was overwhelmed by the thickening masses of the enemy, captured, and taken off to be laden with public fetters. by immense violence he disentangled his chains and cut them away. but when he tried to sunder and rend the bonds that were (then) put upon him, he could not in any wise escape his bars. but when iwar heard that the rising in his country had been quelled by the punishment of the rebel, he went to denmark. ragnar received him with the greatest honour, because, while the unnatural war had raged its fiercest, he had behaved with the most entire filial respect. meanwhile daxo long and vainly tried to overcome hwitserk, who ruled over sweden; but at last he enrapped him under pretence of making a peace, and attacked him. hwitserk received him hospitably, but daxo had prepared an army with weapons, who were to feign to be trading, ride into the city in carriages, and break with a night-attack into the house of their host. hwitserk smote this band of robbers with such a slaughter that he was surrounded with a heap of his enemies' bodies, and could only be taken by letting down ladders from above. twelve of his companions, who were captured at the same time by the enemy, were given leave to go back to their country; but they gave up their lives for their king, and chose to share the dangers of another rather than be quit of their own. daxo, moved with compassion at the beauty of hwitserk, had not the heart to pluck the budding blossom of that noble nature, and offered him not only his life, but his daughter in marriage, with a dowry of half his kingdom; choosing rather to spare his comeliness than to punish his bravery. but the other, in the greatness of his soul, valued as nothing the life which he was given on sufferance, and spurned his safety as though it were some trivial benefit. of his own will he embraced the sentence of doom, saying, that ragnar would exact a milder vengeance for his son if he found that he had made his own choice in selecting the manner of his death. the enemy wondered at his rashness, and promised that he should die by the manner of death which he should choose for this punishment. this leave the young man accepted as a great kindness, and begged that he might be bound and burned with his friends. daxo speedily complied with his prayers that craved for death, and by way of kindness granted him the end that he had chosen. when ragnar heard of this, he began to grieve stubbornly even unto death, and not only put on the garb of mourning, but, in the exceeding sorrow of his soul, took to his bed and showed his grief by groaning. but his wife, who had more than a man's courage, chid his weakness, and put heart into him with her manful admonitions. drawing his mind off from his woe, she bade him be zealous in the pursuit of war; declaring that it was better for so brave a father to avenge the bloodstained ashes of his son with weapons than with tears. she also told him not to whimper like a woman, and get as much disgrace by his tears as he had once earned glory by his valour. upon these words ragnar began to fear lest he should destroy his ancient name for courage by his womanish sorrow; so, shaking off his melancholy garb and putting away his signs of mourning, he revived his sleeping valour with hopes of speedy vengeance. thus do the weak sometimes nerve the spirits of the strong. so he put his kingdom in charge of iwar, and embraced with a father's love ubbe, who was now restored to his ancient favour. then he transported his fleet over to russia, took daxo, bound him in chains, and sent him away to be kept in utgard. ( ) ragnar showed on this occasion the most merciful moderation towards the slayer of his dearest son, since he sufficiently satisfied the vengeance which he desired, by the exile of the culprit rather than his death. this compassion shamed the russians out of any further rage against such a king, who could not be driven even by the most grievous wrongs to inflict death upon his prisoners. ragnar soon took daxo back into favour, and restored him to his country, upon his promising that he would every year pay him his tribute barefoot, like a suppliant, with twelve elders, also unshod. for he thought it better to punish a prisoner and a suppliant gently, than to draw the axe of bloodshed; better to punish that proud neck with constant slavery than to sever it once and for all. then he went on and appointed his son erik, surnamed wind-hat, over sweden. here, while fridleif and siward were serving under him, he found that the norwegians and the scots had wrongfully conferred the title of king on two other men. so he first overthrew the usurper to the power of norway, and let biorn have the country for his own benefit. then he summoned biorn and erik, ravaged the orkneys, landed at last on the territory of the scots, and in a three-days' battle wearied out their king murial, and slew him. but ragnar's sons, dunwat and radbard, after fighting nobly, were slain by the enemy. so that the victory their father won was stained with their blood. he returned to denmark, and found that his wife swanloga had in the meantime died of disease. straightway he sought medicine for his grief in loneliness, and patiently confined the grief of his sick soul within the walls of his house. but this bitter sorrow was driven out of him by the sudden arrival of iwar, who had been expelled from the kingdom. for the gauls had made him fly, and had wrongfully bestowed royal power on a certain ella, the son of hame. ragnar took iwar to guide him, since he was acquainted with the country, gave orders for a fleet, and approached the harbour called york. here he disembarked his forces, and after a battle which lasted three days, he made ella, who had trusted in the valour of the gauls, desirous to fly. the affair cost much blood to the english and very little to the danes. here ragnar completed a year of conquest, and then, summoning his sons to help him, he went to ireland, slew its king melbrik, besieged dublin, which was filled with wealth of the barbarians, attacked it, and received its surrender. there he lay in camp for a year; and then, sailing through the midland sea, he made his way to the hellespont. he won signal victories as he crossed all the intervening countries, and no ill-fortune anywhere checked his steady and prosperous advance. harald, meanwhile, with the adherence of certain danes who were cold-hearted servants in the army of ragnar, disturbed his country with renewed sedition, and came forward claiming the title of king. he was met by the arms of ragnar returning from the hellespont; but being unsuccessful, and seeing that his resources of defence at home were exhausted, he went to ask help of ludwig, who was then stationed at mainz. but ludwig, filled with the greatest zeal for promoting his religion, imposed a condition on the barbarian, promising him help if he would agree to follow the worship of christ. for he said there could be no agreement of hearts between those who embraced discordant creeds. anyone, therefore, who asked for help, must first have a fellowship in religion. no men could be partners in great works who were separated by a different form of worship. this decision procured not only salvation for ludwig's guest, but the praise of piety for ludwig himself, who, as soon as harald had gone to the holy font, accordingly strengthened him with saxon auxiliaries. trusting in these, harald built a temple in the land of sleswik with much care and cost, to be hallowed to god. thus he borrowed a pattern of the most holy way from the worship of rome. he unhallowed, pulled down the shrines that had been profaned by the error of misbelievers, outlawed the sacrificers, abolished the (heathen) priesthood, and was the first to introduce the religion of christianity to his uncouth country. rejecting the worship of demons, he was zealous for that of god. lastly, he observed with the most scrupulous care whatever concerned the protection of religion. but he began with more piety than success. for ragnar came up, outraged the holy rites he had brought in, outlawed the true faith, restored the false one to its old position, and bestowed on the ceremonies the same honour as before. as for harald, he deserted and cast in his lot with sacrilege. for though he was a notable ensample by his introduction of religion, yet he was the first who was seen to neglect it, and this illustrious promoter of holiness proved a most infamous forsaker of the same. meanwhile, ella betook himself to the irish, and put to the sword or punished all those who were closely and loyally attached to ragnar. then ragnar attacked him with his fleet, but, by the just visitation of the omnipotent, was openly punished for disparaging religion. for when he had been taken and cast into prison, his guilty limbs were given to serpents to devour, and adders found ghastly substance in the fibres of his entrails. his liver was eaten away, and a snake, like a deadly executioner, beset his very heart. then in a courageous voice he recounted all his deeds in order, and at the end of his recital added the following sentence: "if the porkers knew the punishment of the boar-pig, surely they would break into the sty and hasten to loose him from his affliction." at this saying, ella conjectured that some of his sons were yet alive, and bade that the executioners should stop and the vipers be removed. the servants ran up to accomplish his bidding; but ragnar was dead, and forestalled the order of the king. surely we must say that this man had a double lot for his share? by one, he had a fleet unscathed, an empire well-inclined, and immense power as a rover; while the other inflicted on him the ruin of his fame, the slaughter of his soldiers, and a most bitter end. the executioner beheld him beset with poisonous beasts, and asps gorging on that heart which he had borne steadfast in the face of every peril. thus a most glorious conqueror declined to the piteous lot of a prisoner; a lesson that no man should put too much trust in fortune. iwar heard of this disaster as he happened to be looking on at the games. nevertheless, he kept an unmoved countenance, and in nowise broke down. not only did he dissemble his grief and conceal the news of his father's death, but he did not even allow a clamour to arise, and forbade the panic-stricken people to leave the scene of the sports. thus, loth to interrupt the spectacle by the ceasing of the games, he neither clouded his countenance nor turned his eyes from public merriment to dwell upon his private sorrow; for he would not fall suddenly into the deepest melancholy from the height of festal joy, or seem to behave more like an afflicted son than a blithe captain. but when siward heard the same tidings, he loved his father more than he cared for his own pain, and in his distraction plunged deeply into his foot the spear he chanced to be holding, dead to all bodily troubles in his stony sadness. for he wished to hurt some part of his body severely, that he might the more patiently bear the wound in his soul. by this act he showed at once his bravery and his grief, and bore his lot like a son who was more afflicted and steadfast. but biorn received the tidings of his father's death while he was playing at dice, and squeezed so violently the piece that he was grasping that he wrung the blood from his fingers and shed it on the table; whereon he said that assuredly the cast of fate was more fickle than that of the very die which he was throwing. when ella heard this, he judged that his father's death had been borne with the toughest and most stubborn spirit by that son of the three who had paid no filial respect to his decease; and therefore he dreaded the bravery of iwar most. iwar went towards england, and when he saw that his fleet was not strong enough to join battle with the enemy, he chose to be cunning rather than bold, and tried a shrewd trick on ella, begging as a pledge of peace between them a strip of land as great as he could cover with a horse's hide. he gained his request, for the king supposed that it would cost little, and thought himself happy that so strong a foe begged for a little boon instead of a great one; supposing that a tiny skin would cover but a very little land. but iwar cut the hide out and lengthened it into very slender thongs, thus enclosing a piece of ground large enough to build a city on. then ella came to repent of his lavishness, and tardily set to reckoning the size of the hide, measuring the little skin more narrowly now that it was cut up than when it was whole. for that which he had thought would encompass a little strip of ground, he saw lying wide over a great estate. iwar brought into the city, when he founded it, supplies that would serve amply for a siege, wishing the defences to be as good against scarcity as against an enemy. meantime, siward and biorn came up with a fleet of ships, and with open challenge declared war against the king. this they did at the appointed time; and when they had captured him, they ordered the figure of an eagle to be cut in his back, rejoicing to crush their most ruthless foe by marking him with the cruellest of birds. not satisfied with imprinting a wound on him, they salted the mangled flesh. thus ella was done to death, and biorn and siward went back to their own kingdoms. iwar governed england for two years. meanwhile the danes were stubborn in revolt, and made war, and delivered the sovereignty publicly to a certain siward and to erik, both of the royal line. the sons of ragnar, together with a fleet of , ships, attacked them at sleswik, and destroyed them in a conflict which lasted six months. barrows remain to tell the tale. the sound on which the war was conducted has gained equal glory by the death of siward. and now the royal stock was almost extinguished, saving only the sons of ragnar. then, when biorn and erik had gone home, iwar and siward settled in denmark, that they might curb the rebels with a stronger rein, setting agnar to govern england. agnar was stung because the english rejected him, and, with the help of siward, chose, rather than foster the insolence of the province that despised him, to dispeople it and leave its fields, which were matted in decay, with none to till them. he covered the richest land of the island with the most hideous desolation, thinking it better to be lord of a wilderness than of a headstrong country. after this he wished to avenge erik, who had been slain in sweden by the malice of a certain osten. but while he was narrowly bent on avenging another, he squandered his own blood on the foe; and while he was eagerly trying to punish the slaughter of his brother, sacrificed his own life to brotherly love. thus siward, by the sovereign vote of the whole danish assembly, received the empire of his father. but after the defeats he had inflicted everywhere he was satisfied with the honour he received at home, and liked better to be famous with the gown than with the sword. he ceased to be a man of camps, and changed from the fiercest of despots into the most punctual guardian of peace. he found as much honour in ease and leisure as he had used to think lay in many victories. fortune so favoured his change of pursuits, that no foe ever attacked him, nor he any foe. he died, and erik, who was a very young child, inherited his nature, rather than his realm or his tranquillity. for erik, the brother of harald, despising his exceedingly tender years, invaded the country with rebels, and seized the crown; nor was he ashamed to assail the lawful infant sovereign, and to assume an unrightful power. in thus bringing himself to despoil a feeble child of the kingdom he showed himself the more unworthy of it. thus he stripped the other of his throne, but himself of all his virtues, and cast all manliness out of his heart, when he made war upon a cradle: for where covetousness and ambition flamed, love of kindred could find no place. but this brutality was requited by the wrath of a divine vengeance. for the war between this man and gudorm, the son of harald, ended suddenly with such slaughter that they were both slain, with numberless others; and the royal stock of the danes, now worn out by the most terrible massacres, was reduced to the only son of the above siward. this man (erik) won the fortune of a throne by losing his kindred; it was luckier for him to have his relations dead than alive. he forsook the example of all the rest, and hastened to tread in the steps of his grandfather; for he suddenly came out as a most zealous practitioner of roving. and would that he had not shown himself rashly to inherit the spirit of ragnar, by his abolition of christian worship! for he continually tortured all the most religious men, or stripped them of their property and banished them. but it were idle for me to blame the man's beginnings when i am to praise his end. for that life is more laudable of which the foul beginning is checked by a glorious close, than that which begins commendably but declines into faults and infamies. for erik, upon the healthy admonitions of ansgarius, laid aside the errors of his impious heart, and atoned for whatsoever he had done amiss in the insolence thereof; showing himself as strong in the observance of religion as he had been in slighting it. thus he not only took a draught of more wholesome teaching with obedient mind, but wiped off early stains by his purity at the end. he had a son kanute by the daughter of gudorm, who was also the granddaughter of harald; and him he left to survive his death. while this child remained in infancy a guardian was required for the pupil and for the realm. but inasmuch it seemed to most people either invidious or difficult to give the aid that this office needed, it was resolved that a man should be chosen by lot. for the wisest of the danes, fearing much to make a choice by their own will in so lofty a matter, allowed more voice to external chance than to their own opinions, and entrusted the issue of the selection rather to luck than to sound counsel. the issue was that a certain enni-gnup (steep-brow), a man of the highest and most entire virtue, was forced to put his shoulder to this heavy burden; and when he entered on the administration which chalice had decreed, he oversaw, not only the early rearing of the king, but the affairs of the whole people. for which reason some who are little versed in our history give this man a central place in its annals. but when kanute had passed through the period of boyhood, and had in time grown to be a man, he left those who had done him the service of bringing him up, and turned from an almost hopeless youth to the practice of unhoped-for virtue; being deplorable for this reason only, that he passed from life to death without the tokens of the christian faith. but soon the sovereignty passed to his son frode. this man's fortune, increased by arms and warfare, rose to such a height of prosperity that he brought back to the ancient yoke the provinces which had once revolted from the danes, and bound them in their old obedience. he also came forward to be baptised with holy water in england, which had for some while past been versed in christianity. but he desired that his personal salvation should overflow and become general, and begged that denmark should be instructed in divinity by agapete, who was then pope of rome. but he was cut off before his prayers attained this wish. his death befell before the arrival of the messengers from rome: and indeed his intention was better than his fortune, and he won as great a reward in heaven for his intended piety as others are vouchsafed for their achievement. his son gorm, who had the surname of "the englishman," because he was born in england, gained the sovereignty in the island on his father's death; but his fortune, though it came soon, did not last long. he left england for denmark to put it in order; but a long misfortune was the fruit of this short absence. for the english, who thought that their whole chance of freedom lay in his being away, planned an open revolt from the danes, and in hot haste took heart to rebel. but the greater the hatred and contempt of england, the greater the loyal attachment of denmark to the king. thus while he stretched out his two hands to both provinces in his desire for sway, he gained one, but lost the lordship of the other irretrievably; for he never made any bold effort to regain it. so hard is it to keep a hold on very large empires. after this man his son harald came to be king of denmark; he is half-forgotten by posterity, and lacks all record for famous deeds, because he rather preserved than extended the possessions of the realm. after this the throne was obtained by gorm, a man whose soul was ever hostile to religion, and who tried to efface all regard for christ's worshippers, as though they were the most abominable of men. all those who shared this rule of life he harassed with divers kinds of injuries and incessantly pursued with whatever slanders he could. also, in order to restore the old worship to the shrines, he razed to its lowest foundations, as though it were some unholy abode of impiety, a temple which religious men had founded in a stead in sleswik; and those whom he did not visit with tortures he punished by the demolition of the holy chapel. though this man was thought notable for his stature, his mind did not answer to his body; for he kept himself so well sated with power that he rejoiced more in saving than increasing his dignity, and thought it better to guard his own than to attack what belonged to others: caring more to look to what he had than to swell his havings. this man was counselled by the elders to celebrate the rites of marriage, and he wooed thyra, the daughter of ethelred, the king of the english, for his wife. she surpassed other women in seriousness and shrewdness, and laid the condition on her suitor that she would not marry him till she had received denmark as a dowry. this compact was made between them, and she was betrothed to gorm. but on the first night that she went up on to the marriage-bed, she prayed her husband most earnestly that she should be allowed to go for three days free from intercourse with man. for she resolved to have no pleasure of love till she had learned by some omen in a vision that her marriage would be fruitful. thus, under pretence of self-control, she deferred her experience of marriage, and veiled under a show of modesty her wish to learn about her issue. she put off lustful intercourse, inquiring, under the feint of chastity, into the fortune she would have in continuing her line. some conjecture that she refused the pleasures of the nuptial couch in order to win her mate over to christianity by her abstinence. but the youth, though he was most ardently bent on her love, yet chose to regard the continence of another more than his own desires, and thought it nobler to control the impulses of the night than to rebuff the prayers of his weeping mistress; for he thought that her beseechings, really coming from calculation, had to do with modesty. thus it befell that he who should have done a husband's part made himself the guardian of her chastity so that the reproach of an infamous mind should not be his at the very beginning of his marriage; as though he had yielded more to the might of passion than to his own self-respect. moreover that he might not seem to forestall by his lustful embraces the love which the maiden would not grant, he not only forbore to let their sides that were next one another touch, but even severed them by his drawn sword, and turned the bed into a divided shelter for his bride and himself. but he soon tasted in the joyous form of a dream the pleasure which he postponed from free loving kindness. for, when his spirit was steeped in slumber, he thought that two birds glided down from the privy parts of his wife, one larger than the other; that they poised their bodies aloft and soared swiftly to heaven, and, when a little time had elapsed, came back and sat on either of his hands. a second, and again a third time, when they had been refreshed by a short rest, they ventured forth to the air with outspread wings. at last the lesser of them came back without his fellow, and with wings smeared with blood. he was amazed with this imagination, and, being in a deep sleep, uttered a cry to betoken his astonishment, filling the whole house with an uproarious shout. when his servants questioned him, he related his vision; and thyra, thinking that she would be blest with offspring, forbore her purpose to put off her marriage, eagerly relaxing the chastity for which she had so hotly prayed. exchanging celibacy for love, she granted her husband full joy of herself, requiting his virtuous self-restraint with the fulness of permitted intercourse, and telling him that she would not have married him at all, had she not inferred from these images in the dream which he had related, the certainty of her being fruitful. by a device as cunning as it was strange, thyra's pretended modesty passed into an acknowledgment of her future offspring. nor did fate disappoint her hopes. soon she was the fortunate mother of kanute and harald. when these princes had attained man's estate, they put forth a fleet and quelled the reckless insolence of the sclavs. neither did they leave england free from an attack of the same kind. ethelred was delighted with their spirit, and rejoiced at the violence his nephews offered him; accepting an abominable wrong as though it were the richest of benefits. for he saw far more merit in their bravery than in piety. thus he thought it nobler to be attacked by foes than courted by cowards, and felt that he saw in their valiant promise a sample of their future manhood. for he could not doubt that they would some day attack foreign realms, since they so boldly claimed those of their mother. he so much preferred their wrongdoing to their service, that he passed over his daughter, and bequeathed england in his will to these two, not scrupling to set the name of grandfather before that of father. nor was he unwise; for he knew that it beseemed men to enjoy the sovereignty rather than women, and considered that he ought to separate the lot of his unwarlike daughter from that of her valiant sons. hence thyra saw her sons inheriting the goods of her father, not grudging to be disinherited herself. for she thought that the preference above herself was honourable to her, rather than insulting. kanute and harald enriched themselves with great gains from sea-roving, and most confidently aspired to lay hands on ireland. dublin, which was considered the capital of the country, was beseiged. its king went into a wood adjoining the city with a few very skilled archers, and with treacherous art surrounded kanute (who was present with a great throng of soldiers witnessing the show of the games by night), and aimed a deadly arrow at him from afar. it struck the body of the king in front, and pierced him with a mortal wound. but kanute feared that the enemy would greet his peril with an outburst of delight. he therefore wished his disaster to be kept dark; and summoning voice with his last breath, he ordered the games to be gone through without disturbance. by this device he made the danes masters of ireland ere he made his own death known to the irish. who would not bewail the end of such a man, whose self-mastery served to give the victory to his soldiers, by reason of the wisdom that outlasted his life? for the safety of the danes was most seriously endangered, and was nearly involved in the most deadly peril; yet because they obeyed the dying orders of their general they presently triumphed over those they feared. germ had now reached the extremity of his days, having been blind for many years, and had prolonged his old age to the utmost bounds of the human lot, being more anxious for the life and prosperity of his sons than for the few days he had to breathe. but so great was his love for his elder son that he swore that he would slay with his own hand whosoever first brought him news of his death. as it chanced, thyra heard sure tidings that this son had perished. but when no man durst openly hint this to germ, she fell back on her cunning to defend her, and revealed by her deeds the mischance which she durst not speak plainly out. for she took the royal robes off her husband and dressed him in filthy garments, bringing him other signs of grief also, to explain the cause of her mourning; for the ancients were wont to use such things in the performance of obsequies, bearing witness by their garb to the bitterness of their sorrow. then said germ: "dost thou declare to me the death of kanute?" ( ) and thyra said: "that is proclaimed by thy presage, not by mine." by this answer she made out her lord a dead man and herself a widow, and had to lament her husband as soon as her son. thus, while she announced the fate of her son to her husband, she united them in death, and followed the obsequies of both with equal mourning; shedding the tears of a wife upon the one and of a mother upon the other; though at that moment she ought to have been cheered with comfort rather than crushed with disasters. endnotes: ( ) utgard. saxo, rationalising as usual, turns the mythical home of the giants into some terrestrial place in his vaguely-defined eastern europe. ( ) kanute. here the vernacular is far finer. the old king notices "denmark is drooping, dead must my son be!", puts on the signs of mourning, and dies. this etext is a typo-corrected version of shakespeare's hamlet, project gutenberg file ws .txt. ******************************************************************* this ebook was one of project gutenberg's early files produced at a time when proofing methods and tools were not well developed. there is an improved edition of this title which may be viewed as ebook (# ) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/ ******************************************************************* none pelle the conqueror part iv.--daybreak. by martin anderson nexo translated from the danish by jessie muir. iv. daybreak i out in the middle of the open, fertile country, where the plough was busy turning up the soil round the numerous cheerful little houses, stood a gloomy building that on every side turned bare walls toward the smiling world. no panes of glass caught the ruddy glow of the morning and evening sun and threw back its quivering reflection; three rows of barred apertures drank in all the light of day with insatiable avidity. they were always gaping greedily, and seen against the background of blue spring sky, looked like holes leading into the everlasting darkness. in its heavy gloom the mass of masonry towered above the many smiling homes, but their peaceable inhabitants did not seem to feel oppressed. they ploughed their fields right up to the bare walls, and wherever the building was visible, eyes were turned toward it with an expression that told of the feeling of security that its strong walls gave. like a landmark the huge building towered above everything else. it might very well have been a temple raised to god's glory by a grateful humanity, so imposing was it; but if so, it must have been in by-gone ages, for no dwellings--even for the almighty--are built nowadays in so barbaric a style, as if the one object were to keep out light and air! the massive walls were saturated with the dank darkness within, and the centuries had weathered their surface and made on it luxuriant cultures of fungus and mould, and yet they still seemed as if they could stand for an eternity. the building was no fortress, however, nor yet a temple whose dim recesses were the abode of the unknown god. if you went up to the great, heavy door, which was always closed you could read above the arch the one word _prison_ in large letters and below it a simple latin verse that with no little pretentiousness proclaimed: "i am the threshold to all virtue and wisdom; justice flourishes solely for my sake." one day in the middle of spring, the little door in the prison gate opened, and a tall man stepped out and looked about him with eyes blinking at the light which fell upon his ashen-white face. his step faltered and he had to lean for support against the wall; he looked as if he were about to go back again, but he drew a deep breath and went out on to the open ground. the spring breeze made a playful assault upon him, tried to ruffle his prison-clipped, slightly gray hair, which had been curly and fair when last it had done so, and penetrated gently to his bare body like a soft, cool hand. "welcome, pelle!" said the sun, as it peeped into his distended pupils in which the darkness of the prison-cell still lay brooding. not a muscle of his face moved, however; it was as though hewn out of stone. only the pupils of his eyes contracted so violently as to be almost painful, but he continued to look earnestly before him. whenever he saw any one, he stopped and gazed eagerly, perhaps in the hope that it was some one coming to meet him. as he turned into the king's road some one called to him. he turned round in sudden, intense joy, but then his head dropped and he went on without answering. it was only a tramp, who was standing half out of a ditch in a field a little way off, beckoning to him. he came running over the ploughed field, crying hoarsely: "wait a little, can't you? here have i been waiting for company all day, so you might as well wait a little!" he was a broad-shouldered, rather puffy-looking fellow, with a flat back and the nape of his neck broad and straight and running right up into his cap without forming any projection for the back of his head, making one involuntarily think of the scaffold. the bone of his nose had sunk into his purple face, giving a bull-dog mixture of brutality and stupid curiosity to its expression. "how long have you been in?" he asked, as he joined him, breathless. there was a malicious look in his eyes. "i went in when pontius pilate was a little boy, so you can reckon it out for yourself," said pelle shortly. "my goodness! that was a good spell! and what were you copped for?" "oh, there happened to be an empty place, so they took me and put me in --so that it shouldn't stand empty, you know!" the tramp scowled at him. "you're laying it on a little too thick! you won't get any one to believe that!" he said uncertainly. suddenly he put himself in front of pelle, and pushed his bull-like forehead close to the other's face. "now, i'll just tell you something, my boy!" he said. "i don't want to touch any one the first day i'm out, but you'd better take yourself and your confounded uppishness somewhere else; for i've been lying here waiting for company all day." "i didn't mean to offend any one," said pelle absently. he looked as if he had not come back to earth, and appeared to have no intention of doing anything. "oh, didn't you! that's fortunate for you, or i might have taken a color-print of your doleful face, however unwillingly. by the way, mother said i was to give you her love." "are you ferdinand?" asked pelle, raising his head. "oh, don't pretend!" said ferdinand. "being in gaol seems to have made a swell of you!" "i didn't recognize you," said pelle earnestly, suddenly recalled to the world around him. "oh, all right--if you say so. it must be the fault of my nose. i got it bashed in the evening after i'd buried mother. i was to give you her love, by the way." "thank you!" said pelle heartily. old memories from the "ark" filled his mind and sent his blood coursing through his veins once more. "is it long since your mother died?" he asked sympathetically. ferdinand nodded. "it was a good thing, however," he said, "for now there's no one i need go and have a bad conscience about. i'd made up my mind that she deserved to have things comfortable in her old age, and i was awfully careful; but all the same i was caught for a little robbery and got eight months. that was just after you got in--but of course you know that." "no! how could i know it?" "well, i telegraphed it over to you. i was just opposite you, in wing a, and when i'd reckoned out your cell, i bespoke the whole line one evening, and knocked a message through to you. but there was a sanctimonious parson at the corner of your passage, one of those moral folk--oh, you didn't even know that, then? well, i'd always suspected him of not passing my message on, though a chap like that's had an awful lot of learning put into him. then when i came out i said to myself that there must be an end to all this, for mother'd taken it very much to heart, and was failing. i managed to get into one of the streets where honest thieves live, and went about as a colporteur, and it all went very well. it would have been horribly mean if she'd died of hunger. and we had a jolly good time for six months, but then she slipped away all the same, and i can just tell you that i've never been in such low spirits as the day they put her underground in the cemetery. well, i said to myself, there lies mother smelling the weeds from underneath, so you can just as well give it all up, for there's nothing more to trouble about now. and i went up to the office and asked for a settlement, and they cheated me of fifty subscribers, the rogues! "of course i went to the police: i was stupid enough to do that at that time. but they're all a lot of rogues together. they thought it wouldn't do to believe a word that i said, and would have liked to put me in prison at once; but for all they poked about they couldn't find a peg to hang their hat upon. 'he's managing to hide it well this time, the sly fellow!' they said, and let me go. but there soon was something, for i settled the matter myself, and you may take your oath my employers didn't get the best of the arrangement. you see there are two kinds of people--poor people who are only honest when they let themselves be robbed, and all the others. why the devil should one go about like a shorn sheep and not rob back! some day of course there'll be a bust-up, and then--'three years, prisoner!' i shall be in again before long." "that depends upon yourself," said pelle slowly. "oh, well, of course you can do _something_; but the police are always getting sharper, and the man isn't born who won't fall into the trap sooner or later." "you should try and get some honest employment again. you've shown that you can succeed." ferdinand whistled. "in such a paltry way as that! many thanks for the good advice! you'd like me to look after a bloated aristocrat's geese and then sit on the steps and eat dry bread to the smell of the roast bird, would you? no, thank you! and even if i did--what then? you may be quite sure they'd keep a good watch on a fellow, if he tried an honest job, and it wouldn't be two days before the shadow was there. 'what's this about ferdinand? i hear things are not all square with him. i'm sorry, for he's really worked well; but he'd better look out for another place.' that's what the decent ones would do; the others would simply wait until his wages were due and take something off--because he'd been in once. they could never be sure that he hadn't stolen something from them, could they? and it's best to be careful! if you make a fuss, you're called a thief to your face. i've tried it, let me tell you! and now you can try it yourself. you'll be in again as soon as ever the spring comes! the worst of it is that it gets more every time; a fellow like me may get five years for stealing five krones (five shillings). isn't that a shame? so it's just as well to do something to make it worth while. it wouldn't matter if you could only get a good hit at it all. it's all one to me now that mother's dead. there's a child crying, but it's not for me. there isn't a soul that would shed a tear if i had to lay my head on the block. they'd come and stare, that's what they'd do--and i should get properly into the papers! "wicked? of course i'm wicked! sometimes i feel like one great sore, and would like to let them hear all about it. there's no such thing as gentle hands. that's only a lie, so i owe nothing to anybody. several times while i've been in there i've made up my mind to kill the warder, just so as to have a hit at something; for he hadn't done me any harm. but then i thought after all it was stupid. i'd no objection to kick the bucket; it would be a pleasant change anyhow to sitting in prison all one's life. but then you'd want to do something first that would make a stir. that's what i feel!" they walked on at a good pace, their faces turned in the direction of the smoky mist of the town far ahead, ferdinand chewing his quid and spitting incessantly. his hardened, bulldog face with its bloodshot eyes was entirely without expression now that he was silent. a peasant lad came toward them, singing at the top of his voice. he must have been about twelve or fourteen years of age. "what are you so happy about, boy?" asked ferdinand, stopping him. "i took a heifer into the town, and i got two krones (two shillings) for the job," answered the boy, smiling all over his face. "you must have been up early then," said pelle. "yes, i left home at three last night. but now i've earned a day's wages, and can take it easy the rest of the day!" answered the boy, throwing the two-krone piece into the air and catching it again. "take care you don't lose it," said ferdinand, following the coin with covetous eyes. the boy laughed merrily. "let's see whether it's a good one. they're a fearful lot of thieves on the market in there." the boy handed him the coin. "ah, yes, it's one of those that you can break in half and make two of," said ferdinand, doing a few juggling tricks with it. "i suppose i may keep one?" his expression had become lively and he winked maliciously at pelle as he stood playing with the coin so that it appeared to be two. "there you are; that's yours," he said, pressing the piece of money firmly into the boy's hand. "take good care of it, so that you don't get a scolding from your mother." the boy opened his empty hand in wonderment. "give me my two-krone!" he said, smiling uncertainly. "what the devil--i've given it you once!" said ferdinand, pushing the boy aside roughly and beginning to walk on. the boy followed him and begged persistently for his money. then he began to cry. "give him his money!" said pelle crossly. "it's not amusing now." "amusing?" exclaimed ferdinand, stopping abruptly and gazing at him in amazement. "do you think i play for small sums? what do i care about the boy! he may take himself off; i'm not his father." pelle looked at him a moment without comprehending; then he took a paper containing a few silver coins out of his waistcoat pocket, and handed the boy two krones. the boy stood motionless with amazement for a moment, but then, seizing the money, he darted away as quickly as he could go. ferdinand went on, growling to himself and blinking his eyes. suddenly he stopped and exclaimed: "i'll just tell you as a warning that if it wasn't you, and because i don't want to have this day spoiled, i'd have cracked your skull for you; for no one else would have played me that trick. do you understand?" and he stood still again and pushed his heavy brow close to pelle's face. quick as thought, pelle seized him by his collar and trousers, and threw him forcibly onto a heap of stones. "that's the second time to-day that you've threatened to crack my skull," he said in fury, pounding ferdinand's head against the stones. for a few moments he held him down firmly, but then released him and helped him to rise. ferdinand was crimson in the face, and stood swaying, ready to throw himself upon pelle, while his gaze wandered round in search of a weapon. then he hesitatingly drew the two-krone piece out of his pocket, and handed it to pelle in sign of subjection. "you may keep it," said pelle condescendingly. ferdinand quickly pocketed it again, and began to brush the mud off his clothes. "the skilly in there doesn't seem to have weakened you much," he said, shaking himself good-naturedly as they went on. "you've still got a confounded hard hand. but what i can't understand is why you should be so sorry for a hobbledehoy like that. he can take care of himself without us." "weren't you once sorry too for a little fellow when some one wanted to take his money away from him?" "oh, that little fellow in the 'ark' who was going to fetch the medicine for his mother? that's such a long time ago!" "you got into difficulties with the police for his sake! it was the first time you were at odds with the authorities, i think." "well, the boy hadn't done anything; i saw that myself. so i hobbled the copper that was going to run him in. his mother was ill--and my old 'un was alive; and so i was a big idiot! you'll see you won't get far with your weak pity. do we owe any one anything, i should like to know?" "yes, _i_ do," said pelle, suddenly raising his face toward the light. "but i can't say you've much to thank any one for." "what confounded nonsense!" exclaimed ferdinand, staring at him. "have they been good to you, did you say? when they shut you up in prison too, perhaps? you're pretending to be good, eh? you stop that! you'll have to go farther into the country with it. so you think you deserved your house-of-correction turn, while another was only suffering the blackest injustice? nonsense! they know well enough what they're doing when they get hold of me, but they might very well have let you off. you got together fifty thousand men, but what did you all do, i should like to know? you didn't make as much disturbance as a mouse in a pair of lady's unmentionables. well-to-do people are far more afraid of me than of you and all your fellows together. injustice! oh, shut up and don't slobber! you give no quarter, and you don't ask any either: that's all. and by the way, you might do me the favor to take back your two-krone. _i_ don't owe any one anything." "well, borrow it, then," said pelle. "you can't go to town quite without money." "do take it, won't you?" begged ferdinand. "it isn't so easy for you to get hold of any as for any one else, and it was a little too mean the way i got it out of you. you've been saving it up in there, a halfpenny a day, and perhaps gone without your quid, and i come and cheat you out of it! no, confound it! and you gave mother a little into the bargain; i'd almost forgotten it! well, never mind the tin then! i know a place where there's a good stroke of business to be done." a little above damhus lake they turned into a side road that led northward, in order to reach the town from the nörrebro side. far down to the right a great cloud of smoke hung in the air. it was the atmosphere of the city. as the east wind tore off fragments of it and carried them out, ferdinand lifted his bull-dog nose and sniffed the air. "wouldn't i like to be sitting in the 'cupping-glass' before a horse-steak with onions!" he said. by this time the afternoon was well advanced. they broke sticks out of a hedge and went on steadily, following ditches and dikes as best they could. the plough was being driven over the fields, backward and forward, turning up the black earth, while crows and sea-birds fought in the fresh furrows. the ploughmen put the reins round their waist each time they came to the end of their line, threw the plough over and brought it into position for a new furrow, and while they let their horses take breath, gazed afar at the two strange spring wayfarers. there was such a foreign air about their clothes that they must be two of that kind of people that go on foot from land to land, they thought; and they called after them scraps of foreign sentences to show they knew something about them. ah, yes! they were men who could look about them! perhaps by to-morrow those two would be in a foreign country again, while other folk never left the place they were once in! they passed a white house standing in stately seclusion among old trees, a high hawthorn hedge screening the garden from the road. ferdinand threw a hasty glance over the gate. the blinds were all down! he began to be restless, and a little farther on he suddenly slipped in behind a hedge and refused to go any farther. "i don't care to show myself in town empty-handed," he said. "and besides evening's the best time to go in at full speed. let's wait here until it's dark. i can smell silver in that house we passed." "come on now and let those fancies alone," said pelle earnestly. "a new life begins from to-day. i'll manage to help you to get honest work!" ferdinand broke into laughter. "good gracious me! you help others! you haven't tried yet what it is to come home from prison! you'll find it hard enough to get anywhere yourself, my good fellow. new life, ha, ha! no; just you stay here and we'll do a little business together when it gets dark. the house doesn't look quite squint-eyed. then this evening we can go to the 'cupping-glass' and have a jolly good spree, and act the home-coming american. besides it's not right to go home without taking something for your family. just you wait! you should see 'laura with the arm' dance! she's my cupboard-love, you know. she can dance blindfold upon a table full of beer-mugs without spilling a drop. there might be a little kiss for you too.--hang it!--you don't surely imagine you'll be made welcome anywhere else, do you? i can tell you there's no one who'll stand beckoning you home.--very well, then go to the devil, you fool, and remember me to your monthly nurse! when you're tired of family life, you can ask for me at my address, the 'cupping-glass'." his hoarse, hollow voice cut through the clear spring air as he shouted the last words with his hand to his mouth. pelle went on quickly, as though anxious to leave something behind him. he had had an insane hope of being received in some kind way or other when he came out--comrades singing, perhaps, or a woman and two children standing on the white highroad, waiting for him! and there had only been ferdinand to meet him! well, it had been a damper, and now he shook off the disappointment and set out at a good pace. the active movement set his pulses beating. the sky had never before been so bright as it was to-day; the sun shone right into his heart. there was a smiling greeting in it all--in the wind that threw itself into his very arms, in the fresh earth and in the running water in the ditches. welcome back again, pelle! how wide and fair the world looks when you've spent years within four bare walls! down in the south the clouds were like the breast of a great bright bird, one of those that come a long way every year with summer in the beat of their strong wings; and on all sides lay the open, white roads, pointing onward with bright assurances. for the fourth time he was setting out to conquer the world, and this time it was in bitter earnest. there had always before proved to be something more behind, but now he felt that what he should now set out upon would be decisive; if he was victorious now, he would conquer eternity. this time it must be either for weal or woe, and all that he possessed he was now bringing into the field. he had never before been so heavily equipped. far off he could still make out the dome of the prison, which stood there like a huge mill over the descent to the nether world, and ground misery into crime in the name of humanity. it sucked down every one who was exposed to life's uncertainty; he had himself hung in the funnel and felt how its whirling drew him down. but pelle had been too well equipped. hitherto he had successfully converted everything into means of rising, and he took this in the same way. his hair was no longer fair, but, on the other hand, his mind was magically filled with a secret knowledge of the inner nature of things, for he had sat at the root of all things, and by listening had drawn it out of the solitude. he had been sitting moping in the dark mountain like prince fortune, while eternity sang to him of the great wonder. the spirits of evil had carried him away into the mountains; that was all. and now they had set him free again, believing that he had become a troll like all his predecessors. but pelle was not bewitched. he had already consumed many things in his growth, and this was added to the rest. what did a little confinement signify as compared with the slow drip, drip, of centuries? had he not been born with a caul, upon which neither steel nor poison made any impression? he sat down on an elevation, pulled off his cap, and let the cool breeze play upon his forehead. it was full of rich promises; in its vernal wandering over the earth it had gathered up all that could improve and strengthen, and loaded him with it. look around you, pelle! on all sides the soil was being prepared, the plough-teams nodded up the gentle inclines and disappeared down the other side. a thin vapor rose from the soil; it was the last of the cold evaporating in the declining spring day. some way down a few red cottages smilingly faced the sunset, and still farther on lay the town with its eternal cloud of smoke hanging over it. what would his future be like down there? and how did matters stand? had the new made its way to the front, or would he once more have to submit to an extortioner, get only the bare necessaries of life out of his work, and see the rest disappear into some one else's pocket? a number of new factories had grown up, and now formed quite a belt about the city, with their hundreds of giant chimneys stretching up into the sky. but something must be going on, since they were not smoking. was it a wages conflict? he was now going to lay plans for his life, build it up again upon the deep foundation that had been laid in his solitude; and yet he knew absolutely nothing of the conditions down in the town! well, he had friends in thousands; the town was simply lying waiting to receive him with open arms, more fond of him than ever because of all he had suffered. with all his ignorance he had been able to lead them on a little way; the development had chosen him as its blind instrument, and it had been successful; but now he was going to lead them right into the land, for now he felt the burden of life within him. hullo! if he wasn't building castles in the air just as in the old days, and forgetting all that the prison cell had taught him so bitterly! the others' good indeed! he had been busily concerned for the homes of others, and had not even succeeded in building his own! what humbug! down there were three neglected beings who would bring accusations against him, and what was the use of his sheltering himself behind the welfare of the many? what was the good of receiving praise from tens of thousands and being called benefactor by the whole world, if those three whose welfare had been entrusted to him accused him of having failed them? he had often enough tried to stifle their accusing voices, but in there it was not possible to stifle anything into silence. pelle still had no doubt that he was chosen to accomplish something for the masses, but it had become of such secondary importance when he recollected that he had neglected his share of that which was the duty of every one. he had mistaken small for great, and believed that when he accomplished something that no one else could do, he might in return pay less attention to ordinary every-day duties; but the fates ordained that the burden of life should be laid just where every one could help. and now he was coming back like a poor beggar, who had conquered everything except the actual, and therefore possessed nothing, and had to beg for mercy. branded as a criminal, he must now begin at the beginning, and accomplish that which he had not been able to do in the days of his power. it would be difficult to build his home under these circumstances, and who was there to help him? those three who could have spoken for him he had left to their own devices as punishment for an offence which in reality was his own. he had never before set out in such a poverty-stricken state. he did not even come like one who had something to forgive: his prison-cell had left him nothing. he had had time enough there to go carefully over the whole matter, and everything about ellen that he had before been too much occupied to notice or had felt like a silent opposition to his projects, now stood out clearly, and formed itself, against his will, into the picture of a woman who never thought of herself, but only of the care of her little world and how she could sacrifice herself. he could not afford to give up any of his right here, and marshalled all his accusations against her, bringing forward laws and morals; but it all failed completely to shake the image, and only emphasized yet more the strength of her nature. she had sacrificed _everything_ for him and the children, her one desire being to see them happy. each of his attacks only washed away a fresh layer of obstructing mire, and made the sacrifice in her action stand out more clearly. it was because she was so unsensual and chaste that she could act as she had done. alas! she had had to pay dearly for _his_ remissness; it was the mother who, in their extreme want, gave her own body to nourish her offspring. pelle would not yield, but fought fiercely against conviction. he had been robbed of freedom and the right to be a human being like others, and now solitude was about to take from him all that remained to sustain him. even if everything joined together against him, he was not wrong, he _would_ not be wrong. it was he who had brought the great conflict to an end at the cost of his own--and he had found ellen to be a prostitute! his thoughts clung to this word, and shouted it hoarsely, unceasingly--prostitute! prostitute! he did not connect it with anything, but only wanted to drown the clamor of accusations on all sides which were making him still more naked and miserable. at first letters now and then came to him, probably from old companions- in-arms, perhaps too from ellen: he did not know, for he refused to take them. he hated ellen because she was the stronger, hated in impotent defiance everything and everybody. neither she nor any one else should have the satisfaction of being any comfort to him; since he had been shut up as an unclean person, he had better keep himself quite apart from them. he would make his punishment still more hard, and purposely increased his forlornness, kept out of his thoughts everything that was near and dear to him, and dragged the painful things into the foreground. ellen had of course forgotten him for some one else, and had perhaps turned the children's thoughts from him; they would certainly be forbidden to mention the word "father." he could distinctly see them all three sitting happily round the lamp; and when some turn in the conversation threatened to lead it to the subject of himself, a coldness and stillness as of death suddenly fell upon them. he mercilessly filled his existence with icy acknowledgment on all points, and believed he revenged himself by breathing in the deadly cold. after a prolonged period of this he was attacked with frenzy, dashed himself blindly against the walls, and shouted that he wanted to get out. to quiet him he was put into a strait-waistcoat and removed to a pitch-dark cell. on the whole he was one of the so-called defiant prisoners, who meant to kick against the pricks, and he was treated accordingly. but one night when he lay groaning after a punishment, and saw the angry face of god in the darkness, he suddenly became silent. "are you a human being?" it said, "and cannot even bear a little suffering?" pelle was startled. he had never known that there was anything particularly human in suffering. but from that night he behaved quietly, with a listening expression, as if he heard something through the walls. "now he's become quiet," said the gaoler, who was looking at him through the peep-hole. "it won't be long before he's an idiot!" but pelle had only come out on the other side; he was staring bravely into the darkness to see god's face once more, but in a gentler guise. the first thing he saw was ellen again, sitting there beautiful, exculpated, made more desirable by all his accusations. how great and fateful all petty things became here! what was the good of defending himself? she was his fate, and he would have to surrender unconditionally. he still did not comprehend her, but he had a consciousness of greater laws for life, laws that raised _her_ and made him small. she and hers passed undefiled through places where he stuck fast in the surface mire. she seemed to him to grow in here, and led his thoughts behind the surface, where they had never been before. her unfailing mother-love was like a beating pulse that rose from the invisible and revealed hidden mystical forces--the perceptible rhythm of a great heart which beat in concealment behind everything. her care resembled that of god himself; she was nearer to the springs of life than he. the springs of life! through her the expression for the first time acquired a meaning for him. it was on the whole as if she re-created him, and by occupying himself with her ever enigmatical nature, his thoughts were turned further and further inward. he suspected the presence of strong currents which bore the whole thing; and sometimes in the silence of his cell he seemed to hear his existence flowing, flowing like a broad stream, and emptying itself out there where his thoughts had never ventured to roam. what became of the days and the years with all that they had held? the ever present ellen, who had never herself given a thought to the unseen, brought pelle face to face with infinity. while all this was going on within him, they sang one sunday during the prison service grundtvig's hymn, "the former days have passed away." the hymn expressed all that he had himself vaguely thought, and touched him deeply; the verses came to him in his narrow pen like waves from a mighty ocean, which rolled ages in to the shore in monotonous power. he suddenly and strongly realized the passage of generations of human beings over the earth, and boldly grasped what he had until now only dimly suspected, namely, his own connection with them all, both those who were living then and all those who had gone before. how small his own idea of union had been when measured by this immense community of souls, and what a responsibility was connected with each one! he understood now how fatal it was to act recklessly, then break off and leave everything. in reality you could never leave anything; the very smallest thing you shirked would be waiting for you as your fate at the next milestone. and who, indeed, was able to overlook an action? you had to be lenient continually, and at last it would turn out that you had been lenient to yourself. pelle was taking in wisdom, and his own heart confirmed it. the thought of ellen filled his mind more and more; he had lost her, and yet he could not get beyond her. did she still love him? this question pursued him day and night with ever increasing vehemence, until even his life seemed to depend upon it. he felt, as he gazed questioningly into his solitude, that he would be worthless if he did not win her back. new worlds grew up before him; he could dimly discern the great connection between things, and thought he could see how deep down the roots of life stretched, drawing nourishment from the very darkness in which he dwelt. but to this he received no answer. he never dreamt of writing to her. god had his own way of dealing with the soul, a way with which one did not interfere. it would have to come like all the rest, and he lulled himself with the foolish hope that ellen would come and visit him, for he was now in the right mood to receive her. on sundays he listened eagerly to the heavy clang of the gate. it meant visitors to the prisoners; and when the gaoler came along the corridor rattling his keys, pelle's heart beat suffocatingly. this repeated itself sunday after sunday, and then he gave up hope and resigned himself to his fate. after a long time, however, fortune favored him and brought him a greeting. pelle took no personal part in the knocking that every evening after the lights were out sounded through the immense building as if a thousand death-ticks were at work. he had enough of his own to think about, and only knocked those messages on that had to pass through his cell. one day, however, a new prisoner was placed in the cell next to his, and woke him. he was a regular frequenter of the establishment, and immediately set about proclaiming his arrival in all directions. it was druk-valde, "widow" rasmussen's idler of a sweetheart, who used to stand all the winter through in the gateway in chapel road, and spit over the toes of his well-polished shoes. yes, valde knew pelle's family well; his sweetheart had looked after the children when ellen, during the great conflict, began to go out to work. ellen had been very successful, and still held her head high. she sewed uppers and had a couple of apprentices to help her, and she was really doing pretty well. she did not associate with any one, not even with her relatives, for she never left her children. druk-valde had to go to the wall every evening; the most insignificant detail was of the greatest importance. pelle could see ellen as if she were standing in the darkness before him, pale, always clad in black, always serious. she had broken with her parents; she had sacrificed everything for his sake! she even talked about him so that the children should not have forgotten him by the time he came back. "the little beggars think you're travelling," said valde. so everything was all right! it was like sunshine in his heart to know that she was waiting faithfully for him although he had cast her off. all the ice must melt and disappear; he was a rich man in spite of everything. did she bear his name? he asked eagerly. it would be like her--intrepid as she was--defiantly to write "pelle" in large letters on the door- plate. yes, of course! there was no such thing as hiding there! lasse frederik and his sister were big now, and little boy comfort was a huge fellow for his age--a regular little fatty. to see him sitting in his perambulator, when they wheeled him out on sundays, was a sight for gods! pelle stood in the darkness as though stunned. boy comfort, a little fellow sitting in a perambulator! and it was not an adopted child either; druk-valde so evidently took it to be his. ellen! ellen! he went no more to the wall. druk-valde knocked in vain, and his six months came to an end without pelle noticing it. this time he made no disturbance, but shrank under a feeling of being accursed. providence must be hostile to him, since the same blow had been aimed at him twice. in the daytime he sought relief in hard work and reading; at night he lay on his dirty, mouldy-smelling mattress and wept. he no longer tried to overthrow his conception of ellen, for he knew it was hopeless: she still tragically overshadowed everything. she was his fate and still filled his thoughts, but not brightly; there was indeed nothing bright or great about it now, only imperative necessity. and then his work! for a man there was always work to fall back upon, when happiness failed him. pelle set to work in earnest, and the man who was at the head of the prison shoemaking department liked to have him, for he did much more than was required of him. in his leisure hours he read diligently, and entered with zest into the prison school-work, taking up especially history and languages. the prison chaplain and the teachers took an interest in him, and procured books for him which were generally unobtainable by the prisoners. when he was thoroughly tired out he allowed his mind to seek rest in thoughts of his home. his weariness cast a conciliatory light over everything, and he would lie upon his pallet and in imagination spend happy hours with his children, including that young cuckoo who always looked at him with such a strangely mocking expression. to ellen alone he did not get near. she had never been so beautiful as now in her unapproachableness, but she received all his assurances in mysterious silence, only gazing at him with her unfathomable eyes. he had forsaken her and the home; he knew that; but had he not also made reparation? it was _her_ child he held on his knee, and he meant to build the home up again. he had had enough of an outlaw's life, and needed a heart upon which to rest his weary head. all this was dreaming, but now he was on his way down to begin from the beginning. he did not feel very courageous; the uncertainty held so many possibilities. were the children and ellen well, and was she still waiting for him? and his comrades? how would his fate shape itself? * * * * * pelle was so little accustomed to being in the fresh air that it affected him powerfully, and, much against his will, he fell asleep as he leaned back upon the bank. the longing to reach the end of his journey made him dream that he was still walking on and making his entry into the city; but he did not recognize it, everything was so changed. people were walking about in their best clothes, either going to the wood or to hear lectures. "who is doing the work, then?" he asked of a man whom he met. "work!" exclaimed the man in surprise. "why, the machines, of course! we each have three hours at them in the day, but it'll soon be changed to two, for the machines are getting more and more clever. it's splendid to live and to know that there are no slaves but those inanimate machines; and for that we have to thank a man called pelle." "why, that's me!" exclaimed pelle, laughing with pleasure. "you! what absurdity! why, you're a young man, and all this happened many years ago." "it is me, all the same! don't you see that my hair is gray and my forehead lined? i got like that in fighting for you. don't you recognize me?" but people only laughed at him, and he had to go on. "i'll go to ellen!" he thought, disheartened. "she'll speak up for me!" and while the thought was in his mind, he found himself in her parlor. "sit down!" she said kindly. "my husband'll be here directly." "why, i'm your husband!" he exclaimed, hardly able to keep back his tears; but she looked at him coldly and without recognition, and moved toward the door. "i'm pelle!" he said, holding out his hand beseechingly. "don't you know me?" ellen opened her lips to cry out, and at that moment the husband appeared threateningly in the doorway. from behind him lasse frederik and sister peeped out in alarm, and pelle saw with a certain amount of satisfaction that there were only the two. the terrible thing, however, was that the man was himself, the true pelle with the good, fair moustache, the lock of hair on his forehead and the go-ahead expression. when he discovered this, it all collapsed and he sank down in despair. pelle awoke with a start, bathed in perspiration, and saw with thankfulness the fields and the bright atmosphere: he was at any rate still alive! he rose and walked on with heavy steps while the spring breeze cooled his brow. his road led him to nörrebro. the sun was setting behind him; it must be about the time for leaving off work, and yet no hooter sounded from the numerous factories, no stream of begrimed human beings poured out of the side streets. in the little tea-gardens in the frederikssund road sat workmen's families with perambulator and provision-basket; they were dressed in their best and were enjoying the spring day. was there after all something in his dream? if so, it would be splendid to come back! he asked people what was going on, and was told that it was the elections. "we're going to take the city to-day!" they said, laughing triumphantly. from the square he turned into the churchyard, and went down the somber avenue of poplars to chapel road. opposite the end of the avenue he saw the two little windows in the second floor; and in his passionate longing he seemed to see ellen standing there and beckoning. he ran now, and took the stairs three or four at a time. just as he was about to pull the bell-cord, he heard strange voices within, and paused as though paralyzed. the door looked cold and as if it had nothing to do with him; and there was no door-plate. he went slowly down the stairs and asked in the greengrocer's cellar below whether a woman who sewed uppers did not live on the second floor to the left. she had been forsaken by her husband and had two children-- _three_, he corrected himself humbly; what had become of them? the deputy-landlord was a new man and could give him no information; so he went up into the house again, and asked from door to door but without any result. poor people do not generally live long in one place. pelle wandered about the streets at haphazard. he could think of no way of getting ellen's address, and gave it up disheartened; in his forlorn condition he had the impression that people avoided him, and it discouraged him. his soul was sick with longing for a kind word and a caress, and there was no one to give them. no eyes brightened at seeing him out again, and he hunted in vain in house after house for some one who would sympathize with him. a sudden feeling of hatred arose in him, an evil desire to hit out at everything and go recklessly on. twilight was coming on. below the churchyard wall some newspaper-boys were playing "touch last" on their bicycles. they managed their machines like circus-riders, and resembled little gauchos, throwing them back and running upon the back wheel only, and bounding over obstacles. they had strapped their bags on their backs, and their blue cap-bands flapped about their ears like pennons. pelle seated himself upon a bench, and absently followed their reckless play, while his thoughts went back to his own careless boyhood. a boy of ten or twelve took the lead in breakneck tricks, shouting and commanding; he was the chief of the band, and maintained the leadership with a high hand. his face, with its snub nose, beamed with lively impudence, and his cap rested upon two exceptionally prominent ears. the boys began to make of the stranger a target for their exuberant spirits. in dashing past him they pretended to lose control of their machine, so that it almost went over his foot; and at last the leader suddenly snatched off his cap. pelle quietly picked it up, but when the boy came circling back with measured strokes as though pondering some fresh piece of mischief he sprang up and seized him by the collar. "now you shall have a thrashing, you scamp!" he said, lifting him off his bicycle. "but it'll be just as well if you get it from your parents. what's your father's name?" "he hasn't got a father!" cried the other boys, flocking round them threateningly. "let him go!" the boy opened his lips to give vent to a torrent of bad language, but stopped suddenly and gazed in terror at pelle, struggling like a mad thing to get away. pelle let him go in surprise, and saw him mount his bicycle and disappear howling. his companions dashed after him like a flight of swallows. "wait a little, lasse frederik!" they cried. pelle stood a little while gazing after them, and then with bent head walked slowly into nörrebro street. it was strange to be walking again in this street, which had played so great a part in his life. the traffic was heavier here than in other places, and the stone paving made it more so. a peculiar adamantine self-dependence was characteristic of this district where every step was weighted with the weight of labor. the shops were the same, and he also recognized several of the shopkeepers. he tried to feel at home in the crowd, and looked into people's faces, wondering whether any one would recognize him. he both wished and feared it, but they hurried past, only now and then one of them would wonder a little at his strange appearance. he himself knew most of them as well as if it had been yesterday he had had to do with those thousands, for the intermediate years had not thrust new faces in between him and the old ones. now and again he met one of his men walking on the pavement with his wife on his arm, while others were standing on the electric tramcars as drivers and conductors. weaklings and steady fellows--they were his army. he could name them by name and was acquainted with their family circumstances. well, a good deal of water had run under the bridge since then! he went into a little inn for travelling artisans, and engaged a room. "it's easy to see that you've been away from this country for a day or two," said the landlord. "have you been far?" oh, yes, pelle had seen something of the world. and here at home there had been a good many changes. how did the movement get on? "capitally! yes, awfully well! our party has made tremendous progress; to-day we shall take the town!" "that'll make a difference in things, i suppose?" "oh, well, i wouldn't say that for certain. unemployment increases every year, and it's all the same who represents the town and sits in parliament. but we've got on very well as far as prices go." "tell me--there was a man in the movement a few years ago called pelle; what's become of him?" the landlord scratched his parting. "pelle! pelle! yes, of course. what in the world was there about him? didn't he make false coins, or rob a till? if i remember right, he ended by going to prison. well, well, there are bad characters in every movement." a couple of workmen, who were sitting at a table eating fried liver, joined in the conversation. "he came a good deal to the front five or six years ago," said one of them with his mouth full. "but there wasn't much in him; he had too much imagination." "he had the gift of the gab, anyhow," said the other. "i still distinctly remember him at the great lock-out. he could make you think you were no end of a fine fellow, he could! well, that's all past and gone! your health, comrade!" pelle rose quietly and went out. he was forgotten; nobody remembered anything about him, in spite of all that he had fought for and suffered. much must have passed over their heads since then, and him they had simply forgotten. he did not know what to do with himself, more homeless here in this street, which should have been his own, than in any other place. it was black with people, but he was not carried with the stream; he resembled something that has been washed up to one side and left lying. they were all in their best clothes. the workmen came in crowds on their way either from or to the polling-booths, and some were collected and accompanied thither by eager comrades. one man would shout to another across the road through his hollowed hand: "hi, petersen! i suppose you've voted?" everywhere there was excitement and good humor: the city was to be taken! pelle went with the stream over queen louise's bridge and farther into the city. here the feeling was different, opinions were divided, people exchanged sharp words. outside the newspaper-offices stood dense crowds impeding the wheel-traffic as they waited patiently for the results that were shown in the windows. every time a contested district came in, a wave of movement passed through the crowd, followed by a mighty roar if a victory was recorded. all was comparatively quiet; people stood outside the offices of the papers that bore the color of their party. only the quarrelsome men gathered about their opponents and had their hats bashed in. within the offices the members of the staff were passing busily backward and forward, hanging up the results and correcting them. all the _cafés_ and restaurants were full of customers. the telephone rang incessantly, and messengers kept coming with lists from the telegram bureaus; men fought over the results in front of the great blackboard and chances were discussed at the tables and much political nonsense was talked. pelle had never seen the city so excited, not even during the great lock-out. class faced class with clenched fists, the workmen even more eager than the upper class: they had become out-and-out politicians. he could see that the movement had shifted its center of gravity over this. what was necessary was to gain seats; to-day they expected to get the upper hand in the city and a firm footing out in the country. several of the old leaders were already in parliament and brought forward their practical experience in the debate; their aim now was nothing less than to usurp the political power. this was bold enough: they must have been successful, after all. he still possessed his old quickness of hearing as regards the general feeling, and perceived a change in the public tone. it had become broader, more democratic. even the upper classes submitted to the ballot now, and condescended to fight for a majority of votes. pelle could see no place for himself, however, in this conflict. "hi, you there! i suppose you've voted?" men shouted to him as they passed. voted! he had not even the right to vote! in the battle that was now being fought, their old leader was not even allowed to take part as an ordinary soldier. out of the road! they marched in small bands on their way to the polling-booths or the assembly rooms, taking up the whole pavement, and pelle readily moved out of their way. this time he did not come like a king's son for whom the whole world stood waiting. he was of the scum of the earth, neither more nor less, one who had been thrown aside and forgotten. if he succeeded in recalling himself to their remembrance, it would only be the bringing up of the story of a criminal. there was the house where the stolpes lived. perhaps they knew where ellen was. but what did it matter to him? he had not forgotten lasse frederik's terror-stricken face. and there was the corner house where morten had managed the business. ah, it was long since their ways had parted! morten had in reality always envied him; he had not been able to bear his tremendous success. now he would be able to crow over him! anger and bitterness filled his heart, and his head was confused, and his thoughts, bred of malice, were like clumsy faultfinders. for years the need of associating with human beings had been accumulating within him; and now the whole thing gave way like an avalanche. he could easily pick a quarrel with some one, just to make himself less a matter of indifference to the rest of the world. why shouldn't he go to the "cupping-glass"? he would be expected there at any rate. outside griffenfeldt street there was a crowd. a number of people had gathered round a coal-heaver, who was belaboring a lamp-post with the toes of his wooden shoes, at the same time using abusive language. he had run against it and had a bruise on his forehead. people were amusing themselves at his expense. as the light from the lamp fell upon the coal-blackened face of the drunken man, pelle recognized him. it was merry jacob. he pushed his way angrily through the crowd and took him by the shoulder. "what's the matter with you, jacob? have you become a drunkard?" he said hotly. "how's that?" "it's got no business to get in the way of an organized workman," jacob said indistinctly, kicking the air to the great delight of the onlookers, who encouraged him to continue. "i'm a member of my organization, and don't owe anything; you can see for yourselves!" he pulled out of his breast-pocket a little book in a black leather cover, and turned over its pages. "just look for yourselves! member's subscription paid, isn't it? strike subscription paid, isn't it? shown on entrance, isn't it? just you shut up! take it and pass it round; we must have our papers in order. you're supporting the election fund, i suppose? go up and vote, confound you! the man who won't give his mite is a poor pal. who says thief? there's no one here that steals. i'm an honest, organized--" he suddenly began to weep, and the saliva dropped from the corners of his mouth onto his coat, while he made fearful grimaces. pelle managed to get him into a courtyard, and washed his wound at the pump. the cold water made him shiver, and his head lolled weakly. "such a snotty blackleg!" he murmured. "i'll get the chairman to give him a doing in the paper." suddenly he recognized pelle. he started, and consciousness struggled to obtain control over his dulled senses. "why, is that you, master?" he asked shamefacedly, seizing pelle's hand. "so you've come back! i suppose you think me a beast, but what can i do?" "just come along!" said pelle sharply, anxious to get away from the crowd of spectators. they went down meinung street, jacob staggering along in silence, and looking askance at his former leader. he walked a little awkwardly, but it came from his work; the meeting with pelle had made him almost sober. "i'm sure you think i'm a beast," he said again at last in a pitiful voice. "but you see there's no one to keep me straight." "it's the fault of the brandy," said pelle shortly. "well, you may be right, but a fellow needs a kind word now and then, and you have to take it where you can get it. your pals look down upon you and chuck you out of their set." "what's the matter, then?" asked pelle. "what's the matter? six times five's the matter, because i wouldn't let my old father starve during the lockout. we had a jolly good time then. i was a good son! didn't mind the fat purses of the bigwigs and a little bread and water--and the devil and his standpipe! but now they're singing another tune: that man! why, he's been punished for theft! end of him. no one asks why; they've become big men, you see. in olden days i was always called merry jacob, and the fellows liked to be in my shift. do you know what they call me now? thieving jacob. well, they don't say it right out, for if they did, some one 'ud crack their heads for them; but that is my name. well, i say to myself, perhaps you saw everything topsy-turvy in those days; perhaps, after all, you're nothing but a thief. and then i have to drink to become an honest man again." "and get in rages with the lamp-posts! don't you think you'd do better to hit out at those who wrong you?" jacob was silent and hung his head; the once strong, bold fellow had become like a dog that any one might kick. if it were so dreadful to bear six times five among one's own people, what could pelle say? "how is your brother?" he asked, in order to divert jacob's thoughts to something brighter. "he was a splendid fellow." "he hung himself," answered jacob gloomily. "he couldn't stand it any longer. we broke into a house together, so as to be equal about it; and the grocer owed the old man money--he'd worked for it--and they meant to cheat him out of it. so the two old things were starving, and had no fire either; and we got them what they'd a right to, and it was so splendidly done too. but afterward when there was a row at the works, agitation and election fuss and all that kind of thing, they just went and left him and me out. we weren't the right sort, you see; we hadn't the right to vote. he couldn't get even with the business in any other way than by putting a rope over the lamp-hook in the ceiling. i've looked at the matter myself all round, you see, but i can't make anything of it." he walked on a little without speaking, and then said: "would you hit out properly now? there's need of a kind word." pelle did not answer; it was all too sad. he did not even hear the question. "it was chiefly what you said that made me believe in a better time coming," jacob continued persistently, "or perhaps my brother and me would have done differently and things might have gone better with both of us. well, i suppose you believed it yourself, but what do you think now? do you still believe in that about the better time? for i should like to be an honest man again." of course pelle still believed in it. "for there aren't many who'd give a brass farthing for that story now; but if _you_ say so--i've got faith in you all the same. others wouldn't have the brains to think of anything for themselves, and it was like the cork going off, so to speak, for us poor people when you went away; everything went flat. if anything happens, it doesn't do for a poor devil to look on; and every time any one wants to complain, he gets a voting-paper pushed into his hand and they say: go and vote and things will be altered! but confound it, that can't rouse a fellow who's not learnt anything from the time he was small. they'd taken a lot of trouble about me now--whitewashing me so that i could use my right to vote; but they can't make me so that no one looks down on me. and so i say, thank you for nothing! but if you still believe in it, so will i, for i've got faith in you. here's my hand on it!" jacob was the same simple, good-hearted fellow that he had been in former days when he lived in the attic in the "ark." there might very well have been a little more evil in him. but his words warmed pelle's heart. here was some one who needed him, and who still believed in him although he had been maimed in the fight. he was the first of the disabled ones, and pelle was prepared to meet with more and to hear their accusations. many of them would turn against him now that he was powerless, but he would have to put up with that. he felt as though he had the strength for it now. pelle went into the street again, letting his feet carry him where they would, while he thought of the past and the future. they had been so certain that a new age would dawn upon them at once! the new, great truth had been so self-evident that it seemed as if all the old conditions must fall before it as at a magic word; and now the everyday reality had worn the gloss off it. as far as he could see, nothing particular had happened, and what was there to happen? that was not the way to overturn systems. from merry jacob's opinion he could draw his own, but he was no longer despondent, he did not mind what happened. he would have had no objection to challenge the opinion of his old comrades at once, and find out how he stood. he had passed through several side streets when he suddenly found himself in front of a large, well-lighted building with a broad flight of steps, up which people were flocking. it was one of the working-men's halls, and festivities were being held in it to celebrate the elections. pelle went, by force of habit, with the stream. he remained at the back of the hall, and used his eyes as though he had just dropped down from some other planet; strange feelings welled up within him when he found himself once more among the people. for a moment he felt a vehement desire to cry: here i am! and stretch out his arms to them all; but he quickly controlled it, and his face regained its stony composure. this then was his army from the conflict. they were decidedly better clothed than on the day when he led them in triumph into the city as its true citizens; they carried their heads higher too, did not get behind one another, but claimed room for themselves. they had more to eat, he could see, for their faces shone more; and their eyes had become indolent in expression, and no longer looked hungrily out into uncertainty but moved quietly and unhesitatingly from place to place. they were prepared for another long march, and perhaps it was as well; great things did not happen in the twinkling of an eye. he was aroused from his thoughts by discovering that the people nearest to him were turning and gazing at him. the number of faces looking round at him increased, and the words, "pelle is here!" passed in a murmur through the crowd. hundreds of eyes were directed toward him questioningly and searchingly, some of them in evident expectation of something unusual happening at once. the movement became general--a wave that carried him resistlessly to the front of the hall and up onto the platform. a great roar like the breaking of surf arose on all sides of him and stupefied his sensitive brain in which silence sat always putting together a fine new world about which no one else knew. suddenly everything was still, so still that the solitude was again audible to his ear. pelle spoke quietly and with confidence. his words were a greeting to them from a world they as yet did not know, the great solitude through which man must move alone--without loud-voiced companions to encourage him--and listen until he hears his own heart beat within it. he sits in a cell again, like the first original germ of life, alone and forsaken; and over him a spider skilfully spins its web. at first he is angry with the busy insect, and tears down the web; but the insect begins again patiently. and this suddenly becomes a consolatory lesson to him never to give up; he becomes fond of the little vigilant creature that makes its web as skilfully as if it had a great responsibility, and he asks himself whether it is at all conscious of his existence. is it sorry for him in his forsaken condition, since it does not move to another place, but patiently builds its web up again, finer and finer, as if it had only been torn down because it was not made well enough? he bitterly regrets his conduct, and would give much for a sign that the little insect is not angry with him, for no one can afford to offend another; the smallest creature is of vital importance to you. in the loneliness of the prison cell you learn solidarity. and one day when he is sitting reading, the spider, in its busy efforts to carry its thread past him, drops down and uses his shoulder as a temporary attachment. never before has such confidence been shown him notwithstanding everything; the little insect knew how a hardened criminal should be taken. it taught him that he had both a heart and a soul to take care of. a greeting to his comrades from the great silence that was waiting to speak to them one by one. he spoke from the depths of his soul, and saw surprise in their faces. what in the world did he want? did he want them all to go to prison only because he himself had been there? was that all that was left of the old pelle--lightning, as he was then called? he was certainly rather weak in the legs; there wasn't much of _his_ eloquence left! they quickly lost interest and began to talk together in undertones; there came only a little desultory applause here and there from the corners. pelle felt the disappointment and indifference, and smiled. he no longer had need of storms of approbation; he listened for it now within himself. this much he had learned by standing up there, namely, that he had not done with the men below; he was, in fact, only just beginning with them. his work had been swept away: well then he would build up a new one that was better. he had sat in his prison-cell and learned long- suffering. he took a seat below the platform among the leaders of the meeting, and felt that he was really a stranger there. it was out of compassion they had drawn him into the meeting; he read in their eyes that the work that had been done was done without him, and that he came at an inopportune moment. would they have to reckon with him, the hare-brained fellow, now again, or did he mean to emigrate? alas, he did not give much impetus to the movement! but if they only knew how much wisdom he had gained in his solitude! he did not talk, but looked on absently, trying to listen through the noise for something lasting. they laughed and drank and made speeches-- for him too; but all this was so unnecessary! they had gained confidence, they spoke quite openly, there was a certain emancipation in their general behavior; taken as a whole, they made a good impression. but the miracle? the incomprehensible? he missed a little anxiety behind the prosperity, the deep, silent pondering that would show that they had gazed into a new world. did they not hear the undertone at all, since they were making such a noise--the unceasing, soft rhythm that was in his own ears continually and contained the whole thing? the stillness of the cell had made his hearing acute; the boisterous laughter, which expressed their pleasure in life, caused him suffering. beside a large blackboard on the platform stood one of the leaders, writing up the victories of the day, amid the rejoicing of the crowd. pelle slipped out unnoticed, and was standing on the steps, breathing in the quiet night air, when a young man came up to him and held out his hand. it was his brother-in-law, frederik stolpe. "i just wanted to wish you welcome back," he said, "and to thank you for what you said in there." "how is ellen?" pelle asked in a low voice. "she's only pretty well. she lives at , victoria street, and takes in washing. i think she would be glad to see you." he looked searchingly at pelle. "if you like, i can easily arrange for you to meet at my place." "thank you!" pelle answered, "but i'll go out to her early to-morrow morning." he no longer needed to go by circuitous routes. ii pelle was awakened by a distant sound resembling thunder, that came nearer and nearer out of the night and kept close to the prison. he lay still and listened shudderingly in the hope of hearing the reassuring step of the watchman passing his door, while fancies chased one another in his heavy head like riderless horses. the hollow, threatening sound grew ever louder and clearer, until it suddenly shattered the stillness of the night with a thunderous roar, which seemed to bring everything crashing down. it was as though a great gulf had opened and swallowed everything. in one panic-stricken bound he was at the window, his heart beating tumultuously; but the next moment he was ashamed of his mistake. it had been the same terrifying doomsday that he had dreaded in the days of his childhood, when the lightning zig-zagged among the rocks at home; and yet it was nothing but the noise of the first farm-carts as they passed from the highroad onto the stone paving of the town. it was the solitude brooding in his imagination, making it start in fear at every sound. but that would wear off. he stretched himself and shook off the nightmare. free! no gaoler was coming like a bad spirit to shatter the night's happy dream of freedom. he _was_ free! his pallet had not to be hooked up to the wall at a certain hour; he could lie as long as he wanted to, the whole day, if he liked. but now he had more important things to do; life was waiting. he hastily put on his clothes. in the street the lamplighter was lighting every other lamp. an endless procession of carts was pouring in from the country to supply the town. pelle threw open the window and looked out over the wakening city while he dressed himself. he was accustomed to sleep in a silence that was only broken by the soft squeaking of the mice under the heat-grating; and the night-noises of the city--the rumble of the electric trams, the shouts of night-wanderers--all these unwonted sounds that pierced the darkness so startlingly, had filled, his sleep with feverish dreams and caused a series of ugly, deformed visions to pass through his brain. he now felt quite rested, however, and greeted the city with awakened pleasure. yes, he had slept more than sufficiently; the noise called him and he must go down and give a helping hand to keep it going. for years he had done nothing but hoard; now he would set to work again with strength and courage. as soon as he was dressed he went out. it was too early to visit ellen, but he could not bear to stay in any longer. it was early morning. the first tram-car came in, filled with workmen, some even hanging on to the steps both of the motor-wagon and the two cars following it. and there was the first peasant with milk: they were not even up yet in the ice-dairy! every quarter of an hour trams came in with workmen, and the market-carts continued to drive in from the country laden with vegetables, corn or pigs' carcasses. the street was like a feeding-tube through which nourishment was continually being drawn into the city. on the top of swaying loads of straw sat zealand peasants nodding. they had come all the way from the frederikssund quarter, and had been driving all night. here and there came a drover with a few animals intended for the cattle-market. the animals did not like the town, and constantly became restive, hitching themselves round lamp-posts or getting across the tram-lines. the newspaper-women trudged from street- door to street-door with their aprons laden with morning papers, and he heard them toiling up the stairs as though their feet were weighted with lead. and beneath all this could be heard the endless tramp-tramp of workmen hastening to their work. there was a peculiarly familiar sound in those footsteps, which suddenly reminded him that he no longer belonged to their party, but had marked out his own way for good and evil. why was he not still a small, impersonal fraction of this great stream which day after day mechanically followed the same round in the mill? solitude had made his view of mankind a new and wondering one; he now, in every strange face he met, involuntarily sought for a little of that which makes each individual a world in himself. but these men were all alike, he thought; they came hurrying out of the darkness of the side streets, and were not fully awake and steady on their feet until they joined the throng, but then they did walk capitally. he recognized the firm beat again: he had himself taught it to them. daylight came stealing in over vesterbro, gray and heavy with spring moisture and the city smoke. that part of the town was not quite awake yet; the step sounding in the main street was that of the belated night- wanderer. he turned down victoria street, looking about him in surprise; he had never been here before. he read the door-plates: artists' bureau, artisan heim, lodging for artists, masseur & chiropodist, costumes for hire. most of the announcements were in foreign languages. there was also a gymnasium for equilibrists and a conservatorium for singing and music, dancing and deportment. nor did there seem to be a scarcity of pawnbrokers and dealers in second-hand goods. how had ellen drifted into this strange atmosphere of perfumes and old clothes and foreign countries? behind the windows in the low rooms he saw wonderful dresses thrown over chair-backs--burnouses and red fezes; and a little dark figure with a long pigtail and bare feet in yellow slippers, glided noiselessly past him in the old-fashioned, palatial doorway of no. . he mounted the stairs with a beating heart. the steps were worn and groaned ominously when trodden on. the door of the flat stood ajar, and he heard the sound of sweeping in the front room, while farther in a child was talking to itself or its doll. he had to stand a little while on the landing to take breath and to regain his composure. ellen was sweeping under the sofa with quick movements. she rose and gazed at him in bewilderment; the broom fell from her hand and she swayed to and fro. pelle caught her, and she leaned inert and helpless against him, and remained thus for a considerable time, pale and with closed eyes. when at last he turned her inanimate face toward him and kissed, it, she burst into tears. he spoke gently and reassuringly to her as to a child. she kept her eyes closed, as she had always done when anything overwhelmed her. she lay back on his arm, and he felt her body tremble at the sound of his voice. her tears seemed to soften her, and from the yielding of her body now he could see how stiffly she must have held herself, and was filled with joy. it had all been for his sake, and with a tremendous effort of her will she had defied fate until he came. she now placed it all at his feet and lay prostrate. how tired she must be! but now she and the children should have a good time; he would live for her now! he had laid her on the sofa and sat bending over her and telling her quietly how he had repented and longed for her. she made no answer, but held his hand in a convulsive grasp, now and then opening her eyes and stealing a glance at him. suddenly she discovered how worn and lined his face was, and as she passed her hand over it as if to soften the features, she broke into a storm of weeping. "you have suffered so, pelle!" she exclaimed vehemently, passing her trembling fingers through his iron-gray hair. "i can feel by your poor head how badly they've treated you. and i wasn't even with you! if i could only do something really nice to make you look happy!" she drew his head down onto her bosom and stroked it as a mother might her child's, and pelle's face changed as would a child's when taken to its mother's breast. it was as though the well of life flowed through him, the hardness of his expression disappeared, and life and warmth took its place. "i didn't think you'd come back to us," said ellen. "ever since lasse frederik met you yesterday i've been expecting you to come." pelle suddenly noticed how exhausted she looked. "haven't you been to bed all night?" he asked. she smilingly shook her head. "i had to take care that the street-door wasn't locked. whenever any one came home, i ran down and unlocked it again. you mustn't be angry with the boy for being afraid of you just at first. he was sorry for it afterward, and ran about the town all the evening trying to find you." a clear child's voice was calling from the bedroom more and more persistently: "man! good-morning, man!" it was sister, sitting up in ellen's bed and playing with a feather that she had pulled out of the corner of the down-quilt. she readily allowed herself to be kissed, and sat there with pouting mouth and the funniest little wrinkled nose. "you're man!" she said insinuatingly. "yes, that's true enough," answered pelle, laughing: "but what man?" "man!" she repeated, nodding gravely. sister shared ellen's bed now. at the foot of the big bed stood her own little cot, which had also been lasse frederik's, and in it lay----. well, pelle turned to the other side of the room, where lasse frederik lay snoring in a small bed, with one arm beneath his head. he had kicked off the quilt, and lay on his stomach in a deep sleep, with his limbs extended carelessly. the little fellow was well built, thought pelle. "now, lazy-bones, you'd better be thinking of getting up!" cried pelle, pulling him by the leg. the boy turned slowly. when he saw his father, he instantly became wide awake, and raised his arm above his head as though to ward off a blow. "there's no box on the ears in the air, my boy," said pelle, laughing. "the game only begins to-day!" lasse frederik continued to hold his arm in the same position, and lay gazing indifferently out into the front room, as if he had no idea to what his father was referring; but his face was scarlet. "don't you even say good-morning to your father?" said ellen, whereupon he sullenly extended his hand and then turned his face to the wall. he was vexed at his behavior of the day before, and perhaps expected a blowing-up. on a nail above his head hung his blouse and cap. "is lasse frederik a milk-boy?" asked pelle. "yes," said ellen, "and he's very good at it. the drivers praise him." "isn't he going to get up then, and go? i've met several milk-carts." "no, for we're on strike just now," murmured the boy without turning round. pelle became quite interested. "what fellows you are! so you're on strike, are you? what's it for--is it wages?" the boy had to explain, and gradually turned his face round, but did not look at his father. ellen stood in the doorway and listened to them smilingly. she looked frail. "lasse frederik's the leader," she said gently. "and he's lying here instead of being out on the watch for blacklegs?" exclaimed pelle quite irritably. "you're a nice leader!" "do you suppose any boy would be so mean as to be a blackleg?" said lasse frederik. "no, indeed! but people fetch their own milk from the carts." "then you must get the drivers to join you." "no, we don't belong to a real union, so they won't support us." "well then, make a union! get up, boy, and don't lie there snoring when there's anything of this sort on! do you imagine that anything in this world is to be got by sleeping?" the boy did not move. he did not seem to think there was any reason for taking his father very seriously; but he met a reproachful look from ellen, and he was out of bed and dressed in a trice. while they sat in the front room, drinking their coffee, pelle gave him a few hints as to how he should proceed in the matter. he was greatly interested, and went thoroughly into the subject; it seemed to him as though it were only yesterday that he had occupied himself with the people. how many pleasant memories of the fight crowded into his mind! and now every child knew that the meanest thing on earth was to become a blackleg! how he had fought to make even intelligent fellow-workmen understand this! it was quite comical to think that the strike--which filled the workmen with horror the first time he had employed it--was now a thing that children made use of. time passed with a fleet foot out here in the day; and if you wanted to keep pace you must look sharp! when the boy had gone, ellen came to pelle and stroked his hair. "welcome home!" she said softly, and kissed his furrowed brow. he pressed her hand. "thank you for having a home for me," he answered, looking into her eyes; "for if you hadn't, i think i should have gone to the dogs." "the boy has had his share in that, you know! he's worked well, or it might have gone badly with me many a time. you mustn't be angry with him, pelle, even if he is a little sullen to you. you must remember how much he's gone through with the other boys. sometimes he's come home quite disheartened." "because of me?" asked pelle in a low voice. "yes, for he couldn't bear them to say anything about you. at one time he was always fighting, but now i think he's taught them to leave him alone; for he never gave in. but it may have left its marks on him." she lingered by him; there was something she wanted to say to him, but she had a difficulty in beginning. "what is it?" he asked, in order to help her, his heart beating rapidly. he would have liked to get over this without speech. she drew him gently into the bedroom and up to the little cot. "you haven't looked at boy comfort," she said. he bent in embarrassment over the little boy who lay and gazed at him with large, serious eyes. "you must give me a little time," he said. "it's little marie's boy," said ellen, with a peculiar intonation. he stood up quickly, and looked in bewilderment at her. it was a little while before he comprehended. "where is marie?" he asked with difficulty. "she's dead, pelle," answered ellen, and came to his aid by holding out her hand to him. "she died when the child was born." a gray shadow passed across pelle's face. iii the house in which pelle and his wife lived--the "palace," the inhabitants of the street called it--was an old, tumble-down, three- storied building with a mansard roof. up the middle of the façade ran the remains of some fluted pilasters through the two upper stories, making a handsome frame to the small windows. the name "palace" had not been given to the house entirely without reason; the old woman who kept the ironmonger's shop in the back building could remember that in her childhood it had been a general's country-house, and stood quite by itself. at that time the shore reached to where isted street now runs, and the fruit-gardens went right into council house square. two ancient, worm-eaten apple-trees, relics of that period, were still standing squeezed in among the back buildings. since then the town had pushed the fruit-gardens a couple of miles farther back, and in the course of time side streets had been added to the bright neighborhood of vesterbro--narrow, poor-men's streets, which sprang up round the scattered country-houses, and shut out the light; and poor people, artistes and street girls ousted the owners and turned the luxuriant summer resort into a motley district where booted poverty and shoeless intelligence met. the "palace" was the last relic of a vanished age. the remains of its former grandeur were still to be seen in the smoke-blackened stucco and deep windows of the attics; but the large rooms had been broken up into sets of one or two rooms for people of small means, half the wide landing being boarded off for coal-cellars. from pelle's little two-roomed flat, a door and a couple of steps led down into a large room which occupied the entire upper floor of the side building, and was not unlike the ruins of a former banqueting-hall. the heavy, smoke-blackened ceiling went right up under the span roof and had once been decorated; but most of the plaster had now fallen down, and the beams threatened to follow it. the huge room had been utilized, in the course of time, both as a brewery and as a warehouse; but it still bore the stamp of its former splendor. the children of the property at any rate thought it was grand, and picked out the last remains of panelling for kindling-wood, and would sit calling to one another for hours from the high ledges above the brick pillars, upon which there had once stood busts of famous men. now and again a party of russian or polish emigrants hired the room and took possession of it for a few nights. they slept side by side upon the bare floor, each using his bundle for a pillow; and in the morning they would knock at the door of ellen's room, and ask by gestures to be allowed to come to the water-tap. at first she was afraid of them and barricaded the door with her wardrobe cupboard; but the thought of pelle in prison made her sympathetic and helpful. they were poor, needy beings, whom misery and misfortune had driven from their homes. they could not speak the language and knew nothing about the world; but they seemed, like birds of passage, to find their way by instinct. in their blind flight it was at the "palace" that they happened to alight for rest. with this exception the great room lay unused. it went up through two stories, and could have been made into several small flats; but the owner of the property--an old peasant from glostrup--was so miserly that he could not find it in his heart to spend money on it, notwithstanding the great advantage it would be to him. _ellen_ had no objection to this! she dried her customers' washing there, and escaped all the coal- dust and dirt of the yard. chance, which so often takes the place of providence in the case of poor people, had landed her and her children here when things had gone wrong with them in chapel road. ellen had at last, after hard toil, got her boot-sewing into good working order and had two pupils to help her, when a long strike came and spoiled it all for her. she struggled against it as well as she could, but one day they came and carried her bits of furniture down into the street. it was the old story: pelle had heard it several times before. there she stood with the children, mounting guard over her belongings until it grew dark. it was pouring with rain, and they did not know what to do. people stopped as they hurried by, asked a few questions and passed on; one or two advised her to apply to the committee for housing the homeless. this, however, both ellen and lasse frederik were too proud to do. they took the little ones down to the mangling-woman in the cellar, and themselves remained on guard over their things, in the dull hope that something would happen, a hope of which experience never quite deprives the poor. after they had stood there a long time something really did happen. out of nörrebro street came two men dashing along at a tremendous pace with a four-wheeled cart of the kind employed by the poor of copenhagen when they move--preferably by night--from one place to another. one of the men was at the pole of the cart, while the other pushed behind and, when the pace was at its height, flung himself upon his stomach on the cart, putting on the brake with the toes of his boots upon the road so as to twist the cart into the gutter. upon the empty cart sat a middle-aged woman, singing, with her feet dangling over the side; she was big and wore an enormous hat with large nodding flowers, of the kind designed to attract the male sex. the party zig-zagged, shouting and singing, from one side of the street to the other, and each time the lady shrieked. "_there's_ a removing cart!" said lasse frederik, and as he spoke the vehicle pulled up in the gutter just in front of them. "what are you doing, thorvald?" said one of the men; then, staring straight into ellen's face, "have you hurt your eye?" the woman had jumped down from the cart. "oh, get out of the way, you ass!" she said, pushing him aside. "can't you see they've been turned out? is it your husband that's chucked you out?" she asked, bending sympathetically over ellen. "no, the landlord's turned us out!" said lasse frederik. "what a funny little figure! and you've got nowhere to sleep to-night? here, christian, take and load these things on the cart, and then they can stand under the gateway at home for the night. they'll be quite spoilt by the rain here." "yes," answered christian, "the chair-legs have actually begun to take root!" the two men were in a boisterous humor. "now you can just come along with me," said the woman, when the things were piled upon the cart, "and i'll find you a place to sleep in. and then to-morrow providence'll perhaps be at home himself!" "she's a street-woman," whispered lasse frederik again and again, pulling ellen's dress; but ellen did not care now, if only she could avoid having to accept poor relief. she no longer held her head so high. it was "queen theresa" herself they had met, and in a sense this meeting had made their fortune. she helped ellen to find her little flat, and got her washing to do for the girls of the neighborhood. it was not very much, though the girls of vesterbro went in for fine clothes as far as they could; but it afforded her at any rate a livelihood. * * * * * pelle did not like ellen going on with all this dirty work; he wanted to be the one to provide for the family. ellen moreover had had her turn, and she looked tired and as if she needed to live a more comfortable life. it was as though she fell away now that he was there and able once more to assume the responsibility; but she would not hear of giving up the washing. "it's never worth while to throw away the dirty water until you've got the clean!" she said. every morning he set out furnished with a brand-new trades-union book, and went from workshop to workshop. times were bad for his branch of trade; many of his old fellow-workmen had been forced to take up other occupations--he met them again as conductors, lamplighters, etc.; machinery had made them unnecessary, they said. it was the effect of the great lock-out; it had killed the little independent businesses that had formerly worked with one or two men, and put wind into the sails of large industries. the few who could manage it had procured machines and become manufacturers; the rest were crowded out and sat in out-of-the- way basements doing repairs. to set to work again, on the old conditions was what had been farthest from pelle's thoughts; and he now went about and offered to become an apprentice again in order to serve his new master, the machinery, and was ready to be utilized to the utmost. but the manufacturers had no use for him; they still remembered him too well. "you've been too long away from the work," said one and another of them meaningly. well, that was only tit for tat; but he felt bitterly how even his past rose up against him. he had fought and sacrificed everything to improve the conditions in his branch; and the machines were the discouraging answer that the development gave to him and his fellows. he was not alone in his vain search in this bright springtime. a number of other branches had had the same fate as his own. every new day that dawned brought him into a stream of men who seemed to be condemned to wear out the pavement in their hopeless search for work--people who had been pushed out by the machines and could not get in again. "there must be something wrong with them," pelle thought while he stood and listened to always the same story of how they had suddenly been dropped, and saw the rest of the train steaming away. it must have been their own fault that they were not coupled on to a new one; perhaps they were lazy or drunkards. but after a time he saw good, tried men standing in the row, and offering their powers morning after morning without result; and he began to realize with a chill fear that times were changing. he would certainly have managed to make both ends meet if there had been anything to be got. the prices were all right; their only defect was that they were not eatable. altogether it seemed as if a change for the worse had overtaken the artisan; and to make it still more serious the large businesses stood in the way of his establishing himself and becoming independent. there was not even a back door left open now! pelle might just as well put that out of his head first as last; to become a master now required capital and credit. the best thing that the future held was an endless and aimless tramp to and from the factory. at one stroke he was planted in the middle of the old question again; all the circumstances passed before him, and it was useless to close his eyes. he was willing enough to mind his own affairs and did not seek for anything; but the one thing was a consequence of the other, and whether he wished it or not, it united in a general view of the conditions. the union had stood the test outwardly. the workmen were well organized and had vindicated their right to negotiate; their corporations could no longer be disregarded. wages were also to some extent higher, and the feeling for the home had grown in the workmen themselves, many of them having removed from their basements into new two- or three-roomed flats, and bought good furniture. they demanded more from life, but everything had become dearer, and they still lived from hand to mouth. he could see that the social development had not kept pace with the mechanical; the machines wedged themselves quietly but inexorably in between the workmen and the work, and threw more and more men out of employment. the hours of labor were not greatly shortened. society did not seem to care to protect the workers, but it interested itself more in disabled workmen than before, and provision for the poor was well organized. pelle could not discover _any_ law that had a regulating effect, but found a whole number of laws that plastered up the existing conditions. a great deal of help was given, always just on the borders of starvation; and more and more men had to apply for it. it did not rob them of their rights as citizens, but made them a kind of politically _kept_ proletariat. it was thus that the world of adventure which pelle had helped to conquer appeared now when he returned and looked at it with new eyes. the world had not been created anew, and the movement did not seem to have produced anything strong and humanly supporting. it seemed as if the workmen would quietly allow themselves to be left out of the game, if only they received money for doing nothing! what had become of their former pride? they must have acquired the morals of citizens, since they willingly agreed to accept a pension for rights surrendered. they were not deficient in power; they could make the whole world wither and die without shedding a drop of blood, only by holding together. it was a sense of responsibility that they lacked; they had lost the fundamental idea of the movement. pelle looked at the question from all sides while he trudged up and down in his vain search. the prospect obtruded itself upon him, and there were forces at work, both within and without, trying to push him into the movement and into the front rank among the leaders, but he repelled the idea: he was going to work for his home now. he managed to obtain some repairs for the neighbors, and also helped ellen to hang up clothes and turn the mangle. one must pocket one's pride and be glad _she_ had something. she was glad of his help, but did not want any one to see him doing this woman's work. "it's not work for a man," she said, looking at him with eyes which said how pleased she was to have his company. they liked being together, enjoyed it in their own quiet way without many words. much had happened, but neither pelle nor ellen were in a hurry. neither of them had a facility in speaking, but they found their way to an understanding through the pauses, and drew nearer to one another in the silences. each knew what the other had suffered without requiring to have it told: time had been at work on them both. there was no storm in their new companionship. the days passed quietly, made sad by the years that had gone by. in ellen's mind was neither jubilation nor reproach. she was cautious with regard to him--almost as shy as the first time they met; behind all her goodness and care lay the same touch of maidenly reserve as at that time. she received his caresses silently, she herself giving chiefly by being something for him. he noticed how every little homely action she did for him grew out of her like a motherly caress and took him into her heart. he was grateful for it, but it was not that of which he stood most in need. when they sat together in the twilight and the children played upon the floor, she was generally silent, stealing glances at him now and then; but as soon as he noticed these, the depth of her expression vanished. was she again searching for his inner being as she had done in their earliest time together? it was as though she were calling to something within him, but would not reveal herself. it was thus that mother might sit and gaze searchingly into her child's future. did she not love him then? she had given him all that she possessed, borne him children, and had faithfully waited for him when all the rest of the world had cast him off; and yet he was not sure that she had ever loved him. pelle had never met with love in the form of something unmanageable; the movement had absorbed the surplus of his youth. but now he had been born anew together with the spring, and felt it suddenly as an inward power. he and ellen would begin now, for now she was everything! life had taught him seriousness, and it was well. he was horrified at the thoughtless way in which he had taken ellen and made her a mother without first making her a bride. her woman's heart must be immeasurably large since she had not gone to pieces in consequence, but still stood as unmoved as ever, waiting for him to win her. she had got through it by being a mother. would he ever win her? was she really waiting still, or was she contented with things as they were? his love for her was so strong that everything about her was transfigured, and he was happy in the knowledge that she was his fate. merely a ribbon or a worn check cotton apron--any little thing that belonged to her--acquired a wonderfully warm hue, and filled his mind with sweetness. a glance or a touch made him dizzy with happiness, and his heart went out to her in waves of ardent longing. it awoke no response; she smiled gently and pressed his hand. she was fond of him and refused him nothing, but he nevertheless felt that she kept her innermost self hidden from him. when he tried to see in, he found it closed by a barrier of kindness. iv pelle was like a man returning home after years of exile, and trying to bring himself into personal relations with everything; the act of oblivion was in force only up to the threshold; the real thing he had to see to himself. the land he had tilled was in other hands, he no longer had any right to it; but it was he who had planted, and he must know how it had been tended and how it had thriven. the great advance had taken on a political character. the movement had in the meantime let the demand of the poorest of the people for bread drop, and thrown them over as one would throw over ballast in order to rise more quickly. the institutions themselves would be won, and then they would of course come back to the starting-point and begin again quite differently. it might be rather convenient to turn out those who most hindered the advance, but would it lead to victory? it was upon them indeed that everything turned! pelle had thoroughly learned the lesson, that he who thinks he will outwit others is outwitted himself. he had no faith in those who would climb the fence where it was lowest. the new tactics dated from the victorious result of the great conflict. he had himself led the crowds in triumph through the capital, and if he had not been taken he would probably now be sitting in parliament as one of the labor members and symbolizing his promotion to citizenship. but now he was out of it all, and had to choose his attitude toward the existing state of things; he had belonged to the world of outcasts and had stood face to face with the irreconcilable. he was not sure that the poor man was to be raised by an extension of the existing social ethics. he himself was still an outlaw, and would probably never be anything else. it was hard to stoop to enter the doorway through which you had once been thrown out, and it was hard to get in. he did not intend to take any steps toward gaining admission to the company of respectable men; he was strong enough to stand alone now. perhaps ellen expected something in that way as reparation for all the wrong she had suffered. she must have patience! pelle had promised himself that he would make her and the children happy, and he persuaded himself that this would be best attained by following his own impulses. he was not exactly happy. pecuniarily things were in a bad way, and notwithstanding all his planning, the future continued to look uncertain. he needed to be the man, the breadwinner, so that ellen could come to him for safety and shelter, take her food with an untroubled mind from his hand, and yield herself to him unresistingly. he was not their god; that was where the defect lay. this was noticeable at any rate in lasse frederik. there was good stuff in the boy, although it had a tang of the street. he was an energetic fellow, bright and pushing, keenly alert with regard to everything in the way of business. pelle saw in him the image of himself, and was only proud of him; but the boy did not look upon him with unconditional reliance in return. he was quick and willing, but nothing more; his attitude was one of trial, as if he wanted to see how things would turn out before he recognized the paternal relationship. pelle suffered under this impalpable distrust, which classed him with the "new fathers" of certain children; and he had a feeling that was at the same time painful and ridiculous, that he was on trial. in olden days the matter might have been settled by a good thrashing, but now things had to be arranged so that they would be lasting; he could no longer buy cheaply. when helping lasse frederik in organizing the milk- boys, he pocketed his pride and introduced features from the great conflict in order to show that he was good for something too. he could see from the boy's expression that he did not believe much of it, and intended to investigate the matter more closely. it wounded his sensitive mind and drove him into himself. one day, however, when he was sitting at his work, lasse frederik rushed in. "father, tell me what you did to get the men that were locked into the factory out!" he cried breathlessly. "you wouldn't believe it if i did," said pelle reproachfully. "yes, i would; for they called you the 'lightning!'" exclaimed the boy in tones of admiration. "and they had to put you in prison so as to get rid of you. the milk-driver told me all about it!" from that day they were friends. at one stroke pelle had become the hero of the boy's existence. he had shaved off his beard, had blackened his face, and had gone right into the camp of his opponents, and nothing could have been finer. he positively had to defend himself from being turned into a regular robber-captain with a wide-awake hat and top- boots! lasse frederik had a lively imagination! pelle had needed this victory. he must have his own people safely at his back first of all, and then have a thorough settlement of the past. but this was not easy, for little boy comfort staggered about everywhere, warped himself toward him from one piece of furniture to another with his serious eyes fixed steadily upon him, and crawled the last part of the way. whenever he was set down, he instantly steered for pelle; he would come crawling in right from the kitchen, and would not stop until he stood on his feet by pelle's leg, looking up at him. "see how fond he is of you already!" said ellen tenderly, as she put him down in the middle of the floor to try him. "take him up!" pelle obeyed mechanically; he had no personal feeling for this child; it was indeed no child, but the accusation of a grown-up person that came crawling toward him. and there stood ellen with as tender an expression as if it were her own baby! pelle could not understand how it was that she did not despise him; he was ashamed whenever he thought of his struggle to reconcile himself to this "little cuckoo." it was a good thing he had said so little! his inability to be as naturally kind to the child as she was tormented him; and when, on saturday evening, she had bathed boy comfort and then sat with him on her lap, putting on his clean clothes, pelle was overwhelmed with self-accusation. he had thoughtlessly trodden little marie of the "ark" underfoot, and she whom he had cast off when she most needed him, in return passed her beneficent hand over his wrong-doing. as though she were aware of his gloomy thoughts, she went to him and placed the warm, naked child in his arms, saying with a gentle smile: "isn't he a darling?" her heart was so large that he was almost afraid; she really took more interest in this child than in her own. "i'm his mother, of course!" she said naturally. "you don't suppose he can do without a real mother, do you?" marie's fate lay like a shadow over pelle's mind. he had to talk to ellen about it in order to try to dispel it, but she did not see the fateful connection; she looked upon it as something that had to be. "you were so hunted and persecuted," she said quietly, "and you had no one to look to. so it had to happen like that. marie told me all about it. it was no one's fault that she was not strong enough to bear children. the doctor said there was a defect in her frame; she had an internal deformity." alas! ellen did not know how much a human being should be able to help, and she herself took much more upon her than she need. there was, nevertheless, something soothing in these sober facts, although they told him nothing about the real thing. it is impossible to bear for long the burden of the irreparable, and pelle was glad that ellen dwelt so constantly and naturally on marie's fate; it brought it within the range of ordinary things for him too. marie had come to her when she could no longer hide her condition, and ellen had taken her in and kept her until she went to the lying-in hospital. marie knew quite well that she was going to die--she could feel it, as it were--and would sit and talk about it while she helped ellen with her boot-sewing. she arranged everything as sensibly as an experienced mother. "how old-fashioned she was, and yet so child-like!" ellen would exclaim with emotion. pelle could not help thinking of his life in the "ark" when little marie kept house for him and her two brothers--a careful housekeeper of eleven years! she was deformed and yet had abundant possibilities within her; she resembled poverty itself. infected by his young strength, she had shot up and unfolded into a fair maiden, at whom the young dandies turned to look when she went along the street to make her purchases. he had been anxious about her, alone and unprotected as she was; and yet it was he himself who had become the plunderer of the poor, defenceless girl. why had he not carried his cross alone, instead of accepting the love of a being who gave herself to him in gratitude for his gift to her of the joy of life? why had he been obliged, in a difficult moment, to take his gift back? boy comfort she had called her boy in her innocent goodness of heart, in order that pelle should be really fond of him; but it was a dearly-bought comfort that cost the life of another! for pelle the child was almost an accusation. there was much to settle up and some things that could not be arranged! pelle sometimes found it burdensome enough to be responsible for himself. about this time morten was often in his thoughts. "morten has disappointed me at any rate," he thought; "he could not bear my prosperity!" this was a point on which pelle had right upon his side! morten must come to him if they were to have anything more to do with one another. pelle bore no malice, but it was reasonable and just that the one who was on the top should first hold out his hand. in this way he thought he had obtained rest from that question in any case, but it returned. he had taken the responsibility upon himself now, and was going to begin by sacrificing his only friend on a question of etiquette! he would have to go to him and hold out a hand of reconciliation! this at last seemed to be a noble thought! but pelle was not allowed to feel satisfied with himself in this either. he was a prey to the same tormenting unrest that he had suffered in his cell, when he stole away from his work and sat reading secretly--he felt as if there were always an eye at the peephole, which saw everything that he did. he would have to go into the question once more. that unselfish morten envious? it was true he had not celebrated pelle's victory with a flourish of trumpets, but had preferred to be his conscience! that was really at the bottom of it. he had intoxicated himself in the noise, and wanted to find something with which to drown morten's quiet warning voice, and the accusation was not far to seek-- _envy!_ it was he himself, in fact, who had been the one to disappoint. one day he hunted him up. morten's dwelling was not difficult to find out; he had acquired a name as an author, and was often mentioned in the papers in connection with the lower classes. he lived on the south boulevard, up in an attic as usual, with a view over kalvebod strand and amager. "why, is that you?" he said, taking pelle's hands in his and gazing into his stern, furrowed face until the tears filled his eyes. "i say, how you have changed!" he whispered half tearfully, and led him into his room. "i suppose i have," pelle answered gloomily. "i've had good reason to, anyhow. and how have you been? are you married?" "no, i'm as solitary as ever. the one i want still doesn't care about me, and the others _i_ don't want. i thought you'd thrown me over too, but you've come after all." "i had too much prosperity, and that makes you self-important." "oh, well, it does. but in prison--why did you send my letters back? it was almost too hard." pelle looked up in astonishment. "it would never have occurred to the prisoner that he could hurt anybody, so you do me an injustice there," he said. "it was myself i wanted to punish!" "you've been ill then, pelle!" "yes, ill! you should only know what one gets like when they stifle your right to be a human being and shut you in between four bare walls. at one time i hated blindly the whole world; my brain reeled with trying to find out a really crushing revenge, and when i couldn't hit others i helped to carry out the punishment upon myself. there was always a satisfaction in feeling that the more i suffered, the greater devils did it make the others appear. and i really did get a hit at them; they hated with all their hearts having to give me a transfer." "wasn't there any one there who could speak a comforting word--the chaplain, the teachers?" pelle smiled a bitter smile. "oh, yes, the lash! the jailer couldn't keep me under discipline; i was what they call a difficult prisoner. it wasn't that i didn't want to, but i had quite lost my balance. you might just as well expect a man to walk steadily when everything is whirling round him. they saw, i suppose, that i couldn't come right by myself, so one day they tied me to a post, pulled my shirt up over my head and gave me a thrashing. it sounds strange, but that did it; the manner of procedure was so brutal that everything in me was struck dumb. when such a thing as _that_ could happen, there was nothing more to protest against. they put a wet sheet round me and i was lifted onto my pallet, so that was all right. for a week i had to lie on my face and couldn't move for the pain; the slightest movement made me growl like an animal. the strokes had gone right through me and could be counted on my chest; and there i lay like a lump of lead, struck down to the earth in open- mouthed astonishment. 'this is what they do to human beings!' i groaned inwardly; 'this is what they do to human beings!' i could no longer comprehend anything." pelle's face had become ashen gray; all the blood had left it, and the bones stood out sharply as in a dead face. he gulped two or three times to obtain control over his voice. "i wonder if you understand what it means to get a thrashing!" he said hoarsely. "fire's nothing; i'd rather be burnt alive than have it again. the fellow doesn't beat; he's not the least angry; nobody's angry with you; they're all so seriously grieved on your account. he places the strokes carefully down over your back as if he were weighing out food, almost as if he were fondling you. but your lungs gasp at each stroke and your heart beats wildly; it's as if a thousand pincers were tearing all your fibers and nerves apart at once. my very entrails contracted in terror, and seemed ready to escape through my throat every time the lash fell. my lungs still burn when i think of it, and my heart will suddenly contract as if it would send the blood out through my throat. do you know what the devilish part of corporal punishment is? it's not the bodily pain that they inflict upon the culprit; it's his inner man they thrash--his soul. while i lay there brooding over my mutilated spirit, left to lick my wounds like a wounded animal, i realized that i had been in an encounter with the evil conscience of society, the victim of their hatred of those who suffer." "do you remember what gave occasion to the punishment?" morten asked, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "it was some little thing or other--i think i called out. the solitude and the terrible silence got upon my nerves, and i suppose i shouted to make a little life in the horrible emptiness. i don't remember very clearly, but i think that was my crime." "you'd have been the better anyhow for a kind word from a friend." morten was still thinking of his despised letters. "yes, but the atmosphere of a cell is not suited for friendly relations with the outside world. you get to hate all who are at liberty--those who mean well by you too--and you chop off even the little bit of branch you're sitting on. perhaps i should never have got into touch with life again if it hadn't been for the mice in my cell. i used to put crumbs of bread down the grating for them, and when i lay there half dead and brooding, they ran squeaking over my hand. it was a caress anyhow, even if it wasn't from fellow-men." morten lived in a small two-roomed flat in the attics. while they sat talking, a sound came now and then from the other room, and each time a nervous look came into morten's face, and he glanced in annoyance at the closed door. gradually he became quite restless and his attention was fixed on these sounds. pelle wondered at it, but asked no questions. suddenly there came the sound of a chair being overturned. morten rose quickly and went in, shutting the door carefully behind him. pelle heard low voices--morten's admonishing, and a thin, refractory, girlish voice. "he's got a girl hidden in there," thought pelle. "i'd better be off." he rose and looked out of the large attic window. how everything had changed since he first came to the capital and looked out over it from morten's old lodging! in those days he had had dreams of conquering it, and had carried out his plan too; and now he could begin from the beginning! an entirely new city lay spread out beneath him. where he had once run about among wharves and coal-bunkers, there now stood a row of palatial buildings with a fine boulevard. and everything outside was new; a large working-men's district had sprung up where there had once been timber-yards or water. below him engines were drawing rows of trucks filled with ballast across the site for the new goods-station yard; and on the opposite side of the harbor a new residential and business quarter had grown up on the iceland quay. and behind it all lay the water and the green land of amager. morten had had the sense to select a high branch for himself like the nightingales. he had got together a good number of books again, and on his writing- table stood photographs of well-known men with autograph inscriptions. to all appearances he seemed to make his way in the world of books. pelle took down some of morten's own works, and turned over their leaves with interest. he seemed to hear morten's earnest voice behind the printed words. he would begin to read him now! morten came in. "you're not going, are you?" he asked, drawing his hand across his forehead. "do stay a little while and we'll have a good talk. you can't think how i've missed you!" he looked tired. "i'm looking forward tremendously to reading your books," said pelle enthusiastically. "what a lot you've written! you haven't given that up." "perhaps solitude's taught you too to like books," said morten, looking at him. "if so, you've made some good friends in there, pelle. all that there isn't worth much; it's only preliminary work. it's a new world ours, you must remember." "i don't think _the working man_ cares much about you." "no, not much," answered morten slowly. "they say you only write in the upper-class papers." "if i didn't i should starve. _they_ don't grudge me my food, at any rate! our own press still has no use for skirmishers, but only for men who march to order!" "and it's very difficult for you to subordinate yourself to any one," said pelle, smiling. "i have a responsibility to those above me," answered morten proudly. "if i give the blind man eyes to see into the future, i can't let myself be led by him. now and then _the working man_ gets hold of one of my contributions to the upper-class press: that's all the connection i have with my own side. my food i have to get from the other side of the boundary, and lay my eggs there: they're pretty hard conditions. you can't think how often i've worried over not being able to speak to my own people except in roundabout ways. well, it doesn't matter! i can afford to wait. there's no way of avoiding the son of my father, and in the meantime i'm doing work among the upper classes. i bring the misery into the life of the happily-situated, and disturb their quiet enjoyment. the upper classes must be prepared for the revolution too." "can they stand your representations?" asked pelle, in surprise. "yes, the upper classes are just as tolerant as the common people were before they rose: it's an outcome of culture. sometimes they're almost too tolerant; you can't quite vouch for their words. when there's something they don't like, they always get out of it by looking at it from an artistic point of view." "how do you mean?" "as a display, as if you were acting for their entertainment. 'it's splendidly done,' they say, when you've laid bare a little of the boundless misery. 'it's quite russian. of course it's not real at all, at any rate not here at home.' but you always make a mark on some one or other, and little by little the food after all becomes bitter to their taste, i think. perhaps some day i shall be lucky enough to write in such a way about the poor that no one can leave them out. but you yourself--what's your attitude toward matters? are you disappointed?" "yes, to some extent. in prison, in my great need, i left the fulfilment of the time of prosperity to you others. all the same, a great change has taken place." "and you're pleased with it?" "everything has become dearer," said pelle slowly, "and unemployment seems on the way to become permanent." morten nodded. "that's the answer capital gives," he said. "it multiplies every rise in wages by two, and puts it back on the workmen again. the poor man can't stand very many victories of that kind." "almost the worst thing about it is the development of snobbery. it seems to me that our good working classes are being split up into two-- the higher professions, which will be taken up into the upper classes; and the proletariat, which will be left behind. the whole thing has been planned on too small a scale for it to get very far." "you've been out and seen something of the world, pelle," said morten significantly. "you must teach others now." "i don't understand myself," answered pelle evasively, "and i've been in prison. but what about you?" "i'm no good as a rallier; you've seen that yourself. they don't care about me. i'm too far in advance of the great body of them, and have no actual connection--you know i'm really terribly lonely! perhaps, though, i'm destined to reach the heights before you others, and if i do i'll try to light a beacon up there for you." morten sat silent for a little while, and then suddenly lifted his head. "but you _must_, pelle!" he said. "you say you're not the right man, but there's simply no one but you. have you forgotten that you fired the movement, that you were its simple faith? they one and all believed in you blindly like children, and were capable of nothing when you gave up. why, it's not you, but the others--the whole movement-- who've been imprisoned! how glad i am that you've come back full of the strength gained there! you were smaller than you are now, pelle, and even then something happened; now you may be successful even in great things." pelle sat and listened in the deepening twilight, wondering with a pleased embarrassment. it was morten who was nominating him--the severe, incorruptible morten, who had always before been after him like his evil conscience. "no, i'm going to be careful now," he said, "and it's your own fault, morten. you've gone and pricked my soul, and i'm awake now; i shan't go at anything blindly again. i have a feeling that what we two are joining in is the greatest thing the world has ever seen. it reaches further into the future than i can see, and so i'm working on myself. i study the books now--i got into the way of that in prison--and i must try to get a view out over the world. something strange too has happened to me: i understand now what you meant when you said that man was holy! i'm no longer satisfied with being a small part of the whole, but think i must try to become a whole world by myself. it sounds foolish, but i feel as if i were in one of the scales and the rest of the world in the other; and until i can send the other scale up, i can't think of putting myself at the head of the multitude." evening had closed in before they were aware of it. the electric light from the railway-station yard threw its gleam upon the ceiling of the attic room and was reflected thence onto the two men who sat leaning forward in the half-darkness, talking quietly. neither of them noticed that the door to the other room had opened, and a tall, thin girl stood on the threshold gazing at them with dilated pupils. she was in her chemise only, and it had slipped from one thin shoulder; and her feet were bare. the chemise reached only to her knees, leaving exposed a pair of sadly emaciated legs. a wheezing sound accompanied her breathing. pelle had raised his head to say something, but was silent at sight of the lean, white figure, which stood looking at him with great eyes that seemed to draw the darkness into them. the meeting with morten had put him into an expectant frame of mind. he still had the call sounding in his ears, and gazed in amazement at the ghostly apparition. the delicate lines, spoiled by want, the expression of childlike terror of the dark-- all this twofold picture of wanness stamped with the stamp of death, and of an unfulfilled promise of beauty--was it not the ghost of poverty, of wrong and oppression, a tortured apparition sent to admonish him? was his brain failing? were the horrible visions of the darkness of his cell returning? "morten!" he whispered, touching his arm. morten sprang up. "why, johanna! aren't you ashamed of yourself?" he exclaimed reproachfully. he tried to make the girl go back into the other room, and to close the door; but she pushed past him out into the room. "i _will_ see him!" she cried excitedly. "if you don't let me, i shall run away! he's hidden my clothes," she said to pelle, gazing at him with her sunken eyes. "but i can easily run away in my chemise. i don't care!" her voice was rough and coarse from the damp air of the back yards. "now go back to bed, johanna!" said morten more gently. "remember what the doctor said. you'll catch cold and it'll all be wasted." "what do i care!" she answered, breaking into a coarse laugh. "you needn't waste anything on me; i've had no children by you." she was trembling with cold, but remained obstinately standing, and answered morten's remonstrances with a torrent of abusive epithets. at last he gave it up and sat down wearily. the two men sat and looked at her in silence. the child was evidently uncomfortable at the cessation of resistance, and became confused beneath their silent gaze. she tossed her head and looked defiantly from the one to the other, her eyes glowing with an unnatural brightness. suddenly she sank upon the floor and began to cry. "_this_ won't do," said pelle gravely. "i can't manage her," answered morten hopelessly, "but you are strong enough." pelle stooped and took her up in his arms. she kicked and bit him. "she's got a fit," he said to morten. "we must take her out to the pump." she instantly became quiet and let him carry her to bed. the fever was raging in her, and he noticed how her body was racked with every breath she drew; it sounded like a leaky pump. when morten, with a few kind words, covered her up, she began to weep convulsively, but turned her face to the wall and stuffed the quilt into her mouth in order to hide it. she gradually became quieter and at last fell asleep; and the two men stole out of the room and closed the door after them. morten looked tired out, for he was still not strong. "i've let myself in for something that i'm not equal to," he said despondently. "who is the poor child?" asked pelle softly. "i don't know. she came to me this spring, almost dead drunk and in a fearful state; and the next day she regretted it and went off, but i got hold of her again. she's one of those poor creatures who have no other home than the big timber-yards, and there she's made a living by going from one to another of the bigger lads. i can get nothing out of her, but i've found out in other ways that she's lived among timber-stacks and in cellars for at least two years. the boys enticed dissolute men out there and sold her, taking most of the money themselves and giving her spirits to encourage her. from what i can make out there are whole organized bands which supply the dissolute men of the city with boys and girls. it makes one sick to think of it! the child must be an orphan, but won't, as i said, tell me anything. once or twice i've heard her talk in her sleep of her grandmother; but when i've referred to it, she sulks and won't speak." "does she drink?" asked pelle. morten nodded. "i've had some bad times with her on that account," he said. "she shows incredible ingenuity when it's a case of getting hold of liquor. at first she couldn't eat hot food at all, she was in such a state. she's altogether fearfully shattered in soul and body, and causes me much trouble." "why don't you get her into some home?" "our public institutions for the care of children are not calculated to foster life in a down-trodden plant, and you'll not succeed with johanna by punishment and treatment like any ordinary child. at times she's quite abnormally defiant and unmanageable, and makes me altogether despair; and then when i'm not looking, she lies and cries over herself. there's much good in her in spite of everything, but she can't let it come out. i've tried getting her into a private family, where i knew they would be kind to her; but not many days had passed before they came and said she'd run away. for a couple of weeks she wandered about, and then came back again to me. late one evening when i came home, i found her sitting wet and shivering in the dark corner outside my door. i was quite touched, but she was angry because i saw her, and bit and kicked as she did just now. i had to carry her in by force. her unhappy circumstances have thrown her quite off her balance, and i at any rate can't make her out. so that's how matters stand. i sleep on the sofa in here, but of course a bachelor's quarters are not exactly arranged for this. there's a lot of gossip too among the other lodgers." "does that trouble you?" asked pelle in surprise. "no, but the child, you see--she's terribly alive to that sort of thing. and then she doesn't comprehend the circumstances herself. she's only about eleven or twelve, and yet she's already accustomed to pay for every kindness with her weak body. can't you imagine how dreadful it is to look into her wondering eyes? the doctor says she's been injured internally and is probably tuberculous too; he thinks she'll never get right. and her soul! what an abyss for a child! for even one child to have such a fate is too much, and how many there are in the hell in which we live!" they were both silent for a little while, and then morten rose. "you mustn't mind if i ask you to go," he said, "but i must get to work; there's something i've got to finish this evening. you won't mind, will you? come and see me again as soon as you can, and thanks for coming this time!" he said as he pressed pelle's hand. "i'd like you to keep your eyes open," he said as he followed him to the door. "perhaps you could help me to find out the history of the poor thing. you know a lot of poor people, and must have come in some way or other into her life, for i can see it in her. didn't you notice how eager she was to have a look at you? try to find out about it, will you?" pelle promised, but it was more easily said than done. when his thoughts searched the wide world of poverty to which he had drawn so close during the great lock-out, he realized that there were hundreds of children who might have suffered johanna's fate. v pelle had got out his old tools and started as shoemaker to the dwellers in his street. he no longer went about seeking for employment, and to ellen it appeared as if he had given up all hope of getting any. but he was only waiting and arming himself: he was as sanguine as ever. the promise of the inconceivable was still unfulfilled in his mind. there was no room for him up in the small flat with ellen doing her washing there, so he took a room in the high basement, and hung up a large placard in the window, on which he wrote with shoemaker's ink, "come to me with your shoes, and we will help one another to stand on our feet." when lasse frederik was not at work or at school, he was generally to be found downstairs with his father. he was a clever fellow and could give a hand in many ways. while they worked they talked about all sorts of things, and the boy related his experiences to his father. he was changing very rapidly and talked sensibly about everything. pelle was afraid he was getting too little out of his childhood. "aren't you going up to play with them?" he asked, when the boys of the neighborhood rushed shouting past the basement window; but lasse frederik shook his head. he had played at being everything, from a criminal to a king, so there was nothing more to be had in that direction. he wanted something real now, and in the meantime had dreams of going to sea. although they all three worked, they could only just make ends meet; there was never anything over for extras. this was a sorrow to ellen especially; pelle did not seem to think much about it. if they only put something eatable before him, he was contented and did not mind what it was. it was ellen's dream that they should still, by toiling early and late, be able to work themselves up into another stratum; but pelle was angry when she worked on after the time for leaving off. he would rather they were a little poor, if only they could afford to be human beings. ellen did not understand it, but she saw that his mind was turned in another direction; he who had hitherto always fallen asleep over books would now become so absorbed in them that he did not hear the children playing round him. she had actually to rouse him when there was anything she wanted; and she began to fear this new power which had come in place of the old. it seemed like a curse that something should always work upon him to take him beyond her. and she dared not oppose it; she had bitter experience from former times. "what are you looking for in those books?" she asked, sitting down beside him. pelle looked up absently. his thoughts were in far-off regions where she had never been. what was he looking for? he tried to tell her, but could not explain it. "i'm looking for myself!" he said suddenly, striking boldly through everything. ellen gazed at him, wondering and disappointed. but she tried again. this time nothing should come between them and destroy her world. she no longer directly opposed anything; she meant to _go with him_ and be where he was. "tell me what you are doing and let me take part in it," she said. pelle had been prepared to some extent to go into this by himself, and was glad to meet with a desire for development in her too. for the present the intellectual world resembled more or less a wilderness, and it was good to have a companion with him in traversing it. he explained to her the thoughts that occupied him, and discussed them with her; and ellen observed wonderingly that it was all about things that did not concern their own little well-being. she took great pains to comprehend this flight away from the things that mattered most; it was like children who always wanted what they ought not to have. in the evening, when boy comfort and sister had been put to bed, pelle would take a book and read aloud. ellen was occupied with some mending or other, and lasse frederik, his ears standing out from his head, hung over a chair-back with his eyes fixed upon his father. although he did not understand the half of it, he followed it attentively until nature asserted herself, and he fell asleep. ellen understood this very well, for she had great difficulty herself in keeping her eyes open. they were not stories that pelle read. sometimes he would stop to write something down or to discuss some question or other. he would have the most extraordinary ideas, and see a connection between things that seemed to ellen to be as far apart as the poles; she could not help thinking that he might very well have studied to be a pastor. it suited him, however; his eyes became quite black when he was explaining some subject that he was thoroughly interested in, and his lips assumed an expression that made her long to kiss them. she had to confess to herself that in any case it was a very harmless evening occupation, and was glad that what was interesting him this time kept him at home at any rate. one day pelle became aware that she was not following him. she did not even believe in what he was doing; she had never believed in him blindly. "she's never really loved me either: that's why!" he thought despondently. perhaps that explained why she took boy comfort as calmly as if he were her own child: she was not jealous! pelle would willingly have submitted to a shower of reproaches if afterward she had given him a kiss wetted with hot tears; but ellen was never thrown off her balance. happy though they were, he noticed that she, to a certain extent, reckoned without him, as if he had a weakness of which it was always well to take account. her earlier experiences had left their mark upon her. * * * * * ellen had been making plans with regard to the old room and the two small ante-rooms at the end of it. she was tired of washing; it paid wretchedly and gave a great deal of work, and she received very little consideration. she now wanted to let lodgings to artistes. she knew of more than one woman in their street who made a nice living by taking in artistes. "if i'd only got a couple of hundred krones ( or pounds) to start it with, i'm sure i should make it pay," she said. "and then you'd have more time and quiet for reading your books," she added coaxingly. pelle was against the plan. the better class of artistes took rooms at the artiste hotels, and the people _they_ might expect to get had not much to pay with. he had seen a good deal of them from his basement window, and had mended shoes for some of them: they were rather a soleless tribe. she said no more about it, but he could see that she was not convinced. she only dropped the subject because he was against it and it was he who would have to procure the money. he could not bear to think this; he had become cautious about deciding for others. the money might be obtained, if in no other way, by giving security in his furniture and tools. if the plan did not succeed, it would be certain ruin; but perhaps ellen thought him a wet blanket. one day he threw down his leather apron and went out to raise the money. it was late when he came home, and ellen was standing at the door waiting for him with a face of anxiety. "here's the money, my dear! what'll you give me for it?" he said gaily, and counted out into her hand a hundred and eighty krones (£ ) in notes. ellen gazed in surprise at the money; she had never held so large a sum in her hands before. "wherever did you get all that money from?" she asked at last. "well, i've trudged all day from place to place," said pelle cheerfully, "and at last i was directed to a man in blaagaard street. he gave me two hundred krones (£ ) on the furniture." "but there's only one hundred and eighty (£ ) here!" "oh, well, he took off twenty krones (£ _s_.). the loan's to be repaid in instalments of twenty krones (£ _s_.) a month for fifteen months. i had to sign a statement that i had borrowed three hundred krones (£ _s_.), but then we shan't have to pay any interest." ellen stared at him in amazement. "three hundred krones, and we've only got a hundred and eighty, pelle!" but she suddenly threw her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately. "thank you!" she whispered. he felt quite dazed; it was not like her to be so vehement. she had plenty to do, after hiring the room, in putting it in order. the loose beams had to be fixed up, and the walls plastered and whitewashed a little. the old peasant was willing enough to let it, but he would not hear of going to any expense. ellen at last succeeded, however, in getting him to agree to pay half the repairs on condition that she took the room for a year and payed the rent in advance. "we can get my brother frederik to do some of the repairs on sunday morning," she said to pelle, "and then perhaps we shall get it done for nothing." she was altogether very energetic. there was need for it too. the rent swallowed up the hundred krones (£ _s_.), and then there were all the things that had to be got. she bought a quantity of cheap print, and hung it up so as to divide one side of the room into a number of small compartments each provided with a second-hand bed and hay mattress, and a washing-stand. "artistes are not so particular," she said, "and i'm sure they'll be glad to have the room to practise in." finally there were the two little anterooms, which were to be furnished a little better for more particular artistes. there was not nearly enough money, and some of the things had to be taken on credit. at last it was all ready to receive the guests. it looked quite smart for the amount spent on it, and pelle could not but admire her cleverness in making a little go a long way. the only thing now left to do was to catch the birds, but here ellen's practical sense ceased to act; she had no idea how to proceed. "we must advertise," she said, and counted up her remaining pence. pelle laughed at her. a lot of good it would be to advertise for people who were goodness knows where on railways and steamers! "what shall we do then?" she said, looking anxiously to him for help. after all, he was the man for it all. well, first of all there must be a german placard down on the street- door, and then they must make the rooms known. pelle had studied both german and english in the prison, and he made up the placard himself. he had cards printed, and left them in the artistes' tavern at the corner of vesterbro street, went there himself two or three times after midnight when the artistes gathered there when their work was finished, and stationed himself at the stage-entrances of the music-halls. he soon came to look upon it as a task to be performed, like everything with which he occupied himself; and this _should_ succeed! ellen looked on wondering and helpless. she had all at once grown frightened, and followed each of his movements with anxious attention. soon, however, things began to move. the girls whose washing ellen had done took an interest in the undertaking, and sent lodgers to her; and lasse frederik, who had the run of the circus stables, often returned with some russian groom or other who did a turn as a rustic dancer or a cossack horseman. sometimes there lived with her people from the other side of the world where they walk with their heads down--fakirs and magicians from india and japan, snake-charmers from tetuan, people with shaven heads or a long black pigtail, with oblique, sorrowful eyes, loose hips and skin that resembled the greenish leather that pelle used for ladies' boots. sister was afraid of them, but it was the time of his life to lasse frederik. there were fat tyrolese girls, who came three by three; they jodeled at the music-halls, and looked dreadful all day, much to ellen's despair. now and then a whole company would come, and then trapezes and rings creaked in the great room, spanish dancers went through their steps, and jugglers practised new feats. they were all people who should preferably not be seen off the stage. ellen often went to the circus and music-halls now, but could never quite believe that the performers were the same men and women who went about at home looking like scarecrows. most of them required nothing except that the lodging should be cheap; they boarded themselves, and goodness knows what they lived on. some of them simply lighted a fire on a sheet of iron on the floor and made a mixture of rice or something of the sort. they could not eat danish food, pelle said. sometimes they went away without paying, and occasionally took something with them; and they often broke things. there was no fortune to be made out of them, but in the meantime ellen was satisfied as long as she could keep it going, so that it paid the rent and instalments on the loan and left her a little for her trouble. it was her intention to weed out the more worthless subjects, and raise the whole tone of the business when it had got into good order. "you really might refuse the worst work now, and save yourself a little," she said to pelle when he was sitting over some worn-out factory shoes that had neither sole nor upper. most boots and shoes had done service somewhere else before they reached this neighborhood; and when they came to pelle there was not much left of them. "say no to it!" said ellen. "it's far too hardly earned for you! and we shall get on now without having to take everything." in the kindness of her heart she wanted him to be able to read his books, since he had a weakness for them. her intention was good, but pelle had no thought of becoming an aesthetic idler, who let his wife keep him while he posed as a learned man. there were enough of them in the neighborhood, and the inhabitants looked up to them; but they were not interesting. they were more or less another form of drunkard. to pelle books were a new power, grown slowly out of his sojourn in prison. he had sat there alone with his work, thrown on himself for occupation, and he had examined himself in every detail. it was like having companionship when he brought to light anything new and strange in himself; and one day he chanced upon the mistiness of his own being, and discovered that it consisted of experience that others had gone through before him. the bible, which always lay on the prisoner's table for company, helped him; its words had the sound of a well-known voice that reminded him strongly of father lasse's in his childhood. from the bible he went on further and discovered that the serious books were men who sat in solitude like himself, and spoke out. was solitude so dreadful then when you had such company? pelle was no longer able to comprehend his own fear of it. as a child he had been a creature in the widest sense, and found companionship in everything; he could converse with trees, animals, and stones. those fibers had withered, and no longer conveyed nourishment; but then he became one with the masses, and thought and felt exactly as they did. that was crumbling away too now; he was being isolated distinctly, bit by bit, and he was interested in discovering a plan in it. he had made nature subject to him even as a child, and had afterward won the masses! it was solitude now that had to be taken, and he himself was going about in the midst of it, large and wonderful! it was already leaving indelible traces in his mind, although he had seen nothing of it yet. he felt strangely excited, very much as he had felt when, in his childhood, he arrived in bornholm with his father and could see nothing, but heard the movement of thronging life behind the mist. a new and unknown world, full of wonders and throbbing with anticipation, would meet him in there. pelle's action was not due to his own volition. he might as well try to lift himself up by his hair as determine that now he would be a human being by himself. it was an awakening of new powers. he no longer let sunshine and rain pass unnoticed over his head. a strange thing happened to him--he looked wonderingly at everything that he had formerly passed by as commonplace, and saw it all in a new, brilliant light. he had to go all over it from the beginning, look at every detail. how wonderfully everything was connected, sorrow and joy and apparent trifles, to make him, pelle, who had ruled over hundreds of thousands and yet had to go to prison in order to feel himself rich! something had been ignited in him that could never be extinguished, a sacred fire to which everything must bear fuel, whether it would or not. he could not be conquered now; he drew strength from infinity itself. the bare cell--three paces one way and six the other--with its tiny window and the mysterious peephole in the door which was like a watchful eye upon one always, how much it had held! it had always been the lot of the poor man to create worlds out of the void, beautiful mirages which suddenly broke and threw him back even poorer and more desolate. but this lasted. all the threads of life seemed to be joined together in the bare cell. it was like the dark, underground place in large buildings where the machinery is kept that admits and excludes light and heat to the whole block. there he discovered how rich and varied life is. pelle went about in a peculiarly elevated frame of mind. he felt that something greater and finer than himself had taken up its abode within him and would grow on to perfection there. it was a new being that yet was himself; it remained there and drew nourishment from everything that he did. he went about circumspectly and quietly, with an introspective expression as though he were weighing everything: there was so much that was not permissible because it might injure _it_! there were always two of them now--pelle and this wonderful, invisible ego, which lay securely and weightily within him like a living thing, with its roots in the darkness. pelle's relations to books were deeply grounded: he had to find out what the world meant now. he was a little distrustful of works of fiction; you got at their subject-matter too easily, and that could not be right. they were made up, too! he needed real stuff, facts. there were great spaces in his brain that longed to be filled with a tangible knowledge of things. his favorite reading was historical works, especially social history; and at present he read everything that came in his way, raw and unsweetened; it would have to sort itself out. it was a longing that had never been satisfied, and now seemed insatiable. he minded his work punctiliously, however. he had made it a principle never to touch a book as long as any work lay waiting unfinished on the floor. in prison he had dreamt of a reasonable working-day of--for instance--eight hours, so that he would have time and strength to occupy himself with intellectual matters; but now he took it off his night's sleep instead. this was at any rate a field out of which they need not try to keep him; he would have his share in the knowledge of the times. he felt it was a weapon. the poor man had long enough retired willingly into the corner for want of enlightenment, and whenever he put out his head he was laughed back again. why did he not simply wrest the prerogative from the upper classes? it cost only toil, and in that coin he was accustomed to pay! he was scarcely deficient in ability; as far as pelle could see at present, almost all the pioneers of the new state of things came from the lower classes. he discovered with pleasure that his inward searching did not carry him away from the world, for far in there he came out again into the light-- the light itself! he followed the secret laws for his own inward being, and found himself once more deep in the question of the welfare of the multitude. his practical sense required this confirmation of the conditions. there were also outward results. even now history could no longer be used to light him and his ideas home; he knew too much. and his vision grew from day to day, and embraced an ever-widening horizon. some day he would simply take the magic word from the trolls and wake the giant with it! he worked hard and was as a rule full of confidence. when the last of the artistes came home from their _café_, he was often sitting working by the light of his shoemaker's lamp. they would stop before the open basement window and have a chat with him in their broken danish. his domestic circumstances were somewhat straitened; the instalments in repayment of the loan, and the debt on the furniture still swallowed all that they were able to scrape together, and pelle had no prospect of getting better work. but work is the bearer of faith, and he felt sure that a way would open out if only he kept on with it unweariedly. he took ellen's unspoken mistrust of his projects quietly. he felt himself to be greater than she in this; she could not reach up to the level of his head! vi pelle was awake as early as four o'clock, although he had gone to bed late. he slept lightly at this time, when the summer night lay lightly upon his eyelids. he stole out into the kitchen and washed himself under the tap, and then went down to his work. the gray spirit of the night was still visible down in the street, but a tinge of red was appearing above the roofs. "the sun's rising now over the country," he thought, recalling the mornings of his childhood, the fields with their sheen of silvery dew, and the sun suddenly coming and changing them into thousands of sparkling diamond drops. ah, if one could once more run bare-footed, if a little shrinkingly, out into the dewy grass, and shout a greeting to the dawning day: "get up, sun! pelle is here already!" the night-watchman came slowly past the open window on his way home. "up already?" he exclaimed in a voice hoarse with the night air, as he nodded down to pelle. "well, it's the early bird that catches the worm! you'll be rich one of these days, shoemaker!" pelle laughed; he _was_ rich! he thought of his wife and children while he worked. it was nice to think of them sleeping so securely while he sat here at work; it emphasized the fact that he was their bread-winner. with every blow of his hammer the home grew, so he hammered away cheerfully. they were poor, but that was nothing in comparison with the fact that if he were taken away now, things would go to pieces. he was the children's providence; it was always "father's going to," or "father said so." in their eyes he was infallible. ellen too began to come to him with her troubles; she no longer kept them to herself, but recognized that he had the broader back. it was all so undeserved--as if good spirits were working for him. shameful though it was that the wife should work to help to keep the family, he had not been able to exempt her from it. and what had he done for the children? it was not easy to build everything up at once from a bare foundation, and he was sometimes tempted to leave something alone so as to accomplish the rest the more quickly. as it was now, he was really nothing! neither the old pelle nor the new, but something indeterminate, in process of formation, something that was greatly in need of indulgence! a removing van full of furniture on its way to a new dwelling. he often enough had occasion to feel this from outside; both old enemies and old friends looked upon him as a man who had gone very much down in the world. their look said: "is that really all that remains of that stalwart fellow we once knew?" his own people, on the other hand, were lenient in their judgment. "father hasn't got time," sister would say in explanation to herself when she was playing about down in his work-room --"but he will have some day!" and then she would picture to herself all the delightful things that would happen then. it affected pelle strangely; he would try to get through this as quickly as possible. it was a dark and pathless continent into which he had ventured, but he was now beginning to find his way in it. there were ridges of hills that constantly repeated themselves, and a mountain-top here and there that was reached every time he emerged from the thicket. it was good to travel there. perhaps it was the land he and the others had looked for. when he had got through, he would show it to them. pelle had a good memory, and remembered all that he read. he could quote much of it verbatim, and in the morning, before the street had wakened, he used to go through it all in his mind while he worked. it surprised him to find how little history concerned itself with his people; it was only in quite recent times that they had been included. well, that did not trouble him! the movement _was_ really something new, and not one of history's everlasting repetitions. he now wanted to see its idea in print, and one day found him sitting with a strange solemnity in the library with marx and henry george in front of him. pelle knew something about this subject too, but this was nevertheless like drawing up a net from the deep; a brilliant world of wonders came up with it. there were incontrovertible logical proofs that he had a right apprehension, though it had been arrived at blindly. the land of fortune was big enough for all; the greater the number that entered it, the larger did it become. he felt a desire to hit out again and strike a fresh blow for happiness! suddenly an avalanche seemed to fall from the top to the bottom of the house, a brief, all-pervading storm that brought him back to his home. it was only lasse frederik ushering in the day; he took a flight at each leap, called a greeting down to his father, and dashed off to his work, buttoning the last button of his braces as he ran. a little later ellen came down with coffee. "why didn't you call me when you got up?" she said sulkily. "it's not good to sit working so long without having had something to eat." pelle laughed and kissed her good-morning. "fine ladies don't get up until long after their husbands," he said teasingly. but ellen would not be put off with a jest. a proper wife would be up before her husband and have something ready for him. "i _will_ have you call me!" she said decidedly, her cheeks very red. it suited her to get roused now and then. while he drank his coffee, she sat and talked to him about her affairs, and they discussed the plans for the day, after which she went upstairs to help the children to dress. later in the morning pelle laid aside his work, dressed himself and went out to deliver it. while he was out he would go into the library and look up something in the large dictionaries. the street lived its own quiet life here close up to the greater thoroughfares--the same life day after day. the fat second-hand dealer from jutland was standing as usual at his door, smoking his wooden pipe. "good-morning, shoemaker!" he cried. a yellow, oblique-eyed oriental in slippers and long black caftan was balancing himself carelessly on the steps of the basement milk-shop with a bowl of cream in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. above on the pavement two boys were playing hopscotch, just below the large red lamp which all night long advertised its "corn-operator" right up to the main thoroughfare. two girls in cycling costume came out of a gateway with their machines; they were going to the woods. "good-day, pelle! how is ellen's business getting on?" they asked familiarly. they were girls for whom she had washed. pelle was fond of this busy part of the town where new shops with large plate-glass windows stood side by side with low-roofed cottages where retail business was carried on behind ordinary windows with wallflowers and dahlias in them as they might be in any provincial town. a string was stretched above the flower-pots, with a paper of safety-pins or a bundle of shoelaces hanging from it. there were poor people enough here, but life did not run in such hard grooves as out at nörrebro. people took existence more easily; he thought them less honorable, but also less self-righteous. they seemed to be endowed with a more cheerful temperament, did not go so steadily and methodically to and from their fixed work, but, on the other hand, had several ways of making a living. there was everywhere a feeling of breaking up, which corresponded well with pelle's own condition; the uncertainty of life enveloped everything in a peculiarly tense atmosphere. poverty did not come marching in close columns of workmen; its clothing was plentiful and varied; it might appear in the last woollen material from the big houses of old copenhagen, or in gold-rimmed spectacles and high hat. pelle thought he knew all the trades, but here there were hundreds of businesses that could not be organized; every day he discovered new and remarkable trades. he remembered how difficult it had been to organize out here; life was too incalculable. there was room here for everything; next door to one another lived people whom the movement had not yet gathered in, and people who had been pushed up out of it in obstinate defiance. there was room here for him too; the shadow he had dreaded did not follow him. the people had seen too much of life to interfere in one another's affairs; respectable citizenship had not been able to take possession of the poor man. there was something of the "ark" about this part of the town, only not its hopelessness; on the contrary, all possibilities were to be found here. the poor man had conquered this ground from the rich citizens, and it seemed as if the development had got its direction from them. here it was the proletariat whose varied nature forced its way upward, and leavened--so to speak--the whole. in the long side streets, which were full of second-hand dealers and pawnbrokers, existence had not resolved itself into its various constituents. girls and gamblers were next-door neighbors to old, peaceable townsfolk, who lived soberly on the interest of their money, and went to church every sunday with their hymn-books in their hands. the ironmonger had gold watches and antique articles among the lumber in his cellar. pelle went along vesterbro street. the summer holidays were just over, and the pavement on the figaro side was crowded with sunburnt people-- business-men, students and college girls--who were conspicuous in the throng by their high spirits. they had just returned to town, and still had the scent of fresh breeze and shore about them: it was almost as good as a walk in the country. and if he wanted to go farther out into the world, he could do that too; there were figures enough in the vesterbro neighborhood to arrest his fancy and carry him forth. it was like a quay on which people from all parts of the world had agreed to meet--artists, seamen and international agents. strange women came sailing through the crowd, large, exotic, like hot-house fruits; pelle recognized them from the picture of the second-hand dealer's daughter in the "ark," and knew that they belonged to the international nursing corps. they wore striped costumes, and their thick, fair hair emitted a perfume of foreign lands, of many ports and routes, like the interior of steamers; and their strong, placid faces were big with massage. they floated majestically down the current like full-rigged vessels. in their wake followed some energetic little beings who also belonged to the show, and had decked themselves out to look like children, with puffed sleeves, short skirts, and hair tied up with ribbons. feeble old men, whom the sun had enticed out, stood in silent wonder, following the lovely children with their eyes. pelle felt a peculiar pleasure in being carried along with this stream which flowed like life itself, broad and calm. the world was greater than he had thought, and he took no side for or against anything, but merely wondered over its variety. * * * * * he came home from the library at two, with a large volume of statistics under his arm. ellen received him with red eyes. "have your lodgers been making things unpleasant for you again?" he asked, looking into her face. she turned her head away. "did you get the money for your work?" she asked instead of answering. "no, the man wasn't in the shop himself. they're coming here to pay." "then we haven't got a farthing, and i've got no dinner for you!" she tried to smile as she spoke, but her heavy eyelids quivered. "is that all?" said pelle, putting his arm round her. "why didn't you make me some porridge? i should have liked a good plateful of that." "i have made it, but you'll get hardly anything else, and that's no food for a man." he took her round the waist with both hands, lifted her up and put her carefully down upon the kitchen table. "that's porridge, my dear!" he said merrily. "i can hardly walk, i'm so strong!" but there was no smile to be coaxed out of ellen; something had happened that she did not want to tell him. at last he got out of her that the two musical clowns had gone off without paying. they had spoiled her good bed-clothes by lying in them with their clothes on, and had made them so filthy that nothing could be done with them. she was unwilling to tell pelle, because he had once advised her against it; but all at once she gave in completely. "you mustn't laugh at me!" she sobbed, hiding her face on his shoulder. pelle attempted to comfort her, but it was not so easily done. it was not the one misfortune but the whole fiasco that had upset her so; she had promised herself so much from her great plan. "it isn't all lost yet," he said to comfort her. "we'll just keep on and you'll see it'll be all right." ellen was not to be hoodwinked, however. "you know you don't mean it," she said angrily. "you only say it because of me! and the second-hand dealer sent up word this morning that if he didn't soon get the rest of his money, he'd take all the furniture back again." "then let him take it, and that'll be an end of the matter." "but then we shall lose all that we've paid!" she exclaimed quickly, drying her eyes. pelle shrugged his shoulders. "that can't be helped." "wouldn't it be better to get the things sold little by little? we only owe a third on them." "we can't do that; it's punishable. we've got a contract for the hire of the furniture, and as long as we owe a farthing on it, it's his. but we're well and strong all of us; what does it matter?" "that's true enough," answered ellen, trying to smile, "but the stronger we are, the more food we need." a girl came running up with a pair of boots that were to be soled as quickly as possible. they were "queen theresa's," and she was going to wear them in the evening. "that'll bring us in a few pence!" said ellen, brightening. "i'll help you to get them done quickly." they seated themselves one on each side of the counter, and set to work. it reminded them of the early days of their married life. now and then they stopped to laugh, when ellen had forgotten some knack. in an hour and a half the boots were ready, and pelle went himself with them to make sure of the money. "you'll most likely find her in the tavern," said ellen. "the artistes generally have their dinner at this hour, and she's probably there." it was a busy time in the artistes' restaurant. at the small tables sat bony, close-cropped men of a peculiar rubicund type, having dinner with some girl or other from the neighborhood. they were acrobats, clowns, and wrestlers, people of a homogeneous type, dressed in loud checks, with enormous cuffs and boots with almost armor-plated toes. they chewed well and looked up stupidly at the call of the girls; they wore a hard, brutal mask for a face, and big diamond rings on their fingers. some of them had such a powerful lower jaw that they looked as if they had developed it for the purpose of taking blows in a boxing-match. in the adjoining room some elegant young men were playing billiards while they secretly kept an eye on what was going on at the tables. they had curls on their forehead, and patent leather shoes. "queen theresa" was not there, so pelle went to dannebrog street, where she lived, but found she was not at home. he had to hand in the boots to a neighbor, and go back empty-handed. well, it was no more than might have been expected. when you needed a thing most, chance played with you as a cat played with a mouse. pelle was not nearly so cheerful as he appeared to be when he faced ellen. the reality was beginning to affect him. he went out to morten, but without any faith in the result; morten had many uses for what he earned. "you've just come at the right moment!" said morten, waving two notes in the air. "i've just had twenty krones (a guinea) sent me from _the working man_, and we can divide them. it's the first money i've got from that quarter, so of course i've spat upon it three times." "then they've found their way to you, after all!" exclaimed pelle joyfully. morten laughed. "i got tired of seeing my work repeated in their paper," he said, "when they'll have nothing to do with me up there; and i went up to them and drew their attention to the paragraph about piracy. you should have seen their expression! goodness knows it's not pleasant to have to earn your bread on wretchedness, so to speak, but it's still more painful when afterward you have to beg for your hard-earned pence. you mustn't think i should do it either under other circumstances; i'd sooner starve; but at any rate i won't be sweated, by my own side! it's a long time since you were here." "i've been so busy. how's johanna?" the last words were spoken in a whisper. "not well just now; she's keeping her bed. she's always asking after you." "i've been very busy lately, and unfortunately i can't find out anything about her. is she just as cross?" "when she's in a bad temper she lets me understand that she could easily help to put us on the right track if she wanted to. i think it amuses her to see us fooled." "a child can't be so knowing!" "don't be so sure of that! remember she's not a child; her experiences have been too terrible. i have an idea that she hates me and only meditates on the mischief she can do me. you can't imagine how spiteful she can be; it's as though the exhalations from down there had turned to poison in her. if any one comes here that she notices i like, she reviles them as soon as they're gone, says some poisonous thing about them in order to wound me. you're the only one she spares, so i think there must be some secret link between you. try to press her on the subject once more." they went in to her. as the door opened she slipped hastily down beneath the clothes--she had been listening at the door--and pretended to be asleep. morten went back to his work and closed the door after him. "well, johanna," said pelle, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "i've got a message for you. can you guess who it's from?" "from grandmother!" she exclaimed, sitting up eagerly; but the next moment she was ashamed at having been outwitted, and crept down under the clothes, where she lay with compressed lips, and stole distrustful glances at pelle. there was something in the glance and the carriage of her head that awakened dormant memories in him, but he could not fix them. "no, not grandmother," he said. "by-the-bye, where is she now? i should like to speak to her. couldn't you go out to her with me when you get well?" she looked at him with sparkling eyes and a mocking expression. "don't you wish you may get it!" she answered. "tell me where she lives, johanna," pelle went on, taking her thin hand in his, "there's a good girl!" "oh, yes, at night!" pelle frowned. "you must be very heartless, when you can leave your old grandmother and not even like others to help her. i'm certain she's in want somewhere or other." johanna looked at him angrily. "i whipped her too," she exclaimed malignantly, and then burst into a laugh at pelle's expression. "no, i didn't really," she said reassuringly. "i only took away her stick and hid her spectacles so that she couldn't go out and fetch the cream. so she was obliged to send me, and i drank up all the cream and put water in the can. she couldn't see it, so she scolded the milk people because they cheated." "you're making all this up, i think," said pelle uncertainly. "i picked the crumb out of the loaf too, and let her eat the crust," johanna continued with a nod. "now stop that," said pelle, stroking her damp forehead. "i know quite well that i've offended you." she pushed away his hand angrily. "do you know what i wish?" she said suddenly. "i wish you were my father." "would you like me to be?" "yes, for when you became quite poor and ill, i'd treat you just as well as i've treated grandmother." she laughed a harsh laugh. "i'm certain you've only been kind to grandmother," said pelle gravely. she looked hard at him to see whether he meant this too, and then turned her face to the wall. he could see from the curve of her body that she was struggling to keep back her tears, and he tried to turn her round to him; but she stiffened herself. "i won't live with grandmother!" she whispered emphatically, "i won't!" "and yet you're fond of her!" "no, i'm not! i can't bear her! she told the woman next door that i was only in the way! it was that confounded child's fault that she couldn't get into the home, she said; i heard her myself! and yet i went about and begged all the food for her. but then i left her!" she jerked the sentences out in a voice that was quite hoarse, and crumpled the sheet up in her hands. "but do tell me where she is!" said pelle earnestly. "i promise you you shan't go to her if you don't want to." the child kept a stubborn silence. she did not believe in promises. "well, then, i must go to the police to find her, but i don't want to do that." "no, because you've been in prison!" she exclaimed, with a short laugh. a pained expression passed over pelle's face. "do you think that's so funny?" he said, winking his eyes fast. "i'm sure grandmother didn't laugh at it." johanna turned half round. "no, she cried!" she said. "there was no one to give us food then, and so she cried." it began to dawn upon him who she was. "what became of you two that day on the common? we were going to have dinner together," he said. "when you were taken up? oh, we couldn't find you, so we just went home." her face was now quite uncovered, and she lay looking at him with her large gray eyes. it was hanne's look; behind it was the same wondering over life, but here was added to it a terrible knowledge. suddenly her face changed; she discovered that she had been outwitted, and glared at him. "is it true that you and mother were once sweethearts?" she suddenly asked mischievously. pelle's face flushed. the question had taken him by surprise. "i'll tell you everything about your mother if you'll tell me what you know," he said, looking straight at her. "what is it you want to know?" she asked in a cross-questioning tone. "are you going to write about me in the papers?" "my dear child, we must find your grandmother! she may be starving." "i think she's at the 'generality,'" said the child quietly. "i went there on thursday when the old things had leave to go out and beg for a little coffee; and one day i saw her." "didn't you go up to her then?" "no; i was tired of listening to her lamentations!" johanna was no longer stiff and defiant. she lay with her face turned away and answered--a little sullenly--pelle's questions, while she played nervously with his fingers. her brief answers made up for him one connected, sad story. widow johnsen was not worth much when once the "ark" was burnt down. she felt old and helpless everywhere else, and when pelle went to prison, she collapsed entirely. she and the little girl suffered want, and when johanna felt herself in the way, she ran away to a place where she could be comfortable. her grandmother had also been in her way. she had her mother's whimsical, dreamy nature, and now she gave up everything and ran away to meet the wonderful. an older playfellow seduced her and took her out to the boys of the timber-yard. there she was left to take care of herself, often slept out in the open, and stole now and then, but soon learned to earn money for herself. when it became cold she went as scullery-maid to the inns or maid-of-all-work to the women in dannebrog street. strange to say, she always eluded the police. at first there were two or three times when she started to return to her grandmother, but went no farther than the stairs; she was afraid of being punished, and could not endure the thought of having to listen to the old lady's complaints. later on she became accustomed to her new way of living, and no longer felt any desire to leave it, probably because she had begun to take strong drink. now and again, however, she stole in to the home and caught a glimpse of her grandmother. she could not explain why she did it, and firmly maintained that she could not endure her. the old woman's unreasonable complaint that she was an encumbrance to her had eaten deeply into the child's mind. during the last year she had been a waitress for some time at a sailors' tavern down in nyhavn with an innkeeper elleby, the confidence-man who had fleeced pelle on his first arrival in the city. it was elleby's custom to adopt young girls so as to evade the law and have women-servants for his sailors; and they generally died in the course of a year or two: he always wore a crape band round his sleeve. johanna was also to have been adopted, but ran away in time. she slowly confessed it all to pelle, coarse and horrible as it was, with the instinctive confidence that the inhabitants of the "ark" had placed in him, and which had been inherited by her from her mother and grandmother. what an abyss of horrors! and he had been thinking that there was no hurry, that life was richer than that! but the children, the children! were they to wait too, while he surveyed the varied forms of existence--wait and go to ruin? was there on the whole any need of knowledge and comprehensiveness of survey in order to fight for juster conditions? was anything necessary beyond the state of being good? while he sat and read books, children were perhaps being trodden down by thousands. did this also belong to life and require caution? for the first time he doubted himself. "now you must lie down and go to sleep," he said gently, and stroked her forehead. it was burning hot and throbbed, and alarmed he felt her pulse. her hand dropped into his, thin and worn, and her pulse was irregular. alas, hanne's fever was raging within her! she held his hand tight when he rose to go. "were you and mother sweethearts, then?" she asked in a whisper, with a look of expectation in the bright eyes that she fixed upon him. and suddenly he understood the reiterated question and all her strange compliance with his wishes. for a moment he looked waveringly into her expectant eyes. then he nodded slowly. "yes, johanna; you're my little daughter!" he said, bending down over her. her pale face was lighted with a faint smile, and she shyly touched his stubbly chin and then turned over to go to sleep. in a few words pelle told morten the child's previous history--madam johnsen and her husband's vain fight to get on, his horrible death in the sewer, how hanne had grown up as the beautiful princess of the "ark"--hanne who meant to have happiness, and had instead this poor child! "you've never told me anything about hanne," said morten, looking at him. "no," said pelle slowly. "she was always so strangely unreal to me, like an all too beautiful dream. do you know she danced herself to death! but you must pretend to the child that i'm her father." morten nodded. "you might go out to the home for me, and hear about the old lady. it's a pity she should have to spend her old age there!" he looked round the room. "you can't have her here, however," said pelle. "it might perhaps be arranged. she and the child belong to one another." pelle first went home to ellen with the money and then out to the home. madam johnsen was in the infirmary, and could not live many days. it was a little while before she recognized pelle, and she seemed to have forgotten the past. it made no impression whatever on her when he told her that her grandchild had been found. she lay most of the time, talking unintelligibly; she thought she still had to get money for the rent and for food for herself and the child. the troubles of old age had made an indelible impression upon her. "she gets no pleasure out of lying here and being comfortable," said an old woman who lay in the next bed to hers. "she's always trying and trying to get things, and when she's free of that, she goes to jutland." at the sound of the last word, madam johnsen fixed her eyes upon pelle. "i should so like to see jutland again before i die," she said. "ever since i came over here in my young days, i've always meant to use the first money i had over on an excursion home; but i never managed it. hanne's child had to live too, and they eat a lot at her age." and so she was back in her troubles again. the nurse came and told pelle that he must go now, and he rose and bent over the old woman to say farewell, strangely moved at the thought that she had done so much for him, and now scarcely knew him. she felt for his hand and held it in both hers like a blind person trying to recognize, and she looked at him with her expressionless eyes that were already dimmed by approaching death. "you still have a good hand," she said slowly, with the far-sounding voice of old age. "hanne should have taken you, and then things would have been very different.'" vii people wondered, at the library, over the grave, silent working-man who took hold of books as if they were bricks. they liked him and helped him to find what he wanted. among the staff there was an old librarian who often came and asked pelle if there were anything he could help him with. he was a little wizened man with gold spectacles and thin white hair and beard that gave a smiling expression to his pale face. he had spent his time among the stacks of books during the greater part of his life; the dust of the books had attacked his chest, and every minute his dry cough sounded through the room. librarian brun was a bachelor and was said to be very rich. he was not particularly neat or careful in his dress, but there was something unspoiled about his person that made one think he could never have been subjected to the world's rough handling. in his writings he was a fanatical worshipper of the ego, and held up the law of conscience as the only one to which men should be subject. personally he was reserved and shy, but something drew him to pelle, who, he knew, had once been the soul in the raising of the masses; and he followed with wonder and curiosity the development of the new working-man. now and then he brought one of his essays to pelle and asked him to read it. it often treated of the nature of personality, took as its starting-point the ego of some philosopher or other, or of such and such a religion, and attempted to get at the questions of the day. they conversed in whispers on the subject. the old, easily-approached philosopher, who was read by very few, cherished an unrequited affection for the general public, and listened eagerly to what a working-man might be able to make out of his ideas. quiet and almost timid though his manner was, his views were strong, and he did not flinch from the thought of employing violent measures; but his attitude toward the raising of the lower classes was sceptical. "they don't know how to read," he said. "the common people never touch a real book." he had lived so long among books that he thought the truths of life were hidden away in them. they gradually became well acquainted with one another. brun was the last descendant of an old, decayed family, which had been rich for many generations. he despised money, and did not consider it to be one of the valuable things of life. never having known want, he had few pretensions, and often denied himself to help others. it was said that he lived in a very spartan fashion, and used a large proportion of his income for the relief of the poor. on many points he agreed with the lower classes, not only theoretically but purely organically; and pelle saw, to his amazement, that the dissolution of existing conditions could also take place from the upper grades of society. perhaps the future was preparing itself at both extremities! one day brun carefully led the conversation on to pelle's private affairs: he seemed to know something about them. "isn't there anything you want to start?" he asked. "i should be so glad if you would allow me to help you." pelle was not yet clear as to what was to be done about the future. "at present," he said, "the whole thing is just a chaos to me." "but you must live! will you do me the favor of taking a loan from me at any rate, while you're looking about you? money is necessary to make one capable and free," he continued, when pelle refused it. "it's a pity, but so it is. you don't _take_ what you want anyhow, so you must either get the money in the way that offers, or do without." "then i'll do without," said pelle. "it seems to me that's what you and yours have always done, and have you ever succeeded in heaping coals of fire on the head of society by it? you set too high a value upon money; the common people have too great respect for the property of others. and upon my word it's true! the good old poor man could scarcely find it in his heart to put anything into his own miserable mouth; his wife was to have all the good pieces. so he is mourned as lost to our side; he was so easy to get wealth by. his progeny still go about with a good deal of it." "money makes you dependent," pelle objected. "not always," answered brun, laughing. "in my world people borrow and take on credit without a thought: the greater the debt, the better it is; they never treat a man worse than when they owe him money. on that point we are very much more emancipated than you are, indeed that's where the dividing line goes between the upper classes and the common people. this fear of becoming indebted to any one, and carefulness to do two services in return for one, is all very nice and profitable in your own world; but it's what you'll be run down by in your relations to us. we don't know it at all; how otherwise would those people get on who have to let themselves be helped from their cradle to their grave, and live exclusively upon services received?" pelle looked at him in bewilderment. "poor people have nothing but their sense of honor, and so they watch over it," he said. "and you've really never halted at this sense of honor that works so splendidly in our favor?" asked brun in surprise. "just examine the existing morals, and you'll discover that they must have been invented by us--for your use. yes, you're surprised to hear me say that, but then i'm a degenerate upper-class man, one of those who fall outside the established order of things. i saw your amazement at my not having patted you on the shoulder and said: 'poor but proud! go on being so, young man!' but you mustn't draw too far-reaching conclusions from that; as i told you, i'm not that sort. now mayn't i give you a helping hand?" no, pelle was quite determined he should not. something had been shattered within him, and the knowledge made him restive. "you're an obstinate plebeian," said brun, half vexed. on his way home pelle thought it all over. of course he had always been quite aware that the whole thing resembled a gentleman's carriage, in which he and others like him had to be the horses; the laws and general arrangement were the reins and harness, which made them draw the carriage well. the only thing was that it was always denied from the other side; he was toiling at history and statistics in order to furnish incontrovertible proof of this. but here was some one who sat in the carriage himself, and gave evidence to the effect that it was right enough; and this was not a book, but a living man with whom he stood face to face. it gave an immense support to his belief. there was need enough for it too, for at home things were going badly. the letting of rooms was at a standstill, and ellen was selling the furniture as fast as she could. "it's all the same to me what the law is!" was her reply to pelle's warnings. "there surely can be no sense in our having to make the furniture-dealer a present of all we've paid upon it, just because he has a scrap of paper against us. when the furniture's sold, he shall have the rest of what we owe him." he did not get the whole, however, for in the first place they had to live. the remainder of the debt hung like a threat over them; if he discovered that the furniture was sold, it might end badly for them. "remember i've been in prison before," said pelle. "they surely can't punish you for what i've done?" said ellen, looking at him in terror. "pelle, pelle, what have i done! why didn't i do what you told me!" for a time she collapsed, but then suddenly rose energetically, saying: "then we must get it paid at once. it's surely possible to find twenty krones (a guinea)!" and hastening up to their flat, she quickly returned in her hat and jacket. "what are you going to do?" asked pelle in amazement. "what am i going to do? i'm going to 'queen theresa.' she _can_ get it! don't be afraid!" she said, bending down and kissing him. she soon returned with the money. "i may pay it back by _washing_," she said cheerfully. so that matter was settled, and they would have been glad if the loan had been the same. it scarcely moved, however; the instalments ate themselves up in some wonderful way. two or three times they had had to ask for a postponement, and each time the usurer added the amount of the instalment to the sum still owing; he called it punishment interest. pelle read seldom; he felt no wish to do so. he was out early and late looking for a job. he fetched and took back furniture in the town for the second-hand dealer, and did anything else that came to hand. one evening ellen came up with a newspaper cutting that "queen theresa" had sent her, an advertisement of a good, well-paid situation for a trustworthy man, who had been trained as a shoemaker. "it's this morning's," said ellen anxiously, "so i only hope it isn't too late. you must go out there at once." she took out pelle's sunday clothes quickly, and helped him to make himself tidy. it was for a boot-factory in borger street. pelle took the tram in order to get there quickly, but he had no great hopes of getting the place. the manufacturer was one of his most bitter opponents among the employers at the time when he was organizing the trade--a young master-shoemaker who had had the good sense to follow the development and take the leap over to manufacturer. "oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "well, well, old differences shan't stand between us if we can come to an agreement in other ways. what i want is a man who'll look a little after everything, a kind of right- hand man who can take something off my shoulders in a general way, and superintend the whole thing when i'm travelling. i think you'll do capitally for that, for you've got influence with the men; and i'd like things to go nicely and smoothly with them, without giving in to them too much, you understand. one may just as well do things pleasantly; it doesn't cost an atom more, according to my experience, and now one belongs to the party one's self." "do you?" said pelle, hardly able to believe his ears. "yes! why shouldn't an employer be a fellow-partisan? there's nothing to be afraid of when once you've peeped in behind the scenes; and it has its advantages, of course. in ten years' time every sensible man will be a social democrat." "that's not at all unlikely," said pelle, laughing. "no, is it! so one evening i said to my wife: 'i say, you know it won't do soon to own that you don't belong to the party; in other countries millionaires and counts and barons already belong to it.' she didn't quite like it, but now she's quite satisfied. they're quite nice people, as she said herself. there are even persons of rank among them. well, it wasn't conviction that drove me at first, but now i agree because what they say's very sensible. and upon my word it's the only party that can thrash the anarchists properly, don't you think so? in my opinion all should unite in fighting against them, and that'll be the end of it, i suppose. i've reflected a good deal upon politics and have come to the conclusion that we employers behaved like asses from the beginning. we oughtn't to have struggled against the movement; it only drove it to extremes. just see how well-behaved it's become since we began to take off our hats to it! you _become_ what you're _treated_ as, let me tell you. you wouldn't have acted so harshly if we others had been a little kinder to you. don't you allow that? you're exactly like every one else: you want to have good food and nice clothes--be considered respectable people. so it was wise to cut off the lower end; you can't rise when you've too much lumber as ballast. fellows who pull up paving- stones and knock you down are no company for me. you must have patience and wait until the turn comes to your party to come in for a share: those are my politics. well, what do you think about the job?" "i don't understand the machines," said pelle. "you'll soon get into that! but it's not that that matters, if only you know how to treat the workmen, and that of course you do. i'll pay you thirty-five krones (£ ) a week--that's a good weekly wage--and in return you'll have an eye to my advantage of course. one doesn't join the party to be bled--you understand what i mean? then you get a free house--in the front building of course--so as to be a kind of vice-landlord for the back building here; there are three stairs with one-roomed flats. i can't be bothered having anything to do with that; there's so much nonsense about the mob. they do damage and don't pay if they can help it, and when you're a little firm with them they fly to the papers and write spiteful letters. of course i don't run much risk of that, but all the same i like things to go smoothly, partly because i aspire to become a member of the management. so you get eighteen hundred krones (£ ) a year and a flat at four hundred (£ ), which makes two thousand two hundred krones (£l )--a good wage, though perhaps i oughtn't to say so myself; but good pay makes good work. well, is it a bargain?" pelle wanted to have till the next day to think it over. "what do you want to think over? one ought never to think over things too much; our age requires action. as i said before, an expert knowledge is not the main thing; it's your authority that i chiefly want. in other words, you'll be my confidential man. well, well, then you'll give me your answer to-morrow." pelle went slowly homeward. he did not know why he had asked time to think it over; the matter was settled. if you wanted to make a home, you must take the consequences of it and not sneak away the first time a prospect offered of making it a little comfortable for your wife and children. so now he was the dog set to watch his companions. he went down the king's new market and into the fashionable quarter. it was bright and gay here, with the arc-lamps hanging like a row of light- birds above the asphalt, now and then beating their wings to keep themselves poised. they seemed to sweep down the darkness of night, and great shadows flickered through the street and disappeared. in the narrow side streets darkness lay, and insistent sounds forced their way out of it--a girl's laugh, the crying of a lonely child, the ceaseless bickering of a cowed woman. but people strolled, quietly conversing, along the pavement in couples and heard nothing. they had got out their winter coats, and were luxuriating in the first cold weather. music sounded from the large _cafés_, which were filled to overflowing. people were sitting close together in small select companies, and looked gay and happy. on the tables round which they sat, stood the wine-cooler with the champagne bottle pointing obliquely upward as though it were going to shoot down heaven itself to them. how secure they appeared to feel! had they no suspicion that they were sitting upon a thin crust, with the hell of poverty right beneath them? or was that perhaps why they were enjoying themselves--to-day your turn, to-morrow mine? perhaps they had become reconciled to the idea, and took what they could get without listening too carefully to the hoarse protests of the back streets! under one of the electric lamp-posts on the town hall square a man was standing selling papers. he held one out to pelle, saying: "a halfpenny if you can afford it, if not you can have it for nothing!" he was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and he had a dark beard. he looked as if he were suffering from some internal complaint which was slowly consuming him. pelle looked at him, and saw to his surprise that it was peter dreyer, his comrade of long ago! "do you go about selling newspapers?" he exclaimed in astonishment, holding out his hand. peter dreyer quietly returned his greeting. he had the same heavy, introspective look that he had had when pelle met him in the garret in jager street, but looked even more perplexed. "yes, i've become a newspaper man," he said, "but only after working hours. it's a little paper that i write and print myself. it may perhaps do you good to read it." "what's it about?" "about you and me." "it's anarchistic, i suppose?" said pelle, looking at the title of the paper. "you were so strange last time i met you." "well, you can read it. a halfpenny if you can afford it, if not gratis!" he cried, holding out a copy to the passers-by. a policeman was standing a little way off observing him. he gradually drew nearer. "i see you're under observation!" said pelle, drawing his attention to the policeman. "i'm used to that. once or twice they've seized my inoffensive little paper." "then it can't have been altogether inoffensive?" said pelle, smiling. "i only advise people to think for themselves." "that advice may be dangerous enough too, if it's followed." "oh, yes. the mean thing is that the police pursue me financially. as soon as i've got work with any master, a policeman appears and advises him to discharge me. it's their usual tactics! they aim at the stomach, for that's where they themselves have their heart." "then it must be very hard for you to get on," said pelle sympathetically. "oh, i get along somehow. now and then they put me in prison for no lawful reason, and when a certain time has passed they let me out again --the one with just as little reason as the other. they've lost their heads. it doesn't say much for machinery that's exclusively kept going to look after us. i've a feeling that they'd like to put me out of the way, if it could be done; but the country's not large enough to let any one disappear in. but i'm not going to play the hunted animal any longer. although i despise our laws, which are only a mask for brute force, i'm very careful to be on the right side; and if they use violence against me again, i'll not submit to it." "the conditions are so unequal," said pelle, looking seriously at him. "no one need put up with more than he himself likes. but there's something wanting in us here at home--our own extreme consequence, self- respect; and so they treat us as ignominiously as they please." they went on together. on the pavement outside one of the large _cafés_ stood an anaemic woman with a child upon her arm, offering for sale some miserable stalks which were supposed to represent flowers. peter dreyer pointed silently from her to the people in the _café_. his face was distorted. "i've no objection to people enjoying life," said pelle; "on the contrary, i'm glad to see that there are some who are happy. i hate the system, but not the people, you see, unless it were those who grudge us all anything, and are only really happy in the thought that others are in want." "and do you believe there's any one in there who seriously doesn't grudge others anything? do you believe any of them would say: 'i'm fortunate enough to earn twenty-five thousand krones (£ , ) a year and am not allowed to use more than five thousand (£ ), so the rest belongs to the poor'? no, they're sitting there abusing the poor man while they drink up the surplus of his existence. the men abuse the workmen, and their wives the servant girls. just go in among the tables and listen! the poor are bestial, unreliable, ungrateful in spite of everything that is done for them; they are themselves to blame for their misery. it gives a spice to the feast to some of them, others dull their uneasy conscience with it. and yet all they eat and drink has been made by the poor man; even the choicest dainties have passed through his dirty hands and have a piquant flavor of sweat and hunger. they look upon it as a matter of course that it should be so; they are not even surprised that nothing is ever done in gratitude for kind treatment-- something to disagree with them, a little poison, for instance. just think! there are millions of poor people daily occupied in making dainties for the rich man, and it never occurs to any of them to revenge themselves, they are so good-natured. capital literally sleeps with its head in our lap, and abuses us in its sleep; and yet we don't cut its throat!" at victoria street they stopped. the policeman had followed them and stopped on the other side of the street when they stopped. pelle drew the other's attention to the fact. peter looked across carelessly. "he's like an english bloodhound," he said quietly--"a ferocious mouth and no brain! what vexes me most is that we ourselves produce the dogs that are to hunt us; but we shall soon begin to agitate among the military." he said good-night and turned toward enghave road, where he lived. ellen met pelle at the top of the street. "how did you get on?" she asked eagerly. "did you get the place?" he quietly explained matters to her. she had put her arm round him. "you great big man," she said, looking up at him with a happy face. "if you only knew how proud i am of you! why, we're rich now, pelle--thirty-five krones ( pounds) a week! aren't you glad yourself?" "yes, i'm glad that you and the children will be a little comfortable for once." "yes, but you yourself--you don't seem to be very delighted, and yet it's a good place you're getting." "it won't be an easy place for me, but i must make the best of it," he answered. "i don't see why not. you're to be on the side of the manufacturer, but that's always the way with that kind of position; and he's got a right too to have his interests looked after." when they got in ellen brought him his supper, which had been standing on the stove to keep warm. now and then she looked at him in wonder; there was something about him to-day that she did not understand. he had on the whole become a little peculiar in his views about things in the prison, and it was not to be wondered at. she went to him and stroked his hair. "you'll be satisfied on your own account too, soon," she said. "it's fortunate for us that he can't be bothered to look after things himself." "he's taken up with politics," answered pelle absently. "at present he's thinking of getting into the town council by the help of the working- men's votes." "then it's very wise of him to take you," ellen exclaimed vivaciously. "you understand these matters and can help him. if we save, we may perhaps have so much over that we could buy the business from him some day." she looked happy, and treated him to a little petting, now in one way and now in another. her joy increased her beauty, and when he looked at her it was impossible for him to regret anything. she had sacrificed everything for him, and he could do nothing without considering her. he must see her perfectly happy once more, let it cost what it might, for he owed her everything. how beautiful she was in her unaffectedness! she still had a fondness for dressing in black, and with her dark hair about her pale face, she resembled one of those sisters who have suffered much and do everything out of compassion. it struck him that he had never heard her really laugh; she only smiled. he had not awakened the strongest feeling in her yet, he had not succeeded in making her happy; and therefore, though she had shared his bed and board, she had kept the most beautiful part to herself, like an unapproachable virgin. but now her cheeks glowed with happy expectation, and her eyes rested upon him eagerly; he no longer represented for her the everyday dullness, he was the fairy-story that might take her by surprise when the need was greatest. he felt he could hardly pay too dearly for this change. women were not made for adversity and solitude; they were flowers that only opened fully when happiness kissed them. ellen might shift the responsibility over onto his shoulders. the next day he dressed himself carefully to go out and make the final agreement with the manufacturer. ellen helped him to button his collar, and brushed his coat, talking, as she did so, with the lightheartedness of a bird, of the future. "what are we going to do now? we must try and get rid of this flat and move out to that end of the town," she said, "or else you'll have too far to walk." "i forgot to tell you that we shall live out there," said pelle. "he has three stairs with one-roomed apartments, and we're to be the vice- landlord of them. he can't manage the tenants himself." pelle had not forgotten it, but had not been able to bring himself to tell her that he was to be watch-dog. ellen looked at him in petrified astonishment. "does that go with the post?" she gasped. pelle nodded. "you mustn't do it!" she cried, suddenly seizing him by the arms. "do you hear, pelle? you mustn't do it!" she was greatly disturbed and gazed beseechingly at him. "i don't understand you at all." he looked at her in bewilderment and murmured something in self-defence. "don't you see that he only wants to make use of you?" she continued excitedly. "it's a judas post he's offered you, but we won't earn our bread by turning poor people into the street. i've seen my own bits of furniture lying in the gutter. oh, if you'd gone there!" she gazed shudderingly straight before her. "i can't understand what you can have been thinking about--you who are generally so sensible," she said when she had once more calmed down, looking reproachfully at him; but the next instant she understood it all, and sank down weeping. "oh, pelle, pelle!" she exclaimed, and hid her face. viii pelle read no more and no longer went to the library. he had enough to do to keep things going. there was no question now of trying to get a place; winter was at the door, and the army of the unemployed grew larger every day. he stayed at home, worked when there was anything to do, and for the rest minded the children for ellen while she washed. he talked to lasse frederik as he would to a comrade, but it was nice to have to look after the little ones too. they were grateful for it, and he discovered that it gave him much pleasure. boy comfort he was very fond of now, his only sorrow being that the boy could not talk yet. his dumbness was always a silent accusation. "why don't you bring books home?" ellen would say when she came up from the wash-house to look after them, with her arms bare and tiny drops in her hair from the steam down there. "you've plenty of time now." no, what did he want with books? they did perhaps widen his horizon a little, but what lay behind it became so very much greater again; and he himself only grew smaller by reading. it was impossible in any case to obtain any reassuring view of the whole. the world followed its own crooked course in defiance of all wisdom. there was little pleasure in absorbing knowledge about things that one could not remedy; poor people had better be dull. he and morten had just been to madam johnsen's funeral. she had not succeeded in seeing jutland. out of a whole life of toil there had never been ten krones ( s.) over for a ticket home; and the trains ran day after day with hundreds of empty places. with chilling punctuality they whirled away from station to station. heaven knows how many thousand empty seats the trains had run with to jutland during the years in which the old woman longed to see her home! and if she had trudged to the railway-station and got into the train, remorseless hands would have removed her at the first station. what had she to do with jutland? she longed to go there, it was true, but she had no money! was it malice or heartless indifference? a more fiendish sport can at any rate hardly be imagined than this running with empty places. it was they that made the journey so terribly vivid--as though the devil himself were harnessed to the train and, panting with wantonness, dragging it along through the country to places that people were longing to see. it must be dreadful to be the guard and call the names of the stations in to those seats for the people left behind! and sister walked about the floor so pale and thin! there was no strength in her fair hair, and when she was excited, her breath whistled in her windpipe with that painful sound that was practically inseparable from the children of the poor neighborhoods. it was always the vitiated air of the back-yards that had something to say now--depressing, like almost everything his understanding mastered. all she wanted was sunshine, and all the summer it had been poured down in open-handed generosity, only it went over the heads of poor people like everything else. it had been a splendid year for strawberries, but the large gardeners had decided to let half of them rot on their stalks in order to keep up the prices and save the money spent on picking them. and here were the children hungering for fruit, and ailing for want of it! why? no, there was no possible answer to be given to that question. and again--everywhere the same! whenever he thought of some social institution or other, the same melancholy spectacle presented itself--an enormous rolling stock, only meant for a few, and to a great extent running empty; and from the empty places accusing eyes gazed out, sick and sad with hunger and want and disappointed hope. if one had once seen them, it was impossible to close one's eyes to them again. sometimes his imagination took another direction, and he found himself planning, for instance, kingdoms in which trains were used according to the need for them, and not according to the purse, where the food was eaten by those who were hungry, and the only poor people were those who grudged others things. but he pulled himself up there; it was too idiotic! a voice from the unseen had called him and his out into the day, and then nothing had happened! it had only been to fool them. brun often came down to see him. the old librarian missed his young friend. "why do you never come in to us now?" he asked. "what should i do there?" answered pelle shortly. "the poor man has no use for knowledge; he's everlastingly damned." he had broken with all that and did not care either about the librarian's visits. it was best for every one to look after himself; the great were no company for such as he. he made no attempt to conceal his ill humor, but brun took no notice. the latter had moved out into frederiksberg avenue in october, and dropped in almost every afternoon on his way home from the library. the children took care to be down there at that time, for he always brought something for them. neither pelle nor ellen demanded much of life now. they had settled down in resignation side by side like a pair of carthorses that were accustomed to share manger and toil. it would have been a great thing now to have done with that confounded loan, so that they need not go about with their lives in their hands continually; but even that was requiring too much! all that could be scraped together went every month to the money-lender, and they were no nearer the end. on the one hundred and eighty krones (£ ) that pelle had received they had now in all paid off one hundred and twenty (£ ), and yet they still owed two hundred and forty (more than £ ). it was the "punishment interest" that made it mount up whenever they came only a day or two too late with the instalments or whatever it might be. in any case it was an endless screw that would go on all their life pumping out whatever they could scrape together into the money-lender's pocket. but now pelle meant to put an end to this. he had not paid the last instalment and meant to pay no more, but let things go as they liked. "you ought to borrow of herr brun and pay off that money-lender," said ellen, "or else he'll only come down on us and take our furniture." but pelle was obstinate and would not listen to reason. the consciousness that a parasite had fastened upon him and sucked him dry in spite of all his resistance, made him angry. he would like to see them touching his things! when the money-lender came to fetch his instalment, pelle shut the door in his face. for the rest he took everything with the calmness of resignation; but when the subject cropped up, he fired up and did not know what he said. ellen had to keep silence and let his mood work itself out. one afternoon he sat working at the basement window. the librarian was sitting on the chair by the door, with a child on each knee, feeding them with dates. pelle was taking no notice, but bent over his work with the expression of a madman who is afraid of being spoken to. his work did not interest him as it had formerly done, and progressed slowly; a disturbing element had entered, and whenever he could not instantly find a tool, he grew angry and threw the things about. brun sat watching him anxiously, though apparently taken up with the children. a pitying expression would have made pelle furious. brun guessed that there was some money trouble, but dared not offer his assistance; every time he tried to begin a conversation pelle repelled him with a cunning look which said: "you're seeking for an opportunity to come with your money, but you won't get it!" something or other had gone wrong with him, but it would all come right in the end. a cab stopped outside the door, and three men stepped out and went into the house. a little while after ellen burst into the workshop. "pelle!" she cried, without noticing brun, "they've come to take away our things!" she broke into a fit of weeping, and seeing their mother crying, the children began to cry too. pelle rose and seized a hammer. "i'll soon get _them_ out!" he said between his teeth in a low tone as he moved toward the door. he did not hurry, but went with lowered head, not looking at any one. brun seized him by the arm and stopped him. "you forget that there's something called prison!" he said with peculiar emphasis. pelle gazed at him in astonishment, and for a moment it looked as if he were going to strike the old man; then the hammer dropped from his hand and he broke down. ix now and then a comrade from the good old days would come up and want pelle to go with him to a meeting. old fighting memories wakened within him. perhaps it was there the whole point lay. he threw off his leather apron and went. ellen's eyes followed him to the door, wondering that he could still wish to have anything to do with that after what _he_ had got out of it. but it was not there after all! he remembered the tremendous ferment in men's minds during the movement, and it seemed to him that the excitement had died down. people only came forward before the elections, otherwise they went about their own business as if there had never been any rallying idea. they were all organized, but there was nothing new and strong in that fact; they were born--so to speak--in organization, and connected nothing great and elevating with it. his old associates had cooled down remarkably; they must have discovered that success was neither so romantic nor so easy as they had thought. they had no longer simply to open the gate into the land of success and stream through it; there was a long and difficult road before that. so they each arranged his own matters, and disposed of the doubtful future for small present advantages which were immediately swallowed up by the existing conditions. the movement had not reached to the bottom. there was an accusation against himself in this fact; it had not been designed with sufficient breadth. even at that time it had passed over the heads of the inhabitants of the "ark," and now a large proletariat was left with their own expectations of the future. the good old class of the common people had split up into a class of petty tradesmen--who seemed to be occupied solely in establishing themselves--and this proletariat. but there was nothing new in this. one stratum moved up and revealed a new one below; it had always been thus in history. was it then everlastingly determined that at the bottom of existence there should always be the same innumerable crowd of those who were thrust down, who bore the burden of the whole, the great hunger reserve? was it only possible to be happy when one knew how to push the difficulties down, just as one might push the folds of a material until at last they were heaped up in one place? it was the old question over again. formerly he had had his clear faith with which to beat down doubt, but now he could not be content with a blind hope; he required to be shown an expedient. if the movement had failed through having been begun crookedly, the causes with which one had to do were practical causes, and it was possible to do the whole thing over again. there were also others engaged in taking the whole thing up from the bottom, and through peter dreyer he came into contact with young men of an entirely new type. they had emerged from the movement, shot up surprisingly out of its sediment, and now made new ambitious claims upon life. by unknown paths they had reached the same point as he himself had done, and demanded first and foremost to be human beings. the sacredness of the ego filled them, and made them rebel at all yokes; they began from within by shaking them off, did not smoke or drink, would be slaves to nothing. they kept out of the movement and had their own places of meeting out about the south boulevard, where they read and discussed new social forms. they were intelligent, well-paid working-men, who persistently shared the conditions of the proletariat; fanatics who gave away their week's wages if they met a man who was poorer than themselves; hot-headed enthusiasts who awaited revolution. several of them had been in prison for agitating against the social order. there were also country people among them--sons of the men who stood in the ditches and peat-pits out there. "the little man's children," morten called them. these were the offspring of those who had made the movement; that was how it should go on. by being contented they kept themselves free from the ensnaring expedients of capitalism, they despised the petty tradesman's inclination for comfort, and were always ready for action. in them the departure was at any rate a fact! they wanted to get hold of pelle. "come over to us!" peter dreyer often said. pelle, however, was not easily enticed out; he had his home where he hid himself like a snail in its shell. he had the responsibility for this little world of five people, and he had not even succeeded in securing it. his strength and industry were not enough even to keep one little home above water; a benefactor was needed for that! it was not the time to tend jealously one's own honor when wife and children would be the sufferers; and now that it was all arranged he felt deeply grateful to the old librarian. it was nevertheless a disgraceful fact which did not encourage him to have anything to do with the affairs of others. the violent language used by the young men frightened him too. he had rebelled against the old conditions just as they had done, but he met with different experiences. from the time he could crawl he had struggled to accommodate himself to the great connection of things; even the life of the prison had not placed him outside it, but had only united him the more closely with the whole. he had no inclination to cut the knot, but demanded that it should be untied. "you're no good," said morten and the others when they tried to rouse him, "for you can't hate." no, the cold in his mind was like the night- frost; it melted at the first sunbeam. when he looked back there were redeeming ties that held the whole together in spite of all the evil; and now the old librarian had brought him close up to the good in the other side of the cleft too. he had settled down to his shoemaking again and refused to be roused by the others' impatience; but he looked as if he had an eternity in which to unravel his affairs. sister was often down with him and filled the workshop with her chatter. at about eight, when it began to grow light, he heard her staggering step on the stair, and she remained with him until ellen took her up in the evening by main force to put her to bed. she dragged all the tools together and piled them up in front of pelle on the bench so that he could hardly move, and called it helping. then she rested, standing with her hands upon the edge of the bench and talking to him. "sister's clever!" she said appreciatively, pointing with satisfaction to her work. "big girl!" and if he did not answer she repeated it and did not leave off until he had praised her. "yes, you're very clever!" he said, "but can you put the things back in their places?" the child shook her head. "sister's tired," she declared with decision, and immediately after brought another tool and pushed it slowly up onto the heap while she kept her eyes upon his face to see whether she might do it. "sister's helping!" she repeated in explanation; but pelle pretended not to hear. for a time she was quiet, but then came to him with her pinafore full of old boots and shoes that she had pulled out from behind the stove. he tried to look stern, but had to bend down over his work. it made the little girl feel uncertain. she emptied her pinafore onto the platform, and sitting on her heels with her hands on her little knees, she tried to see what his expression was. it was not satisfactory, so she got up and, putting her hands on his knee, said, with an ingratiating look into his face: "you're so clever, father! you can do everything! you're the cleverest in the whole world!" and after a little pause--"we're both clever, aren't we, father?" "oh, that's it, is it!" exclaimed pelle. "one of us is very conceited at any rate!" "it's not me!" answered the child confidently, shaking her head. "you seem to be very happy together," said ellen when she came down with boy comfort on her arm to fetch anna. the child did not want to go up with her, and pushed round into the corner behind pelle's chair; and boy comfort struggled to be put down onto the floor to play with the lasts. "well, then," said ellen, sitting down, "we'll all stay here together." she looked quiet and resigned; her defeat had told upon her. she no longer spoke of the future, but was glad that they had escaped from the clutches of the money-lender; the thought of it filled her with a quiet but not altogether unspoiled happiness. she no longer dreamed of anything better, but was grateful for what she possessed; and it seemed to pelle that something had died within her together with the dissatisfaction. it was as though she had at last given everything she had; her resignation to the gray everyday life made her dull and ordinary. "she needs sunshine," he thought. and again his thoughts wandered in their search for a way out into the future--his one idea--in the same track that they had followed a hundred times before. he did not even enter it fully, but merely recognized that the problem was being worn threadbare. in his trade there was no compromise; there was only room for extortioners and extortionized, and he was not suited for either part. when he took up other possibilities, however, his thoughts returned of themselves to his work, like a roving dog that always comes back and snuffs at the same scent. there was something in him that with fatalistic obstinacy made him one with his trade, in spite of its hopelessness; he had staked everything there, and there the question should be solved. behind the fatalism of the common people lies the recognition that there is plan and perspective in their life too; such and such a thing is so because it must be so. and this recognition pelle had no reason to do away with. he grew confused with the continual dwelling of his thoughts on the same subject, but it seemed to possess him, was with him while he slept, and seized him as soon as he awoke. there was an old dream that persistently haunted him at this time--a forgotten youthful idea from his earliest participation in the rising, the plan for a common workshop that would make the court shoemaker superfluous. the plan had been laid aside at the time as impossible, but now he took it up again and went over it step by step. he could easily find some capable, reliable fellow-workmen who would stand by him through thick and thin with regard to work and profits; and there would be no difficulty about discipline, for during the past years the workmen had learned to subordinate themselves to their own people. here was a way for the small man to assert himself within his trade and join the development; what one was not able to do could be done by several joining together, namely, turn the modern technics to account and divide the work into sections. he arranged it all most carefully, and went over it again and again to make sure that every detail was correct. when he slept he dreamed of his system of profit-sharing, and then it was a fact. he stood working in a bright room among comrades; there was no master and no servant, the machinery whirred, and the workmen sang and whistled while they minded it. their hours of labor were short, and they all had happy homes waiting for them. it was hard to wake up and know the reality. alas! all the cleverest and most industrious hands in the world had no influence in their several trades--could not so much as sew a single stitch--until capital started them. if that refused its support, they could do nothing at all, but were cut off, as it were, at once. machinery cost money. pelle could get the latter from brun, the old man having often enough offered him capital to start something or other; but he already owed him money, and capital might run his undertaking down. it was at its post, and allowed no activity of that kind beside it. he was seized with uncertainty; he dared not venture the stakes. the old philosopher came almost daily. pelle had become a part of his life, and he watched his young friend's condition with anxiety. was it the prison life--or was it perhaps the books--that had transformed this young man, who had once gone ahead with tempestuous recklessness, into a hesitating doubter who could not come to a decision? personality was of doubtful value when it grew at the expense of energy. it had been the old man's hope that it would have developed greater energy through being replanted in fresh, untouched soil, and he tried to rouse pelle out of his lethargy. pelle gave an impatient jerk. they were poking him up on all sides, wanting him to come to a decision, and he could not see his way to it. of course he was half asleep; he knew it himself. he felt that he wanted rest; his entity was working for him out there in the uncertainty. "i don't know anything," he said, half irritated, "so what can be the use? i thought books would lead me to a place from which i could bring everything together; but now i'm all abroad. i know too much to dash on blindly, and too little to find the pivot on which the whole thing turns. it doesn't matter what i touch, it resolves itself into something _for_ and something _against_." he laughed in desperation. one day brun brought him a book. "this book," he said with a peculiar smile, "has satisfied many who were seeking for the truth. let's see whether it can satisfy you too!" it was darwin's "origin of species." pelle read as in a mist. the point lay here--the whole thing powerfully put into one sentence! his brain was in a ferment, he could not lay the book down, but went on reading all night, bewitched and horrified at this merciless view. when ellen in surprise came down with his morning coffee, he had finished the book. he made no reply to her gentle reproaches, but drank the coffee in silence, put on his hat and went out into the deserted streets to cool his burning brow. it was very early and the working-men had not yet turned out; at the morning coffee-rooms the shutters were just being taken down; warmly- clad tram-men were tramping through the streets in their wooden-soled boots; slipshod, tired women ran stumbling along to their early jobs, shivering with cold and weary of life, weary before they had begun their day. here and there a belated woman toiled along the street carrying a clothes-basket, a mother taking her baby to the crêche before she went to her work. suddenly the feeling of rebellion came over pelle, hot, almost suffocating him. this cruelly cold doctrine of the right of the strong, which gave him the choice between becoming brutal or going to the dogs-- this was the key to an understanding of life? it pronounced a sentence of death upon him and his fellows, upon the entire world of the poor. from this point of view, the existing conditions were the only ones possible--they were simply ideal; the sweater and the money-lender, whom he hated, were in the most harmonious agreement with the fundamental laws of life! and the terrible thing was that from this standpoint the social fabric was clearly illuminated: he could not deny it. he who best learned to accommodate himself to the existing state of things, conquered; no matter how vile the existing state of things might be. the book threw at once a dazzling light upon society, but where was his own class in this doctrine--all the poor? they were not taken into account! society was thus in reality only those in possession, and here he had their religion, the moral support for the uncompromising utilization. it had always been difficult to understand how men could misuse others; but here it was a sacred duty to give stones for bread. the greatest oppressor was in reality nearest to life's holy, maternal heart; for he was appointed to carry on the development. the poor had no share in this doctrine. when a bad workman was in difficulties, the others did not press him until he had to go down, not even when he himself was to blame for his lack of means. the poor did not let the weak fall, but took him under their wing. they placed themselves outside the pale of the law and gave themselves no chance; the race could not be won with a wounded comrade on one's back. but in this fact there lay the admission that they did not belong to the existing order of things, but had the right to demand their own time of happiness. a new age must come, in which all that was needed in order that they might share in it--kindness of heart, solidarity--was predominant. thus even the great union he had helped to effect pointed in the right direction. it had been the opposite of one against all-it had built upon the law of reciprocity. and the poor man was not a miserable wretch, condemned by the development to be ruined, a visionary, who, as a consequence of an empty stomach, dreamed of a utopia. pelle had passed his childhood in the country and gone about with the rest of creation in all kinds of weather. he had seen the small singing-birds throw themselves in whole clouds at the hawk when it had seized one of their number, and pursue it until it dropped its prey in confusion. when he caught an ant in a split straw, the other ants flocked to the straw and gnawed their comrade out: they could not be frightened away. if he touched them, they squirted their poison against his hand and went on working. their courage amused him, the sprinklings of poison were so tiny that he could not see them; but if he quickly raised his hand to his nose, he detected a sharp acid smell. why did they not leave their comrade in his dilemma, when there were so many of them and they were so busy? they did not even stop to have a meal until they had liberated him. the poor man must stick to the union idea; he had got hold of the right thing this time! and now all at once pelle knew which way they ought to go. if they were outside the existing conditions and their laws, why not arrange their own world upon the laws that were theirs? through the organizations they had been educated in self-government; it was about time that they took charge of their own existence. the young revolutionaries kept clear of the power of money by going without things, but that was not the way. capital always preached contentment to the poor; he would go the other way, and conquer production by a great flanking movement. he was not afraid now of using the librarian's money. all doubt had been chased away. he was perfectly clear and saw in broad outlines a world- wide, peaceful revolution which was to subvert all existing values. pelle knew that poverty is not confined to any country. he had once before brought forward an invincible idea. his system of profit-sharing must be the starting-point for a world-fight between labor and capital! x two days later pelle and the librarian went to frederiksberg street to look at a business that was to be disposed of. it was a small matter of half a score of workmen, with an electrical workshop in the basement and a shop above. the whole could be had by taking over the stock and machinery at a valuation. the rent was rather high, but with that exception the conditions were favorable. "i think we'll arrange that the purchase and working capital shall bear interest and be sunk like a four per cent. credit-association loan," said brun. "it's cheap money," answered pelle. "a good result won't say much about the circumstances when we haven't got the same conditions as other businesses." "not so very cheap. at that price you can get as many as you want on good security; and i suppose the workman ought to be regarded as the best security in an undertaking that's built upon labor," said the old man, smiling. "there'll be a big fall in discount when you come into power, pelle! but the bare capital costs no more now either, when there are no parasites at it; and it's just parasites that we're going to fight." pelle had no objection to the cheap money; there were still plenty of difficulties to overcome. if they got on, it would not be long before private speculation declared war on him. they agreed that they would have nothing to do with agents and branches; the business was to rest entirely upon itself and communicate directly with the consumers. what was made in the workshop should merely cover the expenses of the shop above, the rest of the surplus being divided among the workmen. "according to what rules?" asked brun, with a searching glance at pelle. "equal!" he answered without hesitation. "we won't have anything to do with agreements. we made a great mistake, when we began the movement, in giving in to the agreement system instead of doing away with it altogether. it has increased the inequality. every one that works has a right to live." "do you think the capable workman will submit to sharing equally with those that are less capable?" asked brun doubtfully. "he must learn to!" said pelle firmly. "how could he otherwise maintain that all work is of equal value?" "is that your own opinion?" "most decidedly. i see no reason, for instance, for making any difference between a doctor and a sewer-cleaner. it's impossible to say which of them is of the greater use in matters of health; the point is that each shall do what he can." "capital!" exclaimed brun. "capital!" the old philosopher was in the best of spirits. pelle had considered him awkward and unpractical, and was astonished to find that his views on many points were so practical. "it's because this is something new," said the old man, rubbing his hands. "i'd done with the old before i came into the world; there was nothing that stimulated me; i was said to be degenerated. yes, indeed! all the same, the old bookworm's going to show his ancestors that there's vigorous blood flowing in his veins too. we two have found the place from which the world can be rocked, my dear pelle; i think we've found it! and now we'll set to work." there was enough to do indeed, but they were realities now, and pelle had a pleasant feeling of once more having his feet upon the ground. this was something different from riding alone through space upon his own thought, always in danger of falling down; here he opened up his road, so to speak, with his hands. it had been arranged that the present owner of the business should carry it on a little longer, while pelle made himself at home in it all, learned to understand the machinery, and took lessons in book-keeping. he was always busy, used his day and at night slept like a log. his brain was no longer in a perpetual ferment like a caldron, for sleep put out the fire beneath it. the essential thing was that they should be a party that could entirely rely upon one another, and pelle unhesitatingly discharged those of his comrades who were not suited for work under new forms, and admitted others. the first man he applied to was peter dreyer. ellen advised him not to do so. "you know he's on bad terms with the police," she said. "you may have difficulties enough without that." but pelle needed some one beside him who was able to look at things from a new point of view, and quite understood what was essential; egoists were of no good, and this must be the very thing for a man who had grown restive at the old state of things. * * * * * pelle had come home from his book-keeping course to have his dinner. ellen was out with boy comfort, but she had left the meal ready for him. it was more convenient to eat it in the kitchen, so he sat upon the kitchen table, reading a book on the keeping of accounts while he ate. in the front room sat lasse frederik, learning his lessons with fingers in both ears in order to shut out the world completely. this was not so easy, however, for sister had a loose tooth, and his fingers were itching to get at it. every other minute he broke off his reading to offer her something or other for leave to pull it out; but the little girl always made the same answer: "no, father's going to." he then gave up setting about it honorably, and tried to take her unawares; and at last he persuaded her to let him tie a piece of cotton round the tooth and fasten it to the doorhandle. "there! now we've only got to burn through the cotton," he said, lighting a piece of candle, "or else father'll never be able to get the tooth out. it loosens it tremendously!" he talked on about all kinds of things to divert her attention, like a conjuror, and then suddenly brought the candle close to her nose, so that she quickly drew back. "look, here's the tooth!" he cried triumphantly, showing it to sister, who, however, screamed at the top of her voice. pelle heard it all, but quietly went on eating. they would have to make it up by themselves. it was not long before lasse frederik was applying a plaster to his exploit; he talked to her and gave her her toys to put her into good humor again. when pelle went in, they were both lying on the floor with their heads under the bed. they had thrown the tooth right into the wall, and were shouting together: "mouse, mouse! give me a gold tooth instead of a bone tooth!" "are you going to do anything now, father?" asked sister, running up to him. yes, he had several things to do. "you're always so busy," she said sulkily. "are you going to keep on all your life?" pelle's conscience smote him. "no, i'm not very busy," he said quickly. "i can stay with you for a little. what shall we do?" little anna brought her large rag doll, and began to drag chairs into position. "no, that's so stupid!" said lasse frederik. "tell us about the time you minded the cows, father! about the big mad bull!" and pelle told them stories of his childhood--about the bull and father lasse, the farmer of stone farm and uncle kalle with his thirteen children and his happy disposition. the big farm, the country life, the stone-quarry and the sea--they all made up a fairy-story for the two children of the pavement; the boy pelle's battle with the great oxen for the supremacy, his wonderful capture of the twenty-five-öre piece--each incident was more exciting than the one before it. most exciting of all was the story of the giant eric, who became an idiot from a blow. "that was in those days," said pelle, nodding; "it wouldn't happen like that now." "what a lot you have seen!" said ellen, who had come home while they were talking, and was sitting knitting. "i can hardly understand how you managed--a little fellow like that! how i should like to have seen you!" "father's big!" exclaimed sister appreciatively. lasse frederik was a little more reserved. it was so tiresome always to be outdone, and he would like to have found room for a parenthesis about his own exploits. "i say, there's a big load of corn in the cabman's gateway," he said, to show that he too understood country life. "that's not corn," said pelle; "it's hay--clover hay. don't you even know what corn's like?" "we call it corn," answered the boy confidently, "and it is corn too, for it has those tassels at the ends." "the ears, you mean! but those are on coarse grass too, and, besides, corn is descended from grass. haven't you ever really been into the country?" "we were once going, and meant to stay a whole week, but it went wrong with mother's work. i've been right out to the zoological gardens, though." pelle suddenly realized how much the children must lose by living their life in the city. "i wonder if we shouldn't think about moving out of town," he said that evening when he and ellen were alone. "if you think so," ellen answered. she herself had no desire to move into the country, indeed she had an instinctive horror of it as a place to live in. she did not understand it from the point of view of the children either; there were so many children who got on capitally in town, and he surely did not want them to become stupid peasants! if he thought so, however, she supposed it was right; he was generally right. then it was certainly time they gave notice; there was not much more than a month to april removing-day. on sundays they packed the perambulator and made excursions into the surrounding country, just as in the old days when lasse frederik was the only child and sat in his carriage like a little crown-prince. now he wheeled the carriage in which boy comfort sat in state; and when sister grew tired she was placed upon the apron with her legs hanging down. they went in a different direction each time, and came to places that even lasse frederik did not know. close in to the back of the town lay nice old orchards, and in the midst of them a low straw-thatched building, which had evidently once been the dwelling-house on a farm. they came upon it quite by chance from a side-road, and discovered that the town was busy building barracks beyond this little idyll too, and shutting it in. when the sun shone they sat down on a bank and ate their dinner; pelle and lasse frederik vied with one another in performing feats of strength on the withered grass; and ellen hunted for winter boughs to decorate the house with. on one of their excursions they crossed a boggy piece of ground on which grew willow copse; behind it rose cultivated land. they followed the field roads with no definite aim, and chanced upon an uninhabited, somewhat dilapidated house, which stood in the middle of the rising ground with a view over copenhagen, and surrounded by a large, overgrown garden. on an old, rotten board stood the words "to let," but nothing was said as to where application was to be made. "that's just the sort of house you'd like," said ellen, for pelle had stopped. "it would be nice to see the inside," he said. "i expect the key's to be got at the farm up there." lasse frederik ran up to the old farmhouse that lay a little farther in at the top of the hill, to ask. a little while after he came back accompanied by the farmer himself, a pale, languid, youngish man, who wore a stand-up collar and was smoking a cigar. the house belonged to the hill farm, and had been built for the parents of the present owner. the old people had had the odd idea of calling it "daybreak," and the name was painted in large letters on the east gable. the house had stood empty since they died some years ago, and looked strangely lifeless; the window-panes were broken and looked like dead eyes, and the floors were covered with filth. "no, i don't like it!" said ellen. pelle showed her, however, that the house was good enough, the doors and windows fitted well, and the whole needed only to be overhauled. there were four rooms and a kitchen on the ground floor, and some rooms above, one of these being a large attic facing south. the garden was more than an acre in extent, and in the yard was an out-house fitted up for fowls and rabbits, the rent was four hundred krones (£ ). pelle and lasse frederik went all over it again and again, and made the most wonderful discoveries; but when pelle heard, the price, he grew serious. "then we may as well give it up," he said. ellen did not answer, but on the way home she reckoned it out to herself; she could see how disappointed he was. "it'll be fifteen krones ( s.) more a month than we now pay," she suddenly exclaimed. "but supposing we could get something out of the garden, and kept fowls! perhaps, too, we might let the upper floor furnished." pelle looked gratefully at her. "i'll undertake to get several hundred krones' worth out of the garden," he said. they were tired out when they got home, for after all it was a long way out. "it's far away from everything," said ellen. "you'd have to try to buy a second-hand bicycle." pelle suddenly understood from the tone of her voice that she herself would be lonely out there. "we'd better put it out of our thoughts," he said, "and look for a three-roomed flat in town. the other is unpractical after all." when he returned from his work the following evening, ellen had a surprise for him. "i've been out and taken the house," she said. "it's not so far from the tram after all, and we get it for three hundred krones (£ s.) the first year. the man promised to put it all into good order by removing-day. aren't you glad?" "yes, if only you'll be happy there," said pelle, putting his arms round her. the children were delighted. they were to live out there in the bright world into which they had peeped, as a rule, only on very festive occasions--to wander about there every day, and always eat the food they brought with them in the open air. a week later they moved out. pelle did not think they could afford to hire men to do the removing. he borrowed a four-wheeled hand-cart--the same that had carried ellen's furniture from chapel road--and in the course of saturday evening and sunday morning he and lasse frederik took out the things. "queen theresa" gave ellen a helping hand with the packing. the last load was done very quickly, as they had to be out of the town before church-time. they half ran with it, boy comfort having been placed in a tub on the top of the load. behind came ellen with little anna, and last of all fat "queen theresa" with some pot plants that had to be taken with special care. it was quite a procession. they were in a tremendous bustle all day. the cleaning had been very badly done and ellen and "queen theresa" had to do it all over again. well, it was only what they might have expected! when you moved you always had to clean two flats, the one you left and the one you went into. there had not been much done in the way of repairs either, but that too was what one was accustomed to. landlords were the same all the world over. there was little use in making a fuss; they were there, and the agreement was signed. pelle would have to see to it by degrees. by evening the house was so far in order that it could be slept in. "now we'll stop for to-day," said ellen. "we mustn't forget that it's sunday." they carried chairs out into the garden and had their supper there, pelle having laid an old door upon a barrel for a table. every time "queen theresa" leaned forward with her elbows on the table, the whole thing threatened to upset, and then she screamed. she was a pastor's daughter, and her surroundings now made her melancholy. "i haven't sat like this and had supper out of doors since i ran away from home as a fifteen-year-old girl," she said, wiping her eyes. "poor soul!" said ellen, when they had gone with her along the road to the tram. "she's certainly gone through a good deal. she's got no one to care about her except us." "is she really a pastor's daughter?" asked pelle. "women of that kind always pretend to be somebody of a better class who has been unfortunate." "oh, yes, it's true enough. she ran away from home because she couldn't stand it. she wasn't allowed to laugh, but had to be always praying and thinking about god. her parents have cursed her." they went for a little walk behind the farm to see the evening sky. ellen was very talkative, and already had a thousand plans in her head. she was going to plant a great many fruit-bushes and make a kitchen- garden; and they would keep a number of fowls and rabbits. next summer she would have early vegetables that could be sold in town. pelle was only half attending as he walked beside her and gazed at the glowing evening sky, which, with its long fiery lines, resembled a distant prairie-fire. there was quiet happiness within him and around him. he was in a solemn mood, and felt as though, after an absence of many years, he had once more entered the land of his childhood. there was a familiar feeling in the soft pressure of the earth beneath his feet; it was like a caress that made him strong and gave him new life. here, with his feet on the soil, he felt himself invincible. "you're so silent!" said ellen, taking his arm so as to walk beside him upon the dike. "i feel as if you had just become my bride," he said, taking her into his arms. xi brun came in every morning before he went to the library to see how the work was progressing; he was greatly interested in it, and began to look younger. he was always urging pelle on, and suggesting plans for extensions. "if money's wanted, just let me know," he said. he longed to see the effect of this new system, and was always asking pelle whether he noticed anything. when he heard that the boot and shoe manufacturers had held a meeting to decide what should be their attitude to the undertaking, he laughed and wanted to turn on more steam, quite indifferent to what it might cost. the old philosopher had become as impatient as a child; an interest had come into his old-man's existence, and he was afraid of not getting the whole of it. "it's all very well for you to take your time," he said, "but remember that i'm old and sickly into the bargain." he treated pelle as a son, and generally said "thou" to him. pelle held back. so much depended upon the success of this venture, and he watched it anxiously; it was as though he had been chosen to question the future. within the movement his undertaking was followed with attention; the working-men's papers wrote about it, but awaited results. there were opinions for and against. he wanted to give a good answer, and decided on his measures with much care; he immediately dismissed such workmen as were not suited to the plan. it made bad blood, but there was no help for that. he was busy everywhere, and where he could not go himself, lasse frederik went, for the boy had given up his other occupations and helped in the shop and ran errands. ellen wanted to help too. "we can keep a servant, and then i'll learn book-keeping and keep the accounts and mind the shop." pelle would not agree to this, however. he was not going to have her working for their maintenance any more. a woman's place was with her children! "nowadays the women take part in all kinds of work," ellen urged. it did not matter; he had his own opinion on the subject. it was enough that the men should do the producing. would she have them stand on the pavement and watch the women doing the work? it was very possible it did not sound liberal-minded, but he did not care. women were like beautiful flowers, whatever people said about their being man's equal. they wore their happiness off when they had to work for their living; he had seen enough to know that. she did not like standing and looking on while the two men were so busy, so she attacked the garden, and sowed herbs and planted cabbage in the beds that lay like thick down quilts upon the earth; and when it happened that things came up, she was happy. she had bought a gardening book, and puzzled her head about the various kinds and their treatment. pelle came to her assistance after working hours, and everything that he handled flourished. this made ellen a little angry. she did exactly what he did, but it was just as if the plants made a difference between them. "i've got the countryman's hand," he said, laughing. all sunday they were busy. the whole family was in the garden, lasse frederik digging, pelle pruning the espalier round the garden door, and ellen tying it up. the children were trying to help everybody and were mostly a hindrance. one or other of them was always doing something wrong, treading on the beds or pulling up the plants. how extraordinarily stupid they were! regular town children! they could not even understand when they were told! pelle could not comprehend it, and sometimes nearly lost patience. one day when little anna came to him unsuspectingly to show him a flowering branch of an apple-tree which she had broken off, he was angry and took her roughly by the arm; but when he saw the frightened expression in her face, he remembered the man with the strange eyes, who had taught him in his childhood to manage the cattle without using anything but his hands, and he was ashamed of himself. he took the little ones by the hand, went round the garden with them and told them about the trees and bushes, which were alive just like themselves, and only wanted to do all they could for the two children. the branches were their arms and legs, so they could imagine how dreadful it was to pull them off. sister turned pale and said nothing, but boy comfort, who at last had decided, to open his mouth and had become quite a chatterbox, jabbered away and stuck out his little stomach like a drummer. he was a sturdy little fellow, and ellen's eyes followed him proudly as he went round the garden. the knowledge that everything was alive had a remarkable effect upon the two children. they always went about hand in hand, and kept carefully to the paths. all round them the earth was breaking and curious things coming up out of it. the beans had a bucket turned over them to protect them, and the lettuces put up folded hands as if they were praying for fine weather. every morning when the children made their round of the garden, new things had come up. "'oook, 'ook!" exclaimed boy comfort, pointing to the beds. they stood at a safe distance and talked to one another about the new wonders, bending over with their hands upon their backs as if afraid that the new thing would snatch at their fingers. sometimes boy comfort's chubby hand would come out involuntarily and want to take hold of things; but he withdrew it in alarm as if he had burnt himself, saying "ow!" and then the two children would run as fast as they could up to the house. for them the garden was a wonder-world full of delights--and full of terrors. they soon became familiar with the plants in their own way, and entered into a kind of mystic companionship with them, met them in a friendly way and exchanged opinions--like beings from different worlds, meeting on the threshold. there was always something mysterious about their new friends, which kept them at a distance; they did not give much information about themselves. when they were asked: "who called you?" they answered quickly: "mother ellen!" but if they were asked what it looked like down in the earth, they made no answer whatever. the garden continued to be an inexhaustible world to the children, no matter how much they trotted about in it. every day they went on new journeys of discovery in under elder and thorn bushes; there were even places which they had not yet got at, and others into which they did not venture at all. they went near to them many times in the course of the day, and peeped over the gooseberry bushes into the horrible darkness that sat in there like an evil being and had no name. out in the brilliant sunshine on the path they stood and challenged it, sister spitting until her chin and pinafore were wet, and boy comfort laboriously picking up stones and throwing them in. he was so fat that he could not bend down, but had to squat on his heels whenever he wanted to pick up anything. and then suddenly they would rush away to the house in a panic of fear. it was not necessary to be a child to follow the life in the garden. a wonderful power of growing filled everything, and in the night it crackled and rustled out in the moonlight, branches stretched themselves in fresh growths, the sap broke through the old bark in the form of flowers and new "eyes." it was as though pelle and ellen's happy zeal had been infectious; the half-stifled fruit-trees that had not borne for many years revived and answered the gay voices by blossoming luxuriantly. it was a race between human beings and plants as to who should accomplish the most, and between the plants themselves as to which could make the best show. "the spring is lavishing its flowers and green things upon us," said pelle. he had never seen a nest that was so beautiful as his; he had at last made a home. it was pleasant here. virginia creeper and purple clematis covered the whole front of the house and hung down before the garden door, where ellen liked to sit with her work, keeping an eye on the little ones playing on the grass, where she liked best to sit with pelle on sundays, when the copenhagen families came wandering past on their little country excursions. they often stopped outside the hedge and exclaimed: "oh, what a lovely home!" * * * * * the work in pelle's workshop began, as in all other places, at six in the morning; but it stopped at four, so that those who cared about it could easily make something of the day. pelle had reduced the working hours to nine, and dared not venture any further for the present. some of the hands liked this arrangement, and employed the afternoon in going out with their wives and children; but others would rather have had an hour longer in bed in the morning. one day the latter came and declared that now they were in the majority and would have it changed. "i can't agree to that," answered pelle. "being early up is the workman's privilege, and i'm not going to give it up." "but we've taken the votes on it," they said. "this is a democratic institution, isn't it?" "i've taken no oath to the vote," pelle answered quietly, "and in the meantime i should advise those who are dissatisfied with the conditions here to try somewhere else." there was always something like this going on, but he did not take it for more than it was worth. they had acquired consciousness of their power, but most of them had not yet discovered its aim. they used it blindly, in childish pleasure at seeing it unfold, like boys in unfurling their banner, tyrannized a little by way of a change, and took their revenge for the subjection of old times by systematically demanding the opposite to what they had. they reeled a little; the miracle of the voting-paper had gone to their heads. it was an intelligible transition; the feeling of responsibility would get hold of them in time. another day two of the most skilful workmen came and asked to have piece-work introduced again. "we won't stand toiling to make money for our comrades," they said. "are they idle?" asked pelle. "no, but we work quicker." "then they're more thorough on the whole. the one generally balances the other." "that's all very well, but it doesn't benefit us." "it benefits the consumers, and under the new conditions that's the same thing. we must maintain the principle that all who do their duty are equally good; it's in our own interests." they were satisfied for the time. they were two clever fellows, and it was only that they had not got hold of the new feature in the arrangement. in this way there was considerable trouble. the workmen were short- sighted, and saw only from their hands to their own mouths. impatience had also something to do with it. they had shorter hours and higher wages, but had not as much to do as in other places. it was new of course, and had to answer to their dreams; but there would be no fortunes to be made out of it as pelle was working it. he was a little more precise than was necessary when you were pressed on all sides by vulgar competition. there were, for instance, still a number of people who kept to the good old handsewn boots and shoes, and willingly paid half as much again for them. a good many small shoemakers availed themselves of this by advertising handsewn foot-wear, and then passed the measures on to a factory. it was a good business for both factory and shoemaker, but pelle would have nothing to do with such transactions. he put his trade- mark on the sole of everything that went out of his workshop. pelle took all this with dignified calmness. what right had he to demand perspicuity of these people? it was _his_ business to educate them to it. if only they were willing, he was satisfied. some day he supposed he would take them so far that they would be able to take over the business jointly, or make it self-supporting; but until then they would have to fall in with his plans. part of a great, far-off dream was nevertheless being realized in his undertaking, modest though it was at present; and if it were successful, the way to a new age for the petty tradesmen was open. and what was of still more importance, his own home was growing through this work. he had found the point where the happiness of the many lay in the lengthening of his own; he had got the right way now! sometimes in the evening after a troublesome day he felt a little tired of the difficulties; but when he bicycled down toward the town in the early morning, while the mists of night drifted across the fields and the lark sang above his head, he was always in good spirits. then he could follow the consequences of his labor, and see the good principles victorious and the work growing. kindred enterprises sprang up in other parts of the town, in other towns, still farther out. in the far distance he could see that all production was in the hands of the working-men themselves. peter dreyer supported him like a good comrade, and took a good deal of the worry off his shoulders. he unselfishly put all his strength into it, but he did not share pelle's belief in the enormous results that would come from it. "but, dear me, this is capitalistic too!" he said-- "socialist capitalism! just look up to the pavement! there goes a man with no soles to his shoes, and his feet are wet, but all the same he doesn't come down here and get new shoes, for we want money for them just like all the others, and those who need our work most simply have none. that thing"--he went on, giving a kick to one of the machines-- "turns ten men into the street! there you have the whole thing!" pelle defended his machines, but peter would not give in. "the whole thing should have been altered first," he said angrily. "as it is, they are inventions of the devil! the machines have come a day or two too early, and point their mouths at us, like captured cannons!" "the machines make shoes for ten times as many people as we could make for with our hands," said pelle, "and that can hardly be called a misfortune. it's only the distribution that's all wrong." peter dreyer shrugged his shoulders; he would not discuss the question of distribution any more. if they meant to do anything to alter it he was willing to help. there had been enough nonsense talked about it. those who had money could buy up all that they made, while the barefooted would be no better off than before. it was a deadlock. did he think it would revolutionize the world if every man received the entire proceeds of his work? that only meant justice in the existing conditions, so long as diamonds continued to be more valuable than bread. "i don't see that those who happen to have work should have a better right to live than those who can't get any," he said wrathfully. "or perhaps you don't know the curse of unemployment! look at them wandering about in thousands, summer and winter, a whole army of shadows! the community provides for them so that they can just hang together. good heavens, that isn't helping the poor, with all respect to the honorable workman! let him keep his vote, since it amuses him! it's an innocent pleasure. just think if he demanded proper food instead of it!" yes, pelle was well enough acquainted with the great hunger reserve; he had very nearly been transferred into it himself. but here he nevertheless caught a glimpse of the bottom. there was a peaceable strength in what he was doing that might carry them on a long way. peter dreyer acknowledged it himself by working so faithfully with him. it was only that he would not admit it. at first they had to stand a good deal, but by degrees pelle learned to turn things off. peter, who was generally so good and amenable, spoke in an angry, vexed tone when the conversation touched upon social conditions; it was as though he was at the end of his patience. though he earned a very good amount, he was badly dressed and looked as if he did not get sufficient food; his breakfast, which he ate together with the others in the workshop, generally consisted of bread and margarine, and he quenched his thirst at the water-tap. at first the others made fun of his prison fare, but he soon taught them to mind their own business: it was not safe to offend him. part of his earnings he used for agitation, and his comrades said that he lived with a humpbacked woman and her mother. he himself admitted no one into his confidence, but grew more and more reticent. pelle knew that he lived in one of the vesterbro back streets, but did not know his address. when he stood silent at his work, his expression was always gloomy, sometimes terribly sad. he seemed to be always in pain. the police were always after him. pelle had once or twice received a hint not to employ him, but firmly refused to submit to any interference in his affairs. it was then arbitrarily decided that peter dreyer should report himself to the authorities every week. "i won't do it!" he said. "it's quite illegal. i've only been punished for political offences, and i've been so careful that they shouldn't be able to get at me for any formal mistake, and here they're having this triumph! i won't!" he spoke quietly and without excitement, but his hands shook. pelle tried an appeal to his unselfishness. "do it for my sake then," he said. "if you don't they'll shut you up, and you know i can't do without you." "would you go and report yourself then if you were told to?" peter asked. "yes. no one need be ashamed of submitting to superior brute force." so he went. but it cost him an enormous effort, and on that day in the week it was better to leave him alone. xii marie's fate lay no longer like a heavy burden upon pelle; time had taken the bitterness out of it. he could recall without self-reproach his life with her and her two brothers in the "ark," and often wondered what had become of the latter. no one could give him any information about them. one day, during the midday rest, he went on his bicycle out to morten with a message from ellen. in morten's sitting-room, a hunched-up figure was sitting with its back to the window, staring down at the floor. his clothes hung loosely upon him, and his thin hair was colorless. he slowly raised a wasted face as he looked toward the door. pelle had already recognized him from his maimed right hand, which had only the thumb and one joint of the forefinger. he no longer hid it away, but let it lie upon his thin knee. "why, good-day, peter!" exclaimed pelle in surprise, holding out his hand to take the other's left hand. peter drew the hand out of his pocket and held it out. it was a dead, maimed lump with some small protuberances like rudiments of knuckles, that pelle found in his hand. peter looked into his face without moving a muscle of his own, and there was only a little gleam in his eyes when pelle started. "what in the world are you starting for?" he said dryly. "i should think any one might have known that a fellow couldn't mind a shearing-machine with one hand. i knew it just as well as everybody else in the factory, and expected it every day; and at last i had to shut my eyes. confound it, i often thought, won't there soon be an end to it? and then one day there it was!" pelle shivered. "didn't you get any accident insurance?" he asked in order to say something. "of course i did! the whole council gathered on account of my humble self, and i was awarded three thousand krones (£ ) as entirely invalided. well, the master possessed nothing and had never insured me, so it never got beyond the paper. but anyhow it's a great advance upon the last time, isn't it? our party has accomplished something!" he looked mockingly at pelle. "you ought to give a cheer for paper reforms!" peter was a messenger and a kind of secretary in a revolutionary association for young men. he had taught himself to read and sat with other young men studying anarchistic literature. the others took care of him like brothers; but it was a marvel that he had not gone to the dogs. he was nothing but skin and bone, and resembled a fanatic that is almost consumed by his own fire. his intelligence had never been much to boast of, but there were not many difficulties in the problem that life had set him. he hated with a logic that was quite convincing. the strong community had passed a sham law, which was not even liable for the obligations that it admitted that it had with regard to him. he had done with it now and belonged to the destructionists. he had come up to morten to ask him to give a reading at the club. "it's not because we appreciate authors--you mustn't imagine that," he said with a gloomy look. "they live upon us and enjoy a meaningless respect for it. it's only manual labor that deserves to be honored; everything else sponges on us. i'm only telling you so that you shan't come imagining something different." "thank you," said morten, smiling. "it's always nice to know what you're valued at. and still you think you can make use of me?" "yes, you're one of the comparatively better ones among those who work to maintain the capitalists; but we're agreed at the club that you're not a real proletariat writer, you're far too much elaborated. there have never been proletariat writers; and it's of no consequence either, for entertainment shouldn't be made out of misery. it's very likely you'll hear all about that up there." "that's all right. i'll be sure to come," answered morten. "and if you'll write us a cantata for our anniversary festival--it's the day of the great russian massacre--i'll see that it's accepted. but it mustn't be the usual hallelujah!" "i'm glad i met you," he said to pelle with his unchanging expression of gloom. "have you seen anything of karl?" "no, where is he?" asked pelle eagerly. "he's a swell now. he's got a business in adel street; but he won't enjoy it long." "why not? is there anything wrong with his affairs?" "nothing more than that some day we'll pull the whole thing down upon all your heads. there'll soon be quite a number of us. i say, you might speak one evening in our association, and tell us something about your prison life. i think it would interest them. we don't generally have outsiders, for we speak for ourselves; but i don't think there'd be any difficulty in getting you introduced." pelle promised. "he's a devil-may-care fellow, isn't he?" exclaimed morten when he had shut the door on peter, "but he's no fool. did you notice that he never asked for anything? they never do. when they're hungry they go up to the first person they meet and say: 'let me have something to eat!' it's all the same to them what's put into their mouths so long as it's satisfying, and they never thank gratefully. nothing affects them. they're men who put the thief above the beggar. i don't dislike it really; there's a new tone in it. perhaps our well-behaved ruminant's busy doing away with one stomach and making up the spare material into teeth and claws." "if only they'd come forward and do work!" said pelle. "strong words don't accomplish much." "how's it going with your peaceable revolution?" asked morten with a twinkle in his eye. "do you see any progress in the work?" "oh, yes, it's slow but sure. rome wasn't built in a day. i didn't think though that you were interested in it." "i think you're on the right tack, pelle," answered morten seriously. "but let the young ones light the fire underneath, and it'll go all the quicker. that new eventualities crop up in this country is no disadvantage; the governing body may very well be made aware that there's gunpowder under their seats. it'll immensely strengthen their sense of responsibility! would you like to see johanna? she's been wanting very much to see you. she's ill again unfortunately." "ellen sent me out to propose that she should come to stay with us in the country. she thinks the child must be a great trouble to you and cannot be properly looked after here either." "it's very kind of your wife to think of it, but hasn't she enough to do already?" "oh, ellen can manage a great deal," said pelle heartily. "you would be giving her a pleasure." "then i'll say 'thank you' for the offer," exclaimed morten. "it'll be a great relief to me, if only she can stand the moving. it isn't that she gives me any trouble now, for we get on capitally together. johanna is good and manageable, really a splendid character in spite of her spoiling. you won't have any difficulty with her. and i think it'll be good for her to be away from me here, and be somewhere where there's a woman to see to her--and children. she doesn't get much attention here." they went in to her and found her asleep, her pale face covered with large drops of moisture. "it's exhaustion," whispered morten. "she's not got much strength yet." their presence made her sleep disturbed, and she tossed from side to side and then, suddenly opening her eyes, gazed about her with an expression of wild terror. in a moment she recognized them and smiled; and raising herself a little she held out both her hands to pelle with a charming expression of childish coquetry. "tell me about the house out there and boy comfort," she said, making room for him on the edge of the bed. "it's so tiresome here, and mr. morten's so serious." and she threw a glance of defiance at him. "is he?" said pelle. "that must be because he writes books." "no, but i must keep up a little dignity," said morten, assuming a funny, schoolmasterish expression. "this young lady's beginning to be saucy!" johanna lay and laughed to herself, her eyes travelling from one to the other of them. "he ought to have a pair of spectacles, and then he'd be like a real one," she said. she spoke hardly above a whisper, it was all she had strength for; but her voice was mischievous. "you must come to us if he's so bad," said pelle, "and then you can play with the children and lie in the sunshine out in the garden. you don't know how lovely it is there now? yes, i'm really in earnest," he continued, as she still smiled. "ellen asked me to come and say so." she suddenly became grave and looked from the one to the other; then looking down, and with her face turned away, she asked: "will morten be there too?" "no, johanna, i must stay here, of course; but i'll come out to see you." "every day?" her face was turned to the wall, and she scratched the paper with her nails. "i shall come and see my little sweetheart just as often as i can," said morten, stroking her hair. the red blood suffused her neck in a sudden wave, and was imperceptibly absorbed in the paleness of her skin, like a dying ember. hanne's blood came and went in the same way for the merest trifle. johanna had inherited her mother's bashfulness and unspeakable charm, and also her capricious temper. she lay with her back turned toward them and made no reply to their persuasions. it was not easy to say whether she even heard them, until suddenly she turned to morten with an expression of hatred on her face. "you don't need to trouble," she said, with glowing eyes; "you can easily get rid of me!" morten only looked at her sorrowfully, but pelle was angry. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself for taking it like that," he said. "is that all the thanks morten gets for what he's done? i must say you're a grateful child!" johanna took the scolding without moving a muscle of her face, but when he ceased she quietly took his hand and laid it over her delicate, thin face, which it quite covered. there she lay peeping out at him and morten between the large fingers, with a strangely resigned expression that was meant to be roguish. "i know it was horrid of me," she said dully, moving pelle's middle finger backward and forward in front of her eyes so that she squinted; "but i'll do what you tell me. elle-pelle, morten-porten-i can talk the p-language!" and she laughed an embarrassed laugh. "you don't know how much better and happier you'll be when you get out to pelle's," said morten. "i could easily get up and do the work of the house, so that you didn't need to have a woman," she whispered, gazing at him passionately with her big eyes. "i'm well enough now." "my dear child, that's not what i mean at all! it's for your sake. don't you understand that?" said morten earnestly, bending over her. johanna's gaze wandered round hopelessly, as if she had given up all thought of being understood any more. "i don't think we'll move her against her will," said morten, as he went down with pelle. "she is so capricious in her moods. i think, too, i should miss her, for she's a good little soul. when she's up she goes creeping about and is often quite touching in her desire to make me comfortable. and suddenly recollections of her former life awaken in her and darken her mind; she's still very mistrustful and afraid of being burdensome. but she needs the companionship of women, some one to whom she can talk confidentially. she has too much on her mind for a child." "couldn't you both move out to us? you can have the two upstairs rooms." "that's not a bad idea," exclaimed morten. "may i have two or three days to think it over? and my love to ellen and the children!" xiii when the workshop closed, pelle often went on working for an hour or two in the shop, getting the accounts straight and arranging the work for the following day in the intervals of attending to customers. a little before six he closed the shop, mounted his bicycle and hastened home with longing for the nest in his heart. every one else seemed to feel as he did. there was a peculiar homeward current in the traffic of the streets. cyclists overtook him in whole flocks, and raced in shoals in front of the trams, which looked as if they squirted them away from the lines as they worked their way along with incessant, deafening ringing, bounding up and down under the weight of the overfilled platforms. crowds of men and women were on their way out, and met other crowds whose homes were in the opposite quarter. on the outskirts of the town the factory whistles were crowing like a choir of giant cocks, a single one beginning, the others all joining in. sooty workmen poured out of the gates, with beer-bottles sticking out of coat-pockets and dinner handkerchiefs dangling from a finger. women who had been at work or out making purchases, stood with their baskets on their arms, waiting for their husbands at the corner of the street. little children tripping along hand in hand suddenly caught sight of a man far off in the crowd, and set off at a run to throw themselves at his legs. sister often ran right across the fields to meet her father, and ellen stood at the gate of "daybreak" and waited. "good-day, mr. manufacturer!" she cried as he approached. she was making up for so much now, and was glowing with health and happiness. it was no use for pelle to protest, and declare that in his world there were only workmen; she would not give up the title. he was the one who directed the whole thing, and she did not mind about the fellowship. she was proud of him, and he might call himself an errand-boy if he liked; men must always have some crochet or other in their work, or else it would not satisfy them. the arrangement about the equal division she did not understand, but she was sure that her big, clever husband deserved to have twice as much as any of the others. she did not trouble her head about that, however; she lived her own life and was contented and happy. pelle had feared that she would tire of the country, and apparently she did not take to it. she weeded and worked in the garden with her customary energy, and by degrees acquired a fair knowledge of the work; but it did not seem to afford her any peculiar enjoyment. it was no pleasure to her to dig her fingers into the mould. pelle and the children throve here, and that determined her relations to the place; but she did not strike root on her own account. she could thrive anywhere in the world if only they were there; and their welfare was hers. she grew out from them, and had her own wonderful growth inward. within her there were strange hidden forces that had nothing to do with theories or systems, but produced the warmth that bore up the whole. pelle no longer desired to force his way in there. what did he care about logical understanding between man and woman? it was her heart with which he needed to be irradiated. he required to be understood by his friends. his great satisfaction in being with, for instance, morten, was that in perfect unanimity they talked until they came to a stopping- place, and if they were then silent their thoughts ran on parallel lines and were side by side when they emerged once more. but even if he and ellen started from the same point, the shortest pause would take their thoughts in different directions; he never knew where she would appear again. no matter how well he thought he knew her, she always came up just as surprisingly and unexpectedly behind him. and was it not just that he loved? why then contend with it on the basis of the claims of a poor logic? she continued to be just as unfathomable, no matter how much of her he thought he had mastered. she became greater and greater with it, and she brought him a new, strange world--the mysterious unknown with which he had always had to strive, allowed itself to be tenderly embraced. he no longer demanded the whole of her; in his inmost soul probably every human being was lonely. he guessed that she was going through her own development in concealment, and wondered where she would appear again. it had formerly been a grief to him that she did not join the movement; she was not interested in political questions and the suffrage. he now dimly realized that that was just her strength, and in any case he did not wish her otherwise. she seldom interfered definitely with what he did, and why should she? she exerted a silent influence upon everything he did, stamped each of his thoughts from the moment they began to shoot up. for the very reason that she did not know how to discuss, she could not be refuted; what to him was downright logic had no effect whatever upon her. he did not get his own thoughts again stale from her lips, and did not wish to either; her wonderful power over him lay in the fact that she rested so securely on her own, and answered the most crushing arguments with a smile. pelle was beginning to doubt as to the value of superiority of intellect; it seemed to have undisputed rule over the age, but did not accomplish chiefly good. as compared with ellen's nature, it seemed to him poor. the warmth in a kiss convinced her better than a thousand sensible reasons, and yet she seldom made a mistake. and she herself gave out warmth. they went to her, both he and the children, when there was anything wrong. she did not say much, but she warmed. she still always seemed to him like a pulse that beat, living and palpable, out from the invisible, with a strangely tranquil speech. when his head was hot and tired with adverse happenings, there was nothing more delightful than to rest it upon her bosom and listen, only half awake, to the dull, soothing murmur within like that of the earth's springs when, in his childhood, he laid his ear to the grass. the spring was beautiful, and they were much out in it; when no one could see them they walked hand-in-hand along the dikes like two young lovers. then pelle talked and showed her things. look! there it grew in that way, and here in quite a different way. was it not strange? he lived over again all his childhood's excitement in spring. ellen listened to him, smiling; she was not astonished at anything so natural as that things grew; she was merely _transformed!_ the earth simply sent up its juices into her too. the fresh air and the work in the garden tanned her bare arms, and gave strength and beauty to her figure, while her easy circumstances freed her from care. one day a new being showed in her eyes, and looked at pelle with the inquisitiveness of a kid. "shall we play?" it said. was it he or the spring that set fire to her? no matter! the pleasure was his! the sunshine entered the innermost corners of his soul, the musty corners left by the darkness of his prison-cell, and cured him completely; her freedom from care infected him, and he was entirely happy. it was ellen who had done it all; at last she had taken upon herself to be the messenger between joy and him! she became gentler and more vigorous in disposition every day. the sun and the wind across the open country called forth something in her that had never been there before, an innocent pleasure in her own body and a physical appetite that made her teeth white and gleaming. she was radiant with delight when pelle brought her little things to adorn herself with; she did not use them for the children now! "look!" she said once, holding up a piece of dark velvet to her face which in the evening gave out again the warmth of the sun, as hay its scent. "you must give me a dress like this when we become rich." and her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, full of promises of abundant returns. he thought he belonged to the soil, and yet it was through her that he first really came into contact with it! there was worship of nature in the appetite with which she crunched the first radishes of the year and delighted in their juicy freshness; and when in the evening he sprang from his bicycle and took her in his arms, she herself exhaled the fresh perfume of all that had passed through the spring day--the wind and the products of the soil. he could smell in her breath the perfume of wild honey, mixed with the pollen and nectar of wild flowers; and she would close her eyes as though she herself were intoxicated with it. their dawning affection became passionate first love out here. ellen was always standing at the gate waiting for him. as soon as pelle had had his supper, the children dragged him round the garden to show him what had taken place during the day. they held his hands and ellen had to walk by herself. pelle and she had an intense desire to be close together, but the little ones would not submit to be set aside. "he's our father!" they said; and pelle and ellen were like two young people that are kept cruelly apart by a remorseless fate, and they looked at one another with eyes that were heavy with expression. when the little ones had gone to bed they stole away from it all, leaving lasse frederik in charge of the house. he had seen an artist sitting outside the hedge and painting the smoky city in the spring light, and had procured himself a paintbox. he sat out there every evening now, daubing away busily. he did not mean to be a sailor now! they went up past the farm and on toward the evening sun, walked hand- in-hand in the dewy grass, gazing silently in front of them. the ruddy evening light colored their faces and made their eyes glow. there was a little grove of trees not far off, to which they often went so as to be quite away from the world. with their arms round one another they passed into the deep twilight, whispering together. now and then she bent her head back for him to kiss her, when an invisible ray would strike her eye and be refracted into a rainbow-colored star, in the darkness. a high dike of turfs ran along the edge of the wood, and low over it hung hazel and young beech trees. in under the branches there were little bowers where they hid themselves; the dead leaves had drifted together in under the dike and made a soft couch. the birds above their heads gave little sleepy chirps, turned on the branch and twittered softly as though they dreamed the day's melodies over again. sometimes the moon peeped in at them with a broad smile. the heavy night- exhalations of the leaves lulled them to sleep, and sometimes they were only wakened by the tremor that passes through everything when the sun rises. pelle would be cold then, but ellen's body was always warm although she had removed some of her clothing to make a pillow for their heads. she still continued to be motherly; her devotion only called forth new sides of her desire for self-sacrifice. how rich she was in her motherliness! she demanded nothing but the hard ground, and could not make herself soft enough: everything was for him. and she could make herself so incomprehensibly soft! providence had thrown all his riches and warmth into her lap; it was no wonder that both life and happiness had made their nesting-place there. their love increased with the sunshine, and made everything bright and good; there was no room for any darkness. pelle met all troubles with a smile. he went about in a state of semi-stupor, and even his most serious business affairs could not efface ellen's picture from his mind. her breath warmed the air around him throughout the day, and made him hasten home. at table at home they had secret signs that referred to their secret world. they were living in the first love of youth with all its sweet secrecy, and smiled at one another in youthful, stealthy comprehension, as though the whole world were watching them and must learn nothing. if their feet touched under the table, their eyes met and ellen would blush like a young girl. her affection was so great that she could not bear it to be known, even to themselves. a red flame passed over her face, and her eyes were veiled as though she hid in them the unspeakable sweetness of her tryst from time to time. she rarely spoke and generally answered with a smile; she sang softly to herself, filled with the happiness of youth. * * * * * one afternoon when he came cycling home ellen did not meet him as usual. he became anxious, and hurried in. the sofa was made into a bed, and ellen was standing by it, bending over johanna, who lay shivering with fever. ellen raised her head and said, "hush!" the children were sitting in a corner gazing fearfully at the sick girl, who lay with closed eyes, moaning slightly. "she came running out here this afternoon," whispered ellen, looking strangely at him; "i can't think why. she's terribly ill! i've sent lasse frederik in to morten, so that he may know she's with us." "have you sent for the doctor?" asked pelle, bending down over johanna. "yes. lasse frederik will tell morten to bring his doctor with him. he must know her best. i should think they'll soon be here." a shivering fit came over johanna. she lay working her tongue against the dry roof of her mouth, now and then uttering a number of disconnected words, and tossing to and fro upon the bed. suddenly she raised herself in terror, her wide-open eyes fixed upon pelle, but with no recognition in them. "go away! i won't!" she screamed, pushing him away. his deep voice calmed her, however, and she allowed herself to be laid down once more, and then lay still with closed eyes. "some one has been after her," said ellen, weeping. "what can it be?" "it's the old story," pelle whispered with emotion. "morten says that it constantly reappears in her.--take the children out into the garden, ellen. i'll stay here with her." ellen went out with the little ones, who could hardly be persuaded to come out of their corner; but it was not long before their chattering voices could be heard out on the grass. pelle sat with his hand on johanna's forehead, staring straight before him. he had been rudely awakened to the horror of life once more. convulsive tremors passed through her tortured brow. it was as if he held in his hand a fluttering soul that had been trodden in the mire beneath heavy heels--a poor crushed fledgeling that could neither fly nor die. he was roused by the sound of a carriage driving quickly up to the garden gate, and went out to meet the men. the doctor was very doubtful about johanna's condition. "i'm afraid that the fits will increase rather than decrease," he said in a whisper. "it would be better if she were sent to the hospital as soon as she's able to be moved." "would it be better for her?" asked ellen. "no, not exactly for her, but--she'll be a difficult patient, you know!" "then she shall remain here," said ellen; "she shall be well looked after." lasse frederik had to take his bicycle and ride to the chemist's, and immediately after the doctor drove away. they sat outside the garden door, so that they could hear any sound from the sick girl, and talked together in low tones. it was sad to see morten; johanna's flight from him had wounded him deeply. "i wonder why she did it?" said pelle. "she's been strange ever since you came up and proposed that she should come out to you," said morten sadly. "she got it into her head that she was a burden to me and that i would like to get rid of her. two or three days ago she got up while i was out, and began working in the house--i suppose as a return for my keeping her. she's morbidly sensitive. when i distinctly forbade her she declared that she wouldn't owe me anything and meant to go away. i knew that she might very likely do it in spite of her being ill, so i stayed at home. at midday to-day i just went down to fetch milk, and when i came up she was gone. it was a good thing she came out here; i think she'd do anything when once the idea's taken her that she's a burden." "she must be very fond of you," said ellen, looking at him. "i don't think so," answered morten, with a sad smile. "at any rate, she's hidden it well. my impression is that she's hated me ever since the day we spoke of her coming out here.--may i stay here for the night?" "if you can put up with what we have," answered ellen. "it won't be a luxurious bed, but it'll be something to lie down on." morten did not want a bed, however. "i'll sit up and watch over johanna," he said. xiv the house was thus transformed into a nursing home. it was a hard hit at their careless happiness, but they took it as it came. neither of them demanded more of life than it was capable of. ellen was with the sick girl day and night until the worst was over; she neglected both pelle and the children to give all her care to johanna. "you've got far too much to do," said pelle anxiously. "it'll end in your being ill too. do let us have help!" and as ellen would not hear of it, he took the matter into his own hands, and got "queen theresa" to be out there during the day. in the course of a few days morten arranged his affairs, got rid of his flat, and moved out to them. "you won't be able to run away from me, after all," he said to johanna, who was sitting up in bed listening to the carrying upstairs of his things. "when you're well enough you shall be moved up into the big attic; and then we two shall live upstairs and be jolly again, won't we?" she made no answer, but flushed with pleasure. ellen now received from morten the amount he usually spent in a month on food and house-rent. she was quite disconcerted. what was she to do with all that money? it was far too much! well, they need no longer be anxious about their rent. johanna was soon so far recovered as to be able to get up for a little. the country air had a beneficial effect upon her nerves, and ellen knew how to keep her in good spirits. old brun made her a present of a beautiful red and yellow reclining chair of basket work; and when the sun shone she was carried out onto the grass, where she lay and watched the children's play, sometimes joining in the game from her chair, and ordering them hither and thither. boy comfort submitted to it good- naturedly, but sister was a little more reserved. she did not like this stranger to call pelle "father"; and when she was in a teasing mood she would stand a little way off and repeat again and again: "he's not your father, for he's mine!" until ellen took her away. johanna mostly lay, however, gazing into space with an expression of the utmost weariness. for a moment her attention would be attracted by anything new, but then her eyes wandered away again. she was never well enough to walk about; even when she felt well, her legs would not support her. brun came out to "daybreak" every afternoon to see her. the old man was deeply affected by her sad fate, and had given up his usual holiday trip in order to keep himself acquainted with her condition. "we must do something for her," he said to the doctor, who paid a daily visit at his request. "is there nothing that can be done?" the doctor shook his head. "she couldn't be better off anywhere than she is here," he said. they were all fond of her, and did what they could to please her. brun always brought something with him, expensive things, such as beautiful silk blankets that she could have over her when she lay out in the garden, and a splendid coral necklace. he got her everything that he could imagine she would like. her eyes sparkled whenever she received anything new, and she put everything on. "now i'm a princess in all her finery," she whispered, smiling at him; but a moment after she had forgotten all about it. she was very fond of the old man, made him sit beside her, and called him "grandfather" with a mournful attempt at roguishness. she did not listen to what he told her, however, and when the little ones crept up and wanted him to come with them to play in the field, he could quite well go, for she did not notice it. alas! nothing could reconcile her child's soul to her poor, maltreated body, neither love nor trinkets. it was as though it were weary of its covering and had soared as far out as possible, held captive by a thin thread that would easily wear through. she grew more transparent every day; it could be clearly seen now that she had the other children beside her. they ate and throve for her as well as themselves! when ellen was not on the watch, boy comfort would come and eat up johanna's invalid food, though goodness knew he wasn't starved! johanna herself looked on calmly; it was all a matter of such indifference to her. it was an unusually fine summer, dry and sunny, and they could nearly always be in the garden. they generally gathered there toward evening; ellen and "queen theresa" had finished their house work, and sat by johanna with their sewing, brun kept them company with his cheerful talk, and johanna lay and dozed with her face toward the garden gate. they laughed and joked with her to keep her in good spirits. brun had promised her a trip to the south if she would make haste to use her legs, and told her about the sun down there and the delicious grapes and oranges that she would be allowed to pick herself. she answered everything with her sad smile, as though she knew all too well what awaited her. her thick, dark hair overshadowed more and more her pale face; it was as if night were closing over her. she seemed to be dozing slowly out of existence, with her large eyes turned toward the garden gate. morten was often away on lecturing tours, sometimes for several days at a time. when at last he entered the gate, life flashed into her face. he was the only one who could recall her spirit to its surroundings; it was as though it only lingered on for him. she was no longer capricious with him. when she had the strength for it, she sat up and threw her arms round his neck; her tears flowed silently, and her longing found free vent. ellen understood the child's feelings, and signed to the others to leave the two together. morten would then sit for hours beside her, telling her all that he had been doing; she never seemed to grow weary, but lay and listened to him with shining eyes, her transparent hand resting upon his arm. every step he took interested her; sometimes a peculiar expression came into her eyes, and she fell suspiciously upon some detail or other. her senses were morbidly keen; the very scent of strange people about him made her sullen and suspicious. "the poor, poor child! she loves him!" said ellen one day to pelle, and suddenly burst into tears. "and there she lies dying!" her own happiness made her so fully conscious of the child's condition. "but dearest ellen!" exclaimed pelle in protest. "don't you think i can see? that's of course why she's always been so strange to him. how sad it is!" the child's sad fate cast a shadow over the others, but the sun rose high in the heavens and became still stronger. "pelle," said ellen, stroking his hair, "the light nights will soon be over!" morten continued obstinately to believe that little johanna would recover, but every one else could see distinctly what the end was to be. her life oozed away with the departing summer. she became gentler and more manageable every day. the hatred in her was extinguished; she accepted all their kindness with a tired smile. through her spoiled being there radiated a strange charm, bearing the stamp of death, which seemed to unfold itself the more as she drew nearer to the grave. later in the autumn her nature changed. suddenly, when pelle or morten approached, her eyes would fill with horror and she would open her mouth to cry out; but when she recognized them, she nestled down in their arms, crying pitifully. she could no longer go into the garden, but always kept her bed. she could not bear the noise of the children; it tortured her and carried her thoughts back to the narrow streets: they had to keep out of doors all day. delirious attacks became more frequent, and her thin, languid voice became once more rough and hoarse. she lay fighting with boys and roughs and high hats, defended herself with nicknames and abusive epithets, and snarled at every one, until she at last gave in and asked for brandy, and lay crying softly to herself. old brun never dared show himself at her bedside; she took him for an old chamberlain that the street-boys had set onto her, and received him with coarse demands. this insight into the child's terrible existence among the timber-stacks affected them all. it seemed as if the malignity of life would not relax its hold on this innocent victim, but would persecute her as long as life remained, and made all their love useless. morten stayed with her during the days in which she fought her battle with death; he sat watching her from a corner, only venturing nearer when she dozed. ellen was the only one who had the strength to meet it. she was with johanna night and day, and tried to make death easier for her by her unwearying care; and when the fits came over the child, she held her in her arms and sought to calm her with a mother's love. she had never been in a death-chamber before, but did not quail; and the child died upon her breast. * * * * * johanna's death had completely paralyzed morten. as long as he possibly could he had clung to the belief that her life might be saved; if not, it would be so unreasonably unjust; and when her hopeless condition became apparent to him, he collapsed. he did nothing, but wandered about dully, spoke to no one and ate very little. it was as though he had received a blow on the head from a heavy hand. after the funeral he and pelle walked home together while the others drove. pelle talked of indifferent matters in order to draw morten's thoughts away from the child, but morten did not listen to him. "my dear fellow, you can't go on like this," said pelle suddenly, putting his arm through morten's. "you've accompanied the poor child along the road as far as you could, and the living have some claim on you too." morten raised his head. "what does it matter whether i write a few pages more or less?" he said wearily. "your pen was given you to defend the defenceless with; you mustn't give up," said pelle. morten laughed bitterly. "and haven't i pleaded the cause of the children as well as i could, and been innocent enough to believe that there, at any rate, it was only necessary to open people's eyes in order to touch their hearts? and what has been gained? the addition, at the most, of one more volume to the so-called good literature. men are practical beings; you can with the greatest ease get them to shed theater tears; they're quite fond of sitting in the stalls and weeping with the unfortunate man; but woe to him if they meet him again in the street! the warmest words that have ever been spoken to me about my descriptions of children were from an old gentleman whom i afterward found to be trying to get hold of little children." "but what are you going to do?" said pelle, looking at him with concern. "yes, what am i going to do--tell me that! you're right in saying i'm indifferent, but can one go on taking part in a battle that doesn't even spare the children? do you remember my little sister karen, who had to drown herself? how many thousand children are there not standing behind her and johanna! they call this the children's century, and the children's blood is crying out from the earth! they're happy when they can steal away. fancy if johanna had lived on with her burden! the shadows of childhood stretch over the whole of life." "yes, and so does the sunshine of childhood!" exclaimed pelle. "that's why we mustn't fail the poor little ones. we shall need a race with warm hearts." "that's just what i've thought," said morten sadly. "do you know, pelle, i _loved_ that child who came to me from the very lowest depth. she was everything to me; misery has never come so cruelly near to me before. it was a beautiful dream of mine--a foolish dream--that she would live. i was going to coax life and happiness into her again, and then i would have written a book about all that triumphs. i don't know whether you understand me--about misery that becomes health and happiness beneath the sunshine of kindness. she was that; life could hardly be brought lower! but did you notice how much beauty and delicacy there was after all buried beneath the sewer-mud in her? i had looked forward to bringing it out, freed from all want and ugliness, and showing the world how beautiful we are down here when the mud is scraped off us. perhaps it might have induced them to act justly. that's what i dreamed, but it's a bitter lot to have the unfortunates appointed to be one's beloved. my only love is irretrievably dead, and now i cannot write about anything that triumphs. what have i to do with that?" "i think it's victor hugo who says that the heart is the only bird that carries its cage," said pelle, "but your heart refuses to take it when there is most use for it." "oh, no!" said morten with a little more energy. "i shan't desert you; but this has been a hard blow for me. if only i had a little more of your clear faith! well, i must be glad that i have you yourself," he added, holding out his hand to pelle with a bright smile. the librarian came across the fields to meet them. "it's taken you two dioseuri a long time," he said, looking at them attentively. "ellen's waiting with the dinner." the three men walked together up the bare stubblefield toward the house. "the best of the summer's over now," said brun, looking about with a sigh. "the wheel has turned on one more cog!" "death isn't the worst thing that can happen to one," answered morten, who was still in a morbid mood. "that's the sort of thing one says while one's young and prosperous--and doesn't mean seriously. to-morrow life will have taken you and your sorrow into its service again. but i have never been young until now that i've learned to know you two, so i count every fleeting hour like a miser--and envy you who can walk so quickly," he added with a smile. they walked up more slowly, and as they followed the hedge up toward the house they heard a faint whimpering in the garden. in a hole in an empty bed, which the two children had dug with their spades, sat boy comfort, and sister was busy covering him with earth; it was already up to his neck. he was making no resistance, but only whimpered a little when the mould began to get near his mouth. pelle gave the alarm and leaped the hedge, and ellen at the same moment came running out. "you might have suffocated little brother!" she said with consternation, taking the boy in her arms. "i was only planting him," said anna, offended at having her work destroyed. "he wanted to be, and of course he'd come up again in the spring!" the two children wanted a little brother, and had agreed that boy comfort should sacrifice himself. "you mustn't do such things," said ellen quietly. "you'll get a little brother in the spring anyhow." and she looked at pelle with a loving glance. xv work went on steadily in the cooperative works. it made no great stir; in the movement they had almost forgotten that it existed at all. it was a long and difficult road that pelle had set out on, but he did not for a moment doubt that it led to the end he had in view, and he set about it seriously. never had his respiration been so slow. at present he was gaining experience. he and peter dreyer had trained a staff of good workmen, who knew what was at stake, and did not allow themselves to be upset even if a foreign element entered. the business increased steadily and required new men; but pelle had no difficulty with the new forces; the undertaking was so strong that it swallowed them and remodelled them. the manufacturers at any rate remembered his existence, and tried to injure him at every opportunity. this pleased him, for it established the fact that he was a danger to them. through their connections they closed credit, and when this did not lead to anything, because he had brun's fortune to back him up, they boycotted him with regard to materials by forcing the leather-merchants not to sell to him. he then had to import his materials from abroad. it gave him a little extra trouble, and now it was necessary to have everything in order, so that they should not come to a standstill for want of anything. one day an article was lacking in a new consignment, and the whole thing was about to come to a standstill. he managed to obtain it by stratagem, but he was angry. "i should like to hit those leather-merchants back," he said to brun. "if we happen to be in want of anything, we're obliged to get it by cunning. don't you think we might take the shop next door, and set up a leather business? it would be a blow to the others, and then we should always have what we want to use. we shouldn't get rich on it, so i think the small masters in out-of-the-way corners would be glad to have us." brun had no objection to making a little more war to the knife. there was too little happening for his taste! the new business opened in october. pelle would have had peter dreyer to be at the head of it, but he refused. "i'm sure i'm not suited for buying and selling," he said gloomily, so pelle took one of the young workmen from the workshop into the business, and kept an eye upon it himself. it at once put a little more life into things; there was always plenty of material. they now produced much more than they were able to sell in the shop, and pelle's leather shop made the small masters independent of private capital. many of them sold a little factory foot-wear in addition to doing repairs, and these now took their goods from him. out in the provinces his boots and shoes had already gained a footing in many places; it had come about naturally, in the ordinary sequence of things. the manufacturers followed them up there too, wherever they could; but the consequence was that the workmen patronized them and forced them in again to the shops of which they themselves were the customers. a battle began to rage over pelle's boots and shoes. he knew, however, that it was only the beginning. it would soon come to a great conflict, and were his foundations sufficiently strong for that? the manufacturers were establishing a shop opposite his, where the goods were to be sold cheap in order to ruin his sales, and one day they put the prices very much down on everything, so as to extinguish him altogether. "let them!" said brun. "people will be able to get shoes cheap!" pelle was troubled, however, at this fresh attack. even if they held out, it might well exhaust their economic strength. the misfortune was that they were too isolated; they were as yet like men washed up onto an open shore; they had nothing to fall back upon. the employers had long since discovered that they were just as international as the workmen, and had adopted pelle's old organization idea. it was not always easy, either, to get materials from abroad; he noticed the connection. until he had got the tanners to start a cooperative business, he ran the risk of having his feet knocked away from under him at any moment. and in the first place he must have the great army of workmen on his side; that was whither everything pointed. one day he found himself once more after many years on the lecturer's platform, giving his first lecture on cooperation. it was very strange to stand once more before his own people and feel their faces turned toward him. at present they looked upon him as one who had come from abroad with new ideas, or perhaps only a new invention; but he meant to win them! their very slowness promised well when once it was overcome. he knew them again; they were difficult to get started, but once started could hardly be stopped again. if his idea got proper hold of these men with their huge organizations and firm discipline, it would be insuperable. he entered with heart and soul into the agitation, and gave a lecture every week in a political or trade association. "pelle, how busy you are!" said ellen, when he came home. her condition filled him with happiness; it was like a seal upon their new union. she had withdrawn a little more into herself, and over her face and figure there was thrown a touch of dreamy gentleness. she met him at the gate now a little helpless and remote--a young mother, to be touched with careful hands. he saw her thriving from day to day, and had a happy feeling that things were growing for him on all sides. they did not see much of morten. he was passing through a crisis, and preferred to be by himself. he was always complaining that he could not get on with his work. everything he began, no matter how small, stuck fast. "that's because you don't believe in it any longer," said pelle. "he who doubts in his work cuts through the branch upon which he is himself sitting." morten listened to him with an expression of weariness. "it's much more than that," he said, "for it's the men themselves i doubt, pelle. i feel cold and haven't been able to find out why; but now i know. it's because men have no heart. everything growing is dependent upon warmth, but the whole of our culture is built upon coldness, and that's why it's so cold here." "the poor people have a heart though," said pelle. "it's that and not common sense that keeps them up. if they hadn't they'd have gone to ruin long ago--simply become animals. why haven't they, with all their misery? why does the very sewer give birth to bright beings?" "yes, the poor people warm one another, but they're blue with cold all the same! and shouldn't one rather wish that they had no heart to be burdened with in a community that's frozen to the very bottom? i envy those who can look at misery from a historical point of view and comfort themselves with the future. i think myself that the good will some day conquer, but it's nevertheless fearfully unreasonable that millions shall first go joyless to the grave in the battle to overcome a folly. i'm an irreconcilable, that's what it is! my mind has arranged itself for other conditions, and therefore i suffer under those that exist. even so ordinary a thing as to receive money causes me suffering. it's mine, but i can't help following it back in my thoughts. what want has been caused by its passing into my hands? how much distress and weeping may be associated with it? and when i pay it out again i'm always troubled to think that those who've helped me get too little--my washerwoman and the others. they can scarcely live, and the fault is mine among others! then my thoughts set about finding out the others' wants and i get no peace; every time i put a bit of bread into my mouth, or see the stores in the shops, i can't help thinking of those who are starving. i suffer terribly through not being able to alter conditions of which the folly is so apparent. it's of no use for me to put it down to morbidness, for it's not that; it's a forestalling in myself. we must all go that way some day, if the oppressed do not rise before then and turn the point upward. you see i'm condemned to live in all the others' miseries, and my own life has not been exactly rich in sunshine. think of my childhood, how joyless it was! i haven't your fund to draw from, pelle, remember that!" no, there had not been much sunshine on morten's path, and now he cowered and shivered with cold. one evening, however, he rushed into the sitting-room, waving a sheet of paper. "i've received a legacy," he cried. "tomorrow morning i shall start for the south." "but you'll have to arrange your affairs first," said pelle. "arrange?" morten laughed. "oh, no! you're always ready to start on a journey. all my life i've been ready for a tour round the world at an hour's notice!" he walked to and fro, rubbing his hands. "ah, now i shall drink the sunshine--let myself be baked through and through! i think it'll be good for my chest to hop over a winter." "how far are you going?" asked ellen, with shining eyes. "to southern italy and spain. i want to go to a place where the cold doesn't pull off the coats of thousands while it helps you on with your furs. and then i want to see people who haven't had a share in the blessings of mechanical culture, but upon whom the sun has shone to make up for it--sunshine-beings like little johanna and her mother and grandmother, but who've been allowed to live. oh, how nice it'll be to see for once poor people who aren't cold!" "just let him get off as quickly as possible," said ellen, when morten had gone up to pack; "for if he once gets the poor into his mind, it'll all come to nothing. i expect i shall put a few of your socks and a little underclothing into his trunk; he's got no change. if only he'll see that his things go to the wash, and that they don't ruin them with chlorine!" "don't you think you'd better look after him a little while he's packing?" asked pelle. "or else i'm afraid he'll not take what he'll really want. morten would sometimes forget his own head." ellen went upstairs with the things she had looked out. it was fortunate that she did so, for morten had packed his trunk quite full of books, and laid the necessary things aside. when she took everything out and began all over again, he fidgeted about and was quite unhappy; it had been arranged so nicely, the fiction all together in one place, the proletariat writings in another; he could have put his hand in and taken out anything he wanted. but ellen had no mercy. everything had to be emptied onto the floor, and he had to bring every stitch of clothing he possessed and lay them on chairs, whence she selected the necessary garments. at each one that was placed in the trunk, morten protested meekly: it really could not be worth while to take socks with him, nor yet several changes of linen; you simply bought them as you required them. indeed? could it not? but it was worth while lugging about a big trunk full of useless books like any colporteur, was it? ellen was on her knees before the trunk, and was getting on with her task. pelle came up and stood leaning against the door-jamb, looking at them. "that's right! just give him a coating of paint that will last till he gets home again!" he said, laughing. "he may need it badly." morten sat upon a chair looking crestfallen. "thank goodness, i'm not married!" he said. "i really begin to be sorry for you, pelle." it was evident that he was enjoying being looked after. "yes, now you can see what a domestic affliction i have to bear," pelle answered gravely. ellen let them talk. the trunk was now cram full, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that he would not be going about like a tramp. there were only his toilet articles left now; even those he had forgotten. she drew a huge volume out of the pocket for these articles inside the lid of the trunk to make room for his washing things; but at that morten sprang forward. "i _must_ have that with me, whatever else is left out," he said with determination. it was victor hugo's "les miserables," morten's bible. ellen opened it at the title-page to see if it really was so necessary to travel about with such a monster; it was as big as a loaf. "there's no room for it," she declared, and quietly laid it on one side, "that's to say if you want things to wash yourself with; and you're sure to meet plenty of unhappy people wherever you go, for there's always enough of them everywhere." "then perhaps madam will not permit me to take my writing things with me?" questioned morten, in a tone of supplication. "oh, yes!" answered ellen, laughing, "and you may use them too, to do something beautiful--that's to say if it's us poor people you're writing for. there's sorrow and misery enough!" "when the sun's shone properly upon me, i'll come home and write you a book about it," said morten seriously. the following day was sunday. morten was up early and went out to the churchyard. he was gone a long time, and they waited breakfast for him. "he's coming now!" cried lasse frederik, who had been up to the hill farm for milk. "i saw him down in the field." "then we can put the eggs on," said ellen to sister, who helped her a little in the kitchen. morten was in a solemn mood. "the roses on johanna's grave have been picked again," he said. "i can't imagine how any one can have the heart to rob the dead; they are really the poorest of us all." "i'm glad to hear you say that!" exclaimed pelle. "a month ago you thought the dead were the only ones who were well off." "you're a rock!" said morten, smiling and putting his hands on the other's shoulders. "if everything else were to change, we should always know where you were to be found." "come to table!" cried ellen, "but at once, or the surprise will be cold." she stood waiting with a covered dish in her hand. "why, i believe you've got new-laid eggs there!" exclaimed pelle, in astonishment. "yes, the hens have begun to lay again the last few days. it must be in morten's honor." "no, it's in honor of the fine weather, and because they're allowed to run about anywhere now," said lasse frederik. morten laughed. "lasse frederik's an incorrigible realist," he said. "life needs no adornment for him." ellen looked well after morten. "now you must make a good breakfast," she said. "you can't be sure you'll get proper food out there in foreign countries." she was thinking with horror of the messes her lodgers in the "palace" had put together. the carriage was at the door, the trunk was put up beside the driver, and morten and pelle got into the carriage, not before it was time either. they started at a good pace, lasse frederik and sister each standing on a step all the way down to the main road. up at the gable window ellen stood and waved, holding boy comfort by the hand. "it must be strange to go away from everything," said pelle. "yes, it might be strange for you," answered morten, taking a last look at pelle's home. "but i'm not going away from anything; on the contrary, i'm going to meet things." "it'll be strange at any rate not having you walking about overhead any more, especially for ellen and the children. but i suppose we shall hear from you?" "oh, yes! and you'll let me hear how your business gets on, won't you?" the train started. pelle felt his heart contract as he stood and gazed after it, feeling as though it were taking part of him with it. it had always been a dream of his to go out and see a little of the world; ever since "garibaldi" had appeared in the little workshop at home in the provincial town he had looked forward to it. now morten was going, but he himself would never get away; he must be content with the "journey abroad" he had had. for a moment pelle stood looking along the lines where the train had disappeared, with his thoughts far away in melancholy dreams; then he woke up and discovered that without intending it he had been feeling his home a clog upon his feet. and there were ellen and the children at home watching for his coming, while he stood here and dreamed himself away from them! they would do nothing until he came, for sunday was his day, the only day they really had him. he hurried out and jumped onto a tram. as he leaped over the ditch into the field at the tramway terminus, he caught sight of brun a little farther along the path. the old librarian was toiling up the hill, his asthma making him pause every now and then. "he's on his way to us!" said pelle to himself, touched at the thought; it had not struck him before how toilsome this walk over ploughed fields and along bad roads must be for the old man; and yet he did it several times in the week to come out and see them. "well, here i am again!" said brun. "i only hope you're not getting tired of me." "there's no danger of that!" answered pelle, taking his arm to help him up the hill. "the children are quite silly about you!" "yes, the children--i'm safe enough with them, and with you too, pelle; but your wife makes me a little uncertain." "ellen's rather reserved, but it's only her manner; she's very fond of you," said pelle warmly. "any one who takes the children on his knee wins ellen's heart." "do you really think so? i've always despised woman because she lacks personality--until i got to know your wife. she's an exceptional wife you've got, pelle; hers is a strong nature, so strong that she makes me uncertain. couldn't you get her to leave off calling me mr. brun?" "i'll tell her," said pelle, laughing; "but i'm not sure it'll be of any use." "this _mr. brun_ is beginning to be an intolerable person, let me tell you; and in your house i should like to get away from him. just imagine what it means to be burdened all your life with a gentleman like that, who doesn't stand in close relationship to anybody at all. others are called 'father,' 'grandfather'--something or other human; but all conditions of life dispose of me with a 'mr. brun'! 'thank you, mr. brun!' 'many thanks, mr. brun!'" the old man had worked himself up, and made the name a caricature. "these are bad roads out here," he said suddenly, stopping to take breath. "it's incomprehensible that these fields should be allowed to lie here just outside the town--that speculation hasn't got hold of them." "i suppose it's because of the boggy ground down there," said pelle. "they've begun to fill it in, however, at the north end, i see." brun peered in that direction with some interest, but gave it up, shaking his head. "no, i can't see so far without glasses; that's another of the blessings bestowed by books. yes, it is! old people in the country only make use of spectacles when they want to look at a book, but i have to resort to them when i want to find my way about the world: that makes a great difference. it's the fault of the streets and those stupid books that i'm shortsighted; you don't get any outlook if you don't live in the country. the town shuts up all your senses, and the books take you away from life; so i'm thinking of moving out too." "is that wise now just before the winter? it wouldn't do for you to go in and out in all kinds of weather." "then i'll give up the library," answered brun. "i shan't miss it much; i've spent enough of my life there. fancy, pelle! it occurred to me last night that i'd helped to catalogue most of the literature of the world, but haven't even seen a baby dressed! what right have people like me to have an opinion?" "i can't understand that," said pelle. "books have given me so much help." "yes, because you had the real thing. if i were young, i would go out and set to work with my hands. i've missed more through never having worked with my body till i was hot and tired, than you have through not knowing the great classic writers. i'm discovering my own poverty, pelle; and i would willingly exchange everything for a place as grandfather by a cozy fireside." the children came running across the field. "have you got anything for us to-day?" they cried from a long distance. "yes, but not until we get into the warmth. i daren't unbutton my coat out here because of my cough." "well, but you walk so slowly," said boy comfort. "is it because you're so old?" "yes, that's it," answered the old man, laughing. "you must exercise a little patience." patience, however, was a thing of which the children possessed little, and they seized hold of his coat and pulled him along. he was quite out of breath when they reached the house. ellen looked severely at the children, but said nothing. she helped brun off with his coat and neckerchief, and after seeing him comfortably seated in the sitting-room, went out into the kitchen. pelle guessed there was something she wanted to say to him, and followed her. "pelle," she said gravely, "the children are much too free with mr. brun. i can't think how you can let them do it." "well, but he likes it, ellen, or of course i should stop them. it's just what he likes. and do you know what i think he would like still better? if you would ask him to live with us." "that i'll never do!" declared ellen decidedly. "it would look so extraordinary of me." "but if he wants a home, and likes us? he's got no friends but us." no--no, ellen could not understand that all the same, with the little they had to offer. and brun, who could afford to pay for all the comforts that could be had for money! "if he came, i should have to have new table-linen at any rate, and good carpets on the floors, and lots of other things." "you can have them too," said pelle. "of course we'll have everything as nice as we can, though brun's quite as easily pleased as we are." that might be so, but ellen was the mistress of the house, and there were things she could not let go. "if mr. brun would like to live with us, he shall be made comfortable," she said; "but it's funny he doesn't propose it himself, for he can do it much better than we can." "no, it must come from us--from _you,_ ellen. he's a little afraid of you." "of me?" exclaimed ellen, in dismay. "and i who would--why, there's no one i'd sooner be kind to! then i'll say it, pelle, but not just now." she put up her hands to her face, which was glowing with pleasure and confusion at the thought that her little home was worth so much. pelle went back to the sitting-room. brun was sitting on the sofa with boy comfort on his knee. "he's a regular little urchin!" he said. "but he's not at all like his mother. he's got your features all through." "ellen isn't his mother," said pelle, in a low voice. "oh, isn't she! it's funny that he should have those three wrinkles in his forehead like you; they're like the wave-lines in the countenance of denmark. you both look as if you were always angry." "so we were at that time," said pelle. "talking of anger"--brun went on--"i applied to the police authorities yesterday, and got them to promise to give up their persecution of peter dreyer, on condition that he ceases his agitation among the soldiers." "we shall never get him to agree to that; it would be the same thing as requiring him to swear away his rights as a man. he has taught himself, by a great effort, to use parliamentary expressions, and nobody'll ever get him to do more. in the matter of the cause itself he'll never yield, and there i agree with him. if you mayn't even fight the existing conditions with spiritual weapons, there'll be an end of everything." "yes, that's true," said brun, "only i'm sorry for him. the police keep him in a perpetual state of inflammation. he can't have any pleasure in life." xvi pelle was always hoping that peter dreyer would acquire a calmer view of life. it was his intention to start a cooperative business in the course of the spring at aarhus too, and peter was appointed to start it. but his spirit seemed incurable; every time he calmed down a little, conditions roused him to antagonism again. this time it was the increase of unemployment that touched him. the senseless persecution, moreover, kept him in a state of perpetual irritation. even when he was left alone, as now, he had the feeling that they were wondering how they could get him to blunder--apparently closed their eyes in order to come down upon him with all the more force. he never knew whether he was bought or sold. the business was now so large that they had to move the actual factory into the back building, and take the whole of the basement for the repairing workshop. peter dreyer managed this workshop, and there was no fault to find with his management; he was energetic and vigilant. he was not capable, however, of managing work on a large scale, for his mind was in constant oscillation. in spite of his abilities he was burning to no purpose. "he might drop his agitation and take up something more useful," said brun, one evening when he and pelle sat discussing the matter. "nothing's accomplished by violence anyhow! and he's only running his head against a brick wall himself!" "you didn't think so some time ago," said pelle. it was brun's pamphlets on the rights of the individual that had first roused peter dreyer's attention. "no, i know that. i once thought that the whole thing must be smashed to pieces in order that a new world might arise out of chaos. i didn't know you, and i didn't think my own class too good to be tossed aside; they were only hindering the development. but you've converted me. i was a little too quick to condemn your slowness; you have more connectedness in you than i. our little business in there has proved to me that the common people are wise to admit their heritage from and debt to the upper class. i'm sorry to see peter running off the track; he's one of your more talented men. couldn't we get him out here? he could have one of my rooms. i think he needs a few more comforts." "you'd better propose it to him yourself," said pelle. the next day brun went into town with pelle and proposed it, but peter dreyer declined with thanks. "i've no right to your comforts as long as there are twenty thousand men that have neither food nor firing," he said, dismissing the subject. "but you're an anarchist, of course," he added scornfully, "and a millionaire, from what i hear; so the unemployed have nothing to fear!" he had been disappointed on becoming personally acquainted with the old philosopher, and never disguised his ill-will. "i think you know that i _have_ already placed my fortune at the disposal of the poor," said brun, in an offended tone, "and my manner of doing so will, i hope, some day justify itself. if i were to divide what i possess to-day among the unemployed, it would have evaporated like dew by to-morrow, so tremendous, unfortunately, is the want now." peter dreyer shrugged his shoulders. the more reason was there, he thought, to help. "would you have us sacrifice our great plan of making all want unnecessary, for one meal of food to the needy?" asked pelle. yes, peter saw only the want of to-day; it was such a terrible reality to him that the future must take care of itself. a change had taken place in him, and he seemed quite to have given up the development. "he sees too much," said pelle to brun, "and now his heart has dominated his reason. we'd better leave him alone; we shan't in any case get him to admit anything, and we only irritate him. it's impossible to live with all that he always has before his eyes, and yet keep your head clear; you must either shut your eyes and harden yourself, or let yourself be broken to pieces." peter dreyer's heart was the obstruction. he often had to stop in the middle of his work and gasp for breath. "i'm suffocated!" he would say. there were many like him. the ever-increasing unemployment began to spread panic in men's minds. it was no longer only the young, hot-headed men who lost patience. out of the great compact mass of organization, in which it had hitherto been impossible to distinguish the individual beings, simple-minded men suddenly emerged and made themselves ridiculous by bearing the truth of the age upon their lips. poor people, who understood nothing of the laws of life, nevertheless awakened, disappointed, out of the drowsiness into which the rhythm had lulled them, and stirred impatiently. nothing happened except that one picked trade after another left them to become middle-class. the movement had hitherto been the fixed point of departure; from it came everything that was of any importance, and the light fell from it over the day. but now suddenly a germ was developed in the simplest of them, and they put a note of interrogation after the party-cry. to everything the answer was: when the movement is victorious, things will be otherwise. but how could they be otherwise when no change had taken place even now when they had the power? a little improvement, perhaps, but no change. it had become the regular refrain, whenever a woman gave birth to a child in secret, or a man stole, or beat his wife:--it is a consequence of the system! up and vote, comrades! but now it was beginning to sound idiotic in their ears. they were voting, confound it, with all their might, but all the same everything was becoming dearer! goodness knows they were law-abiding enough. they were positively perspiring with parliamentarianism, and would soon be doing nothing but getting mandates. and what then? did any one doubt that the poor man was in the majority--an overwhelming majority? what was all this nonsense then that the majority were to gain? no, those who had the power would take good care to keep it; so they might win whatever stupid mandates they liked! men had too much respect for the existing conditions, and so they were always being fooled by them. it was all very well with all this lawfulness, but you didn't only go gradually from the one to the other! how else was it that nothing of the new happened? the fact was that every single step toward the new was instantly swallowed up by the existing condition of things, and turned to fat on its ribs. capital grew fat, confound it, no matter what you did with it; it was like a cat, which always falls upon its feet. each time the workmen obtained by force a small rise in their wages, the employers multiplied it by two and put it onto the goods; that was why they were beginning to be so accommodating with regard to certain wage-demands. those who were rather well off, capital enticed over to its side, leaving the others behind as a shabby proletariat. it might be that the movement had done a good piece of work, but you wanted confounded good eyes to see it. thus voices were raised. at first it was only whiners about whom nobody needed to trouble-frequenters of public-houses, who sat and grumbled in their cups; but gradually it became talk that passed from mouth to mouth; the specter of unemployment haunted every home and made men think over matters once more on their own account; no one could know when his turn would come to sweep the pavement. pelle had no difficulty in catching the tone of all this; it was his own settlement with the advance on coming out of prison that was now about to become every one's. but now he was another man! he was no longer sure that the movement had been so useless. it had not done anything that marked a boundary, but it had kept the apparatus going and strengthened it. it had carried the masses over a dead period, even if only by letting them go in a circle. and now the idea was ready to take them again. perhaps it was a good thing that there had not been too great progress, or they would probably never have wakened again. they might very well starve a little longer, until they could establish themselves in their own world; fat slaves soon lost sight of liberty. behind the discontented fussing pelle could hear the new. it expressed itself in remarkable ways. a party of workmen--more than two hundred-- who were employed on a large excavation work, were thrown out of work by the bankruptcy of the contractor. a new contractor took over the work, but the men made it a condition for beginning work again that he should pay them the wages that were due to them, and also for the time they were unemployed. "we have no share in the cake," they said, "so you must take the risk too!" they made the one employer responsible for the other! and capriciously refused good work at a time when thousands were unemployed! public opinion almost lost its head, and even their own press held aloof from them; but they obstinately kept to their determination, and joined the crowd of unemployed until their unreasonable demand was submitted to. pelle heard a new tone here. for the first time the lower class made capital responsible for its sins, without any petty distinction between tom, dick, and harry. there was beginning to be perspective in the feeling of solidarity. the great weariness occasioned by wandering in a spiritual desert came once more to the surface. he had experienced the same thing once before, when the movement was raised; but oddly enough the breaking out came that time from the bottom of everything. it began with blind attacks on parliamentarianism, the suffrage, and the paroles; there was in it an unconscious rebellion against restraint and treatment in the mass. by an incomprehensible process of renewal, the mass began to resolve itself into individuals, who, in the midst of the bad times, set about an inquiry after the ego and the laws for its satisfaction. they came from the very bottom, and demanded that their shabby, ragged person should be respected. where did they come from? it was a complete mystery! did it not sound foolish that the poor man, after a century's life in rags and discomfort, which ended in his entire effacement in collectivism, should now make his appearance with the strongest claim of all, and demand his soul back? pelle recognized the impatience of the young men in this commotion. it was not for nothing that peter dreyer was the moving spirit at the meetings of the unemployed. peter wanted him to come and speak, and he went with him two or three times, as he wanted to find out the relation of these people to his idea; but he remained in the background and could not be persuaded to mount the platform. he had nothing to do with these confused crowds, who turned all his ideas upside down. in any case he could not give them food to-day, and he had grown out of the use of strong language. "go up and say something nice to them! don't you see how starved they are?" said peter dreyer, one evening. "they still have confidence in you from old days. but don't preach coöperation; you don't feed hungry men with music of the future." "do you give them food then?" asked pelle. "no, i can't do that, but i give them a vent for their grievances, and get them to rise and protest. it's something at any rate, that they no longer keep silence and submit." "and if to-morrow they get something to eat, the whole turmoil's forgotten; but they're no further on than they were. isn't it a matter of indifference whether they suffer want today, as compared with the question whether they will do so eternally?" "if you can put the responsibility upon those poor creatures, you must be a hard-hearted brute!" said peter angrily. well, it was necessary now to harden one's heart, for nothing would be accomplished with sympathy only! the man with eyes that watered would not do for a driver through the darkness. it was a dull time, and men were glad when they could keep their situations. there was no question of new undertakings before the spring. but pelle worked hard to gain adherents to his idea. he had started a discussion in the labor party press, and gave lectures. he chose the quiet trade unions, disdained all agitation eloquence, and put forward his idea with the clearness of an expert, building it up from his own experience until, without any fuss, by the mere power of the facts, it embraced the world. it was the slow ones he wanted to get hold of, those who had been the firm nucleus of the movement through all these years, and steadfastly continued to walk in the old foot-prints, although they led nowhere. it was the picked troops from the great conflict that must first of all be called upon! he knew that if he got them to go into fire for his idea with their unyielding discipline, much would be gained. it was high time for a new idea to come and take them on; they had grown weary of this perpetual goose-step; the movement was running away from them. but now he had come with an idea of which they would never grow weary, and which would carry them right through. no one would be able to say that he could not understand it, for it was the simple idea of the home carried out so as to include everything. ellen had taught it to him, and if they did not know it themselves, they must go home to their wives and learn it. _they_ did not brood over the question as to which of the family paid least or ate most, but gave to each one according to his needs, and took the will for the deed. the world would be like a good, loving home, where no one oppressed the other--nothing more complicated than that. pelle was at work early and late. scarcely a day passed on which he did not give a lecture or write about his coöperation idea. he was frequently summoned into the provinces to speak. people wanted to see and hear the remarkable manufacturer who earned no more than his work- people. in these journeys he came to know the country, and saw that much of his idea had been anticipated out there. the peasant, who stiffened with horror at the word "socialist," put the ideas of the movement into practice on a large scale. he had arranged matters on the coöperative system, and had knitted the country into supply associations. "we must join on there when we get our business into better order," said pelle to brun. "yes, if the farmers will work with us," said brun doubtfully. "they're conservative, you know." this was now almost revolutionary. as far as pelle could see, there would soon be no place as big as his thumb-nail for capital to feed upon out there. the farmers went about things so quickly! pelle came of peasant stock himself, and did not doubt that he would be able to get in touch with the country when the time came. the development was preparing on several sides; they would not break with that if they wanted to attain anything. it was like a fixed law relating to growth in existence, an inviolable divine idea running through it all. it was now leading him and his fellows into the fire, and when they advanced, no one must stay behind. no class of the community had yet advanced with so bright and great a call; they were going to put an end forever to the infamy of human genius sitting and weighing the spheres in space, but forgetting to weigh the bread justly. he was not tired of the awakening discontent with the old condition of things; it opened up the overgrown minds, and created possibility for the new. at present he had no great number of adherents; various new currents were fighting over the minds, which, in their faltering search, were drawn now to one side, now to the other. but he had a buoyant feeling of serving a world-idea, and did not lose courage. unemployment and the awakening ego-feeling brought many to join peter dreyer. they rebelled against the conditions, and now saw no alternative but to break with everything. they sprang naked out of nothing, and demanded that their personality should be respected, but were unable as yet to bear its burdens; and their hopeless view of their misery threatened to stifle them. then they made obstruction, their own broken- down condition making them want to break down the whole. they were pelle's most troublesome opponents. up to the present they had unfortunately been right, but now he could not comprehend their desperate impatience. he had given them an idea now, with which they could conquer the world just by preserving their coherence, and if they did not accept this, there must be something wrong with them. taking this view of the matter, he looked upon their disintegrating agitation with composure; the healthy mind would be victorious! peter dreyer was at present agitating for a mass-meeting of the unemployed. he wanted the twenty thousand men, with wives and children, to take up their position on the council house square or amalienborg palace square, and refuse to move away until the community took charge of them. "then the authorities can choose between listening to their demands, and driving up horses and cannon," he said. perhaps that would open up the question. "take care then that the police don't arrest you," said pelle, in a warning voice; "or your people will be left without a head, and you will have enticed them into a ridiculous situation which can only end in defeat." "let them take care, the curs!" answered peter threateningly. "i shall strike at the first hand that attempts to seize me!" "and what then? what do you gain by striking the policemen? they are only the tool, and there are plenty of them!". peter laughed bitterly. "no," he said, "it's not the policemen, nor the assistant, nor the chief of police! it's no one! that's so convenient, no one can help it! they've always stolen a march upon us in that way; the evil always dives and disappears when you want to catch it. 'it wasn't me!' now the workman's demanding his right, the employer finds it to his advantage to disappear, and the impersonal joint stock company appears. oh, this confounded sneaking out of a thing! where is one to apply? there's no one to take the blame! but something _shall_ be done now! if i hit the hand, i hit what stands behind it too; you must hit what you can see. i've got a revolver to use against the police; to carry arms against one's own people shall not be made a harmless means of livelihood unchallenged." xvii one saturday evening pelle came home by train from a provincial town where he had been helping to start a coöperative undertaking. it was late, but many shops were still open and sent their brilliant light out into the drizzling rain, through which the black stream of the streets flowed as fast as ever. it was the time when the working women came from the center of the city--pale typists, cashiers with the excitement of the cheap novel still in their eyes, seamstresses from the large businesses. some hurried along looking straight before them without taking any notice of the solitary street-wanderers; they had something waiting for them--a little child perhaps. others had nothing to hurry for, and looked weariedly about them as they walked, until perhaps they suddenly brightened up at sight of a young man in the throng. charwomen were on their way home with their basket on their arm. they had had a long day, and dragged their heavy feet along. the street was full of women workers--a changed world! the bad times had called the women out and left the men at home. on their way home they made their purchases for sunday. in the butchers' and provision-dealers' they stood waiting like tired horses for their turn. shivering children stood on tiptoe with their money clasped convulsively in one hand, and their chin supported on the edge of the counter, staring greedily at the eatables, while the light was reflected from their ravenous eyes. pelle walked quickly to reach the open country. he did not like these desolate streets on the outskirts of the city, where poverty rose like a sea-birds' nesting-place on both sides of the narrow cleft, and the darkness sighed beneath so much. when he entered an endless brick channel such as these, where one- and two-roomed flats, in seven stories extended as far as he could see, he felt his courage forsaking him. it was like passing through a huge churchyard of disappointed hopes. all these thousands of families were like so many unhappy fates; they had set out brightly and hopefully, and now they stood here, fighting with the emptiness. pelle walked quickly out along the field road. it was pitch-dark and raining, but he knew every ditch and path by heart. far up on the hill there shone a light which resembled a star that hung low in the sky. it must be the lamp in brun's bedroom. he wondered at the old man being up still, for he was soon tired now that he had given up the occupation of a long lifetime, and generally went to bed early. perhaps he had forgotten to put out the lamp. pelle had turned his coat-collar up about his ears, and was in a comfortable frame of mind. he liked walking alone in the dark. formerly its yawning emptiness had filled him with a panic of fear, but the prison had made his mind familiar with it. he used to look forward to these lonely night walks home across the fields. the noises of the city died away behind him, and he breathed the pure air that seemed to come straight to him out of space. all that a man cannot impart to others arose in him in these walks. in the daily struggle he often had a depressing feeling that the result depended upon pure chance. it was not easy to obtain a hearing through the thousand-voiced noise. a sensation was needed in order to attract attention, and he had presented himself with only quite an ordinary idea, and declared that without stopping a wheel it could remodel the world. no one took the trouble to oppose him, and even the manufacturers in his trade took his enterprise calmly and seemed to have given up the war against him. he had expected great opposition, and had looked forward to overcoming it, and this indifference sometimes made him doubt himself. his invincible idea would simply disappear in the motley confusion of life! but out here in the country, where night lay upon the earth like great rest, his strength returned to him. all the indifference fell away, and he saw that like the piers of a bridge, his reality lay beneath the surface. insignificant though he appeared, he rested upon an immense foundation. the solitude around him revealed it to him and made him feel his own power. while they overlooked his enterprise he would make it so strong that they would run their head against it when they awoke. pelle was glad he lived in the country, and it was a dream of his to move the workmen out there again some day. he disliked the town more and more, and never became quite familiar with it. it was always just as strange to go about in this humming hive, where each seemed to buzz on his own account, and yet all were subject to one great will--that of hunger. the town exerted a dull power over men's minds, it drew the poor to it with lies about happiness, and when it once had them, held them fiendishly fast. the poisonous air was like opium; the most miserable beings dream they are happy in it; and when they have once got a taste for it, they had not the strength of mind to go back to the uneventful everyday life again. there was always something dreadful behind the town's physiognomy, as though it were lying in wait to drag men into its net and fleece them. in the daytime it might be concealed by the multitudinous noises, but the darkness brought it out. every evening before pelle went to bed he went out to the end of the house and gazed out into the night. it was an old peasant-custom that he had inherited from father lasse and his father before him. his inquiring gaze sought the town where his thoughts already were. on sunny days there was only smoke and mist to be seen, but on a dark night like this there was a cheerful glow above it. the town had a peculiar power of shedding darkness round about it, and lighting white artificial light in it. it lay low, like a bog with the land sloping down to it on all sides, and all water running into it. its luminous mist seemed to reach to the uttermost borders of the land; everything came this way. large dragon-flies hovered over the bog in metallic splendor; gnats danced above it like careless shadows. a ceaseless hum rose from it, and below lay the depth that had fostered them, seething so that he could hear it where he stood. sometimes the light of the town flickered up over the sky like the reflection from a gigantic forge-fire. it was like an enormous heart throbbing in panic in the darkness down there; his own caught the infection and contracted in vague terror. cries would suddenly rise from down there, and one almost wished for them; a loud exclamation was a relief from the everlasting latent excitement. down there beneath the walls of the city the darkness was always alive; it glided along like a heavy life-stream, flowing slowly among taverns and low music-halls and barracks, with their fateful contents of want and imprecations. its secret doings inspired him with horror; he hated the town for its darkness which hid so much. he had stopped in front of his house, and stood gazing downward. suddenly he heard a sound from within that made him start, and he quickly let himself in. ellen came out into the passage looking disturbed. "thank goodness you've come!" she exclaimed, quite forgetting to greet him. "anna's so ill!" "is it anything serious?" asked pelle, hurriedly removing his coat. "it's the old story. i got a carriage from the farm to drive in for the doctor. it was dear, but brun said i must. she's to have hot milk with ems salts and soda water. you must warm yourself at the stove before you go up to her, but make haste! she keeps on asking for you." the sick-room was in semi-darkness, ellen having put a red shade over the lamp, so that the light should not annoy the child. brun was sitting on a chair by her bed, watching her intently as she lay muttering in a feverish doze. he made a sign to pelle to walk quietly. "she's asleep!" he whispered. the old man looked unhappy. pelle bent silently over her. she lay with closed eyes, but was not asleep. her hot breath came in short gasps. as he was about to raise himself again, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. "what's the matter with sister? is she going to be ill again?" he said softly. "i thought the sun had sent that naughty bronchitis away." the child shook her head resignedly. "listen to the cellarman!" she whispered. he was whistling as hard as he could down in her windpipe, and she listened to him with a serious expression. then her hand stole up and she stroked her father's face as though to comfort him. brun, however, put her hand down again immediately and covered her up close. "we very nearly lost that doll!" he said seriously. he had promised her a large doll if she would keep covered up. "shall i still get it?" she asked in gasps, gazing at him in dismay. "yes, of course you'll get it, and if you make haste and get well, you shall have a carriage too with india rubber tires." here ellen came in. "mr. brun," she said, "i've made your room all ready for you." she laid a quieting hand upon the child's anxious face. the librarian rose unwillingly. "that's to say mr. brun is to go to bed," he said half in displeasure. "well, well, goodnight then! i rely upon your waking me if things become worse." "how good he is!" said ellen softly. "he's been sitting here all the time to see that she kept covered up. he's made us afraid to move because she's to be kept quiet; but he can't help chattering to her himself whenever she opens her eyes." ellen had moved lasse frederik's bed down into their bedroom and put up her own here so as to watch over the child. "now you should go to bed," she said softly to pelle. "you must be tired to death after your journey, and you can't have slept last night in the train either." he looked tired, but she could not persuade him; he meant to stay up there. "i can't sleep anyhow as things are," he whispered, "and to- morrow's sunday." "then lie down on my bed! it'll rest you a little." he lay down to please her, and stared up at the ceiling while he listened to the child's short, rattling respiration. he could hear that she was not asleep. she lay and played with the rattling sound, making the cellar-man speak sometimes with a deep voice, sometimes with a high one. she seemed quite familiar with this dangerous chatter, which had already cost her many hours of illness and sounded so painful to pelle's ear. she bore her illness with the wonderful resignation that belonged to the dwellers in the back streets. she did not become unreasonable or exacting, but generally lay and entertained herself. it was as though she felt grateful for her bed; she was always in the best spirits when she was in it. the sun out here had made her very brown, but there must be something in her that it had not prevailed against. it was not so easy to move away from the bad air of the back streets. whenever she had a fit of coughing, pelle raised her into a sitting posture and helped her to get rid of the phlegm. she was purple in the face with coughing, and looked at him with eyes that were almost starting out of her head with the violent exertion. then ellen brought her the hot milk and ems salts, and she drank it with a resigned expression and lay down again. "it's never been so bad before," whispered ellen, "so what can be the use? perhaps the country air isn't good for her." "it ought to be though," said pelle, "or else she's a poor little poisoned thing." ellen's voice rang with the possibility of their moving back again to the town for the sake of the child. to her the town air was not bad, but simply milder than out here. through several generations she had become accustomed to it and had overcome its injurious effects; to her it seemed good as only the air of home can be. she could live anywhere, but nothing must be said against her childhood's home. then she became eager. the child had wakened with their whispering, and lay and looked at them. "i shan't die, shall i?" she asked. they bent over her. "now you must cover yourself up and not think about such things," said ellen anxiously. but the child continued obstinately. "if i die, will you be as sorry about me as you were about johanna?" she asked anxiously, with her eyes fixed upon them. pelle nodded. it was impossible for him to speak. "will you paint the ceiling black to show you're sorry about me? will you, father?" she continued inexorably, looking at him. "yes, yes!" said ellen desperately, kissing her lips to make her stop talking. the child turned over contentedly, and in another moment she was asleep. "she's not hot now," whispered pelle. "i think the fever's gone." his face was very grave. death had passed its cold hand over it; he knew it was only in jest, but he could not shake off the impression it had made. they sat silent, listening to the child's breathing, which was now quiet. ellen had put her hand into pelle's, and every now and then she shuddered. they did not move, but simply sat and listened, while the time ran singing on. then the cock crew below, and roused pelle. it was three o'clock, and the child had slept for two hours. the lamp had almost burned dry, and he could scarcely see ellen's profile in the semi-darkness. she looked tired. he rose noiselessly and kissed her forehead. "go downstairs and go to bed," he whispered, leading her toward the door. stealthy footsteps were heard outside. it was brun who had been down to listen at the door. he had not been to bed at all. the lamp was burning in his sitting-room, and the table was covered with papers. he had been writing. he became very cheerful when he heard that the attack was over. "i think you ought rather to treat us to a cup of coffee," he answered, when ellen scolded him because he was not asleep. ellen went down and made the coffee, and they drank it in brun's room. the doors were left ajar so that they could hear the child. "it's been a long night," said pelle, passing his hand across his forehead. "yes, if there are going to be more like it, we shall certainly have to move back into town," said ellen obstinately. "it would be a better plan to begin giving her a cold bath in the morning as soon as she's well again, and try to get her hardened," said pelle. "do you know," said ellen, turning to brun, "pelle thinks it's the bad air and the good air fighting for the child, and that's the only reason why she's worse here than in town." "so it is," said brun gravely; "and a sick child like that gives one something to think about." xviii the next day they were up late. ellen did not wake until about ten, and was quite horrified; but when she got up she found the fire on and everything in order, for lasse frederik had seen to it all. she could start on breakfast at once. sister was quite bright again, and ellen moved her into the sitting-room and made up a bed on the sofa, where she sat packed in with pillows, and had her breakfast with the others. "are you sorry sister's getting well, old man?" asked boy comfort. "my name isn't 'old man.' it's 'grandfather' or else 'mr. brun,'" said the librarian, laughing and looking at ellen, who blushed. "are you sorry sister's getting well, grandfather?" repeated the boy with a funny, pedantic literalness. "and why should i be sorry for that, you little stupid?" "because you've got to give money!" "the doll, yes! that's true! you'll have to wait till tomorrow, sister, because to-day's sunday." anna had eaten her egg and turned the shell upside down in the egg-cup so that it looked like an egg that had not been touched. she pushed it slowly toward brun. "what's the matter now?" he exclaimed, pushing his spectacles up onto his forehead. "you haven't eaten your egg!" "i can't," she said, hanging her head. "why, there must be something wrong with her!" said the old man, in amazement. "such a big, fat egg too! very well, then _i_ must eat it." and he began to crack the egg, anna and boy comfort following his movements with dancing eyes and their hands over their mouths, until his spoon went through the shell and he sprang up to throw it at their heads, when their merriment burst forth. it was a joke that never suffered by repetition. while breakfast was in progress, the farmer from the hill farm came in to tell them that they must be prepared to move out, as he meant to sell the house. he was one of those farmers of common-land, whom the city had thrown off their balance. he had lived up there and had seen one farm after another grow larger and make their owners into millionaires, and was always expecting that his turn would come. he neglected the land, and even the most abundant harvest was ridiculously small in comparison with his golden dreams; so the fields were allowed to lie and produce weeds. ellen was just as dismayed as pelle at the thought of having to leave "daybreak." it was their home, their nest too; all their happiness and welfare were really connected with this spot. "you can buy the house of course," said the farmer. "i've had an offer of fifteen thousand (l ) for it, and i'll let it go for that." after he had gone they sat and discussed the matter. "it's very cheap," said brun. "in a year or two you'll have the town spreading in this direction, and then it'll be worth at least twice as much." "yes, that may be," said pelle; "but you've both to get the amount and make it yield interest." "there's eight thousand (l ) in the first mortgage, and the loan institution will lend half that. that'll make twelve thousand (l ). that leaves three thousand (l ), and i'm not afraid of putting that in as a third mortgage," said brun. pelle did not like that. "there'll be need for your money in the business," he said. "yes, yes! but when you put the house into repair and have it re-valued, i'm certain you can get the whole fifteen thousand in the loan societies," said brun. "i think it'll be to your advantage to do it." ellen had taken pencil and paper, and was making calculations. "what percentage do you reckon for interest and paying off by instalments?" she asked. "five," said the old man. "you do all the work of keeping it up yourselves." "then i would venture," she said, looking dauntlessly at them. "it would be nice to own the house ourselves, don't you think so, pelle?" "no, i think it's quite mad," pelle answered. "we shall be saddled with a house-rent of seven hundred and fifty kroner (over £ )." ellen was not afraid of the house-rent; the house and garden would bear that. "and in a few years we can sell the ground for building and make a lot of money." she was red with excitement. pelle laughed. "yes, speculation! isn't that what the hill farmer has gone to pieces over?" pelle had quite enough on his hands and had no desire to have property to struggle with. but ellen became only more and more bent upon it. "then buy it yourself!" said pelle, laughing. "i've no desire to become a millionaire." ellen was quite ready to do it. "but then the house'll be _mine_," she declared. "and if i make money on it, i must be allowed to spend it just as i like. it's not to go into your bottomless common cash-box!" the men laughed. "brun and i are going for a walk," said pelle, "so we'll go in and write a contract note for you at once." they went down the garden and followed the edge of the hill to the south. the weather was clear; it had changed to slight frost, and white rime covered the fields. where the low sun's rays fell upon them, the rime had melted and the withered green grass appeared. "it's really pretty here," said brun. "see how nice the town looks with its towers-- only one shouldn't live there. i was thinking of that last night when the child was lying there with her cough. the work-people really get no share of the sun, nor do those who in other respects are decently well off. and then i thought i'd like to build houses for our people on the ridge of the hill on both sides of 'daybreak.' the people of the new age ought to live in higher and brighter situations than others. i'll tell you how i thought of doing it. i should in the meantime advance money for the plots, and the business should gradually redeem them with its surplus. that is quite as practical as dividing the surplus among the workmen, and we thereby create values for the enterprise. talking of surplus--you've worked well, pelle! i made an estimate of it last night and found it's already about ten thousand (£ ) this year. but to return to what we were talking about--mortgage loans are generally able to, cover the building expenses, and with amortization the whole thing is unencumbered after some years have passed." "who's to own it?" asked pelle. he was chewing a piece of grass and putting his feet down deliberately like a farmer walking on ploughed land. "the cooperative company. it's to be so arranged that the houses can't be made over to others, nor encumbered with fresh loan. our cooperative enterprises must avoid all form of speculation, thereby limiting the field for capital. the whole thing should be self-supporting and be able to do away with private property within its boundaries. you see it's your own idea of a community within the community that i'm building upon. at present it's not easy to find a juridical form under which the whole thing can work itself, but in the meantime you and i will manage it, and morten if he will join us. i expect he'll come home with renewed strength." "and when is this plan to be realized? will it be in the near future?" "this very winter, i had thought; and in this way we should also be able to do a little for the great unemployment. thirty houses! it would be a beginning anyhow. and behind it lies the whole world, pelle!" "shall you make the occupation of the houses obligatory for our workmen?" "yes, cooperation makes it an obligation. you can't be half outside and half inside! well, what do you think of it?" "it's a strong plan," said pelle. "we shall build our own town here on the hill." the old man's face shone with delight. "there's something in me after all, eh? there's old business-blood in my veins too. my forefathers built a world for themselves, and why should i do less than they? i ought to have been younger, pelle!" they walked round the hill and came to the farm from the other side. "the whole piece wouldn't really be too large if we're to have room to extend ourselves," said pelle, who was not afraid of a large outlay when it was a question of a great plan. "i was thinking the same thing," answered bran. "how much is there here? a couple of hundred acres? there'll be room for a thousand families if each of them is to have a fair-sized piece of land." they then went in and took the whole for a quarter of a million (£ , ). "but ellen!" exclaimed pelle, when they were on their way home again. "how are we going to come to terms with her?" "bless my soul! why, it was her business we went upon! and now we've done business for ourselves! well, i suppose she'll give in when she hears what's been done." "i'm not so sure of that," said pelle, laughing. "perhaps when you tackle her." "well, did you get the house?" asked ellen, from the house door, where she was standing to receive them. "yes, we got much more," said brun airily. "we bought the whole concern." "is that a fact, pelle?" pelle nodded. "what about my house then?" she asked slowly. "well, we bought that together with all the rest," said brun. "but as far as that goes it can easily be separated from the rest, only it's rather soon to break up the cooperation before it's started." he waited a little, expecting that ellen would say something, and when she continued silent he went on, rather shortly: "well, then there's nothing more to be said about that? fair play's a jewel, and to-morrow i'll make arrangements for the conveyance of the house to you for the fifteen thousand (£ ). and then we must give up the whole concern, pelle. it won't do for the man at the head of it to live on his private property; so that plan's come to nothing!" "unless ellen and i live in separate houses," said pelle slyly. "i might build just the other side of the boundary, and then we could nod to one another at any rate." ellen looked at him gravely. "i only think it's rather strange that you settle my affairs without asking me first," she said at length. "yes, it was inconsiderate of us," answered brun, "and we hope you'll forget all about it. you'll give up the house then?" "i'm pretty well obliged to when pelle threatens to move out," ellen answered with a smile. "but i'm sorry about it. i'm certain that in a short time there'd have been money to make over it." "it'll be nice, won't it, if the women are going to move into our forsaken snail-shells?" said brun half seriously. "ellen's always been an incorrigible capitalist," pelle put in. "it's only that i've never had so much money that i shouldn't know what it was worth," answered ellen, with ready wit. old brun laughed. "that was one for mr. brun!" he said. "but since you've such a desire for land-speculation, mistress ellen, i've got a suggestion to make. on the ground we've bought there's a piece of meadow that lies halfway in to town, by the bog. we'll give you that. it's not worth anything at present, and will have to be filled in to be of any value; but it won't be very long before the town is out there wanting more room." ellen had no objection to that. "but then," she said, "i must be allowed to do what i like with what comes out of it." xix the sun held out well that year. remnants of summer continued to hang in the air right into december. every time they had bad weather ellen said, "now it'll be winter, i'm sure!" but the sun put it aside once more; it went far down in the south and looked straight into the whole sitting- room, as if it were going to count the pictures. the large yellow gloire de dijon went on flowering, and every day ellen brought in a large, heavy bunch of roses and red leaves. she was heavy herself, and the fresh cold nipped her nose--which was growing sharper-- and reddened her cheeks. one day she brought a large bunch to pelle, and asked him: "how much money am i going to get to keep christmas with?" it was true! the year was almost ended! after the new year winter began in earnest. it began with much snow and frost, and made it a difficult matter to keep in communication with the outside world, while indoors people drew all the closer to one another. anna should really have been going to school now, but she suffered a good deal from the cold and was altogether not very strong, so pelle and ellen dared not expose her to the long wading through the snow, and taught her themselves. ellen had become a little lazy about walking, and seldom went into town; the two men made the purchases for her in the evening on their way home. it was a dull time, and no work was done by artificial light, so they were home early. ellen had changed the dinner-hour to five, so that they could all have it together. after dinner brun generally went upstairs to work for another couple of hours. he was busy working out projects for the building on the hill farm land, and gave himself no rest. pelle's wealth of ideas and energy infected him, and his plans grew and assumed ever-increasing dimensions. he gave no consideration to his weak frame, but rose early and worked all day at the affairs of the coöperative works. he seemed to be vying with pelle's youth, and to be in constant fear that something would come up behind him and interrupt his work. the other members of the family gathered round the lamp, each with some occupation. boy comfort had his toy-table put up and was hammering indefatigably with his little wooden mallet upon a piece of stuff that ellen had put between to prevent his marking the table. he was a sturdy little fellow, and the fat lay in creases round his wrists. the wrinkles on his forehead gave him a funny look when one did not recall the fact that he had cost his mother her life. he looked as if he knew it himself, he was so serious. he had leave to sit up for a little while with the others, but he went to bed at six. lasse frederik generally drew when he was finished with his lessons. he had a turn for it, and pelle, wondering, saw his own gift, out of which nothing had ever come but the prison, repeated in the boy in an improved form. he showed him the way to proceed, and held the pencil once more in his own hand. his chief occupation, however, was teaching little anna, and telling her anything that might occur to him. she was especially fond of hearing about animals, and pelle had plenty of reminiscences of his herding-time from which to draw. "have animals really intelligence?" asked ellen, in surprise. "you really believe that they think about things just as we do?" it was nothing new to sister; she talked every day to the fowls and rabbits, and knew how wise they were. "i wonder if flowers can think too," said lasse frederik. he was busy drawing a flower from memory, and it _would_ look like a face: hence the remark. pelle thought they could. "no, no, pelle!" said ellen. "you're going too far now! it's only us people who can think." "they can feel at any rate, and that's thinking in a way, i suppose, only with the heart. they notice at once if you're fond of them; if you aren't they don't thrive." "yes, i do believe that, for if you're fond of them you take good care of them," said the incorrigible ellen. "i'm not so sure of that," said pelle, looking at her teasingly. "you're very fond of your balsam, but a gardener would be sure to tell you that you treat it like a cabbage. and look how industriously it flowers all the same. they answer kind thoughts with gratitude, and that's a nice way of thinking. intelligence isn't perhaps worth as much as we human beings imagine it to be. you yourself think with your heart, little mother." it was his pet name for her just now. after a little interlude such as this, they went on with their work. pelle had to tell sister all about the animals in her alphabet-book-- about the useful cow and the hare that licked the dew off the clover and leaped up under the very nose of the cowherd. in the winter it went into the garden, gnawed the bark off the young trees and ate the farmer's wife's cabbage. "yes, i must acknowledge that," ellen interposed, and then they all laughed, for puss had just eaten her kail. then the child suddenly left the subject, and wanted to know whether there had always, always been a copenhagen. pelle came to a standstill for a moment, but by a happy inspiration dug bishop absalom out of his memory. he took the opportunity of telling them that the capital had a population of half a million. "have you counted them, father?" exclaimed sister, in perplexity, taking hold of his sleeve. "why, of course father hasn't, you little donkey!" said lasse frederik. "one might be born while he was counting!" then they were at the cock again, which both began and ended the book. he stood and crowed so proudly and never slept. he was a regular prig, but when sister was diligent he put a one-öre piece among the leaves. but the hens laid eggs, and it was evident that they were the same as the flowers; for when you were kind to them and treated them as if they belonged to the family, they were industrious in laying, but if you built a model house for them and treated them according to all established rules, they did not even earn as much as would pay for their food. at uncle kalle's there was a hen that came into the room among all the children and laid its egg under the bed every single day all through the winter, when no other hens were laying. then the farmer of stone farm bought it to make something by it. he gave twenty kroner (a guinea) for it and thought he had got a gold mine; but no sooner did it come to stone farm than it left off laying winter eggs, for there it was not one of the family, but was only a hen that they wanted to make money out of. "mother's balsam flowers all the winter," said sister, looking fondly at the plant. "yes, that's because it sees how industrious we all are," said lasse frederik mischievously. "will you be quiet!" said pelle, hitting out at him. ellen sat knitting some tiny socks. her glance moved lingeringly from one to another of them, and she smiled indulgently at their chatter. they were just a lot of children! "mother, may i have those for my doll?" asked anna, taking up the finished sock. "no, little sister's to have them when she comes." "if it _is_ a girl," put in lasse frederik. "when's little sister coming?" "in the spring when the stork comes back to the farm; he'll bring her with him." "pooh! the stork!" said lasse frederik contemptuously. "what a pack of nonsense!" sister too was wiser than that. when the weather was fine she fetched milk from the farm, and had learned a few things there. "now you must go to bed, my child," said ellen, rising. "i can see you're tired." when she had helped the child into bed she came back and sat down again with her knitting. "now i think you should leave off work for to-day," said pelle. "then i shouldn't be ready in time," answered ellen, moving her knitting-needles more swiftly. "send it to a machine-knitter. you don't even earn your bread anyhow with that handicraft; and there must be a time for work and a time for rest, or else you'd not be a human being." "mother can make three ore (nearly a halfpenny) an hour by knitting," said lasse frederik, who had made a careful calculation. what did it matter? ellen did not think she neglected anything else in doing it. "it is stupid though!" exclaimed lasse frederik suddenly. "why doesn't wool grow on one's legs? then you'd have none of the bother of shearing the wool off sheep, carding it, spinning it, and knitting stockings." "oh, what nonsense you're talking!" said ellen, laughing. "well, men were hairy once," lasse frederik continued. "it was a great pity that they didn't go on being it!" pelle did not think it such a pity, for it meant that they had taken over the care of themselves. animals were born fully equipped. even water-haters like cats and hens were born with the power of swimming; but men had to acquire whatever they had a use for. nature did not equip them, because they had become responsible for themselves; they were the lords of creation. "but then the poor ought to be hairy all over their bodies," ellen objected. "why doesn't nature take as much care of the poor as of the animals? they can't do it themselves." "yes, but that's just what they _can_ do!" said pelle, "for it's they who produce most things. perhaps you think it's money that cultivates the land, or weaves materials, or drags coal out of the earth? it had to leave that alone; all the capital in the world can't so much as pick up a pin from the ground if there are no hands that it can pay to do it. if the poor were born hairy, it would simply stamp him as an inferior being. isn't it a wonder that nature obstinately lets the poor men's children be born just as naked as the king's, in spite of all that we've gone through of want and hardship? if you exchange the prince's and the beggar's new-born babies, no one can say which is which. it's as if providence was never tired of holding our stamp of nobility up before us." "do you really think then that the world can be transformed?" said ellen, looking affectionately at him. it seemed so wonderful that this pelle, whom she could take in her arms, occupied himself with such great matters. and pelle looked back at her affectionately and wonderingly. she was the same to-day as on the day he first got to know her, perhaps as the day the world was created! she put nothing out on usury, but had been born with all she had. the world could indeed be transformed, but she would always remain as she was. the post brought a letter from morten. he was staying at present in sicily, and thought of travelling along the north coast of africa to the south of spain. "and i may make an excursion in to the borders of the desert, and try what riding on a camel is like," he wrote. he was well and in good spirits. it was strange to think that he was writing with open doors, while here they were struggling with the cold. he drank wine at every meal just as you drank pale ale here at home; and he wrote that the olive and orange harvests were just over. "it must be lovely to be in such a place just for once!" said ellen, with a sigh. "when the new conditions gain a footing, it'll no longer be among unattainable things for the working-man," pelle answered. brun now came down, having at last finished his work. "ah, it's good to be at home!" he said, shaking himself; "it's a stormy night." "here's a letter from morten," said pelle, handing it to him. the old man put on his spectacles. xx as soon as it was possible to get at the ground, the work of excavating for the foundations of the new workmen's houses was begun with full vigor. brun took a great interest in the work, and watched it out in the cold from morning till evening. he wore an extra great-coat, and woollen gloves outside his fur-lined ones. ellen had knitted him a large scarf, which he was to wrap round his mouth. she kept an eye on him from the windows, and had to fetch him in every now and then to thaw him. it was quite impossible, however, to keep him in; he was far too eager for the work to progress. when the frost stopped it, he still wandered about out there, fidgety and in low spirits. on weekdays pelle was never at home in daylight, but on sunday he had to go out with him and see what had been done, as soon as day dawned. the old man came and knocked at pelle's door. "well, pelle!" he said. "will you soon be out of bed?" "he must really be allowed to lie there while he has his coffee!" cried ellen from the kitchen. brun ran once round the house to pass the time. he was not happy until he had shown it all to pelle and got him to approve of the alterations. this was where he had thought the road should go. and there, where the roads crossed, a little park with statuary would look nice. new ideas were always springing up. the librarian's imagination conjured up a whole town from the bare fields, with free schools and theaters and comfortable dwellings for the aged. "we must have a supply association and a school at once," he said; "and by degrees, as our numbers increase, we shall get all the rest. a poor-house and a prison are the only things i don't think we shall have any use for." they would spend the whole morning out there, walking about and laying plans. ellen had to fetch them in when dinner-time came. she generally found them standing over some hole in earnest conversation--just an ordinary, square hole in the earth, with mud or ice at the bottom. such holes were always dug for houses; but these two talked about them as if they were the beginning of an entirely new earth! brun missed pelle during the day, and watched for him quite as eagerly as ellen when the time came for him to return from work. "i shall soon be quite jealous of him," said ellen, as she drew pelle into the kitchen to give him her evening greeting in private. "if he could he'd take you quite away from me." when pelle had been giving a lecture, he generally came home after brun had gone to rest, and in the morning when he left home the old man was not up. brun never went to town. he laid the blame on the weather, but in reality he did not know what he would do with himself in there. but if a couple of days passed without his seeing pelle, he became restless, lost interest in the excavating, and wandered about feebly without doing anything. then he would suddenly put on his boots, excuse himself with some pressing errand, and set off over the fields toward the tram, while ellen stood at the window watching him with a tender smile. she knew what was drawing him! one would have thought there were ties of blood between these two, so dependent were they on one another. "how's the old man?" was pelle's first question on entering; and brun could not have followed pelle's movements with tenderer admiration in his old days if he had been his father. while pelle was away the old man went about as if he were always looking for something. ellen did not like his being out among the navvies in all kinds of weather. in the evening the warmth of the room affected his lungs and made him cough badly. "it'll end in a regular cold," she said. she wanted him to stay in bed for a few days and try to get rid of the cold before it took a firm hold. it was a constant subject of argument between them, but ellen did not give in until she got her way. when once he had made this concession to the cold, it came on in earnest. the warmth of bed thawed the cold out of his body and made both eyes and nose run. "it's a good thing we got you to bed in time," said ellen. "and now you won't be allowed up until the worst cold weather is over, even if i have to hide your clothes." she tended him like a child and made "camel tea" for him from flowers that she had gathered and dried in the summer. when once he had gone to bed he quite liked it and took delight in being waited on, discovering a need of all kinds of things, so as to receive them from ellen's hands. "now you're making yourself out worse than you are!" she said, laughing at him. brun laughed too. "you see, i've never been petted before," he said. "from the time i was born, my parents hired people to look after me; that's why i'm so shrivelled up. i've had to buy everything. well, there's a certain amount of justice in the fact that money kills affection, or else you'd both eat your cake and have it." "yes, it's a good thing the best can't be had for money," said ellen, tucking the clothes about his feet. he was propped up with pillows, so that he could lie there and work. he had a map of the hill farm land beside him, and was making plans for a systematic laying out of the ground for building. he wrote down his ideas about it in a book that was to be appended to the plans. he worked from sunrise until the middle of the day, and during that time it was all that ellen could do to keep the children away from him; boy comfort was on his way up to the old man every few minutes. in the afternoon, when she had finished in the kitchen, she took the children up for an hour. they were given a picture-book and were placed at brun's large writing-table, while ellen seated herself by the window with her knitting and talked to the old man. from her seat she could follow the work out on the field, and had to give him a full description of how far they had got with each plot. there were always several hundred men out there standing watching the work--a shivering crowd that never diminished. they were unemployed who had heard that something was going on out here, and long before the dawn of day they were standing there in the hope of coming in for something. all day they streamed in and out, an endless chain of sad men. they resembled prisoners condemned hopelessly to tread a huge wheel; there was a broad track across the fields where they went. brun was troubled by the thought of these thousands of men who came all this way to look for a day's work and had to go back with a refusal. "we can't take more men on than there are already," he said to pelle, "or they'll only get in one another's way. but perhaps we could begin to carry out some of our plans for the future. can't we begin to make roads and such like, so that these men can get something to do?" no, pelle dared not agree to that. "in the spring we shall want capital to start the tanners with a cooperative tannery," he said. "it'll be agreed on in their union at an early date, on the presupposition that we contribute money; and i consider it very important to get it started. our opponents find fault with us for getting our materials from abroad. it's untenable in the long run, and must come to an end now. as it is, the factory's hanging in the air; they can cut us off from the supply of materials, and then we're done. but if we only have our own tannery, the one business can be carried out thoroughly and can't be smashed up, and then we're ready to meet a lock-out in the trade." "the hides!" interpolated brun. "there we come to agriculture. that's already arranged coöperatively, and will certainly not be used against us. we must anyhow join in there as soon as ever we get started--buy cattle and kill, ourselves, so that besides the hides we provide ourselves with good, cheap meat." "yes, yes, but the tannery won't swallow everything! we can afford to do some road-making." "no, we can't!" pelle declared decisively. "remember we've also got to think of the supply associations, or else all our work is useless; the one thing leads to the other. there's too much depending on what we're doing, and we mustn't hamper our undertaking with dead values that will drag it down. first the men and then the roads! the unemployed to-day must take care of themselves without our help." "you're a little hard, i think," said brun, somewhat hurt at pelle's firmness, and drumming on the quilt with his fingers. "it's not the first time that i've been blamed for it in this connection," answered pelle gravely; "but i must put up with it." the old man held out his hand. "i beg your pardon! it wasn't my intention to find fault with you because you don't act thoughtlessly. of course we mustn't give up the victory out of sympathy with those who fight. it was only a momentary weakness, but a weakness that might spoil everything--that i must admit! but it's not so easy to be a passive spectator of these topsy-turvy conditions. it's affirmed that the workmen prefer to receive a starvation allowance to doing any work; and judging by what they've hitherto got out of their work it's easy to understand that it's true. but during the month that the excavations here have been going on, at least a thousand unemployed have come every day ready to turn to; and we pay them for refraining from doing anything! they can at a pinch receive support, but at no price obtain work. it's as insane as it's possible to be! you feel you'd like to give the machinery a little push and set it going again." "it wants a good big push," said pelle. "they're not trifles that are in the way." "they look absurdly small, at any rate. the workmen are not in want because they're out of work, as our social economists want us to believe; but they're out of work because they're in want. what a putting of the cart before the horse! the procession of the unemployed is a disgrace to the community; what a waste--also from a purely mercantile point of view--while the country and the nation are neglected! if a private business were conducted on such principles, it would be doomed from the very first." "if the pitiable condition arose only from a wrong grasp of things, it would be easily corrected," said pelle; "but the people who settle the whole thing can't at any rate be charged with a lack of mercantile perception. it would be a good thing if they had the rest in as good order! believe me, not a sparrow falls to the ground unless it is to the advantage of the money-power; if it paid, in a mercantile sense, to have country and people in perfect order, it would take good care that they were so. but it simply can't be done; the welfare of the many and the accumulation of property by the few are irreconcilable contradictions. i think there is a wonderful balance in humanity, so that at any time it can produce exactly enough to satisfy all its requirements; and when one claims too much, others let go. it's on that understanding indeed that we want to remove the others and take over the management." "yes, yes! i didn't mean that i wanted to protect the existing state of affairs. let those who make the venture take the responsibility. but i've been wondering whether _we_ couldn't find a way to gather up all this waste so that it should benefit the cooperative works?" "how could we? we _can't_ afford to give occupation to the unemployed." "not for wages! but both the movement and the community have begun to support them, and what would be more natural than that one required work of them in return? only, remember, letting it benefit them!" "you mean that, for instance, unemployed bricklayers and carpenters should build houses for the workmen?" asked pelle, with animation. "yes, as an instance. but the houses should be ensured against private speculation, in the same way as those we're building, and always belong to the workmen. as _we_ can't be suspected of trying to make profits, we should be suitable people for its management, and it would help on the cooperative company. in that way the refuse of former times would fertilize the new seed." pelle sat lost in thought, and the old man lay and looked at him in suspense. "well, are you asleep?" he asked at last impatiently. "it's a fine idea," said pelle, raising his head. "i think we should get the organizations on our side; they're already beginning to be interested in cooperation. when the committee sits, i'll lay your plan before them. i'm not so sure of the community, however, brun! they have occasional use for the great hunger-reserve, so they'll go on just keeping life in it; if they hadn't, it would soon be allowed to die of hunger. i don't think they'll agree to have it employed, so to speak, against themselves." "you're an incorrigible pessimist!" said brun a little irritably. "yes, as regards the old state of things," answered pelle, with a smile. thus they would discuss the possibilities for the fixture in connection with the events of the day when pelle sat beside the old man in the evening, both of them engrossed in the subject. sometimes the old man felt that he ran off the lines. "it's the blood," he said despondently. "i'm not, after all, quite one of you. it's so long since one of my family worked with his hands that i've forgotten it." during this time he often touched upon his past, and every evening had something to tell about himself. it was as though he were determined to find a law that would place him by pelle's side. brun belonged to an old family that could be traced back several hundred years to the captain of a ship, who traded with the tranquebar coast. the founder of the family, who was also a whaler and a pirate, lived in a house on one of the kristianshavn canals. when his ship was at home, she lay to at the wharf just outside his street-door. the bruns' house descended from father to son, and was gradually enlarged until it became quite a mansion. in the course of four generations it had become one of the largest trading-houses of the capital. at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, most of the members of the family had gone over into the world of stockbrokers and bankers, and thence the changes went still further. brun's father, the well-known kornelius brun, stuck to the old business, his brothers making over their share to him and entering the diplomatic service, one of them receiving a high court appointment. kornelius brun felt it his duty to carry on the old business, and in order to keep on a level with his brothers as regarded rank, he married a lady of noble birth from funen, of a very old family heavily burdened with debt. she bore him three children, all of whom--as he himself said --were failures. the first child was a deaf mute with very small intellectual powers. it fortunately died before it attained to man's estate. number two was very intelligent and endowed with every talent, but even as a boy exhibited perverse tendencies. he was very handsome, had soft, dark hair, and a delicate, womanish complexion. his mother dressed him in velvet, and idolized him. he never did anything useful, but went about in fine company and spent large sums of money. in his fortieth year he died suddenly, a physical and moral wreck. the announcement of the death gave a stroke as the cause; but the truth was that rumors had begun to circulate of a scandal in which he was implicated together with some persons of high standing. it was at the end of the seventies, at the time when the lower class movement began to gather way. an energetic investigation was demanded from below, and it was considered inadvisable to hush the story up altogether, for fear of giving support to the assertion of the rottenness and onesidedness of the existing conditions. when an investigation became imminent, and it was evident that brun would be offered up upon the altar of the multitude in order to shield those who stood higher, kornelius brun put a pistol into his son's hand--or shot him; the librarian was unable to say which. "those were two of the fruits upon the decaying family tree," said brun bitterly, "and it can't be denied that they were rather worm-eaten. the third was myself. i came fifteen years after my youngest brother. by that time my parents had had enough of their progeny; at any rate, i was considered from the beginning to be a hopeless failure, even before i had had an opportunity of showing anything at all. perhaps they felt instinctively that i should take a wrong direction too. in me too the disintegrating forces predominated; i was greatly deficient, for instance, in family feeling. i remember when still quite little hearing my mother complain of my plebeian tendencies; i always kept with the servants, and took their part against my parents. my family looked more askance at me for upholding the rights of our inferiors than they had done at the idiot who tore everything to pieces, or the spendthrift who made scandals and got into debt. and i dare say with good reason! mother gave me plenty of money to amuse myself with, probably to counteract my plebeian tendencies; but i had soon done with the pleasures and devoted myself to study. things of the day did not interest me, but even as a boy i had a remarkable desire to look back; i devoted myself especially to history and its philosophy. father was right when he derided me and called it going into a monastery; at an age when other young men are lovers, i could not find any woman that interested me, while almost any book tempted me to a closer acquaintance. for a long time he hoped that i would think better of it and take over the business, and when i definitely chose study, it came to a quarrel between us. 'when the business comes to an end, there's an end of the family!' he said, and sold the whole concern. he had been a widower then for several years, and had only me; but during the five years that he lived after selling the business we didn't see one another. he hated me because i didn't take it over, but what could i have done with it? i possessed none of the qualities necessary for the carrying on of business in our day, and should only have ruined the whole thing. from the time i was thirty, my time has been passed among bookshelves, and i've registered the lives and doings of others. it's only now that i've come out into the daylight and am beginning to live my own life; and now it'll soon be ended!" "it's only now that life's beginning to be worth living," said pelle, "so you've come out just at the right time." "ah, no!" said brun despondently. "i'm not in the ascendant! i meet young men and my mind inclines to them; but it's like evening and morning meeting in the same glow during the light nights. i've only got my share in the new because the old must bend to it, so that the ring may be completed. you go in where i go out." "it must have been a melancholy existence to be always among books, books, without a creature that cared for you," put in ellen. "why didn't you marry? surely we women aren't so terrible that there mightn't have been _one_ that you liked?" "no, you'd think not, but it's true nevertheless," answered brun, with a smile. "the antipathy was mutual too; it's always like that. i suppose it wasn't intended that an old fellow like me should put children into the world! it's not nice, though, to be the end of something." ellen laughed. "yes, but you haven't always been old!" "yes, i have really; i was born old. i'm only now beginning to feel young. and who knows?" he exclaimed with grim humor. "i may play providence a trick and make my appearance some day with a little wife on my arm." "brun's indulging in fancies," said pelle, as they went down to bed. "but i suppose they'll go when he's about again." "he's not had much of a time, poor old soul!" said ellen, going closer to pelle. "it's a shame that there are people who get no share in all the love there is--just as great a shame as what you're working against, i think!" "yes, but we can't put that straight!" exclaimed pelle, laughing. xxi in the garden at "daybreak" the snow was disappearing from day to day. first it went away nearest the house, and gave place to a little forest of snowdrops and crocuses. the hyacinths in the grass began to break through the earth, coming up like a row of knuckles that first knocked at the door. the children were always out watching the progress made. they could not understand how the delicate crocus could push straight up out of the frozen ground without freezing to death, but died when it came into the warm room. every day they wrapped some snowdrops in paper and laid them on brun's table--they were "snowdrop-letters"--and then hovered about in ungovernable excitement until he came in from the fields, when they met him with an air of mystery, and did all they could to entice him upstairs. out in the fields they were nearly finished with the excavations, and were only waiting for the winter water to sink in order to cart up gravel and stone and begin the foundations; the ground was too soft as yet. old brun was not so active now after his confinement to bed; although there was not much the matter with him, it had weakened him. he allowed pelle a free hand with the works, and said yea and amen to everything he proposed. "i can't keep it all in my head," he would say when pelle came to suggest some alteration; "but just do as you like, my son, and it's sure to be right." there were not enough palpable happenings down there to keep his mind aglow, and he was too old to hear it grow and draw strength from that. his faith, however, merely shifted from the cause over to pelle; he saw him alive before him, and could lean upon his youthful vigor. he had given up his work on the plans. he could not keep at it, and contented himself with going the round of the fields two or three times a day and watching the men. the sudden flame of energy that pelle's youth had called to life within him had died down, leaving a pathetic old man, who had been out in the cold all his life, and was now luxuriating in a few late rays of evening sun. he no longer measured himself by pelle, and was not jealous of his taking the lead in anything, but simply admired him and kept carefully within the circle of those for whom pelle acted providence. ellen treated him like a big child who needed a great deal of care, and the children of course looked upon him as their equal. when he went his round of the fields, he generally had boy comfort by the hand; the two could both keep pace with one another and converse together. there was one thing that interested them both and kept them in great excitement. the stork was expected every day back at the hill farm, and when it came it would bring a baby to mother ellen. the expectation was not an unmixed pleasure. the stork always bit the mother in the leg when he came with a baby for her. boy comfort's own mother died of the bite; he was wise enough to know that now. the little fellow looked upon ellen as his mother, and went about in a serious, almost depressed, mood. he did not talk to the other children of his anxiety, for fear they would make fun of him; but when he and the old man walked together in the fields they discussed the matter, and brun, as the older and wiser, came to the conclusion that there was no danger. all the same, they always kept near the house so as to be at hand. one day pelle stayed at home from work, and ellen did not get up as usual. "i'm going to lie here and wait for the stork," she said to boy comfort. "go out and watch for it." the little boy took a stick, and he and brun tramped round the house; and when they heard ellen cry out, they squeezed one another's hands. it was such a disturbed day, it was impossible to keep anything going straight; now a carriage drove up to the door with a fat woman in it, now it was lasse frederik who leaped upon his bicycle and raced down the field-path, standing on the pedals. before boy comfort had any idea of it, the stork had been there, and ellen was lying with a baby boy on her arm. he and brun went in together to congratulate her, and they were both equally astonished. the old man had to be allowed to touch the baby's cheek. "he's still so ugly," said ellen, with a shy smile, as she lifted the corner of the shawl from the baby's head. then she had to be left quiet, and brun took boy comfort upstairs with him. pelle sat on the edge of the bed, holding ellen's hand, which in a few hours had become white and thin. "now we must send for 'queen theresa,'" she said. "shan't we send for your mother too?" asked pelle, who had often proposed that they should take the matter into their own hands, and go and see the old people. he did not like keeping up old quarrels. ellen shook her head. "they must come of their own accord," she said decidedly. she did not mind for herself, but they had looked down upon pelle, so it was not more than fair that they should come and make it up. "but i _have_ sent for them," said pelle. "that was what lasse frederik went about. you mustn't have a baby without help from your mother." in less than a couple of hours madam stolpe had arrived. she was much moved, and to hide it she began turning the house inside out for clean cloths and binders, scolding all the time. a nice time, indeed, to send for anybody, when it was all over! father stolpe was harder. he was not one to come directly he was whistled for! but two or three evenings after the baby had arrived, pelle ran up against him hanging about a little below the house. well, he was waiting for mother, to take her home, and it didn't concern anybody else, he supposed. he pretended to be very determined, but it was comparatively easy to persuade him to come in; and once in, it was not long before ellen had thawed him. she had, as usual, her own manner of procedure. "let me tell you, father, that it's not me that sent for you, but pelle; and if you don't give him your hand and say you've done him an injustice, we shall never be good friends again!" "upon my word, she's the same confounded way of taking the bull by the horns that she always had!" said stolpe, without looking at her. "well, i suppose i may as well give in at once, and own that i've played the fool. shall we agree to let bygones be bygones, son-in-law?" extending his hand to pelle. when once the reconciliation was effected, stolpe became quite cheerful. "i never dreamt i should see you so soon, least of all with a baby!" he said contentedly, stroking ellen's face with his rough hand. "no, she's always been his darling, and father's often been tired of it," said madam stolpe. "but men make themselves so hard!" "rubbish, mother!" growled stolpe. "women will always talk nonsense!" time had left its mark upon them both. there had been a certain amount of unemployment in his trade, and stolpe was getting on in years and had a difficulty in keeping up with the young men on the scaffolding. their clothes showed that they were not so prosperous as formerly; but stolpe was still chairman of his trade union and a highly respected man within the movement. "and now, my boy," he said suddenly, placing his hands on pelle's shoulders, "you must explain to me what it is you're doing this time. i hear you've begun to stir up men's feelings again." pelle told him about his great plan for coöperative works. the old man knew indeed a good deal about it; it appeared that he had followed pelle's movements from a distance. "that's perhaps not so out of the way," he said. "we might squeeze capital out of existence just as quietly, if we all bestirred ourselves. but you must get the movement to join you; and it must be made clear that every one who doesn't support his own set is a black-leg." "_i have_ got a connection, but it goes rather slowly," said pelle. "then we must stir them up a little. i say, that queer fellow--brun, i think you call him--doesn't he live with you?" "he isn't a queer fellow," said pelle, laughing. "we can go up and see him." brun and stolpe very soon found something to talk about. they were of the same age, and had witnessed the first days of the movement, each from his own side. madam stolpe came several times and pulled her husband by the coat: they ought to be going home. "well, it's not worth while to quarrel with your own wife," said stolpe at last; "but i shall come again. i hear you're building out here, and i should like to see what our own houses'll be like." "we've not begun yet," answered pelle. "but come out on sunday, and brun and i will show it all to you." "i suppose it's masters who'll get it?" asked stolpe. "no, we thought of letting the unemployed have the work if they could undertake it, and have a man to put at the head," said brun. "perhaps you could undertake it?" "why, of course i can!" answered stolpe, with a feeling of his own importance. "i'm the man to build houses for workmen! i was member of the party when it numbered only one man." "yes, stolpe's the veteran of the movement," said pelle. "upon my word, it'd be awfully nice if it was me!" exclaimed stolpe when pelle accompanied the old couple down to the tram. "i'll get together a set of workmen that have never been equalled. and what houses we shall put up! there won't be much papier-mache there!" xxii it still sometimes happened that pelle awoke in the night not knowing where he was. he was oppressed with a stifling anxiety, dreaming that he was in prison, and fancying he could still smell the rank, mouldy odor of the cell. he gradually came to his senses and knew where he was; the sounds of breathing around him, and the warm influence of the darkness itself, brought him back to his home. he sat up joyfully, and struck a match to get a glimpse of ellen and the little ones. he dared not go to sleep again, for sleep would instantly take him back to the prison; so he dressed quietly and stole out to see the day awaken. it was strange with these dreams, for they turned everything upside down. in the prison he always dreamed he was free and living happily; nothing less would do there. there the day was bad and the night good, and here it was the reverse. it was as though something within one would always have everything. "that must be the soul!" he thought as he wandered eastward to meet the first gleam of day. in the country at home, the old people in his childhood believed that dreams were the soul wandering about by itself; some had seen it as a white mouse creeping out of the sleeper's mouth to gather fresh experiences for him. it was true, too, that through dreams the poor man had hitherto had everything; they carried him out of his prison. perhaps the _roles_ were exchanged during the darkness of night. perhaps the rich man's soul came during the night and slipped into the poor man's body to gather suffering for his master. there was spring in the air. as yet it was only perceptible to pelle in a feeling of elation, a desire to expand and burst all boundaries. he walked with his face toward the opening day, and had a feeling of unconquerable power. whence this feeling came he knew not, but it was there. he felt himself as something immense that was shut into a small space and would blow up the world if it were let loose. he walked on quickly. above his head rose the first lark. slowly the earth drew from its face the wonderful veil of rest and mystery that was night. perhaps the feeling of strength came from his having taken possession of his spirit and commanding a view of the world. the world had no limits, but neither had his powers; the force that could throw him out of his course did not exist. in his own footfall he heard the whole future; the movement would soon be concluded when it had taken in the fact that the whole thing must be included. there was still a little difficulty; from that side they still made it a condition for their cooperation that pelle should demand a public recognition of his good character. pelle laughed and raised his face to the morning breeze which came like a cold shiver before the sunrise. outsider! yes, there was some truth in it. he did not belong to the existing state of things; he desired no civil rights there. that he was outside was his stamp of nobility; his relations to the future were contained in that fact. he had begun the fight as one of the lowest of the people, and as such he would triumph. when he rose there should no longer be a pariah caste. as he walked along with the night behind him and his face to the light, he seemed to have just entered into youth with everything before him-- everything to look forward to! and yet he seemed to have existed since the morning of time, so thoroughly did he know the world of darkness that he left. was not man a wonderful being, both in his power to shrink up and become nothing, and in his power to expand and fill everything? he now understood uncle kalle's smile on all occasions; he had armed himself with it in order that life should not draw too deep furrows in his gentle nature. the poor man had been obliged to dull himself; he would simply bleed to death if he gave himself up to stern reality. the dullness had been like a hard shell that protected the poor; and now they came with their heart quite safe in spite of everything. they could very well lead when times were good. pelle had always a vague feeling of being chosen. even as a child it made him look with courage in the face of a hard world, and filled his bare limbs with elasticity. poor and naked he came into the world, apparently without a gift of any kind; and yet he came as a bright promise to the elderly, work-bowed father lasse. light radiated from him, insignificant and ordinary though he was; god had given him the spark, the old man always said, and he always looked upon the boy as a little miracle of heaven. the boy pelle wondered a little at it, but was happy in his father's pleasure. he himself knew some very different miracles at that time, for instance the calf of the fair with two heads, and the lamb with eight legs. he had his own demands to make of life's wonderful riches, and was not struck with surprise at a very ordinary, big-eared urchin such as one might see any day. and now he was just showing that father lasse had been right. the greatest miracles were in himself--pelle, who resembled hundreds of millions of other workmen, and had never yet had more than just enough for his food. man was really the most wonderful of all. was he not himself, in all his commonplace naturalness, like a luminous spark, sprung from the huge anvil of divine thought? he could send out his inquiring thought to the uttermost borders of space, and back to the dawn of time. and this all-embracing power seemed to have proceeded from nothing, like god himself! the mere fact that he, who made so much noise, had to go to prison in order to comprehend the great object of things, was a marvel! there must have been far-reaching plans deposited in him, since he shut himself in. when he looked out over the rising, he felt himself to be facing a world-thought with extraordinarily long sight. the common people, without knowing it, had been for centuries preparing themselves for an entry into a new world; the migration of the masses would not be stopped until they had reached their goal. a law which they did not even know themselves, and could not enter into, led them the right way; and pelle was not afraid. at the back of his unwearied labor with the great problem of the age was the recognition that he was one of those on whom the nation laid the responsibility for the future; but he was never in doubt as to the aim, nor the means. during the great lock-out the foreseeing had feared the impossibility of leading all these crowds into the fire. and then the whole thing had opened out of itself quite naturally, from an apparently tiny cause to a steadily ordered battle all along the line. the world had never before heard a call so great as that which he and his followers brought forward! it meant nothing less than the triumph of goodness! he was not fond of using great words, but at the bottom of his heart he was convinced that everything bad originated in want and misery. distrust and selfishness came from misusage; they were man's defence against extortion. and the extortion came from insecure conditions, from reminders of want or unconscious fear of it. most crimes could easily be traced back to the distressing conditions, and even where the connection was not perceptible he was sure that it nevertheless existed. it was his experience that every one in reality was good: the evil in them could nearly always be traced back to something definite, while the goodness often existed in spite of everything. it would triumph altogether when the conditions became secure for everybody. he was sure that even the crimes that were due to abnormity would cease of themselves when there were no longer hidden reminders of misery in the community. it was his firm belief that he and his followers should renew the world; the common people should turn it into a paradise for the multitude, just as it had already made it a paradise for the few. it would require a great and courageous mind for this, but his army had been well tested. those who, from time immemorial, had patiently borne the pressure of existence for others, must be well fitted to take upon themselves the leadership into the new age. pelle at last found himself in strand road, and it was too late to return home. he was ravenously hungry and bought a couple of rolls at a baker's, and ate them on his way to work. * * * * * at midday brun came into the works to sign some papers and go through accounts with pelle. they were sitting up in the office behind the shop. pelle read out the items and made remarks on them, while the old man gave his half attention and merely nodded. he was longing to get back to "daybreak." "you won't mind making it as short as possible?" he said, "for i don't feel quite well." the harsh spring winds were bad for him and made his breathing difficult. the doctor had advised a couple of months in the riviera--until the spring was over; but the old man could not make up his mind. he had not the courage to set out alone. the shop-bell rang, and pelle went in to serve. a young sunburnt man stood on the other side of the counter and laughed. "don't you know me?" he asked, holding out his hand to pelle. it was karl, the youngest of the three orphans in the "ark." "why, of course i know you!" answered pelle, delighted. "i've been to adel street to look for you; i was told you had your business there." that had been a long time ago! now karl anker was manager of a large supply association over on funen. he had come over to order some boots and shoes from pelle for the association. "it's only a trial," he said. "if it succeeds i'll get you a connection with the cooperative association, and that's a customer that takes something, i can tell you!" pelle had to make haste to take down the order, as karl had to catch a train. "it's a pity you haven't got time to see our works," said pelle. "do you remember little paul from the 'ark'? the factory-girl's child that she tied to the stove when she went to work? he's become a splendid fellow. he's my head man in the factory. he'd like to see you!" "when karl was gone and pelle was about to go in to brun in the office, he caught sight of a small, somewhat deformed woman with a child, walking to and fro above the workshop windows, and taking stolen glances down. they timidly made way for people passing, and looked very frightened. pelle called them into the shop. "do you want to speak to peter dreyer?" he asked. the woman nodded. she had a refined face with large, sorrowful eyes. "if it won't disturb him," she said. pelle called peter dreyer and then went into the office, where he found brun had fallen asleep. he heard them whispering in the shop. peter was angry, and the woman and the child cried; he could hear it in the tones of their whisper. it did not last more than a minute, and then peter let them out. pelle went quickly into the shop. "if it was money," he said hurriedly, "you know you've only got to tell me." "no, it was the big meeting of unemployed this afternoon. they were begging me to stop at home, silly creatures! goodness knows what's come to them!" peter was quite offended. "by the by--i suppose you haven't any objection to my going now? it begins in an hour's time." "i thought it had been postponed," said pelle. "yes, but that was only a ruse to prevent its being prohibited. we're holding it in a field out by nörrebro. you ought to come too; it'll be a meeting that'll be remembered. we shall settle great matters to-day." peter was nervous, and fidgeted with his clothes while he spoke. pelle placed his hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "you'd better do what those two want," he said earnestly. "i don't know them, of course; but if their welfare's dependent on you, then they too have a claim upon you. give up what you were going to do, and go out for a walk with those two! everything's budding now; take them to the woods! it's better to make two people happy than a thousand unhappy." peter looked away. "we're not going to do anything special, so what is there to make such a fuss about?" he murmured. "you _are_ going to do something to-day; i can see it in you. and if you can't carry it through, who'll have to take the consequences? why, the women and children! you _can't_ carry it through! our strength doesn't lie in that direction." "you go your way and let me go mine," said peter, gently freeing himself. two policemen were standing on the opposite pavement, talking together, while they secretly kept an eye on the shop. pelle pointed to them. "the police don't know where the meeting's to be held, so they're keeping watch on me," said peter, shrugging his shoulders. "i can easily put those two on the wrong track." the policemen crossed the street and separated outside the shop. one of them stood looking at the articles exhibited in the window for a little while, and then quickly entered the shop. "is peter dreyer here?" he asked haughtily. "i'm he," answered peter, withdrawing behind the counter. "but i advise you not to touch me! i can't bear the touch of a policeman's hands." "you're arrested!" said the policeman shortly, following him. pelle laid his hand upon his arm. "you should go to work with a little gentleness," he said. but the man pushed him roughly away. "i'll have no interference from you!" he cried, blowing his whistle. peter started, and for a moment his thoughts were at a standstill; then he leaped like a cat over the iron railing, of the workshop steps. but the other policeman was there to receive him, and he sprang once more into the shop, close up to his pursuer. he had his revolver in his hand. "i've had enough of this, confound you!" he hissed. two shots sounded, one immediately after the other. the policeman just managed to turn round, but fell forward with his head under the counter, and peter dropped upon the top of him. it looked as if he had tripped over the policeman's leg; but when pelle went to help him up he saw that the blood was trickling from a hole in his temple. the policeman was dead. peter opened his eyes with difficulty when pelle raised his head. "take me away!" he whispered, turning his head toward the dead man with an expression of loathing. he still kept a convulsive hold upon his revolver. pelle took it from him, and carried him in to the sofa in the office. "get me a little water!" said pelle to the old librarian, who was standing trembling at the door, but the old man did not hear him. peter made a sign that he needed nothing now. "but those two," he whispered. pelle nodded. "and then--pelle--comrade--" he tried to fix his dying gaze upon pelle, but suddenly started convulsively, his knees being drawn right up to his chin. "bloodhounds!" he groaned, his eyes converging so strongly that the pupils disappeared altogether; but then his features fell once more into their ordinary folds as his head sank back, and he was dead. the policeman came in. "well, is he dead?" he asked maliciously. "he's made fools of us long enough!" pelle took him by the arm and led him to the door. "he's no longer in your district," he said, as he closed the door behind him and followed the man into the shop, where the dead policeman lay upon the counter. his fellow-policeman had laid him there, locked the outer door, and pulled down the blinds. "will you stop the work and tell the men what has happened?" said pelle quietly to brun. "there's something else i must see to. there'll be no more work done here to-day." "are you going?" asked the old man anxiously. "yes, i'm going to take peter's meeting for him, now that he can't do it himself," answered pelle in a low voice. they had gone down through the workshop, where the men were standing about, looking at one another. they had heard the shots, but had no idea what they meant. "peter is dead!" said pelle. his emotion prevented him from saying anything more. everything seemed suddenly to rush over him, and he hastened out and jumped onto a tram-car. out on one of the large fields behind nörrebro a couple of thousand unemployed were gathered. the wind had risen and blew gustily from the west over the field. the men tramped backward and forward, or stood shivering in their thin clothes. the temper of the crowd was threatening. men continued to pour out from the side streets, most of them sorry figures, with faces made older by want of work. many of them could no longer show themselves in the town for want of clothes, and took this opportunity of joining the others. there was grumbling among them because the meeting had not begun. men asked one another what the reason was, and no one could tell. suppose peter dreyer had cheated them too, and had gone over to the corporation! suddenly a figure appeared upon the cart that was to be used as a platform, and the men pressed forward on all sides. who in the world was it? it was not peter dreyer! pelle? what smith? oh, him from the great struggle--"the lightning"! was he still to the fore? yes, indeed he was! why, he'd become a big manufacturer and a regular pillar of society. what in the world did he want here? he had plenty of cheek! suddenly a storm of shouts and hisses broke out, mingled with a little applause. pelle stood looking out over the crowd with an expression of terrible earnestness. their demonstration against him did not move him; he was standing here in the stead of a dead man. he still felt peter's heavy head on his arm. when comparative quiet was restored he raised his head. "peter dreyer is dead!" he said in a voice that was heard by every one. whispers passed through the crowd, and they looked questioningly at one another as though they had not heard correctly. he saw from their expression how much would go to pieces in their lives when they believed it. "it's a lie!" suddenly cried a voice, relieving the tension. "you're hired by the police to entice us round the corner, you sly fellow!" pelle turned pale. "peter dreyer is lying in the factory with a bullet through his head," he repealed inexorably. "the police were going to arrest him, and he shot both the policeman and himself!" for a moment all the life in the crowd seemed to be petrified by the pitiless truth, and he saw how they had loved peter dreyer. then they began to make an uproar, shouting that they would go and speak to the police, and some even turned to go. "silence, people!" cried pelle in a loud voice. "are you grown men and yet will get up a row beside the dead body of a comrade?" "what do you know about it?" answered one. "you don't know what you're talking about!" "i do know at any rate that at a place out by vesterbro there sits a woman with a child, waiting for peter, and he will not come. would you have more like them? what are you thinking of, wanting to jump into the sea and drown yourselves because you're wet through? will those you leave behind be well off? for if you think so, it's your duty to sacrifice yourselves. but don't you think rather that the community will throw you into a great common pit, and leave your widows and fatherless children to weep over you?" "it's all very well for you to talk!" some one shouted. "yours are safe enough!" "i'm busy making yours safe for you, and you want to spoil it by stupidity! it's all very well for me to talk, you say! but if there's any one of you who dares turn his face to heaven and say he has gone through more than i have, let him come up here and take my place." he was silent and looked out over the crowd. their wasted faces told him that they were in need of food, but still more of fresh hope. their eyes gazed into uncertainty. a responsibility must be laid upon them--a great responsibility for such prejudiced beings--if possible, great enough to carry them on to the goal. "what is the matter with you?" he went on. "you suffer want, but you've always done that without getting anything for it; and now when there's some purpose in it, you won't go any further. we aren't just from yesterday, remember! wasn't it us who fought the great battle to its end together? now you scorn it and the whole movement and say they've brought nothing; but it was then we broke through into life and won our right as men. "before that time we have for centuries borne our blind hope safely through oppression and want. is there any other class of society that has a marching route like ours? forced by circumstances, we prepared for centuries of wandering in the desert and never forgot the country; the good god had given us some of his own infinite long-suffering to carry us through the toilsome time. and now, when we are at the border, you've forgotten what we were marching for, and sacrifice the whole thing if only _you_ can be changed from thin slaves to fat slaves!" "there are no slaves here!" was the threatening cry on all sides. "you're working horses, in harness and with blinkers on! now you demand good feeding. when will the scales fall from your eyes, so that you take the responsibility upon yourselves? you think you're no end of fine fellows when you dare to bare your chest to the bayonets, but are we a match for brutality? if we were, the future would not be ours." "are you scoffing at peter dreyer?" asked a sullen voice. "no, i am not. peter dreyer was one of those who go on in advance, and smear the stones on the road with their hearts' blood, so that the rest of us may find our way. but you've no right to compare yourselves with him. he sank under the weight of a tremendous responsibility; and what are you doing? if you want to honor peter's memory as it deserves, go quietly home, and join the movement again. there you have work to do that will transform the world when you all set about it. what will it matter if your strength ebbs and you suffer hunger for a little longer while you're building your own house? you were hungry too when you were building for others. "you referred to peter dreyer, but we are none of us great martyrs; we are everyday, ordinary men, and there's where our work lies. haven't the thousands who have suffered and died in silence a still greater claim to be followed? they have gone down peacefully for the sake of the development, and have the strongest right to demand our belief in a peaceable development. it is just we that come from the lowest stratum who must preserve the historic development; never has any movement had so long and sad a previous history as ours! suffering and want have taught us to accept the leadership, when the good has justice done to it; and you want to throw the whole thing overboard by an act of violence." they listened to him in silence now. he had caught their minds, but it was not knowledge they absorbed. at present they looked most like weary people who are told that they still have a long way to go. but he _would_ get them through! "comrades!" he cried earnestly, "perhaps we who are here shall not live to see the new, but it's through us that it'll some day become reality. providence has stopped at us, and has appointed us to fight for it. is that not an honor? look! we come right from the bottom of everything-- entirely naked; the old doesn't hang about our clothes, for we haven't any; we can clothe ourselves in the new. the old god, with his thousands of priests as a defence against injustice, we do not know; the moral of war we have never understood--we who have always been its victims. we believe in the good, because we know that without the victory of goodness there will be no future. our mind is light and can receive the light; we will lift up our little country and show that it has a mission on the earth. we who are little ourselves will show how the little ones keep up and assert themselves by the principle of goodness. we wish no harm to any one, therefore the good is on our side. nothing can in the long run keep us down! and now go home! your wives and children are perhaps anxious on your account." they stood for a moment as though still listening, and then dispersed in silence. when pelle sprang down from the cart, morten came up and held out his hand. "you are strong, pelle!" he said quietly. "where have you come from?" exclaimed pelle in glad surprise. "i came by the steamer this afternoon, and went straight up to the works. brun told me what had happened and that you were here. it must have been a threatening meeting! there was a detachment of police over there in one of the side streets. what was going on?" "they'd planned some demonstration or other, and would in that case have met with harsh treatment, i suppose," said pelle gravely. "it was well you got them to change their minds. i've seen these demonstrations in the south, where the police and the soldiers ride over the miserable unemployed. it's a sad sight." they walked up across the fields toward "daybreak." "to think that you're home again!" said pelle, with childlike delight. "you never wrote a word about coming." "well, i'd meant to stay away another couple of months. but one day i saw the birds of passage flying northward across the mediterranean, and i began to be so homesick. it was just as well i came too, for now i can see brun before he goes." "oh, is he going away, after all? that's been settled very quickly. this morning he couldn't make up his mind." "it's this about peter. the old man's fallen off very much in the last six months. but let's walk quicker! i'm longing to see ellen and the children. how's the baby?" "he's a little fatty!" said pelle proudly. "nine pounds without his clothes! isn't that splendid? he's a regular sunshine baby." xxiii it is spring once more in denmark. it has been coming for a long time. the lark came before the frost was out of the ground, and then the starling appeared. and one day the air seemed suddenly to have become high and light so that the eye could once more see far out; there was a peculiar broad airiness in the wind--the breath of spring. it rushed along with messages of young, manly strength, and people threw back their shoulders and took deep breaths. "ah! the south wind!" they said, and opened their minds in anticipation. there he comes riding across the sea from the south, in the middle of his youthful train. never before has his coming been so glorious! is he not like the sun himself? the sea glitters under golden hoofs, and the air is quivering with sunbeam-darts caught and thrown in the wild gallop over the waves. heigh-ho! who'll be the first to reach the danish shore? like a broad wind the spring advances over islands and belts, embracing the whole in arrogant strength. he sings in the children's open mouths as in a shell, and is lavish of his airy freshness. women's teeth grow whiter with his kiss, and vie with their eyes in brightness; their cheeks glow beneath his touch, though they remain cool--like sun-ripe fruit under the morning dew. men's brains whirl once more, and expand into an airy vault, as large as heaven itself, giddy with expectancy. from high up comes the sound of the passage birds in flight; the air is dizzy with its own infinitude. bareheaded and with a sunny smile the spring advances like a young giant intoxicated with his own strength, stretches out his arms and wakens everything with his song. nothing can resist him. he touches lightly the heart of the sleeping earth, calling merrily into her dull ears to awake. and deep down the roots of life begin to stir and wake, and send the sap circulating once more. hedgehogs and field-mice emerge sleepily and begin to busy themselves in the hedges. from the darkness below old decayed matter ferments and bubbles up, and the stagnant water in the ditches begins to run toward the sea. men stand and gaze in amazement after the open-handed giant, until they feel the growth in themselves and can afford something. all that was impossible before has suddenly become possible, and more besides. the farmer has long since had his plough in the earth, and the sower straps his basket on: the land is to be clothed again. the days lengthen and become warmer; it is delightful to watch them and know that they are going upward. one day ellen opens wide the double doors out to the garden; it is like a release. but what a quantity of dirt the light reveals! "we shall have to be busy now, petra dreyer!" says ellen. the little deformed sewing-woman smiles with her sad eyes, and the two women begin to sweep floors and wash windows. now and then a little girl comes in from the garden complaining that she is not allowed to play with anna's big doll. boy comfort is in the fields from morning to night, helping grandfather stolpe to build the new workmen's houses. a fine help his is! when ellen fetches him in to meals, he is so dirty that she nearly loses all patience. "i wonder how old brun is!" says ellen suddenly, in the middle of her work. "we haven't heard from him now for three days. it's quite sad to think he's so far away. i only hope they'll look after him properly." pelle is tremendously busy, and they do not see much of him. the movement has taken up his idea now in earnest, and he is to have the management of it all, so that he has his hands full. "have i got a husband or not?" says ellen, when she gets hold of him now and again. "it'll soon be better," he answers. "when once we've got the machinery properly started, it'll go by itself." morten is the only one who has not set seriously to work on anything, and in the midst of all the bustle has an incongruous effect. "he's thinking!" says ellen, stopping in the middle of beating a carpet. "thank goodness we're not all authors!" pelle would like to draw him into the business. "there's so much to write and lecture about," he says, "and you could do all that so much better than i." "oh, no, i couldn't," says morten. "your work's growing in me too. i'm always thinking about it and have thought of giving a hand too, but i can't. if i ever contribute anything to your great work, it'll be in some other way." "you're doing nothing with your book about the sun either," says pelle anxiously. "no, because whenever i set to work on it, it mixes up so strangely with your work, and i can't keep the ideas apart. at present i feel like a mole, digging blindly in the black earth under the mighty tree of life. i dig and search, and am continually coming across the thick roots of the huge thing above the surface. i can't see them, but i can hear sounds from above there, and it hurts me not to be able to follow them into their strong connection up in the light." * * * * * one sunday morning at the end of may they were sitting out in the garden. the cradle had been moved out into the sun, and pelle and ellen were sitting one on either side, talking over domestic matters. ellen had so much to tell him when she had him to herself. the child lay staring up into the sky with its dark eyes that were the image of ellen's. he was brown and chubby; any one could see that he had been conceived in sunshine and love. lasse frederik was sitting by the hedge painting a picture that pelle was not to see until it was finished. he went to the drawing-school now, and was clever. he had a good eye for figures, and poor people especially he hit off in any position. he had a light hand, and in two or three lines could give what his father had had to work at carefully. "you cheat!" pelle often said, half resentfully. '"it won't bear looking closely at." he had to admit, however, that it was a good likeness. "well, can't i see the picture soon?" he called across. he was very curious. "yes, it's finished now," said lasse frederik, coming up with it. the picture represented a street in which stood a solitary milk-cart, and behind the cart lay a boy with bleeding head. "he fell asleep because he had to get up so early," lasse frederik explained; "and then when the cart started he tumbled backward." the morning emptiness of the street was well done, but the blood was too brilliantly red. "it's very unpleasant," said ellen, with a shudder. "but it's true." morten came home from town with a big letter which he handed to pelle, saying: "here's news for you from brun." pelle went into the house to read it undisturbed, and a little while after came out again. "yes, important news this time," he said with some emotion. "would you like to hear it?" he asked, sitting down. "dear pelle: "i am sitting up in bed to write to you. i am poorly, and have been for some days; but i hope it is nothing serious. we all have to die some day, but i should like to start on the great voyage round the world from your home. i long to see 'daybreak' and all of you, and i feel very lonely. if the business could do without you for a few days, i should be so glad if you would come down here. then we could go home together, for i should not like to venture on the journey by myself. "the sun is just going down, and sends its last rays in to me. it has been gray and gloomy all day, but now the sun has broken through the clouds, and kisses the earth and me, poor old man, too, in farewell. it makes me want to say something to you, pelle, for my day was like this before i knew you--endlessly long and gray! when you are the last member of a dying family, you have to bear the gray existence of the others too. "i have often thought how wonderful the hidden force of life is. intercourse with you has been like a lever to me, although i knew well that i should not accomplish anything more, and had no one to come after me. i feel, nevertheless, through you, in alliance with the future. you are in the ascendant and must look upon me as something that is vanishing. but look how life makes us all live by using us each in his own way. be strong in your faith in the future; with you lies the development. i wish with all my heart that i were an awakening proletary and stood in the dawn of day; but i am nevertheless glad because my eyes will be closed by the new in you. "i have imagined that life was tiresome and dull and far too well known. i had it arranged in my catalogues. and look how it renews itself! in my old age i have experienced its eternal youth. formerly i had never cared about the country; in my mind it was a place where you waded either in dust or mud. the black earth appeared to me horrible rather than anything else; it was only associated in my mind with the churchyard. that shows how far i was from nature. the country was something that farmers moved about in--those big, voracious creatures, who almost seemed like a kind of animal trying to imitate man. rational beings could not possibly live out there. that was the view in my circle, and i had myself a touch of the same complaint, although my university training of course paraphrased and veiled it all to some extent. all this about our relations to nature seemed to me very interesting aesthetically, but with more or less of a contradictory, not to say hostile, character. i could not understand how any one could see anything beautiful in a ploughed field or a dike. it was only when i got to know you that something moved within me and called me out; there was something about you like the air from out there. "now i also understand my forefathers! formerly they seemed to me only like thick-skinned boors, who scraped together all the money that two generations of us have lived upon without doing a pennyworth of good. they enabled us, however, to live life, i have always thought, and i considered it the only excuse for their being in the family, coarse and robust as they were. now i see that it was they who lived, while we after them, with all our wealth, have only had a bed in life's inn. "for all this i thank you. i am glad to have become acquainted through you with men of the new age, and to be able to give my fortune back. it was made by all those who work, and gathered together by a few; my giving it back is merely a natural consequence. others will come to do as i am doing, either of their own free will or by compulsion, until everything belongs to everybody. then only can the conflict about human interests begin. capitalism has created wonderful machines, but what wonderful men await us in the new age! happy the man who could have lived to see it! "i have left all my money to you and morten. as yet there is no institution that i could give it to, so you must administer it in the name of cooperation. you two are the best guardians of the poor, and i know you will employ it in the best manner. i place it with confidence in your hands. the will is at my lawyer's; i arranged it all before i left home. "my greetings to all at 'daybreak'--ellen, the children, and morten. if the baby is christened before i get home, remember that he is to be called after me. but i am hoping that you will come." * * * * * ellen drew a deep breath when pelle had finished the letter. "i only hope he's not worse than he makes out," she said. "i suppose you'll go?" "yes, i'll arrange what's necessary at the works to-morrow early, and take the morning express." "then i must see to your things," exclaimed ellen, and went in. pelle and morten went for a stroll along the edge of the hill, past the half-finished houses, whose red bricks shone in the sun. "everything seems to turn out well for you, pelle," said morten suddenly. "yes," said pelle; "nothing has succeeded in injuring me, so i suppose what father lasse and the others said is right, that i was born with a caul. the ill-usage i suffered as a child taught me to be good to others, and in prison i gained liberty; what might have made me a criminal made a man of me instead. nothing has succeeded in injuring me! so i suppose i may say that everything has turned out well." "yes, you may, and now i've found a subject, pelle! i'm not going to hunt about blindly in the dark; i'm going to write a great work now." "i congratulate you! what will it be about? is it to be the work on the sun?" "yes, both about the sun and about him who conquers. it's to be a book about you, pelle!" "about me?" exclaimed pelle. "yes, about the naked pelle with the caul! it's about time to call out the naked man into the light and look at him well, now that he's going to take over the future. you like to read about counts and barons, but now i'm going to write a story about a prince who finds the treasure and wins the princess. he's looked for her all over the world and she wasn't there, and now there's only himself left, and there he finds her, for he's taken her heart. won't that be a good story?" "i think it's a lot of rubbish," said pelle, laughing. "and you'll have to lay the lies on thick if you're going to make me into a prince. i don't think you'll get the workpeople to take it for a real book; it'll all be so well known and ordinary." "they'll snatch at it, and weep with delight and pride at finding themselves in it. perhaps they'll name their children after it out of pure gratitude!" "what are you going to call it then?" asked pelle. "i'm going to call it 'pelle the conqueror.'" the end pelle the conqueror part iii.--the great struggle. by martin anderson nexo translated from the danish by bernard miall. iii. the great struggle i a swarm of children was playing on the damp floor of the shaft. they hung from the lower portions of the timber-work, or ran in and out between the upright supports, humming tunes, with bread-and-dripping in their hands; or they sat on the ground and pushed themselves forward across the sticky flagstones. the air hung clammy and raw, as it does in an old well, and already it had made the little voices husky, and had marked their faces with the scars of scrofula. yet out of the tunnel- like passage which led to the street there blew now and again a warm breath of air and the fragrance of budding trees--from the world that lay behind those surrounding walls. they had finished playing "bro-bro-brille," for the last rider had entered the black cauldron; and hansel and gretel had crept safely out of the dwarf vinslev's den, across the sewer-grating, and had reached the pancake-house, which, marvelously enough, had also a grating in front of the door, through which one could thrust a stick or a cabbage- stalk, in order to stab the witch. sticks of wood and cabbage-stalks were to be found in plenty in the dustbins near the pancake-house, and they knew very well who the witch was! now and again she would pop up out of the cellar and scatter the whole crowd with her kitchen tongs! it was almost a little too lifelike; even the smell of pancakes came drifting down from where the well-to-do olsens lived, so that one could hardly call it a real fairy tale. but then perhaps the dwarf vinslev would come out of his den, and would once again tell them the story of how he had sailed off with the king's gold and sunk it out yonder, in the king's deep, when the germans were in the land. a whole ship's crew took out the king's treasure, but not one save vinslev knew where it was sunk, and even he did not know now. a terrible secret that, such as well might make a man a bit queer in the head. he would explain the whole chart on his double-breasted waistcoat; he had only to steer from this button to that, and then down yonder, and he was close above the treasure. but now some of the buttons had fallen off, and he could no longer make out the chart. day by day the children helped him to trace it; this was an exciting bit of work, for the king was getting impatient! there were other wonderful things to do; for instance, one could lie flat down on the slippery flagstones and play hanne's game--the "glory" game. you turned your eyes from the darkness down below, looking up through the gloomy shaft at the sky overhead, which floated there blazing with light, and then you suddenly looked down again, so that everything was quite dark. and in the darkness floated blue and yellow rings of color, where formerly there had been nothing but dustbins and privies. this dizzy flux of colors before the eyes was the journey far out to the land of happiness, in search of all the things that cannot be told. "i can see something myself, and i know quite well what it is, but i'm just not going to tell," they murmured, blinking mysteriously up into the blue. however, one could have too much of a good thing.... but the round grating under the timbers yonder, where hanne's father drowned himself, was a thing one never grew weary of. the depths were forever bubbling upward, filling the little children with a secret horror; and the half- grown girls would stand a-straddle over the grating, shuddering at the cold breath that came murmuring up from below. the grating was sure enough the way down to hell, and if you gazed long enough you could see the faintest glimmer of the inky stream that was flowing down below. every moment it sent its putrid breath up into your face; that was the devil, who sat panting down there in a corner. if you turned your eyes away from the depths the twilight of the well had turned to brightest day, so you could make the world light or dark just as you wished. a few children always lay there, on all fours, gazing down with anxious faces; and all summer through, directly over the grating, hung a cloud of midges, swaying in the breath of the depths. they would rise to a certain height, then suddenly fall, and rise again, just like a juggler's balls. sometimes the breathing from below sucked the whole swarm right down, but it rose up again, veering hither and thither like a dancing wraith in the draught from the tunnel-like entry. the little girls would gaze at it, lift their petticoats, and take a few graceful steps. olsen's elvira had learned her first dance-steps here, and now she was dancing respectable citizens into the poor-house. and the furniture broker's daughter was in petersburg, and was _almost_ a grand duchess! on the walls of the narrow shaft projecting porches hung crazily, so that they left only a small free space, and here the clothes-lines ran to and fro, loaded with dishclouts and children's clothing. the decaying wooden staircases ran zig-zag up the walls, disappearing into the projecting porches and coming out again, until they reached the very garrets. from the projecting porches and the galleries, doors led into the various tenements, or to long corridors that connected the inner portions of the house. only in pipman's side there were neither porches nor galleries, from the second story upward; time had devoured them, so that the stairs alone remained in place. the ends of the joists stuck out of the wall like decaying tooth stumps, and a rope hung from above, on which one could obtain a hold. it was black and smooth from the grip of many hands. on one of those hot june days when the heavens shone like a blazing fire above the rift overhead, the heavy, mouldering timbers came to life again, as if their forest days had returned. people swarmed in and out on the stairs, shadows came and went, and an incessant chattering filled the twilight. from porch to porch dropped the sour-smelling suds from the children's washing, until at last it reached the ground, where the children were playing by the sluggish rivulets which ran from the gutters. the timbers groaned continually, like ancient boughs that rub together, and a clammy smell as of earth and moist vegetation saturated the air, while all that one touched wore a coating of slime, as in token of its exuberant fertility. one's gaze could not travel a couple of steps before it was checked by wooden walls, but one felt conscious of the world that lay behind them. when the doors of the long passages opened and shut, one heard the rumor of the innumerable creatures that lived in the depths of the "ark"; the crying of little children, the peculiar fidgeting sound of marred, eccentric individuals, for many a whole life's history unfolded itself within there, undisturbed, never daring the light of day. on pipman's side the waste-pipes stuck straight out of the wall, like wood-goblins grinning from the thicket with wide-open mouths, and long gray beards, which bred rose-pink earthworms, and from time to time fell with a heavy smack into the yard. green hanging bushes grew out of holes in the wall. the waste water trickled through them and dripped continually as though from the wet locks of the forest. inside, in the greenish, dripping darkness, sat curiously marked toads, like little water-nymphs, each in her grotto, shining with unwholesome humidity. and up among the timbers of the third story hung hanne's canary, singing quite preposterously, its beak pointing up toward the spot of fiery light overhead. across the floor of the courtyard went an endless procession of people, light-shy creatures who emerged from the womb of the "ark" or disappeared into it. most of them were women, weirdly clad, unwholesomely pale, but with a layer of grime as though the darkness had worked into their skins, with drowsy steps and fanatical, glittering eyes. little old men, who commonly lay in their dark corners waiting for death, came hobbling out on the galleries, lifted their noses toward the blazing speck of sky overhead, and sneezed three times. "that's the sun!" they told one another, delighted. "artishu! one don't catch cold so easy in winter!" ii high up, out of pipman's garret, a young man stepped out onto the platform. he stood there a moment turning his smiling face toward the bright heavens overhead. then he lowered his head and ran down the break-neck stairs, without holding on by the rope. under his arm he carried something wrapped in a blue cloth. "just look at the clown! laughing right into the face of the sun as though there was no such thing as blindness!" said the women, thrusting their heads out of window. "but then, of course, he's from the country. and now he's going to deliver his work. lord, how long is he going to squat up there and earn bread for that sweater? the red'll soon go from his cheeks if he stops there much longer!" and they looked after him anxiously. the children down in the courtyard raised their heads when they heard his steps above them. "have you got some nice leather for us to-day, pelle?" they cried, clutching at his legs. he brought out of his pockets some little bits of patent-leather and red imitation morocco. "that's from the emperor's new slippers," he said, as he shared the pieces among the children. then the youngsters laughed until their throats began to wheeze. pelle was just the same as of old, except that he was more upright and elastic in his walk, and had grown a little fair moustache. his protruding ears had withdrawn themselves a little, as though they were no longer worked so hard. his blue eyes still accepted everything as good coin, though they now had a faint expression that seemed to say that all that happened was no longer to their liking. his "lucky curls" still shone with a golden light. the narrow streets lay always brooding in a dense, unbearable atmosphere that never seemed to renew itself. the houses were grimy and crazy; where a patch of sunlight touched a window there were stained bed- clothes hung out to dry. up one of the side streets was an ambulance wagon, surrounded by women and children who were waiting excitedly for the bearers to appear with their uneasy burden, and pelle joined them; he always had to take part in everything. it was not quite the shortest way which he took. the capital was quite a new world to him; nothing was the same as at home; here a hundred different things would happen in the course of the day, and pelle was willing enough to begin all over again; and he still felt his old longing to take part in it all and to assimilate it all. in the narrow street leading down to the canal a thirteen-year-old girl placed herself provocatively in his way. "mother's ill," she said, pointing up a dark flight of steps. "if you've got any money, come along!" he was actually on the point of following her, when he discovered that the old women who lived in the street were flattening their noses against their windowpanes. "one has to be on one's guard here!" he told himself, at least for the hundredth time. the worst of it was that it was so easy to forget the necessity. he strolled along the canal-side. the old quay-wall, the apple-barges, and the granaries with the high row of hatchways overhead and the creaking pulleys right up in the gables awakened memories of home. sometimes, too, there were vessels from home lying here, with cargoes of fish or pottery, and then he was able to get news. he wrote but seldom. there was little success to be reported; just now he had to make his way, and he still owed sort for his passage-money. but it would soon come.... pelle hadn't the least doubt as to the future. the city was so monstrously large and incalculable; it seemed to have undertaken the impossible; but there could be no doubt of such an obvious matter of course as that he should make his way. here wealth was simply lying in great heaps, and the poor man too could win it if only he grasped at it boldly enough. fortune here was a golden bird, which could be captured by a little adroitness; the endless chances were like a fairy tale. and one day pelle would catch the bird; when and how he left confidingly to chance. in one of the side streets which ran out of the market street there was a crowd; a swarm of people filled the whole street in front of the iron- foundry, shouting eagerly to the blackened iron-workers, who stood grouped together by the gateway, looking at one another irresolutely. "what's up here?" asked pelle. "this is up--that they can't earn enough to live on," said an old man. "and the manufacturers won't increase their pay. so they've taken to some new-fangled fool's trick which they say has been brought here from abroad, where they seem to have done well with it. that's to say, they all suddenly chuck up their work and rush bareheaded into the street and make a noise, and then back to work again, just like school children in play-time. they've already been in and out two or three times, and now half of them's outside and the others are at work, and the gate is locked. nonsense! a lot that's going to help their wages! no; in my time we used to ask for them prettily, and we always got something, too. but, anyhow, we're only working-folks, and where's it going to come from? and now, what's more, they've lost their whole week's wages!" the workmen were at a loss as to what they should do; they stood there gazing mechanically up at the windows of the counting-house, from which all decisions were commonly issued. now and again an impatient shudder ran through the crowd, as it made threats toward the windows and demanded what was owing it. "he won't give us the wages that we've honestly earned, the tyrant!" they cried. "a nice thing, truly, when one's got a wife and kids at home, and on a saturday afternoon, too! what a shark, to take the bread out of their mouths! won't the gracious gentleman give us an answer--just his greeting, so that we can take it home with us?--just his kind regards, or else they'll have to go hungry to bed!" and they laughed, a low, snarling laugh, spat on the pavement, and once more turned their masterless faces up to the counting-house windows. proposals were showered upon them, proposals of every kind; and they were as wise as they were before. "what the devil are we to do if there's no one who can lead us?" they said dejectedly, and they stood staring again. that was the only thing they knew how to do. "choose a few of your comrades and send them in to negotiate with the manufacturer," said a gentleman standing by. "hear, hear! forward with eriksen! he understands the deaf-and-dumb alphabet!" they shouted. the stranger shrugged his shoulders and departed. a tall, powerful workman approached the group. "have you got your killer with you, eriksen?" cried one, and eriksen turned on the staircase and exhibited his clenched fist. "look out!" they shouted at the windows. "look out we don't set fire to the place!" then all was suddenly silent, and the heavy house-door was barred. pelle listened with open mouth. he did not know what they wanted, and they hardly knew, themselves; none the less, there was a new note in all this! these people didn't beg for what they wanted; they preferred to use their fists in order to get it, and they didn't get drunk first, like the strong man eriksen and the rest at home. "this is the capital!" he thought, and again he congratulated himself for having come thither. a squad of policemen came marching up. "room there!" they cried, and began to hustle the crowd in order to disperse it. the workmen would not be driven away. "not before we've got our wages!" they said, and they pressed back to the gates again. "this is where we work, and we're going to have our rights, that we are!" then the police began to drive the onlookers away; at each onset they fell back a few steps, hesitating, and then stood still, laughing. pelle received a blow in the back; he turned quickly round, stared for a moment into the red face of a policeman, and went his way, muttering and feeling his back. "did he hit you?" asked an old woman. "devil take him, the filthy lout! he's the son of the mangling-woman what lives in the house here, and now he takes up the cudgels against his own people! devil take him!" "move on!" ordered the policeman, winking, as he pushed her aside with his body. she retired to her cellar, and stood there using her tongue to such purpose that the saliva flew from her toothless mouth. "yes, you go about bullying old people who used to carry you in their arms and put dry clouts on you when you didn't know enough to ask.... are you going to use your truncheon on me, too? wouldn't you like to, fredrik? take your orders from the great folks, and then come yelping at us, because we aren't fine enough for you!" she was shaking with rage; her yellowish gray hair had become loosened and was tumbling about her face; she was a perfect volcano. the police marched across the knippel bridge, escorted by a swarm of street urchins, who yelled and whistled between their fingers. from time to time a policeman would turn round; then the whole swarm took to its heels, but next moment it was there again. the police were nervous: their fingers were opening and closing in their longing to strike out. they looked like a party of criminals being escorted to the court-house by the extreme youth of the town, and the people were laughing. pelle kept step on the pavement. he was in a wayward mood. somewhere within him he felt a violent impulse to give way to that absurd longing to leap into the air and beat his head upon the pavement which was the lingering result of his illness. but now it assumed the guise of insolent strength. he saw quite plainly how big eriksen ran roaring at the bailiff, and how he was struck to the ground, and thereafter wandered about an idiot. then the "great power" rose up before him, mighty in his strength, and was hurled to his death; they had all been like dogs, ready to fall on him, and to fawn upon everything that smelt of their superiors and the authorities. and he himself, pelle, had had a whipping at the court-house, and people had pointed the finger at him, just as they pointed at the "great power." "see, there he goes loafing, the scum of humanity!" yes, he had learned what righteousness was, and what mischief it did. but now he had escaped from the old excommunication, and had entered a new world, where respectable men never turned to look after the police, but left such things to the street urchins and old women. there was a great satisfaction in this; and pelle wanted to take part in this world; he longed to understand it. it was saturday, and there was a crowd of journeymen and seamstresses in the warehouse, who had come to deliver their work. the foreman went round as usual, grumbling over the work, and before he paid for it he would pull at it and crumple it so that it lost its shape, and then he made the most infernal to-do because it was not good enough. now and again he would make a deduction from the week's wages, averring that the material was ruined; and he was especially hard on the women, who stood there not daring to contradict him. people said he cheated all the seamstresses who would not let him have his way with them. pelle stood there boiling with rage. "if he says one word to me, we shall come to blows!" he thought. but the foreman took the work without glancing at it--ah, yes, that was from pipman! but while he was paying for it a thick-set man came forward out of a back room; this was the court shoemaker, meyer himself. he had been a poor young man with barely a seat to his breeches when he came to copenhagen from germany as a wandering journeyman. he did not know much about his craft, but he knew how to make others work for him! he did not answer the respectful greetings of the workers, but stationed himself before pelle, his belly bumping against the counter, wheezing loudly through his nose, and gazing at the young man. "new man?" he asked, at length. "that's pipman's assistant," replied the foreman, smiling. "ah! pipman--he knows the trick, eh? you do the work and he takes the money and drinks it, eh?" the master shoemaker laughed as at an excellent joke. pelle turned red. "i should like to be independent as soon as possible," he said. "yes, yes, you can talk it over with the foreman; but no unionists here, mind that! we've no use for those folks." pelle pressed his lips together and pushed the cloth wrapper into the breast of his coat in silence. it was all he could do not to make some retort; he couldn't approve of that prohibition. he went out quickly into kobmager street and turned out of the coal market into hauser street, where, as he knew, the president of the struggling shoemakers' union was living. he found a little cobbler occupying a dark cellar. this must be the man he sought; so he ran down the steps. he had not understood that the president of the union would be found in such a miserable dwelling-place. under the window sat a hollow-cheeked man bowed over his bench, in the act of sewing a new sole on to a worn-out shoe. the legs of the passers- by were just above his head. at the back of the room a woman stood cooking something on the stove; she had a little child on her arm, while two older children lay on the ground playing with some lasts. it was frightfully hot and oppressive. "good day, comrade!" said pelle. "can i become a member of the union?" the man looked up, astonished. something like a smile passed over his mournful face. "can you indulge yourself so far?" he asked slowly. "it may prove a costly pleasure. who d'you work for, if i may ask?" "for meyer, in kobmager street." "then you'll be fired as soon as he gets to know of it!" "i know that sure enough; all the same, i want to join the union. he's not going to tell me what i can and what i can't do. besides, we'll soon settle with him." "that's what i thought, too. but there's too few of us. you'll be starved out of the union as soon as you've joined." "we must see about getting a bit more numerous," said pelle cheerfully, "and then one fine day we'll shut up shop for him!" a spark of life gleamed in the tired eyes of the president. "yes, devil take him, if we could only make him shut up shop!" he cried, shaking his clenched fist in the air. "he tramples on all those hereabouts that make money for him; it's a shame that i should sit here now and have come down to cobbling; and he keeps the whole miserable trade in poverty! ah, what a revenge, comrade!" the blood rushed into his hollow cheeks until they burned, and then he began to cough. "petersen!" said the woman anxiously, supporting his back. "petersen!" she sighed and shook her head, while she helped him to struggle through his fit of coughing. "when the talk's about the court shoemaker petersen always gets like one possessed," she said, when he had overcome it. "he really don't know what he's doing. no--if everybody would only be as clever as meyer and just look after his own business, then certain people would be sitting there in good health and earning good money!" "hold your tongue!" said petersen angrily. "you're a woman--you know nothing about the matter." at which the woman went back to her cooking. petersen filled out a paper, and pelle signed his name to it and paid his subscription for a week. "and now you must try to break away from that bloodsucker as soon as possible!" said petersen earnestly. "a respectable workman can't put up with such things!" "i was forced into it," said pelle. "and i learned nothing of this at home. but now that's over and done with." "good, comrade! there's my hand on it--and good luck to you! we must work the cause up, and perhaps we shall succeed yet; i tell you, you've given me back my courage! now you persuade as many as you can, and don't miss the meetings; they'll be announced in _the working man_." he shook pelle's hand eagerly. pelle took a brisk walk out to the northward. he felt pleased and in the best of spirits. it was about the time when the workers are returning home; they drifted along singly and in crowds, stooping and loitering, shuffling a little after the fatigue of the day. there was a whole new world out here, quite different from that of the "ark." the houses were new and orderly, built with level and plumb-line; the men went their appointed ways, and one could see at a glance what each one was. this quarter was the home of socialism and the new ideas. pelle often strolled out thither on holidays in order to get a glimpse of these things; what they were he didn't know, and he hadn't dared to thrust himself forward, a stranger, as he still felt himself to be there; but it all attracted him powerfully. however, to-day he forgot that he was a stranger, and he went onward with a long, steady stride that took him over the bridge and into north bridge street. now he himself was a trades unionist; he was like all these others, he could go straight up to any one if he wished and shake him by the hand. there was a strong and peculiar appeal about the bearing of these people, as though they had been soldiers. involuntarily he fell into step with them, and felt himself stronger on that account, supported by a feeling of community. he felt solemnly happy, as on his birthday; and he had a feeling as though he must do something. the public houses were open, and the workmen were entering them in little groups. but he had no desire to sit there and pour spirits down his throat. one could do that sort of thing when everything had gone to the dogs. he stationed himself in front of a pastry cook's window, eagerly occupied in comparing the different kinds of cakes. he wanted to go inside and expend five and twenty öre in celebration of the day. but first of all the whole affair must be properly and methodically planned out, so that he should not be disappointed afterward. he must, of course, have something that he had never eaten before, and that was just the difficult part. many of the cakes were hollow inside too, and the feast would have to serve as his evening meal. it was by no means easy, and just as pelle was on the point of solving the difficulty he was startled out of the whole affair by a slap on the shoulder. behind him was morten, smiling at him with that kindly smile of his, as though nothing had gone wrong between them. pelle was ashamed of himself and could not find a word to say. he had been unfaithful to his only friend; and it was not easy for him to account for his behavior. but morten didn't want any explanations; he simply shook pelle by the hand. his pale face was shining with joy. it still betrayed that trace of suffering which was so touching, and pelle had to surrender at discretion. "well, to think we should meet here!" he cried, and laughed good-naturedly. morten was working at the pastry cook's, and had been out; now he was going in to get some sleep before the night's work. "but come in with me; we can at least sit and talk for half an hour; and you shall have a cake too." he was just the same as in the old days. they went in through the gate and up the back stairs; morten went into the shop and returned with five "napoleons." "you see i know your taste," he said laughing. morten's room was right up under the roof; it was a kind of turret-room with windows on both sides. one could look out over the endless mass of roofs, which lay in rows, one behind the other, like the hotbeds in a monstrous nursery garden. from the numberless flues and chimneys rose a thin bluish smoke, which lay oppressively over all. due south lay the kalvebod strand, and further to the west the hill of frederiksberg with its castle rose above the mist. on the opposite side lay the common, and out beyond the chimneys of the limekilns glittered the sound with its many sails. "that's something like a view, eh?" said morten proudly. pelle remained staring; he went from one window to another and said nothing. this was the city, the capital, for which he and all other poor men from the farthest corners of the land, had longed so boundlessly; the fortunate land, where they were to win free of poverty! he had wandered through it in all directions, had marvelled at its palaces and its treasures, and had found it to be great beyond all expectation. everything here was on the grand scale; what men built one day they tore down again on the morrow, in order to build something more sumptuous. so much was going on here, surely the poor man might somehow make his fortune out of it all! and yet he had had no true conception of the whole. now for the first time he saw the city! it lay there, a mighty whole, outspread at his feet, with palaces, churches, and factory chimneys rising above the mass of houses. down in the street flowed a black, unending stream, a stream of people continually renewed, as though from a mighty ocean that could never be exhausted. they all had some object; one could not see it, but really they were running along like ants, each bearing his little burden to the mighty heap of precious things, which was gathered together from all the ends of the earth. "there are millions in all this!" said pelle at last, drawing a deep breath. "yes," said morten standing beside him. "and it's all put together by human hands--by the hands of working people!" pelle started. that was a wonderful idea. but it was true enough, if one thought about it. "but now it has fallen into very different hands!" he exclaimed, laughing. "yes, they've got it away from us by trickery, just as one wheedles a child out of a thing," cried morten morosely. "but there's no real efficiency in anything that children do--and the poor have never been anything more than children! only now they are beginning to grow up, look you, and one fine day they'll ask for their own back." "it would go ill with us if we went and tried to take it for ourselves," said pelle. "not if we were united about it--but we are only the many." pelle listened; it had never occurred to him that the question of organization was so stupendous. men combined, sure enough, but it was to secure better conditions in their trade. "you are like your father!" he said. "he always had big ideas, and wanted to get his rights. i was thinking about him a little while ago, how he never let himself be trampled on. then you used to be ashamed of him; but...." morten hung his head. "i couldn't bear the contempt of respectable folks," he said half under his breath. "i understood nothing beyond the fact that he was destroying our home and bringing disgrace on us. and i was horribly afraid, too, when he began to lay about him; i wake up sometimes now quite wet and cold with sweat, when i've been dreaming of my childhood. but now i'm proud that i'm the son of the 'great power.' i haven't much strength myself; yet perhaps i'll do something to surprise the city folks after all.'" "and i too!" power! it was really extraordinary that morten should be the son of the giant stone-cutter, so quiet and delicate was he. he had not yet quite recovered the strength of which bodil had robbed him in his early boyhood; it was as though that early abuse was still wasting him. he had retained his girlish love of comfort. the room was nicely kept; and there were actually flowers in a vase beneath the looking-glass. flowers, good lord! "how did you get those?" asked pelle. "bought them, of course!" pelle had to laugh. was there another man in the world who would pay money for flowers? but he did not laugh at the books. there seemed to be a sort of mysterious connection between them and morten's peculiar, still energy. he had now a whole shelf full. pelle took a few down and looked into them. "what sort of stuff is this, now?" he asked doubtfully. "it looks like learning!" "those are books about us, and how the new conditions are coming, and how we must make ready for them." "ah, you've got the laugh of me," said pelle. "in a moment of depression you've got your book-learning to help you along. but we other chaps can just sit where we are and kick our heels." morten turned to him hastily. "that's the usual complaint!" he cried irritably. "a man spits on his own class and wants to get into another one. but that's not the point at stake, damn it all! we want to stay precisely where we are, shoemakers and bakers, all together! but we must demand proper conditions! scarcely one out of thousands can come out on top; and then the rest can sit where they are and gape after him! but do you believe he'd get a chance of rising if it wasn't that society needs him--wants to use him to strike at his own people and keep them down? 'now you can see for yourself what a poor man can do if he likes!' that's what they tell you. there's no need to blame society. "no, the masses themselves are to blame if they aren't all rich men! good god! they just don't want to be! so they treat you like a fool, and you put up with it and baa after them! no, let them all together demand that they shall receive enough for their work to live on decently. i say a working man ought to get as much for his work as a doctor or a barrister, and to be educated as well. that's my lord's prayer!" "now i've set you off finely!" said pelle good-naturedly. "and it's just the same as what your father was raving about when he lay dying in the shed. he lay there delirious, and he believed the ordinary workman had got pictures on the wall and a piano, just like the fine folks." "did he say that?" cried morten, and he raised his head. then he fell into thought. for he understood that longing. but pelle sat there brooding. was this the "new time" all over again? then there was really some sense in banding people together--yes, and as many as possible. "i don't rightly understand it," he said at last. "but to-day i joined the trade union. i shan't stand still and look on when there's anything big to be done." morten nodded, faintly smiling. he was tired now, and hardly heard what pelle was saying. "i must go to bed now so that i can get up at one. but where do you live? i'll come and see you some time. how queer it is that we should have run across one another here!" "i live out in kristianshavn--in the 'ark,' if you know where that is!" "that's a queer sort of house to have tumbled into! i know the 'ark' very well, it's been so often described in the papers. there's all sorts of people live there!" "i don't know anything about that," said pelle, half offended. "i like the people well enough.... but it's capital that we should have run into one another's arms like this! what bit of luck, eh? and i behaved like a clown and kept out of your way? but that was when i was going to the dogs, and hated everybody! but now nothing's going to come between us again, you may lay to that!" "that's good, but now be off with you," replied morten, smiling; he was already half-undressed. "i'm going, i'm going!" said pelle, and he picked up his hat, and stood for a moment gazing out over the city. "but it's magnificent, what you were saying about things just now!" he cried suddenly. "if i had the strength of all us poor folks in me, i'd break out right away and conquer the whole of it! if such a mass of wealth were shared out there'd never be any poverty any more!" he stood there with his arms uplifted, as though he held it all in his hands. then he laughed uproariously. he looked full of energy. morten lay half asleep, staring at him and saying nothing. and then he went. pipman scolded pelle outrageously when at last he returned. "curse it all, what are you thinking of? to go strolling about and playing the duke while such as we can sit here working our eyes out of our heads! and we have to go thirsty too! now don't you dream of being insolent to me, or there'll be an end of the matter. i am excessively annoyed!" he held out his hand in pathetic expostulation, although pelle had no intention of answering him. he no longer took pipman seriously. "devil fry me, but a man must sit here and drink the clothes off his body while a lout like you goes for a stroll!" pelle was standing there counting the week's earnings when he suddenly burst into a loud laugh as his glance fell upon pipman. his blue naked shanks, miserably shivering under his leather apron, looked so enormously ridiculous when contrasted with the fully-dressed body and the venerable beard. "yes, you grin!" said pipman, laughing too. "but suppose it was you had to take off your trousers in front of the old clothes' man, and wanted to get upstairs respectably! those damned brats! 'pipman's got d. t.,' they yell. 'pipman's got d. t. and god knows i haven't got d. t., but i haven't got any trousers, and that's just the trouble! and these accursed open staircases! olsen's hired girl took the opportunity, and you may be sure she saw all there was to see! you might lend me your old bags!" pelle opened his green chest and took out his work-day trousers. "you'd better put a few more locks on that spinach-green lumber-chest of yours," said pipman surlily. "after all, there might be a thief here, near heaven as we are!" pelle apparently did not hear the allusion, and locked the chest up again. then, his short pipe in his hand, he strolled out on to the platform. above the roofs the twilight was rising from the sound. a few doves were flying there, catching the last red rays of the sun on their white pinions, while down in the shaft the darkness lay like a hot lilac mist. the hurdy-gurdy man had come home and was playing his evening tune down there to the dancing children, while the inhabitants of the "ark" were gossiping and squabbling from gallery to gallery. now and again a faint vibrating note rose upward, and all fell silent. this was the dwarf vinslev, who sat playing his flute somewhere in his den deep within the "ark." he always hid himself right away when he played, for at such times he was like a sick animal, and sat quaking in his lair. the notes of his flute were so sweet, as they came trickling out of his hiding place, that they seemed like a song or a lament from another world. and the restless creatures in the "ark" must perforce be silent and listen. now vinslev was in one of his gentle moods, and one somehow felt better for hearing him. but at times, in his dark moods, the devil seemed to enter into him, and breathed such music into his crazy mind that all his hearers felt a panic terror. then the decaying timbers of the "ark" seemed to expand and form a vast monstrous, pitch-black forest, in which all terror lay lurking, and one must strike out blindly in order to avoid being trampled on. the hearse-driver in the fourth story, who at other times was so gentle in his cups, would beat his wife shamefully, and the two lay about in their den drinking and fighting in self-defence. and vinslev's devilish flute was to blame when johnsen vainly bewailed his miserable life and ended it under the sewer-grating. but there was nothing to be said about the matter; vinslev played the flute, and johnsen's suicide was a death like any other. now the devil was going about with a ring in his nose; vinslev's playing was like a gentle breeze that played on people's hearts, so that they opened like flowers. this was his good time. pelle knew all this, although he had not long been here; but it was nothing to him. for he wore the conqueror's shirt of mail, such as father lasse had dreamed of for him. down in the third story, on the built-out gallery, another sort of magic was at work. a climbing pelargonium and some ivy had wound themselves round the broken beams and met overhead, and there hung a little red paper lantern, which cast a cheerful glow over it all. it was as though the summer night had found a sanctuary in the heart of this wilderness of stone. under the lantern sat madam johnsen and her daughter sewing; and hanne's face glowed like a rose in the night, and every now and then she turned it up toward pelle and smiled, and made an impatient movement of her head. then pelle turned away a little, re- crossed his leg, and leant over on the other side, restless as a horse in blinkers. close behind him his neighbor, madam frandsen, was bustling about her little kitchen. the door stood open on to the platform, and she chattered incessantly, half to herself and half to pelle, about her gout, her dead husband, and her lout of a son. she needed to rest her body, did this old woman. "my god, yes; and here i have to keep slaving and getting his food ready for ferdinand from morning to night and from night to morning again. and he doesn't even trouble himself to come home to it. i can't go looking into his wild ways; all i can do is to sit here and worry and keep his meals warm. now that's a tasty little bit; and he'll soon come when he's hungry, i tell myself. ah, yes, our young days, they're soon gone. and you stand there and stare like a baa-lamb and the girl down there is nodding at you fit to crick her neck! yes, the men are a queer race; they pretend they wouldn't dare--and yet who is it causes all the misfortunes?" "she doesn't want anything to do with me!" said pelle grumpily; "she's just playing with me." "yes, a girl goes on playing with a white mouse until she gets it! you ought to be ashamed to stand there hanging your head! so young and well- grown as you are too! you cut her tail-feathers off, and you'll get a good wife!" she nudged him in the side with her elbow. then at last pelle made up his mind to go clattering down the stairs to the third story, and along the gallery. "why have you been so stand-offish to-day?" said madam johnsen, making room for him. "you know you are always very welcome. what are all these preliminaries for?" "pelle is short-sighted; he can't see as far as this," said hanne, tossing her head. she sat there turning her head about; she gazed at him smiling, her head thrown back and her mouth open. the light fell on her white teeth. "shall we get fine weather to-morrow?" asked the mother. pelle thought they would; he gazed up at the little speck of sky in a weather-wise manner. hanne laughed. "are you a weather-prophet, pelle? but you haven't any corns!" "now stop your teasing, child!" said the mother, pretending to slap her. "if it's fine to-morrow we want to go into the woods. will you come with us?" pelle would be glad to go; but he hesitated slightly before answering. "come with us, pelle," said hanne, and she laid her hand invitingly on his shoulder. "and then you shall be my young man. it's so tedious going to the woods with the old lady; and then i want to be able to do as i like." she made a challenging movement with her head. "then we'll go from the north gate by omnibus; i don't care a bit about going by train." "from the north gate? but it doesn't exist any longer, mummy! but there are still omnibuses running from the triangle." "well then, from the triangle, you clever one! can i help it if they go pulling everything down? when i was a girl that north gate was a splendid place. from there you could get a view over the country where my home was, and the summer nights were never so fine as on the wall. one didn't know what it was to feel the cold then. if one's clothes were thin one's heart was young." hanne went into the kitchen to make coffee. the door stood open. she hummed at her task and now and again joined in the conversation. then she came out, serving pelle with a cracked tea-tray. "but you look very peculiar tonight!" she touched pelle's face and gazed at him searchingly. "i joined the trade union to-day," answered pelle; he still had the feeling that of something unusual, and felt as though everybody must notice something about him. hanne burst out laughing. "is that where you got that black sign on your forehead? just look, mother, just look at him! the trade mark!" she turned her head toward the old woman. "ah, the rogue!" said the old woman, laughing. "now she's smeared soot over your face!" she wetted her apron with her tongue and began to rub the soot away, hanne standing behind him and holding his head in both hands so that he should not move. "thank your stars that pelle's a good- natured fellow," said the old woman, as she rubbed. "or else he'd take it in bad part!" pelle himself laughed shamefacedly. the hearse-driver came up through the trap in the gallery and turned round to mount to the fourth story. "good evening!" he said, in his deep bass voice, as he approached them; "and good digestion, too, i ought to say!" he carried a great ham under his arm. "lord o' my body!" whispered madam johnsen. "there he is again with his ham; that means he's wasted the whole week's wages again. they've always got more than enough ham and bacon up there, poor things, but they've seldom got bread as well." now one sound was heard in the "ark," now another. the crying of children which drifted so mournfully out of the long corridors whenever a door was opened turned to a feeble clucking every time some belated mother came rushing home from work to clasp the little one to her breast. and there was one that went on crying whether the mother was at home or at work. her milk had failed her. from somewhere down in the cellars the sleepy tones of a cradle-song rose up through the shaft; it was only "grete with the child," who was singing her rag-doll asleep. the real mothers did not sing. "she's always bawling away," said hanne; "those who've got real children haven't got strength left to sing. but her brat doesn't need any food; and that makes a lot of difference when one is poor." "to-day she was washing and ironing the child's things to make her fine for to-morrow, when her father comes. he is a lieutenant," said hanne. "is he coming to-morrow, then?" asked pelle naively. hanne laughed loudly. "she expects him every sunday, but she has never seen him yet!" "well, well, that's hardly a thing to laugh about," said the old woman. "she's happy in her delusions, and her pension keeps her from need." iii pelle awoke to find hanne standing by his bed and pulling his nose, and imitating his comical grimaces. she had come in over the roof. "why are you stopping here, you?" she said eagerly. "we are waiting for you!" "i can't get up!" replied pelle piteously. "pipman went out overnight with my trousers on and hasn't come back, so i lay down to sleep again!" hanne broke into a ringing laugh. "what if he never comes back at all? you'll have to lie in bed always, like mother jahn!" at this pelle laughed too. "i really don't know what i shall do! you must just go without me." "no, that we shan't!" said hanne very decidedly. "no, we'll fetch the picnic-basket and spread the things on your counterpane! after all, it's green! but wait now, i know what!" and she slipped through the back door and out on to the roof. half an hour later she came again and threw a pair of striped trousers on the bed. "he's obliging, is herr klodsmajor! now just hurry yourself a bit. i ran round to see the hearse-driver's marie, where she works, and she gave me a pair of her master's week-day breeches. but she must have them again early to-morrow morning, so that his lordship doesn't notice it." directly she had gone pelle jumped into the trousers. just as he was ready he heard a terrific creaking of timbers. the pipman was coming up the stairs. he held the rope in one hand, and at every turn of the staircase he bowed a few times outward over the rope. the women were shrieking in the surrounding galleries and landings. that amused him. his big, venerable head beamed with an expression of sublime joy. "ah, hold your tongue!" he said good-naturedly, as soon as he set eyes on pelle. "you hold your tongue!" he propped himself up in the doorway and stood there staring. pelle seized him by the collar. "where are my sunday trousers?" he asked angrily. the pipman had the old ones on, but where were the new? the pipman stared at him uncomprehending, his drowsy features working in the effort to disinter some memory or other. suddenly he whistled. "trousers, did you say, young man? what, what? did you really say trousers? and you ask me where your trousers have got to? then you might have said so at once! because, d'you see, your bags ... i've ... yes ... why, i've pawned them!" "you've pawned my best trousers?" cried pelle, so startled that he loosed his hold. "yes, by god, that's what i did! you can look for yourself--there's no need to get so hot about it! you can't eat me, you know. that goes without saying. yes, that's about it. one just mustn't get excited!" "you're a scoundrelly thief!" cried pelle. "that's what you are!" "now, now, comrade, always keep cool! don't shout yourself hoarse. nothing's been taken by me. pipman's a respectable man, i tell you. here, you can see for yourself! what'll you give me for that, eh?" he had taken the pawnticket from his pocket and held it out to pelle, deeply offended. pelle fingered his collar nervously; he was quite beside himself with rage. but what was the use? and now hanne and her mother had come out over yonder. hanne was wearing a yellow straw hat with broad ribbons. she looked bewitching; the old lady had the lunch-basket on her arm. she locked the door carefully and put the key under the doorstep. then they set out. there was no reasoning with this sot of a pipman! he edged round pelle with an uncertain smile, gazed inquisitively into his face, and kept carefully just out of his reach. "you're angry, aren't you?" he said confidingly, as though he had been speaking to a little child. "dreadfully angry? but what the devil do you want with two pairs of trousers, comrade? yes, what do you want with two pairs of trousers?" his voice sounded quite bewildered and reproachful. pelle pulled out a pair of easy-looking women's shoes from under his bed, and slipped out through the inner door. he squeezed his way between the steep roof and the back wall of the room, ducked under a beam or two, and tumbled into the long gangway which ran between the roof- buildings and had rooms on either side of it. a loud buzzing sound struck suddenly on his ears. the doors of all the little rooms stood open on to the long gangway, which served as a common livingroom. wrangling and chattering and the crying of children surged together in a deafening uproar; here was the life of a bee-hive. here it's really lively, thought pelle. to-morrow i shall move over here! he had thought over this for a long time, and now there should be an end of his lodging with pipman. in front of one of the doors stood a little eleven-years-old maiden, who was polishing a pair of plump-looking boy's boots; she wore an apron of sacking which fell down below her ankles, so that she kept treading on it. within the room two children of nine and twelve were moving backward and forward with mighty strides, their hands in their pockets. then enjoyed sundays. in their clean shirt-sleeves, they looked like a couple of little grown-up men. this was the "family"; they were pelle's rescuers. "here are your shoes, marie," said pelle. "i couldn't do them any better." she took them eagerly and examined the soles. pelle had repaired them with old leather, and had therefore polished the insteps with cobbler's wax. "they're splendid now!" she whispered, and she looked at him gratefully. the boys came and shook hands with pelle. "what will the shoes cost?" asked the elder, feeling for his purse with a solemn countenance. "we'd better let that stand over, peter; i'm in a hurry to-day," said pelle, laughing. "we'll put it on the account until the new year." "i'm going out, too, to-day with the boys," said marie, beaming with delight. "and you are going to the woods with hanne and her mother, we know all about it!" hopping and skipping, she accompanied him to the steps, and stood laughing down at him. to-day she was really like a child; the shrewd, old, careful woman was as though cast to the winds. "you can go down the main staircase," she cried. a narrow garret-stairs led down to the main staircase, which lay inside the building and was supposed to be used only by those who lived on the side facing the street. this was the fashionable portion of the "ark"; here lived old sea-dogs, shipbuilders, and other folks with regular incomes. the tradesmen who rented the cellars--the coal merchant, the old iron merchant, and the old clothes dealer, also had their dwellings here. these dwellings were composed of two splendid rooms; they had no kitchen or entry, but in a corner of the landing on the main staircase, by the door, each family had a sink with a little board cover. when the cover was on one could use the sink as a seat; this was very convenient. the others had almost reached the knippels bridge when he overtook them. "what a long time you've been!" said hanne, as she took his arm. "and how's the 'family?' was marie pleased with the shoes? poor little thing, she hasn't been out for two sundays because she had no soles to her shoes." "she had only to come to me; i'm ever so much in her debt!" "no, don't you believe she'd do that. the 'family' is proud. i had to go over and steal the shoes somehow!" "poor little things!" said madam johnsen, "it's really touching to see how they hold together! and they know how to get along. but why are you taking pelle's arm, hanne? you don't mean anything by it." "must one always mean something by it, little mother? pelle is my young man to-day, and has to protect me." "good lord, what is he to protect you from? from yourself, mostly, and that's not easy!" "against a horde of robbers, who will fall upon me in the forest and carry me away. and you'll have to pay a tremendous ransom!" "good lord, i'd much rather pay money to get rid of you! if i had any money at all! but have you noticed how blue the sky is? it's splendid with all this sun on your back--it warms you right through the cockles of your heart." at the triangle they took an omnibus and bowled along the sea-front. the vehicle was full of cheerful folk; they sat there laughing at a couple of good-natured citizens who were perspiring and hurling silly witticisms at one another. behind them the dust rolled threateningly, and hung in a lazy cloud round the great black waterbutts which stood on their high trestles along the edge of the road. out in the sound the boats lay with sails outspread, but did not move; everything was keeping the sabbath. in the zoological gardens it was fresh and cool. the beech-leaves still retained their youthful brightness, and looked wonderfully light and festive against the century-old trunks. "heigh, how beautiful the forest is!" cried pelle. "it is like an old giant who has taken a young bride!" he had never been in a real beech-wood before. one could wander about here as in a church. there were lots of other people here as well; all copenhagen was on its legs in this fine weather. the people were as though intoxicated by the sunshine; they were quite boisterous, and the sound of their voices lingered about the tree-tops and only challenged them to give vent to their feelings. people went strolling between the tree-trunks and amusing themselves in their own way, laying about them with great boughs and shouting with no other object than to hear their own voices. on the borders of the wood, a few men were standing and singing in chorus; they wore white caps, and over the grassy meadows merry groups were strolling or playing touch or rolling in the grass like young kittens. madam johnsen walked confidently a few steps in advance; she was the most at home out here and led the way. pelle and hanne walked close together, in order to converse. hanne was silent and absent; pelle took her hand in order to make her run up a hillock, but she did not at first notice that he was touching her, and the hand was limp and clammy. she walked on as in a sleep, her whole bearing lifeless and taciturn. "she's dreaming!" said pelle, and released her hand, offended. it fell lifelessly to her side. the old woman turned round and looked about her with beaming eyes. "the forest hasn't been so splendid for many years," she said. "not since i was a young girl." they climbed up past the hermitage and thence out over the grass and into the forest again, until they came to the little ranger's house where they drank coffee and ate some of the bread-and-butter they had brought with them. then they trudged on again. madam johnsen was paying a rare visit to the forest and wanted to see everything. the young people raised objections, but she was not to be dissuaded. she had girlhood memories of the forest, and she wanted to renew them; let them say what they would. if they were tired of running after her they could go their own way. but they followed her faithfully, looking about them wearily and moving along dully onward, moving along rather more stupidly than was justifiable. on the path leading to raavad there were not so many people. "it's just as forest-like here as in my young days!" said the old woman. "and beautiful it is here. the leaves are so close, it's just the place for a loving couple of lovers. now i'm going to sit down and take my boots off for a bit, my feet are beginning to hurt me. you look about you for a bit." but the young people looked at one another strangely and threw themselves down at her feet. she had taken off her boots, and was cooling her feet in the fresh grass as she sat there chatting. "it's so warm to-day the stones feel quite burning--but you two certainly won't catch fire. why do you stare in that funny way? give each other a kiss in the grass, now! there's no harm in it, and it's so pretty to see!" pelle did not move. but hanne moved over to him on her knees, put her hands gently round his head, and kissed him. when she had done so she looked into his eyes, lovingly, as a child might look at her doll. her hat had slipped on to her shoulders. on her white forehead and her upper lip were little clear drops of sweat. then, with a merry laugh, she suddenly released him. pelle and the old woman had gathered flowers and boughs of foliage; these they now began to arrange. hanne lay on her back and gazed up at the sky. "you leave that old staring of yours alone," said the mother. "it does you no good." "i'm only playing at 'glory'; it's such a height here," said hanne. "but at home in the 'ark' you see more. here it's too light." "yes, god knows, one does see more--a sewer and two privies. a good thing it's so dark there. no, one ought to have enough money to be able to go into the forests every sunday all the summer. when one has grown up in the open air it's hard to be penned in between dirty walls all one's life. but now i think we ought to be going on. we waste so much time." "oh lord, and i'm so comfortable lying here!" said hanne lazily. "pelle, just push my shawl under my head!" out of the boughs high above them broke a great bird. "there, there, what a chap!" cried pelle, pointing at it. it sailed slowly downward, on its mighty outspread wings, now and again compressing the air beneath it with a few powerful strokes, and then flew onward, close above the tree- tops, with a scrutinizing glance. "jiminy, i believe that was a stork!" said madam johnsen. she reached for her boots, alarmed. "i won't stay here any longer now. one never knows what may happen." she hastily laced up her boots, with a prudish expression on her face. pelle laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. hanne raised her head. "that was surely a crane, don't you think so? stupid bird, always to fly along like that, staring down at everything as though he were short-sighted. if i were he i should fly straight up in the air and then shut my eyes and come swooping down. then, wherever one got to, something or other would happen." "sure enough, this would happen, that you'd fall into the sea and be drowned. hanne has always had the feeling that something has got to happen; and for that reason she can never hold on to what she's got in her hands." "no, for i haven't anything in them!" cried hanne, showing her hands and laughing. "can you hold what you haven't got, pelle?" about four o'clock they came to the schleswig stone, where the social- democrats were holding a meeting. pelle had never yet attended any big meeting at which he could hear agitators speaking, but had obtained his ideas of the new movements at second hand. they were in tune with the blind instinct within him. but he had never experienced anything really electrifying--only that confused, monotonous surging such as he had heard in his childhood when he listened with his ear to the hollow of the wooden shoe. "well, it looks as if the whole society was here!" said madam johnsen half contemptuously. "now you can see all the social-democrats of copenhagen. they never have been more numerous, although they pretend the whole of society belongs to them. but things don't always go so smoothly as they do on paper." pelle frowned, but was silent. he himself knew too little of the matter to be able to convert another. the crowd affected him powerfully; here were several thousands of people gathered together for a common object, and it became exceedingly clear to him that he himself belonged to this crowd. "i belong to them too!" over and over again the words repeated themselves rejoicingly in his mind. he felt the need to verify it all himself, and to prove himself grateful for the quickly-passing day. if the court shoemaker hadn't spoken the words that drove him to join the union he would still have been standing apart from it all, like a heathen. the act of subscribing the day before was like a baptism. he felt quite different in the society of these men--he felt as he did not feel with others. and as the thousands of voices broke into song, a song of jubilation of the new times that were to come, a cold shudder went through him. he had a feeling as though a door within him had opened, and as though something that had lain closely penned within him had found its way to the light. up on the platform stood a darkish man talking earnestly in a mighty voice. shoulder to shoulder the crowd stood breathless, listening open- mouthed, with every face turned fixedly upon the speaker. a few were so completely under his spell that they reproduced the play of his features. when he made some particular sally from his citadel a murmur of admiration ran through the crowd. there was no shouting. he spoke of want and poverty, of the wearisome, endless wandering that won no further forward. as the israelites in their faith bore the ark of the covenant through the wilderness, so the poor bore their hope through the unfruitful years. if one division was overthrown another was ready with the carrying-staves, and at last the day was breaking. now they stood at the entrance to the promised land, with the proof in their hands that they were the rightful dwellers therein. all that was quite a matter of course; if there was anything that pelle had experienced it was that wearisome wandering of god's people through the wilderness. that was the great symbol of poverty. the words came to him like something long familiar. but the greatness of the man's voice affected pelle; there was something in the speech of this man which did not reach him through the understanding, but seemed somehow to burn its way in through the skin, there to meet something that lay expanding within him. the mere ring of anger in his voice affected pelle; his words beat upon one's old wounds, so that they broke open like poisonous ulcers, and one heaved a deep breath of relief. pelle had heard such a voice, ringing over all, when he lived in the fields and tended cows. he felt as though he too must let himself go in a great shout and subdue the whole crowd by his voice --he too! to be able to speak like that, now thundering and now mild, like the ancient prophets! a peculiar sense of energy was exhaled by this dense crowd of men, this thinking and feeling crowd. it produced a singular feeling of strength. pelle was no longer the poor journeyman shoemaker, who found it difficult enough to make his way. he became one, as he stood there, with that vast being; he felt its strength swelling within him; the little finger shares in the strength of the whole body. a blind certainty of irresistibility went out from this mighty gathering, a spur to ride the storm with. his limbs swelled; he became a vast, monstrous being that only needed to go trampling onward in order to conquer everything. his brain was whirling with energy, with illimitable, unconquerable strength! pelle had before this gone soaring on high and had come safely to earth again. and this time also he came to ground, with a long sigh of relief, as though he had cast off a heavy burden. hanne's arm lay in his; he pressed it slightly. but she did notice him; she too now was far away. he looked at her pretty neck, and bent forward to see her face. the great yellow hat threw a golden glimmer over it. her active intelligence played restlessly behind her strained, frozen features; her eyes looked fixedly before her. it has taken hold of her too, he thought, full of happiness; she is far away from here. it was something wonderful to know that they were coupled together in the same interests--were like man and wife! at that very moment he accidentally noticed the direction of her fixed gaze, and a sharp pain ran through his heart. standing on the level ground, quite apart from the crowd, stood a tall, handsome man, astonishingly like the owner of stone farm in his best days; the sunlight was coming and going over his brown skin and his soft beard. now that he turned his face toward pelle his big, open features reminded him of the sea. hanne started, as though awakening from a deep sleep, and noticed pelle. "he is a sailor!" she said, in a curious, remote voice, although pelle had not questioned her. god knows, thought pelle, vexedly, how is it she knows him; and he drew his arm from hers. but she took it again at once and pressed it against her soft bosom. it was as though she suddenly wanted to give him a feeling of security. she hung heavily on his arm and stood with her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the speakers' platform. her hands busied themselves nervously about her hair. "you are so restless, child," said the mother, who had seated herself at their feet. "you might let me lean back against your knee; i was sitting so comfortably before." "yes," said hanne, and she put herself in the desired position. her voice sounded quite excited. "pelle," she whispered suddenly, "if he comes over to us i shan't answer him. i shan't." "do you know him, then?" "no, but it does happen sometimes that men come and speak to one. but then you'll say i belong to you, won't you?" pelle was going to refuse, but a shudder ran through her. she's feverish, he thought compassionately; one gets fever so easily in the "ark." it comes up with the smell out of the sewer. she must have lied to me nicely, he thought after a while. women are cunning, but he was too proud to question her. and then the crowd shouted "hurrah!" so that the air rang. pelle shouted with them; and when they had finished the man had disappeared. they went over to the hill, the old woman keeping her few steps in advance. hanne hummed as she went; now and then she looked questioningly at pelle--and then went on humming. "it's nothing to do with me," said pelle morosely. "but it's not right of you to have lied to me." "i lie to you? but pelle!" she gazed wonderingly into his eyes. "yes, that you do! there's something between you and him." hanne laughed, a clear, innocent laugh, but suddenly broken off. "no, pelle, no, what should i have to do with him? i have never even seen him before. i have never even once kissed a man--yes, you, but you are my brother." "i don't particularly care about being your brother--not a straw, and you know that!" "have i done anything to offend you? i'm sorry if i have." she seized his hand. "i want you for my wife!" cried pelle passionately. hanne laughed. "did you hear, mother? pelle wants me for his wife!" she cried, beaming. "yes, i see and hear more than you think," said madam johnsen shortly. hanne looked from one to the other and became serious. "you are so good, pelle," she said softly, "but you can't come to me bringing me something from foreign parts--i know everything about you, but i've never dreamed of you at night. are you a fortunate person?" "i'll soon show you if i am," said pelle, raising his head. "only give me a little time." "lord, now she's blethering about fortune again," cried the mother, turning round. "you really needn't have spoiled this lovely day for us with your nonsense. i was enjoying it all so." hanne laughed helplessly. "mother will have it that i'm not quite right in my mind, because father hit me on the head once when i was a little girl," she told pelle. "yes, it's since then she's had these ideas. she'll do nothing but go rambling on at random with her ideas and her wishes. she'll sit whole days at the window and stare, and she used to make the children down in the yard even crazier than herself with her nonsense. and she was always bothering me to leave everything standing--poor as we were after my man died--just to go round and round the room with her and the dolls and sing those songs all about earls. yes, pelle, you may believe i've wept tears of blood over her." hanne wandered on, laughing at her mother's rebuke, and humming--it was the tune of the "earl's song." "there, you hear her yourself," said the old woman, nudging pelle. "she's got no shame in her--there's nothing to be done with her!" up on the hill there was a deafening confusion of people in playful mood; wandering to and fro in groups, blowing into children's trumpets and "dying pigs," and behaving like frolicsome wild beasts. at every moment some one tooted in your ear, to make you jump, or you suddenly discovered that some rogue was fixing something on the back of your coat. hanne was nervous; she kept between pelle and her mother, and could not stand still. "no, let's go away somewhere--anywhere!" she said, laughing in bewilderment. pelle wanted to treat them to coffee, so they went on till they found a tent where there was room for them. hallo! there was the hurdy-gurdy man from home, on a roundabout, nodding to him as he went whirling round. he held his hand in front of his mouth like a speaking-trumpet in order to shout above the noise. "mother's coming up behind you with the olsens," he roared. "i can't hear what he says at all," said madam johnsen. she didn't care about meeting people out of the "ark" to-day. when the coffee was finished they wandered up and down between the booths and amused themselves by watching the crowd. hanne consented to have her fortune told; it cost five and twenty öre, but she was rewarded by an unexpected suitor who was coming across the sea with lots of money. her eyes shone. "i could have done it much better than that!" said madam johnsen. "no, mother, for you never foretell me anything but misfortune," replied hanne, laughing. madam johnsen met an acquaintance who was selling "dying pigs." she sat down beside her. "you go over there now and have a bit of a dance while i rest my tired legs," she said. the young people went across to the dancing marquee and stood among the onlookers. from time to time they had five öre worth of dancing. when other men came up and asked hanne to dance, she shook her head; she did not care to dance with any one but pelle. the rejected applicants stood a little way off, their hats on the backs of their heads, and reviled her. pelle had to reprove her. "you have offended them," he said, "and perhaps they're screwed and will begin to quarrel." "why should i be forced to dance with anybody, with somebody i don't know at all?" replied hanne. "i'm only going to dance with you!" she made angry eyes, and looked bewitching in her unapproachableness. pelle had nothing against being her only partner. he would gladly have fought for her, had it been needful. when they were about to go he discovered the foreigner right at the back of the dancing-tent. he urged hanne to make haste, but she stood there, staring absent-mindedly in the midst of the dancers as though she did not know what was happening around her. the stranger came over to them. pelle was certain that hanne had not seen him. suddenly she came to herself and gripped pelle's arm. "shan't we go, then?" she said impatiently, and she quickly dragged him away. at the doorway the stranger came to meet them and bowed before hanne. she did not look at him, but her left arm twitched as though she wanted to lay it across his shoulders. "my sweetheart isn't dancing any more; she is tired," said pelle shortly, and he led her away. "a good thing we've come out from there," she cried, with a feeling of deliverance, as they went back to her mother. "there were no amusing dancers." pelle was taken aback; then she had not seen the stranger, but merely believed that it had been one of the others who had asked her to dance! it was inconceivable that she should have seen him; and yet a peculiar knowledge had enveloped her, as though she had seen obliquely through her down-dropped eyelids; and then it was well known women could see round corners! and that twitch of the arm! he did not know what to think. "well, it's all one to me," he thought, "for i'm not going to be led by the nose!" he had them both on his arm as they returned under the trees to the station. the old woman was lively; hanne walked on in silence and let them both talk. but suddenly she begged pelle to be quiet a moment; he looked at her in surprise. "it's singing so beautifully in my ears; but when you talk then it stops!" "nonsense! your blood is too unruly," said the mother, "and mouths were meant to be used." during the journey pelle was reserved. now and again he pressed hanne's hand, which lay, warm and slightly perspiring, in his upon the seat. but the old woman's delight was by no means exhausted, the light shining from the city and the dark peaceful sound had their message for her secluded life, and she began to sing, in a thin, quavering falsetto: "gently the night upon her silent wings comes, and the stars are bright in east and west; and lo, the bell of evening rings; and men draw homewards, and the birds all rest." but from the triangle onward it was difficult for her to keep step; she had run herself off her legs. "many thanks for to-day," she said to pelle, down in the courtyard. "to- morrow one must start work again and clean old uniform trousers. but it's been a beautiful outing." she waddled forward and up the steps, groaning a little at the numbers of them, talking to herself. hanne stood hesitating. "why did you say 'my sweetheart'?" she asked suddenly. "i'm not." "you told me to," answered pelle, who would willingly have said more. "oh, well!" said hanne, and she ran up the stairs. "goodnight, pelle!" she called down to him. iv pelle was bound to the "family" by peculiar ties. the three orphans were the first to reach him a friendly helping hand when he stood in the open street three days after his landing, robbed of his last penny. he had come over feeling important enough. he had not slept all night on his bench between decks among the cattle. excitement had kept him awake; and he lay there making far-reaching plans concerning himself and his twenty-five kroner. he was up on deck by the first light of morning, gazing at the shore, where the great capital with its towers and factory-chimneys showed out of the mist. above the city floated its misty light, which reddened in the morning sun, and gave a splendor to the prospect. and the passage between the forts and the naval harbor was sufficiently magnificent to impress him. the crowd on the landing-stage before the steamer laid alongside and the cabmen and porters began shouting and calling, was enough to stupefy him, but he had made up his mind beforehand that nothing should disconcert him. it would have been difficult enough in any case to disentangle himself from all this confusion. and then fortune herself was on his side. down on the quay stood a thick-set, jovial man, who looked familiarly at pelle; he did not shout and bawl, but merely said quietly, "good-day, countryman," and offered pelle board and lodging for two kroner a day. it was good to find a countryman in all this bustle, and pelle confidingly put himself in his hands. he was remarkably helpful; pelle was by no means allowed to carry the green chest. "i'll soon have that brought along!" said the man, and he answered everything with a jolly "i'll soon arrange that; you just leave that to me!" when three days had gone by, he presented pelle with a circumstantial account, which amounted exactly to five and twenty kroner. it was a curious chance that pelle had just that amount of money. he was not willing to be done out of it, but the boarding-house keeper, elleby, called in a policeman from the street, and pelle had to pay. he was standing in the street with his green box, helpless and bewildered, not knowing what to be about. then a little boy came whistling up to him and asked if he could not help him. "i can easily carry the box alone, to wherever you want it, but it will cost twenty- five öre and ten öre for the barrow. but if i just take one handle it will be only ten ore," he said, and he looked pelle over in a business- like manner. he did not seem to be more than nine or ten years old. "but i don't know where i shall go," said pelle, almost crying. "i've been turned out on the street and have nowhere where i can turn. i am quite a stranger here in the city and all my money has been taken from me." the youngster made a gesture in the air as though butting something with his head. "yes, that's a cursed business. you've fallen into the hands of the farmer-catchers, my lad. so you must come home with us--you can very well stay with us, if you don't mind lying on the floor." "but what will your parents say if you go dragging me home?" "i haven't any parents, and marie and peter, they'll say nothing. just come with me, and, after all, you can get work with old pipman. where do you come from?" "from bornholm." "so did we! that's to say, a long time ago, when we were quite children. come along with me, countryman!" the boy laughed delightedly and seized one handle of the chest. it was also, to be sure, a fellow-countryman who had robbed him; but none the less he went with the boy; it was not in pelle's nature to be distrustful. so he had entered the "ark," under the protection of a child. the sister, a little older than the other two, found little karl's action entirely reasonable, and the three waifs, who had formerly been shy and retiring, quickly attached themselves to pelle. they found him in the street and treated him like an elder comrade, who was a stranger, and needed protection. they afforded him his first glimpse of the great city, and they helped him to get work from pipman. on the day after the outing in the forest, pelle moved over to the row of attics, into a room near the "family," which was standing empty just then. marie helped him to get tidy and to bring his things along, and with an easier mind he shook himself free of his burdensome relations with pipman. there was an end of his profit-sharing, and all the recriminations which were involved in it. now he could enter into direct relations with the employers and look his comrades straight in the eyes. for various reasons it had been a humiliating time; but he had no feeling of resentment toward pipman; he had learned more with him in a few months than during his whole apprenticeship at home. he obtained a few necessary tools from an ironmonger, and bought a bench and a bed for ready money. from the master-shoemaker he obtained as a beginning some material for children's shoes, which he made at odd times. his principal living he got from master beck in market street. beck was a man of the old school; his clientele consisted principally of night watchmen, pilots, and old seamen, who lived out in kristianshavn. although he was born and had grown up in copenhagen, he was like a country shoemaker to look at, going about in canvas slippers which his daughter made for him, and in the mornings he smoked his long pipe at the house-door. he had old-fashioned views concerning handwork, and was delighted with pelle, who could strain any piece of greased leather and was not afraid to strap a pair of old dubbin'd boots with it. beck's work could not well be given out to do at home, and pelle willingly established himself in the workshop and was afraid of no work that came his way. but he would not accept bed and board from his master in the old-fashioned way. from the very first day this change was an improvement. he worked heart and soul and began to put by something with which to pay off his debt to sort. now he saw the day in the distance when he should be able to send for father lasse. in the morning, when the dwellers on the roof, drunken with sleep, tumbled out into the long gangway, in order to go to their work, before the quarter-to-six whistle sounded, pelle already sat in his room hammering on his cobbler's last. about seven o'clock he went to beck's workshop, if there was anything for him to do there. and he received orders too from the dwellers in the "ark." in connection with this work he acquired an item of practical experience, an idea which was like a fruitful seed which lay germinating where it fell and continually produced fresh fruit. it was equivalent to an improvement in his circumstances to discover that he had shaken off one parasite; if only he could send the other after him and keep all his profits for himself! that sounded quite fantastic, but pelle had no desire to climb up to the heights only to fall flat on the earth again. he had obtained certain tangible experience, and he wanted to know how far it would take him. while he sat there working he pursued the question in and out among his thoughts, so that he could properly consider it. pipman was superfluous as a middleman; one could get a little work without the necessity of going to him and pouring a flask of brandy down his thirsty gullet. but was it any more reasonable that the shoes pelle made should go to the customer by way of the court shoemaker and yield him carriages and high living? could not pelle himself establish relations with his customers? and shake off meyer as he had shaken off pipman? why, of course! it was said that the court shoemaker paid taxes on a yearly income of thirty thousand kroner. "that ought to be evenly divided among all those who work for him!" thought pelle, as he hammered away at his pegs. "then father lasse wouldn't need to stay at home a day longer, or drag himself through life so miserably." here was something which he could take in hand with the feeling that he was setting himself a practical problem in economics--and one that apparently had nothing to do with his easy belief in luck. this idea was always lurking somewhere in secrecy, and held him upright through everything--although it did not afford him any definite assistance. a hardly earned instinct told him that it was only among poor people that this idea could be developed. this belief was his family inheritance, and he would retain it faithfully through all vicissitudes; as millions had done before him, always ready to cope with the unknown, until they reached the grave and resigned the inherited dream. there lay hope for himself in this, but if he miscarried, the hope itself would remain in spite of him. with fortune there was no definite promise of tangible success for the individual, but only a general promise, which was maintained through hundreds of years of servitude with something of the long patience of eternity. pelle bore the whole endless wandering within himself: it lay deep in his heart, like a great and incomprehensible patience. in his world, capacity was often great enough, but resignation was always greater. it was thoroughly accustomed to see everything go to ruin and yet to go on hoping. often enough during the long march, hope had assumed tones like those of "david's city with streets of gold," or "paradise," or "the splendor of the lord returns." he himself had questioningly given ear; but never until now had the voice of hope sounded in a song that had to do with food and clothing, house and farm; so how was he to find his way? he could only sit and meditate the problem as to how he should obtain, quickly and easily, a share in the good things of this world; presumptuously, and with an impatience for which he himself could not have accounted. and round about him things were happening in the same way. an awakening shudder was passing through the masses. they no longer wandered on and on with blind and patient surrender, but turned this way and that in bewildered consultation. the miracle was no longer to be accomplished of itself when the time was fulfilled. for an evil power had seized upon their great hope, and pressed her knees together so that she could not bring forth; they themselves must help to bring happiness into the world! the unshakable fatalism which hitherto had kept them on their difficult path was shattered; the masses would no longer allow themselves to be held down in stupid resignation. men who all their lives had plodded their accustomed way to and from their work now stood still and asked unreasonable questions as to the aim of it all. even the simple ventured to cast doubts upon the established order of things. things were no longer thus because they must be; there was a painful cause of poverty. that was the beginning of the matter; and now they conceived a desire to master life; their fingers itched to be tearing down something that obstructed them--but what it was they did not know. all this was rather like a whirlpool; all boundaries disappeared. unfamiliar powers arose, and the most good-natured became suspicious or were frankly bewildered. people who had hitherto crawled like dogs in order to win their food were now filled with self-will, and preferred to be struck down rather than bow down of their own accord. prudent folks who had worked all their lives in one place could no longer put up with the conditions, and went at a word. their hard-won endurance was banished from their minds, and those who had quietly borne the whole burden on their shoulders were now becoming restive; they were as unwilling and unruly as a pregnant woman. it was as though they were acting under the inward compulsion of an invisible power, and were striving to break open the hard shell which lay over something new within them. one could perceive that painful striving in their bewildered gaze and in their sudden crazy grasp at the empty air. there was something menacing in the very uncertainty which possessed the masses. it was as though they were listening for a word to sound out of the darkness. swiftly they resolved to banish old custom and convention from their minds, in order to make room there. on every side men continually spoke of new things, and sought blindly to find their way to them; it was a matter of course that the time had come and the promised land was about to be opened to them. they went about in readiness to accomplish something--what, they did not know; they formed themselves into little groups; they conducted unfortunate strikes, quite at random. others organized debating societies, and began in weighty speech to squabble about the new ideas--which none of them knew anything about. these were more particularly the young men. many of them had come to the city in search of fortune, as had pelle himself, and these were full of burning restlessness. there was something violent and feverish about them. such was the situation when pelle entered the capital. it was chaotic; there was no definite plan by which they could reach their goal. the masses no longer supported one another, but were in a state of solution, bewildered and drifting about in the search for something that would weld them together. in the upper ranks of society people noted nothing but the insecurity of the position of the workers; people complained of their restlessness, a senseless restlessness which jeopardized revenue and aggravated foreign competition. a few thoughtful individuals saw the people as one great listening ear; new preachers were arising who wanted to lead the crowd by new ways to god. pelle now and again allowed the stream to carry him into such quarters, but he did allow himself to be caught; it was only the old story over again; there was nothing in it. nobody now was satisfied with directions how to reach heaven--the new prophets disappeared as quickly as they had arisen. but in the midst of all this confusion there was one permanent center, one community, which had steadily increased during the years, and had fanatically endured the scorn and the persecution of those above and below, until it at last possessed several thousand of members. it stood fast in the maelstrom and obstinately affirmed that its doctrines were those of the future. and now the wind seemed to be filling its sails; it replied after its own fashion to the impatient demands for a heaven to be enjoyed here on earth and an attainable happiness. pelle had been captured by the new doctrines out by the schleswig stone, and had thrown himself, glowing and energetic, into the heart of the movement. he attended meetings and discussions, his ears on the alert to absorb anything really essential; for his practical nature called for something palpable whereupon his mind could get to work. deep within his being was a mighty flux, like that of a river beneath its ice; and at times traces of it rose to the surface, and alarmed him. yet he had no power to sound the retreat; and when he heard the complaint, in respect of the prevailing unrest, that it endangered the welfare of the nation, he was not able to grasp the connection. "it's preposterous that they should knock off work without any reason," he once told morten, when the baker's driver had thrown up his place. "like your driver, for example--he had no ground for complaint." "perhaps he suddenly got a pain between the legs because his ancestor great-grandfather was once made to ride on a wooden horse--he came from the country," said morten solemnly. pelle looked at him quickly. he did not like morten's ambiguous manner of expressing himself. it made him feel insecure. "can't you talk reasonably?" he said. "i can't understand you." "no? and yet that's quite reason enough--there have been lots of reasons since his great-grandfather's days. what the devil--why should they want a reason referring to yesterday precisely? don't you realize that the worker, who has so long been working the treadmill in the belief that the movement was caused by somebody else, has suddenly discovered that it's he that keeps the whole thing in motion? for that's what is going on. the poor man is not merely a slave who treads the wheel, and had a handful of meal shoved down his gullet now and again to keep him from starving to death. he is on the point of discovering that he performs a higher service, look you! and now the movement is altering--it is continuing of itself! but that you probably can't see," he added, as he noted pelle's incredulous expression. "no, for i'm not one of the big-bellies," said pelle, laughing, "and you're no prophet, to prophesy such great things. and i have enough understanding to realize that if you want to make a row you must absolutely have something definite to make a fuss about, otherwise it won't work. but that about the wooden horse isn't good enough!" "that's just the point about lots of fusses," morten replied. "there's no need to give a pretext for anything that everybody's interested in." pelle pondered further over all this while at work. but these deliberations did not proceed as in general; as a rule, such matters as were considered in his world of thought were fixed by the generations and referred principally to life and death. he had to set to work in a practical manner, and to return to his own significant experience. old pipman was superfluous; that pelle himself had proved. and there was really no reason why he should not shake off the court shoemaker as well; the journeymen saw to the measuring and the cutting-out; indeed, they did the whole work. he was also really a parasite, who had placed himself at the head of them all, and was sucking up their profits. but then morten was right with his unabashed assertion that the working-man carried on the whole business! pelle hesitated a little over this conclusion; he cautiously verified the fact that it was in any case valid in his craft. there was some sense in winning back his own--but how? his sound common-sense demanded something that would take the place of meyer and the other big parasites. it wouldn't do for every journeyman to sit down and botch away on his own account, like a little employer; he had seen that plainly enough in the little town at home; it was mere bungling. so he set himself to work out a plan for a cooperative business. a number of craftsmen should band together, each should contribute his little capital, and a place of business would be selected. the work would be distributed according to the various capacities of the men, and they would choose one from their midst who would superintend the whole. in this way the problem could be solved--every man would receive the full profit of his work. when he had thoroughly thought out his plan, he went to morten. "they've already put that into practice!" cried morten, and he pulled out a book. "but it didn't work particularly well. where did you get the idea from?" "i thought it out myself," answered pelle self-consciously. morten looked a trifle incredulous; then he consulted the book, and showed pelle that his idea was described there--almost word for word--as a phase of the progressive movement. the book was a work on socialism. but pelle did not lose heart on that account! he was proud to have hit on something that others had worked out before him--and learned people, too! he began to have confidence in his own ideas, and eagerly attended lectures and meetings. he had energy and courage, that he knew. he would try to make himself efficient, and then he would seek out those at the head of things, who were preparing the way, and would offer them his services. hitherto fortune had always hovered before his eyes, obscurely, like a fairy-tale, as something that suddenly swooped down upon a man and lifted him to higher regions, while all those who were left behind gazed longingly after him--that was the worst of it! but now he perceived new paths, which for all those that were in need led on to fortune, just as the "great power" had fancied in the hour of his death. he did not quite understand where everything was to come from, but that was just the thing he must discover. all this kept his mind in a state of new and unaccustomed activity. he was not used to thinking things out for himself, but had until now always adhered to the ideas which had been handed down from generation to generation as established--and he often found it difficult and wearisome. then he would try to shelve the whole subject, in order to escape from it; but it always returned to him. when he was tired, hanne regained her influence over him, and then he went over to see her in the evenings. he knew very well that this would lead to nothing good. to picture for himself a future beside hanne seemed impossible; for her only the moment existed. her peculiar nature had a certain power over him--that was all. he often vowed to himself that he would not allow her to make a fool of him--but he always went over to see her again. he must try to conquer her--and then take the consequences. one day, when work was over, he strolled across to see her. there was no one on the gallery, so he went into the little kitchen. "is that you, pelle?" hanne's voice sounded from the living-room. "come in, then!" she had apparently been washing her body, and was now sitting in a white petticoat and chemise, and combing her beautiful hair. there was something of the princess about her; she took such care of her body, and knew how it should be done. the mirror stood before her, on the window- sill; from the little back room one could see, between the roofs and the mottled party-wall, the prison and the bridge and the canal that ran beneath it. out beyond the exchange the air was gray and streaked with the tackle of ships. pelle sat down heavily by the stove, his elbows on his knees, and gazed on the floor. he was greatly moved. if only the old woman would come! "i believe i'll go out," he thought, "and behave as though i were looking out for her." but he remained sitting there. against the wall was the double bed with its red-flowered counterpane, while the table stood by the opposite wall, with the chairs pushed under it. "she shouldn't drive me too far," he thought, "or perhaps it'll end in my seizing her, and then she'll have her fingers burnt!" "why don't you talk to me, pelle?" said hanne. he raised his head and looked at her in the mirror. she was holding the end of her plait in her mouth, and looked like a kitten biting its tail. "oh, what should i talk about?" he replied morosely. "you are angry with me, but it isn't fair of you--really, it isn't fair! is it my fault that i'm so terrified of poverty? oh, how it does frighten me! it has always been like that ever since i was born, and you are poor too, pelle, as poor as i am! what would become of us both? we know the whole story!" "what will become of us?" said pelle. "that i don't know, and it's all the same to me--only it must be something i don't know all about. everything is so familiar if one is poor--one knows every stitch of one's clothes by heart; one can watch them wearing out. if you'd only been a sailor, pelle!" "have you seen _him_ again?" asked pelle. hanne laughingly shook her head. "no; but i believe something will happen--something splendid. out there lies a great ship--i can see it from the window. it's full of wonderful things, pelle." "you are crazy!" said pelle scornfully. "that's a bark--bound for the coal quay. she comes from england with coals." "that may well be," replied hanne indifferently. "i don't mind that. there's something in me singing, 'there lies the ship, and it has brought something for me from foreign parts.' and you needn't grudge me my happiness." but now her mother came in, and began to mimic her. "yes, out there lies the ship that has brought me something--out there lies the ship that has brought me something! good god! haven't you had enough of listening to your own crazy nonsense? all through your childhood you've sat there and made up stories and looked out for the ship! we shall soon have had enough of it! and you let pelle sit there and watch you uncovering your youth--aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "pelle's so good, mother--and he's my brother, too. he thinks nothing of it." "thinks nothing of it? yes, he does; he thinks how soft and white your bosom is! and he's fit to cry inside of him because he mustn't lay his head there. i, too, have known what it is to give joy, in my young days." hanne blushed from her bosom upward. she threw a kerchief over her bosom and ran into the kitchen. the mother looked after her. "she's got a skin as tender as that of a king's daughter. wouldn't one think she was a cuckoo's child? her father couldn't stand her. 'you've betrayed me with some fine gentleman'--he used so often to say that. 'we poor folks couldn't bring a piece like that into the world!' 'as god lives, johnsen,' i used to say, 'you and no other are the girl's father.' but he used to beat us--he wouldn't believe me. he used to fly into a rage when he looked at the child, and he hated us both because she was so fine. so its no wonder that she had gone a bit queer in the head. you can believe she's cost me tears of blood, pelle. but you let her be, pelle. i could wish you could get her, but it wouldn't be best for you, and it isn't good for you to have her playing with you. and if you got her after all, it would be even worse. a woman's whims are poor capital for setting up house with." pelle agreed with her in cold blood; he had allowed himself to he fooled, and was wasting his youth upon a path that led nowhere. but now there should be an end of it. hanne came back and looked at him, radiant, full of visions. "will you take me for a walk, pelle?" she asked him. "yes!" answered pelle joyfully, and he threw all his good resolutions overboard. v pelle and his little neighbor used to compete as to which of them should be up first in the morning. when she was lucky and had to wake him her face was radiant with pride. it sometimes happened that he would lie in bed a little longer, so that he should not deprive her of a pleasure, and when she knocked on the wall he would answer in a voice quite stupid with drowsiness. but sometimes her childish years demanded the sleep that was their right, when pelle would move about as quietly as possible, and then, at half-past six, it would be his turn to knock on the wall. on these occasions she would feel ashamed of herself all the morning. her brothers were supposed to get their early coffee and go to work by six o'clock. peter, who was the elder, worked in a tin-plate works, while earl sold the morning papers, and undertook every possible kind of occasional work as well; this he had to hunt for, and you could read as much in his whole little person. there was something restless and nomadic about him, as though his thoughts were always seeking some outlet. it was quite a lively neighborhood at this time of day; across the floor of the well, and out through the tunnel-like entry there was an endless clattering of footsteps, as the hundreds of the "ark" tumbled out into the daylight, half tipsy with sleep, dishevelled, with evidence of hasty rising in their eyes and their garments, smacking their lips as though they relished the contrast between the night and day, audibly yawning as they scuttled away. up in pelle's long gangway factory girls, artisans, and newspaper women came tumbling out, half naked; they were always late, and stood there scolding until their turn came to wash themselves. there was only one lavatory at either end of the gangway, and there was only just time to sluice their eyes and wake themselves up. the doors of all the rooms stood open; the odors of night were heavy on the air. on the days when pelle worked at home little marie was in high spirits. she sang and hummed continually, with her curiously small voice, and every few minutes she would run in and offer pelle her services. at such times she would station herself behind him and stand there in silence, watching the progress of his work, while her breathing was audibly perceptible, as a faint, whistling sound. there was a curious, still, brooding look about her little under-grown figure that reminded pelle of morten's unhappy sister; something hard and undeveloped, as in the fruit of a too-young tree. but the same shadow did not lie upon her; childish toil had not steeped her as with a bitter sap; only her outer shell was branded by it. there was about her, on the contrary, a gleam of careful happiness, as though things had turned out much better than she had expected. perhaps this was because she could see the result of her hard childish labors; no one could scatter that to the winds. she was a capable little housewife, and her brothers respected her, and faithfully brought home what they earned. then she took what she needed, laid something by toward the rent, in a box which was put away in the chest of drawers, and gave them something wherewith to amuse themselves. "they must have something!" she told people; "besides, men always need money in their pockets. but they deserve it, for they have never yet spent a farthing in drink. on saturday nights they always come straight home with their earnings. but now i must get on with my work; it's dreadful how the time runs through one's hands." she talked just like a young married woman, and pelle inwardly chuckled over her. after a while she would peep in again; it was time for pelle to have a bite of something; or else she would bring her mending with her and sit down on the edge of a chair. she was always in a fidget lest a saucepan should boil over, or something else go amiss. at such times they had long, sensible talks. little marie did not care about gossip; but there were plenty of serious things which had to be talked over; the difficult times, marie's parents, and then the wonderful fact that they had met one another once before, a long time ago; that was an event which provided her with an inexhaustible mine of discussion, although she herself could not remember the occasion. but pelle remembered it all quite well, and over and over again he had to tell her how one day at home he had gone down to the harbor, in order to show old thatcher holm the steamers; and she always laughed when she heard how holm had run away in his alarm every time the steam-crane blew off steam. and then? yes, the steamer was just on the point of taking on board a heap of furniture, old beds, tables, and the like. "that was all ours!" cried marie, clapping her hands. "we still had a few things then. we took them to the pawn-shop when father lay ill after his fall." and then she would meet his gaze, asking for more. and in the midst of all the furniture stood a man with a fine old mirror in his arms. thatcher holm knew him, and had a talk with him. "he was crying, wasn't he?" asked marie compassionately. "father was so unhappy, because things were going so badly with us." and then she herself would talk about the hotel, down among the cliffs of the east coast, and of the fine guests who came there in summer. three years they had kept the hotel, and pelle had to name the sum out of which her father had been cheated. she was proud that they had once possessed so much. ten thousand kroner! over here her father had found work as a stonemason's laborer, but one day he trod on a loose beam and fell. for a few months he lay sick, and all their household goods found their way to the pawn-shop; then he died, and then they came to the "ark." their mother did washing out of doors, but at last she became queer in the head. she could not bear unhappiness, and neglected her housework, to run about seeking consolation from all sorts of religious sects. at last she was quite demented, and one day she disappeared. it was believed that she had drowned herself in the canal. "but things are going well with us now," marie always concluded; "now there's nothing to worry about." "but don't you get tired of having all this to look after?" pelle would ask, wondering. she would look at him in astonishment. "why should i be tired? there's not more than one can manage--if one only knows how to manage. and the children never make things difficult for me; they are pleased with everything i do." the three orphans struggled on as well as they could, and were quite proud of their little household. when things went badly with them, they went hungry, and took serious counsel together; but they accepted help from no one. they lived in the continual fear that the police would get to know of their position, and haul them off to school. then they would be forcibly separated and brought up at the expense of the poorrates. they were shy, and "kept themselves to themselves." in the "ark" everybody liked them, and helped them to keep their secret. the other inmates managed their family affairs as best they could; there was always a scandal somewhere. it was a sort of satisfaction to have these three children living so decently in the midst of all this hotch-potch. people thought a great deal of their little model household, and protected it as though it had been a sanctuary. to pelle they attached themselves blindly. they had picked him up out of the streets, and they certainly regarded him to some extent as a foundling who was still under their protection. when marie had given the boys their morning coffee, she carried some in to pelle--it was no use protesting. and in the mornings, when she was busy indoors by herself, she would go round to him with broom and bucket. her precocious, intelligent face was beaming with circumspection and the desire to help. she did not ask permission, but set to work where need was. if pelle was away at beck's workshop, he always found his room clean and tidy in the evening. if he had work at home, she would bring coffee for the two of them during the morning. he did not dare to drive her away, for she would take that to heart, and would go about offended all the rest of the day; so he would run below to fetch a roll of white bread. marie always found some pretext for putting aside her share for the boys; it gave her no real pleasure to enjoy anything by herself. pelle felt that he was making headway; and he was conscious of his own youth. he was continually in the rosiest of humors, and even hanne could not throw any real shadow over his existence. in his relations with her there was something of a beautiful unreality; they left no permanent scar upon his heart. he felt quite simply ashamed in the presence of this much tried child, whenever something cropped up to put him out of temper. he felt it was his duty to brighten her poverty-stricken life with his high spirits. he chatted merrily to her, chaffed her, teased her, to charm her from her unnatural solemnity. and she would smile, in her quiet, motherly fashion, as one smiles at a much-loved child who seeks to drive away our cares--and would then offer to do something for him. "shall i wash out your blouse or do up your shirt?" she would ask. her gratitude always found its expression in some kind of work. "no, thanks, marie; hanne and her mother look after that." "but that's not work for the princess--i can do it much better." "the princess?" said pelle, raising his head. "is that what they call her?" "only us children--we don't mean it unkindly. but we always played at there being a princess when she was with us--and she was always the princess. but do you know what? some one will come and take her away-- some one very distinguished. she has been promised from the cradle to a fine gentleman." "what nonsense!" said pelle crossly. "but that's really true! when it rained we used to sit under the gallery--in the corner by the dustbin--and she used to tell us--and it's really true! and, besides, don't you think she's fascinating? she's really just like a princess--like that!" marie made a gesture in the air with her fingers outspread. "and she knows everything that is going to happen. she used to run down to us, in the courtyard, in her long dress, and her mother used to stand up above and call her; then she'd sit on the grating as if it was a throne and she was the queen and we were her ladies. she used to braid our hair, and then dress it beautifully with colored ribbons, and when i came up here again mother used to tear it all down and make my hair rough again. it was a sin against god to deck one's self out like that, she said. and when mother disappeared i hadn't time to play down there any more." "poor little girl!" said pelle, stroking her hair. "why do you say that?" she asked him, looking at him in astonishment. he enjoyed her absolute confidence, and was told things that the boys were not allowed to know. she began to dress more carefully, and her fine fair hair was always brushed smoothly back from her forehead. she was delighted when they both had some errand in the city. then she put on her best and went through the streets at his side, her whole face smiling. "now perhaps people will think we are a couple of lovers--but what does it matter? let them think it!" pelle laughed; with her thirteen years she was no bigger than a child of nine, so backward in growth was she. she often found it difficult to make both ends meet; she would say little or nothing about it, but a kind of fear would betray itself in her expression. then pelle would speak cheerfully of the good times that would soon be coming for all poor people. it cost him a great deal of exertion to put this in words so as to make it sound as it ought to sound. his thoughts were still so new--even to himself. but the children thought nothing of his unwieldy speech; to them it was easier to believe in the new age than it was to him. vi pelle was going through a peculiar change at this time. he had seen enough need and poverty in his life; and the capital was simply a battlefield on which army upon army had rushed forward and had miserably been defeated. round about him lay the fallen. the town was built over them as over a cemetery; one had to tread upon them in order to win forward and harden one's heart. such was life in these days; one shut one's eyes--like the sheep when they see their comrades about to be slaughtered--and waited until one's own turn came. there was nothing else to do. but now he was awake and suffering; it hurt him with a stabbing pain whenever he saw others suffer; and he railed against misfortune, unreasonable though it might be. there came a day when he sat working at home. at the other end of the gangway a factory girl with her child had moved in a short while before. every morning she locked the door and went to work--and she did not return until the evening. when pelle came home he could hear the sound of crying within the room. he sat at his work, wrestling with his confused ideas. and all the time a curious stifled sound was in his ears--a grievous sound, as though something were incessantly complaining. perhaps it was only the dirge of poverty itself, some strophe of which was always vibrating upon the air. little marie came hurrying in. "oh, pelle, it's crying again!" she said, and she wrung her hands anxiously upon her hollow chest. "it has cried all day, ever since she came here--it is horrible!" "we'll go and see what's wrong," said pelle, and he threw down his hammer. the door was locked; they tried to look through the keyhole, but could see nothing. the child within stopped its crying for a moment, as though it heard them, but it began again at once; the sound was low and monotonous, as though the child was prepared to hold out indefinitely. they looked at one another; it was unendurable. "the keys on this gangway do for all the doors," said marie, under her breath. with one leap pelle had rushed indoors, obtained his key, and opened the door. close by the door sat a little four-year-old boy; he stared up at them, holding a rusty tin vessel in his hand. he was tied fast to the stove; near him, on an old wooden stool, was a tin plate containing a few half- nibbled crusts of bread. the child was dressed in filthy rags and presented a shocking appearance. he sat in his own filth; his little hands were covered with it. his tearful, swollen face was smeared all over with it. he held up his hands to them beseechingly. pelle burst into tears at the horrible sight and wanted to pick the child up. "let me do that!" cried marie, horrified. "you'll make yourself filthy!" "what then?" said pelle stupidly. he helped to untie the child; his hands were trembling. to some extent they got the child to rights and gave him food. then they let him loose in the long gangway. for a time he stood stupidly gaping by the doorpost; then he discovered that he was not tied up, and began to rush up and down. he still held in his hand the old tea-strainer which he had been grasping when they rescued him; he had held on to it convulsively all the time. marie had to dip his hand in the water in order to clean the strainer. from time to time he stood in front of pelle's open door, and peeped inside. pelle nodded to him, when he went storming up and down again--he was like a wild thing. but suddenly he came right in, laid the tea- strainer in pelle's lap and looked at him. "am i to have that?" asked pelle. "look, marie, he is giving me the only thing he's got!" "oh, poor little thing!" cried marie pityingly. "he wants to thank you!" in the evening the factory girl came rushing in; she was in a rage, and began to abuse them for breaking into her room. pelle wondered at himself, that he was able to answer her so quietly instead of railing back at her. but he understood very well that she was ashamed of her poverty and did not want any one else to see it. "it is unkind to the child," was all he said. "and yet you are fond of it!" then she began to cry. "i have to tie him up, or he climbs out over the window-sill and runs into the street--he got to the corner once before. and i've no clothes, to take him to the crêche!" "then leave the door open on the gangway! we will look after him, marie and i." after this the child tumbled about the gangway and ran to and fro. marie looked after him, and was like a mother to him. pelle bought some old clothes, and they altered them to fit him. the child looked very droll in them; he was a little goblin who took everything in good part. in his loneliness he had not learned to speak, but now speech came quickly to him. in pelle this incident awakened something quite novel. poverty he had known before, but now he saw the injustice that lay beneath it, and cried to heaven. his hands would suddenly clench with anger as he sat so quietly in his room. here was something one must hasten forward, without intermission, day and night, as long as one drew breath--morten was right about that! this child's father was a factory hand, and the girl dared not summon him before the magistrates in order to make him pay for its support for fear of being dismissed from her place. the whole business seemed so hopeless--society seemed so unassailable--yet he felt that he must strike a blow. his own hands alone signified so little; but if they could only strike the blow all together--then perhaps it would have some effect. in the evenings he and morten went to meetings where the situation was passionately discussed. those who attended these meetings were mostly young people like himself. they met in some inn by the north bridge. but pelle longed to see some result, and applied himself eagerly to the organization of his own craft. he inspired the weary president with his own zeal, and they prepared together a list of all the members of their trade--as the basis of a more vigorous agitation. when the "comrades" were invited to a meeting through the press, they turned lazy and failed to appear. more effectual means were needed; and pelle started a house-to-house agitation. this helped immediately; they were in a dilemma when one got them face to face, and the union was considerably increased, in spite of the persecution of the big masters. morten began to treat him with respect; and wanted him to read about the movement. but pelle had no time for that. together with peter and karl, who were extremely zealous, he took in _the working man_, and that was enough for him. "i know more about poverty than they write there," he said. there was no lack of fuel to keep this fire burning. he had participated in the march of poverty, from the country to the town and thence to the capital, and there they stood and could go no farther for all their longing, but perished on a desert shore. the many lives of the "ark" lay always before his eyes as a great common possession, where no one need conceal himself, and where the need of the one was another's grief. his nature was at this time undergoing a great change. there was an end of his old careless acceptance of things. he laughed less and performed apparently trivial actions with an earnestness which had its comical side. and he began to display an appearance of self-respect which seemed ill-justified by his position and his poverty. one evening, when work was over, as he came homeward from beck's workshop, he heard the children singing hanne's song down in the courtyard. he stood still in the tunnel-like entry; hanne herself stood in the midst of a circle, and the children were dancing round her and singing: "i looked from the lofty mountain down over vale and lea, and i saw a ship come sailing, sailing, sailing, i saw a ship come sailing, and on it were lordlings three." on hanne's countenance lay a blind, fixed smile; her eyes were tightly closed. she turned slowly about as the children sang, and she sang softly with them: "the youngest of all the lordlings who on the ship did stand..." but suddenly she saw pelle and broke out of the circle. she went up the stairs with him. the children, disappointed, stood calling after her. "aren't you coming to us this evening?" she asked. "it is so long since we have seen you." "i've no time. i've got an appointment," replied pelle briefly. "but you must come! i beg you to, pelle." she looked at him pleadingly, her eyes burning. pelle's heart began to thump as he met her gaze. "what do you want with me?" he asked sharply. hanne stood still, gazing irresolutely into the distance. "you must help me, pelle," she said, in a toneless voice, without meeting his eye. "yesterday i met.... yesterday evening, as i was coming out of the factory ... he stood down below here ... he knows where i live. i went across to the other side and behaved as though i did not see him; but he came up to me and said i was to go to the new market this evening!" "and what did you say to that?" answered pelle sulkily. "i didn't say anything--i ran as hard as i could!" "is that all you want me for?" cried pelle harshly. "you can keep away from him, if you don't want him!" a cold shudder ran through her. "but if he comes here to look for me?... and you are so.... i don't care for anybody in the world but you and mother!" she spoke passionately. "well, well, i'll come over to you," answered pelle cheerfully. he dressed himself quickly and went across. the old woman was delighted to see him. hanne was quite frolicsome; she rallied him continually, and it was not long before he had abandoned his firm attitude and allowed himself to be drawn into the most delightful romancing. they sat out on the gallery under the green foliage, hanne's face glowing to rival the climbing pelargonium; she kept on swinging her foot, and continually touched pelle's leg with the tip of her shoe. she was nervously full of life, and kept on asking the time. when her mother went into the kitchen to make coffee, she took pelle's hand and smilingly stroked it. "come with me," she said. "i should so like to see if he is really so silly as to think i'd come. we can stand in a corner somewhere and look out." pelle did not answer. "mother," said hanne, when madam johnsen returned with the coffee, "i'm going out to buy some stuff for my bodice. pelle's coming with me." the excuse was easy to see through. but the old woman betrayed no emotion. she had already seen that hanne was well disposed toward pelle to-day; something was going on in the girl's mind, and if pelle only wanted to, he could now bridle her properly. she had no objection to make if both the young people kicked over the traces a little. perhaps then they would find peace together. "you ought to take your shawl with you," she told hanne. "the evening air may turn cold." hanne walked so quickly that pelle could hardly follow her. "it'll be a lark to see his disappointment when we don't turn up," she said, laughing. pelle laughed also. she stationed herself behind one of the pillars of the town hall, where she could peep out across the market. she was quite out of breath, she had hurried so. gradually, as the time went by and the stranger did not appear, her animation vanished; she was silent, and her expression was one of disappointment. "no one's going to come!" she said suddenly, and she laughed shortly. "i only made up the whole thing to tell you, to see what you'd say." "then let's go!" said pelle quietly, and he took her hand. as they went down the steps, hanne started; and her hand fell limply from his. the stranger came quickly up to her. he held out his hand to hanne, quietly and as a matter of course, as though he had known her for years. pelle, apparently, he did not see. "will you come somewhere with me--where we can hear music, for example?" he asked, and he continued to hold her hand. she looked irresolutely at pelle. for a moment pelle felt an inordinate longing to throw himself upon this man and strike him to the ground, but then he met hanne's eyes, which wore an expression as though she was longing for some means of shaking him off. "well, it looks as if one was in the way here!" he thought. "and what does it all matter to me?" he turned away from her and sauntered off down a side street. pelle strolled along to the quays by the gasworks, and he stood there, sunk in thought, gazing at the ships and the oily water. he did not suffer; it was only so terribly stupid that a strange hand should appear out of the unknown, and that the bird which he with all his striving could not entice, should have hopped right away on to that hand. below the quay-wall the water plashed with a drowsy sound; fragments of wood and other rubbish floated on it; it was all so home-like! out by the coal-quay lay a three-master. it was after working hours; the crew were making an uproar below decks, or standing about on deck and washing themselves in a bucket. one well-grown young seaman in blue clothes and a white neckerchief came out of the cabin and stared up at the rigging as though out of habit, and yawned. then he strolled ashore. his cap was on the back of his head, and between his teeth was a new pipe. his face was full of freakish merriment, and he walked with a swing of the hips. as he came up to pelle he swayed to and fro a few times and then bumped into him. "oh, excuse me!" he said, touching his cap. "i thought it was a scratching-post, the gentleman stood so stiff. well, you mustn't take it amiss!" and he began to go round and round pelle, bending far forward as though he were looking for something on him, and finally he pawed his own ears, like a friendly bear, and shook with laughter. he was overflowing with high spirits and good humor. pelle had not shaken off his feeling of resentment; he did not know whether to be angry or to laugh at the whole thing. he turned about cautiously, so as to keep his eye on the sailor, lest the latter should pull his feet from under him. he knew the grip, and also how it should be parried; and he held his hands in readiness. suddenly something in the stooping position struck him as familiar. this was per kofod--howling peter, from the village school at home, in his own person! he who used to roar and blubber at the slightest word! yes, this was he! "good evening, per!" he cried, delighted, and he gave him a thump in the back. the seaman stood up, astonished. "what the devil! good evening! well, that i should meet you here, pelle; that's the most comical thing i've ever known! you must excuse my puppy-tricks! really!" he shook pelle heartily by the hand. they loafed about the harbor, chatting of old times. there was so much to recall from their schooldays. old fris with his cane, and the games on the beach! per kofod spoke as though he had taken part in all of them; he had quite forgotten that he used always to stand still gripping on to something and bellowing, if the others came bawling round him. "and nilen, too, i met him lately in new orleans. he is second mate on a big american full-rigged ship, and is earning big money. a smart fellow he is. but hang it all, he's a tough case! always with his revolver in his hand. but that's how it has to be over there--among the niggers. still, one fine day they'll slit his belly up, by god they will! now then, what's the matter there?" from some stacks of timber near by came a bellowing as of some one in torment, and the sound of blows. pelle wanted, to turn aside, but per kofod seized his arm and dragged him forward. in among the timber-stacks three "coalies" were engaged in beating a fourth. he did not cry out, but gave vent to a muffled roar every time he received a blow. the blood was flowing down his face. "come on!" shouted per kofod, hitching up his trousers. and then, with a roar, he hurled himself into their midst, and began to lay about him in all directions. it was like an explosion with its following hail of rocks. howling peter had learned to use his strength; only a sailor could lay about him in that fashion. it was impossible to say where his blows were going to fall; but they all went home. pelle stood by for a moment, mouth and eyes open in the fury of the fray; then he, too, tumbled into the midst of it, and the three dock-laborers were soon biting the dust. "damn it all, why did you interfere!" said pelle crossly, when it was over, as he stood pulling his collar straight. "i don't know," said howling peter. "but it does one no harm to bestir one's self a bit for once!" after the heat of the battle they had all but forgotten the man originally attacked; he lay huddled up at the foot of a timber-stack and made no sound. they got him on his legs again, but had to hold him upright; he stood as limp as though asleep, and his eyes were staring stupidly. he was making a heavy snoring sound, and at every breath the blood made two red bubbles at his nostrils. from time to time he ground his teeth, and then his eyes turned upward and the whites gleamed strangely in his coal-blackened face. the sailor scolded him, and that helped him so far that he was able to stand on his feet. they drew a red rag from his bulging jacket-pocket, and wiped the worst of the blood away. "what sort of a fellow are you, damn it all, that you can't stand a drubbing?" said per kofod. "i didn't call for help," said the man thickly. his lips were swollen to a snout. "but you didn't hit back again! yet you look as if you'd strength enough. either a fellow manages to look after himself or he sings out so that others can come to help him. d'ye see, mate?" "i didn't want to bring the police into it; and i'd earned a thrashing. only they hit so damned hard, and when i fell they used their clogs." he lived in the saksogade, and they took each an arm. "if only i don't get ill now!" he groaned from time to time. "i'm all a jelly inside." and they had to stop while he vomited. there was a certain firm for which he and his mates had decided no longer to unload, as they had cut down the wages offered. there were only four of them who stuck to their refusal; and what use was it when others immediately took their place? the four of them could only hang about and play the gentleman at large; nothing more came of it. but of course he had given his word--that was why he had not hit back. the other three had found work elsewhere, so he went back to the firm and ate humble pie. why should he hang about idle and killing time when there was nothing to eat at home? he was damned if he understood these new ways; all the same, he had betrayed the others, for he had given his word. but they had struck him so cursedly hard, and had kicked him in the belly with their clogs. he continued rambling thus, like a man in delirium, as they led him along. in the saksogade they were stopped by a policeman, but per kofod quickly told him a story to the effect that the man had been struck on the head by a falling crane. he lived right up in the attics. when they opened the door a woman who lay there in child-bed raised herself up on the iron bedstead and gazed at them in alarm. she was thin and anemic. when she perceived the condition of her husband she burst into a heartrending fit of crying. "he's sober," said pelle, in order to console her; "he has only got a bit damaged." they took him into the kitchen and bathed his head over the sink with cold water. but per kofod's assistance was not of much use; every time the woman's crying reached his ears he stopped helplessly and turned his head toward the door; and suddenly he gave up and tumbled head-foremost down the back stairs. "what was really the matter with you?" asked pelle crossly, when he, too, could get away. per was waiting at the door for him. "perhaps you didn't hear her hymn-singing, you blockhead! but, anyhow, you saw her sitting up in bed and looking like wax? it's beastly, i tell you; it's infamous! he'd no need to go making her cry like that! i had the greatest longing to thrash him again, weak as a baby though he was. the devil--what did he want to break his word for?" "because they were starving, per!" said pelle earnestly. "that does happen at times in this accursed city." kofod stared at him and whistled. "oh, satan! wife and child, and the whole lot without food--what? and she in childbed. they were married, right enough, you can see that. oh, the devil! what a honeymoon! what misery!" he stood there plunging deep into his trouser pockets; he fetched out a handful of things: chewing-tobacco, bits of flock, broken matches, and in the midst of all a crumpled ten-kroner note. "so i thought!" he said, fishing out the note. "i was afraid the girls had quite cleaned me out last night! now pelle, you go up and spin them some sort of a yarn; i can't do it properly myself; for, look you, if i know that woman she won't stop crying day and night for another twenty-four hours! that's the last of my pay. but--oh, well, blast it ... we go to sea to-morrow!" "she stopped crying when i took her the money," said pelle, when he came down again. "that's good. we sailors are dirty beasts; you know; we do our business into china and eat our butter out of the tarbucket; all the same, we--i tell you, i should have left the thing alone and used the money to have made a jolly night of it to-night...." he was suddenly silent; he chewed at his quid as though inwardly considering his difficult philosophy. "damn it all, to-morrow we put to sea!" he cried suddenly. they went out to alleenberg and sat in the gardens. pelle ordered beer. "i can very well stand a few pints when i meet a good pal," he said, "but at other times i save like the devil. i've got to see about getting my old father over here; he's living on charity at home." "so your father's still living? i can see him still so plainly--he had a love-affair with madam olsen for some time, but then bo'sun olsen came home unexpectedly; they thought he'd remain abroad." pelle laughed. much water had run into the sea since those days. now he was no longer ashamed of father lasse's foolish prank. light was gleaming from the booths in the garden. young couples wandered about and had their fortunes told; they ventured themselves on the wheel of happiness, or had their portraits cut out by the silhouette artist. by the roundabout was a mingled whirl of cries and music and brightly colored petticoats. now and again a tremendous outcry arose, curiously dreadful, over all other sounds, and from the concert-pavilion one heard the cracked, straining voices of one-time "stars." wretched little worldlings came breathlessly hurrying thither, pushing through the crowd, and disappeared into the pavilion, nodding familiarly to the man in the ticket-office window. "it's really quite jolly here," said per kofod. "you have a damn good time of it on land!" on the wide pathway under the trees apprentices, workmen, soldiers, and now and again a student, loitered up and down, to and fro, looking sideways at the servant-girls, who had stationed themselves on either side of the walk, standing there arm-in-arm, or forming little groups. their eyes sent many a message before ever one of them stopped and ventured to speak. perhaps the maiden turned away; if so, that was an end of the matter, and the youngster began the business all over again. or perhaps she ran off with him to one of the closed arbors, where they drank coffee, or else to the roundabouts. several of the young people were from pelle's home; and every time he heard the confident voices of the bornholm girls pelle's heart stirred like a bird about to fly away. suddenly his troubles returned to his mind. "i really felt inclined, this evening, to have done with the whole thing.... just look at those two, per!" two girls were standing arm-in-arm under a tree, quite close to their table. they were rocking to and fro together, and now and again they glanced at the two young men. "nothing there for me--that's only for you land-lubbers," said per kofod. "for look you now, they're like so many little lambs whose ears you've got to tickle. and then it all comes back to you in the nights when you take the dog-watch alone; you've told her lies, or you promised to come back again when she undid her bodice.... and in the end there she is, planted, and goin' to have a kid! it don't do. a sailor ought to keep to the naughty girls." "but married women can be frisky sometimes," said pelle. "that so, really? once i wouldn't have believed that any one could have kicked a good woman; but after all they strangle little children.... and they come and eat out of your hand if you give 'em a kind word--that's the mischief of it.... d'you remember howling peter?" "yes, as you ask me, i remember him very well." "well, his father was a sailor, too, and that's just what he did.... and she was just such a girl, one who couldn't say no, and believed everything a man told her. he was going to come back again--of course. 'when you hear the trap-door of the loft rattle, that'll be me,' he told her. but the trap-door rattled several times, and he didn't come. then she hanged herself from the trap-door with a rope. howling peter came on to the parish. and you know how they all scorned him. even the wenches thought they had the right to spit at him. he could do nothing but bellow. his mother had cried such a lot before he was born, d'ye see? yes, and then he hanged himself too--twice he tried to do it. he'd inherited that! after that he had a worse time than ever; everybody thought it honorable to ill-use him and ask after the marks on his throat. no, not you; you were the only one who didn't raise a hand to him. that's why i've so often thought about you. 'what has become of him?' i used to ask myself. 'god only knows where he's got to!'" and he gazed at pelle with a pair of eyes full of trust. "no, that was due to father lasse," said pelle, and his tone was quite childlike. "he always said i must be good to you because you were in god's keeping." "in god's keeping, did he say?" repeated per kofod thoughtfully. "that was a curious thing to say. that's a feeling i've never had. there was nothing in the whole world at that time that could have helped me to stand up for myself. i can scarcely understand how it is that i'm sitting here talking to you--i mean, that they didn't torment the life out of my body." "yes, you've altered very much. how does it really come about that you're such a smart fellow now?" "why, such as i am now, that's really my real nature. it has just waked up, that's what i think. but i don't understand really what was the matter with me then. i knew well enough i could knock you down if i had only wanted to. but i didn't dare strike out, just out of sheer wretchedness. i saw so much that you others couldn't see. damn it all, i can't make head nor tail of it! it must have been my mother's dreadful misery that was still in my bones. a horror used to come over me--quite causeless--so that i had to bellow aloud; and then the farmers used to beat me. and every time i tried to get out of it all by hanging myself, they beat me worse than ever. the parish council decided i was to be beaten. well, that's why i don't do it, pelle--a sailor ought to keep to women that get paid for it, if they have anything to do with him--that is, if he can't get married. there, you have my opinion." "you've had a very bad time," said pelle, and he took his hand. "but it's a tremendous change that's come over you!" "change! you may well say so! one moment howling peter--and the next, the strongest man on board! there you have the whole story! for look here now, at sea, of course, it was just the same; even the ship's boy felt obliged to give me a kick on the shins in passing. everybody who got a blow on a rowing passed it on to me. and when i went to sea in an american bark, there was a nigger on board, and all of them used to hound him down; he crawled before them, but you may take your oath he hated them out of the whites of his devil's eyes. but me, who treated him with humanity, he played all manner of tricks on--it was nothing to him that i was white. yet even with him i didn't dare to fetch him one-- there was always like a flabby lump in my midriff. but once the thing went too far--or else the still-born something inside me was exhausted. i just aimed at him a bit with one arm, so that he fell down. that really was a rummy business. it was, let's say, like a fairy tale where the toad suddenly turns into a man. i set to then and there and thrashed him till he was half dead. and while i was about it, and in the vein, it seemed best to get the whole thing over, so i went right ahead and thrashed the whole crew from beginning to end. it was a tremendous moment, there was such a heap of rage inside me that had got to come out!" pelle laughed. "a lucky thing that i knew you a little while ago, or you would have made mincemeat of me, after all!" "not me, mate, that was only a little joke. a fellow is in such high spirits when he comes ashore again. but out at sea it's--thrash the others, or they'll thrash you! well, that's all right, but one ought to be good to the women. that's what i've told the old man on board; he's a fellow-countryman, but a swine in his dealings with women. there isn't a single port where he hasn't a love-affair. in the south, and on the american coast. it's madman's work often, and i have to go along with him and look out that he doesn't get a knife between his ribs. 'per,' he says, 'this evening we'll go on the bust together.' 'all right, cap'n,' i say. 'but it's a pity about all the women.' 'shut your mouth, per,' he says; 'they're most of them married safe enough.' he's one of us from home, too--from a little cottage up on the heath." "what's his name, then?" said pelle, interested. "albert karlsen." "why, then he's uncle kalle's eldest, and in a way my cousin--kalle, that is to say, isn't really his father. his wife had him before she was married--he's the son of the owner of stone farm." "so he's a kongstrup, then!" cried per kofod, and he laughed loudly. "well, that's as it should be!" pelle paid, and they got up to go. the two girls were still standing by the tree. per kofod went up to one of them as though she had been a bird that might escape him. suddenly he seized her round the waist; she withdrew herself slowly from his grip and laughed in his big fair face. he embraced her once again, and now she stood still; it was still in her mind to escape, for she laughingly half-turned away. he looked deep into her eyes, then released her and followed pelle. "what's the use, pelle--why, i can hear her complaining already! a fellow ought to be well warned," he said, with a despairing accent. "but, damn it all, why should a man have so much compassion when he himself has been so cruelly treated? and the others; they've no compassion. did you see how gentle her eyes were? if i'd money i'd marry her right away." "perhaps she wouldn't have you," replied pelle. "it doesn't do to take the girls for granted." in the avenue a few men were going to and fro and calling; they were looking for their young women, who had given them the slip. one of them came up to per and pelle--he was wearing a student's cap. "have the gentlemen seen anything of our ladies?" he asked. "we've been sitting with them and treating them all the evening, and then they said they'd just got to go to a certain place, and they've gone off." they went down to the harbor. "can't you come on board with me and say how d'ye-do to the old man?" said per. "but of course, he's ashore to- night. i saw him go over the side about the time we knocked off--rigged out for chasing the girls." "i don't know him at all," said pelle; "he was at sea already when i was still a youngster. anyhow, i've got to go home to bed now--i get to work early in the mornings." they stood on the quay, taking leave of one another. per kofod promised to look pelle up next time he was in port. while they were talking the door of the after-cabin rattled. howling peter drew pelle behind a stack of coal. a powerful, bearded man came out, leading a young girl by the hand. she went slowly, and appeared to resist. he set her ceremoniously ashore, turned back to the cabin, and locked the door behind him. the girl stood still for a moment. a low 'plaint escaped her lips. she stretched her arms pleadingly toward the cabin. then she turned and went mournfully along the quay. "that was the old man," whispered per kofod. "that's how he treats them all--and yet they don't want to give him up." pelle could not utter a word; he stood there cowering, oppressed as by some terrible burden. suddenly he pulled himself together, pressed his comrade's hand, and set off quickly between the coal-stacks. after a time he turned aside and followed the young girl at a little distance. like a sleep-walker, she staggered along the quay and went over the long bridge. he feared she would throw herself in the water, so strangely did she behave. on the bridge she stood gazing across at the ship, with a frozen look on her face. pelle stood still; turned to ice by the thought that she might see him. he could not have borne to speak to her just then--much less look into her eyes. but then she moved on. her bearing was broken; from behind she looked like one of those elderly, shipwrecked females from the "ark," who shuffled along by the house-walls in trodden-down men's shoes, and always boasted a dubious past. "good god!" thought pelle, "is her dream over already? good god!" he followed her at a short distance down the narrow street, and as soon as he knew that she must have reached her dwelling he entered the tunnel. vii in the depths of pelle's soul lay a confident feeling that he was destined for something particular; it was his old dream of fortune, which would not be wholly satisfied by the good conditions for all men which he wanted to help to bring about. his fate was no longer in his eyes a grievous and crushing predestination to poverty, which could only be lifted from him by a miracle; he was lord of his own future, and already he was restlessly building it up! but in addition to this there was something else that belonged only to him and to life, something that no one else in the world could undertake. what it was he had not yet figured to himself; but it was something that raised him above all others, secretly, so that only he was conscious of it. it was the same obscure feeling of being a pioneer that had always urged him forward; and when it did take the form of a definite question he answered it with the confident nod of his childhood. yes, he would see it through all right! as though that which was to befall him was so great and so wonderful that it could not be put into words, nor even thought of. he saw the straight path in front of him, and he sauntered on, strong and courageous. there were no other enemies than those a prudent man might perceive; those lurking forces of evil which in his childhood had hovered threateningly above his head were the shadows of the poor man's wretchedness. there was nothing else evil, and that was sinister enough. he knew now that the shadows were long. morten was right. although he himself when a child had sported in the light, yet his mind was saddened by the misery of all those who were dead or fighting in distant parts of the earth; and it was on this fact that the feeling of solidarity must be based. the miraculous simply had no existence, and that was a good thing for those who had to fight with the weapon of their own physical strength. no invisible deity sat overhead making his own plans for them or obstructing others. what one willed, that could one accomplish, if only he had strength enough to carry it through. strength--it was on that and that alone that everything depended. and there was strength in plenty. but the strength of all must be united, must act as the strength of one. people always wondered why pelle, who was so industrious and respectable, should live in the "ark" instead of in the northern quarter, in the midst of the movement. he wondered at himself when he ever thought about it at all; but he could not as yet tear himself away from the "ark." here, at the bottom of the ladder, he had found peace in his time of need. he was too loyal to turn his back on those among whom he had been happy. he knew they would feel it as a betrayal; the adoration with which the inmates of the "ark" regarded the three orphan children was also bestowed upon him; he was the foundling, the fourth member of the "family," and now they were proud of him too! it was not the way of the inmates of the "ark" to make plans for the future. sufficient to the day was the evil thereof; to-morrow's cares were left for the morrow. the future did not exist for them. they were like careless birds, who had once suffered shipwreck and had forgotten it. many of them made their living where they could; but however down in the world they were, let the slightest ray of sunlight flicker down to them, and all was forgotten. of the labor movement and other new things they gossiped as frivolously as so many chattering starlings, who had snapped up the news on the wind. but pelle went so confidently out into the world, and set his shoulders against it, and then came back home to them. he had no fear; he could look life straight in the face, he grappled boldly with the future, before which they shudderingly closed their eyes. and thereby his name came to be spoken with a particular accent; pelle was a prince; what a pity it was that he wouldn't, it seemed, have the princess! he was tall and well-grown, and to them he seemed even taller. they went to him in their misery, and loaded it all on his strong young shoulders, so that he could bear it for them. and pelle accepted it all with an increasing sense that perhaps it was not quite aimlessly that he lingered here--so near the foundations of society! at this time widow frandsen and her son ferdinand came upon the scene. misfortune must house itself somewhere! ferdinand was a sturdy young fellow of eighteen years, with a powerfully modelled head, which looked as though it had originally been intended to absorb all the knowledge there is in all the world. but he used it only for dispensing blows; he had no other use for it whatever. yet he was by no means stupid; one might even call him a gifted young man. but his gifts were of a peculiar quality, and had gradually become even more peculiar. as a little child he had been forced to fight a besotted father, in order to protect his mother, who had no other protector. this unequal battle _had_ to be fought; and it necessarily blunted his capacity for feeling pain, and particularly his sense of danger. he knew what was in store for him, but he rushed blindly into the fray the moment his mother was attacked; just as a dog will attack a great beast of prey, so he hung upon the big man's fists, and would not be shaken off. he hated his father, and he longed in his heart to be a policeman when he was grown up. with his blind and obtuse courage he was particularly adapted to such a calling; but he actually became a homeless vagabond. gradually as he grew in height and strength and the battle was no longer so unequal, his father began to fear him and to think of revenge; and once, when ferdinand had thoroughly thrashed him, he reported him, and the boy was flogged. the boy felt this to be a damnable piece of injustice; the flogging left scars behind it, and another of its results was that his mother was no longer left in peace. from that time onward he hated the police, and indulged his hatred at every opportunity. his mother was the only being for whom he still cared. it was like a flash of sunshine when his father died. but it came too late to effect any transformation; ferdinand had long ago begun to look after his mother in his own peculiar way--which was partly due to the conditions of his life. he had grown up in the streets, and even when quite a child was one of those who are secretly branded. the police knew him well, and were only awaiting their opportunity to ask him inside. ferdinand could see it in their eyes--they reckoned quite confidently on that visit, and had got a bed already for him in their hotel on the new market. but ferdinand would not allow himself to be caught. when he had anything doubtful in hand, he always managed to clear himself. he was an unusually strong and supple young fellow, and was by no means afraid to work; he obtained all kinds of occasional work, and he always did it well. but whenever he got into anything that offered him a future, any sort of regular work which must be learned and attacked with patience, he could never go on with it. "you speak to him, pelle!" said his mother. "you are so sensible, and he does respect you!" pelle did speak to him, and helped him to find some calling for which he was suited; and ferdinand set to work with a will, but when he got to a certain point he always threw it up. his mother never lacked actual necessaries; although sometimes he only procured them at the last moment. when not otherwise engaged, he would stand in some doorway on the market-place, loafing about, his hands in his pockets, his supple shoulders leaning against the wall. he was always in clogs and mittens; at stated intervals he spat upon the pavement, his sea-blue eyes following the passers-by with an unfathomable expression. the policeman, who was aggressively pacing up and down his beat, glanced at him in secret every time he passed him, as much as to say, "shan't we ever manage to catch the rogue? why doesn't he make a slip?" and one day the thing happened--quite of itself, and not on account of any clumsiness on his part--in the "ark" they laid particular stress upon that. it was simply his goodness of heart that was responsible. had ferdinand not been the lad he was, matters had not gone awry, for he was a gifted young man. he was in the grocer's shop on the corner of the market buying a few coppers' worth of chewing-tobacco. an eight-year-old boy from the "ark" was standing by the counter, asking for a little flour on credit for his mother. the grocer was making a tremendous fuss about the affair. "put it down--i dare say! one keeps shop on the corner here just to feed all the poor folks in the neighborhood! i shall have the money to-morrow? peculiar it is, that in this miserable, poverty-stricken quarter folks are always going to have money the very next day! only the next day never comes!" "herre petersen can depend on it," said the child, in a low voice. the grocer continued to scoff, but began to weigh the meal. before the scales there was a pile of yard brooms and other articles, but ferdinand could see that the grocer was pressing the scale with his fingers. he's giving false weight because it's for a poor person, thought ferdinand, and he felt an angry pricking in his head, just where his thoughts were. the boy stood by, fingering something concealed in his hand. suddenly a coin fell on the floor and went rolling round their feet. quick as lightning the grocer cast a glance at the till, as he sprang over the counter and seized the boy by the scruff of the neck. "ay, ay," he said sharply, "a clever little rogue!" "i haven't stolen anything!" cried the boy, trying to wrench himself loose and to pick up his krone-piece. "that's mother's money!" "you leave the kid alone!" said ferdinand threateningly. "he hasn't done anything!" the grocer struggled with the boy, who was twisting and turning in order to recover his money. "hasn't done anything!" he growled, panting, "then why did he cry out about stealing before ever i had mentioned the word? and where does the money come from? he wanted credit, because they hadn't got any! no, thanks--i'm not to be caught like that." "the money belongs to mother!" shrieked the youngster, twisting desperately in the grocer's grip. "mother is ill--i'm to get medicine with it!" and he began to blubber. "it's quite right--his mother is ill!" said ferdinand, with a growl. "and the chemist certainly won't give credit. you'd best let him go, petersen." he took a step forward. "you've thought it out nicely!" laughed the grocer scornfully, and he wrenched the shop-door open. "here, policeman, here!" the policeman, who was keeping watch at the street corner, came quickly over to the shop. "here's a lad who plays tricks with other folks' money," said the grocer excitedly. "take care of him for a bit, iversen!" the boy was still hitting out in all directions; the policeman had to hold him off at arm's length. he was a ragged, hungry little fellow. the policeman saw at a glance what he had in his fingers, and proceeded to drag him away; and there was no need to have made any more ado about the matter. ferdinand went after him and laid his hand on the policeman's arm. "mister policeman, the boy hasn't done anything," he said. "i was standing there myself, and i saw that he did nothing, and i know his mother!" the policeman stood still for a moment, measuring ferdinand with a threatening eye; then he dragged the boy forward again, the latter still struggling to get free, and bellowing: "my mother is ill; she's waiting for me and the medicine!" ferdinand kept step with them, in his thin canvas shoes. "if you drag him off to the town hall, i shall come with you, at all events, and give evidence for him," he continued; "the boy hasn't done anything, and his mother is lying sick and waiting for the medicine at home." the policeman turned about, exasperated. "yes, you're a nice witness. one crow don't pick another's eyes out. you mind your own business--and just you be off!" ferdinand stood his ground. "who are you talking to, you laban?" he muttered, angrily looking the other up and down. suddenly he took a run and caught the policeman a blow in the neck so that he fell with his face upon the pavement while his helmet rolled far along the street. ferdinand and the boy dashed off, each in a different direction, and disappeared. and now they had been hunting him for three weeks already. he did not dare go home. the "ark" was watched night and day, in the hope of catching him--he was so fond of his mother. god only knew where he might be in that rainy, cold autumn. madam frandsen moved about her attic, lonely and forsaken. it was a miserable life. every morning she came over to beg pelle to look in _the working man_, to see whether her son had been caught. he was in the city--pelle and madam frandsen knew that. the police knew it also; and they believed him responsible for a series of nocturnal burglaries. he might well be sleeping in the outhouses and the kennels of the suburban villas. the inmates of the "ark" followed his fate with painful interest. he had grown up beneath their eyes. he had never done anything wrong there; he had always respected the "ark" and its inhabitants; that at least could be said of him, and he loved his mother dearly. and he had been entirely in the right when he took the part of the boy; a brave little fellow he was! his mother was very ill; she lived at the end of one of the long gangways, and the boy was her only support. but it was a mad undertaking to lay hands on the police; that was the greatest crime on earth! a man had far better murder his own parents--as far as the punishment went. as soon as they got hold of him, he would go to jail, for the policeman had hit his handsome face against the flagstones; according to the newspaper, anybody but a policeman would have had concussion of the brain. * * * * * old madam frandsen loved to cross the gangway to visit pelle, in order to talk about her son. "we must be cautious," she said. at times she would purse up her mouth, tripping restlessly to and fro; then he knew there was something particular in the wind. "shall i tell you something?" she would ask, looking at him importantly. "no; better keep it to yourself," pelle would reply. "what one doesn't know one can't give evidence about." "you'd better let me chatter, pelle--else i shall go running in and gossiping with strangers. old chatterbox that i am, i go fidgeting round here, and i've no one i can trust; and i daren't even talk to myself! then that pipman hears it all through the wooden partition; it's almost more than i can bear, and i tremble lest my toothless old mouth should get him into trouble!" "well, then, tell it me!" said pelle, laughing. "but you mustn't speak loud." "he's been here again!" she whispered, beaming. "this morning, when i got up, there was money for me in the kitchen. do you know where he had put it? in the sink! he's such a sensible lad! he must have come creeping over the roofs--otherwise i can't think how he does it, they are looking for him so. but you must admit that--he's a good lad!" "if only you can keep quiet about it!" said pelle anxiously. she was so proud of her son! "m--m!" she said, tapping her shrunken lips. "no need to tell me that-- and do you know what i've hit on, so that the bloodhounds shan't wonder what i live on? i'm sewing canvas slippers." then came little marie with mop and bucket, and the old woman hobbled away. it was a slack time now in master beck's workshop, so pelle was working mostly at home. he could order his hours himself now, and was able to use the day, when people were indoors, in looking up his fellow- craftsmen and winning them for the organization. this often cost him a lengthy argument, and he was proud of every man he was able to inscribe. he very quickly learned to classify all kinds of men, and he suited his procedure to the character of the man he was dealing with; one could threaten the waverers, while others had to be enticed or got into a good humor by chatting over the latest theories with them. this was good practice, and he accustomed himself to think rapidly, and to have his subject at his fingers' ends. the feeling of mastery over his means continually increased in strength, and lent assurance to his bearing. he had to make up for neglecting his work, and at such times he was doubly busy, rising early and sitting late at his bench. he kept away from his neighbors on the third story; but when he heard hanne's light step on the planking over there, he used to peep furtively across the well. she went her way like a nun--straight to her work and straight home again, her eyes fixed on the ground. she never looked up at his window, or indeed anywhere. it was as though her nature had completed its airy flutterings, as though it now lay quietly growing. it surprised him that he should now regard her with such strange and indifferent eyes, as though she had never been anything to him. and he gazed curiously into his own heart--no, there was nothing wrong with him. his appetite was good, and there was nothing whatever the matter with his heart. it must all have been a pleasant illusion, a mirage such as the traveller sees upon his way. certainly she was beautiful; but he could not possibly see anything fairy-like about her. god only knew how he had allowed himself to be so entangled! it was a piece of luck that he hadn't been caught--there was no future for hanne. madam johnsen continued to lean on him affectionately, and she often came over for a little conversation; she could not forget the good times they had had together. she always wound up by lamenting the change in hanne; the old woman felt that the girl had forsaken her. "can you understand what's the matter with her, pelle? she goes about as if she were asleep, and to everything i say she answers nothing but 'yes, mother; yes, mother!' i could cry, it sounds so strange and empty, like a voice from the grave. and she never says anything about good fortune now--and she never decks herself out to be ready for it! if she'd only begin with her fool's tricks again--if she only cared to look out and watch for the stranger--then i should have my child again. but she just goes about all sunk into herself, and she stares about her as if she was half asleep, as though she were in the middle of empty space; and she's never in any spirits now. she goes about so unmeaning--like with her own dreary thoughts, it's like a wandering corpse. can you understand what's wrong with her?" "no, i don't know," answered pelle. "you say that so curiously, as if you did know something and wouldn't come out with it--and i, poor woman, i don't know where to turn." the good-natured woman began to cry. "and why don't you come over to see us any more?" "oh, i don't know--i've so much on hand, madam johnsen," answered pelle evasively. "if only she's not bewitched. she doesn't enter into anything i tell her; you might really come over just for once; perhaps that would cheer her up a little. you oughtn't to take your revenge on us. she was very fond of you in her way--and to me you've been like a son. won't you come over this evening?" "i really haven't the time. but i'll see, some time," he said, in a low voice. and then she went, drooping and melancholy. she was showing her fifty years. pelle was sorry for her, but he could not make up his mind to visit her. "you are quite detestable!" said marie, stamping angrily on the floor. "it's wretched of you!" pelle wrinkled his forehead. "you don't understand, marie." "oh, so you think i don't know all about it? but do you know what the women say about you? they say you're no man, or you would have managed to clip hanne's feathers." pelle gazed at her, wondering; he said nothing, but looked at her and shook his head. "what are you staring at me for?" she said, placing herself aggressively in front of him. "perhaps you think i'm afraid to say what i like to you? don't you stare at me with that face, or you'll get one in the mouth!" she was burning red with shame. "shall i say something still worse? with you staring at me with that face? eh? no one need think i'm ashamed to say what i like!" her voice was hard and hoarse; she was quite beside herself with rage. pelle was perfectly conscious that it was shame that was working in her. she must be allowed to run down. he was silent, but did not avert his reproachful gaze. suddenly she spat in his face and ran into her own room with a malicious laugh. there she was very busy for a time. there for a time she worked with extreme vigor, but presently grew quieter. through the stillness pelle could hear her gently sobbing. he did not go in to her. such scenes had occurred between them before, and he knew that for the rest of the day she would be ashamed of herself, and it would he misery for her to look him in the face. he did not wish to lessen that feeling. he dressed himself and went out. viii the "ark" now showed as a clumsy gray mass. it was always dark; the autumn daylight was unable to penetrate it. in the interior of the mass the pitch-black night brooded continually; those who lived there had to grope their way like moles. in the darkness sounds rose to the surface which failed to make themselves noticeable in the radiance of summer. innumerable sounds of creatures that lived in the half-darkness were heard. when sleep had laid silence upon it all, the stillness of night unveiled yet another world: then the death-watches audibly bored their way beneath the old wall-papers, while rats and mice and the larvae of wood-beetles vied with one another in their efforts. the darkness was full of the aromatic fragrance of the falling worm-dust. all through this old box of a building dissolution was at work, with thousands of tiny creatures to aid it. at times the sound of it all rose to a tremendous crash which awoke pelle from sleep, when some old worm-eaten timber was undermined and sagged in a fresh place. then he would turn over on the other side. when he went out of an evening he liked to make his way through the cheerful, crowded streets, in order to share in the brightness of it all; the rich luxury of the shops awakened something within him which noted the startling contrast between this quarter of the town and his own. when he passed from the brightly lit city into his own quarter, the streets were like ugly gutters to drain the darkness, and the "ark" rose mysteriously into the sky of night like a ponderous mountain. dark cellar-openings led down into the roots of the mountain, and there, in its dark entrails, moved wan, grimy creatures with smoky lamps; there were all those who lived upon the poverty of the "ark"--the old iron merchant, the old clothes merchant, and the money-lender who lent money upon tangible pledges. they moved fearfully, burrowing into strange- looking heaps. the darkness was ingrained in them; pelle was always reminded of the "underground people" at home. so the base of the cliffs had opened before his eyes in childhood, and he had shudderingly watched the dwarfs pottering about their accursed treasure. here they moved about like greedy goblins, tearing away the foundations from under the careless beings in the "ark," so that one day these might well fall into the cellars--and in the meantime they devoured them hair and hide. at all events, the bad side of the fairy tale was no lie! one day pelle threw down his work in the twilight and went off to carry out his mission. pipman had some days earlier fallen drunk from the rickety steps, and down in the well the children of the quarter surrounded the place where he had dropped dead, and illuminated it with matches. they could quite plainly see the dark impress of a shape that looked like a man, and were all full of the spectacle. outside the mouth of the tunnel-like entry he stopped by the window of the old clothes dealer's cellar. old pipman's tools lay spread out there in the window. so she had got her claws into them too! she was rummaging about down there, scurfy and repulsive to look at, chewing an unappetizing slice of bread-and-butter, and starting at every sound that came from above, so anxious was she about her filthy money! pelle needed a new heel-iron, so he went in and purchased that of pipman. he had to haggle with her over the price. "well, have you thought over my proposal?" she asked, when the deal was concluded. "what proposal?" said pelle, in all ignorance. "that you should leave your cobbling alone and be my assistant in the business." so that was what she meant? no, pelle hadn't thought over it sufficiently. "i should think there isn't much to think over. i have offered you more than you could earn otherwise, and there's not much to do. and i keep a man who fetches and carries things. it's mostly that i have a fancy to have a male assistant. i am an old woman, going about alone here, and you are so reliable, i know that." she needed some one to protect all the thousands of kroner which she had concealed in these underground chambers. pelle knew that well enough-- she had approached him before on the subject. "i should scarcely be the one for that--to make my living out of the poverty of others," said pelle, smiling. "perhaps i might knock you over the head and distribute all your pennies to the poor!" the old woman stared at him for a moment in alarm. "ugh, what a horrible thing to say!" she cried, shuddering. "you libel your good heart, joking about such things. now i shan't like to stay here in the cellar any longer when you've gone. how can you jest so brutally about life and death? day and night i go about here trembling for my life, and yet i've nothing at all, the living god knows i've nothing. that is just gossip! everybody looks at me as much as to say, 'i'd gladly strike you dead to get your money!' and that's why i'd like to have a trustworthy man in the business; for what good is it to me that i've got nothing when they all believe i have? and there are so many worthless fellows who might fall upon one at any moment." "if you have nothing, you can be easy," said pelle teasingly. "no need for an empty stomach to have the nightmare!" "have nothing! of course one always has something! and pelle"--she leaned confidentially over him with a smirk on her face--"now mary will soon come home, perhaps no later than this summer. she has earned so much over there that she can live on it, and she'll still be in the prime of her youth. what do you think of that? in her last letter she asked me to look out for a husband for her. he need only be handsome, for she has money enough for two. then she'd rent a big house in the fine part of the city, and keep her own carriage, and live only for her handsome husband. what do you say to that, pelle?" "well, that is certainly worth thinking over!" answered pelle; he was in overflowing high spirits. "thinking over? is that a thing to think over? many a poor lord would accept such an offer and kiss my hand for it, if only he were here." "but i'm not a lord, and now i must be going." "won't you just see her pictures?" the old woman began to rummage in a drawer. "no." pelle only wanted to be gone. he had seen these pictures often enough, grimed with the air of the cellar and the old woman's filthy hands; pictures which represented mary now as a slim figure, striped like a tiger-cat, as she sang in the fashionable variety theaters of st. petersburg, now naked, with a mantle of white furs, alone in the midst of a crowd of russian officers--princes, the old woman said. there was also a picture from the aquarium, in which she was swimming about in a great glass tank amid some curious-looking plants, with nothing on her body but golden scales and diamond ornaments. she had a magnificent body--that he could plainly see; but that she could turn the heads of fabulously wealthy princes and get thousands out of their pockets merely by undressing herself--that he could not understand. and he was to take her to wife, was he?--and to get all that she had hoarded up! that was tremendously funny! that beat everything! he went along the high street with a rapid step. it was raining a little; the light from the street lamps and shop-windows was reflected in the wet flagstones; the street wore a cheerful look. he went onward with a feeling that his mind was lifted above the things of everyday; the grimy old woman who lived as a parasite on the poverty of the "ark" and who had a wonderful daughter who was absorbing riches like a leech. and on top of it all the little pelle with the "lucky curl," like the curly-haired apprentice in the story! here at last was the much-longed- for fairy tale! he threw back his head and laughed. pelle, who formerly used to feel insults so bitterly, had achieved a sense of the divinity of life. that evening his round included the rabarber ward. pelle had made himself a list, according to which he went forth to search each ward of the city separately, in order to save himself unnecessary running about. first of all, he took a journeyman cobbler in smith street; he was one of meyer's regular workers, and pelle was prepared for a hard fight. the man was not at home. "but you can certainly put him down," said his wife. "we've been talking it over lately, and we've come to see it's really the best thing." that was a wife after pelle's heart. many would deny that their husbands were at home when they learned what pelle wanted; or would slam the door in his face; they were tired of his running to and fro. he visited various houses in gardener street, castle street, norway street, making his way through backyards and up dark, narrow stairs, up to the garrets or down to the cellars. over all was the same poverty; without exception the cobblers were lodged in the most miserable holes. he had not a single success to record. some had gone away or were at fresh addresses; others wanted time to consider or gave him a direct refusal. he promised himself that he would presently give the wobblers another call; he would soon bring them round; the others he ticked off, keeping them for better times-- their day too would come before long! it did not discourage him to meet with refusals; he rejoiced over the single sheep. this was a work of patience, and patience was the one thing in which he had always been rich. he turned into hunter street and entered a barrack-like building, climbing until he was right under the roof, when he knocked on a door. it was opened by a tall thin man with a thin beard. this was peter, his fellow-'prentice at home. they were speedily talking of the days of their apprenticeship, and the workshop at home with all the curious company there. there was not much that was good to be said of master jeppe. but the memory of the young master filled them with warmth. "i often think of him in the course of the year," said peter. "he was no ordinary man. that was why he died." there was something abstracted about peter; and his den gave one an impression of loneliness. nothing was left to remind one of the mischievous fellow who must always be running; but something hostile and obstinate glowed within his close-set eyes. pelle sat there wondering what could really be the matter with him. he had a curious bleached look as though he had shed his skin; but he wasn't one of the holy sort, to judge by his conversation. "peter, what's the truth of it--are you one of us?" said pelle suddenly. a disagreeable smile spread over peter's features. "am i one of you? that sounds just like when they ask you--have you found jesus? have you become a missionary?" "you are welcome to call it that," replied pelle frankly, "if you'll only join our organization. we want you." "you won't miss me--nobody is missed, i believe, if he only does his work. i've tried the whole lot of them--churches and sects and all--and none of them has any use for a man. they want one more listener, one more to add to their list; it's the same everywhere." he sat lost in thought, looking into vacancy. suddenly he made a gesture with his hands as though to wave something away. "i don't believe in anything any longer, pelle--there's nothing worth believing in." "don't you believe in improving the lot of the poor, then? you haven't tried joining the movement?" asked pelle. "what should i do there? they only want to get more to eat--and the little food i need i can easily get. but if they could manage to make me feel that i'm a man, and not merely a machine that wants a bit more greasing, i'd as soon be a thin dog as a fat one." "they'd soon do that!" said pelle convincingly. "if we only hold together, they'll have to respect the individual as well, and listen to his demands. the poor man must have his say with the rest." peter made an impatient movement. "what good can it do me to club folks on the head till they look at me? it don't matter a damn to me! but perhaps they'd look at me of their own accord--and say, of their own accord--'look, there goes a man made in god's image, who thinks and feels in his heart just as i do!' that's what i want!" "i honestly don't understand what you mean with your 'man,'" said pelle irritably. "what's the good of running your head against a wall when there are reasonable things in store for us? we want to organize ourselves and see if we can't escape from slavery. afterward every man can amuse himself as he likes." "well, well, if it's so easy to escape from slavery! why not? put down my name for one!" said peter, with a slightly ironical expression. "thanks, comrade!" cried pelle, joyfully shaking his hand. "but you'll do something for the cause?" peter looked about him forlornly. "horrible weather for you to be out in," he said, and he lighted pelle down the stairs. pelle went northward along chapel street. he wanted to look up morten. the wind was chasing the leaves along by the cemetery, driving the rain in his face. he kept close against the cemetery wall in order to get shelter, and charged against the wind, head down. he was in the best of humors. that was two new members he had won over; he was getting on by degrees! what an odd fish peter had become; the word, "man, man," sounded meaningless to pelle's ears. well, anyhow, he had got him on the list. suddenly he heard light, running steps behind him. the figure of a man reached his side, and pushed a little packet under pelle's arm without stopping for a moment. at a short distance he disappeared. it seemed to pelle as though he disappeared over the cemetery wall. under one of the street lamps he stopped and wonderingly examined the parcel; it was bound tightly with tape. "for mother" was written upon it in an awkward hand. pelle was not long in doubt--in that word "mother" he seemed plainly to hear ferdinand's hoarse voice. "now madam frandsen will be delighted," he thought, and he put it in his pocket. during the past week she had had no news of ferdinand. he dared no longer venture through kristianshavn. pelle could not understand how ferdinand had lit upon him. was he living out here in the rabarber ward? morten was sitting down, writing in a thick copybook. he closed it hastily as pelle entered. "what is that?" asked pelle, who wanted to open the book; "are you still writing in your copybook?" morten, confused, laid his hand on the book. "no. besides--oh, as far as that goes," he said, "you may as well know. i have written a poem. but you mustn't speak of it." "oh, do read it out to me!" pelle begged. "yes; but you must promise me to be silent about it, or the others will just think i've gone crazy." he was quite embarrassed, and he stammered as he read. it was a poem about poor people, who bore the whole world on their upraised hands, and with resignation watched the enjoyment of those above them. it was called, "let them die!" and the words were repeated as the refrain of every verse. and now that morten was in the vein, he read also an unpretentious story of the struggle of the poor to win their bread. "that's damned fine!" cried pelle enthusiastically. "monstrously good, morten! i don't understand how you put it together, especially the verse. but you're a real poet. but i've always thought that--that you had something particular in you. you've got your own way of looking at things, and they won't clip your wings in a hurry. but why don't you write about something big and thrilling that would repay reading-- there's nothing interesting about us!" "but i find there is!" "no, i don't understand that. what can happen to poor fellows like us?" "then don't you believe in greatness?" to be sure pelle did. "but why shouldn't we have splendid things right away?" "you want to read about counts and barons!" said morten. "you are all like that. you regard yourself as one of the rabble, if it comes to that! yes, you do! only you don't know it! that's the slave-nature in you; the higher classes of society regard you as such and you involuntarily do the same. yes, you may pull faces, but it's true, all the same! you don't like to hear about your own kind, for you don't believe they can amount to anything! no, you must have fine folks-- always rich folks! one would like to spit on one's past and one's parents and climb up among the fine folks, and because one can't manage it one asks for it in books." morten was irritated. "no, no," said pelle soothingly, "it isn't as bad as all that!" "yes, it is as bad as all that!" cried morten passionately. "and do you know why? because you don't yet understand that humanity is holy, and that it's all one where a man is found!" "humanity is holy?" said pelle, laughing. "but i'm not holy, and i didn't really think you were!" "for your sake, i hope you are," said morten earnestly, "for otherwise you are no more than a horse or a machine that can do so much work." and then he was silent, with a look that seemed to say that the matter had been sufficiently discussed. morten's reserved expression made pelle serious. he might jestingly pretend that this was nonsense, but morten was one of those who looked into things--perhaps there was something here that he didn't understand. "i know well enough that i'm a clown compared with you," he said good- naturedly, "but you needn't be so angry on that account. by the way, do you still remember peter, who was at jeppe's with your brother jens and me? he's here, too--i--i came across him a little while ago. he's always looking into things too, but he can't find any foundation to anything, as you can. he believes in nothing in the whole world. things are in a bad way with him. it would do him good if he could talk with you." "but i'm no prophet--you are that rather than i," said morten ironically. "but you might perhaps say something of use to him. no, i'm only a trades unionist, and that's no good." on his way home pelle pondered honestly over morten's words, but he had to admit that he couldn't take them in. no, he had no occasion to surround his person with any sort of holiness or halo; he was only a healthy body, and he just wanted to do things. ix pelle came rushing home from master beck's workshop, threw off his coat and waistcoat, and thrust his head into a bucket of water. while he was scrubbing himself dry, he ran over to the "family." "would you care to come out with me? i have some tickets for an evening entertainment--only you must hurry up." the three children were sitting round the table, doing tricks with cards. the fire was crackling in the stove, and there was a delicious smell of coffee. they were tired after the day's work and they didn't feel inclined to dress themselves to go out. one could see how they enjoyed feeling that they were at home. "you should give hanne and her mother the tickets," said marie, "they never go out." pelle thought the matter over while he was dressing. well, why not? after all, it was stupid to rake up an old story. hanne did not want to go with him. she sat with downcast eyes, like a lady in her boudoir, and did not look at him. but madam johnsen was quite ready to go--the poor old woman quickly got into her best clothes. "it's a long time since we two have been out together, pelle," she said gaily, as they walked through the city. "you've been so frightfully busy lately. they say you go about to meetings. that is all right for a young man. do you gain anything by it?" "yes, one could certainly gain something by it--if only one used one's strength!" "what can you gain by it, then? are you going to eat up the germans again, as in my young days, or what is it you are after?" "we want to make life just a little happier," said pelle quietly. "oh, you don't want to gain anything more than happiness? that's easy enough, of course!" said madam johnsen, laughing loudly. "why, to be sure, in my pretty young days too the men wanted to go to the capital to make their fortunes. i was just sixteen when i came here for purposes of my own--where was a pretty girl to find everything splendid, if not here? one easily made friends--there were plenty to go walking with a nice girl in thin shoes, and they wanted to give her all sorts of fine things, and every day brought its happiness with it. but then i met a man who wanted to do the best thing by me, and who believed in himself, too. he got me to believe that the two of us together might manage something lasting. and he was just such a poor bird as i was, with empty hands--but he set to valiantly. clever in his work he was, too, and he thought we could make ourselves a quiet, happy life, cozy between our four walls, if only we'd work. happiness--pooh! he wanted to be a master, at all costs--for what can a journeyman earn! and more than once we had scraped a little together, and thought things would be easier now; but misfortune always fell on us and took it all away. it's always hovering like a great bird over the poor man's home; and you must have a long stick if you want to drive it away! it was always the same story whenever we managed to get on a little. a whole winter he was ill. we only kept alive by pawning all we'd got, stick by stick. and when the last thing had gone to the devil we borrowed a bit on the pawn-ticket." the old woman had to pause to recover her breath. "why are we hurrying like this?" she said, panting. "any one would think the world was trying to run away from us!" "well, there was nothing left!" she continued, shuffling on again. "and he was too tired to begin all over again, so we moved into the 'ark.' and when he'd got a few shillings he sought consolation--but it was a poor consolation for me, who was carrying hanne, that you may believe! she was like a gift after all that misfortune; but he couldn't bear her, because our fancy for a little magnificence was born again in her. she had inherited that from us--poor little thing!--with rags and dirt to set it off. you should just have seen her, as quite a little child, making up the fine folks' world out of the rags she got together out of the dustbins. 'what's that?' johnsen he said once--he was a little less full than usual. 'oh, that's the best room with the carpet on the floor, and there by the stove is your room, father. but you mustn't spit on the floor, because we are rich people.'" madam johnsen began to cry. "and then he struck her on the head. 'hold your tongue!' he cried, and he cursed and swore at the child something frightful. 'i don't want to hear your infernal chatter!' that's the sort he was. life began to be a bit easier when he had drowned himself in the sewer. the times when i might have amused myself he'd stolen from me with his talk of the future, and now i sit there turning old soldiers' trousers that fill the room with filth, and when i do two a day i can earn a mark. and hanne goes about like a sleep-walker. happiness! is there a soul in the 'ark' that didn't begin with a firm belief in something better? one doesn't move from one's own choice into such a mixed louse's nest, but one ends up there all the same. and is there anybody here who is really sure of his daily bread? yes, olsens with the warm wall, but they've got their daughter's shame to thank for that." "all the more reason to set to work," said pelle. "yes, you may well say that! but any one who fights against the unconquerable will soon be tired out. no, let things be and amuse yourself while you are still young. but don't you take any notice of my complaining--me--an old whimperer, i am--walking with you and being in the dumps like this--now we'll go and amuse ourselves!" and now she looked quite contented again. "then take my arm--it's only proper with a pair of sweethearts," said pelle, joking. the old woman took his arm and went tripping youthfully along. "yes, if it had been in my young days, i would soon have known how to dissuade you from your silly tricks," she said gaily. "i should have been taking you to the dance." "but you didn't manage to get johnsen to give them up," said pelle in reply. "no, because then i was too credulous. but no one would succeed in robbing me of my youth now!" the meeting was held in a big hall in one of the side streets by the north bridge. the entertainment, which was got up by some of the agitators, was designed principally for young people; but many women and young girls were present. among other things a poem was read which dealt with an old respectable blacksmith who was ruined by a strike. "that may be very fine and touching," whispered madam johnsen, polishing her nose in her emotion, "but they really ought to have something one can laugh over. we see misfortune every day." then a small choir of artisans sang some songs, and one of the older leaders mounted the platform and told them about the early years of the movement. when he had finished, he asked if there was no one else who had something to tell them. it was evidently not easy to fill out the evening. there was no spirit in the gathering. the women were not finding it amusing, and the men sat watching for anything they could carp at. pelle knew most of those present; even the young men had hard faces, on which could be read an obstinate questioning. this homely, innocent entertainment did not appease the burning impatience which filled their hearts, listening for a promise of better things. pelle sat there pained by the proceedings; the passion for progress and agitation was in his very blood. here was such an opportunity to strike a blow for unification, and it was passing unused. the women only needed a little rousing, the factory-girls and the married women too, who held back their husbands. and they stood up there, frittering away the time with their singing and their poetry-twaddle! with one leap he stood on the platform. "all these fine words may be very nice," he cried passionately, "but they are very little use to all those who can't live on them! the clergyman and the dog earn their living with their mouths, but the rest of us are thrown on our own resources when we want to get anything. why do we slink round the point like cats on hot bricks, why all this palaver and preaching? perhaps we don't yet know what we want? they say we've been slaves for a thousand years! then we ought to have had time enough to think it out! why does so little happen, although we are all waiting for something, and are ready? is there no one anywhere who has the courage to lead us?" loud applause followed, especially from the young men; they stamped and shouted. pelle staggered down from the platform; he was covered with sweat. the old leader ascended the platform again and thanked his colleagues for their acceptable entertainment. he turned also with smiling thanks to pelle. it was gratifying that there was still fire glowing in the young men; although the occasion was unsuitable. the old folks had led the movement through evil times; but they by no means wished to prevent youth from testing itself. pelle wanted to stand up and make some answer, but madam johnsen held him fast by his coat. "be quiet, pelle," she whispered anxiously; "you'll venture too far." she would not let go of him, so he had to sit down again to avoid attracting attention. his cheeks were burning, and he was as breathless as though he had been running up a hill. it was the first time he had ventured on a public platform; excitement had sent him thither. the people began to get up and to mix together. "is it over already?" asked madam johnsen. pelle could see that she was disappointed. "no, no; now we'll treat ourselves to something," he said, leading the old woman to a table at the back of the hall. "what can i offer you?" "coffee, please, for me! but you ought to have a glass of beer, you are so warm!" pelle wanted coffee too. "you're a funny one for a man!" she said, laughing. "first you go pitching into a whole crowd of men, and then you sit down here with an old wife like me and drink coffee! what a crowd of people there are here; it's almost like a holiday!" she sat looking about her with shining eyes and rosy cheeks, like a young girl at a dance. "take some more of the skin of the milk, pelle; you haven't got any. this really is cream!" the leader came up to ask if he might make pelle's acquaintance. "i've heard of you from the president of your union," he said, giving pelle his hand. "i am glad to make your acquaintance; you have done a pretty piece of work." "oh, it wasn't so bad," said pelle, blushing. "but it really would be fine if we could really get to work!" "i know your impatience only too well," retorted the old campaigner, laughing. "it's always so with the young men. but those who really want to do something must be able to see to the end of the road." he patted pelle on the shoulders and went. pelle felt that the people were standing about him and speaking of him. god knows whether you haven't made yourself ridiculous, he thought. close by him two young men were standing, who kept on looking at him sideways. suddenly they came up to him. "we should much like to shake hands with you," said one of them. "my name is otto stolpe, and this is my brother frederik. that was good, what you said up there, we want to thank you for it!" they stood by for some little while, chatting to pelle. "it would please my father and mother too, if they could make your acquaintance," said otto stolpe. "would you care to come home with us?" "i can't very well this evening; i have some one with me," replied pelle. "you go with them," said madam johnsen. "i see some folks from kristianshavn back there, i can go home with them." "but we were meaning to go on the spree a bit now that we've at last come out!" said pelle, smiling. "god forbid! no, we've been on the spree enough for one evening, my old head is quite turned already. you just be off; that's a thing i haven't said for thirty years! and many thanks for bringing me with you." she laughed boisterously. the stolpe family lived in elm street, on the second floor of one of the new workmen's tenement houses. the stairs were roomy, and on the door there was a porcelain plate with their name on it. in the entry an elderly, well-dressed woman up to them. "here is a comrade, mother," said otto. "welcome," she said, as she took pelle's hand. she held it a moment in her own as she looked at him. in the living room sat stolpe, a mason, reading _the working man_. he was in shirt sleeves, and was resting his heavy arms on the table. he read whispering to himself, he had not noticed that a guest was in the room. "here's some one who would like to say how-d'ye-do to father," said otto, laying his hand on his father's arm. stolpe raised his head and looked at pelle. "perhaps you would like to join the union?" he asked, rising with difficulty, with one hand pressed on the table. he was tall, his hair was sprinkled with gray; his eyes were mottled from the impact of splinters of limestone. "you and your union!" said madam stolpe. "perhaps you think there's no one in it but you!" "no, mother; little by little a whole crowd of people have entered it, but all the same i was the first." "i'm already in the union," said pelle. "but not in yours. i'm a shoemaker, you know." "shoemaker, ah, that's a poor trade for a journeyman; but all the same a man can get to be a master; but to-day a mason can't do that--there's a great difference there. and if one remains a journeyman all his life long, he has more interest in modifying his position. do you understand? that's why the organization of the shoemakers has never been of more than middling dimensions. another reason is that they work in their own rooms, and one can't get them together. but now there's a new man come, who seems to be making things move." "yes, and this is he, father," said otto, laughing. "the deuce, and here i stand making a fool of myself! then i'll say how- d'ye-do over again! and here's good luck to your plans, young comrade." he shook pelle by the hand. "i think we might have a drop of beer, mother?" pelle and stolpe were soon engaged in a lively conversation; pelle was in his element. until now he had never found his way to the heart of the movement. there was so much he wanted to ask about, and the old man incontinently told him of the growth of the organization from year to year, of their first beginning, when there was only one trades unionist in denmark, namely, himself, down to the present time. he knew all the numbers of the various trades, and was precisely informed as to the development of each individual union. the sons sat silent, thoughtfully listening. when they had something to say, they always waited until the old man nodded his head to show that he had finished. the younger, frederik, who was a mason's apprentice, never said "thou" to his father; he addressed him in the third person, and his continual "father says, father thinks," sounded curious to pelle's ears. while they were still talking madam stolpe opened the door leading into an even prettier room, and invited them to go in and to drink their coffee. the living-room had already produced an extremely pleasant impression on pelle, with its oak-grained dining-room suite and its horse-hair sofa. but here was a red plush suite, an octagonal table of walnut wood, with a black inlaid border and twisted wooden feet, and an etagere full of knick-knacks and pieces of china; mostly droll, impudent little things. on the walls hung pictures of trades unions and assemblies and large photographs of workshops; one of a building during construction, with the scaffolding full of the bricklayers and their mortar-buckets beside them, each with a trowel or a beer-bottle can in his hand. on the wall over the sofa hung a large half-length portrait of a dark, handsome man in a riding-cloak. he looked half a dreamy adventurer, half a soldier. "that's the grand master," said stolpe proudly, standing at pelle's side. "there was always a crowd of women at his heels. but they kept themselves politely in the background, for a fire went out of him at such times--do you understand? then it was--men to the front! and even the laziest fellow pricked up his ears." "then he's dead now, is he?" asked pelle, with interest. stolpe did not answer. "well," he said briefly, "shall we have our coffee now?" otto winked at pelle; here evidently was a matter that must not be touched upon. stolpe sat staring into his cup, but suddenly he raised his head. "there are things one doesn't understand," he cried earnestly. "but this is certain, that but for the grand master here i and a whole host of other men wouldn't perhaps be respectable fathers of families to-day. there were many smart fellows among us young comrades, as is always the case; but as a rule the gifted ones always went to the dogs. for when a man has no opportunity to alter things, he naturally grows impatient, and then one fine day he begins to pour spirit on the flames in order to stop his mouth. i myself had that accursed feeling that i must do something, and little by little i began to drink. but then i discovered the movement, before it existed, i might venture to say; it was in the air like, d'you see. it was as though something was coming, and one sniffed about like a dog in order to catch a glimpse of it. presently it was, here it is! there it is! but when one looked into it, there was just a few hungry men bawling at one another about something or other, but the devil himself didn't know what it was. but then the grand master came forward, and that was like a flash of light for all of us. for he could say to a nicety just where the shoe pinched, although he didn't belong to our class at all. since that time there's been no need to go searching for the best people--they were always to be found in the movement! although there weren't very many of them, the best people were always on the side of the movement." "but now there's wind in the sails," said pelle. "yes, now there's talk of it everywhere. but to whom is that due? god knows, to us old veterans--and to him there!" stolpe began to talk of indifferent matters, but quite involuntarily the conversation returned to the movement; man and wife lived and breathed for nothing else. they were brave, honest people, who quite simply divided mankind into two parts: those who were for and those who were against the movement. pelle seemed to breathe more freely and deeply in this home, where the air was as though steeped in socialism. he noticed a heavy chest which stood against the wall on four twisted legs. it was thickly ornamented with nail-heads and looked like an old muniment chest. "yes--that's the standard!" said madam stolpe, but she checked herself in alarm. mason stolpe knitted his brows. "ah, well, you're a decent fellow, after all," he said. "one needn't slink on tiptoe in front of you!" he took a key out of a secret compartment in his writing-table. "now the danger's a thing of the past, but one still has to be careful. that's a vestige of the times when things used to go hardly with us. the police used to be down on all our badges of common unity. the grand master himself came to me one evening with the flag under his cloak, and said to me, 'you must look out for it, stolpe, you are the most reliable of us all.'" he and his wife unfolded the great piece of bunting. "see, that's the banner of the international. it looks a little the worse for wear, for it has undergone all sorts of treatment. at the communist meetings out in the fields, when the troops were sent against us with ball cartridge, it waved over the speaker's platform, and held us together. when it flapped over our heads it was as though we were swearing an oath to it. the police understood that, and they were mad to get it. they went for the flag during a meeting, but nothing came of it, and since then they've hunted for it so, it's had to be passed from man to man. in that way it has more than once come to me." "yes, and once the police broke in here and took father away as we were sitting at supper. they turned the whole place upside down, and dragged him off to the cells without a word of explanation. the children were little then, and you can imagine how miserable it seemed to me. i didn't know when they would let him out again." "yes, but they didn't get the colors," said stolpe, and he laughed heartily. "i had already passed them on, they were never very long in one place in those days. now they lead a comparatively quiet life, and mother and the rest of us too!" the young men stood in silence, gazing at the standard that had seen so many vicissitudes, and that was like the hot red blood of the movement. before pelle a whole new world was unfolding itself; the hope that had burned in the depths of his soul was after all not so extravagant. when he was still running, wild at home, playing the games of childhood or herding the cows, strong men had already been at work and had laid the foundations of the cause.... a peculiar warmth spread through him and rose to his head. if only it had been he who had waved the glowing standard in the face of the oppressor--he, pelle! "and now it lies here in the chest and is forgotten!" he said dejectedly. "it is only resting," said stolpe. "forgotten, yes; the police have no idea that it still exists. but fix it on a staff, and you will see how the comrades flock about it! old and young alike. there's fire in that bit of cloth! true fire, that never goes out!" carefully they folded the colors and laid them back in the chest. "it won't do even now to speak aloud of the colors! you understand?" said stolpe. there was a knock, and stolpe made haste to lock the chest and hide the key, while frederik went to the door. they looked at one another uneasily and stood listening. "it is only ellen," said frederik, and he returned, followed by a tall dark girl with an earnest bearing. she had a veil over her face, and before her mouth her breath showed like a pearly tissue. "ah, that's the lass!" cried stolpe, laughing. "what folly--we were quite nervous, just as nervous as in the old days. and you're abroad in the streets at this hour of night! and in this weather?" he looked at her affectionately; one could see that she was his darling. outwardly they were very unlike. she greeted pelle with the tiniest nod, but looked at him earnestly. there was something still and gracious about her that fascinated him. she wore dark clothes, without the slightest adornment, but they were of good sound stuff. "won't you change?" asked the mother, unbuttoning her cloak. "you are quite wet, child." "no, i must go out again at once," ellen replied. "i only wanted to peep in." "but it's really very late," grumbled stolpe. "are you only off duty now?" "yes, it's not my going-out day." "not to-day again? yes, it's sheer slavery, till eleven at night!" "that's the way things are, and it doesn't make it any better for you to scold me," said ellen courageously. "no, but you needn't go out to service. there's no sense in our children going out to service in the houses of the employers. don't you agree with me?" he turned to pelle. ellen laughed brightly. "it's all the same--father works for the employers as well." "yes, but that's a different thing. it's from one fixed hour to another, and then it's over. but this other work is a home; she goes from one home to another and undertakes all the dirty work." "father's not in a position to keep me at home." "i know that very well, but all the same i can't bear it. besides, you could surely get some other kind of work." "yes, but i don't want to! i claim the right to dispose of myself!" she replied heatedly. the others sat silent, looking nervously at one another. the veins swelled on stolpe's forehead; he was purple, and terribly angry. but ellen looked at him with a little laugh. he got up and went grumbling into the other room. her mother shook her head at ellen. she was quite pale. "oh, child, child!" she whispered. after a while stolpe returned with some old newspapers, which he wanted to show pelle. ellen stood behind his chair, looking down at them; she rested her arm on his shoulders and idly ruffled his hair. the mother pulled at her skirt. the papers were illustrated, and went back to the stirring times. the clock struck the half-hour; it was half-past eleven. pelle rose in consternation; he had quite forgotten the time. "take the lass with you," said stolpe. "you go the same way, don't you, ellen? then you'll have company. there's no danger going with her, for she's a saint." it sounded as though he wanted to make up for his scolding. "come again soon; you will always be welcome here." they did not speak much on the way home. pelle was embarrassed, and he had a feeling that she was considering him and thinking him over as they walked, wondering what sort of a fellow he might be. when he ventured to say something, she answered briefly and looked at him searchingly. and yet he found it was an interesting walk. he would gladly have prolonged it. "many thanks for your company," he said, when they stood at her house- door. "i should be very glad to see you again." "you will if we meet," she said taciturnly; but she gave him her hand for a moment. "we are sure to meet again! be sure of that!" cried pelle jovially. "but you are forgetting to reward me for my escort?" he bent over her. she gazed at him in astonishment--with eyes that were turning him to stone, he thought. then she slowly turned and went indoors. x one day, after his working hours, pelle was taking some freshly completed work to the court shoemaker's. the foreman took it and paid for it, and proceeded to give out work to the others, leaving pelle standing. pelle waited impatiently, but did no more than clear his throat now and again. this was the way of these people; one had to put up with it if one wanted work. "have you forgotten me?" he said at last, a little impatiently. "you can go," said the foreman. "you've finished here." "what does that mean?" asked pelle, startled. "it means what you hear. you've got the sack--if you understand that better." pelle understood that very well, but he wanted to establish the fact of his persecution in the presence of his comrades. "have you any fault to find with my work?" he asked. "you mix yourself up too much with things that don't concern you, my good fellow, and then you can't do the work you ought to do." "i should like very much to know what fault you have to find with my work," said pelle obstinately. "go to the devil! i've told you already!" roared the foreman. the court shoemaker came down through the door of the back room and looked about him. when he saw pelle, he went up to him. "you get out of here, and that at once!" he cried, in a rage. "do you think we give bread to people that undermine us? out, out of my place of business, mossoo trades-unionist!" pelle stood his ground, and looked his employer in the eyes; he would have struck the man a blow in the face rather than allow himself to be sent away. "be cool, now; be cool!" he said to himself. he laughed, but his features were quivering. the court shoemaker kept a certain distance, and continued to shout, "out with him! here, foreman, call the police at once!" "now you can see, comrades, how they value one here," said pelle, turning his broad back on meyer. "we are dogs; nothing more!" they stood there, staring at the counter, deaf and dumb in their dread of taking sides. then pelle went. he made his way northward. his heart was full of violent emotion. indignation raged within him like a tempest, and by fits and starts found utterance on his lips. meyer's work was quite immaterial to him; it was badly paid, and he only did it as a stop-gap. but it was disgusting to think they could buy his convictions with badly-paid work! and there they stood not daring to show their colors, as if it wasn't enough to support such a fellow with their skill and energy! meyer stood there like a wall, in the way of any real progress, but he needn't think he could strike at pelle, for he'd get a blow in return if he did! he went straight to mason stolpe, in order to talk the matter over with him; the old trades unionist was a man of great experience. "so he's one of those who go in for the open slave-trade!" said stolpe. "we've had a go at them before now. 'we've done with you, my good man; we can make no use of agitators!' and if one steals a little march on them 'off you go; you're done with here!' i myself have been like a hunted cur, and at home mother used to go about crying. i could see what she was feeling, but when i put the matter before her she said, 'hold out, stolpe, you shan't give in!' 'you're forgetting our daily bread, mother,' i say. 'oh, our daily bread. i can just go out washing!' that was in those days--they sing another tune to us now! now the master politely raises his hat to old stolpe! if he thinks he can allow himself to hound a man down, an embargo must be put on him!" pelle had nothing to say against that. "if only it works," he said. "but our organization looks weak enough as yet." "only try it; in any case, you can always damage him. he attacks your livelihood in order to strike at your conscience, so you hit back at his purse-that's where his conscience is! even if it does no good, at least it makes him realize that you're not a slave." pelle sat a while longer chatting. he had secretly hoped to meet ellen again, but he dared not ask whether that was her day for coming home. madam stolpe invited him to stay and to have supper with them she was only waiting for her sons. but pelle had no time; he must be off to think out instructions for the embargo. "then come on sunday," said the mother; "sunday is ellen's birthday." with rapid strides he went off to the president of the union; the invitation for the following sunday had dissipated the remains of his anger. the prospect of a tussle with meyer had put him in the best of tempers. he was certain of winning the president, petersen, for his purpose, if only he could find him out of bed; he himself had in his time worked for wholesale shoemakers, and hated them like the plague. it was said that petersen had worked out a clever little invention--a patent button for ladies' boots--which he had taken to meyer, as he himself did not know how to exploit it. but meyer had, without more ado, treated the invention as his own, inasmuch as it was produced by one of his workmen. he took out a patent and made a lot of money by it, trifling as the thing was. when petersen demanded a share of the profits, he was dismissed. he himself never spoke of the matter; he just sat in his cellar brooding over the injustice, so that he never managed to recover his position. almost his whole time had been devoted to the union, so that he might revenge himself through it; but it never really made much progress. he fired up passionately enough, but he was lacking in persistence. and his lungs were weak. he trembled with excitement when pelle explained his plan. "great god in heaven, if only we could get at him!" he whispered hoarsely, clenching his skinny fists which death had already marked with its dusky shadows. "i would willingly give my miserable life to see the scoundrel ruined! look at that!" he bent down, whispering, and showed pelle a file ground to a point, which was fastened into a heavy handle. "if i hadn't the children, he would have got that between his ribs long before this!" his gray, restless eyes, which reminded pelle of anker, the crazy clockmaker, had a cold, piercing expression. "yes, yes," said pelle, laying his hand soothingly on the other's; "but it's no use to do anything stupid. we shall only do what we want to do if we all stand together." the day was well spent; on the very next evening the members of the union were summoned to a meeting. petersen spoke first, and beginning with a fiery speech. it was like the final efforts of a dying man. "you organize the struggle," said petersen. "i'm no good nowadays for that-- and i've no strength. but i'll sound the assault--ay, and so that they wake up. then you yourself must see to keeping the fire alight in them." his eyes burned in their shadowy sockets; he stood there like a martyr upholding the necessity of the conflict. the embargo was agreed upon unanimously! then pelle came forward and organized the necessary plan of campaign. it was his turn now. there was no money in the chest, but every man had to promise a certain contribution to be divided among those who were refusing to work. every man must do his share to deprive meyer of all access to the labor market. and there was to be no delirious enthusiasm --which they would regret when they woke up next morning. it was essential that every man should form beforehand a clear conception of the difficulties, and must realize what he was pledging himself to. and then--three cheers for a successful issue! this business meant a lot of running about. but what of that! pelle, who had to sit such a lot, wouldn't suffer from getting out into the fresh air! he employed the evenings in making up for lost time. he got work from the small employers in kristianshavn, who were very busy in view of christmas, which made up for that which he had lost through the court shoemaker. on the second day after his dismissal, the declaration of the embargo appeared under the "labor items" in _the working man_. "assistance strictly prohibited!" it was like the day's orders, given by pelle's own word of mouth. he cut the notice out, and now and again, as he sat at his work, he took it out and considered it. this was pelle--although it didn't say so-- pelle and the big employer were having a bit of a tussle! now they should see which was the stronger! pelle went often to see stolpe. strangely enough, his visits always coincided with ellen's days off. then he accompanied her homeward, and they walked side by side talking of serious things. there was nothing impetuous about them--they behaved as though a long life lay before them. his vehemence cooled in the conflict with meyer. he was sure of ellen's character, unapproachable though she was. something in him told him that she ought to be and would remain so. she was one of those natures to whom it is difficult to come out of their shell, so as to reveal the kernel within; but he felt that there was something that was growing for him within that reserved nature, and he was not impatient. one evening he had as usual accompanied her to the door, and they stood there bidding one another good night. she gave him her hand in her shy, awkward manner, which might even mean reluctance, and was then about to go indoors. "but are we going on like this all our lives?" said pelle, holding her fingers tightly. "i love you so!" she stood there a while, with an impenetrable expression, then advanced her face and kissed him mechanically, as a child kisses, with tightly closed lips. she was already on her way to the house when she suddenly started back, drew him to herself, and kissed him passionately and unrestrainedly. there was something so violent, so wild and fanatical in her demeanor, that he was quite bewildered. he scarcely recognized her, and when he had come to himself she was already on her way up the kitchen steps. he stood still, as though blinded by a rain of fire, and heard her running as though pursued. since that day she had been another creature. her love was like the spring that comes in a single night. she could not be without him for a day; when she went out to make purchases, she came running over to the "ark." her nature had thrown off its restraint; there was tension in her manner and her movements; and this tension now and again escaped from within in little explosions. she did not say very much; when they were together, she clung to him passionately as though to deaden some pain, and hid her face; if he lifted it, she kept her eyes persistently closed. then she breathed deeply, and sat down smiling and humming to herself when he spoke to her. it was as though she was delving deep into his inmost being, and pelle, who felt the need to reach and to know that inner nature, drew confidence from her society. no matter what confronted him, he had always sought in his inner self for his natural support, anxiously listening for that which came to the surface, and unconsciously doubting and inquiring. and now, so surely as she leaned silently on his arm, she confirmed something deep within him, and her steadfast gaze vibrated within him like a proud vocation, and he felt himself infinitely rich. she spoke to something deep within him when she gazed at him so thoughtfully. but what she said he did not know--nor what answer she received. when he recalled her from that gaze of hers, as of one bewitched, she only sighed like one awaking, and kissed him. ellen was loyal and unselfish and greatly valued by her employers. there was no real development to be perceived in her--she longed to become his--and that was all. but the future was born on pelle's own lips under her dreamy gaze, as though it was she who inspired him with the illuminating words. and then she listened with an absent smile--as to something delightful; but she herself seemed to give no thought to the future. she seemed full of a hidden devotion, that filled pelle with an inward warmth, so that he held up his head very high toward the light. this constant devotion of ellen's made the children "family" teasingly call her "the saint." it gave him much secret pleasure to be admitted to her home, where the robust copenhagen humor concealed conditions quite patriarchal in their nature. everything was founded on order and respect for the parents, especially the father, who spoke the decisive word in every matter, and had his own place, in which no one else ever sat. when he came home from his work, the grown-up sons would always race to take him his slippers, and the wife always had some extra snack for him. the younger son, frederik, who was just out of his apprenticeship, was as delighted as a child to think of the day when he should become a journeyman and be able to drink brotherhood with the old man. they lived in a new, spacious, three-roomed tenement with a servant's room thrown in; to pelle, who was accustomed to find his comrades over here living in one room with a kitchen, this was a new experience. the sons boarded and lodged at home; they slept in the servant's room. the household was founded on and supported by their common energies; although the family submitted unconditionally to the master of the house, they did not do so out of servility; they only did as all others did. for stolpe was the foremost man in his calling, an esteemed worker and the veteran of the labor movement. his word was unchallenged. ellen was the only one who did not respect his supremacy, but courageously opposed him, often without any further motive than that of contradiction. she was the only girl of the family, and the favorite; and she took advantage of her position. sometimes it looked as though stolpe would be driven to extremities; as though he longed to pulverize her in his wrath; but he always gave in to her. he was greatly pleased with pelle. and he secretly admired his daughter more than ever. "you see, mother, there's something in that lass! she understands how to pick a man for himself!" he would cry enthusiastically. "yes; i've nothing against him, either," madam stolpe would reply. "a bit countrified still, but of course he's growing out of it." "countrified? he? no, you take my word, he knows what he wants. she's really found her master there!" said stolpe triumphantly. in the two brothers pelle found a pair of loyal comrades, who could not but look up to him. xi with the embargo matters were going so-so. meyer replied to it by convoking the employers to a meeting with a view to establishing an employers' union, which would refuse employment to the members of the trade union. then the matter would have been settled at one blow. however, things did not go so far as that. the small employers were afraid the journeymen would set up for themselves and compete against them. and instinctively they feared the big employers more than the journeymen, and were shy of entering the union with them. the inner tendency of the industrial movement was to concentrate everything in a few hands, and to ruin the small business. the small employers had yet another crow to pluck with meyer, who had extended his business at the expense of their own. through master beck, pelle learned what was taking place among the employers. meyer had demanded that beck should discharge pelle, but beck would not submit to him. "i can't really complain of you," he said. "your trades-unionism i don't like--you would do better to leave it alone. but with your work i am very well satisfied. i have always endeavored to render justice to all parties. but if you can knock meyer's feet from under him, we small employers will be very grateful to your union, for he's freezing us out." to knock his feet from under him-that wasn't an easy thing to do. on the contrary, he was driving the weaker brethren out of the union, and had always enough workers--partly swedes, with whom he had a written contract, and whom he had to pay high wages. the system of home employment made it impossible to get to grips with him. pelle and the president of the union carefully picketed the warehouse about the time when the work was delivered, in order to discover who was working for him. and they succeeded in snatching a few workers away from him and in bringing them to reason, or else their names were published in the working man. but then the journeymen sent their wives or children with the work--and there was really nothing that could be done. it cost meyer large sums of money to keep his business going, but the union suffered more. it had not as yet sufficient authority, and the large employers stood by meyer and would not employ members of the union as long as the embargo lasted. so it was finally raised. that was a defeat; but pelle had learned something, none the less! the victory was to the strong, and their organization was not as yet sufficient. they must talk and agitate, and hold meetings! the tendency to embrace the new ideas certainly inclined the men to organize themselves, but their sense of honor was as yet undeveloped. the slightest mishap dispersed them. pelle did not lose heart; he must begin all over again, that was all. on the morning after the defeat was an accomplished fact he was up early. his resolution to go ahead with redoubled energies, he had, so to speak, slept into him, so that it pervaded his body and put energy and decision into his hammer-strokes. he whistled as the work progressed rapidly under his hands. the window stood open so that the night air might escape; hoar frost lay on the roofs, and the stars twinkled overhead in the cold heavens. but pelle was not cold! he had just awakened the "family" and could hear them moving about in their room. people were beginning to tumble out into the gangway, still drunken with sleep. pelle was whistling a march. on the previous evening he had sent off the last instalment of his debt to sort, and at the same time had written definitely to father lasse that he was to come. and now the day was dawning! marie came and reached him his coffee through the door. "good morning!" she cried merrily, through the crack of the door. "we're going to have fine weather to-day, pelle!" she was not quite dressed yet and would not let herself be seen. the boys nodded good morning as they ran out. karl had his coat and waistcoat under his arm. these articles of clothing he always used to put on as he ran down the stairs. when it was daylight marie came in to set the room in order. she conversed with him as she scrubbed. "look here, marie!" cried pelle suddenly. "ellen came here yesterday and asked you to bring me a message when i came home. you didn't do it." marie's face became set, but she did not reply. "it was only by pure chance that i met her yesterday, otherwise we should have missed one another." "then i must have forgotten it," said marie morosely. "why, of course you forgot it. but that's the second time this week. you must be in love!" he added, smiling. marie turned her back on him. "i've got nothing to do with her--i don't owe her anything!" suddenly she cried defiantly. "and i'm not going to clean your room any longer, either--let her do it--so there!" she seized her pail and scrubbing-brush and ran into her own room. after a time he heard her voice from within the room; at first he thought she was singing a tune to herself, but then he heard sobs. he hurried into the room; she was lying on the bed, weeping, biting the pillow and striking at it angrily with her roughened hands. her thin body burned as if with fever. "you are ill, marie dear," said pelle anxiously, laying his hand on her forehead. "you ought to go to bed and take something to make you sweat. i'll warm it up for you." she was really ill; her eyes were dry and burning, and her hands were cold and clammy. but she would agree to nothing. "go away!" she said angrily, "and attend to your own work! leave me alone!" she had turned her back on him and nudged him away defiantly with her shoulder. "you'd best go in and cuddle ellen!" she cried suddenly, with a malicious laugh. "why are you like this, marie?" said pelle, distressed. "you are quite naughty!" she buried her face in the bed and would neither look at him nor answer him. so he went back to his work. after a time she came into his room again and resumed her work of cleaning. she banged the things about; pulling down some work of his that he had set to dry by the stove, and giving him a malicious sidelong look. then a cup containing paste fell to the ground and was broken. "she did that on purpose," he thought unhappily, and he put the paste into an empty box. she stood watching him with a piercing, malicious gaze. he turned to his work again, and made as though nothing had happened. suddenly he felt her thin arms about his neck. "forgive me!" she said, weeping, and she hid her face against his shoulder. "come, come, nothing very dreadful has happened! the silly old cup!" he said consolingly, as he stroked her head. "you couldn't help it!" but at that she broke down altogether, and it seemed as though her crying would destroy her meager body. "yes, i did it on purpose!" she bellowed. "and i threw down the boots on purpose, and yesterday i didn't give you the message on purpose. i would have liked to hurt you still more, i'm so bad, bad, bad! why doesn't some one give me a good beating? if you'd only once be properly angry with me!" she was quite beside herself and did not know what she was saying. "now listen to me at once--you've got to be sensible!" said pelle decidedly, "for this sort of thing is not amusing. i was pleased to think i was going to be at home to-day, so as to work beside you, and then you go and have an attack just like a fine lady!" she overcame her weeping by a tremendous effort, and went back to her room, gently sobbing. she returned at once with a cracked cup for the paste and a small tin box with a slit in the lid. this was her money- box. "take it," she said, pushing the box onto his lap. "then you can buy yourself lasts and needn't go asking the small employers for work. there's work enough here in the 'ark.'" "but, marie--that's your rent!" said pelle, aghast. "what does that matter? i can easily get the money together again by the first." oh, she could easily do that! pelle laughed, a bewildered laugh. how cheerfully she threw her money about, the money that cost her thirty days of painful thought and saving, in order to have it ready each month! "what do you think peter and karl would say to your chucking your money about like that? put the box away again safely-and be quick about it!" "oh, take it!" she cried persistently, thrusting the box upon him. again. "yes--or i'll throw it out of the window!" she quickly opened one of the sashes. pelle stood up. "it's true i still owe you for the last washing," he said, offering to put a krone in the box. "a good thing you reminded me." she stared at him with an impenetrable expression and ran back to her room. in there she moved about singing in her harsh voice. after a while she went out to make some purchases clad in a gray shawl, with her house- wife's basket on her arm. he could follow her individual step, which was light as a child's, and yet sounded so old--right to the end of the tunnel. then he went into the children's room and pulled out the third drawer in the chest of drawers. there she always hid her money-box, wrapped up in her linen. he still possessed two kroner, which he inserted in the box. he used always to pay her in this way. when she counted out her money and found there was too much, she believed the good god had put the money in her box, and would come jubilantly into his room to tell him about it. the child believed blindly in fortune, and accepted the money as a sign of election; and for her this money was something quite different to that which she herself had saved. about noon she came to invite him into her room. "there's fried herring, pelle, so you can't possibly say no," she said persuasively, "for no bornholmer could! then you needn't go and buy that stuffy food from the hawker, and throw away five and twenty ore." she had bought half a score of the fish, and had kept back five for her brothers when they came home. "and there's coffee after," she said. she had set out everything delightfully, with a clean napkin at one end of the table. the factory girl's little paul came in and was given a mouthful of food. then he ran out into the gangway again and tumbled about there, for the little fellow was never a moment still from the moment his mother let him out in the morning; there was so much to make up for after his long imprisonment. from the little idiot whom his mother had to tie to the stove because he had water on the brain and wanted to throw himself out of the window, he had become a regular vagabond. every moment he would thrust his head in at the door and look at pelle; and he would often come right in, put his hand on pelle's knee, and say, "you's my father!" then he would rush off again. marie helped him in all his infantile necessities--he always appealed to her! after she had washed up, she sat by pelle with her mending, chattering away concerning her household cares. "i shall soon have to get jackets for the boys--it's awful what they need now they're grown up. i peep in at the second-hand clothes shop every day. and you must have a new blouse, too, pelle; that one will soon be done for; and then you've none to go to the wash. if you'll buy the stuff, i'll soon make it up for you--i can sew! i made my best blouse myself--hanne helped me with it! why, really, don't you go to see hanne any longer?" "oh, i don't know." "hanne has grown so peculiar. she never comes down into the courtyard now to dance with us. she used to. then i used to watch out of the window, and run down. it was so jolly, playing with her. we used to go round and round her and sing! 'we all bow to hanne, we curtsy all to hanne, we all turn round before her!' and then we bowed and curtsied and suddenly we all turned round. i tell you, it was jolly! you ought to have taken hanne." "but you didn't like it when i took ellen. why should i have taken hanne?" "oh, i don't know ... hanne...." marie stopped, listened, and suddenly wrenched the window open. down in the "ark" a door slammed, and a long hooting sound rose up from below, sounding just like a husky scream from the crazy vinslev's flute or like the wind in the long corridors. like a strange, disconnected snatch of melody, the sound floated about below, trickling up along the wooden walls, and breaking out into the daylight with a note of ecstasy: "hanne's with child! the fairy princess is going to be confined!" marie went down the stairs like a flash. the half-grown girls were shrieking and running together in the court below; the women on the galleries were murmuring to others above and below. not that this was in itself anything novel; but in this case it was hanne herself, the immaculate, whom as yet no tongue had dared to besmirch. and even now they dared hardly speak of it openly; it had come as such a shock. in a certain sense they had all entered into her exaltation, and with her had waited for the fairy-tale to come true; as quite a child she had been elected to represent the incomprehensible; and now she was merely going to have a child! it really was like a miracle just at first; it was such a surprise to them all! marie came back with dragging steps and with an expression of horror and astonishment. down in the court the grimy-nosed little brats were screeching, as they wheeled hand in hand round the sewer-grating--it was splendid for dancing round-- "bro-bro-brille-brid hanne's doin' to have a tid!" they couldn't speak plainly yet. and there was "grete with the baby," the mad-woman, tearing her cellar- window open, leaning out of it backward, with her doll on her arm, and yelling up through the well, so that it echoed loud and shrill: "the fairy princess has got a child, and pelle's its father!" pelle bent over his work in silence. fortunately he was not the king's son in disguise in this case! but he wasn't going to wrangle with women. hanne's mother came storming out onto her gallery. "that's a shameless lie!" she cried. "pelle's name ain't going to be dragged into this--the other may be who he likes!" overhead the hearse-driver came staggering out onto his gallery. "the princess there has run a beam into her body," he rumbled, in his good- natured bass. "what a pity i'm not a midwife! they've got hold of the wrong end of it!" "clear off into your hole and hold your tongue, you body-snatcher!" cried madam johnsen, spitting with rage. "you've got to stick your brandy-nose into everything!" he stood there, half drunk, leaning over the rail, babbling, teasing, without returning madam johnsen's vituperation. but then little marie flung up a window and came to her assistance, and up from her platform ferdinand's mother emerged. "how many hams did you buy last month? fetch out your bear hams, then, and show us them! he kills a bear for every corpse, the drunkard!" from all sides they fell upon him. he could do nothing against them, and contented himself with opening his eyes and his mouth and giving vent to a "ba-a-a!" then his red-haired wife came out and hailed him in. xii from the moment when the gray morning broke there was audible a peculiar note in the buzzing of the "ark," a hoarse excitement, which thrust all care aside. down the long corridors there was a sound of weeping and scrubbing; while the galleries and the dark wooden stair-cases were sluiced with water. "look out there!" called somebody every moment from somewhere, and then it was a question of escaping the downward-streaming flood. during the whole morning the water poured from one gallery to another, as over a mill-race. but now the "ark" stood freezing in its own cleanliness, with an expression that seemed to say the old warren didn't know itself. here and there a curtain or a bit of furniture had disappeared from a window --it had found its way to the pawn shop in honor of the day. what was lacking in that way was made up for by the expectation and festive delight on the faces of the inmates. little fir-trees peeped out of the cellar entries in the city ward, and in the market-place they stood like a whole forest along the wall of the prison. in the windows of the basement-shops hung hearts and colored candles, and the grocer at the corner had a great christmas goblin in his window--it was made of red and gray wool-work and had a whole cat's skin for its beard. on the stairs of the "ark" the children lay about cleaning knives and forks with sand sprinkled on the steps. pelle sat over his work and listened in secret. his appearance usually had a quieting effect on these crazy outbursts of the "ark," but he did not want to mix himself up with this affair. and he had never even dreamed that hanne's mother could be like this! she was like a fury, turning her head, quick as lightning, now to one side, now to the other, and listening to every sound, ready to break out again! ah, she was protecting her child now that it was too late! she was like a spitting cat. "the youngest of all the lordlin's," sang the children down in the court. that was hanne's song. madam johnsen stood there as though she would like to swoop down on their heads. suddenly she flung her apron over her face and ran indoors, sobbing. "ah!" they said, and they slapped their bellies every time an odor of something cooking streamed out into the court. every few minutes they had to run out and buy five or ten ore worth of something or other; there was no end to the things that were needed in preparation for christmas eve. "we're having lovely red beetroot!" said one little child, singing, making a song of it--"we're having lovely red beetroot, aha, aha, aha!" and they swayed their little bodies to and fro as they scoured. "frederik!" a sharp voice cried from one of the corridors. "run and get a score of firewood and a white roll--a ten-ore one. but look out the grocer counts the score properly and don't pick out the crumb!" madam olsen with the warm wall was frying pork. she couldn't pull her range out onto the gallery, but she did let the pork burn so that the whole courtyard was filled with bluish smoke. "madam olsen! your pork is burning!" cried a dozen women at once. "that's because the frying-pan's too small!" replied frau olsen, thrusting her red head out through the balusters. "what's a poor devil to do when her frying-pan's too small?" and madam olsen's frying-pan was the biggest in the whole "ark"! shortly before the twilight fell pelle came home from the workshop. he saw the streets and the people with strange eyes that diffused a radiance over all things; it was the christmas spirit in his heart. but why? he asked himself involuntarily. nothing in particular was in store for him. to-day he would have to work longer than usual, and he would not be able to spend the evening with ellen, for she had to be busy in her kitchen, making things jolly for others. why, then, did this feeling possess him? it was not a memory; so far as he could look back he had never taken part in a genuine cheerful christmas eve, but had been forced to content himself with the current reports of such festivities. and all the other poor folks whom he met were in the same mood as he himself. the hard questioning look had gone from their faces; they were smiling to themselves as they went. to-day there was nothing of that wan, heavy depression which commonly broods over the lower classes like the foreboding of disaster; they could not have looked more cheerful had all their hopes been fulfilled! a woman with a feather-bed in her arms passed him and disappeared into the pawn-shop; and she looked extremely well pleased. were they really so cheerful just because they were going to have a bit of a feast, while to do so they were making a succession of lean days yet leaner? no, they were going to keep festival because the christmas spirit prevailed in their hearts, because they must keep holiday, however dearly it might cost them! it was on this night to be sure that christ was born. were the people so kind and cheerful on that account? pelle still knew by heart most of the bible texts of his school-days. they had remained stowed away somewhere in his mind, without burdening him or taking up any room, and now and again they reappeared and helped to build up his knowledge of mankind. but of christ himself he had formed his own private picture, from the day when as a boy he first stumbled upon the command given to the rich: to sell all that they had and to give to the starving. but they took precious good care not to do so; they took the great friend of the poor man and hanged him on high! he achieved no more than this, that he became a promise to the poor; but perhaps it was this promise that, after two thousand years, they were now so solemnly celebrating! they had so long been silent, holding themselves in readiness, like the wise virgins in the bible, and now at last it was coming! now at last they were beginning to proclaim the great gospel of the poor--it was a goodly motive for all this christmas joy! why did they not assemble the multitudes on the night of christ's birth and announce the gospel to them? then they would all understand the cause and would join it then and there! there was a whirl of new living thoughts in pelle's head. he had not hitherto known that that in which he was participating was so great a thing. he felt that he was serving the highest. he stood a while in the market-place, silently considering the christmas-trees--they led his thoughts back to the pasture on which he had herded the cows, and the little wood of firs. it pleased him to buy a tree, and to take the children by surprise; the previous evening they had sat together cutting out christmas-tree decorations, and karl had fastened four fir-tree boughs together to make a christmas-tree. at the grocer's he bought some sweets and christmas candles. the grocer was going about on tip-toe in honor of the day, and was serving the dirty little urchins with ceremonious bows. he was "throwing things in," and had quite forgotten his customary, "here, you, don't forget that you still owe for two lots of tea and a quarter of coffee!" but he was cheating with the scales as usual. marie was going about with rolled-up sleeves, and was very busy. but she dropped her work and came running when she saw the tree. "it won't stand here yet, pelle," she cried, "it will have to be cut shorter. it will have to be cut still shorter even now! oh, how pretty it is! no, at the end there--at the end! we had a christmas-tree at home; father went out himself and cut it down on the cliffs; and we children went with him. but this one is much finer!" then she ran out into the gangway, in order to tell the news, but it suddenly occurred to her that the boys had not come home yet, so she rushed in to pelle once more. pelle sat down to his work. from time to time he lifted his head and looked out. the seamstress, who had just moved into pipman's old den, and who was working away at her snoring machine, looked longingly at him. of course she must be lonely; perhaps there was nowhere where she could spend the evening. old madam frandsen came out on her platform and shuffled down the steep stairs in her cloth slippers. the rope slipped through her trembling hands. she had a little basket on her arm and a purse in her hand--she too looked so lonely, the poor old worm! she had now heard nothing of her son for three months. madam olsen called out to her and invited her in, but the old woman shook her head. on the way back she looked in on pelle. "he's coming this evening," she whispered delightedly. "i've been buying brandy and beefsteak for him, because he's coming this evening!" "well, don't be disappointed, madam frandsen," said pelle, "but he daren't venture here any more. come over to us instead and keep christmas with us." she nodded confidently. "he'll come tonight. on christmas eve he has always slept in mother's bed, ever since he could crawl, and he can't do without it, not if i know my ferdinand!" she had already made up a bed for herself on the chairs, so certain was she. the police evidently thought as she did, for down in the court strange footsteps were heard. it was just about twilight, when so many were coming and going unremarked. but at these steps a female head popped back over the balustrade, a sharp cry was heard, and at the same moment every gallery was filled with women and children. they hung over the rails and made an ear-splitting din, so that the whole deep, narrow shaft was filled with an unendurable uproar. it sounded as though a hurricane came raging down through the shaft, sweeping with it a hailstorm of roofing-slates. the policeman leaped back into the tunnel- entry, stupefied. he stood there a moment recovering himself before he withdrew. upstairs, in the galleries, they leaned on the rails and recovered their breath, exhausted by the terrific eruption; and then fell to chattering like a flock of small birds that have been chasing a flying hawk. "merry christmas!" was now shouted from gallery to gallery. "thanks, the same to you!" and the children shouted to one another, "a jolly feast and all the best!" "a dainty feast for man and beast!" christmas eve was here! the men came shuffling home at a heavy trot, and the factory-girls came rushing in. here and there a feeble wail filtered out of one of the long corridors, so that the milk-filled breast ached. children incessantly ran in and out, fetching the last ingredients of the feast. down by the exit into the street they had to push two tramps, who stood there shuddering in the cold. they were suspicious-looking people. "there are two men down there, but they aren't genuine," said karl. "they look as if they came out of a music-hall." "run over to old madam frandsen and tell her that," said pelle. but her only answer was, "god be thanked, then they haven't caught him yet!" over at olsen's their daughter elvira had come home. the blind was not drawn, and she was standing at the window with her huge hat with flowers in it, allowing herself to be admired. marie came running in. "have you seen how fine she is, pelle?" she said, quite stupefied. "and she gets all that for nothing from the gentlemen, just because they think she's so pretty. but at night she paints her naked back!" the children were running about in the gangway, waiting until pelle should have finished. they would not keep christmas without him. but now he, too, had finished work; he pulled on a jacket, wrapped up his work, and ran off. out on the platform he stood still for a moment. he could see the light of the city glimmering in the deep, star-filled sky. the night was so solemnly beautiful. below him the galleries were forsaken; they were creaking in the frost. all the doors were closed to keep the cold out and the joy in. "down, down from the green fir-trees!"--it sounded from every corner. the light shone through the window and in all directions through the woodwork. suddenly there was a dull booming sound on the stairs--it was the hearse-driver staggering home with a ham under either arm. then all grew quiet--quiet as it never was at other times in the "ark," where night or day some one was always complaining. a child came out and lifted a pair of questioning eyes, in order to look at the star of bethlehem! there was a light at madam frandsen's. she had hung a white sheet over the window today, and had drawn it tight; the lamp stood close to the window, so that any one moving within would cast no shadow across it. the poor old worm! thought pelle, as he ran past; she might have spared herself the trouble! when he had delivered his work he hurried over to holberg street, in order to wish ellen a happy christmas. the table was finely decked out in his room when he got home; there was pork chops, rice boiled in milk, and christmas beer. marie was glowing with pride over her performance; she sat helping the others, but she herself took nothing. "you ought to cook a dinner as good as this every day, lass!" said karl, as he set to. "god knows, you might well get a situation in the king's kitchen." "why don't you eat any of this nice food?" said pelle. "oh, no, i can't," she replied, touching her cheeks; her eyes beamed upon him. they laughed and chattered and clinked their glasses together. karl came out with the latest puns and the newest street-songs; so he had gained something by his scouring of the city streets. peter sat there looking impenetrably now at one, now at another; he never laughed, but from time to time he made a dry remark by which one knew that he was amusing himself. now and again they looked over at old madam frandsen's window-- it was a pity that she wouldn't be with them. five candles were now burning over there--they were apparently fixed on a little christmas tree which stood in a flowerpot. they twinkled like distant stars through the white curtain, and madam frandsen's voice sounded cracked and thin: "o thou joyful, o thou holy, mercy-bringing christmas-tide!" pelle opened his window and listened; he wondered that the old woman should be so cheerful. suddenly a warning voice sounded from below: "madam frandsen, there are visitors coming!" doors and windows flew open on the galleries round about. people tumbled out of doorways, their food in their hands, and leaned over the railings. "who dares to disturb our christmas rejoicings?" cried a deep, threatening voice. "the officers of the law!" the reply came out of the darkness. "keep quiet, all of you--in the name of the law!" over on madam frandsen's side two figures became visible, noiselessly running up on all fours. upstairs nothing was happening; apparently they had lost their heads. "ferdinand, ferdinand!" shrieked a girl's voice wildly; "they're coming now!" at the same moment the door flew open, and with a leap ferdinand stood on the platform. he flung a chair down at his pursuers, and violently swayed the hand-rope, in order to sweep them off the steps. then he seized the gutter and swung himself up onto the roof. "good-bye, mother!" he cried from above, and his leap resounded in the darkness. "good-bye, mother, and a merry christmas!" a howl like that of a wounded beast flung the alarm far out into the night, and they heard the stumbling pursuit of the policemen over the roofs. and then all was still. they returned unsuccessful. "well, then you haven't got him!" cried olsen, leaning out of his window down below. "no; d'you think we are going to break our necks for the like of him?" retorted the policemen, as they scrambled down. "any one going to stand a glass of christmas beer?" as no response followed, they departed. old madam frandsen went into her room and locked up; she was tired and worried and wanted to go to bed. but after a time she came shuffling down the long gangway. "pelle," she whispered, "he's in bed in my room! while they were scrambling about on the roofs he slipped quietly back over the garrets and got into my bed! good god, he hasn't slept in a bed for four months! he's snoring already!" and she slipped out again. yes, that was an annoying interruption! no one felt inclined to begin all over again excepting karl, and marie did not count him, as he was always hungry. so she cleared away, gossiping as she went in and out; she did not like to see pelle so serious. "but the secret!" she cried of a sudden, quite startled. the boys ran in to her; then they came back, close together, with marie behind them, carrying something under her apron. the two boys flung themselves upon pelle and closed his eyes, while marie inserted something in his mouth. "guess now!" she cried, "guess now!" it was a porcelain pipe with a green silken tassel. on the bowl of the pipe, which was ellen's christmas gift, was a representation of a ten-kroner note. the children had inserted a screw of tobacco. "now you'll be able to smoke properly," said marie, pursing her lips together round the mouthpiece; "you are so clever in everything else." the children had invited guests for the christmas-tree; the seamstress, the old night-watchman from the courtyard, the factory-hand with her little boy; all those who were sitting at home and keeping christmas all alone. they didn't know themselves, there were so many of them! hanne and her mother were invited too, but they had gone to bed early--they were not inclined for sociability. one after another they were pulled into the room, and they came with cheerful faces. marie turned the lamp out and went in to light up the christmas tree. they sat in silence and expectation. the light from the stove flickered cheerfully to and fro in the room, lighting up a face with closed eyelids and eager features, and dying away with a little crash. the factory hand's little boy was the only one to chatter; he had sought a refuge on pelle's knee and felt quite safe in the darkness; his childish voice sounded strangely bright in the firelight. "paul must be quite good and quiet," repeated the mother admonishingly. "mus'n't paul 'peak?" asked the child, feeling for pelle's face. "yes, to-night paul can do just as he likes," replied pelle. then the youngster chattered on and kicked out at the darkness with his little legs. "now you can come!" cried marie, and she opened the door leading to the gangway. in the children's room everything had been cleared away. the christmas-tree stood in the middle, on the floor, and was blazing with light. and how splendid it was--and how tall! now they could have a proper good look! the lights were reflected in their eyes, and in the window-panes, and in the old mahogany-framed mirror, and the glass of the cheap pictures, so that they seemed suddenly to be moving about in the midst of myriads of stars, and forgot all their miseries. it was as though they had escaped from all their griefs and cares, and had entered straightway into glory, and all of a sudden a pure, clear voice arose, tremulous with embarrassment, and the voice sang: "o little angel, make us glad! down from high heaven's halls through sunshine flown, in splendor clad, earth's shadow on thee falls!" it sounded like a greeting from the clouds. they closed their eyes and wandered, hand in hand, about the tree. then the seamstress fell silent, blushing. "you aren't singing with me!" she cried. "we'll sing the yule song--we all know that," said pelle. "down, down from the high green tree!"--it was karl who struck up. and they just did sing that! it fitted in so admirably--even the name of peter fitted in! and it was great fun, too, when all the presents cropped up in the song; every single person was remembered! only, the lines about the purse, at the end, were all too true! there wasn't much more to be said for that song! but suddenly the boys set the ring-dance going; they stamped like a couple of soldiers, and then they all went whirling round in frantic movement--a real witches' dance! "hey dicker dick, my man fell smack; it was on christmas eve! i took a stick and broke it on his back, it was on christmas eve!" how hot all the candles made it, and how it all went to one's head! they had to open the door on to the gangway. and there outside stood the inmates of the garrets, listening and craning their necks. "come inside," cried the boys. "there's room enough if we make two rings!" so once again they moved round the tree, singing christmas carols. every time there was a pause somebody struck up a new carol, that had to be sung through. the doors opposite were open too, the old rag-picker sat at the head of his table singing on his own account. he had a loaf of black bread and a plate of bacon in front of him, and after every carol he took a mouthful. in the other doorway sat three coal-porters playing "sixty-six" for beer and brandy. they sat facing toward the christmas-tree, and they joined in the singing as they played; but from time to time they broke off in the middle of a verse in order to say something or to cry "trumped!" now they suddenly threw down their cards and came into the room. "we don't want to sit here idle and look on while others are working," they said, and they joined the circle. finally they had all had enough of circling round the tree and singing. so chairs and stools were brought in from the other rooms; they had to squeeze close together, right under the sloping roof, and some sat up on the window-sill. there was a clear circle left round the christmas-tree. and there they sat gossiping, crouching in all sorts of distorted postures, as though that was the only way in which their bodies could really find repose, their arms hanging loosely between their knees. but their faces were still eager and excited; and the smoke from the candles and the crackling fir-boughs of the tree veiled them in a bluish cloud, through which they loomed as round as so many moons. the burning turpentine gave the smoke a mysterious, alluring fragrance, and the devout and attentive faces were like so many murmuring spirits, hovering in the clouds, each above its outworn body. pelle sat there considering them till his heart bled for them--that was his christmas devotion. poor storm-beaten birds, what was this splendid experience which outweighed all their privations? only a little light! and they looked as though they could fall down before it and give up their lives! he knew the life's story of each one of them better than they knew. but their faces were still eager and excited; and they themselves; when they approached the light they always burned themselves in it, like the moths, they were so chilled! "all the same, that's a queer invention, when one thinks about it," said one of the dockers, nodding toward the christmas-tree. "but it's fine. god knows what it really is supposed to mean!" "it means that now the year is returning toward the light again," said the old night-watchman. "no; it stands for the joy of the shepherds over the birth of christ," said the rag-picker, stepping into the doorway. "the shepherds were poor folks, like ourselves, who lived in the darkness. that's why they rejoiced so over him, because he came with the light." "well, it don't seem to me we've been granted such a terrible deal of light! oh, yes, the christmas-tree here, that's splendid, lord knows it is, and we should all of us like to thank the children for it--but one can't have trees like that to set light to every day; and as for the sun--well, you see, the rich folks have got a monopoly of that!" "yes, you are right there, jacob," said pelle, who was moving about round the tree, taking down the hearts and packages for the children, who distributed the sweets. "you are all three of you right--curiously enough. the christmas-tree is to remind us of christ's birth, and also that the year is returning toward the sun--but that's all the same thing. and then it's to remind us, too, that we too ought to have a share in things; christ was born especially to remind the poor of their rights! yes, that is so! for the lord god isn't one to give long-winded directions as to how one should go ahead; he sends the sun rolling round the earth every day, and each of us must look out for himself, and see how best he himself can get into the sunshine. it's just like the wife of a public-house keeper i remember at home, who used to tell travellers, 'what would you like to eat? you can have ducks or pork chops or sweets--anything you've brought with you!'" "that was a devilish funny statement!" said his hearers, laughing. "yes, it's easy enough to invite one to all sorts of fine things when all the time one has to bring them along one's self! you ought to have been a preacher." "he'd far better be the devil's advocate!" said the old rag-picker. "for there's not much christianity in what he says!" "but you yourself said that christ came bringing light for the poor," said pelle; "and he himself said as much, quite plainly; what he wanted was to make the blind to see and the dead to walk, and to restore consideration to the despised and rejected. also, he wanted men to have faith!" "the blind shall see, the lame shall walk, the leper shall be clean, the deaf shall hear, and the dead shall arise, and the word shall be preached to the poor," said the rag-picker, correcting pelle. "you are distorting the scriptures, pelle." "but i don't believe he meant only individual cripples--no, he meant all of us in our misery, and all the temptations that lie in wait for us. that's how preacher sort conceived it, and he was a godly, upright man. he believed the millennium would come for the poor, and that christ was already on the earth making ready for its coming." the women sat quite bemused, listening with open mouths; they dared scarcely breathe. paul was asleep on his mother's lap. "can he really have thought about us poor vermin, and so long beforehand?" cried the men, looking from one to another. "then why haven't we long ago got a bit more forward than this?" "yes, i too don't understand that," said pelle, hesitating. "perhaps we ourselves have got to work our way in the right direction--and that takes time." "yes, but--if he would only give us proper conditions of life. but if we have to win them for ourselves we don't need any christ for that!" this was something that pelle could not explain even to himself, although he felt it within him as a living conviction, a man must win what was due to him himself--that was clear as the day, and he couldn't understand how they could be blind to the fact; but why he must do so he couldn't--however he racked his brains--explain to another person. "but i can tell you a story," he said. "but a proper exciting story!" cried earl, who was feeling bored. "oh, if only vinslev were here--he has such droll ideas!" "be quiet, boy!" said marie crossly. "pelle makes proper speeches-- before whole meetings," she said, nodding solemnly to the others. "what is the story called?" "howling peter." "oh, it's a story with peter in it--then it's a fairy-tale! what is it about?" "you'll know that when you hear it, my child," said the old night- watchman. "yes, but then one can't enjoy it when it comes out right. isn't it a story about a boy who goes out into the world?" "the story is about"--pelle bethought himself a moment; "the story is about the birth of christ," he said quickly, and then blushed a deep red at his own audacity. but the others looked disappointed, and settled themselves decently and stared at the floor, as though they had been in church. and then pelle told them the story of howling peter; who was born and grew up in poverty and grief, until he was big and strong, and every man's cur to kick. for it was the greatest pity to see this finely-made fellow, who was so full of fear and misery that if even a girl so much as touched him he must flood himself with tears; and the only way out of his misery was the rope. what a disgrace it was, that he should have earned his daily bread and yet have been kept in the workhouse, as though they did him a kindness in allowing him a hole to creep into there, when with his capacity for work he could have got on anywhere! and it became quite unendurable as he grew up and was still misused by all the world, and treated like a dog. but then, all of a sudden, he broke the magic spell, struck down his tormentors, and leaped out into the daylight as the boldest of them all! they drew a deep breath when he had finished. marie clapped her hands. "that was a real fairy-tale!" she cried. karl threw himself upon peter and pummeled away at him, although that serious-minded lad was anything but a tyrant! they cheerfully talked the matter over. everybody had something to say about howling peter. "that was damned well done," said the men; "he thrashed the whole crew from beginning to end; a fine fellow that! and a strong one too! but why the devil did he take such a long time about it? and put up with all that?" "yes, it isn't quite so easy for us to understand that--not for us, who boast such a lot about our rights!" said pelle, smiling. "well, you're a clever chap, and you've told it us properly!" cried the cheerful jacob. "but if ever you need a fist, there's mine!" he seized and shook pelle's hand. the candles had long burned out, but they did not notice it. their eyes fastened on pelle's as though seeking something, with a peculiar expression in which a question plainly came and went. and suddenly they overwhelmed him with questions. they wanted to know enough, anyhow! he maintained that a whole world of splendors belonged to them, and now they were in a hurry to get possession of them. even the old rag-picker let himself be carried away with the rest; it was too alluring, the idea of giving way to a little intoxication, even if the everyday world was to come after it. pelle stood among them all, strong and hearty, listening to all their questions with a confident smile. he knew all that was to be theirs-- even if it couldn't come just at once. it was a matter of patience and perseverance; but that they couldn't understand just now. when they had at last entered into their glory they would know well enough how to protect it. he had no doubts; he stood there among them like their embodied consciousness, happily growing from deeply-buried roots. xiii from the foundations of the "ark" rose a peculiar sound, a stumbling, countrified footstep, dragging itself in heavy footgear over the flagstones. all pelle's blood rushed to his heart; he threw down his work, and with a leap was on the gallery, quite convinced that this was only an empty dream.... but there below in the court stood father lasse in the flesh, staring up through the timbers, as though he couldn't believe his own eyes. he had a sack filled with rubbish on his back. "hallo!" cried pelle, taking the stairs in long leaps. "hallo!" "good-day, my lad!" said lasse, in a voice trembling with emotion, considering his son with his lashless eyes. "yes, here you have father lasse--if you will have him. but where, really, did you come from? seems to me you fell down from heaven?" pelle took his father's sack. "you just come up with me," he said. "you can trust the stairs all right; they are stronger than they look." "then they are like lasse," answered the old man, trudging up close behind him; the straps of his half-wellingtons were peeping out at the side, and he was quite the old man. at every landing he stood still and uttered his comments on his surroundings. pelle had to admonish him to be silent. "one doesn't discuss everything aloud here. it might so easily be regarded as criticism," he said. "no, really? well, one must learn as long as one lives. but just look how they stand about chattering up here! there must be a whole courtyard-full! well, well. i won't say any more. i knew they lived one on top of another, but i didn't think there'd be so little room here. to hang the backyard out in front of the kitchen door, one on top of another, that's just like the birds that build all on one bough. lord god, suppose it was all to come tumbling down one fine day!" "and do you live here?" he cried, gazing in a disillusioned manner round the room with its sloping ceiling. "i've often wondered how you were fixed up over here. a few days ago i met a man at home who said they were talking about you already; but one wouldn't think so from your lodgings. however, it isn't far to heaven, anyhow!" pelle was silent. he had come to love his den, and his whole life here; but father lasse continued to enlarge upon his hopes of his son's respectability and prosperity, and he felt ashamed. "did you imagine i was living in one of the royal palaces?" he said, rather bitterly. lasse looked at him kindly and laid both hands on his shoulders. "so big and strong as you've grown, lad," he said, wondering. "well, and now you have me here too! but i won't be a burden to you. no, but at home it had grown so dismal after what happened at due's, that i got ready without sending you word. and then i was able to come over with one of the skippers for nothing." "but what's this about due?" asked pelle. "i hope nothing bad?" "good god, haven't you heard? he revenged himself on his wife because he discovered her with the consul. he had been absolutely blind, and had only believed the best of her, until he surprised her in her sin. then he killed her, her and the children they had together, and went to the authorities and gave himself up. but the youngest, whom any one could see was the consul's, he didn't touch. oh, it was a dreadful misfortune! before he gave himself up to the police he came to me; he wanted just one last time to be with some one who would talk it over with him without hypocrisy. 'i've strangled anna,' he said, as soon as he had sat down. 'it had to be, and i'm not sorry. i'm not sorry. the children that were mine, too. i've dealt honestly with them.' yes, yes, he had dealt honestly with the poor things! 'i just wanted to say goodbye to you, lasse, for my life's over now, happy as i might have been, with my contented nature. but anna always wanted to be climbing, and if i got on it was her shame i had to thank for it. i never wanted anything further than the simple happiness of the poor man--a good wife and a few children--and now i must go to prison! god be thanked that anna hasn't lived to see that! she was finer in her feelings than the rest, and she had to deceive in order to get on in the world.' so he sat there, talking of the dead, and one couldn't notice any feeling in him. i wouldn't let him see how sick at heart he made me feel. for him it was the best thing, so long as his conscience could sleep easy. 'your eyes are watering, lasse,' he said quietly; 'you should bathe them a bit; they say urine is good.' yes, god knows, my eyes did water! god of my life, yes! then he stood up. 'you, too, lasse, you haven't much longer life granted you,' he said, and he gave me his hand. 'you are growing old now. but you must give pelle my greetings--he's safe to get on!'" pelle sat mournfully listening to the dismal story. but he shuddered at the last words. he had so often heard the expression of that anticipation of his good fortune, which they all seemed to feel, and had rejoiced to hear it; it was, after all, only an echo of his own self- confidence. but now it weighed upon him like a burden. it was always those who were sinking who believed in his luck; and as they sank they flung their hopes upward toward him. a grievous fashion was this in which his good fortune was prophesied! a terrible and grievous blessing it was that was spoken over him and his success in life by this man dedicated to death, even as he stepped upon the scaffold. pelle sat staring at the floor without a sign of life, a brooding expression on his face; his very soul was shuddering at the foreboding of a superhuman burden; and suddenly a light was flashed before his eyes; there could never be happiness for him alone--the fairy-tale was dead! he was bound up with all the others--he must partake of happiness or misfortune with them; that was why the unfortunate due gave him his blessing. in his soul he was conscious of due's difficult journey, as though he himself had to endure the horror of it. and fine anna, who must clamber up over his own family and tread them in the dust! never again could he wrench himself quite free as before! he had already encountered much unhappiness and had learned to hate its cause. but this was something more--this was very affliction itself! "yes," sighed lasse, "a lucky thing that brother kalle did not live to see all this. he worked himself to skin and bone for his children, and now, for all thanks, he lied buried in the poorhouse burying-ground. albinus, who travels about the country as a conjurer, was the only one who had a thought for him; but the money came too late, although it was sent by telegraph. have you ever heard of a conjuring-trick like that-- to send money from england to bornholm over the telegraph cable? a devilish clever acrobat! well, brother kalle, he knew all sorts of conjuring-tricks too, but he didn't learn them abroad. they had heard nothing at all of alfred at the funeral. he belongs to the fine folks now and has cut off all connection with his poor relations. he has been appointed to various posts of honor, and they say he's a regular bloodhound toward the poor--a man's always worst toward his own kind. but the fine folks, they say, they think great things of him." pelle heard the old man's speech only as a monotonous trickle of sound. due, due, the best, the most good-natured man he knew, who championed anna's illegitimate child against her own mother, and loved her like his own, because she was defenceless and needed his love--due was now to lay his head on the scaffold! so dearly bought was the fulfilment of his wish, to obtain a pair of horses and become a coachman! he had obtained the horses and a carriage on credit, and had himself made up for the instalments and the interest--the consul had merely stood security for him. and for this humble success he was now treading the path of shame! his steps echoed in pelle's soul; pelle did not know how he was going to bear it. he longed for his former obtuseness. lasse continued to chatter. for him it was fate--grievous and heavy, but it could not be otherwise. and the meeting with pelle had stirred up so many memories; he was quite excited. everything he saw amused him. however did anybody hit on the idea of packing folks away like this, one on top of another, like herrings in a barrel? and at home on bornholm there were whole stretches of country where no one lived at all! he did not venture to approach the window, but prudently stood a little way back in the room, looking out over the roofs. there, too, was a crazy arrangement! one could count the ears in a cornfield as easily as the houses over here! pelle called marie, who had discreetly remained in her own room. "this is my foster-mother," he said, with his arm round her shoulders. "and that is father lasse, whom you are fond of already, so you always say. now can you get us some breakfast?" he gave her money. "she's a good girl, that she is," said lasse, feeling in his sack. "she shall have a present. there's a red apple," he said to marie, when she returned; "you must eat it, and then you'll be my sweetheart." marie smiled gravely and looked at pelle. they borrowed the old clothes dealer's handcart and went across to the apple barges to fetch lasse's belongings. he had sold most of them in order not to bring too great a load to the city. but he had retained a bedstead with bedding, and all sorts of other things. "and then i have still to give you greetings from sort and marie nielsen," he said. pelle blushed. "i owe her a few words, but over here i quite forgot it somehow! and i have half promised her my portrait. i must see now about sending it." "yes, do," said father lasse. "i don't know how close you two stand to each other, but she was a good woman. and those who stay behind, they're sad when they're forgotten. remember that." at midday lasse had tidied himself a trifle and began to brush his hat. "what now?" inquired pelle. "you don't want to go out all alone?" "i want to go out and look at the city a bit," replied lasse, as though it were quite a matter of course. "i want to find some work, and perhaps i'll go and have a peep at the king for once. you need only explain in which direction i must go." "you had better wait until i can come with you--you'll only lose yourself." "shall i do that?" replied lasse, offended. "but i found my way here alone, i seem to remember!" "i can go with the old man!" said marie. "yes, you come with the old man, then no one can say he has lost his youth!" cried lasse jestingly, as he took her hand. "i think we two shall be good friends." toward evening they returned. "there are folks enough here," said lasse, panting, "but there doesn't seem to be a superfluity of work. i've been asking first this one and then that, but no one will have me. well, that's all right! if they won't, i can just put a spike on my stick and set to work collecting the bits of paper in the streets, like the other old men; i can at least do that still." "but i can't give my consent to that," replied pelle forcibly. "my father shan't become a scavenger!" "well--but i must get something to do, or i shall go back home again. i'm not going to go idling about here while you work." "but you can surely rest and enjoy a little comfort in your old days, father. however, we shall soon see." "i can rest, can i? i had better lie on my back and let myself be fed like a long-clothes child! only i don't believe my back would stand it!" they had placed lasse's bed with the footboard under the sloping ceiling; there was just room enough for it. pelle felt like a little boy when he went to bed that night; it was so many years since he had slept in the same room as father lasse. but in the night he was oppressed by evil dreams; due's dreadful fate pursued him in his sleep. his energetic, good-humored face went drifting through the endless grayness, the head bowed low, the hands chained behind him, a heavy iron chain was about his neck, and his eyes were fixed on the ground as though he were searching the very abyss. when pelle awoke it was because father lasse stood bending over his bed, feeling his face, as in the days of his childhood. xiv lasse would not sit idle, and was busily employed in running about the city in search of work. when he spoke to pelle he put a cheerful face on a bad business; and looked hopeful; but the capital had already disillusioned him. he could not understand all this hubbub, and felt that he was too old to enter into it and fathom its meaning--besides, perhaps it had none! it really looked as though everybody was just running to and fro and following his own nose, without troubling in the least about all the rest. and there were no greetings when you passed folks in the street; the whole thing was more than lasse could understand. "i ought to have stayed at home," he would often think. and as for pelle--well, pelle was taken up with his own affairs! that was only to be expected in a man. he ran about going to meetings and agitating, and had a great deal to do; his thoughts were continually occupied, so that there was no time for familiar gossip as in the old days. he was engaged, moreover, so that what time was not devoted to the labor movement was given to his sweetheart. how the boy had grown, and how he had altered, bodily and in every way! lasse had a feeling that he only reached up to pelle's belt nowadays. he had grown terribly serious, and was quite the man; he looked as though he was ready to grasp the reins of something or other; you would never, to look at him, have thought that he was only a journeyman cobbler. there was an air of responsibility about him--just a little too much may be! marie got into the way of accompanying the old man. they had become good friends, and there was plenty for them to gossip over. she would take him to the courtyard of the berlingske tidende, where the people in search of work eddied about the advertisement board, filling up the gateway and forming a crowd in the street outside. "we shall never get in there!" said lasse dejectedly. but marie worked herself forward; when people scolded her she scolded them back. lasse was quite horrified by the language the child used; but it was a great help! marie read out the different notices, and lasse made his comments on every one, and when the bystanders laughed lasse gazed at them uncomprehendingly, then laughed with them, and nodded his head merrily. he entered into everything. "what do you say? gentleman's coachman? yes, i can drive a pair of horses well enough, but perhaps i'm not fine enough for the gentry--i'm afraid my nose would drip!" he looked about him importantly, like a child that is under observation. "but errand boy--that isn't so bad. we'll make a note of that. there's no great skill needed to be everybody's dog! house porter! deuce take it--there one need only sit downstairs and make angry faces out of a basement window! we'll look in there and try our luck." they impressed the addresses on their minds until they knew them by heart, and then squeezed their way out through the crowd. "damn funny old codger!" said the people, looking after him with a smile--lasse was quite high-spirited. they went from house to house, but no one had any use for him. the people only laughed at the broken old figure with the wide-toed boots. "they laugh at me," said lasse, quite cast down; "perhaps because i still look a bit countrified. but that after all can soon be overcome. "i believe it's because you are so old and yet want to get work," said marie. "do you think it can be on that account? yet i'm only just seventy, and on both my father's and mother's side we have almost all lived to ninety. do you really think that's it? if they'd only let me set to work they'd soon see there's still strength in old lasse! many a younger fellow would sit on his backside for sheer astonishment. but what are those people there, who stand there and look so dismal and keep their hands in their pockets?" "those are the unemployed; it's a slack time for work, and they say it will get still worse." "and all those who were crowding round the notice-board--were they idle hands too?" marie nodded. "but then it's worse here than at home--there at least we always have the stone-cutting when there is nothing else. and i had really believed that the good time had already begun over here!" "pelle says it will soon come,' said marie consolingly. "yes, pelle--he can well talk. he is young and healthy and has the time before him." lasse was in a bad temper; nothing seemed right to him. in order to give him pleasure, marie took him to see the guard changed, which cheered him a little. "those are smart fellows truly," he said. "hey, hey, how they hold themselves! and fine clothes too. but that they know well enough themselves! yes--i've never been a king's soldier. i went up for it when i was young and felt i'd like it; i was a smart fellow then, you can take my word for it! but they wouldn't have me; my figure wouldn't do, they said; i had worked too hard, from the time i was quite a child. they'd got it into their heads in those days that a man ought to be made just so and so. i think it's to please the fine ladies. otherwise i, too, might have defended my country." down by the exchange the roadway was broken up; a crowd of navvies were at work digging out the foundation for a conduit. lasse grew quite excited, and hurried up to them. "that would be the sort of thing for me," he said, and he stood there and fell into a dream at the sight of the work. every time the workers swung their picks he followed the movement with his old head. he drew closer and closer. "hi," he said to one of the workers, who was taking a breath, "can a man get taken on here?" the man took a long look at him. "get taken on here?" he cried, turning more to his comrades than to lasse. "ah, you'd like to, would you? here you foreigners come running, from funen and middlefart, and want to take the bread out of the mouths of us natives. get away with you, you jutland carrion!" laughing, he swung his pick over his head. lasse drew slowly hack. "but he was angry!" he said dejectedly to marie. in the evening pelle had to go to all his various meetings, whatever they might be. he had a great deal to do, and, hard as he worked, the situation still remained unfavorable. it was by no means so easy a thing, to break the back of poverty! "you just look after your own affairs," said lasse. "i sit here and chat a little with the children--and then i go to bed. i don't know why, but my body gets fonder and fonder of bed, although i've never been considered lazy exactly. it must be the grave that's calling me. but i can't go about idle any longer--i'm quite stiff in my body from doing it." formerly lasse never used to speak of the grave; but now he had seemingly reconciled himself to the idea. "and the city is so big and so confusing," he told the children. "and the little one has put by soon runs through one's fingers." he found it much easier to confide his troubles to them. pelle had grown so big and so serious that he absolutely inspired respect. one could take no real pleasure in worrying him with trivialities. but with the children he found himself in tune. they had to contend with little obstacles and difficulties, just as he did, and could grasp all his troubles. they gave him good, practical advice, and in return he gave them his senile words of wisdom. "i don't exactly know why it is so," he said, "but this great city makes me quite confused and queer in the head. to mention nothing else, no one here knows me and looks after me when i go by. that takes all the courage out of my knees. at home there was always one or another who would turn his head and say to himself, 'look, there goes old lasse, he'll be going down to the harbor to break stone; devil take me, but how he holds himself! many a man would nod to me too, and i myself knew every second man. here they all go running by as if they were crazy! i don't understand how you manage to find employment here, karl?" "oh, that's quite easy," replied the boy. "about six in the morning i get to the vegetable market; there is always something to be delivered for the small dealers who can't keep a man. when the vegetable market is over i deliver flowers for the gardeners. that's a very uncertain business, for i get nothing more than the tips. and besides that i run wherever i think there's anything going. to the east bridge and out to frederiksburg. and i have a few regular places too, where i go every afternoon for an hour and deliver goods. there's always something if one runs about properly." "and does that provide you with an average good employment every day?" said lasse wonderingly. "the arrangement looks to me a little uncertain. in the morning you can't be sure you will have earned anything when the night comes." "ah, karl is so quick," said marie knowingly. "when the times are ordinarily good he can earn a krone a day regularly." "and that could really be made a regular calling?" no, lasse couldn't understand it. "very often it's evening before i have earned anything at all, but one just has to stir one's stumps; there's always something or other if one knows where to look for it." "what do you think--suppose i were to go with you?" said lasse thoughtfully. "you can't do that, because i run the whole time. really you'd do much better to hide one of your arms." "hide one of my arms?" said lasse wonderingly. "yes--stick one arm under your coat and then go up to people and ask them for something. that wouldn't be any trouble to you, you look like an invalid." "do i, indeed?" asked lasse, blinking his eyes. "i never knew that before. but even if that were so i shouldn't like to beg at people's doors. i don't think any one will get old lasse to do that." "then go along to the lime works--they are looking for stone-breakers these days," said the omniscient youngster. "now you are talking!" said lasse; "so they have stone here? yes, i brought my stone-cutter's tools with me, and if there's one thing on earth i long to do it is to be able to bang away at a stone again!" xv pelle was now a man; he was able to look after his own affairs and a little more besides; and he was capable of weighing one circumstance against another. he had thrust aside his horror concerning due's fate, and once again saw light in the future. but this horror still lurked within his mind, corroding everything else, lending everything a gloomy, sinister hue. over his brow brooded a dark cloud, as to which he himself was not quite clear. but ellen saw it and stroked it away with her soft fingers, in order to make it disappear. it formed a curious contrast to his fresh, ruddy face, like a meaningless threat upon a fine spring day. he began to be conscious of confidence like a sustaining strength. it was not only in the "ark" that he was idolized; his comrades looked up to him; if there was anything important in hand their eyes involuntarily turned to him. although he had, thoughtlessly enough, well-nigh wrecked the organism in order to come to grips with meyer, he had fully made up for his action, and the union was now stronger than ever, and this was his doing. so he could stretch his limbs and give a little thought to his own affairs. he and ellen felt a warm longing to come together and live in their own little home. there were many objections that might be opposed to such a course, and he was not blind to them. pelle was a valiant worker, but his earnings were not so large that one could found a family on them; it was the naked truth that even a good worker could not properly support a wife and children. he counted on children as a matter of course, and the day would come also when father lasse would no longer be able to earn his daily bread. but that day lay still in the remote future, and, on the other hand, it was no more expensive to live with a companion than alone--if that companion was a good and saving wife. if a man meant to enjoy some little share of the joy of life, he must close his eyes and leap over all obstacles, and for once put his trust in the exceptional. "it'll soon be better, too," said mason stolpe. "things look bad now in most trades, but you see yourself, how everything is drawing to a great crisis. give progress a kick behind and ask her to hurry herself a little--there's something to be gained by that. a man ought to marry while he's still young; what's the good of going about and hankering after one another?" madam stolpe was, as always, of his opinion. "we married and enjoyed the sweetness of it while our blood was still young. that's why we have something now that we can depend on," she said simply, looking at pelle. so it was determined that the wedding should be held that spring. in march the youngest son would complete his apprenticeship, so that the wedding feast and the journeyman's feast could be celebrated simultaneously. on the canal, just opposite the prison, a little two-roomed dwelling was standing vacant, and this they rented. mason stolpe wanted to have the young couple to live out by the north bridge, "among respectable people," but pelle had become attached to this quarter. moreover, he had a host of customers there, which would give him a foothold, and there, too, were the canals. for pelle, the canals were a window opening on the outer world; they gave his mind a sense of liberty; he always felt oppressed among the stone walls by the north bridge. ellen let him choose--it was indifferent to her where they lived. she would gladly have gone to the end of the world with him, in order to yield herself. she had saved a little money in her situation, and pelle also had a little put by; he was wise in his generation, and cut down all their necessities. when ellen was free they rummaged about buying things for their home. many things they bought second-hand, for cheapness, but not for the bedroom; there everything was to be brand-new! it was a glorious time, in which every hour was full of its own rich significance; there was no room for brooding or for care. ellen often came running in to drag him from his work; he must come with her and look at something or other--one could get it so cheap--but quickly, quickly, before it should be gone! on her "off" sundays she would reduce the little home to order, and afterward they would walk arm in arm through the city, and visit the old people. pelle had had so much to do with the affairs of others, and had given so little thought to his own, that it was delightful, for once in a way, to be able to rest and think of himself. the crowded outer world went drifting far away from him; he barely glanced at it as he built his nest; he thought no more about social problems than the birds that nest in spring. and one day pelle carried his possessions to his new home, and for the last time lay down to sleep in the "ark." there was no future for any one here; only the shipwrecked sought an abiding refuge within these walls. it was time for pelle to move on. yet from all this raggedness and overcrowding rose a voice which one did not hear elsewhere; a careless twittering, like that of unlucky birds that sit and plume their feathers when a little sunlight falls on them. he looked back on the time he had spent here with pensive melancholy. on the night before his wedding he lay restlessly tossing to and fro. something seemed to follow him in his sleep. at last he woke, and was sensible of a stifled moaning, that came and went with long intervals in between, as though the "ark" itself were moaning in an evil dream. suddenly he stood up, lit the lamp, and began to polish his wedding- boots, which were still on the lasts, so that they might retain their handsome shape. lasse was still asleep, and the long gangway outside lay still in slumber. the sound returned, louder and more long-drawn, and something about it reminded him of stone farm, and awaked the horror of his childish days. he sat and sweated at his work. suddenly he heard some one outside--some one who groped along the gangway and fumbled at his door. he sprang forward and opened it. suspense ran through his body like an icy shudder. outside stood hanne's mother, shivering in the morning cold. "pelle," she whispered anxiously, "it's so near now--would you run and fetch madam blom from market street? i can't leave hanne. and i ought to be wishing you happiness, too." the errand was not precisely convenient, nevertheless, he ran oft. and then he sat listening, working still, but as quietly as possible, in order not to wake father lasse. but then it was time for the children to get up; for the last time he knocked on the wall and heard marie's sleepy "ye--es!" at the same moment the silence of night was broken; the inmates tumbled out and ran barefooted to the lavatories, slamming their doors. "the princess is lamenting," they told one another. "she's lamenting because she's lost what she'll never get again." then the moaning rose to a loud shriek, and suddenly it was silent over there. poor hanne! now she had another to care for--and who was its father? hard times were in store for her. lasse was not going to work to-day, although the wedding-feast was not to be held until the afternoon. he was in a solemn mood, from the earliest morning, and admonished pelle not to lay things cross-wise, and the like. pelle laughed every time. "yes, you laugh," said lasse, "but this is an important day--perhaps the most important in your life. you ought to take care lest the first trifling thing you do should ruin everything." he pottered about, treating everything as an omen. he was delighted with the sun--it rose out of a sack and grew brighter and brighter in the course of the day. it was never lucky for the sun to begin too blazing. marie went to and fro, considering pelle with an expression of suppressed anxiety, like a mother who is sending her child into the world, and strives hard to seem cheerful, thought pelle. yes, yes, she had been like a mother to him in many senses, although she was only a child; she had taken him into her nest as a little forsaken bird, and with amazement had seen him grow. he had secretly helped her when he could. but what was that in comparison with the singing that had made his work easy, when he saw how the three waifs accepted things as they were, building their whole existence on nothing? who would help them now over the difficult places without letting them see the helping hand? he must keep watchful eye on them. marie's cheeks were a hectic red, and her eyes were shining when he held her roughened hands in his and thanked her for being such a good neighbor. her narrow chest was working, and a reflection of hidden beauty rested upon her. pelle had taught her blood to find the way to her colorless face; whenever she was brought into intimate contact with him or his affairs, her cheeks glowed, and every time a little of the color was left behind. it was as though his vitality forced the sap to flow upward in her, in sympathy, and now she stood before him, trying to burst her stunted shell, and unfold her gracious capacities before him, and as yet was unable to do so. suddenly she fell upon his breast. "pelle, pelle," she said, hiding her face against him. and then she ran into her own room. lasse and pelle carried the last things over to the new home, and put everything tidy; then they dressed themselves in their best and set out for the stoples' home. pelle was wearing a top-hat for the first time in his life, and looked quite magnificent in it. "you are like a big city chap," said lasse, who could not look at him often enough. "but what do you think they'll say of old lasse? they are half-way fine folks themselves, and i don't know how to conduct myself. wouldn't it perhaps be better if i were to turn back?" "don't talk like that, father!" said pelle. lasse was monstrously pleased at the idea of attending the wedding- feast, but he had all sorts of misgivings. these last years had made him shy of strangers, and he liked to creep into corners. his holiday clothes, moreover, were worn out, and his every-day things were patched and mended; his long coat he had hired expressly for the occasion, while the white collar and cuffs belonged to peter. he did not feel at all at home in his clothes, and looked like an embarrassed schoolboy waiting for confirmation. at the stolpes' the whole household was topsy-turvy. the guests who were to go to the church had already arrived; they were fidgeting about in the living-room and whistling to themselves, or looking out into the street, and feeling bored. stople's writing-table had been turned into a side-board, and the brothers were opening bottles of beer and politely pressing everybody: "do take a sandwich with it--you'll get a dry throat standing so long and saying nothing." in the best room stolpe was pacing up and down and muttering. he was in his shirtsleeves, waiting until it was his turn to use the bedroom, where ellen and her mother had locked themselves in. prom time to time the door was opened a little, and ellen's bare white arm appeared, as she threw her father some article of attire. then pelle's heart began to thump. on the window-sill stood madam stolpe's myrtle; it was stripped quite bare. now stolpe came back; he was ready! pelle had only to button his collar for him. he took lasse's hand and then went to fetch _the working man_. "now you just ought to hear this, what they say of your son," he said, and began to read: "our young party-member, pelle, to-day celebrates his nuptials with the daughter of one of the oldest and most respected members of the party, mason stolpe. this young man, who has already done a great deal of work for the cause, was last night unanimously proposed as president of his organization. we give the young couple our best wishes for the future." "that speaks for itself, eh?" stolpe handed the paper to his guests. "yes, that looks well indeed," they said, passing the paper from hand to hand. lasse moved his lips as though he, too, were reading the notice through. "yes, devilish good, and they know how to put these things," he said, delighted. "but what's wrong with petersen--is he going to resign?" asked stolpe. "he is ill," replied pelle. "but i wasn't there last night, so i don't know anything about it." stolpe gazed at him, astonished. madam stolpe came in and drew pelle into the bedroom, where ellen stood like a snow-white revelation, with a long veil and a myrtle-wreath in her hair. "really you two are supposed not to see one another, but i think that's wrong," she said, and with a loving glance she pushed them into each other's arms. frederik, who was leaning out of the window, in order to watch for the carriage, came and thundered on the door. "the carriage is there, children!" he roared, in quite a needlessly loud voice. "the carriage is there!" and they drove away in it, although the church was only a few steps distant. pelle scarcely knew what happened to him after that, until he found himself back in the carriage; they had to nudge him every time he had to do anything. he saw no one but ellen. she was his sun; the rest meant nothing to him. at the altar he had seized her hand and held it in his during the whole service. frederik had remained at home, in order to admit, receive messages and people who came to offer their congratulations. as they returned he leaned out of the window and threw crackers and detonating pellets under the horses' feet, as a salute to the bridal pair. people drank wine, touched glasses with the young couple, and examined the wedding-presents. stolpe looked to see the time; it was still quite early. "you must go for a bit of a stroll, father," said madam stolpe. "we can't eat anything for a couple of hours yet." so the men went across to ventegodt's beer-garden, in order to play a game of skittles, while the women prepared the food. pelle would rather have stopped in the house with ellen, but he must not; he and lasse went together. lasse had not yet properly wished pelle happiness; he had waited until they should be alone. "well, happiness and all blessings, my boy," he said, much moved, as he pressed pelle's hand. "now you, too, are a man with a family and responsibilities. now don't you forget that the women are like children. in serious matters you mustn't be too ceremonious with them, but tell them, short and plain. this is to be so! it goes down best with them. if once a man begins discussing too much with them, then they don't know which way they want to go. otherwise they are quite all right, and it's easy to get on with them--if one only treats them well. i never found it any trouble, for they like a firm hand over them. you've reason to be proud of your parents-in-law; they are capital people, even if they are a bit proud of their calling. and ellen will make you a good wife--if i know anything of women. she'll attend to her own affairs and she'll understand how to save what's left over. long in the body she is, like a fruitful cow--she won't fail you in the matter of children." outdoors in the beer-garden swedish punch was served, and lasse's spirits began to rise. he tried to play at skittles--he had never done so before; and he plucked up courage to utter witticisms. the others laughed, and lasse drew himself up and came out of his shell. "splendid people, the copenhageners!" he whispered to pelle. "a ready hand for spending, and they've got a witty word ready for everything." before any one noticed it had grown dark, and now they must be home! at home the table was laid, and the rest of the guests had come. madam stolpe was already quite nervous, they had stopped away so long. "now we'll all wobble a bit on our legs," whispered stolpe, in the entry; "then my wife will go for us! well, mother, have you got a warm welcome ready for us?" he asked, as he tumbled into the room. "ah, you donkey, do you think i don't know you?" cried madam stolpe, laughing. "no, one needn't go searching in the taverns for my man!" pelle went straight up to ellen in the kitchen and led her away. hand in hand they went round the rooms, looking at the last presents to arrive. there was a table-lamp, a dish-cover in german silver, and some enamelled cooking-utensils. some one, too, had sent a little china figure of a child in swaddling-clothes, but had forgotten to attach his name. ellen led pelle out into the entry, in order to embrace him, but there stood morten, taking off his things. then they fled into the kitchen, but the hired cook was in possession; at length they found an undisturbed haven in the bedroom. ellen wound her arms round pelle's neck and gazed at him in silence, quite lost in happiness and longing. and pelle pressed the beloved, slender, girlish body against his own, and looked deep in her eyes, which were dark and shadowy as velvet, as they drank in the light in his. his heart swelled within him, and he felt that he was unspeakably fortunate--richer than any one else in the whole world--because of the treasure that he held in his arms. silently he vowed to himself that he would protect her and cherish her and have no other thought than to make her happy. an impatient trampling sounded from the other room. "the young couple-- the young couple!" they were calling. pelle and ellen hastened in, each by a different door. the others were standing in their places at the table, and were waiting for pelle and ellen to take their seats. "well, it isn't difficult to see what she's been about!" said stolpe teasingly. "one has only to look at the lass's peepers--such a pair of glowing coals!" otto stolpe, the slater, was spokesman, and opened the banquet by offering brandy. "a drop of spirits," he said to each: "we must make sure there's a vent to the gutter, or the whole thing will soon get stopped up." "now, take something, people!" cried stolpe, from the head of the table, where he was carving a loin of roast pork. "up with the bricks there!" he had the young couple on his right and the newly-baked journeyman on his left. on the table before him stood a new bedroom chamber with a white wooden cover to it; the guests glanced at it and smiled at one another. "what are you staring at?" he asked solemnly. "if you need anything, let the cat out of the bag!" "ah, it's the tureen there!" said his brother, the carpenter, without moving a muscle. "my wife would be glad to borrow it a moment, she says." his wife, taken aback, started up and gave him a thwack on the back. "monster!" she said, half ashamed, and laughing. "the men must always make a fool of somebody!" then they all set to, and for a while eating stopped their mouths. from time to time some droll remark was made. "some sit and do themselves proud, while others do the drudging," said the vanishing man, otto's comrade. which was to say that he had finished his pork. "give him one in the mouth, mother!" said stolpe. when their hunger was satisfied the witticisms began to fly. morten's present was a great wedding-cake. it was a real work of art; he had made it in the form of a pyramid. on the summit stood a youthful couple, made of sugar, who held one another embraced, while behind them was a highly glazed representation of the rising sun. up the steps of the pyramid various other figures were scrambling to the top, holding their arms outstretched toward the summit. wine was poured out when they came to the cake, and morten made a little speech in pelle's honor, in which he spoke of loyalty toward the new comrade whom he had chosen. apparently the speech concerned ellen only, but pelle understood that his words were meant to be much more comprehensive; they had a double meaning all the time. "thank you, morten," he said, much moved, and he touched glasses with him. then stolpe delivered a speech admonishing the newly-married pair. this was full of precious conceits and was received with jubilation. "now you see how father can speak," said madam stolpe. "when nothing depends on it then he can speak!" "what's that you say, mother?" cried stolpe, astonished. he was not accustomed to criticism from that source. "just listen to that now-- one's own wife is beginning to pull away the scaffolding-poles from under one!" "well, that's what i say!" she rejoined, looking at him boldly. her face was quite heated with wine. "does any one stand in the front of things like father does? he was the first, and he has been always the most zealous; he has done a good stroke of work, more than most men. and to- day he might well have been one of the leaders and have called the tune, if it weren't for that damned hiccoughing. he's a clever man, and his comrades respect him too, but what does all that signify if a man hiccoughs? every time he stands on the speaker's platform he has the hiccoughs." "and yet it isn't caused by brandy?" said the thick-set little vanishing man, albert olsen. "oh, no, father has never gone in for bottle agitation," replied madam stolpe. "that was a fine speech that mother made about me," said stolpe, laughing, "and she didn't hiccough. it is astonishing, though--there are some people who can't. but now it's your turn, frederik. now you have become a journeyman and must accept the responsibility yourself for doing things according to plumb-line and square. we have worked on the scaffold together and we know one another pretty well. many a time you've been a clown and many a time a sheep, and a box on the ears from your old man has never been lacking. but that was in your fledgling years. when only you made up your mind there was no fault to be found with you. i will say this to your credit--that you know your trade--you needn't be shamed by anybody. show what you can do, my lad! do your day's work so that your comrades don't need to take you in tow, and never shirk when it comes to your turn!" "don't cheat the drinker of his bottle, either," said albert olsen, interrupting. otto nudged him in the ribs. "no, don't do that," said stolpe, and he laughed. "there are still two things," he added seriously. "take care the girls don't get running about under the scaffold in working hours, that doesn't look well; and always uphold the fellowship. there is nothing more despicable than the name of strikebreaker." "hear, hear!" resounded about the table. "a true word!" frederik sat listening with an embarrassed smile. he was dressed in a new suit of the white clothes of his calling, and on his round chin grew a few dark downy hairs, which he fingered every other moment. he was waiting excitedly until the old man had finished, so that he might drink brotherhood with him. "and now, my lad," said stolpe, taking the cover from the "tureen," "now you are admitted to the corporation of masons, and you are welcome! health, my lad." and with a sly little twinkle of his eye, he set the utensil to his mouth, and drank. "health, father!" replied frederik, with shining eyes, as his father passed him the drinking-bowl. then it went round the table. the women shrieked before they drank; it was full of bavarian beer, and in the amber fluid swam bavarian sausages. and while the drinking-bowl made its cheerful round, stolpe struck up with the song of the mason: "the man up there in snowy cap and blouse, he is a mason, any fool could swear. just give him stone and lime, he'll build a house fine as a palace, up in empty air! down in the street below stands half the town: ah, ah! na, na! the scaffold sways, but it won't fall down! "down in the street he's wobbly in his tread, he tumbles into every cellar door; that's 'cause his home is in the clouds o'erhead, where all the little birds about him soar. up there he works away with peaceful mind: ah, ah. na, na! the scaffold swings in the boisterous wind! "what it is to be giddy no mason knows: left to himself he'd build for ever, stone upon stone, till in heaven, i s'pose! but up comes the law, and says--stop now, clever! there lives the almighty, so just come off! ah, ah! na, na! sheer slavery this, but he lets them scoff! "before he knows it the work has passed: he measures all over and reckons it up. his wages are safe in his breeches at last, and he clatters off home to rest and to sup. and a goodly wage he's got in his pocket: ah, ah! na, na! the scaffold creaks to the winds that rock it!" the little thick-set slater sat with both arms on the table, staring right in front of him with veiled eyes. when the song was over he raised his head a little. "yes, that may be all very fine--for those it concerns. but the slater, he climbs higher than the mason." his face was purple. "now, comrade, let well alone," said stolpe comfortably. "it isn't the question, to-night, who climbs highest, it's a question of amusing ourselves merely." "yes, that may be," replied olsen, letting his head sink again. "but the slater, he climbs the highest." after which he sat there murmuring to himself. "just leave him alone," whispered otto. "otherwise he'll get in one of his berserker rages. don't be so grumpy, old fellow," he said, laying his arm on olsen's shoulders. "no one can compete with you in the art of tumbling down, anyhow!" the vanishing man was so called because he was in the habit--while lying quite quietly on the roof at work--of suddenly sliding downward and disappearing into the street below. he had several times fallen from the roof of a house without coming to any harm; but on one occasion he had broken both legs, and had become visibly bow-legged in consequence. in order to appease him, otto, who was his comrade, related how he had fallen down on the last occasion. "we were lying on the roof, working away, he and i, and damned cold it was. he, of course, had untied the safety-rope, and as we were lying there quite comfortably and chatting, all of a sudden he was off. 'the devil!' i shouted to the others, 'now the vanishing man has fallen down again!' and we ran down the stairs as quick as we could. we weren't in a humor for any fool's tricks, as you may suppose. but there was no albert olsen lying on the pavement. 'damn and blast it all, where has the vanisher got to?' we said, and we stared at one another, stupefied. and then i accidentally glanced across at a beer-cellar opposite, and there, by god, he was sitting at the basement window, winking at us so, with his forefinger to his nose, making signs to us to go down and have a glass of beer with him. 'i was so accursedly thirsty,' was all he said; 'i couldn't wait to run down the stairs!'" the general laughter appeased the vanishing man. "who'll give me a glass of beer?" he said, rising with difficulty. he got his beer and sat down in a corner. stolpe was sitting at the table playing with his canary, which had to partake of its share in the feast. the bird sat on his red ear and fixed its claws in his hair, then hopped onto his arm and along it onto the table. stolpe kept on asking it, "what would you like to smoke, hansie?" "peep!" replied the canary, every time. then they all laughed. "hansie would like a pipe!" "how clever he is, to answer like that!" said the women. "clever?--ay, and he's sly too! once we bought a little wife for him; mother didn't think it fair that he shouldn't know what love is. well, they married themselves very nicely, and the little wife lay two eggs. but when she wanted to begin to sit hansie got sulky; he kept on calling to her to come out on the perch. well, she wouldn't, and one fine day, when she wanted to get something to eat, he hopped in and threw the eggs out between the bars! he was jealous--the rascal! yes, animals are wonderfully clever--stupendous it is, that such a little thing as that could think that out! now, now, just look at him!" hansie had hopped onto the table and had made his way to the remainder of the cake. he was sitting on the edge of the dish, cheerfully flirting his tail as he pecked away. suddenly something fell upon the table- cloth. "lord bless me," cried stolpe, in consternation, "if that had been any one else! wouldn't you have heard mother carry on!" old lasse was near exploding at this. he had never before been in such pleasant company. "it's just as if one had come upon a dozen of brother kalle's sort," he whispered to pelle. pelle smiled absently. ellen was holding his hand in her lap and playing with his fingers. a telegram of congratulation came for pelle from his union, and this brought the conversation back to more serious matters. morten and stolpe became involved in a dispute concerning the labor movement; morten considered that they did not sufficiently consider the individual, but attached too much importance to the voice of the masses. in his opinion the revolution must come from within. "no," said stolpe, "that leads to nothing. but if we could get our comrades into parliament and obtain a majority, then we should build up the state according to our own programme, and that is in every respect a legal one!" "yes, but it's a question of daily bread," said morten, with energy. "hungry people can't sit down and try to become a majority; while the grass grows the cow starves! they ought to help themselves. if they do not, their self-consciousness is imperfect; they must wake up to the consciousness of their own human value. if there were a law forbidding the poor man to breathe the air, do you think he'd stop doing so? he simply could not. it's painful for him to look on at others eating when he gets nothing himself. he is wanting in physical courage. and so society profits by his disadvantage. what has the poor man to do with the law? he stands outside all that! a man mustn't starve his horse or his dog, but the state which forbids him to do so starves its own workers. i believe they'll have to pay for preaching obedience to the poor; we are getting bad material for the now order of society that we hope to found some day." "yes, but we don't obey the laws out of respect for the commands of a capitalist society," said stolpe, somewhat uncertainly, "but out of regard for ourselves. god pity the poor man if he takes the law into his own hands!" "still, it keeps the wound fresh! as for all the others, who go hungry in silence, what do they do? there are too few of them, alas--there's room in the prisons for them! but if every one who was hungry would stick his arm through a shop window and help himself--then the question of maintenance would soon be solved. they couldn't put the whole nation in prison! now, hunger is yet another human virtue, which is often practised until men die of it--for the profit of those who hoard wealth. they pat the poor, brave man on the back because he's so obedient to the law. what more can he want?" "yes, devil take it, of course it's all topsy-turvy," replied stolpe. "but that's precisely the reason why----no, no, you won't persuade me, my young friend! you seem to me a good deal too 'red.' it wouldn't do! now i've been concerned in the movement from the very first day, and no one can say that stolpe is afraid to risk his skin; but that way wouldn't suit me. we have always held to the same course, and everything that we have won we have taken on account." "yes, that's true," interrupted frau stolpe. "when i look back to those early years and then consider these i can scarcely believe it's true. then it was all we could do to find safe shelter, even among people of our own standing; they annoyed us in every possible way, and hated father because he wasn't such a sheep as they were, but used to concern himself about their affairs. every time i went out of the kitchen door i'd find a filthy rag of dishcloth hung over the handle, and they smeared much worse things than that over the door--and whose doing was it? i never told father; he would have been so enraged he would have torn the whole house down to find the guilty person. no, father had enough to contend against already. but now: 'ah, here comes stolpe-- hurrah! long live stolpe! one must show respect to stolpe, the veteran!'" "that may be all very fine," muttered albert olsen, "but the slater, he climbs the highest." he was sitting with sunken head, staring angrily before him. "to be sure he climbs highest," said the women. "no one says he doesn't." "leave him alone," said otto; "he's had a drop too much!" "then he should take a walk in the fresh air and not sit there and make himself disagreeable," said madam stolpe, with a good deal of temper. the vanishing man rose with an effort. "do you say a walk in the fresh air, madam stolpe? yes, if any one can stand the air, by god, it's albert olsen. those big-nosed masons, what can they do?" he stood with bent head, muttering angrily to himself. "yes, then we'll take a walk in the fresh air. i don't want to have anything to do with your fools' tricks." he staggered out through the kitchen door. "what's he going to do there?" cried madam stolpe, in alarm. "oh, he'll just go down into the yard and turn himself inside out," said otto. "he's a brilliant fellow, but he can't carry much." pelle, still sitting at table, had been drawing with a pencil on a scrap of paper while the others were arguing. ellen leaned over his shoulder watching him. he felt her warm breath upon his ear and smiled happily as he used his pencil. ellen took the drawing when he had finished and pushed it across the table to the others. it showed a thick-set figure of a man, dripping with sweat, pushing a wheelbarrow which supported his belly. "capitalism--when the rest of us refuse to serve him any longer!" was written below. this drawing made a great sensation. "you're a deuce of a chap!" cried stolpe. "i'll send that to the editor of the humorous page--i know him." "yes, pelle," said lasse proudly, "there's nothing he can't do; devil knows where he gets it from, for he doesn't get it from his father." and they all laughed. carpenter stolpe's good lady sat considering the drawing with amazement, quite bewildered, looking first at pelle's fingers and then at the drawing again. "i can understand how people can say funny things with their mouths," she said, "but with their fingers--that i don't understand. poor fellow, obliged to push his belly in front of him! it's almost worse than when i was going to have victor." "cousin victor, her youngest, who is so deucedly clever," said otto, in explanation, giving pelle a meaning wink. "yes, indeed he is clever, if he is only six months old. the other day i took him downstairs with me when i went to buy some milk. since then he won't accept his mother's left breast any more. the rascal noticed that the milkman drew skim milk from the left side of the cart and full-cream milk from the tap on the right side. and another time----" "now, mother, give over!" said carpenter stolpe; "don't you see they're sitting laughing at you? and we ought to see about getting home presently." he looked a trifle injured. "what, are you going already?" said stolpe. "why, bless my soul, it's quite late already. but we must have another song first." "it'll be daylight soon," said madam stolpe; she was so tired that she was nodding. when they had sung the socialist marching song, the party broke up. lasse had his pockets filled with sweets for the three orphans. "what's become of the vanishing man?" said otto suddenly. "perhaps he's been taken bad down in the yard," said stolpe. "run down and see, frederick." they had quite forgotten him. frederik returned and announced that albert olsen was not in the yard-- and the gate was locked. "surely he can't have gone on the roof?" said one. they ran up the back stairs; the door of the loft was open, and the skylight also. otto threw off his coat and swung himself up through the opening. on the extreme end of the ridge of the roof sat albert olsen, snoring. he was leaning against the edge of the party-wall, which projected upward about eighteen inches. close behind him was empty space. "for god's sake don't call him," said mother stolpe, under her breath; "and catch hold of him before he wakes." but otto went straight up to his comrade. "hullo, mate! time's up!" he cried. "righto!" said the vanisher, and he rose to his feet. he stood there a moment, swaying above the abyss, then, giving the preference to the way leading over the roof, he followed in otto's track and crept through the window. "what the dickens were you really doing there?" asked stolpe, laughing. "have you been to work?" "i just went up there and enjoyed the fresh air a bit. have you got a bottle of beer? but what's this? everybody going home already?" "yes, you've been two hours sitting up there and squinting at the stars," replied otto. now all the guests had gone. lasse and the young couple stood waiting to say farewell. madam stolpe had tears in her eyes. she threw her arms round ellen. "take good care of yourself, the night is so cold," she said, in a choking voice, and she stood nodding after them with eyes that were blinded with tears. "why, but there's nothing to cry about!" said mason stolpe, as he led her indoors. "go to bed now--i'll soon sing the vanishing man to sleep! thank god for to-day, mother!" xvi pelle had placed his work-bench against the wall-space between the two windows of the living-room. there was just room to squeeze past between the edge of the bench and the round table which stood in the middle of the room. against the wall by the door stood an oak-stained sideboard, which was ellen's pride, and exactly opposite this, on the opposing wall, stood the chest of drawers of her girlhood, with a mirror above it and a white embroidered cover on the top. on this chest of drawers stood a polished wooden workbox, a few photographs, and various knick-knacks; with its white cover it was like a little altar. pelle went to master beck's only every other day; the rest of the time he sat at home playing the little master. he had many acquaintances hereabouts, really poor folks, who wore their boots until their stockings appeared before they had them repaired; nevertheless, it was possible to earn a day's pay among them. he obtained work, too, from ellen's family and their acquaintances. these were people of another sort; even when things went badly with them they always kept up appearances and even displayed a certain amount of luxury. they kept their troubles to themselves. he could have obtained plenty of journeyman work, but he preferred this arrangement, which laid the foundation of a certain independence; there was more chance of a future in it. and there was a peculiar feeling about work done with his home as the background. when he lifted his eyes from his work as he sat at home a fruitful warmth came into his heart; things looked so familiar; they radiated comfort, as though they had always belonged together. and when the morning sun shone into the room everything wore a smile, and in the midst of it all ellen moved busily to and fro humming a tune. she felt a need always to be near him, and rejoiced over every day which he spent at home. on those days she hurried through her work in the kitchen as quickly as possible, and then sat down to keep him company. he had to teach her how to make a patch, and how to sew a sole on, and she helped him with his work. "now you are the master and i'm the journeyman!" she would say delightedly. she brought him customers too; her ambition was to keep him always at home. "i'll help you all i can. and one fine day you'll have so much work you'll have to take an apprentice--and then a journeyman." then he would take her in his arms, and they worked in emulation, and sang as they worked. pelle was perfectly happy, and had cast off all his cares and burdens. this was his nest, where every stick and stone was worth more than all else in the world besides. they had their work cut out to keep it together and feed themselves a little daintily; and pelle tackled his work as joyfully as though he had at last found his true vocation. now and again a heavy wave came rolling up from the struggling masses, making his heart beat violently, and then he would break out into fiery speech; or his happiness would weave radiant pictures before his eyes, and he would describe these to ellen. she listened to him proudly, and with her beloved eyes upon him he would venture upon stronger expression and more vivid pictures, as was really natural to him. when at last he was silent she would remain quietly gazing at him with those dark eyes of hers that always seemed to be looking at something in him of which he himself was unaware. "what are you thinking of now?" pelle would ask, for he would have enjoyed an exposition of the ideas that filled his mind. there was no one for him but ellen, and he wanted to discuss the new ideas with her, and to feel the wonderful happiness of sharing these too with her. "i was thinking how red your lips are when you speak! they certainly want to be kissed!" she replied, throwing her arms round his neck. what happened round about her did not interest her; she could only speak of their love and of what concerned herself. but the passionate gaze of her eyes was like a deep background to their life. it had quite a mysterious effect upon his mind; it was like a lure that called to the unknown depths of his being. "the pelle she sees must be different to the one i know," he thought happily. there must be something fine and strong in him for her to cling to him so closely and suffer so when parted from him only for a moment. when she had gazed at him long enough she would press herself against him, confused, and hide her face. without his remarking it, she directed his energies back to his own calling. he could work for two when she sat at the bench facing him and talked to him as she helped him. pelle really found their little nest quite comfortable, but ellen's mind was full of plans for improvement and progress. his business was to support a respectable home with dainty furniture and all sorts of other things; she was counting on these already. this home, which to him was like a beloved face that one cannot imagine other than it is, was to her only a temporary affair, which would by degrees be replaced by something finer and better. behind her intimate gossip of every-day trivialities she concealed a far-reaching ambition. he must do his utmost if he was to accomplish all she expected of him! ellen by no means neglected her housekeeping, and nothing ever slipped through her fingers. when pelle was away at the workshop she turned the whole place upside down, sweeping and scrubbing, and had always something good on the table for him. in the evening she was waiting for him at the door of the workshop. then they would take a stroll along the canal, and across the green rampart where the children played. "oh, pelle, how i've longed for you to-day!" she would say haltingly. "now, i've got you, and yet i've still got quite a pain in my breasts; they don't know yet that you're with me!" "shan't we work a little this evening--just a quarter of an hour?" she would say, when they had eaten, "so that you can become a master all the sooner and make things more comfortable for yourself." pelle perhaps would rather have taken a walk through the city with her, or have gone somewhere where they could enjoy the sunset, but her dark eyes fixed themselves upon him. she was full of energy from top to toe, and it was all centered on him. there was something in her nature that excluded the possibility of selfishness. in relation to herself, everything was indifferent; she only wanted to be with him--and to live for him. she was beneficent and intact as virgin soil; pelle had awakened love in her--and it took the shape of a perpetual need of giving. he felt, humbly, that she brought all she had and was to him as a gift, and all he did was done to repay her generosity. he had refused to undertake the direction of the labor organization. his life together with ellen and the maintenance of the newly established household left him no time for any effectual efforts outside his home. ellen did not interfere in the matter; but when he came home after spending the evening at a meeting he could see she had been crying. so he stopped at home with her; it was weak of him, out he did not see what else he could do. and he missed nothing; ellen more than made amends. she knew how to make their little home close itself about him, how to turn it into a world of exuberant inner life. there was no greater pleasure than to set themselves to achieve some magnificent object--as, for instance, to buy a china flower-pot, which could stand on the window-sill and contain an aspidistra. that meant a week of saving, and when they had got it they would cross over to the other side of the canal, arm in arm, and look up at the window in order to see the effect. and then something else would be needed; a perforating machine, an engraved nameplate for the door; every saturday meant some fresh acquisition. _the working man_ lay unread. if pelle laid down his work a moment in order to glance at it, there was ellen nipping his ear with her lips; his free time belonged to her, and it was a glorious distraction in work-time, to frolic as carelessly as a couple of puppies, far more delightful than shouldering the burden of the servitude of the masses! so the paper was given up; ellen received the money every week for her savings-bank. she had discovered a corner in market street where she wanted to set up a shop and work-room with three or four assistants-- that was what she was saving for. pelle wondered at her sagacity, for that was a good neighborhood. after their marriage they did not visit ellen's parents so often. stolpe found pelle was cooling down, and used to tease him a little, in order to make him answer the helm; but that angered ellen, and resulted in explosions--she would tolerate no criticism of pelle. she went to see them only when pelle proposed it; she herself seemed to feel no desire to see her family, but preferred staying at home. often they pretended they were not at home when "the family" knocked, in order to go out alone, to the zoological gardens or to lyngby. they did not see much of lasse. ellen had invited him once for all to eat his supper with them. but when he came home from work he was too tired to change his clothes, and wash himself, and make himself tidy, and ellen was particular about her little home. he had a great respect for her, but did not feel properly at home in her living-room. he had taken pelle's old room, and was boarding with the three orphans. they thought great things of him, and all their queer care for the big foundling pelle was now transferred to old lasse. and here they fell on better soil. lasse was becoming a child again, and had felt the need of a little pampering. with devout attention he would listen to marie's little troubles, and the boy's narrations of everything that they did and saw. in return he told them the adventures of his boyhood, or related his experiences in the stone-breaking yard, swaggering suitably, in order not to be outdone. when pelle came to fetch his father the four of them would be sitting down to some childish game. they would wrangle as to how the game should be played, for lasse was the most skilful. the old man would excuse himself. "you mustn't be angry, lad, because i neglect you--but i'm tired of an evening and i go to bed early." "then come on sunday--and breakfast with us; afterward we go out." "no, i've something on for sunday--an assignation," said lasse roguishly, in order to obviate further questions. "enjoy your youthful happiness; it won't last forever." he would never accept help. "i earn what i need for my food and a few clothes; i don't need much of either, and i am quite contented. and you've enough to see to yourself," was his constant answer. lasse was always gentle and amiable, and appeared contented, but there was a curious veil over his eyes, as though some disappointment were gnawing at his heart. and pelle knew well what it was--it had always been an understood thing that lasse should spend his old age at pelle's fireside. in his childish dreams of the future, however various they might be, father lasse was always at hand, enjoying a restful old age, in return for all he had done for pelle. that was how it should be; at home in the country in every poor home a gray-headed old man sat in the chimney-corner--for children among the poor are the only comfort of age. for the time being this could not be arranged; there was no room in their two little rooms. ellen was by no means lacking in heart; she often thought of this or that for the old man's comfort, but her passionate love would permit of no third person to approach them too closely. such a thing had never entered her mind; and pelle felt that if he were to persuade her to take father lasse into their home, the wonder of their life together would be killed. they lived so fully from hour to hour; theirs was a sacred happiness, that must not be sacrificed, but which itself demanded the sacrifice of all else. their relation was not the usual practical self-love, but love itself, which seldom touches the every-day life of the poor, save that they hear it in tragic and beautiful songs of unhappy lovers. but here, to them, had come its very self--a shining wonder! and now ellen was going to bear a child. her figure grew fuller and softer. toward all others she was cold and remote in her behavior; only to pelle she disclosed herself utterly. the slight reserve which had always lurked somewhere within her, as though there was something that he could not yet conquer, had disappeared. her gaze was no longer fixed and searching; but sought his own with quiet self-surrender. a tender and wonderful harmony was visible in her, as though she had now come into her own, and from day to day she grew more beautiful. pelle was filled with pride to see how luxuriantly she unfolded beneath his caresses. he was conscious of a sense of inexhaustible liberality, such as the earth had suddenly inspired in him at times in his childhood; and an infinite tenderness filled his heart. there was an alluring power in ellen's helplessness, so rich in promise as it was. he would joyfully have sacrificed the whole world in order to serve her and that which she so wonderfully bore within her. he got up first in the morning, tidied the rooms, and made coffee before he went to work. he was vexed if when he came home ellen had been sweeping or scrubbing. he made two of himself in order to spare her, stinted himself of sleep, and was restlessly busy; his face had assumed a fixed expression of happiness, which gave him almost a look of stupidity. his thoughts never went beyond the four walls of his home; ellen's blessed form entirely engrossed him. the buying of new furniture was discontinued; in its place ellen made curious purchases of linen and flannel and material for swaddling-bands, and mysterious conversations were continually taking place between her and her mother, from which pelle was excluded; and when they went to see ellen's parents madam stolpe was always burrowing in her chests of drawers, and giving ellen little packages to be taken home. the time passed only too quickly. exclusively as they had lived for their own affairs, it seemed as if they could never get everything finished. and one day it was as though the world was shattered about their heads. ellen lay in bed, turning from side to side and shrieking as though an evil spirit had taken possession of her body. pelle bent over her with a helpless expression, while at the foot of the bed sat madam blom; she sat there knitting and reading the papers as though nothing whatever was amiss. "shriek away, little woman," she said from time to time, when ellen became silent; "that's part of the business!" ellen looked at her spitefully and defiantly pressed her lips together, but next moment she opened her mouth wide and roared wildly. a rope was fastened to the foot of the bed, and she pulled on this while she shrieked. then she collapsed, exhausted. "you wicked, wicked boy," she whispered, with a faint smile. pelle bent over her happily; but she pushed him suddenly away; her beautiful body contorted itself, and the dreadful struggle was raging again. but at last a feeble voice relieved hers and filled the home with a new note. "another mouth to fill," said madam blom, holding the new-born child in the air by one leg. it was a boy. pelle went about blushing and quite bewildered, as though something had happened to him that no one else had ever experienced. at first he took master beck's work home with him and looked after the child himself at night. every other moment he had to put down his work and run in to the mother and child. "you are a wonderful woman, to give me such a child for a kiss," he said, beaming, "and a boy into the bargain! what a man he'll be!" "so it's a boy!" said the "family." "don't quite lose your head!" "that would be the last straw!" said pelle gravely. the feminine members of the family teased him because he looked after the child. "what a man--perhaps he'd like to lie in child-bed, too!" they jeered. "i don't doubt it," growled stolpe. "but he's near becoming an idiot, and that's much more serious. and it pains me to say it, but that's the girl's fault. and yet all her life she has only heard what is good and proper. but women are like cats--there's no depending on them." pelle only laughed at their gibes. he was immeasurably happy. and now lasse managed to find his way to see them! he had scarcely received the news of the event, when he made his appearance just as he was. he was full of audaciously high spirits; he threw his cap on the ground outside the door, and rushed into the bedroom as though some one were trying to hold him back. "ach, the little creature! did any one ever see such an angel!" he cried, and he began to babble over the child until ellen was quite rosy with maternal pride. his joy at becoming a grandfather knew no limits. "so it's come at last, it's come at last!" he repeated, over and over again. "and i was always afraid i should have to go to my grave without leaving a representative behind me! ach, what a plump little devil! he's got something to begin life on, he has! he'll surely be an important citizen, pelle! just look how plump and round he is! perhaps a merchant or a manufacturer or something of that sort! to see him in his power and greatness--but that won't be granted to father lasse." he sighed. "yes, yes, here he is, and how he notices one already! perhaps the rascal's wondering, who is this wrinkled old man standing there and coming to see me in his old clothes? yes, it's father lasse, so look at him well, he's won his magnificence by fair means!" then he went up to pelle and fumbled for his hand. "well, i've hardly dared to hope for this--and how fine he is, my boy! what are you going to call him?" lasse always ended with that question, looking anxiously at his son as he asked it. his old head trembled a little now when anything moved him. "he's to be called lasse frederik," said pelle one day, "after his two grandfathers." this delighted the old man. he went off on a little carouse in honor of the day. and now he came almost every day. on sunday mornings he made himself scrupulously tidy, polishing his boots and brushing his clothes, so as to make himself thoroughly presentable. as he went home from work he would look in to ask whether little lasse had slept well. he eulogized ellen for bringing such a bright, beautiful youngster into the world, and she quite fell in love with the old man, on account of his delight in the child. she even trusted him to sit with the little one, and he was never so pleased as when she wished to go out and sent for him accordingly. so little lasse succeeded, merely by his advent, in abolishing all misunderstandings, and pelle blessed him for it. he was the deuce of a fellow already--one day he threw lasse and ellen right into one another's arms! pelle followed step by step the little creature's entrance into the world; he noticed when first his glance showed a watchful attention, and appeared to follow an object, and when first his hand made a grab at something. "hey, hey, just look! he wants his share of things already!" he cried delightedly. it was pelle's fair moustache the child was after--and didn't he give it a tug! the little hand gripped valiantly and was scarcely to be removed; there were little dimples on the fingers and deep creases at the wrist. there was any amount of strength in ellen's milk! they saw nothing more of morton. he had visited them at first, but after a time ceased coming. they were so taken up with one another at the time, and ellen's cool behavior had perhaps frightened him away. he couldn't know that that was her manner to everybody. pelle could never find an idle hour to look him up, but often regretted him. "can you understand what's amiss with him?" he would ask ellen wonderingly. "we have so much in common, he and i. shall i make short work of it and go and look him up?" ellen made no answer to this; she only kissed him. she wanted to have him quite to herself, and encompassed him with her love; her warm breath made him feel faint with happiness. her will pursued him and surrounded him like a wall; he had a faint consciousness of the fact, but made no attempt to bestir himself. he felt quite comfortable as he was. the child occasioned fresh expenses, and ellen had all she could do; there was little time left for her to help him. he had to obtain suitable work, so that they might not suffer by the slack winter season, but could sit cozily between their four walls. there was no time for loafing about and thinking. it was an obvious truth, which their daily life confirmed, that poor people have all they can do to mind their own affairs. this was a fact which they had not at once realized. he no longer gave any thought to outside matters. it was really only from old habit that, as he sat eating his breakfast in the workshop, he would sometimes glance at the paper his sandwiches were wrapped in--part of some back number of _the working man._ or perhaps it would happen that he felt something in the air, that passed him by, something in which he had no part; and then he would raise his head with a listening expression. but ellen was familiar with the remoteness that came into his eyes at such times, and she knew how to dispel it with a kiss. one day he met morten in the street. pelle was delighted, but there was a sceptical expression in morten's eyes. "why don't you ever come to see me now?" asked pelle. "i often long to see you, but i can't well get away from home." "i've found a sweetheart--which is quite an occupation." "are you engaged?" said pelle vivaciously. "tell me something about her!" "oh, there's not much to tell," said morten, with a melancholy smile. "she is so ragged and decayed that no one else would have her--that's why i took her." "that is truly just like you!" pelle laughed. "but seriously, who is the girl and where does she live?" "where does she live?" morten stared at him for a moment uncomprehendingly. "yes, after all you're right. if you know where people live you know all about them. the police always ask that question." pelle did not know whether morten was fooling him or whether he was speaking in good faith; he could not understand him in the least to-day. his pale face bore signs of suffering. there was a curious glitter in his eyes. "one has to live somewhere in this winter cold." "yes, you are right! and she lives on the common, when the policeman doesn't drive her away. he's the landlord of the unfortunate, you know! there has been a census lately--well, did you observe what happened? it was given out that everybody was to declare where he lodged on a particular night. but were the census-papers distributed among the homeless? no--all those who live in sheds and outhouses, or on the common, or in newly erected buildings, or in the disused manure-pits of the livery stables--they have no home, and consequently were not counted in the census. that was cleverly managed, you know; they simply don't exist! otherwise there would be a very unpleasant item on the list--the number of the homeless. only one man in the city here knows what it is; he's a street missionary, and i've sometimes been out with him at night; it's horrifying, what we've seen! everywhere, wherever there's a chink, they crowd into it in order to find shelter; they lie under the iron staircases even, and freeze to death. we found one like that--an old man--and called up a policeman; he stuck his red nose right in the corpse's mouth and said, 'dead of drink.' and now that's put down, where really it ought to say, 'starved to death!' it mustn't be said that any one really suffers need in this country, you understand. no one freezes to death here who will only keep moving; no one starves unless it's his own fault. it must necessarily be so in one of the most enlightened countries in the world; people have become too cultivated to allow want to stalk free about the streets; it would spoil their enjoyment and disturb their night's rest. and they must be kept at a distance too; to do away with them would be too troublesome; but the police are drilled to chase them back into their holes and corners. go down to the whaling quay and see what they bring ashore in a single day at this time of the year--it isn't far from your place. accidents, of course! the ground is so slippery, and people go too near the edge of the quay. the other night a woman brought a child into the world in an open doorway in north bridge street--in ten degrees of frost. people who collected were indignant; it was unpardonable of her to go about in such a condition-- she ought to have stopped at home. it didn't occur to them that she had no home. well then, she could have gone to the police; they are obliged to take people in. on the other hand, as we were putting her in the cab, she began to cry, in terror, 'not the maternity hospital--not the maternity hospital!' she had already been there some time or other. she must have had some reason for preferring the doorstep--just as the others preferred the canal to the workhouse." morten continued, regardless of pelle, as though he had to ease some inward torment. pelle listened astounded to this outburst of lacerating anguish with a shamed feeling that he himself had a layer of fat round his heart. as morten spoke poverty once more assumed a peculiar, horrible, living glimmer. "why do you tell me all this as if i belonged to the upper classes?" he said. "i know all this as well as you do." "and we haven't even a bad year," morten continued, "the circumstances are as they always are at this time of year. yesterday a poor man stole a loaf from the counter and ran off with it; now he'll be branded all his life. 'my god, that he should want to make himself a thief for so little!' said the master's wife--it was a twopenny-ha'penny roll. it's not easy to grasp--branded for his whole life for a roll of bread!" "he was starving," said pelle stupidly. "starving? yes, of course he was starving! but to me it's insanity, i tell you--i can't take it in; and every one else thinks it's so easy to understand. why do i tell you this, you ask? you know it as well as i do. no, but you don't know it properly, or you'd have to rack your brains till you were crazy over the frightful insanity of the fact that these two words--bread and crime--can belong together! isn't it insane, that the two ends should bend together and close in a ring about a human life? that a man should steal bread of all things--bread, do you understand? bread ought not to be stolen. what does any man want with thieving who eats enough? in the mornings, long before six o'clock, the poor people gather outside our shop, and stand there in rows, in order to be the first to get the stale bread that is sold at half-price. the police make them stand in a row, just as they do outside the box-office at the theater, and some come as early as four, and stand two hours in the cold, in order to be sure of their place. but besides those who buy there is always a crowd of people still poorer; they have no money to buy with, but they stand there and stare as though it interested them greatly to see the others getting their bread cheap. they stand there waiting for a miracle in the shape of a slice of bread. one can see that in the way their eyes follow every movement, with the same desperate hope that you see in the eyes of the dogs when they stand round the butcher's cart and implore heaven that the butcher may drop a bit of meat. they don't understand that no one will pity them. not we human beings--you should see their surprise when we give them anything!--but chance, some accident. good god, bread is so cheap, the cheapest of all the important things in this world--and yet they can't for once have enough of it! this morning i slipped a loaf into an old woman's hand-- she kissed it and wept for joy! do you feel that that's endurable?" he stared at pelle with madness lurking in his gaze. "you do me an injustice if you think i don't feel it too," said pelle quietly. "but where is there a quick way out of this evil? we must be patient and organize ourselves and trust to time. to seize on our rights as they've done elsewhere won't do for us." "no, that's just it! they know it won't do for us--that's why justice never goes forward. the people get only what's due to them if the leaders know that if the worst comes to the worst they can provide for themselves." "i don't believe that any good would come of a revolution," said pelle emphatically. he felt the old longing to fight within him. "you can't understand about that unless you've felt it in yourself," replied morten passionately. "revolution is the voice of god, which administers right and justice, and it cannot be disputed. if the poor were to rise to see that justice was done it would be god's judgment, and it would not be overthrown. the age has surely the right to redeem itself when it has fallen into arrears in respect of matters so important; but it could do so only by a leap forward. but the people don't rise, they are like a damp powder! you must surely some time have been in the cellar of the old iron merchant under the 'ark,' and have seen his store of rags and bones and old iron rubbish? they are mere rakings of the refuse-heap, things that human society once needed and then rejected. he collects them again, and now the poor can buy them. and he buys the soldiers' bread too, when they want to go on the spree, and throws it on his muck-heap; he calls it fodder for horses, but the poor buy it of him and eat it. the refuse-heap is the poor man's larder --that is, when the pigs have taken what they want. the amager farmers fatten their swine there, and the sanitary commission talks about forbidding it; but no one has compassion on the copenhagen poor." pelle shuddered. there was something demoniacal in morten's hideous knowledge--he knew more of the "ark" than pelle himself. "have you, too, been down in that loathsome rubbish-store?" he asked, "or how do you know all this?" "no, i've not been there--but i can't help knowing it--that's my curse! ask me even whether they make soup out of the rotten bones they get there. and not even the poison of the refuse-heap will inflame them; they lap it up and long for more! i can't bear it if nothing is going to happen! now you've pulled yourself out of the mire--and it's the same with everybody who has accomplished anything--one after another--either because they are contented or because they are absorbed in their own pitiful affairs. those who are of any use slink away, and only the needy are left." "i have never left you in the lurch," said pelle warmly. "you must realize that i haven't." "it isn't to be wondered at that they get weary," morten continued. "even god loses patience with those who always let themselves be trampled upon. last night i dreamed i was one of the starving. i was going up the street, grieving at my condition, and i ran up against god. he was dressed like an old cossack officer, and had a knout hanging round his neck. "'help me, dear god!' i cried, and fell on my knees before him. 'my brothers won't help me.' "'what ails you?' he asked, 'and who are you?' "'i am one of thy chosen folk, one of the poor,' i answered. 'i am starving!' "'you are starving and complain of your brothers, who have set forth food for you in abundance?' he said angrily, pointing to all the fine shops. 'you do not belong to my chosen people--away with you!' and then he lashed me over the back with his knout." morten checked himself and spoke no more; it was as though he neither saw nor heard; he had quite collapsed. suddenly he turned away, without saying good-bye. pelle went home; he was vexed by morten's violence, which was, he felt, an attack upon himself. he knew this of himself--that he was not faithless; and no one had any right to grudge him the happiness of founding a family. he was quite indignant--for the first time for a long time. that they should taunt him, who had done more for the cause than most!--just because he looked after his own affairs for a time! something unruly was rising within him; he felt a sudden need to lay about him; to fight a good stiff battle and shake the warm domesticity out of his bones. down by the canal they were engaged cutting the ice in order to clear the water. it was already spring tide, and the ice-cakes were drifting toward the sea, but with unbelievable slowness. after all, that's the work for you, he told himself as he turned away. he was conscious of that which lay beneath the surface, but he would not let it rise. as soon as he was between four walls again he grew calmer. ellen sat by the stove busied with little lasse, who lay sprawling on his belly in her lap. "only look what a sweet little roly-poly he is! there isn't a trace of chafing anywhere!" xvii from his place at the window pelle could look out over the canal and the bridge by the prison, where the prisoners lay on the rafts, washing wool. he recognized ferdinand's tall, powerful figure; shortly after christmas they had captured him in an underground vault in the cemetery, where he had established himself; the snow had betrayed his hiding- place. and now he lay yonder, so near the "ark" and his mother! from time to time he raised his closely-shorn head and looked thither. beyond the bridge toward the market, was the potter with his barge; he had piled up his jutland wares on the quay, and the women from kristianshavn came to deal with him. and behind at the back of all rose the mass of the "ark." it was so huge that it did not give the impression of a barracks, but had rather the character of a fantastic village--as though a hundred hamlets had been swept together in one inextricable heap. originally it had been a little frame building of one story with a gabled roof. then it had gradually become an embryo town; it budded in all directions, upward as well, kaleidoscopically increasing to a vast mass of little bits of facade, high-pitched roofs, deep bays, and overhanging gables, all mingled together in an endless confusion, till in the middle it was five stories high. and there a bluish ring of vapor always hovered, revealing the presence of the well, that hidden ventilating shaft for the thronging inmates of the "ark." one could recognize madam frandsen's garret with its chimney-cowl, and farther back, in a deep recess, which ran far into the mass of the building, pelle could distinguish hanne's window. otherwise he could not place many of the little windows. they stared like failing eyes. even the coal-dealer, who was the deputy landlord of the "ark," was imperfectly acquainted with all its holes and corners. he could see the inmates of the "ark" running to and fro across the bridge, careless and myopic; they always rushed along, having started at the last moment.. there was something tranquilizing about their negligence, which was evoked by privation; in the "ark" a man began to worry about his food only, when he sat down to table and discovered there wasn't any! and among them little groups of workmen wandered in and out across the bridge; that steady march from the north bridge had travelled hither, as though seeking him out. the masses were now no longer vaguely fermenting; a mighty will was in process of formation. amid the confusion, the chaotic hubbub, definite lines became visible; a common consciousness came into being and assumed a direction; the thousands of workers controlled themselves in a remarkable way, and were now progressing, slowly and prudently, with the ideal of closing up the ranks. one whose hearing was a little dull might have received the impression that nothing was happening--that they were reconciled with their lot; but pelle knew what was going on. he himself had put his shoulder to the wheel, and was secretly one of their number. he was happy in ellen's divided love, and all he undertook had reference to her and the child. but now again the sound of footsteps echoed through his brain; and it would not be silenced. they had penetrated further than he himself could go. it was as though a deadening screen had suddenly been removed and whether he wished it or not, he heard every step of the wanderers outside. the hard times forced them to proceed quietly, but work was being done in secret. the new ideas were in process of becoming current, the newspapers introduced them into the bosom of the family, and they were uttered from the speaker's platform, or discussed at meal-times in workshop and factory. the contagion ran up staircases and went from door to door. organizations which more than once had been created and broken up were created afresh--and this time to endure. the employers fought them, but could not defeat them; there was an inward law working upon the masses, making a structure behind which they must defend themselves. they taxed themselves and stole the bread out of their own mouths in order to increase the funds of their organization, in the blind conviction that eventually something miraculous would come of it all. the poor achieved power by means of privation, tears, and self-denial, and had the satisfaction of feeling that they were rich through their organization. when many united together they tasted of the sweets of wealth; and, grateful as they were, they regarded that already as a result. a sense of well-being lifted them above the unorganized, and they felt themselves socially superior to the latter. to join the trades unions now signified a rise in the social scale. this affected many, and others were driven into the movement by the strong representations of their house-mates. the big tenement buildings were gradually leavened by the new ideas; those who would not join the union must clear out. they were treated as the scum of society, and could only settle down in certain quarters of the city. it no longer seemed impossible to establish the organization of labor in a stable fashion, and to accomplish something for the workers--if only some courageous worker would place himself at the head of affairs. the fact that most of them worked at home in their lodgings could no longer make them invisible-- the movement had eyes everywhere. pelle, with surprise, caught himself sitting at his bench and making plans for the development of the movement. he put the matter from him, and devoted his whole mind to ellen and the child. what had he to do with the need of strangers, when these two called for all his ability and all his strength, if he was to provide them merely with necessities? he had tortured himself enough with the burden of poverty--and to no end. and now he had found his release in a blessed activity, which, if he was to neglect nothing, would entirely absorb him. what then was the meaning of this inward admonition, that seemed to tell him that he was sinning against his duty? he silenced the inward voice by dwelling on his joy in his wife and child. but it returned insidiously and haunted his mind like a shadow. at times, as he sat quietly working, something called him: "pelle, pelle!"--or the words throbbed in his ears in the depth of the night. at such times he sat upright in bed, listening. ellen and the child were fast asleep; he could hear a faint whistling as little lasse drew his breath. he would go to the door and open it, although he shook his head at his own folly. it was surely a warning that some one near to him was in trouble! at this time pelle threw himself passionately into his life with ellen and the child; he lived for them as wholly as though he had anticipated an immediate parting. they had purchased a perambulator on the instalment system, and every sunday they packed sandwiches under the apron and pushed it before them to the common, or they turned into some beer-garden in the neighborhood of the city, where they ate their provisions and drank coffee. often too they made their way along the coast road, and went right out into the forest. lasse-frederik, as ellen called him, sat throned in all his splendor in the perambulator, like a little idol, pelle and ellen pushing him alternately. ellen did not want to permit this. "it's no work for a man, pushing a perambulator," she would say. "you won't see any other man doing it! they let their wives push the family coach." "what are other people to me?" replied pelle. "i don't keep a horse yet." she gave him a grateful look; nevertheless, she did not like it. they spent glorious hours out there. little lasse was allowed to scramble about to his heart's content, and it was wonderful how he tumbled about; he was like a frolicsome little bear. "i believe he can smell the earth under him," said pelle, recalling his own childish transports. "it's a pity he has to live in that barrack there!" ellen gazed at him uncomprehendingly. they did not move about much; it contented them to lie there and to delight in the child, when he suddenly sat up and gazed at them in astonishment, as though he had just discovered them. "now he's beginning to think!" said pelle, laughing. "you take my word for it, he's hungry." and little lasse scrambled straight up to his mother, striking at her breast with his clenched hands, and saying, "mam, mam!" pelle and the perambulator had to station themselves in front of her while he was fed. when they reached home it was evening. if the doormat was displaced it meant that some one had been to call on them; and ellen was able to tell, from its position, who the visitor had been. once it stood upright against the wall. "that's uncle carpenter," said pelle quietly. little lasse was sleeping on his arm, his head resting on pelle's shoulder. "no, it will have been cousin anna," said ellen, opening the door. "thank the lord we weren't at home, or we should have had such a business till late in the evening! they never eat anything at home on sundays, they simply drink a mouthful of coffee and then go round eating their relations out of house and home." xviii pelle often thought with concern of the three orphans in the "ark." they were learning nothing that would be of use to them in the future, but had all they could do to make a living. the bad times had hit them too, and little karl in particular; people were stingy with their tips. in these days they were never more than a day ahead of destitution, and the slightest misfortune would have brought them face to face with it. but they let nothing of this be seen--they were only a little quieter and more solemn than usual. he had on several occasions made inquiries as to obtaining help for them, but nothing could be done without immediately tearing them asunder; all those who were in a position to help them cried out against their little household, and separation was the worst that could befall them. when he went to see them marie always had plenty to tell and to ask him; he was still her particular confidant, and had to listen to all her household cares and give her his advice. she was growing tall now, and had a fresher look than of old; and pelle's presence always filled her eyes with joy and brought the color to her cheeks. father lasse she eulogized, in a voice full of emotion, as though he were a little helpless child; but when she asked after ellen a little malice glittered in her eyes. one morning, as he sat working at home, while ellen was out with the child, there was a knock at the door. he went out and opened it. in the little letter-box some one had thrust a number of _the working man_, with an invitation to take the paper regularly. he opened the paper eagerly, as he sat down to his bench again; an extraordinary feeling of distress caused him first of all to run through the "accidents." he started up in his chair; there was a heading concerning a fourteen- year-old boy who worked in a tinplate works and had had the fingers of the right hand cut off. a premonition told him that this misfortune had befallen the little "family"; he quickly drew on a coat and ran over to the "ark." marie met him anxiously. "can you understand what has happened to peter? he never came home last night!" she said, in distress. "lots of boys roam about the streets all night, but peter has never been like that, and i kept his supper warm till midnight. i thought perhaps he'd got into bad company." pelle showed her _the working man_. in a little while the inmates of the "ark" would see the report and come rushing up with it. it was better that he should prepare her beforehand. "but it's by no means certain," he said, to cheer her. "perhaps it isn't he at all." marie burst into tears. "yes, of course it is! i've so often gone about worrying when he's been telling me about those sharp knives always sliding between their fingers. and they can't take proper care of themselves; they must work quickly or they get the sack. oh, poor dear peter!" she had sunk into her chair and now sat rocking to and fro with her apron to her eyes, like an unhappy mother. "now be grown-up and sensible," said pelle, laying his hand on her shoulder. "perhaps it's not so bad after all; the papers always exaggerate. now i'll run out and see if i can trace him." "go to the factory first, then," said marie, jumping to her feet, "for, of course, they'll know best. but you mustn't in any case say where we live--do you hear? remember, we've not been to school, and he hasn't been notified to the pastor for confirmation. we could be punished if they found that out." "i'll take good care," said pelle, and he hurried away. at the factory he received the information that peter was lying in hospital. he ran thither, and arrived just at the time for visitors. peter was sitting upright in bed, his hand in a sling; this gave him a curiously crippled appearance. and on the boy's face affliction had already left those deep, ineradicable traces which so dismally distinguish the invalided worker. the terrible burden of the consequences of mutilation could already be read in his pondering, childish gaze. he cheered up when he saw pelle, made an involuntary movement with his right hand, and then, remembering, held out his left. "there--i must give you my left fist now," he said, with a dismal smile. "that'll seem queer to me for a bit. if i can do anything at all. otherwise"--he made a threatening movement of the head--"i tell you this--i'll never be a burden to marie and karl all my life. take my word for it, i shall be able to work again." "we shall soon find something for you," said pelle, "and there are kind people, too. perhaps some one will help you so that you can study." he himself did not know just where that idea came from; he certainly had never seen such a case. the magical dreams of his childhood had been responsible for a whole class of ideas, which were nourished by the anecdotes of poor boys in the reading-books. he was confronted by the impossible, and quite simply he reached out after the impossible. peter had no reading-books at his back. "kind people!" he cried scornfully--"they never have anything themselves, and i can't even read --how should i learn how to study? karl can read; he taught himself from the signs in the streets while he was running his errands; and he can write as well. and hanne has taught marie a little. but all my life i've only been in the factory." he stared bitterly into space; it was melancholy to see how changed his face was--it had quite fallen in. "don't worry now," said pelle confidently: "we shall soon find something." "only spare me the poor-relief! don't you go begging for me--that's all!" said peter angrily. "and, pelle," he whispered, so that no one in the room should hear, "it really isn't nice here. last night an old man lay there and died--close to me. he died of cancer, and they didn't even put a screen round him. all the time he lay there and stared at me! but in a few days i shall be able to go out. then there'll be something to be paid--otherwise the business will come before the poor law guardians, and then they'll begin to snuff around--and i've told them fibs, pelle! can't you come and get me out? marie has money for the house-rent by her--you can take that." pelle promised, and hurried back to his work. ellen was at home; she was moving about and seemed astonished. pelle confided the whole affair to her. "such a splendid fellow he is," he said, almost crying. "a little too solemn with all his work--and now he's a cripple! only a child, and an invalided worker already--it's horrible to think of!" ellen went up to him and pulled his head against her shoulder; soothingly she stroked his hair. "we must do something for him, ellen," he said dully. "you are so good, pelle. you'd like to help everybody; but what can we do? we've paid away all our savings over my lying-in." "we must sell or pawn some of our things." she looked at him horrified. "pelle, our dear home! and there's nothing here but just what is absolutely necessary. and you who love our poor little belongings so! but if you mean that, why, of course! only you are doing something for him already in sacrificing your time." after that he was silent. she several times referred to the matter again, as something that must be well deliberated, but he did not reply. her conversation hurt him--whether he replied to it or was silent. in the afternoon he invented an errand in the city, and made his way to the factory. he made for the counting-house, and succeeded in seeing the manufacturer himself. the latter was quite upset by the occurrence, but pleaded in vindication that the accident was entirely the result of negligence. he advised pelle to make a collection among the workers in the factory, and he opened it himself with a contribution of twenty kroner. he also held out the prospect that peter, who was a reliable lad, might take a place as messenger and collector when he was well again. peter was much liked by his comrades; a nice little sum was collected. pelle paid his hospital dues, and there was so much left that he would be able to stay at home and rest with an easy mind until his hand was healed and he could take the place of messenger at the factory. the young invalid was in high spirits, knowing that his living was assured; he passed the time in lounging about the town, wherever there was music to be heard, in order to learn fresh tunes. "this is the first holiday i've had since i went to the factory," he told pelle. he did not get the place as messenger--some one stole a march on him; but he received permission to go back to his old work! with the remains of his right hand he could hold the sheet of tin-plate on the table, while the left hand had to accustom itself to moving among the threatening knives. this only demanded time and a little extra watchfulness. this accident was branded on pelle's soul, and it aroused his slumbering resentment. chance had given him the three orphans in the place of brothers and sisters, and he felt peter's fate as keenly as if it had been his own. it was a scandal that young children should be forced to earn their living by work that endangered their lives, in order to keep the detested poor law guardians at bay. what sort of a social order was this? he felt a suffocating desire to strike out, to attack it. the burden of due's fate, aggravated by this fresh misfortune, was once more visible in his face; ellen's gentle hand, could not smooth it away. "don't look so angry, now--you frighten the child so!" she would say, reaching him the boy. and pelle would try to smile; but it was only a grim sort of smile. he did not feel that it was necessary to allow ellen to look into his bleeding soul; he conversed with her about indifferent things. at other times he sat gazing into the distance, peering watchfully at every sign; he was once more full of the feeling that he was appointed to some particular purpose. he was certain that tidings of some kind were on the way to him. and then shoemaker petersen died, and he was again asked to take over the management of the union. "what do you say to that?" he asked ellen, although his mind was irrevocably made up. "you must know that yourself," she replied reservedly. "but if it gives you pleasure, why, of course!" "i am not doing it to please myself," said pelle gloomily. "i am not a woman!" he regretted his words, and went over to ellen and kissed her. she had tears in her eyes, and looked at him in astonishment. xix there was plenty to be done. the renegades must be shepherded back to the organization--shepherded or driven; pelle took the most willing first, allowing numbers to impress the rest. those who were quite stubborn he left to their own devices for the time being; when they were isolated and marked men into the bargain, they could do no further mischief. he felt well rested, and went very methodically to work. the feeling that his strength would hold out to the very end lent him a quiet courage that inspired confidence. he was not over-hasty, but saw to everything from the foundations upward; individual questions he postponed until the conditions for solving them should be at hand. he knew from previous experience that nothing could be accomplished unless the ranks were tightly knit together. so passed the remainder of the summer. and then the organization was complete; it looked as though it could stand a tussle. and the first question was the tariff. this was bad and antiquated; thoroughly behind the times in all respects; the trade was groaning under a low rate of wages, which had not kept step with the general development and the augmentation of prices. but pelle allowed his practical common sense to prevail. the moment was not favorable for a demand for higher wages. the organization could not lend the demand sufficient support; they must for the time being content themselves with causing the current tariff to be respected. many of the large employers did not observe it, although they themselves had introduced it. meyer was a particularly hard case; he made use of every possible shift and evasion to beat down the clearest wages bill. complaints were continually coming in, and one day pelle went to him in order to discuss the situation and come to some agreement. he was prepared to fight for the inviolability of the tariff, otherwise meyer would make big promises and afterward break them. he had really expected meyer to show him the door; however, he did not do so, but treated him with a sort of polite effrontery. hatred of his old enemy awaked in pelle anew, and it was all he could do to control himself. "the embargo will be declared against you if you don't come to an arrangement with your workers within a week," he said threateningly. meyer laughed contemptuously. "what's that you say? oh, yes, your embargo, we know something about that! but then the employers will declare a lock-out for the whole trade--what do you think of that? old hats will be selling cheap!" pelle was silent, and withdrew; it was the only way in which he could succeed in keeping cool. he had said what had to be said, and he was no diplomat, to smile quietly with a devil lurking in the corners of his eyes. meyer obligingly accompanied him to the door. "can i oblige you in any other way--with work, for example? i could very well find room for a worker who will make children's boots and shoes." when pelle reached the street he drew a long breath. poof! that was tough work; a little more insolence and he'd have given him one on the jaw! that would have been the natural answer to the fellow's effrontery! well, it was a fine test for his hot temper, and he had stood it all right! he could always be master of the situation if he held his tongue. "now suppose we do put an embargo on meyer," he thought, as he went down the street. "what then? why, then he'll hit back and declare a lock-out. could we hold out? not very long, but the employers don't know that--and then their businesses would be ruined. but then they would introduce workers from abroad--or, if that didn't answer, they would get the work done elsewhere; or they would import whole cargoes of machinery, as they have already begun to do on a small scale." pelle stood still in the middle of the street. damn it all, this wouldn't do! he must take care that he didn't make a hash of the whole affair. if these foreign workers and machines were introduced, a whole host of men would in a moment be deprived of their living. but he wanted to have a go at meyer; there must be some means of giving the bloodsucker a blow that he would feel in his purse! next morning he went as usual to beck's. beck looked at him from over his spectacles. "i've nothing more to do with you, pelle," he said, in a low voice. "what!" cried pelle, startled. "but we've such a lot of work on hand, master!" "yes, but i can't employ you any longer. i'm not doing this of my own free will; i have always been very well pleased with you; but that's how it stands. there are so many things one has to take into consideration; a shoemaker can do nothing without leather, and one can't very well do without credit with the leather merchants." he would not say anything further. but pelle had sufficiently grasped the situation. he was the president of the shoemakers' union; master beck had been compelled to dismiss him, by the threat of stopping his source of supplies. pelle was a marked man because he was at the head of the organization--although the latter was now recognized. this was an offence against the right of combination. still there was nothing to be done about the matter; one had the right to dismiss a man if one had no further need of him. meyer was a cunning fellow! for a time pelle drifted about dejectedly. he was by no means inclined to go home to ellen with this melancholy news; so he went to see various employers in order to ask them for work. but as soon as they heard who he was they found they had nothing for him to do. he saw that a black mark had been set against his name. so he must confine himself to home work, and must try to hunt up more acquaintances of his acquaintances. and he must be ready day and night lest some small shoemaker who muddled along without assistance should suddenly have more to do than he could manage. ellen took things as they came, and did not complain. but she was mutely hostile to the cause of their troubles. pelle received no help from her in his campaign; whatever he engaged in, he had to fight it out alone. this did not alter his plans, but it engendered a greater obstinacy in him. there was one side of his nature that ellen's character was unable to reach; well, she was only a woman, after all. one must be indulgent with her! he was kind to her, and in his thoughts he more and more set her on a level with little lasse. in that way he avoided considering her opinion concerning serious matters--and thereby felt more of a man. thanks to his small salary as president of his union, they suffered no actual privation. pelle did not like the idea of accepting this salary; he felt greatly inclined to refuse the few hundred kroner. there was not a drop of bureaucratic blood in his veins, and he did not feel that a man should receive payment for that which he accomplished for the general good. but now this money came in very conveniently; and he had other things to do than to make mountains out of molehills. he had given up the embargo; but he was always racking his brains for some way of getting at meyer; it occupied him day and night. one day his thoughts blundered upon meyer's own tactics. although he was quite innocent, they had driven him away from his work. how would it be if he were to employ the same method and, quite secretly, take meyer's workmen away from him? meyer was the evil spirit of the shoemaker's craft. he sat there like a tyrant, thanks to his omnipotence, and oppressed the whole body of workers. it would not be so impossible to set a black mark against his name! and pelle did not mean to be too particular as to the means. he talked the matter over with his father-in-law, whose confidence in him was now restored. stolpe, who was an old experienced tactician, advised him not to convoke any meeting on this occasion, but to settle the matter with each man face to face, so that the union could not be attacked. "you've got plenty of time," he said. "go first of all to the trustworthy fellows, and make them understand what sort of a man karl meyer is; take his best people away first of all; it won't do him much good to keep the bad ones. you can put the fear of god into your mates when you want to! do your business so well that no one will have the courage any longer to take the place of those that leave him. he must be branded as what he is--but between man and man." pelle did not spare himself; he went from one comrade to another, fiery and energetic. and what had proved impossible three years before he was now able to accomplish; the resentment of meyer's injustice had sunk into the minds of all. meyer had been in the habit of letting his workers run about to no purpose; if the work was not quite ready for them they could call again. and when the work was given out to them they had, as a rule, to finish it with a rush; there was intention in this; it made the people humble and submissive. but now the boot was on the other leg. the workers did not call; they did not deliver urgent commissions at the appointed time; meyer had to send to them, and got his own words as answer; they were not quite ready yet, but they would see what they could do for him! he had to run after his own workers in order not to offend his rich customers. in the first instances he settled the matter, as a rule, by dismissal. but that did not help him at all; the devil of arrogance had entered into the simple journeymen! it looked as though they had got their ideas of master and subordinate reversed! he had to give up trusting to the hard hand on the rein; he must seek them out with fair words! his business had the whole fashionable world as customer, and always required a staff of the very best workers. but not even friendly approaches availed. scarcely did he find a good journeyman-worker but he was off again, and if he asked the reason he always received the same jeering answer: they didn't feel inclined to work. he offered high wages, and at great expense engaged qualified men from outside; but pelle was at once informed and immediately sought them out. when they had been subjected to his influence only for a few days they went back to the place they came from, or found other masters, who, now that meyer's business was failing, were getting more orders. people who went to the warehouse said that meyer was raging about upstairs, abusing innocent people and driving them away from him. meyer was conscious of a hand behind all this, and he demanded that the employers' union should declare a lock-out. but the other masters scented a move for his benefit in this. his own business was moribund, so he wanted to bring theirs to a standstill also. they had no fundamental objection to the new state of affairs; in any case they could see no real occasion for a lock-out. so he was forced to give in, and wrote to pelle requesting him to enter into negotiations--in order to put an end to the unrest affecting the craft. pelle, who as yet possessed no skill in negotiations, answered meyer in a very casual manner, practically sending him about his business. he showed his reply to his father-in-law before dispatching it. "no, deuce take it, that won't do!" said stolpe. "look you, my lad, everything depends on the tone you take, if you are dealing with labor politics! these big folks think such a damn lot about the way a thing is wrapped up! if i were setting about this business i'd come out with the truth and chuck it in their faces--but that won't answer; they'd be so wild there'd be no dealing with them. just a nice little lie--that answers much better! yes, yes, one has to be a diplomatist and set a fox to catch a fox. now you write what i tell you! i'll give you an example. now--" stolpe paced up and down the room a while, with a thoughtful expression; he was in shirt-sleeves and slippers and had thrust both his forefingers in his waistcoat pockets. "are you ready, son-in-law? then we'll begin!" "to the president of the employers' union, herre h. meyer, shoemaker to the court. "being in receipt of your honored favor of yesterday's date hereby acknowledged, i take the liberty of remarking that so far as is known to me complete quiet and the most orderly conditions prevail throughout the trade. there appears therefore to be no motive for negotiation. "for the shoemakers' union, "your obedient servant, "pelle." "there, that's to the point, eh? napoleon himself might have put his name to that! and there's enough sting to it, too!" said stolpe, much gratified. "now write that out nicely, and then get a big envelope." pelle felt quite important when he had written this out on a big sheet of paper; it was like an order of the day issued by a sheriff or burgomaster at home. only in respect of its maliciousness he entertained a certain doubt. one morning, a few days later, he was sitting at home working. in the meantime he had been obliged to undertake casual jobs for sailors in the harbor, and now he was soling a pair of sea-boots for a seaman on board a collier. on the other side of the bench sat little lasse, chattering and aping his movements, and every time pelle drove a peg home the youngster knocked his rattle against the edge of the table, and pelle smiled at him. ellen was running in and out between the living-room and the kitchen. she was serious and silent. there was a knock at the door. she ran to the stove, snatching away some of the child's linen which was drying there, ran out, and opened the door. a dark, corpulent gentleman in a fur overcoat entered, bowing, holding his tall hat before him, together with his gloves and stick. pelle could not believe his eyes--it was the court shoemaker! "he's come to have it out!" thought pelle, and prepared himself for a tussle. his heart began to thump, there was a sudden sinking inside him; his old submissiveness was on the point of coming to the surface and mastering him. but that was only for a moment; then he was himself again. quietly he offered his guest a chair. meyer sat down, looking about the neat, simple room as though he wanted to compare his enemy's means with his own before he made a move. pelle gathered something from his wandering glance, and suddenly found himself considerably richer in his knowledge of human nature. "he's sitting there staring about him to see if something has gone to the pawnshop," he thought indignantly. "h'm! i have received your favor of the other day," began meyer. "you are of opinion that there is no occasion for a discussion of the situation; but--however--ah--i think--" "that is certainly my opinion," answered pelle, who had resolved to adhere to the tone of the letter. "the most perfect order prevails everywhere. but generally speaking it would seem that matters ought to go smoothly now, when we each have our union and can discuss affairs impartially." he gazed innocently at meyer. "ah, you think so too! it cannot be unknown to you that my workers have left me one after another--not to say that they were taken away from me. even to please you i can't call those orderly conditions." pelle sat there getting angrier and angrier at his finicking tone. why the devil couldn't he bluster like a proper man instead of sitting there and making his damned allusions? but if he wanted that sort of foolery he should have it! "ah! your people are leaving you?" he said, in an interested manner. "they are," said meyer, and he looked surprised. pelle's tone made him feel uncertain. "and they are playing tricks on me; they don't keep to their engagements, and they keep my messengers running about to no purpose. formerly every man came to get his work and to deliver it, but now i have to keep messengers for that; the business can't stand it." "the journeymen have had to run about to no purpose--i myself have worked for you," replied pelle. "but you are perhaps of opinion that we can better bear the loss of time?" meyer shrugged his shoulders. "that's a condition of your livelihood-- its conditions are naturally based on order. but if only i could at least depend on getting hands! man, this can't go on!" he cried suddenly, "damn and blast it all, it can't go on, it's not honorable!" little lasse gave a jump and began to bellow. ellen came hurrying in and took him into the bedroom. pelle's mouth was hard. "if your people are leaving you, they must surely have some reason for it," he replied; he would far rather have told meyer to his face that he was a sweater! "the union can't compel its members to work for an employer with whom perhaps they can't agree. i myself even have been dismissed from a workshop--but we can't bother two unions on those grounds!" he looked steadily at his opponent as he made this thrust; his features were quivering slightly. "aha!" meyer responded, and he rubbed his hands with an expression that seemed to say that--now at last he felt firm ground under his feet. "aha--so it's out at last! so you're a diplomatist into the bargain--a great diplomatist! you have a clever husband, little lady!" he turned to ellen, who was busying herself at the sideboard. "now just listen, herre pelle! you are just the man for me, and we must come to an arrangement. when two capable men get talking together something always comes of it-- it couldn't be otherwise! i have room for a capable and intelligent expert who understands fitting and cutting. the place is well paid, and you can have a written contract for a term of years. what do you say to that?" pelle raised his head with a start. ellen's eyes began to sparkle, and then became mysteriously dark; they rested on him compellingly, as though they would burn their purpose into him. for a moment he gazed before him, bewildered. the offer was so overpowering, so surprising; and then he laughed. what, what, was he to sell himself to be the understrapper of a sweater! "that won't do for me," he replied. "you must naturally consider my offer," said meyer, rising. "shall we say three days?" when the court shoemaker had gone, ellen came slowly back and laid her arm round pelle's shoulders. "what a clever, capable man you are, then!" she said, in a low voice, playing with his hair; there was something apologetic in her manner. she said nothing to call attention to the offer, but she began to sing at her work. it was a long time since pelle had heard her sing; and the song was to him like a radiant assurance that this time he would be the victor. xx pelle continued the struggle indefatigably, contending with opposing circumstances and with disloyalty, but always returning more boldly to the charge. many times in the course of the conflict he found himself back at the same place; meyer obtained a new lot of workers from abroad, and he had to begin all over again; he had to work on them until they went away again, or to make their position among their housemates so impossible that they resigned. the later winter was hard and came to meyer's assistance. he paid his workers well now, and had brought together a crowd of non-union hands; for a time it looked as though he would get his business going again. but pelle had left the non-unionists alone only through lack of time; now he began to seek them out, and he spoke with more authority than before. already people were remarking on his strength of will; and most of them surrendered beforehand. "the devil couldn't stand up against him!" they said. he never wavered in his faith in an ultimate victory, but went straight ahead; he did not philosophize about the other aspect of the result, but devoted all his energies to achieving it. he was actuated by sheer robust energy, and it led him the shortest way. the members of the union followed him willingly, and willingly accepted the privations involved in the emptying of the workshops. he possessed their confidence, and they found that it was, after all, glorious sport to turn the tables, when for once in a way they could bring the grievance home to its point of departure! they knew by bitter experience what it was to run about to no purpose, to beg for work, and to beg for their wages, and to haggle over them--in short, to be the underdog. it was amusing to reverse the roles. now the mouse was playing with the cat and having a rattling good time of it-- although the claws did get home now and again! pelle felt their confidence, the trust of one and all, in the readiness with which they followed him, as though he were only the expression of their own convictions. and when he stood up at the general meetings or conferences, in order to make a report or to conduct an agitation, and the applause of his comrades fell upon his ears, he felt an influx of sheer power. he was like the ram of a ship; the weight of the whole was behind him. he began to feel that he was the expression of something great; that there was a purpose within him. the pelle who dealt so quietly and cleverly with meyer and achieved precisely what he willed was not the usual pelle. a greater nature was working within him, with more responsibility, according to his old presentiment. he tested himself, in order to assimilate this as a conviction, and he felt that there was virtue in the idea. this higher nature stood in mystical connection with so much in his life; far back into his childhood he could trace it, as an abundant promise. so many had involuntarily expected something from him; he had listened to them with wonder, but now their expectation was proving prophetic. he paid strict attention to his words in his personal relations, now that their illimitable importance had been revealed to him. but in his agitator's work the strongest words came to him most naturally; came like an echo out of the illimitable void that lay behind him. he busied himself with his personality. all that had hitherto had free and careless play must now be circumscribed and made to serve an end. he examined his relations with ellen, was indulgent to her, and took pains to understand her demand for happiness. he was kind and gentle to her, but inflexible in his resolve. he had no conscientious scruples in respect of the court shoemaker. meyer had in all respects misused his omnipotence long enough; owing to his huge business he had made conditions and ruled them; and the evil of those conditions must be brought home to him. it was now summer and a good time for the workers, and his business was rapidly failing. pelle foresaw his fall, and felt himself to be a righteous avenger. the year-long conflict absorbed his whole mind. he was always on his feet; came rushing home to the work that lay there waiting for him, threw it aside like a maniac, and hurried off again. he did not see much of ellen and little lasse these days; they lived their own life without him. he dared not rest on what he had accomplished, now that the cohesion of the union was so powerful. he was always seeking means to strengthen and to undermine; he did not wish to fall a sacrifice to the unforeseen. his indefatigability infected his comrades, they became more eager the longer the struggle lasted. the conflict was magnified by the sacrifice it demanded, and by the strength of the opposition; meyer gradually became a colossus whom all must stake their welfare to hew down. families were ruined thereby, but the more sacrifice the struggle demanded the more recklessly they struggled on. and they were full of jubilation on the day when the colossus fell, and buried some of them in his fall! pelle was the undisputed victor. the journeyman-cobbler had laid low the biggest employer in the trade. they did not ask what the victory had cost, but carried his name in triumph. they cheered when they caught sight of him or when his name was mentioned. formerly this would have turned his head, but now he regarded his success as entirely natural--as the expression of a higher power! a few days later he summoned a general meeting of the union, laid before them the draft of a new tariff which was adapted to the times, and proposed that they should at once begin the fight for its adoption. "we could never have a better opportunity," he said. "now they have seen what we can do! with the tariff question we struck down meyer! we must strike the iron while it is hot!" he reckoned that his comrades were just in the mood for battle, despite all the privations that the struggle had entailed, and he was not mistaken. his proposal was unanimously accepted. but there was no fight for better wages. meyer was now making the rounds of the employers' establishments with the sample-box of one of the leather firms. the sight of this once so mighty man had a stimulating effect. the masters' union appointed a few employers with whom the workers' union could discuss the question of the tariff. xxi it often happened that pelle would look back with longing on his quiet home-life with ellen and the child, and he felt dejectedly that they lived in a happier world, and were on the point of accustoming themselves to live without him. "when once you have got this out of hand you can live really comfortably with them again," he thought. but one thing inevitably followed on another, and one question arose from the solution of another, and the poor man's world unfolded itself like the development of a story. the fame of his skill as organizer spread itself abroad; everywhere men were at work with the idea of closing up the ranks, and many began to look toward him with expectant eyes. frequently workers came to him begging him to help them to form an organization--no one had such a turn for the work as he. then they called a meeting together, and pelle explained the process to them. there was a certain amount of fancifulness and emphasis in his speech, but they understood him very well. "he talks so as to make your ears itch," they told one another. he was the man they trusted, and he initiated them into the practical side of the matter. "but you must sacrifice your wages--so that you can start a fund," he told them continually; "without money nothing can be done. remember, it's capital itself we are fighting against!" "will it be any use to understand boxing when the fight comes on?" asked a simple-minded workman one day. "yes--cash-boxing!" retorted pelle swiftly. they laughed, and turned their pitiful pockets inside out. they gazed a moment at the money before they gave it away. "oh, well, it's of no consequence," they said. "the day will soon come when it will be of consequence--if we only hang together," said pelle confidently. it was the dripping they had scraped off their bread--he knew that well, but there was no help for it! in these days he was no better situated than they were. his activities were leading him abroad, in wider and wider circles, until he found himself at length in the very midst of the masses. their number did not astonish him; he had always really been conscious of that. and he grew by this contact, and measured himself and the movement by an ever-increasing standard. at this time he underwent a noticeable change in his outer man. in his forehead were always those deep creases which in young men speak of a gloomy childhood; they were the only bitter token of that which he had taken upon himself, and reminded one of a clouded sky. otherwise he looked fresh and healthy enough; his hard life was not undermining his strength; he thrived on the sense of community, and was almost always cheerful. his cheeks grew round as those of a cornet-player, and his distended nostrils spoke of his fiery zeal; he needed much air, and always wore his clothes open upon his chest. his carriage was upright and elastic; his whole appearance was arresting, challenging. when he spoke at meetings there was energy in his words; he grew deeply flushed, and wet with perspiration. something of this flush remained in his face and neck, and there was always a feeling of heat in his body. when he strode forward he looked like a trumpeter at the head of a column. the many--that was his element. there were many who were to be brought under one hat. yet most of them lacked a clear understanding; old suspicions suddenly came to light; and many doubts were abroad among the masses. some believed blindly; others said, "it's all one whether this party or that does the plucking of us!" nothing of palpable importance occurred, such as to catch the eye; but they came to trust in his personality as the blind man trusts his leader, and they were forever demanding to hear his voice. pelle became their darling speaker. he felt that their blind confidence bore him up, and for them he gazed far over the hubbub and confusion. he had always been a familiar of fortune; now he saw it plainly, far out along the route of march, and inflamed them all with his enthusiasm. one evening he was summoned to rouse a calling that was in low water. it was the dustmen who applied to him. in order to stimulate their self- consciousness he showed them what a vast power they possessed in their despised activity. he imagined, as an example, that they refused to work, and painted, with much humor, the results which their action would have for the world of rich people. this had a tremendous effect on the meeting. the men stared at one another as if they had just discovered themselves, and then sat laughing like one man. to follow up his effect, he showed how one kind of work depends on another, and imagined one calling to support another, until a general strike had laid its paralyzing hand on the city. what a fantastic picture it was! pelle knew nothing of the theory of the labor movement, but his energy and enthusiasm lifted the veil from the remotest consequences. stimulated and startled by the terrible power which lay in their hands, the dustmen went home. there was something in all this that did not satisfy him; it was in his nature to create, not to destroy. but if only the poor would, they could make society all over again--so morten had one day said, and the words had never ceased to haunt pelle's mind. but he could not endure the idea of violent revolution; and now he had found a good way out of his difficulty. he felt convinced that cohesion was irresistible, and that life would undergo a peaceful change. he had welded his own union together so that the members hung together through thick and thin. he had accomplished something there, but if a real result were to be achieved the unions here must work in conjunction with those of all the cities in the country, and that was being done to a certain small extent, in his own trade as well as in others. but all these federations of local unions must be combined in a mighty whole, so that the whole country would be of one single mind. in other countries matters were progressing as here, so why not summon all countries to one vast work of cooperation? before pelle was aware, he had included the whole world in his solidarity. he knew now that poverty is international. and he was convinced that the poor man felt alike all the world over. the greatness of this idea did not go to his head. it had evolved naturally on the lines of his own organization--it was just like the idea at the base of the latter. but he continued to play with it until it assumed a definite form. then he went with his plan to his father-in- law, who was a member of the party executive, and through him was invited to lay the matter before the central committee. pelle was a practised speaker by now, but he was feverishly excited when he stood in the presence of the actual heart of the labor movement. his words delighted the many, but would he succeed in winning over these tried and experienced men, the leaders who stood behind the whole movement, while quietly going about their own business? he felt that this was the most significant day in his life. these were men with quieter temperaments than his own. they sat there immovable, listening with half-closed eyes; his big words brought the faintest smile to their lips--they had long got over that sort of thing! they were artisans and craftsmen who worked hard all day for a living, as did he himself, but several of them had given themselves a considerable education; they must be regarded as scholarly persons. in the evening and on sundays they worked for the cause, devising political schemes and devoting themselves to keeping accounts and the ever- increasing work of administration. they were awkward at these unaccustomed tasks, which had hitherto been reserved by quite a different class of society, and had had to grow accustomed thereto; their heads were gray and wrinkled. pelle felt that he was still only at the beginning. these men gave him the impression of a great secret council; outside they looked like any one else, but here at the green table they sat creating the vast organization into which he merely drove the masses. here high politics came into play. there was something impious in this--as though one saw ants making plans to overturn a mountain; and he must do the same if he wanted to accomplish anything! but here something more than big words was needed! he involuntarily moderated his tone and did his best to speak in a dry, professional manner. he received no applause when he had finished; the men sat there gazing in front of them with a slightly pondering expression. the silence and the great empty room had the effect of making him feel dizzy. all his faculties were directed outward, drawing strength from the echo from without of the many who had shaped him. but at this decisive moment they were silent, leaving him in suspense, without any kind of support. was the whole stupendous plan of federation a piece of madness, and was he a fool to propound it? no one replied. the leaders quietly asked him the details of his plan, and undertook to consider it. pelle left in a state of dreadful suspense. he felt that he had touched upon something on which a great decision depended, and he wanted corroboration of the fact that he had set about the matter rightly. in this moment of need he turned to himself. it was not his way to ask questions of his inner self, but now no other could answer him. he must look to himself for recognition. this was the first time that pelle had sought refuge in his own ego, or learned to fall back upon it in critical moments. but solitude did not suit him and he sought it only under the compulsion of necessity. his heart beat uncontrollably within him when he learned that his plan was approved. a committee was appointed to put it into execution, and pelle was on the committee. at one stroke the national federation made a single army of the many divisions, and was effective merely by the attractive virtue of its mass. it became a heavy and fatiguing task to organize the swarms that came streaming in, as water rushes to the sea, by virtue of a natural law. it needed the talent of a great general to marshal them for a conclusive battle and to lead them into the line of fire. pelle was naturally placed in the front ranks of the organization; his work was properly that of the pioneer and agitator; no one possessed the ear of the crowd as he did. he had received regular employment from one of the larger employers, which amounted to a recognition of the organization, and the increased rate of wages meant that he earned a moderate income. he did not object to the fact that the work had to be done away from home. life at home had lost its radiance. ellen was loving enough, but she had always some purpose in view--and he would not allow himself to be tied! when he went home--and as a rule he managed to include a meal--it was only to make himself ready and to rush out again--to general or committee meetings. father lasse was there as a rule in the evenings, and he gazed longingly after pelle when the latter left his wife and child; he did not understand it, but he did not venture to say anything --he felt a great respect for the lad's undertakings. ellen and the old man had discovered one another; they were like a pair of horses in harness; there was a great consolation in that. pelle went forward in a sort of intoxication of power, produced by the sense of the multiplying hosts. he was like an embodiment of those hosts, and he heard their step echoing in his own; it was natural that the situation should assume large dimensions. he was a product of an ancient culture, but a culture that had always dwelt in the shadow, and was based on stern and narrow tenets, each of which summed up a lifetime of bitter experience. the need of light and sunshine, continually suppressed, had been accumulating, through illimitable years, until it had resulted in a monstrous tension. now it had exploded, and was mounting dizzily upward. his mind was reeling in the heights, in a blinding cloud of light! but fundamentally he was still the sturdy realist and stood with his feet on the earth! the generations beneath him had been disciplined by the cold, and had learned to content themselves with bare necessities; a lesson which they handed down to him, simply and directly, with no inheritance of frivolity. in his world, cause and effect were in a direct line; an obtrusive odor did not translate itself into a spectral chattering of the teeth. the result was in a direct line with the cause --but their relation was often that of the match and the bonfire. herein lay the strength of his imagination; this was why he could encompass all things with so simple a preparation. he was not afraid to consider the fate of the masses; when he could not see ahead, his old fatalism came to his help. his words flamed high despite himself and kept the hope alive in many who did not themselves understand the meaning of the whole movement, but saw that its adherents grew ever more numerous, and that in other respects they were just as well off. where he himself could not see he was like a lens that collects the half-darkness and gives it out again as a beam of light. morten he preferred to avoid. pelle had gradually absorbed all the theories of the labor movement, and they comfortably filled his mind. and how could one accomplish more than by remaining in harmony with the whole? morten had an unfruitful tendency to undermine the certainty of one's mind; he always brought forth his words from his inner consciousness, from places where no one else had ever been, and he delivered them as though they had been god's voice in the bible, which always made people pause in their designs. pelle respected his peculiar nature, which never marched with the crowd, and avoided him. but his thoughts often returned to him. morten had first thrown a light upon chaos--upon the knowledge of pelle's world, the poor man's world; and when he was confronted by any decisive question he involuntarily asked himself how morten would have dealt with it. at times they met at meetings called together by the workers themselves, and at which they both collaborated. morten had no respect for the existing laws and little for the new. he did not play a very zealous part in the work of party organization, and was rather held at arm's length by the leaders. but his relations with the man in the street were of the closest. he worked independently; there was scarcely his match in individual cases of need or injustice; and he was always laboring to make people think for themselves. and they loved him. they looked up to pelle and the rest, and made way for them with shining eyes; but they smilingly put themselves in morten's way. they wanted to press his hand--he could scarcely make his way to the speaker's platform. his pale face filled them with joy--women and children hung on to him. when he passed through the streets of the poor quarters in his simple clothes, the women smiled at him. "that's him, the master-journeyman, who is so good and so book-learned," they would say. "and now he has sold all his books in order to help a poor child!" and they gave their own children a little push, and the children went up to him and held out their hands and followed him right to the end of the street. xxii when pelle went now and again to the "ark," to see his brothers and sister, the news of his visit spread quickly through the building. "pelle is here!" sounded from gallery to gallery, and they hurried up the stairs in order to nod to him and to seek to entice him to swallow a cup of coffee. old madam frandsen had moved; she disappeared when ferdinand came out of prison--no one knew whither. otherwise there were no changes. a few factory women left by night on account of their rent, and others had taken their places. and from time to time some one completed his term, and was carried out of the dark corridors and borne away on the dead-cart--as always. but in the "ark" there was no change to be observed. it happened one day that he went over to call on widow johnsen. she looked very melancholy sitting there as she turned her old soldiers' trousers and attended to hanne's child, which promised to be a fine girl. she had aged; she was always sitting at home and scolding the child; when pelle visited her he brought a breath of fresh air into her joyless existence. then she recalled the excursion to the forest, and the cozy evenings under the hanging lantern, and sighed. hanne never looked at pelle. when she came running home from the factory, she had no eyes for anything but her little girl, who threw herself upon her mother and immediately wanted to play. for the remainder of the day the child was close under her eyes, and hanne had to hold her hand as she moved about, and play with her and the doll. "far up the mountain did i climb," sang hanne, and the child sang with her--she could sing already! hanne's clear, quiet eyes rested on the child, and her expression was as joyful as though fortune had really come to her. she was like a young widow who has lived her share of life, and in the "ark" every one addressed her as widow hanne. this was a mark of respect paid to her character; they threw a widow's veil over her fate because she bore it so finely. she had expected so much, and now she centered everything in her child, as though the stranger could have brought her no more valuable present. peter's misfortune had struck the little home a serious blow. they had always only just kept their heads above water; and now he earned less than ever with his crippled hand. karl wanted to get on in the world, and was attending confirmation classes, which cost money and clothes. they had made up for peter's loss of earning power by giving up father lasse's room and moving his bed into their own room. but all three were growing, and needed food and clothing. peter's character had taken on a little kink; he was no longer so cheerful over his work, and he often played the truant, loafing about the streets instead of going to the factory. sometimes he could not be got out of bed in the morning; he crept under the bedclothes and hid himself. "i can't work with my bad hand," he would say, crying, when marie wanted to drag him out; "every moment the knives are quite close to it and nearly chop it off." "then stay at home!" said marie at last. "look after the house and i will go out and see if i can earn something. i can get work as a charwoman in the new buildings in market street." but at that he got up and slunk away; he would not allow a woman to earn his food for him. karl was a brisk, merry young vagabond; nothing made any impression on him. the streets had brought him up, had covered his outer man with a coating of grime, and had lit the inextinguishable sparks in his eyes. he was like the sparrows of the capital; black with soot, but full of an urban sharpness, they slip in and out among the heavy wagon-wheels, and know everything. he was always getting into difficulties, but always came home with a whole skin. his continual running about seemed to have got into his blood like a never-resting impulse. he was full of shifts for lessening the uncertainty of his earnings, and the little household depended principally on him. but now he had had enough of seeking his living in the streets; he wanted to get on; he wanted most of all to be a shopkeeper. the only thing that held him back was his regard for his home. pelle saw that the little home would have to be broken up. marie was developing rapidly; she must leave the "ark," and if karl could not live his own life, but was forced to sacrifice himself to his brother and sister, he would end as a street-loafer. pelle resolved suddenly to deal with the matter himself, as his habit was. he obtained an outfit for karl from a charitable society, and placed him as apprentice with a shopkeeper for whom the boy had run errands. one sunday afternoon he went over to the "ark" with a big parcel under his arm. he was holding young lasse by the hand; every moment the child stooped down, picked up a little stone, dragged his father to the quay- wall, and threw the stone into the water. he chattered incessantly. pelle mechanically allowed himself to be pulled aside, and answered the child at random. he was thinking of the children's little home, which had once been so hospitably opened to him, and must now be broken up. perhaps it would be the salvation of karl and marie; there was a future for them outside; they were both young and courageous. and father lasse could come to him; it would be quite possible to make up his bed in the living-room at night and put it out of the way in the daytime. ellen was no longer so particular. but peter--what was to become of him? the home was the only thing that still held him. when young lasse looked through the tunnel-entry into the darkness of the "ark" he did not want to go in. "ugly, ugly!" he said, in energetic refusal. pelle had to take him in his arms. "lasse not like that!" he said, pushing with his hands against his father's shoulders. "lasse wants to go back! get down!" "what!" said pelle, laughing, "doesn't young lasse like the 'ark'? father thinks it's jolly here!" "why?" asked the boy, pouting. "why?" well, pelle could not at once explain. "because i lived here once on a time!" he replied. "and where was young lasse then?" "then you used to sit in mother's eyes and laugh at father." at this the child forgot his fear of the darkness and the heavy timbers. he pressed his round little nose against his father's, and gazed into his eyes, in order to see whether a little boy was sitting in them too. he laughed when he glimpsed himself in them. "who sits in mother's eyes now?" he asked. "now a little sister sits there, who likes to play with young lasse," said pelle. "but now you must walk again--it doesn't do for a man to sit on anybody's arm!" the three orphans were waiting for him eagerly; karl hopped and leaped into the air when he saw pelle. "where is father lasse?" asked pelle. "he has gone out with the hand-cart for the second-hand dealer," said marie; "he had to fetch a sofa." she had taken young lasse on her lap and was almost eating him. karl put on his fine new clothes, his fresh face beaming with delight. the trousers were fully long enough, but it was quite fashionable to go about with turned-up trousers. that was easily got over. "now you look like a real grocer!" said pelle, laughing. karl ran out into the gangway and came back immediately with his head wetted and his hair parted down the middle. "ach, you fool, why don't you leave well alone!" cried marie, ruffling his head. a fight ensued. peter sat in a corner, self-absorbed, staring gloomily out of the window. "now, peter, hold your head up!" cried pelle, clapping him on the shoulder. "when we've got the great federation together and things are working properly, i'll manage something for you too. perhaps you can act as messenger for us." peter did not reply, but turned his head away. "he's always like that--he's so grumpy! do at least be a little polite, peter!" said marie irritably. the boy took his cap and went out. "now he's going out by the north bridge, to his sweetheart--and we shan't see anything of him for the next few days," said marie, looking after him. "she's a factory girl--she's had a child by one man--he deserted her," said marie. "he has a sweetheart already?" said pelle. "what of that? he's seventeen. but there's nothing in her." "she has red hair! and she drags one leg behind her as though she wanted to take the pavement with her," said karl. "she might well be his mother." "i don't think you ought to tease him," said pelle seriously. "we don't," said marie. "but he won't have it when we try to be nice to him. and he can't bear to see us contented. lasse says it is as though he were bewitched." "i have a situation for you too, marie," said pelle. "with ellen's old employers in holberg street--you'll be well treated there. but you must be ready by october." "that will be fine! then karl and i can go into situations on the same day!" she clapped her hands. "but peter!" she cried suddenly. "who will look after him? no, i can't do it, pelle!" "we must see if we can't find nice lodgings for him. you must take the situation--you can't go on living here." prom the end of the long gangway came a curious noise, which sounded like a mixture of singing and crying. young lasse got down onto his feet near the open door, and said, "sh! singing! sh!" "yes! that's the pasteboard-worker and her great jutlander," said marie. "they've got a funeral to-day. the poor little worm has ceased to suffer, thank god!" "is that any one new?" said pelle. "no, they are people who moved here in the spring. he hasn't been living here, but every saturday he used to come here and take her wages. 'you are crazy to give him your wages when he doesn't even live with you!' we told her. 'he ought to get a thrashing instead of money!' 'but he's the child's father!' she said, and she went on giving him her money. and on sunday, when he had drunk it, he regretted it, and then he used to come and beat her, because she needn't have given it to him. she was an awful fool, for she could just have been out when he came. but she was fond of him and thought nothing of a few blows--only it didn't do for the child. she never had food for it, and now it's dead." the door at the end of the gangway opened, and the big jutlander came out with a tiny coffin under his arm. he was singing a hymn in an indistinct voice, as he stood there waiting. in the side passage, behind the partition-wall, a boy's voice was mocking him. the jutlander's face was red and swollen with crying, and the debauch of the night before was still heavy in his legs. behind him came the mother, and now they went down the gangway with funeral steps; the woman's thin black shawl hung mournfully about her, and she held her handkerchief to her mouth; she was crying still. her livid face had a mildewed appearance. pelle and young lasse had to be off. "you are always in such a hurry!" said marie dolefully. "i wanted to make coffee." "yes, i've got a lot to do to-day still. otherwise i'd gladly stay with you a bit." "do you know you are gradually getting quite famous?" said marie, looking at him in admiration. "the people talk almost as much about you as they do about the big tinplate manufacturer. they say you ruined the biggest employer in the city." "yes. i ruined his business," said pelle, laughing. "but where has the shopwalker got to?" "he's gone down into the streets to show himself!" karl, sure enough, was strolling about below and allowing the boys and girls to admire him. "look, when we come into the shop and the grocer isn't there you'll stand us treat!" pelle heard one of them say. "you don't catch me! and if you dare you'll get one in the jaw!" replied karl. "think i'm going to have you loafing about?" at the end of the street the great jutlander was rolling along, the coffin under his arm; the girl followed at a distance, and they kept to the middle of the road as though they formed part of a funeral procession. it was a dismal sight. the gray, dismal street was like a dungeon. the shutters were up in all the basement windows, excepting that of the bread-woman. before the door of her shop stood a crowd of grimy little children, smearing themselves with dainties; every moment one of them slipped down into the cellar to spend an ore. one little girl, dressed in her sunday best, with a tightly braided head, was balancing herself on the edge of the curbstone with a big jug of cream in her hand; and in a doorway opposite stood a few young fellows meditating some mischief or other. "shall we go anywhere to-day?" asked ellen, when pelle and young lasse got home. "the fine season is soon over." "i must go to the committee-meeting," pelle replied hesitatingly. he was sorry for her; she was going to have another child, and she looked so forsaken as she moved about the home. but it was impossible for him to stay at home. "when do you think you'll be back?" "that i don't know, ellen. it is very possible it will take the whole day." then she was silent and set out his food. xxiii that year was, if possible, worse than the preceding. as early as september the unemployed stood in long ranks beside the canals or in the market-place, their feet in the wet. the bones of their wrists were blue and prominent and foretold a hard winter, of which the corns of the old people had long ago given warning; and sparks of fire were flying up from under poor folks' kettles. "now the hard winter is coming and bringing poverty with it," said the people. "and then we shall have a pretty time!" in october the frost appeared and began to put an end to all work that had not already been stopped by the hard times. in the city the poor were living from hand to mouth; if a man had a bad day it was visible on his plate the next morning. famine lay curled up beneath the table in ten thousand households; like a bear in its winter sleep it had lain there all summer, shockingly wasted and groaning in its evil dreams; but they were used to its society and took no notice of it so long as it did not lay its heavy paw upon the table. one day's sickness, one day's loss of work--and there it was! "ach, how good it would be if we only had a brine-tub that we could go to!" said those who could still remember their life in the country. "but the good god has taken the brine-tub and given us the pawnbroker instead!" and then they began to pledge their possessions. it was sad to see how the people kept together; the city was scattered to the winds in summer, but now it grew compacter; the homeless came in from the common, and the great landowners returned to inhabit their winter palaces. madam rasmussen, in her attic, suddenly appeared with a husband; drunken valde had returned--the cold, so to speak, had driven him into her arms! at the first signs of spring he would be off again, into the arms of his summer mistress, madam grassmower. but as long as he was here, here he was! he stood lounging in the doorway downstairs, with feathers sticking in the shaggy hair of his neck and bits of bed- straw adhering to his flat back. his big boots were always beautifully polished; madam rasmussen did that for him before she went to work in the morning; after which she made two of herself, so that her big strong handsome protector should have plenty of time to stand and scratch himself. week by week the cold locked up all things more closely; it locked up the earth, so that the husbandmen could not get at it; and it closed the modest credit account of the poor. already it had closed all the harbors round about. foreign trade shrunk away to nothing; the stevedores and waterside workers might as well stop at home. it tightened the heart- strings--and the strings of the big purse that kept everything going. the established trades began to work shorter hours, and the less stable trades entirely ceased. initiative drew in its horns; people began nothing new, and did no work for the warehouses; fear had entered into them. all who had put out their feelers drew them back; they were frostbitten, so to speak. the earth had withdrawn its sap into itself and had laid a crust of ice over all; humanity did the same. the poor withdrew their scanty blood into their hearts, in order to preserve the germ of life. their limbs were cold and bloodless, their skin gray. they withdrew into themselves, and into the darkest corners, packed closely together. they spent nothing. and many of those who had enough grudged themselves even food; the cold ate their needs away, and set anxiety in their place. consumption was at a standstill. one could not go by the thermometer, for according to that the frost had been much harder earlier in the year. "what, is it no worse!" said the people, taken aback. but they felt just as cold and wretched as ever. what did the thermometer know of a hard winter? winter is the companion of hard times, and takes the same way whether it freezes or thaws--and on this occasion it froze! in the poor quarters of the city the streets were as though depopulated. a fall of snow would entice the dwellers therein out of their hiding- places; it made the air milder, and made it possible, too, to earn a few kroner for sweeping away the snow. then they disappeared again, falling into a kind of numb trance and supporting their life on incredibly little--on nothing at all. only in the mornings were the streets peopled--when the men went out to seek work. but everywhere where there was work for one man hundreds applied and begged for it. the dawn saw the defeated ones slinking home; they slept the time away, or sat all day with their elbows on the table, never uttering a word. the cold, that locked up all else, had an opposite effect upon the heart; there was much compassion abroad. many whose wits had been benumbed by the cold, so that they did not attempt to carry on their avocations, had suffered no damage at heart, but expended their means in beneficence. kindly people called the poor together, and took pains to find them out, for they were not easy to find. but the almighty has created beings that live upon the earth and creatures that live under the earth; creatures of the air and creatures of the water; even in the fire live creatures that increase and multiply. and the cold, too, saw the growth of a whole swarm of creatures that live not by labor, but on it, as parasites. the good times are their bad times; then they grow thin, and there are not many of them about. but as soon as cold and destitution appear they come forth in their swarms; it is they who arouse beneficence--and get the best part of what is going. they scent the coming of a bad year and inundate the rich quarters of the city. "how many poor people come to the door this year!" people say, as they open their purses. "these are hard times for the poor!" in the autumn pelle had removed; he was now dwelling in a little two- roomed apartment on the kapelvej. he had many points of contact with this part of the city now; besides, he wanted ellen to be near her parents when she should be brought to bed. lasse would not accompany him; he preferred to be faithful to the "ark"; he had got to know the inmates now, and he could keep himself quite decently by occasional work in the neighboring parts of the city. pelle fought valiantly to keep the winter at bay. there was nothing to do at the workshop; and he had to be on the go from morning to night. wherever work was to be had, there he applied, squeezing his way through hundreds of others. his customers needed footwear now more than ever; but they had no money to pay for it. ellen and he drew nearer at this season and learned to know one another on a new side. the hard times drew them together; and he had cause to marvel at the stoutness of her heart. she accepted conditions as they were with extraordinary willingness, and made a little go a very long way. only with the stove she could do nothing. "it eats up everything we scrape together," she said dejectedly; "it sends everything up the chimney and doesn't give out any warmth. i've put a bushel of coal on it to-day, and it's as cold as ever! where i was in service we were able to warm two big rooms with one scuttle! i must be a fool, but won't you look into it?" she was almost crying. "you mustn't take that to heart so!" said pelle gloomily. "that's the way with poor folks' stoves. they are old articles that are past use, and the landlords buy them up as old iron and then fit them in their workmen's dwellings! and it's like that with everything! we poor people get the worst and pay the dearest--although we make the things! poverty is a sieve." "yes, it's dreadful," said ellen, looking at him with mournful eyes. "and i can understand you so well now!" threatening need had spread its pinions above them. they hardly dared to think now; they accepted all things at its hands. one day, soon after ellen had been brought to bed, she asked pelle to go at once to see father lasse. "and mind you bring him with you!" she said. "we can very well have him here, if we squeeze together a little. i'm afraid he may be in want." pelle was pleased by the offer, and immediately set out. it was good of ellen to open her heart to the old man when they were by no means certain of being able to feed themselves. the "ark" had a devastated appearance. all the curtains had disappeared --except at olsen's; with the gilt mouldings they always fetched fifty ore. the flowers in the windows were frostbitten. one could see right into the rooms, and inside also all was empty. there was something shameless about the winter here; instead of clothing the "ark" more warmly it stripped it bare--and first of all of its protecting veils. the privies in the court had lost their doors and covers, and it was all pelle could do to climb up to the attics! most of the balustrades had vanished, and every second step was lacking; the "ark" was helping itself as well as it could! over at madam johnsen's the bucket of oak was gone that had always stood in the corner of the gallery when it was not lent to some one--the "ark" possessed only the one. and now it was burned or sold. pelle looked across, but had not the courage to call. hanne, he knew, was out of work. a woman came slinking out of the third story, and proceeded to break away a fragment of woodwork; she nodded to pelle. "for a drop of coffee!" she said, "and god bless coffee! you can make it as weak as you like as long as it's still nice and hot." the room was empty; lasse was not there. pelle asked news of him along the gangway. he learned that he was living in the cellar with the old clothes woman. thin gray faces appeared for a moment in the doorways, gazed at him, and silently disappeared. the cellar of the old clothes woman was overcrowded with all sorts of objects; hither, that winter, the possessions of the poor had drifted. lasse was sitting in a corner, patching a mattress; he was alone down there. "she has gone out to see about something," he said; "in these times her money finds plenty of use! no, i'm not going to come with you and eat your bread. i get food and drink here--i earn it by helping her --and how many others can say this winter that they've their living assured? and i've got a corner where i can lie. but can't you tell me what's become of peter? he left the room before me one day, and since then i've never seen him again." "perhaps he's living with his sweetheart," said pelle. "i'll see if i can't find out." "yes, if you will. they were good children, those three, it would be a pity if one of them were to come to any harm." pelle would not take his father away from a regular situation where he was earning a steady living. "we don't very well see what we could offer you in its place. but don't forget that you will always be welcome-- ellen herself sent me here." "yes, yes! give her many thanks for that! and now you be off, before the old woman comes back," said lasse anxiously. "she doesn't like any one to be here--she's afraid for her money." the first thing that had to go was pelle's winter overcoat. he pawned it one day, without letting ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with the money, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone. "how it rings!" he said to young lasse. the child gave a jump, and wanted the money to play with. "what do i want with a winter coat?" he retorted, to ellen's kindly reproaches. "i'm not cold, and it only hangs up indoors here. i've borne with it all the summer. ah, that's warm!" he cried, to the child, when ellen had brought some fuel. "that was really a good winter coat, that of father's! mother and sister and young lasse can all warm themselves at it!" the child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after his father's winter coat. the fire kindled flames in his big child's eyes, and played on his red cheeks. "pretty overcoat!" he said, laughing all over his face. they did not see much of the tenants of the house; nor of the family. people were living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his four walls. on sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into the city, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listening to the music. then they went home again and sat vegetating in the firelight, without lighting the lamp. one sunday things looked bad. "the coals will hold out only till midday," said ellen; "we shall have to go out. and there's no more food either. but perhaps we can go to the old folks; they'll put up with us till evening." as they were about to start, ellen's brother otto arrived, with his wife and two children, to call on them. ellen exchanged a despairing glance with pelle. winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin and serious. but they still had warm clothes. "you must keep your cloaks on," said ellen, "for i have no more coal. i forgot it yesterday, i had so much to do; i had to put off ordering it until to-day, and to-day, unfortunately, the coal dealer isn't at home." "if only the children aren't cold," said pelle, "we grown-ups can easily keep ourselves warm." "well, as long as they haven't icicles hanging from their noses they won't come to any harm!" said otto with a return of his old humor. they moved restlessly about the room and spoke of the bad times and the increasing need. "yes, it's terrible that there isn't enough for everybody," said otto's wife. "but the hard winter and the misery will come to an end and then things will be better again." "you mean we shall come to an end first?" said otto, laughing despairingly. "no, not we--this poverty, of course. ach, you know well enough what i mean. but he's always like that," she said, turning to pelle. "curious, how you women still go about in the pious belief that there's not enough for all!" said pelle. "yet the harbor is full of stacks of coal, and there's no lack of eatables in the shops. on the contrary-- there is more than usual, because so many are having to do without--and you can see, too, that everything in the city is cheaper. but what good is that when there's no money? it's the distribution that's all wrong." "yes, you are quite right!" said otto stolpe. "it's really damnable that no one has the courage to help himself!" pelle heard ellen go out through the kitchen door, and presently she came back with firing in her apron. she had borrowed it. "i've scraped together just a last little bit of coal," she said, going down on her knees before the stove. "in any case it's enough to heat the water for a cup of coffee." otto and his wife begged her urgently not to give herself any trouble; they had had some coffee before they left home--after a good solid breakfast. "on sundays we always have a solid breakfast," said young madam stolpe; "it does one such a lot of good!" while she was speaking her eyes involuntarily followed ellen's every moment, as though she could tell thereby how soon the coffee would be ready. ellen chatted as she lit the fire. but of course they must have a cup of coffee; they weren't to go away with dry throats! pelle sat by listening in melancholy surprise; her innocent boasting only made their poverty more glaring. he could see that ellen was desperately perplexed, and he followed her into the kitchen. "pelle, pelle!" she said, in desperation. "they've counted on stopping here and eating until the evening. and i haven't a scrap in the house. what's to be done?" "tell them how it is, of course!" "i can't! and they've had nothing to eat to-day--can't you see by looking at them?" she burst into tears. "now, now, let me see to the whole thing!" he said consolingly. "but what are you going to give us with our coffee?" "i don't know! i have nothing but black bread and a little butter." "lord, what a little donkey!" he said, smiling, and he took her face between his hands. "and you stand there lamenting! just you be cutting the bread-and-butter!" ellen set to work hesitatingly. but before she appeared with the refreshments they heard her bang the front door and go running down the steps. after a time she returned. "oh, lord! now the baker has sold out of white bread," she said, "so you must just have black bread-and-butter with your coffee." "but that's capital," they cried. "black bread always goes best with coffee. only it's a shame we are giving you so much trouble!" "look here," said pelle, at last. "it may please you to play hide-and- seek with one another, but it doesn't me--i am going to speak my mind. with us things are bad, and it can't be any better with you. now how is it, really, with the old folks?" "they are struggling along," said otto. "they always have credit, and i think they have a little put by as well." "then shan't we go there to-night and have supper? otherwise i'm afraid we shan't get anything." "yes, we will! it's true we were there the day before yesterday--but what does that matter? we must go somewhere, and at least it's sticking to the family!" * * * * * the cold had no effect on pelle; the blood ran swiftly through his veins. he was always warm. privation he accepted as an admonition, and merely felt the stronger for it; and he made use of his involuntary holiday to work for the cause. it was no time for public meetings and sounding words--many had not even clothes with which to go to meetings. the movement had lost its impetus through the cold; people had their work cut out to keep the little they already had. pelle made it his business to encourage the hopes of the rejected, and was always on the run; he came into contact with many people. misery stripped them bare and developed his knowledge of humanity. wherever a trade was at a standstill, and want had made its appearance, he and others were at hand to prevent demoralization and to make the prevailing conditions the subject of agitation. he saw how want propagates itself like the plague, and gradually conquers all--a callous accomplice in the fate of the poor man. in a week to a fortnight unemployment would take all comfort from a home that represented the scraping and saving of many years--so crying was the disproportion. here was enough to stamp a lasting comprehension upon the minds of all, and enough to challenge agitation. all but persons of feeble mind could see now what they were aiming at. and there were people here like those at home. want made them even more submissive. they could hardly believe that they were so favored as to be permitted to walk the earth and go hungry. with them there was nothing to be done. they were born slaves, born with slavery deep in their hearts, pitiful and cur-like. they were people of a certain age--of an older generation than his. the younger folk were of another and a harder stuff; and he often was amazed to find how vigorously their minds echoed his ideas. they were ready to dare, ready to meet force with force. these must be held back lest they should prejudice the movement--for them its progress was never sufficiently rapid. his mind was young and intact and worked well in the cold weather; he restlessly drew comparisons and formed conclusions in respect of everything he came into contact with. the individual did not seem to change. the agitation was especially directed to awakening what was actually existent. for the rest, they must live their day and be replaced by a younger generation in whom demands for compensation came more readily to the tongue. so far as he could survey the evolution of the movement, it did not proceed through the generations, but in some amazing fashion grew out of the empty space between them. so youth, even at the beginning, was further ahead than age had been where it left off. the movements of the mind had an obscure and mystical effect upon him, as had the movement of his blood in childhood; sometimes he felt a mysterious shudder run through him, and he began to understand what morten had meant when he said that humanity was sacred. it was terrible that human beings should suffer such need, and pelle's resentment grew deeper. through his contact with so many individuals he learned that morten was not so exceptional; the minds of many betrayed the same impatience, and could not understand that a man who is hungry should control himself and be content with the fact of organization. there was a revolutionary feeling abroad; a sterner note was audible, and respectable people gave the unemployed a wide berth, while old people prophesied the end of the world. the poor had acquired a manner of thinking such as had never been known. one day pelle stood in a doorway with some other young people, discussing the aspect of affairs; it was a cold meeting-place, but they had not sufficient means to call a meeting in the usual public room. the discussion was conducted in a very subdued tune; their voices were bitter and sullen. a well-dressed citizen went by. "there's a fine overcoat," cried one; "i should like to have one like that! shall we fetch him into the doorway and pull his coat off?" he spoke loudly, and was about to run out into the street. "no stupidity!" said pelle sadly, seizing him by the arm. "we should only do ourselves harm! remember the authorities are keeping their eyes on us!" "well, what's a few weeks in prison?" the man replied. "at least one would get board and lodging for so long." there was a look that threatened mischief in his usually quiet and intelligent eyes. xxiv there were rumors that the city authorities intended to intervene in order to remedy the condition of the unemployed, and shortly before christmas large numbers of navvies were given employment. part of the old ramparts was cleared away, and the space converted into parks and boulevards. pelle applied among a thousand others and had the good fortune to be accepted. the contractor gave the preference to youthful energy. every morning the workers appeared in a solid phalanx; the foreman of the works chose those he had need of, and the rest were free to depart. at home sat their wives and children, cheered by the possibility of work; the men felt no inclination to go home with bad news, so they loafed about in the vicinity. they came there long before daybreak in order to be the first, although there was not much hope. there was at least an excuse to leave one's bed; idleness was burning like hell fire in their loins. when the foreman came they thronged silently about him, with importunate eyes. one woman brought her husband; he walked modestly behind her, kept his eyes fixed upon her, and did precisely as she did. he was a great powerful fellow, but he did nothing of his own accord--did not even blow his nose unless she nudged him. "come here, thorvald!" she said, cuffing him so hard as to hurt him. "keep close behind me!" she spoke in a harsh voice, into the empty air, as though to explain her behavior to the others; but no one looked at her. "he can't speak for himself properly, you see," she remarked at random. her peevish voice made pelle start; she was from bornholm. ah, those smart young girls at home, they were a man's salvation! "and the children have got to live too!" she continued. "we have eight. yes, eight." "then he's some use for something," said a workman who looked to be perishing with the cold. the woman worked her way through them, and actually succeeded in getting her man accepted. "and now you do whatever they tell you, nicely, and don't let them tempt you to play the fool in any way!" she said, and she gave him a cuff which set him off working in his place. she raised her head defiantly as contemptuous laughter sounded about her. the place was like a slave-market. the foreman, went to and fro, seeking out the strongest, eyeing them from head to foot and choosing them for their muscular development and breadth of back. the contractor too was moving about and giving orders. "one of them rich snobs!" said the laborers, grumbling; "all the laborers in town have to march out here so that he can pick himself the best. and he's beaten down the day's wages to fifty öre. he's been a navvy himself, too; but now he's a man who enjoys his hundred thousand a year. a regular bloodsucker, he is!" the crowd continued to stand there and to loaf about all the day, in the hope that some one would give up, or fall ill--or go crazy--so that some one could take his place. they could not tear themselves away; the mere fact that work was being done chained them to the spot. they looked as though they might storm the works at any moment, and the police formed a ring about the place. they stood pressing forward, absorbed by their desire for work, with a sick longing in their faces. when the crowd had pressed forward too far it hesitatingly allowed itself to be pushed back again. suddenly there was a break in the ranks; a man leaped over the rail and seized a pickaxe. a couple of policemen wrested the tool from his hand and led him away. and as they stood there a feeling of defiance rose within them, a fierce contempt for their privations and the whole shameless situation. it expressed itself in an angry half-suppressed growl. they followed the contractor with curious eyes as though they were looking for something in him but could not conceive what it was. in his arrogance at receiving such an excessive offer of labor, he decided to go further, and to lengthen the working day by an hour. the workers received an order to that effect one morning, just as they had commenced work. but at the same moment the four hundred men, all but two, threw down their implements and returned to their comrades. they stood there discussing the matter, purple with rage. so now their starving condition was to be made use of, in order to enrich the contractor by a further hundred thousand! "we must go to the city authorities," they cried. "no, to the newspaper!" others replied. "the paper! the paper is better!" "it's no use going to the city council--not until we have elected members of our own party to it," cried pelle. "remember that at the elections, comrades! we must elect men of our party everywhere, their encroachments will never be stopped until then. and now we must stand together and be firm! if it's got to be, better starve to death at once than do it slowly!" they did not reply, but pressed closely about him, heavily listening. there was something altogether too fierce and profound in their attention. these men had declared a strike in midwinter, as their only remedy. what were they thinking of doing now? pelle looked about him and was daunted by their dumb rage. this threatening silence wouldn't do; what would it lead to? it seemed as though something overwhelming, and uncontrollable, would spring from this stony taciturnity. pelle sprang upon a heap of road-metal. "comrades!" he cried, in a powerful voice. "this is merely a change, as the fox said when they flayed his skin off. they have deprived us of clothes and food and drink, and comfort at home, and now they want to find a way of depriving us of our skins too! the question to-day is-- forward or back? perhaps this is the great time of trial, when we shall enter into possession of all we have desired! hold together, comrades! don't scatter and don't give way! things are difficult enough now, but remember, we are well on in the winter, and it promises to break up early. the night is always darkest before daybreak! and shall we be afraid to suffer a little--we, who have suffered and been patient for hundreds of years? our wives are sitting at home and fretting--perhaps they will be angry with us. we might at least have accepted what was offered us, they may say. but we can't go on seeing our dear ones at home fading away in spite of our utmost exertions! hitherto the poor man's labor has been like an aimless prayer to heaven: deliver us from hunger and dirt, from misery, poverty, and cold, and give us bread, and again bread! deliver our children from our lot--let not their limbs wither and their minds lapse into madness! that has been our prayer, but there is only one prayer that avails, and that is, to defy the wicked! we are the chosen people, and for that reason we must cry a halt! we will no longer do as we have done--for our wives' sakes, and our children's, and theirs again! ay, but what is posterity to us? of course it is something to us--precisely to us! were your parents as you are? no, they were ground down into poverty and the dust, they crept submissively before the mighty. then whence did we get all that makes us so strong and causes us to stand together? time has stood still, comrades! it has placed its finger on our breast and he said, 'thus you shall do!' here where we stand, the old time ceases and the new time begins; and that is why we have thrown down our tools, with want staring us in the face--such a thing as has never been seen before! we want to revolutionize life--to make it sweet for the poor man! and for all time! you, who have so often staked your life and welfare for a florin--you now hold the whole future in your hands! you must endure, calmly and prudently! and you will never be forgotten, so long as there are workers on the earth! this winter will be the last through which we shall have to endure--for yonder lies the land toward which we have been wandering! comrades! through us the day shall come!" pelle himself did not know what words he uttered. he felt only that something was speaking through him--something supremely mighty, that never lies. there was a radiant, prophetic ring in his voice, which carried his hearers off their feet; and his eyes were blazing. before their eyes a figure arose from the hopeless winter, towering in radiance, a figure that was their own, and yet that of a young god. he rose, new-born, out of misery itself, struck aside the old grievous idea of fate, and in its place gave them a new faith--the radiant faith in their own might! they cried up to him--first single voices, then all. he gathered up their cries into a mighty cheer, a paean in honor of the new age! every day they stationed themselves there, not to work, but to stand there in dumb protest. when the foreman called for workers they stood about in silent groups, threatening as a gloomy rock. now and again they shouted a curse at those who had left them in the lurch. the city did nothing. they had held out a helping hand to the needy, and the latter had struck it away--now they must accept the consequences. the contractor had received permission to suspend the work entirely, but he kept it going with a few dozen strike-breakers, in order to irritate the workers. all over the great terrace a silence as of death prevailed, except in that corner where the little gang was at work, a policeman beside it, as though the men had been convicts. the wheelbarrows lay with their legs in the air; it was as though the pest had swept over the works. the strike-breakers were men of all callings; a few of the unemployed wrote down their names and addresses, in order to insert them in _the working man_. one of stolpe's fellow-unionists was among them; he was a capable pater-familias, and had taken part in the movement from its earliest days. "it's a pity about him," said stolpe; "he's an old mate of mine, and he's always been a good comrade till now. now they'll give it him hard in the paper--we are compelled to. it does the trade no good when one of its representatives goes and turns traitor." madame stolpe was unhappy. "it's such a nice family," she said; "we have always been on friendly terms with them; and i know they were hungry a long time. he has a young wife, father; it's not easy to stand out." "it hurts me myself," replied stolpe. "but one is compelled to do it, otherwise one would be guilty of partisanship. and no one shall come to me and say that i'm a respecter of persons." "i should like to go and have a talk with them," said pelle. "perhaps they'd give it up then." he got the address and went there after working hours. the home had been stripped bare. there were four little children. the atmosphere was oppressive. the man, who was already well on in years, but was still powerful, sat at the table with a careworn expression eating his supper, while the children stood round with their chins on the edge of the table, attentively following every bite he took. the young wife was going to and fro; she brought him his simple food with a peculiarly loving gesture. pelle broached the question at issue. it was not pleasant to attack this old veteran. but it must be done. "i know that well enough," said the man, nodding to himself. "you needn't begin your lecture--i myself have been in the movement since the first days, and until now i've kept my oath. but now it's done with, for me. what do you want here, lad? have you a wife and children crying for bread? then think of your own!" "we don't cry, hans," said the woman quietly. "no, you don't, and that makes it even worse! can i sit here and look on, while you get thinner day by day, and perish with the cold? to hell with the comrades and their big words--what have they led to? formerly we used to go hungry just for a little while, and now we starve outright--that's the difference! leave me alone, i tell you! curse it, why don't they leave me in peace?" he took a mouthful of brandy from the bottle. his wife pushed a glass toward him, but he pushed it violently away. "you'll be put in the paper to-morrow," said pelle, hesitating. "i only wanted to tell you that." "yes, and to write of me that i'm a swine and a bad comrade, and perhaps that i beat my wife as well. you know yourself it's all lies; but what is that to me? will you have a drink?" no, pelle wouldn't take anything. "then i will myself," said the man, and he laughed angrily. "now you can certify that i'm a hog--i drink out of the bottle! and another evening you can come and listen at the keyhole--perhaps then you'll hear me beating my wife!" the woman began to cry. "oh, damn it all, they might leave me in peace!" said the man defiantly. pelle had to go with nothing effected. xxv the "ark" was now freezing in the north wind; all outward signs of life were stripped from it. the sounds that in summer bubbled up from its deep well-like shaft were silent now; the indistinguishable dripping of a hundred waste-pipes, that turned the court into a little well with green slimy walls, was silent too. the frost had fitted them all with stoppers; and where the toads had sat gorging themselves in the cavities of the walls--fantastic caverns of green moss and slimy filaments--a crust of ice hung over all; a grimy glacier, which extended from the attics right down to the floor of the court. where were they now, the grimy, joyful children? and what of the evening carouse of the hearse-driver, for which his wife would soundly thrash him? and the quarrelsome women's voices, which would suddenly break out over this or that railing, criticizing the whole court, sharp as so many razors? the frost was harder than ever! it had swept all these things away and had locked them up as closely as might be. the hurdy-gurdy man lay down below in his cellar, and had as visitor that good friend of the north wind, the gout; and down in the deserted court the draught went shuffling along the dripping walls. whenever any one entered the tunnel- entry the draught clutched at his knees with icy fingers, so that the pain penetrated to the very heart. there stood the old barrack, staring emptily out of its black windows. the cold had stripped away the last shred of figured curtain, and sent it packing to the pawn-shop. it had exchanged the canary for a score of firewood, and had put a stop to the day-long, lonely crying of the little children behind the locked doors--that hymn of labor, which had ceased only in the evening, when the mothers returned from the factories. now the mothers sat with their children all day long, and no one but the cold grudged them this delight. but the cold and its sister, hunger, came every day to look in upon them. on the third floor, away from the court, widow johnsen sat in the corner by the stove. hanne's little girl lay cowering on the floor, on a tattered patchwork counterpane. through the naked window one saw only ice, as though the atmosphere were frozen down to the ground. transparent spots had formed on the window-panes every time the child had breathed on them in order to look out, but they had soon closed up again. the old woman sat staring straight into the stove with big, round eyes; her little head quivered continually; she was like a bird of ill omen, that knew a great deal more than any one could bear to hear. "now i'm cold again, grandmother," said the child quietly. "don't keep from shivering, then you'll be warm," said the old woman. "are you shivering?" "no, i'm too old and stiff for it--i can't shiver any more. but the cold numbs my limbs, so that i can't feel them. i could manage well enough if it wasn't for my back." "you lean your back against the cold stove too!" "yes, the cold grips my poor back so." "but that's stupid, when the stove isn't going." "but if only my back would get numb too!" said the old woman piteously. the child was silent, and turned her head away. over the whole of the wall were tiny glittering crystals. now and again there was a rustling sound under the wall-paper. "grandmother, what's that funny noise?" asked the child. "that's the bugs--they are coming down," said the old woman. "it's too cold for them up there in the attics, and they don't like it here. you should see them; they go to olsen's with the warm wall; they stay there in the cold." "is the wall at olsen's always warm, then?" "yes, when there's fire in the boiler of the steam mill." then the child was silent a while, wearily turning her head from side to side. a dreadful weariness was stamped on her face. "i'm cold," she complained after a time. "see if you can't shiver!" "hadn't i better jump a bit?" "no, then you'd just swallow down the cold--the air is like ice. just keep still, and soon mother will be here, and she'll bring something!" "she never gets anything," said the child. "when she gets there it's always all over." "that's not true," said madam johnsen severely. "there's food enough in the soup kitchens for all; it's just a matter of understanding how to go about it. the poor must get shame out of their heads. she'll bring something to-day!" the child stood up and breathed a hole in the ice on the window-pane. "look now, whether it isn't going to snow a little so that the poor man can get yet another day's employment," said the old woman. no, the wind was still blowing from the north, although it commonly shuffled along the canal; but now, week after week, it blew from the nicolai tower, and played the flute on the hollow bones of poverty. the canals were covered with ice, and the ground looked horribly hard. the naked frost chased the people across it like withered leaves. with a thin rustling sound they were swept across the bridges and disappeared. a great yellow van came driving by. the huge gates of the prison opened slowly and swallowed it. it was the van containing the meat for the prisoners. the child followed it with a desolate expression. "mother isn't coming," she said. "i am so hungry." "she will soon come--you just wait! and don't stand in the light there; come here in the corner! the light strikes the cold right through one." "but i feel colder in the dark." "that's just because you don't understand. i only long now for the pitch darkness." "i long for the sun!" retorted the child defiantly. there was a creaking of timber out in the yard. the child ran out and opened the door leading to the gallery. it was only the people opposite, who were tearing a step away. but then came mother, with a tin pail in her hand, and a bundle under her arm; and there was something in the pail--it looked heavy. tra-la- la! and the bundle, the bundle! what was in that? "mother, mother!" she cried shrilly, leaning far over the rickety rail. hanne came swiftly up the stairs, with open mouth and red cheeks; and a face peeped out of every little nest. "now widow hanne has taken the plunge," they said. they knew what a point of honor it had been with her to look after her mother and her child unaided. she was a good girl. and widow hanne nodded to them all, as much as to say, "now it's done, thank god!" she stood leaning over the table, and lifted the cover off the pail. "look!" she said, as she stirred the soup with a ladle: "there's pearl barley and pot-herbs. if only we had something we could warm it up with!" "we can tear away a bit of the woodwork like other people," said the mother. "yes," replied hanne breathlessly, "yes, why not? if one can beg one can do that!" she ran out onto the gallery and tore away a few bits of trellis, so that the sound re-echoed through the court. people watched her out of all the dark windows. widow hanne had knocked off the head of her pride! then they sat down to their soup, the old woman and the child. "eat!" said hanne, standing over them and looking on with glowing eyes. her cheeks were burning. "you look like a flower in the cold!" said her mother. "but eat, yourself, or you'll starve to death." no, hanne would not eat. "i feel so light," she said, "i don't need any food." she stood there fingering her bundle; all her features were quivering, and her mouth was like that of a person sick of a fever. "what have you there?" asked madam johnsen. "clothes for you and little marie. you were so cold. i got them downstairs from the old clothes woman--they were so cheap." "do you say you bought them?" "yes--i got them on credit." "well, well, if you haven't given too much for them! but it will do one good to have something warm on one's back!" hanne undid the bundle, while the others looked on in suspense. a light summer dress made its appearance, pleated and low-necked, blue as little marie's eyes, and a pair of thin kid shoes. the child and the old woman gazed wonderingly at the dress. "how fine!" they said. they had forgotten everything, and were all admiration. but hanne stood staring with horror, and suddenly burst into sobs. "come, come, hanne!" said her mother, clapping her on the back. "you have bought a dress for yourself--that's not so dreadful! youth will have its rights." "no, mother, no, i didn't buy it at all! i knew you both needed something to keep you warm, so i went into a fine house and asked if they hadn't any cast-off things, and there was a young lady--she gave me this--and she was so kind. no, i didn't know at all what was in the bundle--i really didn't know, dear mother!" "well, well, they are fine enough!" said the old woman, spreading the dress out in front of her. "they are fine things!" but hanne put the things together and threw them into the corner by the stove. "you are ill!" said her mother, gazing at her searchingly; "your eyes are blazing like fire." the darkness descended, and they went to bed. people burned no useless lights in those days, and it was certainly best to be in bed. they had laid the feather-bed over themselves cross-wise, when it comfortably covered all three; their daytime clothes they laid over their feet. little marie lay in the middle. no harm could come to her there. they talked at random about indifferent matters. hanne's voice sounded loud and cheerful in the darkness as though it came from a radiant countryside. "you are so restless," said the mother. "won't you try to sleep a little? i can feel the burning in you from here!" "i feel so light," replied hanne; "i can't lie still." but she did lie still, gazing into space and humming inaudibly to herself, while the fever raged in her veins. after a time the old woman awoke; she was cold. hanne was standing in the middle of the room, with open mouth; and was engaged in putting on her fine linen underclothing by the light of a candle-end. her breath came in short gasps and hung white on the air. "are you standing there naked in the cold?" said madam johnsen reproachfully. "you ought to take a little care of yourself." "why, mother, i'm so warm! why, it's summer now!" "what are you doing, child?" "i am only making myself a little bit smart, mother dear!" "yes, yes--dance, my baby. you've still got the best of your youth before you, poor child! why didn't you get a husband where you got the child from?" hanne only hummed a tune to herself, and proceeded to don the bright blue summer costume. it was a little full across the chest, but the decolletage sat snugly over her uncovered bosom. a faint cloud of vapor surrounded her person like a summer haze. her mother had to hook up the dress at the back. "if only we don't wake marie!" she whispered, entirely absorbed by the dress. "and the fine lace on the chemise--you can always let that peep out of the dress a little--it looks so pretty like that. now you really look like a summer girl!" "i'll just run down and show it to madam olsen," said hanne, pressing her hand to her glowing cheeks. "yes, do--poor folks' joys must have their due," replied the old woman, turning over to the wall. hanne ran down the steps and across the yard and out into the street. the ground was hard and ringing in the frost, the cold was angry and biting, but the road seemed to burn hanne through her thin shoes. she ran through the market, across the bridge, and into the less crowded quarter of the city-right into pelle's arms. he was just going to see father lasse. pelle was wearied and stupefied with the continual battle with hard reality. the bottomless depths of misery were beginning to waste his courage. was it really of any use to hold the many together? it only made the torture yet harder for them to bear. but in a moment everything looked as bright as though he had fallen into a state of ecstasy, as had often happened lately. in the midst of the sternest realities it would suddenly happen that his soul would leap within him and conjure up the new age of happiness before his eyes, and the terrible dearth filled his arms to overflowing with abundance! he did not feel the cold; the great dearth had no existence; violent spiritual excitement and insufficient nourishment made the blood sing continually in his ears. he accepted it as a happy music from a contented world. it did not surprise him that he should meet hanne in summer clothing and attired as for a ball. "pelle, my protector!" she said, grasping his hand. "will you go to the dance with me?" "that's really the old hanne," thought pelle delightedly--"the careless princess of the 'ark,' and she is feverish, just as she used to be then." he himself was in a fever. when their eyes met they emitted a curious, cold, sparkling light. he had quite forgotten father lasse and his errand, and went with hanne. the entrance of "the seventh heaven" was flooded with light, which exposed the merciless cold of the street. outside, in the sea of light, thronged the children of the terrible winter, dishevelled and perishing with the cold. they stood there shuddering, or felt in their pockets for a five-öre piece, and if they found it they slipped through the blood- red tunnel into the dancing-hall. but it was cold in there too; their breath hung like white powder on the air; and crystals of ice glittered on the polished floor. who would dream of heating a room where the joy of life was burning? and a thousand candles? here carelessness was wont to give of its abundance, so that the lofty room lay in a cloud and the musicians were bathed in sweat. but now the cold had put an end to that. unemployed workers lounged about the tables, disinclined for movement. winter had not left the poor fellows an ounce of frivolity. cerberus olsen might spare himself the trouble of going round with his giant arms outspread, driving the two or three couples of dancers with their five-öre pieces indoors toward the music, as though they had been a whole crowd. people only toiled across the floor in order to have the right to remain there. good lord! some of them had rings and watches, and cerberus had ready cash--what sort of dearth was that? the men sat under the painted ceiling and the gilded mirrors, over a glass of beer, leaving the girls to freeze--even elvira had to sit still. "mazurka!" bellowed cerberus, going threateningly from table to table. they slunk into the hall like beaten curs, dejectedly danced once round the floor, and paid. but what is this? is it not summer herself stepping into the hall? all glowing and lightly clad in the blue of forget-me-nots, with a rose in her fair hair? warmth lies like fleeting summer upon her bare shoulders, although she has come straight out of the terrible winter, and she steps with boldly moving limbs, like a daughter of joy. how proudly she carries her bosom, as though she were the bride of fortune--and how she burns! who is she? can no one say? oh, that is widow hanne, a respectable girl, who for seven long years faithfully trod her way to and from the factory, in order to keep her old mother and her child! but how comes it then that she has the discreet pelle on her arm? he who has sold his own youth to the devil, in order to alleviate poverty? what does he want here on the dancing-floor? and hanne, whence did she get her finery? she is still out of employment! and how in all the world has she grown so beautiful? they whisper behind her, following her as she advances; and in the midst of the hall she stands still and smiles. her eyes burn with a volcanic fire. a young man rushes forward and encircles her with his arm. a dance with hanne! a dance with hanne! hanne dances with a peculiar hesitation, as though her joy had brought her from far away. heavily, softly, she weighs on the arms of her partners, and the warmth rises from her bare bosom and dispels the cold of the terrible winter. it is as though she were on fire! who could fail to be warmed by her? now the room is warm once more. hanne is like a blazing meteor that kindles all as it circles round; where she glides past the fire springs up and the blood runs warmly in the veins. they overturn the chairs in their eagerness to dance with her. "hi, steward! five kroner on my watch--only be quick!" "ach, hanne, a dance with me!"--"do you remember we were at the factory together?"--"we used to go to school together!" hanne does not reply, but she leaves pelle and lays her naked arm upon their shoulders, and if they touch it with their cheeks the fire streams through them. they do not want to let her go again; they hold her fast embraced, gliding along with her to where the musicians are sitting, where all have to pay. no word passes her lips, but the fire within her is a promise to each of them, a promise of things most precious. "may i see you home to-night?" they whisper, hanging on her silent lips. but to pelle she speaks as they glide along. "pelle, how strong you are! why have you never taken me? do you love me?" her hand is clasping his shoulder as she whirls along beside him. her breath burns in his ear. "i don't know!" he says uneasily. "but stop now--you are ill." "hold me like that! why have you never been stronger than i? do you want me, pelle? i'll be yours!" pelle shakes his head. "no, i love you only like a sister now." "and now i love you! look--you are so distant to me--i don't understand you--and your hand is as hard as if you came from another world! you are heavy, pelle! have you brought me happiness from a foreign land with you?" "hanne, you are ill! stop now and let me take you home!" "pelle, you were not the right one. what is there strange about you? nothing! so let me alone--i am going to dance with the others as well!" hitherto hanne has been dancing without intermission. the men stand waiting for her; when one releases her ten spring forward, and this evening hanne wants to dance with them all. every one of them should be permitted to warm himself by her! her eyes are like sparks in the darkness; her silent demeanor excites them; they swing her round more and more wildly. those who cannot dance with her must slake the fire within them with drink. the terrible winter is put to flight, and it is warm as in hell itself. the blood is seething in their brains; it injects the whites of their eyes, and expresses itself in wanton frolic, in a need to dance till they drop, or to fight. "hanne is wild to-night--she has got her second youth," says elvira and the other girls maliciously. hold your tongues. no one shall criticize hanne's behavior! it is wonderful to touch her; the touch of her skin hurts one, as though she was not flesh and blood, but fire from heaven! they say she has not had a bite of food for a week. the old woman and the child have had all there was. and yet she is burning! and see, she has now been dancing without a break for two whole hours! can one understand such a thing? hanne dances like a messenger from another world, where fire, not cold, is the condition of life. every dancer leaves his partner in the lurch as soon as she is free! how lightly she dances! dancing with her, one soars upward, far away from the cold. one forgets all misery in her eyes. but she has grown paler and paler; she is dancing the fire out of her body while others are dancing it in! now she is quite white, and olsen's elvira comes up and tugs at her dress, with anxiety in her glance. "hanne, hanne!" but hanne does not see her; she is only longing for the next pair of arms--her eyes are closed. she has so much to make up for! and who so innocent as she? she does not once realize that she is robbing others of their pleasure. is she suffering from vertigo or st. vitus's dance, in her widowhood? hold your tongue! how beautiful she is! now she is growing rosy again, and opening her eyes. fire darts from them; she has brought pelle out of his corner and is whispering something to him, blushing as she does so; perhaps that precious promise that hitherto no one has been able to draw from her. pelle must always be the lucky man! "pelle, why don't you dance with me oftener? why do you sit in the corner there always and sulk? are you angry with me as you used to be, and why are you so hard and cold? and your clothes are quite stiff!" "i come from outside all this--from the terrible winter, hanne, where the children are crying for bread, and the women dying of starvation, and the men go about with idle hands and look on the ground because they are ashamed of their unemployment!" "but why? it is still summer. only look how cheerful every one is! take me, then, pelle!" hanne grows red, redder than blood, and leans her head on his shoulder. only see how she surrenders herself, blissful in her unashamed ecstasy! she droops backward in his arms, and from between her lips springs a great rose of blood, that gushes down over the summer-blue dress. fastened to the spot by his terrible burden, pelle stands there unable to move. he can only gaze at hanne, until cerberus takes her in his giant's arms and bears her out. she is so light in her summer finery-- she weighs nothing at all! "mazurka!" he bellows, as he returns, and goes commandingly along the ranks of dancers. xxvi at the end of january, pelle obtained a place as laborer in the "denmark" machine works. he was badly paid, but ellen rejoiced, none the less; with nothing one could only cry--with a little one could grow strong again. she was still a little pale after her confinement, but she looked courageous. at the first word of work her head was seething with comprehensive plans. she began at once to redeem various articles and to pay off little debts; she planned out a whole system and carried it out undeviatingly. the new sister was something for young lasse; he understood immediately that she was some one given to him in order to amuse him in his loneliness. during the confinement he had remained with his grandparents, so that the stork should not carry him away when it came with his little sister --for he was dear to them! but when he returned home she was lying asleep in her cradle. he just touched her eyelids, to see if she had eyes like his own. they snatched his fingers away, so he could not solve the exciting problem that day. but sister had eyes, great dark eyes, which followed him about the room, past the head of the bed and round the other side, always with the same attentive expression, while the round cheeks went out and in like those of a sucking animal. and young lasse felt very distinctly that one was under obligations when eyes followed one about like that. he was quite a little man already, and he longed to be noticed; so he ran about making himself big, and rolling over like a clown, and playing the strong man with the footstool, while his sister followed him with her eyes, without moving a muscle of her face. he felt that she might have vouchsafed him a little applause, when he had given himself so much trouble. one day he inflated a paper bag and burst it before her face. that was a help. sister forgot her imperturbability, gave a jump, and began to roar. he was smacked for that, but he had his compensation. her little face began to quiver directly he approached her, in order to show her something; and she often began to roar before he had performed his trick. "go away from your sister lasse frederik!" said his mother. "you are frightening her!" but things were quite different only a month later. there was no one who understood young lasse's doings better than sister. if he did but move his plump little body, or uttered a sound, she twittered like a starling. ellen's frozen expression had disappeared; now that she had something to work at again. the cold had weaned her from many of her exactions, and others were gratified by the children. the two little ones kept her very busy; she did not miss pelle now. she had become accustomed to his being continually away from home, and she had taken possession of him in her thoughts, in her own fashion; she held imaginary conversations with him as she went about her work; and it was a joy to her to make him comfortable during the short time that he was at home. pelle conceived his home as an intimate little world, in which he could take shelter when he was weary. he had redeemed that obscure demand in ellen's eyes--in the shape of two dear little creatures that gave her plenty to do. now it was her real self that advanced to meet him. and there was a peculiar loyalty about her, that laid hold of his heart; she no longer resented his small earnings, and she did not reproach him because he was only a workman. he had been obliged to resign his position as president of his union on account of his longer hours. there was no prospect at present of his being able to return to his vocation; but the hard bodily labor agreed with him. in order to help out his small earnings, he busied himself with repairs in the evenings. ellen helped him, and they sat together and gossiped over their work. they ignored the labor movement--it did not interest ellen, and he by no means objected to a brief rest from it. young lasse sat at the table, drawing and putting in his word now and then. often, when pelle brought out the work, ellen had done the greater part of it during the day, and had only left what she did not understand. in return he devised little ways of pleasing her. in the new year the winter was not so severe. already in february the first promise of spring was perceptible. one noticed it in ellen. "shan't we pack a picnic-basket and go out to one of the beer-gardens on sunday? it would do the children good to get into the air," she would say. pelle was very willing. but on sunday there was a meeting of the party leaders and a meeting concerning the affairs of the factory--he must be present at both. and in the evening he had promised to speak before a trade union. "then we'll go out ourselves, the children and i!" said ellen peacefully. when they came home it seemed they had amused themselves excellently; pelle was no longer indispensable. * * * * * the hard winter was over at last. it was still freezing--especially at night--but the people knew it was over in spite of that. and the ice in the canals knew it also. it began to show fractures running in all directions, and to drift out toward the sea. even the houses gave one a feeling of spring; they were brighter in hue; and the sun was shining into the sky overhead; if one looked for it one could see it glowing above the roofs. down in the narrow lanes and the well-like courtyards the children stamped about in the snowy slush and sang to the sun which they could not see. people began to recover from the long privations of the winter. the cold might return at any moment; but all were united in their belief in the spring. the starlings began to make their appearance, and the moisture of the earth rose again to the surface and broke its way through the hard crust, in dark patches; and business ventured to raise its head. a peculiar universal will seemed to prevail in all things. down under the earth it sprouted amid frost and snow, and crept forth, young, and seemingly brought forth by the cold itself; and in all things frozen by winter the promise unfolded itself--in spite of all. the workmen's quarter of the city began to revive; now it was once more of some use to go about looking for work. it did one good to get out and walk in the daylight for a while. and it also did one good once more to fill one's belly every day and to fetch the household goods home from the pawn-shop, and to air one's self a little, until one's turn came round again. but things did not go as well as they should have done. it looked as though the cold had completely crippled the sources of commercial activity. the spring came nearer; the sun rose higher every day, and began to recover its power; but business showed no signs of real recovery as yet; it did no more than supply what was needed from day to day. there was no life in it, as there had been of old! at this time of the year manufacturers were glad as a rule to increase their stocks, so as to meet the demands of the summer; it was usual to make up for the time lost during the winter; the workers would put forth their utmost strength, and would work overtime. many anxious questions were asked. what was the matter? why didn't things get going again? _the working man_ for the present offered no explanation, but addressed a covert warning to certain people that they had best not form an alliance with want. gradually the situation assumed more definite outlines; the employers were making preparations of some kind, for which reason they did not resume business with any great vigor. in spite of their privations during the winter, the workers had once again returned some of their own representatives to parliament, and now they were getting ready to strike a blow at the municipal elections. that was the thing to do now! and in the forefront of the battle stood the ever-increasing organization which now included all vocations and the whole country a single body, and which claimed a decisive voice in the ordering of conditions! the poor man was made to feel how little he could accomplish without those who kept everything going! in the meantime there were rumors that a lock-out was being prepared, affecting every occupation, and intended to destroy the federation at one blow. but that was inconceivable. they had experienced only small lock-outs, when there was disagreement about some particular point. that any one could think of setting the winter's distress in opposition to the will of nature, when every man was willing to work on the basis of the current tariff--no, the idea was too fiendish! but one distinction was being made. men who had done any particular work for the movement would find it more difficult to obtain employment. they would be degraded, or simply replaced by others, when they applied for their old places after the standstill of the winter. uncertainty prevailed, especially in those trades which had the longest connection with the labor organization; one could not but perceive this to be a consequence of combination. for that reason the feeling of insecurity increased. every one felt that the situation was unendurable and untenable, and foresaw some malicious stroke. especially in the iron industry relations were extremely strained; the iron-founders were always a hard-handed lot; it was there that one first saw what was about to develop. pelle anxiously watched events. if a conflict were to occur just now, it would mean a defeat of the workers, who were without supplies and were stripped to the buff. with the winter had ceased even the small chance of employment on the ramparts; it was obvious that an assault would shatter their cohesion. he did not express his anxieties to them. they were at bottom like little children; it would do no good for them to suffer too great anxiety. but to the leaders he insisted that they must contrive to avoid a conflict, even if it entailed concessions. for the first time pelle proposed a retreat! one week followed another, and the tension increased, but nothing happened. the employers were afraid of public opinion. the winter had struck terrible blows; they dared not assume the responsibility for declaring war. * * * * * in the "denmark" machine-works the tension was of long standing. at the time when the farmers were compelled, by the conditions of the world- market, to give up the cultivation of cereals for dairy-farming, the directors of the factory had perceived in advance that the future would lie in that direction, and had begun to produce dairy machinery. the factory succeeded in constructing a centrifugal separator which had a great sale, and this new branch of industry absorbed an ever-increasing body of workers. hitherto the best-qualified men had been selected; they were continually improving the manufacture, and the sales were increasing both at home and abroad. the workers gradually became so skilled in their specialty that the manufacturers found themselves compelled to reduce their wages--otherwise they would have earned too much. this had happened twice in the course of the years, and the workers had received the hint that was necessary to meet competition in foreign markets. but at the same time the centrifugal separators were continually increasing in price, on account of the great demand for them. the workers had regarded the lowering of their wages as something inevitable, and took pains yet further to increase their skill, so that their earnings had once more come to represent a good average wage. now, immediately after the winter slackness, there were rumors in circulation that the manufacturers intended once more to decrease the rate of pay. but this time the men had no intention of accommodating themselves to the decrease. their resentment against the unrighteousness of this proceeding went to their heads; they were very near demonstrating at the mere rumor. pelle, however, succeeded in persuading them that they were confronted by nothing more than foolish gossip for which no one was responsible. afterward, when their fear had evaporated and all was again going as usual, they came to him and thanked him. but on the next pay-day there was a notice from the office to the effect that the current rate of wages was not in accordance with the times--it was to be improved. this sounded absolutely innocent, but every one knew what lay behind it. it was one of the first days of spring. the sun was shining into the vast workshop, casting great shafts of light across it, and in the blue haze pulleys and belts were revolving. the workers, as they stood at their work, were whistling in time with the many wheels and the ringing of metal. they were like a flock of birds, who have just landed on a familiar coast and are getting the spring. pelle was carrying in some raw material when the news came and extinguished all their joy. it was passed on a scrap of paper from man to man, brief and callous. the managers of the factory wanted to have nothing to do with the organization, but silently went behind it. all had a period of fourteen days in which to subscribe to the new tariff. "no arguments, if you please--sign, or go!" when the notice came to pelle all eyes were turned upon him as though they expected a signal; tools were laid down, but the machinery ran idly for a time. pelle read the notice and then bent over his work again. during the midday pause they crowded about him. "what now?" they asked; and their eyes were fixed upon him, while their hands were trembling. "hadn't we better pack up and go at once? this shearing will soon be too much for us, if they do it every time a little wool has grown on us." "wait!" said pelle. "just wait! let the other side do everything, and let us see how far they will go. behave as if nothing had happened, and get on with your work. you have the responsibility of wives and children!" they grumblingly followed his advice, and went back to their work. pelle did not wonder at them; there had been a time when he too would throw down his work if any one imposed on him, even if everything had gone to the devil through it. but now he was responsible for many--which was enough to make a man prudent. "wait!" he told them over and over again. "to-morrow we shall know more than we do to-day--it wants thinking over before we deal with it!" so they put the new tariff aside and went to work as though nothing had happened. the management of the factory treated the matter as settled; and the directors went about with a contented look. pelle wondered at his comrades' behavior; after a few days they were in their usual spirits, indulging in all kinds of pastimes during their meal-time. as soon as the whistle sounded at noon the machinery stopped running, and the workers all dropped their tools. a few quickly drew their coats on, intending to go home for a mouthful of warm food, while some went to the beer-cellars of the neighborhood. those who lived far from their homes sat on the lathe-beds and ate their food there. when the food was consumed they gathered together in groups, gossiping, or chaffing one another. pelle often made use of the midday rest to run over to the "ark" in order to greet father lasse, who had obtained work in one of the granaries and was now able to get along quite nicely. one day at noon pelle was standing in the midst of a group of men, making a drawing of a conceited, arrogant foreman with a scrap of chalk on a large iron plate. the drawing evoked much merriment. some of his comrades had in the meantime been disputing as to the elevating machinery of a submarine. pelle rapidly erased his caricature and silently sketched an elevation of the machinery in question. he had so often seen it when the vessel lay in the harbor at home. the others were obliged to admit that he was right. there was a sudden silence as one of the engineers passed through the workshop. he caught sight of the drawing and asked whose work it was. pelle had to go to the office with him. the engineer asked him all sorts of questions, and was amazed to learn that he had never had lessons in drawing. "perhaps we could make use of you upstairs here," he said. "would you care for that?" pelle's heart gave a sudden leap. this was luck, the real genuine good fortune that seized upon its man and lifted him straightway into a region of dazzling radiance! "yes," he stammered, "yes, thank you very much!" his emotion was near choking him. "then come to-morrow at seven--to the drawing-office," said the engineer. "no, what's to-day? saturday. then monday morning." and so the affair was settled, without any beating about the bush! there was a man after pelle's own heart! when he went downstairs the men crowded about him, in order to hear the result. "now your fortune's made!" they said; "they'll put you to machine-drawing now, and if you know your business you'll get independent work and become a constructor. that's the way director jeppesen got on; he started down here on the moulding-floor, and now he's a great man!" their faces were beaming with delight in his good fortune. he looked at them, and realized that they regarded him as capable of anything. he spent the rest of the day as in a dream, and hurried home to share the news with ellen. he was quite confused; there was a surging in his ears, as in childhood, when life suddenly revealed one of its miracles to him. ellen flung her arms round his neck in her joy; she would not let him go again, but held him fast gazing at him wonderingly, as in the old days. "i've always known you were intended for something!" she said, looking at him with pride. "there's no one like you! and now, only think. but the children, they must know too!" and she snatched little sister from her sleep, and informed her what had happened. the child began to cry. "you are frightening her, you are so delighted," said pelle, who was himself smiling all over his face. "but now--now we shall mix with genteel people," said ellen suddenly, as she was laying the table. "if only i can adapt myself to it! and the children shall go to the middle-class school." when pelle had eaten he was about to sit down to his cobbling. "no!" said ellen decidedly, taking the work away, "that's no work for you any longer!" "but it must be finished," said pelle; "we can't deliver half-finished work!" "i'll soon finish it for you; you just put your best clothes on; you look like a--" "like a working-man, eh?" said pelle, smiling. pelle dressed himself and went off to the "ark" to give father lasse the news. later he would meet the others at his father-in-law's. lasse was at home, and was eating his supper. he had fried himself an egg over the stove, and there was beer and brandy on the table. he had rented a little room off the long corridor, near crazy vinslev's; there was no window, but there was a pane of glass over the door leading into the gloomy passage. the lime was falling from the walls, so that the cob was showing in great patches. "well, well," said lasse, delighted, "so it's come to this! i've often wondered to myself why you had been given such unprofitable talents-- such as lying about and painting on the walls or on paper--you, a poor laborer's son. something must be intended by that, i used to tell myself, in my own mind; perhaps it's the gift of god and he'll get on by reason of it! and now it really seems as if it's to find its use." "it's not comfortable for you here, father!" said pelle. "but i shall soon take you away from here, whether you like it or not. when we've paid off a few of the winter's debts we shall be moving into a three-roomed apartment, and then you'll have a room for your own use; but you mustn't go to work any longer then. you must be prepared for that." "yes, yes, i've nothing against living with you, so long as i'm not taking the bread out of others' mouths. ah, no, pelle, it won't be difficult for me to give up my work; i have overworked myself ever since i could crawl; for seventy years almost i've toiled for my daily bread-- and now i'm tired! so many thanks for your kind intentions. i shall pass the time well with the children. send me word whenever you will." the news was already known in the "ark," and the inmates came up to wish him luck as he was leaving. "you won't he running in here any more and gossiping with us when once you are settled in your new calling," they said. "that would never do! but don't quite forget all about us just because we are poor!" "no, no, pelle has been through so many hungry times with us poor folks; he's not one of those who forget old friendship!" they themselves replied. only now, when he had left the "ark," did he realize that there was something to which he was bidding farewell. it was the cordial community with all his kind, their radiant faith in him, and his own belief in his mission there; he had known a peculiar joy in the half-embittered recklessness, the community of feeling, and the struggle. was he not, so to speak, the prince of poverty, to whom they all looked up, and of whom they all expected that he would lead them into a strange world? and could he justify himself for leaving them all in the lurch because of his own good fortune? perhaps he was really appointed to lead the movement--perhaps he was the only one who could do so! this belief had always been faintly glimmering in the back of his mind, had stood behind his endurance in the conflict, and behind all the gladness with which he bore privation. was he in his arrogance to repudiate the place that had formed him? no, he was not so blatant as all that! there was plenty beside himself capable of seeing the movement through--and fortune had tapped him on the shoulder. "march forward, pelle!" an inward voice exhorted him. "what have you to consider? you have no right to thrust success away from you? do you want to ruin yourself without profiting others? you have been a good comrade, but here your ways divide. god himself has given you talent; even as a child you used to practise it; no one will gain by your remaining poor. choose your own path!" yes, pelle had chosen readily enough! he knew very well that he must accept this good fortune, whatever the world might say to it. only it hurt him to leave the others behind! he was bound to poverty by such intimate ties; he felt the solidarity of the poor so keenly that it hurt him to tear himself away. common cares had made him a man, and the struggle had given him a peculiar and effective strength. but now he would attend no more meetings! it would be droll indeed if he were to have nothing more to do with the cause, but were to belong to the other side--he, pelle, who had been a flaming torch! no, he would never leave them in the lurch, that he knew; even if he were to climb ever so high-- and he entertained no doubts as to that--he would always feel for his old comrades and show them the way to obtain good relations between worker and employer. ellen saw how serious he was--perhaps she guessed that he was feeling remorseful. she would help him to get over that. "can't we have your father here to-morrow?" she said. "he can lie on the long chair in the living-room until we move into our new home. it isn't right to let him stay where he is, and in your new situation you couldn't do it." xxvii the unrest increased in the workshops round about; no one who had anything to do with the organization felt really secure. it was evidently the intention of the employers to drive the workers to extremes, and thereby to force them to break the peace. "they want to destroy the trades unions, so that they can scrape the butter off our bread again," said the workers. "they think it'll be easier now that the winter has made us thankful for a dry crust! but that's an infernal lie!" the masses grew more and more embittered; everywhere they were ready for a fight, and asked nothing better than to plunge into it. the women wept and shuddered; most of them understood only that the sufferings of the winter were going to begin all over again. they took desperate steps to prevent this; they threw their shawls over their heads and rushed off to the offices, to the manufacturers, and pleaded with them to avert the disaster. the central committee counselled a peaceful demeanor and caution. everything depended upon their having the right on their side in the opinion of the public. it was easy for pelle to follow all that was happening, although he now stood outside the whole movement. he went to work in his good clothes and elastic-sided boots, and did not need to arrive before seven, while the others had to be there at six--which at once altered his point of view. he would soon be trusted with rule and compasses; for the present he was kept busy copying a few worn-out working-drawings, or "filling in." he felt in a curiously exalted frame of mind--as though he had been slightly intoxicated; this was the first time in his life that he had been employed on work that was of a clean nature and allowed him to wear good clothes. it was particularly curious to survey life from where he stood; a new perspective lay open before him. the old life had nothing in prospect but a miserable old age; but this led upward. here he could achieve what he willed--even the highest place! what if he finally crept up to the very topmost point, and established an eight-hour day and a decent day's wage? then he would show them that one could perfectly well climb up from below without forgetting his origin and becoming a bloodsucker! they should still drink to the health of pelle, their good comrade, although he would have left their ranks. at home there was much to be done; as soon as he crossed the threshold he was the prisoner of ellen's hundred and one schemes. he must have a new suit of clothes--a gray suit for the office, and more linen; and at least twice a week he must go to the barber; he could no longer sit down and scrape himself with an old razor with an edge like a saw. pelle was made to feel that it was not so easy after all to become an "upper- classer," as he called it. and all this cost money. there was the same searching, the same racking of one's brains to find the necessary shillings as during the dearth of the winter famine; but this time it was quite amusing; there was a cheerful purpose in it all, and it would only last until he had properly settled down. lasse looked very respectable; he was wearing pelle's second-best suit, which ellen had cleaned for him, and a black watered silk cravat, with a white waterproof collar, and well-polished slippers on his feet. these last were his old watertight boots--those in which pelle had left stone farm. they were still in existence, but had been cut down to form house-slippers. the legs of them now formed part of a pair of clogs. lasse was happiest with the children, and he looked quite an aged grandfather now, with his wrinkled face and his kind glance, which was now a little weak-sighted. when young lasse hid himself in the opposite corner of the room father lasse could not see him, and the young rascal took advantage of the fact; he could never understand those eyes, which could not see farther than across the table, and was always asking questions about them. "it's because i have seen too much misery in my life," the old man would always reply. otherwise he was quite overflowing with happiness, and his old worn-out body manifested its gratitude, for he began to put on flesh again; and his cheeks had soon grown quite full. he had a peculiar knack for looking after the children; pelle and ellen could feel quite easy as they went about their multitudinous affairs. there were a hundred things that had to be seen to before they could move into the new home. they thought of raising a loan of a few hundred kroner. "father will go security for us," said ellen. "yes, then i should have the means of taking proper drawing-lessons," said pelle; "i particularly need to get thoroughly grounded." * * * * * on saturday the term of the old tariff expired. the temper of the workers was badly strained, but each completed his work, and contained himself and waited. at noon the foreman went round asking each man for his answer. they refused all information, as agreed, but in the afternoon three men formed a deputation and entered the office, asking if they could speak with the manager. as he entered munck, the engine- driver, stepped forward as spokesman, and began: "we have come in the name of our comrades." he could get no further; the manager let fly at him, pointing to the stairs, and crying, "i don't argue with my work- people!" so they went down again. the men stared up at them--this was quick work! the burly munck moved his lips, as though he were speaking, but no one could hear a word on account of the frightful din of the machinery. with a firm stride he went through the shop, picked up a hammer, and struck three blows on the great steel gong. they sounded like the stroke of doom, booming through the whole factory. at the same moment the man's naked, blackened arms were lifted to strike the belts from the live pulleys. the machinery ceased running, and the roar of it died away; it was as still as though death had passed through the workshop. the dense network of belts that crossed the shop in all directions quivered and hung slack; the silence yawned horribly in the great room. the foremen ran from bench to bench, shouting and hardly knowing what to do. word was sent to the office, while the workers went to their buckets and washed themselves, silent and melancholy as a funeral procession. their faces were uncommunicative. did they perhaps foresee that those three blows were the signal for a terrible conflict? or were they merely following their first angry impulse? they knew enough, at all events; it was stamped upon their faces that this was fate--the inevitable. they had summoned the winter because they were driven to it, and the winter would return once more to ravage his victims. they reappeared, washed and clean, each with his bundle under his arm, and stood in silence waiting their turn to be paid. the foreman ran to and fro apportioning the wages with nervous hands, comparing time-sheets and reckoning the sum due to each. the manager came down the stairs of his office, proud and unapproachable, and walked through the shop; the workers made way for him. he looked sharply around him, as though he would imprint the likeness of every individual worker on his mind, laid his hand on the shoulder of one of the foremen, and said in a loud voice, so that all heard him, "make haste, now, jacobsen, so that we can be rid of these fellows quickly!" the workers slowly turned their serious faces toward him, and here and there a fist was clenched. they left the factory one by one, as soon as they were paid. outside they gathered in little groups, and relieved their feelings by giving vent to significant exclamations. "did you see the old man? he was savage, he was; he'll hold out quite a while before we get back again!" pelle was in a curious frame of mind; he knew that now the fight had begun; first blood had been drawn, and one blow would follow on another. young lasse, who heard his step on the stairs, ran into his arms as he reached home; but pelle did not notice him. "you are so solemn!" said ellen, "has anything happened?" he told her quietly. "good god!" she cried, shuddering. "now the unemployment will begin all over again! thank god it doesn't affect us!" pelle did not reply. he sat down in silence to his supper; sat hanging his head as though ashamed of himself. xxviii a most agitating time followed. for a number of years the conflict had, so to speak, been preparing itself, and the workers had made ready for it, had longed for it, had sought to precipitate it, in order to determine once for all whether they were destined always to be slaves and to stand still, or whether there was a future for them. now the conflict had come--and had taken them all by surprise; they would willingly have concluded peace just now. but there was no prospect of a peaceful solution of any kind. the employers found the occasion favorable for setting their house in order; the matter was to be fought out now! this was as good as telling the men to go. every morning there was news of a fresh lot of workers turned into the streets, or leaving of their own accord. one trade involved another. the iron-masters made common cause with the "denmark" factory, and declared a lock-out of the machine-smiths; then the moulders and pattern-makers walked out, and other branches of the industry joined the strike; they all stood by one another. pelle could survey them all from his point of vantage. old memories of battle rose to his mind; his blood grew warm, and he caught himself, up in the drawing-office, making plans of campaign for this trade or that. his was the quick-fighting blood that assumes the offensive, and he noted their blunders; they were not acting with sufficient energy. they were still exhausted, and found it hard to reconcile themselves to another period of unemployment. they made no counter-attack that could do any damage. the employers, who were acting energetically under the leadership of the iron industry, enjoyed from the beginning a considerable ascendancy. the "denmark" factory was kept running, but the trade was on its last legs. it was kept alive by the help of a few strike-breakers, and every one of the officials of the company who had the requisite knowledge was set to work downstairs; even the manager of the machine department had donned a blouse and was working a lathe. it was a matter of sapping the courage of the strikers, while proving to them that it was possible to do without them. in the drawing-office and the counting-house all was confusion; the strike-breakers had all to be obtained from abroad; while others ran away and had to be replaced. under these circumstances pelle had to look after himself and assimilate what he could. this did not suit him; it was a long way to the top, and one couldn't learn quickly enough. one day he received the summons to come downstairs and lend a hand in the centrifugal separator department. the workers had made common cause with the machine-smiths. this summons aroused him from delightful dreams of the future. he was swiftly awakened. "i am no strike-breaker!" he replied, offended. then the engineer himself came up. "do you realize that you are refusing to perform your duty?" he said. "i can't take work away from my comrades," replied pelle, in a low voice. "they may think that very nice of you. but now those men down there are no longer your comrades. you are a salaried employee, and as such you must serve the firm wherever you are asked to do so." "but i can't do that! i can't strike the bread out of other folks' hands." "then your whole future is at stake. think a moment, man! i am sorry for you, for you might have done something here; but i can't save you from the results of your own obstinacy. we require absolute obedience here." the engineer stood waiting for his answer, but pelle had nothing to say. "now, i'll go so far as to give you till to-morrow to think over it-- although that's against the rules of the factory. now think it over well, and don't hang on to this stupid sentimentality of yours. the first thing is to stand by those you belong to, through thick and thin. well, till to-morrow." pelle went. he did not want to go home before the usual time, only to be met with a string of unseasonable questions. they would come soon enough in any case. so he strolled through the mercantile quarter and gazed at the shipping. well, now his dream of success was shattered--and it had been a short one. he could see ellen's look of disappointment, and an utter mental depression came over him. he was chiefly sorry for her; as for him, there was nothing to be said--it was fate! it never occurred to him for a moment to choose between his comrades and the future; he had quite forgotten that the engineer had given him time for reflection. at the usual time he strolled homeward. ellen welcomed him cheerfully and light-heartedly; she was living in a continual thrill of delight; and it was quite touching to see what trouble she was taking to fit herself for a different stratum of society. her movements were delightful to watch, and her mouth had assumed an expression which was intended to betoken refinement. it suited her delightfully, and pelle was always seized by a desire to kiss her lips and so disarrange the expression; but to-day he sat down to his supper in silence. ellen was accustomed to put aside his share of the midday dinner, and to warm it up for him when he came home in the evening; at midday he ate bread-and- butter in the office. "when we have once got properly settled we'll all have dinner at six o'clock; that is much more comfortable." "that's what the fine folks do, i've been told," said lasse. "that will be pleasant, to give it a try." lasse was sitting with young lasse on his knee, telling him funny stories. little lasse laughed, and every time he laughed his sister screeched with delight in her cradle, as though she understood it all. "what is it to be now, then--the story of the old wife? then you must listen carefully, or your ears won't grow! well, then, the old wife." "wife!" said young lasse, with the very accent of the old man. "yes, the old wife!" repeated lasse, and then all three laughed. "'what shall i do first?' said the old wife, when she went to work; 'eat or sleep? i think i'll eat first. what shall i do first?' asked the old wife, when she had eaten; 'shall i sleep first or work? i think i'll sleep first.' and then she slept, until it was evening, and then she went home and went to bed." ellen went up to pelle and laid her hand on his shoulder. "i've been to see my former mistress, and she is going to help me to turn my wedding-dress into a visiting-dress," she said. "then we shall only need to buy a frock-coat for you." pelle looked up slowly. a quiver passed over his features. poor thing! she was thinking about visiting-dresses! "you can save yourself the trouble," he said, in a low voice. "i've finished with the office. they asked me to turn strike-breaker, so i left." "ach, ach!" said lasse, and he was near letting the child fall, his withered hands were trembling so. ellen gazed at pelle as though turned to stone. she grew paler and paler, but not a sound came from her lips. she looked as though she would fall dead at his feet. xxix pelle was once more among his own people; he did not regret that fortune had withdrawn her promise; at heart he was glad. after all, this was where he belonged. he had played a great part in the great revolt--was he to be excluded from the battle? the leaders welcomed him. no one could draw the people as he could, when it came to that; the sight of him inspired them with a cheerful faith, and gave them endurance, and a fearless pugnacity. and he was so skilled, too, in making plans! the first thing every morning he made his way to the lock-out office, whence the whole campaign was directed; here all the many threads ran together. the situation for the moment was considered, men who had precise knowledge of the enemy's weak points were called together, in order to give information, and a comprehensive plan of campaign was devised. at secret meetings, to which trustworthy members of the various trades were invited, all sorts of material for offence was collected-- for the attack upon the employers, and for carrying on the newspaper agitation. it was a question of striking at the blood-suckers, and those who were loose in the saddle! there were trades which the employers kept going for local reasons--these must be hunted out and brought to a standstill, even at the cost of increasing unemployment. they were making energetic preparations for war, and it was not the time to be squeamish about their weapons. pelle was in his element. this was something better than ruining a single shoemaker, even if he was the biggest in the city! he was rich in ideas, and never wavered in carrying them into execution. warfare was warfare! this was the attacking side; but, permeated as he was by a sense of community, he saw clearly that the real battle was for maintenance. the utmost foresight and widely comprehensive instructions were required if the masses were to last out the campaign; in the long run it would be a question of endurance! foreign strike-breakers had to be kept at a distance by prompt communications to the party newspapers of the different countries, and by the setting of pickets in the railway stations and on the steamers. for the first time the workers took the telegraph into their own service. the number of the foreign strikebreakers must by every possible means be kept down, and in the first place supplies must be assured, so that the unemployed masses could keep famine at bay. in a vision, pelle had beheld the natural solidarity of the workers extended over the whole earth, and now this vision was of service to him. the leaders issued a powerful manifesto to the workers of denmark; pointing to the abyss from which they had climbed and to the pinnacles of light toward which they were striving upward; and warning them, in impressive phrases, to stand firm and to hold together. a statement as to the origin of the lock-out and the intention which lay behind it was printed and distributed throughout the country, with appeal for assistance and support, in the name of freedom! and by means of appeals to the labor parties of foreign countries they reminded the people of the vast solidarity of labor. it was a huge machine to set in motion; federation had increased from one small trade union until it comprehended the whole kingdom, and now they were striving to comprehend the laboring populations of the whole world, in order to win them over as confederates in the campaign. and men who had risen from the masses and were still sharing the same conditions, were managing all this! they had kept step with the rapid growth of the movement, and they were still growing. the feeling that they were well prepared inspired them with courage and the prospect of a favorable result. from the country offers of employment for the locked-out workers daily reached the central office. money was sent too--and assistance in the form of provisions; and many families outside the capital offered to take in the children of unemployed parents. remittances of money came from abroad, and the liberal circles of the capital sympathized with the workers; and in the workers' quarter of the city shopkeepers and publicans began to collect for the federation. the workers displayed an extraordinary readiness to undergo sacrifices. books of coupons were circulated everywhere in the workshops, and thousands of workers gave each week a fourth part of their modest wages. the locked-out workers left their work with magnificent courage; the sense of community made them heroic. destitute though they were as a result of the hard winter, they agreed, during the first two weeks, to do without assistance. many of them spared the treasury altogether, helping themselves as well as they could, seeking a little private employment, or going out into the country to work on the land. the young unmarried men went abroad. the employers did what they could to cope with all these shifts. they forbade the merchants and contractors to supply those who worked at home on their own account with materials for their work; and secret agents were despatched all over the country to the small employers and the farmers, in order to prejudice them against the locked-out workers; and the frontier of the country was covered with placards. their intention was obvious enough--an iron ring was to be drawn round the workers, and once imprisoned therein they could do nothing but keep starvation at bay until they had had enough, and surrendered. this knowledge increased their resistance. they were lean with wandering through the wilderness, but they were just in the mood for a fight. many of them had not until now understood the entire bearings of the campaign; the new ideas had been stirring within them, but in a fragmentary and isolated condition--as an expression of a dumb feeling that the promised land was at hand at last. often it was just one single word that had fixed itself in their minds, and had to serve to express the whole position. any one might approach them with plausible arguments and strike it from under them, and shatter the theory to which they had clung; but faith itself remained, and the far-reaching concord; deep in their hearts was the dim, immovable knowledge that they were chosen to enter into the time of promise. and now everything was gradually becoming plain to them. the battle shed light both backward and forward. it illumined their existence in all its harshness. life was the same as it had always been, but now it was revealed so plainly that all could see it. all the many whips and scorns of life had been bound together in one vast scourge--the scourge of famine--which was to drive them back into the midst of poverty! want was to be set upon them in its compactest form! this was the last, most extreme weapon; it confirmed them in the certainty that they were now on the right track, and near the goal. the night was always darkest before the break of day! there were all sorts of things that they could understand now. people used to go about saying that the germans were the hereditary enemy, and that the fatherland was taking the lead of all other countries. but now the employers were sending to germany for troops of hirelings, and were employing them to drive their own countrymen into a state of poverty. all that talk about patriotic feeling had been only fine words! there were only two nations--the oppressors and the oppressed! that was how things appeared on closer inspection! one could never be very sure of what those above one told one--and yet all teaching came from them! a brave lot the clergy were--they knew very well which master they had to serve! no, the people ought to have had their own schools, where the children would learn the new ideas instead of religion and patriotism! then there would long ago have been an end of the curse of poverty! so they profited by the campaign and their compulsory idleness in order to think things over, and to endeavor to solve all manner of problems. the specter of hunger presently began to go from house to house, but the result was not what was expected; it awakened only hatred and defiance. it was precisely in this direction that they were invincible! in the course of time they had learned to suffer--they had learned nothing more thoroughly; and this came to their help now. they had an inexhaustible fund to draw upon, from which they could derive their strength to resist; they were not to be defeated. weren't they nearly ready to surrender? very well--another thousand workers on the streets! but the distress, to all appearance, became no greater than before; they had learned to endure their privations in decency--that was their share in the increasing culture. one saw no obtrusive signs of want; they compromised with it in secret, and appeared full of courage. this weakened the faith of their opponents in the infallible nature of their means. they even adopted hunger as their own weapon, boycotting the employers and their dependents, striking the enemy a blow they were familiar with! many a great employer's door was marked with a cross, and all behind it were doomed to ruin. it was as though the courage of the people increased in proportion as famine threatened them more closely. no one could tell how long this would last; but they would make hay as long as the sun shone! their clothes were still tidy, and in the early spring there were many excursions; the people went forth singing, with banners at their head, and singing they came home. this was the first time they had ever enjoyed their freedom, although there was work enough to be done--it was their first holiday! as they held the whip hand through their purchasing capacity, they boycotted all the business concerns of their own quarter which did not array themselves on the side of the workers. their hatred was aroused; it was "for us or against us"; all must declare themselves by taking sides. the small shopkeepers concealed their convictions--if they had any--and rivalled one another in friendliness toward the workers. on their counters lay books of coupons for those who would contribute to the funds, and some of them gave a percentage of their own takings. there was plenty of time to keep a strict eye on such; the people's hatred was aroused at last, and it grew more and more bitter. the leaders held back and counselled prudence. but there was something intoxicating in this battle for bare life--and for happiness! something that went to the head and tempted them to hazard all on the cast of the dice. the leaders had given great attention to the problem of restricting the number of idle hands--it was difficult for them to procure sufficient funds. but those workers who still had work to do forsook it, in order to join themselves, in blind solidarity, to their locked-out comrades. they thought it was required of them! one day the masons made an unexpected demand that an hour should be struck off the day's work. they received a refusal. but that evening they knocked off at six instead of seven. the men were unreasonable: to demand shorter hours in the slack season following on a hard winter! this move took the leaders by surprise. they feared that it might diminish the general sympathy for the workers. it surprised them particularly that the prudent and experienced stolpe had not opposed this demand. as president of the organization for many years, he had great influence over the men; he must try to persuade them to go to work again. pelle opened negotiations with him. "that is not my business," stolpe replied. "i did not propose the cessation of work, but at the general meeting the majority was in favor of it--and with that there's no more to be said. i don't oppose my comrades." "but that's perverse of you," said pelle. "you are the responsible person, and your trade has the most favorable conditions of labor--and you ought to remember the conflict in which we are engaged." "yes, the conflict! of course we thought of it. and you are right, i have a good and comfortable home, because my craft is in a good position; and we masons have obtained good conditions, and we earn good money. but are we to enjoy ourselves and look on while the others are fighting for dry bread? no, we are with them when it comes to a fight!" "but the support you were giving--it was ten thousand kroner a week, and now we shall have to do without it! your action may have incalculable consequences for us. you must put an end to this, father-in-law! you must see that the majority doesn't have its way." "that would be diplomatic, wouldn't it? but you seem anxious to side with our opponents! we hold the suffrage in honor, and it is the suffrage that is to reform society. if once one begins to meddle with the voting-papers!--" "but that isn't necessary in the least! the people aren't really clear as to what they are doing--you can't expect any quickness of perception from them! you could demand a fresh vote--if i could first have a talk with them about the campaign!" "so you think we couldn't see what we were doing!" replied stolpe, much offended. "but we can accept the consequences--we can do that! and you want to get up on the platform and talk them silly, and then they are to vote the other way round! no, no nonsense here! they voted according to their convictions--and with that the matter's settled, whether it's right or wrong! it won't be altered!" pelle had to give in; the old man was not to be moved from his point of view. the masons increased the unemployed by a few thousand men. the employers profited by this aggression, which represented them to the public in a favorable aspect, in order to strike a decisive blow. the universal lock-out was declared. xxx at home matters were going badly with pelle. they had not yet recovered from the winter when he was drawn into the conflict; and the preparations for his new position had plunged them into debt. pelle received the same relief as the other locked-out workers--ten to twelve kroner a week--and out of this ellen had to provide them with food and firing. she thought he ought, as leader, to receive more than the others, but pelle did not wish to enjoy other conditions than those allotted to the rest. when he came home, thoroughly exhausted after his strenuous day, he was met by ellen's questioning eyes. she said nothing, but her eyes obstinately repeated the same question day after day. it was as though they asked him: "well, have you found employment?" this irritated him, for she knew perfectly well that he was not looking for work, that there was none to look for. she knew what the situation was as well as he did, but she persistently behaved as though she knew nothing of all that he and his comrades were endeavoring to achieve, and when he turned the conversation on to that subject she preserved a stubborn silence; she did not wish to hear anything about it. when the heat of battle rose to pelle's head, there was no one with whom he would rather have shared his opinions and his plans of campaign. in other directions she had urged him on, and he had felt this as a confirmation and augmentation of his own being; but now she was silent. she had him and her home and the children, and all else besides was nothing to her. she had shared the privations of the winter with him and had done so cheerfully; they were undeserved. but now he could get work whenever he wished. she had resumed her dumb opposition, and this had an oppressive effect upon him; it took something from the joy of battle. when he reached home and related what had been said and done during the day, he addressed himself to lasse. she moved about the home immersed in her own cares, as though she were dumb; and she would suddenly interrupt his conversation with the statement that this or that was lacking. so he weaned himself from his communicative habits, and carried on all his work away from home. if there was writing to be done, or if he had negotiations to accomplish, he selected some tavern where he would be free of her constraining presence. he avoided telling her of his post of confidence, and although she could not help hearing about it when away from home she behaved as if she knew nothing. for her he was still merely pelle the working-man, who shirked supporting his wife and children. this obstinate attitude pained him; and the bitterness of his home life made him throw himself with greater energy into the struggle. he became a hard and dangerous opponent. lasse used to gaze at them unhappily. he would willingly have intervened, but he did not know how to set about it; and he felt himself superfluous. every day he donned his old clothes and went out in order to offer his services as casual laborer, but there were plenty of idle hands younger than his. and he was afraid of obtaining employment that might take the bread out of other folks' mouths. he could not understand the campaign, and he found it difficult to understand what was forbidden ground; but for pelle he felt an unconditional respect. if the lad said this or the other, then it was right; even if one had to go hungry for it--the lad was appointed to some special end. one day he silently left the house; pelle scarcely noticed it, so absorbed was he. "he must have gone back to the old clothes woman at the 'ark,'" he thought; "it's by no means amusing here." pelle had charge of the external part of the campaign; he knew nothing of bookkeeping or administration, but simply threw himself into the fight. even as a child of eight he had been faced with the problem of mastering life by his own means, and he had accomplished it, and this he profited by now. he enjoyed the confidence of the masses; his speech sounded natural to them, so that they believed in him even when they did not understand him. if there was any one who did not wish to follow where pelle led, he had to go just the same; there was no time just now for lengthy argument; where civil words didn't answer he took more energetic means. the campaign consisted in the first place of the federation of the masses, and pelle was continually away from home; wherever anything was afoot, there he put in an appearance. he had inaugurated a huge parade, every morning all the locked-out workers reported themselves at various stations in the city, and there the roll was called, every worker being entered according to his union. by means of this vast daily roll-call of nearly forty thousand men it was possible to discover which of them had deserted in order to act as strike-breakers. a few were always absent, and those who had a good excuse had to establish it in order to draw their strike-pay. pelle was now here, now there, and always unexpected, acting on impulse as he did. "lightning pelle," they called him, on account of the suddenness of his movements. his actions were not based upon long deliberations; nevertheless, he had a radical comprehension of the entire movement; one thing grew out of another, naturally, until the whole was more than any conscious intelligence could comprehend. and pelle grew with it, and by virtue of his impulsiveness was a summary of it all. there was plenty to be done; at the roll-call all those who failed to attend had to be entered, and those who knew anything about them must give information. this man had gone abroad; that one had gone into the country, to look for work; so far, so good. if any fell away and acted as strike-breaker, instructions were immediately given for his punishment. in this way pelle kept the ranks closed. there were many weak elements among them--degenerate, ignorant fellows who didn't understand the importance of the movement, but a strong controlling hand and unfailing justice made it a serious matter for them to break away. at the outset he had organized with stolpe's assistance a large body of the best workers as pickets or watchmen. these were zealous, fanatical members of the various trades, who had taken part in the organization of their own professional organization, and knew every individual member thereof. they stationed themselves early in the morning in the neighborhood of the various places of employment, marking those who went to work there and doing their best to prevent them. they were in constant conflict with the police, who put every possible obstacle in their way. morten he met repeatedly. privation had called him out of his retirement. he did not believe that the campaign would lead to better conditions, and on that account he took no part in it. but want he knew as did no other; his insight in that direction was mysteriously keen. the distribution of relief in the form of provisions could not have been entrusted to better hands. he superintended the whole business of distribution, but what he liked best was to stand, knife in hand, cutting up pork for the families of locked-out workers. the portions were strictly weighed; none the less, the women always thronged about him. there was a blessing in that faint smile of his--they felt sure his portions were the biggest! morten and pelle were in disagreement on almost every point. even now, when everything depended on a strict cohesion, morten could never be trusted to behave with severity. "remember, they aren't of age yet," he would say continually. and it could not be gainsaid that there were many to whom the conflict was unintelligible--they understood nothing of it, although otherwise they were thoughtful and intelligent enough. these were mostly people who had come in from the provinces at a somewhat advanced age; indeed some had been small employers there. for them trades unionism was a sort of lynch law, and they profited by the strike in all simplicity in order to obtain well-paid employment. when they were reviled as strikebreakers or "gentlemen," they laughed like little children who are threatened with a revolver. slow-witted as they were, in this respect, they took the consequences to heart, although they could not see the reason for them. these must be compelled to obey. the iron industry was doing its utmost to keep going, as a trade which must fulfill its contracted engagements, under penalty of seeing the business fall into foreign hands. this industry had if possible to be disabled. the pickets were at work, and _the working man_ published the names and addresses of the strike-breakers. when these left the factory they encountered a crowd of people who treated them with scorn and contempt; they had to be escorted by the police. but the resentment aroused by their treachery followed them home even to the barracks they lived in. the wives and children of the locked-out workers resumed the battle and carried on hostilities against the families of the strike- breakers, so that they had to move. one saw them of a night, with all their possessions on a handcart, trudging away to seek a new home under cover of the darkness. but the day revealed them, and again they were fugitives, until the police took them in hand and found lodging for them. one day a large factory by the north bridge resumed operations with the help of foreign labor and strike-breakers. pelle set to work to prepare a warm reception for the workers when they went homeward, but in the course of the day a policeman who was friendly to the workers tipped him the wink that two hundred police would be concealed in a neighboring school, ready for the workers' departure. in the afternoon people began to collect--unemployed workers, poor women, and children. they came early, for it well might be that the workers would be released an hour before their time, in order to avoid a clash, and they were missing nothing by waiting there. finally several thousand people stood before the gates of the factory, and the police were moving to and fro through the crowd, which stood many men deep, but they had to give up the effort to drive them asunder. the street urchins began to make an uproar, and to egg the watchers on. they felt the need of warming themselves a little, so they gradually began to bait the police. "hullo, there!" suddenly shouted a mighty voice. "in the school over there are two hundred police, waiting for us to make a disturbance, so that they can come and use their truncheons on us. hadn't we better leave them where they are? i think it's quite as well they should go back to school for a time!" "hurrah!" they cried. "hurrah! long live 'lightning'!" a movement went through the crowd. "that's pelle!" the whisper passed from mouth to mouth, and the women stood on tiptoe to see him. pelle and stolpe were standing against a wall, surrounded by a few dozen pickets. the police went up to them and reprimanded them. they had orders to hinder the picketing, but they had no desire to meddle with pelle. they lived in the workers' quarter, were at home there, and a word from him would make the city impossible for them. the usual time for stopping work came round, but the workers were not released from the factory. the crowd used its wits to keep itself warm; punning remarks concerning strike-breakers and capitalists buzzed through the air. but suddenly an alarm ran through the crowd. the street urchins, who are always the first to know everything, were whistling between their fingers and running down the side streets. then the crowd began to move, and the police followed at a quick march, keeping to the middle of the street. the factory had discharged the workers by a back door. they were moving down guldberg street by now, disheartened and with never a glance behind them, while a whole escort of police accompanied them. they were soon overtaken and brought home to the accompaniment of a sinister concert, which now and again was interrupted by cries of, "three cheers for the gentlemen!" the pickets walked in a long file, close to the procession, zealously occupied in noting each individual worker, while pelle moved in the midst of the crowd, endeavoring to prevent over-hasty action. there was need to be careful. several men were still in prison because during the winter they had come to blows with the strike-breakers, and the police had received stringent orders from the authorities. the press of the propertied classes was daily calling for stricter measures, demanding that every meeting in the streets, and especially before the gates of a factory, should be broken up by the police. now and then a strike-breaker parted from the squad and ran into the door of his dwelling, followed by a long whistle. among the workers was a solitary, elderly man, still powerful, whom pelle recognized. he kept at the extreme edge of the police, walking heavily, with bowed head, along the pavement close to the houses. his hair was quite gray, and his gait was almost crippled. this was mason hansen, stolpe's old comrade and fellow-unionist, whom pelle had interviewed in the winter, in the hope of persuading him to refrain from strikebreaking. "it's going badly with him," thought pelle, involuntarily keeping his eyes on him. the results of strike-breaking had dealt hardly with him. by st. hans street he turned the corner, winking at the policeman who was about to follow him, and went down the street alone, looking neither to right nor left, embarrassed, and with hanging head. every time a child cried aloud, he started. then he stood as though riveted to the ground, for in front of his door a heap of poverty-stricken household goods lay in the gutter. a crowd of gaping children stood round the heap, and in the midst of the group stood a youngish woman, with four children, who were keeping tearful watch over the heap of trash. the man pressed through the crowd and exchanged a few words with the woman, then clenched his fists and shook them threateningly at the tenement house. pelle went up to him. "things aren't going well with you, comrade," he said, laying his hand on the other's shoulder. "and you are much too good for what you are doing. you had better come with me and re-enter the organization." the man slowly turned his head. "oh, it's you!" he said, shaking pelle's hand away with a jerk. "and you seem as cool and impudent as ever. poverty hasn't dealt hardly with you! it's not at all a bad business, growing fat on the pence of the workers, eh?" pelle grew crimson with anger, but he controlled himself. "your insults don't hurt me," he said. "i have gone hungry for the cause while you have been playing the turncoat. but that will be forgotten if you'll come with me." the man laughed bitterly, pointing at the tenement-house. "you'd better go and give them a medal. three months now they've tormented me and made hell hot for my wife and children, in order to drive us away. and as that didn't answer, they went to the landlord and forced him to give me notice. but hansen is obstinate--he wouldn't be shown the door. so now they've got the bailiffs to turn me out, see?" he gave a hollow laugh. "but these few sticks, why, we can soon carry them up again, damn it all! shall we begin, mother?" "i'll willingly speak to the landlord. remember, you are an old unionist." "an old--yes, i was in it from the very beginning." the man drew himself proudly erect. "but for all that i don't let my wife and children starve. so you want to go begging favors for me, eh? you be gone--at once, will you? be off, to the devil, or i'll beat you to a jelly with this!" he seized a table-leg; his eyes were quite blood-shot. his young wife went up to him and took his hand. "hansen!" she said quietly. he let his weapon fall. pelle felt the woman's pleading eyes upon him, and went. xxxi when pelle, tired to death, made his way homeward in the evening, he had lost the feeling of invincibility and his thoughts turned to ellen. in the daytime he felt neither hesitation nor certainty. when he set to work it was always with thousands behind him. he felt the great body of workers at his back, whether he was fighting in the open or waiting with close-buttoned coat to deal with the leaders of the opposing camp. but when he went home to ellen he had only himself to rely on for support. and he could not get near her. strongly as he was drawn by the life away from home, she still held the secret of his life in her hands. she was strong and would not be swept aside. he was forced to ponder over her nature and to search for a solution. pelle had to deal with countless numbers of families, and what he saw was not always edifying. home was a conception which was only now forcing its way downward from the middle classes. even in periods of normal employment the workers earned little enough when it came to providing a decent family life, and the women knew nothing of making a comfortable home. the man might be tidy and well-dressed when one met him out of doors, but if you went to his home it was always the same thing; a dark, grimy den and a worn-out wife, who moved about scolding amidst a swarm of children. wages were enough for one only to live in comfort. the man represented the household out of doors. he must take sandwiches to his work, and he must have something decent too when he got home. the others managed with a little bread and coffee; it was of no use to talk of regular family meals. and the man must have clothes; he was the visible portion of the household, and he supported it. it was of no use to look for anything further in the way of ideas from these women; they saw nothing but unemployment and the want at home, and when the husband showed himself they drove him out of the house with their scolding ways. "you go out and meddle with everything you can think of that doesn't concern us--politics and big talk--instead of doing your work properly and leaving the fools to squabble among themselves!" the result was that they did their work for the organization in the taverns. many of them held positions of confidence, and pelle went to the taverns to confer with them. they were dejected, when they arrived, and had before all else to be thawed out. there pelle came to them, with his brilliant hopes. when they lamented in their dejection, he promised great things of the future. "our wives will soon see that we are in the right. the day will soon come when we shall be able to go home with a proper week's wages, that will be enough for the whole family." "and suppose it doesn't come off?" they would say. "it will come off--if only we hold out!" he cried, smiting the table. yes, he might well see the bright side of things. he had a wife who came from a long-established home, who kept things clean and tidy for him, and knew how to make much do the work of little; the daughter of an old unionist who had grown up in the midst of the movement--a wife who saw her husband's doings with understanding eyes; yes, he might well smile! as to the last, pelle was silent. in this particular she had accepted neither inheritance nor teaching; she was as she was, and she would never be different, whatever might pass over her head. pelle was sacrificing wife and children to a fixed idea, in order not to leave a few indifferent comrades in the lurch! that, and the strike, and the severe condemnation of those who would not keep step, was, and remained, for her, so much tavern nonsense. it was something the workers had got into their heads as a result of talking when they were not precisely sober. that was what it was, and it filled her heart with pain and mortification that she and hers should be set aside for people who were nothing to them. and this pain made her beautiful, and justified her in her own eyes. she did not complain in words, and she was always careful to set before pelle whatever the house could provide. he always found everything in order, and he understood what efforts it must cost her--considering the smallness of the means which she had at her disposal. there was no weak point in her defences; and this made the position still more oppressive; he could not evoke an explosion, a ventilation of her grievances; it was impossible to quarrel with her and make friends again. often he wished that ellen would become neglectful, like so many others. but she was always attentive; the more the circumstances enabled her to condemn him, the more correctly did she behave. if only he could have explained her lack of comprehension by supposing that her mind was barren and self-seeking! but in his eyes she had always been quite simple and single-minded, and yet her nature was to him a continual enigma! it was true she was not excessively benevolent or sympathetic where others were concerned; but on the other hand she asked nothing for herself--her thoughts were all for him and the children. he must admit that she had, without a thought, sacrificed everything to him--her home, her whole world--and that she had a right to ask something in return. and she was still unchangeably the same. she was indifferent where she herself was concerned, if only pelle and the children had something she was contented; she herself needed so little, yet she seemed to take enough when he watched her eating. pelle often wondered that she retained her healthy appearance, although the food she ate was so inferior. perhaps she helped herself in secret--but he drove the thought away, and was ashamed. she was always completely indifferent as to what she ate; she did not notice what it was, but served him and the children with the best of it--especially himself--yet she seemed to thrive. yes, even now she gave the best to him. it was as though she was fulfilling some deep-rooted law of her nature, which was independent of their relations to one another. in this nothing could alter her habits. she might have been compared to a great beautiful bitch that lies attentively marking the appetite of her young, although none can tell, from her deliberate quiet, that her own bowels are twisted with hunger. if they left anything, she noticed it. "i have eaten," she would say, so quietly that she succeeded as a rule in deceiving them. yes, it made him feel desperate to think about it; the more he thought of it the more unendurable it was. she was sacrificing herself for him, yet she must condemn all his doings! she knew how to defy starvation far better than he--and she did not understand why they must go hungry! but from all these painful deliberations she emerged always more prominently capable, incomprehensible, and beautiful in all her strangeness! and he would hurry home, full of burning longing and devotion, continually hoping that this time she would come to him glowing with love, to hide her eyes, full of confusion, on his shoulder. the disappointment only flung him yet more violently into the struggle; the longing of his heart for a tender, careless hand made his own hard. * * * * * he was always exerting himself to find some means of making money. at first, of course, there was no way, and he became so completely absorbed in the conflict that finally the question no longer occupied his mind. it lurked in his consciousness, like a voluptuous wish that merely tinged his daily existence; it was as though something within his mind had taken possession of his talent for design, and was always designing beautiful paper money and displaying it to his imagination. one day when he reached home he found widow rasmussen tending the children and working on a pair of canvas shoes. drunken valde had left her again--had flown out into the spring! ellen had gone out to work. a sudden pain shot through him. her way of doing this, without saying a word to him, was like a blow in the face, and at first he was angry. but disloyalty was foreign to his nature. he had to admit that she was within her rights; and with that his anger evaporated, leaving him bewildered; something within him seemed tottering; surely this was a topsy-turvy world! "i might as well stay at home and look after the children," he thought bitterly. "i'll stay with the children now, madam rasmussen!" he said. the woman put her work together. "yes, they've got a lot to go through," she said, standing in the doorway. "i don't myself understand what it's all about, but one must always do something! that's my motto. for things can't be worse than they are. 'widow'! pooh! they won't let us behave ourselves! a man can scarcely look after himself, let alone a family, in this accursed world --and one needn't call one's self madam to get children! here have i been knocking about all my life, ruining my health and happiness, and have i earned as much from all my blackguards as would pay for the rags i've worn? no; i've had to beg them nicely of the fine folks for whom i do washing! yes, they are ready to skin one alive--madam rasmussen has proved that. so i say, one must always try something! to-day the boy comes home and says, 'mother, they've put up the price of firewood again--an öre the two dozen!' 'what does that matter to us, boy? can we buy two dozen at once?' i say. 'yes, mother, but then the one dozen will cost an öre more.' and eggs, they cost one krone twenty a score where the rich folks buy them--but here! 'no, my dear madam, if you take two eggs you must pay fifteen öre!' that makes eight ore for an egg, for if one takes the smallest quantity the profits aren't in proportion. it's hard to be poor. if it's never going to be better, may the devil take him that's made it all! that was a fine swear!" pelle sat playing with young lasse. madam rasmussen's words had aroused something in him. that was the eternal complaint, the old, old cry! whenever he heard it, the world of the poor man became even more plainly visible for what it was--and he ought to know it! it was a frightful abyss that he looked down into; it was bottomless; and it seemed forever to reveal fresh depths. and he was right--he was right. he sat carelessly drawing something for the child on a scrap of paper, thinking of things quite different; but involuntarily the drawing took shape from within his hand. "that's money, that's money!" cried young lasse, clapping his hands. pelle waked up and examined his drawing; sure enough, there was a rough sketch of a ten-kroner note! it flattered his father's heart that the child had recognized it; and he was seized by the desire to see how like it was. but where in all the world was he to get a "blue"? pelle, who at this time superintended the collection and distributing of millions, did not possess ten kroner! the pipe! the pipe! that was what the boy got his idea from! his old christmas present, queerly enough, had a ten-kroner note on the bowl--and that gave him an idea! he got it out and compared it; it was a long time since he had smoked the pipe--he couldn't afford it. he began eagerly to fill in the drawing while young lasse stood by, amusing himself by watching the rapid movements of the pencil. "father is clever--father draw!" he said, and wanted to wake his sister so that she could take part in the game. no, the result was not good! the design would have to be cut in wood and printed in color for the appearance really to be similar. but then ellen came home, and he hid it away. "won't you give up going out to work?" he said. "i'll provide what is absolutely necessary." "why?" she retorted resolutely. "i'm not too good to do anything!" there was no tone in her voice from which he could elicit anything; so he got ready to go to the meeting. now, when ellen went out to work, he ran home as often as he had time in order to look after the children. he had obtained a piece of hard wood and a ten-kroner note. with great care he transferred the design onto the wood, and began to engrave it while he sat there chattering to the children. this task occupied unused faculties; it engrossed him as an artistic exercise, which lingered at the back of his mind and automatically continued to carry itself out, even when he was away from home. this work filled his mind with a peculiar beauty so long as he was engaged on it. a warm, blissful world was evoked by the sight of this ten-kroner note, which shone ever more plainly out of the darkness and swept all privations aside. when pelle sat at this work his mind soared above all oppression as though intoxicated; unhappy things no longer existed for him. he became an optimist and mentally made ellen all sorts of costly presents. it was all fundamentally so simple--it was only a misunderstanding-- nothing more! he must speak to her, and she would see at once what a happy life they were going to live--if only they held out. silence had filled her with resentment. fortune! fortune! it was nearer than ever now, greater and more splendid than on that other occasion when it had knocked at their door! why, he did not know--that did not seem very clear! but when he heard her step on the stairs his dream was shattered. he was awake. he concealed his work, ashamed to think that she should come home from work and find him at play. at times he was oppressed by a feeling of the unattainable in his relations with ellen. even to himself he could not explain the contradiction between the constant longing for more ample and stable conditions, for triumph and victory, and his impotency at home, where his fortunes were declining. he wearied himself in trying to puzzle it out, and he was seized by a desire that he might become indifferent to the whole matter. he felt no inclination to drink, but none the less something was working convulsively within him; a certain indifference as to his own welfare, causing him to run risks, not caring whether he might not commit some stupidity that would do him harm. and at such times a voice cried loudly within him, especially when he was confronted by the bitter utterances of want. "that is my old complaint," he thought, and he became observant. in his childhood it had been a sort of seizure; now it had become a voice. xxxii early one morning pelle wandered into the city. he had risen before ellen, in order to avoid the painfulness of sitting down to breakfast with her. ellen tried all sorts of ruses in order to give him a proper breakfast, and it was not difficult to persuade his stomach; but afterward he felt ashamed that he should have been cared for at the cost of others; and cunning though he was too, he could not get the better of her save by slipping away while she was still asleep. his fasting condition endowed the city, and the whole of life, with a curiously unsubstantial aspect. before him lay a long day full of terrific labors, and behind him was the fresh triumph of the day before. as matters now stood, the employers in the iron industry had conceived the cunning idea of founding a blackleg union for smiths and mechanics, and of giving it a name closely resembling that of the genuine union. then they sent circulars to the men, stating that work would be resumed on the following day. many of the men were not accustomed to read, and regarded the circular as an order from their own union, while others were enticed by the high wages offered by the new society. there was great confusion among the workers of these trades. as soon as the trick was exposed every respectable man drew back; but there was a great deal of disappointment, and they felt horribly ashamed before their comrades. pelle was furious at this trick, which affected him more especially, as the leader in open battle; he had suffered a defeat, and he meditated revenge. in spite of all the efforts of the pickets, it was not possible to procure a full list of the strikebreakers; his chagrin on this account burned in his heart, like a shameful sense of impotency; hitherto he had been noted for getting to the bottom of anything he undertook! he resolved then and there to meet ruse with ruse. he set a trap for his opponents, so that they themselves should deliver the strikebreakers into his hands. one morning he published his list in _the working man_ with the proud remark, "look, the enemy has no more!" did the employers really fall into the trap, or was the fate of the strike-breakers really indifferent to them? next morning their organ protested, and gave the number of the black-legs and their names into the bargain! this was a smack! a good one this; it brought a light to the thin, impassive faces. there was an answer to the trick of the other day! this pelle was a deuce of a fellow! three cheers for "lightning pelle!" hip, hip, hurrah! pelle was the deuce of a fellow as he strode along ruddy and full of pugnacity, with the echoes from the side-streets and the tenement-houses mingled with his own vigorous footsteps. streets and houses were white with the night's hoar frost, and overhead the air was full of a peculiar glow that came from the city--a light flowing from hidden sources. he had left all his cares at home; on every hand working-folk were greeting him, and his greeting in return was like an inspiriting song. he did not know them, but they knew him! the feeling that his work--however deep the scars it might leave--was arousing gratitude, had an uplifting effect upon him. the city was in its morning mood. the lock-out lay like a paralyzing hand upon everything; business was slack, and the middle classes were complaining, but there was no prospect of peace; both sides were irreconcilable. the workers had lost nothing through the rash cessation of the masons. sympathy for the lower classes had become a political principle; and contributions were still pouring in from the country. considerable sums came from abroad. the campaign was now costing the workers half a million kroner a week; and the help from outside was like a drop in the ocean. but it had the effect of a moral support, and it stimulated the self-taxation to which all were subject. the hundred thousand households of the poor parted with their last possessions in order to continue the struggle; they meant to force a decision that should affect their whole future. the employers tried to hinder the great national federation by calling the attention of the authorities to an ancient statute concerning mendicancy; but that merely aroused merriment. a little laughter over such expedients was permissible. the workers had become accustomed to starvation. they went no more into the forest, but strolled thoughtfully through the streets like people who have too much time on their hands, so that the city's face wore a peculiar stamp of meditative poverty. their loitering steps aroused no echo, and in the houses the quietness gave one food for reflection. the noisy, ever-hungry children were scattered over the face of the country --they at least had plenty to eat. but the place was empty for the lack of them! pelle met several squads of workers; they were on the way to the various roll-calls. they raised their heads as he passed; his footsteps echoed loudly enough for all! it was the hope and the will of forty thousand men that passed there--pelle was the expression of them all. they stared at his indomitable figure, and drew themselves up. "a devil of a chap!" they told one another joyfully; "he looks as if he could trample 'em all underfoot! look at him--he scarcely makes way for that great loaded wagon! long live pelle, boys!" the tavern-keepers stood on their cellar stairs gaping up at the morning sky--this was a time of famine for them! in the tavern windows hung cards with the inscription: "contributions received here for the locked- out workers!" on the queen luise bridge pelle encountered a pale, fat little man in a shabby coat. he had flabby features and a great red nose. "good morning, general!" cried pelle gaily; the man made a condescending movement with his hand. this was _the working man's_ man of straw; a sometime capitalist, who for a small weekly wage was, as far as the public was concerned, the responsible editor of the paper. he served various terms of imprisonment for the paper, and for a further payment of five kroner a week he also worked out in prison the fines inflicted on the paper. when he was not in jail he kept himself alive by drinking. he suffered from megalomania, and considered that he led the whole labor movement; for which reason he could not bear pelle. in the great court-yard of _the working man_ building the dockers were assembled to answer the roll. the president of their union met pelle in the doorway; he was the very man whom pelle and howling peter had rescued down by the harbor--now he was working for the new ideas! "well, how goes it?" asked pelle, shaking his hand. "splendid! a thousand men all but seven!" "but where's the joyful jacob? is he ill?" "he's in jail," replied the other gloomily. "he couldn't bear to see his old folks starving--so he broke into a grocery, he and his brother--and now they're both in prison." for a moment the lines on pelle's forehead were terribly deep and gloomy; he stood gazing blindly into space; the radiant expression left his countenance, which was filled with a pitying gravity. the docker stared at him--was he going to sleep on his feet? but then he pulled himself together. "well, comrades, are you finding the days too long?" he cried gaily. "ach, as for that! it's the first time one's had the time to get to know one's own wife and children properly!" they replied. "but for all that it would be fine to get busy again!" it was obvious that idleness was at last beginning to depress them; there was a peculiar pondering expression on their impassive features, and their eyes turned to him with a persistent questioning. they asked that this undertaking of his should be settled one way or the other. they were not weakening; they always voted for the continuance of the campaign, for that which they sought depended thereon; but they gazed into his face for a look that might promise success. he had to answer many singular questions; privation engendered in the most fantastic ideas, which revealed the fact that their quiet, controlled bearing was the product of the observation and the energy of the many. "shall we deprive the rich of all their wealth and power?" asked one man, after long pondering and gazing at pelle. the struggle seemed to have dealt hardly with him; but it had lit a spark in his eyes. "yes, we are going now to take our rights as men, and we shall demand that the worker shall be respected," pelle replied. "then there'll be no more talk of poor man and gentleman!" "but suppose they try to get on top of us again? we must make short work of them, so that they can't clamber on our backs and ride us again." "do you want to drive them all onto the common and shoot them? that's not necessary," said his neighbor. "when this is settled no one will dare to take the food out of our mouths again." "won't there be any more poverty then?" asked the first speaker, turning to pelle. "no, once we get our affairs properly in going order; then there will be comfort in every home. don't you read your paper?" yes, he read it, but there was no harm in hearing the great news confirmed by pelle himself. and pelle could confirm it, because he never harbored a doubt. it had been difficult to get the masses to grasp the new conception of things--as difficult as to move the earth! something big must happen in return! a few of the men had brought out sandwiches and began to eat them as they debated. "good digestion!" said pelle, nodding farewell to them. his mouth was watering, and he remembered that he had had nothing to eat or drink. but he had no time to think about it; he must go to stolpe to arrange about the posting of the pickets. over the way stood marie in a white cap, with a basket over her arm; she nodded to him, with rosy cheeks. transplantation had made her grow; every time he saw her she was more erect and prettier. at his parents'-in-law the strictest economy prevailed. all sorts of things--household possessions--had disappeared from that once so comfortable home; but there was no lack of good spirits. stolpe was pottering about waiting for his breakfast; he had been at work early that morning. "what's the girl doing?" he asked. "we never see her now." "she has such a lot to do," said pelle apologetically. "and now she's going out to work as well." "well, well, with things as they are she's not too fine to lend a hand. but we don't really know what's amiss with her--she's a rebellious nature! thank god she's not a man--she would have brought dissolution into the ranks!" breakfast consisted of a portion of coffee and bread-and-butter and porridge. madam stolpe could not find her fine new silver coffee- service, which her children had given her on her silver-wedding day. "i must have put it away," she said. "well, well, that'll soon be found again, mother!" said stolpe. "now we shall soon have better times; many fine things will make their appearance again then, we shall see!" "have you been to the machine-works this morning, father-in-law?" asked pelle. "yes, i've been there. but there is nothing more for the pickets to do. the employers have quartered all the men in the factory; they get full board and all there. there must be a crowd of foreign strike-breakers there--the work's in full swing." this was an overwhelming piece of news! the iron-masters had won the first victory! this would quickly have a most depressing effect on the workers, when they saw that their trade could be kept going without them. "we must put a bridle on them," said pelle, "or they'll get off the course and the whole organization will fall to pieces. as for those fellows in there, we must get a louse under their shirts somehow." "how can we do that when they are locked in, and the police are patrolling day and night in front of the gates? we can't even speak to them." stolpe laughed despairingly. "then some one must slink in and pretend he's in want of employment!" stolpe started. "as a strike-breaker? you'll never in this life get a respectable man to do that, even if it's only in jest! i wouldn't do it myself! a strike-breaker is a strike-breaker, turn and twist it how you will." "a strike-breaker, i suppose, is one who does his comrades harm. the man who risks his skin in this way deserves another name." "i won't admit that," said stolpe. "that's a little too abstract for me; anyhow, i'm not going to argue with you. but in my catechism it says that he is a strike-breaker who accepts employment where assistance is forbidden--and that i stick to!" pelle might talk as much as he liked; the old man would not budge an inch. "but it would be another matter if you wanted to do it yourself," said stolpe. "you don't have to account to any one for what you do--you just do what comes into your head." "i have to account to the cause for my doings," said pelle sharply, "and for that very reason i want to do it myself!" stolpe contracted his arms and stretched them out again. "ah, it would be good to have work again!" he cried suddenly. "idleness eats into one's limbs like the gout. and now there's the rent, mother--where the devil are we to get that? it must be paid on the nail on saturday, otherwise out we go--so the landlord says." "we'll soon find that, father!" said madam stolpe. "don't you lose heart!" stolpe looked round the room. "yes, there's still a bit to take, as hunger said when he began on the bowels. but listen, pelle--do you know what? i'm your father-in-law-to be sure--but you haven't a wife like mine!" "i'm contented with ellen as she is," said pelle. there was a knock; it was stolpe's brother, the carpenter. he looked exhausted; he was thin and poorly dressed; his eyes were surrounded by red patches. he did not look at those whose hands he took. "sit down, brother," said stolpe, pushing a chair toward him. "thanks--i must go on again directly. it was--i only wanted to tell you --well...." he stared out of the window. "is anything wrong at home?" "no, no, not that exactly. i just wanted to say--i want to give notice that i'm deserting!" he cried suddenly. stolpe sprang to his feet; he was as white as chalk. "you think what you are doing!" he cried threateningly. "i've had time enough to think. they are starving, i tell you--and there's got to be an end of it. i only wanted to tell you beforehand so that you shouldn't hear it from others--after all, you're my brother." "your brother--i'm your brother no longer! you do this and we've done with one another!" roared stolpe, striking the table. "but you won't do it, you shan't do it! god damn me, i couldn't live through the shame of seeing the comrades condemning my own brother in the open street! and i shall be with them! i shall be the first to give you a kick, if you are my brother!" he was quite beside himself. "well, well, we can still talk it over," said the carpenter quietly. "but now you know--i didn't want to do anything behind your back." and then he went. stolpe paced up and down the room, moving from one object to another. he picked them up and put them down again, quite unthinkingly. his hands were trembling violently; and finally he went to the other room and shut himself in. after a time his wife entered the room. "you had better go, pelle! i don't think father is fit for company to-day. he's lying there quite gray in the face--if he could only cry even! oh, those two brothers have always been so much to each other till now! they wore so united in everything!" pelle went; he was thinking earnestly. he could see that stolpe, in his integrity, would consider it his duty to treat his brother more harshly than others, dearly as he loved him; perhaps he himself would undertake the picketing of the place where his brother went to work. out by the lakes he met a squad of pickets who were on their way out of the city; he accompanied them for some distance, in order to make certain arrangements. across the road a young fellow came out of a doorway and slunk round the corner. "you there, stop!" cried one of the comrades. "there he is--the toff!" a few pickets followed him down castle street and came back leading him among them. a crowd began to form round the whole party, women and children speedily joining it. "you are not to do anything to him," said pelle decisively. "god knows no one wants to touch him!" they retorted. for a while they stood silently gazing at him, as though weighing him in their minds; then one after another spat at him, and they went their way. the fellow went silently into a doorway and stood there wiping the spittle from his face with his sleeve. pelle followed him in order to say a kind word to him and lead him back into the organization. the lad pulled himself up hastily as pelle approached. "are you coming to spit at me?" he said contemptuously. "you forgot it before--why didn't you do it then?" "i don't spit at people," said pelle, "but your comrades are right to despise you. you have left them in the lurch. come with me, and i'll enter you in the organization again, and no one shall molest you." "i am to go about as a culprit and be taunted--no, thanks!" "do you prefer to injure your own comrades?" "i ask for permission to look after my old mother. the rest of you can go to the devil. my mother isn't going to hang about courtyards singing, and picking over the dustbins, while her son plays the great man! i leave that to certain other people!" pelle turned crimson. he knew this allusion was meant for father lasse; the desperate condition of the old man was lurking somewhere in his mind like an ingrowing grief, and now it came to the surface. "dare you repeat what you said?" he growled, pressing close up to the other. "and if i were married i shouldn't let my wife earn my daily bread for me--i should leave that to the pimps!" oho! that was like the tattlers, to blacken a man from behind! evidently they were spreading all sorts of lying rumors about him, while he had placed all that he possessed at their disposal. now pelle was furious; the leader could go to hell! he gave the fellow a few sound boxes on the ear, and asked him which he would rather do--hold his mouth or take some more? morten appeared in the doorway--this had happened in the doorway of the house in which he worked. "this won't do!" he whispered, and he drew pelle away with him. pelle could make no reply; he threw himself on morten's bed. his eyes were still blazing with anger at the insult, and he needed air. "things are going badly here now," said morten, looking at him with a peculiar smile. "yes, i know very well you can't stand it--all the same, they must hold together." "and supposing they don't get better conditions?" "then they must accept the consequences. that's better than the whole cause should go to the wall!" "are those the new ideas? i think the ignorant have always had to take the consequences! and there has never been lacking some one to spit on them!" said morten sadly. "but, listen!" cried pelle, springing to his feet. "you'll please not blame me for spitting at anybody--the others did that!" he was very near losing his temper again, but morten's quiet manner mastered him. "the others--that was nothing at all! but it was you who spat seven times over into the poor devil's face--i was standing in the shop, and saw it." pelle stared at him, speechless. was this the truth-loving morten who stood there lying? "you say you saw me spit at him?" morten nodded. "do you want to accept the applause and the honor, and sneak out of the beastliness and the destruction? you have taken a great responsibility on yourself, pelle. look, how blindly they follow you--at the sight of your bare face, i'm tempted to say. for i'm not myself quite sure that you give enough of yourself. there is blood on your hands--but is any of it your own blood?" pelle sat there heavily pondering; morten's words always forced his thoughts to follow paths they had never before known. but now he understood him; and a dark shadow passed over his face, which left its traces behind it. "this business has cost me my home," he said quietly. "ellen cares nothing for me now, and my children are being neglected, and are drifting away from me. i have given up splendid prospects for the future; i go hungry every day, and i have to see my old father in want and wretchedness! i believe no one can feel as homeless and lonely and forsaken as i do! so it has cost me something--you force me to say it myself." he smiled at morten, but there were tears in his eyes. "forgive me, my dear friend!" said morten. "i was afraid you didn't really know what you were doing. already there are many left on the field of battle, and it's grievous to see them--especially if it should all lead to nothing." "do you condemn the movement, then? according to you, i can never do anything wise!" "not if it leads to an end! i myself have dreamed of leading them on to fortune--in my own way; but it isn't a way after their own heart. you have power over them--they follow you blindly--lead them on, then! but every wound they receive in battle should be yours as well--otherwise you are not the right man for the place. and are you certain of the goal?" yes, pelle was certain of that. "and we are reaching it!" he cried, suddenly inspired. "see how cheerfully they approve of everything, and just go forward!" "but, pelle!" said morten, with a meaning smile, laying his hand on his shoulder, "a leader is not judge lynch. otherwise the parties would fight it out with clubs!" "ah, you are thinking of what happened just now!" said pelle. "that had nothing to do with the movement! he said my father was going about the backyards fishing things out of dustbins--so i gave him a few on the jaw. i have the same right as any one else to revenge an insult." he did not mention the evil words concerning ellen; he could not bring himself to do so. "but that is true," said morten quietly. "then why didn't you tell me?" asked pelle. "i thought you knew it. and you have enough to struggle against as it is--you've nothing to reproach yourself with." "perhaps you can tell me where he could be found?" said pelle, in a low voice. "he is usually to be found in this quarter." pelle went. his mind was oppressed; all that day fresh responsibilities had heaped themselves upon him; a burden heavy for one man to bear. was he to accept the responsibility for all that the movement destroyed as it progressed, simply because he had placed all his energies and his whole fortune at its disposal? and now father lasse was going about as a scavenger. he blushed for shame--yet how could he have prevented it? was he to be made responsible for the situation? and now they were spitting upon ellen--that was the thanks he got! he did not know where to begin his search, so he went into the courts and backyards and asked at random. people were crowding into a courtyard in blaagaard street, so pelle entered it. there was a missionary there who spoke with the sing-song accent of the bornholmer, in whose eyes was the peculiar expression which pelle remembered as that of the "saints" of his childhood. he was preaching and singing alternately. pelle gazed at him with eyes full of reminiscence, and in his despairing mood he was near losing control of himself and bellowing aloud as in his childish years when anything touched him deeply. this was the very lad who had said something rude about father lasse, and whom he--young as he was-- had kicked so that he became ruptured. he was able to protect his father in those days, at all events! he went up to the preacher and held out his hand. "it's peter kune! so you are here?" the man looked at him with a gaze that seemed to belong to another world. "yes, i had to come over here, pelle!" he said significantly. "i saw the poor wandering hither from the town and farther away, so i followed them, so that no harm should come to them. for you poor are the chosen people of god, who must wander and wander until they come into the kingdom. now the sea has stayed you here, and you can go no farther; so you think the kingdom must lie here. god has sent me to tell you that you are mistaken. and you, pelle, will you join us now? god is waiting and longing for you; he wants to use you for the good of all these little ones." and he held pelle's hand in his, gazing at him compellingly; perhaps he thought pelle had come in order to seek the shelter of his "kingdom." here was another who had the intention of leading the poor to the land of fortune! but pelle had his own poor. "i have done what i could for them," he said self-consciously. "yes, i know that well; but that is not the right way, the way you are following! you do not give them the bread of life!" "i think they have more need of black bread. look at them--d'you think they get too much to eat?" "and can you give them food, then? i can give them the joy of god, so that they forget their hunger for a while. can you do more than make them feel their hunger even more keenly?" "perhaps i can. but i've got no time to talk it over now; i came to look for my old father." "your father, i have met in the streets lately, with a sack on his back --he did not look very cheerful. and i met him once over yonder with sort the shoemaker; he wanted to come over here and spend his old age with his son." pelle said nothing, but ran off. he clenched his fists in impotent wrath as he rushed out of the place. people went about jeering at him, one more eagerly than the other, and the naked truth was that he--young and strong and capable as he was in his calling--could not look after his wife and children and his old father, even when he had regular work. yes, so damnable were the conditions that a man in the prime of his youth could not follow the bidding of nature and found a family without plunging those that were dependent on him into want and misery! curse it all, the entire system ought to be smashed! if he had power over it he would want to make the best use of it! in stone street he heard a hoarse, quavering voice singing in the central courtyard of one of the houses. it was father lasse. the rag-bag lay near him, with the hook stuck into it. he was clasping the book with one hand, while with the other he gesticulated toward the windows as he sang. the song made the people smile, and he tried to make it still more amusing by violent gestures which ill-suited his pitiful appearance. it cut pelle to the heart to see his wretched condition. he stepped into a doorway and waited until his father should have finished his song. at certain points in the course of the song lasse took off his cap and smacked it against his head while he raised one leg in the air. he very nearly lost his equilibrium when he did this, and the street urchins who surrounded him pulled at his ragged coat-tails and pushed one another against him. then he stood still, spoke to them in his quavering voice, and took up his song again. "o listen to my song, a tale of woe: i came into the world as do so many: my mother bore me in the street below, and as for father, why, i hadn't any! till now i've faithfully her shame concealed: i tell it now to make my song complete. o drop a shilling down that i may eat, for eat i must, or soon to death i yield. "into this world without deceit i came, that's why you see me wear no stockings now. a poor old man who drudges anyhow, i have a wealthy brother, more's the shame. but he and i are opposites in all; while i rake muck he rakes his money up: much gold is his and many a jewelled cup, and all he fancies, that is his at call. "my brother, he has built a palace splendid, and silver harness all his horses bear. full twenty crowns an hour he gets, i hear, by twiddling thumbs and wishing day were ended! gold comes to him as dirt to lasse, blast him! and everywhere he turns there money lies. 'twill all be mine when once my brother dies-- if i but live--so help me to outlast him! "luck tried to help me once, but not again! weary with toiling i was like to swoon. when god let fall milk-porridge 'stead of rain! and i, poor donkey, hadn't brought a spoon! yes, heaven had meant to help me, me accurst! i saw my luck but couldn't by it profit! quickly my brother made a banquet of it-- ate my milk-porridge till he nearly burst! "want bears the sceptre here on earth below, and life is always grievous to the poor. but god, who rules the world, and ought to know, says all will get their rights when life is o'er. therefore, good people, hear me for his sake-- a trifle for the poor man's coffin give, wherein his final journey he must take; have mercy on my end while yet i live! "yet one thing god has given me--my boy. and children are the poor man's wealth, i know. o does he think of me, my only joy, who have no other treasure here below? long time have we been parted by mishap: i'm tired of picking rags and sick of song; god who sees all reward you all ere long: o drop a trifle in poor lasse's cap!" when lasse had finished his song the people clapped and threw down coins wrapped in paper, and he went round picking them up. then he took his sack on his back and stumped away, bent almost double, through the gateway. "father!" cried pelle desperately. "father!" lasse stood up with a jerk and peered through the gateway with his feeble eyes. "is that you, lad? ach, it sounded like your voice when you were a child, when any one was going to hurt you and you came to me for help." the old man was trembling from head to foot. "and now i suppose you've heard the whole thing and are ashamed of your old father?" he dared not look at his son. "father, you must come home with me now--do you hear?" said pelle, as they entered the street together. "no, that i can't do! there's not enough even for your own mouths--no, you must let me go my own way. i must look after myself--and i'm doing quite well." "you are to come home with me--the children miss you, and ellen asks after you day after day." "yes, that would be very welcome.... but i know what folks would think if i were to take the food out of your children's mouths! besides--i'm a rag-picker now! no, you mustn't lead me into temptation." "you are to come with me now--never mind about anything else. i can't bear this, father!" "well, then, in god's name, i must publish my shame before you, lad--if you won't let me be! see now, i'm living with some one--with a woman. i met her out on the refuse-heaps, where she was collecting rubbish, just as i was. i had arranged a corner for myself out there--for the night, until i could find a lodging--and then she said i was to go home with her--it wouldn't be so cold if there were two of us. won't you come home with me, so that you can see where we've both got to? then you can see the whole thing and judge for yourself. we live quite close." they turned into a narrow lane and entered a gateway. in the backyard, in a shed, which looked like the remains of an old farm cottage, was lasse's home. it looked as though it had once been used as a fuel-shed; the floor was of beaten earth and the roof consisted of loose boards. under the roof cords were stretched, on which rags, paper, and other articles from the dustbins were hung to dry. in one corner was a mean- looking iron stove, on which a coffee-pot was singing, mingling its pleasant fragrance with the musty stench of the rubbish. lasse stretched himself to ease his limbs. "ach, i'm quite stiff!" he said, "and a little chilled. well, here you see my little mother--and this is my son, pelle, my boy." he contentedly stroked the cheeks of his new life's partner. this was an old, bent, withered woman, grimy and ragged; her face was covered with a red eruption which she had probably contracted on the refuse-heaps. but a pair of kind eyes looked out of it, which made up for everything else. "so that is pelle!" she said, looking at him. "so that's what he is like! yes, one has heard his name; he's one of those who will astonish the world, although he hasn't red hair." pelle had to drink a cup of coffee. "you can only have bread-and-butter with it; we old folks can't manage anything else for supper," said lasse. "we go to bed early, both of us, and one sleeps badly with an over-full stomach." "well, now, what do you think of our home?" said father lasse, looking proudly about him. "we pay only four kroner a month for it, and all the furniture we get for nothing--mother and i have brought it all here from the refuse-heaps, every stick of it, even the stove. just look at this straw mattress, now--it's really not bad, but the rich folks threw it away! and the iron bedstead--we found that there; i've tied a leg to it. and yesterday mother came in carrying those curtains, and hung them up. a good thing there are people who have so much that they have to throw it on the dust-heap!" lasse was quite cheerful; things seemed to be going well with him; and the old woman looked after him as if he had been the love of her youth. she helped him off with his boots and on with his list slippers, then she brought a long pipe out of the corner, which she placed between his lips; he smiled, and settled down to enjoy himself. "do you see this pipe, pelle? mother saved up for this, without my knowing anything about it--she has got such a long one i can't light it myself! she says i look like a regular pope!" lasse had to lean back in his chair while she lit the pipe. when pelle left, lasse accompanied him across the yard. "well, what do you think of it?" he said. "i am glad to see things are going so well with you," said pelle humbly. lasse pressed his hand. "thanks for that! i was afraid you would be strict about it. as quite a little boy, you used to be deucedly strict in that direction. and see now, of course, we could marry--there is no impediment in either case. but that costs money--and the times are hard. as for children coming, and asking to be brought into the world respectably, there's no danger of that." pelle could not help smiling; the old man was so much in earnest. "look in on us again soon--you are always welcome," said lasse. "but you needn't say anything of this to ellen--she is so peculiar in that respect!" xxxiii no, pelle never told ellen anything now. she had frozen his speech. she was like the winter sun; the side that was turned away from her received no share of her warmth. pelle made no claims on her now; he had long ago satisfied himself that she could not respond to the strongest side of his nature, and he had accustomed himself to the idea of waging his fight alone. this had made him harder, but also more of a man. at home the children were ailing--they did not receive proper care, and the little girl was restless, especially during the night. the complaining and coughing of the children made the home uncomfortable. ellen was dumb; like an avenging fate she went about her business and cared for the children. her expressive glance never encountered his; although he often felt that her eyes were resting on him. she had grown thin of late, which lent her beauty, a fanatical glow, and a touch of malice. there were times when he would have given his life for an honest, burning kiss as a token of this woman's love. he understood her less and less, and was often filled with inexplicable anxiety concerning her. she suffered terribly through the condition of the children; and when she quieted them, with a bleeding heart, her voice had a fateful sound that made him shudder. sometimes he was driven home by the idea that she might have made away with herself and the children. one day, when he had hurried home with this impression in his mind, she met him smiling and laid on the table five and twenty kroner. "what's that?" asked pelle, in amazement. "i've won that in the lottery!" she said. so that was why her behavior had been so peculiarly mysterious during the last few days--as though there had been something which he must not on any account get to know. she had ventured her last shilling and was afraid he would find it out! "but where did you get the money?" he asked. "i borrowed it from my old friend, anna--we went in for it together. now we can have the doctor and medicine for the children, and we ourselves can have anything we want," she said. this money worked a transformation in ellen, and their relations were once more warmly affectionate. ellen was more lovingly tender in her behavior than ever before, and was continually spoiling him. something had come over her that was quite new; her manner showed a sort of contrition, which made her gentle and loving, and bound pelle to his home with the bonds of ardent desire. now once more he hurried home. he took her manner to be an apology for her harsh judgment of him; for here, too, she was different, and began to interest herself in his work for the cause, inciting him, by all sorts of allusions, to continue it. it was evident that in spite of her apparent coldness she had kept herself well informed concerning it. her manner underwent a most extraordinary transformation. she, the hard, confident ellen, became mild and uncertain in her manner. she no longer kept sourly out of things, and had learned to bow her head good-naturedly. she was no longer so self-righteous. one day, toward evening, pelle was sitting at home before the looking- glass, and shaving himself; he had cut off the whole of his fine big moustache and was now shaving off the last traces of it. ellen was amused to see how his face was altered. "i can scarcely recognize you!" she said. he had thought she would have opposed its removal, and have put his moustache before the cause; but she was pleasant about the whole matter. he could not at all understand this alteration in her. when he had finished he stood up and went over to young lasse, but the child cried out in terror. then he put on his old working-clothes, made his face and head black, and made his way to the machine-works. the factory was in full swing now; they were working alternate shifts, day and night, with the help of interned strike-breakers, the "locked- in" workers, as the popular wit called them. the iron-masters had followed up their victory and had managed to set yet another industry in motion again. if this sort of thing went much further the entire iron industry would one day be operated without the locked-out workers, who could stand outside and look on. but now a blow was about to be struck! pelle's heart was full of warmth and joy as he left home, and he felt equal for anything. he slipped through the pickets unnoticed, and succeeded in reaching the door of the factory. "they're asleep--the devils!" he thought angrily, and was very near spoiling the whole thing by administering a reprimand. he knocked softly on the door and was admitted. the doorkeeper took him to the foreman, who was fortunately a german. pelle was given employment in the foundry, with very good wages. he was also promised that he should receive a bonus of twenty-five kroner when he had been there a certain time. "that's the judas money," said the foreman, grinning. "and then as soon as the lock-out is over you'll of course be placed in the forefront of the workers. now you are quite clear about this--that you can't get out of here until then. if you want to send something to your wife, we'll see to that." he was shown to a corner where a sack full of straw lay on the floor; this was his dwelling-place and his refuge for the night. in the factory the work went on as best it might. the men rushed at their work as in a frolic, drifted away again, lounged about the works, or stood here and there in groups, doing as they chose. the foremen did not dare to speak to them; if they made a friendly remark they were met with insults. the workers were taking advantage of the fact that they were indispensable; their behavior was sheer tyranny, and they were continually harping on the fact that they would just as soon go as stay. these words made them the masters of the situation. they were paid big wages and received abundance to eat and to drink. and the working day or shift was shorter than usual. they did not understand the real significance of this change of life, but went about playing the bally. but there was a peculiar hesitation visible in their faces, as though they were not quite sure of one another. the native workers, who were in the minority, kept to themselves--as though they felt an inward contempt for those fellows who had travelled so far to fish in the troubled waters of their distress. they were working three shifts, each of eight hours' duration. "oho!" thought pelle, "why, this, good god, is the eight-hours' day! this is surely the state of the future!" at the very moment of his arrival one shift was completed, and the men immediately proceeded to make the most infernal uproar, hammering on metal and shouting for food and brandy. a huge cauldron full of beef and potatoes was dragged in. pelle was told off to join a mess of ten men. "eat, matey!" they said. "hungry, ain't you? how long had you been out of work before you gave in?" "three months," said pelle. "then you must be peckish. here with the beef! more beef here!" they cried, to the cook's mate. "you can keep the potatoes and welcome! we've eaten enough potatoes all our lives!"--"this is tom tiddler's land, with butter sauce into the bargain! this is how we've always said it ought to be--good wages and little to do, lots to eat and brandy to drink! now you can see it was a good thing we held out till it came to this--now we get our reward! your health! here, damme, what's your name, you there?" "karlsen," said pelle. "here's to you, karlsen! well, and how are things looking outside? have you seen my wife lately? she's easy to recognize--she's a woman with seven children with nothing inside their ribs! well, how goes it with the strikers?" after eating they sat about playing cards, and drinking, or they loafed about and began to quarrel; they were a sharp-tongued crew; they went about actuated by a malicious longing to sting one another. "come and have a game with us, mate--and have a drink!" they cried to pelle. "damn it all, how else should a man kill the time in this infernal place? sixteen hours' sleep a day--no, that's more than a chap can do with!" there was a deafening uproar, as though the place had been a vast tavern, with men shouting and abusing one another; each contributed to the din as though he wanted to drown it by his own voice. they were able to buy drink in the factory, and they drank what they earned. "that's their conscience," thought pelle. "at heart they are good comrades." there seemed to be some hope of success for his audacious maneuver. a group of germans took no part in the orgy, but had set up a separate colony in the remotest corner of the hall. they were there to make money! in one of the groups a dispute broke out between the players; they were reviling one another in no measured language, and their terms of abuse culminated in the term "strike-breaker." this made them perfectly furious. it was as though an abscess had broken; all their bottled-up shame and anger concerning their infamous position burst forth. they began to use knives and tools on one another. the police, who kept watch on the factory day and night, were called in, and restored tranquillity. a wounded smith was bandaged in the office, but no arrest was made. then a sudden slackness overcame them. they constantly crowded round pelle. he was a new man; he came from outside. "how are things going out there?" was the constant question. "things are going very well out there. it's a worse lookout for us in here," said pelle. "going very well, are they? we've been told they are near giving in." "who told you that?" "the bosses of the factory here." "then they were fooling you, in order to keep you here." "that's a lie! and what d'you mean by saying it's a worse look-out for us? out with it, now!" "we shall never get regular work again. the comrades are winning--and when they begin work again they'll demand that we others shall be locked out." "the devil--and they've promised us the best positions!" cried a great smith. "but you're a liar! that you are! and why did you come here if they are nearly winning outside? answer me, damn it all! a man doesn't come slinking into this hell unless he's compelled!" "to leave his comrades in the lurch, you might add," replied pelle harshly. "i wanted to see how it feels to strike the bread away from the mouths of the starving." "that's a lie! no one would be so wicked! you are making fools of us, you devil!" "give him a thrashing," said another. "he's playing a crooked game. are you a spy, or what do you want here? do you belong to those idiots outside?" it had been pelle's plan to put a good face on a crooked job, and cautiously to feel his way; but now he grew angry. "you had better think what you're doing before you call honorable men idiots," he retorted violently. "do you know what you are? swine! you lie there eating your fill and pouring the drink down your throats and living easy on the need of your comrades! swine, that you are--judases, who have sold a good cause for dirty money! how much did you get? five and twenty kroner, eh? and out there they are loyally starving, so that all of us--yes, you too--can live a little more like human beings in the future!" "you hold your jaw!" said the big smith. "you've no wife and children-- you can easily talk!" "aren't you the fellow who lives in jaegersborg street?" pelle demanded. "perhaps you are sending what you earn to your wife and children? then why are they in want? yesterday they were turned out of doors; the organization took them in and found a roof to go over their heads-- although they were a strike-breaker's family!" pelle himself had made this possible. "send--damn and blast it all--i'll send them something! but if one lives this hell of a life in here the bit of money one earns all goes in rot- gut! and now you're going to get a thrashing!" the smith turned up his shirt-sleeves so that his mighty muscles were revealed. he was no longer reasonable, but glared at pelle like an angry bull. "wait a bit," said an older man, stepping up to pelle. "i think i've seen you before. what is your real name, if i may make bold to ask?" "my name? you are welcome to know it. i am pelle." this name produced an effect like that of an explosion. they were dazzled. the smith's arms fell slack; he turned his head aside in shame. pelle was among them! they had left him in the lurch, had turned their backs on him, and now he stood there laughing at them, not the least bit angry with them. what was more, he had called them comrades; so he did not despise them! "pelle is here!" they said quietly; further and further spread the news, and their tongues dwelt curiously on his name. a murmur ran through the shops. "what the devil--has pelle come?" they cried, stumbling to their legs. pelle had leaped onto a great anvil. "silence!" he cried, in a voice of thunder; "silence!" and there was silence in the great building. the men could hear their own deep breathing. the foremen came rushing up and attempted to drag him down. "you can't make speeches here!" they cried. "let him speak!" said the big smith threateningly. "you aren't big enough to stop his mouth, not by a long chalk!" he seized a hammer and stationed himself at the foot of the anvil. "comrades!" pelle began, in an easy tone, "i have been sent here to you with greetings from those outside there--from the comrades who used to stand next to you at work, from your friends and fellow-unionists. where are our old comrades?--they are asking. we have fought so many battles by their side, we have shared good and evil with them--are we to enter into the new conditions without them? and your wives and children are asking after you! outside there it is the spring! they don't understand why they can't pack the picnic basket and go out into the forest with father!" "no, there's no picnic basket!" said a heavy voice. "there are fifty thousand men accepting the situation without grumbling," pelle earnestly replied. "and they are asking after you-- they don't understand why you demand more than they do. have you done more for the movement than they have?--they ask. or are you a lot of dukes, that you can't quietly stand by the rank and file? and now it's the spring out there!" he cried once more. "the poor man's winter is past, and the bright day is coming for him! and here you go over to the wrong side and walk into prison! do you know what the locked-out workers call you? they call you the locked-in workers!" there were a few suppressed smiles at this. "that's a dam' good smack!" they told, one another. "he made that up himself!" "they have other names for us as well!" cried a voice defiantly. "yes, they have," said pelle vigorously. "but that's because they are hungry. people get unreasonable then, you know very well--and they grudge other folks their food!" they thronged about him, pressing closer and closer. his words were scorching them, yet were doing them good. no one could hit out like pelle, and yet at the same time make them feel that they were decent fellows after all. the foreign workers stood round about them, eagerly listening, in order that they, too, might catch a little of what was said. pelle had suddenly plunged into the subject of the famine, laying bare the year-long, endless despair of their families, so that they all saw what the others had suffered--saw really for the first time. they were amazed that they could have endured so much, but they knew that it was so; they nodded continually, in agreement; it was all literally true. it was pelle's own desperate struggle that was speaking through him now, but the refrain of suffering ran through it all. he stood before them radiant and confident of victory, towering indomitably over them all. gradually his words became keen and vigorous. he reproached them with their disloyalty; he reminded them how dearly and bitterly they had bought the power of cohesion, and in brief, striking phrases he awakened the inspiriting rhythm of the cause, that lay slumbering in every heart. it was the old, beloved music, the well-known melody of the home and labor. pelle sounded it with a new accent. like all those that forsake their country, they had forgotten the voice of their mother--that was why they could not find their way home; but now she was calling them, calling them back to the old dream of a land of fortune! he could see it in their faces, and with a leap he was at them: "do you know of anything more infamous than to sell your mother-country? that is what you have done--before ever you set foot in it--you have sold it, with your brothers, your wives, and your children! you have foresworn your religion--your faith in the great cause! you have disobeyed orders, and have sold yourselves for a miserable judas-price and a keg of brandy!" he stood with his left hand on the big smith's shoulder, his right hand he clenched and held out toward them. in that hand he was holding them; he felt that so strongly that he did not dare to let it sink, but continued to hold it outstretched. a murmuring wave passed through the ranks, reaching even to the foreign workers. they were infected by the emotion of the others, and followed the proceedings with tense attention, although they did not understand much of the language. at each sally they nodded and nudged one another, until now they stood there motionless, with expectant faces; they, too, were under the spell of his words. this was solidarity, the mighty, earth-encircling power! pelle recognized the look of wonder on their faces; a cold shudder ran up and down his spine. he held them all in his hand, and now the blow was to be struck before they had time to think matters over. now! "comrades!" he cried loudly. "i told those outside that you were honorable men, who had been led into the devil's kitchen by want, and in a moment of misunderstanding. and i am going in to fetch your friends and comrades out, i said. they are longing to come out to you again, to come out into the spring! did i lie when i spoke well of you?" "no, that you didn't!" they replied, with one voice. "three cheers for pelle! three cheers for 'lightning'!" "come along, then!" swiftly he leaped down from the anvil and marched through the workshop, roaring out the socialist marching-song. they followed him without a moment's consideration, without regret or remorse; the rhythm of the march had seized them; it was as though the warm spring wind were blowing them out into the freedom of nature. the door was unlocked, the officials of the factory were pushed aside. singing in a booming rhythm that seemed to revenge itself for the long days of confinement, they marched out into north bridge street, with pelle at their head, and turned into the labor building. xxxiv. that was a glorious stroke! the employers abandoned all further idea of running the works without the federation. the victory was the completer in that the trades unions gave the foreign workers their passage-money, and sent them off before they had time for reflection. they were escorted to the steamers, and the workers saw them off with a comradely "hurrah!" pelle was the hero of the day. his doings were discussed in all the newspapers, and even his opponents lowered their swords before him. he took it all as a matter of course; he was striving with all his might toward a fresh goal. there was no excuse for soaring into the clouds; the lock-out was still the principal fact, and a grievous and burdensome fact, and now he was feeling its whole weight. the armies of workers were still sauntering about the streets, while the nation was consuming its own strength, and there was no immediate prospect of a settlement. but one day the springs would run dry--and what then? he was too deeply immersed in the conflict to grow dizzy by reason of a little flattery; and the general opinion more than ever laid the responsibility for the situation on him. if this terrible struggle should end in defeat, then his would be the blame! and he racked his brains to find a means of breaking down the opposition of the enemy. the masses were still enduring the conditions with patience, but how much longer would this last? rumors, which intended mischief, were flying about; one day it was said that one of the leaders, who had been entrusted with making collections, had run off with the cash-box; while another rumor declared that the whole body of workers had been sold to the employers! something must happen! but what? * * * * * one afternoon he went home to see his family before going to a meeting. the children were alone. "where is mother?" he asked, taking young lasse on his knee. little sister was sitting upright in her cradle, playing. "mother made herself fine and went out into the city," replied the child. "mother so fine!" "so? was she so fine?" pelle went into the bed-room; he looked into the wardrobe. ellen's wedding-dress was not there. "that is curious," he thought, and began to play with the children. the little girl stretched her tiny arms toward him. he had to take her up and sit with a child on either knee. the little girl kept on picking at his upper lip, as though she wanted to say something. "yes, father's moustache has fallen off, little sister," said young lasse, in explanation. "yes, it has flown away," said pelle. "there came a wind and--phew!-- away it went!" he looked into the glass with a little grimace--that moustache had been his pride! then he laughed at the children. ellen came home breathless, as though she had been running; a tender rosiness lay over her face and throat. she went into the bedroom with her cloak on. pelle followed her. "you have your wedding-dress on," he said wonderingly. "yes, i wanted something done to it, so i went to the dressmaker, so that she could see the dress on me. but run out now, i'll come directly; i only want to put another dress on." pelle wanted to stay, but she pushed him toward the door. "run away!" she said, pulling her dress across her bosom. the tender red had spread all over her bosom--she was so beautiful in her confusion! after a time she came into the living-room and laid some notes on the table before him. "what's this again?" he cried, half startled by the sight of all this money. "yes, haven't i wonderful luck? i've won in the lottery again! haven't you a clever wife?" she was standing behind him with her arm across his shoulders. pelle sat there for a moment, bowed down as though he had received a blow on the head. then he pushed her arm aside and turned round to her. "you have won again already, you say? twice? twice running?" he spoke slowly and monotonously, as though he wanted to let every word sink in. "yes; don't you think it's very clever of me?" she looked at him uncertainly and attempted to smile. "but that is quite impossible!" he said heavily. "that is quite impossible!" suddenly he sprang to his feet, seizing her by the throat. "you are lying! you are lying!" he cried, raging. "will you tell me the truth? out with it!" he pressed her back over the table, as though he meant to kill her. young lasse began to cry. she stared at him with wondering eyes, which were full of increasing terror. he released her and averted his face in order not to see those eyes; they were full of the fear of death. she made no attempt to rise, but fixed him with an intolerable gaze, like that of a beast that is about to be killed and does not know why. he rose, and went silently over to the children, and busied himself in quieting them. he had a horrible feeling in his hands, almost as when once in his childhood he had killed a young bird. otherwise he had no feeling, except that everything was so loathsome. it was the fault of the situation ... and now he would go. he realized, as he packed his things, that she was standing by the table, crying softly. he realized it quite suddenly, but it was no concern of his.... when he was ready and had kissed the children, a shudder ran through her body; she stepped before him in her old energetic way. "don't leave me--you mustn't leave me!" she said, sobbing. "oh--i only wanted to do what was best for you--and you didn't see after anything. no, that's not a reproach--but our daily bread, pelle! for you and the children! i could no longer look on and see you go without everything-- especially you--pelle! i love you so! it was out of love for you--above all, out of love for you!" it sounded like a song in his ears, like a strange, remote refrain; the words he did not hear. he put her gently aside, kissed the boy once more, and stroked his face. ellen stood as though dead, gazing at his movements with staring, bewildered eyes. when he went out to the door she collapsed. pelle left his belongings downstairs with the mangling-woman, and he went mechanically toward the city; he heard no sound, no echo; he went as one asleep. his feet carried him toward the labor house, and up the stairs, into the room whence the campaign was directed. he took his place among the others without knowing what he did, and there he sat, gazing down at the green table-cloth. the general mood showed signs of dejection. for a long time now the bottom of the cash-box had been visible, and as more and more workers were turned into the street the product of self-imposed taxation was gradually declining. and the readiness of those outside the movement to make sacrifices was rapidly beginning to fail. the public had now had enough of the affair. everything was failing, now they would have to see if they could not come to some arrangement. starvation was beginning to thrust its grinning head among the fifty thousand men now idle. the moment had come upon which capital was counting; the moment when the crying of children for bread begins to break the will of the workers, until they are ready to sacrifice honor and independence in order to satisfy the little creatures' hunger. and the enemy showed no sign of wishing for peace! this knowledge had laid its mark on all the members of the council; and as they sat there they knew that the weal or woe of hundreds of thousands depended on them. no one dared accept the responsibility of making a bold proposal in this direction or that. with things as they stood, they would have, in a week or two, to give up the fight! then nearly a quarter of a million human beings would have suffered torment for nothing! a terrible apathy would be the result of that suffering and of the defeat; it would put them back many years. but if the employers could not long withstand the pressure which the financial world was beginning to exert on them, they would be throwing away the victory if they gave up the fight now. the cleverest calculations were useless here. a blind, monstrous pate would prevail. who could say that he had lifted the veil of the future and could point out the way? no one! and pelle, the blazing torch, who had shown them the road regardless of all else--he sat there drowsing as though it meant nothing to him! apparently he had broken down under his monstrous labors. the secretary came in with a newspaper marked with red pencil. he passed it to the chairman, who stared for a while at the underlined portion, then he rose and read it out; the paper was quivering in his hands. "about thirty working women--young and of good appearance--can during the lock-out find a home with various bachelors. good treatment guaranteed. the office of the paper will give further information." pelle sprang up out of his half-slumber; the horrible catastrophe of his own home was blindingly clear now! "so it's come to that!" he cried. "now capital has laid its fingers on our wives--now they are to turn whore! we must fight on, fight, fight! we must strike one last blow--and it must be a heavy one!" "but how?" they asked. pelle was white with enforced calm. his mind had never been so radiantly clear. now ellen should be revenged on those who took everything, even the poor man's one ewe lamb! "in the first place we must issue an optimistic report--this very day!" he said, smiling. "the cash-box is nearly empty--good! then we will state that the workers have abundant means to carry on the fight for another year if need be, and then we'll go for them!" born of anger, an old, forgotten phantasy had flashed into his mind as a definite plan. "hitherto we have fought passively," he continued, "with patience as our chief weapon! we have opposed our necessities of life to the luxuries of the other side; and if they strike at us in order to starve us to skin and bone and empty our homes of our last possessions, we answered them by refusing to do the work which was necessary to their comfort! let us for once strike at their vital necessities! let us strike them where they have struck us from the beginning! in the belly! then perhaps they'll turn submissive! hitherto we have kept the most important of the workers out of the conflict--those on whom the health and welfare of the public depend, although we ourselves have benefited nothing thereby. why should we bake their bread? we, who haven't the means to eat it! why should we look after their cleanliness? we, who haven't the means to keep ourselves clean! let us bring the dustmen and the street-cleaners into the line of fire! and if that isn't enough we'll turn off their gas and water! let us venture our last penny--let us strike the last blow!" pelle's proposal was adopted, and he went westward immediately to the president of the scavengers' union. he had just got up and was sitting down to his midday meal. he was a small, comfortable little man, who had always a twinkle in his eye; he came from the coal country. pelle had helped him at one time to get his organization into working order, and he knew that he could count on him and his men. "do you remember still, how i once showed you that you are the most important workers in the city, lars hansen?" the president nodded. "yes, one would have to be a pretty sort of fool to forget that! no, as long as i live i shall never forget the effect your words had on us despised scavengers! it was you who gave us faith in ourselves, and an organization! and even if we aren't quite the most important people, still--" "but that's just what you are--and now it's your turn to prove it! could you suspend work this night?" lars hansen sat gazing thoughtfully into the lamp while he chewed his food. "our relations with the city are rather in the nature of a contract," he said slowly and at length. "they could punish us for it, and compel us to resume work. but if you want it, irrespective, why of course we'll do it. there can be only one view as to that among comrades! what you may gain by it you yourself know best." "thanks!" said pelle, holding out his hand. "then that is settled--no more carts go out. and we must bring the street-cleaners to a standstill too!" "then the authorities will put other men on--there are plenty to be found for that work." "they won't do that--or we'll put a stop to it if they do!" "that sounds all right! it'll be a nasty business for the swells! it's all the same to the poor, they haven't anything to eat. but suppose the soldiers are ordered to do it! scavenging must be done if the city isn't to become pestilential!" a flash of intelligence crossed pelle's face. "now listen, comrade! when you stop working, deliver up all the keys, so that the authorities can't touch you! only put them all in a sack and give them a good shake-up!" lars hansen broke into a resounding laugh. "that will be the deuce of a joke!" he groaned, smacking his thighs. "then they'll have to come to us, for no one else will be able to sort them out again so quickly! i'll take them the keys myself--i'll go upstairs as innocent as anything!" pelle thanked him again. "you'll save the whole cause," he said quietly. "it's the bread and the future happiness of many thousands that you are now holding in your hands." he smiled brightly and took his leave. as soon as he was alone his smile faded and an expression of deathly weariness took its place. * * * * * pelle walked the streets, strolling hither and thither. now all was settled. there was nothing more to strive for. everything within him seemed broken; he had not even strength to decide what he should do with himself. he walked on and on, came out into the high street, and turned off again into the side streets. over the way, in the colonial stores, he saw karl, smiling and active, behind the counter serving customers. "you ought really to go in and ask him how he's getting on," he thought, but he strolled on. once, before a tenement-house, he halted and involuntarily looked up. no, he had already done his business here--this was where the president of the scavengers' union lived. no, the day's work was over now--he would go home to ellen and the children! home? no home for him now--he was forsaken and alone! and yet he went toward the north; which road he went by he did not know, but after a time he found himself standing before his own door and staring at the rusty little letter box. within there was a sound of weeping; he could hear ellen moving to and fro, preparing everything for the night. then he turned and hastened away, and did not breathe easily until he had turned the corner of the street. he turned again and again, from one side street into another. inside his head everything seemed to be going round, and at every step he felt as if it would crack. suddenly he seemed to hear hasty but familiar steps behind him. ellen! he turned round; there was no one there. so it was an illusion! but the steps began again as soon as he went on. there was something about those steps--it was as though they wanted to say something to him; he could hear plainly that they wanted to catch up with him. he stopped suddenly--there was no one there, and no one emerged from the darkness of the side streets. were these strange footsteps in his own mind, then? pelle found them incomprehensible; his heart began to thump; his terrible exhaustion had made him helpless. and ellen--what was the matter with her? that reproachful weeping sounded in his ears! understand--what was he to understand? she had done it out of love, she had said! ugh--away with it all! he was too weary to justify her offence. but what sort of wanderer was this? now the footsteps were keeping time with his now; they had a double sound. and when he thought, another creature answered to him, from deep within him. there was something persistent about this, as there was in morten's influence; an opinion that made its way through all obstacles, even when reduced to silence. what was wanted of him now--hadn't he worked loyally enough? was he not pelle, who had conducted the great campaign? pelle, to whom all looked up? but there was no joy in the thought now; he could not now hear the march of his fifty thousand comrades in his own footsteps! he was left in the lurch, left alone with this accursed something here in the deserted streets--and loneliness had come upon him! "you are afraid!" he thought, with a bitter laugh. but he did not wish to be alone; and he listened intently. the conflict had taken all that he possessed. so there was a community--mournful as it was--between him and the misery around him here. what had he to complain of? the city of the poor lay about him, terrible, ravaged by the battle of unemployment--a city of weeping, and cold, and darkness, and want! from the back premises sounded the crying of children--they were crying for bread, he knew--while drunken men staggered round the corners, and the screaming of women sounded from the back rooms and the back yards. ugh-- this was hell already! thank god, victory was near! somewhere he could plainly hear voices; children were crying, and a woman, who was moving to and fro in the room, was soothing them, and was lulling the youngest to sleep--no doubt she had it in her arms. it all came down to him so distinctly that he looked up. there were no windows in the apartment! they were to be driven out by the cold, he thought indignantly, and he ran up the stairs; he was accustomed to taking the unfortunate by surprise. "the landlord has taken out the doors and windows; he wanted to turn us into the street, but we aren't going, for where should we go? so he wants to drive us out through the cold--like the bugs! they've driven my husband to death--" suddenly she recognized pelle. "so it's you, you accursed devil!" she cried. "it was you yourself who set him on! perhaps you remember how he used to drink out of the bottle? formerly he always used to behave himself properly. and you saw, too, how we were turned out of st. hans street--the tenants forced us to go--didn't you see that? oh, you torturer! you've followed him everywhere, hunted him like a wild beast, taunted him and tormented him to death! when he went into a tavern the others would stand away from him, and the landlord had to ask him to go. but he had more sense of honor than you! 'i'm infected with the plague!' he said, and one morning he hanged himself. ah, if i could pray the good god to smite you!" she was tearless; her voice was dry and hoarse. "you have no need to do that," replied pelle bitterly. "he has smitten me! but i never wished your husband any harm; both times, when i met him, i tried to help him. we have to suffer for the benefit of all--my own happiness is shattered into fragments." he suddenly found relief in tears. "they just ought to see that--the working men--pelle crying! then they wouldn't shout 'hurrah!' when he appears!" she cried scornfully. "i have still ten kroner--will you take them?" said pelle, handing her the money. she took it hesitating. "you must need that for your wife and children-- that must be your share of your strike pay!" "i have no wife and children now. take it!" "good god! has your home gone to pieces too? couldn't even pelle keep it together? well, well, it's only natural that he who sows should reap!" pelle went his way without replying. the unjust judgment of this woman depressed him more than the applause of thousands would have pleased him. but it aroused a violent mental protest. where she had struck him he was invulnerable; he had not been looking after his own trivial affairs; but had justly and honorably served the great cause, and had led the people to victory. the wounded and the fallen had no right to abuse him. he had lost more than any one--he had lost everything! with care-laden heart, but curiously calm, he went toward the north bridge and rented a room in a cheap lodging house. xxxv the final instructions issued to the workers aroused terrible indignation in the city. at one blow the entire public was set against them; the press was furious, and full of threats and warnings. even the independent journals considered that the workers had infringed the laws of human civilization. but _the working man_ quietly called attention to the fact that the conflict was a matter of life or death for the lower classes. they were ready to proceed to extremities; they still had it in their power to cut off the water and gas--the means of the capital's commercial and physical life! then the tide set in against the employers. something had to give somewhere! and what was the real motive of the conflict? merely a question of power! they wanted to have the sole voice--to have their workers bound hand and foot. the financiers, who stood at the back of the big employers, had had enough of the whole affair. it would be an expensive game first and last, and there would be little profit in destroying the cohesion of the workers if the various industries were ruined at the same time. pelle saw how the crisis was approaching while he wandered about the lesser streets in search of father lasse. now the cause was progressing by its own momentum, and he could rest. an unending strain was at last lifted from his shoulders, and now he wanted time to gather together the remnants of his own happiness--and at last to do something for one who had always sacrificed himself for him. now he and lasse would find a home together, and resume the old life in company together; he rejoiced at the thought. father lasse's nature never clashed with his; he had always stood by him through everything; his love was like a mother's. lasse was no longer living in his lair behind baker street. the old woman with whom he was living had died shortly before this, and lasse had then disappeared. pelle continued to ask after him, and, well known as he was among the poor, it was not difficult for him to follow the old man's traces, which gradually led him out to kristianshavn. during his inquiries he encountered a great deal of misery, which delayed him. now, when the battle was fighting itself to a conclusion, he was everywhere confronted by need, and his old compassion welled up in his heart. he helped where he could, finding remedies with his usual energy. lasse had not been to the "ark" itself, but some one there had seen him in the streets, in a deplorable condition; where he lived no one knew. "have you looked in the cellar of the merchant's house over yonder?" the old night watchman asked him. "many live there in these hard times. every morning about six o'clock i lock the cellar up, and then i call down and warn them so that they shan't be pinched. if i happen to turn away, then they come slinking up. it seems to me i heard of an old man who was said to be lying down there, but i'm not sure, for i've wadding in my ears; i'm obliged to in my calling, in order not to hear too much!" he went to the place with pelle. the merchant's house, which in the eighteenth century was the palace of one of the great mercantile families of kristianshavn, was now used as a granary; it lay fronting on one of the canals. the deep cellars, which were entirely below the level of the canal, were now empty. it was pitch dark down there, and impracticable; the damp air seemed to gnaw at one's vocal cords. they took a light and explored among the pillars, finding here and there places where people had lain on straw. "there is no one here," said the watchman. pelle called, and heard a feeble sound as of one clearing his throat. far back in the cellars, in one of the cavities in the wall, father lasse was lying on a mattress. "yes, here i lie, waiting for death," he whispered. "it won't last much longer now; the rats have begun to sniff about me already." the cold, damp air had taken his voice away. he was altogether in a pitiful condition, but the sight of pelle put life into him in so far as he was able to stand on his feet. they took him over to the "ark," the old night watchman giving up his room and going up to widow johnsen;--there he slept in the daytime, and at night went about his duties; a possible arrangement, although there was only one bed. when lasse was put into a warm bed he lay there shivering; and he was not quite clear in his mind. pelle warmed some beer; the old man must go through a sweating cure; from time to time he sat on the bed and gazed anxiously at his father. lasse lay there with his teeth chattering; he had closed his eyes; now and again he tried to speak, but could not. the warm drink helped him a little, and the blood flowed once more into his dead, icy hands, and his voice returned. "do you think we are going to have a hard winter?" he said suddenly, turning on his side. "we are going on toward the summer now, dear father," pelle replied. "but you must not lie with your back uncovered." "i'm so terribly cold--almost as cold as i was in winter; i wouldn't care to go through that again. it got into my spine so. good god, the poor folks who are at sea!" "you needn't worry about them--you just think about getting well again; to-day we've got the sunshine and it's fine weather at sea!" "let a little sunshine in here to me, then," said lasse peevishly. "there's a great wall in front of the window, father," said pelle, bending down over him. "well, well, it'll soon be over, the little time that's still left me! it's all the same to the night watchman--he wakes all night and yet he doesn't see the sun. that is truly a curious calling! but it is good that some one should watch over us while we sleep." lasse rocked his head restlessly to and fro. "yes, otherwise they'd come by night and steal our money," said pelle jestingly. "yes, that they would!" lasse tried to laugh. "and how are things going with you, lad?" "the negotiations are proceeding; yesterday we held the first meeting." lasse laughed until his throat rattled. "so the fine folks couldn't stomach the smell any longer! yes, yes, i heard the news of that when i was lying ill down there in the darkness. at night, when the others came creeping in, they told me about it; we laughed properly over that idea of yours. but oughtn't you to be at your meeting?" "no, i have excused myself--i don't want to sit there squabbling about the ending of a sentence. now i'm going to be with you, and then we'll both make ourselves comfortable." "i am afraid we shan't have much more joy of one another, lad!" "but you are quite jolly again now. to-morrow you will see--" "ah, no! death doesn't play false. i couldn't stand that cellar." "why did you do it, father? you knew your place at home was waiting for you." "yes, you must forgive my obstinacy, pelle. but i was too old to be able to help in the fight, and then i thought at least you won't lay a burden on them so long as this lasts! so in that way i have borne my share. and do you really believe that something will come of it?" "yes, we are winning--and then the new times will begin for the poor man!" "yes, yes; i've no part in such fine things now! it was as though one served the wicked goblin that stands over the door: work to-day, eat to- morrow! and to-morrow never came. what kindness i've known has been from my own people; a poor bird will pull out its own feathers to cover another. but i can't complain; i have had bad days, but there are folks who have had worse. and the women have always been good to me. bengta was a grumbler, but she meant it kindly; karna sacrificed money and health to me--god be thanked that she didn't live after they took the farm from me. for i've been a landowner too; i had almost forgotten that in all my misery! yes, and old lise--begging lise, as they called her-- she shared bed and board with me! she died of starvation, smart though she was. would you believe that? 'eat!' she used to say; 'we have food enough!' and i, old devil, i ate the last crust, and suspected nothing, and in the morning she was lying dead and cold at my side! there was not a scrap of flesh on her whole body; nothing but skin over dry bones. but she was one of god's angels! we used to sing together, she and i. ach, poor people take the bread out of one another's mouths!" lasse lay for a time sunk in memories, and began to sing, with the gestures he had employed in the courtyard. pelle held him down and endeavored to bring him to reason, but the old man thought he was dealing with the street urchins. when he came to the verse which spoke of his son he wept. "don't cry, father!" said pelle, quite beside himself, and he laid his heavy head against that of the old man. "i am with you again!" lasse lay still for a time, blinking his eyes, with his hand groping to and fro over his son's face. "yes, you are really here," he said faintly, "and i thought you had gone away again. do you know what, pelle? you have been the whole light of my life! when you came into the world i was already past the best of my years; but then you came, and it was as though the sun had been born anew! 'what may he not bring with him?' i used to think, and i held my head high in the air. you were no bigger than a pint bottle! 'perhaps he'll make his fortune,' i thought, 'and then there'll be a bit of luck for you as well!' so i thought, and so i've always believed--but now i must give it up. but i've lived to see you respected. you haven't become a rich man--well, that need not matter; but the poor speak well of you! you have fought their battles for them without taking anything to fill your own belly. now i understand it, and my old heart rejoices that you are my son!" when lasse fell asleep pelle lay on the sofa for a while. but he did not rest long; the old man slept like a bird, opening his eyes every moment. if he did not see his son close to his bed he lay tossing from side to side and complaining in a half-slumber. in the middle of the night he raised his head and held it up in a listening attitude. pelle awoke. "what do you want, father?" he asked, as he tumbled onto his feet. "ach, i can hear something flowing, far out yonder, beyond the sea- line.... it is as though the water were pouring into the abyss. but oughtn't you to go home to ellen now? i shall be all right alone overnight, and perhaps she's sitting worrying as to where you are." "i've sent to ellen to tell her that i shouldn't be home overnight," said pelle. the old man lay considering his son with a pondering glance, "are you happy, too, now?" he asked. "it seems to me as though there is something about your marriage that ought not to be." "yes, father, it's quite all right," pelle replied in a half-choking voice. "well, god be thanked for that! you've got a good wife in ellen, and she has given you splendid children. how is young lasse? i should dearly like to see him again before i go from here--there will still be a lasse!" "i'll bring him to you early in the morning," said pelle. "and now you ought to see if you can't sleep a little, father. it is pitch dark still!" lasse turned himself submissively toward the wall. once he cautiously turned his head to see if pelle was sleeping; his eyes could not see across the room, so he attempted to get out of bed, but fell back with a groan. "what is it, father?" cried pelle anxiously, and he was beside him in a moment. "i only wanted just to see that you'd got something over you in this cold! but my old limbs won't bear me any more," said the old man, with a shamefaced expression. toward morning he fell into a quiet sleep, and pelle brought madam johnsen to sit with the old man, while he went home for young lasse. it was no easy thing to do; but the last wish of the old man must be granted. and he knew that ellen would not entrust the child to strange hands. ellen's frozen expression lit up as he came; an exclamation of joy rose to her lips, but the sight of his face killed it. "my father lies dying," he said sadly--"he very much wants to see the boy." she nodded and quietly busied herself in making the child ready. pelle stood at the window gazing out. it seemed very strange to him that he should be here once more; the memory of the little household rose to his mind and made him weak. he must see little sister! ellen led him silently into the bedroom; the child was sleeping in her cradle; a deep and wonderful peace brooded over her bright head. ellen seemed to be nearer to him in this room here; he felt her compelling eyes upon him. he pulled himself forcibly together and went into the other room--he had nothing more to do there. he was a stranger in this home. a thought occurred to him--whether she was going on with _that_? although it was nothing to him, the question would not be suppressed; and he looked about him for some sign that might be significant. it was a poverty-stricken place; everything superfluous had vanished. but a shoemaker's sewing machine had made its appearance, and there was work on it. strike-breaking work! he thought mechanically. but not disgraceful--for the first time he was glad to discover a case of strike-breaking. she had also begun to take in sewing--and she looked thoroughly overworked. this gave him downright pleasure. "the boy is ready to go with you now," she said. pelle cast a farewell glance over the room. "is there anything you need?" he asked. "thanks--i can look after myself," she replied proudly. "you didn't take the money i sent you on saturday!" "i can manage myself--if i can only keep the boy. don't forget that you told me once he should always stay with me." "he must have a mother who can look him in the face--remember that, ellen!" "you needn't remind me of that," she replied bitterly. lasse was awake when they arrived. "eh, that's a genuine karlsen!" he said. "he takes after our family. look now, pelle, boy! he has the same prominent ears, and he's got the lucky curl on his forehead too! he'll make his way in the world! i must kiss his little hands--for the hands, they are our blessing--the only possession we come into the world with. they say the world will be lifted up by the hands of poor; i should like to know whether that will be so! i should like to know whether the new times will come soon now. it's a pity after all that i shan't live to see it!" "you may very well be alive to see it yet, father," said pelle, who on the way had bought _the working man_, and was now eagerly reading it. "they are going ahead in full force, and in the next few days the fight will be over! then we'll both settle down and be jolly together!" "no, i shan't live to see that! death has taken hold of me; he will soon snatch me away. but if there's anything after it all, it would be fine if i could sit up there and watch your good fortune coming true. you have travelled the difficult way, pelle--lasse is not stupid! but perhaps you'll he rewarded by a good position, if you take over the leadership yourself now. but then you must see that you don't forget the poor!" "that's a long way off yet, father! and then there won't be any more poor!" "you say that so certainly, but poverty is not so easily dealt with--it has eaten its way in too deep! young lasse will perhaps be a grown man before that comes about. but now you must take the boy away, for it isn't good that he should see how the old die. he looks so pale--does he get out into the sun properly?" "the rich have borrowed the sun--and they've forgotten to pay it back," said pelle bitterly. lasse raised his head in the air, as though he were striving against something. "yes, yes! it needs good eyes to look into the future, and mine won't serve me any longer. but now you must go and take the boy with you. and you mustn't neglect your affairs, you can't outwit death, however clever you may be." he laid his withered hand on young lasse's head and turned his face to the wall. pelle got madam johnsen to take the boy home again, so that he himself could remain with the old man. their paths had of late years lain so little together; they had forever been meeting and then leading far apart. he felt the need of a lingering farewell. while he moved to and fro, and lit a fire to warm up some food, and did what he could to make father lasse comfortable, he listened to the old man's desultory speech and let himself drift hack into the careless days of childhood. like a deep, tender murmur, like the voice of the earth itself, lasse's monotonous speech renewed his childhood; and as it continued, it became the never-silent speech of the many concerning the conditions of life. now, in silence he turned again from the thousands to father lasse, and saw how great a world this tender-hearted old man had supported. he had always been old and worn-out so long as pelle could remember. labor so soon robs the poor man of his youth and makes his age so long! but this very frailty endowed him with a superhuman power--that of the father! he had borne his poverty greatly, without becoming wicked or self-seeking or narrow; his heart had always been full of the cheerfulness of sacrifice, and full of tenderness; he had been strong even in his impotence. like the heavenly father himself, he had encompassed pelle's whole existence with his warm affection, and it would be terrible indeed when his kindly speech was no longer audible at the back of everything. his departing soul hovered in ever-expanding circles over the way along which he had travelled--like the doves when they migrate. each time he had recovered a little strength he took up the tale of his life anew. "there has always been something to rejoice over, you know, but much of it has been only an aimless struggle. in the days when i knew no better i managed well enough; but from the moment when you were born my old mind began to look to the future, and i couldn't feel at peace any more. there was something about you that seemed like an omen, and since then it has always stuck in my mind; and my intentions have been restless, like the jerusalem shoemaker's. it was as though something had suddenly given me--poor louse!--the promise of a more beautiful life; and the memory of that kept on running in my mind. is it perhaps the longing for paradise, out of which they drove us once?--i used to think. if you'll believe me, i, poor old blunderer as i am, have had splendid dreams of a beautiful, care-free old age, when my son, with his wife and children, would come and visit me in my own cozy room, where i could entertain them a little with everything neat and tidy. i didn't give up hoping for it even right at the end. i used to go about dreaming of a treasure which i should find out on the refuse-heaps. ah, i did so want to be able to leave you something! i have been able to do so miserably little for you." "and you say that, who have been father and mother to me? during my whole childhood you stood behind everything, protecting me; if anything happened to me i always used to think; 'father lasse will soon set that right!' and when i grew up i found in everything that i undertook that you were helping me to raise myself. it would have gone but ill indeed with everything if you hadn't given me such a good inheritance!" "do you say that?" cried lasse proudly. "shall i truly have done my share in what you have done for the cause of the poor? ah, that sounds good, in any case! no, but you have been my life, my boy, and i used to wonder, poor weak man as i was, to see how great my strength was in you! what i scarcely dared to think of even, you have had the power to do! and now here i lie, and have not even the strength to die. you must promise me that you won't burden yourself on my account with anything that's beyond your ability--you must leave the matter to the poor-law authorities. i've kept myself clear of them till now, but it was only my stupid pride. the poor man and the poor-laws belong together after all. i have learned lately to look at many things differently; and it is good that i am dying--otherwise i should soon be alive and thinking but have no power. if these ideas had come to me in the strength of my youth perhaps i should have done something violent. i hadn't your prudence and intelligence, to be able to carry eggs in a hop-sack...." on the morning of the third day there was a change in lasse, although it was not easy to say where the alteration lay. pelle sat at the bedside reading the last issue of _the working man_, when he noticed that lasse was gazing at him. "is there any news?" he asked faintly. "the negotiations are proceeding," said pelle, "but it is difficult to agree upon a basis.... several times everything has been on the point of breaking down." "it's dragging out such a long time," said lasse dejectedly; "and i shall die to-day, pelle. there is something restless inside me, although i should dearly like to rest a little. it is curious, how we wander about trying to obtain something different to what we have! as a little boy at home in tommelilla i used to run round a well; i used to run like one possessed, and i believed if i only ran properly i should be able to catch my own heels! and now i've done it; for now there is always some one in front of me, so that i can't go forward, and it's old lasse himself who is stopping the way! i am always thinking i must overtake him, but i can't find my old views of the world again, they have altered so. on the night when the big employers declared the lock-out i was standing out there among the many thousands of other poor folks, listening. they were toasting the resolution with champagne, and cheering, and there my opinions were changed! it's strange how things are in this world. down in the granary cellar there lay a mason who had built one of the finest palaces in the capital, and he hadn't even a roof over his head." a sharp line that had never been there before appeared round his mouth. it became difficult for him to speak, but he could not stop. "whatever you do, never believe the clergy," he continued, when he had gathered a little strength. "that has been my disadvantage--i began to think over things too late. we mustn't grumble, they say, for one thing has naturally grown out of another, big things out of little, and all together depends on god's will. according to that our vermin must finally become thorough-bred horse for the rich--and god knows i believe that is possible! they have begun by sucking the blood of poverty--but only see how they prance in front of the carriage! ah, yes--how will the new period take shape? what do you think about it?" "it will be good for us all, father," replied pelle, with anxiety in his voice. "but it will be sad for me, because you will no longer have your part in it all. but you shall have a fine resting-place, and i will give you a great stone of bornholm granite, with a beautiful inscription." "you must put on the stone: 'work to-day, eat to-morrow!'" replied lasse bitterly. all day long he lay there in a half-sleep. but in the evening twilight he raised his head. "are those the angels i hear singing?" he whispered. the ring had gone out of his voice. "no, those are the little children of the factory women, their mothers will be coming home directly to give them the breast; then they'll stop." lasse sighed. "that will be poor food if they have to work all day. they say the rich folks drink wine at twelve and fifteen kroner a bottle; that sounds as if they take the milk away from the little children and turn it into costly liquors." he lay there whispering; pelle had to bend his head till it was almost against his mouth. "hand in hand we've wandered hither, lad, yet each has gone his own way. you are going the way of youth, and lasse--but you have given me much joy." then the loving spirit, which for pelle had burned always clear and untroubled amid all vicissitudes, was extinguished. it was as though providence had turned its face from him; life collapsed and sank into space, and he found himself sitting on a chair--alone. all night long he sat there motionless beside the body, staring with vacant eyes into the incomprehensible, while his thoughts whispered sadly to the dead of all that he had been. he did not move, but himself sat like a dead man, until madam johnsen came in the morning to ask how matters were progressing. then he awoke and went out, in order to make such arrangements as were necessary. xxxvi on saturday, at noon, it was reported that the treaty of peace was signed, and that the great strike was over. the rumor spread through the capital with incredible speed, finding its way everywhere. "have you heard yet? have you heard yet? peace is concluded!" the poor were busy again; they lay huddled together no longer, but came out into the light of day, their lean faces full of sunlight. the women got out their baskets and sent the children running to make a few purchases for sunday--for now the grocer would give them a little credit! people smiled and chattered and borrowed a little happiness! summer had come, and a monstrous accumulation of work was waiting to be done, and at last they were going to set to work in real earnest! the news was shouted from one back door to the next; people threw down what they had in their hands and ran on with the news. it occurred to no one to stand still and to doubt; they were only too willing to believe! later in the afternoon _the working man_ issued a board-sheet confirming the rumor. yes, it was really true! and it was a victory; the right of combination was recognized, and capital had been taught to respect the workers as a political factor. it would no longer be possible to oppress them. and in other respects the _status quo_ was confirmed. "just think--they've been taught to respect us, and they couldn't refuse to accept the _status quo!_" and they laughed all over their faces with joy to think that it was confirmed, although no one knew what it was! the men were in the streets; they were flocking to their organizations, in order to receive orders and to learn the details of the victory. one would hardly have supposed from their appearance that the victory was theirs; they had become so accustomed to gloom that it was difficult to shake it off. there was a sound of chattering in backyards and on staircases. work was to be resumed--beautiful, glorious labor, that meant food and drink and a little clothing for the body! yes, and domestic security! no more chewing the cud over an empty manger; now one could once more throw one's money about a little, and then, by skimping and saving, with tears and hardship, make it suffice! to-night father would have something really good with his bread and butter, and to-morrow, perhaps, they could go out into the forest with the picnic-basket! or at all events, as soon as they had got their best clothes back from the pawn-shop! they must have a bit of an airing before the winter came, and they had to go back into pawn! they were so overjoyed at the mere thought of peace that they quite forgot, for the moment, to demand anything new! pelle had taken part in the concluding negotiations; after father lasse's burial he was himself again. toward evening he was roaming about the poor quarter of the city, rejoicing in the mood of the people; he had played such an important part in the bitter struggle of the poor that he felt the need to share their joy as well. from the north bridge he went by way of the lakes to west bridge; and everywhere swarms of people were afoot. in the side-streets by west bridge all the families had emerged from their dwellings and established themselves on the front steps and the pavements; there they sat, bare-headed in the twilight, gossiping, smoking, and absorbing refreshments. it was the first warm evening; the sky was a deep blue, and at the end of the street the darkness was flooded with purple. there was something extravagant about them all; joy urged their movements to exceed the narrow every-day limits, and made them stammer and stagger as though slightly intoxicated. now they could all make their appearance again, all those families that had hidden themselves during the time of want; they were just as ragged, but that was of no consequence now! they were beaming with proud delight to think that they had come through the conflict without turning to any one for help; and the battles fought out in the darkness were forgotten. pelle had reached the open ground by the gasworks harbor; he wanted to go over to see his old friends in the "ark." yonder it lay, lifting its glowing mass into the deep night of the eastern sky. the red of the sinking sun fell over it. high overhead, above the crater of the mass, hung a cloud of vapor, like a shadow on the evening sky. pelle, as he wandered, had been gazing at this streak of shadow; it was the dense exhalation of all the creatures in the heart of the mass below, the reek of rotting material and inferior fuel. now, among other consequences of victory, there would be a thorough cleansing of the dens of poverty. a dream floated before him, of comfortable little dwellings for the workers, each with its little garden and its well-weeded paths. it would repay a man then to go home after the day's fatigue! it seemed to him that the streak of smoke yonder was growing denser and denser. or were his eyes merely exaggerating that which was occupying his thoughts? he stood still, gazing--then he began to run. a red light was striking upward against the cloud of smoke--touched a moment, and disappeared; and a fresh mass of smoke unrolled itself, and hung brooding heavily overhead. pelle rushed across the staple square, and over the long bridge. only too well did he know the terrible bulk of the "ark"--and there was no other exit than the tunnel! and the timber-work, which provided the sole access to the upper stories! as he ran he could see it all clearly before his eyes, and his mind began to search for means of rescue. the fire brigade was of course given the alarm at once, but it would take time to get the engines here, and it was all a matter of minutes! if the timber staging fell and the tunnel were choked all the inmates would be lost--and the "ark" did not possess a single emergency-ladder! outside, in front of the "ark," was a restless crowd of people, all shouting together. "here comes pelle!" cried some one. at once they were all silent, and turned their faces toward him. "fetch the fire-escape from the prison!" he shouted to some of the men in passing, and ran to the tunnel-entry. from the long corridors on the ground floor the inmates were rushing out with their little children in their arms. some were dragging valueless possessions--the first things they could lay hands on. all that was left of the timber-work after the wreckage of the terrible winter was now brightly blazing. pelle tried to run up the burning stairs, but fell through. the inmates were hanging half out of their windows, staring down with eyes full of madness; every moment they ran out onto the platforms in an effort to get down, but always ran shrieking back. at her third-story window widow johnsen stood wailing, with her grandchild and the factory-girl's little paul in her arms. hanne's little daughter stared silently out of the window, with the deep, wondering gaze of her mother. "don't be afraid," pelle shouted to the old woman; "we are coming to help you now!" when little paul caught sight of pelle he wrenched himself away from madam johnsen and ran out onto the gallery. he jumped right down, lay for a moment on the flagstones, turned round and round, quite confused, and then, like a flash of lightning, he rushed by pelle and out into the street. pelle sent a few of the men into the long corridor, to see whether all were out. "break in the closed doors," he said; "there may possibly be children or sick people inside." the inmates of the first and second stories had saved themselves before the fire had got a hold on the woodwork. pelle himself ran up the main staircase up to the lofts and under the roof, in order to go to the assistance of the inmates of the outbuildings over the attics. but he was met by the inmates of the long roof-walk. "you can't get through any longer," said the old rag-picker; "pipman's whole garret is burning, and there are no more up here. god in heaven have mercy on the poor souls over there!" in spite of this, pelle tried to find a way over the attics, but was forced to turn back. the men had fetched the fire-escape, and had with difficulty brought it through the entry and had set it up! the burning timbers were beginning to fall; fragments of burning woodwork lay all around, and at any moment the whole building might collapse with a crash. but there was no time to think of one's self. the smoke was rolling out of vinslev's corridor and filling the yard. there was need of haste. "of course, it was the lunatic who started the fire," said the men, as they held the ladder. it reached only to the second story, but pelle threw a rope up to madam johnsen, and she fastened it to the window-frame, so that he was able to clamber up. with the rope he lowered first the child and then the old woman to his comrades below, who were standing on the ladder to receive them. the smoke was smarting in his eyes and throat, and all but stifled him; he could see nothing, but he heard a horrible shrieking all about him. just above him a woman was wailing. "oh, pelle, help me!" she whimpered, half choking. it was the timid seamstress, who had moved thither; he recognized her emotional voice. "she loves me!" suddenly flashed upon his mind. "catch the rope and fasten it well to the window-frame, and i'll come up and help you!" he said, and he swung the end of the rope up toward the fourth story. but at the same moment a wild shriek rang out. a dark mass flew past his head and struck the flagstones with a dull thud. the flames darted hissing from the window, as though to reach after her, and then drew back. for a moment he hung stupefied over the window-sill. this was too horrible. was it not her gentle voice that he now heard singing with him? and then the timbers fell with a long cracking sound, and a cloud of hot ashes rose in the air and filled the lungs as with fire. "come down!" cried his comrades, "the ladder is burning!" a deafening, long-drawn ringing told him that the fire-brigade was near at hand. but in the midst of all the uproar pelle's ears had heard a faint, intermittent sound. with one leap he was in madam johnsen's room; he stood there listening; the crying of a child reached him from the other side of the wall, where the rooms opened on to the inner corridor. it was horrible to hear it and to stand there and be able to do nothing. a wall lay between, and there was no thoroughfare on the other side. in the court below they were shouting his name. devil take them, he would come when he was ready. there he stood, obstinate and apathetic, held there by that complaining, childish voice. a blind fury arose in him; sullenly he set his shoulder against that accursed wall, and prepared himself for the shock. but the wall was giving! yet again he charged it --a terrible blow--and part of the barrier was down! he was met by a rush of stifling heat and smoke; he had to hold his breath and cover his face with his hands as he pressed forward. a little child lay there in a cradle. he stumbled over to it and groped his way back to the wall. the fire, now that it had access to the air, suddenly leaped at him with an explosive force that made him stagger. he felt as though a thirsty bull had licked his cheek. it bellowed at his heels with a voice of thunder, but was silent when he slammed the door. half choking he found his way to the window and tried to shout to those below, but he had no voice left; only a hoarse whisper came from his throat. well, there he stood, with a child in his arms, and he was going to die! but that didn't matter--he had got through the wall! behind him the fire was pressing forward; it had eaten a small hole through the door, and had thus created the necessary draught. the hole grew larger; sparks rose as under a pair of bellows, and a dry, burning heat blew through the opening. small, almost imperceptible flames were dancing over the polished surface; very soon the whole door would burst into a blaze. his clothes smelt of singeing; his hands were curiously dry like decaying wood, and he felt as if the hair at the back of his head was curling. and down below they were shouting his name. but all that was of no consequence; only his head was so heavy with the smoke and heat! he felt that he was on the point of falling. was the child still alive? he wondered. but he dared not look to see; he had spread his jacket over its face in order to protect it. he clutched the window-frame, and directed his dying thoughts toward ellen and the children. why was he not with them? what nonsense had it been that induced him to leave them? he could no longer recollect; but if it had not been all up with him now he would have hurried home to them, to play with young lasse. but now he must die; in a moment he would fall, suffocated--even before the flames could reach him. there was some slight satisfaction in that--it was as though he had played a trick on some one. suddenly something shot up before his dying gaze and called him back. it was the end of a fire-escape, and a fireman rose out of the smoke just in front of him, seized the child, and handed it down. pelle stood there wrestling with the idea that he must move from where he was; but before it had passed through his mind a fireman had seized him by the scruff of his neck and had run down the ladder with him. the fresh air aroused him. he sprang up from the stretcher on which the fireman had laid him and looked excitedly about him. at the same moment the people began quite senselessly to shout his name and to clap their hands, and madam johnsen pushed her way through the barrier and threw herself upon him. "pelle!" she cried, weeping; "oh, you are alive, pelle!" "yes, of course i'm alive--but that's nothing to cry about." "no, but we thought you were caught in there. but how you look, you poor boy!" she took him with her to a working-man's home, and helped him to set himself to rights. when he had once seen a looking-glass he understood! he was unrecognizable, what with smoke and ashes, which had burnt themselves into his skin and would not come off. and under the grime there was a bad burn on one of his cheeks. he went to one of the firemen and had a plaster applied. "you really want a pair of eyebrows too," said the fireman. "you've been properly in the fire, haven't you?" "why did the fire-engines take so long?" asked pelle. "long? they were ten minutes getting here after the alarm was given. we got the alarm at eight, and now it's half-past." pelle was silent; he was quite taken aback; he felt as though the whole night must have gone by, so much had happened. half an hour--and in that time he had helped to snatch several people out of the claws of death and had seen others fall into them. and he himself was singed by the close passage of death! the knowledge was lurking somewhere at the back of his mind, an accomplished but elusive fact; when he clenched his fist cracks appeared in the skin, and his clothes smelt like burnt horn. in the court the firemen were working unceasingly. some, from the tops of their ladders in the court, were pouring streams of water upon the flames; others were forcing their way into the body of the building and searching the rooms; and from time to time a fireman made his appearance carrying a charred body. then the inmates of the "ark" were called inside the barrier in order to identify the body. they hurried weeping through the crowd, seeking one another; it was impossible for the police to assemble them or to ascertain how many had failed to escape. suddenly all eyes were directed toward the roof of the front portion of the building, where the fire had not as yet entirely prevailed. there stood the crazy vinslev, playing on his flute; and when the cracking of the fire was muffled for a moment one could hear his crazy music "listen! listen! he is playing the march!" they cried. yes, he was playing the march, but it was interwoven with his own fantasies, so that the well-known melody sounded quite insane on vinslev's flute. the firemen erected a ladder and ran up to the roof in order to save him, but he fled before them. when he could go no farther he leaped into the sea of flame. the market-place and the banks of the canal were thick with people; shoulder to shoulder they stood there, gazing at the voluptuous spectacle of the burning "ark." the grime and poverty and the reek of centuries were going up in flames. how it rustled and blazed and crackled! the crowd was in the best of spirits owing to the victory of labor; no one had been much inclined to sleep that night; and here was a truly remarkable display of fireworks, a magnificent illumination in honor of the victory of the poor! there were admiring cries of "ah!" people hissed in imitation of the sound of rockets and clapped their hands when the flames leaped up or a roof crashed in. pelle moved about in the crowd, collecting the bewildered inmates of the "ark" by the gates of the prison, so that those who had relatives could find them. they were weeping, and it was difficult to console them. alas, now the "ark" was burnt, the beloved place of refuge for so many ruined souls! "how can you take it to heart so?" said pelle consolingly. "you will be lodged overnight by the city, and afterward you will move into proper dwelling-houses, where everything is clean and new. and you needn't cry over your possessions, i'll soon get up a collection, and you'll have better things than you had before." nevertheless they wept; like homeless wild beasts they whimpered and rambled restlessly to and fro, seeking for they knew not what. their forest fastness, their glorious hiding-place, was burning! what was all the rest of the city to them? it was not for them; it was as though there was no place of refuge left for them in all the world! every moment a few of them slipped away, seeking again to enter the site of the fire, like horses that seek to return to the burning stable. pelle might have spared his efforts at consolation; they were races apart, a different species of humanity. in the dark, impenetrable entrails of the "ark" they had made for themselves a world of poverty and extremest want; and they had been as fantastically gay in their careless existence as though their world had been one of wealth and fortune. and now it was all going up in flame! the fire was unsparing; its purifying flames could not be withstood. the flames tore off great sheets of the old wallpapers and flung them out half-burned into the street. there were many layers pasted together, many colors and patterns, one dimly showing through another, making the most curious and fantastic pictures. and on the reverse side of these sheets was a layer as of coagulated blood; this was the charred remnant of the mysterious world of cupboards and chimney-corners, the fauna of the fireplace, that had filled the children's sleep with dreams, and in the little mussel-shaped bodies was contained the concentrated exhalation of the poor man's night! and now the "ark" must have been hot right through to the ground, for the rats were beginning to leave. they came in long, winding files from the entry, and up out of the cellars of the old iron merchant and the old clothes dealer, headed by the old, scabby males which used to visit the dustbins in the middle of the day. the onlookers cheered and drove them back again. about ten o'clock the fire was visibly decreasing and the work of clearance could begin. the crowd scattered, a little disappointed that all was over so soon. the "ark" was an extinct bonfire! there could not have been a sackful of sound firewood in all that heap of lumber! pelle took madam johnsen and her little grand-daughter to his lodgings with him. the old woman had been complaining all the time; she was afraid of being given over to the public authorities. but when she heard that she was to go with pelle she was reassured. on the high bridge they met the first dust-carts on their way outward. they were decked out with green garlands and little national flags. xxxvii the next day broke with a lofty, radiant sabbath sky. there was something about it that reminded one of easter--easter morning, with its hymns and the pure winds of resurrection. _the working man_ rung in the day with a long and serious leading article--a greeting to the rosy dawn--and invited the working-classes to attend a giant assembly on the common during the afternoon. all through the forenoon great industry prevailed--wardrobes had to be overhauled, provision-baskets packed, and liquid refreshment provided. there was much running across landings and up and down stairs, much lending and borrowing. this was to be not merely a feast of victory; it was also intended as a demonstration--that was quite clear. the world should see how well they were still holding together after all these weeks of the lock-out! they were to appear in full strength, and they must look their best. in the afternoon the people streamed from all sides toward the labor building; it looked as though the whole city was flocking thither. in the big court-yard, and all along the wide street as far as high street, the trades unions were gathered about their banners. the great review had all been planned beforehand, and all went as by clockwork by those who were accustomed to handling great masses of men; there was no running from side to side; every one found his place with ease. pelle and stolpe, who had devised the programme, went along the ranks setting all to rights. with the men there were no difficulties; but the women and children had of course misunderstood their instructions. they should have gone direct to the common, but had turned up here with all their impedimenta. they stood crowding together on both the side-walks; and when the procession got under way they broke up and attached themselves to its sides. they had fought through the campaign, and their place was beside their husbands and fathers! it was a bannered procession with a double escort of women and children! had the like ever been seen? no, the city had never seen such a going forth of the people! like a giant serpent the procession unrolled itself; when its head was at the end of the street the greater part of its body was still coiled together. but what was the matter in front there? the head of the procession was turning toward the wrong side--toward the city, instead of taking the direct way to the common, as the police had ordered! that wouldn't do! that would lead to a collision with the police! make haste and get pelle to turn the stream before a catastrophe occurs!--pelle? but there he is, right in front! he himself has made a mistake as to the direction! ah, well, then, there is nothing to be said about it. but what in the world was he thinking of? pelle marches in the front rank beside the standard-bearer. he sees and hears nothing, but his luminous gaze sweeps over the heads of the crowd. his skin is still blackened by the smoke of the fire; it is peeling off his hands; his hair and moustache seem to have been cropped very strangely; and the skin is drawn round the burn on his cheek. he is conscious of one thing only: the rhythmic tread of fifty thousand men! as a child he has known it in dreams, heard it like a surging out of doors when he laid his head upon his pillow. this is the great procession of the chosen people, and he is leading them into the promised land! and where should their road lie if not through the capital? at the north wall the mounted police are drawn up, closing the inner city. they are drawn up diagonally across the thoroughfare, and were backing their horses into the procession, in order to force it to turn aside. but they were swept aside, and the stream flowed on; nothing can stop it. it passes down the street with difficulty, like a viscous mass that makes its way but slowly, yet cannot be held back. it is full of a peaceful might. who would venture to hew a way into it? the police are following it like watchful dogs, and on the side-walks the people stand pressed against the houses; they greet the procession or scoff at it, according as they are friends or foes. upstairs, behind the big windows, are gaily clad ladies and gentlemen, quizzing the procession with half- scornful, half-uneasy smiles. what weird, hungry, unkempt world is this that has suddenly risen up from obscurity to take possession of the highway? and behind their transparent lace curtains the manufacturers gaze and grumble. what novel kind of demonstration is this? the people have been forgiven, and instead of going quietly back to their work they begin to parade the city as though to show how many they are--yes, and how thin starvation has made them! it is a curious procession in every way. if they wanted to demonstrate how roughly they have been handled, they could not have done better! they all bear the marks of battle--they are pale and sallow and ill- clad; their sunday best hangs in the great common wardrobe still; what they wear to-day is patched and mended. hunger has refined their features; they are more like a procession of ghosts who have shaken off the heavy bonds of earth and are ready to take possession of the world of the spirit, than people who hope to conquer the promised land for themselves and posterity. such a procession of conquerors! they are all limping! a flock with broken wings, that none the less are seeking to fly. and whither are they going? one of their choirs breaks into song: "we are bound for the land of fortune!" and where does that land lie? has any of your watchers seen it? or was it not merely a deceitful dream, engendered by hunger? eat enough, really enough, for once, good people, and then let us talk together! what is it yonder? the emptiness that gave birth to you and even yet surges crazily in your starving blood? or the land of the living? is this then the beginning of a new world for you? or is the curse eternal that brings you into the world to be slaves? there is a peculiar, confident rhythm in their tread which drowns all other sounds, and seems to say, "we are the masters, poor as we look to the eye! we have used four million kroner in waging the war, and twenty millions have been wasted because they brought the work of our hands to a standstill! we come from the darkness, and we go toward the light, and no one can hold us back! behind us lie hunger and poverty, ignorance and slavery, and before us lies a happy existence, radiant with the rising sun of freedom! from this day onward a new age begins; we are its youthful might, and we demand power for ten thousand families! the few have long enough prevailed!" imperturbably they march onward, despite the wounds that must yet be smarting; for see, they limp! why should they still doubt? listen, they are singing! hoarsely the sound emerges from ten thousand throats, as though the song had grown rusty, or must first tear itself free. a new instrument this, that has not yet been tuned by the master-- its first notes are discords! but the song runs to and fro along the procession in rhythmical waves, it is an army on the march, and their eyes kindle and blaze with the growing sense of their power, the consciousness that they are the many! and the sound grows mighty, a storm that rolls above the housetops, "brother, soon will dawn the day!" touch not the humblest of them now! a vast, intoxicating power has descended upon them; each one has grown beyond himself, and believes himself capable of performing miracles. there are no loose particles; the whole is a mighty avalanche. touch but one of them and the might of the mass will pour into him. he will be oblivious of consequences, but will behave as though urged by destiny--as though the vast being of which he forms a part will assume all responsibility, and constitutes the law! it is intoxicating to walk in the ranks, to be permitted to bear the union banners; even to look on fills one with strength and joy. mothers and children accompany the men, although they have for the most part to walk in the gutters. it is great sport to fall out and watch the whole mighty procession go by, and then, by taking a short cut, again to station one's self at the head. stand at a street-corner, and it will take hours for the whole to pass you. _trapp, trapp! trapp, trapp!_ it gets into one's blood, and remains there, like an eternal rhythm. one union passes and another comes up; the machinists, with the sturdy munck at their head, as standard-bearer, the same who struck the three blows of doom that summoned five and forty thousand men to the battle for the right of combination! hurrah for munck! here are the house- painters, the printers, the glove-makers, the tinsmiths, the cork- cutters, the leather-dressers, and a group of seamen with bandy legs. at the head of these last marches howling peter, the giant transfigured! the copper-smiths, the coal-miners, the carpenters, the journeymen bakers, and the coach-builders! a queer sort of procession this! but here are the girdlers and there the plasterers, the stucco-workers, and the goldsmiths, and even the sand-blasters are here! the tailors and the shoemakers are easy to recognize. and there, god bless me, are the slipper-makers, close at their heels; they wouldn't be left in the cold! the gilders, the tanners, the weavers, and the tobacco-workers! the file-cutters, the bricklayers'-laborers, the pattern-makers, the coopers, the book-binders, the joiners and shipbuilders! what, is there no end to them? hi, make way for the journeymen glaziers! yes, you may well smile--they are all their own masters! and here come the gasworkers, and the water-company's men, and the cabinet-makers, who turn in their toes like the blacksmiths, and march just in front of them, as though these had anything to learn from them! those are the skilful ivory-turners, and those the brush-makers; spectacled these, and with brushes growing out of their noses--that is, when they are old. well, so it is all over at last! the tail consists of a swarm of frolicsome youngsters. but no--these are the milk-boys, these young vagabonds! and behind them come the factory-girls and behind them it all begins again--the pianoforte-makers, the millers, the saddlers, and the paper-hangers-- banners as far as one can see! how big and how gay the world is, after all! how many callings men pursue, so that work shall never fail them! ah, here are the masons, with all the old veterans at their head--those have been in the movement since the beginning! look, how steady on his leg is old stolpe! and the slaters, with the vanishing man at their head--they look as if they don't much care about walking on the level earth! and here are the sawyers, and the brewers, and the chair-makers! year by year their wages have been beaten down so that at the beginning of the struggle they were earning only half as much as ten years ago; but see how cheerful they look! now there will be food in the larder once more. those faded-looking women there are weavers; they have no banner; eight öre the hour won't run to flags. and finally a handful of newspaper-women from _the working man_. god how weary they look! their legs are like lead from going up and down so many stairs. each has a bundle of papers under her arm, as a sign of her calling. _trapp, trapp, trapp, trapp!_ on they go, with a slow, deliberate step. whither? where pelle wills. "_brother, soon will dawn the day!_" one hears the song over and over again; when one division has finished it the next takes it up. the side-streets are spewing their contents out upon the procession; shrunken creatures that against their will were singed in the struggle, and cannot recover their feet again. but they follow the procession with big eyes and break into fanatical explanations. a young fellow stands on the side-walk yonder; he has hidden himself behind some women, and is stretching his neck to see. for his own union is coming now, to which he was faithless in the conflict. remorse has brought him hither. but the rhythm of the marching feet carries him away, so that he forgets all and marches off beside them. he imagines himself in the ranks, singing and proud of the victory. and suddenly some of his comrades seize him and drag him into the ranks; they lift him up and march away with him. a trophy, a trophy! a pity he can't be stuck on a pole and carried high overhead! pelle is still at the head of the procession, at the side of the sturdy munck. his aspect is quiet and smiling, but inwardly he is full of unruly energy; never before has he felt so strong! on the side-walks the police keep step with him, silent and fateful. he leads the procession diagonally across the king's new market, and suddenly a shiver runs through the whole; he is going to make a demonstration in front of schloss amalienborg! no one has thought of that! only the police are too clever for them the streets leading to the castle are held by troops. gradually the procession widens out until it fills the entire market- place. a hundred and fifty trades unions, each with its waving standard! a tremendous spectacle! every banner has its motto or device. red is the color of all those banners which wave above the societies which were established in the days of socialism, and among them are many national flags--blue, red, and white--the standards of the old guilds and corporations. those belong to ancient societies which have gradually joined the movement. over all waves the standard of the millers, which is some hundreds of years old! it displays a curious-looking scrawl which is the monogram of the first absolute king! but the real standard is not here, the red banner of the international, which led the movement through the first troubled years. the old men would speedily recognize it, and the young men too, they have heard so many legends attaching to it. if it still exists it is well hidden; it would have too great an effect on the authorities--would be like a red rag to a bull. and as they stand staring it suddenly rises in the air--slashed and tattered, imperishable as to color. pelle stands on the box of a carriage, solemnly raising it in the air. for a moment they are taken by surprise; then they begin to shout, until the shouts grow to a tempest of sound. they are greeting the flag of brotherhood, the blood-red sign of the international--and pelle, too, who is raising it in his blistered hands--pelle, the good comrade, who saved the child from the fire; pelle, who has led the movement cause to victory! and pelle stands there laughing at them frankly, like a great child. this would have been the place to give them all a few words, but he has not yet recovered his mighty voice. so he waves it round over them with a slow movement as though he were administering an oath to them all. and he is very silent. this is an old dream of his, and at last it has come to fulfillment! the police are pushing into the crowd in squads, but the banner has disappeared; munck is standing with an empty stave in his hands, and is on the point of fixing his union banner on it. "you must take care to get these people away from here, or we shall hold you responsible for the consequences," says the police inspector, with a look that promises mischief. pelle looks in the face. "he'd like to throw me into prison, if only he had the courage," he thought, and then he sets the procession in motion again. * * * * * out on the common the great gathering of people rocked to and fro, in restless confusion. from beyond its confines it looked like a dark, raging sea. about each of the numerous speakers' platforms stood a densely packed crowd, listening to the leaders who were demonstrating the great significance of the day. but the majority did not feel inclined to-day to stand in a crowd about a platform. they felt a longing to surrender themselves to careless enjoyment, after all the hardships they had endured; to stand on their heads in the grass, to play the clown for a moment. group upon group lay all over the great common, eating and playing. the men had thrown off their coats and were wrestling with one another, or trying to revive the gymnastic exercises of their boyhood. they laughed more than they spoke; if any one introduced a serious subject it was immediately suppressed with a punning remark. nobody was serious to-day! pelle moved slowly about, delighting in the crowd, while keeping a look- out for madam johnsen and the child, who were to have met him out here. inwardly, at the back of everything, he was in a serious mood, and was therefore quiet. it must be fine to lie on one's belly here, in the midst of one's own family circle, eating hard-boiled eggs and bread-and- butter--or to go running about with young lasse on his shoulders! but what did it profit a man to put his trust in anything? he could not begin over again with ellen; the impossible stood between them. to drive young lasse out of his thoughts--that would be the hardest thing of all; he must see if he could not get him away from ellen in a friendly manner. as for applying to the law in order to get him back, that he would not do. the entire stolpe family was lying in a big circle, enjoying a meal; the sons were there with their wives and children; only pelle and his family were lacking. "come and set to!" said stolpe, "or you'll be making too long a day of it." "yes," cried madam stolpe, "it is such a time since we've been together. no need for us to suffer because you and ellen can't agree!" she did not know the reason of the breach--at all events, not from him--but was none the less friendly toward him. "i am really looking for my own basket of food," said pelle, lying down beside them. "now look here, you are the deuce of a fellow," said stolpe, suddenly laughing. "you intended beforehand to look in and say how-d'ye-do to brother christian, [footnote: the king was so called.] hey? it wasn't very wise of you, really--but that's all one to me. but what you have done to-day no one else could do. the whole thing went like a dance! not a sign of wobbling in the ranks! you know, i expect, that they mean to put you at the head of the central committee? then you will have an opportunity of working at your wonderful ideas of a world-federation. but there'll be enough to do at home here without that; at the next election we must win the city--and part of the country too. you'll let them put you up?" "if i recover my voice. i can't speak loudly at present." "try the raw yolk of an egg every night," said madam stolpe, much concerned, "and tie your left-hand stocking round your throat when you go to bed; that is a good way. but it must be the left-hand stocking." "mother is a red, you know," said stolpe. "if i go the right-hand side of her she doesn't recognize me!" the sun must have set--it was already beginning to grow dark. black clouds were rising in the west. pelle felt remorseful that he had not yet found the old woman and her grandchild, so he took his leave of the stolpes. he moved about, looking for the two; wherever he went the people greeted him, and there was a light in their eyes. he noticed that a policeman was following him at some little distance; he was one of the secret hangers-on of the party; possibly he had something to communicate to him. so pelle lay down in the grass, a little apart from the crowd, and the policeman stood still and gazed cautiously about him. then he came up to pelle. when he was near he bent down as though picking something up. "they are after you," he said, under his breath; "this afternoon there was a search made at your place, and you'll be arrested, as soon as you leave here." then he moved on. pelle lay there some minutes before he could understand the matter. a search-but what was there at his house that every one might not know of? suddenly he thought of the wood block and the tracing of the ten-kroner note. they had sought for some means of striking at him and they had found the materials of a hobby! he rose heavily and walked away from the crowd. on the east common he stood still and gazed back hesitatingly at this restless sea of humanity, which was now beginning to break up, and would presently melt away into the darkness. now the victory was won and they were about to take possession of the promised land--and he must go to prison, for a fancy begotten of hunger! he had issued no false money, nor had he ever had any intention of doing so. but of what avail was that? he was to be arrested--he had read as much in the eyes of the police-inspector. penal servitude--or at best a term in prison! he felt that he must postpone the decisive moment while he composed his mind. so he went back to the city by way of the east bridge. he kept to the side-streets, in order not to be seen, and made his way toward st. saviour's churchyard; the police were mostly on the common. for a moment the shipping in the harbor made him think of escape. but whither should he flee? and to wander about abroad as an outlaw, when his task and his fate lay here could he do it? no, he must accept his fate! the churchyard was closed; he had to climb over the wall in order to get in. some one had put fresh flowers on father lasse's grave. maria, he thought. yes, it must have been she! it was good to be here; he no longer felt so terribly forsaken. it was as though father lasse's untiring care still hovered protectingly about him. but he must move on. the arrest weighed upon his mind and made him restless. he wandered through the city, keeping continually to the narrow side-streets, where the darkness concealed him. this was the field of battle--how restful it was now! thank god, it was not they who condemned him! and now happiness lay before them--but for him! cautiously he drew near his lodging--two policemen in plain clothes were patrolling to and fro before the house. after that he drew back again into the narrow side-streets. he drifted about aimlessly, fighting against the implacable, and at last resigning himself. he would have liked to see ellen--to have spoken kindly to her, and to have kissed the children. but there was a watch on his home too--at every point he was driven back into the solitude to which he was a stranger. that was the dreadful part of it all. how was he going to live alone with himself, he who only breathed when in the company of others? ellen was still his very life, however violently he might deny it. her questioning eyes still gazed at him enigmatically, from whatever corner of existence he might approach. he had a strong feeling now that she had held herself ready all this time--that she had sat waiting for him, expecting him. how would she accept this? from castle street he saw a light in morten's room. he slipped into the yard and up the stairs. morten was reading. "it's something quite new to see you--fireman!" he said, with a kindly smile. "i have come to say good-bye," said pelle lightly. morten looked at him wonderingly. "are you going to travel?" "yes ... i--i wanted...." he said, and sat down. he gazed on the floor in front of his feet. "what would you do if the authorities were sneaking after you?" he asked suddenly. morten stared at him for a time. then he opened a drawer and took out a revolver. "i wouldn't let them lay hands on me," he said blackly. "but why do you ask me?" "oh, nothing.... will you do me a favor, morten? i have promised to take up a collection for those poor creatures from the 'ark,' but i've no time for it now. they have lost all their belongings in the fire. will you see to the matter?" "willingly. only i don't understand----" "why, i have got to go away for a time," said pelle, with a grim laugh. "i have always wanted to travel, as you know. now there's an opportunity." "good luck, then!" said morten, looking at him curiously as he pressed his hand. how much he had guessed pelle did not know. there was bornholm blood in morten's veins; he was not one to meddle in another's affairs. and then he was in the streets again. no, morten's way out was of no use to him--and now he would give in, and surrender himself to the authorities! he was in the high street now; he had no purpose in hiding himself any longer. in north street he saw a figure dealing with a shop-door in a very suspicious manner; as pelle came up it flattened itself against the door. pelle stood still on the pavement; the man, too, was motionless for a while, pressing himself back into the shadow; then, with an angry growl, he sprang out, in order to strike pelle to the ground. at that very moment the two men recognized one another. the stranger was ferdinand. "what, are you still at liberty?" he cried, in amazement. "i thought they had taken you!" "how did you know that?" asked pelle. "ach, one knows these things--it's part of one's business. you'll get five to six years, pelle, till you are stiff with it. prison, of course --not penal servitude." pelle shuddered. "you'll freeze in there," said ferdinand compassionately. "as for me, i can settle down very well in there. but listen, pelle--you've been so good, and you've tried to save me--next to mother you are the only person i care anything about. if you would like to go abroad i can soon hide you and find the passage-money." "where will you get it?" asked pelle, hesitating. "ach, i go in for the community of goods," said ferdinand with a broad smile. "the prefect of police himself has just five hundred kroner lying in his desk. i'll try to get it for you if you like." "no," said pelle slowly, "i would rather undergo my punishment. but thanks for your kind intentions--and give my best wishes to your old mother. and if you ever have anything to spare, then give it to widow johnsen. she and the child have gone hungry since hanne's death." and then there was nothing more to do or say; it was all over.... he went straight across the market-place toward the court-house. there it stood, looking so dismal! he strolled slowly past it, along the canal, in order to collect himself a little before going in. he walked along the quay, gazing down into the water, where the boats and the big live- boxes full of fish were just visible. by holmens church he pulled himself together and turned back--he must do it now! he raised his head with a sudden resolve and found himself facing marie. her cheeks glowed as he gazed at her. "pelle," she cried, rejoicing, "are you still at liberty? then it wasn't true! i have been to the meeting, and they said there you had been arrested. ach, we have been so unhappy!" "i shall be arrested--i am on the way now." "but, pelle, dear pelle!" she gazed at him with tearful eyes. ah, he was still the foundling, who needed her care! pelle himself had tears in his eyes; he suddenly felt weak and impressible. here was a human child whose heart was beating for him--and how beautiful she was, in her grief at his misfortune! she stood before him, slender, but generously formed; her hair--once so thin and uncared-for--fell in heavy waves over her forehead. she had emerged from her stunted shell into a glorious maturity. "pelle," she said, with downcast eyes, gripping both his hands, "don't go there to- night--wait till tomorrow! all the others are rejoicing over the victory to-night--and so should you! ... come with me, to my room, pelle, you are so unhappy." her face showed him that she was fighting down her tears. she had never looked so much a child as now. "why do you hesitate? come with me! am i not pretty? and i have kept it all for you! i have loved you since the very first time i ever saw you, pelle, and i began to grow, because i wanted to be beautiful for you. i owe nothing to any one but you, and if you don't want me i don't want to go on living!" no, she owed nothing to any one, this child from nowhere, but was solely and entirely her own work. lovely and untouched she came to him in her abandonment, as though she were sent by the good angel of poverty to quicken his heart. beautiful and pure of heart she had grown up out of wretchedness as though out of happiness itself, and where in the world should he rest his head, that was wearied to death, but on the heart of her who to him was child and mother and beloved? "pelle, do you know, there was dancing to-day in the federation building after the meeting on the common, and we young girls had made a green garland, and i was to crown you with it when you came into the hall. oh, we did cry when some one came up and called out to us that they had taken you! but now you have won the wreath after all, haven't you? and you shall sleep sweetly and not think of to-morrow!" and pelle fell asleep with his head on her girlish bosom. and as she lay there gazing at him with the eyes of a mother, he dreamed that denmark's hundred thousand workers were engaged in building a splendid castle, and that he was the architect. and when the castle was finished he marched in at the head of the army of workers; singing they passed through the long corridors, to fill the shining halls. but the halls were not there --the castle had turned into a prison! and they went on and on, but could not find their way out again. * * * * * charles franks, and the distributed proofreaders [transcriber's note: this aims to be an accurate transcription of the original text. to achieve this, we deviate from the standard project gutenberg guidelines in the following respects: * the original line breaks are preserved; * hyphenated words are not rejoined; * page breaks are noted (in the right margin); * printing errors are not corrected. typographically, effort has been made to change the text as little as possible. the 'long s' has been converted, but none of the original spelling has been modified. text which was centred has been indented eight spaces from the left margin. right justified text is indifferently aligned in the original text; here all right justified text is aligned to the right-hand margin. the horizontal and vertical indentation of lines reflects the original text. italics are indicated by underscores, and punctuation has not been included inside the italics except for periods which indicate an abbreviation, or when an entire sentence is italicised. there is a macron over an 'e' on the last line of e v, which has been rendered as 'ê' in this transcription.] the [tp] tragicall historie of hamlet _prince of denmarke_ by william shake-speare. as it hath beene diuerse times acted by his highnesse ser- uants in the cittie of london: as also in the two v- niuersities of cambridge and oxford, and else-where [illustration] at london printed for n.l. and iohn trundell. . [tpv] [illustration] [b ] the tragicall historie of hamlet prince of denmarke. _enter two centinels._ . stand: who is that? . t'is i. . o you come most carefully vpon your watch, . and if you meet _marcellus_ and _horatio_, the partners of my watch, bid them make haste. . i will: see who goes there. _enter horatio and marcellus._ _hor._ friends to this ground. _mar._ and leegemen to the dane, o farewell honest souldier, who hath releeued you? . _barnardo_ hath my place, giue you goodnight. _mar._ holla, _barnardo_. . say, is _horatio_ there? _hor._ a peece of him. . welcome _horatio_, welcome good _marcellus_. _mar._ what hath this thing appear'd againe to night. . i haue seene nothing. _mar._ _horatio_ says tis but our fantasie, and wil not let beliefe take hold of him, touching this dreaded sight twice seene by vs, therefore i haue intreated him a long with vs [b v] to watch the minutes of this night, that if againe this apparition come, he may approoue our eyes, and speake to it. _hor._ tut, t'will not appeare. . sit downe i pray, and let vs once againe assaile your eares that are so fortified, what we haue two nights seene. _hor._ wel, sit we downe, and let vs heare _bernardo_ speake of this. . last night of al, when yonder starre that's west- ward from the pole, had made his course to illumine that part of heauen. where now it burnes, the bell then towling one. _enter ghost._ _mar._ breake off your talke, see where it comes againe. . in the same figure like the king that's dead, _mar._ thou art a scholler, speake to it h_oratio_. . lookes it not like the king? _hor._ most like, it horrors mee with feare and wonder. . it would be spoke to. _mar._ question it h_oratio_. _hor._ what art thou that thus vsurps the state, in which the maiestie of buried _denmarke_ did sometimes walke? by heauen i charge thee speake. _mar._ it is offended. _exit ghost._ . see, it stalkes away. _hor._ stay, speake, speake, by heauen i charge thee speake. _mar._ tis gone and makes no answer. . how now h_oratio_, you tremble and looke pale, is not this something more than fantasie? what thinke you on't? _hor._ afore my god, i might not this beleeue, without the sensible and true auouch of my owne eyes. _mar._ is it not like the king? [b ] _hor._ as thou art to thy selfe, such was the very armor he had on, when he the ambitious _norway_ combated. so frownd he once, when in an angry parle he smot the sleaded pollax on the yce, tis strange. _mar._ thus twice before, and iump at this dead hower, with marshall stalke he passed through our watch. _hor._ in what particular to worke, i know not, but in the thought and scope of my opinion, this bodes some strange eruption to the state. _mar._ good, now sit downe, and tell me he that knowes why this same strikt and most obseruant watch, so nightly toyles the subiect of the land, and why such dayly cost of brazen cannon and forraine marte, for implements of warre, why such impresse of ship-writes, whose sore taske does not diuide the sunday from the weeke: what might be toward that this sweaty march doth make the night ioynt labourer with the day, who is't that can informe me? _hor._ mary that can i, at least the whisper goes so, our late king, who as you know was by forten- brasse of _norway_, thereto prickt on by a most emulous cause, dared to the combate, in which our valiant h_amlet_, for so this side of our knowne world esteemed him, did slay this fortenbrasse, who by a seale compact well ratified, by law and heraldrie, did forfeit with his life all those his lands which he stoode seazed of by the conqueror, against the which a moity competent, was gaged by our king: now sir, yong fortenbrasse, of inapproued mettle hot and full, hath in the skirts of _norway_ here and there, [b v] sharkt vp a sight of lawlesse resolutes for food and diet to some enterprise, that hath a stomacke in't: and this (i take it) is the chiefe head and ground of this our watch. _enter the ghost._ but loe, behold, see where it comes againe, ile crosse it, though it blast me: stay illusion, if there be any good thing to be done, that may doe ease to thee, and grace to mee. speake to mee. if thou art priuy to thy countries fate, which happly foreknowing may preuent, o speake to me, or if thou hast extorted in thy life, or hoorded treasure in the wombe of earth, for which they say you spirites oft walke in death, speake to me, stay and speake, speake, stoppe it _marcellus_. . tis heere. _exit ghost._ h_or._ tis heere. _marc._ tis gone, o we doe it wrong, being so maiesti- call, to offer it the shew of violence, for it is as the ayre invelmorable, and our vaine blowes malitious mockery. . it was about to speake when the cocke crew. h_or._ and then it faded like a guilty thing, vpon a fearefull summons: i haue heard the cocke, that is the trumpet to the morning, doth with his earely and shrill crowing throate, awake the god of day, and at his sound, whether in earth or ayre, in sea or fire, the strauagant and erring spirite hies to his confines, and of the trueth heereof this present obiect made probation. _marc._ it faded on the crowing of the cocke, some say, that euer gainst that season comes, wherein our sauiours birth is celebrated, the bird of dawning singeth all night long, [b ] and then they say, no spirite dare walke abroade, the nights are wholesome, then no planet frikes, no fairie takes, nor witch hath powre to charme, so gratious, and so hallowed is that time. h_or._ so haue i heard, and doe in parte beleeue it: but see the sunne in russet mantle clad, walkes ore the deaw of yon hie mountaine top, breake we our watch vp, and by my aduise, let vs impart what wee haue seene to night vnto yong h_amlet_: for vpon my life this spirite dumbe to vs will speake to him: do you consent, wee shall acquaint him with it, as needefull in our loue, fitting our duetie? _marc._ lets doo't i pray, and i this morning know, where we shall finde him most conueniently. _enter king, queene,_ h_amlet, leartes, corambis, and the two ambassadors, with attendants._ _king_ lordes, we here haue writ to _fortenbrasse_, nephew to olde _norway_, who impudent and bed-rid, scarely heares of this his nephews purpose: and wee heere dispatch yong good _cornelia_, and you _voltemar_ for bearers of these greetings to olde _norway_, giuing to you no further personall power to businesse with the king, then those related articles do shew: farewell, and let your haste commend your dutie. _gent._ in this and all things will wee shew our dutie. _king._ wee doubt nothing, hartily farewel: and now _leartes_; what's the news with you? you said you had a sute what i'st _leartes_? _lea._ my gratious lord, your fauorable licence, now that the funerall rites are all performed, i may haue leaue to go againe to _france_, [b v] for though the fauour of your grace might stay mee, yet something is there whispers in my hart, which makes my minde and spirits bend all for _france_. _king_ haue you your fathers leaue, _leartes_? _cor._ he hath, my lord, wrung from me a forced graunt, and i beseech you grant your highnesse leaue. _king_ with all our heart, _leartes_ fare thee well. _lear._ i in all loue and dutie take my leaue. _king._ and now princely sonne _hamlet_, _exit._ what meanes these sad and melancholy moodes? for your intent going to _wittenberg_, wee hold it most vnmeet and vnconuenient, being the ioy and halfe heart of your mother. therefore let mee intreat you stay in court, all _denmarkes_ hope our coosin and dearest sonne. _ham._ my lord, ti's not the sable sute i weare: no nor the teares that still stand in my eyes, nor the distracted hauiour in the visage, nor all together mixt with outward semblance, is equall to the sorrow of my heart, him haue i lost i must of force forgoe, these but the ornaments and sutes of woe. _king_ this shewes a louing care in you, sonne _hamlet_, but you must thinke your father lost a father, that father dead, lost his, and so shalbe vntill the generall ending. therefore cease laments, it is a fault gainst heauen, fault gainst the dead, a fault gainst nature, and in reasons common course most certaine, none liues on earth, but hee is borne to die. _que._ let not thy mother loose her praiers h_amlet_, stay here with vs, go not to _wittenberg_. _ham._ i shall in all my best obay you madam. _king_ spoke like a kinde and a most louing sonne, and there's no health the king shall drinke to day, but the great canon to the clowdes shall tell [b ] the rowse the king shall drinke vnto prince h_amlet_ _exeunt all but_ h_amlet._ _ham._ o that this too much grieu'd and sallied flesh would melt to nothing, or that the vniuersall globe of heauen would turne al to a chaos! o god, within two months; no not two: married, mine vncle: o let me not thinke of it, my fathers brother: but no more like my father, then i to _hercules_. within two months, ere yet the salt of most vnrighteous teares had left their flushing in her galled eyes: she married, o god, a beast deuoyd of reason would not haue made such speede: frailtie, thy name is woman, why she would hang on him, as if increase of appetite had growne by what it looked on. o wicked wicked speede, to make such dexteritie to incestuous sheetes, ere yet the shooes were olde, the which she followed my dead fathers corse like _nyobe_, all teares: married, well it is not, nor it cannot come to good: but breake my heart, for i must holde my tongue. _enter_ horatio _and_ marcellus. _hor._ health to your lordship. _ham._ i am very glad to see you, (horatio) or i much forget my selfe. _hor._ the same my lord, and your poore seruant euer. _ham._ o my good friend, i change that name with you: but what make you from _wittenberg_ h_oratio_? _marcellus_. _marc._ my good lord. _ham._ i am very glad to see you, good euen sirs; but what is your affaire in _elsenoure_? weele teach you to drinke deepe ere you depart. _hor._ a trowant disposition, my good lord. [b v] _ham._ nor shall you make mee truster of your owne report against your selfe: sir, i know you are no trowant: but what is your affaire in _elsenoure_? _hor._ my good lord, i came to see your fathers funerall. _ham._ o i pre thee do not mocke mee fellow studient, i thinke it was to see my mothers wedding. _hor._ indeede my lord, it followed hard vpon. _ham._ thrift, thrift, h_oratio_, the funerall bak't meates did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables, would i had met my deerest foe in heauen ere euer i had seene that day _horatio_; o my father, my father, me thinks i see my father. _hor._ where my lord? _ham._ why, in my mindes eye h_oratio_. _hor._ i saw him once, he was a gallant king. _ham._ he was a man, take him for all in all, i shall not looke vpon his like againe. _hor._ my lord, i thinke i saw him yesternight, _ham._ saw, who? _hor._ my lord, the king your father. _ham._ ha, ha, the king my father ke you. _hor._ ceasen your admiration for a while with an attentiue eare, till i may deliuer, vpon the witnesse of these gentlemen this wonder to you. _ham._ for gods loue let me heare it. _hor._ two nights together had these gentlemen, _marcellus_ and _bernardo_, on their watch in the dead vast and middle of the night. beene thus incountered by a figure like your father, armed to poynt, exactly _capapea_ appeeres before them thrise, he walkes before their weake and feare oppressed eies within his tronchions length, while they distilled almost to gelly. [c ] with the act of feare stands dumbe, and speake not to him: this to mee in dreadfull secresie impart they did. and i with them the third night kept the watch, where as they had delivered forme of the thing. each part made true and good, the apparition comes: i knew your father, these handes are not more like. _ham._ tis very strange. _hor._ as i do liue, my honord lord, tis true, and wee did thinke it right done, in our dutie to let you know it. _ham._ where was this? _mar._ my lord, vpon the platforme where we watched. _ham._ did you not speake to it? _hor._ my lord we did, but answere made it none, yet once me thought it was about to speake, and lifted vp his head to motion, like as he would speake, but euen then the morning cocke crew lowd, and in all haste, it shruncke in haste away, and vanished our sight. _ham._ indeed, indeed sirs, but this troubles me. hold you the watch to night? _all_ we do my lord. _ham._ armed say ye? _all_ armed my good lord. _ham._ from top to toe? _all._ my good lord, from head to foote. _ham._ why then saw you not his face? _hor._ o yes my lord, he wore his beuer vp. _ham._ how look't he, frowningly? _hor._ a countenance more in sorrow than in anger. _ham._ pale, or red? _hor._ nay, verie pal _ham._ and fixt his eies vpon you. [c v] _hor._ most constantly. _ham._ i would i had beene there. _hor._ it would a much amazed you. _ham._ yea very like, very like, staid it long? _hor._ while one with moderate pace might tell a hundred. _mar._ o longer, longer. _ham._ his beard was grisleld, no. _hor._ it was as i haue seene it in his life, a sable siluer. _ham._ i wil watch to night, perchance t'wil walke againe. _hor._ i warrant it will. _ham._ if it assume my noble fathers person, ile speake to it, if hell it selfe should gape, and bid me hold my peace, gentlemen, if you haue hither consealed this sight, let it be tenible in your silence still, and whatsoeuer else shall chance to night, giue it an vnderstanding, but no tongue, i will requit your loues, so fare you well, vpon the platforme, twixt eleuen and twelue, ile visit you. _all._ our duties to your honor. _exeunt_. _ham._ o your loues, your loues, as mine to you. farewell, my fathers spirit in armes, well, all's not well. i doubt some foule play, would the night were come, till then, sit still my soule, foule deeds will rise though all the world orewhelme them to mens eies. _exit_. _enter leartes_ and _ofelia_. _leart._ my necessaries are inbarkt, i must aboord, but ere i part, marke what i say to thee: i see prince _hamlet_ makes a shew of loue beware _ofelia_, do not trust his vowes, perhaps he loues you now, and now his tongue, speakes from his heart, but yet take heed my sister, [c ] the chariest maide is prodigall enough, if she vnmaske hir beautie to the moone. vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious thoughts, belieu't _ofelia_, therefore keepe a loofe lest that he trip thy honor and thy fame. _ofel._ brother, to this i haue lent attentiue care, and doubt not but to keepe my honour firme, but my deere brother, do not you like to a cunning sophister, teach me the path and ready way to heauen, while you forgetting what is said to me, your selfe, like to a carelesse libertine doth giue his heart, his appetite at ful, and little recks how that his honour dies. _lear._ no, feare it not my deere _ofelia_, here comes my father, occasion smiles vpon a second leaue. _enter corambis._ _cor._ yet here _leartes_? aboord, aboord, for shame, the winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, and you are staid for, there my blessing with thee and these few precepts in thy memory. "be thou familiar, but by no meanes vulgare; "those friends thou hast, and their adoptions tried, "graple them to thee with a hoope of steele, "but do not dull the palme with entertaine, "of euery new vnfleg'd courage, "beware of entrance into a quarrell; but being in, "beare it that the opposed may beware of thee, "costly thy apparrell, as thy purse can buy. "but not exprest in fashion, "for the apparell oft proclaimes the man. and they of _france_ of the chiefe rancke and station are of a most select and generall chiefe in that: "this aboue all, to thy owne selfe be true, and it must follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any one, [c v] farewel, my blessing with thee. _lear._ i humbly take my leaue, farewell _ofelia_, and remember well what i haue said to you. _exit._ _ofel._ it is already lock't within my hart, and you your selfe shall keepe the key of it. _cor._ what i'st _ofelia_ he hath saide to you? _ofel._ somthing touching the prince _hamlet_. _cor._ mary wel thought on, t'is giuen me to vnderstand, that you haue bin too prodigall of your maiden presence vnto prince hamlet, if it be so, as so tis giuen to mee, and that in waie of caution i must tell you; you do not vnderstand your selfe so well as befits my honor, and your credite. _ofel._ my lord, he hath made many tenders of his loue to me. _cor._ tenders, i, i, tenders you may call them. _ofel._ and withall, such earnest vowes. _cor._ springes to catch woodcocks, what, do not i know when the blood doth burne, how prodigall the tongue lends the heart vowes, in briefe, be more scanter of your maiden presence, or tendring thus you'l tender mee a foole. _ofel._ i shall obay my lord in all i may. _cor._ _ofelia_, receiue none of his letters, "for louers lines are snares to intrap the heart; "refuse his tokens, both of them are keyes to vnlocke chastitie vnto desire; come in _ofelia_, such men often proue, "great in their wordes, but little in their loue. _ofel._ i will my lord. _exeunt._ _enter_ hamlet, horatio, _and_ marcellus. _ham._ the ayre bites shrewd; it is an eager and an nipping winde, what houre i'st? _hor._ i think it lacks of twelue, _sound trumpets._ _mar._ no, t'is strucke. _hor._ indeed i heard it not, what doth this mean my lord? [c ] _ham._ o the king doth wake to night, & takes his rowse, keepe wassel, and the swaggering vp-spring reeles, and as he dreames, big draughts of renish downe, the kettle, drumme, and trumpet, thus bray out, the triumphes of his pledge. _hor._ is it a custome here? _ham._ i mary i'st and though i am natiue here, and to the maner borne, it is a custome, more honourd in the breach, then in the obseruance. _enter the ghost._ _hor._ looke my lord, it comes. _ham._ angels and ministers of grace defend vs, be thou a spirite of health, or goblin damn'd, bring with thee ayres from heanen, or blasts from hell: be thy intents wicked or charitable, thou commest in such questionable shape, that i will speake to thee, ile call thee _hamlet_, king, father, royall dane, o answere mee, let mee not burst in ignorance, but say why thy canonizd bones hearsed in death haue burst their ceremonies: why thy sepulcher, in which wee saw thee quietly interr'd, hath burst his ponderous and marble iawes, to cast thee vp againe: what may this meane, that thou, dead corse, againe in compleate steele, reuissets thus the glimses of the moone, making night hideous, and we fooles of nature, so horridely to shake our disposition, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our soules? say, speake, wherefore, what may this meane? _hor._ it beckons you, as though it had something to impart to you alone. _mar._ looke with what courteous action it waues you to a more remoued ground, but do not go with it. [c v] _hor._ no, by no meanes my lord. _ham._ it will not speake, then will i follow it. _hor._ what if it tempt you toward the flood my lord. that beckles ore his bace, into the sea, and there assume some other horrible shape, which might depriue your soueraigntie of reason, and driue you into madnesse: thinke of it. _ham._ still am i called, go on, ile follow thee. _hor._ my lord, you shall not go. _ham._ why what should be the feare? i do not set my life at a pinnes fee, and for my soule, what can it do to that? being a thing immortall, like it selfe, go on, ile follow thee. _mar._ my lord be rulde, you shall not goe. _ham._ my fate cries out, and makes each pety artiue as hardy as the nemeon lyons nerue, still am i cald, vnhand me gentlemen; by heauen ile make a ghost of him that lets me, away i say, go on, ile follow thee. _hor._ he waxeth desperate with imagination. _mar._ something is rotten in the state of _denmarke_. _hor._ haue after; to what issue will this sort? _mar._ lets follow, tis not fit thus to obey him. _exit._ _enter ghost and hamlet._ _ham._ ile go no farther, whither wilt thou leade me? _ghost_ marke me. _ham._ i will. _ghost_ i am thy fathers spirit, doomd for a time to walke the night, and all the day confinde in flaming fire, till the foule crimes done in my dayes of nature are purged and burnt away. _ham._ alas poore ghost. _ghost_ nay pitty me not, but to my vnfolding lend thy listning eare, but that i am forbid [c ] to tell the secrets of my prison house i would a tale vnfold, whose lightest word would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy yong blood, make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular haire to stand on end like quils vpon the fretfull porpentine, but this same blazon must not be, to eares of flesh and blood hamlet, if euer thou didst thy deere father loue. _ham._ o god. _gho._ reuenge his foule, and most vnnaturall murder: _ham._ murder. _ghost_ yea, murder in the highest degree, as in the least tis bad, but mine most foule, beastly, and vnnaturall. _ham._ haste me to knowe it, that with wings as swift as meditation, or the thought of it, may sweepe to my reuenge. _ghost_ o i finde thee apt, and duller shouldst thou be then the fat weede which rootes it selfe in ease on _lethe_ wharffe: briefe let me be. tis giuen out, that sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me; so the whole eare of _denmarke_ is with a forged prosses of my death rankely abusde: but know thou noble youth: he that did sting thy fathers heart, now weares his crowne. _ham._ o my prophetike soule, my vncle! my vncle! _ghost_ yea he, that incestuous wretch, wonne to his will o wicked will, and gifts! that haue the power (with gifts, so to seduce my most seeming vertuous queene, but vertne, as it neuer will be moued, though lewdnesse court it in a shape of heauen, so lust, though to a radiant angle linckt, would fate it selfe from a celestiall bedde, and prey on garbage: but soft, me thinkes i sent the mornings ayre, briefe let me be, sleeping within my orchard, my custome alwayes [c v] in the after noone, vpon my secure houre thy vncle came, with iuyce of hebona in a viall, and through the porches of my eares did powre the leaprous distilment, whose effect hold such an enmitie with blood of man, that swift as quickesilner, it posteth through the naturall gates and allies of the body, and turnes the thinne and wholesome blood like eager dropings into milke. and all my smoothe body, barked, and tetterd ouer. thus was i sleeping by a brothers hand of crowne, of queene, of life, of dignitie at once depriued, no reckoning made of, but sent vnto my graue, with all my accompts and sinnes vpon my head, o horrible, most horrible! _ham._ o god! _ghost_ if thou hast nature in thee, beare it not, but howsoeuer, let not thy heart conspire against thy mother aught, leaue her to heauen, and to the burthen that her conscience beares. i must be gone, the glo-worme shewes the martin to be neere, and gin's to pale his vneffectuall fire: hamlet adue, adue, adue: remember me. _exit_ _ham._ o all you hoste of heauen! o earth, what else? and shall i couple hell; remember thee? yes thou poore ghost; from the tables of my memorie, ile wipe away all sawes of bookes, all triuiall fond conceites that euer youth, or else obseruance noted, and thy remembrance, all alone shall sit. yes, yes, by heauen, a damnd pernitious villaine, murderons, bawdy, smiling damned villaine, (my tables) meet it is i set it downe, that one may smile, and smile, and be a villayne; [d ] at least i am sure, it may be so in _denmarke_. so vncle, there you are, there you are. now to the words; it is adue adue: remember me, soe t'is enough i haue sworne. _hor._ my lord, my lord. _enter. horatio,_ _mar._ lord hamlet. _and marcellus._ _hor._ ill, lo, lo, ho, ho. _mar._ ill, lo, lo, so, ho, so, come boy, come. _hor._ heauens secure him. _mar._ how i'st my noble lord? _hor._ what news my lord? _ham._ o wonderfull, wonderful. _hor._ good my lord tel it. _ham._ no not i, you'l reueale it. _hor._ not i my lord by heauen. _mar._ nor i my lord. _ham._ how say you then? would hart of man once thinke it? but you'l be secret. _both_. i by heauen, my lord. _ham._ there's neuer a villaine dwelling in all _denmarke_, but hee's an arrant knaue. _hor._ there need no ghost come from the graue to tell you this. _ham._ right, you are in the right, and therefore i holde it meet without more circumstance at all, wee shake hands and part; you as your busines and desiers shall leade you: for looke you, euery man hath busines, and desires, such as it is; and for my owne poore parte, ile go pray. _hor._ these are but wild and wherling words, my lord. _ham._. i am sory they offend you; hartely, yes faith hartily. _hor._ ther's no offence my lord. _ham._ yes by saint _patrike_ but there is h_oratio_, and much offence too, touching this vision, it is an honest ghost, that let mee tell you, for your desires to know what is betweene vs, [d v] or emaister it as you may: and now kind frends, as yon are frends, schollers and gentlmen, grant mee one poore request. _both_. what i'st my lord? _ham._ neuer make known what you haue seene to night. _both_. my lord, we will not. _ham._ nay but sweare. _hor._ in faith my lord not i. _mar._ nor i my lord in faith. _ham._ nay vpon my sword, indeed vpon my sword. _gho._ sweare. _the gost under the stage_. _ham._ ha, ha, come you here, this fellow in the sellerige, here consent to sweare. _hor._ propose the oth my lord. _ham._ neuer to speake what you haue seene to night, sweare by my sword. _gost_. sweare. _ham._ _hic & vbique_; nay then weele shift our ground: come hither gentlemen, and lay your handes againe vpon this sword, neuer to speake of that which you haue seene, sweare by my sword. _ghost_ sweare. _ham._ well said old mole, can'st worke in the earth? so fast, a worthy pioner, once more remoue. _hor._ day and night, but this is wondrous strange. _ham._ and therefore as a stranger giue it welcome, there are more things in heauen and earth _horatio_, then are dream't of, in your philosophie, but come here, as before you neuer shall how strange or odde soere i beare my selfe, as i perchance hereafter shall thinke meet, to put an anticke disposition on, that you at such times seeing me, neuer shall with armes; incombred thus, or this head shake, [d ] or by pronouncing some vndoubtfull phrase, as well well, wee know, or wee could and if we would, or there be, and if they might, or such ambiguous. giuing out to note, that you know aught of mee, this not to doe, so grace, and mercie at your most need helpe you, sweare. _ghost_. sweare. _ham._ rest, rest, perturbed spirit: so gentlemen, in all my loue i do commend mee to you, and what so poore a man as _hamlet_ may, to pleasure you, god willing shall not want, nay come lett's go together, but stil your fingers on your lippes i pray, the time is out of ioynt, o cursed spite, that euer i was borne to set it right, nay come lett's go together. _exeunt._ _enter corambis, and montano._ _cor._ _montano_, here, these letters to my sonne, and this same mony with my blessing to him, and bid him ply his learning good _montano_. _mon._ i will my lord. _cor._ you shall do very well _montano_, to say thus, i knew the gentleman, or know his father, to inquire the manner of his life, as thus; being amongst his acquaintance, you may say, you saw him at such a time, marke you mee, at game, or drincking, swearing, or drabbing, you may go so farre. _mon._ my lord, that will impeach his reputation. _cor._ i faith not a whit, no not a whit, now happely hee closeth with you in the consequence, as you may bridle it not disparage him a iote. what was i a bout to say, _mon._ he closeth with him in the consequence. _cor._ i, you say right, he closeth with him thus, this will hee say, let mee see what hee will say, [d v] mary this, i saw him yesterday, or tother day, or then, or at such a time, a dicing, or at tennis, i or drincking drunke, or entring of a howse of lightnes viz. brothell, thus sir do wee that know the world, being men of reach, by indirections, finde directions forth, and so shall you my sonne; you ha me, ha you not? _mon._ i haue my lord. _cor._ wel, fare you well, commend mee to him. _mon._ i will my lord, _cor._ and bid him ply his musicke _mon._ my lord i wil. _exit._ _enter, ofelia_. _cor._ farewel, how now _ofelia_, what's the news with you? _ofe._ o my deare father, such a change in nature, so great an alteration in a prince, so pitifull to him, fearefull to mee, a maidens eye ne're looked on. _cor._ why what's the matter my _ofelia_? _of._ o yong prince _hamlet_, the only floure of _denmark_, hee is bereft of all the wealth he had, the iewell that ador'nd his feature most is filcht and stolne away, his wit's bereft him, hee found mee walking in the gallery all alone, there comes hee to mee, with a distracted looke, his garters lagging downe, his shooes vntide, and fixt his eyes so stedfast on my face, as if they had vow'd, this is their latest obiect. small while he stoode, but gripes me by the wrist, and there he holdes my pulse till with a sigh he doth vnclaspe his holde, and parts away silent, as is the mid time of the night: and as he went, his eie was still on mee, for thus his head ouer his shoulder looked, he seemed to finde the way without his eies: for out of doores he went without their helpe, [d ] and so did leaue me. _cor._ madde for thy loue, what haue you giuen him any crosse wordes of late? _ofelia_ i did repell his letters, deny his gifts, as you did charge me. _cor._ why that hath made him madde: by heau'n t'is as proper for our age to cast beyond ourselues, as t'is for the yonger sort to leaue their wantonnesse. well, i am sory that i was so rash: but what remedy? lets to the king, this madnesse may prooue, though wilde a while, yet more true to thy loue. _exeunt._ _enter king and queene, rossencraft, and gilderstone._ _king_ right noble friends, that our deere cosin hamlet hath lost the very heart of all his sence, it is most right, and we most sory for him: therefore we doe desire, euen as you tender our care to him, and our great loue to you, that you will labour but to wring from him the cause and ground of his distemperancie. doe this, the king of _denmarke_ shal be thankefull. _ros._ my lord, whatsoeuer lies within our power your maiestie may more commaund in wordes then vse perswasions to your liege men, bound by loue, by duetie, and obedience. _guil._ what we may doe for both your maiesties to know the griefe troubles the prince your sonne, we will indeuour all the best we may, so in all duetie doe we take our leaue. _king_ thankes guilderstone, and gentle rossencraft. _que._ thankes rossencraft, and gentle gilderstone. _enter corambis and ofelia._ _cor._ my lord, the ambassadors are ioyfully return'd from _norway_. _king_ thou still hast beene the father of good news. _cor._ haue i my lord? i assure your grace, [d v] i holde my duetie as i holde my life, both to my god, and to my soueraigne king: and i beleeue, or else this braine of mine hunts not the traine of policie so well as it had wont to doe, but i haue found the very depth of hamlets lunacie. _queene_ god graunt he hath. _enter the ambassadors._ _king_ now _voltemar_, what from our brother _norway_? _volt._ most faire returnes of greetings and desires, vpon our first he sent forth to suppresse his nephews leuies, which to him appear'd to be a preparation gainst the polacke: but better look't into, he truely found it was against your highnesse, whereat grieued, that so his sickenesse, age, and impotence, was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests on _fortenbrasse_, which he in briefe obays, receiues rebuke from _norway_: and in fine, makes vow before his vncle, neuer more to giue the assay of armes against your maiestie, whereon olde _norway_ ouercome with ioy, giues him three thousand crownes in annuall fee, and his commission to employ those souldiers, so leuied as before, against the polacke, with an intreaty heerein further shewne, that it would please you to giue quiet passe through your dominions, for that enterprise on such regardes of safety and allowances as therein are set downe. _king_ it likes vs well, and at fit time and leasure weele reade and answere these his articles, meane time we thanke you for your well tooke labour: go to your rest, at night weele feast togither: right welcome home. _exeunt ambassadors._ _cor._ this busines is very well dispatched. [d ] now my lord, touching the yong prince hamlet, certaine it is that hee is madde: mad let vs grant him then: now to know the cause of this effect, or else to say the cause of this defect, for this effect defectiue comes by cause. _queene_ good my lord be briefe. _cor._ madam i will: my lord, i haue a daughter, haue while shee's mine: for that we thinke is surest, we often loose: now to the prince. my lord, but note this letter, the which my daughter in obedience deliuer'd to my handes. _king_ reade it my lord. _cor._ marke my lord. doubt that in earth is fire, doubt that the starres doe moue, doubt trueth to be a liar, but doe not doubt i loue. to the beautifull _ofelia_: thine euer the most vnhappy prince _hamlet_. my lord, what doe you thinke of me? i, or what might you thinke when i sawe this? _king_ as of a true friend and a most louing subiect. _cor._ i would be glad to prooue so. now when i saw this letter, thus i bespake my maiden: lord _hamlet_ is a prince out of your starre, and one that is vnequall for your loue: therefore i did commaund her refuse his letters, deny his tokens, and to absent her selfe. shee as my childe obediently obey'd me. now since which time, seeing his loue thus cross'd, which i tooke to be idle, and but sport, he straitway grew into a melancholy, from that vnto a fast, then vnto distraction, then into a sadnesse, from that vnto a madnesse, and so by continuance, and weakenesse of the braine [d v] into this frensie, which now possesseth him: and if this be not true, take this from this. _king_ thinke you t'is so? _cor._ how? so my lord, i would very faine know that thing that i haue saide t'is so, positiuely, and it hath fallen out otherwise. nay, if circumstances leade me on, ile finde it out, if it were hid as deepe as the centre of the earth. _king_. how should wee trie this same? _cor._ mary my good lord thus, the princes walke is here in the galery, there let _ofelia_, walke vntill hee comes: your selfe and i will stand close in the study, there shall you heare the effect of all his hart, and if it proue any otherwise then loue, then let my censure faile an other time. _king_. see where hee comes poring vppon a booke. _enter hamlet._ _cor._ madame, will it please your grace to leaue vs here? _que._ with all my hart. _exit._ _cor._ and here _ofelia_, reade you on this booke, and walke aloofe, the king shal be vnseene. _ham._ to be, or not to be, i there's the point, to die, to sleepe, is that all? i all: no, to sleepe, to dreame, i mary there it goes, for in that dreame of death, when wee awake, and borne before an euerlasting iudge, from whence no passenger euer retur'nd, the vndiscouered country, at whose sight the happy smile, and the accursed damn'd. but for this, the ioyfull hope of this, whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? the widow being oppressd, the orphan wrong'd; [e ] the taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne, and thousand more calamities besides, to grunt and sweate vnder this weary life, when that he may his full _quietus_ make, with a bare bodkin, who would this indure, but for a hope of something after death? which pusles the braine, and doth confound the sence, which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue, than flie to others that we know not of. i that, o this conscience makes cowardes of vs all, lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred. _ofel._ my lord, i haue sought opportunitie, which now i haue, to redeliuer to your worthy handes, a small remem- brance, such tokens which i haue receiued of you. _ham._ are you faire? _ofel._ my lord. _ham._ are you honest? _ofel._ what meanes my lord? _ham._ that if you be faire and honest, your beauty should admit no discourse to your honesty. _ofel._ my lord, can beauty haue better priuiledge than with honesty? _ham._ yea mary may it; for beauty may transforme honesty, from what she was into a bawd: then honesty can transforme beauty: this was sometimes a paradox, but now the time giues it scope. i neuer gaue you nothing. _ofel._ my lord, you know right well you did, and with them such earnest vowes of loue, as would haue moou'd the stoniest breast aliue, but now too true i finde, rich giftes waxe poore, when giuers grow vnkinde. _ham._ i neuer loued you. _ofel._ you made me beleeue you did. _ham._ o thou shouldst not a beleeued me! [e v] go to a nunnery goe, why shouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? i am my selfe indifferent honest, but i could accuse my selfe of such crimes it had beene better my mother had ne're borne me, o i am very prowde, ambitious, disdainefull, with more sinnes at my becke, then i haue thoughts to put them in, what should such fellowes as i do, crawling between heauen and earth? to a nunnery goe, we are arrant knaues all, beleeue none of vs, to a nunnery goe. _ofel._ o heauens secure him! _ham._ wher's thy father? _ofel._ at home my lord. _ham._ for gods sake let the doores be shut on him, he may play the foole no where but in his owne house: to a nunnery goe. _ofel._ help him good god. _ham._ if thou dost marry, ile giue thee this plague to thy dowry: be thou as chaste as yce, as pure as snowe, thou shalt not scape calumny, to a nunnery goe. _ofel._ alas, what change is this? _ham._ but if thou wilt needes marry, marry a foole, for wisemen know well enough, what monsters you make of them, to a nunnery goe. _ofel._ pray god restore him. _ham._ nay, i haue heard of your paintings too, god hath giuen you one face, and you make your selues another, you fig, and you amble, and you nickname gods creatures, making your wantonnesse, your ignorance, a pox, t'is scuruy, ile no more of it, it hath made me madde: ile no more marriages, all that are married but one, shall liue, the rest shall keepe as they are, to a nunnery goe, to a nunnery goe. _exit._[e ] _ofe._ great god of heauen, what a quicke change is this? the courtier, scholler, souldier, all in him, all dasht and splinterd thence, o woe is me, to a seene what i haue seene, see what i see. _exit._ _king_ loue? no, no, that's not the cause, _enter king and_ some deeper thing it is that troubles him. _corambis._ _cor._ wel, something it is: my lord, content you a while, i will my selfe goe feele him; let me worke, ile try him euery way: see where he comes, send you those gentlemen, let me alone to finde the depth of this, away, be gone. _exit king._ now my good lord, do you know me? _enter hamlet._ _ham._ yea very well, y'are a fishmonger. _cor._ not i my lord. _ham._ then sir, i would you were so honest a man, for to be honest, as this age goes, is one man to be pickt out of tenne thousand. _cor._ what doe you reade my lord? _ham._ wordes, wordes. _cor._ what's the matter my lord? _ham._ betweene who? _car._ i meane the matter you reade my lord. _ham._ mary most vile heresie: for here the satyricall satyre writes, that olde men haue hollow eyes, weake backes, grey beardes, pittifull weake hammes, gowty legges, all which sir, i most potently beleeue not: for sir, your selfe shalbe olde as i am, if like a crabbe, you could goe backeward. _cor._ how pregnant his replies are, and full of wit: yet at first he tooke me for a fishmonger: all this comes by loue, the vemencie of loue, and when i was yong, i was very idle, and suffered much extasie in loue, very neere this: will you walke out of the aire my lord? _ham._ into my graue. [e v] _cor._ by the masse that's out of the aire indeed, very shrewd answers, my lord i will take my leaue of you. _enter gilderstone, and rossencraft._ _ham._ you can take nothing from me sir, i will more willingly part with all, olde doating foole. _cor,_ you seeke prince hamlet, see, there he is. _exit._ _gil._ health to your lordship. _ham._ what, gilderstone, and rossencraft, welcome kinde schoole-fellowes to _elsanoure_. _gil._ we thanke your grace, and would be very glad you were as when we were at _wittenberg_. _ham._ i thanke you, but is this visitation free of your selues, or were you not sent for? tell me true, come, i know the good king and queene sent for you, there is a kinde of confession in your eye: come, i know you were sent for. _gil._ what say you? _ham._ nay then i see how the winde sits, come, you were sent for. _ross._ my lord, we were, and willingly if we might, know the cause and ground of your discontent. _ham._ why i want preferment. _ross._ i thinke not so my lord. _ham._ yes faith, this great world you see contents me not, no nor the spangled heauens, nor earth, nor sea, no nor man that is so glorious a creature, contents not me, no nor woman too, though you laugh. _gil._ my lord, we laugh not at that. _ham._ why did you laugh then, when i said, man did not content mee? _gil._ my lord, we laughed when you said, man did not content you. what entertainment the players shall haue, we boorded them a the way: they are comming to you. [e ] _ham._ players, what players be they? _ross._ my lord, the tragedians of the citty, those that you tooke delight to see so often. (stie? _ham._ how comes it that they trauell? do they grow re- _gil._ no my lord, their reputation holds as it was wont. _ham._ how then? _gil._ yfaith my lord, noueltie carries it away, for the principall publike audience that came to them, are turned to priuate playes, and to the humour of children. _ham._ i doe not greatly wonder of it, for those that would make mops and moes at my vncle, when my father liued, now giue a hundred, two hundred pounds for his picture: but they shall be welcome, he that playes the king shall haue tribute of me, the ventrous knight shall vse his foyle and target, the louer shall sigh gratis, the clowne shall make them laugh (for't, that are tickled in the lungs, or the blanke verse shall halt and the lady shall haue leaue to speake her minde freely. _the trumpets sound, enter corambis._ do you see yonder great baby? he is not yet out of his swadling clowts. _gil._ that may be, for they say an olde man is twice a childe. (players, _ham._ ile prophecie to you, hee comes to tell mee a the you say true, a monday last, t'was so indeede. _cor._ my lord, i haue news to tell you. _ham._ my lord, i haue news to tell you: when _rossios_ was an actor in _rome_. _cor._ the actors are come hither, my lord. _ham._ buz, buz. _cor._ the best actors in christendome, either for comedy, tragedy, historie, pastorall, pastorall, historicall, historicall, comicall, [e v] comicall historicall, pastorall, tragedy historicall: _seneca_ cannot be too heauy, nor _plato_ too light: for the law hath writ those are the onely men. _ha._ o _iepha_ iudge of _israel_! what a treasure hadst thou? _cor._ why what a treasure had he my lord? _ham._ why one faire daughter, and no more, the which he loued passing well. _cor._ a, stil harping a my daughter! well my lord, if you call me _iepha_, i hane a daughter that i loue passing well. _ham._ nay that followes not. _cor._ what followes then my lord? _ham._ why by lot, or god wot, or as it came to passe, and so it was, the first verse of the godly ballet wil tel you all: for look you where my abridgement comes: welcome maisters, welcome all, _enter players._ what my olde friend, thy face is vallanced since i saw thee last, com'st thou to beard me in _denmarke_? my yong lady and mistris, burlady but your (you were: ladiship is growne by the altitude of a chopine higher than pray god sir your voyce, like a peece of vncurrant golde, be not crack't in the ring: come on maisters, weele euen too't, like french falconers, flie at any thing we see, come, a taste of your quallitie, a speech, a passionate speech. _players_ what speech my good lord? _ham._ i heard thee speake a speech once, but it was neuer acted: or if it were, neuer aboue twice, for as i remember, it pleased not the vulgar, it was cauiary to the million: but to me and others, that receiued it in the like kinde, cried in the toppe of their iudgements, an excellent play, set downe with as great modestie as cunning: one said there was no sallets in the lines to make thê sauory, but called it an honest methode, as wholesome as sweete. [e ] come, a speech in it i chiefly remember was _Æneas_ tale to _dido_, and then especially where he talkes of princes slaughter, if it liue in thy memory beginne at this line, let me see. the rugged _pyrrus_, like th'arganian beast: no t'is not so, it begins with _pirrus_: o i haue it. the rugged _pirrus_, he whose sable armes, blacke as his purpose did the night resemble, when he lay couched in the ominous horse, hath now his blacke and grimme complexion smeered with heraldry more dismall, head to foote, now is he totall guise, horridely tricked with blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sonnes, back't and imparched in calagulate gore, rifted in earth and fire, olde grandsire _pryam_ seekes: so goe on. (accent. _cor._ afore god, my lord, well spoke, and with good _play._ anone he finds him striking too short at greeks, his antike sword rebellious to this arme, lies where it falles, vnable to resist. _pyrrus_ at _pryam_ driues, but all in rage, strikes wide, but with the whiffe and winde of his fell sword, th' unnerued father falles. _cor._ enough my friend, t'is too long. _ham._ it shall to the barbers with your beard: a pox, hee's for a iigge, or a tale of bawdry, or else he sleepes, come on to _hecuba_, come. _play._ but who o who had seene the mobled queene? _cor._ mobled queene is good, faith very good. _play._ all in the alarum and feare of death rose vp, and o're her weake and all ore-teeming loynes, a blancket and a kercher on that head, where late the diademe stoode, who this had seene with tongue inuenom'd speech, would treason haue pronounced, [e v] for if the gods themselues had seene her then, when she saw _pirrus_ with malitious strokes, mincing her husbandes limbs, it would haue made milch the burning eyes of heauen, and passion in the gods. _cor._ looke my lord if he hath not changde his colour, and hath teares in his eyes: no more good heart, no more. _ham._ t'is well, t'is very well, i pray my lord, will you see the players well bestowed, i tell you they are the chronicles and briefe abstracts of the time, after your death i can tell you, you were better haue a bad epiteeth, then their ill report while you liue. _cor._ my lord, i will vse them according to their deserts. _ham._ o farre better man, vse euery man after his deserts, then who should scape whipping? vse them after your owne honor and dignitie, the lesse they deserue, the greater credit's yours. _cor._ welcome my good fellowes. _exit._ _ham._ come hither maisters, can you not play the mur- der of _gonsago_? _players_ yes my lord. _ham._ and could'st not thou for a neede study me some dozen or sixteene lines, which i would set downe and insert? _players_ yes very easily my good lord. _ham._ t'is well, i thanke you: follow that lord: and doe you heare sirs? take heede you mocke him not. gentlemen, for your kindnes i thanke you, and for a time i would desire you leaue me. _gil._ our loue and duetie is at your commaund. _exeunt all but hamlet._ _ham._ why what a dunghill idiote slaue am i? why these players here draw water from eyes: for hecuba, why what is hecuba to him, or he to hecuba? [f ] what would he do and if he had my losse? his father murdred, and a crowne bereft him, he would turne all his teares to droppes of blood, amaze the standers by with his laments, strike more then wonder in the iudiciall eares, confound the ignorant, and make mute the wise, indeede his passion would be generall. yet i like to an asse and iohn a dreames, hauing my father murdred by a villaine, stand still, and let it passe, why sure i am a coward: who pluckes me by the beard, or twites my nose, giue's me the lie i'th throate downe to the lungs, sure i should take it, or else i haue no gall, or by this i should a fatted all the region kites with this slaues offell, this damned villaine, treachcrous, bawdy, murderous villaine: why this is braue, that i the sonne of my deare father, should like a scalion, like a very drabbe thus raile in wordes. about my braine, i haue heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play, hath, by the very cunning of the scene, confest a murder committed long before. this spirit that i haue seene may be the diuell, and out of my weakenesse and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such men, doth seeke to damne me, i will haue sounder proofes, the play's the thing, wherein i'le catch the conscience of the king. _exit._ _enter the king, queene, and lordes._ _king_ lordes, can you by no meanes finde the cause of our sonne hamlets lunacie? you being so neere in loue, euen from his youth, me thinkes should gaine more than a stranger should. _gil._ my lord, we haue done all the best we could, [f v] to wring from him the cause of all his griefe, but still he puts vs off, and by no meanes would make an answere to that we exposde. _ross._ yet was he something more inclin'd to mirth before we left him, and i take it, he hath giuen order for a play to night, at which he craues your highnesse company. _king_ with all our heart, it likes vs very well: gentlemen, seeke still to increase his mirth, spare for no cost, our coffers shall be open, and we vnto your selues will still be thankefull. _both_ in all wee can, be sure you shall commaund. _queene_ thankes gentlemen, and what the queene of may pleasure you, be sure you shall not want. (_denmarke_ _gil._ weele once againe vnto the noble prince. _king_ thanks to you both; gertred you'l see this play. _queene_ my lord i will, and it ioyes me at the soule he is incln'd to any kinde of mirth. _cor._ madame, i pray be ruled by me: and my good soueraigne, giue me leaue to speake, we cannot yet finde out the very ground of his distemperance, therefore i holde it meete, if so it please you, else they shall not meete, and thus it is. _king_ what i'st _corambis_? (done, _cor._ mary my good lord this, soone when the sports are madam, send you in haste to speake with him, and i my selfe will stand behind the arras, there question you the cause of all his griefe, and then in loue and nature vnto you, hee'le tell you all: my lord, how thinke you on't? _king_ it likes vs well, gerterd, what say you? _queene_ with all my heart, soone will i send for him. _cor._ my selfe will be that happy messenger, who hopes his griefe will be reueal'd to her. _exeunt omnes_ _enter hamlet and the players_. [f ] _ham._ pronounce me this spcech trippingly a the tongue as i taught thee, mary and you mouth it, as a many of your players do i'de rather heare a towne bull bellow, then such a fellow speake my lines. nor do not saw the aire thus with your hands, but giue euerything his action with temperance. (fellow, o it offends mee to the soule, to heare a rebellious periwig to teare a passion in totters, into very ragges, to split the eares of the ignorant, who for the (noises, most parte are capable or nothing but dumbe shewes and i would haue such a fellow whipt, or o're doing, tarmagant it out, herodes herod. _players_ my lorde, wee haue indifferently reformed that among vs. _ham._ the better, the better, mend it all together: there be fellowes that i haue seene play, and heard others commend them, and that highly too, that hauing neither the gate or christian, pagan, nor turke, haue so strutted and bellowed, that you would a thought, some of natures journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanitie, so abhominable: take heede, auoyde it. _players_ i warrant you my lord. _ham._ and doe you heare? let not your clowne speake more then is set downe, there be of them i can tell you that will laugh themselues, to set on some quantitie of barren spectators to laugh with them, albeit there is some necessary point in the play then to be obserued: o t'is vile, and shewes a pittifull ambition in the foole that vseth it. and then you haue some agen, that keepes one sute of ieasts, as a man is knowne by one sute of apparell, and gentlemen quotes his ieasts downe in their tables, before they come to the play, as thus: [f v] cannot you stay till i eate my porrige? and, you owe me a quarters wages: and, my coate wants a cullison: and, your beere is sowre: and, blabbering with his lips, and thus keeping in his cinkapase of ieasts, when, god knows, the warme clowne cannot make a iest vnlesse by chance, as the blinde man catcheth a hare: maisters tell him of it. _players_ we will my lord. _ham._ well, goe make you ready. _exeunt players._ _horatio_. heere my lord. _ham._ _horatio_, thou art euen as iust a man, as e're my conuersation cop'd withall. _hor._ o my lord! _ham._ nay why should i flatter thee? why should the poore be flattered? what gaine should i receiue by flattering thee, that nothing hath but thy good minde? let flattery sit on those time-pleasing tongs, to glose with them that loues to heare their praise, and not with such as thou _horatio_. there is a play to night, wherein one sceane they haue comes very neere the murder of my father, when thou shalt see that act afoote, marke thou the king, doe but obserue his lookes, for i mine eies will riuet to his face: and if he doe not bleach, and change at that, it is a dammed ghost that we haue seene. _horatio_, haue a care, obserue him well. _hor._ my lord, mine eies shall still be on his face, and not the smallest alteration that shall appeare in him, but i shall note it. _ham._ harke, they come. _enter king, queene, corambis, and other lords._ (a play? _king_. how now son _hamlet_, how fare you, shall we haue _ham_. yfaith the camelions dish, not capon cramm'd, feede a the ayre. [f ] i father: my lord, you playd in the vniuersitie. _cor._ that i did my l: and i was counted a good actor. _ham_. what did you enact there? _cor._ my lord, i did act _iulius cæsar_, i was killed in the capitol, _brutus_ killed me. _ham_. it was a brute parte of him, to kill so capitall a calfe. come, be these players ready? _queene_ hamlet come sit downe by me. _ham._ no by my faith mother, heere's a mettle more at- lady will you giue me leaue, and so forth: (tractiue: to lay my head in your lappe? _ofel._ no my lord. (trary matters? _ham._ vpon your lap, what do you thinke i meant con- _enter in dumbe shew, the king and the queene, he sits downe in an arbor, she leaues him: then enters luci- anus with poyson in a viall, and powres it in his eares, and goes away: then the queene commmeth and findes him dead: and goes away with the other._ _ofel._ what meanes this my lord? _enter the prologue._ _ham._ this is myching mallico, that meanes my chiefe. _ofel._ what doth this meane my lord? _ham._ you shall heare anone, this fellow will tell you all. _ofel._ will he tell vs what this shew meanes? _ham._ i, or any shew you'le shew him, be not afeard to shew, hee'le not be afeard to tell: o, these players cannot keepe counsell, thei'le tell all. _prol._ for vs, and for our tragedie, here stowpiug to your clemencie, we begge your hearing patiently. _ham._ is't a prologue, or a poesie for a ring? _ofel._ t'is short, my lord. _ham._ as womens loue. _enter the duke and dutchesse._ _duke_ full fortie yeares are past, their date is gone, since happy time ioyn'd both our hearts as one: [f v] and now the blood that fill'd my youthfull veines, runnes weakely in their pipes, and all the straines of musicke, which whilome pleasde mine eare, is now a burthen that age cannot beare: and therefore sweete nature must pay his due, to heauen must i, and leaue the earth with you. _dutchesse_ o say not so, lest that you kill my heart, when death takes you, let life from me depart. _duke_ content thy selfe, when ended is my date, thon maist (perchance) haue a more noble mate, more wise, more youthfull, and one. _dutchesse_ o speake no more for then i am accurst, none weds the second, but she kils the first: a second time i kill my lord that's dead, when second husband kisses me in bed. _ham._ o wormewood, wormewood! _duke_ i doe beleeue you sweete, what now you speake, but what we doe determine oft we breake, for our demises stil are ouerthrowne, our thoughts are ours, their end's none of our owne: so thinke you will no second husband wed, but die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. _dutchesse_ both here and there pursue me lasting strife, if once a widdow, euer i be wife. _ham._ if she should breake now. _duke_ t'is deepely sworne, sweete leaue me here a while, my spirites growe dull, and faine i would beguile the tedi- ous time with sleepe. _dutchesse_ sleepe rocke thy braine, and neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine. _exit lady_ _ham._ madam, how do you like this play? _queene_ the lady protests too much. _ham._ o but shee'le keepe her word. _king_ haue you heard the argument, is there no offence in it? _ham._ no offence in the world, poyson in iest, poison in [f ] _king_ what do you call the name of the play? (iest. _ham._ mouse-trap: mary how trapically: this play is the image of a murder done in _guyana_, _albertus_ was the dukes name, his wife _baptista_, father, it is a knauish peece a worke: but what a that, it toucheth not vs, you and i that haue free soules, let the galld iade wince, this is one _lucianus_ nephew to the king. _ofel._ ya're as good as a _chorus_ my lord. _ham._ i could interpret the loue you beare, if i sawe the poopies dallying. _ofel._ y'are very pleasant my lord. _ham._ who i, your onlie jig-maker, why what shoulde a man do but be merry? for looke how cheerefully my mother lookes, my father died within these two houres. _ofel._ nay, t'is twice two months, my lord. _ham._ two months, nay then let the diuell weare blacke, for i'le haue a sute of sables: iesus, two months dead, and not forgotten yet? nay then there's some likelyhood, a gentlemans death may outliue memorie, but by my faith hee must build churches then, or els hee must follow the olde epitithe, with hoh, with ho, the hobi-horse is forgot. _ofel._ your iests are keene my lord. _ham._ it would cost you a groning to take them off. _ofel._ still better and worse. _ham._ so you must take your husband, begin. murdred begin, a poxe, leaue thy damnable faces and begin, come, the croking rauen doth bellow for reuenge. _murd._ thoughts blacke, hands apt, drugs fit, and time confederate season, else no creature seeing: (agreeing. thou mixture rancke, of midnight weedes collected, with _hecates_ bane thrise blasted, thrise infected, thy naturall magicke, and dire propertie, one wholesome life vsurps immediately. _exit._ _ham._ he poysons him for his estate. [f v] _king_ lights, i will to bed. _cor._ the king rises, lights hoe. _exeunt king and lordes._ _ham._ what, frighted with false fires? then let the stricken deere goe weepe, the hart vngalled play, for some must laugh, while some must weepe, thus runnes the world away. _hor._ the king is mooued my lord. _hor._ i _horatio_, i'le take the ghosts word for more then all the coyne in _denmarke_. _enter rossencraft and gilderstone._ _ross._ now my lord, how i'st with you? _ham._ and if the king like not the tragedy, why then belike he likes it not perdy. _ross._ we are very glad to see your grace so pleasant, my good lord, let vs againe intreate (ture to know of you the ground and cause of your distempera- _gil._ my lord, your mother craues to speake with you. _ham._ we shall obey, were she ten times our mother. _ross._ but my good lord, shall i intreate thus much? _ham._ i pray will you play vpon this pipe? _ross._ alas my lord i cannot. _ham._ pray will you. _gil._ i haue no skill my lord. _ham._ why looke, it is a thing of nothing, t'is but stopping of these holes, and with a little breath from your lips, it will giue most delicate musick. _gil._ but this cannot wee do my lord. _ham._ pray now, pray hartily, i beseech you. _ros._ my lord wee cannot. (me? _ham._ why how vnworthy a thing would you make of you would seeme to know my stops, you would play vpon [g ] you would search the very inward part of my hart, mee, and diue into the secreet of my soule. zownds do you thinke i am easier to be pla'yd on, then a pipe? call mee what instrument you will, though you can frett mee, yet you can not play vpon mee, besides, to be demanded by a spunge. _ros._ how a spunge my lord? _ham._ i sir, a spunge, that sokes vp the kings countenance, fauours, and rewardes, that makes his liberalitie your store house: but such as you, do the king, in the end, best seruise; for hee doth keep you as an ape doth nuttes, in the corner of his iaw, first mouthes you, then swallowes you: so when hee hath need of you, t'is but squeesing of you, and spunge, you shall be dry againe, you shall. _ros._ wel my lord wee'le take our leaue. _ham_ farewell, farewell, god blesse you. _exit rossencraft and gilderstone._ _enter corambis_ _cor._ my lord, the queene would speake with you. _ham._ do you see yonder clowd in the shape of a camell? _cor._ t'is like a camell in deed. _ham._ now me thinkes it's like a weasel. _cor._ t'is back't like a weasell. _ham._ or like a whale. _cor._ very like a whale. _exit coram._ _ham._ why then tell my mother i'le come by and by. good night horatio. _hor._ good night vnto your lordship. _exit horatio._ _ham._ my mother she hath sent to speake with me: o god, let ne're the heart of _nero_ enter this soft bosome. let me be cruell, not vnnaturall. i will speake daggers, those sharpe wordes being spent, [g v] to doe her wrong my soule shall ne're consent. _exit._ _enter the king_. _king_. o that this wet that falles vpon my face would wash the crime cleere from my conscience! when i looke vp to heauen, i see my trespasse, the earth doth still crie out vpon my fact, pay me the murder of a brother and a king, and the adulterous fault i haue committed: o these are sinnes that art vnpardonable: why say thy sinnes were blacker then is ieat, yet may contrition make them as white as snowe: i but still to perseuer in a sinne, it is an act gainst the vniuerfall power, most wretched man, stoope, bend thee to thy prayer, aske grace of heauen to keepe thee from despaire. _hee kneeles._ _enters hamlet_ _ham._ i so, come forth and worke thy last, and thus hee dies: and so, am i reuenged: no, not so: he tooke my father sleeping, his sins brim full, and how his soule floode to the state of heauen who knowes, saue the immortall powres, and shall i kill him now when he is purging of his soule? making his way for heauen, this is a benefit, and not reuenge: no, get thee vp agen, (drunke, when hee's at game swaring, taking his carowse, drinking or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed, or at some act that hath no relish of saluation in't, then trip him that his heeles may kicke at heauen, and fall as lowe as hel: my mother stayes, this phisicke but prolongs they weary dayes. _exit ham._ _king_. my wordes fly vp, my sinnes remaine below. no king on earth is safe, if gods his foe. _exit king._[g ] _enter queene and corambis._ _cor._ madame, i heare yong hamlet comming, i'le shrowde my selfe behinde the arras. _exit cor._ _queene_ do so my lord. _ham._ mother, mother, o are you here? how i'st with you mother? _queene_ how i'st with you? _ham,_ i'le tell you, but first weele make all safe. _queene_ hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. _ham._ mother, you haue my father much offended. _queene_ how now boy? _ham._ how now mother! come here, sit downe, for you shall heare me speake. _queene_ what wilt thou doe? thou wilt not murder me: helpe hoe. _cor._ helpe for the queene. _ham._ i a rat, dead for a duckat. rash intruding foole, farewell, i tooke thee for thy better. _queene_ hamlet, what hast thou done? _ham._ not so much harme, good mother, as to kill a king, and marry with his brother. _queene_ how! kill a king! _ham._ i a king: nay sit you downe, and ere you part, if you be made of penitrable stuffe, i'le make your eyes looke downe into your heart, and see how horride there and blacke it shews. (words? _queene_ hamlet, what mean'st thou by these killing _ham._ why this i meane, see here, behold this picture, it is the portraiture, of your deceased husband, see here a face, to outface _mars_ himselfe, an eye, at which his foes did tremble at, a front wherin all vertues are set downe for to adorne a king, and guild his crowne, whose heart went hand in hand euen with that vow, he made to you in marriage, and he is dead. [g v] murdred, damnably murdred, this was your husband, looke you now, here is your husband, with a face like _vulcan_. a looke fit for a murder and a rape, a dull dead hanging looke, and a hell-bred eie, to affright children and amaze the world: and this same haue you left to change with this. what diuell thus hath cosoned you at hob-man blinde? a! haue you eyes and can you looke on him that slew my father, and your deere husband, to liue in the incestuous pleasure of his bed? _queene_ o hamlet, speake no more. _ham._ to leaue him that bare a monarkes minde, for a king of clowts, of very shreads. _queene_ sweete hamlet cease. _ham._ nay but still to persist and dwell in sinne, to sweate vnder the yoke of infamie, to make increase of shame, to seale damnation. _queene_ hamlet, no more. _ham._ why appetite with you is in the waine, your blood runnes backeward now from whence it came, who'le chide hote blood within a virgins heart, when lust shall dwell within a matrons breast? _queene_ hamlet, thou cleaues my heart in twaine. _ham._ o throw away the worser part of it, and keepe the better. _enter the ghost in his night gowne._ saue me, saue me, you gratious powers aboue, and houer ouer mee, with your celestiall wings. doe you not come your tardy sonne to chide, that i thus long haue let reuenge slippe by? o do not glare with lookes so pittifull! lest that my heart of stone yeelde to compassion, and euery part that should assist reuenge, [g ] forgoe their proper powers, and fall to pitty. _ghost_ hamlet, i once againe appeare to thee, to put thee in remembrance of my death: doe not neglect, nor long time put it off. but i perceiue by thy distracted lookes, thy mother's fearefull, and she stands amazde: speake to her hamlet, for her sex is weake, comfort thy mother, hamlet, thinke on me. _ham._ how i'st with you lady? _queene_ nay, how i'st with you that thus you bend your eyes on vacancie, and holde discourse with nothing but with ayre? _ham._ why doe you nothing heare? _queene_ not i. _ham._ nor doe you nothing see? _queene_ no neither. (habite _ham._ no, why see the king my father, my father, in the as he liued, looke you how pale he lookes, see how he steales away out of the portall, looke, there he goes. _exit ghost._ _queene_ alas, it is the weakeness of thy braine, which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: but as i haue a soule, i sweare by heauen, i neuer knew of this most horride murder: but hamlet, this is only fantasie, and for my loue forget these idle fits. _ham._ idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, it is not madnesse that possesseth hamlet. o mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, forbeare the adulterous bed to night, and win your selfe by little as you may, in time it may be you wil lothe him quite: and mother, but assist mee in reuenge, and in his death your infamy shall die. _queene_ _hamlet_, i vow by that maiesty, that knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, [g v] i will conceale, consent, and doe my best, what stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise. _ham._ it is enough, mother good night: come sir, i'le provide for you a graue, who was in life a foolish prating knaue. _exit hamlet with the dead body._ _enter the king and lordes._ _king_ now gertred, what sayes our sonne, how doe you finde him? _queene_ alas my lord, as raging as the sea: whenas he came, i first bespake him faire, but then he throwes and tosses me about, as one forgetting that i was his mother: at last i call'd for help: and as i cried, _corambis_ call'd, which hamlet no sooner heard, but whips me out his rapier, and cries, a rat, a rat, and in his rage the good olde man he killes. _king_ why this his madnesse will vndoe our state. lordes goe to him, inquire the body out. _gil._ we will my lord. _exeunt lordes._ _king_ gertred, your sonne shall presently to england, his shipping is already furnished, and we have sent by _rossencraft_ and _gilderstone_, our letters to our deare brother of england, for hamlets welfare and his happinesse: happly the aire and climate of the country may please him better than his natiue home: see where he comes. _enter hamlet and the lordes._ _gil._ my lord, we can by no meanes know of him where the body is. _king_ now sonne hamlet, where is this dead body? _ham._ at supper, not where he is eating, but where he is eaten, a certaine company of politicke wormes [g ] are euen now at him. father, your fatte king, and your leane beggar are but variable seruices, two dishes to one messe: looke you, a man may fish with that worme that hath eaten of a king, and a beggar eate that fish, which that worme hath caught. _king_ what of this? _ham._ nothing father, but to tell you, how a king may go a progresse through the guttes of a beggar. _king_ but sonne _hamlet_, where is this body? _ham._ in heau'n, if you chance to misse him there, father, you had best looke in the other partes below for him, aud if you cannot finde him there, you may chance to nose him as you go vp the lobby. _king_ make haste and finde him out. _ham._ nay doe you heare? do not make too much haste, i'le warrant you hee'le stay till you come. _king_ well sonne _hamlet_, we in care of you: but specially in tender preseruation of your health, the which we price euen as our proper selfe, it is our minde you forthwith goe for _england_, the winde sits faire, you shall aboorde to night, lord _rossencraft_ and _gilderstone_ shall goe along with you. _ham._ o with all my heart: farewel mother. _king_ your louing father, _hamlet_. _ham._ my mother i say: you married my mother, my mother is your wife, man and wife is one flesh, and so (my mother) farewel: for england hoe. _exeunt all but the king._ _king_ gertred, leaue me, and take your leaue of _hamlet_, to england is he gone, ne're to returne: our letters are vnto the king of england, that on the sight of them, on his allegeance, he presently without demaunding why, [g v] that _hamlet_ loose his head, for he must die, there's more in him than shallow eyes can see: he once being dead, why then our state is free. _exit._ _enter fortenbrasse, drumme and souldiers._ _fort._ captaine, from vs goe greete the king of denmarke: tell him that _fortenbrasse_ nephew to old _norway_, craues a free passe and conduct ouer his land. according to the articles agreed on: you know our randevous, goe march away. _exeunt all._ _enter king and queene._ _king_ _hamlet_ is ship't for england, fare him well, i hope to heare good newes from thence ere long, if euery thing fall out to our content, as i doe make no doubt but so it shall. _queene_ god grant it may, heau'ns keep my _hamlet_ safe: but this mischance of olde _corambis_ death, hath piersed so the yong _ofeliaes_ heart, that she, poore maide, is quite bereft her wittes. _king_ alas deere heart! and on the other side, we vnderstand her brother's come from _france_, and he hath halfe the heart of all our land, and hardly hee'le forget his fathers death, vnlesse by some meanes he be pacified. _qu._ o see where the yong _ofelia_ is! _enter ofelia playing on a lute, and her haire downe singing_. _ofelia_ how should i your true loue know from another man? by his cockle hatte, and his staffe, and his sandall shoone. [h ] white his shrowde as mountaine snowe, larded with sweete flowers, that bewept to the graue did not goe with true louers showers: he is dead and gone lady, he is dead and gone, at his head a grasse greene turffe, at his heeles a stone. _king_ how i'st with you sweete _ofelia_? _ofelia_ well god yeeld you, it grieues me to see how they laid him in the cold ground, i could not chuse but weepe: and will he not come againe? and will he not come againe? no, no, hee's gone, and we cast away mone, and he neuer will come againe. his beard as white as snowe: all flaxen was his pole, he is dead, he is gone, and we cast away moane: god a mercy on his soule. and of all christen soules i pray god. god be with you ladies, god be with you. _exit ofelia._ _king_ a pretty wretch! this is a change indeede: o time, how swiftly runnes our ioyes away! content on earth was neuer certaine bred, to day we laugh and liue, tomorrow dead. how now, what noyse is that? _a noyse within._ _enter leartes._ _lear._ stay there vntill i come, o thou vilde king, give me my father: speake, say, where's my father? _king_ dead. _lear._ who hath murdred him? speake, i'le not be juggled with, for he is murdred. _queene_ true, but not by him. _lear._ by whome, by heau'n i'll be resolued. [h v] _king_ let him goe _gertred_, away, i feare him not, there's such diuinitie doth wall a king, that treason dares not looke on. let him goe _gertred_, that your father is murdred, t'is true, and we most sory for it, being the chiefest piller of our state: therefore will you like a most desperate gamster, swoop-stake-like, draw at friend, and foe, and all? _lear._ to his good friends thus wide i'le ope mine arms, and locke them in my hart, but to his foes, i will no reconcilement but by bloud. _king_ why now you speake like a most louing sonne: and that in soule we sorrow for for his death, yourselfe ere long shall be a witnesse, meane while be patient, and content your selfe. _enter ofelia as before._ _lear._ who's this, _ofelia?_ o my deere sister! i'st possible a yong maides life, should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe? o heau'ns themselues! how now _ofelia_? _ofel._ wel god a mercy, i a bin gathering of floures: here, here is rew for you, you may call it hearb a grace a sundayes, heere's some for me too: you must weare your rew with a difference, there's a dazie. here loue, there's rosemary for you for remembrance: i pray loue remember, and there's pansey for thoughts. _lear._ a document in madnes, thoughts, remembrance: o god, o god! _ofelia_ there is fennell for you, i would a giu'n you some violets, but they all withered, when my father died: alas, they say the owle was a bakers daughter, we see what we are, but can not tell what we shall be. for bonny sweete robin is all my ioy. [h ] _lear._ thoughts & afflictions, torments worse than hell. _ofel._ nay loue, i pray you make no words of this now: i pray now, you shall sing a downe, and you a downe a, t'is a the kings daughter and the false steward, and if any body aske you of any thing, say you this. tomorrow is saint valentines day, all in the morning betime, and a maide at your window, to be your valentine: the yong man rose, and dan'd his clothes, and dupt the chamber doore, let in the maide, that out a maide neuer departed more. nay i pray marke now, by gisse, and by saint charitie, away, and fie for shame: yong men will doo't when they come too't: by cocke they are too blame. quoth she, before you tumbled me, you promised me to wed. so would i a done, by yonder sunne, if thou hadst not come to my bed. so god be with you all, god bwy ladies. god bwy you loue. _exit ofelia._ _lear._ griefe vpon griefe, my father murdered, my sister thus distracted: cursed be his soule that wrought this wicked act. _king_ content you good leartes for a time, although i know your griefe is as a floud, brimme full of sorrow, but forbeare a while, and thinke already the reuenge is done on him that makes you such a haplesse sonne. _lear._ you haue preuail'd my lord, a while i'le striue, to bury griefe within a tombe of wrath, which once vnhearsed, then the world shall heare [h v] leartes had a father he held deere. _king_ no more of that, ere many days be done, you shall heare that you do not dreame vpon. _exeunt om._ _enter horatio and the queene._ _hor._ madame, your sonne is safe arriv'de in _denmarke_, this letter i euen now receiv'd of him, whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, and subtle treason that the king had plotted, being crossed by the contention of the windes, he found the packet sent to the king of _england_, wherein he saw himselfe betray'd to death, as at his next conuersion with your grace, he will relate the circumstance at full. _queene_ then i perceiue there's treason in his lookes that seem'd to sugar o're his villanie: but i will soothe and please him for a time, for murderous mindes are always jealous, but know not you _horatio_ where he is? _hor._ yes madame, and he hath appoyntd me to meete him on the east side of the cittie to morrow morning. _queene_ o faile not, good _horatio_, and withall, com- a mothers care to him, bid him a while (mend me be wary of his presence, lest that he faile in that he goes about. _hor._ madam, neuer make doubt of that: i thinke by this the news be come to court: he is arriv'de, obserue the king, and you shall quickely finde, _hamlet_ being here, things fell not to his minde. _queene_ but what became of _gilderstone_ and _rossencraft_? _hor._ he being set ashore, they went for _england_, and in the packet there writ down that doome to be perform'd on them poynted for him: and by great chance he had his fathers seale, so all was done without discouerie. [h ] _queene_ thankes be to heauen for blessing of the prince, _horatio_ once againe i take my leaue, with thowsand mothers blessings to my sonne. _horat._ madam adue. _enter king and leartes._ _king._ hamlet from _england_! is it possible? what chance is this? they are gone, and he come home. _lear._ o he is welcome, by my soule he is: at it my iocund heart doth leape for ioy, that i shall liue to tell him, thus he dies. _king_ leartes, content your selfe, be rulde by me, and you shall haue no let for your reuenge. _lear._ my will, not all the world. _king_ nay but leartes, marke the plot i haue layde, i haue heard him often with a greedy wish, vpon some praise that he hath heard of you touching your weapon, which with all his heart, he might be once tasked for to try your cunning. _lea._ and how for this? _king_ mary leartes thus: i'le lay a wager, shalbe on _hamlets_ side, and you shall giue the oddes, the which will draw him with a more desire, to try the maistry, that in twelue venies you gaine not three of him: now this being granted, when you are hot in midst of all your play, among the foyles shall a keene rapier lie, steeped in a mixture of deadly poyson, that if it drawes but the least dramme of blood, in any part of him, he cannot liue: this being done will free you from suspition, and not the deerest friend that _hamlet_ lov'de will euer haue leartes in suspect. _lear._ my lord, i like it well: but say lord _hamlet_ should refuse this match. _king_ i'le warrant you, wee'le put on you such a report of singularitie, [h v] will bring him on, although against his will. and lest that all should misse, i'le haue a potion that shall ready stand, in all his heate when that he calles for drinke, shall be his period and our happinesse. _lear._ t'is excellent, o would the time were come! here comes the queene. _enter the queene._ _king_ how now gertred, why looke you heauily? _queene_ o my lord, the yong _ofelia_ hauing made a garland of sundry sortes of floures, sitting vpon a willow by a brooke, the enuious sprig broke, into the brooke she fell, and for a while her clothes spread wide abroade, bore the yong lady vp: and there she sate smiling, euen mermaide-like, twixt heauen and earth, chaunting olde sundry tunes vncapable as it were of her distresse, but long it could not be, till that her clothes, being heauy with their drinke, dragg'd the sweete wretch to death. _lear._ so, she is drownde: too much of water hast thou _ofelia_, therefore i will not drowne thee in my teares, reuenge it is must yeeld this heart releese, for woe begets woe, and griefe hangs on griefe. _exeunt._ _enter clowne and an other_ _clowne_ i say no, she ought not to be buried in christian buriall. . why sir? _clowne_ mary because shee's drownd. . but she did not drowne her selfe. _clowne_ no, that's certaine, the water drown'd her. . yea but it was against her will. _clowne_ no, i deny that, for looke you sir, i stand here, if the water come to me, i drowne not my selfe: but if i goe to the water, and am there drown'd, _ergo_ i am guiltie of my owne death: [h ] y'are gone, goe y'are gone sir. . i but see, she hath christian buriall, because she is a great woman. _clowne_ mary more's the pitty, that great folke should haue more authoritie to hang or drowne themselues, more than other people: goe fetch me a stope of drinke, but before thou goest, tell me one thing, who buildes strongest, of a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? . why a mason, for he buildes all of stone, and will indure long. _clowne_ that's prety, too't agen, too't agen. . why then a carpenter, for he buildes the gallowes, and that brings many a one to his long home. _clowne_ prety agen, the gallowes doth well, mary howe dooes it well? the gallowes dooes well to them that doe ill, goe get thee gone: and if any one aske thee hereafter, say, a graue-maker, for the houses he buildes last till doomes-day. fetch me a stope of beere, goe. _enter hamlet and horatio._ _clowne_ a picke-axe and a spade, a spade for and a winding sheete, most fit it is, for t'will be made, _he throwes vp a shouel._ for such a ghest most meete. _ham._ hath this fellow any feeling of himselfe, that is thus merry in making of a graue? see how the slaue joles their heads against the earth. _hor._ my lord, custome hath made it in him seeme no- _clowne_ a pick-axe and a spade, a spade, (thing. for and a winding sheete, most fit it is for to be made, for such a ghest most meet. _ham._ looke you, there's another _horatio_. why mai't not be the soull of some lawyer? [h v] me thinkes he should indite that fellow of an action of batterie, for knocking him about the pate with's shouel: now where is your quirkes and quillets now, your vouchers and double vouchers, your leases and free-holde, and tenements? why that same boxe there will scarce holde the conueiance of his land, and must the honor lie there? o pittifull transformance! i prethee tell me _horatio_, is parchment made of sheep-skinnes? _hor._ i my lorde, and of calues-skinnes too. _ham._ ifaith they prooue themselues sheepe and calues that deale with them, or put their trust in them. there's another, why may not that be such a ones scull, that praised my lord such a ones horse, when he meant to beg him? _horatio_, i prethee lets question yonder fellow. now my friend, whose graue is this? _clowne_ mine sir. _ham._ but who must lie in it? (sir. _clowne_ if i should say, i should, i should lie in my throat _ham._ what man must be buried here? _clowne_ no man sir. _ham._ what woman? _clowne_. no woman neither sir, but indeede one that was a woman. _ham._ an excellent fellow by the lord _horatio_, this seauen yeares haue i noted it: the toe of the pesant, comes so neere the heele of the courtier, that hee gawles his kibe, i prethee tell mee one thing, how long will a man lie in the ground before hee rots? _clowne_ i faith sir, if hee be not rotten before he be laide in, as we haue many pocky corses, he will last you, eight yeares, a tanner will last you eight yeares full out, or nine. _ham._ and why a tanner? [i ] _clowne_ why his hide is so tanned with his trade, that it will holde out water, that's a parlous deuourer of your dead body, a great soaker. looke you, heres a scull hath bin here this dozen yeare, let me see, i euer since our last king _hamlet_ slew _fortenbrasse_ in combat, yong _hamlets_ father, hee that's mad. _ham._ i mary, how came he madde? _clowne_ ifaith very strangely, by loosing of his wittes. _ham._ vpon what ground? _clowne_ a this ground, in _denmarke_. _ham._ where is he now? _clowne_ why now they sent him to _england_. _ham._ to _england_! wherefore? _clowne_ why they say he shall haue his wittes there, or if he haue not, t'is no great matter there, it will not be seene there. _ham._ why not there? _clowne_ why there they say the men are as mad as he. _ham._ whose scull was this? _clowne_ this, a plague on him, a madde rogues it was, he powred once a whole flagon of rhenish of my head, why do not you know him? this was one _yorickes_ scull. _ham._ was this? i prethee let me see it, alas poore _yoricke_ i knew him _horatio_, a fellow of infinite mirth, he hath caried mee twenty times vpon his backe, here hung those lippes that i haue kissed a hundred times, and to see, now they abhorre me: wheres your iefts now _yoricke_? your flashes of meriment: now go to my ladies chamber, and bid her paint her selfe an inch thicke, to this she must come _yoricke_. _horatio_, i prethee tell me one thing, doost thou thinke that _alexander_ looked thus? _hor._ euen so my lord. _ham._ and smelt thus? _hor._ i my lord, no otherwise. [i v] _ham._ no, why might not imagination worke, as thus of _alexander_, _alexander_ died, _alexander_ was buried, _alexander_ became earth, of earth we make clay, and _alexander_ being but clay, why might not time bring to passe, that he might stoppe the boung hole of a beere barrell? imperious cæsar dead and turnd to clay, might stoppe a hole, to keepe the winde away. _enter king and queene, leartes, and other lordes, with a priest after the coffin._ _ham._ what funerall's this that all the court laments? it shews to be some noble parentage: stand by a while. _lear._ what ceremony else? say, what ceremony else? _priest_ my lord, we haue done all that lies in vs, and more than well the church can tolerate, she hath had a dirge sung for her maiden soule: and but for fauour of the king, and you, she had beene buried in the open fieldes, where now she is allowed christian buriall. _lear._ so, i tell thee churlish priest, a ministring angell shall my sister be, when thou liest howling. _ham._ the faire _ofelia_ dead! _queene_ sweetes to the sweete, farewell: i had thought to adorne thy bridale bed, faire maide, and not to follow thee vnto thy graue. _lear._ forbeare the earth a while: sister farewell: l_eartes leapes into the graue._ now powre your earth on, _olympus_ hie, and make a hill to o're top olde _pellon_: _hamlet leapes_ whats he that coniures so? _in after _l_eartes_ _ham._ beholde tis i, _hamlet_ the dane. _lear._ the diuell take thy soule. _ham._ o thou praiest not well, i prethee take thy hand from off my throate, for there is something in me dangerous, which let thy wisedome feare, holde off thy hand: [i ] i lou'de _ofelia_ as deere as twenty brothers could: shew me what thou wilt doe for her: wilt fight, wilt fast, wilt pray, wilt drinke vp vessels, eate a crocadile? ile doot: com'st thou here to whine? and where thou talk'st of burying thee a liue, here let vs stand: and let them throw on vs, whole hills of earth, till with the heighth therof, make oosell as a wart. _king_. forbeare _leartes_, now is hee mad, as is the sea, anone as milde and gentle as a doue: therfore a while giue his wilde humour scope. _ham._ what is the reason sir that you wrong mee thus? i neuer gaue you cause: but stand away, a cat will meaw, a dog will haue a day. _exit hamlet and horatio._ _queene_. alas, it is his madnes makes him thus, and not his heart, _leartes_. _king_. my lord, t'is so: but wee'le no longer trifle, this very day shall _hamlet_ drinke his last, for presently we meane to send to him, therfore _leartes_ be in readynes. _lear._ my lord, till then my soule will not bee quiet. _king_. come _gertred_, wee'l haue _leartes_, and our sonne, made friends and louers, as befittes them both, even as they tender vs, and loue their countrie. _queene_ god grant they may. _exeunt omnes._ _enter hamlet and horatio_ _ham._ beleeue mee, it greeues mee much _horatio_, that to _leartes_ i forgot my selfe: for by my selfe me thinkes i feele his griefe, though there's a difference in each others wrong. _enter a bragart gentleman._ _horatio_, but marke yon water-flie, the court knowes him, but hee knowes not the court. _gent._ now god saue thee, sweete prince _hamlet_. [i v] _ham._ and you sir: soh, how the muske-cod smels! _gen._ i come with an embassage from his maiesty to you _ham._ i shall sir giue you attention: by my troth me thinkes t'is very colde. _gent._ it is indeede very rawish colde. _ham._ t'is hot me thinkes. _gent._ very swoltery hote: the king, sweete prince, hath layd a wager on your side, six barbary horse, against six french rapiers, with all their acoutrements too, a the carriages: in good faith they are curiously wrought. _ham._ the cariages sir, i do not know what you meane. _gent._ the girdles, and hangers sir, and such like. _ham._ the worde had beene more cosin german to the phrase, if he could haue carried the canon by his side, and howe's the wager? i vnderstand you now. _gent._ mary sir, that yong leartes in twelue venies at rapier and dagger do not get three oddes of you, and on your side the king hath laide, and desires you to be in readinesse. _ham._ very well, if the king dare venture his wager, i dare venture my skull: when must this be? _gent._ my lord, presently, the king, and her maiesty, with the rest of the best iudgement in the court, are comming downe into the outward pallace. _ham._ goe tell his maiestie, i will attend him. _gent._ i shall deliuer your most sweet answer. _exit._ _ham._ you may sir, none better, for y'are spiced, else he had a bad nose could not smell a foole. _hor._ he will disclose himself without inquirie. _ham._ beleeue me _horatio_, my hart is on the sodaine very sore, all here about. _hor._ my lord, forebeare the challenge then. _ham._ no _horatio_, not i, if danger be now, why then it is not to come, theres a predestinate prouidence in the fall of a sparrow: heere comes the king. [i ] _enter king, queene, leartes, lordes._ _king_ now sonne _hamlet,_ we hane laid vpon your head, and make no question but to haue the best. _ham._ your maiestie hath laide a the weaker side. _king_ we doubt it not, deliuer them the foiles. _ham._ first leartes, heere's my hand and loue, protesting that i neuer wrongd _leartes_. if _hamlet_ in his madnesse did amisse, that was not _hamlet_, but his madnes did it, and all the wrong i e're did to _leartes_, i here proclaime was madnes, therefore lets be at peace, and thinke i haue shot mine arrow o're the house, and hurt my brother. _lear._ sir i am satisfied in nature, but in termes of honor i'le stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement, till by some elder maisters of our time i may be satisfied. _king_ giue them the foyles. _ham._ i'le be your foyle _leartes_, these foyles, haue all a laught, come on sir: _a hit._ _lear._ no none. _heere they play:_ _ham._ iudgement. _gent._ a hit, a most palpable hit. _lear._ well, come againe. _they play againe._ _ham._ another. iudgement. _lear._ i, i grant, a tuch, a tuch. _king_ here _hamlet_, the king doth drinke a health to thee _queene_ here _hamlet_, take my napkin, wipe thy face. _king_ giue him the wine. _ham._ set it by, i'le haue another bowt first, i'le drinke anone. _queene_ here _hamlet_, thy mother drinkes to thee. _shee drinkes._ _king_ do not drinke _gertred_: o t'is the poysned cup! _ham_. _leartes_ come, you dally with me, [i v] i pray you passe with your most cunningst play. _lear_. i! say you so? haue at you, ile hit you now my lord: and yet it goes almost against my conscience. _ham._ come on sir. _they catch one anothers rapiers, and both are wounded, leartes falles downe, the queene falles downe and dies._ _king_ looke to the queene. _queene_ o the drinke, the drinke, h_amlet_, the drinke. _ham_. treason, ho, keepe the gates. _lords_ how ist my lord _leartes_? _lear._ euen as a coxcombe should, foolishly slaine with my owne weapon: _hamlet_, thou hast not in thee halfe an houre of life, the fatall instrument is in thy hand. vnbated and invenomed: thy mother's poysned that drinke was made for thee. _ham._ the poysned instrument within my hand? then venome to thy venome, die damn'd villaine: come drinke, here lies thy vnion here. _the king dies._ _lear._ o he is iustly serued: _hamlet_, before i die, here take my hand, and withall, my loue: i doe forgiue thee. _leartes dies._ _ham._ and i thee, o i am dead _horatio_, fare thee well. _hor._ no, i am more an antike roman, then a dane, here is some poison left. _ham._ vpon my loue i charge thee let it goe, o fie _horatio_, and if thou shouldst die, what a scandale wouldst thou leaue behinde? what tongue should tell the story of our deaths, if not from thee? o my heart sinckes _horatio_, mine eyes haue lost their sight, my tongue his vse: farewel _horatio_, heauen receiue my soule. _ham. dies._ _enter voltemar and the ambassadors from england. [i ] enter fortenbrasse with his traine._ _fort._ where is this bloudy fight? _hor._ if aught of woe or wonder you'ld behold, then looke vpon this tragicke spectacle. _fort._ o imperious death! how many princes hast thou at one draft bloudily shot to death? (_land_, _ambass._ our ambassie that we haue brought from _eng-_ where be these princes that should heare vs speake? o most most vnlooked for time! vnhappy country. _hor._ content your selues, ile shew to all, the ground, the first beginning of this tragedy: let there a scaffold be rearde vp in the market place, and let the state of the world be there: where you shall heare such a sad story tolde, that neuer mortall man could more vnfolde. _fort._ i haue some rights of memory to this kingdome, which now to claime my leisure doth inuite mee: let foure of our chiefest captaines beare _hamlet_ like a souldier to his graue: for he was likely, had he liued, to a prou'd most royall. take vp the bodie, such a fight as this becomes the fieldes, but here doth much amisse. _finis_ proofreading team the tragedie of hamlet, prince of denmarke a study with the text of the folio of by george macdonald "what would you gracious figure?" to my honoured relative alexander stewart maccoll a little _less_ than kin, and _more_ than kind to whom i owe in especial the true understanding of the great soliloquy i dedicate with love and gratitude this effort to give hamlet and shakspere their due george mac donald bordighera _christmas_, summary: the tragedie of hamlet, prince of denmark: a study of the text of the folio of by george macdonald [motto]: "what would you, gracious figure?" dr. greville macdonald looks on his father's commentary as the "most important interpretation of the play ever written... it is his intuitive understanding ... rather than learned analysis--of which there is yet overwhelming evidence--that makes it so splendid." reading level: mature youth and adults. preface by this edition of hamlet i hope to help the student of shakspere to understand the play--and first of all hamlet himself, whose spiritual and moral nature are the real material of the tragedy, to which every other interest of the play is subservient. but while mainly attempting, from the words and behaviour shakspere has given him, to explain the man, i have cast what light i could upon everything in the play, including the perplexities arising from extreme condensation of meaning, figure, and expression. as it is more than desirable that the student should know when he is reading the most approximate presentation accessible of what shakspere uttered, and when that which modern editors have, with reason good or bad, often not without presumption, substituted for that which they received, i have given the text, letter for letter, point for point, of the first folio, with the variations of the second quarto in the margin and at the foot of the page. of hamlet there are but two editions of authority, those called the second quarto and the first folio; but there is another which requires remark. in the year came out the edition known as the first quarto--clearly without the poet's permission, and doubtless as much to his displeasure: the following year he sent out an edition very different, and larger in the proportion of one hundred pages to sixty-four. concerning the former my theory is--though it is not my business to enter into the question here--that it was printed from shakspere's sketch for the play, written with matter crowding upon him too fast for expansion or development, and intended only for a continuous memorandum of things he would take up and work out afterwards. it seems almost at times as if he but marked certain bales of thought so as to find them again, and for the present threw them aside--knowing that by the marks he could recall the thoughts they stood for, but not intending thereby to convey them to any reader. i cannot, with evidence before me, incredible but through the eyes themselves, of the illimitable scope of printers' blundering, believe _all_ the confusion, unintelligibility, neglect of grammar, construction, continuity, sense, attributable to them. in parts it is more like a series of notes printed with the interlineations horribly jumbled; while in other parts it looks as if it had been taken down from the stage by an ear without a brain, and then yet more incorrectly printed; parts, nevertheless, in which it most differs from the authorized editions, are yet indubitably from the hand of shakspere. i greatly doubt if any ready-writer would have dared publish some of its chaotic passages as taken down from the stage; nor do i believe the play was ever presented in anything like such an unfinished state. i rather think some fellow about the theatre, whether more rogue or fool we will pay him the thankful tribute not to enquire, chancing upon the crude embryonic mass in the poet's hand, traitorously pounced upon it, and betrayed it to the printers--therein serving the poet such an evil turn as if a sculptor's workman took a mould of the clay figure on which his master had been but a few days employed, and published casts of it as the sculptor's work.[ ] to us not the less is the _corpus delicti_ precious--and that unspeakably--for it enables us to see something of the creational development of the drama, besides serving occasionally to cast light upon portions of it, yielding hints of the original intention where the after work has less plainly presented it. [footnote : shakspere has in this matter fared even worse than sir thomas browne, the first edition of whose _religio medici_, nowise intended for the public, was printed without his knowledge.] the second quarto bears on its title-page, compelled to a recognition of the former,--'newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and perfect coppie'; and it is in truth a harmonious world of which the former issue was but the chaos. it is the drama itself, the concluded work of the master's hand, though yet to be once more subjected to a little pruning, a little touching, a little rectifying. but the author would seem to have been as trusting over the work of the printers, as they were careless of his, and the result is sometimes pitiable. the blunders are appalling. both in it and in the folio the marginal note again and again suggests itself: 'here the compositor was drunk, the press-reader asleep, the devil only aware.' but though the blunders elbow one another in tumultuous fashion, not therefore all words and phrases supposed to be such are blunders. the old superstition of plenary inspiration may, by its reverence for the very word, have saved many a meaning from the obliteration of a misunderstanding scribe: in all critical work it seems to me well to cling to the _word_ until one sinks not merely baffled, but exhausted. i come now to the relation between the second quarto and the folio. my theory is--that shakspere worked upon his own copy of the second quarto, cancelling and adding, and that, after his death, this copy came, along with original manuscripts, into the hands of his friends the editors of the folio, who proceeded to print according to his alterations. these friends and editors in their preface profess thus: 'it had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to haue bene wished, that the author himselfe had liu'd to haue set forth, and ouerseen his owne writings; but since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envie his friends, the office of their care, and paine, to haue collected & publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with diuerse stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of iniurious impostors, that expos'd them: euen those, are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceiued th[=e]. who, as he was a happie imitator of nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. his mind and hand went together: and what he thought, he vttered with that easinesse, that wee haue scarse receiued from him a blot in his papers. but it is not our prouince, who onely gather his works, and giue them you, to praise him. it is yours that reade him.' these are hardly the words of men who would take liberties, and liberties enormous, after ideas of their own, with the text of a friend thus honoured. but although they printed with intent altogether faithful, they did so certainly without any adequate jealousy of the printers--apparently without a suspicion of how they could blunder. of blunders therefore in the folio also there are many, some through mere following of blundered print, some in fresh corruption of the same, some through mistaking of the manuscript corrections, and some probably from the misprinting of mistakes, so that the corrections themselves are at times anything but correctly recorded. i assume also that the printers were not altogether above the mean passion, common to the day-labourers of art, from chaucer's adam scrivener down to the present carvers of marble, for modifying and improving the work of the master. the vain incapacity of a self-constituted critic will make him regard his poorest fancy as an emendation; seldom has he the insight of touchstone to recognize, or his modesty to acknowledge, that although his own, it is none the less an ill-favoured thing. not such, however, was the spirit of the editors; and all the changes of importance from the text of the quarto i receive as shakspere's own. with this belief there can be no presumption in saying that they seem to me not only to trim the parts immediately affected, but to render the play more harmonious and consistent. it is no presumption to take the poet for superior to his work and capable of thinking he could better it--neither, so believing, to imagine one can see that he has been successful. a main argument for the acceptance of the folio edition as the poet's last presentment of his work, lies in the fact that there are passages in it which are not in the quarto, and are very plainly from his hand. if we accept these, what right have we to regard the omission from the folio of passages in the quarto as not proceeding from the same hand? had there been omissions only, we might well have doubted; but the insertions greatly tend to remove the doubt. i cannot even imagine the arguments which would prevail upon me to accept the latter and refuse the former. omission itself shows for a master-hand: see the magnificent passage omitted, and rightly, by milton from the opening of his _comus_. 'but when a man has published two forms of a thing, may we not judge between him and himself, and take the reading we like better?' assuredly. take either the quarto or the folio; both are shakspere's. take any reading from either, and defend it. but do not mix up the two, retaining what he omits along with what he inserts, and print them so. this is what the editors do--and the thing is not shakspere's. with homage like this, no artist could be other than indignant. it is well to show every difference, even to one of spelling where it might indicate possibly a different word, but there ought to be no mingling of differences. if i prefer the reading of the quarto to that of the folio, as may sometimes well happen where blunders so abound, i say i _prefer_--i do not dare to substitute. my student shall owe nothing of his text to any but the editors of the folio, john heminge and henrie condell. i desire to take him with me. i intend a continuous, but ever-varying, while one-ended lesson. we shall follow the play step by step, avoiding almost nothing that suggests difficulty, and noting everything that seems to throw light on the character of a person of the drama. the pointing i consider a matter to be dealt with as any one pleases--for the sake of sense, of more sense, of better sense, as much as if the text were a greek manuscript without any division of words. this position i need not argue with anyone who has given but a cursory glance to the original page, or knows anything of printers' pointing. i hold hard by the word, for that is, or may be, grain: the pointing as we have it is merest chaff, and more likely to be wrong than right. here also, however, i change nothing in the text, only suggest in the notes. nor do i remark on any of the pointing where all that is required is the attention of the student. doubtless many will consider not a few of the notes unnecessary. but what may be unnecessary to one, may be welcome to another, and it is impossible to tell what a student may or may not know. at the same time those form a large class who imagine they know a thing when they do not understand it enough to see there is a difficulty in it: to such, an attempt at explanation must of course seem foolish. a _number_ in the margin refers to a passage of the play or in the notes, and is the number of the page where the passage is to be found. if the student finds, for instance, against a certain line upon page , the number , and turns to page , he will there find the number against a certain line: the two lines or passages are to be compared, and will be found in some way parallel, or mutually explanatory. wherever i refer to the quarto, i intend the nd quarto--that is shakspere's own authorized edition, published in his life-time. where occasionally i refer to the surreptitious edition, the mere inchoation of the drama, i call it, as it is, the _ st quarto_. any word or phrase or stage-direction in the nd quarto differing from that in the folio, is placed on the margin in a line with the other: choice between them i generally leave to my student. omissions are mainly given as footnotes. each edition does something to correct the errors of the other. i beg my companion on this journey to let hamlet reveal himself in the play, to observe him as he assumes individuality by the concretion of characteristics. i warn him that any popular notion concerning him which he may bring with him, will be only obstructive to a perception of the true idea of the grandest of all shakspere's presentations. it will amuse this and that man to remark how often i speak of hamlet as if he were a real man and not the invention of shakspere--for indeed the hamlet of the old story is no more that of shakspere than a lump of coal is a diamond; but i imagine, if he tried the thing himself, he would find it hardly possible to avoid so speaking, and at the same time say what he had to say. i give hearty thanks to the press-reader, a gentleman whose name i do not know, not only for keen watchfulness over the printing-difficulties of the book, but for saving me from several blunders in derivation. bordighera: _december_, . [transcriber's note: in the paper original, each left-facing page contained the text of the play, with sidenotes and footnote references, and the corresponding right-facing page contained the footnotes themselves and additional commentary. in this electronic text, the play-text pages are numbered (contrary to custom in electronic texts), to allow use of the cross-references provided in the sidenotes and footnotes. in the play text, sidenotes towards the left of the page are those marginal cross-references described earlier, and sidenotes toward the right of the page are the differences noted a few paragraphs later.] [page ] the tragedie of hamlet prince of denmarke. [page ] _actus primus._ _enter barnardo and francisco two centinels_[ ]. _barnardo._ who's there? _fran._[ ] nay answer me: stand and vnfold yourselfe. _bar._ long liue the king.[ ] _fran._ _barnardo?_ _bar._ he. _fran._ you come most carefully vpon your houre. _bar._ 'tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed _francisco_. _fran._ for this releefe much thankes: 'tis [sidenote: ] bitter cold, and i am sicke at heart.[ ] _barn._ haue you had quiet guard?[ ] _fran._ not a mouse stirring. _barn._ well, goodnight. if you do meet _horatio_ and _marcellus_, the riuals[ ] of my watch, bid them make hast. _enter horatio and marcellus._ _fran._ i thinke i heare them. stand: who's there? [sidenote: stand ho, who is there?] _hor._ friends to this ground. _mar._ and leige-men to the dane. _fran._ giue you good night. _mar._ o farwel honest soldier, who hath [sidenote: souldiers] relieu'd you? [footnote : --meeting. almost dark.] [footnote : --on the post, and with the right of challenge.] [footnote : the watchword.] [footnote : the key-note to the play--as in _macbeth_: 'fair is foul and foul is fair.' the whole nation is troubled by late events at court.] [footnote : --thinking of the apparition.] [footnote : _companions_.] [page ] _fra._ _barnardo_ ha's my place: giue you good-night. [sidenote: hath] _exit fran._ _mar._ holla _barnardo_. _bar._ say, what is horatio there? _hor._ a peece of him. _bar._ welcome _horatio_, welcome good _marcellus_. _mar._ what, ha's this thing appear'd againe to [sidenote: _hor_.[ ]] night. _bar._ i haue seene nothing. _mar._ horatio saies, 'tis but our fantasie, and will not let beleefe take hold of him touching this dreaded sight, twice seene of vs, therefore i haue intreated him along with vs, to watch the minutes of this night, that if againe this apparition come, [sidenote: ] he may approue our eyes, and speake to it.[ ] _hor._ tush, tush, 'twill not appeare. _bar._ sit downe a-while, and let vs once againe assaile your eares, that are so fortified against our story, what we two nights haue seene. [sidenote: have two nights seen] _hor._ well, sit we downe, and let vs heare _barnardo_ speake of this. _barn._ last night of all, when yond same starre that's westward from the pole had made his course t'illume that part of heauen where now it burnes, _marcellus_ and my selfe, the bell then beating one.[ ] _mar._ peace, breake thee of: _enter the ghost_. [sidenote: enter ghost] looke where it comes againe. _barn._ in the same figure, like the king that's dead. [footnote : better, i think; for the tone is scoffing, and horatio is the incredulous one who has not seen it.] [footnote : --being a scholar, and able to address it as an apparition ought to be addressed--marcellus thinking, perhaps, with others, that a ghost required latin.] [footnote : _ st q._ 'towling one.] [page ] [sidenote: ] _mar._ thou art a scholler; speake to it _horatio._ _barn._ lookes it not like the king? marke it _horatio_. [sidenote: looks a not] _hora._ most like: it harrowes me with fear and wonder. [sidenote: horrowes[ ]] _barn._ it would be spoke too.[ ] _mar._ question it _horatio._ [sidenote: speak to it _horatio_] _hor._ what art thou that vsurp'st this time of night,[ ] together with that faire and warlike forme[ ] in which the maiesty of buried denmarke did sometimes[ ] march: by heauen i charge thee speake. _mar._ it is offended.[ ] _barn._ see, it stalkes away. _hor._ stay: speake; speake: i charge thee, speake. _exit the ghost._ [sidenote: _exit ghost._] _mar._ 'tis gone, and will not answer. _barn._ how now _horatio_? you tremble and look pale: is not this something more then fantasie? what thinke you on't? _hor._ before my god, i might not this beleeue without the sensible and true auouch of mine owne eyes. _mar._ is it not like the king? _hor._ as thou art to thy selfe, such was the very armour he had on, when th' ambitious norwey combatted: [sidenote: when he the ambitious] so frown'd he once, when in an angry parle he smot the sledded pollax on the ice.[ ] [sidenote: sleaded[ ]] 'tis strange. [sidenote: ] _mar._ thus twice before, and iust at this dead houre, [sidenote: and jump at this] [footnote : _ st q_. 'horrors mee'.] [footnote : a ghost could not speak, it was believed, until it was spoken to.] [footnote : it was intruding upon the realm of the embodied.] [footnote : none of them took it as certainly the late king: it was only clear to them that it was like him. hence they say, 'usurp'st the forme.'] [footnote : _formerly_.] [footnote : --at the word _usurp'st_.] [footnote : also _ st q_.] [footnote : the usual interpretation is 'the sledged poles'; but not to mention that in a parley such action would have been treacherous, there is another far more picturesque, and more befitting the _angry parle_, at the same time more characteristic and forcible: the king in his anger smote his loaded pole-axe on the ice. there is some uncertainty about the word _sledded_ or _sleaded_ (which latter suggests _lead_), but we have the word _sledge_ and _sledge-hammer_, the smith's heaviest, and the phrase, 'a sledging blow.' the quarrel on the occasion referred to rather seems with the norwegians (see schmidt's _shakespeare-lexicon: sledded_.) than with the poles; and there would be no doubt as to the latter interpretation being the right one, were it not that _the polacke_, for the pole, or nation of the poles, does occur in the play. that is, however, no reason why the dane should not have carried a pole-axe, or caught one from the hand of an attendant. in both our authorities, and in the _ st q_. also, the word is _pollax_--as in chaucer's _knights tale_: 'no maner schot, ne pollax, ne schort knyf,'--in the _folio_ alone with a capital; whereas not once in the play is the similar word that stands for the poles used in the plural. in the _ nd quarto_ there is _pollacke_ three times, _pollack_ once, _pole_ once; in the _ st quarto_, _polacke_ twice; in the _folio_, _poleak_ twice, _polake_ once. the poet seems to have avoided the plural form.] [page ] with martiall stalke,[ ] hath he gone by our watch. _hor_. in what particular thought to work, i know not: but in the grosse and scope of my opinion, [sidenote: mine] this boades some strange erruption to our state. _mar_. good now sit downe, and tell me he that knowes [sidenote: ] why this same strict and most obseruant watch,[ ] so nightly toyles the subiect of the land, and why such dayly cast of brazon cannon [sidenote: and with such dayly cost] and forraigne mart for implements of warre: why such impresse of ship-wrights, whose sore taske do's not diuide the sunday from the weeke, what might be toward, that this sweaty hast[ ] doth make the night ioynt-labourer with the day: who is't that can informe me? _hor._ that can i, at least the whisper goes so: our last king, whose image euen but now appear'd to vs, was (as you know) by _fortinbras_ of norway, (thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride)[ ] dar'd to the combate. in which, our valiant _hamlet_, (for so this side of our knowne world esteem'd him)[ ] [sidenote: ] did slay this _fortinbras_: who by a seal'd compact, well ratified by law, and heraldrie, [sidenote: heraldy] did forfeite (with his life) all those his lands [sidenote: these] which he stood seiz'd on,[ ] to the conqueror: [sidenote: seaz'd of,] against the which, a moity[ ] competent was gaged by our king: which had return'd [sidenote: had returne] to the inheritance of _fortinbras_, [footnote : _ st q_. 'marshall stalke'.] [footnote : here is set up a frame of external relations, to inclose with fitting contrast, harmony, and suggestion, the coming show of things. ] [footnote : _ st q_. 'sweaty march'.] [footnote : pride that leads to emulate: the ambition to excel--not oneself, but another.] [footnote : the whole western hemisphere.] [footnote : _stood possessed of_.] [footnote : used by shakspere for _a part_.] [page ] had he bin vanquisher, as by the same cou'nant [sidenote: the same comart] and carriage of the article designe,[ ] [sidenote: desseigne,] his fell to _hamlet_. now sir, young _fortinbras_, of vnimproued[ ] mettle, hot and full, hath in the skirts of norway, heere and there, shark'd[ ] vp a list of landlesse resolutes, [sidenote: of lawlesse] for foode and diet, to some enterprize that hath a stomacke in't[ ]: which is no other (and it doth well appeare vnto our state) [sidenote: as it] but to recouer of vs by strong hand and termes compulsatiue, those foresaid lands [sidenote: compulsatory,] so by his father lost: and this (i take it) is the maine motiue of our preparations, the sourse of this our watch, and the cheefe head of this post-hast, and romage[ ] in the land. [a]_enter ghost againe_. but soft, behold: loe, where it comes againe: [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- _bar._ i thinke it be no other, but enso; well may it sort[ ] that this portentous figure comes armed through our watch so like the king that was and is the question of these warres. _hora._ a moth it is to trouble the mindes eye: in the most high and palmy state of rome, a little ere the mightiest _iulius_ fell the graues stood tennatlesse, and the sheeted dead did squeake and gibber in the roman streets[ ] as starres with traines of fier, and dewes of blood disasters in the sunne; and the moist starre, vpon whose influence _neptunes_ empier stands was sicke almost to doomesday with eclipse. and euen the like precurse of feare euents as harbindgers preceading still the fates and prologue to the _omen_ comming on haue heauen and earth together demonstrated vnto our climatures and countrymen.[ ] _enter ghost_.] [footnote : french désigné.] [footnote : _not proved_ or _tried. improvement_, as we use the word, is the result of proof or trial: _upon-proof-ment_.] [footnote : is _shark'd_ related to the german _scharren_? _zusammen scharren--to scrape together._ the anglo-saxon _searwian_ is _to prepare, entrap, take_.] [footnote : some enterprise of acquisition; one for the sake of getting something.] [footnote : in scotch, _remish_--the noise of confused and varied movements; a _row_; a _rampage_.--associated with french _remuage_?] [footnote : _suit_: so used in scotland still, i think.] [footnote : _julius caesar_, act i. sc. , and act ii. sc. .] [footnote : the only suggestion i dare make for the rectifying of the confusion of this speech is, that, if the eleventh line were inserted between the fifth and sixth, there would be sense, and very nearly grammar. and the sheeted dead did squeake and gibber in the roman streets, as harbindgers preceading still the fates; as starres with traines of fier, and dewes of blood (here understand _precede_) disasters in the sunne; the tenth will close with the twelfth line well enough. but no one, any more than myself, will be _satisfied_ with the suggestion. the probability is, of course, that a line has dropped out between the fifth and sixth. anything like this would restore the connection: _the labouring heavens themselves teemed dire portent_ as starres &c.] [page ] ile crosse it, though it blast me.[ ] stay illusion:[ ] [sidenote: _it[ ] spreads his armes_.] if thou hast any sound, or vse of voyce,[ ] speake to me. if there be any good thing to be done, that may to thee do ease, and grace to me; speak to me. if thou art priuy to thy countries fate (which happily foreknowing may auoyd) oh speake. or, if thou hast vp-hoorded in thy life extorted treasure in the wombe of earth, (for which, they say, you spirits oft walke in death) [sidenote: your] [sidenote: _the cocke crowes_] speake of it. stay, and speake. stop it _marcellus_. _mar_. shall i strike at it with my partizan? [sidenote: strike it with] _hor_. do, if it will not stand. _barn_. 'tis heere. _hor_. 'tis heere. _mar_. 'tis gone. _exit ghost_[ ] we do it wrong, being so maiesticall[ ] to offer it the shew of violence, for it is as the ayre, invulnerable, and our vaine blowes, malicious mockery. _barn_. it was about to speake, when the cocke crew. _hor_. and then it started, like a guilty thing vpon a fearfull summons. i haue heard, the cocke that is the trumpet to the day, [sidenote: to the morne,] doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throate[ ] awake the god of day: and at his warning, whether in sea, or fire, in earth, or ayre, th'extrauagant,[ ] and erring[ ] spirit, hyes to his confine. and of the truth heerein, this present obiect made probation.[ ] _mar_. it faded on the crowing of the cocke.[ ] [footnote : there are various tales of the blasting power of evil ghosts.] [footnote : plain doubt, and strong.] [footnote : 'sound of voice, or use of voice': physical or mental faculty of speech.] [footnote : i judge this _it_ a mistake for _h._, standing for _horatio_: he would stop it.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : 'as we cannot hurt it, our blows are a mockery; and it is wrong to mock anything so majestic': _for_ belongs to _shew_; 'we do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it what is but a _show_ of violence, for it is, &c.'] [footnote : _ st q._ 'his earely and shrill crowing throate.'] [footnote : straying beyond bounds.] [footnote : wandering.] [footnote : 'gave proof.'] [footnote : this line said thoughtfully--as the text of the observation following it. from the _eerie_ discomfort of their position, marcellus takes refuge in the thought of the saviour's birth into the haunted world, bringing sweet law, restraint, and health.] [page ] some sayes, that euer 'gainst that season comes [sidenote: say] wherein our sauiours birth is celebrated, the bird of dawning singeth all night long: [sidenote: this bird] and then (they say) no spirit can walke abroad, [sidenote: spirit dare sturre] the nights are wholsome, then no planets strike, no faiery talkes, nor witch hath power to charme: [sidenote: fairy takes,[ ]] so hallow'd, and so gracious is the time. [sidenote: is that time.] _hor._ so haue i heard, and do in part beleeue it. but looke, the morne in russet mantle clad, walkes o're the dew of yon high easterne hill, [sidenote: eastward[ ]] breake we our watch vp, and by my aduice [sidenote: advise] let vs impart what we haue scene to night vnto yong _hamlet_. for vpon my life, this spirit dumbe to vs, will speake to him: do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, as needfull in our loues, fitting our duty? [sidenote: ] _mar._ let do't i pray, and i this morning know where we shall finde him most conueniently. [sidenote: convenient.] _exeunt._ scena secunda[ ] _enter claudius king of denmarke. gertrude the queene, hamlet, polonius, laertes, and his sister ophelia, lords attendant._[ ] [sidenote: _florish. enter claudius, king of denmarke, gertrad the queene, counsaile: as polonius, and his sonne laertes, hamelt cum abijs._] _king._ though yet of _hamlet_ our deere brothers death [sidenote: _claud._] the memory be greene: and that it vs befitted to beare our hearts in greefe, and our whole kingdome to be contracted in one brow of woe: yet so farre hath discretion fought with nature, that we with wisest sorrow thinke on him, [footnote : does it mean--_carries off any child, leaving a changeling_? or does it mean--_affect with evil_, as a disease might infect or _take_?] [footnote : _ st q_. 'hie mountaine top,'] [footnote : _in neither q._] [footnote : the first court after the marriage.] [page ] together with remembrance of our selues. therefore our sometimes sister, now our queen, th'imperiall ioyntresse of this warlike state, [sidenote: to this] haue we, as 'twere, with a defeated ioy, with one auspicious, and one dropping eye, [sidenote: an auspitious and a] with mirth in funerall, and with dirge in marriage, in equall scale weighing delight and dole[ ] taken to wife; nor haue we heerein barr'd[ ] your better wisedomes, which haue freely gone with this affaire along, for all our thankes. [sidenote: ] now followes, that you know young _fortinbras_,[ ] holding a weake supposall of our worth; or thinking by our late deere brothers death, our state to be disioynt, and out of frame, colleagued with the dreame of his aduantage;[ ] [sidenote: this dreame] he hath not fayl'd to pester vs with message, importing the surrender of those lands lost by his father: with all bonds of law [sidenote: bands] to our most valiant brother. so much for him. _enter voltemand and cornelius._[ ] now for our selfe, and for this time of meeting thus much the businesse is. we haue heere writ to norway, vncle of young _fortinbras_, who impotent and bedrid, scarsely heares of this his nephewes purpose, to suppresse his further gate[ ] heerein. in that the leuies, the lists, and full proportions are all made out of his subiect: and we heere dispatch you good _cornelius_, and you _voltemand_, for bearing of this greeting to old norway, [sidenote: bearers] giuing to you no further personall power to businesse with the king, more then the scope of these dilated articles allow:[ ] [sidenote: delated[ ]] farewell and let your hast commend your duty.[ ] [footnote : weighing out an equal quantity of each.] [footnote : like _crossed_.] [footnote : 'now follows--that (_which_) you know--young fortinbras:--'] [footnote : _colleagued_ agrees with _supposall_. the preceding two lines may be regarded as somewhat parenthetical. _dream of advantage_--hope of gain.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : _going; advance._ note in norway also, as well as in denmark, the succession of the brother.] [footnote : (_giving them papers_).] [footnote : which of these is right, i cannot tell. _dilated_ means _expanded_, and would refer to _the scope; _delated_ means _committed_--to them, to limit them.] [footnote : idea of duty.] [page ] _volt._ in that, and all things, will we shew our duty. _king._ we doubt it nothing, heartily farewell. [sidenote: ] [ ]_exit voltemand and cornelius._ and now _laertes_, what's the newes with you? you told vs of some suite. what is't _laertes_? you cannot speake of reason to the dane, and loose your voyce. what would'st thou beg _laertes_, that shall not be my offer, not thy asking?[ ] the head is not more natiue to the heart, the hand more instrumentall to the mouth, then is the throne of denmarke to thy father.[ ] what would'st thou haue _laertes_? _laer._ dread my lord, [sidenote: my dread] your leaue and fauour to returne to france, from whence, though willingly i came to denmarke to shew my duty in your coronation, yet now i must confesse, that duty done, [sidenote: ] my thoughts and wishes bend againe towards toward france,[ ] and bow them to your gracious leaue and pardon. _king._ haue you your fathers leaue? what sayes _pollonius_? [a] _pol._ he hath my lord: i do beseech you giue him leaue to go. _king._ take thy faire houre _laertes_, time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will: but now my cosin _hamlet_, and my sonne? [footnote a: _in the quarto_:-- _polo._ hath[ ] my lord wroung from me my slowe leaue by laboursome petition, and at last vpon his will i seald my hard consent,[ ] i doe beseech you giue him leaue to goe.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : 'before they call, i will answer; and while they are yet speaking, i will hear.'--_isaiah_, lxv. .] [footnote : the villain king courts his courtiers.] [footnote : he had been educated there. compare . but it would seem rather to the court than the university he desired to return. see his father's instructions, .] [footnote : _h'ath_--a contraction for _he hath_.] [footnote : a play upon the act of sealing a will with wax.] [page ] _ham._ a little more then kin, and lesse then kinde.[ ] _king._ how is it that the clouds still hang on you? _ham._ not so my lord, i am too much i'th'sun.[ ] [sidenote: so much my ... in the sonne.] _queen._ good hamlet cast thy nightly colour off,[ ] [sidenote: nighted[ ]] and let thine eye looke like a friend on denmarke. do not for euer with thy veyled[ ] lids [sidenote: vailed] seeke for thy noble father in the dust; thou know'st 'tis common, all that liues must dye, passing through nature, to eternity. _ham._ i madam, it is common.[ ] _queen._ if it be; why seemes it so particular with thee. _ham._ seemes madam? nay, it is: i know not seemes:[ ] 'tis not alone my inky cloake (good mother) [sidenote: cloake coold mother [ ]] nor customary suites of solemne blacke, nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, no, nor the fruitfull riuer in the eye, nor the deiected hauiour of the visage, together with all formes, moods, shewes of griefe, [sidenote: moodes, chapes of] that can denote me truly. these indeed seeme,[ ] [sidenote: deuote] for they are actions that a man might[ ] play: but i haue that within, which passeth show; [sidenote: passes] these, but the trappings, and the suites of woe. _king._ 'tis sweet and commendable in your nature _hamlet_, to giue these mourning duties to your father:[ ] but you must know, your father lost a father, that father lost, lost his, and the suruiuer bound in filiall obligation, for some terme to do obsequious[ ] sorrow. but to perseuer in obstinate condolement, is a course [footnote : an _aside_. hamlet's first utterance is of dislike to his uncle. he is more than _kin_ through his unwelcome marriage--less than _kind_ by the difference in their natures. to be _kind_ is to behave as one _kinned_ or related. but the word here is the noun, and means _nature_, or sort by birth.] [footnote : a word-play may be here intended between _sun_ and _son_: _a little more than kin--too much i' th' son_. so george herbert: for when he sees my ways, i die; but i have got his _son_, and he hath none; and dr. donne: at my death thy son shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore.] [footnote : 'wintred garments'--_as you like it_, iii. .] [footnote : he is the only one who has not for the wedding put off his mourning.] [footnote : _lowered_, or cast down: _fr. avaler_, to lower.] [footnote : 'plainly you treat it as a common matter--a thing of no significance!' _i_ is constantly used for _ay_, _yes_.] [footnote : he pounces on the word _seems_.] [footnote : not unfrequently the type would appear to have been set up from dictation.] [footnote : they are things of the outside, and must _seem_, for they are capable of being imitated; they are the natural _shows_ of grief. but he has that in him which cannot _show_ or _seem_, because nothing can represent it. these are 'the trappings and the suites of _woe_;' they fitly represent woe, but they cannot shadow forth that which is within him--a something different from woe, far beyond it and worse, passing all reach of embodiment and manifestation. what this something is, comes out the moment he is left by himself.] [footnote : the emphasis is on _might_.] [footnote : both his uncle and his mother decline to understand him. they will have it he mourns the death of his father, though they must at least suspect another cause for his grief. note the intellectual mastery of the hypocrite--which accounts for his success.] [footnote : belonging to _obsequies_.] [page ] of impious stubbornnesse. tis vnmanly greefe, it shewes a will most incorrect to heauen, a heart vnfortified, a minde impatient, [sidenote: or minde] an vnderstanding simple, and vnschool'd: for, what we know must be, and is as common as any the most vulgar thing to sence, why should we in our peeuish opposition take it to heart? fye, 'tis a fault to heauen, a fault against the dead, a fault to nature, to reason most absurd, whose common theame is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, from the first coarse,[ ] till he that dyed to day, [sidenote: course] this must be so. we pray you throw to earth this vnpreuayling woe, and thinke of vs as of a father; for let the world take note, you are the most immediate to our throne,[ ] and with no lesse nobility of loue, then that which deerest father beares his sonne, do i impart towards you. for your intent [sidenote: toward] [sidenote: ] in going backe to schoole in wittenberg,[ ] it is most retrograde to our desire: [sidenote: retrogard] and we beseech you, bend you to remaine heere in the cheere and comfort of our eye, our cheefest courtier cosin, and our sonne. _qu._ let not thy mother lose her prayers _hamlet_: [sidenote: loose] i prythee stay with vs, go not to wittenberg. [sidenote: pray thee] _ham._ i shall in all my best obey you madam.[ ] _king._ why 'tis a louing, and a faire reply, be as our selfe in denmarke. madam come, this gentle and vnforc'd accord of _hamlet_[ ] sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, no iocond health that denmarke drinkes to day, [sidenote: ] but the great cannon to the clowds shall tell, [footnote : _corpse_.] [footnote : --seeking to propitiate him with the hope that his succession had been but postponed by his uncle's election.] [footnote : note that hamlet was educated in germany--at wittenberg, the university where in luther was appointed professor of philosophy. compare . there was love of study as well as disgust with home in his desire to return to _schoole_: this from what we know of him afterwards.] [footnote : emphasis on _obey_. a light on the character of hamlet.] [footnote : he takes it, or pretends to take it, for far more than it was. he desires friendly relations with hamlet.] [page ] and the kings rouce,[ ] the heauens shall bruite againe, respeaking earthly thunder. come away. _exeunt_ [sidenote: _florish. exeunt all but hamlet._] _manet hamlet._ [ ]_ham._ oh that this too too solid flesh, would melt, [sidenote: sallied flesh[ ]] thaw, and resolue it selfe into a dew: [sidenote: , , ] or that the euerlasting had not fixt [sidenote: _bis_] his cannon 'gainst selfe-slaughter. o god, o god! [sidenote: seale slaughter, o god, god,] how weary, stale, flat, and vnprofitable [sidenote: wary] seemes to me all the vses of this world? [sidenote: seeme] fie on't? oh fie, fie, 'tis an vnweeded garden [sidenote: ah fie,] that growes to seed: things rank, and grosse in nature possesse it meerely. that it should come to this: [sidenote: meerely that it should come thus] but two months dead[ ]: nay, not so much; not two, so excellent a king, that was to this _hiperion_ to a satyre: so louing to my mother, that he might not beteene the windes of heauen [sidenote: beteeme[ ]] visit her face too roughly. heauen and earth must i remember: why she would hang on him, [sidenote: should] as if encrease of appetite had growne by what it fed on; and yet within a month? let me not thinke on't: frailty, thy name is woman.[ ] a little month, or ere those shooes were old, with which she followed my poore fathers body like _niobe_, all teares. why she, euen she.[ ] (o heauen! a beast that wants discourse[ ] of reason [sidenote: o god] would haue mourn'd longer) married with mine vnkle, [sidenote: my] [footnote : german _rausch_, _drunkenness_. , ] [footnote : a soliloquy is as the drawing called a section of a thing: it shows the inside of the man. soliloquy is only rare, not unnatural, and in art serves to reveal more of nature. in the drama it is the lifting of a veil through which dialogue passes. the scene is for the moment shifted into the lonely spiritual world, and here we begin to know hamlet. such is his wretchedness, both in mind and circumstance, that he could well wish to vanish from the world. the suggestion of suicide, however, he dismisses at once--with a momentary regret, it is true--but he dismisses it--as against the will of god to whom he appeals in his misery. the cause of his misery is now made plain to us--his trouble that passes show, deprives life of its interest, and renders the world a disgust to him. there is no lamentation over his father's death, so dwelt upon by the king; for loving grief does not crush. far less could his uncle's sharp practice, in scheming for his own election during hamlet's absence, have wrought in a philosopher like him such an effect. the one makes him sorrowful, the other might well annoy him, but neither could render him unhappy: his misery lies at his mother's door; it is her conduct that has put out the light of her son's life. she who had been to him the type of all excellence, she whom his father had idolized, has within a month of his death married his uncle, and is living in habitual incest--for as such, a marriage of the kind was then unanimously regarded. to hamlet's condition and behaviour, his mother, her past and her present, is the only and sufficing key. his very idea of unity had been rent in twain.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'too much grieu'd and sallied flesh.' _sallied_, sullied: compare _sallets_, , . i have a strong suspicion that _sallied_ and not _solid_ is the true word. it comes nearer the depth of hamlet's mood.] [footnote : two months at the present moment.] [footnote : this is the word all the editors take: which is right, i do not know; i doubt if either is. the word in _a midsummer night's dream_, act i. sc. -- belike for want of rain; which i could well beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes-- i cannot believe the same word. the latter means _produce for_, as from the place of origin. the word, in the sense necessary to this passage, is not, so far as i know, to be found anywhere else. i have no suggestion to make.] [footnote : from his mother he generalizes to _woman_. after having believed in such a mother, it may well be hard for a man to believe in any woman.] [footnote : _q._ omits 'euen she.'] [footnote : the going abroad among things.] [page ] my fathers brother: but no more like my father, then i to _hercules_. within a moneth? ere yet the salt of most vnrighteous teares had left the flushing of her gauled eyes, [sidenote: in her] she married. o most wicked speed, to post[ ] with such dexterity to incestuous sheets: it is not, nor it cannot come to good, but breake my heart, for i must hold my tongue.[ ] _enter horatio, barnard, and marcellus._ [sidenote: _marcellus, and bernardo._] _hor._ haile to your lordship.[ ] _ham._ i am glad to see you well: _horatio_, or i do forget my selfe. _hor._ the same my lord, and your poore seruant euer. [sidenote: ] _ham._ [ ]sir my good friend, ile change that name with you:[ ] and what make you from wittenberg _horatio_?[ ] _marcellus._[ ] _mar._ my good lord. _ham._ i am very glad to see you: good euen sir.[ ] but what in faith make you from _wittemberge_? _hor._ a truant disposition, good my lord.[ ] _ham._ i would not haue your enemy say so;[ ] [sidenote: not heare] nor shall you doe mine eare that violence,[ ] [sidenote: my eare] [sidenote: ] to make it truster of your owne report against your selfe. i know you are no truant: but what is your affaire in _elsenour_? wee'l teach you to drinke deepe, ere you depart.[ ] [sidenote: you for to drinke ere] _hor._ my lord, i came to see your fathers funerall. _ham._ i pray thee doe not mock me (fellow student) [sidenote: pre thee] i thinke it was to see my mothers wedding. [sidenote: was to my] [footnote : i suggest the pointing: speed! to post ... sheets!] [footnote : fit moment for the entrance of his father's messengers.] [footnote : they do not seem to have been intimate before, though we know from hamlet's speech ( ) that he had had the greatest respect for horatio. the small degree of doubt in hamlet's recognition of his friend is due to the darkness, and the unexpectedness of his appearance.] [footnote : _ st q._ 'o my good friend, i change, &c.' this would leave it doubtful whether he wished to exchange servant or friend; but 'sir, my _good friend_,' correcting horatio, makes his intent plain.] [footnote : emphasis on _that_: 'i will exchange the name of _friend_ with you.'] [footnote : 'what are you doing from--out of, _away from_--wittenberg?'] [footnote : in recognition: the word belongs to hamlet's speech.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'you.--good even, sir.'--_to barnardo, whom he does not know._] [footnote : an ungrammatical reply. he does not wish to give the real, painful answer, and so replies confusedly, as if he had been asked, 'what makes you?' instead of, 'what do you make?'] [footnote : '--i should know how to answer him.'] [footnote : emphasis on _you_.] [footnote : said with contempt for his surroundings.] [page ] _hor._ indeed my lord, it followed hard vpon. _ham._ thrift, thrift _horatio_: the funerall bakt-meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables; would i had met my dearest foe in heauen,[ ] ere i had euer seerie that day _horatio_.[ ] [sidenote: or ever i had] my father, me thinkes i see my father. _hor._ oh where my lord? [sidenote: where my] _ham._ in my minds eye (_horatio_)[ ] _hor._ i saw him once; he was a goodly king. [sidenote: once, a was] _ham._ he was a man, take him for all in all: [sidenote: a was a man] i shall not look vpon his like againe. _hor._ my lord, i thinke i saw him yesternight. _ham._ saw? who?[ ] _hor._ my lord, the king your father. _ham._ the king my father?[ ] _hor._ season[ ] your admiration for a while with an attent eare;[ ] till i may deliuer vpon the witnesse of these gentlemen, this maruell to you. _ham._ for heauens loue let me heare. [sidenote: god's love] _hor._ two nights together, had these gentlemen (_marcellus_ and _barnardo_) on their watch in the dead wast and middle of the night[ ] beene thus encountred. a figure like your father,[ ] arm'd at all points exactly, _cap a pe_,[ ] [sidenote: armed at poynt] appeares before them, and with sollemne march goes slow and stately: by them thrice he walkt, [sidenote: stately by them; thrice] by their opprest and feare-surprized eyes, within his truncheons length; whilst they bestil'd [sidenote: they distill'd[ ]] almost to ielly with the act of feare,[ ] stand dumbe and speake not to him. this to me in dreadfull[ ] secrecie impart they did, and i with them the third night kept the watch, whereas[ ] they had deliuer'd both in time, [footnote : _dear_ is not unfrequently used as an intensive; but 'my dearest foe' is not 'the man who hates me most,' but 'the man whom most i regard as my foe.'] [footnote : note hamlet's trouble: the marriage, not the death, nor the supplantation.] [footnote : --with a little surprise at horatio's question.] [footnote : said as if he must have misheard. astonishment comes only with the next speech.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'ha, ha, the king my father ke you.'] [footnote : qualify.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'an attentiue eare,'.] [footnote : possibly, _dead vast_, as in _ st q_.; but _waste_ as good, leaving also room to suppose a play in the word.] [footnote : note the careful uncertainty.] [footnote : _ st q. 'capapea_.'] [footnote : either word would do: the _distilling_ off of the animal spirits would leave the man a jelly; the cold of fear would _bestil_ them and him to a jelly. _ st q. distilled_. but i judge _bestil'd_ the better, as the truer to the operation of fear. compare _the winter's tale_, act v. sc. :-- there's magic in thy majesty, which has from thy admiring daughter took the spirits, standing like stone with thee.] [footnote : act: present influence.] [footnote : a secrecy more than solemn.] [footnote : 'where, as'.] [page ] forme of the thing; each word made true and good, the apparition comes. i knew your father: these hands are not more like. _ham_. but where was this? _mar_. my lord, vpon the platforme where we watcht. [sidenote: watch] _ham_. did you not speake to it? _her_. my lord, i did; but answere made it none: yet once me thought it lifted vp it head, and did addresse it selfe to motion, like as it would speake: but euen then, the morning cocke crew lowd; and at the sound it shrunke in hast away, and vanisht from our sight. _ham_. tis very strange. _hor_. as i doe liue my honourd lord 'tis true; [sidenote: ] and we did thinke it writ downe in our duty to let you know of it. [sidenote: , ] _ham_. indeed, indeed sirs; but this troubles me. [sidenote: indeede sirs but] hold you the watch to night? _both_. we doe my lord. [sidenote: _all_.] _ham_. arm'd, say you? _both_. arm'd, my lord. [sidenote: _all_.] _ham_. from top to toe? _both_. my lord, from head to foote. [sidenote: _all_.] _ham_. then saw you not his face? _hor_. o yes, my lord, he wore his beauer vp. _ham_. what, lookt he frowningly? [sidenote: , ] _hor_. a countenance more in sorrow then in anger.[ ] [sidenote: ] _ham_. pale, or red? _hor_. nay very pale. [footnote : the mood of the ghost thus represented, remains the same towards his wife throughout the play.] [page ] _ham._ and fixt his eyes vpon you? _hor._ most constantly. _ham._ i would i had beene there. _hor._ it would haue much amaz'd you. _ham._ very like, very like: staid it long? [sidenote: very like, stayd] _hor._ while one with moderate hast might tell a hundred. [sidenote: hundreth] _all._ longer, longer. [sidenote: _both._] _hor._ not when i saw't. _ham._ his beard was grisly?[ ] no. [sidenote: grissl'd] _hor._ it was, as i haue seene it in his life, [sidenote: ] a sable[ ] siluer'd. _ham._ ile watch to night; perchance 'twill wake againe. [sidenote: walke againe.] _hor._ i warrant you it will. [sidenote: warn't it] [sidenote: ] _ham._ if it assume my noble fathers person,[ ] ile speake to it, though hell it selfe should gape and bid me hold my peace. i pray you all, if you haue hitherto conceald this sight; let it bee treble[ ] in your silence still: [sidenote: be tenable in[ ]] and whatsoeuer els shall hap to night, [sidenote: what someuer els] giue it an vnderstanding but no tongue; i will requite your loues; so, fare ye well: [sidenote: farre you] vpon the platforme twixt eleuen and twelue, [sidenote: a leauen and twelfe] ile visit you. _all._ our duty to your honour. _exeunt._ _ham._ your loue, as mine to you: farewell. [sidenote: loves,] my fathers spirit in armes?[ ] all is not well: [sidenote: , ] i doubt some foule play: would the night were come; till then sit still my soule; foule deeds will rise, [sidenote: fonde deedes] though all the earth orewhelm them to mens eies. _exit._ [footnote : _grisly_--gray; _grissl'd_--turned gray;--mixed with white.] [footnote : the colour of sable-fur, i think.] [footnote : hamlet does not _accept_ the appearance as his father; he thinks it may be he, but seems to take a usurpation of his form for very possible.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'tenible'] [footnote : if _treble_ be the right word, the actor in uttering it must point to each of the three, with distinct yet rapid motion. the phrase would be a strange one, but not unlike shakspere. compare _cymbeline_, act v. sc. : 'and your three motives to the battle,' meaning 'the motives of you three.' perhaps, however, it is only the adjective for the adverb: '_having concealed it hitherto, conceal it trebly now_.' but _tenible_ may be the word: 'let it be a thing to be kept in your silence still.'] [footnote : alone, he does not dispute _the idea_ of its being his father.] [page ] _scena tertia_[ ] _enter laertes and ophelia_. [sidenote: _ophelia his sister._] _laer_. my necessaries are imbark't; farewell: [sidenote: inbarckt,] and sister, as the winds giue benefit, and conuoy is assistant: doe not sleepe, [sidenote: conuay, in assistant doe] but let me heare from you. _ophel_. doe you doubt that? _laer_. for _hamlet_, and the trifling of his fauours, [sidenote: favour,] hold it a fashion and a toy in bloud; a violet in the youth of primy nature; froward,[ ] not permanent; sweet not lasting the suppliance of a minute? no more.[ ] [sidenote: the perfume and suppliance] _ophel_. no more but so.[ ] _laer_. thinke it no more. for nature cressant does not grow alone, [sidenote: ] in thewes[ ] and bulke: but as his temple waxes,[ ] [sidenote: bulkes, but as this] the inward seruice of the minde and soule growes wide withall. perhaps he loues you now,[ ] and now no soyle nor cautell[ ] doth besmerch the vertue of his feare: but you must feare [sidenote: of his will, but] his greatnesse weigh'd, his will is not his owne;[ ] [sidenote: wayd] for hee himselfe is subiect to his birth:[ ] hee may not, as vnuallued persons doe, carue for himselfe; for, on his choyce depends the sanctity and health of the weole state. [sidenote: the safty and | this whole] and therefore must his choyce be circumscrib'd[ ] vnto the voyce and yeelding[ ] of that body, whereof he is the head. then if he sayes he loues you, it fits your wisedome so farre to beleeue it; as he in his peculiar sect and force[ ] [sidenote: his particuler act and place] may giue his saying deed: which is no further, [footnote : _not in quarto_.] [footnote : same as _forward_.] [footnote : 'no more' makes a new line in the _quarto_.] [footnote : i think this speech should end with a point of interrogation.] [footnote : muscles.] [footnote : the body is the temple, in which the mind and soul are the worshippers: their service grows with the temple--wide, changing and increasing its objects. the degraded use of the grand image is after the character of him who makes it.] [footnote : the studied contrast between laertes and hamlet begins already to appear: the dishonest man, honestly judging after his own dishonesty, warns his sister against the honest man.] [footnote : deceit.] [footnote : 'you have cause to fear when you consider his greatness: his will &c.' 'you must fear, his greatness being weighed; for because of that greatness, his will is not his own.'] [footnote : _this line not in quarto._] [footnote : limited.] [footnote : allowance.] [footnote : this change from the _quarto_ seems to me to bear the mark of shakspere's hand. the meaning is the same, but the words are more individual and choice: the _sect_, the _head_ in relation to the body, is more pregnant than _place_; and _force_, that is _power_, is a fuller word than _act_, or even _action_, for which it plainly appears to stand.] [page ] then the maine voyce of _denmarke_ goes withall. then weigh what losse your honour may sustaine, if with too credent eare you list his songs; or lose your heart; or your chast treasure open [sidenote: or loose] to his vnmastred[ ] importunity. feare it _ophelia_, feare it my deare sister, and keepe within the reare of your affection;[ ] [sidenote: keepe you in the] out of the shot and danger of desire. the chariest maid is prodigall enough, [sidenote: the] if she vnmaske her beauty to the moone:[ ] vertue it selfe scapes not calumnious stroakes, [sidenote: vertue] the canker galls, the infants of the spring [sidenote: the canker gaules the] too oft before the buttons[ ] be disclos'd, [sidenote: their buttons] and in the morne and liquid dew of youth, contagious blastments are most imminent. be wary then, best safety lies in feare; youth to it selfe rebels, though none else neere.[ ] _ophe_. i shall th'effect of this good lesson keepe, as watchmen to my heart: but good my brother [sidenote: watchman] doe not as some vngracious pastors doe, shew me the steepe and thorny way to heauen; whilst like a puft and recklesse libertine himselfe, the primrose path of dalliance treads, and reaks not his owne reade.[ ][ ][ ] _laer_. oh, feare me not.[ ] _enter polonius_. i stay too long; but here my father comes: a double blessing is a double grace; occasion smiles vpon a second leaue.[ ] _polon_. yet heere _laertes_? aboord, aboord for shame, the winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, and you are staid for there: my blessing with you; [sidenote: for, there my | with thee] [footnote : without a master; lawless.] [footnote : do not go so far as inclination would lead you. keep behind your liking. do not go to the front with your impulse.] [footnote : --_but_ to the moon--which can show it so little.] [footnote : opened but not closed quotations in the _quarto_.] [footnote : the french _bouton_ is also both _button_ and _bud_.] [footnote : 'inclination is enough to have to deal with, let alone added temptation.' like his father, laertes is wise for another--a man of maxims, not behaviour. his morality is in his intellect and for self-ends, not in his will, and for the sake of truth and righteousness.] [footnote : _ st q_. but my deere brother, do not you like to a cunning sophister, teach me the path and ready way to heauen, while you forgetting what is said to me, your selfe, like to a carelesse libertine doth giue his heart, his appetite at ful, and little recks how that his honour dies. 'the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.' --_macbeth_, ii. : 'the flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire.' _all's well_, iv. .] [footnote : 'heeds not his own counsel.'] [footnote : here in quarto, _enter polonius._] [footnote : with the fitting arrogance and impertinence of a libertine brother, he has read his sister a lecture on propriety of behaviour; but when she gently suggests that what is good for her is good for him too,--'oh, fear me not!--i stay too long.'] [footnote : 'a second leave-taking is a happy chance': the chance, or occasion, because it is happy, smiles. it does not mean that occasion smiles upon a second leave, but that, upon a second leave, occasion smiles. there should be a comma after _smiles_.] [footnote : as many of polonius' aphorismic utterances as are given in the st quarto have there inverted commas; but whether intended as gleanings from books or as fruits of experience, the light they throw on the character of him who speaks them is the same: they show it altogether selfish. he is a man of the world, wise in his generation, his principles the best of their bad sort. of these his son is a fit recipient and retailer, passing on to his sister their father's grand doctrine of self-protection. but, wise in maxim, polonius is foolish in practice--not from senility, but from vanity.] [page ] and these few precepts in thy memory,[ ] see thou character.[ ] giue thy thoughts no tongue, [sidenote: looke thou] nor any vnproportion'd[ ] thought his act: be thou familiar; but by no meanes vulgar:[ ] the friends thou hast, and their adoption tride,[ ] [sidenote: those friends] grapple them to thy soule, with hoopes of steele: [sidenote: unto] but doe not dull thy palme, with entertainment of each vnhatch't, vnfledg'd comrade.[ ] beware [sidenote: each new hatcht unfledgd courage,] of entrance to a quarrell: but being in bear't that th'opposed may beware of thee. giue euery man thine eare; but few thy voyce: [sidenote: thy eare,] take each mans censure[ ]; but reserue thy judgement; costly thy habit as thy purse can buy; but not exprest in fancie; rich, not gawdie: for the apparell oft proclaimes the man. and they in france of the best ranck and station, are of a most select and generous[ ] cheff in that.[ ] [sidenote: or of a generous, chiefe[ ]] neither a borrower, nor a lender be; [sidenote: lender boy,] for lone oft loses both it selfe and friend: [sidenote: loue] and borrowing duls the edge of husbandry.[ ] [sidenote: dulleth edge] this aboue all; to thine owne selfe be true: and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.[ ] farewell: my blessing season[ ] this in thee. _laer_. most humbly doe i take my leaue, my lord. _polon_. the time inuites you, goe, your seruants tend. [sidenote: time inuests] _laer._ farewell _ophelia_, and remember well what i haue said to you.[ ] _ophe_. tis in my memory lockt, and you your selfe shall keepe the key of it, _laer_. farewell. _exit laer_. _polon_. what ist _ophelia_ he hath said to you? [footnote : he hurries him to go, yet immediately begins to prose.] [footnote : engrave.] [footnote : not settled into its true shape (?) or, out of proportion with its occasions (?)--i cannot say which.] [footnote : 'cultivate close relations, but do not lie open to common access.' 'have choice intimacies, but do not be _hail, fellow! well met_ with everybody.' what follows is an expansion of the lesson.] [footnote : 'the friends thou hast--and the choice of them justified by trial--'_equal to_: 'provided their choice be justified &c.'] [footnote : 'do not make the palm hard, and dull its touch of discrimination, by shaking hands in welcome with every one that turns up.'] [footnote : judgment, opinion.] [footnote : _generosus_, of good breed, a gentleman.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'generall chiefe.'] [footnote : no doubt the omission of _of a_ gives the right number of syllables to the verse, and makes room for the interpretation which a dash between _generous_ and _chief_ renders clearer: 'are most select and generous--chief in that,'--'are most choice and well-bred--chief, indeed--at the head or top, in the matter of dress.' but without _necessity_ or _authority_--one of the two, i would not throw away a word; and suggest therefore that shakspere had here the french idiom _de son chef_ in his mind, and qualifies the noun in it with adjectives of his own. the academy dictionary gives _de son propre mouvement_ as one interpretation of the phrase. the meaning would be, 'they are of a most choice and developed instinct in dress.' _cheff_ or _chief_ suggests the upper third of the heraldic shield, but i cannot persuade the suggestion to further development. the hypercatalectic syllables _of a_, swiftly spoken, matter little to the verse, especially as it is _dramatic_.] [footnote : those that borrow, having to pay, lose heart for saving. 'there's husbandry in heaven; their candles are all out.'--_macbeth_, ii. .] [footnote : certainly a man cannot be true to himself without being true to others; neither can he be true to others without being true to himself; but if a man make himself the centre for the birth of action, it will follow, '_as the night the day_,' that he will be true neither to himself nor to any other man. in this regard note the history of laertes, developed in the play.] [footnote : --as salt, to make the counsel keep.] [footnote : see _note , page _.] [page ] _ophe._ so please you, somthing touching the l. _hamlet._ _polon._ marry, well bethought: tis told me he hath very oft of late giuen priuate time to you; and you your selfe haue of your audience beene most free and bounteous.[ ] if it be so, as so tis put on me;[ ] and that in way of caution: i must tell you, you doe not vnderstand your selfe so cleerely, as it behoues my daughter, and your honour what is betweene you, giue me vp the truth? _ophe._ he hath my lord of late, made many tenders of his affection to me. _polon._ affection, puh. you speake like a greene girle, vnsifted in such perillous circumstance. doe you beleeue his tenders, as you call them? _ophe._ i do not know, my lord, what i should thinke. _polon._ marry ile teach you; thinke your self a baby, [sidenote: i will] that you haue tane his tenders for true pay, [sidenote: tane these] which are not starling. tender your selfe more dearly; [sidenote: sterling] or not to crack the winde of the poore phrase, [sidenote: (not ... &c.] roaming it[ ] thus, you'l tender me a foole.[ ] [sidenote: wrong it thus] _ophe._ my lord, he hath importun'd me with loue, in honourable fashion. _polon._ i, fashion you may call it, go too, go too. _ophe._ and hath giuen countenance to his speech, my lord, with all the vowes of heauen. [sidenote: with almost all the holy vowes of] [footnote : there had then been a good deal of intercourse between hamlet and ophelia: she had heartily encouraged him.] [footnote : 'as so i am informed, and that by way of caution,'] [footnote : --making it, 'the poor phrase' _tenders_, gallop wildly about--as one might _roam_ a horse; _larking it_.] [footnote : 'you will in your own person present me a fool.'] [page ] _polon_. i, springes to catch woodcocks.[ ] i doe know [sidenote: springs] when the bloud burnes, how prodigall the soule[ ] giues the tongue vowes: these blazes, daughter, [sidenote: lends the] giuing more light then heate; extinct in both,[ ] euen in their promise, as it is a making; you must not take for fire. for this time daughter,[ ] [sidenote: fire, from this] be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; [sidenote: something] set your entreatments[ ] at a higher rate, then a command to parley. for lord _hamlet_, [sidenote: parle;] beleeue so much in him, that he is young, and with a larger tether may he walke, [sidenote: tider] then may be giuen you. in few,[ ] _ophelia_, doe not beleeue his vowes; for they are broakers, not of the eye,[ ] which their inuestments show: [sidenote: of that die] but meere implorators of vnholy sutes, [sidenote: imploratators] breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, the better to beguile. this is for all:[ ] [sidenote: beguide] i would not, in plaine tearmes, from this time forth, haue you so slander any moment leisure,[ ] [sidenote: , ] as to giue words or talke with the lord _hamlet_:[ ] looke too't, i charge you; come your wayes. _ophe_. i shall obey my lord.[ ] _exeunt_. _enter hamlet, horatio, marcellus._ [sidenote: _and marcellus_] [sidenote: ] _ham_. [ ]the ayre bites shrewdly: is it very cold?[ ] _hor_. it is a nipping and an eager ayre. _ham_. what hower now? _hor_. i thinke it lacks of twelue. _mar_. no, it is strooke. _hor_. indeed i heard it not: then it drawes neere the season, [sidenote: it then] wherein the spirit held his wont to walke. what does this meane my lord? [ ] [sidenote: _a flourish of trumpets and peeces goes of._[ ]] [footnote : woodcocks were understood to have no brains.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'how prodigall the tongue lends the heart vowes.' i was inclined to take _prodigall_ for a noun, a proper name or epithet given to the soul, as in a moral play: _prodigall, the soul_; but i conclude it only an adjective used as an adverb, and the capital p a blunder.] [footnote : --in both light and heat.] [footnote : the _quarto_ has not 'daughter.'] [footnote : _to be entreated_ is _to yield_: 'he would nowise be entreated:' _entreatments, yieldings_: 'you are not to see him just because he chooses to command a parley.'] [footnote : 'in few words'; in brief.] [footnote : i suspect a misprint in the folio here--that an _e_ has got in for a _d_, and that the change from the _quarto_ should be _not of the dye_. then the line would mean, using the antecedent word _brokers_ in the bad sense, 'not themselves of the same colour as their garments (_investments_); his vows are clothed in innocence, but are not innocent; they are mere panders.' the passage is rendered yet more obscure to the modern sense by the accidental propinquity of _bonds, brokers_, and _investments_--which have nothing to do with _stocks_.] [footnote : 'this means in sum:'.] [footnote : 'so slander any moment with the name of leisure as to': to call it leisure, if leisure stood for talk with hamlet, would be to slander the time. we might say, 'so slander any man friend as to expect him to do this or that unworthy thing for you.'] [footnote : _ st q_. _ofelia_, receiue none of his letters, for louers lines are snares to intrap the heart; [sidenote: ] refuse his tokens, both of them are keyes to vnlocke chastitie vnto desire; come in _ofelia_; such men often proue, great in their wordes, but little in their loue. '_men often prove such_--great &c.'--compare _twelfth night_, act ii. sc. , lines , , _globe ed.] [footnote : fresh trouble for hamlet_.] [footnote : _ st q._ the ayre bites shrewd; it is an eager and an nipping winde, what houre i'st?] [footnote : again the cold.] [footnote : the stage-direction of the _q_. is necessary here.] [page ] [sidenote: , ] _ham_. the king doth wake to night, and takes his rouse, keepes wassels and the swaggering vpspring reeles,[ ] [sidenote: wassell | up-spring] and as he dreines his draughts of renish downe, the kettle drum and trumpet thus bray out the triumph of his pledge. _horat_. is it a custome? _ham_. i marry ist; and to my mind, though i am natiue heere, [sidenote: but to] and to the manner borne: it is a custome more honour'd in the breach, then the obseruance. [a] _enter ghost._ _hor_. looke my lord, it comes. [sidenote: ] _ham_. angels and ministers of grace defend vs: [sidenote: ] be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, bring with thee ayres from heauen, or blasts from hell,[ ] [footnote a: _here in the quarto:--_ this heauy headed reueale east and west[ ] makes vs tradust, and taxed of other nations, they clip[ ] vs drunkards, and with swinish phrase soyle our addition,[ ] and indeede it takes from our atchieuements, though perform'd at height[ ] the pith and marrow of our attribute, so oft it chaunces in particuler men,[ ] that for some vicious mole[ ] of nature in them as in their birth wherein they are not guilty,[ ] (since nature cannot choose his origin) by their ore-grow'th of some complextion[ ] oft breaking downe the pales and forts of reason or by[ ] some habit, that too much ore-leauens the forme of plausiue[ ] manners, that[ ] these men carrying i say the stamp of one defect being natures liuery, or fortunes starre,[ ] his[ ] vertues els[ ] be they as pure as grace, as infinite as man may vndergoe,[ ] shall in the generall censure[ ] take corruption from that particuler fault:[ ] the dram of eale[ ] doth all the noble substance of a doubt[ ] to his[ ] owne scandle.] [footnote : does hamlet here call his uncle an _upspring_, an _upstart_? or is the _upspring_ a dance, the english equivalent of 'the high _lavolt_' of _troil. and cress_. iv. , and governed by _reels_--'keeps wassels, and reels the swaggering upspring'--a dance that needed all the steadiness as well as agility available, if, as i suspect, it was that in which each gentleman lifted the lady high, and kissed her before setting her down? i cannot answer, i can only put the question. the word _swaggering_ makes me lean to the former interpretation.] [footnote : observe again hamlet's uncertainty. he does not take it for granted that it is _his father's_ spirit, though it is plainly his form.] [footnote : the quarto surely came too early for this passage to have been suggested by the shameful habits which invaded the court through the example of anne of denmark! perhaps shakspere cancelled it both because he would not have it supposed he had meant to reflect on the queen, and because he came to think it too diffuse.] [footnote : clepe, _call_.] [footnote : same as _attribute_, two lines lower--the thing imputed to, or added to us--our reputation, our title or epithet.] [footnote : performed to perfection.] [footnote : individuals.] [footnote : a mole on the body, according to the place where it appeared, was regarded as significant of character: in that relation, a _vicious mole_ would be one that indicated some special vice; but here the allusion is to a live mole of constitutional fault, burrowing within, whose presence the mole-_heap_ on the skin indicates.] [footnote : the order here would be: 'for some vicious mole of nature in them, as by their o'er-growth, in their birth--wherein they are not guilty, since nature cannot choose his origin (or parentage)--their o'ergrowth of (their being overgrown or possessed by) some complexion, &c.'] [footnote : _complexion_, as the exponent of the _temperament_, or masterful tendency of the nature, stands here for _temperament_--'oft breaking down &c.' both words have in them the element of _mingling_--a mingling to certain results.] [footnote : the connection is: that for some vicious mole-- as by their o'ergrowth-- or by some habit, &c.] [footnote : pleasing.] [footnote : repeat from above '--so oft it chaunces,' before 'that these men.'] [footnote : 'whether the thing come by nature or by destiny,' _fortune's star_: the mark set on a man by fortune to prove her share in him. .] [footnote : a change to the singular.] [footnote l : 'be his virtues besides as pure &c.'] [footnote : _walk under; carry_.] [footnote : the judgment of the many.] [footnote : 'dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour.' eccles. x. .] [footnote : compare quarto reading, page : the spirit that i haue scene may be a deale, and the deale hath power &c. if _deale_ here stand for _devil_, then _eale_ may in the same edition be taken to stand for _evil_. it is hardly necessary to suspect a scotch printer; _evil_ is often used as a monosyllable, and _eale_ may have been a pronunciation of it half-way towards _ill_, which is its contraction.] [footnote : i do not believe there is any corruption in the rest of the passage. 'doth it of a doubt:' _affects it with a doubt_, brings it into doubt. the following from _measure for measure_, is like, though not the same. i have on angelo imposed the office, who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home and yet my nature never in the fight _to do in slander._ 'to do my nature in slander'; to affect it with slander; to bring it into slander, 'angelo may punish in my name, but, not being present, i shall not be accused of cruelty, which would be to slander my nature.'] [footnote : _his_--the man's; see _note_ above.] [page ] [sidenote: ] be thy euents wicked or charitable, [sidenote: thy intent] thou com'st in such a questionable shape[ ] that i will speake to thee. ile call thee _hamlet_,[ ] king, father, royall dane: oh, oh, answer me, [sidenote: dane, ô answere] let me not burst in ignorance; but tell why thy canoniz'd bones hearsed in death,[ ] haue burst their cerments; why the sepulcher wherein we saw thee quietly enurn'd,[ ] [sidenote: quietly interr'd[ ]] hath op'd his ponderous and marble iawes, to cast thee vp againe? what may this meane? that thou dead coarse againe in compleat steele, reuisits thus the glimpses of the moone, making night hidious? and we fooles of nature,[ ] so horridly to shake our disposition,[ ] with thoughts beyond thee; reaches of our soules,[ ] [sidenote: the reaches] say, why is this? wherefore? what should we doe?[ ] _ghost beckens hamlet._ _hor._ it beckons you to goe away with it, [sidenote: beckins] as if it some impartment did desire to you alone. _mar._ looke with what courteous action it wafts you to a more remoued ground: [sidenote: waues] but doe not goe with it. _hor._ no, by no meanes. _ham_. it will not speake: then will i follow it. [sidenote: i will] _hor._ doe not my lord. _ham._ why, what should be the feare? i doe not set my life at a pins fee; and for my soule, what can it doe to that? being a thing immortall as it selfe:[ ] it waues me forth againe; ile follow it. _hor._ what if it tempt you toward the floud my lord?[ ] [footnote : --that of his father, so moving him to question it. _questionable_ does not mean _doubtful_, but _fit to be questioned_.] [footnote : 'i'll _call_ thee'--for the nonce.] [footnote : i think _hearse_ was originally the bier--french _herse_, a harrow--but came to be applied to the coffin: _hearsed_ in death--_coffined_ in death.] [footnote : there is no impropriety in the use of the word _inurned_. it is a figure--a word once-removed in its application: the sepulchre is the urn, the body the ashes. _interred_ shakspere had concluded incorrect, for the body was not laid in the earth.] [footnote : so in _ st q_.] [footnote : 'fooles of nature'--fools in the presence of her knowledge--to us no knowledge--of her action, to us inexplicable. _a fact_ that looks unreasonable makes one feel like a fool. see psalm lxxiii. : 'so foolish was i and ignorant, i was as a beast before thee.' as some men are our fools, we are all nature's fools; we are so far from knowing anything as it is.] [footnote : even if shakspere cared more about grammar than he does, a man in hamlet's perturbation he might well present as making a breach in it; but we are not reduced even to justification. _toschaken_ (_to_ as german _zu_ intensive) is a recognized english word; it means _to shake to pieces_. the construction of the passage is, 'what may this mean, that thou revisitest thus the glimpses of the moon, and that we so horridly to-shake our disposition?' so in _the merry wives_, and fairy-like to-pinch the unclean knight. 'our disposition': our _cosmic structure_.] [footnote : 'with thoughts that are too much for them, and as an earthquake to them.'] [footnote : like all true souls, hamlet wants to know what he is _to do_. he looks out for the action required of him.] [footnote : note here hamlet's mood--dominated by his faith. his life in this world his mother has ruined; he does not care for it a pin: he is not the less confident of a nature that is immortal. in virtue of this belief in life, he is indifferent to the form of it. when, later in the play, he seems to fear death, it is death the consequence of an action of whose rightness he is not convinced.] [footnote : _the quarto has dropped out_ 'lord.'] [page ] or to the dreadfull sonnet of the cliffe, [sidenote: somnet] that beetles[ ] o're his base into the sea, [sidenote: bettles] [sidenote: ] and there assumes some other horrible forme,[ ] [sidenote: assume] which might depriue your soueraignty[ ] of reason and draw you into madnesse thinke of it? [a] _ham._ it wafts me still; goe on, ile follow thee. [sidenote: waues] _mar._ you shall not goe my lord. _ham._ hold off your hand. [sidenote: hands] _hor._ be rul'd, you shall not goe. _ham._ my fate cries out, and makes each petty artire[ ] in this body, [sidenote: arture[ ]] as hardy as the nemian lions nerue: still am i cal'd? vnhand me gentlemen: by heau'n, ile make a ghost of him that lets me: i say away, goe on, ile follow thee. _exeunt ghost & hamlet._ _hor._ he waxes desperate with imagination.[ ] [sidenote: imagion] _mar._ let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. _hor._ haue after, to what issue will this come? _mar._ something is rotten in the state of denmarke. _hor._ heauen will direct it. _mar._ nay, let's follow him. _exeunt._ _enter ghost and hamlet._ _ham._ where wilt thou lead me? speak; ile go no further. [sidenote: whether] _gho._ marke me. _ham._ i will. [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- the very place puts toyes of desperation without more motiue, into euery braine that lookes so many fadoms to the sea and heares it rore beneath.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'beckles'--perhaps for _buckles--bends_.] [footnote : note the unbelief in the ghost.] [footnote : sovereignty--_soul_: so in _romeo and juliet_, act v. sc. , l. :-- my bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne.] [footnote : the word _artery_, invariably substituted by the editors, is without authority. in the first quarto, the word is _artiue_; in the second (see margin) _arture_. this latter i take to be the right one--corrupted into _artire_ in the folio. it seems to have troubled the printers, and possibly the editors. the third q. has followed the second; the fourth has _artyre_; the fifth q. and the fourth f. have _attire_; the second and third folios follow the first. not until the sixth q. does _artery_ appear. see _cambridge shakespeare. arture_ was to all concerned, and to the language itself, a new word. that _artery_ was not shakspere's intention might be concluded from its unfitness: what propriety could there be in _making an artery hardy_? the sole, imperfect justification i was able to think of for such use of the word arose from the fact that, before the discovery of the circulation of the blood (published in ), it was believed that the arteries (found empty after death) served for the movements of the animal spirits: this might vaguely _associate_ the arteries with _courage_. but the sight of the word _arture_ in the second quarto at once relieved me. i do not know if a list has ever been gathered of the words _made_ by shakspere: here is one of them--_arture_, from the same root as _artus, a joint--arcere, to hold together_, adjective _arctus, tight. arture_, then, stands for _juncture_. this perfectly fits. in terror the weakest parts are the joints, for their _artures_ are not _hardy_. 'and you, my sinews, ... bear me stiffly up.' , . since writing as above, a friend informs me that _arture_ is the exact equivalent of the [greek: haphae] of colossians ii. , as interpreted by bishop lightfoot--'the relation between contiguous limbs, not the parts of the limbs themselves in the neighbourhood of contact,'--for which relation 'there is no word in our language in common use.'] [footnote : 'with the things he imagines.'] [page ] _gho._ my hower is almost come,[ ] when i to sulphurous and tormenting flames must render vp my selfe. _ham._ alas poore ghost. _gho._ pitty me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what i shall vnfold. _ham._ speake, i am bound to heare. _gho._ so art thou to reuenge, when thou shalt heare. _ham._ what? _gho._ i am thy fathers spirit, doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night;[ ] and for the day confin'd to fast in fiers,[ ] till the foule crimes done in my dayes of nature are burnt and purg'd away? but that i am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house; i could a tale vnfold, whose lightest word[ ] would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes like starres, start from their spheres, thy knotty and combined locks to part, [sidenote: knotted] and each particular haire to stand an end,[ ] like quilles vpon the fretfull[ ] porpentine [sidenote: fearefull[ ]] but this eternall blason[ ] must not be to eares of flesh and bloud; list _hamlet_, oh list, [sidenote: blood, list, ô list;] if thou didst euer thy deare father loue. _ham._ oh heauen![ ] [sidenote: god] _gho._ reuenge his foule and most vnnaturall murther.[ ] _ham._ murther? _ghost._ murther most foule, as in the best it is; but this most foule, strange, and vnnaturall. _ham._ hast, hast me to know it, [sidenote: hast me to know't,] that with wings as swift [footnote : the night is the ghost's day.] [footnote : to walk the night, and see how things go, without being able to put a finger to them, is part of his cleansing.] [footnote : more horror yet for hamlet.] [footnote : he would have him think of life and its doings as of awful import. he gives his son what warning he may.] [footnote : _an end_ is like _agape, an hungred_. , .] [footnote : the word in the q. suggests _fretfull_ a misprint for _frightful_. it is _fretfull_ in the st q. as well.] [footnote : to _blason_ is to read off in proper heraldic terms the arms blasoned upon a shield. _a blason_ is such a reading, but is here used for a picture in words of other objects.] [footnote : --in appeal to god whether he had not loved his father.] [footnote : the horror still accumulates. the knowledge of evil--not evil in the abstract, but evil alive, and all about him--comes darkening down upon hamlet's being. not only is his father an inhabitant of the nether fires, but he is there by murder.] [page ] as meditation, or the thoughts of loue, may sweepe to my reuenge.[ ] _ghost._ i finde thee apt, and duller should'st thou be then the fat weede[ ] [sidenote: ] that rots it selfe in ease, on lethe wharfe,[ ] [sidenote: rootes[ ]] would'st thou not stirre in this. now _hamlet_ heare: it's giuen out, that sleeping in mine orchard, [sidenote: 'tis] a serpent stung me: so the whole eare of denmarke, is by a forged processe of my death rankly abus'd: but know thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy fathers life, now weares his crowne. [sidenote: , ] _ham._ o my propheticke soule: mine vncle?[ ] [sidenote: my] _ghost._ i that incestuous, that adulterate beast[ ] with witchcraft of his wits, hath traitorous guifts. [sidenote: wits, with] oh wicked wit, and gifts, that haue the power so to seduce? won to to this shamefull lust [sidenote: wonne to his] the will of my most seeming vertuous queene: oh _hamlet_, what a falling off was there, [sidenote: what failing] from me, whose loue was of that dignity, that it went hand in hand, euen with[ ] the vow i made to her in marriage; and to decline vpon a wretch, whose naturall gifts were poore to those of mine. but vertue, as it neuer wil be moued, though lewdnesse court it in a shape of heauen: so lust, though to a radiant angell link'd, [sidenote: so but though] will sate it selfe in[ ] a celestiall bed, and prey on garbage.[ ] [sidenote: will sort it selfe] but soft, me thinkes i sent the mornings ayre; [sidenote: morning ayre,] briefe let me be: sleeping within mine orchard, [sidenote: my] my custome alwayes in the afternoone; [sidenote: of the] vpon my secure hower thy vncle stole [footnote : now, _for the moment_, he has no doubt, and vengeance is his first thought.] [footnote : hamlet may be supposed to recall this, if we suppose him afterwards to accuse himself so bitterly and so unfairly as in the _quarto_, .] [footnote : also _ st q_.] [footnote : landing-place on the bank of lethe, the hell-river of oblivion.] [footnote : this does not mean that he had suspected his uncle, but that his dislike to him was prophetic.] [footnote : how can it be doubted that in this speech the ghost accuses his wife and brother of adultery? their marriage was not adultery. see how the ghastly revelation grows on hamlet--his father in hell--murdered by his brother--dishonoured by his wife!] [footnote : _parallel with; correspondent to_.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'fate itself from a'.] [footnote : this passage, from 'oh _hamlet_,' most indubitably asserts the adultery of gertrude.] [page ] with iuyce of cursed hebenon[ ] in a violl, [sidenote: hebona] and in the porches of mine eares did poure [sidenote: my] the leaperous distilment;[ ] whose effect holds such an enmity with bloud of man, that swift as quick-siluer, it courses[ ] through the naturall gates and allies of the body; and with a sodaine vigour it doth posset [sidenote: doth possesse] and curd, like aygre droppings into milke, [sidenote: eager[ ]] the thin and wholsome blood: so did it mine; and a most instant tetter bak'd about, [sidenote: barckt about[ ]] most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, all my smooth body. thus was i, sleeping, by a brothers hand, of life, of crowne, and queene at once dispatcht; [sidenote: of queene] [sidenote: ] cut off euen in the blossomes of my sinne, vnhouzzled, disappointed, vnnaneld,[ ] [sidenote: vnhuzled, | vnanueld,] [sidenote: ] no reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head; oh horrible, oh horrible, most horrible: if thou hast nature in thee beare it not; let not the royall bed of denmarke be a couch for luxury and damned incest.[ ] but howsoeuer thou pursuest this act, [sidenote: howsomeuer thou pursues] [sidenote: , ] taint not thy mind; nor let thy soule contriue [sidenote: ] against thy mother ought; leaue her to heauen, and to those thornes that in her bosome lodge, to pricke and sting her. fare thee well at once; the glow-worme showes the matine to be neere, and gins to pale his vneffectuall fire: adue, adue, _hamlet_: remember me. _exit_. [sidenote: adiew, adiew, adiew, remember me.[ ]] _ham._ oh all you host of heauen! oh earth: what els? and shall i couple hell?[ ] oh fie[ ]: hold my heart; [sidenote: hold, hold my] and you my sinnewes, grow not instant old; [footnote : ebony.] [footnote : _producing leprosy_--as described in result below.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'posteth'.] [footnote : so also _ st q_.] [footnote : this _barckt_--meaning _cased as a bark cases its tree_--is used in _ st q_. also: 'and all my smoothe body, barked, and tetterd ouer.' the word is so used in scotland still.] [footnote : _husel (anglo-saxon)_ is _an offering, the sacrament. disappointed, not appointed_: dr. johnson. _unaneled, unoiled, without the extreme unction_.] [footnote : it is on public grounds, as a king and a dane, rather than as a husband and a murdered man, that he urges on his son the execution of justice. note the tenderness towards his wife that follows--more marked, ; here it is mingled with predominating regard to his son to whose filial nature he dreads injury.] [footnote : _q_. omits _exit_.] [footnote : he must: his father is there!] [footnote : the interjection is addressed to _heart_ and _sinews_, which forget their duty.] [page ] but beare me stiffely vp: remember thee?[ ] [sidenote: swiftly vp] i, thou poore ghost, while memory holds a seate [sidenote: whiles] in this distracted globe[ ]: remember thee? yea, from the table of my memory,[ ] ile wipe away all triuiall fond records, all sawes[ ] of bookes, all formes, all presures past, that youth and obseruation coppied there; and thy commandment all alone shall liue within the booke and volume of my braine, vnmixt with baser matter; yes, yes, by heauen: [sidenote: matter, yes by] [sidenote: ] oh most pernicious woman![ ] oh villaine, villaine, smiling damned villaine! my tables, my tables; meet it is i set it downe,[ ] [sidenote: my tables, meet] that one may smile, and smile and be a villaine; at least i'm sure it may be so in denmarke; [sidenote: i am] so vnckle there you are: now to my word;[ ] it is; adue, adue, remember me:[ ] i haue sworn't. [sidenote: _enter horatio, and marcellus_] _hor. and mar. within_. my lord, my lord. [sidenote: _hora._ my] _enter horatio and marcellus._ _mar_. lord _hamlet_. _hor_. heauen secure him. [sidenote: heauens] _mar_. so be it. _hor_. illo, ho, ho, my lord. _ham_. hillo, ho, ho, boy; come bird, come.[ ] [sidenote: boy come, and come.] _mar_. how ist't my noble lord? _hor_. what newes, my lord? _ham_. oh wonderfull![ ] _hor_. good my lord tell it. _ham_. no you'l reueale it. [sidenote: you will] _hor_. not i, my lord, by heauen. _mar_. nor i, my lord. _ham_. how say you then, would heart of man once think it? but you'l be secret? [footnote : for the moment he has no doubt that he has seen and spoken with the ghost of his father.] [footnote : his head.] [footnote : the whole speech is that of a student, accustomed to books, to take notes, and to fix things in his memory. 'table,' _tablet_.] [footnote : _wise sayings_.] [footnote : the ghost has revealed her adultery: hamlet suspects her of complicity in the murder, .] [footnote : it may well seem odd that hamlet should be represented as, at such a moment, making a note in his tablets; but without further allusion to the student-habit, i would remark that, in cases where strongest passion is roused, the intellect has yet sometimes an automatic trick of working independently. for instance from shakspere, see constance in _king john_--how, in her agony over the loss of her son, both her fancy, playing with words, and her imagination, playing with forms, are busy. note the glimpse of hamlet's character here given: he had been something of an optimist; at least had known villainy only from books; at thirty years of age it is to him a discovery that a man may smile and be a villain! then think of the shock of such discoveries as are here forced upon him! villainy is no longer a mere idea, but a fact! and of all villainous deeds those of his own mother and uncle are the worst! but note also his honesty, his justice to humanity, his philosophic temperament, in the qualification he sets to the memorandum, '--at least in denmark!'] [footnote : 'my word,'--the word he has to keep in mind; his cue.] [footnote : should not the actor here make a pause, with hand uplifted, as taking a solemn though silent oath?] [footnote : --as if calling to a hawk.] [footnote : here comes the test of the actor's _possible_: here hamlet himself begins to act, and will at once assume a _rôle_, ere yet he well knows what it must be. one thing only is clear to him--that the communication of the ghost is not a thing to be shared--that he must keep it with all his power of secrecy: the honour both of father and of mother is at stake. in order to do so, he must begin by putting on himself a cloak of darkness, and hiding his feelings--first of all the present agitation which threatens to overpower him. his immediate impulse or instinctive motion is to force an air, and throw a veil of grimmest humour over the occurrence. the agitation of the horror at his heart, ever working and constantly repressed, shows through the veil, and gives an excited uncertainty to his words, and a wild vacillation to his manner and behaviour.] [page ] _both_. i, by heau'n, my lord.[ ] _ham_. there's nere a villaine dwelling in all denmarke but hee's an arrant knaue. _hor_. there needs no ghost my lord, come from the graue, to tell vs this. _ham_. why right, you are i'th'right; [sidenote: in the] and so, without more circumstance at all, i hold it fit that we shake hands, and part: you, as your busines and desires shall point you: [sidenote: desire] for euery man ha's businesse and desire,[ ] [sidenote: hath] such as it is: and for mine owne poore part, [sidenote: my] looke you, ile goe pray.[ ] [sidenote: i will goe pray.[ ]] _hor_. these are but wild and hurling words, my lord. [sidenote: whurling[ ]] _ham_. i'm sorry they offend you heartily: [sidenote: i am] yes faith, heartily. _hor_. there's no offence my lord. _ham_. yes, by saint _patricke_, but there is my lord,[ ] [sidenote: there is _horatio_] and much offence too, touching this vision heere;[ ] [sidenote: ] it is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:[ ] for your desire to know what is betweene vs, o'remaster't as you may. and now good friends, as you are friends, schollers and soldiers, giue me one poore request. _hor_. what is't my lord? we will. _ham_. neuer make known what you haue seen to night.[ ] _both_. my lord, we will not. _ham_. nay, but swear't. _hor_. infaith my lord, not i.[ ] _mar_. nor i my lord: in faith. _ham_. vpon my sword.[ ] [footnote : _q. has not_ 'my lord.'] [footnote : here shows the philosopher.] [footnote : _q. has not_ 'looke you.'] [footnote : '--nothing else is left me.' this seems to me one of the finest touches in the revelation of hamlet.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'wherling'.] [footnote : i take the change from the _quarto_ here to be no blunder.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'too!--touching.'] [footnote : the struggle to command himself is plain throughout.] [footnote : he could not endure the thought of the resulting gossip;--which besides would interfere with, possibly frustrate, the carrying out of his part.] [footnote : this is not a refusal to swear; it is the oath itself: '_in faith i will not_!'] [footnote : he would have them swear on the cross-hilt of his sword.] [page ] _marcell._ we haue sworne my lord already.[ ] _ham._ indeed, vpon my sword, indeed. _gho._ sweare.[ ] _ghost cries vnder the stage._[ ] _ham._ ah ha boy, sayest thou so. art thou [sidenote: ha, ha,] there truepenny?[ ] come one you here this fellow [sidenote: come on, you heare] in the selleredge consent to sweare. _hor._ propose the oath my lord.[ ] _ham._ neuer to speake of this that you haue seene. sweare by my sword. _gho._ sweare. _ham. hic & vbique_? then wee'l shift for grownd, [sidenote: shift our] come hither gentlemen, and lay your hands againe vpon my sword, neuer to speake of this that you haue heard:[ ] sweare by my sword. _gho._ sweare.[ ] [sidenote: sweare by his sword.] _ham._ well said old mole, can'st worke i'th' ground so fast? [sidenote: it'h' earth] a worthy pioner, once more remoue good friends. _hor._ oh day and night: but this is wondrous strange. _ham._ and therefore as a stranger giue it welcome. there are more things in heauen and earth, _horatio_, then are dream't of in our philosophy but come, [sidenote: in your] here as before, neuer so helpe you mercy, how strange or odde so ere i beare my selfe; [sidenote: how | so mere] (as i perchance heereafter shall thinke meet [sidenote: as] [sidenote: , , ] to put an anticke disposition on:)[ ] [sidenote: on] that you at such time seeing me, neuer shall [sidenote: times] with armes encombred thus, or thus, head shake; [sidenote: or this head] [footnote : he feels his honour touched.] [footnote : the ghost's interference heightens hamlet's agitation. if he does not talk, laugh, jest, it will overcome him. also he must not show that he believes it his father's ghost: that must be kept to himself--for the present at least. he shows it therefore no respect--treats the whole thing humorously, so avoiding, or at least parrying question. it is all he can do to keep the mastery of himself, dodging horror with half-forced, half-hysterical laughter. yet is he all the time intellectually on the alert. see how, instantly active, he makes use of the voice from beneath to enforce his requisition of silence. very speedily too he grows quiet: a glimmer of light as to the course of action necessary to him has begun to break upon him: it breaks from his own wild and disjointed behaviour in the attempt to hide the conflict of his feelings--which suggests to him the idea of shrouding himself, as did david at the court of the philistines, in the cloak of madness: thereby protected from the full force of what suspicion any absorption of manner or outburst of feeling must occasion, he may win time to lay his plans. note how, in the midst of his horror, he is yet able to think, plan, resolve.] [footnote : _ st q. 'the gost under the stage.'_] [footnote : while hamlet seems to take it so coolly, the others have fled in terror from the spot. he goes to them. their fear must be what, on the two occasions after, makes him shift to another place when the ghost speaks.] [footnote : now at once he consents.] [footnote : in the _quarto_ this and the next line are transposed.] [footnote : what idea is involved as the cause of the ghost's thus interfering?--that he too sees what difficulties must encompass the carrying out of his behest, and what absolute secrecy is thereto essential.] [footnote : this idea, hardly yet a resolve, he afterwards carries out so well, that he deceives not only king and queen and court, but the most of his critics ever since: to this day they believe him mad. such must have studied in the play a phantom of their own misconception, and can never have seen the hamlet of shakspere. thus prejudiced, they mistake also the effects of moral and spiritual perturbation and misery for further sign of intellectual disorder--even for proof of moral weakness, placing them in the same category with the symptoms of the insanity which he simulates, and by which they are deluded.] [page ] or by pronouncing of some doubtfull phrase; as well, we know, or we could and if we would, [sidenote: as well, well, we] or if we list to speake; or there be and if there might, [sidenote: if they might] or such ambiguous giuing out to note, [sidenote: note] that you know ought of me; this not to doe: [sidenote: me, this doe sweare,] so grace and mercy at your most neede helpe you: sweare.[ ] _ghost_. sweare.[ ] _ham_. rest, rest perturbed spirit[ ]: so gentlemen, with all my loue i doe commend me to you; and what so poore a man as _hamlet_ is, may doe t'expresse his loue and friending to you, god willing shall not lacke: let vs goe in together, and still your fingers on your lippes i pray, the time is out of ioynt: oh cursed spight,[ ] [sidenote: ] that euer i was borne to set it right. nay, come let's goe together. _exeunt._[ ] * * * * * summary of act i. this much of hamlet we have now learned: he is a thoughtful man, a genuine student, little acquainted with the world save through books, and a lover of his kind. his university life at wittenberg is suddenly interrupted by a call to the funeral of his father, whom he dearly loves and honours. ere he reaches denmark, his uncle claudius has contrived, in an election ( , , ) probably hastened and secretly influenced, to gain the voice of the representatives at least of the people, and ascend the throne. hence his position must have been an irksome one from the first; but, within a month of his father's death, his mother's marriage with his uncle--a relation universally regarded as incestuous--plunges him in the deepest misery. the play introduces him at the first court held after the wedding. he is attired in the mourning of his father's funeral, which he had not laid aside for the wedding. his aspect is of absolute dejection, and he appears in a company for which he is so unfit only for the sake of desiring permission to leave the court, and go back to his studies at wittenberg.[a] left to himself, he breaks out in agonized and indignant lamentation over his mother's conduct, dwelling mainly on her disregard of his father's memory. her conduct and his partial discovery of her character, is the sole cause of his misery. in such his mood, horatio, a fellow-student, brings him word that his father's spirit walks at night. he watches for the ghost, and receives from him a frightful report of his present condition, into which, he tells him, he was cast by the murderous hand of his brother, with whom his wife had been guilty of adultery. he enjoins him to put a stop to the crime in which they are now living, by taking vengeance on his uncle. uncertain at the moment how to act, and dreading the consequences of rousing suspicion by the perturbation which he could not but betray, he grasps at the sudden idea of affecting madness. we have learned also hamlet's relation to ophelia, the daughter of the selfish, prating, busy polonius, who, with his son laertes, is destined to work out the earthly fate of hamlet. of laertes, as yet, we only know that he prates like his father, is self-confident, and was educated at paris, whither he has returned. of ophelia we know nothing but that she is gentle, and that she is fond of hamlet, whose attentions she has encouraged, but with whom, upon her father's severe remonstrance, she is ready, outwardly at least, to break. [footnote a: roger ascham, in his _scholemaster_, if i mistake not, sets the age, up to which a man should be under tutors, at twenty-nine.] [footnote : 'sweare' _not in quarto_.] [footnote : they do not this time shift their ground, but swear--in dumb show.] [footnote : --for now they had obeyed his command and sworn secrecy.] [footnote : 'cursed spight'--not merely that he had been born to do hangman's work, but that he should have been born at all--of a mother whose crime against his father had brought upon him the wretched necessity which must proclaim her ignominy. let the student do his best to realize the condition of hamlet's heart and mind in relation to his mother.] [footnote: this first act occupies part of a night, a day, and part of the next night.] [page ] actus secundus.[ ] _enter polonius, and reynoldo._ [sidenote: _enter old polonius, with his man, or two._] _polon._ giue him his money, and these notes _reynoldo_.[ ] [sidenote: this money] _reynol._ i will my lord. _polon._ you shall doe maruels wisely: good _reynoldo_, [sidenote: meruiles] before you visite him you make inquiry [sidenote: him, to make inquire] of his behauiour.[ ] _reynol._ my lord, i did intend it. _polon._ marry, well said; very well said. looke you sir, enquire me first what danskers are in paris; and how, and who; what meanes; and where they keepe: what company, at what expence: and finding by this encompassement and drift of question, that they doe know my sonne: come you more neerer[ ] then your particular demands will touch it, take you as 'twere some distant knowledge of him, and thus i know his father and his friends, [sidenote: as thus] and in part him. doe you marke this _reynoldo_? _reynol._ i, very well my lord. _polon._ and in part him, but you may say not well; but if't be hee i meane, hees very wilde; addicted so and so; and there put on him what forgeries you please: marry, none so ranke, as may dishonour him; take heed of that: but sir, such wanton, wild, and vsuall slips, as are companions noted and most knowne to youth and liberty. [footnote : _not in quarto._ between this act and the former, sufficient time has passed to allow the ambassadors to go to norway and return: . see , and what hamlet says of the time since his father's death, , by which together the interval _seems_ indicated as about two months, though surely so much time was not necessary. cause and effect _must_ be truly presented; time and space are mere accidents, and of small consequence in the drama, whose very idea is compression for the sake of presentation. all that is necessary in regard to time is, that, either by the act-pause, or the intervention of a fresh scene, the passing of it should be indicated. this second act occupies the forenoon of one day.] [footnote : _ st q._ _montano_, here, these letters to my sonne, and this same mony with my blessing to him, and bid him ply his learning good _montano_.] [footnote : the father has no confidence in the son, and rightly, for both are unworthy: he turns on him the cunning of the courtier, and sends a spy on his behaviour. the looseness of his own principles comes out very clear in his anxieties about his son; and, having learned the ideas of the father as to what becomes a gentleman, we are not surprised to find the son such as he afterwards shows himself. till the end approaches, we hear no more of laertes, nor is more necessary; but without this scene we should have been unprepared for his vileness.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'son, come you more nearer; then &c.' the _then_ here does not stand for _than_, and to change it to _than_ makes at once a contradiction. the sense is: 'having put your general questions first, and been answered to your purpose, then your particular demands will come in, and be of service; they will reach to the point--_will touch it_.' the _it_ is impersonal. after it should come a period.] [page ] _reynol._ as gaming my lord. _polon._ i, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarelling, drabbing. you may goe so farre. _reynol._ my lord that would dishonour him. _polon._ faith no, as you may season it in the charge;[ ] [sidenote: fayth as you] you must not put another scandall on him, that hee is open to incontinencie;[ ] that's not my meaning: but breath his faults so quaintly, that they may seeme the taints of liberty; the flash and out-breake of a fiery minde, a sauagenes in vnreclaim'd[ ] bloud of generall assault.[ ] _reynol._ but my good lord.[ ] _polon._ wherefore should you doe this?[ ] _reynol._ i my lord, i would know that. _polon._ marry sir, heere's my drift, and i belieue it is a fetch of warrant:[ ] [sidenote: of wit,] you laying these slight sulleyes[ ] on my sonne, [sidenote: sallies[ ]] as 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'th'working: [sidenote: soiled with working,] marke you your party in conuerse; him you would sound, hauing euer seene. in the prenominate crimes, [sidenote: seene in the] the youth you breath of guilty, be assur'd he closes with you in this consequence: good sir, or so, or friend, or gentleman. according to the phrase and the addition,[ ] [sidenote: phrase or the] of man and country. _reynol._ very good my lord. _polon._ and then sir does he this? [sidenote: doos a this a doos, what was _i_] he does: what was i about to say? i was about to say somthing: where did i leaue? [sidenote: by the masse i was] _reynol._ at closes in the consequence: at friend, or so, and gentleman.[ ] [footnote : _ st q._ i faith not a whit, no not a whit, as you may bridle it not disparage him a iote.] [footnote : this may well seem prating inconsistency, but i suppose means that he must not be represented as without moderation in his wickedness.] [footnote : _untamed_, as a hawk.] [footnote : the lines are properly arranged in _q_. a sauagenes in vnreclamed blood, of generall assault. --that is, 'which assails all.'] [footnote : here a hesitating pause.] [footnote : --with the expression of, 'is that what you would say?'] [footnote : 'a fetch with warrant for it'--a justifiable trick.] [footnote : compare _sallied_, , both quartos; _sallets_ , ; and see _soil'd_, next line.] [footnote : 'addition,' epithet of courtesy in address.] [footnote : _q_. has not this line] [page ] _polon._ at closes in the consequence, i marry, he closes with you thus. i know the gentleman, [sidenote: he closes thus,] i saw him yesterday, or tother day; [sidenote: th'other] or then or then, with such and such; and as you say, [sidenote: or such,] [sidenote: ] there was he gaming, there o'retooke in's rouse, [sidenote: was a gaming there, or tooke] there falling out at tennis; or perchance, i saw him enter such a house of saile; [sidenote: sale,] _videlicet_, a brothell, or so forth. see you now; your bait of falshood, takes this cape of truth; [sidenote: take this carpe] and thus doe we of wisedome and of reach[ ] with windlesses,[ ] and with assaies of bias, by indirections finde directions out: so by my former lecture and aduice shall you my sonne; you haue me, haue you not? _reynol._ my lord i haue. _polon._ god buy you; fare you well, [sidenote: ye | ye] _reynol._ good my lord. _polon._ obserue his inclination in your selfe.[ ] _reynol._ i shall my lord. _polon._ and let him[ ] plye his musicke. _reynol._ well, my lord. _exit_. _enter ophelia_. _polon_. farewell: how now _ophelia_, what's the matter? _ophe_. alas my lord, i haue beene so affrighted. [sidenote: o my lord, my lord,] _polon_. with what, in the name of heauen? [sidenote: i'th name of god?] _ophe_. my lord, as i was sowing in my chamber, [sidenote: closset,] lord _hamlet_ with his doublet all vnbrac'd,[ ] no hat vpon his head, his stockings foul'd, vngartred, and downe giued[ ] to his anckle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, and with a looke so pitious in purport, as if he had been loosed out of hell, [footnote : of far reaching mind.] [footnote : the word windlaces is explained in the dictionaries as _shifts, subtleties_--but apparently on the sole authority of this passage. there must be a figure in _windlesses_, as well as in _assaies of bias_, which is a phrase plain enough to bowlers: the trying of other directions than that of the _jack_, in the endeavour to come at one with the law of the bowl's bias. i find _wanlass_ a term in hunting: it had to do with driving game to a given point--whether in part by getting to windward of it, i cannot tell. the word may come of the verb wind, from its meaning '_to manage by shifts or expedients_': _barclay_. as he has spoken of fishing, could the _windlesses_ refer to any little instrument such as now used upon a fishing-rod? i do not think it. and how do the words _windlesses_ and _indirections_ come together? was a windless some contrivance for determining how the wind blew? i bethink me that a thin withered straw is in scotland called a _windlestrae_: perhaps such straws were thrown up to find out 'by indirection' the direction of the wind. the press-reader sends me two valuable quotations, through latham's edition of johnson's dictionary, from dr. h. hammond ( - ), in which _windlass_ is used as a verb:-- 'a skilful woodsman, by windlassing, presently gets a shoot, which, without taking a compass, and thereby a commodious stand, he could never have obtained.' 'she is not so much at leasure as to windlace, or use craft, to satisfy them.' to _windlace_ seems then to mean 'to steal along to leeward;' would it be absurd to suggest that, so-doing, the hunter _laces the wind_? shakspere, with many another, i fancy, speaks of _threading the night_ or _the darkness_. johnson explains the word in the text as 'a handle by which anything is turned.'] [footnote : 'in your selfe.' may mean either 'through the insight afforded by your own feelings'; or 'in respect of yourself,' 'toward yourself.' i do not know which is intended.] [footnote : st q. 'and bid him'.] [footnote : loose; _undone_.] [footnote : his stockings, slipped down in wrinkles round his ankles, suggested the rings of _gyves_ or fetters. the verb _gyve_, of which the passive participle is here used, is rarer.] [page ] to speake of horrors: he comes before me. _polon._ mad for thy loue? _ophe._ my lord, i doe not know: but truly i do feare it.[ ] _polon._ what said he? _ophe._[ ] he tooke me by the wrist, and held me hard; then goes he to the length of all his arme; and with his other hand thus o're his brow, he fals to such perusall of my face, as he would draw it. long staid he so, [sidenote: as a] at last, a little shaking of mine arme: and thrice his head thus wauing vp and downe; he rais'd a sigh, so pittious and profound, that it did seeme to shatter all his bulke, [sidenote: as it] and end his being. that done, he lets me goe, and with his head ouer his shoulders turn'd, [sidenote: shoulder] he seem'd to finde his way without his eyes, for out adores[ ] he went without their helpe; [sidenote: helps,] and to the last, bended their light on me. _polon._ goe with me, i will goe seeke the king, [sidenote: come, goe] this is the very extasie of loue, whose violent property foredoes[ ] it selfe, and leads the will to desperate vndertakings, as oft as any passion vnder heauen, [sidenote: passions] that does afflict our natures. i am sorrie, what haue you giuen him any hard words of late? _ophe_. no my good lord: but as you did command, [sidenote: , ] i did repell his letters, and deny'de his accesse to me.[ ] _pol_. that hath made him mad. i am sorrie that with better speed and judgement [sidenote: better heede] [sidenote: ] i had not quoted[ ] him. i feare he did but trifle, [sidenote: coted[ ] | fear'd] and meant to wracke thee: but beshrew my iealousie: [footnote : she would be glad her father should think so.] [footnote : the detailed description of hamlet and his behaviour that follows, must be introduced in order that the side mirror of narrative may aid the front mirror of drama, and between them be given a true notion of his condition both mental and bodily. although weeks have passed since his interview with the ghost, he is still haunted with the memory of it, still broods over its horrible revelation. that he had, probably soon, begun to feel far from certain of the truth of the apparition, could not make the thoughts and questions it had awaked, cease tormenting his whole being. the stifling smoke of his mother's conduct had in his mind burst into loathsome flame, and through her he has all but lost his faith in humanity. to know his uncle a villain, was to know his uncle a villain; to know his mother false, was to doubt women, doubt the whole world. in the meantime ophelia, in obedience to her father, and evidently without reason assigned, has broken off communication with him: he reads her behaviour by the lurid light of his mother's. she too is false! she too is heartless! he can look to her for no help! she has turned against him to curry favour with his mother and his uncle! can she be such as his mother! why should she not be? his mother had seemed as good! he would give his life to know her honest and pure. might he but believe her what he had believed her, he would yet have a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest! if he could but know the truth! alone with her once more but for a moment, he would read her very soul by the might of his! he must see her! he would see her! in the agony of a doubt upon which seemed to hang the bliss or bale of his being, yet not altogether unintimidated by a sense of his intrusion, he walks into the house of polonius, and into the chamber of ophelia. ever since the night of the apparition, the court, from the behaviour assumed by hamlet, has believed his mind affected; and when he enters her room, ophelia, though such is the insight of love that she is able to read in the face of the son the father's purgatorial sufferings, the picture of one 'loosed out of hell, to speak of horrors,' attributes all the strangeness of his appearance and demeanour, such as she describes them to her father, to that supposed fact. but there is, in truth, as little of affected as of actual madness in his behaviour in her presence. when he comes before her pale and trembling, speechless and with staring eyes, it is with no simulated insanity, but in the agonized hope, scarce distinguishable from despair, of finding, in the testimony of her visible presence, an assurance that the doubts ever tearing his spirit and sickening his brain, are but the offspring of his phantasy. there she sits!--and there he stands, vainly endeavouring through her eyes to read her soul! for, alas, there's no art to find the mind's construction in the face! --until at length, finding himself utterly baffled, but unable, save by the removal of his person, to take his eyes from her face, he retires speechless as he came. such is the man whom we are now to see wandering about the halls and corridors of the great castle-palace. he may by this time have begun to doubt even the reality of the sight he had seen. the moment the pressure of a marvellous presence is removed, it is in the nature of man the same moment to begin to doubt; and instead of having any reason to wish the apparition a true one, he had every reason to desire to believe it an illusion or a lying spirit. great were his excuse even if he forced likelihoods, and suborned witnesses in the court of his own judgment. to conclude it false was to think his father in heaven, and his mother not an adulteress, not a murderess! at once to kill his uncle would be to seal these horrible things irrevocable, indisputable facts. strongest reasons he had for not taking immediate action in vengeance; but no smallest incapacity for action had share in his delay. the poet takes recurrent pains, as if he foresaw hasty conclusions, to show his hero a man of promptitude, with this truest fitness for action, that he would not make unlawful haste. without sufficing assurance, he would have no part in the fate either of the uncle he disliked or the mother he loved.] [footnote : _a doors_, like _an end_. , .] [footnote : _undoes, frustrates, destroys_.] [footnote : see quotation from _ st quarto,_ .] [footnote : _quoted_ or _coted: observed_; fr. _coter_, to mark the number. compare .] [page ] it seemes it is as proper to our age, [sidenote: by heauen it is] to cast beyond our selues[ ] in our opinions, as it is common for the yonger sort to lacke discretion.[ ] come, go we to the king, this must be knowne, which being kept close might moue more greefe to hide, then hate to vtter loue.[ ] [sidenote: come.] _exeunt._ _scena secunda._[ ] _enter king, queene, rosincrane, and guildensterne cum alijs. [sidenote: florish: enter king and queene, rosencraus and guyldensterne.[ ]] _king._ welcome deere _rosincrance_ and _guildensterne_. moreouer,[ ] that we much did long to see you, the neede we haue to vse you, did prouoke [sidenote: ] our hastie sending.[ ] something haue you heard of _hamlets_ transformation: so i call it, [sidenote: so call] since not th'exterior, nor the inward man [sidenote: sith nor] resembles that it was. what it should bee more then his fathers death, that thus hath put him so much from th'understanding of himselfe, i cannot deeme of.[ ] i intreat you both, [sidenote: dreame] that being of so young dayes[ ] brought vp with him: and since so neighbour'd to[ ] his youth,and humour, [sidenote: and sith | and hauior,] that you vouchsafe your rest heere in our court some little time: so by your companies to draw him on to pleasures, and to gather [sidenote: ] so much as from occasions you may gleane, [sidenote: occasion] [a] that open'd lies within our remedie.[ ] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- whether ought to vs vnknowne afflicts him thus,] [footnote : 'to be overwise--to overreach ourselves' 'ambition, which o'erleaps itself,' --_macbeth_, act i. sc. .] [footnote : polonius is a man of faculty. his courtier-life, his self-seeking, his vanity, have made and make him the fool he is.] [footnote : he hopes now to get his daughter married to the prince. we have here a curious instance of shakspere's not unfrequently excessive condensation. expanded, the clause would be like this: 'which, being kept close, might move more grief by the hiding of love, than to utter love might move hate:' the grief in the one case might be greater than the hate in the other would be. it verges on confusion, and may not be as shakspere wrote it, though it is like his way. _ st q._ lets to the king, this madnesse may prooue, though wilde a while, yet more true to thy loue.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : _q._ has not _cum alijs._] [footnote : 'moreover that &c.': _moreover_ is here used as a preposition, with the rest of the clause for its objective.] [footnote : rosincrance and guildensterne are, from the first and throughout, the creatures of the king.] [footnote : the king's conscience makes him suspicious of hamlet's suspicion.] [footnote : 'from such an early age'.] [footnote : 'since then so familiar with'.] [footnote : 'to gather as much as you may glean from opportunities, of that which, when disclosed to us, will lie within our remedial power.' if the line of the quarto be included, it makes plainer construction. the line beginning with '_so much_,' then becomes parenthetical, and _to gather_ will not immediately govern that line, but the rest of the sentence.] [page ] _qu._ good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, and sure i am, two men there are not liuing, [sidenote: there is not] to whom he more adheres. if it will please you to shew vs so much gentrie,[ ] and good will, as to expend your time with vs a-while, for the supply and profit of our hope,[ ] your visitation shall receiue such thankes as fits a kings remembrance. _rosin._ both your maiesties might by the soueraigne power you haue of vs, put your dread pleasures, more into command then to entreatie, _guil._ we both[ ] obey, [sidenote: but we] and here giue vp our selues, in the full bent,[ ] to lay our seruices freely at your feete, [sidenote: seruice] to be commanded. _king._ thankes _rosincrance_, and gentle _guildensterne_. _qu._ thankes _guildensterne_ and gentle _rosincrance_,[ ] and i beseech you instantly to visit my too much changed sonne. go some of ye, [sidenote: you] and bring the gentlemen where _hamlet_ is, [sidenote: bring these] _guil._ heauens make our presence and our practises pleasant and helpfull to him. _exit_[ ] _queene._ amen. [sidenote: amen. _exeunt ros. and guyld._] _enter polonius._ [sidenote: ] _pol._ th'ambassadors from norwey, my good lord, are ioyfully return'd. [footnote : gentleness, grace, favour.] [footnote : their hope in hamlet, as their son and heir.] [footnote : both majesties.] [footnote : if we put a comma after _bent_, the phrase will mean 'in the full _purpose_ or _design_ to lay our services &c.' without the comma, the content of the phrase would be general:--'in the devoted force of our faculty.' the latter is more like shakspere.] [footnote : is there not tact intended in the queen's reversal of her husband's arrangement of the two names--that each might have precedence, and neither take offence?] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [page ] _king._ thou still hast bin the father of good newes. _pol._ haue i, my lord?[ ] assure you, my good liege, [sidenote: i assure my] i hold my dutie, as i hold my soule, both to my god, one to my gracious king:[ ] [sidenote: god, and to[ ]] and i do thinke, or else this braine of mine hunts not the traile of policie, so sure as i haue vs'd to do: that i haue found [sidenote: it hath vsd] the very cause of _hamlets_ lunacie. _king._ oh speake of that, that i do long to heare. [sidenote: doe i long] _pol._ giue first admittance to th'ambassadors, my newes shall be the newes to that great feast, [sidenote: the fruite to that] _king._ thy selfe do grace to them, and bring them in. he tels me my sweet queene, that he hath found [sidenote: my deere gertrard he] the head[ ] and sourse of all your sonnes distemper. _qu._ i doubt it is no other, but the maine, his fathers death, and our o're-hasty marriage.[ ] [sidenote: our hastie] _enter polonius, voltumand, and cornelius._ [sidenote: _enter_ embassadors.] _king._ well, we shall sift him. welcome good frends: [sidenote: my good] say _voltumand_, what from our brother norwey? _volt._ most faire returne of greetings, and desires. vpon our first,[ ] he sent out to suppresse his nephewes leuies, which to him appear'd to be a preparation 'gainst the poleak: [sidenote: pollacke,] but better look'd into, he truly found it was against your highnesse, whereat greeued, that so his sicknesse, age, and impotence was falsely borne in hand,[ ] sends[ ] out arrests on _fortinbras_, which he (in breefe) obeyes, [footnote : to be spoken triumphantly, but in the peculiar tone of one thinking, 'you little know what better news i have behind!'] [footnote : i cannot tell which is the right reading; if the _q.'s_, it means, '_i hold my duty precious as my soul, whether to my god or my king_'; if the _f.'s_, it is a little confused by the attempt of polonius to make a fine euphuistic speech:--'_i hold my duty as i hold my soul,--both at the command of my god, one at the command of my king_.'] [footnote : the spring; the river-head 'the spring, the head, the fountain of your blood' _macbeth,_ act ii. sc. .] [footnote : she goes a step farther than the king in accounting for hamlet's misery--knows there is more cause of it yet, but hopes he does not know so much cause for misery as he might know.] [footnote : either 'first' stands for _first desire_, or it is a noun, and the meaning of the phrase is, 'the instant we mentioned the matter'.] [footnote : 'borne in hand'--played with, taken advantage of. 'how you were borne in hand, how cross'd,' _macbeth,_ act iii. sc. .] [footnote : the nominative pronoun was not _quite_ indispensable to the verb in shakspere's time.] [page ] receiues rebuke from norwey: and in fine, makes vow before his vnkle, neuer more to giue th'assay of armes against your maiestie. whereon old norwey, ouercome with ioy, giues him three thousand crownes in annuall fee, [sidenote: threescore thousand] and his commission to imploy those soldiers so leuied as before, against the poleak: [sidenote: pollacke,] with an intreaty heerein further shewne, [sidenote: ] that it might please you to giue quiet passe through your dominions, for his enterprize, [sidenote: for this] on such regards of safety and allowance, as therein are set downe. _king_. it likes vs well: and at our more consider'd[ ] time wee'l read, answer, and thinke vpon this businesse. meane time we thanke you, for your well-tooke labour. go to your rest, at night wee'l feast together.[ ] most welcome home. _exit ambass_. [sidenote: exeunt embassadors] _pol_. this businesse is very well ended.[ ] [sidenote: is well] my liege, and madam, to expostulate[ ] what maiestie should be, what dutie is,[ ] why day is day; night, night; and time is time, were nothing but to waste night, day and time. therefore, since breuitie is the soule of wit, [sidenote: therefore breuitie] and tediousnesse, the limbes and outward flourishes,[ ] i will be breefe. your noble sonne is mad: mad call i it; for to define true madnesse, what is't, but to be nothing else but mad.[ ] but let that go. _qu_. more matter, with lesse art.[ ] _pol_. madam, i sweare i vse no art at all: that he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pittie, [sidenote: hee's mad] and pittie it is true; a foolish figure,[ ] [sidenote: pitty tis tis true,] [footnote : time given up to, or filled with consideration; _or, perhaps_, time chosen for a purpose.] [footnote : he is always feasting.] [footnote : now for _his_ turn! he sets to work at once with his rhetoric.] [footnote : to lay down beforehand as postulates.] [footnote : we may suppose a dash and pause after '_dutie is_'. the meaning is plain enough, though logical form is wanting.] [footnote : as there is no imagination in polonius, we cannot look for great aptitude in figure.] [footnote : the nature of madness also is a postulate.] [footnote : she is impatient, but wraps her rebuke in a compliment. art, so-called, in speech, was much favoured in the time of elizabeth. and as a compliment polonius takes the form in which she expresses her dislike of his tediousness, and her anxiety after his news: pretending to wave it off, he yet, in his gratification, coming on the top of his excitement with the importance of his fancied discovery, plunges immediately into a very slough of _art_, and becomes absolutely silly.] [footnote : it is no figure at all. it is hardly even a play with the words.] [page ] but farewell it: for i will vse no art. mad let vs grant him then: and now remaines that we finde out the cause of this effect, or rather say, the cause of this defect; for this effect defectiue, comes by cause, thus it remaines, and the remainder thus. perpend, i haue a daughter: haue, whil'st she is mine, [sidenote: while] who in her dutie and obedience, marke, hath giuen me this: now gather, and surmise. _the letter_.[ ] _to the celestiall, and my soules idoll, the most beautified ophelia_. that's an ill phrase, a vilde phrase, beautified is a vilde phrase: but you shall heare these in her thus in her excellent white bosome, these.[ ] [sidenote: these, &c] _qu_. came this from _hamlet_ to her. _pol_. good madam stay awhile, i will be faithfull. _doubt thou, the starres are fire_, [sidenote: _letter_] _doubt, that the sunne doth moue; doubt truth to be a lier, but neuer doubt, i loue.[ ] o deere ophelia, i am ill at these numbers: i haue not art to reckon my grones; but that i loue thee best, oh most best beleeue it. adieu. thine euermore most deere lady, whilst this machine is to him_, hamlet. this in obedience hath my daughter shew'd me: [sidenote: _pol_. this showne] and more aboue hath his soliciting, [sidenote: more about solicitings] as they fell out by time, by meanes, and place, all giuen to mine eare. _king_. but how hath she receiu'd his loue? _pol_. what do you thinke of me? _king_. as of a man, faithfull and honourable. _pol_. i wold faine proue so. but what might you think? [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : _point thus_: 'but you shall heare. _these, in her excellent white bosom, these_:' ladies, we are informed, wore a small pocket in front of the bodice;--but to accept the fact as an explanation of this passage, is to cast the passage away. hamlet _addresses_ his letter, not to ophelia's pocket, but to ophelia herself, at her house--that is, in the palace of her bosom, excellent in whiteness. in like manner, signing himself, he makes mention of his body as a machine of which he has the use for a time. so earnest is hamlet that when he makes love, he is the more a philosopher. but he is more than a philosopher: he is a man of the universe, not a man of this world only. we must not allow the fashion of the time in which the play was written, to cause doubt as to the genuine heartiness of hamlet's love-making.] [footnote : _ st q._ doubt that in earth is fire, doubt that the starres doe moue, doubt trueth to be a liar, but doe not doubt i loue.] [page ] when i had seene this hot loue on the wing, as i perceiued it, i must tell you that before my daughter told me, what might you or my deere maiestie your queene heere, think, if i had playd the deske or table-booke,[ ] or giuen my heart a winking, mute and dumbe, [sidenote: working] or look'd vpon this loue, with idle sight,[ ] what might you thinke? no, i went round to worke, and (my yong mistris) thus i did bespeake[ ] lord _hamlet_ is a prince out of thy starre,[ ] this must not be:[ ] and then, i precepts gaue her, [sidenote: i prescripts] that she should locke her selfe from his resort, [sidenote: from her] [sidenote: [ ], , ] admit no messengers, receiue no tokens: which done, she tooke the fruites of my aduice,[ ] and he repulsed. a short tale to make, [sidenote: repell'd, a] fell into a sadnesse, then into a fast,[ ] thence to a watch, thence into a weaknesse, [sidenote: to a wath,] thence to a lightnesse, and by this declension [sidenote: to lightnes] into the madnesse whereon now he raues, [sidenote: wherein] and all we waile for.[ ] [sidenote: mourne for] _king_. do you thinke 'tis this?[ ] [sidenote: thinke this?] _qu_. it may be very likely. [sidenote: like] _pol_. hath there bene such a time, i'de fain know that, [sidenote: i would] that i haue possitiuely said, 'tis so, when it prou'd otherwise? _king_. not that i know. _pol_. take this from this[ ]; if this be otherwise, if circumstances leade me, i will finde where truth is hid, though it were hid indeede within the center. _king_. how may we try it further? [footnote : --behaved like a piece of furniture.] [footnote : the love of talk makes a man use many idle words, foolish expressions, and useless repetitions.] [footnote : notwithstanding the parenthesis, i take 'mistris' to be the objective to 'bespeake'--that is, _address_.] [footnote : _star_, mark of sort or quality; brand ( ). the _ st q_. goes on-- an'd one that is vnequall for your loue: but it may mean, as suggested by my _reader_, 'outside thy destiny,'--as ruled by the star of nativity--and i think it does.] [footnote : here is a change from the impression conveyed in the first act: he attributes his interference to his care for what befitted royalty; whereas, talking to ophelia ( , ), he attributes it entirely to his care for her;--so partly in the speech correspondent to the present in _ st q_.:-- now since which time, seeing his loue thus cross'd, which i tooke to be idle, and but sport, he straitway grew into a melancholy,] [footnote : see also passage in note from _ st q_.] [footnote : she obeyed him. the 'fruits' of his advice were her conformed actions.] [footnote : when the appetite goes, and the sleep follows, doubtless the man is on the steep slope of madness. but as to hamlet, and how matters were with him, what polonius says is worth nothing.] [footnote : '_wherein_ now he raves, and _wherefor_ all we wail.'] [footnote : _to the queen_.] [footnote : head from shoulders.] [page ] _pol_. you know sometimes he walkes foure houres together, heere[ ] in the lobby. _qu_. so he ha's indeed. [sidenote: he dooes indeede] [sidenote: ] _pol_. at such a time ile loose my daughter to him, be you and i behinde an arras then, marke the encounter: if he loue her not, and be not from his reason falne thereon; let me be no assistant for a state, and keepe a farme and carters. [sidenote: but keepe] _king_. we will try it. _enter hamlet reading on a booke._[ ] _qu_. but looke where sadly the poore wretch comes reading.[ ] _pol_. away i do beseech you, both away, he boord[ ] him presently. _exit king & queen_[ ] oh giue me leaue.[ ] how does my good lord _hamlet_? _ham_. well, god-a-mercy. _pol_. do you know me, my lord? [sidenote: ] _ham_. excellent, excellent well: y'are a fish-monger.[ ] [sidenote: excellent well, you are] _pol_. not i my lord. _ham_. then i would you were so honest a man. _pol_. honest, my lord? _ham_. i sir, to be honest as this world goes, is to bee one man pick'd out of two thousand. [sidenote: tenne thousand[ ]] _pol_. that's very true, my lord. _ham_.[ ] for if the sun breed magots in a dead dogge, being a good kissing carrion--[ ] [sidenote: carrion. have] haue you a daughter?[ ] _pol_. i haue my lord. [footnote : _ st q_. the princes walke is here in the galery, there let _ofelia_, walke vntill hee comes: your selfe and i will stand close in the study,] [footnote : _not in quarto_.] [footnote : _ st q_.-- _king_. see where hee comes poring vppon a booke.] [footnote : the same as accost, both meaning originally _go to the side of_.] [footnote : _a line back in the quarto_.] [footnote : 'please you to go away.' , . here should come the preceding stage-direction.] [footnote : now first the play shows us hamlet in his affected madness. he has a great dislike to the selfish, time-serving courtier, who, like his mother, has forsaken the memory of his father--and a great distrust of him as well. the two men are moral antipodes. each is given to moralizing--but compare their reflections: those of polonius reveal a lover of himself, those of hamlet a lover of his kind; polonius is interested in success; hamlet in humanity.] [footnote : so also in _ st q_.] [footnote : --reading, or pretending to read, the words from the book he carries.] [footnote : when the passion for emendation takes possession of a man, his opportunities are endless--so many seeming emendations offer themselves which are in themselves not bad, letters and words affording as much play as the keys of a piano. 'being a god kissing carrion,' is in itself good enough; but shakspere meant what stands in both quarto and folio: _the dead dog being a carrion good at kissing_. the arbitrary changes of the editors are amazing.] [footnote : he cannot help his mind constantly turning upon women; and if his thoughts of them are often cruelly false, it is not hamlet but his mother who is to blame: her conduct has hurled him from the peak of optimism into the bottomless pool of pessimistic doubt, above the foul waters of which he keeps struggling to lift his head.] [page ] _ham_. let her not walke i'th'sunne: conception[ ] is a blessing, but not as your daughter may [sidenote: but as your] conceiue. friend looke too't. [sidenote: ] _pol_.[ ] how say you by that? still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said [sidenote: a sayd i] i was a fishmonger: he is farre gone, farre gone: [sidenote: fishmonger, a is farre gone, and truly] and truly in my youth, i suffred much extreamity and truly for loue: very neere this. ile speake to him againe. what do you read my lord? _ham_. words, words, words. _pol_. what is the matter, my lord? _ham_. betweene who?[ ] _pol_. i meane the matter you meane, my [sidenote: matter that you reade my] lord. _ham_. slanders sir: for the satyricall slaue [sidenote: satericall rogue sayes] saies here, that old men haue gray beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thicke amber, or plum-tree gumme: and that they haue [sidenote: amber, and] a plentifull locke of wit, together with weake [sidenote: lacke | with most weake] hammes. all which sir, though i most powerfully, and potently beleeue; yet i holde it not honestie[ ] to haue it thus set downe: for you [sidenote: for your selfe sir shall grow old as i am:] your selfe sir, should be old as i am, if like a crab you could go backward. _pol_.[ ] though this be madnesse, yet there is method in't: will you walke out of the ayre[ ] my lord? _ham_. into my graue? _pol_. indeed that is out o'th'ayre: [sidenote: that's out of the ayre;] how pregnant (sometimes) his replies are? a happinesse, that often madnesse hits on, which reason and sanitie could not [sidenote: sanctity] so prosperously be deliuer'd of. [footnote : one of the meanings of the word, and more in use then than now, is _understanding_.] [footnote : (_aside_).] [footnote : --pretending to take him to mean by _matter_, the _point of quarrel_.] [footnote : propriety.] [footnote : (_aside_).] [footnote : the draught.] [page ] [a] i will leaue him, and sodainely contriue the meanes of meeting betweene him,[ ] and my daughter. my honourable lord, i will most humbly take my leaue of you. _ham_. you cannot sir take from[ ] me any thing, that i will more willingly part withall, except my [sidenote: will not more | my life, except my] life, my life.[ ] [sidenote: _enter guyldersterne, and rosencrans_.] _polon_. fare you well my lord. _ham_. these tedious old fooles. _polon_. you goe to seeke my lord _hamlet_; [sidenote: the lord] there hee is. _enter rosincran and guildensterne_.[ ] _rosin_. god saue you sir. _guild_. mine honour'd lord? _rosin_. my most deare lord? _ham_. my excellent good friends? how do'st [sidenote: my extent good] thou _guildensterne_? oh, _rosincrane_; good lads: [sidenote: a rosencraus] how doe ye both? [sidenote: you] _rosin_. as the indifferent children of the earth. _guild_. happy, in that we are not ouer-happy: [sidenote: euer happy on] on fortunes cap, we are not the very button. [sidenote: fortunes lap,] _ham_. nor the soales of her shoo? _rosin_. neither my lord. _ham_. then you liue about her waste, or in the middle of her fauour? [sidenote: fauors.] _guil_. faith, her priuates, we. _ham_. in the secret parts of fortune? oh, most true: she is a strumpet.[ ] what's the newes? [sidenote: what newes?] _rosin_. none my lord; but that the world's [sidenote: but the] growne honest. _ham_. then is doomesday neere: but your [footnote a: _in the quarto, the speech ends thus_:--i will leaue him and my daughter.[ ] my lord, i will take my leaue of you.] [footnote : from 'and sodainely' _to_ 'betweene him,' _not in quarto_.] [footnote : it is well here to recall the modes of the word _leave_: '_give me leave_,' polonius says with proper politeness to the king and queen when he wants _them_ to go--that is, 'grant me your _departure_'; but he would, going himself, _take_ his leave, his departure, _of_ or _from_ them--by their permission to go. hamlet means, 'you cannot take from me anything i will more willingly part with than your leave, or, my permission to you to go.' , . see the play on the two meanings of the word in _twelfth night_, act ii. sc. : _duke_. give me now leave to leave thee; though i suspect it ought to be-- _duke_. give me now leave. _clown_. to leave thee!--now, the melancholy &c.] [footnote : it is a relief to him to speak the truth under the cloak of madness--ravingly. he has no one to whom to open his heart: what lies there he feels too terrible for even the eye of horatio. he has not apparently told him as yet more than the tale of his father's murder.] [footnote : _above, in quarto_.] [footnote : in this and all like utterances of hamlet, we see what worm it is that lies gnawing at his heart.] [footnote : this is a slip in the _quarto_--rectified in the _folio_: his daughter was not present.] [page ] newes is not true.[ ] [ ] let me question more in particular: what haue you my good friends, deserued at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither? _guil_. prison, my lord? _ham_. denmark's a prison. _rosin_. then is the world one. _ham_. a goodly one, in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons; _denmarke_ being one o'th'worst. _rosin_. we thinke not so my lord. _ham_. why then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so[ ]: to me it is a prison. _rosin_. why then your ambition makes it one: 'tis too narrow for your minde.[ ] _ham_. o god, i could be bounded in a nutshell, and count my selfe a king of infinite space; were it not that i haue bad dreames. _guil_. which dreames indeed are ambition: for the very substance[ ] of the ambitious, is meerely the shadow of a dreame. _ham_. a dreame it selfe is but a shadow. _rosin_. truely, and i hold ambition of so ayry and light a quality, that it is but a shadowes shadow. _ham_. then are our beggers bodies; and our monarchs and out-stretcht heroes the beggers shadowes: shall wee to th'court: for, by my fey[ ] i cannot reason?[ ] _both_. wee'l wait vpon you. _ham_. no such matter.[ ] i will not sort you with the rest of my seruants: for to speake to you like an honest man: i am most dreadfully attended;[ ] but in the beaten way of friendship,[ ] [sidenote: but in] what make you at _elsonower_? [footnote : 'it is not true that the world is grown honest': he doubts themselves. his eye is sharper because his heart is sorer since he left wittenberg. he proceeds to examine them.] [footnote : this passage, beginning with 'let me question,' and ending with 'dreadfully attended,' is not in the _quarto_. who inserted in the folio this and other passages? was it or was it not shakspere? beyond a doubt they are shakspere's all. then who omitted those omitted? was shakspere incapable of refusing any of his own work? or would these editors, who profess to have all opportunity, and who, belonging to the theatre, must have had the best of opportunities, have desired or dared to omit what far more painstaking editors have since presumed, though out of reverence, to restore?] [footnote : 'but it is thinking that makes it so:'] [footnote : --feeling after the cause of hamlet's strangeness, and following the readiest suggestion, that of chagrin at missing the succession.] [footnote : objects and aims.] [footnote : _foi_.] [footnote : does he choose beggars as the representatives of substance because they lack ambition--that being shadow? or does he take them as the shadows of humanity, that, following rosincrance, he may get their shadows, the shadows therefore of shadows, to parallel _monarchs_ and _heroes_? but he is not satisfied with his own analogue--therefore will to the court, where good logic is not wanted--where indeed he knows a hellish lack of reason.] [footnote : 'on no account.'] [footnote : 'i have very bad servants.' perhaps he judges his servants spies upon him. or might he mean that he was _haunted with bad thoughts_? or again, is it a stroke of his pretence of madness--suggesting imaginary followers?] [footnote: : 'to speak plainly, as old friends.'] [page ] _rosin_. to visit you my lord, no other occasion. _ham_. begger that i am, i am euen poore in [sidenote: am ever poore] thankes; but i thanke you: and sure deare friends my thanks are too deare a halfepeny[ ]; were you [sidenote: ] not sent for? is it your owne inclining? is it a free visitation?[ ] come, deale iustly with me: come, come; nay speake. [sidenote: come, come,] _guil_. what should we say my lord?[ ] _ham_. why any thing. but to the purpose; [sidenote: any thing but to'th purpose:] you were sent for; and there is a kinde confession [sidenote: kind of confession] in your lookes; which your modesties haue not craft enough to color, i know the good king and [sidenote: ] queene haue sent for you. _rosin_. to what end my lord? _ham_. that you must teach me: but let mee coniure[ ] you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth,[ ] by the obligation of our euer-preserued loue, and by what more deare, a better proposer could charge you withall; [sidenote: can] be euen and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. _rosin_. what say you?[ ] _ham_. nay then i haue an eye of you[ ]: if you loue me hold not off.[ ] [sidenote: ] _guil_. my lord, we were sent for. _ham_. i will tell you why; so shall my anticipation preuent your discouery of your secricie to [sidenote: discovery, and your secrecie to the king and queene moult no feather,[ ]] the king and queene[ ] moult no feather, i haue [sidenote: ] of late, but wherefore i know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercise; and indeed, [sidenote: exercises;] it goes so heauenly with my disposition; that this [sidenote: heauily] goodly frame the earth, seemes to me a sterrill promontory; this most excellent canopy the ayre, look you, this braue ore-hanging, this maiesticall [sidenote: orehanging firmament,] roofe, fretted with golden fire: why, it appeares no [sidenote: appeareth] [footnote : --because they were by no means hearty thanks.] [footnote : he wants to know whether they are in his uncle's employment and favour; whether they pay court to himself for his uncle's ends.] [footnote : he has no answer ready.] [footnote : he will not cast them from him without trying a direct appeal to their old friendship for plain dealing. this must be remembered in relation to his treatment of them afterwards. he affords them every chance of acting truly--conjuring them to honesty--giving them a push towards repentance.] [footnote : either, 'the harmony of our young days,' or, 'the sympathies of our present youth.'] [footnote : --_to guildenstern_.] [footnote : (_aside_) 'i will keep an eye upon you;'.] [footnote : 'do not hold back.'] [footnote : the _quarto_ seems here to have the right reading.] [footnote : 'your promise of secrecy remain intact;'.] [page ] other thing to mee, then a foule and pestilent congregation [sidenote: nothing to me but a] of vapours. what a piece of worke is [sidenote: what peece] a man! how noble in reason? how infinite in faculty? in forme and mouing how expresse and [sidenote: faculties,] admirable? in action, how like an angel? in apprehension, how like a god? the beauty of the world, the parragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me;[ ] no, nor woman neither; though by your [sidenote: not me, nor women] smiling you seeme to say so.[ ] _rosin._ my lord, there was no such stuffe in my thoughts. _ham._ why did you laugh, when i said, man [sidenote: yee laugh then, when] delights not me? _rosin._ to thinke, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenton entertainment the players shall receiue from you:[ ] wee coated them[ ] on the way, and hither are they comming to offer you seruice. _ham._[ ] he that playes the king shall be welcome; his maiesty shall haue tribute of mee: [sidenote: on me,] the aduenturous knight shal vse his foyle and target: the louer shall not sigh _gratis_, the humorous man[ ] shall end his part in peace: [ ] the clowne shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled a'th' sere:[ ] and the lady shall say her minde freely; or the blanke verse shall halt for't[ ]: [sidenote: black verse] what players are they? _rosin._ euen those you were wont to take [sidenote: take such delight] delight in the tragedians of the city. _ham._ how chances it they trauaile? their residence both in reputation and profit was better both wayes. _rosin._ i thinke their inhibition comes by the meanes of the late innouation?[ ] [footnote : a genuine description, so far as it goes, of the state of hamlet's mind. but he does not reveal the operating cause--his loss of faith in women, which has taken the whole poetic element out of heaven, earth, and humanity: he would have his uncle's spies attribute his condition to mere melancholy.] [footnote : --said angrily, i think.] [footnote : --a ready-witted subterfuge.] [footnote : came alongside of them; got up with them; apparently rather from fr. _côté_ than _coter_; like _accost_. compare . but i suspect it only means _noted_, _observed_, and is from _coter_.] [footnote : --_with humorous imitation, perhaps, of each of the characters_.] [footnote : --the man with a whim.] [footnote : this part of the speech--from [ ] to [ ], is not in the _quarto_.] [footnote : halliwell gives a quotation in which the touch-hole of a pistol is called the _sere_: the _sere_, then, of the lungs would mean the opening of the lungs--the part with which we laugh: those 'whose lungs are tickled a' th' sere,' are such as are ready to laugh on the least provocation: _tickled_--_irritable, ticklish_--ready to laugh, as another might be to cough. 'tickled o' the sere' was a common phrase, signifying, thus, _propense_. _ st q._ the clowne shall make them laugh that are tickled in the lungs,] [footnote : does this refer to the pause that expresses the unutterable? or to the ruin of the measure of the verse by an incompetent heroine?] [footnote : does this mean, 'i think their prohibition comes through the late innovation,'--of the children's acting; or, 'i think they are prevented from staying at home by the late new measures,'--such, namely, as came of the puritan opposition to stage-plays? this had grown so strong, that, in , the privy council issued an order restricting the number of theatres in london to two: by such an _innovation_ a number of players might well be driven to the country.] [page ] _ham_. doe they hold the same estimation they did when i was in the city? are they so follow'd? _rosin_. no indeed, they are not. [sidenote: are they not.] [ ]_ham_. how comes it? doe they grow rusty? _rosin_. nay, their indeauour keepes in the wonted pace; but there is sir an ayrie of children,[ ] little yases,[ ] that crye out[ ] on the top of question;[ ] and are most tyrannically clap't for't: these are now the fashion, and so be-ratled the common stages[ ] (so they call them) that many wearing rapiers,[ ] are affraide of goose-quils, and dare scarse come thither.[ ] _ham_. what are they children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted?[ ] will they pursue the quality[ ] no longer then they can sing?[ ] will they not say afterwards if they should grow themselues to common players (as it is like most[ ] if their meanes are no better) their writers[ ] do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their owne succession.[ ] _rosin_. faith there ha's bene much to do on both sides: and the nation holds it no sinne, to tarre them[ ] to controuersie. there was for a while, no mony bid for argument, vnlesse the poet and the player went to cuffes in the question.[ ] _ham_. is't possible? _guild_. oh there ha's beene much throwing about of braines. _ham_. do the boyes carry it away?[ ] _rosin_. i that they do my lord, _hercules_ and his load too.[ ] _ham_. it is not strange: for mine vnckle is [sidenote: not very strange, | my] king of denmarke, and those that would make mowes at him while my father liued; giue twenty, [sidenote: make mouths] [footnote : the whole of the following passage, beginning with 'how comes it,' and ending with 'hercules and his load too,' belongs to the _folio_ alone--is not in the _quarto_. in the _ st quarto_ we find the germ of the passage--unrepresented in the _ nd_, developed in the _folio_. _ham_. players, what players be they? _ross_. my lord, the tragedians of the citty, those that you tooke delight to see so often. _ham_. how comes it that they trauell? do they grow restie? _gil_. no my lord, their reputation holds as it was wont. _ham_. how then? _gil_. yfaith my lord, noueltie carries it away, for the principall publike audience that came to them, are turned to priuate playes,[ ] and to the humour[ ] of children. _ham_. i doe not greatly wonder of it, for those that would make mops and moes at my vncle, when my father liued, &c.] [footnote : _a nest of children_. the acting of the children of two or three of the chief choirs had become the rage.] [footnote : _eyases_--unfledged hawks.] [footnote : children _cry out_ rather than _speak_ on the stage.] [footnote : 'cry out beyond dispute'--_unquestionably_; 'cry out and no mistake.' 'he does not top his part.' _the rehearsal_, iii. .--'_he is not up to it_.' but perhaps here is intended _above reason_: 'they cry out excessively, excruciatingly.' . this said, in top of rage the lines she rents,--_a lover's complaint_.] [footnote : i presume it should be the present tense, _beratle_--except the _are_ of the preceding member be understood: 'and so beratled _are_ the common stages.' if the _present_, then the children 'so abuse the grown players,'--in the pieces they acted, particularly in the new _arguments_, written for them--whence the reference to _goose-quills_.] [footnote : --of the play-going public.] [footnote : --for dread of sharing in the ridicule.] [footnote : _paid_--from the french _escot_, a shot or reckoning: _dr. johnson_.] [footnote : --the quality of players; the profession of the stage.] [footnote : 'will they cease playing when their voices change?'] [footnote : either _will_ should follow here, or _like_ and _most_ must change places.] [footnote : 'those that write for them'.] [footnote : --what they had had to come to themselves.] [footnote : 'to incite the children and the grown players to controversy': _to tarre them on like dogs_: see _king john_, iv. .] [footnote : 'no stage-manager would buy a new argument, or prologue, to a play, unless the dramatist and one of the actors were therein represented as falling out on the question of the relative claims of the children and adult actors.'] [footnote : 'have the boys the best of it?'] [footnote : 'that they have, out and away.' steevens suggests that allusion is here made to the sign of the globe theatre--hercules bearing the world for atlas.] [footnote : amateur-plays.] [footnote : whimsical fashion.] [page ] forty, an hundred ducates a peece, for his picture[ ] [sidenote: fortie, fifty, a hundred] in little.[ ] there is something in this more then [sidenote: little, s'bloud there is] naturall, if philosophic could finde it out. _flourish for tke players_.[ ] [sidenote: _a florish_.] _guil_. there are the players. _ham_. gentlemen, you are welcom to _elsonower_: your hands, come: the appurtenance of [sidenote: come then, th'] welcome, is fashion and ceremony. let me [sidenote: ] comply with you in the garbe,[ ] lest my extent[ ] to [sidenote: in this garb: let me extent] the players (which i tell you must shew fairely outward) should more appeare like entertainment[ ] [sidenote: outwards,] then yours.[ ] you are welcome: but my vnckle father, and aunt mother are deceiu'd. _guil_. in what my deere lord? _ham_. i am but mad north, north-west: when the winde is southerly, i know a hawke from a handsaw.[ ] _enter polonius_. _pol_. well[ ] be with you gentlemen. _ham_. hearke you _guildensterne_, and you too: at each eare a hearer: that great baby you see there, is not yet out of his swathing clouts. [sidenote: swadling clouts.] _rosin_. happily he's the second time come to [sidenote: he is] them: for they say, an old man is twice a childe. _ham_. i will prophesie. hee comes to tell me of the players. mark it, you say right sir: for a [sidenote: sir, a monday] monday morning 'twas so indeed.[ ] [sidenote: t'was then indeede.] _pol_. my lord, i haue newes to tell you. _ham_. my lord, i haue newes to tell you. when _rossius_ an actor in rome----[ ] [sidenote: _rossius_ was an] _pol_. the actors are come hither my lord. _ham_. buzze, buzze.[ ] _pol_. vpon mine honor.[ ] [sidenote: my] _ham_. then can each actor on his asse---- [sidenote: came each] [footnote : if there be any logical link here, except that, after the instance adduced, no change in social fashion--nothing at all indeed, is to be wondered at, i fail to see it. perhaps the speech is intended to belong to the simulation. the last sentence of it appears meant to convey the impression that he suspects nothing--is only bewildered by the course of things.] [footnote : his miniature.] [footnote : --to indicate their approach.] [footnote : _com'ply_--accent on first syllable--'pass compliments with you' ( )--_in the garb_, either 'in appearance,' or 'in the fashion of the hour.'] [footnote : 'the amount of courteous reception i extend'--'my advances to the players.'] [footnote : reception, welcome.] [footnote : he seems to desire that they shall no more be on the footing of fellow-students, and thus to rid himself of the old relation. perhaps he hints that they are players too. from any further show of friendliness he takes refuge in convention--and professed convention--supplying a reason in order to escape a dangerous interpretation of his sudden formality--'lest you should suppose me more cordial to the players than to you.' the speech is full of inwoven irony, doubtful, and refusing to be ravelled out. with what merely half-shown, yet scathing satire it should be spoken and accompanied!] [footnote : a proverb of the time comically corrupted--_handsaw for hernshaw_--a heron, the quarry of the hawk. he denies his madness as madmen do--and in terms themselves not unbefitting madness--so making it seem the more genuine. yet every now and then, urged by the commotion of his being, he treads perilously on the border of self-betrayal.] [footnote : used as a noun.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'mark it.--you say right, sir; &c.' he takes up a speech that means nothing, and might mean anything, to turn aside the suspicion their whispering might suggest to polonius that they had been talking about him--so better to lay his trap for him.] [footnote : he mentions the _actor_ to lead polonius so that his prophecy of him shall come true.] [footnote : an interjection of mockery: he had made a fool of him.] [footnote : polonius thinks he is refusing to believe him.] [page ] _polon_. the best actors in the world, either for tragedie, comedie, historic, pastorall: pastoricall- comicall-historicall-pastorall: [ ] tragicall-historicall: tragicall-comicall--historicall-pastorall[ ]: scene indiuible,[ ] or poem vnlimited.[ ] _seneca_ cannot [sidenote: scene indeuidible,[ ]] be too heauy, nor _plautus_ too light, for the law of writ, and the liberty. these are the onely men.[ ] _ham_. o _iephta_ iudge of israel, what a treasure had'st thou? _pol_. what a treasure had he, my lord?[ ] _ham_. why one faire daughter, and no more,[ ] the which he loued passing well.[ ] [sidenote: ] _pol_. still on my daughter. _ham_. am i not i'th'right old _iephta_? _polon_. if you call me _iephta_ my lord, i haue a daughter that i loue passing well. _ham_. nay that followes not.[ ] _polon_. what followes then, my lord? _ham_. why, as by lot, god wot:[ ] and then you know, it came to passe, as most like it was:[ ] the first rowe of the _pons[ ] chanson_ will shew you more, [sidenote: pious chanson] for looke where my abridgements[ ] come. [sidenote: abridgment[ ] comes] _enter foure or fiue players._ [sidenote: _enter the players._] y'are welcome masters, welcome all. i am glad [sidenote: you are] to see thee well: welcome good friends. o my [sidenote: oh old friend, why thy face is valanct[ ]] olde friend? thy face is valiant[ ] since i saw thee last: com'st thou to beard me in denmarke? what, my yong lady and mistris?[ ] byrlady [sidenote: by lady] your ladiship is neerer heauen then when i saw [sidenote: nerer to] you last, by the altitude of a choppine.[ ] pray god your voice like a peece of vncurrant gold be not crack'd within the ring.[ ] masters, you are all welcome: wee'l e'ne to't like french faulconers,[ ] [sidenote: like friendly fankner] flie at any thing we see: wee'l haue a speech [footnote : from [ ] to [ ] is not in the _quarto_.] [footnote : does this phrase mean _all in one scene_?] [footnote : a poem to be recited only--one not _limited_, or _divided_ into speeches.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'too light. for the law of writ, and the liberty, these are the onely men':--_either for written plays_, that is, _or for those in which the players extemporized their speeches_. _ st q_. 'for the law hath writ those are the onely men.'] [footnote : polonius would lead him on to talk of his daughter.] [footnote : these are lines of the first stanza of an old ballad still in existence. does hamlet suggest that as jephthah so polonius had sacrificed his daughter? or is he only desirous of making him talk about her?] [footnote : 'that is not as the ballad goes.'] [footnote : that this is a corruption of the _pious_ in the _quarto_, is made clearer from the _ st quarto_: 'the first verse of the godly ballet wil tel you all.'] [footnote : _abridgment_--that which _abridges_, or cuts short. his 'abridgements' were the players.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'vallanced'--_with a beard_, that is. both readings may be correct.] [footnote : a boy of course: no women had yet appeared on the stage.] [footnote : a venetian boot, stilted, sometimes very high.] [footnote : --because then it would be unfit for a woman-part. a piece of gold so worn that it had a crack reaching within the inner circle was no longer current. _ st q_. 'in the ring:'--was a pun intended?] [footnote : --like french sportsmen of the present day too.] [page ] straight. come giue vs a tast of your quality: come, a passionate speech. _ . play._ what speech, my lord? [sidenote: my good lord?] _ham._ i heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was neuer acted: or if it was, not aboue once, for the play i remember pleas'd not the million, 'twas _cauiarie_ to the generall[ ]: but it was (as i receiu'd it, and others, whose iudgement in such matters, cried in the top of mine)[ ] an excellent play; well digested in the scoenes, set downe with as much modestie, as cunning.[ ] i remember one said there was no sallets[ ] in the lines, to make the [sidenote: were] matter sauoury; nor no matter in the phrase,[ ] that might indite the author of affectation, but cal'd it [sidenote: affection,] an honest method[a]. one cheefe speech in it, i [sidenote: one speech in't i] cheefely lou'd, 'twas _Ã�neas_ tale to _dido_, and [sidenote: _aeneas_ talke to] thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of [sidenote: when] _priams_[ ] slaughter. if it liue in your memory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see: the rugged _pyrrhus_ like th'_hyrcanian_ beast.[ ] it is [sidenote: tis not] not so: it begins[ ] with _pyrrhus_.[ ] [ ] the rugged _pyrrhus_, he whose sable armes[ ] blacke as his purpose, did the night resemble when he lay couched in the ominous[ ] horse, hath now this dread and blacke complexion smear'd with heraldry more dismall: head to foote now is he to take geulles,[ ] horridly trick'd [sidenote: is he totall gules [ ]] with blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sonnes, [ ] bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, that lend a tyrannous, and damned light [sidenote: and a damned] [footnote a: _here in the quarto:_-- as wholesome as sweete, and by very much, more handsome then fine:] [footnote : the salted roe of the sturgeon is a delicacy disliked by most people.] [footnote : 'were superior to mine.' the _ st quarto_ has, 'cried in the toppe of their iudgements, an excellent play,'--that is, _pronounced it, to the best of their judgments, an excellent play_. note the difference between 'the top of _my_ judgment', and 'the top of _their_ judgments'. .] [footnote : skill.] [footnote : coarse jests. , .] [footnote : _style_.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'princes slaughter.'] [footnote : _ st q_. 'th'arganian beast:' 'the hyrcan tiger,' macbeth, iii. .] [footnote : 'it _begins_': emphasis on begins.] [footnote : a pause; then having recollected, he starts afresh.] [footnote : these passages are shakspere's own, not quotations: the quartos differ. but when he wrote them he had in his mind a phantom of marlowe's _dido, queen of carthage_. i find steevens has made a similar conjecture, and quotes from marlowe two of the passages i had marked as being like passages here.] [footnote : the poetry is admirable in its kind--intentionally _charged_, to raise it to the second stage-level, above the blank verse, that is, of the drama in which it is set, as that blank verse is raised above the ordinary level of speech. . the correspondent passage in _ st q_. runs nearly parallel for a few lines.] [footnote :--like _portentous_.] [footnote : 'all red', _ st q_. 'totall guise.'] [footnote : here the _ st quarto_ has:-- back't and imparched in calagulate gore, rifted in earth and fire, olde grandsire _pryam_ seekes: so goe on.] [page ] to their vilde murthers, roasted in wrath and fire, [sidenote: their lords murther,] and thus o're-sized with coagulate gore, with eyes like carbuncles, the hellish _pyrrhus_ old grandsire _priam_ seekes.[ ] [sidenote: seekes; so proceede you.[ ]] _pol_. fore god, my lord, well spoken, with good accent, and good discretion.[ ] _ . player_. anon he findes him, [sidenote: _play_] striking too short at greekes.[ ] his anticke sword, rebellious to his arme, lyes where it falles repugnant to command[ ]: vnequall match, [sidenote: matcht,] _pyrrhus_ at _priam_ driues, in rage strikes wide: but with the whiffe and winde of his fell sword, th'vnnerued father fals.[ ] then senselesse illium,[ ] seeming to feele his blow, with flaming top [sidenote: seele[ ] this blowe,] stoopes to his bace, and with a hideous crash takes prisoner _pyrrhus_ eare. for loe, his sword which was declining on the milkie head of reuerend _priam_, seem'd i'th'ayre to sticke: so as a painted tyrant _pyrrhus_ stood,[ ] [sidenote: stood like] and like a newtrall to his will and matter,[ ] did nothing.[ ] [ ] but as we often see against some storme, a silence in the heauens, the racke stand still, the bold windes speechlesse, and the orbe below as hush as death: anon the dreadfull thunder [sidenote: ] doth rend the region.[ ] so after _pyrrhus_ pause, arowsed vengeance sets him new a-worke, and neuer did the cyclops hammers fall on mars his armours, forg'd for proofe eterne, [sidenote: _marses_ armor] with lesse remorse then _pyrrhus_ bleeding sword now falles on _priam_. [ ] out, out, thou strumpet-fortune, all you gods, in generall synod take away her power: breake all the spokes and fallies from her wheele, [sidenote: follies] [footnote : this, though horrid enough, is in degree below the description in _dido_.] [footnote : he is directing the player to take up the speech there where he leaves it. see last quotation from _ st q_.] [footnote : _judgment_.] [footnote : --with an old man's under-reaching blows--till his arm is so jarred by a missed blow, that he cannot raise his sword again.] [footnote : whereat he lifted up his bedrid limbs, and would have grappled with achilles' son, * * * * * which he, disdaining, whisk'd his sword about, and with the wound[ ] thereof the king fell down. marlowe's _dido, queen of carthage_.] [footnote : the _quarto_ has omitted '_then senselesse illium_,' or something else.] [footnote : printed with the long f[symbol for archaic long s].] [footnote : --motionless as a tyrant in a picture.] [footnote : 'standing between his will and its object as if he had no relation to either.'] [footnote : and then in triumph ran into the streets, through which he could not pass for slaughtered men; so, leaning on his sword, he stood stone still, viewing the fire wherewith rich ilion burnt. marlowe's _dido, queen of carthage_.] [footnote : who does not feel this passage, down to 'region,' thoroughly shaksperean!] [footnote : is not the rest of this speech very plainly shakspere's?] [footnote : _wind_, i think it should be.] [page ] and boule the round naue downe the hill of heauen, as low as to the fiends. _pol_. this is too long. _ham_. it shall to'th barbars, with your beard. [sidenote: to the] prythee say on: he's for a iigge, or a tale of baudry, or hee sleepes. say on; come to _hecuba_. _ . play_. but who, o who, had seen the inobled[ ] queen. [sidenote: but who, a woe, had | mobled[ ]] _ham_. the inobled[ ] queene? [sidenote: mobled] _pol_. that's good: inobled[ ] queene is good.[ ] _ . play_. run bare-foot vp and downe, threatning the flame [sidenote: flames] with bisson rheume:[ ] a clout about that head, [sidenote: clout vppon] where late the diadem stood, and for a robe about her lanke and all ore-teamed loines,[ ] a blanket in th'alarum of feare caught vp. [sidenote: the alarme] who this had seene, with tongue in venome steep'd, 'gainst fortunes state, would treason haue pronounc'd?[ ] but if the gods themselues did see her then, when she saw _pyrrhus_ make malicious sport in mincing with his sword her husbands limbes,[ ] [sidenote: husband] the instant burst of clamour that she made (vnlesse things mortall moue them not at all) would haue made milche[ ] the burning eyes of heauen, and passion in the gods.[ ] _pol_. looke where[ ] he ha's not turn'd his colour, and ha's teares in's eyes. pray you no more. [sidenote: prethee] _ham_. 'tis well, he haue thee speake out the rest, soone. good my lord, will you see the [sidenote: rest of this] players wel bestow'd. do ye heare, let them be [sidenote: you] well vs'd: for they are the abstracts and breefe [sidenote: abstract] chronicles of the time. after your death, you [footnote : '_mobled_'--also in _ st q_.--may be the word: _muffled_ seems a corruption of it: compare _mob-cap_, and 'the moon does mobble up herself' --_shirley_, quoted by _farmer_; but i incline to '_inobled_,' thrice in the _folio_--once with a capital: i take it to stand for _'ignobled,' degraded_.] [footnote : 'inobled queene is good.' _not in quarto_.] [footnote : --threatening to put the flames out with blind tears: '_bisen,' blind_--ang. sax.] [footnote : --she had had so many children.] [footnote : there should of course be no point of interrogation here.] [footnote : this butcher, whilst his hands were yet held up, treading upon his breast, struck off his hands. marlowe's _dido, queen of carthage_.] [footnote : '_milche_'--capable of giving milk: here _capable of tears_, which the burning eyes of the gods were not before.] [footnote : 'and would have made passion in the gods.'] [footnote : 'whether'.] [page ] were better haue a bad epitaph, then their ill report while you liued.[ ] [sidenote: live] _pol_. my lord, i will vse them according to their desart. _ham_. gods bodykins man, better. vse euerie [sidenote: bodkin man, much better,] man after his desart, and who should scape whipping: [sidenote: shall] vse them after your own honor and dignity. the lesse they deserue, the more merit is in your bountie. take them in. _pol_. come sirs. _exit polon_.[ ] _ham_. follow him friends: wee'l heare a play to morrow.[ ] dost thou heare me old friend, can you play the murther of _gonzago_? _play_. i my lord. _ham_. wee'l ha't to morrow night. you could for a need[ ] study[ ] a speech of some dosen or sixteene [sidenote: for neede | dosen lines, or] lines, which i would set downe, and insert in't? could ye not?[ ] [sidenote: you] _play_. i my lord. _ham_. very well. follow that lord, and looke you mock him not.[ ] my good friends, ile leaue you til night you are welcome to _elsonower_? [sidenote: _exeuent pol. and players_.] _rosin_. good my lord. _exeunt_. _manet hamlet_.[ ] _ham_. i so, god buy'ye[ ]: now i am alone. [sidenote: buy to you,[ ]] oh what a rogue and pesant slaue am i?[ ] is it not monstrous that this player heere,[ ] but in a fixion, in a dreame of passion, could force his soule so to his whole conceit,[ ] [sidenote: his own conceit] that from her working, all his visage warm'd; [sidenote: all the visage wand,] teares in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, [sidenote: in his] a broken voyce, and his whole function suiting [sidenote: an his] with formes, to his conceit?[ ] and all for nothing? [footnote : why do the editors choose the present tense of the _quarto_? hamlet does not mean, 'it is worse to have the ill report of the players while you live, than a bad epitaph after your death.' the order of the sentence has provided against that meaning. what he means is, that their ill report in life will be more against your reputation after death than a bad epitaph.] [footnote : _not in quarto_.] [footnote : he detains their leader.] [footnote : 'for a special reason'.] [footnote : _study_ is still the player's word for _commit to memory_.] [footnote : note hamlet's quick resolve, made clearer towards the end of the following soliloquy.] [footnote : polonius is waiting at the door: this is intended for his hearing.] [footnote : _not in q_.] [footnote : note the varying forms of _god be with you_.] [footnote : _ st q_. why what a dunghill idiote slaue am i? why these players here draw water from eyes: for hecuba, why what is hecuba to him, or he to hecuba?] [footnote : everything rings on the one hard, fixed idea that possesses him; but this one idea has many sides. of late he has been thinking more upon the woman-side of it; but the player with his speech has brought his father to his memory, and he feels he has been forgetting him: the rage of the actor recalls his own 'cue for passion.' always more ready to blame than justify himself, he feels as if he ought to have done more, and so falls to abusing himself.] [footnote : _imagination_.] [footnote : 'his whole operative nature providing fit forms for the embodiment of his imagined idea'--of which forms he has already mentioned his _warmed visage_, his _tears_, his _distracted look_, his _broken voice_. in this passage we have the true idea of the operation of the genuine _acting faculty_. actor as well as dramatist, the poet gives us here his own notion of his second calling.] [page ] for _hecuba_? what's _hecuba_ to him, or he to _hecuba_,[ ] [sidenote: or he to her,] that he should weepe for her? what would he doe, had he the motiue and the cue[ ] for passion [sidenote: , and that for] that i haue? he would drowne the stage with teares, and cleaue the generall eare with horrid speech: make mad the guilty, and apale[ ] the free,[ ] confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, the very faculty of eyes and eares. yet i, [sidenote: faculties] a dull and muddy-metled[ ] rascall, peake like iohn a-dreames, vnpregnant of my cause,[ ] and can say nothing: no, not for a king, vpon whose property,[ ] and most deere life, a damn'd defeate[ ] was made. am i a coward?[ ] who calles me villaine? breakes my pate a-crosse? pluckes off my beard, and blowes it in my face? tweakes me by'th'nose?[ ] giues me the lye i'th' throate, [sidenote: by the] as deepe as to the lungs? who does me this? ha? why i should take it: for it cannot be, [sidenote: hah, s'wounds i] but i am pigeon-liuer'd, and lacke gall[ ] to make oppression bitter, or ere this, [sidenote: ] i should haue fatted all the region kites [sidenote: should a fatted] with this slaues offall, bloudy: a bawdy villaine, [sidenote: bloody, baudy] remorselesse,[ ] treacherous, letcherous, kindles[ ] villaine! oh vengeance![ ] who? what an asse am i? i sure, this is most braue, [sidenote: why what an asse am i, this] that i, the sonne of the deere murthered, [sidenote: a deere] prompted to my reuenge by heauen, and hell, must (like a whore) vnpacke my heart with words, and fall a cursing like a very drab,[ ] a scullion? fye vpon't: foh. about my braine.[ ] [sidenote: a stallyon, | braines; hum,] [footnote : here follows in st _q_. what would he do and if he had my losse? his father murdred, and a crowne bereft him, [sidenote: ] he would turne all his teares to droppes of blood, amaze the standers by with his laments, &c. &c.] [footnote : speaking of the player, he uses the player-word.] [footnote : _make pale_--appal.] [footnote : _the innocent_.] [footnote : _mettle_ is spirit--rather in the sense of _animal-spirit_: _mettlesome_--spirited, _as a horse_.] [footnote : '_unpossessed by_ my cause'.] [footnote : _personality, proper person_.] [footnote : _undoing, destruction_--from french _défaire_.] [footnote : in this mood he no more understands, and altogether doubts himself, as he has previously come to doubt the world.] [footnote : _ st q_. 'or twites my nose.'] [footnote : it was supposed that pigeons had no gall--i presume from their livers not tasting bitter like those of perhaps most birds.] [footnote : _pitiless_.] [footnote : _unnatural_.] [footnote : this line is not in the _quarto_.] [footnote : here in _q._ the line runs on to include _foh_. the next line ends with _heard_.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'about! my brain.' he apostrophizes his brain, telling it to set to work.] [page ] i haue heard, that guilty creatures sitting at a play, haue by the very cunning of the scoene,[ ] bene strooke so to the soule, that presently they haue proclaim'd their malefactions. for murther, though it haue no tongue, will speake with most myraculous organ.[ ] ile haue these players, play something like the murder of my father, before mine vnkle. ile obserue his lookes, [sidenote: ] ile tent him to the quicke: if he but blench[ ] [sidenote: if a doe blench] i know my course. the spirit that i haue seene [sidenote: ] may[ ] be the diuell, and the diuel hath power [sidenote: may be a deale, and the deale] t'assume a pleasing shape, yea and perhaps out of my weaknesse, and my melancholly,[ ] as he is very potent with such spirits,[ ] [sidenote: ] abuses me to damne me.[ ] ile haue grounds more relatiue then this: the play's the thing, wherein ile catch the conscience of the king. _exit._ * * * * * summary. the division between the second and third acts is by common consent placed here. the third act occupies the afternoon, evening, and night of the same day with the second. this soliloquy is hamlet's first, and perhaps we may find it correct to say _only_ outbreak of self-accusation. he charges himself with lack of feeling, spirit, and courage, in that he has not yet taken vengeance on his uncle. but unless we are prepared to accept and justify to the full his own hardest words against himself, and grant him a muddy-mettled, pigeon-livered rascal, we must examine and understand him, so as to account for his conduct better than he could himself. if we allow that perhaps he accuses himself too much, we may find on reflection that he accuses himself altogether wrongfully. if a man is content to think the worst of hamlet, i care to hold no argument with that man. we must not look for _expressed_ logical sequence in a soliloquy, which is a vocal mind. the mind is seldom conscious of the links or transitions of a yet perfectly logical process developed in it. this remark, however, is more necessary in regard to the famous soliloquy to follow. in hamlet, misery has partly choked even vengeance; and although sure in his heart that his uncle is guilty, in his brain he is not sure. bitterly accusing himself in an access of wretchedness and rage and credence, he forgets the doubt that has restrained him, with all besides which he might so well urge in righteous defence, not excuse, of his delay. but ungenerous criticism has, by all but universal consent, accepted his own verdict against himself. so in common life there are thousands on thousands who, upon the sad confession of a man immeasurably greater than themselves, and showing his greatness in the humility whose absence makes admission impossible to them, immediately pounce upon him with vituperation, as if he were one of the vile, and they infinitely better. such should be indignant with st. paul and say--if he was the chief of sinners, what insolence to lecture _them_! and certainly the more justified publican would never by them have been allowed to touch the robe of the less justified pharisee. such critics surely take little or no pains to understand the object of their contempt: because hamlet is troubled and blames himself, they without hesitation condemn him--and there where he is most commendable. it is the righteous man who is most ready to accuse himself; the unrighteous is least ready. who is able when in deep trouble, rightly to analyze his feelings? delay in action is not necessarily abandonment of duty; in hamlet's case it is a due recognition of duty, which condemns precipitancy--and action in the face of doubt, so long as it is nowise compelled, is precipitancy. the first thing is _to be sure_: hamlet has never been sure; he spies at length a chance of making himself sure; he seizes upon it; and while his sudden resolve to make use of the players, like the equally sudden resolve to shroud himself in pretended madness, manifests him fertile in expedient, the carrying out of both manifests him right capable and diligent in execution--_a man of action in every true sense of the word_. the self-accusation of hamlet has its ground in the lapse of weeks during which nothing has been done towards punishing the king. suddenly roused to a keen sense of the fact, he feels as if surely he might have done something. the first act ends with a burning vow of righteous vengeance; the second shows him wandering about the palace in profoundest melancholy--such as makes it more than easy for him to assume the forms of madness the moment he marks any curious eye bent upon him. let him who has never loved and revered a mother, call such melancholy weakness. he has indeed done nothing towards the fulfilment of his vow; but the way in which he made the vow, the terms in which he exacted from his companions their promise of silence, and his scheme for eluding suspicion, combine to show that from the first he perceived its fulfilment would be hard, saw the obstacles in his way, and knew it would require both time and caution. that even in the first rush of his wrath he should thus be aware of difficulty, indicates moral symmetry; but the full weight of what lay in his path could appear to him only upon reflection. partly in the light of passages yet to come, i will imagine the further course of his thoughts, which the closing couplet of the first act shows as having already begun to apale 'the native hue of resolution.' 'but how shall i take vengeance on my uncle? shall i publicly accuse him, or slay him at once? in the one case what answer can i make to his denial? in the other, what justification can i offer? if i say the spirit of my father accuses him, what proof can i bring? my companions only saw the apparition--heard no word from him; and my uncle's party will assert, with absolute likelihood to the minds of those who do not know me--and who here knows me but my mother!--that charge is a mere coinage of jealous disappointment, working upon the melancholy i have not cared to hide. ( - .) when i act, it must be to kill him, and to what misconstruction shall i not expose myself! ( ) if the thing must so be, i must brave all; but i could never present myself thereafter as successor to the crown of one whom i had first slain and then vilified on the accusation of an apparition whom no one heard but myself! i must find _proof_--such proof as will satisfy others as well as myself. my immediate duty is _evidence_, not vengeance.' we have seen besides, that, when informed of the haunting presence of the ghost, he expected the apparition with not a little doubt as to its authenticity--a doubt which, even when he saw it, did not immediately vanish: is it any wonder that when the apparition was gone, the doubt should return? return it did, in accordance with the reaction which waits upon all high-strung experience. if he did not believe in the person who performed it, would any man long believe in any miracle? hamlet soon begins to question whether he can with confidence accept the appearance for that which it appeared and asserted itself to be. he steps over to the stand-point of his judges, and doubts the only testimony he has to produce. far more:--was he not bound in common humanity, not to say _filialness_, to doubt it? to doubt the ghost, was to doubt a testimony which to accept was to believe his father in horrible suffering, his uncle a murderer, his mother at least an adulteress; to kill his uncle was to set his seal to the whole, and, besides, to bring his mother into frightful suspicion of complicity in his father's murder. ought not the faintest shadow of a doubt, assuaging ever so little the glare of the hell-sun of such crime, to be welcome to the tortured heart? wretched wife and woman as his mother had shown herself, the ghost would have him think her far worse--perhaps, even accessory to her husband's murder! for action he _must_ have proof! at the same time, what every one knew of his mother, coupled now with the mere idea of the ghost's accusation, wrought in him such misery, roused in him so many torturing and unanswerable questions, so blotted the face of the universe and withered the heart of hope, that he could not but doubt whether, in such a world of rogues and false women, it was worth his while to slay one villain out of the swarm. ophelia's behaviour to him, in obedience to her father, of which she gives him no explanation, has added 'the pangs of disprized love,' and increased his doubts of woman-kind. . but when his imagination, presenting afresh the awful interview, brings him more immediately under the influence of the apparition and its behest, he is for the moment delivered both from the stunning effect of its communication and his doubt of its truth; forgetting then the considerations that have wrought in him, he accuses himself of remissness, blames himself grievously for his delay. soon, however, his senses resume their influence, and he doubts again. so goes the mill-round of his thoughts, with the revolving of many wheels. his whole conscious nature is frightfully shaken: he would be the poor creature most of his critics would make of him, were it otherwise; it is because of his greatness that he suffers so terribly, and doubts so much. a mother's crime is far more paralyzing than a father's murder is stimulating; and either he has not set himself in thorough earnest to find the proof he needs, or he has as yet been unable to think of any serviceable means to the end, when the half real, half simulated emotion of the player yet again rouses in him the sense of remissness, leads him to accuse himself of forgotten obligation and heartlessness, and simultaneously suggests a device for putting the ghost and his words to the test. instantly he seizes the chance: when a thing has to be done, and can be done, hamlet is _never_ wanting--shows himself the very promptest of men. in the last passage of this act i do not take it that he is expressing an idea then first occurring to him: that the whole thing may be a snare of the devil is a doubt with which during weeks he has been familiar. the delay through which, in utter failure to comprehend his character, he has been so miserably misjudged, falls really between the first and second acts, although it seems in the regard of most readers to underlie and protract the whole play. its duration is measured by the journey of the ambassadors to and from the neighbouring kingdom of norway. it is notably odd, by the way, that those who accuse hamlet of inaction, are mostly the same who believe his madness a reality! in truth, however, his affected madness is one of the strongest signs of his activity, and his delay one of the strongest proofs of his sanity. this second act, the third act, and a part always given to the fourth, but which really belongs to the third, occupy in all only one day. [footnote : here follows in _ st q._ confest a murder committed long before. this spirit that i haue seene may be the diuell, and out of my weakenesse and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such men, doth seeke to damne me, i will haue sounder proofes, the play's the thing, &c.] [footnote : 'stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;' &c. _macbeth_, iii. .] [footnote : in the _ st q._ hamlet, speaking to horatio (l ), says, and if he doe not bleach, and change at that,-- _bleach_ is radically the same word as _blench_:--to bleach, to blanch, to blench--_to grow white_.] [footnote : emphasis on _may_, as resuming previous doubtful thought and suspicion.] [footnote : --caused from the first by his mother's behaviour, not constitutional.] [footnote : --'such conditions of the spirits'.] [footnote : here is one element in the very existence of the preceding act: doubt as to the facts of the case has been throughout operating to restrain him; and here first he reveals, perhaps first recognizes its influence. subject to change of feeling with the wavering of conviction, he now for a moment regards his uncertainty as involving unnatural distrust of a being in whose presence he cannot help _feeling_ him his father. he was familiar with the lore of the supernatural, and knew the doubt he expresses to be not without support.--his companions as well had all been in suspense as to the identity of the apparition with the late king.] [page ] _enter king, queene, polonius, ophelia, rosincrance, guildenstern, and lords._[ ] [sidenote: guyldensterne, lords.] [sidenote: ] _king._ and can you by no drift of circumstance [sidenote: an can | of conference] get from him why he puts on[ ] this confusion: grating so harshly all his dayes of quiet with turbulent and dangerous lunacy. _rosin._ he does confesse he feeles himselfe distracted, [sidenote: ] but from what cause he will by no meanes speake. [sidenote: a will] _guil._ nor do we finde him forward to be sounded, but with a crafty madnesse[ ] keepes aloofe: when we would bring him on to some confession of his true state. _qu._ did he receiue you well? _rosin._ most like a gentleman. _guild._ but with much forcing of his disposition.[ ] _rosin._ niggard of question, but of our demands most free in his reply.[ ] _qu._ did you assay him to any pastime? _rosin._ madam, it so fell out, that certaine players we ore-wrought on the way: of these we told him, [sidenote: ore-raught[ ]] and there did seeme in him a kinde of ioy to heare of it: they are about the court, [sidenote: are heere about] and (as i thinke) they haue already order this night to play before him. _pol._ 'tis most true; and he beseech'd me to intreate your majesties to heare, and see the matter. _king._ with all my heart, and it doth much content me to heare him so inclin'd. good gentlemen, [footnote : this may be regarded as the commencement of the third act.] [footnote : the phrase seems to imply a doubt of the genuineness of the lunacy.] [footnote : _nominative pronoun omitted here._] [footnote : he has noted, without understanding them, the signs of hamlet's suspicion of themselves.] [footnote : compare the seemingly opposite statements of the two: hamlet had bewildered them.] [foonote : _over-reached_--came up with, caught up, overtook.] [page ] giue him a further edge,[ ] and driue his purpose on [sidenote: purpose into these] to these delights. _rosin._ we shall my lord. _exeunt._ [sidenote: _exeunt ros. & guyl._] _king._ sweet gertrude leaue vs too, [sidenote: gertrard | two] for we haue closely sent for _hamlet_ hither, [sidenote: ] that he, as 'twere by accident, may there [sidenote: heere] affront[ ] _ophelia_. her father, and my selfe[ ] (lawful espials)[ ] will so bestow our selues, that seeing vnseene we may of their encounter frankely iudge, and gather by him, as he is behaued, if't be th'affliction of his loue, or no, that thus he suffers for. _qu._ i shall obey you, and for your part _ophelia_,[ ] i do wish that your good beauties be the happy cause of _hamlets_ wildenesse: so shall i hope your vertues [sidenote: ] will bring him to his wonted way againe, to both your honors.[ ] _ophe._ madam, i wish it may. _pol. ophelia_, walke you heere. gracious so please ye[ ] [sidenote: you,] we will bestow our selues: reade on this booke,[ ] that shew of such an exercise may colour your lonelinesse.[ ] we are oft too blame in this,[ ] [sidenote: lowlines:] 'tis too much prou'd, that with deuotions visage, and pious action, we do surge o're [sidenote: sugar] the diuell himselfe. [sidenote: ] _king._ oh 'tis true: [sidenote: tis too true] how smart a lash that speech doth giue my conscience? the harlots cheeke beautied with plaist'ring art is not more vgly to the thing that helpes it,[ ] then is my deede, to my most painted word.[ ] oh heauie burthen![ ] [footnote : '_edge_ him on'--somehow corrupted into _egg_.] [footnote : _confront_.] [footnote : _clause in parenthesis not in q._] [footnote : --apologetic to the queen.] [footnote : --_going up to ophelia_--i would say, who stands at a little distance, and has not heard what has been passing between them.] [footnote : the queen encourages ophelia in hoping to marry hamlet, and may so have a share in causing a certain turn her madness takes.] [footnote : --_aside to the king_.] [footnote : --_to ophelia:_ her prayer-book. .] [footnote : _ st q._ and here _ofelia_, reade you on this booke, and walke aloofe, the king shal be vnseene.] [footnote : --_aside to the king._ i insert these _asides_, and suggest the queen's going up to ophelia, to show how we may easily hold ophelia ignorant of their plot. poor creature as she was, i would believe shakspere did not mean her to lie to hamlet. this may be why he omitted that part of her father's speech in the _ st q._ given in the note immediately above, telling her the king is going to hide. still, it would be excuse enough for _her_, that she thought his madness justified the deception.] [footnote : --ugly to the paint that helps by hiding it--to which it lies so close, and from which it has no secrets. or, 'ugly to' may mean, 'ugly _compared with_.'] [footnote : 'most painted'--_very much painted_. his painted word is the paint to the deed. _painted_ may be taken for _full of paint_.] [footnote : this speech of the king is the first _assurance_ we have of his guilt.] [page ] _pol._ i heare him comming, let's withdraw my lord. [sidenote: comming, with-draw] _exeunt._[ ] _enter hamlet._[ ] _ham._ to be, or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the minde to suffer the slings and arrowes of outragious fortune, [sidenote: , ] or to take armes against a sea of troubles,[ ] and by opposing end them:[ ] to dye, to sleepe no more; and by a sleepe, to say we end the heart-ake, and the thousand naturall shockes that flesh is heyre too? 'tis a consummation deuoutly to be wish'd.[ ] to dye to sleepe, to sleepe, perchance to dreame;[ ] i, there's the rub, for in that sleepe of death, what[ ] dreames may come,[ ] when we haue shuffle'd off this mortall coile, [sidenote: ] must giue vs pawse.[ ] there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life:[ ] for who would beare the whips and scornes of time, the oppressors wrong, the poore mans contumely, [sidenote: proude mans] [sidenote: ] the pangs of dispriz'd loue,[ ] the lawes delay, [sidenote: despiz'd] the insolence of office, and the spurnes that patient merit of the vnworthy takes, [sidenote: th'] when he himselfe might his _quietus_ make [sidenote: , - ] with a bare bodkin?[ ] who would these fardles beare[ ] [sidenote: would fardels] to grunt and sweat vnder a weary life, [sidenote: ] but that the dread of something after death,[ ] the vndiscouered countrey, from whose borne no traueller returnes,[ ] puzels the will, and makes vs rather beare those illes we haue, then flye to others that we know not of. thus conscience does make cowards of vs all,[ ] [sidenote: ] and thus the natiue hew of resolution[ ] is sicklied o're, with the pale cast of thought,[ ] [sidenote: sickled] [footnote : _not in q._--they go behind the tapestry, where it hangs over the recess of the doorway. ophelia thinks they have left the room.] [footnote : _in q. before last speech._] [footnote : perhaps to a danish or dutch critic, or one from the eastern coast of england, this simile would not seem so unfit as it does to some.] [footnote : to print this so as i would have it read, i would complete this line from here with points, and commence the next with points. at the other breaks of the soliloquy, as indicated below, i would do the same--thus: and by opposing end them.... ....to die--to sleep,] [footnote : _break_.] [footnote : _break_.] [footnote : emphasis on _what_.] [footnote : such dreams as the poor ghost's.] [footnote : _break._ --'_pawse_' is the noun, and from its use at page , we may judge it means here 'pause for reflection.'] [footnote : 'makes calamity so long-lived.'] [footnote : --not necessarily disprized by the _lady_; the disprizer in hamlet's case was the worldly and suspicious father--and that in part, and seemingly to hamlet altogether, for the king's sake.] [footnote : _small sword_. if there be here any allusion to suicide, it is on the general question, and with no special application to himself. . but it is the king and the bare bodkin his thought associates. how could he even glance at the things he has just mentioned, as each, a reason for suicide? it were a cowardly country indeed where the question might be asked, 'who would not commit suicide because of any one of these things, except on account of what may follow after death?'! one might well, however, be tempted to destroy an oppressor, _and risk his life in that._] [footnote : _fardel_, burden: the old french for _fardeau_, i am informed.] [footnote : --a dread caused by conscience.] [footnote : the ghost could not be imagined as having _returned_.] [footnote : 'of us all' _not in q._ it is not the fear of evil that makes us cowards, but the fear of _deserved_ evil. the poet may intend that conscience alone is the cause of fear in man. '_coward_' does not here involve contempt: it should be spoken with a grim smile. but hamlet would hardly call turning from _suicide_ cowardice in any sense. .] [footnote : --such as was his when he vowed vengeance.] [footnote : --such as immediately followed on that the _native_ hue of resolution--that which is natural to man till interruption comes--is ruddy; the hue of thought is pale. i suspect the '_pale cast_' of an allusion to whitening with _rough-cast_.] [page ] and enterprizes of great pith and moment,[ ] [sidenote: pitch [ ]] with this regard their currants turne away, [sidenote: awry] and loose the name of action.[ ] soft you now, [sidenote: ] the faire _ophelia_? nimph, in thy orizons[ ] be all my sinnes remembred.[ ] _ophe._ good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day? _ham._ i humbly thanke you: well, well, well.[ ] _ophe._ my lord, i haue remembrances of yours, that i haue longed long to re-deliuer. i pray you now, receiue them. _ham._ no, no, i neuer gaue you ought.[ ] [sidenote: no, not i, i never] _ophe._ my honor'd lord, i know right well you did, [sidenote: you know] and with them words of so sweet breath compos'd, as made the things more rich, then perfume left: [sidenote: these things | their perfume lost.[ ]] take these againe, for to the noble minde rich gifts wax poore, when giuers proue vnkinde. there my lord.[ ] _ham._ ha, ha: are you honest?[ ] _ophe._ my lord. _ham._ are you faire? _ophe._ what meanes your lordship? _ham._ that if you be honest and faire, your [sidenote: faire, you should admit] honesty[ ] should admit no discourse to your beautie. _ophe._ could beautie my lord, haue better comerce[ ] then your honestie?[ ] [sidenote: then with honestie?[ ]] _ham._ i trulie: for the power of beautie, will sooner transforme honestie from what it is, to a bawd, then the force of honestie can translate beautie into his likenesse. this was sometime a paradox, but now the time giues it proofe. i did loue you once.[ ] _ophe._ indeed my lord, you made me beleeue so. [footnote : how could _suicide_ be styled _an enterprise of great pith_? yet less could it be called _of great pitch_.] [footnote : i allow this to be a general reflection, but surely it serves to show that _conscience_ must at least be one of hamlet's restraints.] [footnote : --by way of intercession.] [footnote : note the entire change of mood from that of the last soliloquy. the right understanding of this soliloquy is indispensable to the right understanding of hamlet. but we are terribly trammelled and hindered, as in the understanding of hamlet throughout, so here in the understanding of his meditation, by traditional assumption. i was roused to think in the right direction concerning it, by the honoured friend and relative to whom i have feebly acknowledged my obligation by dedicating to him this book. i could not at first see it as he saw it: 'think about it, and you will,' he said. i did think, and by degrees--not very quickly--my prejudgments thinned, faded, and almost vanished. i trust i see it now as a whole, and in its true relations, internal and external--its relations to itself, to the play, and to the hamlet, of shakspere. neither in its first verse, then, nor in it anywhere else, do i find even an allusion to suicide. what hamlet is referring to in the said first verse, it is not possible with certainty to determine, for it is but the vanishing ripple of a preceding ocean of thought, from which he is just stepping out upon the shore of the articulate. he may have been plunged in some profound depth of the metaphysics of existence, or he may have been occupied with the one practical question, that of the slaying of his uncle, which has, now in one form, now in another, haunted his spirit for weeks. perhaps, from the message he has just received, he expects to meet the king, and conscience, confronting temptation, has been urging the necessity of proof; perhaps a righteous consideration of consequences, which sometimes have share in the primary duty, has been making him shrink afresh from the shedding of blood, for every thoughtful mind recoils from the irrevocable, and that is an awful form of the irrevocable. but whatever thought, general or special, this first verse may be dismissing, we come at once thereafter into the light of a definite question: 'which is nobler--to endure evil fortune, or to oppose it _à outrance_; to bear in passivity, or to resist where resistance is hopeless--resist to the last--to the death which is its unavoidable end?' then comes a pause, during which he is thinking--we will not say 'too precisely on the event,' but taking his account with consequences: the result appears in the uttered conviction that the extreme possible consequence, death, is a good and not an evil. throughout, observe, how here, as always, he generalizes, himself being to himself but the type of his race. then follows another pause, during which he seems prosecuting the thought, for he has already commenced further remark in similar strain, when suddenly a new and awful element introduces itself: ....to die--to sleep.-- --to _sleep_! perchance to _dream_! he had been thinking of death only as the passing away of the present with its troubles; here comes the recollection that death has its own troubles--its own thoughts, its own consciousness: if it be a sleep, it has its dreams. '_what dreams may come_' means, 'the sort of dreams that may come'; the emphasis is on the _what_, not on the _may_; there is no question whether dreams will come, but there is question of the character of the dreams. this consideration is what makes calamity so long-lived! 'for who would bear the multiform ills of life'--he alludes to his own wrongs, but mingles, in his generalizing way, others of those most common to humanity, and refers to the special cure for some of his own which was close to his hand--'who would bear these things if he could, as i can, make his quietus with a bare bodkin'--that is, by slaying his enemy--'who would then bear them, but that he fears the future, and the divine judgment upon his life and actions--that conscience makes a coward of him!'[ ] to run, not the risk of death, but the risks that attend upon and follow death, hamlet must be certain of what he is about; he must be sure it is a right thing he does, or he will leave it undone. compare his speech, , 'does it not, &c.':--by the time he speaks this speech, he has had perfect proof, and asserts the righteousness of taking vengeance in almost an agony of appeal to horatio. the more continuous and the more formally logical a soliloquy, the less natural it is. the logic should be all there, but latent; the bones of it should not show: they do not show here.] [footnote : _one_ 'well' _only in q._] [footnote : he does not want to take them back, and so sever even that weak bond between them. he has not given her up.] [footnote : the _q._ reading seems best. the perfume of his gifts was the sweet words with which they were given; those words having lost their savour, the mere gifts were worth nothing.] [footnote : released from the commands her father had laid upon her, and emboldened by the queen's approval of more than the old relation between them, she would timidly draw hamlet back to the past--to love and a sound mind.] [footnote : i do not here suppose a noise or movement of the arras, or think that the talk from this point bears the mark of the madness he would have assumed on the least suspicion of espial. his distrust of ophelia comes from a far deeper source--suspicion of all women, grown doubtful to him through his mother. hopeless for her, he would give his life to know that ophelia was not like her. hence the cruel things he says to her here and elsewhere; they are the brood of a heart haunted with horrible, alas! too excusable phantoms of distrust. a man wretched as hamlet must be forgiven for being rude; it is love suppressed, love that can neither breathe nor burn, that makes him rude. his horrid insinuations are a hungry challenge to indignant rejection. he would sting ophelia to defence of herself and her sex. but, either from her love, or from gentleness to his supposed madness, as afterwards in the play-scene, or from the poverty and weakness of a nature so fathered and so brothered, she hears, and says nothing. .] [footnote : honesty is here figured as a porter,--just after, as a porter that may be corrupted.] [footnote : if the _folio_ reading is right, _commerce_ means _companionship_; if the _quarto_ reading, then it means _intercourse_. note _then_ constantly for our _than_.] [footnote : i imagine ophelia here giving hamlet a loving look--which hardens him. but i do not think she lays emphasis on _your_; the word is here, i take it, used (as so often then) impersonally.] [footnote : '--proof in you and me: _i_ loved _you_ once, but my honesty did not translate your beauty into its likeness.'] [footnote : that the great judgement was here in shakspere's thought, will be plain to those who take light from the corresponding passage in the _ st quarto_. as it makes an excellent specimen of that issue in the character i am most inclined to attribute to it--that of original sketch and continuous line of notes, with more or less finished passages in place among the notes--i will here quote it, recommending it to my student's attention. if it be what i suggest, it is clear that shakspere had not at first altogether determined how he would carry the soliloquy--what line he was going to follow in it: here hope and fear contend for the place of motive to patience. the changes from it in the text are well worth noting: the religion is lessened: the hope disappears: were they too much of pearls to cast before 'barren spectators'? the manuscript could never have been meant for any eye but his own, seeing it was possible to print from it such a chaos--over which yet broods the presence of the formative spirit of the poet. _ham._ to be, or not to be, i there's the point, to die, to sleepe, is that all? i all: no, to sleepe, to dreame, i mary there it goes, for in that dreame of death, when wee awake, [sidenote: , , ] and borne before an euerlasting iudge, from whence no passenger euer retur'nd, the vndiscouered country, at whose sight the happy smile, and the accursed damn'd. but for this, the ioyfull hope of this, whol'd beare the scornes and flattery of the world, scorned by the right rich, the rich curssed of the poore? the widow being oppressed, the orphan wrong'd, the taste of hunger, or a tirants raigne, and thousand more calamities besides, to grunt and sweate vnder this weary life, when that he may his full _quietus_ make, with a bare bodkin, who would this indure, but for a hope of something after death? which pulses the braine, and doth confound the sence, which makes vs rather beare those euilles we haue, than flie to others that we know not of. i that, o this conscience makes cowardes of vs all, lady in thy orizons, be all my sinnes remembred.] [page ] _ham._ you should not haue beleeued me. for vertue cannot so innocculate[ ] our old stocke,[ ] but we shall rellish of it.[ ] i loued you not.[ ] _ophe._ i was the more deceiued. _ham._ get thee to a nunnerie. why would'st [sidenote: thee a] thou be a breeder of sinners? i am my selfe indifferent[ ] [sidenote: ] honest, but yet i could accuse me of such things,[ ] that it were better my mother had [sidenote: ] not borne me,[ ] i am very prowd, reuengefull, ambitious, with more offences at my becke, then i haue thoughts to put them in imagination, to giue them shape, or time to acte them in. what should such fellowes as i do, crawling betweene heauen [sidenote: earth and heauen] and earth.[ ] we are arrant knaues all[ ], beleeue none of vs.[ ] goe thy wayes to a nunnery. where's your father?[ ] _ophe._ at home, my lord.[ ] _ham._ let the doores be shut vpon him, that he may play the foole no way, but in's owne house.[ ] [sidenote: no where but] farewell.[ ] _ophe._ o helpe him, you sweet heauens. _ham._[ ] if thou doest marry, ile giue thee this plague for thy dowrie. be thou as chast as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.[ ] get thee to a nunnery. go,[ ] farewell.[ ] or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool: for wise men know well enough, what monsters[ ] you make of them. to a nunnery go, and quickly too. farwell.[ ] _ophe._ o[ ] heauenly powers, restore him. _ham._[ ] i haue heard of your pratlings[ ] too wel [sidenote: your paintings well] enough. god has giuen you one pace,[ ] and you [sidenote: hath | one face,] make your selfe another: you gidge, you amble, [sidenote: selfes | you gig and amble, and] and you lispe, and nickname gods creatures, and [sidenote: you list you nickname] make your wantonnesse, your[ ] ignorance.[ ] go [footnote : 'inoculate'--_bud_, in the horticultural use.] [footnote : _trunk_ or _stem_ of the family tree.] [footnote : emphasis on _relish_--'keep something of the old flavour of the stock.'] [footnote : he tries her now with denying his love--perhaps moved in part by a feeling, taught by his mother's, of how imperfect it was.] [footnote : tolerably.] [footnote : he turns from baiting woman in her to condemn himself. is it not the case with every noble nature, that the knowledge of wrong in another arouses in it the consciousness of its own faults and sins, of its own evil possibilities? hurled from the heights of ideal humanity, hamlet not only recognizes in himself every evil tendency of his race, but almost feels himself individually guilty of every transgression. 'god, god, forgive us all!' exclaims the doctor who has just witnessed the misery of lady macbeth, unveiling her guilt. this whole speech of hamlet is profoundly sane--looking therefore altogether insane to the shallow mind, on which the impression of its insanity is deepened by its coming from him so freely. the common nature disappointed rails at humanity; hamlet, his earthly ideal destroyed, would tear his individual human self to pieces.] [footnote : this we may suppose uttered with an expression as startling to ophelia as impenetrable.] [footnote : he is disgusted with himself, with his own nature and consciousness--] [footnote : --and this reacts on his kind.] [footnote : 'all' _not in q._] [footnote : here, perhaps, he grows suspicious--asks himself why he is allowed this prolonged _tête à tête_.] [footnote : i am willing to believe she thinks so.] [footnote : whether he trusts ophelia or not, he does not take her statement for correct, and says this in the hope that polonius is not too far off to hear it. the speech is for him, not for ophelia, and will seem to her to come only from his madness.] [footnote : _exit_.] [footnote : (_re-entering_)] [footnote : 'so many are bad, that your virtue will not be believed in.'] [footnote : 'go' _not in q._] [footnote : _exit, and re-enter._] [footnote : _cornuti._] [footnote : _exit._] [footnote : 'o' _not in q._] [footnote : (_re-entering_)] [footnote : i suspect _pratlings_ to be a corruption, not of the printed _paintings_, but of some word substituted for it by the poet, perhaps _prancings_, and _pace_ to be correct.] [footnote : 'your' _not in q._] [footnote : as the present type to him of womankind, he assails her with such charges of lightness as are commonly brought against women. he does not go farther: she is not his mother, and he hopes she is innocent. but he cannot make her speak!] [page ] too, ile no more on't, it hath made me mad. i say, we will haue no more marriages.[ ] those that are [sidenote: no mo marriage,] married already,[ ] all but one shall liue, the rest shall keep as they are. to a nunnery, go. _exit hamlet_. [sidenote: _exit_] [ ]_ophe._ o what a noble minde is heere o're-throwne? the courtiers, soldiers, schollers: eye, tongue, sword, th'expectansie and rose[ ] of the faire state, [sidenote: th' expectation,] the glasse of fashion,[ ] and the mould of forme,[ ] th'obseru'd of all obseruers, quite, quite downe. haue i of ladies most deiect and wretched, [sidenote: and i of] that suck'd the honie of his musicke vowes: [sidenote: musickt] now see that noble, and most soueraigne reason, [sidenote: see what] like sweet bels iangled out of tune, and harsh,[ ] [sidenote: out of time] that vnmatch'd forme and feature of blowne youth,[ ] [sidenote: and stature of] blasted with extasie.[ ] oh woe is me, t'haue scene what i haue scene: see what i see.[ ] [sidenote: _exit_.] _enter king, and polonius_. _king_. loue? his affections do not that way tend, nor what he spake, though it lack'd forme a little, [sidenote: not] was not like madnesse.[ ] there's something in his soule? o're which his melancholly sits on brood, and i do doubt the hatch, and the disclose[ ] will be some danger,[ ] which to preuent [sidenote: which for to] i haue in quicke determination [sidenote: , ] thus set it downe. he shall with speed to england for the demand of our neglected tribute: haply the seas and countries different [footnote : 'the thing must be put a stop to! the world must cease! it is not fit to go on.'] [footnote : 'already--(_aside_) all but one--shall live.'] [footnote : _ st q_. _ofe._ great god of heauen, what a quicke change is this? the courtier, scholler, souldier, all in him, all dasht and splinterd thence, o woe is me, to a seene what i haue seene, see what i see. _exit_. to his cruel words ophelia is impenetrable--from the conviction that not he but his madness speaks. the moment he leaves her, she breaks out in such phrase as a young girl would hardly have used had she known that the king and her father were listening. i grant, however, the speech may be taken as a soliloquy audible to the spectators only, who to the persons of a play are _but_ the spiritual presences.] [footnote : 'the hope and flower'--the _rose_ is not unfrequently used in english literature as the type of perfection.] [footnote : 'he by whom fashion dressed herself'--_he who set the fashion_. his great and small virtues taken together, hamlet makes us think of sir philip sidney--ten years older than shakspere, and dead sixteen years before _hamlet_ was written.] [footnote : 'he after whose ways, or modes of behaviour, men shaped theirs'--therefore the mould in which their forms were cast;--_the object of universal imitation_.] [footnote : i do not know whether this means--the peal rung without regard to tune or time--or--the single bell so handled that the tongue checks and jars the vibration. in some country places, i understand, they go about ringing a set of hand-bells.] [footnote : youth in full blossom.] [footnote : madness .] [footnote : 'to see now such a change from what i saw then.'] [footnote : the king's conscience makes him keen. he is, all through, doubtful of the madness.] [footnote : --of the fact- or fancy-egg on which his melancholy sits brooding] [page ] with variable obiects, shall expell this something setled matter[ ] in his heart whereon his braines still beating, puts him thus from[ ] fashion of himselfe. what thinke you on't? _pol_. it shall do well. but yet do i beleeue the origin and commencement of this greefe [sidenote: his greefe,] sprung from neglected loue.[ ] how now _ophelia_? you neede not tell vs, what lord _hamlet_ saide, we heard it all.[ ] my lord, do as you please, but if you hold it fit after the play, let his queene mother all alone intreat him to shew his greefes: let her be round with him, [sidenote: griefe,] and ile be plac'd so, please you in the eare of all their conference. if she finde him not,[ ] to england send him: or confine him where your wisedome best shall thinke. _king_. it shall be so: madnesse in great ones, must not vnwatch'd go.[ ] [sidenote: unmatched] _exeunt_. _enter hamlet, and two or three of the players_. [sidenote: _and three_] _ham_.[ ] speake the speech i pray you, as i pronounc'd it to you trippingly[ ] on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, [sidenote: of our players] i had as liue[ ] the town-cryer had spoke my [sidenote: cryer spoke] lines:[ ] nor do not saw the ayre too much your [sidenote: much with] hand thus, but vse all gently; for in the verie torrent, tempest, and (as i may say) the whirlewinde [sidenote: say, whirlwind] of passion, you must acquire and beget a [sidenote: of your] temperance that may giue it smoothnesse.[ ] o it offends mee to the soule, to see a robustious perywig-pated [sidenote: to heare a] fellow, teare a passion to tatters, to [sidenote: totters,] verie ragges, to split the eares of the groundlings:[ ] [sidenote: spleet] who (for the most part) are capeable[ ] of nothing, but inexplicable dumbe shewes,[ ] and noise:[ ] i could haue such a fellow whipt for o're-doing [sidenote: would] [footnote : 'something of settled matter'--_idée fixe_.] [footnote : '_away from_ his own true likeness'; 'makes him so unlike himself.'] [footnote : polonius is crestfallen, but positive.] [footnote : this supports the notion of ophelia's ignorance of the espial. polonius thinks she is about to disclose what has passed, and _informs_ her of its needlessness. but it _might_ well enough be taken as only an assurance of the success of their listening--that they had heard without difficulty.] [footnote : 'if she do not find him out': a comparable phrase, common at the time, was, _take me with you_, meaning, _let me understand you_. polonius, for his daughter's sake, and his own in her, begs for him another chance.] [footnote : 'in the insignificant, madness may roam the country, but in the great it must be watched.' the _unmatcht_ of the _quarto_ might bear the meaning of _countermatched_.] [footnote : i should suggest this exhortation to the players introduced with the express purpose of showing how absolutely sane hamlet was, could i believe that shakspere saw the least danger of hamlet's pretence being mistaken for reality.] [footnote : he would have neither blundering nor emphasis such as might rouse too soon the king's suspicion, or turn it into certainty.] [footnote : 'liue'--_lief_] [footnote : st q.:-- i'de rather heare a towne bull bellow, then such a fellow speake my lines. _lines_ is a player-word still.] [footnote : --smoothness such as belongs to the domain of art, and will both save from absurdity, and allow the relations with surroundings to manifest themselves;--harmoniousness, which is the possibility of co-existence.] [footnote : those on the ground--that is, in the pit; there was no gallery then.] [footnote : _receptive_.] [footnote : --gestures extravagant and unintelligible as those of a dumb show that could not by the beholder be interpreted; gestures incorrespondent to the words. a _dumb show_ was a stage-action without words.] [footnote : speech that is little but rant, and scarce related to the sense, is hardly better than a noise; it might, for the purposes of art, as well be a sound inarticulate.] [page ] termagant[ ]: it out-herod's herod[ ] pray you auoid it. _player._ i warrant your honor. _ham._ be not too tame neyther: but let your owne discretion be your tutor. sute the action to the word, the word to the action, with this speciall obseruance: that you ore-stop not the [sidenote: ore-steppe] modestie of nature; for any thing so ouer-done, [sidenote ore-doone] is fro[ ] the purpose of playing, whose end both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twer the mirrour vp to nature; to shew vertue her owne [sidenote: her feature;] feature, scorne[ ] her owne image, and the verie age and bodie of the time, his forme and pressure.[ ] now, this ouer-done, or come tardie off,[ ] though it make the vnskilfull laugh, cannot but make the [sidenote: it makes] iudicious greeue; the censure of the which one,[ ] [sidenote: of which one] must in your allowance[ ] o're-way a whole theater of others. oh, there bee players that i haue scene play, and heard others praise, and that highly [sidenote: praysd,] (not to speake it prophanely) that neyther hauing the accent of christians, nor the gate of christian, pagan, or norman, haue so strutted and bellowed, [sidenote: pagan, nor man, haue] that i haue thought some of natures iouerney-men had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abhominably.[ ] [sidenote: ] _play._ i hope we haue reform'd that indifferently[ ] with vs, sir. _ham._ o reforme it altogether. and let those that play your clownes, speake no more then is set downe for them.[ ] for there be of them, that will themselues laugh, to set on some quantitie of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the meane time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered:[ ] that's villanous, and shewes a most pittifull ambition in the fool that vses it.[ ] go make you readie. _exit players_ [footnote : 'an imaginary god of the mahometans, represented as a most violent character in the old miracle-plays and moralities.'--_sh. lex._] [footnote : 'represented as a swaggering tyrant in the old dramatic performances.'--_sh. lex._] [footnote : _away from_: inconsistent with.] [footnote : --that which is deserving of scorn.] [footnote : _impression_, as on wax. some would persuade us that shakspere's own plays do not do this; but such critics take the _accidents_ or circumstances of a time for the _body_ of it--the clothes for the person. _human_ nature is 'nature,' however _dressed_. there should be a comma after 'age.'] [footnote : 'laggingly represented'--a word belonging to _time_ is substituted for a word belonging to _space_:--'this over-done, or inadequately effected'; 'this over-done, or under-done.'] [footnote : 'and the judgment of such a one.' '_the which_' seems equivalent to _and--such_.] [footnote : 'must, you will grant.'] [footnote : shakspere may here be playing with a false derivation, as i was myself when the true was pointed out to me--fancying _abominable_ derived from _ab_ and _homo_. if so, then he means by the phrase: 'they imitated humanity so from the nature of man, so _inhumanly_.'] [footnote : tolerably.] [footnote : 'sir' _not in q._] [footnote : shakspere must have himself suffered from such clowns: coleridge thinks some of their _gag_ has crept into his print.] [footnote : here follow in the _ st q._ several specimens of such a clown's foolish jests and behaviour.] [page ] _enter polonius, rosincrance, and guildensterne_.[ ] [sidenote: _guyldensterne, & rosencraus_.] how now my lord, will the king heare this peece of worke? _pol_. and the queene too, and that presently.[ ] _ham_. bid the players make hast. _exit polonius_.[ ] will you two helpe to hasten them?[ ] _both_. we will my lord. _exeunt_. [sidenote: _ros_. i my lord. _exeunt they two_.] _enter horatio_[ ] _ham_. what hoa, _horatio_? [sidenote: what howe,] _hora_. heere sweet lord, at your seruice. [sidenote: ] _ham_.[ ] _horatio_, thou art eene as iust a man as ere my conversation coap'd withall. _hora_. o my deere lord.[ ] _ham_.[ ] nay do not thinke i flatter: for what aduancement may i hope from thee,[ ] that no reuennew hast, but thy good spirits to feed and cloath thee. why shold the poor be flatter'd? no, let the candied[ ] tongue, like absurd pompe, [sidenote: licke] and crooke the pregnant hindges of the knee,[ ] where thrift may follow faining? dost thou heare, [sidenote: fauning;] since my deere soule was mistris of my choyse;[ ] [sidenote: her choice,] and could of men distinguish, her election hath seal'd thee for her selfe. for thou hast bene [sidenote: s'hath seald] [sidenote: ] as one in suffering all, that suffers nothing. a man that fortunes buffets, and rewards hath 'tane with equall thankes. and blest are those, [sidenote: hast] whose blood and iudgement are so well co-mingled, [sidenote: comedled,[ ]] [sidenote: ] that they are not a pipe for fortunes finger, to sound what stop she please.[ ] giue me that man, that is not passions slaue,[ ] and i will weare him in my hearts core: i, in my heart of heart,[ ] as i do thee. something too much of this.[ ] [footnote : _in q. at end of speech._] [footnote : he humours hamlet as if he were a child.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : he has sent for horatio, and is expecting him.] [footnote : _in q. after next speech._] [footnote : --repudiating the praise.] [footnote : to know a man, there is scarce a readier way than to hear him talk of his friend--why he loves, admires, chooses him. the poet here gives us a wide window into hamlet. so genuine is his respect for _being_, so indifferent is he to _having_, that he does not shrink, in argument for his own truth, from reminding his friend to his face that, being a poor man, nothing is to be gained from him--nay, from telling him that it is through his poverty he has learned to admire him, as a man of courage, temper, contentment, and independence, with nothing but his good spirits for an income--a man whose manhood is dominant both over his senses and over his fortune--a true stoic. he describes an ideal man, then clasps the ideal to his bosom as his own, in the person of his friend. only a great man could so worship another, choosing him for such qualities; and hereby shakspere shows us his hamlet--a brave, noble, wise, pure man, beset by circumstances the most adverse conceivable. that hamlet had not misapprehended horatio becomes evident in the last scene of all. .] [footnote : the mother of flattery is self-advantage.] [footnote : _sugared_. _ st q._: let flattery sit on those time-pleasing tongs; to glose with them that loues to heare their praise; and not with such as thou _horatio_. there is a play to night, &c.] [footnote : a pregnant figure and phrase, requiring thought.] [footnote : 'since my real self asserted its dominion, and began to rule my choice,' making it pure, and withdrawing it from the tyranny of impulse and liking.] [footnote : the old word _medle_ is synonymous with _mingle._] [footnote : to hamlet, the lordship of man over himself, despite of circumstance, is a truth, and therefore a duty.] [footnote : the man who has chosen his friend thus, is hardly himself one to act without sufficing reason, or take vengeance without certain proof of guilt.] [footnote : he justifies the phrase, repeating it.] [footnote : --apologetic for having praised him to his face.] [page ] there is a play to night before the king, one scoene of it comes neere the circumstance which i haue told thee, of my fathers death. i prythee, when thou see'st that acte a-foot,[ ] euen with the verie comment of my[ ] soule [sidenote: thy[ ] soule] obserue mine vnkle: if his occulted guilt, [sidenote: my vncle,] do not it selfe vnkennell in one speech, [sidenote: ] it is a damned ghost that we haue seene:[ ] and my imaginations are as foule as vulcans stythe.[ ] giue him needfull note, [sidenote: stithy; | heedfull] for i mine eyes will riuet to his face: and after we will both our iudgements ioyne,[ ] to censure of his seeming.[ ] [sidenote: in censure] _hora._ well my lord. if he steale ought the whil'st this play is playing. [sidenote: if a] and scape detecting, i will pay the theft.[ ] [sidenote: detected,] _enter king, queene, polonius, ophelia, rosincrance, guildensterne, and other lords attendant with his guard carrying torches. danish march. sound a flourish._ [sidenote: _enter trumpets and kettle drummes, king, queene, polonius, ophelia._] _ham._ they are comming to the play: i must [sidenote: , , ] be idle.[ ] get you a place. _king._ how fares our cosin _hamlet_? _ham._ excellent ifaith, of the camelions dish: [sidenote: ] i eate the ayre promise-cramm'd,[ ] you cannot feed capons so.[ ] _king._ i haue nothing with this answer _hamlet_, these words are not mine.[ ] _ham._ no, nor mine. now[ ] my lord, you plaid once i'th'vniuersity, you say? _polon._ that i did my lord, and was accounted [sidenote: did i] a good actor. [footnote : here follows in _ st q._ marke thou the king, doe but obserue his lookes, for i mine eies will riuet to his face: [sidenote: ] and if he doe not bleach, and change at that, it is a damned ghost that we haue seene. _horatio_, haue a care, obserue him well. _hor_. my lord, mine eies shall still be on his face, and not the smallest alteration that shall appeare in him, but i shall note it.] [footnote : i take 'my' to be right: 'watch my uncle with the comment--the discriminating judgment, that is--of _my_ soul, more intent than thine.'] [footnote : he has then, ere this, taken horatio into his confidence--so far at least as the ghost's communication concerning the murder.] [footnote : a dissyllable: _stithy_, _anvil_; scotch, _studdy_. hamlet's doubt is here very evident: he hopes he may find it a false ghost: what good man, what good son would not? he has clear cause and reason--it is his duty to delay. that the cause and reason and duty are not invariably clear to hamlet himself--not clear in every mood, is another thing. wavering conviction, doubt of evidence, the corollaries of assurance, the oppression of misery, a sense of the worthlessness of the world's whole economy--each demanding delay, might yet well, all together, affect the man's feeling as mere causes of rather than reasons for hesitation. the conscientiousness of hamlet stands out the clearer that, throughout, his dislike to his uncle, predisposing him to believe any ill of him, is more than evident. by his incompetent or prejudiced judges, hamlet's accusations and justifications of himself are equally placed to the _discredit_ of his account. they seem to think a man could never accuse himself except he were in the wrong; therefore if ever he excuses himself, he is the more certainly in the wrong: whatever point may tell on the other side, it is to be disregarded.] [footnote : 'bring our two judgments together for comparison.'] [footnote : 'in order to judge of the significance of his looks and behaviour.'] [footnote : does he mean _foolish_, that is, _lunatic_? or _insouciant_, and _unpreoccupied_?] [footnote : the king asks hamlet how he _fares_--that is, how he gets on; hamlet pretends to think he has asked him about his diet. his talk has at once become wild; ere the king enters he has donned his cloak of madness. here he confesses to ambition--will favour any notion concerning himself rather than give ground for suspecting the real state of his mind and feeling. in the _ st q._ 'the camelions dish' almost appears to mean the play, not the king's promises.] [footnote : in some places they push food down the throats of the poultry they want to fatten, which is technically, i believe, called _cramming_ them.] [footnote : 'you have not taken me with you; i have not laid hold of your meaning; i have nothing by your answer.' 'your words have not become my property; they have not given themselves to me in their meaning.'] [footnote : _point thus_: 'no, nor mine now.--my lord,' &c. '--not mine, now i have uttered them, for so i have given them away.' or does he mean to disclaim their purport?] [page ] _ham._ and[ ] what did you enact? _pol._ i did enact _iulius caesar_, i was kill'd i'th'capitol: _brutus_ kill'd me. _ham._ it was a bruite part of him, to kill so capitall a calfe there.[ ] be the players ready? _rosin._ i my lord, they stay vpon your patience. _qu._ come hither my good _hamlet_, sit by me. [sidenote: my deere] _ham._ no good mother, here's mettle more attractiue.[ ] _pol._ oh ho, do you marke that?[ ] _ham._ ladie, shall i lye in your lap? _ophe._ no my lord. _ham._ i meane, my head vpon your lap?[ ] _ophe._ i my lord.[ ] _ham._ do you thinke i meant country[ ] matters? _ophe._ i thinke nothing, my lord. _ham._ that's a faire thought to ly between maids legs. _ophe._ what is my lord? _ham._ nothing. _ophe._ you are merrie, my lord? _ham._ who i? _ophe._ i my lord.[ ] _ham._ oh god, your onely iigge-maker[ ]: what should a man do, but be merrie. for looke you how cheerefully my mother lookes, and my father dyed within's two houres. [sidenote: ] _ophe._ nay, 'tis twice two moneths, my lord.[ ] _ham._ so long? nay then let the diuel weare [sidenote: ] blacke, for ile haue a suite of sables.[ ] oh heauens! dye two moneths ago, and not forgotten yet?[ ] then there's hope, a great mans memorie, may out-liue his life halfe a yeare: but byrlady [sidenote: ber lady a] he must builde churches then: or else shall he [sidenote: shall a] [footnote : 'and ' _not in q._] [footnote : emphasis on _there_. 'there' is not in _ st q._ hamlet means it was a desecration of the capitol.] [footnote : he cannot be familiar with his mother, so avoids her--will not sit by her, cannot, indeed, bear to be near her. but he loves and hopes in ophelia still.] [footnote : '--did i not tell you so?'] [footnote : this speech and the next are not in the _q._, but are shadowed in the _ st q._] [footnote : _--consenting_.] [footnote : in _ st quarto_, 'contrary.' hamlet hints, probing her character--hoping her unable to understand. it is the festering soreness of his feeling concerning his mother, making him doubt with the haunting agony of a loathed possibility, that prompts, urges, forces from him his ugly speeches--nowise to be justified, only to be largely excused in his sickening consciousness of his mother's presence. such pain as hamlet's, the ferment of subverted love and reverence, may lightly bear the blame of hideous manners, seeing, they spring from no wantonness, but from the writhing of tortured and helpless purity. good manners may be as impossible as out of place in the presence of shameless evil.] [footnote : ophelia bears with him for his own and his madness' sake, and is less uneasy because of the presence of his mother. to account _satisfactorily_ for hamlet's speeches to her, is not easy. the freer custom of the age, freer to an extent hardly credible in this, will not _satisfy_ the lovers of hamlet, although it must have _some_ weight. the necessity for talking madly, because he is in the presence of his uncle, and perhaps, to that end, for uttering whatever comes to him, without pause for choice, might give us another hair's-weight. also he may be supposed confident that ophelia would not understand him, while his uncle would naturally set such worse than improprieties down to wildest madness. but i suspect that here as before ( ), shakepere would show hamlet's soul full of bitterest, passionate loathing; his mother has compelled him to think of horrors and women together, so turning their preciousness into a disgust; and this feeling, his assumed madhess allows him to indulge and partly relieve by utterance. could he have provoked ophelia to rebuke him with the severity he courted, such rebuke would have been joy to him. perhaps yet a small addition of weight to the scale of his excuse may be found in his excitement about his play, and the necessity for keeping down that excitement. suggestion is easier than judgment.] [footnote : 'here's for the jig-maker! he's the right man!' or perhaps he is claiming the part as his own: 'i am your only jig-maker!'] [footnote : this needs not be taken for the exact time. the statement notwithstanding suggests something like two months between the first and second acts, for in the first, hamlet says his father has not been dead two months. . we are not bound to take it for more than a rough approximation; ophelia would make the best of things for the queen, who is very kind to her.] [footnote : the fur of the sable.] [footnote : _ st q._ nay then there's some likelyhood, a gentlemans death may outliue memorie, but by my faith &c.] [page ] suffer not thinking on, with the hoby-horsse, whose epitaph is, for o, for o, the hoby-horse is forgot. _hoboyes play. the dumbe shew enters._ [sidenote: _the trumpets sounds. dumbe show followes._] _enter a king and queene, very louingly; the queene [sidenote: _and a queene, the queen_] embracing him. she kneeles, and makes shew of [sidenote: _embracing him, and he her, he takes her up, and_] protestation vnto him. he takes her vp, and declines his head vpon her neck. layes him downe [sidenote: _necke, he lyes_] vpon a banke of flowers. she seeing him a-sleepe, leaues him. anon comes in a fellow, [sidenote: _anon come in an other man_,] takes off his crowne, kisses it, and powres poyson [sidenote: _it, pours_] in the kings eares, and exits. the queene returnes, [sidenote: _the sleepers eares, and leaues him:_] findes the king dead, and makes passionate [sidenote: dead, makes] action. the poysoner, with some two or [sidenote: _some three or foure come in againe, seeme to condole_] three mutes comes in againe, seeming to lament with her. the dead body is carried away: the [sidenote: _with her, the_] poysoner wooes the queene with gifts, she [sidenote: ] seemes loath and vnwilling awhile, but in the end, [sidenote: _seemes harsh awhile_,] accepts his loue.[ ] _exeunt[ ]_ [sidenote: _accepts loue._] _ophe._ what meanes this, my lord? _ham._ marry this is miching _malicho_[ ] that [sidenote: this munching _mallico_] meanes mischeefe. _ophe._ belike this shew imports the argument of the play? _ham._ we shall know by these fellowes: [sidenote: this fellow, _enter prologue_] the players cannot keepe counsell, they'l tell [sidenote: keepe, they'le] all.[ ] _ophe._ will they tell vs what this shew meant? [sidenote: will a tell] _ham._ i, or any shew that you'l shew him. bee [sidenote: you will] not you asham'd to shew, hee'l not shame to tell you what it meanes. _ophe._ you are naught,[ ] you are naught, ile marke the play. [footnote : the king, not the queen, is aimed at. hamlet does not forget the injunction of the ghost to spare his mother. . the king should be represented throughout as struggling not to betray himself.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : _skulking mischief_: the latter word is spanish, to _mich_ is to _play truant_. how tenderly her tender hands betweene in yvorie cage she did the micher bind. _the countess of pembroke's arcadia_, page . my _reader_ tells me the word is still in use among printers, with the pronunciation _mike_, and the meaning _to skulk_ or _idle_.] [footnote : --their part being speech, that of the others only dumb show.] [footnote : _naughty_: persons who do not behave well are treated as if they were not--are made nought of--are set at nought; hence our word naughty. 'be naught awhile' (_as you like it_, i. )--'take yourself away;' 'be nobody;' 'put yourself in the corner.'] [page ] _enter[ ] prologue._ _for vs, and for our tragedie, heere stooping to your clemencie: we begge your hearing patientlie._ _ham._ is this a prologue, or the poesie[ ] of a [sidenote: posie] ring? _ophe._ 'tis[ ] briefe my lord. _ham._ as womans loue. [ ] _enter king and his queene._ [sidenote: _and queene_] [sidenote: ] _king._ full thirtie times[ ] hath phoebus cart gon round, neptunes salt wash, and _tellus_ orbed ground: [sidenote: orb'd the] and thirtie dozen moones with borrowed sheene, about the world haue times twelue thirties beene, since loue our hearts, and _hymen_ did our hands vnite comutuall, in most sacred bands.[ ] _bap._ so many iournies may the sunne and moone [sidenote: _quee._] make vs againe count o're, ere loue be done. but woe is me, you are so sicke of late, so farre from cheere, and from your forme state, [sidenote: from our former state,] that i distrust you: yet though i distrust, discomfort you (my lord) it nothing must: [a] for womens feare and loue, holds quantitie, [sidenote: and womens hold] in neither ought, or in extremity:[ ] [sidenote: eyther none, in neither] now what my loue is, proofe hath made you know, [sidenote: my lord is proofe] and as my loue is siz'd, my feare is so. [sidenote: ciz'd,] [b] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- for women feare too much, euen as they loue,] [footnote b: _here in the quarto_:-- where loue is great, the litlest doubts are feare, where little feares grow great, great loue growes there.] [footnote : _enter_ not in _q._] [footnote : commonly _posy_: a little sentence engraved inside a ring--perhaps originally a tiny couplet, therefore _poesy_, _ st q._, 'a poesie for a ring?'] [footnote : emphasis on ''tis.'] [footnote : very little blank verse of any kind was written before shakspere's; the usual form of dramatic verse was long, irregular, rimed lines: the poet here uses the heroic couplet, which gives a resemblance to the older plays by its rimes, while also by its stately and monotonous movement the play-play is differenced from the play into which it is introduced, and caused to _look_ intrinsically like a play in relation to the rest of the play of which it is part. in other words, it stands off from the surrounding play, slightly elevated both by form and formality. .] [footnote : _ st q._ _duke._ full fortie yeares are past, their date is gone, since happy time ioyn'd both our hearts as one: and now the blood that fill'd my youthfull veines, ruunes weakely in their pipes, and all the straines of musicke, which whilome pleasde mine eare, is now a burthen that age cannot beare: and therefore sweete nature must pay his due, to heauen must i, and leaue the earth with you.] [footnote : here hamlet gives the time his father and mother had been married, and shakspere points at hamlet's age. . the poet takes pains to show his hero's years.] [footnote : this line, whose form in the _quarto_ is very careless, seems but a careless correction, leaving the sense as well as the construction obscure: 'women's fear and love keep the scales level; in _neither_ is there ought, or in _both_ there is fulness;' or: 'there is no moderation in their fear and their love; either they have _none_ of either, or they have _excess_ of both.' perhaps he tried to express both ideas at once. but compression is always in danger of confusion.] [page ] _king._ faith i must leaue thee loue, and shortly too: my operant powers my functions leaue to do: [sidenote: their functions] and thou shall liue in this faire world behinde, honour'd, belou'd, and haply, one as kinde. for husband shalt thou---- _bap._ oh confound the rest: [sidenote: _quee._] such loue, must needs be treason in my brest: in second husband, let me be accurst, none wed the second, but who kill'd the first.[ ] _ham._ wormwood, wormwood. [sidenote: _ham_. that's wormwood[ ]] _bapt._ the instances[ ] that second marriage moue, are base respects of thrift,[ ] but none of loue. a second time, i kill my husband dead, when second husband kisses me in bed. _king._ i do beleeue you. think what now you speak: but what we do determine, oft we breake: purpose is but the slaue to memorie,[ ] of violent birth, but poore validitie:[ ] which now like fruite vnripe stickes on the tree, [sidenote: now the fruite] but fall vnshaken, when they mellow bee.[ ] most necessary[ ] 'tis, that we forget to pay our selues, what to our selues is debt: what to our selues in passion we propose, the passion ending, doth the purpose lose. the violence of other greefe or ioy, [sidenote: eyther,] their owne ennactors with themselues destroy: [sidenote: ennactures] where ioy most reuels, greefe doth most lament; greefe ioyes, ioy greeues on slender accident.[ ] [sidenote: greefe ioy ioy griefes] this world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange that euen our loues should with our fortunes change. for 'tis a question left vs yet to proue, whether loue lead fortune, or else fortune loue. [footnote : is this to be supposed in the original play, or inserted by hamlet, embodying an unuttered and yet more fearful doubt with regard to his mother?] [footnote : this speech is on the margin in the _quarto_, and the queene's speech runs on without break.] [footnote : the urgencies; the motives.] [footnote : worldly advantage.] [footnote : 'purpose holds but while memory holds.'] [footnote : 'purpose is born in haste, but is of poor strength to live.'] [footnote : here again there is carelessness of construction, as if the poet had not thought it worth his while to correct this subsidiary portion of the drama. i do not see how to lay the blame on the printer.--'purpose is a mere fruit, which holds on or falls only as it must. the element of persistency is not in it.'] [footnote : unavoidable--coming of necessity.] [footnote : 'grief turns into joy, and joy into grief, on a slight chance.'] [page ] the great man downe, you marke his fauourites flies, [sidenote: fauourite] the poore aduanc'd, makes friends of enemies: and hitherto doth loue on fortune tend, for who not needs, shall neuer lacke a frend: and who in want a hollow friend doth try, directly seasons him his enemie.[ ] but orderly to end, where i begun, our willes and fates do so contrary run, that our deuices still are ouerthrowne, our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our owne.[ ] [sidenote: ] so thinke thou wilt no second husband wed. but die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. _bap._ nor earth to giue me food, nor heauen light, [sidenote: _quee._] sport and repose locke from me day and night:[ ] [a] each opposite that blankes the face of ioy, meet what i would haue well, and it destroy: both heere, and hence, pursue me lasting strife,[ ] if once a widdow, euer i be wife.[ ] [sidenote: once i be a | be a wife] _ham._ if she should breake it now.[ ] _king._ 'tis deepely sworne: sweet, leaue me heere a while, my spirits grow dull, and faine i would beguile the tedious day with sleepe. _qu._ sleepe rocke thy braine, [sidenote: sleepes[ ]] and neuer come mischance betweene vs twaine, _exit_ [sidenote: _exeunt._] _ham._ madam, how like you this play? _qu._ the lady protests to much me thinkes, [sidenote: doth protest] _ham._ oh but shee'l keepe her word. [footnote a: _here in the quarto:_-- to desperation turne my trust and hope,[ ] and anchors[ ] cheere in prison be my scope] [footnote : all that is wanted to make a real enemy of an unreal friend is the seasoning of a requested favour.] [footnote : 'our thoughts are ours, but what will come of them we cannot tell.'] [footnote : 'may day and night lock from me sport and repose.'] [footnote : 'may strife pursue me in the world and out of it.'] [footnote : in all this, there is nothing to reflect on his mother beyond what everybody knew.] [footnote : _this speech is in the margin of the quarto._] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : 'may my trust and hope turn to despair.'] [footnote : an anchoret's.] [page ] _king_. haue you heard the argument, is there no offence in't?[ ] _ham_. no, no, they do but iest, poyson in iest, no offence i'th'world.[ ] _king_. what do you call the play? _ham._ the mouse-trap: marry how? tropically:[ ] this play is the image of a murder done in _vienna: gonzago_ is the dukes name, his wife _baptista_: you shall see anon: 'tis a knauish peece of worke: but what o'that? your maiestie, and [sidenote: of that?] wee that haue free soules, it touches vs not: let the gall'd iade winch: our withers are vnrung.[ ] _enter lucianus._[ ] this is one _lucianus_ nephew to the king. _ophe_. you are a good chorus, my lord. [sidenote: are as good as a chorus] _ham_. i could interpret betweene you and your loue: if i could see the puppets dallying.[ ] _ophe_. you are keene my lord, you are keene. _ham_. it would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge. [sidenote: mine] _ophe_. still better and worse. _ham_. so you mistake husbands.[ ] [sidenote: mistake your] begin murderer. pox, leaue thy damnable faces, [sidenote: murtherer, leave] and begin. come, the croaking rauen doth bellow for reuenge.[ ] _lucian_. thoughts blacke, hands apt, drugges fit, and time agreeing: confederate season, else, no creature seeing:[ ] [sidenote: considerat] thou mixture ranke, of midnight weeds collected, with hecats ban, thrice blasted, thrice infected, [sidenote: invected] thy naturall magicke, and dire propertie, on wholsome life, vsurpe immediately. [sidenote: vsurps] _powres the poyson in his eares_.[ ] _ham_. he poysons him i'th garden for's estate: [sidenote: a poysons | for his] [footnote : --said, perhaps, to polonius. is there a lapse here in the king's self-possession? or is this speech only an outcome of its completeness--a pretence of fearing the play may glance at the queen for marrying him?] [footnote : 'it is but jest; don't be afraid: there is no reality in it'--as one might say to a child seeing a play.] [footnote : figuratively: from _trope_. in the _ st q._ the passage stands thus: _ham_. mouse-trap: mary how trapically: this play is the image of a murder done in _guyana_,] [footnote : here hamlet endangers himself to force the king to self-betrayal.] [footnote : _in q. after next line._] [footnote : in a puppet-play, if she and her love were the puppets, he could supply the speeches.] [footnote : is this a misprint for 'so you _must take_ husbands'--for better and worse, namely? or is it a thrust at his mother--'so you mis-take husbands, going from the better to a worse'? in _ st q._: 'so you must take your husband, begin.'] [footnote : probably a mocking parody or burlesque of some well-known exaggeration--such as not a few of marlowe's lines.] [footnote : 'none beholding save the accomplice hour:'.] [footnote : _not in q._] [page ] his name's _gonzago_: the story is extant and writ [sidenote: and written] in choyce italian. you shall see anon how the [sidenote: in very choice] murtherer gets the loue of _gonzago's_ wife. _ophe_. the king rises.[ ] _ham_. what, frighted with false fire.[ ] _qu_. how fares my lord? _pol_. giue o're the play. _king_. giue me some light. away.[ ] _all_. lights, lights, lights. _exeunt_ [sidenote: _pol. | exeunt all but ham. & horatio._] _manet hamlet & horatio._ _ham_.[ ] why let the strucken deere go weepe, the hart vngalled play: for some must watch, while some must sleepe; so runnes the world away. would not this[ ] sir, and a forrest of feathers, if the rest of my fortunes turne turke with me; with two prouinciall roses[ ] on my rac'd[ ] shooes, get me [sidenote: with prouinciall | raz'd] a fellowship[ ] in a crie[ ] of players sir. [sidenote: players?] _hor_. halfe a share. _ham_. a whole one i,[ ] [ ] for thou dost know: oh damon deere, this realme dismantled was of loue himselfe, and now reignes heere. a verie verie paiocke.[ ] _hora_. you might haue rim'd.[ ] _ham_. oh good _horatio_, ile take the ghosts word for a thousand pound. did'st perceiue? _hora_. verie well my lord. _ham_. vpon the talke of the poysoning? _hora_. i did verie well note him. _enter rosincrance and guildensterne_.[ ] _ham_. oh, ha? come some musick.[ ] come the recorders: [sidenote: ah ha,] [footnote : --in ill suppressed agitation.] [footnote : _this speech is not in the quarto_.--is the 'false fire' what we now call _stage-fire_?--'what! frighted at a mere play?'] [footnote : the stage--the stage-stage, that is--alone is lighted. does the king stagger out blindly, madly, shaking them from him? i think not--but as if he were taken suddenly ill.] [footnote : --_singing_--that he may hide his agitation, restrain himself, and be regarded as careless-mad, until all are safely gone.] [footnote : --his success with the play.] [footnote : 'roses of provins,' we are told--probably artificial.] [footnote : the meaning is very doubtful. but for the _raz'd_ of the _quarto_, i should suggest _lac'd_. could it mean _cut low_?] [footnote : _a share_, as immediately below.] [footnote : a _cry_ of hounds is a pack. so in _king lear_, act v. sc. , 'packs and sects of great ones.'] [footnote : _i_ for _ay_--that is, _yes_!--he insists on a whole share.] [footnote : again he takes refuge in singing.] [footnote : the lines are properly measured in the _quarto_: for thou doost know oh damon deere this realme dismantled was of _ioue_ himselfe, and now raignes heere a very very paiock. by _jove_, he of course intends _his father_. . what 'paiocke' means, whether _pagan_, or _peacock_, or _bajocco_, matters nothing, since it is intended for nonsense.] [footnote : to rime with _was_, horatio naturally expected _ass_ to follow as the end of the last line: in the wanton humour of his excitement, hamlet disappointed him.] [footnote : _in q. after next speech_.] [footnote : he hears rosincrance and guildensterne coming, and changes his behaviour--calling for music to end the play with. either he wants, under its cover, to finish his talk with horatio in what is for the moment the safest place, or he would mask himself before his two false friends. since the departure of the king--i would suggest--he has borne himself with evident apprehension, every now and then glancing about him, as fearful of what may follow his uncle's recognition of the intent of the play. three times he has burst out singing. or might not his whole carriage, with the call for music, be the outcome of a grimly merry satisfaction at the success of his scheme?] [page ] for if the king like not the comedie, why then belike he likes it not perdie.[ ] come some musicke. _guild._ good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. _ham._ sir, a whole history. _guild._ the king, sir. _ham._ i sir, what of him? _guild._ is in his retyrement, maruellous distemper'd. _ham._ with drinke sir? _guild._ no my lord, rather with choller.[ ] [sidenote: lord, with] _ham._ your wisedome should shew it selfe more richer, to signifie this to his doctor: for me to [sidenote: the doctor,] put him to his purgation, would perhaps plundge him into farre more choller.[ ] [sidenote: into more] _guild._ good my lord put your discourse into some frame,[ ] and start not so wildely from my [sidenote: stare] affayre. _ham._ i am tame sir, pronounce. _guild._ the queene your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. _ham._ you are welcome.[ ] _guild._ nay, good my lord, this courtesie is not of the right breed. if it shall please you to make me a wholsome answer, i will doe your mothers command'ment: if not, your pardon, and my returne shall bee the end of my businesse. [sidenote: of busines.] _ham._ sir, i cannot. _guild._ what, my lord? _ham._ make you a wholsome answere: my wits diseas'd. but sir, such answers as i can make, you [sidenote: answere] shal command: or rather you say, my mother: [sidenote: rather as you] therfore no more but to the matter. my mother you say. [footnote : these two lines he may be supposed to sing.] [footnote : choler means bile, and thence anger. hamlet in his answer plays on the two meanings:--'to give him the kind of medicine i think fit for him, would perhaps much increase his displeasure.'] [footnote : some logical consistency.] [footnote : _--with an exaggeration of courtesy_.] [page ] _rosin._ then thus she sayes: your behauior hath stroke her into amazement, and admiration.[ ] _ham._ oh wonderfull sonne, that can so astonish [sidenote: stonish] a mother. but is there no sequell at the heeles of this mothers admiration? [sidenote: admiration, impart.] _rosin._ she desires to speake with you in her closset, ere you go to bed. _ham._ we shall obey, were she ten times our mother. haue you any further trade with vs? _rosin._ my lord, you once did loue me. _ham._ so i do still, by these pickers and [sidenote: and doe still] stealers.[ ] _rosin._ good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you do freely barre the doore of your [sidenote: surely barre the door vpon your] owne libertie, if you deny your greefes to your your friend. _ham._ sir i lacke aduancement. _rosin._ how can that be, when you haue the [sidenote: ] voyce of the king himselfe, for your succession in denmarke? [ ] _ham._ i, but while the grasse growes,[ ] the [sidenote: i sir,] prouerbe is something musty. _enter one with a recorder._[ ] o the recorder. let me see, to withdraw with, [sidenote: ô the recorders, let mee see one, to] you,[ ] why do you go about to recouer the winde of mee,[ ] as if you would driue me into a toyle?[ ] _guild._ o my lord, if my dutie be too bold, my loue is too vnmannerly.[ ] _ham._ i do not well vnderstand that.[ ] will you, play vpon this pipe? _guild._ my lord, i cannot. _ham._ i pray you. _guild._ beleeue me, i cannot. _ham._ i do beseech you. [footnote : wonder, astonishment.] [footnote : he swears an oath that will not hold, being by the hand of a thief. in the catechism: 'keep my hands from picking and stealing.'] [footnote : here in quarto, _enter the players with recorders._] [footnote : '... the colt starves.'] [footnote : _not in q._ the stage-direction of the _folio_ seems doubtful. hamlet has called for the orchestra: we may either suppose one to precede the others, or that the rest are already scattered; but the _quarto_ direction and reading seem better.] [footnote : _--taking guildensterne aside_.] [footnote : 'to get to windward of me.'] [footnote : 'why do you seek to get the advantage of me, as if you would drive me to betray myself?'--hunters, by sending on the wind their scent to the game, drive it into their toils.] [footnote : guildensterne tries euphuism, but hardly succeeds. he intends to plead that any fault in his approach must be laid to the charge of his love. _duty_ here means _homage_--so used still by the common people.] [footnote : --said with a smile of gentle contempt.] [page ] _guild_. i know no touch of it, my lord. _ham_. tis as easie as lying: gouerne these [sidenote: it is] ventiges with your finger and thumbe, giue it [sidenote: fingers, & the vmber, giue] breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most [sidenote: most eloquent] excellent musicke. looke you, these are the stoppes. _guild_. but these cannot i command to any vtterance of hermony, i haue not the skill. _ham_. why looke you now, how vnworthy a thing you make of me: you would play vpon mee; you would seeme to know my stops: you would pluck out the heart of my mysterie; you would sound mee from my lowest note, to the top of my [sidenote: note to my compasse] compasse: and there is much musicke, excellent voice, in this little organe, yet cannot you make [sidenote: it speak, s'hloud do you think i] it. why do you thinke, that i am easier to bee plaid on, then a pipe? call me what instrument you will, though you can fret[ ] me, you cannot [sidenote: you fret me not,] [sidenote: ] play vpon me. god blesse you sir.[ ] _enter polonius_. _polon_. my lord; the queene would speak with you, and presently. _ham_. do you see that clowd? that's almost in [sidenote: yonder clowd] shape like a camell. [sidenote: shape of a] _polon_. by'th'misse, and it's like a camell [sidenote: masse and tis,] indeed. _ham_. me thinkes it is like a weazell. _polon_. it is back'd like a weazell. _ham_. or like a whale?[ ] _polon_. verie like a whale.[ ] _ham_. then will i come to my mother, by and by: [sidenote: i will] [sidenote: , , ] they foole me to the top of my bent.[ ] i will come by and by. [footnote : --with allusion to the _frets_ or _stop-marks_ of a stringed instrument.] [footnote : --_to polonius_.] [footnote : there is nothing insanely arbitrary in these suggestions of likeness; a cloud might very well be like every one of the three; the camel has a hump, the weasel humps himself, and the whale is a hump.] [footnote : he humours him in everything, as he would a madman.] [footnote : hamlet's cleverness in simulating madness is dwelt upon in the old story. see '_hystorie of hamblet, prince of denmarke_.'] [page ] _polon_.[ ] i will say so. _exit_.[ ] _ham_.[ ] by and by, is easily said. leaue me friends: 'tis now the verie witching time of night, when churchyards yawne, and hell it selfe breaths out [sidenote: brakes[ ]] contagion to this world.[ ] now could i drink hot blood, and do such bitter businesse as the day [sidenote: such busines as the bitter day] would quake to looke on.[ ] soft now, to my mother: oh heart, loose not thy nature;[ ] let not euer the soule of _nero_[ ] enter this firme bosome: let me be cruell, not vnnaturall. [sidenote: ] i will speake daggers[ ] to her, but vse none: [sidenote: dagger] my tongue and soule in this be hypocrites.[ ] how in my words someuer she be shent,[ ] to giue them seales,[ ] neuer my soule consent.[ ] [sidenote: _exit._] _enter king, rosincrance, and guildensterne_. _king_. i like him not, nor stands it safe with vs, to let his madnesse range.[ ] therefore prepare you, [sidenote: ] i your commission will forthwith dispatch,[ ] [sidenote: ] and he to england shall along with you: the termes of our estate, may not endure[ ] hazard so dangerous as doth hourely grow [sidenote: so neer's as] out of his lunacies. [sidenote: his browes.] _guild_. we will our selues prouide: most holie and religious feare it is[ ] to keepe those many many bodies safe that liue and feede vpon your maiestie.[ ] _rosin_. the single and peculiar[ ] life is bound with all the strength and armour of the minde, [footnote : the _quarto_, not having _polon., exit, or ham._, and arranging differently, reads thus:-- they foole me to the top of my bent, i will come by and by, leaue me friends. i will, say so. by and by is easily said, tis now the very &c.] [footnote : _belches_.] [footnote : --thinking of what the ghost had told him, perhaps: it was the time when awful secrets wander about the world. compare _macbeth_, act ii. sc. ; also act iii. sc. .] [footnote : the assurance of his uncle's guilt, gained through the effect of the play upon him, and the corroboration of his mother's guilt by this partial confirmation of the ghost's assertion, have once more stirred in hamlet the fierceness of vengeance. but here afresh comes out the balanced nature of the man--say rather, the supremacy in him of reason and will. his dear soul, having once become mistress of his choice, remains mistress for ever. he _could_ drink hot blood, he _could_ do bitter business, but he will carry himself as a son, and the son of his father, _ought_ to carry himself towards a guilty mother--_mother_ although guilty.] [footnote : thus he girds himself for the harrowing interview. aware of the danger he is in of forgetting his duty to his mother, he strengthens himself in filial righteousness, dreading to what word or deed a burst of indignation might drive him. one of his troubles now is the way he feels towards his mother.] [footnote : --who killed his mother.] [footnote : his words should be as daggers.] [footnote : _pretenders_.] [footnote : _reproached_ or _rebuked_--though oftener _scolded_.] [footnote : 'to seal them with actions'--actions are the seals to words, and make them irrevocable.] [footnote : _walk at liberty_.] [footnote : _get ready_.] [footnote : he had, it would appear, taken them into his confidence in the business; they knew what was to be in their commission, and were thorough traitors to hamlet.] [footnote : --holy and religious precaution for the sake of the many depending on him.] [footnote : is there not unconscious irony of their own parasitism here intended?] [footnote : _private individual_.] [page ] to keepe it selfe from noyance:[ ] but much more, that spirit, vpon whose spirit depends and rests [sidenote: whose weale depends] the lives of many, the cease of maiestie [sidenote: cesse] dies not alone;[ ] but like a gulfe doth draw what's neere it, with it. it is a massie wheele [sidenote: with it, or it is] fixt on the somnet of the highest mount, to whose huge spoakes, ten thousand lesser things [sidenote: hough spokes] are mortiz'd and adioyn'd: which when it falles, each small annexment, pettie consequence attends the boystrous ruine. neuer alone [sidenote: raine,] did the king sighe, but with a generall grone. [sidenote: but a[ ]] _king._[ ] arme you,[ ] i pray you to this speedie voyage; [sidenote: viage,] for we will fetters put vpon this feare,[ ] [sidenote: put about this] which now goes too free-footed. _both._ we will haste vs. _exeunt gent_ _enter polonius._ pol. my lord, he's going to his mothers closset: behinde the arras ile conuey my selfe to heare the processe. ile warrant shee'l tax him home, and as you said, and wisely was it said, 'tis meete that some more audience then a mother, since nature makes them partiall, should o're-heare the speech of vantage.[ ] fare you well my liege, ile call vpon you ere you go to bed, and tell you what i know. [sidenote: exit.] _king._ thankes deere my lord. oh my offence is ranke, it smels to heauen, it hath the primall eldest curse vpon't, a brothers murther.[ ] pray can i not, though inclination be as sharpe as will: my stronger guilt,[ ] defeats my strong intent, [footnote : the philosophy of which self is the centre. the speeches of both justify the king in proceeding to extremes against hamlet.] [footnote : the same as to say: 'the passing, ceasing, or ending of majesty dies not--is not finished or accomplished, without that of others;' 'the dying ends or ceases not,' &c.] [footnote : the _but_ of the _quarto_ is better, only the line halts. it is the preposition, meaning _without_.] [footnote : _heedless of their flattery_. it is hardly applicable enough to interest him.] [footnote : 'provide yourselves.'] [footnote : fear active; cause of fear; thing to be afraid of; the noun of the verb _fear_, to _frighten_: or in the night, imagining some fear, how easy is a bush supposed a bear! _a midsummer night's dream_, act v. sc. i.] [footnote : schmidt (_sh. lex._) says _of vantage_ means _to boot_. i do not think he is right. perhaps polonius means 'from a position of advantage.' or perhaps 'the speech of vantage' is to be understood as implying that hamlet, finding himself in a position of vantage, that is, alone with his mother, will probably utter himself with little restraint.] [footnote : this is the first proof positive of his guilt accorded even to the spectator of the play: here claudius confesses not merely guilt ( ), but the very deed. thoughtless critics are so ready to judge another as if he knew all they know, that it is desirable here to remind the student that only he, not hamlet, hears this soliloquy. the falseness of half the judgments in the world comes from our not taking care and pains first to know accurately the actions, and then to understand the mental and moral condition, of those we judge.] [footnote : --his present guilty indulgence--stronger than his strong intent to pray.] [page ] and like a man to double businesse bound,[ ] i stand in pause where i shall first begin, and both[ ] neglect; what if this cursed hand were thicker then it selfe with brothers blood, is there not raine enough in the sweet heauens to wash it white as snow? whereto serues mercy, but to confront the visage of offence? and what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, to be fore-stalled ere we come to fall, or pardon'd being downe? then ile looke vp, [sidenote: pardon] my fault is past. but oh, what forme of prayer can serue my turne? forgiue me my foule murther: that cannot be, since i am still possest of those effects for which i did the murther.[ ] my crowne, mine owne ambition, and my queene: may one be pardon'd, and retaine th'offence? in the corrupted currants of this world, offences gilded hand may shoue by iustice [sidenote: showe] and oft 'tis seene, the wicked prize it selfe buyes out the law; but 'tis not so aboue, there is no shuffling, there the action lyes in his true nature, and we our selues compell'd euen to the teeth and forehead of our faults, to giue in euidence. what then? what rests? try what repentance can. what can it not? yet what can it, when one cannot repent?[ ] oh wretched state! oh bosome, blacke as death! oh limed[ ] soule, that strugling to be free, art more ingag'd[ ]: helpe angels, make assay:[ ] bow stubborne knees, and heart with strings of steele, be soft as sinewes of the new-borne babe, all may be well. [footnote : referring to his double guilt--the one crime past, the other in continuance. here is the corresponding passage in the _ st q._, with the adultery plainly confessed:-- _enter the king._ _king_. o that this wet that falles vpon my face would wash the crime cleere from my conscience! when i looke vp to heauen, i see my trespasse, the earth doth still crie out vpon my fact, pay me the murder of a brother and a king, and the adulterous fault i haue committed: o these are sinnes that are vnpardonable: why say thy sinnes were blacker then is ieat, yet may contrition make them as white as snowe: i but still to perseuer in a sinne, it is an act gainst the vniuersall power, most wretched man, stoope, bend thee to thy prayer, aske grace of heauen to keepe thee from despaire.] [footnote : both crimes.] [footnote : he could repent of and pray forgiveness for the murder, if he could repent of the adultery and incest, and give up the queen. it is not the sins they have done, but the sins they will not leave, that damn men. 'this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.' the murder deeply troubled him; the adultery not so much; the incest and usurpation mainly as interfering with the forgiveness of the murder.] [footnote : even hatred of crime committed is not repentance: repentance is the turning away from wrong doing: 'cease to do evil; learn to do well.'] [footnote : --caught and held by crime, as a bird by bird-lime.] [footnote : entangled.] [footnote : _said to his knees_. point thus:--'helpe angels! make assay--bow, stubborne knees!'] [page ] _enter hamlet_. _ham_.[ ] now might i do it pat, now he is praying, [sidenote: doe it, but now a is a praying,] and now ile doo't, and so he goes to heauen, [sidenote: so a goes] and so am i reueng'd: that would be scann'd, [sidenote: reuendge,] a villaine killes my father, and for that i his foule sonne, do this same villaine send [sidenote: sole sonne] to heauen. oh this is hyre and sallery, not reuenge. [sidenote: to heauen. why, this is base and silly, not] he tooke my father grossely, full of bread, [sidenote: a tooke] [sidenote: , ] with all his crimes broad blowne, as fresh as may, [sidenote: as flush as] and how his audit stands, who knowes, saue heauen:[ ] but in our circumstance and course of thought 'tis heauie with him: and am i then reueng'd, to take him in the purging of his soule, when he is fit and season'd for his passage? no. vp sword, and know thou a more horrid hent[ ] when he is drunke asleepe: or in his rage, or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed, at gaming, swearing, or about some acte [sidenote: at game a swearing,] that ha's no rellish of saluation in't, then trip him,[ ] that his heeles may kicke at heauen, and that his soule may be as damn'd and blacke as hell, whereto it goes.[ ] my mother stayes,[ ] this physicke but prolongs thy sickly dayes.[ ] _exit_. _king_. my words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, words without thoughts, neuer to heauen go.[ ] _exit_. _enter queene and polonius_. [sidenote: _enter gertrard and_] _pol_. he will come straight: [sidenote: a will] looke you lay home to him [footnote : in the _ st q._ this speech commences with, 'i so, come forth and worke thy last,' evidently addressed to his sword; afterwards, having changed his purpose, he says, 'no, get thee vp agen.'] [footnote : this indicates doubt of the ghost still. he is unwilling to believe in him.] [footnote : _grasp_. this is the only instance i know of _hent_ as a noun. the verb _to hent, to lay hold of_, is not so rare. 'wait till thou be aware of a grasp with a more horrid purpose in it.'] [footnote : --still addressed to his sword.] [footnote : are we to take hamlet's own presentment of his reasons as exhaustive? doubtless to kill him at his prayers, whereupon, after the notions of the time, he would go to heaven, would be anything but justice--the murdered man in hell--the murderer in heaven! but it is easy to suppose hamlet finding it impossible to slay a man on his knees--and that from behind: thus in the unseen presence, he was in sanctuary, and the avenger might well seek reason or excuse for not _then_, not _there_ executing the decree.] [footnote : 'waits for me.'] [footnote : he seems now to have made up his mind, and to await only fit time and opportunity; but he is yet to receive confirmation strong as holy writ. this is the first chance hamlet has had--within the play--of killing the king, and any imputation of faulty irresolution therein is simply silly. it shows the soundness of hamlet's reason, and the steadiness of his will, that he refuses to be carried away by passion, or the temptation of opportunity. the sight of the man on his knees might well start fresh doubt of his guilt, or even wake the thought of sparing a repentant sinner. he knows also that in taking vengeance on her husband he could not avoid compromising his mother. besides, a man like hamlet could not fail to perceive how the killing of his uncle, and in such an attitude, would look to others. it may be judged, however, that the reason he gives to himself for not slaying the king, was only an excuse, that his soul revolted from the idea of assassination, and was calmed in a measure by the doubt whether a man could thus pray--in supposed privacy, we must remember--and be a murderer. not even yet had he proof _positive_, absolute, conclusive: the king might well take offence at the play, even were he innocent; and in any case hamlet would desire _presentable_ proof: he had positively none to show the people in justification of vengeance. as in excitement a man's moods may be opalescent in their changes, and as the most contrary feelings may coexist in varying degrees, all might be in a mind, which i have suggested as present in that of hamlet. to have been capable of the kind of action most of his critics would demand of a man, hamlet must have been the weakling they imagine him. when at length, after a righteous delay, partly willed, partly inevitable, he holds documents in the king's handwriting as proofs of his treachery--_proofs which can be shown_--giving him both right and power over the life of the traitor, then, and only then, is he in cool blood absolutely satisfied as to his duty--which conviction, working with opportunity, and that opportunity plainly the last, brings the end; the righteous deed is done, and done righteously, the doer blameless in the doing of it. the poet is not careful of what is called poetic justice in his play, though therein is no failure; what he is careful of is personal rightness in the hero of it.] [footnote : _ st q_. _king_ my wordes fly vp, my sinnes remaine below. no king on earth is safe, if gods his foe. _exit king_. so he goes to make himself safe by more crime! his repentance is mainly fear.] [page ] tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, and that your grace hath scree'nd, and stoode betweene much heate, and him. ile silence me e'ene heere: [sidenote: euen heere,] pray you be round[ ] with him.[ ] [sidenote: _enter hamlet_.] _ham. within_. mother, mother, mother.[ ] _qu_. ile warrant you, feare me not. [sidenote: _ger_. ile wait you,] withdraw, i heare him comming. _enter hamlet_.[ ] _ham_.[ ] now mother, what's the matter? _qu_. _hamlet_, thou hast thy father much offended. [sidenote: _ger_.] _ham_. mother, you haue my father much offended. _qu_. come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. [sidenote: _ger_.] _ham._ go, go, you question with an idle tongue. [sidenote: with a wicked tongue.] _qu_. why how now _hamlet_?[ ] [sidenote: _ger_.] _ham_. whats the matter now? _qu_. haue you forgot me?[ ] [sidenote: _ger._] _ham_. no by the rood, not so: you are the queene, your husbands brothers wife, but would you were not so. you are my mother.[ ] [sidenote: and would it were] _qu_. nay, then ile set those to you that can speake.[ ] [sidenote: _ger_.] _ham_. come, come, and sit you downe, you shall not boudge: you go not till i set you vp a glasse, where you may see the inmost part of you? [sidenote: the most part] _qu_. what wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther [sidenote: _ger_.] me?[ ] helpe, helpe, hoa. [sidenote: helpe how.] _pol_. what hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe. [sidenote: what how helpe.] _ham_. how now, a rat? dead for a ducate, dead.[ ] [footnote : _the quarto has not_ 'with him.'] [footnote : _he goes behind the arras._] [footnote : _the quarto has not this speech._] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : _ st q._ _ham_. mother, mother, o are you here? how i'st with you mother? _queene_ how i'st with you? _ham_, i'le tell you, but first weele make all safe. here, evidently, he bolts the doors.] [footnote : _ st q._ _queene_ how now boy? _ham_. how now mother! come here, sit downe, for you shall heare me speake.] [footnote : --'that you speak to me in such fashion?'] [footnote : _point thus_: 'so: you'--'would you were not so, for you are _my_ mother.'--_with emphasis on_ 'my.' the whole is spoken sadly.] [footnote : --'speak so that you must mind them.'] [footnote : the apprehension comes from the combined action of her conscience and the notion of his madness.] [footnote : there is no precipitancy here--only instant resolve and execution. it is another outcome and embodiment of hamlet's rare faculty for action, showing his delay the more admirable. there is here neither time nor call for delay. whoever the man behind the arras might be, he had, by spying upon him in the privacy of his mother's room, forfeited to hamlet his right to live; he had heard what he had said to his mother, and his death was necessary; for, if he left the room, hamlet's last chance of fulfilling his vow to the ghost was gone: if the play had not sealed, what he had now spoken must seal his doom. but the decree had in fact already gone forth against his life. .] [page ] _pol._ oh i am slaine. [ ]_killes polonius._[ ] _qu._ oh me, what hast thou done? [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ nay i know not, is it the king?[ ] _qu._ oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this? [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ a bloody deed, almost as bad good mother, [sidenote: ] as kill a king,[ ] and marrie with his brother. _qu._ as kill a king? [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ i lady, 'twas my word.[ ] [sidenote: it was] thou wretched, rash, intruding foole farewell, i tooke thee for thy betters,[ ] take thy fortune, [sidenote: better,] thou find'st to be too busie, is some danger, leaue wringing of your hands, peace, sit you downe, and let me wring your heart, for so i shall if it be made of penetrable stuffe; if damned custome haue not braz'd it so, that it is proofe and bulwarke against sense. [sidenote: it be] _qu._ what haue i done, that thou dar'st wag thy tong, [sidenote: _ger._] in noise so rude against me?[ ] _ham._ such an act that blurres the grace and blush of modestie,[ ] calls vertue hypocrite, takes off the rose from the faire forehead of an innocent loue, and makes a blister there.[ ] makes marriage vowes [sidenote: and sets a] as false as dicers oathes. oh such a deed, as from the body of contraction[ ] pluckes the very soule, and sweete religion makes a rapsidie of words. heauens face doth glow, [sidenote: dooes] yea this solidity and compound masse, [sidenote: ore this] with tristfull visage as against the doome, [sidenote: with heated visage,] is thought-sicke at the act.[ ] [sidenote: thought sick] _qu._ aye me; what act,[ ] that roares so lowd,[ ] and thunders in the index.[ ] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : --_through the arras_.] [footnote : hamlet takes him for, hopes it is the king, and thinks here to conclude: he is not praying now! and there is not a moment to be lost, for he has betrayed his presence and called for help. as often as immediate action is demanded of hamlet, he is immediate with his response--never hesitates, never blunders. there is no blunder here: being where he was, the death of polonius was necessary now to the death of the king. hamlet's resolve is instant, and the act simultaneous with the resolve. the weak man is sure to be found wanting when immediate action is necessary; hamlet never is. doubtless those who blame him as dilatory, here blame him as precipitate, for they judge according to appearance and consequence. all his delay after this is plainly compelled, although i grant he was not sorry to have to await such _more presentable_ evidence as at last he procured, so long as he did not lose the final possibility of vengeance.] [footnote : this is the sole reference in the interview to the murder. i take it for tentative, and that hamlet is satisfied by his mother's utterance, carriage, and expression, that she is innocent of any knowledge of that crime. neither does he allude to the adultery: there is enough in what she cannot deny, and that only which can be remedied needs be taken up; while to break with the king would open the door of repentance for all that had preceded.] [footnote : he says nothing of the ghost to his mother.] [footnote : she still holds up and holds out.] [footnote : 'makes modesty itself suspected.'] [footnote : 'makes innocence ashamed of the love it cherishes.'] [footnote : 'plucks the spirit out of all forms of contracting or agreeing.' we have lost the social and kept only the physical meaning of the noun.] [footnote : i cannot help thinking the _quarto_ reading of this passage the more intelligible, as well as much the more powerful. we may imagine a red aurora, by no means a very unusual phenomenon, over the expanse of the sky:-- heaven's face doth glow (_blush_) o'er this solidity and compound mass, (_the earth, solid, material, composite, a corporeal mass in confrontment with the spirit-like etherial, simple, uncompounded heaven leaning over it_) with tristful (_or_ heated, _as the reader may choose_) visage: as against the doom, (_as in the presence, or in anticipation of the revealing judgment_) is thought sick at the act. (_thought is sick at the act of the queen_) my difficulties as to the _folio_ reading are--why the earth should be so described without immediate contrast with the sky; and--how the earth could be showing a tristful visage, and the sickness of its thought. i think, if the poet indeed made the alterations and they are not mere blunders, he must have made them hurriedly, and without due attention. i would not forget, however, that there may be something present but too good for me to find, which would make the passage plain as it stands. compare _as you like it_, act i. sc. . for, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, say what thou canst, i'll go along with thee.] [footnote : in q. the rest of this speech is hamlet's; his long speech begins here, taking up the queen's word.] [footnote : she still stands out.] [footnote : 'thunders in the very indication or mention of it.' but by 'the index' may be intended the influx or table of contents of a book, at the beginning of it.] [page ] _ham._ looke heere vpon this picture, and on this, the counterfet presentment of two brothers:[ ] see what a grace was seated on his brow, [sidenote: on this] [sidenote: ] _hyperions_ curies, the front of ioue himselfe, an eye like mars, to threaten or command [sidenote: threaten and] a station, like the herald mercurie new lighted on a heauen kissing hill: [sidenote: on a heaue, a kissing] a combination, and a forme indeed, where euery god did seeme to set his seale, to giue the world assurance of a man.[ ] this was your husband. looke you now what followes. heere is your husband, like a mildew'd eare blasting his wholsom breath. haue you eyes? [sidenote: wholsome brother,] could you on this faire mountaine leaue to feed, and batten on this moore?[ ] ha? haue you eyes? you cannot call it loue: for at your age, the hey-day[ ] in the blood is tame, it's humble, and waites vpon the judgement: and what iudgement would step from this, to this? [a] what diuell was't, that thus hath cousend you at hoodman-blinde?[ ] [sidenote: hodman] [b] o shame! where is thy blush? rebellious hell, if thou canst mutine in a matrons bones, [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- sence sure youe haue els could you not haue motion, but sure that sence is appoplext, for madnesse would not erre nor sence to extacie[ ] was nere so thral'd but it reseru'd some quantity of choise[ ] to serue in such[ ] a difference,] [footnote b: _here in the quarto_:-- eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. eares without hands, or eyes, smelling sance[ ] all, or but a sickly part of one true sence could not so mope:[ ]] [footnote : he points to the portraits of the two brothers, side by side on the wall.] [footnote : see _julius caesar_, act v. sc. ,--speech of _antony_ at the end.] [footnote : --perhaps an allusion as well to the complexion of claudius, both moral and physical.] [footnote : --perhaps allied to the german _heida_, and possibly the english _hoyden_ and _hoity-toity_. or is it merely _high-day--noontide_?] [footnote : 'played tricks with you while hooded in the game of _blind-man's-bluff_?' the omitted passage of the _quarto_ enlarges the figure. _ st q._ 'hob-man blinde.'] [footnote : madness.] [footnote : attributing soul to sense, he calls its distinguishment _choice_.] [footnote : --emphasis on _such_.] [footnote : this spelling seems to show how the english word _sans_ should be pronounced.] [footnote : --'be so dull.'] [page ] to flaming youth, let vertue be as waxe, and melt in her owne fire. proclaime no shame, when the compulsiue ardure giues the charge, since frost it selfe,[ ] as actiuely doth burne, as reason panders will. [sidenote: and reason pardons will.] _qu._ o hamlet, speake no more.[ ] [sidenote: _ger._] thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soule, [sidenote: my very eyes into my soule,] and there i see such blacke and grained[ ] spots, [sidenote: greeued spots] as will not leaue their tinct.[ ] [sidenote: will leaue there their] _ham._ nay, but to liue[ ] in the ranke sweat of an enseamed bed, [sidenote: inseemed] stew'd in corruption; honying and making loue [sidenote: ] ouer the nasty stye.[ ] _qu._ oh speake to me, no more, [sidenote: _ger._] [sidenote: ] these words like daggers enter in mine eares. [sidenote: my] no more sweet _hamlet_. _ham._ a murderer, and a villaine: a slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe [sidenote: part the kyth] of your precedent lord. a vice[ ] of kings, a cutpurse of the empire and the rule. that from a shelfe, the precious diadem stole, and put it in his pocket. _qu._ no more.[ ] [sidenote: _ger._] _enter ghost._[ ] _ham._ a king of shreds and patches. [sidenote: ] saue me; and houer o're me with your wings[ ] you heauenly guards. what would you gracious figure? [sidenote: your gracious] _qu._ alas he's mad.[ ] [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ do you not come your tardy sonne to chide, that laps't in time and passion, lets go by[ ] th'important acting of your dread command? oh say.[ ] [footnote : --his mother's matronly age.] [footnote : she gives way at last.] [footnote : --spots whose blackness has sunk into the grain, or final particles of the substance.] [footnote : --transition form of tint:--'will never give up their colour;' 'will never be cleansed.'] [footnote : he persists.] [footnote : --claudius himself--his body no 'temple of the holy ghost,' but a pig-sty. .] [footnote : the clown of the old moral play.] [footnote : she seems neither surprised nor indignant at any point in the accusation: her consciousness of her own guiit has overwhelmed her.] [footnote : the _ st q._ has _enter the ghost in his night gowne_. it was then from the first intended that he should not at this point appear in armour--in which, indeed, the epithet _gracious figure_ could hardly be applied to him, though it might well enough in one of the costumes in which hamlet was accustomed to see him--as this dressing-gown of the _ st q._ a ghost would appear in the costume in which he naturally imagined himself, and in his wife's room would not show himself clothed as when walking among the fortifications of the castle. but by the words lower down ( )-- my father in his habite, as he liued, the poet indicates, not his dressing-gown, but his usual habit, _i.e._ attire.] [footnote : --almost the same invocation as when first he saw the apparition.] [footnote : the queen cannot see the ghost. her conduct has built such a wall between her and her husband that i doubt whether, were she a ghost also, she could see him. her heart had left him, so they are no more together in the sphere of mutual vision. neither does the ghost wish to show himself to her. as his presence is not corporeal, a ghost may be present to but one of a company.] [footnote : . 'who, lapsed (_fallen, guilty_), lets action slip in delay and suffering.' . 'who, lapsed in (_fallen in, overwhelmed by_) delay and suffering, omits' &c. . 'lapsed in respect of time, and because of passion'--the meaning of the preposition _in_, common to both, reacted upon by the word it governs. . 'faulty both in delaying, and in yielding to suffering, when action is required.' . 'lapsed through having too much time and great suffering.' . 'allowing himself to be swept along by time and grief.' surely there is not another writer whose words would so often admit of such multiform and varied interpretation--each form good, and true, and suitable to the context! he seems to see at once all the relations of a thing, and to try to convey them at once, in an utterance single as the thing itself. he would condense the infinite soul of the meaning into the trembling, overtaxed body of the phrase!] [footnote : in the renewed presence of the ghost, all its former influence and all the former conviction of its truth, return upon him. he knows also how his behaviour must appear to the ghost, and sees himself as the ghost sees him. confronted with the gracious figure, how should he think of self-justification! so far from being able to explain things, he even forgets the doubt that had held him back--it has vanished from the noble presence! he is now in the world of belief; the world of doubt is nowhere!--note the masterly opposition of moods.] [page ] _ghost._ do not forget: this visitation is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.[ ] but looke, amazement on thy mother sits;[ ] [sidenote: , ] o step betweene her, and her fighting soule,[ ] [sidenote: ] conceit[ ] in weakest bodies, strongest workes. speake to her _hamlet_.[ ] _ham._ how is it with you lady?[ ] _qu._ alas, how is't with you? [sidenote: _ger._] that you bend your eye on vacancie, [sidenote: you do bend] and with their corporall ayre do hold discourse. [sidenote: with th'incorporall ayre] forth at your eyes, your spirits wildely peepe, and as the sleeping soldiours in th'alarme, your bedded haire, like life in excrements,[ ] start vp, and stand an end.[ ] oh gentle sonne, vpon the heate and flame of thy distemper sprinkle coole patience. whereon do you looke?[ ] _ham._ on him, on him: look you how pale he glares, his forme and cause conioyn'd, preaching to stones, would make them capeable.[ ] do not looke vpon me,[ ] least with this pitteous action you conuert my sterne effects: then what i haue to do,[ ] [sidenote: ] will want true colour; teares perchance for blood.[ ] _qu._ to who do you speake this? [sidenote: _ger._ to whom] _ham._ do you see nothing there? _qu._ nothing at all, yet all that is i see.[ ] [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ nor did you nothing heare? _qu._ no, nothing but our selues. [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ why look you there: looke how it steals away: [sidenote: ] my father in his habite, as he liued, looke where he goes euen now out at the portall. _exit._ [sidenote: _exit ghost._] [sidenote: ] _qu._ this is the very coynage of your braine, [sidenote: _ger._] [footnote : the ghost here judges, as alone is possible to him, from what he knows--from the fact that his brother claudius has not yet made his appearance in the ghost-world. not understanding hamlet's difficulties, he mistakes hamlet himself.] [footnote : he mistakes also, through his tenderness, the condition of his wife--imagining, it would seem, that she feels his presence, though she cannot see him, or recognize the source of the influence which he supposes to be moving her conscience: she is only perturbed by hamlet's behaviour.] [footnote : --fighting within itself, as the sea in a storm may be said to fight. he is careful as ever over the wife he had loved and loves still; careful no less of the behaviour of the son to his mother. in the _ st q._ we have:-- but i perceiue by thy distracted lookes, thy mother's fearefull, and she stands amazde: speake to her hamlet, for her sex is weake, comfort thy mother, hamlet, thinke on me.] [footnote : --not used here for bare _imagination_, but imagination with its concomitant feeling:--_conception_. .] [footnote : his last word ere he vanishes utterly, concerns his queen; he is tender and gracious still to her who sent him to hell. this attitude of the ghost towards his faithless wife, is one of the profoundest things in the play. all the time she is not thinking of him any more than seeing him--for 'is he not dead!'--is looking straight at where he stands, but is all unaware of him.] [footnote : i understand him to speak this with a kind of lost, mechanical obedience. the description his mother gives of him makes it seem as if the ghost were drawing his ghost out to himself, and turning his body thereby half dead.] [footnote : 'as if there were life in excrements.' the nails and hair were 'excrements'--things _growing out_.] [footnote : note the form _an end_--not _on end_. , .] [footnote : --all spoken coaxingly, as to one in a mad fit. she regards his perturbation as a sudden assault of his ever present malady. one who sees what others cannot see they are always ready to count mad.] [footnote : able to _take_, that is, to _understand_.] [footnote : --_to the ghost_.] [footnote : 'what is in my power to do.'] [footnote : note antithesis here: '_your piteous action_;' '_my stern effects_'--the things, that is, 'which i have to effect.' 'lest your piteous show convert--change--my stern doing; then what i do will lack true colour; the result may be tears instead of blood; i shall weep instead of striking.'] [footnote : it is one of the constantly recurring delusions of humanity that we see all there is.] [page ] [sidenote: ] this bodilesse creation extasie[ ] is very cunning in.[ ] _ham._ extasie?[ ] my pulse as yours doth temperately keepe time, and makes as healthfull musicke.[ ] it is not madnesse that i haue vttered; bring me to the test and i the matter will re-word: which madnesse [sidenote: and the] would gamboll from. mother, for loue of grace, lay not a flattering vnction to your soule, [sidenote: not that flattering] that not your trespasse, but my madnesse speakes: [sidenote: ] it will but skin and filme the vlcerous place, whil'st ranke corruption mining all within, [sidenote: whiles] infects vnseene, confesse your selfe to heauen, repent what's past, auoyd what is to come, and do not spred the compost or the weedes, [sidenote: compost on the] to make them ranke. forgiue me this my vertue, [sidenote: ranker,] for in the fatnesse of this pursie[ ] times, [sidenote: these] vertue it selfe, of vice must pardon begge, yea courb,[ ] and woe, for leaue to do him good. [sidenote: curbe and wooe] _qu._ oh hamlet, [sidenote: _ger._] thou hast cleft my heart in twaine. _ham._ o throw away the worser part of it, and liue the purer with the other halfe. [sidenote: and leaue the] good night, but go not to mine vnkles bed, [sidenote: my] assume a vertue, if you haue it not,[ ][a] refraine to night [sidenote: assune | to refraine night,] and that shall lend a kinde of easinesse [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- [ ]that monster custome, who all sence doth eate of habits deuill,[ ] is angell yet in this that to the vse of actions faire and good, he likewise giues a frock or liuery that aptly is put on] [footnote : madness .] [footnote : here is the correspondent speech in the _ st q._ i give it because of the queen's denial of complicity in the murder. _queene_ alas, it is the weakenesse of thy braine. which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: but as i haue a soule, i sweare by heauen, i neuer knew of this most horride murder: but hamlet, this is onely fantasie, and for my loue forget these idle fits. _ham_. idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, it is not madnesse that possesseth hamlet.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : --_time_ being a great part of music. shakspere more than once or twice employs _music_ as a symbol with reference to corporeal condition: see, for instance, _as you like it_, act i. sc. , 'but is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking?' where the _broken music_ may be regarded as the antithesis of the _healthful music_ here.] [footnote : _swoln, pampered_: an allusion to the _purse_ itself, whether intended or not, is suggested.] [footnote : _bend, bow_.] [footnote : to _assume_ is to take to one: by _assume a virtue_, hamlet does not mean _pretend_--but the very opposite: _to pretend_ is _to hold forth, to show_; what he means is, 'adopt a virtue'--that of _abstinence_--'and act upon it, order your behaviour by it, although you may not _feel_ it. choose the virtue--take it, make it yours.'] [footnote : this omitted passage is obscure with the special shaksperean obscurity that comes of over-condensation. he omitted it, i think, because of its obscurity. its general meaning is plain enough--that custom helps the man who tries to assume a virtue, as well as renders it more and more difficult for him who indulges in vice to leave it. i will paraphrase: 'that monster, custom, who eats away all sense, the devil of habits, is angel yet in this, that, for the exercise of fair and good actions, he also provides a habit, a suitable frock or livery, that is easily put on.' the play with the two senses of the word _habit_ is more easily seen than set forth. to paraphrase more freely: 'that devil of habits, custom, who eats away all sense of wrong-doing, has yet an angel-side to him, in that he gives a man a mental dress, a habit, helpful to the doing of the right thing.' the idea of hypocrisy does not come in at all. the advice of hamlet is: 'be virtuous in your actions, even if you cannot in your feelings; do not do the wrong thing you would like to do, and custom will render the abstinence easy.'] [footnote : i suspect it should be '_of habits evil_'--the antithesis to _angel_ being _monster_.] [page ] to the next abstinence. [a] once more goodnight, and when you are desirous to be blest, ile blessing begge of you.[ ] for this same lord, i do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it so,[ ] to punish me with this, and this with me, that i must be their[ ] scourge and minister. i will bestow him,[ ] and will answer well the death i gaue him:[ ] so againe, good night. i must be cruell, onely to be kinde;[ ] thus bad begins,[ ] and worse remaines behinde.[ ] [sidenote: this bad] [b] _qu_. what shall i do? [sidenote: _ger_.] _ham_. not this by no meanes that i bid you do: let the blunt king tempt you againe to bed, [sidenote: the blowt king] pinch wanton on your cheeke, call you his mouse, and let him for a paire of reechie[ ] kisses, or padling in your necke with his damn'd fingers, make you to rauell all this matter out, [sidenote: rouell] [sidenote: , , ] that i essentially am not in madnesse. but made in craft.[ ] 'twere good you let him know, [sidenote: mad] for who that's but a queene, faire, sober, wise, would from a paddocke,[ ] from a bat, a gibbe,[ ] such deere concernings hide, who would do so, no in despight of sense and secrecie, vnpegge the basket on the houses top: let the birds flye, and like the famous ape to try conclusions[ ] in the basket, creepe and breake your owne necke downe.[ ] _qu_. be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, [sidenote: _ger_.] [footnote a: _here in the quarto;_-- the next more easie:[ ] for vse almost can change the stamp of nature, and either[ ] the deuill, or throwe him out with wonderous potency:] [footnote b: _here in the quarto:_-- one word more good lady.[ ]] [footnote : in bidding his mother good night, he would naturally, after the custom of the time, have sought her blessing: it would be a farce now: when she seeks the blessing of god, he will beg hers; now, a plain _good night_ must serve.] [footnote : note the curious inverted use of _pleased_. it is here a transitive, not an impersonal verb. the construction of the sentence is, 'pleased it so, _in order to_ punish us, that i must' &c.] [footnote : the noun to which _their_ is the pronoun is _heaven_--as if he had written _the gods_.] [footnote : 'take him to a place fit for him to lie in.'] [footnote : 'hold my face to it, and justify it.'] [footnote : --omitting or refusing to embrace her.] [footnote : --looking at polonius.] [footnote : does this mean for himself to do, or for polonius to endure?] [footnote : reeky, smoky, fumy.] [footnote : hamlet considers his madness the same that he so deliberately assumed. but his idea of himself goes for nothing where the experts conclude him mad! his absolute clarity where he has no occasion to act madness, goes for as little, for 'all madmen have their sane moments'!] [footnote : _a toad_; in scotland, _a frog_.] [footnote : an old cat.] [footnote : _experiments_, steevens says: is it not rather _results_?] [footnote : i fancy the story, which so far as i know has not been traced, goes on to say that the basket was emptied from the house-top to send the pigeons flying, and so the ape got his neck broken. the phrase 'breake your owne necke _downe_' seems strange: it could hardly have been written _neck-bone_!] [footnote : this passage would fall in better with the preceding with which it is vitally one--for it would more evenly continue its form--if the preceding _devil_ were, as i propose above, changed to _evil_. but, precious as is every word in them, both passages are well omitted.] [footnote : plainly there is a word left out, if not lost here. there is no authority for the supplied _master_. i am inclined to propose a pause and a gesture, with perhaps an _inarticulation_.] [footnote : --interrogatively perhaps, hamlet noting her about to speak; but i would prefer it thus: 'one word more:--good lady--' here he pauses so long that she speaks. or we _might_ read it thus: _qu._ one word more. _ham._ good lady? _qu._ what shall i do?] [page ] and breath of life: i haue no life to breath what thou hast saide to me.[ ] [sidenote: , ] _ham._ i must to england, you know that?[ ] _qu._ alacke i had forgot: tis so concluded on. [sidenote: _ger._] _ham._ [a] this man shall set me packing:[ ] ile lugge the guts into the neighbor roome,[ ] mother goodnight. indeede this counsellor [sidenote: night indeed, this] is now most still, most secret, and most graue, [sidenote: ] who was in life, a foolish prating knaue. [sidenote: a most foolish] come sir, to draw toward an end with you.[ ] good night mother. _exit hamlet tugging in polonius._[ ] [sidenote: _exit._] [ ] _enter king._ [sidenote: enter king, and queene, with rosencraus and guyldensterne.] _king._ there's matters in these sighes. these profound heaues you must translate; tis fit we vnderstand them. where is your sonne?[ ] _qu._ [b] ah my good lord, what haue i seene to night? [sidenote: _ger._ | ah mine owne lord,] _king._ what _gertrude_? how do's _hamlet_? _qu._ mad as the seas, and winde, when both contend [sidenote: _ger._ | sea and] which is the mightier, in his lawlesse fit[ ] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- [ ]ther's letters seald, and my two schoolefellowes, whom i will trust as i will adders fang'd, they beare the mandat, they must sweep my way and marshall me to knauery[ ]: let it worke, for tis the sport to haue the enginer hoist[ ] with his owne petar,[ ] an't shall goe hard but i will delue one yard belowe their mines, and blowe them at the moone: ô tis most sweete when in one line two crafts directly meete,] [footnote b: _here in the quarto_:-- bestow this place on vs a little while.[ ]] [footnote : _ st q._ o mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, forbeare the adulterous bed to night, and win your selfe by little as you may, in time it may be you wil lothe him quite: and mother, but assist mee in reuenge, and in his death your infamy shall die. _queene. hamlet_, i vow by that maiesty, that knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, i will conceale, consent, and doe my best, what stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise.] [footnote : the king had spoken of it both before and after the play: horatio might have heard of it and told hamlet.] [footnote : 'my banishment will be laid to this deed of mine.'] [footnote : --to rid his mother of it.] [footnote : it may cross him, as he says this, dragging the body out by one end of it, and toward the end of its history, that he is himself drawing toward an end along with polonius.] [footnote : --_and weeping_. . see _note_ , .] [footnote : here, according to the editors, comes 'act iv.' for this there is no authority, and the point of division seems to me very objectionable. the scene remains the same, as noted from capell in _cam. sh._, and the entrance of the king follows immediately on the exit of hamlet. he finds his wife greatly perturbed; she has not had time to compose herself. from the beginning of act ii., on to where i would place the end of act iii., there is continuity.] [footnote : i would have this speech uttered with pauses and growing urgency, mingled at length with displeasure.] [footnote : she is faithful to her son, declaring him mad, and attributing the death of 'the unseen' polonius to his madness.] [footnote : this passage, like the rest, i hold to be omitted by shakspere himself. it represents hamlet as divining the plot with whose execution his false friends were entrusted. the poet had at first intended hamlet to go on board the vessel with a design formed upon this for the out-witting of his companions, and to work out that design. afterwards, however, he alters his plan, and represents his escape as more plainly providential: probably he did not see how to manage it by any scheme of hamlet so well as by the attack of a pirate; possibly he wished to write the passage ( ) in which hamlet, so consistently with his character, attributes his return to the divine shaping of the end rough-hewn by himself. he had designs--'dear plots'--but they were other than fell out--a rough-hewing that was shaped to a different end. the discomfiture of his enemies was not such as he had designed: it was brought about by no previous plot, but through a discovery. at the same time his deliverance was not effected by the fingering of the packet, but by the attack of the pirate: even the re-writing of the commission did nothing towards his deliverance, resulted only in the punishment of his traitorous companions. in revising the quarto, the poet sees that the passage before us, in which is expressed the strongest suspicion of his companions, with a determination to outwit and punish them, is inconsistent with the representation hamlet gives afterwards of a restlessness and suspicion newly come upon him, which he attributes to the divinity. neither was it likely he would say so much to his mother while so little sure of her as to warn her, on the ground of danger to herself, against revealing his sanity to the king. as to this, however, the portion omitted might, i grant, be regarded as an _aside_.] [footnote : --to be done _to_ him.] [footnote : _hoised_, from verb _hoise_--still used in scotland.] [footnote : a kind of explosive shell, which was fixed to the object meant to be destroyed. note once more hamlet's delight in action.] [footnote : --_said to ros. and guild._: in plain speech, 'leave us a little while.'] [page ] behinde the arras, hearing something stirre, he whips his rapier out, and cries a rat, a rat, [sidenote: whyps out his rapier, cryes a] and in his brainish apprehension killes [sidenote: in this] the vnseene good old man. _king._ oh heauy deed: it had bin so with vs[ ] had we beene there: his liberty is full of threats to all,[ ] to you your selfe, to vs, to euery one. alas, how shall this bloody deede be answered? it will be laide to vs, whose prouidence should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, this mad yong man.[ ] but so much was our loue, we would not vnderstand what was most fit, but like the owner of a foule disease, [sidenote: ] to keepe it from divulging, let's it feede [sidenote: let it] euen on the pith of life. where is he gone? _qu._ to draw apart the body he hath kild, [sidenote: ger.] o're whom his very madnesse[ ] like some oare among a minerall of mettels base [sidenote: ] shewes it selfe pure.[ ] he weepes for what is done.[ ] [sidenote: pure, a weeepes] _king:_ oh _gertrude_, come away: the sun no sooner shall the mountaines touch, but we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed, we must with all our maiesty and skill [sidenote: ] both countenance, and excuse.[ ] _enter ros. & guild_.[ ] ho _guildenstern_: friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: _hamlet_ in madnesse hath polonius slaine, and from his mother clossets hath he drag'd him. [sidenote: closet | dreg'd] go seeke him out, speake faire, and bring the body into the chappell. i pray you hast in this. _exit gent_[ ] come _gertrude_, wee'l call vp our wisest friends, to let them know both what we meane to do, [sidenote: and let] [footnote : the royal plural.] [footnote : he knows the thrust was meant for him. but he would not have it so understood; he too lays it to his madness, though he too knows better.] [footnote : 'he, although mad'; 'his nature, in spite of his madness.'] [footnote : by his weeping, in the midst of much to give a different impression.] [footnote : we have no reason to think the queen inventing here: what could she gain by it? the point indeed was rather against hamlet, as showing it was not polonius he had thought to kill. he was more than ever annoyed with the contemptible old man, who had by his meddlesomeness brought his death to his door; but he was very sorry nevertheless over ophelia's father: those rough words in his last speech are spoken with the tears running down his face. we have seen the strange, almost discordant mingling in him of horror and humour, after the first appearance of the ghost, , : something of the same may be supposed when he finds he has killed polonius: in the highstrung nervous condition that must have followed such a talk with his mother, it would be nowise strange that he should weep heartily even in the midst of contemptuous anger. or perhaps a sudden breakdown from attempted show of indifference, would not be amiss in the representation.] [footnote : 'both countenance with all our majesty, and excuse with all our skill.'] [footnote : in the _quarto_ a line back.] [footnote : _not in q._] [page ] and what's vntimely[ ] done. [a] oh come away, [sidenote: doone,] my soule is full of discord and dismay. _exeunt._ _enter hamlet._ [sidenote: _hamlet, rosencrans, and others._] _ham._ safely stowed.[ ] [sidenote: stowed, but soft, what noyse,] _gentlemen within._ _hamlet_. lord _hamlet_? _ham._ what noise? who cals on _hamlet_? oh heere they come. _enter ros. and guildensterne._[ ] _ro._ what haue you done my lord with the dead body? _ham._ compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kinne.[ ] [sidenote: compound it] _rosin._ tell vs where 'tis, that we may take it thence, and beare it to the chappell. _ham._ do not beleeue it.[ ] _rosin._ beleeue what? [sidenote: ] _ham._ that i can keepe your counsell, and not mine owne. besides, to be demanded of a spundge, what replication should be made by the sonne of a king.[ ] _rosin._ take you me for a spundge, my lord? _ham._ i sir, that sokes vp the kings countenance, his rewards, his authorities, but such officers do the king best seruice in the end. he keepes them like an ape in the corner of his iaw,[ ] first [sidenote: like an apple in] mouth'd to be last swallowed, when he needes what you haue glean'd, it is but squeezing you, and spundge you shall be dry againe. _rosin._ i vnderstand you not my lord. [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- whose whisper ore the worlds dyameter,[ ] [sidenote: ] as leuell as the cannon to his blanck,[ ] transports his poysned shot, may miffe[ ] our name, and hit the woundlesse ayre.] [footnote : unhappily.] [footnote : he has hid the body--to make the whole look the work of a mad fit.] [footnote : this line is not in the _quarto_.] [footnote : _not in q. see margin above._] [footnote : he has put it in a place which, little visited, is very dusty.] [footnote : he is mad to them--sane only to his mother and horatio.] [footnote : _euphuistic_: 'asked a question by a sponge, what answer should a prince make?'] [footnote : _ st q._: for hee doth keep you as an ape doth nuttes, in the corner of his iaw, first mouthes you, then swallowes you:] [footnote : here most modern editors insert, '_so, haply, slander_'. but, although i think the poet left out this obscure passage merely from dissatisfaction with it, i believe it renders a worthy sense as it stands. the antecedent to _whose_ is _friends_: _cannon_ is nominative to _transports_; and the only difficulty is the epithet _poysned_ applied to _shot_, which seems transposed from the idea of an _unfriendly_ whisper. perhaps shakspere wrote _poysed shot_. but taking this as it stands, the passage might be paraphrased thus: 'whose (favourable) whisper over the world's diameter (_from one side of the world to the other_), as level (_as truly aimed_) as the cannon (of an evil whisper) transports its poisoned shot to his blank (_the white centre of the target_), may shoot past our name (so keeping us clear), and hit only the invulnerable air.' ('_the intrenchant air_': _macbeth_, act v. sc. ). this interpretation rests on the idea of over-condensation with its tendency to seeming confusion--the only fault i know in the poet--a grand fault, peculiarly his own, born of the beating of his wings against the impossible. it is much as if, able to think two thoughts at once, he would compel his phrase to utter them at once.] [footnote : for the harlot king is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank and level of my brain, plot-proof; _the winter's tale_, act ii. sc. . my life stands in the level of your dreams, _ibid_, act iii. sc. .] [footnote : two _ff_ for two long _ss_.] [page ] _ham._ i am glad of it: a knavish speech sleepes in a foolish eare. _rosin._ my lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king. _ham._ the body is with the king, but the king is not with the body.[ ] the king, is a thing---- _guild._ a thing my lord? _ham._ of nothing[ ]: bring me to him, hide fox, and all after.[ ] _exeunt_[ ] _enter king._ [sidenote: _king, and two or three._] _king._ i have sent to seeke him, and to find the bodie: how dangerous is it that this man goes loose:[ ] yet must not we put the strong law on him: [sidenote: ] hee's loved of the distracted multitude,[ ] who like not in their iudgement, but their eyes: and where 'tis so, th'offenders scourge is weigh'd but neerer the offence: to beare all smooth, and euen, [sidenote: neuer the] this sodaine sending him away, must seeme [sidenote: ] deliberate pause,[ ] diseases desperate growne, by desperate appliance are releeved, or not at all. _enter rosincrane._ [sidenote: _rosencraus and all the rest._] how now? what hath befalne? _rosin._ where the dead body is bestow'd my lord, we cannot get from him. _king._ but where is he?[ ] _rosin._ without my lord, guarded[ ] to know your pleasure. _king._ bring him before us. _rosin._ hoa, guildensterne? bring in my lord. [sidenote: _ros._ how, bring in the lord. _they enter._] _enter hamlet and guildensterne_[ ] _king._ now _hamlet_, where's _polonius?_ [footnote : 'the body is in the king's house, therefore with the king; but the king knows not where, therefore the king is not with the body.'] [footnote : 'a thing of nothing' seems to have been a common phrase.] [footnote : the _quarto_ has not 'hide fox, and all after.'] [footnote : hamlet darts out, with the others after him, as in a hunt. possibly there was a game called _hide fox, and all after_.] [footnote : he is a hypocrite even to himself.] [footnote : this had all along helped to hamlet's safety.] [footnote : 'must be made to look the result of deliberate reflection.' claudius fears the people may imagine hamlet treacherously used, driven to self-defence, and hurried out of sight to be disposed of.] [footnote : emphasis on _he_; the point of importance with the king, is _where he is_, not where the body is.] [footnote : henceforward he is guarded, or at least closely watched, according to the _folio_--left much to himself according to the _quarto_. .] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [page ] _ham._ at supper. _king._ at supper? where? _ham._ not where he eats, but where he is eaten, [sidenote: where a is] a certaine conuocation of wormes are e'ne at him. [sidenote: of politique wormes[ ]] your worm is your onely emperor for diet. we fat all creatures else to fat vs, and we fat our selfe [sidenote: ourselves] for magots. your fat king, and your leane begger is but variable seruice to dishes, but to one [sidenote: two dishes] table that's the end. [a] _king._ what dost thou meane by this?[ ] _ham._ nothing but to shew you how a king may go a progresse[ ] through the guts of a begger.[ ] _king._ where is _polonius_. _ham._ in heauen, send thither to see. if your messenger finde him not there, seeke him i'th other place your selfe: but indeed, if you finde him not [sidenote: but if indeed you find him not within this] this moneth, you shall nose him as you go vp the staires into the lobby. _king._ go seeke him there. _ham._ he will stay till ye come. [sidenote: a will stay till you] _k._ _hamlet_, this deed of thine, for thine especial safety [sidenote: this deede for thine especiall] which we do tender, as we deerely greeue for that which thou hast done,[ ] must send thee hence with fierie quicknesse.[ ] therefore prepare thy selfe, the barke is readie, and the winde at helpe,[ ] th'associates tend,[ ] and euery thing at bent [sidenote: is bent] for england. [footnote a: _here in the quarto:_-- _king_ alas, alas.[ ] _ham._ a man may fish with the worme that hath eate of a king, and eate of the fish that hath fedde of that worme.] [footnote : --such as rosincrance and guildensterne!] [footnote : i suspect this and the following speech ought by the printers to have been omitted also: without the preceding two speeches of the quarto they are not accounted for.] [footnote : a royal progress.] [footnote : hamlet's philosophy deals much now with the worthlessness of all human distinctions and affairs.] [footnote : 'and we care for your safety as much as we grieve for the death of polonius.'] [footnote : 'with fierie quicknesse.' _not in quarto._] [footnote : fair--ready to help.] [footnote : attend, wait.] [footnote : pretending despair over his madness.] [page ] _ham._ for england? _king._ i _hamlet_. _ham._ good. _king._ so is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. _ham._ i see a cherube that see's him: but [sidenote: sees them,] come, for england. farewell deere mother. _king._ thy louing father _hamlet_. _hamlet._ my mother: father and mother is man and wife: man and wife is one flesh, and so [sidenote: flesh, so my] my mother.[ ] come, for england. _exit_ [sidenote: ] _king._ follow him at foote,[ ] tempt him with speed aboord: delay it not, he haue him hence to night. away, for euery thing is seal'd and done that else leanes on[ ] th'affaire pray you make hast. and england, if my loue thou holdst at ought, as my great power thereof may giue thee sense, since yet thy cicatrice lookes raw and red[ ] after the danish sword, and thy free awe payes homage to vs[ ]; thou maist not coldly set[ ] our soueraigne processe,[ ] which imports at full by letters conjuring to that effect [sidenote: congruing] the present death of _hamlet_. do it england, for like the hecticke[ ] in my blood he rages, and thou must cure me: till i know 'tis done, how ere my happes,[ ] my ioyes were ne're begun.[ ] [sidenote: ioyes will nere begin.] _exit_[ ] [sidenote: ] [ ]_enter fortinbras with an armie._ [sidenote: with his army ouer the stage.] _for._ go captaine, from me greet the danish king, tell him that by his license, _fortinbras_ [sidenote: ] claimes the conueyance[ ] of a promis'd march [sidenote: craues the] ouer his kingdome. you know the rendeuous:[ ] [footnote : he will not touch the hand of his father's murderer.] [footnote : 'at his heels.'] [footnote : 'belongs to.'] [footnote : 'as my great power may give thee feeling of its value, seeing the scar of my vengeance has hardly yet had time to heal.'] [footnote : 'and thy fear uncompelled by our presence, pays homage to us.'] [footnote : 'set down to cool'; 'set in the cold.'] [footnote : _mandate_: 'where's fulvia's process?' _ant. and cl._, act i. sc. . _shakespeare lexicon_.] [footnote : _hectic fever--habitual_ or constant fever.] [footnote : 'whatever my fortunes.'] [footnote : the original, the _quarto_ reading--'_my ioyes will nere begin_' seems to me in itself better, and the cause of the change to be as follows. in the _quarto_ the next scene stands as in our modern editions, ending with the rime, ô from this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth. _exit_. this was the act-pause, the natural end of act iii. but when the author struck out all but the commencement of the scene, leaving only the three little speeches of fortinbras and his captain, then plainly the act-pause must fall at the end of the preceding scene. he therefore altered the end of the last verse to make it rime with the foregoing, in accordance with his frequent way of using a rime before an important pause. it perplexes us to think how on his way to the vessel, hamlet could fall in with the norwegian captain. this may have been one of shakspere's reasons for striking the whole scene out--but he had other and more pregnant reasons.] [footnote : here is now the proper close of the _third act_.] [footnote : _commencement of the fourth act._ between the third and the fourth passes the time hamlet is away; for the latter, in which he returns, and whose scenes are _contiguous_, needs no more than one day.] [footnote : 'claims a convoy in fulfilment of the king's promise to allow him to march over his kingdom.' the meaning is made plainer by the correspondent passage in the _ st quarto_: tell him that _fortenbrasse_ nephew to old _norway_, craues a free passe and conduct ouer his land, according to the articles agreed on:] [footnote : 'where to rejoin us.'] [page ] if that his maiesty would ought with vs, we shall expresse our dutie in his eye,[ ] and let[ ] him know so. _cap._ i will doo't, my lord. _for._ go safely[ ] on. _exit._ [sidenote: softly] [a] [ ] _enter queene and horatio_. [sidenote: _enter horatio, gertrard, and a gentleman_.] _qu._ i will not speake with her. _hor._[ ] she is importunate, indeed distract, her [sidenote: _gent_.] moode will needs be pittied. _qu_. what would she haue? _hor_. she speakes much of her father; saies she heares [sidenote: _gent_.] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- _enter hamlet, rosencraus, &c._ _ham_. good sir whose powers are these? _cap_. they are of _norway_ sir. _ham_. how purposd sir i pray you? _cap_. against some part of _poland_. _ham_. who commaunds them sir? _cap_. the nephew to old _norway, fortenbrasse_. _ham_. goes it against the maine of _poland_ sir, or for some frontire? _cap_. truly to speake, and with no addition,[ ] we goe to gaine a little patch of ground[ ] that hath in it no profit but the name to pay fiue duckets, fiue i would not farme it; nor will it yeeld to _norway_ or the _pole_ a rancker rate, should it be sold in fee. _ham_. why then the pollacke neuer will defend it. _cap_. yes, it is already garisond. _ham_. two thousand soules, and twenty thousand duckets will not debate the question of this straw this is th'impostume of much wealth and peace, that inward breakes, and showes no cause without why the man dies.[ ] i humbly thanke you sir. _cap_. god buy you sir. _ros_. wil't please you goe my lord? [sidenote: , ] _ham_. ile be with you straight, goe a little before.[ ] [ ]how all occasions[ ] doe informe against me, [continued on next text page.]] [footnote : 'we shall pay our respects, waiting upon his person.'] [footnote : 'let,' _imperative mood_.] [footnote : 'with proper precaution,' _said to his attendant officers._] [footnote : this was originally intended, i repeat, for the commencement of the act. but when the greater part of the foregoing scene was omitted, and the third act made to end with the scene before that, then the small part left of the all-but-cancelled scene must open the fourth act.] [footnote : hamlet absent, we find his friend looking after ophelia. gertrude seems less friendly towards her.] [footnote : exaggeration.] [footnote : --probably a small outlying island or coast-fortress, _not far off_, else why should norway care about it at all? if the word _frontier_ has the meaning, as the _shakespeare lexicon_ says, of 'an outwork in fortification,' its use two lines back would, taken figuratively, tend to support this.] [footnote : the meaning may be as in the following paraphrase: 'this quarrelling about nothing is (the breaking of) the abscess caused by wealth and peace--which breaking inward (in general corruption), would show no outward sore in sign of why death came.' or it might be _forced_ thus:-- this is the imposthume of much wealth and peace. that (which) inward breaks, and shows no cause without-- why, the man dies! but it may mean:--'the war is an imposthume, which will break within, and cause much affliction to the people that make the war.' on the other hand, hamlet seems to regard it as a process for, almost a sign of health.] [footnote : note his freedom.] [footnote : _see_ 'examples grosse as earth' _below_.] [footnote : while every word that shakspere wrote we may well take pains to grasp thoroughly, my endeavour to cast light on this passage is made with the distinct understanding in my own mind that the author himself disapproved of and omitted it, and that good reason is not wanting why he should have done so. at the same time, if my student, for this book is for those who would have help and will take pains to the true understanding of the play, would yet retain the passage, i protest against the acceptance of hamlet's judgment of himself, except as revealing the simplicity and humility of his nature and character. that as often as a vivid memory of either interview with the ghost came back upon him, he should feel rebuked and ashamed, and vexed with himself, is, in the morally, intellectually, and emotionally troubled state of his mind, nowise the less natural that he had the best of reasons for the delay because of which he _here_ so unmercifully abuses himself. a man of self-satisfied temperament would never in similar circumstances have done so. but hamlet was, by nature and education, far from such self-satisfaction; and there is in him besides such a strife and turmoil of opposing passions and feelings and apparent duties, as can but rarely rise in a human soul. with which he ought to side, his conscience is not sure--sides therefore now with one, now with another. at the same time it is by no means the long delay the critics imagine of which he is accusing himself--it is only that the thing _is not done_. in certain moods the action a man dislikes will _therefore_ look to him the more like a duty; and this helps to prevent hamlet from knowing always how great a part conscience bears in the omission because of which he condemns and even contemns himself. the conscience does not naturally examine itself--is not necessarily self-conscious. in any soliloquy, a man must speak from his present mood: we who are not suffering, and who have many of his moods before us, ought to understand hamlet better than he understands himself. to himself, sitting in judgment on himself, it would hardly appear a decent cause of, not to say reason for, a moment's delay in punishing his uncle, that he was so weighed down with misery because of his mother and ophelia, that it seemed of no use to kill one villain out of the villainous world; it would seem but 'bestial oblivion'; and, although his reputation as a prince was deeply concerned, _any_ reflection on the consequences to himself would at times appear but a 'craven scruple'; while at times even the whispers of conscience might seem a 'thinking too precisely on the event.' a conscientious man of changeful mood wilt be very ready in either mood to condemn the other. the best and rightest men will sometimes accuse themselves in a manner that seems to those who know them best, unfounded, unreasonable, almost absurd. we must not, i say, take the hero's judgment of himself as the author's judgment of him. the two judgments, that of a man upon himself from within, and that of his beholder upon him from without, are not congeneric. they are different in origin and in kind, and cannot be adopted either of them into the source of the other without most serious and dangerous mistake. so adopted, each becomes another thing altogether. it is to me probable that, although it involves other unfitnesses, the poet omitted the passage chiefly from coming to see the danger of its giving occasion, or at least support, to an altogether mistaken and unjust idea of his hamlet.] [page ] there's trickes i'th'world, and hems, and beats her heart, spurnes enuiously at strawes,[ ] speakes things in doubt,[ ] that carry but halfe sense: her speech is nothing,[ ] yet the vnshaped vse of it[ ] doth moue the hearers to collection[ ]; they ayme[ ] at it, [sidenote: they yawne at] and botch the words[ ] vp fit to their owne thoughts [_continuation of quote from quarto from previous text page_:-- and spur my dull reuenge. [ ]what is a man if his chiefe good and market of his time be but to sleepe and feede, a beast, no more; sure he that made vs with such large discourse[ ] looking before and after, gaue vs not that capabilitie and god-like reason to fust in vs vnvsd,[ ] now whether it be [sidenote: , ] bestiall obliuion,[ ] or some crauen scruple of thinking too precisely on th'euent,[ ] a thought which quarterd hath but one part wisedom, and euer three parts coward, i doe not know why yet i liue to say this thing's to doe, sith i haue cause, and will, and strength, and meanes to doo't;[ ] examples grosse as earth exhort me, witnes this army of such masse and charge, [sidenote: ] led by a delicate and tender prince, whose spirit with diuine ambition puft, makes mouthes at the invisible euent, [sidenote: ] exposing what is mortall, and vnsure, to all that fortune, death, and danger dare,[ ] euen for an egge-shell. rightly to be great, is not to stirre without great argument, but greatly to find quarrell in a straw when honour's at the stake, how stand i then that haue a father kild, a mother staind, excytements of my reason, and my blood, and let all sleepe,[ ] while to my shame i see the iminent death of twenty thousand men, that for a fantasie and tricke[ ] of fame goe to their graues like beds, fight for a plot whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,[ ] which is not tombe enough and continent[ ] to hide the slaine,[ ] ô from this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.[ ] _exit._] [footnote : trifles.] [footnote : doubtfully.] [footnote : 'there is nothing in her speech.'] [footnote : 'the formless mode of it.'] [footnote : 'to gathering things and putting them together.'] [footnote : guess.] [footnote : ophelia's words.] [footnote : i am in doubt whether this passage from 'what is a man' down to 'unused,' does not refer to the king, and whether hamlet is not persuading himself that it can be no such objectionable thing to kill one hardly above a beast. at all events it is far more applicable to the king: it was not one of hamlet's faults, in any case, to fail of using his reason. but he may just as well accuse himself of that too! at the same time the worst neglect of reason lies in not carrying out its conclusions, and if we cannot justify hamlet in his delay, the passage is of good application to him. 'bestiall oblivion' does seem to connect himself with the reflection; but how thoroughly is the thing intended by such a phrase alien from the character of hamlet!] [footnote : --the mental faculty of running hither and thither: 'we look before and after.' _shelley: to a skylark_.] [footnote : --the forgetfulness of such a beast as he has just mentioned.] [footnote : --the _consequences_. the scruples that come of thinking of the event, hamlet certainly had: that they were _craven_ scruples, that his thinking was too precise, i deny to the face of the noble self-accuser. is that a craven scruple which, seeing no good to result from the horrid deed, shrinks from its irretrievableness, and demands at least absolute assurance of guilt? or that 'a thinking too precisely on the event,' to desire, as the prince of his people, to leave an un wounded name behind him?] [footnote : this passage is the strongest there is on the side of the ordinary misconception of the character of hamlet. it comes from himself; and it is as ungenerous as it is common and unfair to use such a weapon against a man. does any but st. paul himself say he was the chief of sinners? consider hamlet's condition, tormented on all sides, within and without, and think whether this outbreak against himself be not as unfair as it is natural. lest it should be accepted against him, shakspere did well to leave it out. in bitter disappointment, both because of what is and what is not, both because of what he has done and what he has failed to do, having for the time lost all chance, with the last vision of the ghost still haunting his eyes, his last reproachful words yet ringing in his ears, are we bound to take his judgment of himself because it is against himself? are we _bound_ to take any man's judgment because it is against himself? i answer, 'no more than if it were for himself.' a good man's judgment, where he is at all perplexed, especially if his motive comes within his own question, is ready to be against himself, as a bad man's is sure to be for himself. or because he is a philosopher, does it follow that throughout he understands himself? were such a man in cool, untroubled conditions, we might feel compelled to take his judgment, but surely not here! a philosopher in such state as hamlet's would understand the quality of his spiritual operations with no more certainty than another man. in his present mood, hamlet forgets the cogency of the reasons that swayed him in the other; forgets that his uppermost feeling then was doubt, as horror, indignation, and conviction are uppermost now. things were never so clear to hamlet as to us. but how can he say he has strength and means--in the position in which he now finds himself? i am glad to be able to believe, let my defence of hamlet against himself be right or wrong, that shakspere intended the omission of the passage. i lay nothing on the great lack of logic throughout the speech, for that would not make it unfit for hamlet in such mood, while it makes its omission from the play of less consequence to my general argument.] [footnote : _threaten_. this supports my argument as to the great soliloquy--that it was death as the result of his slaying the king, or attempting to do so, not death by suicide, he was thinking of: he expected to die himself in the punishing of his uncle.] [footnote : he had had no chance but that when the king was on his knees.] [footnote : 'a fancy and illusion.'] [footnote : 'which is too small for those engaged to find room to fight on it.'] [footnote : 'continent,' _containing space_.] [footnote : this soliloquy is antithetic to the other. here is no thought of the 'something after death.'] [footnote : if, with this speech in his mouth, hamlet goes coolly on board the vessel, _not being compelled thereto_ ( , , ), and possessing means to his vengeance, as here he says, and goes merely in order to hoist rosincrance and guildensterne with their own petard--that is, if we must keep the omitted passages, then the author exposes his hero to a more depreciatory judgment than any from which i would justify him, and a conception of his character entirely inconsistent with the rest of the play. he did not observe the risk at the time he wrote the passage, but discovering it afterwards, rectified the oversight--to the dissatisfaction of his critics, who have agreed in restoring what he cancelled.] [page ] which as her winkes, and nods, and gestures yeeld[ ] them, indeed would make one thinke there would[ ] be thought, [sidenote: there might[ ] be] though nothing sure, yet much vnhappily. _qu_. 'twere good she were spoken with,[ ] [sidenote: _hora_.] for she may strew dangerous coniectures in ill breeding minds.[ ] let her come in. [sidenote: _enter ophelia_.] to my sicke soule (as sinnes true nature is) [sidenote: _quee_. 'to my[ ]] each toy seemes prologue, to some great amisse, [sidenote: 'each] so full of artlesse iealousie is guilt, [sidenote: 'so] it spill's it selfe, in fearing to be spilt.[ ] [sidenote: 'it] _enter ophelia distracted_.[ ] _ophe_. where is the beauteous maiesty of denmark. _qu_. how now _ophelia_? [sidenote: _shee sings_.] _ophe. how should i your true loue know from another one? by his cockle hat and staffe, and his sandal shoone._ _qu_. alas sweet lady: what imports this song? _ophe_. say you? nay pray you marke. _he is dead and gone lady, he is dead and gone, at his head a grasse-greene turfe, at his heeles a stone._ [sidenote: o ho.] _enter king_. _qu_. nay but _ophelia_. _ophe_. pray you marke. _white his shrow'd as the mountaine snow._ [sidenote: _enter king_.] _qu_. alas looke heere my lord, [sidenote: ] _ophe. larded[ ] with sweet flowers_: [sidenote: larded all with] _which bewept to the graue did not go_, [sidenote: ground | _song_.] _with true-loue showres_, [footnote : 'present them,'--her words, that is--giving significance or interpretation to them.] [footnote : if this _would_, and not the _might_ of the _quarto_, be the correct reading, it means that ophelia would have something thought so and so.] [footnote : --changing her mind on horatio's representation. at first she would not speak with her.] [footnote : 'minds that breed evil.'] [footnote : --as a quotation.] [footnote : instance, the history of macbeth.] [footnote : _ st q. enter ofelia playing on a lute, and her haire downe singing._ hamlet's apparent madness would seem to pass into real madness in ophelia. king lear's growing perturbation becomes insanity the moment he sees the pretended madman edgar. the forms of ophelia's madness show it was not her father's death that drove her mad, but his death by the hand of hamlet, which, with hamlet's banishment, destroyed all the hope the queen had been fostering in her of marrying him some day.] [footnote : this expression is, as dr. johnson says, taken from cookery; but it is so used elsewhere by shakspere that we cannot regard it here as a scintillation of ophelia's insanity.] [page ] _king_. how do ye, pretty lady? [sidenote: you] _ophe_. well, god dil'd you.[ ] they say the [sidenote: good dild you,[ ]] owle was a bakers daughter.[ ] lord, wee know what we are, but know not what we may be. god be at your table. [sidenote: ] _king_. conceit[ ] vpon her father. _ophe_. pray you let's haue no words of this: [sidenote: pray lets] but when they aske you what it meanes, say you this: [ ] _to morrow is s. valentines day, all in the morning betime, and i a maid at your window to be your valentine. then vp he rose, and don'd[ ] his clothes, and dupt[ ] the chamber dore, let in the maid, that out a maid, neuer departed more._ _king_. pretty _ophelia._ _ophe_. indeed la? without an oath ile make an [sidenote: indeede without] end ont.[ ] _by gis, and by s. charity, alacke, and fie for shame: yong men wil doo't, if they come too't, by cocke they are too blame. quoth she before you tumbled me, you promis'd me to wed: so would i ha done by yonder sunne_, [sidenote: (he answers,) so would] _and thou hadst not come to my bed._ _king_. how long hath she bin this? [sidenote: beene thus?] _ophe_. i hope all will be well. we must bee patient, but i cannot choose but weepe, to thinke they should lay him i'th'cold ground: my brother [sidenote: they wouid lay] shall knowe of it, and so i thanke you for your good counsell. come, my coach: goodnight ladies: goodnight sweet ladies: goodnight, goodnight. _exit_[ ] [footnote : _ st q_. 'god yeeld you,' that is, _reward you_. here we have a blunder for the contraction, 'god 'ild you'--perhaps a common blunder.] [footnote : for the silly legend, see douce's note in _johnson and steevens_.] [footnote : imaginative brooding.] [footnote : we dare no judgment on madness in life: we need not in art.] [footnote : preterites of _don_ and _dup_, contracted from _do on_ and _do up_.] [footnote : --disclaiming false modesty.] [footnote : _not in q_.] [page ] _king_. follow her close, giue her good watch i pray you: oh this is the poyson of deepe greefe, it springs all from her fathers death. oh _gertrude, gertrude_, [sidenote: death, and now behold, ô _gertrard, gertrard_,] when sorrowes comes, they come not single spies,[ ] [sidenote: sorrowes come] but in battaliaes. first, her father slaine, [sidenote: battalians:] next your sonne gone, and he most violent author of his owne iust remoue: the people muddied,[ ] thicke and vnwholsome in their thoughts, and whispers [sidenote: in thoughts] for[ ] good _polonius_ death; and we haue done but greenly [sidenote: ] in hugger mugger[ ] to interre him. poore _ophelia_ diuided from her selfe,[ ] and her faire iudgement, without the which we are pictures, or meere beasts. last, and as much containing as all these, her brother is in secret come from france, keepes on his wonder,[ ] keepes himselfe in clouds, [sidenote: feeds on this[ ]] and wants not buzzers to infect his eare [sidenote: care] with pestilent speeches of his fathers death, where in necessitie of matter beggard, [sidenote: wherein necessity] will nothing sticke our persons to arraigne [sidenote: person] in eare and eare.[ ] o my deere _gertrude_, this, like to a murdering peece[ ] in many places, giues me superfluous death. _a noise within_. _enter a messenger_. _qu_. alacke, what noyse is this?[ ] _king_. where are my _switzers_?[ ] [sidenote: _king_. attend, where is my swissers,] let them guard the doore. what is the matter? _mes_. saue your selfe, my lord. [sidenote: ] the ocean (ouer-peering of his list[ ]) eates not the flats with more impittious[ ] haste [footnote : --each alone, like scouts.] [footnote : stirred up like pools--with similar result.] [footnote : because of.] [footnote : the king wished to avoid giving the people any pretext or cause for interfering: he dreaded whatever might lead to enquiry--to the queen of course pretending it was to avoid exposing hamlet to the popular indignation. _hugger mugger--secretly: steevens and malone._] [footnote : the phrase has the same _visual_ root as _beside herself_--both signifying '_not at one_ with herself.'] [footnote : if the _quarto_ reading is right, 'this wonder' means the hurried and suspicious funeral of his father. but the _folio_ reading is quite shaksperean: 'he keeps on (as a garment) the wonder of the people at him'; _keeps his behaviour such that the people go on wondering about him_: the phrase is explained by the next clause. compare: by being seldom seen, i could not stir but, like a comet, i was wondered at. _k. henry iv. p. i_. act iii. sc. .] [footnote : 'wherein necessity, beggared of material, will not scruple to whisper invented accusations against us.'] [footnote : --the name given to a certain small cannon--perhaps charged with various missiles, hence the better figuring the number and variety of 'sorrows' he has just recounted.] [footnote : _this line not in q._] [footnote : note that the king is well guarded, and hamlet had to lay his account with great risk in the act of killing him.] [footnote : _border, as of cloth_: the mounds thrown up to keep the sea out. the figure here specially fits a dane.] [footnote : i do not know whether this word means _pitiless_, or stands for _impetuous_. the _quarto_ has one _t_.] [page ] then young _laertes_, in a riotous head,[ ] ore-beares your officers, the rabble call him lord, and as the world were now but to begin, antiquity forgot, custome not knowne, the ratifiers and props of euery word,[ ] [sidenote: ] they cry choose we? _laertes_ shall be king,[ ] [sidenote: the cry] caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, _laertes_ shall be king, _laertes_ king. _qu_. how cheerefully on the false traile they cry, [sidenote: _a noise within_.] oh this is counter you false danish dogges.[ ] _noise within. enter laertes_[ ]. [sidenote: _laertes with others_.] _king_. the doores are broke. _laer_. where is the king, sirs? stand you all without. [sidenote: this king? sirs stand] _all_. no, let's come in. _laer_. i pray you giue me leaue.[ ] _all_. we will, we will. _laer_. i thanke you: keepe the doore. oh thou vilde king, giue me my father. _qu_. calmely good _laertes_. _laer_. that drop of blood, that calmes[ ] [sidenote: thats calme] proclaimes me bastard: cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow of my true mother.[ ] _kin_. what is the cause _laertes_, that thy rebellion lookes so gyant-like? let him go _gertrude_: do not feare[ ] our person: there's such diuinity doth hedge a king,[ ] that treason can but peepe to what it would, acts little of his will.[ ] tell me _laertes_, [footnote : _head_ is a rising or gathering of people--generally rebellious, i think.] [footnote : antiquity and custom.] [footnote : this refers to the election of claudius--evidently not a popular election, but effected by intrigue with the aristocracy and the army: 'they cry, let us choose: laertes shall be king!' we may suppose the attempt of claudius to have been favoured by the lingering influence of the old norse custom of succession, by which not the son but the brother inherited. , _bis._] [footnote : to hunt counter is to 'hunt the game by the heel or track.' the queen therefore accuses them of not using their scent or judgment, but following appearances.] [footnote : now at length re-appears laertes, who has during the interim been ripening in paris for villainy. he is wanted for the catastrophe, and requires but the last process of a few hours in the hell-oven of a king's instigation.] [footnote : the customary and polite way of saying _leave me_: 'grant me your absence.' , .] [footnote : grows calm.] [footnote : in taking vengeance hamlet must acknowledge his mother such as laertes says inaction on his part would proclaim his mother. the actress should here let a shadow cross the queen's face: though too weak to break with the king, she has begun to repent.] [footnote : fear _for_.] [footnote : the consummate hypocrite claims the protection of the sacred hedge through which he had himself broken--or crept rather, like a snake, to kill. he can act innocence the better that his conscience is clear as to polonius.] [footnote : 'can only peep through the hedge to its desire--acts little of its will.'] [page ] why thou art thus incenst? let him go _gertrude_. speake man. _laer_. where's my father? [sidenote: is my] _king_. dead. _qu_. but not by him. _king_. let him demand his fill. _laer_. how came he dead? ile not be iuggel'd with. to hell allegeance: vowes, to the blackest diuell. conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit i dare damnation: to this point i stand, that both the worlds i giue to negligence, let come what comes: onely ile be reueng'd most throughly for my father. _king_. who shall stay you?[ ] _laer_. my will, not all the world,[ ] [sidenote: worlds:] and for my meanes, ile husband them so well, they shall go farre with little. _king_. good _laertes_: if you desire to know the certaintie of your deere fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, [sidenote: father, i'st writ] that soop-stake[ ] you will draw both friend and foe, winner and looser.[ ] _laer_. none but his enemies. _king_. will you know them then. _la_. to his good friends, thus wide ile ope my armes: and like the kinde life-rend'ring politician,[ ] [sidenote: life-rendring pelican,] repast them with my blood.[ ] _king_. why now you speake like a good childe,[ ] and a true gentleman. that i am guiltlesse of your fathers death, and am most sensible in greefe for it,[ ] [sidenote: sencibly] [footnote : 'who shall _prevent_ you?' 'my own will only--not all the world,' or, 'who will _support_ you?' 'my will. not all the world shall prevent me,'-- so playing on the two meanings of the word _stay._ or it _might_ mean: 'not all the world shall stay my will.'] [footnote : swoop-stake--_sweepstakes_.] [footnote : 'and be loser as well as winner--' if the _folio's_ is the right reading, then the sentence is unfinished, and should have a dash, not a period.] [footnote : a curious misprint: may we not suspect a somewhat dull joker among the compositors?] [footnote : 'a true son to your father.'] [footnote : 'feel much grief for it.'] [footnote : laertes is a ranter--false everywhere. plainly he is introduced as the foil from which hamlet 'shall stick fiery off.' in this speech he shows his moral condition directly the opposite of hamlet's: he has no principle but revenge. his conduct ought to be quite satisfactory to hamlet's critics; there is action enough in it of the very kind they would have of hamlet; and doubtless it would be satisfactory to them but for the treachery that follows. the one, dearly loving a father who deserves immeasurably better of him than polonius of laertes, will not for the sake of revenge disregard either conscience, justice, or grace; the other will not delay even to inquire into the facts of his father's fate, but will act at once on hearsay, rushing to a blind satisfaction that cannot even be called retaliation, caring for neither right nor wrong, cursing conscience and the will of god, and daring damnation. he slights assurance as to the hand by which his father fell, dismisses all reflection that might interfere with a stupid revenge. to make up one's mind at once, and act without ground, is weakness, not strength: this laertes does--and is therefore just the man to be the villainous, not the innocent, tool of villainy. he who has sufficing ground and refuses to act is weak; but the ground that will satisfy the populace, of which the commonplace critic is the fair type, will not satisfy either the man of conscience or of wisdom. the mass of world-bepraised action owes its existence to the pressure of circumstance, not to the will and conscience of the man. hamlet waits for light, even with his heart accusing him; laertes rushes into the dark, dagger in hand, like a mad malay: so he kill, he cares not whom. such a man is easily tempted to the vilest treachery, for the light that is in him is darkness; he is not a true man; he is false in himself. this is what comes of his father's maxim: to thine own self be true; and it must follow, _as the night the day_ (!) thou canst not then be false to any man. like the aphorism 'honesty is the best policy,' it reveals the difference between a fact and a truth. both sayings are correct as facts, but as guides of conduct devilishly false, leading to dishonesty and treachery. to be true to the divine self in us, is indeed to be true to all; but it is only by being true to all, against the ever present and urging false self, that at length we shall see the divine self rise above the chaotic waters of our selfishness, and know it so as to be true to it. of laertes we must note also that it is not all for love of his father that he is ready to cast allegiance to hell, and kill the king: he has the voice of the people to succeed him.] [page ] [sidenote: ] it shall as leuell to your iudgement pierce [sidenote: peare'] as day do's to your eye.[ ] _a noise within. [ ]let her come in._ _enter ophelia[ ]_ _laer_. how now? what noise is that?[ ] [sidenote: _laer_. let her come in. how now,] oh heate drie vp my braines, teares seuen times salt, burne out the sence and vertue of mine eye. by heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, [sidenote: with weight] till our scale turnes the beame. oh rose of may, [sidenote: turne] deere maid, kinde sister, sweet _ophelia_: oh heauens, is't possible, a yong maids wits, should be as mortall as an old mans life?[ ] [sidenote: a poore mans] nature is fine[ ] in loue, and where 'tis fine, it sends some precious instance of it selfe after the thing it loues.[ ] _ophe. they bore him bare fac'd on the beer._ [sidenote: _song_.] [sidenote: bare-faste] _hey non nony, nony, hey nony:[ ] and on his graue raines many a teare_, [sidenote: and in his graue rain'd] _fare you well my doue._ _laer_. had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade reuenge, it could not moue thus. _ophe_. you must sing downe a-downe, and [sidenote: sing a downe a downe, and] you call him[ ] a-downe-a. oh, how the wheele[ ] becomes it? it is the false steward that stole his masters daughter.[ ] _laer_. this nothings more then matter.[ ] _ophe_. there's rosemary,[ ] that's for remembraunce. pray loue remember: and there is [sidenote: , pray you loue] paconcies, that's for thoughts. [sidenote: pancies[ ]] _laer_. a document[ ] in madnesse, thoughts and remembrance fitted. _ophe_. there's fennell[ ] for you, and columbines[ ]: ther's rew[ ] for you, and heere's some for [footnote : 'pierce as _directly_ to your judgment.' but the simile of the _day_ seems to favour the reading of the _q._--'peare,' for _appear_. in the word _level_ would then be indicated the _rising_ sun.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : _ st q. 'enter ofelia as before_.'] [footnote : to render it credible that laertes could entertain the vile proposal the king is about to make, it is needful that all possible influences should be represented as combining to swell the commotion of his spirit, and overwhelm what poor judgment and yet poorer conscience he had. altogether unprepared, he learns ophelia's pitiful condition by the sudden sight of the harrowing change in her--and not till after that hears who killed his father and brought madness on his sister.] [footnote : _ st q._ i'st possible a yong maides life, should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe?] [footnote : delicate, exquisite.] [footnote : 'where 'tis fine': i suggest that the _it_ here may be impersonal: 'where _things_, where _all_ is fine,' that is, 'in a fine soul'; then the meaning would be, 'nature is fine always in love, and where the soul also is fine, she sends from it' &c. but the _where_ may be equal, perhaps, to _whereas_. i can hardly think the phrase means merely '_and where it is in love_.' it might intend--'and where love is fine, it sends' &c. the 'precious instance of itself,' that is, 'something that is a part and specimen of itself,' is here the 'young maid's wits': they are sent after the 'old man's life.'--these three lines are not in the quarto. it is not disputed that they are from shakspere's hand: if the insertion of these be his, why should the omission of others not be his also?] [footnote : _this line is not in q._] [footnote : '_if_ you call him': i think this is not a part of the song, but is spoken of her father.] [footnote : _the burden of the song_: steevens.] [footnote : the subject of the ballad.] [footnote : 'more than sense'--in incitation to revenge.] [footnote : --an evergreen, and carried at funerals: _johnson_. for you there's rosemary and rue; these keep seeming and savour ail the winter long: grace and remembrance be to you both. _the winter's tale_, act iv. sc. .] [footnote : _penseés_.] [footnote : _a teaching, a lesson_--the fitting of thoughts and remembrance, namely--which he applies to his intent of revenge. or may it not rather be meant that the putting of these two flowers together was a happy hit of her madness, presenting the fantastic emblem of a document or writing--the very idea of which is the keeping of thoughts in remembrance?] [footnote : --said to mean _flattery_ and _thanklessness_--perhaps given to the king.] [footnote : _repentance_--given to the queen. another name of the plant was _herb-grace_, as below, in allusion, doubtless, to its common name--_rue_ or _repentance_ being both the gift of god, and an act of grace.] [page ] me. wee may call it herbe-grace a sundaies: [sidenote: herbe of grace a sondaies, you may weare] oh you must weare your rew with a difference.[ ] there's a daysie,[ ] i would giue you some violets,[ ] but they wither'd all when my father dyed: they say, he made a good end; [sidenote: say a made] _for bonny sweet robin is all my ioy._ _laer_. thought, and affliction, passion, hell it selfe: [sidenote: afflictions,] she turnes to fauour, and to prettinesse. [sidenote:_song._] _ophe. and will he not come againe_, [sidenote: will a not] _and will he not come againe_: [sidenote: will a not] _no, no, he is dead, go to thy death-bed, he neuer wil come againe. his beard as white as snow_, [sidenote: beard was as] _all[ ] flaxen was his pole: he is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, gramercy[ ] on his soule._ [sidenote: god a mercy on] and of all christian soules, i pray god.[ ] [sidenote: christians soules,] god buy ye.[ ] _exeunt ophelia_[ ] [sidenote: you.] _laer_. do you see this, you gods? [sidenote: doe you this ô god.] _king. laertes_, i must common[ ] with your greefe, [sidenote: commune] or you deny me right: go but apart, make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, and they shall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me; if by direct or by colaterall hand they finde vs touch'd,[ ] we will our kingdome giue, our crowne, our life, and all that we call ours to you in satisfaction. but if not, be you content to lend your patience to vs,[ ] and we shall ioyntly labour with your soule to giue it due content. _laer_. let this be so:[ ] his meanes of death,[ ] his obscure buriall; [sidenote: funerall,] no trophee, sword, nor hatchment o're his bones,[ ] [footnote : --perhaps the heraldic term. the poet, not ophelia, intends the special fitness of the speech. ophelia means only that the rue of the matron must differ from the rue of the girl.] [footnote : 'the dissembling daisy': _greene_--quoted by _henley_.] [footnote : --standing for _faithfulness: malone_, from an old song.] [footnote : '_all' not in q._] [footnote : wherever else shakspere uses the word, it is in the sense of _grand merci--great thanks (skeat's etym. dict.)_; here it is surely a corruption, whether ophelia's or the printer's, of the _quarto_ reading, '_god a mercy_' which, spoken quickly, sounds very near _gramercy_. the _ st quarto_ also has 'god a mercy.'] [footnote : 'i pray god.' _not in q._] [footnote : 'god b' wi' ye': _good bye._] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : 'i must have a share in your grief.' the word does mean _commune_, but here is more pregnant, as evidenced in the next phrase, 'or you deny me right:'--'do not give me justice.'] [footnote : 'touched with the guilt of the deed, either as having done it with our own hand, or caused it to be done by the hand of one at our side.'] [footnote : we may paraphrase thus: 'be pleased to grant us a loan of your patience,' that is, _be patient for a while at our request_, 'and we will work along with your soul to gain for it (your soul) just satisfaction.'] [footnote : he consents--but immediately _re-sums_ the grounds of his wrathful suspicion.] [footnote : --the way in which he met his death.] [footnote : --customary honours to the noble dead. _a trophy_ was an arrangement of the armour and arms of the dead in a set decoration. the origin of the word _hatchment_ shows its intent: it is a corruption of _achievement_.] [page ] no noble rite, nor formall ostentation,[ ] cry to be heard, as 'twere from heauen to earth, that i must call in question.[ ] [sidenote: call't in] _king_. so you shall: and where th'offence is, let the great axe fall. i pray you go with me.[ ] _exeunt_ _enter horatio, with an attendant_. [sidenote: _horatio and others_.] _hora_. what are they that would speake with me? _ser_. saylors sir, they say they haue letters [_gent_. sea-faring men sir,] for you. _hor_. let them come in,[ ] i do not know from what part of the world i should be greeted, if not from lord _hamlet_. _enter saylor_. [sidenote: _saylers_.] _say_. god blesse you sir. _hor_. let him blesse thee too. _say_. hee shall sir, and't[ ] please him. there's [sidenote: a shall sir and please] a letter for you sir: it comes from th'ambassadours [sidenote: it came frõ th' embassador] that was bound for england, if your name be _horatio_, as i am let to know[ ] it is. _reads the letter_[ ] horatio, _when thou shalt haue ouerlook'd this_, [sidenote: _hor. horatio_ when] _giue these fellowes some meanes to the king: they haue letters for him. ere we were two dayes[ ] old at sea, a pyrate of very warlicke appointment gaue vs chace. finding our selues too slow of saile, we put on a compelled valour. in the grapple, i boarded_ [sidenote: valour, and in the] _them: on the instant they got cleare of our shippe, so i alone became their prisoner.[ ] they haue dealt with mee, like theeues of mercy, but they knew what they did. i am to doe a good turne for them. let_ [sidenote: a turne] _the king have the letters i haue sent, and repaire thou to me with as much hast as thou wouldest flye_ [sidenote: much speede as] _death[ ] i haue words to speake in your eare, will_ [sidenote: in thine eare] [footnote : 'formal ostentation'--show or publication of honour according to form or rule.] [footnote : 'so that i must call in question'--institute inquiry; or '--_that_ (these things) i must call in question.'] [footnote : note such a half line frequently after the not uncommon closing couplet--as if to take off the formality of the couplet, and lead back, through the more speech-like, to greater verisimilitude.] [footnote : here the servant goes, and the rest of the speech horatio speaks _solus_. he had expected to hear from hamlet.] [footnote : 'and it please'--_if it please_. _an_ for _if_ is merely _and_.] [footnote : 'i am told.'] [footnote : _not in q_.] [footnote : this gives an approximate clue to the time between the second and third acts: it needs not have been a week.] [footnote : note once more the unfailing readiness of hamlet where there was no question as to the fitness of the action seemingly required. this is the man who by too much thinking, forsooth, has rendered himself incapable of action!--so far ahead of the foremost behind him, that, when the pirate, not liking such close quarters, 'on the instant got clear,' he is the only one on her deck! there was no question here as to what ought to be done: the pirate grappled them; he boarded her. thereafter, with his prompt faculty for dealing with men, he soon comes to an understanding with his captors, and they agree, upon some certain condition, to put him on shore. he writes in unusual spirits; for he has now gained full, presentable, and indisputable proof of the treachery which before he scarcely doubted, but could not demonstrate. the present instance of it has to do with himself, not his father, but in itself would justify the slaying of his uncle, whose plausible way had possibly perplexed him so that he could not thoroughly believe him the villain he was: bad as he must be, could he actually have killed his own brother, and _such_ a brother? a better man than laertes might have acted more promptly than hamlet, and so happened to _do_ right; but he would not have _been_ right, for the proof was _not_ sufficient.] [footnote : the value hamlet sets on his discovery, evident in his joyous urgency to share it with his friend, is explicable only on the ground of the relief it is to his mind to be now at length quite certain of his duty.] [page ] _make thee dumbe, yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter.[ ] these good fellowes will bring_ [sidenote: the bord of] _thee where i am. rosincrance and guildensterne, hold their course for england. of them i haue much to tell thee, farewell. he that thou knowest thine._ [sidenote: _so that thou knowest thine hamlet._] hamlet. come, i will giue you way for these your letters, [sidenote: _hor_. come i will you way] and do't the speedier, that you may direct me to him from whom you brought them. _exit_. [sidenote: _exeunt._] _enter king and laertes._[ ] _king_. now must your conscience my acquittance seal, and you must put me in your heart for friend, sith you haue heard, and with a knowing eare,[ ] that he which hath your noble father slaine, pursued my life.[ ] _laer_. it well appeares. but tell me, why you proceeded not against these feates,[ ] [sidenote: proceede] so crimefull, and so capitall in nature,[ ] [sidenote: criminall] as by your safety, wisedome, all things else, [sidenote: safetie, greatnes, wisdome,] you mainly[ ] were stirr'd vp? _king_. o for two speciall reasons, which may to you (perhaps) seeme much vnsinnowed,[ ] and yet to me they are strong. the queen his mother, [sidenote: but yet | tha'r strong] liues almost by his lookes: and for my selfe, my vertue or my plague, be it either which,[ ] she's so coniunctiue to my life and soule; [sidenote: she is so concliue] that as the starre moues not but in his sphere,[ ] i could not but by her. the other motiue, why to a publike count i might not go, [sidenote: ] is the great loue the generall gender[ ] beare him, who dipping all his faults in their affection, [footnote : note here also hamlet's feeling of the importance of what has passed since he parted with his friend. 'the bullet of my words, though it will strike thee dumb, is much too small for the bore of the reality (the facts) whence it will issue.'] [footnote : while we have been present at the interview between horatio and the sailors, the king has been persuading laertes.] [footnote : an ear of judgment.] [footnote : 'thought then to have killed me.'] [footnote : _faits_, deeds.] [footnote : 'deeds so deserving of death, not merely in the eye of the law, but in their own nature.'] [footnote : powerfully.] [footnote : 'unsinewed.'] [footnote : 'either-which.'] [footnote : 'moves not but in the moving of his sphere,'--the stars were popularly supposed to be fixed in a solid crystalline sphere, and moved in its motion only. the queen, claudius implies, is his sphere; he could not move but by her.] [footnote : here used in the sense of the fr. _'genre'--sort_. it is not the only instance of the word so used by shakspere. the king would rouse in laertes jealousy of hamlet.] [page ] would like the spring that turneth wood to stone, [sidenote: worke like] conuert his gyues to graces.[ ] so that my arrowes too slightly timbred for so loud a winde, [sidenote: for so loued arm'd[ ]] would haue reuerted to my bow againe, and not where i had arm'd them.[ ] [sidenote: but not | have aym'd them.] _laer_. and so haue i a noble father lost, a sister driuen into desperate tearmes,[ ] who was (if praises may go backe againe) [sidenote: whose worth, if] stood challenger on mount of all the age for her perfections. but my reuenge will come. _king_. breake not your sleepes for that, you must not thinke that we are made of stuffe, so flat, and dull, that we can let our beard be shooke with danger,[ ] and thinke it pastime. you shortly shall heare more,[ ] i lou'd your father, and we loue our selfe, and that i hope will teach you to imagine----[ ] _enter a messenger_. [sidenote: _with letters._] how now? what newes? _mes._ letters my lord from _hamlet_.[ ] this to [sidenote: _messen_. these to] your maiesty: this to the queene. _king_. from _hamlet_? who brought them? _mes_. saylors my lord they say, i saw them not: they were giuen me by _claudio_, he recciu'd them.[ ] [sidenote: them of him that brought them.] _king. laertes_ you shall heare them:[ ] leaue vs. _exit messenger_[ ] _high and mighty, you shall know i am set naked on your kingdome. to morrow shall i begge leaue to see your kingly eyes[ ] when i shall (first asking your pardon thereunto) recount th'occasions_ [sidenote: the occasion of my suddaine returne.] _of my sodaine, and more strange returne._[ ] hamlet.[ ] what should this meane? are all the rest come backe? [sidenote: _king_. what] [footnote : 'would convert his fetters--if i imprisoned him--to graces, commending him yet more to their regard.'] [footnote : _arm'd_ is certainly the right, and a true shaksperean word:--it was no fault in the aim, but in the force of the flight--no matter of the eye, but of the arm, which could not give momentum enough to such slightly timbered arrows. the fault in the construction of the last line, i need not remark upon. i think there is a hint of this the genuine meaning even in the blundered and partly unintelligible reading of the _quarto_. if we leave out 'for so loued,' we have this: 'so that my arrows, too slightly timbered, would have reverted armed to my bow again, but not (_would not have gone_) where i have aimed them,'--implying that his arrows would have turned their armed heads against himself. what the king says here is true, but far from _the_ truth: he feared driving hamlet, and giving him at the same time opportunity, to speak in his own defence and render his reasons.] [footnote : _extremes_? or _conditions_?] [footnote : 'with many a tempest hadde his berd ben schake.'--_chaucer_, of the schipman, in _the prologue_ to _the canterbury tales_.] [footnote : --hear of hamlet's death in england, he means. at this point in the _ st q._ comes a scene between horatio and the queen, in which he informs her of a letter he had just received from hamlet, whereas he writes how he escap't the danger, and subtle treason that the king had plotted, being crossed by the contention of the windes, he found the packet &c. horatio does not mention the pirates, but speaks of hamlet 'being set ashore,' and of _gilderstone_ and _rossencraft_ going on to their fate. the queen assures horatio that she is but temporizing with the king, and shows herself anxious for the success of her son's design against his life. the poet's intent was not yet clear to himself.] [footnote : here his crow cracks.] [footnote : _from_ 'how now' _to_ 'hamlet' is _not in q._] [footnote : horatio has given the sailors' letters to claudio, he to another.] [footnote : he wants to show him that he has nothing behind--that he is open with him: he will read without having pre-read.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : he makes this request for an interview with the intent of killing him. the king takes care he does not have it.] [footnote : '_more strange than sudden_.'] [footnote : _not in q._] [page ] or is it some abuse?[ ] or no such thing?[ ] [sidenote: abuse, and no[ ]] _laer_. know you the hand?[ ] _kin_. 'tis _hamlets_ character, naked and in a postscript here he sayes alone:[ ] can you aduise [sidenote: deuise me?] me?[ ] _laer_. i'm lost in it my lord; but let him come, [sidenote: i am] it warmes the very sicknesse in my heart, that i shall liue and tell him to his teeth; [sidenote: that i liue and] thus diddest thou. [sidenote: didst] _kin_. if it be so _laertes_, as how should it be so:[ ] how otherwise will you be rul'd by me? _laer_. if so[ ] you'l not o'rerule me to a peace. [sidenote: i my lord, so you will not] _kin_. to thine owne peace: if he be now return'd, [sidenote: ] as checking[ ] at his voyage, and that he meanes [sidenote: as the king[ ] at his] no more to vndertake it; i will worke him to an exployt now ripe in my deuice, [sidenote: deuise,] vnder the which he shall not choose but fall; and for his death no winde of blame shall breath, [sidenote: ] but euen his mother shall vncharge the practice,[ ] and call it accident: [a] some two monthes hence[ ] [sidenote: two months since] here was a gentleman of _normandy_, i'ue seene my selfe, and seru'd against the french, [sidenote: i haue] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- _laer_. my lord i will be rul'd, the rather if you could deuise it so that i might be the organ. _king_. it falls right, you haue beene talkt of since your trauaile[ ] much, and that in _hamlets_ hearing, for a qualitie wherein they say you shine, your summe of parts[ ] did not together plucke such enuie from him as did that one, and that in my regard of the vnworthiest siedge.[ ] _laer_. what part is that my lord? _king_. a very ribaud[ ] in the cap of youth, yet needfull to, for youth no lesse becomes[ ] the light and carelesse liuery that it weares then setled age, his sables, and his weedes[ ] importing health[ ] and grauenes;] [footnote : 'some trick played on me?' compare _k. lear_, act v. sc. : 'i am mightily abused.'] [footnote : i incline to the _q._ reading here: 'or is it some trick, and no reality in it?'] [footnote : --following the king's suggestion.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'tis _hamlets_ character. 'naked'!--and, in a postscript here, he sayes 'alone'! can &c. '_alone_'--to allay suspicion of his having brought assistance with him.] [footnote : fine flattery--preparing the way for the instigation he is about to commence.] [footnote : _point thus_: '--as how should it be so? how otherwise?--will' &c. the king cannot tell what to think--either how it can be, or how it might be otherwise--for here is hamlet's own hand!] [footnote : provided.] [footnote : a hawk was said _to check_ when it forsook its proper game for some other bird that crossed its flight. the blunder in the _quarto_ is odd, plainly from manuscript copy, and is not likely to have been set right by any but the author.] [footnote : 'shall not give the _practice'--artifice, cunning attempt, chicane_, or _trick_--but a word not necessarily offensive--'the name it deserves, but call it _accident_:' .] [footnote : 'some' _not in q.--hence_ may be either _backwards_ or _forwards_; now it is used only _forwards_.] [footnote : travels.] [footnote : 'all your excellencies together.'] [footnote : seat, place, grade, position, merit.] [footnote : 'a very riband'--a mere trifling accomplishment: the _u_ of the text can but be a misprint for _n_.] [footnote : _youth_ obj., _livery_ nom. to _becomes_.] [footnote : 'than his furs and his robes become settled age.'] [footnote : warburton thinks the word ought to be _wealth_, but i doubt it; _health_, in its sense of wholeness, general soundness, in affairs as well as person, i should prefer.] [page ] and they ran[ ] well on horsebacke; but this gallant [sidenote: they can well[ ]] had witchcraft in't[ ]; he grew into his seat, [sidenote: vnto his] and to such wondrous doing brought his horse, as had he beene encorps't and demy-natur'd with the braue beast,[ ] so farre he past my thought, [sidenote: he topt me thought,[ ]] that i in forgery[ ] of shapes and trickes, come short of what he did.[ ] _laer_. a norman was't? _kin_. a norman. _laer_. vpon my life _lamound_. [sidenote: _lamord_.] _kin_. the very same. _laer_. i know him well, he is the brooch indeed, and iemme of all our nation, [sidenote: all the nation.] _kin_. hee mad confession of you, and gaue you such a masterly report, for art and exercise in your defence; and for your rapier most especially, [sidenote: especiall,] that he cryed out, t'would be a sight indeed,[ ] if one could match you [a] sir. this report of his [sidenote: ; sir this] [sidenote: , ] did _hamlet_ so envenom with his enuy,[ ] that he could nothing doe but wish and begge, your sodaine comming ore to play with him;[ ] [sidenote: with you] now out of this.[ ] _laer_. why out of this, my lord? [sidenote: what out] _kin. laertes_ was your father deare to you? or are you like the painting[ ] of a sorrow, a face without a heart? _laer_. why aske you this? _kin_. not that i thinke you did not loue your father, but that i know loue is begun by time[ ]: [footnote a: _here in the quarto:--_ ; the scrimures[ ] of their nation he swore had neither motion, guard nor eye, if you opposd them;] [footnote : i think the _can_ of the _quarto_ is the true word.] [footnote : --in his horsemanship.] [footnote : there is no mistake in the order 'had he beene'; the transposition is equivalent to _if_: 'as if he had been unbodied with, and shared half the nature of the brave beast.' these two lines, from _as_ to _thought_, must be taken parenthetically; or else there must be supposed a dash after _beast_, and a fresh start made. 'but he (as if centaur-like he had been one piece with the horse) was no more moved than one with the going of his own legs:' 'it seemed, as he borrowed the horse's body, so he lent the horse his mind:'--sir philip sidney. _arcadia_, b. ii. p. .] [footnote : '--surpassed, i thought.'] [footnote : 'in invention of.'] [footnote : emphasis on _did_, as antithetic to _forgery_: 'my inventing came short of his doing.'] [footnote : 'it would be a sight indeed to see you matched with an equal.' the king would strengthen laertes' confidence in his proficiency.] [footnote : 'made him so spiteful by stirring up his habitual envy.'] [footnote : all invention.] [footnote : here should be a dash: the king pauses. he is approaching dangerous ground--is about to propose a thing abominable, and therefore to the influence of flattered vanity and roused emulation, would add the fiercest heat of stimulated love and hatred--to which end he proceeds to cast doubt on the quality of laertes' love for his father.] [footnote : the picture.] [footnote : 'through habit.'] [footnote : french _escrimeurs_: fencers.] [page ] and that i see in passages of proofe,[ ] time qualifies the sparke and fire of it:[ ] [a] _hamlet_ comes backe: what would you vndertake, to show your selfe your fathers sonne indeed, [sidenote: selfe indeede your fathers sonne] more then in words? _laer_. to cut his throat i'th'church.[ ] _kin_. no place indeed should murder sancturize; reuenge should haue no bounds: but good _laertes_ will you doe this, keepe close within your chamber, _hamlet_ return'd, shall know you are come home: wee'l put on those shall praise your excellence, and set a double varnish on the fame the frenchman gaue you, bring you in fine together, and wager on your heads, he being remisse,[ ] [sidenote: ore your] [sidenote: ] most generous, and free from all contriuing, will not peruse[ ] the foiles? so that with ease, or with a little shuffling, you may choose a sword vnbaited,[ ] and in a passe of practice,[ ] [sidenote: pace of] requit him for your father. _laer_. i will doo't, and for that purpose ile annoint my sword:[ ] [sidenote: for purpose,] i bought an vnction of a mountebanke so mortall, i but dipt a knife in it,[ ] [sidenote: mortall, that but dippe a] where it drawes blood, no cataplasme so rare, collected from all simples that haue vertue [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- there liues within the very flame of loue a kind of weeke or snufe that will abate it,[ ] and nothing is at a like goodnes still,[ ] for goodnes growing to a plurisie,[ ] dies in his owne too much, that we would doe we should doe when we would: for this would change,[ ] and hath abatements and delayes as many, as there are tongues, are hands, are accedents, and then this should is like a spend thrifts sigh, that hurts by easing;[ ] but to the quick of th'vlcer,] [footnote : 'passages of proofe,'--_trials_. 'i see when it is put to the test.'] [footnote : 'time modifies it.'] [footnote : contrast him here with hamlet.] [footnote : careless.] [footnote : _examine_--the word being of general application then.] [footnote : _unblunted_. some foils seem to have been made with a button that could be taken--probably _screwed_ off.] [footnote : whether _practice_ here means exercise or cunning, i cannot determine. possibly the king uses the word as once before --to be taken as laertes may please.] [footnote : in the _ st q._ this proposal also is made by the king.] [footnote : 'so mortal, yes, a knife being but dipt in it,' or, 'so mortal, did i but dip a knife in it.'] [footnote : to understand this figure, one must be familiar with the behaviour of the wick of a common lamp or tallow candle.] [footnote : 'nothing keeps always at the same degree of goodness.'] [footnote : a _plurisie_ is just a _too-muchness_, from _plus, pluris--a plethora_, not our word _pleurisy_, from [greek: pleura]. see notes in _johnson and steevens_.] [footnote : the sense here requires an _s_, and the space in the _quarto_ between the _e_ and the comma gives the probability that a letter has dropt out.] [footnote : modern editors seem agreed to substitute the adjective _spendthrift_: our sole authority has _spendthrifts_, and by it i hold. the meaning seems this: 'the _would_ changes, the thing is not done, and then the _should_, the mere acknowledgment of duty, is like the sigh of a spendthrift, who regrets consequences but does not change his way: it eases his conscience for a moment, and so injures him.' there would at the same time be allusion to what was believed concerning sighs: dr. johnson says, 'it is a notion very prevalent, that _sighs_ impair the strength, and wear out the animal powers.'] [page ] vnder the moone, can saue the thing from death, that is but scratcht withall: ile touch my point, with this contagion, that if i gall him slightly,[ ] it may be death. _kin_. let's further thinke of this, weigh what conuenience[ ] both of time and meanes may fit vs to our shape,[ ] if this should faile; and that our drift looke through our bad performance, 'twere better not assaid; therefore this proiect should haue a backe or second, that might hold, if this should blast in proofe:[ ] soft, let me see[ ] [sidenote: did blast] wee'l make a solemne wager on your commings,[ ] [sidenote: cunnings[ ]] i ha't: when in your motion you are hot and dry, [sidenote: hate, when] as[ ] make your bowts more violent to the end,[ ] [sidenote: to that end,] and that he cals for drinke; ile haue prepar'd him [sidenote: prefard him] [sidenote: ] a challice for the nonce[ ]; whereon but sipping, if he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,[ ] our purpose may[ ] hold there: how sweet queene. [sidenote: there: but stay, what noyse?] _enter queene_. _queen_. one woe doth tread vpon anothers heele, so fast they'l follow[ ]: your sister's drown'd _laertes_. [sidenote: they follow;] _laer_. drown'd! o where?[ ] _queen_. there is a willow[ ] growes aslant a brooke, [sidenote: ascaunt the brooke] that shewes his hore leaues in the glassie streame: [sidenote: horry leaues] there with fantasticke garlands did she come,[ ] [sidenote: therewith | she make] of crow-flowers,[ ] nettles, daysies, and long purples, that liberall shepheards giue a grosser name; but our cold maids doe dead mens fingers call them: [sidenote: our cull-cold] there on the pendant[ ] boughes, her coronet weeds[ ] clambring to hang;[ ] an enuious sliuer broke,[ ] when downe the weedy trophies,[ ] and her selfe, [sidenote: her weedy] [footnote : 'that though i should gall him but slightly,' or, 'that if i gall him ever so slightly.'] [footnote : proper arrangement.] [footnote : 'fit us exactly, like a garment cut to our shape,' or perhaps 'shape' is used for _intent, purpose. point thus_: 'shape. if this should faile, and' &c.] [footnote : this seems to allude to the assay of a firearm, and to mean '_burst on the trial_.' note 'assaid' two lines back.] [footnote : there should be a pause here, and a longer pause after _commings_: the king is contriving. 'i ha't' should have a line to itself, with again a pause, but a shorter one.] [footnote : _veney, venue_, is a term of fencing: a bout, a thrust--from _venir, to come_--whence 'commings.' ( ) but _cunnings_, meaning _skills_, may be the word.] [footnote : 'as' is here equivalent to 'and so.'] [footnote : --to the end of making hamlet hot and dry.] [footnote : for the special occasion.] [footnote : thrust. _twelfth night_, act iii. sc. . 'he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion.' _stocco_ in italian is a long rapier; and _stoccata_ a thrust. _rom. and jul_., act iii. sc. . see _shakespeare-lexicon_.] [footnote : 'may' does not here express _doubt_, but _intention_.] [footnote : if this be the right reading, it means, 'so fast they insist on following.'] [footnote : he speaks it as about to rush to her.] [footnote : --the choice of ophelia's fantastic madness, as being the tree of lamenting lovers.] [footnote : --always busy with flowers.] [footnote : ranunculus: _sh. lex._] [footnote : --specially descriptive of the willow.] [footnote : her wild flowers made into a garland.] [footnote : the intention would seem, that she imagined herself decorating a monument to her father. hence her _coronet weeds_ and the poet's _weedy trophies_.] [footnote : _sliver_, i suspect, called so after the fact, because _slivered_ or torn off. in _macbeth_ we have: slips of yew slivered in the moon's eclipse. but it may be that _sliver_ was used for a _twig_, such as could be torn off. _slip_ and _sliver_ must be of the same root.] [page ] fell in the weeping brooke, her cloathes spred wide, and mermaid-like, a while they bore her vp, which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,[ ] [sidenote: old laudes,[ ]] as one incapable of[ ] her owne distresse, or like a creature natiue, and indued[ ] vnto that element: but long it could not be, till that her garments, heauy with her drinke, [sidenote: theyr drinke] pul'd the poore wretch from her melodious buy,[ ] [sidenote: melodious lay] to muddy death.[ ] _laer_. alas then, is she drown'd? [sidenote: she is] _queen_. drown'd, drown'd. _laer_. too much of water hast thou poore _ophelia_, and therefore i forbid my teares: but yet it is our tricke,[ ] nature her custome holds, let shame say what it will; when these are gone the woman will be out:[ ] adue my lord, i haue a speech of fire, that faine would blaze, [sidenote: speech a fire] but that this folly doubts[ ] it. _exit._ [sidenote: drownes it.[ ]] _kin_. let's follow, _gertrude_: how much i had to doe to calme his rage? now feare i this will giue it start againe; therefore let's follow. _exeunt_.[ ] [ ]_enter two clownes._ _clown_. is she to bee buried in christian buriall, [sidenote: buriall, when she wilfully] that wilfully seekes her owne saluation?[ ] _other_. i tell thee she is, and therefore make her [sidenote: is, therefore] graue straight,[ ] the crowner hath sate on her, and finds it christian buriall. _clo_. how can that be, vnlesse she drowned her selfe in her owne defence? _other_. why 'tis found so.[ ] _clo_. it must be _se offendendo_,[ ] it cannot bee else: [sidenote: be so offended, it] [footnote : they were not lauds she was in the habit of singing, to judge by the snatches given.] [footnote : not able to take in, not understanding, not conscious of.] [footnote : clothed, endowed, fitted for. see _sh. lex._] [footnote : _could_ the word be for _buoy_--'her clothes spread wide,' on which she floated singing--therefore her melodious buoy or float?] [footnote : how could the queen know all this, when there was no one near enough to rescue her? does not the poet intend the mode of her death given here for an invention of the queen, to hide the girl's suicide, and by circumstance beguile the sorrow-rage of laertes?] [footnote : 'i cannot help it.'] [footnote : 'when these few tears are spent, all the woman will be out of me: i shall be a man again.'] [footnote : _douts_: 'this foolish water of tears puts it out.' _see q. reading._] [footnote : here ends the fourth act, between which and the fifth may intervene a day or two.] [footnote : act v. this act _requires_ only part of a day; the funeral and the catastrophe might be on the same.] [footnote : has this a confused connection with the fancy that salvation is getting to heaven?] [footnote : whether this means _straightway_, or _not crooked_, i cannot tell.] [footnote : 'the coroner has settled it.'] [footnote : the clown's blunder for _defendendo_.] [page ] for heere lies the point; if i drowne my selfe wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three branches. it is an act to doe and to performe; [sidenote: it is to act, to doe, to performe, or all: she] argall[ ] she drown'd her selfe wittingly. _other_. nay but heare you goodman deluer. [sidenote: good man deluer.] _clown_. giue me leaue; heere lies the water; good: heere stands the man; good: if the man goe to this water and drowne himsele; it is will he nill he, he goes; marke you that? but if the water come to him and drowne him; hee drownes not himselfe. argall, hee that is not guilty of his owne death, shortens not his owne life. _other_. but is this law? _clo_. i marry is't, crowners quest law. _other_. will you ha the truth on't: if this had [sidenote: truth an't] not beene a gentlewoman, shee should haue beene buried out of[ ] christian buriall. [sidenote: out a] _clo_. why there thou say'st. and the more pitty that great folke should haue countenance in this world to drowne or hang themselues, more then their euen[ ] christian. come, my spade; there is no ancient gentlemen, but gardiners, ditchers and graue-makers; they hold vp _adams_ profession. _other_. was he a gentleman? _clo_. he was the first that euer bore armes. [sidenote: a was] [ ]_other_. why he had none. _clo_. what, ar't a heathen? how dost thou vnderstand the scripture? the scripture sayes _adam_ dig'd; could hee digge without armes?[ ] ile put another question to thee; if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confesse thy selfe---- _other_. go too. _clo_. what is he that builds stronger then either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? _other_. the gallowes-maker; for that frame outliues a thousand tenants. [sidenote: that outliues] [footnote : _ergo_, therefore.] [footnote : _without_. the pleasure the speeches of the clown give us, lies partly in the undercurrent of sense, so disguised by stupidity in the utterance; and partly in the wit which mainly succeeds in its end by the failure of its means.] [footnote : _equal_, that is _fellow_ christian.] [footnote : _from 'other' to_ 'armes' _not in quarto._] [page ] _clo_. i like thy wit well in good faith, the gallowes does well; but how does it well? it does well to those that doe ill: now, thou dost ill to say the gallowes is built stronger then the church: argall, the gallowes may doe well to thee. too't againe, come. _other_. who builds stronger then a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? _clo_. i, tell me that, and vnyoake.[ ] _other_. marry, now i can tell. _clo_. too't. _other_. masse, i cannot tell. _enter hamlet and horatio a farre off._[ ] _clo_. cudgell thy braines no more about it; for your dull asse will not mend his pace with beating, and when you are ask't this question next, say a graue-maker: the houses that he makes, lasts [sidenote: houses hee makes] till doomesday: go, get thee to _yaughan_,[ ] fetch [sidenote: thee in, and fetch mee a soope of] me a stoupe of liquor. _sings._[ ] _in youth when i did loue, did loue_, [sidenote: _song._] _me thought it was very sweete: to contract o the time for a my behoue, o me thought there was nothing meete[ ]_ [sidenote: there a was nothing a meet.] [sidenote: _enter hamlet & horatio_] _ham_. ha's this fellow no feeling of his businesse, [sidenote: busines? a sings in graue-making.] that he sings at graue-making?[ ] _hor_. custome hath made it in him a property[ ] of easinesse. _ham_. 'tis ee'n so; the hand of little imployment hath the daintier sense. _clowne sings._[ ] _but age with his stealing steps_ [sidenote _clow. song._] _hath caught me in his clutch_: [sidenote: hath clawed me] [footnote : 'unyoke your team'--as having earned his rest.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : whether this is the name of a place, or the name of an innkeeper, or is merely an inexplicable corruption--some take it for a stage-direction to yawn--i cannot tell. see _q._ reading. it is said to have been discovered that a foreigner named johan sold ale next door to the globe.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : a song ascribed to lord vaux is in this and the following stanzas made nonsense of.] [footnote : note hamlet's mood throughout what follows. he has entered the shadow of death.] [footnote : _property_ is what specially belongs to the individual; here it is his _peculiar work_, or _personal calling_: 'custom has made it with him an easy duty.'] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [page ] _and hath shipped me intill the land_, [sidenote: into] _as if i had neuer beene such_. _ham_. that scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knaue iowles it to th' grownd, [sidenote: the] as if it were _caines_ iaw-bone, that did the first [sidenote: twere] murther: it might be the pate of a polititian which [sidenote: murder, this might] this asse o're offices: one that could circumuent [sidenote: asse now ore-reaches; one that would] god, might it not? _hor_. it might, my lord. _ham_. or of a courtier, which could say, good morrow sweet lord: how dost thou, good lord? [sidenote: thou sweet lord?] this might be my lord such a one, that prais'd my lord such a ones horse, when he meant to begge [sidenote: when a went to] it; might it not?[ ] _hor_. i, my lord. _ham_. why ee'n so: and now my lady wormes,[ ] chaplesse,[ ] and knockt about the mazard[ ] [sidenote: choples | the massene with] with a sextons spade; heere's fine reuolution, if [sidenote: and we had] wee had the tricke to see't. did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggets[ ] with 'em? mine ake to thinke on't. [sidenote: them] _clowne sings._[ ] _a pickhaxe and a spade, a spade_, [sidenote: _clow. song._] _for and a shrowding-sheete: o a pit of clay for to be made, for such a guest is meete_. _ham_. there's another: why might not that bee the scull of of a lawyer? where be his [sidenote: skull of a] quiddits[ ] now? his quillets[ ]? his cases? his [sidenote: quiddities] tenures, and his tricks? why doe's he suffer this rude knaue now to knocke him about the sconce[ ] [sidenote: this madde knaue] with a dirty shouell, and will not tell him of his action of battery? hum. this fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double [footnote : to feel the full force of this, we must call up the expression on the face of 'such a one' as he begged the horse--probably imitated by hamlet--and contrast it with the look on the face of the skull.] [footnote : 'now the property of my lady worm.'] [footnote : the lower jaw gone.] [footnote : _the upper jaw_, i think--not _the head_.] [footnote : a game in which pins of wood, called loggats, nearly two feet long, were half thrown, half slid, towards a bowl. _blount_: johnson and steevens.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : a lawyer's quirks and quibbles. see _johnson and steevens_. _ st q._ now where is your quirkes and quillets now,] [footnote : humorous, or slang word for _the head_. 'a fort--a head-piece--the head': _webster's dict_.] [page ] vouchers, his recoueries: [ ] is this the fine[ ] of his fines, and the recouery[ ] of his recoueries,[ ] to haue his fine[ ] pate full of fine[ ] dirt? will his vouchers [sidenote: will vouchers] vouch him no more of his purchases, and double [sidenote: purchases & doubles then] ones too, then the length and breadth of a paire of indentures? the very conueyances of his lands will hardly lye in this boxe[ ]; and must the inheritor [sidenote: scarcely iye; | th'] himselfe haue no more?[ ] ha? _hor_. not a iot more, my lord. _ham_. is not parchment made of sheep-skinnes? _hor_. i my lord, and of calue-skinnes too. [sidenote: calues-skinnes to] _ham_. they are sheepe and calues that seek [sidenote: which seek] out assurance in that. i will speake to this fellow: whose graue's this sir? [sidenote: this sirra?] _clo_. mine sir: [sidenote: _clow_. mine sir, or a pit] _o a pit of clay for to be made, for such a guest is meete._[ ] _ham_. i thinke it be thine indeed: for thou liest in't. _clo_. you lye out on't sir, and therefore it is not [sidenote: tis] yours: for my part, i doe not lye in't; and yet it [sidenote: in't, yet] is mine. _ham_. thou dost lye in't, to be in't and say 'tis [sidenote: it is] thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quicke, therefore thou lyest. _clo_. tis a quicke lye sir, 'twill away againe from me to you.[ ] _ham_. what man dost thou digge it for? _clo_. for no man sir. _ham_. what woman then? _clo_. for none neither. _ham_. who is to be buried in't? _clo_. one that was a woman sir; but rest her soule, shee's dead. [footnote : _from_ 'is' _to_ 'recoueries' _not in q._] [footnote : the end.] [footnote : the property regained by his recoveries.] [footnote : third and fourth meanings of the word _fine_.] [footnote : the skull.] [footnote : 'must the heir have no more either?' _ st q_. and must the honor (_owner?_) lie there?] [footnote : _this line not in q._] [footnote : he _gives_ the lie.] [page ] _ham_. how absolute[ ] the knaue is? wee must [sidenote: ] speake by the carde,[ ] or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the lord _horatio_, these three yeares[ ] i haue [sidenote: this three] taken note of it, the age is growne so picked,[ ] [sidenote: tooke] that the toe of the pesant comes so neere the heeles of our courtier, hee galls his kibe.[ ] how [sidenote: the heele of the] long hast thou been a graue-maker? [sidenote: been graue-maker?] _clo_. of all the dayes i'th'yeare, i came too't [sidenote: of the dayes] that day[ ] that our last king _hamlet_ o'recame [sidenote: ouercame] _fortinbras_. _ham_. how long is that since? _clo_. cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell [sidenote: ] that: it was the very day,[ ] that young _hamlet_ was [sidenote: was that very] borne,[ ] hee that was mad, and sent into england, [sidenote: that is mad] _ham_. i marry, why was he sent into england? _clo_. why, because he was mad; hee shall recouer [sidenote: a was mad: a shall] his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great [sidenote: if a do | tis] matter there. _ham_. why? _clo_. 'twill not be scene in him, there the men [sidenote: him there, there] are as mad as he. _ham_. how came he mad? _clo_. very strangely they say. _ham_. how strangely?[ ] _clo_. faith e'ene with loosing his wits. _ham_. vpon what ground? _clo_. why heere in denmarke[ ]: i haue bin sixeteene [sidenote: sexten] [sidenote: - ] heere, man and boy thirty yeares.[ ] _ham_. how long will a man lie 'ith' earth ere he rot? _clo_. ifaith, if he be not rotten before he die (as [sidenote: fayth if a be not | a die] we haue many pocky coarses now adaies, that will [sidenote: corses, that will] scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some [sidenote: a will] eight yeare, or nine yeare. a tanner will last you nine yeare. [footnote : 'how the knave insists on precision!'] [footnote : chart: _skeat's etym. dict._] [footnote : can this indicate any point in the history of english society?] [footnote : so fastidious; so given to _picking_ and choosing; so choice.] [footnote : the word is to be found in any dictionary, but is not generally understood. lord byron, a very inaccurate writer, takes it to mean _heel_: devices quaint, and frolics ever new, tread on each others' kibes: _childe harold, canto . st. ._ it means a _chilblain_.] [footnote : then fortinbras _could_ have been but a few months younger than hamlet, and may have been older. hamlet then, in the quarto passage, could not by _tender_ mean _young_.] [footnote : 'in what way strangely?'--_in what strange way_? or the _how_ may be _how much_, in retort to the _very_; but the intent would be the same--a request for further information.] [footnote : hamlet has asked on what ground or provocation, that is, from what cause, hamlet lost his wits; the sexton chooses to take the word _ground_ materially.] [footnote : the poet makes him say how long he had been sexton--but how naturally and informally--by a stupid joke!--in order a second time, and more certainly, to tell us hamlet's age: he must have held it a point necessary to the understanding of hamlet. note hamlet's question immediately following. it looks as if he had first said to himself: 'yes--i have been thirty years above ground!' and _then_ said to the sexton, 'how long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?' we might enquire even too curiously as to the connecting links.] [page ] _ham_. why he, more then another? _clo_. why sir, his hide is so tan'd with his trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. and [sidenote: a will] your water, is a sore decayer of your horson dead body. heres a scull now: this scul, has laine in [sidenote: now hath iyen you i'th earth . yeeres.] the earth three and twenty years. _ham_. whose was it? _clo_. a whoreson mad fellowes it was; whose doe you thinke it was? _ham_. nay, i know not. _clo_. a pestlence on him for a mad rogue, a pou'rd a flaggon of renish on my head once. this same scull sir, this same scull sir, was _yoricks_ [sidenote: once; this same skull sir, was sir _yoricks_] scull, the kings iester. _ham_. this? _clo_. e'ene that. _ham_. let me see. alas poore _yorick_, i knew [sidenote: _ham_. alas poore] him _horatio_, a fellow of infinite iest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a [sidenote: bore] thousand times: and how abhorred[ ] my imagination [sidenote: and now how | in my] is, my gorge rises at it. heere hung those [sidenote: it is:] lipps, that i haue kist i know not how oft. where be your iibes now? your gambals? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a rore? no one[ ] now to mock your [sidenote: not one] own ieering? quite chopfalne[ ]? now get you to [sidenote: owne grinning,] my ladies chamber, and tell her, let her paint an [sidenote: ladies table,] inch thicke, to this fauour[ ] she must come. make her laugh at that: prythee _horatio_ tell me one thing. _hor_. what's that my lord? _ham_. dost thou thinke _alexander_ lookt o'this [sidenote: a this] fashion i'th' earth? _hor_. e'ene so. _ham_. and smelt so? puh. [footnote : if this be the true reading, _abhorred_ must mean _horrified_; but i incline to the _quarto_.] [footnote : 'not one jibe, not one flash of merriment now?'] [footnote : --chop indeed quite fallen off!] [footnote : _to this look_--that of the skull.] [page ] _hor_. e'ene so, my lord. _ham_. to what base vses we may returne _horatio_. why may not imagination trace the noble dust of _alexander_, till he[ ] find it stopping a [sidenote: a find] bunghole. _hor_. 'twere to consider: to curiously to consider [sidenote: consider too curiously] so. _ham_. no faith, not a iot. but to follow him thether with modestie[ ] enough, and likeliehood to lead it; as thus. _alexander_ died: _alexander_ was [sidenote: lead it. _alexander_] buried: _alexander_ returneth into dust; the dust is [sidenote: to] earth; of earth we make lome, and why of that lome (whereto he was conuerted) might they not stopp a beere-barrell?[ ] imperiall _caesar_, dead and turn'd to clay, [sidenote: imperious] might stop a hole to keepe the winde away. oh, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, should patch a wall, t'expell the winters flaw.[ ] [sidenote: waters flaw.] but soft, but soft, aside; heere comes the king. [sidenote: , but soft awhile, here] _enter king, queene, laertes, and a coffin_, [sidenote: _enter k. q. laertes and the corse._] _with lords attendant._ the queene, the courtiers. who is that they follow, [sidenote: this they] and with such maimed rites? this doth betoken, the coarse they follow, did with disperate hand, fore do it owne life; 'twas some estate.[ ] [sidenote: twas of some[ ]] couch[ ] we a while, and mark. _laer_. what cerimony else? _ham_. that is _laertes_, a very noble youth:[ ] marke. _laer_. what cerimony else?[ ] _priest_. her obsequies haue bin as farre inlarg'd, [sidenote: _doct_.] as we haue warrantis,[ ] her death was doubtfull,[ ] [sidenote: warrantie,] and but that great command, o're-swaies the order,[ ] [footnote : imagination personified.] [footnote : moderation.] [footnote : 'loam, lome--grafting clay. mortar made of clay and straw; also a sort of plaister used by chymists to stop up their vessels.'--_bailey's dict._] [footnote : a sudden puff or blast of wind. hamlet here makes a solemn epigram. for the right understanding of the whole scene, the student must remember that hamlet is philosophizing--following things out, curiously or otherwise--on the brink of a grave, concerning the tenant for which he has enquired--'what woman then?'--but received no answer.] [footnote : 'the corpse was of some position.'] [footnote : 'let us lie down'--behind a grave or stone.] [footnote : hamlet was quite in the dark as to laertes' character; he had seen next to nothing of him.] [footnote : the priest making no answer, laertes repeats the question.] [footnote : _warrantise_.] [footnote : this casts discredit on the queen's story, . the priest believes she died by suicide, only calls her death doubtful to excuse their granting her so many of the rites of burial.] [footnote : 'settled mode of proceeding.'--_schmidt's sh. lex._--but is it not rather _the order_ of the church?] [page ] she should in ground vnsanctified haue lodg'd, [sidenote: vnsanctified been lodged] till the last trumpet. for charitable praier, [sidenote: prayers,] shardes,[ ] flints, and peebles, should be throwne on her: yet heere she is allowed her virgin rites, [sidenote: virgin crants,[ ]] her maiden strewments,[ ] and the bringing home of bell and buriall.[ ] _laer_. must there no more be done? _priest_. no more be done:[ ] [sidenote: _doct._] we should prophane the seruice of the dead, to sing sage[ ] _requiem_, and such rest to her [sidenote: sing a requiem] as to peace-parted soules. _laer_. lay her i'th' earth, and from her faire and vnpolluted flesh, may violets spring. i tell thee (churlish priest) a ministring angell shall my sister be, when thou liest howling? _ham_. what, the faire _ophelia_?[ ] _queene_. sweets, to the sweet farewell.[ ] [sidenote: ] i hop'd thou should'st haue bin my _hamlets_ wife: i thought thy bride-bed to haue deckt (sweet maid) and not t'haue strew'd thy graue. [sidenote: not haue] _laer_. oh terrible woer,[ ] [sidenote: o treble woe] fall ten times trebble, on that cursed head [sidenote: times double on] whose wicked deed, thy most ingenioussence depriu'd thee of. hold off the earth a while, till i haue caught her once more in mine armes: _leaps in the graue._[ ] now pile your dust, vpon the quicke, and dead, till of this flat a mountaine you haue made, to o're top old _pelion_, or the skyish head [sidenote: to'retop] of blew _olympus_.[ ] _ham_.[ ] what is he, whose griefes [sidenote: griefe] beares such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow [footnote : 'shardes' _not in quarto._ it means _potsherds_.] [footnote : chaplet--_german_ krantz, used even for virginity itself.] [footnote : strewments with _white_ flowers. (?)] [footnote : the burial service.] [footnote : as an exclamation, i think.] [footnote : is the word _sage_ used as representing the unfitness of a requiem to her state of mind? or is it only from its kindred with _solemn_? it was because she was not 'peace-parted' that they could not sing _rest_ to her.] [footnote : _everything_ here depends on the actor.] [footnote : i am not sure the queen is not _apostrophizing_ the flowers she is throwing into or upon the coffin: 'sweets, be my farewell to the sweet.'] [footnote : the folio _may_ be right here:--'oh terrible wooer!--may ten times treble thy misfortunes fall' &c.] [footnote : this stage-direction is not in the _quarto_. here the _ st quarto_ has:-- _lear_. forbeare the earth a while: sister farewell: _leartes leapes into the graue._ now powre your earth on _olympus_ hie, and make a hill to o're top olde _pellon_: _hamlet leapes in after leartes_ whats he that coniures so? _ham_. beholde tis i, _hamlet_ the dane.] [footnote : the whole speech is bravado--the frothy grief of a weak, excitable effusive nature.] [footnote : he can remain apart no longer, and approaches the company.] [page ] coniure the wandring starres, and makes them stand [sidenote: coniues] like wonder-wounded hearers? this is i, _hamlet_ the dane.[ ] _laer_. the deuill take thy soule.[ ] _ham_. thou prai'st not well, i prythee take thy fingers from my throat;[ ] sir though i am not spleenatiue, and rash, [sidenote: for though | spleenatiue rash,] yet haue i something in me dangerous, [sidenote: in me something] which let thy wisenesse feare. away thy hand. [sidenote: wisedome feare; hold off they] _king_. pluck them asunder. _qu. hamlet, hamlet_. [sidenote: _all_. gentlemen.] _gen_. good my lord be quiet. [sidenote: _hora_. good] _ham_. why i will fight with him vppon this theme, vntill my eielids will no longer wag.[ ] _qu_. oh my sonne, what theame? _ham_. i lou'd _ophelia_[ ]; fortie thousand brothers could not (with all there quantitie of loue) make vp my summe. what wilt thou do for her?[ ] _king_. oh he is mad _laertes_.[ ] _qu_. for loue of god forbeare him. _ham_. come show me what thou'lt doe. [sidenote: _ham_ s'wounds shew | th'owt fight, woo't fast, woo't teare] woo't weepe? woo't fight? woo't teare thy selfe? woo't drinke vp _esile_, eate a crocodile?[ ] ile doo't. dost thou come heere to whine; [sidenote: doost come] to outface me with leaping in her graue? be[ ] buried quicke with her, and so will i. and if thou prate of mountaines; let them throw millions of akers on vs; till our ground sindging his pate against the burning zone, [sidenote: ] make _ossa_ like a wart. nay, and thoul't mouth, ile rant as well as thou.[ ] [footnote : this fine speech is yet spoken in the character of madman, which hamlet puts on once more the moment he has to appear before the king. its poetry and dignity belong to hamlet's feeling; its extravagance to his assumed insanity. it must be remembered that death is a small affair to hamlet beside his mother's life, and that the death of ophelia may even be some consolation to him. in the _folio_, a few lines back, laertes leaps into the grave. there is no such direction in the _q_. in neither is hamlet said to leap into the grave; only the _ st q._ so directs. it is a stage-business that must please the _common_ actor of hamlet; but there is nothing in the text any more than in the margin of _folio_ or _quarto_ to justify it, and it would but for the horror of it be ludicrous. the coffin is supposed to be in the grave: must laertes jump down upon it, followed by hamlet, and the two fight and trample over the body? yet i take the '_leaps in the grave_' to be an action intended for laertes by the poet. his 'hold off the earth a while,' does not necessarily imply that the body is already in the grave. he has before said, 'lay her i'th' earth': then it was not in the grave. it is just about to be lowered, when, with that cry of 'hold off the earth a while,' he jumps into the grave, and taking the corpse, on a bier at the side of it, in his arms, calls to the spectators to pile a mountain on them--in the wild speech that brings out hamlet. the quiet dignity of hamlet's speech does not comport with his jumping into the grave: laertes comes out of the grave, and flies at hamlet's throat. so, at least, i would have the thing acted. there is, however, nothing in the text to show that laertes comes out of the grave, and if the manager insist on the traditional mode, i would suggest that the grave be represented much larger. in mr. jewitt's book on grave-mounds, i read of a 'female skeleton in a grave six feet deep, ten feet long, and eight feet wide.' such a grave would give room for both beside the body, and dismiss the hideousness of the common representation.] [footnote : --_springing out of the grave and flying at hamlet_.] [footnote : note the temper, self-knowledge, self-government, and self-distrust of hamlet.] [footnote : the eyelids last of all become incapable of motion.] [footnote : that he loved her is the only thing to explain the harshness of his behaviour to her. had he not loved her and not been miserable about her, he would have been as polite to her as well bred people would have him.] [footnote : the gallants of shakspere's day would challenge each other to do more disagreeable things than any of these in honour of their mistresses. '_Ã�sil._ s.m. ancien nom du vinaigre.' _supplement to academy dict._, .--'eisile, _vinegar_': bosworth's _anglo-saxon dict_., from somner's _saxon dict._, .--'eisel (_saxon), vinegar; verjuice; any acid_': johnson's _dict_. _ st q_. 'wilt drinke vp vessels.' the word _up_ very likely implies the steady emptying of a vessel specified--at a draught, and not by degrees.] [footnote : --pretending care over hamlet.] [footnote : emphasis on _be_, which i take for the _imperative mood_.] [footnote : the moment it is uttered, he recognizes and confesses to the rant, ashamed of it even under the cover of his madness. it did not belong _altogether_ to the madness. later he expresses to horatio his regret in regard to this passage between him and laertes, and afterwards apologizes to laertes. , . perhaps this is the speech in all the play of which it is most difficult to get into a sympathetic comprehension. the student must call to mind the elements at war in hamlet's soul, and generating discords in his behaviour: to those comes now the shock of ophelia's death; the last tie that bound him to life is gone--the one glimmer of hope left him for this world! the grave upon whose brink he has been bandying words with the sexton, is for _her_! into such a consciousness comes the rant of laertes. only the forms of madness are free to him, while no form is too strong in which to repudiate indifference to ophelia: for her sake, as well as to relieve his own heart, he casts the clear confession of his love into her grave. he is even jealous, over her dead body, of her brother's profession of love to her--as if any brother could love as he loved! this is foolish, no doubt, but human, and natural to a certain childishness in grief. . add to this, that hamlet--see later in his speeches to osricke--had a lively inclination to answer a fool according to his folly ( ), to outherod herod if herod would rave, out-euphuize euphues himself if he would be ridiculous:--the digestion of all these things in the retort of meditation will result, i would fain think, in an understanding and artistic justification of even this speech of hamlet: the more i consider it the truer it seems. if proof be necessary that real feeling is mingled in the madness of the utterance, it may be found in the fact that he is immediately ashamed of its extravagance.] [page ] _kin_.[ ] this is meere madnesse: [sidenote: _quee_.[ ]] and thus awhile the fit will worke on him: [sidenote: and this] anon as patient as the female doue, when that her golden[ ] cuplet[ ] are disclos'd[ ]; [sidenote: cuplets[ ]] his silence will sit drooping.[ ] _ham_. heare you sir:[ ] what is the reason that you vse me thus? i loud' you euer;[ ] but it is no matter:[ ] let _hercules_ himselfe doe what he may, the cat will mew, and dogge will haue his day.[ ] _exit._ [sidenote: _exit hamlet and horatio._] _kin_. i pray you good horatio wait vpon him, [sidenote: pray thee good] strengthen you patience in our last nights speech, [sidenote: your] [sidenote: ] wee'l put the matter to the present push:[ ] good _gertrude_ set some watch ouer your sonne, this graue shall haue a liuing[ ] monument:[ ] an houre of quiet shortly shall we see;[ ] [sidenote: quiet thirtie shall] till then, in patience our proceeding be. _exeunt._ [footnote : i hardly know which to choose as the speaker of this speech. it would be a fine specimen of the king's hypocrisy; and perhaps indeed its poetry, lovely in itself, but at such a time sentimental, is fitter for him than the less guilty queen.] [footnote : 'covered with a yellow down' _heath_.] [footnote : the singular is better: 'the pigeon lays no more than _two_ eggs.' _steevens_. only, _couplets_ might be used like _twins_.] [footnote : --_hatched_, the sporting term of the time.] [footnote : 'the pigeon never quits her nest for three days after her two young ones are hatched, except for a few moments to get food.' _steevens_.] [footnote : laertes stands eyeing him with evil looks.] [footnote : i suppose here a pause: he waits in vain some response from laertes.] [footnote : here he retreats into his madness.] [footnote : '--but i cannot compel you to hear reason. do what he will, hercules himself cannot keep the cat from mewing, or the dog from following his inclination!'--said in a half humorous, half contemptuous despair.] [footnote : 'into immediate train'--_to laertes_.] [footnote : _life-like_, or _lasting_?] [footnote : --_again to laertes_.] [footnote : --when hamlet is dead.] [page ] _enter hamlet and horatio._ _ham._ so much for this sir; now let me see the other,[ ] [sidenote: now shall you see] you doe remember all the circumstance.[ ] _hor._ remember it my lord?[ ] _ham._ sir, in my heart there was a kinde of fighting, that would not let me sleepe;[ ] me thought i lay [sidenote: my thought] worse then the mutines in the bilboes,[ ] rashly, [sidenote: bilbo] (and praise be rashnesse for it)[ ] let vs know, [sidenote: prayed] our indiscretion sometimes serues vs well, [sidenote: sometime] when our deare plots do paule,[ ] and that should teach vs, [sidenote: deepe | should learne us] [sidenote: , ] there's a diuinity that shapes our ends,[ ] rough-hew them how we will.[ ] _hor._ that is most certaine. _ham._ vp from my cabin my sea-gowne scarft about me in the darke, grop'd i to finde out them;[ ] had my desire, finger'd their packet[ ], and in fine, withdrew to mine owne roome againe, making so bold, (my feares forgetting manners) to vnseale [sidenote: to vnfold] their grand commission, where i found _horatio_, oh royall[ ] knauery: an exact command, [sidenote: a royall] [sidenote: ] larded with many seuerall sorts of reason; [sidenote: reasons,] importing denmarks health, and englands too, with hoo, such bugges[ ] and goblins in my life, [sidenote: hoe] that on the superuize[ ] no leasure bated,[ ] no not to stay the grinding of the axe, my head shoud be struck off. _hor._ ist possible? _ham._ here's the commission, read it at more leysure: [footnote : i would suggest that the one paper, which he has just shown, is a commission the king gave to himself; the other, which he is about to show, that given to rosincrance and guildensterne. he is setting forth his proof of the king's treachery.] [footnote : --of the king's words and behaviour, possibly, in giving him his papers, horatio having been present; or it might mean, 'have you got the things i have just told you clear in your mind?'] [footnote : '--as if i could forget a single particular of it!'] [footnote : the _shaping divinity_ was moving him.] [footnote : the fetters called _bilboes_ fasten a couple of mutinous sailors together by the legs.] [footnote : does he not here check himself and begin afresh--remembering that the praise belongs to the divinity?] [footnote : _pall_--from the root of _pale_--'come to nothing.' he had had his plots from which he hoped much; the king's commission had rendered them futile. but he seems to have grown doubtful of his plans before, probably through the doubt of his companions which led him to seek acquaintance with their commission, and he may mean that his 'dear plots' had begun to pall _upon him_. anyhow the sudden 'indiscretion' of searching for and unsealing the ambassadors' commission served him as nothing else could have served him.] [footnote : --even by our indiscretion. emphasis on _shapes_.] [footnote : here is another sign of hamlet's religion. , , . we start to work out an idea, but the result does not correspond with the idea: another has been at work along with us. we rough-hew--block out our marble, say for a mercury; the result is an apollo. hamlet had rough-hewn his ends--he had begun plans to certain ends, but had he been allowed to go on shaping them alone, the result, even had he carried out his plans and shaped his ends to his mind, would have been failure. another mallet and chisel were busy shaping them otherwise from the first, and carrying them out to a true success. for _success_ is not the success of plans, but the success of ends.] [footnote : emphasize _i_ and _them_, as the rhythm requires, and the phrase becomes picturesque.] [footnote : 'got my fingers on their papers.'] [footnote : emphasize _royal_.] [footnote : a _bug_ is any object causing terror.] [footnote : immediately on the reading.] [footnote : --no interval abated, taken off the immediacy of the order respite granted.] [page ] but wilt thou heare me how i did proceed? [sidenote: heare now how] _hor_. i beseech you. _ham_. being thus benetted round with villaines,[ ] ere i could make a prologue to my braines, [sidenote: or i could] they had begun the play.[ ] i sate me downe, deuis'd a new commission,[ ] wrote it faire, i once did hold it as our statists[ ] doe, a basenesse to write faire; and laboured much how to forget that learning: but sir now, it did me yeomans[ ] seruice: wilt thou know [sidenote: yemans] the effects[ ] of what i wrote? [sidenote: th'effect[ ]] _hor_. i, good my lord. _ham_. an earnest coniuration from the king, as england was his faithfull tributary, as loue betweene them, as the palme should flourish, [sidenote: them like the | might florish,] as peace should still her wheaten garland weare, and stand a comma 'tweene their amities,[ ] and many such like assis[ ] of great charge, [sidenote: like, as sir of] that on the view and know of these contents, [sidenote: knowing] without debatement further, more or lesse, he should the bearers put to sodaine death, [sidenote: those bearers] not shriuing time allowed. _hor_. how was this seal'd? _ham_. why, euen in that was heauen ordinate; [sidenote: ordinant,] i had my fathers signet in my purse, which was the modell of that danish seale: folded the writ vp in forme of the other, [sidenote: in the forme of th'] subscrib'd it, gau't th'impression, plac't it safely, [sidenote: subscribe it,] the changeling neuer knowne: now, the next day was our sea fight, and what to this was sement, [sidenote: was sequent] thou know'st already.[ ] _hor_. so _guildensterne_ and _rosincrance_, go too't. [footnote : --the nearest, rosincrance and guildensterne: hamlet was quite satisfied of their villainy.] [footnote : 'i had no need to think: the thing came to me at once.'] [footnote : note hamlet's rapid practicality--not merely in devising, but in carrying out.] [footnote : statesmen.] [footnote : '_yeomen of the guard of the king's body_ were anciently two hundred and fifty men, of the best rank under gentry, and of larger stature than ordinary; every one being required to be six feet high.'--_e. chambers' cyclopaedia_. hence '_yeoman's_ service' must mean the very best of service.] [footnote : note our common phrase: 'i wrote to this effect.'] [footnote : 'as he would have peace stand between their friendships like a comma between two words.' every point has in it a conjunctive, as well as a disjunctive element: the former seems the one regarded here--only that some amities require more than a comma to separate them. the _comma_ does not make much of a figure--is good enough for its position, however; if indeed the fact be not, that, instead of standing for _peace_, it does not even stand for itself, but for some other word. i do not for my part think so.] [footnote : dr. johnson says there is a quibble here with _asses_ as beasts of _charge_ or burden. it is probable enough, seeing, as malone tells us, that in warwickshire, as did dr. johnson himself, they pronounce _as_ hard. in aberdeenshire the sound of the _s_ varies with the intent of the word: '_az_ he said'; '_ass_ strong _az_ a horse.'] [footnote : to what purpose is this half-voyage to england made part of the play? the action--except, as not a few would have it, the very action be delay--is nowise furthered by it; hamlet merely goes and returns. to answer this question, let us find the real ground for hamlet's reflection, 'there's a divinity that shapes our ends.' observe, he is set at liberty without being in the least indebted to the finding of the commission--by the attack, namely, of the pirate; and this was not the shaping of his ends of which he was thinking when he made the reflection, for it had reference to the finding of the commission. what then was the ground of the reflection? and what justifies the whole passage in relation to the poet's object, the character of hamlet? this, it seems to me:-- although hamlet could not have had much doubt left with regard to his uncle's guilt, yet a man with a fine, delicate--what most men would think, because so much more exacting than theirs--fastidious conscience, might well desire some proof more positive yet, before he did a deed so repugnant to his nature, and carrying in it such a loud condemnation of his mother. and more: he might well wish to have something to _show_: a man's conviction is no proof, though it may work in others inclination to receive proof. hamlet is sent to sea just to get such proof as will not only thoroughly satisfy himself, but be capable of being shown to others. he holds now in his hand--to lay before the people--the two contradictory commissions. by his voyage then he has gained both assurance of his duty, and provision against the consequence he mainly dreaded, that of leaving a wounded name behind him. . this is the shaping of his ends--so exactly to his needs, so different from his rough-hewn plans--which is the work of the divinity. the man who desires to know his duty that he may _do_ it, who will not shirk it when he does know it, will have time allowed him and the thing made plain to him; his perplexity will even strengthen and purify his will. the weak man is he who, certain of what is required of him, fails to meet it: so never once fails hamlet. note, in all that follows, that a load seems taken off him: after a gracious tardiness to believe up to the point of action, he is at length satisfied. hesitation belongs to the noble nature, to hamlet; precipitation to the poor nature, to laertes, the son of polonius. compare brutus in _julius caesar_--a hamlet in favourable circumstances, with hamlet--a brutus in the most unfavourable circumstances conceivable.] [page ] _ham_. why man, they did make loue to this imployment[ ] they are not neere my conscience; their debate [sidenote: their defeat[ ]] doth by their owne insinuation[ ] grow:[ ] [sidenote: dooes] 'tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes betweene the passe, and fell incensed points of mighty opposites.[ ] _hor_. why, what a king is this?[ ] _ham_. does it not, thinkst thee,[ ] stand me now vpon[ ] [sidenote: not thinke thee[ ] stand] [sidenote: ] he that hath kil'd my king,[ ] and whor'd my mother, [sidenote: ] popt in betweene th'election and my hopes, [footnote : _this verse not in q._] [footnote : destruction.] [footnote : 'their destruction they have enticed on themselves by their own behaviour;' or, 'they have _crept into_ their fate by their underhand dealings.' the _sh. lex._ explains _insinuation_ as _meddling_.] [footnote : with the concern of horatio for the fate of rosincrance and guildensterne, hamlet shows no sympathy. it has been objected to his character that there is nothing in the play to show them privy to the contents of their commission; to this it would be answer enough, that hamlet is satisfied of their worthlessness, and that their whole behaviour in the play shows them merest parasites; but, at the same time, we must note that, in changing the commission, he had no intention, could have had no thought, of letting them go to england without him: that was a pure shaping of their ends by the divinity. possibly his own 'dear plots' had in them the notion of getting help against his uncle from the king of england, in which case he would willingly of course have continued his journey; but whatever they may be supposed to have been, they were laid in connection with the voyage, not founded on the chance of its interruption. it is easy to imagine a man like him, averse to the shedding of blood, intending interference for their lives: as heir apparent, he would certainly have been listened to. the tone of his reply to horatio is that of one who has been made the unintending cause of a deserved fate: the thing having fallen out so, the divinity having so shaped their ends, there was nothing in their character, any more than in that of polonius, to make him regret their death, or the part he had had in it.] [footnote : the 'mighty opposites' here are the king and hamlet.] [footnote : perhaps, as hamlet talked, he has been parenthetically glancing at the real commission. anyhow conviction is growing stronger in horatio, whom, for the occasion, we may regard as a type of the public.] [footnote : 'thinkst thee,' in the fashion of the friends, or 'thinke thee' in the sense of 'bethink thee.'] [footnote : 'does it not rest now on me?--is it not now my duty?--is it not _incumbent on me_ (with _lie_ for _stand_)--"is't not perfect conscience"?'] [footnote : note '_my king_' not _my father_: he had to avenge a crime against the state, the country, himself as a subject--not merely a private wrong.] [page ] throwne out his angle for my proper life,[ ] and with such coozenage;[ ] is't not perfect conscience,[ ] [sidenote: conscience?] [sidenote: ] to quit him with this arme?[ ] and is't not to be damn'd[ ] to let this canker of our nature come in further euill.[ ] _hor._ it must be shortly knowne to him from england what is the issue of the businesse there.[ ] _ham._ it will be short, [sidenote: ] the _interim's_ mine,[ ] and a mans life's no more[ ] then to say one:[ ] but i am very sorry good _horatio_, [sidenote: ] that to _laertes_ i forgot my selfe; for by the image of my cause, i see [sidenote: ] the portraiture of his;[ ] ile count his fauours:[ ] [footnote : here is the charge at length in full against the king--of quality and proof sufficient now, not merely to justify, but to compel action against him.] [footnote : he was such a _fine_ hypocrite that hamlet, although he hated and distrusted him, was perplexed as to the possibility of his guilt. his good acting was almost too much for hamlet himself. this is his 'coozenage.' after 'coozenage' should come a dash, bringing '--is't not perfect conscience' (_is it not absolutely righteous_) into closest sequence, almost apposition, with 'does it not stand me now upon--'.] [footnote : here comes in the _quarto, 'enter a courtier_.' all from this point to 'peace, who comes heere?' included, is in addition to the _quarto_ text--not in the _q._, that is.] [footnote : i would here refer my student to the soliloquy--with its _sea of troubles_, and _the taking of arms against it_. , n. .] [footnote : these three questions: 'does it not stand me now upon?'--'is't not perfect conscience?'--'is't not to be damned?' reveal the whole relation between the inner and outer, the unseen and the seen, the thinking and the acting hamlet. 'is not the thing right?--is it not my duty?--would not the neglect of it deserve damnation?' he is satisfied.] [footnote : 'is it not a thing to be damned--to let &c.?' or, 'would it not be to be damned, (to be in a state of damnation, or, to bring damnation on oneself) to let this human cancer, the king, go on to further evil?'] [footnote : '--so you have not much time.'] [footnote : 'true, it will be short, but till then is mine, and will be long enough for me.' he is resolved.] [footnote : now that he is assured of what is right, the shadow that waits him on the path to it, has no terror for him. he ceases to be anxious as to 'what dreams may come,' as to the 'something after death,' as to 'the undiscovered country,' the moment his conscience is satisfied. . it cannot now make a coward of him. it was never in regard to the past that hamlet dreaded death, but in regard to the righteousness of the action which was about to occasion his death. note that he expects death; at least he has long made up his mind to the great risk of it--the death referred to in the soliloquy--which, after all, was not that which did overtake him. there is nothing about suicide here, nor was there there.] [footnote : 'a man's life must soon be over anyhow.'] [footnote : the approach of death causes him to think of and regret even the small wrongs he has done; he laments his late behaviour to laertes, and makes excuse for him: the similarity of their condition, each having lost a father by violence, ought, he says, to have taught him gentleness with him. the _ st quarto_ is worth comparing here:-- _enter hamlet and horatio_ _ham_. beleeue mee, it greeues mee much _horatio_, that to _leartes_ i forgot my selfe: for by my selfe me thinkes i feele his griefe, though there's a difference in each others wrong.] [footnote : 'i will not forget,' or, 'i will call to mind, what merits he has,' or 'what favours he has shown me.' but i suspect the word '_count_' ought to be _court_.--he does court his favour when next they meet--in lovely fashion. he has no suspicion of his enmity.] [page ] [sidenote: , ] but sure the brauery[ ] of his griefe did put me into a towring passion.[ ] _hor._ peace, who comes heere? _enter young osricke._[ ] [sidenote: _enter a courtier._] _osr._ your lordship is right welcome back to [sidenote: _cour._] denmarke. _ham._ i humbly thank you sir, dost know this [sidenote: humble thank] waterflie?[ ] _hor._ no my good lord. _ham._ thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him[ ]: he hath much land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the kings messe;[ ] 'tis a chowgh[ ]; but as i saw spacious in the possession of dirt.[ ] [sidenote: as i say,] _osr._ sweet lord, if your friendship[ ] were at [sidenote: _cour._ | lordshippe[?]] leysure, i should impart a thing to you from his maiesty. _ham._ i will receiue it with all diligence of [sidenote: it sir with] spirit; put your bonet to his right vse, 'tis for the [sidenote: spirit, your] head. osr. i thanke your lordship, 'tis very hot[ ] [sidenote: cour. | it is] _ham._ no, beleeue mee 'tis very cold, the winde is northerly. _osr._ it is indifferent cold[ ] my lord indeed. [sidenote: _cour._] _ham._ mee thinkes it is very soultry, and hot [sidenote: but yet me | sully and hot, or my] for my complexion.[ ] _osr._ exceedingly, my lord, it is very soultry, [sidenote: _cour._] as 'twere i cannot tell how: but my lord,[ ] his [sidenote: how: my lord] maiesty bad me signifie to you, that he ha's laid a [sidenote: that a had] [sidenote: ] great wager on your head: sir, this is the matter.[ ] _ham._ i beseech you remember.[ ] _osr._ nay, in good faith, for mine ease in good [sidenote: cour. nay good my lord for my ease] [footnote : the great show; bravado.] [footnote : --with which fell in well the forms of his pretended madness. but that the passion was real, this reaction of repentance shows. it was not the first time his pretence had given him liberty to ease his heart with wild words. jealous of the boastfulness of laertes' affection, he began at once--in keeping with his assumed character of madman, but not the less in harmony with his feelings--to outrave him.] [footnote : one of the sort that would gather to such a king--of the same kind as rosincrance and guildensterne. in the _ st q. 'enter a bragart gentleman_.'] [footnote : --_to horatio_.] [footnote : 'thou art the more in a state of grace, for it is a vice to know him.'] [footnote : 'his manger shall stand where the king is served.' wealth is always received by rank--mammon nowhere better worshipped than in kings' courts.] [footnote : '_a bird of the crow-family_'--as a figure, '_always applied to rich and avaricious people_.' a _chuff_ is a surly _clown_. in scotch a _coof_ is 'a silly, dastardly fellow.'] [footnote : land.] [footnote : 'friendship' is better than 'lordshippe,' as euphuistic.] [footnote : 'i thanke your lordship; (_puts on his hat_) 'tis very hot.'] [footnote : 'rather cold.'] [footnote : 'and hot--for _my_ temperament.'] [footnote : not able to go on, he plunges into his message.] [footnote : --_takes off his hat_.] [footnote : --making a sign to him again to put on his hat.] [page ] faith[ ]: sir, [a] you are not ignorant of what excellence _laertes_ [b] is at his weapon.[ ] [sidenote: _laertes_ is.[ ]] _ham_. what's his weapon?[ ] _osr_. rapier and dagger. [sidenote: _cour._] _ham_. that's two of his weapons: but well. _osr_. the sir king ha's wag'd with him six [sidenote: _cour_. the king sir hath wagerd] barbary horses, against the which he impon'd[ ] as i [sidenote: hee has impaund] take it, sixe french rapiers and poniards, with [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- [ ] here is newly com to court _laertes_, belieue me an absolute gentlemen, ful of most excellent differences,[ ] of very soft society,[ ] and great [sidenote: ] showing[ ]: indeede to speake sellingly[ ] of him, hee is the card or kalender[ ] of gentry: for you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see.[ ] [sidenote: ] _ham_.[ ] sir, his definement suffers no perdition[ ] in you, though i know to deuide him inuentorially,[ ] would dosie[ ] th'arithmaticke of memory, and yet but yaw[ ] neither in respect of his quick saile, but in the veritie of extolment, i take him to be a soule of great article,[ ] & his infusion[ ] of such dearth[ ] and rarenesse, as to make true dixion of him, his semblable is his mirrour,[ ] & who els would trace him, his vmbrage, nothing more.[ ] _cour_. your lordship speakes most infallibly of him.[ ] _ham_. the concernancy[ ] sir, why doe we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath?[ ] _cour_. sir.[ ] _hora_. ist not possible to vnderstand in another tongue,[ ] you will too't sir really.[ ] _ham_. what imports the nomination of this gentleman. _cour_. of _laertes_.[ ] _hora_. his purse is empty already, all's golden words are spent. _ham_. of him sir.[ ] _cour_. i know you are not ignorant.[ ] _ham_. i would you did sir, yet in faith if you did, it would not much approoue me,[ ] well sir. _cour_.] [footnote b: _here in the quarto_:-- _ham_. i dare not confesse that, least i should compare with him in excellence, but to know a man wel, were to knowe himselfe.[ ] _cour_. i meane sir for this weapon, but in the imputation laide on him,[ ] by them in his meed, hee's vnfellowed.[ ]] [footnote : 'in good faith, it is not for manners, but for my comfort i take it off.' perhaps the hat was intended only to be carried, and would not really go on his head.] [footnote : the _quarto_ has not 'at his weapon,' which is inserted to take the place of the passage omitted, and connect the edges of the gap.] [footnote : so far from having envied laertes' reputation for fencing, as the king asserts, hamlet seems not even to have known which was laertes' weapon.] [footnote : laid down--staked.] [footnote : this and the following passages seem omitted for curtailment, and perhaps in part because they were less amusing when the fashion of euphuism had passed. the good of holding up the mirror to folly was gone when it was no more the 'form and pressure' of 'the very age and body of the time.'] [footnote : of great variety of excellence.] [footnote : gentle manners.] [footnote : fine presence.] [footnote : is this a stupid attempt at wit on the part of osricke--'to praise him as if you wanted to sell him'--stupid because it acknowledges exaggeration?] [footnote : 'the chart or book of reference.' .] [footnote : i think _part_ here should be plural; then the passage would paraphrase thus:--'you shall find in him the sum of what parts (_endowments_) a gentleman would wish to see.'] [footnote : hamlet answers the fool according to his folly, but outdoes him, to his discomfiture.] [footnote : 'his description suffers no loss in your mouth.'] [footnote : 'to analyze him into all and each of his qualities.'] [footnote : dizzy.] [footnote : 'and yet _would_ but yaw neither' _yaw_, 'the movement by which a ship deviates from the line of her course towards the right or left in steering.' falconer's _marine dictionary_. the meaning seems to be that the inventorial description could not overtake his merits, because it would _yaw_--keep turning out of the direct line of their quick sail. but hamlet is set on using far-fetched and absurd forms and phrases to the non-plussing of osricke, nor cares much to be _correct_.] [footnote : i take this use of the word _article_ to be merely for the occasion; it uas never surely in _use_ for _substance_.] [footnote : '--the infusion of his soul into his body,' 'his soul's embodiment.' the _sh. lex._ explains _infusion_ as 'endowments, qualities,' and it may be right.] [footnote : scarcity.] [footnote : '--it alone can show his likeness.'] [footnote : 'whoever would follow in his footsteps--copy him--is only his shadow.'] [footnote : here a pause, i think.] [footnote : 'to the matter in hand!'--recalling the attention of osricke to the purport of his visit.] [footnote : 'why do we presume to talk about him with our less refined breath?'] [footnote : the courtier is now thoroughly bewildered.] [footnote : 'can you only _speak_ in another tongue? is it not possible to _understand_ in it as well?'] [footnote : 'it is your own fault; you _will_ court your fate! you _will_ go and be made a fool of!'] [footnote : he catches at the word he understands. the actor must here supply the meaning, with the baffled, disconcerted look of a fool who has failed in the attempt to seem knowing.] [footnote :--answering the courtier.] [footnote : he pauses, looking for some out-of-the-way mode wherein to continue. hamlet takes him up.] [footnote : 'your witness to my knowledge would not be of much avail.'] [footnote : paraphrase: 'for merely to know a man well, implies that you yourself _know_.' to know a man well, you must know his knowledge: a man, to judge his neighbour, must be at least his equal.] [footnote : faculty attributed to him.] [footnote : _point thus_: 'laide on him by them, in his meed hee's unfellowed.' 'in his merit he is peerless.'] [page ] their assignes,[ ] as girdle, hangers or so[ ]: three of [sidenote: hanger and so.] the carriages infaith are very deare to fancy,[ ] very responsiue[ ] to the hilts, most delicate carriages and of very liberall conceit.[ ] _ham_. what call you the carriages?[ ] [a] _osr_. the carriages sir, are the hangers. [sidenote: _cour_. the carriage] _ham_. the phrase would bee more germaine[ ] to the matter: if we could carry cannon by our sides; [sidenote: carry a cannon] i would it might be hangers till then; but on sixe [sidenote: it be | then, but on, six] barbary horses against sixe french swords: their assignes, and three liberall conceited carriages,[ ] that's the french but against the danish; why is [sidenote: french bet] this impon'd as you call it[ ]? [sidenote: this all you[ ]] _osr_. the king sir, hath laid that in a dozen [sidenote: _cour_. | layd sir, that] passes betweene you and him, hee shall not exceed [sidenote: your selfe and him,] you three hits;[ ] he hath one twelue for mine,[ ] [sidenote: hath layd on twelue for nine,] and that would come to imediate tryall, if your [sidenote: and it would] lordship would vouchsafe the answere.[ ] _ham_. how if i answere no?[ ] _osr_. i meane my lord,[ ] the opposition of your [sidenote: _cour_.] person in tryall. _ham_. sir, i will walke heere in the hall; if it please his maiestie, 'tis the breathing time of day [sidenote: it is] with me[ ]; let the foyles bee brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his purpose; i will win for him if i can: if not, ile gaine nothing but [sidenote: him and i | i will] my shame, and the odde hits.[ ] _osr_. shall i redeliuer you ee'n so?[ ] [sidenote: _cour_. shall i deliuer you so?] _ham_. to this effect sir, after what flourish your nature will. _osr_. i commend my duty to your lordship. [sidenote: _cour_.] _ham_. yours, yours [ ]: hee does well to commend [sidenote: _ham_. yours doo's well[ ]] it himselfe, there are no tongues else for's tongue, [sidenote: turne.] [footnote a: _here in the quarto_:-- _hora_. i knew you must be edified by the margent[ ] ere you had done.] [footnote : accompaniments or belongings; things _assigned_ to them.] [footnote : the thongs or chains attaching the sheath of a weapon to the girdle; what the weapon _hangs_ by. the '_or so_' seems to indicate that osricke regrets having used the old-fashioned word, which he immediately changes for _carriages_.] [footnote : imagination, taste, the artistic faculty.] [footnote : 'corresponding to--going well with the hilts,'--in shape, ornament, and colour.] [footnote : bold invention.] [footnote : a new word, unknown to hamlet;--court-slang, to which he prefers the old-fashioned, homely word.] [footnote : related; 'akin to the matter.'] [footnote : he uses osricke's words--with a touch of derision, i should say.] [footnote : i do not take the _quarto_ reading for incorrect. hamlet says: 'why is this all----you call it --? --?' as if he wanted to use the word (_imponed_) which osricke had used, but did not remember it: he asks for it, saying '_you call it_' interrogatively.] [footnote : _ st q_ that yong leartes in twelue venies at rapier and dagger do not get three oddes of you,] [footnote : in all printer's work errors are apt to come in clusters.] [footnote : the response, or acceptance of the challenge.] [footnote : hamlet plays with the word, pretending to take it in its common meaning.] [footnote : 'by _answer_, i mean, my lord, the opposition &c.'] [footnote : 'my time for exercise:' he treats the proposal as the trifle it seems--a casual affair to be settled at once--hoping perhaps that the king will come with like carelessness.] [footnote : the _three_.] [footnote : to osricke the answer seems too direct and unadorned for ears royal.] [footnote : i cannot help here preferring the _q_. if we take the _folio_ reading, we must take it thus: 'yours! yours!' spoken with contempt;--'as if _you_ knew anything of duty!'--for we see from what follows that he is playing with the word _duty_. or we might read it, 'yours commends yours,' with the same sense as the reading of the _q._, which is, 'yours,' that is, '_your_ lordship--does well to commend his duty himself--there is no one else to do it.' this former shape is simpler; that of the _folio_ is burdened with ellipsis--loaded with lack. and surely _turne_ is the true reading!--though we may take the other to mean, 'there are no tongues else on the side of his tongue.'] [footnote : --as of the bible, for a second interpretative word or phrase.] [page ] _hor_. this lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.[ ] [sidenote: ] _ham_. he did compile[ ] with his dugge before [sidenote: _ham_. a did sir[ ] with] hee suck't it: thus had he and mine more of the [sidenote: a suckt has he | many more] same beauy[ ] that i know the drossie age dotes [sidenote: same breede] on; only got the tune[ ] of the time, and outward [sidenote: and out of an habit of[ ]] habite of encounter,[ ] a kinde of yesty collection, [sidenote: histy] which carries them through and through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and doe but blow [sidenote: prophane and trennowed opinions] them to their tryalls: the bubbles are out.[ ] [sidenote: their triall, the] [a] _hor_. you will lose this wager, my lord. [sidenote: loose my lord.] _ham_. i doe not thinke so, since he went into france, i haue beene in continuall practice; i shall [sidenote: ] winne at the oddes:[ ] but thou wouldest not thinke [sidenote: ods; thou] how all heere about my heart:[ ] but it is no matter[ ] [sidenote: how ill all's heere] _hor_. nay, good my lord. _ham_. it is but foolery; but it is such a kinde of gain-giuing[ ] as would perhaps trouble a woman, [sidenote: gamgiuing.] _hor_. if your minde dislike any thing, obey.[ ] [sidenote: obay it.] i will forestall[ ] their repaire hither, and say you are not fit. _ham_. not a whit, we defie augury[ ]; there's a [sidenote: there is speciall] [sidenote: , , ] speciall prouidence in the fall of a sparrow.[ ] if [footnote a: _here in the quarto:--_ _enter a lord_.[ ] _lord_. my lord, his maiestie commended him to you by young ostricke,[ ] who brings backe to him that you attend him in the hall, he sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with _laertes_, or that you will take longer time?[ ] _ham_. i am constant to my purposes, they followe the kings pleasure, if his fitnes speakes, mine is ready[ ]: now or whensoeuer, prouided i be so able as now. _lord_. the king, and queene, and all are comming downe. _ham_. in happy time.[ ] _lord_. the queene desires you to vse some gentle entertainment[ ] _laertes_, before you fall to play. _ham_. shee well instructs me.] [footnote : 'well, he _is_ a young one!'] [footnote : '_com'ply_,' with accent on first syllable: _comply with_ means _pay compliments to, compliment_. see _q._ reading: 'a did sir with':--_sir_ here is a verb--_sir with_ means _say sir to_: 'he _sirred, complied_ with his nurse's breast before &c.' hamlet speaks in mockery of the affected court-modes of speech and address, the fashion of euphuism--a mechanical attempt at the poetic.] [footnote : _a flock of birds_--suggested by '_this lapwing_.'] [footnote : 'the mere mode.'] [footnote : 'and external custom of intercourse.' but here too i rather take the _q._ to be right: 'they have only got the fashion of the time; and, out of a habit of wordy conflict, (they have got) a collection of tricks of speech,--a yesty, frothy mass, with nothing in it, which carries them in triumph through the most foolish and fastidious (nice, choice, punctilious, whimsical) judgments.' _yesty_ i take to be right, and _prophane_ (vulgar) to have been altered by the poet to _fond_ (foolish); of _trennowed_ i can make nothing beyond a misprint.] [footnote : hamlet had just blown osricke to his trial in his chosen kind, and the bubble had burst. the braggart gentleman had no faculty to generate after the dominant fashion, no invention to support his ambition--had but a yesty collection, which failing him the moment something unconventional was wanted, the fool had to look a discovered fool.] [footnote : 'i shall win by the odds allowed me; he will not exceed me three hits.'] [footnote : he has a presentiment of what is coming.] [footnote : nothing in this world is of much consequence to him now. also, he believes in 'a special providence.'] [footnote : 'a yielding, a sinking' at the heart? the _sh. lex._ says _misgiving_.] [footnote : 'obey the warning.'] [footnote : 'go to them before they come here'--'_prevent_ their coming.'] [footnote : the knowledge, even, of what is to come could never, any more than ordinary expediency, be the _law_ of a man's conduct. st. paul, informed by the prophet agabus of the troubles that awaited him at jerusalem, and entreated by his friends not to go thither, believed the prophet, and went on to jerusalem to be delivered into the hands of the gentiles.] [footnote : one of shakspere's many allusions to sayings of the lord.] [footnote : osricke does not come back: he has begged off but ventures later, under the wing of the king.] [footnote : may not this form of the name suggest that in it is intended the 'foolish' ostrich?] [footnote : the king is making delay: he has to have his 'union' ready.] [footnote : 'if he feels ready, i am.'] [footnote : 'they are _well-come_.'] [footnote : 'to be polite to laertes.' the print shows where _to_ has slipped out. the queen is anxious; she distrusts laertes, and the king's influence over him.] [page ] it[ ] be now, 'tis not to come: if it bee not to come, [sidenote: be, tis] it will bee now: if it be not now; yet it will come; [sidenote: it well come,] [sidenote: , ] the readinesse is all,[ ] since no man ha's ought of [sidenote: man of ought he leaues, knowes what ist to leaue betimes, let be.] [sidenote: ] what he leaues. what is't to leaue betimes?[ ] _enter king, queene, laertes and lords, with other attendants with foyles, and gauntlets, a table and flagons of wine on it._ [sidenote: _a table prepard, trumpets, drums and officers with cushion, king, queene, and all the state, foiles, daggers, and laertes._] _kin_. come _hamlet_ come, and take this hand from me. [sidenote: ] _ham_.[ ] giue me your pardon sir, i'ue done you wrong,[ ] [sidenote: i haue] but pardon't as you are a gentleman. this presence[ ] knowes, and you must needs haue heard how i am punisht with sore distraction?[ ] what i haue done [sidenote: with a sore] that might your nature honour, and exception [sidenote: , ] roughly awake,[ ] heere proclaime was madnesse:[ ] was't _hamlet_ wrong'd _laertes_? neuer _hamlet_. if _hamlet_ from himselfe be tane away: [sidenote: fane away,] and when he's not himselfe, do's wrong _laertes_, then _hamlet_ does it not, _hamlet_ denies it:[ ] who does it then? his madnesse? if't be so, _hamlet_ is of the faction that is wrong'd, his madnesse is poore _hamlets_ enemy.[ ] sir, in this audience,[ ] let my disclaiming from a purpos'd euill,[ ] free me so farre[ ] in your most generous thoughts, that i haue shot mine arrow o're the house, [sidenote: my] and hurt my mother.[ ] [sidenote: brother.[ ]] [footnote : 'it'--death, the end.] [footnote : his father had been taken unready. .] [footnote : _point_: 'all. since'; 'leaves, what'--'since no man has anything of what he has left, those who left it late are in the same position as those who left it early.' compare the common saying, 'it will be all the same in a hundred years.' the _q._ reading comes much to the same thing--'knows of ought he leaves'--'has any knowledge of it, anything to do with it, in any sense possesses it.' we may find a deeper meaning in the passage, however--surely not too deep for shakspere:--'since nothing can be truly said to be possessed as his own which a man must at one time or another yield; since that which is _own_ can never be taken from the owner, but solely that which is lent him; since the nature of a thing that has to be left is not such that it _could_ be possessed, why should a man mind parting with it early?'--there is far more in this than merely that at the end of the day it will be all the same. the thing that ever was really a man's own, god has given, and god will not, and man cannot, take away. note the unity of religion and philosophy in hamlet: he takes the one true position. note also his courage: he has a strong presentiment of death, but will not turn a step from his way. if death be coming, he will confront him. he does not believe in chance. he is ready--that is willing. all that is needful is, that he should not go as one who cannot help it, but as one who is for god's will, who chooses that will as his own. there is so much behind in shakspere's characters--so much that can only be hinted at! the dramatist has not the _word_-scope of the novelist; his art gives him little _room_; he must effect in a phrase what the other may take pages to. he needs good seconding by his actors as sorely as the composer needs good rendering of his music by the orchestra. it is a lesson in unity that the greatest art can least work alone; that the greatest _finder_ most needs the help of others to show his _findings_. the dramatist has live men and women for the very instruments of his art--who must not be mere instruments, but fellow-workers; and upon them he is greatly dependent for final outcome. here the actor should show a marked calmness and elevation in hamlet. he should have around him as it were a luminous cloud, the cloud of his coming end. a smile not all of this world should close the speech. he has given himself up, and is at peace.] [footnote : note in this apology the sweetness of hamlet's nature. how few are alive enough, that is unselfish and true enough, to be capable of genuine apology! the low nature always feels, not the wrong, but the confession of it, degrading.] [footnote : --the wrong of his rudeness at the funeral.] [footnote : all present.] [footnote : --true in a deeper sense than they would understand.] [footnote : 'that might roughly awake your nature, honour, and exception,':--consider the phrase--_to take exception at a thing_.] [footnote : it was by cause of madness, not by cause of evil intent. for all purpose of excuse it was madness, if only pretended madness; it was there of another necessity, and excused offence like real madness. what he said was true, not merely expedient, to the end he meant it to serve. but all passion may be called madness, because therein the mind is absorbed with one idea; 'anger is a brief madness,' and he was in a 'towering passion': he proclaims it madness and so abjures it.] [footnote : 'refuses the wrong altogether--will in his true self have nothing to do with it.' no evil thing comes of our true selves, and confession is the casting of it from us, the only true denial. he who will not confess a wrong, holds to the wrong.] [footnote : all here depends on the expression in the utterance.] [footnote : _this line not in q._] [footnote : this is hamlet's summing up of the whole--his explanation of the speech.] [footnote : 'so far as this in your generous judgment--that you regard me as having shot &c.'] [footnote : _brother_ is much easier to accept, though _mother_ might be in the simile. to do justice to the speech we must remember that hamlet has no quarrel whatever with laertes, that he has expressed admiration of him, and that he is inclined to love him for ophelia's sake. his apology has no reference to the fate of his father or his sister; hamlet is not aware that laertes associates him with either, and plainly the public did not know hamlet killed polonius; while laertes could have no intention of alluding to the fact, seeing it would frustrate his scheme of treachery.] [page ] _laer_. i am satisfied in nature,[ ] whose motiue in this case should stirre me most to my reuenge. but in my termes of honor i stand aloofe, and will no reconcilement, till by some elder masters of knowne honor, i haue a voyce, and president of peace to keepe my name vngorg'd.[ ] but till that time, [sidenote: to my name vngord: but all that] i do receiue your offer'd loue like loue, and wil not wrong it. _ham_. i do embrace it freely, [sidenote: i embrace] and will this brothers wager frankely play. giue vs the foyles: come on.[ ] _laer_. come one for me.[ ] _ham_. ile be your foile[ ] _laertes_, in mine ignorance, [sidenote: ] your skill shall like a starre i'th'darkest night,[ ] sticke fiery off indeede. _laer_. you mocke me sir. _ham_. no by this hand.[ ] _king_. giue them the foyles yong _osricke_,[ ] [sidenote: _ostricke_,[ ]] cousen _hamlet_, you know the wager. _ham_. verie well my lord, your grace hath laide the oddes a'th'weaker side, [sidenote: has] _king._ i do not feare it, i haue seene you both:[ ] but since he is better'd, we haue therefore oddes.[ ] [sidenote: better, we] [footnote : 'in my own feelings and person.' laertes does not refer to his father or sister. he professes to be satisfied in his heart with hamlet's apology for his behaviour at the funeral, but not to be sure whether in the opinion of others, and by the laws of honour, he can accept it as amends, and forbear to challenge him. but the words 'whose motiue in this case should stirre me most to my reuenge' may refer to his father and sister, and, if so taken, should be spoken aside. to accept apology for them and not for his honour would surely be too barefaced! the point concerning them has not been started. but why not receive the apology as quite satisfactory? that he would not seems to show a lingering regard to _real_ honour. a downright villain, like the king, would have pretended its _thorough_ acceptance--especially as they were just going to fence like friends; but he, as regards his honour, will not accept it until justified in doing so by the opinion of 'some elder masters,' receiving from them 'a voice and precedent of peace'--counsel to, and justification, or example of peace. he keeps the door of quarrel open--will not profess to be _altogether_ friends with him, though he does not hint at his real ground of offence: that mooted, the match of skill, with its immense advantages for villainy, would have been impossible. he means treachery all the time; careful of his honour, he can, like most apes of fashion, let his honesty go; still, so complex is human nature, he holds his speech declining thorough reconciliation as a shield to shelter his treachery from his own contempt: he has taken care not to profess absolute friendship, and so left room for absolute villainy! he has had regard to his word! relieved perhaps by the demoniacal quibble, he follows it immediately with an utterance of full-blown perfidy.] [footnote : perhaps _ungorg'd_ might mean _unthrottled_.] [footnote : 'come on' _is not in the q._--i suspect this _come on_ but a misplaced shadow from the '_come one_' immediately below, and better omitted. hamlet could not say '_come on_' before laertes was ready, and '_come one_' after 'give us the foils,' would be very awkward. but it may be said to the attendant courtiers.] [footnote : he says this while hamlet is still choosing, in order that a second bundle of foils, in which is the unbated and poisoned one, may be brought him. so 'generous and free from all contriving' is hamlet, ( ) that, even with the presentiment in his heart, he has no fear of treachery.] [footnote : as persons of the drama, the poet means laertes to be foil to hamlet.--with the play upon the word before us, we can hardly help thinking of the _third_ signification of the word _foil_.] [footnote : 'my ignorance will be the foil of darkest night to the burning star of your skill.' this is no flattery; hamlet believes laertes, to whose praises he has listened ( )--though not with the envy his uncle attributes to him--the better fencer: he expects to win only 'at the odds.' .] [footnote : --not '_by these pickers and stealers_,' his oath to his false friends. .] [footnote : plainly a favourite with the king.--he is _ostricke_ always in the _q_.] [footnote : 'seen you both play'--though not together.] [footnote : _point thus_: i do not fear it--i have seen you both! but since, he is bettered: we have therefore odds. 'since'--'_since the time i saw him_.'] [page ] _laer_. this is too heauy, let me see another.[ ] _ham_. this likes me well, these foyles haue all a length.[ ] _prepare to play._[ ] _osricke_. i my good lord. [sidenote: _ostr._] _king_. set me the stopes of wine vpon that table: if _hamlet_ giue the first, or second hit, or quit in answer of the third exchange,[ ] let all the battlements their ordinance fire, [sidenote: ] the king shal drinke to _hamlets_ better breath, and in the cup an vnion[ ] shal he throw [sidenote: an vince] richer then that,[ ] which foure successiue kings in denmarkes crowne haue worne. giue me the cups, and let the kettle to the trumpets speake, [sidenote: trumpet] the trumpet to the cannoneer without, the cannons to the heauens, the heauen to earth, now the king drinkes to _hamlet_. come, begin, [sidenote: _trumpets the while._] and you the iudges[ ] beare a wary eye. _ham_. come on sir. _laer_. come on sir. _they play._[ ] [sidenote: come my lord.] _ham_. one. _laer_. no. _ham_. iudgement.[ ] _osr_. a hit, a very palpable hit. [sidenote: _ostrick._] _laer_. well: againe. [sidenote: _drum, trumpets and a shot. florish, a peece goes off._] _king_. stay, giue me drinke. _hamlet_, this pearle is thine, here's to thy health. giue him the cup,[ ] _trumpets sound, and shot goes off._[ ] _ham_. ile play this bout first, set by a-while.[ ] [sidenote: set it by] come: another hit; what say you? _laer_. a touch, a touch, i do confesse.[ ] [sidenote: _laer_. | doe confest.] _king_. our sonne shall win. [footnote : --to make it look as if he were choosing.] [footnote : --asked in an offhand way. the fencers must not measure weapons, because how then could the unbated point escape discovery? it is quite like hamlet to take even osricke's word for their equal length.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : 'or be quits with laertes the third bout':--in any case, whatever the probabilities, even if hamlet be wounded, the king, who has not perfect confidence in the 'unction,' will fall back on his second line of ambush--in which he has more trust: he will drink to hamlet, when hamlet will be bound to drink also.] [footnote : the latin _unio_ was a large pearl. the king's _union_ i take to be poison made up like a pearl.] [footnote : --a well-known one in the crown.] [footnote : --of whom osricke was one.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : --appealing to the judges.] [footnote : he throws in the _pearl_, and drinks--for it will take some moments to dissolve and make the wine poisonous--then sends the cup to hamlet.] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : he does not refuse to drink, but puts it by, neither showing nor entertaining suspicion, fearing only the effect of the draught on his play. he is bent on winning the wager--perhaps with further intent.] [footnote : laertes has little interest in the match, but much in his own play.] [page ] [sidenote: ] _qu_. he's fat, and scant of breath.[ ] heere's a napkin, rub thy browes, [sidenote: heere _hamlet_ take my napkin] the queene carowses to thy fortune, _hamlet_. _ham_. good madam.[ ] _king_. _gertrude_, do not drinke. _qu_. i will my lord; i pray you pardon me.[ ] [sidenote: ]_king_. it is the poyson'd cup, it is too late.[ ] _ham_. i dare not drinke yet madam, by and by.[ ] _qu_. come, let me wipe thy face.[ ] _laer_. my lord, ile hit him now. _king_. i do not thinke't. _laer_. and yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.[ ] [sidenote: it is | against] _ham_. come for the third. _laertes_, you but dally, [sidenote: you doe but] i pray you passe with your best violence, i am affear'd you make a wanton of me.[ ] [sidenote: i am sure you] _laer_. say you so? come on. _play._ _osr_. nothing neither way. [sidenote: _ostr._] _laer_. haue at you now.[ ] _in scuffling they change rapiers._[ ] _king_. part them, they are incens'd.[ ] _ham_. nay come, againe.[ ] _osr_. looke to the queene there hoa. [sidenote: _ostr._ | there howe.] _hor_. they bleed on both sides. how is't my [sidenote: is it] lord? _osr_. how is't _laertes_? [sidenote: _ostr._] _laer_. why as a woodcocke[ ] to mine sprindge, _osricke_, [sidenote: mine owne sprindge _ostrick_,] i am iustly kill'd with mine owne treacherie.[ ] _ham_. how does the queene? _king_. she sounds[ ] to see them bleede. _qu_. no, no, the drinke, the drinke[ ] [footnote : she is anxious about him. it may be that this speech, and that of the king before ( ), were fitted to the person of the actor who first represented hamlet.] [footnote : --a simple acknowledgment of her politeness: he can no more be familiarly loving with his mother.] [footnote : she drinks, and offers the cup to hamlet.] [footnote : he is too much afraid of exposing his villainy to be prompt enough to prevent her.] [footnote : this is not meant by the poet to show suspicion: he does not mean hamlet to die so.] [footnote : the actor should not allow her: she approaches hamlet; he recoils a little.] [footnote : he has compunctions, but it needs failure to make them potent.] [footnote : 'treat me as an effeminate creature.'] [footnote : he makes a sudden attack, without warning of the fourth bout.] [footnote : _not in q._ the st q. directs:--_they catch one anothers rapiers, find both are wounded_, &c. the thing, as i understand it, goes thus: with the words 'have at you now!' laertes stabs hamlet; hamlet, apprised thus of his treachery, lays hold of his rapier, wrenches it from him, and stabs him with it in return.] [footnote : 'they have lost their temper.'] [footnote : --said with indignation and scorn, but without suspicion of the worst.] [footnote : --the proverbially foolish bird. the speech must be spoken with breaks. its construction is broken.] [footnote : his conscience starts up, awake and strong, at the approach of death. as the show of the world withdraws, the realities assert themselves. he repents, and makes confession of his sin, seeing it now in its true nature, and calling it by its own name. it is a compensation of the weakness of some that they cannot be strong in wickedness. the king did not so repent, and with his strength was the more to blame.] [footnote : _swounds, swoons_.] [footnote : she is true to her son. the maternal outlasts the adulterous.] [page ] oh my deere _hamlet_, the drinke, the drinke, i am poyson'd. _ham_. oh villany! how? let the doore be lock'd. treacherie, seeke it out.[ ] _laer_. it is heere _hamlet_.[ ] _hamlet_,[ ] thou art slaine, no medicine in the world can do thee good. in thee, there is not halfe an houre of life; [sidenote: houres life,] the treacherous instrument is in thy hand, [sidenote: in my] vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practise[ ] hath turn'd it selfe on me. loe, heere i lye, neuer to rise againe: thy mothers poyson'd: i can no more, the king, the king's too blame.[ ] _ham_. the point envenom'd too, then venome to thy worke.[ ] _hurts the king._[ ] _all_. treason, treason. _king_. o yet defend me friends, i am but hurt. _ham_. heere thou incestuous, murdrous, [sidenote: heare thou incestious damned dane,] damned dane, drinke off this potion: is thy vnion heere? [sidenote: of this | is the onixe heere?] follow my mother.[ ] _king dyes._[ ] _laer_. he is iustly seru'd. it is a poyson temp'red by himselfe: exchange forgiuenesse with me, noble _hamlet_; mine and my fathers death come not vpon thee, nor thine on me.[ ] _dyes._[ ] _ham_. heauen make thee free of it,[ ] i follow thee. i am dead _horatio_, wretched queene adiew. you that looke pale, and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes[ ] or audience to this acte: had i but time (as this fell sergeant death is strick'd in his arrest) oh i could tell you. [sidenote: strict] [footnote : the thing must be ended now. the door must be locked, to keep all in that are in, and all out that are out. then he can do as he will.] [footnote : --laying his hand on his heart, i think.] [footnote : in q. _hamlet_ only once.] [footnote : _scheme, artifice, deceitful contrivance_; in modern slang, _dodge_.] [footnote : he turns on the prompter of his sin--crowning the justice of the king's capital punishment.] [footnote : _point_: 'too!' _ st q._ then venome to thy venome, die damn'd villaine.] [footnote : _not in quarto._ the true moment, now only, has at last come. hamlet has lived to do his duty with a clear conscience, and is thereupon permitted to go. the man who asks whether this be poetic justice or no, is unworthy of an answer. 'the tragedie of hamlet' is _the drama of moral perplexity_.] [footnote : a grim play on the word _union: 'follow my mother_'. it suggests a terrible meeting below.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : his better nature triumphs. the moment he was wounded, knowing he must die, he began to change. defeat is a mighty aid to repentance; and processes grow rapid in the presence of death: he forgives and desires forgiveness.] [footnote : _not in quarto._] [footnote : note how heartily hamlet pardons the wrong done to himself--the only wrong of course which a man has to pardon.] [footnote : _supernumeraries_. note the other figures too--_audience, act_--all of the theatre.] [page ] but let it be: _horatio_, i am dead, thou liu'st, report me and my causes right [sidenote: cause a right] to the vnsatisfied.[ ] _hor_. neuer beleeue it. [sidenote: ] i am more an antike roman then a dane: [sidenote: ] heere's yet some liquor left.[ ] _ham_. as th'art a man, giue me the cup. let go, by heauen ile haue't. [sidenote: hate,] [sidenote: , ] oh good _horatio_, what a wounded name,[ ] [sidenote: o god _horatio_,] (things standing thus vnknowne) shall liue behind me. [sidenote: shall i leaue behind me?] if thou did'st euer hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicitie awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in paine,[ ] [sidenote: _a march a farre off._] to tell my storie.[ ] _march afarre off, and shout within._[ ] what warlike noyse is this? _enter osricke._ _osr_. yong _fortinbras_, with conquest come from poland to th'ambassadors of england giues this warlike volly.[ ] _ham_. o i dye _horatio_: the potent poyson quite ore-crowes my spirit, i cannot liue to heare the newes from england, [sidenote: ] but i do prophesie[ ] th'election lights [sidenote: ] on _fortinbras_, he ha's my dying voyce,[ ] so tell him with the occurrents more and lesse,[ ] [sidenote: th'] which haue solicited.[ ] the rest is silence. o, o, o, o.[ ] _dyes_[ ] _hora_. now cracke a noble heart: [sidenote: cracks a] goodnight sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, why do's the drumme come hither? [footnote : his care over his reputation with the people is princely, and casts a true light on his delay. no good man can be willing to seem bad, except the _being good_ necessitates it. a man must be willing to appear a villain if that is the consequence of being a true man, but he cannot be indifferent to that appearance. he cannot be indifferent to wearing the look of the thing he hates. hamlet, that he may be understood by the nation, makes, with noble confidence in his friendship, the large demand on horatio, to live and suffer for his sake.] [footnote : here first we see plainly the love of horatio for hamlet: here first is hamlet's judgment of horatio ( ) justified.] [footnote : --for having killed his uncle:--what, then, if he had slain him at once?] [footnote : horatio must be represented as here giving sign of assent. _ st q._ _ham_. vpon my loue i charge thee let it goe, o fie _horatio_, and if thou shouldst die, what a scandale wouldst thou leaue behinde? what tongue should tell the story of our deaths, if not from thee?] [footnote : _not in q._] [footnote : the frame is closing round the picture. .] [footnote : shakspere more than once or twice makes the dying prophesy.] [footnote : his last thought is for his country; his last effort at utterance goes to prevent a disputed succession.] [footnote : 'greater and less'--as in the psalm, 'the lord preserves all, more and less, that bear to him a loving heart.'] [footnote : led to the necessity.] [footnote : _these interjections are not in the quarto._] [footnote : _not in q._ all shakspere's tragedies suggest that no action ever ends, only goes off the stage of the world on to another.] [page ] [sidenote: ] _enter fortinbras and english ambassador, with_ [sidenote: _enter fortenbrasse, with the embassadors._] _drumme, colours, and attendants._ _fortin_. where is this sight? _hor_. what is it ye would see; [sidenote: you] if ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search.[ ] _for_. his quarry[ ] cries on hauocke.[ ] oh proud death, [sidenote: this quarry] what feast is toward[ ] in thine eternall cell. that thou so many princes, at a shoote, [sidenote: shot] so bloodily hast strooke.[ ] _amb_. the sight is dismall, and our affaires from england come too late, the eares are senselesse that should giue vs hearing,[ ] to tell him his command'ment is fulfill'd, that _rosincrance_ and _guildensterne_ are dead: where should we haue our thankes?[ ] _hor_. not from his mouth,[ ] had it[ ] th'abilitie of life to thanke you: he neuer gaue command'ment for their death. [sidenote: ] but since so iumpe[ ] vpon this bloodie question,[ ] you from the polake warres, and you from england are heere arriued. giue order[ ] that these bodies high on a stage be placed to the view, and let me speake to th'yet vnknowing world, [sidenote: , to yet] how these things came about. so shall you heare of carnall, bloudie, and vnnaturall acts,[ ] of accidentall judgements,[ ] casuall slaughters[ ] of death's put on by cunning[ ] and forc'd cause,[ ] [sidenote: deaths | and for no cause] and in this vpshot, purposes mistooke,[ ] falne on the inuentors heads. all this can i [sidenote: th'] truly deliuer. _for_. let vs hast to heare it, and call the noblest to the audience. for me, with sorrow, i embrace my fortune, i haue some rites of memory[ ] in this kingdome, [sidenote: rights of[ ]] [footnote : --for here it is.] [footnote : the heap of game after a hunt.] [footnote : 'havoc's victims cry out against him.'] [footnote : in preparation.] [footnote : all the real actors in the tragedy, except horatio, are dead.] [footnote : this line may be taken as a parenthesis; then--'come too late' joins itself with 'to tell him.' or we may connect 'hearing' with 'to tell him':--'the ears that should give us hearing in order that we might tell him' etc.] [footnote : they thus inquire after the successor of claudius.] [footnote : --the mouth of claudius.] [footnote : --even if it had.] [footnote : 'so exactly,' or 'immediately'--perhaps _opportunely--fittingly_.] [footnote : dispute, strife.] [footnote : --addressed to fortinbras, i should say. the state is disrupt, the household in disorder; there is no head; horatio turns therefore to fortinbras, who, besides having a claim to the crown, and being favoured by hamlet, alone has power at the moment--for his army is with him.] [footnote : --those of claudius.] [footnote : 'just judgments brought about by accident'--as in the case of all slain except the king, whose judgment was not accidental, and hamlet, whose death was not a judgment.] [footnote : --those of the queen, polonius, and ophelia.] [footnote : 'put on,' _indued_, 'brought on themselves'--those of rosincrance, guildensterne, and laertes.] [footnote : --those of the king and polonius.] [footnote : 'and in this result'--_pointing to the bodies_--'purposes which have mistaken their way, and fallen on the inventors' heads.' _i am mistaken_ or _mistook_, means _i have mistaken_; 'purposes mistooke'--_purposes in themselves mistaken_:--that of laertes, which came back on himself; and that of the king in the matter of the poison, which, by falling on the queen, also came back on the inventor.] [footnote : the _quarto_ is correct here, i think: '_rights of the past_'--'claims of descent.' or 'rights of memory' might mean--'_rights yet remembered_.' fortinbras is not one to miss a chance: even in this shadowy 'person,' character is recognizably maintained.] [page ] which are to claime,[ ] my vantage doth [sidenote: which now to clame] inuite me, _hor_. of that i shall haue alwayes[ ] cause to speake, [sidenote: haue also cause[ ]] and from his mouth [sidenote: ] whose voyce will draw on more:[ ] [sidenote: drawe no more,] but let this same be presently perform'd, euen whiles mens mindes are wilde, [sidenote: while] lest more mischance on plots, and errors happen.[ ] _for_. let foure captaines beare _hamlet_ like a soldier to the stage, for he was likely, had he beene put on[ ] to haue prou'd most royally:[ ] [sidenote: royall;] and for his passage,[ ] the souldiours musicke, and the rites of warre[ ] [sidenote: right of] speake[ ] lowdly for him. take vp the body; such a sight as this [sidenote: bodies,] becomes the field, but heere shewes much amis. go, bid the souldiers shoote.[ ] _exeunt marching: after the which, a peale_ [sidenote: _exeunt._] _of ordenance are shot off._ finis. [footnote : 'which must now be claimed'--except the _quarto_ be right here also.] [footnote : the _quarto_ surely is right here.] [footnote : --hamlet's mouth. the message he entrusted to horatio for fortinbras, giving his voice, or vote, for him, was sure to 'draw on more' voices.] [footnote : 'lest more mischance happen in like manner, through plots and mistakes.'] [footnote : 'had he been put forward'--_had occasion sent him out_.] [footnote : 'to have proved a most royal soldier:'--a soldier gives here his testimony to hamlet's likelihood in the soldier's calling. note the kind of regard in which the poet would show him held.] [footnote : --the passage of his spirit to its place.] [footnote : --military mourning or funeral rites.] [footnote : _imperative mood_: 'let the soldier's music and the rites of war speak loudly for him.' 'go, bid the souldiers shoote,' with which the drama closes, is a more definite initiatory order to the same effect.] [footnote : the end is a half-line after a riming couplet--as if there were more to come--as there must be after every tragedy. mere poetic justice will not satisfy shakspere in a tragedy, for tragedy is _life_; in a comedy it may do well enough, for that deals but with life-surfaces--and who then more careful of it! but in tragedy something far higher ought to be aimed at. the end of this drama is reached when hamlet, having attained the possibility of doing so, performs his work _in righteousness_. the common critical mind would have him left the fatherless, motherless, loverless, almost friendless king of a justifiably distrusting nation--with an eternal grief for his father weighing him down to the abyss; with his mother's sin blackening for him all womankind, and blasting the face of both heaven and earth; and with the knowledge in his heart that he had sent the woman he loved, with her father and her brother, out of the world--maniac, spy, and traitor. instead of according him such 'poetic justice,' the poet gives hamlet the only true success of doing his duty to the end--for it was as much his duty not to act before, as it was his duty to act at last--then sends him after his ophelia--into a world where true heart will find true way of setting right what is wrong, and of atoning for every ill, wittingly or unwittingly done or occasioned in this. it seems to me most admirable that hamlet, being so great, is yet outwardly so like other people: the poet never obtrudes his greatness. and just because he is modest, confessing weakness and perplexity, small people take him for yet smaller than themselves who never confess anything, and seldom feel anything amiss with them. such will adduce even hamlet's disparagement of himself to ophelia when overwhelmed with a sense of human worthlessness ( ), as proof that he was no hero! they call it weakness that he would not, foolishly and selfishly, make good his succession against the king, regardless of the law of election, and careless of the weal of the kingdom for which he shows himself so anxious even in the throes of death! to my mind he is the grandest hero in fiction--absolutely human--so troubled, yet so true!] pelle the conqueror part ii.--apprenticeship by martin anderson nexo translated from the danish by bernard miall. ii. apprenticeship i on that windy may-morning when pelle tumbled out of the nest, it so happened that old klaus hermann was clattering into town with his manure-cart, in order to fetch a load of dung. and this trifling circumstance decided the boy's position in life. there was no more pother than this about the question: what was pelle to be? he had never put that question to himself. he had simply gone onward at hazard, as the meaning of the radiant world unfolded itself. as to what he should make of himself when he was really out in the world --well, the matter was so incomprehensible that it was mere folly to think about it. so he just went on. now he had reached the further end of the ridge. he lay down in the ditch to recover his breath after his long walk; he was tired and hungry, but in excellent spirits. down there at his feet, only half a mile distant, lay the town. there was a cheerful glitter about it; from its hundreds of fireplaces the smoke of midday fires curled upward into the blue sky, and the red roofs laughed roguishly into the beaming face of the day. pelle immediately began to count the houses; not wishing to exaggerate, he had estimated them at a million only, and already he was well into the first hundred. but in the midst of his counting he jumped up. what did the people down there get for dinner? they must surely live well there! and was it polite to go on eating until one was quite full, or should one lay down one's spoon when one had only half finished, like the landowners when they attended a dinner? for one who was always hungry this was a very important question. there was a great deal of traffic on the high-road. people were coming and going; some had their boxes behind them in a cart, and others carried their sole worldly possessions in a bag slung over their shoulders, just as he did. pelle knew some of these people, and nodded to them benevolently; he knew something about all of them. there were people who were going to the town--his town--and some were going farther, far over the sea, to america, or even farther still, to serve the king there; one could see that by their equipment and the frozen look on their faces. others were merely going into the town to make a hole in their wages, and to celebrate may-day. these came along the road in whole parties, humming or whistling, with empty hands and overflowing spirits. but the most interesting people were those who had put their boxes on a wheelbarrow, or were carrying them by both handles. these had flushed faces, and were feverish in their movements; they were people who had torn themselves away from their own country-side, and their accustomed way of life, and had chosen the town, as he himself had done. there was one man, a cottager, with a little green chest on his wheelbarrow; this latter was broad in the beam, and it was neatly adorned with flowers painted by his own hand. beside him walked his daughter; her cheeks were red, and her eyes were gazing into the unknown future. the father was speaking to her, but she did not look as though she heard him. "yes--now you must take it on you to look out for yourself; you must think about it, and not throw yourself away. the town is quite a good place for those who go right ahead and think of their own advantage, but it thinks nothing of who gets trodden underfoot. so don't be too trusting, for the people there are wonderful clever in all sorts of tricks to take you in and trip you up. at the same time you want to be soft-spoken and friendly." she did not reply to this; she was apparently more taken up with the problem of putting down her feet in their new shoes so that the heels should not turn over. there was a stream of people coming up from the town too. all the forenoon pelle had been meeting swedes who had come that morning in the steamer, and were now looking for a job on the land. there were old folk, worn out with labor, and little children; there were maidens as pretty as yellow-haired marie, and young laborers who had the strength of the whole world in their loins and muscles. and this current of life was setting hither to fill up the gaps left by the swarms that were going away--but that did not concern pelle. for seven years ago he had felt everything that made their faces look so troubled now; what they were just entering upon he had already put behind him. so there was no good in looking back. presently the old man from neuendorf came along the road. he was got up quite like an american, with a portmanteau and a silk neckerchief, and the inside pockets of his open coat were stuffed full of papers. at last he had made up his mind, and was going out to his betrothed, who had already been three years away. "hullo!" cried pelle, "so you are going away?" the man came over to pelle and set his portmanteau down by the side of the ditch. "well, yes; it's time to be going," he said. "laura won't wait for me any longer. so the old people must see how they can get along without a son; i've done everything for them now for three years. provided they can manage all by themselves--" "they can do that all right," said pelle, with an experienced air. "and they had to get help formerly. there is no future for young people at home." he had heard his elders say this. he struck at the grass with his stick, assuming a superior air. "no," said the other, "and laura refuses to be a cottager's wife. well, good-bye!" he held out his hand to pelle and tried to smile, but his features had it their own way; nothing but a rather twisted expression came over them. he stood there a minute, looking at his boots, his thumb groping over his face as though he wanted to wipe the tormented look away; then he picked up his portmanteau and went. he was evidently not very comfortable. "i'll willingly take over the ticket and the bride," shouted pelle merrily. he felt in the deuce of a good humor. everybody to-day was treading the road along which pelle's own young blood had called him--every young fellow with a little pluck, every good-looking wench. not for a moment was the road free of traffic; it was like a vast exodus, an army of people escaping from places where everyone had the feeling that he was condemned to live and die on the very spot where he was born; an army of people who had chosen the excitement of the unknown. those little brick houses which lay scattered over the green, or stood drawn up in two straight rows where the high-road ran into the town--those were the cottages of the peasant folk who had renounced the outdoor life, and dressed themselves in townified clothes, and had then adventured hither; and down on the sea-front the houses stood all squeezed and heaped together round the church, so close that there looked to be no room between them; there were the crowds who had gone wandering, driven far afield by the longing in their hearts--and then the sea had set a limit to their journey. pelle had no intention of allowing anything whatever to set a limit to his journeying. perhaps, if he had no luck in the town, he would go to sea. and then one day he would come to some coast that interested him, and he would land, and go to the gold-diggings. over there the girls went mother-naked, with nothing but some blue tattoo-work to hide their shame; but pelle had his girl sitting at home, true to him, waiting for his return. she was more beautiful even than bodil and yellow-haired marie put together, and whole crowds followed her footsteps, but she sat at home and was faithful, and she would sing the old love-song: "i had a lad, but he went away all over the false, false sea, three years they are gone, and now to-day he writes no more to me!" and while she sang the letter came to the door. but out of every letter that his father lasse received fell ten-kroner banknotes, and one day a letter came with steamer-tickets for the two of them. the song would not serve him any further, for in the song they perished during the voyage, and the poor young man spent the rest of his days on the sea-shore, gazing, through the shadow of insanity, upon every rising sail. she and lasse arrived safely--after all sorts of difficulties, that went without saying--and pelle stood on the shore and welcomed them. he had dressed himself up like a savage, and he carried on as though he meant to eat them before he made himself known. _houp la!_ pelle jumped to his feet. up the road there was a rattling and a clanking as though a thousand scythes were clashing together: an old cart with loose plank sides came slowly jolting along, drawn by the two most miserable moorland horses he had ever seen. on the driver's seat was an old peasant, who was bobbing about as though he would every moment fall in pieces, like all the rest of his equipment. pelle did not at first feel sure whether it was the cart itself or the two bags of bones between the shafts that made such a frightful din whenever they moved, but as the vehicle at last drew level with him, and the old peasant drew up, he could not resist the invitation to get up and have a lift. his shoulders were still aching from carrying his sack. "so you are going to town, after all?" said old klaus, pointing to his goods and chattels. to town, yes indeed! something seemed to grip hold of pelle's bursting heart, and before he was aware of it he had delivered himself and his whole future into the old peasant's hands. "yes, yes--yes indeed--why, naturally!" said klaus, nodding as pelle came forward. "yes, of course! a man can't do less. and what's your idea about what you are going to be in the long run--councillor or king?" he looked up slowly. "yes, goin' to town; well, well, they all, take the road they feel something calling them to take.... directly a young greyhound feels the marrow in his bones, or has got a shilling in his pocket, he's got to go to town and leave it there. and what do you think conies back out the town? just manure and nothing else! what else have i ever in my life been able to pick up there? and now i'm sixty-five. but what's the good of talking? no more than if a man was to stick his tail out and blow against a gale. it comes over them just like the may-gripes takes the young calves-- heigh-ho! and away they go, goin' to do something big. afterward, then old klaus hermann can come and clean up after them! they've no situation there, and no kinsfolk what could put them up--but they always expect something big. why, down in the town there are beds made up in the streets, and the gutters are running over with food and money! but what do you mean to do? let's hear it now." pelle turned crimson. he had not yet succeeded in making a beginning, and already he had been caught behaving like a blockhead. "well, well, well," said klaus, in a good-humored tone, "you are no bigger fool than all the rest. but if you'll take my advice, you'll go to shoemaker jeppe kofod as apprentice; i am going straight to his place to fetch manure, and i know he's looking for an apprentice. then you needn't go floundering about uncertain-like, and you can drive right up to the door like the quality." pelle winced all over. never in his life had it entered his head that he could ever become a shoemaker. even back there on the land, where people looked up to the handicrafts, they used always to say, if a boy had not turned out quite right: "well, we can always make a cobbler or a tailor of him!" but pelle was no cripple, that he must lead a sedentary life indoors in order to get on at all; he was strong and well-made. what he would be--well, that certainly lay in the hands of fortune; but he felt very strongly that it ought to be something active, something that needed courage and energy. and in any case he was quite sure as to what he did not want to be. but as they jolted through the town, and pelle--so as to be beforehand with the great world--kept on taking off his cap to everybody, although no one returned his greeting, his spirits began to sink, and a sense of his own insignificance possessed him. the miserable cart, at which all the little town boys laughed and pointed with their fingers, had a great deal to do with this feeling. "take off your cap to a pack like that!" grumbled klaus; "why, only look how puffed up they behave, and yet everything they've got they've stolen from us others. or what do you suppose--can you see if they've got their summer seeds in the earth yet?" and he glared contemptuously down the street. no, there was nothing growing on the stone pavements, and all these little houses, which stood so close that now and then they seemed to pelle as if they must be squeezed out of the row--these gradually took his breath away. here were thousands and thousands of people, if that made any difference; and all his blind confidence wavered at the question: where did all their food come from? for here he was once more at home in his needy, familiar world, where no amount of smoke will enable one to buy a pair of socks. all at once he felt thoroughly humble, and he decided that it would be all he could do here to hold his own, and find his daily bread among all these stones, for here people did not raise it naturally from the soil, but got it--well, how _did_ they get it? the streets were full of servants. the girls stood about in groups, their arms round one another's waists, staring with burning eyes at the cotton-stuffs displayed in the shops; they rocked themselves gently to and fro as though they were dreaming. a 'prentice boy of about pelle's age, with a red, spotty face, was walking down the middle of the street, eating a great wheaten roll which he held with both hands; his ears were full of scabs and his hands swollen with the cold. farm laborers went by, carrying red bundles in their hands, their overcoats flapping against their calves; they would stop suddenly at a turning, look cautiously round, and then hurry down a side street. in front of the shops the salesmen were walking up and down, bareheaded, and if any one stopped in front of their windows they would beg them, in the politest manner, to step nearer, and would secretly wink at one another across the street. "the shopkeepers have arranged their things very neatly to-day," said pelle. klaus nodded. "yes, yes; to-day they've brought out everything they couldn't get rid of sooner. to-day the block-heads have come to market--the easy purses. those"--and he pointed to a side street, "those are the publicans. they are looking this way so longingly, but the procession don't come as far as them. but you wait till this evening, and then take a turn along here, and ask the different people how much they've got left of their year's wages. yes, the town's a fine place--the very deuce of a fine place!" and he spat disgustedly. pelle had quite lost all his blind courage. he saw not a single person doing anything by which he himself might earn his bread. and gladly as he would have belonged to this new world, yet he could not venture into anything where, perhaps without knowing it, he would be an associate of people who would tear the rags off his old comrades' backs. all the courage had gone out of him, and with a miserable feeling that even his only riches, his hands, were here useless, he sat irresolute, and allowed himself to be driven, rattling and jangling, to master jeppe kofod's workshop. ii the workshop stood over an entry which opened off the street. people came and went along this entry: madame rasmussen and old captain elleby; the old maid-servant of a comptroller, an aged pensioner who wore a white cap, drew her money from the court, and expended it here, and a feeble, gouty old sailor who had bidden the sea farewell. out in the street, on the sharp-edged cobble-stones, the sparrows were clamoring loudly, lying there with puffed-out feathers, feasting among the horse-droppings, tugging at them and scattering them about to the accompaniment of a storm of chirping and scolding. everything overlooking the yard stood open. in the workshop all four windows were opened wide, and the green light sifted into the room and fell on the faces of those present. but that was no help. not a breath of wind was blowing; moreover, pelle's heat came from within. he was sweating with sheer anxiety. for the rest, he pulled industriously at his cobbler's wax, unless, indeed, something outside captured his harassed mind, so that it wandered out into the sunshine. everything out there was splashed with vivid sunlight; seen from the stuffy workshop the light was like a golden river, streaming down between the two rows of houses, and always in the same direction, down to the sea. then a speck of white down came floating on the air, followed by whitish-gray thistle-seeds, and a whole swarm of gnats, and a big broad bumble-bee swung to and fro. all these eddied, gleaming, in the open doorway, and they went on circling as though there was something there which attracted them all--doubtless an accident, or perhaps a festival. "are you asleep, booby?" asked the journeyman sharply. pelle shrank into his shell and continued to work at the wax; he kneaded away at it, holding it in hot water. inside the court, at the baker's--the baker was the old master's brother--they were hoisting sacks of meal. the windlass squeaked horribly, and in between the squeaking one could hear master jorgen kofod, in a high falsetto, disputing with his son. "you're a noodle, a pitiful simpleton--whatever will become of you? do you think we've nothing more to do than to go running out to prayer-meetings on a working day? perhaps that will get us our daily bread? now you just stay here, or, god's mercy, i'll break every bone in your body!" then the wife chimed in, and then of a sudden all was silent. and after a while the son stole like a phantom along the wall of the opposite house, a hymn-book in his hand. he was not unlike howling peter. he squeezed himself against the wall, and his knees gave under him if any one looked sharply at him. he was twenty-five years old, and he took beatings from his father without a murmur. but when matters of religion were in question he defied public opinion, the stick, and his father's anger. "are you asleep, booby? i shall really have to come over and teach you to hurry!" for a time no one spoke in the workshop--the journeyman was silent, so the others had to hold their tongues. each bent over his work, and pelle pulled the pitch out to as great a length as possible, kneaded some grease into it, and pulled again. outside, in the sunshine, some street urchins were playing, running to and fro. when they saw pelle, they held their clenched fist under their noses, nodded to him in a provocative manner, and sang-- "the cobbler has a pitchy nose, the more he wipes it the blacker it grows!" pelle pretended not to see them, but he secretly ticked them all off in his mind. it was his sincere intention to wipe them all off the face of the earth. suddenly they all ran into the street, where a tremendous, monotonous voice lifted itself and flowed abroad. this was the crazy watchmaker; he was standing on his high steps, crying damnation on the world at large. pelle knew perfectly well that the man was crazy, and in the words which he so ponderously hurled at the town there was not the slightest meaning. but they sounded wonderfully fine notwithstanding, and the "ordeal by wax" was hanging over him like a sort of last judgment. involuntarily, he began to turn cold at the sound of this warning voice, which uttered such solemn words and had so little meaning, just as he did at the strong language in the bible. it was just the voice that frightened him; it was such a terrible voice, such a voice as one might hear speaking out of the clouds; the sort of voice, in short, that made the knees of moses and paul give under them; a portentous voice, such as pelle himself used to hear coming out of the darkness at stone farm when a quarrel was going on. only the knee-strap of little nikas, the journeyman, kept him from jumping up then and there and throwing himself down like paul. this knee-strap was a piece of undeniable reality in the midst of all his imaginings; in two months it had taught him never quite to forget who and where he was. he pulled himself together, and satisfied himself that all his miseries arose from his labors over this wretched cobbler's wax; besides, there was such a temptation to compare his puddle of cobbler's wax with the hell in which he was told he would be tormented. but then he heard the cheerful voice of the young shoemaker in the yard outside, and the whole trouble disappeared. the "ordeal by wax" could not really be so terrible, since all the others had undergone it--he had certainly seen tougher fellows than these in his lifetime! jens sat down and ducked his head, as though he was expecting a box on the ears;--that was the curse of the house which continually hung over him. he was so slow at his work that already pelle could overtake him; there was something inside him that seemed to hamper his movements like a sort of spell. but peter and emil were smart fellows--only they were always wanting to thrash him. among the apple trees in the yard it was early summer, and close under the workshop windows the pig stood smacking at his food. this sound was like a warm breeze that blew over pelle's heart. since the day when klaus hermann had shaken the squeaking little porker out of his sack, pelle had begun to take root. it had squealed at first in a most desolate manner, and something of pelle's own feeling of loneliness was taken away from him by its cries. now it complained simply because it was badly fed, and it made pelle quite furious to see the nasty trash that was thrown to it--a young pig must eat well, that is half the battle. they ought not to go running out every few minute to throw something or other to the pig; when once the heat really set in it would get acidity of the stomach. but there was no sense in these town folk. "are you really asleep, booby? why, you are snoring, deuce take me!" the young master came limping in, took a drink, and buried himself in his book. as he read he whistled softly in time with the hammer- strokes of the others. little nikas began to whistle too, and the two older apprentices who were beating leather began to strike in time with the whistling, and they even kept double time, so that everything went like greased lightning. the journeyman's trills and quavers became more and more extraordinary, in order to catch up with the blows--the blows and the whistling seemed to be chasing one another--and master andres raised his head from his book to listen. he sat there staring into the far distance, as though the shadowy pictures evoked by his reading were hovering before his eyes. then, with a start, he was present and among them all, his eyes running over them with a waggish expression; and then he stood up, placing his stick so that it supported his diseased hip. the master's hands danced loosely in the air, his head and his whole figure jerking crazily under the compulsion of the rhythm. _swoop!_--and the dancing hands fell upon the cutting-out knife, and the master fingered the notes on the sharp edge, his head on one side and his eyes closed--his whole appearance that of one absorbed in intent inward listening. but then suddenly his face beamed with felicity, his whole figure contracted in a frenzy of delight, one foot clutched at the air as though bewitched, as though he were playing a harp with his toes--master andres was all at once a musical idiot and a musical clown. and _smack!_ the knife flew to the ground and he had the great tin cover in his hand-- _chin-da-da-da chin-da-da-da!_ suddenly by a stroke of magic the flute had turned into a drum and cymbals! pelle was doubled up with laughter: then he looked in alarm at the knee-strap and again burst out laughing; but no one took any notice of him. the master's fingers and wrist were dancing a sort of devil's dance on the tin cover, and all of a sudden his elbows too were called into requisition, so that the cover banged against the master's left knee, bounced off again and quick as lightning struck against his wooden heel, which stuck out behind him; then against pelle's head, and round about it went, striking the most improbable objects, _dum, dum, dum_, as though in wild, demoniacal obedience to the flute-like tones of the journeyman. there was no holding back. emil, the oldest apprentice, began boldly to whistle too, cautiously at first, and then, as no one smacked his head, more forcefully. then the next apprentice, jens--the music-devil, as he was called, because anything would produce a note between his fingers--plucked so cleverly at his waxed-end that it straightway began to give out a buzzing undertone, rising and falling through two or three notes, as though an educated bumble-bee had been leading the whole orchestra. out of doors the birds came hopping on to the apple-boughs; they twisted their heads inquisitively to one side, frantically fluffed out their feathers, and then they too joined in this orgy of jubilation, which was caused merely by a scrap of bright blue sky. but then the young master had an attack of coughing, and the whole business came to an end. pelle worked away at his cobbler's wax, kneading the pitch and mixing grease with it. when the black lump was on the point of stiffening, he had to plunge both hands into hot water, so that he got hangnails. old jeppe came tripping in from the yard, and master andres quickly laid the cutting-board over his book and diligently stropped his knife. "that's right!" said jeppe; "warm the wax, then it binds all the better." pelle had rolled the wax into balls, and had put them in the soaking-tub, and now stood silent; for he had not the courage of his own accord to say, "i am ready." the others had magnified the "ordeal by wax" into something positively terrible; all sorts of terrors lurked in the mystery that was now awaiting him; and if he himself had not known that he was a smart fellow--why--yes, he would have left them all in the lurch. but now he meant to submit to it, however bad it might be; he only wanted time to swallow first. then at last he would have succeeded in shaking off the peasant, and the handicraft would be open to him, with its song and its wandering life and its smart journeyman's clothes. the workshop here was no better than a stuffy hole where one sat and slaved over smelly greasy boots, but he saw that one must go through with it in order to reach the great world, where journeymen wore patent-leather shoes on workdays and made footwear fit for kings. the little town had given pelle a preliminary foreboding that the world was almost incredibly great, and this foreboding filled him with impatience. he meant to conquer it all! "now i am ready!" he said resolutely; now he would decide whether he and the handicraft were made for one another. "then you can pull a waxed end--but make it as long as a bad year!" said the journeyman. the old master was all on fire at the idea. he went over and watched pelle closely, his tongue hanging out of his mouth; he felt quite young again, and began to descant upon his own apprenticeship in copenhagen, sixty years ago. those were times! the apprentices didn't lie in bed and snore in those days till six o'clock in the morning, and throw down their work on the very stroke of eight, simply to go out and run about. no; up they got at four, and stuck at it as long as there was work to do. then fellows _could_ work--and then they still learned something; they were told things just once, and then--the knee-strap! then, too, the manual crafts still enjoyed some reputation; even the kings had to learn a handicraft. it was very different to the present, with its bungling and cheap retailing and pinching and paring everywhere. the apprentices winked at one another. master andres and the journeyman were silent. you might as well quarrel with the sewing-machine because it purred. jeppe was allowed to spin his yarn alone. "are you waxing it well?" said little nikas. "it's for pigskin." the others laughed, but pelle rubbed the thread with a feeling as though he were building his own scaffold. "now i am ready!" he said, in a low voice. the largest pair of men's lasts was taken down from the shelf, and these were tied to one end of the waxed-end and were let right down to the pavement. people collected in the street outside, and stood there staring. pelle had to lean right out of the window, and bend over as far as he could, while emil, as the oldest apprentice, laid the waxed-end over his neck. they were all on their feet now, with the exception of the young master; he took no part in this diversion. "pull, then!" ordered the journeyman, who was directing the solemn business. "pull them along till they're right under your feet!" pelle pulled, and the heavy lasts joggled over the pavement, but he paused with a sigh; the waxed-end was slipping over his warm neck. he stood there stamping, like an animal which stamps its feet on the ground, without knowing why; he lifted them cautiously and looked at them in torment. "pull, pull!" ordered jeppe. "you must keep the thing moving or it sticks!" but it was too late; the wax had hardened in the hairs of his nape--father lasse used to call them his "luck curls," and prophesied a great future for him on their account--and there he stood, and could not remove the waxed-end, however hard he tried. he made droll grimaces, the pain was so bad, and the saliva ran out of his mouth. "huh! he can't even manage a pair of lasts!" said jeppe jeeringly. "he'd better go back to the land again and wash down the cows' behinds!" then pelle, boiling with rage, gave a jerk, closing his eyes and writhing as he loosed himself. something sticky and slippery slipped through his fingers with the waxed-end; it was bloody hair, and across his neck the thread had bitten its way in a gutter of lymph and molten wax. but pelle no longer felt the pain, his head was boiling so, and he felt a vague but tremendous longing to pick up a hammer and strike them all to the ground, and then to run through the street, banging at the skulls of all he met. but then the journeyman took the lasts off him, and the pain came back to him, and his whole miserable plight. he heard jeppe's squeaky voice, and looked at the young master, who sat there submissively, without having the courage to express his opinion, and all at once he felt terribly sorry for himself. "that was right," buzzed old jeppe, "a shoemaker mustn't be afraid to wax his hide a little. what? i believe it has actually brought the water to his eyes! no, when i was apprentice we had a real ordeal; we had to pass the waxed-end twice round our necks before we were allowed to pull. our heads used to hang by a thread and dangle when we were done. yes, those were times!" pelle stood there shuffling, in order to fight down his tears; but he had to snigger with mischievous delight at the idea of jeppe's dangling head. "then we must see whether he can stand a buzzing head," said the journeyman, getting ready to strike him. "no, you can wait until he deserves it," said master andres hastily. "you will soon find an occasion." "well, he's done with the wax," said jeppe, "but the question is, can he sit? because there are some who never learn the art of sitting." "that must be tested, too, before we can declare him to be useful," said little nikas, in deadly earnest. "are you done with your tomfoolery now?" said master andres angrily, and he went his way. but jeppe was altogether in his element; his head was full of the memories of his boyhood, a whole train of devilish tricks, which completed the ordination. "then we used to brand them indelibly with their special branch, and they never took to their heels, but they considered it a great honor as long as they drew breath. but now these are weakly times and full of pretences; the one can't do this and the other can't do that; and there's leather colic and sore behinds and god knows what. every other day they come with certificates that they're suffering from boils from sitting down, and then you can begin all over again. no, in my time we behaved very different--the booby got held naked over a three-legged stool and a couple of men used to go at him with knee-straps! that was leather on leather, and like that they learned, damn and blast it all! how to put up with sitting on a stool!" the journeyman made a sign. "now, is the seat of the stool ready consecrated, and prayed over? yes, then you can go over there and sit down." pelle went stupidly across the room and sat down--it was all the same to him. but he leaped into the air with a yell of pain, looked malevolently about him, and in a moment he had a hammer in his hand. but he dropped it again, and now he cried--wept buckets of tears. "what the devil are you doing to him now?" the young master came out of the cutting-out room. "what dirty tricks are you hatching now?" he ran his hand over the seat of the stool; it was studded with broken awl-points. "you are barbarous devils; any one would think he was among a lot of savages!" "what a weakling!" sneered jeppe. "in these days a man can't take a boy as apprentice and inoculate him a bit against boils! one ought to anoint the boobies back and front with honey, perhaps, like the kings of israel? but you are a freethinker!" "you get out of this, father!" shouted master andres, quite beside himself. "you get out of this, father!" he trembled, and his face was quite gray. and then he pushed the old man out of the room before he had struck pelle on the shoulder and received him properly into the handicraft. pelle sat there and reflected. he was altogether disillusioned. all the covert allusions had evoked something terrifying, but at the same time impressive. in his imagination the ordeal had grown into something that constituted the great barrier of his life, so that one passed over to the other side as quite a different being; it was something after the fashion of the mysterious circumcision in the bible, a consecration to new things. and now the whole thing was just a spitefully devised torture! the young master threw him a pair of children's shoes, which had to be soled. so he was admitted to that department, and need no longer submit to preparing waxed-ends for the others! but the fact did not give him any pleasure. he sat there struggling with something irrational that seemed to keep on rising deep within him; when no one was looking he licked his fingers and drew them over his neck. he seemed to himself like a half-stupefied cat which had freed itself from the snare and sat there drying its fur. out of doors, under the apple-trees, the sunlight lay green and golden, and a long way off, in the skipper's garden, three brightly dressed girls were walking and playing; they seemed to pelle like beings out of another world. "fortune's children on the sunbright shore," as the song had it. from time to time a rat made its appearance behind the pigsty, and went clattering over the great heap of broken glass that lay there. the pig stood there gobbling down its spoiled potatoes with that despairing noise that put an end to all pelle's proud dreams of the future, while it filled him with longing--oh, such a mad longing! and everything that possibly could do so made its assault upon him at this moment when he was feeling particularly victorious; the miseries of his probation here in the workshop, the street urchins, the apprentices, who would not accept him as one of themselves, and all the sharp edges and corners which he was continually running up against in this unfamiliar world. and then the smelly workshop itself, where never a ray of sunlight entered. and no one here seemed to respect anything. when the master was not present, little nikas would sometimes indulge in tittle-tattle with the older apprentices. remarks were made at such times which opened new spheres of thought to pelle, and he had to ask questions; or they would talk of the country, which pelle knew better than all of them put together, and he would chime in with some correction. _smack!_ came a box on his ears that would send him rolling into the corner; he was to hold his tongue until he was spoken to. but pelle, who was all eyes and ears, and had been accustomed to discuss everything in heaven or earth with father lasse, could not learn to hold his tongue. each exacted with a strong hand his quantum of respect, from the apprentices to the old master, who was nearly bursting with professional pride in his handicraft; only pelle had no claim to any respect whatever, but must pay tribute to all. the young master was the only one who did not press like a yoke on the youngster's neck. easygoing as he was, he would disregard the journeyman and the rest, and at times he would plump himself down beside pelle, who sat there feeling dreadfully small. outside, when the sun was shining through the trees in a particular way, and a peculiar note came into the twittering of the birds, pelle knew it was about the time when the cows began to get on their feet after their midday chewing of the cud. and then a youngster would come out from among the little fir-trees, lustily cracking his whip; he was the general of the whole lot--pelle, the youngster--who had no one set over him. and the figure that came stumbling across the arable yonder, in order to drive the cows home--why, that was lasse! father lasse! he did not know why, but it wrung a sob from him; it took him so unawares. "hold your row!" cried the journeyman threateningly. pelle was greatly concerned; he had not once made the attempt to go over and see lasse. the young master came to get something off the shelf above his head, and leaned confidentially on pelle's shoulder, his weak leg hanging free and dangling. he stood there loitering for a time, staring at the sky outside, and this warm hand on pelle's shoulder quieted him. but there could be no talk of enjoyment when he thought where good father lasse was. he had not seen his father since that sunny morning when he himself had gone away and left the old man to his loneliness. he had not heard of him; he had scarcely given a thought to him. he had to get through the day with a whole skin, and to adapt himself to the new life; a whole new world was before him, in which he had to find his feet. pelle had simply had no time; the town had swallowed him. but at this moment his conduct confronted him as the worst example of unfaithfulness the world had ever known. and his neck continued to hurt him--he must go somewhere or other where no one would look at him. he made a pretence of having to do something in the yard outside; he went behind the washhouse, and he crouched down by the woodpile beside the well. there he lay, shrinking into himself, in the blackest despair at having left father lasse so shamelessly in the lurch, just for the sake of all these new strange surroundings. yes, and then, when they used to work together, he had been neither as good nor as heedful as he should have been. it was really lasse who, old as he was, had sacrificed himself for pelle, in order to lighten his work and take the worst of the burden off him, although pelle had the younger shoulders. and he had been a little hard at times, as over that business between his father and madame olsen; and he had not always been very patient with his good-humored elderly tittle-tattle, although if he could hear it now he would give his life to listen. he could remember only too plainly occasions when he had snapped at lasse, so unkindly that lasse had given a sigh and made off; for lasse never snapped back--he was only silent and very sad. but how dreadful that was! pelle threw all his high-and-mighty airs to the winds and gave himself up to despair. what was he doing here, with father lasse wandering among strangers, and perhaps unable to find shelter? there was nothing with which he could console himself, no evasion or excuse was possible; pelle howled at the thought of his faithlessness. and as he lay there despairing, worrying over the whole business and crying himself into a state of exhaustion, quite a manful resolve began to form within him; he must give up everything of his own--the future, and the great world, and all, and devote his days to making the old man's life happy. he must go back to stone farm! he forgot that he was only a child who could just earn his own keep. to protect the infirm old man at every point and make his life easy--that was just what he wanted. and pelle was by no means disposed to doubt that he could do it. in the midst of his childish collapse he took upon himself all the duties of a strong man. as he lay there, woe-begone, playing with a couple of bits of firewood, the elder-boughs behind the well parted, and a pair of big eyes stared at him wonderingly. it was only manna. "did they beat you--or why are you crying?" she asked earnestly. pelle turned his face away. manna shook her hair back and looked at him fixedly. "did they beat you? what? if they did, i shall go in and scold them hard!" "what is it to you?" "people who don't answer aren't well-behaved." "oh, hold your row!" then he was left in peace; over at the back of the garden manna and her two younger sisters were scrambling about the trellis, hanging on it and gazing steadfastly across the yard at him. but that was nothing to him; he wanted to know nothing about them; he didn't want petticoats to pity him or intercede for him. they were saucy jades, even if their father had sailed on the wide ocean and earned a lot of money. if he had them here they would get the stick from him! now he must content himself with putting out his tongue at them. he heard their horrified outcry--but what then? he didn't want to go scrambling about with them any more, or to play with the great conch-shells and lumps of coral in their garden! he would go back to the land and look after his old father! afterward, when that was done, he would go out into the world himself, and bring such things home with him--whole shiploads of them! they were calling him from the workshop window. "where in the world has that little blighter got to?" he heard them say. he started, shrinking; he had quite forgotten that he was serving his apprenticeship. he got on his feet and ran quickly indoors. pelle had soon tidied up after leaving off work. the others had run out in search of amusement; he was alone upstairs in the garret. he put his worldly possessions into his sack. there was a whole collection of wonderful things--tin steamboats, railway-trains, and horses that were hollow inside--as much of the irresistible wonders of the town as he had been able to obtain for five white krone pieces. they went in among the washing, so that they should not get damaged, and then he threw the bag out of the gable-window into the little alley. now the question was how he himself should slip through the kitchen without arousing the suspicions of jeppe's old woman; she had eyes like a witch, and pelle had a feeling that every one who saw him would know what he was about. but he went. he controlled himself, and sauntered along, so that the people should think he was taking washing to the laundrywoman; but he could only keep it up as far as the first turning; then he started off as fast as he could go. he was homesick. a few street-boys yelled and threw stones after him, but that didn't matter, so long as he only got away; he was insensible to everything but the remorse and homesickness that filled his heart. it was past midnight when he at last reached the outbuildings of stone farm. he was breathless, and had a stitch in his side. he leaned against the ruined forge, and closed his eyes, the better to recover himself. as soon as he had recovered his breath, he entered the cowshed from the back and made for the herdsman's room. the floor of the cowshed felt familiar to his feet, and now he came in the darkness to the place where the big bull lay. he breathed in the scent of the creature's body and blew it out again--ah, didn't he remember it! but the scent of the cowherd's room was strange to him. "father lasse is neglecting himself," he thought, and he pulled the feather-bed from under the sleeper's head. a strange voice began to upbraid him. "then isn't this lasse?" said pelle. his knees were shaking under him. "lasse?" cried the new cowherd, as he sat upright. "do you say lasse? have you come to fetch that child of god, mr. devil? they've been here already from hell and taken him with them--in the living body they've taken him there with them--he was too good for this world, d'ye see? old satan was here himself in the form of a woman and took him away. you'd better go there and look for him. go straight on till you come to the devil's great-grandmother, and then you've only got to ask your way to the hairy one." pelle stood for a while in the yard below and considered. so father lasse had gone away! and wanted to marry, or was perhaps already married. and to karna, of course. he stood bolt-upright, sunk in intimate memories. the great farm lay hushed in moonlight, in deepest slumber, and all about him rose memories from their sleep, speaking to him caressingly, with a voice like that contented purring, remembered from childhood, when the little kittens used to sleep upon his pillow, and he would lay his cheek against their soft, quivering bodies. pelle's memory had deep roots. once, at uncle kalle's, he had laid himself in the big twins' cradle and had let the other children rock him--he was then fully nine years old--and as they rocked him a while the surroundings began to take hold of him, and he saw a smoky, raftered ceiling, which did not belong to kalle's house, swaying high over his head, and he had a feeling that a muffled-up old woman, wrapped in a shawl, sat like a shadow at the head of the cradle, and rocked it with her foot. the cradle jolted with the over-vigorous rocking, and every time the rocking foot slipped from the footboard it struck on the floor with the sound of a sprung wooden shoe. pelle jumped up--"she bumped so," he said, bewildered. "what? no, you certainly dreamed that!" kalle looked, smiling, under the rockers. "bumped!" said lasse. "that ought to suit you first-rate! at one time, when you were little, you couldn't sleep if the cradle didn't bump, so we had to make the rockers all uneven. it was almost impossible to rock it. bengta cracked many a good wooden shoe in trying to give you your fancy." the farmyard here was like a great cradle, which swayed and swayed in the uncertain moonlight, and now that pelle had once quite surrendered himself to the past, there was no end to the memories of childhood that rose within him. his whole existence passed before him, swaying above his head as before, and the earth itself seemed like a dark speck in the abysm of space. and then the crying broke out from the house--big with destiny, to be heard all over the place, so that kongstrup slunk away shamefaced, and the other grew angry and ungovernable. ... and lasse ... yes, where was father lasse? with one leap, pelle was in the brew-house, knocking on the door of the maid's room. "is that you, anders?" whispered a voice from within, and then the door opened, and a pair of arms fastened themselves about him and drew him in. pelle felt about him, and his hands sank into a naked bosom--why, it was yellow-haired marie! "is karna still here?" he asked. "can't i speak to karna a moment?" they were glad to see him again; and yellow-haired marie patted his cheeks quite affectionately, and just before that she kissed him too. karna could scarcely recover from her surprise; he had acquired such a townsman's air. "and now you are a shoemaker too, in the biggest workshop in the town! yes, we've heard; butcher jensen heard about it on the market. and you have grown tall and townified. you do hold yourself well!" karna was dressing herself. "where is father lasse?" said pelle; he had a lump in his throat only from speaking of him. "give me time, and i'll come out with you. how fine you dress now! i should hardly have known you. would you, marie?" "he's a darling boy--he always was," said marie, and she pushed at him with her arched foot--she was now in bed again. "it's the same suit as i always had," said pelle. "yes, yes; but then you held yourself different--there in town they all look like lords. well, shall we go?" pelle said good-by to marie affectionately; it occurred to him that he had much to thank her for. she looked at him in a very odd way, and tried to draw his hand under the coverlet. "what's the matter with father?" said pelle impatiently, as soon as they were outside. well, lasse had taken to his heels too! he couldn't stand it when pelle had gone. and the work was too heavy for one. where he was just at the moment karna could not say. "he's now here, now there, considering farms and houses," she said proudly. "some fine day he'll be able to take you in on his visit to town." "and how are things going here?" inquired pelle. "well, erik has got his speech back and is beginning to be a man again--he can make himself understood. and kongstrup and his wife, they drink one against the other." "they drink together, do they, like the wooden shoemaker and his old woman?" "yes, and so much that they often lie in the room upstairs soaking, and can't see one another for the drink, they're that foggy. everything goes crooked here, as you may suppose, with no master. 'masterless, defenceless,' as the old proverb says. but what can you say about it--they haven't anything else in common! but it's all the same to me--as soon as lasse finds something i'm off!" pelle could well believe that, and had nothing to say against it. karna looked at him from head to foot in surprise as they walked on. "they feed you devilish well in the town there, don't they?" "yes--vinegary soup and rotten greaves. we were much better fed here." she would not believe it--it sounded too foolish. "but where are all the things they have in the shop windows--all the meats and cakes and sweet things? what becomes of all them?" "that i don't know," said pelle grumpily; he himself had racked his brains over this very question. "i get all i can eat, but washing and clothes i have to see to myself." karna could scarcely conceal her amazement; she had supposed that pelle had been, so to speak, caught up to heaven while yet living. "but how do you manage?" she said anxiously. "you must find that difficult. yes, yes, directly we set out feet under our own table we'll help you all we can." they parted up on the high-road, and pelle, tired and defeated, set out on his way back. it was broad daylight when he got back, and he crawled into bed without any one noticing anything of his attempted flight. iii little nikas had washed the blacking from his face and had put on his best clothes; he wanted to go to the market with a bundle of washing, which the butcher from aaker was to take home to his mother, and pelle walked behind him, carrying the bundle. little nikas saluted many friendly maidservants in the houses of the neighborhood, and pelle found it more amusing to walk beside him than to follow; two people who are together ought to walk abreast. but every time he walked beside the journeyman the latter pushed him into the gutter, and finally pelle fell over a curbstone; then he gave it up. up the street the crazy watchmaker was standing on the edge of his high steps, swinging a weight; it was attached to the end of a long cord, and he followed the swinging of the pendulum with his fingers, as though he were timing the beats. this was very interesting, and pelle feared it would escape the journeyman. "the watchmaker's making an experiment," he said cheerfully. "stop your jaw!" said the journeyman sharply. then it occurred to pelle that he was not allowed to speak, so he closed his mouth tight. he felt the bundle, in order to picture to himself what the contents were like. his eyes swept all the windows and the side streets, and every moment he carried his free hand to his mouth, as though he were yawning, and introduced a crumb of black bread, which he had picked up in the kitchen. his braces were broken, so he had continually to puff out his belly; there were hundreds of things to look at, and the coal-merchant's dog to be kicked while, in all good faith, he snuffed at a curbstone. a funeral procession came toward them, and the journeyman passed it with his head bared, so pelle did the same. eight at the back of the procession came tailor bjerregrav with his crutch; he always followed every funeral, and always walked light at the back because his method of progression called for plenty of room. he would stand still and look on the ground until the last of the other followers had gone a few steps in advance, then he would set his crutch in front of him, swing himself forward for a space, and then stand still again. then he would swing forward again on his lame legs, and again stand still and watch the others, and again take a few paces, looking like a slowly wandering pair of compasses which was tracing the path followed by the procession. but the funniest thing was that the tailor had forgotten to button up the flap of his black mourning-breeches, so that it hung over his knees like an apron. pelle was not quite sure that the journeyman had noticed this. "bjerregrav has forgotten--" "hold your jaw." little nikas made a movement backward, and pelle ducked his head and pressed his hand tightly to his mouth. over in staal street there was a great uproar; an enormously fat woman was standing there quarrelling with two seamen. she was in her nightcap and petticoat, and pelle knew her. "that's the sow!" he began. "she's a dreadful woman; up at stone farm----" _smack!_ little nikas gave him such a box on the ear that he had to sit down on the woodcarver's steps. "one, two, three, four-- that's it; now come on!" he counted ten steps forward and set off again. "but god help you if you don't keep your distance!" pelle kept his distance religiously, but he instantly discovered that little nikas, like old jeppe, had too large a posterior. that certainly came of sitting too much--and it twisted one's loins. he protruded his own buttocks as far as he could, smoothed down a crease in his jacket over his hips, raised himself elegantly upon the balls of his feet and marched proudly forward, one hand thrust into the breast of his coat. if the journeyman scratched himself, pelle did the same--and he swayed his body in the same buoyant manner; his cheeks were burning, but he was highly pleased with himself. directly he was his own master he went the round of the country butchers, questioning them, in the hope of hearing some news of lasse, but no one could tell him anything. he went from cart to cart, asking his questions. "lasse karlson?" said one. "ah, he was cowherd up at stone farm!" then he called to another, asking him about lasse --the old cowherd at stone farm--and he again called to a third, and they all gathered about the carts, in order to talk the matter over. there were men here who travelled all over the island [bornholm] in order to buy cattle; they knew everything and everybody, but they could tell him nothing of lasse. "then he's not in the island," said one, very decidedly. "you must get another father, my lad!" pelle did not feel inclined for chaff, so he slipped away. besides, he must go back and get to work; the young master, who was busily going from cart to cart, ordering meat, had called to him. they hung together like the halves of a pea-pod when it was a question of keeping the apprentices on the curb, although otherwise they were jealous enough of one another. bjerregrav's crutch stood behind the door, and he himself sat in stiff funereal state by the window; he held a folded white handkerchief in his folded hands, and was diligently mopping his eyes. "was he perhaps a relation of yours?" said the young master slyly. "no; but it is so sad for those who are left--a wife and children. there is always some one to mourn and regret the dead. man's life is a strange thing, andres." "ah, and potatoes are bad this year, bjerregrav!" neighbor jorgen filled up the whole doorway. "lord, here we have that blessed bjerregrav!" he shouted; "and in state, too! what's on to-day then--going courting, are you?" "i've been following!" answered bjerregrav, in a hushed voice. the big baker made an involuntary movement; he did not like being unexpectedly reminded of death. "you, bjerregrav, you ought to be a hearse-driver; then at least you wouldn't work to no purpose!" "it isn't to no purpose when they are dead," stammered bjerregrav. "i am not so poor that i need much, and there is no one who stands near to me. no living person loses anything because i follow those who die. and then i know them all, and i've followed them all in thought since they were born," he added apologetically. "if only you got invited to the funeral feast and got something of all the good things they have to eat," continued the baker, "i could understand it better." "the poor widow, who sits there with her four little ones and doesn't know how she's to feed them--to take food from her--no, i couldn't do it! she's had to borrow three hundred kroner so that her man could have a respectable funeral party." "that ought to be forbidden by law," said master andres; "any one with little children hasn't the right to throw away money on the dead." "she is giving her husband the last honors," said jeppe reprovingly. "that is the duty of every good wife." "of course," rejoined master andres. "god knows, something must be done. it's like the performances on the other side of the earth, where the widow throws herself on the funeral pyre when the husband dies, and has to be burned to death." baker jorgen scratched his thighs and grimaced. "you are trying to get us to swallow one of your stinking lies, andres. you'd never get a woman to do that, if i know anything of womankind." but bjerregrav knew that the shoemaker was not lying, and fluttered his thin hands in the air, as though he were trying to keep something invisible from touching his body. "god be thanked that we came into the world on this island here," he said, in a low voice. "here only ordinary things happen, however wrongheaded they may be." "what puzzles me is where she got all that money!" said the baker. "she's borrowed it, of course," said bjerregrav, in a tone of voice that made it clear that he wanted to terminate the conversation. jeppe retorted contemptuously, "who's going to lend a poor mate's widow three hundred kroner? he might as well throw it into the sea right away." but baker jorgen gave bjerregrav a great smack on the back. "you've given her the money, it's you has done it; nobody else would he such a silly sheep!" he said threateningly. "you let me be!" stammered bjerregrav. "i've done nothing to you! and she has had one happy day in the midst of all her sorrow." his hands were trembling. "you're a goat!" said jeppe shortly. "what is bjerregrav really thinking about when he stands like this looking down into the grave?" asked the young master, in order to divert the conversation. "i am thinking: now you are lying there, where you are better off than here," said the old tailor simply. "yes, because bjerregrav follows only poor people," said jeppe, rather contemptuously. "i can't help it, but i'm always thinking," continued master andres; "just supposing it were all a take-in! suppose he follows them and enjoys the whole thing--and then there's nothing! that's why i never like to see a funeral." "ah, you see, that's the question--supposing there's nothing." baker jorgen turned his thick body. "here we go about imagining a whole lot of things; but what if it's all just lies?" "that's the mind of an unbeliever!" said jeppe, and stamped violently on the floor. "god preserve my mind from unbelief!" retorted brother jorgen, and he stroked his face gravely. "but a man can't very well help thinking. and what does a man see round about him? sickness and death and halleluiah! we live, and we live, i tell you, brother jeppe--and we live in order to live! but, good heavens! all the poor things that aren't born yet!" he sank into thought again, as was usual with him when he thought of little jorgen, who refused to come into the world and assume his name and likeness, and carry on after him.... there lay his belief; there was nothing to be done about it. and the others began to speak in hushed voices, in order not to disturb his memories. pelle, who concerned himself with everything in heaven and earth, had been absorbing every word that was spoken with his protruding ears, but when the conversation turned upon death he yawned. he himself had never been seriously ill, and since mother bengta died, death had never encroached upon his world. and that was lucky for him, as it would have been a case of all or nothing, for he had only father lasse. for pelle the cruel hands of death hardly existed, and he could not understand how people could lay themselves down with their noses in the air; there was so much to observe here below--the town alone kept one busy. on the very first evening he had run out to look for the other boys, just where the crowd was thickest. there was no use in waiting; pelle was accustomed to take the bull by the horns, and he longed to be taken into favor. "what sort of brat is that?" they said, flocking round him. "i'm pelle," he said, standing confidently in the midst of the group, and looking at them all. "i have been at stone farm since i was eight, and that is the biggest farm in the north country." he had put his hands in his pockets, and spat coolly in front of him, for that was nothing to what he had in reserve. "oh, so you're a farmer chap, then!" said one, and the others laughed. rud was among them. "yes," said pelle; "and i've done a bit of ploughing, and mowing fodder for the calves." they winked at one another. "are you really a farmer chap?" "yes, truly," replied pelle, perplexed; they had spoken the word in a tone which he now remarked. they all burst out laughing: "he confesses it himself. and he comes from the biggest farm in the country. then he's the biggest farmer in the country!" "no, the farmer was called kongstrup," said pelle emphatically. "i was only the herd-boy." they roared with laughter. "he doesn't see it now! why, lord, that's the biggest farmer's lout!" pelle had not yet lost his head, for he had heavier ammunition, and now he was about to play a trump. "and there at the farm there was a man called erik, who was so strong that he could thrash three men, but the bailiff was stronger still; and he gave erik such a blow that he lost his senses." "oh, indeed! how did he manage that? can you hit a farmer chap so that he loses his senses? who was it hit you like that?" the questions rained upon him. pelle pushed the boy who had asked the last question, and fixed his eyes upon his. but the rascal let fly at him again. "take care of your best clothes," he said, laughing. "don't crumple your cuffs!" pelle had put on a clean blue shirt, of which the neckband and wristbands had to serve as collar and cuffs. he knew well enough that he was clean and neat, and now they were being smart at his expense on that very account. "and what sort of a pair of elbe barges has he got on? good lord! why, they'd fill half the harbor!" this was in reference to kongstrup's shoes. pelle had debated with himself as to whether he should wear them on a week-day. "when did you celebrate hiring-day?" asked a third. this was in reference to his fat red cheeks. now he was ready to jump out of his skin, and cast his eyes around to see if there was nothing with which he could lay about him, for this would infallibly end in an attack upon the whole party. pelle already had them all against him. but just then a long, thin lad came forward. "have you a pretty sister?" he asked. "i have no sisters at all," answered pelle shortly. "that's a shame. well, can you play hide-and-seek?" of course pelle could! "well, then, play!" the thin boy pushed pelle's cap over his eyes, and turned him with his face against the plank fence. "count to a hundred--and no cheating, i tell you!" no, pelle would not cheat--he would neither look nor count short-- so much depended on this beginning. but he solemnly promised himself to use his legs to some purpose; they should all be caught, one after another! he finished his counting and took his cap from his eyes. no one was to be seen. "say 'peep'!" he cried; but no one answered. for half an hour pelle searched among timbers and warehouses, and at last he slipped away home and to bed. but he dreamed, that night, that he caught them all, and they elected him as their leader for all future time. the town did not meet him with open arms, into which he could fall, with his childlike confidence, and be carried up the ladder. here, apparently, one did not talk about the heroic deeds which elsewhere gave a man foothold; here such things merely aroused scornful laughter. he tried it again and again, always with something new, but the answer was always the same--"farmer!" his whole little person was overflowing with good-will, and he became deplorably dejected. pelle soon perceived that his whole store of ammunition was crumbling between his hands, and any respect he had won at home, on the farm or in the village, by his courage and good nature, went for nothing here. here other qualities counted; there was a different jargon, the clothes were different, and people went about things in a different way. everything he had valued was turned to ridicule, even down to his pretty cap with its ear-flaps and its ribbon adorned with representations of harvest implements. he had come to town so calmly confident in himself--to make the painful discovery that he was a laughable object! every time he tried to make one of a party, he was pushed to one side; he had no right to speak to others; he must take the hindmost rank! nothing remained to him but to sound the retreat all along the line until he had reached the lowest place of all. and hard as this was for a smart youngster who was burning to set his mark on everything, pelle did it, and confidently prepared to scramble up again. however sore his defeat, he always retained an obstinate feeling of his own worth, which no one could take away from him. he was persuaded that the trouble lay not with himself but with all sorts of things about him, and he set himself restlessly to find out the new values and to conduct a war of elimination against himself. after every defeat he took himself unweariedly to task, and the next evening he would go forth once more, enriched by so many experiences, and would suffer defeat at a new point. he wanted to conquer--but what must he not sacrifice first? he knew of nothing more splendid than to march resoundingly through the streets, his legs thrust into lasse's old boots--this was the essence of manliness. but he was man enough to abstain from so doing--for here such conduct would be regarded as boorish. it was harder for him to suppress his past; it was so inseparable from father lasse that he was obsessed by a sense of unfaithfulness. but there was no alternative; if he wanted to get on he must adapt himself in everything, in prejudices and opinions alike. but he promised himself to flout the lot of them so soon as he felt sufficiently high-spirited. what distressed him most was the fact that his handicraft was so little regarded. however accomplished he might become, the cobbler was, and remained, a poor creature with a pitchy snout and a big behind! personal performance counted for nothing; it was obvious that he must as soon as possible escape into some other walk of life. but at least he was in the town, and as one of its inhabitants-- there was no getting over that. and the town seemed still as great and as splendid, although it had lost the look of enchantment it once had, when lasse and he had passed through it on their way to the country. most of the people wore their sunday clothes, and many sat still and earned lots of money, but no one knew how. all roads came hither, and the town swallowed everything: pigs and corn and men--everything sooner or later found its harbor here! the sow lived here with rud, who was now apprenticed to a painter, and the twins were here! and one day pelle saw a tall boy leaning against a door and bellowing at the top of his voice, his arms over his face, while a couple of smaller boys were thrashing him; it was howling peter, who was cook's boy on a vessel. everything flowed into the town! but father lasse--he was not here! iv there was something about the town that made it hard to go to bed and hard to get up. in the town there was no sunrise shining over the earth and waking everybody. the open face of morning could not be seen indoors. and the dying day poured no evening weariness into one's limbs, driving them to repose; life seemed here to flow in the reverse direction, for here people grew lively at night! about half-past six in the morning the master, who slept downstairs, would strike the ceiling with his stick. pelle, whose business it was to reply, would mechanically sit up and strike the side of the bedstead with his clenched fist. then, still sleeping, he would fall back again. after a while the process was repeated. but then the master grew impatient. "devil take it! aren't you going to get up to-day?" he would bellow. "is this to end in my bringing you your coffee in bed?" drunken with sleep, pelle would tumble out of bed. "get up, get up!" he would cry, shaking the others. jens got nimbly on his feet; he always awoke with a cry of terror, guarding his head; but emil and peter, who were in the hobbledehoy stage, were terribly difficult to wake. pelle would hasten downstairs, and begin to set everything in order, filling the soaking-tub and laying a sand-heap by the window-bench for the master to spit into. he bothered no further about the others; he was in a morning temper himself. on the days when he had to settle right away into the cobbler's hunch, without first running a few early errands or doing a few odd tasks, it took hours to thaw him. he used to look round to see whether on the preceding evening he had made a chalk-mark in any conspicuous place; for then there must be something that he had to remember. memory was not his strong point, hence this ingenious device. then it was only a matter of not forgetting what the mark stood for; if he forgot, he was no better off than before. when the workshop was tidy, he would hurry downstairs and run out for madame, to fetch morning rolls "for themselves." he himself was given a wheaten biscuit with his coffee, which he drank out in the kitchen, while the old woman went grumbling to and fro. she was dry as a mummy and moved about bent double, and when she was not using her hands she carried one forearm pressed against her midriff. she was discontented with everything, and was always talking of the grave. "my two eldest are overseas, in america and australia; i shall never see them again. and here at home two menfolk go strutting about doing nothing and expecting to be waited on. andres, poor fellow, isn't strong, and jeppe's no use any longer; he can't even keep himself warm in bed nowadays. but they know how to ask for things, that they do, and they let me go running all over the place without any help; i have to do everything myself. i shall truly thank god when at last i lie in my grave. what are you standing there for with your mouth and your eyes wide open? get away with you!" thereupon pelle would finish his coffee--it was sweetened with brown sugar--out of doors, by the workshop window. in the mornings, before the master appeared, there was no great eagerness to work; they were all sleepy still, looking forward to a long, dreary day. the journeyman did not encourage them to work; he had a difficulty in finding enough for himself. so they sat there wool-gathering, striking a few blows with the hammer now and then for appearance's sake, and one or another would fall asleep again over the table. they all started when three blows were struck on the wall as a signal for pelle. "what are you doing? it seems to me you are very idle in there!" the master would say, staring suspiciously at pelle. but pelle had remarked what work each was supposed to have in hand, and would run over it all. "what day's this--thursday? damnation take it! tell that jens he's to put aside manna's uppers and begin on the pilot's boots this moment--they were promised for last monday." the master would struggle miserably to get his breath: "ah, i've had a bad night, pelle, a horrible night; i was so hot, with such a ringing in my ears. new blood is so devilishly unruly; it's all the time boiling in my head like soda-water. but it's a good thing i'm making it, god knows; i used to be so soon done up. do you believe in hell? heaven, now, that's sheer nonsense; what happiness can we expect elsewhere if we can't be properly happy here? but do you believe in hell? i dreamed i'd spat up the last bit of my lungs and that i went to hell. 'what the devil d'you want here, andres?' they asked me; 'your heart is still whole!' and they wouldn't have me. but what does that signify? i can't breathe with my heart, so i'm dying. and what becomes of me then? will you tell me that? "there's something that bids a man enter again into his mother's womb; now if only a man could do that, and come into the world again with two sound legs, you'd see me disappear oversea double-quick, whoop! i wouldn't stay messing about here any longer.... well, have you seen your navel yet to-day? yes, you ragamuffin, you laugh; but i'm in earnest. it would pay you well if you always began the day by contemplating your navel." the master was half serious, half jesting. "well, now, you can fetch me my port wine; it's on the shelf, behind the box with the laces in it. i'm deadly cold." pelle came back and announced that the bottle was empty. the master looked at him mildly. "then run along and get me another. i've no money--you must say-- well, think it out for yourself; you've got a head." the master looked at him with an expression which went to pelle's heart, so that he often felt like bursting into tears. hitherto pelle's life had been spent on the straight highway; he did not understand this combination of wit and misery, roguishness and deadly affliction. but he felt something of the presence of the good god, and trembled inwardly; he would have died for the young master. when the weather was wet it was difficult for the sick man to get about; the cold pulled him down. if he came into the workshop, freshly washed and with his hair still wet, he would go over to the cold stove, and stand there, stamping his feet. his cheeks had quite fallen in. "i've so little blood for the moment," he said at such times, "but the new blood is on the way; it sings in my ears every night." then he would be silent a while. "there, by my soul, we've got a piece of lung again," he said, and showed pelle, who stood at the stove brushing shoes, a gelatinous lump. "but they grow again afterward!" "the master will soon be in his thirtieth year," said the journeyman; "then the dangerous time is over." "yes, deuce take it--if only i can hang together so long--only another six months," said the master eagerly, and he looked at pelle, as though pelle had it in his power to help him; "only another six months! then the whole body renews itself--new lungs--everything new. but new legs, god knows, i shall never get." a peculiar, secret understanding grew up between pelle and the master; it did not manifest itself in words, but in glances, in tones of the voice, and in the whole conduct of each. when pelle stood behind him, it was as though even the master's leather jacket emitted a feeling of warmth, and pelle followed him with his eyes whenever and wherever he could, and the master's behavior to pelle was different from his behavior to the others. when, on his return from running errands in the town, he came to the corner, he was delighted to see the young master standing in the doorway, tightly grasping his stick, with his lame leg in an easy position. he stood there, sweeping his eyes from side to side, gazing longingly into the distance. this was his place when he was not indoors, sitting over some book of adventure. but pelle liked him to stand there, and as he slipped past he would hang his head shyly, for it often happened that the master would clutch his shoulder, so hard that it hurt, and shake him to and fro, and would say affectionately: "oh, you limb of satan!" this was the only endearment that life had vouchsafed pelle, and he sunned himself in it. pelle could not understand the master, nor did he understand his sighs and groans. the master never went out, save as an exception, when he was feeling well; then he would hobble across to the beerhouse and make up a party, but as a rule his travels ended at the house door. there he would stand, looking about him a little, and then he would hobble indoors again, with that infectious good humor which transformed the dark workshop into a grove full of the twittering of birds. he had never been abroad, and he felt no craving to go; but in spite of this his mind and his speech roamed over the whole wide world, so that pelle at times felt like falling sick from sheer longing. he demanded nothing more than health of the future, and adventures hovered all about him; one received the impression that happiness itself had fluttered to earth and settled upon him. pelle idolized him, but did not understand him. the master, who at one moment would make sport of his lame leg and the next moment forget that he had one, or jest about his poverty as though he were flinging good gold pieces about him--this was a man pelle could not fathom. he was no wiser when he secretly looked into the books which master andres read so breathlessly; he would have been content with a much more modest adventure than a journey to the north pole or the center of the earth, if only he himself could have been of the party. he had no opportunity to sit still and indulge in fancies. every moment it was, "pelle, run and do something or other!" everything was purchased in small quantities, although it was obtained on credit. "then it doesn't run up so," jeppe used to say; it was all the same to master andres. the foreman's young woman came running in; she absolutely must have her young lady's shoes; they were promised for monday. the master had quite forgotten them. "they are in hand now," he said, undaunted. "to the devil with you, jens!" and jens had hastily thrust a pair of lasts into the shoes, while master andres went outside with the girl, and joked with her on the landing, in order to smooth her down. "just a few nails, so that they'll hang together," said the master to jens. and then, "pelle, out you go, as quick as your legs will carry you! say we'll send for them early to-morrow morning and finish them properly! but run as though the devil were at your heels!" pelle ran, and when he returned, just as he was slipping into his leather apron, he had to go out again. "pelle, run out and borrow a few brass nails--then we needn't buy any to-day. go to klausen--no, go to blom, rather; you've been to klausen already this morning." "blom's are angry about the screw-block!" said pelle. "death and all the devils! we must see about putting it in repair and returning it; remember that, and take it with you to the smith's. well, what in the world shall we do?" the young master stared helplessly from one to another. "shoemaker marker," suggested little nikas. "we don't borrow from marker," and the master wrinkled his forehead. "marker's a louse!" marker had succeeded in stealing one of the oldest customers of the workshop. "there isn't salt to eat an egg!" "well, what _shall_ i do?" asked pelle, somewhat impatiently. the master sat for a while in silence. "well, take it, then!" he cried, and threw a krone toward pelle; "i have no peace from you so long as i've got a farthing in my pocket, you demon! buy a packet and pay back klausen and blom what we've borrowed." "but then they'd see we've got a whole packet," said pelle. "besides, they owe us lots of other things that they've borrowed of us." pelle showed circumspection in his dealings. "what a rogue!" said the master, and he settled himself to read. "lord above us, what a gallows-bird!" he looked extremely contented. and after a time it was once more, "pelle, run out, etc." the day was largely passed in running errands, and pelle was not one to curtail them; he had no liking for the smelly workshop and its wooden chairs. there was so much to be fetched and carried, and pelle considered these errands to be his especial duty; when he had nothing else to do he roved about like a young puppy, and thrust his nose into everything. already the town had no more secrets from him. there was in pelle an honorable streak which subdued the whole. but hitherto he had suffered only defeat; he had again and again sacrificed his qualities and accomplishments, without so far receiving anything in return. his timidity and distrust he had stripped from him indoors, where it was of importance that he should open his defences on all sides, and his solid qualities he was on the point of sacrificing on the altar of the town as boorish. but the less protection he possessed the more he gained in intrepidity, so he went about out-of-doors undauntedly--the town should be conquered. he was enticed out of the safe refuge of his shell, and might easily be gobbled up. the town had lured him from the security of his lair, but in other matters he was the same good little fellow--most people would have seen no difference in him, except that he had grown taller. but father lasse would have wept tears of blood to see his boy as he now walked along the streets, full of uncertainty and uneasy imitativeness, wearing his best coat on a workday, and yet disorderly in his dress. yonder he goes, sauntering along with a pair of boots, his fingers thrust through the string of the parcel, whistling with an air of bravado. now and again he makes a grimace and moves cautiously--when his trousers rub the sensitive spots of his body. he has had a bad day. in the morning he was passing a smithy, and allowed the splendid display of energy within, half in the firelight and half in the shadow, to detain him. the flames and the clanging of the metal, the whole lively uproar of real work, fascinated him, and he had to go in and ask whether there was an opening for an apprentice. he was not so stupid as to tell them where he came from, but when he got home, jeppe had already been told of it! but that is soon forgotten, unless, indeed, his trousers rub against his sore places. then he remembers it; remembers that in this world everything has to be paid for; there is no getting out of things; once one begins anything one has to eat one's way through it, like the boy in the fairy-tale. and this discovery is, in the abstract, not so strikingly novel to pelle. he has, as always, chosen the longest way, rummaging about back yards and side streets, where there is a possibility of adventure; and all at once he is suddenly accosted by albinus, who is now employed by a tradesman. albinus is not amusing. he has no right to play and loiter about the warehouse in the aimless fashion that is possible out-of-doors; nor to devote himself to making a ladder stand straight up in the air while he climbs up it. not a word can be got out of him, although pelle does his best; so he picks up a handful of raisins and absconds. down at the harbor he boards a swedish vessel, which has just arrived with a cargo of timber. "have you anything for us to do?" he asks, holding one hand behind him, where his trousers have a hole in them. "klausen's apprentice has just been here and got what there was," replied the skipper. "that's a nuisance--you ought to have given it to us," says pelle. "have you got a clay pipe?" "yes--just you come here!" the skipper reaches for a rope's end, but pelle escapes and runs ashore. "will you give me a thrashing now?" he cries, jeering. "you shall have a clay pipe if you'll run and get me half a krone's worth of chewing 'bacca." "what will it cost?" asks pelle, with an air of simplicity. the skipper reaches for his rope's end again, but pelle is off already. "five ore worth of chewing tobacco, the long kind," he cries, before he gets to the door even. "but it must be the very best, because it's for an invalid." he throws the money on the counter and puts on a cheeky expression. old skipper lau rises by the aid of his two sticks and hands pelle the twist; his jaws are working like a mill, and all his limbs are twisted with gout. "is it for some one lying-in?" he asks slyly. pelle breaks off the stem of the clay pipe, lest it should stick out of his pocket, boards the salvage steamer, and disappears forward. after a time he reappears from under the cabin hatchway, with a gigantic pair of sea-boots and a scrap of chewing tobacco. behind the deck-house he bites a huge mouthful off the brown cavendish, and begins to chew courageously, which makes him feel tremendously manly. but near the furnace where the ship's timbers are bent he has to unload his stomach; it seems as though all his inward parts are doing their very utmost to see how matters would be with them hanging out of his mouth. he drags himself along, sick as a cat, with thumping temples; but somewhere or other inside him a little feeling of satisfaction informs him that one has to undergo the most dreadful consequences in order to perform any really heroic deed. in most respects the harbor, with its stacks of timber and its vessels on the slips, is just as fascinating as it was on the day when pelle lay on the shavings and guarded father lasse's sack. the black man with the barking hounds still leans from the roof of the harbor warehouse, but the inexplicable thing is that one could ever have been frightened of him. but pelle is in a hurry. he runs a few yards, but he must of necessity stop when he comes to the old quay. there the "strong man," the "great power," is trimming some blocks of granite. he is tanned a coppery brown with wind and sun, and his thick black hair is full of splinters of granite; he wears only a shirt and canvas trousers, and the shirt is open on his powerful breast; but it lies close on his back, and reveals the play of his muscles. every time he strikes a blow the air whistles-- _whew!_--and the walls and timber-stacks echo the sound. people come hurrying by, stop short at a certain distance, and stand there looking on. a little group stands there all the time, newcomers taking the place of those that move on, like spectators in front of a cage of lions. it is as though they expect something to happen-- something that will stagger everybody and give the bystanders a good fright. pelle goes right up to the "great power." the "strong man" is the father of jens, the second youngest apprentice. "good-day," he says boldly, and stands right in the giant's shadow. but the stonecutter pushes him to one side without looking to see who it is, and continues to hew at the granite: _whew! whew!_ "it is quite a long time now since he has properly used his strength," says an old townsman. "is he quieting down, d'you think?" "he must have quieted down for good," says another. "the town ought to see that he keeps quiet." and they move on, and pelle must move on, too--anywhere, where no one can see him. "cobbler, wobbler, groats in your gruel, smack on your back goes the stick--how cruel!" it is those accursed street-urchins. pelle is by no means in a warlike humor; he pretends not to see them. but they come up close behind him and tread on his heels, and before he knows what is happening they are upon him. the first he knows about it is that he is lying in the gutter, on his back, with all three on top of him. he has fallen alongside of the curbstone and cannot move; he is faint, too, as a result of his indiscretion; the two biggest boys spread his arms wide open on the flagstones and press them down with all their might, while the third ventures to deal with his face. it is a carefully planned outrage, and all pelle can do is to twist his head round under the blows--and for once he is thankful for his disgracefully fat cheeks. then, in his need, a dazzling apparition appears before him; standing in the doorway yonder is a white baker's boy, who is royally amused. it is no other than nilen, the wonderful little devil nilen, of his schooldays, who was always fighting everybody like a terrier and always came out of it with a whole skin. pelle shuts his eyes and blushes for himself, although he knows perfectly well that this is only an apparition. but then a wonderful thing happens; the apparition leaps down into the gutter, slings the boys to one side, and helps him to his feet. pelle recognizes the grip of those fingers--even in his schooldays they were like claws of iron. and soon he is sitting behind the oven, on nilen's grimy bed. "so you've become a cobbler?" says nilen, to begin with, compassionately, for he feels a deucedly smart fellow himself in his fine white clothes, with his bare arms crossed over his naked breast. pelle feels remarkably comfortable; he has been given a slice of bread and cream, and he decides that the world is more interesting than ever. nilen is chewing manfully, and spitting over the end of the bed. "do you chew?" asks pelle, and hastens to offer him the leaf-tobacco. "yes, we all do; a fellow has to when he works all night." pelle cannot understand how people can keep going day and night. "all the bakers in copenhagen do--so that the people can get fresh bread in the morning--and our master wants to introduce it here. but it isn't every one can do it; the whole staff had to be reorganized. it's worst about midnight, when everything is turning round. then it comes over you so that you keep on looking at the time, and the very moment the clock strikes twelve we all hold our breath, and then no one can come in or go out any more. the master himself can't stand the night shift; the 'baccy turns sour in his mouth and he has to lay it on the table. when he wakes up again he thinks it's a raisin and sticks it in the dough. what's the name of your girl?" for a moment pelle's thoughts caress the three daughters of old skipper elleby--but no, none of them shall be immolated. no, he has no girl. "well, you get one, then you needn't let them sit on you. i'm flirting a bit just now with the master's daughter--fine girl, she is, quite developed already--you know! but we have to look out when the old man's about!" "then are you going to marry her when you are a journeyman?" asks pelle, with interest. "and have a wife and kids on my back? you are a duffer, pelle! no need to trouble about that! but a woman--well, that's only for when a man's bored. see?" he stretches himself, yawning. nilen has become quite a young man, but a little crude in his manner of expressing himself. he sits there and looks at pelle with a curious expression in his eyes. "cobbler's patch!" he says contemptuously, and thrusts his tongue into his cheek so as to make it bulge. pelle says nothing; he knows he cannot thrash nilen. nilen has lit his pipe and is lying on his back in bed--with his muddy shoes on--chattering. "what's your journeyman like? ours is a conceited ass. the other day i had to fetch him a box on the ears, he was so saucy. i've learned the copenhagen trick of doing it; it soon settles a man. only you want to keep your head about it." a deuce of a fellow, this nilen, he is so grown up! pelle feels smaller and smaller. but suddenly nilen jumps up in the greatest hurry. out in the bakery a sharp voice is calling. "out of the window--to the devil with you!" he yelps--"the journeyman!" and pelle has to get through the window, and is so slow about it that his boots go whizzing past him. while he is jumping down he hears the well-known sound of a ringing box on the ear. when pelle returned from his wanderings he was tired and languid; the stuffy workshop did not seem alluring. he was dispirited, too; for the watchmaker's clock told him that he had been three hours away. he could not believe it. the young master stood at the front door, peeping out, still in his leather jacket and apron of green baize; he was whistling softly to himself, and looked like a grown fledgling that did not dare to let itself tumble out of the nest. a whole world of amazement lay in his inquiring eyes. "have you been to the harbor again, you young devil?" he asked, sinking his claws into pelle. "yes." pelle was properly ashamed. "well, what's going on there? what's the news?" so pelle had to tell it all on the stairs; how there was a swedish timber ship whose skipper's wife was taken with childbirth out at sea, and how the cook had to deliver her; of a russian vessel which had run into port with a mutiny on board; and anything else that might have happened. to-day there were only these boots. "they are from the salvage steamer--they want soling." "h'm!" the master looked at them indifferently. "is the schooner _andreas_ ready to sail?" but that pelle did not know. "what sort of a sheep's head have you got, then? haven't you any eyes in it? well, well, go and get me three bottles of beer! only stick them under your blouse so that father don't see, you monster!" the master was quite good-tempered again. then pelle got into his apron and buckled on the knee-strap. everybody was bending over his work, and master andres was reading; no sound was to be heard but those produced by the workers, and now and again a word of reprimand from the journeyman. every second afternoon, about five o'clock, the workshop door would open slightly, and a naked, floury arm introduced the newspaper and laid it on the counter. this was the baker's son, soren, who never allowed himself to be seen; he moved about from choice like a thief in the night. if the master--as he occasionally did--seized him and pulled him into the workshop, he was like a scared faun strayed from his thickets; he would stand with hanging head, concealing his eyes, and no one could get a word from him; and when he saw an opportunity, he would slip away. the arrival of the newspaper caused quite a small commotion in the workshop. when the master felt inclined, he would read aloud--of calves with two heads and four pairs of legs; of a pumpkin that weighed fifty pounds; of the fattest man in the world; of fatalities due to the careless handling of firearms, or of snakes in martinique. the dazzling wonder of the whole world passed like a pageant, filling the dark workshop; the political news was ignored. if the master happened to be in one of his desperate humors, he would read the most damnable nonsense: of how the atlantic ocean had caught fire, so that the people were living on boiled codfish; or how the heavens had got torn over america, so that angels fell right on to somebody's supper-tray. things which one knew at once for lies--and blasphemous nonsense, too, which might at any time have got him into trouble. rowing people was not in the master's line, he was ill the moment there was any unpleasantness; but he had his own way of making himself respected. as he went on reading some one would discover that he was getting a wigging, and would give a jump, believing that all his failings were in the paper. when the time drew near for leaving off work, a brisker note sounded in the workshop. the long working-day was coming to an end, and the day's weariness and satiety were forgotten, and the mind looked forward--filling with thoughts of the sand-hills or the woods, wandering down a road that was bright with pleasure. now and again a neighbor would step in, and while away the time with his gossip; something or other had happened, and master andres, who was so clever, must say what he thought about it. sounds that had been confused during the day now entered the workshop, so that those within felt that they were participating in the life of the town; it was as though the walls had fallen. about seven o'clock a peculiar sound was heard in the street without, approaching in very slowly _tempo;_ there was a dull thump and then two clacking sounds; and then came the thump again, like the tread of a huge padded foot, and once more the clack-clack. this was old bjerregrav, swinging toward the workshop on his crutches; bjerregrav, who moved more slowly than anybody, and got forward more quickly. if master andres happened to be in one of his bad humors, he would limp away, in order not to remain in the same room with a cripple; at other times he was glad to see bjerregrav. "well, you are a rare bird, aren't you?" he would cry, when bjerregrav reached the landing and swung himself sideways through the door; and the old man would laugh--he had paid this visit daily now for many years. the master took no further notice of him, but went on reading; and bjerregrav sank into his dumb pondering; his pale hands feeling one thing after another, as though the most everyday objects were unknown to him. he took hold of things just as a newborn child might have done; one had to smile at him and leave him to sit there, grubbing about like the child he really was. it was quite impossible to hold a continuous conversation with him; for even if he did actually make an observation it was sure to be quite beside the mark; bjerregrav was given to remarking attributes which no one else noticed, or which no one would have dwelt upon. when he sat thus, pondering over and fingering some perfectly familiar object, people used to say, "now bjerregrav's questioning fit is coming on!" for bjerregrav was an inquirer; he would ask questions about the wind and the weather, and even the food that he ate. he would ask questions about the most laughable subjects-- things that were self-evident to any one else--why a stone was hard, or why water extinguished fire. people did not answer him, but shrugged their shoulders compassionately. "he is quite all there," they would say; "his head's all right. but he takes everything the wrong way round!" the young master looked up from his book. "now, shall i inherit bjerregrav's money?" he asked mischievously. "no--you've always been good to me; i don't want to cause you any misfortune." "worse things than that might befall me, don't you think?" "no, for you've got a fair competence. no one has a right to more, so long as the many suffer need." "certain people have money in the bank themselves," said master andres allusively. "no, that's all over," answered the old man cheerfully. "i'm now exactly as rich as you." "the devil! have you run through the lot?" the young master turned round on his chair. "you and your 'run through it all'! you always sit over me like a judge and accuse me of things! i'm not conscious of having done anything wrong; but it's true that the need gets worse every winter. it's a burden to have money, andres, when men are hungry all about you; and if you help them then you learn afterward that you've done the man injury; they say it themselves, so it must be true. but now i've given the money to the charity organization society, so now it will go to the right people." "five thousand kroner!" said the master, musing. "then there ought to be great rejoicing among the poor this winter." "well, they won't get it direct in food and firing," said bjerregrav, "but it will come to them just as well in other ways. for when i'd made my offer to the society, shipowner monsen--you know him--came to me, and begged me to lend him the money at one year. he would have gone bankrupt if he hadn't had it, and it was terrible to think of all the poor people who would have gone without bread if that great business of his had come to a standstill. now the responsibility falls on me. but the money is safe enough, and in that way it does the poor twice as much good." master andres shook his head. "suppose bjerregrav has just sat himself down in the nettles?" "why? but what else could i have done?" said the old man uneasily. "the devil knows it won't be long before he's bankrupt. he's a frothy old rogue," murmured the master. "has bjerregrav got a note of hand?" the old man nodded; he was quite proud of himself. "and interest? five per cent.?" "no, no interest. for money to stand out and receive interest--i don't like that. it has to suck the interest somewhere or other, and of course it's from the poor. interest is blood-money, andres --and it's a new-fangled contrivance, too. when i was young we knew nothing about getting interest on our money." "yes, yes: 'who gives to other folks his bread and after suffers in their stead, why club him, club him, club him dead!'" said the master, and went on reading. bjerregrav sat there sunk in his own thoughts. suddenly he looked up. "can you, who are so well read, tell me what keeps the moon from falling? i lay overnight puzzling over it, so as i couldn't sleep. she wanders and wanders through the sky, and you can see plainly there's nothing but air under her." "the devil may know," said master andres thoughtfully. "she must have strength of her own, so that she holds herself up." "i've thought that myself--for obligation isn't enough. now we can do that--we walk and walk where we are put down, but then we've the earth under us to support us. and you are always studying, aren't you? i suppose you have read nearly all the books in the world?" bjerregrav took the master's book and felt it thoroughly. "that's a good book," he said, striking his knuckles against the cover and holding the book to his ear; "good material, that. is it a lying story or a history book?" "it's a travel book. they go up to the north pole, and they get frozen in, and they don't know if they'll ever get home alive again." "but that's terrible--that people should risk their lives so. i've often thought about that--what it's like at the end of the world--but to go and find out--no, i should never have had the courage. never to get home again!" bjerregrav, with an afflicted expression, looked first at one, then at another. "and they get frost-bite in their feet--and their toes have to be amputated--in some cases, the whole foot." "no, be quiet! so they lose their health, poor fellows!--i don't want to hear any more!" the old man sat rocking himself to and fro, as though he felt unwell. but a few moments later he asked inquisitively: "did the king send them up there to make war?" "no; they went to look for the garden of eden. one of the people who investigate writings has discovered that it is said to lie behind the ice," declared the master solemnly. "the garden of eden--or they call it paradise, too--but that lies where the two rivers fall into a third, in the east! that is quite plainly written. consequently what you read there is false teaching." "it's at the north pole, god's truth it is!" said the master, who was inclined to be a free-thinker; "god's truth, i tell you! the other's just a silly superstition." bjerregrav maintained an angry silence. he sat for some time bending low in his chair, his eyes roaming anywhere so that they did not meet another's. "yes, yes," he said, in a low voice; "everybody thinks something new in order to make himself remarkable, but no one can alter the grave." master andres wriggled impatiently to and fro; he could change his mood like a woman. bjerregrav's presence began to distress him. "now, i've learned to conjure up spirits; will bjerregrav make the experiment?" he said suddenly. "no, not at any price!" said the old man, smiling uneasily. but the master pointed, with two fingers, at his blinking eyes, and gazed at him, while he uttered the conjuration. "in the name of the blood, in the name of the sap, in the name of all the humors of the body, the good and the bad alike, and in the name of the ocean," he murmured, crouching like a tom-cat. "stop it, i tell you! stop it! i won't have it!" bjerregrav was hanging helplessly between his crutches, swinging to and fro, with an eye to the door, but he could not wrest himself away from the enchantment. then, desperately, he struck down the master's conjuring hand, and profited by the interruption of the incantation to slip away. the master sat there blowing upon his hand. "he struck out properly," he said, in surprise, turning his reddened hand with the palm inward. little nikas did not respond. he was not superstitious, but he did not like to hear ridicule cast upon the reality of things. "what shall i do?" asked peter. "are mate jensen's boots ready?" the master looked at the clock. "then you can nibble your shin-bones." it was time to stop work. the master took his stick and hat and limped over to the beer-house to play a game of billiards; the journeyman dressed and went out; the older apprentices washed their necks in the soaking-tub. presently they too would go out and have a proper time of it. pelle gazed after them. he too experienced a desperate need to shake off the oppressive day, and to escape out of doors, but his stockings were nothing but holes, and his working-blouse had to be washed so that it should be dry by the following morning. yes, and his shirt--and he blushed up to his ears--was it a fortnight he had worn it, or was this the fourth week? the time had slipped past so.... he had meant to defer the disagreeable business of washing only for a few days--and now it had mounted up to fourteen! his body had a horrible crawling feeling; was his punishment come upon him because he had turned a deaf ear to the voice of conscience, and had ignored father lasse's warning, that disgrace awaited those who did not keep themselves clean? no, thank god! but pelle had received a thorough fright, and his ears were still burning as he scrubbed his shirt and blouse downstairs in the yard. it would be well to take it as a timely warning from on high! and then blouse and shirt were hanging on the fence, spreading themselves abroad as though they wanted to hug the heavens for joy in their cleanliness. but pelle sat dejectedly upstairs, at the window of the apprentices' garret, one leg outside, so that part of him at least was in the open air. the skillful darning which his father had taught him was not put into practice here; the holes were simply cobbled together, so that father lasse would have sunk into the earth for shame. gradually he crept right out on to the roof; below, in the skipper's garden, the three girls were wandering idly, looking over toward the workshop, and evidently feeling bored. then they caught sight of him, and at once became different beings. manna came toward him, thrust her body impatiently against the stone wall, and motioned to him with her lips. she threw her head back imperiously, and stamped with her feet--but without making a sound. the other two were bent double with suppressed laughter. pelle understood perfectly what this silent speech intended, but for a time he courageously stood his ground. at last, however, he could endure it no longer; he threw everything aside and next moment was with the girls. all pelle's dreams and unuttered longings hovered over those places where men disported themselves. to him nothing was more ridiculous than to run after petticoats. women, for pelle, were really rather contemptible; they had no strength, and very little intelligence; indeed, they understood nothing but the art of making themselves ornamental. but manna and her sisters were something apart; he was still enough of a child to play, and they were excellent playmates. manna--the wild cat--was afraid of nothing; with her short skirts and her pigtail and her skipping movements she reminded him of a frolicsome, inquisitive young bird--skip! out of the thicket and back again! she could climb like a boy, and could carry pelle all round the garden on her back; it was really an oversight that she should have to wear skirts. her clothes wouldn't keep on her, and she was always tumbling into the workshop, having torn something or other off her shoes. then she would turn everything upside down, take the master's stick away, so that he could not move, and would even get her fingers among the journeyman's american tools. she was on good terms with pelle the very first day. "whose new boy are you?" she asked him, smacking him on the back. and pelle laughed, and returned her look frankly, with that immediate comprehension which is the secret of our early years. there was no trace of embarrassment between them; they had always known one another, and could at any time resume their play just where they had left off. in the evening pelle used to station himself by the garden wall and wait for her; then in a moment he was over and in the middle of some game. manna was no ordinary cry-baby; not one who seeks to escape the consequences of her action by a display of tears. if she let herself in for a scuffle, she never sued for mercy, however hardly it went with her. but pelle was to a certain extent restrained by the fact of her petticoats. and she, on one occasion, did not deny that she wished she could only be a little stronger! but she had courage, and pelle, like a good comrade, gave as good as he got, except in the workshop, where she bullied him. if she assailed him from behind, dropping something down his neck or pushing him off his wooden stool, he restrained himself, and was merely thankful that his bones were still unbroken. all his best hours were spent in the skipper's garden, and this garden was a wonderful place, which might well hold his senses captive. the girls had strange outlandish names, which their father had brought home with him on his long voyages: aina, dolores, and sjermanna! they wore heavy beads of red coral round their necks and in their ears. and about the garden lay gigantic conch-shells, in which one could hear the surging of the ocean, and tortoise-shells as big as a fifteen-pound loaf, and whole great lumps of coral. all these things were new to pelle, but he would not allow them to confound him; he enrolled them as quickly as possible among the things that were matters of course, and reserved himself the right to encounter, at any moment, something finer and more remarkable. but on some evenings he would disappoint the girls, and would stroll about the town where he could see real life--or go down to the dunes or the harbor. then they would stand dejectedly at the garden wall, bored and quarrelsome. but on sundays, as soon as he had finished in the workshop, he would faithfully appear, and they would spin out their games, conscious of a long day in front of them. they played games innumerable, and pelle was the center of them all; he could turn himself to anything; he became everything in turn--lawful husband, cannibal, or slave. he was like a tame bear in their hands; they would ride on him, trample all over him, and at times they would all three fall upon him and "murder" him. and he had to lie still, and allow them to bury his body and conceal all traces of it. the reality of the affair was enhanced by the fact that he was really covered with earth--all but his face, which was left bare only from necessity--they contented themselves with covering that with withered leaves. when he cried afterward over the state of his fine confirmation clothes, they brushed him with solicitous hands, and when he could scarcely be comforted they all three kissed him. with them he was always referred to as "manna's husband." so pelle's days went by. he had a certain grim humor rather than a cheerful mind; he felt gloomy, and as though things were going badly with him; and he had no one to lean upon. but he continued his campaign against the town, undaunted; he thought of it night and day, and fought, it in his sleep. "if you're ever in a difficulty, you've always alfred and albinus to help you out," uncle kalle had said, when pelle was bidding him good-bye; and he did not fail to look them up. but the twins were to-day the same slippery, evasive customers as they were among the pastures; they ventured their skins neither for themselves nor for anybody else. in other respects they had considerably improved. they had come hither from the country in order to better their positions, and to that end had accepted situations which would serve them until they had saved sufficient to allow them to commence a more distinguished career. albinus had advanced no further, as he had no inclination to any handicraft. he was a good-tempered youth, who was willing to give up everything else if only he could practise his acrobatic feats. he always went about balancing something or other, taking pains to put all sorts of objects to the most impossible uses. he had no respect for the order of nature; he would twist his limbs into all imaginable positions, and if he threw anything into the air he expected it to stay there while he did something else. "things must be broken in as well as animals," he would say, and persevere indefatigably. pelle laughed; he liked him, but he did not count on him any further. alfred had struck out in quite another direction. he no longer indulged in hand-springs, but walked decorously on his legs, had always much ado to pull down and straighten his collar and cuffs, and was in continual anxiety as to his clothes. he was now apprentice to a painter, but had a parting in his hair like a counter-jumper, and bought all sorts of things at the chemist's, which he smeared on his hair. if pelle ran across him in the street, alfred always made some excuse to shake him off; he preferred to associate with tradesmen's apprentices, and was continually greeting acquaintances right and left--people who were in a better position than himself. alfred put on airs of importance which made pelle long one fine day to cudgel him soundly. the twins resembled one another in this--no one need look to them for assistance of any kind. they laughed comfortably at the very idea, and if any one made fun of pelle they joined in the laughter. it was not easy to get on. he had quite shaken off the farm-boy; it was his poverty that gave him trouble now. he had recklessly bound himself as apprentice for board and lodging; he had a few clothes on his body, and he had not thought other requisites necessary for one who did not stroll up and down and gad about with girls. but the town demanded that he should rig himself out. sunday clothes were here not a bit too good for weekdays. he ought to see about getting himself a rubber collar--which had the advantage that one could wash it oneself; cuffs he regarded as a further desideratum. but that needed money, and the mighty sum of five kroner, with which he had set out to conquer the world, or, at the worst, to buy it--well, the town had enticed it out of his pocket before he was aware of it. hitherto father lasse had taken all very difficult matters upon himself; but now pelle stood alone, and had only himself to rely on. now he stood face to face with life, and he struggled courageously forward, like the excellent boy he was. but at times he broke down. and this struggle was a drag upon all his boyish doings and strivings. in the workshop he made himself useful and tried to stand well with everybody. he won over little nikas by drawing a somewhat extravagant representation of his betrothed from a photograph. the face would not come out quite right; it looked as though some one had trodden on it; but the clothes and the brooch at the throat were capital. the picture hung for a week in the workshop, and brought pelle a wonderful piece of luck: carlsen, who ran errands for the stone-workers, ordered two large pictures, one of himself and one of his wife, at the rate of twenty-five ore apiece. "but you must show a few curls in my hair," he said, "for my mother's always wished i had curls." pelle could not promise the pictures in less than two months' time; it was tedious work if they were to be accurate. "well, well; we can't spare the money sooner. this month there's the lottery, and next month the rent to pay." pelle could very well appreciate that, for carlsen earned eight kroner a week and had nine children. but he felt that he could not well reduce the price. truly, people weren't rolling in money here! and when for once he actually had a shilling in hand, then it was sure to take to its heels under his very nose, directly he began to rack his brains to decide how it could most usefully be applied: on one such occasion, for example, he had seen, in a huckster's window, a pipe in the form of a boot-leg, which was quite irresistible. when the three girls called to him over the garden wall his childhood found companionship, and he forgot his cares and struggles. he was rather shy of anybody seeing him when he slipped across; he felt that his intercourse with the children was not to his credit; moreover, they were only "petticoats." but he felt that he was lucky to be there, where there were curious things which were useful to play with--chinese cups and saucers, and weapons from the south sea islands. manna had a necklace of white teeth, sharp and irregular, strung together in a haphazard way, which she maintained were human teeth, and she had the courage to wear them round her bare neck. and the garden was full of wonderful plants; there were maize, and tobacco, and all sorts of other plants, which were said, in some parts of the world, to grow as thick as corn does at home. they were finer of skin than other folk, and they were fragrant of the strange places of the world. and he played with them, and they regarded him with wonder and mended his clothes when he tore them; they made him the center of all their games--even when he was not present. there was a secret satisfaction in this--although he accepted it as a matter of course, it was a portion of all that fate and good fortune had reserved for him, a slight advance payment from the infinite fairy-tale of life. he longed to rule over them absolutely, and if they were obstinate he lectured them angrily, so that they suddenly gave in to him. he knew well enough that every proper man makes his wife behave submissively. so passed the early summer; time was moving onward. the townsfolk had already, at whitsuntide, provided themselves with what they needed for the summer, and out in the country people had other things to think about than trapesing into town with work for the artisans; the coming harvest occupied all their thoughts. even in the poorest quarters, where no work was done for the peasants, one realized how utterly dependent the little town was upon the country. it was as though the town had in a moment forgotten its superiority; the manual workers no longer looked down on the peasants; they looked longingly toward the fields, spoke of the weather and the prospects of harvest, and had forgotten all their urban interests. if by exception a farmer's cart came through the streets, people ran to the window to look after it. and as the harvest stood almost at their doors, it seemed as though old memories were calling to them, and they raised their heads to listen; those who could gave up their town life and went into the country to help in the work of harvest. both the journeyman and the two apprentices had left the workshop; jens and pelle could comfortably manage the work. pelle saw nothing of this stagnant mood; he was occupied on all sides in keeping a whole skin and getting the utmost out of life; there were thousands of impressions of good and evil which had to be assimilated, and which made a balanced whole--that remarkable thing, the town, of which pelle never knew whether he felt inclined to bless it or curse it,--or it always held him in suspense. and amidst all his activities, lasse's face rose up before him and made him feel lonely in the midst of the bustle. wherever could father lasse be? would he ever hear of him again? every day he had expected, in reliance on karna's word, to see him blundering in at the door, and when anybody fumbled at the door-knocker he felt quite certain it was lasse. it became a silent grief in the boy's mind, a note that sounded through all that he undertook. v one sunday evening, as pelle was running down east street, a cart loaded with household goods came jolting in from the country. pelle was in a great hurry, but was obliged to look at it. the driver sat in front, below the load, almost between the horses; he was tall and had ruddy cheeks, and was monstrously wrapped up, in spite of the heat. "hallo!" why, it was the worthy due, kalle's son-in-law; and above him, in the midst of all the lumber, sat anna and the children, swaying to and fro with the motion of the cart. "hullo!" pelle waved his cap, and with one spring he had his foot on the shaft and was sitting next to due, who was laughing all over his face at the encounter. "yes, we've had enough of the farming country, and now we've come to see if things aren't better here in town," said due, in his quiet manner. "and here you are, running about just like you did at home!" there was amazement in his voice. anna came crawling over the load, and smiled down upon him. "have you news of father lasse?" pelle asked her. this was always his question when he met an acquaintance. "yes, that we have--he's just going to buy a farm up on the heath. now, you devil, are you goin' to behave?" anna crawled backward, and a child began to cry. then she reappeared. "yes, and we were to remember father to you, and mother, and all the rest." but pelle had no thoughts to spare for uncle kalle. "is it up by stone farm?" he asked. "no--farther to the east, by the witch's cell," said due. "it is a big piece of land, but it's not much more than stone. so long as he doesn't ruin himself over it--two have gone smash there before him. he's arranged it together with karna." "uncle lasse will know what he's about," said anna. "karna has found the money for it; she has something saved." pelle couldn't sit still; his heart leaped in his body at this news. no more uncertainty--no more horrible possibilities: he had his father once more! and the dream of lasse's life was about to be fulfilled: he could now put his feet under his own table. he had become a landowner into the bargain, if one didn't use the term too precisely; and pelle himself--why, he was a landowner's son! by nine o'clock in the evening he had finished everything, and was able to get off; his blood was pulsing with excitement.... would there be horses? why, of course; but would there be laborers, too? had father lasse become one of those farmers who pay wages on a quarter-day, and come into town on a sunday afternoon, their fur-lined collars up to their ears? pelle could see the men quite plainly going up the stairs, one after another, taking off their wooden shoes and knocking on the door of the office--yes, they wanted to see about an advance on their wages. and lasse scratched the back of his head, looked at them thoughtfully, and said: "not on any account, you'd only waste it on drink." but he gave it to them finally, for all that. "one is much too good-natured," he said to pelle.... for pelle had bidden farewell to cobbling, and was living at home as a landowner's son. really, pelle managed the whole business--only it wouldn't do to say so. and at the christmas feast he danced with the buxom farmer's daughters. there was whispering in the corners when pelle made his appearance; but he went straight across the room and invited the pastor's daughter to a dance, so that she lost her breath, and more besides, and begged him on the spot to marry her.... he hurried onward, still dreaming; longing drew him onward, and before he knew it he had travelled some miles along the high-road. the road he now turned into led him by pine woods and heath-covered hills; the houses he passed were poorer, and the distance from one to another was increasing. pelle took a turning a little farther on, which, to the best of his knowledge, led in the required direction, and hurried forward with awakened senses. the landscape was only half revealed by the summer night, but it was all as familiar as the mends in the back of father lasse's waistcoat, although he had never been here before. the poverty-stricken landscape spoke to him as with a mother's voice. among these clay-daubed huts, the homes of poor cultivators who waged war upon the rocky ground surrounding their handful of soil, he felt safe as he had never felt before. all this had been his through many generations, down to the rags thrust into the broken window-panes and the lumber piled upon the thatch to secure it. here was nothing for any one to rack his brains over, as elsewhere in the world; here a man could lie down at peace and rest. yet it was not for him to till the ground and to dwell amid all these things. for he had outgrown them, as he had outgrown the shelter of his mother's skirts. the lane gradually became a deep cart-track, which meandered between rocks and moorland. pelle knew that he ought to keep to the east, but the track went now to the south, now to the north. he soon had enough of it, noted his direction exactly, and struck off obliquely. but it was difficult to make his way; the moonlight deceived his eyes so that he stumbled and sank into hollows, while the heather and the juniper reached as high as his waist, and hampered every movement. and then he turned obstinate, and would not turn back to the cart-track, but labored forward, so that he was soon steaming with heat; clambering over slanting ridges of rock, which were slippery with the dewfall on the moss, and letting himself tumble at hazard over the ledges. a little too late he felt a depth below him; it was as though a cold wave washed through his heart, and he clutched wildly at the air for some support. "father lasse!" he cried woefully; and at the same moment he was caught by brambles, and sank slowly down through their interwoven runners, which struck their myriad claws into him and reluctantly let him pass, until he was cautiously deposited, deep down among the sharp stones at the bottom of a ravine, shuddering and thanking his stars for all the thorns that had mercifully flayed his hide in order that he should not split his skull. then he must needs grope forward, through the darkness and running water, until he found a tree and was able to climb to the surface. now he had lost his bearings, and when that became clear he lost his head as well. nothing was left of the confident pelle of a while ago; he ran blindly forward, in order to reach the summit of the hill. and as he was hastening upward, so that he might take note of the crags that lay about him, the ground rose and closed above him with a frightful clamor, and the air turned black and full of noises, and he could not see his hand before his eyes. it was like a stupendous explosion--as though released by his cheerful stamping over the rocks, the earth was hurled into the sky and dissolved in darkness, and the darkness itself cried aloud with terror and eddied round him. his heart pounded in his breast and robbed him of his last remnant of understanding; he jumped for sheer unbridled terror and bellowed like a maniac. the black mass drove over his head, so that he was forced to duck, and gleaming rifts showed and disappeared; and the darkness surged like the ocean and cried continually aloud with a hellish chaos of sounds. then it suddenly swung to one side, drifted northward, and descended. and pelle understood that he had stumbled upon a rookery. he found himself behind a great rock. how he got there he did not know; but he knew that he was a terrible duffer. how easily he could have brought confusion on the fifty-odd crows by tossing a few stones into the air! he went along the slope, very valiant in his resolve, but with shaking knees. in the far distance a fox sat upon a cliff and howled insanely at the moon, and far to the north and the south lay a transient glimmer of sea. up here subterranean creatures had their home; when one trod upon the rock it sounded hollow. in the southern opening the sea lay silver in the moonlight, but as pelle looked again it disappeared, and the low-lying plain was drowned in white. in every direction the land was disappearing; pelle watched in amazement while the sea slowly rose and filled every hollow. then it closed above the lesser hills; one by one it swallowed them, and then it took the long ridge of hills to the east, until only the crests of the pine-trees lifted themselves above it; but pelle did not as yet give himself up for lost; for behind all his anxiety lay a confused conception of mount ararat, which kept up his courage. but then it became so dreadfully cold that pelle's breeches seemed to stick to his body. "that's the water," he thought, and he looked round in alarm; the rock had become a little island, and he and it were floating on the ocean. pelle was a sturdy little realist, who had already had all manner of experiences. but now the fear had at last curdled his blood, and he accepted the supernatural without a protest. the world had evidently perished, and he himself was drifting--drifting out into space, and space was terribly cold. father lasse, and the workshop, manna and the young master's shining eyes--here was an end of them all. he did not mourn them; he simply felt terribly lonely. what would be the end of it all--or was this perhaps death? had he perhaps fallen dead a little while ago, when he tumbled over the precipice? and was he now voyaging toward the land of the blessed? or was this the end of the world itself, of which he had heard such dreadful things said, as far back as he could remember? perhaps he was adrift on the last scrap of earth, and was the only person still living? it did not in the least surprise pelle that he should be left where everybody else had perished; in this moment of despair he found it quite natural. he stood breathlessly silent and listened to the infinite; and he heard the cudgel-like blows of his pulses. still he listened, and now he heard something more: far away in the night that surged against his ears he heard the suggestion of a sound, the vibrating note of some living creature. infinitely remote and faint though it was, yet pelle was so aware of it that it thrilled him all through. it was a cow feeding on the chain; he could follow the sound of her neck scrubbing up and down against the post. he ran down over the craggy declivity, fell, and was again on his feet and running forward; the mist had swallowed him unawares. then he was down on arable that had once been woodland; then he trod on something that felt familiar as it brushed against his feet--it was land that had once been ploughed but had now been recaptured by the heath. the sound grew louder, and changed to all those familiar sounds that one hears at night coming from an open cowshed; and now a decayed farmhouse showed through the mist. this could not of course be the farm pelle was looking for--father lasse had a proper farmhouse with four wings! but he went forward. out in the country people do not lock everything up as carefully as they do in town; so pelle could walk right in. directly he opened the door of the sitting-room he was filled with an uplifting joy. the most comfortable odor he had ever known struck upon his senses --the foundation of everything fragrant--the scent of father lasse! it was dark in the room, and the light of the night without could not make its way through the low window. he heard the deep breathing of persons asleep, and knew that they had not awakened--the night was not nearly over yet. "good-evening!" he said. a hand began to grope for the matches. "is any one there?" said a drowsy woman's voice. "good-evening!" he cried again, and went forward into the room. "it's pelle!" he brought out the name in a singsong voice. "so it's you, boy!" lasse's voice quavered, and the hands could not manage the matches; but pelle stepped toward the voice and clasped his wrist. "and how did you find your way here in the wilderness-- and at night, too? yes, yes, i'll get up!" he continued, and he tried, with a groan, to sit up. "no, you stop there and let me get up," said karna, who lay against the wall--she had kept silence while the men-folk were speaking. "he gets this lumbago, i can tell you!" she declared, jumping out of bed. "ay, i've been at it a bit too hard. work comes easy when a man's his own master--it's difficult to leave off. but it'll be all right when once i've got things properly going. work's a good embrocation for the lumbago. and how goes it with you then? i was near believing you must be dead!" so pelle had to sit on the edge of the bed and tell about everything in town--about the workshop, and the young master's lame leg, and everything. but he said nothing of the disagreeable things; it was not for men to dwell upon such things. "then you've been getting on well in foreign parts!" said lasse, delighted. "and do they think well of you?" "yes!" this came a trifle slowly. in the first place, respect was just particularly what he had not won--but why trumpet forth his miseries? "the young master must like me--he often chats with me, even over the journeyman's head." "now, think of that! i have often wondered, i can tell you, how you were getting on, and whether we shouldn't soon have good news of you. but everything takes time, that we know. and as you see, i'm in a very different position." "yes, you've become a landowner!" said pelle, smiling. "the deuce, yes, so i am!" lasse laughed, too, but then he groaned piteously with the pain in his back. "in the daytime, when i'm working hard, i get along well enough, but as soon as i lie down, then it comes on directly. and it's the devil of a pain--as though the wheels of a heavy loaded wagon were going to and fro across your back, whatever name you like to give it. well, well! it's a fine thing, all the same, to be your own master! it's funny how it takes me--but dry bread tastes better to me at my own table than--yes, by god, i can tell you, it tastes better than cake at any other body's table! and then to be all alone on your own bit of land, and to be able to spit wherever you like to spit, without asking anybody's leave! and the soil isn't so bad; even if most of it has never been under cultivation, it has all been lying there storing up its power to produce since the beginning of the world. but about the people in the town--are they agreeable?" oh, pelle had nothing to complain about. "but when were you married?" he asked suddenly. "well, you see," and lasse began to stumble over his own words, although he had been prepared for the boy to ask this very question; "in a way we aren't exactly married. that takes money, and the work here is getting forward.... but it's our intention, i needn't say, as soon as we have time and money." it was honestly lasse's opinion that one could just as well dispense with the ceremony; at least until children came, and demanded an honorable birth. but he could see that pelle did not relish the idea; he was still the same pedantic little chap the moment a point of honor was in question. "as soon as we've got the harvest under shelter we'll invite people to a grand feast," he said resolutely. pelle nodded eagerly. now he was a landowner's son, and he could make the shabby-genteel boys of the town envious of him. but they mustn't be able to throw it in his face that his father was "living with a woman!" now karna came in with some food. she looked at the boy with much affection. "now, fall to, and don't despise our poor table, my son," she said, and gave his arm a friendly pat. pelle fell to with a good appetite. lasse hung half out of the alcove, delighted. "you haven't lost your appetite down there," he said. "do you get anything decent to eat? karna thought the food wasn't any too good." "it's passable!" said pelle obstinately. he repented of having betrayed himself to karna that evening, when he was so depressed. the desire to eat awoke in lasse, so that little by little he crept out of the alcove. "you are sitting alone there," he said, and sat down at the table in his nightcap and pants. he was wearing a knitted nightcap, one end of which fell loosely over his ear. he looked like a genuine old farmer, one that had money in his mattress. and karna, who was moving to and fro while the menfolk ate, had a round, comfortable figure, and was carrying a big bread-knife in her hand. she inspired confidence, and she too looked a regular farmer's wife. a place was found for pelle on the bed. he extinguished the tallow dip before he undressed, and thrust his underclothing under the pillow. he woke late; the sun had already left the eastern heavens. the most delicious smell of coffee filled the room. pelle started up hastily, in order to dress himself before karna could come in and espy his condition; he felt under the pillow--and his shirt was no longer there! and his stockings lay on a stool, and they had been darned! "when karna came in he lay motionless, in obstinate silence; he did not reply to her morning salutation, and kept his eyes turned toward the alcove. she ought not to have gone rummaging among his things! "i've taken your shirt and washed it," she said serenely, "but you can have it again this evening. after all, you can wear this until then." she laid one of lasse's shirts on the coverlet. pelle lay there for a time as though he had not heard karna. then he sat up, feeling very cross and got into the shirt. "no, stay there until you've drunk your coffee," she said as he attempted to get up, and she placed a stool by him. and so pelle had his coffee in bed, as he had dreamed it was to happen when father lasse remarried; and he could not go on feeling angry. but he was still burning with shame, and that made him taciturn. during the morning lasse and pelle went out and inspected the property. "it'll be best if we go round it first; then you will see plainly where the boundary lies," said lasse, who knew that the dimensions of the place would be a surprise to pelle. they wandered through heather and brambles and thorns, striking across the moorland and skirting precipitous slopes. it was several hours before they had finished their round. "it's an awfully large holding," pelle said again and again. and lasse answered proudly. "yes, there's nearly seventy acres here--if only it were all tilled!" it was virgin soil, but it was overrun with heather and juniper- scrub, through which brambles and honeysuckle twined their way. halfway up a perpendicular wall of rock hung the ash and the wild cherry, gripping the bare cliff with roots that looked like crippled hands. crab-apple trees, sloe-bushes and wild rose-briars made an impenetrable jungle, which already bore traces of lasse's exertions. and in the midst of this luxuriant growth the rocky subsoil protruded its grim features, or came so near the surface that the sun had scorched the roots of the herbage. "that's a proper little paradise," said lasse; "you can scarcely set foot in it without treading on the berries. but it's got to be turned into arable if one is to live here. "isn't the soil rather middling?" said pelle. "middling--when all that can grow and flourish there?" lasse pointed to where birch and aspen stood waving their shining foliage to and fro in the breeze. "no, but it'll be a damned rough bit of work to get it ready for ploughing; i'm sorry now that you aren't at home." lasse had several times made this allusion, but pelle was deaf to it. all this was not what he had imagined; he felt no desire to play the landowner's son at home in the way lasse had in mind. "it'll be trouble enough here to manage about your daily bread," he said, with remarkable precocity. "oh, it won't be so difficult to earn our daily bread, even if we can't hold a feast every day," said lasse, affronted. "and here at any rate a man can straighten his back without having a bailiff come yapping round him. even if i were to work myself to death here, at least i've done with slavery. and you must not forget the pleasure of seeing the soil coming under one's hands, day after day, and yielding something instead of lying there useless. that is indeed the finest task a man can perform--to till the earth and make it fruitful--i can think of none better! but you--have you lost the farmer's instinct in town?" pelle did not reply. although there might be something fine and splendid in working oneself to death over a bit of land, just so that something different might grow there, he himself was glad that he did not possess this farmer's instinct. "my father, and his father, and all of our family i have ever known, we've all had something in us so that we've been driven to improve the soil, without thinking of our own comfort. but it certainly never entered the mind of one of us that we should ever hear it ill spoken of--and by one of our own people too!" lasse spoke with his face turned away--as did the almighty when he was wroth with his people; and pelle felt as though he were a hateful renegade, as bad as bad could be. but nevertheless he would not give in. "i should be no use at all here," he said apologetically, gazing in the direction of the sea. "i don't believe in it." "no, you've cut yourself loose from it all, you have!" retorted lasse bitterly. "but you'll repent it some day, in the long run. life among the strangers there isn't all splendor and enjoyment." pelle did not answer; he felt at that moment too much of a man to bandy words. he contained himself, and they went onward in silence. "well, of course, it isn't an estate," said lasse suddenly, in order to take the sting out of further criticism. pelle was still silent. round the house the land was cultivated, and all round the cultivated land the luxuriant heather revealed disappearing traces of cultivation, and obliterated furrows. "this was a cornfield once," said pelle. "well, to think of your seeing that right off!" exclaimed lasse, half sarcastically, half in real admiration. "the deuce of an eye you've got, you truly have! i should certainly have noticed nothing particular about the heath--if i had not known. yes, that has been under cultivation, but the heath has won it back again! that was under my predecessor, who took in more than he could work, so that it ruined him. but you can see now that something can be done with the land!" lasse pointed to a patch of rye, and pelle was obliged to recognize that it looked very well. but through the whole length of the field ran high ridges of broken stone, which told him what a terrible labor this soil demanded before it could be brought under cultivation. beyond the rye lay newly-broken soil, which looked like a dammed-up ice-field; the plough had been driven through mere patches of soil. pelle looked at it all, and it made him sad to think of his father. lasse himself was undismayed. "as it is, it needs two to hold the plough. karna is very strong, but even so it's as though one's arms would be torn from one's body every time the plough strikes. and most of it has to be broken up with pick and drill--and now and again it takes a bit of a sneeze. i use dynamite; it's more powerful than powder, and it bites down into the ground better," he said proudly. "how much is under cultivation here?" asked pelle. "with meadow and garden, almost fourteen acres; but it will be more before the year is out." "and two families have been ruined already by those fourteen acres," said karna, who had come out to call them in to dinner. "yes, yes; god be merciful to them--and now we get the fruit of their labors! the parish won't take the farm away again--not from us," he said. lasse spoke in a tone full of self-reliance. pelle had never seen him stand so upright. "i can never feel quite easy about it," said karna; "it's as though one were ploughing up churchyard soil. the first who was turned out by the parish hanged himself, so they say." "yes, he had a hut on the heath there--where you see the elder-trees --but it's fallen to pieces since then. i'm so glad it didn't happen in the house." lasse shuddered uncomfortably. "people say he haunts the place when any misfortune is in store for those that come after him." "then the house was built later?" asked pelle, astonished, for it had such a tumble-down appearance. "yes, my predecessor built that. he got the land from the parish free for twenty years, provided he built a house and tilled a tonde of land a year. those were not such bad conditions. only he took in too much at a time; he was one of those people who rake away fiercely all the morning and have tired themselves out before midday. but he built the house well"--and lasse kicked the thin mud-daubed wall--"and the timber-work is good. i think i shall break a lot of stone when the winter comes; the stone must be got out of the way, and it isn't so bad to earn a few hundred kroner. and in two or three years we will make the old house into a barn and build ourselves a new house--eh, karna? with a cellar underneath and high steps outside, like they have at stone farm. it could be of unhewn granite, and i can manage the walls myself." karna beamed with joy, but pelle could not enter into their mood. he was disillusioned; the descent from his dream to this naked reality was too great. and a feeling rose within him of dull resentment against this endless labor, which, inexperienced though he was, was yet part of his very being by virtue of the lives of ten, nay, twenty generations. he himself had not waged the hard-fought war against the soil, but he had as a matter of course understood everything that had to do with tilling the soil ever since he could crawl, and his hands had an inborn aptitude for spade and rake and plough. but he had not inherited his father's joy in the soil; his thoughts had struck out in a new direction. yet this endless bondage to the soil lay rooted in him, like a hatred, which gave him a survey unknown to his father. he was reasonable; he did not lose his head at the sight of seventy acres of land, but asked what they contained. he himself was not aware of it, but his whole being was quick with hostility toward the idea of spending one's strength in this useless labor; and his point of view was as experienced as though he had been lasse's father. "wouldn't you have done better to buy a cottage-holding with twelve or fourteen acres of land, and that in a good state of cultivation?" he asked. lasse turned on him impatiently. "yes, and then a man might stint and save all his life, and never get beyond cutting off his fly to mend his seat; he'd most likely spend twice what he made! what the deuce! i might as well have stayed where i was. here, it's true, i do work harder and i have to use my brains more, but then there's a future before me. when i've once got the place under cultivation this will be a farm to hold its own with any of them!" lasse gazed proudly over his holding; in his mind's eye it was waving with grain and full of prime cattle. "it would carry six horses and a score or two of cows easily," he said aloud. "that would bring in a nice income! what do you think, karna?" "i think the dinner will be cold," said karna, laughing. she was perfectly happy. at dinner lasse proposed that pelle should send his clothes to be washed and mended at home. "you've certainly got enough to do without that," he said indulgently. "butcher jensen goes to market every saturday; he'd take it for you and put it down by the church, and it would be odd if on a sunday no one from the heath went to church, who could bring the bundle back to us." but pelle suddenly turned stubborn and made no reply. "i just thought it would be too much for you to wash and mend for yourself," said lasse patiently. "in town one must have other things to think about, and then it isn't really proper work for a man!" "i'll do it myself all right," murmured pelle ungraciously. now he would show them that he could keep himself decent. it was partly in order to revenge himself for his own neglect that he refused the offer. "yes, yes," said lasse meekly; "i just asked you. i hope you won't take it amiss." however strong karna might be, and however willing to help in everything, lasse did greatly feel the need of a man to work with him. work of a kind that needed two had accumulated, and pelle did not spare himself. the greater part of the day was spent in heaving great stones out of the soil and dragging them away; lasse had knocked a sledge together, and the two moorland horses were harnessed up to it. "yes, you mustn't look at them too closely," said lasse, as he stroked the two scarecrows caressingly. "just wait until a few months have gone by, and then you'll see! but they've plenty of spirit now." there was much to be done, and the sweat was soon pouring down their faces; but they were both in good spirits. lasse was surprised at the boy's strength--with two or three such lads he could turn the whole wilderness over. once again he sighed that pelle was not living at home; but to this pelle still turned a deaf ear. and before they were aware of it karna had come out again and was calling them to supper. "i think we'll harness the horses and drive pelle halfway to town-- as a reward for the work he's done," said lasse gaily. "and we've both earned a drive." so the two screws were put into the cart. it was amusing to watch lasse; he was a notable driver, and one could not but be almost persuaded that he had a pair of blood horses in front of him. when they met any one he would cautiously gather up the reins in order to be prepared lest the horses should shy--"they might so easily bolt," he said solemnly. and when he succeeded in inducing them to trot he was delighted. "they take some holding," he would say, and to look at him you would have thought they called for a strong pair of wrists. "damn it all, i believe i shall have to put the curb on them!" and he set both his feet against the dashboard, and sawed the reins to and fro. when half the distance was covered father lasse wanted to drive just a little further, and again a little further still--oh, well, then, they might as well drive right up to the house! he had quite forgotten that the following day would be a day of hard labor both for himself and for the horses. but at last pelle jumped out. "shan't we arrange that about your washing?" asked lasse. "no!" pelle turned his face away--surely they might stop asking him that! "well, well, take care of yourself, and thanks for your help. you'll come again as soon as you can?" pelle smiled at them, but said nothing; he dared not open his mouth, for fear of the unmanly lump that had risen in his throat. silently he held out his hand and ran toward the town. vi the other apprentices were able to provide themselves with clothes, as they worked on their own account in their own time; they got work from their friends, and at times they pirated the master's customers, by underbidding him in secret. they kept their own work under the bench; when the master was not at home they got it out and proceeded with it. "to-night i shall go out and meet my girl," they would say, laughing. little nikas said nothing at all. pelle had no friends to give him work, and he could not have done much. if the others had much to do after work-hours or on sundays he had to help them; but he gained nothing by so doing. and he also had nilen's shoes to keep mended, for old acquaintances' sake. jeppe lectured them at great length on the subject of tips, as he had promised; for the townsfolk had been complaining of this burdensome addition to their expenditure, and in no measured terms had sworn either to abate or abolish this tax on all retail transactions. but it was only because they had read of the matter in the newspapers, and didn't want to be behind the capital! they always referred to the subject when pelle went round with his shoes, and felt in their purses; if there was a shilling there they would hide it between their fingers, and say that he should have something next time for certain--he must remind them of it another time! at first he did remind them--they had told him to do so--but then jeppe received a hint that his youngest apprentice must stop his attempts at swindling. pelle could not understand it, but he conceived an increasing dislike of these people, who could resort to such a shameless trick in order to save a penny piece, which they would never have missed. pelle, who had been thinking that he had had enough of the world of poor folk, and must somehow contrive to get into another class, learned once again to rely on the poor, and rejoiced over every pair of poor folk's shoes which the master anathematized because they were so worn out. the poor were not afraid to pay a shilling if they had one; it made him feel really sad to see how they would search in every corner to get a few pence together, and empty their children's money-boxes, while the little ones stood by in silence, looking on with mournful eyes. and if he did not wish to accept their money they were offended. the little that he did receive he owed to people who were as poor as himself. money, to these folk, no longer consisted of those round, indifferent objects which people in the upper strata of human society piled up in whole heaps. here every shilling meant so much suffering or happiness, and a grimy little copper would still the man's angry clamor and the child's despairing cry for food. widow hoest gave him a ten-ore piece, and he could not help reflecting that she had given him her mid-day meal for two days to come! one day, as he was passing the miserable hovels which lay out by the northern dunes, a poor young woman came to her door and called to him; she held the remains of a pair of elastic-sided boots in her hand. "oh, shoemaker's boy, do be so kind as to mend these a bit for me!" she pleaded. "just sew them up anyhow, so that they'll stick on my feet for half the evening. the stone-masons are giving their feast, and i do so want to go to it!" pelle examined the boots; there was not much to be done for them, nevertheless he took them, and mended them in his own time. he learned from jens that the woman was the widow of a stone-cutter, who was killed by an explosion shortly after their marriage. the boots looked quite decent when he returned them. "well, i've no money, but i do offer you many, many thanks!" she said, looking delightedly at the boots; "and how nice you've made them look! god bless you for it." "thanks killed the blacksmith's cat," said pelle smiling. her pleasure was contagious. "yes, and god's blessing falls where two poor people share their bed," the young woman rejoined jestingly. "still, i wish you everything good as payment--now i can dance after all!" pelle was quite pleased with himself as he made off. but few doors farther on another poor woman accosted him; she had evidently heard of the success of the first, and there she stood holding a dirty pair of children's boots, which she earnestly begged him to mend. he took the boots and repaired them although it left him still poorer; he knew too well what need was to refuse. this was the first time that any one in the town had regarded him as an equal, and recognized him at the first glance as a fellow-creature. pelle pondered over this; he did not know that poverty is cosmopolitan. when he went out after the day's work he took a back seat; he went about with the poorest boys and behaved as unobtrusively as possible. but sometimes a desperate mood came over him, and at times he would make himself conspicuous by behavior that would have made old lasse weep; as, for example, when he defiantly sat upon a freshly-tarred bollard. he became thereby the hero of the evening; but as soon as he was alone he went behind a fence and let down his breeches in order to ascertain the extent of the damage. he had been running his errands that day in the best clothes he possessed. this was no joke. lasse had deeply imbued him with his own moderation, and had taught him to treat his things carefully, so that it seemed to pelle almost a pious duty. but pelle felt himself forsaken by all the gods, and now he defied them. the poor women in the streets were the only people who had eyes for him. "now look at the booby, wearing his confirmation jacket on a weekday!" they would say, and call him over in order to give him a lecture, which as a rule ended in an offer to repair the damage. but it was all one to pelle; if he ran about out-of-doors in his best clothes he was only doing as the town did. at all events he had a shirt on, even if it was rather big! and the barber's assistant himself, who looked most important in tail-coat and top-hat, and was the ideal of every apprentice, did not always wear a shirt; pelle had once noticed that fact as the youth was swinging some ladies. up in the country, where a man was appraised according to the number of his shirts, such a thing would have been impossible. but here in town people did not regard such matters so strictly. he was no longer beside himself with astonishment at the number of people--respectable folk for the most part--who had no abiding place anywhere, but all through the year drifted in the most casual manner from one spot to another. yet the men looked contented, had wives and children, went out on sundays, and amused themselves; and after all why should one behave as if the world was coming to an end because one hadn't a barrel of salt pork or a clamp of potatoes to see one through the winter? recklessness was finally pelle's refuge too; when all the lights seemed to have gone out of the future it helped him to take up the fairy-tale of life anew, and lent a glamor to naked poverty. imagination entered even into starvation: are you or are you not going to die of it? pelle was poor enough for everything to be still before him, and he possessed the poor man's alert imagination; the great world and the romance of life were the motives that drew him through the void, that peculiar music of life which is never silent, but murmurs to the reckless and the careful alike. of the world he knew well enough that it was something incomprehensibly vast--something that was always receding; yet in eighty days one could travel right round it, to the place where men walk about with their heads downward, and back again, and experience all its wonders. he himself had set out into this incomprehensible world, and here he was, stranded in this little town, where there was never a crumb to feed a hungry imagination; nothing but a teeming confusion of petty cares. one felt the cold breath of the outer winds, and the dizziness of great spaces; when the little newspaper came the small tradesmen and employers would run eagerly across the street, their spectacles on their noses, and would speak, with gestures of amazement, of the things that happened outside. "china," they would say; "america!" and fancy that they themselves made part of the bustling world. but pelle used to wish most ardently that something great and wonderful might wander thither and settle down among them just for once! he would have been quite contented with a little volcano underfoot, so that the houses would begin to sway and bob to one another; or a trifling inundation, so that ships would ride over the town, and have to moor themselves to the weather-cock on the church steeple. he had an irrational longing that something of this kind should happen, something to drive the blood from his heart and make his hair stand on end. but now he had enough to contend against apart from matters of this sort; the world must look after itself until times were better. it was more difficult to renounce the old fairy-tales, for poverty itself had sung them into his heart, and they spoke to him with father lasse's quivering voice. "a rich child often lies in a poor mother's lap," his father used to say, when he prophesied concerning his son's future, and the saying sank deep into the boy's mind, like the refrain of a song. but he had learned this much, that there were no elephants here, on whose necks a plucky youngster could ride astraddle, in order to ride down the tiger which was on the point of tearing the king of the himalayas to pieces so that he would of course receive the king's daughter and half his kingdom as a reward for his heroic deed. pelle often loitered about the harbor, but no beautifully dressed little girl ever fell into the water, so that he might rescue her, and then, when he was grown up, make her his wife. and if such a thing did really happen he knew now that his elders would cheat him out of any tip he might receive. and he had quite given up looking for the golden coach which was to run over him, so that the two terrified ladies, who would be dressed in mourning, would take him into their carriage and carry him off to their six- storied castle! of course, they would adopt him permanently in place of the son which they had just lost, and who, curiously enough, was exactly the same age as himself. no, there were no golden coaches here! out in the great world the poorest boy had the most wonderful prospects; all the great men the books had ever heard of had been poor lads like himself, who had reached their high estate through good fortune and their own valor. but all the men in town who possessed anything had attained their wealth by wearily plodding forward and sucking the blood of the poor. they were always sitting and brooding over their money, and they threw nothing away for a lucky fellow to pick up; and they left nothing lying about, lest some poor lad should come and take it. not one of them considered it beneath him to pick up an old trouser-button off the pavement, and carry it home. one evening pelle was running out to fetch half a pound of canister tobacco for jeppe. in front of the coal-merchant's house the big dog, as always, made for his legs, and he lost the twenty-five-ore piece. while he was looking for it, an elderly man came up to him. pelle knew him very well; he was monsen the shipowner, the richest man in the town. "have you lost something, my lad?" he asked, and began to assist in the search. "now he will question me," thought pelle. "and then i shall answer him boldly, and then he will look at me attentively and say--" pelle was always hoping for some mysterious adventure, such as happens to an able lad and raises him to fortune. but the shipowner did nothing he was expected to do. he merely searched eagerly, and inquired: "where were you walking? here, weren't you? are you quite certain of that?" "in any case he'll give me another twenty-five ore," thought pelle. "extraordinary--how eager he is!" pelle did not really want to go on searching, but he could not very well leave off before the other. "well, well!" said the shipowner at last, "you may as well whistle for those twenty-five ore. but what a booby you are!" and he moved on, and pelle looked after him for a long while before putting his hand into his own pocket. later, as he was returning that way, he saw a man bowed over the flagstones, striking matches as he searched. it was monsen. the sight tickled pelle tremendously. "have you lost anything?" he asked mischievously, standing on the alert, lest he should get a box on the ear. "yes, yes; twenty-five ore;" groaned the shipowner. "can't you help me to find it, my boy?" well, he had long understood that monsen was the richest man in the town, and that he had become so by provisioning ships with spoiled foodstuffs, and refitting old crank vessels, which he heavily insured. and he knew who was a thief and who a bankrupt speculator, and that merchant lau only did business with the little shopkeepers, because his daughter had gone to the bad. pelle knew the secret pride of the town, the "top-galeass," as she was called, who in her sole self represented the allurements of the capital, and he knew the two sharpers, and the consul with the disease which was eating him up. all this was very gratifying knowledge for one of the rejected. he had no intention of letting the town retain any trace of those splendors with which he had once endowed it. in his constant ramblings he stripped it to the buff. for instance, there stood the houses of the town, some retiring, some standing well forward, but all so neat on the side that faced the street, with their wonderful old doorways and flowers in every window. their neatly tarred framework glistened, and they were always newly lime-washed, ochrous yellow or dazzling white, sea-green, or blue as the sky. and on sundays there was quite a festive display of flags. but pelle had explored the back quarters of every house; and there were sinks and traps there, with dense slimy growths, and stinking refuse-barrels, and one great dustbin with a drooping elder-tree over it. and the spaces between the cobble-stones were foul with the scales of herrings and the guts of codfish, and the lower portions of the walls were covered with patches of green moss. the bookbinder and his wife went about hand in hand when they set out for the meeting of some religious society. but at home they fought, and in chapel, as they sat together and sang out of the same hymn-book, they would secretly pinch one another's legs. "yes," people used to say, "such a nice couple!" but the town couldn't throw dust in pelle's eyes; he knew a thing or two. if only he had known just how to get himself a new blouse! some people didn't go without clothes so readily; they were forever making use of that fabulous thing--credit! at first it took his breath away to discover that the people here in the town got everything they wanted without paying money for it. "will you please put it down?" they would say, when they came for their boots; and "it's to be entered," he himself would say, when he made a purchase for his employers. all spoke the same magical formula, and pelle was reminded of father lasse, who had counted his shillings over a score of times before he ventured to buy anything. he anticipated much from this discovery, and it was his intention to make good use of the magic words when his own means became exhausted. now, naturally, he was wiser. he had discovered that the very poor must always go marketing with their money in their hands, and even for the others there came a day of reckoning. the master already spoke with horror of the new year; and it was very unfortunate for his business that the leather-sellers had got him in their pocket, so that he could not buy his material where it was cheapest. all the small employers made the same complaint. but the fairy-tale of credit was not yet exhausted--there was still a manner of drawing a draft upon fortune, which could be kept waiting, and on the future, which redeems all drafts. credit was a spark of poetry in the scramble of life; there were people going about who were poor as church mice, yet they played the lord. alfred was such a lucky fellow; he earned not a red cent, but was always dressed like a counter-jumper, and let himself want for nothing. if he took a fancy to anything he simply went in and got it on "tick"; and he was never refused. his comrades envied him and regarded him as a child of fortune. pelle himself had a little flirtation with fortune. one day he went gaily into a shop, in order to procure himself some underclothing. when he asked for credit they looked at him as though he could not be quite sane, and he had to go away without effecting his object. "there must be some secret about it that i don't know," he thought; and he dimly remembered another boy, who couldn't stir the pot to cook his porridge or lay the table for himself, because he didn't know the necessary word. he sought alfred forthwith in order to receive enlightenment. alfred was wearing new patent braces, and was putting on his collar. on his feet were slippers with fur edging, which looked like feeding pigeons. "i got them from a shopkeeper's daughter," he said; and he coquetted with his legs; "she's quite gone on me. a nice girl too-- only there's no money." pelle explained his requirements. "shirts! shirts!" alfred chortled with delight, and clapped his hands before his face. "good lord, he wants to gets shirts on tick! if only they had been linen shirts!" he was near bursting with laughter. pelle tried again. as a peasant--for he was still that--he had thought of shirts first of all; but now he wanted a summer overcoat and rubber cuffs. "why do you want credit?" asked the shopkeeper, hesitating. "are you expecting any money? or is there any one who will give you a reference?" no, pelle didn't want to bring any one else into it; it was simply that he had no money. "then wait until you have," said the shopkeeper surlily. "we don't clothe paupers!" pelle slunk away abashed. "you're a fool!" said alfred shortly. "you are just like albinus--he can never learn how to do it!" "how do you do it then?" asked pelle meekly. "how do i do it--how do i do it?" alfred could give no explanation; "it just came of itself. but naturally i don't tell them that i'm poor! no, you'd better leave it alone--it'll never succeed with you!" "why do you sit there and pinch your upper lip?" asked pelle discontentedly. "pinch? you goat, i'm stroking my moustache!" vii on saturday afternoon pelle was busily sweeping the street. it was getting on for evening; in the little houses there was already a fire in the grate; one could hear it crackling at builder rasmussen's and swedish anders', and the smell of broiled herrings filled the street. the women were preparing something extra good in order to wheedle their husbands when they came home with the week's wages. then they ran across to the huckster's for schnaps and beer, leaving the door wide open behind them; there was just half a minute to spare while the herring was getting cooked on the one side! and now pelle sniffed it afar off--madame rasmussen was tattling away to the huckster, and a voice screeched after her: "madame rasmussen! your herring is burning!" now she came rushing back, turning her head confusedly from house to house as she scampered across the street and into her house. the blue smoke drifted down among the houses; the sun fell lower and filled the street with gold-dust. there were people sweeping all along the street; baker jorgen, the washerwoman, and the comptroller's maid-servant. the heavy boughs of the mulberry-tree across the road drooped over the wall and offered their last ripe fruits to whomsoever would pick them. on the other side of the wall the rich merchant hans--he who married the nurse-maid--was pottering about his garden. he never came out, and the rumor ran that he was held a prisoner by his wife and her kin. but pelle had leaned his ear against the wall, and had heard a stammering old voice repeating the same pet names, so that it sounded like one of those love-songs that never come to an end; and when in the twilight he slipped out of his attic window and climbed on to the ridge of the roof, in order to take a look at the world, he had seen a tiny little white-haired man walking down there in the garden, with his arm round the waist of a woman younger than himself. they were like a couple of young lovers, and they had to stop every other moment in order to caress one another. the most monstrous things were said of him and his money; of his fortune, that once upon a time was founded on a paper of pins, and was now so great that some curse must rest upon it. from the baker's house the baker's son came slinking hymn-book in hand. he fled across to the shelter of the wall, and hurried off; old jorgen stood there gobbling with laughter as he watched him, his hands folded over his broomstick. "o lord, is that a man?" he cried to jeppe, who sat at his window, shaving himself before the milk-can. "just look how he puffs! now he'll go in and beg god to forgive him for going courting!" jeppe came to the window to see and to silence him; one could hear brother jorgen's falsetto voice right down the street. "has he been courting? however did you get him to venture such a leap?" he asked eagerly. "oh, it was while we were sitting at table. i had a tussle with my melancholy madman--because i couldn't help thinking of the little jorgen. god knows, i told myself, no little jorgen has come to carry on your name, and the boy's a weakling, and you've no one else to build on! it's all very well going about with your nose in the air all the days god gives you--everything will be swept away and be to no purpose. and everything of that sort--you know how i get thinking when ideas like that get the upper hand with me. i sat there and looked at the boy, and angry i felt with him, that i did; and right opposite him there was sitting a fine bit of womanhood, and he not looking at her. and with that i struck my hand on the table, and i says, 'now, boy, just you take marie by the hand and ask her whether she'll be your wife--i want to make an end of the matter now and see what you're good for!' the boy all shrivels up and holds out his hand, and marie, it don't come amiss to her. 'yes, that i will!' she says, and grips hold of him before he has time to think what he's doing. and we shall be having the marriage soon." "if you can make a boot out of that leather!" said jeppe. "oh, she's a warm piece--look at the way she's built. she's thawing him already. women, they know the way--he won't freeze in bed." old jorgen laughed contentedly, and went off to his work. "yes, why, she'd breathe life into the dead," he announced to the street at large. the others went out in their finest clothes, but pelle did not care to go. he had not been able to accomplish his constant resolution to keep himself neat and clean, and this failure weighed upon him and abashed him. and the holes in his stockings, which were now so big that they could no longer be darned, were disgustingly apparent, with his skin showing through them, so that he had a loathing for himself. now all the young people were going out. he could see the sea in the opening at the end of the street; it was perfectly calm, and had borrowed the colors of the sunset. they would be going to the harbor or the dunes by the sea; there would be dancing on the grass, and perhaps some would get to fighting about a girl. but he wasn't going to be driven out of the pack like a mangy dog; he didn't care a hang for the whole lot of them! he threw off his apron and established himself on a beer-barrel which stood outside before the gate. on the bench opposite sat the older inhabitants of the street, puffing at their pipes and gossiping about everything under the sun. now the bells sounded the hour for leaving off work. madame rasmussen was beating her child and reviling it in time with her blows. then suddenly all was silent; only the crying of the child continued, like a feeble evening hymn. old jeppe was talking about malaga--"when i ran ashore at malaga!"-- but baker jorgen was still lamenting his want of an heir, and sighing: "yes, yes; if only one could see into the future!" then he suddenly began to talk about the mormons. "it might really be great fun to see, some time, what they have to offer you," he said. "i thought you'd been a mormon a long time, uncle jorgen," said master andres. the old man laughed. "well, well; one tries all sorts of things in one's time," he said, and looked out at the sky. up the street stood the watchmaker, on his stone steps, his face turned up to the zenith, while he shouted his senseless warnings: "the new time! i ask you about the new time, o god the father!" he repeated. two weary stevedores were going homeward. "he'll drive all poverty out of the world and give us all a new life--that's the form his madness takes," said one of them, with a dreary laugh. "then he's got the millennium on the brain?" said the other. "no, he's just snarling at the world," said old jorgen, behind them. "we shall certainly get a change in the weather." "things are bad with him just now, poor fellow," said bjerregrav, shuddering. "it was about this time of the year that he lost his wits." an inner voice admonished pelle: "don't sit there with your hands in your lap, but go in and look after your clothes!" but he could not bring himself to do so--the difficulties had become too insurmountable. on the following day manna and the others called him, but he could not spring over the wall to join them; they had begun to turn up their noses at him and regard him critically. he did not very well understand it, but he had become an outcast, a creature who no longer cared about washing himself properly. but what was the use? he could not go on contending against the invincible! no one had warned him in time, and now the town had captured him, and he had given up everything else. he must shuffle through life as best he could. no one had a thought for him! when washing was being done for his employers it never occurred to madam to wash anything of his, and he was not the boy to come forward of himself. the washerwoman was more considerate; when she could she would smuggle in some of pelle's dirty linen, although it meant more work for her. but she was poor herself; as for the rest, they only wanted to make use of him. there was no one in town who cared sufficiently for his welfare to take the trouble even to open his mouth to tell him the truth. this was a thought that made him feel quite weak about the knees, although he was fifteen years old and had courage to tackle a mad bull. more than anything else it was his loneliness that weakened his powers of resistance. he was helpless alone among all these people, a child, who had to look after himself as best he could, and be prepared for attacks from every quarter. he sat there, making no effort to dispel the misery that had come over him, and was working its will with him, while with half an ear he listened to the life around him. but suddenly he felt something in his waistcoat pocket--money! he felt immensely relieved at once, but he did not hurry; he slipped behind the gate and counted it. one and a half kroner. he was on the point of regarding it as a gift from on high, as something which the almighty had in his great goodness placed there, but then it occurred to him that this was his master's money. it had been given him the day before for repairs to a pair of ladies' shoes, and he had forgotten to pay it in, while the master, strangely enough, had quite forgotten to ask for it. pelle stood with bent back by the well outside, scrubbing himself over a bucket until his blood tingled. then he put on his best clothes, drew his shoes on to his naked feet, to avoid the painful feeling of the ragged stockings, and buttoned his rubber collar--for the last time innocent of any tie--to his shirt. shortly afterward he was standing outside a shop-window, contemplating some large neckties, which had just been put upon the market, and could be worn with any one of four faces outward; they filled the whole of the waistcoat, so that one did not see the shirt. now he would be disdained no longer! for a moment he ran to and fro and breathed the air; then he got upon the scent, and ran at a breathless gallop toward the sea-dunes, where the young folk of the town played late into the summer night that lay over the wan sea. of course, it was only a loan. pelle had to sole a pair of shoes for a baker's apprentice who worked with nilen; as soon as they were finished he would repay the money. he could put the money under the cutting-out board in his master's room; the master would find it there, would gaze at it with a droll expression, and say: "what the devil is this?" and then he would knock on the wall, and would treat pelle to a long rigmarole about his magical gifts--and then he would ask him to run out and fetch a half-bottle of port. he did not receive the money for soling the shoes; half the sum he had to pay out for leather, and the rest was a long time coming, for the baker's apprentice was a needy wretch. but he did not doubt his own integrity; the master might be as sure of his money as if it had been in the bank. yet now and again he forgot to give up petty sums --if some necessity or other was pressing him unexpectedly. they were, of course, all loans--until the golden time came. and that was never far away. one day he returned home as the young master was standing at the door, staring at the driving clouds overhead. he gave pelle's shoulder a familiar squeeze. "how was it they didn't pay you for the shoes at the chamberlain's yesterday?" pelle went crimson and his hand went to his waistcoat pocket. "i forgot it," he said in a low voice. "now, now!" the master shook him good-naturedly. "it's not that i mistrust you. but just to be methodical!" pelle's heart pounded wildly in his body; he had just decided to use the money to buy a pair of stockings, the very next time he went out --and then what would have happened? and the master's belief in him! and all at once his offence showed itself to him in all its shameful treachery; he felt as if he was on the point of being sick, so disturbed was he. until this moment he had preserved through everything the feeling of his own worth, and now it was destroyed; there could not be any one wickeder than he in all the world. in future no one could trust him any more, and he could no longer look people straight in the face; unless he went to the master at once and cast himself and his shame unconditionally on his mercy. there was no other salvation, that he knew. but he was not certain that the master would conceive the matter in its finer aspect, or that everything would turn out for the best; he had given up believing in fairy-tales. then he would simply be turned away, or perhaps be sent to the courthouse, and it would be all up with him. pelle resolved to keep it to himself; and for many days he went about suffering from a sense of his own wickedness. but then necessity gripped him by the throat and brushed all else aside; and in order to procure himself the most necessary things he was forced to resort to the dangerous expedient of stating; when the master gave him money to buy anything, that it was to be put down. and then one day it was all up with him. the others were ready to pull down the house about his ears; they threw his things out of the garret and called him a filthy, beast. pelle wept; he was quite convinced that not he was the guilty person, but peter, who was always keeping company with the nastiest women, but he could get no hearing. he hurried away, with the resolves that he would never come back. on the dunes he was captured by emil and peter, who had been sent out after him by old jeppe. he did not want to go back with them, but they threw him down and dragged him back, one taking his head and one his legs. people came to the door and laughed and asked questions, and the other two gave their explanation of the matter, which was a terrible disgrace for pelle. and then he fell ill. he lay under the tiled roof raving with fever; they had thrown his bed into the loft. "what, isn't he up yet?" said jeppe, astounded, when he came in to the workshop. "no? well, he'll soon get up when he gets hungry." it was no joke to take a sick apprentice his meals in bed. but pelle did not come down. once the young master threw all considerations overboard and took some food up to him. "you're making yourself ridiculous," sneered jeppe; "you'll never be able to manage people like that!" and madam scolded. but master andres whistled until he was out of hearing. poor pelle lay there, in delirium; his little head was full of fancies, more than it would hold. but now the reaction set in, and he lay there stuffing himself with all that was brought him. the young master sat upstairs a great deal and received enlightenment on many points. it was not his nature to do anything energetically, but he arranged that pelle's washing should be done in the house, and he took care that lasse should be sent for. viii jeppe was related to about half the island, but he was not greatly interested in disentangling his relationship. he could easily go right back to the founder of the family, and trace the generations through two centuries, and follow the several branches of the family from country to town and over the sea and back again, and show that andres and the judge must be cousins twice removed. but if any insignificant person asked him: "how was it, then--weren't my father and you first cousins?" he would answer brusquely, "maybe, but the soup grows too thin after a time. this relationship!" "then you and i, good lord! are second cousins, and you are related to the judge as well," master andres would say. he did not grudge people any pleasure they could derive from the facts of relationship. poor people regarded him gratefully--they said he had kind eyes; it was a shame that he should not be allowed to live. jeppe was the oldest employer in the town, and among the shoemakers his workshop was the biggest. he was able, too, or rather he had been, and he still possessed the manual skill peculiar to the old days. when it came to a ticklish job he would willingly show them how to get on with it, or plan some contrivance to assist them. elastic-sided boots and lace-up boots had superseded the old footwear, but honest skill still meant an honest reputation. and if some old fellow wanted a pair of wellingtons or bluchers of leather waterproofed with grease, instead of by some new-fangled devilry, he must needs go to jeppe--no one else could shape an instep as he could. and when it came to handling the heavy dressed leathers for sea-boots there was no one like jeppe. he was obstinate, and rigidly opposed to everything new, where everybody else was led away by novelty. in this he was peculiarly the representative of the old days, and people respected him as such. the apprentices alone did not respect him. they did everything they could to vex him and to retaliate on him for being such a severe task-master. they all laid themselves out to mystify him, speaking of the most matter-of-fact things in dark and covert hints, in order to make old jeppe suspicious, and if he spied upon them and caught them at something which proved to be nothing at all they had a great day of it. "what does this mean? where are you going without permission?" asked jeppe, if one of them got up to go into the court; he was always forgetting that times had altered. they did not answer, and then he would fly into a passion. "i'll have you show me respect!" he would cry, stamping on the floor until the dust eddied round him. master andres would slowly raise his head. "what's the matter with you this time, father?" he would ask wearily. then jeppe would break out into fulminations against the new times. if master andres and the journeyman were not present, the apprentices amused themselves by making the old man lose his temper; and this was not difficult, as he saw hostility in everything. then he would snatch up a knee-strap and begin to rain blows upon the sinner. at the same time he would make the most extraordinary grimaces and give vent to a singular gurgling sound. "there, take that, although it grieves me to use harsh measures!" he would mew. "and that, too--and that! you've got to go through with it, if you want to enter the craft!" then he would give the lad something that faintly resembled a kick, and would stand there struggling for breath. "you're a troublesome youngster--you'll allow that?" "yes, my mother used to break a broomstick over my head every other day!" replied peter, the rogue, snorting. "there, you see you are! but it may all turn out for the best even now. the foundation's not so bad!" jeppe doddered to and fro, his hands behind his back. the rest of the day he was inclined to solemnity, and did his best to obliterate all remembrance of the punishment. "it was only for your own good!" he would say, in a propitiatory tone. jeppe was first cousin to the crazy anker, but he preferred not to lay claim to the fact; the man could not help being mad, but he made his living, disgracefully enough, by selling sand in the streets--a specialist in his way. day by day one saw anker's long, thin figure in the streets, with a sackful of sand slung over his sloping shoulders; he wore a suit of blue twill and white woollen stockings, and his face was death-like. he was quite fleshless. "that comes of all his digging," people said. "look at his assistant!" he never appeared in the workshop with his sack of sand; he was afraid of jeppe, who was now the oldest member of the family. elsewhere he went in and out everywhere with his clattering wooden shoes; and people bought of him, as they must have sand for their floors, and his was as good as any other. he needed next to nothing for his livelihood; people maintained that he never ate anything, but lived on his own vitals. with the money he received he bought materials for the "new time," and what was left he threw away, in his more exalted moments, from the top of his high stairs. the street-urchins always came running up when the word went round that the madness about the "new time" was attacking him. he and bjerregrav had been friends as boys. formerly they had been inseparable, and neither of them was willing to do his duty and marry, although each was in a position to keep a wife and children. at an age when others were thinking about how to find favor with the womenfolk, these two were running about with their heads full of rubbish which enraged people. at that time a dangerous revolutionist was living with bjerregrav's brother; he had spent many years on christianso, but then the government had sent him to spend the rest of his term of captivity on bornholm. dampe was his name; jeppe had known him when an apprentice in copenhagen; and his ambition was to overthrow god and king. this ambition of his did not profit him greatly; he was cast down like a second lucifer, and only kept his head on his shoulders by virtue of an act of mercy. the two young people regarded him as then justification, and he turned their heads with his venomous talk, so that they began to ponder over things which common folk do better to leave alone. bjerregrav came through this phase with a whole skin, but anker paid the penalty by losing his wits. although they both had a comfortable competence, they pondered above all things over the question of poverty--as though there was anything particular to be discovered about that! all this was many years ago; it was about the time when the craze for freedom had broken out in the surrounding nations with fratricide and rebellion. matters were not so bad on the island, for neither anker nor bjerregrav was particularly warlike; yet everybody could see that the town was not behind the rest of the world. here the vanity of the town was quite in agreement with master jeppe, but for the rest he roundly condemned the whole movement. he always looked ready to fall upon bjerregrav tooth and nail if the conversation turned on anker's misfortune. "dampe!" said jeppe scornfully, "he has turned both your heads!" "that's a lie!" stammered bjerregrav. "anker went wrong later than that--after king frederick granted us liberty. and it's only that i'm not very capable; i have my wits, thank god!" bjerregrav solemnly raised the fingers of his right hand to his lips, a gesture which had all the appearance of a surviving vestige of the sign of the cross. "you and your wits!" hissed jeppe contemptuously. "you, who throw your money away over the first tramp you meet! and you defend an abominable agitator, who never goes out by daylight like other people, but goes gallivanting about at night!" "yes, because he's ashamed of humanity; he wants to make the world more beautiful!" bjerregrav blushed with embarrassment when he had said this. but jeppe was beside himself with contempt. "so gaol-birds are ashamed of honest people! so that's why he takes his walks at night! well, the world would of course be a more beautiful place if it were filled with people like you and dampe!" the pitiful thing about anker was that he was such a good craftsman. he had inherited the watchmaker's trade from his father and grandfather, and his bornholm striking-clocks were known all over the world; orders came to him from funen as well as from the capital. but when the constitution was granted he behaved like a child--as though people had not always been free on bornholm! now, he said, the new time had begun, and in its honor he intended, in his insane rejoicing, to make an ingenious clock which should show the moon and the date and the month and year. being an excellent craftsman, he completed it successfully, but then it entered his head that the clock ought to show the weather as well. like so many whom god had endowed with his gifts, he ventured too far and sought to rival god himself. but here the brakes were clapped on, and the whole project was nearly derailed. for a long time he took it greatly to heart, but when the work was completed he rejoiced. he was offered a large price for his masterpiece, and jeppe bade him close with the offer, but he answered crazily--for he was now definitely insane--"this cannot be bought with money. everything i made formerly had its value in money, but not this. can any one buy _me_?" for a long time he was in a dilemma as to what he should do with his work, but then one day he came to jeppe, saying: "now i know; the best ought to have the clock. i shall send it to the king. he has given us the new time, and this clock will tell the new time." anker sent the clock away, and after some time he received two hundred thalers, paid him through the treasury. this was a large sum of money, but anker was not satisfied; he had expected a letter of thanks from the king's own hand. he behaved very oddly about this, and everything went wrong with him; over and over again trouble built its nest with him. the money he gave to the poor, and he lamented that the new time had not yet arrived. so he sank even deeper into his madness, and however hard jeppe scolded him and lectured him it did no good. finally he went so far as to fancy that he was appointed to create the new time, and then he became cheerful once more. three or four families of the town--very poor people, so demoralized that the sects would have nothing to do with them--gathered around anker, and heard the voice of god in his message. "_they_ lose nothing by sitting under a crazy man," saw jeppe scornfully. anker himself paid no attention to them, but went his own way. presently he was a king's son in disguise, and was betrothed to the eldest daughter of the king--and the new time was coming. or when his mood was quieter, he would sit and work at an infallible clock which would not show the time; it would _be_ the time--the new time itself. he went to and fro in the workshop, in order to let master andres see the progress of his invention; he had conceived a blind affection for the young master. every year, about the first of january, master andres had to write a letter for him, a love-letter to the king's daughter, and had also to take it upon him to despatch it to the proper quarter; and from time to time anker would run in to ask whether an answer had yet arrived; and at the new year a fresh love-letter was sent off. master andres had them all put away. one evening--it was nearly time to knock off--there was a thundering knock on the workshop door, and the sound of some one humming a march drifted in from the entry. "can you not open?" cried a solemn voice: "the prince is here!" "pelle, open the door quick!" said the master. pelle flung the door wide open, and anker marched in. he wore a paper hat with a waving plume, and epaulettes made out of paper frills; his face was beaming, and he stood there with his hand to his hat as he allowed the march to die away. the young master rose gaily and shouldered arms with his stick. "your majesty," he said, "how goes it with the new time?" "not at all well!" replied anker, becoming serious. "the pendulums that should keep the whole in motion are failing me." he stood still, gazing at the door; his brain was working mysteriously. "ought they to be made of gold?" the master's eyes were twinkling, but he was earnestness personified. "they ought to be made of eternity," said anker unwillingly, "and first it has got to be invented." for a long time he stood there, staring in front of him with his gray, empty eyes, without speaking a word. he did not move; only his temples went on working as though some worm was gnawing at them and seeking its way out. suddenly it became uncomfortable; his silence was sometimes like a living darkness that surrounded those about him. pelle sat there with palpitating heart. then the lunatic came forward and bent over the young master's ear. "has an answer come from the king?" he asked, in a penetrating whisper. "no, not yet; but i expect it every day. you can be quite easy," the master whispered back. anker stood for a few moments in silence; he looked as though he must be meditating, but after his own fashion. then he turned round and marched out of the workshop. "go after him and see he gets home all right," said the young master. his voice sounded mournful now. pelle followed the clockmaker up the street. it was a saturday evening, and the workers were on their way homeward from the great quarries and the potteries which lay about half a mile beyond the town. they passed in large groups, their dinner-boxes on their back, with a beer-bottle hung in front as a counter-weight. their sticks struck loudly on the flagstones, and the iron heel-pieces of their wooden shoes struck out sparks as they passed. pelle knew that weary homecoming; it was as though weariness in person had invaded the town. and he knew the sound of this taciturn procession; the snarling sound when this man or that made an unexpected and involuntary movement with his stiffened limbs, and was forced to groan with the pain of it. but to-night they gave him a different impression, and something like a smile broke through the encrusted stone-dust on their faces; it was the reflection of the bright new kroner that lay in their pockets after the exhausting labor of the week. some of them had to visit the post-office to renew their lottery tickets or to ask for a postponement, and here and there one was about to enter a tavern, but at the last moment would be captured by his wife, leading a child by the hand. anker stood motionless on the sidewalk, his face turned toward the passing workers. he had bared his head, and the great plume of his hat drooped to the ground behind him; he looked agitated, as though something were fermenting within him, which could not find utterance, save in an odd, unintelligible noise. the workers shook their heads sadly as they trudged onward; one solitary young fellow threw him a playful remark. "keep your hat on--it's not a funeral!" he cried. a few foreign seamen came strolling over the hill from the harbor; they came zigzagging down the street, peeping in at all the street doors, and laughing immoderately as they did so. one of them made straight for anker with outstretched arms, knocked off his hat, and went on with his arm in the air as though nothing had happened. suddenly he wheeled about. "what, are you giving yourself airs?" he cried, and therewith he attacked the lunatic, who timidly set about resisting him. then another sailor ran up and struck anker behind the knees, so that he fell. he lay on the ground shouting and kicking with fright, and the whole party flung itself upon him. the boys scattered in all directions, in order to gather stones and come to anker's assistance. pelle stood still, his body jerking convulsively, as though the old sickness were about to attack him. once he sprang forward toward anker, but something within him told him that sickness had deprived him of his blind courage. there was one pale, slender youth who was not afraid. he went right among the sailors, in order to drag them off the lunatic, who was becoming quite frantic under their treatment of him. "he isn't in his right mind!" cried the boy, but he was hurled back with a bleeding face. this was morten, the brother of jens the apprentice. he was so angry that he was sobbing. then a tall man came forward out of the darkness, with a rolling gait; he came forward muttering to himself. "hurrah!" cried the boys. "here comes the 'great power.'" but the man did not hear; he came to a standstill by the fighting group and stood there, still muttering. his giant figure swayed to and fro above them. "help him, father!" cried morten. the man laughed foolishly, and began slowly to pull his coat off. "help him, then!" bellowed the boy, quite beside himself, shaking his father's arm. jorgensen stretched out his hand to pat the boy's cheek, when he saw the blood on his face. "knock them down!" cried the boy, like one possessed. then a sudden shock ran through the giant's body--somewhat as when a heavy load is suddenly set in motion; he bowed himself a little, shook himself, and began to throw the sailors aside. one after another they stood still for a moment, feeling the place where he had seized them, and then they set off running as hard as they could toward the harbor. jorgensen set the madman on his legs again and escorted him home. pelle and morten followed them hand-in-hand. a peculiar feeling of satisfaction thrilled pelle through; he had seen strength personified in action, and he had made a friend. after that they were inseparable. their friendship did not grow to full strength; it overshadowed them suddenly, magically conjured out of their hearts. in morten's pale, handsome face there was something indescribable that made pelle's heart throb in his breast, and a gentler note came into the voices of all who spoke to him. pelle did not clearly understand what there could be attractive about himself; but he steeped himself in this friendship, which fell upon his ravaged soul like a beneficent rain. morten would come up into the workshop as soon as work was over, or wait for pelle at the corner. they always ran when they were going to meet. if pelle had to work overtime, morten did not go out, but sat in the workshop and amused him. he was very fond of reading, and told pelle about the contents of many books. through morten, pelle drew nearer to jens, and found that he had many good qualities under his warped exterior. jens had just that broken, despondent manner which makes a child instinctively suspect a miserable home. pelle had at first supposed that jens and morten must have been supported by the poor-box; he could not understand how a boy could bear his father to be a giant of whom the whole town went in terror. jens seemed hard of hearing when any one spoke to him. "he has had so many beatings," said morten. "father can't endure him, because he is stupid." clever he was not, but he could produce the most wonderful melodies by whistling merely with his lips, so that people would stand still and listen to him. after his illness pelle had a more delicate ear for everything. he no longer let the waves pass over him, careless as a child, but sent out tentacles--he was seeking for something. everything had appeared to him as simpler than it was, and his dream of fortune had been too crudely conceived; it was easily shattered, and there was nothing behind it for him to rest on. now he felt that he must build a better foundation, now he demanded nourishment from a wider radius, and his soul was on the alert for wider ventures; he dropped his anchors in unfamiliar seas. the goal of his desires receded into the unknown; he now overcame his aversion from the great and mysterious beyond, where the outlines of the face of god lay hidden. the god of bible history and the sects had for pelle been only a man, equipped with a beard, and uprightness, and mercy, and all the rest; he was not to be despised, but the "great power" was certainly stronger. hitherto pelle had not felt the want of a god; he had only obscurely felt his membership in that all-loving god who will arise from the lowest and foulest and overshadow heaven; in that frenzied dream of the poor, who see, in a thousand bitter privations, the pilgrimage to the beloved land. but now he was seeking for that which no words can express; now the words, "the millennium," had a peculiar sound in his ears. anker, of course, was crazy, because the others said so; when they laughed at him, pelle laughed with them, but there was still something in him that filled pelle with remorse for having laughed at him. pelle himself would have liked to scramble money from the top of his high steps if he had been rich; and if anker talked strangely, in curious phrases, of a time of happiness for all the poor, why, father lasse's lamentations had dealt with the same subject, as far back as he could remember. the foundation of the boy's nature felt a touch of the same pious awe which had forbidden lasse and the others, out in the country, to laugh at the insane, for god's finger had touched them, so that their souls wandered in places to which no other could attain. pelle felt the face of the unknown god gazing at him out of the mist. he had become another being since his illness; his movements were more deliberate, and the features of his round childish face had become more marked and prominent. those two weeks of illness had dislodged his cares, but they were imprinted on his character, to which they lent a certain gravity. he still roamed about alone, encompassing himself with solitude, and he observed the young master in his own assiduous way. he had an impression that the master was putting him to the proof, and this wounded him. he himself knew that that which lay behind his illness would never be repeated, and he writhed uneasily under suspicion. one day he could bear it no longer. he took the ten kroner which lasse had given him so that he might buy a much-needed winter overcoat, and went in to the master, who was in the cutting-out room, and laid them on the table. the master looked at him with a wondering expression, but there was a light in his eyes. "what the devil is that?" he asked, drawling. "that's master's money," said pelle, with averted face. master andres gazed at him with dreamy eyes, and then he seemed to return, as though from another world, and pelle all at once understood what every one said--that the young master was going to die. then he burst into tears. but the master himself could not understand. "what the deuce. but that means nothing!" he cried, and he tossed the ten kroner in the air. "lord o' me! what a lot of money! well, you aren't poor!" he stood there, not knowing what to believe, his hand resting on pelle's shoulder. "it's right," whispered pelle. "i've reckoned it up exactly. and the master mustn't suspect me--i'll never do it again." master andres made a gesture of refusal with his hand, and wanted to speak, but at that very moment he was attacked by a paroxysm of coughing. "you young devil!" he groaned, and leaned heavily on pelle; his face was purple. then came a fit of sickness, and the sweat beaded his face. he stood there for a little, gasping for breath while his strength returned, and then he slipped the money into pelle's hand and pushed him out of the room. pelle was greatly dejected. his uprightness was unrewarded, and what had become of his vindication? he had been so glad to think that he would shake himself free of all the disgrace. but late in the afternoon the master called him into the cutting-out room. "here, pelle," he said confidentially, "i want to renew my lottery ticket; but i've no money. can you lend me those ten kroner for a week?" so it was all as it should be; his one object was to put the whole disgrace away from him. jens and morten helped him in that. there were three of them now; and pelle had a feeling that he had a whole army at his back. the world had grown no smaller, no less attractive, by reason of the endless humiliations of the year. and pelle knew down to the ground exactly where he stood, and that knowledge was bitter enough. below him lay the misty void, and the bubbles which now and again rose to the surface and broke did not produce in him any feeling of mystical wonder as to the depths. but he did not feel oppressed thereby; what was, was so because it must be. and over him the other half of the round world revolved in the mystery of the blue heavens, and again and again he heard its joyous _forward! on!_ ix in his loneliness pelle had often taken his way to the little house by the cemetery, where due lived in two little rooms. it was always a sort of consolation to see familiar faces, but in other respects he did not gain much by his visits; due was pleasant enough, but anna thought of nothing but herself, and how she could best get on. due had a situation as coachman at a jobmaster's, and they seemed to have a sufficiency. "we have no intention of being satisfied with driving other people's horses," anna would say, "but you must crawl before you can walk." she had no desire to return to the country. "out there there's no prospects for small people, who want something more than groats in their belly and a few rags on their back. you are respected about as much as the dirt you walk on, and there's no talk of any future. i shall never regret that we've come away from the country." due, on the contrary, was homesick. he was quite used to knowing that there was a quarter of a mile between him and the nearest neighbor, and here he could hear, through the flimsy walls, whether his neighbors were kissing, fighting, or counting their money. "it is so close here, and then i miss the earth; the pavements are so hard." "he misses the manure--he can't come treading it into the room," said anna, in a superior way; "for that was the only thing there was plenty of in the country. here in the town too the children can get on better; in the country poor children can't learn anything that'll help them to amount to something; they've got to work for their daily bread. it's bad to be poor in the country!" "it's worse here in town," said pelle bitterly, "for here only those who dress finely amount to anything!" "but there are all sorts of ways here by which a man can earn money, and if one way doesn't answer, he can try another. many a man has come into town with his naked rump sticking out of his trousers, and now he's looked up to! if a man's only got the will and the energy --well, i've thought both the children ought to go to the municipal school, when they are older; knowledge is never to be despised." "why not marie as well?" asked pelle. "she? what? she's not fitted to learn anything. besides, she's only a girl." anna, like her brother alfred, had set herself a lofty goal. her eyes were quite bright when she spoke of it, and it was evidently her intention to follow it regardless of consequences. she was a loud-voiced, capable woman with an authoritative manner; due simply sat by and smiled and kept his temper. but in his inmost heart, according to report, he knew well enough what he wanted. he never went to the public-house, but came straight home after work; and in the evening he was never happier than when all three children were scrambling over him. he made no distinction between his own two youngsters and the six-year-old marie, whom anna had borne before she married him. pelle was very fond of little marie, who had thrived well enough so long as her child-loving grandparents had had her, but now she was thin and had stopped growing, and her eyes were too experienced. she gazed at one like a poor housewife who is always fretted and distressed, and pelle was sorry for her. if her mother was harsh to her, he always remembered that christmastide evening when he first visited his uncle kalle, and when anna, weeping and abashed, had crept into the house, soon to be a mother. little anna, with the mind of a merry child, whom everybody liked. what had become of her now? one evening, as morten was not at liberty, he ran thither. just as he was on the point of knocking, he heard anna storming about indoors; suddenly the door flew open and little marie was thrown out upon the footpath. the child was crying terribly. "what's the matter, then?" asked pelle, in his cheerful way. "what's the matter? the matter is that the brat is saucy and won't eat just because she doesn't get exactly the same as the others. here one has to slave and reckon and contrive--and for a bad girl like that! now she's punishing herself and won't eat. is it anything to her what the others have? can she compare herself with them? she's a bastard brat and always will be, however you like to dress it up!" "she can't help that!" said pelle angrily. "can't help it! perhaps i can help it? is it my fault that she didn't come into the world a farmer's daughter, but has to put up with being a bastard? yes, you may believe me, the neighbors' wives tell me to my face she hasn't her father's eyes, and they look at me as friendly as a lot of cats! am i to be punished all my life, perhaps, because i looked a bit higher, and let myself be led astray in a way that didn't lead to anything? ah, the little monster!" and she clenched her fists and shook them in the direction from which the child's crying could still be heard. "here one goes and wears oneself out to keep the house tidy and to be respectable, and then no one will treat me as being as good as themselves, just because once i was a bit careless!" she was quite beside herself. "if you aren't kind to little marie, i shall tell uncle kalle," said pelle warningly. she spat contemptuously. "then you can tell him. yes, i wish to god you'd do it! then he'd come and take her away, and delighted i should be!" but now due was heard stamping on the flags outside the door, and they could hear him too consoling the child. he came in holding her by the hand, and gave his wife a warning look, but said nothing. "there, there--now all that's forgotten," he repeated, in order to check the child's sobs, and he wiped away the grimy tears from her cheeks with his great thumbs. anna brought him his food, sulkily enough, and out in the kitchen she muttered to herself. due, while he ate his supper of bacon and black bread, stood the child between his knees and stared at her with round eyes. "rider!" she said, and smiled persuasively. "rider!" due laid a cube of bacon on a piece of bread. "there came a rider riding on his white hoss, hoss, hoss, hoss!" he sang, and he made the bread ride up to her mouth. "and then?" "then, _pop_ he rode in at the gate!" said the child, and swallowed horse and rider. while she ate she kept her eyes fixed upon him unwaveringly, with that painful earnestness which was so sad to see. but sometimes it happened that the rider rode right up to her mouth, and then, with a jerk, turned about, and disappeared, at a frantic gallop, between due's white teeth. then she smiled for a moment. "there's really no sense shoving anything into her," said anna, who was bringing coffee in honor of the visitor. "she gets as much as she can eat, and she's not hungry." "she's hungry, all the same!" hummed due. "then she's dainty--our poor food isn't good enough for her. she takes after her father, i can tell you! and what's more, if she isn't naughty now she soon will be when once she sees she's backed up." due did not reply. "are you quite well again now?" he asked, turning to pelle. "what have you been doing to-day?" asked anna, filling her husband's long pipe. "i had to drive a forest ranger from up yonder right across the whole of the moor. i got a krone and a half for a tip." "give it to me, right away!" due passed her the money, and she put it into an old coffeepot. "this evening you must take the bucket to the inspector's," she said. due stretched himself wearily. "i've been on the go since half-past four this morning," he said. "but i've promised it faithfully, so there's nothing else to be done. and then i thought you'd see to the digging for them this autumn; you can see when we've got the moonlight, and then there's sundays. if we don't get it some one else will--and they are good payers." due did not reply. "in a year or two from now, i'm thinking, you'll have your own horses and won't need to go scraping other people's daily bread together," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, "won't you go right away and take the bucket? then it's done. and i must have some small firewood cut before you go to bed." due sat there wearily blinking. after eating, fatigue came over him. he could hardly see out of his eyes, so sleepy was he. marie handed him his cap, and at last he got on his legs. he and pelle went out together. the house in which due lived lay far up the long street, which ran steeply down to the sea. it was an old watercourse, and even now when there was a violent shower the water ran down like a rushing torrent between the poor cottages. down on the sea-road they met a group of men who were carrying lanterns in their hands; they were armed with heavy sticks, and one of them wore an old leather hat and carried a club studded with spikes. this was the night-watch. they moved off, and behind them all went the new policeman, pihl, in his resplendent uniform. he kept well behind the others, in order to show off his uniform, and also to ensure that none of the watch took to their heels. they were half drunk, and were taking their time; whenever they met any one they stood still and related with much detail precisely why they had taken the field. the "great power" was at his tricks again. he had been refractory all day, and the provost had given the order to keep an eye on him. and quite rightly, for in his cups he had met ship- owner monsen, on church hill, and had fallen upon him with blows and words of abuse: "so you take the widow's bread out of her mouth, do you? you told her the _three sisters_ was damaged at sea, and you took over her shares for next to nothing, did you? out of pure compassion, eh, you scoundrel? and there was nothing the matter with the ship except that she had done only too well and made a big profit, eh? so you did the poor widow a kindness, eh?" a scoundrel, he called him and at every question he struck him a blow, so that he rolled on the ground. "we are all witnesses, and now he must go to prison. a poor stone-cutter oughtn't to go about playing the judge. come and help us catch him, due--you are pretty strong!" "it's nothing to do with me," said due. "you do best to keep your fingers out of it," said one of the men derisively; "you might get to know the feel of his fist." and they went on, laughing contemptuously. "they won't be so pleased with their errand when they've done," said due, laughing. "that's why they've got a nice drop stowed away-- under their belts. to give them courage. the strong man's a swine, but i'd rather not be the one he goes for." "suppose they don't get him at all!" said pelle eagerly. due laughed. "they'll time it so that they are where he isn't. but why don't he stick to his work and leave his fool's tricks alone? he could have a good drink and sleep it off at home--he's only a poor devil, he ought to leave it to the great people to drink themselves silly!" but pelle took another view of the affair. the poor man of course ought to go quietly along the street and take his hat off to everybody; and if anybody greeted him in return he'd be quite proud, and tell it to his wife as quite an event, as they were going to bed. "the clerk raised his hat to me to-day--yes, that he did!" but stonecutter jorgensen looked neither to right nor to left when he was sober, and in his cups he trampled everybody underfoot. pelle by no means agreed with the pitiful opinions of the town. in the country, whence he came, strength was regarded as everything, and here was a man who could have taken strong erik himself and put him in his pocket. he roamed about in secret, furtively measuring his wrists, and lifted objects which were much too heavy for him; he would by no means have objected to be like the "great power," who, as a single individual, kept the whole town in a state of breathless excitement, whether he was in one of his raging moods or whether he lay like one dead. the thought that he was the comrade of jens and morten made him quite giddy, and he could not understand why they bowed themselves so completely to the judgment of the town, as no one could cast it in their teeth that they were on the parish, but only that their father was a powerful fellow. jens shrank from continually hearing his father's name on all lips, and avoided looking people in the eyes, but in morten's open glance he saw no trace of this nameless grief. one evening, when matters were quite at their worst, they took pelle home with them. they lived in the east, by the great clay-pit, where the refuse of the town was cast away. their mother was busy warming the supper in the oven, and in the chimney-corner sat a shrivelled old grandmother, knitting. it was a poverty-stricken home. "i really thought that was father," said the woman, shivering. "has any of you heard of him?" the boys related what they had heard; some one had seen him here, another there. "people are only too glad to keep us informed," said jens bitterly. "now it's the fourth evening that i've warmed up his supper to no purpose," the mother continued. "formerly he used to take care to look in at home, however much they were after him--but he may come yet." she tried to smile hopefully, but suddenly threw her apron in front of her eyes and burst into tears. jens went about with hanging head, not knowing what he ought to do; morten put his arm behind the weary back and spoke soothingly: "come, come; it isn't worse than it has often been!" and he stroked the projecting shoulder-blades. "no, but i did feel so glad that it was over. a whole year almost he never broke out, but took his food quietly when he came home from work, and then crawled into bed. all that time he broke nothing; he just slept and slept; at last i believed he had become weak-minded, and i was glad for him, for he had peace from those terrible ideas. i believed he had quieted down after all his disgraces, and would take life as it came; as the rest of his comrades do. and now he's broken out again as audacious as possible, and it's all begun over again!" she wept desolately. the old woman sat by the stove, her shifting glance wandering from one to another; she was like a crafty bird of prey sitting in a cage. then her voice began, passionless and uninflected: "you're a great donkey; now it's the fourth evening you've made pancakes for your vagabond; you're always at him, kissing and petting him! i wouldn't sweeten my husband's sleep if he had behaved so scandalously to his wife and family; he could go to bed and get up again hungry, and dry too, for all i cared; then he'd learn manners at last. but there's no grit in you--that's the trouble; you put up with all his sauciness." "if i were to lay a stone in his way--why, who would be good to him, if his poor head wanted to lie soft? grandmother ought to know how much he needs some one who believes in him. and there's nothing else i can do for him." "yes, yes; work away and wear yourself out, so that there's always something for the great fellow to smash if he has a mind to! but now you go to bed and lie down; i'll wait up for peter and give him his food, if he comes; you must be half dead with weariness, you poor worm." "there's an old proverb says, 'a man's mother is the devil's pother,' but it don't apply to you, grandmother," said the mother of the boys mildly. "you always take my part, although there's no need. but now you go to bed! it's far past your bed-time, and i'll look after peter. it's so easy to manage him if only he knows that you mean well by him." the old woman behaved as though she did not hear; she went on knitting. the boys remembered that they had brought something with them; a bag of coffee-beans, some sugar-candy, and a few rolls. "you waste all your hard-earned shillings on me," said the mother reproachfully, and put the water to boil for the coffee, while her face beamed with gratitude. "they've no young women to waste it on," said the old woman dryly. "grandmother's out of humor this evening," said morten. he had taken off the old woman's glasses and looked smilingly into her gray eyes. "out of humor--yes, that i am! but time passes, i tell you, and here one sits on the edge of the grave, waiting for her own flesh and blood to get on and do something wonderful, but nothing ever happens! energies are wasted--they run away like brook-water into the sea-- and the years are wasted too--or is it lies i'm telling you? all want to be masters; no one wants to carry the sack; and one man seizes hold of another and clambers over him just to reach an inch higher. and there ought to be plenty in the house--but there's poverty and filth in every corner. i should think the dear god will soon have had enough of it all! not an hour goes by but i curse the day when i let myself be wheedled away from the country; there a poor man's daily bread grows in the field, if he'll take it as it comes. but here he must go with a shilling in his fist, if it's only that he wants a scrap of cabbage for his soup. if you've money you can have it; if you haven't, you can leave it. yes, that's how it is! but one must live in town in order to have the same luck as peter! everything promised splendidly, and i, stupid old woman, have always had a craving to see my own flesh and blood up at the top. and now i sit here like a beggar-princess! oh, it has been splendid--i'm the mother of the biggest vagabond in town!" "grandmother shouldn't talk like that," said the mother of the boys. "yes, yes; but i'm sick of it all--and yet i can't think about dying! how can i go and lay me down--who would take a stick to peter?--the strong man!" she said contemptuously. "grandmother had better go quietly and lie down; i can manage peter best if i'm alone with him," said the wife, but the old woman did not move. "can't you get her to go, morten?" whispered the mother. "you are the only one she will listen to." morten lectured the old woman until he had enticed her away; he had to promise to go with her and arrange the bedclothes over her feet. "now, thank goodness, we've got her out of the way!" said the mother, relieved. "i'm always so afraid that father might forget what he's doing when he's like he is now; and she doesn't think of giving in to him, so it's flint against flint. but now i think you ought to go where the rest of the young folks are, instead of sitting here and hanging your heads." "we'll stay and see whether father comes," declared morten. "but what does it matter to you--you can say good-day to father at any time. go now--listen--father prefers to find me alone when he's like this and comes home merry. perhaps he takes me in his arms and swings me round--he's so strong--so that i feel as giddy as a young girl. 'ho, heigh, wench, here's the "great power"!' he says, and he laughs as loud as he used to in his rowdy young days. yes, when he's got just enough in him he gets as strong and jolly as ever he was in his very best days. i'm glad it's soon over. but that's not for you --you had better go." she looked at them appealingly, and shrank back as some one fumbled at the door. out-of-doors it was terrible weather. it was only the youngest, who had come home from her day's work. she might have been ten or twelve years old and was small for her age, although she looked older; her voice was harsh and strident, and her little body seemed coarsened and worn with work. there was not a spot about her that shed or reflected a single ray of light; she was like some subterranean creature that has strayed to the surface. she went silently across the room and let herself drop into her grandmother's chair; she leaned over to one side as she sat, and now and again her features contracted. "she's got that mischief in her back," said the mother, stroking her thin, unlovely hair. "she got it always carrying the doctor's little boy--he's so tall and so heavy. but as long as the doctor says nothing, it can't be anything dangerous. yes, you did really leave home too early, my child; but, after all, you get good food and you learn to be smart. and capable, that she is; she looks after the doctor's three children all by herself! the eldest is her own age, but she has to dress and undress her. such grand children, they don't even learn how to do things for themselves!" pelle stared at her curiously. he himself had put up with a good deal, but to cripple himself by dragging children about, who were perhaps stronger than himself--no, no one need expect that of him! "why do you carry the over-fed brat?" he asked. "they must have some one to look after them," said the mother, "and their mother, who's the nearest to them, she doesn't feel inclined to do it. and they pay her for it." "if it was me, i'd let the brat fall," said pelle boldly. the little girl just glanced at him with her dull eyes, and a feeble interest glimmered in them. but her face retained its frozen indifference, and it was impossible to say what she was thinking, so hard and experienced was her expression. "you mustn't teach her anything naughty," said the mother; "she has enough to struggle against already; she's got an obstinate nature. and now you must go to bed, karen"--she caressed her once more-- "father can't bear to see you when he's had too much. he's so fond of her," she added helplessly. karen drew away from the caress without the slightest change of expression; silently she went up to the garret where she slept. pelle had not heard her utter a sound. "that's how she is," said the mother, shivering. "never a word to say 'good night'! nothing makes any impression on her nowadays-- neither good nor bad; she's grown up too soon. and i have to manage so that father doesn't see her when he's merry. he goes on like a wild beast against himself and everybody else when it comes across his mind how she's been put upon." she looked nervously at the clock. "but go now--do listen! you'll do me a great favor if you'll go!" she was almost crying. morten stood up, hesitating, and the others followed his example. "pull your collars up and run," said the mother, and buttoned up their coats. the october gale was beating in gusts against the house, and the rain was lashing violently against the window-panes. as they were saying good night a fresh noise was heard outside. the outer door banged against the wall, and they heard the storm burst in and fill the entry. "ah, now it's too late!" lamented the mother reproachfully. "why didn't you go sooner?" a monstrous breathing sounded outside, like the breathing of a gigantic beast, sniffing up and down at the crack of the door, and fumbling after the latch with its dripping paws. jens wanted to run and open the door. "no, you mustn't do that!" cried his mother despairingly, and she pushed the bolt. she stood there, rigid, her whole body trembling. pelle too began to shiver; he had a feeling that the storm itself was lying there in the entry like a great unwieldy being, puffing and snorting in a kind of gross content, and licking itself dry while it waited for them. the woman bent her ear to the door, listening in frantic suspense. "what is he up to now?" she murmured; "he is so fond of teasing!" she was crying again. the boys had for the moment forgotten her. then the outer door was beaten in, and the monster got up on all four dripping paws, and began to call them with familiar growls. the woman turned about in her distress; waving her hands helplessly before her, and then clapping them to her face. but now the great beast became impatient; it struck the door sharply, and snarled warningly. the woman shrank back as though she herself were about to drop on all fours and answered him. "no, no!" she cried, and considered a moment. then the door was burst in with one tremendous blow, and master bruin rolled over the threshold and leaped toward them in clumsy jumps, his head thrown somewhat backward as though wondering why his little comrade had not rushed to meet him, with an eager growl. "peter, peter, the boy!" she whispered, bending over him; but he pushed her to the floor with a snarl, and laid one heavy paw upon her. she tore herself away from him and escaped to a chair. "who am i?" he asked, in a stumbling, ghostly voice, confronting her. "the great strong man!" she could not help smiling; he was ramping about in such a clumsy, comical way. "and you?" "the luckiest woman in all the world!" but now her voice died away in a sob. "and where is the strong man to rest to-night?" he snatched at her breast. she sprang up with blazing eyes. "you beast--oh, you beast!" she cried, red with shame, and she struck him in the face. the "great power" wiped his face wonderingly after each blow. "we're only playing," he said. then, in a flash, he caught sight of the boys, who had shrunk into a corner. "there you are!" he said, and he laughed crazily; "yes, mother and i, we're having a bit of a game! aren't we, mother?" but the woman had run out of doors, and now stood under the eaves, sobbing. jorgensen moved restlessly to and fro. "she's crying," he muttered. "there's no grit in her--she ought to have married some farmer's lad, devil take it, if the truth must be told! it catches me here and presses as though some one were shoving an iron ferrule into my brain. come on, 'great power'! come on! so that you can get some peace from it! i say every day. no, let be, i say then--you must keep a hold on yourself, or she just goes about crying! and she's never been anything but good to you! but deuce take it, if it would only come out! and then one goes to bed and says, praise god, the day is done--and another day, and another. and they stand there and stare--and wait; but let them wait; nothing happens, for now the 'great power' has got control of himself! and then all at once it's there behind! hit away! eight in the thick of the heap! send them all to hell, the scoundrels! 'cause a man must drink, in order to keep his energies in check.... well, and there she sits! can one of you lend me a krone?" "not i!" said jens. "no, not you--he'd be a pretty duffer who'd expect anything from you! haven't i always said 'he takes after the wrong side'? he's like his mother. he's got a heart, but he's incapable. what can you really do, jens? do you get fine clothes from your master, and does he treat you like a son, and will you finish up by taking over the business as his son-in-law? and why not? if i may ask the question. your father is as much respected as morten's." "morten won't be a son-in-law, either, if his master has no daughter," jens muttered. "no. but he might have had a daughter, hey? but there we've got an answer. you don't reflect. morten, he's got something there!" he touched his forehead. "then you shouldn't have hit me on the head," retorted jens sulkily. "on the head--well! but the understanding has its seat in the head. that's where one ought to hammer it in. for what use would it be, i ask you, supposing you commit some stupidity with your head and i smack you on the behind? you don't need any understanding there? but it has helped--you've grown much smarter. that was no fool's answer you gave me just now: 'then you shouldn't have hit me on the head!'" he nodded in acknowledgment. "no, but here is a head that can give them some trouble--there are knots of sense in this wood, hey?" and the three boys had to feel the top of his head. he stood there like a swaying tree, and listened with a changing expression to the less frequent sobs of his wife; she was now sitting by the fire, just facing the door. "she does nothing but cry," he said compassionately; "that's a way the women have of amusing themselves nowadays. life has been hard on us, and she couldn't stand hardships, poor thing! for example, if i were to say now that i'd like to smash the stove"--and here he seized a heavy chair and waved it about in the air--"then she begins to cry. she cries about everything. but if i get on i shall take another wife --one who can make a bit of a show. because this is nonsense. can she receive her guests and make fine conversation? pah! what the devil is the use of my working and pulling us all out of the mud? but now i'm going out again--god knows, it ain't amusing here!" his wife hurried across to him. "ah, don't go out, peter--stay here, do!" she begged. "am i to hang about here listening to you maundering on?" he asked sulkily, shrugging his shoulders. he was like a great, good-natured boy who gives himself airs. "i won't maunder--i'm ever so jolly--if only you'll stay!" she cried, and she smiled through her tears. "look at me--don't you see how glad i am? stay with me, do, 'great power!'" she breathed warmly into his ear; she had shaken off her cares and pulled herself together, and was now really pretty with her glowing face. the "great power" looked at her affectionately; he laughed stupidly, as though he was tickled, and allowed himself to be pulled about; he imitated her whisper to the empty air, and was overflowing with good humor. then he slyly approached his mouth to her ear, and as she listened he trumpeted loudly, so that she started back with a little cry. "do stay, you great baby!" she said, laughing. "i won't let you go; i can hold you!" but he shook her off, laughing, and ran out bareheaded. for a moment it looked as though she would run after him, but then her hands fell, and she drooped her head. "let him run off," she said wearily; "now things must go as they will. there's nothing to be done; i've never seen him so drunk. yes, you look at me, but you must remember that he carries his drink differently to every one else--he is quite by himself in everything!" she said this with a certain air of pride. "and he has punished the shipowner--and even the judge daren't touch him. the good god himself can't be more upright than he is." x now the dark evenings had come when the lamp had to be lit early for the workers. the journeyman left while it was still twilight; there was little for him to do. in november the eldest apprentice had served his time. he was made to sit all alone in the master's room, and there he stayed for a whole week, working on his journeyman's task--a pair of sea-boots. no one was allowed to go in to him, and the whole affair was extremely exciting. when the boots were ready and had been inspected by some of the master-shoemakers, they were filled to the top with water and suspended in the garret; there they hung for a few days, in order to show that they were water-tight. then emil was solemnly appointed a journeyman, and had to treat the whole workshop. he drank brotherhood with little nikas, and in the evening he went out and treated the other journeymen--and came home drunk as a lord. everything passed off just as it should. on the following day jeppe came into the workshop. "well, emil, now you're a journeyman. what do you think of it? do you mean to travel? it does a freshly baked journeyman good to go out into the world and move about and learn something." emil did not reply, but began to bundle his things together. "no, no; it's not a matter of life and death to turn you out. you can come to the workshop here and share the light and the warmth until you've got something better--those are good conditions, it seems to me. now, when i was learning, things were very different--a kick behind, and out you went! and that's for young men--it's good for them!" he could sit in the workshop and enumerate all the masters in the whole island who had a journeyman. but that was really only a joke --it never happened that a new journeyman was engaged. on the other hand, he and the others knew well enough how many freshly-baked journeymen had been thrown on to the streets that autumn. emil was by no means dejected. two evenings later they saw him off on the copenhagen steamer. "there is work enough," he said, beaming with delight. "you must promise me that you'll write to me in a year," said peter, who had finished his apprenticeship at the same time. "that i will!" said emil. but before a month had passed they heard that emil was home again. he was ashamed to let himself be seen. and then one morning he came, much embarrassed, slinking into the workshop. yes, he had got work --in several places, but had soon been sent away again. "i have learned nothing," he said dejectedly. he loitered about for a time, to enjoy the light and warmth of the workshop, and would sit there doing some jobs of cobbling which he had got hold of. he kept himself above water until nearly christmas-time, but then he gave in, and disgraced his handicraft by working at the harbor as an ordinary stevedore. "i have wasted five years of my life," he used to say when they met him; "run away while there's time! or it'll be the same with you as it was with me." he did not come to the workshop any longer out of fear of jeppe, who was extremely wroth with him for dishonoring his trade. it was cozy in the workshop when the fire crackled in the stove and the darkness looked in at the black, uncovered window-panes. the table was moved away from the window so that all four could find place about it, the master with his book and the three apprentices each with his repairing job. the lamp hung over the table, and smoked; it managed to lessen the darkness a little. the little light it gave was gathered up by the great glass balls which focussed it and cast it upon the work. the lamp swayed slightly, and the specks of light wriggled hither and thither like tadpoles, so that the work was continually left in darkness. then the master would curse and stare miserably at the lamp. the others suffered with their eyes, but the master sickened in the darkness. every moment he would stand up with a shudder. "damn and blast it, how dark it is here; it's as dark as though one lay in the grave! won't it give any light to-night?" then pelle would twist the regulator, but it was no better. when old jeppe came tripping in, master andres looked up without trying to hide his book; he was in a fighting mood. "who is there?" he asked, staring into the darkness. "ah, it's father!" "have you got bad eyes?" asked the old man derisively. "will you have some eye-water?" "father's eye-water--no thanks! but this damned light--one can't see one's hand before one's face!" "open your mouth, then, and your teeth will shine!" jeppe spat the words out. this lighting was always a source of strike between them. "no one else in the whole island works by so wretched a light, you take my word, father." "in my time i never heard complaints about the light," retorted jeppe. "and better work has been done under the glass ball than any one can do now with all their artificial discoveries. but it's disappearing now; the young people to-day know no greater pleasure than throwing their money out of the window after such modern trash." "yes, in father's time--then everything was so splendid!" said master andres. "that was when the angels ran about with white sticks in their mouths!" in the course of the evening now one and another would drop in to hear and tell the news. and if the young master was in a good temper they would stay. he was the fire and soul of the party, as old bjerregrav said; he could, thanks to his reading, give explanations of so many things. when pelle lifted his eyes from his work he was blind. yonder, in the workshop, where baker jorgen and the rest sat and gossiped, he could see nothing but dancing specks of light, and his work swam round in the midst of them; and of his comrades he saw nothing but their aprons. but in the glass ball the light was like a living fire, in whose streams a world was laboring. "well, this evening there's a capital light," said jeppe, if one of them looked to the lamp. "you mean there's no light at all!" retorted master andres, twisting the regulator. but one day the ironmonger's man brought something in a big basket --a hanging lamp with a round burner; and when it was dark the ironmonger himself came in order to light it for the first time, and to initiate pelle into the management of the wonderful contrivance. he went to work very circumstantially and with much caution. "it can explode, i needn't tell you," he said, "but you'd have to treat the mechanism very badly first. if you only set to work with care and reason there is no danger whatever." pelle stood close to him, holding the cylinder, but the others turned their heads away from the table, while the young master stood right at the back, and shuffled to and fro. "devil knows i don't want to go to heaven in my living body!" he said, with a comical expression; "but deuce take it, where did you get the courage, pelle? you're a saucy young spark!" and he looked at him with his wide, wondering gaze, which held in it both jest and earnest. at last the lamp shone out; and even on the furthest shelf, high up under the ceiling, one could count every single last. "that's a regular sun!" said the young master, and he put his hand to his face; "why, good lord, i believe it warms the room!" he was quite flushed, and his eyes were sparkling. the old master kept well away from the lamp until the ironmonger had gone; then he came rushing over to it. "well, aren't you blown sky-high?" he asked, in great astonishment. "it gives an ugly light --oh, a horrible light! poof, i say! and it doesn't shine properly; it catches you in the eyes. well, well, you can spoil your sight as far as i'm concerned!" but for the others the lamp was a renewal of life. master andres sunned himself in its rays. he was like a sun-intoxicated bird; as he sat there, quite at peace, a wave of joy would suddenly come over him. and to the neighbors who gathered round the lamp in order to discover its qualities he held forth in great style, so that the light was doubled. they came often and stayed readily; the master beamed and the lamp shone; they were like insects attracted by the light--the glorious light! twenty times a day the master would go out to the front door, but he always came in again and sat by the window to read, his boot with the wooden heel sticking out behind him. he spat so much that pelle had to put fresh sand every day under his place. "is there some sort of beast that sits in your chest and gnaws?" said uncle jorgen, when andres' cough troubled him badly. "you look so well otherwise. you'll recover before we know where we are!" "yes, thank god!" the master laughed gaily between two attacks. "if you only go at the beast hard enough, it'll surely die. now, where you are, in your thirtieth year, you ought to be able to get at it. suppose you were to give it cognac?" jorgen kofod, as a rule, came clumping in with great wooden shoes, and jeppe used to scold him. "one wouldn't believe you've got a shoemaker for a brother!" he would say crossly; "and yet we all get our black bread from you." "but what if i can't keep my feet warm now in those damned leather shoes? and i'm full through and through of gout--it's a real misery!" the big baker twisted himself dolefully. "it must be dreadful with gout like that," said bjerregrav. "i myself have never had it." "tailors don't get gout," rejoined baker jorgen scornfully. "a tailor's body has no room to harbor it. so much i do know--twelve tailors go to a pound." bjerregrav did not reply. "the tailors have their own topsy-turvy world," continued the baker. "i can't compare myself with them. a crippled tailor--well, even he has got his full strength of body." "a tailor is as fine a fellow as a black-bread baker!" stammered bjerregrav nervously. "to bake black bread--why, every farmer's wife can do that!" "fine! i believe you! hell and blazes! if the tailor makes a cap he has enough cloth left over to make himself a pair of breeches. that's why tailors are always dressed so fine!" the baker was talking to the empty air. "millers and bakers are always rogues, everybody says." old bjerregrav turned to master andres, trembling with excitement. but the young master stood there looking gaily from one to the other, his lame leg dangling in the air. "for the tailor nothing comes amiss--there's too much room in me!" said the baker, as though something were choking him. "or, as another proverb says--it's of no more consequence than a tailor in hell. they are the fellows! we all know the story of the woman who brought a full-grown tailor into the world without even knowing she was with child." jeppe laughed. "now, that's enough, really; god knows neither of you will give in to the other." "well, and i've no intention of trampling a tailor to death, if it can anyhow be avoided--but one can't always see them." baker jorgen carefully lifted his great wooden shoes. "but they are not men. now is there even one tailor in the town who has been overseas? no, and there were no men about while the tailor was being made. a woman stood in a draught at the front door, and there she brought forth the tailor." the baker could not stop himself when once he began to quiz anybody; now that soren was married, he had recovered all his good spirits. bjerregrav could not beat this. "you can say what you like about tailors," he succeeded in saying at last. "but people who bake black bread are not respected as handicraftsmen--no more than the washerwoman! tailoring and shoemaking, they are proper crafts, with craftman's tests, and all the rest." "yes, shoemaking of course is another thing," said jeppe. "but as many proverbs and sayings are as true of you as of us," said bjerregrav, desperately blinking. "well, it's no longer ago than last year that master klausen married a cabinet-maker's daughter. but whom must a tailor marry? his own serving-maid?" "now how can you, father!" sighed master andres. "one man's as good as another." "yes, you turn everything upside down! but i'll have my handicraft respected. to-day all sorts of agents and wool-merchants and other trash settle in the town and talk big. but in the old days the handicraftsmen were the marrow of the land. even the king himself had to learn a handicraft. i myself served my apprenticeship in the capital, and in the workshop where i was a prince had learned the trade. but, hang it all, i never heard of a king who learned tailoring!" they were capable of going on forever in this way, but, as the dispute was at its worst, the door opened, and wooden-leg larsen stumped in, filling the workshop with fresh air. he was wearing a storm-cap and a blue pilot-coat. "good evening, children!" he said gaily, and threw down a heap of leather ferrules and single boots on the window-bench. his entrance put life into all. "here's a playboy for us! welcome home! has it been a good summer?" jeppe picked up the five boots for the right foot, one after another, turned back the uppers, and held heels and soles in a straight line before his eyes. "a bungler has had these in hand," he growled, and then he set to work on the casing for the wooden leg. "well, did the layer of felt answer?" larsen suffered from cold in his amputated foot. "yes; i've not had cold feet any more." "cold feet!" the baker struck himself on the loins and laughed. "yes, you can say what you like, but every time my wooden leg gets wet i get a cold in the head!" "that's the very deuce!" cried jorgen, and his great body rolled like a hippopotamus. "a funny thing, that!" "there are many funny things in the world," stammered bjerregrav. "when my brother died, my watch stopped at that very moment--it was he who gave it me." wooden-leg larsen had been through the whole kingdom with his barrel-organ, and had to tell them all about it; of the railway- trains which travelled so fast that the landscape turned round on its own axis, and of the great shops and places of amusement in the capital. "it must be as it will," said master andres. "but in the summer i shall go to the capital and work there!" "in jutland--that's where they have so many wrecks!" said the baker. "they say everything is sand there! i've heard that the country is shifting under their feet--moving away toward the east. is it true that they have a post there that a man must scratch himself against before he can sit down?" "my sister has a son who has married a jutland woman and settled down there," said bjerregrav. "have you seen anything of them?" the baker laughed. "tailors are so big--they've got the whole world in their waistcoat pocket. well, and funen? have you been there, too? that's where the women have such a pleasant disposition. i've lain before svendborg and taken in water, but there was no time to go ashore." this remark sounded like a sigh. "can you stand it, wandering so much?" asked bjerregrav anxiously. wooden-leg larsen looked contemptuously at bjerregrav's congenital club-foot--he had received his own injury at heligoland, at the hands of an honorable bullet. "if one's sound of limb," he said, spitting on the floor by the window. then the others had to relate what had happened in town during the course of the summer; of the finnish barque which had stranded in the north, and how the "great power" had broken out again. "now he's sitting in the dumps under lock and key." bjerregrav took exception to the name they gave him; he called it blasphemy, on the ground that the bible said that power and might belonged to god alone. wooden-leg larsen said that the word, as they had used it, had nothing to do with god; it was an earthly thing; across the water people used it to drive machinery, instead of horses. "i should think woman is the greatest power," said baker jorgen, "for women rule the world, god knows they do! and god protect us if they are once let loose on us! but what do you think, andres, you who are so book-learned?" "the sun is the greatest power," said master andres. "it rules over all life, and science has discovered that all strength and force come from the sun. when it falls into the sea and cools, then the whole world will become a lump of ice." "then the sea is the greatest power!" cried jeppe triumphantly. "or do you know of anything else that tears everything down and washes it away? and from the sea we get everything back again. once when i went to malaga----" "yes, that really is true," said bjerregrav, "for most people get their living from the sea, and many their death. and the rich people we have get all their money from the sea." jeppe drew himself up proudly and his glasses began to glitter. "the sea can bear what it likes, stone or iron, although it is soft itself! the heaviest loads can travel on its back. and then all at once it swallows everything down. i have seen ships which sailed right into the weather and disappeared when their time came." "i should very much like to know whether the different countries float on the water, or whether they stand firm on the bottom of the sea. don't you know that, andres?" asked bjerregrav. master andres thought they stood on the bottom of the sea, far below the surface; but uncle jorgen said: "nay! big as the sea is!" "yes, it's big, for i've been over the whole island," said bjerregrav self-consciously; "but i never got anywhere where i couldn't see the sea. every parish in all bornholm borders on the sea. but it has no power over the farmers and peasants--they belong to the land, don't they?" "the sea has power over all of us," said larsen. "some it refuses; they go to sea for years and years, but then in their old age they suffer from sea-sickness, and then they are warned. that is why skipper andersen came on shore. and others it attracts, from right away up in the country! i have been to sea with such people--they had spent their whole lives up on the island, and had seen the sea, but had never been down to the shore. and then one day the devil collared them and they left the plough and ran down to the sea and hired themselves out. and they weren't the worse seamen." "yes," said baker jorgen, "and all of us here have been to sea, and bornholmers sail on all the seas, as far as a ship can go. and i have met people who had never been on the sea, and yet they were as though it was their home. when i sailed the brig _clara_ for skipper andersen, i had such a lad on board as ordinary seaman. he had never bathed in the sea; but one day, as we were lying at anchor, and the others were swimming around, he jumped into the water too--now this is god's truth--as though he were tumbling into his mother's arms; he thought that swimming came of its own accord. he went straight to the bottom, and was half dead before we fished him up again." "the devil may understand the sea!" cried master andres breathlessly. "it is curved like an arch everywhere, and it can get up on its hind legs and stand like a wall, although it's a fluid! and i have read in a book that there is so much silver in the sea that every man in the whole world might be rich." "thou righteous god!" cried bjerregrav, "such a thing i have never heard. now does that come from all the ships that have gone down? yes, the sea--that, curse it, is the greatest power!" "it's ten o'clock," said jeppe. "and the lamp is going out--that devil's contrivance!" they broke up hastily, and pelle turned the lamp out. but long after he had laid his head on his pillow everything was going round inside it. he had swallowed everything, and imaginary pictures thronged in his brain like young birds in an over-full nest, pushing and wriggling to find a place wherein to rest. the sea was strong; now in the wintertime the surging of the billows against the cliffs was continually in his ear. pelle was not sure whether it would stand aside for him! he had an unconscious reluctance to set himself limits, and as for the power about which they had all been disputing, it certainly had its seat in pelle himself, like a vague consciousness that he was, despite all his defeats, invincible. at times this feeling manifested itself visibly and helped him through the day. one afternoon they were sitting and working, after having swallowed their food in five minutes, as their custom was; the journeyman was the only one who did not grudge himself a brief mid-day rest, and he sat reading the newspaper. suddenly he raised his head and looked wonderingly at pelle. "now what's this? lasse karlson--isn't that your father?" "yes," answered pelle, with a paralyzed tongue, and the blood rushed to his cheeks. was father lasse in the news? not among the accidents? he must have made himself remarkable in one way or another through his farming! pelle was nearly choking with excitement, but he did not venture to ask, and little nikas simply sat there and looked secretive. he had assumed the expression peculiar to the young master. but then he read aloud: "lost! a louse with three tails has escaped, and may be left, in return for a good tip, with the landowner lasse karlson, heath farm. broken black bread may also be brought there." the others burst into a shout of laughter, but pelle turned an ashen gray. with a leap he was across the table and had pulled little nikas to the ground underneath him; there he lay, squeezing the man's throat with his fingers, trying to throttle him, until he was overpowered. emil and peter had to hold him while the knee-strap put in its work. and yet he was proud of the occurrence; what did a miserable thrashing signify as against the feat of throwing the journeyman to the ground and overcoming the slavish respect he had felt for him! let them dare to get at him again with their lying allusions, or to make sport of father lasse! pelle was not inclined to adopt circuitous methods. and the circumstances justified him. after this he received more consideration; no one felt anxious to bring pelle and his cobbler's tools on top of him, even although the boy could be thrashed afterward. xi the skipper's garden was a desert. trees and bushes were leafless; from the workshop window one could look right through them, and over other gardens beyond, and as far as the backs of the houses in east street. there were no more games in the garden; the paths were buried in ice and melting snow, and the blocks of coral, and the great conch-shells which, with their rosy mouths and fish-like teeth, had sung so wonderfully of the great ocean, had been taken in on account of the frost. manna he saw often enough. she used to come tumbling into the workshop with her school satchel or her skates; a button had got torn off, or a heel had been wrenched loose by a skate. a fresh breeze hovered about her hair and cheeks, and the cold made her face glow. "there is blood!" the young master would say, looking at her delightedly; he laughed and jested when she came in. but manna would hold on to pelle's shoulder and throw her foot into his lap, so that he could button her boots. sometimes she would pinch him secretly and look angry--she was jealous of morten. but pelle did not understand; morten's gentle, capable mind had entirely subjugated him and assumed the direction of their relations. pelle was miserable if morten was not there when he had an hour to spare. then he would run, with his heart in his mouth, to find him; everything else was indifferent to him. one sunday morning, as he was sweeping the snow in the yard, the girls were in their garden; they were making a snowman. "hey, pelle!" they cried, and they clapped their mittens; "come over here! you can help us to build a snow-house. we'll wall up the door and light some christmas-tree candles: we've got some ends. oh, do come!" "then morten must come too--he'll be here directly!" manna turned up her nose. "no, we don't want morten here!" "why not? he's so jolly!" said pelle, wounded. "yes, but his father is so dreadful--everybody is afraid of him. and then he's been in prison." "yes, for beating some one--that's nothing so dreadful! my father was too, when he was a young man. that's no disgrace, for it isn't for stealing." but manna looked at him with an expression exactly like jeppe's when he was criticizing somebody from his standpoint as a respectable citizen. "but, pelle, aren't you ashamed of it? that's how only the very poorest people think--those who haven't any feelings of shame!" pelle blushed for his vulgar way of looking at things. "it's no fault of morten's that his father's like that!" he retorted lamely. "no, we won't have morten here. and mother won't let us. she says perhaps we can play with you, but not with anybody else. we belong to a very good family," she said, in explanation. "my father has a great farm--it's worth quite as much as a rotten barge," said pelle angrily. "father's ship isn't rotten!" rejoined manna, affronted. "it's the best in the harbor here, and it has three masts!" "all the same, you're nothing but a mean hussy!" pelle spat over the hedge. "yes, and you're a swede!" manna blinked her eyes triumphantly, while dolores and aina stood behind her and put out their tongues. pelle felt strongly inclined to jump over the garden wall and beat them; but just then jeppe's old woman began scolding from the kitchen, and he went on with his work. now, after christmas, there was nothing at all to do. people were wearing out their old boots, or they went about in wooden shoes. little nikas was seldom in the workshop; he came in at meal-times and went away again, and he was always wearing his best clothes. "he earns his daily bread easily," said jeppe. over on the mainland they didn't feed their people through the winter; the moment there was no more work, they kicked them out. in the daytime pelle was often sent on a round through the harbor in order to visit the shipping. he would find the masters standing about there in their leather aprons, talking about nautical affairs; or they would gather before their doors, to gossip, and each, from sheer habit, would carry some tool or other in his hand. and the wolf was at the door. the "saints" held daily meetings, and the people had time enough to attend them. winter proved how insecurely the town was established, how feeble were its roots; it was not here as it was up in the country, where a man could enjoy himself in the knowledge that the earth was working for him. here people made themselves as small and ate as little as possible, in order to win through the slack season. in the workshops the apprentices sat working at cheap boots and shoes for stock; every spring the shoemakers would charter a ship in common and send a cargo to iceland. this helped them on a little. "fire away!" the master would repeat, over and over again; "make haste--we don't get much for it!" the slack season gave rise to many serious questions. many of the workers were near to destitution, and it was said that the organized charities would find it very difficult to give assistance to all who applied for it. they were busy everywhere, to their full capacity. "and i've heard it's nothing here to what it is on the mainland," said baker jorgen. "there the unemployed are numbered in tens of thousands." "how can they live, all those thousands of poor people, if the unemployment is so great?" asked bjerregrav. "the need is bad enough here in town, where every employer provides his people with their daily bread." "here no one starves unless he wants to," said jeppe. "we have a well-organized system of relief." "you're certainly becoming a social democrat, jeppe," said baker jorgen; "you want to put everything on to the organized charities!" wooden-leg larsen laughed; that was a new interpretation. "well, what do they really want? for they are not freemasons. they say they are raising their heads again over on the mainland." "well, that, of course, is a thing that comes and goes with unemployment," said jeppe. "the people must do something. last winter a son of the sailmaker's came home--well, he was one of them in secret. but the old folks would never admit it, and he himself was so clever that he got out of it somehow." "if he'd been a son of mine he would have got the stick," said jorgen. "aren't they the sort of people who are making ready for the millennium? we've got a few of their sort here," said bjerregrav diffidently. "d'you mean the poor devils who believe in the watchmaker and his 'new time'? yes, that may well be," said jeppe contemptuously. "i have heard they are quite wicked enough for that. i'm inclined to think they are the antichrist the bible foretells." "ah, but what do they really want?" asked baker jorgen. "what is their madness really driving at?" "what do they want?" wooden-leg larsen pulled himself together. "i've knocked up against a lot of people, i have, and as far as i can understand it they want to get justice; they want to take the right of coining money away from the crown and give it to everybody. and they want to overthrow everything, that is quite certain." "well," said master andres, "what they want, i believe, is perfectly right, only they'll never get it. i know a little about it, on account of garibaldi." "but what _do_ they want, then, if they don't want to overthrow the whole world?" "what do they want? well, what do they want? that everybody should have exactly the same?" master andres was uncertain. "then the ship's boy would have as much as the captain! no, it would be the devil and all!" baker jorgen smacked his thigh and laughed. "and they want to abolish the king," said wooden-leg larsen eagerly. "who the devil would reign over us then? the germans would soon come hurrying over! that's a most wicked thing, that danish people should want to hand over their country to the enemy! all i wonder is that they don't shoot them down without trial! they'd never be admitted to bornholm." "that we don't really know!" the young master smiled. "to the devil with them--we'd all go down to the shore and shoot them: they should never land alive!" "they are just a miserable rabble, the lot of them," said jeppe. "i should very much like to know whether there is a decent citizen among them." "naturally, it's always the poor who complain of poverty," said bjerregrav. "so the thing never comes to an end." baker jorgen was the only one of them who had anything to do. things would have to be bad indeed before the people stopped buying his black bread. he even had more to do than usual; the more people abstained from meat and cheese, the more bread they ate. he often hired jeppe's apprentices so that they might help him in the kneading. but he was not in a happy frame of mind. he was always shouting his abuse of soren through the open doors, because the latter would not go near his buxom young wife. old jorgen had taken him and put him into bed with her with his own hands, but soren had got out of the business by crying and trembling like a new-born calf. "d'you think he's perhaps bewitched?" asked master andres. "she's young and pretty, and there's not the least fault to be found with her--and we've fed him with eggs right through the winter. she goes about hanging her head, she gets no attention from him. 'marie! soren!' i cry, just to put a little life into them--he ought to be the sort of devil i was, i can tell you! she laughs and blushes, but soren, he simply sneaks off. it's really a shame--so dainty as she is too, in every way. ah, it ought to have been in my young days, i can tell you!" "you are still young enough, uncle jorgen!" laughed master andres. "well, a man could almost bring himself to it--when he considers what a dreadful injustice is going on under his own eyes. for, look you, andres, i've been a dirty beast about all that sort of thing, but i've been a jolly fellow too; people were always glad to be on board with me. and i've had strength for a booze, and a girl; and for hard work in bad weather. the life i've led--it hasn't been bad; i'd live it all over again the same. but soren--what sort of a strayed weakling is he? he can't find his own way about! now, if only you would have a chat with him--you've got some influence over him." "i'll willingly try." "thanks; but look here, i owe you money." jorgen took ten kroner and laid them on the table as he was going. "pelle, you devil's imp, can you run an errand for me?" the young master limped into the cutting-out room, pelle following on his heels. a hundred times a day the master would run to the front door, but he hurried back again directly; he could not stand the cold. his eyes were full of dreams of other countries, whose climates were kinder, and he spoke of his two brothers, of whom one was lost in south america--perhaps murdered. but the other was in australia, herding sheep. he earned more at that than the town magistrate received as salary, and was the cleverest boxer in the neighborhood. here the master made his bloodless hands circle one round the other, and let them fall clenched upon pelle's back. "that," he said, in a superior tone, "is what they call boxing. brother martin can cripple a man with one blow. he is paid for it, the devil!" the master shuddered. his brother had on several occasions offered to send him his steamer-ticket, but there was that damned leg. "tell me what i should do over there, eh, pelle?" pelle had to bring books from the lending library every day, and he soon learned which writers were the most exciting. he also attempted to read himself, but he could not get on with it; it was more amusing to stand about by the skating-pond and freeze and watch the others gliding over the ice. but he got morten to tell him of exciting books, and these he brought home for the master; such was the "flying dutchman." "that's a work of poetry, lord alive!" said the master, and he related its contents to bjerregrav, who took them all for reality. "you should have played some part in the great world, andres--i for my part do best to stay at home here. but you could have managed it--i'm sure of it." "the great world!" said the master scornfully. no, he didn't take much stock in the world--it wasn't big enough. "if i were to travel, i should like to look for the way into the interior of the earth-- they say there's a way into it in iceland. or it would be glorious to make a voyage to the moon; but that will always be just a story." at the beginning of the new year the crazy anker came to the young master and dictated a love-letter to the eldest daughter of the king. "this year he will surely answer," he said thoughtfully. "time is passing, and fortune disappears, and there are few that have their share of it; we need the new time very badly." "yes, we certainly do," said master andres. "but if such a misfortune should happen that the king should refuse, why, you are man enough to manage the matter yourself, anker!" it was a slack season, and, just as it was at its very worst, shoemaker bohn returned and opened a shop on the marketplace. he had spent a year on the mainland and had learned all sorts of modern humbug. there was only one pair of boots in his window, and those were his own sunday boots. every monday they were put out and exhibited again, so that there should be something to look at. if he himself was in the shop, talking to the people, his wife would sit in the living-room behind and hammer on a boot, so that it sounded as though there were men in the workshop. but at shrovetide jeppe received some orders. master andres came home quite cheerfully one day from bjerhansen's cellar; there he had made the acquaintance of some of the actors of a troupe which had just arrived. "they are fellows, too!" he said, stroking his cheeks. "they travel continually from one place to another and give performances--they get to see the world!" he could not sit quiet. the next morning they came rioting into the workshop, filling the place with their deafening gabble. "soles and heels!" "heels that won't come off!" "a bit of heel-work and two on the snout!" so they went on, bringing great armfuls of boots from under their cloaks, or fishing them out of bottomless pockets, and throwing them in heaps on the window-bench, each with his droll remarks. boots and shoes they called "understandings"; they turned and twisted every word, tossing it like a ball from mouth to mouth, until not a trace of sense was left in it. the apprentices forgot everything, and could scarcely contain themselves for laughing, and the young master overflowed with wit-- he was equal to the best of them. now one saw that he really might have luck with the women: there was no boasting or lying about it. the young actress with the hair like the lightest flax could not keep her eyes off him, although she evidently had all the others at her petticoat-tails; she made signs to her companions that they should admire the master's splendid big mustache. the master had forgotten his lame leg and thrown his stick away; he was on his knees, taking the actress's measure for a pair of high boots with patent tops and concertina-like folds in the legs. she had a hole in the heel of her stocking, but she only laughed over it; one of the actors cried "poached egg!" and then they laughed uproariously. old jeppe came tumbling into the room, attracted by the merriment. the blonde lady called him "grandfather," and wanted to dance with him, and jeppe forgot his dignity and laughed with the rest. "yes, it's to us they come when they want to have something good," he said proudly. "and i learned my trade in copenhagen, and i used to carry boots and shoes to more than one play-actor there. we had to work for the whole theater; jungfer patges, who became so famous later on, got her first dancing shoes from us." "yes, those are the fellows!" said master andres, as at last they bustled out; "devil take me, but those are the chaps!" jeppe could not in the least understand how they had found their way thither, and master andres did not explain that he had been to the tavern. "perhaps jungfer patges sent them to me," he said, gazing into the distance. "she must somehow have kept me in mind." free tickets poured in on them; the young master was in the theater every evening. pelle received a gallery ticket every time he went round with a pair of boots. he was to say nothing--but the price was plainly marked on the sole with chalk. "did you get the money?" the master would ask eagerly; he used to stand on the stairs all the time, waiting. no, pelle was to present their very best wishes, and to say they would come round and settle up themselves. "well, well, people of that sort are safe enough," said the master. one day lasse came stamping into the workshop and into the midst of them all, looking the picture of a big farmer, with his fur collar drawn round his ears. he had a sack of potatoes outside; it was a present to pelle's employers, because pelle was learning his trade so well. pelle was given leave and went out with his father; and he kept looking furtively at the fur collar. at last he could contain himself no longer, but turned it up inquiringly. disillusioned, he let it fall again. "ah, yes--er--well--that's just tacked on to my driving-cloak. it looks well, and it keeps my ears nice and warm. you thought i'd blossomed out into a proper fur coat? no, it won't run to that just yet--but it will soon. and i could name you more than one big farmer who has nothing better than this." yes, pelle was just a trifle disappointed. but he must admit that there was no difference to be perceived between this cloak and the real bear-skin. "are things going on all right?" he asked. "oh, yes; at present i am breaking stone. i've got to break twenty cords if i'm to pay everybody what's owing to him by the devil's birthday. [footnote: the th december--the general pay-day and hiring-day.--tb.] so long as we keep our health and strength, karna and i." they drove to the merchant's and put up the horses. pelle noticed that the people at the merchant's did not rush forward to lasse quite so eagerly as they did to the real farmers; but lasse himself behaved in quite an important manner. he stumped right into the merchant's counting-house, just like the rest, filled his pipe at the barrel, and helped himself to a drink of brandy. a cold breath of air hung about him as he went backward and forward from the cart with buttoned-up cloak, and he stamped as loudly on the sharp cobble-stones as though his boot-soles too were made of stone. then they went on to due's cottage; lasse was anxious to see how matters were prospering there. "it isn't always easy when one of the parties brings a love-child into the business." pelle explained to him how matters stood. "tell them at uncle kalle's that they must take little maria back again. anna ill-treats her. they are getting on well in other ways; now they want to buy a wagon and horses and set up as carriers." "do they? well, it's easy for those to get on who haven't any heart." lasse sighed. "look, father," said pelle suddenly, "there's a theater here now, and i know all the players. i take them their boots, and they give me a ticket every evening. i've seen the whole thing." "but, of course, that's all lies, eh?" lasse had to pull up, in order to scrutinize pelle's face. "so you've been in a proper theater, eh? well, those who live in the town have got the devil to thank for it if they are cleverer than a peasant. one can have everything here!" "will you go with me to-night? i can get the tickets." lasse was uneasy. it wasn't that he didn't want to go; but the whole thing was so unaccustomed. however, it was arranged that he should sleep the night at due's, and in the evening they both went to the theater. "is it here?" asked lasse, astounded. they had come to a great building like a barn, before which a number of people were standing. but it was fine inside. they sat right up at the top, at the back, where the seats were arranged like the side of a hill, and they had a view over the whole theater. down below, right in front, sat some ladies who, so far as lasse could see, were naked. "i suppose those are the performers?" he inquired. pelle laughed. "no, those are the grandest ladies in the town--the doctor's wife, the burgomaster's lady, and the inspector's wife, and such like." "what, they are so grand that they haven't enough clothes to wear!" cried lasse. "with us we call that poverty! but where are the players, then?" "they are the other side of the curtain." "then have they begun already?" "no, you can see they haven't--the curtain has to go up first." there was a hole in the curtain, and a finger came through it, and began to turn from side to side, pointing at the spectators. lasse laughed. "that's devilish funny!" he cried, slapping his thighs, as the finger continued to point. "it hasn't begun yet," said pelle. "is that so?" this damped lasse's spirits a little. but then the big crown-light began suddenly to run up through a hole in the ceiling; up in the loft some boys were kneeling round the hole, and as the light came up they blew out the lamps. then the curtain went up, and there was a great brightly-lit hall, in which a number of pretty young girls were moving about, dressed in the most wonderful costumes--and they were speaking! lasse was quite astonished to find that he could understand what they said; the whole thing seemed so strange and foreign to him; it was like a peep into dreamland. but there was one maiden who sat there all alone at her spinning wheel, and she was the fairest of them all. "that's surely a fine lady?" asked lasse. but pelle whispered that she was only a poor forest maiden, whom the lord of the castle had robbed, and now he wanted to force her to be his sweetheart. all the others were making a tremendous lot of her, combing her golden hair and kneeling before her; but she only looked unhappier than before. and sometimes her sadness was more than she could bear; then she opened her beautiful mouth and her wounded heart bled in song, which affected lasse so that he had to fetch a long sighing breath. then a tall man with a huge red beard came stamping into the hall. lasse saw that he was dressed like a man who has been keeping carnival. "that's the one we made the fine boots for," whispered pelle: "the lord of the castle, who wants to seduce her." "an ugly devil he looks too!" said lasse, and spat. "the master at stone farm is a child of god compared with him!" pelle signed to him to be quiet. the lord of the castle drove all the other women away, and then began to tramp stormily to and fro, eyeing the forest maiden and showing the whites of his eyes. "well, have you at last decided?" he roared, and snorted like a mad bull. and suddenly he sprang at her as if to take her by force. "ha! touch me not!" she cried, "or by the living god, i will plunge this dagger into my heart! you believe you can buy my innocence because i am poor, but the honor of the poor is not to be bought with gold!" "that's a true word!" said lasse loudly. but the lord of the castle gave a malicious laugh, and tugged at his red beard. he rolled his r's dreadfully. "is my offer not enough for you? come, stay this night with me and you shall receive a farm with ten head of cattle, so that to-morrow you can stand at the altar with your huntsman!" "hold your tongue, you whoremonger!" said lasse angrily. those round about him tried to calm him; one or another nudged him in the ribs. "well, can't a man speak any longer?" lasse turned crossly to pelle. "i'm no clergyman, but if the girl doesn't want to, let him leave her alone; at any rate he shan't slake his lust publicly in the presence of hundreds of people with impunity! a swine like that!" lasse was speaking loudly, and it seemed as though his words had had their effect on the lord of the castle. he stood there awhile staring in front of him, and then called a man, and bade him lead the maiden back to the forest. lasse breathed easily again as the curtain fell and the boys overhead by the hole in the ceiling relit the lamps and let them down again. "so far she's got out of it all right," he told pelle, "but i don't trust the lord--he's a scoundrel!" he was perspiring freely, and did not look entirely satisfied. the next scene which was conjured up on the stage was a forest. it was wonderfully fine, with pelargoniums blooming on the ground, and a spring which was flowing out of something green. "that is a covered beer-barrel!" said pelle, and now lasse too could see the tap, but it was wonderfully natural. right in the background one could see the lord's castle on a cliff, and in the foreground lay a fallen tree-trunk; two green-clad huntsmen sat astride of it, concocting their evil schemes. lasse nodded--he knew something of the wickedness of the world. now they heard a sound, and crouched down behind the tree-trunk, each with a knife in his hand. for a moment all was silent; then came the forest maiden and her huntsman, wandering all unawares down the forest path. by the spring they took a clinging and affectionate farewell; then the man came forward, hurrying to his certain death. this was too much. lasse stood up. "look out!" he cried in a choking voice: "look out!" those behind him pulled his coat and scolded him. "no, devil take you all, i won't hold my tongue!" he cried, and laid about him. and then he leaned forward again: "look where you're going, d'you hear! your life is at stake! they're hiding behind the fallen tree!" the huntsman stood where he was and stared up, and the two assassins had risen to their feet and were staring, and the actors and actresses came through from the wings and gazed upward over the auditorium. lasse saw that the man was saved, but now he had to suffer for his services; the manager wanted to throw him out. "i can perfectly well go by myself," he said. "an honorable man is one too many in this company!" in the street below he talked aloud to himself; he was in a blazing temper. "it was only a play," said pelle dejectedly. in his heart he was ashamed of his father. "you needn't try to teach me about that! i know very well that it all happened long ago and that i can do nothing to alter it, not if i was to stand on my head. but that such low doings should be brought to life again! if the others had felt as i did we should have taken the lord and thrashed him to death, even if it did come a hundred years too late!" "why--but that was actor west, who comes to our workshop every day." "is that so? actor west, eh? then you are actor codfish, to let yourself be imposed on like that! i have met people before now who had the gift of falling asleep and conjuring up long dead people in their place--but not so real as here, you understand. if you had been behind the curtain you would have seen west lying there like dead, while he, the other one--the devil--was carrying on and ordering everybody about. it's a gift i'd rather not have; a dangerous game! if the others forget the word of command that brings him back into the body it would be all up with him, and the other would take his place." "but that is all superstition! when i know it's west in a play--why, i recognized him at once!" "oh, of course! you are always the cleverer! you'd like a dispute with the devil himself every day! so it was only a show? when he was rolling the whites of his eyes in his frantic lust! you believe me--if she hadn't had that knife he would have fallen on her and satisfied his desire in front of everybody! because if you conjure up long bygone times the action has to have its way, however many there are to see. but that they should do it for money--for money --ugh! and now i'm going home!" lasse would say nothing more, but had the horses harnessed. "you had best not go there again," he said at parting. "but if it has got hold of you already, at least put a knife in your pocket. yes, and we'll send you your washing by butcher jensen, one saturday, soon." pelle went to the theater as before; he had a shrewd idea that it was only a play, but there _was_ something mysterious about it; people must have a supernatural gift who evening after evening could so entirely alter their appearance and so completely enter into the people they represented. pelle thought he would like to become an actor if he could only climb high enough. the players created a considerable excitement when they strolled through the streets with their napping clothes and queer head-gear; people ran to their windows to see them, the old folk peeping over their shoulders. the town was as though transformed as long as they were in it. every mind had taken a perverse direction. the girls cried out in their sleep and dreamed of abductions; they even left their windows a little open; and every young fellow was ready to run away with the players. those who were not theater-mad attended religious meetings in order to combat the evil. and one day the players disappeared--as they had come--and left a cloud of debts behind them. "devil's trash!" said the master with his despondent expression. "they've tricked us! but, all the same, they were fine fellows in their way, and they had seen the world!" but after these happenings he could by no means get warm again. he crawled into bed and spent the best part of the month lying there. xii it can be very cozy on those winter evenings when everybody sits at home in the workshop and passes the time by doing nothing, because it is so dark and cold out of doors, and one has nowhere to go to. to stand about by the skating-ponds and to look on, frozen, while others go swinging past--well, pelle has had enough of it; and as for strolling up the street toward the north, and then turning about and returning toward the south, and turning yet again, up and down the selfsame street--well, there is nothing in it unless one has good warm clothes and a girl whose waist one can hold. and morten too is no fresh-air disciple; he is freezing, and wants to sit in the warmth. so they slink into the workshop as soon as it begins to grow dark, and they take out the key and hang it on the nail in the entry, in order to deceive jeppe, and then they secretly make a fire in the stove, placing a screen in front of it, so that jeppe shall not see the light from it when he makes his rounds past the workshop windows. they crouch together on the ledge at the bottom of the stove, each with an arm round the other's shoulder, and morten tells pelle about the books he has read. "why do you do nothing but read those stupid books?" asks pelle, when he has listened for a time. "because i want to know something about life and about the world," answers morten, out of the darkness. "of the world?" says pelle, in a contemptuous tone. "i want to go out into the world and see things--what's in the books is only lies. but go on." and morten goes on, good-natured as always. and in the midst of his narrative something suddenly occurs to him, and he pulls a paper packet from his breast-pocket: "that's chocolate from bodil," he says, and breaks the stick in two. "where had she put it?" asks pelle. "under the sheet--i felt something hard under my back when i lay down." the boys laugh, while they nibble at the chocolate. suddenly pelle says: "bodil, she's a child-seducer! she enticed hans peter away from stone farm--and he was only fifteen!" morten does not reply; but after a time his head sinks on pelle's shoulder--his body is twitching. "well, you are seventeen," says pelle, consoling. "but it's silly all the same; she might well be your mother--apart from her age." and they both laugh. it can be still cozier on work-day evenings. then the fire is burning openly in the stove, even after eight o'clock, and the lamp is shining, and morten is there again. people come from all directions and look in for a moment's visit, and the cold, an impediment to everything else, awakens all sorts of notable reminiscences. it is as though the world itself comes creeping into the workshop. jeppe conjures up his apprentice years in the capital, and tells of the great bankruptcy; he goes right back to the beginning of the century, to a wonderful old capital where the old people wore wigs, and the rope's-end was always at hand and the apprentices just kept body and soul together, begging on sundays before the doors of the townsfolk. ah, those were times! and he comes home and wants to settle down as master, but the guild won't accept him; he is too young. so he goes to sea as cook, and comes to places down south where the sun burns so fiercely that the pitch melts in the seams and the deck scorches one's feet. they are a merry band, and jeppe, little as he is, by no means lags behind the rest. in malaga they storm a tavern, throw all the spaniards out of the window, and sport with the girls--until the whole town falls upon them and they have to fly to their boat. jeppe cannot keep up with them, and the boat shoves off, so that he has to jump into the water and swim for it. knives fall splashing about him in the water, and one sticks shivering in his shoulder-blades. when jeppe comes to this he always begins to strip his back to show the scar, and master andres holds him back. pelle and morten have heard the story many a time, but they are willing always to hear it again. and baker jorgen, who for the greater part of his life has been a seaman on the big vessels sailing the northern and southern oceans, talks about capstans and icebergs and beautiful black women from the west indies. he sets the capstan turning, so that the great three-master makes sail out of the havana roadstead, and all his hearers feel their hearts grow light. "heave ho, the capstan, waltz her well along! leave the girl a-weeping, strike up the song!" so they walk round and round, twelve men with their breasts pressed against the heavy capstan-bars; the anchor is weighed, and the sail fills with the wind--and behind and through his words gleam the features of a sweetheart in every port. bjerregrav cannot help crossing himself--he who has never accomplished anything, except to feel for the poor; but in the young master's eyes everybody travels--round and round the world, round and round the world. and wooden-leg larsen, who in winter is quite the well-to-do pensioner, in blue pilot-coat and fur cap, leaves his pretty, solidly-built cottage when the spring comes, and sallies forth into the world as a poor organ-grinder--he tells them of the zoological gardens on the hill, and the adventurous holm-street, and of extraordinary beings who live upon the dustbins in the back-yards of the capital. but pelle's body creaks whenever he moves; his bones are growing and seeking to stretch themselves; he feels growth and restlessness in every part and corner of his being. he is the first to whom the spring comes; one day it announces itself in him in the form of a curiosity as to what his appearance is like. pelle has never asked himself this question before; and the scrap of looking-glass which he begged from the glazier from whom he fetches the glass scrapers tells him nothing truly. he has at bottom a feeling that he is an impossible person. he begins to give heed to the opinions of others respecting his outward appearance; now and again a girl looks after him, and his cheeks are no longer so fat that people can chaff him about them. his fair hair is wavy; the lucky curl on his forehead is still visible as an obstinate little streak; but his ears are still terribly big, and it is of no use to pull his cap over them, in order to press them close to his head. but he is tall and well-grown for his age, and the air of the workshop has been powerless to spoil his ruddy complexion; and he is afraid of nothing in the world-- particularly when he is angry. he thinks out a hundred different kinds of exercise in order to satisfy the demands of his body, but it is of no use. if he only bends over his hammer-work he feels it in every joint of his body. and then one day the ice breaks and goes out to sea. ships are fitted out again, and provisioned, and follow the ice, and the people of the town awake to the idea of a new life, and begin to think of green woods and summer clothing. and one day the fishing-boats arrive! they come gliding across from hellavik and nogesund on the swedish coast. they cut swiftly through the water, heeling far over under their queer lateen sails, like hungry sea-birds that sweep the waves with one wing-tip in their search for booty. a mile to seaward the fishermen of the town receive them with gunshots; they have no permission to anchor in the fishing port, but have to rent moorings for themselves in the old ship's harbor, and to spread out the gear to dry toward the north. the craftsmen of the town come flocking down to the harbor, discussing the foreign thieves who have come from a poorer country in order to take the bread out of the mouths of the townsfolk; for they are inured to all weathers, and full of courage, and are successful in their fishing. they say the same things every spring, but when they want to buy herrings they deal with the swedes, who sell more cheaply than the bornholmers. "perhaps our fishermen wear leather boots?" inquires jeppe. "no, they wear wooden shoes week- days and sunday alike. let the wooden-shoe makers deal with them--i buy where the fish is cheapest!" it is as though the spring in person has arrived with these thin, sinewy figures, who go singing through the streets, challenging the petty envy of the town. there are women, too, on every boat, to mend and clean the gear, and they pass the workshop in crowds, searching for their old lodgings in the poor part of the town near the "great power's" home. pelle's heart leaps at the sight of these young women, with pretty slippers on their feet, black shawls round their oval faces, and many fine colors in their dress. his mind is full of shadowy memories of his childhood, which have lain as quiet as though they were indeed extinguished; vague traditions of a time that he has experienced but can no longer remember; it is like a warm breath of air from another and unknown existence. if it happens that one or another of these girls has a little child on her arm, then the town has something to talk about. is it merchant lund again, as it was last year? lund, who since then had been known only as "the herring merchant"? or is it some sixteen- year-old apprentice, a scandal to his pastor and schoolmaster, whose hands he has only just left? then jens goes forth with his concertina, and pelle makes haste with his tidying up, and he and morten hurry up to gallows hill, hand-in- hand, for morten finds it difficult to run so quickly. all that the town possesses of reckless youth is there; but the swedish girls take the lead. they dance and whirl until their slippers fly off, and little battles are fought over them. but on saturdays the boats do not go to sea; then the men turn up, with smouldering brows, and claim their women, and then there is great slaughter. pelle enters into it all eagerly; here he finds an opportunity of that exercise of which his handicraft deprives his body. he hungers for heroic deeds, and presses so close to the fighters that now and again he gets a blow himself. he dances with morten, and plucks up courage to ask one of the girls to dance with him; he is shy, and dances like a leaping kid in order to banish his shyness; and in the midst of the dance he takes to his heels and leaves the girl standing there. "damned silly!" say the onlookers, and he hears them laughing behind him. he has a peculiar manner of entering into all this recklessness which lets the body claim its due without thought for the following day and the following year. if some man-hunting young woman tries to capture his youth he lashes out behind, and with a few wanton leaps he is off and away. but he loves to join in the singing when the men and women go homeward with closely-twined arms, and he and morten follow them, they too with their arms about each other. then the moon builds her bridge of light across the sea, and in the pinewood, where a white mist lies over the tree-tops, a song rises from every path, heard as a lulling music in the haunts of the wandering couples; insistently melancholy in its meaning, but issuing from the lightest hearts. it is just the kind of song to express their happiness. "put up, put up thy golden hair; a son thou'lt have before a year-- no help in thy clamor and crying! in forty weeks may'st look for me. i come to ask how it fares with thee. the forty weeks were left behind. and sad she was and sick of mind, and fell to her clamor and crying--" and the song continues as they go through the town, couple after couple, wandering as they list. the quiet winding closes ring with songs of love and death, so that the old townsfolk lift their heads from their pillows, and, their nightcaps pushed to one side, wag gravely at all this frivolity. but youth knows nothing of this; it plunges reveling onward, with its surging blood. and one day the old people have the best of it; the blood surges no longer, but there they are, and there are the consequences, and the consequences demand paternity and maintenance. "didn't we say so?" cry the old folk; but the young ones hang their heads, and foresee a long, crippled existence, with a hasty marriage or continual payments to a strange woman, while all through their lives a shadow of degradation and ridicule clings to them; both their wives and their company must be taken from beneath them. they talk no longer of going out into the world and making their way; they used to strut arrogantly before the old folk and demand free play for their youth, but now they go meekly in harness with hanging heads, and blink shamefacedly at the mention of their one heroic deed. and those who cannot endure their fate must leave the country secretly and by night, or swear themselves free. the young master has his own way of enjoying himself. he takes no part in the chase after the girls; but when the sunlight is really warm, he sits before the workshop window and lets it warm his back. "ah, that's glorious!" he says, shaking himself. pelle has to feel his fur jacket to see how powerful the sun is. "thank god, now we have the spring here!" inside the workshop they whistle and sing to the hammer-strokes; there are times when the dark room sounds like a bird-shop. "thank god, now we have the spring!" says master andres over and over again, "but the messenger of spring doesn't seem to be coming this year." "perhaps he is dead," says little nikas. "garibaldi dead? good lord! he won't die just yet. all the years i can remember he has looked just as he does now and has drunk just as hard. lord of my body! but how he has boozed in his time, the rascal! but you won't find his equal as a shoemaker all the world over." one morning, soon after the arrival of the steamer, a thin, tall, sharp-shouldered man comes ducking through the workshop door. his hands and face are blue with the cold of the morning and his cheeks are rather baggy, but in his eyes burns an undying fire. "morning, comrades!" he says, with a genial wave of the hand. "well, how's life treating us? master well?" he dances into the workshop, his hat pressed flat under his left arm. his coat and trousers flap against his body, revealing the fact that he is wearing nothing beneath them; his feet are thrust bare into his shoes, and he wears a thick kerchief round his neck. but such a manner and a carriage in a craftsman pelle has never seen in all his days; and garibaldi's voice alone is like a bell. "now, my son," he says, and strikes pelle lightly on the shoulder, "can you fetch me something to drink? just a little, now at once, for i'm murderously thirsty. the master has credit! pst! we'll have the bottleful--then you needn't go twice." pelle runs. in half a minute he is back again. garibaldi knows how to do things quickly; he has already tied his apron, and is on the point of passing his opinion on the work in the workshop. he takes the bottle from pelle, throws it over his shoulder, catches it with the other hand, sets his thumb against the middle of the bottle, and drinks. then he shows the bottle to the others. "just to the thumbnail, eh?" "i call that smart drinking!" says little nikas. "it can be done though the night is black as a crow"; garibaldi waves his hand in a superior manner. "and old jeppe is alive still? a smart fellow!" master andres strikes on the wall. "he has come in--he is there!" he says, with his wide-opened eyes. after a time he slips into his clothes and comes out into the workshop; he hangs about gossiping, but garibaldi is sparing of his words; he is still rusty after the night voyage. a certain feverishness has affected them all; an anxiety lest anything should escape them. no one regards his daily work with aversion to-day; everybody exerts his capacities to the utmost. garibaldi comes from the great world, and the spirit of adventure and the wandering life exhales from his flimsy clothes. "if he'll only begin to tell us about it," whispers pelle to jens; he cannot sit still. they hang upon his lips, gazing at him; if he is silent it is the will of providence. even the master does not bother him, but endures his taciturnity and little nikas submits to being treated like an apprentice. garibaldi raises his head. "well, one didn't come here to sit about and idle!" he cries gaily. "plenty to do, master?" "there's not much doing here, but we've always work for you," replies master andres. "besides, we've had an order for a pair of wedding-shoes, white satin with yellow stitching; but we haven't properly tackled it." he gives little nikas a meaning glance. "no yellow stitching with white satin, master; white silk, of course, and white edges." "is that the paris fashion?" asks master andres eagerly. garibaldi shrugs his shoulders. "don't let us speak of paris, master andres; here we have neither the leather nor the tools to make parisian shoes; and we haven't the legs to put into them, either." "the deuce! are they so fashionable?" "fashionable! i should say so! i can hold the foot of a well-grown parisian woman in the hollow of my hand. and when they walk they don't touch the pavement! you could make shoes for a parisian girl out of whipped cream, and they'd hold together! if you were to fit her with a pair of ordinary woman's beetle-crushers she'd jump straight into the sewer!" "well, i'm damned!" the master is hastily cutting some leather to shape. "the devil she would!" never did any one make himself at home more easily; garibaldi draws a seat up to the table and is at once in full swing. no rummaging about after tools; his hand finds his way to the exact spot where the thing required lies, as though an invisible track lay between them. these hands do everything of themselves, quietly, with gentle movements, while the eyes are elsewhere; gazing out into the garden, or examining the young master, or the work of the apprentices. to pelle and the others, who always have to look at everything from every side in turn, this is absolutely marvelous. and before they have had time to look round garibaldi has put everything in order, and is sitting there working and looking across the room at the master, who is himself sewing to-day. and then jeppe comes tumbling in, annoyed that no one has told him of garibaldi's arrival. "'day, master--'day, craft-master!" says garibaldi, who stands up and bows. "yes," says jeppe self-consciously, "if there were craft-masters still, i should be one. but manual work is in a wretched case to-day; there's no respect for it, and where shall a man look for respect if he doesn't respect himself?" "that's meant for the young master, eh?" says garibaldi laughing. "but times have altered, master jeppe; knee-straps and respect have given out; yes, those days are over! begin at seven, and at six off and away! so it is in the big cities!" "is that this sosherlism?" says jeppe disdainfully. "it's all the same to me what it is--garibaldi begins and leaves off when it pleases him! and if he wants more for his work he asks for it! and if that doesn't please them--then adieu, master, adieu! there are slaves enough, said the boy, when he got no bread." the others did not get very much done; they have enough to do to watch garibaldi's manner of working. he has emptied the bottle, and now his tongue is oiled; the young master questions him, and garibaldi talks and talks, with continual gestures. not for a moment do his hands persist at their work; and yet the work progresses so quickly it is a revelation to watch it; it is as though it were proceeding of itself. his attention is directed upon their work, and he always interferes at the right moment; he criticizes their way of holding their tools, and works out the various fashions of cut which lend beauty to the heel and sole. it is as though he feels it when they do anything wrongly; his spirit pervades the whole workshop. "that's how one does it in paris," he says, or "this is nuremberg fashion." he speaks of vienna and greece in as matter-of-fact a way as though they lay yonder under skipper elleby's trees. in athens he went to the castle to shake the king by the hand, for countrymen should always stand by one another in foreign parts. "he was very nice, by the by; but he had had his breakfast already. and otherwise it's a damned bad country for traveling; there are no shoemakers there. no, there i recommend you italy--there are shoemakers there, but no work; however, you can safely risk it and beg your way from place to place. they aren't like those industrious germans; every time you ask them for a little present they come and say, 'come in, please, there is some work you can do!' and it is so warm there a man can sleep on the bare ground. wine flows in every gutter there, but otherwise it's no joke." garibaldi raises the empty bottle high in the air and peeps wonderingly up at the shelves; the young master winks at pelle, and the latter fetches another supply of drink at the gallop. the hot blood is seething in pelle's ears. he must go away, far away from here, and live the wandering life, like garibaldi, who hid himself in the vineyards from the gendarmes, and stole the bacon from the chimneys while the people were in the fields. a spirit is working in him and the others; the spirit of their craft. they touch their tools and their material caressingly with their fingers; everything one handles has an inward color of its own; which tells one something. all the dustiness and familiarity of the workshop is swept away; the objects standing on the shelves glow with interest; the most tedious things contain a radiant life of their own. the world rises before them like a cloudy wonder, traversed by endless highways deep in white dust, and garibaldi treads them all. he has sold his journeyman's pass to a comrade for a slice of bread and butter, and is left without papers; german policemen give chase to him, and he creeps through the vineyards for fourteen days, on hands and knees, getting nothing for his pains but grapes and a shocking attack of summer cholera. finally his clothes are so very much alive that he no longer needs to move of himself; he simply lies quiet, and lets himself be carried along until he comes to a little town. "an inn?" asks garibaldi. yes, there is an inn. there he tells a story to the effect that he has been robbed; and the good people put him to bed, and warm and dry his clothes. garibaldi snores, and pushes the chair nearer the stove; snores, and pushes it a little further; and as his clothes burst into a blaze he starts up roaring and scolding and weeping, and is inconsolable. so then he is given fine new clothes and new papers, and is out on the road again, and the begging begins afresh; mountains rise and pass him by, and great cities too, cities with wide rivers. there are towns in which the wandering journeyman can get no money, but is forced to work; damnable places, and there are german hostels where one is treated like a prisoner; all clothes must be taken off in a long corridor, even to one's shirt; a handful of men examine them, and then everything is put safely away. thirty or forty naked men are admitted, one after another, to the great bare dormitory. paris--the name is like a bubble bursting in one's ear! there garibaldi has worked for two years, and he has been there a score of times on passing visits. paris is the glory of the whole world massed together, and all the convenient contrivances of the world brought to a state of perfection. here in the town no respectable shoemaker will mend the dirty shoes of the "top-galeass"; she goes about in down-trodden top-boots, or, if the snipping season has been poor, she wears wooden shoes. in paris there are women who wear shoes at twenty guineas a pair, who carry themselves like queens, earn forty thousand pounds a year, and are yet nothing but prostitutes. forty thousand! if another than garibaldi had said it he would have had all the lasts thrown at his head! pelle does not hear what the master says to him, and jens is in a great hurry for the cobbler's wax; he has cut the upper of the shoe he is soling. they are quite irresponsible; as though bewitched by this wonderful being, who goes on pouring brandy down his throat, and turning the accursed drink into a many-colored panorama of the whole world, and work that is like a miracle. the news has soon spread, and people come hurrying in to see garibaldi, and perhaps to venture to shake him by the hand; klausen wants to borrow some pegs, and marker, quite unabashed, looks in to borrow the biggest last. the old cobbler drejer stands modestly in a corner and says "yes, yes!" to the other's remarks. garibaldi has reached him his hand, and now he can go home to his gloomy shop and his dirty stock and his old man's solitude. the genius of the craft has touched him, and for the rest of his days has shed a light upon his wretched work of patching and repairing; he has exchanged a handshake with the man who made the cork-soled boots for the emperor of germany himself when he went out to fight the french. and the crazy anker is there too; but does not come in, as he is shy of strangers. he walks up and down the yard before the workshop window, and keeps on peeping in. garibaldi points his finger to his forehead and nods, and anker does the same; he is shaking with suppressed laughter, as over some excellent joke, and runs off like a child who must hide himself in a corner in order to savor his delight. baker jorgen is there, bending down with his hands on his thighs, and his mouth wide open. "lor' jiminy!" he cries from time to time; "did ever one hear the like!" he watches the white silk run through the sole and form itself into glistening pearls along the edge. pearl after pearl appears; garibaldi's arms fly about him, and presently he touches the baker on the hip. "am i in the way?" asks old jorgen. "no, god forbid--stay where you are!" and his arms fly out again, and the butt of the bodkin touches the baker with a little click. "i'm certainly in the way," says jorgen, and moves a few inches. "not in the least!" replies garibaldi, stitching away. then out fly his arms again, but this time the point of the bodkin is turned toward the baker. "now, good lord, i can see i'm in the way!" says jorgen, rubbing himself behind. "not at all!" replies garibaldi courteously, with an inviting flourish of his hand. "pray come nearer." "no, thank you! no, thank you!" old jorgen gives a forced laugh, and hobbles away. otherwise garibaldi lets them come and stare and go as they like. it does not trouble him that he is an eminent and remarkable person; quite unperturbed, he puts the brandy-bottle to his lips and drinks just as long as he is thirsty. he sits there, playing thoughtlessly with knife and leather and silk, as though he had sat on the stool all his life, instead of having just fallen from the moon. and about the middle of the afternoon the incomparable result is completed; a pair of wonderful satin shoes, slender as a neat's tongue, dazzling in their white brilliance, as though they had just walked out of the fairy-tale and were waiting for the feet of the princess. "look at them, damn it all!" says the master, and passes them to little nikas, who passes them round the circle. garibaldi throws back his close-cropped gray head. "you need not say who has made them--everybody can see that. suppose now the shoes go to jutland and are worn there and are thrown on the rubbish-heap. one day, years hence, some porridge-eater goes ploughing; a scrap of the instep comes to the surface; and a wandering journeyman, who is sitting in the ditch nibbling at his supper, rakes it toward him with his stick. that bit of instep, he says, that, or the devil may fry me else, was part of a shoe made by garibaldi--deuce take me, he says, but that's what it was. and in that case the journeyman must be from paris, or nuremberg, or hamburg--one or the other, that's certain. or am i talking nonsense, master?" no; master andres can asseverate this is no nonsense--he who from childhood lived with garibaldi on the highways and in great cities, who followed him so impetuously with that lame leg of his that he remembers garibaldi's heroic feats better than garibaldi himself. "but now you will stay here," he says persuasively. "now we'll work up the business--we'll get all the fine work of the whole island." garibaldi has nothing against this; he has had enough of toiling through the world. klausen will gladly make one of the company; in the eyes of all those present this proposal is a dream which will once more raise the craft to its proper level; will perhaps improve it until the little town can compete with copenhagen. "how many medals have you really received?" says jeppe, as he stands there with a great framed diploma in his hand. garibaldi shrugs his shoulders. "i don't know, old master; one gets old, and one's hand gets unsteady. but what is this? has master jeppe got the silver medal?" jeppe laughs. "for this i have to thank a tramp by the name of garibaldi. he was here four years ago and won the silver medal for me!" well--that is a thing garibaldi has long forgotten! but medals are scattered about wherever he has been. "yes, there are a hundred masters knocking about who boast of their distinctions: first-class workshop--you can see it for yourself-- 'a silver medal.' but who did the work? who got his day's wages and an extra drop of drink and then--good-bye, garibaldi! what has one to show for it, master? there are plenty of trees a man can change his clothes behind--but the shirt?" for a moment he seems dejected. "lorrain in paris gave me two hundred francs for the golden medal i won for him; but otherwise it was always--look in my waistcoat pocket! or--i've an old pair of trousers for you, garibaldi! but now there's an end to that, i tell you; garibaldi has done with bringing water to the mill for the rich townsfolk; for now he's a sosherlist!" he strikes the table so that the glass scrapers jingle. "that last was franz in cologne--gent's boots with cork socks. he was a stingy fellow; he annoyed garibaldi. i'm afraid this isn't enough for the medal, master, i said; there's too much unrest in the air. then he bid me more and yet more--but it won't run to the medal--that's all i will say. at last he sends madame to me with coffee and vienna bread--and she was in other respects a lady, who drove with a lackey on the box. but we were furious by that time! well, it was a glorious distinction--to please madame." "had he many journeymen?" asks jeppe. "oh, quite thirty or forty." "then he must have been somebody." jeppe speaks in a reproving tone. "somebody--yes--he was a rascal! what did it matter to me that he had a lot of journeymen? i didn't cheat them out of their wages!" now garibaldi is annoyed; he takes off his apron, puts his hat on sideways, and he goes into the town. "now he's going to look for a sweetheart!" says the young master; "he has a sweetheart in every town." at eight he comes sailing into the workshop again. "what, still sitting here?" he says to the apprentices. "in other parts of the world they have knocked off work two hours ago. what sort of slaves are you to sit crouching here for fourteen hours? strike, damn it all!" they look at one another stupidly. "strike--what is that?" then comes the young master. "now it would do one good to warm one's eyes a bit," says garibaldi. "there's a bed made up for you in the cutting-out room," says the master. but garibaldi rolls his coat under his head and lies down on the window-bench. "if i snore, just pull my nose," he says to pelle, and goes to sleep. next day he makes two pairs of kid boots with yellow stitching--for little nikas this would be a three days' job. master andres has all his plans ready--garibaldi is to be a partner. "we'll knock out a bit of wall and put in a big shop-window!" garibaldi agrees--he really does for once feel a desire to settle down. "but we mustn't begin too big," he says: "this isn't paris." he drinks a little more and does not talk much; his eyes stray to the wandering clouds outside. on the third day garibaldi begins to show his capacities. he does not do much more work, but he breaks a heavy stick in two with one blow as it flies through the air, and jumps over a stick which he holds in both hands. "one must have exercise," he says restlessly. he balances an awl on the face of a hammer and strikes it into a hole in the sole of a boot. and suddenly he throws down his work. "lend me ten kroner, master," he says; "i must go and buy myself a proper suit. now i'm settled and a partner in a business i can't go about looking like a pig." "it will be better for you to get that finished," says the master quietly, pushing garibaldi's work across to little nikas. "we shan't see him again!" this is really the case. he will go into the town with the honorable intentions, to buy something, and then he will be caught and whirled out into the great world, far away, quite at hazard. "he's on the way to germany with some skipper already," says the master. "but he hasn't even said good-bye!" the master shrugs his shoulders. he was like a falling star! but for pelle and the others he signified more than that; they learned more in three days than in the whole course of their apprenticeship. and they saw brilliant prospects for the craft; it was no hole-and-corner business after all; with garibaldi, they traveled the whole wonderful world. pelle's blood burned with the desire to wander; he knew now what he wanted. to be capable as garibaldi--that genius personified; and to enter the great cities with stick and knapsack as though to a flourish of trumpets. they all retained traces of his fleeting visit. something inside them had broken with a snap; they gripped their tools more freely, more courageously; and they had seen their handicraft pass before their eyes like a species of technical pageant. for a long time the wind of the passage of the great bird hung about the little workshop with its atmosphere of respectable citizenship. and this fresh wind in one's ears was the spirit of handicraft itself which hovered above their heads--borne upon its two mighty pinions--genius and debauchery. but one thing remained in pelle's mind as a meaningless fragment-- the word "strike." what did it mean? xiii one could not be quite as cheerful and secure here as one could at home in the country; there was always a gnawing something in the background, which kept one from wholly surrendering oneself. most people had wandered hither in search of fortune--poverty had destroyed their faculty of surrendering to fate; they were weary of waiting and had resolved to take matters into their own hands. and now here they were, sunk in wretchedness. they could not stir from the spot; they only labored and sunk deeper into the mire. but they continued to strive, with the strength of their bodies, until that gave way, and it was all over with them. pelle had often enough wondered to see how many poor people there were in the town. why did not they go ahead with might and main until they were well off? they had all of them had intentions of that kind, but nothing came of them. why? they themselves did not understand why, but bowed their heads as though under a curse. and if they raised them again it was only to seek that consolation of the poor--alcohol, or to attend the meetings of the home missions. pelle could not understand it either. he had an obscure sense of that joyous madness which arises from poverty itself, like a dim but wonderful dream of reaching the light. and he could not understand why it failed; and yet he must always follow that impetus upward which resided in him, and scramble up once more. yet otherwise his knowledge was wide; a patched-up window-pane, or a scurfy child's head, marked an entrance to that underworld which he had known so well from birth, so that he could have found his way about it with bandaged eyes. he attached no particular importance to it, but in this direction his knowledge was continually extended; he "thee'd and thou'd" poor people from the first moment, and knew the mournful history of every cottage. and all he saw and heard was like a weary refrain--it spoke of the same eternally unalterable longing and the same defeats. he reflected no further about the matter, but it entered into his blood like an oppression, purged his mind of presumption, and vitiated his tense alertness. when he lay his head on his pillow and went to sleep the endless pulsing of his blood in his ears became the tramping of weary hordes who were for ever passing in their blind groping after the road which should lead to light and happiness. his consciousness did not grasp it, but it brooded oppressively over his days. the middle-class society of the town was still, as far as he was concerned, a foreign world. most of the townsfolk were as poor as church mice, but they concealed the fact skilfully, and seemed to have no other desire than to preserve appearances. "money!" said master andres; "here there's only one ten-kroner note among all the employers in the town, and that goes from hand to hand. if it were to stop too long with one of them all the rest of us would stop payment!" the want of loose capital weighed on them oppressively, but they boasted of shipowner monsen's money--there were still rich people in the town! for the rest, each kept himself going by means of his own earnings; one had sent footwear to the west indies, and another had made the bride-bed for the burgomaster's daughter; they maintained themselves as a caste and looked down with contempt upon the people. pelle himself had honestly and honorably intended to follow the same path; to keep smiles for those above him and harsh judgments for those below him; in short, like alfred, to wriggle his way upward. but in the depths of his being his energies were working in another direction, and they continually thrust him back where he belonged. his conflict with the street-urchins stopped of itself, it was so aimless; pelle went in and out of their houses, and the boys, so soon as they were confirmed, became his comrades. the street boys sustained an implacable conflict with those who attended the town school and the grammar-school. they called them pigs, after the trough-like satchels which they carried on their backs. pelle found himself between a double fire, although he accepted the disdain and the insult of those above him, as lasse had taught him, as something that was inherent in the nature of things. "some are born to command and some to obey," as lasse said. but one day he came to blows with one of them. and having thrashed the postmaster's son until not a clean spot was left on him, he discovered that he now had a crow to pluck with the sons of all the fine folks, or else they would hold him up to ridicule. it was as though something was redeemed at his hands when he managed to plant them in the face of one of these lads, and there seemed to be a particular charm connected with the act of rolling their fine clothes in the mire. when he had thrashed a "pig" he was always in the rosiest of tempers, and he laughed to think how father lasse would have crossed himself! one day he met three grammar-school students, who fell upon him then and there, beating him with their books; there was repayment in every blow. pelle got his back against the wall, and defended himself with his belt, but could not manage the three of them; so he gave the biggest of them a terrific kick in the lower part of the body and took to his heels. the boy rolled on the ground and lay there shrieking; pelle could see, from the other end of the street, how the other two were toiling to set him on his legs again. he himself had got off with a black eye. "have you been fighting again, you devil's imp?" said the young master. no! pelle had fallen and bruised himself. in the evening he went round the harbor to see the steamer go out and to say good-bye to peter. he was in a bad temper; he was oppressed by a foreboding of evil. the steamer was swarming with people. over the rail hung a swarm of freshly-made journeymen of that year's batch--the most courageous of them; the others had already gone into other trades, had become postmen or farm servants. "there is no employment for us in the shoe trade," they said dejectedly as they sank. as soon as their journeyman's test-work was done they took to their heels, and new apprentices were taken all along the line. but these fellows here were crossing to the capital; they wanted to go on working at their own trade. the hundreds of apprentices of the little town were there, shouting "hurrah!" every other moment, for those departing were the heroes who were going forth to conquer the land of promise for them all. "we are coming after you!" they cried. "find me a place, you! find me a place!" emil stood by the harbor shed, with some waterside workers, looking on. his time was long ago over. the eldest apprentice had not had the pluck to leave the island; he was now a postman in sudland and cobbled shoes at night in order to live. now peter stood on the deck above, while jens and pelle stood below and looked up at him admiringly. "good-bye, pelle!" he cried. "give jeppe my best respects and tell him he can kiss my bootsoles!" some of the masters were strolling to and fro on the quay, in order to note that none of their apprentices were absconding from the town. jens foresaw the time when he himself would stand there penniless. "send me your address," he said, "and find me something over there." "and me too," said pelle. peter spat. "there's a bit of sour cabbage soup--take it home and give it to jeppe with my love and i wish him good appetite! but give my very best respects to master andres. and when i write, then come over--there's nothing to be done in this hole." "don't let the social democrats eat you up!" cried some one from among the spectators. the words "social democrat" were at this time in every mouth, although no one knew what they meant; they were used as terms of abuse. "if they come to me with their damned rot they'll get one on the mouth!" said peter, disdainfully. and then the steamer began to move; the last cheers were given from the outer breakwater. pelle could have thrown himself into the sea; he was burning with desire to turn his back on it all. and then he let himself drift with the crowd from the harbor to the circus-ground. on the way he heard a few words of a conversation which made his ears burn. two townsmen were walking ahead of him and were talking. "they say he got such a kick that he brought up blood," said the one. "yes, it's terrible, the way that scum behaves! i hope they'll arrest the ruffian." pelle crept along behind the tent until he came to the opening. there he stood every evening, drinking everything in by his sense of smell. he had no money to pay his way in; but he could catch a glimpse of a whole host of magnificent things when the curtain was drawn up in order to admit a late-comer. albinus came and went at will--as always, when jugglers were in the town. he was acquainted with them almost before he had seen them. when he had seen some clever feat of strength or skill he would come crawling out from under the canvas in order to show his companions that he could do the same thing. then he was absolutely in his element; he would walk on his hands along the harbor railings and let his body hang over the water. pelle wanted to go home and sleep on the day's doings, but a happy pair came up to him--a woman who was dancing as she walked, and a timid young workman, whom she held firmly by the arm. "here, hans!" she said, "this is pelle, whose doing it is that we two belong to each other!" then she laughed aloud for sheer delight, and hans, smiling, held out his hand to pelle. "i ought to thank you for it," he said. "yes, it was that dance," she said. "if my dancing-shoes hadn't been mended hans would have run off with somebody else!" she seized pelle's arm. and then they went on, very much pleased with one another, and pelle's old merriment returned for a time. he too could perform all sorts of feats of strength. on the following day pelle was hired by baker jorgensen to knead some dough; the baker had received, at short notice, a large order for ship's biscuit for the _three sisters_. "keep moving properly!" he would cry every moment to the two boys, who had pulled off their stockings and were now standing up in the great kneading-trough, stamping away, with their hands gripping the battens which were firmly nailed to the rafters. the wooden ceiling between the rafters was black and greasy; a slimy paste of dust and dough and condensed vapor was running down the walls. when the boys hung too heavily on the battens the baker would cry: "use your whole weight! down into the dough with you--then you'll get a foot like a fine young lady!" soren was pottering about alone, with hanging head as always; now and again he sighed. then old jorgen would nudge marie in the side, and they would both laugh. they stood close together, and as they were rolling out the dough their hands kept on meeting; they laughed and jested together. but the young man saw nothing of this. "don't you see?" whispered his mother, striking him sharply in the ribs; her angry eyes were constantly fixed on the pair. "oh, leave me alone!" the son would say, moving a little away from her. but she moved after him. "go and put your arm round her waist-- that's what she wants! let her feel your hands on her hips! why do you suppose she sticks out her bosom like that? let her feel your hands on her hips! push the old man aside!" "oh, leave me alone!" replied soren, and he moved further away from her again. "you are tempting your father to sin--you know what he is! and she can't properly control herself any longer, now that she claims to have a word in the matter. are you going to put up with that? go and take her round the waist--strike her if you can't put up with her, but make her feel that you're a man!" "well, are you working up there?" old jorgen cried to the boys, turning his laughing countenance from marie. "tread away! the dough will draw all the rottenness out of your bodies! and you, soren--get a move on you!" "yes, get a move on--don't stand there like an idiot!" continued his mother. "oh, leave me alone! i've done nothing to anybody; leave me in peace!" "pah!" the old woman spat at him. "are you a man? letting another handle your wife! there she is, obliged to take up with a gouty old man like that! pah, i say! but perhaps you are a woman after all? i did once bring a girl into the world, only i always thought she was dead. but perhaps you are she? yes, make long ears at me!" she cried to the two boys, "you've never seen anything like what's going on here! there's a son for you, who leaves his father to do all the work by himself!" "now then, what's the matter with you?" cried old jorgen jollily. "is mother turning the boys' heads?" marie broke into a loud laugh. jeppe came to fetch pelle. "now you'll go to the town hall and get a thrashing," he said, as they entered the workshop. pelle turned an ashen gray. "what have you been doing now?" asked master andres, looking sadly at him. "yes, and to one of our customers, too!" said jeppe. "you've deserved that, haven't you?" "can't father get him let off the beating?" said master andres. "i have proposed that pelle should have a good flogging here in the workshop, in the presence of the deputy and his son. but the deputy says no. he wants justice to run its course." pelle collapsed. he knew what it meant when a poor boy went to the town hall and was branded for life. his brain sought desperately for some way of escape. there was only one--death! he could secretly hide the knee-strap under his blouse and go into the little house and hang himself. he was conscious of a monotonous din; that was jeppe, admonishing him; but the words escaped him; his soul had already began its journey toward death. as the noise ceased he rose silently. "well? what are you going out for?" asked jeppe. "i'm going to the yard." he spoke like a sleepwalker. "perhaps you want to take the knee-strap out with you?" jeppe and the master exchanged a look of understanding. then master andres came over to him. "you wouldn't be so silly?" he said, and looked deep into pelle's eyes. then he made himself tidy and went into the town. "pelle, you devil's imp," he said, as he came home, "i've been running from herod to pilate, and i've arranged matters so that you can get off if you will ask for pardon. you must go to the grammar- school about one o'clock. but think it over first, as to what you are going to say, because the whole class will hear it." "i won't ask for pardon." it sounded like a cry. the master looked at pelle hesitatingly. "but that is no disgrace-- if one has done wrong." "i have not done wrong. they began it, and they have been making game of me for a long time." "but you thrashed him, pelle, and one mustn't thrash fine folks like that; they have got a doctor's certificate that might be your ruin. is your father a friend of the magistrate's? they can dishonor you for the rest of your life. i think you ought to choose the lesser evil." no, pelle could not do that. "so let them flog me instead!" he said morosely. "then it will be about three o'clock at the town hall," said the master, shortly, and he turned red about the eyes. suddenly pelle felt how obstinacy must pain the young master, who, lame and sick as he was, had of his own accord gone running about the town for him. "yes, i'll do it!" he said; "i'll do it!" "yes, yes!" replied master andres quietly; "for your own sake as well. and i believe you ought to be getting ready now." pelle slunk away; it was not his intention to apologize, and he had plenty of time. he walked as though asleep; everything was dead within him. his thoughts were busy with all sorts of indifferent matters, as though he sought to delay something by chattering; crazy anker went by with his bag of sand on his back, his thin legs wobbling under him. "i will help him to carry it," thought pelle dejectedly, as he went onward; "i will help him to carry it." alfred came strolling down the street; he was carrying his best walking-stick and was wearing gloves, although it was in the midst of working hours. "if he sees me now he'll turn down the corner by the coal-merchant's," thought pelle bitterly. "oughtn't i to ask him to say a good word for me? he is such an important person! and he still owes me money for soling a pair of boots." but alfred made straight for him. "have you seen anything of albinus? he has disappeared!" he said; and his pretty face seemed somehow unusually moved. he stood there chewing at his moustache, just as fine folk do when they are musing over something. "i've got to go to the town hall," said pelle. "yes, i know--you've got to be flogged. but don't you know anything of albinus?" alfred had drawn him into the coal-merchant's doorway, in order not to be seen in his company. "yes, albinus, albinus--" something was dawning in pelle's mind. "wait a minute--he--he--i'm sure he has run away with the circus. at least, i believe he has!" whereat alfred turned about and ran-- ran in his best clothes! of course albinus had run away with the circus. pelle could understand the whole affair perfectly well. the evening before he had slipped on board ole hansen's yacht, which during the night was to have taken the trick-rider across to sweden, and now he would live a glorious life and do what he liked. to run away--that was the only clear opening in life. before pelle knew it, he was down by the harbor, staring at a ship which was on the point of sailing. he followed up his inspiration, and went about inquiring after a vacancy on board some vessel, but there was none. he sat down by the waterside, and played with a chip of wood. it represented a three-master, and pelle gave it a cargo; but every time it should have gone to sea it canted over, and he had to begin the loading all over again. all round him carpenters and stone- cutters were working on the preparations for the new harbor; and behind them, a little apart, stood the "great power," at work, while, as usual, a handful of people were loitering near him; they stood there staring, in uneasy expectation that something would happen. pelle himself had a feeling of something ominous as he sat there and plashed in the water to drive his ship out to sea; he would have accepted it as a manifestation of the most sacred principle of life had jorgensen begun to rage before his eyes. but the stone-cutter only laid down his hammer, in order to take his brandy-bottle from under the stone and swallow a mouthful; with that exception, he stood there bowed over the granite as peacefully as though there were no other powers in the world save it and him. he did not see the onlookers who watched him in gaping expectation, their feet full of agility, ready to take to flight at his slightest movement. he struck so that the air moaned, and when he raised himself again his glance swept over them. gradually pelle had concentrated all his expectations upon this one man, who endured the hatred of the town without moving an eyelash, and was a haunting presence in every mind. in the boy's imagination he was like a loaded mine; one stood there not knowing whether or not it was ignited, and in a moment the whole might leap into the air. he was a volcano, and the town existed from day to day by his mercy. and from time to time pelle allowed him to shake himself a little--just enough to make the town rock. but now, moreover, there was a secret between them; the "great power" had been punished too for beating the rich folks. pelle was not slow in deducing the consequences--was there not already a townsman standing and watching him at play? he too was the terror of the people. perhaps he would join himself to the "great power"; there would be little left of the town then! in the daytime they would lie hidden among the cliffs, but at night they came down and plundered the town. they fell upon all who had earned their living as bloodsuckers; people hid themselves in their cellars and garrets when they heard that pelle and the "great power" were on the march. they hanged the rich shipowner monsen to the church steeple, and he dangled there a terror and a warning to all. but the poor folk came to them as trustingly as lambs and ate out of their hands. they received all they desired; so poverty was banished from the world, and pelle could proceed upon his radiant, onward way without a feeling of betrayal. his glance fell upon the clock on the harbor guard-house; it was nearly three. he sprang up and looked irresolutely about him; he gazed out over the sea and down into the deep water of the harbor, looking for help. manna and her sisters--they would disdainfully turn their backs upon the dishonored pelle; they would no longer look at him. and the people would point their fingers at him, or merely look at him, and think: "ha, there goes the boy who was flogged at the town hall!" wherever he went in the world it would follow him like a shadow, that he had been flogged as a child; such a thing clings visibly to a man. he knew men and maids and old white-headed men who had come to stone farm from places where no one else had ever been. they might come as absolute strangers, but there was something in their past which in spite of all rose up behind them and went whispering from mouth to mouth. he roamed about, desperately in his helplessness, and in the course of his wanderings came to stone-cutter jorgensen. "well," said the "great power," as he laid down his hammer, "you've quarrelled nicely with the big townsfolk! do you think you can keep a stiff upper-lip?" then he reached for his hammer again. but pelle took his bearings and ran despondently to the town-hall. xiv the punishment itself was nothing. it was almost laughable, those few strokes, laid on through his trousers, by the stick of the old gaoler; pelle had known worse thrashings. but he was branded, an outcast from the society even of the very poorest; he read as much into the compassion of the people to whom he carried boots and shoes. "good lord, this miserable booby! has it gone as far as that with him!" this was what he read in their eyes. everybody would always stare at him now, and when he went down the street he saw faces in the "spy" mirrors fixed outside the windows. "there goes that shoemaker boy!" the young master was the only one who treated him precisely as before; and pelle repaid him for that with the most limitless devotion. he bought on credit for him and saved him from blows where only he could. if the young master in his easy-going way had promised to have something completed and had then forgotten it, pelle would sit in his place and work overtime on it. "what's it matter to us?" jens used to say. but pelle would not have the customers coming to scold master andres, nor would he allow him to suffer the want of anything that would keep him on his feet. he became more intimate than ever with jens and morten; they all suffered from the same disgrace; and he often accompanied them home, although no pleasure awaited them in their miserable cottage. they were among the very poorest, although the whole household worked. it was all of no avail. "nothing's any use," the "great power" himself would say when he was disposed to talk; "poverty is like a sieve: everything goes straight through it, and if we stop one hole, it's running through ten others at the same time. they say i'm a swine, and why shouldn't i be? i can do the work of three men--yes, but do i get the wages of three? i get my day's wages and the rest goes into the pockets of those who employ me. even if i wanted to keep myself decent, what should we gain by it? can a family get decent lodging and decent food and decent clothing for nine kroner a week? will the means of a laborer allow him to live anywhere but by the refuse-heaps, where only the pigs used to be kept? why should i be housed like a pig and live like a pig and yet be no pig--is there any sense in that? my wife and children have to work as well as me, and how can things be decent with us when wife and children have to go out and make things decent for other people? no, look here! a peg of brandy, that makes everything seem decent, and if that doesn't do it, why, then, a bottle!" so he would sit talking, when he had been drinking a little, but otherwise he was usually silent. pelle knew the story of the "great power" now, from the daily gossip of the townsfolk, and his career seemed to him sadder than all the rest; it was as though a fairy-tale of fortune had come to a sudden end. among the evil reports which were continually in circulation respecting stone-cutter jorgensen--it seemed that there was never an end of them--it was said that in his youth he had strolled into town from across the cliffs, clad in canvas trousers, with cracked wooden shoes on his feet, but with his head in the clouds as though the whole town belonged to him. brandy he did not touch. he had a better use for his energies, he said: he was full of great ideas of himself and would not content himself with ordinary things. and he was thoroughly capable--he was quite absurdly talented for a poor man. and at once he wanted to begin turning everything topsy-turvy. just because he was begotten among the cliffs and crags by an old toil- worn stone-cutter, he behaved like a deity of the rocks; he brushed long-established experience aside, and introduced novel methods of work which he evolved out of his own mind. the stone was as though bewitched in his hands. if one only put a sketch before him, he would make devils' heads and subterranean monsters and sea-serpents --the sort of thing that before his time had to be ordered from the sculptors in copenhagen. old deserving stone-masons saw themselves suddenly set aside and had then and there to take to breaking stones; and this young fellow who had strayed into the town straightway ignored and discounted the experience of their many years. they tried, by the most ancient of all methods, to teach the young man modesty. but they gave it up. peter jorgensen had the strength of three men and the courage of ten. it was not good to meddle with one who had stolen his capacities from god himself, or perhaps was in league with satan. so they resigned themselves, and avenged themselves by calling him the "great power"--and they put their trust in misfortune. to follow in his footsteps meant to risk a broken neck. and whenever the brave townsfolk made the journey, something of its dizzy quality remained with them. in the night he would sit sketching and calculating, so that no one could understand when he slept; and on sundays, when decent people went to church, he would stop at home and cut the queerest things out of stone--although he never got a penny for it. it was at this time that the famous sculptor came from the capital of germany to hew a great lion out of granite, in honor of liberty. but he could not get forward with his toolbox full of butter-knives; the stone was too hard for one who was accustomed to stand scratching at marble. and when for once he really did succeed in knocking off a bit of granite, it was always in the wrong place. then the "great power" asserted himself, and undertook to hew the lion out of granite, according to a scale model of some sort which the sculptor slapped together for him! all were persuaded that he would break down in this undertaking, but he negotiated it so cleverly that he completed the work to the utmost satisfaction of those concerned. he received a good sum of money for this, but it was not enough for him; he wanted half the honor, and to be spoken of in the newspapers like the sculptor himself; and as nothing came of it he threw down his tools and refused to work any more for other people. "why should i do the work and others have the honor of it?" he asked, and sent in a tender for a stone-cutting contract. in his unbounded arrogance he sought to push to one side those who were born to ride on the top of things. but pride comes before a fall; his doom was already hanging over him. he had sent in the lowest tender for the work on the south bridge. they could not disregard it; so they sought to lay every obstacle in his path; they enticed his workmen away from him and made it difficult for him to obtain materials. the district judge, who was in the conspiracy, demanded that the contract should be observed; so the "great power" had to work day and night with the few men left to him in order to complete the work in time. a finer bridge no one had ever seen. but he had to sell the shirt off his body in order to meet his engagements. he lived at that time in a pretty little house that was his own property. it lay out on the eastern highway, and had a turret on the mansard--jens and morten had spent their early childhood there. a little garden, with tidy paths, and a grotto which was like a heap of rocks, lay in front of it. jorgenson had planned it all himself. it was taken from him, and he had to remove to a poor quarter of the town, to live among the people to whom he rightly belonged, and to rent a house there. but he was not yet broken. he was cheerful in spite of his downfall, and more high-and-mighty than ever in his manners. it was not easy to hit him! but then he sent in a tender for the new crane-platform. they could have refused him the contract on the pretext that he had no capital at his disposal. but now he _should_ be struck down! he got credit from the savings-bank, in order to get well under way, and workers and material were his to dispose of. and then, as he was in the midst of the work, the same story was repeated--only this time he was to break his neck! rich and poor, the whole town was at one in this matter. all demanded the restoration of the old certainty, high and low, appointed by god himself. the "great power" was of the humblest descent; now he could quietly go back to the class he was born in! he failed! the legal proprietor took over a good piece of work and got it for nothing, and stonemason jorgensen stood up in a pair of cracked wooden shoes, with a load of debts which he would never be able to shake off. every one rejoiced to see him return to the existence of a day-laborer. but he did not submit quietly. he took to drink. from time to time he broke out and raged like the devil himself. they could not get rid of him; he weighed upon the minds of all, like an angry rumbling; even when he was quietly going about his work they could not quite forget him. under these conditions he squandered his last possessions, and he moved into the cottage by the refuse-heaps, where formerly no one had dwelt. he had become another man since the grant for the great harbor project had been approved. he no longer touched any brandy; when pelle went out to see his friends, the "great power" would be sitting at the window, busying himself with sketches and figures. his wife was moving about and weeping quietly to herself; the old woman was scolding. but jorgensen turned his broad back upon them and pored silently over his own affairs. he was not to be shaken out of his self-sufficiency. the mother received them out in the kitchen, when she heard their noisy approach. "you must move quietly--father is calculating and calculating, poor fellow! he can get no peace in his head since the harbor plans have been seriously adopted. his ideas are always working in him. that must be so, he says, and that so! if he would only take life quietly among his equals and leave the great people to worry over their own affairs!" he sat in the window, right in the sunlight, adding up some troublesome accounts; he whispered half to himself, and his mutilated forefinger, whose outer joint had been blown off, ran up and down the columns. then he struck the table. "oh, if only a man had learned something!" he groaned. the sunlight played on his dark beard; his weary labors had been powerless to stiffen his limbs or to pull him down. drink had failed to hurt him--he sat there like strength personified; his great forehead and his throat were deeply bronzed by the sun. "look here, morten!" he cried, turning to the boys. "just look at these figures!" morten looked. "what is it, father?" "what is it? our earnings during the last week! you can see they are big figures!" "no, father; what are they?" morten twined his slender hand in his father's beard. the "great power's" eyes grew mild under this caress. "it's a proposed alteration--they want to keep the channel in the old place, and that is wrong; when the wind blows in from the sea, one can't get into the harbor. the channel must run out there, and the outer breakwater must curve like this"--and he pointed to his sketches. "every fisherman and sailor will confirm what i say--but the big engineer gentlemen are so clever!" "but are you going--again--to send in a tender?" morten looked at his father, horrified. the man nodded. "but you aren't good enough for them--you know you aren't! they just laugh at you!" "this time i shall be the one to laugh," retorted jorgensen, his brow clouding at the thought of all the contempt he had had to endure. "of course they laugh at him," said the old woman from the chimney- corner, turning her hawk-like head toward them; "but one must play at something. peter must always play the great man!" her son did not reply. "they say you know something about sketching, pelle?" he said quietly. "can't you bring this into order a bit? this here is the breakwater--supposing the water isn't there--and this is the basin --cut through the middle, you understand? but i can't get it to look right--yet the dimensions are quite correct. here above the water-line there will be big coping-stones, and underneath it's broken stone." pelle set to work, but he was too finicking. "not so exact!" said jorgensen. "only roughly!" he was always sitting over his work when they came. from his wife they learned that he did not put in a tender, after all, but took his plans to those who had undertaken the contract and offered them his cooperation. she had now lost all faith in his schemes, and was in a state of continual anxiety. "he's so queer--he's always taken up with only this one thing," she said, shuddering. "he never drinks --and he doesn't go raging against all the world as he used to do." "but that's a good thing," said morten consolingly. "yes, you may talk, but what do you know about it? if he looks after his daily bread, well, one knows what that means. but now, like this.... i'm so afraid of the reaction if he gets a set-back. don't you believe he's changed--it's only sleeping in him. he's the same as ever about karen; he can't endure seeing her crooked figure; she reminds him always too much of everything that isn't as it should be. she mustn't go to work, he says, but how can we do without her help? we must live! i daren't let him catch sight of her. he gets so bitter against himself, but the child has to suffer for it. and he's the only one she cares anything about." karen had not grown during the last few years; she had become even more deformed; her voice was dry and shrill, as though she had passed through a frozen desert on her way to earth. she was glad when pelle was there and she could hear him talk; if she thought he would come in the evening, she would hurry home from her situation. but she never joined in the conversation and never took part in anything. no one could guess what was going on in her mind. her mother would suddenly break down and burst into tears if her glance by chance fell upon her. "she really ought to leave her place at once," said her mother over and again. "but the doctor's wife has one child after another, and then they ask so pleadingly if she can't stay yet another half-year. they think great things of her; she is so reliable with children." "yes, if it was pelle, he'd certainly let them fall." karen laughed --it was a creaking laugh. she said nothing more; she never asked to be allowed to go out, and she never complained. but her silence was like a silent accusation, destroying all comfort and intimacy. but one day she came home and threw some money on the table. "now i needn't go to doctor's any more." "what's the matter? have you done something wrong?" asked the mother, horrified. "the doctor gave me a box on the ear because i couldn't carry anna over the gutter--she's so heavy." "but you can't be sent away because he has struck you! you've certainly had a quarrel--you are so stubborn!" "no; but i accidentally upset the perambulator with little erik in it--so that he fell out. his head is like a mottled apple." her expression was unchanged. the mother burst into tears. "but how could you do such a thing?" karen stood there and looked at the other defiantly. suddenly her mother seized hold of her. "you didn't do it on purpose? did you do it on purpose?" karen turned away with a shrug of the shoulders and went up to the garret without saying good night. her mother wanted to follow her. "let her go!" said the old woman, as though from a great distance. "you have no power over her! she was begotten in wrath." xv all the winter jens had smeared his upper lip with fowl's dung in order to grow a moustache; now it was sprouting, and he found himself a young woman; she was nurse-maid at the consul's. "it's tremendous fun," he said; "you ought to get one yourself. when she kisses me she sticks out her tongue like a little kid." but pelle wanted no young woman--in the first place, no young woman would have him, branded as he was; and then he was greatly worried. when he raised his head from his work and looked out sideways over the manure-sheds and pigsties, he saw the green half-twilight of the heart of the apple-tree, and he could dream himself into it. it was an enchanted world of green shadows and silent movement; countless yellow caterpillars hung there, dangling to and fro, each on its slender thread; chaffinches and yellow-hammers swung themselves impetuously from bough to bough, and at every swoop snapped up a caterpillar; but these never became any fewer. without a pause they rolled themselves down from the twigs, and hung there, so enticingly yellow, swinging to and fro in the gentle breath of the summer day, and waited to be gobbled up. and deeper still in the green light--as though on the floor of a green sea--three brightly-clad maidens moved and played. now and again the two younger would suddenly look over at pelle, but they turned their eyes away again the moment he looked at them; and manna was as grown-up and self-controlled as though he had never existed. manna had been confirmed a long time now; her skirts were halfway to the ground, and she walked soberly along the street, arm-in-arm with her girl friends. she no longer played; she had long been conscious of a rapidly-increasing certainty that it wouldn't do to play any longer. in a few days she went over from pelle's side to the camp of the grown-ups. she no longer turned to him in the workshop, and if he met her in the street she looked in another direction. no longer did she leap like a wild cat into the shop, tearing pelle from his stool if she wanted something done; she went demurely up to the young master, who wrapped up her shoes in paper. but in secret she still recognized her playmate; if no one was by she would pinch his arm quite hard, and gnash her teeth together as she passed him. but pelle was too clumsy to understand the transition, and too much of a child to be shy of the light himself. he hung hack, lonely, and pondered, uncomprehending, over the new condition of affairs. but now she did not know him in secret even--he simply did not exist for her any longer. and dolores and aina too had withdrawn their favor; when he looked out, they averted their heads and shrugged their shoulders. they were ashamed that they had ever had anything to do with such a person, and he knew very well why that was. it had been a peculiar and voluptuous delight to be handled by those delicate and generous hands. it had been really splendid to sit there with open mouth and let all three stuff him with delicacies, so that he was in danger of choking! he wasn't allowed to swallow them down--they wanted to see how much his mouth would hold; and then they would laugh and dance round him, and their plump girlish hands would take hold of his head, one on each side, and press his jaws together. now pelle had gradually added quite an ell to his stature as a worldly wise citizen; he knew very well that he was of coarser clay than his companions, and that there must have been an end of it all, even without the town hall. but it hurt him; he felt as though he had been betrayed; properly he oughtn't to touch his food. for was not manna his betrothed? he had never thought of that! these were the pains of love! so this was what they were like! did those who took their lives on account of unhappy love feel any different? his grief, to be sure, was not very stupendous; when the young master made a joke or cursed in his funny way he could laugh quite heartily still. that, with his disgrace, was the worst of all. "you ought to get yourself a young woman," said jens. "she's as soft as a young bird, and she warms you through your clothes and everything!" but pelle had something else on hand. he wanted to learn to swim. he wanted to know how to do everything that the town boys did, and to win back his place among them. he no longer dreamed of leading them. so he went about with the "gang"; he drew back a little if they teased him too brutally, and then crept back again; finally they grew accustomed to him. every evening he ran down to the harbor. to the south of the big basin, which was now being pumped dry, there was always, in the twilight, a crowd of apprentices; they leaped naked among the rocks and swam in chattering shoals toward the west, where the sky still glowed after the sunset. a long way out a reef lay under the water, and on this they could just touch bottom; there they would rest before they swam back, their dark heads brooding on the water like chattering sea-birds. pelle swam out with them in order to accustom himself to deep water, although they always tried to pull him under by his legs. when the sea blushed it was as though one was swimming amid roses; and the light, slippery, shining fronds which the deep-lying weed-beds had thrown up gleamed in the evening light and slid gently across his shoulders, and far out in the west lay the land of fortune, beyond the vast radiant portals of the sunset; or it showed its golden plains stretching out into infinity. there it lay, shining with a strange enticing radiance, so that pelle forgot the limits of his strength, and swam out farther than his powers justified. and when he turned round, parting the floating weed with vigorous strokes, the water stared at him blackly, and the terror of the depths seized upon him. one evening the boys had been hostile in their attitude, and one of them maintained that the marks of the whip could still be seen on pelle's back. "pelle has never been beaten with a whip!" cried morten, in a rage. pelle himself made no reply, but followed the "squadron"; his whole nature felt somehow embittered. there was a slight swell, and this perhaps washed the swimmers out of their proper course; they could not find the reef on which they were used to rest. for a time they splashed about, trying to find it, and wasting their strength; then they turned back to the shore. pelle looked after them with wondering eyes. "lie on your back and rest!" they cried, as they passed him, and then they made for the beach; a touch of panic had fallen on them. pelle tried to rest, but he had had no practice in floating; the waves broke over his face; so he labored after the others. on the shore there was great excitement; he wondered what it meant. morten, who had never bathed with the others, was standing on a rock and was shouting. some of the foremost swimmers were already in safety. "you can touch bottom here!" they shouted, standing with outstretched arms, the water up to their chins. pelle labored on indefatigably, but he was quite convinced that it was useless. he was making hardly any progress, and he was sinking deeper and deeper. every moment a wave washed over him and filled him with water. the stronger swimmers came out again; they swam round him and tried to help him, but they only made matters worse. he saw morten run shouting into the water with all his clothes on, and that gave him a little strength. but then suddenly his arms became paralyzed; he went round and round in the same spot, and only his eyes were above water. pelle had often flown in his dreams, and something had always clutched his legs and hampered his flight. but now this had become reality; he was floating in the blue sky and poised on his outspread pinions; and out of the darkness below he heard voices. "pelle!" they cried, "little pelle!" "yes, father lasse!" he answered, and with a sense of relief he folded his weary wings; he sank in whirling haste, and a surging sounded in his ears. then of a sudden he felt a violent pain in his shins. his hands clutched at growing plants. he stood up with a leap, and light and air flowed over him as from a new existence. the boys were running about, frightened, one leg in their trousers, and he was standing on the submarine reef, up to the breast in the sea, vomiting salt water. round about him swimmers were splashing, diving in every direction to fetch him up from the bottom of the sea. it was all really rather funny, and pelle raised his arms high above his head as a greeting to life, and took the water with a long dive. some distance farther in he appeared again, and swam to shore, parting the waves like a frolicsome porpoise. but on the beach he fell down as god had made him, in a profound sleep; he had just pulled one stocking over his big toe. since that day the boys recognized him again. he had certainly performed no heroic deed, but destiny had for a moment rested upon his head--that was enough! pelle always took the steel sharpener with him after that; and laid it on the beach with the point toward the land; he wanted after all to live a little longer. he did not allow himself to be intimidated, but plunged headlong into the water. if the sea was so rough that they could not swim, they would lie on the brink of the water and let the waves roll them over and over. then the waves would come in sweeping flight from the west, as though to spring upon them; the herds of white horses drove onward, their grayish manes streaming obliquely behind them. rearing they came, sweeping the sea with their white tails, striking out wildly with their hooves and plunging under the surface. but others sprang up and leaped over them in serried ranks. they lay flat on the water and rushed toward the land. the storm whipped the white foam out of their mouths and drove it along the beach, where it hung gleaming on the bushes, and then vanished into nothingness. right up to the shore they dashed, and then fell dead. but fresh hordes stormed shoreward from the offing, as though the land must be over-run by them; they reared, foaming, and struck at one another; they sprang, snorting and quivering, high in the air; they broke asunder in panic; there was never an end to it all. and far out in the distance the sun went down in a flame-red mist. a streak of cloud lay across it, stretching far out into infinity. a conflagration like a glowing prairie fire surrounded the horizon, and drove the hordes before it in panic-stricken flight, and on the beach shouted the naked swarm of boys. now and again they sprang up with outspread arms, and, shouting, chased the wild horses back into the sea. xvi things were not going well in the brothers' home. jorgensen had done nothing with his plans. he was the only person who had not known that such would be the case. the people knew, too, on very good authority, that the engineer had offered him a hundred kroner for them, and as he would not take them, but demanded a share in the undertaking and the honor of executing it, he was shown to the door. he had never before taken anything so quietly. he did not burst out roaring with violent words; he simply betook himself to his usual day-laborer's work in the harbor, like any other worker. he did not mention his defeat, and allowed no one else to do so. he treated his wife as though she did not exist. but she had to watch him wrap himself up in silence, without knowing what was going on in his mind. she had a foreboding of something terrible, and spoke of her trouble to the boys. he made no scenes, although now and again he got drunk; he ate in silence and went to bed. when he was not working, he slept. but as he himself had so far revealed his plans that they were known to all, it was all up with his work. the engineer had taken from jorgensen's plans as much as he could use--every one could see that--and now the "great power" stood with his mouth empty, simply because he had put more in his spoon than his mouth would hold. most people were far from envying his position, and they took plenty of time to talk about it; the town was quite accustomed to neglect its own affairs in order to throw its whole weight on his obstinate back. but now he was down in the dust all had been to the harbor to watch the "great power" working there--to see him, as a common laborer, carting the earth for his own wonderful scheme. they marvelled only that he took it all so quietly; it was to some extent a disappointment that he did not flinch under the weight of his burden and break out into impotent raving. he contented himself with drinking; but that he did thoroughly. he went about it as it were in the midst of a cloud of alcoholic vapor, and worked only just enough to enable him to go on drinking. "he has never yet been like this," said his wife, weeping. "he doesn't storm and rage, but he is angry all the time so that one can't bear him at home any longer. he breaks everything in his anger, and he scolds poor karen so that it's wretched. he has no regard for anybody, only for his old mother, and god knows how long that will last. he doesn't work, he only drinks. he steals my hard-earned money out of my dress-pocket and buys brandy with it. he has no shame left in him, although he always used to be so honorable in his way of life. and he can't stand his boozing as he used to; he's always falling about and staggering. lately he came home all bloody--he'd knocked a hole in his head. what have we ever done to the dear god that he should punish us like this?" the old woman said nothing, but let her glance sweep from one to the other, and thought her own thoughts. so it went on, week after week. the boys became weary of listening to their mother's complaints, and kept away from home. one day, when karen had been sent on an errand for her mother, she did not return. neither had she returned on the following day. pelle heard of it down at the boat-harbor, where she had last been seen. they were dragging the water with nets in the hope of finding her, but no one dared tell jorgensen. on the following afternoon they brought her to the workshop; pelle knew what it was when he heard the many heavy footsteps out in the street. she lay on a stretcher, and two men carried her; before her the autumn wind whirled the first falling leaves, and her thin arms were hanging down to the pavement, as though she sought to find a hold there. her disordered hair was hanging, too, and the water was dripping from her. behind the stretcher came the "great power." he was drunk. he held one hand before his eyes, and murmured as though in thought, and at every moment he raised his forefinger in the air. "she has found peace," he said thickly, trying to look intelligent. "peace--the higher it is----" he could not find the word he wanted. jens and pelle replaced the men at the stretcher, and bore it home. they were afraid of what was before them. but the mother stood at the door and received them silently, as though she had expected them; she was merely pale. "she couldn't bear it!" she whispered to them, and she kneeled down beside the child. she laid her head on the little crippled body, and whispered indistinctly; now and again she pressed the child's fingers into her mouth, in order to stifle her sobs. "and you were to have run an errand for mother," she said, and she shook her head, smilingly. "you are a nice sort of girl to me--not to be able to buy me two skeins of thread; and the money i gave you for it--have you thrown it away?" her words came between smiles and sobs, and they sounded like a slow lament. "did you throw the money away? it doesn't matter --it wasn't your fault. dear child, dear little one!" then her strength gave way. her firmly closed mouth broke open, and closed again, and so she went on, her head rocking to and fro, while her hands felt eagerly in the child's pocket. "didn't you run that errand for mother?" she moaned. she felt, in the midst of her grief, the need of some sort of corroboration, even if it referred to something quite indifferent. and she felt in the child's purse. there lay a few ore and a scrap of paper. then she suddenly stood up. her face was terribly hard as she turned to her husband, who stood against the wall, swaying to and fro. "peter!" she cried in agony, "peter! don't you know what you have done? 'forgive me, mother,' it says here, and she has taken four ore of the thirteen to buy sugar-candy. look here, her hand is still quite sticky." she opened the clenched hand, which was closed upon a scrap of sticky paper. "ah, the poor persecuted child! she wanted to sweeten her existence with four ore worth of sugar-candy, and then into the water! a child has so much pleasure at home here! 'forgive me, mother!' she says, as though she had done something wrong. and everything she did was wrong; so she had to go away. karen! karen! i'm not angry with you--you were very welcome--what do they signify, those few ore! i didn't mean it like that when i reproached you for hanging about at home! but i didn't know what to do--we had nothing to eat. and he spent the little money there was!" she turned her face from the body to the father and pointed to him. it was the first time that the wife of the "great power" had ever turned upon him accusingly. but he did not understand her. "she has found peace," he murmured, and attempted to pull himself up a little; "the peace of--" but here the old woman rose in the chimney-corner--until this moment she had not moved. "be silent!" she said harshly, setting her stick at his breast, "or your old mother will curse the day when she brought you into the world." wondering, he stared at her; and a light seemed to shine through the mist as he gazed. for a time he still stood there, unable to tear his eyes from the body. he looked as though he wished to throw himself down beside his wife, who once more lay bowed above the bier, whispering. then, with hanging head, he went upstairs and lay down. xvii it was after working hours when pelle went homeward; but he did not feel inclined to run down to the harbor or to bathe. the image of the drowned child continued to follow him, and for the first time death had met him with its mysterious "why?". he found no answer, and gradually he forgot it for other things. but the mystery itself continued to brood within him, and made him afraid without any sort of reason, so that he encountered the twilight even with a foreboding of evil. the secret powers which exhale from heaven and earth when light and darkness meet clutched at him with their enigmatical unrest, and he turned unquietly from one thing to another, although he must be everywhere in order to cope with this inconceivable something that stood, threatening, behind everything. for the first time he felt, rid of all disguise, the unmercifulness which was imminent in this or that transgression of his. never before had life itself pressed upon him with its heavy burden. it seemed to pelle that something called him, but he could not clearly discover whence the call came. he crept from his window on to the roof and thence to the gable-end; perhaps it was the world that called. the hundreds of tile-covered roofs of the town lay before him, absorbing the crimson of the evening sky, and a blue smoke was rising. and voices rose out of the warm darkness that lay between the houses. he heard, too, the crazy anker's cry; and this eternal prophecy of things irrational sounded like the complaint of a wild beast. the sea down yonder and the heavy pine-woods that lay to the north and the south--these had long been familiar to him. but there was a singing in his ears, and out of the far distance, and something or some one stood behind him, whose warm breath struck upon his neck. he turned slowly about. he was no longer afraid in the darkness, and he knew beforehand that nothing was there. but his lucid mind had been invaded by the twilight, with its mysterious train of beings which none of the senses can confirm. he went down into the courtyard and strolled about. everywhere prevailed the same profound repose. peers, the cat, was sitting on the rain-water butt, mewing peevishly at a sparrow which had perched upon the clothes-line. the young master was in his room, coughing; he had already gone to bed. pelle bent over the edge of the well and gazed vacantly over the gardens. he was hot and dizzy, but a cool draught rose from the well and soothingly caressed his head. the bats were gliding through the air like spirits, passing so close to his face that he felt the wind of their flight, and turning about with a tiny clapping sound. he felt a most painful desire to cry. among the tall currant-bushes yonder something moved, and sjermanna's head made its appearance. she was moving cautiously and peering before her. when she saw pelle she came quickly forward. "good evening!" she whispered. "good evening!" he answered aloud, delighted to return to human society. "hush! you mustn't shout!" she said peremptorily. "why not?" pelle himself was whispering now. he was feeling quite concerned. "because you mustn't! donkey! come, i'll show you something. no, nearer still!" pelle pushed his head forward through the tall elder-bush, and suddenly she put her two hands about his head and kissed him violently and pushed him back. he tried gropingly to take hold of her, but she stood there laughing at him. her face glowed in the darkness. "you haven't heard anything about it!" she whispered. "come, i'll tell you!" now he was smiling all over his face. he pushed his way eagerly into the elder-bush. but at the same moment he felt her clenched fist strike his face. she laughed crazily, but he stood fixed in the same position, as though stunned, his mouth held forward as if still awaiting a kiss. "why do you hit me?" he asked, gazing at her brokenly. "because i can't endure you! you're a perfect oaf, and so ugly and so common!" "i have never done anything to you!" "no? anyhow, you richly deserved it! what did you want to kiss me for?" pelle stood there helplessly stammering. the whole world of his experience collapsed under him. "but i didn't!" he at last brought out; he looked extraordinarily foolish. manna aped his expression. "ugh! bugh! take care, or you'll freeze to the ground and turn into a lamp-post! there's nothing on the hedge here that will throw light on your understanding!" with a leap pelle was over the hedge. manna took him hastily by the hand and drew him through the bushes. "aina and dolores will be here directly. then we'll play," she declared. "i thought they couldn't come out in the evenings any more," said pelle, obediently allowing her to lead him. she made no reply, but looked about her as though she wanted to treat him to something as in the old days. in her need she stripped a handful of leaves off the currant-boughs, and stuffed them into his mouth. "there, take that and hold your mouth!" she was quite the old manna once more, and pelle laughed. they had come to the summer-house. manna cooled his swollen cheeks with wet earth while they waited. "did it hurt you much?" she asked sympathetically, putting her arm about his shoulder. "it's nothing. what's a box on the ear?" he said manfully. "i didn't mean it--you know that. did _that_ hurt you very much?" pelle gazed at her sadly. she looked at him inquisitively. "was it here?" she said, letting her hand slide down his back. he rose silently, in order to go, but she seized him by the wrist. "forgive me," she whispered. "aren't the others coming soon?" asked pelle harshly. he proposed to be angry with her, as in the old days. "no! they aren't coming at all! i've deceived you. i wanted to talk to you!" manna was gasping for breath. "i thought you didn't want to have anything more to do with me?" "well, i don't! i only want--" she could not find words, and stamped angrily on the ground. then she said slowly and solemnly, with the earnestness of a child: "do you know what i believe? i believe--i love you!" "then we can get married when we are old enough!" said pelle joyfully. she looked at him for a moment with a measuring glance. the town-hall and the flogging! thought pelle. he was quite resolved that he would do the beating now; but here she laughed at him. "what a glorious booby you are!" she said, and as though deep in thought, she let a handful of wet earth run down his neck. pelle thought for a moment of revenge; then, as though in sport, he thrust his hand into her bosom. she fell back weakly, groping submissively with her hands; a new knowledge arose in him, and impelled him to embrace her violently. she looked at him in amazement, and tried gently to push his hand away. but it was too late. the boy had broken down her defences. as pelle went back into the house he was overwhelmed, but not happy. his heart hammered wildly, and a chaos reigned in his brain. quite instinctively he trod very softly. for a long time he lay tossing to and fro without being able to sleep. his mind had resolved the enigma, and now he discovered the living blood in himself. it sang its sufferings in his ear; it welled into his cheeks and his heart; it murmured everywhere in numberless pulses, so that his whole body thrilled. mighty and full of mystery, it surged through him like an inundation, filling him with a warm, deep astonishment. never before had he known all this! in the time that followed his blood was his secret confidant in everything; he felt it like a caress when it filled his limbs, causing a feeling of distension in wrists and throat. he had his secret now, and his face never betrayed the fact that he had ever known sjermanna. his radiant days had all at once changed into radiant nights. he was still enough of a child to long for the old days, with their games in the broad light of day; but something impelled him to look forward, listening, and his questing soul bowed itself before the mysteries of life. the night had made him accomplice in her mysteries. with manna he never spoke again. she never came into the garden, and if he met her she turned into another street. a rosy flame lay continually over her face, as though it had burned its way in. soon afterward she went to a farm in ostland, where an uncle of hers lived. but pelle felt nothing and was in no way dejected. he went about as though in a half-slumber; everything was blurred and veiled before his spiritual vision. he was quite bewildered by all that was going on within him. something was hammering and laboring in every part and corner of him. ideas which were too fragile were broken down and built up more strongly, so that they should bear the weight of the man in him. his limbs grew harder; his muscles became like steel, and he was conscious of a general feeling of breadth across his back, and of unapplied strength. at times he awakened out of his half-slumber into a brief amazement, when he felt himself, in one particular or another, to have become a man; as when one day he heard his own voice. it had gained a deep resonance, which was quite foreign to his ear, and forced him to listen as though it had been another that spoke. xviii pelle fought against the decline of the business. a new apprentice had been taken into the workshop, but pelle, as before, had to do all the delicate jobs. he borrowed articles when necessary, and bought things on credit; and he had to interview impatient customers, and endeavor to pacify them. he got plenty of exercise, but he learned nothing properly. "just run down to the harbor," the master used to say: "perhaps there will be some work to bring back!" but the master was much more interested in the news which he brought thence. pelle would also go thither without having received any orders. everybody in the town must needs make for the harbor whenever he went from home; it was the heart through which everything came and went, money and dreams and desires and that which gratified them. every man had been to sea, and his best memories and his hardest battles belonged to the sea. dreams took the outward way; yonder lay the sea, and all men's thoughts were drawn to it; the thoughts of the young, who longed to go forth and seek adventure, and of the old, who lived on their memories. it was the song in all men's hearts, and the god in the inmost soul of all; the roving-ground of life's surplus, the home of all that was inexplicable and mystical. the sea had drunk the blood of thousands, but its color knew no change; the riddle of life brooded in its restless waters. destiny rose from the floor of the deep and with short shrift set her mark upon a man; he might escape to the land, like baker jorgensen, who went no more to sea when once the warning had come to him, or, like boatman jensen, he might rise in his sleep and walk straight over the vessel's side. down below, where the drowned dwelt, the ships sank to bring them what they needed; and from time to time the bloodless children of the sea rose to the shore, to play with the children that were born on a sunday, and to bring them death or happiness. over the sea, three times a week, came the steamer with news from copenhagen; and vessels all wrapped in ice, and others that had sprung a heavy leak, or bore dead bodies on board; and great ships which came from warm countries and had real negroes among their crews. down by the harbor stood the old men who had forsaken the sea, and now all the long day through they stared out over the playground of their manhood, until death came for them. the sea had blown gout into their limbs, had buffeted them until they were bent and bowed, and in the winter nights one could hear them roar with the pain like wild beasts. down to the harbor drifted all the flotsam and jetsam of the land, invalids and idle men and dying men, and busy folk raced round about and up and down with fluttering coat-tails, in order to scent out possible profits. the young sported here continually; it was as though they encountered the future when they played here by the open sea. many never went further, but many let themselves be caught and whirled away out into the unknown. of these was nilen. when the ships were being fitted out he could wait no longer. he sacrificed two years' apprenticeship, and ran away on board a vessel which was starting on a long voyage. now he was far away in the trades, on the southern passage round america, homeward bound with a cargo of redwood. and a few left with every steamer. the girls were the most courageous when it came to cutting themselves loose; they steamed away swiftly, and the young men followed them in amorous blindness. and men fought their way outward in order to seek something more profitable than could be found at home. pelle had experienced all this already: he had felt this same longing, and had known the attractive force of the unknown. up in the country districts it was the dream of all poor people to fight their way to town, and the boldest one day ventured thither, with burning cheeks, while the old people spoke warningly of the immorality of cities. and in the town here it was the dream of all to go to the capital, to copenhagen; there fortune and happiness were to be found! he who had the courage hung one day over the ship's rail, and waved farewell, with an absent expression in his eyes, as though he had been playing a game with high stakes; over there on the mainland he would have to be a match with the best of them. but the old people shook their heads and spoke at length of the temptations and immorality of the capital. now and again one came back and justified their wisdom. then they would run delightedly from door to door. "didn't we tell you so?" but many came home at holiday seasons and were such swells that it was really the limit! and this or that girl was so extremely stylish that people had to ask the opinion of wooden-leg larsen about her. the girls who got married over there--well, they were well provided for! after an interval of many years they came back to their parents' homes, travelling on deck among the cattle, and giving the stewardess a few pence to have them put in the newspaper as cabin-passengers. they were fine enough as to their clothes, but their thin haggard faces told another story. "there is certainly not enough to eat for all over there!" said the old women. but pelle took no interest in those that came home again. all his thoughts were with those who went away; his heart tugged painfully in his breast, so powerful was his longing to be off. the sea, whether it lay idle or seethed with anger, continually filled his head with the humming of the world "over yonder," with a vague, mysterious song of happiness. one day, as he was on his way to the harbor, he met old thatcher holm from stone farm. holm was going about looking at the houses from top to bottom; he was raising his feet quite high in the air from sheer astonishment, and was chattering to himself. on his arm he carried a basket loaded with bread and butter, brandy, and beer. "well, here's some one at last!" he said, and offered his hand. "i'm going round and wondering to myself where they all live, those that come here day after day and year after year, and whether they've done any good. mother and i have often talked about it, that it would be splendid to know how things have turned out for this one or that. and this morning she said it would be best if i were to make a short job of it before i quite forget how to find my way about the streets here, i haven't been here for ten years. well, according to what i've seen so far, mother and i needn't regret we've stayed at home. nothing grows here except lamp-posts, and mother wouldn't understand anything about rearing them. thatched roofs i've not seen here. here in the town they'd grudge a thatcher his bread. but i'll see the harbor before i go home." "then we'll go together," said pelle. he was glad to meet some one from his home. the country round about stone farm was always for him the home of his childhood. he gossiped with the old man and pointed out various objects of interest. "yes, i've been once, twice, three times before this to the harbor," said holm, "but i've never managed to see the steamer. they tell me wonderful things of it; they say all our crops are taken to copenhagen in the steamer nowadays." "it's lying here to-day," said pelle eagerly. "this evening it goes out." holm's eyes beamed. "then i shall be able to see the beggar! i've often seen the smoke from the hill at home--drifting over the sea-- and that always gave me a lot to think about. they say it eats coals and is made of iron." he looked at pelle uncertainly. the great empty harbor basin, in which some hundreds of men were at work, interested him greatly. pelle pointed out the "great power," who was toiling like a madman and allowing himself to be saddled with the heaviest work. "so that is he!" cried holm. "i knew his father; he was a man who wanted to do things above the ordinary, but he never brought them off. and how goes it with your father? not any too well, as i've heard?" pelle had been home a little while before; nothing was going well there, but as to that he was silent. "karna isn't very well," he said. "she tried to do too much; she's strained herself lifting things." "they say he'll have a difficult job to pull through. they have taken too much on themselves," holm continued. pelle made no reply; and then the steamer absorbed their whole attention. talkative as he was, holm quite forgot to wag his tongue. the steamer was on the point of taking in cargo; the steam derricks were busy at both hatches, squealing each time they swung round in another direction. holm became so light on his legs one might have thought he was treading on needles; when the derrick swung round over the quay and the chain came rattling down, he ran right back to the granary. pelle wanted to take him on board, but he would not hear of it. "it looks a bad-tempered monster," he said: "look how it sneezes and fusses!" on the quay, by the forward hold, the goods of a poverty-stricken household lay all mixed together. a man stood there holding a mahogany looking-glass, the only article of value, in his arms. his expression was gloomy. by the manner in which he blew his nose--with his knuckles instead of with his fingers--one could see that he had something unaccustomed on hand. his eyes were fixed immovably on his miserable household possessions, and they anxiously followed every breakable article as it went its airy way into the vessel's maw. his wife and children were sitting on the quay-wall, eating out of a basket of provisions. they had been sitting there for hours. the children were tired and tearful; the mother was trying to console them, and to induce them to sleep on the stone. "shan't we start soon?" they asked continually, in complaining tones. "yes, the ship starts directly, but you must be very good or i shan't take you with me. and then you'll come to the capital city, where they eat white bread and always wear leather boots. the king himself lives there, and they've got everything in the shops there." she arranged her shawl under their heads. "but that's per anker's son from blaaholt!" cried holm, when he had been standing a while on the quay and had caught sight of the man. "what, are you leaving the country?" "yes, i've decided to do so," said the man, in an undertone, passing his hand over his face. "and i thought you were doing so well! didn't you go to ostland, and didn't you take over a hotel there?" "yes, they enticed me out there, and now i've lost everything there." "you ought to have considered--considering costs nothing but a little trouble." "but they showed me false books, which showed a greater surplus than there really was. shipowner monsen was behind the whole affair, together with the brewer from the mainland, who had taken the hotel over in payment of outstanding debts." "but how did big folks like that manage to smell you out?" holm scratched his head; he didn't understand the whole affair. "oh, they'd heard of the ten thousand, of course, which i'd inherited from my father. they throw their nets out for sums like that, and one day they sent an agent to see me. ten thousand was just enough for the first instalment, and now they have taken the hotel over again. out of compassion, they let me keep this trash here." he suddenly turned his face away and wept; and then his wife came swiftly up to him. holm drew pelle away. "they'd rather be rid of us," he said quietly; and he continued to discuss the man's dismal misfortune, while they strolled out along the mole. but pelle was not listening to him. he had caught sight of a little schooner which was cruising outside, and was every moment growing more restless. "i believe that's the iceland schooner!" he said at last. "so i must go back." "yes, run off," said holm, "and many thanks for your guidance, and give my respects to lasse and karna." on the harbor hill pelle met master jeppe, and farther on drejer, klaussen, and blom. the iceland boat had kept them waiting for several months; the news that she was in the roads quickly spread, and all the shoemakers of the whole town were hurrying down to the harbor, in order to hear whether good business had been done before the gangway was run out. "the iceland boat is there now!" said the merchants and leather- dealers, when they saw the shoemakers running by. "we must make haste and make out our bills, for now the shoemakers will be having money." but the skipper had most of the boots and shoes still in his hold; he returned with the terrifying news that no more boots and shoes could be disposed of in iceland. the winter industry had been of great importance to the shoemakers. "what does this mean?" asked jeppe angrily. "you have been long enough about it! have you been trying to open another agency over there? in others years you have managed to sell the whole lot." "i have done what i could," replied the captain gloomily. "i offered them to the dealers in big parcels, and then i lay there and carried on a retail trade from the ship. then i ran down the whole west coast; but there is nothing to be done." "well, well," said jeppe, "but do the icelanders mean to go without boots?" "there's the factories," replied the captain. "the factories, the factories!" jeppe laughed disdainfully, but with a touch of uncertainty. "you'll tell me next that they can make shoes by machinery--cut out and peg and sew and fix the treads and all? no, damn it, that can only be done by human hands directed by human intelligence. shoemaking is work for men only. perhaps i myself might be replaced by a machine--by a few cog-wheels that go round and round! bah! a machine is dead, i know that, and it can't think or adapt itself to circumstances; you may have to shape the boot in a particular way for a special foot, on account of tender toes, or--here i give the sole a certain cut in the instep, so that it looks smart, or--well, one has to be careful, or one cuts into the upper!" "there are machines which make boots, and they make them cheaper than you, too," said the skipper brusquely. "i should like to see them! can you show me a boot that hasn't been made by human hands?" jeppe laughed contemptuously. "no; there's something behind all this, by god! some one is trying to play us a trick!" the skipper went his way, offended. jeppe stuck to it that there was something uncanny about it--the idea of a machine making boots was enough to haunt him. he kept on returning to it. "they'll be making human beings by machinery too, soon!" he exclaimed angrily. "no," said baker jorgen; "there, i believe, the old method will survive!" one day the skipper came in at the workshop door, banged a pair of shoes down on the window-bench, and went out again. they had been bought in england, and belonged to the helmsman of a bark which had just come into the harbor. the young master looked at them, turned them over in his hands, and looked at them again. then he called jeppe. they were sewn throughout--shoes for a grown man, yet sewn throughout! moreover, the factory stamp was under the sole. in jeppe's opinion they were not worth a couple of shillings. but he could not get over the fact that they were machine-made. "then we are superfluous," he said, in a quavering voice. all his old importance seemed to have fallen from him. "for if they can make the one kind on a machine, they can make another. the handicraft is condemned to death, and we shall all be without bread one fine day! well, i, thank god, have not many years before me." it was the first time that jeppe had admitted that he owed his life to god. every time he came into the workshop he began to expatiate on the same subject. he would stand there turning the hated shoes over between his hands. then he would criticize them. "we must take more pains next winter." "father forgets it's all up with us now," said the young master wearily. then the old man would be silent and hobble out. but after a time he would be back again, fingering the boots and shoes, in order to discover defects in them. his thoughts were constantly directed upon this new subject; no song of praise, no eulogy of his handicraft, passed his lips nowadays. if the young master came to him and asked his help in some difficult situation, he would refuse it; he felt no further desire to triumph over youth with his ancient dexterity, but shuffled about and shrank into himself. "and all that we have thought so highly of--what's to become of it?" he would ask. "for machines don't make masterpieces and medal work, so where will real good work come in?" the young master did not look so far ahead; he thought principally of the money that was needed. "devil take it, pelle, how are we going to pay every one, pelle?" he would ask dejectedly. little nikas had to look out for something else; their means would not allow them to keep a journeyman. so nikas decided to marry, and to set up as a master shoemaker in the north. the shoemaker of the baptist community had just died, and he could get plenty of customers by joining the sect; he was already attending their services. "but go to work carefully!" said jeppe. "or matters will go awry!" it was a bad shock to all of them. klaussen went bankrupt and had to find work on the new harbor. blom ran away, deserting his wife and children, and they had to go home to the house of her parents. in the workshop matters had been getting worse for a long time. and now this had happened, throwing a dazzling light upon the whole question. but the young master refused to believe the worst. "i shall soon be well again now," he said. "and then you will just see how i'll work up the business!" he lay in bed more often now, and was susceptible to every change in the weather. pelle had to see to everything. "run and borrow something!" the master would say. and if pelle returned with a refusal, he would look at the boy with his wide, wondering eyes. "they've got the souls of grocers!" he would cry. "then we must peg those soles!" "that won't answer with ladies' patent-leather shoes!" replied pelle very positively. "damn and blast it all, it will answer! we'll black the bottom with cobbler's wax." but when the black was trodden off, jungfer lund and the others called, and were wroth. they were not accustomed to walk in pegged shoes. "it's a misunderstanding!" said the young master, the perspiration standing in clear beads on his forehead. or he would hide and leave it to pelle. when it was over, he would reach up to the shelf, panting with exhaustion. "can't you do anything for me, pelle?" he whispered. one day pelle plucked up courage and said it certainly wasn't healthy to take so much spirit; the master needed so much now. "healthy?" said the master; "no, good god, it isn't healthy! but the beasts demand it! in the beginning i couldn't get the stuff down, especially beer; but now i've accustomed myself to it. if i didn't feed them, they'd soon rush all over me and eat me up." "do they swallow it, then?" "i should think they do! as much as ever you like to give them. or have you ever seen me tipsy? i can't get drunk; the tubercles take it all. and for them it's sheer poison. on the day when i am able to get drunk again i shall thank god, for then the beasts will be dead and the spirit will be able to attack me again. then it'll only be a question of stopping it, otherwise it'll play the deuce with my mind!" since the journeyman had left, the meals had become more meager than ever. the masters had not had enough money in the spring to buy a pig. so there was no one to consume the scraps. now they had to eat them all themselves. master andres was never at the table; he took scarcely any nourishment nowadays; a piece of bread-and-butter now and again, that was all. breakfast, at half-past seven, they ate alone. it consisted of salt herrings, bread and hog's lard, and soup. the soup was made out of all sorts of odds and ends of bread and porridge, with an addition of thin beer. it was fermented and unpalatable. what was left over from breakfast was put into a great crock which stood in one corner of the kitchen, on the floor, and this was warmed up again the next morning, with the addition of a little fresh beer. so it went on all the year round. the contents were renewed only when some one kicked the crock so that it broke. the boys confined themselves to the herrings and the lard; the soup they did not use except to fish about in it. they made a jest of it, throwing all sorts of objects into it, and finding them again after half a year. jeppe was still lying in the alcove, asleep; his nightcap was hoved awry over one eye. even in his sleep he still had a comical expression of self-importance. the room was thick with vapor; the old man had his own way of getting air, breathing it in with a long snort and letting it run rumbling through him. if it got too bad, the boys would make a noise; then he would wake and scold them. they were longing for food by dinner-time; the moment jeppe called his "dinner!" at the door they threw everything down, ranged themselves according to age, and tumbled in behind him. they held one another tightly by the coat-tails, and made stupid grimaces. jeppe was enthroned at the head of the table, a little cap on his head, trying to preserve seemly table-manners. no one might begin before him or continue after he had finished. they snatched at their spoons, laid them down again with a terrified glance at the old man, and nearly exploded with suppressed laughter. "yes, i'm very hungry to-day, but there's no need for you to remark it!" he would say warningly, once they were in full swing. pelle would wink at the others, and they would go on eating, emptying one dish after another. "there's no respect nowadays!" roared jeppe, striking on the table. but when he did this discipline suddenly entered into them, and they all struck the table after him in turn. sometimes, when matters got too bad, master andres had to find some reason for coming into the room. the long working-hours, the bad food, and the foul air of the workshop left their mark on pelle. his attachment to master andres was limitless; he could sit there till midnight and work without payment if a promise had been made to finish some particular job. but otherwise he was imperceptibly slipping into the general slackness, sharing the others' opinion of the day as something utterly abominable, which one must somehow endeavor to get through. to work at half pressure was a physical necessity; his rare movements wearied him, and he felt less inclined to work than to brood. the semi-darkness of the sunless workshop bleached his skin and filled him with unhealthy imaginations. he did little work now on his own account; but he had learned to manage with very little. whenever he contrived to get hold of a ten-ore piece, he bought a savings-stamp, so that in this way he was able to collect a few shillings, until they had grown to quite a little sum. now and again, too, he got a little help from lasse, but lasse found it more and more difficult to spare anything. moreover, he had learned to compose his mind by his work. xix the crazy anker was knocking on the workshop door. "bjerregrav is dead!" he said solemnly. "now there is only one who can mourn over poverty!" then he went away and announced the news to baker jorgen. they heard him going from house to house, all along the street. bjerregrav dead! only yesterday evening he was sitting yonder, on the chair by the window-bench, and his crutch was standing in the corner by the door; and he had offered them all his hand in his odd, ingenuous way--that unpleasantly flabby hand, at whose touch they all felt a certain aversion, so importunate was it, and almost skinless in its warmth, so that one felt as if one had involuntarily touched some one on a naked part. pelle was always reminded of father lasse; he too had never learned to put on armor, but had always remained the same loyal, simple soul, unaffected by his hard experience. the big baker had fallen foul of him as usual. contact with this childlike, thin-skinned creature, who let his very heart burn itself out in a clasp of his hand, always made him brutal. "now, bjerregrav, have you tried it--you know what--since we last saw you?" bjerregrav turned crimson. "i am content with the experience which the dear god has chosen for me," he answered, with blinking eyes. "would you believe it, he is over seventy and doesn't know yet how a woman is made!" "because, after all i find it suits me best to live alone, and then there's my club foot." "so he goes about asking questions about everything, things such as every child knows about," said jeppe, in a superior tone. "bjerregrav has never rubbed off his childish innocence." yet as he was going home, and pelle was helping him over the gutter, he was still in his mood of everlasting wonder. "what star is that?" he said; "it has quite a different light to the others. it looks so red to me--if only we don't have a severe winter, with the soil frozen and dear fuel for all the poor people." bjerregrav sighed. "you mustn't look at the moon so much. skipper andersen came by his accident simply because he slept on deck and the moon shone right in his face; now he has gone crazy!" yesterday evening just the same as always--and now dead! and no one had known or guessed, so that they might have been a little kinder to him just at the last! he died in his bed, with his mind full of their last disdainful words, and now they could never go to him and say: "don't take any notice of it, bjerregrav; we didn't mean to be unkind." perhaps their behavior had embittered his last hours. at all events, there stood jeppe and brother jorgen, and they could not look one another in the face; an immovable burden weighed upon them. and it meant a void--as when the clock in a room stops ticking. the faithful sound of his crutch no longer approached the workshop about six o'clock. the young master grew restless about that time; he could not get used to the idea of bjerregrav's absence. "death is a hateful thing," he would say, when the truth came over him; "it is horribly repugnant. why must one go away from here without leaving the least part of one behind? now i listen for bjerregrav's crutch, and there's a void in my ears, and after a time there won't be even that. then he will be forgotten, and perhaps more besides, who will have followed him, and so it goes on forever. is there anything reasonable about it all, pelle? they talk about heaven, but what should i care about sitting on a damp cloud and singing 'hallelujah'? i'd much rather go about down here and get myself a drink--especially if i had a sound leg!" the apprentices accompanied him to the grave. jeppe wished them to do so, as a sort of atonement. jeppe himself and baker jorgen, in tall hats, walked just behind the coffin. otherwise only a few poor women and children followed, who had joined the procession out of curiosity. coachman due drove the hearse. he had now bought a pair of horses, and this was his first good job. otherwise life flowed onward, sluggish and monotonous. winter had come again, with its commercial stagnation, and the iceland trade was ruined. the shoemakers did no more work by artificial light; there was so little to do that it would not repay the cost of the petroleum; so the hanging lamp was put on one side and the old tin lamp was brought out again. that was good enough to sit round and to gossip by. the neighbors would come into the twilight of the workshop; if master andres was not there, they would slip out again, or they would sit idly there until jeppe said it was bed-time. pelle had begun to occupy himself with carving once more; he got as close to the lamp as possible, listening to the conversation while he worked upon a button which was to be carved like a twenty-five-ore piece. morten was to have it for a tie-pin. the conversation turned upon the weather, and how fortunate it was that the frost had not yet come to stop the great harbor works. then it touched upon the "great power," and from him it glanced at the crazy anker, and poverty, and discontent. the social democrats "over yonder" had for a long time been occupying the public mind. all the summer through disquieting rumors had crossed the water; it was quite plain that they were increasing their power and their numbers --but what were they actually aiming at? in any case, it was nothing good. "they must be the very poorest who are revolting," said wooden-leg larsen. "so their numbers must be very great!" it was as though one heard the roaring of something or other out on the horizon, but did not know what was going on there. the echo of the upheaval of the lower classes was quite distorted by the time it reached the island; people understood just so much, that the lowest classes wanted to turn god's appointed order upside down and to get to the top themselves, and involuntarily their glance fell covertly on the poor in the town. but these were going about in their customary half-slumber, working when there was work to be had and contenting themselves with that. "that would be the last straw," said jeppe, "here, where we have such a well-organized poor-relief!" baker jorgen was the most eager--every day he came with news of some kind to discuss. now they had threatened the life of the king himself! and now the troops were called out. "the troops!" the young master made a disdainful gesture. "that'll help a lot! if they merely throw a handful of dynamite among the soldiers there won't be a trouser-button left whole! no, they'll conquer the capital now!" his cheeks glowed: he saw the event already in his mind's eye. "yes, and then? then they'll plunder the royal mint!" "yes--no. then they'll come over here--the whole party!" "come over here? no, by god! we'd call out all the militia and shoot them down from the shore. i've put my gun in order already!" one day marker came running in. "the pastrycook's got a new journeyman from over yonder--and he's a social democrat!" he cried breathlessly. "he came yesterday evening by the steamer." baker jorgen had also heard the news. "yes, now they're on you!" said jeppe, as one announcing disaster. "you've all been trifling with the new spirit of the times. this would have been something for bjerregrav to see--him with his compassion for the poor!" "let the tailor rest in peace in his grave," said wooden-leg larsen, in a conciliatory tone. "you mustn't blame him for the angry masses that exist to-day. he wanted nothing but people's good--and perhaps these people want to do good, too!" "good!" jeppe was loud with scorn. "they want to overturn law and order, and sell the fatherland to the germans! they say the sum is settled already, and all!" "they say they'll be let into the capital during the night, when our own people are asleep," said marker. "yes," said master andres solemnly. "they've let out that the key's hidden under the mat--the devils!" here baker jorgen burst into a shout of laughter; his laughter filled the whole workshop when he once began. they guessed what sort of a fellow the new journeyman might be. no one had seen him yet. "he certainly has red hair and a red beard," said baker jorgen. "that's the good god's way of marking those who have signed themselves to the evil one." "god knows what the pastrycook wants with him," said jeppe. "people of that sort can't do anything--they only ask. i've heard the whole lot of them are free-thinkers." "what a lark!" the young master shook himself contentedly. "he won't grow old here in the town!" "old?" the baker drew up his heavy body. "to-morrow i shall go to the pastrycook and demand that he be sent away. i am commander of the militia, and i know all the townsfolk think as i do." drejer thought it might be well to pray from the pulpit--as in time of plague, and in the bad year when the field-mice infested the country. next morning jorgen kofod looked in on his way to the pastrycook's. he was wearing his old militia coat, and at his belt hung the leather wallet in which flints for the old flint-locks had been carried many years before. he filled his uniform well; but he came back without success. the pastrycook praised his new journeyman beyond all measure, and wouldn't hear a word of sending him away. he was quite besotted. "but we shall buy there no more--we must all stick to that--and no respectable family can deal with the traitor in future." "did you see the journeyman, uncle jorgen?" asked master andres eagerly. "yes, i saw him--that is, from a distance! he had a pair of terrible, piercing eyes; but he shan't bewitch me with his serpent's glance!" in the evening pelle and the others were strolling about the market in order to catch a glimpse of the new journeyman--there were a number of people there, and they were all strolling to and fro with the same object in view. but he evidently kept the house. and then one day, toward evening, the master came tumbling into the workshop. "hurry up, damn it all!" he cried, quite out of breath; "he's passing now!" they threw down their work and stumbled along the passage into the best room, which at ordinary times they were not allowed to enter. he was a tall, powerful man, with full cheeks and a big, dashing moustache, quite as big as the master's. his nostrils were distended, and he held his chest well forward. his jacket and wasitcoat were open, as though he wanted more air. behind him slunk a few street urchins, in the hope of seeing something; they had quite lost their accustomed insolence, and followed him in silence. "he walks as though the whole town belonged to him!" said jeppe scornfully. "but we'll soon finish with him here!" xx out in the street some one went by, and then another, and then another; there was quite a trampling of feet. the young master knocked on the wall. "what in the world is it, pelle?" he did not mean to get up that day. pelle ran out to seek information. "jen's father has got delirium-- he's cleared the whole harbor and is threatening to kill them all!" the master raised his head a little. "by god, i believe i shall get up!" his eyes were glistening; presently he had got into his clothes, and limped out of doors; they heard him coughing terribly in the cold. old jeppe put his official cap in his pocket before he ran out; perhaps the authorities would be needed. for a time the apprentices sat staring at the door like sick birds; then they, too, ran out of the house. outside everything was in confusion. the wildest rumors were flying about as to what stonemason jorgensen had done. the excitement could not have been greater had a hostile squadron come to anchor and commenced to bombard the town. everybody dropped what he was holding and rushed down to the harbor. the smaller side-streets were one unbroken procession of children and old women and small employers in their aprons. old gouty seamen awoke from their decrepit slumber and hobbled away, their hands dropped to the back of their loins and their faces twisted with pain. "toot aroot aroot aroot. all the pitchy snouts!" a few street-urchins allowed themselves this little diversion, as pelle came running by with the other apprentices; otherwise all attention was concentrated on the one fact that the "great power" had broken out again! a certain festivity might have been noted on the faces of the hurrying crowd; a vivid expectation. the stonemason had been quiet for a long time now; he had labored like a giant beast of burden, to all appearance extinguished, but toiling like an elephant, and quietly taking home a couple of kroner in the evening. it was almost painful to watch him, and a disappointed silence gathered about him. and now came a sudden explosion, thrilling everybody through! all had something to say of the "strong man" while they hastened down to the harbor. everybody had foreseen that it must come; he had for a long time looked so strange, and had done nothing wrong, so that it was only a wonder that it hadn't come sooner! such people ought not really to be at large; they ought to be shut up for life! they went over the events of his life for the hundredth time--from the day when he came trudging into town, young and fearless in his rags, to find a market for his energies, until the time when he drove his child into the sea and settled down as a lunatic. down by the harbor the people were swarming; everybody who could creep or crawl was stationed there. the crowd was good-humored, in spite of the cold and the hard times; the people stamped their feet and cracked jokes. the town had in a moment shaken off its winter sleep; the people clambered up on the blocks of stone, or hung close-packed over the rough timber frames that were to be sunk in building the breakwater. they craned their necks and started nervously, as though some one might come up suddenly and hit them over the head. jens and morten were there, too; they stood quite apart and were speaking to one another. they looked on mournfully, with shy, harrassed glances, and where the great slip ran obliquely down to the floor of the basin the workmen stood in crowds; they hitched up their trousers, for the sake of something to do, exchanged embarrassed glances, and swore. but down on the floor of the great basin the "great power" ruled supreme. he was moving about alone, and he seemed to be as unconscious of his surroundings as a child absorbed in play; he had some purpose of his own to attend to. but what that was it was not easy to tell. in one hand he held a bundle of dynamite cartridges; with the other he was leaning on a heavy iron bar. his movements were slow and regular, not unlike those of a clumsy bear. when he stood up, his comrades shouted to him excitedly; they would come and tear him into little pieces; they would slit his belly so that he could see his own bowels; they would slash him with their knives and rub his wounds with vitriol if he didn't at once lay down his weapons and let them come down to their work. but the "great power" did not deign to answer. perhaps he never heard them. when he raised his head his glance swept the distance, laden with a mysterious burden which was not human. that face, with its deadly weariness, seemed in its sadness to be turned upon some distant place whither none could follow him. "he is mad!" they whispered; "god has taken away his wits!" then he bent himself to his task again; he seemed to be placing the cartridges under the great breakwater which he himself had proposed. he was pulling cartridges out of every pocket; that was why they had stuck out from his body curiously. "what the devil is he going to do now? blow up the breakwater?" they asked, and tried to creep along behind the causeway, so as to come upon him from behind. but he had eyes all round him; at the slightest movement on their part he was there with his iron bar. the whole works were at a standstill! two hundred men stood idle hour after hour, growling and swearing and threatening death and the devil, but no one ventured forward. the overseer ran about irresolutely, and even the engineer had lost his head; everything was in a state of dissolution. the district judge was walking up and down in full uniform, with an impenetrable expression of face; his mere presence had a calming effect, but he did nothing. each proposal made was wilder than the last. some wanted to make a gigantic screen which might be pushed toward him; others suggested capturing him with a huge pair of tongs made of long balks of timber; but no one attempted to carry out these suggestions; they were only too thankful that he allowed them to stand where they were. the "great power" could throw a dynamite cartridge with such force that it would explode where it struck and sweep away everything around it. "the tip-wagons!" cried some one. here at last was an idea! the wagons were quickly filled with armed workmen. the catch was released, but the wagons did not move. the "great power" with his devilish cunning, had been before them; he had spiked the endless chain so that it could not move. and now he struck away the under-pinning of a few of the supports, so that the wagons could not be launched upon him by hand. this was no delirium; no one had ever yet seen delirium manifest itself in such a way! and he had touched no spirit since the day they had carried his daughter home. no; it was the quietest resolution imaginable; when they got up after the breakfast-hour and were strolling down to the slip, he stood there with his iron bar and quietly commanded them to keep away--the harbor belonged to him! they had received more than one sharp blow before they understood that he was in earnest; but there was no malice in him--one could see quite plainly how it hurt him to strike them. it was certainly the devil riding him--against his own will. but where was it going to end? they had had enough of it now! for now the great harbor bell was striking midday, and there was something derisive in the sound, as though it was jeering at respectable people who only wanted to resume their work. they didn't want to waste the whole day; neither did they want to risk life and limb against the fool's tricks of a lunatic. even the mighty bergendal had left his contempt of death at home to-day, and was content to grumble like the rest. "we must knock a hole in the dam," he said, "then the brute may perish in the waves!" they immediately picked up their tools, in order to set to work. the engineer threatened them with the law and the authorities; it would cost thousands of kroner to empty the harbor again. they would not listen to him; what use was he if he couldn't contrive for them to do their work in peace? they strolled toward the dam, with picks and iron crowbars, in order to make the breach; the engineer and the police were thrust aside. now it was no longer a matter of work; it was a matter of showing that two hundred men were not going to allow one crazy devil to make fools of them. beelzebub had got to be smoked out. either the "great power" would come up from the floor of the basin, or he would drown. "you shall have a full day's wages!" cried the engineer, to hold them back. they did not listen; but when they reached the place of the intended breach, the "great power" was standing at the foot of the dam, swinging his pick so that the walls of the basin resounded. he beamed with helpfulness at every blow; he had posted himself at the spot where the water trickled in, and they saw with horror what an effect his blows had. it was sheer madness to do what he was doing there. "he'll fill the harbor with water, the devil!" they cried, and they hurled stones at his head. "and such a work as it was to empty it!" the "great power" took cover behind a pile and worked away. then there was nothing for it but to shoot him down before he had attained his object. a charge of shot in the legs, if nothing more, and he would at least be rendered harmless. the district judge was at his wits' end; but wooden-leg larsen was already on the way home to fetch his gun. soon he came stumping back, surrounded by a swarm of boys. "i've loaded it with coarse salt!" he cried, so that the judge might hear. "now you'll be shot dead!" they called down to him. in reply, the "great power" struck his pick into the foot of the dam, so that the trampled clay sighed and the moisture rose underfoot. a long crackling sound told them that the first plank was shattered. the final resolve had been formed quite of itself; everybody was speaking of shooting him down as though the man had been long ago sentenced, and now everybody was longing for the execution. they hated the man below there with a secret hatred which needed no explanation; his defiance and unruliness affected them like a slap in the face; they would gladly have trampled him underfoot if they could. they shouted down insults; they reminded him how in his presumption he had ruined his family, and driven his daughter to suicide; and they cast in his face his brutal attack on the rich shipowner monsen, the benefactor of the town. for a time they roused themselves from their apathy in order to take a hand in striking him down. and now it must be done thoroughly; they must have peace from this fellow, who couldn't wear his chains quietly, but must make them grate like the voice of hatred that lay behind poverty and oppression. the judge leaned out over the quay, in order to read his sentence over the "great power"--three times must it be read, so the man might have opportunity to repent. he was deathly pale, and at the second announcement he started convulsively; but the "great power" threw no dynamite cartridges at him; he merely lifted his hand to his head, as though in greeting, and made a few thrusting motions in the air with two of his fingers, which stood out from his forehead like a pair of horns. from where the apothecary stood in a circle of fine ladies a stifled laugh was heard. all faces were turned to where the burgomaster's wife stood tall and stately on a block of stone. but she gazed down unflinchingly at the "great power" as though she had never seen him before. on the burgomaster the gesture had an effect like that of an explosion. "shoot him down!" he roared, with purple face, stumbling excitedly along the breakwater. "shoot him down, larsen!" but no one heeded his command. all were streaming toward the wagon-slip, where an old, faded little woman was in the act of groping her way along the track toward the floor of the basin. "it's the 'great power's' mother!" the word passed from mouth to mouth. "no! how little and old she is! one can hardly believe she could have brought such a giant into the world!" excitedly they followed her, while she tottered over the broken stone of the floor of the basin, which was littered with the _debris_ of explosions until it resembled an ice-floe under pressure. she made her way but slowly, and it looked continually as though she must break her legs. but the old lady persevered, bent and withered though she was, with her shortsighted eyes fixed on the rocks before her feet. then she perceived her son, who stood with his iron bar poised in his hand. "throw the stick away, peter!" she cried sharply, and mechanically he let the iron rod fall. he gave way before her, slowly, until she had pinned him in a corner and attempted to seize him; then he pushed her carefully aside, as though she was something that inconvenienced him. a sigh went through the crowd, and crept round the harbor like a wandering shudder. "he strikes his own mother--he must be mad!" they repeated, shuddering. but the old woman was on her legs again. "do you strike your own mother, peter?" she cried, with sheer amazement in her voice, and reached up after his ear; she could not reach so far; but the "great power" bent down as though something heavy pressed upon him, and allowed her to seize his ear. then she drew him away, over stock and stone, in a slanting path to the slipway, where the people stood like a wall. and he went, bowed, across the floor of the basin, like a great beast in the little woman's hands. up on the quay the police stood ready to fall upon the "great power" with ropes; but the old woman was like pepper and salt when she saw their intention. "get out of the way, or i'll let him loose on you!" she hissed. "don't you see he has lost his intellect? would you attack a man whom god has smitten?" "yes, he is mad!" said the people, in a conciliatory tone; "let his mother punish him--she is the nearest to him!" xxi now pelle and the youngest apprentice had to see to everything, for in november jens had finished his term and had left at once. he had not the courage to go to copenhagen to seek his fortune. so he rented a room in the poor quarter of the town and settled there with his young woman. they could not get married; he was only nineteen years of age. when pelle had business in the northern portion of the town he used to look in on them. the table stood between the bed and the window, and there sat jens, working on repairs for the poor folk of the neighborhood. when he had managed to get a job the girl would stand bending over him, waiting intently until he had finished, so that she could get something to eat. then she would come back and cook something right away at the stove, and jens would sit there and watch her with burning eyes until he had more work in hand. he had grown thin, and sported a sparse pointed beard; a lack of nourishment was written in both their faces. but they loved one another, and they helped one another in everything, as awkwardly as two children who are playing at "father and mother." they had chosen the most dismal locality; the lane fell steeply to the sea, and was full of refuse; mangy cats and dogs ran about, dragging fish-offal up the steps of the houses and leaving it lying there. dirty children were grubbing about before every door. one sunday morning, when pelle had run out there to see them, he heard a shriek from one of the cottages, and the sound of chairs overturned. startled, he stood still. "that's only one-eyed johann beating his wife," said an eight-year-old girl; "he does that almost every day." before the door, on a chair, sat an old man, staring imperturbably at a little boy who continually circled round him. suddenly the child ran inward, laid his hands on the old man's knee, and said delightedly: "father runs round the table--mother runs round the table--father beats mother--mother runs round the table and--cries." he imitated the crying, laughed all over his little idiot's face, and dribbled. "yes, yes," was all the old man said. the child had no eyebrows, and the forehead was hollow over the eyes. gleefully he ran round and round, stamping and imitating the uproar within. "yes, yes," said the old man imperturbably, "yes, yes!" at the window of one of the cottages sat a woman, gazing out thoughtfully, her forehead leaning against the sash-bar. pelle recognized her; he greeted her cheerfully. she motioned him to the door. her bosom was still plump, but there was a shadow over her face. "hans!" she cried uncertainly, "here is pelle, whose doing it was that we found one another!" the young workman replied from within the room: "then he can clear out, and i don't care if he looks sharp about it!" he spoke threateningly. in spite of the mild winter, master andres was almost always in bed now. pelle had to receive all instructions, and replace the master as well as he could. there was no making of new boots now--only repairs. every moment the master would knock on the wall, in order to gossip a little. "to-morrow i shall get up," he would say, and his eyes would shine; "yes, that i shall, pelle! give me sunlight tomorrow, you devil's imp! this is the turning-point--now nature is turning round in me. when that's finished i shall be quite well! i can feel how it's raging in my blood--it's war to the knife now--but the good sap is conquering! you should see me when the business is well forward-- this is nothing to what it will be! and you won't forget to borrow the list of the lottery-drawings?" he would not admit it to himself, but he was sinking. he no longer cursed the clergy, and one day jeppe silently went for the pastor. when he had gone, master jeppe knocked on the wall. "it's really devilish queer," he said, "for suppose there should be anything in it? and then the pastor is so old, he ought rather to be thinking of himself." the master lay there and looked thoughtful; he was staring up at the ceiling. he would lie all day like that; he did not care about reading now. "jens was really a good boy," he would say suddenly. "i could never endure him, but he really had a good disposition. and do you believe that i shall ever be a man again?" "yes, when once the warm weather comes," said pelle. from time to time the crazy anker would come to ask after master andres. then the master would knock on the wall. "let him come in, then," he said to pelle. "i find myself so terribly wearisome." anker had quite given up the marriage with the king's eldest daughter, and had now taken matters into his own hands. he was now working at a clock which would _be_ the "new time" itself, and which would go in time with the happiness of the people. he brought the wheels and spring and the whole works with him, and explained them, while his gray eyes, fixed out-of-doors, wandered from one object to another. they were never on the thing he was exhibiting. he, like all the others, had a blind confidence in the young master, and explained his invention in detail. the clock would be so devised that it would show the time only when every one in the land had what he wanted. "then one can always see and know if anybody is suffering need--there'll be no excuse then! for the time goes and goes, and they get nothing to eat; and one day their hour comes, and they go hungry into the grave." in his temples that everlasting thing was beating which seemed to pelle like the knocking of a restless soul imprisoned there; and his eyes skipped from one object to another with their vague, indescribable expression. the master allowed himself to be quite carried away by anker's talk as long as it lasted; but as soon as the watchmaker was on the other side of the door he shook it all off. "it's only the twaddle of a madman," he said, astonished at himself. then anker repeated his visit, and had something else to show. it was a cuckoo; every ten-thousandth year it would appear to the hour and cry "cuckoo!" the time would not be shown any longer--only the long, long course of time--which never comes to an end--eternity. the master looked at anker bewildered. "send him away, pelle!" he whispered, wiping the sweat from his forehead: "he makes me quite giddy; he'll turn me crazy with his nonsense!" pelle ought really to have spent christmas at home, but the master would not let him leave him. "who will chat with me all that time and look after everything?" he said. and pelle himself was not so set on going; it was no particular pleasure nowadays to go home. karna was ill, and father lasse had enough to do to keep her in good spirits. he himself was valiant enough, but it did not escape pelle that as time went on he was sinking deeper into difficulties. he had not paid the latest instalment due, and he had not done well with the winter stone-breaking, which from year to year had helped him over the worst. he had not sufficient strength for all that fell to his lot. but he was plucky. "what does it matter if i'm a few hundred kroner in arrears when i have improved the property to the tune of several thousand?" he would say. pelle was obliged to admit the truth of that. "raise a loan," he advised. lasse did try to do so. every time he was in the town he went to the lawyers and the savings-banks. but he could not raise a loan on the land, as on paper it belonged to the commune, until, in a given number of years, the whole of the sum to which lasse had pledged himself should be paid up. on shrove tuesday he was again in town, and then he had lost his cheerful humor. "now we know it, we had better give up at once," he said despondently, "for now ole jensen is haunting the place--you know, he had the farm before me and hanged himself because he couldn't fulfill his engagements. karna saw him last night." "nonsense!" said pelle. "don't believe such a thing!" but he could not help believing in it just a little himself. "you think so? but you see yourself that things are always getting more difficult for us--and just now, too, when we have improved the whole property so far, and ought to be enjoying the fruit of our labor. and karna can't get well again," he added despondently. "well, who knows?--perhaps it's only superstition!" he cried at last. he had courage for another attempt. master andres was keeping his bed. but he was jolly enough there; the more quickly he sank, the more boldly he talked. it was quite wonderful to listen to his big words, and to see him lying there so wasted, ready to take his departure when the time should come. at the end of february the winter was so mild that people were already beginning to look for the first heralds of spring; but then in one night came the winter from the north, blustering southward on a mighty ice-floe. seen from the shore it looked as though all the vessels in the world had hoisted new white sails, and were on the way to bornholm, to pay the island a visit, before they once again set out, after the winter's rest, on their distant voyages. but rejoicings over the breaking-up of the ice were brief; in four-and- twenty hours the island was hemmed in on every side by the ice-pack, so that there was not a speck of open water to be seen. and then the snow began. "we really thought it was time to begin work on the land," said the people; but they could put up with the cold--there was still time enough. they proceeded to snowball one another, and set their sledges in order; all through the winter there had been no toboggan-slide. soon the snow was up to one's ankles, and the slide was made. now it might as well stop snowing. it might lie a week or two, so that people might enjoy a few proper sleighing-parties. but the snow continued to flutter down, until it reached to the knee, and then to the waist; and by the time people were going to bed it was no longer possible to struggle through it. and those who did not need to rise before daylight were very near not getting out of bed at all, for in the night a snowstorm set in, and by the morning the snow reached to the roofs and covered all the windows. one could hear the storm raging about the chimneys, but down below it was warm enough. the apprentices had to go through the living-room to reach the workshop. the snow was deep there and had closed all outlets. "what the devil is it?" said master andres, looking at pelle in alarm. "is the world coming to an end?" was the world coming to an end? well, it might have come to an end already; they could not hear the smallest sound from without, to tell them whether their fellow-men were living still, or were already dead. they had to burn lamps all day long; but the coal was out in the snow, so they must contrive to get to the shed. they all pushed against the upper half-door of the kitchen, and succeeded in forcing it so far open that pelle could just creep through. but once out there it was impossible to move. he disappeared in the mass of snow. they must dig a path to the well and the coal-shed; as for food, they would have to manage as best they could. at noon the sun came out, and so far the snow melted on the south side of the house that the upper edge of the window admitted a little daylight. a faint milky shimmer shone through the snow. but there was no sign of life outside. "i believe we shall starve, like the people who go to the north pole," said the master, his eyes and mouth quite round with excitement. his eyes were blazing like lamps; he was deep in the world's fairy-tale. during the evening they dug and bored halfway to baker jorgen's. they must at least secure their connection with the baker. jeppe went in with a light. "look out that it doesn't fall on you," he said warningly. the light glistened in the snow, and the boys proceeded to amuse themselves. the young master lay in bed, and called out at every sound that came to him from outside--so loudly that his cough was terrible. he could not contain himself for curiosity. "i'll go and see the robbers' path, too, by god!" he said, over and over again. jeppe scolded him, but he took no notice. he had his way, got into his trousers and fur jacket, and had a counterpane thrown about him. but he could not stand up, and with a despairing cry he fell back on the bed. pelle watched him until his heart burned within him. he took the master on his arm, and supported him carefully until they entered the tunnel. "you are strong; good lord, you are strong!" the master held pelle convulsively, one arm about his neck, while he waved the other in the air, as defiantly as the strong man in the circus. "hip, hip!" he was infected by pelle's strength. cautiously he turned round in the glittering vault; his eyes shone like crystals of ice. but the fever was raging in his emaciated body. pelle felt it like a devouring fire through all his clothes. next day the tunnel was driven farther--as far as baker jorgen's steps, and their connection with the outer world was secure. at jorgen's great things had happened in the course of the last four- and-twenty hours. marie had been so excited by the idea that the end of the world was perhaps at hand that she had hastily brought the little jorgen into it. old jorgen was in the seventh heaven; he had to come over at once and tell them about it. "he's a regular devil, and he's the very image of me!" "that i can well believe!" cried master andres, and laughed. "and is uncle pleased?" but jeppe took the announcement very coolly; the condition of his brother's household did not please him. "is soren delighted with the youngster?" he asked cautiously. "soren?" the baker gave vent to a shout of laughter. "he can think of nothing but the last judgment--he's praying to the dear god!" later in the day the noise of shovels was heard. the workmen were outside; they cleared one of the pavements so that one could just get by; but the surface of the street was still on a level with the roofs. now one could get down to the harbor once more; it felt almost as though one were breathing again after a choking-fit. as far as the eyes could reach the ice extended, packed in high ridges and long ramparts where the waves had battled. a storm was brewing. "god be thanked!" said the old seamen, "now the ice will go!" but it did not move. and then they understood that the whole sea was frozen; there could not be one open spot as big as a soup-plate on which the storm could begin its work. but it was a wonderful sight, to see the sea lying dead and motionless as a rocky desert in the midst of this devastating storm. and one day the first farmer came to town, with news of the country. the farms inland were snowed up; men had to dig pathways into the open fields, and lead the horses in one by one; but of accidents he knew nothing. all activities came to a standstill. no one could do any work, and everything had to be used sparingly--especially coals and oil, both of which threatened to give out. the merchants had issued warnings as early as the beginning of the second week. then the people began to take to all sorts of aimless doings; they built wonderful things with the snow, or wandered over the ice from town to town. and one day a dozen men made ready to go with the ice-boat to sweden, to fetch the post; people could no longer do without news from the outside world. on christianso they had hoisted the flag of distress; provisions were collected in small quantities, here, there, and everywhere, and preparations were made for sending an expedition thither. and then came the famine; it grew out of the frozen earth, and became the only subject of conversation. but only those who were well provided for spoke of it; those who suffered from want were silent. people appealed to organized charity; there was bjerregrav's five thousand kroner in the bank. but no, they were not there. ship-owner monsen declared that bjerregrav had recalled the money during his lifetime. there was no statement in his will to the contrary. the people knew nothing positively; but the matter gave plenty of occasion for discussion. however things might be, monsen was the great man, now as always--and he gave a thousand kroner out of his own pocket for the help of the needy. many eyes gazed out over the sea, but the men with the ice-boat did not come back; the mysterious "over yonder" had swallowed them. it was as though the world had sunk into the sea; as if, behind the rugged ice-field which reached to the horizon, there now lay nothing but the abyss. the "saints" were the only people who were busy; they held overcrowded meetings, and spoke about the end of the world. all else lay as though dead. under these conditions, who would worry himself about the future? in the workshop they sat in caps and overcoats and froze; the little coal that still remained had to be saved for the master. pelle was in his room every moment. the master did not speak much now; he lay there and tossed to and fro, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling; but as soon as pelle had left him he knocked for him again. "how are things going now?" he would ask wearily. "run down to the harbor and see whether the ice isn't near breaking--it is so very cold; at this rate the whole earth will become a lump of ice. this evening they will certainly hold another meeting about the last judgment. run and hear what they think about it." pelle went, and returned with the desired information, but when he had done so the master had usually forgotten all about the matter. from time to time pelle would announce that there seemed to be a bluish shimmer on the sea, far beyond the ice. then the master's eyes would light up. but he was always cast down again by the next announcement. "the sea will eat up the ice yet--you'll see," said master andres, as though from a great distance. "but perhaps it cannot digest so much. then the cold will get the upper hand, and we shall all be done for!" but one morning the ice-field drove out seaward, and a hundred men got ready to clear the channel of ice by means of dynamite. three weeks had gone by since any post had been received from the outer world, and the steamer went out in order to fetch news from sweden. it was caught by the ice out in the offing, and driven toward the south; from the harbor they could see it for days, drifting about in the ice-pack, now to the north and now to the south. at last the heavy bonds were broken. but it was difficult alike for the earth and for mankind to resume the normal activities of life. everybody's health had suffered. the young master could not stand the change from the bitter frost to the thaw; when his cough did not torment him he lay quite still. "oh, i suffer so dreadfully, pelle!" he complained, whispering. "i have no pain--but i suffer, pelle." but then one morning he was in a good humor. "now i am past the turning-point," he said, in a weak but cheerful voice; "now you'll just see how quickly i shall get well. what day is it really to-day? thursday? death and the devil! then i must renew my lottery ticket! i am so light i was flying through the air all night long, and if i only shut my eyes i am flying again. that is the force in the new blood--by summer i shall be quite well. then i shall go out and see the world! but one never--deuce take it!--gets to see the best--the stars and space and all that! so man must learn to fly. but i was there last night." then the cough overpowered him again. pelle had to lift him up; at every spasm there was a wet, slapping sound in his chest. he put one hand on pelle's shoulder and leaned his forehead against the boy's body. suddenly the cough ceased; and the white, bony hand convulsively clutched pelle's shoulder. "pelle, pelle!" moaned the master, and he gazed at him, a horrible anxiety in his dying eyes. "what does he see now?" thought pelle, shuddering; and he laid him back on his pillow. xxii often enough did pelle regret that he had wasted five years as apprentice. during his apprenticeship he had seen a hundred, nay, two hundred youths pass into the ranks of the journeymen; and then they were forthwith turned into the streets, while new apprentices from the country filled up the ranks again. there they were, and they had to stand on their own legs. in most cases they had learned nothing properly; they had only sat earning their master's daily bread, and now they suddenly had to vindicate their calling. emil had gone to the dogs; peter was a postman and earned a krone a day, and had to go five miles to do that. when he got home he had to sit over the knee-strap and waxed-end, and earn the rest of his livelihood at night. many forsook their calling altogether. they had spent the best years of their youth in useless labor. jens had done no better than the majority. he sat all day over repairs, and had become a small employer, but they were positively starving. the girl had recently had a miscarriage, and they had nothing to eat. when pelle went to see them they were usually sitting still and staring at one another with red eyes; and over their heads hung the threat of the police, for they were not yet married. "if i only understood farm work!" said jens. "then i'd go into the country and serve with a farmer." despite all his recklessness, pelle could not help seeing his own fate in theirs; only his attachment to master andres had hindered him from taking to his heels and beginning something else. now everything suddenly came to an end; old jeppe sold the business, with apprentices and all. pelle did not wish to be sold. now was his opportunity; now, by a sudden resolve, he might bring this whole chapter to an end. "you don't go!" said jeppe threateningly; "you have still a year of your apprenticeship before you! i shall give information to the police about you--and you've learned what that means." but pelle went. afterward they could run to the police as often as they liked. with a light and cheerful mind he rented an attic on the hill above the harbor, and removed his possessions thither. he felt as though he was stretching himself after his years of slavery; he no longer had any one over him, and he had no responsibilities, and no burdens. year by year he had fought against a continual descent. it had by no means fortified his youthful courage vainly to pit his energies, day after day, against the decline of the workshop; he was only able to hold back the tide a little, and as for the rest, he must perforce sink with the business. a good share of resignation and a little too much patience with regard to his eighteen years--this was for the moment his net profit from the process of going downhill. now it all lay at the foot of the hill, and he could stand aside and draw himself up a little. his conscience was clear, and he felt a somewhat mitigated delight in his freedom; that was all he had won. he had no money for traveling, and his clothes were in a sad case; but that did not trouble him at first. he breathed deeply, and considered the times. the death of the master had left a great void within him; he missed that intelligent glance, which had given him the feeling that he was serving an idea; and the world was a terribly desolate and god-forsaken place now that this glance no longer rested on him, half lucid and half unfathomable, and now that the voice was silent which had always gone to his heart--when it was angry just as much as when it was infinitely mild or frolicsome. and where he was used to hear that voice his ear encountered only solitude. he did nothing to arouse himself; he was for the present idle. this or that employer was after him, truly, for they all knew that he was a quick and reliable worker, and would willingly have taken him as apprentice, for a krone a week and his food. but pelle would have none of them; he felt that his future did not lie in that direction. beyond that he knew nothing, but only waited, with a curious apathy, for something to happen--something, anything. he had been hurried out of his settled way of life, yet he had no desire to set to work. from his window he could look out over the harbor, where the extensive alterations that had been interrupted by the winter were again in full swing. and the murmur of the work rose up to him; they were hewing, boring and blasting; the tip-wagons wandered in long rows up the slipway, threw their contents out on the shore, and returned. his limbs longed for strenuous work with pick and shovel, but his thoughts took another direction. if he walked along the street the industrious townsfolk would turn to look after him, exchanging remarks which were loud enough to reach his ear. "there goes master jeppe's apprentice, loafing along," they would tell one another; "young and strong he is, but he doesn't like work. he'll turn into a loafer if you give him time-- that you can see. yes, wasn't it he who got a beating at the town hall, for his brutal behavior? what else can you expect of him?" so then pelle kept the house. now and again he got a little work from comrades, and poor people of his acquaintance; he did his best without proper implements, or if he could not manage otherwise he would go to jens. jens had lasts and an anvil. at other times he sat at the window, freezing, and gazed out over the harbor and the sea. he saw the ships being rigged and fitted, and with every ship that went gliding out of the harbor, to disappear below the horizon, it seemed to him that a last possibility had escaped him; but although he had such a feeling it did not stir him. he shrank from morten, and did not mix with other people. he was ashamed to be so idle when every one else was working. as for food, he managed fairly well; he lived on milk and bread, and needed only a few ore a day. he was able to avoid extreme hunger. as for firing, it was not to be thought of. sitting idly in his room, he enjoyed his repose, apart from a certain feeling of shame; otherwise he was sunk in apathy. on sunny mornings he got up early and slipped out of the town. all day long he would stroll in the great pine-woods or lie on the dunes by the shore, with the murmur of the sea sounding through his half- slumber. he ate like a dog whatever he could get that was eatable, without particularly thinking of what it consisted. the glitter of the sun on the water, and the poignant scent of the pine-trees, and the first rising of the sluggish sap which came with spring, made him dizzy, and filled his brain with half-wild imaginations. the wild animals were not afraid of him, but only stood for a moment inhaling his scent; then they would resume their daily life before his eyes. they had no power to disturb his half-slumber; but if human beings approached, he would hide himself, with a feeling of hostility, almost of hatred. he experienced a kind of well-being out in the country. the thought often occurred to him that he would give up his dwelling in the town, and creep at night under the nearest tree. only when the darkness hid him did he return to his room. he would throw himself, fully dressed, on his bed, and lie there until he fell asleep. as though from a remote distance he could hear his next-door neighbor, strom the diver, moving about his room with tottering steps, and clattering with his cooking utensils close at hand. the smell of food, mingled with tobacco smoke and the odor of bedding, which crept through the thin board partition, and hovered, heavy and suffocating, above his head, became even more overpowering. his mouth watered. he shut his eyes and forced himself to think of other things, in order to deaden his hunger. then a light, well-known step sounded on the stairs and some one knocked on the door--it was morten. "are you there, pelle?" he asked. but pelle did not move. pelle could hear strom attacking his bread with great bites, and chewing it with a smacking sound; and suddenly in the intervals of mastication, another sound was audible; a curious bellowing, which was interrupted every time the man took a bite; it sounded like a child eating and crying simultaneously. that another person should cry melted something in pelle, and filled him with a feeble sense of something living; he raised himself on his elbows and listened to strom struggling with terror, while cold shudders chased one another down his back. people said that strom lived here because in his youth he had done something at home. pelle forgot his own need and listened, rigid with terror, to this conflict with the powers of evil. patiently, through his clenched teeth, in a voice broken by weeping, strom attacked the throng of tiny devils with words from the bible. "i'll do something to you at last that'll make you tuck your tails between your legs!" he cried, when he had read a little. there was a peculiar heaviness about his speech, which seemed charged with a craving for peace. "ah!" he cried presently, "you want some more, you damned rascals, do you? then what have you got to say to this --'i, the lord thy god, the god of abraham, the god of isaac, the god of jacob'"--strom hurled the words at them, anger crept into his voice, and suddenly he lost patience. he took the bible and flung it on the floor. "satan take you, then!" he shouted, laying about him with the furniture. pelle lay bathed in sweat, listening to this demoniac struggle; and it was with a feeling of relief that he heard strom open the window and drive the devils out over the roofs. the diver fought the last part of the battle with a certain humor. he addressed the corner of the room in a wheedling, flattering tone. "come, you sweet, pretty little devil! what a white skin you have--strom would so like to stroke you a little! no, you didn't expect that! are we getting too clever for you? what? you'd still bite, would you, you devil's brat? there, don't scowl like that!"--strom shut the window with an inward chuckle. for a while he strolled about amusing himself. "strom is still man enough to clear up hell itself!" he said, delighted. pelle heard him go to bed, and he himself fell asleep. but in the night he awoke; strom was beating time with his head against the board partition, while he lay tearfully singing "by the waters of babylon!" but halfway through the psalm the diver stopped and stood up. pelle heard him groping to and fro across the floor and out on the landing. seized with alarm, he sprang out of bed and struck a light. outside stood strom, in the act of throwing a noose over the rafters. "what do you want here?" he said fiercely. "can i never get any peace from you?" "why do you want to lay hands on yourself?" asked pelle quietly. "there's a woman and a little child sitting there, and she's forever and forever crying in my ear. i can't stand it any longer!" answered strom, knotting his rope. "think of the little child, then!" said pelle firmly, and he tore down the rope. strom submitted to be led back into his room, and he crawled into bed. but pelle must stay with him; he dared not put out the light and lie alone in the darkness. "is it the devils?" asked pelle. "what devils?" strom knew nothing of any devils. "no, it's remorse," he replied. "the child and its mother are continually complaining of my faithlessness." but next moment he would spring out of bed and stand there whistling as though he was coaxing a dog. with a sudden grip he seized something by the throat, opened the window, and threw it out. "so, that was it!" he said, relieved; "now there's none of the devil's brood left!" he reached after the bottle of brandy. "leave it alone!" said pelle, and he took the bottle away from him. his will increased in strength at the sight of the other's misery. strom crept into bed again. he lay there tossing to and fro, and his teeth chattered. "if i could only have a mouthful!" he said pleadingly; "what harm can that do me? it's the only thing that helps me! why should a man always torment himself and play the respectable when he can buy peace for his soul so cheaply? give me a mouthful!" pelle passed him the bottle. "you should take one yourself--it sets a man up! do you think i can't see that you've suffered shipwreck, too? the poor man goes aground so easily, he has so little water under the keel. and who d'you think will help him to get off again if he's betrayed his own best friend? take a swallow, then--it wakes the devil in us and gives us courage to live." no, pelle wanted to go to bed. "why do you want to go now? stay here, it is so comfortable. if you could, tell me about something, something that'll drive that damned noise out of my ears for a bit! there's a young woman and a little child, and they're always crying in my ears." pelle stayed, and tried to distract the diver. he looked into his own empty soul, and he could find nothing there; so he told the man of father lasse and of their life at stone farm, with everything mixed up just as it occurred to him. but his memories rose up within him as he spoke of them, and they gazed at him so mournfully that they awakened his crippled soul to life. suddenly he felt utterly wretched about himself, and he broke down helplessly. "now, now!" said strom, raising his head. "is it your turn now? have you, too, something wicked to repent of, or what is it?" "i don't know." "you don't know? that's almost like the women--crying is one of their pleasures. but strom doesn't hang his head; he would like to be at peace with himself, if it weren't for a pair of child's eyes that look at him so reproachfully, day in and day out, and the crying of a girl! they're both at home there in sweden, wringing their hands for their daily bread. and the one that should provide for them is away from them here and throws away his earnings in the beer-houses. but perhaps they're dead now because i've forsaken them. look you, that is a real grief; there's no child's talk about that! but you must take a drink for it." but pelle did not hear; he sat there gazing blindly in front of him. all at once the chair began to sail through air with him; he was almost fainting with hunger. "give me just one drink--i've had not a mouthful of food to-day!" he smiled a shamefaced smile at the confession. with one leap, strom was out of bed. "no, then you shall have something to eat," he said eagerly, and he fetched some food. "did one ever see the like--such a desperate devil! to take brandy on an empty stomach! eat now, and then you can drink yourself full elsewhere! strom has enough on his conscience without that.... he can drink his brandy himself! well, well, then, so you cried from hunger! it sounded like a child crying to me!" pelle often experienced such nights. they enlarged his world in the direction of the darkness. when he came home late and groped his way across the landing he always experienced a secret terror lest he should rub against strom's lifeless body; and he only breathed freely when he heard him snoring or ramping round his room. he liked to look in on him before he went to bed. strom was always delighted to see him, and gave him food; but brandy he would not give him. "it's not for fellows as young as you! you'll get the taste for it early enough, perhaps." "you drink, yourself," said pelle obstinately. "yes, i drink to deaden remorse. but that's not necessary in your case." "i'm so empty inside," said pelle. "really brandy might set me up a little. i feel as if i weren't human at all, but a dead thing, a table, for instance." "you must do something--anything--or you'll become a good-for- nothing. i've seen so many of our sort go to the dogs; we haven't enough power of resistance!" "it's all the same to me what becomes of me!" replied pelle drowsily. "i'm sick of the whole thing!" xxiii it was sunday, and pelle felt a longing for something unaccustomed. at first he went out to see jens, but the young couple had had a dispute and had come to blows. the girl had let the frying-pan containing the dinner fall into the fire, and jens had given her a box on the ears. she was still white and poorly after her miscarriage. now they were sitting each in a corner, sulking like children. they were both penitent, but neither would say the first word. pelle succeeded in reconciling them, and they wanted him to stay for dinner. "we've still got potatoes and salt, and i can borrow a drop of brandy from a neighbor!" but pelle went; he could not watch them hanging on one another's necks, half weeping, and kissing and babbling, and eternally asking pardon of one another. so he went out to due's. they had removed to an old merchant's house where there was room for due's horses. they seemed to be getting on well. it was said that the old consul took an interest in them and helped them on. pelle never went into the house, but looked up due in the stable, and if he was not at home pelle would go away again. anna did not treat him as though he was welcome. due himself greeted him cordially. if he had no rounds to make he used to hang about the stable and potter round the horses; he did not care about being in the house. pelle gave him a hand, cutting chaff for him, or helping in anything that came to hand, and then they would go into the house together. due was at once another man if he had pelle behind him; he was more decided in his behavior. anna was gradually and increasingly getting the upper hand over him. she was just as decided as ever, and kept the house in good order. she no longer had little marie with her. she dressed her own two children well, and sent them to a school for young children, and she paid for their attendance. she was delightful to look at, and understood how to dress herself, but she would hear nothing good of any one else. pelle was not smart enough for her; she turned up her nose at his every-day clothes, and in order to make him feel uncomfortable she was always talking about alfred's engagement to merchant lau's daughter. this was a fine match for him. "_he_ doesn't loaf about and sleep his time away, and sniff at other people's doors in order to get their plate of food," she said. pelle only laughed; nothing made any particular impression on him nowadays. the children ran about, wearying themselves in their fine clothes --they must not play with the poor children out-of-doors, and must not make themselves dirty. "oh, play with us for a bit, uncle pelle!" they would say, hanging on to him. "aren't you our uncle too? mother says you aren't our uncle. she's always wanting us to call the consul uncle, but we just run away. his nose is so horribly red." "does the consul come to see you, then?" asked pelle. "yes, he often comes--he's here now!" pelle peeped into the yard. the pretty wagon had been taken out. "father's gone out," said the children. then he slipped home again. he stole a scrap of bread and a drop of brandy from strom, who was not at home, and threw himself on his bed. as the darkness came on he strolled out and lounged, freezing, about the street corners. he had a vague desire to do something. well-dressed people were promenading up and down the street, and many of his acquaintances were there, taking their girls for a walk; he avoided having to greet them, and to listen to whispered remarks and laughter at his expense. lethargic as he was, he still had the acute sense of hearing that dated from the time of his disgrace at the town hall. people enjoyed finding something to say when he passed them; their laughter still had the effect of making his knees begin to jerk with a nervous movement, like the quickly-suppressed commencement of a flight. he slipped into a side-street; he had buttoned his thin jacket tightly about him, and turned up his collar. in the half-darkness of the doorways stood young men and girls, in familiar, whispered conversation. warmth radiated from the girls, and their bibbed aprons shone in the darkness. pelle crept along in the cold, and knew less than ever what to do with himself; he ranged about to find a sweetheart for himself. in the market he met alfred, arm-in-arm with lau's daughter. he carried a smart walking-stick, and wore brown gloves and a tall hat. "the scamp--he still owes me two and a half kroner, and i shall never get it out of him!" thought pelle, and for a moment he felt a real desire to spring upon him and to roll all his finery in the mud. alfred turned his head the other way. "he only knows me when he wants to do something and has no money!" said pelle bitterly. he ran down the street at a jog-trot, in order to keep himself warm, turning his eyes toward the windows. the bookbinder and his wife were sitting at home, singing pious songs. the man drank when at home; that one could see plainly on the blind. at the wool-merchant's they were having supper. farther on, at the sow's, there was life, as always. a mist of tobacco smoke and a great deal of noise were escaping through the open window. the sow kept a house for idle seamen, and made a great deal of money. pelle had often been invited to visit her, but had always considered himself too good; moreover, he could not bear rud. but this evening he seized greedily upon the memory of this invitation, and went in. perhaps a mouthful of food would come his way. at a round table sat a few tipsy seamen, shouting at one another, and making a deafening row. the sow sat on a young fellow's knee; she lay half over the table and dabbled her fingers in a puddle of spilt beer; from time to time she shouted right in the face of those who were making the most noise. the last few years had not reduced her circumference. "now look at that! is that you, pelle?" she said, and she stood up to give him her hand. she was not quite sober, and had some difficulty in taking his. "that's nice of you to come, now--i really thought we weren't good enough for you! now, sit down and have a drop; it won't cost you anything." she motioned to him to take a seat. the sailors were out of humor; they sat staring sleepily at pelle. their heavy heads wagged helplessly. "that's surely a new customer?" asked one, and the others laughed. the sow laughed too, but all at once became serious. "then you can leave him out of your games, for he's far too good to be dragged into anything; one knows what you are!" she sank into a chair next to pelle, and sat looking at him, while she rubbed her own greasy countenance. "how tall and fine you've grown--but you aren't well-off for clothes! and you don't look to be overfed.... ah, i've known you from the time when you and your father came into the country; a little fellow you were then, and lasse brought me my mother's hymn-book!" she was suddenly silent, and her eyes filled with tears. one of the sailors whispered to the rest, and they began to laugh. "stop laughing, you swine!" she cried angrily, and she crossed over to them. "you aren't going to play any of your nonsense with him--he comes like a memory of the times when i was respectable, too. his father is the only creature living who can prove that i was once a pretty, innocent little maid, who got into bad company. he's had me on his lap and sung lullabies to me." she looked about her defiantly, and her red face quivered. "didn't you weigh as much then as you do now?" asked one of the men, and embraced her. "don't play the fool with the little thing!" cried another. "don't you see she's crying? take her on your lap and sing her a lullaby-- then she'll believe you are lasse-basse!" raging, she snatched up a bottle. "will you hold your tongue with your jeering? or you'll get this on the head!" her greasy features seemed to run together in her excitement. they let her be, and she sat there sobbing, her hands before her face. "is your father still alive?" she asked. "then give him my respects--just say the sow sends her respects--you can safely call me the sow!--and tell him he's the only person in the world i have to thank for anything. he thought well of me, and he brought me the news of mother's death." pelle sat there listening with constraint to her tearful speech, with an empty smile. he had knives in his bowels, he was so empty, and the beer was going to his head. he remembered all the details of stone farm, where he had first seen and heard the sow, just as father lasse had recalled her home and her childhood to her. but he did not connect any further ideas with that meeting; it was a long time ago, and--"isn't she going to give me anything to eat?" he thought, and listened unsympathetically to her heavy breathing. the sailors sat looking at her constrainedly; a solemn silence lay on their mist-wreathed faces; they were like drunken men standing about a grave. "give over washing the decks now--and get us something to drink!" an old fellow said suddenly. "each of us knows what it is to have times of childish innocence come back to him, and i say it's a jolly fine thing when they will peep through the door at old devils like us! but let the water stop overboard now, i say! the more one scours an old barge the more damage comes to light! so, give us something to drink now, and then the cards, ma'am!" she stood up and gave them what they asked for; she had mastered her emotion, but her legs were still heavy. "that's right--and then we've got a sort of idea that to-day is sunday! show us your skill, ma'am, quick!" "but that costs a krone, you know!" she said, laughing. they collected the money and she went behind the bar and undressed. she reappeared in her chemise, with a burning candle in her hand.... pelle slipped out. he was quite dizzy with hunger and a dull feeling of shame. he strolled on at random, not knowing what he did. he had only one feeling--that everything in the world was indifferent to him, whatever happened--whether he went on living in laborious honesty, or defiled himself with drinking, or perished--it was all one to him! what was the good of it all? no one cared what happened to him--not even he himself. not a human soul would miss him if he went to the dogs--but yes, there was lasse, father lasse! but as for going home now and allowing them to see him in all his wretchedness --when they had expected such unreasonable things of him--no, he could not do it! the last remnants of shame protested against it. and to work--what at? his dream was dead. he stood there with a vague feeling that he had come to the very edge of the abyss, which is so ominous to those in the depths. year in, year out, he had kept himself by his never-flagging exertions, and with the demented idea that he was mounting upward. and now he stood very near the lowest depth of life--the very bottom. and he was so tired. why not let himself sink yet a little further; why not let destiny run its course? there would be a seductive repose in the acts, after his crazy struggle against the superior powers. the sound of a hymn aroused him slightly. he had come down a side-street, and right in front of him stood a wide, lofty building, with the gable facing the street and a cross on the point of the gable. hundreds of voices had sought, in the course of the years, to entice him hither; but in his arrogance he had had no use for spiritual things. what was there here for a smart youngster? and now he was stranded outside! and now he felt a longing for a little care, and he had a feeling that a hand had led him hither. the hall was quite filled with poor families. they were packed amazingly close together on the benches, each family by itself; the men, as a rule, were asleep, and the women had all they could do to quiet their children, and to make them sit politely with their legs sticking out in front of them. these were people who had come to enjoy a little light and warmth, free of cost, in the midst of their desolate lives; on sundays, at least, they thought, they could ask for a little of these things. they were the very poorest of the poor, and they sought refuge here, where they would not be persecuted, and where they were promised their part in the millennium. pelle knew them all, both those whom he had seen before and those others, who wore the same expression, as of people drowned in the ocean of life. he soon found himself cozily settled among all these dishevelled nestlings, whom the pitiless wind had driven oversea, and who were now washed ashore by the waves. a tall man with a full beard and a pair of good child-like eyes stood up among the benches, beating the time of a hymn--he was dam, the smith. he led the singing, and as he stood there he bent his knees in time, and they all sang with him, with tremulous voices, each in his own key, of that which had passed over them. the notes forced their way through the parched, worn throats, cowering, as though afraid, now that they had flown into the light. hesitatingly they unfurled their fragile, gauzy wings, and floated out into the room, up from the quivering lips. and under the roof they met with their hundreds of sisters, and their defilement fell from them. they became a jubilation, loud and splendid, over some unknown treasure, over the kingdom of happiness, that was close at hand. to pelle it seemed that the air must be full of butterflies winged with sunshine: "o blessed, blessed shall we be when we, from care and mis'ry free, the splendor of thy kingdom see, and with our saviour come to thee!" "mother, i'm hungry!" said a child's voice, as the hymn was followed by silence. the mother, herself emaciated, silenced the child with a shocked expression, and looked wonderingly about her. what a stupid idea of the child's! "you've just had your food!" she said loudly, as though she had been comfortably off. but the child went on crying: "mother, i'm so hungry!" then baker jorgen's soren came by, and gave the child a roll. he had a whole basket full of bread. "are there any more children who are hungry?" he asked aloud. he looked easily in people's faces, and was quite another creature to what he was at home; here no one laughed at him, and no one whispered that he was the brother of his own son. an old white-bearded man mounted the pulpit at the back of the hall. "that's him," was whispered in every direction, and they all hastened to clear their throats by coughing, and to induce the children to empty their mouths of food. he took the cry of the little one as his text: "mother, i am so hungry!" that was the voice of the world--that great, terrible cry--put into the mouth of a child. he saw no one there who had not writhed at the sound of that cry on the lips of his own flesh and blood--no one who, lest he should hear it again, had not sought to secure bread during his lifetime--no one who had not been beaten back. but they did not see god's hand when that hand, in its loving-kindness, changed that mere hunger for bread into a hunger for happiness. they were the poor, and the poor are god's chosen people. for that reason they must wander in the desert, and must blindly ask: "where is the promised land?" but the gleam of which the faithful followed was not earthly happiness! god himself led them to and fro until their hunger was purged and became the true hunger--the hunger of the soul for eternal happiness! they did not understand much of what he said; but his words set free something within them, so that they engaged in lively conversation over everyday things. but suddenly the buzz of conversation was silenced; a little hunchbacked man had clambered up on a bench and was looking them over with glittering eyes. this was sort, the traveling shoemaker from the outer suburb. "we want to be glad and merry," he said, assuming a droll expression; "god's children are always glad, however much evil they have to fight against, and they can meet with no misfortune--god is joy!" he began to laugh, as boisterously as a child, and they all laughed with him; one infected the next. they could not control themselves; it was as though an immense merriment had overwhelmed them all. the little children looked at the grown-ups and laughed, till their little throats began to cough with laughing. "he's a proper clown!" said the men to their wives, their own faces broad with laughter, "but he's got a good heart!" on the bench next to pelle sat a silent family, a man and wife and three children, who breathed politely through their raw little noses. the parents were little people, and there was a kind of inward deftness about them, as though they were continually striving to make themselves yet smaller. pelle knew them a little, and entered into conversation with them. the man was a clay-worker, and they lived in one of the miserable huts near the "great power's" home. "yes, that is true--that about happiness," said the wife. "once we too used to dream of getting on in the world a little, so that we might be sure of our livelihood; and we scraped a little money together, that some good people lent us, and we set up in a little shop, and i kept it while father went to work. but it wouldn't answer; no one supported us, and we got poorer goods because we were poor, and who cares about dealing with very poor people? we had to give it up, and we were deeply in debt, and we're still having to pay it off--fifty ore every week, and there we shall be as long as we live, for the interest is always mounting up. but we are honorable people, thank god!" she concluded. the man took no part in the conversation. her last remark was perhaps evoked by a man who had quietly entered the hall, and was now crouching on a bench in the background; for he was not an honorable man. he had lived on a convict's bread and water; he was "thieving jacob," who about ten years earlier had smashed in the window of master jeppe's best room and had stolen a pair of patent-leather shoes for his wife. he had heard of a rich man who had given his betrothed such a pair of shoes, and he wanted to see what it was like, just for once, to give a really fine present--a present worth as much as one would earn in two weeks. this he had explained before the court. "numbskull!" said jeppe always, when the conversation touched upon jacob; "for such a miserable louse suddenly to get a swollen head, to want to make big presents! and if it had been for his young woman even--but for his wife! no, he paid the penalty to the very last day--in spite of andres." yes, he certainly had to pay the penalty! even here no one would sit next to him! pelle looked at him and wondered that his own offence should be so little regarded. the remembrance of it now only lay in people's eyes when they spoke to him. but at this moment smith dam went and sat next to thieving jacob, and they sat hand-in-hand and whispered. and over yonder sat some one who nodded to pelle--in such a friendly manner; it was the woman of the dancing-shoes; her young man had left her, and now she was stranded here--her dancing days were over. yet she was grateful to pelle; the sight of him had recalled delightful memories; one could see that by the expression of her eyes and mouth. pelle's own temper was softened as he sat there. something melted within him; a quiet and humble feeling of happiness came over him. there was still one human being who believed herself in pelle's debt, although everything had gone wrong for her. as the meeting was breaking up, at half-past nine, she was standing in the street, in conversation with another woman. she came up to pelle, giving him her hand. "shall we walk a little way together?" she asked him. she evidently knew of his circumstances; he read compassion in her glance. "come with me," she said, as their ways parted. "i have a scrap of sausage that's got to be eaten. and we are both of us lonely." hesitatingly he went with her, a little hostile, for the occasion was new and unfamiliar. but once he was seated in her little room he felt thoroughly at ease. her white, dainty bed stood against the wall. she went to and fro about the room, cooking the sausage at the stove, while she opened her heart to him, unabashed. it isn't everybody would take things so easily! thought pelle, and he watched her moving figure quite happily. they had a cheerful meal, and pelle wanted to embrace her in his gratitude, but she pushed his hands away. "you can keep that for another time!" she said, laughing. "i'm a poor old widow, and you are nothing but a child. if you want to give me pleasure, why, just settle down and come to yourself again. it isn't right that you should be just loafing about and idling, and you so young and such a nice boy. and now go home, for i must get up early to-morrow and go to my work." pelle visited her almost every evening. she had a disagreeable habit of shaking him out of his slumber, but her simple and unchanging manner of accepting and enduring everything was invigorating. now and again she found a little work for him, and was always delighted when she could share her poor meal with him. "any one like myself feels a need of seeing a man-body at the table-end once in a while," she said. "but hands off--you don't owe me anything!" she criticized his clothes. "they'll all fall off your body soon-- why don't you put on something else and let me see to them?" "i have nothing but these," said pelle, ashamed. on saturday evening he had to take off his rags, and creep, mother- naked, into her bed. she would take no refusal, and she took shirt and all, and put them into a bucket of water. it took her half the night to clean everything. pelle lay in bed watching her, the coverlet up to his chin. he felt very strange. as for her, she hung the whole wash to dry over the stove, and made herself a bed on a couple of chairs. when he woke up in the middle of the morning she was sitting by the window mending his clothes. "but what sort of a night did you have?" asked pelle, a trifle concerned. "excellent! do you know what i've thought of this morning? you ought to give up your room and stay here until you are on your feet again --you've had a good rest--for once," she smiled teasingly. "that room is an unnecessary expense. as you see, there's room here for two." but pelle would not agree. he would not hear of being supported by a woman. "then people will believe that there's something wrong between us--and make a scandal of it," he said. "let them then!" she answered, with her gay laugh. "if i've a good conscience it's indifferent to me what others think." while she was talking she was working diligently at his linen, and she threw one article after another at his head. then she ironed his suit. "now you're quite a swell again!" she said, when he stood up dressed once more, and she looked at him affectionately. "it's as though you had become a new creature. if i were only ten or fifteen years younger i'd be glad to go down the street on your arm. but you shall give me a kiss--i've put you to rights again, as if you were my own child." she kissed him heartily and turned about to the stove. "and now i've got no better advice than that we have some cold dinner together and then go our ways," she said, with her back still turned. "all my firing has been used overnight to dry your things, and you can't stay here in the cold. i think i can pay a visit somewhere or other, and so the day will pass; and you can find some corner to put yourself in.' "it's all the same to me where i am," said pelle indifferently. she looked at him with a peculiar smile. "are you really always going to be a loafer?" she said. "you men are extraordinary creatures! if anything at all goes wrong with you, you must start drinking right away, or plunge yourself into unhappiness in some other way--you are no better than babies! we must work quietly on, however things go with us!" she stood there hesitating in her hat and cloak. "here's five-and-twenty ore," she said; "that's just for a cup of coffee to warm you!" pelle would not accept it. "what do i want with your money?" he said. "keep it yourself!" "take it, do! i know it's only a little, but i have no more, and there's no need for us to be ashamed of being helped by one another." she put the coin in his jacket pocket and hurried off. pelle strolled out to the woods. he did not feel inclined to go home, to resume the aimless battle with strom. he wandered along the deserted paths, and experienced a feeble sense of well-being when he noticed that the spring was really coming. the snow was still lying beneath the old moss-gray pinetrees, but the toadstools were already thrusting their heads up through the pine-needles, and one had a feeling, when walking over the ground, as though one trod upon rising dough. he found himself pondering over his own affairs, and all of a sudden he awoke out of his half-slumber. something had just occurred to him, something cozy and intimate--why, yes, it was the thought that he might go to marie and set up for himself, like jens and his girl. he could get hold of a few lasts and sit at home and work ... he could scrape along for a bit, until better times came. she earned something too, and she was generous. but when he thought over the matter seriously it assumed a less pleasant aspect. he had already sufficiently abused her poverty and her goodness of heart. he had taken her last scrap of firing, so that she was now forced to go out in order to get a little warmth and some supper. the idea oppressed him. now that his eyes were opened he could not escape this feeling of shame. it went home and to bed with him, and behind all her goodness he felt her contempt for him, because he did not overcome his misery by means of work, like a respectable fellow. on the following morning he was up early, and applied for work down at the harbor. he did not see the necessity of work in the abstract, but he would not be indebted to a woman. on sunday evening he would repay her outlay over him and his clothes. xxiv pelle stood on the floor of the basin, loading broken stone into the tip-wagons. when a wagon was full he and his comrade pushed it up to the head of the track, and came gliding back hanging to the empty wagons. now and again the others let fall their tools, and looked across to where he stood; he was really working well for a cobbler! and he had a fine grip when it came to lifting the stone. when he had to load a great mass of rock into the wagon, he would lift it first to his knee, then he would let out an oath and put his whole body into it; he would wipe the sweat from his forehead and take a dram of brandy or a drop of beer. he was as good as any of the other men! he did not bother himself with ideas; two and two might make five for all he cared; work and fatigue were enough for him. hard work had made his body supple and filled him with a sense of sheer animal well-being. "will my beer last out the afternoon to-day?" he would wonder; beyond that nothing mattered. the future did not exist, nor yet the painful feeling that it did not exist; there was no remorse in him for what he had lost, or what he had neglected; hard work swallowed up everything else. there was only this stone that had to be removed--and then the next! this wagon which had to be filled-- and then the next! if the stone would not move at the first heave he clenched his teeth; he was as though possessed by his work. "he's still fresh to harness," said the others; "he'll soon knock his horns off!" but pelle wanted to show his strength; that was his only ambition. his mate let him work away in peace and did not fatigue himself. from time to time he praised pelle, in order to keep his steam up. this work down at the harbor was the hardest and lowest kind of labor; any one could get taken on for it without previous qualifications. most of pelle's comrades were men who had done with the world, who now let themselves go as the stream carried them, and he felt at ease among them. he stood on the solid ground, and no words had power to call the dead past to life; it had power to haunt only an empty brain. an iron curtain hung before the future; happiness lay here to his hand; the day's fatigue could straightway be banished by joyous drinking. his free time he spent with his companions. they led an unsettled, roving life; the rumor that extensive works were to be carried out had enticed them hither. most were unmarried; a few had wives and children somewhere, but held their tongues about them, or no longer remembered their existence, unless reminded by something outside themselves. they had no proper lodgings, but slept in carrier koller's forsaken barn, which was close to the harbor. they never undressed, but slept in the straw, and washed in a bucket of water that was seldom changed; their usual diet consisted of stale bread, and eggs, which they grilled over a fire made between two stones. the life pleased pelle, and he liked the society. on sundays they ate and drank alternately, all day long, and lay in the smoke-filled barn; burrowing deep into the straw, they told stories, tragic stories of youngest sons who seized an axe and killed their father and mother, and all their brothers and sisters, because they thought they were being cheated of their share of their inheritance! of children who attended confirmation class, and gave way to love, and had children themselves, and were beheaded for what they did! and of wives who did not wish to bring into the world the children it was their duty to bear, and whose wombs were closed as punishment! since pelle had begun to work here he had never been out to see marie nielsen. "she's making a fool of you," said the others, to whom he had spoken of marie; "she's playing the respectable so that you shall bite. women have always got second thoughts--it's safest to be on the lookout. they and these young widows would rather take two than one--they're the worst of all. a man must be a sturdy devil to be able to stand up against them." but pelle was a man, and would allow no woman to lead him by the nose. either you were good friends and no fuss about it, or nothing. he'd tell her that on saturday, and throw ten kroner on the table-- then they would sure enough be quits! and if she made difficulties she'd get one over the mouth! he could not forgive her for using all her firing, and having to pass sunday in the street; the remembrance would not leave him, and it burned like an angry spark. she wanted to make herself out a martyr. one day, about noon, pelle was standing among the miners on the floor of the basin; emil and he had just come from the shed, where they had swallowed a few mouthfuls of dinner. they had given up their midday sleep in order to witness the firing of a big blast during the midday pause when the harbor would be empty. the whole space was cleared, and the people in the adjacent houses had opened their windows so that they should not be shattered by the force of the explosion. the fuse was lit, and the men took shelter behind the caissons, and stood there chatting while they waited for the explosion. the "great power" was there too. he was always in the neighborhood; he would stand and stare at the workers with his apathetic expression, without taking part in anything. they took no notice of him, but let him move about as he pleased. "take better cover, pelle," said emil; "it's going off directly!" "where are olsen and strom?" said some one suddenly. the men looked at one another bewildered. "they'll be taking their midday sleep," said emil. "they've been drinking something chronic this morning." "where are they sleeping?" roared the foreman, and he sprang from his cover. they all had a foreboding, but no one wanted to say. it flashed across them that they must do something. but no one stirred. "lord jesus!" said bergendal, and he struck his fist against the stone wall. "lord jesus!" the "great power" sprang from his shelter and ran along the side of the basin, taking long leaps from one mass of rock to the next, his mighty wooden shoes clattering as he went. "he's going to tear the fuse away!" cried bergendal. "he'll never reach it--it must be burnt in!" there was a sound as of a cry of distress, far above the heads of those who heard it. they breathlessly followed the movements of the "great power"; they had come completely out of shelter. in pelle an irrational impulse sprang into being. he made a leap forward, but was seized by the scruff of the neck. "one is enough," said bergendal, and he threw him back. now the "great power" had reached the goal. his hand was stretched out to seize the fuse. suddenly he was hurled away from the fuse, as though by an invisible hand, and was swept upward and backward through the air, gently, like a human balloon, and fell on his back. then the roar of the explosion drowned everything. when the last fragments had fallen the men ran forward. the "great power" lay stretched upon his back, looking quietly up at the sky. the corners of his mouth were a little bloody and the blood trickled from a hole behind the ear. the two drunken men were scathless. they rose to their feet, bewildered, a few paces beyond the site of the explosion. the "great power" was borne into the shed, and while the doctor was sent for emil tore a strip from his blouse, and soaked it in brandy, and laid it behind the ear. the "great power" opened his eyes and looked about him. his glance was so intelligent that every one knew that he had not long to live. "it smells of brandy here," he said. "who will stand me a drop?" emil reached him the bottle, and he emptied it. "it tastes good," he said easily. "now i haven't touched brandy for i don't know how long, but what was the good? the poor man must drink brandy, or he's good for nothing; it is no joke being a poor man! there is no other salvation for him; that you have seen by strom and olsen--drunken men never come to any harm. have they come to any harm?" he tried to raise his head. strom stepped forward. "here we are," he said, his voice stifled with emotion. "but i'd give a good dead to have had us both blown to hell instead of this happening. none of us has wished you any good!" he held out his hand. but the "great power" could not raise his; he lay there, staring up through the holes in the thatched roof. "it has been hard enough, certainly, to belong to the poor," he said, "and it's a good thing it's all over. but you owe me no thanks. why should i leave you in the lurch and take everything for myself--would that be like the 'great power'? of course, the plan was mine! but could i have carried it out alone? no, money does everything. you've fairly deserved it! the 'great power' doesn't want to have more than any one else--where we have all done an equal amount of work." he raised his hand, painfully, and made a magnanimous gesture. "there--he believes he's the engineer of the harbor works!" said strom. "he's wandering. wouldn't a cold application do him good?" emil took the bucket in order to fetch fresh water. the "great power" lay with closed eyes and a faint smile on his face; he was like a blind man who is listening. "do you understand," he said, without opening his eyes, "how we have labored and labored, and yet have been barely able to earn our daily bread? the big people sat there and ate up everything that we could produce; when we laid down our tools and wanted to still our hunger there was nothing. they stole our thoughts, and if we had a pretty sweetheart or a young daughter they could do with her too--they didn't disdain our cripple even. but now that's done with, and we will rejoice that we have lived to see it; it might have gone on for a long time. mother wouldn't believe what i told her at all--that the bad days would soon be over. but now just see! don't i get just as much for my work as the doctor for his? can't i keep my wife and daughter neat and have books and get myself a piano, just as he can? isn't it a great thing to perform manual labor too? karen has piano lessons now, just as i've always wished, for she's weakly and can't stand any hard work. you should just come home with me and hear her play--she does it so easily too! poor people's children have talent too, it's just that no one notices it." "god, how he talks!" said strom, crying. "it's almost as if he had the delirium." pelle bent down over the "great power." "now you must be good and be quiet," he said, and laid something wet on his forehead. the blood was trickling rapidly from behind his ear. "let him talk," said olsen. "he hasn't spoken a word for months now; he must feel the need to clear his mind this once. it'll be long before he speaks again, too!" now the "great power" was only weakly moving his lips. his life was slowly bleeding away. "have you got wet, little karen?" he murmured. "ah, well, it'll dry again! and now it's all well with you, now you can't complain. is it fine to be a young lady? only tell me everything you want. why be modest? we've been that long enough! gloves for the work-worn fingers, yes, yes. but you must play something for me too. play that lovely song: 'on the joyful journey through the lands of earth....' that about the eternal kingdom!" gently he began to hum it; he could no longer keep time by moving his head, but he blinked his eyes in time; and now his humming broke out into words. something irresistibly impelled the others to sing in concert with him; perhaps the fact that it was a religious song. pelle led them with his clear young voice; and it was he who best knew the words by heart. "fair, fair is earth, and glorious heaven; fair is the spirit's journey long; through all the lovely earthly kingdoms, go we to paradise with song." the "great power" sang with increasing strength, as though he would outsing pelle. one of his feet was moving now, beating the time of the song. he lay with closed eyes, blindly rocking his head in time with the voices, like one who, at a drunken orgy, must put in his last word before he slips under the table. the saliva was running from the corners of his mouth. "the years they come, the years they go and down the road to death we throng, but ever sound the strains from heaven-- the spirit's joyful pilgrim song!" the "great power" ceased; his head drooped to one side, and at the same moment the others ceased to sing. they sat in the straw and gazed at him--his last words still rang in their ears, like a crazy dream, which mingled oddly with the victorious notes of the hymn. they were all sensible of the silent accusation of the dead, and in the solemnity of the moment they judged and condemned themselves. "yes, who knows what we might come to!" said one ragged fellow, thoughtfully chewing a length of straw. "i shall never do any good," said emil dejectedly. "with me it's always been from bad to worse. i was apprenticed, and when i became a journeyman they gave me the sack; i had wasted five years of my life and couldn't do a thing. pelle--he'll get on all right." astonished, pelle raised his head and gazed at emil uncomprehendingly. "what use is it if a poor devil tries to make his way up? he'll always be pushed down again!" said olsen. "just look at the 'great power'; could any one have had a better claim than he? no, the big folks don't allow us others to make our way up!" "and have we allowed it ourselves?" muttered strom. "we are always uneasy if one of our own people wants to fly over our heads!" "i don't understand why all the poor folk don't make a stand together against the others," said bergendal. "we suffer the same wrongs. if we all acted together, and had nothing to do with them that mean us harm, for instance, then it would soon be seen that collective poverty is what makes the wealth of the others. and i've heard that that's what they're doing elsewhere." "but we shall never in this life be unanimous about anything whatever," said an old stonemason sadly. "if one of the gentlemen only scratches our neck a bit, then we all grovel at his feet, and let ourselves be set on to one of our own chaps. if we were all like the 'great power,' then things might have turned out different." they were silent again; they sat there and gazed at the dead man; there was something apologetic in the bearing of each and all. "yes, that comes late!" said strom, with a sigh. then he felt in the straw and pulled out a bottle. some of the men still sat there, trying to put into words something that ought perhaps to be said; but then came the doctor, and they drew in their horns. they picked up their beer-cans and went out to their work. silently pelle gathered his possessions together and went to the foreman. he asked for his wages. "that's sudden," said the foreman. "you were getting on so well just now. what do you want to do now?" "i just want my wages," rejoined pelle. what more he wanted, he himself did not know. and then he went home and put his room in order. it was like a pigsty; he could not understand how he could have endured such untidiness. in the meantime he thought listlessly of some way of escape. it had been very convenient to belong to the dregs of society, and to know that he could not sink any deeper; but perhaps there were still other possibilities. emil had said a stupid thing--what did he mean by it? "pelle, he'll get on all right!" well, what did emil know of the misery of others? he had enough of his own. he went down into the street in order to buy a little milk; then he would go back and sleep. he felt a longing to deaden all the thoughts that once more began to seethe in his head. down in the street he ran into the arms of sort, the wandering shoemaker. "now we've got you!" cried sort. "i was just coming here and wondering how best i could get to speak with you. i wanted to tell you that i begin my travelling to-morrow. will you come with me? it is a splendid life, to be making the round of the farms now in the spring-time; and you'll go to the dogs if you stay here. now you know all about it and you can decide. i start at six o'clock! i can't put it off any later!" sort had observed pelle that evening at the prayer-meeting, and on several occasions had spoken to him in the hope of arousing him. "he can put off his travels for a fortnight as far as i'm concerned!" thought pelle, with a touch of self-esteem. he wouldn't go! to go begging for work from farm to farm! pelle had learned his craft in the workshop, and looked down with contempt upon the travelling cobbler, who lives from hand to mouth and goes from place to place like a beggar, working with leather and waxed-ends provided on the spot, and eating out of the same bowl as the farm servants. so much pride of craft was still left in pelle. since his apprentice days, he had been accustomed to regard sort as a pitiful survival from the past, a species properly belonging to the days of serfdom. "you'll go to the dogs!" sort had said. and all marie melsen's covert allusions had meant the same thing. but what then? perhaps he had already gone to the dogs! suppose there was no other escape than this! but now he would sleep, and think no more of all these things. he drank his bottle of milk and ate some bread with it, and went to bed. he heard the church clock striking--it was midnight, and glorious weather. but pelle wanted to sleep--only to sleep! his heart was like lead. he awoke early next morning and was out of bed with one leap. the sun filled his room, and he himself was filled with a sense of health and well-being. quickly he slipped into his clothes--there was still so much that he wanted to do! he threw up the window, and drank in the spring morning in a breath that filled his body with a sense of profound joy. out at sea the boats were approaching the harbor; the morning sun fell on the slack sails, and made them glow; every boat was laboring heavily forward with the aid of its tiller. he had slept like a stone, from the moment of lying down until now. sleep lay like a gulf between yesterday and to-day. whistling a tune to himself, he packed his belongings and set out upon his way, a little bundle under his arm. he took the direction of the church, in order to see the time. it was still not much past five. then he made for the outermost suburb with vigorous steps, as joyful as though he were treading the road to happiness. xxv two men appeared from the wood and crossed the highroad. one was little and hump-backed; he had a shoemaker's bench strapped tightly on his back; the edge rested on his hump, and a little pillow was thrust between, so that the bench should not chafe him. the other was young and strongly built; a little thin, but healthy and fresh- colored. he carried a great bundle of lasts on his back, which were held in equilibrium by another box, which he carried on his chest, and which, to judge by the sounds that proceeded from it, contained tools. at the edge of the ditch he threw down his burden and unstrapped the bench from the hunchback. they threw themselves down in the grass and gazed up into the blue sky. it was a glorious morning; the birds twittered and flew busily to and fro, and the cattle were feeding in the dewy clover, leaving long streaks behind them as they moved. "and in spite of that, you are always happy?" said pelle. sort had been telling him the sad story of his childhood. "yes, look you, it often vexes me that i take everything so easily-- but what if i can't find anything to be sad about? if i once go into the matter thoroughly, i always hit on something or other that makes me still happier--as, for instance, your society. you are young, and health beams out of your eyes. the girls become so friendly wherever we go, and it's as though i myself were the cause of their pleasure!" "where do you really get your knowledge of everything?" asked pelle. "do you find that i know so much?" sort laughed gaily. "i go about so much, and i see so many different households, some where man and wife are as one, and others where they live like cat and dog. i come into contact with people of every kind. and i get to know a lot, too, because i'm not like other men--more than one maiden has confided her miseries to me. and then in winter, when i sit alone, i think over everything--and the bible is a good book, a book a man can draw wisdom from. there a man learns to look behind things; and if you once realize that everything has its other side, then you learn to use your understanding. you can go behind everything if you want to, and they all lead in the same direction--to god. and they all came from him. he is the connection, do you see; and once a man grasps that, then he is always happy. it would be splendid to follow things up further--right up to where they divide, and then to show, in spite of all, that they finally run together in god again! but that i'm not able to do." "we ought to see about getting on." pelle yawned, and he began to bestir himself. "why? we're so comfortable here--and we've already done what we undertook to do. what if there should be a pair of boots yonder which sort and pelle won't get to sole before they're done with? some one else will get the job!" pelle threw himself on his back and again pulled his cap over his eyes--he was in no hurry. he had now been travelling nearly a month with sort, and had spent almost as much time on the road as sitting at his work. sort could never rest when he had been a few days in one place; he must go on again! he loved the edge of the wood and the edge of the meadow, and could spend half the day there. and pelle had many points of contact with this leisurely life in the open air; he had his whole childhood to draw upon. he could lie for hours, chewing a grass-stem, patient as a convalescent, while sun and air did their work upon him. "why do you never preach to me?" he said suddenly, and he peeped mischievously from tinder his cap. "why should i preach to you? because i am religious? well, so are you; every one who rejoices and is content is religious." "but i'm not at all content!" retorted pelle, and he rolled on his back with all four limbs in the air. "but you--i don't understand why you don't get a congregation; you've got such a power over language." "yes, if i were built as you are--fast enough. but i'm humpbacked!" "what does that matter? you don't want to run after the women!" "no, but one can't get on without them; they bring the men and the children after them. and it's really queer that they should--for women don't bother themselves about god! they haven't the faculty of going behind things. they choose only according to the outside--they want to hang everything on their bodies as finery--and the men too, yes, and the dear god best of all--they've got a use for the lot!" pelle lay still for a time, revolving his scattered experiences. "but marie nielsen wasn't like that," he said thoughtfully. "she'd willingly give the shirt off her body and ask nothing for herself. i've behaved badly to her--i didn't even say goodbye before i came away!" "then you must look her up when we come to town and confess your fault. there was no lovemaking between you?" "she treated me like a child; i've told you." sort was silent a while. "if you would help me, we'd soon get a congregation! i can see it in your eyes, that you've got influence over them, if you only cared about it; for instance, the girl at willow farm. thousands would come to us." pelle did not answer. his thoughts were roaming back wonderingly to willow farm, where sort and he had last been working; he was once more in that cold, damp room with the over-large bed, on which the pale girl's face was almost invisible. she lay there encircling her thick braids with her transparent hand, and gazed at him; and the door was gently closed behind him. "that was really a queer fancy," he said, and he breathed deeply; "some one she'd never laid eyes on before; i could cry now when i think of it." "the old folks had told her we were there, and asked if she wouldn't like me to read something from god's word with her. but she'd rather see you. the father was angry and didn't want to allow it. 'she has never thought about young men before,' he said, 'and she shall stand before the throne of god and the lamb quite pure.' but i said, 'do you know so precisely that the good god cares anything for what you call purity, ole jensen? let the two of them come together, if they can take any joy in it.' then we shut the door behind you--and how was it then?" sort turned toward pelle. "you know," replied pelle crossly. "she just lay there and looked at me as though she was thinking: 'that's what he looks like--and he's come a long way here.' i could see by her eyes that you had spoken of me and that she knew about all my swinishness." sort nodded. "then she held out her hand to me. how like she is to one of god's angels already--i thought--but it's a pity in one who's so young. and then i went close to her and took her hand." "and what then?" sort drew nearer to pelle. his eyes hung expectantly on pelle's lips. "then she stretched out her mouth to me a little--and at that very moment i forgot what sort of a hog i'd been--and i kissed her!" "didn't she say anything to you--not a word?" "she only looked at me with those eyes that you can't understand. then i didn't know what i--what i ought to do next, so i came away." "weren't you afraid that she might transfer death to you?" "no; why should i be? i didn't think about it. but she could never think of a thing like that--so child-like as she was!" they both lay for a time without speaking. "you have something in you that conquers them all!" said sort at length. "if only you would help me--i'd see to the preaching!" pelle stretched himself indolently--he felt no desire to create a new religion. "no, i want to go away and see the world now," he said. "there must be places in that world where they've already begun to go for the rich folks--that's where i want to go!" "one can't achieve good by the aid of evil--you had better stay here! here you know where you are--and if we went together--" "no, there's nothing here for any one to do who is poor--if i go on here any longer, i shall end in the mud again. i want to have my share--even if i have to strike a bloodsucker dead to get it--and that couldn't be any very great sin! but shan't we see about getting on now? we've been a whole month now tramping round these sudland farms. you've always promised me that we should make our way toward the heath. for months now i've heard nothing of father lasse and karna. when things began to go wrong with me, it was as though i had quite forgotten them." sort rose quickly. "good! so you've still thoughts for other things than killing bloodsuckers! how far is it, then, to heath farm?" "a good six miles." "we'll go straight there. i've no wish to begin anything to-day." they packed their possessions on their backs and trudged onward in cheerful gossip. sort pictured their arrival to pelle. "i shall go in first and ask whether they've any old boots or harness that we can mend; and then you'll come in, while we're in the middle of a conversation." pelle laughed. "shan't i carry the bench for you? i can very well strap it on the other things." "you shan't sweat for me as well as yourself!" rejoined sort, laughing. "you'd want to take off even your trousers then." they had chattered enough, and tramped on in silence. pelle stepped forward carelessly, drinking in the fresh air. he was conscious of a superfluity of strength and well-being; otherwise he thought of nothing, but merely rejoiced unconsciously over his visit to his home. at every moment he had to moderate his steps, so that sort should not be left behind. "what are you really thinking about now?" he asked suddenly. he would always have it that sort was thinking of something the moment he fell silent. one could never know beforehand in what region he would crop up next. "that's just what the children ask!" replied sort, laughing. "they always want to know what's inside." "tell me, then--you might as well tell me!" "i was thinking about life. here you walk at my side, strong and certain of victory as the young david. and yet a month ago you were part of the dregs of society!" "yes, that is really queer," said pelle, and he became thoughtful. "but how did you get into such a mess? you could quite well have kept your head above water if you had only wanted to!" "that i really don't know. i tell you, it's as if some one had hit you over the head; and then you run about and don't know what you're doing; and it isn't so bad if you've once got there. you work and drink and bang each other over the head with your beer-cans or bottles--" "you say that so contentedly--you don't look behind things--that's the point! i've seen so many people shipwrecked; for the poor man it's only one little step aside, and he goes to the dogs; and he himself believes he's a devilish fine fellow. but it was a piece of luck that you got out of it all! yes, it's a wonder remorse didn't make your life bitter." "if we felt remorse we had brandy," said pelle, with an experienced air. "that soon drives out everything else." "then it certainly has its good points--it helps a man over the time of waiting!" "do you really believe that an eternal kingdom is coming--the 'thousand-year kingdom'--the millennium? with good times for all, for the poor and the miserable?" sort nodded. "god has promised it, and we must believe his word. something is being prepared over on the mainland, but whether it's the real millennium, i don't know." they tramped along. the road was stony and deserted. on either side the rocky cliffs, with their scrubby growth, were beginning to rise from the fields, and before them ranged the bluish rocky landscape of the heath or moorland. "as soon as we've been home, i shall travel; i must cross the sea and find out what they do really intend there," said pelle. "i have no right to hold you back," answered sort quietly, "but it will be lonely travelling for me. i shall feel as if i'd lost a son. but of course you've got other things to think of than to remember a poor hunchback! the world is open to you. once you've feathered your nest, you'll think no more of little sort!" "i shall think of you, right enough," replied pelle. "and as soon as i'm doing well i shall come back and look out for you--not before. father will be sure to object to my idea of travelling--he would so like me to take over heath farm from him; but there you must back me up. i've no desire to be a farmer." "i'll do that." "now just look at it! nothing but stone upon stone with heather and scrubby bushes in between! that's what heath farm was four years ago --and now it's quite a fine property. that the two of them have done --without any outside help." "you must be built of good timber," said sort. "but what poor fellow is that up on the hill? he's got a great sack on his back and he's walking as if he'd fall down at every step." "that--that is father lasse! hallo!" pelle waved his cap. lasse came stumbling up to them; he dropped his sack and gave them his hand without looking at them. "are you coming this way?" cried pelle joyfully; "we were just going on to look for you!" "you can save yourself the trouble! you've become stingy about using your legs. spare them altogether!" said lasse lifelessly. pelle stared at him. "what's the matter? are you leaving?" "yes, we're leaving!" lasse laughed--a hollow laugh. "leaving--yes! we've left--indeed, we've each of us gone our own way. karna has gone where there's no more care and trouble--and here's lasse, with all that's his!" he struck his foot against the sack, and stood there with face averted from them, his eyes fixed upon the ground. all signs of life had vanished from pelle's face. horrified, he stared at his father, and his lips moved, but he could form no words. "here i must meet my own son by accident in the middle of the empty fields! so often as i've looked for you and asked after you! no one knew anything about you. your own flesh and blood has turned from you, i thought--but i had to tell karna you were ill. she fully expected to see you before she went away. then you must give him my love, she said, and god grant all may go well with him. she thought more about you than many a mother would have done! badly you've repaid it. it's a long time ago since you set foot in our house." still pelle did not speak; he stood there swaying from side to side; every word was like the blow of a club. "you mustn't be too hard on him!" said sort. "he's not to blame--ill as he's been!" "ah, so you too have been through bad times and have got to fight your way, eh? then, as your father, i must truly be the last to blame you." lasse stroked his son's sleeve, and the caress gave pelle pleasure. "cry, too, my son--it eases the mind. in me the tears are dried up long ago. i must see how i can bear my grief; these have become hard times for me, you may well believe. many a night have i sat by karna and been at my wits' end--i could not leave her and go for help, and everything went wrong with us all at the same time. it almost came to my wishing you were ill. you were the one who ought to have had a kindly thought for us, and you could always have sent us news. but there's an end of it all!" "are you going to leave heath farm, father?" asked pelle quietly. "they have taken it away from me," replied lasse wretchedly. "with all these troubles, i couldn't pay the last instalment, and now their patience is at an end. out of sheer compassion they let me stay till karna had fought out her fight and was happily buried in the earth--every one could see it wasn't a matter of many days more." "if it is only the interest," said sort, "i have a few hundred kroner which i've saved up for my old days." "now it's too late; the farm is already taken over by another man. and even if that were not the case--what should i do there without karna? i'm no longer any use!" "we'll go away together, father!" said pelle, raising his head. "no; i go nowhere now except to the churchyard. they have taken my farm away from me, and karna has worked herself to death, and i myself have left what strength i had behind me. and then they took it away from me!" "i will work for us both--you shall be comfortable and enjoy your old days!" pelle saw light in the distance. lasse shook his head. "i can no longer put things away from me--i can no longer leave them behind and go on again!" "i propose that we go into the town," said sort. "up by the church we are sure to find some one who will drive us in." they collected their things and set off. lasse walked behind the others, talking to himself; from time to time he broke out into lamentation. then pelle turned back to him in silence and took his hand. "there is no one to help us and give us good advice. on the contrary, they'd gladly see us lose life and fortune if they could only earn a few shillings on that account. even the authorities won't help the poor man. he's only there so that they can all have a cut at him and then each run off with his booty. what do they care that they bring need and misery and ruin upon us? so long as they get their taxes and their interest! i could stick them all in the throat, in cold blood!" so he continued a while, increasing in bitterness, until he broke down like a little child. xxvi they lived with sort, who had his own little house in the outermost suburb. the little travelling cobbler did not know what to do for them: lasse was so dejected and so aimless. he could not rest; he did not recover; from time to time he broke out into lamentation. he had grown very frail, and could no longer lift his spoon to his mouth without spilling the contents. if they tried to distract him, he became obstinate. "now we must see about fetching your things," they would both say repeatedly. "there is no sense in giving your furniture to the parish." but lasse would not have them sent for. "they've taken everything else from me; they can take that, too," he said. "and i won't go out there again--and let myself be pitied by every one." "but you'll beggar yourself," said sort. "they've done that already. let them have their way. but they'll have to answer for it in the end!" then pelle procured a cart, and drove over himself to fetch them. there was quite a load to bring back. mother bengta's green chest he found upstairs in the attic; it was full of balls of thread. it was so strange to see it again--for many years he had not thought of his mother. "i'll have that for a travelling trunk," he thought, and he took it with him. lasse was standing before the door when he returned. "see, i've brought everything here for you, father!" he cried, lustily cracking his whip. but lasse went in without saying a word. when they had unloaded the cart and went to look for him, he had crawled into bed. there he lay with his face to the wall, and would not speak. pelle told him all sorts of news of heath farm, in order to put a little life into him. "now the parish has sold heath farm to the hill farm man for five thousand kroner, and they say he's got a good bargain. he wants to live there himself and to leave hill farm in his son's hands." lasse half turned his head. "yes, something grows there now. now they are making thousands--and the farmer will do better still," he said bitterly. "but it's well-manured soil. karna overstrained herself and died and left me.... and we went so well in harness together. her thousand kroner went into it, too ... and now i'm a poor wreck. all that was put into the barren, rocky soil, so that it became good and generous soil. and then the farmer buys it, and now he wants to live there--we poor lice have prepared the way for him! what else were we there for? fools we are to excite ourselves so over such a thing! but, how i loved the place!" lasse suddenly burst into tears. "now you must be reasonable and see about becoming cheerful again," said sort. "the bad times for the poor man will soon be over. there is a time coming when no one will need to work himself to death for others, and when every one will reap what he himself has sown. what injury have you suffered? for you are on the right side and have thousands of kroner on which you can draw a bill. it would be still worse if you owed money to others!" "i haven't much more time," said lasse, raising himself on his elbows. "perhaps not, you and i, for those who start on the pilgrimage must die in the desert! but for that reason we are god's chosen people, we poor folk. and pelle, he will surely behold the promised land!" "now you ought to come in, father, and see how we have arranged it," said pelle. lasse stood up wearily and went with them. they had furnished one of sort's empty rooms with lasse's things. it looked quite cozy. "we thought that you would live here until pelle is getting on well 'over there,'" said sort. "no, you don't need to thank me! i'm delighted to think i shall have society, as you may well understand." "the good god will repay it to you," said lasse, with a quavering voice. "we poor folk have no one but him to rely on." pelle could not rest, nor control his thoughts any longer; he must be off! "if you'll give me what the fare comes to, as i've helped you," he told sort, "then i'll start this evening...." sort gave him thirty kroner. "that's the half of what we took. there's not so much owing to me," said pelle. "you are the master and had the tools and everything." "i won't live by the work of other hands--only by that of my own," said sort, and he pushed the money across to pelle. "are you going to travel just as you stand?" "no, i have plenty of money," said pelle gaily. "i've never before possessed so much money all at once! one can get quite a lot of clothes for that." "but you mustn't touch the money! five kroner you'll need for the passage and the like; the rest you must save, so that you can face the future with confidence!" "i shall soon earn plenty of money in copenhagen!" "he has always been a thoughtless lad," said lasse anxiously. "once, when he came into town here to be apprenticed he had five kroner; and as for what he spent them on, he could never give any proper account!" sort laughed. "then i shall travel as i stand!" said pelle resolutely. but that wouldn't do, either! he could not by any means please both--they were like two anxious clucking hens. he had no lack of linen, for lasse had just thought of his own supply. karna had looked after him well. "but it will be very short for your long body. it's not the same now as it was when you left stone farm--then we had to put a tuck in my shirt for you." in the matter of shoes he was not well off. it would never do for a journeyman shoemaker to look for work wearing such shoes as his. sort and pelle must make a pair of respectable boots. "we must leave ourselves time," said sort. "think! they must be able to stand the judgment of the capital!" pelle was impatient, and wanted to get the work quickly out of hand. now there was only the question of a new suit. "then buy it ready made on credit," said sort. "lasse and i will be good enough securities for a suit." in the evening, before he started, he and lasse went out to look up due. they chose the time when they were certain of meeting due himself. they neither of them cared much for anna. as they approached the house they saw an old richly-dressed gentleman go in at the front door. "that is the consul," said pelle, "who has helped them to get on. then due is out with the horses, and we are certainly not welcome." "is it like that with them?" said lasse, standing still. "then i am sorry for due when he first finds out how his affairs really stand! he will certainly find that he has bought his independence too dearly! yes, yes; for those who want to get on the price is hard to pay. i hope it will go well with you over there, my boy." they had reached the church. there stood a cart full of green plants; two men were carrying them into a dwelling-house. "what festivity's going on here?" asked pelle. "there's to be a wedding to-morrow," answered one of the men. "merchant lau's daughter is marrying that swaggering fellow, who's always giving himself airs--karlsen, he's called, and he's a poor chap like ourselves. but do you suppose he'll notice us? when dirt comes to honor, there's no bearing with it! now he's become a partner in the business!" "then i'll go to the wedding," said lasse eagerly, while they strolled on. "it is very interesting to see when one of a family comes to something." pelle felt that this was to some extent meant as a reproach, but he said nothing. "shall we have one look at the new harbor?" he said. "no, now the sun's going down, and i'll go home and get to bed. i'm old--but you go. i shall soon find my way back." pelle strolled onward, but then turned aside toward the north--he would go and bid marie nielsen good-bye. he owed her a friendly word for all her goodness. also, as an exception, she should for once see him in respectable clothes. she had just come home from her work, and was on the point of preparing her supper. "no, pelle, is that you?" she cried delightedly, "and so grand, too--you look like a prince!" pelle had to remain to supper. "i have really only come to thank you for all your friendliness and to say good-bye. to-morrow i go to copenhagen." she looked at him earnestly. "and you are glad!" pelle had to tell her what he had been doing since he had last seen her. he sat there looking gratefully about the poor, clean room, with the bed set so innocently against the wall, covered with a snow-white counterpane. he had never forgotten that fragrance of soap and cleanliness and her fresh, simple nature. she had taken him in the midst of all his misery and had not thought her own white bed too good for him while she scrubbed the mire from him. when he reached the capital he would have himself photographed and send her his portrait. "and how are you doing now?" he asked gently. "just as when you last saw me--only a little more lonely," she answered earnestly. and then he must go. "good-bye, and may everything go well with you!" he said, and he shook her hand. "and many thanks for all your goodness!" she stood before him silently, looking at him with an uncertain smile. "ah, no! i'm only a human being too!" she cried suddenly, and she flung her arms about him in a passionate embrace. and then the great day broke! pelle awaked with the sun and had the green chest already packed before the others were up, and then he roamed about, not knowing what he should set his hand to, he was so restless and so excited. he answered at random, and his eyes were full of radiant dreams. in the morning he and lasse carried the chest to the steamer, in order to have the evening free. then they went to the church, in order to attend alfred's wedding. pelle would gladly have stayed away; he had enough to do with his own affairs, and he had no sympathy for alfred's doings. but lasse pushed him along. the sun stood high in heaven and blazed in the winding side-streets so that the tarred timberwork sweated and the gutters stank; from the harbor came the sound of the crier, with his drum, crying herrings, and announcing an auction. the people streamed to church in breathless conversation concerning this child of fortune, alfred, who had climbed so far. the church was full of people. it was gaily decorated, and up by the organ stood eight young women who were to sing "it is so lovely together to be!" lasse had never seen or heard of such a wedding. "i feel quite proud!" he said. "he's a bladder full of wind!" said pelle. "he's taking her simply on account of the honor." and then the bridal pair stepped up to the altar. "it's tremendous the way alfred has greased his head!" whispered lasse. "it looks like a newly-licked calf's head! but she is pretty. i'm only puzzled that she's not put on her myrtle-wreath--i suppose nothing has happened?" "yes, she's got a child," whispered pelle. "otherwise, he would never in this world have got her!" "oh, i see! yes, but that's smart of him, to catch such a fine lady!" now the young women sang, and it sounded just as if they were angels from heaven who had come to seal the bond. "we must take our places so that we can congratulate them," said lasse, and he wanted to push right through the crowd, but pelle held him back. "i'm afraid he won't know us to-day; but look now, there's uncle kalle." kalle stood squeezed among the hindmost chairs, and there he had to stay until everybody had passed out. "yes, i was very anxious to take part in this great day," he said, "and i wanted to bring mother with me, but she thought her clothes weren't respectable enough." kalle wore a new gray linsey-woolsey suit; he had grown smaller and more bent with the years. "why do you stand right away in the corner here, where you can see nothing? as the bridegroom's father, you must have been given your place in the first row," said lasse. "i have been sitting there, too--didn't you see me sitting next to merchant lau? we sang out of the same hymn-book. i only got pushed here in the crowd. now i ought to go to the wedding-feast. i was properly invited, but i don't quite know...." he looked down at himself. suddenly he made a movement, and laughed in his own reckless way. "ugh--what am i doing standing here and telling lies to people who don't believe me! no, pigs don't belong in the counting-house! i might spread a bad smell, you know! people like us haven't learned to sweat scent!" "bah! he's too grand to know his own father! devil take it! then come with us so that you needn't go away hungry!" said lasse. "no--i've been so overfed with roast meats and wine and cakes that i can't get any more down for the present. now i must go home and tell mother about all the splendid things. i've eighteen miles to go." "and you came here on foot--thirty-six miles! that's too much for your years!" "i had really reckoned that i'd stay the night here. i didn't think ... well, an owl's been sitting there! children can't very well climb higher than that--not to recognize their own fathers! anna is now taking the best way to become a fine lady, too.... i shall be wondering how long i shall know myself! devil take it, kalle karlsen, i'm of good family, too, look you! well, then, ajoo!" wearily he set about tramping home. he looked quite pitiful in his disappointment. "he's never looked so miserable in his life!" said lasse, gazing after him, "and it takes something, too, to make brother kalle chuck his gun into the ditch!" toward evening they went through the town to the steamer. pelle took long strides, and a strange feeling of solemnity kept him silent. lasse trotted along at his side; he stooped as he went. he was in a doleful mood. "now you won't forget your old father?" he said, again and again. "there's no danger of that," rejoined sort. pelle heard nothing of this; his thoughts were all set on his journey. the blue smoke of kitchen fires was drifting down among the narrow lanes. the old people were sitting out of doors on their front steps, and were gossiping over the news of the day. the evening sun fell upon round spectacles, so that great fiery eyes seemed to be staring out of their wrinkled faces. the profound peace of evening lay over the streets. but in the narrow lanes there was the breathing of that eternal, dull unrest, as of a great beast that tosses and turns and cannot sleep. now and again it blazed up into a shout, or the crying of a child, and then began anew--like heavy, labored breathing. pelle knew it well, that ghostly breathing, which rises always from the lair of the poor man. the cares of poverty had shepherded the evil dreams home for the night. but he was leaving this world of poverty, where life was bleeding away unnoted in the silence; in his thoughts it was fading away like a mournful song; and he gazed out over the sea, which lay glowing redly at the end of the street. now he was going out into the world! the crazy anker was standing at the top of his high steps. "good-bye!" cried pelle, but anker did not understand. he turned his face up to the sky and sent forth his demented cry. pelle threw a last glance at the workshop. "there have i spent many a good hour!" he thought; and he thought, too, of the young master. old jorgen was standing before his window, playing with the little jorgen, who sat inside on the windowseat. "peep, peep, little one!" he cried, in his shrill voice, and he hid, and bobbed up into sight again. the young wife was holding the child; she was rosy with maternal delight. "you'll be sure to let us hear from you," said lasse yet again, as pelle stood leaning over the steamer's rail. "don't forget your old father!" he was quite helpless in his anxiety. "i will write to you as soon as i'm getting on," said pelle, for the twentieth time at least. "only don't worry!" sure of victory, he laughed down at the old man. for the rest they stood silent and gazed at one another. at last the steamer moved. "good luck--take care of yourself!" he cried for the last time, as they turned the pier-head; and as long as he could see he waved his cap. then he went right forward and sat on a coil of rope. he had forgotten all that lay behind him. he gazed ahead as though at any moment the great world itself might rise in front of the vessel's bow. he pictured nothing to himself of what was to come and how he would meet it--he was only longing--longing! the end. wulfric the weapon thane a story of the danish conquest of east anglia by charles w. whistler preface. a word may be needed with regard to the sources from which this story of king eadmund's armour bearer and weapon thane have been drawn. for the actual presence of such a close attendant on the king at his martyrdom on nov. , a.d. we have the authority of st. dunstan, who had the story from the lips of the witness himself. but as to the actual progress of events before the death of the king, the records are vague and imperfect. we are told that, after the defeat at thetford, the king had intended to seek safety in the church, probably at framlingham, where the royal household was, but was forced to hide, and from his hiding place was dragged before ingvar the danish leader, and so slain. the two local legends of the "king's oak" in hoxne woods, and of the "gold bridge", may fill in what is required to complete the story. the former, identifying a certain aged oak as that to which the king was bound, has been in a measure corroborated by the discovery in of what may well have been a rough arrow point in its fallen trunk; while the fact that, until the erection of the new bridge at hoxne in , no newly-married couple would cross the "gold bridge" on the way to church, for the reasons given in the story, seems to show that the king's hiding place may indeed have been beneath it as the legend states. if so, the flight from thetford must have been most precipitate, and closely followed. there are two versions of the story of lodbrok the dane and beorn the falconer. that which is given here is from roger of wendover. but in both versions the treachery of one beorn is alleged to have been the cause of the descent of ingvar and hubba on east anglia. these chiefs and their brother halfden, and guthrum, are of course historic. their campaign in england is hard to trace through the many conflicting chronicles, but the broad outlines given by the almost contemporary anglo-saxon chronicle, supplemented with a few incidents recorded in the heimskringla of sturleson as to the first raid on northumbria by ingvar, are sufficient for the purposes of a story that deals almost entirely with east anglia. the legend of the finding of the head of the martyred king is given in the homily for november of the anglo-saxon sarum breviary, and is therefore of early date. it may have arisen from some such incident as is given here. details of the death of bishop humbert are wanting. we only know that he was martyred at about the same time as the king, or perhaps with him, and that his name is remembered in the ancient kalendars on the same day. for describing his end as at his own chapel, still standing at south elmham, the fate of many a devoted priest of those times might be sufficient warrant. as to the geography of the east anglian coast, all has changed since king eadmund's days, with the steady gaining of alluvial land on sea at the mouth of the once great rivers of yare and waveney. reedham and borough were in his time the two promontories that guarded the estuary, and where yarmouth now stands were sands, growing indeed slowly, but hardly yet an island even at "low-water springs". above beccles perhaps the course of the waveney towards thetford has altered little in any respect beyond the draining of the rich marshland along its banks, and the shrinking of such tributaries as the hoxne or elmham streams to half-dry rivulets. with a few incidental exceptions, the modern spelling of place names has been adopted in these pages. no useful purpose would be served by a reproduction of what are now more or less uncouth if recognizable forms of the well-known titles of town and village and river. c. w. w. chapter i. how lodbrok the dane came to reedham. elfric, my father, and i stood on our little watch tower at reedham, and looked out over the wide sea mouth of yare and waveney, to the old gray walls of the roman burgh on the further shore, and the white gulls cried round us, and the water sparkled in the fresh sea breeze from the north and east, and the bright may-time sun shone warmly on us, and our hearts went out to the sea and its freedom, so that my father said: "once again is the spirit of hengist stirring in me, and needs must that you and i take ship, and go on the swan's path even as our forefathers went; let us take the good ship somewhere--anywhere to be on the sea again. what say you, son wulfric?" and at that i was very glad, for i had longed for that word of his. for never, since i could remember, was a time when i knew not all that a boy might learn, for his years, of sea and the seaman's craft; and the sea drew me, calling me as it were with its many voices, even as it drew my father. yet, all unlike hengist and his men, we sailed but for peaceful gain, and very rich grew elfric, the thane of reedham; for ours was the only ship owned by english folk on all our east anglian shores, and she brought us wealth year by year, as we sailed to humber and wash northwards, and orwell and thames to the south, as seemed best for what merchandise we had for sale or would buy. but, more than all, my father and i alike sailed for the love of ship and sea, caring little for the gain that came, so long as the salt spray was over us, and we might hear the hum of the wind in the canvas, or the steady roll and click of the long oars in the ship's rowlocks, and take our chance of long fights with wind and wave on our stormy north sea coasts. so we went down to the shipyard, under the lee of reedham hill, and found old kenulf our pilot, and with him went round our stout frisian ship that my father had bought long ago, and at once bade him get ready for sailing as soon as might be. and that was a welcome order to kenulf and our crew also; for well do the north folk of east anglia love the sea, if our saxon kin of the other kingdoms have forgotten for a while the ways of their forbears. not so welcome was our sailing to my mother, who must sit at home listening to the song of the breezes and the roll of breakers, with her heart stirred to fear for us at every shift of wind and change of tide. and fair eadgyth, my sister, beautiful with the clear beauty of a fair-haired saxon lady, shared in her fears also, though i think that she believed that no storm could rage more fiercely than her father and brother and their crew could ride through in safety. once she had sailed with us in high summer time to london, and so she held that she knew well all the ways of the ship and sea; fearing them a little, maybe. yet there was another dread in the heart of my mother, for this is what she said: "what of the danes, elfric, my husband? surely there is risk--aye, and great risk--of falling into their hands." thereat my father laughed easily, and answered: "not to an east anglian ship now; for they have kept the pact we have made with them. and they watch not our shores for ships, but the long frisian and frankish coasts. there need be no fear of them." so my mother was reassured, and in a fortnight's time we had gathered a mixed cargo, though no great one; and sailed, with a shift of wind to the southwest, into the wash, and so put into the king's haven on its southern shore, where we would leave our goods with a merchant whom we knew. on the second day after we came the wind shifted to the eastward, and then suddenly to the northeast, and blew a gale, so that we bided in the haven till it was over. for though it was not so heavy that we could not have won through it in open water with little harm, it was of no use risking ship and men on a lee shore for naught. our friend, the merchant, kept us with him gladly, and there we heard the last news of the danish host, with whom we had made peace two years since; for nowadays that news had become of the first interest to every man in all england; though not yet in the right way. for we had not yet learnt that england must be truly one; and so long as he himself was unharmed, little cared an east anglian what befell mercian or northumbrian, even as wessex or sussex cared for naught but themselves. wherefore, all we longed to know was that the danish host was not about to fall on us, being employed elsewhere. we had found gain rather than hurt by their coming, for we had, as i say, made peace with them, and, moreover, sold them horses. then they had honestly left our coasts, and had gone to york, and thereafter to nottingham. now northumbria was theirs, and mercia was at their feet. and now again we learnt that they bided in peace at york, and we were content. three days it blew, and then the gale was spent; though the sea still ran high and swift. so we bade farewell to our friend the merchant and set sail, and if the passage homewards was rough, it was swifter than we had hoped. so it came to pass that we reached the wide inlet of our haven at the yare's mouth too soon for the tide to take us in over the sands which grow and shift every year, and must needs drop anchor in the roads and wait, with home in sight, hill and church and houses clear and sharp against the afternoon sky after rain; while past us the long surges the storm had raised raced in over half-hidden sands, and broke in snow-white foam along the foot of the sand dunes of the shore, sending the spindrift flying up and inland over their low crests. mostly the boats would have been out to meet us, and maybe to tow us in, sparing our crew a little; but today no boat might come, for the seas were too heavy over the bar, so that it would have been death to any man foolish enough to try to reach us; and we looked for none. so as the stout ship wallowed and plunged at her anchors--head to wind and sea, and everything, from groaning timbers to song of wind-curved rigging and creak of swinging yard, seeming to find a voice in answer to the plunge and wash of the waves, and swirl and patter of flying spray over the high bows--we found what shelter we might under bulwarks and break of fore deck, and waited. my father and i sat on the steersman's bench aft, not heeding the showers of spray that reached us now and then even there, and we watched the tide rising over the sand banks, and longed for home and warm fireside, instead of this cold, gray sky and the restless waves; though i, at least, was half sorry that the short voyage was over, dreaming of the next and whither we might turn our ship's bows again before the summer ended. my father looked now and then shoreward, and now seaward, judging wind and tide, and sitting patiently with the wondrous patience of the seaman, learnt in years of tide and calm; for he would tell me that sea learning never ends, so that though the sailor seemed to be idle, he must needs be studying some new turn of his craft if only his eyes were noting how things went around him. yet i thought he was silent beyond his wont. presently he rose up and paced the deck for a little, and then came and sat down by me again. "i am restless, son wulfric," he said, laughing softly; "and i know not why." "for the sake of supper," i answered, "for i am that also, and tide seems mighty slow therefore." "nay, supper comes to the patient; but it seems to me that i have to watch for somewhat." "surely for naught but the tide," i answered, not thinking much of the matter, but yet wondering a little. "not for tide or wind, but for somewhat new, rather--somewhat of which i have a fear. "but this is foolishness," he said, laughing again at himself, for few men thought less of signs and forewarnings than he. then he looked out again to windward, under his hand, and all of a sudden turned sharply to me, pointing and saying: "but, as i live, hither comes something from the open sea!" i rose up and looked to where he showed me, and as the ship rose to a great wave, far off i saw a dark speck among white-crested rollers, that rose and fell, and came ever nearer, more swiftly than wreckage should. now some of the men who clustered under the shelter of the fore deck, with their eyes ever on us, rose up from their places and began to look out seaward over the bows through the spray to find out what we watched, and ere long one man called to his mates: "ho, comrades, here comes flotsam from the open sea!" slowly the men rose up one by one and looked, clustering round the stem head, and a little talk went round as to what this might be. "it is a bit of wreck," said one. "hardly, for the gale has not been wild enough to wreck a ship in the open; 'tis maybe lumber washed from a deck," answered another. "it is a whale--no more or less." "nay," said old kenulf; "it behaves not as a whale, and it comes too swiftly for wreckage." "would it were a dead whale. then would be profit," said another man again, and after that the men were silent for a long while, having said all that could be guessed, and watched the speck that drew nearer and nearer, bearing down on us. at last my father, ever keen of sight, said to me: "this thing is not at the mercy of wind and wave. rather has it the rise and fall of a boat well handled. yet whence should one come in this heavy sea, after three days' gale?" even as he spoke, old kenulf growled, half to himself, that to his thinking this was a boat coming, and handled, moreover, by men who knew their trade. thereat some of the men laughed; for it seemed a thing impossible, both by reason of the stretch of wild sea that so small a craft as this--if it were indeed a boat--must have crossed, and because the sea was surely too heavy to let one live. yet in the end we saw that it was a boat, and that in her, moreover, was but one man, whose skill in handling her was more than ours, and greater than we could deem possible. whereupon some of us were afraid, seeing how wondrously the tiny craft came through the swift seas, and a man called out, giving voice to our fears: "surely yon man is a finn and the wizard who has raised this storm to drown us; now are we lost!" and i--who had listened eagerly to all the wild stories of the seamen, since first i was old enough to wander curiously over the ships from overseas that put into our haven on their way up the great rivers to norwich, or beccles, or other towns--knew that the finns have powers more than mortal (though how or whence i know not) over wind and sea, often using their power to the hurt of others, and so looked to see the lines of a great squall, drawn as it were astern of the wizard's boat, whitening as it rushed upon us to sink us in sight of home. but old kenulf cried out on the man, saying: "rather is it one of the holy saints, and maybe the blessed peter the fisherman himself," and he bared his gray head, crossing himself, as he looked eagerly to catch sight of the glory of light round the seafarer; and that rebuked my fears a little. but squall or crown of light was there none. only the brown waves, foam crested, which we feared not, and the gray light of the clouded sun that was nigh to setting. my father heeded naught of this, but watched the boat, only wondering at the marvellous skill of her steersman. and when the boat was so near that it was likely that the eyes of the man were on us, my father raised his arm in the seaman's silent greeting, and i thought that the boatman returned the salute. now the course that the boat was holding when that signal passed would have taken her wide of us by half a cable's length, but she was yet so far distant that but a little change would bring her to us. some sort of sail she seemed to have, but it was very small and like nothing i had ever seen, though it was enough to drive her swiftly and to give her steering way before the wind. until my father signed to him the man seemed to have no wish to near our ship, going on straight to what would be certain destruction amid the great breakers on our largest sand bar, and that made the men more sure that he was a wizard, and there were white faces enough among them. "now," said my father to me, "doubtless this is what was put in my mind when i felt i must watch. had i not seen him, yon man would have been surely lost; for i think he cannot see the breakers from his boat," and again he signed to the boatman. then from the little craft rose a great, long-winged hawk that cried and hovered over it for a little, as if loth to leave it; and one man said, shrinking and pale, that it was the wizard's familiar spirit. but the wind caught the bird's long wings and drove it from the boat, and swiftly wheeling it must needs make for us, speeding down the wind with widespread, still pinions. then cried aloud that same terrified man: "it is a sending, and we are done for!" thinking that, as finns will, the wizard they deemed him had made his spells light on us in this visible form. but my father held out his hand, whistling a falconer's call, and the great bird flew to him, and perched on his wrist, looking bravely at us with its bright eyes as though sure of friendship. "see!" said my father loudly; "this is a trained bird, and no evil sending; here are the jesses yet on its feet." and kenulf and most of the men laughed, asking the superstitious man if the ship sank deeper, or seas ran higher for its coming. "hold you the bird," said my father to me; "see! the boatman makes for us." i took the beautiful hawk gladly, for i had never seen its like before, and loved nothing better when ashore than falconry, and as i did so i saw that its master had changed the course of his boat and was heading straight for us. now, too, i could make out that what we had thought a sail was but the floor boarding of the boat reared up against a thwart, and that the man was managing her with a long oar out astern. the great hawk's sharp talons were like steel on my ungloved wrist, piercing through the woollen sleeve of my jerkin, but i heeded them not, so taken up was i with watching this man who steered so well and boldly in so poorly fitted a craft. and the boat was, for all that, most beautiful, and built on such lines as no saxon boat had. well we know those wondrous lines now, for they were those of the longships of the vikings. now the men forward began to growl as the boat came on to us, and when my father, seeing that the man would seek safety with us, bade those on the fore deck stand by with a line to heave to him as he came, no man stirred, and they looked foolishly at one another. then my father called sharply to kenulf by name, giving the same order, and the old man answered back: "bethink you, thane; it is ill saving a man from the sea to be foe to you hereafter. let him take his chance." thereat my father's brow grew dark, for he hated these evil old sayings that come from heathen days, and he cried aloud: "that is not the way of a christian or a good seaman! let me come forward." and in a moment he was on the fore deck, where the men made hasty way for him. there the long lines were coiled, ready for throwing to the shore folk on our wharf, both fore and aft. my father caught up one at his feet and stood ready, for now the boat was close on us, and i could see the white set face of her steersman as he watched for the line he knew was coming, and wherein lay his only slender hope of safety. my father swung his arm and cast. swift and true fled the coils from his hand--but fell short by two fathoms or less, and the boat swept past our bows, as the men held their breath, watching and ashamed. but i also had caught up the coil from the after deck, fearing lest my father should not have been in time, while the hawk fluttered and gripped my arm in such wise that at any other time i should have cried out with the pain of the sharp piercing of its talons. yet it would not leave me. the boat flew on, but the man had his eyes on me--not looking vainly for the lost end of the first line among the foam as many another man would--and i saw that he was ready. i threw; and the hawk screamed and clutched, as it lost its balance, and beat my face with its great wings, and i could not see for its fluttering; but the men shouted, and i heard my father's voice cry "well done!" then i made fast the end of the line round the main-sheet cleat, for that told me that the man had caught on. then the bird was still, and i looked up. i saw the boat pass astern as the man made fast the line round the fore thwart, with his eyes on the wave that came. then he sprang to the steering oar, and in a moment the boat rounded to on the back of a great wave and was safe before the crest of the next roller ran hissing past me, to break harmless round her bows. then the man looked up, smiling to me, lifted his hand in greeting, and then straightway laid in the steering oar. having found a bailing bowl in the stern sheets, he set to work to clear out the water that washed about in the bottom of the boat; then he replaced the floor boards, and all things being shipshape, sat down quickly in the stern, putting his head into his hands, and there bided without moving, as if worn out and fain to rest for a while. now it was like to be a hard matter to get the boat alongside in that sea, and we must needs wait till the man took in hand to help, so we watched him as he sat thus, wondering mostly at the boat, for it was a marvel to all of us. sharp were her bows and stern, running up very high, and her high stem post was carved into the likeness of a swan's neck and head, and the wings seemed to fall away along the curve of the bows to the carved gunwale, that was as if feathered, and at last the stern post rose and bent like a fan of feathers to finish all. carved, too, were rowlocks and the ends of the thwarts, and all the feathered work was white and gold above the black of the boat's hull. carved, too, was the baling bowl, and the loom of the oar was carved in curving lines from rowlock leather to hand. and as i thought of the chances of our losing her as we crossed the bar among the following breakers, i was grieved, and would have asked my father to let us try to get her on deck if we could. but now the man roused, and put his hands to his mouth, hailing us to ask if we would suffer him to come on board, and my father hailed him back to bid him do so. then it would seem that our men were ashamed, having once disobeyed my father whom they loved, not to finish the work that we had begun, and so, without waiting for the order, saw to getting the boat up to our quarter, so that it was but a minute or two before the man leapt on our deck, and the boat was once more astern at the length of her line. "thanks, comrades," said the man; "out of ran's {i} net have you brought me, and ill fall me if i prove foe to you, as the old saw bodes." now as one looked at this storm-beaten wanderer there was no doubt but that he was surely a prince among men, and i for one marvelled at his look and bearing after what he must have gone through. drenched and salt crusted were his once rich clothes, tangled and uncared for were his hair and beard, and worn and tired he showed both in face and body, yet his eyes were bright and his speech was strong and free as he swung to the roll of the ship with the step of a sea king. his speech told us that he was a dane, for though we of the east angles had never, even before the coming of the great host of which i must tell presently, such great difference of tongue between our own and that of dane and frisian but that we could well understand them and speak therein, yet time and distance have given us a new way of handling our words, as one might say, and a new turn to the tones of our voices. often had i heard the danish way of speech on board the ships from over sea in our haven, and had caught it up, as i was wont to try to catch somewhat of every tongue that i heard. so he and we looked at each other for a moment, we wondering at him and he seeking our leader. nor did he doubt long, taking two steps to my father, holding out his hand, and again thanking him. my father grasped the offered hand frankly, and, smiling a little, said: "rather should you thank wulfric, my son, here; for it was his line that reached you." "no fault that of yours," answered the dane; and he turned to me with the same hearty greeting. "now, friend wulfric, i owe you my life, and therefore from this time forward my life is for yours, if need be. nor shall my men be behind in that matter--that is if i ever see them again," he added, looking quaintly at me, if gravely. "surely you shall do so," i said, "if it is in our power." "i thank you--and it is well. i know coasts where a stranger would be a slave from the moment his foot touched shore. now tell me whose ship this is that has given me shelter, and what your father's name is, that i may thank you rightly." "elfric, the thane of reedham, is my father," i said, "sheriff of the east anglian shore of the north folk, under eadmund, our king. and this is his ship, and this himself to whom you have spoken." "then, thane and thane's son, i, whose life you have saved, am lodbrok, jarl {ii} of a strip of jutland coast. and now i have a fear on me that i shall do dishonour to the name of dane, for i faint for want of food and can stand no more." with that he sat down on the bench where i had been, and though he smiled at us, we could see that his words were true enough, and that he was bearing bravely what would have overborne most men. and now the falcon fluttered from my wrist to his. then my father bade me hasten, and i brought ale and meat for the jarl, and set them before him, and soon he was taking that which he needed; but every now and then he gave to the bird, stroking her ruffled feathers, and speaking softly to her. "aye, my beauty," he said once, "i did but cast you down wind lest you should be lost with me. and i would have had you take back the news that i was lost to my own home." my father stood and watched the tide, and presently i joined him, for i would not hinder the dane from his meal by watching him. i looked at the beautiful boat astern, tossing lightly on the wave crests, and saw that she would surely be lost over the bar; so i asked my father now, as i had meant before, if we might not try to get her on board. for answer he turned to lodbrok. "set you much store by your boat, jarl?" he asked him. "the boat is yours, thane, or wulfric's, by all right of salvage. but i would not have her lost, for my sons made her for me this last winter, carving her, as you see, with their own hands. gladly would i see her safe if it might be." "then we will try to get her," answered my father; "for there are one or two things that my children have made for me, and i would not lose them for the sake of a little trouble. and, moreover, i think your sons have made you the best boat that ever floated!" "else had i not been here!" answered the dane. "they are good shipwrights." then kenulf and the men set to work, and it was no easy matter to come by the boat; but it was done at last, and glad was i to see her safely lashed on deck. then the time had come, and we up anchor and plunged homewards through the troubled seas of the wide harbour mouth. it was i who steered, as i ever would of late, while the dane stood beside me, stroking his hawk and speaking to it now and then. and once or twice he looked long and earnestly at the breakers, knowing now from what he had escaped; and at last he said to me: "many a man, i know, would have rather let me go on than have run the risk of saving one from the sea. do you dare go against the saying?" "why not? i may not say that it came not into our minds," i answered; "but christian men will put such ill bodes aside." "ah! i had forgotten your new faith," said lodbrok. "now from this time i, for one, have naught to say against it, for i think i owe it somewhat." and he was silent for a while. now my father came aft, and sitting down by the dane, asked him how he came to risk sailing in the little boat. "i know not if you can believe me," answered lodbrok, "but i will tell you in a few words. i have been blown from off the jutland shore and have won through the gale safely. that is all. but it was by my own fault, for i must needs take the boat and put out to sea with my hawk there to find fresh sport. it seemed to me, forsooth, that a great black-backed gull or fierce skua would give me a fine flight or two. and so it was; but i rowed out too far, and before i bethought myself, both wind and tide were against me. i had forgotten how often after calm comes a shift of wind, and it had been over still for an hour or so. then the gale blew up suddenly. i could have stemmed the tide, as often before; but wind and tide both were my masters then. "that was three days and two nights ago. never thought i to see another sunset, for by midday of that first day i broke an oar, and knew that home i could never win; so i made shift with the floor boards, as you saw, for want of canvas. after that there is little to tell, for it was ever wave after wave, and gray flying clouds ever over me, and at night no rest, but watching white wave crests coming after me through the dark." "some of us thought that you were a finn, at least," said my father as the dane paused. "not once or twice only on this voyage have i wished myself a finn, or at least that i had a finn's powers," said lodbrok, laughing; "but there has been no magic about this business save watchfulness, and my sons' good handicraft." then i asked the jarl how he called his sons, with a little honest envy in my heart that i could never hope to equal their skill in this matter of boat building, wherein i had been wont to take some pride of myself. "three sons have i in jutland, wulfric, my friend, and they, when they hear my story, will hold you dear to them. ingvar is the eldest, hubba, the next, and the third, halfden, is three-and-twenty, and so about your own age, as i take it, as he is also about your equal in build and strength. yet i would sooner see a ship of mine steered by you than by him, for he is not your equal in that matter." now that praise pleased me well, as it did also my father. for we hold the danes as first of all peoples in the knowledge of sea craft; and we had seen that this man was a master therein. but though at this time i thought of naught but the words of praise, hereafter i was to remember the words that jarl lodbrok spoke of the way in which these sons of his would hold me when the tale was told them. at last we hailed the shore through the creeping dusk, and the shore lines were thrown out. then were we alongside our staithe {iii}, and lodbrok the dane had come to reedham. now it may seem but a little thing that a seafarer should be driven to a strange coast, and be tended there in friendly wise by those who saved him from the breakers, for such is a common hap on our island shores. yet, from this day forward, all my life of the time yet before me was to be moulded by what came of that cast of line to one in peril. aye, and there are those who hold that the fate of our england herself was in hand that day, though it seems to me that that is saying overmuch. yet one cannot tell, and maybe those who will read this story of mine will be able to judge. what i do know certainly is this, that all which makes my tale worth the telling comes from this beginning. chapter ii. how lodbrok spoke with beorn the falconer. so soon as we had stepped ashore there came in haste one of our housecarles with word from my mother that eadmund, the king, had that day come to our house from caistor; so at once my father bade the man return and bring changes of clothes for himself and me and lodbrok to our steward's house, that we might appear in more decent trim before our guest and master. so we waited for a little while, watching the men as they berthed the ship; and as we stood there a word went round among the knot of people watching with us, and they parted, making a little lane, as they said, "the king comes". and then i heard the well-known voice of eadmund calling gaily to us: "ho, friend elfric, here have i come to see what a man fresh from a stormy voyage looks like, if light will serve me." and so saying, i being nearest to him, the king turned me round with his strong hands, and scanned my rough, wet garments and fur cap. "truly, son wulfric," he cried, laughing, "i think these things suit you as well as war gear, and better than court finery, in this dim light at least. now let me see the thane himself." then my father would have him come back to the house at once, out of the stormy weather, for the rain was coming now as the wind fell; and we went, not waiting for the change of garments, for that the king would not suffer. as we turned away from the staithe, lodbrok took my arm, asking me where he might find shelter. "why, come with us, surely!" i answered, having no thought but that he would have done so as our guest. "thanks," he said; "i knew not if your help could go so far as that to a man whose story might well be too strange for belief." now it had seemed to me that no one could doubt such a man, and so i told him that we had no doubt of him at all in that matter. and he thanked me gravely again, walking, as i thought, more freely beside me, as knowing that he was held to be a true man. we followed my father, who walked with the king, at a little distance because of this small delay; and presently lodbrok asked me if this was the king of all england. "no," i answered; "though, indeed, he is the only king we know aught of. this is eadmund of east anglia." "you know him well, as one may see by his way with you," said the jarl. "surely, for he is my father's close friend. they were comrades together in king offa's court until the old king laid down his crown and gave the kingdom into eadmund's hands; and they are the same to each other now as ever. he is my godfather; and i was in his court till i was eighteen. moreover, i am one of his armour bearers yet when need is." so i spoke plainly enough, for i think that i had, and ever shall have, reason to be proud of our nearness to the king, of whom no man had but good to say since he, almost as a boy, came to the throne. "so then it seems that fate has brought me to court," said the dane. "yes, in a way," i told him; "for the king will ever bide with us when he would visit this side of his kingdom." "i think that i have seen this king before," said lodbrok presently; "for he is a man the like of whom one sees not twice." "then," said i, "he will surely remember you, for he never forgets one whom he has had reason to notice." whereat the jarl laughed a little to himself; but i had no time to ask why, for now we were come to the great door; and when my father would have let the king go in first eadmund laughed at him, and took his arm and drew him in with him, so that there was a little delay, and we drew close. very bright and welcome looked the great oaken hall as we came in from the dark, rainy night. a great fire burnt on its stone hearth in the centre, and the long tables were already set above and below it. the bright arms and shields on the walls shone below the heads of deer and wolf and boar, and the gust of wind that came in with us flew round the wall, making a sort of ripple of changing colour run along the bright woven stuffs that covered them to more than a man's height from the floor. no one in all east anglia had so well dight a hall as had elfric, the rich thane of reedham. well used was i to all this, but never seemed it more homelike to me than when i came in fresh from the the cold, gray sea. and now there stood on the high place to welcome us those whose presence made the place yet more beautiful to me--my mother, and eadgyth my sister, and beside them were bishop humbert, our own bishop, and many thanes of the court, and some of the bishop's clergy. such a gathering my father, and, indeed, all of us, loved, for all were well known to us. now i went to greet these dear ones and friends, and there was pleasant jest and laughter at us for coming thus sea clad and spray stained into the midst of that gay company. so that for a little time i forgot lodbrok, who had not followed me beyond the hearth. then eadgyth said to me: "who is that noble-looking man who stands so sadly and alone by the fire?" i turned, blaming myself for this forgetfulness, and there was the dane gazing into the flames, and seeming heedless of all that was going on. nor do i think that i had ever seen one look so sad as looked that homeless man, as he forgot the busy talk and movement around him in some thoughts of his own. so i went to him, touching his arm gently, and he started a little. then his grave smile came, and he said: "truly, wulfric, i had forgotten all things but my own home, and when i woke from my dream at your touch, half thought i that you were halfden--that youngest son of mine of whom i told you." then so wistfully looked he at me that i could not forbear saying to him: "you must hold me as in halfden's place, for this will be your house, if you will, until there comes a ship that will take you home. gladly will some of the frisians we know take you at least to the right side of the broad seas." "aye, gladly would some have lodbrok the jarl with them," he answered, smiling strangely. what he meant, beyond that he might pilot them well, i knew not, nor, indeed, thought that any hidden meaning lay in his words. so that his saying passed from my mind, until one day when i should have cause to understand it well enough. i would have taken him now to present him to my mother, but she was gone, and there came to us one of the steward's men, who stared at the dane as if he were some marvel, having doubtless heard his story from one of the seamen, but covered his wonder by bowing low and bidding him to an inner room where the thane had prepared change of garment for him. for my father, having the same full belief and trust in the stranger's word, would no more than i treat him in any wise but as an honoured guest. then said lodbrok: "good shall surely ever be to the house that will thus treat a wanderer. hardly would a castaway meet with so great kindness in my own land. nor do i think that we danes have made our name so well loved among english folk that we should look for the like among them." but i answered that we of east anglia had no cause to blame his people, who had made peace with us and kept it faithfully. so the man led lodbrok away, and i too went to seek gear more courtly than salt-stained and tar-spotted blue cloth of lavenham. there are few thanes' houses which have so many chambers as ours, for because of the king's friendship with us, my father had added, as it were, house to house, building fresh chambers out around the great hall itself, till all one might see was its long roof among the many that clustered round and against its walls, so that the thanes who came with him, or to see him, might have no cause to complain of ill lodging with elfric of reedham. so it had come to pass that our house was often the place where the court lay, and i know that many of the poorer thanes thanked my father for thus using his riches, since he saved them many a time the heavy expenses of housing king and court when their turn should have come. yet my father would ever put aside those thanks, saying that he loved to see his house full, though i myself know that this saving of others less rich was in his mind. one part of all these buildings we called "the king's house", for it was set apart for him, and between that and the great hall was a square and large chamber which eadmund would use for his private audiences, and sometimes for council room. and there we used to gather from all parts of the place that we might enter the great hall in his train at supper time, for there was a door which led to the high table thence, so that the king need not go through the crowd of housecarles and lesser folk who sat, below the salt, along the walls. and in that chamber was a chimney to the fire, so that the hearth was against the wall, which was a marvel to many, but made the place more meet for the king. ingild the merchant, my other godfather, whose home was in london, had brought men thence to make it for us, having the like in his own house after some foreign pattern. there were two men only in this room when i returned ready for the feast. both stood before the fire, and both were brightly dressed, and hardly, but for the drowsy hawk which sat unhooded on his hand, should i have known lodbrok in the rich dress my father had had prepared for him. the other was beorn, the king's falconer, who went everywhere with his master. these two were speaking together as they stood before the fire, and i thought that what beorn said was not pleasing to the dane, for he turned away a little, and answered shortly. when they saw me both turned, lodbrok with a smile of welcome, and beorn with a loud, rough voice crying to me: "ho, wulfric, here is a strange thing! this gold ring have i offered to your stranger here for his falcon--which has three wing feathers missing, moreover--and he will not sell, though i trow that a man cast ashore must needs want gold more than a bird which he may not fly save i gain him leave from the king." "the bird is wulfric's," said lodbrok quietly. "nay, jarl," i answered, "i would not take so loving a hawk from her master, and over all our manors you may surely fly her." "see you there!" cried beorn, with a sort of delight, not heeding my last words, "wulfric will not have her! now will you sell?" then lodbrok looked at me with a short glance that i could not but understand, and said that it would surely grieve him if i would not take the falcon. pleased enough i was, though half unwilling to take what seemed as a forced gift. yet to quiet beorn--whom i never liked, as he was both overbearing and boastful, though of great skill in his art of falconry--i thanked the dane, and went to where a hawking glove hung on the wall, for my arm would feel the marks of those strong talons for many a day, already. as i put it on i said that i feared the bird would hardly come to me, leaving her master. "once i would have said that she would not," said lodbrok; "for until today she would bide with no man but myself and her keeper. but today she has sat on your wrist, so that i know she will love you well, for reasons that are beyond my guessing." and so he shifted the falcon lightly from his wrist to mine, and there she sat quietly, looking from him to me as though she would own us both. then said beorn, holding out his hand, on which he wore his embroidered state glove of office: "this is foolishness. the bird will perch on any wrist that is rightly held out to her, so she be properly called," and he whistled shrill, trying to edge the falcon from my hand. in a moment she roused herself, and her great wings flew out, striking his arm and face as he pushed them forward; and had he not drawn back swiftly, her iron beak would surely have rent his gay green coat. "plague on the kite!" he said; "surely she is bewitched! and if her master is, as they say, a wizard, that is likely--" "enough, master falconer," i said, growing angry. "lodbrok is our guest, and this, moreover, is the court for the time. why, the bird is drowsy, and has been with me already. there is no wonder in the matter, surely?" but beorn scowled, and one might see that his pride of falconry was hurt. maybe he would have answered again, but i spoke to lodbrok, asking him what the falcon was, as she was like none of ours, for this was a thing i knew beorn would be glad to know, while his pride would not let him ask. and lodbrok answered that she was an iceland gerfalcon from the far northern ocean, and went on to tell us of her powers of flight, and at what game she was best, and how she would take her quarry, and the like. and beorn sat down and feigned to pay no heed to us. presently the dane said that he had known gerfalcons to fly from iceland to norway in a day, and at that beorn laughed as in scorn. "who shouted from norway to iceland to say that a lost hawk had come over?" he said. the dane laughed a little also, as at a jest; though one could tell that beorn rather meant insult. "why," he answered, "the bird got loose from her master's ship as he sailed out of port in iceland, and he found her at home in nidaros at his journey's ending; and they knew well on what day she came, which was the same as that on which she got free." then i said, lest beorn should scoff again: "now, if this falcon got free from here, surely she will go home to your land." "aye, and so my sons will think me dead, seeing her come without me. wherefore keep her safely mewed until she has learnt that this is her home, for i would not have that mischance happen." that i promised easily, for i prized the bird highly. and that i might not leave him with the surly beorn, i asked the jarl to come and see her safely bestowed, and left the room with him. as we crossed the courtyard to the mews, where our good hawks were, lodbrok said to me: "i fear yon falconer is ill pleased with me." "i have a mind to tell the king of his rudeness to our guest," i answered. "that is not worth while," said lodbrok. "the man's pride is hurt that he should be thus baffled for all his skill, which, from his talk, must be great," and we both laughed, for beorn loved his own praises. now when we got back the guests were gathering, and it was not long before the king entered, and at once called me. "all here i know but one, wulfric, and that one is your seafarer. let me know him also that speech may be free among us." so lodbrok came, and he and the king looked long at one another before eadmund spoke. "i have heard your story, friend, and it is a strange one," he said pleasantly. "moreover, i know your name in some way." "well known is the name of ragnar lodbrok, my forefather," said the jarl. "mayhap the king remembers the name thus!" "aye," answered eadmund, "that is a well-known and honoured name, and i think that ragnar's son has a share in his courage. but your face also seems known to me, and it was not of the great ragnar that i thought. have we met in years past?" then lodbrok said that he had been in london at a time when offa the king was there, and it was long years ago, but that the very day might be remembered by reason of a great wedding that he had been to see out of curiosity, knowing little of saxon customs. and he named the people who were married in the presence of offa and many nobles. then eadmund laughed a little. "now it all comes into my mind," he said; "you are the leader of those strangers who must needs come into the church in helm and mail, with axe and shield hung on shoulders. moreover, for that reason, when men bade you depart and you went not, they even let you bide. so i asked your name--and now i can answer for it that lodbrok jarl you are." and he held out his hand for the dane to kiss, after our custom. but lodbrok grasped and shook it heartily, saying: "thanks, lord king, for that remembrance, and maybe also for a little forgetfulness." nor was eadmund displeased with the freedom, but at that last saying he laughed outright. "kings have both to remember and forget," he said, "and maybe, if the citizens had not expected you to behave as wild vikings, you would have gone peacefully as you came?" "that is the truth," said lodbrok. so i suppose there had been some fray, of little moment, with the london folk. then we followed the king into the hall; and lodbrok and i together sat at table over against him. soon i knew all that an hour or two of pleasant talk would teach me of his home and sons and sports, and the king asked now and again of danish customs, not yet speaking of the voyage. "for," said he, "it is ill recalling hardships until the feast is over. then may one enjoy the telling." presently the gleemen sang to us; and after that the harp went round, that those who could might sing, and all the talk in hall was hushed to hear eadmund himself, the men setting down ale cups and knives to listen, for he had a wondrously sweet voice, and sang from the ancient songs of caedmon {iv}. then i sang of the sea--some song i had made and was proud of, and it pleased all. and at length we looked at lodbrok, wondering if he could take his turn. "fain would i try to please my host," he said, looking a little wistfully at my father; "but a man swept far from home against his will is no singer." then eadmund pitied him, as did we all, and rose up. "feasting is over, thanes," he said. "let us sit awhile in the other chamber and hear lodbrok's story." for he would ever leave the hall as at this time, so that the housecarles and lesser guests might have greater freedom of talk when we were gone. so we rose up, and as we did so i saw beorn, the falconer, look sourly at lodbrok; and it misliked me that he should harbour any ill will even yet against the dane who had done him no wrong. round the fire we sat; some ten of us in all, for bishop humbert and his folk went to their lodgings in the town, and there lodbrok told the king of his voyage. and when he named his sons, eadmund looked grave, and said: "i have heard of those two chiefs, ingvar and hubba. did they not make a raid into northumbria two years ago? maybe they are yet there with the host." "aye," answered lodbrok, seeming to wonder at the grave face of our king; "they went to northumbria with the host that is yet there. they fought well and bravely at the place men call streoneshalch {v}, gaining much booty. and it was by ingvar's plan that the place was taken, and that was well done. but they left the host with their men after that, saying that there were over many leaders already." now we all knew the cruel story of the burning of that place; but northumbria was a far-off kingdom, and with it we had naught to do. so, except perhaps the king, the rest of us were as little moved as if he had spoken of the taking of some frankish town; for if my father thought more of it, being in the king's counsels, he passed it over. "these sons of yours have a mind to be first then," he said lightly. "seeing that the blood of ragnar lodbrok is in their veins it could not well be otherwise," answered the jarl somewhat grimly. then he ended his tale, and the king was greatly pleased with him, so that he bade him bide in the court for a while that he might take back a good report of us to his own people. now when the king was with us, i gladly took up my duties as his armour bearer for the time; and therefore slept across the doorway of his chamber when he went to rest. so my father bestowed lodbrok with the thanes in the great hall, and i left him there, following the king. well did i sleep that night, though, sailorwise, not so heavily but that any noise would rouse me in a moment. and as it drew towards morning the king stirred uneasily, and i looked up at him. seeing that i woke he called me softly. the gray light of dawn came through the window, and i could see that he sat up in his bed, though i might not make out his face. "i am here, lord king. is aught amiss?" i said, rising up with my sword in my hand. "strange dreams have i had, my son," he said, in his quiet voice, "and they trouble me." "let me know them, my master," i said, "and maybe the trouble will pass; for often that which seems sorely troublous in a dream is naught when one would put it into words." "sit on the bed and i will tell you," he answered; and when i was there close to him he went on: "it was this: i thought that i was in some place where water gleamed beneath me, while overhead passed the tread of many feet with music of pipe and tabor as at a bridal. and i cannot tell what that place was. then came to me the hand of this lodbrok, and he, looking very sad and downcast, led me thence into the forest land and set me over against a great gate. and beyond that gate shone glorious light, and i heard the sound of voices singing in such wise that i knew it was naught but the gate of heaven itself, and i would fain go therein. but between me and the gate sped arrows thick as hail, so that to reach it i must needs pass through them. then said jarl lodbrok, 'here is the entry, and it is so hard to win through because of me, yet not by my fault. but i think you will not turn aside for arrows, and when you come therein i pray you to remember me.' then pressed i to the gate, unheeding of the arrow storm. and lo! the gate was an oak tree, tall and strong, yet beyond it was the light and the singing that i had reached. then faded the face of lodbrok, and after me looked sadly many faces, and one was yours, my son, and the nearest. so i woke." "that is a wondrous dream," i said, not knowing what to make thereof, having no skill in reading these matters. "aye, my son," answered eadmund; "nor can i read it; though i think i shall do so hereafter. nevertheless it comes into my mind that the dream warns me that my time is short. lie down again, my son. let us sleep in peace while we may." after that the king slept peacefully as a little child till full daylight came; but i for very sadness closed not my eyes again, for i thought that our king was fey {vi}. but in the morning the dream had, as it seemed, passed from the mind of eadmund, for he was very cheerful, as was his wont, and said naught of it. however, i told my father thereof, for the remembrance was heavy to me. and he, when he heard it, bit his lip a little, pondering, but at last laughed. "trouble not yourself about it, son wulfric," he said; "were i to mind every dream that i have had, i think that i should take no joy in life. why, every year, for the last five past, i have dreamed of sore shipwreck, and the old vessel's timbers are yet hanging together!" i laughed also, and thought that maybe he was right--for my father's judgment was ever the best in my eyes--and so set my mind at rest, though the strangeness of the matter would not let it be altogether forgotten. now as days went on and we saw more of our guest, lodbrok, there was, i think, no man of our household who would willingly have seen him take ship and leave us; for his ways and words were pleasant to all alike, and there seemed to be no craft of which he knew not something, so that he could speak to each man, in field or village or boat, of the things that he knew best. and that is a gift that may well be longed for by any man who would be loved by others. greatly pleased with him was eadmund the king, so that he would talk long with him of the ways and laws and peoples beyond the seas; and also of hunting and hawking, which they both loved well. and in this last lodbrok was the best skilled master i have ever known; and the king would ever have him ride beside him in the field while the court was yet with us. and that pleased not beorn, though he kept his ill will to himself; and maybe i alone noted it, for i had not spoken of that meeting, of which i have told, even to my father. well, too, did my mother and eadgyth like the courtly ways of the jarl, who was ever ready to tell them of the life in his household, and of the daughter, osritha, who was its mistress since her mother died but a few years since, and her two elder sisters had been married to chiefs of their own land. sometimes, too, they would ask him of the dress of the ladies of his land; but at that he would laugh and shake his head, saying that he only knew that they went wondrously clad, but that he could tell naught more of the matter. "weapons and war gear i may talk of by the hour," he said, "but women's gear is beyond me. but once my daughter and i wrought together in a matter that was partly of both, and that was when i needed a war flag. and so i drew out the great raven i would have embroidered on it, and they worked it in wondrous colours, and gold and silver round the form of the great bird, so that it seems to shift and flap its wings as the light falls on it and the breeze stirs it, as if there were magic therein." now eadgyth was well skilled in this work, and thereat she must needs say that she would work me a flag for our ship, if the jarl would plan one. so it seems to me now that that evening was very pleasant, for they planned and shaped and began a flag whereon was drawn by the jarl a white falcon like the one he had given to me, and that was my thought, and it pleased him, as i think. one day we came home early from our hunting, and lodbrok and i sat in the great hall, while the summer rain swelled in torrents, with thunder and lightning sweeping over the river marshes and out to sea, and we looked at the weapons that hung on the walls. "little care i for your long spear and short sword, friend wulfric," he said; "it seems to me that you must needs shorten the one and lengthen the other before you can be held well armed. and your bow is weak, and you have no axe." for i had asked him what he thought of our saxon weapons, else would he not have spoken so plainly. then he thought for a little while, and said: "would you learn to use the axe?" i answered that nothing would please me better; for of all things, i longed to excel in weapon play of all kinds. "that is well," he said, "for i owe you my life, and i think that i can teach you that which will keep yours against any foe that you may meet; for you are of the right build for a good axeman, and not too old to learn." then we went to the smithy, and there, while the thunder raged outside, he forged me an axe of the danish pattern. "thor's own weather!" he said, laughing; and as he spoke the blue lightning paled the red glow of the forge to a glimmer. "this should be a good axe, and were you not a christian, i would bid you hold your beginning, as its wielder, of good omen." then the thunder crashed, and there was no need for me to answer. and in the end he taught me patiently, until, one day, he said: "now do you teach me to use your long spear. i can teach you no more axe play than you know. some day you will meet an axeman face to face, and will find out what you know. then, if i have taught you ill, say naught; but if well, then say 'jarl lodbrok taught me'." now i hold that the test of mastery of a weapon is that one wishes for no other, and i knew that i had learned that much. but i could not tell how much he had taught me, for axe play was new to me, and i had not seen it before. after i had learned well, as he said, the jarl tempered the axe head, heating and cooling it many times, until it would take an edge that would shear through iron without turning. and he also wrought runes on it, hammering gold wire into clefts that he made. "what say they?" i asked. "thus they read," he answered: "life for life. for wulfric, elfric's son, lodbrok the seafarer, made me!" thereat i wondered a little, for i knew not yet what he had taught me. yet when i asked why he wrote those first words, he only laughed, saying, "that you will know some day, as i think." now if i were to write all that went on until august came, i should speak of little but how the jarl and i were never apart; for though he was so much older than myself, i grew to be his fast friend. and many a long day did i spend with him in his boat, learning somewhat of his skill in handling her, both on river, and broad, and sea. very pleasant those days were, and they went all too soon. no ship came in that could help him homewards, and though the danish host was in northumbria, he cared not to go there, for his sons were gone home. and eadmund would fain see more of him, so that, although i would willingly have taken our ship across the seas, for the first time, to his place, he would not suffer me to do so; for he said that he was not so restless here with us, and that his sons and osritha, his daughter, had doubtless long thought him dead. now in june the king had gone to framlingham, and in august came back to thetford. then he sent for my father, begging him to bring lodbrok with him, that together they might hunt over the great heaths that stretch for many a mile north and west and south of the town. no better sport is there for hawk and hound than on brandon and croxton heaths, and the wilds to which our saxon icklings and lakings have given their names, for they stretch from forest to fen, and there is no game in all england that one may not find there, from red deer to coney, wolf to badger, bustard to snipe, while there are otter and beaver in the streams. so they would go, for the wish of a king is, as it were, a command, even had not both my father and lodbrok loved to be with him, whether in hall or field. and i thought that i should surely go also. however, my father had other plans for me, and they were none other than that i should take the ship round to london with some goods we had, and with some of the new barley, just harvested, which would ever find ready sale in london, seeing that no land grows better for ale brewing than ours of east anglia. now that was the first time i had been trusted to command the ship unaided by my father's presence, though of late he would say that he was owner, not captain, and but a passenger of mine; so, though i was sorry not to go to thetford, i was more proud of myself than i would show; and maybe i would rather have taken to the sea had there been choice. i was to go to my godfather, ingild the merchant, who would, as ever, see to business for me; and then, because the season was late, and wind and weather might keep me long in the river, my father bade me stay with him, if i would, and if need were lay up the ship in thames for the winter, coming home by the great roman street that runs through colchester town to our shores; or if ingild would keep me, staying in london with him even till spring came again. "if i must leave the ship," i said, "i shall surely come back to hunt with the jarl and you." "nevertheless," answered my father, smiling, "ingild will have many a brave show for you in town. wait till you get to london, for the court of ethelred himself will very likely be there, and there will be much to see. and maybe you will find some danish ship in the river, and will send her captain here to take the jarl home with him; for we may not hold him as a prisoner with us." then lodbrok added that, in any case, i might find means to send messages to his home by some ship sailing to ports that he named; and that i promised i would do. thereon he gave me a broad silver ring, rune graven, to show as a token to any of his countrymen whom i might meet, for the ring was known. "do not part with it, wulfric," he said, as i thanked him; "for it may be of use to you some day, if not on this voyage. jarl lodbrok is well known on the high seas, and he gives not rings for naught." now i would not take the falcon with me, but begged the jarl to use her; and i asked him also to train for himself a greyhound that i had bred, and of which he thought highly. "why," said he, "i shall have the best hawk and dog in all thetford town, and beorn the falconer will have naught to say to me." thereat we laughed, for beorn's jealousy was a sport to us when we thought of it, which was seldom enough. so these two went to thetford, and in the last week of august i sailed for london, with a fair breeze over the quarter, from our haven. chapter iii. what came in a north sea fog. night saw our ship off orfordness, and there the breeze failed us, and a thick fog, hiding the land and its lights, crept up from seaward and wrapped us round. but before it came, on orfordness a fire burnt redly, though what it was, unless it might be some fisher's beacon, we could not tell. the fog lifted as we drifted past the wide mouth of stour and orwell rivers with a little breeze, and the early daylight showed us the smoke of a fire that burnt on the higher land that shuts in the haven's mouth on its southern shores. but even as we saw it, the fog closed round us again and the wind died away, so that we lowered the sail, and the men got out the oars, and slowly, while kenulf swung the lead line constantly, we crept on among the sand banks down the coast. presently the tide turned against us, and kenulf thought well that we should drop anchor and wait for its turning again. the men gladly laid in the oars, and the anchor rattled out and held. the ship swung to her cable, and then there seemed deep silence after the even roll and creak of the great sweeps in their rowlocks. the fog was very dense, and beyond our stem head i could see nothing. then to break the silence came to us, over no great stretch of water as it seemed, the sound of a creaking block, the fall of a yard on deck, and a voice raised in some sharp order. then i thought i heard an anchor plunge, and there was silence. very ghostly it seemed to hear these familiar sounds and to see naught, and it was the more so that we might by no means judge from which side of us, or fore or aft, the noises came, for fog will confuse all things, and save a driving snowstorm, i dread nothing more at sea. now the men began to speak in whispers, for the silence and weirdness of the fog quieted us all. and, moreover, when the fog lifted we had seen no ship, though there must be one close to us now, and we wondered. but kenulf came to me presently with a scared face, and waiting till the men had gone forward to find their food, he asked me if i heard the voice that spoke. "aye, surely," i answered. "what of it?" "master," he said, "the voice was a danish voice, as i think. and i mind me of the fires we saw." "what then?" said i carelessly, though indeed i could see well what fear was in the old man's mind. yet i would have him put the thing into words, being ready to look the worst in the face at any time. "the vikings, master," he answered; "surely they were in orwell mouth and saw us, and have given chase." "we should have seen them also," i said. "not so, master, for the fog hung inland, and if a dane lies in such a place he has ever men watching the sea--and they will sail two ship's lengths to our one." "supposing the ship is a viking, what should we do now?" i asked, for i knew of naught to do but bide where we were. "go back with tide and slip past them even now," said kenulf, though i think he knew that this was hopeless, for if we rowed, the sound of our oars would betray us, and if not we should be on a shoal before long, whence any escape would be impossible. "hark!" i said in another moment, and we listened. there was little noise beyond the lapping of the swift tide against our sides. the men forward were silent, and i had thought that i heard the distant sound of voices and oars. it came again in the stillness; a measured beat that one could not well mistake, as of a ship's boat leisurely pulled. then one of our men began to sing in an undertone, and kenulf smote his hands together in terror, for the sound would betray us, and he was going forward to stop the song. "no matter," said i, "they know we are not far off, for i think they must have anchored when they heard us do so, as we heard them. if they seek us they will soon find us." "they are coming nearer," said kenulf, and i heard the oars more plainly yet. now the thought of calling my men to arms came over me, but i remembered how lodbrok had told me that resistance to vikings, unless it were successful, meant surely death, but that seldom would the unresisting be harmed, even if the ship were wantonly burnt after plunder, and the crew set adrift in their boat. still the oars drew nearer, and i thought of the words that lodbrok had spoken--how that shipmen would be glad of his presence--and i wished that he were indeed with me, for now i knew what he meant. now, too, i knew his gift of the ring to be our safety, and surely he had given it to me for this. so i grew confident, and even longed to see the sharp bow of the boat cleave the mist, if only her crew knew of our friend by name at least. yet they might be norse--not danish. but the sound of oars crossed our bows and died away again, and then a voice hailed from the ship, as i thought, and there was silence. kenulf and i breathed more freely then, and we too went forward and ate and drank, and afterwards spoke of the chance of slipping away when the tide turned, though i was sure that, if the ship were what we thought, she would up anchor and drift with us. so the hours of flood tide passed, and then the ship began to swing idly as the slack came. then with the turn of tide came little flaws of wind, and we hoisted the sail, and kenulf hove the anchor short. yet we heard no more sounds from the other ship. then all in a minute the fog thinned, lifted, and cleared away, and i saw the most beautiful sight my eyes had ever lighted on, and the most terrible. for, not half a mile from us, lay a great viking snekr {vii}, with the sunlight full on her and flashing from the towering green and gold and crimson dragon's head that formed her stem, and from the gay line of crimson and yellow shields that hung along her rail from end to end of the long curve of her sides. her mast was lowered, and rested, with the furled blue and white striped sail, on the stanchions and crossbars that upheld it, to leave the deck clear for swing of sword and axe; and over the curving dragon tail of the stern post floated a forked black and golden flag. and wondrously light and graceful were the lines on which she was built, so that beside her our stout cargo ship showed shapeless and heavy, as did our log canoes beside lodbrok's boat. as soon should our kitchen turnspit dog fly the greyhound that i had given lodbrok, as such a ship as ours from this swift viking's craft. but her beauty was not that which drew the eyes of my men. little they thought of wonder or pleasure in gazing on the ship herself. all her decks were crowded with scarlet-cloaked men, and the sunlight which made the ship so bright flashed also from helm and spear and mail coat from stem to stern. and at that sight every tale of viking cruelty they had heard came into their minds, and they were overcome with terror, so that i thought that several would have cast themselves into the sea, away from the terrible ship, choosing rather death by water than by the sword. but i saw some half dozen whose faces set hard with other thoughts than these, and they turned to seek their weapons from under the fore deck. then i spoke to them, for it was time; and i would have neither fear nor defiance shown, for i knew that we should be boarded. "yonder ship belongs, as i think, to the people of our guest, lodbrok the dane. so it seems to me that they will gladly hear news of him from us, as he is a great man in denmark. and surely we have deserved well of his folk in every way, and we of east anglia are at peace with the danish host. therefore, let us wait till they board us, and then let no man stir from his place or speak a word, that i may talk with them in peace." those words were listened to eagerly, and they wrought on the minds of my poor fellows as i wished. moreover, to put our one chance of safety into form thus heartened me also, for i will not say that i feared nothing from these vikings, who might know and care naught concerning our sea-borne guest, even were they danes. yet it seemed that none saw my fears, for in a little the men asked if they might take their weapons. and though it seemed hard to me and them alike to bide unarmed, i knew it was safer, and so bade them meet the danes in all peaceful seeming. now we saw a boat lowered from the longship's side, and one by one armed men entered her, and she sank deeply in the water. ten i counted, and at last one more, who, i supposed, was the leader. so deep was she that, as she left the ship, i thought how that one sack of our grain, hove into her as she came alongside, would sink her and leave her crew to drown in our sight. but then the ship herself would close on us, and not one of us but would pay for that deed with his life. so she came slowly over the glassy water of the slack tide, and my men watched her, saying nothing. soon she came alongside, and at a sign from me kenulf threw a line which the bowman caught, and i thought that a word or two of wonder passed among her crew. they dropped to where the curve of our deck was lowest, and instantly the leader leapt on board and all but one of his men followed, axe or drawn sword in hand. as i had bidden them, not one of my men stirred save kenulf, who made fast the line and stood watching. the leader was a young man, of about my own age, clad in golden shining bronze scale armour and wearing a silver helm on which were short, black, curving horns; and he bore a double-headed axe, besides the sword at his side. he looked round on us--at the men standing silent, at kenulf, and at me as i stood on the after deck resting on the tiller, and broke into a great laugh. "well," he cried, "are you all dumb, or fools, or wise men; or a little of all three?" but my men answered nothing, even as i had bidden them, and i thought that my time was not yet come to speak. "the fog has got into their throats," said a dane; for with a great lifting of my heart i knew their tongue, and it was lodbrok's and not norse. "struck speechless with fear more like," said another. "ho, men," said the leader, "which is your captain?" one of our crew pointed to me, and i came to the break of the deck saying: "i am master of this ship." and i spoke as a dane, for my long company with lodbrok had given me the very turn of his speech. at that the viking stared at me, and one of his men said: "when did danes take to trading on this coast?" "you are saxon by all seeming," said the leader, "yet you speak like a dane. whence are you, and how learned you our tongue so glibly?" "we are from reedham in east anglia, which is at peace with the danish host," i said; "and i learnt the danish speech from one who is my friend, lodbrok the dane, whom men call jarl lodbrok." now at that word the danes all turned to me, and hardly one but let fall some word of wonder; and the young leader took two great steps towards me, with his face flushing and his eyes lit up with a new look. then he stopped, and his face changed, growing white and angry, and his teeth closed tightly as he looked at me. then he said: "now if you are making a tale to save your skins, worse shall it be for you. what know you of lodbrok?" i held out my hand, on which the jarl's ring shone white against the sea-browned skin. "here is a token he gave me before i sailed, that some friend of his might know it and speak to me," i said. the viking dropped his axe on the deck and seized my hand, gazing at the ring and the runes graven thereon. "lives he yet?" he said, breathless. "aye, halfden lodbroksson, your father lives and is well in our house," i answered; for now i knew that this was surely the youngest of those three sons of whom the jarl had told me so often. now at that word the danes broke into a great cheer, but halfden laid his hands on my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks, while the tears of joy ran down his face. "well must lodbrok my father love you if he has told you so much that you know me by name," he cried; "and well does he trust you since he has given you his ring. tell me more and ever more of him." then sudden as before his mood changed, and he let me go and climbed on the rail with his arm round a backstay, and taking off his helm he lifted up a mighty shout to his ship: "found is jarl lodbrok, ahoy!" and with uplifted weapons his men repeated the shout, so that it seemed as though the loved name was heard across the still water, for the men on board the ship cheered in answer. now nothing would serve halfden but that i must go with him on board his own ship, there to tell him all i might; and he laughed gaily, saying that he had looked indeed for a rich booty, but had gained that which was more worth to him. then i told kenulf that we would bide at anchor till we knew what should be done, thinking it likely that halfden would wish us to pilot him back to reedham. "we shall lose our tide," grumbled the old man, who was himself again, now that he knew we had naught to fear. "that is all we shall lose," i answered, "and what matters it? we have all our time before us." "i like not the weather," he said shortly. but i paid no more heed to him, for halfden spoke to me. "let me leave a few men here," he said; "the boat is overladen, and the sea is rising with the breeze;" and then he added with a smile that had much grim meaning in it. "they bide as friends with you, and but for our safety; not to take charge of your ship." so i bade kenulf give the three who remained the best cheer that we might, treating them as lodbrok's men; for the old pilot loved the jarl well, and i knew that for his sake he would do much. then in a few more minutes i stood on the deck of halfden's ship, and word went round quickly of my news, so that i had a good welcome. yet i liked not the look of the danish men, after the honest faces of our own crew. it seemed to me that they were hard featured and cruel looking, though towards me were none but friendly looks. yet i speak of the crew only, for halfden was like his father in face and speech, and that is saying much for him in both. they spread a great awning, striped in blue and white like the sail, over the after deck, and there they set food and wine for us, and halfden and i sat down together. and with us one other, an older man, tall and bushy bearded, with a square, grave face scarred with an old wound. thormod was his name, and i knew presently that he was halfden's foster father, and the real captain of the ship while halfden led the fighting men. "food first and talk after," quoth this thormod, and we fell to. so when we had finished, and sat with ale horns only before us, halfden said: "i have sought tidings of my father from the day when he was lost until this. now tell me all his story from end to end." and i did so; though when it came to the throwing of the line to the boat i said naught of my own part in that, there being no need, and moreover that i would not seem to praise myself. and i ended by saying how lodbrok was even now at court with eadmund, our king, and high in favour with him and all lesser men. many were the questions that the danes asked me as i spoke, and i answered them plainly, for indeed i was glad to see the look in halfden's eyes as i spoke to him of his father, i having naught but pleasant things to tell of him, which one may say of few men, perhaps. and by and by i spoke of his having taught me the use of the danish axe. "ho!" said thormod; "hold your peace for a while, and we will see what sort of pupil he had." then he rose up and took his axe, and bade me take halfden's, which i did, not over willingly maybe, while halfden stood by, smiling. "i will not harm you," said thormod shortly, seeing that i was not over eager. "see here!" his ale horn stood on the low table where we had been sitting, and now he placed it on the gunwale, going from under the awning. the men who sat along the decks looked up at him and were still. then he heaved up the axe with both hands and whirled it, bringing it down with such force that i looked to see both horn and gunwale shorn through. but so skilful was he that he stayed that mighty stroke so that the keen edge of the axe rested on the horn's rim without marking it, and all the men who were watching cried out: "skoal {viii} to thormod the axeman!" "so," said he; "now stand up and guard a stroke or two; only strike not as yet, for maybe your axe would go too far," and he smiled grimly, as in jest. but i had learned that same trick from the jarl. now lodbrok had told me that when one has a stronger axeman to deal with than one's self the first thing is to guard well. so he had spent long hours in teaching me guard after guard, until i could not fail in them. "i am ready," i said, standing out before him. thormod feinted once or twice, then he let fly at me, striking with the flat of his axe, as one does when in sport or practice. so i guarded that stroke as the jarl had taught me; and as i did so the men shouted: "well done, saxon!" "no need to go further," said thormod, dropping his axe and grasping his wrist with his left hand; for that parry was apt to be hard on the arm of the man who smote and met it. "that is the jarl's own parry, and many an hour must he have spent in teaching you. it is in my mind that he holds that he owes you his life." and from that time thormod looked at me in a new way, as i felt. halfden was well pleased, and shouted: "nay, thormod; your turn to guard now; let wulfric smite at you!" "no, by thor, that will i not," he said; "he who taught to guard has doubtless taught to strike, and i would not have my head broken, even in play!" now he sat down, and i said, mindful of lodbrok's words: "it seems to me that i have been well taught by the jarl." "aye, truly," said thormod; "he has taught you more than you think." halfden would have me keep his axe, but i told him of that one which the jarl had made for me, and straightway he sent the boat for it, and when it came read the runes thereon. "now this says that you are right, thormod! here has my father written 'life for life'--tell us how that was!" so i said that it was my good fortune to cast him the line that saved his boat, and that was all. but they made as much of that as did lodbrok himself. and when the men came from our ship, they brought that tale from our men also; so that they made me most welcome, and i was almost fain to get away from them. but we sat and talked while the tide went by and turned, and still we lay at anchor until the stars came out and the night wind began to sing in the rigging of the great ship. now i had thought that surely halfden would have wished to sail back to reedham at once, there to seek his father; but i knew not yet the power which draws a true viking ever onward to the west, and when i said that we would, if he chose, sail back with him on the next tide, he only laughed, saying: "why so? my father is well and in good case. wherefore we will end our cruise well if we can, and so put in for him on our way home at the season's end." "what would you do, then?" i asked, wondering. "raid somewhere," he answered carelessly. "we will not go home without some booty, or there will be grumbling among the wives; but for your sake we will go south yet, for you are bound for london, as i think." i said that it was so, and that i would at once go back to reedham when my business was done, there to prepare for his coming. "that is well; and we will sail to thames mouth together. and you shall sail in my ship to tell me more of my father, and because i think we shall be good friends, so that i would rather have you come and raid a town or two with me than part with you. but as you have your ship to mind, we will meet again at reedham, and i will winter there with you, and we will hunt together, and so take you home with us in the spring." now this seemed good to me, and pleased me well enough, as i told him. where halfden and his crew went, south of thames mouth, was no concern of mine--nor, indeed, of any other man in east anglia in those days. that was the business of ethelred, our overlord, if he cared to mind the doings of one ship. most of all it was the concern of the sheriff in whose district a landing was made. so messages were sent to old kenulf, and glad was he to know that we should not have to give up our passage to london, and maybe still more to feel safe in this powerful company from any other such meetings. and before the tide served us, halfden had said that he also would come to london, so that our ship should lead the way up the river. when we weighed anchor thormod must needs, therefore, reef and double reef his sail, else our ship had been hull down astern before many hours had passed, so swift was the longship. now i have said that old kenulf had misliked the look of the weather, and now thormod seemed uneasy. yet the breeze came fresh from the southeast; and though it had shifted a good deal, i, for my part, thought little ill of that, for it held in that quarter till we were fairly among the sands of the thames mouth at nightfall, and kenulf lit lanterns by which we might follow him. no man knew the thames-mouth channels better than our pilot, kenulf the sea crafty, as we called him. then it fell dead calm, quite suddenly, and we drifted, with the sail flapping against the mast idly, for half an hour or so. then fell on us, without warning, such a fierce gale as i had never before seen, blowing from north and west, with rain and bright lightning, and it raised in five minutes a sea that broke over us again and again as thormod brought the ship head to wind. then i lost sight of kenulf's lights, and as i clung to the rail, my mind was torn with longing to be back in my own ship in this danger, though i knew that kenulf needed me not, and that, had i been there, it would but have been to obey him with the rest of our crew; yet i think that any man who loves his ship will know what i felt. and of the fury and darkness of that night i will say little. this is what comes into my mind of all that happened--aye, and at night, when the wind roars round the house, i see it all again, waking in my dreams as i call to kenulf. one flash of lightning showed me my ship dismasted and helpless, drifting broadside on to a sand over which the waves broke white and angry, and when the next flash came--she was gone! then i cried out on my folly in leaving her, and out of the blackness beside me as i clung to the gunwale, straining my eyes against the spray, halfden's voice came, crying, as he gripped my arm: "by odin--it is well that i kept you here!" and thormod from the helm shouted to his men to stand by the sheet, and the helm went down, and the ship drove through the seas that broke clean over her as he saw the danger in time to stand away from it, heading her as free as he dared. naught of this i heeded, for i could think but of the stout sailor men with whom i had been brought up, and of whom i knew only too surely that i should see them not again. and for them i tried to pray, for it was all that i could do, and it seemed so little--yet who knows what help may come therefrom? now the longship fought alone with the storm. hard was the fight, but i, who was willing to die with my own people who had gone before my eyes, cared nothing for whether we won through the gale or not. but thormod called to me, bidding me pilot them as best i might, and so i was taken a little from my thoughts. yet can i take no praise to myself that, when the gale slackened, we were safe and beyond the dangers of the shoals. we were far down channel when morning broke, and on either bow were white cliffs, plain to be seen in the clear light that came after the short fury of the gale was spent. never had i thought that a ship could sail so wondrously as this of halfden's, and yet i took no pleasure therein, because of all that i had lost. and it seemed to me that now i knew from my own chance why it was that lodbrok could sing no song to us at that feasting, when we came home to reedham; for surely my case was even as his. so i thought, leaning on the gunwale and staring ever at the white cliffs of england on our starboard; and there halfden found me, and came, putting his hand on my shoulder very kindly. "now if you have lost friends and ship by the common chances of the sea," he said, "surely you have found both anew. you shall turn viking and go on this raid with us. glad shall we be of your axe play and seamanship." i turned to him and put my hand into his. "i will go with you, halfden," i said, for it seemed at that time that i had naught else left for me to do. and ever since i was a child, listening to the songs of the gleemen, had i thought that some day i, too, would make a name for myself on the seas, as my forefathers had made theirs, so that my deeds should be sung also. yet that longing had cooled of late, as the flying people from mercia had found their way now and then to us with tales of danish cruelties. "that is well said," he answered, pleased enough. "where shall we go?" then i had yet thought enough left me to say that against our saxon kin i would not lift axe. and so came to me the first knowledge that what wiser men than i thought was true--that the old seven kingdoms were but names, and that the saxon and anglian men of england were truly but one, and should strive for that oneness, thinking no more of bygone strifes for headship. "why, that is fair enough, so you have no grudge to pay off," he said; "but i will help you to settle any, if you have them." "i have no grudge against any man," i answered, truly enough. "then if we raid on english shores, you shall keep ship, as someone must; and so all will be satisfied," he answered; "but we will go first to the frankish shores, for it is all one to me." so that pleased me as well as anything would at that time; whereupon we went to thormod, and he was very willing that i should take part and share with them. and as to my loss, he bade me take heart, for a seaman has ever risks such as these to run; and, as it seemed, this ship of ours had ever been lucky. which was true enough, as my father had told me by the fireside many a time. after this we headed over to the frankish shore, and there i had my first fight. for we raided a town there, and the citizens stood up to us well. i fought in silence, while my comrades yelled to thor and odin as they smote, for those against whom we fought were christian men, and to fight against them by the side of heathen went against me. yet the lust of battle took hold on me, and fight i must. but i will tell no more of that business, save that halfden and thormod praised me, saying that i had done well. and after that the crew asked that i should lead the men amidships, for their head man had been slain, and halfden was on the fore deck, and thormod aft. so my boyish dreams were like to come to pass, for i was thus a viking indeed. yet i had little pride therein. thence we raided ever eastward and westward along that shore, and i grew to love halfden well, strange as were his wild ways to me. for he was in all things most generous; nor was he cruel, but would hold back the more savage of the men when he could--though, indeed, that was seldom--when they were mad with fighting. so the weeks went on, until at last one day as we left a haven where we had bided for a while, taking ransom from the town that we might leave it in peace, we spied a sail far off coming from eastward, and thormod would have us bear up for her, to see what she might be. but instead of flying, as a trading ship would, the strange vessel waited for us, lowering her sail and clearing for action, so that there was doubt if she was not norse. now between dane and northman is little love lost, though at times they have joined hands, loosely as one might say, or as if cat and dog should go together to raid a rabbit warren. "if she be norse," said halfden, and his eyes shone, "we will fight her, and that will be a fight worth telling of by the crew that is left when we have done!" but she turned out to be danish, and a boat came from her to us. she was on the same errand as ourselves, and, moreover, belonged to one rorik, who was a friend of lodbrok's, so that again i must go through all the story of his perils. now if halfden's men had seemed rough and ill-favoured to me when first i saw them, time and comradeship had worn off the feeling, but it came back to me as i looked on these men, and most of all on this rorik; so that for a little i hated myself for being in their company to make war on peaceful christian folk, though, indeed, i could well excuse myself, seeing what straits had thrown me thus among them to follow the ways of my own forefathers, hengist's men. these newcomers held long counsel with halfden and thormod, and the end of it was that they agreed to sail in company, making a raid on the english coast, and first of all on the south saxon shores, behind the island that men call wight. and that was the thing that i had feared most of all, so that as i sat silent and listened, taking no part, as i might, in the planning, my heart seemed like to break for the hardness of it. yet i set my face, saying naught, so that presently rorik looked over at me and laughed, crying in a kind of idle jest: "silent is our friend here, though he looks mighty grim, so that i doubt not he will be glad to swing that big axe of his ashore." now i was in ill company, and must fit my speech to theirs, answering truly enough: "it seems to me that some of us here were a little downcast when we found that you were no northmen, for we looked for a fight." whereon they all laughed, and rorik said that maybe his men had the same longing, but that we would make a great raid between us. and so the matter passed, and he and his men went back to their ship, and we headed over to the english shore together. chapter iv. the song of the bosham bell. there is a wondrous joy in the heart of a man who sees his own land again after long days at sea, but none of that joy might be mine as the long lines of the south downs showed blue through the haze of the late september day. only the promise of lodbrok's son, that on english shores i should not fight, helped me a little, else should i have been fain to end it all, axe to axe with rorik on the narrow deck just now, or in some other way less manful, that would never have come into my mind but for the sore grief that i was in. and these thoughts are not good to look back upon, and, moreover, i should have fully trusted my friend halfden lodbroksson. hardest of all was it to me when i knew where our landing was to be made; for if glastonbury is the most holy place in wessex, so should bosham, the place of wilfrith the saint, be held in reverence by every south saxon; because there, unmindful of his wrongs {ix}, he was content to labour with the wild heathen folk, teaching them, both in body and soul, the first lessons of our holy faith. well knew i the stories of those places which i saw as the ships crept up the haven, for humbert our bishop had told me them many a time when as a child i sat on his knee and listened, wondering. there was selsea with its pile of buildings--wilfrith's own--there the little cliff over which the starving heathen had cast themselves in their despair, and there, at last, the village, clustering round the little monastery that dicul, the irish monk, had founded, and where wilfrith had first taught. and now, maybe, i must see the roofs that had sheltered him, and heard the first praises of his converts, burnt before my eyes, and that while i myself was siding with the destroyers. then at last i took halfden aside and told him my trouble, putting him in mind of the promise he had made me. "aye," said he, "i knew what made you so silent, and i have but waited for you to speak. ill should i have thought of you had you not done so. but i have this plan for you. you shall go ashore with the first, and speak to the saxons to give us ransom, if they have aught, or if any man is foolish enough to bide in the place when we come. then, if you will, you shall leave us and make your way homeward, there to give messages to my father and yours, and to look for my coming to reedham shortly. there will i winter with you, and we will sail to jutland in the spring." then he looked long at me, and put his arm round my shoulder. "truly i shall miss you, wulfric, my brother, yet it is but for a short time." now i knew not how to thank him, for this plan was all that i could wish. and he would have no delay, but gave me good saxon arms and helm, and a chain-mail byrnie {x} of the best, such as saxon or dane alike would wear, for he had many such, gathered from the different lands he had raided with his father and brothers. "any man, seeing you in danish arms and helm," he said, "might well mistrust you. so you must needs take these, for you have far to go." then, too, he pressed on me a heavy leathern bag, for he said truly enough that i should need gold withal to buy a horse. and this i took willingly, saying that it should be as a loan till he came to reedham. "nay," quoth he, "this is your share of booty; we surely gained enough on yonder shores to bring you this much." then i was silent, for i was ashamed of those gains, and i did not look into the bag, but bestowed it inside my mail shirt, for i would not offend him. then, when i was armed and ready, he gave me many messages for his father, and thanks to mine. a ring, too, he gave me for a sure token of his friendship to me; and so as the ship crept, under oars only, up bosham haven, we talked of the hunting we would have together, when the leaves were fallen in our forests; and that was pleasant to look forward to. now began frightened men to run to and fro on the haven's banks, and then suddenly came the ringing of a bell from the low tower of the church, and the danes began to look to their arms, stringing bows, and bringing up the pebble ballast for sling stones, in case the landing should be resisted. but when we came to a little wharf, the other ship being perhaps a mile astern of us, there was no man. only a small fishing vessel lay alongside, and that we cast adrift, taking its place. then halfden and i and twenty men went quickly ashore and marched up among the trees of the village street. there was no man in sight, but the bell was still ringing. a great fear for the holy men shut up in the little monastery came over me now, and i asked halfden to let me warn them, for i knew that he was like his father and would not deny me in this. "go and do so if you can," he said, "and so farewell till we meet at reedham. we shall bide here till rorik's men join us, and you will have time." so he took my hand and i went quickly thereafter, the men calling after me "farewell, axeman!" heartily enough, knowing of my going to reedham, and caring nothing for the monks, seeing that there would be no fighting. now, guided by the bell, i went on quickly, seeing no man. the houses stood open and deserted, and all along the road were scattered goods, showing that the people had fled in haste, so that they had soon cast aside the heavier things they had thought to save. soon i came to the gate of the little stone-walled monastery, over which rose the tower whence the bell yet rang; for the church seemed to make one side of the courtyard into which the gate would lead. a farm cart stood outside; but the gates were closed, and when i looked, i saw that the pin of the wheel was broken, so that the cart could go no further. and that made me fear that more than the monks were penned inside those four walls. i knocked loudly on the gate, and for a while was no answer, though i thought the ringing of the bell grew more hurried. then i beat on the gate with my axe, crying: "open, in the name of eadmund the king." and i used his name because, though a dane might well call in subtlety on the name of ethelred, none but a saxon who knew how well loved was the under-king of east anglia would think of naming him. and i was right, for at his name the little square wicket in the midst of the gate opened, and through its bars an old monk looked out, and at once i cried to him: "let me in, father, for the danes are at my heels." he muttered a prayer in a voice that trembled, and let me in, holding the gate fast, and closing and barring it after me. and all the courtyard was full of terrified men, women, and children, while among them stood the half-dozen monks of the place, pale and silent, listening to the clang of the bell overhead. when they saw me some of the women shrieked and clung to children or husbands, scared at my arms. but one of the monks, a tall man on whose breast was a golden cross, came quickly to me, asking: "is the sheriff at hand with the levy?" i told him hastily how that the only hope for these helpless ones was in flight to the woods, urging him until he understood me. gathering his monks around him, and rousing the people, he led them to the rearward gate that opened toward the forest land, calling at the same time to his swineherd, who was there, and bidding him take them by the forest tracks to chichester. then he bade his monks go also; but they lingered, asking to be allowed to stay with him, and also what should become of the holy vessels if the heathen laid profane hands on them. "obey, as your vows bid you," said the prior; "i and this warrior will care for the holy things." so they went, weeping, and were lost in the woods; for there was little cleared land round the village, and the trees came close to the monastery walls. now we two, the monk and i, stood at the open gate for a moment and listened. we could hear nothing of the danes as yet. then we closed and barred that gate; and all this while the bell had tolled unceasingly, calling as it were for help that came not. "now do you go and call the sacristan from the bell," the prior said, "and bid him lead you to the chancel, where i shall be." i went to the tower door, unhesitating, for this man seemed to have a wondrous power of command, so that i obeyed him without question, even as had the villagers. and even as i went there came the sound of many rushing feet up the street, and yells from danish throats, while axe blows began to rain on the gate by which i had entered. then the prior bade me hold the gate when he heard that, and he spoke quietly and in no terror, turning and calling to the man in the tower himself; while i stood opposite the gate, looking to see it fall with every blow. yet it was not so weakly made as that, and moreover i remembered that it was crossed with iron bands in squares so that the axes could not bite it fairly. now the bell stopped and the danes howled the louder. a torch flew over the wall and fell at my feet blazing, and i hurled it back, and the danes laughed at one whom it struck. then came the two monks from the tower and ran into the church, while i watched the trembling of the sorely-tried gate, and had it fallen i should surely have smitten the first dane who entered, even had halfden himself been foremost, for in the four walls of that holy place i was trapped, and knew that i must fight at last. and now it seemed to me that i was to fight for our faith and our land; and for those sacred things, if i might do naught in dying, i would give my life gladly. "come," said the prior's voice, and he was smiling though his face was pale, while behind him the sacristan bore an oaken chest, iron bound, on his shoulders. he drew me across the courtyard, but i ever looked back at the gate, thinking it would fall; and now they were at the other gate, and blows rained on it. yet the monk smiled again and went on without faltering, though our way was towards it. then we turned under an arch into a second court, and the din was less plain as we did so. there was the well of the monastery, and without a word the sacristan hove the heavy chest from his shoulders into its black depths, and the splash and bubble of its falling came up to us. "that is safe," said the prior; "now for ourselves." he hooked the oaken bucket to its rope and let it down to its full length in the well, and at once the sacristan swung himself on it, slid down, and was gone. then the rope swayed to one side, and stayed there, shaking gently in a minute or so. the prior drew it up, and maybe fifteen feet from the top, there was a bundle tied--a rope ladder on which were iron hooks. these he fastened to the edge of the oaken platform that covered the well mouth, and let the other end fall down the well. then he bade me go down to the sacristan. that was easy to me, and i went, yet i feared for him who stood listening to the splintering of the nearer gate, for it would soon fall surely. i saw the sacristan's face glimmer white before me from a hollow in the well shaft, as i set my foot on the last rung of the ladder, and i held out my hand to him. then in a moment i was beside him in a little chamber built in the walling of the well; and after me came the prior. he jerked the ladder from side to side till the hooks above lost their hold and it fell, so that he drew it in. we were but a few feet above the water, and the well rope hung down into the blackness before us, but i was sure that no man could see the little doorway of the chamber from above, for the trapdoor in the well cover was small, and light there was hardly any. "now all is safe," said the prior; "and we may be careless again." "they will burn the monastery," i said. "one torch has been thrown already." he smiled a little, as i thought, for my eyes were growing used to the dim light. "they may burn some things, but roof and benches are soon made afresh. there is oaken timber in plenty in andredsweald, and ready hands to hew it. our stone walls they cannot hurt." those were all the words we spoke of the matter at that time, for there came a great shouting. one of the gates had fallen at last, and the danes were in the place. "father," said the sacristan, "surely they will find this place?" the prior laughed a short laugh. "that is a thought born of your fears, brother," he answered; and i who had had the same fear was rebuked also, for indeed that i should go down the well had never come into my mind, even in our need of shelter, so why should the danes think of it? then we were silent, listening to the feet and voices overhead. the danes found the belfry presently, and began to toll the bell unskillfully while the men below jeered at those who handled the ropes. then the bell clashed twice strangely, and the prior laughed outright. "the clumsy churls have overthrown her," he said, "now i hope that one has had his head broken thereby." i marvelled that he could jest thus, though maybe, after the strain and terror of the danger we had so far escaped, it was but natural that his mind should so rebound as it were. very soon after this the danes came clattering into the little court where the well was, and straightway came to its mouth, casting stones down it, as no idle man can help doing. the sacristan crept to the furthest corner of our little den and sat there trembling, while i and the other monk listened with set teeth to the words that came down to us. nor will i say that i was not somewhat frightened also, for it seemed to me that the voices were unknown to me. they were rorik's men, therefore, and not our crew--who likely enough would but have jeered at me had they found me hiding thus. "halfden's men have drunk all the ale in the place, and that was not much," said one man; "let us try the water, for the dust of these old storehouses is in my throat." then he began to draw up the bucket, and it splashed over us as it went past our doorway. "there is naught worth taking in this place," growled another man. "maybe they have hove their hoards down the well!" now at that the sacristan gave a stifled groan of terror, and i clutched my axe, ready for need. "all right, go down and see!" answered one or two, but more in jest than earnest. then one dropped a great stone in, and waited to hear it bubble from the bottom, that he might judge the depth. now no bubbles came, or so soon that they were lost in the splash, and the prior took some of the crumbling mortar from the cell walls, and cast it in after a few moments. and that was a brave and crafty thing to do, for it wrought well. "hear the bubble," said the dane; "the well must be many a fathom deep--how long it seemed before they came up!" so they drank their fill, saying that it was useless to go down therefore, and anyhow there would be naught but a few silver vessels. "i have seen the same before," said one; "and moreover no man has luck with those things from a church." no man gainsaid him, so they kicked the bucket down the well and went away. now i breathed freely again, and was about to whisper to the prior that his thought of making what would pass for bubbling was good; but more danes came. and they were men of halfden's ship; so we must wait and listen, and this time i thought that surely we were to be found. for the men began to play with one another as they drank from the bucket; pushing each other's heads therein, and the helm of one fell off and fled past us to the bottom; and some words passed pretty roughly. and after they had done quarrelling they crowded over the trapdoor, as one might know by the darkening of the shaft. then one saw the helm, for it was of leather, iron bound, and had fallen rim upward, so that it floated. now one was going to swarm down the rope to get it, but as he swung the rope to him, the bucket swayed in the water under the helm, and he saw that it did so. whereon he wound both up, and they too went away. "that was a lucky chance!" i whispered. "no chance at all, my son; that was surely done by the same hand that sent you here to warn us," answered the prior. and i think that he was right. now came a whiff of biting smoke down the well shaft, borne by some breath of wind that eddied into it. the danes had fired the place! "father," i whispered, pulling the prior forward, for he had gone into the little cell to give thanks for this last deliverance. he looked very grave as he saw the blue haze across the doorway, hiding the moss and a tiny fern that grew on the shaft walls over against us. "this is what i feared, though i must needs make light of it," he said. "it cannot harm us here," i answered. "all round this court on three sides the buildings are of wood; sheds and storehouses they are and of no account, but if one falls across the well mouth--what then?" "then we are like to be stifled," said i; for even now the smoke grew thicker, even so far down as we were. and when i looked out and up there was naught but smoke across the well mouth, and with that, sparks. "pent up and stifled both," said the quavering voice of the sacristan from behind us. "how may we get out of this place till men come and raise the ruin that will cover us? and who knows we are here but ourselves?" "forgive me for bringing you to this pass," said the prior gravely, after a little silence. the smoke grew even denser, and we must needs cough, while the tears ran from my eyes, for the stinging oak smoke seemed trapped when once it was driven down the well. "i have known men escape from worse than this," i said, thinking of lodbrok, and turning over many wild plans in my mind. "i had forgotten this danger of wooden walls," said the prior to himself, as it were. "doubtless when this well chamber was made it was without the inclosure." now it seemed to me that this could not be borne much longer, and that soon the walls he dreaded would fall. so as one might as well die in one way as another, i thought i would climb to the well's mouth and see if there were any chance of safety for these two monks. yet i had no thought of aught but dying with them, if need were, though as for myself i had but to walk across the courtyard and go away. the danes would but think i lingered yet for the sake of plunder. "if we may not stand this smoke, neither can the danes," i said. "i am going to see." so i set down my axe and sword and leapt sailor-wise at the rope--which the men had dropped again when they had taken the helm from the bucket--catching it easily and swarming up to the trapdoor. i only raised myself to the height of my eyes and looked out. i could see nothing. the dense smoke eddied and circled round the court, and the danes were gone, leaving us in a ring of fire on three sides. the wooden buildings were blazing higher every moment, and the heat seemed to scorch my head and hands till i could scarcely bear it. but as the wind drove aside the smoke i could see that the way to the rear gate, the last we had barred, was clear. so i slid down and hung opposite the chamber. the monks looked out at me with white faces. "it may be done," i said. "come quickly! it is the only chance." the prior gave me the rope-ladder end without a word, not needing to be asked for it; nor did i wait to say more, for at that moment a roof fell in with a great crash, and a red glare filled the well as the flames shot up, and the sparks and bits of burning timber came down the shaft and hissed into the water below me. i clomb up, fixed the ladder, and called down to the prior to bring my arms with him. there was a burning beam not three feet from the well mouth, part of the fallen roof that had slipped sideways from it. the flames that shot up from the building were so hot that i could barely abide them, and i shaded my face with both my hands, crying again to the monks to come quickly. in a few seconds came the sacristan, white and trembling--i had to help him out of the well mouth. the prior was close to him; he was calm, and even smiled at me as he saw me clutch my arms eagerly. "to the rear gate," i said, turning and kicking the ladder into the well, and thinking how cool the splash was compared with this furnace of heat. "kilt up your frocks and go swiftly, but run not," for in that smoke, save their long garments betrayed them, a man might be armed or unarmed for all that one could see. so, walking quickly, we came to the court entrance, and even as we stood under its archway the building nearest the well fell with a crash and rumble, covering the well mouth with a pile of blazing timber. the smoke and flame seemed to wrap us round, while the burning timber flew, and the danes from the great courtyard yelled with evil delight; but before that cloud had cleared away we three were outside the monastery gate, and were safe. "just in time," i said. but "deo gratias" said the monks in a breath. "now run," said i, and into the nearest spur of woodland we went, and stayed not till we were beyond reach of the yells of the destroyers, who, as it seemed, had not even seen us. when we were sure that we were not pursued, the prior took my arm and pressed it. "thanks to you, my son, our people are safe, and we have come out of yon furnace unscathed. may you find help in time of need as near and ready. now when i read the story of the three children, i think i shall know all that they suffered, for we have been in like case." and i could make no answer, for it seemed to me that i had forgotten that i was a christian of late. and that was true. now the prior bade the sacristan hasten to chichester and tell all this to the sheriff, and he left us, while we went on alone. presently i asked who made the chamber in the well, for the silence weighed on me, and my thoughts were not so lightsome. "doubtless by wilfrith's men," he said, "and for the same turn it has served us. for in his days there were many heathen round him, and flight or hiding might be the last resort at any time." then i wondered, saying that i deemed that surely it was a greater thing to be a martyr and to die, than to save life. "not always so," he answered, and then he told me of the ways of holy men of old time. "we may by no means save life by denying our faith, but we are bidden to flee into another place when persecuted. we may not choose the place of our death, nor yet the time." so he showed me at last what it was to be truly a martyr, fearing not, nor yet seeking death. "of a truth," he ended, "the lord may need my death by the hand of the heathen at some time, and when the time comes i shall know it, and will die gladly. but while he gives me the power to save life blamelessly, i know that he needs me on earth yet, though i am of little worth." so we were silent after that, ever going on through the woods. at last he laughed a little, and looked sidewise at me. "we two are alone," he said, "therefore i do not mind saying that i have been fairly afraid--how felt you?" "i would i might never be so frightened again," i answered, for truly i had made myself so at one with this brave man that i had forgotten that there was little fear for myself, as i have said, unless that it had been rorik's crew who had found us, for only a few of them knew me. we came now to a place where the trees thinned away on the brow of a hill, and i could see the broad waters of the haven through their trunks. we had reached the crest of that little cliff over which wilfrith's heathen had cast themselves in the great famine from which he saved them. "let us see the last of bosham," the prior said sadly. so we crept through the fern and long grass, and lying down looked out over haven and village. even if a prying dane looked our way he would hardly see us thus hidden, or if he did would take us but for villagers and care not. now i saw that the tide was on the turn, and that halfden's ship--my own ship, as i have ever thought her--had hauled out, and her boats waited for the last of the crew at the wharf side. but rorik's ship was there still, and her men were busy rigging a crane of spars as though they would lower some heavy thing on board her. nor could i guess what that might be. then i looked at the village, which was burning here and there, and at the monastery. they had not fired the church, and the danes clustered round the tower doorway, busied with something, and i could see them well, for the smoke from the burning buildings blew away from us. now i asked the prior what heavy things worth carrying away might be in the monastery. "naught," he said; "since they have drunk all the ale that was in the cask or two we had. "but," he added, "there is the great bell, it is the only weighty thing else." then i knew what was toward, and said: "i fear, father, that your bell is going to be taken to become metal for mail shirts, and axe heads, and arrowheads, and helms." "holy st. wilfrith!" cried the monk, in great grief; "would that we could have saved it. there is no such bell in all england, and if they take it, many a sailor will miss its call through fog and driving mist, and many a shepherd on yonder downs will wait for its ringing, and be the wearier for lack thereof." "never have i seen bell too large for one man to handle," i said; "this must be a wondrous bell!" so it was, he told me, and while we watched the busy danes, he began to sing to me in low tones the song of bosham bell which his people would sing by the fireside. "hard by the haven, wilfrith the holy bade men a bell tower sturdily build. thence should a bell sound over the wide seas, homeward to hail the hardy shipmen. thus was the bell wrought by skilful workmen: into the fierce fire, when it was founded, helm and harness the warriors hove; willingly women, the jewel wearers, golden and silver gauds gave for the melting; and a great anchor the seamen added. thus was a wealth of wondrous metal. when all was molten more grew its marvel! cast in a chalice, cuthred the priest." "aye, father," said i, "that is a wondrous bell." he nodded, and went on, with his eyes fixed on the monastery. "thus as the bell swings soothly it speaketh: churchward it calleth with voice of the chalice, speaking to shipmen with voice that is sea born. homeward the husband hailing with voices fresh from the fireside, where flashed the gold gifts-- clashing the war call, clear with its warrior voice." "that was the voice of the bell that sounded as we came," i thought; and even as i would have said it, the bell of bosham spoke again, and the prior stopped with an exclamation, and pointed. out of the gateway came four danes, bearing the bell between them, and as they crossed the threshold, one stumbled, and the bell clanged as they dropped it on the courtyard pavement. the tears ran down the holy man's face as he saw this mishap to his beloved bell, which was kept bright as when it was first founded, by the loving hands of his people. now the danes put it on that farm cart i had seen, and which they had mended, and took the bell down to the wharf, and we watched them sling it to the crane they had rigged, and place it amidships on deck. then they all went hastily on board, and put out into the haven, down which halfden's ship was already a mile distant, and dancing on the quick waves of wind against tide where the waters broadened into a wide lake. now when the ship was fairly under way, the prior rose up from beside me, and lifting his hand, cursed ship and crew with so great and bitter a curse that i trembled and looked to see the ship founder at once, so terrible were his words. yet the ship held on her course, and the words seemed vain and wasted, though i know not so certainly that they were so. for this is what i saw when the ship met the waves of that wider stretch of water that halfden had now crossed. she pitched sharply, and there was a bright gleam of sunlight from the great bell's polished sides, and then another--and the ship listed over to starboard and a wave curled in foam over her gunwale. then she righted again quickly, and as though relieved of some weight, yet when a heavier, crested roller came on her she rose to it hardly at all, and it broke on board her. and at that she sank like a stone, and i could hear the yell that her men gave come down the wind to me. then all the water was dotted with men for a little, and the bright red and white of her sail floated on the waves for a minute, and then all that was left of her were the masthead and yard--and on them a few men. the rest were gone, for they were in their mail, and might not swim. only a few yet clung to floating oars and the like. "little have these heathen gained from bosham," said the prior, and his eyes flashed with triumph. "wilfrith the holy has punished their ill doing." so, too, it seemed to me, and i thought to myself that the weight of that awesome curse had indeed fallen on the robbers. yet i know that, as i watched the ship in her trouble, in my own mind i had been going over what was amiss, as any seaman will, without thought of powers above. and i thought that the sharp pitching of the vessel had cast the great bell from amidships, where i had seen the danes place it unsecured, against the frail gunwale, first to one side, and then, with greater force yet, against the other; so that it burst open gunwale and planking below, and already she was filling when the wave came and ended all. for these swift viking ships are built to take no heavy cargo, and planks and timbers are but bound together by roots and withies; so that as one stands on the deck one may feel it give and spring to the blow of a wave, and the ship is all the swifter. but though the outer planking is closely riveted together with good iron, that could not withstand the crashing weight of so great a bell when it was thus flung against it. however that may have been--and thus i surely think it was--bosham bell passed not into the power of the heathen, but destroyed them; and it lies at the bottom of the deepest reach of the haven whence the depth and swiftness of the tide will hardly let men bring it again. so i suppose that, profaned by heathen hands, it may no longer call men from across the water and woodland to the church of god. soon came the boats from halfden's ship and picked up those who yet clung to what they might of the wreck, and then ship and danes passed from bosham haven, leaving the silent tower and burning village to mark where they had been. then the prior sighed, and turning away, said: "let us go to chichester and find shelter. night comes soon, and rest." sadly enough we went, though not for long: for when we came into the roadway from the forest land, the prior put his heavy thoughts aside, and spoke cheerfully to me. "what is done is done; and but for you, my son, things would have been worse. and their greed for the bell has made them spare the church itself. surely you must have fallen from the clouds to help us--borne hither from the east anglian land whose tongue bewrays you." "i marvel that you trusted me," i said. "i trusted your face, my son, and when one is in a hard case the first help is ever the best. yet now i would fain know somewhat of my good comrade." now i think that to any but this monk, with his friendly smile and way of quiet authority, i should have been ashamed to own my part with the danes. but a few hours of companionship in danger knit closer than many a long day of idleness together, and he seemed to me as a near friend. moreover, he had trusted me without question; so i told him all my tale and he listened patiently. "now i am glad that i cursed not your friend's ship--for i forgot her," he said, smiling. at that i was glad, for how he would hold my being with the heathen i somewhat doubted, and i told him so. "why, my son, i know not that you had much choice. and as for fighting against outlanders--let me heft that axe of yours." he took it, and it fell into his hands in a way that told me that he, too, had been a stark fighting man at some time. "take it away, my son, take it away!" he cried, thrusting it back on me; "i am not the man to blame you. and i know that much good has come to us from your being with them. and from your talk about martyrs i know that you have done no honour to their gods." i said truly that the question had never come into my mind. for, save as oath or war cry, the names of thor and odin were not heard. they sacrificed on going to sea, and on return; and meanwhile cared naught, so far as i knew, for none had questioned my faith. he said it was well, and so talking we went on. and he said that, as friend of his, none would question me, so that i should find all i needed for my journey in the town. and when we came there--meeting the sheriff's ill-armed levy on the way--we went to the house of a great thane, and there were well and kindly received. yet once and again as i slept i dreamed and woke with the cry of rorik's men in my ears, and before me the bell seemed to flash again as it crashed through the ship's side. and once i woke thinking that the smell of burning was round me, and felt, half awake, for the stone walls of the well chamber. but at last i slept soundly and peacefully. chapter v. how wulfric, lodbrok, and beorn hunted. when morning came it was great wonder and joy to me to wake and find myself in england and free, for indeed i had begun to think of my comradeship with the danes as a sort of thralldom that i knew not how to break. and now i longed to make my way back to reedham as soon as i might, for i had been many weeks away, though i have said little of all that befell in that time beyond what was needful. one thing saved me from grief that might have been, and that was the knowledge that ingild, the merchant, had not been told to look for my coming, and that none at home would wonder if i were long away, because of that plan of wintering our ship in the thames. and i knew that not one of my poor crew could have lived to take news of the wreck. that i must take back myself; and though i could not fairly be blamed for loss of ship and crew, the thought of having to break the tidings to those who would mourn for their lost ones was very hard to me. but it must be done, and there was an end. now came to me, as i thought of these things, my friend the prior of bosham, and he sat down beside me and asked how he could further my plans. he himself must go to selsea, there to see the bishop and tell him all, not forgetting my part, as he said. i told him that i only needed a horse, and that then i should ride to london, where i had friends: and he asked me if i had money wherewith to buy one, for he had none, else would he gladly do so for me. and that reminded me of the bag which halfden gave me, and i opened it. it was full of treasure--gold ornaments, and chains wherein were set precious stones, and some gold coins and silver, and these were the least value of all. but little pleasure had i in them, for i knew too well how they came, and a thought came to me. "father," i said, "this comes from ruined towns on yonder shore--take it and build up bosham again. aye, take it." "why, my son, here is treasure enough to build three villages like ours," he said quietly; "for timber houses cost but labour in this forest land, and there was naught else worth taking in the place." "but your people are the poorer," i said; "i pray you take it for their need, and for a new bell, moreover." and so i urged him till he took the greatest gold chain, saying that in honesty he could no more, for that would surely make bosham wish for more burnings if they turned out as this. "keep the rest and buy a new ship," he said, "and forget not that always and every day your name will be remembered at the time of mass in bosham; and that may help you in days to come." so he blessed me and departed, and i think that both of us were light at heart, save for parting. and i have never seen the good prior again, though his face and words i cannot forget. soon came one to lead me to the presence of the thane and his wife, and from them i found kindness more than i could have looked for. we broke our fast together, and then the lady asked me if i would accept horse and gear for my journey from her, for she had heard from the prior that i had been shipwrecked, who had also told her all the story of our doings at bosham. thanking her, i told her that though shipwrecked, i was yet rich, having a store of wealth with me; for i thought that it was in the minds of these kind people that i was in need. "be not proud," she said "bide with us for a while, and then take horse and go. we hold that you have deserved well of all of us." but i told her of my mother and sister at home, and how i would fain be back with them, so she pitied me the more, saying that now for their sakes she would hasten me. "aye, lad," said the thane, "we have sons of our own at court, and the lady would that someone would pack them home on a good horse--so she must not be denied." thus they persuaded me, and when i tried to thank them, the thane laughed, and the lady said: "thank me not but in one way, and that is by asking your mother to help homeward some other lady's son when need is. and that is all i would wish." and the end of it was that i rode away from chichester town on a good horse and with change of clothes in saddlebags, and those worthy people stood at the gate to give me good speed. yet that is not the end, for there are one or two who have ridden in like sort from reedham since that day, and have borne home the like message; so that i know not where the ending of that kindly deed may be. past the old chichester walls i went, and out on the long line of the roman street that should take me to london. and as i went i sang, for the green beechen woods were wondrous fair to me after the long weeks of changing sea, and it seemed to me that all was going well, so that i put away for the time the grievous thought of my shipwreck, the one hard thing that i must face when i came home again. there is nothing to tell of that ride; for well armed, and rich, and with a good horse, what should there be? and at last i came to london town, and rode straightway to the great house of my godfather, ingild, that stood by london bridge. very strange it was to me to look out over the pool as i crossed, and not to see our good ship in her wonted place, for this was the first time i had come to london except in her. at the door of the courtyard, round which ingild had his great storehouses and sheds for goods, i drew rein, and two serving men whom i knew well came out. yet they knew me not, staring at my arms and waiting for my commands. so i spoke to them by name, and they started and then laughed, saying that they must be forgiven for not knowing me in my arms, for surely i had changed greatly since two years ago, when i was last with them. it was the same when ingild himself came out, ample robed and portly; for he gazed long at my helmed face, and then cried: "why, here is a marvel! wulfric, my son, you have grown from boy to man since last we met; and you come in helm and mail shirt and on horseback, instead of in blue homespun and fur cap, with an oar blister on either hand. how is this?" then he kissed me on both cheeks and led me in, running on thus till a good meal was before me, with a horn of his mighty ale; and then he let me be in peace for a little while. afterwards, as we sat alone together, i told him all that had befallen, even as i would have told my father, for in my mind ingild, my godfather, came next to him and our king, and i loved him well. sorely he grieved for loss of ship and goods and men, but he told me that we were not the only seamen who had been hurt by that sudden gale. nor did he blame me at all, knowing that kenulf was in truth the commander of our ship. rather was he glad that it had chanced that i had left her and so was safe. then when i told him of my turning viking thereafter, he laughed grimly, with a glitter of his eye, saying that he would surely have done the same at my age--aye, and any young man in all england likewise, were he worth aught. so when i had told him all about my journey, i showed him the bag that halfden gave me, and well he knew the value of the treasure therein. "why, son wulfric," he cried; "here is wealth enough to buy a new ship withal, as times go!" and i would have him keep it, not being willing to take so great a sum about with me, and that he did willingly, only asking me to let him use it, if chance should be, on my behalf, and making me keep the silver money for my own use going homeward. "yet i will keep you awhile, for egfrid, the thane's son of hoxne, who is here at court, goes home for yuletide, and so you can ride with him. and i think it will be well that we should send word to your father of how things have been faring with you, for so will you have naught of misfortune to tell when you come home." i thought this wise counsel and kindly, for my people would best tell those wives and children of their loss, and so things would be easier for me. and ingild sent writing to my father by the hand of some chapman travelling to the great fair at norwich; and with his letter went one from me also, with messages to lodbrok--for eadmund had made me learn to write. so after that i abode with ingild, going to the court of ethelred the king with him, and seeing the great feasts which the merchant guilds made for the king while he was in london; with many other wondrous sights, so that the time went quickly, and the more so that this egfrid was ever with me. i had known him when we were little lads together at our own king's court, but he had left to go to that of our great overlord, ethelred, so that i had not seen him for long years. and one may sail up our waveney river to hoxne, where his father's house is, from ours at reedham, though it is a long way. now in the week before yuletide we would start homewards, so with many gifts and words of good speed, ingild set us forth; and we rode well armed and attended as the sons of great thanes should. so the way was light to us in the clear december weather, and if it were long the journey was very pleasant, for egfrid and i grew to be great friends, and there is nothing more joyous than to be riding ever homeward through wood and over wild, with one whose ways fit with one's own, in the days of youth, when cares are none and shadows fall not yet across the path. when we came to colchester town we heard that eadmund was yet at thetford, and when we asked more we learnt that lodbrok was there also with my father. so, because hoxne was but twenty miles or thereby from thetford, both egfrid and i were glad that our way was yet together, and we would go there first of all. one other thing we heard in colchester, for we waited there for two days, resting our horses. there was a wandering gleeman who came into the marketplace on the hill top, and we stood and listened to him. and first he sang of how danes had come and burnt harwich town. but the people told him to sing less stale news than that, for harwich was close at hand. now it was halfden's ship which had done that, and the fires we saw before the fog came had been the beacons lit because of his landing. then he made a great outcry until he had many folk to listen, and they paid him well before he would sing. whereon, forsooth, my ears tingled, for he sang of the burning of bosham. and when he came to the stealing of the bell, his tale was, that it, being hallowed, would by no means bear that heathen hands should touch it, so that when it came to the deepest pool in the haven it turned red hot, and so, burning a great hole through the danish ship, sank to the bottom, and the danes were all drowned. whereat the people marvelled, and the gleeman fared well. i suppose that the flashing of the great bell that i had seen gave rise to this tale, and that is how men tell it to this day. and i care not to gainsay them, for it is close enough to the truth, and few know that i had so nearly a hand in the matter. so we rode to thetford, and how we were received there is no need for me to tell, for i came back as it were from the dead, and egfrid after years of absence. and there with eadmund were my father and mother, and eadgyth, and lodbrok, and egfrid's folk also, with many more friends to greet us, and the king would have us keep yuletide with him. it had been in my mind that halfden would have come to reedham, and at first i looked for him, but he had not been heard of, so that now we knew that we should not see him before springtime came, for he must needs be wintering somewhere westward. yet now lodbrok was at ease with us, seeing the end of his stay, and being in high favour with our king, so that he was seldom away from his side in all the hunting that went on. that liked not beorn, the falconer, and though he would be friendly, to all seeming, with the dane, it seemed to me that his first jealousy had grown deeper and taken more hold of him, though it might only be in a chance look or word that he showed it as days went on. but one night my father and i rode in together from our hunting, and there was no one with us. we had been at thetford for a month now, since i came home, and there was a talk that the king would go to the court of ethelred at winchester shortly, taking my father with him for his counsellor, and so we spoke of that for a while, and how i must order things at reedham while he was away. "lodbrok, our friend, will go back with you," he said. "now, have you noted any envy at the favour in which he is held by eadmund?" "aye, father," i answered, "from beorn, the falconer." "so you, too, have had your eyes open," went on my father; "now i mistrust that man, for he hates lodbrok." "that is saying more than i had thought." "you have been away, and there is more than you know at the bottom of the matter. the king offered lodbrok lands if he would bide with us and be his man, and these he refused, gently enough, saying that he had broad lands of his own, and that he would not turn christian, as the king wished, for the sake of gain. he would only leave the worship of his own gods for better reasons. now beorn covets those lands, and has hoped to gain them. nor does he yet know that lodbrok will not take them." then i began to see that this matter was deeper than i had thought, and told my father of the first meeting of lodbrok and beorn. but i said that the falconer had seemed very friendly of late. "aye, too friendly," said my father; "it is but a little while since he held aloof from him, and now he is ever close to lodbrok in field and forest. you know how an arrow may seem to glance from a tree, or how a spear thrust may go wide when the boar is at bay, and men press round him, or an ill blow may fall when none may know it but the striker." "surely no man would be so base!" i cried. "such things have been and may be again. long have i known beorn, and i would not have him for enemy. his ways are not open." then i said that if beorn was ever near lodbrok, i would be nearer, and so we left the matter. there was one other thing, which was more pleasant, which we spoke about at that time. and it was about the betrothal of my sister eadgyth. for it had come to pass that egfrid, my friend, had sought her hand, and the match pleased us all. so before the king and my father went to winchester there was high feasting, and those two were pledged one to the other. then was a new house to be built for them at hoxne, where the wedding itself should take place. "maybe halfden will be here by that time," said lodbrok to me. "i wish, friend wulfric, that honest egfrid had not been so forward, or that you had another fair sister." now though that saying pleased me, i could not wish for the wild viking as husband to our gentle eadgyth, though i loved him well as my own friend. so i said that i thought halfden's ship was his only love. "maybe," answered the jarl; "but one may never know, and i think it would be well for english folk and danish to be knit together more closely." but when i asked him why this should be so, he only smiled, and talked of friendliness between the two peoples, which seemed a little matter to me at that time. now when the time came, my father having gone, we two, lodbrok and i, went back to reedham, while my mother and eadgyth stayed yet at thetford for the sake of egfrid's new house building, for he would have it built to suit her who should rule it. strange and grievous it was to me to see our shipyard empty, and sad to have to tell the story of the good ship's loss to those whose mourning was not yet over. yet they were sailors' wives and children, and to them death at sea was honourable, as is to a warrior's wife that her husband should fall in a ring of foes with all his wounds in front. and they blamed me not; but rather rejoiced that i was safe returned. now without thought of any foe, or near or far, lodbrok and i hunted and hawked over our manors, finding good sport, and in a little while i forgot all about beorn, for i had seen him go in the king's train as they rode out to winchester. out of that carelessness of mine came trouble, the end of which is hard to see, and heavily, if there is blame to me, have i paid for it. and i think that i should have better remembered my father's words, though i had no thought but that danger was far away for the time. we hunted one day alone together, and had ridden far across our nearer lands to find fresh ground, so that we were in the wide forest country that stretches towards norwich, on the south of the yare. maybe we were five miles from the old castle at caistor. there we beat the woods for roebuck, having greyhounds and hawks with us, but no attendants, as it happened, and for a time we found nothing, not being far from the road that leads to the great city from the south. then we came to a thicket where the deer were likely to harbour, and we went, one on either side of it, so that we could not see one another, and little by little separated. then i started a roe, and after it went my hounds, and i with them, winding my horn to call lodbrok to me, for they went away from him. my hounds took the roe, after a long chase, and i was at work upon it, when that white hound that i had given to lodbrok came leaping towards me, and taking no heed of the other hounds, or of the dead deer, fawned upon me, marking my green coat with bloodstains from its paws. i was angry, and rated the hound, and it fled away swiftly as it came, only to return, whining and running to and fro as though to draw me after it. then i thought that lodbrok had also slain a deer, starting one from the same thicket, which was likely enough, and that this dog, being but young, would have me come and see it. all the while the hound kept going and coming, being very uneasy, and i rated it again. then it came across me that i had not heard lodbrok's horn, and that surely the dog would not so soon have left his quarry. and at that i hasted and hung the deer on a branch, and, mounting my horse, rode after the hound, which at once ran straight before me, going to where i thought lodbrok would be. when i came round the spur of wood that had first parted us i was frightened, for lodbrok's horse ran there loose, snorting as if in terror of somewhat that i could not see, and i caught him and rode on. when i could see a furlong before me, into a little hollow of the land that is there, before me was a man, dressed like myself in green, and he was dragging the body of another man towards a thicket; and as i saw this my horses started from a pool of blood in which lay a broken arrow shaft. at that i shouted and spurred swiftly towards those two--letting the other horse go free--with i know not what wild thoughts in my mind. and when i came near i knew that the living man was beorn, and that the dead was lodbrok my friend. then i took my horn and wound it loud and long, charging down upon that traitor with drawn sword, for i had left my hunting spear with the slain deer. he dropped his burden, and drew his sword also, turning on me. and i saw that the blade was red. then i made no more delay, but leapt from my horse and fell upon him to avenge myself for the death of him whom i loved. would that i had had the axe whose use he who lay there had taught me so well, for then the matter would have been ended at one blow. but now we were evenly matched, and without a word we knew that this fight must be to the death, and our swords crossed, and blow and parry came quickly. then i heard shouts, and the noise of men running behind me, and beorn cried: "stay us not, i avenge me of my friend," whereon i ground my teeth and pressed on him yet more fiercely, wounding him a little in the shoulder; and he cried out for help--for the men who came were close on us--and the well-cast noose of a rope fell over my shoulders, and i was jerked away from him well-nigh choked. two men ran past me and took beorn, throwing up his sword with their quarterstaves, and it seemed to me that it was done over gently. then they bound us both and set us on the ground face to face. "now here be fine doings!" said a man, who seemed to be the leader of the six or seven who had ended the fight. "aye, 'tis murder," said another, looking from beorn to me and then to beorn again; "but which is murderer and which true man?" now all these men were strangers to me, but i knew one thing about them from their dress. they were the men of mighty earl ulfkytel himself, and seemed to be foresters, and honest men enough by their faces. "i am wulfric, son of elfric of reedham," i said. "the slain man is lodbrok, the danish jarl, and this man slew him." "he lies!" cried beorn. "it was he who slew him, and i would revenge myself on him, for this lodbrok was my friend." now i held my peace, keeping back my wrath as well as i might, for i began to see that beorn had some deep plot on hand, thus to behave as if innocent. "why, so he cried out as we came," said one of the men when he heard beorn's words. "maybe both had a hand in it," the leader said, and so they talked for a little. then came two of my own serfs, who had followed me to see the sport, i suppose, at a distance, as idle men will sometimes, when hunting is on hand, and with them came lodbrok's dog, the same that had brought me. and when the dog saw beorn he flew at him and would have mauled him sorely, but that the earl's men beat him off with their staves; and one took the leash that hung from my saddle bow and tied him to a tree, where he sat growling and making as though he would again fly at the falconer. "whose dog is this?" asked the leader. "his," answered the serfs, pointing to lodbrok. "dogs might tell strange tales could they talk," said the earl's man; "i misdoubt both these men. let us take them to the earl for judgment." "where is the earl?" i asked. "at caistor," answered the man shortly, and i was glad that he was so near, for the matter would be quickly settled and i could go free. "unbind me, and i will go where you will," i said, but at that beorn cried out. "loose him not, loose him not, i pray you!" "tie their hands behind them and let us be gone," was the answer, and they did so, loosing my feet, and setting us on my horse and lodbrok's. and some of the men stayed behind with my serfs to make a litter on which to carry my friend's body, and follow us to caistor. so as i went i cried quickly to those two men of mine that they should go in all haste to reedham and tell what had befallen me to our steward, who would know what to do. "reedham is too far for a rescue to reach you in time," said the leader of the earl's men grimly; "think not of it." "i meant not that, but to have witnesses to speak for me." "that is fair," said the man, after a little thought, "we will not hinder their going." then they led us away, and presently reached that place where i had seen the broken arrow, and one picked it up, saying that here was surely the place where the deed was done, and that the arrow would maybe prove somewhat. and i think that here beorn had shot the jarl, for all around those other marks on the grass were the hoofmarks of the rearing and frightened horse, and there were many places where an archer might lie unseen in the thickets, after following us all day maybe, as beorn must have done, thus to find fitting chance for his plan when we two were far apart. and surely, had it not been for the dog, i think the fate of lodbrok would have been unknown for many a long day, for but for him beorn would have hidden his deed and ridden off before i had known aught. now, as the man handled the broken arrow, walking beside me, i saw it plainly, and knew it for one of my own, and one of four that i had lost at thetford, though i did not know how. at that i seemed to see all the plot, and my heart sank within me, for this beorn was most crafty, and had planned well to throw doubt on me if things by ill chance fell out as they had, and so i rode in silence wondering what help should come, and whence. and i thought of halfden, and what he should think when he heard the tale that was likely to be told him, and even as i thought this there was a rushing of light wings, and lodbrok's gray falcon--which i had cast from my wrist as i fell on beorn--came back to me, and perched on my saddle, for my hands were bound behind me. she had become unhooded in some way. then beorn cried out to the men to take the falcon, for it was his, and that he would not have her lost; and that angered me so that i cried out on him, giving him the lie, and he turned pale as if i were free and could smite him. whereon the men bade us roughly to hold our peace, and the leader whistled to the falcon and held out his hand to take her. but she struck at him and soared away, and i watched her go towards reedham, and was glad she did so with a sort of dull gladness. for i would have no man pass through a time of thoughts such as mine were as they took me to caistor--rage and grief and fear of shame all at once, and one chasing the other through my mind till i knew not where i was, and would start as from a troubled dream when one spoke, and then go back to the same again as will a sick man. but by the time we reached caistor i had, as it seemed to me, thought every thought that might be possible, and one thing only was plain and clear. i would ask for judgment by eadmund the king, and if that might not be, then for trial by battle, which the earl would surely grant. and yet i hoped that beorn's plot was not so crafty but that it would fail in some way. so they put me in a strong cell in the old castle, leading beorn to another, and there left me. the darkness came, and they brought me food, so i ate and drank, being very hungry and weary; and that done, my thoughts passed from me, for i slept heavily, worn out both in body and mind. chapter vi. the justice of earl ulfkytel. an armed jailor woke me with daylight, bringing me food again, and at first i was dazed, not knowing where i was, so heavy was my sleep. yet i knew that i woke to somewhat ill. "where am i?" i asked. "under caistor walls, surely," he said; and i remembered all. the man looked friendly enough, so that i spoke again to him, asking if the great earl was here, and he said that he was. "what do men say?" i asked then. "that the matter is like to puzzle the earl himself, so that it is hard for a plain man to unriddle. but i think that half reedham are here to see justice done you; even if it is naught but earl ulfkytel's justice!" and he grinned. i knew why. for ulfkytel was ever a just man, though severe, and his justice was a word with us, though in a strange way enough. for if a case was too hard for him to decide in his own mind, he would study to find some way in which the truth might make itself known, as it were. nor did he hold much with trial by hot water, or heated ploughshares, and the like; finding new ways of his own contriving, which often brought the truth plainly to light, but which no other man would have thought of. so that if a man, in doing or planning some ill to another, was himself hurt, we would laugh and say: "that is like the earl's justice". so though ulfkytel was no friend of my father's, having, indeed, some old quarrel about rights of manor or the like, i thought nothing of that, save that he would the sooner send me to the king for trial. the jailor told me that i should be tried at noonday, and went away, and so i waited patiently as i might until then, keeping thought quiet as best i could by looking forward and turning over what i could say, which seemed to be nothing but the plain truth. at last the weary waiting ended, and they took me into the great hall of the castle, and there on the high seat sat the earl, a thin, broad-shouldered man, with a long gray beard and gray eyes, that glittered bright and restless under shaggy eyebrows. beorn, too, was brought in at the same time, and we were set opposite to one another, to right and left of the earl, below the high place, closely watched by the armed guards, bound also, though not tightly, and only as to our hands. and there on a trestle table before us lay the body of jarl lodbrok, my friend, in whose side was my broken arrow. all the lower end of the hall was filled with the people, and i saw my two serfs there, and many reedham folk. then the court was set, and with the earl were many men whom i knew by sight, honest thanes and franklins enough, and of that i was glad. first of all one read, in the ears of all, that of which we two who were there bound were accused, giving the names of those half-dozen men who had found us fighting and had brought us for judgment. then said earl ulfkytel: "here is a matter that is not easy in itself, and i will not hide this, that the father of this wulfric and i are unfriendly, and that beorn has been a friend of mine, though no close one. therefore is more need that i must be very careful that justice is not swayed by my knowledge and thoughts of the accused. so i put that away from me; i know naught of these two men but what i hear from witnesses." some people at the end of the hall sought to praise the even handedness of that saying loudly, but the earl frowned and shouted: "silence!--shall a judge be praised for doing right?" "then," said he, growing quiet again, and speaking plainly and slowly that all might hear, "this is how the matter stands. here are two men found fighting over the body of a third who is known, as men say, to have been friendly with both. no man saw the beginning of the business. now we will hear what was seen, but first let this wulfric speak for himself;" and he turned his bright eyes on me. now i told him all the truth from the time when i parted from lodbrok until the men came. then the earl asked me: "why thought you that beorn slew the man?" "because there was no other man near, and because i know that he bore ill will towards him for the favour shown him by the king." "so," said ulfkytel; "now let beorn speak." then that evil man, being very crafty, did not deny my words, but said that he had found the body lying with my arrow in its side. and though he knew not why i had done the deed, for the sake of his friendship with my father and myself he would have hidden it, and even as he did so i came, falling on him. whereon he grew wroth, and fought. "it seems to me," said the earl, "that a word from you should rather have made wulfric help you and thank you; not fall on you. now let the witnesses say their say." so they stood forward, telling naught but the truth, as honest men. and they seemed to think much of beorn's having cried out for revenge. also they showed the arrow, which fitted exactly to the headed end which was in lodbrok's side, and was the same as two that were in my quiver with others. now if beorn shot that arrow he must have made away with both bow and quiver, for he had none when we were taken. then one of the other thanes said that the dead man had another wound, and that in the throat, and it was so, whereon the jailer was bidden to bring our swords, and it was found that both were stained, for i had wounded beorn a little, as i have said. "is wulfric wounded then?" asked ulfkytel. and i was not. "whence then is beorn's sword stained?" he asked. then came my two thralls, and spoke to the truth of my story, as did one of the men who had stayed with them, for he too had seen the deer hanging where i had left it, nearly a mile away from where the fight was. and my men added that they had seen me riding to that place, and had followed the call of my horn. "murderers do not call thus for help," said the earl. "what more?" "only that lodbrok's dog flew at beorn;" they said. then my steward and others told the story of my saving of lodbrok, and there were one or two who knew how closely beorn seemed to have sought his friendship. there was no more then to be said. all the while ulfkytel had watched my face and beorn's, and now he said: "the arrow condemns wulfric, but any man might pick up a good arrow that he had lost. and the sword condemns beorn, but there are many ways in which it might be bloodstained in that affair. now, were these two robbers, i would hold that they were fighting over division of booty, but they are honourable men. wherefore i will have one more witness who knows not how to lie. fetch the dog." so they brought lodbrok's dog, which the serfs had with them, and they loosed it. it ran to his body first and cried over it, pulling his coat with its paws and licking his face, so that it was pitiful to see it, and there were women present who wept thereat. then it left him and came to me, thrusting its nose into my hand, but i would not notice it, for justice's sake; but when it saw beorn, it bristled up, flying at his throat so that he fell under it, and the guards had much ado in getting it off, and one was bitten. "the dog condemns beorn," said the earl, "but wulfric bred it." after that he would have no more witness; but now should each of us lay hand on the body and swear that he was guiltless. they brought a book of the holy gospels and put it on lodbrok's breast, and first i laid my hand thereon, looking into the quiet face of the man whose life i had saved, and sware truly. then must beorn confess or swear falsely, and i looked at him and his cheek was pale. but he, too, laid hand on the dread book in its awful place and sware that he was innocent--and naught happened. for i looked, as i think many looked, to see the blood start from the wound that he had given the jarl, but it was not so. there was no sign. then crossed my mind the first doubt that i had had that beorn was guilty. yet i knew he lied in some things, and the doubt passed away quickly. then ulfkytel pushed away the table from before him so that it fell over. "take these men away," he said. "i have heard and seen enough. i will think!" they led us away to the cells again, and i wondered how all this would end. in an hour they brought us back, and set us in our places again. the earl had more to say, as it seemed. "will you two pay the weregild {xi} between you?" "no, lord earl," i said; "that were to confess guilt, which would be a lie." then beorn cried: "i pray you, wulfric, let us pay and have done!" but i turned from him in loathing. "ho, master falconer," said ulfkytel, "the man is an outlander! to whom will you pay it? to wulfric who saved his life?" now at that beorn was dumb, seeing that the earl had trapped him very nearly, and he grew ashy pale, and the great earl scowled at him. "let me have trial by battle," i said quietly, thinking that it would be surely granted. there was as good reason to suspect me as beorn, as i saw. "silence, wulfric!" said the earl. "that is for me to say." "let the king judge, i pray you, lord earl," i went on, for he spoke in no angry tone, nor looked at me. however, that angered him, for, indeed, it was hard to say whether king or earl was more powerful in east anglia. maybe eadmund's power came by love, and that of the earl by the strong hand. but the earl was most loyal. "what!" he said in a great voice, "am i not earl? and shall the king be troubled with common manslayers while i sit in his seat of justice? go to! i am judge, and will answer to the king for what i do." so i was silent, waiting for what should come next. but he forgot me in a minute, and seemed to be thinking. at last he said: "one of these men is guilty, but i know not which." and so he summed up all that he had heard, and as he did so it seemed, even to me, that proofs of guilt were evenly balanced, so that once again i half thought that beorn might be wronged in the accusation, as i was. "so," he ended, "friend has slain friend, and friends have fought, and there is no question of a third man in the matter." he looked round on the honest faces with him, and saw that they were puzzled and had naught to say, and went on: "wherefore, seeing that these men have had trial by battle already, which was stopped, and that the slain man was a foreigner from over seas and has no friends to speak concerning him, i have a mind to put the judgment into the hands of the greatest judge of all. as lodbrok the dane came by sea, these men shall be judged upon the sea by him who is over all. and surely the innocent shall escape, and the guilty shall be punished in such sort that he shall wish that i had been wise enough to see his guilt plainly and to hang him for treachery to his friend and the king's, or else to put him into ward until some good bishop asks for pardon for ill doing." and with that half promise he looked sharply at us to see if any sign would come from the murderer. but i had naught to say, nor did i seem to care just now what befell me, while beorn was doubtless fearful lest the wrath of eadmund the king should prevail in the end were he to be imprisoned only. so he answered not, and the earl frowned heavily. now one of the franklins there, who knew me well enough, said: "wulfric, be not ashamed to confess it, if for once you shot ill--if your arrow went by chance to lodbrok's heart, i pray you, say so. it may well be forgiven." very grateful was i for that kind word, but i would not plead falsely, nor, indeed, would it have told aught of the other wound that had been made. so i shook my head, thanking the man, and saying that it was not so. now i think that the earl had planned this in order to make one of us speak at the last, and for a moment i thought that beorn was about to speak, but he forbore. then ulfkytel sighed heavily and turned away, speaking in a low voice to the thanes with him, and they seemed to agree with his words. at length he turned to us and spoke gravely: "it is, as i said, too hard for me. the lord shall judge. even as lodbrok came shall you two go, at the mercy of wind and wave and of him who rules them. you shall be put into lodbrok's boat this night, and set adrift to take what may come. only this i lay upon you, that the innocent man shall not harm the guilty. as for himself, he need, as i think, have no fear, for the guilty man is a coward and nidring {xii}. nor, as it seems to me, if all may be believed, can the guiltless say for certain that the other did it." then was a murmur of assent to this strange manner of justice of earl ulfkytel's, and i, who feared not the sea, was glad; but beorn would have fallen on the ground, but for his guards, and almost had he confessed, as i think. "eat and drink well," said ulfkytel, "for maybe it is long before you see food again." "where shall you set them afloat?" asked a thane. "am i a fool to let men know that?" asked the earl sharply. "there would be a rescue for a certainty. you shall know by and by in private." the guards took us away, and unbinding our hands, set plenty of good food and drink before us. and for my part i did well, for now that i knew the worst my spirits rose, and i had some hopes of escape, for there was every sign of fair weather for long enough. and viking ways had taught me to go fasting for two days, if need be, given a good meal to start upon. but beorn ate little and drank much, while the guards bade him take example from me, but he would not; and after a while sat silent in a corner and ghastly to look upon, for no one cared to meddle with him. as soon as it grew dusk they bade us eat again, for in half an hour we should set forth to the coast. at that beorn started up and cried out, wringing his hands and groaning, though he said no word, except that i should surely slay him in the boat. then i spoke to him for the first time since he had claimed the falcon, and said that from me, at least, he was safe. and i spoke roughly, so that i think he believed me, so plain did i make it that i thought one who was surely cowardly in word and deed was not worth harming, and he ceased his outcry. at last we were set on horseback, and with two score or more mounted spearmen round us, we rode quickly out of caistor town. a few men shouted and ran after us, but the guards spurred their horses, and it was of no use for them to try and follow. and the night was dark and foggy, though not cold for the time of year. i feared lest we were going to reedham, for there my folk would certainly rise in arms to rescue me, and that would have made things hard for them; but we went on southward, riding very fast, until after many long miles we came to the little hill of the other burgh that stands where waveney parts in two streams, one eastward to the sea, and the other northward to join the yare mouth. the moon had risen by the time we came there, and i could see a large fishing boat at the staithe, and, alas! alongside of her a smaller boat that i knew so well--that in which lodbrok had come, and in which i had passed so many pleasant hours with him. then the thought crossed my mind that what he had taught me of her was like to be my safety now; but my mind was dazed by all the strange things that came into it, and i tried not to think. only i wondered if ulfkytel had got the boat without a struggle with our people. the earl was there with a few more thanes and many more guards, and they waited by the waterside. one man started from beside the earl as we came, and rode swiftly towards us. it was egfrid, my brother-in-law to be--if this did not bring all that fair plan to naught. he cried out to the men to stay, and they, knowing who he was, did so, and made no trouble about his coming to my side. there he reined up his horse, and laid his hand on my shoulder. "alas for this meeting, my brother!" he cried. "what can i do? men came and told me of rumour that was flying about concerning this business, and i have ridden hard to get to reedham, but i met the earl, who told me all. and i have prayed him to let the king judge, but he will not, saying that his mind is fixed on higher judgment--and you know what he is." then i said: "so that you hold me not guilty, my brother, i mind not so much; for if i must die you will take my place, and my father will not be without a son. "i think you guilty!" he cried; "how could that be? shame on me were i to dream thereof--and on any man of all who know you who would deem you could be so." "have you heard all?" "aye, for the earl has told me very patiently, being kind, for all his strange ways. at last i told him that his wish for justice blinded his common sense. and at that, instead of being wrath, he smiled at me as on a child, and said, 'what know you of justice?'; so that i was as one who would beat down a stone wall with his fists---helpless. he is not to be moved. what can i do?" and almost did he weep for my hard case. "let things go their own way, my brother," i said gently. "i do not fear the sea, nor this man here--beorn. do you go to reedham and tend lodbrok's hawk for me, and send word to my father, that he may come home, and to the king, so that lodbrok may have honourable burial." he promised me those things, and then went back upon the slaying of lodbrok, asking how it came about. i told him what i thought thereof; and beorn, who must needs listen to all this, ground his teeth and cursed under his breath, for there seemed to have come some desperate fury on him in place of his cold despair of an hour since. and when egfrid had heard all, he raised his hand and swore that not one stone of beorn's house should be unblackened by fire by this time tomorrow night, and as he said it he turned to beorn, shaking and white with wrath. "let that be," i answered him quickly; "no good, but much harm may come therefrom. wait but six months, and then maybe i shall be back." now while we had thus spoken together, ulfkytel had dismounted and was holding some converse with a man whose figure i could not well make out, even had i cared to try, in the dark shadow of horses and riders which stayed the moonlight from them. but at this time the stranger came towards us, and i saw that it was the priest who served the church of st. peter, hard by where we stood. he came to beorn first, and spoke to him in a low voice, earnestly; but beorn paid no sort of heed to him, but turned his head away, cursing yet. so after a few more words, the priest came to me. "wulfric," he said, "sad am i to see you thus. but justice is justice, and must be done." "aye, father," i answered, "and right will prevail." "maybe we shall see it do so," he answered shortly, not seeming willing to hold much converse with me; "but it is likely that you go to your death on the wide sea. many a man have i shriven at the point of death--and ulfkytel the earl will not hold me back from your side--an you will." thereat i was very glad, for i knew that the risks before me were very great, and i said as much. then he took the bridle of my horse and began to lead me on one side, and the guards hindered him until ulfkytel shouted to them to draw aside in such wise as to prevent my riding off, though, bound as i was, it had been of little use to try to do so. then they let the priest take me out of earshot, and maybe posted themselves in some way round us, though i heeded them not. so then in that strange way i, bound and on horseback, confessed; and weeping over me at last, with all his coldness forgotten, the priest of burgh shrived me and blessed me, bidding me keep a good heart; for, if not in this world, then at the last would all be made right, and i should have honour. after that he went once more to beorn, but he was deaf to his pleading, and so he went away to the church, speaking no word to any man, and with his head bent as with the weight of knowledge that must not be told, and maybe with sorrow that the other prisoner, if guilty, would not seek for pardon from the judge into whose hand he was about to go. but as for me, this thing was good, and a wondrous comfort to me, and i went back to egfrid with a cheerful heart, ready to face aught that might come. now the earl called to the guards from the water's edge, saying that the time was come, and we rode towards him, and i made egfrid promise that he would hold his hand, at least till my father came. now they drew my boat to the shore, and they took beorn from his horse first, and often have i wondered that he did not confess, but he said no word, and maybe his senses had left him by reason of his terror. they haled him to the boat and unbound him, setting him in the bows, where he sank down, seeming helpless, but staring away from shore over the sparkling waters that he feared. then came my turn, and of my own will i stepped into the boat, looking her over to see that all was there as when lodbrok came. and all was there, though that was little enough. the one oar, the baler, and a few fathoms of line on the floorboards. now as i had nothing to lose by speaking, i cried to the earl concerning the one matter that troubled me. "earl ulfkytel, i pray you forgive my poor folk if they fought for me when you took the boat." "they knew not why it was taken," he answered quietly. "i sent a messenger before i gave sentence. but i should not have blamed them had they fought, knowing all." then a rough man who tended the boat called out: "ho, lord earl, are these murderers to go forth with gold on arm and hand?" for we had been stripped of naught but our arms, and i suppose the man coveted these things. but the earl answered: "which is the murderer? i know not. when his time comes stripped he will be of life itself. let the men be," and then in a moment he asked one by him; "what weapons had lodbrok when he came?" "only a dagger," answered the thane to whom he spoke. "or so men say." "that is true," i said plainly. "give the men their daggers," then said the earl; and when one told him that we should use them on each other, he answered: "i think they will not; do my bidding!" so they threw my hunting knife to me, and i girded it on. but beorn's dagger fell on the floor of the boat, and he paid no heed to it, not even turning his head. then the earl and three thanes went on board the fishing boat, and egfrid would fain have come with him. but i signed him back, and when the fishermen put out oars and pushed from the shore, towing us with them, he ran waist deep into the water, and clasped my hand for the last time, weeping. then the shore grew dim to my eyes, and i put my head in my hands and would look no more. soon i heard only the wash and creak of the large boat's oars, and a murmured word or two from those on board her. then from burgh tower came the tolling of the bell, as for the dying, and that was the last voice of england that i heard as we went from shore to sea. but at that sound came hope back to me, for it seemed to me as the voice of bosham bell calling for help that should come to myself, as i had been called in time of need by the like sound to the help of st. wilfrith's men. and straightway i remembered the words of the good prior, and was comforted, for surely if st. wilfrith's might could sink the pirate ship it would be put forth for me upon the waters. so i prayed for that help if it might be given, and for the hand of him who is over all things, even as the prior had bidden me understand. whereupon i was in no more trouble about myself, and now i began to hope that the still weather might even bring halfden's ship to find me. so we passed from river to broad, and from broad to sea, and went in tow of the fishing boat until we came to that place, as nearly as might be, where i had saved lodbrok. i could see the sparkle of our village lights, or thought i could. there they cast us off, and for a few minutes the two boats lay side by side on the gently-heaving water, for the wind was offshore, and little sea was running. then the earl rose up, lifting his hand and saying, very solemnly: "farewell, thou who art innocent. blame not my blindness, nor think ill of me. for i do my best, leaving you in the hand of god, and not of man!" so he spoke; then the oars swung and fell, and in a few moments his boat was gone into the shoreward shadows and we were alone, and i was glad. now i looked at beorn, and i thought him strangely still, and so watched him. but i soon saw that he was in some sort of fit or swoon, and paid no heed to aught. yet i thought it well to take his dagger from where it lay, lest he should fall on me in some frenzy. i took up the weapon, and straightway i longed to draw it and end his life at once, while all sorts of plans for escape thereafter came into my mind. but i could not slay a helpless man, even this one, though i sat fingering the dagger for a long while. at last the evilness of these thoughts was plain to me; so quickly i cast the dagger overboard, and it was gone. then i thought i would sleep while i might, for there was no sea to fear, and the tide set with the wind away from shore from the river mouth, as i knew well, for it was ebbing. it was weary work to watch the land growing less and less plain under the moon. yet i feared beorn's treachery, and doubted for a while, until the coil of rope that lay at my feet caught my eye as i pondered. with that i made no more ado, but took it and bound him lightly, so that at least he could not rise up unheard by me. nor did he stir or do aught but breathe heavily and slowly as i handled him. when he roused i knew that i could so deal with him that i might unbind him. after that i slept, and slept well, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of the waves, until daylight came again. chapter vii. how wulfric came to jutland. it was beorn who woke me. out of his swoon, or whatever it was that had taken his senses, he woke with a start and shudder that brought me from sleep at once, thinking that the boat had touched ground. but there was no land in sight now, and all around me was the wide circle of the sea, and over against me beorn, my evil companion, glowering at me with a great fear written on his face. now as i woke and saw him, my hand went at once to the dagger at my side, as my first waking thoughts felt troubled by reason of all he had done, though it was but for a moment. thereat he cried out, praying me to have mercy on him, and tried to rise, going near to capsize the boat. indeed, i cannot believe that the man had ever been in a boat before. "lie down," i said, speaking sharply, as to a dog, "or you will drown us both before the time!" he was still enough then, fearing the water more than steel, as it seemed, or seeing that i meant him no harm. then i spoke plainly to him. "i will harm you not. but your life is in my hands in two ways. i can slay you by water or dagger for one thing; or for another, i think i can take this boat to shore at some place where you are not known, and so let you live a little longer. and in any case i have a mind to try to save my own life; thus if you will obey me so that i may tend the boat, yours shall be saved with it, so far as i am concerned. but if you hinder me, die you must in one way or another!" now he saw well enough that his only hope lay in my power to take the boat safely across the water, and so promised humbly to obey me in all things if i would but spare him and get the boat to shore quickly. so i unbound him and coiled the rope at my feet again, bidding him lie down amidships and be still. many a time men have asked me why i slew him not, or cast him not overboard, thus being troubled no more with him. most surely i would have slain him when we fought, in the white heat of anger--and well would it have been if ulfkytel had doomed him to death, as judge. but against this helpless, cringing wretch, whose punishment was even now falling on him, how could i lift hand? it seemed to me, moreover, that i was, as it were, watching to see when the stroke of doom would fall on him, as the earl said it surely must on the guilty. the wind freshened, and the boat began to sing through the water, for it needed little to drive her well. my spirits rose, so that i felt almost glad to be on the sea again, but beorn waxed sick and lay groaning till he was worn out and fell asleep. now the breeze blew from the southwest, warm and damp, as it had held for a long time during this winter, which was open and mild so far. and this was driving us over the same track which lodbrok had taken as he came from his own place. there was no hope of making the english shore again, and so i thought it well to do even as the jarl, and rear up the floorboards in such wise as to use them for a sail to hasten us wherever we might go. so i roused beorn, and showed him how to bestow himself out of my way, and made sail, as one might say. at once the boat seemed to come to life, flying from wave to wave before the wind, and i made haste to ship the long oar, so that i could steer her with it. and when i went aft, there, in the sharp hollow of the stern that i had uncovered, lay two great loaves and a little breaker of water. now i could not tell, and do not know even to this day, what kindly man hid these things for us, but i blessed him for his charity, for now our case was better than lodbrok's in two ways, that we had no raging gale and sea to wrestle against, and the utmost pangs of hunger and thirst we were not to feel. three days and two nights had he been on his voyage. we might be a day longer with this breeze, but the bread, at least, we need not touch till tomorrow. but beorn slept heavily again, and i told him not of this store as yet, for i thought that he would but turn from it just now. which was well, for he could not bear a fast as could i. so the long day wore through, and ever the breeze held, and the boat flew before it. night fell, and the dim moon rose up, and still we went east and north swiftly. the long white wake stretched straight astern of us, and beorn slept deeply, worn out; and the sea ran evenly and not very high, so that at last i dared to lash the oar in its place and sleep in snatches, waking now and then to the lift of a greater wave, or catching the rushing in my ears as some heavier-crested billow rose astern of us. but the boat was swift as the seas, and there was nothing to fear. nor was the cold great at any time, except towards early morning before the first light of dawn. moreover, the boat sailed in better trim with two men in her. gray morning came, and the seas were longer and deeper, for we were far on the wide sea. all day long was it the same, wave after wave, gray sky overhead, and the steady breeze ever bearing us onward. once it rained, and i caught the water in the bailer and drank heartily, giving his fill to beorn, and with it i ate some of my loaf, and he took half of his. then slowly came night, and at last i waxed lonely, for all this while i had kept a hope that i might see the sail of halfden's ship, but there was no glint of canvas between sky and sea, and my hope was gone as the darkness fell. so i sang, to cheer myself, raising my voice in the sea song that i had made and that lodbrok had loved. and when that was done i sang the song of bosham bell, with the ending that the gleeman on colchester hill had made. thereat beorn raised his head and, snarling at me like an angry dog, bade me cease singing of shipwreck. but i heeded him not, and so i sang and he cursed, until at last he wept like an angry child, and i held my peace. i did not dare sleep that night, for the wind freshened, and at times we might see naught but sky above us and the waves ahead and astern of the boat, though to one who knew how to handle his craft there was no danger in them. but from time to time beorn cried out as the boat slid swiftly down the slope of a great wave, hovered, and rose on the next, and i feared that he would leap up in his terror and end all. "bide still or i will bind you," i said at last to him, and he hid his face in his arms, and was quiet again. worn out when day broke was i, and again i ate and gave to beorn, and he would eat all his loaf, though i bade him spare it, for i knew not how long yet we might be before we saw land. and that seemed to change his mood, and he began to scowl at me, though he dared say little, and so sat still in his place, glowering at me evilly. presently came a whale, spouting near us, and that terrified him, so that he cried to me to save him from it, as though i had power on the seas more than had other men. but it soon went away, and he forgot his terror, beginning to blame me for not having gained the shore yet. i could say nothing, for i knew not how far we had run; yet we had come a long way, and i thought that surely we must have sailed as swiftly as lodbrok, for the sea had favoured us rather than given trouble. even now i thought the colour of the water changed a little, and i began to think that we neared some land at last. as the sun set, the wind shifted more to the westward, and i thought a change was coming. it was very dark overhead until the waning moon rose. now, soon after moonrise beorn began to groan, in his sleep as i thought; but presently he rose up, stiffly, from long sitting, and i saw that his eyes were flashing, and his face working strangely in the pale moonlight. i bade him lie down again, but he did not, and then i saw that he was surely out of his mind through the terror of the sea and the long nothingness of the voyage to which he was all unused. then he made for me with a shout, and i saw that i must fight for my life. so i closed with him and dragged him down to the bottom of the boat, and there we two struggled, till i thought that the end was come. the boat plunged and listed, and once was nearly over, but at that new strength came to me, and at last i forced his shoulders under the midship thwart, and held him there so that he could by no means rise. then all his fury went, and he became weak, so that i reached out with one hand for the line and bound him easily, hand and foot. i set him back in his place, and the water washed over his face as he lay, for we had shipped a good deal in the lurches our struggle caused. then he was still, and as on the first night, seemed to sleep, breathing very heavily. so i left him bound, and bailed the water out. then knew i how weak i was. yet i held on, steering from wave to wave as though i could not help it. once, towards morning, there came a booming in my ears, and a faintness, for i was all but done. but the boat dashed into a wave, and the cold spray flew over me and roused me to know the danger, so i took my last crust and ate it, and was refreshed a little. but when the morning broke cold and gray over brown waves, there, against one golden line of sunlight, rose the black steady barrier of a low-lying coast, and round the boat the gulls were screaming their welcome. then came over me a dull fear that i should be lost in sight of land, and a great sorrow and longing for the english shore in place of this, for never had i seen sunrise over land before from the open sea, and hunger and thirst gnawed at me, and i longed for rest from this tossing of sea, and wave--and always waves. then i looked in beorn's evil face, and i thought that he was dead, but that to me seemed to matter not. swiftly rose up the coast from out the sea, and i saw that it was like our east anglian shore, forest covered and dark, but with pine and birch instead of oak and alder. the boat was heading straight through a channel; past sands over which i could see the white line of the tide on either side, and that chance seemed not strange to me, but as part of all that was to be and must be. then the last rollers were safely past, and the boat's keel grated on sand--and i forgot my weakness, and sprang out into the shallow water, dragging her up with the next wave and out of reach of the surges. then i saw that the tide was falling, and that i had naught more to do, for we were safe. with that i gave way at last, and reeled and fell on the sand, for my strength could bear no more, and i deemed that i should surely die. i think that i fell into a great sleep for a while, for i came to myself presently, refreshed, and rose up. the tide had ebbed a long way, and the sun was high above me, so that i must have been an hour or two there upon the sand. i went and looked at beorn. his swoon seemed to have passed into sleep, and i unbound him, and as i did so he murmured as if angry, though he did not wake. then i thought that i would leave him there for some other to find, and try to make my way to house or village where i might get food. i could send men thence to seek him, but i cared not if i never set eyes on him again, hoping, indeed, that i should not do so. so i turned and walked inland through the thin forest for a little way, stumbling often, but growing stronger and less stiff as i went, though i must needs draw my belt tight to stay the pangs of hunger, seeing that one loaf is not overmuch for such a voyage and such stern work as mine had been, body and mind alike unresting. nor had i far to go, for not more than a mile from shore i saw a good hut standing in a little clearing; and it was somewhat like our own cottages, timber-framed, with wattle and clay walls, but with thatch of heather instead of our tall reeds, and when i came near, i saw that the timber was carved with twisted patterns round door and window frames. no dog came out at me, and no one answered when i called, and so at last i lifted the latch and went in. there was no one, but the people could not be far off, for meat and bread and a great pitcher of ale stood on the round log that served for table, as if the meal was set against speedy homecoming, and the fire was banked up with peats, only needing stirring to break into a blaze. rough as it all was, it looked very pleasant to me, and after i had called once or twice i sat down, even as i should have done in our own land, and ate a hearty meal, and drank of the thin ale, and was soon myself again. i had three silver pennies, besides the gold bracelet on my arm that i wore as the king's armour bearer and weapon thane, and was sure of welcome, so when i had done i sat by the fire and waited till someone should come whom i might thank. once i thought of carrying food to beorn, but a great hatred and loathing of the man and his deed came over me, and i would not see him again. and, indeed, it was likely that he would come here also, as i had done, when he woke; so that when at last i heard footsteps i feared lest it should be he. but this comer whistled cheerfully as he came, and the tune was one that i had often heard men sing when i was with halfden. it was the old "biarkamal", the song of biark the viking. now at that i was very glad, for of all things i had most feared lest i should fall on the frisian shores, for if so, i should surely be made a slave, and maybe sold by the lord of the coast to which i came. but danes have no traffic in slaves, holding freedom first of all things. and that is one good thing that the coming of the danish host has taught to us, for many a saxon's riches came from trading in lives of men. then the door was pushed open, for i had left it ajar, and in came a great dog like none we have in england. i thought him a wolf at first, so gray and strong was he, big enough and fierce enough surely to pull down any forest beast, and i liked not the savage look of him. but, though he bristled and growled at first sight of me, when he saw that i sat still as if i had some right to be there, he came and snuffed round me, and before his master came we were good friends enough, if still a little doubtful. but i never knew a dog that would fly at me yet, so that i think they know well enough who are their friends, though by some sign of face or voice that is beyond my knowledge. now came the man, who edged through the door with a great bundle of logs for the fire, which he cast down without looking at me, only saying: "ho, rolf! back again so early? where is the jarl?" now i knew that he was a dane, and so i answered in his own way: "not rolf, but a stranger who has made free with rolf's dinner." whereat the man laughed, setting hands on hips and staring at me. "so it is!" he said; "settle that matter with brother rolf when he comes in, for strangers are scarce here." then he scanned my dress closely, and maybe saw that they were sea stained, though hunting gear is made for hard wear and shows little. "let me eat first," he said, sitting down, "and then we will talk." but after he had taken a few mouthfuls, he asked: "are there any more of you about?" "one more," i said, "but i left him asleep in the boat that brought us here. we are from the sea, having been blown here." "then he may bide till he wakes," the man said, going on with his meal. presently he stopped eating, and after taking a great draught of ale, said that he wondered the dog had not torn me. "whereby i know you to be an honest man. for i cannot read a man's face as some can, and therefore trust to the dog, who is never wrong," and he laughed and went on eating. now that set me thinking of what account i might give of myself, and i thought that i would speak the truth plainly, though there was no reason to say more than that we were blown off the english coast. what beorn would say i knew not; most likely he would lie, but if so, things must work themselves out. i looked at the man in whose house i was, and was pleased with him. red haired and blue eyed he was, with a square, honest face and broad shoulders, and his white teeth shone beneath a red beard that covered half his face. when he had eaten even more than i, he laughed loudly, saying that brother rolf would have to go short this time, and then came and sat by the fire over against me, and waited for me to say my say. so i told him how we had come, and at that he stared at me as our folk stared at lodbrok, and started up, crying that he must go and see this staunch boat that had served me so well. "bide here and rest," he said, "and i will bring your comrade to you," and with that he swung out of the house, taking the dog with him. and at once the thought of leaving the hut and plunging into the forest came into my mind, but i knew not why i should do so, except that i would not see beorn again. however, there was a third man now, and i would see what befell him. now i waited long, and had almost fallen asleep beside the warm fire, when i heard a horn away in the woods, and roused up to listen. twice or thrice it sounded, and then i heard it answered from far off. so i supposed that there was a hunt going on. then i heard no more, and fell asleep in earnest; for i needed rest badly, as one might well suppose. something touched my hand and i awoke. it was the great dog, who came and thrust his nose against me, having made up his mind to be friendly altogether. so when his master came in i was fondling his head, and he looked puzzled. "say what men will," he said, "i know you are an honest man!" "do you hold that any will doubt it?" i asked, wondering what he meant; for he looked strangely at me. "aye; the jarl has found your boat, and has sent me back to keep you fast. know you whose boat you have?" "it belonged to jarl lodbrok, who came ashore in it, as i have come here--and he gave it me." "hammer of thor!" said the man. "is the jarl alive?" "what know you of him?" i asked. "he was our jarl--ours," he answered. "who is the other jarl you speak of?" i asked him, with a hope that halfden had come home, for now i knew that we had indeed followed lodbrok's track exactly. "how should it be other than ingvar lodbroksson? for we have held that lodbrok, his father, is dead this many a long day." "let me go to the jarl," i said, rising up. "i would speak with him," for i would, if possible, tell him the truth, before beorn could frame lies that might work ill to both of us, or perhaps to me most of all. yet i thought that i saw the shadow of judgment falling on the murderer. "bide quiet," said the man; "he will be here soon." and then he said, looking from me to the dog, "now i hold you as a true man, therefore i will tell you this--anger not the jarl when he speaks to you." "thanks, friend!" i answered heartily, "i think i shall not do that. is he like his father?" the man laughed shortly, only saying: "is darkness like daylight?" "then he is not like jarl halfden." now the honest man was going to ask in great wonder how i knew of him, when there came the quick trot of horses to the door, and a stern voice, which had in its tones somewhat familiar to me, called him: "raud, come forth!" my host started up, and saying, "it is jarl ingvar," went to the door, while i too rose and followed him, for i would not seem to avoid meeting the son of lodbrok, my friend. "where is this stranger?" said the jarl's voice; "bring him forth." raud turned to beckon me, but i was close to him, and came out of the hut unbidden. there sat a great man, clad in light chain mail and helmed, with his double-headed axe slung to his saddle bow, but seeming to have come from hunting, for he carried a short, broad-pointed boar spear, and on the wrist of his bridle hand sat a hooded hawk like lodbrok's. his face had in it a look both of his father and of halfden, but it was hard and stern; and whereas they had brown hair, his was jet black as a raven's wing. maybe he was ten years older than halfden. there were five or six other men, seemingly of rank, and on horseback also, behind him, but they wore no armour, and were in hunting gear only, and again there were footmen, leading hounds like the great one that stood by raud and me. and two men there were who led between them beorn, holding him lest he should fall, either from weakness or terror, close to the jarl. so i stood before ingvar the jarl, and wondered how things would go, and what beorn had said, though i had no fear of him. and as the jarl gazed at me i raised my hand, saying in the viking's greeting: "skoal to jarl ingvar!" at that he half raised hand in answer, but checked himself, saying shortly: "who are you, and how come you by my father's boat?" i was about to answer, but at that word it seemed that for the first time beorn learnt into whose hands he had fallen, and he fell on his knees between his two guards, crying for mercy. i think that he was distraught with terror, for his words were thick and broken, and he had forgotten that none but i knew of his ill deed. that made the jarl think that somewhat was amiss, and he bade his men bind us both. "bind them fast, and find my brother hubba," he said, and men rode away into the forest. but i spoke to him boldly. "will you bind a man who bears these tokens, jarl?" and i held out my hand to him, showing him the rings that lodbrok and halfden had given me. "my father's ring--and halfden's!" he said, gripping my hand, as he looked closely at the runes upon them, so tightly that it was pain to me. "by odin's beard, this grows yet stranger! who are you, and whence, and how came you by these things?" "i am wulfric, son of elfric, the thane of reedham, 'the merchant' as men call him. i have been jarl lodbrok's friend, and have fought by the side of halfden, his son, as these tokens may tell you. as for the rest, that is for yourself alone, jarl. for i have no good tidings, as i fear." "who is this man, then, and why cries he thus in terror?" "beorn, falconer to eadmund, king of the east angles," i said. but i would not answer at once to the other question, and ingvar seemed not to notice it. then there was silence while the great jarl sat on his horse very still, and looked hard at me and at beorn; but when the men would have bound us he signed them back, letting beorn go free. whereupon his knees gave way, and he sank down against the house wall, while i leant against it and looked at the mighty dane, somewhat dreading what i had to tell him, but meaning to go through all plainly. now the ring of men closed round us, staring at us, but in silence, save for the ringing of the horns that were blowing in the woods to call hubba from his sport. and jarl ingvar sat still, as if carved in oak, and seemed to ponder, frowning heavily at us, though the look in his eyes went past me as it were. glad was i when a horseman or two rode up and reined in alongside ingvar. i think that the foremost rider was the most goodly warrior to look on that i had ever seen, and one might know well that he was lodbrok's son. "ho, brother!" he cried; "i thought you had harboured the greatest bear in all jutland in raud's hut. and it is naught but two strangers. what is the trouble with them?" "look at yon man's hand," said ingvar. i held out my hand, and hubba looked at the rings, whereupon his face lit up as halfden's had lighted, and he said: "news of our father and brother! that is well; tell us, friend, all that you know." "stay," said ingvar; "i took yon man from the boat we made for our father; he was half dead therein, and his wrists have the marks of cords on them; also when he heard my name he began to cry for mercy, and i like it not." "this friend of our folk will tell us all," said hubba. "aye," said i, "i will tell you, jarls. but i would speak to you alone." "tell me," said ingvar shortly; "came my father to your shores in yon boat alive?" "aye," i answered. "and he died thereafter?" "he died, jarl," i said; and i said it sadly. then said hubba: "almost had i a hope that he yet lived, as you live. but it was a poor hope. we have held him as dead for many a long day." but ingvar looked at beorn fixedly, and the man shrank away from his gaze. "how did he die, is what i would know?" he said sternly. "let the man to whom halfden and lodbrok gave these gifts tell us presently. we have enough ill news for the time. surely we knew that the jarl was dead, and it is ours but to learn how;" said hubba. "how know you that these men slew not both?" "jarl ingvar," i said; "i will tell you all you will, but i would do so in some less hurried way than this. for i have much to tell." "take the men home, brother," said hubba; "then we can talk." "bind the men," said ingvar again. "nay, brother, not the man who wears those rings," said hubba quickly. "maybe, and it is likely, that they are ill come by, and he will make up some lie about them," answered ingvar. "it will be easily seen if he does," answered his brother; "wait till you know." ingvar reined his horse round and rode away without another word. then hubba bade the man raud and his brother, a tall man who had come with the jarl ingvar, take charge of us until word should come from him, and then rode after ingvar with the rest of the folk. "come into the house," said raud to me. "i fear you have ill news enough, though only what we have expected." so we went inside, and i sat in my old place beside the fire. rolf, the brother, helped beorn to rise, and set him on a seat in a corner where he could rest, and then we were all silent. the great dog came and sat by me, so that i stroked him and spoke to him, while he beat his tail on the floor in response. "see you that," said one brother to the other. "aye; vig says true, mostly." "one may trust him," said raud; telling of how vig the dog had made friends with me at first, and he nodded in friendly wise to me, so that i would not seem to hold aloof, and spoke to him. "that is jarl hubba, surely?" "aye, and the best warrior in all denmark," said raud. "we fear ingvar, and we love halfden; but hubba is such a hero as was ragnar himself." and once set on that matter, the two honest men were unwearied in telling tales of the valour and skill of their master, so that i had no room for my own thoughts, which was as well. then came a man, riding swiftly, to say that the jarls had left their hunting, and that we were to be taken to the great house. moreover, that rolf and raud were to be held answerable for our safe keeping. when i heard that i laughed. "i will go willingly," i said, rising up. "what of this man who sits silent here?" asked rolf. "little trouble will be with him," said his brother. and indeed beorn almost needed carrying forth. chapter viii. how we fared with ingvar the dane. we came to the shores of a haven at a river mouth, and there we saw the town clustering round a large hall that rose in the midst of the lesser houses, which were mostly low roofed and clay walled, like that of raud, though some were better, and built of logs set upon stone foundations. the hall stood on higher ground than the rest of the houses, so that from the gate of the heavy timber stockade that went all round it one could see all the windings of the haven channel and the sea that lay some half mile or more away at its mouth. and all the town had a deep ditch and mound round it, as if there was ever fear of foes from shoreward, for these came down to the haven banks, and the only break they had was where a wharf and the ship garth were. there were several ships housed in their long sheds, as i could see. all round the great hall and the buildings that belonged to it was a stockade of pointed logs, so that it stood in a wide courtyard on all four sides, and the great gate of the stockade was opposite the timber porch of the hall itself. there were other doors in the side of the hall, but they were high up, and reached by ladders; and there seemed to be only one more gate in the stockade, leading landward, and both were such as might not easily be broken down, when once they were closed and barred with the square logs that stood beside the entrances ready. and all the windows of the hall were very high up and narrow, and the roof was timbered, not thatched. this was the strongest house that i had ever seen, and i said to raud as i looked at it: "this place is built to stand some fierce fighting. what need have you of such strength?" he laughed, and answered: "why, much need indeed! for when the ships are gone a-viking we are weak in men, so needs must have strong walls to keep out all comers from over seas. and we have an ill neighbour or two, who would fain share in our booty. however, men know in sweden, and finmark, and norway also, that it is ill meddling with jarl ingvar and his brothers." we passed through the stockade gate, and went straight to the porch; all the woodwork of which was carved and gaily painted, and so were eaves and rafter ends and tie beams. two sturdy axemen stood at the doorway, and they spoke freely to the brothers, asking questions of us and of our tale. then roared the voice of jarl ingvar from within, bidding the men cease prating and bring us in, and so we entered. a great fire burnt in the centre of the hall, and the smoke rose up and found its way out under the eaves; and there were skins and heads of wild beasts on the wall, amid which arms and armour hung everywhere, bright in the firelight. yet the hall, though it was carved on wall, and rafter, and doorway, was not so bright as ours at reedham, nor so pleasant. ingvar and hubba sat on one side of the fire, where the smoke was driven away from them, and before them was set a long bench where we should be placed. there hubba bade us sit down, telling the two men to go without and wait. so we were left face to face with those two, and i saw that ingvar's face was dark with doubt, but that hubba seemed less troubled. yet both looked long and sternly at us. "tell us this tale of yours," said ingvar at last; "and lie not." now it seemed to me that it were well to get the worst over at once without beating about beforehand. and now that the jarls knew that lodbrok was dead, the hardest was to tell them how he died, and why i was here thus. "well loved i lodbrok the jarl, and well do i love halfden his son," i said. "have patience with me while i tell all from the first." "go on," said ingvar, knitting his brows. "safely came jarl lodbrok to the english shores," i went on; "steering his boat through the storm as i think no other man might. and my father and i, lying at anchor for tide in our coasting ship, took him from the breakers. some of his craft taught he me, else had i not been here today. so he bided with us until i went to sea, and there i met halfden, and went on a raid with him, coming back from the south saxon shores to wait at our place for his coming to take lodbrok home. but he came not last winter, and so we waited till this spring should bring him. for my ship was lost, and no other came." "what!" said ingvar; "he died not of stress of storm, but lived so long! then he has been slain!" and he half started from his seat in rage. but hubba, though his teeth were set, drew him back. "hear all," he said. i went on without bidding, not seeming to note these things. "the jarl and i hunted together, and the chance of the day parted us, and he was slain; nor can i say by whom. but this man and i, being found with his body, were accused of the deed. and because there was no proof, our great earl, who loves even-handed justice, would have us cast adrift, even as was lodbrok; that the guilty might suffer, and the innocent escape." then ingvar rose up, white and shaking with wrath, and drew out his sword. whereon beorn yelled and fell on the floor, grovelling with uplifted hands and crying for mercy. but the great jarl paid no heed to him, and hove up the sword with both hands over my head, saying in a hoarse voice: "say that you lie--he is not dead--or you slew him!" now i think the long struggle with the sea, or my full trust in the earl's words, or both, had taken away my fear of death, for i spoke without moving, though the great blade seemed about to fall, and the fierce dane's eyes glared on mine. "it were easy for me to have lied; i would that i did lie, for then lodbrok would be living, and i beside him, waiting for halfden my friend even yet." "odin!" shouted ingvar; "you speak truth. woe is me for my father, and woe to the land that has given him a grave thus foully." with that he let his sword fall, and his passion having gone, he sat down and put his face in his hands, and wept tears of grief and rage. and i, as i watched him, was fain to weep also, for my thoughts were akin to his. now hubba had sat very still, watching all this, and he kept his feelings better than did his fierce brother, though i might well see that he was moved as deeply. but now he spurned beorn with his foot, bidding him get up and speak also. but beorn only grovelled the more, and hubba spurned him again, turning to me. "i believe you speak truth," he said quietly, "and you are a brave man. there was no need for you to tell the accusation against yourself; and many are the lies you might have told us about the boat that would have been enough for us. we never thought to hear that our father had outlived the storm." "i speak truth, jarl," i said, sadly enough, "and halfden will come to our haven, seeking us both, and will find neither--only this ill news instead of all we had planned of pleasure." then hubba asked me plainly of beorn, saying: "what of this cur?" "no more than i have told you, jarl," i said. "how came he into the forest?" asked hubba, for he saw that there was more than he knew yet under beorn's utter terror. "let me tell you that story from end to end," i answered. and he nodded, so that i did so, from the time when i left the jarl until ulfkytel sentenced us, giving all the words of the witnesses as nearly as i could. then i said that i would leave them to judge, for i could not. now ingvar, who had sat biting his nails and listening without a word, broke in, questioning me of halfden's ship for long. at last he said: "this man tells truth, and i will not harm him. he shall bide here till halfden comes home, for he tells a plain story, and wears those rings. and he has spoken the ill of himself and little of this craven, who maybe knows more than he will say. i have a mind to find out what he does know," and he looked savagely at beorn, who was sitting up and rocking himself to and fro, with his eyes looking far away. "do what you will with him he will lie," said hubba. "i can make him speak truth," said ingvar grimly. "what shall be done with this wulfric?" asked hubba. "let him go with raud until i have spoken with beorn," answered ingvar, "then we shall be sure if he is friend or not." hubba nodded, and he and i rose up and went out to the porch, where raud and rolf waited with the two guards. we passed them and stood in the courtyard. "i believe you, wulfric," said hubba, "for i know a true man when i see him." "i thank you, jarl," i answered him, taking the hand that he offered me. i looked out over the sea, for the frank kindness moved me, and i would not show it. there was a heavy bank of clouds working up, and the wind came from the north, with a smell of snow in it. then i saw a great hawk flying inland, and wondered to see it come over sea at this time of year. it flew so that it would pass over the house, and as it came it wheeled a little and called; and then it swept down and came straight towards me, so that i held out my hand and it perched on my wrist. and lo! it was lodbrok's gerfalcon; and pleased she was to see me once more, fluttering her wings and glancing at me while i smoothed and spoke to her. but hubba cried out in wonder, and the men and ingvar came out to see what his call meant. then they, too, were amazed, for they knew the bird and her ways well. i had spoken of the falcon once or twice, telling the jarls how she had taken to me, and i think they had doubted it a little. now the bird had got free in some way, and finding neither of her masters, had fled home, even as lodbrok said she would. "now is your story proved to be true," said hubba, smiling gravely at me, but speaking for ingvar's ear. "aye, over true," answered his brother; "serve this man well, raud and rolf, for he has been a close friend of jarl lodbrok." "then should he be in lodbrok's house as a guest," said raud stoutly, and free of speech as danes will ever be. "maybe he shall be so soon," said ingvar. "i will bide with my first hosts," i said, not being willing to speak much of this just now. "that is well said," was hubba's reply, and so we went to have the falcon--who would not leave me--hooded and confined; and then i went with the two men back to their hut, and there they vied with each other in kindness to me until night fell, and i gladly went to rest; for since that night within caistor walls i had had no sleep that was worth considering. so my sleep was a long sleep, and nothing broke it until i woke of myself, and found only the great dog vig in the hut, and breakfast ready set out for me, while outside the ground was white with snow. i was glad to find that no watch was kept on me, for it seemed as if hubba's words were indeed true, and that the jarls believed my story. and my dagger was left me also, hanging still on the wall at my head where i had slept. then i thought that the great dog was maybe bidden to guard me, but he paid no heed when i went outside the hut to try if it were so. ere an hour had passed raud came back, and he had news for me. "now, friend wulfric, i am to part with my guest, and not in the way that was yesterday's. the jarls bid me say that wulfric of reedham, lodbrok's preserver, is a welcome guest in their hall, and they would see him there at once." "nevertheless," i answered, "raud the forester was the first to shelter me, and i do not forget." whereat raud was pleased, and together we went to the great house, and entered, unchallenged. hubba came forward and held out his strong hand to me frankly, smiling a little, but gravely, and i took it. "beorn has told the truth," he said; "forgive me for doubt of you at any time." "aye, let that be forgotten," said ingvar, coming from beyond the great fire, and i answered that i thought it not strange that they had doubted me. "now, therefore," said hubba, "you yourself shall question beorn, for there are things you want to know from him. and he will answer you truly enough." "after that you shall slay him, if you will," said ingvar, in his stern voice, "i wonder you did not do so in the boat. better for him if you had." "i wonder not," said hubba. "the man is fit for naught; i could not lay hand on such a cur." i had no answer to make after that, for the warrior spoke my own thoughts, and i held my peace as they took me to the further side of the hearth, past the fire, beyond which i had not yet been able to see. then i knew how beorn had been made to speak the truth. they had tortured him, and there was no strength left in him at all, so that i almost started back from the cruel marks that he bore. yet i had things to hear from him, now that he had no need to speak falsely, and i went to his side. the two jarls stood and looked at him unmoved. "the justice of ulfkytel is on you, beorn," i said slowly; "there is no need to hide aught. tell me how you slew lodbrok, and why." then came a voice, so hollow that i should not have known it for the lusty falconer's of past days: "aye; justice is on me, and i am glad. i will tell you, but first say that you forgive me." then i could not but tell this poor creature that for all the harm he had done me i would surely forgive him; but that the deed of murder was not for me to forgive. "pray, therefore, that for it i may be forgiven hereafter," he said, and that i promised him. then he spoke faintly, so that hubba bade raud give him strong drink, and that brought his strength back a little. "i took your arrows at thetford, and i followed you to reedham. there i dogged you, day by day, in the woods--five days i went through the woods as you hunted, and then you twain were far apart, and my chance had come. lodbrok reined up to listen, and i marked where he would pass when he went back, hearing your horn. then i shot, and the arrow went true; but i drew sword, being mad, and made more sure. that is all. surely i thought i should escape, for i told no man what i would do, and all men thought me far away, with the king." then he stopped, and recovered his strength before he could go on. "i hated lodbrok because he had taken my place beside the king, and because his woodcraft was greater than mine, though i was first in that in all our land. and i feared that he would take the land the king offered him, for i longed for it." then beorn closed his eyes, and i was turning away, for i need ask no more; but again he spoke: "blind was yon dotard ulfkytel not to see all this; would that you had slain me in the woods at first--or that he had hanged me at caistor--or that i had been drowned. but justice is done, and my life is ended." those were the last words that i heard beorn, the falconer, speak, for i left him, and raud gave him to drink again. "have you no more to ask?" said ingvar gloomily, and frowning on beorn, as he lay helpless beyond the hearth. "nothing, jarl." "what was the last word he said. i heard not." "he said that justice was done," i answered. "when i have done with him, it shall be so," growled ingvar, and his hand clutched his sword hilt, so that i thought to see him slay the man on the spot. "has he told you all?" i asked of hubba. "all, and more than you have told of yourself," he answered; "for he told us that it was your hand saved my father, and for that we thank you. but one thing more he said at first, and that was that eadmund the king set him on to slay the jarl." on that i cried out that the good king loved lodbrok too well, and in any case would suffer no such cowardly dealings. "so ran his after words; but that was his first story, nevertheless." "then he lied, for you have just now heard him say that his own evil thoughts bade him do the deed." "aye--maybe he lied at first; but we shall see," said ingvar. now i understood not that saying, but if a man lies once, who shall know where the lie's doings will stop? what came from this lie i must tell, but now it seemed to have passed for naught. "now shall you slay the man in what way you will, as i have said. there are weapons," and ingvar pointed to the store on the walls. "i will not touch him," i said, "and i think that he dies." "then shall you see the vengeance of ingvar on his father's murderer," the jarl said savagely. "call the men together into the courtyard, raud, and let them bring the man there." "let him die, jarl," i said boldly; "he has suffered already." "i think that if you knew, wulfric of reedham, how near you have been to this yourself, through his doings, you would not hold your hand," answered ingvar, scowling at beorn again. "maybe, jarl," i answered, "but though you may make a liar speak truth thus, you cannot make an honest man say more than he has to speak." "one cannot well mistake an honest saying," said ingvar. "and that is well for you, friend." and so he turned and watched his courtmen, as the danes called the housecarles, carry beorn out. then he went to the walls and began to handle axe after axe, taking down one by one, setting some on the great table, and putting others back, as if taking delight in choosing one fittest for some purpose. even as we watched him--hubba sitting on the table's edge, and i standing by him--a leathern curtain that went across a door at the upper end of the hall was pulled aside, and a lady came into the place. stately and tall, with wondrous black hair, was this maiden, and i knew that this must be that osritha of whom the jarl was wont to speak to eadgyth and my mother, and who wrought the raven banner that hung above the high place where she stood now. she was like halfden and hubba, though with ingvar's hair, and if those three were handsome men among a thousand, this sister of theirs was more than worthy of them. she stood in the door, doubting, when she saw me. sad she looked, and she wore no gold on arm or neck, doubtless because of the certainty of the great jarl's death; and when she saw that hubba beckoned to her, she came towards us, and ingvar set down the great axe whose edge he was feeling. "go back to your bower, sister," he said; "we have work on hand." and he spoke sternly, but not harshly, to her. she shrank away a little, as if frightened at the jarl's dark face and stern words, but hubba called her by name. "stay, osritha; here is that friend of our father's from over seas, of whom you have heard." then she looked pityingly at me, as i thought, saying very kindly: "you are welcome. yet i fear you have suffered for your friendship to my father." "i have suffered for not being near to help him, lady," i said. "there is a thing that you know not yet," said hubba. "this wulfric was the man who took father from the breakers." then the maiden smiled at me, though her eyes were full of tears, and she asked me: "how will they bury him in your land? in honour?" "i have a brother-in-law who will see to that," i said. "and, moreover, eadmund the king, and elfric, my father, will do him all honour." "i will see to that," growled ingvar, turning sharply from where he sought another weapon on the wall. not knowing all he meant, this pleased me, for i thought that we should sail together to reedham for this, before very long. but osritha, knowing his ways, looked long at him, till he turned away again, and would not meet her eyes. "now go back to your place, my sister," he said. "it is not well for you to bide here just now." "why not? let our friend tell me of father also," she said wilfully. "because i am going to do justice on lodbrok's slayer," said ingvar, in a great voice, swinging an axe again. then the maiden turned pale, and wrung her hands, looking at ingvar, who would not meet her eyes; and then she went and laid her hands on his mighty arm, crying: "not that, my brother; not that!" "why not?" he asked; but he did not shake off her little hands. "because father would not have men so treated, however ill they had done." "aye, brother; the girl is right," said hubba. "let him die; for you gave him to wulfric, and that is his word." "well then," said ingvar, setting back the axe at last, "i will not carve him into the eagle i meant to make of him. but slay him i must and will, if the life is yet in him." "let odin have him," said hubba; and i knew that he meant that the man should be hanged, for so, as halfden's vikings told me, should he be odin's thrall, unhonoured. then the maiden fled from the hall, glad to have gained even that for the man, instead of the terrible death that the danes keep for traitors and cowards. now ingvar put back the axes he had kept, saying that the girl ever stood in his way when he would punish as a man deserved. after that he stood for a while as if in thought, and broke out at length: "we will see if this man can sing a death song as did ragnar our forefather." and with that he waited no more, but strode out into the courtyard, we following. and i feared what i should see; until i looked on beorn, and though he was yet alive, i saw that he was past feeling aught. they bore him out of the village to a place just inside the trenched enclosure, and there were old stone walls, such as were none elsewhere in the place, but as it might have been part of burgh or brancaster walls that the romans made on our shores, so ancient that they were crumbling to decay. there they set him down, and raised a great flat stone, close to the greatest wall, which covered the mouth of a deep pit. "look therein," said ingvar to me. i looked, and saw that the pit was stone walled and deep, and that out of it was no way but this hole above. the walls and floor were damp and slimy; and when i looked closer, the dim light showed me bones in one corner, and also that over the floor crawled reptiles, countless. "an adder is a small thing to sting a man," said ingvar in his grim voice. "nor will it always hurt him much. yet if a man is so close among many that he must needs tread on one, and it bites him, and in fleeing that he must set foot on another, and again another, and then more--how will that end?" i shuddered and turned away. "in such a place did ella of northumbria put my forebear, ragnar lodbrok; and there he sang the song {xiii} we hold most wondrous of all. there he was set because he was feared, and northumbria knows what i thought of that matter. but beorn goes here for reasons which you know. and east anglia shall know what my thoughts are of those reasons." then two men seized beorn and cast him into that foul pit, stripped of all things, and the stone fell. but beorn moved not nor cried out, and i think that even as ulfkytel had boded, stripped of life itself was he before the bottom of the pit was reached. so the justice of ulfkytel the earl came to pass. but the lies spoken by beorn were not yet paid for. chapter ix. jarl halfden's homecoming. from the time when beorn was made to speak the truth, i was a welcome guest in the hall that had been lodbrok's, to hubba at least, and we were good friends. as for ingvar, he was friendly enough also, and would listen when i spoke with his more frank and open brother of my days with halfden and his father. but he took little pleasure in my company, going silent and moody about the place, for the snow that began on the day after i landed was the first of a great storm, fiercer and colder than any we knew in england, and beyond the courtyard of the great house men could scarcely stir for a time. this storm i had but just escaped, and it seemed to me, and still seems, that the terror and pain thereof was held back while i was on the sea, for those nights and days had had no winter sting in them. hubba and i would wrestle and practise arms in the hall or courtyard during that time, and he was even beyond his father, my teacher, in the matter of weapon play; so that it is no wonder that now, as all men know, he is held the most famous warrior of his time. these sports ingvar watched, and took part in now and then when his mood was lighter, but it was seldom. yet he was skilful, though not as his brother. then at night was the fire of pine logs high heaped, and we feasted while the scalds, as they call their gleemen, sang the deeds of the heroes of old. and some of those of whom they sang were men of the angles of the old country; and one was my own forefather, and for that i gave the scald my gold bracelet, and thereafter he sang lustily in my praise as lodbrok's rescuer. very pleasant it was in ingvar's hall while the wind howled over the roof, and the roar of the sea was always in our ears. and these danes drank less than our people, if they ate more largely. but ingvar would sit and take pleasure in none of the sport, being ever silent and thoughtful. but to me, best of all were the times when i might see and speak with osritha, and soon the days seemed heavy to me if by chance i had no word with her. and she was always glad to speak of her father and halfden; for she was the youngest of all lodbrok's children, and halfden, her brother, was but a year older than herself, so that she loved him best of all, and longed to see him home again. so longed i, grieving for the news he must hear when he came to reedham, but yet thinking that he would be glad to find me at least living and waiting for him. now, as the snow grew deeper and the cold strengthened, the wolves began to come at night into the village, and at last grew very daring. so one night a man ran in to say that a pack was round a cottage where a child would not cease crying, and must be driven off, or they would surely tear the clay walls down. then hubba and i would go; but ingvar laughed at us, saying that a few firebrands would settle the matter by fraying the beasts away. however, the man was urgent, and we went out with raud and his brother, and some twenty men, armed with spears and axes. the night was very dark, and the snow whirled every way, and the end of it was that raud and i and two more men, with the dog vig, lost the rest, and before we found them we had the pack on us, and we must fight for our lives. and that fight was a hard fight, for there must have been a score of gaunt wolves, half starved and ravenous. and i think we should have fared badly, for at last i was standing over raud, who was down, dragged to the earth by two wolves, of which the dog slew one and i the other, while the other two men were back to back with me, and the wolves bayed all round us. but hubba and his party heard our shouts in time and came up, and so ended the matter. now raud must have it that i had saved his life, though i thought the good dog had a share in it, and both he and the dog were a little hurt. however, my shoulder was badly torn by a wolf that leapt at me while my spear was cumbered with another, and i for my part never wished it had not been so. for osritha, who was very skilful in leech craft, tended my hurt; and i saw much of her, for the hurts were a long time before they healed, as wolf bites are apt to be, and we grew very friendly. so that, day by day, i began to long to see the maiden who cared for my wound so gently, before the time came. now raud must needs make me a spear from a tough ashen sapling that he had treasured for a long time, because that which i had used in the wolf hunt was sprung by the weight of one of the beasts, and while his hurts kept him away at his own house he wrought it, and at last brought it up to the hall to give to me. when i looked at it--and it was a very good one, and had carved work where the hand grips the shaft, and a carved end--i saw that the head was one of jarl ingvar's best spearheads, and asked raud where he got it. "why," he said, "a good ash shaft deserves a good head, and so i asked the jarl for one. and when he knew for whom it was, he gave me this, saying it was the best he had." now i was pleased with this gift, both because i liked the man raud, who was both brave and simple minded, and because it showed that the surly jarl had some liking for me. yet i would that he showed this openly, and telling osritha of the gift, i dared say so. then she sighed and rose up, saying that she would show me another spear on the further wall, so taking me out of hearing of her maidens, who sat by the fire busied over their spinning and the like. there she spoke to me of jarl ingvar. "moody and silent beyond his wont has he been since we have heard all about our father's death, and i fear that he plans some terrible revenge for it, even as he took revenge on the northumbrian coasts for the long-ago slaying of ragnar." then i remembered the story of the burnt town, streoneshalch, and knew what ingvar's revenge was like. but as yet i could not think that he would avenge beorn's deed further than i had seen already. "but he has no enmity with you, our friend," she went on; "though he speaks little to you, he listens as you talk to us. but there has grown up in his heart a hatred of all men in your land, save of yourself alone. and once he said that he would that you were a dane, and his comrade as you had been halfden's." then i told osritha of how halfden had let me go from him rather than have me fight against my own land. i had said nothing of this to the jarls, for there was no reason. and this was the first time that i had had private speech with osritha. "that is halfden's way," she said, "he is ever generous." "i would that he were back," i answered, and so we ceased speaking. yet after this, many were the chances i found of the like talk alone with osritha before the weather broke, and we could once more get into the woods, hunting, and the men began to work in the ship garths on a great ship that was being built. now we had good hunting in the forests, and on the borders of the great mosses of ingvar's lands. but there were many more folk in this land than in ours, and i thought that they were ill off in many ways. in those days of hunting, ingvar, seeing me ride with the carven spear that was partly his gift, and with lodbrok's hawk on my wrist, would speak more often with me, though now and again some chance word of mine spoken in the way of my own folk would seem to turn him gloomy and sullen, so that he would spur his horse and leave me. but hubba was ever the same, and i liked him well, though i could not have made a friend of him as of halfden. in march messengers began to come and go, and though i asked nothing and was told nothing, i knew well that ingvar was gathering a mighty host to him that he might sail in the may time across the seas for plunder--or for revenge. the hammers went all day long in the ship garths, where the air was full of the wholesome scent of tar; and in their houses the women spun busily, making rope and weaving canvas that should carry the jarl's men "over the swan's bath;" while in the hall the courtmen sat after dark and feathered arrows and twined bowstrings, and mended mail. and now and then some chief would ride into the town, feasting that night, and riding away in the morning after long talk with the jarls. and some, bagsac and guthrum, sidrac and his son, and a tall man named osbern, came very often as the days lengthened. i would ask nothing of this matter, even of osritha, having my own thoughts thereon, and not being willing to press her on things she might have been bidden to keep from me. she would ask me of my mother and eadgyth, as they would ask the jarl of her, and i told her all i could, though that was not much, for a man hardly notes things as a woman will. then she would laugh at me; until one day i said that i would she could come over to reedham and see for herself. at that i thought that i had offended her, for her face grew red, and she left me. nor could i find a chance of speaking to her again for many days, which was strange to me, and grieved me sorely. now the southwest wind shifted at last to the west and north, and that shift brought home him whom i most wished to see, my comrade, halfden. and it chanced that i was the first to see his sail from the higher land along the coast, south of the haven, where i was riding with my falcon and the great dog vig, which raud and his brother would have me take for my own after the wolf hunt. gladly i rode hack with my news to find ingvar in the ship garth, and there i told him who came. "a ship, maybe. how know you she is halfden's?" he said carelessly. "why, how does any sailor know his own ship?" i asked in surprise. then he turned at once, and smiled at me fairly for the first time. "i had forgotten," he said. "come, let us look at her again." and i was not mistaken, though the jarl was not so sure as i for half an hour or more. when he was certain, he said: "come, let us make what welcome for halfden that we may." and we went back to the hall, and at once was the great horn blown to assemble the men; and the news went round quickly, so that everywhere men and women alike put aside their work, and hurried down to the wharf side. and in ingvar's house the thralls wrought to prepare a great feast in honour of jarl halfden's homecoming. soon i stood with the jarls and osritha at the landing place, and behind us were the courtmen in their best array. and as we came to the place where we would wait, halfden's ship came past the bar into the haven's mouth. all men's faces were bright with the thought of welcome, but heavy were my thoughts, and with reason. for halfden's ship came from the sea on no course that should have borne him from reedham, and i feared that it was i who must tell him all. yet he might have been drawn from his course by some passing vessel. the long ship flew up the channel, and now we could see that all her rail was hung with the red and yellow shields that they use for show as well as to make the gunwale higher against the arrows, and to hinder boarders in a fight. and she was gaily decked with flags, and shone with new paint and gilding in all sea bravery. not idle had her crew been in the place where they had wintered, and one might know that they had had a good voyage, which to a dane means plunder enough for all. but surely if halfden had been to reedham, the long pennon had been half masted. it were long to tell how the people cheered, and how they were answered from the ship, and how i spied halfden on the fore deck, and thormod at the helm, as ever. and when osritha saw halfden's gay arms and cloak and all the bright trim of the ship and men, she said to me, speaking low and quickly: "they have not been to reedham, or it would not have been thus." and it was true, for there would have been no sign of joy among those who had heard the news that waited them there. i knew not how to bear this meeting, but i was not alone in my trouble, for nearer me crept osritha, saying to me alone, while the people cheered and shouted: "how shall we tell halfden?" the two jarls were busy at the mooring place, and i could only answer her that i could look to her alone for help. now at that i knew what had sprung up in my heart for osritha, and that not in this only should i look for help from her and find it, but if it might be, all my life through. for now in my trouble she looked at me with a new look, answering: "i will help you, whatever betide." i might say no more then, nor were words needed, for i knew all that she meant. and so my heart was lightened, for now i held that i was repaid for all that had gone before, and save for that which had brought me here, gladly would i take my perilous voyage over again to find this land and the treasure it now held for me. at last the ship's keel grated on the sand, and the men sprang from shore waist deep in water, to take her the mighty cables that should haul her into her berth; and then the long gangplank was run out, and halfden came striding along it, looking bright and handsome--and halfway over, he stopped where none could throng him, and lifting his hand for silence cried for all to hear. "hearken all to good news! lodbrok our jarl lives!" then, alas! instead of the great cheer that should have broken from the lips of all that throng, was at first a silence, and then a groan--low and pitiful as of a mourning people who wail for the dead and the sorrowful living--and at that sound halfden paled, and stayed no more, hurrying ashore and to where his brothers stood. "what is this?" he said, and his voice was low, and yet clear in the silence that had fallen, for all his men behind him had stopped as if turned to stone where they stood. then from my side sprang osritha before any could answer, meeting him first of all, and she threw her arms round his neck, saying: "dead is lodbrok our father, and nigh to death for his sake has been wulfric, your friend. yet he at least is well, and here to speak with you and tell you all." then for the great and terrible sorrow that came at the end of the joyous homeward sailing, down on the hard sand halfden the jarl threw himself, and there lay weeping as these wild danes can weep, for their sorrow is as terrible as their rage, and they will put no bounds to the way of grief of which there is no need for shame. nor have they the hope that bids us sorrow not as they. and while he lay there, all men held their peace, looking in one another's faces, and only the jarls and osritha and myself stood near him. very suddenly he raised himself up, and was once more calm; then he kissed the maiden, and grasped his brothers' hands, and then held out both hands to me, holding mine and looking in my face. "other was the meeting i had planned for you and me, wulfric, my brother-in-arms. yet you are most welcome, for you at least are here to tell me of the days that are past." "it is an ill telling," said ingvar. "that must needs be, seeing what is to be told," hubba said quickly. but those wise words of osritha's had made things easier for me, for now halfden knew that into the story of the jarl's death, i and my doings must come, so ingvar's words meant little to him. "you went not to reedham?" i said, for now the men were at work again, and all was noise and bustle round us. "i have come here first by orkneys from waterford, where we wintered," he answered. "and i have been over sure that no mishap might be in a long six months." "what of the voyage?--let us speak of this hereafter," said hubba. and halfden, wearily, as one who had lost all interest in his own doings, told him that it had been good, and that thormod would give him the full tale of plunder. then came a chief from the ship whose face i knew, though he was not of our crew. it was that rorik whose ship the bosham bell had sunk, and who had been saved by halfden's boats. he knew me, after scanning me idly for a moment, and greeted me, asking why i was not at reedham to make that feast of which halfden was ever speaking, and so passed on. so we went up to the great hall in silence, sorely cast down; and that was halfden's homecoming. little joy was there on the high place at the feast that night, though at the lower tables the men of our crew (for so i must ever think of those whose leader i had been for a little while, with halfden) held high revelling with their comrades. many were the tales they told, and when a tale of fight and victory was done, the scald would sing it in verse that should be kept and sung by the winter fire till new deeds brought new songs to take its place. presently halfden rose up, after the welcome cup had gone round and feasting was done, and the ale and mead began to flow, and he beckoned me to come with him. hubba would have come also, but ingvar held him back. "let wulfric have his say first," he growled; and i thanked him in my mind for his thought. so we went to the inner chamber, where osritha would sit with her maidens, and halfden said: "this matter is filling all my thoughts so that i am but a gloomy comrade at the board. tell me all, and then what is done is done. one may not fight against the norn maidens {xiv}." there i told him all my story, and he remembered how i had told him, laughing, of beorn's jealousy at first. and when my tale was nearly done osritha crept from her bower and came and sat beside halfden, pushing her hand into his, and resting her head on his shoulder. then i ended quickly, saying that ingvar had done justice on beorn. and at that remembrance the maiden shivered, and halfden's face showed that he knew what the man's fate was like to have been at the great jarl's hands. "so, brother," he said, when i left off speaking, "had i gone to reedham there would have been burnt houses in east anglia." "in reedham?" said i. "wherever this beorn had a house; and at caistor where that old fool ulfkytel lives, and maybe at one or two other places on the way thither. and i think your father and egfrid your brother would have helped me, or i them." so he doubted me not at all, any more than i should have doubted his tale, were he in my place and i in his. then i said that i myself had no grudge against earl ulfkytel, for he had sent me here. "why then, no more have i," answered halfden; "for he is a wiseacre and an honest one, and maybe meant kindly. ingvar would have slain both guilty and innocent, and told them to take their wrangle elsewhere, to hela or asgard as the way might lead them." now as he said that, i, who looked ever on the face of her whom i loved, saw that a new fear had come into osritha's heart, and that she feared somewhat for me. nor could i tell what it was. but halfden and i went on talking, and at last she could not forbear a little sob, and at that halfden asked what ailed her. "may i speak to you, my brother, very plainly, of one thing that i dread?" she asked, drawing closer to him. "aye, surely," he answered in surprise. "remember you the words that ingvar said to the priest of the white christ who came from ansgar at hedeby {xv}, while our father was away in the ships?" "why, they were like words. he bade him go and settle the matter with odin whom he would not reverence, and so slew him." "aye, brother. and he said that so he would do to any man who would not honour the gods." "why do you remember that, osritha?" "because--because there will be the great sacrifice tomorrow, and wulfric, your friend, is not of our faith." then halfden was silent, looking across at me, and all at once i knew that here was a danger greater than any i had yet been through. fire i had passed through, and water, and now it was like to be trial by steel. and the first had tried my courage, and the next my endurance, as i thought; but this would try both, and my faith as well. "that is naught," said halfden, lightly. "it is but the signing of thor's hammer, and i have seen wulfric do that many a time, only not quite in our way, thus;" and he signed our holy sign all unknowing, or caring not. "and to eat of the horse that is sacrificed--why, you and i, wulfric, did eat horse on the frankish shores; and you thought it good, being nigh starved--you remember?" i remembered, but that was different; for that we did because the shores were so well watched that we ran short of food, and had to take what we could under cover of night at one time. but this of which osritha spoke was that which holy writ will by no means suffer us to do--to eat of a sacrifice to idols knowingly, for that would be to take part therein. nor might i pretend that the holy sign was as the signing of thor's hammer. "halfden," i said, having full trust in him, "i may not do this. i may not honour the old gods, for so should i dishonour the white christ whom i serve." "this is more than i can trouble about in my mind," said halfden; "but if it troubles you, i will help you somehow, brother wulfric. but you must needs come to the sacrifice." "cannot i go hunting?" "why, no; all men must be present. and to be away would but make things worse, for there would be question." then i strengthened myself, and said that i must even go through with the matter, and so would have no more talk about it. but osritha kept on looking sadly at me, and i knew that she was in fear for me. now presently we began to talk of my home and how they would mourn me as surely lost. and i said that this mourning would be likely to hinder my sister's wedding for a while. and then, to make a little more cheerful thought, i told halfden what his father had said about his wishing that he had been earlier with us. "why, so do i," said my comrade, laughing a little; "for many reasons," he added more sadly, thinking how that all things would have been different had he sailed back at once. then he must needs go back to the question of the sacrifice. "now i would that you would turn good dane and thor's man, and bide here with us; and then maybe--" but osritha rose up quickly and said that she must begone, and so bade us goodnight and went her way into the upper story of that end of the great hall where her own place was. whereat halfden laughed quietly, looking at me, and when she was quite gone, and the heavy deerskins fell over the doorway, said, still smiling: "how is this? it is in my mind that my father's wish might easily come to pass in another way not very unlike." that was plain speaking, nor would i hesitate to meet the kindly look and smile, but said that indeed i had come to long that it might be so. but i said that the jarl, his father, had himself shown me that no man should leave his old faith but for better reasons than those of gain, however longed for. for that is what he had answered eadmund the king when the land was offered him, and he was asked to become a christian. "yet if such a thing might be," said halfden, "gladly would i hail you as brother in very truth." so we sat without speaking for a while, and then halfden said that were i to stand among the crowd of men on the morrow there would surely be no notice taken of me. yet as i lay on my wolf skins at the head of the great hall, and prayed silently--as was my wont among these heathen--i asked for that same help that had been given to men of old time who were in the same sore strait as i must very likely be in tomorrow. then came to me the thought: "what matters if outwardly i reverence thor and odin while i inwardly deny them?" and that excuse had nigh got the better of me. but i minded what our king had told me many a time: how that in the first christening of our people it had ever been held to be a denying of our faith to taste the heathen sacrifices, or to bow the head in honour, even but outward, of the idols, so that many had died rather than do so. and he had praised those who thus gave up their life. then, too, i remembered the words of the prior of bosham concerning martyrs. and we had been led to speak of them by this very question as to sacrifice to the danish gods. so i made up my mind that if i might escape notice, i would do so--and if not, then would i bear the worst. so i fell asleep at last. and what it may have been i know not--unless the wind as it eddied through the high windows clashed some weapon against shield on the walls with a clear ringing sound--but i woke with the voice of bosham bell in my ears--and rorik and halfden each in his place started also, and rorik muttered a curse before he lay down again, for he sat up, looking wildly. but greatly cheered with that token was i, for i knew that help was not far from me, and after that i had no more fear, but slept peacefully, though i thought it was like to be my last night on earth. chapter x. what befell at the great sacrifice. very early in the gray morning halfden woke me, and he was fully armed, while at the lower end of the hall the courtmen were rising and arming themselves also, for vikings must greet odin as warriors ready to do battle for him when ragnaroek {xvi} and the last great fight shall come. "rise and arm yourself," he said; "here are the arms in which you fought well in your first fight, and axe and sword beside. now you shall stand with our crew, and so none of them will heed you, for they love you, and know your ways are not as ours. so will all be well." then i thanked him, for i surely thought it would be so; and i armed myself, and that man who had been my own shield man when i led the midship gang helped me. one thing only i wished, and that was that i had the axe which lodbrok made for me, for then, i told the man, i should feel as a viking again, and that pleased him. "however," he said, "i think i have found an axe that is as near like your own as may be." and he had done so, having had that kindly thought for me. then we went out, for the horns were blowing outside the town in the ash grove where the ve, as they call the temple of odin and thor and the other gods, was. and overhead, high and unseen in the air, croaked the ravens, odin's birds, scared from their resting places by the tramp of men, yet knowing that their share in the feast was to come. i shivered, but the sound of the war horns, and the weight and clank of the well-known arms, stirred my blood at last, and when we fell in for our short march, halfden and thormod, rorik and myself leading our crew, i was ready for all that might come, if need for a brave heart should be. silently we filed through the bare trunks of the ashes, the trees of thor, where many a twisted branch and dead trunk showed that the lightning had been at work, until we came to the place of the ve in its clearing. there stood the sanctuary, a little hut--hardly more--built of ash-tree logs set endwise on a stone footing, and roofed with logs of ash, and closed with heavy doors made of iron-bolted ash timber also. this temple stood under the mightiest ash tree of all, and there was a clear circle of grass, tree bordered, for a hundred yards all round it, and all that circle was lined with men, armed and silent. before the temple was a fire-reddened stone, the altar. and on it were graven runes, and symbols so strange that neither i nor any man could read them, so old were they, for some men said that stone and runes alike were older than the worship of odin himself, having been an altar to gods that were before him. and a pile of wood was ready on the altar. beside it stood ingvar, clad in golden shining scale armour, and with a gilded horned helm and scarlet cloak that hung from shoulders to heel; for as his forefathers had been before him, beyond the time when the danes and angles came from their far eastern home {xvii}, led by odin himself, he was the "godar", the priest of the great gods of asgard, and his it was to offer the sacrifice now that lodbrok his father was dead. now, as i stood there i thought how my father had told me that our own family had been the godars of our race in the old days, so that he and i in turn should have taken our place at such an offering as ingvar was about to make. and straightway i seemed to be back in the long dead past, when on these same shores my forbears had worshipped thus before seeking the new lands that they won beyond the seas. and that was a strange thought, yet now i should know from what our faith had brought us. in a little while all ingvar's following had come, and there were many chiefs whose faces i had seen of late as they came to plan the great raid that was to be when the season came. and the men with them were very many, far more than we could have gathered to a levy on so short notice; and all were well armed, and stood in good order as trained and hardened warriors. no longer could i wonder at all i had heard of the numbers of the danish hosts who came to our shores, and were even now in northumbria, unchecked. there was silence in all the great ring of men; and only the rustle of the wind in the thick-standing ash trees around us--that seemed to hem us in like a gray wall round the clearing--and the quick croak and flap of broad wings as the ravens wheeled ever nearer overhead, broke the stillness. we of the crew for whose good voyage and safe return the offering was made stood foremost, facing the altar stone and the sanctuary door, and i, with halfden and thormod before me, and men of the crew to right and left, stood in the centre of our line, so that i could see all that went on. then, seeing that all was ready, ingvar swung back the heavy door of the shrine, and i saw before me a great image of thor the mighty, glaring with sightless eyes across the space at me. it was carved in wood, and the god stood holding in one hand mioelner, his great hammer, and in the other the head of the midgaard serpent, whose tailed curled round his legs, as though it were vainly trying to struggle free. then ingvar turned and lighted the altar fire, and the smoke rose straight up and hung in the heavy morning air in a cloud over the ve; and that seemed to be of good omen, for the men shouted joyfully once, and were again silent. from behind the sanctuary two armed men led the horse for the sacrifice that should be feasted on thereafter; and it was a splendid colt, black and faultless, so that to me it seemed a grievous thing that its life should thus be spilt for naught. yet i was the only one there who deemed it wasted. then ingvar chanted words to which i would not listen, lest my heart should seem to echo them, so taking part in the heathen prayer. over the horse he signed thor's hammer, and slew it with thor's weapon, and the two men flayed and divided it skilfully, laying certain portions before the jarl, the godar. he sprinkled the blood upon doorway and statue, and then again chanting, laid those portions upon the altar fire, and the black smoke rose up from them, while all the host watched for what omens might follow. the smoke rose, wavered, and went up, and then some breath of wind took it and drifted it gently into the open temple, winding it round the head of thor's image and filling all the little building. and at that the men shouted again. then ingvar turned slowly towards the shrine, and drawing his sword, lifted up the broad shining blade as if in salute, crying as he turned the point north and east and south and west: "skoal, ye mighty ones!" and at once, as one man all the host, save myself only, lifted their weapons in salute, crying in a voice that rolled back from the trees like an answering war shout: "skoal to the mighty ones!" but as for me, i stirred not, save that as by nature, and because i fixed my thoughts on the one sacrifice of our own faith, i signed myself with the sign of the cross, only knowing this, that thor and odin i would not worship. suddenly, even as the echo of the shout died away, and while the weapons were yet upraised, the thick cloud of smoke rolled back and down, wrapping round ingvar the godar as he stood between shrine and altar, and across the reek glared the sightless eyes of the idol again, cold and heedless. now of all omens that was the worst, for it must needs betoken that the sacrifice was not pleasing; and at that a low groan as of fear went round the host. then back started ingvar, and i saw his face through the smoke, looking white as ashes. for a long time, as it seemed to me, there was silence, until the smoke rose up straight again and was lost in the treetops. even the ravens, scared maybe by the great shout, were gone, and all was very still. at last ingvar turned slowly to us and faced our crew. "the sacrifice is yours," he said, "and if it is not accepted the fault is yours also. we are clear of blame who have bided at home." then halfden answered for his men and himself: "i know not what blame is to us." but from close behind me rorik lifted his voice: "no blame to the crew--but here is one, a stranger, who does no honour to the gods, neither lifting sword or hailing them as is right, even before thor's image." then i knew that the worst was come, and prepared to meet it. but halfden spoke. "all men's customs are not alike, and a stranger has his own ways." but ingvar's face was black with rage, and not heeding halfden, he shouted: "set the man before me." no man stirred, for indeed i think that most of our crew knew not who was meant, and those near me would, as halfden told me, say nought. then said ingvar to rorik: "point the man to me." then rorik pointed to me. so i stood forth of my own accord, not looking at him, but at ingvar. "so," said the jarl, harshly, "you dare to dishonour thor?" i answered boldly, feeling very strong in the matter. "i dishonour no man's religion, jarl, neither yours nor my own." "you did no honour to the asir," he said sternly. "thor and odin are not the gods i worship," i answered. "i know. you are one of those who have left the gods of your fathers." then one of our men, who had stood next to me, spoke for me, as he thought. "i saw wulfric sign thor's hammer even now. what more does any man want from a saxon?" thereat ingvar scowled, knowing, as i think, what this was. "you claim to be truth teller," he said; "did you sign thor's hammer?" "i did not," i answered. then halfden came to my side. "let wulfric go his own way, brother. what matters it what gods he worships so long as he is good warrior and true man, as i and my men know him to be?" so he looked round on the faces of my comrades, and they answered in many ways that this was so. and several cried: "let it be, jarl. what is one man to thor and odin?" now i think that ingvar would have let the matter pass thus, for the word of the host is not lightly to be disregarded. but rorik would not suffer it. "what of the wrath of the gods, godar?" he said. "how will you put that aside?" then was a murmur that they must be appeased, but it came not from our crew; and ingvar stood frowning, but not looking at me for a space, for he was pulled two ways. as godar he must not pass by the dishonour to the gods, yet as the son of the man whom i had saved, how could he harm me? and rorik, seeing this, cried: "i hold that this man should live no longer." "why, what dishonour has he done the gods?" said halfden. "if he had scoffed, or said aught against them--that were a different thing. and what does thor there care if one man pays no heed to him? surely he can keep his own honour--leave it to him." "it is dishonour to thor not to hail him," said rorik. now ingvar spoke again to me: "why do you no honour to the gods?" "my fathers honoured them, for the godarship was theirs, and would have been my father's and mine, even as it is yours, jarl ingvar. for good reason they left that honour and chose another way and a better. and to that way i cleave. i have done despite to no man's faith--neither to yours nor my own." at that rorik lost patience, and lifting his axe, ground his teeth and said savagely: "i will even make you honour thor yonder." now at that halfden saw a chance for me, and at once stayed rorik's hand, saying in a loud voice: "ho! this is well. let wulfric and rorik fight out this question--and then the life of him who is slain will surely appease the gods." that pleased our crew well, for they had no great love for rorik, who had taken too much command on him, for a stranger on board. now, too, ingvar's brows cleared, for he cared nothing for the life of either of us, so that the gods were satisfied with blood. and he said: "so shall it be. take axes and make short work of it. if wulfric can slay rorik, we know that he is innocent of aught to dishonour the gods. but if he is slain--then on his head is the blame." then he looked round and added: "let guthrum and hubba see fair play." now came hubba, pleased enough, for he knew my axe play, and that chief whom they called guthrum, a square, dark man with a pleasant, wise face, and took four spears, setting them up at the corners of a twelve-pace square, between the line of our crew and the altar. so now it seemed to me that i must fight for our faith, for truth against falsehood, darkness against light. and i was confident, knowing this, that the death of one for the faith is often the greatest victory. so i said: "i thank you, jarl. i will fight willingly for my faith." "fight for what you like," said ingvar, "but make haste over it." then hubba and guthrum placed me at one side of the square, and rorik at the opposite. and i faced the image of thor, so that under the very eyes of the idol i hated i must prove my faith. then came a longing into my mind to lift my axe in thor's face and defy him, but i put it away, for how should an idol know of threat or defiance? surely that would be to own some power of his. when we were ready, hubba and guthrum, each with drawn swords, stood on either side of the spear-marked square, and signed to ingvar to give the word. at once he did so. then i strode forward five paces and waited, but rorik edged round me, trying to gain some vantage of light, and i watched him closely. and all the host stood silent, holding breath, and the altar smoke rose up over our heads, and the ravens croaked in the trees, and over all stared the great statue of thor, seeing naught. then like a wolf rorik sprang at me, smiting at my left shoulder where no shield was to guard me. and that was rorik's last stroke, for even as i had parried thormod's stroke in sport, the man's wrist lit on the keen edge of my axe, so that hand and weapon flew far beyond me with the force of his stroke. then flashed my axe, and rorik fell with his helm cleft in twain. then roared our crew, cheering me: "skoal to the axeman! ahoy!" but i looked at ingvar, and said: "short work have i made, jarl." whereat he laughed a grim laugh, only answering: "aye, short enough. the gods are appeased." then i went back to my place beside halfden, and our men patted my back, praising me, roughly and heartily, for it is not a viking's way to blame a man for slaying a comrade in fair fight and for good reason. now ingvar stood before the shrine, and called to the gods to be heedful of the blood spilt to purge whatever dishonour or wrong had been done. and he hung up the weapons of the slain man in the shrine, and after that closed its doors and barred them; and we marched from the ve silently and swiftly, leaving the body of rorik alone for a feast to the birds of odin before the dying altar fire. now was i light hearted, thinking that the worst was past, and so also thought halfden, so that we went back and sought osritha, who waited, pale and anxious, to know how things should go with me, and when we found her i saw that she had been weeping. "why, my sister," said halfden, "hardly would you have wept for my danger--or weeping you would be from my sailing to return." but she answered not a word, and turned away, for his saying made her tears come afresh. "now am i a blunderer," said halfden. "if there is one thing that i fear it is a weeping maiden." and with that he went from the room, leaving me. then i took upon me to comfort osritha, nor was that a hard task. and again i would have gone through this new danger i had faced, for it had brought the one i loved to my arms. not long might we be together, for now the feasting began, and i must go to halfden and his brothers in the great hall. and then came remembrance to me. for now must i refuse to eat of the horse sacrifice, and maybe there would be danger in that. yet i thought that no man would trouble more about me and my ways, so that i said naught of it to osritha. so i sat between halfden and thormod at the high place, and the whole hall was full of men seated at the long tables that ran from end to end, and across the wide floor. the womenfolk and thralls went busily up and down serving, and it was a gay show enough to look on, for all were in their best array. yet it seemed to me that the men were silent beyond their wont, surly even in their talk, for the fear of the omen of that eddying smoke was yet on them. and presently i felt and saw that many eyes were watching me, and those in no very friendly wise. some of the men who watched were strangers to me, but as they sat among our crew, they must be the rest of the saved from rorik's following. others were men from beyond the village walls, and as rorik's men had some reason and the others knew me not, i thought little of their unfriendly looks. at last they brought round great cauldrons, in which were flesh hooks; to every man in turn, and first of all to ingvar himself. he thrust the hook in, and brought up a great piece of meat, cutting for himself therefrom, and at once every man before whom a cauldron waited, did likewise, and it passed on. they signed thor's hammer over the meat and began to eat. now after ingvar had helped himself, the cauldron came to guthrum, and then to halfden, and then it must come to me, and i had heaped food before me that i might pass it by more easily, knowing that this was the sacrificed meat of which i might not eat. but the men stayed before me, and i made a sign to them to pass by, and honest thormod leaned across me to take his share quickly, and they passed to him, wondering at me a little, but maybe thinking nothing of it. they were but thralls, and had not been at the ve. but rorik's men had their eyes on me, and when the cauldron passed thormod, and i had not taken thereout, one rose up and said, pointing to me: "lo! this saxon will not eat of the sacrifice." at that was a growl of wrath from the company, and ingvar rose, looking over the heads of my comrades, saying: "have a care, thou fool; go not too far with me." then guthrum laughed and said: "this is foolishness to mind him; moreover, he has fought for and won his right to please himself in the matter." so too said halfden and thormod, but against their voices were now many raised, saying that ill luck would be with the host for long enough, if this were suffered openly. now a dane or norseman takes no heed of the religion of other folk unless the matter is brought forward in this way, too plainly to be overlooked. but then, being jealous for his own gods, whom he knows to be losing ground, he must needs show that he is so. nor do i blame him, for it is but natural. so to these voices ingvar the godar must needs pay heed, even if his own patience were not gone, so that he might not suffer that one should sit at the board of thor and odin, untasting and unacknowledging. he called to two of his courtmen. "take this man away," he said, very sternly, "and put him in ward till tomorrow. today is the feast, and we have had enough trouble over the business already." the two men came towards me, and all men were hushed, waiting to see if i would fight. as they came i rose from my place, and they thought i would resist, for they shifted their sword hilts to the front, ready to hand. but i unbuckled my sword belt, and cast the weapon down, following them quietly, for it was of no good to fight hopelessly for freedom in a strange land. many men scowled at me as i passed, and more than one cried out on me. but halfden and thormod and hubba, and more than were angry, seemed glad that this was all the harm that came to me just now. and ingvar leaned back in his great chair and did not look at me, though his face was dark. they put me into a cell, oak walled and strong, and there left me, unfettered, but with a heavily-barred door between me and freedom; and if i could get out, all denmark and the sea around me held me prisoner. yet i despaired not altogether, for already i had gone through much danger, and my strength had not failed me. now, how i spent the daylight hours of that imprisonment any christian man may know, seeing that i looked for naught but death. and at last, when darkness fell, i heard low voices talking outside for a little while, and i supposed that a watch was set, for the cell door opened to the courtyard from the back of the great house. now i thought i would try to sleep, for the darkness was very great, and just as i lay down in a corner the barring of the door was moved, and the door opened gently. "do you sleep, wulfric?" said halfden's voice, speaking very low. "what is it, brother?" i asked in as low a voice, for i had not been a viking for naught. i saw his form darken the gray square of the doorway, and he came in and swung to the door after him; then his hand sought my shoulder, and i heard a clank of arms on the floor. "see here, wulfric," he said, "you are in evil case; for all rorik's men and the men from outside are calling for your death; they say that rorik had no luck against you because the asir are angry, and that so it will be with all the host until you have paid penalty." "what say you and our crew?" "why, we had good luck with you on board, and hold that rorik had done somewhat which set thor against him, for he got shipwrecked, and now is killed. so we know that your ways do not matter to thor or odin or any one of the asir, who love a good fighter. but we know not why you are so obstinate; still that is your business, not ours." "what says ingvar?" i asked. "naught; but he is godar." "aye," said i. "so i must die, that is all. what said ragnar lodbrok about that?" and i spoke to him the brave words that his forefather sang as he died, and which he loved: "whether in weapon play under the war cloud, full in the face of death fearless he fronts him, death is the bane of the man who is bravest, he loveth life best who furthest from danger lives. sooth is the saying that strongest the norns are. lo! at my life's end i laugh--and i die." "nay, my brother," said halfden earnestly; "think of me, and of osritha, and seem to bow at least." that word spoken by my friend was the hardest i ever had to bear, for now i was drawn by the love that had been so newly given me. and i put my hands before my face and thought, while he went on: "if i were asked to give up these gods of ours, who, as it seems to me, pay mighty little heed to us--and i knew that good exchange was offered me--well then--i should--" i ended that word for him. "you would do even as your father, and say that unless for better reason than gain--aye, however longed for--you would not." "aye--maybe i would, after all," he answered, and was silent. then he said, "guthrum and i spoke just now, and he said that your faith must be worth more than he knew, to set you so fixedly on it." now i would have told him that it was so, but there came a little sound at the door, and halfden went and opened it. across its half darkness came a woman's form, and osritha spoke in her soft voice. "brother, are you here yet?" "aye, sister, both of us--come and persuade this foolish wulfric." then i spoke quickly, for it seemed to me that if osritha spoke and urged me, i should surely give way. "nay, but you must not persuade me--would you have had us christians bid your father choose between death and gain for the sake of winning him to our faith?" then said halfden, "that would i not." but in the dark osritha came to my side and clung to me, so that i was between those two whom i loved and must lose, for halfden held my right hand, and osritha my left, and she was weeping silently for me. "listen," i said, for the speaking must be mine lest they should prevail. "should i die willingly for one who has given his life for me?" "aye, surely--if that might be," said halfden. "now it comes into my mind that hereafter you will know that i do not die for naught. for he whom i worship died for me. nor may i refuse to spend life in his honour." then they were silent, until osritha found her voice and said: "we knew not that. i will not be the one to hold you from what is right." at that halfden rose up, for he had found a seat of logs and sat by me on it, sighing a long sigh, but saying: "well, this is even as i thought, and i will not blame you, my brother. fain would i have kept you here, and sorely will osritha pine when you are gone. but you shall not die, else will the justice of ulfkytel come to naught." then i heard again the clank of arms, and halfden bent down, as i might feel. "can you arm yourself in the dark?" he said. "why, surely! it is not for the first time," i answered. he thrust my mail shirt against me, and laid a sword in my hand, and set my helm on my head, all awry because of the darkness. "quickly," he said. then a new hope that came to me made me clasp osritha's hand and kiss it before i must see to arming myself; but she clung to me yet, and i kissed her gently, then turning away sorely troubled went to work. soon i was ready for halfden's word, and osritha buckled on my sword for me, for she had felt and taken it. halfden opened the door and went out into the night, speaking low to one whom i could not see; and so i bade farewell to her whom i loved so dearly, not knowing if i should ever look on her again. but she bade me hope ever, for nor she nor i knew what the days to come might bring us. "ready," said halfden; "follow me as if you were a courtman till we come to the outer gate." then with osritha's handclasp still warm on mine i went out and followed him, and she sought the maiden who waited beside the door, and was gone. when we came to the great gates, they were shut. the sounds of feasting went on in the hall, and the red light glared from the high windows. forgotten was all but revelling--and the guard who kept the gate was raud the forester, my friend. he opened the gates a little, and we three slipped out and stood for a moment together. the night was very dark, and the wind howled and sang through the stockading, and none seemed to be about the place. there halfden took my hand and bade me farewell very sadly. "this is the best i may do for you, my brother. go with raud to his house, and thence he and rolf and thoralf your shield man, who all love you, will take you even to hedeby, where there are christian folk who will help you to the sea and find passage to england. and fare you well, my brother, for the days we longed for in your land will never be--" "come in the ship to england, that so there may be good times even yet," i said. "aye, to england i shall surely come--not to seek you, but at ingvar's bidding. yet to east anglia for your sake i will not come." then he grasped my hand again in farewell, and he went inside the gates and closed them, and raud and i went quickly to his place. there we found those two other good friends of mine waiting, and they told me that all was well prepared to save them from the wrath of ingvar, for they had been bidden to carry messages, and other men of the crew who lived far off would do this for them, for i feared for their lives also when the flight was known. long was the way to hedeby, where ansgar the bishop had built the first church in all denmark. but we won there at last and in safety. and there ansgar's folk received me well, and i parted from my three comrades, not without grief, so that i asked them to take service with us in england. almost they consented, but rolf and thoralf had wives and children, and raud would by no means leave his brother. now in a few days, a company of merchants went from hedeby with goods for england, and with them i went; and in no long time i came into ingild's house by london bridge, and was once more at home as the second week in may began. chapter xi. the coming of ingvar's host. aught but joy did i look for in my homecoming, but it was all too like that of halfden, my friend. no need to say how my kind godfather met me as one come back from the dead, nor how i sent gifts back to ansgar's people, who sorely needed help in those days. but very gently the old man told me that elfric my father was dead, passing suddenly but a month since, while by his side sat ulfkytel the earl, blaming himself for his blindness and for his haste in not waiting for the king's judgment, and yet bidding my father take heart, for he had never known his ways of justice fail. and he asked forgiveness also, for there had been a deadly feud concerning this between him and my people, so that but for eadmund the king there would have been fighting. yet when one told ulfkytel that men held that my father's heart broke at my loss, the great earl had made haste to come and see him, and to say these things. so they made peace at last. when i knew this it seemed to me that i had lost all, and for long i cared for nothing, going about listless, so that ingild feared that i too should grow sick and die. but i was young and strong, and this could not last, and at length i grew reconciled to things as they were, and ingild would speak with me of all that i had seen in denmark. now when i told him what i feared of the coming of ingvar's host he grew grave, and asked many things about it. "ethelred the king is at reading," he said; "let us go and speak to him of this matter." so we rode thither, and that ride through the pleasant thames-side country was good for me. and when we came to the great house where the king lay, we had no trouble in finding the way to him, for ingild was well known, and one of the great witan {xviii} also. i told ethelred the king of england all that i had learned, and he was troubled. only we three were in his council chamber, and to us he spoke freely. "what can i do? much i fear that east anglia must fight her own battles at this time. pressed am i on the west by welsh and dane, and my wessex men have their hands full with watching both. and it is hard to get men of one kingdom to fight alongside those of another, even yet. and this i know full well, that until a host lands i can gather no levy, for our men will not wait for a foe that may never come." i knew that his words were true, and could say nothing. only i thought that it had been better if we had held to our mercian overlords in ecgberht's time than fight for this wessex sovereign who was far from us; for that unhealed feud with mercia seemed to leave us alone now. "yet," said ethelred, "these men are not such great chiefs, as it seems. maybe their threats will come to naught." but i told him of that great gathering at the sacrifice, and said also that i thought that needs must those crowded folks seek riches elsewhere than at home. then he asked me many things of the corn and cattle and richness of the land; and when i told him what i had seen, he looked at me and ingild. "such things as crowding and poverty and hardness drove us from that shore hither. i pray that the same be not coming on us that we brought to the ancient people the welsh, whose better land we took and now hold." so we left him, and i could see that the matter lay heavily on his mind. in a week thereafter i rode away homeward, and came first to framlingham, where eadmund our own king was. very glad was he to see me safely home again. "now am i, with good ingild your other godfather, in elfric's place toward you," he said; "think of me never as a king, but as a father, wulfric, my son." and he bade me take my place as thane of reedham, confirming me in all rights that had been my father's. with him, too, was the great earl, and he begged my forgiveness for his doubt of me, though he was proud that his strange manner of finding truth was justified. good friends were ulfkytel and i after that, though he knew not that in my mind was the thought of osritha, to whom he had, as it were, sent me. now every day brought fear to me that ingvar's host was on its way overseas to fall on us. and this i told to eadmund and the earl, who could not but listen to me. yet they said that the peace between us and the danes was sure, and that even did they come we should be ready. when i pressed them indeed, they sent round word to the sheriffs to be on the watch, and so were content. for our king was ever a man of peace, hating the name of war and bloodshed, and only happy in seeing to the welfare of his people, giving them good laws, and keeping up the churches and religious houses so well that there were none better to be found than ours in all england. this pleased me not altogether, for i knew now how well prepared for war the danes were, and i would fain have had our men trained in arms as they. but my one voice prevailed not at all, and after a while i went down to reedham, and there bided with my mother and eadgyth, very lonely and sad at heart in the place where i had looked for such happiness with my father and lodbrok and halfden at first, and now of late, for a few days, with osritha, and halfden in lodbrok's place. for all this was past as a dream passes, and to me there seemed to hang over the land the shadow of the terrible raven banner, which osritha had helped to work for lodbrok and his host, in the days before she dreamed that it might be borne against a land she had cause to love. ever as the days went by i would seek the shipmen who came to reedham on their way up the rivers, so that i might hear news from the danish shore, where osritha was thinking of me, till at last i heard from a frisian that three kings had gathered a mighty host, and were even now on their way to england. i asked the names of those three, and he told me, even as i had feared, that they were called ingvar and hubba and halfden; and so i knew that the blow was falling, and that ingvar had stirred up other chiefs to join him, and so when the host gathered at some great thing, he and his brothers had been hailed kings over the mighty following that should do their bidding in the old danish way. for a danish king is king over men, and land that he shall rule is not of necessity {xix}. again i warned eadmund, and again he sent his messages to ulfkytel the earl and to the sheriffs, and for a few weeks the levies watched along the shore of the wash; and then as no ships came, went home, grumbling, as is an east anglian's wont, and saying that they would not come out again for naught, either for king or earl. now after that i spent many a long hour in riding northward along the coast, watching for the sails of the fleet, and at other times i would sit on our little watch tower gazing over the northern sea, and fearing ever when the white wing of a gull flashed against the skyline that they were there. and at last, as i sat dreaming and watching, one bright day, my heart gave a great leap, for far off to the northward were the sails of what were surely the first ships of the fleet. i watched for a while, for it was ill giving a false alarm and turning out our unwilling levies for naught, for each time they came up it grew harder to keep them, and each time fewer came. in an hour i knew that there were eight ships and no more, and that they were heading south steadily, not as if intending to land in the wash, but as though they would pass on to other shores than ours. and they were not ingvar's fleet, for he alone had ten ships in his ship garth. they were broad off the mouth of our haven presently, and maybe eight miles away, when one suddenly left the rest and bore up for shore--sailing wonderfully with the wind on her starboard bow as only a viking's ship can sail--for a trading vessel can make no way to windward save she has a strong tide with her. she came swiftly, and at last i knew my own ship again, and thought that halfden had come with news of peace, and maybe to take me to sea with him, and so at last back to osritha. and my heart beat high with joy, for no other thought than that would come to me for a while, and when she was but two miles off shore, i thought that i would put out to meet and bring the ship into the haven; for he knew not the sands, though indeed i had given him the course and marks--well enough for a man like thormod--when i was with him. and there came over me a great longing to be once more on the well-known deck with these rough comrades who had so well stood by me. but suddenly she paid off from the wind, running free again to the southward down the coast, and edging away to rejoin the other ships. and as she did so her broad pennon was run up and dipped thrice, as in salute; and so she passed behind the headlands of the southern coast and was lost to my sight. i bided there in my place, downcast and wondering, until the meaning of it all came to me; remembering halfden's last words, that he would not fall on east anglia. now he had shown me that his promise was kept. he had left the fleet, and was taking his own way with those who would follow him. yet if he had eight ships, what would ingvar's host be like? greater perhaps than any that had yet come to our land, and the most cruel. for he would come, not for plunder only, but hating the name of england, hating the name of christian, and above all hating the land where his father had been slain. i climbed down from the tower, and found my people talking of the passing ships, and rejoicing that they had gone. already had some of them piled their goods in waggons ready for flight, and some were armed. then, as in duty bound, i sent men in haste to the earl at caistor to report this, telling him also that the great fleet of which this was a part was surely by this token on its way. by evening word came back from him. he had sure news from lynn that the great fleet had gone into the humber to join the host at york, and that we need fear nothing. men said that there were twenty thousand men, and that there were many chiefs besides those that i had named. this, he said, seemed over many to be possible, but it did not concern us, for they were far away. now, when i thought how the wind had held at any quarter rather than north or east for long weeks, it seemed to me likely that it was this only that had kept them from us, and that the going into humber was no part of ingvar's plan, but done as of necessity. for to bring over so mighty a host he must have swept up every vessel of all kinds for many a score miles along the shores. and they would be heavy laden with men, so that he must needs make the first port possible. yet for a time we should be left in quiet. now i must say how things went at home, for my sister's wedding with egfrid had been put off first by the doubt of my own fate, and then by the mourning for my father's death. yet the joy of my return had brought fresh plans for it, and now the new house at hoxne was nearly ready; so that both egfrid and his folk were anxious that there should be no more delay. i, too, when the coming of the danes seemed a thing that might be any day, thought it well that eadgyth should rather be inland at hoxne, whence flight southward could be made in good time, than at reedham, where the first landing might well be looked for. but when the fear passed for a while by reason of the news from northumbria, the time was fixed for the end of november, just before the advent season, and not earlier, because of the time of mourning. so the summer wore through slowly to me, for i was sad at heart, having lost so much. and ever from beyond the wash and from mercia came news of ingvar's host. the northumbrian king was slain, and a dane set in his place; and burhred of mercia bowed to the danes, and owned them for lords; and at last ethelred of wessex came to himself and sent levies to meet the host, but too late, for mercia was lost to him. yet eadmund our king, and even ulfkytel, deemed that we were safe as ever behind our fenland barrier, fearing naught so long as no landing was made from across the wash. yet when november came in, and at egfrid's house all was bustle and preparation, we heard that bardney was burnt, and swineshead, and then medehamstede {xx}. and the peril was close on us, and but just across our border. "no matter," said men to one another. "it will be a hard thing for danes to cross the great fens to come hither. they will turn aside into mercia's very heart, and then the wessex folk will rise." but i feared, and two days before the wedding went to harleston, where the king was, and urged him to have forces along the great wall we call woden's dyke even yet. "let us see your wedding first, wulfric," he said. "eadgyth would be sorely grieved if i were not there." for he lay at harleston to be near at hand, as the wedding was to be from the house of egfrid's father, because reedham seemed as yet a house of sorrow. and i was glad when the thane asked that it should take place at hoxne, and it was safer also. surely never moved host so swiftly as ingvar's, for even as i went, heavily enough, from eadmund's presence, a man spurred into the town saying that earl ulfkytel faced the danes with a fair levy gathered in haste, between us and wisbech. they had crossed the fens where no man dreamed that they might come, and were upon us as if from the skies. now eadmund made no more delay, but all that night went forth the summons of the war arrow, and the men mustered in force at last in thetford town, and i spurred back to hoxne and found the thane, and spoke to him. "let the wedding go on," i said, "for the danes are yet far, and must pass the earl and us also before they come hither. now must i be with the king, but if i may, and ulfkytel holds them back, i shall be at the wedding. and if it must be, i will warn you to fly, and so let egfrid take his bride and my mother and his own folk southward to colchester or london." that, he thought, was well, and no word of fear or haste hindered the wedding gathering. only some of the great thanes who should have been there were with the king or earl, and it seemed that the number of guests would be small. i rode to thetford, bidding eadgyth look for me on the morrow in good time, and saying that the king would surely come also. but when i came to the town i knew that neither he nor i should be at hoxne, for the danes had scattered the levy, and ulfkytel the great earl was slain, and with him many another friend of mine. and the men said that the danes were marching swiftly onward, ever nearing thetford, and burning and wasting all in their track. we marched out of the town to meet them, for we had a good force behind us, and the men were confident of victory with the king himself to lead them. and he was cheerful also, and said to me, as i armed him: "i would not have you leave the wedding; howbeit, if we beat back the danes, which is a matter in the hands of the lord of hosts, both you and i will be there in time tomorrow." our mounted men met the danes that evening--the night before eadgyth's wedding day--and we slept in our armour on thetford heath waiting for them. and in the early morning our outposts were driven back on us, and the danes were close on their heels. now eadmund told me that i should not stand by him today, for so soon as the battle was over i must go to hoxne, either with news of victory, or to bid them fly, and he would not keep me. "i will not leave the place that is mine by right," i said. "not so," he answered; "i would bid you stand out of the battle for sweet eadgyth's sake, but that i know you would not obey me." and he smiled at me as he went on the great white horse he always rode, to draw up the men. they cheered when he spoke to them, and i thought that they would fight well. aye, and so they did, in their fierce untrained way. many a long day it was since we of east anglia stood in battle array, and the last time was against our own kin, save that now and again the men of some shoreward places would rise to beat off a danish or norse ship. now were the foes in sight, and they ranged up in close order when they saw we were ready. more than half their force was mounted, for the lindsey uplands and marshes had given them horses enough of the best in england. and this was terrible, that over the host wheeled erne and raven and kite, as knowing to what feast the flapping of yon raven banner called them. foremost of all rode a mighty chief on a black horse, and i saw that it was ingvar himself, the king of the danish host. well i knew the armour, for it was that which he had worn at the great sacrifice, though now it shone no longer, but was dulled with the stains of many a hard fight. now, too, round his helm ran the gold circlet of the king. "know you yon great man?" asked eadmund of me; for i would not leave him, but stood before him in my place. "it is ingvar the king," i answered; "he who was jarl ingvar." "speak to him, and ask him to leave the land in peace," he said. now i thought that was of little use, but i would do the king's bidding, and asked what i should say. "offer him ransom, if you will," eadmund answered. so i went forward, and stood at a bowshot's length from our people, leaning on the axe that lodbrok had made me, and there waited till the danes came on. and presently ingvar saw me, and knowing that i was one who would speak with the leader, rode up, looking curiously at me as he came. "skoal to jarl ingvar!" i said when he was close. he reined up his horse in surprise, lifting his hand. "odin! it is wulfric!" he said. "now, skoal to you, wulfric! but i would that you were not here." "how is that, jarl?" i asked; but i had ever heard that the jarl was in high good humour before a fight. "i would not fight with you, for you have been our guest. and many a man have i questioned since yesterday, and all men say that you were my father's friend. it was a true story that you told me." "you believed it rightly, jarl." "aye--and therefore i will not fight with you." then i asked him to leave the land in peace, and his face darkened. "i speak of yourself alone," he said, "as for land and king and people--that is a different matter." "you have had your revenge," i said. "what?" he asked fiercely. "is the life of lodbrok, my father, worth but the death of a hound like beorn? stand aside, wulfric, and let me have my revenge in full." now, seeing that our talk was earnest, there rode up another danish chief, and it was guthrum, the man who had seemed to take my part at the idol feast. i was glad to see him come at this moment. "here is halfden's friend," said ingvar to him, "and he, forsooth, would have us go in peace." and the danish king laughed harshly. "why, so we will, if they make it worth our while," said guthrum, nodding to me. "what ransom will you take from us?" i asked them. "the keeping of eadmund, your king," answered ingvar; "nothing more nor less." "it seems to me that you will have to fight before you take him," i said plainly; for no man in all the anglian ranks would have listened to that. "that is too much," said guthrum. "tell him to own you as overlord and pay scatt {xxi} to us, holding the kingdom from you, and that will save fighting--and surely the whole land will be weregild enough for jarl lodbrok." then ingvar thought for a moment, and said to me, still frowning: "go and tell your king those terms, and bring word again." so i went back and told eadmund, knowing full well what his answer would be. and it was as i thought. "go and tell this ingvar that i will not give my land into the hands of the heathen, or own them as lords." now what i told ingvar and guthrum was this only, knowing that to give the full message was to enrage ingvar: "eadmund refuses." "your king is a wise man," said guthrum, "for who knows how a fight will go?" ingvar reined round his horse to go to his own men, and he and guthrum left me standing there. i was turning away also, when the hoof beats of one horse stayed, and ingvar called me in the voice he would use when most friendly with me. "wulfric," he said, "glad was i to find you gone, for i should surely have had to slay you before the shrine; but thor is far off now, and i have forgotten that, and only do i remember that good comrade to us all you have been in hall and forest. and ere i sailed--one whom you know--that one who stayed my hand from beorn--made me promise--aye, and swear by my sword--that you at least i would not harm. and i will not. stand aside from this fight." now, had i not known the great love and reverence in which those three wild brothers held osritha, i should have been amazed at these words from ingvar; but there is somewhat of good to be found in every man. then i answered: "i must fight for my land, ingvar, but i also would fain not fight against yourself. where stand you in your line?" "on the right," he said; "guthrum is on the left." "where is hubba?" i asked, wondering. "he is not far from us. he will come when i need his help." "then we need not meet," i said; "i am in the centre." now we both returned to our places, and again eadmund, after i had told him that we must fight, asked me to stand out. "for," said he, "you are in her father's place to eadgyth." "until after the wedding, my king," i said; "but you are in my father's place to me always. should i have left him?" so i said no more, but stood in my place before him, for i loved him now best of all men in the world since my father was gone, and it seemed well to me to die beside him if die he must. now our king gave the word, crying, "forward, christian men!" and we shouted and charged with a good will on the danes, and the battle began. hard fighting it was on both sides, but our men in their want of order jostled and hindered one another, so that i saw more than one struck down by mischance by his own comrades. but the danes kept their even line, bent round into half a circle so that we could not outflank them, and our numbers were nearly equal. men have said that i did well in that fight, but so did we all, each in his way. all i know of my own deeds is that i kept my own life, and that once a ring of men stood before me out of reach of my axe, not one seeming to care to be first within its swing. and ever eadmund's clear voice cheered on his men from behind me. so the battle went on from the first daylight for an hour's space, and then the steadfastness of the danish line began to strike terror into our men, and the danish horsemen charged on our flanks and broke us up; and then all at once a panic fell on our levies, and they wavered, and at once the horsemen were among them everywhere, and the field was lost to us. before i knew what had befallen i was hurried away in a dense throng of our men, who swept me from before the king, and i was soon in thetford streets, where i thought that surely we should have rallied, for there is no stronger town or better walled in all east anglia. in the marketplace sat eadmund on his white horse, unhelmed that the men might know him yet living, for in the flight word had gone round that he had fallen, and now the men seemed to be taking heart and gathering round him. but even as i reached him, a fresh throng of flying men came down the street from the gate next the danes, and after them came a score of the terrible horsemen, driving a hundred like sheep before them. at that sight the few who were gathering fled also, leaving the king and myself and four other thanes alone. i was the only one on foot. then one of those thanes grasped the bridle of the king's horse and led him away, crying: "come, for our sakes; needs must fly. let us go to framlingham." so they rode, against the king's will as one might see, from the place, and went away towards the southern gate of the town. and seeing that the danes were in the town i knew that all was lost, and that here i might stay no longer if eadgyth was to be saved. i ran to where i had left my horse, and mounted and fled also, following the king, for that gate led to the road along the south bank of the river. i knew not if he had crossed the bridge or no, but over the river was my way, and i had my own work to be done, and some twenty miles to be covered as quickly as might be. glad was i that i had chosen to fight on foot that day, for my horse was fresh. terrible it was to see the panic in the town as the poor folk knew that the danes were on them. they filled the road down which i must go, thronging in wild terror to the gates, and i will not remember the faces of that crowd, for they were too piteous. glad i was to be free from them at last, and upon the road where i could ride freely, for as they left the town they took to the woods and riverside swamps, and save for a few horsemen flying like myself, the road was soon clear. then, too, these horsemen struck away from the road one by one, and at last i rode on alone. now my one thought was for those at hoxne, and to urge them to instant flight, and i thought that even now humbert the bishop would be in the little church, waiting for the bride to come. then i would hasten the more, for to reach the church from egfrid's father's house the river dove must be crossed; and i would keep them from returning to this side if i could be in time, for we might break down the timber-built bridge and so delay the crossing of the danes. yet they might be for days in thetford before they began to raid in the country. swiftly i rode on, for my horse was a good one and fresh, and at last, after many miles were passed, i came to a place where i could see a long stretch of road before me. there rode the king on his white horse, and with him those four thanes. i could not mistake that party, and i thought i knew where they were going. the king would warn my people himself, and so take refuge beyond hoxne, on the other side of the river, at south elmham, with bishop humbert. i rode after, but i gained little on them; nor did i care much, for the king would do all that i might. in a few minutes more i should know if he crossed hoxne bridge, and if he did so they were safe. i lost sight of the party as they came into a wood, and there my horse stumbled. he had lost a shoe. that was little to me now, but it kept me back; and now i heard the quick gallop of horses behind me, and looked to see who came, for i thought that more fugitives followed, most likely. i had heard the sound coming on the wind more than once before as i rode on the wayside grass. they were danes. twelve of them there were, and foremost of all rode ingvar on his black horse. well for the king that they had no change of steeds, but had ridden hotfoot after him from the battlefield. now their horses were failing them, but they would take me, and delay would give the king another chance; and i was half-minded to stay and fight. then i thought of hoxne, and i put spurs to my horse and rode on again. now i came in sight of hoxne bridge, and half feared that i should see the bridal train passing over; but many men were even now leaving the bridge, going towards the church, and i knew that they were there. but of eadmund and his thanes i saw nothing--only a lame white horse, that i thought like his, grazed quietly in a field by the roadside, so that for a moment my eyes went to it, thinking to see king and thanes there. ingvar was not a mile behind me, and i spurred on. and now i won to the turning that leads to the thane's house whence the company had passed, and a few villagers stood at the road corner. them i asked how long it was since the bride had gone, and they stared at me in stupid wonder, making no answer. then i bade them fly, for the danes were coming; and at that they laughed, looking at one another slyly, proud of their own fancied wisdom. so i left them and rode on. even as i came to the hill down to the bridge my horse stumbled and almost fell, and when i gathered him up, not losing my seat, i knew he was beaten. and now i halted for good, unslinging my axe, and waiting to fight and hinder the danes from going further, as yet. it was all i could do. hand over hand they came up to me, and now hoxne bells rang out in merry peals as the bride and bridegroom left the church. the service was over, and unless our king had warned them, they would be coming back over the bridge in a few minutes. yet, if he had warned them, surely the bells had not pealed out thus. now i heard the music play from across the water, and i heard the shouts of the people--and all the while the hoofs of ingvar's horses thundered nearer and nearer. then they came over the little rise in the road and were on me with levelled spears. i got my horse between them and me, across the narrow roadway, and hove up my axe and waited. but when ingvar saw who i was, he held up his hand, and his men threw up their spear points and halted, thinking perhaps that i was the king. "where is the king?" shouted ingvar. i saw that their horses were done, and not knowing which way the king had gone answered truly. "i know not. the road forks, and that is as far as i know." then ingvar swore a great oath. "you know not which way he went?" "i do not," i said. "catch a thrall and ask him," he said to his men. and those silly folk were yet standing at the corner, maybe thinking us belated wedding guests, and the men took one, dragging him to their chief. but the man said that he had seen no horsemen pass. truly he had heard some, but all men were at the house door waiting for the bride to come forth, and paid no heed. so the king had passed by before the procession set out, and i knew not what to think. "what bride?" said ingvar. and the music answered him, coming nearer and nearer, and now they were crossing hoxne bridge--a bright little array of wedding guests, and in the midst i could see those two, egfrid and eadgyth, and after came a crowd of village folk. "see yonder," said a dane, pointing. "by baldur, here is a wedding! gold and jewels to be had for the taking!" but my horse was across the road, and my axe was in the way, and i cried to ingvar as the men began to handle their weapons. "mercy, jarl ingvar! this is my sister's wedding--that eadgyth of whom your own sister would ever ask so much." "hold!" roared the chief, and his men stayed, wondering. "an you touch so much as a hair of any in that company--the man who touches, i will slay!" he said, and the men stared at him. "yon is the bridal of reedham folk," he said, "and the bride is she who befriended lodbrok. they shall not be hurt." for he must needs justify himself, and give reason for withholding plunder from danes as free as himself. "aye, king, that is right," they said on hearing that, and ingvar turned to me. "for osritha's sake, lest i should harm you in aught," he said. "now ask me no more. let us meet them in peace." now i knew that my folk were safe for this time at least, and my heart was light, and so leaving my horse i walked beside the king, as his men called him, until we met the first of the company on this side of the bridge. then was a little confusion, and they stopped, not knowing what this war-stained troop might betoken. and i saw that no word had come of the great defeat as yet. i went forward, calling to egfrid and the thane his father, and looking at them so that they should show no fear or give any sign to the ladies present that all was not well. "this is jarl ingvar himself, and these are his men," i said. "and the jarl would fain speak with eadgyth my sister, of whom he has often heard." and egfrid, being very brave, although he must have seen well enough what this meant, kept his face well, and answered that jarl ingvar was welcome, coming in peace. "aye--in peace just now," answered ingvar, looking at him. "now, i will say this, that wulfric's sister has found a brave husband." now eadgyth heard the jarl's name, and knew naught of the terror that that name brought to all the land, and least of all that a battle could have been fought, for we had kept it from her. nor had i told her of how nearly he had been to slaying me, for i would not make osritha's brothers terrible to her. so she thought of him only as lodbrok our friend's son, who had shown me hospitality in his own hall. so when egfrid took her hand and brought her forward, looking as i thought most beautiful in her bridal array, she smiled on the great dane frankly, as in thanks for my sake. then ingvar unhelmed, and spoke to her in courtly wise, even as he was wont to speak to osritha. "when i go back to my own land, lady, i shall have many questions asked me by one of whom you have doubtless heard, as to how our friend's sister was arrayed for her wedding. and that i shall not be able to say--but this i know, that i may tell osritha that wulfric's sister was worthy of wulfric." now eadgyth noted not the war stains on ingvar's mail, but it was strange and terrible to me to see him sitting there and speaking as though the things of a stricken field were not the last, as it were, on which he had looked. but eadgyth's eyes were downcast, though she was pleased. "thanks, jarl ingvar," she said; "often have i heard of osritha. when you return i would have you thank her for her care of my brother--and i would thank you also, jarl, for your care of him." now ingvar reddened a little, but not with anger, for he saw that i had spoken at least no ill of him to eadgyth. "nay, lady," he answered; "halfden and hubba and osritha have to be thanked--if any thanks need be to us for caring for jarl lodbrok's preserver. little share may i take of the matter." "yet i will thank all in your place," she said, and then shrank back to egfrid's side. never had i seen a more handsome couple. then ingvar laid his hand on a great golden snake that twined round his right arm, and i thought he was going to give it as a bridal gift to my sister, for that is ever a viking's way, to give lavishly at times when he might have taken, if the mood seizes him. but as he glanced at the gold he saw blood specks thereon, and i heard him mutter: "no, by freya, that were ill-omened." and he did but seem to put it in place, as if thinking. then he replaced his helm, bowing, and said: "now must i stay your rejoicing no longer. fare you well, lady, and you, noble egfrid; i must ride back to thetford town on my own affairs. yet i leave you wulfric. will you remember hereafter that you spoke with ingvar the king, and that he was your friend?" "aye, surely," answered they both at once. then once more the music played, and the little train went on and up the hill, and ingvar and i stood together for a while looking after them. "i thank you, king," i said. "aye, wulfric; and maybe you and yours are the only ones who will say that word to me in all this land. now take my rede, and do you and your folk begone as soon as maybe, for even i cannot hold back men who are not from our own place." then i parted from him, going after my people, and thinking that all was well for us, and that surely our king was safe, until i came to where my horse still stood. there over the lane hedge looked that lame white horse that i had seen, speaking as it were in his own way to mine. and when i saw him thus near, it was indeed the king's, and a great fear that he was not far off took hold of me. chapter xii. in hoxne woods. many of the village folk loitered on the bridge and in the lanes, looking curiously at the danes, and talking of the wedding and the like. and some of these i saw ingvar's men questioning, and very soon a knot of them gathered round one man, and there was some loud talking. then i would have hastened back, but ingvar saw me, and waved sternly to me to depart, and slowly enough i went on my way. but i could not forbear looking back when i reached the road to the house. only ingvar was now on horseback, and the men seemed to be swarming over the bridge railings, and climbing under it among the timbers. then were shouts, and the village churls began to run every way, and one or two came up the hill towards me. "what is it?" i asked. "oh, master," the first man cried, "when the bridal folk went over the bridge on the way to the church, one man looked over into the water, and cried that he saw somewhat sparkle therein like gold, and others looked, and some saw naught, but others said that they saw in the water as it were the image of golden spurs. and the danes asked us if we saw the king; but we had not. only one man laughing, in his fear as i think, said that the nearest thing to a crown that he had seen was the glint of golden spurs shining from the water yonder. then looked the danes--and now--oh master!" the man grew white, pointed, and fled. haled and pushed and buffeted by the hands of the danes, a man was dragged over the rail of the bridge from the network of cross timbers among which he had hidden, and i saw that the armour was that of eadmund the king. there, in that seemingly secure place, his thanes must have made him hide when his horse fell lame, for doubtless he would not hinder them in their flight, but would have taken sanctuary in the church. from some point in the road they must have seen their pursuers before i cared to look behind me to see who followed, for there was no mistaking the red cloaks that the danes of the king's courtmen always wear. this i thought at the time, and long afterwards learnt from one of those thanes that i was right. and it was their doing, not his, for the king would have gone to the church and there warned my people. but as it chanced there were no men in sight when the king hid, for all were gathered to the thane's house. and i asked that thane if they sent no warning message--and he said they had done so by a certain churl whom they met. but our folk never had it. now i knew not what to do, being torn with grief and fear. i dared not cross ingvar again, lest i should change his mood, mild enough now, to some wild fit of rage, for i had not bided so long in his hall without learning that much of his ways. i stayed till i knew for certain that they had not harmed the king, and so saw him bound, and mounted behind one of the courtmen; and then when i saw them begin to come towards me, i went to the thane's house and told him all, calling him out from the feast. "let us mount and rescue the king," i said. "then will they kill him--better not. they will but hold him to ransom," the thane said. i knew his first word was right, and now i left that and urged him to hasten the flight of all the party, bidding him take the road towards the south, ever away from the danes. "what will you do?" he asked, for i spoke not of coming with him. "this," i answered. "i will pledge ingild's word, as i know i may, for any ransom, going after the danes and finding guthrum, who will listen to me." he thought that well, and then i asked where humbert the bishop was. he had gone back to south elmham at once, and would be far on his road by this time, the thane said. then i went out and took a fresh horse from the stables and rode away into the great road. and when i came there, i saw with others the man who told me how the king's hiding place was found. "how long have the danes been gone?" i asked. "master," he answered, "they have gone back over the bridge, some of them riding forward towards hoxne." at that i knew that some plan of ingvar's was that his men after victory should cross the river at thetford, and so perhaps strike at framlingham where the king's household was. but all along the march of the danish host had been unresting, so that men had no time to prepare for their coming, or even to know what point they would reach next. then i sent by this man urgent messages to the thane that they should fly coastwards, crossing the river waveney, perhaps, so as not to fall into the hands of the host at the first starting, for ingvar's horsemen would be everywhere south of this and thetford. i rode fast over the bridge, for i feared for humbert our good bishop, and when i came near the church the bells jangled, all unlike the wedding peals that i had heard so lately. they had found a few late flowers, violets and marigolds and daisies and the like, and had strewn them before the bride as she left the church; and they lay there yet with bright hedgerow leaves to eke them out--but across the path, too, lay the dead body of a poor churl, dressed in his holiday gear, slain by a spear thrust, and the church was burning. now the men who jangled the bells for help came down in haste, terrified as the fire took hold of the roof, for the church was all of wood and very old. when they saw me they ran, thinking me yet another of their foes; but i rode after one and caught him, for he would by no means stay for calling, and i asked him what had happened, and where the bishop was. "alas, master," the man said, "they have slain my brother and fired the church, and now have ridden after the bishop. they slew my brother because he would not say by which road he had gone; and another told them, being in fear for his life--and our king is taken." "did they take the king by the road to south elmham?" "four rode after the bishop with the great man on the black horse who was the leader. the rest went with the king up the track through hoxne woods, but slowly." had i but one or two more with me surely now i should have followed up the king and tried to rescue him. but i think it would have been vain, for ingvar's men would have slain him rather than lose him. but most of all i wondered at the boldness of these few men, who, with their leader, dared venture so far from their forces. well did they know, however, how complete is the rout of a saxon levy; and i too might have guessed it, since i had fled alone after the first five miles, while all those who had left the town with me scattered all ways. now the church was blazing from end to end, and one or two more men had gathered to me, seeing who i was. "take up yon body," i said, "and cast it into the church. so shall his ashes lie in holy ground at least. for you and yours must even take to the woods for a while. the danes will be here." that i think they did, for they were lifting the body as i went away and rode along the way that the bishop had taken, meaning at least to meet ingvar, for i feared lest the men who had the king should slay him if they were followed. hardly a mile had i gone when ingvar and his men came riding slowly back. their beaten horses could do no more, and they had left following the bishop. ingvar's face was black as night, and as he came he roared at me: "you here again! now this passes all. did i not bid you stand aside and hinder me not?" "aye, king," i answered, coldly enough. "but i cross you not. i have ransom to offer for the king." "i will have no ransom," he said, very savagely. "nevertheless," i said quietly, knowing that his word was not the only one to be spoken on that matter, "let me tell you of it, that you may tell the other chiefs." "i am the king," he answered, glaring at me. "then, king, hear my words, and give them to those under you." "speak to this man," he said, pointing to one of the courtmen; for they heard all i said, and he could not refuse to listen altogether to what concerned his fellow chiefs. then he rode past me, and the men, save that one of whom he spoke, followed him. now i was angry as he, but kept that to myself, and waited till he was out of hearing before i looked at the man who waited. and when i did so, the man grinned at me, saying: "truly it is like old times to see you stand up thus to the jarl--king, i mean. there is not a man in our host dare do it." and lo! it was my friend raud the forester. his beard was gone, and he had a great half-healed scar across his jaw, so that i had not known him even had i noticed any but ingvar. then i was glad, for here was one whom i could trust, even if his help was of little use. "glad am i to see you, raud my friend, though it must be in this way. why is the jarl so angry?" "why, because the bishop has escaped us. we never saw so much as his horse's tail. and if he be like the bishop we saw at hedeby, i am glad." "surely he is," i said. "but now i have come to offer ransom for the king, and you must tell guthrum and the other chiefs that it would be paid very quickly if they will take it." at that raud shook his head. "i will tell them, but it is of little use. there has been talk of it before, but when we came into east anglia ingvar claimed the king for himself, giving up all else." "why?" i asked. "because when he made beorn speak, beorn said that eadmund the king had set him on to slay lodbrok. i heard the man confess it." "but he left that story, telling the truth about himself," i said. "aye, so he did. but the tale has stuck in ingvar's mind, and naught will he hear but that he will have revenge on him." "what will he do?" i said, looking after the danish king, who went, never turning in his saddle, with bowed shoulders as one who ponders somewhat. "how should i know?" answered raud, carelessly. "let us go on. maybe if you come with me we shall hear them speak together." "raud," i said, "if harm is done to the king, i shall surely fall on some of you--and ingvar first of all." "not on me with axe, i pray you," he answered laughing, and twisting his head on one side. "i mind me of rorik." "let us be going," i said, for i could not jest. so we trotted after the party, and when we were near, raud left me and went to ingvar's side, speaking to him of what i had said. then the jarl turned round to me, speaking quietly enough, but in a strange voice. "come with me and we will speak of this matter to eadmund himself. then will the business be settled at once." that was all i would wish, and being willing to speak yet more with raud, i said i would follow. he turned again, and looked no more at me. then i asked raud of his brother, and of thoralf, my other companion of flight. they were both slain, one at gainsborough and one at medehamstede. thormod was with halfden in wessex, where they had made a landing to keep ethelred, our wessex overlord, from sending to our help. but as to halfden, men said that he would not come to east anglia, for the lady osritha had over persuaded him. then, though i would not ask in any downright way, i found that osritha was well, but grieving, as they thought, for the danger of her brothers--and of that i had my own thoughts. so with talk of the days that seemed so long past, we went on into hoxne woods, through which raud said that he had learnt we must go to meet the host in its onward march from thetford. "jarl ingvar lets not the grass grow under his feet," i said. we came to a place where the woodland track broadened out into a clearing, and there waited the other danes, and with them, sitting alone now on the horse, was eadmund the king. pale he was, and all soiled with the stains of war, and with the moss and greenery of his strange hiding place; but his eye was bright and fearless, and he sat upright and stately though he was yet with his hands bound behind him. i rode past ingvar and to eadmund's side, and throwing myself from my horse stood by him, while the dane glared at us both without speaking. "why run thus into danger, wulfric my son?" said the king, speaking gently; "better have let me be the only victim." "that you shall not be, my king," i answered; "for if you must die, i will be with you. but i have come to try to ransom you." "there are two words concerning that," said ingvar in his cold voice. "maybe i will take no gold for eadmund." "what shall we give you then?" i asked, looking earnestly at him. "you heard what i said this morning before the battle. i have no other terms but those. and i think they are light--as from the son of lodbrok whom this king's servant slew." now eadmund spoke, saying to ingvar: "let me hear what are your terms for my freedom. in the slaying of lodbrok my friend i had no part." "that is easily said," ingvar answered, frowning. "i have my own thoughts on that--else had i not been here. but this land is in my power, therefore i will let you go if you will hold it for me, and own me as overlord, doing my will." "my answer is the same as it was this morning. it is not for me to give over this land into the hands of heathen men to save myself." that was eadmund's calm answer, and looking on ingvar i saw the same bode written in his face as had been when i would not honour his gods. then he spoke slowly, and his words fell like ice from his lips. "it seems to me that this land is in the hands of us heathen without your giving." "so that may be, for the time," answered eadmund; "but your time of power has an end." "has it so?" said ingvar, and his eyes flashed. "where is your help to come from? do you look to ethelred?--he is busy in wessex with more of us heathen. where is mercia?--it is ours. will kent help you?" "our help is in the name of the lord, who hath made heaven and earth," answered eadmund, lifting his eyes heavenwards so earnestly, that in spite of himself the wild heathen king followed their upward gaze for a moment. it was but for a moment, and that weakness, as he would deem it, was the spark to light ingvar's wrath, that as yet he had kept under. "hammer of thor!" he shouted, "you dare throw that in my face! now will i show you if heathen or christian is stronger." then with his face white with rage he turned to his men: "bind him to yon tree, and we will speak with him again!" now if it is well that i did not die with my king, it was well at that moment for me that my axe hung at my saddle bow, and that my horse--to which i had paid no heed in my troubles--had wandered a little way, for i should surely have fought to prevent this dishonour being wrought. and i sprung to reach the axe, for the short sword i wore was of no use against so many. but raud was close on me, and he dropped from his saddle on my shoulders as i passed him, so that i fell, half stunned under him, and one of the other men ran up, and ere they had stripped and bound the king to a tree, i was bound hand and foot, and rolled by raud into a thicket where i might escape ingvar's eye. and, indeed, he paid no heed to me, but watched the king. so must i lie there with my heart like to break, seeing all that went on, and i will tell it as best i may. ingvar strode to the young oak tree to which they had bound the king and looked fixedly at him. then he said, "scourge this man," and his men did so. but the king made no sign by word or motion. i saw ingvar's rage growing, and he cried as his men forbore, shrinking a little from their quiet victim: "ask for mercy, christian, at the hands of ingvar the godar, the priest of odin and thor, and you shall go free." but the king met his gaze sadly and firmly, answering: "that were to own that you have power over me through your false gods." "power i have," said ingvar; "ask for mercy." thereat the king answered no word, though his lips moved, and i alone knew what his words might be, for though his hands were bound he moved his noble head in such wise as to make the sign of the cross. and i think that he spoke to himself the prayer of forgiveness that he had learnt therefrom. almost then had the dane smitten him in the face, but to this cowardice ingvar the king had not yet fallen. he drew back a few paces, and took his long dagger from his belt, and at that i thought that he was going to slay the king, and i closed my eyes, praying. but he spoke again. "ask for peace on the same terms for your people, if you will not for yourself." then the king grew pale, but he set his lips close, still gazing at ingvar. hard was this for him who loved his people so well. the dane's dagger flashed, and he hurled it at eadmund, but so skilfully that it did but graze his head, sticking firmly into the tree trunk. and he cried in a voice that shook with rage: "answer me!" but the king held his peace, closing his eyes, and waiting for what might come, most bravely. then ingvar turned to his men, and bade them unsling their bows and see if they could make this man find his tongue. seven of them went to work with a good will, but raud and the others would not, but turned away. the men shot, and in many places the king was pierced, and lo! he lifted up his voice and sang gloriously, even as if in the church and on some high festival, the psalm that begins "de profundis". nor did his voice falter, though now he might move neither hand nor foot by reason of the piercing of the arrows. at that the men stayed in amazement, and one threw away his bow and turned aside to where raud stood, near where i lay. but ingvar ground his teeth with rage, and stamping on the ground, cried to the men to shoot again. and again the arrows flew, and now it seemed to me that no more arrows might find mark in the king's body without slaying him; and before my eyes was a mist, and my mouth was dry and parched, yet i could not turn away and look no more. but the men fitted arrows to the bowstrings once more, while ingvar stood still and silent with his strong hands clasped together behind him, gazing at the king, whose lips moved in prayer, the psalm being ended, and, as i think, his strength ebbing fast from his many wounds. now they were about to shoot once more, unbidden, keeping up their torture if they might; but there was one more merciful than the rest. forward before the bowmen strode raud, with his sword drawn, and he cried to ingvar: "let me slay him, king, and end this for pity's sake!" ingvar turned his eyes gloomily on him for a moment, and then answered: "what know you of pity? slay him if you will." then when he heard that, eadmund looked at raud, smiling on him with a wondrous smile and saying: "thanks, good friend." so raud slew him in pity, and that was now the best deed that might be done. thereat i cried out once, and my senses left me, and i knew no more. chapter xiii. how bishop humbert joined the king. when i began to come to myself it was late afternoon. at first into my mind came the fancy that i sat on the side of king eadmund's bed in the king's chambers at reedham, and that he told me a wondrous dream; how that--and then all of a sudden i knew that it was no shadowy dream, but that i had seen all come to pass, and that through the arrow storm eadmund had passed to rest. all round me the trees dripped with the damp november mist that creeps from the river, and the smell of dead leaves was in my nostrils, and for a while i lay still, hardly yet knowing true from false, dream from deed. so quiet was i that a robin came and perched close to me on a bramble, whose last leaves were the colour of the bird's red breast, and there it sang a little, so that i roused to life with the sound. then swooped down a merlin with flash of gray wings on the robin and took it, and that angered me so that i rose on my elbow to fray it away; and with that the last cloud left my mind and i knew where i was. then, too, from where he waited my waking came vig, my great danish dog, who had been tied at the thane's house, and must have left the flying party to seek me. and he bounded in gladness about me. now i found that my bonds were gone, and next that my weapons were left me, and that but for cramp and stiffness i had not any tokens of what had befallen. and at first it seemed to me that ingvar thus showed his scorn of me, though soon i thought that he had forgotten me, and that it was raud who had freed me. i heeded not the dog, looking only in one place. but the body of the king was gone, and his arms and mail were gone. the hoofmarks of ingvar's horses were everywhere; but at last i made out that they had gone on through the wood. presently the dog growled, looking towards the village, and i heard voices coming nearer, and with them i heard the tread of a horse. but soon the dog ceased, and began to wag his tail as if to welcome friends, and when the comers entered the clearing, i saw that they were egfrid's men, and that it was my horse that they were leading. my axe was yet at the saddle bow. "why, master," said the foremost, "surely we looked to find you slain. this is well--but what has befallen?" for i must have looked wildly and strangely on them. "well would it be if i were slain," i said. "why did you seek me?" "we found the horse coming homewards, and one knew that you had gone into the wood after the king. yet we would seek you before we fled." i saw that all were armed, and i thanked them. but-- "what ails you, master?" said the leader of the group. "they have slain eadmund the king," i answered, "and they have taken his body away." thereat they groaned, wondering and cast down, and one said: "they will not have carried him far. let us search." we did so, and after a long time we found the king's body in a thicket where it had been cast. but his head we could not find, though now i bade my dog search also. he led us westward through the wood, until we came to a rising ground, and there we could go no further. for thence we saw the danish horsemen by scores pressing towards us, searching for cattle and sheep as the army passed southward. and the farms were blazing in the track that they had crossed everywhere. then said the men: "we must fly. we who live must save ourselves, and must come back and end this search when we may." "let us bear back the king's body," i said, "and find some hiding place for it at hoxne." so we did, hurriedly, and hid it in a pit near the village, covering it with boards and gravel as well as we could for haste. then i asked the men where they would go. "by boat down the river," they said, "and so join the thane and his party wherever they might be. they have gone to beccles, for they hear that a ship lies there whose master will gladly take them to london." that was good hearing, for so would all be safe. the men pressed me to come with them, but i would not do so, meaning to hasten on to the bishop's place and make him fly to beccles and take ship also, starting this very night. so i bid them go, and on that their leader, a stout freeman named leof, whom i knew well as one of egfrid's best men, said that he would come with me. nor would he hear of aught else. "what would egfrid my master say if i left his brother to go alone?" he asked me simply; and so i suffered him, and we two went towards south elmham together. soon leof saw a horse in a field and caught it, mounting bareback, and after that we went on well enough. darkness fell, and all the low clouds were reddened with the light of fires behind us, and ever as we looked back would be a fresh fire and light in the sky, for the danes were at their work. we pushed on steadily, but the lanes were rough, and the miles seemed very long in the darkness; but at last we crossed the elmham stream and rode to the stockaded house that was the bishop's, and which stands pleasant and well placed on a little hill beyond the low ground, and with no woodland very near it. we shouted, and at last men fully armed came and let us in. and as i looked back once before the gates closed after me, i thought that the fires were nearer. the danes were not staying their hands for darkness, for so the terror they spread would be the greater. so also was the bishop's peril therefore. "where is bishop humbert?" i asked. "master, he is in the church, nor will he leave it," said the old steward. "he says he must pray for king and land day and night now till this terror is overpast." "i will go to him--he must fly," i said. "aye, pray him to do so, wulfric; he will listen to you," said the old man earnestly. "have all things ready," i said. "see--there is little time." "what of the king, master?" asked he, looking at the fires with a white face as he once more opened the gate. "the king has gone where he would wish to be," i answered very gravely; and he understood me, turning away that i might not see his weeping. then leof and i splashed back through the stream that ran between house and church, and came quickly to the porch. the church is very small and more ancient than i can say, for it is built of flint bound together with such mortar as the romans used in their castles, hard as stone itself, and it stands in the midst of the roman camp that guarded the ford, so that maybe it was the first church in all east anglia, for we use wood; and, moreover, this stone church is rounded at the east end, and has a barrier dividing the body of the building into two, beyond which the as yet unbaptized must sit, as men say. and so strong and thick are the walls that i do not know how they can ever fall. now through the narrow windows shone lights, and i heard the sound of chanting. leof held my horse, and i opened the door gently and went in. at once there was a shrinking together of a group of men, mostly monks, who stood at the upper end of the church where the chancel begins. they were chanting the third psalm, for help against the heathen, and it faltered for a moment. but they were mostly monks of the bishop's own household, and knew me well enough, and they ended it shortly. then there was silence, for they were holding none of the set services, but rather as it seemed doing the bishop's bidding, and praying with him in the best way for the ceasing of this new trouble, as in time of pestilence once i remembered that he made litanies for us. and humbert himself knelt before the altar during that psalm, fully vested, but as in times of fast and penitence. when he rose, i came up the aisle towards him, and my mail clanged noisily as i walked in the hush. at the chancel steps i stood, helm in hand, and did reverence, not daring to speak first. "what is it?" asked the bishop, when he turned and saw me. "speak, wulfric, my son. is all well?" "i have heavy news, father," i answered. "close on us are the danes, and you must fly. then i will tell you all on the way." "i will fly no more," he answered, "here i will bide. is the king at my house?" "he is not there, father," i said; and then i urged him to fly at once, and with me his monks joined, even going on their knees in their grief. yet he would not be moved. "surely the king will come here," he said, "nor will i go without him." "father," i said, "the danes have taken the king." "then must i bide here, and pray and scheme for his release." now i knew not how to tell him all, but at last i said: "eadmund the king has escaped from the hands of the heathen." at that the bishop looked long at me, judging perhaps what i meant, by my voice. but the monks rejoiced openly, at first, until they saw what was meant also, and then they trembled. "where is he?" he asked, speaking low. "father," i said, "this twentieth day of november will be the day when england shall honour a new martyr. eadmund the king is numbered among them." "how died he?" then said the bishop, folding his hands. but now the monks bade him fly, and reasoned with and prayed him. but he bade them save themselves, for that there would be work for them to do among the heathen. "as for me, i am an old man," he said, "and i would fain go the same road as the king." still they clung to him, and at last, speaking to each by name, and giving each some message to take to cell or abbey where they must go at his bidding, he commanded them; and so, unwillingly, kissing his hand and receiving his blessing, they went one by one, till he and i and one or two laymen besides were left in the little church. then he spoke to the other men, and they went also, and we were alone. "that is well," said the bishop; "tell me all, and then do you fly." he sat down in his great chair, leaning his head in his hand while i told him all in that quiet place. never once was there trembling flash from the great jewel of his ring, that shone in the candlelight, to show how moved he was; but when i had ended, the tears were running down his venerable face, and he said: "now is there truly one more added to the noble army of martyrs, and he is at rest. now do you go, my son." but i had other thoughts in my mind, and i rose up silently from beside him, saying only: "not yet, father," and i went down the aisle and out into the darkness to leof. "see yonder!" said he pointing, and there was a fresh fire not many miles from us. "i think they scour the country for our bishop. we have little time." "tell me, leof," i said, "have you a mind to live?" for there was somewhat in the man's weary voice that seemed to say that he and i thought alike. "none, master, after today's work, if i may find a brave man or two to die with me." "here is a brave man waiting with a like thought in the church. shall you and i die with him?" "aye, surely," said leof quietly. "bide here then," i said, and took the horses from him. i mounted mine and rode to the house, where the steward and one or two others watched from the gateway. i bade the old man call his folk together, and i told them to fly. many were already gone, now others went at once. but a few stayed, and to them i said like words as to leof. "hither will the danes come presently, but in no great force. we may beat them back, and if we do, then maybe the bishop will fly. but we shall more likely die with him." "let us stand by him, come what will," they answered me in steady voices; "better to die with him and our king." they took their arms and gave me a sword, and we left the horses in the stable, for we might even yet need them. i thought that we could maybe, as i said, beat off the first few danes, and then that, to save further bloodshed, the bishop would go with us. and if not, we had done our best. five men came with me to the ford. when we were at the other side there were but four. one had gone back, and i did not blame him. leof sat in the little porch, and so we six went into the church together. the bishop sat where i had left him, but he raised his head when we came up the aisle. "nay, my sons," he said, "you must fly. maybe these men will respect an old man like myself and lonely." then i said: "father, we would have you say mass for us ere the light comes again." now it wanted about an hour to midnight. "is there yet time?" he said. then i answered that i thought we might wait in peace for so long, and he, knowing nothing of the nearness of the danes, consented. so we bided there in the aisle benches to wait till midnight was past, and soon one or two of the men slept quietly. now, when it may have been almost midnight, and the time for mass would soon be come, the bishop, who had been so still that i thought he slept, lifted his head and looked towards the altar. and at the same time my dog whined a little beside me. then humbert the bishop rose up and held out both his hands as to one whom he would greet, and spoke softly. "aye, eadmund, i am coming. soon shall i be with you." so he stood for a little while very still, and then went to his place again. then leof, who sat next to me, said, whispering: "saw you aught, master?" "i saw nothing, but surely the bishop had a vision." "i myself saw eadmund the king stand before the bishop, and he had a wondrous crown on his head," said leof, speaking as though of somewhat not terrible, but good to think on. "i also saw him," said the old steward from behind me. "i saw him plainly as in life, and i thought he smiled on us." but i had had no such sight, and it grieved me. moreover, two of the other three men whispered, and i thought one of them told of the like vision. and i think, too, that the dog saw it, as the innocent beasts will see things beyond our ken. soon the bishop judged that the time was come for mass, and he called softly to me, bidding me serve, for i had often done so for him in the old days when i was a boy and he was at reedham, and i knew well what to do. then was said a most solemn mass with that one aged priest, and us few men present. and all was very quiet round us, for no wind stirred the trees on the old rampart. the bishop's voice ceased with the benediction, and the hush deepened; but suddenly leof and i looked in each other's faces. we had heard a shout from no great distance, and the blood rushed wildly through us. now the bishop rose from his knees, and i took the holy vessels, as he gave them to me, putting them into their oaken chest in its niche. and when that was done, he said: "now i will not bid you fly, my sons, for i think that somewhat has bidden you bide with me. and i have seen the king, so that i know the time is short. take therefore the holy vessels and drown them in the deep pool of the stream. i have used them for the last time, but i would not have them profaned by the heathen in their feasting." i knew that this should be done as at bosham, but already i heard the shouts yet nearer, and i was loth to leave the church, and so paused. "i know your thoughts," said the bishop. "yet go, as i bid you; it is not far." so i took the heavy, iron-bound chest on my shoulder and went quickly, running as well as i might to the stream below the rampart, where it curled deep and still under crumbling banks. there i plunged my burden, hearing it sink and bubble into the depths. then i went back, and reached the gap in the rampart that had been the gate next the ford, and that was at the east end of the church, so that the porch was far from me. and before i had gone halfway to the church--over the western rampart spurred a score of horsemen, dimly seen in the half moonlight that was now. and the leader of them saw me, and rode straight at me, calling to me to hold, while i drew my sword and ran to reach the door before he met me; and my dog, which was at my heels, flew at the horse's throat. but i must fail, and i whirled up my sword to strike--and then a long flash of light from a spear point smote me, and over me the man rode, pinning me to the ground with the spear through my left shoulder. his horse trod on me, and the man wrenched the weapon from me as he passed on, and i had but time to call out to leof to warn him, when a rushing came in my ears, and a blaze of light before my eyes, and the world passed from me. then i seemed to stand in darkness, while past me, gloriously shining, went leof, and then the old steward and one of those two men who had whispered together, and then humbert the bishop himself. but it seemed to me that he paused and looked on me, saying, in a voice that was like music: "hereafter--not now. twice have you offered your life today, and yet there is work for you. be content to wait." so he passed, looking kindly at me, and then the blackness came over me again. when i came round at last it was high day, and the air was full of smoke around me. one sat on a great brown horse looking at me, and by my side cried my dog; and i groaned, whereat the man got off his horse and came to me. and i knew that it was hubba, and some of the men i knew were there also. "why, wulfric, friend, how is this? i thought you were dead. who has dared to hurt you? what has happened here?" "you know well," i gasped. "nay, i know not; i have but now ridden this way with our rear guard," he answered, seeming to pity me. "look in the church and see," i said, groaning. "you danes are all one in the matter." "now i am not the man to harm you, nor would any of our folk," he said. "some of our courtmen found you here, and brought me." "slay me and have done," i muttered; for that was all i would have him do. "that will i not, wulfric," he answered; and he called to some men who were busy about the walls of the church. the smoke rose thickly from within them, for the burnt roof had fallen in. "take this warrior and bind his wound," he said. "it is wulfric of reedham, our friend." the faintness came over me again when the men raised me, though they tended me gently enough, and i could say naught, though i would rather they had cast me into the burning timbers of the church, even as i had bidden men do with that poor churl at hoxne, that my ashes might be with those of our bishop. so they bore me far, and at last left me in a farm where they promised all should be safe if they tended me well. and hubba rode with them, and came to bid me farewell. but i could not speak to him if i would, so he went away sadly. and as in a dream i heard him speak of care for me to the widow and her two sons to whom the farm belonged, and whom his men had taken unawares, so that they had not time to fly. presently came the best leech from ingvar's host and tended me carefully; and i needed it, for besides the spear wound, my right thigh was broken, by the trampling of the horse, as was most likely. thereafter i lay for many weeks, as they told me presently, sick and nigh to death; but being young and strong and no high liver at any time, i came through the danger well enough, and began to mend slowly. yet my sickness, when i could begin to think, was more of mind than body, and that kept me back. for long did it lie heavily on my mind that i should have died with the king, and it was that sorrow and blame of myself that went sorely against me. but after a time the love of life came back to me again, and i began to see things as they really were, untouched by a sick man's fancies. and then the words of the good prior of bosham helped me, teaching me that my life was surely spared for somewhat. these good folk of the farm tended me most kindly, for they knew me by sight as a close friend of both king and bishop, and for their sakes were glad to do all they might for me. but i pined for the touch of that one who had tended me when i was wounded before, osritha, whom i had learnt to love as she did so. sometimes i would think that between her and me had now risen up a barrier stronger than the sea that was washing our shores alike, because that of ingvar's sister i might not think aught any longer. and then i would set before me how that of these cruel doings nor she nor halfden had any part, hating them rather, and so would comfort myself. long are the thoughts that come to a sick man. now it was not till february that i might take much heed of anything, but then i learnt that the danes had wintered in thetford, and that the land was in peace. the war had passed on to the wessex borders and then had slackened, as winter came earnest, and now the north and south folk, dane and angle, were foes no longer openly. but ingvar and hubba were at nottingham, waiting to fall on wessex, leaving only strong garrisons in our towns. then one of the dame's sons would go to london for me, there to seek ingild and tell him of my hap, for, the lad said: "now that these danes need fight no more they are decent folk enough, and will not hinder a man who has not whereof to be robbed." chapter xiv. how wulfric and raud searched together. i sat in the warm sun under the wide spread of the farmhouse eaves, dreaming my dreams with the dog at my feet, for so soon as the may time came in i must needs get into the open air, and grow stronger daily. so it came to pass that one day up the green farm lane came a stranger, at whom the dog barked not, as was his wont, but ran to meet as if he were some well-loved friend. and it was raud, his old master, who came, lightly mail clad, and with a short hunting spear instead of staff in his hand, and whistling his "biarkamal" as ever. now with raud i had no quarrel concerning the death of the king, for well i knew that what he had done was truly in mercy, nor had he taken any part in what went before. so i greeted him heartily enough, for all that with the sight of him came back to me, with a sharp pang, the memory of how i saw him last. and he rejoiced to see me again. "i have half feared that i should find you gone," he said; "for, when i heard of this from hubba's men, i must needs come and find you, and little hope had i that you would live." "i have nearly died, they say," i answered; "but i think that i owe it to you that i was not slain in hoxne woods yonder." "why, not altogether," he answered, sitting on the settle by me, and looking me over, from arm yet in sling to lame leg. "some of the men with ingvar and me wanted to slay you before they left that place; but ingvar growled so fiercely that they must let you be, that they said no more, nor even would look your way again. but he himself looked at you, and said strange things to himself." "what said he?" i asked, wondering. "he said, paying no heed to me, 'now, wulfric--you will hate me forever more, nor do i think that lodbrok my father would be pleased with this;' after which he spoke words so low that i caught but one here and there, but they were somewhat of the lady osritha, our mistress. after that he said to me, 'leave him horse and arms and unbind him,' and then turned away. yet if i had not bound you at first, maybe they would have had to slay you." "that is true enough," i said; "surely i should have stood between you and the king. but what came to ingvar to make him speak thus to me?" "why, after the hot fit comes the cold, ever, though ingvar the king's cold rage is worse at times than his fury. but since that day there has been somewhat strange about the king." "i wonder not," i said; nor did i. "but how goes it with him?" "men say, though they dare not do so openly, that the ghost of eadmund will not let him rest, and that mostly does he fear him when his rage is greatest. many a time when the fury seemed like to come on him, ingvar turns white and stares suddenly beyond all things, as though seeing somewhat beyond other men's ken, and the sweat runs cold from his forehead. many a man has escaped him through this." "surely eadmund holds him back thus from more cruelty," i thought. and aloud i said: "what think you of the matter?" "why, that i am glad that i was bold enough to save your dying king from more torture--else had i seen somewhat before me day and night. truly i see him now betimes in my sleep, but he ever smiles on me. moreover, this is true, that all those seven men who shot the arrows died in that week. two died in elmham church when you were nigh slain." "tell me of that," i said. for no man knew rightly what had befallen there, save that under the charred ruins of the roof lay bishop humbert and one or two of his men. but when he told me, it was as i thought. those few men had fought bravely until they were slain, themselves slaying three danes. but one of the bishop's men escaped, cutting through a throng at the doorway and seizing a horse. then was slain the bishop, who knelt at the altar, not even turning round to face the danes as they came. so i hold ever that as i lay for dead i had seen those brave ones pass me even as they were slain. but of this i said naught to raud, at that time at least. now i asked raud whence he had come, and he said: "from london." and at that i feared greatly, asking: "has ingvar taken the city, therefore?" "not the king himself, but guthrum went into london, taking good ransom for peace." "where is ethelred the king of england?" i said, half to myself. "ethelred?--he minds naught but wessex for good reason. for halfden and bagsac and the sidracs are on one side of him, and ingvar and hubba the other, waiting for him to make peace. but there is like to be fighting. alfred, the king's brother, has a brave heart and a hard hand." "then all is quiet in london?" "peaceful enough; and there guthrum the king holds court, and i think men are well content with him." "of what is guthrum king?" i asked, for i had not heard him called by that name before. the only other king of the host beside the three jarls was bagsac. "why, of east anglia. he holds it for ingvar, while he tries to add wessex for his own to mercia. halfden will be king in northumbria, maybe, and hubba over another of the kingdoms." so they had already parted out the land among them beforehand! woe for us therefore, for unless a leader was raised up among us, surely all england must own danish overlords! but i had heard alfred the wessex atheling well spoken of as a warrior. however, what was that to us of east anglia? we had been deserted by wessex at our need as it seemed, and these danes were as near kin to us as wessex saxons. "how did you come to leave ingvar's service?" i asked, not being willing to dwell on this matter. "i think my face spoke to him too plainly of that which was in hoxne wood--and so he bade me stay with guthrum. nor was i loth, for i would find you again." then i was touched a little by the kindness of this rough warrior, and thanked him. after that we sat silent for a while, and the good dame brought out food and ale for raud, and i envied his pleasure therein, for i took little as yet. now for many days past a great longing to be away from this place had filled my mind, and now seemed to be the time. "take me to london, raud," i said. "why, that is part of my errand here," he answered, smiling. "i have a message to you from guthrum the king." "what might that be?" "he wants to speak to you as one who is known to be friend to dane and anglian alike, and being blamed by neither for friendship with the other. so he would have you give him counsel." "let me get to london," i said, "and then i will answer. i cannot now." so raud bided in the farm with me for a while, and now with new thoughts and with his talk of halfden and osritha, i mended quickly, for it was my troubled mind that had kept me back mostly, as i cared for nothing. one day i felt strong again, waking up and taking delight in the smell of the fresh morning and in the sunlight. and i ate heartily of the brown bread and milk they gave me, and afterwards told raud of what i had been long thinking. "all things are quiet in the land now. let us gather a few of my people and seek the head of our king, if you fear not to go into hoxne woods." raud thought for a while before he answered me. "i fear not, for the poor king thanked me, smiling at me. let me go with you." so that day the dame sent messages by her son to some who had come back to their places, and in the evening when he came home, there were with him two of bishop humbert's monks, dressed like churls, for they dared not wear their habits. these two and some others would gladly come with me on my search. next day, therefore, they set me on a pony that was quiet, and slowly we went towards hoxne, coming thither in the afternoon early, seeing no danes anywhere, while many of our folk were back and at work in the fields. then i asked raud if these poor people were safe now. "surely, master," he said, for so he would call me, having heard the farm people name me thus. "there is none so great difference between you and us, and we danes love to be at peace if we may. i think there will be no more trouble here. and, anyway, we are too wise to hinder a harvesting of that we may eat." so too thought i, and my heart was less sad after that ride, though there was not one place left unburnt of all that we saw. when we came to hoxne i told the two monks where we had bestowed the king's body, bidding them look to see if it was not disturbed. and they said that his bones were safely there. now we must seek for the head of the king, and in that rand could not help us, for one had ridden away with it while he was taken up with me and my plight. so we went towards that place where the dog had taken us, and searched long, until i, being weak, must get from off the pony and rest. i would ride back to the place where the king had been slain and sit there awhile; but first, knowing that vig remembered things well, i sent him from me, bidding him search also, hoping that he would not forget his last quest in this place. yet what we most feared was that the forest beasts had made our search vain. there were many men from the village with us now, for they had followed the two monks, and they spread about over the wood far and wide, searching, while i sat at the foot of the oak tree to which the king had been bound, leaning my arms and head against the trunk that had been stained with his blood, and thinking and praying, as well i might in that sacred place. i moved my hand, and felt something sticking from the hard bark and looked to see what it was. it was an arrowhead, such a rough iron spike as men will use when they must make fresh arrows after battle, in all haste, and have to use what they can first find. the shaft was snapped close to the iron and the rawhide lashing that held it, and i could not take it out as i would, for the young oak was sturdy and tough; and so i left it, thinking that i would return some day to cut it out. that i did in after years, but the arrowhead was hidden, for the tree had grown fast, closing on it, as i think, and i could not find its place. so it will be there for one to find hereafter, maybe long hence, for such a tree has many a hundred years to last yet, if saved from mishap of wind or lightning or axe. then i think will men still know what that iron is, for eadmund the king cannot be forgotten. presently it seemed to me that the voices i heard in the wood, as the searchers called to each other, drew closer together, crying: "where are you?" "here--here!" and then was a sort of outcry, and a silence, and i hoped that maybe they had found what they sought. so i rose up and went slowly and limpingly to the place where they seemed to be. i met them in a green glade. and foremost came the two monks, bearing between them a cloak, wherein was surely that we looked for, and after them came my dog and raud, and then the rest. and when they saw me they cried softly to me: "master, we have found the head of our king." so they laid open the cloak before me, and i knelt and looked. and there was indeed the head of eadmund, seeming whole and fresh as when i had last seen him; and his looks were very peaceful, for on his face was still that smile with which he had greeted death at raud's hands. then, seeing that, the rough dane was fain to turn away and lean arms and face against a tree trunk, weeping as weeps a child that will not be comforted. after a little i asked how they had found the head. and one of the villagers, speaking low and holding his cap in his hands as though in the church, answered me. "when i came to a certain thicket, i heard a crying, as it were, and i turned aside and looked, and at first was sorely afraid, for yon great wolf held the head between his paws, whining over it as in grief. then i called to the rest, and they came, running, and were afraid also till the good fathers came, to whom the wolf was gentle, suffering them to take that which he guarded. and lo! he follows us even now, as would a dog!" so the man spoke, not having seen such a dog as mine before, for till more came with the host there were none like him in our land. i told him that it was but my own dog; yet for all that, i know that this tale of a wolf passed for the truth over all the land as it flew from mouth to mouth, so that soon i myself heard from one who knew me not very strange stories of that finding of ours. yet would that tale hardly be stranger than was the truth, that not one of the wild creatures, either beast or bird, had harmed our king's sacred head. and how it should be so preserved in that place i cannot tell, but i say what i saw. yet his body was not so preserved in the place where we had hidden it. these things are beyond me, nor can i tell all the thoughts that came into my mind as i looked into the face of the king whom i had loved, and who loved me. now would we take our treasure, as we must needs think it, to hoxne, and the monks were about to lift it again. but raud came forward very solemnly, begging that he might be allowed to bear it, "because he would make what amends he might." and i signed to the monks to suffer him to do so, and he took it. none else but i knew what part he had had with the other danes in this matter, and the monks did but think him grieving for what his comrades had done. so he bore it to hoxne village, and we passed the place where the church had been. there, amid the blackened ruins of the walls and roof, stood the font of stone, fire reddened and chipped, yet with the cross graven on its eastward face plain to be seen. and to that place raud led us, none staying him, yet all wondering. when he came there he strode over the burnt timber until he came to the font, and there, under the graven cross, he set down his burden very gently, and stood up, looking in my face, and saying: "here will i leave the worship of odin and cleave to that faith for which eadmund the king died, and for which you, wulfric, were willing to die both in jutland and here by eadmund's side. will any forbid me?" then i knew that the man was in such earnest, that none, save he perilled his own soul, might hold him back, and i took his hand and spoke to the elder monk, saying: "i will answer for this man, father, as to his will. if he knows enough of our faith, i pray you baptize him straightway." there was rain water in the font, sparkling and clear, and without any delay or doubt the good man came forward and stood thereby, while i yet held raud's hand as his godfather. "what know you of our faith, my son?" said the monk in his gentle voice. now of his own accord raud faced to the eastward, and clasping his hands before him, spoke the words of the creed, slowly and haltingly maybe, but with knowledge thereof, and all that little company, standing hushed until he ended, answered "amen" with one voice. then again, untaught by us he turned to the west, where the sun was even now sinking, and lifting his right hand very solemnly he put away from him the false gods of his forefathers, and the golden sunlight made his face very glorious, as i thought. "it is well, my son," said the old monk. so he was baptized, and i gave him the new name of cyneward {xxii}, for the memory of eadmund the king and what he did for him in saving him from torture as best he might. and surely he was the first fruit of the martyrdom of him whose head he had borne. then when all was done he took up his burden again, softly and reverently, saying: "life i took, and life has been given me. this is not the old way of life for life, but it is better." so he gave back the head to the monks, and they, wondering at him, but greatly rejoicing, took it, and stood awhile pondering where we might safely bestow it. then came one of the villagers, telling of a stone-walled chamber that had been a well in days long gone by, hard by the church porch. that we found after some labour, moving much ruin from over it, and therein we placed the bones and head of our king, covering it again until better days should come. and i, thinking of my riches in the hands of ingild, promised that when it might be done i would see to raising the church afresh, to be over the ashes of the king. so our little company parted, and cyneward, who had been raud, and i went back with the elder monk and the farm folk to our place, going slowly in the warm twilight, with our hearts at rest, and full of the wonders we had seen that day. only one thing would the monk and i ask cyneward, for we wondered how he had learned our faith so well. and that he answered gladly. "ever as wulfric and i escaped from the vengeance of ingvar towards hedeby i wondered that one should be strong enough to defy the asir and their godar for the sake of the new faith. so i sat in the church of ansgar among the other heathen and heard somewhat. and again in london of late, where guthrum will have no man harmed for his religion, i have listened and learnt more. so when i needed them, the words were ready. now, therefore, both in life and death, wulfric, my master, i thank you." but i was silent, knowing how much greater a part in this i might have had. for i thought that, but for the need of proving my faith or denying it, i should have surely been as a heathen among heathen in those days in jutland. yet beorn asked me to pray for him, and that i had done, and it had kept me mindful when i had else forgotten. so began the work humbert the bishop foretold before he died, and that monk of his who saved his own life at humbert's bidding for the work, saw it, and rejoiced. after this, in a week's time, cyneward and i took horse and rode away to london, for the dame's son came back to me, having found ingild, bringing me messages from him, and also from egfrid and many more. and all was well. at that time i could not reward as i would those good people who had thus cared for me, but i would send presents when i might. yet they said they needed naught from me but to see me again at some time, which i promised, as well for my own love of them as for their asking. we went unharmed and unquestioned, for all the land was at peace. truly there were new-made huts where farmsteads had been, and at the town gates were danish axemen instead of our spearmen as of old. yet already in the hayfields dane and anglian wrought together, and the townsmen stood on colchester hill beside the danish warriors, listening while gleeman and scald sang in rivalry to please both. little of change was there in london town, save again the scarlet-cloaked danish guards and watchmen. few enough of these there were, and indeed the host left but small parties in the towns behind them in our land. yet those few could hold the country in peace, because men knew that at their back was the might of ingvar's awful host, which came on a land unawares, marching more swiftly than rumour could fly before it, so that not one might know where the next blow would fall until suddenly the war beacons of flaming villages flared up, and it was too late to do aught but fly. yet in our land was none to fight for. no king had we to follow the martyr. ethelred had left us alone, and already in the hearts of men grew up the thought that the strong hand of the dane meant peace. in the house of good old ingild, my second father, as he would have me hold him, was rest at last. and there i found all whom i held dear gathered to meet me on the night when i came, for they had fled by ship, as they had hoped, and had reached london safely. chapter xv. the message of halfden the king. now when i had been in london for a fortnight, cyneward, whom ingild would by no means suffer to live elsewhere than in his house with me, went to guthrum as was his duty, and told him that i had come. whereupon he sent to me, asking again that i would speak with him. on that i took counsel with ingild and egfrid, and the thane his father, and they thought it well that i should do so. "this dane," said the thane, "is lord of east anglia by the might of the strong hand, and it seems to us that we might have a worse ruler. at any rate we shall have peace, and no more trouble with danes while he is here. as for ethelred, he is no more to us. even if he overcomes the danes in the end, it is not likely that we will own wessex overlords again unless we must." that was the word of all with whom i spoke, and in the end, when it was certain that the danes meant to stay, and that help from ethelred was none, east anglia owned guthrum as king quietly and with none to say a word against it, so securing a peace that should last. but to this i could not bring myself as yet, because of what i had seen, and that the hand of ingvar was behind guthrum. "go to him at least," said ingild, "and find what he needs of you. then will be time to say more." so at his advice i went, and i found guthrum in ethelred's great house, where he sat in little state, doing justice in open hall where many citizens were gathered. and i saw him do even-handed right to both dane and saxon, and that pleased me, for already i had liked the man's honest face and free bearing. he greeted me well, taking me aside presently with cyneward into a private chamber. and there he told me that he would ask me to do a favour towards him. i answered that what i might i would do gladly, so that he asked me not to break faith with my own people. "i would ask no man to do that," he said. "tell me what i may not ask you." "shall i speak plainly?" i said. "aye, plainly as you will." "then, guthrum, i may not own ingvar for overlord. nor can i allow that you have more than right of conquest over us." "plain speaking, in good sooth," he said, laughing a little, "but what i expected from wulfric of reedham. however, i am ruler in east anglia by that right you speak of, and i have a mind to be as fair in it as i may. now, i think you can help me." this honest saying warmed my heart to him somewhat, and weary enough of his lawman's work this warrior looked. yet i was not sure that he would not try to use me to make his hold on the land more sure. "tell me in what way that may be," i said, therefore. "let me come and ask you of this and that when i am in a strait owing to knowing naught of saxon ways. then can i say to a dane, 'thus says wulfric, lodbrok's friend,' and to an anglian, 'so says the thane of reedham.' then i think i shall do well, for i would fain be fair." "i will ever be ready to do that, guthrum," i said; and i held out my hand to him, for i could not help it. so he took it and wrung it warmly. "now must i go back to thetford very soon," he said. "come back that you may be near me." "i must live here, in london now," i said; for i would by no means live with his court, nor did i think that he should have thought it of me after my words. "why not go back to your own place now? i can see you often at reedham." "that is an ill jest," i said; for i thought nothing so sad as going back to see that dear home of mine but a blackened heap of ruins, nor would i ever ask any who might have seen the place concerning it, knowing how the danish ships had burnt all the coast villages. guthrum looked at me as if puzzled. "no jest, thane," he said; "why not go back?" "to ruins--what good?" i answered. "now i think you mean that you will not take your land at my hands," he said. "that were to own you king." "then, wulfric, my friend, if i may call you so, that the lands of a friend are not mine to give and take i need not tell you. nor do we harm the lands of a friend. there is one place in east anglia that no dane has harmed, or will harm--the place that sheltered jarl lodbrok. and there is one man whose folk, from himself to the least of all, are no foes of ours--and that is the thane of reedham. ah! now i see that i have gladdened you, and i think that you will come." "this seems almost impossible," i said, in my wonder and gladness. "nay, but word went round our host that it was to be so. there you might have bided all unknowing that war was near you. you do but go back of your own free will." now i was fain to say that i would at once go back to my place, but there was one thing yet that i would say to guthrum. "will you let the christian folk be unharmed?" "little will our people care," he said, "when once they have settled down, what gods a man worships. nor would i have any meddled with because of their faith." "now am i most willing to help you," i said; "and i will say this--so are you likely in the end to be hailed king indeed." "that is well," he answered, flushing a little. "but there is one man whom i will never ask to own me as king, and that is yourself. but if you do so of your own will, it will be better yet." so we parted, each as i think pleased with the other, and i knew that east anglia had found a wise ruler in guthrum the dane. straightway now i told my people the good news that reedham was safe. the longships came up to norwich time after time now; and there had been but one thought among us, and that was that our place could not have escaped the destruction that had fallen on all the shore and riverside villages. then ingild said: "these danes have come as our forefathers came here, to take a new and better country for themselves, but the strife between them and us is not as the strife between alien peoples. they are our kin, but between us and the welsh was hatred of race. they will settle down, and never will east anglia pass from danish hands, even if ethelred of wessex makes headway enough to be owned as overlord of england by them. now therefore is there one place in all england where peace has come, and to that place i would go to end my days. here in london the tide of war will ebb and flow ever. let me go down with you to reedham, my son, that i may die in peace." so we did but wait until he had set all his affairs in order, selling his house and merchandise and the like. then we hired a ship that came from the frankish coast and waited for cargo in the thames, and sailed at the end of july to reedham. with us were egfrid and eadgyth and my mother and cyneward, who would by no means leave me, and to whom guthrum willingly gave leave to go with us. we came easily to reedham, and very strange it was to me to see two danish longships lying in our roads, while our own shore boats were alongside, the men talking idly together on deck or over gunwale in all friendliness. stranger yet it was to see the black ruins of farms and church on the southern shores of the river mouth, and at reedham all things safe and smiling as ever. then was a wondrous welcome for us on our little staithe, and all the village crowded down to greet us. nor were the men from the danish ships behindhand in that matter, for they too would welcome lodbrok's friends. so we came home, and soon the old life began again as if naught had altered, but for the loss of loved faces round us. yet in peace or war that must come, and in a little while we grew content, and even happy. soon guthrum came to thetford, and many times rode over to me, asking me many things. and all men spoke well of him, so that egfrid's father and some other thanes owned him as king, and took their lands as at his hands, coming back to rebuild their houses. for as yet none of the greater danish chiefs chose lands among us, since it seemed likely that in a little while all england would be before them, and in any case the power of ethelred must be broken before there could be peace. now when the first pleasure of return was over, i myself began to be restless in my mind, seeing the quiet happiness of egfrid in his marriage, and thinking how far i was from osritha, whom i loved in such sort that well i knew that i should never wed any other. and i would watch some danish ship when she passed our village, going homewards, longing to sail in her and seek the place where lodbrok's daughter yet lived beyond the broad seas. but presently, at the summer's very end, i knew from the danes that ingvar had gone back to denmark, called there by some rumour of trouble brewing at home in his absence; and that made it yet harder for me, if possible, for on ingvar i would not willingly look again, nor would i think of osritha but as apart from him. so the winter wore away. the host was quiet in winter quarters in mercia, and the danes in our country grew friendly with us, harming no man. these men, i could see, would fain bide in peace, settling down, being tired of war, and liking the new country, where there was room and to spare for all. in early spring guthrum went to the host on the wessex borders, taking command in ingvar's place. for hubba went to northumbria, there to complete his conquests, and halfden was on the western borders of wessex. and before he went guthrum took great care for the good ordering of our land--and that he might leave it at all at that time was enough to show that he feared no revolt against him. now as i sat in our hall, listless and downcast, one day in july, cyneward came in to me. "here is news, master, that i know not what to make of." "what is it?" i said. "is the war to be here once more?" "the war is no nearer than ashdown heath; but it seems that the wessex men have found a leader." then he told me of the long fighting round reading, and how at last halfden had cut his way through wessex and joined forces with guthrum after many victories. but that then ethelred and alfred the atheling had made a great effort, winning a mighty victory on ashdown heath, slaying bagsac the king and both the sidracs, harald and osbern the jarls, frene, and many more with them. nine battles had they fought that year and last. "how hear you of this?" i said. "there has come a messenger from guthrum with the news, and even now the danes march in all haste from the towns to fill up the gaps in the ranks of the host, and he says that ships must go back to jutland to ingvar for more men from overseas." now this news was nothing to us east anglians for the most part, and to me it was but a turn of the fight between dane and saxon for the overlordship of all england. that was not a matter to be settled by one or two victories on either side, nor might one see how it would end. yet i was glad, for of all things i feared that ingvar might be our master in the end, and this seemed to say that it was none so certain. more men came in after that, hastening the going to the front of those who would, for not all the danes among us would stir from their new homes, saying that they had done their part, and knowing that what they left others might take. and in ten days' time cyneward came to me saying that there were two longships coming in from the open sea. "let the pilots go out to them," i said; for it was of no use withholding this help from the danish ships, little as we liked to see them come. so i forgot the matter. then again cyneward ran to me in haste, and with his eyes shining. "master, here is halfden's ship. come and see!" gladly i went out then, and when i saw those two ships my heart leapt up with joy, for it was indeed my own ship that was leading, and i thought that halfden would be in her. so soon as she was in the river she made for our wharf, and that was not the wont of the danes, who mostly went on past us up the river to where the great towns were. and at once when she was alongside i went on board, and at sight of me half her crew came crowding round me, shouting and shaking my hand; for they were our old crew, the same who had fought beside me and had backed me at the ve. there, too, was thormod, grim as ever, but welcoming me most gladly. but halfden was not there. "what is this, thormod?" i said, when i had him up to the house, and the men were eating in the great hall. "why are you not with halfden?" "have you heard no news?" he asked. "only a few days ago i heard of the business at ashdown." "well, i have come thence," he said. "now must i sail home and fetch more men in all haste." "why came you in here?" "because i came away in haste and need stores. and, moreover, i wanted to see you." "that is good of you, thormod, and glad am i to have you here, even if it is only for a day," i answered. "moreover, i have a message to you from halfden," he went on. whereupon i asked him about the battle, and long we sat while he told me all. and halfden's deeds had been great, but could not turn aside defeat. so he ended. "then because our ship lay in the thames, where we had sent her from the west when we broke through the wessex country and joined guthrum, he sent me back for men. so i am here. both sides must needs rest awhile, as i think." "what of halfden's message?" i asked. "why, i know not how you will take it, but it is this. the night before the battle he slept ill, and at last woke me, saying that he would have me take a message if he was slain. so i said that i hoped he was not fey. that he was not, he told me, but this was going to be a heavy sword play, and one knew not how things would go. then he told me that ever as he began to sleep he saw osritha his sister, and she was pale and wrung her hands, saying: 'now am i alone, and there is none to help me, for halfden and wulfric are far away, and i fear ingvar and his moods'. then said i, 'that is true enough. it needs no dream to tell one of the maiden's loneliness.' yet he answered, 'nevertheless, in some way i will have wulfric our comrade know that osritha sits alone and will not be comforted'. so when i must start on this voyage he bade me tell you of this matter, and i have done so." now i was full of many thoughts about this, but as yet i would say little. so i asked: "what of ingvar's moods? are they more fierce than his wont?" "well, between us twain," he answered, looking at cyneward, who sat apart from us across the king's chamber where we were, "ingvar is not all himself lately, and all men fear him, so that he is no loss to the host." i knew somewhat, i thought, of the reason for this, and so did cyneward, but passed that over. now nothing seemed more plain to me than that halfden meant that i should seek osritha. "what is halfden doing?" i asked. "will he not go back to your own land?" "why, no. for he takes northumbria as his share of what we have won. hubba is there now. but we fight to gain more if we may, and if not, to make sure of what we have. one way or another ethelred's power to attack us must be broken." "so halfden bides in england. what meant he by his message?" "why, wulfric, if you cannot see i will not tell you." "what of ingvar?" "now, wulfric," said thormod, "if i did not know that you at least were not afraid of him, i should say that he was best left alone. but as neither you nor i fear him, let us go and see what may be done." "let me think thereof," said i, not yet daring to make so sure of what i most wished. "shall i tell osritha that wulfric thought twice of coming to see her?" "that you shall not," i cried; "i do but play with my happiness. surely i will go, and gladly. but will she welcome me?" "better come and see concerning that also," he answered, laughing a little, so that one might know what he meant. "let us go at once on this tide," i said, starting up. "not so fast now, comrade," laughed thormod. "would you come again half starved, as last time, into the lady's presence?" then i called cyneward, but when he rose up and came to us, thormod stared at him, crying: "you here, raud! i thought you were with ingvar." "aye, thormod, i am here--at least cyneward, who was raud, is with wulfric." "ho! then you have turned christian?" "aye," answered cyneward, flushing, though not with shame, for it was the first time he had owned his faith to one of his former comrades. "now i thought this likely to happen to some of us," said thormod, not showing much surprise, "if maybe it is sooner than one might have looked for. however, that is your concern, not mine. keep out of ingvar's way, though." "i bide here with wulfric," he answered, having paid no heed to our low-voiced talk. "wulfric sails with me to find--ingvar," said thormod, and at that cyneward turned to me in surprise. "not ingvar," said i, "but one in his house. will you come with me?" then he understood, and his face showed his gladness. "this is well," he cried; "gladly will i go with you and return with that other." "that is to be seen," i answered, though i thought it surely would be so. "now go and see to the arms and all things needful, and send the steward to me, for we have to victual the ship." so i left thormod with the steward and sought ingild, telling him what i would do. whereat he, knowing my trouble, was very glad; and then egfrid would fain come with me also when he heard. that, however, i would not suffer, seeing that there was ingvar to be dealt with. my mother wept, and would have me not go. but here my sister helped me. "bring osritha back if you can," she said. "soon will our house be built again, and we shall go, and you will be lonely." for egfrid's father had owned guthrum, and his house and theirs were nigh rebuilt. in a day's time thormod and i set sail, and once more i took the helm as we went out over our bar. and the quiver of the tiller in my hands and the long lift of the ship over the rollers seemed to put fresh life in me, and my gloom passed away as if it had never been. the breeze was fresh, and the ship flew, yet not fast enough for me, though so well sailed ours that when day broke the other was hull down astern of us, and at night we had lost her altogether. and the breeze held and the spray flew, and i walked the deck impatiently, while thormod from the helm smiled at me. bright were the skies over me, and bright the blue water that flashed below the ship's keel, but my thoughts would even have brightened such leaden skies as those that last saw me cross along this ocean path. and i thought that i could deal with ingvar now. chapter xvi. how wulfric brought osritha home. there was a haze far out at sea, and a fog was coming in with the tide when we came to the mouth of ingvar's haven; and rounded the spit of land that shelters it from the southerly winds. soon we cleared it and then saw the town and hall above it at the head of the haven, and what my longings were i need not write. now by the wharves lay two ships, and i thought little of that, but on seeing them, thormod, by whose side i was as he steered, seemed to wonder. "ingvar has got another ship from somewhere," he said, "or has built one this winter, for he sailed home with one only." then, too, the men began to say the like, for the second ship was strange to them also, and, as seamen will, they puzzled over her until we were close at hand. but i leaned on the gunwale and dreamed dreams of my own, paying no heed to their talk. out of those dreams i was roused by thormod's voice. "yon ship is no dane," he said sharply. "clear the decks and get to arms, men. here is somewhat amiss." then was a growl of wrath from our crew, yet no delay, and in a moment every man was in his place. down came the sail, and the mast was lowered and hoisted on its stanchions overhead, and in five minutes or less the oars were out, and the men who were arming themselves ran to take them as they were ready, while those who had rowed should get to arms also. not for the first time saw i that ship cleared for action, but never had i seen it done so swiftly, though we had but half our fighting crew, sixty men instead of a hundred and thirty or so. i armed myself swiftly as any, and thormod bade me take halfden's place on the fore deck, where the men were already looking to bowstrings and bringing up sheaves of arrows and darts. then when i came they shouted, and one gray-headed warrior cried: "now you have a good fight on hand, axeman." then i asked: "who are the strangers?" "it is a ship of the jomsburg vikings," he said. "they know that our men are all in england, and have come to see what we have left behind--thor's bolt light on them!" now, of all savage vikings these jomsburgers are the worst. red-handed they are, sparing none, and it is said of them that they will sacrifice men to the gods they worship before a great fight. nor are they all of one race, but are the fiercest men of all the races of the baltic gathered into that one nest of pirates, jomsburg. now a cold thrill of fear for osritha ran through me, and then came hot rage, and for a little i was beside myself, as it were, glaring on that ship. then i grew cool and desperate, longing only to be hand to hand with them. swiftly we bore down on the ship, and now from her decks came the hoarse call of uncouth war horns, and her crew came swarming back from the streets with shouts and yells, crossing ingvar's ship to reach their own, for she lay alongside, stem to stern of the dane, and next to the open water. now i could see that men fought with the last of the jomsburgers as they came down the street to their ship, and there were no houses burning, so that they could have been for no long time ashore. and that was good to know. we came into the channel abreast of her, and then thormod roared to me: "now i will ram her. board her as we strike if we do not sink her!" then he called on the oarsmen, and they cheered and tugged at the oars, the men in the waist helping them, and my fore deck warriors gripping the bulwarks against the shock. down we swooped like a falcon on a wild duck, and as we came the jomsburgers howled and left their own ship, climbing into ingvar's to fly the crash, while some tried to cast off, but too late. "shoot!" i shouted to my men, and the arrows flew. through skin-clad backs and bare necks the arrows pierced, and the smitten pirates fell back into their own ship, as they swarmed the higher sides of ingvar's, like leaves from a tree. then with a mighty crash and rending of cloven timbers our dragon stem crushed the jomsburg ship from gunwale to gunwale, splintering the rail of the other ship as the wreck parted and sunk on either side of our bows, while above the rending of planks and rush of waters rose the howls of the drowning men. i clung to the dragon's neck, and the shock felled me not. yet my men went headlong over the oarsmen as we struck, rising again with a great shout of grim laughter, to follow me over the bows as i leapt among the pirates who thronged on ingvar's deck before me. then was the sternest fight i have ever seen, for we fought at close quarters, they for dear life, and we for those even dearer than life. there was no word of quarter, and at first, after our cheer on boarding, there was little noise beyond the ringing of weapon on helm and shield and mail, mixed with the snarls of the foul black-bearded savages against us and the smothered oaths of our men. then came a thickness in the air and a breath of chill damp over me, and all in a moment that creeping sea fog settled down on us, and straightway so thick it was, that save of those before and on either side of him no man might see aught, but must fight in a ring of dense mist that hemmed him round. and for a while out of that mist the arrows hissed, shot by unseen hands, and darts, hurled by whom one might not know, smote friend and foe alike, while if one slew his man, out of the fog came another to take his place, seeming endless foes. and as in a dream the noise of battle sounded, and the fight never slackened. all i knew was that cyneward was next me, and that my axe must keep my own life and take that of others; and i fought for osritha and home and happiness--surely the best things for which a man can fight next to his faith. and now men began to shout their war cries that friend might rally to friend rather than smite him coming as a ghost through the mist. then a man next me cried between his teeth: "it is ragnaroek come--and these are odin's foes against whom we fight." and so smote the more fiercely till he fell beside me, crying: "ahoy! a raven!--a raven!" then was i down on the slippery deck, felled by a blow from a great stone hammer that some wild pirate flung over the heads of his comrades before me, and cyneward dragged me up quickly, so that i think he saved my life that time. and i fought on, dazed, and as in a dream i fancied that i was on the deck of my father's ship fighting the fight that i looked for in the fog that brought my friend halfden. when my brain cleared, i knew not which way we faced. only that cyneward was yet with me, and that out of the dimness came against us jomsburgers clad in outlandish armour, and with shouts to strange gods as they fell on me. "hai, wainomoinen! swantewit, ho!" then i cast away my shield, for i grew weary, and taking both hands to my axe, fought with a dull rage that i should have fallen, and that there were so many against me. and all alone we two seemed to fight by reason of the fog, though i heard the shouts of our crew to right and left unceasingly. then i felled a man, and one leapt back into mist and was gone, and a giant shape rose up against me out of the thickness, towering alone, and at this i smote fiercely. yet it was not mail or hardened deerskin that i smote, but solid timber, and i could not free my axe again, so strongly had i smitten. it was the high stem head of the vessel. for i and my men had cleared away the foe from amidships to bows, and still the noise of fight went on behind us, while the fog was thick as ever. then cyneward leaned against the stem head and laughed. "pity so good a stroke was wasted on timber, master," he said. "pull it out for me," i answered, "my arm is tired." for now i began to know that my left shoulder was not yet so strong as once. he tugged at the axe and freed it, not without trouble. "what now?" said one of the men. but a great shout came from aft, and then a silence that seemed strange. we were still, to hear what we might, and i think that others listened for us. "surely we have cleared the ship?" i said. "let us go and see." then i hailed our men, asking how they fared--and half i feared to hear the howl and rush of pirates coming back on us. but it was a danish voice that called back to me that the last foe was gone. we stumbled back now along either gunwale, over the bodies of friend and foe that cumbered all the deck, and most thickly and in heaps amidships, where our first rush fell. one by one from aft met us those who were left of the men who had fought their way to the stern. well for us was it that the darkness had hindered the jomsburgers from knowing how few we were and how divided. but shoulder to shoulder we had fought as vikings will, never giving back, but ever taking one step forward as our man went down before us. now i called to thormod, and his voice answered me from shoreward. "here am i, wulfric. how have you sped?" "some of us are left, but no foemen," i answered. "call your names," he said. and when we counted i had but sixteen left of my thirty, so heavy had been the fighting. yet i thought that the jomsburgers were two to our one as we fell on them, and of them was not one left. "what now?" asked thormod. "there are more of these men in the town. here have i been keeping them back from the ship." "let us go up to the hall," i answered. "we could find our way in the dark, and they cannot tell where they are in this fog." so i and my men climbed on to the wharf, and there were the rest of the crew with thormod, who had crossed the decks as we cleared a passage, even as the fog came down, and had driven the rest of the jomsburgers away from the landing place before they could join those in the ship. well for us it was that he had done this, or we should have been overborne by numbers, for the ship was a large one, carrying maybe seven score men. "we must leave your tired men with the ship and go carefully," said thormod. "likely enough we shall have another fight." we marched up the well-known street four abreast, and as we left the waterside the fog was thinner, so that we could see the houses on either side of the way well enough. and as we went we were joined by many of ingvar's people, old men and boys mostly, who had been left at home when the fleet sailed. and they told us that the jomsburg men were round the great house itself. yet we could hear no sound of them, and that seemed strange, so that we feared somewhat, drawing together lest a rush on us were planned. but beyond a few men slain in the street we saw nothing till we came to the gate of the stockade. and that was beaten down, while some danes and jomsburgers lay there as they had fallen when this was done. now when we saw this i know not which was the stronger, rage or surprise, and i called one of the old men. "where is the king?" i asked. "he is not in the town," he said; "he is away with his own courtmen, fighting against these pirates for jarl swend, who is beset by them." now it was plain that this ship came from that place; either beaten off, or knowing that ingvar's haven lay open to attack while his men were away thus. and a greater fear than any came over me. "where is the lady osritha?" i said. "she was here in the town this morning." "so, wulfric," said thormod quickly, "she will have fled. the steward will have seen to that. no use her biding here when the ship came." so i thought, but i was torn with doubt, not knowing if time for flight had been given, or if even now some party of jomsburgers might not be following hard after her. i must go into the hall and find out, whatever the risk, for it was certain that it held the rest of the pirates. "leave men here to guard the gates," i said to thormod. "needs must that we see more of this." ten men stayed at the gate, lest jomsburgers lurked in the houses to fall on us, and we went across to the great porch. the door was open, nor could we see much within; and there was silence. "stand by," said thormod, and picked up a helm that lay at his feet. he hurled it through the door, and it clanged and leapt from the further wall across the cold hearthstone. then there was a stir of feet and click of arms inside, and we knew that the hall was full of men. i know not what my thoughts were--but woe to any pirate who came within my reach. "show yourselves like men!" shouted thormod, standing back. then, seeing that there was no hope that we should fall into this trap they had laid, there came into the doorway a great, black-haired jomsburg lett, clad in mail of hardened deerskin, such as the lapp wizards make, and helmed with a wolf's head over the iron head piece. he carried a long-handled bronze axe, and a great sword was by his side. "yield yourselves!" said thormod. the savage hove up his axe, stepping one pace nearer into the porch. "what terms?" he said in broken danish. "give up your prisoners and arms, and you shall go free," answered thormod, for he feared lest if any captives were left alive they would be slain if we fought. "come and take them!" spoke back the jomsburger in his harsh voice, and with a sneering laugh. now i could not bear this any longer, and on that i swung my axe and shouted, rushing on the man. up went his long weapon overhead, and like a flash he smote at me--but he forgot that he was in the porch, and as his blow fell the axe lit on the crossbeams and stuck there. the handle splintered, and he sprang back out of reach of my stroke. then i dropped my axe and closed with him, and i was like a berserk in my fury, so that i lifted him and flung him clear over my shoulder, and he fell heavily on the threshold on his head. nor did he move again. cyneward thrust my axe into my hand, as past me thormod and the men charged into the doorway. the hall was full of the pirates, and now we fought again as on the decks, hand to hand in half darkness. but it was no long fight, for those of our men who had been at the gate, finding they might leave it, came round and fell on the jomsburgers from the back of the hall, coming through the other doors. so there was an end, and though many of us were wounded, we lost there but three men, for there were ale casks lying about, and the pirates fought ill. now we stood among the dead and looked in one another's faces. there were no danes among the jomsburgers, and they had, as it seemed, found the place empty. then i thought: "those men who fell at the gate should be honoured, for they have fought and died to give time for flight to the rest." and i called cyneward to me, and we went through the house from end to end. everywhere had been the pirates, rifling and spoiling in haste, so that the hangings were falling from the walls, and rich stuffs torn from chests and closets strewed the floors of osritha's bower. but we found no one. then said cyneward: "they are safe--fled under cover of the fog." but now broke out a noise of fighting in the streets, and we went thither in haste. some twenty jomsburgers had sallied from a house, and were fighting their way to the ships, for now one could see well enough. they were back to back and edging their way onward, while the boys and old men tried to stay them in vain. when they saw us, they broke and fled, and were pursued and slain at last, one by one. then were no more of that crew left. now thormod and i went back to the hall, and in the courtyard stood a black horse, foam covered, and with deeply-spurred sides. it was ingvar's. and when we came to the porch, the axe still stuck in the timbers overhead, and the jomsburg chief's body lay where i had cast him--but in the doorway, thin and white as a ghost, stood ingvar the king, looking on these things. he saw me, and gave back a pace or two, staring and amazed, and his face began to work strangely, and he stepped back into the dim light of the hall, and leant against the great table near the door, clutching at its edge with his hands behind him, saying in a low voice: "mercy, king--have mercy!" now, so unlike was this terror-stricken man to him who stood in hoxne woods bidding that other ask for mercy, and gnashing his teeth with rage, that i could hardly think him ingvar, rather pitying him. i would have gone to him, but thormod held me back. "let him bide--the terror is on him again--it will pass soon." "aye, i saw him thus once before in wessex," said one of our men; and i knew that this was what cyneward had told me of. very pitiful it was to see him standing thus helpless and unmanned, while his white lips formed again and again the word of which he once knew hardly the meaning--"mercy". presently his look came back from far away to us, and he breathed freely. at last he stood upright and came again to the doorway, trying to speak in his old way. "here have you come in good time, comrades. where are the jomsburgers?" "gone," said thormod, curtly. "where were you, king?" now ingvar heeded me not, but answered thormod. "with jarl swend beating off more of this crew. then i saw the ship leave, and i knew where she would go. hard after me are my courtmen, but i was swifter than they." now all this was wearisome to me, for i would fain follow osritha in her flight, if i could. so i left thormod, without a word to ingvar, and went to the stables. there were but two horses left, and those none of the best; but cyneward and i mounted them, and rode as fast as we might on the road which he said was most likely to be taken by fugitives. we had but two miles to ride, for in the fog that frightened crowd of old men, women, and children had surely circled round, and had it lasted would never have gone far from the town. when they saw us the women shrieked, and what men were with them faced round to meet an attack, thinking the pirates followed them; but we shouted to them to hold, as we were friends, though not before an arrow or two flew towards us. at my voice, osritha, who sat on her own horse in the midst of the company, turned round, saying quickly: "who is it speaks?" and i took off my helm, and she saw me plainly, and cried my name aloud, and then swayed in her saddle and slipped thence into her old steward's arms, and one or two of the maidens went to her help. but the men cheered, knowing that now help, and maybe victory, had come with us. "is all well?" they said in many voices. "all is well," i answered; "let us take back your mistress." now osritha came to herself, and saw me standing looking on her, for i feared that she was dead, and she stretched her hands to me, not regarding those around her in her joy and trouble. "wulfric," she cried, "take me hence into some place of peace." i raised her very gently, holding her in my arms for a moment, but not daring to speak to her as yet. and i lifted her into the saddle again, telling her that all was well, and that we might take her back to the town in safety. then she smiled at me in silence, and i walked beside her as we went back. then rode forward cyneward and the steward to deal so with matters that the women might be terrified as little as possible with sights of war time, and we followed slowly. naught said osritha to me as we went, for there were too many near, and she knew not what i might have to tell; yet her hand sought mine, and hand in hand we came to ingvar's house, and to the lesser door. there i left her, and went to seek thormod. the large hall was cleared, and little trace beyond the dint of blows on walls and table showed what fight had raged therein, but only thormod and cyneward and ingvar were there; and ingvar slept heavily in his great chair. "this is his way of late," said thormod, looking coldly at him; "fury, and terror, and then sleep. i fear me that ingvar the king goes out of his mind with that of which he raves. nor do i wonder, knowing now from cyneward here what that is. little help shall we take back from ingvar, for he has bestirred himself to gather no new host since he came back." "men said that trouble at home brought him from england. i suppose he judged it likely that the jomsburgers might give trouble," i said. "the foes that sent him back were--ghosts," said thormod bitterly. "come and let us see to the ship." so we went down to the wharf, and found the ship but little hurt by that business. and i stayed on board her that night, for i would not see ingvar again just yet. but in the early morning he sent to beg me to speak with him, and i came. he sat in his great chair, and i stood before him. "you have brought me a quiet night, wulfric," he said. "tell me how you came here, for i think it was not that you would wish to see me again." so thormod had told him nothing, and i answered: "i came with thormod for more men, for ethelred the king is growing strong against you. have you heard no news?" "none," he said; "but that is not your errand, but his." "that will thormod tell you, therefore," i answered. "as for me, i came at halfden's bidding, which thormod told me." "what did halfden bid you come here for?" "to take osritha his sister into safety and peace again. suffer me to do so," i said, boldly enough, but yet quietly. now ingvar looked fixedly at me from under his brows, and i gave back his look. yet there was no silent defiance between us therein. "take her," he said at length; "you have saved her from these jomsburgers, and you have the right. take her where you will." "do you come back with us, king?" i asked him, giving him no word of thanks, for i owed him none. "tell guthrum from me that i shall never set foot in england again. tell him, if you will, that our shores here need watching against outland foes, and that i will do it. let him settle his kingship with hubba and halfden." then he paled and looked beyond me, adding in a low voice: "eadmund is king in east anglia yet." now i answered him not, fearing lest his terror should come on him again. and slowly he slipped from his arm the great gold bracelet that he had so nearly given eadgyth. "tell your people that never should a bridal train cross the bridge of the golden spurs on the way to the church while the brook flows to the sea, lest ill should befall both bride and groom, because thus found i eadmund the king, whose face is ever before me by night and day. take this gold, i pray you, wulfric, and lay it on the tomb where his bones are, in token that he has conquered--and let me fight my shame alone till i die." wondering, i took the bracelet, pitying the man again, yet fearing what he might say and do next, for i thought that maybe he would slay himself, so hopeless looked he. "fain would i have been your friend," he said, "but pride would not let me. yet eadgyth your sister and egfrid called me so, and maybe that one deed of ruth may help me. now go, lest i become weak again. lonely shall i be, for you take all that i hold dear--but even that is well." so he turned from me, and i went out without a word, for he was ingvar. yet sometimes i wish that i had bidden him farewell, when the thought of his dark face comes back to me as i saw him for the last time in his own hall, leaning away from me over his carven chair, and very still. i sought thormod, and told him that he must see the king with his tidings, for i would not see his face again. "nor shall we see jutland again," he said, pointing to the ship, which lay now in the same place where the pirate had been, alongside ingvar's. and the other ship had come in during the night, and was at anchor in the haven. "shall we sail home at once?" i asked him. "aye; no use in waiting. we are wanted at guthrum's side, and can take no men, but a few boys back. yet the other ship will stay while i send messengers inland, if ingvar will not. but i shall return no more." "then," said i, "i will speak to the lady osritha." "go at once," he said, smiling; "bid her come with us to the better home we have found." i had not seen osritha since i left her yesterday, and now i feared a little, not knowing how she would look on things. yet i need not have feared, for when they took me to her bower she rose up and came to me, falling on my neck and weeping, and i knew that i had found her again not to part with her. when she grew calmer, i asked her if she would return with us to reedham, telling her how there would be no fear of war there in the time to come. and she held her peace, so that i thought she would not, and tried to persuade her, telling her what a welcome would be to her from all our folk, and also from the danish people who loved her so well. so i went on, until at last she raised her head, smiling at me. "surely i will follow you--let me be with you where you will." so it came to pass that next day we sailed, osritha taking her four maidens with her, for they would not leave her; having, moreover, somewhat to draw them overseas even as i had been drawn to this place again. and with us went close on a score of women and children whose menfolk were settled already near to reedham. these were the first who came into our land, but they were not to be the last. i had seen ingvar no more, busying myself about fitting the ship with awnings and the like for these passengers of ours; and what thormod did about the men he sought i know not, nor did i care to know. there is a dead tree which marks the place where i had been cast ashore in lodbrok's boat, and which is the last point of land on which one looks as the ship passes to the open sea from the haven. and there we saw ingvar the king for the last time. all alone he stood with his hands resting on his sword, looking at our ship as she passed. nor did he move from that place all the time we could see him. silently thormod gave the tiller into my hands, and went to the flag halliards. thrice he dipped halfden's flag in salute, but ingvar made no sign, and so he faded from our sight, and after that we spoke no more of him. but osritha wept a little, for she had loved him even while she dreaded him, and now she should see him no more. very quietly passed the voyage, though the light wind was against us, and we were long on the way, for we were too short handed to row, and must beat to windward over every mile of our course. yet i think of the long days and moonlit evenings on the deck of halfden's ship with naught but keenest pleasure, for there i watched the life and colour come back into osritha's face, and strove to make the voyage light to her in every way. and i had found my heart's desire, and was happy. then at last one night we crossed the bar of our own haven, and the boats came out to meet us, boarding us with rough voices of hearty welcome; and from her awning crept osritha, standing beside me as i took the ship in, and seeing the black outline of hill and church and hall across the quiet moonlit water. and when the red light from wharf and open house doors danced in long lines on the ripples towards us, and voices hailed our ship from shore, and our men answered back in cheery wise, she drew nearer me, saying: "is this home, wulfric?" "aye," i answered. "your home and mine, osritha--and peace." now have i little more to say, for i have told what i set out to tell--how lodbrok the dane came from over seas, and what befell thereafter. for now came to us at reedham long years of peace that nothing troubled. and those years, since osritha and i were wedded at reedham very soon after we came home, have flown very quickly. yet there came to us echoes of war from far-off wessex, as man after man crept back to anglia from the great host where guthrum and hubba warred with alfred the king. and tired and worn out with countless battles, these men settled down with us in peace to till the land they had helped to lay waste and win. hard it was to see the farms pass to alien owners at first, but i will not say that england has altogether lost, for these danes are surely becoming english in all love of our land; and they have brought us new strength, with the old freedom of our forefathers, which some of us had nigh forgotten. now today i know that all the land is at peace, for alfred is victor, and guthrum is athelstan the christian king of eastern england; and i for one will own him unasked, for he has governed well, and english is our overlord. but hubba is dead in far-off devon, slain as he landed as halfden had landed, to hem wessex in between guthrum and himself, and his dream of taking the wessex kingdom is over. and the raven banner that my osritha made flaps its magic wings no more, for it hangs in alfred's peaceful hall, a trophy of saxon valour. thormod, my comrade, lies in his mound in wild strathclyde, slain fighting beside halfden my brother, the king of northumbria. him i have seen once or twice, and ever does he look for peace that he may sail to reedham and bide with us for a while. well loved is halfden, and he is english in every thought. many of our old viking crew are here with me, for they would fain find land in our country, and i gave them the deserted coast lands that lie to our northward, round the great broads. good lands they are, and in giving them i harmed none. filby and ormesby and rollesby they have called their new homesteads, giving them danish names. now as to our own folk. my mother is gone, but first she stood for osritha at the font, naming her again with the name by which i learnt to love her, for i would not have it changed. gone also has good old ingild; but before he went he and i were able without fear of hindrance to build a little church of squared oaken timbers at hoxne, for the heathen worship died quickly from among our danes. on that church, cyneward, who was raud, and is our well-loved steward, wrought lovingly with his own hands side by side with the good monk who baptized him. and he has carved a wondrous oaken shrine for the remains of our martyred king, whereon lies the bracelet that ingvar sent in token that eadmund had conquered him who was his slayer. how fared ingvar i know not, for soon the incoming tide of danes slackened, and i heard no news of him; and, as he said, never did he set foot on english shores again. egfrid and eadgyth are happy in their place at hoxne, and on them at least has fallen no shadow of misfortune from that which came of their passing over the bridge of the golden spurs--the golden bridge as our folk call it now. yet it needed no words of ingvar's to keep the memory of that day's work alive in the minds of our people. never so long as the gold brook flows beneath that bridge will a bridal pass churchwards over its span, for there, but for such a crossing, eadmund the king might have bided safely till ingvar the dane had passed and gone. little use is there in grieving over what might have been, but this i know, that in days to come forgotten will be ingvar, and english will have become his mighty host, but in every english heart will live the name of eadmund, who died for faith and country. notes. i ran: the sea goddess or witch of the old mythology, by whose nets drowning men were said to be entangled. ii the jarl ranked next to the king, and was often equally powerful. our english title "earl" is derived from this. iii a small wharf. iv a lay brother of the monastery of hackness, near whitby, who rendered the sacred histories into verse about a.d. . v now whitby. the present name was given by the danish settlers. vi as if under the shadow of coming death. vii the viking ship of war, or "long ship". viii the usual scandinavian and danish greeting: "health". ix after expulsion from his bishopric of york by king egfrid. x mail shirt. xi the fine allowed as penalty for killing an adversary in a quarrel, or by mischance. the penalty for wilful murder was death. xii nidring, niddering, or nithing, may be beet expressed by "worthless ". it was the extreme term of reproach to a saxon. xiii the "lodbrokar-quida", which is still in existence. by some authorities ragnar is said to have been the father of ingvar and hubba, but the dates are most uncertain. xiv "the fates" of the northern mythology. xv st. ansgar, or ansgarius, built the first church in denmark at hedeby, now slesvig, in a.d. xvi the "twilight of the gods", when the asir were to fight against the powers of evil, and a new order should commence. xvii the danes traced their origin back to a great migration from the east, under odin. their priesthood was vested in the head of the tribe after the ancient patriarchal custom. xviii the great representative council from which our parliament sprang. xix four degrees of kingship are spoken of in the sagas, the highest being the overlord, to whom the lesser kings paid tribute. the "kings of the host" came third in rank, the "sea kings" last, these being usually sons of under kings, to whom a ship or two had been given. xx now peterborough. xxi tribute. xxii "the king's guardian." pelle the conqueror part i--boyhood by martin anderson nexo translated from the danish by jessie muir. note when the first part of "pelle erobreren" (pelle the conqueror) appeared in , its author, martin andersen nexo, was practically unknown even in his native country, save to a few literary people who knew that he had written some volumes of stories and a book full of sunshiny reminiscences from spain. and even now, after his great success with "pelle," very little is known about the writer. he was born in in one of the poorest quarters of copenhagen, but spent his boyhood in his beloved island bornholm, in the baltic, in or near the town, nexo, from which his final name is derived. there, too, he was a shoemaker's apprentice, like pelle in the second part of the book, which resembles many great novels in being largely autobiographical. later, he gained his livelihood as a bricklayer, until he somehow managed to get to one of the most renowned of our "people's high-schools," where he studied so effectually that he was enabled to become a teacher, first at a provincial school, and later in copenhagen. "pelle" consists of four parts, each, except perhaps the last, a complete story in itself. first we have the open-air life of the boy in country surroundings in bornholm; then the lad's apprenticeship in a small provincial town not yet invaded by modern industrialism and still innocent of socialism; next the youth's struggles in copenhagen against employers and authorities; and last the man's final victory in laying the foundation of a garden-city for the benefit of his fellow-workers. the background everywhere is the rapid growth of the labor movement; but social problems are never obtruded, except, again, in the last part, and the purely human interest is always kept well before the reader's eye through variety of situation and vividness of characterization. the great charm of the book seems to me to lie in the fact that the writer knows the poor from within; he has not studied them as an outsider may, but has lived with them and felt with them, at once a participant and a keen-eyed spectator. he is no sentimentalist, and so rich is his imagination that he passes on rapidly from one scene to the next, sketching often in a few pages what another novelist would be content to work out into long chapters or whole volumes. his sympathy is of the widest, and he makes us see tragedies behind the little comedies, and comedies behind the little tragedies, of the seemingly sordid lives of the working people whom he loves. "pelle" has conquered the hearts of the reading public of denmark; there is that in the book which should conquer also the hearts of a wider public than that of the little country in which its author was born. otto jespersen, professor of english in the university of copenhagen. gentofte, copenhagen. april, . pelle the conqueror i. boyhood i it was dawn on the first of may, . from the sea the mist came sweeping in, in a gray trail that lay heavily on the water. here and there there was a movement in it; it seemed about to lift, but closed in again, leaving only a strip of shore with two old boats lying keel uppermost upon it. the prow of a third boat and a bit of breakwater showed dimly in the mist a few paces off. at definite intervals a smooth, gray wave came gliding out of the mist up over the rustling shingle, and then withdrew again; it was as if some great animal lay hidden out there in the fog, and lapped at the land. a couple of hungry crows were busy with a black, inflated object down there, probably the carcass of a dog. each time a wave glided in, they rose and hovered a few feet up in the air with their legs extended straight down toward their booty, as if held by some invisible attachment. when the water retreated, they dropped down and buried their heads in the carrion, but kept their wings spread, ready to rise before the next advancing wave. this was repeated with the regularity of clock-work. a shout came vibrating in from the harbor, and a little while after the heavy sound of oars working over the edge of a boat. the sound grew more distant and at last ceased; but then a bell began to ring--it must have been at the end of the mole--and out of the distance, into which the beat of the oars had disappeared, came the answering sound of a horn. they continued to answer one another for a couple of minutes. the town was invisible, but now and then the silence there was broken by the iron tramp of a quarryman upon the stone paving. for a long time the regular beat of his footsteps could be heard, until it suddenly ceased as he turned some corner or other. then a door was opened, followed by the sound of a loud morning yawn; and someone began to sweep the pavement. windows were opened here and there, out of which floated various sounds to greet the gray day. a woman's sharp voice was heard scolding, then short, smart slaps and the crying of a child. a shoemaker began beating leather, and as he worked fell to singing a hymn-- "but one is worthy of our hymn, o brothers: the lamb on whom the sins of all men lay." the tune was one of mendelssohn's "songs without words." upon the bench under the church wall sat a boat's crew with their gaze turned seaward. they were leaning forward and smoking, with hands clasped between their knees. all three wore ear-rings as a preventive of colds and other evils, and all sat in exactly the same position, as if the one were afraid of making himself in the very least different from the others. a traveller came sauntering down from the hotel, and approached the fishermen. he had his coat-collar turned up, and shivered in the chill morning air. "is anything the matter?" he asked civilly, raising his cap. his voice sounded gruff. one of the fishermen moved his hand slightly in the direction of his head-gear. he was the head man of the boat's crew. the others gazed straight before them without moving a muscle. "i mean, as the bell's ringing and the pilot-boat's out blowing her horn," the traveller went on. "are they expecting a ship?" "may be. you never can tell!" answered the head man unapproachably. the stranger looked as if he were deeply insulted, but restrained himself. it was only their usual secretiveness, their inveterate distrust of every one who did not speak their dialect and look exactly like themselves. they sat there inwardly uneasy in spite of their wooden exterior, stealing glances at him when he was not looking, and wishing him at jericho. he felt tempted to tease them a little. "dear me! perhaps it's a secret?" he said, laughing. "not that i know of," answered the fisherman cautiously. "well, of course i don't expect anything for nothing! and besides it wears out your talking-apparatus to be continually opening and shutting it. how much do you generally get?" he took out his purse; it was his intention to insult them now. the other fishermen threw stolen glances at their leader. if only he did not run them aground! the head man took his pipe out of his mouth and turned to his companions: "no, as i was saying, there are some folks that have nothing to do but go about and be clever." he warned them with his eyes, the expression of his face was wooden. his companions nodded. they enjoyed the situation, as the commercial traveller could see from their doltish looks. he was enraged. here he was, being treated as if he were air and made fun of! "confound you fellows! haven't you even learnt as much as to give a civil answer to a civil question?" he said angrily. the fishermen looked backward and forward at one another, taking mute counsel. "no, but i tell you what it is! she must come some time," said the head man at last. "what 'she'?" "the steamer, of course. and she generally comes about this time. now you've got it!" "naturally--of course! but isn't it a little unwise to speak so loud about it?" jeered the traveller. the fishermen had turned their backs on him, and were scraping out their pipes. "we're not quite so free with our speech here as some people, and yet we make our living," said the head man to the others. they growled their approval. as the stranger wandered on down the harbor hill, the fishermen looked after him with a feeling of relief. "what a talker!" said one. "he wanted to show off a bit, but you gave him what he won't forget in a hurry." "yes, i think it touched him on the raw, all right," answered the man, with pride. "it's these fine gentlemen you need to be most careful of." half-way down the harbor hill, an inn-keeper stood at his door yawning. the morning stroller repeated his question to him, and received an immediate answer, the man being a copenhagener. "well, you see we're expecting the steamer from ystad today, with a big cargo of slaves--cheap swedish laborers, that's to say, who live on black bread and salt herrings, and do the work of three. they ought to be flogged with red-hot icicles, that sort, and the brutes of farmers, too! you won't take a little early morning glass of something, i suppose?" "no, thank you, i think not--so early." "very well, please yourself." down at the harbor a number of farmers' carts were already standing, and fresh ones arrived at full gallop every minute. the newcomers guided their teams as far to the front as possible, examined their neighbors' horses with a critical eye, and settled themselves into a half-doze, with their fur collars turned up about their ears. custom-house men in uniform, and pilots, looking like monster penguins, wandered restlessly about, peering out to sea and listening. every moment the bell at the end of the mole rang, and was answered by the pilot-boat's horn somewhere out in the fog over the sea, with a long, dreary hoot, like the howl of some suffering animal. "what was that noise?" asked a farmer who had just come, catching up the reins in fear. his fear communicated itself to his horses, and they stood trembling with heads raised listening in the direction of the sea, with questioning terror in their eyes. "it was only the sea-serpent," answered a custom-house officer. "he always suffers from wind in this foggy weather. he's a wind-sucker, you see." and the custom-house men put their heads together and grinned. merry sailors dressed in blue with white handkerchiefs round their necks went about patting the horses, or pricking their nostrils with a straw to make them rear. when the farmers woke up and scolded, they laughed with delight, and sang-- "a sailor he must go through a deal more bad than good, good, good!" a big pilot, in an iceland vest and woollen gloves, was rushing anxiously about with a megaphone in his hand, growling like an uneasy bear. now and then he climbed up on the molehead, put the megaphone to his mouth, and roared out over the water: "do--you--hear--any--thing?" the roar went on for a long time out upon the long swells, up and down, leaving behind it an oppressive silence, until it suddenly returned from the town above, in the shape of a confused babble that made people laugh. "n-o-o!" was heard a little while after in a thin and long-drawn-out cry from the sea; and again the horn was heard, a long, hoarse sound that came rocking in on the waves, and burst gurgling in the splash under the wharf and on the slips. the farmers were out of it all. they dozed a little or sat flicking their whips to pass the time. but every one else was in a state of suspense. a number of people had gradually gathered about the harbor --fishermen, sailors waiting to be hired, and master-artisans who were too restless to stay in their workshop. they came down in their leather aprons, and began at once to discuss the situation; they used nautical expressions, most of them having been at sea in their youth. the coming of the steamer was always an event that brought people to the harbor; but to-day she had a great many people on board, and she was already an hour behind time. the dangerous fog kept the suspense at high pressure; but as the time passed, the excitement gave place to a feeling of dull oppression. fog is the seaman's worst enemy, and there were many unpleasant possibilities. on the best supposition the ship had gone inshore too far north or south, and now lay somewhere out at sea hooting and heaving the lead, without daring to move. one could imagine the captain storming and the sailors hurrying here and there, lithe and agile as cats. stop!--half-speed ahead! stop!--half-speed astern! the first engineer would be at the engine himself, gray with nervous excitement. down in the engine-room, where they knew nothing at all, they would strain their ears painfully for any sound, and all to no purpose. but up on deck every man would be on the alert for his life; the helmsman wet with the sweat of his anxiety to watch every movement of the captain's directing hand, and the look-out on the forecastle peering and listening into the fog until he could hear his own heart beat, while the suspense held every man on deck on tenterhooks, and the fog-horn hooted its warning. but perhaps the ship had already gone to the bottom! every one knew it all; every man had in some way or other been through this overcharged suspense--as cabin-boy, stoker, captain, cook--and felt something of it again now. only the farmers were unaffected by it; they dozed, woke up with a jerk, and yawned audibly. the seafarers and the peasants always had a difficulty in keeping on peaceable terms with one another; they were as different as land and sea. but to-day the indifferent attitude of the peasants made the sea-folk eye them with suppressed rage. the fat pilot had already had several altercations with them for being in his way; and when one of them laid himself open to criticism, he was down upon him in an instant. it was an elderly farmer, who woke from his nap with a start, as his head fell forward, and impatiently took out his watch and looked at it. "it's getting rather late," he said. "the captain can't find his stall to-day." "more likely he's dropped into an inn on the way!" said the pilot, his eyes gleaming with malice. "very likely," answered the farmer, without for the moment realizing the nature of the paths of the sea. his auditors laughed exultingly, and passed the mistake on to their neighbors, and people crowded round the unfortunate man, while some one cried: "how many inns are there between this and sweden?" "yes, it's too easy to get hold of liquids out there, that's the worst of it," the pilot went on. "but for that any booby could manage a ship. he's only got to keep well to the right of mads hansen's farm, and he's got a straight road before him. and the deuce of a fine road! telegraph-wires and ditches and a row of poplars on each side--just improved by the local board. you've just got to wipe the porridge off your mustache, kiss the old woman, and climb up on to the bridge, and there you are! has the engine been oiled, hans? right away, then, off we go; hand me my best whip!" he imitated the peasants' manner of speech. "be careful about the inns, dad!" he added in a shrill falsetto. there were peals of laughter, that had an evil sound in the prevailing depression. the farmer sat quite still under the deluge, only lowering his head a little. when the laughter had almost died away, he pointed at the pilot with his whip, and remarked to the bystanders-- "that's a wonderful clever kid for his age! whose father art thou, my boy?" he went on, turning to the pilot. this raised a laugh, and the thick-necked pilot swelled with rage. he seized hold of the body of the cart and shook it so that the farmer had a difficulty in keeping his seat. "you miserable old clodhopper, you pig-breeder, you dung-carter!" he roared. "what do you mean by coming here and saying 'thou' to grown-up people and calling them 'boy'? and giving your opinions on navigation into the bargain! eh! you lousy old money-grubber! no, if you ever take off your greasy night-cap to anybody but your parish clerk, then take it off to the captain who can find his harbor in a fog like this. you can give him my kind regards and say i said so." and he let go of the cart so suddenly that it swung over to the other side. "i may as well take it off to you, as the other doesn't seem able to find us to-day," said the farmer with a grin, and took off his fur cap, disclosing a large bald head. "cover up that great bald pumpkin, or upon my word i'll give it something!" cried the pilot, blind with rage, and beginning to clamber up into the cart. at that moment, like the thin metallic voice of a telephone, there came faintly from the sea the words: "we--hear--a--steam--whistle!" the pilot ran off on to the breakwater, hitting out as he passed at the farmer's horse, and making it rear. men cleared a space round the mooring-posts, and dragged up the gangways with frantic speed. carts that had hay in them, as if they were come to fetch cattle, began to move without having anywhere to drive to. everything was in motion. labor-hirers with red noses and cunning eyes, came hurrying down from the sailors' tavern where they had been keeping themselves warm. then as if a huge hand had been laid upon the movement, everything suddenly stood still again, in strained effort to hear. a far-off, tiny echo of a steam whistle whined somewhere a long way off. men stole together into groups and stood motionless, listening and sending angry glances at the restless carts. was it real, or was it a creation of the heart-felt wishes of so many? perhaps a warning to every one that at that moment the ship had gone to the bottom? the sea always sends word of its evil doings; when the bread-winner is taken his family hear a shutter creak, or three taps on the windows that look on to the sea--there are so many ways. but now it sounded again, and this time the sound come in little waves over the water, the same vibrating, subdued whistle that long-tailed ducks make when they rise; it seemed alive. the fog-horn answered it out in the fairway, and the bell in at the mole-head; then the horn once more, and the steam-whistle in the distance. so it went on, a guiding line of sound being spun between the land and the indefinite gray out there, backward and forward. here on terra firma one could distinctly feel how out there they were groping their way by the sound. the hoarse whistle slowly increased in volume, sounding now a little to the south, now to the north, but growing steadily louder. then other sounds made themselves heard, the heavy scraping of iron against iron, the noise of the screw when it was reversed or went on again. the pilot-boat glided slowly out of the fog, keeping to the middle of the fairway, and moving slowly inward hooting incessantly. it towed by the sound an invisible world behind it, in which hundreds of voices murmured thickly amidst shouting and clanging, and tramping of feet--a world that floated blindly in space close by. then a shadow began to form in the fog where no one had expected it, and the little steamer made its appearance--looking enormous in the first moment of surprise--in the middle of the harbor entrance. at this the last remnants of suspense burst and scattered, and every one had to do something or other to work off the oppression. they seized the heads of the farmers' horses and pushed them back, clapped their hands, attempted jokes, or only laughed noisily while they stamped on the stone paving. "good voyage?" asked a score of voices at once. "all well!" answered the captain cheerfully. and now he, too, has got rid of his incubus, and rolls forth words of command; the propeller churns up the water behind, hawsers fly through the air, and the steam winch starts with a ringing metallic clang, while the vessel works herself broadside in to the wharf. between the forecastle and the bridge, in under the upper deck and the after, there is a swarm of people, a curiously stupid swarm, like sheep that get up on to one another's backs and look foolish. "what a cargo of cattle!" cries the fat pilot up to the captain, tramping delightedly on the breakwater with his wooden-soled boots. there are sheepskin caps, old military caps, disreputable old rusty hats, and the women's tidy black handkerchiefs. the faces are as different as old, wrinkled pigskin and young, ripening fruit; but want, and expectancy, and a certain animal greed are visible in all of them. the unfamiliarity of the moment brings a touch of stupidity into them, as they press forward, or climb up to get a view over their neighbors' heads and stare open-mouthed at the land where the wages are said to be so high, and the brandy so uncommonly strong. they see the fat, fur-clad farmers and the men come down to engage laborers. they do not know what to do with themselves, and are always getting in the way; and the sailors chase them with oaths from side to side of the vessel, or throw hatches and packages without warning at their feet. "look out, you swedish devil!" cries a sailor who has to open the iron doors. the swede backs in bewilderment, but his hand involuntarily flies to his pocket and fingers nervously his big pocket-knife. the gangway is down, and the two hundred and fifty passengers stream down it--stone-masons, navvies, maid-servants, male and female day-laborers, stablemen, herdsmen, here and there a solitary little cowherd, and tailors in smart clothes, who keep far away from the rest. there are young men straighter and better built than any that the island produces, and poor old men more worn with toil and want than they ever become here. there are also faces among them that bear an expression of malice, others sparkling with energy, and others disfigured with great scars. most of them are in working-clothes and only possess what they stand in. here and there is a man with some tool upon his shoulder--a shovel or a crowbar. those that have any luggage, get it turned inside out by the custom-house officers: woven goods are so cheap in sweden. now and then some girl with an inclination to plumpness has to put up with the officers' coarse witticisms. there, for instance, is handsome sara from cimrishamn, whom everybody knows. every autumn she goes home, and comes again every spring with a figure that at once makes her the butt of their wit; but sara, who generally has a quick temper and a ready tongue, to-day drops her eyes in modest confusion: she has fourteen yards of cloth wrapped round her under her dress. the farmers are wide awake now. those who dare, leave their horses and go among the crowd; the others choose their laborers with their eyes, and call them up. each one takes his man's measure--width of chest, modest manner, wretchedness; but they are afraid of the scarred and malicious faces, and leave them to the bailiffs on the large farms. offers are made and conditions fixed, and every minute one or two swedes climb up into the hay in the back of some cart, and are driven off. a little on one side stood an elderly, bent little man with a sack upon his back, holding a boy of eight or nine by the hand; beside them lay a green chest. they eagerly watched the proceedings, and each time a cart drove off with some of their countrymen, the boy pulled impatiently at the hand of the old man, who answered by a reassuring word. the old man examined the farmers one by one with an anxious air, moving his lips as he did so: he was thinking. his red, lashless eyes kept watering with the prolonged staring, and he wiped them with the mouth of the coarse dirty sack. "do you see that one there?" he suddenly asked the boy, pointing to a fat little farmer with apple-cheeks. "i should think he'd be kind to children. shall we try him, laddie?" the boy nodded gravely, and they made straight for the farmer. but when he had heard that they were to go together, he would not take them; the boy was far too little to earn his keep. and it was the same thing every time. it was lasse karlsson from tommelilla in the ystad district, and his son pelle. it was not altogether strange to lasse, for he had been on the island once before, about ten years ago; but he had been younger then, in full vigor it might be said, and had no little boy by the hand, from whom he would not be separated for all the world; that was the difference. it was the year that the cow had been drowned in the marl-pit, and bengta was preparing for her confinement. things looked bad, but lasse staked his all on one cast, and used the couple of krones he got for the hide of the cow to go to bornholm. when he came back in the autumn, there were three mouths to fill; but then he had a hundred krones to meet the winter with. at that time lasse had been equal to the situation, and he would still straighten his bowed shoulders whenever he thought of that exploit. afterward, whenever there were short commons, he would talk of selling the whole affair and going to bornholm for good. but bengta's health failed after her late child-bearing, and nothing came of it, until she died after eight years of suffering, this very spring. then lasse sold their bit of furniture, and made nearly a hundred krones on it; it went in paying the expenses of the long illness, and the house and land belonged to the landlord. a green chest, that had been part of bengta's wedding outfit, was the only thing he kept. in it he packed their belongings and a few little things of bengta's, and sent it on in advance to the port with a horse-dealer who was driving there. some of the rubbish for which no one would bid he stuffed into a sack, and with it on his back and the boy's hand clasped in his, he set out to walk to ystad, where the steamer for ronne lay. the few coins he had would just pay their passage. he had been so sure of himself on the way, and had talked in loud tones to pelle about the country where the wages were so incomprehensibly high, and where in some places you got meat or cheese to eat with your bread, and always beer, so that the water-cart in the autumn did not come round for the laborers, but only for the cattle. and--why, if you liked you could drink gin like water, it was so cheap; but it was so strong that it knocked you down at the third pull. they made it from real grain, and not from diseased potatoes; and they drank it at every meal. and laddie would never feel cold there, for they wore wool next their skin, and not this poor linen that the wind blew right through; and a laborer who kept himself could easily make his two krones a day. that was something different from their master's miserable eighty ores and finding themselves in everything. pelle had heard the same thing often before--from his father, from ole and anders, from karna and a hundred others who had been there. in the winter, when the air was thick with frost and snow and the needs of the poor, there was nothing else talked about in the little villages at home; and in the minds of those who had not been on the island themselves, but had only heard the tales about it, the ideas produced were as fantastic as the frost-tracery upon the window-panes. pelle was perfectly well aware that even the poorest boys there always wore their best clothes, and ate bread-and-dripping with sugar on it as often as they liked. there money lay like dirt by the roadside, and the bornholmers did not even take the trouble to stoop and pick it up; but pelle meant to pick it up, so that father lasse would have to empty the odds and ends out of the sack and clear out the locked compartment in the green chest to make room for it; and even that would be hardly enough. if only they could begin! he shook his father's hand impatiently. "yes, yes," said lasse, almost in tears. "you mustn't be impatient." he looked about him irresolutely. here he was in the midst of all this splendor, and could not even find a humble situation for himself and the boy. he could not understand it. had the whole world changed since his time? he trembled to his very finger-tips when the last cart drove off. for a few minutes he stood staring helplessly after it, and then he and the boy together carried the green chest up to a wall, and trudged hand in hand up toward the town. lasse's lips moved as he walked; he was thinking. in an ordinary way he thought best when he talked out loud to himself, but to-day all his faculties were alert, and it was enough only to move his lips. as he trudged along, his mental excuses became audible. "confound it!" he exclaimed, as he jerked the sack higher up his back. "it doesn't do to take the first thing that comes. lasse's responsible for two, and he knows what he wants--so there! it isn't the first time he's been abroad! and the best always comes last, you know, laddie." pelle was not paying much attention. he was already consoled, and his father's words about the best being in store for them, were to him only a feeble expression for a great truth, namely, that the whole world would become theirs, with all that it contained in the way of wonders. he was already engaged in taking possession of it, open-mouthed. he looked as if he would like to swallow the harbor with all its ships and boats, and the great stacks of timber, where it looked as if there would be holes. this would be a fine place to play in, but there were no boys! he wondered whether the boys were like those at home; he had seen none yet. perhaps they had quite a different way of fighting, but he would manage all right if only they would come one at a time. there was a big ship right up on land, and they were skinning it. so ships have ribs, just like cows! at the wooden shed in the middle of the harbor square, lasse put down the sack, and giving the boy a piece of bread and telling him to stay and mind the sack, he went farther up and disappeared. pelle was very hungry, and holding the bread with both hands he munched at it greedily. when he had picked the last crumbs off his jacket, he set himself to examine his surroundings. that black stuff in that big pot was tar. he knew it quite well, but had never seen so much at once. my word! if you fell into that while it was boiling, it would be worse even than the brimstone pit in hell. and there lay some enormous fish-hooks, just like those that were hanging on thick iron chains from the ships' nostrils. he wondered whether there still lived giants who could fish with such hooks. strong john couldn't manage them! he satisfied himself with his own eyes that the stacks of boards were really hollow, and that he could easily get down to the bottom of them, if only he had not had the sack to drag about. his father had said he was to mind the sack, and he never let it out of his hands for a moment; as it was too heavy to carry, he had to drag it after him from place to place. he discovered a little ship, only just big enough for a man to lie down in, and full of holes bored in the bottom and sides. he investigated the ship-builders' big grind-stone, which was nearly as tall as a man. there were bent planks lying there, with nails in them as big as the parish constable's new tether-peg at home. and the thing that ship was tethered to--wasn't it a real cannon that they had planted? pelle saw everything, and examined every single object in the appropriate manner, now only spitting appraisingly upon it, now kicking it or scratching it with his penknife. if he came across some strange wonder or other, that he could not get into his little brain in any other way, he set himself astride on it. this was a new world altogether, and pelle was engaged in making it his own. not a shred of it would he leave. if he had had his playfellows from tommelilla here, he would have explained it all to them. my word, how they would stare! but when he went home to sweden again, he would tell them about it, and then he hoped they would call him a liar. he was sitting astride an enormous mast that lay along the timber- yard upon some oak trestles. he kicked his feet together under the mast, as he had heard of knights doing in olden days under their horses, and imagined himself seizing hold of a ring and lifting himself, horse and all. he sat on horseback in the midst of his newly discovered world, glowing with the pride of conquest, struck the horse's loins with the flat of his hand, and dug his heels into its sides, while he shouted a song at the top of his voice. he had been obliged to let go the sack to get up. "far away in smaaland the little imps were dancing with ready-loaded pistol and rifle-barrelled gun; all the little devils they played upon the fiddle, but for the grand piano old harry was the one." in the middle of his noisy joy, he looked up, and immediately burst into a roar of terror and dropped down on to the wood-shavings. on the top of the shed at the place where his father had left him stood a black man and two black, open-mouthed hell-hounds; the man leaned half out over the ridge of the roof in a menacing attitude. it was an old figure-head, but pelle thought it was old harry himself, come to punish him for his bold song, and he set off at a run up the hill. a little way up he remembered the sack and stopped. he didn't care about the sack; and he wouldn't get a thrashing if he did leave it behind, for father lasse never beat him. and that horrid devil would eat him up at the very least, if he ventured down there again; he could distinctly see how red the nostrils shone, both the devil's and the dogs'. but pelle still hesitated. his father was so careful of that sack, that he would be sure to be sorry if he lost it--he might even cry as he did when he lost mother bengta. for perhaps the first time, the boy was being subjected to one of life's serious tests, and stood--as so many had stood before him--with the choice between sacrificing himself and sacrificing others. his love for his father, boyish pride, the sense of duty that is the social dower of the poor--the one thing with the other--determined his choice. he stood the test, but not bravely; he howled loudly the whole time, while, with his eyes fixed immovably upon the evil one and his hell-hounds, he crept back for the sack and then dragged it after him at a quick run up the street. no one is perhaps a hero until the danger is over. but even then pelle had no opportunity of shuddering at his own courage; for no sooner was he out of the reach of the black man, than his terror took a new form. what had become of his father? he had said he would be back again directly! supposing he never came back at all! perhaps he had gone away so as to get rid of his little boy, who was only a trouble and made it difficult for him to get a situation. pelle felt despairingly convinced that it must be so, as, crying, he went off with the sack. the same thing had happened to other children with whom he was well acquainted; but they came to the pancake cottage and were quite happy, and pelle himself would be sure to--perhaps find the king and be taken in there and have the little princes for his playmates, and his own little palace to live in. but father lasse shouldn't have a thing, for now pelle was angry and vindictive, although he was crying just as unrestrainedly. he would let him stand and knock at the door and beg to come in for three days, and only when he began to cry--no, he would have to let him in at once, for to see father lasse cry hurt him more than anything else in the world. but he shouldn't have a single one of the nails pelle had filled his pockets with down in the timber-yard; and when the king's wife brought them coffee in the morning before they were up---- but here both his tears and his happy imaginings ceased, for out of a tavern at the top of the street came father lasse's own living self. he looked in excellent spirits and held a bottle in his hand. "danish brandy, laddie!" he cried, waving the bottle. "hats off to the danish brandy! but what have you been crying for? oh, you were afraid? and why were you afraid? isn't your father's name lasse--lasse karlsson from kungstorp? and he's not one to quarrel with; he hits hard, he does, when he's provoked. to come and frighten good little boys! they'd better look out! even if the whole wide world were full of naming devils, lasse's here and you needn't be afraid!" during all this fierce talk he was tenderly wiping the boy's tear- stained cheeks and nose with his rough hand, and taking the sack upon his back again. there was something touchingly feeble about his stooping figure, as, boasting and comforting, he trudged down again to the harbor holding the boy by the hand. he tottered along in his big waterproof boots, the tabs of which stuck out at the side and bore an astonishing resemblance to pelle's ears; out of the gaping pockets of his old winter coat protruded on one side his red pocket-handkerchief, on the other the bottle. he had become a little looser in his knee-joints now, and the sack threatened momentarily to get the upper hand of him, pushing him forward and forcing him to go at a trot down the hill. he looked decrepit, and perhaps his boastful words helped to produce this effect; but his eyes beamed confidently, and he smiled down at the boy, who ran along beside him. they drew near to the shed, and pelle turned cold with fear, for the black man was still standing there. he went round to the other side of his father, and tried to pull him out in a wide curve over the harbor square. "there he is again," he whimpered. "so that's what was after you, is it?" said lasse, laughing heartily; "and he's made of wood, too! well, you really are the bravest laddie i ever knew! i should almost think you might be sent out to fight a trussed chicken, if you had a stick in your hand!" lasse went on laughing, and shook the boy goodnaturedly. but pelle was ready to sink into the ground with shame. down by the custom-house they met a bailiff who had come too late for the steamer and had engaged no laborers. he stopped his cart and asked lasse if he was looking for a place. "yes, we both want one," answered lasse, briskly. "we want to be at the same farm--as the fox said to the goose." the bailiff was a big, strong man, and pelle shuddered in admiration of his father who could dare to speak to him so boldly. but the great man laughed good-humoredly. "then i suppose he's to be foreman?" he said, flicking at pelle with his whip. "yes, he certainly will be some day," said lasse, with conviction. "he'll probably eat a few bushels of salt first. well, i'm in want of a herdsman, and will give you a hundred krones for a year--although it'll be confounded hard for you to earn them from what i can see. there'll always be a crust of bread for the boy, but of course he'll have to do what little he can. you're his grandfather, i suppose?" "i'm his father--in the sight of god and man," answered lasse, proudly. "oh, indeed! then you must still be fit for something, if you've come by him honestly. but climb up, if you know what's for your own good, for i haven't time to stand here. you won't get such an offer every day." pelle thought a hundred krones was a fearful amount of money; lasse, on the contrary, as the older and more sensible, had a feeling that it was far too little. but, though he was not aware of it yet, the experiences of the morning had considerably dimmed the brightness of his outlook on life. on the other hand, the dram had made him reckless and generously-minded. "all right then," he said with a wave of the hand. "but the master must understand that we won't have salt herring and porridge three times a day. we must have a proper bedroom too--and be free on sundays." he lifted the sack and the boy up into the cart, and then climbed up himself. the bailiff laughed. "i see you've been here before, old man. but i think we shall be able to manage all that. you shall have roast pork stuffed with raisins and rhubarb jelly with pepper on it, just as often as you like to open your mouth." they drove down to the quay for the chest, and then out toward the country again. lasse, who recognized one thing and another, explained it all in full to the boy, taking a pull at the bottle between whiles; but the bailiff must not see this. pelle was cold and burrowed into the straw, where he crept close up to his father. "you take a mouthful," whispered lasse, passing the bottle to him cautiously. "but take care that he doesn't see, for he's a sly one. he's a jute." pelle would not have a dram. "what's a jute?" he asked in a whisper. "a jute? good gracious me, laddie, don't you know that? it was the jutes that crucified christ. that's why they have to wander all over the world now, and sell flannel and needles, and such-like; and they always cheat wherever they go. don't you remember the one that cheated mother bengta of her beautiful hair? ah, no, that was before your time. that was a jute too. he came one day when i wasn't at home, and unpacked all his fine wares--combs and pins with blue glass heads, and the finest head-kerchiefs. women can't resist such trash; they're like what we others are when some one holds a brandy-bottle to our nose. mother bengta had no money, but that sly devil said he would give her the finest handkerchief if she would let him cut off just the end of her plait. and then he went and cut it off close up to her head. my goodness, but she was like flint and steel when she was angry! she chased him out of the house with a rake. but he took the plait with him, and the handkerchief was rubbish, as might have been expected. for the jutes are cunning devils, who crucified----" lasse began at the beginning again. pelle did not pay much attention to his father's soft murmuring. it was something about mother bengta, but she was dead now and lay in the black earth; she no longer buttoned his under-vest down the back, or warmed his hands when they were cold. so they put raisins into roast pork in this country, did they? money must be as common as dirt! there was none lying about in the road, and the houses and farms were not so very fine either. but the strangest thing was that the earth here was of the same color as that at home, although it was a foreign country. he had seen a map in tommelilla, in which each country had a different color. so that was a lie! lasse had long since talked himself out, and slept with his head upon the boy's back. he had forgotten to hide the bottle. pelle was just going to push it down into the straw when the bailiff --who as a matter of fact was not a jute, but a zeelander--happened to turn round and caught sight of it. he told the boy to throw it into the ditch. by midday they reached their destination. lasse awoke as they drove on to the stone paving of the large yard, and groped mechanically in the straw. but suddenly he recollected where he was, and was sober in an instant. so this was their new home, the only place they had to stay in and expect anything of on this earth! and as he looked out over the big yard, where the dinner-bell was just sounding and calling servants and day-laborers out of all the doors, all his self-confidence vanished. a despairing feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him, and made his face tremble with impotent concern for his son. his hands shook as he clambered down from the wagon; he stood irresolute and at the mercy of all the inquiring glances from the steps down to the basement of the big house. they were talking about him and the boy, and laughing already. in his confusion he determined to make as favorable a first impression as possible, and began to take off his cap to each one separately; and the boy stood beside him and did the same. they were rather like the clowns at a fair, and the men round the basement steps laughed aloud and bowed in imitation, and then began to call to them; but the bailiff came out again to the cart, and they quickly disappeared down the steps. from the house itself there came a far-off, monotonous sound that never left off, and insensibly added to their feeling of depression. "don't stand there playing the fool!" said the bailiff sharply. "be off down to the others and get something to eat! you'll have plenty of time to show off your monkey-tricks to them afterwards." at these encouraging words, the old man took the boy's hand and went across to the basement steps with despair in his heart, mourning inwardly for tommelilla and kungstorp. pelle clung close to him in fear. the unknown had suddenly become an evil monster in the imagination of both of them. down in the basement passage the strange, persistent sound was louder, and they both knew that it was that of a woman weeping. ii stone farm, which for the future was to be lasse and pelle's home, was one of the largest farms on the island. but old people knew that when their grandparents were children, it had been a crofter's cottage where only two horses were kept, and belonged to a certain vevest koller, a grandson of jens kofod, the liberator of bornholm. during his time, the cottage became a farm. he worked himself to death on it, and grudged food both for himself and the others. and these two things--poor living and land-grabbing--became hereditary in that family. the fields in this part of the island had been rock and heather not many generations since. poor people had broken up the ground, and worn themselves out, one set after another, to keep it in cultivation. round about stone farm lived only cottagers and men owning two horses, who had bought their land with toil and hunger, and would as soon have thought of selling their parents' grave as their little property; they stuck to it until they died or some misfortune overtook them. but the stone farm family were always wanting to buy and extend their property, and their chance only came through their neighbors' misfortunes. wherever a bad harvest or sickness or ill luck with his beasts hit a man hard enough to make him reel, the kollers bought. thus stone farm grew, and acquired numerous buildings and much importance; it became as hard a neighbor as the sea is, when it eats up the farmer's land, field by field, and nothing can be done to check it. first one was eaten up and then another. every one knew that his turn would come sooner or later. no one goes to law with the sea; but all the ills and discomfort that brooded over the poor man's life came from stone farm. the powers of darkness dwelt there, and frightened souls pointed to it always. "that's well-manured land," the people of the district would say, with a peculiar intonation that held a curse; but they ventured no further. the koller family was not sentimental; it throve capitally in the sinister light that fell upon the farm from so many frightened minds, and felt it as power. the men were hard drinkers and card-players; but they never drank so much as to lose sight and feeling; and if they played away a horse early in the evening, they very likely won two in the course of the night. when lasse and pelle came to stone farm, the older cottagers still remembered the farmer of their childhood, janus koller, the one who did more to improve things than any one else. in his youth he once, at midnight, fought with the devil up in the church-tower, and overcame him; and after that everything succeeded with him. whatever might or might not have been the reason, it is certain that in his time one after another of his neighbors was ruined, and janus went round and took over their holdings. if he needed another horse, he played for and won it at loo; and it was the same with everything. his greatest pleasure was to break in wild horses, and those who happened to have been born at midnight on christmas eve could distinctly see the evil one sitting on the box beside him and holding the reins. he came to a bad end, as might have been expected. one morning early, the horses came galloping home to the farm, and he was found lying by the roadside with his head smashed against a tree. his son was the last master of stone farm of that family. he was a wild devil, with much that was good in him. if any one differed from him, he knocked him down; but he always helped those who got into trouble. in this way no one ever left house and home; and as he had the family fondness for adding to the farm, he bought land up among the rocks and heather. but he wisely let it lie as it was. he attached many to the farm by his assistance, and made them so dependent that they never became free again. his tenants had to leave their own work when he sent for them, and he was never at a loss for cheap labor. the food he provided was scarcely fit for human beings, but he always ate of the same dish himself. and the priest was with him at the last; so there was no fault to find with his departure from this life. he had married twice, but his only child was a daughter by the second wife, and there was something not quite right about her. she was a woman at the age of eleven, and made up to any one she met; but no one dared so much as look at her, for they were afraid of the farmer's gun. later on she went to the other extreme, and dressed herself up like a man, and went about out on the rocks instead of busying herself with something at home; and she let no one come near her. kongstrup, the present master of stone farm, had come to the island about twenty years before, and even now no one could quite make him out. when he first came he used to wander about on the heath and do nothing, just as she did; so it was hardly to be wondered at that he got into trouble and had to marry her. but it was dreadful! he was a queer fellow; but perhaps that was what people were like where he came from? he first had one idea and then another, raised wages when no one had asked him to, and started stone-quarrying with contract work. and so he went on with his foolish tricks to begin with, and let his cottagers do as they liked about coming to work at the farm. he even went so far as to send them home in wet weather to get in their corn, and let his own stand and be ruined. but things went all wrong of course, as might well be imagined, and gradually he had to give in, and abandon all his foolish ideas. the people of the district submitted to this condition of dependence without a murmur. they had been accustomed, from father to son, to go in and out of the gates of stone farm, and do what was required of them, as dutifully as if they had been serfs of the land. as a set-off they allowed all their leaning toward the tragic, all the terrors of life and gloomy mysticism, to center round stone farm. they let the devil roam about there, play loo with the men for their souls, and ravish the women; and they took off their caps more respectfully to the stone farm people than to any one else. all this had changed a little as years went on; the sharp points of the superstition had been blunted a little. but the bad atmosphere that hangs over large estates--over all great accumulations of what should belong to the many--also hung heavy over stone farm. it was the judgment passed by the people, their only revenge for themselves and theirs. lasse and pelle were quickly aware of the oppressive atmosphere, and began to see with the half-frightened eyes of the others, even before they themselves had heard very much. lasse especially thought he could never be quite happy here, because of the heaviness that always seemed to surround them. and then that weeping that no one could quite account for! all through the long, bright day, the sound of weeping came from the rooms of stone farm, like the refrain of some sad folk-song. now at last it had stopped. lasse was busying himself with little things in the lower yard, and he still seemed to have the sound in his ears. it was sad, so sad, with this continual sound of a woman weeping, as if a child were dead, or as if she were left alone with her shame. and what could there be to weep for, when you had a farm of several hundred acres, and lived in a high house with twenty windows! "riches are nought but a gift from the lord, but poverty, that is in truth a reward. they who wealth do possess never know happiness, while the poor man's heart is ever contented!" so sang karna over in the dairy, and indeed it was true! if only lasse knew where he was to get the money for a new smock-frock for the little lad, he would never envy any one on this earth; though it would be nice to have money for tobacco and a dram now and then, if it was not unfair to any one else. lasse was tidying up the dung-heap. he had finished his midday work in the stable, and was taking his time about it; it was only a job he did between whiles. now and then he glanced furtively up at the high windows and put a little more energy into his work; but weariness had the upper hand. he would have liked to take a little afternoon nap, but did not dare. all was quiet on the farm. pelle had been sent on an errand to the village shop for the kitchen-folk, and all the men were in the fields covering up the last spring corn. stone farm was late with this. the agricultural pupil now came out of the stable, which he had entered from the other side, so as to come upon lasse unexpectedly. the bailiff had sent him. "is that you, you nasty spy!" muttered lasse when he saw him. "some day i'll kill you!" but he took off his cap with the deepest respect. the tall pupil went up the yard without looking at him, and began to talk nonsense with the maids down in the wash-house. he wouldn't do that if the men were at home, the scarecrow! kongstrup came out on to the steps, and stood for a little while looking at the weather; then he went down to the cow-stable. how big he was! he quite filled the stable doorway. lasse put down his fork and hastened in in case he was wanted. "well, how are you getting on, old man?" asked the farmer kindly. "can you manage the work?" "oh, yes, i get through it," answered lasse; "but that's about all. it's a lot of animals for one man." kongstrup stood feeling the hind quarters of a cow. "you've got the boy to help you, lasse. where is he, by the by? i don't see him." "he's gone to the village shop for the women-folk." "indeed? who told him to go?" "i think it was the mistress herself." "h'm. is it long since he went?" "yes, some time. he ought soon to be back now." "get hold of him when he comes, and send him up to me with the things, will you?" pelle was rather frightened at having to go up to the office, and besides the mistress had told him to keep the bottle well hidden under his smock. the room was very high, and on the walls hung splendid guns; and up upon a shelf stood cigar-boxes, one upon another, right up to the ceiling, just as if it were a tobacco-shop. but the strangest thing of all was that there was a fire in the stove, now, in the middle of may, and with the window open! it must be that they didn't know how to get rid of all their money. but wherever were the money-chests? all this and much more pelle observed while he stood just inside the door upon his bare feet, not daring from sheer nervousness to raise his eyes. then the farmer turned round in his chair, and drew him toward him by the collar. "now let's see what you've got there under your smock, my little man!" he said kindly. "it's brandy," said pelle, drawing forth the bottle. "the mistress said i wasn't to let any one see it." "you're a clever boy," said kongstrup, patting him on the cheek. "you'll get on in the world one of these days. now give me the bottle and i'll take it out to your mistress without letting any one see." he laughed heartily. pelle handed him the bottle--_there_ stood money in piles on the writing-table, thick round two-krone pieces one upon another! then why didn't father lasse get the money in advance that he had begged for? the mistress now came in, and the farmer at once went and shut the window. pelle wanted to go, but she stopped him. "you've got some things for me, haven't you?" she said. "i've received the _things,_" said kongstrup. "you shall have them--when the boy's gone." but she remained at the door. she would keep the boy there to be a witness that her husband withheld from her things that were to be used in the kitchen; every one should know it. kongstrup walked up and down and said nothing. pelle expected he would strike her, for she called him bad names--much worse than mother bengta when lasse came home merry from tommelilla. but he only laughed. "now that'll do," he said, leading her away from the door, and letting the boy out. lasse did not like it. he had thought the farmer was interfering to prevent them all from making use of the boy, when he so much needed his help with the cattle; and now it had taken this unfortunate turn! "and so it was brandy!" he repeated. "then i can understand it. but i wonder how she dares set upon him like that when it's with _her_ the fault lies. he must be a good sort of fellow." "he's fond of drink himself," said pelle, who had heard a little about the farmer's doings. "yes, but a woman! that's quite another thing. remember they're fine folk. well, well, it doesn't become us to find fault with our betters; we have enough to do in looking after ourselves. but i only hope she won't send you on any more of her errands, or we may fall between two stools." lasse went to his work. he sighed and shook his head while he dragged the fodder out. he was not at all happy. iii there was something exhilarating in the wealth of sunshine that filled all space without the accompaniment of corresponding heat. the spring moisture was gone from the air, and the warm haze of summer had not yet come. there was only light--light over the green fields and the sea beyond, light that drew the landscape in clear lines against the blue atmosphere, and breathed a gentle, pleasant warmth. it was a day in the beginning of june--the first real summer day; and it was sunday. stone farm lay bathed in sunshine. the clear golden light penetrated everywhere; and where it could not reach, dark colors trembled like a hot, secret breath out into the light. open windows and doors looked like veiled eyes in the midst of the light, and where the roof lay in shadow, it had the appearance of velvet. it was quiet up in the big house to-day; it was a day of rest from wrangling too. the large yard was divided into two by a fence, the lower part consisting in the main of a large, steaming midden, crossed by planks in various directions, and at the top a few inverted wheelbarrows. a couple of pigs lay half buried in the manure, asleep, and a busy flock of hens were eagerly scattering the pile of horse-dung from the last morning clearance. a large cock stood in the middle of the flock, directing the work like a bailiff. in the upper yard a flock of white pigeons were pecking corn off the clean stone paving. outside the open coach-house door, a groom was examining the dog-cart, while inside stood another groom, polishing the best harness. the man at the dog-cart was in shirt-sleeves and newly-polished top-boots; he had a youthful, elastic frame, which assumed graceful attitudes as he worked. he wore his cap on the back of his head, and whistled softly while he cleaned the wheels outside and in, and sent stolen glances down to the wash-house, where, below the window, one of the maids was going through her sunday ablutions, with shoulders and arms bare, and her chemise pushed down below her bosom. the big dairymaid, karna, went past him to the pump with two large buckets. as she returned, she splashed some water on to one of his boots, and he looked up with an oath. she took this as an invitation to stop, and put down her pails with a cautious glance up at the windows of the big house. "you've not had all the sleep you ought to have had, gustav," she said teasingly, and laughed. "then it isn't your fault, at any rate," he answered roughly. "can you patch my everyday trousers for me to-day?" "no, thank you! i don't mend for another to get all the pleasant words!" "then you can leave it alone! there are plenty who'll mend for me without you!" and he bent again to his work. "i'll see if i can get time," said the big woman meekly. "but i've got all the work in the place to do by myself this afternoon; the others are all going out." "yes, i see bodil's washing herself," said gustav, sending a squirt of tobacco-juice out of his mouth in the direction of the wash-house window. "i suppose she's going to meeting, as she's doing it so, thoroughly." karna looked cunning. "she asked to be free because she wanted to go to church. she go to church! i should just like to see her! no, she's going down to the tailor's in the village, and there i suppose she'll meet malmberg, a townsman of hers. i wonder she isn't above having anything to do with a married man." "she can go on the spree with any one she likes, for all i care," answered gustav, kicking the last wheel into place with his foot, while karna stood looking at him kindly. but the next moment she spied a face behind the curtains up in one of the windows, and hurried off with her pails. gustav spat contemptuously between his teeth after her. she was really too old for his seventeen years; she must be at least forty; and casting another long look at bodil, he went across to the coachhouse with oil-can and keys. the high white house that closed the yard at its upper end, had not been built right among the other buildings, but stood proudly aloof, unconnected with them except by two strips of wooden paling. it had gables on both sides, and a high basement, in which were the servants' hall, the maids' bedrooms, the wash-house, the mangling-room, and the large storerooms. on the gable looking on to the yard was a clock that did not go. pelle called the building the palace, and was not a little proud of being allowed to enter the basement. the other people on the farm did not give it such a nice name. he was the only one whose awe of the house had nothing sinister about it; others regarded it in the light of a hostile fortress. every one who crossed the paved upper yard, glanced involuntarily up at the high veiled windows, behind which an eye might secretly be kept upon all that went on below. it was, a little like passing a row of cannons' mouths--it made one a little unsteady on one's feet; and no one crossed the clean pavement unless he was obliged. on the other hand they went freely about the other half of the yard, which was just as much overlooked by the house. down there two of the lads were playing. one of them had seized the other's cap and run off with it, and a wild chase ensued, in at one barn-door and out at another all round the yard, to the accompaniment of mischievous laughter and breathless exclamations. the yard-dog barked with delight and tumbled madly about on its chain in its desire to join in the game. up by the fence the robber was overtaken and thrown to the ground; but he managed to toss the cap up into the air, and it descended right in front of the high stone steps of the house. "oh, you mean beast!" exclaimed the owner of the cap, in a voice of despairing reproach, belaboring the other with the toes of his boots. "oh, you wretched bailiff's sneak!" he suddenly stopped and measured the distance with an appraising eye. "will you stand me half a pint if i dare go up and fetch the cap?" he asked in a whisper. the other nodded and sat up quickly to see what would come of it. "swear? you won't try and back out of it?" he said, lifting his hand adjuringly. his companion solemnly drew his finger across his throat, as if cutting it, and the oath was taken. the one who had lost the cap, hitched up his trousers and pulled himself together, his whole figure stiffening with determination; then he put his hands upon the fence, vaulted it, and walked with bent head and firm step across the yard, looking like one who had staked his all upon one card. when he had secured the cap, and turned his back upon the house, he sent a horrible grimace down the yard. bodil now came up from the basement in her best sunday clothes, with a black silk handkerchief on her head and a hymn-book in her hand. how pretty she was! and brave! she went along the whole length of the house and out! but then she could get a kiss from the farmer any day she liked. outside the farm proper lay a number of large and small outbuildings --the calves' stable, the pigsties, the tool-shed, the cart-shed and a smithy that was no longer used. they were all like so many mysteries, with trap-doors that led down to pitch-dark, underground beet and potato cellars, from which, of course, you could get by secret passages to the strangest places underground, and other trap-doors that led up to dark lofts, where the most wonderful treasures were preserved in the form of old lumber. but pelle unfortunately had little time to go into all this. every day he had to help his father to look after the cattle, and with so large a herd, the work was almost beyond their power. if he had a moment's breathing-space, some one was sure to be after him. he had to fetch water for the laundry girls, to grease the pupil's boots and run to the village shop for spirits or chewing-tobacco for the men. there was plenty to play with, but no one could bear to see him playing; they were always whistling for him as if he were a dog. he tried to make up for it by turning his work into a game, and in many instances this was possible. watering the cattle, for instance, was more fun than any real game, when his father stood out in the yard and pumped, and the boy only had to guide the water from manger to manger. when thus occupied, he always felt something like a great engineer. but on the other hand, much of the other work was too hard to be amusing. at this moment the boy was wandering about among the outbuildings, where there was no one to hunt him about. the door to the cow-stable stood open, and he could hear the continual munching of the cows, now and then interrupted by a snuff of contentment or the regular rattle of a chain up and down when a cow rubbed its neck upon the post. there was a sense of security in the sound of his father's wooden shoes up and down the foddering-passage. out of the open half-doors of the smaller outbuildings there came a steamy warmth that smelt pleasantly of calves and pigs. the pigs were hard at work. all through the long sty there was munching and smacking. one old sow supped up the liquid through the corners of her mouth, another snuffed and bubbled with her snout along the bottom of the trough to find the rotten potatoes under the liquid. here and there two pigs were fighting over the trough, and emitting piercing squeals. the calves put their slobbering noses out at the doors, gazing into the sunny air and lowing feelingly. one little fellow, after snuffing up air from the cow-stable in a peculiarly thorough way, turned up his lip in a foolish grin: it was a bull- calf. he laid his chin upon the half-door, and tried to jump over, but pelle drove him down again. then he kicked up his hind legs, looked at pelle out of the corner of his eye, and stood with arched back, lifting his fore and hindquarters alternately with the action of a rocking-horse. he was light-headed with the sun. down on the pond, ducks and geese stood upon their heads in the water, flourishing their red legs in the air. and all at once the whole flock would have an attack of giddy delight in the sunshine, and splash screaming from bank to bank, the last part of the way sliding along the top of the water with a comical wagging of the tail. pelle had promised himself much from this couple of hours that were to be entirely his own, as his father had given him a holiday until the time came for the midday work. but now he stood in bewilderment, overwhelmed by the wealth of possibilities. would it be the best fun to sail upon the pond on two tail-boards laid one across the other? there was a manure-cart lying there now to be washed. or should he go in and have a game with the tiny calves? or shoot with the old bellows in the smithy? if he filled the nozzle with wet earth, and blew hard, quite a nice shot could come out of it. pelle started and tried to make himself invisible. the farmer himself had come round the corner, and was now standing shading his eyes with his hand and looking down over the sloping land and the sea. when he caught sight of pelle, he nodded without changing his expression, and said: "good day, my boy! how are you getting on?" he gazed on, and probably hardly knew that he had said it and patted the boy on the shoulder with the end of his stick; the farmer often went about half asleep. but pelle felt it as a caress of a divine nature, and immediately ran across to the stable to tell his father what had happened to him. he had an elevating sensation in his shoulder as if he had been knighted; and he still felt the stick there. an intoxicating warmth flowed from the place through his little body, sent the adventure mounting to his head and made him swell with pride. his imagination rose and soared into the air with some vague, dizzy idea about the farmer adopting him as his son. he soon came down again, for in the stable he ran straight into the arms of the sunday scrubbing. the sunday wash was the only great objection he had to make to life; everything else came and was forgotten again, but it was always coming again. he detested it, especially that part of it which had to do with the interior of his ears. but there was no kind mother to help; lasse stood ready with a bucket of cold water, and some soft soap on a piece of broken pot, and the boy had to divest himself of his clothes. and as if the scrubbing were not enough, he afterwards had to put on a clean shirt--though, fortunately, only every other sunday. the whole thing was nice enough to look back upon afterwards--like something gone through with, and not to happen again for a little while. pelle stood at the stable door into the yard with a consequential air, with bristling hair and clean shirt-sleeves, his hands buried in his trouser pockets. over his forehead his hair waved in what is called a "cow's lick," said to betoken good fortune; and his face, all screwed up as it turned towards the bright light, looked the oddest piece of topsy-turvydom, with not a single feature in its proper place. pelle bent the calves of his legs out backwards, and stood gently rocking himself to and fro as he saw gustav doing, up on the front-door steps, where he stood holding the reins, waiting for his master and mistress. the mistress now appeared, with the farmer, and a maid ran down in front to the carriage with a little stepladder, and helped her in. the farmer stood at the top of the steps until she was seated: she had difficulty in walking. but what a pair of eyes she had! pelle hastily looked away when she turned her face down towards the yard. it was whispered among the men that she could bring misfortune upon any one by looking at him if she liked. now gustav unchained the dog, which bounded about, barking, in front of the horses as they drove out of the courtyard. anyhow the sun did not shine like this on a week-day. it was quite dazzling when the white pigeons flew in one flock over the yard, turning as regularly as if they were a large white sheet flapping in the sunshine; the reflection from their wings flashed over the dung-heap and made the pigs lift their heads with an inquiring grunt. above, in their rooms the men sat playing "sixty-six," or tipping wooden shoes, and gustav began to play "old noah" on his concertina. pelle picked his way across the upper part of the yard to the big dog-kennel, which could be turned on a pivot according to the direction of the wind. he seated himself upon the angle of the roof, and made a merry-go-round of it by pushing off with his foot every time he passed the fence. suddenly it occurred to him that he himself was everybody's dog, and had better hide himself; so he dropped down, crept into the kennel, and curled himself up on the straw with his head between his fore-paws. there he lay for a little while, staring at the fence and panting with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. then an idea came into his head so suddenly as to make him forget all caution; and the next moment he was sliding full tilt down the railing of the front-door steps. he had done this seventeen times and was deeply engrossed in the thought of reaching fifty, when he heard a sharp whistle from the big coach-house door. the farm pupil stood there beckoning him. pelle, crestfallen, obeyed the call, bitterly regretting his thoughtlessness. he was most likely wanted now to grease boots again, perhaps for them all. the pupil drew him inside the door, which he shut. it was dark, and the boy, coming in out of the bright daylight, could distinguish nothing; what he made out little by little assumed shapeless outlines to his frightened imagination. voices laughed and growled confusedly in his ears, and hands that seemed to him enormous pulled him about. terror seized him, and with it came crazy, disconnected recollections of stories of robbery and murder, and he began to scream with fright. a big hand covered the whole of his face, and in the silence that followed his stifled scream, he heard a voice out in the yard, calling to the maids to come and see something funny. he was too paralyzed with terror to know what was being done with him, and only wondered faintly what there was funny out there in the sunshine. would he ever see the sun again, he wondered? as if in answer to his thought, the door was at that moment thrown open. the light poured in and he recognized the faces about him, and found himself standing half naked in the full daylight, his trousers down about his heels and his shirt tucked up under his waistcoat. the pupil stood at one side with a carriage-whip, with which he flicked at the boy's naked body, crying in a tone of command: "run!" pelle, wild with terror and confusion, dashed into the yard, but there stood the maids, and at sight of him they screamed with laughter, and he turned to fly back into the coach-house. but he was met by the whip, and forced to return into the daylight, leaping like a kangaroo and calling forth renewed shouts of laughter. then he stood still, crying helplessly, under a shower of coarse remarks, especially from the maids. he no longer noticed the whip, but only crouched down, trying to hide himself, until at last he sank in a heap upon the stone paving, sobbing convulsively. karna, large of limb, came rushing up from the basement and forced her way through the crowd, crimson with rage and scolding as she went. on her freckled neck and arms were brown marks left by the cows' tails at the last milking, looking like a sort of clumsy tattooing. she flung her slipper in the pupil's face, and going up to pelle, wrapped him in her coarse apron and carried him down to the basement. when lasse heard what had happened to the boy, he took a hammer and went round to kill the farm pupil; and the look in the old man's eyes was such that no one desired to get in his way. the pupil had thought his wisest course was to disappear; and when lasse found no vent for his wrath, he fell into a fit of trembling and weeping, and became so really ill that the men had to administer a good mouthful of spirits to revive him. this took instant effect, and lasse was himself again and able to nod consolingly to the frightened, sobbing pelle. "never mind, laddie!" he said comfortingly. "never mind! no one has ever yet got off without being punished, and lasse'll break that long limb of satan's head and make his brains spurt out of his nose; you take my word for it!" pelle's face brightened at the prospect of this forcible redress, and he crept up into the loft to throw down the hay for the cattle's midday meal. lasse, who was not so fond of climbing, went down the long passage between the stalls distributing the hay. he was cogitating over something, and pelle could hear him talking to himself all the time. when they had finished, lasse went to the green chest and brought out a black silk handkerchief that had been bengta's sunday best. his expression was solemn as he called pelle. "run over to karna with this and ask her to accept it. we're not so poor that we should let kindness itself go from us empty-handed. but you mustn't let any one see it, in case they didn't like it. mother bengta in her grave won't be offended; she'd have proposed it herself, if she could have spoken; but her mouth's full of earth, poor thing!" lasse sighed deeply. even then he stood for a little while with the handkerchief in his hand before giving it to pelle to run with. he was by no means as sure of bengta as his words made out; but the old man liked to beautify her memory, both in his own and in the boy's mind. it could not be denied that she had generally been a little difficult in a case of this kind, having been particularly jealous; and she might take it into her head to haunt them because of that handkerchief. still she had had a heart for both him and the boy, and it was generally in the right place--they must say that of her! and for the rest, the lord must judge her as kindly as he could. during the afternoon it was quiet on the farm. most of the men were out somewhere, either at the inn or with the quarry-men at the stone-quarry. the master and mistress were out too; the farmer had ordered the carriage directly after dinner and had driven to the town, and half an hour later his wife set off in the pony-carriage --to keep an eye on him, people said. old lasse was sitting in an empty cow-stall, mending pelle's clothes, while the boy played up and down the foddering passage. he had found in the herdsman's room an old boot-jack, which he placed under his knee, pretending it was a wooden leg, and all the time he was chattering happily, but not quite so loudly as usual, to his father. the morning's experience was still fresh in his mind, and had a subduing effect; it was as if he had performed some great deed, and was now nervous about it. there was another circumstance, too, that helped to make him serious. the bailiff had been over to say that the animals were to go out the next day. pelle was to mind the young cattle, so this would be his last free day, perhaps for the whole summer. he paused outside the stall where his father sat. "what are you going to kill him with, father?" "with the hammer, i suppose." "will you kill him quite dead, as dead as a dog?" lasse's nod boded ill to the pupil. "yes, indeed i shall!" "but who'll read the names for us then?" the old man shook his head pensively. "that's true enough!" he exclaimed, scratching himself first in one place and then in another. the name of each cow was written in chalk above its stall, but neither lasse nor pelle could read. the bailiff had, indeed, gone through the names with them once, but it was impossible to remember half a hundred names after hearing them once--even for the boy, who had such an uncommon good memory. if lasse now killed the pupil, then who _would_ help them to make out the names? the bailiff would never stand their going to him and asking him a second time. "i suppose we shall have to content ourselves with thrashing him," said lasse meditatively. the boy went on playing for a little while, and then once more came up to lasse. "don't you think the swedes can thrash all the people in the world, father?" the old man looked thoughtful. "ye-es--yes, i should think so." "yes, because sweden's much bigger than the whole world, isn't it?" "yes, it's big," said lasse, trying to imagine its extent. there were twenty-four provinces, of which malmohus was only one, and ystad district a small part of that again; and then in one corner of ystad district lay tommelilla, and his holding that he had once thought so big with its five acres of land, was a tiny little piece of tommelilla! ah, yes, sweden was big--not bigger than the whole world, of course, for that was only childish nonsense--but still bigger than all the rest of the world put together. "yes, it's big! but what are you doing, laddie?" "why, can't you see i'm a soldier that's had one leg shot off?" "oh, you're an old crippled pensioner, are you? but you shouldn't do that, for god doesn't like things like that. you might become a real cripple, and that would be dreadful." "oh, he doesn't see, because he's in the churches to-day!" answered the boy; but for safety's sake he thought it better to leave off. he stationed himself at the stable-door, whistling, but suddenly came running in with great eagerness: "father, there's the agricultural! shall i run and fetch the whip?" "no, i expect we'd better leave him alone. it might be the death of him; fine gentlemen scamps like that can't stand a licking. the fright alone might kill him." lasse glanced doubtfully at the boy. pelle looked very much disappointed. "but suppose he does it again?" "oh, no, we won't let him off without a good fright. i shall pick him up and hold him out at arm's length dangling in the air until he begs for mercy; and then i shall put him down again just as quietly. for lasse doesn't like being angry. lasse's a decent fellow." "then you must pretend to let him go while you're holding him high up in the air; and then he'll scream and think he's going to die, and the others'll come and laugh at him." "no, no; you mustn't tempt your father! it might come into my mind to throw him down, and that would be murder and penal servitude for life, that would! no, i'll just give him a good scolding; that's what a classy scoundrel like that'll feel most." "yes, and then you must call him a spindle-shanked clodhopper. that's what the bailiff calls him when he's angry with him." "no, i don't think that would do either; but i'll speak so seriously with him that he won't be likely to forget it in a hurry." pelle was quite satisfied. there was no one like his father, and of course he would be as good at blowing people up as at everything else. he had never heard him do it, and he was looking forward to it immensely while he hobbled along with the boot-jack. he was not using it as a wooden leg now, for fear of tempting providence; but he held it under his arm like a crutch, supporting it on the edge of the foundation wall, because it was too short. how splendid it would be to go on two crutches like the parson's son at home! he could jump over the very longest puddles. there was a sudden movement of light and shadow up under the roof, and when pelle turned round, he saw a strange boy standing in the doorway out to the field. he was of the same height as pelle, but his head was almost as large as that of a grown man. at first sight it appeared to be bald all over; but when the boy moved in the sun, his bare head shone as if covered with silver scales. it was covered with fine, whitish hair, which was thinly and fairly evenly distributed over the face and everywhere else; and his skin was pink, as were the whites of his eyes. his face was all drawn into wrinkles in the strong light, and the back of his head projected unduly and looked as if it were much too heavy. pelle put his hands in his trouser pockets and went up to him. "what's your name?" he said, and tried to expectorate between his front teeth as gustav was in the habit of doing. the attempt was a failure, unfortunately, and the saliva only ran down his chin. the strange boy grinned. "rud," he said, indistinctly, as if his tongue were thick and unmanageable. he was staring enviously at pelle's trouser pockets. "is that your father?" he asked, pointing at lasse. "of course!" said pelle, consequentially. "and he can thrash everybody." "but my father can buy everybody, because he lives up there." and rud pointed toward the big house. "oh, does he really?" said pelle, incredulously. "why don't you live there with him, then?" "why, i'm a bastard-child; mother says so herself." "the deuce she does!" said pelle, stealing a glance at his father on account of the little oath. "yes, when she's cross. and then she beats me, but then i run away from her." "oh, you do, do you!" said a voice outside. the boys started and retreated farther into the stable, as a big, fat woman appeared in the doorway, and looked angrily round in the dim light. when she caught sight of rud, she continued her scolding. her accent was swedish. "so you run away, do you, you cabbage-head! if you'd only run so far that you couldn't find your way back again, a body wouldn't need to wear herself out thrashing a misbegotten imp like you! you'll go to the devil anyhow, so don't worry yourself about that! so that's the boy's father, is it?" she said, suddenly breaking off as she caught sight of lasse. "yes, it is," said lasse, quietly. "and surely you must be schoolmaster johan pihl's johanna from tommelilla, who left the country nearly twenty years ago?" "and surely you must be the smith's tom-cat from sulitjelma, who had twins out of an old wooden shoe the year before last?" retorted the big woman, imitating his tone of voice. "very well; it doesn't matter to me who you are!" said the old man in an offended tone. "i'm not a police spy." "one would think you were from the way you question. do you know when the cattle are to go out?" "to-morrow, if all's well. is it your little boy who's going to show pelle how things go? the bailiff spoke of some one who'd go out with him and show him the grazing-ground." "yes, it's that tom noddy there. here, come out so that we can see you properly, you calf! oh, the boy's gone. very well. does your boy often get a thrashing?" "oh yes, sometimes," answered lasse, who was ashamed to confess that he never chastised the boy. "i don't spare mine either. it'll take something to make a man of such rubbish; punishment's half what he lives on. then i'll send him up here first thing to-morrow morning; but take care he doesn't show himself in the yard, or there'll be no end of a row!" "the mistress can't bear to see him, i suppose?" said lasse. "you're just about right. she's had nothing to do with the making of that scarecrow. though you wouldn't think there was much there to be jealous about! but i might have been a farmer's wife at this moment and had a nice husband too, if that high and mighty peacock up there hadn't seduced me. would you believe that, you cracked old piece of shoe-leather?" she asked with a laugh, slapping his knee with her hand. "i can believe it very well," said lasse. "for you were as pretty a girl as might be when you left home." "oh, you and your 'home'," she said, mimicking him. "well, i can see that you don't want to leave any footmarks behind you, and i can quite well pretend to be a stranger, even if i have held you upon my knee more than once when you were a little thing. but do you know that your mother's lying on her deathbed?" "oh no! oh no!" she exclaimed, turning to him a face that was becoming more and more distorted. "i went to say good-bye to her before i left home rather more than a month ago, and she was very ill. 'good-bye, lasse,' she said, 'and thank you for your neighborliness all these years. and if you meet johanna over there,' she said, 'give her my love. things have gone terribly badly with her, from what i've heard; but give her my love, all the same. johanna child, little child! she was nearest her mother's heart, and so she happened to tread upon it. perhaps it was our fault. you'll give her her mother's love, won't you, lasse?' those were her very words, and now she's most likely dead, so poorly as she was then." johanna pihl had no command over her feelings. it was evident that she was not accustomed to weep, for her sobs seemed to tear her to pieces. no tears came, but her agony was like the throes of child-birth. "little mother! poor little mother!" she said every now and again, as she sat rocking herself upon the edge of the manger. "there, there, there!" said lasse, patting her on the head. "i told them they had been too hard with you. but what did you want to creep through that window for--a child of sixteen and in the middle of the night? you can hardly wonder that they forgot themselves a little, all the more that he was earning no wages beyond his keep and clothes, and was a bad fellow at that, who was always losing his place." "i was fond of him," said johanna, weeping. "he's the only one i've ever cared for. and i was so stupid that i thought he was fond of me too, though he'd never seen me." "ah, yes; you were only a child! i said so to your parents. but that you could think of doing anything so indecent!" "i didn't mean to do anything wrong. i only thought that we two ought to be together as we loved one another. no, i didn't even think that then. i only crept in to him, without thinking about it at all. would you believe that i was so innocent in those days? and nothing bad happened either." "and nothing happened even?" said lasse. "but it's terribly sad to think how things have turned out. it was the death of your father." the big woman began to cry helplessly, and lasse was almost in tears himself. "perhaps i ought never to have told you," he said in despair. "but i thought you must have heard about it. i suppose he thought that he, as schoolmaster, bore the responsibility for so many, and that you'd thrown yourself at any one in that way, and a poor farm-servant into the bargain, cut him to the quick. it's true enough that he mixed with us poor folks as if we'd been his equals, but the honor was there all the same; and he took it hardly when the fine folk wouldn't look at him any more. and after all it was nothing at all--nothing happened? but why didn't you tell them so?" johanna had stopped crying, and now sat with tear-stained, quivering face, and eyes turned away. "i did tell them, but they wouldn't listen. i was found there of course. i screamed for help when i found out he didn't even know me, but was only flattered at my coming, and wanted to take hold of me. and then the others came running in and found me there. they laughed and said that i'd screamed because i'd lost my innocence; and i could see that my parents thought the same. even they wouldn't hear of nothing having happened, so what could the other rabble think? and then they paid him to come over here, and sent me away to relations." "yes, and then you added to their sorrow by running away." "i went after him. i thought he'd get to be fond of me, if only i was near him. he'd taken service here at stone farm, and i took a place here as housemaid; but there was only one thing he wanted me for, and that i wouldn't have if he wasn't fond of me. so he went about boasting that i'd run away from home for his sake, and the other thing that was a lie; so they all thought they could do what they liked with me. kongstrup was just married then, but he was no better than the others. i'd got the place quite by chance, because the other housemaid had had to go away somewhere to lie in; so i was awfully careful. he got her married afterwards to a quarryman at the quarries." "so that's the sort of man he is!" exclaimed lasse. "i had my doubts about him. but what became of the other fellow?" "he went to work in the quarry when we'd been at the farm a couple of years and he'd done me all the harm he could. while he was there, he drank and quarreled most of the time. i often went to see him, for i couldn't get him out of my head; but he was always drunk. at last he couldn't stay there any longer, and disappeared, and then we heard that he was in nordland, playing hell among the rocks at blaaholt. he helped himself to whatever he wanted at the nearest place he could find it, and knocked people down for nothing at all. and one day they said that he'd been declared an outlaw, so that any one that liked could kill him. i had great confidence in the master, who, after all, was the only person that wished me well; and he comforted me by saying that it would be all right: knut would know how to take care of himself." "knut? was it knut engstrom?" asked lasse. "well, then, i've heard about him. he was breaking out as wild as the devil the last time i was in this country, and assaulted people on the high-road in broad daylight. he killed one man with a hammer, and when they caught him, he'd made a long gash on his neck from the back right up to his eye. the other man had done that, he said; he'd only defended himself. so they couldn't do anything to him. so that was the man, was it! but who was it he was living with, then? they said he lived in a shed on the heath that summer, and had a woman with him." "i ran away from service, and pretended to the others that i was going home. i'd heard what a wretched state he was in. they said he was gashed all over his head. so i went up and took care of him." "then you gave in at last," said lasse, with a roguish wink. "he beat me every day," she answered hoarsely. "and when he couldn't get his way, he drove me away at last. i'd set my mind on his being fond of me first." her voice had grown coarse and hard again. "then you deserved a good whipping for taking a fancy to such a ruffian! and you may be glad your mother didn't get to know anything about that, for she'd never have survived it." at the word "mother" johanna started. "every one must look after themselves," she said in a hard voice. "i've had more to look to than mother, and see how fat i've grown." lasse shook his head. "i shouldn't care to fight with you now. but what happened to you afterwards?" "i came back to stone farm again at martinmas, but the mistress wouldn't take me on again, for she preferred my room to my company. but kongstrup got his way by making me dairymaid. he was as kind to me as ever, for all that i'd stood out against him for nine years. but at last the magistrate got tired of having knut going about loose; he made too much disturbance. so they had a hunt for him up on the heath. they didn't catch him, but he must have come back to the quarry to hide himself, for one day when they were blasting there, his body came out among the bits of rock, all smashed up. they drove the pieces down here to the farm, and it made me so ill to see him come to me like that, that i had to go to bed. there i lay shivering day and night, for it seemed as if he'd come to me in his sorest need. kongstrup sat with me and comforted me when the others were at work, and he took advantage of my misery to get his way. "there was a younger brother of the farmer on the hill who liked me. he'd been in america in his early days, and had plenty of money. he didn't care a rap what people said, and every single year he proposed to me, always on new year's day. he came that year too, and now that knut was dead, i couldn't have done better than have taken him and been mistress of a farm; but i had to refuse him after all, and i can tell you it was hard when i made the discovery. kongstrup wanted to send me away when i told him about it; but that i would not have. i meant to stay and have my child born here on the farm to which it belonged. he didn't care a bit about me any longer, the mistress looked at me with her evil eyes every day, and there was no one that was kind to me. i wasn't so hard then as i am now, and it was all i could do to keep from crying always. i became hard then. when anything was the matter, i clenched my teeth so that no one should deride me. i was working in the field the very day it happened, too. the boy was born in the middle of a beet-field, and i carried him back to the farm myself in my apron. he was deformed even then: the mistress's evil eyes had done it. i said to myself that she should always have the changeling in her sight, and refused to go away. the farmer couldn't quite bring himself to turn me out by force, and so he put me into the house down by the shore." "then perhaps you work on the farm here in the busy seasons?" asked lasse. she sniffed contemptuously. "work! so you think i need do that? kongstrup has to pay me for bringing up his son, and then there are friends that come to me, now one and now another, and bring a little with them--when they haven't spent it all in drink. you may come down and see me this evening. i'll be good to you too." "no, thank you!" said lasse, gravely. "i am a human being too, but i won't go to one who's sat on my knee as if she'd been my own child." "have you any gin, then?" she asked, giving him a sharp nudge. lasse thought there was some, and went to see. "no, not a drop," he said, returning with the bottle. "but i've got something for you here that your mother asked me to give you as a keepsake. it was lucky i happened to remember it." and he handed her a packet, and looked on happily while she opened it, feeling pleased on her account. it was a hymn-book. "isn't it a beauty?" he said. "with a gold cross and clasp--and then, it's your mother's." "what's the good of that to me?" asked johanna. "i don't sing hymns." "don't you?" said lasse, hurt. "but your mother has never known but that you've kept the faith you had as a child, so you must forgive her this once." "is that all you've got for me?" she asked, pushing the book off her lap. "yes, it is," said lasse, his voice trembling; and he picked up the book. "who's going to have the rest, then?" "well, the house was leased, and there weren't many things left, for it's a long time since your father died, remember. where you should have been, strangers have filled the daughter's place; and i suppose those who've looked after her will get what there is. but perhaps you'd still be in time, if you took the first steamer." "no, thank you! go home and be stared at and play the penitent--no, thank you! i'd rather the strangers got what's left. and mother-- well, if she's lived without my help, i suppose she can die without it too. well, i must be getting home. i wonder what's become of the future master of stone farm?" she laughed loudly. lasse would have taken his oath that she had been quite sober, and yet she walked unsteadily as she went behind the calves' stables to look for her son. it was on his lips to ask whether she would not take the hymn-book with her, but he refrained. she was not in the mood for it now, and she might mock god; so he carefully wrapped up the book and put it away in the green chest. * * * * * at the far end of the cow-stable a space was divided off with boards. it had no door, and the boards were an inch apart, so that it resembled a crate. this was the herdsman's room. most of the space was occupied by a wide legless bedstead made of rough boards knocked together, with nothing but the stone floor to rest on. upon a deep layer of rye straw the bed-clothes lay in a disordered heap, and the thick striped blankets were stiff with dried cow-dung, to which feathers and bits of straw had adhered. pelle lay curled up in the middle of the bed with the down quilt up to his chin, while lasse sat on the edge, turning over the things in the green chest and talking to himself. he was going through his sunday devotions, taking out slowly, one after another, all the little things he had brought from the broken-up home. they were all purely useful things--balls of cotton, scraps of stuff, and such-like, that were to be used to keep his own and the boy's clothes in order; but to him each thing was a relic to be handled with care, and his heart bled every time one of them came to an end. with each article he laid down, he slowly repeated what bengta had said it was for when she lay dying and was trying to arrange everything for him and the boy: "wool for the boy's gray socks. pieces to lengthen the sleeves of his sunday jacket. mind you don't wear your stockings too long before you mend them." they were the last wishes of the dying woman, and they were followed in the smallest detail. lasse remembered them word for word, in spite of his bad memory. then there were little things that had belonged to bengta herself, cheap finery that all had its happy memory of fairs and holidays, which he recalled in his muttered reverie. pelle liked this subdued murmur that he did not need to listen to or answer, and that was so pleasant to doze off in. he lay looking out sleepily at the bright sky, tired and with a vague feeling of something unpleasant that was past. suddenly he started. he had heard the door of the cow-stable open, and steps upon the long foddering-passage. it was the pupil. he recognized the hated step at once. he thrilled with delight. now that fellow would be made to understand that he mustn't do anything to boys with fathers who could hold a man out at arm's length and scold! oh, much worse than the bailiff. he sat up and looked eagerly at his father. "lasse!" came a voice from the end of the tables. the old man growled sullenly, stirred uneasily, but did not rise. "las-se!" came again, after a little, impatiently and in a tone of command. "yes," said lasse slowly, rising and going out. "can't you answer when you're called, you old swedish rascal? are you deaf?" "oh, i can answer well enough," said lasse, in a trembling voice. "but mr. pupil oughtn't to--i'm a father, let me tell you--and a father's heart----" "you may be a monthly nurse for all i care, but you've got to answer when you're called, or else i'll get the bailiff to give you a talking-to. do you understand?" "yes, oh yes!--mr. pupil must excuse me, but i didn't hear." "well, will you please remember that aspasia's not to go out to pasture to-morrow." "is she going to calve?" "yes, of course! did you think she was going to foal?" lasse laughed, as in duty bound, and followed the pupil back through the stable. now it would come, thought pelle, and sat listening intently; but he only heard his father make another excuse, close the half-door, and come back with slow, tottering steps. then he burst into tears, and crept far in under the quilt. lasse went about for some time, grumbling to himself, and at last came and gently drew the quilt down from the boy's head. but pelle buried his face in the clothes, and when his father turned it up toward him, he met a despairing, uncomprehending gaze that made his own wander restlessly round the room. "yes," he said, with an attempt at being cross. "it's all very well for you to cry! but when you don't know where aspasia stands, you've got to be civil, i'm thinking." "i know aspasia quite well," sobbed the boy. "she's the third from the door here." lasse was going to give a cross answer, but broke down, touched and disarmed by the boy's grief. he surrendered unconditionally, stooped down until his forehead touched the boy's, and said helplessly, "yes, lasse's a poor thing--old and poor! any one can make a fool of him. he can't be angry any more, and there's no strength in his fist, so what's the good of clenching it! he has to put up with everything, and let himself be hustled about--and say thank you into the bargain--that's how it is with old lasse. but you must remember that it's for your sake he lets himself be put upon. if it wasn't for you, he'd shoulder his pack and go--old though he is. but you can grow on where your father rusts. and now you must leave off crying!" and he dried the boy's wet eyes with the quilt. pelle did not understand his father's words, but they quieted him nevertheless, and he soon fell asleep; but for a long time he sobbed as he lay. lasse sat still upon the edge of the bed and watched the boy as he slept, and when he had become quieter, crept away through the stable and out. it had been a poor sunday, and now he would go and see if any of the men were at home and had visitors, for then there would be spirits going round. lasse could not find it in his heart to take any of his wages to buy a dram with; that money would have quite enough to do to buy bare necessaries. on one of the beds lay a man asleep, fully dressed, and with his boots on. he was dead drunk. all the others were out, so lasse had to give up all thoughts of a dram, and went across to the basement to see if there was any gaiety going among the maids. he was not at all averse to enjoyment of one sort or another, now that he was free and his own master as he had been in the days of his youth. up by the dairy stood the three farm-laborers' wives who used to do the milking for the girls on sunday evening. they were thick-set, small, and bent with toil. they were all talking together and spoke of illnesses and other sad things in plaintive tones. lasse at once felt a desire to join them, for the subject found an echo in his being like the tones of a well-known song, and he could join in the refrain with the experience of a lifetime. but he resisted the temptation, and went past them down the basement steps. "ah, yes, death will come to us all!" said one of the women, and lasse said the words after her to himself as he went down. down there karna was sitting mending gustav's moleskin trousers, while gustav lay upon the bench asleep with his cap over his face. he had put his feet up on karna's lap, without so much as taking off his shoes; and she had accommodated her lap, so that they should not slide off. lasse sat down beside her and tried to make himself agreeable. he wanted some one to be nice to him. but karna was unapproachable; those dirty feet had quite turned her head. and either lasse had forgotten how to do it, or he was wanting in assurance, for every time he attempted a pleasant speech, she turned it off. "we might have such a comfortable time, we two elderly folk," he said hopelessly. "yes, and i could contribute what was wanting," said gustav, peeping out from under his cap. insolent puppy, lying there and boasting of his seventeen years! lasse had a good mind to go for him then and there and chance yet one more trial of strength. but he contented himself with sitting and looking at him until his red, lashless eyes grew watery. then he got up. "well, well, i see you want young people this evening!" he said bitterly to karna. "but you can't get rid of your years, all the same! perhaps you'll only get the spoon to lick after the others." he went across to the cow-stable and began to talk to the three farm-laborers' wives, who were still speaking of illness and misery and death, as if nothing else existed in the world. lasse nodded and said: "yes, yes, that's true." he could heartily endorse it all, and could add much to what they said. it brought warmth to his old body, and made him feel quite comfortable--so easy in his joints. but when he lay on his back in bed, all the sad thoughts came back and he could not sleep. generally he slept like a log as soon as he lay down, but to-day was sunday, and he was tormented with the thought that life had passed him by. he had promised himself so much from the island, and it was nothing but worry and toil and trouble --nothing else at all. "yes, lasse's old!" he suddenly said aloud, and he kept on repeating the words with a little variation until he fell asleep: "he's old, poor man--and played out! ah, so old!" those words expressed it all. he was awakened again by singing and shouting up on the high-road. "and now the boy you gave me with the black and curly hair, he is no longer little, no longer, no longer, but a fine, tall strapping youth." it was some of the men and girls of the farm on their way home from some entertainment. when they turned into the farm road they became silent. it was just beginning to grow light; it must have been about two o'clock. iv at four, lasse and pelle were dressed and were opening the cow-stable doors on the field side. the earth was rolling off its white covering of night mist, and the morning rose prophetically. lasse stood still in the doorway, yawning, and making up his mind about the weather for the day; but pelle let the soft tones of the wind and the song of the lark--all that was stirring--beat upon his little heart. with open mouth and doubtful eyes he gazed into the incomprehensible as represented by each new day with all its unimagined possibilities. "to-day you must take your coat with you, for we shall have rain about midday," lasse would then say; and pelle peered into the sky to find out where his father got his knowledge from. for it generally came true. they then set about cleaning out the dung in the cow-stable, pelle scraping the floor under the cows and sweeping it up, lasse filling the wheelbarrow and wheeling it out. at half-past five they ate their morning meal of salt herring and porridge. after that pelle set out with the young cattle, his dinner basket on his arm, and his whip wound several times round his neck. his father had made him a short, thick stick with rings on it, that he could rattle admonishingly and throw at the animals; but pelle preferred the whip, because he was not yet strong enough to use it. he was little, and at first he had some difficulty in making an impression upon the great forces over which he was placed. he could not get his voice to sound sufficiently terrifying, and on the way out from the farm he had hard work, especially up near the farm, where the corn stood high on both sides of the field-road. the animals were hungry in the morning, and the big bullocks did not trouble to move when once they had their noses buried in the corn and he stood belaboring them with the short handle of the cattle- whip. the twelve-foot lash, which, in a practised hand, left little triangular marks in the animal's hide, he could not manage at all; and if he kicked the bullock on the head with his wooden shoe, it only closed its eyes good-naturedly, and browsed on sedately with its back to him. then he would break into a despairing roar, or into little fits of rage in which he attacked the animal blindly and tried to get at its eyes; but it was all equally useless. he could always make the calves move by twisting their tails, but the bullocks' tails were too strong. he did not cry, however, for long at a time over the failure of his resources. one evening he got his father to put a spike into the toe of one of his wooden shoes, and after that his kick was respected. partly by himself, and partly through rud, he also learned where to find the places on the animals where it hurt most. the cow-calves and the two bull-calves all had their particular tender spot, and a well-directed blow upon a horn could make even the large bullocks bellow with pain. the driving out was hard work, but the herding itself was easy. when once the cattle were quietly grazing, he felt like a general, and made his voice sound out incessantly over the meadow, while his little body swelled with pride and a sense of power. being away from his father was a trouble to him. he did not go home to dinner, and often in the middle of his play, despair would come over him and he would imagine that something had happened to his father, that the great bull had tossed him or something else; and he would leave everything, and start running homeward crying, but would remember in time the bailiff's whip, and trudge back again. he found a remedy for his longing by stationing himself so that he could keep a lookout on the fields up there, and see his father when he went out to move the dairy-cows. he taught himself to whittle boats and little rakes and hoes and decorate sticks with patterns cut upon the bark. he was clever with his knife and made diligent use of it. he would also stand for hours on the top of a monolith--he thought it was a gate-post--and try to crack his cattle-whip like a pistol-shot. he had to climb to a height to get the lash off the ground at all. when the animals lay down in the middle of the morning, he was often tired too, and then he would seat himself upon the head of one of the big bullocks, and hold on to the points of its horns; and while the animal lay chewing with a gentle vibration like a machine, he sat upon its head and shouted at the top of his voice songs about blighted affections and horrible massacres. toward midday rud came running up, as hungry as a hunter. his mother sent him out of the house when the hour for a meal drew near. pelle shared the contents of his basket with him, but required him to bring the animals together a certain number of times for every portion of food. the two boys could not exist apart for a whole day together. they tumbled about in the field like two puppies, fought and made it up again twenty times a day, swore the most fearful threats of vengeance that should come in the shape of this or that grown-up person, and the next moment had their arms round one another's necks. about half-a-mile of sand-dunes separated the stone farm fields from the sea. within this belt of sand the land was stony and afforded poor grazing; but on both sides of the brook a strip of green meadow-land ran down among the dunes, which were covered with dwarf firs and grass-wrack to bind the sand. the best grazing was on this meadow-land, but it was hard work minding both sides of it, as the brook ran between; and it had been impressed upon the boy with severe threats, that no animal must set its foot upon the dune-land, as the smallest opening might cause a sand-drift. pelle took the matter quite literally, and all that summer imagined something like an explosion that would make everything fly into the air the instant an animal trod upon it; and this possibility hung like a fate at the back of everything when he herded down there. when rud came and they wanted to play, he drove the cattle up on to the poor pasture where there was plenty of room for them. when the sun shone the boys ran about naked. they dared not venture down to the sea for fear of the bailiff, who, they were sure, always stood up in the attic of the big house, and watched pelle through his telescope; but they bathed in the brook--in and out of the water continually for hours together. after heavy rain it became swollen, and was then quite milky from the china clay that it washed away from the banks farther up. the boys thought it was milk from an enormous farm far up in the island. at high water the sea ran up and filled the brook with decaying seaweed that colored the water crimson; and this was the blood of all the people drowned out in the sea. between their bathes they lay under the dunes and let the sun dry them. they made a minute examination of their bodies, and discussed the use and intention of the various parts. upon this head rud's knowledge was superior, and he took the part of instructor. they often quarrelled as to which of them was the best equipped in one way or another--in other words, had the largest. pelle, for instance, envied rud his disproportionately large head. pelle was a well-built little fellow, and had put on flesh since he had come to stone farm. his glossy skin was stretched smoothly over his body, and was of a warm, sunburnt color. rud had a thin neck in proportion to his head, and his forehead was angular and covered with scars, the results of innumerable falls. he had not full command of all his limbs, and was always knocking and bruising himself; there were blue, livid patches all over him that were slow to disappear, for he had flesh that did not heal easily. but he was not so open in his envy as pelle. he asserted himself by boasting of his defects until he made them out to be sheer achievements; so that pelle ended by envying him everything from the bottom of his heart. rud had not pelle's quick perception of things, but he had more instinct, and on certain points possessed quite a talent in anticipating what pelle only learned by experience. he was already avaricious to a certain extent, and suspicious without connecting any definite thoughts with it. he ate the lion's share of the food, and had a variety of ways of getting out of doing the work. behind their play there lay, clothed in the most childish forms, a struggle for the supremacy, and for the present pelle was the one who came off second best. in an emergency, rud always knew how to appeal to his good qualities and turn them to his own advantage. and through all this they were the best friends in the world, and were quite inseparable. pelle was always looking toward "the sow's" cottage when he was alone, and rud ran off from home as soon as he saw his opportunity. * * * * * it had rained hard in the course of the morning, in spite of lasse, and pelle was wet through. now the blue-black cloud was drawing away over the sea, and the boats lay in the middle of it with all their red sails set, and yet motionless. the sunlight flashed and glittered on wet surfaces, making everything look bright; and pelle hung his clothes on a dwarf fir to dry. he was cold, and crept close up to peter, the biggest of the bullocks, as he lay chewing the cud. the animal was steaming, but pelle could not bring warmth into his extremities, where the cold had taken hold. his teeth chattered, too, and he was shivering. and even now there was one of the cows that would not let him have any peace. every time he had snuggled right in under the bullock and was beginning to get a little warmer, the cow strayed away over the northern boundary. there was nothing but sand there, but when it was a calf there had been a patch of mixed crops, and it still remembered that. it was one of two cows that had been turned out of the dairy-herd on account of their dryness. they were ill-tempered creatures, always discontented and doing some mischief or other; and pelle detested them heartily. they were two regular termagants, upon which even thrashing made no impression. the one was a savage beast, that would suddenly begin stamping and bellowing like a mad bull in the middle of grazing, and, if pelle went toward it, wanted to toss him; and when it saw its opportunity, it would eat up the cloth in which pelle's dinner was wrapped. the other was old and had crumpled horns that pointed in toward its eyes, one of which had a white pupil. it was the noisy one that was now at its tricks. every other minute pelle had to get up and shout: "hi, blakka, you villainous beast! just you come back!" he was hoarse with anger, and at last his patience gave way, and he caught up a big stick and began to chase the cow. as soon as it saw his intention, it set off at a run up toward the farm, and pelle had to make a wide circle to turn it down to the herd again. then it ran at full gallop in and out among the other animals, the herd became confused and ran hither and thither, and pelle had to relinquish his pursuit for a time while he gathered them together. but then he began again at once. he was boiling with rage, and leaped about like an indiarubber ball, his naked body flashing in loops and curves upon the green grass. he was only a few yards from the cow, but the distance remained the same; he could not catch her up to-day. he stopped up by the rye-field, and the cow stood still almost at the same moment. it snapped at a few ears, and moved its head slowly to choose its direction. in a couple of leaps pelle was up to it and had hold of its tail. he hit it over the nose with his cudgel, it turned quickly away from the rye, and set off at a flying pace down toward the others, while blows rained down upon its bony prominences. every stroke echoed back from the dunes like blows upon the trunk of a tree, and made pelle swell with pride. the cow tried to shake pelle off as it ran, but he was not to be got rid of; it crossed the brook in long bounds, backward and forward, with pelle almost floating through the air; but the blows continued to rain down upon it. then it grew tired and began to slacken its pace; and at last it came to a standstill, coughed, and resigned itself to the thrashing. pelle threw himself flat upon his face, and panted. ha, ha! _that_ had made him warm! now that beast should--he rolled suddenly over on to his side with a start. the bailiff! but it was a strange man with a beard who stood over him, looking at him with serious eyes. the stranger went on gazing at him for a long time without saying anything, and pelle grew more and more uneasy under his scrutiny; he had the sun right in his eyes too, if he tried to return the man's gaze, and the cow still stood there coughing. "what do you think the bailiff will say?" asked the man at last, quietly. "i don't think he's seen it," whispered pelle, looking timidly round. "but god has seen it, for he sees everything. and he has led me here to stop the evil in you while there's still time. wouldn't you like to be god's child?" the man sat down beside him and took his hand. pelle sat tugging at the grass and wishing he had had his clothes on. "and you must never forget that god sees everything you do; even in the darkest night he sees. we are always walking in god's sight. but come now, it's unseemly to run about naked!" and the man took him by the hand and led him to his clothes, and then, going across to the north side, he gathered the herd together while pelle dressed himself. the wicked cow was over there again already, and had drawn a few of the others after it. pelle watched the man in surprise; he drove the animals back quite quietly, neither using stones nor shouting. before he got back, blakka had once more crossed the boundary; but he turned and brought her back again just as gently as before. "that's not an easy cow to manage," he said kindly, when he returned; "but you've got young legs. shan't we agree to burn that?" he asked, picking up the thick cudgel, "and do what we have to do with just our hands? god will always help you when you're in difficulties. and if you want to be a true child of god, you must tell the bailiff this evening what you did--and take your punishment." he placed his hand upon pelle's head, and looked at him with that unendurable gaze; and then he left him, taking the stick with him. for a long time pelle followed him with his eyes. so that was what a man looked like, who was sent by god to warn you! now he knew, and it would be some time before he chased a cow like that again. but go to the bailiff, and tell of himself, and get the whip-lash on his bare legs? not if he knew it! rather than that, god would have to be angry--if it was really true that he could see everything? it couldn't be worse than the bailiff, anyhow. all that morning he was very quiet. he felt the man's eyes upon him in everything he did, and it robbed him of his confidence. he silently tested things, and saw everything in a new light; it was best not to make a noise, if you were always walking in the sight of god. he did not go on cracking his cattle-whip, but meditated a little on whether he should burn that too. but a little before midday rud appeared, and the whole incident was forgotten. rud was smoking a bit of cane that he had cut off the piece his mother used for cleaning the stove-pipes, and pelle bartered some of his dinner for a few pulls at it. first they seated themselves astride the bullock cupid, which was lying chewing the cud. it went on calmly chewing with closed eyes, until rud put the glowing cane to the root of its tail, when it rose hastily, both boys rolling over its head. they laughed and boasted to one another of the somersault they had turned, as they went up on to the high ground to look for blackberries. thence they went to some birds' nests in the small firs, and last of all they set about their best game--digging up mice-nests. pelle knew every mouse-hole in the meadow, and they lay down and examined them carefully. "here's one that has mice in it," said rud. "look, here's their dunghill!" "yes, that smells of mouse," said pelle, putting his nose to the hole. "and the blades of grass turn outward, so the old ones must be out." with pelle's knife they cut away the turf, and set to work eagerly to dig with two pieces of pot. the soil flew about their heads as they talked and laughed. "my word, how fast we're getting on!" "yes; strom couldn't work as fast!" strom was a famous worker who got twenty-five ores a day more than other autumn farm-hands, and his example was used as an incentive to coax work out of the laborers. "we shall soon get right into the inside of the earth." "well, but it's burning hot in there." "oh, nonsense: is it?" pelle paused doubtfully in his digging. "yes, the schoolmaster says so." the boys hesitated and put their hands down into the hole. yes, it was warm at the bottom--so warm that pelle found it necessary to pull out his hand and say: "oh, my word!" they considered a little, and then went on scraping out the hole as carefully as if their lives depended on it. in a little while straw appeared in the passage, and in a moment the internal heat of the earth was forgotten. in less than a minute they had uncovered the nest, and laid the little pink, new-born mice out on the grass. they looked like half-hatched birds. "they _are_ ugly," said pelle, who did not quite like taking hold of them, but was ashamed not to do so. "they're much nastier to touch than toads. i believe they're poisonous." rud lay pinching them between his fingers. "poisonous! don't be silly! why, they haven't any teeth! there are no bones in them at all; i'm sure you could eat them quite well." "pah! beastly!" pelle spat on the ground. "i shouldn't be at all afraid of biting one; would you?" rud lifted a little mouse up toward his mouth. "afraid? of course i'm not afraid--but--" pelle hesitated. "no, you're afraid, because you're a blue-bag!" now this nickname really only applied to boys who were afraid of water, but pelle quickly seized one of the little mice, and held it up to his mouth, at exactly the same distance from his lips that rud was from his. "you can see for yourself!" he cried, in an offended tone. rud went on talking, with many gestures. "you're afraid," he said, "and it's because you're swedish. but when you're afraid, you should just shut your eyes--so--and open your mouth. then you pretend to put the mouse right into your mouth, and then--" rud had his mouth wide open, and held his hand close to his mouth; pelle was under his influence, and imitated his movements--"and then--" pelle received a blow that sent the little mouse halfway down his throat. he retched and spat; and then his hands fumbled in the grass and got hold of a stone. but by the time he was on his feet and was going to throw it, rud was far away up the fields. "i must go home now!" he shouted innocently. "there's something i've got to help mother with." pelle did not love solitude, and the prospect of a blockade determined him at once for negotiations. he dropped the stone to show his serious wish for a reconciliation, and had to swear solemnly that he would not bear malice. then at last rud came back, tittering. "i was going to show you something funny with the mouse," he said by way of diversion; "but you held on to it like an idiot." he did not venture to come quite close up to pelle, but stood watching his movements. pelle was acquainted with the little white lie when the danger of a thrashing was imminent, but the lie as an attack was still unknown to him. if rud, now that the whole thing was over, said that he only wanted to have shown him something funny, it must be true. but then why was he mistrustful? pelle tried, as he had so often done before, to bend his little brain round the possible tricks of his playmate, but failed. "you may just as well come up close," he said stoutly. "for if i wanted to, i could easily catch you up." rud came. "now we'll catch big mice." he said. "that's better fun." they emptied pelle's milk-bottle, and hunted up a mouse's nest that appeared to have only two exits, one up in the meadow, the other halfway down the bank of the stream. here they pushed in the mouth of the bottle, and widened the hole in the meadow into a funnel; and they took it in turns to keep an eye on the bottle, and to carry water up to the other hole in their caps. it was not long before a mouse popped out into the bottle, which they then corked. what should they do with it? pelle proposed that they should tame it and train it to draw their little agricultural implements; but rud, as usual, got his way--it was to go out sailing. where the stream turned, and had hollowed out its bed into a hole as big as a cauldron, they made an inclined plane and let the bottle slide down into the water head foremost, like a ship being launched. they could follow it as it curved under the water until it came up slantingly, and stood bobbing up and down on the water like a buoy, with its neck up. the mouse made the funniest leaps up toward the cork to get out; and the boys jumped up and down on the grass with delight. "it knows the way it got in quite well!" they imitated its unsuccessful leaps, lay down again and rolled about in exuberant mirth. at last, however, the joke became stale. "let's take out the cork!" suggested rud. "yes--oh, yes!" pelle waded quickly in, and was going to set the mouse at liberty. "wait a minute, you donkey!" rud snatched the bottle from him, and holding his hand over the mouth, put it back, into the water. "now we'll see some fun!" he cried, hastening up the bank. it was a little while before the mouse discovered that the way was open, but then it leaped. the leap was unsuccessful, and made the bottle rock, so that the second leap was slanting and rebounded sideways. but then followed with lightning rapidity a number of leaps--a perfect bombardment; and suddenly the mouse flew right out of the bottle, head foremost into the water. "that was a leap and a half!" cried pelle, jumping straight up and down in the grass, with his arms at his sides. "it could just squeeze its body through, just exactly!" and he jumped again, squeezing himself together. the mouse swam to land, but rud was there, and pushed it out again with his foot. "it swam well," he said, laughing. it made for the opposite bank. "look out for the fellow!" rud roared, and pelle sprang forward and turned it away from the shore with a good kick. it swam helplessly backward and forward in the middle of the pool, seeing one of the two dancing figures every time it approached a bank, and turning and turning endlessly. it sank deeper and deeper, its fur becoming wet and dragging it down, until at last it swam right under water. suddenly it stretched out its body convulsively, and sank to the bottom, with all four legs outspread like a wide embrace. pelle had all at once comprehended the perplexity and helplessness --perhaps was familiar with it. at the animal's final struggle, he burst into tears with a little scream, and ran, crying loudly, up the meadow toward the fir-plantation. in a little while he came back again. "i really thought cupid had run away," he said repeatedly, and carefully avoided looking rud in the face. quietly he waded into the water, and fished up the dead mouse with his foot. they laid it upon a stone in the sun, so that it might come to life again. when that failed, pelle remembered a story about some people who were drowned in a lake at home, and who came to themselves again when cannons were fired over them. they clapped their hollowed hands over the mouse, and when that too brought about no result, they decided to bury it. rud happened to remember that his grandmother in sweden was being buried just now, and this made them go about the matter with a certain amount of solemnity. they made a coffin out of a matchbox, and ornamented it with moss; and then they lay on their faces and lowered the coffin into the grave with twine, taking every possible care that it should not land upon its head. a rope might give way; such things did sometimes happen, and the illusion did not permit of their correcting the position of the coffin afterward with their hands. when this was done, pelle looked down into his cap, while rud prayed over the deceased and cast earth upon the coffin; and then they made up the grave. "i only hope it's not in a trance and going to wake up again!" exclaimed pelle suddenly. they had both heard many unpleasant stories of such cases, and went over all the possibilities--how they woke up and couldn't get any air, and knocked upon the lid, and began to eat their own hands--until pelle could distinctly hear a knocking on the lid below. they had the coffin up in a trice, and examined the mouse. it had not eaten its forepaws, at any rate, but it had most decidedly turned over on its side. they buried it again, putting a dead beetle beside it in the coffin for safety's sake, and sticking a straw down into the grave to supply it with air. then they ornamented the mound, and set up a memorial stone. "it's dead now!" said pelle, gravely and with conviction. "yes, i should just think so--dead as a herring." rud had put his ear to the straw and listened. "and now it must be up with god in all his glory--right high, high up." rud sniffed contemptuously. "oh, you silly! do you think it can crawl up there?" "well, can't mice crawl, i should like to know?" pelle was cross. "yes; but not through the air. only birds can do that." pelle felt himself beaten off the field and wanted to be revenged. "then your grandmother isn't in heaven, either!" he declared emphatically. there was still a little rancor in his heart from the young mouse episode. but this was more than rud could stand. it had touched his family pride, and he gave pelle a dig in the side with his elbow. the next moment they were rolling in the grass, holding one another by the hair, and making awkward attempts to hit one another on the nose with their clenched fists. they turned over and over like one lump, now one uppermost, now the other; they hissed hoarsely, groaned and made tremendous exertions. "i'll make you sneeze red," said pelle angrily, as he rose above his adversary; but the next moment he was down again, with rud hanging over him and uttering the most fearful threats about black eyes and seeing stars. their voices were thick with passion. and suddenly they were sitting opposite one another on the grass wondering whether they should set up a howl. rud put out his tongue, pelle went a step further and began to laugh, and they were once more the best of friends. they set up the memorial stone, which had been overturned in the heat of battle, and then sat down hand in hand, to rest after the storm, a little quieter than usual. it was not because there was more evil in pelle, but because the question had acquired for him an importance of its own, and he must understand it, that a meditative expression came into his eyes, and he said thoughtfully: "well, but you've told me yourself that she was paralyzed in her legs!" "well, what if she was?" "why, then she couldn't crawl up into heaven." "oh, you booby! it's her spirit, of course!" "then the mouse's spirit can very well be up there too." "no, it can't, for mice haven't got any spirit." "haven't they? then how is it they can breathe?" [footnote: in danish, spirit = aand, and to breathe = aande.] that was one for rud! and the tiresome part of it was that he attended sunday-school. his fists would have come in handy again now, but his instinct told him that sooner or later pelle would get the better of him in fighting. and anyhow his grandmother was saved. "yes," he said, yielding; "and it certainly could breathe. well, then, it was its spirit flying up that overturned the stone--that's what it was!" a distant sound reached them, and far off near the cottage they could see the figure of a fat woman, beckoning threateningly. "the sow's calling you," said pelle. the two boys never called her anything but "the sow" between themselves. so rud had to go. he was allowed to take the greater part of the contents of the dinner-basket with him, and ate as he ran. they had been too busy to eat. pelle sat down among the dunes and ate his dinner. as usual when rud had been with him, he could not imagine what had become of the day. the birds had ceased singing, and not one of the cattle was still lying down, so it must be at least five o'clock. up at the farm they were busy driving in. it went at full gallop-- out and in, out and in. the men stood up in the carts and thrashed away at the horses with the end of the reins, and the swaying loads were hurried along the field-roads, looking like little bristling, crawling things, that have been startled and are darting to their holes. a one-horsed vehicle drove out from the farm, and took the high-road to the town at a quick trot. it was the farmer; he was driving so fast that he was evidently off to the town on the spree. so there was something gone wrong at home, and there would be crying at the farm that night. yes, there was father lasse driving out with the water-cart, so it was half-past five. he could tell that too by the birds beginning their pleasant evening twittering, that was soft and sparkling like the rays of the sun. far inland above the stone-quarry, where the cranes stood out against the sky, a cloud of smoke rose every now and then into the air, and burst in a fountain of pieces of rock. long after came the explosion, bit by bit in a series of rattling reverberations. it sounded as if some one were running along and slapping his thigh with fingerless gloves. the last few hours were always long--the sun was so slow about it. and there was nothing to fill up the time either. pelle himself was tired, and the tranquillity of evening had the effect of subduing his voice. but now they were driving out for milking up there, and the cattle were beginning to graze along the edge of the meadow that turned toward the farm; so the time was drawing near. at last the herd-boys began to jodel over at the neighboring farms, first one, and then several joining in: "oh, drive home, o-ho, o-o-ho! o-ho, o-ho! o-ho, o-ho! oh, drive home, o-o-ho! o-ho!" from all sides the soft tones vibrated over the sloping land, running out, like the sound of happy weeping, into the first glow of evening; and pelle's animals began to move farther after each pause to graze. but he did not dare to drive them home yet, for it only meant a thrashing from the bailiff or the pupil if he arrived too early. he stood at the upper end of the meadow, and called his homeward- drifting flock together; and when the last tones of the call had died away, he began it himself, and stepped on one side. the animals ran with a peculiar little trot and heads extended. the shadow of the grass lay in long thin stripes across the ground, and the shadows of the animals were endless. now and then a calf lowed slowly and broke into a gallop. they were yearning for home, and pelle was yearning too. from behind a hollow the sun darted long rays out into space, as if it had called all its powers home for the night, and now poured them forth in one great longing, from west to east. everything pointed in long thin lines, and the eager longing of the cattle seemed visible in the air. to the mind of the child there was nothing left out of doors now; everything was being taken in, and he longed for his father with a longing that was almost a pain. and when at last he turned the corner with the herd, and saw old lasse standing there, smiling happily with his red-rimmed eyes, and opening the gate to the fold, the boy gave way and threw himself weeping into his father's arms. "what's the matter, laddie? what's the matter?" asked the old man, with concern in his voice, stroking the child's face with a trembling hand. "has any one been unkind to you? no? well, that's a good thing! they'd better take care, for happy children are in god's own keeping. and lasse would be an awkward customer if it came to that. so you were longing for me, were you? then it's good to be in your little heart, and it only makes lasse happy. but go in now and get your supper, and don't cry any more." and he wiped the boy's nose with his hard, crooked fingers, and pushed him gently away. v pelle was not long in finding out all about the man who had been sent by god, and had the grave, reproachful eyes. he proved to be nothing but a little shoemaker down in the village, who spoke at the meeting-house on sundays; and it was also said that his wife drank. rud went to his sunday-school, and he was poor; so he was nothing out of the ordinary. moreover, gustav had got a cap which could turn out three different crowns--one of blue duffle, one of water-proof american cloth, and one of white canvas for use in sunny weather. it was an absorbingly interesting study that threw everything else into the background, and exercised pelle's mind for many days; and he used this miraculous cap as a standard by which to measure everything great and desirable. but one day he gave gustav a beautifully carved stick for permission to perform the trick of turning the crown inside out himself; and that set his mind at rest at last, and the cap had to take its place in his everyday world like everything else. but what did it look like in farmer kongstrup's big rooms? money lay upon the floor there, of course, the gold in one place and the silver in another; and in the middle of each heap stood a half-bushel measure. what did the word _"practical"_ mean, which the bailiff used when he talked to the farmer? and why did the men call one another _"swede"_ as a term of abuse? why, they were all swedes! what was there away beyond the cliffs where the stone-quarry lay? the farm-lands extended as far as that on the one side. he had not been there yet, but was going with his father as soon as an opportunity presented itself. they had learnt quite by chance that lasse had a brother who owned a house over there; so of course they knew the place comparatively well. down there lay the sea; he had sailed upon it himself! ships both of iron and wood sailed upon it, though how iron could float when it was so heavy he did not know! the sea must be strong, for in the pond, iron went to the bottom at once. in the middle of the pond there was no bottom, so there you'd go on sinking forever! the old thatcher, when he was young, had had more than a hundred fathoms of rope down there with a drag, to fish up a bucket, but he never reached the bottom. and when he wanted to pull up the rope again, there was some one deep down who caught hold of the drag and tried to pull him down, so he had to let the whole thing go. god ... well, he had a long white beard like the farmer at kaase farm; but who kept house for him now he was old? saint peter was his bailiff, of course!... how could the old, dry cows have just as young calves as the young ones? and so on, and so on. there was one subject about which, as a matter of course, there could be no question, nor any thought at all in that sense, because it was the very foundation of all existence--father lasse. he was there, simply, he stood like a safe wall behind everything that one did. he was the real providence, the last great refuge in good and ill; he could do whatever he liked--father lasse was almighty. then there was one natural centre in the world--pelle himself. everything grouped itself about him, everything existed for him--for him to play with, to shudder at, or to put on one side for a great future. even distant trees, houses and rocks in the landscape, that he had never been up to, assumed an attitude toward him, either friendly or hostile; and the relation had to be carefully decided in the case of each new thing that appeared upon his horizon. his world was small; he had only just begun to create it. for a good arm's-length on all sides of him, there was more or less _terra firma_; but beyond that floated raw matter, chaos. but pelle already found his world immense, and was quite willing to make it infinite. he attacked everything with insatiable appetite; his ready perceptions laid hold of all that came within their reach; they were like the mouth of a machine, into which matter was incessantly rushing in small, whirling particles. and in the draught they raised, came others and again others; the entire universe was on its way toward him. pelle shaped and set aside twenty new things in the course of a second. the earth grew out under him into a world that was rich in excitement and grotesque forms, discomfort and the most everyday things. he went about in it uncertainly, for there was always something that became displaced and had to be revalued or made over again; the most matter-of-fact things would change and all at once become terrifying marvels, or _vice versa_. he went about in a state of continual wonderment, and assumed an expectant attitude even with regard to the most familiar things; for who could tell what surprises they might give one? as an instance; he had all his life had opportunities of verifying the fact that trouser-buttons were made of bone and had five holes, one large one in the middle and four smaller ones round it. and then one day, one of the men comes home from the town with a pair of new trousers, the buttons of which are made of bright metal and are no larger than a sixpenny-piece! they have only four holes, and the thread is to lie across them, not from the middle outward, as in the old ones. or take the great eclipse of the sun, that he had wondered so much about all the summer, and that all the old people said would bring about the destruction of the world. he had looked forward to it, especially the destruction part of it; it would be something of an adventure, and somewhere within him there was a little bit of confident assurance that it would all come right as far as he was concerned. the eclipse did come too, as it was meant to; it grew dark too, as if it were the last day, and the birds became so quiet, and the cattle bellowed and wanted to run home. but then it grew light again and it all came to nothing. then there were fearful terrors that all at once revealed themselves as tiny, tiny things--thank goodness! but there were also anticipated pleasures that made your heart beat, and when you got up to them they were dullness itself. far out in the misty mass, invisible worlds floated by that had nothing to do with his own. a sound coming out of the unknown created them in a twinkling. they came into existence in the same way that the land had done that morning he had stood upon the deck of the steamer, and heard voices and noise through the fog, thick and big, with forms that looked like huge gloves without fingers. and inside one there was blood and a heart and a soul. the heart pelle had found out about himself; it was a little bird shut up in there. but the soul bored its way like a serpent to whatever part of the body desire occupied. old thatcher holm had once drawn the soul like a thin thread out of the thumb of a man who couldn't help stealing. pelle's own soul was good; it lay in the pupils of his eyes, and reflected father lasse's image whenever he looked into them. the blood was the worst, and so father lasse always let himself be bled when there was anything the matter with him; the bad humors had to be let out. gustav thought a great deal about blood, and could tell the strangest things about it; and he cut his fingers only to see whether it was ripe. one evening he came over to the cow-stable and exhibited a bleeding finger. the blood was quite black. "now i'm a man!" he said, and swore a great oath; but the maids only made fun of him, and said that he had not carried his four bushels of peas up into the loft yet. then there was hell and heaven, and the stone-quarry where they struck one another with heavy hammers when they were drunk. the men in the stone-quarry were the strongest men in the world. one of them had eaten ten poached eggs at one time without being ill; and there is nothing so strengthening as eggs. down in the meadow, will-o'-the-wisps hopped about looking for something in the deep summer nights. there was always one of them near the stream, and it stood and danced on the top of a little heap of stones that lay in the middle of the meadow. a couple of years ago a girl had one night given birth to a child out there among the dunes and as she did not know what to do about a father for it, she drowned it in one of the pools that the brook makes where it turns. good people raised the little cairn, so that the place should not be forgotten; and over it the child's soul used to burn at dead of night at the time of year at which it was born. pelle believed that the child itself was buried beneath the stones, and now and then ornamented the mound with a branch of fir; but he never played at that part of the stream. the girl was sent across the sea, sentenced to penal servitude for many years, and people wondered at the father. she had not named any one, but every one knew who it was all the same. he was a young, well-to-do fisherman down in the village, and the girl was one of the poorest, so there could never have been any question of their marrying. the girl must have preferred this to begging help of him for the child, and living in the village with an illegitimate child, an object of universal derision. and he had certainly put a bold face on the matter, where many another would have been ashamed and gone away on a long voyage. this summer, two years after the girl went to prison, the fisherman was going home one night along the shore toward the village with some nets on his back. he was of a callous nature, and did not hesitate to take the shortest way across the meadow; but when he got in among the dunes, he saw a will-o'-the-wisp following in his steps, grew frightened, and began to run. it began to gain upon him, and when he leaped across the brook to put water between himself and the spirit, it seized hold of the nets. at this he shouted the name of god, and fled like one bereft of his senses. the next morning at sunrise he and his father went to fetch the nets. they had caught on the cairn, and lay right across the stream. then the young man joined the revivalists, and his father abandoned his riotous life and followed him. early and late the young fisherman was to be found at their meetings, and at other times he went about like a malefactor with his head hanging down, only waiting for the girl to come out of prison, so that he could marry her. pelle was up in it all. the girls talked shudderingly about it as they sat upon the men's knees in the long summer evenings, and a lovesick fellow from inland had made up a ballad about it, which gustav sang to his concertina. then all the girls on the farm wept, and even lively sara's eyes filled with tears, and she began to talk to mons about engagement rings. one day when pelle was lying on his face in the grass, singing and clapping his naked feet together in the clear air, he saw a young man standing by the cairn and putting on it stones which he took out of his pocket; after which he knelt down. pelle went up to him. "what are you doing?" he asked boldly, feeling that he was in his own domain. "are you saying your prayers?" the man did not answer, but remained in a kneeling posture. at last he rose, and spat out tobacco-juice. "i'm praying to him who is to judge us all," he said, looking steadily at pelle. pelle recognized that look. it was the same in expression as that of the man the other day--the one that had been sent by god. only there was no reproach in it. "haven't you any bed to sleep in then?" asked pelle. "i always say my prayers under the clothes. he hears them just as well! god knows everything." the young man nodded, and began moving about the stones on the cairn. "you mustn't hurt that," said pelle firmly, "for there's a little baby buried there." the young man turned upon him a strange look. "that's not true!" he said thickly; "for the child lies up in the churchyard in consecrated earth." "o--oh, inde--ed?" said pelle, imitating his father's slow tones. "but i know it was the parents that drowned it--and buried it here." he was too proud of his knowledge to relinquish it without a word. the man looked as if he were about to strike him, and pelle retreated a little, and then, having confidence in his legs, he laughed openly. but the other seemed no longer aware of his presence, and stood looking dully past the cairn. pelle drew nearer again. the man started at pelle's shadow, and heaved a deep sigh. "is that you?" he said apathetically, without looking at pelle. "why can't you leave me alone?" "it's _my_ field," said pelle, "because i herd here; but you may stay here if you won't hit me. and you mustn't touch the cairn, because there's a little baby buried there." the young man looked gravely at pelle. "it's not true what you say! how dare you tell such a lie? god hates a lie. but you're a simple-hearted child, and i'll tell you all about it without hiding anything, as truly as i only want to walk wholly in god's sight." pelle looked at him uncomprehendingly. "i should think i ought to know all about it," he said, "considering i know the whole song by heart. i can sing it to you, if you like. it goes like this." pelle began to sing in a voice that was a little tremulous with shyness-- "so happy are we in our childhood's first years, neither sorrow nor sin is our mead; we play, and there's nought in our path to raise fears that it straight into prison doth lead. right many there are that with voice sorrowful must oft for lost happiness long. to make the time pass in this prison so dull, i now will write down all my song. i played with my father, with mother i played, and childhood's days came to an end; and when i had grown up into a young maid, i played still, but now with my friend. i gave him my day and i gave him my night, and never once thought of deceit; but when i him told of my sorrowful plight, my trust i had cause to regret. 'i never have loved you,' he quickly did say; 'begone! i'll ne'er see you again!' he turned on his heel and went angry away. 'twas then i a murd'ress became." here pelle paused in astonishment, for the grown-up man had sunk forward as he sat, and he was sobbing. "yes, it was wicked," he said. "for then she killed her child and had to go to prison." he spoke with a certain amount of contempt; he did not like men that cried. "but it's nothing that you need cry about," he added carelessly, after a little. "yes, it is; for she'd done nothing. it was the child's father that killed it; it was me that did the dreadful thing; yes, i confess that i'm a murderer! haven't i openly enough acknowledged by wrongdoing?" he turned his face upward, as though he were speaking to god. "oh, was it you?" said pelle, moving a little away from him. "did you kill your own child? father lasse could never have done that! but then why aren't you in prison? did you tell a lie, and say _she'd_ done it?" these words had a peculiar effect upon the fisherman. pelle stood watching him for a little, and then exclaimed: "you do talk so queerly--'blop-blop-blop,' just as if you were from another country. and what do you scrabble in the air with your fingers for, and cry? will you get a thrashing when you get home?" at the word "cry," the man burst into a flood of tears. pelle had never seen any one cry so unrestrainedly. his face seemed all blurred. "will you have a piece of my bread-and-butter?" he asked, by way of offering comfort. "i've got some with sausage on." the fisherman shook his head. pelle looked at the cairn. he was obstinate, and determined not to give in. "it _is_ buried there," he said. "i've seen its soul myself, burning up on the top of the heap at night. that's because it can't get into heaven." a horrible sound came from the fisherman's lips, a hollow groan that brought pelle's little heart into his mouth. he began to jump up and down in fear, and when he recovered his senses and stopped, he saw the fisherman running with head bent low across the meadow, until he disappeared among the dunes. pelle gazed after him in astonishment, and then moved slowly toward his dinner-basket. the result of the encounter was, as far as it had gone, a disappointment. he had sung to a perfect stranger, and there was no denying that that was an achievement, considering how difficult it often was only to answer "yes" or "no" to somebody you'd never seen before. but he had hardly more than begun the verses, and what made the performance remarkable was that he knew the entire ballad by heart. he sang it now for his own benefit from beginning to end, keeping count of the verses on his fingers; and he found the most intense satisfaction in shouting it out at the top of his voice. in the evening he as usual discussed the events of the day with his father, and he then understood one or two things that filled his mind with uncomfortable thoughts. father lasse's was as yet the only human voice that the boy wholly understood; a mere sigh or shake of the head from the old man had a more convincing power than words from any one else. "alas!" he said again and again. "evil, evil everywhere; sorrow and trouble wherever you turn! he'd willingly give his life to go to prison in her stead, now it's too late! so he ran away when you said that to him? well, well, it's not easy to resist the word of god even from the lips of a child, when the conscience is sore; and trading in the happiness of others is a bad way of earning a living. but now see about getting your feet washed, laddie." life furnished enough to work at and struggle with, and a good deal to dread; but worse almost than all that would harm pelle himself, were the glimpses he now and then had of the depths of humanity: in the face of these his child's brain was powerless. why did the mistress cry so much and drink secretly? what went on behind the windows in the big house? he could not comprehend it, and every time he puzzled his little brain over it, the uncomfortable feeling only seemed to stare out at him from all the window-panes, and sometimes enveloped him in all the horror of the incomprehensible. but the sun rode high in the heavens, and the nights were light. the darkness lay crouching under the earth and had no power. and he possessed the child's happy gift of forgetting instantly and completely. vi pelle had a quick pulse and much energy, and there was always something that he was attempting to overtake in his restless onward rush--if nothing else, then time itself. now the rye was all in, now the last stack disappeared from the field, the shadows grew longer every day. but one evening the darkness surprised him before his bedtime, and this made him serious. he no longer hastened on the time, but tried to hold it back by many small sun-signs. one day the men's midday rest was taken off. they harnessed the horses again as soon as they had eaten their dinner, and the chaff-cutting was put off until the evening. the horse-way lay on the outer side of the stable, and none of the men cared to tramp round out there in the dark, driving for the chaff-cutter, so pelle had to do it. lasse protested and threatened to go to the farmer, but it was of no use; every evening pelle had to be out there for a couple of hours. they were his nicest hours that they took from him, the hours when he and father lasse pottered about in the stable, and talked themselves happily through all the day's troubles into a common bright future; and pelle cried. when the moon chased the clouds away and he could see everything round him distinctly, he allowed his tears to run freely; but on dark evenings he was quiet and held his breath. sometimes when it rained it was so dark that the farm and everything disappeared; and then he saw hundreds of beings that at other times the light hid. they appeared out of the darkness, terribly big, or came sliding up to him upon their bellies. he grew rigid as he gazed, and could not take his eyes from them. he sought shelter under the wall, and encouraged the horse from there; and one evening he ran in. they chased him out again, and he submitted to be chased, for when it came to the point he was more afraid of the men inside than of the beings outside. but one pitch-dark evening he was in an unusually bad way, and when he discovered that the horse, his only comfort, was also afraid, he dropped everything and ran in for the second time. threats were powerless to make him go out again, and blows equally so, and one of the men took him up and carried him out; but then pelle forgot everything, and screamed till the house shook. while they were struggling with him, the farmer came out. he was very angry when he heard what was the matter, and blew the foreman up sky high. then he took pelle by the hand, and went down with him to the cow-stable. "a man like you to be afraid of a little dark!" he said jokingly. "you must try to get the better of that. but if the men harm you, just you come to me." the plough went up and down the fields all day long, and made the earth dark in color, the foliage became variegated, and there was often sleet. the coats of the cattle grew thicker, their hair grew long and stood up on their backs. pelle had much to put up with, and existence as a whole became a shade more serious. his clothing did not become thicker and warmer with the cold weather like that of the cattle; but he could crack his whip so that it sounded, in the most successful attempts, like little shots; he could thrash rud when there was no unfairness, and jump across the stream at its narrowest part. all that brought warmth to the body. the flock now grazed all over the farm-lands, wherever the cows had been tethered; the dairy-cows being now indoors; or they went inland on the fens, where all the farms had each a piece of grass-land. here pelle made acquaintance with herd-boys from the other farms, and looked into quite another world that was not ruled by bailiff and farm-pupil and thrashings, but where all ate at the same table, and the mistress herself sat and spun wool for the herd-boys' stockings. but he could never get in there, for they did not take swedes at the small farms, nor would the people of the island take service together with them. he was sorry for this. as soon as the autumn ploughing was started up on the fields, the boys, according to old custom, took down the boundary-fences and let all the animals graze together. the first few days it gave them more to do, for the animals fought until they got to know one another. they were never wholly mingled; they always grazed in patches, each farm's flock by itself. the dinner-baskets were also put together, and one boy was appointed in turn to mind the whole herd. the other boys played at robbers up among the rocks, or ran about in the woods or on the shore. when it was really cold they lighted bonfires, or built fireplaces of flat stones, where they roasted apples and eggs which they stole from the farms. it was a glorious life, and pelle was happy. it was true he was the smallest of them all, and his being a swede was a drawback to him. in the midst of their play, the others would sometimes begin to mimic his way of talking, and when he grew angry asked why he did not draw his knife. but on the other hand he was from the biggest farm, and was the only one that had bullocks in his herd; he was not behind them in physical accomplishments, and none of them could carve as he could. and it was his intention, when he grew big, to thrash them all. in the meantime he had to accommodate himself to circumstances, ingratiate himself with the big ones, wherever he discovered there was a flaw in their relations to one another, and be obliging. he had to take his turn oftener than the others, and came off badly at mealtimes. he submitted to it as something unavoidable, and directed all his efforts toward getting the best that it was possible to get out of the circumstances; but he promised himself, as has been said, the fullest reparation when he grew big. once or twice it became too hot for him, and he left the community and kept by himself; but he soon returned to the others again. his little body was bursting with courage to live the life, and would not let him shirk it; he must take his chance--eat his way through. one day there came two new boys, who herded cattle from two farms on the other side of the stone-quarry. they were twins, and their names were alfred and albinus. they were tall, thin lads, who looked as if they might have been half-starved when they were little; their skin had a bluish tinge, and stood the cold badly. they were quick and active, they could overtake the quickest calf, they could walk on their hands and smoke at the same time, and not only vault but really jump obstacles. they were not much good at fighting; they were lacking in courage, and their ability forsook them in an emergency. there was something comical about the two brothers. "here are the twins, the twelvins!" cried the whole flock in greeting, the first morning they appeared. "well, how many times have you had a baby in your house since last year?" they belonged to a family of twelve, and among these there had twice been twins, and this of itself was an inexhaustible source of raillery; and moreover they were half swedish. they shared the disadvantage with pelle. but nothing seemed to have any effect upon them; they grinned at everything, and gave themselves away still more. from all he saw and heard, pelle could understand that there was something ridiculous about their home in the eyes of the parish; but they did not mind that. it was the fecundity of their parents that was the special subject of derision, and the two boys quite happily exposed them to ridicule, and would tell all about the most private home matters. one day when the flock had been most persistent in calling "twelvins!" they said, grinning, that their mother would soon be having a thirteenth. they were incapable of being wounded. every time they exposed their parents to ridicule, it hurt pelle, for his own feelings on this point were the most sacred that he had. try as he would, he could not understand them; he had to go to his father with the matter one evening. "so they mock and make fun of their own parents?" said lasse. "then they'll never prosper in this world, for you're to honor your father and mother. good parents who have brought them into the world with pain, and must toil hard, perhaps hunger and put up with much themselves, to get food and clothing for them! oh, it's a shame! and you say their surname is karlsson like ours, and that they live on the heath behind the stone-quarry? then they must be brother kalle's sons! why, bless my soul, if i don't believe that's it! you ask them tomorrow if their father hasn't a notch in his right ear! i did it myself with a piece of a horse-shoe when we were little boys one day i was in a rage with him because he made fun of me before the others. he was just the same as those two, but he didn't mean anything by it, there was nothing ill-natured about him." the boys' father _had_ a notch in his right ear. pelle and they were thus cousins; and the way that both they and their parents were made fun of was a matter for both laughter and tears. in a way, father lasse too came in for a share of the ridicule, and that thought was hardly to be endured. the other boys quickly discovered pelle's vulnerable point, and used it for their own advantage; and pelle had to give way and put up with things in order to keep his father out of their conversation. he did not always succeed, however. when they were in the mood, they said quite absurd things about one another's homes. they were not intended to be taken for more than they were worth, but pelle did not understand jokes on that head. one day one of the biggest boys said to him: "do you know, your father was the cause of his own mother's having a child!" pelle did not understand the play of words in this coarse joke, but he heard the laughter of the others, and becoming blind with rage, he flew at the big boy, and kicked him so hard in the stomach, that he had to keep his bed for several days. during those days, pelle went about in fear and trembling. he dared not tell his father what had happened, for then he would be obliged to repeat the boy's ugly accusation, too; so he went about in dread of the fatal consequences. the other boys had withdrawn themselves from him, so as not to share the blame if anything came of it; the boy was a farmer's son--the only one in the company--and they had visions of the magistrate at the back of the affair, and perhaps a caning at the town-hall. so pelle went by himself with his cattle, and had plenty of time to think about the event, which, by the force of his lively imagination, grew larger and larger in its consequences, until at last it almost suffocated him with terror. every cart he saw driving along the high-road sent a thrill through him; and if it turned up toward stone farm, he could distinctly see the policemen--three of them--with large handcuffs, just as they had come to fetch erik erikson for ill-treating his wife. he hardly dared drive the cattle home in the evening. one morning the boy came herding over there with his cattle, and there was a grown-up man with him, whom, from his clothes and everything else about him, pelle judged to be a farmer--was it the boy's father? they stood over there for a little while, talking to the herd-boys, and then came across toward him, with the whole pack at their heels, the father holding his son by the hand. the perspiration started from every pore of pelle's body; his fear prompted him to run away, but he stood his ground. together the father and son made a movement with their hand, and pelle raised both elbows to ward off a double box-on-the-ears. but they only extended their hands. "i beg your pardon," said the boy, taking one of pelle's hands; "i beg your pardon," repeated the father, clasping his other hand in his. pelle stood in bewilderment, looking from one to the other. at first he thought that the man was the same as the one sent by god; but it was only his eyes--those strange eyes. then he suddenly burst into tears and forgot all else in the relief they brought from the terrible anxiety. the two spoke a few kind words to him, and quietly went away to let him be alone. after this pelle and peter kure became friends, and when pelle learnt to know him better, he discovered that sometimes the boy had a little of the same look in his eyes as his father, and the young fisherman, and the man that was sent by god. the remarkable course that the event had taken occupied his mind for a long time. one day a chance comparison of his experiences brought him to the discovery of the connection between this mysterious expression in their eyes and their remarkable actions; the people who had looked at him with those eyes had all three done unexpected things. and another day it dawned upon him that these people were _religious_; the boys had quarrelled with peter kure that day, and had used the word as a term of abuse against his parents. there was one thing that was apparent, and outweighed everything, even his victory. he had entered the lists with a boy who was bigger and stronger than he, and had held his own, because for the first time in his life he had struck out recklessly. if you wanted to fight, you had to kick wherever it hurt most. if you only did that, and had justice on your side, you might fight anybody, even a farmer's son. these were two satisfactory discoveries, which for the present nothing could disturb. then he had defended his father; that was something quite new and important in his life. he required more space now. at michaelmas, the cattle were taken in, and the last of the day- laborers left. during the summer, several changes had been made among the regular servants at the farm, but now, at term-day, none were changed; it was not the habit of stone farm to change servants at the regular term-times. so pelle again helped his father with the foddering indoors. by rights he should have begun to go to school, and a mild representation of this fact was made to the farmer by the school authorities; but the boy was very useful at home, as the care of the cattle was too much for one man; and nothing more was heard about the matter. pelle was glad it was put off. he had thought much about school in the course of the summer, and had invested it with so much that was unfamiliar and great that he was now quite afraid of it. vii christmas eve was a great disappointment. it was the custom for the herd-boys to come out and spend christmas at the farms where they served in the summer, and pelle's companions had told him of all the delights of christmas--roast meat and sweet drinks, christmas games and ginger-nuts and cakes; it was one endless eating and drinking and playing of christmas games, from the evening before christmas eve until "saint knut carried christmas out," on january th. that was what it was like at all the small farms, the only difference being that those who were religious did not play cards, but sang hymns instead. but what they had to eat was just as good. the last few days before christmas pelle had to get up at two or half-past two to help the girls pluck poultry, and the old thatcher holm to heat the oven. with this his connection with the delights of christmas came to an end. there was dried cod and boiled rice on christmas eve, and it tasted good enough; but of all the rest there was nothing. there were a couple of bottles of brandy on the table for the men, that was all. the men were discontented and quarrelsome. they poured milk and boiled rice into the leg of the stocking that karna was knitting, so that she was fuming the whole evening; and then sat each with his girl on his knee, and made ill-natured remarks about everything. the old farm-laborers and their wives, who had been invited to partake of the christmas fare, talked about death and all the ills of the world. upstairs there was a large party. all the wife's relations were invited, and they were hard at work on the roast goose. the yard was full of conveyances, and the only one of the farm-servants who was in good spirits was the head man, who received all the tips. gustav was in a thoroughly bad humor, for bodil was upstairs helping to wait. he had brought his concertina over, and was playing love-songs. it was putting them into better spirits, and the evil expression was leaving their eyes; one after another they started singing, and it began to be quite comfortable down there. but just then a message came to say that they must make less noise, so the assembly broke up, the old people going home, and the young ones dispersing in couples according to the friendships of the moment. lasse and pelle went to bed. "what's christmas really for?" asked pelle. lasse rubbed his thigh reflectively. "it has to be," he answered hesitatingly. "yes, and then it's the time when the year turns round and goes upward, you see! and of course it's the night when the child jesus was born, too!" it took him a long time to produce this last reason, but when it did come it was with perfect assurance. "taking one thing with another, you see," he added, after a short pause. on the day after christmas day there was a kind of subscription merrymaking at an enterprising crofter's down in the village; it was to cost two and a half krones a couple for music, sandwiches, and spirits in the middle of the night, and coffee toward morning. gustav and bodil were going. pelle at any rate saw a little of christmas as it passed, and was as interested in it as if it concerned himself; and he gave lasse no rest from his questions that day. so bodil was still faithful to gustav, after all! when they got up the next morning, they found gustav lying on the ground by the cow-stable door, quite helpless, and his good clothes in a sad state. bodil was not with him. "then she's deceived him," said lasse, as they helped him in. "poor boy! only seventeen, and a wounded heart already! the women'll be his ruin one of these days, you'll see!" at midday, when the farm-laborers' wives came to do the milking, lasso's supposition was confirmed: bodil had attached herself to a tailor's apprentice from the village, and had left with him in the middle of the night. they laughed pityingly at gustav, and for some time after he had to put up with their gibes at his ill-success; but there was only one opinion about bodil. she was at liberty to come and go with whomsoever she liked, but as long as gustav was paying for her amusements, she ought to have kept to him. who but the neighbor would keep the hens that ate their grain at home and laid their eggs at the neighbor's? there had as yet been no opportunity to visit lasse's brother beyond the stone-quarry, but it was to be done on the second day of the new year. between christmas and the new year the men did nothing after dark, and it was the custom everywhere to help the herdsman with his evening occupations. there was nothing of that here; lasse was too old to assert himself, and pelle too little. they might think themselves lucky they did not have to do the foddering for the men who went out as well as their own. but to-day it was to come off; gustav and long ole had undertaken to do the evening work. pelle began to look forward to it as soon as he was up--he was up every day by half-past three. but as lasse used to say, if you sing before breakfast you'll weep before night. after dinner, gustav and ole were standing grinding chopping knives down in the lower yard. the trough leaked, and pelle had to pour water on the grindstone out of an old kettle. his happiness could be seen on his face. "what are you so pleased about?" asked gustav. "your eyes are shining like the cat's in the dark." pelle told him. "i'm afraid you won't get away!" said ole, winking at gustav. "we shan't get the chaff cut time enough to do the foddering. this grindstone's so confoundedly hard to turn, too. if only that handle-turner hadn't been broken!" pelle pricked up his ears. "handle-turner? what's that?" he asked. gustav sprang round the grindstone, and slapped his thigh in enjoyment of the joke. "my goodness, how stupid you are! don't you even know what a handle-turner is? it's a thing you only need to put on to the grindstone, and it turns it by itself. they've got one by-the-way over at kaase farm," he said, turning to ole; "if only it wasn't so far away." "is it heavy?" asked pelle, in a low voice; everything depended upon the answer. "can i lift it?" his voice trembled. "oh, no, not so awfully heavy. you could carry it quite well. but you'd have to be very careful." "i can run over and fetch it; i'll carry it very carefully." pelle looked at them with a face that could not but inspire confidence. "very well; but take a sack with you to put it in. and you'll have to be as careful as the very devil, for it's an expensive thing." pelle found a sack and ran off across the fields. he was as delighted as a young kid, plucking at himself and everything as he ran, and jumping aside to frighten the crows. he was overflowing with happiness. he was saving the expedition for himself and father lasse. gustav and ole were good men! he would get back as quickly as possible, so that they should not have to toil any more at the grindstone. "what, are you back already?" they would say, and open their eyes. "then you must have smashed that precious machine on the way!" and they would take it carefully out of the sack, and it would be quite safe and sound. "well, you are a wonder of a boy! a perfect prince!" they would say. when he got to kaase farm, they wanted him to go in to a christmas meal while they were putting the machine into the sack; but pelle said "no" and held to it: he had not time. so they gave him a piece of cold apple out on the steps, so that he should not carry christmas away. they all looked so pleasant, and every one came out when he hoisted the sack on his back and set off home. they too recommended him to be very careful, and seemed anxious, as if he could hardly realize what he was carrying. it was a good mile between the farms, but it was an hour and a half before pelle reached home, and then he was ready to drop. he dared not put down the sack to rest, but stumbled on step by step, only resting once by leaning against a stone fence. when at last he staggered into the yard, every one came up to see the neighbor's new handle-turner; and pelle was conscious of his own importance when ole carefully lifted the sack from his back. he leaned for a moment over toward the wall before he regained his balance; the ground was so strange to tread upon now he was rid of his burden; it pushed him away. but his face was radiant. gustav opened the sack, which was securely closed, and shook out its contents upon the stone pavement. they were pieces of brick, a couple of old ploughshares, and other similar things. pelle stared in bewilderment and fear at the rubbish, looking as if he had just dropped from another planet; but when laughter broke out on all sides, he understood what it all meant, and, crouching down, hid his face in his hands. he would not cry--not for the world; they should not have that satisfaction. he was sobbing in his heart, but he kept his lips tightly closed. his body tingled with rage. the beasts! the wicked devils! suddenly he kicked gustav on the leg. "aha, so he kicks, does he?" exclaimed gustav, lifting him up into the air. "do you want to see a little imp from smaaland?" pelle covered his face with his arms and kicked to be let down; and he also made an attempt to bite. "eh, and he bites, too, the little devil!" gustav had to hold him firmly so as to manage him. he held him by the collar, pressing his knuckles against the boy's throat and making him gasp, while he spoke with derisive gentleness. "a clever youngster, this! he's scarcely out of long clothes, and wants to fight already!" gustav went on tormenting him; it looked as if he were making a display of his superior strength. "well, now we've seen that you're the strongest," said the head man at last, "so let him go!" and when gustav did not respond immediately, he received a blow from a clenched fist between his shoulder-blades. then the boy was released, and went over to the stable to lasse, who had seen the whole thing, but had not dared to approach. he could do nothing, and his presence would only have done harm. "yes, and then there's our outing, laddie," he explained, by way of excuse, while he was comforting the boy. "i could very well thrash a puppy like gustav, but if i did we shouldn't get away this evening, for he wouldn't do our work. and none of the others, either, for they all stick together like burrs. but you can do it yourself! i verily believe you'd kick the devil himself, right on his club-foot! well, well, it was well done; but you must be careful not to waste your powder and shot. it doesn't pay!" the boy was not so easily comforted now. deep down in his heart the remembrance of his injury lay and pained him, because he had acted in such good faith, and they had wounded him in his ready, cheerful confidence. what had happened had also stung his pride; he had walked into a trap, made a fool of himself for them. the incident burnt into his soul, and greatly influenced his subsequent development. he had already found out that a person's word was not always to be relied upon, and he had made awkward attempts to get behind it. now he would trust nobody straight away any more; and he had discovered how the secret was to be found out. you only had to look at people's eyes when they said anything. both here and at kaase farm the people had looked so strange about the handle-turner, as if they were laughing inside. and the bailiff had laughed that time when he promised them roast pork and stewed rhubarb every day. they hardly ever got anything but herring and porridge. people talked with two tongues; father lasse was the only one who did not do it. pelle began to be observant of his own face. it was the face that spoke, and that was why it went badly with him when he tried to escape a thrashing by telling a white lie. and to-day's misfortune had been the fault of his face; if you felt happy, you mustn't show it. he had discovered the danger of letting his mind lie open, and his small organism set to work diligently to grow hard skin to draw over its vital parts. after supper they set off across the fields, hand in hand as usual. as a rule, pelle chattered unceasingly when they were by themselves; but this evening he was quieter. the event of the afternoon was still in his mind, and the coming visit gave him a feeling of solemnity. lasse carried a red bundle in his hand, in which was a bottle of black-currant rum, which they had got per olsen to buy in the town the day before, when he had been in to swear himself free. it had cost sixty-six ores, and pelle was turning something over in his mind, but did not know whether it would do. "father!" he said at last. "mayn't i carry that a little way?" "gracious! are you crazy, boy? it's an expensive article! and you might drop it." "i wouldn't drop it. well, only hold it for a little then? mayn't i, father? oh do, father!" "eh, what an idea! i don't know what you'll be like soon, if you aren't stopped! upon my word, i think you must be ill, you're getting so tiresome!" and lasse went on crossly for a little while, but then stopped and bent down over the boy. "hold it then, you little silly, but be very careful! and you mustn't move a single step while you've got it, mind!" pelle clasped the bottle to his body with his arms, for he dared not trust his hands, and pushed out his stomach as far as possible to support it. lasse stood with his hands extended beneath the bottle, ready to catch it if it fell. "there! that'll do!" he said anxiously, and took the bottle. "it _is_ heavy!" said pelle, admiringly, and went on contentedly, holding his father's hand. "but why had he to swear himself free?" he suddenly asked. "because he was accused by a girl of being the father of her child. haven't you heard about it?" pelle nodded. "isn't he, then? everybody says he is." "i can hardly believe it; it would be certain damnation for per olsen. but, of course, the girl says it's him and no one else. ah me! girls are dangerous playthings! you must take care when your time comes, for they can bring misfortune upon the best of men." "how do you swear, then? do you say 'devil take me'?" lasse could not help laughing. "no, indeed! that wouldn't be very good for those that swear false. no, you see, in the court all god's highest ministers are sitting round a table that's exactly like a horseshoe, and beyond that again there's an altar with the crucified christ himself upon it. on the altar lies a big, big book that's fastened to the wall with an iron chain, so that the devil can't carry it off in the night, and that's god's holy word. when a man swears, he lays his left hand upon the book, and holds up his right hand with three fingers in the air; they're god the father, son and holy ghost. but if he swears false, the governor can see it at once, because then there are red spots of blood on the leaves of the book." "and what then?" asked pelle, with deep interest. "well, then his three fingers wither, and it goes on eating itself into his body. people like that suffer frightfully; they rot right away." "don't they go to hell, then?" "yes, they do that too, except when they give themselves up and take their punishment, and then they escape in the next life; but they can't escape withering away." "why doesn't the governor take them himself and punish them, when he can see in that book that they swore false?" "why, because then they'd get off going to hell, and there's an agreement with satan that he's to have all those that don't give themselves up, don't you see?" pelle shuddered, and for a little while walked on in silence beside his father; but when he next spoke, he had forgotten all about it. "i suppose uncle kalle's rich, isn't he?" he asked. "he can't be rich, but he's a land-owner, and that's not a little thing!" lasse himself had never attained to more than renting land. "when i grow up, i mean to have a great big farm," said pelle, with decision. "yes, i've no doubt you will," said lasse, laughing. not that he also did not expect something great of the boy, if not exactly a large farmer. there was no saying, however. perhaps some farmer's daughter might fall in love with him; the men of his family generally had an attraction for women. several of them had given proof of it--his brother, for instance, who had taken the fancy of a parson's wife. then pelle would have to make the most of his opportunity so that the family would be ashamed to oppose the match. and pelle was good enough. he had that "cow's-lick" on his forehead, fine hair at the back of his neck, and a birth-mark on his hip; and that all betokened luck. lasse went on talking to himself as he walked, calculating the boy's future with large, round figures, that yielded a little for him too; for, however great his future might be, it would surely come in time to allow of lasse's sharing and enjoying it in his very old age. they went across country toward the stone-quarry, following stone dikes and snow-filled ditches, and working their way through the thicket of blackthorn and juniper, behind which lay the rocks and "the heath." they made their way right into the quarry, and tried in the darkness to find the place where the dross was thrown, for that would be where the stone-breaking went on. a sound of hammering came from the upper end of the ground, and they discovered lights in several places. beneath a sloping straw screen, from which hung a lantern, sat a little, broad man, hammering away at the fragments. he worked with peculiar vivacity--struck three blows and pushed the stones to one side, another three blows, and again to one side; and while with one hand he pushed the pieces away, with the other he placed a fresh fragment in position on the stone. it went as busily and evenly as the ticking of a watch. "why, if that isn't brother kalle sitting there!" said lasse, in a voice of surprise as great as if the meeting were a miracle from heaven. "good evening, kalle karlsson! how are you?" the stone-breaker looked up. "oh, there you are, brother!" he said, rising with difficulty; and the two greeted one another as if they had met only the day before. kalle collected his tools and laid the screen down upon them while they talked. "so you break stones too? does that bring in anything?" asked lasse. "oh, not very much. we get twelve krones a 'fathom' and when i work with a lantern morning and evening, i can break half a fathom in a week. it doesn't pay for beer, but we live anyhow. but it's awfully cold work; you can't keep warm at it, and you get so stiff with sitting fifteen hours on the cold stone--as stiff as if you were the father of the whole world." he was walking stiffly in front of the others across the heath toward a low, hump-backed cottage. "ah, there comes the moon, now there's no use for it!" said kalle, whose spirits were beginning to rise. "and, my word, what a sight the old dormouse looks! he must have been at a new year's feast in heaven." "you're the same merry devil that you were in the old days," said lasse. "well, good spirits'll soon be the only thing to be had without paying for." the wall of the house stuck out in a large round lump on one side, and pelle had to go up to it to feel it all over. it was most mysterious what there might be on the other side--perhaps a secret chamber? he pulled his father's hand inquiringly. "that? that's the oven where they bake their bread," said lasse. "it's put there to make more room." after inviting them to enter, kalle put his head in at a door that led from the kitchen to the cowshed. "hi, maria! you must put your best foot foremost!" he called in a low voice. "the midwife's here!" "what in the world does she want? it's a story, you old fool!" and the sound of milk squirting into the pail began again. "a story, is it? no, but you must come in and go to bed; she says it's high time you did. you are keeping up much too long this year. mind what you say," he whispered into the cowshed, "for she is really here! and be quick!" they went into the room, and kalle went groping about to light a candle. twice he took up the matches and dropped them again to light it at the fire, but the peat was burning badly. "oh, bother!" he said, resolutely striking a match at last. "we don't have visitors every day." "your wife's danish," said lasse, admiringly. "and you've got a cow too?" "yes, it's a biggish place here," said kalle, drawing himself up. "there's a cat belonging to the establishment too, and as many rats as it cares to eat." his wife now appeared, breathless, and looking in astonishment at the visitors. "yes, the midwife's gone again," said kalle. "she hadn't time to-day; we must put it off till another time. but these are important strangers, so you must blow your nose with your fingers before you give them your hand!" "oh, you old humbug! you can't take me in. it's lasse, of course, and pelle!" and she held out her hand. she was short, like her husband, was always smiling, and had bowed arms and legs just as he had. hard work and their cheerful temperament gave them both a rotund appearance. "there are no end of children here," said lasse, looking about him. there were three in the turn-up bedstead under the window--two small ones at one end, and a long, twelve-year-old boy at the other, his black feet sticking out between the little girls' heads; and other beds were made up on chairs, in an old kneading-trough, and on the floor. "ye-es; we've managed to scrape together a few," said kalle, running about in vain to get something for his visitors to sit upon; everything was being used as beds. "you'll have to spit on the floor and sit down on that," he said, laughing. his wife came in, however, with a washing-bench and an empty beer-barrel. "sit you down and rest," she said, placing the seats round the table. "and you must really excuse it, but the children must be somewhere." kalle squeezed himself in and sat down upon the edge of the turn-up bedstead. "yes, we've managed to scrape together a few," he repeated. "you must provide for your old age while you have the strength. we've made up the dozen, and started on the next. it wasn't exactly our intention, but mother's gone and taken us in." he scratched the back of his head, and looked the picture of despair. his wife was standing in the middle of the room. "let's hope it won't be twins this time too," she said, laughing. "why, that would be a great saving, as we shall have to send for the midwife anyhow. people say of mother," he went on, "that when she's put the children to bed she has to count them to make sure they're all there; but that's not true, because she can't count farther than ten." here a baby in the alcove began to cry, and the mother took it up and seated herself on the edge of the turn-up bedstead to nurse it. "and this is the smallest," he said, holding it out toward lasse, who put a crooked finger down its neck. "what a little fatty!" he said softly; he was fond of children. "and what's its name?" "she's called dozena endina, because when she came we thought that was to be the last; and she was the twelfth too." "dozena endina! that's a mighty fine name!" exclaimed lasse. "it sounds exactly as if she might be a princess." "yes, and the one before's called ellen--from eleven, of course. that's her in the kneading-trough," said kalle. "the one before that again is tentius, and then nina, and otto. the ones before that weren't named in that way, for we hadn't thought then that there'd be so many. but that's all mother's fault; if she only puts a patch on my working-trousers, things go wrong at once." "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to get out of it like that," said his wife, shaking her finger at him. "but as for that," she went on, turning to lasse, "i'm sure the others have nothing to complain of either, as far as their names are concerned. albert, anna, alfred, albinus, anton, alma and alvilda--let me see, yes, that's the lot. none of them can say they've not been treated fairly. father was all for a at that time; they were all to rhyme with a. poetry's always come so easy to him." she looked admiringly at her husband. kalle blinked his eyes in bashfulness. "no, but it's the first letter, you see, and it sounds pretty," he said modestly. "isn't he clever to think of a thing like that? he ought to have been a student. now _my_ head would never have been any good for anything of that sort. he wanted, indeed, to have the names both begin and end with a, but that wouldn't do with the boys, so he had to give that up. but then he hasn't had any book-learning either." "oh, that's too bad, mother! i didn't give it up. i'd made up a name for the first boy that had a at the end too; but then the priest and the clerk objected, and i had to let it go. they objected to dozena endina too, but i put my foot down; for i can be angry if i'm irritated too long. i've always liked to have some connection and meaning in everything; and it's not a bad idea to have something that those who look deeper can find out. now, have you noticed anything special about two of these names?" "no," answered lasse hesitatingly, "i don't know that i have. but i haven't got a head for that sort of thing either." "well, look here! anna and otto are exactly the same, whether you read them forward or backward--exactly the same. i'll just show you." he took down a child's slate that was hanging on the wall with a stump of slate-pencil, and began laboriously to write the names. "now, look at this, brother!" "i can't read," said lasse, shaking his head hopelessly. "does it really give the same both ways? the deuce! that _is_ remarkable!" he could not get over his astonishment. "but now comes something that's still more remarkable," said kalle, looking over the top of the slate at his brother with the gaze of a thinker surveying the universe. "otto, which can be read from both ends, means, of course, eight; but if i draw the figure , it can be turned upside down, and still be the same. look here!" he wrote the figure eight. lasse turned the slate up and down, and peered at it. "yes, upon my word, it is the same! just look here, pelle! it's like the cat that always comes down upon its feet, no matter how you drop it. lord bless my soul! how nice it must be to be able to spell! how did you learn it, brother?" "oh," said kalle, in a tone of superiority. "i've sat and looked on a little when mother's been teaching the children their abc. it's nothing at all if your upper story's all right." "pelle'll be going to school soon," said lasse reflectively. "and then perhaps _i_ could--for it would be nice. but i don't suppose i've got the head for it, do you? no, i'm sure i haven't got the head for it," he repeated in quite a despairing tone. kalle did not seem inclined to contradict him, but pelle made up his mind that some day he would teach his father to read and write--much better than uncle kalle could. "but we're quite forgetting that we brought a christmas bottle with us!" said lasse, untying the handkerchief. "you _are_ a fellow!" exclaimed kalle, walking delightedly round the table on which the bottle stood. "you couldn't have given us anything better, brother; it'll come in handy for the christening-party. 'black currant rum'--and with a gold border--how grand!" he held the label up toward the light, and looked round with pleasure in his eyes. then he hesitatingly opened the cupboard in the wall. "the visitors ought to taste what they brought," said his wife. "that's just what was bothering me!" said kalle, turning round with a disconsolate laugh. "for they ought, of course. but if the cork's once drawn, you know how it disappears." he reached out slowly for the corkscrew which hung on a nail. but lasse would not hear of it; he would not taste the beverage for the world. was black-currant rum a thing for a poor beggar like him to begin drinking--and on a weekday, too? no, indeed! "yes, and you'll be coming to the christening-party, you two, of course," said kalle, relieved, putting the bottle into the cupboard. "but we'll have a 'cuckoo,' for there's a drop of spirits left from christmas eve, and i expect mother'll give us coffee." "i've got the coffee on," answered his wife cheerfully. "did you ever know such a wife! you can never wish for anything but what it's there already!" pelle wondered where his two herding-comrades, alfred and albinus, were. they were away at their summer places, taking their share of the good christmas fare, and would not be back before "knut." "but this fellow here's not to be despised," said kalle, pointing to the long boy in the turn-up bed. "shall we have a look at him?" and, pulling out a straw, he tickled the boy's nose with it. "get up, my good anton, and harness the horses to the wheelbarrow! we're going to drive out in state." the boy sat up and began to rub his eyes, to kalle's great delight. at last he discovered that there were strangers present, and drew on his clothes, which had been doing duty as his pillow. pelle and he became good friends at once, and began to play; and then kalle hit upon the idea of letting the other children share in the merry-making, and he and the two boys went round and tickled them awake, all the six. his wife protested, but only faintly; she was laughing all the time, and herself helped them to dress, while she kept on saying: "oh, what foolishness! upon my word, i never knew the like of it! then this one shan't be left out either!" she added suddenly, drawing the youngest out of the alcove. "then that's the eight," said kalle, pointing to the flock. "they fill the room well, don't they? alma and alvilda are twins, as you can see. and so are alfred and albinus, who are away now for christmas. they're going to be confirmed next summer, so they'll be off my hands." "then where are the two eldest?" asked lasse. "anna's in service in the north, and albert's at sea, out with a whaler just now. he's a fine fellow. he sent us his portrait in the autumn. won't you show it us, maria?" his wife began slowly to look for it, but could not find it. "i think i know where it is, mother," said one of the little girls over and over again; but as no one heard what she said, she climbed up on to the bench, and took down an old bible from the shelf. the photograph was in it. "he is a fine fellow, and no mistake!" said lasse. "there's a pair of shoulders! he's not like our family; it must be from yours, maria, that he's got that carriage." "he's a kongstrup," said kalle, in a low tone. "oh, indeed, is he?" said lasse hesitatingly, recollecting johanna pihl's story. "maria was housemaid at the farm, and he talked her over as he has done with so many. it was before my time, and he did what he ought." maria was standing looking from one to the other of them with a meaningless smile, but her forehead was flushed. "there's gentle blood in that boy," said kalle admiringly. "he holds his head differently from the others. and he's good--so tremendously good." maria came slowly up to him, leaned her arm upon his shoulder, and looked at the picture with him. "he is good, isn't he, mother?" said kalle, stroking her face. "and so well-dressed he is too!" exclaimed lasse. "yes, he takes care of his money. he's not dissipated, like his father; and he's not afraid of parting with a ten-krone note when he's at home here on a visit." there was a rustling at the inner door, and a little, wrinkled old woman crept out onto the threshold, feeling her way with her feet, and holding her hands before her face to protect it. "is any one dead?" she asked as she faced the room. "why, there's grandmother!" said kalle. "i thought you'd be in your bed." "and so i was, but then i heard there were strangers here, and one likes to hear the news. have there been any deaths in the parish?" "no, grandmother, there haven't. people have something better to do than to die. here's some one come to court you, and that's much better. this is mother-in-law," he said, turning to the others; "so you can guess what she's like." "just you come here, and i'll mother-in-law you!" said the old lady, with a feeble attempt to enter into the gaiety. "well, welcome to this house then," she said, extending her hand. kalle stretched his out first, but as soon as she touched it, she pushed it aside, saying: "do you think i don't know you, you fool?" she felt lasse's and pelle's hands for a long time with her soft fingers before she let them go. "no, i don't know you!" she said. "it's brother lasse and his son down from stone farm," kalle informed her at last. "aye, is it really? well, i never! and you've come over the sea too! well, here am i, an old body, going about here quite alone; and i've lost my sight too." "but you're not _quite_ alone, grandmother," said kalle, laughing. "there are two grown-ups and half a score of children about you all day long." "ah yes, you can say what you like, but all those i was young with are dead now, and many others that i've seen grow up. every week some one that i know dies, and here am i still living, only to be a burden to others." kalle brought in the old lady's arm-chair from her room, and made her sit down. "what's all that nonsense about?" he said reproachfully. "why, you pay for yourself!" "pay! oh dear! they get twenty krones a year for keeping me," said the old woman to the company in general. the coffee came in, and kalle poured brandy into the cups of all the elder people. "now, grandmother, you must cheer up!" he said, touching her cup with his. "where the pot boils for twelve, it boils for the thirteenth as well. your health, grandmother, and may you still live many years to be a burden to us, as you call it!" "yes, i know it so well, i know it so well," said the old woman, rocking backward and forward. "you mean so well by it all. but with so little wish to live, it's hard that i should take the food out of the others' mouths. the cow eats, and the cat eats, the children eat, we all eat; and where are you, poor things, to get it all from!" "say 'poor thing' to him who has no head, and pity him who has two," said kalle gaily. "how much land have you?" asked lasse. "five acres; but it's most of it rock." "can you manage to feed the cow on it then?" "last year it was pretty bad. we had to pull the roof off the outhouse, and use it for fodder last winter; and it's thrown us back a little. but dear me, it made the loft all the higher." kalle laughed. "and now there'll always be more and more of the children getting able to keep themselves." "don't those who are grown up give a hand too?" asked lasse. "how can they? when you're young, you can use what you've got yourself. they must take their pleasures while there's time; they hadn't many while they were children, and once they're married and settled they'll have something else to think about. albert is good enough when he's at home on a visit; last time he gave us ten krones and a krone to each of the children. but when they're out, you know how the money goes if they don't want to look mean beside their companions. anna's one of those who can spend all they get on clothes. she's willing enough to do without, but she never has a farthing, and hardly a rag to her body, for all that she's for ever buying." "no, she's the strangest creature," said her mother. "she never can make anything do." the turn-up bedstead was shut to give room to sit round the table, and an old pack of cards was produced. every one was to play except the two smallest, who were really too little to grasp a card; kalle wanted, indeed, to have them too, but it could not be managed. they played beggar-my-neighbor and black peter. grandmother's cards had to be read out to her. the conversation still went on among the elder people. "how do you like working for the farmer at stone farm?" asked kalle. "we don't see much of the farmer himself; he's pretty nearly always out, or sleeping after a night on the loose. but he's nice enough in other ways; and it's a house where they feed you properly." "well, there are places where the food's worse," said kalle, "but there can't be many. most of them, certainly, are better." "are they really?" asked lasse, in surprise. "well, i don't complain as far as the food's concerned; but there's a little too much for us two to do, and then it's so miserable to hear that woman crying nearly the whole time. i wonder if he ill-treats her; they say not." "i'm sure he doesn't," said kalle. "even if he wanted to--as you can very well understand he might--he dursn't. he's afraid of her, for she's possessed by a devil, you know." "they say she's a were-wolf at night," said lasse, looking as if he expected to see a ghost in one of the corners. "she's a poor body, who has her own troubles," said maria, "and every woman knows a little what that means. and the farmer's not all kindness either, even if he doesn't beat her. she feels his unfaithfulness more than she'd feel anything else." "oh, you wives always take one another's part," said kalle, "but other people have eyes too. what do _you_ say, grandmother? you know that better than any one else." "well, i know something about it at any rate," said the old woman. "i remember the time when kongstrup came to the island as well as if it had been yesterday. he owned nothing more than the clothes he wore, but he was a fine gentleman for all that, and lived in copenhagen." "what did he want over here?" asked lasse. "what did he want? to look for a young girl with money, i suppose. he wandered about on the heath here with his gun, but it wasn't foxes he was after. she was fooling about on the heath too, admiring the wild scenery, and nonsense like that, and behaving half like a man, instead of being kept at home and taught to spin and make porridge; but she was the only daughter, and was allowed to go on just as she liked. and then she meets this spark from the town, and they become friends. he was a curate or a pope, or something of the sort, so you can't wonder that the silly girl didn't know what she was doing." "no, indeed!" said lasse. "there's always been something all wrong with the women of that family," the old woman continued. "they say one of them once gave herself to satan, and since then he's had a claim upon them and ill-treats them whenever the moon's waning, whether they like it or not. he has no power over the pure, of course; but when these two had got to know one another, things went wrong with her too. he must have noticed it, and tried to get off, for they said that the old farmer of stone farm compelled him with his gun to take her for his wife; and he was a hard old dog, who'd have shot a man down as soon as look at him. but he was a peasant through and through, who wore home-woven clothes, and wasn't afraid of working from sunrise to sunset. it wasn't like what it is now, with debts and drinking and card-playing, so people had something then." "well, now they'd like to thresh the corn while it's still standing, and they sell the calves before they're born," said kalle. "but i say, grandmother, you're black peter!" "that comes of letting one's tongue run on and forgetting to look after one's self!" said the old lady. "grandmother's got to have her face blacked!" cried the children. she begged to be let off, as she was just washed for the night; but the children blacked a cork in the stove and surrounded her, and she was given a black streak down her nose. every one laughed, both old and young, and grandmother laughed with them, saying it was a good thing she could not see it herself. "it's an ill wind," she said, "that blows nobody any good. but i should like to have my sight again," she went on, "if it's only for five minutes, before i die. it would be nice to see it all once more, now that the trees and everything have grown so, as kalle says they have. the whole country must have changed. and i've never seen the youngest children at all." "they say that they can take blindness away over in copenhagen," said kalle to his brother. "it would cost a lot of money, wouldn't it?" asked lasse. "it would cost a hundred krones at the very least," the grandmother remarked. kalle looked thoughtful. "if we were to sell the whole blooming thing, it would be funny if there wasn't a hundred krones over. and then grandmother could have her sight again." "goodness gracious me!" exclaimed the old woman. "sell your house and home! you must be out of your mind! throw away a large capital upon an old, worn-out thing like me, that has one foot in the grave! i couldn't wish for anything better than what i have!" she had tears in her eyes. "pray god i mayn't bring about such a misfortune in my old age!" "oh, rubbish! we're still young," said kalle. "we could very well begin something new, maria and me." "have none of you heard how jacob kristian's widow is?" asked the old lady by way of changing the subject. "i've got it into my head that she'll go first, and then me. i heard the crow calling over there last night." "that's our nearest neighbor on the heath," explained kalle. "is she failing now? there's been nothing the matter with her this winter that i know of." "well, you may be sure there's something," said the old woman positively. "let one of the children run over there in the morning." "yes, if you've had warning. jacob kristian gave good enough warning himself when he went and died. but we were good friends for many years, he and me." "did he show himself?" asked lasse solemnly. "no; but one night--nasty october weather it was--i was woke by a knocking at the outside door. that's a good three years ago. maria heard it too, and we lay and talked about whether i should get up. we got no further than talking, and we were just dropping off again, when the knocking began again. i jumped up, put on a pair of trousers, and opened the door a crack, but there was no one there. 'that's strange!' i said to maria, and got into bed again; but i'd scarcely got the clothes over me, when there was a knocking for the third time. "i was cross then, and lighted the lantern and went round the house; but there was nothing either to be seen or heard. but in the morning there came word to say that jacob kristian had died in the night just at that time." pelle, who had sat and listened to the conversation, pressed close up to his father in fear; but lasse himself did not look particularly valiant. "it's not always nice to have anything to do with the dead," he said. "oh, nonsense! if you've done no harm to any one, and given everybody their due, what can they do to you?" said kalle. the grandmother said nothing, but sat shaking her head very significantly. maria now placed upon the table a jar of dripping and a large loaf of rye-bread. "that's the goose," said kalle, merrily sticking his sheath-knife into the loaf. "we haven't begun it yet. there are prunes inside. and that's goose-fat. help yourselves!" after that lasse and pelle had to think about getting home, and began to tie handkerchiefs round their necks; but the others did not want to let them go yet. they went on talking, and kalle made jokes to keep them a little longer. but suddenly he turned as grave as a judge; there was a low sound of crying out in the little passage, and some one took hold of the handle of the door and let go of it again. "upon my word, it's ghosts!" he exclaimed, looking fearfully from one to another. the sound of crying was heard again, and maria, clasping her hands together, exclaimed: "why, it's anna!" and quickly opened the door. anna entered in tears, and was attacked on all sides with surprised inquiries, to which her sobs were her only answer. "and you've been given a holiday to come and see us at christmas time, and you come home crying! you are a nice one!" said kalle, laughing. "you must give her something to suck, mother!" "i've lost my place," the girl at last got out between her sobs. "no, surely not!" exclaimed kalle, in changed tones. "but what for? have you been stealing? or been impudent?" "no, but the master accused me of being too thick with his son." in a flash the mother's eyes darted from the girl's face to her figure, and she too burst into tears. kalle could see nothing, but he caught his wife's action and understood. "oh!" he said quietly. "is that it?" the little man was like a big child in the way the different expressions came and went upon his good-natured face. at last the smile triumphed again. "well, well, that's capital!" he exclaimed, laughing. "shouldn't good children take the work off their parents' shoulders as they grow up and are able to do it? take off your things, anna, and sit down. i expect you're hungry, aren't you? and it couldn't have happened at a better time, as we've got to have the midwife anyhow!" lasse and pelle drew their neckerchiefs up over their mouths after taking leave of every one in the room, kalle circling round them restlessly, and talking eagerly. "come again soon, you two, and thanks for this visit and your present, brother lasse! oh, yes!" he said suddenly at the outside door, and laughed delightedly; "it'll be something grand--brother-in-law to the farmer in a way! oh, fie, kalle karlsson! you and i'll be giving ourselves airs now!" he went a little way along the path with them, talking all the time. lasse was quite melancholy over it. pelle knew quite well that what had happened to anna was looked upon as a great disgrace, and could not understand how uncle kalle could seem so happy. "ah, yes," said lasse, as they stumbled along among the stones. "kalle's just like what he always was! he laughs where others would cry." it was too dark to go across the fields, so they took the quarry road south to get down to the high-road. at the cross-roads, the fourth arm of which led down to the village, stood the country-shop, which was also a hedge-alehouse. as they approached the alehouse, they heard a great noise inside. then the door burst open, and some men poured out, rolling the figure of a man before them on the ground. "the police have taken them by surprise!" said lasse, and drew the boy with him out into the ploughed field, so as to get past without being seen. but at that moment some one placed a lamp in the window, and they were discovered. "there's the stone farm herdsman!" said a voice. "hi, lasse! come here!" they went up and saw a man lying face downward on the ground, kicking; his hands were tied behind his back, and he could not keep his face out of the mud. "why, it's per olsen!" exclaimed lasse. "yes, of course!" said the shopkeeper. "can't you take him home with you? he's not right in his head." lasse looked hesitatingly at the boy, and then back again. "a raving man?" he said. "we two can't alone." "oh, his hands are tied. you've only got to hold the end of the rope and he'll go along quietly with you," said one of the men. they were quarrymen from the stone-quarry. "you'll go with them quietly, won't you?" he asked, giving the man a kick in the side with the toe of his wooden shoe. "oh dear! oh dear!" groaned per olsen. "what's he done?" asked lasse. "and why have you ill-used him so?" "we had to thrash him a little, because he was going to chop off one of his thumbs. he tried it several times, the beast, and got it half off; and we had to beat him to make him stop." and they showed lasse the man's thumb, which was bleeding. "such an animal to begin cutting and hacking at himself because he's drunk half a pint of gin! if he wanted to fight, there were men enough here without that!" "it must be tied up, or he'll bleed to death, poor fellow!" said lasse, slowly drawing out his red pocket-handkerchief. it was his best handkerchief, and it had just been washed. the shopkeeper came with a bottle and poured spirit over the thumb, so that the cold should not get into it. the wounded man screamed and beat his face upon the ground. "won't one of you come with us?" asked lasse. but no one answered; they wanted to have nothing to do with it, in case it should come to the ears of the magistrate. "well, then, we two must do it with god's help," he said, in a trembling voice, turning to pelle. "but you can help him up at any rate, as you knocked him down." they lifted him up. his face was bruised and bleeding; in their eagerness to save his finger, they had handled him so roughly that he could scarcely stand. "it's lasse and pelle," said the old man, trying to wipe his face. "you know us, don't you, per olsen? we'll go home with you if you'll be good and not hurt us; we mean well by you, we two." per olsen stood and ground his teeth, trembling all over his body. "oh dear, oh dear!" was all he said. there was white foam at the corners of his mouth. lasse gave pelle the end of the rope to hold. "he's grinding his teeth; the devil's busy with him already," he whispered. "but if he tries to do any harm, just you pull with all your might at the rope; and if the worst comes to the worst, we must jump over the ditch." they now set off homeward, lasse holding per olsen under the arm, for he staggered and would have fallen at almost every step. he kept on murmuring to himself or grinding his teeth. pelle trudged behind, holding the rope. cold shivers ran down his back, partly from fear, partly from secret satisfaction. he had now seen some one whom he knew to be doomed to perdition! so those who became devils in the next world looked like per olsen? but he wasn't unkind! he was the nicest of the farm men to pelle, and he had bought that bottle for them--yes, and had advanced the money out of his own pocket until may-day! viii oh! what a pace she was driving at! the farmer whipped up the gray stallion, and sat looking steadily out over the fields, as if he had no suspicion that any one was following him; but his wife certainly did not mind. she whipped the bay as hard as she could, and did not care who saw her. and it was in broad daylight that they were playing the fool like this on the high-road, instead of keeping their quarrels within four walls as decent people did! it was true enough that gentle folks had no feeling of shame in them! then she called out and stood up in the trap to beat the horse--with the handle even! couldn't she let him drive out in peace to his fair charmer, whoever she was, and make it warm for him when he came home? how could she do the same thing over and over again for twenty years? really women were persevering creatures! and how _he_ could be bothered! having everlasting disturbances at home for the sake of some hotel landlady or some other woman, who could not be so very different to be with than his own wife! it would take a long-suffering nature to be a brute in that way; but that must be what they call love, properly speaking. the threshing-machine had come to a standstill, and the people at stone farm were hanging out of the doors and windows, enjoying it royally. it was a race, and a sight for the gods to see the bay mare gaining upon the stallion; why, it was like having two sundays in one week! lasse had come round the corner, and was following the mad race, his hand shading his eyes. never had he known such a woman; bengta was a perfect lamb compared to her! the farmer at kaase farm, who was standing at his gate when they dashed past, was secretly of the same opinion; and the workers in the fields dropped their implements, stared and were scandalized at the sight. at last, for very shame, he had to stop and turn round. she crawled over into his carriage, and the bay followed quietly with her empty vehicle. she put her arm about his shoulder, and looked happy and triumphant, exactly like the district policeman when he has had a successful chase; but he looked like a criminal of the worst kind. in this way they came driving back to the farm. one day kalle came to borrow ten krones and to invite lasse and pelle to the christening-party on the following sunday. lasse, with some difficulty, obtained the money from the bailiff up in the office, but to the invitation they had to say "no, thank you," hard though it was; it was quite out of the question for them to get off again. another day the head man had disappeared. he had gone in the night, and had taken his big chest with him, so some one must have helped him; but the other men in the room swore solemnly that they had noticed nothing, and the bailiff, fume as he might, was obliged to give up the attempt to solve the mystery. one or two things of this kind happened that made a stir for a day or two, but with these exceptions the winter was hard to get through. darkness ruled for the greater part of the twenty-four hours, and it was never quite light in the corners. the cold, too, was hard to bear, except when you were in the comfortable stable. in there it was always warm, and pelle was not afraid of going about in the thickest darkness. in the servants' room they sat moping through the long evenings without anything to occupy themselves with. they took very little notice of the girls, but sat playing cards for gin, or telling horrible stories that made it a most venturesome thing to run across the yard down to the stable when you had to go to bed. per olsen, on account of his good behavior, was raised to the position of head man when the other ran away. lasse and pelle were glad of this, for he took their part when they were put upon by any one. he had become a decent fellow in every respect, hardly ever touched spirits, and kept his clothes in good order. he was a little too quiet even for the old day-laborers of the farm and their wives; but they knew the reason of it and liked him because he took the part of the weak and because of the fate that hung over him. they said he was always listening; and when he seemed to be listening within to the unknown, they avoided as far as possible disturbing him. "you'll see he'll free himself; the evil one'll have no claim upon him," was the opinion of both lasse and the laborers' wives when they discussed per olsen's prospects at the sunday milking. "there are some people that even the almighty can't find anything to blame for." pelle listened to this, and tried every day to peep at the scar on per olsen's thumb. it would surely disappear when god removed his judgment! during most of the winter pelle drove the horse for the threshing- machine. all day he trotted round upon the horse-way outside the farm, over his wooden shoes in trodden-down snow and manure. it was the most intolerable occupation that life had yet offered him. he could not even carve, it was too cold for his fingers; and he felt lonely. as a herd-boy he was his own master, and a thousand things called to him; but here he had to go round and round behind a bar, always round. his one diversion was to keep count of the times he drove round, but that was a fatiguing employment and made you even duller than the everlasting going round, and you could not leave off. time held nothing of interest, and short as it was the day seemed endless. as a rule, pelle awoke happy, but now every morning when he woke he was weary of everything; it was to be that everlasting trudging round behind the bar. after a time doing this for about an hour used to make him fall into a state of half-sleep. the condition came of itself, and he longed for it before it came. it was a kind of vacuity, in which he wished for nothing and took no interest in anything, but only staggered along mechanically at the back of the bar. the machine buzzed unceasingly, and helped to maintain the condition; the dust kept pouring out at the window, and the time passed imperceptibly. generally now dinner or evening surprised him, and sometimes it seemed to him that the horses had only just been harnessed when some one came out to help him in with them. he had arrived at the condition of torpor that is the only mercy that life vouchsafes to condemned prisoners and people who spend their lives beside a machine. but there was a sleepiness about him even in his free time; he was not so lively and eager to know about everything; father lasse missed his innumerable questions and little devices. now and again he was roused for a moment out of his condition by the appearance at the window of a black, perspiring face, that swore at him because he was not driving evenly. he knew then that long ole had taken the place of per olsen, whose business it was to feed the machine. it sometimes happened, too, that the lash of the whip caught on the axle and wound round it, so that the whole thing had to be stopped and drawn backward; and that day he did not fall into a doze again. in march the larks appeared and brought a little life. snow still lay in the hollows, but their singing reminded pelle warmly of summer and grazing cattle. and one day he was wakened in his tramp round and round by seeing a starling on the roof of the house, whistling and preening its feathers in delight. on that day the sun shone brightly, and all heaviness was gone from the air; but the sea was still a pale gray down there. pelle began to be a human being again. it was spring, and then, too, in a couple of days the threshing would be finished. but after all, the chief thing was that waistcoat-pocket of his; that was enough to put life into its owner. he ran round in a trot behind the bar; he had to drive quickly now in order to get done, for every one else was in the middle of spring ploughing already. when he pressed his hand against his chest, he could distinctly feel the paper it was wrapped in. for it was still there, wasn't it? it would not do to open the paper and look; he must find out by squeezing. pelle had become the owner of fifty ores--a perfectly genuine fifty-ore piece. it was the first time he had ever possessed anything more than two and one ore pieces, and he had earned it by his own cleverness. it was on sunday, when the men had had a visit from some quarrymen, and one of them had hit upon the idea of sending for some birch-fat to have with their dram. pelle was to run to the village shop for it, and he was given a half-krone and injunctions to go in the back way, as it was sunday. pelle had not forgotten his experience at christmas, and kept watch upon their faces. they were all doing their best to smooth them out and busy themselves with one thing and another; and gustav, who gave him the money, kept turning his face away and looking at something out in the yard. when he stated his errand, the shopman's wife broke into a laugh. "i say, don't you know better than that?" she exclaimed. "why, wasn't it you who fetched the handle-turner too? you've all found that very useful, haven't you?" pelle turned crimson. "i thought they were making fun of me, but i didn't dare say no," he said in a low voice. "no, one has to play the fool sometimes, whether one is it or not," said the woman. "what is birch-fat, then?" asked pelle. "why, my gracious! you must have had it many a time, you little imp! but it shows how often you have to put up with things you don't know the name of." a light dawned upon pelle. "does it mean a thrashing with a birch-rod?" "didn't i say you knew it?" "no, i've only had it with a whip--on my legs." "well, well, you needn't mind that; the one may be just as good as the other. but now sit down and drink a cup of coffee while i wrap up the article for them." she pushed a cup of coffee with brown sugar toward him, and began ladling out soft soap on to a piece of paper. "here," she said. "you give them that: it's the best birch-fat. and you can keep the money yourself." pelle was not courageous enough for this arrangement. "very well, then," she said. "i'll keep the money for you. they shan't make fools of us both. and then you can get it yourself. but now you must put on a bold face." pelle did put on a bold face, but he was decidedly nervous. the men swore at the loss of the half-krone, and called him the "greatest idiot upon god's green earth"; but he had the satisfaction of knowing that that was because he had not been stupid enough. and the half-krone was his! a hundred times a day he felt it without wearing it out. here at last was something the possession of which did not rob it of its lustre. there was no end to the purchases he made with it, now for lasse, now for himself. he bought the dearest things, and when he lingered long enough over one purchase and was satiated with the possession of it, he set about buying something else. and all the while he kept the coin. at times he would be suddenly seized with an insane fear that the money was gone; and then when he felt it, he was doubly happy. pelle had suddenly become a capitalist, and by his own cleverness; and he made the most of his capital. he had already obtained every desirable thing that he knew of--he had it all, at any rate, in hand; and gradually as new things made their appearance in his world, he secured for himself the right to their purchase. lasse was the only person who knew about his wealth, and he had reluctantly to allow himself to be drawn into the wildest of speculations. he could hear by the sound that there was something wrong with the machine. the horses heard it too, and stopped even before some one cried "stop!" then one after another came the shouts: "stop! drive on! stop! on again! stop! pull!" and pelle pulled the bar back, drove on and pulled until the whole thing whizzed again. then he knew that it was long ole feeding the machine while per olsen measured the grain: ole was a duffer at feeding. it was going smoothly again, and pelle was keeping an eye on the corner by the cow-stable. when lasse made his appearance there, and patted his stomach, it meant that it was nearly dinner-time. something stopped the bar, the horses had to pull hard, and with a jerk it cleared the invisible hindrance. there was a cry from the inside of the threshing-barn, and the sound of many voices shouting "stop!" the horses stopped dead, and pelle had to seize the bar to prevent it swinging forward against their legs. it was some time before any one came out and took the horses in, so that pelle could go into the barn and see what was the matter. he found long ole walking about and writhing over one of his hands. his blouse was wrapped about it, but the blood was dripping through on to the floor of the barn. he was bending forward and stumbling along, throwing his body from side to side and talking incoherently. the girls, pale and frightened, were standing gazing at him while the men were quarreling as to what was the best thing to do to stop the flow of blood, and one of them came sliding down from the loft with a handful of cobwebs. pelle went and peered into the machine to find out what there was so voracious about it. between two of the teeth lay something like a peg, and when he moved the roller, the greater part of a finger dropped down on to the barn floor. he picked it up among some chaff, and took it to the others: it was a thumb! when long ole saw it, he fainted; it could hardly be wondered at, seeing that he was maimed for life. but per olsen had to own that he had left the machine at a fortunate moment. there was no more threshing done that day. in the afternoon pelle played in the stable, for he had nothing to do. while he played, he suggested plans for their future to his father: they were engrossed in it. "then we'll go to america, and dig for gold!" "ye-es, that wouldn't be a bad thing at all. but it would take a good many more half-krones to make that journey." "then we can set up as stone-masons." lasse stood still in the middle of the foddering-passage, and pondered with bent head. he was exceedingly dissatisfied with their position; there were two of them toiling to earn a hundred krones, and they could not make ends meet. there was never any liberty either; they were simply slaves. by himself he never got any farther than being discontented and disappointed with everything; he was too old. the mere search for ways to something new was insuperable labor, and everything looked so hopeless. but pelle was restless, and whenever he was dissatisfied with anything, made plans by the score, some of the wildest, and some fairly sensible; and the old man was carried away by them. "we might go to the town and work too," said lasse meditatively. "they earn one bright krone after another in there. but what's to be done with you? you're too little to use a tool." this stubborn fact put a stop for the moment to pelle's plans; but then his courage rose again. "i can quite well go with you to the town," he said. "for i shall----" he nodded significantly. "what?" asked lasse, with interest. "well, perhaps i'll go down to the harbor and be doing nothing, and a little girl'll fall into the water and i shall save her. but the little girl will be a gentleman's daughter, and so----" pelle left the rest to lasse's imagination. "then you'd have to learn to swim first," said lasse gravely. "or you'd only be drowned." screams were heard from the men's bedroom. it was long ole. the doctor had come and was busy with his maimed hand. "just run across and find out what'll happen to it!" said lasse. "nobody'll pay any attention to you at such a time, if you make yourself small." in a little while pelle came back and reported that three fingers were quite crushed and hanging in rags, and the doctor had cut them off. "was it these three?" asked lasse, anxiously, holding up his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. truth to tell, pelle had seen nothing, but his imagination ran away with him. "yes, it was his swearing-fingers," he said, nodding emphatically. "then per olsen is set free," said lasse, heaving a deep sigh. "what a _good_ thing it has been--quite providential!" that was pelle's opinion too. the farmer himself drove the doctor home, and a little while after he had gone, pelle was sent for, to go on an errand for the mistress to the village-shop. ix it was nothing for pelle; if he were vanquished on one point, he rose again on two others: he was invincible. and he had the child's abundant capacity for forgiving; had he not he would have hated all grown-up people with the exception of father lasse. but disappointed he certainly was. it was not easy to say who had expected most--the boy, whose childish imagination had built, unchecked, upon all that he had heard, or the old man, who had once been here himself. but pelle managed to fill his own existence with interest, and was so taken up on all sides that he only just had time to realize the disappointment in passing. his world was supersensual like that of the fakir; in the course of a few minutes a little seed could shoot up and grow into a huge tree that overshadowed everything else. cause never answered to effect in it, and it was governed by another law of gravitation: events always bore him up. however hard reality might press upon him, he always emerged from the tight place the richer in some way or other; and no danger could ever become overwhelmingly great as long as father lasse stood reassuringly over and behind everything. but lasse had failed him at the decisive moment more than once, and every time he used him as a threat, he was only laughed at. the old man's omnipotence could not continue to exist side by side with his increasing decrepitude; in the boy's eyes it crumbled away from day to day. unwilling though he was, pelle had to let go his providence, and seek the means of protection in himself. it was rather early, but he looked at circumstances in his own way. distrust he had already acquired--and timidity! he daily made clumsy attempts to get behind what people said, and behind things. there was something more behind everything! it often led to confusion, but occasionally the result was conspicuously good. there were some thrashings that you could run away from, because in the meantime the anger would pass away, and other thrashings where it answered best to shed as many tears as possible. most people only beat until the tears came, but the bailiff could not endure a blubberer, so with him the thing was to set your teeth and make yourself hard. people said you should speak the truth, but most thrashings could be avoided by making up a white lie, if it was a good one and you took care of your face. if you told the truth, they thrashed you at once. with regard to thrashing, the question had a subjective side as well as an objective one. he could beat rud whenever he liked, but with bigger boys it was better to have right on his side, as, for instance, when his father was attacked. then god helped him. this was a case in which the boy put the omnipotence quite aside, and felt himself to be the old man's protector. lasse and pelle were walking through life hand in hand, and yet each was going his own way. lasse felt it to be so. "we've each got hold of an end," he sometimes said to himself despondently, when the difference was all too marked. "he's rising, the laddie!" this was best seen in the others. in the long run they had to like the boy, it could not be otherwise. the men would sometimes give him things, and the girls were thoroughly kind to him. he was in the fairest period of budding youth; they would often take him on their knees as he passed, and kiss him. "ah, he'll be a lady's man, he will!" lasse would say. "he's got that from his father." but they would laugh at that. there was always laughter when lasse wanted to join the elders. last time--yes, then he was good enough. it was always "where's lasse?" when gin was going round, or tricks were being played, or demonstrations made. "call lasse karlsson!" he had no need to push himself forward; it was a matter of course that he was there. the girls were always on the look-out for him, married man though he was, and he had fun with them--all quite proper, of course, for bengta was not good to quarrel with if she heard anything. but now! yes--well, yes--he might fetch the gin for the others and do their work for them when they had a holiday, without their doing anything in exchange! "lasse! where's lasse? can you feed the horses for me this evening? can you take my place at the chaff-cutting to-morrow evening?" there was a difference between then and now, and lasse had found out the reason for himself: he was getting old. the very discovery brought further proof of its correctness, laid infirmity upon him, and removed the tension from his mind, and what was left of it from his body. the hardest blow of all was when he discovered that he was of no importance to the girls, had no place at all in their thoughts of men. in lasse's world there was no word that carried such weight as the word "man"; and in the end it was the girls who decided whether you were one or not. lasse was not one; he was not dangerous! he was only a few poor relics of a man, a comical remnant of some by-gone thing; they laughed at him when he tried to pay them attention. their laughter crushed him, and he withdrew into his old-man's world, and despondently adapted himself to it. the only thing that kept life in him was his concern for the boy, and he clung despairingly to his position as his providence. there was little he could do for him, and therefore he talked all the bigger; and when anything went against the boy, he uttered still greater threats against the world than before. he also felt that the boy was in process of making himself independent, and fought a desperate battle to preserve the last appearance of power. but pelle could not afford to give support to his fancy, nor had he the understanding to do it. he was growing fast, and had a use for all that he possessed himself. now that his father no longer stood behind to shield him, he was like a small plant that has been moved out into the open, and is fighting hard to comprehend the nature of its surroundings, and adapt itself to them. for every root-fibre that felt its way into the soil, there fell to the ground one of the tender leaves, and two strong ones pushed forth. one after another the feelings of the child's defencelessness dropped and gave place to the harder ones of the individual. the boy was engaged in building himself up, in accordance with invisible laws. he assumed an attitude toward his surroundings at all points, but he did not imitate them. the farm men, for instance, were not kind to the animals. they often lashed the horses only as a vent for their ill-humor, and the girls were just the same to the smaller animals and the dairy-cows. from these considerations, pelle taught himself sympathy. he could not bear cruelty to animals, and thrashed rud for the first time when the latter had one day robbed a bird's nest. pelle was like a kid that makes a plaything of everything. in his play he took up, without suspecting it, many of the serious phenomena of life, and gambolled with them in frolicsome bounds. he exercised his small mind as he exercised his body, twisted himself into everything and out of everything, imitated work and fun and shirking, and learned how to puff himself up into a very devil of a fellow where his surroundings were yielding, and to make himself almost invisible with modesty when they were hard. he was training himself to be that little jack-of-all-trades, man. and it became more and more difficult to catch him unprepared. the first time he had to set about a thing in earnest, he was generally handy at it; he was as difficult to take unawares as a cat. * * * * * it was summer again. the heat stood still and played over the ground, sparkling, with indolent voluptuousness and soft movements like the fish in the stream. far inland it quivered above the rocks that bounded the view, in a restless flicker of bluish white; below lay the fields beneath the broiling sun, with the pollen from the rye drifting over them like smoke. up above the clover-field stood the cows of stone farm in long rows, their heads hanging heavily down, and their tails swinging regularly. lasse was moving between their ranks, looking for the mallet, and now and then gazing anxiously down towards the meadow by the dunes, and beginning to count the young cattle and the bullocks. most of them were lying down, but a few of them were standing with their heads close together, and munching with closed eyes. the boys were nowhere to be seen. lasse stood wondering whether he should give pelle a warning call; there would he no end of a row if the bailiff were to come now. but then the sound of voices came from among the young firs on the dunes, a naked boy appeared, and then another. their bodies were like golden flashes in the air as they ran over the grass-wrack and across the meadow, each with his cap held closed in his hand. they sat down upon the edge of the stream with their feet in the water, and carefully uncovered their captives; they were dragon-flies. as the insects one by one crawled out at the narrow opening, the boys decapitated them and laid them in a row on the grass. they had caught nine, and nine times thirty-five--well, it would be more than three krones. the stupendous amount made pelle skeptical. "now isn't that only a lie?" he said, and licked his shoulder where he had been bitten by a mosquito. it was said that the chemist gave thirty-five ores apiece for dragon-flies. "a lie?" exclaimed rud. "yes, perhaps it is," he went on meekly. "it must be a lie, for anything like that always is. you might give me yours too!" but pelle would not do that. "then give me your half-krone, and i'll go to the town and sell them for you. they cost thirty-five ores, for karl says so, and his mother washes the floor in the chemist's shop." pelle got up, not to fetch the half-krone--he would not part with that for all the world--but to assure himself that it still lay in his waistcoat pocket. when he had gone a little way, rud hastily lifted a piece of turf at the edge of the stream, pushed something in under it, and jumped into the water; and when pelle came back with slow, ominous steps, he climbed up the other side and set off at a run. pelle ran too, in short, quick leaps. he knew he was the quicker, and the knowledge made him frolicsome. he flapped at his naked body as he ran, as if he had no joints, swayed from side to side like a balloon, pranced and stamped on the ground, and then darted on again. then the young firs closed round them again, only the movement of their tops showing where the boys ran, farther and farther, until all was still. in the meadow the cattle were munching with closed eyes and attentive ears. the heat played over the ground, flickering, gasping, like a fish in water. there was a heavy, stupefying humming in the air; the sound came from everywhere and nowhere. down across the cornfields came a big, stout woman. she wore a skirt, a chemise, and a handkerchief on her head, and she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked about. she crossed the meadow obliquely, found pelle's dinner-basket, took out its contents and put them in under her chemise upon her bare, perspiring bosom, and then turned in the direction of the sea. there was a sudden break in the edge of the fir-plantation, and out came rud with pelle hanging upon his back. rud's inordinately large head hung forward and his knees gave way; his forehead, which receded above the eyes and projected just below the line of the hair, was a mass of bruises and scars, which became very visible now with his exertions. both the boys had marks all over their bodies from the poison of the pine-needles. pelle dropped on to the grass, and lay there on his face, while rud went slowly to fetch the half-krone, and handed it reluctantly to its owner. he stooped like one vanquished, but in his eye the thought of a new battle lay awaiting its opportunity. pelle gazed lovingly at the coin. he had had it now ever since april, from the time when he was sent to buy birch-fat. he had purchased with it everything that was desirable, and he had lost it twice: he loved that piece of money. it made his fingers itch, his whole body; it was always urging him on to spend it, now in one way and now in another. roll, roll! that was what it was longing to do; and it was because it was round, father lasse said. but to become rich--that meant stopping the money as it rolled. oh, pelle meant to be rich! and then he was always itching to spend it--spend it in such a way that he got everything for it, or something he could have all his life. they sat upon the bank of the stream and wrangled in a small way. rud did his best to inspire awe, and bragged to create an impression. he bent his fingers backward and moved his ears; he could move them forward in a listening position like a horse. all this irritated pelle intensely. suddenly he stopped. "won't you give me the half-krone, then? you shall have ten krones when i grow up." rud collected money--he was avaricious already--and had a whole boxful of coins that he had stolen from his mother. pelle considered a little. "no," he said. "because you'll never grow up; you're a dwarf!" the tone of his voice was one of sheer envy. "that's what the sow says too! but then i'll show myself for money at the fairs and on midsummer eve on the common. then i shall get frightfully rich." pelle was inwardly troubled. should he give him the whole fifty ores for nothing at all? he had never heard of any one doing such a thing. and perhaps some day, when rud had become enormously rich, he would get half of it. "will you have it?" he asked, but regretted it instantly. rud stretched out his hand eagerly, but pelle spat into it. "it can wait until we've had our dinner anyhow," he said, and went over to the basket. for a little while they stood gazing into the empty basket. "the sow's been here," said rud, putting out his tongue. pelle nodded. "she _is_ a beast!" "a thief," said rud. they took the sun's measure. rud declared that if you could see it when you bent down and looked between your legs, then it was five o'clock. pelle began to put on his clothes. rud was circling about him. "i say!" he said suddenly. "if i may have it, i'll let you whip me with nettles." "on your bare body?" asked pelle. rud nodded. in a second pelle was out of his trousers again, and running to a patch of nettles. he pulled them up with the assistance of a dock-leak, as many as he could hold, and came back again. rud lay down, face downwards, on a little mound, and the whipping began. the agreement was a hundred strokes, but when rud had received ten, he got up and refused to have any more. "then you won't get the money," said pelle. "will you or won't you?" he was red with excitement and the exertion, and the perspiration already stood in beads down his slender back, for he had worked with a will. "will you or won't you? seventy-five strokes then!" pelle's voice quivered with eagerness, and he had to dilate his nostrils to get air enough; his limbs began to tremble. "no--only sixty--you hit so hard! and i must have the money first, or you may cheat me." "i don't cheat," said pelle gloomily. but rud held to his point. pelle's body writhed; he was like a ferret that has tasted blood. with a jerk he threw the coin at rud, and grumbling, pushed him down. he wept inwardly because he had let him off forty strokes; but he made up his mind to lay into him all the harder for it. then he beat, slowly and with all his might, while rud burrowed with his head in the grass and clasped the money tightly to keep up his strength. there was hatred in every stroke that pelle struck, and they went like shocks through his playmate's body, but he never uttered a cry. no, there was no point in his crying, for the coin he held in his hand took away the pain. but about pelle's body the air burnt like fire, his arms began to give way with fatigue, and his inclination diminished with every stroke. it was toil, nothing but hard toil. and the money--the beautiful half-krone--was slipping farther and farther away, and he would be poor once more; and rud was not even crying! at the forty-sixth stroke he turned his face and put out his tongue, whereat pelle burst into a roar, threw down the frayed nettle-stalks, and ran away to the fir-plantation. there he sat for the rest of the day under a dune, grieving over his loss, while rud lay under the bank of the stream, bathing his blistered body with wet earth. x after all, per olsen was not the sort of man they had thought him. now that he had been set free in that way, the thing would have been for him to have given a helping hand to that poor fellow, long ole; for after all it was for his sake that ole's misfortune had come upon him. but did he do it? no, he began to amuse himself. it was drinking and dissipation and petticoats all the summer through; and now at martinmas he left and took work at the quarry, so as to be more his own master. there was not sufficient liberty for him at stone farm. what good there was left in him would find something to do up there. long ole could not, of course, remain at stone farm, crippled as he was. through kindness on the part of the farmer, he was paid his half-wage; that was more than he had any claim to, and enough at any rate to take him home and let him try something or other. there were many kinds of work that at a pinch could be performed with one hand; and now while he had the money he ought to have got an iron hook; it could be strapped to the wrist, and was not bad to hold tools with. but ole had grown weak and had great difficulty in making up his mind. he continued to hang about the farm, notwithstanding all that the bailiff did to get him away. at last they had to put his things out, to the west of the farm; and there they lay most of the summer, while he himself slept among the stacks, and begged food of the workers in the fields. but this could not go on when the cold set in. but then one day in the autumn, his things were gone. johanna pihl --commonly called the sow--had taken him in. she felt the cold, too, in spite of her fat, and as the proverb says: it's easier for two to keep warm than one; but whatever was her reason for doing it, long ole might thank his maker for her. there was always bacon hanging in her chimney. lasse and pelle looked forward to term-day with anxiety. what changes would it bring this time for people? so much depended on that. besides the head man, they were to have new second and third men and some new maids. they were always changing at stone farm when they could. karna, poor soul, was bound to stay, as she had set her mind upon youth, and would absolutely be where gustav was! gustav stayed because bodil stayed, so unnaturally fond was he of that girl, although she was not worth it. and bodil herself knew well enough what she was doing! there must be more in it than met the eye when a girl dressed, as she did, in expensive, town-bought clothes. lasse and pelle _remained_, simply because there was no other place in the world for them to go to. all through the year they made plans for making a change, but when the time for giving notice approached, lasse became quiet and let it go past. of late he had given no little thought to the subject of marrying again. there was something god-forsaken about this solitary existence for a man of his age; you became old and worn out before your time, when you hadn't a wife and a house. on the heath near brother kalle's, there was a house that he could have without paying anything down. he often discussed it with pelle, and the boy was ready for anything new. it should be a wife who could look after everything and make the house comfortable; and above all she must be a hard-working woman. it would not come amiss either if she had a little of her own, but let that be as it might, if only she was good-natured. karna would have suited in all respects, both lasse and pelle having always had a liking for her ever since the day she freed pelle from the pupil's clutches; but it was nothing to offer her as long as she was so set upon gustav. they must bide their time; perhaps she would come to her senses, or something else might turn up. "then there'd be coffee in bed on sunday mornings!" said pelle, with rapture. "yes, and perhaps we'd get a little horse, and invite brother kalle for a drive now and then," added lasse solemnly. at last it was really to be! in the evening lasse and pelle had been to the shop and bought a slate and pencil, and pelle was now standing at the stable-door with a beating heart and the slate under his arm. it was a frosty october morning, but the boy was quite hot after his wash. he had on his best jacket, and his hair had been combed with water. lasse hovered about him, brushing him here and there with his sleeve, and was even more nervous than the boy. pelle had been born to poor circumstances, had been christened, and had had to earn his bread from the time he was a little boy--all exactly as he had done himself. so far there was no difference to be seen; it might very well have been lasse himself over again, from the big ears and the "cow's-lick" on the forehead, to the way the boy walked and wore out the bottoms of his trouser-legs. but this was something strikingly new. neither lasse nor any of his family had ever gone to school; it was something new that had come within the reach of his family, a blessing from heaven that had fallen upon the boy and himself. it felt like a push upward; the impossible was within reach; what might not happen to a person who had book-learning! you might become master of a workshop, a clerk, perhaps even a schoolmaster. "now do take care of the slate, and see that you don't break it!" he said admonishingly. "and keep out of the way of the big boys until you can hold your own with them. but if any of them simply won't let you alone, mind you manage to hit first! that takes the inclination out of most of them, especially if you hit hard; he who hits first hits twice, as the old proverb says. and then you must listen well, and keep in mind all that your teacher says; and if anyone tries to entice you into playing and larking behind his back, don't do it. and remember that you've got a pocket-handkerchief, and don't use your fingers, for that isn't polite. if there's no one to see you, you can save the handkerchief, of course, and then it'll last all the longer. and take care of your nice jacket. and if the teacher's lady invites you in to coffee, you mustn't take more than one piece of cake, mind." lasse's hands trembled while he talked. "she's sure not to do that," said pelle, with a superior air. "well, well, now go, so that you don't get there too late--the very first day, too. and if there's some tool or other wanting, you must say we'll get it at once, for we aren't altogether paupers!" and lasse slapped his pocket; but it did not make much noise, and pelle knew quite well that they had no money; they had got the slate and pencil on credit. lasse stood looking after the boy as long as he was in sight, and then went to his work of crushing oilcakes. he put them into a vessel to soak, and poured water on them, all the while talking softly to himself. there was a knock at the outside stable-door, and lasse went to open it. it was brother kalle. "good-day, brother!" he said, with his cheerful smile. "here comes his majesty from the quarries!" he waddled in upon his bow legs, and the two exchanged hearty greetings. lasse was delighted at the visit. "what a pleasant time we had with you the other evening!" said lasse, taking his brother by the hand. "that's a long time ago now. but you must look in again one evening soon. grandmother looks upon both of you with a favorable eye!" kalle's eyes twinkled mischievously. "how is she, poor body? has she at all got over the hurt to her eye? pelle came home the other day and told me that the children had been so unfortunate as to put a stick into her eye. it quite upset me. you had to have the doctor, too!" "well, it wasn't quite like that," said kalle. "i had moved grandmother's spinning-wheel myself one morning when i was putting her room to rights, and then i forgot to put it back in its place. then when she was going to stoop down to pick up something from the floor, the spindle went into her eye; of course she's used to have everything stand exactly in its place. so really the honor's due to me." he smiled all over his face. lasse shook his head sympathetically. "and she got over it fairly well?" he asked. "no; it went altogether wrong, and she lost the sight of that eye." lasse looked at him with disapproval. kalle caught himself up, apparently very much horrified. "eh, what nonsense i'm talking! she lost the _blindness_ of that eye, i ought to have said. _isn't_ that all wrong, too? you put somebody's eye out, and she begins to see! upon my word, i think i'll set up as an eye-doctor after this, for there's not much difficulty in it." "what do you say? she's begun to--? now you're too merry! you oughtn't to joke about everything." "well, well, joking apart, as the prophet said when his wife scratched him--she can really see with that eye now." lasse looked suspiciously at him for a little while before he yielded. "why, it's quite a miracle!" he then said. "yes, that's what the doctor said. the point of the spindle had acted as a kind of operation. but it might just as easily have taken the other direction. yes, we had the doctor to her three times; it was no use being niggardly." kalle stood and tried to look important; he had stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. "it cost a lot of money, i suppose?" "that's what i thought, too, and i wasn't very happy when i asked the doctor how much it would be. twenty-five krones, he said, and it didn't sound anything more than when any of us ask for a piece of bread-and-dripping. 'will the doctor be so kind as to wait a few days so that i can get the cow property sold?' i asked. 'what!' he says, and glares at me over his spectacles. 'you don't mean to sell the cow so as to pay me? you mustn't do that on any account; i'll wait till times are better.' 'we come off easily, even if we get rid of the cow,' i said. 'how so?' he asks, as we go out to the carriage --it was the farmer of kaase farm that was driving for me. so i told him that maria and i had been thinking of selling everything so that grandmother might go over and be operated. he said nothing to that, but climbed up into the carriage; but while i was standing like this, buttoning up his foot-bag, he seizes me by the collar and says: 'do you know, you little bow-legged creature!' (kalle imitated the doctor's town speech), 'you're the best man i've ever met, and you don't owe me a brass farthing! for that matter, it was you yourself that performed the operation.' 'then i ought almost to have had the money,' i said. then he laughed and gave me a box on the ears with his fur cap. he's a fine man, that doctor, and fearfully clever; they say that he has one kind of mixture that he cures all kinds of illness with." they were sitting in the herdsman's room upon the green chest, and lasse had brought out a little gin. "drink, brother!" he said again and again. "it takes something to keep out this october drizzle." "many thanks, but you must drink! but i was going to say, you should see grandmother! she goes round peeping at everything with her one eye; if it's only a button, she keeps on staring at it. so that's what that looks like, and that! she's forgotten what the things look like, and when she sees a thing, she goes to it to feel it afterward --to find out what it is, she actually says. she would have nothing to do with us the first few days; when she didn't hear us talk or walk, she thought we were strangers, even though she saw us there before her eyes." "and the little ones?" asked lasse. "thank you, anna's is fat and well, but our own seems to have come to a standstill. after all, it's the young pigs you ought to breed with. by the bye"--kalle took out his purse--"while we're at it, don't let me forget the ten krones i got from you for the christenings." lasse pushed it away. "never mind that," he said. "you may have a lot to go through yet. how many mouths are there now? fourteen or fifteen, i suppose?" "yes; but two take their mother's milk, like the parson's wife's chickens; so that's all saved. and if things became difficult, one's surely man enough to wring a few pence out of one's nose?" he seized his nose and gave it a rapid twist, and held out his hand. a folded ten-krone note lay in it. lasse laughed at the trick, but would not hear of taking the money; and for a time it passed backward and forward between them. "well, well!" said kalle at last, keeping the note; "thank you very much, then! and good-bye, brother! i must be going." lasse went out with him, and sent many greetings. "we shall come and look you up very soon," he called out after his brother. when after a little while he returned to his room, the note lay upon the bed. kalle must have seen his opportunity to put it there, conjurer that he was. lasse put it aside to give to kalle's wife, when an occasion presented itself. long before the time, lasse was on the lookout for pelle. he found the solitude wearisome, now that he was used to having the boy about him from morning till night. at last he came, out of breath with running, for he had longed to get home too. nothing either terrible or remarkable had happened at school. pelle had to give a circumstantial account, point by point, "well, what can you do?" the master had asked, taking him by the ear--quite kindly, of course. "i can pull the mad bull to the water without father lasse helping at all," pelle had answered, and then the whole class had laughed. "yes, yes, but can you read?" no, pelle could not do that--"or else i shouldn't have come here," he was on the point of adding. "it was a good thing you didn't answer that," said lasse; "but what more then?" well, then pelle was put upon the lowest bench, and the boy next him was set to teach him his letters. "do you know them, then?" no, pelle did not know them that day, but when a couple of weeks had passed, he knew most of them, and wrote them with chalk on the posts. he had not learned to write, but his hand could imitate anything he had seen, and he drew the letters just as they stood in print in the spelling-book. lasse went and looked at them during his work, and had them repeated to him endlessly; but they would not stick properly. "what's that one there?" he was perpetually asking. pelle answered with a superior air: "that? have you forgotten it already? i knew that after i'd only seen it once! that's m." "yes, of course it is! i can't think where my head is to-day. m, yes--of course it's m! now what can that be used for, eh?" "it's the first letter in the word 'empty,' of course!" said pelle consequentially. "yes, of course! but you didn't find that out for yourself; the master told you." "no, i found it out by myself." "did you, now? well, you've become clever--if only you don't become as clever as seven fools." lasse was out of spirits; but very soon he gave in, and fell into whole-hearted admiration of his son. and the instruction was continued while they worked. it was fortunate for pelle that his father was so slow, for he did not get on very fast himself, when once he had mastered all that was capable of being picked up spontaneously by a quick intelligence. the boy who had to teach him--sloppy, he was called--was the dunce of the class and had always been bottom until now pelle had come and taken his place. two weeks of school had greatly changed pelle's ideas on this subject. on the first few days he arrived in a state of anxious expectation, and all his courage forsook him as he crossed the threshold of the school. for the first time in his life he felt that he was good for nothing. trembling with awe, he opened his perceptions to this new and unfamiliar thing that was to unveil for him all the mysteries of the world, if only he kept his ears open; and he did so. but there was no awe-inspiring man, who looked at them affectionately through gold-rimmed spectacles while he told them about the sun and the moon and all the wonders of the world. up and down the middle passage walked a man in a dirty linen coat and with gray bristles projecting from his nostrils. as he walked he swung the cane and smoked his pipe; or he sat at the desk and read the newspaper. the children were noisy and restless, and when the noise broke out into open conflict, the man dashed down from his desk, and hit out indiscriminately with his cane. and pelle himself, well he was coupled--for good, it appeared--to a dirty boy, covered with scrofulous sores, who pinched his arm every time he read his b-a--ba, b-e--be wrong. the only variation was an hour's daily examination in the tedious observations in the class-book, and the saturday's uncouth hymn-repeating. for a time pelle swallowed everything whole, and passed it on faithfully to his father; but at last he tired of it. it was not his nature to remain long passive to his surroundings, and one fine day he had thrown aside all injunctions and intentions, and dived into the midst of the fun. after this he had less information to impart, but on the other hand there were the thousands of knavish tricks to tell about. and father lasse shook his head and comprehended nothing; but he could not help laughing. xi "a safe stronghold our god is still, a trusty shield and wea--pon; he'll help us clear from all the ill that hath us now o'erta--ken. the ancient prince of hell hath risen with purpose fell; strong mail of craft and power he weareth in this hour; on earth is not his fel--low." the whole school sat swaying backward and forward in time to the rhythm, grinding out hymns in endless succession. fris, the master, was walking up and down the middle passage, smoking his pipe; he was taking exercise after an hour's reading of the paper. he was using the cane to beat time with, now and then letting it descend upon the back of an offender, but always only at the end of a line--as a kind of note of admiration. fris could not bear to have the rhythm broken. the children who did not know the hymn were carried along by the crowd, some of them contenting themselves with moving their lips, while others made up words of their own. when the latter were too dreadful, their neighbors laughed, and then the cane descended. when one verse came to an end, fris quickly started the next; for the mill was hard to set in motion again when once it had come to a standstill. "with for--!" and the half-hundred children carried it on-- "with force of arms we nothing can, full soon were we downrid--den;" then fris had another breathing-space in which to enjoy his pipe and be lulled by this noise that spoke of great and industrious activity. when things went as they were now going, his exasperation calmed down for a time, and he could smile at his thoughts as he paced up and down, and, old though he was, look at the bright side of life. people in passing stopped to rejoice over the diligence displayed, and fris beat more briskly with the cane, and felt a long-forgotten ideal stirring within him; he had this whole flock of children to educate for life, he was engaged in creating the coming generation. when the hymn came to an end, he got them, without a pause, turned on to "who puts his trust in god alone," and from that again to "we all, we all have faith in god." they had had them all three the whole winter through, and now at last, after tremendous labor, he had brought them so far that they could say them more or less together. the hymn-book was the business of fris's life, and his forty years as parish-clerk had led to his knowing the whole of it by heart. in addition to this he had a natural gift. as a child fris had been intended for the ministry, and his studies as a young man were in accordance with that intention. bible words came with effect from his lips, and his prospects were of the best, when an ill-natured bird came all the way from the faroe islands to bring trouble upon him. fris fell down two flights from spiritual guide to parish-clerk and child-whipper. the latter office he looked upon as almost too transparent a punishment from heaven, and arranged his school as a miniature clerical charge. the whole village bore traces of his work. there was not much knowledge of reading and writing, but when it was a question of hymns and bible texts, these fishermen and little artisans were bad to beat. fris took to himself the credit for the fairly good circumstances of the adults, and the receipt of proper wages by the young men. he followed each one of them with something of a father's eyes, and considered them all to be practically a success. and he was on friendly terms with them once they had left school. they would come to the old bachelor and have a chat, and relieve their minds of some difficulty or other. but it was always another matter with the confounded brood that sat upon the school benches for the time being; it resisted learning with might and main, and fris prophesied it no good in the future. fris hated the children. but he loved these squarely built hymns, which seemed to wear out the whole class, while he himself could give them without relaxing a muscle. and when it went as it was doing to-day, he could quite forget that there were such things as children, and give himself up to this endless procession, in which column after column filed past him, in the foot-fall of the rhythm. it was not hymns, either; it was a mighty march-past of the strong things of life, in which there stretched, in one endless tone, all that fris himself had failed to attain. that was why he nodded so happily, and why the loud tramp of feet rose around him like the acclamations of armies, an _ave caesar_. he was sitting with the third supplement of his newspaper before him, but was not reading; his eyes were closed, and his head moved gently to the rhythm. the children babbled on ceaselessly, almost without stopping for breath; they were hypnotized by the monotonous flow of words. they were like the geese that had been given leave by the fox to say a prayer before they were eaten, and now went on praying and praying forever and ever. when they came to the end of the three hymns, they began again by themselves. the mill kept getting louder, they kept the time with their feet, and it was like the stroke of a mighty piston, a boom! fris nodded with them, and a long tuft of hair flapped in his face; he fell into an ecstasy, and could not sit still upon his chair. "and were this world all devils o'er, and watching to devour--us, we lay it not to heart so sore; not they can overpower us." it sounded like a stamping-mill; some were beating their slates upon the tables, and others thumping with their elbows. fris did not hear it; he heard only the mighty tramp of advancing hosts. "and let the prince of ill look grim as e'er he will,"-- suddenly, at a preconcerted signal, the whole school stopped singing. fris was brought to earth again with a shock. he opened his eyes, and saw that he had once more allowed himself to be taken by surprise. "you little devils! you confounded brats!" he roared, diving into their midst with his cane. in a moment the whole school was in a tumult, the boys fighting and the girls screaming. fris began hitting about him. he tried to bring them back to the patter. "who puts his trust in god alone!" he shouted in a voice that drowned the clamor; but they did not take it up--the little devils! then he hit indiscriminately. he knew quite well that one was just as good as another, and was not particular where the strokes fell. he took the long-haired ones by the hair and dragged them to the table, and thrashed them until the cane began to split. the boys had been waiting for this; they had themselves rubbed onion into the cane that morning, and the most defiant of them had on several pairs of trousers for the occasion. when the cracked sound proclaimed that the cane was in process of disintegration, the whole school burst into deafening cheers. fris had thrown up the game, and let them go on. he walked up and down the middle passage like a suffering animal, his gall rising. "you little devils!" he hissed; "you infernal brats!" and then, "do sit still, children!" this last was so ridiculously touching in the midst of all the rest, that it had to be imitated. pelle sat farthest away, in the corner. he was fairly new at this sort of thing, but did his best. suddenly he jumped on to the table, and danced there in his stockinged feet. fris gazed at him so strangely, pelle thought; he was like father lasse when everything went wrong; and he slid down, ashamed. nobody had noticed his action, however; it was far too ordinary. it was a deafening uproar, and now and then an ill-natured remark was hurled out of the seething tumult. where they came from it was difficult to say; but every one of them hit fris and made him cower. false steps made in his youth on the other side of the water fifty years ago, were brought up again here on the lips of these ignorant children, as well as some of his best actions, that had been so unselfish that the district put the very worst interpretation upon them. and as if that were not enough--but hush! he was sobbing. "sh--sh! sh--sh!" it was henry bodker, the biggest boy in the school, and he was standing on a bench and sh--ing threateningly. the girls adored him, and became quiet directly; but some of the boys would not obey the order; but when henry held his clenched fist up to one eye, they too became quiet. fris walked up and down the middle passage like a pardoned offender. he did not dare to raise his eyes, but they could all see that he was crying. "it's a shame!" said a voice in an undertone. all eyes were turned upon him, and there was perfect silence in the room. "play-time!" cried a boy's voice in a tone of command: it was nilen's. fris nodded feebly, and they rushed out. fris remained behind to collect himself. he walked up and down with his hands behind his back, swallowing hard. he was going to send in his resignation. every time things went quite wrong, fris sent in his resignation, and when he had come to himself a little, he put it off until the spring examinations were over. he would not leave in this way, as a kind of failure. this very winter he had worked as he had never done before, in order that his resignation might have somewhat the effect of a bomb, and that they might really feel it as a loss when he had gone. when the examination was held, he would take the hymn-book for repetition in chorus--right from the beginning. some of the children would quickly drop behind, but there were some of them, into whom, in the course of time, he had hammered most of its contents. long before they had run out, the clergyman would lift his hand to stop them, and say: "that's enough, my dear clerk! that's enough!" and would thank him in a voice of emotion; while the school committee and the parents would whisper together in awed admiration. and then would be the time to resign! the school lay on the outskirts of the fishing-village, and the playground was the shore. when the boys were let out after a few hours' lessons, they were like young cattle out for the first time after the long winter. they darted, like flitting swallows, in all directions, threw themselves upon the fresh rampart of sea-wrack and beat one another about the ears with the salt wet weeds. pelle was not fond of this game; the sharp weed stung, and sometimes there were stones hanging to it, grown right in. but he dared not hold himself aloof, for that would attract attention at once. the thing was to join in it and yet not be in it, to make himself little and big according to the requirements of the moment, so as to be at one time unseen, and at another to exert a terrifying effect. he had his work cut out in twisting and turning, and slipping in and out. the girls always kept together in one corner of the playground, told tittle-tattle and ate their lunch, but the boys ran all over the place like swallows in aimless flight. a big boy was standing crouching close to the gymnastic apparatus, with his arm hiding his face, and munching. they whirled about him excitedly, now one and now another making the circle narrower and narrower. peter kofod --howling peter--looked as if the world were sailing under him; he clung to the climbing-pole and hid his face. when they came close up to him, they kicked up behind with a roar, and the boy screamed with terror, turned up his face and broke into a long-drawn howl. afterward he was given all the food that the others could not eat. howling peter was always eating and always howling. he was a pauper child and an orphan; he was big for his age, but had a strangely blue and frozen look. his frightened eyes stood half out of his head, and beneath them the flesh was swollen and puffy with crying. he started at the least sound, and there was always an expression of fear on his face. the boys never really did him any harm, but they screamed and crouched down whenever they passed him--they could not resist it. then he would scream too, and cower with fear. the girls would sometimes run up and tap him on the back, and then he screamed in terror. afterward all the children gave him some of their food. he ate it all, roared, and was as famished as ever. no one could understand what was wrong with him. twice he had made an attempt to hang himself, and nobody could give any reason for it, not even he himself. and yet he was not altogether stupid. lasse believed that he was a visionary, and saw things that others could not see, so that the very fact of living and drawing breath frightened him. but however that might be, pelle must on no account do anything to him, not for all the world. the crowd of boys had retired to the shore, and there, with little nilen at their head, suddenly threw themselves upon henry bodker. he was knocked down and buried beneath the swarm, which lay in a sprawling heap upon the top of him, pounding down with clenched fists wherever there was an opening. but then a pair of fists began to push upward, tchew, tchew, like steam punches, the boys rolled off on all sides with their hands to their faces, and henry bodker emerged from the heap, kicking at random. nilen was still hanging like a leech to the back of his neck, and henry tore his blouse in getting him thrown off. to pelle he seemed to be tremendously big as he stood there, only breathing a little quickly. and now the girls came up, and fastened his blouse together with pins, and gave him sweets; and he, by way of thanking them, seized them by their pigtails and tied them together, four or five of them, so that they could not get away from one another. they stood still and bore it patiently, only gazing at him with eyes of devotion. pelle had ventured into the battle and had received a kick, but he bore no malice. if he had had a sweet, he, like the girls, would have given it to henry bodker, and would have put up with ungentle treatment too. he worshipped him. but he measured himself by nilen --the little bloodthirsty nilen, who had no knowledge of fear, and attacked so recklessly that the others got out of his way! he was always in the thickest of the crowd, jumped right into the worst of everything, and came safely out of it all. pelle examined himself critically to find points of resemblance, and found them--in his defence of father lasse the first summer, when he kicked a big boy, and in his relations with the mad bull, of which he was not in the least afraid. but in other points it failed. he was afraid of the dark, and he could not stand a thrashing, while nilen could take his with his hands in his pockets. it was pelle's first attempt at obtaining a general survey of himself. fris had gone inland, probably to the church, so it would be a playtime of some hours. the boys began to look about for some more lasting ways of passing the time. the "bulls" went into the schoolroom, and began to play about on the tables and benches, but the "blennies" kept to the shore. "bulls" and "blennies" were the land and the sea in conflict; the division came naturally on every more or less serious occasion, and sometimes gave rise to regular battles. pelle kept with the shore boys; henry bodker and nilen were among them, and they were something new! they did not care about the land and animals, but the sea, of which he was afraid, was like a cradle to them. they played about on the water as they would in their mother's parlor, and had much of its easy movement. they were quicker than pelle, but not so enduring; and they had a freer manner, and made less of the spot to which they belonged. they spoke of england in the most ordinary way and brought things to school that their fathers and brothers had brought home with them from the other side of the world, from africa and china. they spent nights on the sea on an open boat, and when they played truant it was always to go fishing. the cleverest of them had their own fishing-tackle and little flat-bottomed prams, that they had built themselves and caulked with oakum. they fished on their own account and caught pike, eels, and tench, which they sold to the wealthier people in the district. pelle thought he knew the stream thoroughly, but now he was brought to see it from a new side. here were boys who in march and april--in the holidays--were up at three in the morning, wading barefoot at the mouth of the stream to catch the pike and perch that went up into the fresh water to spawn. and nobody told the boys to do it; they did it because they liked it! they had strange pleasures! now they were standing "before the sea" --in a long, jubilant row. they ran out with the receding wave to the larger stones out in the water, and then stood on the stones and jumped when the water came up again, like a flock of sea birds. the art consisted in keeping yourself dryshod, and yet it was the quickest boys who got wettest. there was of course a limit to the time you could keep yourself hovering. when wave followed wave in quick succession, you had to come down in the middle of it, and then sometimes it went over your head. or an unusually large wave would come and catch all the legs as they were drawn up in the middle of the jump, when the whole row turned beautifully, and fell splash into the water. then with, a deafening noise they went up to the schoolroom to turn the "bulls" away from the stove. farther along the shore, there were generally some boys sitting with a hammer and a large nail, boring holes in the stones there. they were sons of stone-masons from beyond the quarries. pelle's cousin anton was among them. when the holes were deep enough, powder was pressed into them, and the whole school was present at the explosion. in the morning, when they were waiting for the master, the big boys would stand up by the school wall with their hands in their pockets, discussing the amount of canvas and the home ports of vessels passing far out at sea. pelle listened to them open-mouthed. it was always the sea and what belonged to the sea that they talked about, and most of it he did not understand. all these boys wanted the same thing when they were confirmed--to go to sea. but pelle had had enough of it when he crossed from sweden; he could not understand them. how carefully he had always shut his eyes and put his fingers in his ears, so that his head should not get filled with water when he dived in the stream! but these boys swam down under the water like proper fish, and from what they said he understood that they could dive down in deep water and pick up stones from the bottom. "can you see down there, then?" he asked, in wonder. "yes, of course! how else would the fish be able to keep away from the nets? if it's only moonlight, they keep far outside, the whole shoal!" "and the water doesn't run into your head when you take your fingers out of your ears?" "take your fingers out of your ears?" "yes, to pick up the stone." a burst of scornful laughter greeted this remark, and they began to question him craftily; he was splendid--a regular country bumpkin! he had the funniest ideas about everything, and it very soon came out that he had never bathed in the sea. he was afraid of the water --a "blue-bag"; the stream could not do away with that. after that he was called blue-bag, notwithstanding that he one day took the cattle-whip to school with him and showed them how he could cut three-cornered holes in a pair of trousers with the long lash, hit a small stone so that it disappeared into the air, and make those loud reports. it was all excellent, but the name stuck to him all the same; and all his little personality smarted under it. in the course of the winter, some strong young men came home to the village in blue clothes and white neck-cloths. they had laid up, as it was called, and some of them drew wages all through the winter without doing anything. they always came over to the school to see the master; they came in the middle of lessons, but it did not matter; fris was joy personified. they generally brought something or other for him--a cigar of such fine quality that it was enclosed in glass, or some other remarkable thing. and they talked to fris as they would to a comrade, told him what they had gone through, so that the listening youngsters hugged themselves with delight, and quite unconcernedly smoked their clay pipes in the class--with the bowl turned nonchalantly downward without losing its tobacco. they had been engaged as cook's boys and ordinary seamen, on the spanish main and the mediterranean and many other wonderful places. one of them had ridden up a fire-spouting mountain on a donkey. and they brought home with them lucifer matches that were as big, almost, as pomeranian logs, and were to be struck on the teeth. the boys worshipped them and talked of nothing else; it was a great honor to be seen in the company of such a man. for pelle it was not to be thought of. and then it came about that the village was awaiting the return of one such lad as this, and he did not come. and one day word came that bark so-and-so had gone to the bottom with all on board. it was the winter storms, said the boys, spitting like grown men. the brothers and sisters were kept away from school for a week, and when they came back pelle eyed them curiously: it must be strange to have a brother lying at the bottom of the sea, quite young! "then you won't want to go to sea?" he asked them. oh, yes, they wanted to go to sea, too! another time fris came back after an unusually long playtime in low spirits. he kept on blowing his nose hard, and now and then dried his eyes behind his spectacles. the boys nudged one another. he cleared his throat loudly, but could not make himself heard, and then beat a few strokes on his desk with the cane. "have you heard, children?" he asked, when they had become more or less quiet. "no! yes! what?" they cried in chorus; and one boy said: "that the sun's fallen into the sea and set it on fire!" the master quietly took up his hymn-book. "shall we sing 'how blessed are they'?" he said; and they knew that something must have happened, and sang the hymn seriously with him. but at the fifth verse fris stopped; he could not go on any longer. "peter funck is drowned!" he said, in a voice that broke on the last word. a horrified whisper passed through the class, and they looked at one another with uncomprehending eyes. peter funck was the most active boy in the village, the best swimmer, and the greatest scamp the school had ever had--and he was drowned! fris walked up and down, struggling to control himself. the children dropped into softly whispered conversation about peter funck, and all their faces had grown old with gravity. "where did it happen?" asked a big boy. fris awoke with a sigh. he had been thinking about this boy, who had shirked everything, and had then become the best sailor in the village; about all the thrashings he had given him, and the pleasant hours they had spent together on winter evenings when the lad was home from a voyage and had looked in to see his old master. there had been much to correct, and things of grave importance that fris had had to patch up for the lad in all secrecy, so that they should not affect his whole life, and-- "it was in the north sea," he said. "i think they'd been in england." "to spain with dried fish," said a boy. "and from there they went to england with oranges, and were bringing a cargo of coal home." "yes, i think that was it," said fris. "they were in the north sea, and were surprised by a storm; and peter had to go aloft." "yes, for the _trokkadej_ is such a crazy old hulk. as soon as there's a little wind, they have to go aloft and take in sail," said another boy. "and he fell down," fris went on, "and struck the rail and fell into the sea. there were the marks of his sea-boats on the rail. they braced--or whatever it's called--and managed to turn; but it took them half-an-hour to get up to the place. and just as they got there, he sank before their eyes. he had been struggling in the icy water for half-an-hour--with sea-boots and oilskins on--and yet--" a long sigh passed through the class. "he was the best swimmer on the whole shore!" said henry. "he dived backward off the gunwale of a bark that was lying in the roads here taking in water, and came up on the other side of the vessel. he got ten rye rusks from the captain himself for it." "he must have suffered terribly," said fris. "it would almost have been better for him if he hadn't been able to swim." "that's what my father says!" said a little boy. "he can't swim, for he says it's better for a sailor not to be able to; it only keeps you in torture." "my father can't swim, either!" exclaimed another. "nor mine, either!" said a third. "he could easily learn, but he won't." and they went on in this way, holding up their hands. they could all swim themselves, but it appeared that hardly any of their fathers could; they had a superstitious feeling against it. "father says you oughtn't to tempt providence if you're wrecked," one boy added. "why, but then you'd not be doing your best!" objected a little faltering voice. fris turned quickly toward the corner where pelle sat blushing to the tips of his ears. "look at that little man!" said fris, impressed. "and i declare if he isn't right and all the rest of us wrong! god helps those that help themselves!" "perhaps," said a voice. it was henry bodker's. "well, well, i know he didn't help here, but still we ought always to do what we can in all the circumstances of life. peter did his best--and he was the cleverest boy i ever had." the children smiled at one another, remembering various things. peter funck had once gone so far as to wrestle with the master himself, but they had not the heart to bring this up. one of the bigger boys, however, said, half for the purpose of teasing: "he never got any farther than the twenty-seventh hymn!" "didn't he, indeed?" snarled fris. "didn't he, indeed? and you think perhaps you're clever, do you? let's see how far you've got, then!" and he took up the hymn-book with a trembling hand. he could not stand anything being said against boys that had left. the name blue-bag continued to stick to pelle, and nothing had ever stung him so much; and there was no chance of his getting rid of it before the summer came, and that was a long way off. one day the fisher-boys ran out on to the breakwater in playtime. a boat had just come in through the pack-ice with a gruesome cargo --five frozen men, one of whom was dead and lay in the fire-engine house, while the four others had been taken into various cottages, where they were being rubbed with ice to draw the frost out of them. the farmer-boys were allowed no share in all this excitement, for the fisher-boys, who went in and out and saw everything, drove them away if they approached--and sold meagre information at extortionate prices. the boat had met a finnish schooner drifting in the sea, covered with ice, and with frozen rudder. she was too heavily laden, so that the waves went right over her and froze; and the ice had made her sink still deeper. when she was found, her deck was just on a level with the water, ropes of the thickness of a finger had become as thick as an arm with ice, and the men who were lashed to the rigging were shapeless masses of ice. they were like knights in armor with closed visor when they were taken down, and their clothes had to be hacked off their bodies. three boats had gone out now to try and save the vessel; there would be a large sum of money to divide if they were successful. pelle was determined not to be left out of all this, even if he got his shins kicked in, and so kept near and listened. the boys were talking gravely and looked gloomy. what those men had put up with! and perhaps their hands or feet would mortify and have to be cut off. each boy behaved as if he were bearing his share of their sufferings, and they talked in a manly way and in gruff voices. "be off with you, bull!" they called to pelle. they were not fond of blue-bags for the moment. the tears came to pelle's eyes, but he would not give in, and wandered away along the wharf. "be off with you!" they shouted again, picking up stones in a menacing way. "be off to the other bumpkins, will you!" they came up and hit at him. "what are you standing there and staring into the water for? you might turn giddy and fall in head first! be off to the other yokels, will you! blue-bag!" pelle turned literally giddy, with the strength of the determination that seized upon his little brain. "i'm no more a blue-bag than you are!" he said. "why, you wouldn't even dare to jump into the water!" "just listen to him! he thinks you jump into the water for fun in the middle of winter, and get cramp!" pelle just heard their exultant laughter as he sprang off the breakwater, and the water, thick with ground-up ice, closed above his head. the top of his head appeared again, he made two or three strokes with his arms like a dog, and sank. the boys ran in confusion up and down and shouted, and one of them got hold of a boat-hook. then henry bodker came running up, sprang in head first without stopping, and disappeared, while a piece of ice that he had struck with his forehead made ducks and drakes over the water. twice his head appeared above the ice-filled water, to snatch a breath of air, and then he came up with pelle. they got him hoisted up on to the breakwater, and henry set to work to give him a good thrashing. pelle had lost consciousness, but the thrashing had the effect of bringing him to. he suddenly opened his eyes, was on his legs in a trice, and darted away like a sandpiper. "run home!" the boys roared after him. "run as hard as ever you can, or you'll be ill! only tell your father you fell in!" and pelle ran. he needed no persuasion. when he reached stone farm, his clothes were frozen quite stiff, and his trousers could stand alone when he got out of them; but he himself was as warm as a toast. he would not lie to his father, but told him just what had happened. lasse was angry, angrier than the boy had ever seen him before. lasse knew how to treat a horse to keep it from catching cold, and began to rub pelle's naked body with a wisp of straw, while the boy lay on the bed, tossing about under the rough handling. his father took no notice of his groans, but scolded him. "you mad little devil, to jump straight into the sea in the middle of winter like a lovesick woman! you ought to have a whipping, that's what you ought to have--a good sound whipping! but i'll let you off this time if you'll go to sleep and try to sweat so that we can get that nasty salt water out of your body. i wonder if it wouldn't be a good thing to bleed you." pelle did not want to be bled; he was very comfortable lying there, now that he had been sick. but his thoughts were very serious. "supposing i'd been drowned!" he said solemnly. "if you had, i'd have thrashed you to within an inch of your life," said lasse angrily. pelle laughed. "oh, you may laugh, you word-catcher!" snapped lasse. "but it's no joke being father to a little ne'er-do-weel of a cub like you!" saying which he went angrily out into the stable. he kept on listening, however, and coming up to peep in and see whether fever or any other devilry had come of it. but pelle slept quietly with his head under the quilt, and dreamed that he was no less a person than henry bodker. * * * * * pelle did not learn to read much that winter, but he learned twenty and odd hymns by heart only by using his ears, and he got the name blue-bag, as applied to himself, completely banished. he had gained ground, and strengthened his position by several bold strokes; and the school began to take account of him as a brave boy. and henry, who as a rule took no notice of anybody, took him several times under his wing. now and then he had a bad conscience, especially when his father in his newly-awakened thirst for knowledge, came to him for the solution of some problem or other, and he was at a loss for an answer. "but it's you who ought to have the learning," lasse would then say reproachfully. as the winter drew to an end, and the examination approached, pelle became nervous. many uncomfortable reports were current of the severity of the examination among the boys--of putting into lower classes and complete dismissal from the school. pelle had the misfortune not to be heard independently in a single hymn. he had to give an account of the fall. the theft of the apple was easy to get through, but the curse--! "and god said unto the serpent: upon thy belly shalt thou go, upon thy belly shalt thou go, upon thy belly shalt thou go!" he could get no further. "does it still do that, then?" asked the clergyman kindly. "yes--for it has no limbs." "and can you explain to me what a limb is?" the priest was known to be the best examiner on the island; he could begin in a gutter and end in heaven, people said. "a limb is--is a hand." "yes, that is one. but can't you tell me something that distinguishes all limbs from other parts of the body? a limb is--well?--a?--a part of the body that can move by itself, for instance? well!" "the ears!" said pelle, perhaps because his own were burning. "o-oh? can you move your ears, then?" "yes." by dint of great perseverance, pelle had acquired that art in the course of the previous summer, so as not to be outdone by rud. "then, upon my word, i should like to see it!" exclaimed the clergyman. so pelle worked his ears industriously backward and forward, and the priest and the school committee and the parents all laughed. pelle got "excellent" in religion. "so it was your ears after all that saved you," said lasse, delighted. "didn't i tell you to use your ears well? highest marks in religion only for moving your ears! why, i should think you might become a parson if you liked!" and he went on for a long time. but wasn't he the devil of a laddie to be able to answer like that! xii "come, cubby, cubby, cubby! come on, you silly little chicken, there's nothing to be afraid of!" pelle was enticing his favorite calf with a wisp of green corn; but it was not quite sure of him to-day, for it had had a beating for bad behavior. pelle felt very much like a father whose child gives him sorrow and compels him to use severe measures. and now this misunderstanding --that the calf would have nothing to do with him, although it was for its own good that he had beaten it! but there was no help for it, and as long as pelle had them to mind, he intended to be obeyed. at last it let him come close up to it, so that he could stroke it. it stood still for a little and was sulky, but yielded at last, ate the green food and snuffed in his face by way of thanks. "will you be good, then?" said pelle, shaking it by its stumps of horns. "will you, eh?" it tossed its head mischievously. "very well, then you shan't carry my coat to-day." the strange thing about this calf was that the first day it was let out, it would not stir, and at last the boy left it behind for lasse to take in again. but no sooner was it behind him than it followed of its own accord, with its forehead close to his back; and always after that it walked behind him when they went out and came home, and it carried his overcoat on its back when it looked as if there would be rain. pelle's years were few in number, but to his animals he was a grown man. formerly he had only been able to make them respect him sufficiently to obey him at close quarters; but this year he could hit a cow at a distance of a hundred paces with a stone, and that gave him power over the animals at a distance, especially when he thought of calling out the animal's name as he hit it. in this way they realized that the pain came from him, and learned to obey the mere call. for punishment to be effectual, it must follow immediately upon the misdeed. there was therefore no longer any such thing as lying in wait for an animal that had offended, and coming up behind it when later on it was grazing peacefully. that only caused confusion. to run an animal until it was tired out, hanging on to its tail and beating it all round the meadow only to revenge one's self, was also stupid; it made the whole flock restless and difficult to manage for the rest of the day. pelle weighed the end and the means against one another; he learned to quench his thirst for revenge with good practical reasons. pelle was a boy, and he was not an idle one. all day, from five in the morning until nine at night, he was busy with something or other, often most useless things. for hours he practiced walking on his hands, turning a somersault, and jumping the stream; he was always in motion. hour after hour he would run unflaggingly round in a circle on the grass, like a tethered foal, leaning toward the center as he ran, so that his hand could pluck the grass, kicking up behind, and neighing and snorting. he was pouring forth energy from morning till night with open-handed profusion. but minding the cattle was _work_, and here he husbanded his energy. every step that could be saved here was like capital acquired; and pelle took careful notice of everything, and was always improving his methods. he learned that punishment worked best when it only hung as a threat; for much beating made an animal callous. he also learned to see when it was absolutely necessary to interfere. if this could not be done in the very act, he controlled himself and endeavored upon the strength of his experience to bring about exactly the same situation once more, and then to be prepared. the little fellow, unknown to himself, was always engaged in adding cubits unto his stature. he had obtained good results. the driving out and home again no longer gave him any difficulty; he had succeeded for a whole week in driving the flock along a narrow field road, with growing corn on both sides, without their having bitten off so much as a blade. and there was the still greater task of keeping them under control on a hot, close day--to hedge them in in full gallop, so that they stood in the middle of the meadow stamping on the ground with uplifted tails, in fear of the gad-flies. if he wanted to, he could make them tear home to the stable in wild flight, with their tails in the air, on the coldest october day, only by lying down in the grass and imitating the hum of gad-flies. but that was a tremendous secret, that even father lasse knew nothing about. the amusing thing about the buzzing was that calves that were out for the first time, and had never made the acquaintance of a gad-fly, instantly set off running, with tail erect, when they heard its angry buzz. pelle had a remote ideal, which was to lie upon some elevated place and direct the whole flock by the sole means of his voice, and never need to resort to punishment. father lasse never beat either, no matter how wrong things went. there were some days--well, what did become of them? before he had any idea of it, it was time to drive home. other days were long enough, but seemed to sing themselves away, in the ring of scythes, the lowing of cattle, and people's voices far away. then the day itself went singing over the ground, and pelle had to stop every now and then to listen. hark! there was music! and he would run up on to the sandbanks and gaze out over the sea; but it was not there, and inland there was no merrymaking that he knew of, and there were no birds of passage flying through the air at this time of year. but hark! there was music again! far away in the distance, just such a sound of music as reaches the ear from so far off that one cannot distinguish the melody, or say what instruments are playing. could it be the sun itself? the song of light and life streamed through him, as though he were a fountain; and he would go about in a dreamy half-consciousness of melody and happiness. when the rain poured down, he hung his coat over a briar and lay sheltered beneath it, carving or drawing with a lead button on paper--horses, and bulls lying down, but more often ships, ships that sailed across the sea upon their own soft melody, far away to foreign lands, to negroland and china, for rare things. and when he was quite in the mood, he would bring out a broken knife and a piece of shale from a secret hiding-place, and set to work. there was a picture scratched on the stone, and he was now busy carving it in relief. he had worked at it on and off all through the summer, and now it was beginning to stand out. it was a bark in full sail, sailing over rippling water to spain--yes, it was going to spain, for grapes and oranges, and all the other delightful things that pelle had never tasted yet. on rainy days it was a difficult matter to keep count of the time, and required the utmost exertion. on other days it was easy enough, and pelle could tell it best by the feeling. at certain times of the day there were signs at home on the farm that told him the time, and the cattle gave him other hours by their habits. at nine the first one lay down to chew the morning cud, and then all gradually lay down one by one; and there was always a moment at about ten when they all lay chewing. at eleven the last of them were upon their legs again. it was the same in the afternoon between three and five. midday was easy to determine when the sun was shining. pelle could always feel it when it turned in its path. and there were a hundred other things in nature that gave him a connection with the times of day, such as the habits of the birds, and something about the fir-trees, and much besides that he could not lay his finger upon and say it was there, because it was only a feeling. the time to drive home was given by the cattle themselves. when it drew near, they grazed slowly around until their heads pointed in the direction of the farm; and there was a visible tension in their bodies, a homeward yearning. * * * * * rud had not shown himself all the week, and no sooner had he come today than pelle had to give him a blowing-up for some deceitfulness. then he ran home, and pelle lay down at the edge of the fir-plantation, on his face with the soles of his feet in the air, and sang. all round him there were marks of his knife on the tree-stems. on the earliest ships you saw the keel, the deck was perpendicular to the body. those had been carved the first summer. there was also a collection of tiny fields here on the edge of the stream, properly ploughed, harrowed, and sown, each field about two feet square. pelle was resting now after the exertion with rud, by making the air rock with his jubilant bawling. up at the farm a man came out and went along the high-road with a bundle under his arm. it was erik, who had to appear in court in answer to a summons for fighting. then the farmer drove out at a good pace toward the town, so he was evidently off on the spree. why couldn't the man have driven with him, as they were both going the same way? how quickly he drove, although she never followed him now. she consoled herself at home instead! could it be true that he had spent five hundred krones in drinking and amusement in one evening? "the war is raging, the red blood streams, among the mountains ring shouts and screams! the turk advances with cruel rage, and sparing neither youth nor age. they go--" "ho!" pelle sprang to his feet and gazed up over the clover field. the dairy cows up there for the last quarter of an hour had been looking up at the farm every other moment, and now aspasia lowed, so his father must soon be coming out to move them. there he came, waddling round the corner of the farm. it was not far to the lowest of the cows, so when his father was there, pelle could seize the opportunity just to run across and say good-day to him. he brought his animals nearer together and drove them slowly over to the other fence and up the fields. lasse had moved the upper half, and was now crossing over diagonally to the bull, which stood a little apart from the others. the bull was growling and kicking up the earth; its tongue hung out at one side of its mouth, and it tossed its head quickly; it was angry. then it advanced with short steps and all kinds of antics; and how it stamped! pelle felt a desire to kick it on the nose as he had often done before; it had no business to threaten lasse, even if it meant nothing by it. father lasse took no notice of it, either. he stood hammering away at the big tether-peg, to loosen it. "good-day!" shouted pelle. lasse turned his head and nodded, then bent down and hammered the peg into the ground. the bull was just behind him, stamping quickly, with open mouth and tongue hanging out; it looked as if it were vomiting, and the sound it made answered exactly to that. pelle laughed as he slackened his pace. he was close by. but suddenly father lasse turned a somersault, fell, and was in the air again, and then fell a little way off. again the bull was about to toss him, but pelle was at its head. he was not wearing wooden shoes, but he kicked it with his bare feet until he was giddy. the bull knew him and tried to go round him, but pelle sprang at its head, shouting and kicking and almost beside himself, seized it by the horns. but it put him gently on one side and went forward toward lasse, blowing along the ground so that the grass waved. it took hold of him by the blouse and shook him a little, and then tried to get both his horns under him to send him up into the air; but pelle was on his feet again, and as quick as lightning had drawn his knife and plunged it in between the bull's hind legs. the bull uttered a short roar, turned lasse over on one side, and dashed off over the fields at a gallop, tossing its head as it ran, and bellowing. down by the stream it began to tear up the bank, filling the air with earth and grass. lasse lay groaning with his eyes closed, and pelle stood pulling in vain at his arm to help him up, crying: "father, little father lasse!" at last lasse sat up. "who's that singing?" he asked. "oh, it's you, is it, laddie? and you're crying! has any one done anything to you? ah, yes, of course, it was the bull! it was just going to play fandango with me. but what did you do to it, that the devil took it so quickly? you saved your father's life, little though you are. oh, hang it! i think i'm going to be sick! ah me!" he went on, when the sickness was past, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "if only i could have had a dram. oh, yes, he knew me, the fellow, or i shouldn't have got off so easily. he only wanted to play with me a little, you know. he was a wee bit spiteful because i drove him away from a cow this morning; i'd noticed that. but who'd have thought he'd have turned on me? he wouldn't have done so, either, if i hadn't been so silly as to wear somebody else's clothes. this is mons's blouse; i borrowed it of him while i washed my own. and mr. bull didn't like the strange smell about me. well, we'll see what mons'll say to this here slit. i'm afraid he won't be best pleased." lasse talked on for a good while until he tried to rise, and stood up with pelle's assistance. as he stood leaning on the boy's shoulder, he swayed backward and forward. "i should almost have said i was drunk, if it hadn't been for the pains!" he said, laughing feebly. "well, well, i suppose i must thank god for you, laddie. you always gladden my heart, and now you've saved my life, too." lasse then stumbled homeward, and pelle moved the rest of the cows on the road down to join his own. he was both proud and affected, but most proud. he had saved father lasse's life, and from the big, angry bull that no one else on the farm dared have anything to do with. the next time henry bodker came out to see him, he should hear all about it. he was a little vexed with himself for having drawn his knife. every one here looked down upon that, and said it was swedish. he wouldn't have needed to do it either if there'd been time, or if only he had had on his wooden shoes to kick the bull in the eyes with. he had very often gone at it with the toes of his wooden shoes, when it had to be driven into its stall again after a covering; and it always took good care not to do anything to him. perhaps he would put his finger in its eye and make it blind, or take it by the horns and twist its head round, like the man in the story, until its neck was wrung. pelle grew and swelled up until he overshadowed everything. there was no limit to his strength while he ran about bringing his animals together again. he passed like a storm over everything, tossed strong erik and the bailiff about, and lifted--yes, lifted the whole of stone farm merely by putting his hand under the beam. it was quite a fit of berserker rage! in the very middle of it all, it occurred to him how awkward it would be if the bailiff got to know that the bull was loose. it might mean a thrashing both for him and lasse. he must go and look for it; and for safety's sake he took his long whip with him and put on his wooden shoes. the bull had made a terrible mess down on the bank of the stream, and had ploughed up a good piece of the meadow. it had left bloody traces along the bed of the stream and across the fields. pelle followed these out toward the headland, where he found the bull. the huge animal had gone right in under the bushes, and was standing licking its wound. when it heard pelle's voice, it came out. "turn round!" he cried, flicking its nose with the whip. it put its head to the ground, bellowed, and moved heavily backward. pelle continued flicking it on the nose while he advanced step by step, shouting determinedly: "turn round! will you turn round!" at last it turned and set off at a run, pelle seizing the tether-peg and running after. he kept it going with the whip, so that it should have no time for evil thoughts. when this was accomplished, he was ready to drop with fatigue, and lay crouched up at the edge of the fir-plantation, thinking sadly of father lasse, who must be going about up there ill and with nobody to give him a helping hand with his work. at last the situation became unbearable: he had to go home! _zzzz! zzzz!_ lying flat on the ground, pelle crept over the grass, imitating the maddening buzz of the gad-fly. he forced the sound out between his teeth, rising and falling, as if it were flying hither and thither over the grass. the cattle stopped grazing and stood perfectly still with attentive ears. then they began to grow nervous, kicking up their legs under their bodies, turning their heads to one side in little curves, and starting; and then up went their tails. he made the sound more persistently angry, and the whole flock, infecting one another, turned and began to stamp round in wild panic. two calves broke out of the tumult, and made a bee-line for the farm, and the whole flock followed, over stock and stone. all pelle had to do now was to run after them, making plenty of fuss, and craftily keep the buzzing going, so that the mood should last till they reached home. the bailiff himself came running to open the gate into the enclosure, and helped to get the animals in. pelle expected a box on the ears, and stood still; but the bailiff only looked at him with a peculiar smile, and said: "they're beginning to get the upper hand of you, i think. well, well," he went on, "it's all right as long as you can manage the bull!" he was making fun of him, and pelle blushed up to the roots of his hair. father lasse had crept into bed. "what a good thing you came!" he said. "i was just lying here and wondering how i was going to get the cows moved. i can scarcely move at all, much less get up." it was a week before lasse was on his feet again, and during that time the field-cattle remained in the enclosure, and pelle stayed at home and did his father's work. he had his meals with the others, and slept his midday sleep in the barn as they did. one day, in the middle of the day, the sow came into the yard, drunk. she took her stand in the upper yard, where she was forbidden to go, and stood there calling for kongstrup. the farmer was at home, but did not show himself, and not a soul was to be seen behind the high windows. "kongstrup, kongstrup! come here for a little!" she called, with her eyes on the pavement, for she could not lift her head. the bailiff was not at home, and the men remained in hiding in the barn, hoping to see some fun. "i say, kongstrup, come out a moment! i want to speak to you!" said the sow indistinctly--and then went up the steps and tried to open the door. she hammered upon it a few times, and stood talking with her face close to the door; and when nobody came, she reeled down the steps and went away talking to herself and not looking round. a little while after the sound of weeping began up there, and just as the men were going out to the fields, the farmer came rushing out and gave orders that the horse should be harnessed to the chaise. while it was being done, he walked about nervously, and then set off at full speed. as he turned the corner of the house, a window opened and a voice called to him imploringly: "kongstrup, kongstrup!" but he drove quickly on, the window closed, and the weeping began afresh. in the afternoon pelle was busying himself about the lower yard when karna came to him and told him to go up to mistress. pelle went up hesitatingly. he was not sure of her and all the men were out in the fields. fru kongstrup lay upon the sofa in her husband's study, which she always occupied, day or night, when her husband was out. she had a wet towel over her forehead, and her whole face was red with weeping. "come here!" she said, in a low voice. "you aren't afraid of me, are you?" pelle had to go up to her and sit on the chair beside her. he did not know what to do with his eyes; and his nose began to run with the excitement, and he had no pocket-handkerchief. "are you afraid of me?" she asked again, and a bitter smile crossed her lips. he had to look at her to show that he was not afraid, and to tell the truth, she was not like a witch at all, but only like a human being who cried and was unhappy. "come here!" she said, and she wiped his nose with her own fine handkerchief, and stroked his hair. "you haven't even a mother, poor little thing!" and she smoothed down his clumsily mended blouse. "it's three years now since mother bengta died, and she's lying in the west corner of the churchyard." "do you miss her very much?" "oh, well, father lasse mends my clothes!" "i'm sure she can't have been very good to you." "oh, yes!" said pelle, nodding earnestly. "but she was so fretful, she was always ailing; and it's better they should go when they get like that. but now we're soon going to get married again--when father lasse's found somebody that'll do." "and then i suppose you'll go away from here? i'm sure you aren't comfortable here, are you?" pelle had found his tongue, but now feared a trap, and became dumb. he only nodded. nobody should come and accuse him afterward of having complained. "no, you aren't comfortable," she said, in a plaintive tone. "no one is comfortable at stone farm. everything turns to misfortune here." "it's an old curse, that!" said pelle. "do they say so? yes, yes, i know they do! and they say of me that i'm a devil--only because i love a single man--and cannot put up with being trampled on." she wept and pressed his hand against her quivering face. "i've got to go out and move the cows," said pelle, wriggling about uneasily in an endeavor to get away. "now you're afraid of me again!" she said, and tried to smile. it was like a gleam of sunshine after rain. "no--only i've got to go out and move the cows." "there's still a whole hour before that. but why aren't you herding to-day? is your father ill?" then pelle had to tell her about the bull. "you're a good boy!" said the mistress, patting his head. "if i had a son, i should like him to be like you. but now you shall have some jam, and then you must run to the shop for a bottle of black-currant rum, so that we can make a hot drink for your father. if you hurry, you can be back before moving-time." lasse had his hot drink, even before the boy returned; and every day while he kept his bed he had something strengthening--although there was no black-currant rum in it. during this time pelle went up to the mistress nearly every day. kongstrup had gone on business to copenhagen. she was kind to him and gave him nice things to eat; and while he ate, she talked without ceasing about kongstrup, or asked him what people thought about her. pelle had to tell her, and then she was upset and began to cry. there was no end to her talk about the farmer, but she contradicted herself, and pelle gave up trying to make anything of it. besides, the good things she gave him were quite enough for him to think about. down in their room he repeated everything word for word, and lasse lay and listened, and wondered at this little fellow who had the run of high places, and was in the mistress's confidence. still he did not quite like it. "... she could scarcely stand, and had to hold on to the table when she was going to fetch me the biscuits, she was so ill. it was only because he'd treated her badly, she said. do you know she hates him, and would like to kill him, she says; and yet she says that he's the handsomest man in the world, and asked me if i've seen any one handsomer in all sweden. and then she cries as if she was mad." "does she?" said lasse thoughtfully. "i don't suppose she knows what she's saying, or else she says it for reasons of her own. but all the same, it's not true that he beats her! she's telling a lie, i'm sure." "and why should she lie?" "because she wants to do him harm, i suppose. but it's true he's a fine man--and cares for everybody except just her; and that's the misfortune. i don't like your being so much up there; i'm so afraid you may come to some harm." "how could i? she's so good, so very good." "how am i to know that? no, she isn't good--her eyes aren't good, at any rate. she's brought more than one person into misfortune by looking at them. but there's nothing to be done about it; the poor man has to risk things." lasse was silent, and stumbled about for a little while. then he came up to pelle. "now, see here! here's a piece of steel i've found, and you must remember always to have it about you, especially when you go up _there_! and then--yes, then we must leave the rest in god's hand. he's the only one who perhaps looks after poor little boys." lasse was up for a short while that day. he was getting on quickly, thank god, and in two days they might be back in their old ways again. and next winter they must try to get away from it all! on the last day that pelle stayed at home, he went up to the mistress as usual, and ran her errand for her. and that day he saw something unpleasant that made him glad that this was over. she took her teeth, palate, and everything out of her mouth, and laid them on the table in front of her! so she _was_ a witch! xiii pelle was coming home with his young cattle. as he came near the farm he issued his commands in a loud voice, so that his father might hear. "hi! spasianna! where are you going to? dannebrog, you confounded old ram, will you turn round!" but lasse did not come to open the gate of the enclosure. when he had got the animals in, he ran into the cow-stable. his father was neither there nor in their room, and his sunday wooden shoes and his woollen cap were gone. then pelle remembered that it was saturday, and that probably the old man had gone to the shop to fetch spirits for the men. pelle went down into the servants' room to get his supper. the men had come home late, and were still sitting at the table, which was covered with spilt milk and potato-skins. they were engrossed in a wager; erik undertook to eat twenty salt herrings with potatoes after he had finished his meal. the stakes were a bottle of spirits, and the others were to peel the potatoes for him. pelle got out his pocket-knife and peeled himself a pile of potatoes. he left the skin on the herring, but scraped it carefully and cut off the head and tail; then he cut it in pieces and ate it without taking out the bones, with the potatoes and the sauce. while he did so, he looked at erik--the giant erik, who was so strong and was not afraid of anything between heaven and earth. erik had children all over the place! erik could put his finger into the barrel of a gun, and hold the gun straight out at arm's length! erik could drink as much as three others! and now erik was sitting and eating twenty salt herrings after his hunger was satisfied. he took the herring by the head, drew it once between his legs, and then ate it as it was; and he ate potatoes to them, quite as quickly as the others could peel them. in between whiles he swore because the bailiff had refused him permission to go out that evening; there was going to be the devil to pay about that: he'd teach them to keep erik at home when he wanted to go out! pelle quickly swallowed his herring and porridge, and set off again to run to meet his father; he was longing immensely to see him. out at the pump the girls were busy scouring the milkpails and kitchen pans; and gustav was standing in the lower yard with his arms on the fence, talking to them. he was really watching bodil, whose eyes were always following the new pupil, who was strutting up and down and showing off his long boots with patent-leather tops. pelle was stopped as he ran past, and set to pump water. the men now came up and went across to the barn, perhaps to try their strength. since erik had come, they always tried their strength in their free time. there was nothing pelle found so exciting as trials of strength, and he worked hard so as to get done and go over there. gustav, who was generally the most eager, continued to stand and vent his ill-nature upon the pupil. "there must be money there!" said bodil, thoughtfully. "yes, you should try him; perhaps you might become a farmer's wife. the bailiff won't anyhow; and the farmer--well, you saw the sow the other day; it must be nice to have that in prospect." "who told you that the bailiff won't?" answered bodil sharply. "don't imagine that we need you to hold the candle for us! little children aren't allowed to see everything." gustav turned red. "oh, hold your jaw, you hussy!" he muttered, and sauntered down to the barn. "oh, goodness gracious, my poor old mother, who's up on deck and can't stand!" sang mons over at the stable door, where he was standing hammering at a cracked wooden shoe. pelle and the girls were quarreling, and up in the attic the bailiff could be heard going about; he was busy putting pipes in order. now and then a long-drawn sound came from the high house, like the distant howling of some animal, making the people shudder with dreariness. a man dressed in his best clothes, and with a bundle under his arm, slipped out of the door from the men's rooms, and crept along by the building in the lower yard. it was erik. "hi, there! where the devil are you going?" thundered a voice from the bailiff's window. the man ducked his head a little and pretended not to hear. "do you hear, you confounded kabyle! _erik_!" this time erik turned and darted in at a barn-door. directly after the bailiff came down and went across the yard. in the chaff-cutting barn the men were standing laughing at erik's bad luck. "he's a devil for keeping watch!" said gustav. "you must be up early to get the better of _him_." "oh, i'll manage to dish him!" said erik. "i wasn't born yesterday. and if he doesn't mind his own business, we shall come to blows." there was a sudden silence as the bailiff's well-known step was heard upon the stone paving. erik stole away. the form of the bailiff filled the doorway. "who sent lasse for gin?" he asked sternly. they looked at one another as if not understanding. "is lasse out?" asked mons then, with the most innocent look in the world. "ay, the old man's fond of spirits," said anders, in explanation. "oh, yes; you're good comrades!" said the bailiff. "first you make the old man go, and then you leave him in the lurch. you deserve a thrashing, all of you." "no, we don't deserve a thrashing, and don't mean to submit to one either," said the head man, going a step forward. "let me tell you--" "hold your tongue, man!" cried the bailiff, going close up to him, and karl johan drew back. "where's erik?" "he must be in his room." the bailiff went in through the horse-stable, something in his carriage showing that he was not altogether unprepared for an attack from behind. erik was in bed, with the quilt drawn up to his eyes. "what's the meaning of this? are you ill?" asked the bailiff. "yes, i think i've caught cold, i'm shivering so." he tried to make his teeth chatter. "it isn't the rot, i hope?" said the bailiff sympathetically. "let's look at you a little, poor fellow." he whipped off the quilt. "oho, so you're in bed with your best things on--and top-boots! it's your grave-clothes, perhaps? and i suppose you were going out to order a pauper's grave for yourself, weren't you? it's time we got you put underground, too; seems to me you're beginning to smell already!" he sniffed at him once or twice. but erik sprang out of bed as if shot by a spring, and stood erect close to him. "i'm not dead yet, and perhaps i don't smell any more than some other people!" he said, his eyes flashing and looking about for a weapon. the bailiff felt his hot breath upon his face, and knew it would not do to draw back. he planted his fist in the man's stomach, so that he fell back upon the bed and gasped for breath; and then held him down with a hand upon his chest. he was burning with a desire to do more, to drive his fist into the face of this rascal, who grumbled whenever one's back was turned, and had to be driven to every little task. here was all the servant-worry that embittered his existence --dissatisfaction with the fare, cantankerousness in work, threats of leaving when things were at their busiest--difficulties without end. here was the slave of many years of worry and ignominy, and all he wanted was one little pretext--a blow from this big fellow who never used his strength for work, but only to take the lead in all disturbances. but erik lay quite still and looked at his enemy with watchful eye. "you may hit me, if you like. there is such a thing as a magistrate in the country," he said, with irritating calm. the bailiff's muscles burned, but he was obliged to let the man go for fear of being summoned. "then remember another time not to be fractious!" he said, letting go his hold, "or i'll show you that there is a magistrate." "when lasse comes, send him up to me with the gin!" he said to the men as he passed through the barn. "the devil we will!" said mons, in an undertone. pelle had gone to meet his father. the old man had tasted the purchase, and was in good spirits. "there were seven men in the boat, and they were all called ole except one, and he was called ole olsen!" he said solemnly, when he saw the boy. "yes, wasn't it a strange thing, pelle, boy, that they should every one of them be called ole--except the one, of course; for his name was ole olsen." then he laughed, and nudged the boy mysteriously; and pelle laughed too, for he liked to see his father in good spirits. the men came up to them, and took the bottles from the herdsman. "he's been tasting it!" said anders, holding the bottle up to the light. "oh, the old drunkard! he's had a taste at the bottles." "no, the bottles must leak at the bottom!" said lasse, whom the dram had made quite bold. "for i've done nothing but just smell. you've got to make sure, you know, that you get the genuine thing and not just water." they moved on down the enclosure, gustav going in front and playing on his concertina. a kind of excited merriment reigned over the party. first one and then another would leap into the air as they went; they uttered short, shrill cries and disconnected oaths at random. the consciousness of the full bottles, saturday evening with the day of rest in prospect, and above all the row with the bailiff, had roused their tempers. they settled down below the cow-stable, in the grass close to the pond. the sun had long since gone down, but the evening sky was bright, and cast a flaming light upon their faces turned westward; while the white farms inland looked dazzling in the twilight. now the girls came sauntering over the grass, with their hands under their aprons, looking like silhouettes against the brilliant sky. they were humming a soft folk-song, and one by one sank on to the grass beside the men; the evening twilight was in their hearts, and made their figures and voices as soft as a caress. but the men's mood was not a gentle one, and they preferred the bottle. gustav walked about extemporizing on his concertina. he was looking for a place to sit down, and at last threw himself into karna's lap, and began to play a dance. erik was the first upon his feet. he led on account of his difference with the bailiff, and pulled bengta up from the grass with a jerk. they danced a swedish polka, and always at a certain place in the melody, he tossed her up into the air with a shout. she shrieked every time, and her heavy skirts stood out round her like the tail of a turkey-cock, so that every one could see how long it was till sunday. in the middle of a whirl he let go of her, so that she stumbled over the grass and fell. the bailiff's window was visible from where they sat, and a light patch had appeared at it. "he's staring! lord, how he's staring! i say, can you see this?" erik called out, holding up a gin-bottle. then, as he drank: "your health! old nick's health! he smells, the pig! bah!" the others laughed, and the face at the window disappeared. in between the dances they played, drank, and wrestled. their actions became more and more wild, they uttered sudden yells that made the girls scream, threw themselves flat upon the ground in the middle of a dance, groaned as if they were dying, and sprang up again suddenly with wild gestures and kicked the legs of those nearest to them. once or twice the bailiff sent the pupil to tell them to be quiet, but that only made the noise worse. "tell him to go his own dog's errands!" erik shouted after the pupil. lasse nudged pelle and they gradually drew farther and farther away. "we'd better go to bed now," lasse said, when they had slipped away unnoticed. "one never knows what this may lead to. they all of them see red; i should think they'll soon begin to dance the dance of blood. ah me, if i'd been young i wouldn't have stolen away like a thief; i'd have stayed and taken whatever might have come. there was a time when lasse could put both hands on the ground and kick his man in the face with the heels of his boots so that he went down like a blade of grass; but that time's gone, and it's wisest to take care of one's self. this may end in the police and much more, not to mention the bailiff. they've been irritating him all the summer with that erik at their head; but if once he gets downright angry, erik may go home to his mother." pelle wanted to stay up for a little and look at them. "if i creep along behind the fence and lie down--oh, do let me, father!" he begged. "eh, what a silly idea! they might treat you badly if they got hold of you. they're in the very worst of moods. well, you must take the consequences, and for goodness' sake take care they don't see you!" so lasse went to bed, but pelle crawled along on the ground behind the fence until he came close up to them and could see everything. gustav was still sitting on karna's open lap and playing, and she was holding him fast in her arms. but anders had put his arm around bodil's waist. gustav discovered it, and with an oath flung away his concertina, sending it rolling over the grass, and sprang up. the others threw themselves down in a circle on the grass, breathing hard. they expected something. gustav was like a savage dancing a war-dance. his mouth was open and his eyes bright and staring. he was the only man on the grass, and jumped up and down like a ball, hopped upon his heels, and kicked up his legs alternately to the height of his head, uttering a shrill cry with each kick. then he shot up into the air, turning round as he did so, and came down on one heel and went on turning round like a top, making himself smaller and smaller as he turned, and then exploded in a leap and landed in the lap of bodil, who threw her arms about him in delight. in an instant anders had both hands on his shoulders from behind, set his feet against his back, and sent him rolling over the grass. it all happened without a pause, and gustav himself gave impetus to his course, rolling along in jolts like an uneven ball. but suddenly he stopped and rose to his feet with a bound, stared straight in front of him, turned round with a jerk, and moved slowly toward anders. anders rose quickly, pushed his cap on one side, clicked with his tongue, and advanced. bodil spread herself out more comfortably on the ground, and looked proudly round the circle, eagerly noting the envy of the others. the two antagonists stood face to face, feeling their way to a good grasp. they stroked one another affectionately, pinched one another in the side, and made little jesting remarks. "my goodness me, how fat you are, brother!" this was anders. "and what breasts you've got! you might quite well be a woman," answered gustav, feeling anders' chest. "eeh, how soft you are!" scorn gleamed in their faces, but their eyes followed every movement of their opponent. each of them expected a sudden attack from the other. the others lay stretched around them on the grass, and called out impatiently: "have done with that and look sharp about it!" the two men continued to stand and play as if they were afraid to really set to, or were spinning the thing out for its still greater enjoyment. but suddenly gustav had seized anders by the collar, thrown himself backward and flung anders over his head. it was done so quickly that anders got no hold of gustav; but in swinging round he got a firm grasp of gustav's hair, and they both fell on their backs with their heads together and their bodies stretched in opposite directions. anders had fallen heavily, and lay half unconscious, but without loosening his hold on gustav's hair. gustav twisted round and tried to get upon his feet, but could not free his head. then he wriggled back into this position again as quickly as a cat, turned a backward somersault over his antagonist, and fell down upon him with his face toward the other's. anders tried to raise his feet to receive him, but was too late. anders threw himself about in violent jerks, lay still and strained again with sudden strength to turn gustav off, but gustav held on. he let himself fall heavily upon his adversary, and sticking out his legs and arms to support him on the ground, raised himself suddenly and sat down again, catching anders in the wind. all the time the thoughts of both were directed toward getting out their knives, and anders, who had now fully recovered his senses, remembered distinctly that he had not got his. "ah!" he said aloud. "what a fool i am!" "you're whining, are you?" said gustav, bending his face him. "do you want to ask for mercy?" at that moment anders felt gustav's knife pressing against his thigh, and in an instant had his hand down there and wrenched it free. gustav tried to take it from him, but gave up the attempt for fear of being thrown off. he then confined himself to taking possession of one of anders' hands, so that he could not open the knife, and began sitting upon him in the region of his stomach. anders lay in half surrender, and bore the blows without trying to defend himself, only gasping at each one. with his left hand he was working eagerly to get the knife opened against the ground, and suddenly plunged it into gustav just as the latter had risen to let himself fall heavily upon his opponent's body. gustav seized anders by the wrist, his face distorted. "what the devil are you up to now, you swine?" he said, spitting down into anders' face. "he's trying to sneak out by the back door!" he said, looking round the circle with a face wrinkled like that of a young bull. they fought desperately for the knife, using hands and teeth and head; and when gustav found that he could not get possession of the weapon, he set to work so to guide anders' hand that he should plunge it into his own body. he succeeded, but the blow was not straight, and the blade closed upon anders' fingers, making him throw the knife from him with an oath. meanwhile erik was growing angry at no longer being the hero of the evening. "will you soon be finished, you two cockerels, or must i have a bite too?" he said, trying to separate them. they took firm hold of one another, but then erik grew angry, and did something for which he was ever after renowned. he took hold of them and set them both upon their feet. gustav looked as if he were going to throw himself into the battle again, and a sullen expression overspread his face; but then he began to sway like a tree chopped at the roots, and sank to the ground. bodil was the first to come to his assistance. with a cry she ran to him and threw her arms about him. he was carried in and laid upon his bed, karl johan poured spirit into the deep cut to clean it, and held it together while bodil basted it with needle and thread from one of the men's lockers. then they dispersed, in pairs, as friendship permitted, bodil, however, remaining with gustav. she was true to him after all. * * * * * thus the summer passed, in continued war and friction with the bailiff, to whom, however, they dared do nothing when it came to the point. then the disease struck inward, and they set upon one another. "it must come out somewhere," said lasse, who did not like this state of things, and vowed he would leave as soon as anything else offered, even if they had to run away from wages and clothes and everything. "they're discontented with their wages, their working-hours are too long, and the food isn't good enough; they pitch it about and waste it until it makes one ill to see them, for anyhow it's god's gift, even if it might be better. and erik's at the bottom of it all! he's forever boasting and bragging and stirring up the others the whole day long. but as soon as the bailiff is over him, he daren't do anything any more than the others; so they all creep into their holes. father lasse is not such a cowardly wind-bag as any of them, old though he is. "i suppose a good conscience is the best support. if you have it and have done your duty, you can look both the bailiff and the farmer --and god the father, too--in the face. for you must always remember, laddie, not to set yourself up against those that are placed over you. some of us have to be servants and others masters; how would everything go on if we who work didn't do our duty? you can't expect the gentlefolk to scrape up the dung in the cow-stable." all this lasse expounded after they had gone to bed, but pelle had something better to do than to listen to it. he was sound asleep and dreaming that he was erik himself, and was thrashing the bailiff with a big stick. xiv in pelle's time, pickled herring was the bronholmer's most important article of food. it was the regular breakfast dish in all classes of society, and in the lower classes it predominated at the supper- table too--and sometimes appeared at dinner in a slightly altered form. "it's a bad place for food," people would say derisively of such-and-such a farm. "you only get herring there twenty-one times a week." when the elder was in flower, well-regulated people brought out their salt-boxes, according to old custom, and began to look out to sea; the herring is fattest then. from the sloping land, which nearly everywhere has a glimpse of the sea, people gazed out in the early summer mornings for the homeward-coming boats. the weather and the way the boats lay in the water were omens regarding the winter food. then the report would come wandering up over the island, of large hauls and good bargains. the farmers drove to the town or the fishing-village with their largest wagons, and the herring-man worked his way up through the country from cottage to cottage with his horse, which was such a wretched animal that any one would have been legally justified in putting a bullet through its head. in the morning, when pelle opened the stable doors to the field, the mist lay in every hollow like a pale gray lake, and on the high land, where the smoke rose briskly from houses and farms, he saw men and women coming round the gable-ends, half-dressed, or in shirt or chemise only, gazing out to sea. he himself ran round the out-houses and peered out toward the sea which lay as white as silver and took its colors from the day. the red sails were hanging motionless, and looked like splashes of blood in the brightness of day; the boats lay deep in the water, and were slowly making their way homeward in response to the beat of the oars, dragging themselves along like cows that are near their time for bearing. but all this had nothing to do with him and his. stone farm, like the poor of the parish, did not buy its herring until after the autumn, when it was as dry as sticks and cost almost nothing. at that time of year, herring was generally plentiful, and was sold for from twopence to twopence-halfpenny the fourscore as long as the demand continued. after that it was sold by the cartload as food for the pigs, or went on to the dungheap. one sunday morning late in the autumn, a messenger came running from the town to stone farm to say that now herring was to be had. the bailiff came down into the servants' room while they were at breakfast, and gave orders that all the working teams were to be harnessed. "then you'll have to come too!" said karl johan to the two quarry drivers, who were married and lived up near the quarry, but came down for meals. "no, our horses shan't come out of the stable for that!" said the drivers. "they and we drive only stone and nothing else." they sat for a little while and indulged in sarcasms at the expense of certain people who had not even sunday at their own disposal, and one of them, as he stretched himself in a particularly irritating way, said: "well, i think i'll go home and have a nap. it's nice to be one's own master once a week, at any rate." so they went home to wife and children, and kept sunday holiday. for a little while the men went about complaining; that was the regular thing. in itself they had no objection to make to the expedition, for it would naturally be something of a festivity. there were taverns enough in the town, and they would take care to arrange about that herring so that they did not get home much before evening. if the worst came to the worst, erik could damage his cart in driving, and then they would be obliged to stay in town while it was being mended. they stood out in the stable, and turned their purses inside out --big, solid, leather purses with steel locks that could only be opened by pressure on a secret mechanism; but they were empty. "the deuce!" said mons, peering disappointedly into his purse. "not so much as the smell of a one-ore! there must be a leak!" he examined the seams, held it close up to his eyes, and at last put his ear to it. "upon my word, i seem to hear a two-krone talking to itself. it must be witchcraft!" he sighed and put his purse into his pocket. "you, you poor devil!" said anders. "have you ever spoken to a two-krone? no, i'm the man for you!" he hauled out a large purse. "i've still got the ten-krone that the bailiff cheated me out of on may day, but i haven't the heart to use it; i'm going to keep it until i grow old." he put his hand into the empty purse and pretended to take something out and show it. the others laughed and joked, and all were in good spirits with the thought of the trip to town. "but erik's sure to have some money at the bottom of his chest!" said one. "he works for good wages and has a rich aunt down below." "no, indeed!" whined erik. "why, i have to pay for half a score of young brats who can't father themselves upon any one else. but karl johan must get it, or what's the good of being head man?" "that's no use," said karl johan doubtfully. "if i ask the bailiff for an advance now when we're going to town, he'll say 'no' straight out. i wonder whether the girls haven't wages lying by." they were just coming up from the cow-stable with their milk-pails. "i say, girls," erik called out to them. "can't one of you lend us ten krones? she shall have twins for it next easter; the sow farrows then anyhow." "you're a nice one to make promises!" said bengta, standing still, and they all set down their milk-pails and talked it over. "i wonder whether bodil hasn't?" said karna. "no," answered maria, "for she sent the ten krones she had by her to her mother the other day." mons dashed his cap to the floor and gave a leap. "i'll go up to the old gentleman himself," he said. "then you'll come head first down the stairs, you may be sure!" "the deuce i will, with my old mother lying seriously ill in the town, without a copper to pay for doctor or medicine! i'm as good a child as bodil, i hope." he turned and went toward the stone steps, and the others stood and watched him from the stable-door, until the bailiff came and they had to busy themselves with the carts. gustav walked about in his sunday clothes with a bundle under his arm, and looked on. "why don't you get to work?" asked the bailiff. "get your horses put in." "you said yourself i might be free to-day," said gustav, making a grimace. he was going out with bodil. "ah, so i did! but that'll be one cart less. you must have a holiday another day instead." "i can't do that." "what the dee--and why not, may i ask?" "well, because you gave me a holiday to-day." "yes; but, confound it, man, when i now tell you you can take another day instead!" "no, i can't do that." "but why not, man? is there anything pressing you want to do?" "no, but i have been given a holiday to-day." it looked as if gustav were grinning slyly, but it was only that he was turning the quid in his mouth. the bailiff stamped with anger. "but i can go altogether if you don't care to see me," said gustav gently. the bailiff did not hear, but turned quickly. experience had taught him to be deaf to that kind of offer in the busy season. he looked up at his window as if he had suddenly thought of something, and sprang up the stairs. they could manage him when they touched upon that theme, but his turn came in the winter, and then they had to keep silence and put up with things, so as to keep a roof over their heads during the slack time. gustav went on strutting about with his bundle, without putting his hand to anything. the others laughed at him encouragingly. the bailiff came down again and went up to him. "then put in the horses before you go," he said shortly, "and i'll drive yours." an angry growl passed from man to man. "we're to have the dog with us!" they said in undertones to one another, and then, so that the bailiff should hear: "where's the dog? we're to have the dog with us." matters were not improved by mons coming down the steps with a beautifully pious expression, and holding a ten-krone note over his chest. "it's all one now," said erik; "for we've got to have the dog with us!" mons' face underwent a sudden change, and he began to swear. they pulled the carts about without getting anything done, and their eyes gleamed with anger. the bailiff came out upon the steps with his overcoat on. "look sharp about getting the horses in!" he thundered. the men of stone farm were just as strict about their order of precedence as the real inhabitants of the island, and it was just as complicated. the head man sat at the top of the table and helped himself first, he went first in mowing and reaping, and had the first girl to lay the load when the hay was taken in; he was the first man up, and went first when they set out for the fields, and no one might throw down his tools until he had done so. after him came the second man, the third, and so on, and lastly the day- laborers. when no great personal preference interfered, the head man was as a matter of course the sweetheart of the head girl, and so on downwards; and if one of them left, his successor took over the relation: it was a question of equilibrium. in this, however, the order of precedence was often broken, but never in the matter of the horses. gustav's horses were the poorest, and no power in the world would have induced the head man or erik to drive them, let alone the farmer himself. the bailiff knew it, and saw how the men were enjoying themselves when gustav's nags were put in. he concealed his irritation, but when they exultantly placed gustav's cart hindmost in the row, it was too much for him, and he ordered it to be driven in front of the others. "my horses aren't accustomed to go behind the tail-pullers!" said karl johan, throwing down his reins. it was the nickname for the last in the row. the others stood trying not to smile, and the bailiff was almost boiling over. "if you're so bent upon being first, be it by all means," he said quietly. "i can very well drive behind you." "no, my horses come after the head man's, not after the tail-puller's," said erik. this was really a term of abuse in the way in which they used it, one after the other, with covert glances. if he was going to put up with this from the whole row, his position on the farm would be untenable. "yes, and mine go behind erik's," began anders now, "not after-- after gustav's," he corrected himself quickly, for the bailiff had fixed his eyes upon him, and taken a step forward to knock him down. the bailiff stood silent for a moment as if listening, the muscles of his arms quivering. then he sprang into the cart. "you're all out of your senses to-day," he said. "but now i'm going to drive first, and the man who dares to say a word against it shall have one between the eyes that will send him five days into next week!" so saying he swung out of the row, and erik's horses, which wanted to turn, received a cut from his whip that made them rear. erik stormed at them. the men went about crestfallen, and gave the bailiff time to get well ahead. "well, i suppose we'd better see about starting now," said karl johan at length, as he got into his wagon. the bailiff was already some way ahead; gustav's nags were doing their very best to-day, and seemed to like being in front. but karl johan's horses were displeased, and hurried on; they did not approve of the new arrangement. at the village shop they made a halt, and consoled themselves a little. when they started again, karl johan's horses were refractory, and had to be quieted. the report of the catch had spread through the country, and carts from other farms caught them up or crossed them on their way to the fishing-villages. those who lived nearer the town were already on their way home with swaying loads. "shall we meet in the town for a drink?" cried one man to karl johan as he passed. "i'm coming in for another load." "no, we're driving for the master to-day!" answered karl johan, pointing to the bailiff in front. "yes, i see him. he's driving a fine pair to-day! i thought it was king lazarus!" an acquaintance of karl johan's came toward them with a swaying load of herring. he was the only man on one of the small farms. "so you've been to the town too for winter food," said karl johan, reining in his horse. "yes, for the pigs!" answered the other. "it was laid in for the rest of us at the end of the summer. this isn't food for men!" and he took up a herring between his fingers, and pretended to break it in two. "no, i suppose not for such fine gentlemen," answered karl johan snappishly. "of course, you're in such a high station that you eat at the same table as your master and mistress, i've heard." "yes, that's the regular custom at our place," answered the other. "we know nothing about masters and dogs." and he drove on. the words rankled with karl johan, he could not help drawing comparisons. they had caught up the bailiff, and now the horses became unruly. they kept trying to pass and took every unlooked-for opportunity of pushing on, so that karl johan nearly drove his team into the back of the bailiff's cart. at last he grew tired of holding them in, and gave them the rein, when they pushed out over the border of the ditch and on in front of gustav's team, danced about a little on the high-road, and then became quiet. now it was erik's horses that were mad. at the farm all the laborers' wives had been called in for the afternoon, the young cattle were in the enclosure, and pelle ran from cottage to cottage with the message. he was to help the women together with lasse, and was delighted with this break in the daily routine; it was a whole holiday for him. at dinner-time the men came home with their heavy loads of herring, which were turned out upon the stone paving round the pump in the upper yard. there had been no opportunity for them to enjoy themselves in the town, and they were in a bad temper. only mons, the ape, went about grinning all over his face. he had been up to his sick mother with the money for the doctor and medicine, and came back at the last minute with a bundle under his arm in the best of spirits. "that was a medicine!" he said over and over again, smacking his lips, "a mighty strong medicine." he had had a hard time with the bailiff before he got leave to go on his errand. the bailiff was a suspicious man, but it was difficult to hold out against mons' trembling voice when he urged that it would be too hard on a poor man to deny him the right to help his sick mother. "besides, she lives close by here, and perhaps i shall never see her again in this life," said mons mournfully. "and then there's the money that the master advanced me for it. shall i go and throw it away on drink, while she's lying there without enough to buy bread with?" "well, how was your mother?" asked the bailiff, when mons came hurrying up at the last moment. "oh, she can't last much longer!" said mons, with a quiver in his voice. but he was beaming all over his face. the others threw him angry glances while they unloaded the herring. they would have liked to thrash him for his infernal good luck. but they recovered when they got into their room and he undid the bundle. "that's to you all from my sick mother!" he said, and drew forth a keg of spirits. "and i was to give you her best respects, and thank you for being so good to her little son." "where did you go?" asked erik. "i sat in the tavern on the harbor hill all the time, so as to keep an eye on you; i couldn't resist looking at you, you looked so delightfully thirsty. i wonder you didn't lie down flat and drink out of the sea, every man jack of you!" in the afternoon the cottagers' wives and the farm-girls sat round the great heaps of herring by the pump, and cleaned the fish. lasse and pelle pumped water to rinse them in, and cleaned out the big salt-barrels that the men rolled up from the cellar; and two of the elder women were entrusted with the task of mixing. the bailiff walked up and down by the front steps and smoked his pipe. as a general rule, the herring-pickling came under the category of pleasant work, but to-day there was dissatisfaction all along the line. the women chattered freely as they worked, but their talk was not quite innocuous--it was all carefully aimed; the men had made them malicious. when they laughed, there was the sound of a hidden meaning in their laughter. the men had to be called out and given orders about every single thing that had to be done; they went about it sullenly, and then at once withdrew to their rooms. but when there they were all the gayer, and sang and enjoyed themselves. "they're doing themselves proud in there," said lasse, with a sigh to pelle. "they've got a whole keg of spirits that mons had hidden in his herring. they say it's so extra uncommon good." lasse had not tasted it himself. the two kept out of the wrangling; they felt themselves too weak. the girls had not had the courage to refuse the extra sunday work, but they were not afraid to pass little remarks, and tittered at nothing, to make the bailiff think it was at him. they kept on asking in a loud voice what the time was, or stopped working to listen to the ever-increasing gaiety in the men's rooms. now and then a man was thrown out from there into the yard, and shuffled in again, shamefaced and grinning. one by one the men came sauntering out. they had their caps on the back of their heads now, and their gaze was fixed. they took up a position in the lower yard, and hung over the fence, looking at the girls, every now and then bursting into a laugh and stopping suddenly, with a frightened glance at the bailiff. the bailiff was walking up and down by the steps. he had laid aside his pipe and become calmer; and when the men came out, he was cracking a whip and exercising himself in self-restraint. "if i liked i could bend him until both ends met!" he heard erik say aloud in the middle of a conversation. the bailiff earnestly wished that erik would make the attempt. his muscles were burning under this unsatisfied desire to let himself go; but his brain was reveling in visions of fights, he was grappling with the whole flock and going through all the details of the battle. he had gone through these battles so often, especially of late; he had thought out all the difficult situations, and there was not a place in all stone farm in which the things that would serve as weapons were not known to him. "what's the time?" asked one of the girls aloud for at least the twentieth time. "a little longer than your chemise," answered erik promptly. the girls laughed. "oh, nonsense! tell us what it really is!" exclaimed another. "a quarter to the miller's girl," answered anders. "oh, what fools you are! can't you answer properly? you, karl johan!" "it's short!" said karl johan gravely. "no, seriously now, i'll tell you what it is," exclaimed mons innocently, drawing a great "turnip" out of his pocket. "it's--" he looked carefully at the watch, and moved his lips as if calculating. "the deuce!" he exclaimed, bringing down his hand in amazement on the fence. "why, it's exactly the same time as it was this time yesterday." the jest was an old one, but the women screamed with laughter; for mons was the jester. "never mind about the time," said the bailiff, coming up. "but try and get through your work." "no, time's for tailors and shoemakers, not for honest people!" said anders in an undertone. the bailiff turned upon him as quick as a cat, and anders' arm darted up above his head bent as if to ward off a blow. the bailiff merely expectorated with a scornful smile, and began his pacing up and down afresh, and anders stood there, red to the roots of his hair, and not knowing what to do with his eyes. he scratched the back of his head once or twice, but that could not explain away that strange movement of his arm. the others were laughing at him, so he hitched up his trousers and sauntered down toward the men's rooms, while the women screamed with laughter, and the men laid their heads upon the fence and shook with merriment. so the day passed, with endless ill-natured jesting and spitefulness. in the evening the men wandered out to indulge in horse-play on the high-road and annoy the passersby. lasse and pelle were tired, and went early to bed. "thank god we've got through this day!" said lasse, when he had got into bed. "it's been a regular bad day. it's a miracle that no blood's been shed; there was a time when the bailiff looked as if he might do anything. but erik must know far he can venture." next morning everything seemed to be forgotten. the men attended to the horses as usual, and at six o'clock went out into the field for a third mowing of clover. they looked blear-eyed, heavy and dull. the keg lay outside the stable-door empty; and as they went past they kicked it. pelle helped with the herring to-day too, but he no longer found it amusing. he was longing already to be out in the open with his cattle; and here he had to be at everybody's beck and call. as often as he dared, he made some pretext for going outside the farm, for that helped to make the time pass. later in the morning, while the men were mowing the thin clover, erik flung down his scythe so that it rebounded with a ringing sound from the swaths. the others stopped their work. "what's the matter with you, erik?" asked karl johan. "have you got a bee in your bonnet?" erik stood with his knife in his hand, feeling its edge, and neither heard nor saw. then he turned up his face and frowned at the sky; his eyes seemed to have sunk into his head and become blind, and his lips stood out thick. he muttered a few inarticulate sounds, and started up toward the farm. the others stood still and followed him with staring eyes; then one after another they threw down their scythes and moved away, only karl johan remaining where he was. pelle had just come out to the enclosure to see that none of the young cattle had broken their way out. "when he saw the men coming up toward the farm in a straggling file like a herd of cattle on the move, he suspected something was wrong and ran in. "the men are coming up as fast as they can, father!" he whispered. "they're surely not going to do it?" said lasse, beginning to tremble. the bailiff was carrying things from his room down to the pony- carriage; he was going to drive to the town. he had his arms full when erik appeared at the big, open gate below, with distorted face and a large, broad-bladed knife in his hand. "where the devil is he?" he said aloud, and circled round once with bent head, like an angry bull, and then walked up through the fence straight toward the bailiff. the latter started when he saw him and, through the gate, the others coming up full speed behind him. he measured the distance to the steps, but changed his mind, and advanced toward erik, keeping behind the wagon and watching every movement that erik made, while he tried to find a weapon. erik followed him round the wagon, grinding his teeth and turning his eyes obliquely up at his opponent. the bailiff went round and round the wagon and made half movements; he could not decide what to do. but then the others came up and blocked his way. his face turned white with fear, and he tore a whiffletree from the wagon, which with a push he sent rolling into the thick of them, so that they fell back in confusion. this made an open space between him and erik, and erik sprang quickly over the pole, with his knife ready to strike; but as he sprang, the whiffletree descended upon his head. the knife-thrust fell upon the bailiff's shoulder, but it was feeble, and the knife just grazed his side as erik sank to the ground. the others stood staring in bewilderment. "carry him down to the mangling-cellar!" cried the bailiff in a commanding tone, and the men dropped their knives and obeyed. the battle had stirred pelle's blood into a tumult, and he was standing by the pump, jumping up and down. lasse had to take a firm hold of him, for it looked as if he would throw himself into the fight. then when the great strong erik sank to the ground insensible from a blow on the head, he began to jump as if he had st. vitus's dance. he jumped into the air with drooping head, and let himself fall heavily, all the time uttering short, shrill bursts of laughter. lasse spoke to him angrily, thinking it was unnecessarily foolish behavior on his part; and then he picked him up and held him firmly in his hands, while the little fellow trembled all over his body in his efforts to free himself and go on with his jumping. "what can be wrong with him?" said lasse tearfully to the cottagers' wives. "oh dear, what shall i do?" he carried him down to their room in a sad state of mind, because the moon was waning, and it would never pass off! down in the mangling-cellar they were busy with erik, pouring brandy into his mouth and bathing his head with vinegar. kongstrup was not at home, but the mistress herself was down there, wringing her hands and cursing stone farm--her own childhood's home! stone farm had become a hell with its murder and debauchery! she said, without caring that they were all standing round her and heard every word. the bailiff had driven quickly off in the pony-carriage to fetch a doctor and to report what he had done in defence of his life. the women stood round the pump and gossiped, while the men and girls wandered about in confusion; there was no one to issue orders. but then the mistress came out on to the steps and looked at them for a little, and they all found something to do. hers were piercing eyes! the old women shook themselves and went back to their work. it reminded them so pleasantly of old times, when the master of the stone farm of their youth rushed up with anger in his eyes when they were idling. down in their room, lasse sat watching pelle, who lay talking and laughing in delirium, so that his father hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry. xv "she must have had right on her side, for he never said a cross word when she started off with her complaints and reproaches, and them so loud that you could hear them right through the walls and down in the servants' room and all over the farm. but it was stupid of her all the same, for she only drove him distracted and sent him away. and how will it go with a farm in the long run, when the farmer spends all his time on the high-roads because he can't stay at home? it's a poor sort of affection that drives the man away from his home." lasse was standing in the stable on sunday evening talking to the women about it while they milked. pelle was there too, busy with his own affairs, but listening to what was said. "but she wasn't altogether stupid either," said thatcher holm's wife. "for instance when she had fair maria in to do housemaid's work, so that he could have a pretty face to look at at home. she knew that if you have food at home you don't go out for it. but of course it all led to nothing when she couldn't leave off frightening him out of the house with her crying and her drinking." "i'm sure he drinks too!" said pelle shortly. "yes, of course he gets drunk now and then," said lasse in a reproving tone. "but he's a man, you see, and may have his reasons besides. but it's ill when a woman takes to drinking." lasse was cross. the boy was beginning to have opinions of his own pretty well on everything, and was always joining in when grown people were talking. "i maintain"--he went on, turning again to the women--"that he'd be a good husband, if only he wasn't worried with crying and a bad conscience. things go very well too when he's away. he's at home pretty well every day, and looks after things himself, so that the bailiff's quite upset, for _he_ likes to be king of the castle. to all of us, the master's like one of ourselves; he's even forgotten the grudge he had against gustav." "there can't be very much to bear him a grudge for, unless it is that he'll get a wife with money. they say bodil's saved more than a hundred krones from her two or three months as housemaid. some people can--they get paid for what the rest of us have always had to do for nothing." it was one of the old women who spoke. "well, we'll just see whether he ever gets her for a wife. i doubt it myself. one oughtn't to speak evil of one's fellow-servant, but bodil's not a faithful girl. that matter with the master must go for what it was--as i once said to gustav when he was raging about it; the master comes before his men! bengta was a good wife to me in every way, but she too was very fond of laying herself out for the landlord at home. the greatest take first; that's the way of the world! but bodil's never of the same mind for long together. now she's carrying on with the pupil, though he's not sixteen yet, and takes presents from him. gustav should get out of it in time; it always leads to misfortune when love gets into a person. we've got an example of that at the farm here." "i was talking to some one the other day who thought that the mistress hadn't gone to copenhagen at all, but was with relations in the south. she's run away from him, you'll see!" "that's the genteel thing to do nowadays, it seems!" said lasse. "if only she'll stay away! things are much better as they are." * * * * * an altogether different atmosphere seemed to fill stone farm. the dismal feeling was gone; no wailing tones came from the house and settled upon one like horse flies and black care. the change was most apparent in the farmer. he looked ten or twenty years younger, and joked good-humoredly like one freed from chains and fetters. he took an interest in the work of the farm, drove to the quarry two or three times a day in his gig, was present whenever a new piece of work was started, and would often throw off his coat and take a hand in it. fair maria laid his table and made his bed, and he was not afraid of showing his kindness for her. his good humor was infectious and made everything pleasanter. but it could not be denied that lasse had his own burden to bear. his anxiety to get married grew greater with the arrival of very cold weather as early as december; he longed to have his feet under his own table, and have a woman to himself who should be everything to him. he had not entirely given up thoughts of karna yet, but he had promised thatcher holm's wife ten krones down if she could find some one that would do for him. he had really put the whole matter out of his head as an impossibility, and had passed into the land of old age; but what was the use of shutting yourself in, when you were all the time looking for doors through which to slip out again? lasse looked out once more, and as usual it was pelle who brought life and joy to the house. down in the outskirts of the fishing-village there lived a woman, whose husband had gone to sea and had not been heard of for a good many years. two or three times on his way to and from school, pelle had sought shelter from the weather in her porch, and they had gradually become good friends; he performed little services for her, and received a cup of hot coffee in return. when the cold was very bitter, she always called him in; and then she would tell him about the sea and about her good-for-nothing husband, who kept away and left her to toil for her living by mending nets for the fishermen. in return pelle felt bound to tell her about father lasse, and mother bengta who lay at home in the churchyard at tommelilla. the talk never came to much more, for she always returned to her husband who had gone away and left her a widow. "i suppose he's drowned," pelle would say. "no, he isn't, for i've had no warning," she answered decidedly, always in the same words. pelle repeated it all to his father, who was very much interested. "well, did you run in to madam olsen to-day?" was the first thing he said when the boy came in from school; and then pelle had to tell him every detail several times over. it could never be too circumstantially told for lasse. "you've told her, i suppose, that mother bengta's dead? yes, of course you have! well, what did she ask about me to-day? does she know about the legacy?" (lasse had recently had twenty-five krones left him by an uncle.) "you might very well let fall a word or two about that, so that she shouldn't think we're quite paupers." pelle was the bearer of ambiguous messages backward and forward. from lasse he took little things in return for her kindness to himself, such as embroidered handkerchiefs and a fine silk kerchief, the last remnants of mother bengta's effects. it would be hard to lose them if this new chance failed, for then there would be no memories to fall back upon. but lasse staked everything upon one card. one day pelle brought word that warning had come to madam olsen. she had been awakened in the night by a big black dog that stood gasping at the head of her bed. its eyes shone in the darkness, and she heard the water dripping from its fur. she understood that it must be the ship's dog with a message for her, and went to the window; and out in the moonlight on the sea she saw a ship sailing with all sail set. she stood high, and you could see the sea and sky right through her. over the bulwark hung her husband and the others, and they were transparent; and the salt water was dripping from their hair and beards and running down the side of the ship. in the evening lasse put on his best clothes. "are we going out this evening?" asked pelle in glad surprise. "no--well, that's to say i am, just a little errand. if any one asks after me, you must say that i've gone to the smith about a new nose-ring for the bull." "and mayn't i go with you?" asked pelle on the verge of tears. "no, you must be good and stay at home for this once. lasse patted him on the head. "where are you going then?" "i'm going--" lasse was about to make up a lie about it, but had not the heart to do it. "you mustn't ask me!" he said. "shall i know another day, then, without asking?" "yes, you shall, for certain--sure!" lasse went out, but came back again. pelle was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying; it was the first time father lasse had gone out without taking him with him. "now you must be a good boy and go to bed," he said gravely. "or else i shall stay at home with you; but if i do, it may spoil things for us both." so pelle thought better of it and began to undress; and at last lasse got off. when lasse reached madam olsen's house, it was shut up and in darkness. he recognized it easily from pelle's descriptions, and walked round it two or three times to see how the walls stood. both timber and plaster looked good, and there was a fair-sized piece of ground belonging to it, just big enough to allow of its being attended to on sundays, so that one could work for a daily wage on weekdays. lasse knocked at the door, and a little while after a white form appeared at the window, and asked who was there. "it's pelle's father, lasse karlsson," said lasse, stepping out into the moonlight. the door was unbolted, and a soft voice said: "come inside! don't stand out there in the cold!" and lasse stepped over the threshold. there was a smell of sleep in the room, and lasse had an idea where the alcove was, but could see nothing. he heard the breathing as of a stout person drawing on stockings. then she struck a match and lighted the lamp. they shook hands, and looked at one another as they did so. she wore a skirt of striped bed-ticking, which kept her night-jacket together, and had a blue night-cap on her head. she had strong-looking limbs and a good bust, and her face gave a good impression. she was the kind of woman that would not hurt a fly if she were not put upon; but she was not a toiler--she was too soft for that. "so this is pelle's father!" she said. "it's a young son you've got. but do sit down!" lasse blinked his eyes a little. he had been afraid that she would think him old. "yes, he's what you'd call a late-born child; but i'm still able to do a man's work in more ways than one." she laughed while she busied herself in placing on the table cold bacon and pork sausage, a dram, bread and a saucer of dripping. "but now you must eat!" she said. "that's what a man's known by. and you've come a long way." it only now occurred to lasse that he must give some excuse for his visit. "i ought really to be going again at once. i only wanted to come down and thank you for your kindness to the boy." he even got up as if to go. "oh, but what nonsense!" she exclaimed, pushing him down into his chair again. "it's very plain, but do take some." she pressed the knife into his hand, and eagerly pushed the food in front of him. her whole person radiated warmth and kind-heartedness as she stood close to him and attended to his wants; and lasse enjoyed it all. "you must have been a good wife to your husband," he said. "yes, that's true enough!" she said, as she sat down and looked frankly at him. "he got all that he could want, and almost more, when he was on shore. he stayed in bed until dinner, and i looked after him like a little child; but he never gave me a hand's turn for it, and at last one gets tired." "that was wrong of him," said lasse; "for one good action deserves another. i don't think bengta would have anything like that to say of me if she was asked." "well, there's certainly plenty to do in a house, when there's a man that has the will to help. i've only one cow, of course, for i can't manage more; but two might very well be kept, and there's no debt on the place." "i'm only a poor devil compared to you!" said lasse despondently. "altogether i've got fifty krones, and we both have decent clothes to put on; but beyond that i've only got a pair of good hands." "and i'm sure that's worth a good deal! and i should fancy you're not afraid of fetching a pail of water or that sort of thing, are you?" "no, i'm not. and i'm not afraid of a cup of coffee in bed on a sunday morning, either." she laughed. "then i suppose i ought to have a kiss!" she said. "yes, i suppose you ought," said lasse delighted, and kissed her. "and now we may hope for happiness and a blessing for all three of us. i know you're fond of the laddie." there still remained several things to discuss, there was coffee to be drunk, and lasse had to see the cow and the way the house was arranged. in the meantime it had grown late. "you'd better stay here for the night," said madam olsen. lasse stood wavering. there was the boy sleeping alone, and he had to be at the farm by four o'clock; but it was cold outside, and here it was so warm and comfortable in every way. "yes, perhaps i'd better," he said, laying down his hat and coat again. * * * * * when at about four he crept into the cow-stable from the back, the lantern was still burning in the herdsman's room. lasse thought he was discovered, and began to tremble; it was a criminal and unjustifiable action to be away from the herd a whole night. but it was only pelle, who lay huddled up upon the chest asleep, with his clothes on. his face was black and swollen with crying. all that day there was something reserved, almost hostile, about pelle's behavior, and lasse suffered under it. there was nothing for it; he must speak out. "it's all settled now, pelle," he said at last. "we're going to have a house and home, and a nice-looking mother into the bargain. it's madam olsen. are you satisfied now?" pelle had nothing against it. "then may i come with you next time?" he asked, still a little sullen. "yes, next time you shall go with me. i think it'll be on sunday. we'll ask leave to go out early, and pay her a visit." lasse said this with a peculiar flourish; he had become more erect. pelle went with him on sunday; they were free from the middle of the afternoon. but after that it would not have done to ask for leave very soon again. pelle saw his future mother nearly every day, but it was more difficult for lasse. when the longing to see his sweetheart came over him too strongly, he fussed over pelle until the boy fell asleep, and then changed his clothes and stole out. after a wakeful night such as one of these, he was not up to his work, and went about stumbling over his own feet; but his eyes shone with a youthful light, as if he had concluded a secret treaty with life's most powerful forces. xvi erik was standing on the front steps, with stooping shoulders and face half turned toward the wall. he stationed himself there every morning at about four, and waited for the bailiff to come down. it was now six, and had just begun to grow light. lasse and pelle had finished cleaning out the cow-stable and distributing the first feed, and they were hungry. they were standing at the door of the stable, waiting for the breakfast-bell to ring; and at the doors of the horse-stables, the men were doing the same. at a quarter-past the hour they went toward the basement, with karl johan at their head, and lasse and pelle also turned out and hurried to the servants' room, with every sign of a good appetite. "now, erik, we're going down to breakfast!" shouted karl johan as they passed, and erik came out of his corner by the steps, and shuffled along after them. there was nothing the matter with his digestive powers at any rate. they ate their herring in silence; the food stopped their mouths completely. when they had finished, the head man knocked on the table with the handle of his knife, and karna came in with two dishes of porridge and a pile of bread-and-dripping. "where's bodil to-day?" asked gustav. "how should i know? her bed was standing untouched this morning," answered karna, with an exulting look. "it's a lie!" cried gustav, bringing down his spoon with a bang upon the table. "you can go into her room and see for yourself; you know the way!" said karna tartly. "and what's become of the pupil to-day, as he hasn't rung?" said karl johan. "have any of you girls seen him?" "no, i expect he's overslept himself," cried bengta from the wash-house. "and so he may! _i_ don't want to run up and shake life into him every morning!" "don't you think you'd better go up and wake him, gustav?" said anders with a wink. "you might see something funny." the others laughed a little. "if i wake him, it'll be with this rabbit-skinner," answered gustav, exhibiting a large knife. "for then i think i should put him out of harm's way." at this point the farmer himself came down. he held a piece of paper in his hand, and appeared to be in high good humor. "have you heard the latest news, good people? at dead of night hans peter has eloped with bodil!" "my word! are the babes and sucklings beginning now?" exclaimed lasse with self-assurance. "i shall have to look after pelle there, and see that he doesn't run away with karna. she's fond of young people." lasse felt himself to be the man of the company, and was not afraid of giving a hit at any one. "hans peter is fifteen," said kongstrup reprovingly, "and passion rages in his heart." he said this with such comical gravity that they all burst into laughter, except gustav, who sat blinking his eyes and nodding his head like a drunken man. "you shall hear what he says. this lay upon his bed." kongstrup held the paper out in a theatrical attitude and read: "when you read this, i shall have gone forever. bodil and i have agreed to run away to-night. my stern father will never give his consent to our union, and therefore we will enjoy the happiness of our love in a secret place where no one can find us. it will be doing a great wrong to look for us, for we have determined to die together rather than fall into the wicked hands of our enemies. i wet this paper with bodil's and my own tears. but you must not condemn me for my last desperate step, as i can do nothing else for the sake of my great love. "hans peter." "that fellow reads story-books," said karl johan. "he'll do great things some day." "yes, he knows exactly what's required for an elopement," answered kongstrup merrily. "even to a ladder, which he's dragged up to the girl's window, although it's on a level with the ground. i wish he were only half as thorough in his agriculture." "what's to be done now? i suppose they must be searched for?" asked the head man. "well, i don't know. it's almost a shame to disturb their young happiness. they'll come of their own accord when they get hungry. what do you think, gustav? shall we organize a battue?" gustav made no answer, but rose abruptly and went across to the men's rooms. when the others followed him, they found him in bed. all day he lay there and never uttered a syllable when any one came in to him. meanwhile the work suffered, and the bailiff was angry. he did not at all like the new way kongstrup was introducing--with liberty for every one to say and do exactly as they liked. "go in and pull gustav out of bed!" he said, in the afternoon, when they were in the threshing-barn, winnowing grain. "and if he won't put his own clothes on, dress him by force." but kongstrup, who was there himself, entering the weight, interfered. "no, if he's ill he must be allowed to keep his bed," he said. "but it's our duty to do something to cure him." "how about a mustard-plaster?" suggested mons, with a defiant glance at the bailiff. kongstrup rubbed his hands with delight. "yes, that'll be splendid!" he said. "go you across, mons, and get the girls to make a mustard- plaster that we can stick on the pit of his stomach; that's where the pain is." when mons came back with the plaster, they went up in a procession to put it on, the farmer himself leading. kongstrup was well aware of the bailiff's angry looks, which plainly said, "another waste of work for the sake of a foolish prank!" but he was inclined for a little fun, and the work would get done somehow. gustav had smelt a rat, for when they arrived he was dressed. for the rest of the day he did his work, but nothing could draw a smile out of him. he was like a man moonstruck. a few days later a cart drove up to stone farm. in the driving-seat sat a broad-shouldered farmer in a fur coat, and beside him, wrapped up from head to foot, sat hans peter, while at the back, on the floor of the cart, lay the pretty bodil on a little hay, shivering with cold. it was the pupil's father who had brought back the two fugitives, whom he had found in lodgings in the town. up in the office hans peter received a thrashing that could be heard, and was then let out into the yard, where he wandered about crying and ashamed, until he began to play with pelle behind the cow-stable. bodil was treated more severely. it must have been the strange farmer who required that she should be instantly dismissed, for kongstrup was not usually a hard man. she had to pack her things, and after dinner was driven away. she looked good and gentle as she always did; one would have thought she was a perfect angel--if one had not known better. next morning gustav's bed was empty. he had vanished completely, with chest, wooden shoes and everything. lasse looked on at all this with a man's indulgent smile--children's tricks! all that was wanting now was that karna should squeeze her fat body through the basement window one night, and she too disappear like smoke--on the hunt for gustav. this did not happen, however; and she became kindly disposed toward lasse again, saw after his and pelle's clothes, and tried to make them comfortable. lasse was not blind; he saw very well which way the wind blew, and enjoyed the consciousness of his power. there were now two that he could have whenever he pleased; he only had to stretch out his hand, and the women-folk snatched at it. he went about all day in a state of joyful intoxication, and there were days in which he was in such an elevated condition of mind that he had inward promptings to make use of his opportunity. he had always trodden his path in this world so sedately, done his duty and lived his life in such unwavering decency. why should not he too for once let things go, and try to leap through the fiery hoops? there was a tempting development of power in the thought. but the uprightness in him triumphed. he had always kept to the one, as the scriptures commanded, and he would continue to do so. the other thing was only for the great--abraham, of whom pelle had begun to tell him, and kongstrup. pelle, too, must never be able to say anything against his father in that way; he must be clean in his child's eyes, and be able to look him in the face without shrinking. and then--well, the thought of how the two women would take it in the event of its being discovered, simply made lasse blink his red eyes and hang his head. * * * * * toward the middle of march, fru kongstrup returned unexpectedly. the farmer was getting along very comfortably without her, and her coming took him rather by surprise. fair maria was instantly turned out and sent down to the wash-house. her not being sent away altogether was due to the fact that there was a shortage of maids at the farm now that bodil had left. the mistress had brought a young relative with her, who was to keep her company and help her in the house. they appeared to get on very well together. kongstrup stayed at home upon the farm and was steady. the three drove out together, and the mistress was always hanging on his arm when they went about showing the place to the young lady. it was easy to see why she had come home; she could not live without him! but kongstrup did not seem to be nearly so pleased about it. he had put away his high spirits and retired into his shell once more. when he was going about like this, he often looked as if there was something invisible lying in ambush for him and he was afraid of being taken unawares. this invisible something reached out after the others, too. fru kongstrup never interfered unkindly in anything, either directly or in a roundabout way; and yet everything became stricter. people no longer moved freely about the yard, but glanced up at the tall windows and hurried past. the atmosphere had once more that oppression about it that made one feel slack and upset and depressed. mystery once again hung heavy over the roof of stone farm. to many generations it had stood for prosperity or misfortune--these had been its foundations, and still it drew to itself the constant thoughts of many people. dark things--terror, dreariness, vague suspicions of evil powers--gathered there naturally as in a churchyard. and now it all centered round this woman, whose shadow was so heavy that everything brightened when she went away. her unceasing, wailing protest against her wrongs spread darkness around and brought weariness with it. it was not even with the idea of submitting to the inevitable that she came back, but only to go on as before, with renewed strength. she could not do without him, but neither could she offer him anything good; she was like those beings who can live and breathe only in fire, and yet cry out when burnt. she writhed in the flames, and yet she herself fed them. fair maria was her own doing, and now she had brought this new relative into the house. thus she herself made easy the path of his infidelity, and then shook the house above him with her complaining. an affection such as this was not god's work; powers of evil had their abode in her. xvii oh, how bitterly cold it was! pelle was on his way to school, leaning, in a jog-trot, against the wind. at the big thorn rud was standing waiting for him; he fell in, and they ran side by side like two blown nags, breathing hard and with heads hanging low. their coat-collars were turned up about their ears, and their hands pushed into the tops of their trousers to share in the warmth of their bodies. the sleeves of pelle's jacket were too short, and his wrists were blue with cold. they said little, but only ran; the wind snatched the words from their mouths and filled them with hail. it was hard to get enough breath to run with, or to keep an eye open. every other minute they had to stop and turn their back to the wind while they filled their lungs and breathed warm breath up over their faces to bring feeling into them. the worst part of it was the turning back, before they got quite up against the wind and into step again. the four miles came to an end, and the boys turned into the village. down here by the shore it was almost sheltered; the rough sea broke the wind. there was not much of the sea to be seen; what did appear here and there through the rifts in the squalls came on like a moving wall and broke with a roar into whitish green foam. the wind tore the top off the waves in ill-tempered snatches, and carried salt rain in over the land. the master had not yet arrived. up at his desk stood nilen, busily picking its lock to get at a pipe that fris had confiscated during lessons. "here's your knife!" he cried, throwing a sheath-knife to pelle, who quickly pocketed it. some peasant boys were pouring coal into the stove, which was already red-hot; by the windows sat a crowd of girls, hearing one another in hymns. outside the waves broke without ceasing, and when their roar sank for a moment, the shrill voices of boys rose into the air. all the boys of the village were on the beach, running in and out under the breakers that looked as if they would crush them, and pulling driftwood upon shore. pelle had hardly thawed himself when nilen made him go out with him. most of the boys were wet through, but they were laughing and panting with eagerness. one of them had brought in the name-board of a ship. _the simplicity_ was painted on it. they stood round it and wrangled about what kind of vessel it was and what was its home-port. "then the ship's gone down," said pelle gravely. the others did not answer; it was so self-evident. "well," said a boy hesitatingly, "the name-board may have been torn away by the waves; it's only been nailed on." they examined it carefully again; pelle could not discover anything special about it. "i rather think the crew have torn it off and thrown it into the sea. one of the nails has been pulled out," said nilen, nodding with an air of mystery. "but why should they do that?" asked pelle, with incredulity. "because they've killed the captain and taken over the command themselves, you ass! then all they've got to do is to christen the ship again, and sail as pirates." the other boys confirmed this with eyes that shone with the spirit of adventure; this one's father had told him about it, and that one's had even played a part in it. he did not want to, of course, but then he was tied to the mast while the mutiny was in progress. on a day like this pelle felt small in every way. the raging of the sea oppressed him and made him feel insecure, but the others were in their element. they possessed themselves of all the horror of the ocean, and represented it in an exaggerated form; they heaped up all the terrors of the sea in play upon the shore: ships went to the bottom with all on board or struck on the rocks; corpses lay rolling in the surf, and drowned men in sea-boots and sou'westers came up out of the sea at midnight, and walked right into the little cottages in the village to give warning of their departure. they dwelt upon it with a seriousness that was bright with inward joy, as though they were singing hymns of praise to the mighty ocean. but pelle stood out side all this, and felt himself cowardly when listening to their tales. he kept behind the others, and wished he could bring down the big bull and let it loose among them. then they would come to him for protection. the boys had orders from their parents to take care of themselves, for marta, the old skipper's widow, had three nights running heard the sea demand corpses with a short bark. they talked about that, too, and about when the fishermen would venture out again, while they ran about the beach. "a bottle, a bottle!" cried one of them suddenly, dashing off along the shore; he was quite sure he had seen a bottle bob up out of the surf a little way off, and disappear again. the whole swarm stood for a long time gazing eagerly out into the seething foam, and kilen and another boy had thrown off their jackets to be ready to jump out when it appeared again. the bottle did not appear again, but it had given a spur to the imagination, and every boy had his own solemn knowledge of such things. just now, during the equinoctial storms, many a bottle went over a ship's side with a last message to those on land. really and truly, of course, that was why you learned to write--so as to be able to write your messages when your hour came. then perhaps the bottle would be swallowed by a shark, or perhaps it would be fished up by stupid peasants who took it home with them to their wives to put drink into--this last a good-natured hit at pelle. but it sometimes happened that it drifted ashore just at the place it was meant for; and, if not, it was the finder's business to take it to the nearest magistrate, if he didn't want to lose his right hand. out in the harbor the waves broke over the mole; the fishermen had drawn their boats up on shore. they could not rest indoors in their warm cottages; the sea and bad weather kept them on the beach night and day. they stood in shelter behind their boats, yawning heavily and gazing out to sea, where now and then a sail fluttered past like a storm-beaten bird. "in, in!" cried the girls from the schoolroom door, and the boys sauntered slowly up. pris was walking backward and forward in front of his desk, smoking his pipe with the picture of the king on it, and with the newspaper sticking out of his pocket. "to your places!" he shouted, striking his desk with the cane. "is there any news?" asked a boy, when they had taken their places. fris sometimes read aloud the shipping news to them. "i don't know," answered fris crossly. "you can get out your slates and arithmetics." "oh, we're going to do sums, oh, that's fun!" the whole class was rejoicing audibly as they got out their things. fris did not share the children's delight over arithmetic; his gifts, he was accustomed to say, were of a purely historical nature. but he accommodated himself to their needs, because long experience had taught him that a pandemonium might easily arise on a stormy day such as this; the weather had a remarkable influence upon the children. his own knowledge extended only as far as christian hansen's part i.; but there were two peasant boys who had worked on by themselves into part iii., and they helped the others. the children were deep in their work, their long, regular breathing rising and falling in the room like a deep sleep. there was a continual passing backward and forward to the two arithmeticians, and the industry was only now and then interrupted by some little piece of mischief that came over one or another of the children as a reminder; but they soon fell into order again. at the bottom of the class there was a sound of sniffing, growing more and more distinct. fris laid down his newspaper impatiently. "peter's crying," said those nearest. "oh-o!" said fris, peering over his spectacles. "what's the matter now?" "he says he can't remember what twice two is." fris forced the air through his nostrils and seized the cane, but thought better of it. "twice two's five!" he said quietly, at which there was a laugh at peter's expense, and work went on again. for some time they worked diligently, and then nilen rose. fris saw it, but went on reading. "which is the lightest, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead? i can't find it in the answers." fris's hands trembled as he held the paper up close to his face to see something or other better. it was his mediocrity as a teacher of arithmetic that the imps were always aiming at, but he would _not_ be drawn into a discussion with them. nilen repeated his question, while the others tittered; but fris did not hear--he was too deep in his paper. so the whole thing dropped. fris looked at his watch; he could soon give them a quarter of an hour's play, a good long quarter of an hour. then there would only be one little hour's worry left, and that school-day could be laid by as another trouble got through. pelle stood up in his place in the middle of the class. he had some trouble to keep his face in the proper folds, and had to pretend that his neighbors were disturbing him. at last he got out what he wanted to say, but his ears were a little red at the tips. "if a pound of flour costs twelve ores, what will half a quarter of coal cost?" fris sat for a little while and looked irresolutely at pelle. it always hurt him more when pelle was naughty than when it was one of the others, for he had an affection for the boy. "very well!" he said bitterly, coming slowly down with the thick cane in his hand. "very well!" "look out for yourself!" whispered the boys, preparing to put difficulties in the way of fris's approach. but pelle did one of those things that were directly opposed to all recognized rules, and yet gained him respect. instead of shielding himself from the thrashing, he stepped forward and held out both hands with the palms turned upward. his face was crimson. fris looked at him in surprise, and was inclined to do anything but beat him; the look in pelle's eyes rejoiced his heart. he did not understand boys as boys, but with regard to human beings his perceptions were fine, and there was something human here; it would be wrong not to take it seriously. he gave pelle a sharp stroke across his hands, and throwing down the cane, called shortly, "playtime!" and turned away. the spray was coming right up to the school wall. a little way out there was a vessel, looking very much battered and at the mercy of the storm; she moved quickly forward a little way, and stood still and staggered for a time before moving on again, like a drunken man. she was going in the direction of the southern reef. the boys had collected behind the school to eat their dinner in shelter, but suddenly there was the hollow rattling sound of wooden-soled boots over on the shore side, and the coastguard and a couple of fishermen ran out. then the life-saving apparatus came dashing up, the horses' manes flying in the wind. there was something inspiriting in the pace, and the boys threw down everything and followed. the vessel was now right down by the point. she lay tugging at her anchor, with her stern toward the reef, and the waves washing over her; she looked like an old horse kicking out viciously at some obstacle with its hind legs. the anchor was not holding, and she was drifting backward on to the reef. there were a number of people on the shore, both from the coast and from inland. the country-people must have come down to see whether the water was wet! the vessel had gone aground and lay rolling on the reef; the people on board had managed her like asses, said the fishermen, but she was no russian, but a lap vessel. the waves went right over her from end to end, and the crew had climbed into the rigging, where they hung gesticulating with their arms. they must have been shouting something, but the noise of the waves drowned it. pelle's eyes and ears were taking in all the preparations. he was quivering with excitement, and had to fight against his infirmity, which returned whenever anything stirred his blood. the men on the beach were busy driving stakes into the sand to hold the apparatus, and arranging ropes and hawsers so that everything should go smoothly. special care was bestowed upon the long, fine line that the rocket was to carry out to the vessel; alterations were made in it at least twenty times. the foreman of the trained rescue party stood and took aim with the rocket-apparatus; his glance darted out and back again to measure the distance with the sharpness of a claw. "ready!" said the others, moving to one side. "ready!" he answered gravely. for a moment all was still, while he placed it in another position and then back again. whe-e-e-e-ew! the thin line stood like a quivering snake in the air, with its runaway head boring through the sodden atmosphere over the sea and its body flying shrieking from the drum and riding out with deep humming tones to cut its way far out through the storm. the rocket had cleared the distance capitally; it was a good way beyond the wreck, but too far to leeward. it had run itself out and now stood wavering in the air like the restless head of a snake while it dropped. "it's going afore her," said one fisherman. the others were silent, but from their looks it was evident that they were of the same opinion. "it may still get there," said the foreman. the rocket had struck the water a good way to the north, but the line still stood in an arch in the air, held up by the stress. it dropped in long waves toward the south, made a couple of folds in the wind, and dropped gently across the fore part of the vessel. "that's it! it got there, all right!" shouted the boys, and sprang on to the sand. the fishermen stamped about with delight, made a sideways movement with their heads toward the foreman and nodded appreciatively at one another. out on the vessel a man crawled about in the rigging until he got hold of the line, and then crept down into the shrouds to the others again. their strength could not be up to much, for except for that they did not move. on shore there was activity. the roller was fixed more firmly to the ground and the cradle made ready; the thin line was knotted to a thicker rope, which again was to draw the heavy hawser on board: it was important that everything should hold. to the hawser was attached a pulley as large as a man's head for the drawing-ropes to run in, for one could not know what appliances they would have on board such an old tub. for safety's sake a board was attached to the line, upon which were instructions, in english, to haul it until a hawser of such-and-such a thickness came on board. this was unnecessary for ordinary people, but one never knew how stupid such finn-lapps could be. "they may haul away now as soon as they like, and let us get done with it," said the foreman, beating his hands together. "perhaps they're too exhausted," said a young fisherman. "they must have been through a hard time!" "they must surely be able to haul in a three-quarter-inch rope! fasten an additional line to the rope, so that we can give them a hand in getting the hawser on board--when they get so far." this was done. but out on the wreck they hung stupidly in the rigging without ever moving; what in the world were they thinking about? the line still lay, motionless on the sand, but it was not fast to the bottom, for it moved when it was tightened by the water; it must have been made fast to the rigging. "they've made it fast, the blockheads," said the foreman. "i suppose they're waiting for us to haul the vessel up on land for them--with that bit of thread!" he laughed in despair. "i suppose they don't know any better, poor things!" said "the mormon." no one spoke or moved. they were paralyzed by the incomprehensibility of it, and their eyes moved in dreadful suspense from the wreck down to the motionless line and back again. the dull horror that ensues when men have done their utmost and are beaten back by absolute stupidity, began to creep over them. the only thing the shipwrecked men did was to gesticulate with their arms. they must have thought that the men on shore could work miracles--in defiance of them. "in an hour it'll be all up with them," said the foreman sadly. "it's hard to stand still and look on." a young fisherman came forward. pelle knew him well, for he had met him occasionally by the cairn where the baby's soul burned in the summer nights. "if one of you'll go with me, i'll try to drift down upon them!" said niels koller quietly. "it'll be certain death, niels!" said the foreman, laying his hand upon the young man's shoulder. "you understand that, i suppose! i'm not one to be afraid, but i won't throw away my life. so you know what i think." the others took the same view. a boat would be dashed to pieces against the moles. it would be impossible to get it out of the harbor in this weather, let alone work down to the wreck with wind and waves athwart! it might be that the sea had made a demand upon the village--no one would try to sneak out of his allotted share; but this was downright madness! with niels koller himself it must pass; his position was a peculiar one--with the murder of a child almost on his conscience and his sweetheart in prison. he had his own account to settle with the almighty; no one ought to dissuade him! "then will none of you?" asked niels, and looked down at the ground. "well, then i must try it alone." he went slowly up the beach. how he was going to set about it no one knew, nor did he himself; but the spirit had evidently come over him. they stood looking after him. then a young sailor said slowly: "i suppose i'd better go with him and take the one oar. he can do nothing by himself." it was nilen's brother. "it wouldn't sound right if i stopped you from going, my son," said "the mormon." "but can two of you do more than one?" "niels and i were at school together and have always been friends," answered the young man, looking into his father's face. then he moved away, and a little farther off began to run to catch up niels. the fishermen looked after them in silence. "youth and madness!" one of them then said. "one blessing is that they'll never be able to get the boat out of the harbor." "if i know anything of karl, they will get the boat out!" said "the mormon" gloomily. some time passed, and then a boat appeared on the south side of the harbor, where there was a little shelter. they must have dragged it in over land with the women's help. the harbor projected a little, so that the boat escaped the worst of the surf before emerging from its protection. they were working their way out; it was all they could do to keep the boat up against the wind, and they scarcely moved. every other moment the whole of the inside of the boat was visible, as if it would take nothing to upset it; but that had one advantage, in that the water they shipped ran out again. it was evident that they meant to work their way out so far that they could make use of the high sea and scud down upon the wreck--a desperate idea! but the whole thing was such sheer madness, one would never have thought they had been born and bred by the water. after half an hour's rowing, it seemed they could do no more; and they were not more than a couple of good cable-lengths out from the harbor. they lay still, one of them holding the boat up to the waves with the oars, while the other struggled with something--a bit of sail as big as a sack. yes, yes, of course! now if they took in the oars and left themselves at the mercy of the weather--with wind and waves abaft and beam!--they would fill with water at once! but they did not take in the oars. one of them sat and kept a frenzied watch while they ran before the wind. it looked very awkward, but it was evident that it gave greater command of the boat. then they suddenly dropped the sail and rowed the boat hard up against the wind--when a sea was about to break. none of the fishermen could recollect ever having seen such navigation before; it was young blood, and they knew what they were about. every instant one felt one must say now! but the boat was like a living thing that understood how to meet everything; it always rose above every caprice. the sight made one warm, so that for a time one forgot it was a sail for life or death. even if they managed to get down to the wreck, what then? why, they would be dashed against the side of the vessel! old ole koller, niels's father, came down over the sandbanks. "who's that out there throwing themselves away?" he asked. the question sounded harsh as it broke in upon the silence and suspense. no one looked at him--ole was rather garrulous. he glanced round the flock, as though he were looking for some particular person. "niels--have any of you seen niels?" he asked quietly. one man nodded toward the sea, and he was silent and overcome. the waves must have broken their oars or carried them away, for they dropped the bit of sail, the boat burrowed aimlessly with its prow, and settled down lazily with its broadside to the wind. then a great wave took them and carried them in one long sweep toward the wreck, and they disappeared in the breaking billow. when the water sank to rest, the boat lay bottom upward, rolling in the lee of the vessel. a man was working his way from the deck up into the rigging. "isn't that niels?" said ole, gazing until his eyes watered. "i wonder if that isn't niels?" "no; it's my brother karl," said nilen. "then niels is gone," said ole plaintively. "then niels is gone." the others had nothing to answer; it was a matter of course that niels would be lost. ole stood for a little while shrinkingly, as if expecting that some one would say it was niels. he dried his eyes, and tried to make it out for himself, but they only filled again. "your eyes are young," he said to pelle, his head trembling. "can't you see that it's niels?" "no, it's karl," said pelle softly. and ole went with bowed head through the crowd, without looking at any one or turning aside for anything. he moved as though he were alone in the world, and walked slowly out along the south shore. he was going to meet the dead body. there was no time to think. the line began to be alive, glided out into the sea, and drew the rope after it. yard after yard it unrolled itself and glided slowly into the sea like an awakened sea-animal, and the thick hawser began to move. karl fastened it high up on the mast, and it took all the men--and boys, too--to haul it taut. even then it hung in a heavy curve from its own weight, and the cradle dragged through the crests of the waves when it went out empty. it was more under than above the water as they pulled it back again with the first of the crew, a funny little dark man, dressed in mangy gray fur. he was almost choked in the crossing, but when once they had emptied the water out of him he quite recovered and chattered incessantly in a curious language that no one understood. five little fur-clad beings, one by one, were brought over by the cradle, and last of all came karl with a little squealing pig in his arms. "they _were_ a poor lot of seamen!" said karl, in the intervals of disgorging water. "upon my word, they understood nothing. they'd made the rocket-line fast to the shrouds, and tied the loose end round the captain's waist! and you should just have seen the muddle on board!" he talked loudly, but his glance seemed to veil something. the men now went home to the village with the shipwrecked sailors; the vessel looked as if it would still keep out the water for some time. just as the school-children were starting to go home, ole came staggering along with his son's dead body on his back. he walked with loose knees bending low and moaning under his burden. fris stopped him and helped him to lay the dead body in the schoolroom. there was a deep wound in the forehead. when pelle saw the dead body with its gaping wound, he began to jump up and down, jumping quickly up, and letting himself drop like a dead bird. the girls drew away from him, screaming, and fris bent over him and looked sorrowfully at him. "it isn't from naughtiness," said the other boys. "he can't help it; he's taken that way sometimes. he got it once when he saw a man almost killed." and they carried him off to the pump to bring him to himself again. fris and ole busied themselves over the dead body, placed something under the head, and washed away the sand that had got rubbed into the skin of the face. "he was my best boy," said fris, stroking the dead man's head with a trembling hand. "look well at him, children, and never forget him again; he was my best boy." he stood silent, looking straight before him, with dimmed spectacles and hands hanging loosely. ole was crying; he had suddenly grown pitiably old and decrepit. "i suppose i ought to get him home?" he said plaintively, trying to raise his son's shoulders; but he had not the strength. "just let him lie!" said fris. "he's had a hard day, and he's resting now." "yes, he's had a hard day," said ole, raising his son's hand to his mouth to breathe upon it. "and look how he's used the oar! the blood's burst out at his finger-tips!" ole laughed through his tears. "he was a good lad. he was food to me, and light and heat too. there never came an unkind word out of his mouth to me that was a burden on him. and now i've got no son, fris! i'm childless now! and i'm not able to do anything!" "you shall have enough to live upon, ole," said fris. "without coming on the parish? i shouldn't like to come upon the parish." "yes, without coming on the parish, ole." "if only he can get peace now! he had so little peace in this world these last few years. there's been a song made about his misfortune, fris, and every time he heard it he was like a new-born lamb in the cold. the children sing it, too." ole looked round at them imploringly. "it was only a piece of boyish heedlessness, and now he's taken his punishment." "your son hasn't had any punishment, ole, and neither has he deserved any," said fris, putting his arm about the old man's shoulder. "but he's given a great gift as he lies there and cannot say anything. he gave five men their lives and gave up his own in return for the one offense that he committed in thoughtlessness! it was a generous son you had, ole!" fris looked at him with a bright smile. "yes," said ole, with animation. "he saved five people--of course he did--yes, he did!" he had not thought of that before; it would probably never have occurred to him. but now some one else had given it form, and he clung to it. "he saved five lives, even if they were only finn-lapps; so perhaps god will not disown him." fris shook his head until his gray hair fell over his eyes. "never forget him, children!" he said; "and now go quietly home." the children silently took up their things and went; at that moment they would have done anything that fris told them: he had complete power over them. ole stood staring absently, and then took fris by the sleeve and drew him up to the dead body. "he's rowed well!" he said. "the blood's come out at his finger-ends, look!" and he raised his son's hands to the light. "and there's a wrist, fris! he could take up an old man like me and carry me like a little child." ole laughed feebly. "but i carried him; all the way from the south reef i carried him on my back. i'm too heavy for you, father! i could hear him say, for he was a good son; but i carried him, and now i can't do anything more. if only they see that!"--he was looking again at the blood-stained fingers. "he did do his best. if only god himself would give him his discharge!" "yes," said fris. "god will give him his discharge himself, and he sees everything, you know, ole." some fishermen entered the room. they took off their caps, and one by one went quietly up and shook hands with ole, and then, each passing his hand over his face, turned questioningly to the schoolmaster. fris nodded, and they raised the dead body between them, and passed with heavy, cautious steps out through the entry and on toward the village, ole following them, bowed down and moaning to himself. xviii it was pelle who, one day in his first year at school, when he was being questioned in religion, and fris asked him whether he could give the names of the three greatest festivals in the year, amused every one by answering: "midsummer eve, harvest-home and--and----" there was a third, too, but when it came to the point, he was shy of mentioning it--his birthday! in certain ways it was the greatest of them all, even though no one but father lasse knew about it--and the people who wrote the almanac, of course; they knew about simply everything! it came on the twenty-sixth of june and was called pelagius in the calendar. in the morning his father kissed him and said: "happiness and a blessing to you, laddie!" and then there was always something in his pocket when he came to pull on his trousers. his father was just as excited as he was himself, and waited by him while he dressed, to share in the surprise. but it was pelle's way to spin things out when something nice was coming; it made the pleasure all the greater. he purposely passed over the interesting pocket, while father lasse stood by fidgeting and not knowing what to do. "i say, what's the matter with that pocket? it looks to me so fat! you surely haven't been out stealing hens' eggs in the night?" then pelle had to take it out--a large bundle of paper--and undo it, layer after layer. and lasse would be amazed. "pooh, it's nothing but paper! what rubbish to go and fill your pockets with!" but in the very inside of all there was a pocket- knife with two blades. "thank you!" whispered pelle then, with tears in his eyes. "oh, nonsense! it's a poor present, that!" said lasse, blinking his red, lashless eyelids. beyond this the boy did not come in for anything better on that day than usual, but all the same he had a solemn feeling all day. the sun never failed to shine--was even unusually bright; and the animals looked meaningly at him while they lay munching. "it's my birthday to-day!" he said, hanging with his arms round the neck of nero, one of the bullocks. "can you say 'a happy birthday'?" and nero breathed warm breath down his back, together with green juice from his chewing; and pelle went about happy, and stole green corn to give to him and to his favorite calf, kept the new knife--or whatever it might have been--in his hand the whole day long, and dwelt in a peculiarly solemn way upon everything he did. he could make the whole of the long day swell with a festive feeling; and when he went to bed he tried to keep awake so as to make the day longer still. nevertheless, midsummer eve was in its way a greater day; it had at any rate the glamour of the unattainable over it. on that day everything that could creek and walk went up to the common; there was not a servant on the whole island so poor-spirited as to submit to the refusal of a holiday on that day--none except just lasse and pelle. every year they had seen the day come and go without sharing in its pleasure. "some one must stay at home, confound it!" said the bailiff always. "or perhaps you think i can do it all for you?" they had too little power to assert themselves. lasse helped to pack appetizing food and beverages into the carts, and see the others off, and then went about despondently--one man to all the work. pelle watched from the field their merry departure and the white stripe of dust far away behind the rocks. and for half a year afterward, at meals, they heard reminiscences of drinking and fighting and love-making--the whole festivity. but this was at an end. lasse was not the man to continue to let himself be trifled with. he possessed a woman's affection, and a house in the background. he could give notice any day he liked. the magistrate was presumably busy with the prescribed advertising for madam olsen's husband, and as soon as the lawful respite was over, they would come together. lasse no longer sought to avoid the risk of dismissal. as long ago as the winter, he had driven the bailiff into a corner, and only agreed to be taken on again upon the express condition that they both took part in the midsummer eve outing; and he had witnesses to it. on the common, where all lovers held tryst that day, lasse and she were to meet too, but of this pelle knew nothing. "to-day we can say the day after to-morrow, and to-morrow we can say to-morrow," pelle went about repeating to his father two evenings before the day. he had kept an account of the time ever since may day, by making strokes for all the days on the inside of the lid of the chest, and crossing them out one by one. "yes, and the day after to-morrow we shall say to-day," said lasse, with a juvenile fling. they opened their eyes upon an incomprehensibly brilliant world, and did not at first remember that this was the day. lasse had anticipated his wages to the amount of five krones, and had got an old cottager to do his work--for half a krone and his meals. "it's not a big wage," said the man; "but if i give you a hand, perhaps the almighty'll give me one in return." "well, we've no one but him to hold to, we poor creatures," answered lasse. "but i shall thank you in my grave." the cottager arrived by four o'clock, and lasse was able to begin his holiday from that hour. whenever he was about to take a hand in the work, the other said: "no, leave it alone! i'm sure you've not often had a holiday." "no; this is the first real holiday since i came to the farm," said lasse, drawing himself up with a lordly air. pelle was in his best clothes from the first thing in the morning, and went about smiling in his shirt-sleeves and with his hair plastered down with water; his best cap and jacket were not to be put on until they were going to start. when the sun shone upon his face, it sparkled like dewy grass. there was nothing to trouble about; the animals were in the enclosure and the bailiff was going to look after them himself. he kept near his father, who had brought this about. father lasse was powerful! "what a good thing you threatened to leave!" he kept on exclaiming. and lasse always gave the same answer: "ay, you must carry things with a high hand if you want to gain anything in this world!"--and nodded with a consciousness of power. they were to have started at eight o'clock, but the girls could not get the provisions ready in time. there were jars of stewed gooseberries, huge piles of pancakes, a hard-boiled egg apiece, cold veal and an endless supply of bread and butter. the carriage boxes could not nearly hold it all, so large baskets were pushed in under the seats. in the front was a small cask of beer, covered with green oats to keep the sun from it; and there was a whole keg of spirits and three bottles of cold punch. almost the entire bottom of the large spring-wagon was covered, so that it was difficult to find room for one's feet. after all, fru kongstrup showed a proper feeling for her servants when she wanted to. she went about like a kind mistress and saw that everything was well packed and that nothing was wanting. she was not like kongstrup, who always had to have a bailiff between himself and them. she even joked and did her best, and it was evident that whatever else there might be to say against her, she wanted them to have a merry day. that her face was a little sad was not to be wondered at, as the farmer had driven out that morning with her young relative. at last the girls were ready, and every one got in--in high spirits. the men inadvertently sat upon the girls' laps and jumped up in alarm. "oh, oh! i must have gone too near a stove!" cried the rogue mons, rubbing himself behind. even the mistress could not help laughing. "isn't erik going with us?" asked his old sweetheart bengta, who still had a warm spot in her heart for him. the bailiff whistled shrilly twice, and erik came slowly up from the barn, where he had been standing and keeping watch upon his master. "won't you go with them to the woods to-day, erik man?" asked the bailiff kindly. erik stood twisting his big body and murmuring something that no one could understand, and then made an unwilling movement with one shoulder. "you'd better go with them," said the bailiff, pretending he was going to take him and put him into the cart. "then i shall have to see whether i can get over the loss." those in the cart laughed, but erik shuffled off down through the yard, with his dog-like glance directed backward at the bailiff's feet, and stationed himself at the corner of the stable, where he stood watching. he held his cap behind his back, as boys do when they play at "robbers." "he's a queer customer!" said mons. then karl johan guided the horses carefully through the gate, and they set off with a crack of the whip. along all the roads, vehicles were making their way toward the highest part of the island, filled to overflowing with merry people, who sat on one another's laps and hung right over the sides. the dust rose behind the conveyances and hung white in the air in stripes miles in length, that showed how the roads lay like spokes in a wheel all pointing toward the middle of the island. the air hummed with merry voices and the strains of concertinas. they missed gustav's playing now--yes, and bodil's pretty face, that always shone so brightly on a day like this. pelle had the appetite of years of fasting for the great world, and devoured everything with his eyes. "look there, father! just look!" nothing escaped him. it made the others cheerful to look at him--he was so rosy and pretty. he wore a newly-washed blue blouse under his waistcoat, which showed at the neck and wrists and did duty as collar and cuffs; but fair maria bent back from the box-seat, where she was sitting alone with karl johan, and tied a very white scarf round his neck, and karna, who wanted to be motherly to him, went over his face with a corner of her pocket-handkerchief, which she moistened with her tongue. she was rather officious, but for that matter it was quite conceivable that the boy might have got dirty again since his thorough morning wash. the side roads continued to pour their contents out on to the high-roads, and there was soon a whole river of conveyances, extending as far as the eye could see in both directions. one would hardly have believed that there were so many vehicles in the whole world! karl johan was a good driver to have; he was always pointing with his whip and telling them something. he knew all about every single house. they were beyond the farms and tillage by now; but on the heath, where self-sown birch and aspen trees stood fluttering restlessly in the summer air, there stood desolate new houses with bare, plastered walls, and not so much as a henbane in the window or a bit of curtain. the fields round them were as stony as a newly-mended road, and the crops were a sad sight; the corn was only two or three inches in height, and already in ear. the people here were all swedish servants who had saved a little--and had now become land-owners. karl johan knew a good many of them. "it looks very miserable," said lasse, comparing in his own mind the stones here with madam olsen's fat land. "oh, well," answered the head man, "it's not of the very best, of course; but the land yields something, anyhow." and he pointed to the fine large heaps of road-metal and hewn stone that surrounded every cottage. "if it isn't exactly grain, it gives something to live on; and then it's the only land that'll suit poor people's purses." he and fair maria were thinking of settling down here themselves. kongstrup had promised to help them to a farm with two horses when they married. in the wood the birds were in the middle of their morning song; they were later with it here than in the sandbanks plantation, it seemed. the air sparkled brightly, and something invisible seemed to rise from the undergrowth; it was like being in a church with the sun shining down through tall windows and the organ playing. they drove round the foot of a steep cliff with overhanging trees, and into the wood. it was almost impossible to thread your way through the crowd of unharnessed horses and vehicles. you had to have all your wits about you to keep from damaging your own and other people's things. karl johan sat watching both his fore wheels, and felt his way on step by step; he was like a cat in a thunderstorm, he was so wary. "hold your jaw!" he said sharply, when any one in the cart opened his lips. at last they found room to unharness, and a rope was tied from tree to tree to form a square in which the horses were secured. then they got out the curry-combs--goodness, how dusty it had been! and at last--well, no one said anything, but they all stood expectant, half turned in the direction of the head man. "well, i suppose we ought to go into the wood and look at the view," he said. they turned it over as they wandered aimlessly round the cart, looking furtively at the provisions. "if only it'll keep!" said anders, lifting a basket. "i don't know how it is, but i feel so strange in my inside to-day," mons began. "it can't be consumption, can it?" "perhaps we ought to taste the good things first, then?" said karl johan. yes--oh, yes--it came at last! last year they had eaten their dinner on the grass. it was bodil who had thought of that; she was always a little fantastic. this year nobody would be the one to make such a suggestion. they looked at one another a little expectant; and they then climbed up into the cart and settled themselves there just like other decent people. after all, the food was the same. the pancakes were as large and thick as a saucepan-lid. it reminded them of erik, who last year had eaten ten of them. "it's a pity he's not here this year!" said karl johan. "he was a merry devil." "he's not badly off," said mons. "gets his food and clothes given him, and does nothing but follow at the bailiff's heels and copy him. and he's always contented now. i wouldn't a bit mind changing with him." "and run about like a dog with its nose to the ground sniffing at its master's footsteps? oh no, not i!" "whatever you may say, you must remember that it's the almighty himself who's taken his wits into safekeeping," said lasse admonishingly; and for a little while they were quite serious at the thought. but seriousness could not claim more than was its due. anders wanted to rub his leg, but made a mistake and caught hold of lively sara's, and made her scream; and this so flustered his hand that it could not find its way up, but went on making mistakes, and there was much laughter and merriment. karl johan was not taking much part in the hilarity; he looked as if he were pondering something. suddenly he roused himself and drew out his purse. "here goes!" he said stoutly. "i'll stand beer! bavarian beer, of course. who'll go and fetch it?" mons leaped quickly from the cart. "how many?" "four." karl johan's eye ran calculating over the cart. "no; just bring five, will you? that'll be a half each," he said easily. "but make sure that it's real bavarian beer they give you." there was really no end to the things that karl johan knew about; and he said the name "bavarian beer" with no more difficulty than others would have in turning a quid in their mouth. but of course he was a trusted man on the farm now and often drove on errands into the town. this raised their spirits and awakened curiosity, for most of them had never tasted bavarian beer before. lasse and pelle openly admitted their inexperience; but anders pretended he had got drunk on it more than once, though every one knew it was untrue. mons returned, moving cautiously, with the beer in his arms; it was a precious commodity. they drank it out of the large dram-glasses that were meant for the punch. in the town, of course, they drank beer out of huge mugs, but karl johan considered that that was simply swilling. the girls refused to drink, but did it after all, and were delighted. "they're always like that," said mons, "when you offer them something really good." they became flushed with the excitement of the occurrence, and thought they were drunk. lasse took away the taste of his beer with a dram; he did not like it at all. "i'm too old," he said, in excuse. the provisions were packed up again, and they set out in a body to see the view. they had to make their way through a perfect forest of carts to reach the pavilion. horses were neighing and flinging up their hind legs, so that the bark flew off the trees. men hurled themselves in among them, and tugged at their mouths until they quieted down again, while the women screamed and ran hither and thither like frightened hens, with skirts lifted. from the top they could form some idea of the number of people. on the sides of the hill and in the wood beyond the roads--everywhere carts covered the ground; and down at the triangle where the two wide high-roads met, new loads were continually turning in. "there must be far more than a thousand pairs of horses in the wood to-day," said karl johan. yes, far more! there were a million, if not more, thought pelle. he was quite determined to get as much as possible out of everything to-day. there stood the bridge farm cart, and there came the people from hammersholm, right out at the extreme north of the island. here were numbers of people from the shore farms at dove point and ronne and nekso--the whole island was there. but there was no time now to fall in with acquaintances. "we shall meet this afternoon!" was the general cry. karl johan led the expedition; it was one of a head man's duties to know the way about the common. fair maria kept faithfully by his side, and every one could see how proud she was of him. mons walked hand in hand with lively sara, and they went swinging along like a couple of happy children. bengta and anders had some difficulty in agreeing; they quarrelled every other minute, but they did not mean much by it. and karna made herself agreeable. they descended into a swamp, and went up again by a steep ascent where the great trees stood with their feet in one another's necks. pelle leaped about everywhere like a young kid. in under the firs there were anthills as big as haycocks, and the ants had broad trodden paths running like foothpaths between the trees, on and on endlessly; a multitude of hosts passed backward and forward upon those roads. under some small fir-trees a hedgehog was busy attacking a wasps' nest; it poked its nose into the nest, drew it quickly back, and sneezed. it looked wonderfully funny, but pelle had to go on after the others. and soon he was far ahead of them, lying on his face in a ditch where he had smelt wild strawberries. lasse could not keep pace with the younger people up the hill, and it was not much better with karna. "we're getting old, we two," she said, as they toiled up, panting. "oh, are we?" was lasse's answer. he felt quite young in spirit; it was only breath that he was short of. "i expect you think very much as i do; when you've worked for others for so many years, you feel you want something of your own." "yes, perhaps," said lasse evasively. "one wouldn't come to it quite empty-handed, either--if it should happen." "oh, indeed!" karna continued in this way, but lasse was always sparing with his words, until they arrived at the rockingstone, where the others were standing waiting. that was a block and a half! fifty tons it was said to weigh, and yet mons and anders could rock it by putting a stick under one end of it. "and now we ought to go to the robbers' castle," said karl johan, and they trudged on, always up and down. lasse did his utmost to keep beside the others, for he did not feel very brave when he was alone with karna. what a fearful quantity of trees there were! and not all of one sort, as in other parts of the world. there were birches and firs, beech and larch and mountain ash all mixed together, and ever so many cherry-trees. the head man lead them across a little, dark lake that lay at the foot of the rock, staring up like an evil eye. "it was here that little anna drowned her baby --she that was betrayed by her master," he said lingeringly. they all knew the story, and stood silent over the lake; the girls had tears in their eyes. as they stood there silent, thinking of little anna's sad fate, an unspeakably soft note came up to them, followed by a long, affecting sobbing. they moved nearer to one another. "oh, lord!" whispered fair maria, shivering. "that's the baby's soul crying!" pelle stiffened as he listened, and cold waves seemed to flow down his back. "why, that's a nightingale," said karl johan, "don't you even know that? there are hundreds of them in these woods, and they sing in the middle of the day." this was a relief to the older people, but pelle's horror was not so easily thrown off. he had gazed into the depths of the other world, and every explanation glanced off him. but then came the robbers' castle as a great disappointment. he had imagined it peopled with robbers, and it was only some old ruins that stood on a little hill in the middle of a bog. he went by himself all round the bottom of it to see if there were not a secret underground passage that led down to the water. if there were, he would get hold of his father without letting the others know, and make his way in and look for the chests of money; or else there would be too many to share in it. but this was forgotten as a peculiar scent arrested his attention, and he came upon a piece of ground that was green with lily-of-the-valley plants that still bore a few flowers, and where there were wild strawberries. there were so many that he had to go and call the others. but this was also forgotten as he made his way through the underwood to get up. he had lost the path and gone astray in the damp, chilly darkness under the cliff. creeping plants and thorns wove themselves in among the overhanging branches, and made a thick, low roof. he could not see an opening anywhere, and a strange green light came through the matted branches, the ground was slippery with moisture and decaying substances; from the cliff hung quivering fern-fronds with their points downward, and water dripping from them like wet hair. huge tree-roots, like the naked bodies of black goblins writhing to get free, lay stretched across the rocks. a little further on, the sun made a patch of burning fire in the darkness, and beyond it rose a bluish vapor and a sound as of a distant threshing-machine. pelle stood still, and his terror grew until his knees trembled; then he set off running as if he were possessed. a thousand shadow- hands stretched out after him as he ran; and he pushed his way through briars and creepers with a low cry. the daylight met him with the force of a blow, and something behind him had a firm grasp on his clothes; he had to shout for father lasse with all his might before it let go. and there he stood right out in the bog, while high up above his head the others sat, upon a point of rock all among the trees. from up there it looked as if the world were all tree-tops, rising and falling endlessly; there was foliage far down beneath your feet and out as far as the eye could see, up and down. you were almost tempted to throw yourself into it, it looked so invitingly soft. as a warning to the others, karl johan had to tell them about the tailor's apprentice, who jumped out from a projecting rock here, just because the foliage looked so temptingly soft, strange to say, he escaped with his life; but the high tree he fell through stripped him of every stitch of clothing. mons had been teasing sara by saying that he was going to jump down, but now he drew back cautiously. "i don't want to risk my confirmation clothes," he said, trying to look good. after all, the most remarkable thing of all was the horseman hill with the royal monument. the tower alone! not a bit of wood had been used in it, only granite; and you went round and round and round. "you're counting the steps, i suppose?" said karl johan admonishingly. oh, yes, they were all counting to themselves. it was clear weather, and the island lay spread out beneath them in all its luxuriance. the very first thing the men wanted to do was to try what it was like to spit down; but the girls were giddy and kept together in a cluster in the middle of the platform. the churches were counted under karl johan's able guidance, and all the well- known places pointed out. "there's stone farm, too," said anders, pointing to something far off toward the sea. it was not stone farm, but karl johan could say to a nicety behind which hill it ought to lie, and then they recognized the quarries. lasse took no part in this. he stood quite still, gazing at the blue line of the swedish coast that stood out far away upon the shining water. the sight of his native land made him feel weak and old; he would probably never go home again, although he would have dearly liked to see bengta's grave once more. ah yes, and the best that could happen to one would be to be allowed to rest by her side, when everything else was ended. at this moment he regretted that he had gone into exile in his old age. he wondered what kungstorp looked like now, whether the new people kept the land cultivated at all. and all the old acquaintances--how were they getting on? his old-man's reminiscences came over him so strongly that for a time he forgot madam olsen and everything about her. he allowed himself to be lulled by past memories, and wept in his heart like a little child. ah! it was dreary to live away from one's native place and everything in one's old age; but if it only brought a blessing on the laddie in some way or other, it was all as it should be. "i suppose that's the king's copenhagen [footnote: country-people speak of copenhagen as "the king's copehagen."] we see over there?" asked anders. "it's sweden," said lasse quietly. "sweden, is it? but it lay on that side last year, if i remember rightly." "yes, of course! what else should the world go round for?" exclaimed mons. anders was just about to take this in all good faith when he caught a grimace that mons made to the others. "oh, you clever monkey!" he cried, and sprang at mons, who dashed down the stone stairs; and the sound of their footsteps came up in a hollow rumble as out of a huge cask. the girls stood leaning against one another, rocking gently and gazing silently at the shining water that lay far away round the island. the giddiness had made them languid. "why, your eyes are quite dreamy!" said karl johan, trying to take them all into his embrace. "aren't you coming down with us?" they were all fairly tired now. no one said anything, for of course karl johan was leading; but the girls showed an inclination to sit down. "now there's only the echo valley left," he said encouragingly, "and that's on our way back. we must do that, for it's well worth it. you'll hear an echo there that hasn't its equal anywhere." they went slowly, for their feet were tender with the leather boots and much aimless walking; but when they had come down the steep cliff into the valley and had drunk from the spring, they brightened up. karl johan stationed himself with legs astride, and called across to the cliff: "what's karl johan's greatest treat?" and the echo answered straight away: "eat!" it was exceedingly funny, and they all had to try it, each with his or her name--even pelle. when that was exhausted, mons made up a question which made the echo give a rude answer. "you mustn't teach it anything like that," said lasse. "just suppose some fine ladies were to come here, and he started calling that out after them?" they almost killed themselves with laughing at the old man's joke, and he was so delighted at the applause that he went on repeating it to himself on the way back. ha, ha! he wasn't quite fit for the scrap-heap yet. when they got back to the cart they were ravenously hungry and settled down to another meal. "you must have something to keep you up when you're wandering about like this," said mons. "now then," said karl johan, when they had finished, "every one may do what they like; but at nine sharp we meet here again and drive home." up on the open ground, lasse gave pelle a secret nudge, and they began to do business with a cake-seller until the others had got well ahead. "it's not nice being third wheel in a carriage," said lasse. "we two'll go about by ourselves for a little now." lasse was craning his neck. "are you looking for any one?" asked pelle. "no, no one in particular; but i was wondering where all these people come from. there are people from all over the country, but i haven't seen any one from the village yet." "don't you think madam olsen'll be here to-day?" "can't say," said lasse; "but it would be nice to see her, and there's something i want to say to her, too. your eyes are young; you must keep a lookout." pelle was given fifty ore to spend on whatever he liked. round the ground sat the poor women of the heath at little stalls, from which they sold colored sugar-sticks, gingerbread and two-ore cigars. in the meantime he went from woman to woman, and bought of each for one or two ore. away under the trees stood blind hoyer, who had come straight from copenhagen with new ballads. there was a crowd round him. he played the tune upon his concertina, his little withered wife sang to it, and the whole crowd sang carefully with her. those who had learnt the tunes went away singing, and others pushed forward into their place and put down their five-ore piece. lasse and pelle stood on the edge of the crowd listening. there was no use in paying money before you knew what you would get for it; and anyhow the songs would be all over the island by to-morrow, and going gratis from mouth to mouth. "a man of eighty--a new and pleasant ballad about how things go when a decrepit old man takes a young wife!" shouted hoyer in a hoarse voice, before the song began. lasse didn't care very much about that ballad; but then came a terribly sad one about the sailor george semon, who took a most tender farewell of his sweetheart-- "and said, when here i once more stand, we to the church will go hand in hand." but he never did come back, for the storm was over them for forty-five days, provisions ran short, and the girl's lover went mad. he drew his knife upon the captain, and demanded to be taken home to his bride; and the captain shot him down. then the others threw themselves upon the corpse, carried it to the galley, and made soup of it. "the girl still waits for her own true love, away from the shore she will not move. poor maid, she's hoping she still may wed, and does not know that her lad is dead." "that's beautiful," said lasse, rummaging in his purse for a five-ore. "you must try to learn that; you've got an ear for that sort of thing." they pushed through the crowd right up to the musician, and began cautiously to sing too, while the girls all round were sniffing. they wandered up and down among the trees, lasse rather fidgety. there was a whole street of dancing-booths, tents with conjurers and panorama-men, and drinking-booths. the criers were perspiring, the refreshment sellers were walking up and down in front of their tents like greedy beasts of prey. things had not got into full swing yet, for most of the people were still out and about seeing the sights, or amusing themselves in all seemliness, exerting themselves in trials of strength or slipping in and out of the conjurers' tents. there was not a man unaccompanied by a woman. many a one came to a stand at the refreshment-tents, but the woman pulled him past; then he would yawn and allow himself to be dragged up into a roundabout or a magic-lantern tent where the most beautiful pictures were shown of the way that cancer and other horrible things made havoc in people's insides. "these are just the things for the women," said lasse, breathing forth a sigh at haphazard after madam olsen. on a horse on madvig's roundabout sat gustav with his arm round bodil's waist. "hey, old man!" he cried, as they whizzed past, and flapped lasse on the ear with his cap, which had the white side out. they were as radiant as the day and the sun, those two. pelle wanted to have a turn on a roundabout. "then blest if i won't have something too, that'll make things go round!" said lasse, and went in and had a "cuckoo"--coffee with brandy in it. "there are some people," he said, when he came out again, "that can go from one tavern to another without its making any difference in their purse. it would be nice to try--only for a year. hush!" over by max alexander's "green house" stood karna, quite alone and looking about her wistfully. lasse drew pelle round in a wide circle. "there's madam olsen with a strange man!" said pelle suddenly. lasse started. "where?" yes, there she stood, and had a man with her! and talking so busily! they went past her without stopping; she could choose for herself, then. "hi, can't you wait a little!" cried madam olsen, running after them so that her petticoats crackled round her. she was round and smiling as usual, and many layers of good home-woven material stood out about her; there was no scrimping anywhere. they went on together, talking on indifferent matters and now and then exchanging glances about the boy who was in their way. they had to walk so sedately without venturing to touch one another. he did not like any nonsense. it was black with people now up at the pavilion, and one could hardly move a step without meeting acquaintances. "it's even worse than a swarm of bees," said lasse. "it's not worth trying to get in there." at one place the movement was outward, and by following it they found themselves in a valley, where a man stood shouting and beating his fists upon a platform. it was a missionary meeting. the audience lay encamped in small groups, up the slopes, and a man in long black clothes went quietly from group to group, selling leaflets. his face was white, and he had a very long, thin red beard. "do you see that man?" whispered lasse, giving pelle a nudge. "upon my word, if it isn't long ole--and with a glove on his injured hand. it was him that had to take the sin upon him for per olsen's false swearing!" explained lasse, turning to madam olsen. "he was standing at the machine at the time when per olsen ought to have paid the penalty with his three fingers, and so his went instead. he may be glad of the mistake after all, for they say he's risen to great things among the prayer-meeting folks. and his complexion's as fine as a young lady's--something different to what it was when he was carting manure at stone farm! it'll be fun to say good-day to him again." lasse was quite proud of having served together with this man, and stationed himself in front of the others, intending to make an impression upon his lady friend by saying a hearty: "good-day, ole!" long ole was at the next group, and now he came on to them and was going to hold out his tracts, when a glance at lasse made him drop both hand and eyes; and with a deep sigh he passed on with bowed head to the next group. "did you see how he turned his eyes up?" said lasse derisively. "when beggars come to court, they don't know how to behave! he'd got a watch in his pocket, too, and long clothes; and before he hadn't even a shirt to his body. and an ungodly devil he was too! but the old gentleman looks after his own, as the saying is; i expect it's him that helped him on by changing places at the machine. the way they've cheated the almighty's enough to make him weep!" madam olsen tried to hush lasse, but the "cuckoo" rose within him together with his wrath, and he continued: "so _he's_ above recognizing decent people who get what they have in an honorable way, and not by lying and humbug! they do say he makes love to all the farmers' wives wherever he goes; but there was a time when he had to put up with the sow." people began to look at them, and madam olsen took lasse firmly by the arm and drew him away. the sun was now low in the sky. up on the open ground the crowds tramped round and round as if in a tread-mill. now and then a drunken man reeled along, making a broad path for himself through the crush. the noise came seething up from the tents--barrel-organs each grinding out a different tune, criers, the bands of the various dancing-booths, and the measured tread of a schottische or polka. the women wandered up and down in clusters, casting long looks into the refreshment-tents where their men were sitting; and some of them stopped at the tent-door and made coaxing signs to some one inside. under the trees stood a drunken man, pawing at a tree-trunk, and beside him stood a girl, crying with her black damask apron to her eyes. pelle watched them for a long time. the man's clothes were disordered, and he lurched against the girl with a foolish grin when she, in the midst of her tears, tried to put them straight. when pelle turned away, lasse and madam olsen had disappeared in the crowd. they must have gone on a little, and he went down to the very end of the street. then he turned despondingly and went up, burrowing this way and that in the stream of people, with eyes everywhere. "haven't you seen father lasse?" he asked pitifully, when he met any one he knew. in the thickest of the crush, a tall man was moving along, holding forth blissfully at the top of his voice. he was a head taller than anybody else, and very broad; but he beamed with good-nature, and wanted to embrace everybody. people ran screaming out of his way, so that a broad path was left wherever he went. pelle kept behind him, and thus succeeded in getting through the thickest crowds, where policemen and rangers were stationed with thick cudgels. their eyes and ears were on the watch, but they did not interfere in anything. it was said that they had handcuffs in their pockets. pelle had reached the road in his despairing search. cart after cart was carefully working its way out through the gloom under the trees, then rolling out into the dazzling evening light, and on to the high-road with much cracking of whips. they were the prayer-meeting people driving home. he happened to think of the time, and asked a man what it was. nine! pelle had to run so as not to be too late in getting to the cart. in the cart sat karl johan and fair maria eating. "get up and have something to eat!" they said, and as pelle was ravenous, he forgot everything while he ate. but then johan asked about lasse, and his torment returned. karl johan was cross; not one had returned to the cart, although it was the time agreed upon. "you'd better keep close to us now," he said, as they went up, "or you might get killed." up at the edge of the wood they met gustav running. "have none of you seen bodil?" he asked, gasping. his clothes were torn and there was blood on the front of his shirt. he ran on groaning, and disappeared under the trees. it was quite dark there, but the open ground lay in a strange light that came from nowhere, but seemed to have been left behind by the day as it fled. faces out there showed up, some in ghostly pallor, some black like holes in the light, until they suddenly burst forth, crimson with blood-red flame. the people wandered about in confused groups, shouting and screaming at the top of their voices. two men came along with arms twined affectionately round one another's necks, and the next moment lay rolling on the ground in a fight. others joined the fray and took sides without troubling to discover what it was all about, and the contest became one large struggling heap. then the police came up, and hit about them with their sticks; and those who did not run away were handcuffed and thrown into an empty stable. pelle was quite upset, and kept close to karl johan; he jumped every time a band approached, and kept on saying in a whimpering tone: "where's father lasse? let's go and find him." "oh, hold your tongue!" exclaimed the head man, who was standing and trying to catch sight of his fellow-servants. he was angry at this untrustworthiness. "don't stand there crying! you'd do much more good if you ran down to the cart and see whether any one's come." pelle had to go, little though he cared to venture in under the trees. the branches hung silently listening, but the noise from the open ground came down in bursts, and in the darkness under the bushes living things rustled about and spoke in voices of joy or sorrow. a sudden scream rang through the wood, and made his knees knock together. karna sat at the back of the cart asleep, and bengta stood leaning against the front seat, weeping. "they've locked anders up," she sobbed. "he got wild, so they put handcuffs on him and locked him up." she went back with pelle. lasse was with karl johan and fair maria; he looked defiantly at pelle, and in his half-closed eyes there was a little mutinous gleam. "then now there's only mons and lively sara," said karl johan, as he ran his eye over them. "but what about anders?" sobbed bengta. "you surely won't drive away without anders?" "there's nothing can he done about anders!" said the head man. "he'll come of his own accord when once he's let out." they found out on inquiry that mons and lively sara were down in one of the dancing-booths, and accordingly went down there. "now you stay here!" said karl johan sternly, and went in to take a survey of the dancers. in there blood burnt hot, and faces were like balls of fire that made red circles in the blue mist of perspiring heat and dust. dump! dump! dump! the measure fell booming like heavy blows; and in the middle of the floor stood a man and wrung the moisture out of his jacket. out of one of the dancing-tents pushed a big fellow with two girls. he had an arm about the neck of each, and they linked arms behind his back. his cap was on the back of his head, and his riotous mood would have found expression in leaping, if he had not felt himself too pleasantly encumbered; so he opened his mouth wide, and shouted joyfully, so that it rang again: "devil take me! deuce take me! seven hundred devils take me!" and disappeared under the trees with his girls. "that was per olsen himself," said lasse, looking after him. "what a man, to be sure! he certainly doesn't look as if he bore any debt of sin to the almighty." "his time may still come," was the opinion of karl johan. quite by chance they found mons and lively sara sitting asleep in one another's arms upon a bench under the trees. "well, now, i suppose we ought to be getting home?" said karl johan slowly. he had been doing right for so long that his throat was quite dry. "i suppose none of you'll stand a farewell glass?" "i will!" said mons, "if you'll go up to the pavilion with me to drink it." mons had missed something by going to sleep and had a desire to go once round the ground. every time a yell reached them he gave a leap as he walked beside lively sara, and answered with a long halloo. he tried to get away, but she clung to his arm; so he swung the heavy end of his loaded stick and shouted defiantly. lasse kicked his old limbs and imitated mons's shouts, for he too was for anything rather than going home; but karl johan was determined--they _were_ to go now! and in this he was supported by pelle and the women. out on the open ground a roar made them stop, and the women got each behind her man. a man came running bareheaded and with a large wound in his temple, from which the blood flowed down over his face and collar. his features were distorted with fear. behind him came a second, also bareheaded, and with a drawn knife. a ranger tried to bar his way, but received a wound in his shoulder and fell, and the pursuer ran on. as he passed them, mons uttered a short yell and sprang straight up into the air, bringing down his loaded stick upon the back of the man's neck. the man sank to the ground with a grunt, and mons slipped in among the groups of people and disappeared; and the others found him waiting for them at the edge of the wood. he did not answer any more yells. karl johan had to lead the horses until they got out onto the road, and then they all got in. behind them the noise had become lost, and only one long cry for help rang through the air and dropped again. down by a little lake, some forgotten girls had gathered on the grass and were playing by themselves. the white mist lay over the grass like a shining lake, and only the upper part of the girls' bodies rose above it. they were walking round in a ring, singing the mid-summer's-night song. pure and clear rose the merry song, and yet was so strangely sad to listen to, because they who sang it had been left in the lurch by sots and brawlers. "we will dance upon hill and meadow, we will wear out our shoes and stockings. heigh ho, my little sweetheart fair, we shall dance till the sun has risen high. heigh ho, my queen! now we have danced upon the green." the tones fell so gently upon the ear and mind that memories and thoughts were purified of all that had been hideous, and the day itself could appear in its true colors as a joyful festival. for lasse and pelle, indeed, it had been a peerless day, making up for many years of neglect. the only pity was that it was over instead of about to begin. the occupants of the cart were tired now, some nodding and all silent. lasse sat working about in his pocket with one hand. he was trying to obtain an estimate of the money that remained. it was expensive to keep a sweetheart when you did not want to be outdone by younger men in any way. pelle was asleep, and was slipping farther and farther down until bengta took his head onto her lap. she herself was weeping bitterly about anders. the daylight was growing rapidly brighter as they drove in to stone farm. xix the master and mistress of stone farm were almost always the subject of common talk, and were never quite out of the thoughts of the people. there was as much thought and said about kongstrup and his wife as about all the rest of the parish put together; they were bread to so many, their providence both in evil and good, that nothing that they did could be immaterial. no one ever thought of weighing them by the same standards as they used for others; they were something apart, beings who were endowed with great possessions, and could do and be as they liked, disregarding all considerations and entertaining all passions. all that came from stone farm was too great for ordinary mortals to sit in judgment upon; it was difficult enough to explain what went on, even when at such close quarters with it all as were lasse and pelle. to them as to the others, the stone farm people were beings apart, who lived their life under greater conditions, beings, as it were, halfway between the human and the supernatural, in a world where such things as unquenchable passion and frenzied love wrought havoc. what happened, therefore, at stone farm supplied more excitement than the other events of the parish. people listened with open- mouthed interest to the smallest utterance from the big house, and when the outbursts came, trembled and went about oppressed and uncomfortable. no matter how clearly lasse, in the calm periods, might think he saw it all, the life up there would suddenly be dragged out of its ordinary recognized form again, and wrap itself around his and the boy's world like a misty sphere in which capricious powers warred--just above their heads. it was now jomfru koller's second year at the farm, in spite of all evil prophecies; and indeed things had turned out in such a way that every one had to own that his prognostications had been wrong. she was always fonder of driving with kongstrup to the town than of staying at home to cheer fru kongstrup up in her loneliness; but such is youth. she behaved properly enough otherwise, and it was well known that kongstrup had returned to his old hotel-sweethearting in the town. fru kongstrup herself, moreover, showed no distrust of her young relative--if she had ever felt any. she was as kind to her as if she had been her own daughter; and very often it was she herself who got jomfru koller to go in the carriage to look after her husband. otherwise the days passed as usual, and fru kongstrup was continually giving herself up to little drinking-bouts and to grief. at such times she would weep over her wasted life; and if he were at home would follow him with her accusations from room to room, until he would order the carriage and take flight, even in the middle of the night. the walls were so saturated with her voice that it penetrated through everything like a sorrowful, dull droning. those who happened to be up at night to look after animals or the like, could hear her talking incessantly up there, even if she were alone. but then jomfru koller began to talk of going away. she suddenly got the idea that she wanted to go to copenhagen and learn something, so that she could earn her own living. it sounded strange, as there was every prospect of her some day inheriting the farmer's property. fru kongstrup was quite upset at the thought of losing her, and altogether forgot her other troubles in continually talking to her about it. even when everything was settled, and they were standing in the mangling-room with the maids, getting jomfru koller's things ready for her journey, she still kept on--to no earthly purpose. like all the stone farm family, she could never let go anything she had once got hold of. there was something strange about jomfru koller's obstinacy of purpose; she was not even quite sure what she was going to do over there. "i suppose she's going over to learn cooking," said one and another with a covert smile. fru kongstrup herself had no suspicion. she, who was always suspecting something, seemed to be blind here. it must have been because she had such complete trust in jomfru koller, and thought so much of her. she had not even time to sigh, so busy was she in putting everything into good order. much need there was for it, too; jomfru koller must have had her head full of very different things, judging from the condition her clothes were in. "i'm glad kongstrup's going over with her," said fru kongstrup to fair maria one evening when they were sitting round the big darning-basket, mending the young lady's stockings after the wash. "they say copenhagen's a bad town for inexperienced young people to come to. but sina'll get on all right, for she's got the good stock of the kollers in her." she said it all with such childish simplicity; you could tramp in and out of her heart with great wooden shoes on, suspicious though she was. "perhaps we'll come over to see you at christmas, sina," she added in the goodness of her heart. jomfru koller opened her mouth and caught her breath in terror, but did not answer. she bent over her work and did not look at any one all the evening. she never looked frankly at any one now. "she's ashamed of her deceitfulness!" they said. the judgment would fall upon her; she ought to have known what she was doing, and not gone between the bark and the wood, especially here where one of them trusted her entirely. in the upper yard the new man paer was busy getting the closed carriage ready. erik stood beside him idle. he looked unhappy and troubled, poor fellow, as he always did when he was not near the bailiff. each time a wheel had to come off or be put on, he had to put his giant's back under the big carriage and lift it. every now and then lasse came to the stable-door to get an idea of what was going on. pelle was at school, it being the first day of the new half-year. she was going away to-day, the false wretch who had let herself be drawn into deceiving one who had been a mother to her! fru kongstrup must be going with them down to the steamer, as the closed carriage was going. lasse went into the bedroom to arrange one or two things so that he could slip out in the evening without pelle noticing it. he had given pelle a little paper of sweets for madam olsen, and on the paper he had drawn a cross with a lead button; and the cross meant in all secrecy that he would come to her that evening. while he took out his best clothes and hid them under some hay close to the outer door, he hummed:-- "love's longing so strong it helped me along, and the way was made short with the nightingales' song." he was looking forward so immensely to the evening; he had not been alone with her now for nearly a quarter of a year. he was proud, moreover, of having taken writing into his service, and that a writing that pelle, quick reader of writing though he was, would not be able to make out. while the others were taking their after-dinner nap, lasse went out and tidied up the dung-heap. the carriage was standing up there with one large trunk strapped on behind, and another standing on one edge on the box. lasse wondered what such a girl would do when she was alone out in the wide world and had to pay the price of her sin. he supposed there must be places where they took in such girls in return for good payment; everything could be got over there! johanna pihl came waddling in at the gate up there. lasse started when he saw her; she never came for any good. when she boldly exhibited herself here, she was always drunk, and then she stopped at nothing. it was sad to see how low misfortune could drag a woman. lasse could not help thinking what a pretty girl she had been in her youth. and now all she thought of was making money out of her shame! he cautiously withdrew into the stable, so as not to be an eye-witness to anything, and peered out from there. the sow went up and down in front of the windows, and called in a thick voice, over which she had not full command: "kongstrup, kongstrup! come out and let me speak to you. you must let me have some money, for your son and i haven't had any food for three days." "that's a wicked lie!" said lasse to himself indignantly, "for she has a good income. but she wastes god's gifts, and now she's out to do some evil." he would have liked to take the fork and chase her out through the gate, but it was not well to expose one's self to her venomous tongue. she had her foot upon the step, but did not dare to mount. fuddled though she was, there was something that kept her in check. she stood there groping at the handrail and mumbling to herself, and every now and then lifting her fat face and calling kongstrup. jomfru koller came inadvertently up from the basement, and went toward the steps; her eyes were on the ground, and she did not see the sow until it was too late, and then she turned quickly. johanna pihl stood grinning. "come here, miss, and let me wish you good-day!" she cried. "you're too grand, are you? but the one may be just as good as the other! perhaps it's because you can drive away in a carriage and have yours on the other side of the sea, while i had mine in a beet-field! but is that anything to be proud of? i say, just go up and tell my fine gentleman that his eldest's starving! i daren't go myself because of the evil eye." long before this jomfru koller was down in the basement again, but johanna pihl continued to stand and say the same thing over and over again, until the bailiff came dashing out toward her, when she retired, scolding, from the yard. the men had been aroused before their time by her screaming, and stood drowsily watching behind the barn-doors. lasse kept excited watch from the stable, and the girls had collected in the wash-house. what would happen now? they all expected some terrible outbreak. but nothing happened. now, when fru kongstrup had the right to shake heaven and earth--so faithlessly had they treated her--now she was silent. the farm was as peaceful as on the days when they had come to a sort of understanding, and kongstrup kept himself quiet. fru kongstrup passed the windows up there, and looked just like anybody else. nothing happened! something must have been said, however, for the young lady had a very tear-stained face when they got into the carriage, and kongstrup wore his confused air. then karl johan drove away with the two; and the mistress did not appear. she was probably ashamed for what concerned the others. nothing had happened to relieve the suspense; it oppressed every one. she must have accepted her unhappy lot, and given up standing out for her rights, now, just when every one would have supported her. this tranquillity was so unnatural, so unreasonable, that it made one melancholy and low-spirited. it was as though others were suffering on her behalf, and she herself had no heart. but then it broke down, and the sound of weeping began to ooze out over the farm, quiet and regular like flowing heart's blood. all the evening it flowed; the weeping had never sounded so despairing; it went to the hearts of all. she had taken in the poor child and treated her as her own, and the poor child had deceived her. every one felt how she must suffer. during the night the weeping rose to cries so heart-rending that they awakened even pelle--wet with perspiration. "it sounds like some one in the last agonies!" said lasse, and hastily drew on his trousers with trembling, clumsy hands. "she surely hasn't laid hands upon herself?" he lighted the lantern and went out into the stable, pelle following naked. then suddenly the cries ceased, as abruptly as if the sound had been cut off with an axe, and the silence that followed said dumbly that it was forever. the farm sank into the darkness of night like an extinguished world. "our mistress is dead!" said lasse, shivering and moving his fingers over his lips. "may god receive her kindly!" they crept fearfully into bed. but when they got up the next morning, the farm looked as it always did, and the maids were chattering and making as much noise as usual in the wash-house. a little while after, the mistress's voice was heard up there, giving directions about the work. "i don't understand it," said lasse, shaking his head. "nothing but death can stop anything so suddenly. she must have a tremendous power over herself!" it now became apparent what a capable woman she was. she had not wasted anything in the long period of idleness; the maids became brisker and the fare better. one day she came to the cow-stable to see that the milking was done cleanly. she gave every one his due, too. one day they came from the quarry and complained that they had had no wages for three weeks. there was not enough money on the farm. "then we must get some," said the mistress, and they had to set about threshing at once. and one day when karna raised too many objections she received a ringing box on the ear. "it's a new nature she's got," said lasse. but the old workpeople recognized several things from their young days. "it's her family's nature," they said. "she's a regular koller." the time passed without any change; she was as constant in her tranquillity as she had before been constant in her misery. it was not the habit of the kollers to change their minds once they had made them up about anything. then kongstrup came home from his journey. she did not drive out to meet him, but was on the steps to greet him, gentle and kind. everybody could see how pleased and surprised he was. he must have expected a very different reception. but during the night, when they were all sound asleep, karna came knocking at the men's window. "get up and fetch the doctor!" she cried, "and be quick!" the call sounded like one of life and death, and they turned out headlong. lasse, who was in the habit of sleeping with one eye open, like the hens, was the first man on the spot, and had got the horses out of the stable; and in a few minutes karl johan was driving out at the gate. he had a man with him to hold the lantern. it was pitch-dark, but they could hear the carriage tearing along until the sound became very distant; then in another moment the sound changed, as the vehicle turned on to the metalled road a couple of miles off. then it died away altogether. on the farm they went about shaking themselves and unable to rest, wandering into their rooms and out again to gaze up at the tall windows, where people were running backward and forward with lights. what had happened? some mishap to the farmer, evidently, for now and again the mistress's commanding voice could be heard down in the kitchen--but what? the wash-house and the servants' room were dark and locked. toward morning, when the doctor had come and had taken things into his own hands, a greater calm fell upon them all, and the maids took the opportunity of slipping out into the yard. they would not at once say what was the matter, but stood looking in an embarrassed way at one another, and laughing stupidly. at last they gradually got it out by first one telling a little and then another: in a fit of delirium or of madness kongstrup had done violence to himself. their faces were contorted with a mixture of fear and smothered laughter; and when karl johan said gravely to fair maria: "you're not telling a lie, are you?" she burst into tears. there she stood laughing and crying by turns; and it made no difference that karl johan scolded her sharply. but it was true, although it sounded like the craziest nonsense that a man could do such a thing to himself. it was a truth that struck one dumb! it was some time before they could make it out at all, but when they did there were one or two things about it that seemed a little unnatural. it could not have happened during intoxication, for the farmer never drank at home, did not drink at all, as far as any one knew, but only took a glass in good company. it was more likely to have been remorse and contrition; it was not impossible considering the life he had led, although it was strange that a man of his nature should behave in such a desperate fashion. but it was not satisfactory! and gradually, without it being possible to point to any origin, all thoughts turned toward her. she had changed of late, and the koller blood had come out in her; and in that family they had never let themselves be trodden down unrevenged! xx out in the shelter of the gable-wall of the house sat kongstrup, well wrapped up, and gazing straight before him with expressionless eyes. the winter sun shone full upon him; it had lured forth signs of spring, and the sparrows were hopping gaily about him. his wife went backward and forward, busying herself about him; she wrapped his feet up better, and came with a shawl to put round his shoulders. she touched his chest and arms affectionately as she spread the shawl over him from behind; and he slowly raised his head and passed his hand over hers. she stood thus for a little while, leaning against his shoulder and looking down upon him like a mother, with eyes that were tranquil with the joy of possession. pelle came bounding down across the yard, licking his lips. he had taken advantage of his mistress's preoccupation to steal down into the dairy and get a drink of sour cream from the girls, and tease them a little. he was glowing with health, and moved along as carelessly happy as if the whole world were his. it was quite dreadful the way he grew and wore out his things; it was almost impossible to keep him in clothes! his arms and legs stuck far out of every article of clothing he put on, and he wore things out as fast as lasse could procure them. something new was always being got for him, and before you could turn round, his arms and legs were out of that too. he was as strong as an oak-tree; and when it was a question of lifting or anything that did not require perseverence, lasse had to allow himself to be superseded. the boy had acquired independence, too, and every day it became more difficult for the old man to assert his parental authority; but that would come as soon as lasse was master of his own house and could bring his fist down on his own table. but when would that be? as matters now stood, it looked as if the magistrate did not want him and madam olsen to be decently married. seaman olsen had given plain warning of his decease, and lasse thought there was nothing to do but put up the banns; but the authorities continued to raise difficulties and ferret about, in the true lawyers' way. now there was one question that had to be examined into, and now another; there were periods of grace allowed, and summonses to be issued to the dead man to make his appearance within such and such a time, and what not besides! it was all a put-up job, so that the pettifoggers could make something out of it. he was thoroughly tired of stone farm. every day he made the same complaint to pelle: "it's nothing but toil, toil, from morning till night--one day just like another all the year round, as if you were in a convict-prison! and what you get for it is hardly enough to keep your body decently covered. you can't put anything by, and one day when you're worn out and good for nothing more, you can just go on the parish." the worst of it all, however, was the desire to work once more for himself. he was always sighing for this, and his hands were sore with longing to feel what it was like to take hold of one's own. of late he had meditated cutting the matter short and moving down to his sweetheart's, without regard to the law. she was quite willing, he knew; she badly needed a man's hand in the house. and they were being talked about, anyhow; it would not make much difference if he and the boy went as her lodgers, especially when they worked independently. but the boy was not to be persuaded; he was jealous for his father's honor. whenever lasse touched upon the subject he became strangely sullen. lasse pretended it was madam olsen's idea, and not his. "i'm not particularly in favor of it, either," he said. "people are sure to believe the worst at once. but we can't go on here wearing ourselves to a thread for nothing. and you can't breathe freely on this farm--always tied!" pelle made no answer to this; he was not strong in reasons, but knew what he wanted. "if i ran away from here one night, i guess you'd come trotting after me." pelle maintained a refractory silence. "i think i'll do it, for this isn't to be borne. now you've got to have new school-trousers, and where are they coming from?" "well, then, do it! then you'll do what you say." "it's easy for you to pooh-pooh everything," said lasse despondingly, "for you've time and years before you. but i'm beginning to get old, and i've no one to trouble about me." "why, don't i help you with everything?" asked pelle reproachfully. "yes, yes, of course you do your very best to make things easier for me, and no one could say you didn't. but, you see--there are certain things you don't--there's something--" lasse came to a standstill. what was the use of explaining the longings of a man to a boy? "you shouldn't be so obstinate, you know!" and lasse stroked the boy's arm imploringly. but pelle _was_ obstinate. he had already put up with plenty of sarcastic remarks from his schoolfellows, and fought a good many battles since it had become known that his father and madam olsen were sweethearts. if they now started living together openly, it would become quite unbearable. pelle was not afraid of fighting, but he needed to have right on his side, if he was to kick out properly. "move down to her, then, and i'll go away!" "where'll you go to?" "out into the world and get rich!" lasse raised his head, like an old war-horse that hears a signal; but then it dropped again. "out into the world and get rich! yes, yes," he said slowly; "that's what i thought, too, when i was your age. but things don't happen like that--if you aren't born with a caul." lasse was silent, and thoughtfully kicked the straw in under a cow. he was not altogether sure that the boy was not born with a caul, after all. he was a late-born child, and they were always meant for the worst or the best; and then he had that cow's-lick on his forehead, which meant good fortune. he was merry and always singing, and neat-handed at everything; and his nature made him generally liked. it was very possible that good fortune lay waiting for him somewhere out there. "but the very first thing you need for that is to be properly confirmed. you'd better take your books and learn your lesson for the priest, so that you don't get refused! i'll do the rest of the foddering." pelle took his books and seated himself in the foddering-passage just in front of the big bull. he read in an undertone, and lasse passed up and down at his work. for some time each minded his own; but then lasse came up, drawn by the new lesson-books pelle had got for his confirmation-classes. "is that bible history, that one there?" "yes." "is that about the man who drank himself drunk in there?" lasse had long since given up learning to read; he had not the head for it. but he was always interested in what the boy was doing, and the books exerted a peculiar magic effect upon him. "now what does that stand for?" he would ask wonderingly, pointing to something printed; or "what wonderful thing have you got in your lesson to-day?" pelle had to keep him informed from day to day. and the same questions often came again, for lasse had not a good memory. "you know--the one whose sons pulled off his trousers and shamed their own father?" lasse continued, when pelle did not answer. "oh, noah!" "yes, of course! old noah--the one that gustav had that song about. i wonder what he made himself drunk on, the old man?" "wine." "was it wine?" lasse raised his eyebrows. "then that noah must have been a fine gentleman! the owner of the estate at home drank wine, too, on grand occasions. i've heard that it takes a lot of that to make a man tipsy--and it's expensive! does the book tell you, too, about him that was such a terrible swindler? what was his name again?" "laban, do you mean?" "laban, yes of course! to think that i could forget it, too, for he was a regular laban, [footnote: an ordinary expression in danish for a mean, deceitful person.] so the name suits him just right. it was him that let his son-in-law have both his daughters, and off their price on his daily wage too! if they'd been alive now, they'd have got hard labor, both him and his son-in-law; but in those days the police didn't look so close at people's papers. now i should like to know whether a wife was allowed to have two husbands in those days. does the book say anything about that?" lasse moved his head inquisitively. "no, i don't think it does," answered pelle absently. "oh, well, i oughtn't to disturb you," said lasse, and went to his work. but in a very short time he was back again. "those two names have slipped my memory; i can't think where my head could have been at the moment. but i know the greater prophets well enough, if you like to hear me." "say them, then!" said pelle, without raising his eyes from his book. "but you must stop reading while i say them," said lasse, "or you might go wrong." he did not approve of pelle's wanting to treat it as food for babes. "well, i don't suppose i could go wrong in the four greater!" said pelle, with an air of superiority, but nevertheless shutting the book. lasse took the quid out from his lower lip with his forefinger, and threw it on the ground so as to have his mouth clear, and then hitched up his trousers and stood for a little while with closed eyes while he moved his lips in inward repetition. "are they coming soon?" asked pelle. "i must first make sure that they're there!" answered lasse, in vexation at the interruption, and beginning to go over them again. "isaiah, jeremiah, ezekiel, and daniel!" he said, dashing them off hastily, so as not to lose any of them on the way. "shall we take jacob's twelve sons, too?" "no, not to-day. it might be too much for me all at once. at my age you must go forward gently; i'm not as young as you, you know. but you might go through the twelve lesser prophets with me." pelle went through them slowly, and lasse repeated them one by one. "what confounded names they did think of in those days!" he exclaimed, quite out of breath. "you can hardly get your tongue round them! but i shall manage them in time." "what do you want to know them for, father?" asked pelle suddenly. "what do i want to know them for?" lasse scratched one ear. "why, of course i--er--what a terrible stupid question! what do _you_ want to know them for? learning's as good for the one to have as for the other, and in my youth they wouldn't let me get at anything fine like that. do you want to keep it all to yourself?" "no, for i wouldn't care a hang about all this prophet business if i didn't _have_ to." lasse almost fainted with horror. "then you're the most wicked little cub i ever knew, and deserve never to have been born into the world! is that all the respect you have for learning? you ought to be glad you were born in an age when the poor man's child shares in it all as well as the rich. it wasn't so in my time, or else--who knows--perhaps i shouldn't be going about here cleaning stables if i'd learned something when i was young. take care you don't take pride in your own shame!" pelle half regretted his words now, and said, to clear himself: "i'm in the top form now!" "yes, i know that well enough, but that's no reason for your putting your hands in your trouser-pockets; while you're taking breath, the others eat the porridge. i hope you've not forgotten anything in the long christmas holidays?" "oh, no, i'm sure i haven't!" said pelle, with assurance. lasse did not doubt it either, but only made believe he did to take the boy in. he knew nothing more splendid than to listen to a rushing torrent of learning, but it was becoming more and more difficult to get the laddie to contribute it. "how can you be sure?" he went on. "hadn't you better see? it would be such a comfort to know that you hadn't forgotten anything--so much as you must have in your head." pelle felt flattered and yielded. he stretched out his legs, closed his eyes, and began to rock backward and forward. and the ten commandments, the patriarchs, the judges, joseph and his brethren, the four major and the twelve minor prophets--the whole learning of the world poured from his lips in one long breath. to lasse it seemed as if the universe itself were whizzing round the white- bearded countenance of the almighty. he had to bend his head and cross himself in awe at the amount that the boy's little head could contain. "i wonder what it costs to be a student?" said lasse, when he once more felt earth beneath his feet. "it must be expensive--a thousand krones, i suppose, at least," pelle thought. neither of them connected any definite idea with the number; it merely meant the insurmountably great. "i wonder if it would be so terrible dear," said lasse. "i've been thinking that when we have something of our own--i suppose it'll come to something some day--you might go to fris and learn the trade of him fairly cheap, and have your meals at home. we ought to be able to manage it that way." pelle did not answer; he felt no desire to be apprenticed to the clerk. he had taken out his knife, and was cutting something on a post of one of the stalls. it represented the big bull with his head down to the ground, and its tongue hanging out of one corner of its mouth. one hoof right forward at its mouth indicated that the animal was pawing up the ground in anger. lasse could not help stopping, for now it was beginning to be like something. "that's meant to be a cow, isn't it?" he said. he had been wondering every day, as it gradually grew. "it's volmer that time he took you on his horns," said pelle. lasse could see at once that it was that, now that he had been told. "it's really very like," he said; "but he wasn't so angry as you've made him! well, well, you'd better get to work again; that there fooling can't make a living for a man." lasse did not like this defect in the boy--making drawings with chalk or his penknife all over; there would soon not be a beam or a wall in the place that did not bear marks of one or the other. it was useless nonsense, and the farmer would probably be angry if he came into the stable and happened to see them. lasse had every now and then to throw cow-dung over the most conspicuous drawings, so that they should not catch the eye of people for whom they were not intended. up at the house, kongstrup was just going in, leaning on his wife's arm. he looked pale but by no means thin. "he's still rather lame," said lasse, peeping out; "but it won't be long before we have him down here, so you'd better not quite destroy the post." pelle went on cutting. "if you don't leave off that silly nonsense, i'll throw dirt over it!" said lasse angrily. "then i'll draw you and madam olsen on the big gate!" answered pelle roguishly. "you--you'd better! i should curse you before my face, and get the parson to send you away--if not something worse!" lasse was quite upset, and went off down to the other end of the cow-stable and began the afternoon's cleaning, knocking and pulling his implements about. in his anger he loaded the wheelbarrow too full, and then could neither go one way nor the other, as his feet slipped. pelle came down with the gentlest of faces. "mayn't i wheel the barrow out?" he said. "your wooden shoes aren't so firm on the stones." lasse growled some reply, and let him take it. for a very short time he was cross, but it was no good; the boy could be irresistible when he liked. xxi pelle had been to confirmation-class, and was now sitting in the servants' room eating his dinner--boiled herring and porridge. it was saturday, and the bailiff had driven into the town, so erik was sitting over the stove. he never said anything of his own accord, but always sat and stared; and his eyes followed pelle's movements backward and forward between his mouth and his plate. he always kept his eyebrows raised, as if everything were new to him; they had almost grown into that position. in front of him stood a mug of beer in a large pool, for he drank constantly and spilt some every time. fair maria was washing up, and looked in every now and then to see if pelle were finished. when he licked his horn spoon clean and threw it into the drawer, she came in with something on a plate: they had had roast loin of pork for dinner upstairs. "here's a little taste for you," she said. "i expect you're still hungry. what'll you give me for it?" she kept the plate in her hand, and looked at him with a coaxing smile. pelle was still very hungry--ravenous; and he looked at the titbit until his mouth watered. then he dutifully put up his lips and maria kissed him. she glanced involuntarily at erik, and a gleam of something passed over his foolish face, like a faint reminiscence. "there sits that great gaby making a mess!" she said, scolding as she seized the beer-mug from him, held it under the edge of the table, and with her hand swept the spilt beer into it. pelle set to work upon the pork without troubling about anything else; but when she had gone out, he carefully spat down between his legs, and went through a small cleansing operation with the sleeve of his blouse. when he was finished he went into the stable and cleaned out the mangers, while lasse curried the cows; it was all to look nice for sunday. while they worked, pelle gave a full account of the day's happenings, and repeated all that the parson had said. lasse listened attentively, with occasional little exclamations. "think of that!" "well, i never!" "so david was a buck like that, and yet he walked in the sight of god all the same! well, god's long-suffering is great--there's no mistake about that!" there was a knock at the outer door. it was one of kalle's children with the message that grandmother would like to bid them good-bye before she passed away. "then she can't have long to live," exclaimed lasse. "it'll be a great loss to them all, so happy as they've been together. but there'll be a little more food for the others, of course." they agreed to wait until they were quite finished, and then steal away; for if they asked to be let off early, they would not be likely to get leave for the funeral. "and that'll be a day's feasting, with plenty of food and drink, if i know anything of brother kalle!" said lasse. when they had finished their work and had their supper, they stole out through the outside door into the field. lasse had heaped up the quilt, and put an old woolly cap just sticking out at the pillow-end; in a hurry it could easily be mistaken for the hair of a sleeper, if any one came to see. when they had got a little way, lasse had to go back once more to take precautions against fire. it was snowing gently and silently, and the ground was frozen so that they could go straight on over everything. now that they knew the way, it seemed no distance at all; and before they knew where they were, the fields came to an end and the rock began. there was a light in the cottage. kalle was sitting up waiting for them. "grandmother hasn't long to live," he said, more seriously than lasse ever remembered to have heard him speak before. kalle opened the door to grandmother's room, and whispered something, to which his wife answered softly out of the darkness. "oh, i'm awake," said the old woman, in a slow, monotonous voice. "you can speak out, for i am awake." lasse and pelle took off their leather shoes and went in in their stockings. "good evening, grandmother!" they both said solemnly, "and the peace of god!" lasse added. "well, here i am," said the old woman, feebly patting the quilt. she had big woollen gloves on. "i took the liberty of sending for you for i haven't long to live now. how are things going on in the parish? have there been any deaths?" "no, not that i know of," answered lasse. "but you look so well, grandmother, so fat and rosy! we shall see you going about again in two or three days." "oh, i dare say!" said the old woman, smiling indulgently. "i suppose i look like a young bride after her first baby, eh? but thank you for coming; it's as if you belonged to me. well, now i've been sent for, and i shall depart in peace. i've had a good time in this world, and haven't anything to complain of. i had a good husband and a good daughter, not forgetting kalle there. and i got my sight back, so that i saw the world once more." "but you only saw it with one eye, like the birds, grandmother," said kalle, trying to laugh. "yes, yes, but that was quite good enough; there was so much that was new since i lost my sight. the wood had grown bigger, and a whole family had grown up without my quite knowing it. ah! yes, it has been good to live in my old age and have them all about me-- kalle and maria and the children. and all of my own age have gone before me; it's been nice to see what became of them all." "how old are you now, grandmother?" asked lasse. "kalle has looked it up in the church-book, and from that i ought to be almost eighty; but that can scarcely be right." "yes, it's right enough," said kalle, "for the parson looked it up for me himself." "well, well, then the time's gone quickly, and i shouldn't at all mind living a little longer, if it was god's will. but the grave's giving warning; i notice it in my eyelids." the old woman had a little difficulty in breathing, but kept on talking. "you're talking far too much, mother!" said maria. "yes, you ought to be resting and sleeping," said lasse. "hadn't we better say good-bye to you?" "no, i really must talk, for it'll be the last time i see you and i shall have plenty of time to rest. my eyes are so light thank god, and i don't feel the least bit sleepy." "grandmother hasn't slept for a whole week, i think," said kalle doubtfully. "and why should i sleep away the last of the time i shall have here, when i shall get plenty of time for that afterward? at night when you others are asleep, i lie and listen to your breathing, and feel glad that you're all so well. or i look at the heather-broom, and think of anders and all the fun we had together." she lay silent for a little while, getting her breath, while she gazed at a withered bunch of heather hanging from a beam. "he gathered that for me the first time we lay in the flowering heather. he was so uncommonly fond of the heather, was anders, and every year when it flowered, he took me out of my bed and carried me out there--every year until he was called away. i was always as new for him as on the first day, and so happiness and joy took up their abode in my heart." "now, mother, you ought to be quiet and not talk so much!" said maria, smoothing the old woman's pillow. but she would not be silenced, though her thoughts shifted a little. "yes, my teeth were hard to get and hard to lose, and i brought my children into the world with pain, and laid them in the grave with sorrow, one after another. but except for that, i've never been ill, and i've had a good husband. he had an eye for god's creations, and we got up with the birds every summer morning, and went out onto the heath and saw the sun rise out of the sea before we set about our days work." the old woman's slow voice died away, and it was as though a song ceased to sound in their ears. they sat up and sighed. "ah, yes," said lasse, "the voice of memory is pleasant!" "what about you, lasse?" said the old woman suddenly, "i hear you're looking about for a wife!" "am i?" exclaimed lasse, in alarm. pelle saw kalle wink at maria, so they knew about it too. "aren't you soon coming to show us your sweetheart?" asked kalle. "i hear it's a good match." "i don't in the least know what you're talking about," said lasse, quite confused. "well, well, you might do worse than that!" said the grandmother. "she's good enough--from what i know. i hope you'll suit one another like anders and me. it was a happy time--the days when we went about and each did our best, and the nights when the wind blew. it was good then to be two to keep one another warm." "you've been very happy in everything, grandmother," exclaimed lasse. "yes, and i'm departing in peace and can lie quiet in my grave. i've not been treated unfairly in any way, and i've got nothing to haunt any one for. if only kalle takes care to have me carried out feet first, i don't expect i shall trouble you." "just you come and visit us now and then if you like! we shan't be afraid to welcome you, for we've been so happy together here," said kalle. "no, you never know what your nature may be in the next life. you must promise to have me carried out feet first! i don't want to disturb your night's rest, so hard as you two have to work all day. and, besides, you've had to put up with me long enough, and it'll be nice for you to be by yourselves for once; and there'll be a bit more for you to eat after this." maria began to cry. "now look here!" exclaimed kalle testily. "i won't hear any more of that nonsense, for none of us have had to go short because of you. if you aren't good, i shall give a big party after you, for joy that you're gone!" "no, you won't!" said the old woman quite sharply. "i won't hear of a three days' wake! promise me now, maria, that you won't go and ruin yourselves to make a fuss over a poor old soul like me! but you must ask the nearest neighbors in in the afternoon, with lasse and pelle, of course. and if you ask hans henrik, perhaps he'd bring his concertina with him, and you could have a dance in the barn." kalle scratched the back of his head. "then, hang it, you must wait until i've finished threshing, for i can't clear the floor now. couldn't we borrow jens kure's horse, and take a little drive over the heath in the afternoon?" "you might do that, too, but the children are to have a share in whatever you settle to do. it'll be a comfort to think they'll have a happy day out of it, for they don't have too many holidays; and there's money for it, you know." "yes, would you believe it, lasse--grandmother's got together fifty krones that none of us knew anything about, to go toward her funeral-party!" "i've been putting by for it for twenty years now, for i'd like to leave the world in a decent way, and without pulling the clothes off my relations' backs. my grave-clothes are all ready, too, for i've got my wedding chemise lying by. it's only been used once, and more than that and my cap i don't want to have on." "but that's so little," objected maria. "whatever will the neighbors say if we don't dress you properly?" "i don't care!" answered the old woman decidedly. "that's how anders liked me best, and it's all i've worn in bed these sixty years. so there!" and she turned her head to the wall. "you shall have it all just as you like, mother!" said maria. the old woman turned round again, and felt for her daughter's hand on the quilt. "and you must make rather a soft pillow for my old head, for it's become so difficult to find rest for it." "we can take one of the babies' pillows and cover it with white," said maria. "thank you! and then i think you should send to jacob kristian's for the carpenter to-morrow--he's somewhere about, anyhow--and let him measure me for the coffin; then i could have my say as to what it's to be like. kalle's so free with his money." the old woman closed her eyes. she had tired herself out, after all. "now i think we'll creep out into the other room, and let her be quiet," whispered kalle, getting up; but at that she opened her eyes. "are you going already?" she asked. "we thought you were asleep, grandmother," said lasse. "no, i don't suppose i shall sleep any more in this life; my eyes are so light, so light! well, good-bye to you, lasse and pelle! may you be very, very happy, as happy as i've been. maria was the only one death spared, but she's been a good daughter to me; and kalle's been as good and kind to me as if i'd been his sweetheart. i had a good husband, too, who chopped firewood for me on sundays, and got up in the night to look after the babies when i was lying-in. we were really well off--lead weights in the clock and plenty of firing; and he promised me a trip to copenhagen. i churned my first butter in a bottle, for we had no churn to begin with; and i had to break the bottle to get it out, and then he laughed, for he always laughed when i did anything wrong. and how glad he was when each baby was born! many a morning did he wake me up and we went out to see the sun come up out of the sea. 'come and see, anna,' he would say, 'the heather's come into bloom in the night.' but it was only the sun that shed its red over it! it was more than two miles to our nearest neighbor, but he didn't care for anything as long as he had me. he found his greatest pleasures in me, poor as i was; and the animals were fond of me too. everything went well with us on the whole." she lay moving her head from side to side, and the tears were running down her cheeks. she no longer had difficulty in breathing, and one thing recalled another, and fell easily in one long tone from her lips. she probably did not now know what she was saying, but could not stop talking. she began at the beginning and repeated the words, evenly and monotonously, like one who is carried away and _must_ talk. "mother!" said maria anxiously, putting her hands on her mother's shaking head. "recollect yourself, mother!" the old woman stopped and looked at her wonderingly. "ah, yes!" she said. "memories came upon me so fast! i almost think i could sleep a little now." lasse rose and went up to the bed. "good-bye, grandmother!" he said, "and a pleasant journey, in case we shouldn't meet again!" pelle followed him and repeated the words. the old woman looked at them inquiringly, but did not move. then lasse gently took her hand, and then pelle, and they stole out into the other room. "her flame's burning clear to the end!" said lasse, when the door was shut. pelle noticed how freely their voices rang again. "yes, she'll be herself to the very end; there's been extra good timber in her. the people about here don't like our not having the doctor to her. what do you think? shall we go to the expense?" "i don't suppose there's anything more the matter with her than that she can't live any longer," said lasse thoughtfully. "no, and she herself won't hear of it. if he could only keep life in her a little while longer!" "yes, times are hard!" said lasse, and went round to look at the children. they were all asleep, and their room seemed heavy with their breathing. "the flock's getting much smaller." "yes; one or two fly away from the nest pretty well every year," answered kalle, "and now i suppose we shan't have any more. it's an unfortunate figure we've stopped at--a horrid figure; but maria's become deaf in that ear, and i can't do anything alone." kalle had got back his roguish look. "i'm sure we can do very well with what we've got," said maria. "when we take anna's too, it makes fourteen." "oh, yes, count the others too, and you'll get off all the easier!" said kalle teasingly. lasse was looking at anna's child, which lay side by side with kalle's thirteenth. "she looks healthier than her aunt," he said. "you'd scarcely think they were the same age. she's just as red as the other's pale." "yes, there is a difference," kalle admitted, looking affectionately at the children. "it must be that anna's has come from young people, while _our_ blood's beginning to get old. and then the ones that come the wrong side of the blanket always thrive best--like our albert, for instance. he carries himself quite differently from the others. did you know, by-the-by, that he's to get a ship of his own next spring?" "no, surely not! is he really going to be a captain?" said lasse, in the utmost astonishment. "it's kongstrup that's at the back of that--that's between ourselves, of course!" "does the father of anna's child still pay what he's bound to?" asked lasse. "yes, he's honest enough! we get five krones a month for having the child, and that's a good help toward expenses." maria had placed a dram, bread and a saucer of dripping on the table, and invited them to take their places at it. "you're holding out a long time at stone farm," said kalle, when they were seated. "are you going to stay there all your life?" he asked, with a mischievous wink. "it's not such a simple matter to strike out into the deep!" said lasse evasively. "oh, we shall soon be hearing news from you, shan't we?" asked maria. lasse did not answer; he was struggling with a crust. "oh, but do cut off the crust if it's too much for your teeth!" said maria. every now and then she listened at her mother's door. "she's dropped off, after all, poor old soul!" she said. kalle pretended to discover the bottle for the first time. "what! why, we've got gin on the table, too, and not one of us has smelt it!" he exclaimed, and filled their glasses for the third time. then maria corked the bottle. "do you even grudge us our food?" he said, making great eyes at her--what a rogue he was! and maria stared at him with eyes that were just as big, and said: "yah! you want to fight, do you?" it quite warmed lasse's heart to see their happiness. "how's the farmer at stone farm? i suppose he's got over the worst now, hasn't he?" said kalle. "well, i think he's as much a man as he'll ever be. a thing like that leaves its mark upon any one," answered lasse. maria was smiling, and as soon as they looked at her, she looked away. "yes, you may grin!" said lasse; "but i think it's sad!" upon which maria had to go out into the kitchen to have her laugh out. "that's what all the women do at the mere mention of his name," said kalle. "it's a sad change. to-day red, to-morrow dead. well, she's got her own way in one thing, and that is that she keeps him to herself--in a way. but to think that he can live with her after that!" "they seem fonder of one another than they ever were before; he can't do without her for a single minute. but of course he wouldn't find any one else to love him now. what a queer sort of devilment love is! but we must see about getting home." "well, i'll send you word when she's to be buried," said kalle, when they got outside the house. "yes, do! and if you should be in want of a ten-krone note for the funeral, let me know. good-bye, then!" xxii grandmother's funeral was still like a bright light behind everything that one thought and did. it was like certain kinds of food, that leave a pleasant taste in the mouth long after they have been eaten and done with. kalle had certainly done everything to make it a festive day; there was an abundance of good things to eat and drink, and no end to his comical tricks. and, sly dog that he was, he had found an excuse for asking madam olsen; it was really a nice way of making the relation a legitimate one. it gave lasse and pelle enough to talk about for a whole month, and after the subject was quite talked out and laid on one side for other things, it remained in the background as a sense of well-being of which no one quite knew the origin. but now spring was advancing, and with it came troubles--not the daily trifles that could be bad enough, but great troubles that darkened everything, even when one was not thinking about them. pelle was to be confirmed at easter, and lasse was at his wits' end to know how he was going to get him all that he would need--new clothes, new cap, new shoes! the boy often spoke about it; he must have been afraid of being put to shame before the others that day in church. "it'll be all right," said lasse; but he himself saw no way at all out of the difficulty. at all the farms where the good old customs prevailed, the master and mistress provided it all; out here everything was so confoundedly new-fangled, with prompt payments that slipped away between one's fingers. a hundred krones a year in wages seemed a tremendous amount when one thought of it all in one; but you only got them gradually, a few ores at a time, without your being able to put your finger anywhere and say: you got a good round sum there! "yes, yes, it'll be all right!" said lasse aloud, when he had got himself entangled in absurd speculations; and pelle had to be satisfied with this. there was only one way out of the difficulty--to borrow the money from madam olsen; and that lasse would have to come to in the end, loth as he was to do it. but pelle must not know anything about it. lasse refrained as long as he possibly could, hoping that something or other would turn up to free him from the necessity of so disgraceful a proceeding as borrowing from his sweetheart. but nothing happened, and time was passing. one morning he cut the matter short; pelle was just setting out for school. "will you run in to madam olsen's and give her this?" he said, handing the boy a packet. "it's something she's promised to mend for us." inside on the paper, was the large cross that announced lasse's coming in the evening. from the hills pelle saw that the ice had broken up in the night. it had filled the bay for nearly a month with a rough, compact mass, upon which you could play about as safely as on dry land. this was a new side of the sea, and pelle had carefully felt his way forward with the tips of his wooden shoes, to the great amusement of the others. afterward he learned to walk about freely on the ice without constantly shivering at the thought that the great fish of the sea were going about just under his wooden shoes, and perhaps were only waiting for him to drop through. every day he went out to the high rampart of pack-ice that formed the boundary about a mile out, where the open water moved round in the sunshine like a green eye. he went out because he would do what the others did, but he never felt safe on the sea. now it was all broken up, and the bay was full of heaving ice-floes that rubbed against one another with a crackling sound; and the pieces farthest out, carrying bits of the rampart, were already on their way out to sea. pelle had performed many exploits out there, but was really quite pleased that it was now packing up and taking its departure, so that it would once more be no crime to stay on dry land. old fris was sitting in his place. he never left it now during a lesson, however badly things might go down in the class, but contented himself with beating on the desk with his cane. he was little more than a shadow of his former self, his head was always shaking, and his hands were often incapable of grasping an object. he still brought the newspaper with him, and opened it out at the beginning of the lesson, but he did not read. he would fall into a dream, sitting bolt upright, with his hands on the desk and his back against the wall. at such times the children could be as noisy as they liked, and he did not move; only a slight change in the expression of his eyes showed that he was alive at all. it was quieter in school now. it was not worth while teasing the master, for he scarcely noticed it, and so the fun lost most of its attraction. a kind of court of justice had gradually formed among the bigger boys; they determined the order of the school-lessons, and disobedience and disputes as to authority were respectively punished and settled in the playground--with fists and tips of wooden shoes. the instruction was given as before, by the cleverer scholars teaching what they knew to the others; there was rather more arithmetic and reading than in fris's time, but on the other hand the hymns suffered. it still sometimes happened that fris woke up and interfered in the instruction. "hymns!" he would cry in his feeble voice, and strike the desk from habit; and the children would put aside what they were doing to please the old man, and begin repeating some hymn or other, taking their revenge by going through one verse over and over again for a whole hour. it was the only real trick they played the old man, and the joke was all on their side, for fris noticed nothing. fris had so often talked of resigning his post, but now he did not even think of that. he shuffled to and from school at the regular times, probably without even knowing he did it. the authorities really had not the heart to dismiss him. except in the hymns, which came off with rather short measure, there was nothing to say against him as teacher; for no one had ever yet left his school without being able both to write his name and to read a printed book--if it were in the old type. the new-fashioned printing with latin letters fris did not teach, although he had studied latin in his youth. fris himself probably did not feel the change, for he had ceased to feel both for himself and for others. none now brought their human sorrows to him, and found comfort in a sympathetic mind; his mind was not there to consult. it floated outside him, half detached, as it were, like a bird that is unwilling to leave its old nest to set out on a flight to the unknown. it must have been the fluttering mind that his eyes were always following when they dully gazed about into vacancy. but the young men who came home to winter in the village, and went to fris as to an old friend, felt the change. for them there was now an empty place at home; they missed the old growler, who, though he hated them all in the lump at school, loved them all afterward, and was always ready with his ridiculous "he was my best boy!" about each and all of them, good and bad alike. the children took their playtime early, and rushed out before pelle had given the signal; and fris trotted off as usual into the village, where he would be absent the customary two hours. the girls gathered in a flock to eat their dinners, and the boys dashed about the playground like birds let loose from a cage. pelle was quite angry at the insubordination, and pondered over a way of making himself respected; for to-day he had had the other big boys against him. he dashed over the playground like a circling gull, his body inclined and his arms stretched out like a pair of wings. most of them made room for him, and those who did not move willingly were made to do so. his position was threatened, and he kept moving incessantly, as if to keep the question undecided until a possibility of striking presented itself. this went on for some time; he knocked some over and hit out at others in his flight, while his offended sense of power grew. he wanted to make enemies of them all. they began to gather up by the gymnastic apparatus, and suddenly he had the whole pack upon him. he tried to rise and shake them off, flinging them hither and thither, but all in vain; down through the heap came their remorseless knuckles and made him grin with pain. he worked away indefatigably but without effect until he lost patience and resorted to less scrupulous tactics--thrusting his fingers into eyes, or attacking noses, windpipes, and any vulnerable part he could get at. that thinned them out, and he was able to rise and fling a last little fellow across the playground. pelle was well bruised and quite out of breath, but contented. they all stood by, gaping, and let him brush himself down; he was the victor. he went across to the girls with his torn blouse, and they put it together with pins and gave him sweets; and in return he fastened two of them together by their plaits, and they screamed and let him pull them about without being cross; it was all just as it should be. but he was not quite secure after his victory. he could not, like henry boker in his time, walk right through the whole flock with his hands in his pockets directly after a battle, and look as if they did not exist. he had to keep stealing glances at them while he strolled down to the beach, and tried with all his might to control his breathing; for next to crying, to be out of breath was the greatest disgrace that could happen to you. pelle walked along the beach, regretting that he had not leaped upon them again at once while the flush of victory was still upon him: it was too late now. if he had, it might perhaps have been said of him too that he could lick all the rest of the class together; and now he must be content with being the strongest boy in the school. a wild war-whoop from the school made him start. the whole swarm of boys was coming round the end of the house with sticks and pieces of wood in their hands. pelle knew what was at stake if he gave way, and therefore forced himself to stand quietly waiting although his legs twitched. but suddenly they made a wild rush at him, and with a spring he turned to fly. there lay the sea barring his way, closely packed with heaving ice. he ran out on to an ice-floe, leaped from it to the next, which was not large enough to bear him--had to go on. the idea of flight possessed him and made the fear of what lay behind overpoweringly great. the lumps of ice gave way beneath him, and he had to leap from piece to piece; his feet moved as fast as fingers over the notes of a piano. he just noticed enough to take the direction toward the harbor breakwater. the others stood gaping on the beach while pelle danced upon the water like a stone making ducks and drakes. the pieces of ice bobbed under as soon as he touched them, or turned up on edge; but pelle came and slid by with a touch, flung himself to one side with lightning rapidity, and changed his aim in the middle of a leap like a cat. it was like a dance on red-hot iron, so quickly did he pick up his feet, and spring from one place to another. the water spurted up from the pieces of ice as he touched them, and behind him stretched a crooked track of disturbed ice and water right back to the place where the boys stood and held their breath. there was nobody like pelle, not one of them could do what he had done there! when with a final leap he threw himself upon the breakwater, they cheered him. pelle had triumphed in his flight! he lay upon the breakwater, exhausted and gasping for breath, and gazed without interest at a brig that had cast anchor off the village. a boat was rowing in--perhaps with a sick man to be put in quarantine. the weather-beaten look of the vessel told of her having been out on a winter voyage, in ice and heavy seas. fishermen came down from the cottages and strolled out to the place where the boat would come in, and all the school-children followed. in the stern of the boat sat an elderly, weather-beaten man with a fringe of beard round his face; he was dressed in blue, and in front of him stood a sea-chest. "why, it's boatswain olsen!" pelle heard one fisherman say. then the man stepped ashore, and shook hands with them all; and the fisherman and the school-children closed round him in a dense circle. pelle made his way up, creeping along behind boats and sheds; and as soon as he was hidden by the school-building, he set off running straight across the fields to stone farm. his vexation burnt his throat, and a feeling of shame made him keep far away from houses and people. the parcel that he had had no opportunity of delivering in the morning was like a clear proof to everybody of his shame, and he threw it into a marl-pit as he ran. he would not go through the farm, but thundered on the outside door to the stable. "have you come home already?" exclaimed lasse, pleased. "now--now madam olsen's husband's come home!" panted pelle, and went past his father without looking at him. to lasse it was as if the world had burst and the falling fragments were piercing into his flesh. everything was failing him. he moved about trembling and unable to grasp anything; he could not talk, everything in him seemed to have come to a standstill. he had picked up a piece of rope, and was going backward and forward, backward and forward, looking up. then pelle went up to him. "what are you going to do with that?" he asked harshly. lasse let the rope fall from his hand and began to complain of the sadness and poverty of existence. one feather fell off here, and another there, until at last you stood trampling in the mud like a featherless bird--old and worn-out and robbed of every hope of a happy old age. he went on complaining in this way in an undertone, and it eased him. pelle made no response. he only thought of the wrong and the shame that had come upon them, and found no relief. next morning he took his dinner and went off as usual, but when he was halfway to school he lay down under a thorn. there he lay, fuming and half-frozen, until it was about the time when school would be over, when he went home. this he did for several days. toward his father he was silent, almost angry. lasse went about lamenting, and pelle had enough with his own trouble; each moved in his own world, and there was no bridge between; neither of them had a kind word to say to the other. but one day when pelle came stealing home in this way, lasse received him with a radiant face and weak knees. "what on earth's the good of fretting?" he said, screwing up his face and turning his blinking eyes upon pelle--for the first time since the bad news had come. "look here at the new sweetheart i've found! kiss her, laddie!" and lasse drew from the straw a bottle of gin, and held it out toward him. pelle pushed it angrily from him. "oh, you're too grand, are you?" exclaimed lasse. "well, well, it would be a sin and a shame to waste good things upon you." he put the bottle to his lips and threw back his head. "father, you shan't do that!" exclaimed pelle, bursting into tears and shaking his father's arm so that the liquid splashed out. "ho-ho!" said lasse in astonishment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "she's uncommonly lively, ho-ho!" he grasped the bottle with both hands and held it firmly, as if it had tried to get away from him. "so you're obstreperous, are you?" then his eye fell upon pelle. "and you're crying! has any one hurt you? don't you know that your father's called lasse--lasse karlsson from kungstorp? you needn't he afraid, for lasse's here, and he'll make the whole world answer for it." pelle saw that his father was quickly becoming more fuddled, and ought to be put to bed for fear some one should come and find him lying there. "come now, father!" he begged. "yes, i'll go now. i'll make him pay for it, if it's old beelzebub himself! you needn't cry!" lasse was making for the yard. pelle stood in front of him. "now you must come with me, father! there's no one to make pay for anything." "isn't there? and yet you're crying! but the farmer shall answer to me for all these years. yes, my fine landed gentleman, with your nose turned up at every one!" this made pelle afraid. "but father, father!" he cried. "don't go up there! he'll be in such a rage, he'll turn us out! remember you're drunk!" "yes, of course i'm drunk, but there's no harm in me." he stood fumbling with the hook that fastened the lower half of the door. it was wrong to lay a hand upon one's own father, but now pelle was compelled to set aside all such scruples. he took a firm hold of the old man's collar. "now you come with me!" he said, and drew him along toward their room. lasse laughed and hiccupped and struggled; clutched hold of everything that he could lay hands on--the posts and the animals' tails--while pelle dragged him along. he had hold of him behind, and was half carrying him. in the doorway they stuck fast, as the old man held on with both hands; and pelle had to leave go of him and knock his arms away so that he fell, and then drag him along and on to the bed. lasse laughed foolishly all the time, as if it were a game. once or twice when pelle's back was turned, he tried to get up; his eyes had almost disappeared, but there was a cunning expression about his mouth, and he was like a naughty child. suddenly he fell back in a heavy sleep. the next day was a school holiday, so there was no need for pelle to hide himself. lasse was ashamed and crept about with an air of humility. he must have had quite a clear idea of what had happened the day before, for suddenly he touched pelle's arm. "you're like noah's good son, that covered up his father's shame!" he said; "but lasse's a beast. it's been a hard blow on me, as you may well believe! but i know quite well that it doesn't mend matters to drink one's self silly. it's a badly buried trouble that one has to lay with gin; and what's hidden in the snow comes up in the thaw, as the saying is." pelle made no answer. "how do people take it?" asked lasse cautiously. he had now got so far as to have a thought for the shameful side of the matter. "i don't think they know about it yet here on the farm; but what do they say outside?" "how should i know?" answered pelle sulkily. "then you've heard nothing?" "do you suppose i'll go to school to be jeered at by them all?" pelle was almost crying again. "then you've been wandering about and let your father believe that you'd gone to school? that wasn't right of you, but i won't find fault with you, considering all the disgrace i've brought upon you. but suppose you get into trouble for playing truant, even if you don't deserve it? misfortunes go hand in hand, and evils multiply like lice in a fur coat. we must think what we're about, we two; we mustn't let things go all to pieces!" lasse walked quickly into their room and returned with the bottle, took out the cork, and let the gin run slowly out into the gutter. pelle looked wonderingly at him. "god forgive me for abusing his gifts!" said lasse; "but it's a bad tempter to have at hand when you've a sore heart. and now if i give you my word that you shall never again see me as i was yesterday, won't you have a try at school again to-morrow, and try and get over it gradually? we might get into trouble with the magistrate himself if you keep on staying away; for there's a heavy punishment for that sort of thing in this country." pelle promised and kept his word; but he was prepared for the worst, and secretly slipped a knuckle-duster into his pocket that erik had used in his palmy days when he went to open-air fetes and other places where one had to strike a blow for one's girl. it was not required, however, for the boys were entirely taken up with a ship that had had to be run aground to prevent her sinking, and now lay discharging her cargo of wheat into the boats of the village. the wheat already lay in the harbor in great piles, wet and swollen with the salt water. and a few days later, when this had become stale, something happened which put a stop forever to pelle's school attendance. the children were busy at arithmetic, chattering and clattering with their slates, and fris was sitting as usual in his place, with his head against the wall and his hands resting on the desk. his dim eyes were somewhere out in space, and not a movement betrayed that he was alive. it was his usual position, and he had sat thus ever since playtime. the children grew restless; it was nearly time for them to go home. a farmer's son who had a watch, held it up so that pelle could see it, and said "two" aloud. they noisily put away their slates and began to fight; but fris, who generally awoke at this noise of departure, did not stir. then they tramped out, and in passing, one of the girls out of mischief stroked the master's hand. she started back in fear. "he's quite cold!" she said, shuddering and drawing back behind the others. they stood in a semicircle round the desk, and tried to see into fris's half-closed eyes; and then pelle went up the two steps and laid his hand upon his master's shoulder. "we're going home," he said, in an unnatural voice. fris's arm dropped stiffly down from the desk, and pelle had to support his body. "he's dead!" the words passed like a shiver over the children's lips. fris was dead--dead at his post, as the honest folks of the parish expressed it. pelle had finished his schooling for good, and could breathe freely. he helped his father at home, and they were happy together and drew together again now that there was no third person to stand between them. the gibes from the others on the farm were not worth taking notice of; lasse had been a long time on the farm, and knew too much about each of them, so that he could talk back. he sunned himself in pelle's gently childlike nature, and kept up a continual chatter. one thing he was always coming back to. "i ought to be glad i had you, for if you hadn't held back that time when i was bent upon moving down to madam olsen's, we should have been in the wrong box. i should think he'd have killed us in his anger. you were my good angel as you always have been." lasse's words had the pleasant effect of caresses on pelle; he was happy in it all, and was more of a child than his years would have indicated. but one saturday he came home from the parson's altogether changed. he was as slow about everything as a dead herring, and did not go across to his dinner, but came straight in through the outer door, and threw himself face downward upon a bundle of hay. "what's the matter now?" asked lasse, coming up to him. "has any one been unkind to you?" pelle did not answer, but lay plucking at the hay. lasse was going to turn his face up to him, but pelle buried it in the hay. "won't you trust your own father? you know i've no other wish in the world but for your good!" lasse's voice was sad. "i'm to be turned out of the confirmation-class," pelle managed to say, and then burrowed into the hay to keep back his tears. "oh, no, surely not!" lasse began to tremble. "whatever have you done?" "i've half killed the parson's son." "oh, that's about the worst thing you could have done--lift your hand against the parson's son! i'm sure he must have deserved it, but--still you shouldn't have done it. unless he's accused you of thieving, for no honest man need stand that from any one, not even the king himself." "he--he called you madam olsen's concubine." pelle had some difficulty in getting this out. lasse's mouth grew hard and he clenched his fists. "oh, he did! oh, did he! if i had him here, i'd kick his guts out, the young monkey! i hope you gave him something he'll remember for a long time?" "oh, no, it wasn't very much, for he wouldn't stand up to me--he threw himself down and screamed. and then the parson came!" for a little while lasse's face was disfigured with rage, and he kept uttering threats. then he turned to pelle. "and they've turned you out? only because you stood up for your old father! i'm always to bring misfortune upon you, though i'm only thinking of your good! but what shall we do now?" "i won't stay here any longer," said pelle decidedly. "no, let's get away from here; nothing has ever grown on this farm for us two but wormwood. perhaps there are new, happy days waiting for us out there; and there are parsons everywhere. if we two work together at some good work out there, we shall earn a peck of money. then one day we'll go up to a parson, and throw down half a hundred krones in front of his face, and it 'u'd be funny if he didn't confirm you on the spot--and perhaps let himself be kicked into the bargain. those kind of folk are very fond of money." lasse had grown more erect in his anger, and had a keen look in his eyes. he walked quickly along the foddering passage, and threw the things about carelessly, for pelle's adventurous proposal had infected him with youth. in the intervals of their work, they collected all their little things and packed the green chest. "what a surprise it'll be to-morrow morning when they come here and find the nest empty!" said pelle gaily. lasse chuckled. their plan was to take shelter with kalle for a day or two, while they took a survey of what the world offered. when everything was done in the evening, they took the green chest between them, and stole out through the outside door into the field. the chest was heavy, and the darkness did not make walking easier. they moved on a little way, changed hands, and rested. "we've got the night before us!" said lasse cheerfully. he was quite animated, and while they sat resting upon the chest talked about everything that awaited them. when he came to a standstill pelle began. neither of them had made any distinct plans for their future; they simply expected a fairy-story itself with its inconceivable surprises. all the definite possibilities that they were capable of picturing to themselves fell so far short of that which must come, that they left it alone and abandoned themselves to what lay beyond their powers of foresight. lasse was not sure-footed in the dark, and had more and more frequently to put down his burden. he grew weary and breathless, and the cheerful words died away upon his lips. "ah, how heavy it is!" he sighed. "what a lot of rubbish you do scrape together in the course of time!" then he sat down upon the chest, quite out of breath. he could do no more. "if only we'd had something to pick us up a little!" he said faintly. "and it's so dark and gloomy to-night." "help me to get it on my back," said pelle, "and i'll carry it a little way." lasse would not at first, but gave in, and they went on again, he running on in front and giving warning of ditches and walls. "suppose brother kalle can't take us in!" he said suddenly. "he's sure to be able to. there's grandmother's bed; that's big enough for two." "but suppose we can't get anything to do, then we shall be a burden on him." "oh, we shall get something to do. there's a scarcity of laborers everywhere." "yes, they'll jump at you, but i'm really too old to offer myself out." lasse had lost all hope, and was undermining pelle's too. "i can't do any more!" said pelle, letting the chest down. they stood with arms hanging, and stared into the darkness at nothing particular. lasse showed no desire to take hold again, and pelle was now tired out. the night lay dark around them, and its all- enveloping loneliness made it seem as if they two were floating alone in space. "well, we ought to be getting on," exclaimed pelle, taking a handle of the chest; but as lasse did not move, he dropped it and sat down. they sat back to back, and neither could find the right words to utter, and the distance between them seemed to increase. lasse shivered with the night cold. "if only we were at home in our good bed!" he sighed. pelle was almost wishing he had been alone, for then he would have gone on to the end. the old man was just as heavy to drag along as the chest. "do you know i think i'll go back again!" said lasse at last in crestfallen tone. "i'm afraid i'm not able to tread uncertain paths. and you'll never be confirmed if we go on like this! suppose we go back and get kongstrup to put in a good word for us with the parson." lasse stood and held one handle of the chest. pelle sat on as if he had not heard, and then he silently took hold, and they toiled along on their weary way homeward across the fields. every other minute pelle was tired and had to rest; now that they were going home, lasse was the more enduring. "i think i could carry it a little way alone, if you'd help me up with it," he said; but pelle would not hear of it. "pee-u-ah!" sighed lasse with pleasure when they once more stood in the warmth of the cow-stable and heard the animals breathing in indolent well-being--"it's comfortable here. it's just like coming into one's old home. i think i should know this stable again by the air, if they led me into it blindfold anywhere in the world." and now they were home again, pelle too could not help thinking that it really was pleasant. xxiii on sunday morning, between watering and midday feed, lasse and pelle ascended the high stone steps. they took off their wooden shoes in the passage, and stood and shook themselves outside the door of the office; their gray stocking-feet were full of chaff and earth. lasse raised his hand to knock, but drew it back. "have you wiped your nose properly?" he asked in a whisper, with a look of anxiety on his face. pelle performed the operation once more, and gave a final polish with the sleeve of his blouse. lasse lifted his hand again; he looked greatly oppressed. "you might keep quiet then!" he said irritably to pelle, who was standing as still as a mouse. lasse's knuckles were poised in the air two or three times before they fell upon the door; and then he stood with his forehead close to the panel and listened. "there's no one there," he whispered irresolutely. "just go in!" exclaimed pelle. "we can't stand here all day." "then you can go first, if you think you know better how to behave!" said lasse, offended. pelle quickly opened the door and went in. there was no one in the office, but the door was open into the drawing-room, and the sound of kongstrup's comfortable breathing came thence. "who's there?" he asked. "it's lasse and pelle," answered lasse in a voice that did not sound altogether brave. "will you come in here?" kongstrup was lying on the sofa reading a magazine, and on the table beside him stood a pile of old magazines and a plateful of little cakes. he did not raise his eyes from his book, not even while his hand went out to the plate for something to put in his mouth. he lay nibbling and swallowing while he read, and never looked at lasse and pelle, or asked them what they wanted, or said anything to give them a start. it was like being sent out to plough without knowing where. he must have been in the middle of something very exciting. "well, what do you want?" asked kongstrup at last in slow tones. "well--well, the master must excuse us for coming like this about something that doesn't concern the farm; but as matters now stand, we've no one else to go to, and so i said to the laddie: 'master won't be angry, i'm sure, for he's many a time been kind to us poor beggars--and that.' now it's so in this world that even if you're a poor soul that's only fit to do others' dirty work, the almighty's nevertheless given you a father's heart, and it hurts you to see the father's sin standing in the son's way." lasse came to a standstill. he had thought it all out beforehand, and so arranged it that it should lead up, in a shrewd, dignified way, to the matter itself. but now it was all in a muddle like a slattern's pocket-handkerchief, and the farmer did not look as if he had understood a single word of it. he lay there, taking a cake now and then, and looking helplessly toward the door. "it sometimes happens too, that a man gets tired of the single state," began lasse once more, but at once gave up trying to go on. no matter how he began, he went round and round the thing and got no hold anywhere! and now kongstrup began to read again. a tiny question from him might have led to the very middle of it; but he only filled his mouth full and began munching quite hard. lasse was outwardly disheartened and inwardly angry, as he stood there and prepared to go. pelle was staring about at the pictures and the old mahogany furniture, making up his mind about each thing. suddenly energetic steps sounded through the rooms; the ear could follow their course right up from the kitchen. kongstrup's eyes brightened, and lasse straightened himself up. "is that you two?" said fru kongstrup in her decided way that indicated the manager. "but do sit down! why didn't you offer them a seat, old man?" lasse and pelle found seats, and the mistress seated herself beside her husband, with her arm leaning upon his pillow. "how are you getting on, kongstrup? have you been resting?" she asked sympathetically, patting his shoulder. kongstrup gave a little grunt, that might have meant yes, or no, or nothing at all. "and what about you two? are you in need of money?" "no, it's the lad. he's to be dismissed from the confirmation- class," answered lasse simply. with the mistress you couldn't help being decided. "are you to be dismissed?" she exclaimed, looking at pelle as at an old acquaintance. "then what have you been doing?" "oh, i kicked the parson's son." "and what did you do that for?" "because he wouldn't fight, but threw himself down." fru kongstrup laughed and nudged her husband. "yes, of course. but what had he done to you?" "he'd said bad things about father lasse." "what were the things?" pelle looked hard at her; she meant to get to the bottom of everything. "i won't tell you!" he said firmly. "oh, very well! but then we can't do anything about it either." "i may just as well tell you," lasse interrupted. "he called me madam olsen's concubine--from the bible story, i suppose." kongstrup tried to suppress a chuckle, as if some one had whispered a coarse joke in his ear, and he could not help it. the mistress herself was serious enough. "i don't think i understand," she said, and laid a repressing hand upon her husband's arm. "lasse must explain." "it's because i was engaged to madam olsen in the village, who every one thought was a widow; and then her husband came home the other day. and so they've given me that nickname round about, i suppose." kongstrup began his suppressed laughter again, and lasse blinked in distress at it. "help yourselves to a cake!" said fru kongstrup in a very loud voice, pushing the plate toward them. this silenced kongstrup, and he lay and watched their assault upon the cake-plate with an attentive eye. fru kongstrup sat tapping the table with her middle finger while they ate. "so that good boy pelle got angry and kicked out, did he?" she said suddenly, her eyes flashing. "yes, that's what he never ought to have done!" answered lasse plaintively. fru kongstrup fixed her eyes upon him. "no, for all that the poorer birds are for is to be pecked at! well, i prefer the bird that pecks back again and defends its nest, no matter how poor it is. well, well, we shall see! and is that boy going to be confirmed? why, of course! to think that i should be so forgetful! then we must begin to think about his clothes." "that's two troubles got rid of!" said lasse when they went down to the stable again. "and did you notice how nicely i let her know that you were going to be confirmed? it was almost as if she'd found it out for herself. now you'll see, you'll be as fine as a shop-boy in your clothes; people like the master and mistress know what's needed when once they've opened their purse. well, they got the whole truth straight, but confound it! they're no more than human beings. it's always best to speak out straight." lasse could not forget how well it had turned out. pelle let the old man boast. "do you think i shall get leather shoes of them too?" he asked. "yes, of course you will! and i shouldn't wonder if they made a confirmation-party for you too. i say _they_, but it's her that's doing it all, and we may be thankful for that. did you notice that she said _we_--_we_ shall, and so on--always? it's nice of her, for he only lies there and eats and leaves everything to her. but what a good time he has! i think she'd go through fire to please him; but upon my word, she's master there. well, well, i suppose we oughtn't to speak evil of any one; to you she's like your own mother!" fru kongstrup said nothing about the result of her drive to the parson; it was not her way to talk about things afterward. but lasse and pelle once more trod the earth with a feeling of security; when she took up a matter, it was as good as arranged. one morning later in the week, the tailor came limping in with his scissors, tape-measure, and pressing-iron, and pelle had to go down to the servants' room, and was measured in every direction as if he had been a prize animal. up to the present, he had always had his clothes made by guess-work. it was something new to have itinerant artisans at stone farm; since kongstrup had come into power, neither shoemaker nor tailor had ever set foot in the servants' room. this was a return to the good old farm-customs, and placed stone farm once more on a footing with the other farms. the people enjoyed it, and as often as they could went down into the servants' room for a change of air and to hear one of the tailor's yarns. "it's the mistress who's at the head of things now!" they said to one another. there was good peasant blood in her hands, and she brought things back into the good old ways. pelle walked into the servants' room like a gentleman; he was fitted several times a day. he was fitted for two whole suits, one of which was for rud, who was to be confirmed too. it would probably be the last thing that rud and his mother would get at the farm, for fru kongstrup had carried her point, and they were to leave the cottage in may. they would never venture to set foot again in stone farm. fru kongstrup herself saw that they received what they were to have, but she did not give money if she could help it. pelle and rud were never together now, and they seldom went to the parson together. it was pelle who had drawn back, as he had grown tired of being on the watch for rud's continual little lies and treacheries. pelle was taller and stronger than rud, and his nature --perhaps because of his physical superiority--had taken more open ways. in ability to master a task or learn it by heart, rud was also the inferior; but on the other hand he could bewilder pelle and the other boys, if he only got a hold with his practical common sense. on the great day itself, karl johan drove pelle and lasse in the little one-horse carriage. "we're fine folk to-day!" said lasse, with a beaming face. he was quite confused, although he had not tasted anything strong. there was a bottle of gin lying in the chest to treat the men with when the sacred ceremony was over; but lasse was not the man to drink anything before he went to church. pelle had not _touched_ food; god's word would take best effect in that condition. pelle was radiant too, in spite of his hunger. he was in brand-new twill, so new that it crackled every time he moved. on his feet he wore elastic-sided shoes that had once belonged to kongstrup himself. they were too large, but "there's no difficulty with a sausage that's too long," as lasse said. he put in thick soles and paper in the toes, and pelle put on two pairs of stockings; and then the shoes fitted as if they had been cast for his foot. on his head he wore a blue cap that he had chosen himself down at the shop. it allowed room for growing, and rested on his ears, which, for the occasion, were as red as two roses. round the cap was a broad ribbon in which were woven rakes, scythes, and flails, interlaced with sheaves all the way round. "it's a good thing you came," said pelle, as they drove up to the church, and found themselves among so many people. lasse had almost had to give up thought of coming, for the man who was going to look after the animals while he was away had to go off at the last moment for the veterinary surgeon; but karna came and offered to water and give the midday feed, although neither could truthfully say that they had behaved as they ought to have done to her. "have you got that thing now?" whispered lasse, when they were inside the church. pelle felt in his pocket and nodded; the little round piece of lignum-vitae that was to carry him over the difficulties of the day lay there. "then just answer loud and straight out," whispered lasse, as he slipped into a pew in the background. pelle did answer straight out, and to lasse his voice sounded really well through the spacious church. and the parson did absolutely nothing to revenge himself, but treated pelle exactly as he did the others. at the most solemn part of the ceremony, lasse thought of karna, and how touching her devotion was. he scolded himself in an undertone, and made a solemn vow. she should not sigh any longer in vain. for a whole month indeed, lasse's thoughts had been occupied with karna, now favorably, now unfavorably; but at this solemn moment when pelle was just taking the great step into the future, and lasse's feelings were touched in so many ways, the thought of karna's devotion broke over him as something sad, like a song of slighted affection that at last, at last has justice done to it. lasse shook hands with pelle. "good luck and a blessing!" he said in a trembling voice. the wish also embraced his own vow and he had some difficulty in keeping silence respecting his determination, he was so moved. the words were heard on all sides, and pelle went round and shook hands with his comrades. then they drove home. "it all went uncommonly well for you to-day," said lasse proudly; "and now you're a man, you know." "yes, now you must begin to look about for a sweetheart," said karl johan. pelle only laughed. in the afternoon they had a holiday. pelle had first to go up to his master and mistress to thank them for his clothes and receive their congratulations. fru kongstrup gave him red-currant wine and cake, and the farmer gave him a two-krone piece. then they went up to kalle's by the quarry. pelle was to exhibit himself in his new clothes, and say good-bye to them; there was only a fortnight to may day. lasse was going to take the opportunity of secretly obtaining information concerning a house that was for sale on the heath. xxiv they still talked about it every day for the short time that was left. lasse, who had always had the thought of leaving in his mind, and had only stayed on and on, year after year, because the boy's welfare demanded it--was slow to move now that there was nothing to hold him back. he was unwilling to lose pelle, and did all he could to keep him; but nothing would induce him to go out into the world again. "stay here!" he said persuasively, "and we'll talk to the mistress and she'll take you on for a proper wage. you're both strong and handy, and she's always looked upon you with a friendly eye." but pelle would not take service with the farmer; it gave no position and no prospects. he wanted to be something great, but there was no possibility of that in the country; he would be following cows all his days. he would go to the town--perhaps still farther, across the sea to copenhagen. "you'd better come too," he said, "and then we shall get rich all the quicker and be able to buy a big farm." "yes, yes," said lasse, slowly nodding his head; "that's one for me and two for yourself! but what the parson preaches doesn't always come to pass. we might become penniless. who knows what the future may bring?" "oh, i shall manage!" said pelle, nodding confidently. "do you mean to say i can't turn my hand to anything i like?" "and i didn't give notice in time either," said lasse to excuse himself. "then run away!" but lasse would not do that. "no, i'll stay and work toward getting something for myself about here," he said, a little evasively. "it would be nice for you too, to have a home that you could visit now and then; and if you didn't get on out there, it wouldn't be bad to have something to fall back upon. you might fall ill, or something else might happen; the world's not to be relied upon. you have to have a hard skin all over out there." pelle did not answer. that about the home sounded nice enough, and he understood quite well that it was karna's person that weighed down the other end of the balance. well, she'd put all his clothes in order for his going away, and she'd always been a good soul; he had nothing against that. it would be hard to live apart from father lasse, but pelle felt he must go. away! the spring seemed to shout the word in his ears. he knew every rock in the landscape and every tree--yes, every twig on the trees as well; there was nothing more here that could fill his blue eyes and long ears, and satisfy his mind. the day before may day they packed pelle's things. lasse knelt before the green chest; every article was carefully folded and remarked upon, before it was placed in the canvas bag that was to serve pelle as a traveling-trunk. "now remember not to wear your stockings too long before you mend them!" said lasse, putting mending wool on one side. "he who mends his things in time, is spared half the work and all the disgrace." "i shan't forget that," said pelle quietly. lasse was holding a folded shirt in his hand. "the one you've got on's just been washed," he said reflectively. "but one can't tell. two shirts'll almost be too little if you're away, won't they? you must take one of mine; i can always manage to get another by the time i want a change. and remember, you must never go longer than a fortnight! you who are young and healthy might easily get vermin, and be jeered at by the whole town; such a thing would never be tolerated in any one who wants to get on. at the worst you can do a little washing or yourself; you could go down to the shore in the evening, if that was all!" "do they wear wooden shoes in the town?" asked pelle. "not people who want to get on! i think you'd better let me keep the wooden shoes and you take my boots instead; they always look nice even if they're old. you'd better wear them when you go to-morrow, and save your good shoes." the new clothes were laid at the top of the bag, wrapped in an old blouse to keep them clean. "now i think we've got everything in," said lasse, with a searching glance into the green chest. there was not much left in it. "very well, then we'll tie it up in god's name, and pray that, you may arrive safely--wherever you decide to go!" lasse tied up the sack; he was anything but happy. "you must say good-bye nicely to every one on the farm, so that they won't have anything to scratch my eyes out for afterward," said lasse after a little. "and i should like you to thank karna nicely for having put everything in such good order. it isn't every one who'd have bothered." "yes, i'll do that," said pelle in a low voice. he did not seem to be able to speak out properly to-day. * * * * * pelle was up and dressed at daybreak. mist lay over the sea, and prophesied well for the day. he went about well scrubbed and combed, and looked at everything with wide-open eyes, and with his hands in his pockets. the blue clothes which he had gone to his confirmation- classes in, had been washed and newly mangled, and he still looked very well in them; and the tabs of the old leather boots, which were a relic of lasse's prosperous days, stuck out almost as much as his ears. he had said his "good-bye and thank-you for all your kindness!" to everybody on the farm--even erik; and he had had a good meal of bacon. now he was going about the stable, collecting himself, shaking the bull by the horns, and letting the calves suck his fingers; it was a sort of farewell too! the cows put their noses close up to him, and breathed a long, comfortable breath when he passed, and the bull playfully tossed its head at him. and close behind him went lasse; he did not say very much but he always kept near the boy. it was so good to be here, and the feeling sank gently over pelle every time a cow licked herself, or the warm vapor rose from freshly- falling dung. every sound was like a mother's caress, and every thing was a familiar toy, with which a bright world could be built. upon the posts all round there were pictures that he had cut upon them; lasse had smeared them over with dirt again, in case the farmer should come and say that they were spoiling everything. pelle was not thinking, but went about in a dreamy state; it all sank so warmly and heavily into his child's mind. he had taken out his knife, and took hold of the bull's horn, as if he were going to carve something on it. "he won't let you do that," said lasse, surprised. "try one of the bullocks instead." but pelle returned his knife to his pocket; he had not intended to do anything. he strolled along the foddering-passage without aim or object. lasse came up and took his hand. "you'd better stay here a little longer," he said. "we're so comfortable." but this put life into pelle. he fixed his big, faithful eyes upon his father, and then went down to their room. lasse followed him. "in god's name then, if it has to be!" he said huskily, and took hold of the sack to help pelle get it onto his back. pelle held out his hand. "good-bye and thank you, father--for all your kindness!" he added gently. "yes, yes; yes, yes!" said lasse, shaking his head. it was all he was able to say. he went out with pelle past the out-houses, and there stopped, while pelle went on along the dikes with his sack on his back, up toward the high-road. two or three times he turned and nodded; lasse, overcome, stood gazing, with his hand shading his eyes. he had never looked so old before. out in the fields they were driving the seed-harrow; stone farm was early with it this year. kongstrup and his wife were strolling along arm-in-arm beside a ditch; every now and then they stopped and she pointed: they must have been talking about the crop. she leaned against him when they walked; she had really found rest in her affection now! now lasse turned and went in. how forlorn he looked! pelle felt a quick desire to throw down the sack and run back and say something nice to him; but before he could do so the impulse had disappeared upon the fresh morning breeze. his feet carried him on upon the straight way, away, away! up on a ridge the bailiff was stepping out a field, and close behind him walked erik, imitating him with foolish gestures. on a level with the edge of the rocks, pelle came to the wide high- road. here, he knew, stone farm and its lands would be lost to sight, and he put down his sack. _there_ were the sand-banks by the sea, with every tree-top visible; _there_ was the fir-tree that the yellowhammer always built in; the stream ran milk-white after the heavy thaw, and the meadow was beginning to grow green. but the cairn was gone; good people had removed it secretly when niels koller was drowned and the girl was expected out of prison. and the farm stood out clearly in the morning light, with its high white dwelling-house, the long range of barns, and all the out-houses. every spot down there shone so familiarly toward him; the hardships he had suffered were forgotten, or only showed up the comforts in stronger relief. pelle's childhood had been happy by virtue of everything; it had been a song mingled with weeping. weeping falls into tones as well as joy, and heard from a distance it becomes a song. and as pelle gazed down upon his childhood's world, they were only pleasant memories that gleamed toward him through the bright air. nothing else existed, or ever had done so. he had seen enough of hardship and misfortune, but had come well out of everything; nothing had harmed him. with a child's voracity he had found nourishment in it all; and now he stood here, healthy and strong--equipped with the prophets, the judges, the apostles, the ten commandments and one hundred and twenty hymns! and turned an open, perspiring, victor's brow toward the world. before him lay the land sloping richly toward the south, bounded by the sea. far below stood two tall black chimneys against the sea as background, and still farther south lay the town! away from it ran the paths of the sea to sweden and copenhagen! this was the world-- the great wide world itself! pelle became ravenously hungry at the sight of the great world, and the first thing he did was to sit down upon the ridge of the hill with a view both backward and forward, and eat all the food karna had given him for the whole day. so his stomach would have nothing more to trouble about! he rose refreshed, got the sack onto his back, and set off downward to conquer the world, pouring forth a song at the top of his voice into the bright air as he went:-- "a stranger i must wander among the englishmen; with african black negroes my lot it may be thrown. and then upon this earth there are portuguese found too, and every kind of nation under heaven's sky so blue." images of public domain material from the google print project.) transcriber's notes: the author's incorrect spellings of danish and other foreign names and words have been retained. an incorrect reference to the danish king christian iv. has been corrected in "as all the children of king christian iv.[ix.] were". ten years near the german frontier ten years near the german frontier a retrospect and a warning by maurice francis egan former united states minister to denmark hodder and stoughton london · new york · toronto _copyright, , by george h. doran company_ preface the purpose of this book is to show the reflections of prussian policy and activity in a little country which was indispensable to prussia in the founding of the german empire, and which, in spite of its heroic struggle in , was forced to serve as the very foundation of that power; for, if prussia had not unrighteously seized slesvig, the kiel canal and the formation of the great german fleet would have been almost impossible. the rape of slesvig and the acquisition of heligoland--that despised 'trouser button' which kept up the 'indispensables' of the german navy--are facts that ought to illuminate, for those who would be wise, the past as a warning to the future. there is no doubt that the assimilation of slesvig by prussia led to the franco-prussian war, and liberated modern germany from the difficulties that would have hampered her intention to become the dominant power in the world. the further acquisition of denmark would have been only a question of time, had not the march of the despot through belgium aroused the civilised world to the reality of the german imperial aggression--until then, unhappily, not taken seriously. had germany followed the policy which induced her to hold slesvig, in spite of the promise that the slesvigers, passionately danish, might by vote decide their own fate--and seize denmark, the virgin islands, not american, would have been german possessions. the change of policy which sent the german army into belgium and northern france, instead of into denmark, was, in a measure, due to the belief in germany, that the war would be short; and, with france helpless, russia terrorised and england torn by political factions, she could control the danish belts that lead from the north sea to the baltic and treat these waters as german lakes. she reckoned as erroneously on that as she reckoned on controlling the mediterranean and on smashing the monroe doctrine by practically possessing argentine and brazil. she built well, however, when she made kiel the pride of the emperor and the empire. europe watched the process, and hardly gave a thought to the outrage on humanity and liberty it involved. the world is suffering for this indifference. the retention of danish slesvig created the german sea power and the constant threat to denmark concerns us all. it is a world question; and it must be answered in the interest of democracy. denmark is geographically part of germany. in normal times you reached berlin from copenhagen in a night. in a few short hours you may see german sentinels on the slesvig frontier, and hear the field practice of german guns. a zeppelin might have reached copenhagen from berlin in eight hours, and an army corps might land in jutland in about double that time. copenhagen is so near what was that centre of world politics--the german court--its royal family is so closely allied with all the reigning and non-reigning royal families of europe, and its diplomatic life so tense and comprehensive,--that it has been well named the whispering gallery of europe. i have not attempted to keep out of this sketch of my diplomatic experiences and deductions all traces of amusement; but, as to the terrible seriousness of the greater part of this record, i may appropriately quote the answer of bismarck's tailor, when that genius of blood and iron accused him of asking an enormous price for a fur coat, of 'joking.' 'no,' answered the tailor, 'never in business!' and, in spite of the fact that there are lights and even laughs in the diplomatic career, it is a serious business; and the sooner my fellow countrymen recognise this, the fewer international errors they will have to regret. maurice francis egan. contents page chapter i a scrap of paper and the danes chapter ii the menace of 'our neighbour to the south' chapter iii the kaiser and the king of england chapter iv some details the germans knew chapter v glimpses of the german point of view in relation to the united states chapter vi german designs in sweden and norway chapter vii the religious propaganda chapter viii the prussian holy ghost chapter ix , , chapter x a portent in the air chapter xi the preliminaries to the purchase of the danish antilles chapter xii the beginning of and the end chapter i a scrap of paper and the danes let us trace deliberately, with as much calmness as possible, the beginning of that policy, of 'blood and iron' which made the german empire, as we knew it yesterday, possible. it began with the tearing up of 'a scrap of paper' in . it began in perfidy, treachery, and the forcible suppression of the rights of a free people. it began in denmark; and nothing could make a normal american more in love with freedom, as we know it, than to live under the shadow of a tyrannical power, cynically opposed to the legitimate desire of a little nation to develop its own capabilities in its own way. the hanoverian on the throne of england in ' ,--that 'snuffy old drone from a german hive'--never dared to suggest that the colonies should be crushed out of all semblance of freedom; but, suppose our language had been different from that which his environment compelled him to speak, and that he had resolved to force his tongue on our own english-speaking people; suppose that he and his counsellors had resolved that german should be the language spoken in sermons and prayers from washington's old church in alexandria to faneuil hall; suppose that all the colleges and schools of the country, as well as the law courts, were forced to use this alien tongue; that a german-speaking empire existed to the south of us, and the minority in this german domain, arrogant, closely connected with the hanoverian régime, ruled us with the mailed fist, would we submit without constant efforts to obtain justice? and yet denmark, in the province of slesvig, has endured these things since . she alone of all the world resisted the beginning of german tyranny, of german arrogant evolution; and her resistance was useless because the rest of europe saw in the future neither the german empire nor the kiel canal. denmark is, as every schoolboy knows, geographically part of germany; and the pan-germans spoke of it benevolently as 'our northern province.' it might long ago have been their northern province if england and russia had not been powers in the world and if the great queen louise of denmark, a beautiful and fragile little woman, with a heart of gold and a will of steel, had not used all her wits to keep her country free by the only means of diplomacy she knew--the ties of family. queen louise, the wife of christian ix., new king of an old line, was not born in the purple, though her blood was the bluest in europe. the beautiful princesses, her three daughters, later the empress of russia, dagmar, the queen of england, alexandra, and the duchess of cumberland, thyra, made their frocks and were taught all the household arts--for their father, royal by blood as he was, was a poor officer. these princesses hold lovingly in remembrance the time of their poverty; these princesses love the old times. there is a villa on the strandvej (the beach way) called hvidhöre, white as befits the name, with sculptured sea-nymphs and pretty gardens and a path under the strand to the sound. here, until , the empress dowager of russia and the queen of england regularly spent part of the summer and autumn. the russian yacht, _the polar star_, and the english _victoria and albert_ appeared regularly in the sound, the officers added to the gaiety of copenhagen and the royal ladies went to hvidhöre, 'where,' as the widow queen of england said to my wife, smiling, 'we can make our own beds, as we did when we were girls.' the servants might drop a plate or two during luncheon or stumble over a chair; but the empresses of russia and of india made no objections--'the dear old people were a little blind, perhaps, but then they had served our father, king christian.' and anything that relates to their father is sacred to these ladies; and everything concerning denmark very dear. in the small parties at hvidhöre went on as usual, though the great royal gatherings at the palace of fredensborg had ceased. here, in the time of the old queen louise, from sixty to eighty scions of royalty, young and old, had often gathered under the high blue ceiling, from which looked down beautiful white gods and goddesses. in - king frederick viii. gave occasionally a dinner on sunday night at the country house not far from copenhagen, charlottenlund, when it was hard to keep from turning one's back to a royalty,--there were so many crowned heads present. there, if queen alexandra made it plain that she wanted to speak to you, you, approaching her, found yourself with your back to the king of greece or to king haakon of norway, or to the queen of denmark herself! times have changed; the circumstances which made the late mother of king frederick so powerful in keeping 'the family' together can never occur again. of the four daughters of the late king frederick, two married, one in sweden and the other in germany. the danish princess, louise, who became the wife of his serene highness, prince friedrich georg wilhelm bruno of lippe-schaumbourg, is to the danes a lovely and pathetic memory. they say that he treated her badly, that the bride fled from him to the protection of her parents, whom they censured for not taking her home before her death. the criticism--which even found expression in public disapproval--was unreasonable, but the mass of the danes is always more generous than just in the treatment of its children. in - , to mention the name of prince friedrich was to commit a social error; he was taboo; every mother in denmark was furious at the stories told of his injuries to their dead princess louise. princess ingeborg, born in , married the 'blue prince,' charles of sweden, duke of westgothia. king frederick viii., after the failure of the german marriage, kept his two other daughters, thyra and dagmar, in the background. he was a very sympathetic king, and he liked to talk of ordinary affairs; he was truly much interested in the life immediately around him. 'i do not encourage princes in search of wives,' he said; 'i shall keep my daughters with me.' princess thyra--one cannot conceal the age of princesses, while there is an _almanach de gotha_--was born on march th, , and princess dagmar on may rd, . the princess thyra is of the type of her beautiful aunt, the queen mother of england; like her aunt, she looks much younger than her age; the princess dagmar has the quality of this royal family, of always seeming to be ten years, in appearance, younger than they are. they were our near neighbours for ten years, and my wife often threatened to marry them to nice 'americans';--king frederick, considering this impossible, gave his consent at once! he often brought them in to tea, and they met 'nice americans,' and seemed to like them very much. the emperor william--who wanted to be called the emperor of germany rather than the german, or prussian emperor, as we always called him--showed no affection for his danish relatives; but, nevertheless, he did not underrate the value of denmark as the 'whispering gallery' of europe. in the old palace of rosenborg, in copenhagen, there is a room so arranged that, by means of a narrow tunnel in the wall, christian iv., a contemporary of queen elizabeth, could hear what his guards said, in their cabinet, at all hours of the day and night. 'there is a similar room at potsdam,' a dane said to me; 'william always listens when he is not speaking!' william knew what the danes said of the german marriage; his plans did not lie in the way of annexing either of the danish princesses, whose sympathies were not with the despoilers of the country; he had his eyes on the son of their aunt, the duchess of cumberland, who was later to marry his daughter. but royal marriages had ceased to strengthen or weaken denmark; the archduke michael of russia 'hung around' for a time; others came; but king frederick walked out with his daughter, princess thyra, both evidently content. princesses are expected to make marriages of 'convenience,' but princess thyra, like her aunt, princess victoria of england, does not seem inclined to make a marriage of that kind. princess dagmar was too young to be permitted to expect suitors, when her father lived; and the princess margaret, daughter of prince valdemar, brother of king frederick, for whom, it was said, overtures had already been made on behalf of the growing prince of the house of saxony, was younger still. denmark had ceased to be a marriage market of kings; the futility of attempting to cement international relations by royal alliances was becoming only too evident. prince valdemar, brother of king frederick, had refused more than once a balkan kingdom, and, when consulted by very great personages as to a marriage of his oldest son to the grand duchess of luxembourg, had answered, like his brother frederick, that he preferred 'to keep his children at home.' nevertheless, the previous royal marriages and the fact that nearly every diplomat at copenhagen was a favourite with his sovereign, sent by a relative of the court at home to please the court at copenhagen, gave the post unusual prestige, and made 'conversations' possible there which could not have taken place elsewhere. the court circle, when one had the entrance, but not until then, was like that of an agreeable family. nearly every minister at copenhagen was destined for an embassy. when my predecessor, mr. o'brien, was translated to tokyo, our prestige was enhanced; the danes believed that our country but followed the usual precedent, according to which their french m. jusserand had been made ambassador at washington. even the united states had begun to understand the importance of the post; and it was in the line of diplomatic usage when it was rumoured that i had been offered vienna. i met, too, ministers to copenhagen who considered themselves, because of royal patronage, ambassadors by brevet, and who exacted 'excellency,' not as a courtesy but a right! mr. whitelaw reid wrote to me, speaking of my post as a 'delightful, little dresden china court'; the epithet was pretty, and there were times, when the young princesses and their friends thronged the rococo rooms of the amalieborg palace, that it seemed appropriate. when the processions of guests moved up the white stairs between the line of liveried servants, some of them with quaint artificial flowers in their caps, the sight was very like a bit out of watteau. bismarck had not looked on denmark as a negligible country; he knew its importance; there was a legend that one of the few persons he really respected and feared in europe was the old queen louise. besides, he knew the history of denmark so well, that he chose to correct the supposed taint in the blood of the hohenzollerns by choosing an empress for william ii. of 'the blood of struense.' this struense, the german physician who, through the degeneracy of christian vii., had in become the guide, the philosopher, and--it was said--the more than friend of his queen, caroline matilda, tried to be the bismarck of denmark; but he was of too soft a mould,--the disciple of rousseau and voltaire rather than of machiavelli and cæsar borgia. he was drawn and quartered, after having confessed, in the most ungentlemanly way, his relations with the queen, sister of king george iii. of england. it is probable that part of the emperor's dislike to bismarck was due to that '_mot_' of the iron chancellor about the royal marriage he had helped to make. it was the kind of '_mot_' that william would not be likely to forget. it is an axiom of courts that the child of a queen cannot be illegitimate. even the duke de morny, son of queen hortense of holland, bore proudly 'hortensias' in the panels of his carriage during the third empire in france. nevertheless, though queen caroline matilda had died, in her exile at celle, protesting her innocence, it was understood that struense was the father of the supposed daughter of christian vii., the daughter who married into the house of slesvig-holstein-sonderburg-augustenburg. her descendant, the princess augusta victoria frederika-louisa-feodora-jenny married the emperor william ii., on february th, , at berlin. it was a love match--at least on the side of the empress. one of the ladies in waiting at the german court once told my wife that the famous augusta victoria rose--the magnolia rose of our youth--was always cherished by her imperial majesty because of its association with her courtship--'the emperor knew how to make love!' the empress said. the appearance of struense among the ancestors of the empress, to which bismarck is said to have so brutally alluded, was not agreeable to the proudest monarch in europe. queen caroline matilda, sister of the second george of england, was only fifteen years of age when she came to denmark to become the wife of christian vii. in . and, if anything could have excused her later relations with struense (her son, frederick vii., was undoubtedly legitimate)--it was the attitude of her degenerate husband and her mother-in-law, julianna maria. having been dragged one bitter cold morning to the castle of elsinore, she confessed her guilt; but under such circumstances of cruel oppression that the confession goes for little; circumstances, however, were against her, and the courts of europe only remember that she was the daughter of a king, of blood sufficiently royal, to make up for her declension. in copenhagen, in , the echoes of public opinion in london, among the higher classes at least, showed that the momentary insecurity caused by the reverses in the boer war had passed. people had forgotten the emperor's telegram to oom paul. nobody wanted war; therefore, there would be no war. 'if we have no property,' st. francis of assisi, pleading for his order to the pope, said, 'we shall need no soldiers to protect it.' it was forgotten that, reversely, if we have property, we must always have armies and fleets to protect it. it was not war that anybody wanted; but there was property to be had, which could only be had by the use of armies and fleets. in paris (for reasons which secret history will one day disclose, and for other reasons only too plain), the german designs were apparently not understood by high officials who directed the course of france. france made the mistake, as we are always likely to do, of reading its own psychology into the minds of its opponents. paris believed, to use voltaire's opinion of the prophet habakkuk, that germany was capable of everything, except the very thing that germany was preparing without rest, without haste, and without shame to do--to bleed her white! from echoes in copenhagen, we learned, too, that in petrograd, germany was better understood because the russian spies were real spies; they knew what they were about, and, being half oriental, they understood how to use the scimitar of saladin. there were other spies who knew only the use of the battle-axe of coeur-de-lion; but they were often deceived though very well paid; in fact, the ordinary paid spy is a bad investment. in belgium the internationals talked universal peace; indeed, among others than the internationals, the army was disliked. as in holland, german commercial aggression was feared. the most amazing thing is that internationalism did not weaken the _morale_ of the heroic belgians when the test came. in copenhagen, the idea of a permanent peace seemed untenable, and war meant ruin to denmark. this was not a pleasant state of mind; but it did not induce subserviency. in the vaults of hamlet's castle of elsinore on the delectable sound, holger dansker sits, waiting to save denmark from the ruthless invader. there are brave danes to-day who would follow holger, the dane, to the death, who believe that their country never can be enslaved; but, though the conquering germans spared denmark, they did not need the knowledge of the fate of belgium to convince them of what they might expect as soon as it pleased the kaiser to act against them. the fate of belgium had confirmed the fears they had inherited. there is no doubt where their hearts were, but a movement--a slight movement--against germany would have meant for the king of denmark the fate of the king of belgium or the king of serbia. that he is married to a princess half german by blood would not shield him. belgium was not spared because its queen was of german birth. copenhagen, as i have said, was not only a city of rumours, but a city of news. the pulse of europe could be felt there because europeans of distinction were passing and repassing continually, and the danes, like the athenians of st. paul's time, love to hear new things. but there was and is one old query which all denmark never forgets to ask: will danish slesvig come back to its motherland? slesvig-holstein is the alsace-lorraine question in denmark. for slesvig denmark would dare much. she could not court certain destruction but, in her heart, 'slesvig' is written as indelibly as 'calais' was written in the heart of the dying queen, mary tudor. she had forgiven and forgotten the loss of her fleet and the bombardment of copenhagen by the english in and . she then stood for france and new ideas, and tory england made her suffer for it. she lost norway in ; she was reduced almost to bankruptcy; and, until , she could only devote her attention to the revival of her economic life. holstein was german; slesvig, danish. they could not be united unless the language of one was made dominant over the language of the other. the imperial law of germany governed holstein; all slesvig legislation had since been based upon the laws of the danish king valdemar. to force the german law and language on slesvig was to wipe out all danish ideas and ideals in the most danish of the provinces of denmark. the attempt to germanise slesvig took concrete form in . desiring to bring it under german domination, uve lornsen, a frisian lawyer, proposed to make the duchies of slesvig and holstein self-governing states, separated from denmark, and entirely under german influence. as, according to him, only royal persons of the male lineage could govern the united duchies, the king of denmark might have the title of duke until the male line should become extinct. uve lornsen met remonstrances based on the laws and traditions of the danes with the arrogant assertion, uttered in german: 'ancient history is not to be considered; we will have it our own way now.' kristian poulsen, a dane, who knew both the german and the danish views, opposed the beginning of a process which meant the imposition of autocratic methods on a people who were resolved to develop their own national spirit in freedom. in slesvig there are square miles. in the greater part of this territory, consisting of square miles, danish was the vernacular, while square miles were populated by speakers of german. german power had secured german teaching for , people in churches and schools. the injustice of this will be seen when it is understood that only , were given opportunities, religious and educational, of hearing danish. danish could not be used in the courts of law. it was required that the clergy should be educated at the university of kiel, and other officials of the state could have no chance of advancement unless they used german constantly and fluently. the teachers in the communal schools were all trained in germany. the danish speech was not used in a single college. in a word, the german influence, under the eyes of a danish king and government, was driving out all the safeguards of danish national life in slesvig. king christian viii., partly awakened to the wrongs of the slesvigers, issued in a rescript insisting on the introduction of danish into the law courts. the german partisans were outraged by this insult to german kultur; no tongue but the german should be used even in danish slesvig. the king, the danish court, for over two hundred years had been germanised; the king did not dare to announce himself as a nationalist; but, against the german partisans, he decided that the danish kings had always possessed the right of succession in denmark, that the succession was not confined to the male line in slesvig. in holstein the position was different. if the danish line should become extinct, the succession might fall to the russian emperor; but slesvig must be danish. on the death of king christian viii. in , feeling ran high in denmark and in slesvig-holstein. in truth, all europe was in a ferment. the results of the french revolt in were still leavening europe. the assembly of holstein and slesvig was divided in opinion. the desire of the germans in the provinces to control the majority became more and more apparent. danish interests must disappear, the beginning of the german 'kultur,' not yet developed by bismarck, must take its place. five deputies were sent to copenhagen, with, among other demands, a demand that the danish part of the country be incorporated into the german confederation. the citizens of copenhagen had reason to believe that the holstein counts, moltke and reventlow-criminel, potent ministers and men of strong wills, might influence king frederick vii. to give way to the germans. the king determined to dismiss these ministers; the demands of the town council of copenhagen and the people of denmark were answered before they were made. his majesty had 'neither the will nor the power to allow slesvig to be incorporated in the german confederation; holstein could pursue her own course.'[ ] [ ] h. rosendal, _the problem of danish slesvig_. but the german opposition in the provinces had not been idle. berlin had shown itself favourable to the duke of augustenburg, and the prince of noer had headed a band of rebels against denmark and instigated the garrison of rendsborg to mutiny on the plea that the danes had imprisoned their king. a contest of arms took place between the two parties. prussia interfered; but prussia was not then what it is now. at the conclusion of a three years' war, the rebels were defeated and the king of denmark decreed that slesvig should be a separate duchy, governed by its own assembly. the german party so juggled the election--'fatherland over all' governed their point of view, the end justified the means--that the assembly shamefully misrepresented the danes. it was prussianised. the danes did not lose heart--slesvig must be danish; but if they allowed their language to disappear, there could be no hope for their nationality. on the other hand, the germans held, as they hold to-day, that all languages must yield to theirs. the german press would have extirpated the danish language; it was seditious; the danes were rebels. from the danish side to tönder-flensborg, the official speech and that of the people was danish. between the two belts--the space can easily be traced on the map--danish was spoken in the churches every second sunday. in the schools both danish and german was permitted; in the courts of law both languages were used. you made your choice! the world was deceived by an unscrupulous assembly and the german press into the belief that slesvig was german, lovingly german, and that the danes were merely restless malcontents, hating the beneficent prussian rule simply from a perverted sense of their own importance. the crucial moment came in . denmark had no real friends in europe. the united states, if her people had understood the matter, would have been sympathetic; but, at the moment, she was fighting for her own existence as a nation. the european powers, in spite of all their statecraft, allowed themselves to be blinded. austria, apparently proud and noble, allowed herself, as usual, to be made the tool of prussia. the two powers, on the false pretence that the right of christian ix. to the succession to the duchies was involved, forced denmark, which stood alone, to surrender slesvig-holstein and lauenburg. this was the beginning of the mighty german empire; it made the kiel canal possible, and laid the foundation of the german navy. slesvig, too, supplied the best sailors in the world. bismarck, when he cynically treated slesvig as a pawn in his game, had his eye on a future navy--a navy which would one day force the british from the dominion of the sea. he had his way. he became master of the baltic and the north sea. prussia, in forcing the danish king to cede slesvig, admitted his right to the duchies; yet the pretext for war on denmark had been that no such right existed. prussia soon threw off her ally, austria. she did not want a half owner in the holstein canal or in the coming fleet at kiel. it must be remembered that, when christian ix. had ascended the throne of denmark, it had been with the consent of all the great european powers. they had practically guaranteed him the right to rule slesvig-holstein, and yet england and france and russia stood by and allowed the outrage to take place. france made an attempt to satisfy her conscience. in the treaty of peace france had this clause inserted: 'h.m. the emperor of austria hereby transfers to h.m. the king of prussia all the right which according to the treaty of peace of vienna of october , , he had acquired in respect to the duchies of slesvig and holstein, provided that the northern districts of slesvig shall be united to denmark, if the inhabitants by a free vote declare their desire to that effect.' this was a 'scrap of paper'--nothing more! nevertheless a scrap of paper may be inconvenient. austria, never scrupulous when the acquisition of new territory was expedient, was willing to help prussia to tear it up. bosnia and herzogovina raised their heads. austria wanted help from prussia. here was the prussian chance to induce her to abrogate her part in clause fifty of the peace treaty. what matter? denmark, in time, must be german, as slesvig was german, in spite of all right. austria would play the same game with the slavs as prussia had played with the danes. individuals might have consciences, but nations had no system of ethics, and therefore no canons (except those of expediency), to rule such consciences as they had. prussia treated the right of the danes in slesvig, guaranteed by a 'scrap of paper,' to a free vote as to their fate, with contempt. it had amused bismarck to deceive france, the exponent of the new democracy in europe, but that was all. slesvig was to be crushed until it became quiescently prussian. prussia needed it, therefore it must be prussian. fiat! this is a plain, unvarnished tale. few of my fellow-countrymen have known it. some who knew it hazily concluded that slesvig had become german of its own free will that it might belong to a prosperous and great empire. others, who remembered that, even in their struggle for freedom in , the danes paused for a moment to give us their aid at the request of president lincoln, had a vague idea that wrong had been done somehow; but how great the wrong, and how terrible the effect of the wrong was to be on the history of the world, none of them even dreamed; and yet it was plain enough to those who watched the policy of blood and iron of this, the new germany. people who believed that prussia had any respect for an engagement that might seem to work against her own designs ought to have been warned by the experience of denmark. but there were those who believed that the acquisition of heligoland from the british was a mere trifle, in which germany had the worse of the bargain, as there are people who held that the danish west indies were of no manner of importance to us. they classed these acquisitions with that of alaska--'seward's folly!' and, in , the old powers of europe were so satisfied with their own methods, or so engaged with internal questions, that they let the monstrous tyranny of the conquest of slesvig pass almost in silence. prussia alone kept her eyes on one thing--the increase of her military power. in she induced austria to abrogate her part in the treaty of vienna of october , . austria agreed to give up any rights acquired by her in slesvig-holstein under the fifth clause of that treaty. this withdrawal (not to be irreverent, it was like the washing of the hands of pontius pilate) left slesvig naked to her enemy. the prussian autocrats chuckled when they found themselves bound by a 'scrap of paper' to the restoration of the northern districts of slesvig to denmark, 'if the inhabitants by a free vote declare their desire to that effect.' the imperial german statesmen, astute and unscrupulous, have always taken religion into consideration in making their propaganda. the german crown prince's sympathy with the same methods as used by napoleon bonaparte was perhaps inherited from his ancestors, as napoleon, too, knew the political value of religion. the church, an enslaved church in a despotic state,--the reverse of cavour's famous maxim--has always been one of statesmen's tools. they have never hesitated to use religion as the means of accomplishing the ends of the state. in fact, the catholic church in germany was in great danger of being enslaved. the old wars of the popes and the emperors--so little understood in modern times--would be very possible, had the victory of germany been a probability. let us see what happened in slesvig. since ' , prussia has governed slesvig. this rule has been a prolonged and constant attempt to force the danes from their homes. a very distinguished and rather liberal german diplomatist, count brockdorff-rantzau, once asked me, 'as an american, tell me frankly what is wrong with our position in slesvig?' 'everything,' i said. 'you seem even to assume that the religion of the people should be the religion of the state.' 'the state religion in slesvig is as the state religion in denmark, lutheranism.' 'but not germanised lutheranism. i have the testimony of a lutheran pastor himself, the reverend d. troensegaard-hansen, to the effect that the authorities in slesvig prefer german materialistic teaching to danish christianity, and that all kinds of influence is brought to bear on the clergy to make them german in their point of view. if, in the philippines, we attempted to do the things you do in slesvig, there would be no end of trouble.' he laughed. 'but democrats as you are, you will never keep your promise to grant those people self-government.' 'we will.' 'your democracy is not statesmanlike. it would be fatal for us to let the slesvigers defy our power. they must be part of germany; there is no way out.' 'either you want difficulties with them or you are worrying them just as a great mastiff worries a small dog.' 'but suddenly a gymnast raises the danish flag, or somebody utters a seditious speech in danish, or school books are circulated in which ultra-danish views of history are given. if a country is to be ruled by us, it must be a german country. we can tolerate no difference that tends to denationalise our population. it is a dream--the danish idea that we shall give up what we have taken or, rather, what has been ceded to us.' 'without the consent of the people?' 'who are the people? when you answer that i will tell what is truth. come, you are a democrat; by and by, when you americans are older, you will see democracy from a more practical point of view.' * * * * * the practical point of view in slesvig was squeezing out gradually the independence of the slesvigers. the dane loves passionately his home, his language, his literature. he may be sceptical about many things, but it would be difficult to persuade him to deny that the red and white flag, the danish flag, did not come down from heaven borne by angels! his culture is danish, and part of his life. he keeps it up wistfully even when he swears allegiance to another nation. the danes in denmark will never cease to regard slesvig as their own. it is one flesh with them; but prussia has torn this one body asunder. fancy a 'free election' being permitted in a country ruled by prussian autocrats or a 'free election' in alsace-lorraine under german rule! the geographical position of denmark is unfortunate. there are imperialists of all countries who hold that the little countries have no right to live; junkerism is not confined to germany. the geographical position of most of the little countries is unfortunate, but none is so unfortunate as that of denmark. when the war broke out, it seemed to her people that the road to german conquest lay through her borders. the powers that were in germany decided to attack belgium, and for the moment denmark escaped. do you think that it was an easy thing for a proud people to be in the position of old king canute before the advancing ocean? the waves came on, but nobody in his wildest imaginings ever dreamed that the modern danish canute could stem the tide. the danes have their army and their navy; officers and men expected to die defending denmark. what else could they do? death would be preferable to slavery. the dane does his best to forget; but always the echo of the words of the sentinel in _hamlet_ recurs: ''tis bitter cold, and i am sick at heart.' no number of royal alliances counts as against a bad geographical place in the world and the evil disposition of a strong neighbour. a change of heart has come over the world since germany induced austria to be her catspaw in . the example of a country which deliberately asserted that might makes right, and followed this assertion with deeds that make the angels weep, has shocked the world, and forced other nations to examine their consciences. after all, we are a long time after machiavelli. after the great breakdown in russia there was a feeling among some of the conservatives in denmark that the cousin of the tsar of russia, king george of england, might have laid a restraining hand on the russian parties that forced the tsar to abdicate. but the very mention of this seemed utterly futile. the king of spain, though married to an english princess, could expect little help in any difficulty, were the interests of the english ministry not entirely his. the contemplation of these alliances offers much material for the man who thinks in the terms of history. when president fallières visited copenhagen in , there was a gala concert given at the palace of amalieborg in his honour. the president was accompanied by a 'bloc' of black-coated gentlemen, some of them journalists of distinction. there was no display of gold lace, and the representatives of the french republic were really republican in their simplicity. the danish court and the diplomatic corps were splendid, decorations glittered, and the white and gold rococo setting of the concert room was worthy of it all. the queen of denmark--now the dowager queen--was magnificent, as she always is at gala entertainments, possessing, as she does in her own right, some of the finest jewels in europe. fallières represented the new order. his hostess, the queen, is the daughter of charles xv., a descendant of bernadotte. representing the lines of both st. louis and louis philippe was the princess valdemar, now dead, who, as marie of orleans, came of the royal blood of the families of bourbon and orleans. it was interesting to watch this gracious princess, whose father, the duc de chartres, had been with general mclellan during our civil war. she adapted herself to the circumstances, as she always did, and seemed very proud of the honours shown to france. the countess moltke-huitfeldt, louise bonaparte, was not in denmark at the time. it would have added interest to the occasion, had this descendant of the youngest brother of the emperor napoleon bonaparte been there. count moltke-huitfeldt, married to louise eugénie bonaparte, is almost as french in his sentiments as his wife, and, for her, when the united states joined hands with france, it was a very happy day. one of the events that made the fine castle of glorup, the seat of the moltke-huitfeldts, interesting was the visit of the ex-empress eugénie. the empress eugénie, like all the bonapartes, acknowledged the validity of the patterson-bonaparte marriage. she has always shown a special affection and esteem for the countess moltke-huitfeldt. the estate of glorup, with its artificial lake and garden, in which hans christian andersen often walked, was copied by an ancestor of the present count's from a part of versailles. it was at its best during the visit of the empress, who was the most considerate of guests. the american bonapartes were not ranked as royal highnesses for fear, on the part of napoleon iii. and prince napoleon, 'plon-plon,' of raising unpleasant questions as to the succession. jerome himself, for a short time king of westphalia, never pretended that his american marriage was not valid. meeting madame patterson-bonaparte by accident in the pitti palace, he whispered to the princess of würtemburg--she had then ceased to be queen of westphalia--'there is my american wife.' mr. jerome bonaparte was offered the title of 'duke of sartine' by napoleon iii. if he would give up the name of his family, which, of course, he declined to do. under the french laws, as well as the american, he was the legitimate son of jerome bonaparte. the presence of the countess moltke-huitfeldt would have added another interesting touch to the assemblage in amalieborg palace, a touch which would have served for a footnote to history. in spite of the name 'moltke,' count adam and his wife are as french as the french themselves. names in denmark are very deceptive. the question of war was even then, in , in the air. the german diplomatists were polite to fallières, but they considered him heavy and _bourgeois_, and believed that he represented the undying dislike for germany which the french system of education was inculcating. 'if the french schools teach the rising generation to hate germany, what is the attitude of the german educators?' i asked. 'we know that we are hated, and we teach our young to be ready for an attack from wherever it comes; but we love peace, of course.' in , it was generally thought that the kaiser himself was inclined to keep the peace. now and then an isolated englishman would declare that he had his doubts, when a german traveller seemed to know _too_ much about his country, or when amiable german guests asked too many intimate questions. it was the custom for the older colleagues to offer the newer ones a history of the slesvig-holstein dispute, which dated from the fifteenth century. on my arrival, sir alan johnston had presented me with a volume on the subject by herr neergaard, considered the 'last word' on the subject. the pages, i noticed, were uncut, so i felt justified in passing it on to the newest colleagues, taking care, in order to give him perfect freedom, not to autograph it! it was, as a french secretary often said, 'a complication most complicated'; but one fact was clear--the deplorable position of a liberty-loving people, deprived of the essentials that make life worth living! the great barrier to the entire domination of prussian ideals in this area between the baltic and the north sea is the existence of the danish national spirit in slesvig. 'if the other nations of europe had looked ahead, the power of prussia might have been held within reasonable bounds; the war in would have been impossible; this last awful world-conflict would not have occurred. germany would have been taught her place long ago.' how often was this repeated! the relations between the emperor william and the emperor of russia were supposed to be unusually friendly then, after the practical defeat of russia by japan. in older days, queen louise of denmark thought she had laid the foundation for a certain friendliness; but, nevertheless, the tsar, though closely related to the kaiser and dominated largely by his very beautiful german wife, was never free to ignore the slavic genius of his people. kings and emperors--all royal folk--made up a family society of their own until this war. we have changed all that, as the man in molière's comedy said; and yet, as a rule, german royal princesses remained prussian in spite of all temptation, while other women seemed naturally to adopt the nationalities of their husbands. the princesses connected with the prussian royal house seem immutably prussian. the tsar, then, like the kaiser, cousin of the king of england, the son of a mother who remembered slesvig-holstein and never liked the prussians, had second thoughts. (they were nearly always wrong when his wife influenced them.) it was one thing to call the mighty prussian 'willie'--all royalties have little domestic names--another to break with france and to bow the slavic head to german benevolent assimilation. the tsar might call the emperor by any endearing epithet, but that did not imply political friendship; king george of greece and queen alexandra were very fond of each other, but the queen would never have attempted to give her brotherly majesty the island of crete which he badly wanted. with the death of the queen of christian ix., assemblies of royalties ceased in denmark; the old order had changed. there was no neutral ground where the royalties and their scions could meet and soften asperities by the simplicity of family contact. the point of view in europe had become more democratic and more keen. even if there had been a queen louise to try to make her family, even to the remotest grandchild, a unit, it could not have been done. reverence for royalty had passed out with queen victoria; the idols were dissolving, and restless ideals became visible in their places. prussia had drawn her states into a united empire; tributary kings were at the chariot wheel of the prussian emperor, not because the kings so willed, but because the subjects of the kings--the commercial people, the landowners, the military caste, the capitalists, the increasingly prosperous farmers--discovered it to be to their advantage. bismarck's policy of blood and iron meant more money and more worldly success for the germans. although the smaller teutonic states had lost their freedom, bismarck began to pay each of them its price in good gold with the stamp of the empire upon it. to take and to hold was the motto of the empire:--'we take our own wherever we find it!' the old germans disappeared; the germans who were frugal and philosophical, poor and poetical, were emerging from the simplicity of the past to the luxury of the present. as a rule, i found the russian diplomatists very well informed and clever. their foreign office seemed to have no confidants outside the bureaucratic circle. the russian journalist, like most other journalists, was not better or earlier informed of events than the diplomatists. as copenhagen was the place where every diplomat in the world went at some time or other, one was sure to discover interesting rumours or real news without much trouble. while the newspapers or magazines of nearly every other nation gave indications in advance of the public opinion that might govern the cabinets or the foreign offices, the russian periodicals gave no such clues. there was no use in keeping a russian translator; real russian opinion was seldom evident, except when a royalty or a diplomatist might, being bored by his silence, or with a patriotic object, tell the truth. 'what prevents war?' i asked in of one of my colleagues. 'lack of money,' he answered promptly, repeating the words of prince koudacheff. 'germany and russia will fly at each other's throats as soon as the financiers approve of it. you will not report this to your foreign office,' he said, laughing, 'because america looks on war, a general european war, as unthinkable. it would seem absurd! nobody in america and only ten per cent. of the thinking people in england will believe it! as for france, she is wise to make friends with my country, but she would be wiser if she did not believe that germany will wait until she is ready to make her _revanche_. there are those in her government who hold that the _revanche_ is a dream--that france would do well to accept solid gains for the national dream. they are fools!' 'iswolsky is of the same opinion, i hear,' i said, for we had all a great respect for iswolsky. but when the london _national review_ repeated the same sentiments over and over again, it seemed unbelievable that the kaiser's professions of peace were not honest. yet individual pan-germans were extremely frank. 'we must have our place in the east,' they said; 'we must cut the heart out of slavic ambitions, and deal with english arrogance.' in a general way, we were always waiting for war. in , count aehrenthal, then a very great austrian, told a celebrated financial promoter who visited our legation, that war was inevitable. the austrians and the russians feared it and believed it--feared it so much that when i was enabled to contradict the rumour, there was a happy sigh as the news was well documented. austria did not want war; russia did not want war. 'but the emperor of germany?' i asked of one of the most honourable and keenest diplomatists in berlin. 'he is surrounded by a military clique; he desires to preserve the rights and prerogatives of the german empire, above all, the hereditary and absolute principle without a long war. a war will do it for him--if it is short. he himself would prefer to avoid it. yet he must justify the army and the navy; but the war must be short.' 'but does he _want_ war?' 'he is not bloodthirsty; he knows what war means, but he will want what his _clique_ wants.' these two diplomatists are both alive--one in exile--but i shall not mention their names. my colleagues were sometimes very frank. it would not be fair to tell secrets which would embarrass them--for a harmless phrase over a glass of tokai is a different thing read over a glass of cold water! and, in the old days, before , good dinners and good wines were very useful in diplomatic 'conversations.' things began to change somewhat when after-dinner bridge came in. but, dinner or no dinner, bridge or no bridge, the diplomatic view was always serious. in denmark the thoughtful citizen often said, 'we are doomed; germany can absorb us.' count holstein-ledreborg once said, 'but providence may save us yet.' 'by a miracle.' it seemed absurd in that any great power should be allowed to think of conquering a smaller nation, simply because it was small. 'you don't reckon with public opinion--in the united states, for instance,--or the view of the hague conference,' i said. 'public opinion in your country or anywhere else will count little against krupp and his cannon. public opinion will not save denmark, for even russia might have reason to look the other way. that would depend on england.' it seemed impossible, for, like most americans, i was almost an idealist. the world was being made a vestibule of heaven, and the pessimist was anathema! was not science doing wonderful things? it had made life longer; it had put luxuries in the hands of the poor. the bad old days, when madame du barry could blind the eyes of louis xv. to the horrors of the partition of poland, and when the proud maria theresa could, in the same cause, subordinate her private conscience to the temptations of national expediency, were over. no man could be enslaved since lincoln had lived! the hague conference would save poland in due time, the democratic majority in great britain and ireland was undoing the wrongs of centuries by granting home rule for ireland, and, as for the little nations, public opinion would take care of them! 'what beautiful language you use, mr. minister,' said count holstein-ledreborg; 'but you americans live in a world of your own. nobody knows what the military party in germany will do. go to germany yourself. it is no longer the germany of canon schmid, of auerbach, of heyse, of the lorelei and the simple musical concert and the happy family life. why, as many cannons as candles are hung on the christmas trees!' i repeated this speech to one of the most kindly of my colleagues, count henckel-donnersmarck, who was really a sane human creature, too bored with artificiality to wear his honours with comfort. 'oh, for your dress coat,' he would say. 'look at my gold lace; i am loaded down like a camel. the old germany, _cher collègue_, it is gone. i long for it; i am not of blood and iron; the old germany, you will not find it, though you search even bavaria and silesia. and i believe, with the great frederick, that your great country and mine may possess the future, if we are friends; therefore,' he smiled, 'i will not deceive you. the germany of the american imagination, our old germany, is gone.' he hated court ceremonies, whereas i rather like them; they were beautiful and stately symbols, sanctified by tradition. he ought to have danced at the court balls, but he never would. he was lazy. he was grateful to my wife, because she ordered me to dance the cotillions with countess henckel, who must dance with somebody who 'ranked,' or sit for five or six hours on a crimson bench. the danes had no belief that we could or would help them in a conflict for salvation, but they liked us. in , when dr. cook suddenly came, they declared that they would take 'the word of an american gentleman' for his story of the north pole. sweden accepted him at once, england was divided--king edward against cook; queen alexandra for him! when admiral peary made his claim, the queen of england said,--'thank heaven! it is american against american, and not englishman against american.' we were all glad of that; and i was very grateful to the danes for showing respect for the honour of an american, in whom none of us had any reason to disbelieve. there was no warning from the scientists in the united states. the german savants accepted dr. cook at once. in fact, until admiral peary sent his message, there seemed to be no doubt as to cook's claims, except on the part of the royal british geographical society. i joined the danish royal geographical society at his reception; it was not my duty to cast aspersions on the honour of an american, of whom i only knew that he had written _the voyage of the belgic_, had been the associate of admiral peary, and was a member of very good clubs. even if i had been scientific enough to have doubts, i should have been polite to him all the same. as it was, denmark was delighted to welcome cook because he was an american; he had apparently accomplished a great thing, and besides, he directed attention from politics at a tremendous public crisis. the great question for the danish government was as usual: shall we defend ourselves? shall we build ships and keep a large army and erect fortresses, or simply say 'kismet' when germany comes? the conservatives were for defence; the radicals and socialists against it. mr. j. c. christensen, one of the most powerful of danish politicians, of the moderate school, holding the balance of power, was in a tight place. alberti, the clever radical, had been supported by christensen, who had been innocently involved in his fall. alberti languished in jail, and christensen was being horribly assailed when dr. cook came and denmark forgot christensen and went wild with delight! in - , denmark trembled for fear that she would lose her freedom. when would the germans attack? the disorder in slesvig was perennial. a bill for a reasonable defence had been proposed to the danish parliament. king frederick had had great difficulty in forming a ministry. count morgen friis, capable, distinguished, experienced, but with some of the indolence of the old grand seigneur, had refused. richelieu could not see his way clear; nobody wanted the responsibility. the socialists and the radicals, practical, if you like, did not believe in building forts in the hope of saving the national honour. king frederick viii. was at his wit's end for a premier, for, as i have said, even count morgen friis, a man of undoubted ability and great influence, failed him. king frederick, because of his desire to stand well with his people, was never popular. his glove was too velvety, and he treated his political enemies as well as he did his friends. count friis was known to lean towards england, and he was very popular; he would have stood for a strong defence. admiral de richelieu was a man of great influence, a devoted slesviger, and the greatest 'industrial,' with the exception of state-councillor andersen, in denmark; he was not keen for the premiership, and his friends did not care that he should compromise their business interests; for, in denmark, business and politics do not mix well. finally, king frederick called on count holstein-ledreborg, without doubt, with perhaps the exception of--but i must not mention living men--the cleverest man in denmark. count holstein-ledreborg was a recluse; he had been practically exiled by the scornful attitude taken by the aristocracy on account of his radicalism, but had returned to his renascence castle near the old dwelling-place of beowulf. count holstein-ledreborg was the last resource, he had been out of politics for many years. although he was a pessimist, he was a furious patriot. he had a great respect for the abilities of the radicals, like edward brandès, but very little for those--'if they existed,' he said--of his own class in the aristocracy. he was one of the few catholics among the aristocracy, and he had a burning grievance against the existing order of churchly things. the state church in denmark is, like that of sweden and norway, lutheran. until , except in one or two commercial towns where there was a constant influx of merchants, no catholic church was permitted. the chapel of count holstein in his castle of ledreborg, was still lutheran. he was not permitted to have mass said in it, as it was a church of the commune. this made the lord of ledreborg furious. there must be lutheran worship in his own chapel, or no worship; this was the law! there was something else that added to his indignation. one day, very silently, he opened the doors that concealed a panel in the wall. there was a very lutheran picture indeed! it was done in glaring colours, even realistic colours. it represented various devils, horned and tailed and pitch-forked, poking into the fire in the lower regions a pope and several cardinals, who were turning to crimson like lobsters, while some pious lutheran prelates gave great thanks for this agreeable proceeding. 'in my own chapel,' said count holstein, 'almost facing the altar; and the law will not permit me to remove it!' being an american, i smiled; thereby, i almost lost a really valued friendship. 'i shall arrange with the king to give a substitute for the chapel to the commune--a school-house or a library--and have the chapel consecrated,' he said. 'i think i see my way.' '"all things come to him who knows how to wait,"' i quoted. in , at the time of the crisis, he accepted the task of forming a cabinet to get the defence bill through parliament, but he made one condition with the king--that he should have his own chapel to do as he liked with. he carried the defence bill through triumphantly and then, having made his point, and finding parliament unreasonable, from his point of view, on some question or other, he told its members to go where orpheus sought eurydice, and retired! he died too soon; he would have been a great help to us in the troubled days when we were trying to buy the virgin islands. he was my mentor in european politics, and a most distinguished man; and what is better, a good friend. at times he was sardonic. 'i would make,' he said, 'if i had the power, edward brandès (brandès is of the famous brandès family) minister of public worship!' (as brandès is a jew and a greek pagan both at once, it would have been one of those ironies of statecraft like that which made the duke of norfolk patron of some anglican livings.) count holstein disliked state churches. he was a strange mixture of the wit of voltaire with the faith of pascal, and one of the most inflexible of radicals. the party for the defence and for the integrity of the army and navy had its way; but, owing to the attitude of the socialists, a very moderate way. 'if germany comes, she will take us,' the radicals said with the socialists; 'why waste public money on soldiers and military bands and submarines?' but there are enough stalwarts, including the king, christian, to believe that a country worth living in is worth fighting for! chapter ii the menace of 'our neighbour to the south' in , russia seemed to me to be, for americans, the most important country in europe. our department of state was no doubt informed as to what the other countries would do in certain contingencies, for none of our diplomatic representatives, although always working under disadvantages not experienced by their european colleagues, had been idle persons. but all of us who had even cursorily studied european conditions knew that the actions of germany would depend largely on the attitude of russia. it was to the interest of emperor william to keep nicholas ii. and the romanoffs on the throne. he saw no other way of dividing and conquering a country which he at once hated and longed to control. the balkan situation was always burning; it was the etna and vesuvius of the diplomatic world; wise men might predict eruptions, but they were always unexpected. to most people in the united states the balkans seemed very far off; bulgaria with her eyes on macedonia, the tsar ferdinand and his attempt to put his son, boris, under the greater tsar, him of russia; rumania and her ambitions for more freedom and more territory; serbia, with her fears and aspirations, appeared to be of no importance--of less interest, perhaps, than other petty kingdoms. but at one fatal moment austria refused to allow serbia to export her pigs, and we came to pay about two million dollars an hour and to sacrifice most precious lives, much greater things, because of the ferocious growth of this little germ of tyranny and avarice. most of us have fixed ideas; if they are the result of prejudice, they are generally bad; if they are the result of principle, that is another question. when i went to denmark at the request of president roosevelt, i had several fixed ideas, whether of prejudice or principle i could not always distinguish. i had been brought up in a sentiment of gratitude to russia--she had behaved well to us in the civil war--and in a firm belief that her people only needed a fair chance to become our firm friends. we must seek european markets for our capital and our investments, and russia offered us a free way. towards the end of the year , the signs in russia were more ominous than usual. it had always seemed to me--and the impression had come probably from long and intimate association with some very clever diplomatists--that russian problems, industrially and economically, were very similar to our own, and that, in the future, her interests would be our interests. she was in evil hands--that was evident; nicholas ii., after the peace of portsmouth, was not so pleased with the action of president roosevelt as he ought to have been, and the arrogant clique, the bureaucrats who controlled the tsar, regarded us with suspicion and dislike. at the same time, it was plain that a great part of the landed nobility looked with hope to the united states as a nation which ought to understand their problems and assist, with technical advice and capital, in the solving of them. the baltic barons, many with german names and not of the orthodox faith, preferred that the united states, by the investments of her citizens in russia, should hold a balance between the french and the german financial influences, for germany was slowly beginning to control russia financially, and french capital meant a competition with the german interests which might eventually mean a conflict and war. the well instructed among the russian people, including the estate owners whose interests were not bureaucratic, feared war above all things. the japanese war had given them reason for their fears. to my mind there were three questions of great importance for us: how could we, with self-respect, keep on good terms with russia? how could we discover what germany's intentions were? and how could we strengthen the force of the monroe doctrine by acquiring, through legitimate means, certain islands on our coasts, especially the gallapagos, the danish west indies and others which, perhaps, it might not be discreet to mention. while the united states seemed fixed in her policy of keeping out of foreign entanglements, it seemed to me that the rule of conduct of a nation, like that of an individual, cannot always be consistent with its theories, since all intentions put into action by the party of the first part must depend on the action and point of view of the party of the second part. i had been largely influenced in my views of the value of the monroe doctrine by the speeches and writings of ex-president roosevelt and senator lodge. it was a self-evident truth, too, that, for the sake of democracy, for the sake of the future of our country, the autonomy of the small nations must be preserved. this attitude i made plain during my ten years in denmark; perhaps i over-accentuated it, but to this attitude i owe the regard of the majority of the danish people and of some of the folk of the other scandinavian nations. the position taken by germany, under prussian influence, in brazil and argentine, certain indications in our own country, which i shall emphasise later, the intrigues as to the bagdad railway, and the threats as to what germany might do in scandinavia in case russia attempted to interfere with german plans in the east, were alarming. then again was the hint that denmark might be seized if germany found russia in an alliance against england. from my earliest youth, i knew many germans whom i esteemed and admired; but they were generally descendants of the men of , that year which saw the hungarians defeated and the german lovers of liberty exiled. there were others of a later time who believed, with the kaiser, that a german emigrant was simply a german colonist--waiting! these people were so naïve in their prussianism, in their disdain for everything american, that they scarcely seemed real! when a german waiter looked out of the hotel window in trafalgar square and said, waving his napkin at the spectacle of the congested traffic, 'when the day comes, we shall change all this,' we americans laughed. this was in the eighties. yet he meant it; and 'we' have not changed all this even for the day! the alarm was sounded in south america, but few north americans took it seriously, and we knew how the english accepted the german invasions to the very doors of their homes. however, when i went to denmark in august , deeply honoured by president roosevelt's outspoken confidence in me, i became aware that prussianised germany might at any moment seize that little country, and that, in that case, the danish west indies would be german. a pleasant prospect when we knew that germany regarded the monroe doctrine as the silly figment of a democratic brain unversed in the real meaning of world politics. again, i saw exemplified the fact that _in the eyes of the kaiser, a german emigrant was a german colonist_. once a german always a german; the ideas of the fatherland must follow the blood, and these ideas are one and indivisible. consequently, no place could have been more interesting than the capital of denmark. here diplomatists were taught, made, or unmade. until we were forced to join in the european concert by the acquirement of the philippines, the post did not seem to be important. 'you always send your diplomatists here to learn their art,' the clever queen of christian ix. had said to an american. it may not have been intended as a compliment! in the second place, copenhagen was the centre of those new social and political movements that are affecting the world; denmark was rapidly becoming socialistic. she, one of the oldest kingdoms in the world, presented the paradox of being the spot in which all tendencies supposed to be anti-monarchical were working out. she had already solved problems incidental to the evolution of democratic ideals, which in our own country we have only begun timidly to consider. in the third place, copenhagen was near the most potent country in the world--germany under prussian domination. i make the distinction between 'potency' and 'greatness.' and, in the fourth place, it gave anybody who wanted to be 'on his job' a good opportunity of studying the effect of german propinquity on a small nation. unfortunately, in - - - - , no experience in watching german methods seemed of much value to our own people or to the english. the english who watched them critically, like maxse, the editor of the _national review_ of london, were not listened to. perhaps these persons were too radical and intemperate. the english foreign office had, after the vatican, the reputation of having the best system for obtaining information in europe, but both the english foreign office and the vatican secretariat seemed to have suddenly become deaf. we americans were too much taken up with the german _gemütlichkeit_, or scientific efficiency, to treat the prussian movements with anything but tolerance. the germans had won the hearts of some of our best men of science, who believed in them until belief was impossible; and, with most of my countrymen, i held that a breach of the peace in europe seemed improbable. there was always the hague! the only thing left for me was to let the germans be as _gemütlich_ as they liked, and to watch their attitude in denmark, for on this depended the ownership of the west indies. my german colleagues, henckel-donnersmarck, von waldhausen, and brockdorff-rantzau, were able men; and, i think, they looked on me as a madman with a fixed idea. count rantzau, if he lives, will be heard of later; he is one of the well-balanced among diplomatists. i realised early in the game that my work must be limited to watching germany in her relations with denmark. i knew what was expected of me. i had no doubt that the united states was the greatest country in the world in its potentialities, but i had no belief, then, in its power to enforce its high ideals on the politics of the european world. in fact, it never occurred to me that our country would be called upon to enforce them, for, unless the imperial german government should take it into its head to lay hands on a country or two in south america, it seemed to me that we might keep entirely out of such foreign entanglements as concerned western europe and constantinople and the balkans. if, however, there should be such interference by france and england with the interests of germany as would warrant her and her active ally in attacking these countries, denmark and, automatically, her islands would be german. then, we, in self-defence, must have something to say. secret diplomacy was flourishing in europe, and nothing was really clear. after the event it is very easy to take up the rôle of the prophet, but that is not in my line. if a man is not a genius, he cannot have the intuition of a genius, and, while i accepted the opinions of my more experienced colleagues, i imagined that their fears of a probable war were exaggerated. besides, i had been impressed by the constantly emphasised opinion--part of the german propaganda, i now believe--that our great enemy was japan. since the year , when i had been well introduced into diplomatic circles in washington, i had known many representatives of foreign powers. since those days, so well described in madame de hegermann-lindencrone's _sunny side of diplomatic life_, the german point of view had greatly changed. it was a far cry from the days of the easy-going herr von schlözer to speck von sternberg and efficient count bernstorff, a far cry from the amicable point of view of mr. poultney bigelow taken of the young kaiser in the eighties, and his revised point of view in . mr. poultney bigelow's change from a certain attitude of admiration, in his case with no taint of snobbishness, was typical of that of many of my own people. i must confess that no instructions from the state department had prepared me for the german echoes i heard in denmark; but even if treitschke had come to the united states to air his views at the university of chicago, i should probably have considered them merely academic, and have treated them as cavalierly as i had treated the speech of the waiter in the trafalgar square hotel about 'changing all that.' nietzsche's philosophy seemed so atrocious as to be ineffective. but we americans, as a rule, take no system of philosophy as having any real connection with the conduct of life, and, except in very learned circles, his was looked on as no more part of the national life of germany than william james is of ours. in a little while, i discovered that the kaiser had imposed on the prussians, at least, a most practical system of philosophy, which our universities had come to admire. i had not been long in denmark when i realised that germany, in the three scandinavian countries, was looked on either as a powerful enemy or as a potential friend, and that she tried, above all, to control the learned classes. the united states hardly counted; she was too far off and seemed to be hopelessly ignorant of the essential conditions of foreign affairs. her diplomacy, if it existed at all, was determined by existing political conditions at home. i visited holland and belgium; germany loomed larger. she was bent on commercial supremacy everywhere. one could not avoid admitting that fact. as to denmark, it was piteous to see how the danes feared the power that never ceased to threaten them. prussia has made her empire possible by establishing the beginnings, in , of her naval power at the expense of denmark. the longer i lived in denmark the more strongly i felt that germany was getting ready for a short, sharp war in which the united states of america, it seemed to me (as i was no prophet), was not to be a factor, but russia was. the members of the german legation were very sympathetic, especially the minister, count henckel-donnersmarck. he loved weimar; he loved the old germany. it was a delight to hear him talk of the real glories of his country. his family, in the opinion of the germans, was so great that he could afford to do as he pleased; i rather think he looked on the hohenzollerns as rather _parvenus_. he was of the school of frederick the noble rather than of william the conqueror. 'do you mind talking politics?' i asked him one day. 'it bores me,' he said, 'because there is nothing stable. my country feels that it is being isolated. since algeria, in , she stands against europe, with austria.' 'stands against the united states?' 'no, no; we shall always be at peace,' he said. 'our interests are not dissimilar; our military organisation is almost perfect. yes, we learned some lessons even from your civil war, though you are not a military people. your country is full of our citizens.' '_your_ citizens, count!' 'ah, yes,--in brazil and argentine, everywhere, a german citizen is like a roman citizen, proud and unchanging, that is the german citizen who understands the aims of modern germany. _civis romanus sum!_ the older ones are different; it is a question of sentiment and memories with them. your great german population will always keep you out of conflict with us, though even you, who know our literature, are at heart english--i mean politically. you cannot help it. your irish blood may count, but the point of view is made by literature. it gets into the blood. see what homer has done for those old savages of his. our bankers can always manage the finances of new york, as they manage those of london. it would be a sad day for germany if we should break with you; some of us know that frederick the great saw your future, and believed that we always ought to be friends. but do not imagine that your nation, great as it is, can do anything your people wills to do. great power, i understand, is hidden in your country; but, as the actors say, you cannot get it across the footlights. it is not, as gambetta spoke of the catholic religion in france, a matter for export.' 'our education,' count henckel-donnersmarck resumed, 'is practical; goethe and schiller mean little now to us. bismarck has made new men of us. i shall not live long, and i cannot say i regret it,' he said; 'and, as the lust of power becomes the rule of the world, my son must be a new german or suffer.' 'count henckel,' as he preferred to be called, did not remain long in copenhagen; he was recalled because, it was reported, he did not provide the kaiser, who carefully read his ministers' reports, with a sufficient number of details of life in denmark. when i took his hint and went to germany, at christmas--christmas was a divine time in the old germany!--i found that count henckel was right. berlin was hygienic, ugly, and more offensively immoral than paris was once said to be. there was an artificial rule of life. even the lives of the boys and girls seemed to be ordered by some unseen law. you could breathe, but it was necessary not to consume too much oxygen at a time. that was _verboten_; and there were cannons on the christmas trees! chapter iii the kaiser and the king of england it was pleasant to renew old memories among diplomatists and ex-diplomatists in copenhagen. i remembered the old days in washington, when sir edward thornton's house was far up-town, when the rows between the chileans and peruvians--i forget to which party the amiable ibañez belonged--convulsed the coteries that gathered at mrs. dahlgren's, when bodisco and aristarchi bey and baron de santa ana were more than names, and the hegermann-lindencrones[ ] were the handsomest couple in washington. so it was agreeable to find some colleagues with whom one had reminiscences in common. then there were the americans married to members of the corps. lady johnston, wife of sir alan; madame de riaño, married to one of the most well-balanced and efficient diplomatists in europe. these ladies made the way of my wife and my daughters very easy. [ ] madame hegermann-lindencrone is the author of _in the court of memory_ and _the sunny side of diplomacy_. an envoy arriving at a new post has one consolation, not an unmitigatedly agreeable one. he is sure of knowing what his colleagues think of him. and for a while they weigh him very carefully. the american can seldom shirk the direct question: 'is this your first post?' it required great strength of mind not to say: 'i had a special mission to the indian reservations, and i have always been, more or less, you know----' 'ah, i see! calcutta, bombay----!' 'not exactly--red lake, you know--the reservations, wards of our government.' 'oh, red indians! i was not aware that you had diplomatic relations with the old red indian princes. but this is your first post in europe?' you cannot avoid that. however, the longer one is at a post, the more he enjoys it. in the course of nearly eleven years, i never knew one of my colleagues who did not show _esprit de corps_. they become more and more kindly. you know that they know your faults and your virtues. in the diplomatic service you are like wolsey, naked, not to your enemies, but to your colleagues. they can help you greatly if they will. after the peace of portsmouth, which in the opinion of certain russians gave all the advantages to japan, the emperor of germany spoke of president roosevelt with added respect, we were told. the attitude toward americans on the part of germans seemed always the reflection of the point of view of the kaiser. from their point of view, it was only the president who counted; our nation, from the pan-german point of view seemed not to be of importance. it was rather hard to find out exactly what the kaiser's attitude towards us was. some of the court circle--there were always visitors from berlin--announced that the kaiser was greatly pleased by the result of the portsmouth conference. he knew the weakness of russia, and though he believed that german interests required that she should not be strong, he feared, above all things, the preponderance of the yellow races. i discovered one thing early, that the pan-german party propagated the idea that the japanese alliance with england could be used against the united states. it was vain to argue about this. 'japan is your enemy; the philippines will be japanese, unless you strengthen yourselves by a quasi-alliance with us; then england, tied to japan, can not oppose you.' one could discover very little from the kaiser's public utterances; but he indemnified himself for his conventionality in public by his frankness in private. he described the danish as the most 'indiscreet of courts.' he forgot that his own indiscretions had become proverbial in copenhagen. whether this 'indiscretion' was first submitted to the foreign office is a question. his diplomatists were usually miracles of discretion; but the city was full of 'echoes' from berlin which did not come from the diplomatists or the court. the truth was, the kaiser looked on the courts of denmark and stockholm as dependencies, and he was 'hurt' when any of the court circle seemed to forget this. in his eyes, a german princess, no matter whom she married, was to remain a german. the present queen of denmark, the most discreet of princesses, never forgot that she was a danish princess and would be in time a danish queen. every german princess was looked upon as a propagator of the views of the kaiser;--the queen of the belgians was a sore disappointment to him; but, then, she was not a prussian princess. when one of the princesses joined the catholic church, there was an explosion of rage on his part. as far as i could gather, in - - , he was _chambré_, as liberal germany said, surrounded by people who echoed his opinions, or who, while pretending to accept them, coloured them with their own. it was surmised that he despised his uncle, king edward. evidences of this would leak out. he admired our material progress, and he was determined to imitate our methods. the loquacity of some of our compatriots amused him. he understood president roosevelt so little as to imagine that he could influence him. there was one american he especially disliked, and that was archbishop ireland; but the reason for that will form almost a chapter by itself. as i have said, it seemed to me most important that good feeling in the little countries of europe should be founded on respect for us. somebody, a cynic, once said that the only mortal sin among americans is to be poor. that may or may not be so. it was, however, the impression in europe. it was difficult in denmark to make it understood that we were interested in literature and art, or had any desire to do anything but make money. the attempt to buy the danish west indies, made in , was looked on by many of the danes as the manifestation of a desire on the part of an arrogant and imperial-minded people to take advantage of the poverty of a little country. 'you did not dare to propose to buy an island near your coast from england or france, or even holland,' they said. this prejudice was encouraged by the german press whenever an opportunity arose. and against this prejudice it was my business to fight. until after the war with spain--unfortunate as it was in some aspects--we were disdained; after that we were supposed to have crude possibilities. german propagandists took advantage of our seeming 'newness,' forgetting that the new germany was a _parvenu_ among the nations. our people _en tour_ in europe spent money freely and gave opinions with an infallible air almost as freely. they too frequently assumed the air of folk who had 'come abroad' to complete an education never begun at home; or, if they were persons who had 'advantages,' they were too anxious for a court _entrée_, asking their representative for it as a right, and then acting at court as if it were a divine privilege. it was necessary in denmark to accentuate the little things. the danes love elegant simplicity; they are, above all, aesthetic. my predecessor, who did not remain long enough in denmark to please his danish admirers, called the danes 'the most civilised of peoples.' i found that he was right; but they were full of misconceptions concerning us. we used toothpicks constantly! we did not know how to give a dinner! the values of the wine list (before the war, most important) would always remain a mystery to us. in a word, we were 'yankees!' to make propaganda--the first duty of a diplomatist--requires thought, time and money. the germans used all three intelligently. one cannot travel in the provinces without money. one cannot reach the minds of the people without the distribution of literature. unhappily, governments before the war, with the exception of the german government, took little account of this. one of the best examples of an effective propaganda, of the most practicable and far-sighted methods, was that of the french ambassador to the united states, jusserand. he did not wait to be taught anything by the germans. we have two bad habits: we read our psychology as well as our temperament--the result of a unique kind of experience and education--into the minds of other people, and we despise the opinion of nations which are small. the first defect we have suffered from, and the latter we shall suffer from if we are not careful. who cares whether bulgaria respects us or not? and yet a diplomatist soon learns that it counts. it is a grave question whether the little countries look with hope towards democracy, or with helpless respect towards autocracy. we see that bulgaria counted; we shall see that denmark counted, too, when the moment came for our buying the virgin islands. the german propaganda was incessant. denmark was in close business relations with england. denmark furnished the english breakfast table--the inevitable butter, bacon and eggs. but the trade relations between england and denmark were not cultivated as were those between denmark and germany. the german 'drummer' was the rule, the english commercial traveller the exception. as to the american, he seldom appeared, and when he came he spoke no language but his own. in literature the germans did all they could to cultivate the interest of the danish author. he was petted and praised when he went to berlin--that is, after his books had been translated. berlin never allowed herself to praise any scandinavian books in the original. as to music, the best german musicians came to denmark. richard strauss led the _rosenkavalier_ in person; the berlin symphony and rheinhart's plays were announced. every opportunity was taken to show denmark germany's best in music, art and science. 'if you speak the word culture, you must add the word german.' this was a berlin proverb. 'all good american singers must have my stamp before america will hear them,' the kaiser said. danish scientists were always sure of recognition in germany, but they must be read in german or speak in german when they visited berlin. in king edward came to copenhagen. he was regarded principally as the husband of the beloved princess alexandra. he did not conceal the fact that copenhagen bored him, and the copenhageners knew it. however, they received him with an appearance of amiability they had not shown to the kaiser on the occasion of his visit. no dane who remembered bismarck and slesvig and who saw at kiel the growing german fleet could admire the emperor william ii. even the most ferocious propagandists demanded too much when they asked that. they looked on the visits of king frederick viii. to germany with suspicion. when the crown prince, the present christian x., married the daughter of the grand duke of mecklenburg-schwerin, they were not altogether pleased. they were reconciled, however, by the fact that the crown princess was the daughter of a russian mother. besides, the crown princess, now queen alexandrina, was chosen by prince christian because he loved her. 'she is the only woman i will marry,' he had said. and when she married him, she became danish, unlike her sister-in-law, the princess harald, who has always remained german, much to the embarrassment of her husband, and the rumoured annoyance of the present king, who holds that a danish princess must be a dane and nothing else. the danish queen's mother is the clever grand duchess anastasia michaelovna,[ ] who was russian and parisian, who loved the riviera, above all cannes, and who was the most brilliant of widows. when the sister of queen alexandrina married the german crown prince in , the danes were relieved, but not altogether pleased. those of them who believed that royal alliance counted, hoped that a future german empress, so nearly akin to their queen, might ward off the ever-threatening danger of prussian conquest. [ ] on the outbreak of the war, the grand duchess threw off her allegiance to germany, and resumed her russian citizenship. the crown princess cecilia became a favourite in germany; it was rumoured that she was not sufficient of a german housewife to suit the kaiser. 'the crown princess cecilia is adorable, but she will not permit her august father-in-law to choose her hats,' said a visiting lady of the german autocratic circle; 'she might, at least, follow the example of her mother-in-law, for the emperor's taste is unimpeachable!' my wife remembered that this serene, well-born lady wore a hat of mustard yellow, then a favourite colour in berlin! in april , king edward vii. and queen alexandra made a visit to copenhagen. it was the custom in denmark that, when a reigning sovereign came on a gala visit, the court and the diplomatists were expected to go to the station to meet him. the waiting-room of the station was decorated with palms which had not felt the patter of rain for years, and with rugs evidently trodden to shabbiness by many royal feet. amid these splendours a _cercle_ was held. the visiting monarch, fresh from his journey, spoke to each of the diplomatists in turn. he dropped pearls of thought for which one gave equally valuable gems. 'the american minister, your majesty,' said the chamberlain. 'glad to see you; where are you from?' 'washington, the capital.' 'there are more washingtons?' 'many, sir.' 'how do you like copenhagen?' 'greatly--almost as well as london' (insert stockholm, christiania, the hague, to suit the occasion). and then came the voice of the chamberlain--'the austrian minister, your majesty.' 'how do you like copenhagen?' the same formula was used until the _chargés d'affaires_, who always ended the list, were reached: 'how long have you been in copenhagen?' king edward was accompanied by a staff of the handsomest and most soldierly courtiers imaginable; they were the veritable splendid captains of kipling's _recessional_. queen alexandra was attended by the hon. charlotte knollys and miss vivian. it was a great pleasure to see miss knollys again. to those who knew her all the tiresome waiting was worth while; she seemed like an old friend. the police surveillance was not so strict when the king and queen of england were in copenhagen; but when any of the russian royalties arrived, the police had a time of anxiety though they were reinforced by hundreds of detectives. in copenhagen it was always said that the empress dowager, the grand duke michael, the archduchess olga, and others of the romanoff family, were only safe when in the company of some of the english royal people. the empress dowager of russia, formerly the princess dagmar of denmark, never went out without her sister. they were inseparable, devoted to each other, as all the children of king christian ix. were. it was not the beauty and charm of queen alexandra that saved her from attack; it was the fact that england was tolerant of all kinds of political exiles, as a visit to soho, in london, will show. at the station, just as the king and queen of england entered, there was an explosion. 'a bomb,' whispered one of the uninitiated. it happened to be the result of the sudden opening of a _chapeau claque_ in the unaccustomed hands of a radical member of the cabinet who, against his principles, had been obliged to come in evening dress. we, of the legation, always wore evening dress in daylight on gala occasions. one soon became used to it. our american citizens of danish descent always deplored this, and some of our secretaries would have worn the uniform of a captain of militia or the court dress of the danish chamberlains, which, they said, under the regulations we were permitted to wear. not being english, i found evening dress in the morning not more uncomfortable than the regulation frock coat. i permitted a white waistcoat, which the danes never wore in the morning, but refused to allow a velvet collar and golden buttons because this was too much like the _petit uniforme_ of other legations. there was one inconvenience, however--the same as irked james russell lowell in spain--the officers on grand occasions could not recognise a minister without gold lace, and so our country did not get the proper salute. on the occasion of the arrival of the king of england, i remedied this by putting on the coachmen rather large red, white and blue cockades. arthur and hans were really resplendent! later, when my younger daughter appeared in society after the marriage of the elder, there was no difficulty. all the officers who loved parties recognised the father of the most indefatigable dancer in court circles. a cotillion or two at the legation amply made up for the absence of uniforms. our country, in the person of its representative, after that had tremendously resounding salutes. prince hans, the brother of the late king christian ix., who has since died, was especially friendly with us. he was beloved of the whole royal family. his kindliness and politeness were proverbial. when he was regent in greece, he had been warned that the greeks would soon hate him if he continued to be so courteous. his equerry, chamberlain de rothe, told me that he answered: 'i cannot change; i _must_ be courteous.' he is the only man on record who seems to have entirely pleased a people who have the reputation of being the most difficult in europe. prince hans came in to call, at a reasonable time, after the arrival of the king and queen of england; we were always glad to see him; he was so really kind, so full of pleasant reminiscences; he had had a very long and full life; he was the 'uncle' of all the royalties in europe. he especially loved the king of england. having lived through the invasion of slesvig, he was most patriotically danish; he looked on the prussians as an 'uneasy' people. 'the king of england is much interested in the condition of your ex-president, grover cleveland,' he said. 'if you will have him, he will come to tea with you; i will bring him. he is engaged to dine with the count raben-levitzau and, i think, to go to the zoological gardens and to dine with the count friis; but he will make you a visit, to ask personally for ex-president cleveland and to talk of him after, of course, he has lunched at the british legation.' i said that the legation would be deeply honoured. informal as the visit would be, it would be a great compliment to my country. 'the german legation will be surprised; but it can give no offence; i am _sure_ that it can give no offence. king edward is not pleased altogether with his nephew. when the emperor came to copenhagen in he was not so friendly to us as he is now. poor little denmark. it has escaped a great danger through bertie's cleverness,' prince hans murmured. from this i gathered that prince hans felt that the king's coming to the american legation would be noticed by all the legations as unusual, but especially by the german legation. from this i judged that some danger to denmark might have been threatening. 'the kaiser dined in this room,' prince hans said, 'when he was here in --no, no, he took coffee in this room, and not in the dining-room. however, as madame hegermann-lindencrone has told, the german minister, von schoen, who gave so many parties that all the young danish people loved him, and his wife could not decide where coffee was to be taken; the kaiser settled it himself. it is an amusing story; it has made king frederick laugh. if the king of england comes to tea, you will not be expected to have boiled eggs, as we have for the empress dowager of russia and queen alexandra and king george of greece, some champagne, perhaps, and the big cigars, of course.' 'and, as to guests?' 'only the americans of your staff, i think, who have been already presented to the king.' the announcement that the king of england would take tea with us did not cause a ripple in the household; the servants were used to kings. king frederick had a pleasant way of dropping in to tea without ceremony, and the princesses liked our cakes. besides, hans, the indispensable hans, had waited on king edward frequently, so he knew his tastes. but the king did not come; prince hans said that he was tired. he sent an equerry, with a most gracious message for grover cleveland, and another inquiry as to his health. the royal cigars lasted a long time as few guests were brave enough to smoke them. the king at the _cercle_ at court was most gracious. 'i hope to see you in london,' he said. my colleagues seemed to think that his word was law, and that i would be the next ambassador at the court of st. james's. i knew very well that his politeness was only to show that he was in a special mood to manifest his regard for the country i represented. the king of england was failing at the time as far as his bodily health was concerned, but he had what a german observer called 'a good head' in more senses than one. he still took his favourite champagne; his cigars were too big and strong for most men, but not too big and strong for him. he showed symptoms of asthma, but he was alert, and firmly resolved to keep the peace in europe, and, it was evident--he made it very evident--he was determined to keep on the best terms with the united states. during the pause between the parts of the performance at the royal opera house, where we witnessed queen alexandra's favourite ballet, _napoli_, and heard excerpts from _i poliacci_ and _cavalleria_, the king renewed the questions about grover cleveland's health. prince hans suddenly announced that he was dead. as every minister is quite accustomed to having all kinds of news announced before he receives it, i could only conclude that it was true. several ladies of american birth came and asked me; i could only say, 'prince hans says so.' countess raben-levitzau, whose husband was then minister of foreign affairs, seemed to be much amused that i should receive a bit of information of that kind through prince hans. late that night, after the gala was over, a cable came telling me that the ex-president was well. i was glad that i was not obliged to put out the flag at half-mast for the loss of a president whom the whole country honoured, and who had shown great confidence in me at one time. prince hans was full of the sayings and doings of the king of england after his departure. he called him 'bertie' when absent-minded, recovering to the 'king of england' when he remembered that he was speaking to a stranger. once, quoting the german emperor, he said 'uncle albert.' 'denmark will not become part of germany in the kaiser's time--"uncle albert" will see to that. england will not fight germany in his time on any question; therefore russia will not go against us.' 'but the crown prince. what of him?' '"uncle albert" will see to that if the kaiser should die--but life is long. the king of england will cease to smoke so much, and, after that, his health will be good; he has saved us, i will tell you, by defeating at berlin the designs of the pan-germans against denmark.' the late king of england had new issues to face, and he knew it. the cause of sane democracy would have been better served had he lived longer. perhaps he had been, like his brother-in-law, king frederick of denmark, crown prince too long. nevertheless, he had observed, and he was wise. he may have been too tolerant, but he was not weak. in denmark, one might easily get a fair view of the characters of the royal people. the danes are keen judges of persons--perhaps too keen, and the members of their aristocracy had been constantly on intimate terms with european kings and princes. 'as for queen alexandra,' miss knollys once said, 'she will go down in history as the most beautiful of england's queens, but also as the most devoted of wives and mothers. the king makes us all work, but she works most cheerfully and is never bored.' the visit of the king of england caused more conjectures. what did it mean? a pledge on the part of england that denmark would be protected both against germany and russia? notwithstanding the opinion that the foreign office in england did all the work, the diplomatists held that kings, especially king edward and the kaiser, had much to do with it. chapter iv some details the germans knew i gathered that germany, in , , , was growing more and more furiously jealous of england. to make a financial wilderness of london and reconstruct the money centre of the world in berlin was the ambition of some of her great financiers. our time had not come yet; we might grow in peace. it depended on our attitude whether we should be plucked when ripe or not. if we could be led, i gathered, into an attitude inimical to england, all would be well; but that might safely be left 'to the irish and the great german population of the middle west.' it was 'known that english money prevented the development of our merchant marine'; but this, after all, was not to the disadvantage of germany since, if we developed our marine, it might mean state subsidies to american ocean steamer lines. this would not have pleased herr ballin. count henckel-donnersmarck held no such opinions, but the members of the berlin _haute bourgeoisie_, who occasionally came to copenhagen, were firmly convinced that english money was largely distributed in the united states to prejudice our people against the beneficent german kultur, which, as yet, we were too crude to receive. i gathered, too, that many of the important, the rich business representatives of germany in our country reported that we were 'only fit to be bled.' we were unmusical, unliterary, unintellectual. we knew not what a gentleman should eat or drink. our cooking was vile, our taste in amusement only a reflection of the english music halls. we bluffed. we were not virile. the aristocrat did not express these opinions; but the middle class, or higher middle class, sojourners in our land did. 'good heavens!' exclaimed one american at one of our receptions to a german-american guest; 'you eat that grouse from your fists like an animal.' 'i am a male,' answered fritz proudly; 'we must devour our food--we of the virile race!' the pretensions of this kind of german were intolerable. he was the most brutal of snobs. he arrogated to himself a rank, when one met him, that he was not allowed to assume in his own country. it was often amusing to receive a call from a spurious 'von,' representing german interests in milwaukee, chicago, or cincinnati, who patronised us until he discovered that we knew that he would be in the seventh heaven if he could, by any chance, marry his half-american daughter to the most shop-worn little lieutenant in the german army! to see him shrivel when a veritable junker came in, was humiliating. i often wondered whether the well-to-do german burghers of st. louis or cincinnati were really imposed upon by men of this kind. the nobles' club in copenhagen is not a club as we know clubs. there are chairs, newspapers from all parts of the world, and bridge tables, if you wish to use them. you may even play the honoured game of _l'ombre_--after the manner of christian iv., or, perhaps, his lordship, the high chamberlain polonius, of the court of his late majesty, king claudius. people seldom go there. it is the one place in denmark where the members of the club are never found. the country gentlemen have rooms there when they come to town. it is in an annex of the hotel phoenix. a few of the best bridge players in copenhagen meet there occasionally; the rest is silence; therefore it is a safe place for diplomatic conversations. a very distinguished german came to me with a letter of introduction from munich, in --late in the year. his position was settled. he was not in the class of the spurious 'vons.' he was, however, high in the confidence of the kings of saxony and bavaria, both of whom, he confessed, were displeased because the united states had no diplomatic representatives at their courts. he had been _persona non grata_ with bismarck because of his father's liberalism; he had been friendly with windthorst, the centre leader, and he had been in some remote way connected with the german legation at the vatican. we talked of washington in the older days, of speck von sternberg[ ] and of his charming wife, then a widow in berlin; of the cleverness of secretary radowitz, who had been at the german embassy at washington; of the point of view of von schoen, who had been minister to copenhagen. he spoke of the kaiser's having dined in our apartment, which von schoen had then occupied; and then he came to the point. [ ] baron speck von sternberg died on may rd, . 'is the united states serious about the monroe doctrine--really?' he asked. 'it is an integral part of our policy of defence.' 'we, in germany, do not take it seriously. i understand from my friends you have lived in washington a long time. we are familiar with your relations with president cleveland and of your attitude towards president mckinley. we know,' he said, 'that president mckinley offered you a secret mission to rome. we know other things; therefore, we are inclined to take you more seriously than most of the political appointees who are here to-day and gone to-morrow. your position in the affair of the philippines is well known to us. it would be well for you to ask your ambassador at berlin to introduce you to the emperor; he was much pleased with your predecessor, mr. o'brien. there is, no doubt, some information you could give his imperial majesty. you have friends in munich, too, and in dresden there is the count von seebach whom you admire, i know.' 'i admire count von seebach, but i am paid not to talk,' i said; 'but about the secret mission to rome in the philippine matter--you knew of that?' it was more than i knew, though president mckinley, through senator carter, had suggested, when the friars' difficulty had been seething in the philippines, a solution which had seemed to me out of the question. but how did this man know of it? i had not spoken of it to the count von seebach, or to anybody in germany. no word of politics had ever escaped my lips to the count von seebach, who was his excellency the director of the royal opera at dresden. 'yes; we know all the secrets of the philippine affair, even that domingo merry del val came to washington to confer with mr. taft. i want to know two facts,--facts, not guesses. your ministers who come from provincial places, after a few months' instruction in washington, cannot know much except local politics. they are like pomeranian squires or jutland farmers. we know that henckel-donnersmarck and you are on good terms, and we are prepared to treat you from a confidential point of view.' this was interesting; it showed how closely even unimportant persons like myself were observed; it was flattering, too; for one grows tired of the foreign assumption that every american envoy has come abroad because, as de tocqueville says in _democracy in america_ he has failed at home. 'mr. poultney bigelow, whom you doubtless know, once said in conversation with the kaiser, that his father would rather see him dead than a member of your diplomatic corps, and he was unusually well equipped for work of that kind. with few exceptions, as i have remarked, your service is _pour rire_. what can a man from one of your provincial towns know of anything but local politics and business?' i laughed: 'but you are businesslike, too; i hear that, when the kaiser speaks to americans--at least they have told me so--it is generally on commercial subjects. he likes to know even how many vessels pass the locks every year at sault sainte marie, and the amount of grain that can be stored in the chicago elevators.' 'it is useful to us,' my acquaintance said. 'you would scarcely expect him to talk about things that do not exist in your country--music, art, literature, high diplomacy----' my reply shall be buried in oblivion; it might sound too much like _éloquence de l'escalier_. after an interval, not without words, i said: 'it is not necessary for a man to have lived in washington or new york in order to have a grasp on american politics in relation to the foreign problem at the moment occupying the attention of the american people or the department of state. every country boy at home is a potential statesman and a politician. i recall the impression made on two visiting foreigners some years ago by the interest of our very young folk in politics. "good heavens!" said the marquis moustier de merinville, "these children of ten and twelve are monsters! they argue about bryan and free silver! such will make revolutions." "i cannot understand it," said prince adam saphia. "children ask one whether one is a republican or democrat."' 'that may be so,' he said. 'your presidents are not as a rule chosen from men who live in the great cities.' 'you forget that, while paris is france, berlin, germany----' 'no, berlin is prussia,' he said, smiling; 'but london is england; paris, france; and vienna would be austria if it were not for budapest.' 'new york or washington is not, as you seem to think, the united states.' 'that may be,' he said, 'nevertheless it is difficult for a european to understand. it may be,' he added thoughtfully, 'there are some things about your country we shall never come to understand thoroughly.' 'you will have to die first--like the man of your own country who, crossing a crowded street, was injured mortally and cried: "now i shall know it _all_." you will never understand us in this world.' 'that is _blague_,' he said. 'we germans know all countries. besides, you know the german language.' 'who told you that? it's nonsense!' i asked, aghast. 'the other day, i have heard that the austrians were talking in german to the first secretary of the german legation at the foreign office, when you suddenly forgot yourself and asked a question in good german!' he said triumphantly. this was true. count zichy, secretary of the austrian-hungarian legation, had dropped from french into german. now, i had read heine and goethe when i was young, and i had written the german script; but that was long ago. there were great arid spaces in my knowledge of the german language, but something that count zichy had said about an arbitration treaty had vaguely caught my attention, and i had blundered out, 'was ist das, herr graf?' or something equally elegant and scholarly. this was really amusing. my friends had always accused me of turning all german conversation toward _wilhelm meister_ and _der erlkönig_, since i could quote from both! 'you can _finesse_,' continued the great nobleman. 'you are not usual. your government has sent you here for a special mission; it is well to pose as a poet and a man of letters, but you have been reported to our government as having a _mission secrète_. you are allied with the russians; we know that you are not rich.' this very charming person, who always laid himself at 'the feet of the ladies' and clicked his heels like castanets, did not apologise for discussing my private affairs without permission, and for insinuating that i was paid by the russian government. 'do you mean----?' 'nothing,' he said hastily, 'nothing; but the russians use money freely; they would not dare to approach _you_. nevertheless, i warn you that their marked regard for you must have some motive, and yours for them may excite suspicions.' 'surely my friend henckel-donnersmarck has not reported me to the kaiser?' 'our ministers are expected to report everything to the kaiser, especially from copenhagen; but henckel-donnersmarck does not report enough. he is either too haughty or too lazy. my master will send him to weimar, if he is not more alert; but we have others!' 'i like him.' 'it is evident. why?' asked the count, with great interest. 'i sent him a case of lemp's beer. he says it is better than anything of the kind made in germany--polite but unpatriotic.' 'you jest,' said the count. 'you have the reputation of being apparently never in earnest, but----' 'you shall have a case too,' i said, 'and then you can judge whether his truthfulness got the better of his politeness, or his politeness of his truthfulness.' he rose and bowed, he seated himself again. 'remember, we shall always be interested in you,' he said; 'but there is one thing i should like to ask--are you interested in potash?' 'i have no business interests. if you wish to talk business, count, you must go to the consul general.' that was the beginning. henckel and i continued to be friends. he seldom spoke of diplomatic matters. he assured me (over and over again) that, if the ideas of frederick the great were to be followed, germany and the united states must remain friends. i told him that count von x. had said that 'if the united states could arrange to oust england from control of the atlantic and make an alliance with germany, these two countries would rule the world.' 'you will never do that,' he said. 'you are safer with england on the atlantic than you would be with any other nation. i am not sure what our ultra pan-germans mean by "ruling the world." you may be sure that your monroe doctrine would go to splinters if our pan-germans ruled the world. as for me, i am sick of diplomacy. why do you enter it? it either bores or degrades one. i am not curious or unscrupulous enough to be a spy. as to slesvig, i have little concern with it. if germany should find it to her interest, she might return northern slesvig; but there would be danger in that for denmark. she must live in peace with us, or take the consequences.' 'the consequences!' 'dear colleague, you know as well as i do that all the nations of the earth want territory or a new adjustment of territory. in the middle ages, nations had many other questions, and there was a universal christendom; but, since the renascence, the great questions are land and commerce. germany must look, in self-defence, on slesvig and denmark as pawns in her game. she is not alone in this. you know how tired i am of it all. no man is more loyal to his country than i am; but i should like to see germany on entirely sympathetic terms with the kingdoms that compose it and reasonably friendly to the rest of the world; but we could not give up slesvig, even if the danish government would take it, except for a _quid pro quo_.' 'what?' 'well, let us say a place in the pacific, on friendly terms with you. your country can hardly police the philippines against japan. germany is great in what i fear is the new materialism. as to slesvig, in which you seem particularly interested, ask prince koudacheff, the russian minister; write to iswolsky, the russian minister, or talk to michel bibikoff, who is a russian patriot never bored in the pursuit of information. these russians may not exaggerate the consequences as they know what absolute power means. 'there is one thing, germany will not tolerate sedition in any of her provinces, and, since we took slesvig from denmark in , she is one of our provinces. the danes may tolerate a hint of secession on the part of iceland, which is amusing, but the beginning of sedition in slesvig would mean an attitude on our part such as you took towards secession in the south. but it is unthinkable. the demonstrations against us in slesvig have no importance.' * * * * * michel bibikoff, secretary of the russian legation, was most intelligent and most alert. wherever he is now, he deserves well of his country. as a diplomatist he had only one fault--he underrated the experience and the knowledge of his opponents; but this was the error of his youth. i say 'opponents,' because at one time or other bibikoff's opponents were everybody who was not russian. a truer patriot never lived. he was devoted to my predecessor, mr. o'brien, who was, in his opinion, the only american gentleman he had ever met. he compared me very unfavourably with my courteous predecessor, who has filled two embassies with satisfaction to his own country and to those to whom he was accredited. at first bibikoff distrusted me; and i was delighted. if he thought that you were concealing things he would tell you something in order to find out what he wanted to know. for me, i was especially interested in discovering what the tsar's state of mind was concerning the portsmouth peace arrangements. bibikoff had means of knowing. indeed, he found means of knowing much that might have been useful to all of us, his colleagues. a long stay in the united states would have 'made' bibikoff. he was one of the few men in europe who understood what germany was aiming at. he predicted the present war--but of that later. he had been in washington only a few months. i suffered as to prestige in the beginning only, as every american minister and ambassador suffers from our present system of appointing envoys. no representative of the united states is at first taken seriously by a foreign country. he must earn his spurs, and, by the time he earns them, they are, as a rule, ruthlessly hacked off! each ambassador is supposed by the foreign offices to be appointed for the same reason that so many peerages have been conferred by the british government. every minister, it is presumed, has given a _quid pro quo_ for being distinguished from the millions of his countrymen. 'if you have the price, you can choose your embassy,' is a speech often quoted in europe. i cannot imagine who made it--possibly the famous flannigan, of texas. it is notorious that peerages are sold for contributions to the campaign fund in england; but places in the diplomatic service, though governed sometimes by political influence, cannot be said to be sold. i had one advantage; nobody suspected me of paying anything for my place; and, then, i had come from washington, the capital of the country. as i said, my eyes were fixed on russia. i found, however, that the main business of my colleagues seemed to be to watch germany, and that attitude for a time left me cold. denmark had reason to fear germany; but then, at that time, every other european nation was on its guard against possible aggressions on the part of its neighbours. i had hope that a scandinavian confederacy or the swelling rise of the social democracy in germany would put an end to the fears of all the little countries. there seemed to be no hope that the attitude of the german nation towards the world could change unless the social democrats and the moderate liberals should gain power. but why should we watch germany, the powerful, the self-satisfied, the splendid country whose kaiser professed the greatest devotion to our president, and had sent his brother, prince henry, over to show his regard for our nation? i was most anxious to find the reason. in my time, good americans--say in --when they died, went to paris, never to berlin. the emperor of germany had determined to change this. he tried to make his capital a glittering imitation of paris; he received americans with every show of cordiality. berlin was to be made a paradise for americans and for the world; but nearly every american is half french at heart. nevertheless, i do not think that we took the french attitude of revenge against germany seriously; we thought that the french were beginning to forget the _revanche_; their government had apparently become so 'international.' many of us had been brought up with the germans and the sons of germans. we read german literature; we began with grimm and went on to goethe and, to descend somewhat, heyse and auerbach. without asking too many questions, we even accepted frederick the great as a hero. he was easier to swallow than cromwell, and more amusing. in fact, most of us did not think much of foreign complications, the charm of the deutscher club in milwaukee, the warmth of the singing of german _lieder_ by returned students from freiburg or bonn or heidelberg; the lavish hospitality of the opulent german in this country, the german love for family life, and, for me personally, the survival of the robust virtues, seemingly of german origin, among the descendants of the germans in pennsylvania, impressed me. as far as education was concerned, i had hated to see the german methods and ideas _servilely_ applied. i belonged to the alliance française and preferred the french system as more efficient in the training of the mind than the german. besides, the importation of the german basis for the doctorate of philosophy into our universities seemed to me to be dangerous. it led young men to waste time, since there was no governmental stamp on their work and no concrete recognition of the results of their studies as there was in germany; and, this being so, it meant that the dignified degree, from the old-fashioned point of view, would become degraded, or, at its best, merely a degree for the decoration of teachers. it would be sought for only as a means of earning a living, not as a preparation for research. 'of course i know spain,' said a flippant attaché in copenhagen. 'i have seen _carmen_, eaten _olla podrida_, and adored the russian ballet in the _cachuca_!' none of my friends who thought they knew germany was as bad as this. some of the professors of my acquaintance, who had seen only one side of german life, loved the fatherland for its support to civilisation. _nous avons changé--tout cela!_ other gentlemen, who had started out to love germany, hated everything german because they had been compelled to stand up in an exclusive club when anybody of superior rank entered its sacred precincts or when something of the kind happened. the man with whom i had read heine and worked out jokes in _kladdertasch_ was devoted to everything german because he had once lived in a small german town where there was good opera! personally, i had hated bismarck and all his works and pomps for several reasons:--one was because of busch's glorifying book about him; another for the kulturkampf; another for his attitude toward hanover, and because one of my closest german friends was a hanoverian. brought up, as most philadelphians of my generation were, in admiration for karl schurz and the men of ' , i could not tolerate anything that was prussian or bismarckian; but, as windthorst, the creator of the centrum party in the reichstag, was one of my heroes, i counted myself as the admirer of the best in germany. the position of the great power, evident by its attitude to us in the beginning of the spanish-american war, was disquieting; but germany had shown a similar sensitiveness under similar circumstances many times without affecting international relations. and german world dominion? what, in the twentieth century?--the best of all possible centuries? civilised public opinion would not tolerate it! in the balkans, of course, there would always be rows. the german propaganda? it existed everywhere, naturally. one could see signs of that; these signs were not even concealed. it seemed to be reasonable enough that any country should not depend entirely on the press or diplomatic notes to avoid misunderstanding; and a certain attention to propaganda was the duty of all diplomatists. still, my observations in my own country, even before the chicago exposition--when the kaiser had done his best to impress us with the mental and material value of everything german--had made me more than suspicious. i had reason to be suspicious, as you will presently see. but war? never! it was cardinal falconio who, i think, made me feel a little chilly, when he wrote: 'war is not improbable in europe; you are too optimistic. let us pray that it may not come; but, as a diplomatist you must not be misled into believing it impossible.' it seemed to me that such talk was pessimistic. other voices, from the diplomatists of the vatican--even the ex-diplomatists--confirmed this. 'if the kaiser says he wants peace, it is true--but only on his own terms. believe me, if the kaiser can control russia, and draw a straight line to the persian gulf, he will close his fist on england.' the people at the vatican, if you can get them to talk, are more valuable to an inquiring mind than any other class of men; but they are so wretchedly discreet just when their indiscretions might be most useful. some of them are like king james i., who 'never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one.' those who helped me with counsel were both wise in speech and prudent action but, unhappily, hampered by circumstances. among the wise and the prudent i do not include the diplomatic representative of the vatican in paris just before the break with rome! the russians in copenhagen kept their eyes well on germany; and it was evident that, while the position of france gave the germans no uneasiness--they seemed to look on france with a certain contempt--any move of russia was regarded as important. prince koudacheff, late the russian ambassador at madrid, in minister at copenhagen, who seldom talked politics, again returned to the great question. 'my brother, who is in washington, and an admirer of your country, says that you americans believe that war is unthinkable. is this your opinion?' 'it is--almost.' 'well, i will say that as soon as the bankers feel that there is enough money, there will be a war in europe.' 'i wonder if your husband meant that?' i asked the princess koudacheff; it was well to have corroboration occasionally, and she was a sister-in-law of iswolsky's; iswolsky was a synonym for diplomatic knowledge. 'if he did not mean it he would not have said it. when he does not mean to say a thing he remains silent. as soon as there is money enough, there will be war. germany will go into no war that will impoverish her,' she said. her opinion was worth much; she was a woman who knew well the inside of european politics. 'and who will fight, the slavs and teutons?' 'you have said it! it will come.' i knew a russian who, while a nobleman, was not an official. in fact, he hated bureaucrats. he could endure no one in the russian court circle except the empress dowager, marie, because she was sympathetic, and the late grand duke constantine, because he had translated shakespeare. 'if prince valdemar of denmark had been the son instead of the brother of the dowager empress, russia would have a future. as it is, i will quote from father gapon for you. you know his _life_?' 'no,' i said. 'well, he has attempted to give the working-men in russia a chance; he has tried to gain for them one-tenth of the place which working-men in your country have, and, in , he was answered by the massacre of the narva gate. the tsar is a fool, with an imperialistic _hausfrau_ for a wife. if you will read the last words of father gapon's _life_, you will find these words: '"i may say, with certainty, that the struggle is quickly approaching its inevitable climax: that nicholas ii. is preparing for himself the fate which befell a certain english king and a certain french king long ago, and that such members of his dynasty as escape unhurt from the throes of the revolution, will some day, in a not very distant future, find themselves exiles upon some western shore." i may live to see this; but i hope that the empress marie may not. she knows where the policy of her daughter-in-law, who has all the stupidity of marie antoinette, without her charm, would lead; she says of her son,--"he was on the right road before he married that narrow-minded woman!"' this, remember, was in . it was whispered even then in copenhagen that russia was beginning to break up. the dean of the diplomatic corps was count calvi di bergolo, honest, brave, opinionated, who would teach you everything, from how to jump a hurdle to the gaseous compositions in the moon. he was of the _haute école_ at the riding school and of the _vielle école_ of diplomacy. he was very frank. he had a great social vogue because of a charming wife and a most exquisite daughter, now the princess aage. he would never speak english; french was the diplomatic language; it gave a diplomatist too much of an advantage, if one spoke in his native tongue. he believed in the protocol to the letter; he was a martinet of a dean. 'public opinion,' he said scornfully, 'public opinion in the united states is for peace. in europe, if we could all have what we want, we should all keep the peace; but what chance of peace can there be until italy has the trentino or france alsace-lorraine, or until germany gets to her place by controlling the slavs. you are of a new country, where they believe things because they are impossible.' he was a wise gentleman and he, too, watched germany. it was plain that he disliked the triple alliance. suddenly it dawned on me 'like thunder' that we had an interest in watching germany, too. it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that germany would one day absorb denmark. 'and then the danish west indies would automatically become german!' this was my one thought. the 'fixed idea'! it is pleasanter to be dean of the diplomatic corps than a new-comer. it must be extremely difficult for a diplomatic representative to be comfortable at once, coming from american localities where etiquette is a matter of gentlemanly feeling only, and where artificial conventionalities hardly count. in a monarchical country, the outward relations are changed. socially, rank counts for much, and the rules of precedence are as necessary as the use of a napkin. to have lived in washington--not the changed washington of - --was a great help. after long observation of the niceties of official etiquette in the official society of our own capital, copenhagen had no terrors. chapter v glimpses of the german point of view in relation to the united states time passed. there were alarms, and rumours that german money was corrupting france, that the distrust aroused by the morocco incident was growing, that the french patriot believed that his opponent, the french pacifist, was using religious differences to weaken the _morale_ of the french army and navy, to convince germany that the 'revenge' for was forgotten. one day, a very clever english attaché came to luncheon; he always kept his eyes open, and he was allowed by me to take liberties in conversation which his chief would never have permitted; it is a great mistake to bottle up the young, or to try to do it. 'you are determined to be friends with germany,' he said, 'and germany seems to be determined to be friends with you. your foreign office has evidently instructed you to be very sympathetic with the german minister. he seldom sees anybody but you; but, at the same time you have recalled mr. tower, whom the kaiser likes, to give him mr. hill, whom he seems not to want.' 'it is not a question as to whom the kaiser wants exactly; we ostensibly sent an ambassador to the german emperor, but really to the german people. mr. hill is one of the most experienced of our diplomatists.' 'the kaiser does not want that. mr. tower habituated him to splendour, and he likes americans to be splendid. rich people ought to spend their money in berlin. besides, he had been accustomed to mr. tower, who, he thinks, will oil the wheels of diplomatic intercourse. just at this moment, when the kaiser has lost prestige because of his double-dealing with the boers and his apparent deceit on the morocco question, he does not want a man of such devotion to the principles of the hague convention and so constitutional as mr. hill, who may acknowledge the charm of the emperor, but who, even in spite of himself, will not be influenced by it.' 'how do you know this?' 'everybody about the court in berlin knows it, but i hear it from munich. but speck von sternberg would have balanced hill, if he had lived. they think he would have influenced president roosevelt. tell us the secrets of the white house--you ought to know--it was an awful competition between speck and jusserand, i hear.' 'president roosevelt is not easily influenced,' i said. persons whom i knew in berlin wrote to me, informing me how charmed the kaiser was with the new ambassador; but, in copenhagen, we learned that what the kaiser wanted was not a great international lawyer, but a rich american of less intensity. * * * * * it was worth while to get russian opinions. 'the kaiser is having a bad time,' i remarked to a russian of my acquaintance--a most brilliant man, now almost, as he said himself, _homme sans patrie_. 'temporarily,' he answered; 'those indiscreet pronouncements of his on the boers and the reversion of his attitude against england in the affair of morocco have shown him that he cannot clothe inconsistency in the robes of infallibility. he is a personal monarch and he sinks all his personality in his character as a monarch. he is made to the likeness of god, and there is an almost hypostatic union between god and him! our tsar is by no means so absolute, though you americans all persist in thinking so. i have given you some documents on that point; i trust that you have sent them to your president. i am sure, however, that he knew _that_. do not imagine that the emperor will be deposed, because he has made a row in germany. he has only discovered how far he can go by personal methods, that is all; he has learned his lesson--_reculer pour mieux sauter_. he has played a clever game with you. bernstorff, his new ambassador, will offset hill. your investments in russia will now come through german hands, and you will get a bad blow in the matter of potash.' 'what do you mean?' i asked. i had regarded count bernstorff as a liberal. his english experience seemed to have singled him out as one of the diplomatists of the central powers--there were several--inclined to admit that other nations had rights which germany was bound to respect. in private conversations, he had shown himself very favourable to the united states, and had even disapproved of german attacks on the monroe doctrine in brazil. 'count bernstorff is not likely to offend washington, or to reopen the wound that was made at manila.' 'you talk as if diplomatists were not, first of all, instructed to look after the business interests of their countries. do you think bernstorff has been chosen to dance cotillions with your 'cave dwellers' in washington or to compliment senators' wives? first, his appointment is meant to flatter you. second, he will easily flatter you because he really likes america and it is his business to flatter you. third, he will do his best to induce you to assist england in strangling russia in favour of turkey. fourth, he will grip hard, without offending you, the german monopoly of potash. he doesn't want trouble between the united states and germany. he knows that any difficulty of that kind would be disastrous; he is as anxious to avoid that as is ballin. under the glimmer of rank, of which you think so much in america, commercialism is the secret of germany's spirit to-day. in berlin, i heard an american, one of your denaturalised, trying to curry favour with prince von bülow by saying that the national genius of germany demanded that alsace-lorraine should be kept by germany to avenge the insolence of louis xiv. and napoleon. prince von bülow smiled. he knew that your compatriot was working for an invitation to an exclusive something or other for his wife. bernstorff is just the man to neutralise hill. it's iron ore and potash in alsace-lorraine that the emperor cares about.' 'and yet i know, at first hand, that the pan-german hates bernstorff. if anything approaching to a liberal government came in germany, bernstorff will be minister of foreign affairs.' my russian friend smiled sardonically. 'we russians feel that our one salvation is to oust the turk and get to the mediterranean. my party would provoke a war with germany to-morrow, if we could afford it, and germany knows it. count bernstorff, the most sympathetic of all german diplomatists, knows this, too, and you may be sure that he will persuade your government that he loves you, give the russian programme a nasty stroke when he can, and keep the price of potash high. i, desirous as i am of being an excellency, would refuse to go to berlin to-morrow, if i had bernstorff against me on the other side. see what will happen to hill! germany may offend you, but bernstorff will persuade you that it is the simple _gaucherie_ of a rustic youth who assumes the antics of a playful bear[ ]--a hug or two; it may hurt, but the jovial bear means well! if hill should leave berlin, you will need a clever man who has political power with your government. bernstorff will contrive to put any other kind of man in the wrong--i tell you that.' [ ] 'we can say without hesitation that during the last century the united states have nowhere found better understanding or juster recognition than in this country. more than any one else the emperor william ii. manifested this understanding and appreciation of the united states of america.'--von bülow's _imperial germany_, p. . the russian who predicted this is in exile, penniless, a man _sans patrie_, as he says himself. when i took these notes he seemed to be above the blows of fate! if the hand of germany was everywhere, everybody was watching the movements of the fingers. among the english there were two parties: one that could tolerate nothing german, the other that hated everything russian, but both united in one belief, that the alliance with japan would not hold under the influence of german intrigue and that italy could not long remain a member of the triple alliance. the gossip from berlin was always full of pleasant things for an american to hear. the kaiser treated our compatriots with unusual courtesy. in copenhagen we were deluged with letters announcing that count bernstorff's coming meant a new era; he even excelled 'speck' in his charm, sympathy, and everything that ought to endear him to us; in him showed that true desire for peace of which his august master was, of all the world, the best representative. it was even rumoured that the german foreign office had begun to coquette with the danish social democrats. the exchange of professors between the united states and germany was becoming an institution. sometimes the american professors found themselves in awkward positions; they did not 'rank'; they had no fixed position from the german point of view. as mere american commoners, unrecognised by their government, undecorated, they could not expect attentions from the court as a right. however, the germans studied them and rather liked some of them, but, not being _raths_, they were poor creatures without standing. even if they should make reputations approved by the great german universities, they had no future. how green were the lawns and how pleasant the sweet waters in the enclosed gardens of autocracy, of which the emperor, fountain of honours, kept the key! it was amusing to note the german attitude toward democracy, in spite of all the pleasant things said by the high, well-born citizens of the fatherland in favour of the american brand. at the same time, one could not help seeing that the children of the kaiser were wiser than the children of--let us say modestly--light. 'if the president asked me,' said one of the most distinguished of lawyers and the most loyal of philadelphians to me, 'i should be willing to live all my life in germany.' this was the result of the impression the charm of the kaiser made on the best of us. he has changed his opinion now; he swears by the works of his compatriot, mr. beck. even then, in - , my distinguished philadelphia friend could not have endured life in germany. he forgot that even the emperor could not give him rank, and that no matter how cosmopolitan, how learned, how tactful he was, he would at once be a commoner, and very much of a commoner on the day he settled there as a resident. a prussian serene highness, who came with letters from an irish relative in hungary dropped in; he was mostly bavarian in blood; he had cousins in england and italy. he liked a good luncheon, and, as miss knollys always said (i quote this without shame), 'the best food in europe is at the american legation!' he smoked, too, and rafael estrada, of havana, had chosen the cigars. 'france is difficult,' said my acquaintance, his serene highness. 'it is not really democratic; and england will go to pieces before it becomes democratic. 'you americans have freedom with order, and you respect rank and titles, though you do not covet them. that is why the kaiser would not send any ambassador not of a great family to you. all americans who come to berlin desire to be presented at court. it is a sign that you will come to our way of thinking some day. we are not so far apart. you who write must tell your people that we are calumniated, we are not despots. that woman, the author of _elizabeth and her german garden_, married to a friend of mine, does us harm. but most americans see germany in a mellow light. we are akin in our aspirations--frederick the great understood that. 'bismarck, great as he was, became ambitious only for his family. his son, the coming chancellor, would have used our young emperor as a puppet, if our emperor had not put him into his place. this is the truth, and i am telling it to you confidentially. the british government will come to anarchy if it weakens the house of lords. the house of commons is already weak. there is no barrier between honest rule and the demagogues. with your magnificent senate there will always be a wall between the will of the _canaille_ and good government. we germans understand you!' 'but suppose,' it was mr. alexander weddell, then connected with the legation, now consul general at athens, who broke in, 'you should differ from us on the monroe doctrine. i have recently read an article by mr. frederick wile in an english magazine on your management of your people in brazil.' '"our people!" the serene highness seemed startled. 'a german is always a german. it is the call of the blood.' 'and something more,' mr. weddell said, 'a german citizen is always a german citizen; you never admit that a german can become a brazilian. suppose you should want to join your germans in brazil with your germans at home. what would become of our monroe doctrine?' 'there are germans in your country who have ceased to be germans, and your upper classes are anglicised, except when they marry into one of our great families; nevertheless, our own people would still see that you don't go too far with your monroe doctrine. it has not yet been drastically interpreted. the monroe doctrine is a method of defence. to interfere with the call of the german blood from one country to another would be offensive to us, and i cannot conceive of your country so far forgetting itself!' his serene highness was of a mediatised house--a gentleman who had much experience in diplomacy. he had, i think, visited newport, and been almost engaged to an american girl. the legend ran that, when this lady saw him without his uniform, she broke the engagement. he was splendid in his uniform. he thought he knew the united states; he even quoted bryce and de tocqueville; he had the impression that the kaiser's propaganda of education was germanising us for our good. 'the most eminent professors at your most important universities are germans. your newest university, that of chicago, would have no reputation in europe if it were not for the germans. wundt has revolutionised your conception of psychology; your scientific and historical methods are borrowed from us. even your orthodox protestants quote harnack. virchow long ago put out the lights of huxley and spencer. and the catholic german in america, whom bismarck almost alienated from us, revolts against the false americanism of cardinal gibbons and archbishop ireland, whom the kaiser rates as a son of the revolution. your catholic university has begun to be moulded in the german way. mgr. schroeder, highly considered, was one of the most energetic of the professors----' 'was,' i said. 'i happen to know that he was relieved of his professorship because of those very dominating qualities you value so much.' 'that is regrettable; but, you see, in germany we follow the train of events in your country. who has a larger audience than münsterberg? in the things of the mind we germans must lead.' in my opinion, it is best for a diplomatist--at least for a man who is in the avocation of diplomacy--to be satisfied with _l'eloquence de l'éscalier_. if he writes memoirs he can always put in the repartee he intended to make; and, if he does not, he can always think, too, with satisfaction of what he was almost clever enough to say! it was enough to have discovered one thing--that, with a large number of the ruling classes in the fatherland, the monroe doctrine was looked on as an iridescent bubble. many times afterwards this fact was emphasised. the austrians were not always so careful as the germans to save, when it came to democracy, american susceptibilities. they were always easy to get on with, provided one remembered that even to the most discerning among them, the united states, 'america' as they always called it, was an unknown land. as for count dionys szechenyi, the minister of austria-hungary, he was the most genial of colleagues, and he had no sympathy with tyranny of any kind; he had no illusions as to america. his wife is a belgian born, countess madeleine chimay de caraman. he was always careful not to touch on 'prussianism,' as the danes called the principle of german domination. he had many subjects of conversation, from portrait buying to transactions in american steel and, what had its importance in those days, a good dinner. at his house one met occasionally men who liked to be frank, and then these austro-hungarians were a delightful group. 'if we should be involved in a war with england--which is unthinkable, since king edward and our ambassador, count mensdorff would never allow it--i could not buy my clothes in london,' said one very regretfully. this austrian magnate heard with unconcealed amusement the german talk of 'democracy.' 'max harden is sincere, but a puppet; he helps the malcontents to let off steam; the german government will never allow another _émeute_ like that of . bismarck taught the government how to be really imperial. in austria we are frankly autocratic, but not so new as the prussian. we wear feudalism like an old glove. there are holes in it, of course, and hungary is making the holes larger. if the hungarians should have their way, there would be no more _majorats_, no more estates that can be kept in families; and that will be the end of our feudalism. 'as it is, things are uncomfortable enough, but a war would mean a break-up. what do you americans expect for max harden and his _zukunft_--exile and suppression as soon as he reaches the limit. all the influences of the centre could not keep the jesuits from being exiled! why? they would not admit the superiority of the state. harden will never have the real power of the jesuits, for the reason that he founds his appeal on principles that vary with the occasion. but he will go! as for the social democrats, they can be played with as a cat plays with a mouse. democracy! if the kaiser gets into a tight place he can always declare war! 'is the imperial chancellor responsible to the german people? no. he is imperial because he wears the imperial livery. can the reichstag appoint a chancellor? the idea is _pour rire_! my dear mr. minister, you and your countrymen do not understand prussian rule in germany! and the federal council, what chance has it against the will of our emperor? and what have the people to do with the federal council? the members are appointed by the rulers by right divine. there is the duke of mecklenburg-schwerin. he rules his little duchy with a firm hand. there is the duke of brunswick, the prince of lippe-schaumbourg--not to speak of the grand duke of baden and a whole nest of rulers responsible only to the head of the house.' 'but the people _must_ count,' i said. 'prince von bülow has shown himself to be nervous about the growing power of the social democrats.' 'oh, yes, they are very amusing. they may caterwaul in the reichstag; they may wrangle over the credits and the budget; but the emperor can prorogue them at any time. the pan-germans could easily, if the reichstag were too independent, counsel the kaiser to prorogue that debating club altogether. 'who can prevent his forcing despotic military rule on the nation, for the nation's good, of course? everything in germany must come from the top--you know that. again, the power of the rich, as far as suffrage is concerned, is unlimited. the members of the reichstag are elected by open ballot. woe be to the working man who defies his emperor. fortunately the rich german is not socially powerful until he ranks. you may be as rich as krupp, but if the fountain of honour has not dashed a spray of the sacred water on you, you are as nobody. 'the greatest american plutocrat may visit germany and spend money like water, and he remains a mere commoner. the kaiser may invite him on his yacht and say polite things, but, until he _ranks_, he is nobody. his wife may manage to be presented at court under the wing of the american ambassadress, but that is nothing! the poorest and most unimportant of the little provincial baronesses outranks her. she will always be an outsider, no matter how long she may live in germany. 'with us, in austria, an american woman, no matter whom she marries, is never received at court. she is never "born,"' and he laughed. 'americans can have no heraldic quarterings; but, then, we do not pretend to be democratic. if i loved an american girl, i would marry her, of course; but if i went to court, i should go alone. it is the rule, and going to court is not such a rare treat to people who are used to it. it becomes a bore.' to do my german diplomatic colleagues justice, they never attempted masquerades in the guise of democrats. there were other germans, whom one met in society. these people were always loyal to the fatherland. their attitude was that the german world was the best of all possible worlds. if my own countrymen and countrywomen abroad were as solidly american as these people were german, our politeness would not be so frequently stretched to the breaking point. the most loyal of germans were american people of leisure who had lived long in germany with titled relatives. they enjoyed themselves; they lived for a time in the glory of rank. with those who had to earn their own living in germany, it was another story. they did not 'rank'; they were ordinary mortals; they had not the _entrée_ to some little provincial court, and so they saw the prussian point of view as it really was. the american women, strangely enough, who had married ranking germans loved everything german. 'but how do you endure the interference with your daily life?' my wife asked an american girl married to a baron. 'i like it; it makes one so safe, so protected; your servants are under the law, and give you no trouble. order is not an idea, but a method. i know just how my children shall be educated. that is the province of my husband. i have no fault to find.' she laughed. 'i do not have to explain myself; i do not have to say, "i am a daughter of the revolution, my uncle was senator so-and-so"--my place is fixed, and i like it!' it was a distinguished german professor who assumed the task of convincing american university men that the german army was democratic, and the conclusion of his syllogism was: 'no officer is ever admitted to a club of officers who has not been voted for by the members.' would you believe it? it seems incredible that democracy should seem to depend on the votes of an aristocracy and not on principles. but later, just at the beginning of the war, this professor and a half dozen others signed a circular in which the same argument was used. in - - - , the propaganda for convincing americans that germany--that is that the kaiser--loved us was part of the daily life in the best society in the neutral countries. the norwegians openly laughed at it. they knew only too well what the kaiser's opinion of them and their king, haakon, was. amazed by the frequent allusions of the admirers of the kaiser to his love for democracy, especially the american kind, i had a talk one day with one of the most frank and sincere of germans, the late baron von der quettenburg, the father of the present vicar of the church of st. ansgar's in copenhagen. he was a hanoverian. he was at least seventy years of age when i knew him, but he walked miles; he rode; he liked a good dinner; he enjoyed life in a reasonable way; but he was frequently depressed. hanover, his proud, his noble, his beautiful hanover, was a vassal to the arrogant prussian! 'but, if there were a war you would fight for the kaiser?' i asked, after a little dinner of which any man might be proud. 'fight? naturally. (i did not know that you knew so well how to eat in america.) fight! yes! it would be our duty. russia or france or the yellow nations might threaten us;--yes, all my family, except the priest, would fight. but, because one is loyal to the kaiser through duty, it does not mean that we hanoverians are prussians through pleasure. we shall never be content until we are hanoverians again--nor will bavaria.' 'a break up of the empire by force?' 'oh, no!' he said. 'not by force; but if the government does not distract public attention, hanover will demand more freedom; so will bavaria. none of us would embarrass the kaiser by raising the question of--let us say--greater autonomy for our countries, if there were question of a foreign war; but we must raise them soon.' 'do you think the emperor would make war to avoid the raising of these questions, which might mean a tendency toward the disintegration of the german monarchy?' 'the emperor would be incapable of that; he is for peace, but the raising of the question of a certain independence among the states that form the german empire can only be prevented now by a war or some affliction equally great. hanover can never remain the abject vassal of prussia.' 'you would, then, like to see the german emperor more democratic--a president, like ours, only hereditary, governing quasi-independent states?' 'that would not suit us at all,' he laughed. 'we are quite willing that the reichstag should be in the power of the emperor, as it is a mere association for talk; but we want the tributary kings to have more power in their own states. hanover a republic! how absurd! republics may be good on your continent, but, then, you know no better; you began that way. whoever tells us that we are democratic in germany, deceives you. we hanoverians want more power for hanover, all the reasonable rights of our kings restored and less power for prussia; but that we want republicanism, oh, no! a liberal constitution--yes; but no republic!' * * * * * an old friend, a swedish social democrat, brought in to tea a german social democrat; they came to meet an icelandic composer, in whom i was interested. the icelander was a good composer, but filled with curious ideas about icelandic independence. he was not content that iceland should have the power of a state in the federal union. a separate flag meant to him complete independence of denmark. he wanted to know the german social democrat's opinion of government. 'it is,' said the german, 'that hohenzollerns shall go, and people have equality.' 'with us it is,' said the swede, 'that the king of sweden shall go, and the people have equality.' 'but, if germany goes to war?' i asked. 'for a short war, we will be as one people; but after----' and he shook his head gravely. in the meantime, we were told constantly of the kaiser's charm. 'you once said,' remarked a débutante at the german court, who had been presented under the wing of our ambassadress, 'that if one wanted to dislike mr. roosevelt, one must keep away from him! i assure you, it is the same with the kaiser. he is charming. for instance, notice this: he presented a lovely cigarette case, with imperial monogram in diamonds or something of that kind, to madame hegermann-lindencrone, the wife of the danish minister, when her husband was leaving. "but my husband does not smoke," said madame hegermann-lindencrone, later in the day. "that is the reason i gave it to him," said the kaiser; "i knew that you like a cigarette, madame!" _isn't_ he charming?' we were told that the kaiser loved mark twain. to love mark twain was to be american. to be sure he turned his back very pointedly on mark on one occasion because mark had dared to criticise the pension system of the united states. pensions for the army should not be criticised, even if their administration were defective. all soldiers must be taken care of. this was the first duty of a nation, and mark twain forgot himself when he censured any system that put money into the pockets of the old soldiers, even of the wives of the soldiers of ! and this to the war lord, the emperor of more than a prætorian guard! and as for president roosevelt, if the kaiser could only see this first of republicans! this meeting had been the great joy of his brother prince henry of prussia's life. the kaiser had learned much from americans--our great capitalists, for example. no american who was doing things was alien to him. other monarchs might pretend to have an interest in the united states; his was genuine, for germany, youngest among the nations, had so much to learn from the giant republic of the west which possessed everything, except potash, the science of making use of by-products, and german kultur! president roosevelt had just gone out of office, and president taft was in. he wrote to me: 'you shall remain in your post as long as i remain in mine.' i was pleased and grateful. the chance that president roosevelt had given me, president taft continued to give me. i was the slave of a fixed idea, that the validity not the legality, of the monroe doctrine was somewhat dependent on our acquiring by fair bargains all the territory we needed to interpret it! as to denmark in , it was much more french than anything else. and, whatever might be done in the way of propaganda by germany, france always remained beloved; while the english way of living might be imitated, nobody ever thought of imitating germany's ways. besides, the danes are not good at keeping secrets, and the whisperings of german intentions, desires, likes, and dislikes disseminated in that city were generally supposed to be heart-to-heart talks with the world and received by the danes with shrewd annotations. this the kaiser did not approve of. it was curious that neither he nor his uncle, the king of england, liked copenhagen--for different reasons! it was understood that the king of england disliked it because he found it dull--the simplicity of hvidhöre had no charms for him. he could not join in the liking of his queen for everything danish, from the ballets of de bournonville to the red-coloured herring salad. _napoli_, a ballet which queen alexandra especially recommended to my wife and myself, frankly bored him, and the _mise-en-scène_ of the royal theatre was not equal to covent garden. the kaiser disliked copenhagen because he had no regard for his danish relatives, who took no trouble to bring out those charming boyish qualities he could display at times: the influence of the princess valdemar in denmark displeased him; she was too french, too democratic, and too popular, and she had something of the quality for command of her late mother-in-law, queen louise. altogether, the danes were not amenable to german kultur, or subservient to the continual threat of being absorbed in it, as the good buddhist is absorbed in the golden lotus! chapter vi german designs in sweden and norway as far as insinuating, mental propaganda was concerned, germany, as i have said, had the advantage over 'die dumme schweden,' as the prussians always called them. 'the stupid swedes' were the easiest pupils of german world politics, but even the most german of the swedes never realised, until lately, what the prussian dream of world politics meant. before , the swedes had been led to believe that any general european difficulty would throw them into the hands of russia. the constantly recurring difficulty of the aaland islands was before their eyes. look at the map of northern europe and observe what the fortifying of the aaland islands by a foreign power means to sweden. we americans do not realise that the small nations of europe have neither a monroe doctrine nor the power of enforcing one. and, so far as sweden was concerned, her only refuge against the power of russia seemed to be germany. when austria made her ultimatum to serbia, sweden believed that her moment for sacrifice or triumph had come. in august , all scandinavia felt that the fate of the northern nations was at stake. for sweden the defeat of germany meant the conquest of sweden by the russians, for, sad to say, no little nation believed absolutely in the good faith of a great one. the united states, where so many scandinavians had found a home, what of her? too far off, and the swedish leaders of public opinion knew too well what had been the fate of the attempts at the hague conference to abrogate the machiavellian doctrines that have been the basis of diplomacy almost since diplomacy became a recognised science and art. as for diplomacy, what had it to do with the fate of the little nations? scandinavia, among the rest of europe, looked on it as a purely commercial machine dominated essentially by local political issues. our state department had a few fixed principles, but all europe believed that we were too ignorant of european conditions and, more than that, too indifferent to them to be effective. the slightest political whisper in russia or the smallest hint from court circles in germany was enough to upset the equilibrium of scandinavian statesmen. american opinion really never counted, because american opinion was looked on as insular. a diplomacy labelled as 'shirt sleeve' or 'dollar' might delight those members of congress who had come to washington to complete an education not yet begun at home, but, from the european point of view, it was beneath notice. it cannot be said that the united states was not looked on, because of her riches and her size, with respect; but her apparent indifference to the problem on which the peace of the world seemed, to europe, to depend, and her policy of changing her diplomatic ministers or keeping them in such a condition of doubt that they kept their eyes on home political conditions, had combined to deprive her of importance in matters most vital to every european. this is not written in the spirit of censure, but simply as a statement of fact. the swedes, the norwegians, the danes had flocked to our country. in parts of the west, during some of the political campaigns, my old and witty friend, senator carter, chuckling, used to quote: 'the irish and the dutch, they don't amount to much, but give me the scan-di-na-vi-an.' these people are a power in our political life; but they knew in minnesota, in nebraska, wherever they lived in the united states, that our country would not forcibly interfere with the designs either of russia or of germany. and, in sweden, while king gustav and the conservatives saw with alarm the constant depletion of the agricultural element in the nation by emigration to the united states, their feeling towards our country was one of amiable indulgence for the follies of youth. king oscar showed this constantly, and king gustav went out of his way to show attentions to our present minister, mr. ira nelson morris. nevertheless, until lately, american diplomacy was not taken seriously, and, when the war opened, it was taken less seriously than ever. sweden, then, fearing russia, doubtful of england, full of german propagandists, her ruling classes looking on france as an unhappy country governed by _roturiers_ and pedagogues, and, except in a commercial way, where we never made the most of our opportunities, regarding our country as negligible, sweden, divided violently between almost autocratic ideas and exceedingly radical ones, was in a perilous position from to . frankly, there are no people more delightful than the swedes of the upper classes whom one meets at their country houses. kronoval, the seat of the count and countess sparre, is one of the places where the voices of both parties may be heard. and, when one thinks of the swedish aristocrat, one almost says, as talleyrand said of the _talons rouges_, 'when the old order changes, much of the charm of life will disappear.' under a monarchy, life is very delightful--for the upper classes. it is no wonder that they do not want to let go of it. it must be remembered, in dealing with european questions, that the swede and the spaniard are probably the proudest people on the earth. another thing must not be forgotten: the educated classes are imperial-minded. and of this quality german intrigue makes the most. a scandinavian confederacy, like the grecian one, of which king george of greece dreamed, was not looked on with yearning by the pan-germans. it must be remembered to the credit of king gustav, that, overcoming the rancour born of the separation, he made the first move towards the meeting of the three kings at malmö,[ ] in the beginning of the war. [ ] malmö is a town on the swedish side of the sound, an hour and a half by steamboat from copenhagen. lord bothwell was imprisoned there. when finland was annexed by germany, the terror of russia in sweden became less intense. before that sven hedin, suspected of being a tool of germany, did his best to raise the threatening phantom of the russian terror whenever he could. the hatred and fear of russia revived. it was not in vain that sane-minded persons urged that russia would have enough to do to manage the eastern question, to watch japan, to keep her designs fixed on constantinople. the german propaganda constantly raised the question of the fortification of the aaland islands. denmark and norway were intensely interested in it; it gave count raben-levitzau much thought when he was minister of foreign affairs in denmark, especially after the separation of norway from sweden; and since then, it has been a burning question, and the foreign office in christiania was not untroubled. on the question of the aaland islands neither the russian nor the swedish diplomatists would ever speak except in conventional terms; but, when i wanted light, i went to the cleverest man in denmark, count holstein-ledreborg. 'de l'esprit?' he said, laughing, 'mais oui, j'ai de l'esprit. tout le monde le dit; but other things are said, too. fortunately, a bad temper does not drive out l'esprit. you are wrong; the cleverest man in denmark is edward brandès.' but this is a digression. 'the swedes,' count holstein-ledreborg said, 'are at heart individualists. they would no more bear the german rule of living than they would commit national suicide by throwing themselves into the arms of germany. england met with no success in sweden in spite of the tact of her envoys, because her ideas of sweden are insular. she scorns effective propaganda; she has never even attempted to understand the swedes. the bulk of the swedes do not vote ( ). the destinies of sweden are in the hands of the court. a king is still a king in sweden; but that will pass, and the movement of the swedish nation will be further and further away from the political ideas of germany.' in modified liberal suffrage became a swedish institution. still, the state and church remain united. religion is not free; nobody can hold office but a lutheran. the 'young sweden' party is governed very largely by the ideas of the german historian, treitschke. the philosophy of his history is reflected in the pages of harald von hjarne. he is patriotic to the core, but, whether consciously or not, he played into the hands of the prussian propagandist. his history, a chronicle of the lives of kings charles xii. and gustavus adolphus, displayed in apotheosis; and the imperialistic idea, which carries with it militarist tendencies, is illuminated with all the radiance of hjarne's magic pen. sweden must have an adequate army. when norway threatened to secede, its attitude very largely due to the bad management of the very charming and indolent king oscar, the swedish army began to mobilise. the swedes--that is the minority of swedes, the governing body--would not brook the thought that norway might become a real nation. 'we must fight!' young sweden said. the young sweden, intolerant and imperious, did not realise that it had old and young norwegians to contend with. now, if the spaniard and the swede are the proudest folk in europe, the norwegian and the icelandic are the most stiff-necked. the swedish pride and the norwegian firmness, which contains a great proportion of obstinacy, met, and norway became a separate monarchy with such democratic tendencies as make american democracy seem almost despotism. after the success of the liberals in , there was a reaction. the german propaganda fanned the excited patriotism of the swedish people; 'their army was too small, their navy inefficient'; the force of arms must be used against russia. in fact, russia had her eastern problems; the best-informed of the swedish diplomatists admitted this; but the propaganda was successful; the people were tricked; nearly forty thousand farming folk and labourers marched to the palace of king gustav. they had made great contributions in money for the increase of the fleet. 'that cruiser,' said a cynical naval attaché, 'will one day fight for germany--when the yellow peoples attack us,' he added to ward off further questions. nevertheless the german influence made no points against the 'yellow peoples.' it was against russia all their bullets were aimed. the russians understood secret diplomacy well; but, either because they despised the common people too much or because the writers on russia were too self-centred, nothing was done to meet this propaganda effectively. the swede was taught to believe that germany was the best-governed nation on the face of the earth, and russia the worst; that germany would benevolently protect, while russia was ready to pounce malignantly. russian literature gave no glimpse of light. it was grey or black, and the language in which the russian papers were printed was an effectual barrier to the understanding of the swedes, who, as a matter of course, nearly all read german. young sweden believed that the first step on the road to greatness was a declaration of war with russia. nothing could have suited the plans of the pan-germans better than this, for it meant for sweden an alliance with germany. the swedish literary man and university professors voiced, as a rule, the pro-german opinions of young sweden. there were some exceptions; but there were not many. and the worst of all this was that these men were sincere. they were not bribed with money. they were flattered, if you like, by german commendations. every historical work, every scientific treatise, every volume of poetry of any value, found publishers and even kindly critics in germany. russia was the enemy, and, from the point of view of the intellectual swede, illiterate. russia had nothing to offer except commercial opportunities at great risks. swedish capital might easily be invested at home or, if necessary, there was the united states or germany for their surplus. the pictures of russian life given out by the great writers who ought to know it, were not inspiring of hope in the future of russia. there was no special need for the swedish scholar to complain of the german influence in his country since it was all in his favour. the government honoured him--following the german examples--and made him part of the state. even the english intellectuals, who, as every scandinavian knew, ought to have distrusted germany, acknowledged the superiority of german 'kultur' without understanding that it meant, not culture, but the worship of a prussian apotheosis. one of the most agreeable of swedish professors whom i met in christiania at the centennial of the christiania university, went over the situation with me. i had come in contact with him especially as i had been honoured by being asked to represent georgetown university and further honoured by being elected dean of all the american representatives, including the mexican and south american. this was in . 'frankly,' i said, 'are not you swedes putting all your eggs into one basket? what have you to do with the teuton and slavic quarrel? do you believe for a moment that the ultra-bismarckian policy which controls germany will consider you anything but a pawn in the diplomatic game? i think that, as swedes, you ought to help to consolidate scandinavia, and your diplomatists, instead of playing into germany's hands, ought to make it worth her while to support her, as far as you choose. you are selling yourself too cheap.' his eyes flashed. 'you do not talk like an american,' he said. then he remembered himself and became polite, even 'mannered.' 'i mean that you talk too much like diplomatists of the old school of secret diplomacy.' 'i believe that there are secrets in diplomacy which no diplomatist ever tells.' 'but you would have us attempt to disintegrate russia, and, at the same time, play with germany in order to make ourselves stronger.' 'i did not say so. for some reason or other, the germans call you "stupid swedes."' 'not now. that has passed. the germans recognise our qualities,' he added proudly. 'the english do not. the russians look on us only as their prey. you, being an american, are pro-russian. i have heard that you were particularly pro-russian. not,' he added hastily, 'that you are anti-german. the german vote counts greatly in the united states, and you could not afford to be; you might lose your "job," as one of your ministers at stockholm called it; but you, confess it!--have a regard for the russians.' 'they are interesting. we of the north owe them gratitude for their conduct during our civil war. anti-german? i love the old germany; i love weimar and the tyrol; but, speaking personally, i do not love the prussianisation of germany. i have written against the _kulturkampf_. i dislike the "prussian holy ghost" who tried to rule us back in the ' 's, but my german colleagues recognise the fact that i see good in the german people, and love many of their qualities.' 'still,' laughed the professor, who knows one of my best friends in rome, 'they say that you came abroad to live down your attacks in the _freeman's journal_ on the german holy ghost.' i changed the subject; that was not one of the things i had to live down. 'germany is our only friend, our only equal intellectually, our only sympathetic relative by blood. the norwegians hate us, the danes dislike us. we have the same ideas as the germans, namely, that the elect, not the merely elected, must govern. it was martin luther's idea, and his idea has made germany great.' 'but there is nothing contrary to that idea in the northern league, which count carl carlson bonde and other swedes dreamed about, is there? you swedes seem to believe that martin luther was infallible in everything but religion. he would probably like to see most of you burned, although you are all "confirmed."' the professor laughed: 'paris vaut une messe,' he quoted. 'i admit that luther would not approve of the religious point of view of our educated classes; but, at least, we have a semblance of unity, while you, like the english, have a hundred religions and only one sauce. our lutheranism is a great bond with germany, as well as our love of science and our belief in authority. as to the northern league, count bonde was a dreamer.' 'everybody is a dreamer in sweden who is not affected by the pan-german idea. is that it?' 'you are badly informed,' he said. 'your danish environment has affected you. as long as we can control our people, we shall be great. we have only to fear the socialist. the decision in essential matters must always rest with the king and the governing classes. our army and navy will be supported by popular vote, as in germany; they are the guarantees of our greatness.' this was the opinion of most of the autocratic and military--and to be military was to be autocratic--classes in . later i spoke with one of the most distinguished of the norwegians, professor morgenstjern. he seemed to be an exception to the general idolatry of german kultur. it was impossible to get the swede of traditions to see that germany's policy was to keep the three northern nations apart--not only the northern nations but the other small nations. when, just before the war, christian x. and queen alexandrina visited belgium on their accession the german propagandists in scandinavia were shocked; it was _infra dig_. it was 'french.' 'the king and queen of denmark will be visiting alsace-lorraine and wearing the tricolour!' a disappointed hanger-on in the german legation said. it was my business to find out what various foreign offices meant, not what they said they meant. 'of open diplomacy in the full sun, there are few modern examples. secrecy in diplomacy has become gradually greater than it was a quarter of a century ago, not from mere reticence on the part of ministers, but to a large extent from the decline of interest in foreign affairs.' the writer of this sentence in the _contemporary review_ alluded to england. this lack of interest existed even more in the united states. and then as militarism grew in europe, one's business was to discover what the admiralty thought, for in germany and austria, even in france, after the dreyfus scandal, one must be able to know what the military dictators were about. the newspapers had a way of discovering certain facts that foreign offices preferred to hide. but the most astute newspaper owing to the necessity of having a fixed political policy and the difficulty of finding men foolish enough or courageous enough to risk life for money, could rarely predict with certainty what foreign offices really intended to do. besides foreign offices, outside of germany, were generally 'opportunists.' few diplomatists of my acquaintance were deceived by the kaiser's professions of peace. that he wanted war seemed incredible, for he had the reputation of counting the cost. he was indiscreet at times, but his 'indiscretions' never led him to the extent of giving away the intentions of the general staff. that he wanted to turn the baltic into a german sea was evident. the swedish 'activist' would calmly inform you that, if this were true, germany would treat sweden, and perhaps the other scandinavian countries, as great britain treated the united states--the atlantic, as everybody knew, being a 'british lake' and yet free to the united states! there was no missing link in the german propaganda in sweden. prussia used the lutheran church as she had tried to use the german jesuits and failed. the good commonsense of the swedish common people alone saved them from making german kultur an integral part of their religion. when it filtered out that, notwithstanding the close relationship of the tsaritza of russia with the german emperor, the prussian camorra had determined to control russia, to humiliate her, to control her, there were those among the leaders who saw what this meant. they saw finland and the aaland islands germanised, and their resources, the product of their mines and of their factories, as much germany's as krupp's output. the bourgeoisie and the common people saw no future glory or profit in this. the knowledge of it filtered through; the lutheran pastor, with his dislike of democracy, his love for the autocratic monarchy, 'all power comes from god,' i heard him quote, without adding that st. paul did not say that 'all rulers come from god,'--could not convince the hard-thinking, hard-working swede that religion meant subjugation to a foreign power. the lutheran church, which, like all national churches, was hampered by the state, could give no intelligent answer to his doubts, so he turned to the social democrats. the governing class in sweden seemed to take no cognisance of the growth of democracy in the hearts of the people. germany was alive to it and feared it; but, in sweden, rather than admit it and its practical effects, the rulers ignored it, were shocked by the great tide of emigration to the united states, yet careless of its effects on swedish popular opinion. on one occasion in copenhagen, king gustav asked me why so many of his people emigrated to my country. the king of sweden is a very serious man, not easily influenced or distracted from any subject that interests him, and the good of his people interested him very much. it was a difficult question to answer, for comparisons were always odious. 'i can better tell you, sir, why your subjects prefer to remain at home:--when they get good land cheap, and when they see the chance of rising beyond their fathers' position in the social scale.' he began to speak, but etiquette demanded a move. when i met him again he returned to the subject. it was better that he should talk, and he talked well. it became evident to me that there was little good agricultural land in sweden to give away, and the division between the classes was not so impassable as i had believed. he made that clear. the social democrat in sweden wants an equal opportunity, no wars to be declared by the governing classes, and the abolition of the monarchy. he is not concerned greatly with the central powers or the entente. he was glad to see the hohenzollerns displaced, but he is german in the sense that he is affiliated with the german social democrats who, he believes, were forced to deny their principles temporarily or they would have been thrown to the lions; and as, above all things, he prizes a moderate amount of material comfort for himself and his family, he will not go out of his way to be martyred; but even he was the victim of modified german propaganda; he was too patriotic to accept it all. of late, as we know, the liberal party has gained strength, and the designs of a small activist military coterie were frustrated by a series of circumstances, of which the luxburg revelations were not the least; but the main reason was the coquetting of the government with germany, one of the signs of which was that the allied blockade was not treated as a fact, while the mythical blockade by germany was accepted as really existing. personally, i had respect for dr. hammarskjold, the premier of the conservative cabinet that ruled sweden in the beginning of the war. he was formerly a colleague in copenhagen, and, with the exception of francis hagerup, now norwegian minister at stockholm, he is the greatest jurist in northern europe. he is a swede of swedes, with all the traditions of the over-educated swede. neutrality he desired above all things--that is, as long as it could be preserved with honour; but he evidently believed that, for the preservation of this neutrality, it was most necessary to keep on very good terms with germany. hammarskjold's point of view was more complicated, more technical than that of herr branting, and it is to herr branting's raising of the voice of the swedish nation that a serious difficulty with the entente was avoided. nevertheless, it would be wrong to put down hammarskjold as pro-german, for he is, first of all, pro-swedish. edwin bjorkman, an expert in swedish affairs, says, after he has paid the compliments of an honest man to the wretched prussian conspiracies in sweden:-- 'for this german intriguing against supposedly friendly nations there can be no defence. for the more constructive side of germany's effort to win sweden, there is a good deal to be said, not only in defence, but in praise. it was not wholly selfish or hypocritical, and it was directed with an intelligence worthy of emulation. all the best german qualities played a conspicuous and successful part in that effort,--enthusiasm, thoroughness, systematic thinking and acting, intellectual curiosity, adaptability, and a constant linking of national and personal interests.'[ ] [ ] _scribner's magazine._ men, like hammarskjold, were naturally affected by an influence which no other nation condescended to counteract. besides, as a good swede, hammarskjold knew that, in a possible conflict with germany, sweden had nothing to expect, in the way of help, from the allies. the german propaganda had convinced many swedes that it was england that deprived king oscar of norway with the view of isolating sweden and assisting russia's move to the sea. the late minister of foreign affairs, herr wallenberg, was regarded as a friend of the entente, and was less criticised than any other member of the government. many of his financial interests were supposed to be in france, and he has many warm friends in all social circles in that country. he is a man of cosmopolitan experience. he has the reputation of being the best-informed man in europe on european affairs. dr. e. f. dillon, in one of his very valuable articles said: 'as far back as march , he gave it as his opinion that the friction in the near east would in a brief space of time culminate in a european war.' to dr. dillon the english-speaking world owes the knowledge of the points of view of certain activists, entirely under german influence, as expressed in _schwedische stimmen zum weltkrieg--uebersetzt mit einem vorwart verschen von dr. friedrich steve_. the real title is best translated _sweden's foreign policy in the light of the world war_. it was a plea for war in the interests of germany, representing those of germany and sweden as one. they were anonymous--now that some of them have had a change of mind it is well that their names were withheld. they were evidently pro-germans of all swedish political parties. it may not be out of place to say that the papers of dr. dillon, such as those printed in the _contemporary review_, are documents of inestimable diplomatic-social value. it was the leader of the socialists, herr branting, who helped to make evident that a change had been slowly taking place among the swedish people. herr branting is of a very different type from the generally received idea of what a socialist is. he would not do on the stage. in fact, like many of the constructive socialists in scandinavia, he is rather more like a modern disciple of thomas jefferson than of marx or bakounine. he knows europe, and he brings to the cause of democracy in europe great power, well-digested knowledge, and a tolerance not common in sweden, where religious sectarianism among the bulk of the people was as great an enemy to political progress as the prussian propaganda. the most influential man in sweden, herr branting, was obliged to renew his formal adhesion to the lutheran church, which he had renounced, to hold office. the strength of herr branting's position, which has lately immensely increased, may be surmised from the fact that, in , the radicals gave , votes as against , . the government would have been wise to have heeded this warning in time; but the men who had engineered the activist movement, who had worked the swedish folk up to their demand for stronger defences and a greater army and navy, seemed to think that sweden was still to be governed from the top. the swedes are not the kind of people who can be led hither and thither by bread and the circus. they know how to amuse themselves without the assistance of their government and to earn their bread, too; but when the government, through its presumably pro-german policy, seemed to be responsible for the curtailment of the necessities of life, they turned on their leaders and read the riot act to them. sweden boldly defied pan-germanism. a great day in sweden was april st, . it was a turning point in the nation's destiny. the people took matters in their own hands. hjalmar branting had forced the swartz-lindman cabinet into a corner; no more secret understandings, no more disregard of the feelings of the voters who felt that, to help their nation intelligently, they must know what was going on. appeals to charles xii. or the shade of gustavus adolphus no longer counted. what germany liked or disliked was of no moment to branting. on the first of may we were all anxious in denmark. our minister at stockholm, mr. ira nelson morris, understood the situation; he expected no great outbreak as a result of branting's action in the rigstag, revealing the existence of a secret intrigue to raise, on the part of the government, a guard of civilians to protect the 'privileged classes,' as the socialists called them, against disturbances on the part of the proletariat. branting gave a guarantee that no tumult among the people should take place. nevertheless, the german propaganda kept at work; the people were not to be trusted. on may st, the party in power protected the palace with machine guns and packed its environs with troops. it was a rather indiscreet thing to do, since branting had given his word for peace, providing that the pro-german protectorate did not make war. on may st at least fifty thousand of the working classes, 'the unprivileged classes,' made their demonstration in procession quietly and solemnly. in the provinces, on the same day, half a million swedes sympathetically joined in this protest against the pro-german attitude of the government. when we entered the war the ruling classes declared, either privately or publicly, that we had made a 'mistake'; they hinted that germany would make us see this mistake--this out of no malevolence to america as america, but simply from a complete lack of sympathy with our ideals. it must be remembered that an aristocracy, a bureaucracy without privileges is as anomalous as a british duke without estate. the french revolution was a protest, as we all know, against vested privileges. when madame roland, the intellectual representative of a great class, was expected to dine with the servants at a noble woman's house, a long nail was driven into the coffin of privilege. in sweden the fight is on against the privileges which the higher classes in sweden have expected germany to help them conserve. on october th a new cabinet was formed; the people demanded a government which would be neutral. this was the result of the election in september. on this result--the first real step in the swedish nation toward political democracy--they stand to-day. unrestrained or uninfluenced by prussia, the classes of sweden who love their privileges, will accept the situation. the death-blow to the landed aristocracy will doubtless be the suppression of the majorats and the conversion of the entailed estates into cash. this seems to be one of the fundamental intentions of the new order. the classes who look to germany as their model and mentor are now non-existent--naturally! germany allowed to the upper classes in sweden no intellectual contact with the democracies of the world. the world news dripped into sweden carefully expurgated. her suspicions of russia were kept alive as we have seen; the good feeling which existed in denmark towards sweden (due to the help the swedish troops had given when they were quartered at glorup, near odense, in readiness to meet the prussian attack in ) had been gradually undermined. while sweden owed much of her suspicions of the other two countries to german influence as well as her fears of russia, denmark was confronted with a real danger. whatever progress sweden has made towards democracy is not due to intelligent propaganda on the part of america or england. it needed a war to teach the foreign offices that diplomatic representatives have greater duties than to be merely 'correct' and obey technical orders. german propaganda had little influence in norway, but german methods have been used to an almost unbelievable extent in the attempt to lower the morale of this self-respecting and independent people. the german propaganda could get little hold on a nation that cared only to be sufficient for itself in an entirely legitimate way. the norwegian can neither be laughed, argued, nor coerced out of an opinion that he believes to be founded on a principle, and he looks on all questions from the point of view of a free man thinking his own thoughts. german propaganda, during the war, took the form of coercion. the ordinary influences brought to bear on sweden would not be effective in norway. socialism seemed to be less destructive to the existing order of things in norway than it was in sweden, because it had fewer obstacles to overcome. it was against the pan-german idea that the three scandinavian countries should form the northern confederation dreamed of by baron carlson bonde and others. when the late king oscar of sweden came under german influence--through all the traditions of his family he should have been french--he began to give the norwegian causes of offence, and his attitude intensified their growing hatred of all privileges founded on birth, hereditary office, or assumption of superiority founded on extraneous circumstances. as we know, the form of lutheranism accepted in norway has little effect on the political life of the people, who, as a rule, are attached to their special form of protestantism because of traditions (part of this tradition is hatred of rome, as it is supposed to represent imperial principles) and because it leaves them free to choose from the bible what suits them best. it is a mistake to imagine, as some sociologists have, that the lutheran church in norway inclined the norwegians to sympathy with german ideas. i have never, as yet, met a norwegian who seemed to associate his religion with germany or to imagine that he owed any regard to that country because 'the light,' as he sometimes calls it, came to him through that german of germans, martin luther. in his mind, as far as i could see, there seemed to be two kinds of lutheranism--the german kind and the norwegian kind. i am speaking now of the people of average education--who would dare to use the phrase 'lower classes' in speaking of the norwegians as we use it of the swedes or the english? an 'average education' means in norway a high degree of knowledge of what the norwegian considers essential. this shows that racial differences are much more potent than religious beliefs; and yet, in considering the problems of the world to-day, it would be vain to leave religious affairs out of the question, worse than vain--foolish. the crown prince of germany, having studied the life of napoleon bonaparte, knew this; the kaiser, knowing machiavelli, understood it too well. lutheranism in norway is not a political factor owing to the peculiar temperament of the people; therefore, germany could not make use of it. with the intellectual classes, the independent thinkers, it has ceased to be a factor at all. ibsen, who was in soul a mystic, is accused of leaning towards german philosophies even by some of his own countrymen; but there was never a more individualistic man than he. in my conversation with learned and intellectual norwegians, i discovered no leaning whatever to autocratic ideals. they were only aristocrats in the intellectual sense. 'even our upper classes,' said a swede, an ardent admirer of the ideas of the liberal swede, count hamilton, 'are changing. you ought to know our people as you know the danes. a nation as plastic as ours, capable of breaking its traditions by making a king of marshal bernadotte, a person not "born" has great capacities for adaptation; and this is the reason why my country will not be divided between germanised aristocrats and a socialistic proletariat.' this, after all, represents the essential attitude of the best in sweden. that german ideals were propagated and well received by the ruling classes is true, but, to generalise about any country, simply because of the attitude of the persons one meets in society, is a mistake that would lead a diplomatic representative into all manner of difficulties. to assume that sweden could have been governed as germany was governed, because german is the fashionable language among the aristocracy and the intellectuals, or because sweden is lutheran, or because the university and military education is founded on german methods, is too misleading. the swedish folk are not the kind that would tamely submit to the drastic rule of the autocratic hohenzollern. the german attitude toward norway was frankly antagonistic. there was no power there to persuade the citizens of that country that all kultur should come from above. the norwegian is a democrat at heart. he believes, with reason, in the industrial future of his country; he understands what may be done with his inexhaustible supply of 'white coal'; he knows the value of the process for seizing the nitrates from the air. when he heard that supplies of potash had been discovered in spain, a distinguished norwegian said: 'poor spain! the prussians will seize it now; but we should be willing to meet all the prussian fury if we could discover potash in norway!' it is an open secret that norway, at the time of her separation from sweden, would have preferred a republican form of government. the powers, england and russia and germany, would not hear of this, and the norwegians consented to a very limited monarchy. german or russian princes were out of the question, and prince charles of denmark, now king haakon, who had married the princess maud of great britain and ireland, was chosen. king edward vii. was pleased with this arrangement; he had no special objection to the cutting down of monarchical prerogatives, provided the hereditary principle was maintained, and the marriage strengthened the english influence in norway. as king haakon and queen maud have a son--prince olav--the norwegians are content, especially as king haakon knows well how to hold his place with tact, sympathy, and discretion. norway is naturally friendly to the united states and england, and, in spite of the kaiser's regular summer visits, it was never at all friendly to him. the treatment of norway, when the germans found that the norwegians were openly against their methods, was ruthless. the plot of the german military party against the capital of norway, which meant the blowing up of a part of the city, has been hinted at, but not yet fully revealed. the reports of the attempt to introduce bombs in the shape of coals into the holds of norwegian ships bound to america were well founded, and the misery and wretchedness inflicted on the families of norwegian sailors by the u-boat 'horribleness' has made the german name detested in norway. after the crime of the _lusitania_, the german minister was publicly hissed in christiania. remaining neutral, norwegian business men kept up such trade with the belligerents as the u-boat on one side and the embargo on the other permitted. war and business seem to have no scruples, and the norwegian merchant, like most of ours, before we joined the allies, felt it his duty to try to send what he could into germany. the british minister at christiania, the british admiralty, and a patriotic group of norwegians did their utmost in limiting this, and, when the united states entered the war, they were ably seconded by the american minister, mr. schmedeman. the norwegians, in spite of all dangers, kept their boats running, and they were shocked when the united states tightened the embargo, with a strangle grip. the norwegian press openly said that we, the friend of the little nations, had proved faithless, and pointed to their record as friends of democracy. the american minister, in the midst of the storm, did an unusual thing; he published the text of the prepared agreement, which nansen had sent to washington to negotiate. there was a time, before this, when the name of our country, formerly so beloved and revered, was execrated among the norwegians. mr. schmedeman's quick insight calmed a storm which arose from disappointment at the stringent demands of a nation they had hitherto considered as their best friend. this constant friendship for us was shown on all occasions in copenhagen by dr. francis hagerup and dr. john irgens, two of the most respected diplomatists in europe. dr. hagerup's reputation is widely spread in this country. no human being could be imagined as a greater antithesis to the prussians than the norwegians; the norwegian is in love with liberty; he is an idealistic individual; it is difficult, too, to believe that the norwegian, the swede and the dane are of the same race. the norwegian is as obstinate as a lowland scot and as practical; he is a born politician; he calls a spade a spade, and he is not noted for that great exterior polish which distinguishes the swede and the dane of the educated classes. a norwegian gentleman will have good manners, but he is never 'mannered.' for frankness, which sometimes passes for honesty, the norwegian of the lower classes is unequalled. this has given the norwegian a reputation for rudeness which he really does not deserve. he is no more rude than a child who looks you in the eye and gives his opinion of your personal appearance without fear or favour; it does not imply that he is unkind. there is a story of a norwegian shipowner, who, asked to dine with king haakon, found that a business engagement was more attractive, so he telephoned: 'hello, mr. king, i can't come to dinner!' a norwegian told me, with withering scorn, the 'stupid comment' of an 'ignorant swede' on the norwegian character: 'you have no niagara falls in sweden, no great city like chicago, no red indians!' he had said, 'we have finer cataracts than your niagara falls, a magnificent city, stockholm, the paris of scandinavia, and many red indians, but _we_ call them norwegians!' one summer day, two well-mounted german officers, probably attending the kaiser or making arrangements for his usual yachting trip to norway, came along a country road. they were splendid looking creatures, voluminously cloaked--a wind was blowing--helmets glittering. our car had stopped on a side road; something was wrong. a peasant, manipulating two great pine stems on a low, two-wheeled cart, had barred the main road, and, as the noontide had come, sat down to eat his breakfast. one of the officers haughtily commanded him to clear the way, expecting evidently a frightened obedience. the peasant put his hands in his pockets and said,--'mr. man, i will move my logs when i can. first, i must eat my breakfast, you can jump your horses over my logs; why not? jump!' the officer made a movement to draw his revolver; the norwegian only laughed. 'besides,' he said, 'there is a wheel half off my cart; i cannot move it quickly.' the language of the officers was terrifying. finally, they were compelled to jump. neither the sun glittering on the fierce eagles nor the curses of the officers moved this amiable man; he drank peacefully from his bottle of schnapps and munched his black bread and sausage as if their great persons had never crossed his path, or, rather, he theirs. neither art, literature nor music has been germanised in norway. art, of later years, has been touched by the french ultra-impressionists. there is no humble home in the mountains that does not know grieg. and why? when you know grieg and know norway, you know that grieg is norway. norway is the land of the free and the home of the brave. there was no fear that german ideas would control it, and the prussians knew this. what is good in german methods of education the norwegians adopt, but they first make them norwegian. chapter vii the religious propaganda machiavelli, in _the prince_, instructs rulers in the use of religion as a means of obtaining absolute power; and from the point of view of monarchs of the renaissance and after, he would have been a fool, if he had neglected this important bond in uniting the nations he governed. it was not a question as to the internal faith of the ruler; that was a personal matter; but outwardly he must conform to the creed which gave him the greatest political advantages. there is a pretty picture of napoleon's teaching the rudiments of christianity to a little child at saint helena; but who imagines that he would have hesitated to make the sacred pilgrimage to mecca or to prostrate himself before the idols of any powerful pagan nation, if he could have fulfilled his plans in the east? 'paris vaut une messe,' said henry iv. of navarre and france with the cynicism of his tribe. queen catherine di medici and queen elizabeth had their superstitions. they probably believed that all clever people have the same religion, but never tell what it is--the religion to which lord beaconsfield thought he belonged. it is against the subversion of religion, of spirituality, to the state that democracy protests. frankly, it is as much against the despotism of socialism as it is against the machiavellianism of his late imperial majesty, the german emperor. he hoped to become emperor of germany and the world, and to speak from berlin _urbi et ubi_. to be german emperor did not content him. the kaiser's use of religion as an adjunct to the possession of absolute power began very early in his reign. bismarck could teach him nothing, though bismarck was as decided a hegelian as he was a prussian in his idea of the function of the ruler. hegel, the learned author of the _philosophy of right_, was prussian to the core. he was on the side of the rulers, and he hated reforms, or rather, feared reformers, because they might disturb the divinely ordered authority. there must be a dot to the 'i' or it meant nothing in the alphabet. this dot was the king. he was the darling of the prussian government and the spokesman of frederick william iii. he loathed the movement in germany towards democratic reforms, and watched england with distrustful eyes. the teaching of most hegelians in the universities of the united states--and the hegelian idea of the state had made much progress here--was to minimise somewhat the arbitrary and despotic ideas of their favourite prussian philosopher. no man living has yet understood the full meaning of all parts of his philosophical teachings, but one thing was clear to all men who, like myself, watched the application of hegelianism to prussia and to germany. the state must be supreme. the catholics in germany saw the errors of hegelianism as applied to the state, but they were not sufficiently enlightened or clever, and they neglected to oppose its progress efficiently. there are various opinions about the activities of the fathers of the congregation of jesus (founded by saint ignatius loyola as a _corps d'élite_ of the counter-reformation) in germany and in the world in general. bismarck heartily disapproved of them for the same reasons as hegel disapproved of them. they taught that cæsar is not omnipotent, that the human creature has rights which must be respected, and are above the claims of the state. in a word, in germany, they stood for the one thing that the prussian monarchs detested--dissent on the part of any subject to their growing assertion of the divine right of kings. windthorst formed the centrum, and opposed bismarck valiantly, but political considerations prussianised the centre, or catholic party, as they moved 'the enemies of prussianism,' the socialists, when the crucial moment arrived, and burned incense to absolute cæsar. it was not a question of lutheranism against catholicism in germany in , not a question of an enlightened philosophy, founded on modern research against obscurantism, as most of my compatriots have until lately thought, but a clean-cut issue between the doctrine of the entire supremacy of the state and the inherent rights of the citizen to the pursuit of happiness, provided he rendered what he owed to cæsar legitimately. that the victims of the oppression were jesuits blinded many of us to the motive of the attack. the educational system of the jesuits had enemies among the catholics of germany, too, so that they lost sight of the principle underneath the falk laws, so dear to bismarck. frederick the great and catherine of russia protected the jesuits, it is true, but they were too absolute to fear them. besides, as intellectuals, they were bound to approve of a society, which in the eighteenth century had not lost its reputation for being the most scientific of religious bodies. the falk laws were, in the opinion of bismarck and the disciples of the _kulturkampf_, the beginning of the moulding of the catholic church in germany as a subordinate part of the autocratic scheme of government. they had nothing to fear from the lutherans--they were already under control--and nothing to fear from the unbelieving intellectuals, of the universities, for they had already accepted hegel and his corollaries. the main enemies of the ultra-kaiserism were the catholic church and socialism--socialism gradually drawing within its circle those men who, under the name of social democrats, believed that the hohenzollern rule meant obscurantist autocracy. the socialists, pure and simple, are as great an enemy to democracy as the pan-germans. the varying shades of opinion among the social democrats,--there are liberals among them of the school of asquith, and even of the school of lloyd george, constitutional monarchists with jeffersonian leanings, lutherans, catholics, non-believers, men of various shades of religious opinion are all bent on one thing,--the destruction of the ideals of government advocated by hegel and put into practice by the emperor and his coterie. both the socialist and the social democrat came to copenhagen. they talked; they argued. they were on neutral soil. it was impossible to believe, on their own evidence, that the socialism of marx, of bebel, of the real socialists in germany, could remedy any of the evils which existed under imperialistic régime in that country. the socialist or the social democrat was feared in germany, until he applied the razor to his throat, or, rather, attempted hari-kari when he voted for war. the socialists can never explain this away. his prestige, as the apostle of peace and good-will, is gone; he is no longer international; he is out of count as an altruist. the social democrat is in a better position; he never claimed all the attributes of universal benignity; he was still feared in germany, but in that harmless debating society, the reichstag, with the flower of the german manhood made dumb in the trenches, he could only threaten in vain. in our country, pure socialism is misunderstood. it is either cursed with ignorant fury or looked on as merely democracy, a little advanced, and perhaps too individualistic. it ought to be better understood. socialism means the negation of the individual will; the deprivations of the individual of all the rights our countrymen are fighting for. it is a false christianity with christian precepts of good-will, of love of the poor, of equality, fraternity, liberty,--phrases which have, on the lips of the pure socialist, the value of the same phrases uttered by robespierre and marat. 'i find,' said a berlin socialist, whom i had invited to meet ben tillett, the english labour agitator, 'that danish socialism is merely social democracy. given a fair amount of good food and comfort, schools, and cheap admittance to the theatres, the copenhagen socialists seem to be contented. you may call it "constructive socialism," but i call it social degeneracy. we, following the sacred principles of marx and bakounine, different as they were, must destroy before we can construct. in the future, every honest man will drive in his own car, and the best hospitals will not be for those that pay, but for those who cannot pay. cagliostro said we must crush the lily, meaning the bourbons; we must crush all that stands in the way of the perfect rule which will make all men equal. we must destroy all governments as they are conducted at present; we have suffered; all restrictive laws must go!' ben tillett could not come to luncheon that day, so we missed a tilt and much instruction. the european socialist's only excuse for existence is that he has suffered, and he has suffered so much that his sufferings must cry to god for justice. as to his methods, they are not detestable. they are so reasonable, so christian, that some of us lose sight of his principles in admiring them. the kaiser has borrowed some of the best of the socialistic methods in the organisation of his superbly organised empire, and that makes germany strong. but sympathy with the socialists anywhere is misplaced. their principles are as destructive as their methods are admirable. their essential article of faith is that the state, named the socialistic aggregation, shall be supreme and absolute. as to the other enemies of despotism in germany, the jesuits, they were downed simply because bismarck and the hegelian ideal would not tolerate them. they exalted, as hegel said, the virtue of resignation, of continency, of obedience, above the great old pagan virtues, which ought to distinguish a teuton. the jesuits, german citizens, few in number, apparently having no powerful friends in europe or the world, were cast out, as the war lord would have cast out the socialist if he had dared. but the socialists were a growing power; they had shown that they, like the unjust steward in the parable, know how to make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness. the jesuits went; the catholic party, the centre was placated by the request of germany to have the pope arbitrate the affair of the caroline islands and by the colonial policy of bismarck in in supporting the work of cardinal lavigerie in africa. the catholic population of germany, more than one-third of the whole, accepted the dictum that the state had the right to exile german citizens because they disagreed with the government as to the freedom of the human conscience. however, as the catholic germans were divided in sentiment as to the value of the jesuit system of education, which in this country seems to be very plastic, they were at last fooled by the centrum, their party, into the acceptance of a compromise. to copenhagen, there came, after the opening of the war, an old priest, who had been caught in the net in belgium; 'that christians should forgive such horrors as the germans commit! why do not the christian germans protest? i confessed a german colonel, a catholic, who had lain a day and a night in a field outside a belgian town. he was dying when some of your americans found him, and brought him to me. "i suffered horrors during the night," he said, "horrors almost unbearable. i groaned many times; i heard the voices of men passing; these men heard me." "there is a wounded man," one said, and they came to me. "he's a german," the other said, "qu'il crève" (let him die). and they passed on. "this," i thought, in my agony, "this, in a christian land where the story of the good samaritan is read from the pulpits; yet they leave me to die. but when i remembered, father, the atrocities for which i had been obliged to shoot ten of my own soldiers, i understood why they had passed me by."' the good priest, who had many friends in germany, repeated over and over again: 'whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad; the catholics in germany must be mad!' bismarck had used falk and the liberals to divide and control. he later found it necessary to placate windthorst and the centrum, then a 'confessional,' or religious party. it has changed since that time; it is now, like the social democratic block, made up of persons of various shades of religious opinion, but having similar political ideas. it represents a determination not to allow the state to be absolute, and, no doubt, if the united states had realised its position, it might have been strengthened by intelligent propaganda to be of use in breaking the prussian autocracy. but hitherto even travelled americans have regarded it as a remnant of the middle ages, and hopelessly reactionary. it was part of the kaiser's policy to make the rest of the world think so, for he had adopted and adapted this bismarckian chart while throwing the pilot of many stormy seas overboard. bismarck lived to see the heritage of despotism, which he had destined for his oldest son, seized by a young monarch, whose capabilities he had underrated. then, the danes say, he uttered the sneer, 'i will freshen the hohenzollern blood with that of struense!' the german propaganda for controlling the church in the united states had been well thought out in . the emigrants from germany, just after , were not open to the influence of prussian ideas; they had had more than sufficient of them, but when the great crowd of germans came in later, it was time to inject the proper spirit of prussianism into their veins. it is well known that the emperor william had his eyes on the vatican. he was wise enough to see that if the catholic church lost in one place, she was certain to gain in another; it was not necessary for him to read macaulay's eloquent passage on the papacy, as most statesmen who speak english do. but his indiscretions in speech and writing, whether premeditated or not, for the _zeitgeist_ and the orthodox lutherans must be propitiated--were constantly nullifying his plans. as to the spiritual essence of the catholic church, the emperor did not recognise it. papal rome was dangerous to him as long as it remained independent; he coquetted with harnack and with the most advanced of the higher critics who whittled the bible into a pipestem. how he squared himself with the orthodox lutherans, apparently nearly two-thirds of the population, can only be shown by his constant allusions to the prussian god. as a state church, yielding obedience almost entirely to the governing power of the country, he had little fear of lutheranism in its varying shades of opinion. the jews he evidently always distrusted. he regarded them as internationalists and not to be recognised until they became of the state church; then they might aspire, for certain considerations, to be _rath_ and even to wear the precious _von_. the emperor wanted control of the vatican. he knows history (at least we thought so in copenhagen), and he was sympathetic with his ancestors in all their quarrels with the holy see on the subject of the investitures; the emperor had wisely foreseen that difficulties of the same kind between the vatican and himself might easily break out, were not the vatican modernised or controlled. he knew that the claims of the popes to dethrone rulers could never be revived since they were not inherent in the papacy, but only admitted by the consent of christendom, which had ceased to exist as a political entity; but the question of the right of a lay emperor to control the policy of the holy father in matters of the religious education, marriage, church discipline of catholics might at any time arise. he knew the _non possumus_ of rome too well to believe that in a spiritual crisis she could be moved by the threats of any ruler. if his imperial majesty could have forced the principle of some of his ancestors that the religion of a sovereign must be that of his subjects, the question might be settled. if he could have arranged the religion of his subjects as easily as he settled the question as to the authenticity of the flora of lucas in berlin in favour of director bode, how clear the way would have been! as it was, he knew too well what he might expect from rome in a crisis where he, following the prussian _zeitgeist_, might wish to infringe on the spiritual prerogatives. to understand the world every european diplomatist of experience knows the vatican must not be ignored, and, while the war lord, the future emperor of the world, hated to acknowledge this, he was compelled to do it. the vatican, that had nullified the may laws and defeated falk, their sponsor, might give the emperor trouble at any time. catholics of the higher classes all over europe were ceasing to be royalists. the pope, leo xiii., had even accepted the french republic, and for the part of cardinal rampolla and of archbishop ireland in this the kaiser hid his rancour. he must be absolute as far as the right of his family and those of the hereditary succession went, and quite as absolute in his control over such laws as were for the increase of the kultur of his people. at one time, since the present war opened, it was rumoured at copenhagen that plural marriages were to be allowed, to increase the population of a nation so rapidly being depleted. i was astonished to hear a german lutheran pastor--he was speaking personally, and not for his church--say that there was nothing against this in the teachings of luther or melanchthon. he quoted the affair of a landgraf of hesse in the sixteenth century. 'but the kaiser would not consent to this,' i said. 'why not?' responded the pastor. 'he knows his old testament; he has the right of private interpretation especially when the good of the state is to be considered.' 'over a third of the germans are catholics; the pope would never consent to that.' 'there would be an obstacle,' he admitted; 'but the kaiser, in the interests of the nation, would have his way. our nation must have soldiers. you americans,' he added, bitterly, 'are killing our prospective fathers in the name of bethlehem. we must make up the deficit by turning to the hebraic practice.' 'you cannot bring the catholics to that, and i doubt whether any decent people would consent to it, in spite of your quotation from luther's precedent. no pope could allow it.' 'a pope can do anything--whom you shall forgive,' he laughed, 'is forgiven.' 'a pope cannot do anything; the moment he approved of plural marriages in the interest of any nation, he would cease to be pope. he cannot abrogate a law both divine and natural, and i doubt----' 'do not doubt the power of the head of the german people, the shepherd of his church. the german people are the religious, the spiritual counterparts of the true israelites, were begotten by the spirit, mystical jehovah who made israel the prophet-nation; mystically he has designated the german tribes as their successors. he lives in us. this war is his doing; our kultur, which is saturated with our religion, is inspired by him. he must destroy that the elect may live.' 'again, i repeat, germany can no more accept such debasing of the moral currency than she can encourage the production of illegitimate children at the present moment. i do not believe that there is a hospital in berlin, especially arranged for the caring for the offspring of army nurses and soldiers. it is a calumny.' 'we must have boy children,' said the pastor, 'but that is going too far. still, _deutschland über alles_. we may one day have a german pope with modern ideas.' my friend of st. peter's lutheran german church was out of town. i asked another friend to report the conversation to him. our mutual friend said that pastor lampe smiled and said, 'there are extremists in every country. tell the american minister to read dr. preuss in the _allgemeine evangelische_, _lutherische kirchenzeitung_.' but i am out of due time; dr. preuss's famous _passion of germany_, in full, appeared later, in . it is true that austria's vote at the conclave had defeated cardinal rampolla as a candidate for the papacy. the emperor of austria had permitted himself to be used as a tool of the german emperor, not willingly, perhaps, for rampolla stood for many things political which the absolutists hated. nevertheless, he had done it, to the disgust of the college of cardinals, who thus saw a forgotten weapon of the lay power used against themselves. they abolished the right of veto, which austria as a catholic power had retained. but the conclave elected a pope who did not please the kaiser. he was a kindly man of great religious fervour, impossible to be moved by german cajoling or threats. the knowledge of the crime of germany killed him. nevertheless, the emperor william had curbed the power of rampolla, as he hoped to destroy that of archbishop ireland in the great republic of the west. a powerful church with a tendency to democracy was what he feared, and archbishop ireland, a frankly democratic prelate, the friend of france, the admirer of lafayette, had dared to raise his powerful hand against the religious propaganda of the all highest in the united states of america, where one day german kultur was to have a home. the great napoleon had thought of his sister, the princess pauline, as empress of the western hemisphere. why not one of our imperial sons for the crude republic which had helped mexico in the old, blind days to eject maximilian? napoleon had made his son, later the duke of reichstadt, king of rome. why should not one of the sons of our napoleonic crown prince be even greater, a german pope--at least a german prince of the church expounding harnack with references to strauss's _life of jesus_? why not? the vicegerent of the teutonic god? from many sources it leaked out that the kaiser looked on the most reverend john ireland as an enemy of his projects both in europe and the united states. the archbishop of st. paul was known to be the friend of cardinal rampolla. all who knew the inside of recent history were aware that he had been consulted by leo xiii. on vital matters pertaining to france, in which country the ultra-royalists, who had managed to wrap a large part of the mantle of the church around them, were making every possible mistake and opposing the pope's determination to recognise the republic. archbishop ireland had been educated in france; he had served in the civil war as chaplain; he knew his own country as few ecclesiastics knew it. he, growing up with the west, in the most american part of the west, had brought all the resources of european culture, of an unusual experience in world affairs, to a country at that time not rich in men of his type. in the east, the catholic church had had prelates like cardinal cheverus, archbishop of boston, a number of them, but st. paul was little better than a trading station when john ireland finished the first part of his education in france. the tide of emigration had not yet begun to raise questions on the answers to which the future of the country depended. it required far-sighted men to consider them sanely. from the beginning archbishop ireland reflected on them. he saw the danger of rooting in new soil the bad, old weeds, the seeds of which were poisoning europe. he was familiar with the _coulisses du vatican_, knew that rome ecclesiastically would try to do the right thing. but rome ecclesiastically depends very largely on the information it receives from the countries under consideration. the attitude of the opponents of the catholic church is due, as a rule, to their ignorance of anything worth knowing about the church and their utter disregard of its real history. their narrow attitude is illustrated by the story that president roosevelt, in a cabinet meeting was once considering the form of a document which official etiquette required, should be addressed to the pope. 'your holiness,' said the president. a member of the cabinet objected. this title from a protestant president! 'do you want me to call the pope the son of the scarlet lady?' asked the president. the objection was as valid as that of the puritan who objected to sign a letter 'yours faithfully' because he was not _his_ faithfully! in the celebrated _century_ article of , the handling of which showed that the editors of the _century_ held their honour higher than any other possession, an allusion to archbishop ireland appeared. i have been informed that it showed the animus of the kaiser against the archbishop, who with cardinal gibbons, the bishops keane, spalding, o'gorman, and archbishop riordan seconded by the present bishop of richmond, denis o'connell, had defeated, after a frightful struggle, the attempt of kaiserism to govern the catholic church in this country. its beginnings seemed harmless enough. a merchant named peter paul cahensly of limburg, prussia, suggested at the catholic congress of trier, the establishment of a society for protecting german emigrants to the united states, both at the port of leaving and the port of arriving. another catholic congress met in bamburg, bavaria, three years later. connection was made with the central verein, which at its convention took up the matter zealously. but the zeal waned, and in , herr cahensly came to new york in the steerage so that he could know how the german emigrant lived at sea. he arranged that the german emigrants should be looked after in new york and then left for home. it was reasonable enough that cahensly should interest himself in the welfare of the germans at the point of departure, but entirely out of order that he should attempt any control of the methods for taking care of the emigrants on this side. it was suspected that cahensly had talked over a plan for retaining the catholic germans, especially in the west, where they formed large groups, as still part of their native country. this had already been tried among the lutherans, and had for a time succeeded. the swedish lutherans, segregated under the direction of german-educated pastors, were considered to have been well taken care of. the war has shown that the americans of swedish birth in the west showed independence. the suspicions entertained by the watchful were corroborated when, in , cahensly presented a memorial to the papal secretary of state, cardinal rampolla, making the plea that the 'losses' to the church were so great, owing to the lack of teaching and preaching in german, that a measure ought to be taken to remedy this evil by appointing foreign bishops and priests, imported naturally, so that each nationality would use the language of its own country. the object aimed at was to put the english language in the background, to have the most tender relations, those between god and little children, between the growing youths and christianity, dominated by a mode of thought and expression which would alienate them from their fellows. in business, a man might speak such english as he could; but english was not good enough for him in the higher relations of life. he might earn money in 'this crude america,' but all the finenesses of life must be german. i think i pointed out in the new york _freeman's journal_ at the time, that, if there were a special german holy ghost, as some of these germanophiles seemed to believe, he had failed to observe that there was little in the 'heretical' english language so devoid of all morality as the dogmas proposed to govern the conduct of life in some of the wisconsin papers, printed in german. some clear-sighted americans, cardinal gibbons and archbishop ireland at their head, saw what this meant. kaiserism was concealed in the glow of piety. the proceedings of the priester verein convention, in newark, september , , is on record. the ordinary of the diocese, bishop wigger, had protested against the stand the german priests' society proposed to take; he had announced his disapproval in advance of 'cahenslyism'; he was stolidly against the appointment of 'national,' that is, trans-atlantic bishops selected because they spoke no language but their own. the choice of the 'germanisers' was the reverend dr. p. j. schroeder--monseigneur schroeder, rather; he had been imported by bishop keane, afterwards archbishop, to lecture at the catholic university. bishop keane, like most americans before the war, believed that germany held many persons of genius who honoured us by coming over. when dr. schroeder's name was mentioned, a caustic english prelate had remarked: 'i thought the americans had enough mediocrities in their own country without going abroad for them.' but mgr. schroeder had a very high opinion of himself. american catholics were heretical persons, of no metaphysical knowledge; they could not count accurately the number of angels who could dance on the point of a needle! he arrogantly upheld the german idea. english-speaking priests were neither willing nor capable. the emigrants in the united states would be germans or nothing--_aut kaiser aut nullus_. the german priests in the west claimed the right to exclude from the sacraments all children and their parents who did not attend their schools, no matter how inefficient they were. the controversy became international. in germany, to deny the premises of mgr. schroeder was to be heretical, worthy of excommunication; in this country there was a camp of kaiserites who held the same opinion. it is true that bismarck had opened the _kulturkampf_ in the name of the unity of the fatherland. it is true that the kaiser would gladly have claimed the right his ancestors had struggled for--of investing bishops with the badges of authority--and that he gave his hearty approbation to the exile of the jesuits. nevertheless, he was the kaiser! compared with him, the president of the united states was an upstart, and cardinal gibbons was to the ultra-germans almost an anathema as cardinal mercier is! there was a fierce struggle for several years. bombs, more or less ecclesiastical, were dropped on archbishop ireland's diocese. to hear some of these bigots talk, we would have thought that this brave american was talleyrand, bishop of autun. but the right won. cahenslyism was stamped out, and here was another reason why the kaiser did not love archbishop ireland, and another reason why bavaria and austria, backed up by prussia, protested against every attempt on the part of rome to give him the cardinal's hat. this would have meant the highest approval of a prelate who stood for everything the kaiser and the bavarian and austrian courts detested. the _curia_ is made up of the councillors of the pope; a layman might be created cardinal--it is not a sacerdotal office in itself--and while the pope would reject with scorn the request that a temporal government should nominate a bishop, he might accept graciously a request that a certain prelate be made a cardinal from the ruler of any nation. if president roosevelt had been willing to make such a request to leo xiii.--he was urged to do it by many influential protestants who saw what archbishop ireland had done in the interest of this country--there is no doubt that his request would have been granted. the cardinals are 'created' for distinguished learning. one might quote the comparatively modern example of cardinals newman and gasquet; for traditional reasons, because of the importance of their countries in the life of the church; and they might be created, in older days, for political reasons. but the wide-spread belief that a cardinal was necessarily a priest leads to misconceptions of the quality of the office. if the french republic were to follow the example of england and china, send an envoy to the holy see, and make a 'diplomatic' _rapprochement_, neither rome nor any nation in europe would be shocked if his holiness should consent to a suggestion from the president of the french republic and 'create,' let us say, abbé klein a cardinal. archbishop ireland with his group of americans saved us from the insults of the propaganda of kaiserism. this name was synonymous with all things political and much that is social, loathed by the absolutes in austria, bavaria and, of course, germany. the creation of archbishop ireland as a cardinal would have been looked on by these powers as a deadly insult to them, on the part of the pope. they made this plain. the failure of the cahensly plan caused much disappointment in germany. the kaiser, in spite of his flings at the catholic church--witness a part of the suppressed _century_ article and the letter to an aunt 'who went over to rome'--was quite willing to appear as her benefactor. much has been made of his interest in the restoration of the cathedral of cologne. this, after all, was simply a national duty. a monarch with over one-third of his subjects catholics, taking his revenues from the taxes levied on them, could scarcely do less than assist in the preservation of this most precious historical monument. he seemed to have become regardless of the opinion of his subjects. he had heart-to-heart talks with the world; one of these talks was with mr. william bayard hale; the _century magazine_ bought it for $ , . . it was to appear in december . that its value as a 'sensation' was not its main value may be inferred from the character of the editors, richard watson gilder, robert underwood johnson and clarence clough buel--a group of scrupulously honourable gentlemen. this conversation with mr. hale took place on the kaiser's yacht. it was evidently intended for publication, for the most indiscreet of sovereigns do not talk to professional writers without one eye on the public. speaking of his _impressions of the kaiser_, the hon. david jayne hill says: 'it seemed like a real personal contact, frank, sincere, earnest and honest. one could not question that, and it was the beginning of other contacts more intimate and prolonged; especially at kiel, where the sportsman put aside all forms of court etiquette, lying flat on the deck of the _meteor_ as she scudded under heavy sail with one rail under water; at eckernforde, where the old tars came into the ancient inn in the evening to meet their kaiser and drink to his majesty's health a glass of beer.' 'did you ever see anything more democratic in america?' the kaiser asked, gleefully, one time. 'what would roosevelt think of this?' he inquired at another. 'hating him, as many millions no doubt do,' mr. hill continues, 'it would soften their hearts to hear him laugh like a child at a good story, or tell one himself. can it be? yes, it can be. there is such a wide difference between the gentler impulses of a man and the rude part ambition causes him to play in life! a rôle partly self-chosen, it is true, and not wholly thrust upon him. a soul accursed by one, great, wrong idea, and the purposes, passions, and resolutions generated by it. a mind distorted, led into captivity, and condemned to crime by the obsession that god has but one people, and they are his people; that the people have but one will, and that is his will; that god has but one purpose, and that is his purpose; and being responsible only to the god of his own imagination, a purely tribal divinity, the reflection of his own power-loving nature, that he has no definite responsibility to men.' nevertheless, in copenhagen, we understood from those who knew him well that he was a capital actor, that he never forgot the footlights except in the bosom of his family, and even there, as the young princes grew older, there were times when he had to hide his real feelings and assume a part. in , he was determined that the united states should be with him; he never lost an opportunity of praising president roosevelt or of expressing his pleasure in the conversation of americans. i think i have said that he boasted that he knew russia better than any other man in germany, and it seemed as if he wanted to know the united states to the minutest particular. it is a maxim among diplomatists that kings have no friends, and that the only safe rule in conducting one's self towards them are the rules prescribed by court etiquette. it is likewise a rule that politeness and all social courtesies shall be the more regarded by their representatives as relations are on the point of becoming strained between two countries. how little the kaiser regarded this rule is obvious in the case of judge gerard, who however frank he was at the foreign office--and the outspoken methods he used in treating with the german bureaucrats were the despair of the lovers of protocol--was always most discreet in meetings with the kaiser. i was asked quietly from berlin to interpret some of his american 'parables,' which were supposed to have an occult meaning. there was a tale of a one-armed man, with an inimitable broadway flavour, that 'intrigued' a high german official. i did my best to interpret it diplomatically. but, though our ambassador, the most 'american' of ambassadors, as my german friends called him, gave out stories at the foreign office that seemed irreverent to the great, there was no assertion that he was not most correct in his relations with the german emperor. yet, one had only to hear the rumours current in copenhagen from the berlin court just after the war began, to know that the emperor had dared to show his claws in a manner that revealed his real character. judge gerard's book has corroborated these rumours. the fact that i had served under three administrations gave me an unusual position in the diplomatic corps, irrespective entirely of any personal qualities, and--this is a digression--i was supposed to be able to find in ambassador gerard's parables in slang their real menace. a very severe bavarian count, who deplored the war principally because it prevented him from writing to his relations in france, from paying his tailor's bill in london, and from going for the winter to rome, where he had once been chamberlain at the vatican, said that he had heard a story repeated by an attaché of the foreign office and attributed to ambassador gerard, a story which contained a disparaging allusion to the holy father. as a catholic, i would perhaps protest to ambassador gerard against this irreverence which he understood had given the foreign minister great pain, as, i must know, the german government is most desirous of respecting the feelings of catholics. 'impossible,' i said. 'our ambassador is a special friend of cardinal farley's and he has just sent several thousand prayer-books to the english catholic prisoners in germany.' thus the story was told.[ ] [ ] i regret that i cannot give the story in the rhyme, which was bavarian french. it seemed that among the evil new yorkers with whom the ambassador consorted, there was an american, named michael, whose wife went to the priest and complained that michael had acquired the habits of drinking and paying attention to other ladies. 'very well,' said the priest, 'i will call on thursday night, if he is at home, and i'll take the first chance of remonstrating with him.' the evening came; the priest presented himself, and entered into a learned conversation on the topics of the hour, while michael hid himself behind his paper, giving no opportunity for the pastor to address him. however, he knew that his time would come if he did not make a move into the enemy's country. 'father,' he said, lowering his paper, 'you seem to know the reason for everything that's goin' on to-day; maybe you'll tell me the meanin' of the word "diabetes"?' 'it is the name of a frightful disease that attacks men who beat their wives and spend their money on other women, mike.' 'i'm surprised, father,' said michael, 'because i'm readin' here that the pope has it.' it was necessary for me to explain that this was one of our folklore stories, and could be traced back to _gesta romanorum_--merely one of the merry jests of which the german literature itself of the middle ages was so full, of the character, perhaps, of rheinhard the fox! this is an example of the way our ambassador played on the germans' sense of humour, as rosencrantz and guildenstern tried to play on hamlet's pipe! * * * * * the german propaganda went on in the united states. look at france, look at italy, in comparison with germany's respect for religion! the falk laws were no longer of importance; catholics were to be encouraged to go into the political service, having hitherto been 'rather discouraged' and even under suspicion, as von bülow admitted. the german was obsessed by the one idea--the preponderance of the fatherland.[ ] he was conscientious, he had for years cultivated a false conscience which judged everything by one standard: is this good for the spread of german kultur? [ ] the army bill of 'met with such a willing reception from all parties as has never before been accorded to any requisition for armaments on land or at sea.'--von bülow's _imperial germany_, p. . 'what do you think of all this?' i asked one of the most distinguished diplomatists in europe, now resident in berlin, the representative of a neutral country. 'there will be no peace in europe until germany gets what she wants. she knows what she wants, and since she has used every possible method to attain it.' to return to the indiscretions of the kaiser--indiscretions that were not always uncalculated. mr. clarence clough buel, one of the editors of _the century_, felt obliged, in justice, to give an authoritative explanation of dr. hale's suppressed 'interview.' his account was printed in _the new york world_ for december , : 'the proof of this interview had been passed by the german foreign office, with not more than half a dozen simple verbal changes. they were made in a bold, ready hand, but as there was no letter, we could not be sure that the proofs had been revised by the emperor. the usual hair-splitting of great men and officialdom had been anticipated, so with considerable glee, the trifling plate changes were rushed, and the big "sixty-four" press was started to toss off , copies.' the london _daily telegraph_ 'interview' of october , , was a thunderbolt, and the editors of _the century_, at the urgent request of the german government, suppressed the edition. i had been informed by mr. gilder of the facts. i was very glad of it, as i was enabled to explain this very interesting episode at the danish foreign office. mr. clarence buel writes (it was his duty to read the last galley proofs):--'but in the last cold reading i had grave suspicion that the kaiser's reference to the virgin mary might be construed by devout catholics as a slur on an important tenet of their faith. so the sacred name was deleted, and the kaiser's diction slightly assisted in the kindly spirit for which editors are not so often thanked by the writing fraternity as they should be. this incident is mentioned to show the protective attitude of the magazine, and also to indicate that the original "leak" as to the contents of the interview came from an employee of the printing office. only some one familiar with the galley proofs could have known that the virgin mary had figured in the manuscript, for the name did not appear in the printed pages and consequently could not have reached the public except for the killing of the interview. let it be said, with emphasis, that there was nothing in the kaiser's references to the part taken by the vatican in looking out for the interests of the church in world politics which could have caused serious irritation in any part of europe. as a student at the berlin university, i had attended some of the debates in the landtag during the famous _kulturkampf_ over the clerical laws devised by bold bismarck to loosen the catholic grip on the cultural life of prussian poland. knowing the nature of that controversy, and the usual, familiar attitude of (protestant) europeans toward religious topics, i could believe that everything in the article bearing on church and state, from the over-lord of most lutherans, was offered in a respectful spirit, and would hardly make a ripple across the sea.' mr. buel admits that the kaiser criticised the action of the pope and spoke slurringly of the virgin mary. mr. buel evidently means that the foreign offices of the world would not have been stirred by the censure of the kaiser or by even some frivolous comments on the blessed virgin. mr. buel, who is discretion itself, having been one of those who practically gave his word of honour that the 'interview' should be suppressed, was evidently desirous that public curiosity should not be too greatly excited as to its tenor. he does not excuse the kaiser, but as he is a very liberal protestant himself, speeches coming from a ruler, that would excite indignation even among catholics in europe, naturally do not strike him as insulting. it leaked out long ago that in the 'interview' his imperial majesty alluded to archbishop ireland in rather disrespectful terms. only the staunch americanism of the catholics of this country saved them from this insidious propaganda. if this spirit did not exist among them, they would have been led to believe that the central powers were the only european countries in the world where a catholic was free to practise his religion. we know what the german propaganda working on politicians did in canada among the french-speaking population. we saw, in the beginning of the war, how the protestants of ulster were used. there is a passage in mr. wells's _mr. britling sees it through_ which illuminates this. 'england will grant home rule,' said a prussian closely connected with the berlin foreign office, 'and then sir edward carson and his ulsterites will, with his mutineering british army, keep england too busy to fight us.' they believed this in very high quarters in germany. but when the british government did not put the home rule bill in force, the propagandists turned to certain irish intellectuals. 'you had better be governed by germany than england,' said the followers of sir roger casement, and the sentiment, whether uttered academically or not, found a hundred echoes. but first had been heard the german-inspired cry of the ulsterites, 'we had rather be governed by germany than the irish, by the kaiser rather than the irish roman catholic bishops.' most of us knew that there was no such danger, for home rule would have naturally cut into the political power of the irish bishops by strengthening the secular element forced into the background by the unfortunate conditions in ireland, which had prevented the catholic laymen from acquiring higher education, and obliging the clergy to become political leaders. it made no difference. the fermenters of religious dissension in ireland played into the hands of the prussians; there was laughter in hell. we knew that the slogan, 'better be governed by germany than by ulster,' was not echoed in our own country among men of irish blood. but when germany, through her agents, began to suggest an irish republic, protected by the imperial eagle, a small party formed in the united states, not pro-german, but anti-english. this was before we went into the war. 'every defeat of the english is a gain for ireland,' the german propagandist repeated over and over again. it sank in; the ulsterites thundered, and sinn fein, which had been non-political, became suddenly revolutionary. in our country the effect of all this was marked. every sentiment of religion and patriotism was played upon. only those who received the confidences of some of those deceived revolutionists of the unhappy easter day know how bitter was the feeling against england generated by the conspiracies in the interest of prussian domination. then we gloriously took our stand and went in. the practical answer came. the swedish lutherans and the sinn fein catholics took up their arms without waiting to be drafted; ireland must look after herself until the invaders were driven out of france and belgium! if the secret service is ever permitted to take the american public and the world into its confidence, the strength, the cleverness, and the permeativeness of the propaganda, especially religious, in the united states, will be shown to be astounding. 'what, son of luther, strikes at the german breast of your forefathers!' to use a phrase that would not be understood at the berlin foreign office, the prussian propagandist had us 'coming and going.' one could not help admiring the skill of these people. we, in our honest shirt sleeves were left gaping. shirt sleeves and dollar diplomacy were beautiful things in the opinion of people who believed that the little red schoolhouse and the international hague conference were all that were needed to keep us free and make the world safe for democracy! there are no such beautiful things now. if we are to fight the devil with fire, we ought to know previously what kind of fire the devil uses. that requires the use of chemical experts, and the german experts, before this war, were not employed on the side of the angels. we have won; but do not let us imagine that we have killed the devil. the propaganda still went on, and honest people were influenced by it. 'the pope belongs to us,' the german propagandists said. 'he has not reprimanded cardinal mercier,' replies some logical person, 'and cardinal mercier has done more harm to german claims even in germany than any other living man.' 'the pope sympathises with our claims; he is the friend of law and order, consequently, he is with us.' easily impressed folk among the allies accepted this. they believed the tale that the italian rout in the autumn of was due to catholic officers, who were paraded through every city in europe with 'traitor' placarded on each back! a foolish story to direct attention from the efforts of the paid conspirators who did the mischief. they saw only the surface of things. they seemed to think that the theorem of euclid that a straight line is the shortest distance from one point to another holds in the political underworld. the pope was attacked, which pleased the propagandists. 'o holy father, see how i, head of the german lutheran church, love you, and see! your wicked enemies are my enemies.' and so the german propagandist divided and discouraged! chapter viii the prussian holy ghost the prussic acid had permeated every vein and artery of the lutheran church in germany. whatever religious influence that could be brought to bear on the danes was used; but they look with suspicion on any mixture of religion and politics. besides, their kind of lutheranism is more liberal than the german. with the proper apologies i must admit that they are not, at present, easily accessible to any religious considerations that will interfere with their individual comfort. the union between the lutherans in denmark and the lutherans in germany is not close. the danes will not accept the doctrine, preached in germany, that martin luther was the glorious author of the war, and that victory for germany must be in his name! i had many friends in germany. one, a lutheran pastor, wrote in : 'your country, though pretending to be neutral, is against us, and you, once dear friend, are against us. you are no longer a child of light.' the effect of the religious propaganda has been too greatly underrated for the simple and illogical reason that religion, in the opinion of the people of the outside world, moulded for long years by the german school of philosophy, had concluded that religion had ceased to be an influence in men's lives. the pope, because he had lost his temporal power, was effete, reduced to the position of john bunyan's impotent giant! lutheranism, in fact, all protestant sects, were giving up the ghost, under the blows of hæckel, virchow, rudolf harnack and the rest of the school of higher critics! these men laid the foundation stones for the acceptance of nietzsche--schopenhauer being outworn--and the learned as well as the more ignorant of the cultured seemed to think that, as german scholars had settled the matter, faith in christianity was only the prejudice of the weak. the kaiser knew human nature better than this. while he believed in his prussian holy ghost--napoleon had his star--he was not averse to seeing the spiritual foundations of the world, especially the dogmatic part, which supported christianity, disintegrated. discussing the effect of this, i was forced, in march of , to say publicly, 'the kaiser is the greatest enemy to christianity in europe.' the reception of many protests from apparently sincere persons confirmed me in my belief that the propaganda had been more insidious than most of us believed. let us turn now to the effect of the ruthless propaganda in germany itself. note this letter: 'you, i can almost forgive, because, as i have told you often, you dwell religiously in darkness; but your protestant country, which owes its best to us, i cannot forgive. in the name of bethlehem, you kill our sons, and corrupt our cousins, karl and bernhard, whom you know in america. karl, when he was in my house last week, was insolent; he dared to say that the germans in america were americans, that, if martin luther sympathised with our glorious struggle, he was in hell! this is wild american talk; but i fear that too many of our good people in america have been "yankeefied" and lost their religion. however, our glorious kaiser has not been idle all these years; the good germans in your misled country, not bought by english gold, will arise shortly and demand that no more ammunition shall be sent to be used against their relatives. i saw your relation, lagos, in fiume; he cares nothing for luther or the prussian cause, but he is only a hungarian, with irish blood, and he will only speak of his emperor respectfully, and say nothing against our enemies in america; his son has been killed in russia; it is a judgment upon a man who is so lukewarm. the austrian emperor is forced to help us; he, too, is tainted with the blood of anti-christ. i have heard that, when the war broke out, and they told him, he said: "i suppose we shall fight those damned prussians again!" was this jocose? lagos laughed; it is no time to laugh; karl and bernhard will go back to where they belong, in pennsylvania, accursed for their treachery,--vipers we have cherished, false to the principles of luther.' an honest man, sincere enough, with no sense of humour, and a very good friend until one contradicted his pan-germanism. one might differ from him, with impunity, on any other question! 'our pulpits are thundering for the lord, luther, and a german victory!' there had been a movement in england for a union of the anglican church with the lutheran branch of protestantism in denmark. it may have been extended to norway and sweden as well, but i do not know. there was much opposition on the part of the germanised lutherans: 'it would be giving up the central principle of lutheranism to submit to re-consecration and reordination by the anglican bishops. it would be as bad as going to rome or russia or abyssinia for holy orders. in denmark, especially, luther, through bergenhagen, had cut off the falsely-claimed apostolical succession. how could a national church remain national and become english?' if i remember rightly, pastor storm, a clergyman greatly distinguished for his character, learning, and breadth of view, was in favour of such a union; he did not think it meant the anglicanising of the lutheran church. men like pastor storm were placed in the minority. the germans were against it. bishop rördam, the primate, bishop of zeeland, told me that german influence could have had nothing to do with the decision; he said, 'it is true that, if we wanted the apostolical succession we could go either to rome or russia. we are well enough as we are.' when the attempt at the union failed, those pastors in germany who had watched the progress of the undertaking, rejoiced greatly. my former friend, the lutheran pastor, wrote: 'the anglican church is a great enemy to our german kultur, though german influence among its divines is becoming greater and greater. i am obliged to you for the american books on st. paul. i read them slowly. i observe with joy that all the authorities quoted are from german sources; surely such good men as the authors of these books must see that your country is recreant to the memories of the great liberator, martin luther, in not preaching against the export of arms from your country to the entente and the starving of our children! i thank you for the books, and also for the one by the french priest, which is, of course, worthless, as he sneers at harnack. later, these french will know our kultur with a vengeance! i gather from the volumes of canon sheehan, as you call him, that the influence on clerical education in ireland is german. we have driven the french influence from your universities, too, and the theological schools of harvard and yale, thanks to the great dr. münsterberg, who is opposed by a creature called schofield, are german. the power of our cultural lutheranism is spreading against the errors of calvin in the college of princeton, and the roman catholic colleges in the states are becoming more enlightened by the presence of men like the late magistrate schroeder, who may be tolerated by us as the entering wedge of our kultur. you have been frank; i am frank with you. i have received your translation of goethe's _knowest thou the land_ and _the parish priest's work_. as your ancient preceptor, i will say that both are bad.' he is, after all, an honest man. of course, i do not hear from him. his two sons are dead, in russia; he probably talks less of 'judgments' now, poor soul! he was only part of the machine of which the kaiser was the god! the perverted state of mind of these honest men in whom a false conscience has been carefully cultivated was amazing. on december rd, , a danish bishop wrote a letter of good-will to a colleague of his in germany, saying, among other things, 'even the victor must now bear so many burdens that for a generation he must lament and sigh under them.' the german pastor answered on december th: 'do you remember, at the beginning of the war, you answered, to my well-grounded words, "we must, we will, and we shall win," "how can that ever be?" the question has been answered; from vilna to salonica, from antwerp to the euphrates, in courland and poland, our armies are triumphant; we take our own wherever we find it, and we hold it! i pity you,' the amiable pastor continued; 'i have the deepest commiseration for you neutrals, that you should remain outside of this wonderfully great experience of god's glory, you, above all, who call yourselves scandinavians and are of the stock of the german martin luther. you hold nought of the mighty things that god has now for a year and a half been bestowing on the fatherland. he who has little, from him shall be taken away what he has. this war is not a _kaffeeklarch_, and the work of a soldier is not embroidery. our lord god, who let his son die on the cross is not the chairman of a tea party, and he who came to bring, not peace, but a sword, is not a town messenger. he lives, he reigns, he triumphs! the chant of the bethlehem angels, "peace on earth" is as veritable as when it was for the first time heard. there lay on the manger the infant who as a man was to conquer, that he might give peace to earth. our germans, who in bled, died and conquered, won for their own country and scandinavia and central europe forty-four years of peace. for these nations and for a more permanent peace in this world our country is battling to-day. gloria! victoria! we will throw down our arms only when we have conquered, that this peace may reign.' bishop koch, of ribe--jacob riis's old town in denmark--was the writer of the first letter. it is not necessary to name the writer of the second; his name is legion! it is not for the right, for the defence of the poor, the helpless, the forsaken, for the old woman, pitifully weeping, in the hands of the bloody supermen, to whom, according to this pious pastor, christ sent the sword, that germany may rule, and force her dyes, and her 'by-products,' and her ruthless, selfish brutality on the world. if john the baptist lived to-day, and had asked these good pastors to follow him in the real spirit of christianity, one may be sure that they would have found some excuses for the energetic salome, who gloated over the precursor's head. frequently the german pastors made flying visits to copenhagen--after the war began--not in the old way, when in the summer they came, with hundreds of their countrymen, bearing frugal meals, and wearing long cloaks and cocks' feathers in their hats. the day of the very cheap excursion had passed. now, they came to 'talk over' things, to assure their danish brethren of the stock 'of luther' that it was a crime to be neutral. i had gone to the house of a very distinguished lutheran clergyman, professor valdemar ammundsen, to listen to a 'talk' by pasteur soulnier, of the lutheran church in paris: mr. cyril brown, the keen observer and clever writer, accompanied me. we were struck with the evidences of christian charity and breadth of kindness shown by pasteur soulnier. he had only words of praise for his catholic brethren in france; there was no word of bitterness or hatred in his discourse; but his voice broke a little when he spoke of rheims, and he seemed like old canon luçon, the guardian of that beloved cathedral, who cannot understand that men can be such demons as the destroyers have shown themselves to be. we were late for dinner, and mr. brown and i stepped into a restaurant of a position sufficiently proper for diplomatic patronage, to dine. the day after, as i was taking my walk, accompanied by my private secretary, a man took off his hat and addressed me. he spoke english with an accent. 'pardon me; i do not know your name; but i know your friend, pastor lampe, one of the most learned of our young divines; i have seen you talking to him; i likewise recognised your companion at dinner last night, mr. cyril brown; he is an american well known in berlin. my name is pastor x. i was formerly of bremen. may i have a few words with you?' 'certainly,' i said, interested, 'if you will walk to friedericksberg.' 'part of the way, sir,' he said. my secretary whispered,--'another spy? shall i pump him?' we had been frequently followed. only a short time before, when i had escorted my wife and frau frederika hagerup, lady-in-waiting to queen maud of norway, for a short walk, we had been closely followed, by eavesdroppers. at the corner of the amaliegade and saint anna's place, just opposite the hotel king of denmark, men had crawled up within earshot, and one had accompanied us the whole distance. was this a similar case? 'spy?' i said in french. 'well let him talk!' my young secretary shook his head; his way of dealing with suspected spies was to wring their necks, if possible. from a long experience with spies, it is my conclusion that much money is wasted on them. some are very agreeable, and give the party of the second part much amusement. the german pastor, in his rusty black, looked so respectable, too! he took the right, which showed that he did not understand that i was a minister. a well brought up german, who knew my rank, would have taken my left side even if he were about to strangle me! 'bitte,' i said, 'but speak english!' 'i must beg pardon,' he answered; 'i could not forbear to tell you what i thought of your conversation at the restaurant last night. i should have interrupted you, but i was in the middle of my dinner.' _his_ sacred dinner; ours did not count. 'i heard you say to mr. cyril brown that the german nation at present is the greatest enemy to christianity in the world.' 'no, no, herr pastor,' i interrupted; 'i said that the emperor william is the worst enemy of christianity in the world.' 'ah, it is the same thing. you americans call yourselves christians,' he broke out, 'and yet your bombs from bethlehem have shattered my son's leg and they killed thousands of our children. your nation is protestant. you ought to be with us against impious france and idolatrous italy--i spit on italy--the _cocotte_ of the nations, the handmaid of the papish prostitute of rome! and yet you say that our most christian nation is not christian! how can you say it? we are not at war, yet you treat us as enemies!' 'we shall soon be at war. the ambassador of the united states at berlin is sending americans out of that city. he feels, evidently, that, in spite of his influence with the chancellor, you will begin your u-boat outrages, and then we must be at war! that is plain. but i think you have said enough. herr pastor, good-bye!' 'no, no,' he said. 'answer me one question: why do you say that we germans are un-christian? our christianity is the most beautiful, the most learned, the most cultured!' the young are relentless critics; i knew that my secretary was calling me names for 'picking up' this strange german clergyman in the street. moreover, the secretary was beautifully attired; his morning coat was perfect; his tall hat tilted back at the right degree, and the triple white carnation in his buttonhole was a sight to see. (dear chap! he is in the greasy automobile service in flanders now!) and his cane! (if you walk out without a cane in polite copenhagen, you are looked on as worse than nude.) fancy! to be seen walking with a threadbare german pastor with a bulbous umbrella! he groaned; he knew that i would pause on the brink of an abyss for a little refreshing theological conversation! 'you cannot deny, herr pastor,' i said, 'that you people in germany swear by harnack, that strauss's _life of jesus_ is a book that you look on with great admiration, that much of the foolish "higher criticism" like the attacks on saint luke,[ ] which sir william ramsay has so carefully refuted, and all the sneering at the fundamentals of christianity have come from germany, with the approval of the emperor.' [ ] _the bearing of recent discovery on the trustworthiness of the new testament_, by sir william m. ramsay. hodder and stoughton. 'there are no english scientific theologians. i do not know your ramsay. we are learned; we study; we see many of the christian myths in an allegorical sense, but yet we adore the german god, who is with us, and we believe in christ, though our learned ones may dissipate much that the populace hold. there must be a broad law for the christian divine; a narrow one for the humble believer. we may not accept miracles, we of the learned, but we may not disturb the belief of the people in them. culture must come from the top. the catholics among us still accept the miracles, but they are most retrograde of the germans. we are gaining upon them. it is the _zeitgeist_; when we have conquered, with their help, we shall teach them the real lesson of christianity! the german god will not brook idolatry. our scientists disprove myths, but we work in the line of luther still. he disproved myths!' 'i do not hold a brief for martin luther,' i said, 'but i think that he would have cursed any man who denied the divinity of christ. you talk of a german god. he is not a christian god, and i repeat to you what you heard me say to my friend in the restaurant.' 'it is well, sir,' he said, 'to hear this coming from an american who defends the starving of our children and the supplying of arms to slaughter us. we have god on our side--the german god. we only!' 'good day, sir,' i said; 'you corroborate my impression about your christianity!' i took off my hat, and crossed the street. he stood still; 'these americans are rude!' my secretary heard him say. this would seem impossible to me--if i had not been a part of the episode; if it seems impossible to you--the result probably of some misunderstanding on my part--let me quote a few examples of the result of the prussian propaganda among a people whom we considered, at least, honest and not un-christian. but, first: on the long line for my usual walk with mr. myron hofer, one of the first americans to rush from his post at the legation and join the aviation corps, i saw the pastor again. mr. hofer saw him coming towards us, and said: 'you ought not to stand in the wind, if that man speaks to you; let us go on.' 'go on,' i said, 'but come back to rescue me in a minute or two.' 'excellency,' the pastor said, 'i have heard from pastor lampe who you are. forgive me for addressing you!' and he passed on, hat in hand. what can one make of this bigotry and phariseeism? have these qualities developed only since the war? will they disappear after the war? 'and the devils besought him, saying: if thou cast us out hence, send us unto the herd of swine. and he said to them: go. but they going out went into the swine, and behold the whole herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea: and they perished in the waters.' we all know that london was an unfortified city. read this, from the _evangelische-lutherische kirchenzeitung_, written in . it is an answer to the truthful charge that children, helpless women, old men, civilians going quietly about their business, had been slaughtered by the pitiless rain of death from the skies. the danish lutherans, among whom this pious sheet had been circulated with a view to exciting their sympathies, did not accept this. 'london has ceased to be a city without the defence of fortifications; it is filled with such numbers of aeroplanes and anti-aircraft guns, that, as we are all aware, the zeppelins can attack it at night only. to attack london is to make an offensive on a den of murderers.' 'if you ask me,' says the _protestenblatt_, number , 'how shall i build up the kingdom of god,' my answer is: 'be a good german! stand fast by the fatherland. do your duty and fill your mission. _seek to submerge yourself in german spirit, in german mind._ be german in piety and will, which simply means, be true, faithful, and valiant. help as best you can towards our victory; help to make our fatherland grow and wax mighty.'[ ] [ ] dr. j. p. bang's translation. doctor bang deserves well of all lovers of freedom for his translation into danish of typical sermons from german pastors possessed of the spirit of hatred. dr. bang is a professor of theology in the university of copenhagen. it ought to be remembered that the university of copenhagen, in a neutral country geographically part of germany, made no protest against the audacious volume. it is true that there are protestants in germany who will not accept the 'fatherland' as god and eternal life or as a life continued in the memories of later generations, as a hessian peasant put it in a letter written from the front. his attitude shows how barren all this rhetoric seems to the unhappy soldier who must obey. those who knew the lives of truly religious germans before the war must believe that these arrogant, feverish, diabolical utterances do not represent them. the lutheran households where the fear of god and the love of one's neighbour reigned cannot have entirely disappeared; the old christian spirit must fill some hearts. but here is a man, a lutheran divine, whose pious books have 'circulated in the army in millions of copies.' he is a very great clergyman; if you saw him in the streets of lübeck, or hamburg, or berlin, many hats would be raised; even officers in the army would greet him with respect. he is geheimkonsistorialrath! 'likewise,' he writes, in his book, _strong in the lord_--'the blessings of the reformation are at stake. shall french ungodliness, shall russian superstition, shall english hypocrisy rule the world? never! for the blessing of our faith, for the freedom of our conscience, for our germanism and for our gospel, we shall fight and struggle and make every sacrifice. _ein' feste burg ist unser gott._ and, if the world were full of devils, we shall maintain our empire!' according to dr. conrad, germany is a great surgeon. she must cut; she must even kill, if necessary, the nation that stands in the way of her beneficient kultur! so strenuously has the name of martin luther been made use of by these fanatics, that the fact is lost sight of in germany, that the question is not one of religion. there is scarcely a war even in modern times with which religion had so little to do as this; but to hear these shriekers from the pulpit, one would think that martin luther was the instigator of the war and that the kaiser is his prophet! what the catholic population in germany--in bavaria, in silesia--what the jews in berlin and munich think of all this, we have not yet discovered. a cardinal holding the standard of luther, with two rabbis gracefully toying with its gilded tassels is a sight the preachers offer to us when they appeal to luther as the representative of germany. luther was no democrat; he would scarcely have approved of president wilson's speeches; but yet he would not have worshipped the trinity of the kaiser, the crown prince and the prussian holy ghost as the godhead! think of the tremendous force that must have perverted these 'men of god!' who can help believing in the miracle of the swine driven into the sea after this, or in the old latin adage, 'whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad,' or in shakespeare's 'lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds?' religion is made a mark to cover avarice and arrogant ambition, christianity, to veil a god more material than the golden calf. the learned danes answered the shrieks of the preachers, and the specious reasonings of such scientists as wilhelm von bode, wundt, richard dehmel, wilhelm röntgen, ernest haeckel, sudermann, etc., with dead silence, erudition and art had been corrupted. 'in italy,' christopher nyrop,[ ] the dane, says, 'which, when the manifesto of the german learned appeared, was not among the belligerent states, the amazement and the disappointment were so great that the ninety-three signers, "representatives of german kultur," were named _verräter der deutschen kultur_, traitors to german kultur.' it was only necessary to change 'vertreter' to 'verräter.' and among them were max reinhart, harnack, gerhard hauptmann, siegfried wagner! [ ] devoted to france, the friend of m. jusserand; a great romance philologer. the wonder and amazement were even greater when there was no protest from the catholics or the lutherans of germany against the inexcusable outrage on louvain or rheims. the remonstrances of the pope were unheeded. it was the policy of the german government to suppress them as far as possible. it wanted to give the impression that the holy father was theirs, and too many thoughtless persons fell in with this idea. that the german catholics were misinformed by bethmann-hollweg and the war office makes their position worse. the proofs offered by the dean of the cathedral of rheims proved that this horror, the destruction of the sacred symbol of the french nation, was not 'a military necessity.' chapter ix - - the visits of mr. john r. mott to the scandinavian countries were events; his was a name to conjure with. when an intimation of his coming appeared in the papers, our legation was bombarded with requests for the opportunity of meeting him. 'we must,' my wife often said, 'make it understood that every american of good repute shall be welcome in our house; and it is our mission to give our danish friends an opportunity to meet him.' the danes came to know this and, whenever there was an american in copenhagen worth while--i do not mean merely having what is called 'social position'--we were always glad to arrange that the right persons should meet. we were not socially indiscriminate, but we were certainly eclectic. we wanted mr. mott for three meals a day, but he was always, like martha, so busy about many things, that we could only secure him for a short breakfast or something like that, with one of his warmest admirers, count joachim moltke, who is devoted to the moral improvement of young men, and chamberlain and madame oscar o'neill oxholm. the only rift in the lute of the affection of certain danish ladies for my wife was that she allowed mr. mott to leave copenhagen on various occasions without 'making an occasion' for them to meet him. among these ladies were mademoiselle wedel-hainan, one of the ladies in-waiting to the queen dowager, and others interested in the cultivation of reverence for christianity among their compatriots. the result of mr. mott's masterly work was shown when the war broke out. the 'red-blooded' who formerly looked at the young men's christian association as rather effeminate and effete must, in view of what it has done in europe, forever close their lips. at this time, in , we had expectations of another visitor. cardinal gibbons almost promised to make the northern trip; he would come to copenhagen, it was intimated in a baltimore newspaper. great interest was shown among these agreeable athenians, the cosmopolitan danes. the question of etiquette bothered me; sweden had still remote relations with the holy see, though the catholic religion is still practically proscribed in that country. at least, the king of sweden writes, i think, a letter once a year to his 'cousin,' the pope, or is it to his 'cousins,' the cardinals; but denmark, though very liberal since in its religious attitude, has not such vaguely official relations. i was informed that no cardinal had visited denmark since the reformation. i made inquiries in the proper quarters at once. of course, i might give cardinal gibbons his rank as a prince of the church, and even the most exalted who should go in after him at our dinner would be pleased. he could not come. his one hasty trip to europe, after his friends had raised my hopes of his visiting us, was to be present at the conclave that elected benedict xv. pius x. had died of a broken heart, and the heart of the cardinal was sore and troubled at the horrors thrust upon the world. what he has done to fill our army and navy with courageous men contemporaneous history shows. but the great visit, the epoch, which dulled even the glories of the coming of the atlantic squadron, was that of ex-president roosevelt. to the danes it was almost as if holger dansker, who, as everybody knows, is waiting in the vaults of hamlet's castle at elsinore to protect denmark, had burst into the light. from the european point of view, which took no account of our home politics, ex-president roosevelt was not only the most important figure in america, but in the world, and the most picturesque. even under the new democracy, men will probably count more than nations in the minds of our brethren across the sea. however large collectiveness may loom in the future, there will be some man or other who will show above it, who will be a part greater than the whole. mr. roosevelt had made the panama canal possible; he had succeeded when de lesseps had failed; he had forced, more than any other president before him, the respect of europe; the radicals wanted to greet him because he had curbed the power of the capitalists; kings and prime ministers welcomed him because they--even the kaiser--feared his potentialities. that he would be the next president of the united states nobody in europe doubted. these people were not welcoming, as they thought, a man like general grant, who had merely done a great thing. the american who was coming was not only a man of splendid past, but one with a future that was rising up like thunder. you can imagine the excitement in copenhagen when it was announced that he would pay that city a short visit. from copenhagen he was to go to christiania to make a nobel prize speech. the death of björnson occurred just at this time; it was mourned in both norway and denmark as a national loss; but even this did not affect the reception of the ex-president. 'we would have rejoiced in our sorrow for nobody else,' the norwegian minister said. king frederick viii. had made all his arrangements to go to the riviera; his health was not good. he sent for me; he was doubtful whether the rumours of mr. roosevelt's visit were well founded or not. 'if he comes, this most distinguished citizen of yours, i will see that he is received with the greatest courtesy; i will do as much for him as if he were an emperor. he and his family shall be given the palace of christian vii. during their stay. my son, the crown prince, will go to greet him; i regret, above all things, that i cannot be here.' mr. and mrs. roosevelt came; he saw; he conquered, but mrs. roosevelt won all hearts. the young folks, kermit and ethel, fled from all gaieties and ceremonies and explored the town; if i remember they courted not the smiles of kings and princes; but they searched intensively for specimens of old pewter. mr. roosevelt's trunks did not arrive in time; he and mrs. roosevelt were obliged to wear their travelling clothes. in the long history of court life in denmark this had occurred only once on a gala occasion, and the guest had been her majesty the queen of england, when she was princess of wales. she had accepted the result with the utmost simplicity. mrs. roosevelt, the ladies of the court said, was 'royal' in the charming way in which she accepted this unpleasant accident; she has contradicted practically the stories that american ladies have the plebeian habit of 'fussiness.' the crown princess declared that mrs. roosevelt was 'adorable,' and the crown prince referred to the pleasure of this visit nearly every time, during the last eight years, i met him. 'he is a man,' he said. the marshal of the court arranged the etiquette admirably, and there was not the slightest hitch. some of my colleagues who knew that mr. roosevelt, as an ex-president, had no official rank, wondered how the technical details of the reception of a 'commoner' had been arranged. the court and the foreign office offered all the courtesies usually bestowed on royal highnesses. the legation and the consulate were particularly proud of the decorations of the railway station, and grateful to the minister of commerce who was responsible for them. as usual, admiral de richelieu was both thoughtful and generous. the best part of the programme, the voyage and breakfast on the _queen maud_--we went to elsinore--and a hundred other agreeable details were arranged perfectly by him and commander cold, director of the scandinavian-american line. a great dinner, such as only danes can manage to perfect at short notice, was offered to him by the mayor and the municipality of copenhagen. his speech was eagerly looked for. it charmed the moderates; the extreme socialists, who had claimed him for their own, were disappointed. 'your radicalism is our conservatism,' said chamberlain carl o'neill oxholm. later, we heard that the kaiser was disappointed in mr. roosevelt. this was from one of the berlin court circles. mr. roosevelt (this was said _sub rosa_) had not been too radical, but too frank. after all, there was no reason why a man who had represented the people of one of the greatest nations on earth should be too reverential to the all highest! when mr. roosevelt left denmark, he left an impression of force, of virility, of dignity, of honesty that became part of the history of the country. in loubet, the french ex-president, came with his son paul and a staff of delegates to the international congress of public and private charities. he was very genial and frank--qualities inherited by his son. his conversation was directed to the rapid reconstruction of france after . 'a country that can do that has little to fear,' he said, 'if we can avoid the pitfalls of professional politicians. that may be our difficulty. our enemies are glad that there should be dissensions among us, vital dissensions, not the healthy differences of opinion you have in your country.' 'et "la revanche?"' 'ah, monsieur le ministre,' answered one of his staff, 'how can he speak of that, with the german minister, mr. waldhausen, so near us? he is beckoning to you now. it is not "revanche" we want, but the return of our territory. if that could be done without war! paul, his son, will talk international politics with you, if you like. as to local politics, the royalists do wrong in mixing religion and politics; it forces the hand of the opposition, and makes the attitude of us republicans misunderstood. in spite of all dissensions, france is one at heart; but the voice of the country is not for war. of course, we may have to fight in our colonies.' 'tripoli?' i asked. 'no,' he answered smiling. 'that's the leading question. we must fight as you fought the red indians. we have no fear of war at present--our ways are the ways of peace.' 'naturally,' i answered, 'since the german minister tells me that germany will never fight france unless attacked, and he sees no signs of that.' 'the belgians are growing restless because hamburg is taking all the brazilian coffee trade,' he said, absent-mindedly. 'which means, interpreted,' i answered, 'that we might well look after our interests in brazil.' 'like all frenchmen,' he said, 'i am ignorant of foreign geography, but our ambassador in washington is different; he knows the world, and the united states.' i thanked him; i was always glad to hear frenchmen speak well of mr. jusserand. he deserved all the praise they could give him. 'my friend,' said paul loubet, 'says the world and the united states, which means, i suppose, that europe is one world and the united states another.' 'it almost seems so in europe; but your acquisition of the philippines will probably make you more and more a part of the european world.' 'i am afraid that george washington and lafayette would not have liked this,' said the ex-president. one of the french delegates asked me whether it was true that the germans would try to make terms with us for a cession of some foreign territory for one of the philippine islands. waldhausen was at my elbow; i, smiling, put the question to him. 'it is arcadian,' he said. 'germany never gives up what she holds,' said the frenchman, also smiling. 'otherwise, you might induce her to surrender heligoland to england, for a consideration, with the understanding that england should give it back to denmark.' waldhausen laughed. 'such generosity is too far in advance of our time. i am afraid admiral von tirpitz might object.' von tirpitz, for those behind the scenes in german politics, was much in the public eye. it was well understood that as far as the naval programme was concerned, he was germany. if the seizing of slesvig and the completion of the kiel canal made the german fleet possible, with the acquiring of heligoland, the efforts of admiral von tirpitz had made it a navy. through all the financial difficulties of the german government, difficulties that alone prevented it from attacking france, von tirpitz had held fast to the axiom that germany's future was on the ocean. he was not the kind of marine minister who sticks fast to his desk and 'never goes to sea.' he had become the 'captain of the king's navee' by knowing his business, and, more than that, by studying the caprices of his imperial master's mind, as well as its fixed determination. many times i had been told by candid friends in the diplomatic corps that the german emperor had no respect for our navy, that he knew every ship by heart, that nevertheless, he examined as far as possible any new inventions adopted by our naval experts who were most kind in permitting german naval attachés and experts to examine them. in the coming of the atlantic squadron had excited interest in the naval position of our country. one scarcely ever saw an american flag on the ocean. whatever columbia did or wanted to do, she did not rule the seas; so our flag on the ships of the atlantic squadron was a delight to all americans and somewhat of a surprise to foreigners. at kiel the general impression seemed to be that the atlantic squadron represented our whole navy! the kaiser and von tirpitz knew better, of course. privately the kaiser expressed his amusement at our attempt to build warships--he and von tirpitz had secrets of their own. however, america was important enough to be given a sedative until his designs on france and russia were completed. one might suspect this, then; but who could believe it! my correspondents in germany--people who know are wonderful helps to a man in the diplomatic service--concerned themselves largely with von tirpitz and general von freytag-loringhoven. von tirpitz was the german navy and the very intelligent writings of general the baron von freytag-loringhoven made us almost think that he was the army. 'is he related to freytag?' i had asked. 'what, the novelist?' 'the author of _debit and credit_?' i added. 'certainly not; he is one of the greatest of the baltic baronial families.' if i had asked a bourbon, in the reign of louis xiv., whether he was related to crébillon, he could not have been more shocked. von freytag-loringhoven cut a great figure in berlin. he had russian affiliations, being of a baltic family; his father had been well known in diplomacy. he knew russia as well as he knew germany; he was technical and experienced, and his writings were supposed to give indications of the ideas of the general staff. the russians in copenhagen talked much of von freytag-loringhoven. i must repeat that, in interesting myself in german personalities, i was not considering them in relation to the future of my own country. there were some among my friends, like james brown scott--men of foresight--who seemed to have a wider vision. i was interested because i feared that the autonomy of a little nation was at stake, and because the absorption of that little nation would mean the assumption of the danish antilles. that germany had consulted russia about a question to make war with england a pretext for seizing denmark, we suspected. the end of the japanese war had curbed russia's eastern ambition for a time. how were we to be sure that the baltic and the north sea might not, under german tutelage, attract her? if von freytag-loringhoven's utterances were to be taken seriously, it was evident that war was in the air; and why was von tirpitz building up the german navy? the distributors of rumours in denmark said that all hopes of a scandinavian confederacy were to be ended by a quarrel with england, a move on france, and the division of scandinavia into two parts, one nominally russian, the other, denmark, to be actually german, while norway should gradually be terrorised into submission. this shows how excited public opinion was. the german propaganda spread pleasant reports of the peaceful intentions of the kaiser, the crown prince, and the personages in power in germany. above all, we were told how charming the crown princess cecilia was, and how potent her influence would be in warding off any attempts of the pan-germans on denmark, even if germany and england should fly at each other's throats. people in the court circle, who knew how little royal family alliances count to-day in actual politics, admitted that the crown princess was most charming and sympathetic; she is the sister of the queen of denmark, and she had become as german as it was possible for the daughter of a russian mother to be. her sister, queen alexandrina, had become thoroughly danish, but then her tendencies had always been towards democracy and the simplicities of life. the german news vendors alternately praised the crown prince and depreciated him. if he were violent, it was against the wishes of his father--he was a second prince hal trying on the imperial crown. as a rule, however, he was brought out of the background to show his virtues. on several occasions he had evinced more knowledge of what was going on than his father. this was notable in the eulenberg scandal, when he fearlessly laid bare a horrible ulcer which was beginning to eat into the heart of the army. on this subject he and max harden, of the _zukunft_, were in amazing alliance. whatever may be said of the crown prince's political ambitions--and we believed and do believe that they meant world conquest--he is very much of a man. in , it was understood that he would not condescend to wear the peace-mask that seemed to conceal his father's face. dr. von bethmann-hollweg, the chancellor, was temporising as usual. the moroccan affair led to nothing because germany's financial backers were not ready for war. the chancellor was attacked by von heydebrand; the danish press gave graphic accounts of the scene when the crown prince, from the royal box, applauded every insult that the powerful junker heaped on the chancellor, who was merely the tool of the kaiser. it was the time of the emperor to temporise; the time had not come to strike; germany was not rich enough. russia was still doubtful. france, in the imperial opinion, was not sufficiently corrupted, and the dissensions between ulster and the rest of ireland had not yet reached that poisonous growth which, in that opinion, would force mutiny and sedition to poison the english. the crown prince probably, in his frankness, voiced more than his own inner sentiments. at any rate, to us near the frontier, it seemed so. however, the incident was used to the credit of the crown prince. fair and open dealing for him! england might interfere in morocco and other places to prevent his country from taking a place 'in the sun'; but let us have it out! in the secret councils of the social democrats was the hope that, if a hohenzollern must succeed the kaiser, it would not be the crown prince. in spite of his amiabilities and his apparently youthful point of view of life--though there were fewer indiscretions to his credit than are generally attributed to crown princes--it was known that he was military to the core, and that in his time the soldier of the world would never lack employment. while the kaiser was constantly insisting that more soldiers and more sailors and krupp von bohlen's newest instruments of destruction were pawns in the game of peace, his son made no pretence of agreeing with him. clever or not, he had held that a straight line was the shortest way from one given point to another. and the zabern incident and several others showed that the crown prince meant, when his chance came, to make war after the napoleonic method and to exalt the sword above the pen and the ploughshare. the social democrats in denmark were not flattered when he said that 'one day the social democrats would go to court!' but he was right; they went to court as their old emperor went to carrossa, when they accepted the war! the german writers said, too, that in france his admiration for napoleon endeared him to the french. if he appeared in paris, he would be as popular as king edward of england was when he was prince of wales! 'who knows,' one of their writers said, 'he may make the hopes of the duke de reichstadt his own, and live to see them fulfilled'? i called the attention of an austrian friend to this. this gentleman, high in favour in , but somewhat gloomed in , owing to a _bon mot_, said: 'but the french remember that the heir of napoleon, who might have completed his father's conquests, was the son of an austrian mother.' he was _gemütlich_, like his grandfather, they said, and how sweetly amiable to the american ladies who had married into the superior race! more than one titled american hoped to be saved from the position of morganaticism in the future through the kindness of his imperial highness. but the fixity of will has been underrated. napoleon tried to conquer europe; his eyes were on the kingdoms of solomon and of the jewelled monarchs of the east. why he failed, the crown prince believed he had discovered. there was no reason, therefore, why a prussian napoleon might not succeed, and no necessity to repeat the defeats of moscow and waterloo. the prince would begin by fighting waterloo first and then putting russia out of commission! in mr. frederick wile, then correspondent of the london _daily mail_, wrote: 'he is the idol of the german army almost to a greater degree than his father. his _hunting diary_ is amusing. he writes of his sympathy with his 'sainted' ancestor frederick the great, in the dictum that everybody should be allowed to pursue happiness and salvation in his own sweet way.' holy moses! * * * * * it was not difficult to get near to the characters of the important men in power in germany. a night's run took one to berlin, and at flensberg, a few hours from our legation, one could see the german war vessels. there were constant visits of germans of distinction; prince eitel friedrich often came in his yacht, and the waldhausens--madame waldhausen was a belgian--were constantly entertaining guests of all countries. princess harald, the wife of prince harold, brother of the king of denmark, attracted many germans, with whom she was in sympathy. at court very few germans appeared, unless they were of high official rank. both king christian x. and the queen seemed to prefer to speak english, and nothing irritated the king, who speaks english and french and german well, more than any attempt on the part of a diplomatist to speak to him in danish. it is best, i think, for diplomatists at court to use french. one is always more guarded in speaking a foreign language, but every member of the danish court spoke english and seemed to like it. prince valdemar and the princess marie always spoke english in their family. prince valdemar's french was not so good as his english, and, in the beginning, the princess marie found the learning of danish slow work, and she had, during the exile of her family in england, become entirely at home in the english language. prince axel, their son, who recently visited america as the guest of the american navy, spoke english admirably. like all his family, he is in love with freedom. nevertheless, german was much spoken in denmark, and the intercourse between the two countries close. the point of view of germany, or, rather, the germans, was better understood in denmark than perhaps in any other country, the more so because the danes, naturally satirical and entirely disillusioned as to the altruism of great european nations, looked with clear eyes at the progress, or, rather, the evolution of germany. whatever progress germany had made, many of them, like the learned dr. gudmund schütte, who reluctantly agreed that the reconquest of slesvig would be 'to commit suicide in order to escape death,' never seemed to utter a word of german without remembering the loss of their provinces. the most astonishing things were the intellectual greatness and exact training of the german thinkers and doers, and, at the same time, their lack of independence. with the outside world, as far as one could gather from the press and conversations with the english, french and americans--though my fellow countrymen, as a rule, showed little interest in foreign affairs--it was plain that the german political parties were supposed to be static: the conservatives junkerish, the centrists intensely catholic, following the slightest signal of the pope, the socialists devoted to the ideas of bebel, and the liberal-nationalists fixed in their opinion that a moderate constitutional monarchy was to be, in germany, the solution of all problems. we knew better than that in denmark. through the whole catholic world the german propagandists spread the opinion that the centre party was strictly 'denominational.' nothing could be more untrue. the traditions of windthorst, who had boldly defined to bismarck the difference between what was due to christ and what to cæsar, were rapidly disappearing. the fiction remained that the centre was constantly opposing the policy of the emperor, when at every session of the reichstag, the centre became more and more 'political' and more subservient to the designs of the government. one could see the changing policy in the pages of the _social democrat_, the socialist organ in denmark. the danish socialists were always influenced by their german brethren; but destructive socialism finds, up to the present time, no place in the social democratic scheme, and this is due, not only to the danish temperament, but to the dislike on the part of social democrats to the growing power of syndicalism. the leaders of the socialists and of the centrists are not great men. of the centre, which had rightfully boasted of windthorst and mallinkrot as the opponents of ultra-imperialism, hertling and erzberger were the most important. all germany recognised the intellectual ability of hertling. baron von hertling, professor of the university of munich, represented apparently everything that the fashionable prussian philosophical system did not. 'glory is the only religion of great men' is a doctrine he abhors; philosophically, he is the direct enemy of kant and hegel, above all, of nietzsche and schopenhauer. nobody denies those qualities of mind that had made his name as well known philosophically in learned circles as that of cardinal mercier. he had been prime minister of bavaria, and he, of all men, might have been expected to see the abyss to which imperialism was tending. it was easy, in denmark, to perceive that, in the reichstag, all parties--there were some individual exceptions, like liebknecht--had begun to be slaves of the emperor as represented by his subservient grand-viziers, the chancellors. both the centre, from which much was expected, and the mixed party, called the social democrats, from which stronger resistance to imperialism had been hoped, gradually became the upholders of the doctrine of conquest. erzberger, of the centre, is a later development of the change that took place in the attitude of hertling. with lieber and spahn, veteran politicians, the centre position became one of compromise. the centre had managed to grow stronger and stronger after the _kulturkampf_, against which it had started as a party of defence. matthias erzberger, who had begun as a school teacher, wisely chose the centre party as a road to power. he has gained step by step by his unconquerable audacity. in even the chancellor seemed to fear him. he is a bold speculator, and his rivals, even in his own party, predicted that he would come to grief through his napoleonic idea of finance. from the parties in the reichstag became more and more imperialistic, the prussian tone more and more insolent as regards foreign countries. the _cameraderie_ of the kaiser at times, his fits of arrogant indiscretion--checked suddenly after the 'interviews' of --continued to give us 'lookers-on in vienna' grave concern. in spite of the encomiums made by nearly all my best european friends--many of them english--and all my compatriots who had been received at court, we in denmark distrusted the kaiser. i must say that my danish friends, except the chamberlain and madame de hegermann-lindencrone, seldom praised him. to them he had been most courteous. i remembered that the most chivalrous of men, hegermann-lindencrone, never would speak ill of a sovereign to whose court he had been accredited. count carl moltke, a good dane, never, even in confidence, allowed a word of censure to pass his lips when the kaiser was mentioned by his critics; i often wondered what he thought! as to the emperor francis joseph, i had reason to have a great respect and affection for him--even of gratitude. it is the fashion to tear his reputation to pieces now, a fashion that will pass. at any rate, even his detractors will be glad to hear the story that, when the war broke out and he was ill and very drowsy, one of his chamberlains said, 'our army is in the field, sire!' 'fighting those damned prussians again!' he said, contentedly; and went to sleep again! he liked france, but he disliked the french government. 'your president,' he said to a distinguished french sailor, with a touch of contempt, 'is a bourgeois!' he did not mean a 'commoner'--with him 'bourgeois' implied a man who was not a soldier; and the emperor could not understand that a european country should be well ruled by a man who could not himself take the field; at any time, the emperor would have gladly taken it against these 'prussian parvenus,' i am sure. more and more, the representatives of the stolen provinces, like slesvig and alsace-lorraine, became disheartened by their weakness in the reichstag. the representatives of poland received no political support from the centre; yet these poles were ardent catholics, and their representative, prince radziwell, made eloquent speeches. the delegates from alsace-lorraine, the abbé wetterlé being the most audacious, were as little regarded as 'hans peter,' h. p. hanssen, the one danish representative in the reichstag. if the centre had not posed as catholic, which implied, if not an unusual regard for the liberties of the oppressed, at least a certain christian charity for the persecuted, censure might have been silent. if the socialists had not been the open and apparently unrelenting opponents of political oppression, the good samaritan might have tried to succour their victims, while reflecting that the robbers who had inflicted the wound were at least not hypocrites; but here were von hertling and martin spahn and groeber and the rest of the centre, who knew what the tyranny of bismarck had meant; here were the followers of the later bebel--willing to join the centrists on many political questions, the friends of the imperial autocracy! here were two groups, antagonistic and irreconcilable in principle, but both united when it was expedient to support plans of world conquest! the centre still used religion as a tool to uphold the government. the pope and the kaiser were as antagonistic on many questions as popes and kaisers have ever been since christianity was imperfectly accepted by the teutons. windthorst, a great man of the type of o'connell, but greater, had forced bismarck to revoke some of the infamous may laws in . still, certain german citizens, the members of the congregation of the redemptionists, were exiled. the centre protested--for effect. the jesuits were at last admitted on condition that they were not allowed to speak in the churches, and that under no circumstances should they be permitted to speak in public on religious subjects. prince von bülow publicly admitted that there was a lack of toleration shown to catholics, and there were certain parts of germany in which professors of the catholic faith were still under disabilities. the question of the admission of the jesuits and the other religious congregations ought to have been considered as justly as it would have been in the united states. the centrists' representatives gave the impression of being violently interested in the preservation of the rights of german citizens to preach and teach any doctrines that were not immoral or seditious, and then, at a breath from the government, allowed these priests to be treated as the danish lutheran pastors were treated in slesvig.[ ] [ ] 'my old commander, the late general field-marshal freiheer von loë, a good prussian and a good catholic, once said to me that, in this respect, matters would not improve until the well-known principle of french law "_que la recherche de la paternité était interdite_" is changed to "_la recherche du confessional était interdite_."'--von bülow: _imperial germany_, p. . i am not writing from the point of view of any creed at this moment, but only from that of a democracy which encourages reasonable freedom of speech, the use of equal opportunities, and preserves to everybody alike the free exercise of his religion. the centre has shown as little sympathy with democracy of this kind as the socialists. the latter party deserve no sympathy from any class of americans. their methods are, as worked out in denmark and germany, admirable. religious bodies, interested in actively loving their neighbours as themselves, have much to learn from them, but the german socialists played a worse part during the war than benedict arnold in our revolution. they did not act the part of judas only because they never acknowledged christ. the bane of every civilised country seems to be party politics. after theological hatreds, the ordinary variety of political hatreds and compromises is the worst. the centre has become corrupt and time-serving, the socialists expedient and slavish, all because the imperial head, the chancellor, could scatter the spoils! chapter x a portent in the air 'this is the first page of my diary and the last,' wrote william h. seward. 'one day's record satisfies me that, if i should every day set down my hasty impressions, based on half information, i should do injustice to everybody around me and to none more than my intimate friends.' this is true; and, when suspicion seemed to reign everywhere, after august , and one's private papers were never safe, in spite of the fidelity of our servants--and no strangers were ever blessed with better servants than my wife and i--it became all the more necessary not to put down explicitly the day's talk. and the colleagues were very frank--except when their foreign officers instructed them to say something for export. if we were at the end of the world, i might give daily conversations that would have a certain interest, but probably some persons whom i have the honour to call friends, and even intimate friends, might be misunderstood. a diplomatic corps in a city like copenhagen is one large family, and in copenhagen the court treats its members, who are sympathetic, with unusual courtesy, and, at every fitting opportunity, makes them of the royal circle, which is a very cosy and cheerful one. the years , , and were eventful ones, not because things happened, but because things were about to happen. it was a period of unrest. the diplomatic conversations at this time occupied themselves with the position of germany. henckel-donnersmarck had gone to weimar, much to my regret. he was supposed to have retired to private life because the kaiser did not find his reports minute enough, but, knowing him, it seemed to me that he was glad to be out of a position which bored him thoroughly, and which exacted of him duties that he did not care to fulfil. denmark was becoming more and more socialistic, and even the conservatives were so extremely 'advanced,' that count henckel found himself rather out of place. he made no country-house visits in the summer, and gave dinners in the winter only when he could not help it. beyond certain conversations with me on political subjects already mentioned, he did not go. literature and the simpler aspects of life interested him--children especially. we amused ourselves by mapping out the career of his son, leo, a very young person of marked individualistic qualities. for impressions of germany and austria, one had to go to other sources. the upheaval in germany caused by the kaiser's disregard of public opinion in had caused most of my colleagues some concern. nobody wanted war. the austrians and the russians alike were horrified at the thought of it. in there had been rumours of grave events; count ehrenthal had announced privately to some bankers that 'war was evitable.' count szechenyi, the austrian-hungarian, a lover of peace, if there ever was one, met me one day on the steps of the foreign office, in a state of trepidation. mr. michel bibikoff, of the russian legation, had seen me several times on the subject of the possible conflict, academically and personally, of course, as our government was supposed to have no great interest in war in europe. a speech made by mr. alexander konta, whose son, geoffrey, was one of the best private secretaries i ever had, put me on the track (mr. konta, an american of hungarian birth, had been conducting some financial affairs in his native country). i suspected there would be no war since count ehrenthal had announced to the financiers that there would be war. in my opinion, it was a question of the fall or rise of stocks. count de beaucaire, the french minister, was intensely interested; a flame lit in the balkans might involve france. the english minister, sir alan johnstone, seemed to take matters more calmly; we all expected his foreign office to send him to vienna, and his calmness was a sedative. he, a prospective ambassador, was supposed to know something of conditions, but count szechenyi discovered that he was nervous, too. it struck me that it was rather absurd for me not to know something definite. there was an old friend, deep in the diplomatic secrets of the vatican, who knew the balkans well, who disliked russia as much as he suspected germany. it was easy to get an opinion from him because he knew i would use it with discretion. there was a clever old hanoverian noble, much in the secrets of the court at berlin, and there was frederick wile in berlin, who knew many things. when count szechenyi, rather pale, came up the stairs of the foreign office, and said, 'my god! there will be war!' 'no,' i answered, 'it is settled--there will be no war. i give you my word of honour.' 'you are sure?' 'i have just told bibikoff, and he is delighted.' i have been grateful many times to frederick wile, who was once a student of mine, but that day i was more grateful than ever, for war _is_ hell and i was glad to relieve my friends' minds. that night there was a _cercle_ at court. king frederick viii., the most affable of kings, greatly interested in the danes in america, had been praising count carl moltke, who had shown a great interest in the americans of danish blood; it was an interesting subject. to speak well of count moltke, who had the good taste to marry an american, is always a genuine pleasure, though, i believe, he would have left washington if the sale of the danish west indies had been mooted in his time. then the king said, 'your country is fortunate not to be entangled in european affairs. there is talk of war. as the american minister, you have no interest, except a humanitarian one, in a european war; you do not trouble yourself about the question seriously.' i bowed, being discreet, i hope. suddenly a deep voice, audible everywhere, called out: 'but egan told szechenyi that the propositions had been accepted, and there will be no war.' the king turned to me; i was not especially desirous of admitting that i had been making investigations, and still less desirous of revealing my sources of information. before the king could ask a question, sir alan johnstone cut in, just behind me, 'from whom did you hear it?' 'from a journalist,' i answered, remembering frederick wile. 'it will be in the papers to-morrow, then,' said the king. i was relieved. i should have hesitated to appear to have shown such interest to the king as my mention of the other authorities might have revealed. it was announced later, but not in the next day's papers. however, the apprehension still remained. the kaiser was for peace--yes!--but on his own terms. the one objection to mr. seward's dictum on the exact keeping of journals is that the writer, after the facts--unrelated and distorted as they are each day--are seen in the light of experience, the diarist finds it only too easy to prophesy for the public, because now he _knows_. this is a temptation; but, as i look back, i must confess that in , in spite of the anxiety of my colleagues, germany seemed mainly important as regards her attitude to the sale of the danish east indies to us. lord salisbury's trade of zanzibar for heligoland was always in my mind. the correspondence of mr. john hay and other investigations had led me to believe that the failure of the proposed sale in - had been caused by german opposition. i was, i must confess, glad to see the friendliness between germany and the united states. i knew rather well that it could never grow very deep; the german point of view of the monroe doctrine was too fixed for that. i knew, too, that if the very radical and socialistic parties in denmark continued to grow, the island must be sold, and likewise that, if the united states and germany were unfriendly, the social democrats, who were too near their german brethren not to be in sympathy with their brethren, might turn the scale in favour of retaining the islands. the eyes of my colleagues were on germany; mine were also, but for different reasons. while they feared that germany might want some of their territory--we knew that, in spite of the triple alliance germany and austria were one, italy always being an 'outsider'--i was anxious to save from germany islands that might be hers if she should absorb denmark. i confess, with repentant tears, if you will, i had not the slightest belief in the disinterestedness, when it came to a question of territory, of any nation, except our own--and that might have its limitations! in august , i was very glad to go to visit the raben-levitzaus. one reason was that the count and countess raben-levitzau are among the most cosmopolitan and interesting people in europe; another was, that chamberlain and madame hegermann-lindencrone were to be at the castle of aalholm. raben-levitzau had been minister of foreign affairs. he had married miss moulton, one of the most beautiful ladies in europe and the daughter of madame hegermann-lindencrone by her first marriage. hegermann-lindencrone had been minister to washington when i was at georgetown college doing some philosophical work under father guida and father carroll; but i had been permitted to go into society occasionally and the fame of hegermann-lindencrone was just beginning. mutual acquaintances and memories established a friendship, and i came to know him as one of the cleverest, most farseeing and kind of diplomatists. if he has an enemy in the world, that enemy must be one of the few human beings worthy of eternal damnation! the conversation is always good at aalholm. raben-levitzau was rather depressed; he was out of public life, which he loved. he had gone out in with the j. c. christensen ministry, owing to the fact that alberti, the minister of justice, had been found guilty of some inexcusable manipulation of the public money. alberti, with the rest of the reigning ministry had been invited to the wedding of my daughter patricia, in september . he very courteously declined, giving as a reason that he was 'engaged'; he went to jail on that day. he was a polite man. raben-levitzau resigned through the most delicate sentiment of honour, in spite of the remonstrances of his friends. i found him not against the sale, though he seemed to regards it as very improbable. he felt that the danes had ceased to practise the art--if they ever had it--of ruling colonies, and, i think, that the tremendous expenses of the socialistic régime in denmark, where the poor are practically supported in all difficulties by state funds, would render improvements in distant possessions almost impossible. sentimentally he would hate to see the red and the white of the dannebrog cease to fly amid the flags of holland, of england, of france, on the other side of the atlantic. hegermann-lindencrone was frankly for the sale, though it was not then in question. i asked about germany's design on denmark, rumours of which were in everybody's mouth. he--he was still danish minister in berlin--said that, since the completion of the kiel canal, germany had no reason for assuming denmark. this was reassuring. nevertheless, when one caught the reflections of german opinion in denmark, one became surer than ever that the new empire was not inclined to accept the isolation which european politicians were apparently forcing on her. hegermann-lindencrone and his wife were favourites at the german court; the kaiser made a point of signalising his regard for them. madame hegermann was by birth an american, a greenough of cambridge, massachusetts, and never for a moment does she forget it, though she has borrowed from the best european society all the cultivation it could give her, in addition to her natural talent and charm. the kaiser showed his best side to the hegermann-lindencrones, and they believed that personally he had no evil designs on the peace of the world. as a dane, hegermann-lindencrone's task at berlin had not been easy, with discontent in slesvig always threatening to break out, although for a time he had, as secretary of legation, eric de scavenius, who knew germany as well as denmark, who was as patriotically firm as he was humanly genial. he seemed to think that the sale of the islands in had failed because the sum offered was comparatively small, others because of the governmental scandals, and of the opposition of the princess marie and the east asiatic company. this was interesting; he did not believe that either the german government of that time or the industrials, like herr ballin, were against it--in fact, german interests on the islands, especially those of the hamburg-american line, were deemed as safe in the hands of the americans as those of the danes. the time was, however, not ripe for taking up the question; national opinion was against it, and the great danish industrials, like etatsraad andersen, admiral de richelieu, commander cold, holger petersen and others had not yet had their opportunity of testing the national feeling. as far as i could see in , england and france gave the matter no consideration, though, to his horror, i occasionally informed the count de beaucaire that an attempt on our part might be made to buy martinique and jamaica and curaçoa, unless the danish islands could be linked into our belt. 'if i thought you were serious, i should oppose you with all my might!' he said. the south american representatives showed indifference when i mentioned the gallapagos islands. the buying of islands was a fixed idea with me, and i liked to talk about it. diplomatic opinion was inclined to treat the prospect as chimerical, but it was evident that neither sweden nor norway liked it. however, as i have said, the time had not come. i discovered that, when it came to the matter of patent laws, etc., denmark could not act without the example of germany, and i gathered from this, that, when the time should come, germany might expect to have something to say. in the meantime, there were other questions to study, but somehow or other all of them seemed to hinge on germany's attitude. she was the sphinx of europe. it was in june, , that the atlantic squadron stopped at denmark on its way to germany. admiral badger, suave and sympathetic, was in command. the four war vessels made a great effect, but the officers and sailors a greater. before they left for kiel--it was a visit of courtesy to the german navy--the officers gave various dances on board, and the decorum, the elegance, and, above all, the good manners and good dancing of these gentlemen were praised even by those who had been led to believe that most 'yankees' were crude and unpolished. king frederick expressed to me most cordially the honour done his nation by the visit, and was very much amused by the flattering attentions paid by the american sailors at tivoli to the danish girls. 'i saw them myself!' he said. he was delighted by the 'tenue' of the officers, and complimented by the enthusiasm of the sailors, who had apparently taken a great fancy to him. after one of the receptions given by the american officers, the equerry who had been appointed to look after the admiral and his immediate suite, came to me in great perplexity. he held in his hand a little box. 'i am in difficulty,' he said, 'and i have come to ask you to help me out of it. his majesty has received several letters from the american sailors, and there is one which especially amused him. it seems that he pleased the men by asking for the scandinavians in your navy. a sailor thanks him for this, addressing him as 'dear king,' declaring that the men like copenhagen so much that they beg his majesty to induce the admiral to stay a few days longer. of course, his majesty cannot do that, but he has asked me to give the little medal in this box to the sailor. i am told that is against the rules, which seem to be very strict. i really cannot tell the king that i have not given the medal to the worthy sailor; you know the king's kindness of heart. i am at my wit's end, so i appeal to you. it seems so difficult to arrange without infringing upon the discipline.' 'it is easy enough,' i said. 'when in a quandary of this kind, call in the church.' we found the chaplain, and the amiable frederick viii. received a note of gratitude, addressed 'dear king.' the french and the russians were especially interested in the coming of the squadron, but it was made rather evident that the germans would have preferred that the warships might have gone directly to kiel. to stop at copenhagen and stockholm was looked on as rather tarnishing the compliment to the imperial master. there were several private intimations that i had arranged it with a view to making the danes feel that the united states admired their qualities and desired to stimulate their national ambition. 'it was as if the magi had concluded to visit a lesser monarch on their way to bethlehem,' said a sarcastic dane i met at oxholm's château of rosenfeldt; 'the ultra-imperialists hold you responsible for it.' i replied that it was a great honour to be mistaken for providence! the few pro-german writers on the danish press rejoiced at the compliment the united states was showing germany; the press itself was delighted. there were always some sarcastic paragraphs in the danish papers, the result of a german propaganda which allowed nothing good in any other nation. these took the form of slight sneers at the gaiety of our sailors and their open-handedness. the response was indignantly made that american sailors were the only sailors in the world who had too much to spend--and they spent this largely in racing about in taxi-cabs, the cheapness of which amazed them. there were rumours of depredation made by our men among the beautiful flower beds in the kongens nytor. i investigated them. there was not one valid case. what did the visit of the squadron to kiel mean? germany again! were we afraid of the kaiser? was an alliance to be made between the two great nations? where did england come in? it was an arrangement, offensive and defensive, against japan? the united states would cede the philippines to germany, to save those islands from the yellow peril? 'germany and the united states would drive the english from the atlantic, control the pacific, and rule the world'--this was part of a toast drunk by some enthusiastic german-americans at a dinner in the hotel bristol, which, fortunately, i had refused to attend. from a diplomatic point of view, when in doubt, one always ought to refuse a public dinner. dinners are more dangerous to diplomatists than bombs! my son, gerald, now in france, arranged a glorious game of baseball between two of the crews of the squadron. some of the american colony said it was 'educational.' the danes, although mr. cavling, editor of _politiken_, gave a valuable silver vase to the winner, seemed to look on it that way rather than as an amusement. the visit of the _north carolina_, the _louisiana_, the _kansas_ and the _new hampshire_ made an epoch, to which americans could always allude with justifiable pride. prince hans, the 'uncle of europe,' the elder brother of frederick viii., our neighbour, was very ill at the time of the visit. the dances put on the programme of a cotillion, to be directed by mr. william kay wallace, then secretary of legation, were, of course, cancelled. prince hans, dying as he was, sent an attendant to the legation, to thank my wife for her courtesy. there was great fear that his highness would die, and thus force us to cancel our own gala dinner, and naturally put an end to all festivities on the part of the court and the navy. 'my uncle will not die until everything is over,' said prince gustav; 'he is too polite!' he was. he died just before the dinner given by king frederick and queen louise, but the news of his death was kept back by his own request, until the dinner was over and the 'cercle' had begun; then the sad news began to be whispered. in the english and russian squadrons appeared in the sound. this occasioned uneasiness. some of the danes asked 'did it mean a protest against the presumed alliance between the united states and germany? or was it an intimation to germany that england and russia had their eyes on germany? as to the second question, i had no answer; as to the first, i laughed, and translated into my best danish that such an alliance would come when 'the sea gives up its dead.' it was a curious allusion to make, in the light of horrible events that had not yet occurred; i think i got it out of one of jean ingelow's poems. by comparison with the glitter and gaiety of the americans, both the english and russians seemed sad, and their officers rather bored, too. tea and cakes and conversation were no compensation in the eyes of the danes, who love to dance, for the american naval bands and the claret punch of admiral badger's men--the navy was 'wet' then! i have no doubt, however, that the english chargé d'affaires and the russian minister, were not obliged to see so many lovelorn damsels, asking for the addresses or for news of various sailor men, to whom they were engaged or expected to be. _calypso ne pouvait pas consoler_--for a time; but one or two marriages did actually occur! the dancing of the american officers, and the weather had been so 'marvellous'! how these enterprising sailor men managed to engage themselves to young persons who spoke no english and understood no language but danish it was difficult to understand. they had lost no time, however, but i left the problem to the consulate. the officers had been more discreet. many times before the english and russian ships left the sound, the question, what will the germans do now? was asked. the copenhageners, as i have said, like the old athenians, are much given to the repeating of new things. 'now all the athenians and strangers that were there' (the danes call diplomatists 'strangers') 'employed themselves in nothing else but either in telling or in hearing some new things,' says st. luke. this makes copenhagen a most amusing place, though, unlike the athenians, the danes only talk of new things in their moments of leisure. one day just before the english and russian vessels left, the question as to what germany would do was answered. a zeppelin from berlin sailed over the masts of the english and russian ships. copenhagen was indignant, but amused. we were invited to take the trip back to berlin in the zeppelin--the fare was one hundred kroner, or rather marks. what could be more pacific? but the zeppelin continued to float majestically, by preference over that space in the sound occupied by the english and russians. was it a threat? was it a notice served to these possible enemies that germany had more powerful instruments, more insidious, more deadly, than even the great gun of the _lion_ which we had admired so much? it was a portent in the sky! i reported it to my government. it seemed significant enough. chapter xi the preliminaries to the purchase of the danish antilles the more i studied the relations of germany to denmark, the more important it seemed to me that a great nation like ours, bound by the most solemn oaths to the vindication of the cause of liberty and even to the protection of the little nations, should have a special interest in a country which deserved our respect and sympathy. as i have said, the danes never for a moment forgot the loss of slesvig, and never ceased to fear the mightily growing power of which that loss had been the foundation. if germany, whose future was on the sea, had not acquired slesvig, would kiel and the good danish sailors she acquired with slesvig, have been possible as a means of her aggrandisement? danish diplomatists seemed to think that germany, now that she had created the kiel canal, had no further designs on denmark, whom the pan-germans continued, however, to call, 'our northern province.' this was the opinion of hegermann-lindencrone, of raben-levitzau, and i have heard a similar opinion credited to the present danish minister at berlin, count carl moltke, though he did not express it to me. my old friend, count holstein-ledreborg, was not altogether of that opinion. 'in case of war with england, denmark would be seized by our neighbour, naturally,' he said; 'unless we go carefully we are doomed to absorption.' count holstein-ledreborg knew germany well. he had lived in that country for many years, having shaken the dust of his native land from his soles because many of his friends and relatives--in fact, nearly all the aristocratic class in denmark--had practically turned their backs on him on account of his political liberalism. this he told me. he had returned, with his family, to his beautiful estate at ledreborg, and, for a short time, became prime minister, in order to do what seemed impossible--to unite the factions in parliament in favour of a bill for the defence of the kingdom. against england? england had no designs. against russia? russia was allied to france, and she could hardly join hands with germany. the intentions of the kaiser? but the kaiser seemed to be a peaceful opportunist. even the acute lord morley had more than once, in conversation, put him down as a lover of peace; but--there was always a 'but' and the general staff of the german army! study the personality of the important personages as one might, there were always these things to be considered as obstacles to clear vision:--the growing corruption of principle in the reichstag and among the german people, if hamburg represented them, and the point of view of the military caste. in the increasing riches--the thirst for money had become a veritable passion--of the german people seemed to indicate that one of the principal obstacles to aggression which would involve war was being rapidly removed. the difference between the american desire for money and the german was, as i was often compelled to point out, that, while the german desired great possessions to have and to hold, the american wanted them in order to use them; and, in spite of the industrious 'muck rakers,' it was evident that our enormously rich men were not hoarding their wealth for the sake of greed and selfish power as the german rich were doing. possibly, as our government does nothing for art or for music or for the people in need, there is a greater necessity for private benevolence than in countries where the government subsidises even the opera. nevertheless, the fact remains; the european rich man hoarded more than the american. and germany, in spite of the extravagance of berlin and the great cities, was hoarding. it was a bad sign for the world. of slesvig, prince bismarck said in , 'dat möt wi hebben.' he was terribly in earnest, and he spoke in his own low german. at any moment, the kaiser might say of denmark, 'her must we have.' but how foolish this statement must seem to the pacifists and all the more foolish in the mind of a minister who ought not to be carried away by rumour or guesses or to be determined by anything but the exact truth! it would have been foolish if, in , a serious man behind the scenes could have trusted any country in the european concert to act in any way that was not for its own national ends. a damaging confession this, but the truth is the truth. we all know how amazed some statesmen were when president roosevelt refused the chinese spoil, when cuba was restored, and promises to the filipinos began to be kept. if denmark should be 'assumed,' the danish antilles would be the property of the nation that 'assumed' it. as it was apparently to the interest of the pan-germans to keep the danes in suspense, and, as most of the danes distrusted the intentions of their neighbours, it was not well to assume that there was smoke and no fire. besides, were there not other powers who might find it to their advantage to prevent the danish west indies from falling into our hands? we were not, from to , in such a state of security as we imagined, in spite of our system of peace treaties. _dans les coulisses_ of all countries, there was a certain amount of cynicism as to the effect of these peace treaties, and very little belief, except among the international lawyers, that anything binding or serious had been accomplished by them. after all, my business was to hoe my own row, but i listened with great respect to such men as my colleague, now the norwegian minister at stockholm, mr. francis hagerup, and other legal-minded men. however, i determined to make the task of saving the islands from 'assimilation' as easy as possible for my successor or his successor. i hoped, of course, for the chance of doing something worth while for the country seemed to be mine, and president wilson--i shall always be most grateful to him--gave me the happiness of doing humbly what i could. in i found that the irritation caused by the attitude of our government in the matter of the islands had not worn away. the majority of the danes had really never wanted to sell the islands. 'why should a great country like yours want to force us to sell the danish antilles? you pretend to be democratic, but you are really imperialists. it is not a question of money with us; it is a question of honour. your country has approached us only on the side of money--and when you knew that our poverty consented.' this was the substance of conservative opinion. there was a widespread distrust, especially among the upper classes in denmark, as to our intentions. the title of a brochure written by james parton in was often quoted against us, for the danes have long memories. it was entitled _the danish west indies: are we bound in honour to pay for them?_ 'an arrogant nation, no longer democratic' because we had seized the philippines! it must be said that a minister desiring to make a good impression on the people had little help from the press at home. foreign affairs were treated as of no real importance in the organs of what is called our popular opinion. the american point of view, as so well understood over all the world now, was not explained; but sensational stories describing the exaggerated splendours of our millionaires, frightful tales of lynching in the south, the creation of an american versailles on staten island, which would make the sun king in the shades grow pale with envy, the luxuries of american ladies, were invariably reproduced in the danish papers. president roosevelt was looked upon as the one idealist in a nation mad for money, and even he had a tremendous fall in the estimation of the radicals when he spoke of a conservative democracy in copenhagen. it was necessary to overcome a number of prejudices which were constantly being fostered, partly by our own estimate of ourselves as presented by the scandinavian papers in extracts from our own. then, again, the real wealth of our people, our art and literature--which count greatly in denmark--were practically unknown. everything seemed to be against us. the press was either contemptuous or condescending; we were not understood. it is true that nearly every family in denmark had some representative in the united states, but their representatives were, as a rule, hard-working people, who had no time to give to the study of the things of the mind among us. in spite of all their misconceptions, which i proposed to dissipate to the best of my ability, i found the danes the most interesting people i had ever come in contact with, except the french, and, i think the most civilised. there was one thing certain:--if the danish west india islands were so dear to denmark that it would be a wound to her national pride to suggest the sale of them to us, no such suggestion ought to be made by an american minister. first, national pride is a precious thing to a nation, and the more precious when that nation has been great in power, and remains great in heart in spite of its apparently dwindling importance. it was necessary, then, to discover whether the danes could, in deference to their natural desire to see their flag still floating in the atlantic ocean, retain the islands, and rule them in accordance with their ideals. their ideals were very high. they hoped that they could so govern them that the inhabitants of the islands might be fairly prosperous and happy under their rule. they were not averse to expending large sums annually to make up the deficit occasioned by the possession of them. the colonial lottery was depended upon to assist in making up this budget. the danes have no moral objections to lotteries, and the most important have governmental sanction. under the administrations of presidents roosevelt and taft it was useless to attempt to reopen the question. all negotiations, since the first in , had failed. that of , and the accompanying scandals, the danes preferred to forget. president roosevelt's opinion as to the necessity of our possessing the islands was well known. in the project for the sale had been defeated in the danish upper house by one vote. mr. john hay attributed this to german influence, though the princess marie, wife of prince valdemar, a remarkably clever woman, had much to do with it, and she could not be reasonably accused of being under german domination. the east-asiatic company was against the sale and likewise a great number of danes whose association with the islands had been traditional. herr ballin denied that the german opposition existed; he seemed to think that both france and england looked on the proposition coldly. at any rate, he said that denmark gave no concessions to german maritime trade that the united states would not give, and that the property of the hamburg-american line would be quite as safe in the hands of the united states as in those of denmark. in denmark had declined to sell the islands for $ , , , but offered to accept $ , , for st. john and st. thomas, or $ , , for the three. secretary seward raised the price to $ , , in gold for st. thomas, st. john and santa cruz. denmark was willing to accept $ , , for st. thomas and st. john; santa cruz, in which the french had some rights, might be had for $ , , additional. secretary seward, after some delay, agreed to give $ , , for the two islands, st. thomas and st. john. the people of st. john and st. thomas voted in favour of the cession. in $ , , was offered by the united states. diligent inquiries into the failure of the sale, although the hon. henry white, well and favourably known in denmark, was sent over in its interest, received the answer from those who had been behind the scenes, '$ , , was not enough, unaccompanied by a concession that might have deprived the transaction of a merely mercenary character.' at that time germany might have preferred to see the islands in the hands of the united states rather than in those of any other european power. it was apparently to the interest of the united states to encourage the activities of that great artery of emigration, the hamburg-american line. she did not believe that the united states would fail to raise the spectre of the monroe doctrine against either of the nations who owned bermuda or mauritius, if one of them proposed to place her flag over st. thomas. in the question of spain's buying st. thomas, in order to defend puerto rico, thrown out by an obscure journalist, was a theory to laugh at. germany was practically indifferent to our acquisition of islands on the atlantic coast that might possibly bring us one day in collision with either england or france. as to the pacific, her point of view was different. her politicians even then cherished the sweet hope that the irish in the united states and canada might force the hand of our government against 'perfidious albion' if the slightest provocation was given. besides, in , germany had done her worst to the danes. she had taken slesvig, and had ruined denmark financially; she had made kiel the centre of her naval hopes; she could neither assume denmark nor borrow the $ , , --then a much greater sum than now--for her own purposes. i have never had reason to believe that germany prevented the sale of the danish antilles in . the congressional examination of the scandalous rumours that might have reflected on the honour of certain danish gentlemen and of some of our own congressmen are a matter of record, and show no traces of any such domination. curiously enough, there was a persistent rumour of a secret treaty with denmark which gave the united states an option on the islands. no such treaty existed, and no danish minister of foreign affairs of my acquaintance would have dreamed of proposing such an arrangement. it is hardly necessary to dwell here on the value of these islands to the united states. president roosevelt, president wilson, senator lodge, most persistently, made the necessity of possessing these islands, through legitimate purchase, very plain. the completion of the panama canal increased their already great importance. if such men as seward, foster, olney, root, hay, and our foremost naval experts considered them worth buying before the issues raised by the creation of the panama canal were practical, how much more valuable had they become when that marvellous work was completed! many interests contributed to the desirability of our acquiring islands in the west indies--every additional island being of value to us--but the great public seemed to see this as through a glass--darkly. puerto rico was of little value in a strategic way without the danish antilles. a cursory examination of the map will show that puerto rico, with no harbours for large vessels and its long coast line, would offer no defences against alien forces. naval experts had clearly seen the hopelessness of defending san juan. major glassford, of the signal corps, in a report often quoted and carefully studied by people intelligently interested in the active enforcement of the monroe doctrine rather than its mere statement as a method of defence on paper, said that 'st. thomas might be converted into a second gibraltar.' he was right. the frightful menace of the cession of heligoland to germany was an example of what might happen if we failed to look carefully to the future. besides, even those advocates of peace, right or wrong, who infested our country before the war, who were not sympathetic with the acquisition of territory, ought to have remembered that one of the best guarantees of peace was to leave nothing to fight about as far as these islands of value in our relations 'to the region of the orinoco and the amazon' and the windward passages were concerned. the german occupation of brazil--increasing so greatly that the brazilians were alarmed, the european prejudices, made evident during the spanish-american war as existing in south and central america--were all occasions for thought. 'the harbour of charlotte amalie,' wrote major glassford, writing of st. thomas, 'and the numerous sheltered places about the island offer six and seven fathoms of water. besides, this harbour and the roadsteads are on the southern side of the island, completely protected from the prevailing strong winds. if this place were strongly fortified and provisioned'--the number of inhabitants are small compared with puerto rico--'it would be necessary for an enemy contemplating a descent upon puerto rico to take it into account first. the location on the north-east side of the antilles is in close proximity to many of the passages into the caribbean sea, and affords an excellent point of observation near the european possessions in the archipelago. it is also a centre of the west indian submarine cable systems, being about midway between the windward passage and the trinidad entrance into the caribbean sea.' other interests distracted attention from the essential value of these islands for local reasons, party reasons, which are the curse of all modern systems of government. the failure to purchase the islands in did not discourage senator lodge. on march st, , the committee on foreign affairs reported a bill authorising the president to buy the danish west india islands for a naval and coal station. on this bill, senator lodge made a most interesting and valuable report, in which he said, after stating that the fine harbour of st. thomas possessed all the required naval and military conditions--'it has been pointed out by captain mahan, as one of the great strategic points in the west indies.' 'the danish islands,' he concluded, 'could easily be governed as a territory, could be readily defended from attack, occupy a commanding strategic position, and are of incalculable value to the united states, not only as part of the national defences, but as removing by their possession a very probable cause of foreign complications.' my predecessors in denmark, messrs. risley, carr, svendsen, were of this opinion. the arguments of mr. carr, expressed in his despatches, are invincible. mr. o'brien, who was minister plenipotentiary to denmark until he was sent as ambassador to japan, saw, as i did, in , that the danes and their government were in no mood to accept any suggestions on the subject. however, i discussed the matter academically with each minister of foreign affairs, saying that the united states would make no proposition at any time which might offend the national self-respect of the danes, that in fact, as valuable as the islands would be to us and as expedient as it might be for the danes to sell them to us, their government must give some unequivocal sign that it was willing to part with them before we should seriously take up the question again. neither count raben-levitzau nor count william ahlefeldt-laurvig gave me any official encouragement, though i hardly expected it as i had taken means to sound public opinion on my own account. both count raben-levitzau and count ahlefeldt were liberal ministers of foreign affairs, and i knew that, if there was any hope that a sale might be made, they would give me reasonable encouragement. besides, i was doubtful whether the price--which might probably be asked--reasonable enough in my eyes and in the eyes of those european diplomatists who knew what heligoland and gibraltar meant to germany and to england--would not have raised such an outcry among voters at home, who had not yet learned to weigh any transaction with a foreign government--except commercially, in terms of dollars and cents, that another failure might have followed. it was out of the question to risk that. many of my friends among the more conservative of the danes scorned the idea of the sale on any terms. among these was admiral de richelieu, whose father is buried in st. thomas, and who is the most intense of danish patriots. if objections to the sale on the part of my best friends in denmark had governed me, i should have despaired of it. however, my friends, like de richelieu, felt that our government would be glad to see the danish west india islands improved as far as the danes could improve them. de richelieu, etatsraad andersen--etatsraad meaning councillor of state--holger petersen, director cold, formerly governor of the islands, hegemann, who bore the high title of _geheimekonferensraad_, were among those most interested in the islands. hegemann, since dead, was the only one of the group who thought that the danish government could never either improve the islands socially or make them pay commercially. 'the danes are bad colonisers,' he said. he was a man of great common-sense, of wide experience, and a philanthropist who never let his head run away with his heart. he did a great deal for technical education in denmark. in fact, there was scarcely any movement for the betterment of the country economically in which he was not interested. he had great properties in the island of santa cruz; but he looked on the danish possession of the islands as bad for the reputation of his native country and worse for the progress of the islands and the islanders. 'the present government is too mild in its treatment of the blacks,' he said; 'equality, liberty and fraternity, the motto of the ruling party, is excellent, but it will not work in the islands.' besides, the construction of the panama canal was drawing the best labourers from them. he was interested in sugar and even in sea cotton; he thought that, the tariff restrictions being removed and a market for labour made, something might be done by us towards making the islands a profitable investment. i was entirely indifferent as to that--our great need of the islands was not for commercial uses. the prevailing opinion in court circles was against the sale, based on no antagonism to the united states, but on the desire that denmark should not lose more of its territory. the faroe islands, greenland and iceland were still appendages; but iceland was always restive, and greenland seemed, in the eyes of the danes, to have only the value of remotely useful territory. they had been shorn of territory by england, by sweden, and, last of all, by germany. our government, knowing well how strong the national pride was, and how reasonable, permitted me to show it the greatest consideration. when the east-asiatic company, which had important holdings in st. thomas, proposed that the national sentiment should be tested, and each danish citizen asked to make a pecuniary sacrifice for the retention of the islands, i was permitted to express sympathy with the movement, and to assist it in every way compatible with my position. the attempt failed. it was evident that the majority of the people, whatever were their sentiments, knew that it was impracticable to attempt to govern the islands from such a distance. if it had been possible to retain them with honour, with justice to the inhabitants, who for a long time had been desirous of union with the united states, no amount of money would have induced denmark to part with the last of her colonial possessions. as it was, the prospect was not at all clear. in modern times, a man who aspires to do his duty in diplomacy must be honest and reasonably frank. to pretend to admire the institutions of a nation, to affect a sympathy one does not feel, with a view to obtaining something of advantage to one's own country, was no doubt possible when foxes were preternaturally cunning and crows unbelievingly vain, but not now. the whole question of the islands was a matter which must be settled by the commonsense of the danes at the expense of their sentiment; no pressure on our part could be used, short of such arguments as might point to the forcible possession of the islands temporarily in case of war; but the fact that the united states preferred to give what seemed to be an enormous sum--(though $ , , have to-day scarcely the purchasing power of the $ , , demanded for the three islands from secretary seward in )--rather than run the risk of future unpleasant complications with a small and friendly state, showed that the intentions of our government were on a par with its professions. when the proposed sale of the islands stopped, largely because senator sumner disliked president johnson, and the treaty lapsed in in spite of the support of secretary fish, king christian ix. wrote, in a proclamation to the people of the danish islands--a majority of whom had consented to the proposed sale,--'the american senate has not shown itself willing to maintain the treaty made, although the initiative came from the united states themselves.' the king had only consented to the sale to lighten the terrible financial burdens imposed on his country by the unjust war which germany and austria had forced upon denmark with a view to the theft of slesvig; and his consent would never have been given had not secretary seward, the predecessor of secretary fish, reluctantly agreed that the vote of the inhabitants should be taken. he was more democratic than mr. seward. king christian would not sign the treaty, which gave $ , , to denmark for the two islands of st. thomas and st. john, until mr. seward consented to 'concede the vote.' the danes were frank in admitting that their 'poverty, but not their will,' consented. 'ready as we were to subdue the feelings of our heart, when we thought that duty bade us so to do,' continued the king in his proclamation, 'yet we cannot otherwise than feel a satisfaction that circumstances have relieved us from making a sacrifice which, notwithstanding the advantages held out, would always have been painful to us. we are convinced that you share these sentiments, and that it is with a lightened heart you are relieved from the consent which only at our request you gave for a separation from the danish crown.' the king added that he entertained the firm belief that his government, supported by the islanders, would succeed in making real progress, and end by effacing all remembrances of the disasters that had come upon them, his overseas dominions. affairs in the mother country did look up; the danes developed their country, in spite of the worst climatic conditions, into a land famous for its scientific farming. a wit has said that denmark, after the loss of slesvig, was divided like old gaul, itself, into three parts,--butter, eggs and bacon. the danes, cast into a condition of moral despondency and temporal poverty, with their national pride stricken, and their soil outworn, seized the things of the spirit and made material things subservient. religion and patriotism, developed by bishop grundtvig, saved the mother country; but the islands continued to go through various stages of hope and fear. the united states was too near and denmark too far off. home politics were generally paramount, and each new governor was always obliged to consider the sensitiveness of his government to the amount of expenditure allowed. there were persons in power at home who seemed to see the islands from the point of view of bernardin de saint pierre--sentimentally. the happy black men were to dance under spreading palms, gently guided by danish pauls and virginias! the black men were only too willing to dance under palms, whether spreading or not, and to be guided by any idyllic persons who, leaving them the pleasures of existence, would take the trials. all the governors suffered more or less from the rousseau-like point of view taken by the government. mr. helvig larsen was the last who was expected to be 'idyllic.' one of the fears often expressed to me was that 'the americans would treat the blacks badly--we have all read _uncle tom's cabin_, you know.' even her majesty, the dowager queen louise, one of the best-informed women in europe, had her doubts about our attitude to the negroes. 'you have black nurses,' her majesty said to me; 'why are your people, especially in the south, not more kind to their race?' queen louise, who was sincerely interested in the welfare of her coloured subjects, would listen to reason. i sent her the _soul of the black_, which shows unconsciously why social equality in this case would be undesirable, but not until booker washington's visit did her majesty understand the attitude that sensible americans, who know the south, take on the subject of the social equality of our coloured fellow-citizens. during my stay in europe this matter was frequently discussed. some of my german colleagues politely insinuated that 'democracy' was little practised in a country where a president could be severely censured for inviting a coloured man of distinction to lunch. and nearly all the danes of the modern school took this point of view. the naval officers, who are always better informed as to foreign conditions than most other men, readily understood that social equality assumes a meaning in the united states which would imply the probability of what is known as 'amalgamation.' while the german critic of our conditions might very well understand the impossible barrier of caste in his own country and object to 'permanent marriages' with women of the inferior 'yellow' races, he seemed to think that the laws in some of the united states against the marriages of blacks and whites were un-christian and illogical. 'but you would not encourage such marriages?' i asked of one of the most distinguished danes at the copenhagen university. 'why not?' he asked. from my point of view, the case was hopeless. and every now and then an extract from an american paper, containing the account of a lynching with all the gruesome details described, would be translated into danish. i never believed in censoring the press until i came to occupy a responsible position in denmark. i confess, _mea culpa_!--that i wanted many times to have the right to say what should or should not be reprinted for foreign consumption! the newspapers seemed to have no regard for the plans of the diplomatists, believing news is news! there will always be the irrepressible conflict! one of my wife's friends in denmark, the late countess rantzau, born of the famous theatrical family of the poulsens, who was well-read, and who knew her europe well, produced one day an old embroidered screen for my benefit. there were the palms; there was an ancient african with a turban on his very woolly head; there was a complacent young person in stiff skirts seated at his feet, looking up to him with adoring eyes. 'antique?' i asked, preparing to admire the work of art; the tropical foliage of acanthus leaves was so flourishing in the tapestry, and the luncheon had been so good! 'it is not as a work of art that i show it to the american minister, but to let him know that we danes love the virtues of the blacks. this is uncle tom and little eva!' it was intended to soften a hard heart! in october mr. andrew carnegie telegraphed that mr. booker washington would pay a visit to denmark. i had met mr. booker washington with mr. richard watson gilder in new york, and i admired him very greatly. however, i felt that i should be embarrassed by his visit, as i knew both king frederick and queen louise were interested in him and would not only expect me to present him, but likewise--they were the fine flowers of courtesy--wish my wife and myself to dine at amalieborg palace with him. when admiral bardenfleth, the queen's chamberlain, came to inquire as to when mr. booker washington should arrive, i suggested that her majesty, who had often shown her high appreciation of mr. washington's work, might like to talk with him informally, as i knew that she had many questions to ask, and that he himself would be more at his ease if i were not present. the admiral thanked me. i said the same thing to the master of ceremonies of the court when he came on behalf of the king. for charm of manner, ease, the simplicity that conceals the perfection of social art, and at least apparent sympathy with one's difficulties, let the high officials of the court of denmark be commended! the master of ceremonies was delighted. their majesties would miss me from the introduction and regret that mrs. egan and i would not be present at the dinner, which, however, would be earlier than usual, as i had said that mr. booker washington must catch a train; it would also be very unceremonious. his majesty would ask only his immediate _entourage_. i was pleased with myself (a fatal sign by the way!); mr. washington would have all the honour due him. i arranged to attend his lecture, with all the americans i could collect. i sent the landau with two men on the box, including the magnificent arthur and the largest cockades, to meet mr. washington. in , king frederick used only carriages and the diplomatists followed his example, though some of a more advanced temperament had taken to motor cars. mr. washington was pleased. he loved the landau and the cockades, and arthur, our first man, who had been 'in diplomacy twenty-five years,' treated him with distinction. 'you have honoured my people and my work most delicately,' he said to me. 'i thank you for sending me the king's invitation to dinner to the hôtel d'angleterre. too much public talk of this honour in the united states would do my people and myself much harm. i will make, in print, an acknowledgment of your courtesy, so effective and so agreeable. to have my work recognised in this manner by the most advanced court in europe is indeed worth while, and to have this honour without too much publicity is indeed agreeable.' mr. washington's lecture had been a great success. it had helped, too, to do away with the impression that lynching is to the americans of north america what bull fights are to those of south america. the most awkward question constantly put to me at court and in society was, 'but why do you lynch the black men?' filled with satisfaction at the result of my machinations (a bad state of mind, as i have said), i was bending over my desk one morning when two correspondents of american newspapers were announced. they came from london; i had met them both before. 'cigars?' 'yes. we do not want to give you trouble, mr. minister; you were very decent to us all in the cook affair, but we shall make a good story out of this booker washington visit, and we think it is only fair to say that we are going to 'feature' you. there is nothing much doing now, and we've been asked to work this thing up. we know on the best authority that the king will give a dinner to booker washington; you will respond with a reception; mrs. egan will be taken in to dinner by mr. washington; there will be lots of ladies there--in a word, we'll get as big a sensation out of it as the newspapers did out of the roosevelt-booker washington incident. it will do you good in the north, and, as you're a philadelphian, you need not care what the south thinks.' these gentlemen meant to be kind; they were dropping me into a hole kindly, but they _were_ letting me into a hole! 'it is not a question as to _how_ i feel,' i said; 'it is a question of raising unpleasant discussions, of injuring the coloured people by holding out false hopes, which, hurried into action, excite new prejudices against them. president roosevelt, when he invited booker washington to lunch, acted as i should like to act now, but i would regret the ill-feeling raised by discussions of such an incident as greatly as he regretted it; but,' i added, 'you have your duty to your papers, which must have news, although the heavens fall. if my wife is taken in to dinner by mr. booker washington at court, if i give the reception you speak of----' 'you will,' said the elder newspaper man, joyously; 'it is a matter of rigid etiquette. we have a private tip!' 'very well, when i do these things, i shall not complain if you headline them.' 'sensation in denmark,' he read, from a slip. 'wife of american minister is taken in to dinner by representative coloured man. perfect social equality exemplified by reception to mr. booker washington at american legation! london will like you all the better for that,' he said, laughing. 'as "tout paris" liked president roosevelt,' i answered. i shivered a little. 'come to lunch to-morrow, but do not let us talk on this subject. if i am compelled by etiquette, as you insist i shall, i'll swallow the headlines. i shall ask mr. hartvig of some london papers and the _new york world_ to meet you.' and off they went! if i were a spartan person and really loved to perform my duties in the most idealistic way, i should have treated the situation greatly, nobly, and unselfishly; i should not have been pleased at the prospect of cheating my journalistic friends out of a good story; but, not being spartan and really not loving difficult duties, i felt that i had done enough in giving them a luncheon worthy of the reputation of our legation, with _sole à la bernaise_ and the best sauterne. mr. washington called before he went to the king's dinner; he was all smiles, and his evening suit was perfect. he said 'good-bye,' and i was thankful that the event of his visit was over; he was not only satisfied, but radiant and grateful. consul-general bond and his wife, dr. brochardt, of the library of congress, and several other interesting people were to come in, to dine and to play bridge this evening. i fancied the disappointment of the newspaper men when they should arrive, to find no reception in progress and no booker washington. i think i told my guests of the remarkably clever way--i hope i did not use that phrase--by which they had been outwitted. we were about to go into the drawing-room for coffee when a card was brought in. 'mr. booker washington.' some of the guests, those from the south especially, wanted to see him; but i trembled when i imagined the scene that would meet the reporters, who were, i knew, sure to come about nine o'clock. the drawing-room would be brilliantly lighted, half a dozen charming ladies in evening gowns would be there, surrounding the eminent apostle! enter the writers, and then would follow an elaborate sketch of the social function to be described as a new step in social evolution, the dawn of a new day, a symbol of entire social equality. i knew that the elder newspaper man, a friend of stead's, was quite capable of all this! 'coffee will be served in my study,' i said, not waiting to consult my wife. 'i will see mr. washington, at least for a moment, _alone_.' the group of guests moved off reluctantly. mr. washington waited in the back drawing-room, where both the kaiser and colonel roosevelt had once stood, though at different times. his train would be late; he came in the fulness of his heart, to tell me that king frederick and queen louise had been most sympathetic. he was enthusiastic about the discernment and commonsense of queen louise, who had read his book and followed every step of his work with great interest. 'i was glad to have her majesty know that the best men of my race are with me, that the opposition to me comes, not from the whites, but from that element in my own race which wants to enjoy the luxuries of life and its leisure without working! i thank you again, mr. minister, for arranging this affair in such a way as to preserve my dignity and to prevent me from appearing as if i were vain; yet i am legitimately proud of the great honour i have received. i shall now go to my hotel, and arrange for my departure.' 'i have ordered the carriage,' i said. just then, the footman threw the doors open, and in came the two newspaper men, resplendent as a starry night, one wearing a russian decoration. 'alone?' he said. 'with dr. booker washington.' 'the reception?' 'dr. booker washington has just come to describe his dinner at the court. let me present you two gentlemen. dr. washington has little time; if you will accompany him to the hotel, he will, i am sure, give you an interview. mr. hartvig of the _new york world_ will be present, too.' 'stung!' said the younger newspaper man. 'lunch with me to-morrow,' i said; 'i have some white bordeaux.' dr. washington gave a prudent interview and the incident was closed. may he rest in peace. he was a great man, a modest, intelligent and humble man, and no calumny can lessen his greatness. this is a digression to show that the social question in the united states, much as it might have seemed to people who looked on denmark as entirely out of our orbit, had its importance in the affair of the purchase of the islands, which then interested me more than anything else in the world. pastor bast was the only methodist clergyman in copenhagen. his good works are proverbial and not confined to his own denomination. the methodists were few; indeed, i think that even pastor bast's children were lutherans. having recommended one of his charities, i was asked by a very benevolent dane: 'are the methodists really christians in america?' 'why do you ask that question?' 'i have read that there is a division in their ranks because most of them refuse to admit black people on equal terms. if that is so, i cannot help pastor bast's project, although i can see that it has value.' it was in vain to explain the difference of opinion on the 'afro-american question' which separated the northern and southern methodists; he could not understand it. i hope, however, that pastor bast received his donation. * * * * * in august , the unrest in europe, reflected in denmark, was becoming more and more evident. the diplomatic correspondents during the succeeding years--some of it has been made public--showed this. japan, it was understood, would, with the mexican difficulty, keep the united states out of any entanglements in europe. so sure were some of the distinguished danes of our neutrality in case of war--a contingency in which nobody in the united states seemed to believe--that i was asked to submit to my government, not officially, a proposal to denmark for the surrender of greenland to us, we to give, in return, the most important island in the philippines--mindanao. denmark was to have the right to transfer to germany this island for northern slesvig. the danish government had no knowledge of this plan, which was, however, presented in detail to me. against it was urged the necessity of denmark's remaining on good terms with germany. 'we could never be on good terms with our southern neighbour, if we possessed slesvig; besides, the younger danes in slesvig are so tied up with germany economically that their position would be more complicated. 'in fact,' this slesviger said, 'though i hate the prussian tyranny, i fear that our last state would be worse than our first. germany might accept the philippine island, and retake slesvig afterwards. unless we could be protected by the powers, we should regard the bargain as a bad one. besides, england would never allow you to take greenland.' it was an interesting discussion _in camera_. these discussions were always informal--generally after luncheon--and very enlightening. admiral de richelieu, who will never die content until slesvig is returned to denmark, looked on the arrangement as possible. 'germany wants peace with you; she could help you to police the philippines; greenland would be more valuable to you than to us,--and slesvig would be again danish.' 'but suppose we should propose to take the danish antilles for mindanao?' i asked. 'out of the question,' he said, firmly. 'you will never induce us to part with the west indies. we can make them an honourable appendage to our nation; but greenland, with your resources, might become another alaska.' de richelieu is one of the best friends i have in the world; but, when it came to the sale of the islands, he saw, not only red, but scarlet, vermilion, crimson and all the tints and shades of red! in , it seemed to me that my time had come to make an attempt to do what nearly every american statesman of discernment had, since seward's time, wanted done. it must be remembered that, if i seem egoistical, i am telling the story from the point of view of a minister who had no arbitrary instructions from his government, and very little information as to what was going on in the minds of his countrymen as to the expediency of the purchase. it is seldom possible to explain exactly the daily varying aspect of foreign politics in a european country to the state department; if one keeps one's ear to the ground, one often discovers the beginning of social and political vibrations in the evening which have quite vanished when one makes a report to one's government in the morning. again, mails are slow; we had no pouch; any document, even when closed by the august seal of the united states might be opened 'by mistake.' long cables, filled with minutiæ, were too expensive to be encouraged. besides, they might be deciphered and filed by under-clerks, who probably thought that 'dr. cook had put denmark on the map,'--only that, and nothing more! i knew one thing--that my colleague, constantin brun, was for the sale; another, that erik de scavenius, the youngest minister of foreign affairs in europe, was as clever as he was patriotic and honourable, and as resourceful as audacious. he had an irish grandfather. that explained much. another thing i assumed--that my government trusted me, and had given me, without explicitly stating the fact, _carte blanche_. however, i prepared myself to be disavowed by the state department if i went too far. i knew that, provided i was strictly honourable, such a disavowal would mean a promotion on the part of the president. i had done my best to accentuate the good reasons given by my predecessors, especially carr and risley, for they were beyond denial, for our buying the islands. one despatch i had sent off in may or june , almost in despair, a despatch in which i repeated the fear of german aggression and quoted heligoland, which had become as much a part of my thoughts and talk in private as the appearance of the head of charles i. in that of dickens's eccentric character. in june , no nation had the time or the leisure or the means of interfering with the project, for war means concentration, and i had found means of knowing that germany would not coerce denmark in the matter. i hoped and prayed that our government would take action. i knew, not directly, but through trusted friends like robert underwood johnson, lately editor of _the century magazine_, what point of view nearly every important journal in the united states would take. senator lodge's views were well known; in fact, he had first inflamed my zeal. president wilson had put himself on record in this momentous matter. unless public opinion should balk at the price--$ , , would not have been too much--the purchase would be approved of by the senate and the house. this seemed sure. against these arguments was the insinuation made and widely but insidiously spread, that germany approved the sale because she expected to borrow the amount of money paid! in june , it was plain to all who read the signs of the times, that we could not long keep out of the war. 'i did not raise my boy to be a soldier' was neither really popular in the united states nor convincing, for, sad as it may seem, disheartening as it is to those who believe in that universal peace which christ never promised, the american of the united states is a born fighter! if the islands were to be ours, now was the acceptable time. in denmark, the prospect looked like a landscape set for a forlorn hope. erik de scavenius, democrat, even radical, though of one of the most aristocratic families in denmark, would consider only the good of his own country. he was neither pro-german, pro-english nor pro-american. young as he was, his diplomatic experience had led him to look with a certain cynicism on the altruistic professions of any great european nation. he relied, i think, as little as i did on the academic results of the hague conferences. denmark needed money; the government, pledged to the betterment of the poor, to the advancement of funds to small farmers, to the support of a co-operative banking system in the interest of the agriculturists, to old-age pensions, to the insurance of the working man and his support when involuntarily idle, to all those socialistic plans that aim at the material benefit of the proletariat,[ ] and in addition to this, to the keeping up of a standing army as large as our regular army before the war, now 'quasi-mobilised,'--could ill afford to sink the state's income in making up the deficit caused by the expenses of the islands. [ ] in rome, 'the proletariat' meant the people who had children. the radicals, like edward brandès, despaired of righteously ruling their islands on the broad, humanitarian principles they had established in denmark. the position of the government was so precarious that to raise the question might have serious consequences. this we all knew, and none better than erik de scavenius. it will be seen that the difficulties on the danish side were greater than on ours. the price, which, reasonably enough, would be greater than that offered in previous times, would hardly be a very grave objection from the american point of view, since the war had made us more clear-minded, for our people are most generous in spending money when they see good reasons for it. it would take much time to unravel the intricacies of danish politics. 'happy,' said my friend, mr. thomas p. gill,[ ] visiting denmark in , 'is that land which is ruled by farmers!' i have sometimes doubted this. the conservatives naturally hated the social democrats, and the government was kept in power by the help of the social democrats. the conservatives would have gladly pitched the government to hades, if they had not had a great fear that erik de scavenius and perhaps edward brandès, the minister of justice, were too useful to lose during the war when the position of denmark was so delicate. the recent elections have shown how weak the present government is. [ ] mr. thomas p. gill is the permanent secretary of the irish agricultural and technical board. the danes, as i have said, are probably the most civilised people in europe, but an average american high school boy thinks more logically on political questions. a union of such intellectual clearness with such a paralysis of the logical, political qualities of the mind as one finds in denmark, is almost incredible. they seem to feel in matters of politics but not to think. after a large acquaintance among the best of the young minds in denmark, i could only conclude that this was the result of unhappy circumstances: the pessimism engendered by the nearness to germany, the fact that the dane was not allowed to vote until he became almost middle-aged, and the absence, in the higher schools, of any education that would cultivate self-analysis, and which would force the production of mental initiative. sentiment was against the sale of the islands,--therefore, the cause already seemed lost! the press, as a rule, would be against it, but the press in denmark, though everybody reads, has not a very potent influence. i was sure of _politiken_, a journal which most persons said was 'yellow,' but which appealed to people who liked cleverness. the press, i was sure, would be against the sale largely for reasons of internal politics. the farmers would not oppose the sale as a sale--in itself--the possession of a great sum of money, even while it remained in the united states, meant increased facilities for the import of fodder, etc., but j. c. christensen, their leader, must be reckoned with. there were local questions. politics is everywhere a slippery game, but in denmark it is more slippery than anywhere else in the world, not even excepting in, let us say, kansas. j. c. christensen had stubbed his toe over alberti, who had, until , been a power in denmark, and who, in , was still in the copenhagen jail. he had been prime minister from until alberti's manipulation of funds had been discovered in . under the short administration of holstein-ledreborg, he had been minister of worship, but he smarted over the accident which had driven him undeservedly out of office. socialism, curious as it may seem to americans, is not confined to the cities in denmark. it thrives in the farmlands. in the country, the socialists are more moderate than in the cities. in the country, socialism is a method of securing to the peasant population the privileges which it thinks it ought to have. it is a pale pink compared with the intense red of the extreme urban internationalists. j. c. christensen represented the moderates as against the various shades of left, radical and socialistic opinions. besides j. c. christensen, though his reputation was beyond reproach, needed, perhaps, a certain rehabilitation, and he had a great following. a further complication was the sudden rise of violent opposition to the government because of the decision made by the secular authorities in favour of retaining in his pulpit arboe rasmussen, a clergyman who had gone even further towards modernism in his preaching than harnack. however, as the bishops of the danish lutheran church had accepted this decision, it seemed remarkable that an opposition of this kind should have developed so unexpectedly. in june , my wife and i were at aalholm, the principal castle of count raben-levitzau. i was hoping for a favourable answer to my latest despatch as to the purchase of the islands. a visit to aalholm was an event. the count and countess raben-levitzau know how to make their house thoroughly agreeable. talleyrand said that 'no one knew the real delights of social intercourse who had not lived before the french revolution.' one might easily imitate this, and say, that if one has never paid a visit to aalholm, one knows little of the delights of good conversation. count raben's guests were always chosen for their special qualities. with mr. and mrs. francis hagerup, señor and señora de riaño, count and countess szchenyi,[ ] chamberlain and madame hegermann-lindencrone, mrs. ripka, and the necessary additional element of young folk, one must forget the cares of life. during this visit, there was one care that rode behind me in all the pleasant exclusions about the estate. it constantly asked me: what is your government thinking about? will the president's preoccupations prevent him from considering the question of the purchase? does mr. brun, the danish minister, fear a political crisis in his own country? it is difficult to an american at home to realise how much in the dark a man feels away from the centre of diplomacy, washington, especially when he has once lived there for years and been in touch with all the tremulous movements of the wires. [ ] dr. francis hagerup, norwegian minister to copenhagen, now at stockholm. count szchenyi, austro-hungarian minister, señor de riaño, now spanish minister at washington. one day at aalholm, the telephone rang; it was a message from the clerk of the legation, mr. joseph g. groeninger of baltimore. i put clerk with a capital letter because mr. groeninger deserved diplomatically a much higher title. during all my anxieties on the question of the purchase, he had been my confidant and encourager; the secretaries had other things to do. the message, discreetly voiced in symbols we had agreed upon, told me that the way was clear. our government was willing,--secrecy and discretion were paramount necessities in the transaction. returning to copenhagen, i saw the foreign minister. the most direct way was the best. i said, 'excellency, will you sell your west indian islands?' 'you know i am for the sale, mr. minister,' he said, 'but--' he paused, 'it will require some courage.' 'nobody doubts your courage.' 'the susceptibilities of our neighbour to the south----' 'let us risk offending any susceptibilities. france had rights.' 'france gave up her rights in santa cruz long ago; but i was not thinking of france. besides the price would have to be dazzling. otherwise the project could never be carried.' 'not only dazzling,' i said, 'but you should have more than money--our rights in greenland; his majesty might hesitate if it were made a mere question of money. he is like his grandfather, christian ix. you know how he hated, crippled as denmark was in , to sell the islands.' 'you would never pay the price.' 'excellency,' i said, 'this is not a commercial transaction. if it were a commercial transaction, a matter of material profit, my government would not have entrusted the matter to me, nor would i have accepted the task, without the counsel of men of business. besides, commercially, at present, the islands are of comparatively small value. i know that my country is as rich as it is generous. it is dealing with a small nation of similar principles to its own, and with an equal pride. unless the price is preposterous, as there is no ordinary way of gauging the military value of these islands to us, i shall not object. my government does not wish me to haggle. and i am sure that you will not force me to do so by demanding an absurd price. you would not wish to shock a people prepared to be generous.' he will ask $ , , , i thought; he knows better than anybody that we shall be at war with germany in less than a year. i felt dizzy at the thought of losing the gibraltar of the caribbean! however, i consoled myself, while mr. de scavenius looked thoughtfully, pencil in hand, at a slip of paper. after all, _i_ thought, the president, knowing what the islands mean to us, will not balk at even $ , , . while mr. de scavenius wrote, i tried to feel like a man to whom a billion was of no importance. he pushed the slip towards me, and i read: '$ , , dollars, expressed in danish crowns.' the crown was then equal to about twenty-six cents. i said, 'there will be little difficulty about that; i consider it not unreasonable; but naturally, it may frighten some of my compatriots, who have not felt the necessity of considering international questions. you will give me a day or two?' 'the price is dazzling, i know,' he said. 'my country is more generous even than she is rich. the transaction must be completed before----' mr. de scavenius understood. my country was neutral _then_; it was never necessary to over-explain to him; he knew that i understood the difficulties in the way. it was agreed that there should be no intermediaries; denmark had learned the necessity of dealing without them by the experience in . i was doubtful as to the possibility of complete secrecy. what the newspapers cannot find out does not exist. 'there are very many persons connected with the foreign office,' he said thoughtfully. 'i may say a similar thing of our state department. i wish the necessity for complete secrecy did not exist,' i said. 'the press _will_ have news.' a short time after this i was empowered to offer $ , , with our rights in greenland. as far as the foreign office and our legation were concerned, the utmost secrecy was preserved. there were no formal calls; after dinners, a word or two, an apparently chance meeting on the promenade (the long line) by the sound. rumours, however, leaked out on the bourse. the newspapers became alert. _politiken_, the government organ, was bound to be discreet, even if its editor had his suspicions. there were no evidences from the united states that the secret was out. in fact, the growing war excitement left what in ordinary times would have been an event for the 'spot' light in a secondary place. in denmark, as the whispers of a possible 'deal' increased in number, the opponents of the government were principally occupied in thinking out a way by which it could be used for the extinction of the council--president (prime minister) zahle, the utter crushing of the minister of war, peter munch, who hated war and looked on the army as an unnecessary excrescence, and the driving out of the whole ministry, with the exception of erik de scavenius and, perhaps, edward brandès, the minister of finance, into a sea worthy to engulf the devil-possessed swine of the new testament. there are, by the way, two zahles--one the minister, theodore, a bluff and robust man of the people, and herluf zahle, of the foreign office, chamberlain, and a diplomatist of great tact, polish and experience. mr. edward brandès and mr. erik de scavenius, interviewed, denied that there was any question of the sale. 'had i ever spoken to edward brandès on the subject of the sale?' i was asked point-blank. as i had while in copenhagen, only formal relations with the members of the government, except those connected with the foreign office, i was enabled to say no quite honestly. it was unnecessary for me to deny the possession of a secret not my own, too, because, when asked if i had spoken to the foreign minister on the subject of the sale, i always said that i was always hoping for such an event, i had spoken on the subject to count raben-levitzau, count ahlefeldt-laurvig and erik de scavenius whenever i had a chance. i felt like the boy who avoided sunday school because his father was a presbyterian and his mother a jewess; this left me out. i trembled for the fate of mr. de scavenius and mr. edward brandès when their political opponents (some of them the most imaginative folk in denmark) should learn the facts. a lie, in my opinion, is the denying of the truth to those who have a moral right to know it. the press had no right whatever to know the truth, but even the direct diplomatic denial of a fact to persons who have no right to know it is bound to be--uncomfortable! i was astonished that both mr. brandès and mr. scavenius had been so direct; political opponents are so easily shocked and so loud in their pious appeals to providence! for myself, i was sorry that i could not give mr. albert thorup, of the associated press, a 'tip.' he is such a decent man, and i shall always be grateful to him, but i was forced to connive at his losing a great 'scoop.' the breakers began to roar; anybody but the foreign minister would have lost his nerve. two visiting american journalists, who had an inkling of possibilities of the truth, behaved like gentlemen and patriots, as they are, and agreed to keep silent until the state department should give them permission to release it. these were mr. william c. bullitt, of the philadelphia _ledger_, and mr. montgomery schuyler, of the new york _times_. the newspaper, _copenhagen_, was the first to hint at the secret, which, by this time, had become a _secret de polichinelle_. various persons were blamed; the parliament afterwards appointed a committee of examination. on august st, , i find in my diary,--'thank heaven! the secret is out in the united states, but not through us.' 'secret diplomacy' is difficult in this era of newspapers. if we are to have a secretary of education in the cabinet of the future, why not a secretary of the press? a happy interlude in the summer of was the visit of henry van dyke and his wife and daughter. it was a red letter night when he came to dinner. we forgot politics, and talked of stedman, gilder and the elder days. the first inkling that the _secret de polichinelle_ was out came from a cable in _le temps_ of paris. mr. bapst, the french minister, who had very unjustly been accused of being against the sale, came to tell me he knew that the treaty had been signed by secretary lansing and mr. brun in washington. i was not at liberty to commit myself yet, so i denied that the treaty had been signed in washington. mr. bapst sighed; i knew what he thought of me; but i had told the truth; the treaty had been signed in new york. sir henry lowther, the british minister, was frankly delighted that the question of the islands was about to be opened. irgens, formerly minister of foreign affairs in norway, and a good friend to the united states, shook his head. 'if norway owned islands, we would never give them up,' he said; but he was glad that they were going to us. the other colleagues, including count brockdorff-rantzau, the german minister, were occupied with other things. count rantzau was desirous of keeping peace with the united states. i think that he regarded war with us as so dangerous as to be almost unthinkable. i found count rantzau a very clever man; he played his game fairly. it was a game, and he was a colleague worth any man's respect. he is one of the most cynical, brilliant, forcible diplomatists in europe, with liberal tendencies in politics. if he lives, he ought to go far, as he is plastic and sees the signs of the times. i found him delightful; but he infuriated other people. one day, when he is utterly tired of life, he will consciously exasperate somebody to fury, in order to escape the trouble of committing suicide himself. the plot thickened. the ideas of the foreign office were, as a rule, mine--but here there was sometimes an honest difference. i was willing to work with the foreign office, but not under it. de scavenius never expected this, but i think it was sometimes hard for him to see that i could not, in all details, follow his plans. nothing is so agreeable as to have men of talent to deal with; and i never came from an interview with de scavenius or chamberlain clan, even when, perhaps, de scavenius did not see my difficulties clearly, without an added respect for these gentlemen. the air was full of a rumour that the united states, suspected in europe, in spite of the fair treatment of cuba and the philippines, of imperialism, had made threats against denmark, involving what was called 'pressure.' whether it was due to enemy propaganda or not, the insinuation that the danish west indies would be taken by force, because denmark was helpless, underlay many polite conversations. 'the united states would not dare to oblige france or england or a south american republic to give up an island. she does not attempt to coerce holland; but in spite of the pretensions to altruism, she threatens denmark.' this was an assertion constantly heard. the charges of imperialism made in our newspapers against some of the 'stalwart' politicians who were supposed to have influenced president mckinley in older days, were not forgotten. letters poured in, asking if it were possible that i had used threats to the danish government. the danish politicians were turning their ploughshares into swords. on august th the rigstag went into 'executive session.' chamberlain hegermann-lindencrone still heartily approved of the sale. he had, he said, tried to arrange it, under president mckinley's administration, through a hint from major cortelyon when he was in paris. the attitude of the press became more and more evident. mr. holger angelo, one of the best 'interviewers' in the danish press, and very loyal to his paper, the _national news_ (_national tidende_), came to see me. personally, he was desirous not to wound me or to criticise the conduct of my government; but he was strongly against the sale, yet he could find no valid arguments against it. he was obliged to admit reluctantly that the only ground on which his paper could make an attack was the denial of the cabinet ministers that any negotiations had existed. this was the line all the opposition papers would follow. nobody would say that the purchase had been negotiated on any grounds unfavourable to the national sensibilities of the danes. even admiral de richelieu admitted that neither my government nor myself had failed to give what help could be given to his plans for improving the economic conditions of the islands. on august th the debate in the rigstag showed, as had been expected, that mr. j. c. christensen, who held the balance of power, would demand a new election under the new constitution. a furious attack was made on messrs. brandès and de scavenius for having denied the existence of negotiations. all this was expected. nobody really wanted a new election. it was too risky under war conditions. suddenly the rumour was revived that the british fleet would break the neutrality of denmark by moving through the great belt, and that the united states was secretly preparing to send its fleet through the belt to help the british. the reason of this was apparent: every rumour that corroborated the impression that the united states would become a belligerent injured the chances of the sale. such delay, to my knowledge, was an evil, since the continued u-boat horror made a war imminent. in spite of all optimism, advice from the american embassy at berlin, direct and indirect, pointed that way. the crisis would no doubt be delayed--this was our impression--but it must come. count brockdorff-rantzau hoped to the last that it might be avoided, and prince wittgenstein of his legation, who knew all sides, seemed to believe that a conflict with the united states might yet be avoided. and there was still a dim hope, but it became dimmer every day, so that my desire to expedite matters became an obsession. on august th, j. c. christensen seemed to hold the folkerting (the lower house) in the hollow of his hand. he moved to appeal to the country, and to leave the question of a sale to a new rigstag. this meant more complications, more delay, and perhaps defeat through the threatening of the war clouds. j. c. christensen's motion was defeated by eleven votes. on august th it was concluded that the quickest and least dangerous way of securing assent to the sale was by an appeal to the people, not through a general election, but through a plebiscite, in which every man and woman of twenty-nine would vote, under the provisions of the new constitution. the landsting (the upper house) held a secret meeting. if a coalition ministry should not be arranged and the motion for a plebiscite should fail, there would certainly be a general election. this would, i thought, be fatal, as it would probably mean a postponement of the sale until after the close of the war. in the meantime, we heard the german representatives of the hamburg-american line at st. thomas were carrying on 'some unusual improvements.' these activities, begun without the knowledge of the governor, who was then in denmark, were stopped by the minister of justice, mr. edward brandès, when the knowledge of them was brought to the danish government. on august th i was convinced that one of the most important men in denmark, indeed in europe, etatsraad h. n. andersen, of the east asiatic company, approved of the sale. this i had believed, but i was delighted to hear it from his own lips. political confusion became worse. in some circumstances the danes are as excitable as the french used to be. it looked, towards the end of august, as if the project of the sale was to be a means of making of denmark, then placid and smiling under a summer sun, a veritable seething cauldron. the gentlemen of the press enjoyed themselves. i, who had the reputation of having on all occasions a _bonne presse_, fell from grace. i had not, it is true, concealed the truth by diplomatic means, as had mr. edward brandès and mr. erik de scavenius, but i had talked 'so much and so ingenuously' to the newspaper men, as one of them angrily remarked, that they were sure a man, hitherto so frank, had nothing to conceal; and yet there had been much concealed. the opposition, which would have been pleasantly horrified to discover any evidence of bribery, or, indeed, any evidence of the methods by which our legation had managed its side of the affair (they hoped for the worst), could discover very little; when they called on de scavenius to show all the incriminating documents in the case, they found there was nothing incriminating, and the documents were the slightest scraps of paper. knowing how far away our department of state was, how busy and how undermanned, owing to the attitude which congress has hitherto assumed towards it, i acted as i thought best as each delicate situation arose, always arranging as well as i could not to compromise my government, and to give it a chance to disavow any action of mine should it be necessary. i had found this a wise course in the cook affair. i had resolved to take no notice of dr. cook, until the royal danish geographical society determined to recognise him as a scientist of reputation. when commander hovgaard, who had been captain of the king's yacht, asked me to go with the crown prince, president of the geographical society, to meet the american explorer, i went; but my government was in no way committed. in fact, president taft understood the situation well; receiving no approval of dr. cook from me, he merely answered dr. cook's telegram, congratulating him on 'his statement.' i must say that, when the royal geographical society received cook, no word of disapproval from any american expert had reached our legation or the geographical society itself. the society, with no knowledge of the mount mckinley incident, behaved most courteously to an american citizen who appeared to have accomplished a great thing. the only indication that made me suspect that dr. cook was not scientific was that he spoke most kindly of all his--may i say it?--step-brother scientists! but, as i had accompanied the crown prince, in gratitude for his kind attention to a compatriot, i felt sure that a wise department would only, at the most, reprimand me for exceeding the bounds of courtesy. suddenly a crashing blow struck us; edward brandès, in the midst of a hot debate, in which he and de scavenius were fiercely attacked, announced that the united states was prepared to exert 'friendly pressure.' brandès is too clever a man to be driven into such a statement through inadvertence; he must have had some object in making it. what the object was i did not know--nobody seemed to know. even de scavenius seemed to think he had gone too far, for whatever were the contents of minister brun's despatches, it was quite certain that neither he nor our government would have allowed a threat made to denmark involving the possession of her legitimately held territory to become public. something had to be done to avoid the assumption that we were no more democratic than germany. 'we wanted the territory from a weaker nation; we were prepared to seize it, if we could not buy it! we americans were all talking of the rights of the little nations. germany wanted to bleed france, and she took belgium after having insolently demanded that she should give up her freedom. we, the most democratic of nations, prepared to pay for certain islands; but if it was not convenient for a friendly power to sell her territory, we would take it.' this was the inference drawn from mr. edward brandès' words in parliament. i could not contradict a member of the government, and yet i was called on, especially by danes who had lived in the united states, to explain what this 'pressure' meant. many danish women who approved of the social freedom of american women, but mistrusted our government's refusing them the suffrage, took the question up with me. 'pressure _et tu brute_!' the women were to vote in the plebiscite. some of their leaders balked at the word 'pressure,' but a country which had hitherto refused the suffrage to american women was capable of anything. mr. edward brandès had performed a great service to his country in letting out some of the horrors of our secret diplomacy. mr. constantin brun, whose loyalty to his own country i invoked in these interviews, was, they said, 'corrupted' in the united states; he was more american than the americans! i should have much preferred to be put in the 'ananias society' so suddenly formed of mr. brandès and mr. de scavenius than to have myself set down as an imperialist of a country as arrogant as it was grasping, which not only threatened to seize danish territory, but which, while pretending to hold the banner of democracy in the war of nations, deprived the best educated women in the world (mrs. chapman catt had said so) of their inalienable right to vote! fortunately, i had once lectured at the request of some of the leading suffragists. bread cast upon the waters is often returned, toasted and buttered, by grateful hands. madame de münter--wife of the chamberlain--and madame gad, wife of the admiral, were great lights in the feminist movement. madame gad is a most active, distinguished and benevolent woman of letters. there were others, too, who felt that there must be some redeeming features in a condition of society which produced a minister who was so devoted to woman suffrage as i was (as my wife gave some of the best dinners in denmark, nobody expected _her_ to go beyond that!). to madame de münter i owed much good counsel and a circle of defenders; to madame gad (if we had an order of valiant women, i should ask that she be decorated), i am told i owe the chance that helped to turn the women's vote in our favour, and induced many ladies, who were patriotic traditionalists, to abstain from voting. the general opinion, as far as i could gauge it--and i tried to get expert testimony--was that the women's vote would be against us. the _national news_ (_national tidende_) had never been favourable to the united states, though personally i had no reason to complain of it. it was moderate in politics, not brilliant, but very well written. the virtue of its editor was outraged by the denial of the two ministers that negotiations for the sale of the islands had been in process. this position in defence of the truth edified the community. 'truth, though the heavens fall!' was his motto; he kept up a fusillade against the sale. except that one of my interviews had been unintentionally misquoted, i had hitherto been out of the newspapers--though i was no longer, in the opinion of the whole press, the sweet and promising young poet of sixty-five who had written sonnets--now i was forced in. an interview appeared triumphantly in the _national news_. it was attributed to one of the most discreet officials of the state department. it denied 'pressure,' which would have pleased me, if it had not also contradicted my repeated statement that the senate of the united states would not adjourn without ratifying the treaty. it was a blow. i questioned at once the authenticity of the interview. the senate, i had said, would ratify the treaty before the end of the session. the danish foreign office and the public took my word for it. unless i could get a disavowal of the interview by cable, it would seem that the department of state was not supporting me. the foreign office itself, with the problem of our entering the war before it, was beginning to be disheartened. the authenticity of the interview meant failure, the triumph of the enemies of the sale! after a brief interval, a denial of the interview, which had been fabricated in london, came to our legation. there was joy in nazareth, but it did not last long. with the permission of the foreign office, i prepared to give this very definite denial from our state department to the press. it was a busy evening. the staff of the legation was small, and the necessity of sending men to the rigstag to watch the debate in the landsting, where the treaty was being considered, of gathering information, and of translating and copying important documents relating to the islands for transmission to the united states, strained our energies. moreover, the secretary of legation, mr. alexander richardson magruder, had just been transferred to stockholm. mr. joseph g. groeninger, the clerk, who knew all the details relating to the affair of the islands, was up to his eyes in work. mr. cleveland perkins, the honorary attaché, was struggling heroically with danish reports, and i was at the telephone receiving information, seeing people, and endeavouring to discover just where we stood. a most trustworthy--but inexperienced--young man was in charge of the downstairs office, where mr. groeninger, the omniscient, usually reigned. i telephoned to him a memorandum on the subject of 'pressure' which the bogus interview had denied. it was a quotation from the 'interview,' to be made the subject of comment, and then the denial. both of these were sent up on the same piece of typewritten paper, and o.k.ed by me, as a matter of routine. it was not until late in the night that the young man discovered that a mistake had been made. he was most contrite, though the mistake was my fault and due to thoughtlessly following the usual routine. he telephoned at once to the _national news_ and to the other newspapers explaining that he had made a mistake. the _national news_ preferred to ignore his explanation. the opportunity of accusing the ministry of further duplicity was too tempting. de scavenius had lied again, and i had connived at it. the denial of the washington telegram was 'faked' by the american minister in collusion with the minister of foreign affairs! it must be admitted that _politiken_, edited by the terribly clever cavling, had driven the slower-witted _national tidende_ to desperation. i had a bad morning; then i resolved to draw the full fire of the _national news_ on myself. i owed it to de scavenius, who had become rather tired of being called a liar in all the varieties of rhetoric of which copenhagen slang is capable. from the american point of view, after i had made my plan, it was amusing--all the more amusing, since, after the first regret that i had unwittingly added to the _opera bouffe_ colour of the occasion, i saw that the _national tidende_ would become so abusive against me, that i should soon be an interesting victim of vituperative persecution. i repeated calmly the truth that the 'interview' was a fabrication, adding that i had no intention to attack the honour of the _national tidende_; it had been deceived; i merely wanted it understood that my government was not in the habit of contradicting its responsible representatives (_politiken_ kindly added that the _national tidende_ had received its information from the 'coloured door-keeper at the white house'). more fire and fury signifying nothing! the most elaborate frightfulness in print missed its mark, as nobody at the legation had time to translate the rhetoric of the furies, and besides, the _national tidende_ had no case. as i hoped, the diplomatic sins of the foreign office in keeping the secret were forgotten in the flood of invective directed against me. the result was expressed in my diary:--'the row has proved a help to the treaty; i did not know i had so many friends in denmark. my hour of desolation was when i feared that somebody in the state department had permitted himself to be interviewed. it was a dark hour!' after this tempest in a tea-pot, all talk about 'pressure' ceased; the air was, at least, clear of that--and i thanked heaven. september came in; the debates in the rigstag continued. various papers were accused of having prematurely divulged the secret--especially _copenhagen_. it was amusing--the secret among business men had long before the revelation of _copenhagen_ become an open secret. in fact, one of these gentlemen had come to me and informed me of the various attitudes of people on the bourse; at the legation, we never lacked secret information. the debate, as everybody knew, and the threat of an investigation of the responsibility for letting out the secret was a bit of comedy, probably invented for the provinces, for a copenhagener is about as easily fooled as a parisian. on september th, i had one of the greatest pleasures i have ever experienced. i announced to the foreign office that the treaty had been ratified, without change, by the senate. still the opposition made delays. the foreign minister did all in his power to expedite matters. it was hoped that charges of 'graft' could be developed against the ministers. 'if you had had a _bonne presse_, as usual,' a candid friend said to me, 'you might have been accused of bribing. as it is, the _national tidende_ attitude showed that you never offered that paper any money!' 'as much as i regret the attitude of the _national tidende_,' i said, 'i could as soon imagine myself taking a bribe as of the editor's accepting one. the attack was a great advantage to me.' 'you yankees turn everything to your advantage,' the candid friend said. on september th, ambassador and mrs. gerard arrived. it was a red letter day. mr. gerard showed the strain of his work, but, like all good new yorkers, was disposed 'to take the goods the gods provided' him--one of them was a dinner at the legation of which he approved. praise from brillat-savarin would not have delighted us more than this. the legation, to use the diplomatic phrase, threw themselves at the feet of mrs. gerard. gerard deserved the title, given him by the germans, of 'the most american of american ambassadors.' mrs. gerard was cosmopolitan, with an american charm, but also with a touch of the older world that always adds to the social value of an ambassadress. i had arranged, in advance of judge gerard's coming, a luncheon with my colleague across the street, count brockdorff-rantzau. it was interesting. mr. and mrs. swope were present, their serene highnesses the prince and princess sayn wittgenstein-sayn, count wedel, and, i think, dr. toepffer. judge gerard told me that he spoke little french, but he got on immensely well with count rantzau, who spoke no english. count wedel, with his love for old germany, of the weimar of goethe, of the best in literature, will, i trust, live to see a happier new order of things in his native country. the wittgensteins were charming young people. the prince was connected with almost every great russian, french and italian family. if ambassadors are not put out of fashion by the new order of things, the princess, closely connected with important families of england, would be a fortunate ambassadress to an english-speaking country. peace ought to come to men of good-will, and i am persuaded that there are men of good-will in germany. september, october, even december came in, and the political factions still fought, ostensibly about the sale, but really for control, copenhageners said, of the $ , , ! every chance was taken to delay the matter until after the war. german propaganda and bribing was talked of, but there was no evidence of it. in my opinion, it was largely a question as to who should spend the $ , , . in a monarchy such a horror was to be expected naturally! in a republic like ours, the patriotic republicans would cheerfully see the equally patriotic democrats control the funds, but, then, republics are all utopias, the lands of the hope fulfilled! all this was amusing to many observers--embarrassing and humiliating to danes who respected reasonable public opinion and the dignity of their country. it was terrible to me who saw the war coming, for mr. gerard and my private informants in germany left me in no doubt about that. even count szchenyi, always for peace, and with us in sympathy, declared that 'the u-boat war would go on, not to crush england, but as part of the germanic league to enforce peace.' and the use of the u-boat meant war for us! on all sides, i was told that the women's votes would be against the sale. it was not unreasonable to believe that ladies, just emancipated, would vote against their late lords and masters, at least for the first time. besides, as mrs. chapman catt had made very clear during her fateful visit to denmark, the liveliest, the most reasonable, the most intellectual women in the world were deprived by the unjust laws of the country that wanted the islands of the right to vote. even the fact that mr. edward brandès, a noted ladies' man, was on the side of the angels, might have no effect. he began to be tired of the whole thing. he hoped, i really believe, that the islands would settle the question and sink into the sea! we _must_ have the women's vote. madame gad helped to save the day. 'you will, in your annual _conférence_,' she said to me, 'explain the position of the american women, and your words will be reprinted, not only all over denmark, but throughout sweden and norway. the editor of _politiken_ will give you his famous "_politiken hus_," and your words will make good feeling.' 'i can honestly say,' i answered, 'that i want the women to vote. in fact, in my country, they have only to want the suffrage badly enough to have it! it is the fault of their own sex, not of ours, if they do not get it!' it was agreed that i should speak on 'the american woman and her aspirations,' at _politiken hus_, on the evening of december th. the proceeds were to go to charity. and i never knew, until i began to prepare my lecture, how firmly i believed that woman suffrage was to be the salvation of the world. without exaggeration, i believe it will be, since men have made such an almost irremediable mess of worldly affairs. my friend, the late archbishop spalding, once said that women had, since the deluge, been engaged in spoiling the stomach of man, and now they prepared to spoil his politics! i have some reason to believe that a report of my lecture might have converted him to higher ideals. i was told by some ladies that it had a great effect on their husbands. in the meantime, the tardy delegates, summoned from st. thomas and santa cruz, arrived. they were called simply to delay action. the foreign minister was heartily ashamed of the transaction on the part of his opponents; it was palpably childish. the plebiscite must be delayed as long as possible. the united states had done its part in a most prompt and generous manner. the press could give only sentimental reasons against the sale; denmark found the islands a burden; she wanted our rights in greenland; she needed the $ , , , but her politicians were willing to risk anything rather than give the control of the money to a ministry they were afraid to turn out. a coalition ministry, that is, the addition of new members without portfolios to the present ministry, was agreed to, j. c. christensen representing the moderate left, theodore stauning, a socialist, and two others. nobody really wanted a general election until after the war. on the evening of december th, i drove to _politiken hus_. there was a red light over the door. this meant _alt udsolgt_, 'standing room only.' what balm for long anxieties this! mr. william jennings bryan looking at the crowded seats of a chautauqua meeting could not have felt prouder. i recalled the night on which king christian x. had asked me if i always delivered the same lecture during a season's tour in the provinces. i said, 'yes, sir.' 'but if people come a second time?' 'oh, they never come a second time, sir.' at least, for the first time, the red light was lit,--who cared for a second time? the hall was crowded. sir ralph paget, who seldom went out, had come, and, at some distance--sir ralph was of all men the most anti-prussian--were the prince and princess wittgenstein. 'all copenhagen,' madame gad said, which was equivalent to 'tout paris.' i did my best. at the reception afterwards at admiral urban gad's, the ladies--some of them of great influence in politics--told me i had said the right things. i had the next day a _bonne presse_. the provincial papers all over scandinavia reprinted the most important parts of the discourse with approval, and letters of commendation from all parts of denmark--from ladies--came pouring in. one from a constant correspondent in falster, a 'demoiselle,' which is a much better word than 'old maid,' who was sometimes in very bad humour with 'america,' wrote that, after what i said of the american women's position, she would like to marry an american, and that, though opposed to the sale, she and her club would refrain from voting. her offer to marry an american has not been withdrawn. a few days after this, an american paper containing an account of a lynching in the south, with the most terrible details graphically described, reached copenhagen. the newspaper man who brought it to me consented, after some argument, for old friendship's sake, not to release it at this inauspicious moment. time dragged; but the news from the provinces was consoling. the foreign office seemed still to be discouraged, and i am sure that edward brandès again wished that the danish antilles had suffered extinction. even the enamelled surface of de scavenius began to crack a little. dilatory motions of all kinds were in order. the examination by the parliamentary committees at which the delegates from the west indies were present, had ceased to be even amusing. it was a farce without fun. the plebiscite could be put off no longer; on december th, the vote was taken. for the sale, , ; against the sale, , . a comparatively small vote was cast. many voters abstained. these were mostly conservatives and moderates. at last, it had come, but after what anxiety, doubts, fears, efforts,--but always hopes! the opposition proposed to continue objections to the sale of all the islands. this would mean more appalling delays, and, with the u-boat menace increasing, failure. on december th, i entered the foreign office just as djeved bey, the turkish minister, was taking his leave; he had not been very sympathetic with the turkish-german alliance; he was very french. after a few minutes' talk, i saw the minister of foreign affairs. he looked unhappy and harassed, which was unusual. in the midst of alarms, he had always retained a certain calm, which gave everybody confidence. when the petrels flew about his head and the storms dashed, he was astonishingly courageous. to-day, he sighed. in spite of the plebiscite, he seemed to think that we were beaten. i was astonished. i had always thought that we had one quality, at least, in common--we liked embarrassing situations. i soon discovered the reason for this apparent loss of nerve. 'would our government agree to take less than the three islands?' it was plain that the opposition, not always fair, was tiring him and brandès out; i could understand their position, and sympathise with their discouragement, but not feel it. 'to admit a new proposition on our part would be to interfere in the interior politics of denmark,' i said. 'the plebiscite was arranged on the question of the treaty; it meant the cession of all the danish islands or nothing.' the rigstag should not prepare such a change without making a new appeal to the country. i knew it was in the power of the rigstag to refuse to ratify the vote of the people. it would simply mean a delay of the decision if it did so. i would make no proposition to my government for a change in the treaty; if such a proposition was seriously made, i must step down and out at once. de scavenius approved of what i said. i believed that we would win, in spite of dire prophecies. on wednesday, december th, , the vote in the folkstag was taken; it stood,-- for the sale; against it. on december st, it stood, in the landstag, votes for the sale, and against it. ambassador gerard who had come to copenhagen again, was among the first to offer his congratulations. he was most cordial. the sale was a fact. 'just in time,' de scavenius said. just in time! the war cloud was about to burst, and the legation must prepare for it. the islands had hitherto cut off my view; i now saw a new world. chapter xii the beginning of and the end at the end of , the affair of the islands was practically settled. every now and then a newspaper put forth a rumour that brought up the question again. _copenhagen_, a journal which was very well written, announced as a secret just discovered, that the united states, even after congress had appropriated the $ , , for the sale of the islands, would not agree to accept them at once. this excited much discussion which, however, was soon stopped. it was remarkable how the fury and fire of the controversy disappeared. people seemed to forget all the hard names they had called one another. i forgave the _national news_, and later even attempted to get printing material for the paper from the united states. the need of printing material had become so great, that an attempt was made to print one edition in coal tar! the embargo was drastic. if the _national news_ had had a good case against me and interfered with the sale, perhaps i might not have been so forgiving; one's motives are always mixed. new difficulties were coming upon us, and i think that most of our diplomatic representatives knew that we were unprepared for them. since the opening of the war, we had been adjured to be neutral. that was sometimes hard enough. but, as it seemed inevitable that our country must be drawn into the war (though we were told that the popular air at home was 'i did not raise my boy to be a soldier') it seemed necessary to be prepared. captain totten--now colonel--our military attaché, urged 'preparedness' in season and out of season. the position of a minister who wants to be prepared for a coming conflict, but is obliged to act as if no contest were possible, is not an easy one. besides, through the departure of mr. francis hagerup, the norwegian minister, to stockholm, i had become dean of the diplomatic corps. i represented, when i went to court officially, the central powers as well as their enemies. 'you are atlas,' the king said, when i presented myself as dean for the first time; 'you bear all the powers of the world on your shoulders!' he regretted that the foreign ministers could not meet at a neutral court on occasions of ceremony. i think his majesty believed that the members of the diplomatic corps were in the position of the heralds of the elder time--exempt, at least outwardly, from all the hatreds developed by the war, and ready to look on the enemy of to-day as their friend of to-morrow. this is good diplomacy; i agreed with his majesty, but wondered whether, if his majesty's country was in the position of belgium, he would have instructed his minister to be polite to the representative of the invader. i had my doubts, for if there were ever a king passionately devoted to his country, it is king christian x. after the sinking of the _lusitania_, my position would have been terribly difficult, if my german and austrian colleagues had not acted in a way that made it possible for me to forget that i had said, on hearing of bernstorff's warning, 'the day after an american is killed without warning at sea, we will declare war!' it was undiplomatic; but i had said it to count rantzau, to prince wittgenstein, to count raben-levitzau, to prince waldemar, to the princes, to other persons, and, i think, at the foreign office. a very distinguished german had replied, in the true junker spirit, 'but your great government would not bring a war on itself for the sake of the lives of a few hundred _bourgeoisie_.' and, when i stood, foolish and confounded, recognising that the time had not come for our government to act, he said: 'you see you were wrong. your government is not so altruistic as you thought, nor so ready to bring new disasters on the world.' count rantzau always took a moderate tone. when in difficulty he could switch the conversation to a passage in the _memoirs_ of st. simon, or some other chronicle--a little frivolous--of the past. count szchenyi was hard hit--his brother-in-law, mr. vanderbilt, had perished among the _bourgeoisie_ on the _lusitania_; it was a subject to be avoided. prince von wittgenstein simply said that it was a pity that the _lusitania_ carried munitions of war, though they were not high explosives, but he made no excuses. it was evident that these gentlemen regretted the horrible crime. the few germans one met in society were inclined to blame what they called the stupidity of the captain of the steamship; they had the testimony of the hearing taken from the london _times_, at their finger ends, and they knew 'the name of the firm in lowell, massachusetts, whose ammunition had been exported on the _lusitania_.' their opinions i always heard at second-hand. a great danish lady, whose family the king of prussia and the present emperor had honoured, sent me from the country all the signed portraits of the kaiser, torn to pieces. 'i could not write,' she said afterwards at dinner, 'i could not say what i thought,--i had promised my husband to be silent,--but you know what i meant,' and she added in danish, 'damn little willie!' the only place in which representatives of the warring nations saw one another was in church, that is, in the church of st. ansgar; but count szchenyi and prince von wittgenstein were always so deeply engaged in prayer that they could not see the french minister or the belgian. the english church--one of the most beautiful in copenhagen--was frequented only by the english and a few americans, so the rector, the rev. dr. kennedy, was never troubled about the position of his pews, nor was the russian pope across the street from st. ansgar's. mr. francis hagerup had been a model dean. everybody trusted and respected him; it seemed a pity that he should go away from copenhagen, after such good service, without the usual testimonial from the diplomatic corps; but there were difficulties in the way. would sir henry lowther, the english, and baron de buxhoevenden, the russian minister, permit their names to go on a piece of plate with those of count brockdorff-rantzau and count szchenyi? count szchenyi, always kindness itself, had his eye on two silver vegetable dishes of the true danish-rosenborg type. he consulted me as the dean. i wanted mr. hagerup to have these beautiful things, and szchenyi seemed to think that the matter could be arranged. i agreed to get the signatures to the proposition, expressed in french, that the dishes should be bought from the court jeweller, the famous carl michelsen, who had designed them. i doubt whether any of the tiffanys have more foreign decorations than michelsen; it is worth while being a jeweller and an artist in denmark. the gift was to show the unusual honour to an unusual dean, offered by all the diplomatic corps in time of war. i had the opinion of the ladies sounded; they were all against it, especially one of the most intellectual ladies of the diplomatic corps, madame de buxhoevenden. she warned me that my attempt would be a failure. however, i sent the paper out, done in the most diplomatic french. hans, our messenger, asked for the ladies first. if they were at home, he waited for another day. after i had all the signatures and they were engraved on the dishes, the baroness de buxhoevenden bore down on me, warlike. 'quelle horreur,' she said. 'how did you get my husband's name?' 'when you were out!' i said. 'i think it disgraceful all the same, that my husband's name should appear on the same plate with those of the enemies of my country.' 'on the second plate, madame, the enemies' appear,' i answered,--'there are two!' hagerup was so touched when i took the plates to him that i saw tears in his eyes. the baroness de buxhoevenden remained very friendly to me, 'because,' she said, 'she loved my wife so much.' not long after, she died in russia, heartbroken. she had faced the inclemencies of the weather and the first outbreak of the revolution (she was a sane woman, an imperialist, but one who would have had imperialism reform itself, well-read and deeply religious) to see her daughter, the young baroness sophie, who was one of the maids of honour to the late czarina. this young lady was ill and imprisoned with the imperial family. she was the only child of the buxhoevendens--their son, a brave soldier, having died some years before. you can imagine the anxiety of the buxhoevendens when the unrestrained ferocity of the mob in petrograd broke out. madame de buxhoevenden could not see her daughter, though, thanks to the american ambassador, who never failed to do a kind thing for us in copenhagen, she managed to have a message from her. a lover of russia, like her husband, of order, of reason in government, she died. with all the russians i knew, love of country was a passion. they might differ among themselves. meyendorff might look on bibikoff as a 'clever boy' and smile amicably at his vagaries; bibikoff might declare that 'baron meyendorff had, as st. simon said of the regent d'orleans, all the talents, but the talent of using them'; but they were fervently devoted to russia. they were in a labyrinth, and, as at the time of the french revolution, everybody differed in opinion as to the best way out. it was from the russians i first heard of prince karl lichnowsky. i think it was meyendorff, who once said: 'the austrian ambassador to london and prince lichnowsky are such honest men that the prussians find it easy to deceive them into deceiving the english as to the designs of germany!' one great difficulty would have stood in the way, had i, as dean, been willing to accept the kindly hint of the king and attempt to arrange that all the corps should go as usual together at new years and on birthdays to court. there was the conduct of the german government to the french ambassador at the opening of the war. it was frightfully rude, even savage, and unprecedented. it shocked everybody. it will be difficult to explain it when relations between the belligerents are resumed again. it seems to be a minor matter, but it corroborated the variation of the old proverb,--'scratch a prussian and you find a hun.' the tale of the insults heaped on the french ambassador is a matter of record for all time. judge gerard has told his own story. the russian ladies coming out of berlin were treated no better than a group of cocottes driven from a city might have been. the condition of the russian ladies when they reached copenhagen was deplorable. they all possessed the inevitable string of pearls, which every russian young girl of the higher class receives before her marriage. these and the clothes they wore were all they were allowed to bring out of the super-civilised city of berlin. it did not prevent them from smiling a little at the plight of the old princess de ----, one of the haughtiest and richest of the noble ladies, who loved the baths of germany more than her compatriots approved of. her carefully dressed wig--never touched before except by the tender fingers of her two maids--was lifted off her head, while the german soldiers looked underneath it for secret documents! from all this it will be seen that, notwithstanding the politeness of the representatives of the central powers in copenhagen, it would have been impossible for the diplomatic corps to unite itself in the same room, even for a moment. everybody went to see mr. francis hagerup off; but this was at the railway station, where people were not obliged to seem conscious of one another's presence. this would have been impossible at court. social life in copenhagen has fixed traditions (very fixed, in spite of the democracy of the people); they make it delightful. society is all the better for fixed, artificial rules. they enable everybody to know his place and produce that ease that cannot exist where there is a constant expectancy of the unexpected; but they were not proof against the savagery which germany's action had indicated. when count szchenyi's mother died, his colleagues, disliking the action of his country as they did, sent messages of condolence privately, through me, then a 'neutral.' when madame de buxhoevenden died, deep sympathy was expressed by the diplomatists on the other side, but the utter disregard, on the part of the germans in berlin for the ordinary decencies of social life caused society in copenhagen to become resentful and cold and suspicious whenever a german appeared in a 'neutral' house. it seemed incredible that hatred should have so carried away those around the german emperor, who had formerly seemed only too anxious to observe the smallest social decencies, that the civilised world was willing to retort in kind. even in the convents, the german sisters were 'suspect,' and it took all the tact of the superiors to emphasise the fact that these ladies by their vows were bound to look on all with the eyes of christ. 'yes,' a belgian sister had answered, 'with the eyes he turned to the impenitent thief!' however, religious discipline is strong, and it is the business of those set apart from the world to overcome even their righteous anger. still, when i saw the expression on the face of the abbé de noë, who had been a papal zouave and was still at heart a french soldier, on a great festival, as he gave the kiss of peace to two german priests on the altar steps, i felt that the grace of god is compelled sometimes to run uphill! commercial transactions formed a great part of the work of the legation when great britain began seriously to restrain alien foreign trade and to put a firm hand on such neutrals as adopted the motto of some of the english merchants, before they were awakened, 'business as usual.' i am afraid that i gave little satisfaction; our instructions were not precise. that some of our great business people should have fallen into a panic after august ,--men of the highest ability, of the most scientific imagination, who foresaw contingencies to the verge of the impossible--seemed amazing. in conversation with some of these gentlemen as late as the spring of , when i had come home to deliver some lectures at harvard university, i was convinced that they knew what germany's aims were in the east. they were aware of the negotiations regarding the bagdad railway and the opposition which existed between german and russian claims. how long would germany be satisfied with the english and russian predominance? they discussed this. some of them had travelled much in germany; they were willing to admit that the balkan question could be settled only by war. in , secretary bryan seemed to be sure that no war cloud threatened. when i saw him early in that year, he was entirely absorbed in the mexican question and in extending the knowledge of the minutiæ of the sacred scriptures among american travellers in palestine. i had just opened my lips (having silently listened to the most delectable eloquence i have ever heard) to say that russia had begun to mobilise and that germany would be ready to pounce by september, when mr. john lind came in, and the secretary had attention for no other man. the affairs of europe faded. the germans, as far as i could see, had great hopes of a breakdown of the allies through treachery in the french government itself. from such private information as we could get, it seemed that they relied on treachery among the italians--especially among the 'reds.' there is a french lady who wore the pearls of the deutsche bank, whose husband they had bought, and there were others it was said. our means of getting private information was not great. we had no money for secret service or for organisation. when we went into the war, our legation had neither the offices nor the staff to meet the event. this was not the fault of the state department, but of the system on which it rests. it was necessary to have a decent official place in which to receive people, a place which was elegant and simple at the same time. this we had, but barely room enough for ordinary work. if a distinguished visitor came, he was ushered into the salon or the dining-room. if sir ralph paget, the british minister, came hurriedly on business a moment after count szchenyi arrived, he was shown into the dining-room, as the three offices were always full of people. after the war opened, the legation--a very elegant apartment, which i secured through the foresight of my predecessor, mr. t. i. o'brien--was often like a bit of scenery in a modern french farce, where people disappear behind all kinds of screens and curtains in order to avoid embarrassments. mr. allard, the belgian, to whom we were devoted, came one day by appointment, and almost met prince wittgenstein in the salon, while the turkish minister held the dining-room, confronted by lady paget, who was led off to mrs. egan's rooms on pretence of hearing a victrola which happened to have been lent to somebody a few days before. the state department would have permitted me to rent, on urgent request, a satisfactory place, but the coal bill would have amounted to three thousand dollars a year. as i had not recovered from the expenses of the entertainment of the atlantic squadron (they were small enough considering the pleasure the gentlemen of that squadron gave us) and other outlays, i felt that the coal bill would be too great, and even with the war cloud on the horizon, the state department was not in a position to give us a reasonable amount of money or the necessary rooms for a staff such as the british had been obliged to collect. the british government owned its own house, which answered the demands made on it. the fiery captain totten gave the legation no peace. we were not prepared; we knew it. it would have absorbed twenty thousand dollars to put us on an efficient basis. and our staff for the very delicate work must be specialists; one cannot pick up specialists for the salary paid to a secretary of legation or even to a minister. it is different to-day; the old system has broken down now. money is supplied, even to that most starved of all the branches of the service, the state department, where men, like ten i could name, work for salaries which a third rate bank clerk in new york would refuse--and poor men too! as things were, the legation did the best it could. the greatest difficulty was to get trustworthy information. what were the german military plans? what were the social conditions in germany? as to financial conditions, it was comparatively easy to secure information. the german financiers would never have consented to the war had they not scientifically analysed the situation. industrials, like herr ballin, counted on a short war; they had provided. we knew, too, that the military authorities, which overrode the civil, believed that the foreign office could manage to ameliorate the consequences of their insolence and arrogance. it was strange that these very military authorities thought that the united states would not fight under any circumstances, for they had voluminous reports in their archives on the details of our military position. our government had always been generous in giving information to foreign military attachés. in fact, a german officer once boasted to me that his war office had filed the secrets of every military establishment in the world, except the japanese. that we were despised for our inaction was plain; americans were treated with contempt by certain austrian officials, until some enterprising newspaper announced that a great army of american students had made a hostile demonstration in new york against germany! a change took place at once; even in france, it was believed that the united states would make only a commercial war. i remember that the vicomte de faramond, who deserves the credit of having unveiled prussian schemes before many of his brother diplomatists even guessed at them, asked me anxiously, 'you _must_ fight, but is it true that it will be only a commercial war? i think, if i know america, that you will fight with bayonets.' he has an american wife. ambassador gerard was quietly warning americans to leave berlin; and yet we were 'neutral,' and the german government believed that we would remain neutral at least in appearance. no german seemed to believe that we were neutral at heart, though there were those among the expatriated who held that we ought to be, in spite of the _lusitania_ and our traditions. one of the puzzles of this was (every american in copenhagen tried to solve it) the effect that a long residence in germany had on americans. 'i sometimes read the english papers,' said one of these; 'i try to be fair, but i am shocked by their calumnies. the kaiser loves the united states; he has said it over and over again to americans, and yet you will not believe it.' 'belgium!' 'oh, the germans have made a fruitful and orderly country out of belgium.' this kind of american helped to deceive the germans into the belief that our patience would endure all the insults of cataline. there was very little opportunity to compare notes with my colleagues in sweden and norway. they were busy men. i fancy mr. morris's real martyrdom did not begin in sweden until after easter sunday, . mr. schmedeman doubtless had his when the rigours of the embargo struck norway; but for me, the worst time was when we were 'neutral'! as to the german foreign office, why should it listen to the warnings of our ambassador, in november, who might be recalled by a change of administration in march? six months before election, no american envoy has any real influence at the foreign office with which he deals. the chances are that the policy of the last four years will be reversed by the election in november. up to the last moment, as far as i could see, the foreign office in berlin believed that the growing warlike democratic attitude would be softened by the new administration, which, it was informed, would not dare to make colonel roosevelt secretary of state. 'secretary of state,' an austrian said, 'how could an ex-president condescend to become secretary of state. one might as well expect a deposed pope to become grand electeur!' previous to november th, , the day of the presidential election, our situation was looked on by all the diplomatists and all the foreign offices as fluid. it might run one way or the other. there was a widely diffused opinion in denmark that, as president wilson had been elected on a peace platform for his first term, germany might go as far as she liked without drawing the united states into the conflict. in berlin, in high circles, the election of mr. hughes was considered certain. he was supposed to represent capital, and capital would think twice before burning up values. the kaiser had given colonel roosevelt up; 'sa conduite est une grande illusion pour notre empereur,' count brockdorff-rantzau had said. i learned from berlin that the ex-president had been approached by a representative of the kaiser of sufficient rank, who had reminded colonel roosevelt of the honours the kaiser had showered upon him during his european tour. 'i was also well received by the king of the belgians,' colonel roosevelt answered. 'c'est une grande illusion,' count brockdorff-rantzau repeated, more in sorrow than in anger. 'the emperor did not think that the ex-president would turn against him!' until election day, every american diplomatist in europe merely marked time. he represented a government which was without power for the time being. an expatriated irish-american came in to sound us as to the prospects. 'president wilson will have a second term,' i said; 'the west is with him, and mr. hughes's speeches are not striking at the heart of the people.' 'he is pro-english, god forbid!' he said. 'wilson means war!' 'we may have, on the other hand, colonel roosevelt as secretary of state for war.' 'god forbid!' he said. he had stepped between two stools; he still lives in germany--a man without a country. we were still 'neutral,' and the election was some months off. count rantzau saw the danger which the military party was courting. he was too discreet to make confidential remarks which i would at once repeat to my government; he knew, of course, that i would not repeat them to my colleagues, who never, however, asked me what he said to me. he was equally tactful, but we saw that he was exceedingly nervous about the outcome of the u-boat aggression. it was worth while to know his attitude, for he represented much that was really important in germany. he began to be more nervous, and many things he said, which i cannot repeat, indicated that the military party was running amuck. he was always decent to americans, and he was shocked when he found that his _laissez passer_, which i obtained from him for the hon. d. i. murphy and his wife to pursue their journey to holland, was treated as 'a scrap of paper.' mr. murphy had not received the corroborative military pass, which one of my secretaries had obtained at the proper office, consequently mrs. murphy was treated shamefully at the german frontier. i remonstrated, of course, but it was evident that the military authorities had orders to treat all civil officials as inferiors. miss boyle o'reilly had a much worse experience at the frontier. her papers had been taken from her boxes at a hotel in copenhagen, carefully examined, and put back. miss o'reilly had had many thrilling experiences (people imitated desdemona--and loved her for the dangers she had passed through) but like most of her compatriots she could not be induced to disguise her opinions or to really believe that there were spies everywhere. being a bostonian, she could not say 'damn,' but she never used the name of the kaiser without attaching to it, with an air of perfect neutrality, the back bay equivalent for that dreadful adjective. she made a great success in copenhagen. her magnificent lace, presented to her by an uncle who had been a chamberlain to cardinal rampolla, was extravagantly admired at the dinner mrs. egan gave for her. miss o'reilly, according to some of the experts present, had reason to be proud of it. after the adventure of the note books at the hotel, it was almost hopeless to imagine that miss boyle o'reilly would be allowed to cross the frontier, in spite of her passport and the courtesy of the german legation. she was undaunted as any other daughter of the gods. she tried it, and came back, not very gently propelled, but with the calm contentment of one who had said what she thought to various official persons on the frontier. we were glad to get her back on any terms. people asked for invitations to meet her; we were compelled to adopt her as a daughter of the house to retain her. the experts in lace were horrified to find that the vulgar creatures at the frontier--smelling of sausage and beer--had injured the precious texture. they seemed to have thought that its threads were barbed wire. we protested; miss boyle o'reilly demanded damages. ambassador gerard seemed to be impressed by the fact that the lace had been part of a surplice of the late cardinal rampolla's. we made this very plain, but the german authorities took it very lightly; they were so frivolous, so lacking in tact and justice, that miss boyle o'reilly became more 'neutral' than ever. in spite of count rantzau's courtesy, we were having constant trouble at the frontier. every dane who had relatives in the united states expected us to protest against the rigidity of the search. 'i did not mind when they took all my letters; but when they rubbed me with lemon juice to bring out secret writing, i said it was too much'; said one of these ladies, who had to be escorted to her own foreign office. mrs. william c. bullitt, just married, had to be coached into 'neutrality.' 'good gracious! i always say what i think,' she remarked, declaring that, of course, the german, his serene highness she was to go into dinner with, must see how wrong the belgian business was! mr. and mrs. bullitt had some trouble at the frontier, but her diary, uncensored, came over safe for our delight. the spanish minister, aguera, who had lately been superseded by his brother, had his own troubles, which, however, he wore very lightly. he was as neutral as his temperament, which was rather positive, allowed him to be. when he left to be promoted, the pro-germans enthusiastically announced that the german government had complained of him to madrid. the cause of the war, it was generally conceded, was the question of the way to the near east and the control of the east. now that germany had practically all of the bagdad railway and more than that, a clear way to the persian gulf, would she cut short the war, if she could? count rantzau, without explicitly admitting that his country's chief aim had been accomplished, said yes. the great desire of his nation was for peace. the u-boat war was only a means of forcing peace. 'we do not want to crush england! heaven forbid!' said count szchenyi, 'but we tolerate the u-boat war only as an instrument for obliging england to make peace. peace,' he said, 'we must have peace or all the world will be in anarchy,' i do not think he 'accepted' the u-boat war, except diplomatically. another distinguished representative of one of the central powers, making a flying visit, said, first assuming that the 'north american' and english interests were identical--'peace may bring germany and england close together. we are too powerful to be kept apart. with germany ruler of the land of the world, and england of the sea,--what glory might we not expect!' 'if the allies do not accept the chancellor's peace note, i give them up!' cried szchenyi. 'people talk democracy and the need of it among us! why, hungary is verging on a democracy of which you americans, with your growing social distinctions, have no conception of. what we want is peace, to save the world!' when the new emperor karl ascended the austro-hungarian throne, szchenyi, whose ideas were more liberal than some of the old régime liked, became a prime favourite at court, and was removed to the foreign office. before the fall of russia, it was generally conceded that germany, in holding turkey and bulgaria, had gained her main purpose. both of these countries hated her in their hearts. we had proof of this. what more did she want? only peace on her own terms, perhaps slightly modified, owing to the hardness of the hearts of the english; if she could gain england, she could deal with france and easily with russia. before the czar abdicated, it was understood in diplomatic circles that germany believed it was time to stop. while there was no immediate danger of starvation in germany, there was great inconvenience. moreover, the great commercial position of germany was each day that prolonged the war melting like ice on summer seas; and a short war had been promised to the german nation. parties in germany were divided as to indemnities and the retention of belgium. antwerp was as a cannon levelled at the breast of england (hamburg had good reason for not wanting antwerp retained as a rival city in german territory); but the way to the persian gulf, the submission of bulgaria and turkey, the possession of the key to the balkans, the near east, meant the confusion of the english in india. the germans were ready to oust the english from their place in the sun! it was plain that the diplomatists, at least, looked on the alsace-lorraine question as of small importance in comparison. alsace-lorraine, as bismarck admitted, had nothing to do with national glory. it was a proposition of iron and potash. as to italy, 'we must always live on good terms with such a dangerous neighbour,' said the austrians. 'prussia would throw us over to-morrow for any advantage in the east. if she could hamstring the slavs, we might appeal in vain against her destroying our scraps of paper!' we knew that the austrian distrust of prussia never slept. but austria and germany were absolute monarchies--against the world. it was the general belief that rumania would not be drawn into the war. the swedish legation at rome seemed to be of a different opinion. it was noted for the accuracy of its information, but this time we doubted. as observers, it seemed incredible to us in copenhagen, that she should be allowed to sacrifice herself; but the rumours from rome persisted. one well-known british diplomatist, sir henry lowther, formerly the british minister at copenhagen, had never wavered in his doubts as to the solidarity of russia. at the beginning of the war, he had said, to my astonishment, 'our great weakness is russia; if you do not come in and offset it, i fear greatly.' events proved that he was right. for those of the diplomatic corps who came in contact with people from the near east, or with the turkish diplomatists, the great question was--the designs of germany in the east. one of the advantages of diplomatic life is that one comes in contact with the most interesting people. in spite of a determination to follow all the rules of the protocol as closely as possible terence's announcement, through the lips of chremes, was good enough for me,--'homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto,' and consequently, i made profit out of good talk wherever i found it. i saw too little of dr. morris jastrow, of the university of pennsylvania, in , when he came to copenhagen with a group of distinguished orientalists; but one of his sentences remained in my mind (i quote from memory), 'the crucial question, and a terrible answer it may be when germany gives it to the world, is, who shall control bulgaria and serbia and constantinople. settle the matter of the road to the east, so that germany and austria may not join in monopolising it, and then, we can begin to talk of a tranquil europe.' much later, i had a long talk with rudolph slatin, who had been a close friend of king edward's, and who knew the east. he had had too many favours from england to be willing to take arms against her; he was austrian, but not pro-prussian. his views were not exactly those of dr. jastrow's, as dr. jastrow afterwards expressed them,[ ] but one could read between the lines. the eastern route was the real core of the war. russia knew this when she began to make preparations for mobilisation in the early spring of . all the turks i met, including the two ministers, confirmed this. [ ] in _the war and the bagdad railway_. j. b. lippincott & co. lady paget, the wife of the british minister, who came to copenhagen in , knew more of the inside history of the war in the balkans than the _soi-disant_ experts who talked. she seldom talked; but the serbians, who adored her, did not hesitate to sing the praises of her knowledge and of her efforts to save them. to her very few intimates it was plain that she, as well as her husband, looked on the balkans as the key to the cause of the war. the serbians that i knew, men of all classes, said that, if lady paget had been listened to, serbia would have been saved to herself and the allies. whether this was true or not, the serbians believed it. the missionaries driven out of turkey who came to the legation were full of the eastern situation, and the wrongs of the armenians. the stories of the missionaries, driven out, made one feel that germany was paying--even from the point of view of her longed-for conquest--too high a price for the possession of turkey. the turkish ministers were more french than german in their sympathies, but to them the armenians were deadly parasites. they looked on them as the russian yunker looked on the lower class of jews. miss patrick of roberts college, passed our way. she was ardent, sincere, naturally diplomatic,--discreet is a better word. but one could see that the turks and the balkan peoples, whatever might be their difference of opinion, or their own desire for territory, felt that the german control meant the closing of the steel fist upon them. the young turks believed that they could hold the dardanelles, when they once turned the germans out, and that turkey might be the land of the turks. to attain this, they did not fail to appeal to all the bigotry of the moslem. one could see that serbia despaired of the allies, that the bulgarians believed that their untenable position was due to the intrigues of czar ferdinand and to the blundering of these same allies. america was a land of promise, the hope of freedom; but america seemed too far off. the balkans peoples felt that even america, had, while conserving her democracy at home, cared little for the rights of the people abroad. this feeling existed in all the neutral nations. a graduate of roberts college with whom i had talked of our interest in the small nations, smiled. 'the attitude of your country to the smaller nations reminds me of a famous speech of the author of _utopia_ when one of his household congratulated him on henry viii.'s putting his arms about the chancellor's neck. 'if the king's grace could gain a castle in france by giving up my head, off it would go.' i did not dream, in january , how soon we should begin to 'make the world safe for democracy.' mr. vopika, our minister to rumania, came on the way home from bucharest about this time. he was full of interesting information, and very cheerful, though practically imprisoned in copenhagen, as no boats were running. more and more it became plain that russia was breaking, and that germany would soon be lifted from that doubt which had begun to worry her statesmen. there was talk of the grand rabbi going to washington as ambassador, which seemed to infuriate the young turkish party. aaronshon, the expert for the jewish agricultural society in palestine, came; a wonderful man, capable of great things, and shrewd beyond the power of words to express. he did not deny that the turkish crown prince had been shot, having first fired at enver pasha. harold al raschid is a novice to him in his knowledge of eastern things that western diplomatists ought to know. from all sources came the corroboration of the fact that, once sure of russia, with the slavs in her grasp, germany held, in her own opinion, the keys to the world. opinions differed as to whether she was starving or not. rumania had helped her with oil and perhaps coal. the chinese minister at berlin said that she could hold out longer than china could in similar circumstances, as his citizens would be compelled to reduce themselves to less than two meals, and the germans were coming down from four! we know on the authority of the actor in the episode that he had paid twenty marks in a restaurant in berlin for a portion of roast fowl; it was tough, and he laid down his knife and fork in despair, when two ladies, at a table near him, politely asked if they might take it! rumours, very disturbing, as to the conditions of russia, came to us from all sides. our neighbour, prince valdemar, looked disturbed when one asked as to the health of the empress dowager, who had been most kind to my daughter, carmel. he seemed to think that she would be safe, though i heard him say that a revolution seemed inevitable. the forcible and insolent 'conversations' on the part of germany with norway--shortly before october th, , she had actually threatened war--had ceased for the moment. mr. angel carot, the french journalist, who was correspondent of the petrograd press, had reported on good authority that the germans were preparing a descent on jutland. vicomte de faramond seemed to think that the rumour was well founded. 'we know the point of view that the berlin foreign office has; count rantzau represents it,' said mr. de scavenius, 'but who can not tell from day to day what the general staff will do?' the general staff kept its secrets. poland was in a frightful condition. the germans were not only impoverishing the landed proprietors, but seizing their cattle and forcing their farm people into the army. a pole fighting for german autocracy was in as pitiable position as a slesviger fighting for the enslaving of his own land. the poles were not inclined toward a republic, but there was not one of their noble families from whom they would draw a constitutional king. a son of the austrian grand duke stefan, who was popular in poland, was much spoken of. i felt that i ought to be flattered when a polish prince and princess came, well introduced, to lay the plan before me, as a diplomatist who might assist in making a royal marriage! i concealed my surprise; but it was delightful to hear of my 'relations avec des grandes personnes dans toutes les chancelleries du monde.' and what a pleasure to hear, 'we know that even the quirinal and the vatican, etc. you who are three times minister of the united states.' the 'three times minister of the united states' puzzled me at first; then i remembered that one of the german papers, i think it was _die woche_, had said the same thing, meaning that i had served under three presidents. our polish guests were willing, under the circumstances, to approve of the marriage with archduke stefan's son, provided a catholic princess, of liberal political views, could be found. to have a german princess forced on them would mean new disturbances,--revolts, dissatisfaction. there was perhaps the princess margaret of denmark, who had every quality, they understood, to make an ideal queen of poland. 'every quality,' i agreed, 'to make a man happy--but it must be the right man.' i knew that prince valdemar, who had refused balkan thrones, was not desirous of marrying his daughter to a prince 'simply because he was a prince.' would i sound his royal highness? 'i know,' i answered, 'that prince valdemar believes in happy marriages, not in brilliant ones. in fact, i had heard him say that he did not want denmark to be looked on only as an arsenal for the making of crowns.' the prince and princess went on their way, to consult more influential persons. they would not have welcomed a republic; in february the german grip was strong in poland, and a danish princess, the daughter of a french mother, seemed to offer them hope in the gloom. the fears of the austrians, of the russians, of the poles, of the bulgarians that, if the war continued, anarchy must ensue, were not concealed. the polish prince and princess believed that russia would have a change of government, but this change, they thought, would be brought about by a 'palace revolution,' for petrograd was the centre of intrigues. the british minister was accused of working in the interests of the grand duke nicholas; the german propaganda, as far as we could discover, was for the practical application of 'divide and conquer.' baron de meyendorff, whose cheerfulness was as proverbial as his discretion, was uneasy; but as, unlike his chief, baron de buxhoevenden, he belonged to the more liberal party, this was taken as a sign that he was uncertain whether the new elements in russian political life would develop in an orderly way or not. baron de buxhoevenden, the most calm, the most self-controlled of all my colleagues, was unusually silent; his wife, than whom russia had no more intelligent and patriotic woman in her borders, had said that the war would either break or make russia. 'the russian people,' she said, 'since the beginning of the war, are better fed than they ever were. the suppression of _vodka_ has enabled them to pay their taxes and to begin to get rid of the parasites who prey on thoughtless drunkards. their prosperity will either induce them to rebel against their rulers, or to accept the government because of their improved conditions.' 'but why are they better fed?' i had asked. 'we are exporting nothing. the russian peasant eats the food he raises. butter is no longer a luxury. i have hopes for russia--and fears.' her fears were justified. the murder of rasputin called attention to the dissensions in the russian court. admiring the empress dowager, as everybody in the court circle did, it seemed amazing that her son, of whom we knew little, should have permitted this peasant to acquire such influence over his wife. there were fashionable ladies who knelt to this strange apostle of the occult, who kissed his hands with fervour. but murder was murder, and coming not so long after the killing of the crown prince of turkey, it gave the impression that the oriental point of view as to the value of human life existed in both countries. as time went on, russia occupied our vision more and more. in spite of the revelations that have been made, revelations which show that the only secrets are those buried with men who have found it to their honour or interest to keep them--the details of the reasons which caused russia to mobilise in july are not fully known. how the russians gained their information of the intentions of germany in their regard is very well known. the most clever of russian spies was always in the confidence of the kaiser; he paid for his knowledge with his life. as days passed, it became evident that the royal couple in russia were being gradually isolated. calumnies almost as evil and quite as baseless against the tsarina as those published about marie antoinette were freely circulated. to review here this campaign of malice is not necessary. there were no chivalrous swords ready to leap from the scabbards for her. the age of chivalry seemed indeed dead. the poor lady was not even picturesque, whereas her brilliant mother-in-law, dagmar of denmark, was still beautiful and picturesque; she was imperial, but then she understood what democracy meant. it is said that she believed that, if her son had appeared in his uniform on horseback, surrounded by a staff of men who represented traditions, the revolution would not have begun. neither the tsar not the tsarina understood what tradition meant to the russian mind. the empress was a german at heart,--an overfond and superstitious mother. good women have never made successful rulers, as a rather cynical russian said to me, _à propos_ of the empress catherine. the nobility disliked her because she kept aloof from them. the glitter and the pomp of court life which the russian aristocracy loved, the consideration which monarchs are expected to show for the social predilections of their subjects were disregarded by her. living in perpetual fear, her nerves were shattered. all her interests centred in her family and in the unbending conviction of a german princess that the divine right of kings is a dogma. she was as incapable of understanding that there were powers in the nation which could destroy as was marie antoinette before she met destruction. we understood at copenhagen that she looked on all the acts of the emperor that were not autocratic as weak; members of the duma must be subservient and grateful; otherwise, it was the duty of the tsar to treat them with the severity they deserved. the concessions, which, if granted earlier would have saved the emperor, were very moderate--merely a responsible ministry and a constitution. the tsar, under the influence of the empress, the reactionary protopopoff and the little clique of exclusives, who had forgotten everything valuable and learned nothing new, refused to grasp these ropes of salvation. the strength of the grand duke nicholas-michailovitch amazed and disconcerted this clique. 'if,' said one of the elderly russian gentlemen we knew, 'he is not exiled, he will try to be president of all the russias one day!' the emperess dowager was distrusted by the party around the empress. the empress dowager believed in prosecuting the war, for she knew that russia could only follow her destiny happily freed from german control. from february until march, , russia continued to be the one subject of discussion in diplomatic circles. it was the general opinion that the empress was the great obstacle to the emperor's giving a liberal constitution to his people. the danish court, though the emperor william had accused it of indiscretion, was silent. prince valdemar, who was, like all the sons and daughters of king christian ix., devoted to the dowager empress, was plainly uneasy. we all knew that his sympathies were with the liberal party and against the pro-german and absolutist clique. 'the russian people have endured much,' he said on march th, the day on which the news of the tsar's abdication arrived; and, afterwards,--'thank god--so far it has been almost a bloodless revolution.' 'why,' asked the devout danish conservative, who believed that kings were still all-powerful, 'why does not king george of england help his cousin?' it was only too plain that in spite of all warnings, 'his cousin' had put himself beyond all human help. the russian soldiers calmly doffed their caps and said 'i will go home for my part of the land!' the condition of petrograd was such that chaos had come again. to save the lives of the tsar and tsarina, kerensky insisted that capital punishment should be abolished. count christian holstein-ledreborg, fresh from russia, reported that at the soldiers' meeting in the banquet room of the winter palace, speakers imposed silence by shooting at the ceiling! there was an attempt on the part of the new democrats to have prostitution, hitherto the luxury of the rich, put within the reach of all. russia had gone out of the war; it was surely time for us to go in. on april , , i informed the foreign office that the president at congress had declared us in a state of war with germany. further patience would have been a crime. from that day the legation took on a new aspect. our decks were cleared for observation and action. mr. cleveland perkins, who had courageously assumed the duties of the secretary of legation although relieved by a secretary, had new and difficult duties thrust upon him, to which he was fully equal. mr. seymour beach conger and mr. john covington knapp were invaluable. no words of mine can express my sense of their self-sacrificing patriotism. mr. groeninger did three men's work and captain totten kept us all up to the mark by his fiery and persistent enthusiasm. no great dinners now! even if we had been in the mood, fire and food had become too scarce. mr. conger did a most important service; he looked after the crowds of late comers from germany, and discovered what light they could throw on german conditions. the state department came to the rescue of our staff, which was few but fit; mr. grant-smith was sent from washington, with instructions to spend all the money that was necessary. he made a complete organisation, and i, struck heavily in health, laid down my task regretfully, leaving it in hands more competent under the changed circumstances. there is no use in hiding the fact that, even before russia broke, we who feared the triumph of germany had many dark days; but there was never a time when my colleagues of the allies despaired. how mr. allart, our belgian colleague, lived through it, i do not know! the danes stood by him manfully, and he never lacked the sympathy of his colleagues; but he suffered. 'the moment that england is seriously inconvenienced,' a german professor of psychology had said, 'she will give in.' we know how false this was. the race, pronounced degenerate, whose fibre was supposed to be eaten up with an inordinate love of sport, showed bravery to the backbone when it awakened to the real issues of the war. the upper classes of the english were splendid beyond words. their sacrifices were terrible in the beginning, but their example told; and long before the crash of russia came, there was no question of 'business as usual.' the british nation had realised that it was fighting, not only for its life, but for the principle on which its life is based. yet the victory was by no means sure. 'the empire may go down under the assaults of the huns--let it go rather than that we should make a single compromise,' said sir ralph paget. mr. gurney, colonel wade, and all the staunch men connected with his legation, echoed his words. mr. wells, the novelist preacher, may say what he will of the failure of english education, but it has produced men of a quality which all the men can understand and admire.[ ] as to the french, they, too, had their sober hours, and the saddest was caused, perhaps, by the dread that we had forgotten what the war was for; such soldiers as they were!--captain de courcel and baron taylor, suffering from wounds, and yet counting every hour with pain that kept them from their duty. but we came in none too soon; from my point of view, it is unreasonable to believe that the apparent disintegration of germany and austria was the cause of our victory. the cause of it was the increase of man power on the western front. in copenhagen, our best military experts said, 'if the united states can be ready in time to supply the losses of the french and english; if your aviators can get to work, victory is assured.' these experts feared that we would be too slow, and there were dark, very dark, days in and . [ ] of all the many young men i knew in england and ireland, most of them the sons or grandsons of old friends, there are only three alive; two of them, the sons of mr. thomas p. gill, of the irish technical and agricultural board, have been made invalids in the war. president wilson's ideals were, in the beginning, looked on as doctrinaire--breezes from the groves of the academies. some of the elders and scribes of europe, adept in the methods that nullified the good intentions of the hague conferences, looked on his explanation of the aims of the conflict as the courtiers of louis xiv. might have contemplated the pages of chateaubriand's _genius of christianity_, if chateaubriand had lived at port royal in the time of those cynics; but the people in all the scandinavian countries took to them as the expression of their aspirations. the chancelleries of europe heard a new voice with a new note, but the people did not find it new. president wilson found himself, when he gave the reasons of our country for entering the war, interpreting the meaning of the people. until he spoke the war seemed to mean the saving of the territory of one nation, or the regaining it for another, or the existence of a nation's life. standing out of the european miasma, with nothing to gain except the fulfilment of our ideals, and all to lose if there were to be losses of life and material, we gave a meaning to the war,--a new meaning which had been obscured. nevertheless, let us not forget that germany has not changed her ideals; all the forces of the civilised world have not succeeded in changing them. of democracy, in the american sense of the word, she has no more understanding than russia--nor at present does she really want to have. to a certain extent she conquered us. she obliged us to adopt her methods of warfare; to imitate her system of espionage; to co-ordinate, for the moment at least, all the functions of national life under a system as centralised as her own. if she gave temperance to russia, an army to england, religion to france, she almost succeeded in depriving our western hemisphere of its faith in god. her efficiency was so expensive that it was making her bankrupt; she was paying too much for her perfection of method. to justify it in the eyes of her own people she went to war. france was to pay her debts and russia to be the way of an inexpensive road to the east. her methods in peace cost her too much; a short war would save her credit. to our regret, perhaps remorse, we have been forced by her to fight her devil with his own fire; and now we hope for a process of reconstruction in this great and populous country based on our own ideals; but we cannot change the aspirations or the hearts of the germans. we can only take care that they keep the laws made by nations who have well-directed consciences,--this lesson i have learned near to their border. the end printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty at the edinburgh university press transcriber's note: . page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=a-m aaaayaaj&dq . the diphthong oe is represented by {oe] and [oe]. the library of foreign romance, and nobel newspaper: comprising standard english works of fiction, and original translations from the most celebrated continental authors. * * * vol. vii. containing the childhood of king erik menved. an historical romance. translated from the danish of b. s. ingemann. * * * * * london: bruce and wyld, , farringdon street. . the childhood of king erik menved. an historical romance. by b. s. ingemann. translated from the danish, by j. kesson. london: bruce and wyld, , farringdon street. . translator's preface. the author has given no preface to this romance; and the translator would be contented to follow his example, had the author already enjoyed an english celebrity, or could the name of his translator of itself suffice to recommend his work to the english public. but the names of danish writers are comparatively little known in england, and the literature and language of denmark have not here received that degree of attention which they so justly merit. while the names of the poets and novelists of france and germany are familiar to a numerous section of the reading public, they have yet, in a great measure, to become acquainted with the names of ingemann, andersen, baggesen, heiberg, oehlenschlaeger, and many other danes of recent times, whose productions as poets, novel's, and dramatists, would do honour to the literature of any country. it is only in comparatively recent times, however, that denmark has produced a class of writers of any considerable note in the higher walks of literature. during the last century, with the exception of holberg's "niels klim" and "peder paars," there are scarcely any other works, unless of a scientific and historical character, that have acquired anything of a european celebrity. to investigate fully the causes of this dearth of elegant writers would require more than the limits of a preface. they may be sought for partly in the depression of the national spirit, consequent upon the decay of the kingdom of denmark, which, from the proud position it occupied during the middle ages, as one of the first powers of europe, has gradually dwindled to a third-rate monarchy; and, partly, in the undue preference awarded by its own scholars and men of letters to the productions of french, german, and english writers. but, whatever the causes, within the last thirty years there has been an evident desire on the part of the danes to possess a literature of their own, and to take their stand among the _literati_ of europe in every department of the _belles-lettres_. to accomplish this, it was necessary to arouse the dormant spirit of the people--to remind them of their former greatness--to revive the memories of the ancient heroes of denmark--to reproduce their old chronicles, sagas, and ballads--and, by dwelling on the glories of the past, to kindle bright hopes of the future. none have laboured with more success in this vocation than ingemann. already known as a poet and a dramatist, he had still to earn a reputation among his countrymen as a novelist. seizing upon the romantic materials of denmark's former history, he revived the memory of the great waldemars, and the proudest periods of the danish monarchy, investing the heroes who still live in ancient ballad and story with greater charms of interest; and he has succeeded in winning a place in the hearts and estimation of his countrymen as an author and a patriot. he has written wholly for his countrymen, and in the purest spirit of the historical romance. his characters are real characters; his facts are the facts of his country's history, gleaned from her ancient chronicles and popular song, and woven together with the slightest texture of fiction, sufficient only to redeem his narrative from the character of a dry chronicle. in this respect his romances must suffer when compared with those of sir walter scott, where history is made subordinate to fiction, and poetic licence usurps the place of historical truth; but they possess this advantage--that they are truer transcripts of the past, and present us with the men, manners, and institutions of by-gone times, with a fidelity that enhances our interest in the history, and with fiction enough to make the reading of the history attractive. in present romance ingemann introduces us to an interesting period in the history of denmark--the last year of the reign of erik glipping, and the commencement of the reign of his son and successor, erik menved. he gives us a portraiture of the state of society at the time--glimpses of old laws and old customs--snatches of ancient fable--and places men before us as they lived and acted towards the close of the thirteenth century. the translator has endeavoured, in the purity of faithfulness, to present the reader with both the letter and the spirit of his original. in the course of his narrative the author alludes to matters familiar enough, no doubt, to his own countrymen, but with which the english reader can scarcely be expected to be acquainted. in many of these cases the translator has subjoined a note explanatory of a particular passage, which, in a work of this description, might otherwise be regarded as an editorial impertinence. for the adoption of occasional scottish words and phrases, in translating the various fragments of old danish ballads scattered throughout the narrative, the translator can only plead the example of sir walter scott, jamieson, and others, who have followed this course in rendering several of the kæmpeviser. indeed, the close similarity of language and phraseology in many of the old scottish and danish ballads, furnishes an irresistible temptation to this mode of translation. _london_, _november_, . the childhood of erik menved. part i. one evening in the month of may, , a crowd of seamen and porpoise-hunters was assembled on the quay of gremermarsh, below hindsgavl's meadows, near middelfert. they regarded, with strained attention, a large skiff which had left snoghoj, and was struggling against wind and tide to approach the quay, where the landing was less dangerous than in the bad haven of the town. a storm, unusual at this mild period of the year, stirred up the unquiet waters of the little belt. the more experienced ferrymen shook their heads, and thought it was most advisable that the skiff should seek shelter under fanoe or the jutland weald. "nonsense, fellows!" said a deep, gruff voice; "here they can and shall land. they get on bravely, and must have a gallant steersman on board. but why stand you here prating? set light to the brand on the quay-head, that they may keep it in sight; and lay out the porpoise-boats, that we may fish them up, should they be capsized." the man who gave these orders was foreman of the ferrymen and porpoise-hunters, old henner friser, or henner hjulmand, as he was sometimes called. he had hitherto been quietly seated on a large stone, observing the vessel's motions with a keen look; but now he rose like a king among his subjects, and the submissiveness with which they heard, as well as the activity with which they obeyed him, sufficiently showed the respect in which he was held among these sturdy, daring seamen. he was uncommonly tall and muscular, and, notwithstanding that he bordered upon seventy years, appeared to possess sufficient vigour to enable him to attain the age of fourscore. he boasted of being a brother's son of the renowned frisian, swain starke, who, in the time of waldemar the victor, gained a great name among his countrymen. for three and thirty years, henner friser had resided in middelfert, or melfert, as it is commonly called, where he had set on foot the fishing or hunting of porpoises, and, by his ability, had obtained presidency in the guild of these daring fishers, who, at the same time, attended to the ferrying over of passengers. he was skilled in the art of boat-building, and, in his youth, had been a wheel-maker, whence his by-name of hjulmand (wheelman), although he no longer followed that occupation. that he had taken an active part in the civil wars under erik ploughpenny and king abel was generally believed, and contributed much to his importance among the seamen, although he always expressed himself cautiously on the subject. he appeared to have forsaken the marshy shores of friesland for a reason which he was proud of, and yet did not find it prudent to talk about; but that it was for some bold and daring act was surmised by everybody. in his spacious dwelling near the ship-quay of middelfert, the fraternity of porpoise-hunters had a place of deposit for their large captures between martinmas and candlemas. there met the new guild of king erik; and there had henner friser established, likewise, a kind of inn for travellers, of which he had sole and sovereign control. here, when the porpoise-hunters held their guildmotes, they often regarded with awe the old warrior's armour, which consisted of a kind of long javelin, a danish battle-axe, a steel bow, with a rusty arrow, together with a light linen harness. in his everyday dress, old henner was not distinguished from the other ferrymen and porpoise-hunters. like them, he wore a short jerkin of blue wadmel, or of dark canvass in summer; a pair of large wading boots, which came high over the knees; and over his shaggy gray locks he wore, both summer and winter, a large seal-skin cap. his long wrinkled visage was expressive of energy and harshness of manner; and his keen look evinced a determination and a feeling of superiority, which operated strongly on all his subjects, whose esteem and attachment to him was, at the same time, blended with what was peculiar to these people--an unusual dread of strife. this was, perhaps, chiefly owing to his extraordinary strength, of which, even in advanced years, he had given astonishing proofs; and he could even now, without exertion, compel the strongest of the porpoise-hunters to bend on their knees, merely by pressing his hands upon their shoulders. a word from this man was sufficient to set all the idle spectators in motion. a light soon blazed on the large stone at the pier's end, and thirty hardy fishermen were at work, with ropes and poles, to launch a large boat, for the purpose of rendering assistance to those in distress. as soon as henner friser saw that his orders were punctually executed, he again seated himself quietly, and with an air of indifference, upon his stone. "it must be another cargo of nobles for the danish court on the day after to-morrow," he muttered. "should duke waldemar be among them, it were, perhaps, better for kingdom and country, that we let them go to the bottom, neck and crop." "why so, neighbour henner?" inquired a burgher who stood by his side, and whose leather apron, leather cap, and smutty face, proclaimed him a smith. "the young duke is a discreet and gracious nobleman: he once bought a dagger of me, and paid me twice as much for it as i asked. every time he comes this way, you earn more dollars than i earn shillings in a month; and then he talks so civilly to folks, that it is a pleasure to hear him." "gold and silver and fair words he does not spare; that we allow," growled the old man; "and if, by so doing, he could throw dust in the eyes of every dane, in twelvemonths and a day he might, perhaps, be king of denmark." "marry, then! think you that his thoughts run so high?" inquired the armourer, hastily, scratching his ear; "there may be something in it: who knows how it may turn out? the old king, waldemar the victor, was certainly his great-grandfather; the young lord is just twenty years old: he may come to be chosen king one day. but there is time enough for that yet," he added; and, after a little reflection: "our king is still a young man: according to my reckoning, he cannot be more than six and thirty now; and his young son, who succeeds him--let me see--he can be scarcely eleven yet. nay, nay, it is not to be thought of." "what cares the grandson of king abel about that, think you?" replied the old man, in a tone of bitterness. "the young braggart does not want daring. he had scarcely cut his colt's-teeth, when he set himself in opposition to the king, and would submit himself neither to rod nor snaffle; and now it is said for certain, that he will claim the whole kingdom; and, if he does not receive from the court of denmark what he aims at, that he will instantly bring down the swedes upon our heads. we have already to thank him for the present outbreak with the norwegians. nay, nay--he is a fellow we must look after, neighbour troels. we knew his grandfather; and the race of a fratricide no dane shall trust again." the old man was silent, and became absorbed in deep thought. "you may well say that, neighbour henner," resumed the armourer; "we have experienced disasters enough, and may well cross ourselves when we think on what has happened in the country since old king waldemar seier closed his eyes. his sons, all three, were kings,[ ] as was said and predicted to him; but god shield us from such kings and from such ends! in troth, it is awful to think of: i have not yet reached my threescore, and the present king is the fifth i can remember; and three of these, one after the other, were miserably murdered." "murdered?" repeated henner friser. "nay, neighbour--that was the case with two only of waldemar's sons, if it be true, as people say, about our king's father and the condemned priest in the new cloister. god forgive me, and all good christians, their sins! but priests should be pious men of god; and, when they can forgive kings and princes with god's own holy body, then the worst murder of a layman by sword or dagger should be reckoned next to nothing. nay, two only were murdered, neighbour," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, and rising up; "nobody shall say that king abel was murdered: he fell by his own conduct, and shamefully enough for himself; but still in open warfare with true and valiant subjects, who would not suffer themselves to be flayed by the coward who had murdered his brother, and deprived us of our lawful king." the old man's voice waxed loud, and he spoke with great vehemence. he appeared to observe a tendency to the same in his neighbour's manner, and remarked, in a subdued tone, "we must not talk too loud about this matter, neighbour. these are unquiet times, and traitors are abroad. should duke waldemar and the great nobles come to rule, we shall have to listen to a new tale, which may be worse than the first." henner was again silent, and resumed his seat, in deep thought. "i must say, nevertheless, neighbour henner," began the armourer anew, "that there is nothing so bad, that it may not be good for something. if the nobles had not courage to lay restraints on king erik christopherson, mischief would be the result, for both gentle and simple. it were sin to say our king is not severe enough, as he imposes penalties on both burgher and peasant; but he cares for neither law nor justice; and was compelled, last year, to a compact respecting the rights and liberties of the kingdom. much has not come of that yet: and had not marsk andersen denounced him, and put him in terror of his life, at the last thing[ ] at viborg, none of us at present could have said that his wife or daughter was safe from him." "that is true, neighbour," replied old henner, waking up as if from a dream, and appearing only to hear the latter sentence. "a vile story was that, regarding stig andersen's wife; and i will say that, had i been in the marsk's[ ] stead, i would, perhaps, have done something more than merely threaten. and yet--the lord preserve our king and his son, say i, for the kingdom and country's sake! the father is good for nothing: others may call him a villain; yet god preserve the rotten stem, for the sake of the fresh shoot! the little erik has waldemar seier's eagle eyes; and, should the lord keep his hand over him, it may yet be worth an honest man's while to live in denmark. it is a fortunate thing for him, and for the kingdom, that he has the brave drost[ ] hessel for his instructor in the use of arms. without peter hessel, old john little, and david thorstenson, it would be a lamentable case for all of us." "if the handsome young drost stand as well with the queen as is reported," observed the smith, smiling, "no wonder he takes so kindly to the young prince. he may be a wise and virtuous man; but little human frailties he must possess, as others do; and, when king glip-eye has eyes for every other woman but the queen only, she cannot be greatly blamed for being so willing to ride a-hunting with the young drost." "so you, too, believe the damnable tittle-tattle!" cried the old man, with vehemence and indignation. "i have seen queen agnes once, and drost peter twice only: that was in the guild of our murdered king erik; and, if it be true, as i believe, that every woman's child bears its character in its open eyes--and i have so read the characters of both high and low, for these seventy years past--our queen, on this point, is as pure, in god's sight, as is the sun; and so is drost peter hessel--a man who, in all respects, would sooner lose his life than forget the oath he openly swore in our guild, or in any way betray his country or the royal house. but so it is: when the head is good for nothing, the whole body soon bears witness to it; and king erik christopherson does not blink with his small buck-eyes for nothing." "i believe, neighbour henner, you can read more in an eye than many a priest can in his big book; and people with reason hold you to understand somewhat more than your paternoster. you have given a good reason, too," continued the smith, smiling, "why you lock up your pretty little aasé, every time king glip-eye comes over the belt. i saw very well how she stood in the pantry yesterday, while the king mounted his horse outside, before you." "ay, then, saw you that, my good troels?" replied the old warrior, somewhat ruffled. "it was a piece of foolery; and i shall tell you how it happened. he saw her once, and paid her a little more attention than i exactly care for. she is my granddaughter, and the apple of my eye, as you know. that i lock the cage when the cat is in the room, follows of course; otherwise i should have to take the biggest tom-cat by the neck, and throw him out of the window, if he proved saucy. it comes to this, that my little aasé, as you may, perhaps, have observed, is a sunday's bairn:[ ] that may easily be seen in her complexion. she is somewhat palefaced; and, however blithe and sprightly she may be, she is, nevertheless, now and then troubled with a kind of dreaming fit. but that will wear off as she gets older. her mother was so troubled before her; and i believe it runs in the family, as i am not entirely free from it myself. i do not give much heed to such dreaming now; but she has never yet said anything, while in this state, that has not proved in a manner true; though she can discern nothing, by night or day, more than others may do when they are in their senses." "my god! is it not quite right with your little aasé?" asked the smith, sympathisingly, and pointing with his finger to his forehead. "she is too sagacious for her years," answered the old man; "and that will not do for this world. but when once she is married, and has other matters to think of, this will pass over; and in other respects she has a good sound constitution. but this is what i was about to tell you. last night, she rose in her sleep, and came to me: she was frightened, and said that the king had returned from hunting, with a death's head under his hat, and wanted to come in to her. i awoke her, and then she knew nothing of the dream. she laughed, and skipped carelessly to bed. i was much inclined to frighten her about what she had told me; but, yet i did not want the king to see her yesterday, when he crossed my threshold to change his garments; and so i locked her up, as if by mistake." "this only helps you a little way, my good, careful neighbour," observed the smith, with a sly laugh. "a good hen can lay an egg among nettles; where there is a will there is a way. the king saw her very well: when he rode off, your grand-daughter, from curiosity, peeped out between the bars of your pantry, just as the king's horse made a spring on one side. i saw, by the blink of his eye, that he had perceived her; and twice he looked behind him towards the little window, after she had withdrawn her charming little face." "nonsense, nonsense!" growled the old man. "it shall not happen again, i warrant you. you must not talk about this matter, neighbour. it is nothing in itself, but would soon give rise to gossip. i shall be quiet, for the child's sake. so, now let the matter drop." "but what does the king's chamberlain still do in the village? asked the smith. "chamberlain rané!" exclaimed henner, starting: "did he not follow the king yesterday?" "he did, certainly; but, early this morning, i saw him, and two men-at-arms of the king's, go by your house. they stopped under the end window, and whispered together, and, as we came out, i saw their horses at your back gate." "so, indeed!" muttered the old man. he arose hastily, his eyes flashing fire, and observed, "you might as well have told me this before, neighbour." "i thought they might have business with you, my good henner. you are not wont to be communicative, and one gets sick of asking questions." old henner cast a sharp look once more over the raging belt. "the skiff is saved," he said, in a subdued tone, which betrayed violently suppressed emotions. "they have caught the warp. come, neighbour, there is no time to lose here any longer, when i have such guests at home." with long, hurried steps, the vigorous old man strode away in the direction of his house, which was situated in that part of middelfert which bordered on the quay, and about three quarters of a mile from the quay of gremermarsh. the sturdy armourer, though ten years his junior, could scarcely keep pace with him. neither of them spoke, until they came to a by-path, leading across a waste field towards henner friser's premises. here he stopped, and looked carefully before him, in the direction of the gable window of his house, which, in the deepening twilight, he could just perceive. large clouds were continually driven by the storm before the moon, which, at this instant, shone on the house gable. "ha! no light?" he exclaimed: "this will not do." he redoubled his steps, but suddenly stopped again, exclaiming, "do you not hear the tramp of horses, neighbour, on the road to hegness wood?" "ay, certainly," was the reply; "who can it be? the people are in a hurry. can the king's bailiff at hegness receive guests from melfert so late?" "go to my house, neighbour; see if my aasé is at home, and taking care of the guild brethren. if she be not at home, and i do not return, tell them which way i am gone. i am merely a little curious." with these words, he sprang in an opposite direction towards the high road, and, from thence, over two ditches and fences, into a by-road leading from middelfert to hegness wood, which the riders he had heard in the neighbourhood of the town must necessarily turn down, if they attended to their safety. without himself being entirely conscious of it, he had drawn out the large knife used in pursuit of the porpoise, which he always carried in his right boot. with this knife in his hand, he stood still a moment, in a ditch, on one side of the narrow road, which he could half reach across with his long arm. he could hear the gallop of horses, continually drawing nearer, and could now distinctly recognise the clattering hoofs of three. "now, give the horses breath for a gallant ride to the castle!" cried a man's piping voice: "we are safe now, and here the road is good. then for a bold rush to the fortress, before the old satan can have returned from the quay." "death and hell!" muttered the old man; "that was long chamberlain rané's cracked pipe." "you know the sign and password?" continued the same voice: "in the king's name, and three blows with your halberds on the door. if any one oppose us, cut him down: i take the consequences." the listener thought he heard a wailing sound, as if from a half-suffocated female voice, which was lost in the howling of the storm; and his keen eye recognised, by the glimmer of the moon, the white dress of a woman fluttering over the saddle, before the middle rider. they now advanced at a gallop. at one bound the old man stood in the middle of the way. "hold!" he cried, with a terrible voice, as the horsemen came up. the long hunting-knife glittered in his right hand, while, with the left, he seized the reins of the middle horse. the animal wheeled and snorted; and a blow from a sword struck the old warrior on the left arm; but, with a convulsive grasp, he held firm the bridle, and groped in the dark with the knife, for fear of injuring the female form that hung, apparently in a swoon, on the horseman's left arm. "forward, in the devil's name! cut him down!" again cried the squeaking voice from behind. the old man felt a wound in the shoulder, and, at the same moment, received a violent blow from the horse's fore leg. the bridle dropped from his hands; he fell to the ground; and the horse sprang over him. with desperate strength, he half raised himself, and flung his knife, with whizzing rapidity, after the nearest horseman. he heard the piercing shriek of a man, and, at a little distance, the indistinct voice of his dear aasé, crying, "help, grandfather! help!" till it was lost in the storm, and in the clatter of the horses' hoofs. faint with loss of blood, the old man fell back unconscious. twenty paces from him, on the dark road, arose the groans of a dying man; and a frightened horse, with an empty saddle, bounded away across the fields. for some time, henner friser lay insensible on the road. when he again became conscious, he heard several voices around him. he opened his eyes, and found himself encircled by his hardy friends, the young porpoise-hunters. they stood with lights and cudgels in their hands, together with his neighbour the armourer, and some burghers from the town, who came to his assistance, with perplexed and sympathising exclamations. seated on a tall, iron gray stallion, in the middle of the road, was a young knight, in a scarlet mantle, fringed with sable, and with a white feather in his hat. by the knight's side, holding, in one hand a torch, and, with the other, a norback[ ] by the bridle, stood a little, swarthy squire. the storm was now lulled, and the torch burned clear in the still air, illuminating the anxious, noisy group. "look here, one of you. what is the matter? are there rievers in the district? has niels breakpeace come over?" "rievers, truly, my noble knight," answered old henner, raising himself, with the help of the young fishermen, who, in all haste, had already bound up his arm and shoulder, and now withheld their clamour from respect to their senior and the distinguished stranger. "the cowardly pack!" continued henner; "they have forcibly carried off my grandchild, my little assé, my only joy and comfort. had i not been afraid of killing the innocent child, all the three scoundrels would have been grovelling, with their faces in the dust, where i now lie. if you would know to what rieving band they belong, sir knight, you have only to ride some twenty paces forward, to find one of them with my hunting-knife in his back-ribs. i wish only, for the crown and country's sake, it may turn out to be niels breakpeace, and no more distinguished scoundrel." he could scarcely speak for passion. "an abduction?" inquired the knight, "and with force and violence? rievers, too?" "panderers, traffickers in souls, devils damned!" exclaimed the old man; "but if you are a true danish knight, help me to save my poor innocent child. she has been carried to the hell-viper on the ness, yonder, to be polluted." "to hegness?" inquired the knight, turning pale; and the torchlight fell on his youthful, handsome countenance. "whom see i? drost peter hessel?" broke forth the old man, suddenly, glad to meet him; "is it you, indeed? now praised be st. christian and the holy erik, that they have sent you to me, in my need and trouble, for now we shall soon deliver the lamb from the den of wolves, even should king glip-eye be in the midst of them!" "think what you say, old man," interposed the knight, sternly: "do not mix up the king in this vile business. if there has been any scoundrel's work here, i shall inquire into it in the king's name, and do you justice. if your wounds will permit you, seat yourself on my squire's horse, and follow me to the fortress. i shall prove to you and these good countrymen, that the king is not a protector of cowards and robbers. but where is the man you have slain? he deserves his fate, whoever he is." "here! here!" cried the young fishermen, who had already discovered the body, and were dragging it along; "here we have the fellow, as stiff as a speared sea-hog. this is a capital weapon!" the knight observed the corpse attentively, and appeared to be seized with painful surprise. he had been a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with bristly hair and beard; he wore a scarlet doublet; his morion, which had fallen from his head, and which was now exhibited by one of the fishermen, had no feather, but was marked with the two royal lions. "this is a coward and a riever, who has stolen the helm and doublet of one of the royal guard," said the knight, sternly. "pull off his doublet, countrymen! let him no longer wear our king's colours! drag him to a dung-pit, and there hide his infamy, till doomsday! and now let us off to hegness." old henner no longer felt the smart of his wounds; he was already in advance, on the little pony, which could scarcely bear him, but yet got on tolerably well with his burden, the heavy feet of his rider almost touching the ground. "bravo! my little norback!" cried the bold squire, who in a few bounds had overtaken henner and his master; "if you can run with such a karl, you deserve a double fodder." by the knight's command, some of the fishermen had already dragged the slain robber to a height by the wayside, where stood a gallows; whilst the others, at a little distance, followed the knight and their wounded chief. "how far have we to the castle?" inquired the knight; "can you hold out the journey, my brave old man?" "for my child, i could ride now to the world's end," answered henner: "had the losel who gave me the blow not been a blundering lout, without pith or metal, he might have laid it on to some purpose; a pair of vile scratches he has given me: he shall not brag that it was he who struck henner friser to the ground; it was his brave jutland stallion that kicked me below the short-ribs. now that the pain is gone, i can run better than this little fellow. thanks for the loan, my son," he said to the squire, as he leaped off the pony. "we have not a quarter of a mile to the castle, and i may almost as well walk as sit upon the foal." "you shall not find fault with my norback because he is small," answered the young squire, offended: "he can vie with a roebuck when occasion serves, but he is certainly not an elephant to carry a tower." "now, now, are you angry, my son? if you can ride so fleetly, let me see you reach the rievers' nest before we others, and get the gates open for us. 'in the king's name!' was the rascals' pass-word, and three knocks upon the door was the sign. the road goes right through the wood." without saying a word, the >>>bold<<<< squire handed the torch to henner, and rode back to the fishermen, who followed them. in an instant he returned, with the slain robber's scarlet doublet and morion on. "permit me so, to ride forward and prepare your way, sir drost," said the youth, and whispered a few words in his master's ear. "yes, yes!" answered the knight; "it cannot be a mile off. but be careful, skirmen: we keep the torches. you cannot miss the road, for yonder we can see the old castle turrets." the moon again appeared from behind the clouds, throwing its light over a huge, dull, red tower, with embattled walls, which arose high over the wood on the promontory of the bay of middelfert. the squire was already mounted: he hastily spurred his pony, and was out of sight in a moment. "a nimble youth!" exclaimed the old man; "he has a falcon's eye, and the limbs of a hart. he will make a doughty knight one day. do i guess right that he is from alsing or aeroe?" "my trusty claus skirmen is from femren," answered the knight; "his father was a brave man for his king and country: for that, he was exiled by king abel, and died in banishment. his grandfather followed king erik waldemarson to his death, and proved himself a valiant man to the last. his body was found by the king's side, among the slain." "has the youth long borne your shield, noble knight?" "this is only his second year; but the silver spurs are scarcely cold upon his heels. he is not much more than fifteen yet, and was out last year to capture niels breakpeace." "alas, fifteen years!" muttered the old man, with a suppressed sigh; "that was my poor aasé's age yesterday. ride on, sir knight! i shall yet succeed." and he ran on with rapid strides. drost peter set spurs to his horse, but immediately stopped again. the wood was dark, and, as the torch lit up the old man's face, the knight saw, with concern, that the grayhaired warrior was pale. the bandages had become loose by his exertions, and the blood was flowing fast from his left arm and shoulder. the young knight sprang from his horse. "let me tighten the bandages," he cried, with the air of a skilful leech; "your wounds are not so slight as you think. seat yourself on my horse: i have young limbs, and no fresh wound." "nay, good sir! for st. christian's and all saints' sake, let us not delay for such trifles!" cried the hardy old man, impatiently, whilst the knight hastily tied up the loosened bandages; "this will do very well for a poor devil like me! thanks! i say; but pray hasten on, and redeem your promise. except the king himself, and his panderers, there is no man more powerful than drost peter. never mind me! hurry on, noble sir!" drost peter did not consider a moment longer. he vaulted again into his saddle, set spurs to his horse, and rode furiously towards the castle; while old henner, with long and rapid strides, followed after. at the strongly-fortified castle of hegness all was dark and silent, but around the promontory on which it stood still raged the waters of the sound. a flock of cormorants flew, screaming, round the lofty tower, which, on the land-side, was bright in the moonshine, while it cast its long dark shadow over the rampart, towards the sound. the drawbridge was down; but the great walled gate was locked. on both sides of a rampart of earth, sixty feet high, the broad moat was filled with muddy water. from one of the upper apartments in the principal wing of the castle a light shone into the court-yard, and, before the lofty staircase, two sentinels, with lances, walked continually to and fro. at the opposite side of the castle, in the backcourt, six horsemen were stationed, with two saddled horses, before a little barred door of the tower. here the castle was provided with a private outlet, and a narrow drawbridge, now raised, concealed by a thicket of bushes. from a room in the tower, which jutted over the back-court, and had a small window into the fore-court, shone a single light. in a corner of this room a female figure knelt upon the stone floor, with a rosary in her hands, and apparently engaged in prayer. long dark brown braided tresses fell over her nut-brown neck and shoulders; she wore a dark blue knitted jacket, a linen petticoat of the same colour, with many plaits, and a light blue apron. a cloak, composed of white knitted thread, lay at her side, as if it had fallen from her shoulders. her back was turned towards the door, and she did not appear to observe that it was gently opened. a tall, broad-shouldered man, closely wrapped in a travelling cloak, stepped softly in, and looked anxiously and carefully around him. he turned towards the door, which stood ajar, and, at his beck, a face withdrew, which might have been taken for that of a crafty old woman, but for the incipient reddish beard, and the bright steel cap, that denoted it to be a young soldier's. the door was then softly closed. the tall, disguised figure stood in the middle of the apartment, and regarded the kneeling girl. her head was bowed towards the rosary in her small folded hands, upon her knees; and she was so deeply absorbed in prayer and supplication, that her outward senses took no notice of what surrounded them. at this sight, the disguised person was obviously uneasy. he cleared his throat several times, as if he would speak, or give intimation of his presence; but she continued in the same motionless position. he now made a hasty motion with his hand to his forehead, as if he would drive away some unpleasant, distressing thought. the hat fell from his head, and a strongly-marked countenance was displayed, expressive of severity and supreme haughtiness, which appeared in singular contradiction to the soft, sensual smile that played round his mouth, and his aimless, uneasy glances, which seemed incapable of resting upon any object for an instant. his projecting forehead, furrowed by violent passions, was half concealed by his thin, flaxen hair, which descended on both sides to his shoulders. according to the knightly fashion of the times, he wore a short beard on his upper lip and projecting chin; and was evidently in the prime of life, bordering upon forty. this singular want of character--the contradictory expressions of severity and mildness, of strength and weakness, of pride and meanness, of violent passion and crafty moderation--deprived his countenance of that dignity and loftiness which nature seemed to have intended it originally to possess; but that which most disfigured him was the uncertain glance of his small gray eyes, and a constant leer, and motion of the eyelids, which at once inspired distrust and fear. he now stood, as if debating with himself whether he should remain or go, when he retreated a few steps, as the kneeling girl suddenly rose and turned round. he saw not the somewhat pale, but clear, lively countenance of the peasant girl, with the most roguish pair of eyes, who had peeped, in curiosity, through the bars of henner friser's pantry; but a frightened, weeping child, who entreated his pity and forbearance. assé, henner's daughter, as she was called, after her grandfather, so celebrated by every traveller for her beauty, was wonderfully changed; yet was she, in a manner, fairer than ever. the cheerful little face of the fisher-maiden had the dignity and nobility of a princess's; but now she was pale as a dying person. her lively, often roguishly-playful eyes, were closed; but there was an expression in her features as if she could penetrate entire nature with a glance, and stood on a far-off, mysterious world. she advanced with a slow and solemn step, and, in language that otherwise was foreign to her simple nature, and with a voice like that of a warning prophetess, while she raised her forefinger in admonition, she burst forth: "unhappy king! thou goest in the way of thy doom. i have prayed for thy soul to our lord and judge, and he bade me warn thee. a sword hangs by a hair over thy head; repent, repent, ere it fall upon thee!" "ha! a maniac!" exclaimed the tall personage, turning pale. "rané! satan! where art thou? whom hast thou brought me?" he made a hasty movement towards the door, but recovered himself suddenly, and burst into laughter. "ha! thou crafty, cunning child! hast thou been in the priests' school? and is it so thou wilt make a jest of me?" he said, mildly threatening, and advancing towards her. "thou knewest, then, i was here, and couldst allow it so saintly and devoutly. no more pious foolery, child: it does not sit well upon thee;--but now we understand one another." he put out his hand, as if he would pat her under the chin; but she drew back a step, and, with a powerful, almost convulsive, expression of contempt and disgust, said: "approach me not, or thou art dead!" and she raised her hand menacingly. the blood returned to her cheeks: it seemed as if, with emotion, she would open her long dark eye-lashes, and yet could not succeed. "how thine eyes flash!" she cried; "how enraged thou art, grandfather! ah, how thine eyes sparkle! and thy fingers--and thou bleedest, thou bleedest!" "nonsense, child! there is no one here who flashes and bleeds. art thou here, prepared with these juggling grimaces? or, art thou really asleep? if so, i will try whether one can awaken thee or not!" with these words, the tall personage again moved, as if he would approach her, but now fell anxiously back, while she directed a pair of rigid, extended eyes, without life or animation, towards him. "i know it well," she whispered, mysteriously; "i am in the house in the wood. the mightiest man in the land stands before me. he will hear his fate. listen, then, my lord! you are erring and unfortunate; you are sold and betrayed. if you would save soul and body, hide yourself! fly! abandon the road to your doom!" "are you possessed, girl?" exclaimed the tall personage, stamping his foot, and, at the same time, looking anxiously around him; "am i among traitors here? rané! satan! where art thou?" "beware! beware of him!" continued the girl, at the same time whispering, mysteriously: "call not upon him! the evil one is near at hand, when one thinks of him!" "will she drive me mad?" muttered the disguised person, as he looked, with the most painful disquietude, now at the door, now at the strange maiden. "ha! fool that i am, to suffer myself to be deceived by the artful cheat!" he at length exclaimed aloud, and again laughed to himself, while he cast his cloak aside, and stood before her, in a magnificent knightly dress. "confess now, little assé, you wanted to have me somewhat at an advantage--would see whether you could make king erik christopherson afraid. but it will not avail you: i know my people, and you, too, with your pretty black, bewitching eyes. you dreamt that the king visited you, did you not? and that you lived like a queen, in one of his castles? and that will come to pass, notwithstanding. it depends only on yourself. but, tongue within your teeth, little assé: not a whisper that the king visited you here, alone. that is a secret no one must know." the lofty expression on the girl's countenance suddenly disappeared. it seemed as if she had now, for the first time, awoke from a dream that had changed her entire being: she looked around her bewildered, and suddenly sprang towards the door; but, recovering herself again, she took courage, and, putting her little hands upon her sides, placed herself, proudly, opposite the strange nobleman. he seemed gladly surprised at the transformation of the prophetess into the well-known pretty little fisher-girl, with the lively, playful eyes, and open-hearted boldness, no longer excited and fearful: the sleepwalker's sternness and earnestness of manner was lost in a frank and natural anger, which made her even more lovely. "who are you, sir knight?" she asked, passionately. "would you have me fancy you are the king? nay, simple as i am, i know well that the king will maintain law and right in the country. like king glip-eye, you blink disagreeably enough; but i should think myself much to blame, were i to suppose the king a riever and godless evil-doer." the nobleman coloured deeply, and regarded the haughty maiden with a malicious look. "she has been asleep, then," he muttered to himself; and then said, aloud, "you are right: i am not the king himself, but one of his greatest officers. since you have such a good opinion of the king's uprightness, my child," he continued, in a severe and authoritative tone, "it surprises me that it should not occur to you, you are a prisoner, at the king's command. you are a suspected woman, in the secret practice of witchcraft. with your crafty old grandfather, you lodge and conceal traitors to the country, and the open enemies of the king. can you deny that the audacious marsk, who denounced the king, has not lodged under your roof for the last eight days, and has been spared by you? at this instant, in all probability, the rebellious duke waldemar sits there, and with his adherents, and plots against the king and the nation. tales are told of your grandfather that, when i inquire into them, may cost him his neck. if you would save his life, little assé, it can only be by being friendly and complaisant towards his master and judge; and such, in truth, am i." "you only wish to prove my constancy, stern sir knight," said the girl, with less haughtiness, and with more discreet demeanour, but still calmly and undauntedly; "you only wish to see whether you can bring me to doubt my grandfather's honour and the king's justice. you know, as well as i, that my grandfather is obliged to provide quarters for all comers, whether they are true subjects or not, so long as the king has not driven them from the country and made them outlaws; that i do not practice witchcraft, although, at times, i may have strange dreams, and, in jest, have read one or two hands, you very well know. you would only trifle with me, stern sir. but if you are in earnest," she continued, vehemently, and again placing her hands, with an air of defiance, on her sides, "you are as little likely to be one of the king's true men as you are to be the king himself. you are, rather, a riever and a traitor, seeking to do injustice in the king's name: so take care of yourself, good sir. there is yet law and justice in the kingdom; and you may happen, by-and-by, to get hanged, for all that you may fit yourself into a stately knight's doublet, stolen, probably, from some poor man." "shameless boldness!" exclaimed the nobleman, stamping with indignation; but his wild look fell again upon the girl's beautiful face and form, and he continued, in milder tones: "defiance does not become you well, little aasé; and you are nothing handsomer for your obstinacy. before the lord, i think i could be angry with you in earnest. you are not a tame bird; and i see well, you want to make yourself precious, that you may afterwards set the higher price upon your favour. for variety's sake, that may please me at present; but do not carry it farther. i can have patience for a time; but do not make me furious." "they are coming! they are coming!" exclaimed aasé, overjoyed, and springing to the window looking over the great court-yard: "now shall we know whom you are, and whether the king has robbers and ravishers in his service." the tramp of horses, and the sound of voices, were heard in the court of the castle. the tall personage looked uneasily towards the window: at the same time the door was opened, and the young soldier who had stood without the door on his first entrance hastily and flurriedly entered. "we are betrayed, sire!" he whispered, almost breathless. "the court is full of people: they demand to be admitted in the king's name, and have drost peter hessel at their head." "drost peter? are you mad?" said the nobleman, hastily throwing on his cloak. "what wants he here? how did he enter?" "the gate was locked; nobody knows who let him in. he has terrified the warden with his royal authority. they are searching throughout the whole castle, and will pull it down if they do not find the girl. i expect them here every instant, as they have seen the light from the court. if you would not betray yourself to the people, escape by the secret passage, sire. command it so, and i shall take the blame, and suffer myself, farther, to be taken prisoner by the drost." "right, my trusty rané. the thought is worth gold. lock the concealed door after me. are our people at the back gate?" "all is in perfect order and security, sir knight," said the young man-at-arms, with emphasis, winking; "and not a soul can know that you have been here, if she, there, can be silent:" here he pointed dubiously towards aasé, who stood looking with a wild, flashing eye from the window. "tarry no longer, sire. i hear them upon the tower-stairs." "betray, with a single word, whom you have seen, and you are dead!" whispered the nobleman, hurriedly, to the terrified maiden; and, in an instant, he had disappeared through a concealed door in the panel. the young soldier hastily withdrew the key from the door, and flung it, from the window, into the back court; he then fell in a supplicating posture at the young girl's feet. "have pity on an unhappy lover, fair, good-natured aasé. thou incomparable fisher-maid," he began, in a shrill, piping voice, "for thy sake, i have exposed myself to the greatest danger, and to the anger of our righteous king; for thy sake, i dared to make use of the king's name, when i took thee prisoner." "and, for thy sake, i will soil my fingers upon such an abominable hag's face," answered the girl, giving him a few hearty boxes on the ear, which he appeared to take patiently, continuing, the while, to set forth his feigned love tale. he was still talking in the same strain, and had laid hold of aasé's apron, when drost peter and his squire, together with the warden and a band of armed fishermen, entered the door. "in the king's name, chamberlain rané, you are my prisoner," said drost peter: "bind him, lads!" the page rose, as it taken by surprise. "stern sir drost," he said, with an impudent smile, "you best know yourself the power of beauty over the heart, without distinction of rank or station. you have detected me in an indiscretion, which, at our time of life, one does wisest to judge with forbearance. at most, you have seen with what little success i have sought to tame this lovely wild-cat. if you venture on taking me prisoner, good: our common lord shall decide which of us is the more blameworthy." with these words, he gave up his short sword, without opposition, into the drost's hands, and permitted his own to be bound by claus skirmen, who performed this ordinary part of a squire's duties with the greatest dexterity, at the same time casting a look at the pretty little aasé, whose dark, sparkling eyes ran over the bystanders, as if anxiously in search of some one. "my child! my aasé!" sounded, at length, from a man's deep voice at the door; and, with the lively exclamation, "grandfather! dear grandfather!" she flew into old henner's arms, and overpowered him with her childish caresses, without observing his wounds, which, however little he regarded them himself, had nevertheless considerably exhausted him. * * * drost peter hessel and his squire had come over the belt in the storm, with a large company of travellers. on the road from gremermarsh quay to the town, they had met with the armourer troels, the ferrymen, and a band of burghers, in search of henner friser and the robbers. drost peter had landed from the vessel, with a shaggy cap over his ears, and a large boatman's jerkin over his knight's dress. they were the last to land; and, before the young nobleman had mounted his horse, he had taken off the borrowed cap and jerkin, thrown his scarlet cloak upon his shoulders, and placed his feathered hat upon his head. without troubling himself about the other travellers, he was ready, at the moment, to assist the burghers against the supposed robbers. the rest of the travellers, tired with their boisterous passage, were only anxious to reach the inn, to rest and refresh themselves. on the quay of gremermarsh, there still stood, however, in the changing moonlight, a boatman, with his arm in a bandage, by the side of a tall, knightly figure, in full black armour, with the visor of his helmet down. they appeared to talk earnestly and secretly, and, from time to time, pointed to the skiff that had newly arrived, and to a smaller boat, by which the mailed knight had seemingly come, and which lay somewhat apart, below the wood that skirted the middelfert sound. the boatman had arrived with the large company, and appeared to be informing the knight whence they had come and whom they had brought. they at length separated. the boatman nodded respectfully; and, notwithstanding his wound, seemed to take upon himself the execution of some commission with which he was entrusted by the stately stranger. he departed, with hasty strides, towards the wood where the little boat lay; while the knight took, alone, and with thoughtful steps, the road to the town. although neither henner friser nor his pretty granddaughter was present, the travellers were received at the inn, by the people of the house, with the usual attentions. they had placed before them a flagon of ale, and a large dish of stewed flounders, of which they had always abundance. with these the greater part of the company appeared to be satisfied, as it was friday, and they were required to observe a fast. not so, however, were they all. "away with these wretched flounders! we want a hearty meal of flesh," said a long, meagre gentleman, with a sagacious but proud and arrogant countenance, and strong, passionate-looking features. "for your lives and healths' sake, i give you all an indulgence, as far as the day is concerned," he added, with the mien and authority of a pope: "for the sake of human infirmities, i am authorised to do this." the flounders were immediately taken away, and a large dish of salt meat substituted in their place. this change the majority of the company loudly applauded, but the ecclesiastic was now offended. notwithstanding the blue travelling dress he wore, his rank was distinguishable by the black calotte that concealed his tonsure; and, notwithstanding his leanness, he appeared accustomed to better and richer fare. he vehemently decided that the accommodation for distinguished travellers, in this new and only licensed place of entertainment, was wretched; and that, when the king thought proper to meddle in domestic matters, and prohibit people, both lay and clerical, from entertaining strangers, he ought to take care that there were ordinary cooks in such taverns. this discontented gentleman was the only ecclesiastic in the company. he was usually called master grand and sir dean; and all treated him with the greatest respect. the rest were chiefly knights, and other distinguished laymen, with large plumes of feathers in their hats, and short travelling cloaks, fringed with sable, of the finest german or english cloth, and of the most various colours, according to their own or their ladies' tastes. their doublets were, for the most part, of the same colour and material, with a slit in the centre, and ornamented with gashed edges, in the fashion of foreign knights. this profuse style of dress had, long before, been forbidden in denmark; and this contempt for a law that was observed everywhere around denoted these gentlemen to belong to the bold and disaffected aristocratical party. a tall young man, in a scarlet cloak, with a haughty countenance and princely manners, appeared to be the most distinguished in the company. an elderly personage, with a firm, warlike bearing, and in a large cloak of english blue cloth, seemed likewise to be an individual of some note. some of the younger gentlemen shone forth in suits of bright yellow, flame colour, and green. a few of the more elderly wore brown and liver-coloured doublets and mantles. there were nearly as many squires as there were knights; and their inferior rank was discernible by their plain hats, and by their chequered and less, expensive cloaks of scottish cloth. a young, cheerful individual, who did not appear to belong to the knights and their train, but attached himself with particular attention to the ecclesiastic, was distinguished by his civility and pleasing manners, although his unusual corpulency would only allow him to perform any rapid motion with difficulty. his round, good-natured face beamed with life and jollity. round his short brown jerkin he wore a broad leather belt, with a large knife and fork, a horn spoon, a pepper-box, and a number of other tools and appliances pertaining to the kitchen and pantry. he had listened with great attention to the discontented ecclesiastic's denunciation of the entertainment, while his look often glanced upon a plain wooden box, which he had carried from the ship himself, and which was now deposited in a corner, near the kitchen-door. "spoken after my own poor heart, worthy sir dean," he at length said, with a respectful mien, and yet with a kind of sly humour. "these royal hostelries will certainly bring the land to ruin. 'they are dung-pits,' as said our worthy abbot of ry, in his much-admired fast sermon; 'they are dung-pits, where every carrion bird gathers, and where the eagle and crow must eat out of the same dish.' they have brought true hospitality to decay; and now, as a necessary consequence, harmony and jollity, mirth and the noble art of cookery, have come to the ground together. nevertheless, in half an hour's time, i shall prepare my worthy masters such a repast as shall make us all forget these doleful times, and reconcile us to this godless world." "right, my son," said the churchman, patting him on the shoulder. "do not bury thy rare talents. have a care for our present wants, cook morten, and trouble not thyself about the preacher." whilst the travelling cook took his box and proceeded to the kitchen to prepare his entertainment, without heeding the growlings of the servants, the gentleman in the blue cloak made a trial of the liquor, which stood in a pewter tankard. "what! filthy danish pors-ale!"[ ] he exclaimed, and dashed the tankard to the ground. "fie for satan! do the rascals mean to treat us to such trash? saxon ale we shall have, and that immediately." "german ale, that sets people a-crowing, we do not serve here," answered a bold fellow, who acted as tapster: "it is as strictly forbidden by the king as are the slashed doublets of yourself and these gentlemen. if, therefore, you are not contented with what we have got, the door is open; but rough words and fault-finding, neither henner friser nor his servants put lip with." the gentleman in blue started, and regarded the man with surprise. "shameless fellow! do you know to whom you are talking?" roared the churchman, the veins of his forehead swelling with rage. "where a gentleman of the blood royal is present, even a master and a dean is a mean man. a bumpkin like you should not grumble, were we to scrub your ears with your besom, and fling your villanous danish ale over your dunderhead!" "be pacified, good master grand," said the young gentleman of the scarlet cloak: "the fellow, truly, did not know us, and only maintains the credit of his master. if you have any german ale in the house, produce it on my responsibility," he added, turning to the tapster, while he flung down a handful of silver coin upon the table. the man was surprised, and loitered. "quick, now!" continued the young lord: "it is duke waldemar who commands you. the king's prohibition, to which you have already sagely adverted in reference to our doublets, does not extend to me and my followers." "so _you_ may understand the matter, mighty lord," answered the man, bluntly; "but my master says, that, on danish ground, the king's law and prohibition extend to both gentle and simple. there is a butt of old german ale in the cellar, which has not been touched for five and twenty years; but, before my master comes home and so orders it himself, i shall not tap a single stoup of it, even if all of you were popes and emperors." "let the saucy rogue be thrown out of doors, my lord duke!" exclaimed master grand, in a passion; and a couple of squires drew near, with zealous alacrity, and seemed only to be waiting for a nod to carry the proposal into execution. the blood mounted to the young nobleman's cheeks, and he cast a threatening look at the tapster; but his senior, in the blue cloak, caught him by the arm. "delay a little, sir cousin," he muttered, in a half whisper. "let me advise. here we must be good patriots. the king's grace rode his cock-horse by the side of margaret's stallion,"[ ] he then continued, with a loud voice, "when he performed this exploit, and stuck pegs for taps into german ale-barrels. it was a brave action, we must allow: it will be long before i achieve as much as a general. at the same time, he made his appearance in a new light, and became our instructor in the noble art of tailoring. like good patriots, let us now drink this pors-ale to his honour, and have our doublets sewn up like honest danish frocks, that they may see at court that we are as true and obedient subjects as john little and david thorstenson, and as upright friends to this kind of garment as the king himself, and the queen's handsome friend, drost peter hosel.[ ] now, then, the king's health in thin ale, since there is no better: the king's health, my lords!" this satire, accompanied by a scornful smile, occasioned a burst of laughter, and all drank, or pretended to drink, of the despised liquor. "every one shall drink the toast who is not a spy or a traitor," continued the warlike lord in blue: "no distinction of rank or station is permitted here. come, thou fair swain: drink the king's health in this precious pors-water." "i would have a care of my manners," answered the tapster: "i am too mean to join in the revels of such distinguished company." "understand, then, that count jacob of halland, as the king's vassal, allows you to be chastised as a traitor and secret rebel," continued the lord in blue. "drag him out, and give him a hearty salute with the stirrup-straps," said he to the squires. "we have all heard that he is a rebel who will not drink the king's health." the stern decree was executed in a moment, notwithstanding a brave resistance made by the strong fellow. "this is the way to baste the fellows with their own lard," growled count jacob, as, with a haughty air, he threw himself carelessly back on his bench. "perhaps a little too hard," said the young duke, yet smiling contentedly; while all laughed heartily at the rough joke, which did not seem to them at all unusual, or in anywise dangerous. the allusion to king erik christopherson's edicts respecting ale and slashed doublets, which had given rise to this scene, was followed by many jocular remarks on various other of the king's municipal regulations, which they affected to extol, whilst, at the same time, they were striving to present them in the most ridiculous point of view, or as childish and absurd. the stern _ribe-ret_,[ ] in particular, was the subject of many coarse jokes. the conversation was brought to a close by the entrance, with a large dish of seasoned meat, of the indefatigable cook, who invited the company to prove whether he had not attained a more worthy post than in cooking prison-fare for the hermits of sjöberg. "should i--as, nevertheless, i hope i shall not," he added--"have to wait on any of my good lords in my celebrated castle, i am glad that, beforehand, i have had an opportunity of vindicating my honour with those who, not without success, have studied the art of cookery in the most learned chapter-houses in the kingdom." "thou art a rogue, morten!" said master grand, playfully threatening him. "my pious colleagues taught thee first, perhaps, to sign thyself with the token of self-denial; but thy round cheeks bear witness thou art a carnal child of the world, who hath transferred his learning to ladles and carving-knives." "not without a bright and illustrious example," answered the cook, with a cunning smile. "were i, in troth, your cook, as i am now a godless provider for state-prisoners, you could not help being soon as plump as i and your worthy colleagues." he now began, like a busy host, to serve out his viands, and selected the choicest morsels for his new ecclesiastical patron. he afterwards brought from the kitchen a large wooden bowl, and, with many eulogiums, recommended the strengthening and enlivening beverage it contained, as the fruit of his own invention. "spiced wine!" exclaimed count jacob. "thou art a most excellent fellow, morten! this, then, was the sacred church-treasure that thou and sir dean contended for so lustily in the storm, when we were obliged to throw all our worldly goods overboard!" "thus it is that virtue and good deeds are rewarded, even in the present life," answered the cook. "and i hope that worthy master grand does not now repent that he so piously took my sacred bottle under his protection." the knights praised the excellent liquor, and became merry and noisy. cook morten poured out for them, and sang them wanton ditties. all would join with him; and every one sang the song that pleased himself best, without troubling himself about those of others. at length, a well-known song obtained the ascendancy, in the midst of general laughter: it was a tolerably witty and satirical ballad, relating to the king and his favourites, particularly concerning drost peter hessel, whom it sometimes nicknamed peter hosel (stocking-garter), and sometimes sir lovmand (lawyer), with coarse inuendoes on the relation in which he was accused of standing to the queen. in the midst of this uproar, the tall mailed knight, with the closed visor, who had followed them from the quay, entered unobserved, and seated himself in a dark nook, near the door. "see, now there is some life in the game," said the cook, snuffing the candles; "now it is quite a pleasure to tend upon my worthy masters." "but how came you by the wine?" inquired master grand: "it is indeed converted into nectar." "the preparation is a secret, my most worthy sir," answered the cook, "the knowledge of which i shall keep to myself, until i make my will: then shall i enrich after generations with my invention, if the world prove worthy of it. i have named this divine beverage _bishop_: i hope it deserves its title, and that it will hereafter render the name of morten fynbo immortal, among both learned and simple." "call it archbishop: it deserves the name better than the carlin we have now in lund," roared count jacob. "such a bishop is fitted to mediate an eternal peace between the temporal and spiritual lords of the kingdom; and, at this time, it is much needed. we have made a beginning with you, very learned master grand," he continued: "when you come hereafter to be archbishop, perhaps it will fare better with justice in the land. you are the man to lend me a letter of excommunication, when my own sword is too short to recover my feudal rents, withheld by a tyrant." master grand made no reply, but gave the loud-voiced count a familiar and significant look. "to our noble dean, the pride and honour of roskild!" resumed count jacob: "long life to our very learned master jens grand! a rogue is he who does not pledge the toast to the bottom; and confusion to all the vermin and king's thralls in the country!" with these words, he touched the ecclesiastic's cup with his own. his example was followed by duke waldemar and the knights; the whole bursting out into a simultaneous shout of applause, in which the cook heartily joined. "i thank you, my high-born count jacob; you, too, my noble duke; and you, my valiant lords and knights," said master grand, agreeably surprised, while he rose, and regarded all around him with an air of seriousness and significance. "the time may come when my deeds shall prove to you that it is my highest wish to effect a friendly union between the knightly sword and the bishop's staff. earthly and heavenly power must be truly united, when there is anything great to be done in the world. but more of this at another time and place," he said, suddenly interrupting himself. "_latet anguis in herbâ_--there is a snake in the grass, as the saying goes: satan has his imps everywhere." so saying, the dean's sharp looks fell on the figure of the tall, mailed knight, who sat in the corner, by the door. all eyes were turned in the same direction, and a mysterious whispering arose among the uneasy guests. the sturdy warlike figure then arose, and advanced with firm strides towards the light at the end of the table. he moved his head, as if he would observe the guests more narrowly, raised his mailed arm, struck the grating of his helmet upwards for a moment, and then allowed it to fall. the hasty view thus obtained of the strongly-illumined, iron features of the warrior, and the stern glance that shot like lightning from beneath his dark bushy eyebrows, struck every one with astonishment. they had all risen to bid him welcome; but he laid his finger upon the opening of his helmet, and they remained standing, as mute as statues, and regarding him with earnest expectation. "remember your oaths and vows! prudence is still our safeguard," said the mailed knight, in a deep, hollow voice. "there is no security, or room for insolent bravado, where traitors may go in and out, and every door stands open. the tyrant is near at hand. drost peter hessel was among you on the belt, and you knew him not." "drost peter!" they repeated, with astonishment. "damnation!" exclaimed the young duke, stamping: "it was reported otherwise. but how came he there? i did not see him. where did he land?" "spite of the devil, i should think it would have been known if the drost had been on board," said count jacob. "two boatmen and a youth excepted, there was not a cat on board i did not know." "who was the man who sprang from the mast, and seized the rudder, when the steersman's arm was wounded?" demanded the stern knight. "he--the daring young fellow," said count jacob--"he who, at the very nick of time, came as if he had dropped from the clouds, and saved our lives--was he not a boatman?" "it was drost peter hessel," said the black knight; "and the lad who waited upon him was his squire--a youth with ears in his head." "the fiend!" exclaimed one after another. "in the noise and confusion i was both deaf and blind," began master grand; "otherwise, i should have seen whether we had philistines on board. on the skiff i saw no one: but who was the knight in the scarlet mantle, who followed us from the quay, and rode off in pursuit of rievers or virgins, or on some such sort of carnal, hair-brained exploit?" "that was drost peter," answered the mailed knight. "where were your keen eyes, master grand? our deadly foe sat to-day by the rudder, and you knew him not; to-morrow he sits at the helm of the state, and will know you." "death and perdition! all is lost? we are betrayed!" exclaimed one after the other; and the commotion became general. "not yet," said the mailed knight, quietly, and raised his voice. "until the dane-court is brought to a close, the law protects you. this law only protects me," and he struck his large, rattling sword. "the moment the danish court is terminated, separate. in half an hour, i am again on board. yet three words in private with your and my future lord." the young duke hastened anxiously forward, and fervently seized the knight's mailed hand. they retired a few steps, and the mysterious knight whispered some words into his ear, which he only heard, but at which the bold duke's cheeks changed colour. the knight regarded him with a keen look, laid his hand encouragingly upon his shoulder, and nodded. the duke regained his composure, and, with a haughty look, made a hasty motion with his sword. without adding a single word more, the tall, iron-clad knight saluted the company, and quietly strode out at the door. a general silence ensued, while the young duke appeared struggling to overcome some anxious, disquieting thought. hastily seizing his cup, "long life to our trusty, watchful friend!" he said: "may he return safe: he has done much for our sakes to-day." scarcely had he uttered the words, and put the goblet to his lips, ere the door was opened, and drost peter hessel, with old henner friser, entered, accompanied by a crowd of burghers and seamen, carrying with them the bound swain rané. old henner led his daughter by the hand. she cast back a kindly look towards the door, where the squire, claus skirmen, was standing, with his master's scarlet cloak upon his arm, and surprised apparently at the sight of so many strangers; whilst his eyes speedily forsook the fair, dark-eyed damsel, and rested, with earnest attention, upon his master's every look and motion. as the young drost entered, duke waldemar and the knights hastily replaced their uplifted goblets on the table, and looked at one another with amazement. drost peter did not appear to notice the general confusion which his entrance had occasioned. having saluted the company with knightly politeness, "i perceive," he said, in a lively, unaffected tone, "i am yet in time, my lords, to greet you in my own doublet, and to thank you for your excellent travelling society. i had my reasons for appearing as a boatman: that scarcely any of my noble lords will doubt. it gladdens me that i was fortunate steersman enough, and had the opportunity, of bringing so many important patriots safe to land. i would have thanked you for your confidence immediately upon our landing, my lords; but i have been delayed by a little unpleasant adventure, which is now happily finished." the young duke recovered his self-possession. he returned the drost's salutation with a princely air, and answered, in the same courteous tone, "it was handsome to return to us, drost hessel, and not to withdraw yourself from our thankful acknowledgments. but a minute ago, we learned that we were fortunate enough to have had you on board, without knowing you, and that you were the brave boatman who so opportunely caught hold of the rudder in our danger. that chance or necessity, and no deceitful intention, made us fellow-voyagers to-day, notwithstanding our difference of opinion in various matters, i am willing to believe. accept, therefore, the acknowledgments of myself and friends; and permit us, as we were just proposing, to drain this cup to your welfare." at the duke's signal, the active cook handed the drost a goblet of wine; and, with forced politeness, count jacob made room for him on the duke's right hand, and begged him to be seated. in the meanwhile, no one evinced any disposition to do honour to the proposed toast. drost peter observed this, and said, hastily: "i thank you, my lords, for the intended honour; but permit me, as the reward of my pilotage, merely to beg the favour, that i may quaff this first goblet on funen ground, with duke waldemar, count jacob, and these worthy gentlemen, to a peaceful and happy issue to the dane-court, and to the welfare of our country, and of our lawful king's house." with these words, he emptied his goblet, and replaced it on the table. "every friend of his country who participates in my wish," he added, "will certainly not hesitate on doing justice to my toast." all eyes were turned upon duke waldemar and count jacob; and as both these lords, although with secret indignation, emptied their cups, and set them on the table, the other knights followed their example. the fat cook smiled knavishly. "a bitter addition to my magnificent liquor," he whispered to master grand. the ecclesiastic burned with indignation. he had not yet raised the goblet to his lips; and, grasping it in his hand, with the wine dripping upon his fingers, he now dashed it violently upon the stone floor. "i drink no slavish token of homage by constraint," he exclaimed, in a rage. "on what footing i, as dean of roskild, stand with king erik christopherson, is known to every man in the country who knows that st. michael's church, in slagelse, belongs to the deanery of roskild, and has been taken from me with shameful injustice. if i have not been afraid to protest openly against the king's illegal encroachments on my rights of office, neither am i now afraid to declare openly to his drost, that i will suffer thirst till doomsday, rather than, like a miserable hypocrite, drink a single drop to worldly arrogance and injustice." "and i hold to that, with our very learned sir dean," said count jacob, with a loud voice, and striking his long sword vehemently against the floor. "every man here has his freedom; and no one shall compel us to drink any other toast than we please. i only drank, because i was thirsty, and the wine was good. i regard myself, then, so little as a wretch or a hypocrite, that no one with impunity shall call me a traitor to the country." "it were far from me to upbraid any man with hypocrisy, or to accuse any of these gentlemen of so horrible a crime as treason," said drost peter, quietly. "in denmark, god be praised, thoughts, and their rudest expression, are still free, when the law of the land is not transgressed; and i regard no dane as the enemy of his country because, perhaps, he does not join in our common wish for its welfare, and in personal attachment to the royal house, with the same warmth as myself. in such unsettled and unhappy times as the present, we must, alas! experience that the opinions of the best danish men differ on many important matters. but, my brave lords and countrymen," he continued, with warmth, "excuse me that i do not see any place or opportunity too unsuitable to say an earnest word in a matter that concerns every dane. if variance and discord are not soon to rend asunder all, even the best of danish hearts, and if the people are not to rebel and sink into ruin by such devastating strife, we must necessarily be united in one object; and that is, in lawful obedience to the majesty and divinity of the crown, upon whatever head it may legally and by justice rest. mournful, certainly, it will be, if we, as men, as knights, or as servants of god's word, do not, at all times, love and do homage to the personality which is inseparable from majesty. but, as we would be true to our country, we are bound, heart and hand, to defend the king to the last drop of our blood." "i may respect your manner of thinking, drost hessel, though it is not mine," replied young duke waldemar, with warmth, and approaching him a step or two, with great haughtiness, whilst he appeared to regard the embarrassment of his friends with indignation. "i do not misunderstand the zeal that permits you to forget where you are, and to whom you are speaking. but i may beg you to remember, that we are here in a public tavern; and that i, and the highborn count jacob of halland, are present. as the king's kinsmen, we were most justified in holding discourse against sedition and lese-majesty, had we found it convenient or necessary. if you have anything to complain of against us, bring it before the king and people, in the dane-court, where you shall find us all assembled, and where i hope to settle amicably the points in dispute between us and our royal kinsman. but, here, we order and command you, in virtue of our rank and dignity, to be silent, and not approach me or my friends, with an audacity that becomes you not, and with ill-timed admonitions respecting our duty to the danish crown. and now, my lords, to horse. here we shall no longer tarry, to give occasion for uproar, which this king and _queen's_ zealous friend should have been the very first to have avoided." the latter words were spoken in a bitter tone of ridicule, which called up a disdainful smile on the countenance of the young knight. "very good," said count jacob, in a rude tone of derision. "we shall yield the battle-field to the amorous young sir drost, since it is in a tavern, where one only cares to fight with words, or, at most, with fists and empty pitchers. if we contend, hereafter, upon a more worthy arena, sir drost, perhaps you may find it convenient to be the first to withdraw." with these words, both the princely lords left the room; the ecclesiastic, with the cook, and all the knights, accompanying them. the horses had already, for some time, been standing saddled before the door; the squires hastened to hold the stirrups for their masters; and, in a minute after, the numerous train departed, laughing and talking aloud, through the streets of middelfert. the young drost stood, silent and thoughtful, in the guests' room, and appeared to be considering whether he had not been too precipitate. old henner, quietly, and with the greatest interest, had given heed to every one of his words, and to his whole conduct. the burghers and fishermen, after their president's example, remained silent witnesses of the contest between the distinguished lords. claus skirmen stood by the door, without losing sight of his master's face, although, at times, he cast a sidelong glance at the little dark-haired aasé, who, with curious and playful eyes, watched the illustrious stranger. the artful chamberlain had, in the meantime, profited by the general attention given to the clamorous lords. he had given jovial cook morten, who pretended to know him, the wink, and, with the help of the carving-knife which hung at the cook's girdle, the cords that bound him were cut without it being observed. he could not, however, immediately avail himself of this freedom, while so many stood around him, but remained quietly, with his hands behind his back, as if he had been still bound. but, now that the door was open, he suddenly sprang under the arms of his guards, and was gone in an instant. "what the fiend! is he loose?" exclaimed the astonished fishermen, springing after him. "stay, let him run!" cried drost peter, stopping them. "if he escape, it will please me better, as he would soon have been set free. he will scarcely venture into the net so soon again, however; and we have a traitor the less among us." the fishermen stood on the alert, ready to bring back the fugitive. "ay, ay: let him run to satan, as the knight says," growled old henner friser. "the lanky youth may soon be settled: he shall frighten nobody. another time that we lay our fingers upon him, let us crack his neck on the instant. now, let him grease his houghs." this speech the fishermen seemed to comprehend, and they remained accordingly. "now shall you have thanks for your assistance and interest in this matter, my nimble countrymen," continued drost peter. "every one betake himself to his home, and keep himself easy. from robbers you have nothing to fear; and the safety of your brave alderman i will provide for." "nobody shall touch a hair of his head, so long as there is a porpoise-hunter in melfert sound," replied a young fisherman. "and should he get into any trouble concerning the royal squire we pitched into the dung-pit," said troels the armourer, "we brethren of the guild will stand by him. twelve of us keep watch here to-night; and, if he wishes to make his escape, there are six men at the yawl, with a boat and all that is needful." "good, my children, good," replied old henner. "but go, now: i will consider the matter, and tell you, perhaps, my intentions before morning." at his beck, the burghers and fishermen left the room. the old man fervently seized drost peter's hand. "god and st. christian bless you, my wellborn young gentleman, for what you have this night done for me and my little aasé!" he said, with emotion. "if ever i forget it, i am a scoundrel. neither shall i readily forget the words you addressed to these distinguished rascals: they have stirred up my sinful old soul more than i could have thought." the restrained but violent emotions which the tones of his voice betrayed appeared to surprise the little aasé, as somewhat unusual. her grandfather, observing this, suddenly relaxed his hold of the knight's hand. "go, now, to bed, my child," he said gently, turning to her: "go to bed, and sleep securely until i call you. dream neither of rievers nor big demons. this hand already has punished the doughtiest; but it is not so nimble now--it begins to feel the rascals. but the world is wide: if we cannot be in peace any longer here, i have other plans. now, good night, child. pray to our lord, and our good patron st. christian, to afford us their protection, and not to lead us into temptation. now, quick, to bed." "allow me first to look to your wound, dear grandfather," replied the little aasé, entreatingly, while she took hold of his hand and kissed it tenderly. "certainly not, child: i will not hear a word about the gnat-bite. did you not hear what i said?" from the old man's stern tone, and the silence with which she prepared, though reluctantly, to obey him, it might be seen that the old grandfather was not accustomed to opposition. she still lingered, however; and, as he looked at her more attentively, he observed the furtive, sidelong glances of her eyes towards the door, where the young squire was still standing. "that is true--the youth by the door--he has had no supper, and well deserves one. without him, we had not got hold of you. now run, then, aasé, and take care of him in the kitchen." "come, claus skirmen," said aasé, cheerfully, and as familiarly as if she had known him for a long time; while she sprang to the door where he stood, took him by the hand, and drew him merrily along with her to the kitchen. "singular child!" muttered the old man to himself: "now she is the little wild cat again, and a single word can make her glad or sorrowful. but when the strong dreaming spirit comes over her, not a sinner would willingly look into her eyes. well, well: it is a sad thing for our strength." drost peter stood in deep thought, and unobservant of what was passing. he had taken a sheet of parchment from his breast pocket, and on this he gazed intently, without appearing to know what he was reading. "have you received disastrous tidings, noble sir?" at length inquired old henner, regarding him with sympathy; "or is it your evening prayer you are reading? if your soul is in converse with the lord, i shall not disturb you; but, then, you should look happier. you are young, and can scarcely have any grievous sins upon your conscience. you may well read your ave and paternoster, without looking whether the evil one stands grinning behind you." "what said you, brave old man?" inquired the knight, recovering himself, and hastily folding the parchment. "it is late, and i stand in need of rest: the noise and journey have wearied me." "come, refresh yourself first, noble sir. my best apartment is ready for you. but i have now a word to say to you, for god knows when i may see you again. you are wearied, and i perceive you have important matters in your head. come, sir drost, you will not refuse a stoup of good danish pors-ale? what the fiend! have their lordships transformed my ale into wine? well, that was indeed handsome of them." they then both set themselves down to cook morten's half-emptied bowl of spiced wine; and when a cup of the potent beverage had enlivened them, old henner resumed: "you spake an earnest word this evening, noble sir. my illustrious guests considered it ill-timed, and perhaps you now may think that you were over hasty; but it was a word at the right time, to me and many more. yes, you are right, noble sir. the crown is holy, whoever bears it: for the king is the lord's anointed; and no one shall with impunity raise his hand against him, were it the foul fiend himself whom god has set over us for a season." "that i did not say exactly, old man," said the drost, interrupting him; "yet it is not far from my meaning. but how came you now upon this matter? did you know these lords?" "who does not know the haughty duke waldemar and the crabbed count jacob?" answered henner. "i knew their good friends, too. what these good people carry in their bosoms is no secret. this dean from roskild is a learned, dangerous man; and the lord preserve us from him! thought and thew, he is the old archbishop jacob to a hair--he that was imprisoned by the king's father, and brought the whole kingdom under the ban. the long, big-nosed dean comes of the same brood. people dare not say it openly; but you and everybody else know, nevertheless, that this satan's archbishop had a finger in the pie when king christopher was poisoned with our lord's holy body." "thou art right, old man; and so much the worse," said drost peter: "this audacious master grand is jacob erlandsen's kinsman, both by descent and in spirit. he is the most crafty of them all, however hot-headed and open-mouthed he may be in his insolent moods." he again drew forth the parchment, and examined it. "do you know sir tuko abildgaard, the duke's drost?" "yes, indeed: that was the proud, smooth-faced gentleman, who sat so stiff where you are now sitting, with the light green cloak and doublet. i knew every one of them." "sir lavé little was not here--god be praised!" said drost peter, with a suppressed sigh. "they are a noble race, these littles: would that they all took after the old knight john! a truer man there is not in denmark, although he has almost as much injustice to complain of as have his kinsmen." "we must not judge them too severely, noble sir," resumed henner. "sir lavé came over the belt yesterday. it was sad to look upon the man. he had visited his kinsman for some purpose: that might well be seen in him. shame is a hard cross. old pallé has certainly lost his wits about it; and the bold, proud stig andersen himself--i cannot think of him without feeling my heart ready to burst my bosom. a greater leader has denmark never seen since the days of count albert of northalbing and king waldemar seier. even the mighty king ladislaus of sweden has him to thank for his crown. oh, noble sir drost! when i fancy myself in this man's situation, dark thoughts arise within me. i could not say that the crown was holy, if i saw it borne by the destroyer of my wife's honour." "and yet, brave henner, you might say so, even were you in his place, if your fatherland were dearer to you than yourself, and your soul's salvation more precious than revenge." "salvation!" said henner, gloomily; "talk not so decidedly about a man's salvation, sir drost. a bishop would not so readily undertake to do so. believe you, then, of a truth, that the man shall be for ever damned who lifts his hand against a crowned nidding?"[ ] "let us condemn no one, that we be not ourselves condemned," said the knight, with deep seriousness; "least of all, let us condemn him whom none human can condemn, but who has his judge above the stars." "awell, you may be right, sir, when that is spoken of a righteous king, who has been chosen by the free-will of his people, and who has not acquired his crown by perjury and the murder of a brother, like king abel. if, now, you were to see the man who shot the arrow into king abel's breast, noble sir, would you be able to look him in the face, and say that he was a godless traitor and a regicide, who must be for ever doomed to perdition?" "what brings this into your head, old man?" inquired the knight, astonished: "i have, indeed, said i dare condemn no one, and, truly, least of all dare i condemn the man whom the righteous judge chose to raise up to vindicate the pious king erik waldemarson, and to hurl a fratricide from the throne of denmark." "that man stands now before you, sir drost!" said henner friser, rising: "with this hand i shot the arrow that entered king abel's false heart; there hangs the steel bow that carried the doom of death and eternal punishment to the fratricide." the knight looked up, and regarded with a degree of dread the tall, powerful old man, who, pale and frightful as the ghost of a hero, now stood before him in the dimly-lighted apartment. "did you that deed, old man?" he said, with an effort. "then let me be the last man you entrust with the dreadful secret. and have a care of yourself. had duke waldemar known what this bow has done, there is not a man in the country who could save you." "that gives me but little uneasiness," answered the old man. "you, i know, will not betray me; and, saving yourself, there is not a soul in the world knows what old henner thinks in the midnight storm, when the wild hunter rides over his roof with his howling hounds. fancy not that i rue the best act of my life. nay, god and st. christian be praised! i dread not the hour when i shall stand, with king abel, before our lord's judgment-seat. and yet, sir knight, it gives rise to strange thoughts, to have withdrawn a soul from mercy, and dispatched a sinner to everlasting punishment before his time. but it is the weakness of old age: i know it well. it is, besides, at night only that such thoughts come upon me. by day, when i look upon the bow, i feel proud that this hand once rescued denmark from destruction. as i have said, it is only at night that my heart softens, and that i feel compassion for the sinner whom i slew." "pray the god of mercy for his soul!" said the knight, with a feeling of uneasiness. "nay, that can i not, sir drost--and it but little matters. what i could do for him, by the aid of a nervous arm, that i have done; but it is in vain--he is doomed to eternal misery. i drove a six-ells stake, of good charred oak, through his rotten carcase in the bog of gottorp; but what availed that? the proud devil will not rest in the swamp, nor will he suffer others to sleep in peace. you have heard, no doubt, what is told about his night-hunts? constantly, at midnight, he rides out, raven-black, on his courser, over gottorp heath, with three fiery hell-hounds at his heels. god be praised! i have not seen it myself; but every midnight, be my sleep ever so sound, it whines and howls in my ears till i awake. perhaps it is mere rumour and superstition, and perhaps it is but the blood which rushes to my head when i recline; but now, for three and thirty years, i have never been able to close an eye until two hours after the accursed midnight. and--hear you aught? lord! how it howls and whines again!" he held both hands before his eyes, and shook his gray head in an uneasy and anxious manner. "unhappy old man!" said the knight, "mayhap it is neither the blood nor the dead that disquiets you. i rather believe that there is a secret doubt in your honest heart of the justice of the deed, or that it was well-pleasing to god. shrive yourself, in this matter, to a god-fearing clerk; and seek to make your peace with the lord, (who, in truth, can alone give and take it away,) not only for the sake of the past, but also for what has happened to-day. it was not the chamberlain rané, but a greater man, that we both saw well, who had fixed upon your aasé for his victim. i knew him, and so much the worse. me, perhaps, he will spare, for prudential reasons; but he will not relinquish his object because he has once miscarried. it will be a serious matter with you, too, on account of the squire who lies in the dung-pit. i know but one course, old henner: you must over the belt with the maiden before it is day. your house and goods may be sold afterwards. but proceed, without delay, to my warden at harrestrup. i shall provide you with a letter to him, and he will direct you to my vacant hunting-lodge near finnerup. there, both you and the little aasé are safe. the wind is favourable. take not too long to think of it." the old man had seated himself upon a bench: he leant with his elbows on the table, and his wrinkled forehead rested in his giant hands. "well, i shall follow your advice, and accept your offer with respect and thanks, my illustrious young sir," said he at last, with decision, as he arose. "it is not for the sake of this gray head: were it doomed to fall beneath the axe, i should not take flight, in my old days, to escape the blow. but the maiden must be saved: she is the apple of my eye and my soul's joy--she is good and innocent. she does not yet understand her strange dreams. god grant they may never be fulfilled! she must be saved; and you are right--time presses. you have also pointed my way to peace, sir drost, and i will follow it. i shall bid good night to my worldly calling, and, in your hunting-lodge, reconcile myself to my god and judge as best i can." with these words, he shook the knight's hand fervently, and went out, to make the necessary preparations for his departure. the drost hastily drew forth the sheet of parchment that he had been reading, tore off a portion on which there was no writing, and, with a silver style which he carried about him, wrote upon it a few words to his warden at harrestrup-gaard, near viborg. scarcely had he finished the brief epistle, before long-withstood weariness overpowered him. the style fell from his hand; his long, dark-haired eyelids closed in spite of him; and he leant back on the bench, until he rested against the wall. seated in this manner, in a few minutes he was fast asleep, and was busied, apparently, in his dreams, with some dear and familiar object. the soft gleam of the nearly-expiring light fell on his youthful but strong and almost stern countenance, which now, however, was lit up with a kindly smile; while, in his right hand, he held a rosary of rubies, which he wore concealed about his neck, and to which was attached a solitary amber jewel, which had seemingly belonged to a lady's necklace. his left hand still rested firmly, and with a half-conscious carefulness, upon the parchment that lay open before him on the table. he was still securely slumbering in this position, when the door was gently opened, and a face peered in, which, though half concealed beneath a fisherman's shaggy cap, yet, with its thin, sandy beard and crafty features, betrayed the chamberlain rané. he was dressed entirely like a fisherman. he allowed the door to stand ajar, and, gliding noiselessly into the apartment, advanced on tiptoe to the table, where the knight's left hand still rested on the documents. after a scrutinising glance at the sleeper, his small gray eyes rested with curiosity upon the letter. he paused, and was about to slip it away; but the knight just then making a motion with his right hand, the artful spy hastily stepped back. he again approached carefully, looked upon the letter with strained attention, and turned pale when he saw his own name among a long list of others, in the open document, headed "conspirators." he groped with one hand for a dagger, whose bright silver hilt projected from his breast-pocket; but appeared suddenly to restrain himself, as his eye fell upon the small slip addressed to the warden of harrestrup. he seemed surprised on reading it, and, with a smile of triumph, went out as gently and cautiously as he had entered. shortly after, drost peter awoke, completely refreshed by his short slumber, and heard, in the apartment, loud noise and laughter, the jingling of bells, and the tread of iron-heeled boots with clattering spurs. he opened his eyes, and beheld a strong, heavy, and somewhat corpulent personage, whose round, jovial countenance, and strong brown beard, bespoke him to be in the prime of life. with a pair of large gold spurs on his heels, he trod the paved apartment firmly, and, casting his mantle aside with a gentle motion of his arm, exposed a knight's magnificent dress, and a pair of glittering gold chains. he paced the apartment backwards and forwards, in lively conversation with two less elegantly attired knights, and a lanky, awkwardly-built personage, whose short jingling jacket, and peaked cap with a long fox's tail behind, denoted his rank as a jester. surprised, the young drost seized the parchment document, which still lay open before him, and placed it hastily in his bosom. thereupon he arose, and saluted the strangers with polite apologies that he had not sooner taken notice of them. "do i see aright?" he said: "is it the highborn count gerhard of holstein i have the honour to salute?" "quite right, sir knight," answered the bluff, merry gentleman; "and, if i am not mistaken, you were my fortunate rival at the swedish coronation tourney, last year--sir peter hessel. is it not so? and now, quite a drost, i hear?" the knight gave an affirmative, by modestly bowing. "you here behold a fortunate youth, my lords," continued count gerhard, turning to his companions: "this young gentleman can already boast of standing in higher favour at the danish court than myself and some princely vassals of the blood. he wears the fair queen agnes' colours, and, as you perceive, watches over kingdom and country, like a true drost." the strange knights smiled, and the lanky jester made up a droll face, while he set his bells a-jingling, and bowed before the drost until his nose almost touched the ground, the fox's tail flying over his cap, and striking the knight on the hand. drost peter cast a careless look at the buffoon, and, with quiet self-possession, turned towards the princely lord. "the brave and wise count gerhard does not envy me the colours i wear," he began; "and, if you think i am not worthy of them, sir count, it is still open to you to settle the dispute; but only with sword and lance, and not with jeers and empty jinglings, or flaps from the fox-tail of your jester. weariness, after unusual exertions, surprised me here for a moment. if, on this account, you think i am not so vigilant a servant of the king and country as beseems a drost, i nevertheless feel confident that i can vie in vigilance with you, or any gentleman of princely blood who calls himself a friend of the royal house of denmark." "you understand a jest, then, fair drost hessel?" answered the count, with a good-natured smile. "it was far from my wish to offend such a man as you. only, you must not be angry with me, that, with a sincere heart, i hate your good fortune with a certain lady, and envy your last prize at the tourney. i accept with pleasure your invitation to break a lance with you upon occasion, and will most heartily settle your disputed rank as the fairest lady's knight: not at all in enmity, sir drost, but in all friendliness, cheerfully and pleasantly, as it becomes brave and honourable knights to contend. do not be offended with my long-legged old man there," he continued, pointing to the jester: "he has, at present, a privilege with me and my friends, and intended nothing amiss. with every respect for honour, i do not think it sits so loosely on either me or others, that a privileged fool can shake it off with a fox's tail. you might even stand in need of such a fellow. in these very serious times, it is certainly highly necessary that one should keep a fool to jest for him, when he can no longer jest himself. it is, besides, both comely and christian-like, i think, to remind us that we are all as fools before our lord. now peace and good understanding." as he concluded, he held forth his hand in a friendly manner, and the young knight accepted this token of reconciliation with joy. he now learned that count gerhard had just come over the belt with his followers, on his way to nyborg, to participate in the festivities at the dane-court about to be held there. as drost peter was proceeding in the same direction, they soon agreed to travel in each other's company, and to start as soon as the count's followers had refreshed themselves. while the newly-arrived guests sat merrily down to the table, which was still abundantly furnished with what they required, drost peter left the apartment. he proceeded to the kitchen, where he found henner friser and his granddaughter, prepared for their journey; and, having given the old man his brief dispatch to the warden of harrestrup, he hastened their flight. old henner had now his weapons and armour brought him, and quietly and thoughtfully equipped himself. with the long spear in his hand, the frisian hempen mail on his breast, and the old rusty steel bow in a leather thong upon his back, he then took the young knight by the hand, to bid him adieu, and pressed it fervently, without saying a word. with tears in her dark eyes, the little aasé seized the drost's hand, and pressed it to her lips, unable to say more than, "thanks, sir knight. farewell!" he patted her kindly on the cheek, and now first perceived the maiden's singular beauty, and that blending of dignity and childlike simplicity, which caused her countenance to beam with so much intelligence. claus skirmen, also, seemed to expect a tender parting with aasé. he had assumed a fearless air, not to appear moved, or to betray what was secretly passing in his heart; but she drove him, with her mantle, playfully towards his master, while she dried her eyes, and skipped out of the kitchen. before sunrise, drost peter, with count gerhard and his followers, rode merrily away through the streets of middelfert. claus skirmen followed on his norback, along with the count's most grave jester. the bold young squire looked once more in the direction of the quay. there stood the armourer troels, among a number of burghers and porpoise-hunters, all silently and earnestly regarding a little skiff, which was making way, with a favourable wind, across the belt, and from which henner friser and his granddaughter still beckoned them a friendly farewell. it was a beautiful spring morning. a light mist hovered upon the meadows. bright dew-pearls trembled glitteringly in the dawn, on the slender cobwebs, amidst the newly-sprung bushes by the road-side. the knights had arrived at a height just beyond middelfert. the sun now arose directly before them, enlivening the magnificent landscape, while a thousand larks poured forth their lively songs overhead. as the travellers rode leisurely along, the better to enjoy the charming scene, a tall, lanky horseman galloped swiftly past them: he was dressed as a fisherman, with a large hairy cap drawn over his eyes. the knights had not taken much notice of him; but claus skirmen rode hastily up to his master. "that was chamberlain rané, sir drost!" he said, eagerly: "his sharp fox's nose stuck out beneath his cap. shall i after him?" "it is not requisite," answered drost peter, knitting his brows. "if he travels this way, we shall meet him, time enough, at nyborg." "but, should _he_ speak first with the king, sir, you know well how it will go." "that i know very well," answered the drost: "let him ride on." the young squire was silent, and discreetly returned to his former station, behind his master and his distinguished companions. "a magnificent country!" exclaimed count gerhard, surveying, with delight, the shining, fragrant meadows, which, gilded by the morning sun, lay beautifully extended before his happy, cheerful eyes. "truly so," answered drost peter, with a melancholy seriousness. "were the people as happy as the land is fair and pleasant to behold, denmark were still a terrestrial paradise. but we have come into the world a few generations too late, noble count. it was quite other times to those who lived in the youthful days of waldemar seier, or in the days of his exalted father." "not only is the land the same, sir drost," said the count, "but the people, at bottom, are also the same. let only a great waldemar once more arise among you, and you will have the renowned old days again. the glory you now deplore made many eyes overflow, in the time of my brave ancestors; and we counts of holstein have no great reason to desire a renewal of their splendour. yet i were but an indifferent knight, if i did not admire these glorious times; and i do not blame any dane who regrets them. but what say you of our young prince erik--the little king, as we may already call him? i know he has you for his instructor in the art of arms, and he ought to be half a knight already." "on him now repose my hopes, and those of every danish heart," replied the drost; "and, if it please god, we shall not be ashamed of it. allow time for the bud to expand, and i promise you, at least, that none in the land shall do a cowardly or unrighteous deed with impunity: and that is much. denmark, to be happy, requires at all times a great man upon the throne. the glorious days that it would be imperishable honour to win, i do not expect to be brought about in our times. a hundred years hence, and perhaps no one will remember the names we now hear most frequently at the court of denmark; but the pillars that support a tottering throne stand not there in vain, though they may be hidden beneath its ruins, and forgotten." "whom do you reckon among the pillars, then, sir drost, besides yourself?" inquired count gerhard, in a half-jocular tone, and as if unwilling to enter too deeply into a conversation so serious, that did not comport with his habitual careless gaiety. "i regret that i cannot yet number myself among the meritorious men of the country, and deserving adherents of the royal house," replied the young drost, modestly; "but, should i live to become as old and sagacious as our brave john little, as stout and bold as david thorstenson or benedict rimaardson, and as wise as the prior of antvorskov, our learned master martin, i should hope to earn a name that, in our times, at least, no friend of denmark and the danish monarchy should forget." "in troth, four brave and able men are those," replied the count. "and yet, i have heard say that old sir john is a stern, hard-hearted taskmaster." "he is a strict and upright man, and must, therefore, in such lax and lawless times, hear of much wickedness," said the drost, zealously. "he holds by law and justice, and makes no distinction between the peasant and the prelate. but whilst he is stern and bold, he is also sagacious and prudent: he effected the reconciliation with archbishop jacob, and relieved the country from ban and interdict--he was umpire in the dispute for the swedish crown, and told king magnus some hard truths--and he was not afraid to take part against his own king when, last year, he was judge respecting the inheritance of the princesses. a more upright and able man you cannot show me in denmark." "now, indeed, i know that he is your pattern of a statesman," replied the count, with a smile; "and i have a great regard for the man. but the learned gentleman you mention, you must admit, with all his piety and wisdom, to be a great fool, nevertheless. i can readily believe that he is a great theologian and philosopher; but when he comes with his antiquities and his logicorum, or whatever it is called, he does not concern himself about those he may be talking to, and, with his learning, almost drives laymen crazy. come hither, daddy longlegs: thou canst show us how the learned gentleman behaves himself--him we saw with the count of hennegau last year--he who had come straight from paris, and who had made the learned discovery--master morten mogesen." "magister martinus de dacia, surnamed magni filius, which signifies 'son of the great,'" said the half-learned jester, pedantically. "no learned man would condescend to call himself master morten mogesen, after having once passed to the other side of the isthmus." here he suddenly assumed the grave demeanour of a schoolman, drew himself up, and spoke in a kind of mysterious whisper. "capital! there we have the man exactly!" exclaimed the count, laughing. maintaining the same posture, the jester began a discourse, full of logical terms, on the importance of adequately understanding the martinian modi significandi in logica.[ ] the complete caricature of the famous master martin's entire mode and manner, as well as of his voice and countenance, amused count gerhard exceedingly: he held his sides, and laughed until tears ran from his eyes. the two young knights belonging to his train also laughed immoderately; and drost peter smiled in spite of himself, notwithstanding that the jest highly displeased and vexed him. "i must confess, sir count," he said, gravely, as soon as the general laughter permitted him to speak, "your jester perfectly understands how to make sensible people ridiculous, by imitating and exaggerating their personal defects and foibles, excluding, however, whatever is worthy and honourable in their character, which grimacing cannot counterfeit. in my young days, this was called making faces at people, and, as a malicious kind of waggery, was rewarded with a switch and a sound drubbing. the famous master martin is my preceptor and confessor; and those who, after this explanation, continue to jeer or find fault with him, were it even yourself, illustrious count, shall have to do with me, as long as i can move an arm or raise my knightly sword." "now, you must permit me to indulge my humour at your own expense, sir drost," replied the count, still laughing. "are people in denmark such barbarians, that they have neither sense to enjoy the frank mimic art themselves, nor allow others to be amused with it? what signify to me your learned confessor's virtues, when i require only his follies to promote my health and exercise my lungs in an innocent, good-natured manner? if, indeed, we must fall out about that, sir knight, at the proper time and place it will afford me an excellent joke; but as i never fight for trifles in the morning, or upon an empty stomach, we can, if it please you, defer it until we have had dinner at odense. in the meanwhile, let me assure you that i have a great esteem for your learned master martin, and heartily believe him to be a worthy and distinguished man." "whom i honour and esteem, i can never make a jest of," replied drost peter, zealously. "it may, perhaps, be the fashion in other countries; but, praise to god, we danes do not yet understand it." "that is, indeed, a fault with all of you," replied the count; "and therefore you are often, with injustice, regarded as simple-minded, although, in fact, it is only the want of a gay, light humour. you are, in consequence, as much one-sided in your praise as in your blame. human nature is not yet perfect. it promotes truth, and nourishes humility, when one has an eye for the defective as well as for the excellent, as they lie in heaps in this fair, comical world. i know no one who has not his folly and his ridiculous side: with the most distinguished men, this is the more perceptible; and my best friends may perceive that i laugh at what is ridiculous in them, while i respect their virtues as they deserve. the same freedom i allow to every one who knows me; and, should you ever feel disposed to laugh at my expense, you will see that it does not annoy me. come, daddy longlegs, show this gentleman how i behave myself when seriousness turns me crazy." the jester bowed upon his horse in a respectful manner, and then assumed a comical expression of great good humour, which speedily passed from laughter to the deepest earnestness, and, from that, to the most uncontrollable fury. to carry out this farce in a fitting manner, he drew his wooden sword, and attacked the company, without distinction, like a madman. "hold, hold! enough, longlegs! you will drive our horses wild, and that will be confoundedly bad," shouted the count, reining in his steed with difficulty, while he laughed, and rubbed his left arm, upon which the jester had dealt him a blow. "if this be the way in which people divert themselves at your court, sir count, i have not more to complain of than yourself," said drost peter, laughing; "but still, you have not convinced me of the propriety of your singular amusement." jesting in this friendly manner, they continued their journey to odense, where count gerhard and the knights were to dine. when they recommenced their journey towards nyborg, in the afternoon, their little difference appeared to be altogether forgotten. the count and drost peter had now become such good friends, that they had sent their followers in advance, to be able to discourse together more freely, and without interruption. their conversation was of the dane-court, which was to be held on the following day at nyborg, and respecting the unhappy dispute with duke waldemar, who had laid claim to the entire kingdom, and insisted upon his heirship to alsen and many of the crown possessions. "for my part, they may decide the matter to-morrow as they please," said count gerhard, with apparent indifference; "but, if you would know my opinion, sir drost, i must honestly confess that i consider the young duke to be in the right, so long as he only demands his ancestorial fief intact, and does not aim at higher objects. the son can never forget what his father, the unfortunate duke erik, was obliged to undergo. his right of succession to the dukedom was unquestionable; but he was feasted with empty promises, until, at length, he became maddened, and appealed to the umpire which every prince and knight carries by his side. i do not blame him for that; but, that he became a pious hang-the-head when that miscarried, and died of vexation in a cloister, was stupid. the manner in which they have since treated the son, you cannot defend; for it is unnecessary. had you been well advised in time, it would never have happened." "but you must, nevertheless, confess that it was in the highest degree unjust, and a matchless piece of foolhardiness," interrupted drost peter, warmly. "i know what you would say," continued the count; "but the one injustice has now taken the other by the tail. duke waldemar, as the king's ward by compulsion, might have grown old and gray before he could obtain a foot of land of his ancestor's fief, had he not, while a youth, taken the bull by the horns, and manfully insisted upon his rights. he managed the matter bravely, and it might now be amicably settled. but why do they continue, so meanly and pitifully, to irritate him, and withhold the beggarly islets from him? hence the entire misfortune. but for this injustice, he would scarcely have opened his mouth so wide, and threatened to swallow the whole of denmark. now he is of age, and has become too strong for you: he is haughty and unmanageable, and you must beware how you hold out the rod to him. these are troublous times, sir drost. the discontent of the nobles happens opportunely for the duke. but do not let us any longer think on these perplexing matters. i do not mix myself up in state affairs, so long as i am left in peace. i am going, as i said, to the dane-court, to amuse myself, and to see the charming queen agnes; and that, you must confess, is a fair and legitimate object for my journey." at the last turn which the count gave to the conversation, drost peter blushed, and appeared to hesitate. "the homage you would pay our noble queen, sir count," he began, gravely, "she most truly deserves, and no one can blame you that you do not yield in courtesy to any of our danish chivalry; but, that you travel to the danish court for that purpose alone, i cannot credit. if you intend to support duke waldemar's audacious demands, consider it well. the independence of the crown and kingdom is at stake. if they do not allow the matter to be legally settled by umpires, and if both sides are not contented with such an arrangement, a sanguinary civil war is to be apprehended." "as i have already told you, sir drost, i do not in any way mix myself up in these state affairs. is it certain, then, that the whole court, with the fair and lovely queen, is at nyborg?" "that, at least, was the determination," replied drost peter, coldly, feeling much annoyed by the count's frankness, which he appeared to consider as injurious to the queen's person and the royal house. "i think it singular, sir count," he continued, with suppressed indignation, "that you should express so unreservedly what every discreet knight and admirer of beauty is wont only to display in his colours or on his shield; especially in a case like this, where knightly homage has its narrow and prescribed limits. i cannot reconcile this extreme admiration for the fair with your affliction as a widower." "i have, in general, a quiet and contented mind, sir drost," replied the count, carelessly; "and that accounts for it, you may be assured. i contract my narrow world more than is consistent with my health and happiness. what pleases or displeases me i can make no secret of, least of all before friends; and if you find any singularity or amusement in that, you are welcome. i am glad when i can reconcile my pleasures with those of others." "but this candour and amusement of your's, sir count, i consider as offensive to the exalted lady whose colours i bear with profound respect, as well as to my master and king himself; and you must excuse me, if i venture to disturb your calm and happy humour." "so, so!" interrupted the count, suddenly changing his air of indifference for one of the utmost sternness. "is that the case? now i know what i have to expect, and shall be at your service immediately, as i promised you in the morning. but, first, i will make my candour intelligible, sir drost. if you come in harness against me, for my undisguised attachment to your exalted mistress, i shall only see established the truth of certain unintelligible rumours, which you are probably as well acquainted with as i am." "rumours?" rejoined the young drost, becoming fiery red: "if they are rumours that sully my own honour, or that of a more exalted personage, they are liars and slanderers who utter them, and shameless niddings who credit them." "what respects the exalted lady who suffers most from these rumours," returned the count, with a look of fire, "i am far from believing. but, as regards you, my young high-flying gentleman, i have reason now to believe that the height to which fortune has carried you has made you somewhat giddy, and that the eagle on your crest spreads his wings so wide that they stand in need of clipping." drost peter became pale with indignation, and grasped his sword. "i might choose other means to bring you back to reflection, and to awake you from a mad and perilous dream," continued the enraged count: "you walk, with closed eyes, upon a precipice. i need only mention your name, at the proper time and place, to see you fall headlong; but i dream, in a manner, the same dream myself. i readily admit that, in me, it is a folly, leading only to a bedlam: but that is my affair. my madness is still, at least, disinterested; and i do not use it as a degrading means of soaring aloft by a woman's favour. i have not yet, like you, brought our noble mistress into evil repute, by improper familiarities before the eyes of others. as her true knight and defender, i intend now to chastise your insolence. my sword is drawn, sir drost--defend yourself!" like two flashing beams, the swords of both knights descended and met. they fought long, with the greatest ardour, but with about equal skill, without either being able to inflict on the other any considerable wound. after a time, drost peter recovered his self-possession, and his blows did not fall so fast, but were better directed. on the other hand, count gerhard's arm and shoulder bled; and, becoming furious, he struck so wildly about him, in all directions, that the most skilful swordsman could not reckon on parrying all his blows. drost peter was already bleeding from several wounds, and his strength began to fail him; but now his infuriated antagonist, meaning to inflict a mortal wound in his neck, laid himself entirely open. the wounded knight dexterously availed himself of this critical moment, and suddenly disarmed the count, at the same time wounding him deeply in the breast, when gerhard fell back on his horse, and the sword dropped from his hand. scarcely had the decisive stroke been given, ere drost peter, springing from his horse, came to his antagonist's assistance; but, before he could reach him, the count sank, fainting, from the saddle. like a practised chirurgeon, drost peter immediately sought for the wound, and found it deep, but not mortal. he took the necessary bandages, and a healing salve, which he usually carried at his saddle-bow, and, when the count again opened his eyes, he found himself bound up most carefully. his rage had disappeared, and his countenance again assumed its gay good humour. "it was, in truth, a warm tussle, that had not much fun in it," he said. "i have besmeared you vilely, drost. your wounds bleed freely, and yet you have bound mine first. that is more than i could have expected from a rival. suffer me now to do you a similar service: or can you do it yourself? i am a bad hand at it." he would have risen, but fell back with faintness. "your wound is tolerably deep, but not dangerous, noble count," said drost peter: "when you have somewhat recovered your strength, i shall assist you to your saddle. i think, indeed, we may reach nyborg, if we travel gently. you have so hacked and hewed me, right and left, contrary to all rule, that i shall have enough to do to patch all the slits. but they are nothing to signify. the chink in the neck incommodes me the most: i believe you had a special wish to behead me." "naturally enough," replied the count; "unless, indeed, the head had not supplanted me with the fair lady, in whose honour we shall now present ourselves, like live hashed-meat, at the dane-court. i have not, however, cut you so deep in the neck, but that your head can sit steadily. and, now that i think of it, it was but an absurd, confounded rumour we quarrelled about. you have hewed me altogether so bravely, that i cannot longer believe any ill of you." drost peter had, in the meantime, bound a linen cloth about his bleeding neck, and, for this purpose, had been obliged to unloose the ruby rosary to which the amber bead was attached. with a quiet smile, he held out the trinket to his wounded antagonist. "in my own justification, i shall inform you, excellent count gerhard, that this pearl is a love-token from my future wife. i have not seen her, indeed, since she played with dolls, and i myself rode a cock-horse; but still she is my destined bride: i promised this, with childish thoughtlessness, to my dying father. she now only presents herself to my mind as an innocent, angelic child--a half-forgotten vision. perhaps i shall not be able to love her when i again see her. nevertheless, to none other shall i give my hand; and, by my knightly honour, i am not conscious of any faithlessness to her. what i feel towards our common exalted mistress is only admiration and chivalrous respect, which neither love nor hate shall deprive me of." "here is my hand!" exclaimed count gerhard, heartily. "we two are trusty friends in life and in death. he who, from this day forward, says an evil word of drost peter hessel, shall have his nose and ears hacked off by me, as sure as my name is count gerhard." drost peter heartily reciprocated his warm grasp, and assisted him upon his horse. he then sprang quickly into his own saddle, and, with friendly interchange of confidence, the wounded knights leisurely continued their journey. it was late in the evening as they approached nyborg. they were riding northward, between helletoft and sprotoft, where the road leads to the town, which, however, could not yet be seen, on account of the great wood of oak and beech which concealed it from the land side. it was a fine, clear, spring evening. the waning moon had just risen, and lighted up the knotted oaks, with their still naked branches; while the newly-blossomed beeches formed, as it were, over the travellers, the arches of a peaceful temple. the warm combat and its consequences, as well as the friendly relations that had since been established between the knights, rendered them thoughtful, and they now rode in silence through the wood, busied, seemingly, with their own reflections, while, from the adjacent copse, the thrilling notes of the nightingale fell upon their ears. "but how far are we now from the town? i thought we had been in its vicinity," said count gerhard, at length, a little impatiently, under the smarting of his wound. "another time, perhaps, you may put a better edge upon your sword, drost peter: it will tear the flesh less, and go a little deeper. i cannot bear to be scratched to death." "had it gone a finger's-breadth deeper, noble count, we had not heard the nightingales together this evening," replied drost peter. "but, god and our lady be praised! there is no danger, and the wound will not trouble you long, if you be only a little careful. i know my salve: it is from henrik harpestræng's prescription." "may your words prove true," returned the count. "he certainly spread the plaster for waldemar seier's eye. but how shall i manage in this plight?" he continued, somewhat annoyed: "i shall not be able to show myself at the palace in this figure, like a ruffled cock, and i am not much acquainted with the town. is there an ordinary inn?" "of inns there is no lack, noble sir. since the dane-court has been held here so frequently, the little town has been wonderfully extended. but, since you cannot go wounded to the palace, to frighten all the queen's fair maids, accept of a lodging and attendance with me." "with you, drost bachelor? when, then, did you turn citizen, and become a nyborg housekeeper?" "last year, if you will, though on a small scale. in my position, you know, i have scarcely a home anywhere. my ancestral seat, at harrestrup, i rare see once a year. when the court is at rypen, i reside with the prince in the palace; but that is seldom long. when here, i lodge alone. the palace can scarcely accommodate the numerous princely lords who here assemble for the dane-court. i have, therefore, followed the example of the last drost, and, like knight john, built for myself a good stone house, by the nordre-dam. there, i am near the court and palace, in the midst of the counsellors and king's tenants, and yet my own master." "ay, that is well. i am your guest, then, without farther ceremony. and since, after the good old fashion, you understand how to heal as well as how to break the skin, it could not have happened better." "it is certainly the last time this hand shall perform such a piece of surgery on you," replied drost peter, holding out a friendly hand to his companion. "meantime, you must accept of a bachelor's accommodation. i am not much versed in housekeeping; but my old foster-mother, dorothy, is well skilled in it. i intended, previously, to be your host to-night, and my squire has taken care to provide an entertainment." "a goblet of potent wine," said the count, "is needful after such a bloodletting." "that is not exactly in accordance with old master henrik's receipt-book; but, still, with your strong constitution, i think you may venture it." "a fig for your receipt-book and old master henrik! he was only a clerk: what should he understand of the constitution of a count of holstein? wine i can bear, were i even lying in extreme unction, like my blessed father--god rest his soul! i shall not die, as long as i can swallow a good draught of wine, nor shall a heart-sore of any kind ever overcome me. there are not, indeed, many people who get fat upon unfortunate love," he added, with a light sigh; "but still, with wine and a jester, one may succeed. i may not be able to boast of my success in love, yet, as you may perceive, i am in good condition." "you still sorrow, then, over the death of your young wife," said drost peter, sympathisingly; "that i could well see." "sorrow! who dares to say that i sorrow?" interrupted the count. "when any one grieves at my court, i give my fool permission to bang him with cats'-tails. now, since you are my trusty friend," he continued, "i shall tell you how matters stand with me. had i seen the danish queen before last year, i had still been a bachelor perhaps, not a widower--and i had never wooed a swedish princess. it is accursed state policy that makes almost every prince a fool; but i had the reward i merited. the princess found the holstein count too poor to live with, and so she died; and all the honour i have gained is that of being son-in-law to a fool of an ex-king, whom any danish knight could tear into shreds, and who is now running about from land to land, like a madman, along with a bastard woman." for some time they rode along in silence. "no one can have great respect for your unfortunate father-in-law," said drost peter, thoughtfully, as he dwelt, in imagination, on the swedish king waldemar's dethronement. "he did no honour to his great name, it is true; but, still, he was king of sweden, by law and right. to me, it is a sad thought, that the unfortunate example has been set to other nations, of a crowned and anointed king being so overthrown. it was one of our proud stig andersen's doings; and therein he exceeded the king's mandate and authority. the swedish people will not better themselves by the bargain: for a weak and sensual, but a good-natured, and, at times, even a devout king, they have taken a strong and prudent, but a fierce and sanguinary tyrant. for the despised log, they have taken a hydra. king magnus has now taught them, with his headsman's axe, that no swedish knight carries his head so high, that he may not strike it off." "an able king is the swedish magnus--that you must, nevertheless, admit," replied the count. "i do not boast of him because he is my brother-in-law; but this i know, that he is not called magnus, or ladislaus, in vain. if he does, at times, strike off the heads of some of the haughty great ones, still the small have reason to extol him: he has put locks upon their doors in earnest, and suffers not petty tyrants to rule where he sways the sceptre." "there you are right, count gerhard. he thinks that one great tyrant is quite enough for sweden, and, with your and queen hedwig's permission, that he himself should be the man. matters are not yet come to this extremity in denmark, however bad they may be; but if stig andersen and his friends were at liberty to dethrone and set up kings at their pleasure, you would soon see in what a sea of blood we should swim." with such conversation, they arrived at the town-gate, where they were stopped by an armed burgher, who, in the governor's name, sternly, demanded, who they were, and whither they were going. as soon as drost peter had announced his own name and that of count gerhard of holstein, the stern officer made a profound bow, but still reminded the distinguished travellers of the seventh article in the civic law of nyborg. "good," replied the drost: "it is right to remind us thereof." and they rode on without hindrance. "they must be very strict here," said the count, "when the drost himself must be reminded of the law. what have their tiresome bye-laws to do with us?" "it was in his orders," answered drost peter. "no stranger must here carry his weapon farther than to his inn; and every traveller must be apprised of this. the presence of the king, and of the numerous strangers, render such a precaution necessary. of what use are strict laws, unless they are enforced? the man did not know me; but he knew that i do not suffer myself to be made an exception in these matters." "the plague! are we prisoners of war here, in the midst of peace? this is ridiculous!" exclaimed the count. "is the monstrous riben bye-law in force here? god preserve us from the ribe-ret! as we say in kiel." "let us not talk too loud about this, noble count," replied drost peter, riding closer up to him, while he continued, in a subdued tone: "it is truly a great misfortune, when the law itself renders its transgression necessary. what has made the ribe-ret to be so decried there, has here, in part, fallen into disuse. in some points, however, the bye-laws here are too severe, and almost cruel. if it please god, in due time it shall be otherwise." they now rode past the old lady kirk, which, with its lofty spire, stood in a green space, called helletoft, where also stood several separate buildings, in the same gothic style as the church, with pointed gables and small round windows. "who lives here?" inquired the count: "it looks as still and dreary as a convent." "here abide the clerks and vergers of our lady's kirk," answered drost peter. "if you yearn after life and merriment, they will not be wanting here, when we pass to the palace. there are twice as many people in the town now as there are at other times, and, on such occasions, the mead and strong ale are not stinted. fighting and disorder follow as a consequence; but these are, perhaps, looked after with greater vigilance, and punished with more severity, than is requisite. those armed fellows you see there are the governor's people: they, too, will probably stop us." it happened as drost peter had surmised: the travellers found their horses seized by six armed burghers, who demanded whether they did not know the bye-law, that they rode armed. upon the drost's explanation, that they had just entered the town, and were riding to their dwelling, they were allowed to proceed; followed, however, by three of the strict officials, to watch their motions. "here the king should be secure enough," whispered the count, much annoyed. "the fellows look upon us as if they suspected a traitor in every stranger." "unfortunately, there is reason for it, noble count; but here we are accustomed to it. it disturbs no burgher's merriment. hear you, now, how they are singing there, by the old stone house with the pointed gable? it is the burgher-watch of the town-hall. now they are drinking the king's health." "there are not a few. has nyborg so many burghers?" "these are only a third part of them. the rest are on guard at the palace. the king has not more devoted subjects. he has also done much for the town, and specially favours it. were he not in greater security here than elsewhere, the dane-court would be removed to some other town, and then there would be an end to nyborg's prosperity." they now rode past the palace. it was a strong building, of considerable extent, with four wings, built of free-stone and burnt bricks, and protected by a massive wall, a deep moat, and four lofty turrets. from the small round windows streamed the light of numerous torches, and the music of flutes and violins was audible. a promiscuous crowd was in motion outside the walls, but without much noise, and with an order and gentleness amounting almost to anxiety, whilst the armed officials went to and fro, frequently exhorting them to quietness. "what is to be seen here?" inquired the count. "over the wall there may be seen the dancing in the knights' saloon," replied drost peter. count gerhard became attentive: he observed a tall, majestic female figure flit past the middle window, and he stopped his horse. "the queen!--see, the queen!" he heard the curious spectators whisper to one another. "it is the duke she is dancing with," said one. "nay, that it is not: it is the handsome young drost hessel. look, how proud he dances! lofty thoughts he has, you may trow," exclaimed another. "come, noble count," said drost peter, hastily, "let us not get into the crowd, with our unruly horses. we are now close to my dwelling." they rode on a little way, and stopped at a dark-looking house, where, on the high stone steps, stood a squire, bearing a torch. "you are arrived at last, sir," cried claus skirmen, springing towards him with the torch. "has any mischance befallen you? i ventured not to disobey your commands by leaving the house myself; but i have sent all the servants out in search of you." "we have had a little encounter with a pair of hasty young knights on our way," said drost peter, "and my noble guest has been somewhat severely wounded. assist him carefully from his horse. is all in order?" "as you have commanded, sir. but are you not also wounded? shall i bring a surgeon?" "that is unnecessary, so long as you and i are here. we would have no talk about the matter. attend only to the count." not without wincing and sundry oaths did the wounded count gerhard dismount from his horse, and ascend the high stone steps, where his two knights and the lanky jester received him with sympathising attentions. "a truce with condolences," said the count. "i am both bound and salved. let me only get to table, and have something to live on." claus skirmen went hastily forwards, and conducted the count, through an ante-room, into a spacious vaulted apartment, where stood a covered table, with tall wax-lights, and well garnished with provisions and bright silver wine-flagons. count gerhard regarded these preparations with satisfaction, and immediately threw himself into a chair; and, the better to seat himself, he released his sword from its belt. as he held it in his hand, he recollected the intimation he had received at the city-gate. "'sdeath!" he said, "if we must behave as you say, sir drost, we must now, like prisoners of war, hand you over our weapons, since you are host." "now, indeed," replied drost peter, "it is well you recollected it; for, truth to say, i had forgotten it; and, if i had not, i should have been forced to request you to do so." "but if now i should not obey the mandate," inquired the count, "what are the consequences?" "if you were ignorant of the law, and by a solemn oath could pledge yourself to that effect, the penalty is only a mark-penny to the governor, and one to the town. the same penalty is inflicted on the housekeeper who does not inform his guest of the law." "but, now that i know this stupid ordinance, and yet will not allow myself to be disarmed, what great misfortune follows?" "without being displeased, allow me to answer you in the words of the law itself, count gerhard. 'if the guest is reminded, and wears his weapon nevertheless,' it says, 'then, with the same spear, sword, or knife, shall he be run through.'" "oh, what a mischance! not through the heart or gizzard?" "through the hand, noble count. there hangs the table of the law: you can read it yourself." "the devil take such stupidities! there lies my sword. you do the same, gentlemen." with these words count gerhard cast his sword into a corner. his knights followed his example. drost peter took his own sword, and placed it by the side of the others. "i must submit to the same law," he said, with a courteous bow; "and i hope, my honoured guests, that you will not think ill of me, on account of its strictness here. be seated, gentlemen, and let us be merry." this invitation to merriment was supported by the jester, who had already seated himself, and now arose with a look of the most grave importance. he approached drost peter with solemn step, and, with a deep bow, handed him his wooden sword. "take care of that, honoured sir host," he said: "it is the famous sword tyrfing, which cannot be unsheathed without shedding blood. look to it, that it does no mischief in this excellent city." drost peter handed him his sword back again, as a mark of honour, at which they all laughed heartily, and took their places in the heavy, high-backed oaken chairs. the articles of silver, and the costly table appointments, testified that they were in the house of a person of opulence. of male attendants, and supple pages, there was no lack; and yet it appeared extraordinary, that the polished floor was not swept, and that the dust lay thick on the backs of the chairs, and upon the window-sills. "where is old dorothy?" asked drost peter of the squire, whilst count gerhard and the strangers were engaged with the viands. "she was wont to keep the house as bright as a shield." "alas, that is true, sir," answered skirmen; "but poor dorothy brushbroom has gone quite crazy. she took a little bit of lead from a window of our lady's kirk, to cure a girl who was bewitched. she has been thrown into the thieves' hole, and, it is said, will be sentenced to-morrow." "god pity her!" exclaimed drost peter, warmly, rising from the table. "the unfortunate creature!" "what is the matter, my worthy host?" inquired count gerhard. "has anything disastrous happened in the house? with wife and child i know you are not embarrassed. what household sorrow, then, can thus trouble a bachelor?" "a greater affliction than any one trows," answered drost peter. "i have an old trusty nurse: she has loved and been with me since i was quite a child. she is a true affectionate soul, who would readily die for me. she is the best wife in the world, and has kept house for me with the greatest order and trustworthiness; but her head is filled with stories of goblins, witches, and dwarfs; and, as soon as any one is taken ill, she believes, in the simplicity of her heart, that they have seen the elfin-king, or have been bewitched by nixes, and then will she have a remedy of holy church lead, or such-like singular means. now she is taken and imprisoned for a bit of metal that cannot be worth a doit. the poor creature!" some of the gentlemen smiled, and the jester made one of his droll faces. "now, what great misfortune is there in this?" inquired count gerhard. "the bit of lead you can outweigh with a silver penny. the old soul will be released in a day or two, and, in the meantime, another may sweep your floor." "it is death to her, count gerhard, even if it had not happened in the church. you are not aware of the laws of nyborg. every man who is guilty of theft is hanged; but a woman is buried alive." "and are you all mad, then?" demanded count gerhard. "shall a woman be thus inhumanly punished? is the crime more atrocious in her than in a man? you jest, sir drost." "if you do not believe me, noble sir, read for yourself. there are the bye-laws affixed to the door-post. read but the twenty-ninth article, and you will see that, unfortunately, i am not jesting." "read it, longlegs!" cried out the count to his jester: "i have some difficulty in rising; and, truly, such confounded laws are not worth rising for." "the twenty-ninth article," commenced the jester, taking up a candle, which threw a light upon the large table of laws on the door-post. "here i have it. give ear, my masters: it is the golden word of justice, and a sufficient reason is alleged." he then began to read, in a grave judicial manner: "'_what woman soever shall be guilty of theft, and deserves to be hanged, with the stolen goods by her side, shall, for her womanly honour's sake, be buried alive_.' now, in truth, this is an honour that one takes straightways with him to eternity. it is no transient honour, my masters; and, therefore, it has been reserved for the fair and more fortunate sex." "are you, then, insane?" exclaimed the count. "what honour is there in being buried alive?" "where is your wisdom, my wellborn sir?" replied the jester: "for a woman, it is manifestly a far more honourable and becoming way of dying, than if she were to be hanged, like a man--like a male thief, on a gallows. think of the scandal it would occasion her father confessor." "it is, nevertheless, a madness," exclaimed the count. "is it out of mere strait-laced modesty that they are so cruel here? may the foul fiend take all clerks and hang-the-heads who give out such laws and regulations! are you alike scrupulous, drost peter? and will you suffer your good old nurse to be buried alive, merely that your wise king's law may not be transgressed?" "she shall--she must be saved!" exclaimed the young drost, who had hitherto stood silent and thoughtful, with his hand on the document in his breast. "excuse me, gentlemen: i must to the king." with these words, he left the room. the seriousness which this circumstance had for a moment called forth was soon dispelled by the efforts of the jester, who, with comic gravity, began a legal discourse on the stern ribe-ret, wherein he dwelt more particularly on a certain notorious and scandalous punishment, setting it forth circumstantially, and not exactly in the most becoming manner. he concluded with the well-known jutlandic joke: "thank god you are out of the way of the ribe-ret, my child; as the old woman said when she saw her son hanging on the gibbet." count gerhard laughed till his eyes ran over, and screamed with pain from the wound in his breast, which his violent laughter had caused to open. he became suddenly pale, and fell back on his chair, without consciousness. the greatest grief and trouble took the place of the previous mirthfulness. message after message was dispatched for the surgeon and physician, and all present were seriously alarmed for the count's life. he was carried to bed, and claus skirmen undertook, in his master's absence, to tighten the bandages, and stanch the bleeding with wine. half an hour passed away: the count still lay insensible, and no physician had arrived. the knights were impatient, and the lanky jester behaved like one out of his wits. he tore his hair, and accused himself of having killed his master with his accursed jokes. the door at length opened, and drost peter hurried in. he had been already advised of the critical condition of his guest, and had hastened to his aid. he found the wound properly bound up by his expert squire and pupil. by means of a burnt feather, he at length succeeded in restoring the count to a state of consciousness; and, as soon as he had opened his eyes, the drost's mind was at ease, and he declared him out of danger. for the greater satisfaction of the stranger knights, and of his afflicted, inconsolable jester, drost peter sent his squire to the palace, to bring the king's surgeon. in the meanwhile, he desired that they should all leave the apartment, and remained alone with the sick man. as soon as count gerhard had completely recovered his senses, and saw drost peter by his bed, he held forth his hand, and nodded. "it was the fault of your cursed ribe-ret," he said; "but i must not think more about it, or i shall laugh myself ill again." "this is not right: you talk too much," said the knightly leech, examining his pulse with satisfaction. "ay, but it is right. although you did not exactly dub me a knight today, you certainly did not dub me a speechless animal. but how got you on with the king and the carlin? is she to be hanged, or buried alive for her womanly honour's sake?" he was on the point of renewing his laughter, but repressed his desire on feeling the smart of his wound. "god be praised, she is saved this time!" said drost peter; "but with some difficulty: the king was not to be spoken with." "then you took her out of prison yourself? that was settling the matter in the right way." "nay, count gerhard. rather than i should have dealt so contumaciously with the laws, the unfortunate woman had been left to her fate." "what the deuce have you done, then?" "i went to the queen--" "aha! i can understand. happy knight! but why did you not allow me to crave a boon for the poor old creature? i have still a heart in my body, i know; and i should not have risen from the queen's feet, nor taken her hand from my burning lips, till the carlin had been saved, even had it been till gray in the morning." "you talk too much for your wound, noble count; and you think on matters that do not tend to calm your blood. i shall now send my liberated nurse to watch over you; and, if you must still talk enthusiastically of beauty, talk so, in god's name, only before her: and sleep well." so saying, drost peter left his merry, sick guest, and immediately afterwards a wrinkled old woman hobbled into the apartment, and sat down by the count's pillow; but he closed his eyes in vexation, and would not notice her. it was midnight, and drost peter walked restlessly up and down his chamber. he had reassured his knightly guests, and left them to repose. but the royal surgeon had not arrived, and the jester would not believe that his master was out of danger. in a closet, by the side of the count's bed-chamber, sat the grave joker, listening at the door, to be at hand at the slightest disturbance he might hear. drost peter could not think of going to sleep. he was not, indeed, alarmed for his wounded guest, but still wished to be ready, at any moment, to go to his aid, should he be called by the nurse. his thoughts, besides, were in a tumult, that forbade him to think of repose. his adventure with henner friser and little aasé, and his strong suspicion of the king's participation in the affair, disquieted him. the crafty chamberlain rané's escape, and the revenge he might, with reason, apprehend from this royal favourite, ran likewise in his thoughts. deep suspicions of a conspiracy, of which he had in vain endeavoured to apprise the king, appeared to him now, in the night's loneliness, of greater importance, the more he dwelt upon it. his strife with count gerhard, and its occasion, also caused him the greatest uneasiness. the report, so injurious to his own and the queen's honour, which he had first learnt upon this occasion, troubled him more particularly; and he examined with scrupulous care the whole of the last year of his life, from the day he first held conversation with queen agnes, at helsingborg tournament. he could not deny that her beauty and noble feminine graces, as well as her bold and resolute character, exercised a wonderful power over him. he owed, undeniably, to the queen's favour, his rapid rise from a simple knight to be drost of the kingdom; and, though it vexed him much, that he should, in consequence, be blamed as a fortunate adventurer, who had been raised to eminence through a woman's favour, these usual whisperings of envy were not of a nature to drown the voice of bold self-consciousness in his bosom. he was himself fully assured that he was perfectly competent for the high situation he filled, and that the royal house had not a more efficient servant in these dangerous times. besides, his important vocation as tutor to the young prince erik, and as his master in the use of arms, gave to his life an activity, and a degree of importance both to himself and to the kingdom, that he could not regard without a degree of pride; and he entertained a confident expectation that, indirectly, the whole fate of a coming generation, and of denmark, was in his hands. he stood on a lofty but dangerous eminence, near a tottering throne, and must take heed that he did not become giddy and fall. it was only necessary for some malicious foe to whisper in the king's ear what rumour said concerning the drost and queen agnes, to see him carried, within four and twenty hours, a prisoner for life, to the dungeons of sjöberg, or, indeed, without law or trial, to the rack and wheel. while these and similar distracting thoughts occupied his mind, a loud knocking was heard at the entrance of the apartment. he started involuntarily, but recovered himself, and opened the door. astonished, he beheld his young squire, claus skirmen, standing, pale and breathless, on the threshold, with a parchment roll and two swords in his hands. "what is this? what want you so late with me?" demanded the drost, hastily. "you are pale: has anything happened amiss? say, youth, what is it?" "read, sir--read, and take your sword!" replied the squire, handing him the parchment and one of the swords. he hastily seized both, and, going to the light, he turned pale on recognising the gothic characters, and the king's well-known seal and signature. "deposed!" he said; "and not only so--condemned to secret imprisonment, without law or justice; and this to be carried into execution before the dane-court commences! how came this unfortunate document into your hands, skirmen? it is a royal private warrant. carry it back, or it may cost thy life." "it concerns your life still more, sir. when you are safe in prison, you are to be secretly murdered. i know it all: i have heard it with my own ears." "are you mad? is it possible? rané, then--" "right, sir. chamberlain rané procured this prison-warrant; the rest was hatched by himself and his good friends. he sat triumphantly, with this letter in his hand, in a company of topers at the palace, along with duke waldemar, master grand, count jacob, and all the gay company with whom we crossed the belt. i was inquiring, by your command, for the king's own surgeon for count gerhard, when i was directed to the western wing of the palace. i had to go along the dark passage that leads to the duke's apartments. the door stood ajar, with only a tapestry hanging before it. i heard your name mentioned: i concealed myself behind the tapestry, and--" "and you listened: come, out with it! fair and honourable it was not altogether. and so you heard--" "what i have told you, sir. not, indeed, in clear and distinct words; but, by putting one with the other, i could plainly guess their meaning. you must be got rid of, it was said, and in such a way as that you could not come to light again, in case the king's humour should change. above all, you are not to receive the least intimation of this, nor to be allowed to have any conversation with the king; and tomorrow betimes, or even to-night, you are to be seized, and secretly imprisoned." "to-morrow--trinity sunday--before the court meets! so, so! but, since it is to be done so early, it shall be done this midnight. so long as i hold this scrap in my hand, time may be gained. it must now be decided who shall first speak with the king. i must ascertain where he sleeps tonight, and whether he has an ear for truth or falsehood on the morrow. but how did you obtain this hellish document? could they be so careless as to slip the halter when they had it so nearly round my neck?" "i did not quit my hiding-place till they had drank success to duke waldemar, count jacob, and stig andersen so often, that one might have pricked them all in the eye. i knew there was no danger to the wounded gentleman, but that there was to you, and i did not hesitate on remaining. rané held out the longest before he got drunk; and they paid him great respect, on account of his relationship to stig andersen's wife, and because of his cunning in retaining the king's good opinion, whilst he still remained true to his friends and kinsmen. the duke having promised to procure him the rich count mindre-alf's daughter, they already hailed him as future count of tönsberg; and thereupon he drank so deeply, that at length he was obliged to go out to obtain a breath of air, i was not seen; and, as i was alone with him in the dark passage, it was only the turn of a wrist to fling him on the ground, and take the letter from him." "then it was not me alone that this concerned? and rané makes common cause against the king? heard you aught of what should happen when i am murdered or in prison?" "ay, indeed, sir. horrible things, concerning war, and rebellion, and aid from sweden and norway. but i only gave special attention to what referred to you. and, now, do not hesitate a moment, sir. if you will take to flight, our horses shall be saddled immediately." "nay, my brave skirmen. you have never seen your master yield at tourney, nor yet at sharper fighting; much less shall you see him now give way. here, indeed, i cannot defend my life and honour with this sword; but, if god wills, i will try another, that, without being a traitor to my country, i can use against my lord and king himself. my tongue must now be my sword, and righteousness my shield; now, it concerns not me alone, but the crown and kingdom. the revolt, it seems, is to be aided by sweden and norway. now, then, i must to the king, even should the way to him lie amid serpents. but there must be quietness and vigour. nothing can be done for three hours more. i will try if i can rest the while. this is now the third night that i have watched. arouse me as soon as it is day." "but, for the sake of security, shall i not quietly assemble the servant-men, and arm them?" "that would be illegal, skirmen. if i cannot gain life and liberty with justice, with injustice i will not. it is already so, when this blade is in my hand, instead of in the city-governor's. still, this i will defend, before god and men. good night." with that tranquillity which only a pure conscience, strong determination, and utter contempt for his enemies could afford him, drost peter threw himself, in his clothes, upon his pallet. "place the light on my shield, and do not extinguish it," he said to his trusty squire. "and now god guard me! i am weary." the squire obeyed, and left the chamber. but he did not move three steps from the threshold. with his back against the door, he sat on the stone floor, that he might guard his master's slumbers until the dawn. scarcely had the cock crowed, and the first dim gleam of day entered the dark passage through a little grated window, when claus skirmen arose, and, opening the door of his master's apartment, he found him in a calm, deep sleep. the squire could scarcely venture to disturb him; but, hearing the sound of footsteps in the street, and the subdued clang of arms, he no longer delayed. "it is morning," he said, "and we are not the only persons who are awake. resolve quickly, therefore, what you intend to do." drost peter arose, and grasped his sword; but, recollecting himself, he hastily laid it down again. "nay," he said, "this i will not take with me. no one can yet have legal authority to seize me. i shall venture to awake the king: it concerns his safety, as well as mine. you shall follow me. you can testify, on oath, to what you have heard?" "that i can, sir. but, still, let us take weapons with us. who knows what we may encounter? the governor's people are difficult to deal with; and sir lavé little keeps guard at the palace with the halberdiers." "sir lavé! great god! my little ingé's father! he was in the duke's train in jutland, and i trust him not. yet, perhaps this is fortunate. he was not with the traitors, then, last night?" "no, sir; he must have arrived the day before yesterday, and entered with old sir john. last night, he mounted guard at the palace." "if the prudent john can trust him, so can i. come, let us leave the sword. the righteous god must now protect us." without farther deliberation, drost peter threw his large scarlet mantle about him, placed his feathered hat on his head, and went forth with a firm, determined step. the squire followed him in silence, after once more looking back dejectedly on the forbidden weapon. to avoid creating an alarm in the house, drost peter and his squire went down the stone steps, and closed the door after them. the street was still and deserted. the faint twilight showed them the castle, at a little distance, lying gloomily behind the strong walls, whilst all around it appeared to be still in deep repose, except a few landsknechts, who kept watch outside the locked gate, and who paced backwards and forwards, with measured steps, their halberds and lances in their hands. drost peter and his squire approached the palace with rapid strides. the young drost had not omitted to take with him a token, which, by virtue of his important office, gave him a right to demand admittance into the palace, and to the king's person, at all times. this token consisted of a plate of gold, on which was impressed the royal seal, with the two crowns. with this in his hand, the drost strode forward towards the outer sentinel, and passed the corner house in the broad king-street, when he found himself suddenly stopped, and surrounded by twelve armed burghers. a respectable man, with a large silver staff in his hand, stepped forward from among them, and said, with much seriousness, while he raised his staff: "sir drost peter hessel, the governor of the town takes you prisoner in the king's name. be pleased to follow us." "not one step," replied drost peter, "until you show me my king and master's express order for this treatment." "i can produce no written order," said the governor; "but that such an order was issued by the king yesterday, and taken from his chamberlain with cunning and violence, by your people, has been proved to me by the testimony of respectable persons. if you will not follow me willingly, you must excuse me if i employ force. men, do your duty." the armed burghers drew near to lay hands upon their prisoner. drost peter now held out, with an air of bold authority, the token, with the royal seal. "know you that?" he demanded. "by virtue of my power and authority, as drost of the kingdom, i command you to follow me immediately to the king himself. unless you can show me an order in the king's own writing, none of you shall dare to lay a hand upon me. if there should happen to be any deceit in this, and i cannot justify myself before the king, i am willing to follow you to prison, or, if the king commands it, to death. but, at present, you must follow me. i am still drost of the kingdom, and your master." the determination and authority with which he spoke confounded the burghers, who looked at one another, and then at the governor, with perplexity. the latter, also, appeared to be surprised and undecided. "according to the letter of the law, you appear to be right, sir drost," began the governor; "but what does it avail you to make all this disturbance? you know yourself, better than any one else, that you are deposed from office, and that we are obeying the king's express command. you will not aid your case much, by awaking him at the present hour, to hear your doom from his own lips. besides, it is strictly forbidden to allow you to approach the palace." "not by the king, but by his and my deadly foes," interrupted drost peter, with vehemence. "you have allowed yourself to receive an illegal message from those who seek the king's life, and you will hinder me from warning him. if you would not be condemned as traitors to the country, and abettors of treason against the royal person, you will follow me instantly." "god in mercy preserve us!" broke forth the terrified burghers, one after the other. "what shall we do, sir governor? you must answer for all. we know nothing--" "if it be true, as you say, that the king's life is in danger," said the governor, hesitatingly, "who tells us, then, that you, yourself, are not a traitor? appearances are much against you, sir drost. what want you at the palace, at this hour?" "as you have heard: that which i still shall do, and which you shall not prevent. i will to the king, by virtue of my office, to warn him against traitors. no excuses, governor. follow me instantly, or it may be as much as your life is worth." without waiting for a reply, drost peter walked rapidly towards the palace, the frightened burghers respectfully giving way before him. "very well," said the governor: "we must follow him, if he still commands it; but farther than the halberdiers he shall not go. take care, however, that he does not escape. and what have you to do with this, young man?" said he to skirmen, who anxiously followed at his master's heels. "you, perhaps, would assist your cunning master in treating us like fools? pack off! we have no orders to guard you." "he will follow me, and you shall permit him," ordered drost peter, turning round: "whom i take with me to the king, i answer for." the governor was silent, and they passed on. the palace sentinels, who knew the drost, objected not to open the gates, but did not deem themselves warranted to admit the burghers and the governor. "suffer them to enter on my responsibility--they belong to my train," said the drost. the governor and burghers were admitted, and they now appeared to entertain a better opinion of their powerful prisoner, who ruled them all in such a wonderful manner. they crossed the court-yard of the palace to the northern wing, which the king himself occupied. "if this is a mistake, sir drost," said the governor, in an under tone, as they ascended the castle-stairs, "and if i have been deceived by traitors, i entreat you, for god and our lady's sake, that you do not lead me and these brave men into trouble. we were acting as we judged best." "who gave you the right so to do, governor? you are to act according to law and justice, and not after your own or any other man's judgment. still, this i know: that you have been deceived. meantime, let one half of your people remain here on the stairs, that the king may not be disturbed with too much noise. should the chamberlain rané, or any of duke waldemar's people, approach from the opposite wing, stop them here, on my responsibility. do you understand me?" "it shall be as you command, sir drost," answered one of the burghers, who, with six men, remained behind on the staircase. the rest followed the drost and his squire to the guard-room. here, the drost ordered the other burghers to take their station outside the door, with the same instructions, which they received without objection. he then, with his squire and the town-governor, walked into the large guard-room. twelve knights, armed with long halberds, here guarded the door of the royal closet. some paced to and fro, without the least noise, on thick woollen matting; others stood in gentle conversation, here and there, about the room. no one was seated: there was not, indeed, a single bench or chair in the apartment. the faint glimmer of a dozen expiring wax-lights blended with the gray dawn. the lights were placed on brackets, beneath bright shields; and, at one end of the hall, glittered the royal arms, on which two lions and two crowns were represented. over the arms, suspended crosswise, were two variegated banners, in the centre of which the white cross of the national standard was, indeed, to be seen, but almost concealed by the numerous swords, stars, keys, crescents, anchors, wheels, and other arbitrary decorations and symbols that people were accustomed to see on the royal coinage. when the door was opened, the trabants raised their halberds, and looked with surprise on the intruders. "the drost--the young drost hessel!" said one to the other, saluting him respectfully. "what brings drost peter hessel here so early?" demanded a man, advanced in years, stepping towards him with a singularly undecided and uneasy countenance, whose frequent changes did not inspire confidence. like the other knights, he wore a high trabant's cap, with a large plume of feathers, and carried a long halberd, more richly ornamented. at his breast hung a magnificent gold chain, and his short mantle of red lawn was adorned with jewels. "it may well surprise you, stern sir lavé, to see me here at such an unseasonable hour," replied drost peter, regarding him with a sharp and penetrating glance; "but, in the execution of my office, i have an important and private matter to lay before the king, and must needs speak with him without delay." "an important and private matter!" repeated sir lavé, changing colour. "i know not that there is any sedition in the town, sir drost; but, even were that the case, i dare not awake the king thus early, so long as the palace is secure and well guarded." "but, if there should be at this moment secret traitors within the walls of the palace, stern sir knight?" said the young drost, in a half whisper, without taking his keen look from sir lavé's disturbed countenance. "the rood shield us! what is it you say?" whispered the chief of the body-guard, grasping him convulsively by the arm, and drawing him to one side. "from your future father-in-law you can have no secrets, my young friend," he continued, in a soft and trembling voice. "if you think you have discovered a conspiracy, or anything of the kind, inform me, that we may avert the mischief in time. but the thing is impossible. if, however, any of the discontented vassals should have dropped a word that may appear suspicious, consider well what you are about, before you take upon yourself the hateful office of accuser, and, mayhap, bring into mischief brave men, who have only regarded the present posture of affairs with greater freedom. have you proofs against any one?" "that i may not say here," replied drost peter. "our private relations, sir knight, must give way to our public duties. i must simply request you to awake the king. that is your duty, when i demand it. in case of need, as you are aware, i do not require to be announced, and no one has a right to deny me admittance." "that i have yet to learn, my bold young sir," replied the knight, assuming a stern and consequential air. "those whom the king entrusts to guard his slumbers may justly demand to know why he is to be disturbed; and i and these gentlemen are commanded to keep guard, that no one, without due reason, disturbs the king's rest." "this is not the time and place to dispute as to your rights," resumed drost peter, with suppressed vehemence. perceiving the strained attention with which they were regarded by the body-guard, he continued: "only one word in confidence, sir lavé;" and, as he withdrew the perplexed knight more aside, he said mildly, but with a tone of lively interest, "it would grieve me bitterly, sir lavé little, should i be compelled to mention your name in connection with a confederacy, of which it is evident that your faithful friend, old sir john, can have no idea, seeing the important post you at present occupy here. the company you quitted eight days ago were not friends of the royal house; but i am willing to believe, that, if you then shared their discontents, you do not yet take part in their plans, and that there is still time for you to draw back from an inevitable gulph." "how? what plans? i do not understand you, drost peter. you will never accuse me for opinions that a free danish knight may dare to express, without danger, among his friends?" "i am no spy or secret accuser, who will bring you, or any brave man, into mischief for thoughts and opinions," replied the young drost. "i know nothing yet, god be praised, that should deprive me of the hope of one day calling you father. i know you were not at the secret council last night, that pronounced my doom, the more easily to compass the king's." sir lavé paused, and became deadly pale. a struggle seemed to be passing in his unquiet soul; but he suddenly seized the young knight's hand. "nay, nay," said he, "in this council i had neither part nor lot. had i known that such was the intention, i should not have chosen my post by this threshold. you were, nevertheless, a dangerous man to me and my friends, yesterday, knight hessel," he continued, with greater resolution. "it depends upon me whether you shall be so to-day. perhaps it depends on a single step over this threshold. i can forbid your entrance, and with justice. i have promised as much: whether i keep this promise, depends upon myself. at this moment you are no longer drost of the kingdom, and can have nothing to say here. i have seen a royal letter, by which you are deposed, and doomed to imprisonment, from the hour the cock crows after midnight. a conversation with the king may, perhaps, save you. if it only concerns your post and freedom, i would, without hesitation, cause you to be taken prisoner on the spot, by the king's command; but, if it concerns your life--if it is true--" he stopped abort, and gazed inquiringly on the young knight, who had changed colour, and stood as if thunderstruck. "i tell you no falsehood," said drost peter, recovering himself. "at this moment you are a powerful man: you have, perhaps, my life, as well as that of the king, in your hand. but, whatever you may now do, you will have to answer for, before the righteous god, at your hour of death." "who are these two persons you bring with you?" demanded sir lavé. "the town-governor, who was to conduct me to prison, and my squire, who was witness to this secret tribunal of blood. should i tarry here a moment longer, it may be too late. my deadly foes watch under the same roof that now shelters us: they have the door of my prison, and of their den of murder, standing open--" "well, i will believe you," said sir lavé, with extreme uneasiness. "i would lend my aid to overthrow you; but your blood i will not have upon my head, and i stand not here to betray the life i guard. from this day forth, however, all engagements between us are at an end. yet i was your father's friend. if i have saved your life to-day, remember it, young man, if, perchance, mine and my friends' lives should one day be in your hands." tears stood in his eyes, and he grasped the young knight's hand almost convulsively. "i go to awake the king," he said, with more composure, and hastily entered the royal closet. for some minutes, drost peter stood as if on burning coals. he heard loud voices without, demanding admittance, and recognised the shrill tones of chamberlain rané, who, in the king's name, ordered the burghers to open the door. the guards were surprised. two of them hurried out into the passage, to learn the cause of the uproar. the door of the guard-room was again immediately opened, and drost peter saw rané at the entrance, between the two guards. at the same instant, the door of the king's closet was opened, and sir lavé little stepped hastily over the threshold, and beckoned drost peter. with hurried steps he obeyed the signal. sir lavé locked the door of the king's closet after the drost, and ordered the guards to station themselves before it, without troubling themselves about the enraged chamberlain, who, insolently, and loud-voiced, stood in the middle of the ante-room, and accused the captain of the guard of having failed in his knightly promise, and of having transgressed the king's order. "whether drost peter has been improperly admitted at this door or not, we shall soon know," answered sir lavé. "so long as i have not the king's counter-order, it is my duty to admit the drost; but a chamberlain has nothing to do here at this hour, were he ten times the king's favourite. be pleased to assist him out, gentlemen." three of the guards, with raised halberds, approached the enraged rané, who gnashed his teeth, and left the guard-room, casting a look of vengeance at sir lavé. between the guard-room and the king's bed-closet was a large arched apartment, hung with gold-embroidered tapestry, with a round table in the middle, covered with scarlet cloth and long gold fringes. here the king received those he would hold conversation with, and here the drost was obliged to wait for some time, until the attendant pages had assisted his majesty in dressing. at the door of the royal sleeping-chamber stood a handsome youth, about eleven years of age, in the red lawn suit of a torch-page, and with a wax-light in his hand. he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, while he admired, and regarded with respect, the tall, serious knight who had ventured to disturb the king's morning slumber. this page was the little prince erik's playmate, aagé jonsen. he was of the same age as the prince, and daily shared with him his martial exercises, and the various instructions in chivalry under drost peter's guidance. the youth's tender, almost maidenly features, were lighted up by the torch; and, as he thus stood, with his long golden locks falling over his linen collar, and his dark blue eyes resting, with respectful surprise, on his knightly teacher, the appearance of the friendly youth seemed to restore calmness to drost peter, and to fill his bosom with bold and lively confidence in his innocence and the justice of his case. "good morning, aagé," he said, patting the lad kindly on the cheek: "have you been awoke too early this morning? you stand, indeed, as if you were yet dreaming. is your little king still asleep?" "yes, dear sir drost. we were both much fatigued from wrestling with junker[ ] christopher yesterday evening; and i took the torch-watch. i remained awake here, by the door, the whole night; but towards morning i could not keep my eyes open, and, at the moment sir lavé came, the torch was nearly out. you are not angry with me, then, for this?" "i know you are a bold, vigilant lad, who, otherwise, would not sleep when you should be awake, and that is an important matter, aagé. these are times wherein one should early learn both to watch and pray." "i have prayed, likewise," answered the youth. "i prayed to god and our lady, both for prince erik and you, for the queen, and all good men; but still my eyes closed, and, had the king called me, i should have been unhappy." "i shall give thee good advice, aagé. when thou watchest by the king's door, or by that of the prince, never forget that murderers may be lurking without, who will break in and do violence as soon as thou closest an eye; and i warrant thee thou wilt keep thine eyes open." "the rood shield us, sir drost! this is something that never can possibly happen: our lord and the holy virgin take care of that!" "truly they care for us, otherwise it would little avail if all the armies in the world guarded us," replied the drost; "but we are not, therefore, to live securely and carelessly in the world, much less a future knight and guardian of the king." a clear sound, as of a silver bell, was now heard. the folding-doors into the king's bed-chamber were thrown open, and, by each, stood a page with a torch. drost peter stepped leisurely back to the end of the saloon; and little aagé hastily lowered his torch towards the stone floor, and took some steps backwards into the saloon. a tall, dignified person walked over the threshold, with short, uncertain steps. in his right hand he carried, like a staff, a large sword, of three fingers' breadth, and seven quarters in length, with a cross-guard, and gilded brass pommel. a short mantle hung loose over his shoulders. he paused for a moment, and cast a sharp, uneasy glance around the apartment, till, at length, his blinking eye rested for an instant on the queen's favourite, who respectfully saluted his majesty, and remained standing at a distance. the king now advanced a few steps, and, giving the pages a signal, they placed their torches in a brass frame, suspended at half-an-ell's distance from the tapestry, after which they made an obeisance, and retired backwards into the bed-chamber, through the half-open doors of which were seen four of the body-guard, with their bright halberds. the king advanced just as far from the door as was necessary to converse with the knight unobserved by his attendants. "you dare to come into my presence, and at this hour, knight hessel!" he said, in a harsh and imperious tone. "you pretend, as an excuse, to have an important and private matter to lay before us, respecting the safety of our royal person. if you think, by such foolish pretexts, to obtain pardon, you are mistaken. speak! but not a word about yourself. what do you know that affects our own and the throne's security?" "i know, and can testify, sire," replied the young knight, frankly, "that you have slept this night under the same roof with men who, eight days ago, at the manor of möllerup, took counsel, with the daring stig andersen, against the crown and kingdom." "prove it!" said the king, turning pale. "i can, if you regard the worthy prior of antvorskov, master martin mogesen, as an upright and trustworthy man, and will rather believe his testimony than mine." "master martin?" repeated the king. "ay, indeed, he is true, and attached to me, and has never, by untimely artifices and crooked devices, sought to approach my throne. is he present?" "nay, sire," replied the knight, with burning cheeks, and subduing, with an effort, his injured feelings of honour, where self-justification was denied him; "but he gave me a hint, which i am only half justified in revealing. you know his seal and handwriting, sire?" "right well: he was for three years my chancellor." "then read this letter, my stern lord and judge, and you will see that it was not to crave a boon i so urgently entreated an opportunity of conversing with you yesterday evening, and that it is not merely to vindicate myself that i stand here just now." "not a word about yourself! silence, now!" the king read the letter hurriedly and anxiously, raising his eyes from it at times, and regarding the knight furtively and suspiciously. "now, indeed, it is true that this was a highly suspicious meeting," he said; "yet, after all, they are only doubts and conjectures. there is no certain proof--no act for which i can cause any one to be punished. but where are the well-known names referred to here?" "in my memory, sire. the document which contained them i was requested to destroy." "name them! they shall be imprisoned." "to such violent measures it were far from me to advise you. whom the law has not sentenced, my king will not condemn. i come not to accuse, but to forewarn. what master martin writes here, cannot affect the life of any one. it is only a hint, but still an important one, in these disturbed times." the king made an uneasy and anxious gesture. "the reverend gentleman admits that he knows more than he can venture to tell," continued the knight. "i can almost believe that some penitent confederate has disclosed to him, as confessor, what he dare not reveal. but all the individuals he mentioned to me as suspicious, he has talked with himself, and has vainly exhorted them to loyalty. with most of them i recently came over the belt myself; and, although i am not yet prepared with proofs against any of them, i have, nevertheless, good reason to agree with master martin, and pray you to be on your guard with respect to the discontented vassals, and have your eye upon their entire conduct. the meeting at möllerup is enough to warrant this. your intimate chamberlain rané will be able to bear witness to that; for he himself was present." "rané?" exclaimed the king, in astonishment: "he has not told me of this. he is my spy, i may tell you, and has a right to seek what company he chooses, and say what he likes, if, only, he informs me of it. if he was at this meeting, it may have been to spy out the malcontents, and he may have important reasons for his silence." the knight shook his head. "i trust him not, sire. but this much is certain: this meeting took place, and the malcontents we know. respecting one of them, i shall, perhaps, within eight days, furnish you with clear proof that he is confederated with the enemies of the kingdom, and has likewise a project in his mind as audacious as it is dangerous." "which of them is this? speak! he shall not depart hence alive." "he must do so, your grace," replied drost peter, dauntlessly. "here he is a guest, and defenceless, and the privileges of the dane-court protect him. i cannot name him now. before i can prove, i cannot accuse, sire." "remember whom you talk with!" broke forth the king, vainly striving to conceal his uneasiness by a stern and imperious tone. "what more have you to report?" "if you will now permit me to touch upon a matter that regards myself, i shall prove, by a sworn witness, that a secret council, held last night, decreed my death, in order that i might not betray what i know, and that the traitors may be able to accomplish, with greater security, their most criminal designs against the crown and kingdom." "what? who here, save i, dares to condemn any one to death? i have doomed you to imprisonment, it is true; but ere i decree your death, i will bethink me. but, to the main point. these most criminal plans against the crown and kingdom i will know. what are they? who has heard them?" "my trusty squire, claus skirmen. i have brought him with me. he stands without, and will confirm his evidence by an oath." "let him enter," ordered the king. drost peter opened the door, and beckoned. frank and fearless, the young squire entered, and related, briefly yet distinctly, what he had heard behind the tapestry. when the king had heard him to an end, he held out towards him the cross hilt of his sword. "swear!" he said: "imprecate a curse upon thyself if thou hast said anything untrue to save thy master." "it is truth, so help me god and the holy virgin!" said claus skirmen, in a loud and firm voice, and laying his hand on the hilt of the sword. "good! now thou mayest go." claus skirmen bowed silently, and retired, casting a sympathising glance towards his master. "chamberlain rané in this, too?" said the king, thoughtfully. "but, indeed, he had the right. the worst word of rebellion he uttered was with my permission, in order to sound the others. that the duke and his friends are discontented, we have long known; but to what do their projects tend?" "as far as i can conjecture, to a revolution in the state, similar to that effected by your grace, marsk andersen, and count jacob, in sweden." "conjecture--mere conjecture! if you know nothing decided, of what use to me are your hints and warnings? if there are traitors and treasonable persons in the country--if they have even presumed to penetrate into the palace as guests--let them be seized, and the headsman have them! if such be the case, it is time to show these haughty gentlemen that we have as sharp axes here as they have in sweden." "remember, sire, that the throne founded in blood by these swedish axes was not the ancient and righteous throne, but one built by rebels, on the ruins of the laws and monarchy. if the privileges and majesty of the crown are to be held sacred, the law must be their guardian; and here there are no good grounds for preventing a rebellion by a tyrannical and arbitrary slaughter." "what wilt thou have, then? say, my valiant drost peter!" exclaimed the king, anxiously: "thou art my brave subject. what was between us, i will forget. now, speak! what thinkest thou is to be done here?" "i think, at present, it were most prudent that we should be altogether quiet, and not exhibit the least suspicion of the existence of such a conspiracy. whilst the dane-court lasts, let us merely double the night-watch, but treat the distinguished guests with all civility. at court, let matters take their ordinary course, without the least disposition to bear against the opposite party. legally chosen umpires may, upon oath and conscience, settle the points in dispute. if the chief withdraw from the country, it will then be evident that he seeks foreign aid, and will return at the head of an army; and then we may speedily devise measures to oppose him. if he retire peaceably to his castle, we have nothing to apprehend: the storm will be over; and then, perhaps, may peace and restored vigour, but, above all, strict justice, save the land and kingdom." "you are a pearl in my crown, drost peter, and i was a fool when i cast it away for the sake of a whim," said the king, pacified, and clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "the warrant i yesterday issued in an evil humour--" "that i have brought with me, my king and master, to hear it confirmed or disowned by your own lips." "what the deuce! in your hands, and not in those of the town-governor? now must i say, if you can be as vigilant, when it concerns the king, as when it concerns yourself, you are worth gold, peter hessel. give it to me." drost peter handed him the order for his arrest, which the king tore asunder, and threw on the ground, while he laughed, and said, in a jesting tone: "see, there lie your prison-walls, my trusty drost. i see i can rely upon you in important matters, and i will not come into opposition with you in minor ones. since there is no danger just now, and you have promised to prevent whatever may be apprehended, i will follow your advice, and, for the present, appear unconcerned. but now confess to me honestly, my prudent young sir knight," he continued, in a seemingly indifferent tone, "can you boast yourself of any particular familiarity with a certain fair lady, whose colours you bear? nay, do not blush. no one knows better than i how enchanting she can be at times; and for an amorous word, a bold look, even a familiar pressure of the hand, i should not doom you to death. i know the fair ones tolerably well: the strictest, the chastest, are not insensible to an amiable young knight, who possesses both wit and manners. you have, perhaps, observed that i do not reckon such trifles so precisely; and that i myself, now and then, forget the crown's descent, and the stern reverence of majesty, for a little lively adventure." drost peter blushed deeply under this rebuke, ashamed to turn his eyes upon the king who condescended to such expressions. at length he recovered himself, and observed the crafty and unstable smile on the king's countenance, with a mixture of wounded pride, contempt, and secret horror, that did not escape his fickle and whimsical ruler. he laid his hand solemnly on his breast, and was silent. "now, indeed, you understand a joke," said the king, suddenly becoming serious; "but one, perhaps, should not joke in such fashion. whatever lady a knight may worship chastely and honourably, does not concern the king. enough of this. as regards the malcontents, you assure me, that, at present, there is no danger. you shall, therefore, take the requisite numbers for guarding the palace as well as the dane-court. when it is over, take heed to the chief; and, as soon as he sets foot on forbidden ground, he is our prisoner." "solely, however, your grace, if the information arrives which i still expect?" observed drost peter. "such violent steps the most urgent circumstances can alone defend, when probability borders on certainty; and, according to the forms and laws of the kingdom--" "a truce with that!" exclaimed the king, warmly: "no law binds my arm against traitors. you are too conscientious for me, drost peter. but no more of this for the present. conduct everything well and carefully. as a proof that i now again regard you as my most prudent and virtuous servant, accept of this mark of esteem." so saying, he took from his own neck a large gold chain, set with costly stones, and hung it on that of the drost, at the same time extending him his hand to kiss. silently, and with the bitter feeling that he could not from his heart, as he inwardly wished, respect the hand of the individual, still, prompted by the homage due to the sacred sceptre, the knight half bent his knee to the ground, and gently saluted the gracious hand with his lips. thereupon he arose, and awaited the signal to withdraw. "yet one word," said the king. "my chamberlain, rané jonsen, i know you have long doubted and mistrusted. you caught him in a foolish adventure, and made him a prisoner. i have pardoned him. let that matter be henceforth forgotten. but what reason have you continually to distrust him, when you hear that he only goes about in disguise among my enemies, secretly to serve me?" "to speak honestly, sire, the purposes for which he permits himself to be used do him no honour; and such a double-tongued individual bears no one fealty. he has not yet acquainted you with what was last transacted at möllerup: perhaps master martin will be able to give you better information." "send a messenger, without delay, to antvorskov, for the pious, prudent gentleman," said the king. "i shall have the matter cleared up, and the worthy man may be able to tell us somewhat more." "he is already on his journey hither, and will arrive before midday. but i saw the chamberlain in the guard-chamber: he will, assuredly, not fail in ingenuity, in vindicating himself. i pray you, sire, trust him not too much. remember that he is the sister's son of stig andersen's unfortunate wife." "good," replied the king, coldly, and changing colour. "you need not remind me of that. the brave sir john, and sir lavé of flynderborg, your own future father-in-law, are of the same family. as long as rané obeys me faithfully, and adheres to me, i have no reason to distrust him. mere honesty will not carry a man through the world, and a crafty servant may, also, be put to a good use. but an end of this. depart now, my valiant drost peter," added the king, suddenly, in a mild and familiar tone. "let me henceforth see that you are worthy of my confidence. inform sir john and david thorstenson of all, and advise with them what is to be done. god protect you!" the king turned round hastily, and drost peter withdrew. in the guard-room, sir lavé had been relieved by his kinsman, old sir john little. he was a short, strongly built man, with stiff gray hair, but nimble, and almost youthful in his movements. his sagacious, penetrating eye, and stern, commanding air, as well as the brevity and decision with which he expressed himself, denoted the old warrior and leader. his mere presence, without any external mark of distinction, proved his superiority over the most notable of the body-guard, and indicated him as their chief, and as the supreme counsellor of the kingdom. this remarkable man, whom the young drost loved and esteemed as a fatherly friend, had, on the present occasion, resorted to the palace somewhat earlier than usual, and had taken his kinsman's post as captain of the guards. he had already been informed of the danger which drost peter had so fortunately escaped. he was engaged in earnest conversation with the town-governor, when he saw drost peter, with the king's well-known gold chain about his neck, issue from the door of the royal apartment. with heartfelt joy he approached him, and warmly shook him by the hand. a tear glittered in his stern eye; but, without saying a word to his young friend, he turned quietly, and with a smile, to the town-governor. "as you perceive, my good governor," he said, in a careless tone, "sir drost peter hessel brings with him a new proof of the king's favour and satisfaction. the whole must have been a mistake. you have erred, but circumstances excuse you. go, with god's blessing." the governor bowed respectfully, as well to the old counsellor as to drost peter, and departed. "can you favour me with an hour's conversation before the court assembles, sir counsellor?" inquired drost peter: "i have an important matter to communicate to you." "certainly, when i have spoken with the king. expect me home in about half an hour. thorstenson is here. the palace-guard is doubled; there is no danger: only, be calm and collected." so saying, he turned hastily away, and, giving a signal to one of the halberdiers, went in immediately to the king. the knight to whom the old lord had given the signal was a tall, dark-visaged man, with a long brown beard, which fell in two locks upon his collar, and united with two large bushy and closely-curled whiskers, which half concealed a tolerably youthful, but spare and vigorous, warlike countenance. his dark eyes were full of fire, and betrayed vehemence and passion. in the counsellor's absence, he took the place of captain of the guards, and placed himself nearest the door of the king's apartments. this was sir david thorstenson. drost peter went up to him as to an intimate friend, and extended his hand. they spoke a few words privately together. knight thorstenson nodded, and cast a sharp look to the door. hereupon, drost peter bowed to the observant halberdiers, and left the guard-chamber with a quick step, without, however, betraying haste or uneasiness. as he proceeded, the servants and people about court stepped respectfully to one side, and regarded him with surprise and curiosity. the rumour that something unusual had happened to drost peter hessel, and that the queen's powerful favourite had fallen into disgrace, had put all in commotion at the palace; and now, all the cooks, waiting-maids, and kitchen-wenches were struggling to get a sight of him as he descended the palace-stairs, with the king's large gold chain across his breast. to be the object of the people's attention was nothing new to the young drost, and was, indeed, not displeasing to him. that he felt himself flattered thereby he could not deny, although, now and then, he saw some one whisper and smile in a fashion that would have deeply offended him, had he heard what was said concerning his supposed intimacy with the queen. but the curiosity with which he was observed bespoke, on the whole, esteem and goodwill; and his handsome, stately figure, in particular, recommended him to all the charming little waiting-maids who beheld him. at the palace-gate, he met a number of stranger knights and stately gentlemen, whom it was unusual to see abroad so early. among them he perceived duke waldemar and chamberlain rané. they whispered together when they saw him; but he proceeded quietly forwards, and felt, with secret pride, that he met them as a conqueror. still, he took care not to betray this feeling in his look and manner; but as he went silently and gravely past them, he saluted them coldly, yet with all courtesy. they, also, without betraying the slightest ill-feeling or unpleasant surprise, returned his salutation with equal indifference. squire skirmen had awaited his master on the palace-stairs, and now followed him with undisguised joy. as skirmen passed rané and the duke, he could not refrain from smiling with self-satisfaction; and, making his salute, he strutted along, much taller than usual. his master observed this. "let us not triumph too early, my bold and trusty skirmen," said he, earnestly. "our enemies are still powerful; and pride goes often before a fall. i cannot entirely acquit myself on this point. we are all prone to be haughty when successful; but it is a temptation we must endeavour to contend against." skirmen blushed, and was silent: the air of triumph disappeared from his countenance, and, with modest resignation, he followed his master to his dwelling. here, drost peter found his wounded guest awake and merry. he examined his wound, in company with the royal surgeon, who had now arrived. the count was enjoined to keep his bed for a few days, and to remain quiet. this inactivity did not quite please count gerhard. he bargained with the doctor, that he might be up within eight days, to be present at the festival with which the dane-court was to be concluded. the leech gave him hopes of this, and, on these terms, he consented to remain at rest; but it seemed to him a hard penance, that, for eight days, he must neither drink wine, nor laugh to his heart's content, to chase away the tedious hours, in company with his jester. drost peter now committed him to the care of the surgeon and his house-people, requesting the count and his followers to consider themselves at home, and to excuse his absence on the necessary duties of his office. thereupon, he hastened to sir john's residence, where the old counsellor shortly after arrived. they had an hour's private conversation on highly-important state affairs; after which they went to mass together, in our lady's kirk, where the whole court was present, and where sir john's wife, lady ingefried, and his daughter, cecilia, sat on the royal seat, next to the beautiful queen agnes. as sir john and the drost entered the church, all eyes were turned to the young knight and the royal seat; and some thought they could observe a slight blush on the queen's fair cheeks, as she hastily returned the salutations of sir john and the drost. as soon as mass was over, the knights and ecclesiastics proceeded in crowds to the long saloon of the palace, where the dane-court was now held, instead of in the open air--an old custom, which, by degrees, fell more and more into disuse, much to the discontent of the people, because, by this means, it was sought to exclude the burghers and peasants from taking part in the proceedings of the danish parliament. this day, the king alone dispensed and confirmed certain gifts and privileges to churches and convents. he seemed somewhat uneasy and out of temper, and terminated the proceedings as soon as possible. next day he appeared in better humour, and the matters before the parliament went on in their usual course, quietly, and without interruption. the precautions that had been privately taken by sir john, david thorstenson, and the vigilant drost peter, completely assured the king, and no notice was taken of the discontented vassals. they did not wish it to appear that the contest between the king and duke waldemar was the chief matter, although it excited expectation in the highest degree. judgment, in this case, was reserved to the last day of the dane-court, the th of may. the seven preceding days were employed in settling less important disputes between feudal lords and their tenants, and in reconciling the various differences between the temporal and spiritual lords, who frequently accused each other of violence and oppression, or of encroachments on one another's rights and liberties. the most considerable lay and ecclesiastical lords in the country were present at this parliament. here were now to be seen the archbishop john dros of lund, and bishop tygé of aarhaus, as well as the bishops of viborg, rypen, roskild, odense, and börglum. these spiritual lords had already, on sunday, in conjunction and with the consent of the feudal lords and knights, or, as it was called, according to the _best council_, come to the determination, that they should appoint twelve intelligent men of denmark, to form a _worthel_, or council of jurors, who should say and swear to whom the lands and estates in dispute between the king and duke of right belonged. the stern old sir john had been chosen one of these jurors. before judgment was delivered, the jurors daily assembled in the counsellor's house, where they considered the subject in quietness, with locked doors. sir john kept an hospitable house, and received them all with the greatest politeness. he possessed one of the largest mansions in nyborg, where his wife and daughter resided with him during the dane-court. every evening, great numbers of both lay and spiritual lords were here assembled; and one might observe that duke waldemar and his adherents were here to be found as often as drost peter, david thorstenson, and others attached to the royal house. at times, the queen, with her ladies, and the young princes, might be seen at these evening assemblies. on such occasions, the old lord was particularly merry and cheerful; but, if any one ventured to speak a word to him on state affairs, he would become suddenly silent, or punish the unmannerly busybody with a biting jest. from the time that the council of jurors began to sit, sir john would receive no one except at a time when there was company with him; and he would not talk alone with any one, not even with drost peter, who, at other times, had daily and familiar access to him. he had also declared, that, until the dane-court was closed, he could not, and would not, converse alone, even with the king himself. the day before the termination of the dane-court, sir john sat, in the forenoon, for the last time, in the council of jurors, with locked doors. his house-steward was strictly forbidden to admit any one whatever. meanwhile, admission was authoritatively demanded by a tall, powerful man, in a hooded cap, who either did not know, or did not trouble himself, about this necessary precaution. in his vehemence, the cap slipped on one side, and the house-steward suddenly became so terrified that he lost both speech and self-possession, and, notwithstanding the strict order to the contrary, hastily withdrew the bar from the closed door. but, at the same instant, a bolt was secured inside. "all twelve are here," shouted old sir john: "we have no room for a thirteenth, if even he bore the crown and sceptre!" the tall man in the hooded cap stamped wrathfully on the floor, and, with hasty strides, left the knight's house, without saying a word. before evening, this occurrence was known all over nyborg, with various explanatory additions; and sir john was highly commended for his hardihood by duke waldemar and his adherents, who drew from it conclusions favourable to their case. in the evening, as usual, there was a numerous assemblage at sir john's. the queen and the young princes were also expected. drost peter was invited, together with his guests. when count gerhard heard that the queen was to be there, he sprang from the reclining chair, for which he had now exchanged his bed, and swore, loud and deeply, that he would go, if he should have to keep his bed for it a whole month afterwards. "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," he said. "if i have not permission to-morrow, or the day after, to attend the court festivities, and if i should die of tedium in the meanwhile, i shall lie with a long nose in my grave. this surgeon is a tiresome fellow. he makes as much ado about this scratch as if i were a maiden, and wraps me up like a suckling. and you, fortune's favourite, whose head, nevertheless, i almost hewed off--you strut there, bold and nimble enough: i trow, indeed, you have had your head linked to your neck with chains of honour." "i have a good skin for healing," replied drost peter; "and, this time, the sword did not penetrate far into it. in one sense, however, you are right," he added: "my head has not sat looser upon me for a long time; and this chain has certainly somewhat secured it. but leave the junketings alone, noble count. the skin is but thin upon your wound, and, to-night, you might easily be thrown into excitement." "excitement! that is just what i am intent upon," interrupted the count. "a person must still draw breath, however thin-skinned he may be. i cannot live in this fashion, like a mummy, much longer. i know i am master of my body: pity it is that we should let clerks and ghostly fathers be masters of our sinful souls! give me my court-doublet and new mantle, longlegs. somewhat clumsy i may be in these wrappings, but i shall leave them on to please you." farther objections were vain. he donned his bright red lawn doublet, placed his feathered hat on his head, and cast a stiff, gold-fringed, purple mantle over his broad shoulders. "so, so!" he said; "i know now that i look whole and sound enough. henceforth, i resign dorothy brushbroom to you, longlegs: you, also, shall know what it is to be taken care of." "i trust you may find the distinguished ladies as interested about your person as she has been, my gracious master," replied the jester; "but, since you seldom go so near them that they can see you, you should take my jingling-jacket, that they may hear you in the distance." "there! you hear, drost peter, what i must digest, and give the clown food and wages for, merely to exercise me in christian humbleness and patience. you are right, longlegs. i am a little too sheepish on certain occasions; but that is a virtue your losel should respect, and apply himself to. to-night you shall see otherwise, and that i shall do you honour, longlegs," continued the count, gaily: "i have not had such courage to talk with the ladies for a long time. your nurse can bear witness, sir drost, that it is a falsehood and a slander, when foul tongues say i lose heart and speech with the ladies." "no one shall say so of you any longer, gracious sir. i was shamefully unjust," replied longlegs, bowing. "if i could not hear you snore, for some nights past, as i would have given much to have done, i had, nevertheless, at times, the pleasure of hearing your most gracious growlings; and, for these, i thanked the holy virgin. they are, at all times, a sure sign of life. now, therefore, if you should like to cudgel me for your amusement, gracious master, you must stop at home." without listening farther to his jester, the count set out with his knight and drost peter. in his impatience to reach old sir john's abode, he hurried on so fast, that his attentive host held him back, to remind him that such haste was dangerous to him. but the count suddenly slackened his pace, as soon as he perceived the magnificently illuminated building, where, under the linden trees, at the foot of the grand staircase, stood two rows of the royal household servants, with lighted torches. "i am also to see the young princes to-night," he said. "your pupil, the young heir to the throne, should be like his mother. you are a happy man, drost peter, who can train and bring up such a noble shoot." "i fully acknowledge it," replied drost peter, with ardour. "i hope he shall become a worthy descendant of waldemar seier, his illustrious ancestor, whose chivalrous manner of thinking, and regard for truth and justice, i believe he already inherits. with god's help, he will do honour to his race." "but is the mother really there, too, in the house of a simple knight?" "a simple knight!" repeated drost peter, somewhat offended. "old sir john is a son's son of esbern snaré's daughter: he numbers the great absalom in his race. but were he even a simple knight, without distinguished birth, he is still a man of such merit, that the king and queen need not be ashamed of being his guests. both his wife and daughter are the queen's dearest friends." "sooth to say, my good friend," observed count gerhard, in a half whisper, and drawing drost peter aside, "you give quality a good day; but i am almost ashamed to show myself before the queen. i only saw her at that devil's tourney at helsingborg, where you took the prize from me, and i could not say a single word to her from sheer bashfulness. among men, i have not the reputation of sheepishness; and, when i walk before the eyes of kings and emperors, i feel myself to be as good as they: but, plague on it! all my confidence vanishes when i want to express myself gracefully before the fair ones." "notwithstanding your backwardness, you are not unknown to the queen, noble count," replied drost peter. "tour valour and discretion in the lists were not unobserved; and i were a fool should i brag of the superiority of which you were deprived by a mere casual accident." "she has spoken of me, say you, without dwelling on my awkward homage, when i made the attempt to salute her during the tilting?" "if she has smiled at that, noble count, i can still assure you that neither mockery nor contempt--" "mockery and contempt!" interrupted the count, proudly: "by satan! who thinks of that? had the most amiable lady in christendom contemned count gerhard, she must have sent her knight into the field to make me reparation. i am not quite so bashful as to be afraid of that. but tell me frankly," continued he, "am i not too stout and stiff, in these frightful swaddling bands, to show myself becomingly in such company?" "you are not at all amiss," answered drost peter, smiling. "a bandage over the breast never disfigures a knightly gentleman: in my eyes, it even makes you somewhat majestic in your bearing." "very good, my brave friend. i have you to thank for the majestic bearing. but you are right: if a knight has only his fame whole and sound, his body may be in what condition it may; he, at least, must be esteemed as most valiant by every noble and high-souled lady." count gerhard now boldly ascended the steps of sir john's dwelling, attended by drost peter and the two knights. in the ante-room servants received their hats and mantles, and opened the large oaken door leading into a magnificent vaulted apartment, which was illumined by wax-lights, on tall candelabra, borne by brazen wolves. ladies and knights stood, here and there, in groups, on the polished oaken floor, engaged in lively conversation; while others sat, playing at chess, and similar amusements. from another saloon, still larger, the door of which stood open, came the music of flutes and violins. a _kæmpevise_[ ] was played, accompanied by the voices of a number of maidens and an elegantly performed dance. a knight, in magnificent attire, was seen in stately motion with a majestic lady in a scarlet kirtle, glittering with gold and precious stones. "the queen!" whispered count gerhard into the drost's ear, and remained standing, astonished, at the first door. "and duke waldemar!" added drost peter, who also stood surprised, but not at the beauty and noble bearing of the queen, which he had so often admired: the young duke's haughty, self-complacent countenance first struck his eyes. a distressing thought flashed suddenly as a thunderbolt through his soul, and, involuntarily, he grasped count gerhard by the arm. "what is the matter with you, my good friend?" whispered count gerhard: "have you, too, become giddy at the sight? i have had enough already. by our lady! it is a beauty unapproachable." sir john, as soon as he was made aware of the entrance of the newly-arrived guests, advanced gaily and courteously towards them. "welcome, my lords," said the old knight. "i am rejoiced that the noble count gerhard can contradict, in person, the rumour that is current respecting a dangerous wound." "a false rumour, sir counsellor; which has, nevertheless, induced me to keep my room for a few days," replied the count, in a jocular tone. "here are life and merriment, i see; and one may be given up for death, if he do not find himself well here. be pleased to present me to your noble lady and daughter; and, when the dance is over, to her grace the queen." the latter words he added in a subdued tone, and drew a long breath after having uttered them, his eyes again turning towards the dancing saloon. "as you command," replied the lively old knight, with a sportive smile. "it is easily to be seen what portion of the human family count gerhard sets the highest value upon. my daughter, i perceive, is now standing up for the dance; but i can present you to my wife immediately, if you please." count gerhard had not heard a single word. he stared, like one in a dream, into the dancing-saloon, where the fair queen had, just at that instant, curtsied with noble dignity to her princely partner, and, on his arm, moved down the room to her seat, amidst the dazzling young daughters of the chivalrous guests, and eclipsing them all with her loveliness. a new piece of music and song was commenced, and a new couple were in motion on the floor. the lady was sir john's daughter, cecilia. she could not vie with the queen in dazzling beauty and majesty, but quite equalled her in the spirit and grace of her motions. with an earnestness that better suited the song than her partner's smiling mien, she regarded, with her dark, lustrous eyes, the knight who extended his hand to her, and who, in gracefulness and courtesy, seemed to vie with duke waldemar. this polite cavalier was the duke's drost, sir tuko abildgaard, a bold and ambitious gentleman, celebrated for his influence over the duke, and as famed for his good fortune with the fair sex as for his fickleness in love, and his haughty, soaring claims to distinction. he appeared intent on distinguishing the lady cecilia among all the ladies at court. he seemed to give but little heed to the song to which they danced: it was a sweet and melancholy air, to the ballad of sir sverkel's unfortunate love to his unknown sister. drost peter listened to it with much interest; and even the otherwise merry count gerhard stood silent and serious, while the young damsels sang:-- "pray thou, hart, and pray thou, hind, that i may forget the little kirstine; pray thou, hart, and pray thou, roe, that i may forget my true love so." "the foul fiend!" muttered count gerhard to himself; and, to his own astonishment, his eyes almost overflowed as the young damsels continued: "he prayed the hart, and prayed the hind, but never was the maiden from his mind; he prayed the hart, and prayed the roe, but could not forget his true love so." count gerhard's absent gaze into the dancing-saloon caused old sir john to cast an attentive look in the same direction, and the sight of his daughter's undisguised interest in sir abildgaard did not seem to please him. his cheerful countenance suddenly assumed an air of deep seriousness, while the damsels now sang:-- "the knight he from his land was driven, and the lady to a cloister given." both the old and the younger knight appeared absorbed in the same dreamy mood which the melancholy song was calculated to produce, but each in a different manner, according to the ideas they associated therewith. yet, in the midst of the general merriment and splendour of the festivity, there were, apparently, but few who gave heed to the tenor of the song. its conclusion, in particular, affected drost peter to melancholy. he involuntarily laid hold of the ruby rosary on his breast, that served to remind him of his half-forgotten child-bride, while the damsels sang:-- "a bird so small from the white strand flew, and she sang, where is my heart's love true? a bird so small o'er the sea flew wide, and he sang, o where is my own true bride? for chastest maiden i dree." "it is allowed that you are a lover of the dance and song, illustrious count gerhard," said old sir john, in his usual social tone, and turning, with a cheerful countenance, to his abstracted guest. "if you wish, now i shall conduct you to the queen and the young ladies." count gerhard bowed stiffly, and followed the old knight, without observing the breach of propriety of which he had been guilty, in not greeting the noble and matronly lady ingefried, who went round among the guests, and received their salutations, accompanied by a waiting-maid, bearing a silver salver with filled wine-cups. while drost peter, as a well-known and daily guest, saluted the worthy house-mother, old sir john and his distinguished attendant, before they reached the dancing-saloon, were stopped by two handsomely attired youths in scarlet jackets, with gold chains about their fine linen collars. they were both flushed with anger, and had come from the dice-table, where they had had a dispute. the one was the eleven years' old prince erik, who, from his second year, had taken the name of king, and the other, his brother, junker christopher, two years his junior, and half a head shorter, but apparently his superior in strength, though not in sprightliness and beauty. "you shall decide between us, sir john: you know what right is," said the little king, warmly. "suppose the gold dice are islands and countries, and the counters knights and swains: have i, as eldest, the privilege of taking first? and suppose, further, that i, with my knights and swains, surround and conquer all christopher's islands and countries, are they, by right, mine? if he will merely admit that, he shall readily have them back again. what care i for the dice!" "'that depends upon the laws of your game, my little hasty gentlemen," replied the old knight. "besides, the eldest ought not only to take first, but also to be the first in good sense and magnanimity. the game, moreover, is good for nothing," he added, gravely. "has not drost hessel taught you yet, my little king, that we do not play dice with islands and countries, and do not convert knights and swains into counters?" prince erik went away, silent, and blushing with shame. christopher followed him, jeeringly. drost peter had been attracted by the dispute of the princes, and had drawn near when he heard his name mentioned. "see now, sir counsellor," whispered he: "our little king surrenders the whole table to his brother, with chivalrous magnanimity." "yes, indeed, but with wounded pride," said the old man, softly. "could we only get the pride and thoughtlessness eradicated from him, the country might, in time, expect much of him." drost peter was silent, and sank into deep thought. "excuse me, count gerhard. you wish to be presented to the queen," said old sir john, aloud, and turning to the count. "permit me to conduct you." he strode nimbly forward, and count gerhard followed him to the polished threshold of the dancing-saloon. there the count remained, standing with his back to the door-post, and bowed stiffly to the queen from that extreme distance, without troubling himself about sir john, who, with active steps, had entered the saloon. "the noble count gerhard of holstein desires to salute your grace," said the old knight, who had approached the queen, and fancied he had still the count by his side. "count gerhard!" repeated the queen, with much interest. "where is he, then? i do not see him." "what! has he disappeared?" exclaimed sir john, looking behind him with surprise. "by the door yonder, your grace," observed the duke, with a derisive smile, and a proud sense of superiority. "the noble count makes great efforts to testify his devotion to your grace at a respectful distance. i certainly think he would beg the favour to be honoured with your hand in the dance, but seemingly wants words to express his wishes." "inform him, sir counsellor, that i shall willingly tread a measure with him," said the queen to the old knight. "bid him approach. i have long wished to speak with so gallant and esteemed a gentleman." sir john bowed, and carried to count gerhard the surprising message of condescension. "the holy st. george stand by me!" exclaimed the count, terrified. "i never danced in all my born days, and, in this devil's swathing, i can scarcely stir; but, if the queen commands it, i should be able to fly. holy virgin!" he muttered to himself, "if i escape from this with life, it is a miracle." he hastily recovered himself, and, not to appear embarrassed, assumed as brave an air as if he were on the point of taking a fortress by storm. with long strides and a stiff carriage, he walked up to the queen and bowed. duke waldemar turned to one side, and only half concealed his laughter. but the familiar manner in which the queen conversed with count gerhard soon restored his self-possession, and brought back his even, good-tempered simplicity of character. he spoke of his mischance at the tournament at helsingborg, when he ventured to contend for the queen's colours, without being able to honour them with victory; and the humorous manner in which he complained of himself in the affair, and jested at his own awkwardness, greatly amused the queen. "you may well jest at the vile mischance," she observed, with undisguised goodwill and respect: "your knightly honour you have established on more important and more serious occasions. you look well, i perceive," she added, remarking his round figure, and the difficult movements of his arm: "the world does not consume you, sir count." "i ought, certainly, as a young widower, to look lean and dismal," replied count gerhard, colouring; "but you must kindly excuse me, your grace. the happiness whose loss cannot be seen in me, i have not been so fortunate as to possess rightly. it is, certainly, one of my greatest mishaps in life; but i have the singular fate to thrive by mishaps. this i have just recently experienced. but appearances are deceitful, your grace; and i hope, in about eight days, to be much thinner, if your grace commands." "how?" inquired the queen, laughing: "can you become thin at pleasure? i am glad that, in such a case, you can preserve your cheerfulness." without, however, entering farther into the frank count gerhard's heart affairs, and the inappropriate theme of his personal appearance, the queen suddenly broke off the conversation by a few indifferent questions, to which he replied somewhat in confusion, fearing that he had said something improper. knight abildgaard and the lady cecilia had already, for some time, stepped out of the dance, and were standing in the recess of a window, in pleasing conversation. the flutes and violins now struck up a quick, lively air, and the young maidens sang the queen's favourite ballad, about king didrik and the lion's fight with the dragon. "i like this ballad very well," said the queen, "every age has its dragons, i fancy; but, against the paction of king and lion, there is small chance for the dragon." "that is a true saying, noble queen," replied the count, with much interest, in reference to the allusion. "there are still lions by the side of the danish throne; but, in these chivalrous times, they would rather serve the queen than the king, i trow." "if you please, we will tread a dance to the song," added the queen, interrupting him. count gerhard's embarrassment returned with painful force; but he took refuge in his usual expedient, and, holding the queen by the hand, he advanced, with martial strides, to the middle of the floor. he had not the slightest knowledge of dancing; but he moved about as well as he could, in the same manner as the queen, imitating her turnings, on the contrary side, with the utmost attention. fortunately, the dance was itself a simple one, and he had naturally a good ear for time. notwithstanding his stiffness, and although he trod the floor with his spurred heels until it thundered again, he did not behave himself amiss; indeed, he even looked noble and majestic. before the first measure was over, the constraint in his deportment had disappeared. the cheerful song, and the queen's benignant smile, enlivened him; his good-natured countenance beamed with courage and heartfelt glee, and he swung his arm lustily as the damsels sang:-- "it was master king didrik would prove what his sword could dow, he hewed into the hard rock till the hill was all in a low." he continued dancing, with the happiest face in the world, till the maidens sang the thirty-third verse of the ballad: "the lion roared, and king didrik hewed, till the hill stood all in flame; and had the lion not helped him out, the king had died with shame." but now he suddenly beheld the queen turn pale, and then heard her exclaim--"my god, he bleeds!" and, for the first time, he perceived that the wound in his breast had again opened, and that the blood ran from it in streams. "pardon me, your grace," said he, hastily, and concealing the streaming blood with his arm: "i ought certainly to have remained quiet a few days longer, in consequence of a slight wound i received; but, in that case, i should not have been invited to the present festival. this is the first time in my life i have ever danced: but your grace makes everything possible; and perhaps this is the only mode in which it may be permitted me to pour out my blood for the fairest and noblest of ladies." he made an attempt to take his leave, but his legs tottered under him, and he became deadly pale. drost peter, and the count's own knights, hastened to his assistance, and led him from the saloon. he cast a respectful look towards the queen, who was in the greatest uneasiness; and, without further consciousness of what had happened to him, he was carried back to drost peter's residence, where the sympathising jester received him with a terrified scream, and where he was immediately waited upon by the surgeon and his alarmed friends with the greatest tenderness. this mishap broke up the entertainment at sir john's. the queen had shortly after left the company. betimes in the morning, she sent to inquire after count gerhard's health. the surgeon pronounced him out of danger, although he would not, for some time, be able to leave his bed, and had not yet recovered his consciousness. the last day of the sittings of the dane-court had now arrived. on this day, according to ancient custom, the proceedings were to take place in the open air, in the large green space before the palace. here were admitted not only the vassals of noble extraction, the prelates and bishops of the kingdom, but also the peasants and burghers, more especially the wealthy merchants, who insisted upon the maintenance of their ancient privileges, though, within the last few years, their influence had greatly diminished. the place was surrounded with royal landsknechts; but, within the area, no one was permitted to bear a weapon. around a raised seat, beneath a canopy of red velvet, fringed with gold, stood on the right, in the form of a semicircle, a long row of bishops and prelates, in their ecclesiastical orders, with the old archbishop of lund, john dros, at their head. next to him stood master martinus de dacia. this learned individual had arrived from antvorskov, of which he was prior, eight days previously. he had had a long private conversation with the king immediately after, and, for the second time, had been appointed chancellor of the kingdom and keeper of the royal seal. he was a man above fifty, of a notable appearance, although without much clerical dignity in mien and carriage. he quite filled his ample dominican dress, generally concealing his hands, as if they were cold, in the sleeves of his tunic. sometimes he would suddenly stoop, and stare vacantly before him, as if in deep thought; and then as suddenly look up with surprise, and quit his place, to talk with some of the more learned of the bishops and prelates on some particular theological or philosophical subject, without waiting for an introduction. his tonsure, augmented by a natural want of hair, extended to the whole of his head, which was covered with an octagonal cap of black velvet. he wore his shoes with white heels, in the manner of the clerks of paris; and appeared, on the whole, to affect elegance and punctilio in his dress, although everything sat stiff and awkwardly upon him. among the ecclesiastics might also be seen duke waldemar's travelling companion, the notable dean of roskild, master jens grand, who disdainfully regarded the still vacant royal seat, with a jeering side-glance at the learned chancellor. on the left side of the throne stood a semicircle of princely vassals, counts, knights, and noble governors. in the uppermost place among these was the young duke waldemar, in a knight's brilliant suit of red lawn, and a purple velvet mantle, adorned with the sleswick lions in gold. over his brown curls he wore a russian hat, decked with rubies and ostrich feathers. he spoke softly, and with a sagacious, crafty air, to his brother, count erik of langeland, who had newly arrived at court. next to these gentlemen stood the plump count jacob of halland, in his general's uniform, and haughtily enveloped in his blue mantle; whilst the person by his side, the fastidious sir abildgaard, seemed to be amusing him with satirical or mischievous jokes on some of the ecclesiastics. chief, in the rank of knights, stood eight of the king's counsellors, among whom drost hessel and old john little were still missing. among the knights who had arrived with the duke were to be seen many proud and daring countenances: jacob blaafod, and count jacob's brother, niels hallandfar, seemed, in particular, by their appearance, to betray considerable anxiety as to the issue of the day's transactions. behind these two semicircles of lay and spiritual lords stood a number of respectable peasants, in their short blue sunday smocks, with clear silver buttons, and mostly with their cowl-caps in their hands; whilst the wealthy merchant-burghers, in their long civic gaberdines, pressed before them, among many curious spectators of all classes. a gentle murmur was heard in the assembly, the eyes of which were turned impatiently towards the palace-stairs. at length the large oaken doors were opened, and a royal herald, bearing a white wand, came forth, making way for the king and his train. in his royal purple mantle, and wearing his crown and sceptre, the tall and stately king slowly descended the steps, between the two princes, attended by drost hessel, his marshal and under-marshal, the chief chamberlain, ové dyré, chamberlain rané, and a number of pages, among whom the fair aagé jonsen walked first. the people stood respectfully on one side, and the knights' semicircle opened, whilst the king and his followers ascended to the throne. he bowed, unsteadily, on all sides, and cast a transient look over the assemblage. as soon as he had taken his seat on the throne, with prince erik on his right and junker christopherson on his left hand, three trumpet-blasts announced that the dane-court was seated. after a moment of expectant silence, the king arose, and, taking the crown from his head, laid it on a red velvet cushion, which was handed by the marshal to the archbishop. in like manner, the sceptre was handed to the learned chancellor martinus, who placed it, with great care and reverence, on a velvet cushion, making an evident effort to avoid falling into other thoughts, or losing sight of it. "to-day i am not judge here," began the king: "i am myself a party in the cause whereupon you have to decide, and which concerns the rights of the crown and kingdom. herald, let the jurors come forward!" "in the name of the dane-court," shouted the herald, "come forward, ye sworn men!" there now stepped forth, into the middle of the circle, old john little and nine grave and distinguished individuals. the jurors were all well-known and esteemed men, from various provinces of the kingdom. they bared their heads before the throne and the assembly, and their gray hairs showed that they were among the oldest of all assembled. sir john stood forward as their foreman and spokesman. having bowed to the throne and to both sides of the court, he then said, with an audible voice, "proclaim the cause before the people and the dane-court, sir drost." drost peter, having bowed in like manner, advanced, with his high-feathered hat under his left arm, and, unfolding a sheet of parchment, read from it, slowly and distinctly, the matter in dispute between the king and duke waldemar, respecting the possession of als island. having finished, he returned to his place among the counsellors of the kingdom. old sir john again spoke. "it is known to us all," he began, in a calm and firm voice, "that the illustrious duke waldemar of south jutland, two years since, when he was still under the guardianship of the danish king, erik christopherson, believed himself entitled to make certain demands, which were refused by the king and council, as opposed to the constitution of the kingdom and the privileges of the crown. notwithstanding, king erik has not refused to his illustrious kinsman, now of full age, the privilege of laying before this dane-court the claims he believes he is still entitled to make; and the settlement of the question is confided, by both the illustrious parties, to the present parliament. by the national council of best men, was i, counsellor sir john little, with eleven danish men, under oath and duty, authorised to pronounce sentence in this matter. two of these men have withdrawn from the council of jurors, and have refused to witness and decide in the cause, as not being perfectly known to them; but, after mature consideration, have we ten other men, who stand here, on oath and conscience pronounced sentence, as we mean to answer for it before god and man. if any one wishes to make protestation against the sentence, on account of the withdrawal of these two jurors, let him say so now, before it is made known, and then the final settlement of the matter must be deferred until a new worthel has been chosen by the next dane-court; otherwise, the present parliament declares the sentence of the ten jurors to be valid and just." the old man paused, and regarded the assembly with an earnest, penetrating look. a general silence ensued, and the straining countenances of all announced the deep interest and anxious expectations that were felt. the king made an uneasy gesture, but was also silent. duke waldemar, count jacob, and master grand regarded the king attentively; they also looked meaningly at each other, but said nothing. "we proceed, then, to announce the sentence," resumed sir john; and, at his signal, the eldest of the jurors handed him a large parchment-deed, from which were suspended seventeen seals, with green silk ribbons. the old counsellor unfolded the document, and read aloud and distinctly:-- "we, the undersigned sworn danish men, mogens peterson, niels dué, turé menersson of jutland, john bartson of fyen, niels, formerly governor of lund, john little, mogens corvigson of skaane, anders nielson, oluf tygeson of zealand, and jacob flep of laalund, say and swear, of our full knowledge and counsel, that dominion over the whole of alseland, with the fortresses, palace, and inhabitants thereof, belongs of right to the crown and kingdom of denmark; the peasants belong to the king on the crown's account, the paternal estate of the king's children excepted, which was recognised and conceded to them after the death of king waldemar. the said estate is known to us by means of a patent instrument, by which it was formerly granted to duke erik of south jutland, duke waldemar's father. if the whole country had belonged to them, this estate would not have been specially given. therefore, to the king and crown do we adjudge dominion, with full right and jurisdiction, over the whole of alsen. in testimony whereof, we have sworn this upon the holy sacrament, in presence of the archbishop and six bishops, who, in further confirmation thereof, have attached their seals hereto, along with ours." he then recited the names of the subscribers. when he ceased, he calmly surveyed the various expressions on the countenances of those around him. on the king's features, although he blinked uneasily, might be seen a triumphant smile, as he cast a suspicious glance towards duke waldemar and count jacob, whose cheeks glowed with rage, while their hands were rigidly clenched in the folds of their mantles. drost peter's eyes did not forsake the duke's countenance, which quickly changed into a smile, as he gave a shrug to denote that he despised his loss. all were silent, however. but now stepped forth, from the rank of ecclesiastics, the insolent master grand. "the sentence is invalid," said he, with a loud voice: "two of the jurors' names are wanting; the worthel is not perfect. this requires an express ecclesiastical confirmation." "this protest is of no avail," replied sir john, calmly. "the court was silent on my timely summons, and thereby recognised the sentence as valid. please to add the ecclesiastical confirmation, worthy archbishop johannes." at this summons, the aged archbishop came forward, and, with a calm assurance of his authority, raised his crook, and said--"in the name of the holy church, i hereby declare what i shall add, in writing, to the present document, under my own and the church's seal, by which all shall know that the aforesaid estate, within the dukedom of south jutland, with moneys of the mint, and other privileges in the said dukedom, is legally pronounced and adjudged, by this royal court, to the king of denmark, for ever to possess; and we forbid, under pain of excommunication, that any one should meddle with the jurisdiction over als, or with the forenamed estate in anywise, except with the consent and knowledge of king erik or his successors." notwithstanding that the old archbishop appeared inconsiderable and indistinct by the side of master grand, he pronounced these words with a quiet dignity that did not mar their effect. he then stepped back. master grand bit his lips with rage, and walked silently to his place. the stillness of death for a moment pervaded the assembly; when the king suddenly arose, and declared the dane-court at an end, his words being accompanied by three loud trumpet-blasts. the archbishop and chancellor thereupon came forward with the crown and sceptre. the king pressed the crown firmly on his head, grasped the sceptre, and hastily descended from the throne. the row of knights opened, the people fell back, and the king, with the princes and his train, returned to the palace. the assembly broke up in the greatest order; but the knights of the various parties regarded each other with a silence at once unusual and painful. from count jacob and master grand alone were heard a few loud words, the involuntary outbreak of subdued wrath. duke waldemar, however, preserved a better appearance: his sagacious eye ran over the rank of his attached knights, and then, making a rapid gesture with his forefinger to his mouth, he departed, with his lively drost by his side, to that part of the palace where he had his apartments. in the evening, after these important transactions, a magnificent entertainment was given at the palace, wherein the queen, with the little princess mereté and their ladies, participated, and where the king was also present, with both the young princes, in full court state. both the palace and the town were brilliantly illuminated. flutes and violins resounded from the knights' saloon, and the serious business of the morning appeared to be wholly forgotten in social enjoyments, and in the varied display of wit and gravity, chivalrous courtesies and disguised passions, in which a thousand hidden qualities of the heart were concerned. love and jealousy, hope and fear, pride and vanity, combined as powerfully to set the unstable, youthful soul into lively motion, as did the music and dancing to bring into action the feet of knights and ladies on the polished floor. as at the previous evening's entertainment at sir john's, duke waldemar was here, in an extremely good humour. not a trace of discontent was visible in his countenance, and he attracted general attention, as much by his cheerfulness and affability as by his princely bearing and dazzling grandeur. his variance with the king was the reason that he had not yet received the honour of knighthood, which he could not accept from any meaner hand. he dressed, notwithstanding, in the style of the most elegant knight, and, to conceal his want of the gold spurs, wore silver ones, thickly studded with gems. he suffered no opportunity to pass of showing himself attentive and devoted to the queen; his bold and artful drost, sir abildgaard, attaching himself, in a similar way, to counselor john's fair daughter, lady cecilia. drost peter, to the surprise of all, was extremely reserved and silent. he was wont, on festive occasions at court, to be the soul of the company, and, in particular, to entertain the queen and her ladies by an ingenious blending of the grave and gay, with a freedom and liveliness which could only be derived from a consciousness of the favour in which he stood. since the first morning of the dane-court, when it was reported that he was ruined and in disgrace, and yet was seen, shortly after, leaving the king's closet as the most favoured of favourites, it was observed by every one, that a remarkable alteration had taken place in his demeanour. he had become grave and taciturn, as people fancied, from pride. he appeared to avoid with care, almost with anxiety, every approach to the queen; whilst, at the same time, he often watched her, and closely observed duke waldemar's efforts to please her. in this behaviour, the queen's sharp-sighted ladies fancied that they perceived the jealous favourite, who kept back from wounded vanity, and esteemed himself too highly to vie with duke waldemar in knightly civilities. he himself believed that he had far more important grounds for his altered conduct. the experience of the last few days had taught him how hazardous it was, in a court like this, to allow his frank and lively nature to be displayed without disguise, and, like a courteous knight, to worship beauty without reservation, even where he honoured it in combination with true innate greatness. the only occasion on which he had spoken to the queen, since his arrival at the present court, was at an unusual time, and with a degree of agitation that might have been easily misinterpreted: it was on the evening of his arrival, when he had in vain sought an audience of the king, and when recourse to this step was necessary in order to save his unfortunate foster-mother. he had, as usual, found the amiable and virtuous queen extremely gracious, and favourably disposed towards him and his business. by immediately granting his request, and effecting his nurse's release from prison, she had given him a new proof of her goodwill. the danger he had subsequently incurred, and his fortunate escape, which she learnt on the following day, filled her with the liveliest interest; but the grounds of his danger were only half known, and what the attendants fancied they did know, no one thought it becoming to inform her of. she had not spoken a single word to him since. the evident care with which he appeared to avoid her, surprised and displeased her; and, as he had neglected several favourable opportunities of approaching her, she appeared no longer to notice his presence, but confined her conversation to duke waldemar, count jacob, and the other princely gentlemen in the company. late in the evening, the king quietly left the saloon, attended by chamberlain rané. drost peter observed his sudden departure; and as it took place on a signal from the crafty chamberlain, he concluded that it had reference to some private understanding, and to one of those frequent but discreditable assignations wherein rané was at all times the king's familiar and agent. drost peter dared not follow, to warn him of rané, who had already vindicated himself, and regained the king's favour. the young drost stood, alone and dejected, by one of the windows, during a wild and merry dance. he felt, with some disquietude, his peculiar position at court, where it was his first duty to guard from temptation the young heir to the throne. it was nearly impossible to watch over the security of a king who so continually exposed himself to insult and danger by his debaucheries, and by honouring with his confidence men who only flattered his inclinations to promote their own ends and lead him into temptation. "his better part i cannot save," said the drost, mentally. "i can only think of the crown's security." he stood armed with full royal authority to seize the duke the moment he should display the least intention to quit the kingdom. information had been received of sufficient importance to justify such a step, were it needful. should the duke be permitted to withdraw, unmolested, into sweden, there was little doubt that he would return at the head of a hostile army, in conjunction with marsk andersen, to lay waste the country, and overturn the throne. the probability that this was the plan of the conspirators now bordered upon certainty, although full and legal proof was still wanting. the drost, in conjunction with knight thorstenson, had orders to watch all the motions of the duke. their horses stood saddled within the palace-gates, and a light sloop lay in the harbour, ready to sail at whatever time they chose to cross the great belt. many doubts occupied the drost's mind. at this moment he possessed i the king's highest favour and confidence; and it was not improbable that the fate of the monarch depended on the important and difficult business with which he was entrusted. in his absence, however, it might be easy for the crafty rané, and his kinsman, the chief chamberlain, ové dyré, to ruin him with the unstable king, and destroy the fruits of his dangerous undertaking. still, so long as master martinus and sir john were in the king's council, he believed this fear unfounded. his eye now fell on the young prince erik, who danced lightly and gaily past him. for the security of this highly important individual, he had also reason to be apprehensive; and he was only consoled by reflecting that, in his absence, old sir john would fulfil the duties of drost to the heir to the throne. lighthearted, and free from care, the prince danced, hand in hand, with his sister mereté. she was only twelve years old, and was already looked upon as betrothed to the swedish prince berger. by this arrangement, the differences between the new royal house of sweden and that of denmark had been accommodated, after the vacillating king erik christopherson had in vain endeavoured to reinstate the dethroned swedish king waldemar, whom he had himself assisted to overturn. still, it was scarcely believed that peace with the powerful king ladislaus could be depended upon, and haste had accordingly been made to obtain the pope's dispensation for this union, on account of the consanguinity of the parties. "another victim to our wavering policy," whispered a deep, well-known voice into drost peter's ear. it was the grave sir thorstenson, who had approached him unobserved, and who had been regarding the little lively princess with a look of compassion. "sir thorstenson!" said drost peter, recalled from his serious musings: "are you, too, an idle observer of the world's vanities to-night? perhaps you may be somewhat mistaken in what you disapprove of so absolutely." as he spoke, he drew him aside into the next apartment, where the tables were unoccupied, and where they could converse without observation. "you pity our princess," continued he: "for her i am the least concerned: sweden hopes as much for its heir-apparent as we do for ours. this betrothing of children is now the custom of the age, in knightly as well as in princely families. as you are aware, i was myself betrothed in the same fashion, from my cradle, and i have not felt myself unhappy in consequence. i am now released from the engagement, yet do i not feel myself happier. children have their ministering angels before the sight of god, says master martin. god only knows what is best for us, and he can dispose of events accordingly. it may not be long, perhaps, before we hear of a similar betrothal of our young heir-apparent to the beautiful royal maid of sweden, whom we saw at the tournament. the king appears to desire it ardently, and i dare offer no objections." "barbarous--atrocious!" murmured the knight. "but i have something else to tell you. are you prepared to travel?" "it is not yet time. as long as the handsome gentleman glitters and dances within, he can hardly think of leaving the kingdom." "you know, then, that he has taken leave of the king? he departs tonight for sleswick, it is reported; but i know that two highly distinguished gentlemen are to pass over to korsöer to-night. these are certainly he and his drost. the ship they have hired is said to be swedish; but i believe it is norse, and, in fact, a pirate-vessel." "i know it," answered drost peter. "our little sloop is ready to sail. it is all in good hands, and i am fully authorised in this matter. sir benedict rimaardson, of tornborg, follows us in zealand. as soon as the bird takes wing, we fly after him; but on this side the sound he has his freedom. if he think proper to visit zealand, it is no one's business." "we understand one another," replied thorstenson, nodding. "we, too, are only making a pleasant excursion, to visit our good friends. with sir lavé little, at flynderborg we can best guard the passage of the sound." drost peter hesitated, as if half embarrassed by the proposition. "very good: we can determine on that tomorrow," he said, hastily. "but we must be at our post. remain you here till the moment this cunning gentleman leaves the palace. i shall send my squire to the quay, to keep an eye upon the strange skiff. before midnight, i shall be at the palace-gates, with our horses." he pressed thorstenson's hand, went hastily past the dancers in the saloon, and, as he approached the queen, paused for a moment, to give her a respectful salutation. "a word, drost hessel," said the quean, in an unusually authoritative tone, and seating herself upon a chair, at some distance from the dancers. drost peter stopped, and approached her attentively. "how do you find your wounded guest?" she inquired. "i regret that i was, in some measure, the cause of his relapse." "his life is out of danger, your grace. i am at this moment going to visit him." "tell him that i am concerned for his mishap," she continued; "so much the more, as i hear it occurred in a chivalrous onset respecting a lady's honour." drost peter blushed deeply. "how, gracious queen?" he stammered: "who has said--" "that this was the case?" interrupted the queen. "it has just been told me that he had a dispute, on his journey from middelfert, with a certain conceited young knight, who boasted too loudly and indiscreetly of his good fortune with a lady whose colours he wears, but one who can never consent to be the object of any other favour from a knight than true and discreet service." "he who told you so, noble queen," replied drost peter, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, "i must pronounce a base slanderer, did he even wear a princely crown; and i will make good my assertion by honourable combat for life and death. this much only is true, that our common admiration of the exalted lady whose colours i wear was, undoubtedly, the cause of our untoward strife. but, by my knightly honour, the noble count gerhard himself can bear witness that his antagonist was guilty of no indiscretion." "your word of honour, brave drost hessel, is ample surety to me for the truth of what you state," said the queen, mildly; "but it is my express wish that not a word more be said about this matter, and that you carefully avoid every dispute with which my name may, in the slightest degree, be associated. from henceforth, neither you nor any other knight shall wear my colours with my consent. i shall see you only when it is highly needful, and when i call you. this conduct, i know, you will not misunderstand. go, now, to your sick guest, noble knight, and be assured of my unchanged goodwill." with bitter feelings, drost peter unfastened a rose-coloured silken rosette, which he wore upon his doublet, and, handing it to the queen with a suppressed sigh, he bowed silently and respectfully, and withdrew. it was almost midnight. count gerhard lay impatiently in bed, unable to sleep. he seemed to hear, from the palace, the flutes and violins, and had conceived such a desire for dancing, since his first essay in the art on the preceding evening, that his legs were in constant motion, though the surgeon had enjoined him to be still, and to allow himself to be bound, if he could not restrain this singular fancy, which he thought must be a result of the fever produced by his wound. his adventure with sir john, in the early part of the evening, occurred to him almost like a dream, and he would not ask any one how it had happened. all society and amusement were strictly forbidden him, and he saw no one but the surgeon and old dorothy, who watched quietly by his couch. still, when he could not sleep, she told him a variety of ghost-stories, and tales of trolds and nixes, the truth of which she piously believed and affirmed. the count would only answer with a growl, and a brief exclamation of "nonsense! confounded nonsense, carlin!" but in the best-tempered tone in the world. dorothy was not at all disconcerted by such objections. she saw plainly that her stories amused the sick man, and therefore regarded his discontented expressions merely as a peculiar mode of speaking, and a well-meant sign that he was listening. she sat quietly by his pillow, with her lean, wrinkled visage opposite to the lamp, and had almost finished a long story about a nix who had his quarters in our lady's steeple, and played people all sorts of pranks--sometimes in the form of a horse, at a ford, where he took travellers upon his back, and, laughing, threw them off in the middle of a bog--sometimes as a beautiful princess, or fairy queen, who would dance with vain gallants in her palace of mist, and become changed into a wisp of straw when they attempted to embrace her. "nonsense! cursed nonsense!" again growled the count. "but you are right, carlin. the fools were properly served, if there are such nixes. are not you, yourself, a confounded witch, who will plague and play cantrips with me?" the old woman crossed herself. the door was gently opened, and drost peter put in his head to inquire after the sick man. the simple gray dress of a burgher was the attire in which he had disguised himself for his secret journey, and, in place of his feathered hat, he wore a red cloth travelling-cap over his fair locks. when dorothy saw him in this dress, she started up, terrified. "st. gertrude and all saints save us!" she cried, "here he comes!" "who?" growled the count: "has satan got you, carlin? who is it?" "if you are not asleep, noble count," said drost peter, entering, "i shall merely wish you a speedy recovery, and bid you farewell. i must travel tonight, and have fortified myself against the night air." "ah, my gracious young master, it is you!" cried dorothy. "i thought, by the lord's truth, it was the gray nix with the red cap, who had changed himself into a handsome young gentleman to make a fool of me." "your nurse is crazy, and is well nigh making me crazy too," said count gerhard, recognising drost peter, and extending his hand. "you are for travelling--and i lying here. well, then, set out in god's name. i require nothing, as you may see, and have entertaining company. but were you at the palace entertainment? how gets it on? with whom does the queen dance?" "with dukes and princes of the blood. she inquired after you, and bade me inform you that she is concerned for your mischance. leave us for a moment, dorothy." dorothy left the room, casting back a look of curiosity, and allowing the door to stand ajar. drost peter, who knew her failing, closed the door, and took a chair by the count's pillow. "did she really inquire after me?" asked the count. "there is nothing of the nix in your nature, my good friend; therefore you cannot see whether i am one of your nurse's vain gallants, who have a fancy for dancing with a bundle of straw." drost peter looked at him with surprise, and thought he was delirious. "it is nonsense--stupid nursery jargon, i know very well," continued the count. "but as i have nothing to do but lie here and dream, it almost crazes me. but let that pass. what said you concerning the queen?" "she has been inaccurately informed of the occasion of our dispute," replied drost peter. "i have not mentioned the circumstance to any one; so that you must yourself--" "only in confidence, to my dear longlegs, and then in a highly figurative manner. but what said she to that?" "it is the queen's wish that nothing more be said about the matter," continued drost peter. "she no longer permits any knight to wear her colours, and, as you may perceive, my red rosette is gone." "i have nothing to say against that," exclaimed the count, with undisguised pleasure: "it did not well become you. you are about to travel, then, and do not accompany the court?" "not at present. but, before taking my departure, a serious word, in confidence. i know well that you cannot be greatly attached to the royal house of denmark, and you may greatly disapprove of what has taken place here; but you hate all knavery, and mean well and honourably with everybody. "good: on that point you may rest satisfied. but if you require me to show you as much by deeds, say on." "these are bewildering and deceiving times, noble count gerhard, and even the best are liable to be misled. the king's friends are few, and i dare not reckon you among them. has enemies are numerous and powerful; but the noble queen agnes is not less prized in your eyes than in mine. promise me, for her sake, however much you may condemn the measures of the danish government, that you will not enter into any secret league against the crown and kingdom; but, like a faithful vassal, make common cause with me, to preserve the legitimate order of affairs in denmark." "i have not, as yet, had the least thought of doing mischief," replied the count, smiling; "and, seeing the condition in which i now am, have you not taken care that i shall not be a dangerous neighbour in a hurry? i am, to speak frankly, no great admirer either of your policy or your king, and should have nothing to complain of if there happened a regular insurrection, like that which he himself supported in sweden. it gave people something to do, and one had not time to lie dreaming about nixes and enchanted princesses. but you are right: for the queen's sake alone, it were a sin and a shame to desire an insurrection. i am well aware that the great men and vassals are dissatisfied; but i have hitherto kept myself aloof, and i will not belong to their councils, if they have not reference to an open and orderly feud, which, besides, is both just and lawful in itself." "more than this i cannot desire, noble count. give me your knightly hand upon it." "there it is. i have no objection to people fighting, when they cannot agree; but with conspiracies and mutinies i shall have nothing to do: you have my word for it." "that word is worth more to me than the most formal treaty," replied drost peter, pressing his hand with glad confidence. "farewell, now, noble count, and a speedy recovery. make my house your home as long as you please, and bear me in friendly remembrance, in whatever way fickle fortune may be disposed to play ball with me. however much we may differ on many points, on one we are agreed. the illustrious fair one who, against her wish, brought us to contend against each other, shall hereafter, like a spirit of peace and reconciliation, unite our hands and hearts in that gloomy warfare wherein friends and foes know not each other. god be with you! farewell." so saying, he once more ardently pressed the count's hand, and hastily left him. the count nodded, and fell into deep thought. old dorothy shortly afterwards again hobbled into the apartment, and took her master's place by the count's bed; but finding him so completely abstracted, she did not venture again to disturb him with more adventures. * * * it was two hours after midnight. the streets of nyborg were still and deserted. there was no moon in the heavens; but the sky was clear, and, in the faint starlight, two tall individuals, wrapped in hooded cloaks, issued from the outer gates of the palace. they walked silently and hastily towards the quay. immediately afterwards, two horsemen, in gray cloaks, rode out of the palace-gate, and speedily disappeared in the same direction, without the slightest noise, as if their horses were shod with list. at the extremity of the quay lay a skiff, with red sails, upon which a number of silent figures were in motion. the quay was quiet and solitary. at length, a few rapid footsteps and the clank of spurs were heard, and, under the outer plank of the bulwark, a little, peeping, curly head concealed itself. the two tall persons in hooded cloaks now paused: one of them coughed, and, in a subdued voice, pronounced a name or pass-word, which was answered from the ship by a whistle; upon which they went on board. in a moment the red sails were set. a steady breeze blew from the south-west, and the skiff passed rapidly by the eastern point, out of the haven. as soon as the vessel was in motion, the little black curly head of the spy once more appeared from beneath the bulwark. at one bound, claus skirmen stood in a boat, and, with a few hasty strokes of the oars, came alongside a small yacht lying in the inner part of the haven, and in which his master and sir thorstenson already expected him. scarcely had the red-sailed skiff passed canute's head, the extreme eastern point of coast, before the smaller and quicker yacht ran out from nyborg haven. it bore away, at first with some difficulty, as near as possible to the wood-covered west coast of the firth, to avoid drifting too far northwards, and to be able to steer in a direct line south of sporgoe, towards zealand. drost peter seated himself silently by the rudder, and looked grave. sir thorstenson and skirmen also preserved a deep silence; and, during the whole passage, the usual and necessary words of command to the boatmen only were heard. the skiff with the red sails had just disappeared from sight, and was steering to the north of sporgoe. as the morning dawned, they were close by korsöer. drost peter gazed incessantly, and somewhat uneasily, towards the north. at length he caught a glimpse of the red sail, and saw that the strange skiff was bearing down the belt. he now ordered the yacht to be run in to korsöer harbour. the two knights landed unrecognised. they stood in their gray cloaks, like travelling merchants, and silently bowed before a large crucifix, which, surrounded by a gilt circle or halo, stood on the quay-head. skirmen hastily brought the horses on shore; and, in an instant, the knights had mounted them, and the squire leaped on his hardy norback, when, without delay, the three horsemen proceeded through the slumbering town. over almost every door there stood a cross, in a ring, as upon the quay. this holy symbol, at once the ancient arms of the town and the origin of its name, was not wanting on any craftsman's sign. although there was not awaking soul to be seen in the place, the knights saluted almost every second house, mindful, even in their haste, of this customary token of reverence. they rode through the town-gate, and along the frith to the left or northwards, where the road wound near tornborg. in the wood, close by tornborg, they ceased their hard gallop, and allowed their horses to breathe. now, for the first time, drost peter broke the long silence. "you are perfectly sure it was them, skirmen?" he said to his squire. "as sure as i am that it is yourself and sir thorstenson who are riding here," replied the squire. "the duke and his drost stood on the beam right over my head, at the quay, and i could count every soul on board the skiff." "how many were there, then?" "i counted nine and twenty, including soldiers and boatmen. they looked a most atrocious pack of rievers. one could hardly see their faces, for their black and red beards; and those who did not sit on the rowing-benches, had large knives in their girdles, and battle-axes in their hands. he who whistled appeared the worst of them all: he was a huge, sturdy fellow, with a face like a bear. i could only see him indistinctly, on account of the red sail that flapped about his ears; but i dare stake my head that it was no one else than niels breakpeace himself, the captain of the jutland rievers, who escaped from us last year." "niels breakpeace!" repeated both knights, in astonishment. "but was not the vessel norwegian, then?" inquired drost peter. "the boatmen were norsemen, sir--audacious-looking fellows, with large cleavers and shaggy caps. he who sat by the rudder was also a norseman--a little sturdy fellow, dressed like a knight, with a gilded dagger-hilt in his belt. they called him count alf." "the algrev--mindre-alf!" exclaimed both knights, regarding each other with renewed astonishment; while sir thorstenson, repeating the name, became pale with indignation, and grasped the hilt of his sword in his powerful hand. "stand!" he exclaimed, stopping his horse: "could i but break the algrev's neck, i would give half my life for it. but who has said they are coming in this direction?" drost peter held the skirt of his cloak to the wind. "do you see?" he said: "the wind has gone round to the north. they must have already landed on the coast here. that they will to sweden, we know very well; and that they were steering down the belt, we saw. they will certainly land either here or at skjelskjoer, to cross the sound by orekrog. if we are rightly informed, the duke must first to zealand; he and the marsk have powerful friends here." "they will certainly not land at skjelskjoer," said thorstenson; "the algrev was too well known there last year." "we shall soon see them here, then," said drost peter. "these norse vikings[ ] will hardly venture far from the vessel. the duke will also bethink him well of passing through the country openly, with a gang of rievers at his heels. he will scarcely come with a large train; but, in any case, we can surprise the whole band, if requisite." "that we can, with half a score of sir rimaardson's coast-jagers," said thorstenson. "yonder lies tornborg. i think we should take our post by the road here, and send your squire to the castle." drost peter nodded assent, and immediately dispatched claus skirmen to tornborg with a verbal message; whilst he and sir thorstenson, leaving the horses to graze in a little green spot in the wood, close to the road, ascended an eminence, from which they had an extensive view over the belt. from this spot they saw the red sail of the freebooter, under a woody shelter, near the coast, and were now satisfied that they were upon the right track. tornborg lay scarcely three hundred yards from the eminence where the knights stood. the nimble skirmen was soon back, and brought intelligence that sir rimaardson had gone out hunting for the day, and would not return home before evening. "we must assist ourselves, then, as we best can," said drost peter. "we can stay here until the duke has passed. although every royal castellan will stand by us, yet the fewer we are the better: we must avoid publicity." "but, should the pirates impede our progress, we must cut our way through the pack," remarked thorstenson. "i take upon me to crack the algrev's neck, and perhaps those of a couple of his scoundrels. yet, however, we are only two-men-and-a-half strong." "you may safely reckon us as three whole men, and a little more, stern sir knight," said skirmen, strutting bravely: "what i want in length, i can make up for, perhaps, in another shape. at any rate, you and my master alone may well pass for three doughty men." "no bragging, skirmen," said drost peter, interrupting his squire. "off now, and get under the stone trough, by the roadside yonder, and bring us word, as soon as you see them. they cannot do otherwise than cross the brook." skirmen leapt from his norback, and left it to graze in the wood. he then ran to the post indicated, and the two knights took their seats on the hillock. "ah, could we only catch the algrev!" broke out sir thorstenson, vehemently. "that is a matter of secondary importance, my noble knight," observed drost peter. "in our anxiety to secure a freebooter, let us not forget the far more important object for which we are here." "you are right," said thorstenson: "in thinking of the infernal viking, i had almost forgotten everything else. respecting the duke, it is rather a dangerous undertaking. if we allow him to cross the sound, we may chance to have him in our power; but, if it so happen, it is then extremely doubtful whether we are not doing exactly that which the king and the friends of the country would prevent. think you not that such apparent violence, towards so powerful a vassal, would give a vent for the general dissatisfaction, and arm every traitor in the country?" "it is a hazardous but necessary step," replied drost peter; "and, after what we have now seen, is nowise unjust. besides, if this exalted personage is in league with the country's open enemies, and even with outlawed criminals, like niels breakpeace, we should be quite justified were we to seize him on the spot. were that possible, we shall not exceed our authority one single step." "could we but lay hold of the algrev at the same time, it would not so much matter," began sir thorstenson, after a pause, his eyes flashing with passion. "since the cursed sea-hound is so saucy as to risk himself on land, before our very eyes, i can scarcely refrain from giving him chase, even before we deal with the other. it were shame and a scandal should the notorious algrev be permitted to pass through zealand, instead of being hanged on a gallows by the way. there is scarcely a sea-town in denmark that he has not plundered: he has committed more atrocities in the world than he has hairs on his curly head." "do you know anything of him beyond report?" inquired drost peter. "craft and courage he should not lack." "i know him better than any clerk or bishop knows the foul fiend," replied the enraged knight. "he passes for a hero and a great man, both in norway and sweden; but here he passes, with good reason, for a vile sea-rover, an incendiary, and a ravisher. and yet such a fellow brags of his princely descent, and scorns an honest and irreproachable knight! know you not that it is he who, with justice algot of west gothland, and his powerful sons, is guardian to prince svantopolk's daughter, and the cause of all my misfortunes?" "i know you speak reluctantly about this affair, my noble knight. you were inclined towards the prince's fair daughter, and she gave you her troth against her kinsman's wish; but, as far as i am aware, it was not the algrev, but justice algot's son, who carried off the lady ingrid." "it was by the algrev's help, then; and not at all from true affection, but from pride and a love of rapine. the whole of this haughty race are in conspiracy against us. chancellor peter and bishop brynjalf of sweden wished to force her into a convent; but the algrev would give her to sir algotson, that half her fief and estates might remain in his riever claws. my only hope now is in the bold swedish king, and in seeing this algrev on a gibbet." "but, my dear, brave thorstenson, do not you make too large claims on kings and princes, when you set your eyes so seriously on a prince's daughter?" "i am as doughty and wellborn a knight as algotson," replied thorstenson: "but, were i even the meanest scullion, and loved an emperor's daughter, by him who lives above! i would show the world i was worthy of her, and lay my life on winning her, spite of the world and all its rulers." "you cannot, however, entirely despise the limits that birth and station oppose to our wishes," continued drost peter, with friendly interest. "however highly you may esteem a free and independent nature, my valiant friend, you must still admit, that there is something higher and greater than in blindly following its instincts to happiness. you cannot be ignorant of the great law of self-denial: that law, the powerful ones of the earth ought most of all to obey. those who stand nearest to kings, part with heart and fortune, my friend; yea, the heart must be silent, where a higher voice speaks." "the fiend take your higher voice and law of self-denial!" replied thorstenson. "that law may do for reigning princes. they are bred and born to be the victims of state policy, and of their people. for that, they bear the crown and sceptre; for that, they rule over us, and hide their miseries in purple; but free, noble-born knights cannot recognise a necessity at variance with the ordinances of god and of nature. i well know what has possessed you with this fancy, my brave friend: it is respect for a deceased father's last foolishness. such respect is, no doubt, very proper; but the usurpations of fathers and kinsmen over our childhood can never constitute a sacred obligation to sacrifice our own freedom and happiness, and stifle the best feelings of our nature. you may be glad that your foolish juvenile betrothment is at an end; it now behoves you no longer to befool yourself with fancies." "i was not thinking of myself at the moment," replied drost peter, with calm animation, lying back on the green height, his clear blue eye resting on the deep vault of the spring-heaven over his head. "i was thinking of our young heir to the throne, and the little princess ingeborg of sweden. they are already, one may say, bride and bridegroom, although they are yet both children. they played together at that tourney festival where the proud ingrid gave you her troth, and you, with grave self-confidence, believed you could determine your fortune. it was to me a wonderful thought, when i saw the children playing together, that i knew what neither of them yet could dream of--that these two innocent beings were already secretly destined for one another, and chosen to become the bond of union between two kingdoms and people. it did not in any manner move me: it occurred to me, not as an audacious interference with the designs of providence by a cold, calculating state policy, or as an unnatural usurpation, as you term it, by short-sighted men; it appeared to me as a mysterious carrying out of god's will, and as if these children had been destined for each other before any of the individuals were in being by whose plans and counsels it should be accomplished. i will not defend these views: i know you will call them fanatical, or even superstitious and foolish; but in the same manner has my own dim destination hitherto come before my eyes. this fanaticism, as you may readily term it, has, thanks to god! preserved me from a bewilderment of heart, that might have driven me mad, or, what were worse, have lost me my peace of mind, here and hereafter." "i believe i guess what you mean, my brave friend," said sir thorstenson, heartily shaking his hand. "i will not enter into argument with your pious fancies. your heart has the least share in your aristocratic bigotry; for, fortunately, your fancies have juggled the heart into a slumber. but ask not that i should regard, in the same calm manner, the dull obstacles to my happiness as a wise ordination. i esteem you fortunate that you really do not experience that vehemence of passion you seem to dread, and which would destroy your world of fancy, quick as a stormblast destroys the glittering cobweb." "all hearts are not alike," replied drost peter; and his manly voice trembled, from a deep, suppressed feeling. "when it boils and tosses in you, as in the mighty ocean, in my soul it burns deep and still. if, then, i could not fix my eye on the great, calm, eternal depth above, and find peace in its contemplation, i should waste in secret; whilst you find relief and consolation in wild outbreaks." they continued to converse together for some time, in a familiar and friendly manner. they had long been friends, notwithstanding the great difference in their modes of thinking, as well as in their nature and dispositions. the zeal and fidelity with which they both served their king were grounded upon a far from common opinion of the sacredness of the crown and of the kingly power. a steady regard to this made drost peter what he was with respect to the crown and kingdom; and his earnest hope to be able to support a tottering throne, and to preserve the crown untarnished for its hopeful and legally chosen heir, gave him strength for every sacrifice. with sir thorstenson, it was the idea of honour, and the inviolability of a knight's promise, which alone bound him to a king he could neither love nor respect. he shared, in many points, the contempt of the discontented noblemen for a kingly power, which, circumscribed as it was, was still so frequently perverted to unjust and arbitrary ends; but he hated, in almost an equally high degree, the pride of birth, and the imperious conduct of the aristocracy, as well as the efforts of the ecclesiastics to establish a spiritual tyranny. he was, consequently, disposed to justify the rebellious spirit of the oppressed commoners, and was an ardent admirer of the swedish king, magnus ladislaus, who guarded the privileges of the commons, while he tamed the most powerful of the nobility with violence, and, at times, with cruelties. on this subject he had again entered into a warm controversy with drost peter, who, since the cruel execution of the folkungar,[ ] without form of law, had a strong aversion to the swedish king, which he expressed without reserve, and considered denmark, with all her miseries, fortunate in not having such a sanguinary tyrant and upstart monarch for a ruler. "nay, my good friend," cried thorstenson, starting up: "rather an able tyrant, who treads every law under foot, than a vile turncoat, who gives laws every day and keeps no law himself. rather an active, hardy warrior, who hacks off heads like cabbages from their stocks, than a mean craven, who can only run after women in the dark, and cannot look an honest man in the face in open day. nay, nay," he continued, striking his sword on the ground: "i consider sweden fortunate in her magnus, even were he to lay one half of it waste in order that flowers and glory might spring up in the other. rather a despotic ruler, with a determined will, who dares to wrest a crown from a crazy head, and defend it, than a legitimate madman, a dullard, without head or brains, and wrinkled like a clout under the symbol of majesty. we serve the vilest master in the world," continued he, with subdued vehemence: "that we cannot gainsay. you are true to him, drost peter; but, to defend him with a true word--that you leave alone. i must make free to say of him what i please, if even you are angry thereat; but he has once had my word, and he may rely on my fealty, though he is not worthy to have an honest dog in his service. great honour no one earns here, either as knight or warrior: that you must yourself admit; but what honour i have, i shall take care to keep, notwithstanding. if, now, we have to make war on sweden, as i respect my knightly word, i shall not sheathe my sword until i have washed the stain from the hand that gave it me, with the blood of heroes who now, with reason, despise us." drost peter sprang up with warmth. "with reason, no one can despise us," he said; "and, without reason, no one shall dare to do so with impunity. the days of denmark's glory are over, it is true; but honour even our worst foes shall leave us untouched. if we scorn the master we serve, we scorn ourselves," he continued. "the faults and errors of the king i cannot defend: it were despicable to respect them; but, as faithful servants, we should cover them with the cloak of charity when we can, and not place our glory in revealing his shame." "to you, and between ourselves, i can state my mind without disguise," replied thorstenson. "on this subject, you know, i am silent before strangers; and, were a stranger to venture to say to me what i have just been saying to you, i would break his neck on the spot, without a moment's hesitation.----but how is this? the wood is full of people!" he sprang hastily to his feet. "and where are our horses? they are not where we left them grazing." drost peter looked round him in astonishment. they heard many voices, and the noise of hunters and hounds, on all sides; and now they perceived, beside them on the height, a tall gentleman, of knightly appearance, attired in a green doublet, and mounted on a light brown horse. "who are you?" shouted the huntsman, in a stern, commanding voice. "rievers have landed hereabouts, and i have a right to make the demand: i am the king's captain at tornborg." "we have sought you in vain, sir benedict rimaardson," replied drost peter, taking off his red cap, and at the same time handing him the king's authority. "who we are, this will inform you, if you have not already recognised us." "drost hessel! sir thorstenson!" exclaimed the knight, with surprise, and springing from his horse: "who would have expected you in this guise?" he extended a friendly hand to them, and cast a hasty glance over the document, while drost peter pointed it out, and laid his finger on his lips. although the huntsman had, apparently, some trouble in reading it, he quickly understood its meaning. "so, so! teeth before the tongue!" said he, in a tone of surprise, and handing back the parchment to drost peter. "i have something better to do, then, than to hunt after these horse-stealers. but still it was an accursed piece of impudence in them," continued he, enraged. "did you not see a gang of long-bearded fellows, looking like shipwrecked seamen? a little while since they carried off all our horses, almost to the one i luckily sit upon. they did it in a twinkling, as my huntsmen were taking their morning's meal down by the moss." "our horses, also, have disappeared," said sir thorstenson. "here there is no time to be lost. but, first, procure us three horses." "are you more than two, gentlemen?" "my squire is on the outlook, down by the road," replied drost peter: "see, here he comes." squire skirmen bounded forward like a hart. "they are coming!" he exclaimed: "there are four on horseback. i know the duke's red mantle, and the little norse gentleman's burly beard." "the algrev!" cried thorstenson: "death and destruction! let us after him!" "that illustrious individual is not to be stopped here, if i understand the pothooks rightly," said the huntsman; "but we must be certain whether it is him. how fall you upon the algrev? follow me, gentlemen: i know the wood. they shall pass close by us without seeing us." while skirmen held the huntsman's horse, he led the nimble drost peter and sir thorstenson into a thicket of white thorns and young beeches, close by the roadside. by his advice, they laid themselves on the ground, having in sight, before them, a portion of the road from korsöer. they had not waited long in this position, before they heard the trampling of horses close at hand. drost peter bent the boughs aside, and sir thorstenson made a hasty movement. "still! keep still, my good sirs!" said the hunter: "game of this sort must not be frightened. here we have them. bight: it is the duke and his drost. the pompous little gentleman, with the bullock head, i do not know; and yet--" "the algrev! mindre-alf!" interrupted thorstenson, in a low voice, as he was on the point of starting up. "remember the main business, and restrain your vehemence," whispered drost peter, holding him back. "let them only get in advance, and we are sure of them," whispered the hunter. "but who is that heavy fellow, in the squire's mantle, who rides behind? he does not look at all like a fine gentleman's attendant." "niels breakpeace, the jutland rover," answered drost peter, softly: "but let him pass on. in the duke's livery, he has now free convoy through zealand." the four important travellers passed, and the knights arose. "it is hard enough," said rimaardson, "that i, as chief of tornborg, should see two such notorious robbers pass along, under my very nose as it were, and dare not stop and seize them. if it was their marauding band that took our horses, there is no more security in the country for the present. permit me to ride on before you to tornborg, gentlemen. measures shall be taken instantly. we may still reach slagelse before the duke has left it. we must keep at some distance, and be not too numerous, or he may apprehend mischief." as he spoke he hastily mounted his horse, which skirmen, at his sign, had brought him, and rode off at a gallop towards the castle. the knights and skirmen followed him with rapid steps. sir benedict or bent rimaardson was about forty years of age, with a brave huntsman's countenance, embrowned by exposure to the sun and open air. he was tall and spare, and exceedingly nimble in his movements. all his paternal ancestors were danes; but, on the mother's side, he was related to the margraves of brandenburg and queen agnes. in consequence of his fidelity to the king, he was at variance with his younger brother, sir lavé rimaardson, who had been deprived of his estates, and outlawed as a traitor and fomenter of rebellion among the peasants. these family cares severely depressed the otherwise bold and lively knight; for his wild, unruly brother was still dear to him, and it often wounded him deeply to hear the name of rimaardson associated with those of the most audacious transgressors of the laws of the land. he lived, unmarried, with his brother john, as chief of tornborg, where he watched over the security of the coast with great strictness, and constantly lay in wait for the norwegian freebooters. he was a distinguished sea-warrior, and had often been successful in capturing pirates with his longboat. what sometimes interfered with his vigilance was his passion for the chase--his only recreation at this lonely castle. that a norwegian pirate-vessel had arrived at korsöer, and landed rovers, whilst he thought the seas secure, and was diverting himself with the chase, provoked him highly; but this recent mission, with which the king had entrusted him, gave him something else to think of. in a few minutes he had reached the castle; and, when his guests arrived, they found the horses already saddled in the court-yard. they allowed themselves no time to inspect the famous castle, from which the place derived its name, or even to refresh themselves. the chief, having entrusted the care of the castle to his brother john, dispatched a troop of huntsmen into the wood in search of the rievers; and then, along with his guests, mounted his horse, without changing his green doublet. he ordered four jagers to follow them at a short distance, and started from tornborg at a gallop, in the direction of slagelse. the road between korsöer and slagelse, in the western part of zealand, is crossed, at vaarby, by a rivulet, running between tolerably high banks, and was, anciently, broad and deep enough to be navigable for small vessels. between vaarby banks the road gradually became narrower, and a wooden bridge led across the river where it was deepest. this bridge was not wider than what would allow a wain to drive over: it rested upon upright beams, taller than a ship's mast, and, as was usual, was unprovided with rails at the side. the river at this spot was very deep, though it did not rise nearly so high as it did when the bridge was built; from which it has been inferred that, from the bridge to the surface of the stream, there was a depth of more than six fathoms. several large, almost rocklike stones, rose above the water on both sides, the remains, apparently, of a stone bridge, which had been swept away by the violence of the current: a proof that the river had formerly swollen into a mighty torrent. the steep banks were overgrown with brushwood, which almost concealed them. here, niels breakpeace's twelve daring robbers, with nine well-armed norse freebooters from the pirate-vessel, together with the stolen horses, were concealed in a thicket. in order to deceive the huntsmen and coast-guards who had pursued them, a smaller number of the norse pirates had fled, with much noise and clamour, in an opposite direction, and had gained their ship before their pursuers could come up with them; when they immediately hoisted sail, and bore away to the south, under egholm and aggersoe. in the thicket near vaarby bridge, the shaggy-bearded fellows, stretched on the grass, held a short council, at the same time making good cheer from one of the huntsmen's wallets. a tall young man, with a knight's feathered hat over his handsome brown locks, but otherwise dressed as a seaman, in coarse pitched wadmel, alone stood up among them, and appeared to be their leader. he had an expression of daring in his features, which yet presented a fine noble outline, and a pair of dark eyes flashed audaciously from under his bushy eyebrows. "there is no time now for stretching and lounging," said he, in an imperious, commanding tone. "give heed, fellows! to-day, i am both count of tönsberg and niels breakpeace; and he who dares to disobey me, i shall cut down on the spot." the fellows seemed to understand this discourse, without being at all intimidated. they appeared to expect such a speech; and only half rising from their recumbent position, regarded him with silence and attention. "over this bridge," he continued, "not a living soul from korsöer crosses to-day, were he even king of denmark. whoever sets foot upon the bridge is our prisoner. if he resists, we cut him down, or pitch him into the river, without more ado. i remain at this side, with my norwegian bears; you, morten longknife, with your own men, shall guard the other end. if you budge a foot when it comes to the pinch, it costs you your neck. to korsöer may travel who will; but not a cat to slagelse. do you understand?" a tall, red-bearded fellow, with a knife an ell long in his belt, had sprung up, with ten others, sturdy and dirty-looking enough. "that is easy to be understood, stern knight," said he, in the dialect of a jutland peasant, and nodding his head. "you and the northmen break backs to-day, and we jutes cleave brainpans. for that i can be depended upon: it is a token that you know us." "you are to lie quiet in yonder thicket until i whistle, when you shall spring up, and close the bridge in three ranks. as soon as i call out, 'hack away!' cleave to the foot whoever comes. now, off to your post!" morten longknife nodded assent. with his ten men, he went immediately over the bridge, and disappeared in the thicket on the opposite bank of the river. drost peter, in the meantime, rode between sir thorstenson and bent rimaardson, at a brisk trot, along the road towards vemmelöv and vaarby. they were silent, and seemed to be considering the most prudent way of accomplishing their difficult undertaking. squire skirmen followed upon a lean hunter, and sorely grieved for the loss of his norback. but he soon got into a lively conversation with sir rimaardson's four huntsmen. they related to him many of their master's daring exploits, when he allowed freebooters to land, that he might catch and hang them. in return, skirmen told them of his master's feats in the sleswick war, and at tilts and jousts, and gave them a description of the magnificent tournament at helsingborg, which he had himself seen. thereupon, he struck up a lively tourney song, and jigged on his saddle as he sang:-- "there shines upon the fourth shield an eagle, and he is red; and it is borne by holger danske; who killed the giant dead." "my master bears an eagle on his seal," he added. "were i in his place, i would set the eagle in the shield, instead of the red bend. do you know what i shall have on my shield, when once i am a knight? it shall be folker fiddler's mark. but there must be more than that: of my shield it will be hereafter sung:-- "there stands a maiden in the shield, and a sword, and fiddle, and bow; and it is borne by bold skirmen, who will sing, not sleep, i trow." while the young squire thus gave expression to his pleasing expectations, they had passed vemmelöv, and were approaching vaarby bridge. the neighing, as of a foal, was presently heard from the copse by the river-side, and skirmen exclaimed, with surprise--"my little norback!" in a moment he was by his master's side, and communicated to him his discovery. drost peter stopped his horse. all was still. "if my squire has heard aright," said the drost, "we shall, without doubt, meet our horse-stealers here. they have probably riders with them, who will oppose our progress. if they have ascertained who we are, and the errand on which we ride, it was not imprudent of them to occupy this important post." both knights paused, and regarded the long, narrow bridge with an air of thoughtfulness. "with twelve men, i could defend the bridge against a whole army," said sir rimaardson. "we have two choices: either we must proceed at a gallop, and endeavour to cut our way through; or we must ride hastily down, and see if our horses can swim across. to ride back, and delay ourselves by bringing aid, i will not propose to such valiant gentlemen. besides, at this moment, i have not a single able horseman at home." "let us cut our way through at a gallop," said sir thorstenson. "but there is not a soul to be seen." "if skirmen is right, we shall soon see more than we may care for," replied drost peter. "swim your horses well, sir rimaardson?" "the two that you and your squire ride i will answer for, if it be not too muddy," replied the knight; "mine and sir thorstenson's are too heavy: they will stick fast where there is the least mud." "there is no choice, then," said drost peter: "we must onwards, and, in god's name, may cut our way through. follow close after us, huntsmen." "off!" cried thorstenson, already spurring his horse. "stay a moment!" exclaimed drost peter: "whether we may get over the bridge alive, is uncertain; but our warrant must be secured. my bold squire's dexterity i can depend upon; and it will not be difficult for him to swim over, whilst we give the robbers something more to do than to think of stopping him. if you agree with me, good sirs, we shall entrust him with the king's letter and warrant: if we receive any hindrance, he takes it to the governor of haraldsborg, or destroys the letter if he cannot escape." "you are cautious, noble knight," said sir rimaardson; "but i grant you are right: we must be provided against every accident." "good!" exclaimed thorstenson. "if we must make our wills, let it be done speedily. my fingers itch to get at the hounds." "there, my trusty skirmen," said drost peter, giving to his squire the carefully wrapt-up letter. "you perfectly understand us? this concerns the security of the crown and royal house. if i demand not this letter from you on the other side of the bridge, account to me for it beyond the greatest bridge." he pointed gravely towards the heavens, and was silent. the blood mounted into the brave squire's cheeks. "i must flee, then, like a frightened wild goose, and not fight my way, gaily, by your side? it is a hard command, sir drost; but you will it so, and i obey. god be with you! we shall certainly meet beyond _that_ bridge." again came a neighing from the thicket. "my norback!" cried skirmen, joyfully; and, spurring his horse, he rode hastily down a little by-path that led into the thicket near the river. at the same instant the three knights started, at a rapid gallop, and with drawn swords, towards the bridge. "one at a time, or we shall throw one another into the river," cried thorstenson, taking the lead. they had almost reached the bridge, and not a soul was to be seen. "a false alarm!" cried thorstenson: "there is no one here." "on, on!" shouted drost peter, riding past him. "that was not my meaning," grumbled thorstenson; angrily, endeavouring to regain the lead. but the first horse-shoe already clattered upon the narrow bridge, and sir thorstenson was obliged to rein in his steed, lest he should plunge his friend into the river. to their surprise, no one opposed them: the seventh horse had already his forelegs on the bridge; and drost peter, having arrived within a few paces of the opposite bank, began to think their suspicions were groundless, when the shrill blast of a whistle was heard in the rear. a gleam came suddenly from the thicket, and a threefold impenetrable wall of gigantic, bearded men, with uplifted halberds, stood at the end of the bridge, and barred the passage. at the same instant, a similar barrier of norwegian pirates was formed behind them, and a powerful voice shouted--"hold! or you are dead men!" drost peter's horse reared before the bright halberds, and was nearly falling backwards into the river. "on, on!" cried thorstenson, getting to his left side, and seizing the rearing horse by the bridle: the animal plunged to the very brink of the bridge, and appeared in imminent danger of falling into the gulph. "on, on!" still shouted thorstenson; but both he and drost peter vainly sought to urge on their shy and strange steeds. this sudden stoppage brought all the horses in the rear close together, and in the greatest disorder, so that none of them could now stir without the certainty of forcing another over the bridge. "lay down your arms!" shouted the voice behind them, "or we pitch you over, one and all!" presently, drost peter's sword rang among the halberds, and morten longknife fell, as his long blade whistled past drost peter's ear. "throw them over, the dogs! hack away!" cried the young robber chief, behind. with a wild shout, they commenced a furious onslaught from both sides at once. drost peter and thorstenson fought a dubious fight on the brink of the bridge, in which their plunging horses were severely wounded in the chest by the long halberds. a frightful battle raged behind: the pirates pressed on, and the four huntsmen in the rear were hurled, with their backs broken, together with their horses, into the deep. rimaardson could now, for the first time, stir; and he dexterously turned his horse about, to avoid the same fate as his unhappy jagers. he was on the point of rushing upon the wild, shouting freebooters, when his eye fell on the young robber chief, who wore the knight's hat. the sword fell from his hand, and both grew pale. "hold, fellows! give place for them!" cried the leader of the pirates: "in satan's name, let them ride on!" in an instant, not a single rover was to be seen on the bridge. drost peter and sir thorstenson were relieved as by a miracle, and rode hastily over the suddenly vacated bridge. sir rimaardson followed them silently, and as pale as a ghost. they rode up the height above the thicket, and there drew up their tired and bleeding horses. presently they saw the ten rovers take flight, with their dead comrade's body, and disappear in the thicket at the opposite end of the bridge. "how was this?" asked drost peter: "did the angel of death fight on our side, and strike the murderers with terror? are you also safe, sir rimaardson?" "safe?" he repeated, gloomily: "yes, in satan's name, i am safe. better for me that i were lying, crushed and mangled, with my huntsmen." "what has happened to you? are you wounded?" inquired thorstenson. "there is not a drop of blood in your cheek, and you are not the man to grow pale in danger." "i have received no wound in my body," replied the knight; "but a two-edged sword has entered my soul. the unhappy robber chief, with the knight's hat, was my outlawed brother, lavé. god be gracious to his sinful soul! if he fall into the hands of my coast-guards, i myself must doom him to the rack and wheel." both the knights were amazed; and, whilst they could now comprehend the reason of their wonderful deliverance, they also felt, with horror, their fellow-traveller's bitterness of soul. "think no more of it, brave sir bent," said thorstenson, at length, consolingly. "in these mad times, a young hot-head may easily go astray. if he was leader of these fellows, he deserves to stand at the head of an army of warriors. the ambush was craftily and boldly planned, if he knew us." "if it was the sight of your loyal countenance that struck him with repentance and dread, noble knight," said drost peter, "there is still hope of his salvation. our gracious queen's kinsman cannot be so deeply fallen but that, with god and the holy virgin's aid, he can rise again, if time be granted him." rimaardson shook his head, and was silent. "welcome, welcome to this side of the bridge, noble sirs," cried a cheerful, lively voice; and squire skirmen came along, waving his cap with joy. he was mounted on his little norback, and leading the horses of drost peter and sir thorstenson. in an instant he was on the height along with them. he dismounted, and returned his master the packet confided to him. "here is the king's letter, sir," he said, joyously: "not a drop of water has touched it, though there is not a dry thread on my body." "my old dapplegray!" exclaimed thorstenson, springing from his wounded horse, which he set at liberty. the tall, gray steed appeared delighted again to see his master, who patted and caressed him like a restored friend, as he swung himself gladly into his own saddle. drost peter, having again taken possession of the king's warrant, extolled his trusty squire for his dexterity and management. he, too, had descended from his strange horse, which bled profusely, and could scarcely bear him any longer. he first examined the animal's wounds, and bound his scarf about its chest; then, turning him over to the care of his squire, he patted his own favourite brown steed, which pawed the ground impatiently. "it was skilfully done," he said to skirmen, as he sprang into his saddle. "how did you get hold of the horses?" "while you were all fighting, i did not wish to be idle," replied skirmen. "i soon found my little norback: he nearly pawed me to death with joy, the dear fellow! the other two horses were also grazing by the river. giving a smack to the hack i rode, i let him gallop home; and, had it not been for my little norback, i should have been sitting in the mud." "thou art a devil's imp!" said thorstenson; "and, if it were not that thou art so stunted, there might be made a doughty wight of thee." "you, too, were stunted once on a time," replied skirmen, offended; "else satan was the mother of you." they were now all mounted, and thorstenson was already several paces in advance. "but my poor huntsmen!" exclaimed sir rimaardson, pausing: "might any of them yet be saved?" "i saw them hurled over," replied skirmen: "it was a shocking sight. i was already over the river, but i rode in again to save them. the black steed was nimble, and swam ashore; but the three wallachians are in the mud." "but the men--the unfortunate huntsmen?" "alas! that was the most lamentable part of the affair," replied skirmen, with a light sigh: "they had neither life nor a whole limb. i had them drawn to land, and said, hastily, three paters and an ave for their souls. their corpses an old female peasant promised me to care for." "brother, brother! this blood is upon thee!" sighed rimaardson, with a choking voice, and giving his horse the spur. they shortly overtook sir thorstenson, and pursued their journey in silence, and in earnest thought. * * * it was towards evening of the following day. in flynderborg, which lay near orekrog or elsineur, and almost in the same spot as the present cronberg, sat, in a large arched apartment, an elderly man in a brown house-suit. there was a chess-board before him, and, opposite, was a young and beautiful girl. it was sir lavé little, and his daughter ingé. she wore the then customary in-door black dress of ladies, with her rich, golden tresses bound with a fillet of pearls, worked in the form of lilies. after his conversation with drost peter in the guard-chamber, and his short dispute with chamberlain rané, the anxious and wavering sir lavé had not had an hour's rest. in the face of his stern kinsman, old sir john, he fancied he read that he was suspected of a private understanding with the rebellious noblemen. his conscience did not acquit him; and no sooner had he been relieved by sir john from his post in the guard-room, at an unusual hour, than he hurried away from nyborgand the dane-court, that he might not be farther enticed into the dangerous projects there on foot. he was the royal governor of flynderborg castle, which, with huge wall-slings on its ramparts, protected the entrance of the sound, and received the ancient sound dues, as has since been more effectually done by the far more distinguished cronberg. sir lavé little certainly had not been guilty of any act that could have been brought against him as evidence of treason; but he had been at the recent möllerup meeting with stig andersen, and had there, for his friend and kinsman's sake, declared himself against the king with more decision than formerly. that this meeting and its transactions had been discovered, he knew; and he now feared, with reason, that he would be called to account for expressions he could not deny, or even be deprived, without legal trial, of his important post as commandant of this castle. this secret anxiety pained him the more, that he was obliged to confine it to his own breast. he held no familiar intercourse with any soul in the castle. he lived there as a widower, with his daughter, whom he regarded as still in some degree a child, and feared to entrust her too freely with his affairs. this, his only child, he loved exceedingly, albeit she little agreed with him on many important public questions, in which she appeared to take more interest than might have been expected in a girl of her age. she was scarcely fifteen, but of a tall, erect growth; and already expressed her will so decidedly, as often to astonish her wavering, hesitating father. she was a granddaughter of the recently deceased, powerful sir absalom andersen, who traced his lineage from asker bag and skjalm hvide, and who, in his testament, had duly remembered sir lavé little and his daughter. proud ingé, as the froward damsel was already called by the people of the castle, exceedingly resembled her high-souled deceased mother, and had not only inherited the genuine danish exterior of her mother and the whole absalom family, but also their ancient patriotic spirit, true love of country, and attachment to the legitimate reigning family, in inseparable conjunction. when she heard of the perils that threatened the crown and kingdom, her dark blue eyes flashed, and she wished that she could only, like her noble kinsmen, john little, or david thorstenson, or drost peter hessel, watch over the safety of the throne and country with manly vigilance and vigour. drost peter's name she seldom mentioned, and; as it always seemed, with somewhat of dislike. that she had, from her childhood, been destined as his future wife, was to her an insufferable thought, and aroused her sense of freedom and womanly dignity to the bitterest degree. she could only faintly remember the drost as a handsome, kindly youth, whom she had played with when a child. at that time she appeared to have had some fondness for him; but, from the moment that she became aware that she was destined for his wife, his remembrance had become loathsome to her. it was as if an unseen power had made him her hereditary enemy, and he was the only man of whom she was disposed to think ill, without sufficient reasons. she could not, however, conceal the interest she felt in the many good deeds and excellent qualities she had lately heard ascribed to the active young drost, whose important services to the crown tended still further to elevate him in her estimation. sometimes, indeed, she would even forget their hated relationship, and break forth into involuntary expressions of admiration. but the reports that, during the last year, had been circulated to the drost's prejudice, had also come to her ears. that he was much indebted to his comeliness and talents for his rapid promotion, was a general opinion among the people, even where they expressed themselves with the most delicacy and reserve; and the supposed taint on drost peter's honour, which envy was only all too zealous to exaggerate, converted ingé's esteem for her preordained bridegroom into contempt, almost amounting to abhorrence. she had often, from that instant, begged her father rather to bury her in a convent for life, than wed her to a men who, with all his merit, she could never love and respect. until recently, the father had given only vague replies to these petitions, and begged her at least to suspend her judgment until she had seen him, and renewed her half-forgotten acquaintanceship. the drost, he told her, was a distinguished man, a true favourite of fortune, and that, except in case of absolute necessity, a promise made to a deceased friend should be held sacred. moreover, its fulfilment had reference to the fortunes and future fate of two illustrious families, through their prosperity and influence. but, during the last half year, the father had frequently expressed himself dissatisfied with drost peter, and with his zealous efforts to exalt the misused power of the king. on these points, however, proud ingé warmly defended his conduct, and also extolled him as a brave friend to his sovereign and country; yet her joy was great when her father, on his return from the dane-court, declared her entirely free from every engagement with respect to drost peter hessel. he had given her his assurance that she should never be required to wed this zealous royalist, whom every open-minded dane had the greatest reason to shun, though a certain degree of respect could not be denied him for his sagacity and bold uprightness. never had proud ingé felt herself so glad and lighthearted as on that day; and she now seized every opportunity to evince her gratitude to her father for a promise that first gave her a full consciousness of her womanly dignity, and of being the free, highborn daughter of a knight. when needful, she played draughts and chess with him, and induced him to drive away his anxiety and discontent with a recreation to which he was exceedingly attached. she was careful, however, to conceal from him the slight interest with which she removed the taken pieces, whilst her thoughts flew over the whole free and glorious world she now saw opened up to her, and she joyfully recalled to her imagination a long line of famous ancestors, amongst whom the noblest women of denmark had, from her earliest childhood stood before her eyes as glorious images of light. father and daughter were still sitting silently at the game of chess, and the lady ingé perceived that her abstracted parent heeded not his moves, and often lost his pieces. he seemed as if in a dream. "but tell me, then, dear father," she said at length, breaking the long silence, "do you think it possible, as it was asserted when you were away, that king waldemar's grandson, the foolhardy duke waldemar, really aspires to the crown, after the king's death?" "silence, child! do not speak thus! it may cost us our lives," replied the father, anxiously, and looking round him. "it is mere silly talk. but those who bring such reports into circulation ought never more to see the light. do not listen to such conversation, my dear, good ingé, and give no heed to things you cannot understand. discreet young damsels should not busy themselves with state affairs, but attend to their looms and household matters: i have often told you so. i rebuke you needfully, my good child; for your discourse frequently makes me anxious and uneasy." "but when it concerns the country and kingdom, my father, we young damsels are as much danes as the young knights and swains; and it is not the first time that danish women have been obliged to think on affairs of equal importance. had the lady ingé, and the proud ingefried, not dared to think on something more than their looms and kitchens, they had not bored swain grathé's fleet, and sank it to the bottom; and then, perhaps, the great waldemar had not been king of denmark." "where get you these stories, my dearest child? whom have you heard repeat these silly old tales that you have always at the tip of your tongue? you have never heard them from me--that i know." "ah, my mother related them to me when i was very young; and she, also, it was who taught me so many of our pretty old ballads." "ballads! there we have it! all ballads and chronicles lie, my child. they are but fables and superstitions, which people invent who have nothing to do but to please fools and children. when do you hear me relate stories or sing ballads? people who have serious matters in their heads, have other things to think about than such silly trifles." "truly, father, never have i heard you sing ballads or tell tales; but my mother loved the old songs much, and delighted to sing them, and to recite the pretty tales. if there were no true ballads, and if our wild young maidens did not sing about our old kings and heroes, and our true noble women, no great man or woman would be remembered longer than a lifetime. then it were not worth living in the world, when the most glorious events that happen among us were mere passing show. what avails it that we are rich and powerful, if we perform nothing that deserves to be remembered when we are dead? and what to posterity would be the lives of the greatest of mankind, if people had not a pleasure in preserving their names and their exploits in songs and chronicles?" "ah, child, dearest child! this is only enthusiasm and superstition. whatever is worth being preserved is remembered well enough without writing chronicles and singing songs about it; and in our times, people should have something better to think of than such trifles and old stories. yet sing, in god's name, as much as you please, about old kings and warriors: it will do no greater harm than it has done; only, leave alone what happens in our own times. there is nothing in these worth singing or talking about. 'no one is happy until he is laid in his grave,' said a wise man; and it is a true saying. in these unsettled times, my child, one cannot be too cautious: a thoughtless word may do greater mischief than you dream of. look out once more, and see, by the banner, how the wind lies." ingé rose, and looked, from the little round window, into the court-yard of the castle, where, over the arched gateway, waved a lofty banner, adorned with the two royal lions. "the wind is gone towards the east," said ingé, carelessly, again sitting down; "you expect some one from scania, to-night, perhaps?" "not exactly so," answered the knight, rising. "an easterly wind--hem!--and it was north-westerly only an hour ago. with this wind no one can cross the sound to-night. i must go and speak with the ferrymen. i expect some strange gentlemen, child--people of distinction, and my good friends. should they arrive in my absence, receive them in a friendly manner, and set before them the best there is in the house. entertain them as i know thou canst; but ask them neither their names, nor whither they journey: that would not beseem thee. above all things, say not a word on state affairs, or of what thou thinkest or dost not think on such matters. this is something that thou must not have an opinion about. now, now! redden not thus, my child! thou canst not surely be angry with thy father? understand me rightly. thou mayest, in god's name, think what thou wilt--that nobody can forbid thee: but these are not the times to say aloud what thou dost think; and thou art never cautious, little ingé: thou often talkest, loudly and boldly, things that i dare scarcely repeat to myself in my closet. forget not, therefore, what i have been saying. i shall ride, perhaps, to meet the strangers, and be back again in an hour. if they come by another road than i expect, and arrive here before me, see to their wants, like a good housekeeper. the porter and steward know discretion; and, to-night, the castle stands open for every traveller, without any one being required to announce himself. thou art not afraid to be alone, my child? thou hast thy waiting-maids at hand, and the castle is full of servants." "afraid?" repeated proud ingé, colouring still more deeply; "nay, father, of what should i be afraid? thy friends cannot be thy daughter's foes. but thou art so strange, my father--so mysterious--and not glad, and at ease. art thou unwell?" "no, my child; but i have some unpleasant matters to think about, which thou canst not understand. but take no heed of this. do not sit here alone, in the twilight. get a light, and let thy maidens come in, and sing ballads with thee. thou mayest sing ballads, my child: it is suiting to thine years. what i said about ballads i did not mean to refer to thee. only, be cheerful now, and be not uneasy on my account. nothing shall happen." with these words, he patted her kindly on the cheek, and departed. it began to grow dark. her father's mysterious inquietude and ill-disguised anxiety had made a singular impression on the young girl, who otherwise had never known fear; and, as she now sat alone, in the great gloomy hall, various alarming thoughts took possession of her mind. she had heard many, in part unfounded, rumours of pirates and robbers: these she cared little about. but that the land was full of secret traitors, who threatened the destruction of the king, and all his more trusty and attached friends, was a general, and, to the lady ingé, a far more distressing rumour. this important fortress had usually been kept strongly barred against every stranger who did not, in the first place, give his name and errand with much preciseness. why an exception was to be made this evening, she could not comprehend; and why her father had been induced to leave the castle at a time when he expected important and distinguished guests, was equally inconceivable. from his uneasy attention to the direction of the wind, and his disappointment when he found it easterly, as well as from his command not to ask the strangers their names, or whither they were journeying, she supposed that he might be expecting some friends, who were eluding pursuit, and intended passing over to sweden that night. notwithstanding her father's reserve and cautiousness, she had observed that he took a zealous part in the quarrel stig andersen and his kinsmen were fomenting against the king. she was, however, only imperfectly acquainted with the reasons for this quarrel. that the king had outraged stig andersen's wife, and had been denounced by the powerful marsk, she had heard; but of the particular circumstances she knew nothing. according to her notions of a king, and the idea she had formed in her childhood, from her mother's descriptions of the great waldemars, she entertained such a deep reverence for the name of royalty, that she could not conceive how a subject should be offended with his king, or that he should, in anywise, have a right to oppose himself to his sovereign. that her father should be induced, either from friendship, or on account of family ties, to forget his allegiance to the king, was a thought she dreaded to dwell distinctly upon; but now she secretly began to fear such a disaster, which, of all others, she considered the greatest; and, for the first time in her life, she felt herself in a state of anxiety. she looked round the gloomy apartment, and fancied she beheld a lurking regicide, with a gleaming dagger, in every corner. she hastily arose to call for lights; but scarcely had she risen, before the door was gently opened, and a rough, heavy male figure, closely wrapt in a coarse wadmel cloak, slipped cautiously and stealthily across the threshold. the last faint traces of expiring day revealed to her glance a wild, shaggy, filthy countenance, more like that of a savage animal than of a human being. she stepped back, and was on the point of uttering a cry of alarm; but, blushing at her fears, she controlled herself, and recalled to mind her father's instructions, that she should receive all his guests with a dignity becoming the mistress of the house. "welcome, stranger," she said, as boldly as she could, though her voice trembled, as she advanced a step or two. "my father will be here immediately," she added; "allow me to procure a light." "nay, no light, fair maiden. are you alone, here, in the castle?" this question, in a deep, gruff voice, which struck her with its subdued and mysterious tone, increased her alarm; and the tall, clumsy, gigantic form advanced a few steps farther into the hall. she stepped hastily back, and laid her hand on the latch of the kitchen-door, but again took courage, and remained. "alone?" she repeated. "nay: i am, it is true, a knight's daughter, but i do not take upon myself to defend a royal fortress alone. if you wish to see the garrison of the castle, you may do so in one moment." "let me not frighten you away, fair madden," said the stranger, stepping back; "i have just come off the sea, and am not in train to appear before fine women-folks. i am only an humble groom, sent hither an my master's errand, to inquire whether sir lavé little can shelter his friends to-night; and whether a couple of royal hounds have not arrived here this evening." "my father's friends are welcome," replied the knight's daughter: "he has gone out to meet them, and will be here forthwith. of the hounds i have heard nothing. if you are the strange gentleman's servant, you shall immediately be provided for in the servants' hall." she was about to lift the latch of the kitchen-door; but the stranger raised his hand, almost menacingly. "stay! no light. i go immediately," he muttered. "there are no strange guests here, then--no travellers from nyborg?" "not that i am aware of," replied ingé; "but the castle is large, and, although many royal soldiers be here, there is still room enough for guests who are true to their king and country." "good. i shall bear my master this answer; and, if he is satisfied with it, you shall soon see us. farewell fair maiden. although you do not seem to wish that i should approach near you, i dare, nevertheless, take my oath that you are as handsome as brave. you need not make an alarm on my account, nor call the garrison together. i come here as a good friend: my master's good friends are also thine." with these words, be hastily departed through the door by which he had entered. to prevent his re-entrance before there were lights and other persons present, lady ingé first proceeded to lock the door after him. then calling her handmaids, she caused them to light all the wax-lights, which were placed before bright shields, on the whitened walls of the large hall. in the round side apartment, she ordered a table to be spread for the mysterious guests who had been invited; and went, herself, through the kitchen, to the castle-wards, to see that the men-servants were present. she found them all, twelve in number, seated at the supper-table, and returned to the kitchen without betraying her anxiety. as soon as she had given the cooks and pantry-maids the necessary orders, she retraced her steps, with evident composure, to the lighted-up hall, withdrew the bolts from the front door, according to the hospitable usage of the house, and desired two only of her handmaidens to remain with her. they sat down, as usual, to their sewing-table, and drew forth the various articles of feminine handicraft they were busied upon. one of the maidens was a young, lively girl, always full of news, and having much to tell. she looked surprised at the numerous lights, and the sumptuous preparations, and asked, inquisitively, who were the guests expected so late, and with such unusual state. "i know not," answered ingé, in an indifferent tone. "but tell us something new, little elsie," she added, hastily, and seemingly to amuse herself. "have you heard anything lately concerning your sweetheart? does he come over to take you away this summer?" "it will be some time to that yet, lady," replied elsie, and immediately broke off into her favourite topic. "he cares more about his valiant master, at möllerup, than about me, or all the girls in the world. since he has been with the marsk, in the swedish war, he has become somewhat proud; but i don't blame him for that: he can still say he has helped to pull a king off his throne. you open your eyes, lady; but it is, nevertheless, true and certain. was not the swedish king dethroned? and by our valiant marsk andersen and his brave people? mat jute is the marsk's right hand: he is almost as tall as his master, and a daring fellow, you may trow. shame fall it! were he not a poor peasant's son, he would one day be a knight. but if he does not soon let me hear from him," she continued, tossing back her head, "i shall be no leaning-stick, indeed. if he no longer cares for little elsie, i shall bid him good-day, and look out for another. there are as brave and handsome fellows in zealand, and i am not exactly going to fall sick for a juttish landsknecht." "you do not resemble your faithful namesake in the ballad," said lady ingé--"she who fretted herself to death for sir aagé." "it must certainly have been a long time since that happened, you well may trow, my high-born lady. at present the world is wiser, and girls are not so simple. were they to fret themselves to death, now-a-days, on account of young men's inconstancy, there would soon not be a living maiden in the country. nay, nay," she continued, humming over a song:-- "as, who that trusts the rotten bough, so, she who trusts a young man's vow. "as, who would grasp the eel, must fail, so, she who trusts a young man's tale." "this song is new," said lady ingé; "it is not so said in the old one: there the faithful lovers are borne to the grave together." "much good might it do them!" exclaimed the maiden. "i cannot yet say that i should be pleased, if mat jute were to die: a dead bridegroom would never become a living one, were one to go ten times to the grave with him." "there must have been more fidelity in the olden times," said ingé, seriously. "it was better also for king and country. they must have been happy people who then lived in denmark." "what happiness there was in dying of grief, noble lady, i cannot well conceive; and what does it signify to the king and country, that there is no constancy in a love-smit soldier?" "i can tell you, little elsie, that when there is no constancy in a soldier in this respect, there is little in any other; and so he cannot be depended upon when he is called on to defend the throne and the realm. he who can forget and forsake his sweetheart, can still more easily forget and forsake his master." "by my troth, so does not mat jute," replied elsie. "he would rather slay every man alive, than permit any one to say a bad word concerning his master. he once lifted his knife against me, on that very score, though he vowed he loved me as the apple of his eye. he would not be afraid to make a thrust at the king himself, if a regular war should break out between him and the marsk." "are you mad, girl?" exclaimed lady ingé, in astonishment. "the marsk is the king's subject. if he should wage war against the king, he would be a traitor and shameless rebel." "i do not understand that," said elsie; "but this i know well, that if the marsk could not have his wife secure against our king, when he was waging war for him like a brave man, it is not so unreasonable, that, as a brave man, he should feel angry, and do the best he can to right himself." "this is certainly a false and shameful rumour. a genuine skiolding[ ] can never disgrace his high lineage." "it is all the same to me," answered the maiden; "but i should be quite as well satisfied if mat jute would only keep himself aloof from the great and their quarrels. the small suffer at last, and he may one day meet with some great mishap. i well remember how the ballad goes:-- "the knight, and eke his swain, they rode from the ting together: the knight they let go free-- the swain they hanged in a tether." "let us rather sing one of the good old ballads, little elsie," said lady ingé, interrupting the light-minded maiden; "and lay rightly to heart what you are singing, and so perhaps you may one day come to recollect that you are a danish girl." "i can well bear that in mind," replied elsie: "i can never understand a word of german, and have trouble enough with the jutlandish." "but a danish girl is true to her lover, and a danish man deserts not king or country. do you remember the ballad of king didrik? let us sing that." lady ingé began, and her two handmaidens accompanied her:-- "the king he rules the castle, and else he rules the land, and he rules many a warrior bold, with drawn sword in his hand: for the king he rules the castle." while they were singing, the door was opened; but lady ingé was thinking only of the old heroic ballad that her mother had sung to her when a child, and which always led her to fancy a king like waldemar the great, and a castle like flynderborg, where she was sitting, the only castle she was acquainted with. the bold notes of the song, and the remembrances of her childhood which it awakened within her, always put her in a gay and happy frame of mind; and she felt herself secure in the castle, which the king ruled with his warriors bold. upon this occasion, the song had the usual inspiriting effect. she had forgotten all that so recently disturbed her: her eyes sparkled with lively animation; and the maidens could only give ear to her, while she sang alone, in her unusually deep-toned voice, in continuation:-- "let the peasant rule his house and home, his steed, the warrior bold-- the king of denmark ruleth the castle, keep, and hold. for the king he rules the castle." lady ingé and her maidens now for the first time noticed the tread of spurred heels on the floor. they rose in astonishment, and lady ingé with unwonted precipitation. they perceived three strangers in the middle of the hall. one was in the dress of a huntsman, and the two others were clad as citizens on a journey; nevertheless, under their gray cloaks they had long swords, like those worn by knights. it was sir rimaardson, with drost peter, and sir thorstenson. the mien and expression of the fair songstress, on their entrance, astonished them; and they remained standing, unwilling to interrupt her. they now approached with much politeness, and saluted the knight's fair daughter. although they were not dressed as knights, their bearing and manners instantly denoted them to be men of high station and dignity; and lady ingé supposed them the distinguished guests of whom her father had spoken. the first glance at their interesting and friendly countenances gave her confidence. "you are welcome, noble sirs," said she, with entire self-possession, and returning their salute. "my father has been expecting you, and has ridden out to meet you. you must have come by another road than he anticipated. your groom or squire has doubtless told you that there are no strangers here?" "we have only this instant arrived, noble lady," began sir thorstenson; "and our squire could have told us nothing regarding the state of the house, seeing that he has not yet penetrated farther than the stables. that your father has expected us, we cannot at all suppose: indeed, we thought we should have surprised him." "to our astonishment, the gates were opened to us without any one inquiring our name or business," said sir rimaardson. "this confidence is flattering. your song, fair maiden, we would not dare to disturb: it was an assurance that, even although unknown, we should be welcome to you, as men true to our king and country." "for none else stands this castle open," replied ingé. "your names and errand no one may presume to inquire about, noble sirs. you are specially welcome to my father, i can assure you." so saying, she regarded their manly, honest countenances with satisfaction and confidence. drost peter had not yet said a word, but stood perplexed, and almost bashfully, before her, with a singular expression of surprise and melancholy, and with a kind of dreamy pleasure in his calm, earnest look. "step nearer, gentlemen," continued lady ingé, with a light heart, and completely relieved from any doubt of disloyalty in her father's connections, and from every uneasiness regarding the mysterious guests expected: "you find here an open lady's room, where, truth to say, i am glad to see the friends of my father, who can occupy his place in his absence. he left me half an hour since, to return in an hour if he did not meet you. a fellow, who represented himself as your groom, almost frightened me in the dusk of the evening. the castle, at other times, is never so accessible. under these circumstances, you are to me the more welcome. if you would please to take refreshment, gentlemen, it is already prepared." the knights looked at each other with astonishment. "some mistake must have occurred here, noble lady," said sir rimaardson; "but, if you will permit us, we shall avail ourselves of it, and defer the explanation until your father arrives." "permit me a question, noble lady," said drost peter, appearing at length to wake from his sweet dream; his eyes, meanwhile, resting with kindly interest on the maiden's open countenance and noble form; "and pardon me if it is amiss. is your christian name ingé? and are you the daughter of the governor of this castle, sir lavé little, and his noble wife, deceased, the lady margarethé, absalom andersen's youngest daughter?" "you knew my mother, noble sir," exclaimed lady ingé, joyfully, and, in her joy, forgetting his question and his singular solemnity of manner: "but, nay, you could scarcely have known her, else you would have known me also; for i am said to resemble my blessed mother exceedingly." "i have seen your mother in my childhood," said the young drost; "but she was then no longer young: she was, however, about your height. you have inherited her eyes, noble lady, and, as i can hear, her deep, sweet voice, and her fondness for our old heroic ballads. the one you have just sung, i seem to have heard in my cradle: it recalls a time when i had happy dreams about the days of our waldemars, and of him who ruled the castle, and so many warriors bold." "that was no mere dream, noble knight," replied ingé, with lively interest. "that you and these good gentlemen are knights, i must permit myself at once to believe, though i am not at liberty to put the question. that the king, god be praised! still rules over every danish land and castle, and over many bold and doughty heroes, is no dream, i know: this, at least, you and these good gentlemen will admit. if, then, you have heard heroic ballads in your cradle, noble sir," she added, with a look of confidence, "they have certainly not been sung in vain." drost peter blushed, but raised his eyes boldly, and with a look of frankness. "if it please god and our lady," he said, "there is no dream so marvellous that it cannot be fulfilled, and the good old times may yet return." a page now opened the door of the dining-hall. "you have probably travelled far, and need refreshment," said lady ingé, remembering her duty as housekeeper, and pointing to the opened door. drost peter, who was accustomed to courtly manners, involuntarily offered his arm to the knight's daughter. she led him to the end of the table, in the round turret apartment, and gave the maidens a signal for their attendance. sir thorstenson and sir rimaardson followed the young hostess, and thorstenson took his place on her right hand. two stately pages set forth, on the fringed table-cloth, roast game and baked barley-bread, while an active cupbearer took care to fill the wine-cups from a large silver flagon. the two handmaidens stood respectfully behind lady ingé's chair, with modest, downcast eyes, but ever and anon contrived to cast a look of curiosity towards the strangers; the handsome young drost, in particular, appearing much to attract them. the conversation soon became general. lady ingé carefully guarded herself against any expression that would appear to betray curiosity; but still she would not have been displeased if her guests had chosen voluntarily to discover who they were. "the dane-court is over, it is said," she remarked, when a fitting pause ensued. "i regret that i have never been present at a dane-court, for one does not hear or see much in this lonely fortress. you must have seen the king, noble sirs: i should like to know if he looks as i picture him to myself." "what kind of person do you fancy him, then, noble lady?" inquired sir thorstenson. "i'll be bound you think him, at least, a head taller than i am, and like king didrik of bern, or some other of those valiant kings you sing about." lady ingé looked at the tall knight with the long plaited beard. "more valiant than you appear, he needs scarcely be," she answered; "but such like i do not imagine him. at the head of a band of bold troopers, i should think you were in your place; but--excuse me, sir knight--you seem too hasty in your conduct to govern a kingdom." thorstenson stroked his beard. "in that you may be right, fair lady," he muttered; confirming, by his air of chagrin, the young lady's frank expression. "were i to compare any of you with my idea of the king," continued lady ingé "it would be this gentleman;" and her calm blue eyes rested searchingly on drost peter. he started at the compliment, which a playful smile seemed instantly to contradict. "but such a comparison might not astonish you, noble sir," she continued, "if, instead of deploring the departure of the days of the great waldemars, you had power to bring them back again." the guests regarded with surprise the knight's young daughter, who jested so good-humouredly; and, at the same time, with the dignity of a princess, exercised over them a secret mastery, of which she did not appear to be aware. drost peter's cheeks reddened; and he felt himself both attracted and repelled, in a singular manner, by the bold, composed girl. but, at her latter words, he seemed almost to forget himself and his position, in a higher and more important thought. "the power you speak of, noble lady," he commenced, with calmness and earnestness, his large eyes sparkling with fire and energy--"that power which shall recall to a people days of departed glory, you may well miss, where it cannot be found save by a miracle. that power has no knight or hero in denmark--that power has no monarch in this world: it must come from above, and it is not the lot of any single man to possess and exercise it. if it flashes not from many thousand eyes united, and pours not forth from every heart in denmark, the greatest king in the universe cannot raise the fallen, nor restore to the people the lofty spirit of our ancestors." "you may be right, noble sir," replied lady ingé, with an interest that gave her cheeks a deeper tinge, and her eyes an almost dazzling radiance; "but who has told you that this spirit is fled? our king himself i know not, and he is arrogantly blamed by many; but still i know he has men by his side who boldly and bravely watch over the security of the crown and the honour of the people. among these, i may venture to mention my own kinsman, the old sir john: every danish man, i know, must respect him. were the proud marsk, at möllerup, as loyal as he is brave, denmark had yet perhaps an axel hvide, or a count albert. david thorstenson, too, i have heard named among the heroes of our time; and you must certainly know, yourselves, many other names which do honour to our age." sir thorstenson nodded, and felt himself highly flattered to hear his name among those of the young damsel's heroes. the adventure in which he and his friends found themselves amused him greatly, and he took a fancy to know the patriotic young lady's opinion of his comrades. "but the best you forget, fair maiden," said he, merrily. "what say you of sir bent rimaardson, of tornborg?" "he guards our coasts like another vetheman, they say: i and every woman in zealand have to thank him that we need not fear the wild norwegian algrev and the ruthless niels breakpeace." rimaardson bit his lips, and was silent in the presence of a renown that his own eyes had so recently shown him to be unmerited. thorstenson wished to compensate for the failure of his joke, and thought to give his other companion better cause to thank him for his sally. "but if you would name the eminent men of the king and country," said he, hastily, "you ought, first and foremost, to have mentioned the young drost peter hessel, who so soon has had the good fortune to stand so near the throne, and so deservedly." lady ingé was silent for an instant, and her animation appeared suddenly to be converted into coldness. a short and general silence ensued; but to the young drost it was an eternity of torment. if he did not expect to be extolled and admired by his childhood's bride, neither did he expect to be, the object of her dislike and contempt. "my father tarries long," said the knight's daughter, breaking the irksome silence. "i am conversing with you, noble sirs, on matters which probably are not befitting among strangers," she added. "but you must excuse me, gentlemen. on certain subjects i forget, at times, that my sex is seldom allowed the pleasure even of talking about the happy, busy life in which we are not permitted to take an active part. respecting the person you last mentioned, you must allow me to be silent. it matters little to him what a danish maiden thinks of him, if she cannot, like the queen, advance his power and fortune." drost peter paled. he felt himself so deeply wounded with these words, that he was on the point of making himself known, or, at least, of defending himself against the last severe accusation; but, at that moment, the door of the outer hall was opened, and well-known voices were heard near at hand. "the duke!" whispered sir rimaardson; and, to their surprise, they perceived the duke with his drost, together with the algrev and sir lavé, approaching the door of the dining-room. lady ingé rose to receive her father and the new comers. the knights also arose, and thorstenson and rimaardson looked doubtingly at each other; but drost peter now felt himself entirely at his ease. the injurious mistake had awakened all his pride; and the consciousness that his own energy and merits had raised him to the honours he held, gave him a boldness that bordered almost on insolence. he felt here all the importance of his position, where, travelling on the king's errand, he had right and power, if required, to act with royal authority. he advanced towards the duke and his followers with politeness and dignity, but without letting it appear that he knew them in the plain gray cloaks in which they had wrapped themselves, as if they did not wish to be recognised. he directed his salutation principally to sir lavé, as governor and chief of the castle. the astonished sir lavé instantly recognised the drost, and changed colour, but hastily took occasion, from the drost's plain outer garment, to greet him as a stranger of humble rank, that he had never before seen. "i and these gentlemen are not unwelcome to you, then?" said drost peter, while, without the least embarrassment, he presented to him his travelling companions, without naming them. "we have, as you perceive, sir knight, partaken of your hospitality without hesitation. we have, besides, an errand to you, as royal governor here, which we shall impart to you at your convenience." sir lavé bowed, silently and distantly, with an anxious side look to the duke and his followers, who did not appear the least surprised at this meeting, and had hastily turned their backs towards drost peter and his friends. "we flatter ourselves that we are known to you," continued drost peter, "notwithstanding the strange dress we prefer travelling in. the rumours respecting the insecurity of the roads are not unfounded: we have had serious proofs of that. you perceive that those good gentlemen there have used the same precaution," he added, as he pointed to the duke and count mindre-alf, who, along with sir abildgaard, were engaged in private conversation, in the dimmest part of the outer hall, and closely wrapped in their large cloaks, with their backs towards the dining-room. sir lavé, in the meanwhile, had recovered himself. "be pleased to follow me to my private apartment, gentlemen," he said, with apparent calmness. "i see my daughter has already cared for your entertainment; i am, therefore, now at your service, and can hear your business without interruption. take care of my new guests, in the meantime, my daughter." he gave the servants a signal, on which they hastily took a wax-light in each hand, and opened a little concealed door in the wall of the circular dining-room. one of the servants led the way into a long dark passage, whilst the other remained standing by the door. "let me show you the way," said sir lavé, going before them. as soon as drost peter and his two companions had entered the dark passage, the servant who had held the door open disappeared. it was suddenly dark behind them, and the door closed with a hollow clang, which made the knights start. "this is a convenient arrangement," said sir lavé, in an indifferent tone. "i must be prepared for all kinds of guests, you know. gentlemen like you, who come on important state affairs, i invariably converse with as privately as possible, to avoid interruption." the long passage led to the eastern wing of the castle, which projected into the sound. it was terminated by a narrow, vaulted, spiral staircase. "i must beg you to go one at a time here," said sir lavé: "the stair is somewhat small, and you may be incommoded in getting a few steps upwards. i often find this way troublesome; but one cannot be cautious enough in these times, and a private message from the king must be heard in private." as he spoke, he ascended hastily, without looking behind him. drost peter, who followed him closely, paused once or twice, and put a few indifferent questions to him on the construction of the castle, at the same time pointing behind him; but sir lavé continued to ascend, and answered his inquiries without stopping or turning. "singular!" whispered sir rimaardson to thorstenson. "were he not the brave john little's kinsman, we should barely trust him. saw you his perplexity, and his look towards the duke?" "if he betray us, it shall cost him his life," whispered thorstenson, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword: "he shall not go three strides from us." drost peter, observing that his companions whispered suspiciously behind him, turned round, and laid his finger on his lips. "the wind is still easterly," he remarked, in a careless tone: "nobody can well think of crossing the sound to-night." "it is scarcely possible," replied sir lavé: "you must determine on taking your abode with me to-night, gentlemen." "that is not our intention," said drost peter: "beside, you have guests, who probably have greater claims upon your hospitality, and from whose society we necessarily detain you too long. shall we soon reach your private apartment, sir knight?" "in a moment," he replied, as he redoubled his pace. drost peter had mentally counted the number of steps, and had reckoned the sixtieth, when they halted on a landing. an iron-studded door was opened, and they entered a narrow turret-chamber, where there was only a single window, which stood open, but was provided with strong iron bars. the wax-lights flickered in the current of air, and the servant lighted a large lantern suspended from the roof. "your closet almost resembles a prison," observed drost peter. "it is sometimes used for that purpose," replied sir lavé: "it is the most secure part of the castle. this tower, as you may perceive, stands half in the water, but it commands an excellent view over the sound.----now you may go," he said, turning to the servant: "nobody must disturb us here. desire my daughter and the strangers not to wait for us." the servant went out, and the knight locked the heavy door himself, and put the key in his pocket. "now, i am quite at your service, gentlemen. what weighty message does the king send me by three such important persons? prudence forbade me to recognise you sooner." "we are sent by the king on a business of much consequence," said drost peter, calmly and self-possessed; "and i, drost peter hessel, am authorised to demand active assistance from every royal governor in the country. the object of our journey is a secret that no one is at liberty to inquire into. but that you, sir lavé little, as the king's servant, and commandant of this castle, are bound, without objection, to provide us with thirty armed men and a vessel, this letter patent, to every royal governor in the country, will show you." so saying, he handed the astonished knight an open letter to this effect, with which, in addition to the royal warrants, he had taken care to provide himself. the knight perused the missive with evident uneasiness; taking a considerable time to get through it, as if he found some difficulty in deciphering the writing. "i have nothing to object to this, sir drost," he said, at length. "a ship and crew are at your service, whenever you choose to give the order. but, as you have just remarked, in the present state of the wind nobody can think of crossing the sound." "you perceive by the same letter royal," continued drost peter, "that i am empowered, on my own authority, to demand aid from every royal governor, to seize and conduct to sjöberg whatever danish knight or vassal i may find on any suspicious business." "i see so, with surprise," replied sir lavé. "but i still hope, sir drost, that you do not mean to avail yourself of an authority so extensive and arbitrary. such a step, as you well know, is at variance with the king's obligations to the laws and charters of the kingdom. he cannot issue a letter to imprison any man, until he has been legally accused before a provincial or state court of justice, and has had the advantage of a legal trial." "you forget the exceptions, sir lavé'," replied drost peter. "this privilege extends not to rovers and criminals, and, of course, to traitors least of all. therefore, in virtue of this royal warrant, i must demand of you, in the king's name, that you cause the castle to be locked up, and deliver over to me, under safe escort, every stranger at present within these walls." sir lavé grew pale. "you are somewhat too harsh, sir drost," he said, looking anxiously towards the window: "you would not compel me to betray my guests? they are not accused of any crime; and, without apprehending such treatment, they have confidingly entered beneath my roof." "this castle is not your's, but the king's," replied drost peter, apparently striving to subdue a feeling of pity, as he regarded the anxious castellan. "i fulfil a disagreeable duty," he continued; "but where i meet the enemies of the king and country, i must insist on their detention, without reference to personal feelings. one of these gentlemen, moreover, to whom you have opened this royal castle, is an open enemy of his country--that most notorious freebooter and incendiary, the count of tönsberg." "what say you? the algrev!" stammered the castellan, terrified, and apparently highly astonished. "if that be true, then i am certainly to blame. but i assure you that one of these gentlemen was quite unknown to me: he came in the duke's train, and it is impossible i should know--" "i am willing to believe you, sir lavé, though appearances are against you. you are not aware, then, that your illustrious friend and guest has the famous pirate, niels breakpeace, with him, as his squire?" "you alarm me, noble sir!" again stammered the castellan, in the greatest embarrassment. "if i had suspected this, they had never set foot within these walls. what is now to be done? if the castle is full of traitors and pirates, our whole garrison is scarcely strong enough to oppose them." "by satan! let _us_ take care of that," observed thorstenson, impatiently. "lock up the doors straightway, now that you know our errand." "courtesy i must beg of you for the present, and the matter must be well considered," replied sir lavé, delaying. "with such powerful criminals, it is a difficult business. i shall immediately give the castle-warden a private signal to bar the gates, and prevent all egress." he ran anxiously to the open grated window, and called out, in a subdued voice, "lock the gate, fellow! not a living soul must be allowed to slip out!" he then took the key from his pocket, and struck upon the gratings with it. "lock it yourself, rather," said drost peter, making a hasty movement to take the key from his hand; but, at the same instant, they heard a clank on the stones in the water beneath the tower. "what have you done, sir drost!" exclaimed sir lavé, as if in the highest degree terrified: "you have knocked the key out of my hand, and now we are all prisoners here. the sound roars loud, and not a soul can hear us, as no one ventures near enough to this turret to liberate us. and my daughter--my poor child--is now alone, amidst these traitors and rievers." all started. "your daughter!" exclaimed drost peter, with great uneasiness. "nay, nay," he added, with more composure, "the traitors and rievers will respect her. the duke and his drost are not rude and shameless criminals, although they have niddings in their train. if you had feared for your daughter, sir lavé, you would scarcely have brought home such dangerous guests, and perhaps would not so readily have lost the key of our prison here." sir lavé was silent, and walked uneasily backwards and forwards. drost peter and sir rimaardson observed the anxious castellan with scrutinising looks, betraying, at the same time, their indignation at this singular imprisonment at a moment of such great importance. none of them any longer doubted that the duke had recognised them, and suspected the object of their journey. it was, therefore, probable that he would now seize on every means of escape, to carry out his daring plans. a suspicion of this had first crossed drost peter and his friends on their way to the tower; and thorstenson and rimaardson had, therefore, nodded to each other approvingly, when they heard the drost's bold determination, on his own responsibility, to seize the duke on the spot, notwithstanding that the royal warrant, strictly speaking, required them to defer this step until they encountered the duke on swedish ground. this new and daring plan was now rendered impossible; and, while the castellan shared the imprisonment of his unwelcome guests, the duke and his dangerous train would, in all likelihood, place themselves in complete security. while such thoughts as these flashed rapidly athwart the minds of drost peter and the cool sir rimaardson, thorstenson gave vent to his indignation, and broke out into the most violent invectives against the troubled castellan, whom he did not hesitate to designate as a crafty traitor, and an abettor of rebels and foreign pirates. he immediately endeavoured to break open the door, and beat against it, like a madman, with his iron-heeled boots, but in vain. "open the door on the instant!" he roared, at the same time drawing his long sword; "or, by st. canute, it shall cost your life, you cowardly, crafty cheat!" at his terrible threat, sir lavé sprang towards drost peter. "it is impossible!" he stammered, in terror. "protect me from this madman, sir drost, until i can myself defend my life and honour. you can bear witness that it is not i, but yourself, who have caused our present imprisonment." "for what has happened here, this gentleman shall be answerable when we demand it," said drost peter, placing himself between sir lavé and the enraged thorstenson. "the commandant, as you perceive, is unarmed, noble knight. whatever may have been his conduct in this affair, he now stands sheltered by the laws of chivalry and my protection. let us endeavour, with our united strength, to burst our prison-door. if we do not succeed, we must be patient until we can procure aid." "you are right, sir drost," muttered thorstenson, sheathing his sword; "niddings are never safer than when they go unarmed amongst honest men. let us now make a rush at the door together, and it may give way. put forth your strength, sir commandant, and let us see you do not spare your boot-heels. you can then say, for your honour, that you have fought with your heels." without answering this sarcasm, sir lavé, apparently with his utmost effort, together with the three other knights, applied themselves to the iron-studded door. the united shock made a fearful noise, which rolled like thunder among the arches of the lonely tower; but as the door turned inwards, and was provided with strong oaken posts, it was not to be forced open in this fashion. greatly embittered, thorstenson went to the window-grating, and shouted, as if he would awaken the dead--"up hither, fellow! or it may cost your master, the commandant, his life." but there was no reply. the restless sound roared loudly beneath, and no sign of a human being was to be seen on this side the tower, in the stormy, murky night. in the meantime, lady ingé, in her father's absence, had taken care of the last-arrived guests, and invited them to the newly-furnished board. as soon as the duke and his followers observed that their cautious host had rid them of unexpected and disagreeable company, they relied upon his cunning, and resolved to await his return, or, at least, to remain quiet until niels breakpeace brought word that they might set sail. they had thrown aside their gray cloaks, and shown themselves, before their fair hostess, in their dress as knights. the young duke, with politeness and princely grace, took his seat at table, and on the young hostess' left hand. sir abildgaard took rimaardson's vacated seat; and the daring norse freebooter stretched himself rudely on the chair where thorstenson had been sitting. the strangers had not announced themselves; but, on their entrance, lady ingé had heard rimaardson's subdued exclamation of surprise--'the duke!' and she surmised, with secret dread, that one of them must be the, to her, hateful duke waldemar of south jutland. any other duke she had not heard mentioned; and what was told her of duke waldemar's ambitious and dangerous designs against the crown and kingdom, had inspired her with so unfavourable an opinion of this personage, that she had conceived as repulsive a picture of his appearance as was possible. when she heard him mentioned among her father's new guests, it inspired her with so much fear, that she had difficulty in concealing it; and, when her father left the room with the three other gentlemen, it cost her a great effort to fulfil, with apparent calmness, her duties as mistress of the house, towards these dangerous visitors, whose secret connection with her father filled her soul with painful alarm. reserved, and sparing in her words, she now sat at table among them, and only partially heard all the polite remarks which the duke and his drost strove, in emulation, to address to her. these two personages appeared to engross the smallest share of her attention, although their easy, unconstrained manners denoted them to be fine, courtly gentlemen. their thoughtless countenances, and the trifling conversation in which they indulged, did not appear to her to indicate men who could be dangerous; and she deemed it impossible that, in either of them, she saw the daring duke. at the same time, she believed it certain that, in their companion, she beheld the hated pursuer of the king's life and crown. he had not yet spoken a word; but his sharp look, and bold and impudent features, betokened a craftiness and an audacity without parallel. with politeness, but without interest, lady ingé replied to the duke's questions--whether she had ever been at court, whether she liked dancing and tournaments, hawking or chess, and how she amused herself in this solitary castle? she did not appear to notice the duke's admiration of her beauty, and his easy, flattering remarks thereupon to his drost. on the contrary, she gave closer heed to the short, stout-built personage at the corner of the table on her right, who was equipped, partly as a seaman, and partly as a knight of princely blood. he had stretched himself, with vulgar carelessness, upon his seat, and his fierce-looking eyes ran round the hall, as if he did not feel himself quite secure, and, at the same time, had a contempt of danger. his broad, low, animal forehead, was indicative of energy and defiance; his short, crisped, sandy-coloured hair united with his matted beard, and concealed his brutish, almost hideous under-jaw. his wide mouth was greedily distended, and only half concealed two rows of strong, shining, white teeth. his wild, rolling eyes met almost close to his crooked nose, and lay deeply buried under a pair of bushy eyebrows. he ate rapidly, gnawing, with a species of ravenousness, the largest bones; while his sinewy hand often rested on a dagger-hilt, set with precious stones. whenever he raised the cup to his mouth, which was not seldom, he drained it to the bottom. he appeared at length to have satisfied his hunger and thirst. his brown cheeks were heated and flushed with wine, and he began to cast lewd and impudent glances, now at lady ingé, and now at her handmaids, as if comparing them, in order to decide upon which his choice should fall. "now for pleasure, gentlemen," he broke forth at length, in a rough, harsh voice, and in a singing norwegian pronunciation. "what signify your fine manners on a journey? and why stand the pretty wenches behind the lady's chair? take you the demure flat-nose, sir drost; i will hold to the little roguish brunette; and thus we shall allow his grace to retain the high-born, proud damsel for his own share." he seemed about to rise, and the two handmaids, frightened, retreated a step. lady ingé was also alarmed, but she overcame her fear in an instant. the guest's impudence, and his rude tones, provoked her. from his foreign accent, she immediately knew that he was not the duke. with a contemptuous look towards the unmanneredly freebooter, she rose from the table, and turned, with calm dignity, to the other two gentlemen. "one of _you_ must be the duke, then," said she; "and i am glad of it; though, as the daughter of a danish knight, i cannot rejoice to see a man here who dares to revolt against the danish crown. but, whichever of you may be he, i appeal to him to protect me from the insolence of that rude man, who is probably one of your grooms." "satan fetch the saucy minx!" exclaimed the pirate chief, laughing. "take you me for a groom, proud maiden, because i do not relish fine talking, like these polite courtiers? when needful, i understand that art, too; and, spite of any one, not a queen shall think herself too good to sit at table with the count of tönsberg, or to embrace him." "recollect yourself, brave count," said the duke, in a tone of authority, and rising: "we are not on board, nor in a tavern, but in the house of an honourable knight, and one of my friends. this lady and her handmaids are under my protection here." "what the fiend! my young big-nosed duke, are you already tired of good fellowship, and desire a quarrel?" growled the algrev, projecting his legs, while he leant back on his chair, with his arms folded on his breast. "i would rather advise you not to try such a joke. the count of tönsberg can sup broth out of the same dish with both a norse and swedish king, and has not need to make himself a dog for the favour. i am not to be cowed by the biggest emperor in the world, least of all by a little duke. as i sit here, i will undertake to turn you and your genteel drost heels over head, if you have a mind to know whether you or the algrev is the strongest." the duke grew pale with indignation. sir abildgaard sprang up, and placed himself, with his hand upon his sword, by the duke's side. "call the house-carls," said lady ingé to her maidens; and the frightened girls, screaming, ran out of the room to give the alarm: the lofty, earnest maiden herself remained standing, and regarded the enraged men with attention. "this is not the time and place to prove our strength, count alf; and i am no boatman, who will drag a rope against a seahorse," said the duke, with supreme contempt, and laying his hand on his sword. "the wine has proved too strong for you; and what you say to-night, you will scarcely repeat tomorrow. if you were to bear in mind where we are, and what kind of a wind we have, you would perhaps come to your senses," he added, in a haughty, threatening tone. "here, the count of tönsberg is of no more avail than niels breakpeace, or any other vile highwayman; and if you do not wish to prove your strength with danish gaolers, and measure your height with the gallows of orekrog, you will tame your unbridled, berserk[ ] courage, without the aid of the house-carls and castle-warden." they already heard a noise without, and the kitchen-door flew open. "bar the passage!" cried lady ingé; and the kitchen-door was again closed. the eyes of the maddened freebooter rolled wildly in his head. he seized a massive silver trencher from the table, and seemed about to hurl it at the duke's head; but, recollecting himself, he was satisfied with twisting the heavy salver into the form of a rope. when he had thus vented his rage, and given his opponents an astonishing proof of his enormous strength, he appeared entirely calm and pacified. "people don't understand joking in denmark," he muttered. "we norse sea-dogs are not accustomed to weigh words. be at your ease, proud maiden; and sit you quietly down again, my noble young gentlemen. the wine, perhaps, runs a little in my noddle, and so i don't like standing. we sit here tolerably snug. but where is she off to, the little roguish brunette? let her come hither, and pour out for me; and, death and the devil! you may have all the others: but the first house-carl that sets foot in the room, i will fell him like an ox!" he now appeared drowsy and heavy-headed, and lolled comfortably back on his chair, as if he would go to sleep; but still kept his eyes half open, whilst his left hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, and in his right was clenched the silver trencher, which he had converted into a heavy truncheon. "he is inebriated, as you perceive, noble lady," now said the duke, softly, to ingé, while he offered her his arm, and led her into the farther hall. "pardon us for having brought with us this rude travelling companion, who is, otherwise, a brave norse knight, and of noble birth; but, when in this state, there is no controlling him: he becomes crazy, and fancies himself the powerful freebooter, count mindre-alf of tönsberg. we must, at such times, talk to him after his own fashion; and, in order to tame him, threaten him with rack and gibbet. he will not now rise from the drinking-table so long as there is a drop in the flagon, and therefore we can leave him. when he falls fast asleep, he will suffer himself to be carried on board, like a log, without moving. to-morrow, he will again be the smartest knight in the universe, if he does not dream that he has been count of tönsberg to-night." "it is a singular weakness for a man so strong," replied lady ingé, examining the duke with an earnest, penetrating look: "perhaps, also, it was in consequence of his intoxication that he took you for the duke?" "nay: there he was right, noble lady. i am truly duke waldemar; and, although i am not welcome to you, your father has received me as his guest. for his sake, as well as for mine, i pray you to send the house-carls back, and not betray this private visit by any needless alarm. notwithstanding that i feel confident of being able to justify myself against every accusation, i am at this moment misunderstood, and under pursuit. it may coat your father his life, if people here should recognise me." lady ingé tottered and grew pale. the servants of the house had, in the meanwhile, barred all egress, and some of them now came, storming noisily, into the hall. "back!" cried lady ingé, suddenly recovering herself, and stepping with calm authority towards them: "it was a mistake. there is no danger at present. these are peaceful travellers, and my father's friends. one of them has become intoxicated, and has frightened us with his wild raving. you may return to the castle-stairs, and remain quiet until i call; but three of you remain in the kitchen." the house-carls obeyed, and went back; but the frightened handmaidens did not venture to show themselves, and ingé remained alone with the duke and his drost. "you are duke waldemar, then?" she said, regarding the proud young nobleman with a composed and searching look, while she placed herself so near to the kitchen-door that she could open it whenever she chose. "your drunken comrade within is likewise the open enemy of the country--the notorious norse freebooter and incendiary; your groom is also a riever; and yet, with such a train, you dare to make yourself a guest in a royal castle! you have betrayed my father: his life is, perhaps, in danger. where he has gone, you must know better than i. the pursuers you speak of are probably here, in the castle. it is to me a fearful riddle; but this i know, that at this instant i am mistress of your freedom." the duke started, and looked at the lofty, earnest girl with astonishment; while sir abildgaard glanced uneasily round him, and made an involuntary movement towards the door. "the passage is barred," continued lady ingé; "but it costs me only a nod, and it stands open to you. promise me, duke waldemar, truly and piously, that, from this time forth, you will undertake no enterprise against the kingdom and country, and i shall then no longer prevent your departure from this castle; but if you cannot or will not promise me this, i instantly call the house-carls to seize you, as the accomplices of this audacious freebooter." the duke and sir abildgaard regarded each other with the highest astonishment, and, for a moment, both appeared irresolute. "excellent!" exclaimed the duke, at length, in a gay and courtly tone of politeness: "to a lady's humour we may, with all honour, give way." but observing lady ingé's beautiful, serious countenance and determined mien, he suddenly changed his manner. "i promise you, noble lady," he continued, solemnly, "that i shall take no step that i do not hope to be able to defend, before the danish people, at every legal tribunal. my conduct you cannot pronounce sentence upon; and you have no other right or power to be our mistress here than we freely concede to your beauty and patriotic spirit. if, then, you would not place your own father in peril of death, you will allow the castle to be opened for us, and not betray to any one what guests have been here." lady ingé was silent. a mighty conflict seemed violently to agitate her bosom: she held one hand tremblingly before her eyes, and, with the other, indicated that they might depart. she then opened the kitchen-door, and gave the house-servants orders to re-open the barred passages. the door of the fore-hall was immediately opened, and she perceived, standing in the doorway, the same clumsy-looking fellow who had so much alarmed her, at dusk, with his wild, brutish countenance. "it blows south-east, and we can sail," said he: "all is clear." "good," answered the duke: "we are ready. take care of the gentleman within. farewell, noble lady," he continued, turning to the knight's fair daughter, with a genuine expression of respect: "i am sorry i must number you among my foes; but i shall never forget this hour, and never cease to esteem and admire you. had denmark many such women, scarcely any man would need to boast of his valour." with these flattering words, he raised her hand to his lips, bowed politely, and, with his drost, hastened from the door. the tall, rude groom had, in the meanwhile, according to the duke's instructions, proceeded to the dining-room, where he first made free with what remained in the wine-flagons. he then put all the silver goblets into his pocket, and, taking the sleeping algrev's silver truncheon from his hand, he placed it among the rest of his booty. he then disposed himself to lift the drunken gentleman upon his shoulder. "it is not needful, niels," whispered the algrev: "i am not so drunk but that i can well walk; yet i have been drinking stupidly, and must allow i have enough. so just take me under your arm, and let us off to sea." he thereupon began to growl forth a snatch of some wanton song, and, resting on the arm of his sturdy comrade, reeled into the next apartment. here ingé was still standing, with her hand on the latch of the kitchen-door. "a proud little tit-bit, niels," whispered the algrev to his rough attendant. "could we but take her with us, we should not leave zealand without a prime booty." "it would be an easy matter for me to whip her up," whispered niels; "but, should she scream, we are betrayed. ill birds are about already." "the fiend take the proud wench, then! i would rather have the little roguish brunette. but let the birds fly. farewell, proud lady," he said, aloud, as, staggering towards her, he kissed his finger. "salute our good friend, your worthy father. thank him handsomely, for having allowed us to drink a goblet here in peace, and put the hounds on a false scent." lady ingé answered not: she stood, as if rivetted to the floor with terror; and, as soon as the fearful guests were gone, she bolted the door after them. exhausted by these unusual efforts, she sank on a chair, almost unconscious. she still appeared to hear footsteps in the court-yard of the castle; but soon all was still, and the castle-gates were shut with a hollow sound. the noise aroused her from her stupor, and, collecting her strength, she tried to recall what had happened. the idea of her father's connection with the terrible guests fell on her soul like an enormous burden. a flood of tears burst suddenly from her eyes, and she wrung her hands in deep and boundless grief. "but where is he?" she broke out again, in anguish; "and where are the three brave men who went with him?" the angry sea-rover's parting words occurred to her, and she made a hurried movement towards the door, without exactly knowing what she intended to do. at this moment, she heard a loud knocking at the front hall-door. she started, but did not long hesitate, and withdrew the bolts. an active stranger youth, in the habit of a squire, entered, and saluted her respectfully. it was claus skirmen. "be not alarmed, lady," he said, hastily; "but may i inform you, if you do not know it already, that there are pirates in the castle; whilst my master, and the two knights who came with him, together with the governor of the castle himself, are shut up in the eastern tower." "shut up by pirates! my father imprisoned!" exclaimed lady ingé, with a burst of joy, incomprehensible to the young squire. "are you certain the pirates have shut him up? and how know you it?" "who has locked them in, i know not," replied skirmen; "but, noble lady, understand me rightly: they are prisoners in the tower. i was out on the beach, washing our horses, when i heard some one shouting from above, and i rode out of the water towards the tower, in the direction from whence the sound came. they bade me look about, right under the tower, for a prison-key: it was lying, fortunately, upon a great stone, and here it is; but the entrance to the tower i could not discover. in the court-yard they were shouting that pirates are here, and i could not be heard." "give it me!" exclaimed lady ingé, anxiously snatching it from the squire's hand. "bring the lantern from the stable: make haste!" and she hurried out across the court-yard, while skirmen ran to the stable for the lantern. in the castle-yard there was a great noise. the servants were all in commotion, and the old warden came towards her in great terror. "ah, god pity us!" he whined: "the vile sea-cats! has any misfortune happened, lady?" "my father is imprisoned," she hastily replied, "and the strangers are gone. unlock the eastern tower for us." "ah, god pity us!" whined the warden, once more, and hurried to the tower. "it was by your father's orders i locked his friends both in and out, and asked them neither their names nor errand. that satan who last went out wrenched the key of the castle-gate from my hand, and opened it before my very nose. they must have been rovers and heretics. i saw them, from the castle-walls, hoist sail, and leave the haven, taking the direction of scania--and in this flying storm, too. god grant that they may go to the bottom, neck and crop!" "my father is locked in," exclaimed lady ingé, impatiently: "instantly open the tower for us, i say." "ah, the infernal rogues! have they locked the governor in? god grant they may sink!" cried the old man, obeying. "hence now, hammer and tongs, and break open the gates of the tower--despatch!" the tower-gate was now open. skirmen came with the lantern, and hastily preceded ingé up the narrow, winding staircase. when she reached the top, she heard high words within the prison, and recognised the voices of her father and the strangers. "this treason you shall pay for, sir lavé!" she heard exclaimed by a harsh-toned voice, which she recognised as that of the stranger with the large plaited beard. "if drost hessel will still be your defender," continued the angry speaker, "he cannot save your life when i denounce you, and prove you to be a traitor to the country." at these words, which only seemed to confirm her own cruel suspicions, the unhappy daughter was well nigh sinking upon the spot. the name of drost hessel had also attracted her attention in the highest degree, and the key fell from her hands. it rolled a few steps downwards, and skirmen picked it up. "still, there is no proof of so heinous a crime," she now heard uttered in the voice of the young gentleman who had known her mother, and who had seemed to her so kingly. "appearances are very much against you, sir lavé," continued the same voice; "but we ought to think the best of sir john's kinsman as long as possible; and for what has yet happened here, no one can legally condemn you." at these words, a gleam of hope lighted up the soul of the magnanimous daughter. "yes, he may still be innocent!" she exclaimed, hastily thrusting into the lock the key which skirmen had handed to her. the door was instantly opened, and the sight of the courageous girl astonished the knights. her father appeared still more surprised to see her. "are the strangers still here?" he hastily inquired. "nay," replied the daughter, scarcely daring to look in her father's face, lest she should read in his manner a confirmation of the crime that she still hoped was a matter of doubt. "ha! escaped! perdition seize them!" exclaimed thorstenson, stamping with rage. "now, the object of our detention is clear enough." "do you know whether they have gone seawards or landwards, noble lady?" inquired drost peter. "can you tell us, with certainty, which route they have taken? your word is my surety that they are withdrawn, and are not concealed within these walls." lady ingé was about to answer, but her father seized her hastily by the arm. "be thou silent, my daughter!" he commanded her, in a sterner tone than he was wont at other times to use. "my persecuted guests, as you hear, are no longer in the castle," he said, turning to the knights, and suddenly becoming bold and determined. "it is now your affair to pursue them farther, if you believe yourselves authorised to do so. i am obliged to furnish you with fighting-men, and to provide you with a sea-boat, if you demand it; but not to be a spy and an accuser. to such meanness you shall not compel my daughter; and none of my people in the castle shall give evidence in this matter until they are summoned to the lands-ting, and in presence of their lawful judges. that i have received the king's own kinsman, duke waldemar of south jutland, into this castle, i need neither deny nor feel ashamed of. i know of no sentence passed upon him, as an enemy to the king or the country. whom he had in his train i know not, nor does it concern me. his servants and followers were my guests, as well as he. i am glad that this singular accident has saved him from a pursuit which i consider to be alike illegal and tyrannical." thorstenson and rimaardson looked with wonder on the previously desponding castellan. thorstenson struck his sword wrathfully on the stone floor; but drost peter advanced calmly towards him. "this concerns the safety of the crown and kingdom," he remarked, sternly and gravely. "what has happened may be regarded as an accident, and i do not intend to make sir lavé little answerable for it. but if you, lady ingé little, know where the traitors and their piratical train have gone, i, drost peter hessel, demand of you, in the name of your king and country, to reveal it, that we may not, by a bootless journey, expose the royal house and the nation to the greatest peril." sir lavé grew pale, and lady ingé regarded the authoritative young drost with wondering eyes. she saw her father's embarrassment, and observed a secret sign he gave her, by pointing towards the west; but her resolution was taken. "if you are drost peter hessel," she said, calmly and firmly, "i know that you have royal power and authority to demand faithful testimony from every loyal subject. as a knight's free daughter, i cannot debase myself by becoming a spy and an accuser, least of all, by betraying my father's friends and guests. but the persons you speak of cannot be my father's friends. they have not come as guests, but as disguised robbers. according to the warden's account, who himself has seen them, they are fled over the sound, towards sweden." "in the name of our king and country, i thank you for this important evidence, noble lady ingé," said drost. peter, taking her hand warmly. "yet a word in my own name, in the presence of your father, and of these brave men. i hope the time may yet come, when you will as little mistake drost peter hessel's heart and conduct, as you now do his fealty to his king and country. if you do not reject the hand which i now give as a friend, it will be my greatest pride and happiness to proffer it to you hereafter with a dearer title." "never, never shall that time come, as long as my eyes are open!" exclaimed sir lavé, bitterly, and tearing their hands asunder. "silence, and go to your chamber, my daughter, i command you!" lady ingé cast a look of fervent esteem towards her childhood's bridegroom; and saluting him and his friends with silence and dignified composure, she departed. skirmen ran down the stairs before her with the lantern, and across the court-yard. on his return, his master and both the knights had already gone out of the opened castle-gate. he hastened to bring their horses from the stable, and followed his master. he rejoined them on the quay, where sir lavé commanded the ferrymen to convey the gentlemen, in their fleetest sloop, and without delay, to helsingborg. thirty men of the castle garrison stood armed on the quay, and received the castellan's orders to follow and obey the strangers. having done this, sir lavé took a short and cold leave of drost peter and sir rimaardson. to sir thorstenson he silently handed his glove, and returned, with hasty and troubled steps, to the castle. thorstenson flung the glove contemptuously after him, and leaped on board. in a brief space, the knights, with their armed followers, were embarked. skirmen took charge of the horses. the wind was blowing strong from the south. drost peter placed himself at the helm, and ordered all sails to be set; and the sloop dashed along at a rapid rate, cutting through the troubled waters of the sound. the night was intensely dark, a few stars only being visible. they steered in the direction of helsingborg, drost peter sitting silently at the rudder; while thorstenson, exasperated, paced up and down the deck with rimaardson, giving vent to his indignation against the crafty castellan. "who would have believed it of him?" he growled: "i always took him for a flounder, and thought it his only claim to be governor of flounder castle."[ ] "do not speak so loud, noble knight," whispered rimaardson. "they are his people we have on board; and see you not how they lay their heads together? should mutiny break out in the ship during this murky night, our condition then may be worse than that we have just escaped from." "the first man that grumbles, i shall cut down," muttered thorstenson. "every dane has not yet become a traitor." skirmen now ascended from the hold of the vessel, and approached his grave master, who sat thoughtfully, with his arm over the rudder, now and then casting back a look to the huge dark castle, where a single light only was visible, shining from a turret-chamber in the south-eastern angle. there, he knew that lady ingé, in her childhood, had her apartment; and there, as children, they had often played together. "master," said skirmen, advancing a little nearer, "be not offended if i disturb you in the midst of important thoughts. but steer you not rather too much to the south?" "you are right, skirmen," answered drost peter, hastily turning the helm: "yes, this must be the right course. it is dark, and we need to have our eyes about us. fortunately, i can see the light, yonder. now, tell me somewhat. you followed the lady from the tower. how was she affected? did she converse with you?" "not a word, sir, until i had set down the lantern, and was about to depart: then, indeed, she asked me if i was your squire." "and what did you answer?" asked the drost, hastily. "eh? what could i answer save 'yes,' sir? but now, are you not steering rather southerly again?" drost peter hastily corrected his error. "said she nothing more to you?" he resumed, after a pause. "ay, true: as she was entering the door, she dropped her red hair-band, which i picked up, and restored to her. that i might not appear a lout, without a word to say, i remarked that she wore the queen's colours as well as my master, the drost. i perceived that she started on hearing this; on which i drew myself up a little; for i know it is an honour that no knight but yourself can boast." "stupidity--cursed bravado!" exclaimed drost peter, with unusual vehemence. "moreover, it is untrue: i no longer wear the queen's colours." "that i knew not, stern sir. you wore them, however, when we travelled from melfert." "but now, as i tell you, i no longer wear them; and, for the sake of bragging, you should say nothing but what you know for certain to be true." skirmen was abashed, and remained silent. "and what said she to this stupid boasting?" continued drost peter, in a milder tone. "nothing, stern sir. yet it occurred to me, that she was much moved thereat.----but be not angry, stern sir: the helm is a little wrong again." "certainly not: let me attend to that. moved, say you? why think you she was moved? what foolish talk is this?" "truly by this, my master: she turned away from me, blushed deeply, and, as it seemed to me, there were tears in her eyes." "nonsense, skirmen! you must have mistaken.--spring forwards, and put that sail to rights!" skirmen hastened to obey his master's order, although he could not conceive why he was so singularly abrupt and abstracted. the young drost heaved a deep sigh, and looked back once more for the light in the turret-window. it was no longer to be seen; and it seemed to him as if, with that distant light, the fair, newly-risen star was also extinguished from his childhood's heaven. the wind now blew strong, and they already began to perceive lights on the swedish coast, when suddenly a wild shout was heard on board, and torches flared in the midst of clashing swords and lances. drost peter, surprised, sprang from the helm, and saw, with consternation, sir thorstenson and sir rimaardson engaged in fierce conflict with the thirty lancers from flynderborg. drost peter threw himself with drawn sword amidst the combatants. "peace here, in the king's name, or you are dead men!" he commanded, in a voice which, without being alarming, had singular weight and authority. they all paused, and gazed at him. even the maddened sir thorstenson, who had felled one man and wounded another, subdued his rage, and stood quietly. "speak! what has happened?" demanded the drost. "here, i am supreme judge." "rebellion--mutiny!" cried thorstenson: "there lies the ringleader." "they think that we have arbitrarily compelled the commandant, and that we are leading them into mischief," said rimaardson. the uproarious landsknechts pressed forward, uttering defiance, and shouting lustily to one another: "we are free danes, and will not suffer ourselves to be cowed by three rovers. we know well enough, that you would have murdered the castellan in the tower; and here are we, carried off in the murky night, like cattle for slaughter, and no one knows whither." "silence!" cried the drost. "is there any one amongst you who knows the king's hand and seal?" "that does wise christen--yes, that does christen fynbo," cried the fellows. "let him come hither, then," commanded the drost, taking forth the royal warrant addressed to governors of castles. "a torch here! and now attend." he then read aloud, and distinctly, the order that he should be supplied with a force, whenever it should be demanded. "there you see the king's seal and signature." "it is well attested, comrades," said the book-learned fynbo; and the greater number were pacified: still, a few solitary murmurs were heard. "now you have seen black on white for our right and authority, fellows," continued drost peter, sternly; "but, even without this, you ought to obey, when your governor has commanded you. meantime are you all my prisoners: i cannot employ fellows like you in the king's service. your leader has met with his reward. cast him overboard, and let the fish devour him. the rest of you lay down your arms immediately." the soldiers delayed, and a subdued murmur ran among them. "do you hesitate?" cried the drost. "will you be doomed as traitors? cast the rebel's corpse overboard: his sentence is passed here--god be merciful to his soul!" two of the landsknechts, who stood nearest the drost, silently laid hold of the body of their fallen comrade, and heaved it overboard. it splashed into the deep, and for a moment there was a fearful silence. no one, however, had yet laid down his weapon. "you have been misled, and in a mistake, countrymen," said the drost, in a milder tone: "i shall intercede for you, for this time. but, now, instantly lay down your arms, and descend quietly to the forehold. whoever murmurs, forfeits his life." the astonished soldiers obeyed: in a moment they were all disarmed, and shut down, within the fastenings of the forehold. the drost then went quietly back to the helm, which skirmen in the meantime, at his signal, had undertaken to guide. there was a death-stillness on board. sir thorstenson and sir rimaardson stood, with drawn swords, by the hatchway of the prison-room, while skirmen attended to the sails. the storm had lulled, and day began to dawn over the swedish coast, when the last tack was made, and the ship glided in a right line towards the haven of helsingborg. the childhood of erik menved. part ii. it was still the gray of the morning, when, in the upper hall of helsingborg[ ] castle, young duke waldemar and his drost walked backwards and forwards on the bare paved floor. their mantles, soaked with sea-water, lay upon a bench. "it was a stiff breeze, gracious sir," observed sir abildgaard, rubbing his hands; "and it was fortunate we had the algrev with us: drunk as he was, however, he has set us on dry land, like a brave fellow." "the rude, wild sea-bear!" exclaimed the duke: "he had nearly ruined everything. at sea, he is invaluable; but he shall never more set foot on land by my side. it seems, however, that he was sober when we landed, and understood my meaning." "he offered no objections, and he owned that he rued his folly. it is well we did not break with him: he is a fellow that may still be put to use." "was the daring niels breakpeace with him? for, at present, it is as well to have him also as a reserve; but we must not have the fellow here with us." "not a soul landed your highness. i strictly repeated your injunction, that they should sail immediately. i assisted the algrev to spell the marsk's letter, as well as that of the norwegian king, and he has sworn to be at stockholm within eight days, with thirty transports to convey troops." "good--very good!" said the duke, thoughtfully. "were we only well over the scanian border, if need there be, it shall and must succeed. when king magnus hears our weighty plans, he must concur with them, and afford us his aid. this betrothment of children, and all their other miserable arts, shall not save them. but why, do they tarry?" the morning light began to increase; and as the large hall, on the western side of the castle, looked out upon the sea, they saw, from the balcony, the count of tönsberg's rover, in which they had arrived, run out of the haven with a brisk side-wind. "see, there goes the algrev," said sir abildgaard: "he must certainly feel it hard to run from a danish coast without booty. but how is this? a sloop, with blue sails, lies at the jetty. we saw it not when we landed; and it is not a scanian." "gudsdöd!" exclaimed the duke, "it is a royal sloop, from orekrog. but it cannot have come in pursuit of us, unless sir lavé has been frightened, and allowed that infernal drost to slip loose. where is the castellan? did you instruct him not to say who we are, and that he should straightway send us an escort as royal ambassadors?" "yes, sir; and there is no obstacle in the way. when the guards and servants heard your name, they made the utmost haste. the castellan had not risen, but he will be here instantly." "there is no time to lose," said the duke, with uneasiness. "if we have not the escort immediately, we must set off without it. are the horses ready, and at hand?" "they stand saddled by the castle-stairs, sir. but, list! they are coming!" they now heard a bustle in the castle, and the sound of armed men running to and fro. the large hall, on the eastern side, looked over the castle-yard. there, too, they heard a noise, and went anxiously to the window. "they are closing the castle-gates!" exclaimed sir abildgaard; "and the court-yard is full of armed men." "gudsdöd! what means this? are we betrayed?" exclaimed the duke. "come, tuko: there must be an outlet here. we must away." four large doors opened from the hall. two of these they found barred. they went to the third, which was not locked, and hastily opened it; but on the outside stood six armed men, with the danish arms upon their helmets. "no one can pass out here!" exclaimed a gruff voice. astonished, they hastened to the fourth door; but, before they reached it, it was opened, and drost peter stood before them, along with sir rimaardson and sir thorstenson, and accompanied by a middle-aged gentleman, in the dress of a danish knight, with a baton in his hand. this was the governor of helsingborg. twelve men-at-arms followed him. "your arms, gentlemen, in the king's name," said drost peter, calmly: "you are our prisoners." "what! how is this?" cried the duke, stamping on the paved floor. "who dares to take duke waldemar prisoner?" "i, drost peter hessel, and these danish knights, in the name of our king and master." "i know you not. you have no power over a duke of the royal blood, and a free royal vassal." "you know the king's hand and seal, illustrious sir," replied drost peter, handing him his warrant. the duke perused it, with anger-flashing eyes. "this is illegal," he cried: "it is contrary to the laws and statutes of the kingdom. i have not been accused at any herred-ting or land-ting,[ ] and i formally protest against this proceeding, as arbitrary and unjust. you are my witness, governor, that i declare this warrant null and void, and i shall answer to my country for destroying it." so saying, he tore the royal warrant, and cast it on the ground. "as the king's kinsman, and duke of south jutland, i now command you," he continued, in a lordly tone of authority, "that you immediately take prisoners these audacious persons, who dare to misuse the royal authority in this lawless manner." the castellan looked doubtfully, now at the duke, now at drost peter, as if uncertain how to act. thorstenson struck his sword angrily against the pavement, and rimaardson was on the point of speaking, when drost peter anticipated him. "whether this proceeding be just or not," he commenced, "and whether the king is warranted in ordering this illustrious gentleman to be made prisoner, before he has been accused at a land-ting, is not now the question: that, the king must himself answer. my authority is the royal warrant you have seen: it cannot be destroyed; and, in virtue thereof, i demand that the king's will may be obeyed without delay or hesitation. if you will not deliver up your weapons willingly, gentlemen, i shall be obliged to resort to force." drost peter's calm and decided manner embarrassed the duke, and overcame every doubt of the castellan. "for the present, you must submit to necessity, illustrious duke," said this grave personage, courteously, at the same time stooping, and picking up the royal warrant. "perhaps this is a mistake; in which case you must be set at liberty, and will have your grounds of prosecution against this gentleman for his abuse of the royal authority. at this moment he is fully empowered, and must be obeyed." the duke clenched his teeth, and, with averted eyes, handed drost peter his sword. sir abildgaard followed his lord's example; and not another word was uttered by the exasperated state-prisoners. to the castellan's polite inquiry, whether they wished to take any refreshment, the duke indignantly shook his head. a strong guard of soldiers having surrounded the captives, drost peter and his companions courteously saluted the governor, who returned to the drost the torn warrant, and accompanied them to the jetty. before the sun was yet up, drost peter had departed for zealand with his important prisoners. the rebellious landsknechts from flynderborg were handed over to the castellan of helsingborg, who sent them, carefully bound, in another vessel to orekrog. claus skirmen had now enough to attend to; and, although he regarded his master with proud satisfaction, he carefully avoided any of those haughty airs by which the feelings of the duke and his drost might be wounded. as for thorstenson and rimaardson, the moment they found themselves alone with drost peter at the rudder, they shook him heartily by the hand, and extolled his good fortune. "yet, after all, it is provoking to be engaged on any hazardous adventure with you," grumbled thorstenson; "for before i have had an opportunity of using my good sword, you have achieved all that is required by a few words, with your sword in its sheath." "we may yet need your good sword quite soon enough," replied drost peter, in a suppressed voice: "we have ventured upon a greater piece of daring than any one perhaps may trow." the discourse of the grave knights was extremely brief, and their princely captive deigned them not a word. with suppressed bitterness, he resigned himself to his fate; and, by the side of his fellow-prisoner, paced the deck as proudly as if he had been master of the ship. at length he appeared even gay and indifferent; but drost peter frequently noted in his countenance an expression of vindictive hope, which rendered him in the highest degree thoughtful and earnest. the vigilant drost took the helm himself; and when he again saw the dark towers of flynderborg, he cast a melancholy glance towards the little turret-window from which he had seen the light twinkling on the previous evening; but the window was now closed, and seemed to be screened inside by a dark tapestry. the entire mighty fortress, which at the present moment he did not care to visit, lay half enveloped in the mist of the calm spring morning, and seemed to him dark and enigmatical as his own future, and undefined as his unhappy country's fate. * * * it was soon known throughout the whole kingdom that duke waldemar and his drost had been sent prisoners to sjöborg. this bold step on the part of the king and his active ministers struck the discontented nobles with astonishment, and it now seemed as if even the most daring vassals had lost courage to defy the kingly power, or to meditate dangerous enterprises against the crown and kingdom. a great number of the most powerful danish nobles, as well as many foreign princes, sought to accommodate, in an amicable manner, the dangerous differences between the king and the duke, and to obtain the misguided nobleman's release from prison; but one month passed by after another, without any arrangement being effected. the king, as usual, passed the summer in moving about the kingdom, and spent the winter at ribehuus. the drost, it was said, was in high favour; but it was doubted whether the terms that he and the stern old sir john deemed necessary for the security of the crown, in reference to the liberation of the duke, would be submitted to by the proud young prince, so long as he could depend upon his powerful connections, both within the kingdom and abroad. it was one of the latter days of march, . the captive duke and his knightly companion, drost tuko abildgaard, sat opposite each other, at a chess-table, in a gloomy turret-chamber in sjöborg castle, where they had now spent three beautiful months of summer, and more than six of autumn and winter. they were strictly guarded, but without harshness, and with every respect and distinction that such notable state-prisoners could desire. they lacked none of the necessaries and comforts that could be obtained in this retired spot, or that could be granted them without danger of aiding them to escape, or enabling them to hold intercourse with their friends and adherents. each of the prisoners had his own apartment; but, as it was not forbidden them to be in each other's company, their apartments communicated by a door, which they used at pleasure. the narrow chambers were kept clean and airy, and as warm as the prisoners themselves desired. the rooms were, further, provided with all suitable furniture for their convenience, besides various kinds of chess-boards, and a few old manuscript chronicles. some volumes of homilies, and other edifying writings, were also to be found; together with a lyre, a david's harp, and many similar things, to lighten their captivity and beguile the time. but lights and writing-materials were both denied them; and they saw not a soul except the deaf turnkey, (who never spoke a word when he waited upon them,) and the stern castellan, poul hvit himself. the latter visited them daily, at uncertain hours, and never left their side during the time they were permitted to take exercise in the open air, under his charge, in the court-yard of the castle. every day, well-cooked food was brought them, on silver dishes, and the rarest fruits of the season at all times graced their lonely board. to the handle of their silver wine-flagon, a fresh nosegay was very frequently attached, even in the severest winter months; but who it was that showed them this friendly mark of attention, they had never been able to discover. further, to give their uniform life a little variety, they feigned to be alternately each other's guests, and on this day drost tuko abildgaard was host. the dinner-table was cleared, but the wine-flagon and two goblets still remained. "gaily, now, my noble guest," said the mannerly knight: "if you are tired of mating me, leave the stupid pieces alone, and let us rather drink a cup together. the wine is excellent. had we only a couple of pretty lively little damsels to bear us company, our imprisonment would not seem to me, after all, so great a calamity. who knows from what fair hand these lovely flowers are constantly brought us, and whether one of us may not have fallen on good fortune here, among the weaving-damsels and pantry-maids." "thou hast a happy mind, tuko," replied the duke; "and i do not envy thee it. so long as thou lackest not wine and giddy girls, i believe thou couldst be happy in purgatory itself. but yet there was a time, tuko, when thou sharedst my proud dreams," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, and pushing the chess-pieces to one side: "even in the midst of our most thoughtless follies, thou didst not forget that thou wert the friend of an injured prince, and labouredst with him for the attainment of the greatest object man can desire. thou wert initiated into the great secret of my life: with me, thou proudly soaredst above the ignorant mass and the despicable puppets we played with, whenever thou thoughtest what thou, too, couldst perform when duke waldemar was in possession of his great ancestor's glorious crown." "think not that i have now forgotten it, noble sir," replied the knight. "but of what use is it to fret yourself pale and lean, between these thick walls, where we cannot take a single step towards our object?" "we can do battle here, tuko. in that narrow room i have, perhaps, already made a more important progress than if i had stood free, in the midst of a noisy and juggling court. read, in the chronicles, of the greatest men, and thou shalt find that they buried themselves in deserts and lonely dens, to prove themselves and their own powers in secret, before they entered upon the career destined to astonish after generations, and be remembered through long centuries. when thou hast been sleeping here, dreaming of trifles and handsome maidens, many a night have i been awake in my den, there. the wide and mighty world of thought has been laid open before me in my prison, and the great spirits of departed times have been near me." "the rood shield us, noble sir! if you have become a ghost-seer, i wonder not that you are so pale and thin. reveries, and night-watchings of this kind, must lay waste your strength, and carry you even a step farther. what have you thought of, then? and what are the fruits of these perilous struggles? to me, you look as grave and solemn as a clerk spent with fasting; and, indeed, i scarcely know you." "but thou and the world shall learn to know me," said the duke. "now, for the first time, i know myself--now know i, that i have been a light-brained fool. miserable, insolent boyishness it was, when i would deny my tyrant's right of guardianship, and quarrel with my powerful oppressor about petty islands and paltry mint privileges, when i had his crown in view. stupid, immeasurably stupid, it was, when i suffered myself to be misled by thee and other thoughtless persons, into making a claim to the kingdom, before i was certain that i was the people's spiritual lord." "i understand you not, noble sir. a spiritual dominion you cannot claim: that must be left to the pope and clergy. but you are right: to strike the sceptre from the hand of a tyrant, guarded by strong and blindfolded slaves, you certainly required a marshal's baton and an army. it was, undeniably, an error, to betray your aims unseasonably, and thus put arms into the hands of opponents before you were sufficiently accoutred yourself." "that was my least mistake, tuko, and that i have sufficiently atoned for within these walls. my greatest error was, that i fancied actual dominion was to be obtained over a people, ere they had freely chosen and done homage to me as their lord; and that a crown could be won, like a castle or a piece of land, by daring heroism and foreign armies, so long as the people i desired to rule had yet a spark of strength and spirit; and i did not first conquer the souls whose lord and king i should wish, in reality, to be." "these are vagaries, noble sir, the consequences of prison air, unseasonable night-watchings, and want of exercise. what think you the great ignorant masses of the people care about their ruler's inner worth and being? he who has the power and authority, is obeyed by the crowd: the ruler who has the largest army, and can swing the longest sword over the heads of the people, they readily acknowledge as their king and heart-beloved father, if only he does not impose higher taxes than his predecessors, and maintains something like law and justice in the country." "nay, tuko, nay," resumed the pale and earnest duke, with warmth; "this imprudent contempt for the lives and spirit of a people has misled the greatest ruling spirits in the world. the mere external dominion, which has not its roots in the deepest heart of the people, and is not bound up with the popular mind and true renown, is worthless and despicable, did it even extend over the whole universe. it is a throne raised on the breath of pride, on the mists and vapours of a miserable vanity. it is dissipated by a blast of wind; and the first free and energetic spirit who stands up among a people so oppressed, and misgoverned by mere rude brute force, has might enough to overthrow such a monarch and his soulless hosts." "you surprise me, noble sir. whence have you all this new wisdom? i should almost fancy you have had revelations in your wisdom-den, and have been used to converse with spirits; or some similar folly." "come, thou shalt see my spirits," said the duke, rising: "i shall show thee that i am not the first who has thought earnestly, within these walls, on the condition of a people and their ruler." "sjöborg has held many statesmen of importance," said the knight; "but i doubt whether any of them has imparted a new thought to you. the most notable i remember, that occupied this state-prison, was the mad bishop waldemar, who struggled for the sixth canute and waldemar seier's life and crown, and finished his days, a crazy saint, in lockum cloister." "it is possible that he became crazy at last," replied the duke; "but what made others crazy, may perhaps make us wise. you have guessed aright, tuko. i have my sleeping-chamber in the prison-cell where that unfortunate bishop, of royal descent and royal mind, sat chained to a block, and gave vent to his indignation by cursing the world and mankind. but that he also had his lucid moments, and saw clearer into the world and its blind rulers than perhaps any one dreamt of, i shall show you memorials that perhaps no human eye save mine has before seen." they had now entered the duke's narrow prison-cell, which looked upon the castle-yard by a grated window, eighteen ells from the ground. here was still a block, with a rusty iron ring and a heavy chain, made fast to the wall. by the side of the chain lay a large, torn-up paving stone, which appeared to have been used for barricading the door from within. the castellan would have removed these painful relics of former occupants of the cell; but the duke had expressly desired to retain them, when he heard of what powerful kinsman they were memorials. on the dingy walls were many scratches, like runes and oriental characters. to these the duke pointed; but it was beginning to grow dark, and it was impossible to discern any of the words distinctly: the interpretation of the inscriptions appeared also to demand a degree of learning which neither sir abildgaard nor his princely master was possessed of. "if this is the book of wisdom you have read in of a night, noble sir," said the gay young knight, "you must have become profoundly learned in a hurry, and must certainly have borrowed a pair of eyes from some of the friendly owls or cats that now and then pay you their dutiful respects through the grating. in this nook, even in broad daylight, i should not be able to tell an x from a u, were i ever so clear-eyed." "you have guessed better than you imagine, tuko. the bird of wisdom himself has, with his fire-eyes, been a light to my bewildered path." so saying, the duke opened a chest, which, otherwise, served him to keep shoes in. "look here," he said, taking out a large tame owl, with beautiful flaxen-coloured feathers, and a pair of uncommonly bright eyes. "fie, sir!" cried the knight, springing back. "it is the dismal screech-owl, which people call the dead man's bird. what do you with it? it is not worth having for a guest, and the devil may have touched it. have you never heard that there is always sure to be a death in the house where it perches?" "the pest may come to sjöborg for me, as soon as we are well out of it," said the duke; "but, as you perceive, the dead man's bird and i are at present good friends. one night, as i lay awake with troubled thoughts, i saw these eyes glaring upon me from the ledge on the wall. i started, and it seemed to me as if the fiend were standing, staring me through the soul with glowing eyes, in the silent, mysterious night. i sprang up, and discovered my mistake. but while i approached to seize my unbidden night-guest, he turned his shining eyes towards the wall: a gleam of moonshine entered at the same instant; and, whether it was the light of the bird's eyes, or the moonshine, that illumined the wall, i know not, but i perceived there a dim inscription, which i could not then read. i took care to mark the spot; and, having placed my prisoner in the box here, i went to sleep. next morning, however, betimes i examined the wall and the writing. when the morning sun shines in, it can be easily read. it is in latin, and it cost me much trouble to understand it. you know we did not make great progress with the complaisant clerk who was to make us book-learned." "what made you of the characters, then, illustrious sir?" inquired tuko. "but do throw that hideous death-bird out of the grating. it glares upon us, as if it would burn our eyes out, in exchange for the wisdom it has taught you." "nay: this wise bird shall now be my companion in weal or woe," said the duke, patting the bird kindly, and replacing it in the box. "if it forebodes death, it must be the death of our enemies." "but what did you read, sir?" inquired sir abildgaard, eagerly. "i read many horrible words i shall not repeat, but which have often made my hair stand on end. a sentence, however, stood there, which has told me why i am come hither, and what i have to do in this miserable world. '_thou who dreamedst of a crown and awokest in chains_,' it runs, '_lay hold of that sceptre which constrains spirits, and thy crown shall be bright as the sun!_" "this is the nimbus which already played in the brain of the crazy bishop," observed sir abildgaard; "or it is the black art and magical incantations he brooded over. be not thus disquieted, noble sir, and suffer not the madness of becoming a saint to infect you. i dare be sworn that neither you nor i carry it to this extremity." "i do not so understand it," replied the duke, whilst his eyes glistened. "i interpret these words in a secular sense, and as containing no folly, but, on the contrary, deep and sound policy. i do not abandon my bold life's-plan: that i shall never relinquish, so long as there is a drop of waldemar seier's blood in my heart. how? is the only question. the means and power i no longer seek for in foreign princes and armies, nor in an unworthy conspiracy with rebellious subjects. they would fail as much in their loyalty to me afterwards, as they had failed towards my predecessor. i shall not hinder or oppose an enterprise which may probably be advantageous to me; but i have learned to despise it. the hand that would bear a sceptre without trembling, must be unstained with the blood of kindred. the forehead which the crown would not burn, must not bear a secret cain's-mark under its splendour." "there we have it!" interrupted tuko. "you will be a saint, then. good: but there is a medium in all things, gracious sir. on the other hand, if you are at all aware of what is to be undertaken, and what you already know--" "i shall know nothing that i need have the slightest occasion to blush for before the knights and princes of europe," continued the duke; "and what i do know, tuko--yes, that i shall forget, and bury in my deepest heart as a phrenzied dream. i shall not bear the crown as my unfortunate, bewildered grandfather bore it, to be murdered by rebellious subjects, after a brief period of splendour. if conspirators will play into my hands, let them. i did not invoke the storm. our only concern now is, to allow time, and gain confidence. i shall renounce alsen--yea, even my ducal crown: more they cannot well demand for my freedom. the undermined throne may yet fall without me; but none shall again raise it, save a waldemar. i shall show the people that i do not bear the name of waldemar in vain, and that i can vanquish myself. by submitting to injustice, i shall win hearts like castles. first, i shall seize the invisible sceptre that constrains spirits; and then the crown will be offered me, by a fortunate change in the ting. therefore, tuko, 'tis not an ærial crown, nor a saint's halo, but a crown that shall sit fast on this brow, and shine through centuries, like that of the great waldemars'." "now, indeed, i begin to understand you, gracious sir," replied sir abildgaard, opening his eyes. "the storm that breaks down the rotten stem, bears with it the boughs and shoots, you think, and without you needing to risk your neck for it. i, too, begin to get clear-eyed, and to entertain a respect for your good friend in the box. come, noble sir, let us drink a rousing cup, like our old heathen ancestors, to this noble conclusion. hail to your wisdom-bird, my prince and master! when you come to your kingdom, we shall take the lion from your shield, and put the sagacious bird in its stead." the duke followed his lively friend to the festive board, and was, once more, the jovial-spirited youth. his pale cheeks became flushed, and his somewhat sunken eyes sparkled with lofty and daring expectations. in the meantime it had become dark; but, ere long, the moon shone through the iron grating, and lighted their little drinking-table. sir abildgaard sang merry songs, in which the duke joined with wild glee, frequently emptying his goblet the meanwhile. in the midst of their merriment, the door was opened, and a grave, stalwart man, in a pelt doublet and shaggy cap, entered, with a light in his hand. "heyday, poul hvit! our acute friend, deep skilled in knowledge of mankind--our cautious host. your health!" cried sir abildgaard, in frolicsome mood: "everything is in the best order, you see." "your health, my good friend," said the duke; and the half-intoxicated prisoners gaily emptied their goblets to the health of the castellan. "i thank you for the honour you show me, my illustrious young gentlemen," said the quiet and serious poul hvit, bowing politely, at the same time doffing his cap, and examining them closely, with a self-satisfied look. "i am glad you relish the wine, and do not take the world, with its unstable fortunes, more to heart than is worth. i know the world and men," he added, nodding with self-assurance: "it is always a good sign when state-prisoners are merry. i am, besides, the bearer of a message which i think will be welcome to you," he continued, letting the light fall on their flushed faces, and seeming to study their appearance carefully. "to-morrow, betimes, when you are less merry, and more disposed for serious business, a person will have the honour of bringing you a proposal for an agreement with the king, my master. if, as i hope, you accede to it, i may soon have the pleasure of opening this door for you altogether. meantime, i wish you a good night, and quietness." he then bowed, and departed: the heavy door was closed with a loud noise, and the prisoners again sat alone in the moonlight. the castellan's announcement brought the young gentlemen at once to their senses, and they remained long in consultation as to what terms they could accept or refuse. at length they retired to rest, in anxious doubt whether the following morning would bring them freedom, or more rigorous and prolonged imprisonment. the castellan returned to the ancient knights' hall, which, in his time, was furnished and in good condition, and the place where he received guests of distinction. a fire was burning cheerfully in the great chimney, and in the middle of the hall stood a richly spread supper-table, with a brazen candlestick of three branches. a young gentleman, apparently a knight, walked up and down the hall with rapid strides. it was drost peter hessel. claus skirmen stood by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth. "now, my good poul hvit," said the drost, advancing towards the well-pleased castellan, "what say your prisoners? will they see me to-night, or in the morning?" "it is a pleasure to see the prisoners," replied the castellan: "they do not mope and moan like hapless criminals; and you may trow, sir drost, for all their bewilderment, that there are good honest hearts in them. they have made so merry with the wine flagon, noble sir, that it is out of the question to think of talking with them, to-night, on any subject of importance. in their present state they would, perhaps, subscribe to every proposal; but that, i know, neither you nor my master the king would wish to be done. man is a finite being, let me tell you; and, when we men are not entirely sober, we cannot behave like free and rational creatures: so said my worthy schoolmaster of horsens." "we understand each other," replied the drost; "only when they have recovered their senses, shall they hear my proposition: for this is a grave matter, which they shall have time and opportunity to consider. in the morning, then. can i sleep in the castle here, to-night?" "of course, sir drost: i have already made arrangements for that. we are all mortal; and, whilst the soul is active in good deeds, the body must not lack rest and refreshment. be seated, then; and, if you will permit it, there is also room for your squire here. the ploughing ox should not be muzzled, and the man--yes, a man is still a man," he added, hastily, as no more profound observation occurred to him. drost peter smiled at the castellan's awkwardly finished sentence, and sat down to table. skirmen stationed himself discreetly behind his chair, and blushed when the courteous castellan directed him to take a vacant seat by the drost's side. "be seated, skirmen," said drost peter, kindly: "we are not at court here." skirmen obeyed, and seated himself on a corner of the chair. he maintained, as he was wont, a modest silence when his elders were speaking, and gave close heed to his master's wants and wishes. "so, your important prisoners, my good poul hvit, submit to their fate without rage or bitterness?" said the drost. "i am glad to hear it; for, notwithstanding their sad infatuation, there are excellent, ay, almost great qualities, in both of them. it is from painful necessity that we have been obliged to deprive them so long of their freedom; but i know you have not made their imprisonment harsher than is necessary." "i have punctually followed your orders, sir drost; and--i think i know a little bit of the world, and of man kind. prisoners that are well treated, seldom even dream of making their escape. we shall see now if loneliness has brought them to reflection: if they are stubborn, and you wish them to be treated with greater severity, it shall be done. i am only an humble servant, and what is commanded me, i perform, without respect of persons. 'man,'--said the never-to-be-forgotten schoolmaster of horsens--god bless his soul!--'man cannot always endure prosperous days.'" a stout, double-chinned cook now entered, and placed a dish upon the table. drost peter observed him, and started, but was silent until he had left the room. "have you had this cook any considerable time, my good poul hvit?" he then inquired; "and are you sure of his fidelity?" "he has served me since the end of may, last year," replied the castellan; "and i should be a bad judge of mankind if i could doubt his fidelity: he does his business, and troubles himself about nothing else in the world. he is always chatting and singing in the kitchen, and never says a serious word. if i had only such people about me, i could sleep soundly, even had i kings and kaisers to take charge of. i trow, as i have said, i know a little of the world and mankind, sir drost. but have you any grounds for doubting my cook's fidelity, noble sir?" "not exactly so," answered the drost; "but have an eye upon him. it was, perhaps, an accident; but i saw him, shortly before the dane-court, in henner friser's inn at melfert, in a company of travellers that did not quite consist of the best friends of the crown and realm." "it must have been a mere accident, noble sir," replied the castellan, with calm self-satisfaction. "i know my men, and nobody shall so easily palm a wax-nose upon me. cook morten cares little about state affairs, i know; and he is a merry, good-natured carl, in whom i find much amusement. he is also gardener to the castle; and i have availed myself of him to prove the disposition of the prisoners, and to augment my knowledge of mankind. i gave him private orders to supply the prisoners with flowers. they are not aware from whom the civility comes, and i have observed that it serves to amuse the young gentlemen, and put love-whimsies into their heads. folks who can think on such fooleries arc not likely to be dangerous to the crown and kingdom, i fancy. the plump morten never sees them; but he is ready to laugh himself to death when he hears them singing amorous ditties to the fair hand that binds up their nosegays." drost peter smiled, but shook his head, and would have dissuaded the castellan from this mode of studying the characters of his prisoners. in the meanwhile, cook morten had again entered the hall; and immediately afterwards the door-keeper announced the arrival of an ecclesiastic, with greetings and a message from the abbot of esrom. "let him come in," said the castellan. "have you any objection, sir drost? it is probably one of the abbot's friends, who wishes to transact business with me respecting some lands. but it is a singular time o'night to come at," he added, doubtfully. drost peter replied by a polite bow, and appeared to be thinking of other matters. the door was opened, and a respectable clerical personage entered. they rose to greet him; but he retreated a step, in surprise, on recognising drost peter. the drost was equally astonished; but the castellan did not notice their mutual surprise, and received his new guest with polite attention, and an interest that betrayed the importance of the business this visit concerned. "a friend, probably, of the worthy abbot magnus," said he. "be pleased to come nearer. what we have to treat of, this true friend of the king, drost peter hessel, will bear witness to, more especially as, at this late hour, i dare not receive any stranger into the castle. there are people present who know the world and mankind, let me say; and stringent regulations here are necessary. may i presume to ask my worthy sir his name?" "sir drost peter hessel knows me," answered the ecclesiastic, with a haughty air, and drawing nearer. "to the learned world, the name of magister janus roskildensis is enough; to laymen, i am known by the name of dean jens grand. are you the castellan, poul hvit?" "at your service, worthy sir." "good. what i have to say to you every one may hear. i have come from esrom cloister; and, as i was to pass this way, i have undertaken, in the name of the abbot and convent, to bring you the deed of conveyance for certain lands in grimstop, and to settle the matter to your wishes; but if you have any doubts or objections about receiving me, the business can be deferred, and i immediately set off again on my journey." "god forbid! do not so far wrong me, sir. you are heartily welcome," exclaimed poul hvit, hastily. "think not ill of my cautiousness. we are all men, and one must look to himself in these times. it often happens that wolves come here in sheep's clothing, and i ought to know whom i receive. since the drost knows you, i may bid you welcome without the least hesitation. i should be but a poor discerner of mankind, if i did not see that you are a learned servant of the lord's, and a trusty friend of the worthy abbot magnus. if you have the deed with you, we can arrange the matter to-morrow. be my guest in the meantime, worthy sir, and embrace the present opportunity. be pleased to take a seat with us." so saying, he brought a seat for this addition to the company. drost peter was reserved, and sparing of words, and the dean did not find himself altogether in his element. skirmen, on his entrance, had arisen, and taken his place behind his master's chair. the castellan alone was exceedingly good-humoured, and strove industriously to animate the conversation. he touched upon every affair and circumstance which, at that period, engaged the public attention. the norse war, and the piracies of count mindre-alf of tönsberg on the danish coast, he discoursed of with a zeal that proved him a man of a true and patriotic mind. he had a family in horsens, and related minutely what this town had suffered from the remorseless freebooter's attacks. "the count of tönsberg is certainly our foe," commenced master grand; "but he is a brave and famous foe, whom no one should accuse of being a rover and freebooter. he is certainly not one of your dainty lords, who take the eyes of ladies at a tournament; but at the present day we have not a doughtier knight: he is the greatest sea-hero of our times, and may soon expect to be elevated to a jarl." "but when, on his own account, he ravages and plunders our coasts with barbarity, and the greatest lust of rapine," replied drost peter, "he does little honour to chivalry. he is a common vulgar riever, however bold and powerful he may be, even though he be of royal descent, and aspires to the name of jarl. we danish laymen, far less our teachers of christianity, have no reason to honour him with a nobler name." master grand was silent, and endeavoured to conceal his anger; and the castellan again resumed the conversation. he strongly censured count jacob of halland for having received the honour of knighthood from the norwegian king, in a time of war. drost peter supported him, and thought highly of the honest castellan; but master grand could no longer suppress his indignation. "it is well," said he, jeeringly, "that the merits of the deserving men of denmark are recognised by a foreign prince, when they are suspected and wronged at home. it is magnanimous of the norwegian king thus to distinguish an esteemed enemy; and i cannot blame the noble count jacob for accepting an honour so well merited." "pardon me, sir dean," said drost peter, calmly: "a true dane never receives a mark of honour from the enemy of his country. it is impossible, however, as a friend of your country, that you can seriously defend such conduct." "to be a reasonable and christian friend of my country," said master grand, bitterly, "i have no occasion to turn my cloak to the court-wind, like a favoured courtier. in my station, thank god, no one need conceal the truth, or defend baseness, to fulfil the duties of his office. with god's holy word and the canon-law before my eyes, i am not afraid to say plainly, before the mightiest favourite of the king and queen, that i only love and esteem my earthly country in so far as the divine laws of my heavenly country are esteemed and maintained in it. if you would have proof of this, sir drost, obtain me permission to preach a single fast-sermon before the king and queen, with all their courtly flatterers; and you shall then hear that i am the man to hold up the mirror of truth before the mighty of this world, in such wise that many a cheek shall crimson if there is yet a remnant of honour or conscience in the court of denmark." "such a corrective sermon, reverend sir," answered drost peter, with energy, "might certainly be preached often enough among lay persons, as well as learned. i could wish, however, that you would, with the same impartiality, introduce such conversation wherever, on your pious way, you meet with princely personages and royal vassals, who, in the sins and errors of their liege lord, seek justification for their own crimes." master grand was again silent. the castellan looked at his discordant guests with surprise, and hastily broke off a conversation, whose bitter issue he could see no grounds for. he then abruptly inquired whether either of the honoured gentlemen, in the course of their journey, had seen the newly-rebuilt church? and, as this was answered with a brief "nay," he inquired if either of them knew where the deposed swedish king was residing, and whether it was true that he had deserted his queen for a certain famous lady kristine? "it is but too true," replied the dean, zealously, appearing to seize upon the occasion to give vent to his anger: "there, again, we have a proof of the ungodliness of our times, and of the sin-pest that is spread abroad from our great ones. it is no wonder the lord visits such princes in anger, and shows the mighty rulers of the world that there is a judge over us all, who is not to be mocked, and who, from the skies, laughs in derision when the lofty ones of the earth swell and burst with pride. it is a comforting and elevating thought," he added, with an air of pride, "that the mighty one, who holds the universe in his hand, can as easily cast down kings and princes, and their favourites, as he can raise the poor and meek of spirit." the castellan had devoutly folded his hands, as at a sermon. "ah, indeed!" he sighed, "we are all mortal: might and rank are indeed transitory." "many of the misfortunes of our times are certainly well-merited, reverend sir," remarked drost peter, with considerable warmth, and a keen look at the dean, "when sinful men presume to call down and carry out the chastisements of the lord. the unfortunate king you have mentioned i shall not defend; but if people can justly dethrone their kings because they are not what they ought to be, then can no throne and no kingdom exist, until pure angels are sent from heaven to govern us." "that is not requisite," replied the dean, swelling with the air and authority of a pope. "so long as the lord's vicegerent sits in st. peter's holy chair, and as long as he and the servants of the word are regarded as the messengers of the truth among the people, so long no nation need be doubtful how great a worldly burden they may bear with patience, or how great a sinner the lord will endure among his anointed. unless you are an arch-heretic, sir drost, you cannot possibly deny this." drost peter did not answer; and cook morten, who had just set a choice dish before the ecclesiastic, appeared, by his roguish smile, to enjoy the manner in which the bold dean had silenced the drost. without betraying the slightest anger, drost peter turned again to the triumphant dignitary. "as a knight, i have sworn to offer my life for the faith, as well as for my lawful king," he said, with an expression of deep earnestness; "and i am not afraid of being doomed, as a heretic, to stake and brand, if even i am of opinion that a lawfully-crowned and anointed sovereign cannot be hurled from his throne by the mightiest anathemas of the vatican and of lund. that our danish kings, at least, have been of the same mind, your own kinsman, archbishop erlandsen, among others, experienced. i would not advise any prelate in denmark to follow so dangerous an example. this prison, reverend sir, might at least remind you that even an archbishop's crook is unable to undo these doors, when they have been locked by command of a king of denmark." so saying, drost peter arose, and begged of the astonished castellan that he might be shown to his sleeping apartment. master grand, with a haughty mien, also arose, and expressed the same wish. they saluted each other, coldly and silently; and the castellan himself, with a three-branched candlestick, conducted drost peter. skirmen followed his master, with his mantle and sword. cook morten, on a sign from the castellan, led the ecclesiastic to a chamber, by the side of the knights' hall. it was narrow and gloomy, and the door, which was standing ajar, opened only outwards. a strong gust of wind had nearly extinguished the light. a reclining chair, a stool and table, composed the whole of the furniture, and iron bars were fixed in the walls, across the small window. when master grand entered this chamber, he started, and looked anxiously around him. "what means this?" he inquired; "do you show me to a prison-cell for a bed-chamber?" "for that you must give us absolution, your reverence," replied morten, at the same time placing the flickering light on the stone table, and, with a long pole, closing the shutter of the little, round, grated window, which was placed high in the wall. "there, now it is rather more snug," he continued. "nobody, in general, passes the night here, except a bewildered owl. there is only one guest-apartment in the castle, where the inmate is master of the door; and that room the drost occupies. for unexpected guests, we have only this little mean apartment. it is said to have been a torture-room in former days; and here must have hung all kinds of horrid instruments, to torture obstinate criminals into an acknowledgment of their guilt. it is still dismal-looking enough, you perceive. but it is a pity i cannot show you the ingenious old machines for torturing. i know you are a great admirer of suchlike learned trumpery." the proud dean became pale, and an involuntary shudder crept over him. "my good friend," said he to the cook, "methinks we should be known to each other. cook morten, from ry? is it not so?" "at your service, reverend sir. that you could have room in your learned brain for the image of my poor but tolerably ample person, i should not have expected; but so long as my head has leave to sit between my shoulders, and my throat is not tightened so that i cannot drink and sing a merry song with it, so long shall i not forget your brave and learned reverence." "speak seriously, morten. what mean you by this conversation?" "we are quite snug here," continued the fat cook; "and you are just the man of god to whom i can, without danger, confide my sins. i may tell you, then, that when you saved my flask-case from being thrown overboard, on crossing the little belt, you freed me, at the same time, from a confounded itching about the neck, on account of certain letters that lay concealed under the flasks. i had consented to take them, out of pure obligingness and virtue, for a good friend, who, i am afraid, the devil will some day get hold of. what these love-letters contained, i know not, and it does not concern me; but this i know, that had they been fished up, or seen by any mother's son, i had been certain of an elevation that would have been confoundedly unsuited to my health. hence i have vowed to the blessed virgin and the holy martin, to serve you in turn, whenever i can; and now, if you have anything to command, i shall stand on tiptoe for you with all my heart and strength." master grand started. "so, so, my son," said he boldly, and calmly drawing breath again; "have you been employed as a letter-pigeon in these disturbed times? your cheerfulness bears witness that, otherwise, you have a good conscience; and, for the sake of your honest countenance, i give you absolution for what you sinned in at that time. to whom brought you the letters, my son?" "to one of your shrivelings and good friends, your reverence," replied morten, with a smile; "but i do not exactly feel the necessity of confessing to you yet: therefore, if you will impose any penance on me in consequence, say it." "good, my son--good. i wish not to know; but it was an illegal transaction, and might have cost you dear. to atone for it, you can perhaps convey a word of comfort, in mine and the church's service, to a bewildered soul, that needs my counsels, within these walls; or, what i would prefer, help me to a private interview." "my heart! readily, your reverence. but are you jesting? you do not look upon me in the same light as do the weak children of the world?" "that is not in my nature, morten. i have renounced the vain follies that thou in thy worldliness thinkest of. in my sacred station, pure christian love alone should guide our most secret as well as our most open steps. the young duke, who lies imprisoned here, is inexperienced, thou knowest; and has been misguided into foolish conduct, that may make him in the highest degree miserable, if he does not turn and repent. regard for his soul's salvation has moved me to come hither, to speak with him, if possible, or to have conveyed to him a good counsel in writing." "if you would converse with him, pious sir, you must change yourself into an owl or a flitter-mouse." "but if a conversation is impossible, can you get me merely two words with him, before he speaks with drost hessel to-morrow?" "if you mean two words, but no more, i think it can be managed," replied the cook, with a crafty air, after a moment's consideration; "but i must see the two words, and even give them voice and wings. if you cannot trust me, your reverence, then can neither i nor the holy martin help you. if you are afraid the walls may hear, just whisper the words in my ear. who knows but that they may also turn and save my sinful soul; and thus you would be killing two birds with one stone, pious sir." "hair-brained mocker that thou art!" said the dean, gravely, and regarding him with a searching look; after which, he bent himself leisurely, and whispered a few words in his ear. "good," exclaimed morten. "ah, by st. martin! i can fancy that i am made pious on the instant, and that i already begin to entertain scruples. had it been a paction with the evil one that the talk had been about, what then, your reverence? but you are a pious man of god: i know it well; and your high-born penitent shall certainly receive your good counsel tomorrow, on a fasting heart." "once more--if the young duke is not free by sunset to-morrow, i must speak with him." "that will be difficult, your reverence. how many nights do you intend doing us the honour of studying antiquity's barbarities in this torture-room?" master grand once more looked uneasily around him. "lay the stool across the threshold, my son, and let the door stand ajar," he said: "locked in i shall not be. i remain no longer here than is necessary; but i must contrive to protract my stay until the day after to-morrow." "ah, then, in that case we may hit upon a plan," observed the cook, moving the stool. "i know you do not lack courage. if you only mean to preach a penitential sermon to the illustrious prisoner, one or other of the saints must point your way. an angel in your form, on a celestial ladder, or, for want of that, on a fire-ladder, would certainly be highly edifying to a bewildered soul. now, good night, your reverence. tomorrow, betimes, i shall bring your ale-posset. there is no joke in that; and so you may sleep soundly. i must hasten away, and sing in the kitchen, or the castellan will begin to doubt me." with these words, the jolly cook was already out of the door, and sang so lustily, that the knights' hall rang again:-- "o, it was lanky berner rise, grew so tall that none could find him: he was mad, and never wise; not a man could hold or bind him. but the wood stands all in flowers." next morning, when duke waldemar awoke, a silver cup of warm ale was already on the table by his bedside. he arose hastily, and dressed himself. as soon as he had done so, he raised the silver cup to his lips, as usual, by the handle; but set it down again with surprise, on observing in his hand a summer-fool[ ] that had come off, and which appeared to have been loosely attached to the handle. "who wants to make a fool of me here?" said he, angrily, throwing the flower on the table; but, at the same instant, he perceived a little slip of parchment, which stuck out from its beautiful chalice. he seized the tiny flower-letter, and read the single word, "subscribe." he gazed for some time on the mysterious billet, and fell into deep thought. "what means this?" he exclaimed, at length, as if awoke from a dream. "who sends me this mysterious advice? is it friend or foe? subscribe! that is easily said: but if it concerns my honour--if it concerns my heart and soul, and the great aim of my life, i would rather subscribe my own death-warrant than the terms i may expect to-day." he gazed, once more, upon the slip, and sank into a reverie. "already in the council-chamber, noble sir?" exclaimed his lively fellow-prisoner, who now entered. "if i am not mistaken, you have had a morning visit from your wise and entertaining spirit. methinks you were just now talking with some one--perhaps with your good friend in the chest?" "nay, tuko," replied the duke; "but watchful spirits are near us. it is not the dead bishop alone who speaks to me from these walls: living beings also take an interest in my fate, and would control my will ere i know it myself. see what i found in this flower." he handed him the flower and the scrap of parchment. "a summer-fool! that you must beware of, noble sir, if it comes not from a pretty little hand, who will only joke in disguise, to make its winter-fool happy in earnest. subscribe! short and good advice, i'faith, in the tone of a dominant mistress. had it been in german, i know whom i should have guessed." "so, so! think you my unseen protecting spirit is german? say, whom mean you?" "eh! whom other should i mean than the duke of saxony's little saintly daughter, who was more concerned about your faith and salvation than your ducal crown and all your proud expectations. you still wear, in secret, her invisible chains." "sophia--the good, pious child?" exclaimed the duke, raising his hands to his brow. "do you believe she still thinks of me and my fate? nay, tuko; that i cannot desire: it would unpleasantly vex me. the last half year has erased that wonderful image from my heart: i have had more important matter to think of than the little daughter of a duke, and her pious, circumscribed religion. i have, happily, torn myself from that foolishness. i cannot now suffer myself to be dazzled or impeded by a pair of loving saintly eyes, that have their home in a convent or on an altar-table. speak no more of her, tuko. you know it only serves to grieve me; and, truth to say, since our plans drew us to the high dane-court, i have blushed for myself when i thought of her. but you are right," he continued, with emotion: "these chaste and lovely flowers, that for almost an entire year have so kindly and gently reminded us of spring and summer, and of life's calm joys, in our prison--they might well have reminded me of her; and this white and innocent spring-flower, that has now found a voice, and begs of me to accede and subscribe----ha! subscribe an agreement that may perhaps render me a pious slave to my own conscience, to the day of my death--and then----there was a time when such thraldom appeared to me real liberty." he was silent, and again relapsed into deep thought. "that was a sad time, sir," resumed tuko, hastily: "they had nearly converted you into a hang-the-head. i also say, subscribe, whatever the deuce it may be. freedom cannot be purchased too dearly. but be not therefore the slave of a pen's stroke. the pretty little enthusiast will, at last, transform you into a quiet complaisant duke of south jutland, who, in this life, will never think of being anything more, but, renouncing all his daring schemes, take to himself a quiet and pious wife, say good-night to this world's fleeting dreams of sovereignty, and sleep soundly in a sleswick castle, like a true and loyal danish vassal. that must be a charming life, sir! what we have here suffered, we shall not think of taking revenge for. fie! that were ignoble and unchristian: we must kiss the rod like good children, and be gentle and amiable. and what a beautifully peaceful life! your highest office will be to protect the goslings from the fox, or to strike down, with your own illustrious hand, a savoury roe for the frugal ducal table, where the pious house-mother sits, with folded hands, while the well-behaved amiable children say grace." "ha, nay, tuko!" exclaimed the duke, vehemently, waking up as from a dream: "i shall show thee that waldemar seier was mine ancestor. he, too, sat once in prison; but he forgot not vengeance until he was old and gray; and, in misfortune, he forgot not his crown and his royal dignity!" at that instant, a knocking was heard at the prison-door, and the conversation was broken off. in obedience to their request, the polite castellan now entered, and inquired whether it was convenient for the illustrious duke to receive drost hessel? "drost hessel?" repeated the duke, with bitter indignation--"well, let him enter;" and he seated himself, proudly and calmly, by the table, whilst sir abildgaard took upon himself the office of a respectful servant, and stationed himself, with a cunning smile, behind the chair of his princely master. the castellan bowed respectfully, and retired; and immediately after, drost peter entered. he made his salutation courteously and gravely. the duke half rose from his seat, and sat down again. "what has drost hessel to submit to the duke of south jutland?" said he, in a calm voice, but with suppressed indignation. "illustrious sir," began drost peter, "my master, the king, listening to the representations of your friends, has resolved to offer you reconciliation and freedom, if you will subscribe and confirm the terms which i have, in the king's name, to lay before you." so saying, he drew forth a large parchment-deed, and, with a polite inclination, handed it to the duke. "read it for me, my drost," said the duke, carelessly handing the deed to sir abildgaard, and leaning back on his chair with an air of indifference. sir abildgaard stepped firmly before his lord, and read. the deed had been prepared by the chancellor in danish, and in the usual stiff and pedantic style of such documents. drost peter remained standing at a respectful distance, and closely observing the duke's manner. the duke did not appear to notice him, but gazed, gloomily and thoughtfully, on the dingy prison-wall, covered with writing. the introduction to the agreement recited the names of the duke's friends who had procured it, and among these he seemed particularly interested to find the duke of saxony, of whose daughter he had just been talking. the name of the good-natured count gerhard of holstein seemed also to surprise him; the more so, perhaps, as he remembered that he had endeavoured to turn this brave gentleman into ridicule, at the dane-court of nyborg. the introduction ran as follows:-- "to all who see or hear read the present letter: herman, by the grace of god, bishop of schwerin; johannes, duke of saxony; gerhard, johannes, and adolph, counts of holstein; helmold, claus, counts of schwerin; geert, count of hoya; johannes and henrik, counts of meeklinburg; eternal health with god. that all may be witness, that on account of duke waldemar of sleswick, it was humbly desired by us, that we might be permitted to promise for him, that he should hold to the articles of the under-written letter, which is a deed of agreement between king erik of denmark and him." "who has requested these good lords to promise, on my behalf, that which i do not yet know?" asked the duke. "but this may be merely the usual form. to the point, then." sir abildgaard now read the agreement itself, which, in the duke's name, began as follows:-- "waldemar, by god's grace, duke of south jutland, eternal health with god. it is the glory and honour of princes, that they hear and grant the prayers of their petitioners; and thus, by augmenting the loyalty and affection of their subjects, they augment and strengthen the ruler's name, honour, and title--" "this is drost hessel's pretty thought, and master martin's pretty style," said the duke, interrupting the reading, with an air of mockery. "but continue, drost." "therefore shall it be made manifest to all," continued sir abildgaard, with a suppressed smile, and in an humble tone, "that we were led, by youthful inexperience and childish counsel, to claim that, respecting alsen, which belongs to the crown, contrary to the injunction of our lord, king erik; wherein we acknowledge to have done wrong, as it appeared to us, and others our friends, that the laws of our country were too stringent and severe: wherefore, the before-mentioned king, after our humble supplication, his prelates' and other trusty men's counsel, hath remitted us all blame and crime, which we have imprudently committed against him." then followed everything relating to the dispute concerning alsen, the mint privileges, and the king's right to wage war for south jutland: at all which the duke smiled carelessly, and seemed to think it scarcely worth his attention; although, at the same time, he gave the closest heed to every word. but his assumed indifference was changed into evident uneasiness, as sir abildgaard read--"we promise, therefore, that we shall never plot or contrive the king's death or imprisonment, nor counsel or demand that he should be deprived of his lands, towns, cities, or fortresses; nor league, conspire, or practise aught against him or the kingdom; nor instigate, or take part with, any one in _crimen læsæ majestatis_; but shall show him all honour, subjection, reverence, and fealty. and if we do anything against him, or if it can be proved against us, according to the laws and usages of the country, that we have secretly done so, then shall all our fief and estates thereby become forfeited, so that our lord and king, of his own authority, may seize them for the use of the crown, and do therewith, as a lasting possession, as to his grace may seem fit; also, that he may punish us in the body, or spare us, as his grace may pronounce." here sir abildgaard paused, and regarded his master with astonishment. but the duke's uneasiness had disappeared, and a proud defiance sparkled in his eyes, whilst he raised his head haughtily and boldly. "now know i both your word and spirit, drost hessel," he said. "to this extent you gladly carry the point, when a blinded king gives you authority." drost peter gravely shook his head, and was silent. "continue," said the duke; and sir abildgaard proceeded:-- "we consent, moreover, that the prelates of denmark may proclaim the ban of the church against us, without previous warning, if it so happens, (which god forbid,) that we do anything contrary to the tenor of the foregoing." sir abildgaard again paused, and observed his lord with an inquiring look. "exactly so," said the duke; "do not forget the holy letters of excommunication: they may be required. is there anything further?" sir abildgaard now read a few articles relating to the obligations of the duke to stand by the king in his wars, and to attend the assemblies of the estates; which he appeared to care little about. but it farther recited--"we shall not maintain outlawed people. item, for this our imprisonment we shall not wage war against the king, his sons, or any one, within or without the kingdom, or cause any evil, on account thereof, to any person, but hold them free and blameless. we shall not make any covenant or alliance with any person whatsoever, from whom his majesty and the realm may suffer damage; and if we have already made any such alliance, shall renounce the same." lastly, to the duke's great astonishment, it thus proceeded--"and, that there should not be any doubt concerning what is now promised, we have, by a solemn oath upon the holy gospels, sworn and pledged ourselves that we shall adhere to all that is above written, without fraud or guile; renouncing every exception, device, force, threat, aid of secular or spiritual jurisdiction, law, or custom, whereby the foresaid letter may be infringed." the duke became pale. he did not hear the conclusion, which contained the names of the bishops and princes who had witnessed the articles, and had attached their seals thereto; and he appeared to regain his self-possession only as he heard the last words--"and we shall seal this at the first opportunity." "yes, truly, as soon as the opportunity occurs," exclaimed he, with the utmost bitterness, and rising from his seat. "and such is the agreement you dare to bring me, drost hessel? and you fancied that i was coward and fool enough to sign and seal it? you have a worthy pattern for this precious document, in black count henry's devilish paction with the captured king waldemar. but i shall not tread in my great ancestor's footsteps, and purchase my freedom so dearly. if you think to compel me, try. if you have chains with you, out with them! call your hangman, and see if i shall shrink, or debase myself." "you mistake me grievously, highborn sir," said drost peter, with wounded feelings. "think not that i am pleased to see a noble-born gentleman, like yourself, in this prison. believe, least of all, that i am so base-hearted that i would see your free will constrained by unworthy means. not from hatred or revenge, but for the security of the crown and kingdom, are you bereft of freedom. the moment you give up the unwarrantable and sufficiently evident objects that have rendered your imprisonment here necessary, you again stand free, in the exalted station whereto you were born and bred. you will retain, without abatement, all your legal privileges as duke of south jutland, and, all will be forgotten. the moment you subscribe this covenant, the castellan has orders to open these prison-doors, and to conduct you, with safe escort, to my master the king; and, as soon as you have publicly acknowledged your subscription, before the estates of the realm, and confirmed it with your seal and oath, you can retire, unmolested, to your dukedom; and neither my master the king, nor any other right-minded man in denmark, will in future doubt your fidelity towards your king and country." so saying, drost peter laid his silver style upon the table, together with the parchment, which sir abildgaard had delivered back to him. the duke, however, stood unmoved, and gazed upon the wall, without deigning the king's messenger a word or look. "my lord," continued drost peter, "take counsel, now, with the all-knowing god and your own conscience. i leave the agreement in your hands: you may destroy or subscribe it, as you think best. till the sun goes down, i may await your determination; and, in twenty-four hours, the doors of your prison stand open on these terms. the moment you have subscribed, pull the bell-string there, and your prison will be opened. meantime i leave you, with the hope that you will consider your temporal, as you would your eternal welfare. mistake not, in this matter, either my master the king, or myself. the all-knowing god and all holy men are my witnesses, that nothing is here done out of hatred of yourself. i dare witness before god, at the last day, that i have only dealt towards you according to my oath, and my duty to the crown and kingdom." so saying, drost peter bowed, and hastily left the turret-chamber, not without emotion, and a strong feeling of melancholy interest in the imprisoned duke. the prison-door was again closed and locked. on the table lay the important parchment, and by its side the silver style, which drost peter had left for the purpose of signing. sir abildgaard regarded his master with a disturbed and inquiring look. the duke was pacing the floor with agitated steps: his eyes rolled wildly, and his cheeks were flashed with anger. "never, never shall i subscribe this hellish paction!" he exclaimed, "if i must sit here till the day of my death. if i subscribe, with a solemn oath, what stands here, i must either renounce the great object of my life, or become a perjurer and a nidding to all the world. nay, nay, never shall this be so! i will show them that duke waldemar does not value his miserable dukedom higher than his honour and free unconstrained will. i will not foully and basely sell them my soul and my will's freedom, to breathe the air in a larger prison, like a debased, mean-spirited slave. now, tuko, now is the time to think seriously of escape, and to burst these walls by craft or violence, or any other possible mode. let me once stand free, beyond this infernal prison--beyond the bounds of denmark, and i shall no longer hesitate about what, in my sickly humour, i was well nigh on the point of relinquishing. i shall then shake the dust from my feet, and never more place them on danish ground until i stand here at the head of an army that shall overthrow the tyrant's throne, crushing beneath it him and all his wretched advisers." "were only the first step taken," replied the knight, with a shrug--"were we once our own masters, i should heartily admire your lofty thoughts and brave conclusions; but so long as your great adviser can only speak to you from these walls, and cannot, as a potent spirit should, blow them away like cobwebs, so long, gracious sir, are all your heroic schemes but castles in the air--mere beautiful dreams, which but poorly compensate the loss of a free joyous life and sleswick's ducal crown." "how, tuko! wouldst thou not despise me were i to subscribe this agreement?" "far be such a thought from me, sir. it is a foolish bird that will not fly when the cage is open. see: there lies the crowbar, that, without witchcraft, can break these walls. the good drost has left you here his silver style: a single stroke on the parchment with this enchanter's wand, and our prison is open; the fair, wide world lies before us; we withdraw from this unfortunate country, till we can say thanks to the king of denmark for this last good turn. we shall find a welcome with the duke of saxony, and how will not the fair princess sophia be rejoiced--" "hold, tempter, hold!" exclaimed the duke, advancing towards him. "is this thy constancy, tuko? this thy inspiration for my lofty, distant aim? what matters it that the bird is free, when its wings are clipped for life? if thou art weary of sharing my lot, i can easily set thee free. swear thyself to the foul fiend, and go! i shall remain." "you mistake me, my noble duke," replied tuko, seriously. "i have shared your captivity, and been happy, even to this hour. i shall furthermore share it, without complaining, as long as you please. the main point i have not lost sight of. you have yourself discovered how you can reach it without moving a hand; and your conscience can be easily reconciled to your freedom. will you hear me?" "nay, nay--not one word will i hear. leave me now, tuko: to-morrow thou shalt know my determination. this concerns myself, and my whole future life, and i will myself cast the die that is to decide it. neither thou nor any other man shall guide my will in this matter." sir abildgaard was silent, and retired to his own cell. the duke closed the intermediate door, and barred it with the stone. he then threw himself upon his chair, and indulged in gloomy thought. thus he sat, motionless, the whole day, and without allowing any one to enter, or partaking of any refreshment. in the fortress, all was quiet as usual. before the sun went down, his cogitations were disturbed for a moment by the sound of horses' feet in the castle-court. it was drost peter and his squire leaving the castle. the duke rose, and went to the grating. his hand was clenched convulsively, when he saw, in the rays of the setting sun, the young drost, free and vigorous, managing his brown steed. the princely prisoner heaved a deep sigh, closed the shutter before the grating, and, turning into the darkest nook of his cell, he threw himself upon his unmade bed. the inside shutter of the iron grating, which the prisoner could open or shut at pleasure, was provided with a thin plate of horn, through which the daylight could scarcely penetrate. this shutter he usually allowed to remain open, unless the night was very cold, and the wind blew in that direction; for it had frequently happened to him, when it was closed, that he had started at midnight from a dreamy sleep, and fancied himself buried alive in the old chapel of his ancestors. but, now, life and every gleam of light and cheerfulness had become hateful to him; and, with a sort of spiteful pleasure, he had deprived himself of the scanty glimmer of daylight that still remained. "come forth, my brother in misfortune, and teach me to look into the night of my futurity with thy glowing eyes," he muttered. "let them call thee death's-bird, and corpse-bird, as they will: thou still seest clearly, when we and others are blind; and if thou shouldst now screech of death and misfortune, so much the better! that song now pleaseth me best." whilst, with subdued voice, he thus gave expression to his gloomy thoughts, he opened the box, and took out the great night-bird, which perched itself familiarly upon his arm, and allowed itself to be caressed. the duke leant back on his pallet, and continued absorbed in moody reveries. the stillness of death reigned throughout the castle. by the faint light through the pane of horn, the prisoner was aware that the moon was shining. he at length closed his eyes, and fell into a slumber, without having first, as usual, shut up the owl. he wist not that he had been asleep, when the same fearful idea, that had before awoke him at midnight, again overwhelmed him: he fancied that he lay in his coffin, in the tomb of his fathers, and, in a kind of agony, half rose on his couch. he was not yet fully awake, when a frightful screech completely aroused him from his dream: he opened his eyes, and, in a ledge of the wall, near the mysterious inscriptions, he again saw the glowing eyes of the corpse-bird. it again screamed, and far more hideously than it was wont, at the same time staring at the dim light through the horn of the closed shutter. the duke looked in the same direction, and, to his astonishment, fancied he caught a glimpse of a face, half concealed in a hat, before the grating. a singular terror seized him, and he remained motionless, half erect, in bed. he now heard a gentle tap on the shutter, and sprang up. "who is there?" he cried. "if you are human, speak!" the knocking at the shutter became a little louder, and a low, mysterious voice whispered--"open, duke waldemar: a good friend would speak with you." "is it possible?" he exclaimed: "a man? a good friend? ha! be thou the evil one himself, i fear not." he hastily opened the shutter. a human countenance, sufficiently palpable, met his eyes at the grating, but so thoroughly shaded, the moon falling only on the outlines, that it was impossible for him to perceive a single feature. "you know me not, duke waldemar?" said the unexpected night-guest. "i risk my life, perhaps, to speak with you. you must subscribe, or all is lost." "grand! master grand!" exclaimed the duke, astonished. "are you a wizard, and can fly? what stand you on?" "a storming-ladder," replied the daring ecclesiastic. "cook morten steadies it, and keeps watch. the time is precious, fair duke--subscribe!" "from you, then, pious sir, came the good advice this morning. but i do not thus, even were both heaven and hell to shout--subscribe! shall i forswear every thought of my high vocation--shall i forswear even vengeance? for what, then, have i dared so much? for what have i sustained so much? i will not subscribe. if you would free me, let it be by craft or force, and i am yours: i will then place myself openly at the head of the conspiracy, and it shall succeed or perish." "in this way all would be lost, sir. nothing can be undertaken until you are legally free and secure. your imprisonment binds up every hand; but subscribe, and all are as free as your own. if you do not wish to abide by your oath, the holy father can relieve you from it, as he did your ancestor. if you wish to keep it, it is well: you can stand aloof, and still be the head. the marsk and his friends will act alone--of that you need know nothing--and the vacant place becomes yours. you understand, sir? you can keep your oath, and, with a sound conscience, come forward when the time arrives. then, with law and justice, you can seize the minor's sceptre; and when you have won the people's hearts, and shown that you are worthy of the crown, it will fall of its own accord upon your head; whilst you will have broken neither oath nor bond." "ha! is it you, yourself, sagacious master grand? or is it the dead bishop, who has lent you voice and form to teach me wisdom? you are right: thus may i grasp the sceptre that constrains spirits, and win the crown that shines pure as the sun. now, know i what i will. you are not the first who has taught me this. you have only told me how. good: i subscribe. from the hour i have subscribed, i know nothing, and will know nothing, of your projects. do what you will and defend it as best you can. i go my own way; and when we meet at the goal--then--then first i know you, and dare name you my friend. you understand me, grand?" "i understand you, sir. it is certain, then, that you subscribe, and withdraw from this place to-morrow. at the dane-court of nyborg, you can confirm the agreement, and calmly await what shall come to pass." this secret conversation was here interrupted by a sudden uproar in the court-yard of the castle. "i have him, master--i have him, the crafty clerk!" cried the voice of cook morten; "he shall not escape now. i guessed at once what he bore on his shield, and helped him up the storming-ladder myself. shall i now pull it down, and let him break his neck? or will you have him alive?" "i am betrayed!" exclaimed master grand, with alarm: "the infernal cook has betrayed me. now for it." he descended the ladder, and was immediately surrounded by ten house-carls bearing torches, in the midst of whom stood the castellan, half-dressed, with a large sword in his hand. "can i believe my own eyes, sir dean?" cried the honest poul hvit. "have you come hither to baffle my vigilance, and to assist an important state-prisoner to escape?" "hear me, worthy poul hvit," replied master grand, with a bold, authoritative voice, "and you shall not mistake a servant of the lord, who, in this secret and unusual way, has been on the service of his heavenly king. that it was not my intention to liberate your prisoner, contrary to the laws of the country, you can satisfy yourself by searching my clothes and the prison. i have neither file nor other tool about me, with which it were possible to open the grating or assist the prisoner to escape." the castellan seemed perplexed and undecided. "i demand this search for my own honour's sake," continued master grand, throwing aside his cloak, and turning out his pockets. "if you are now convinced of my innocence in this respect, you may with reason demand to know my intentions in making this night visit. i was aware that admission to the prisoner was denied me; but i knew, at the same time, that a powerful word from god, spoken at the right time, might effect much in a bewildered sinner's heart. the haughty young duke, as you know, would not subscribe the agreement with the king, and relinquish his rebellious projects; but i have now so spoken to him, with the mighty power of god's word, that he has repented, and has penitently acknowledged his great sin. he has consented to subscribe the agreement, and will henceforth become the king's faithful subject. this have i done, and this is my offence. if you see reason to make me answerable for this christian undertaking, i am then your prisoner. but if, as i presume, you are a god-fearing man, uniting respect for my station and sacred office with strict fidelity to your king, you will only suffer me to remain guarded here, until you have searched the prison, and satisfied yourself of the truth of my statement; when you will allow me to depart, in the peace of the lord, within an hour." "guard him!" said the castellan, as he went hastily to the tower with a light. he opened the prison-door, and found all right in the first apartment, occupied by sir abildgaard. at his request, the duke opened his barred door. the castellan entered, and, without saying a word, examined the grating narrowly. he then placed the light on the table, and observed the duke attentively. "tell me, highborn sir," he inquired, "is it truth, that dean grand has spoken with you, and that you have considered, and will subscribe the agreement?" "it is the truth," replied the duke, taking up the silver style: "it shall be done instantly. see, here stands my name." he handed the castellan the document, and threw himself, thoughtfully, on his chair. "now i congratulate you on your restoration to freedom, and your country in having a true man restored to it," said the castellan, gladly. "i did not deceive myself, then: i know the world and mankind; and i well saw, from your nature and manner, that you were a noble young gentleman, who had only transgressed from the thoughtlessness of youth. rest now, if it so please you, on your good and pious resolution, until it is day; and then, noble sir, i shall bring you with honour from your prison, and conduct you myself to my king and master." "good," said the duke. "but go now, and do not suffer the worthy master grand to experience any inconvenience. he only preached me a night-sermon, which, as you have seen, has converted me." the castellan bowed, and retired. sir abildgaard, who had overheard what had just taken place, hastened to his master with lively satisfaction, to receive a full explanation of the reasons which had so unexpectedly decided him to subscribe. in the meanwhile, master grand stood amidst the wondering house-carls, who, agreeably to the castellan's orders, guarded him closely, but with a reverence that, by his authoritative air, he knew how to obtain. cook morten stood, smiling, by the storming-ladder, and seemed to find amusement in the night's adventure. master grand directed towards him an upbraiding and disdainful look, without saying a word. "i thought at least he would have slipped down," said the cook to the house-carls. "i had never before seen a worthy dean upon a storming-ladder, and could not resist the temptation; but i would have shunned the dangerous joke, had i not known that you and the castellan were in the neighbourhood. it will now be seen whether i have done the pious gentleman an ill turn. nobody can find fault with me, for having taken him for a crafty cheat. who else in the world is so zealous in the cure of souls, that he puts his neck in jeopardy to save a single couple? it was fortunate for the learned clerk that you came; for i was just on the point of drawing the ladder from under him, and then his reverence might have hung suspended by his hands on the iron bars, like a cat on a bird-cage, till i had brought you." "wretched, faithless soul!" exclaimed master grand, vehemently. "i told you that my intentions were pious and god-fearing, and yet you could conceive the idea of depriving a servant of the lord of his life!" "i shall answer for that to my master, and his grace our most precious king," replied morten: "here, we have no respect of persons. we lock up princes and great lords, when we have instructions to regard them as rascals. i place the most guilty on the spit, when i have orders to regard them as capons; and, if even the pope or kaiser wills to creep through the window to them, i shall answer for it before all christendom, if i suffer them to break their high and holy necks." cook morten was becoming noisy, and the castellan, who had now returned from the prison, on hearing these insolent words, ordered him to moderate his zeal, and to talk with more reverence to the pious worthy sir dean, who was entirely innocent, and had, at the same time, done a deed for which every brave dane ought to thank him. "i believe i know the world and mankind tolerably well," said he, with a self-satisfied air, to master grand; "and i am rejoiced, your reverence, that i was not mistaken in my good opinion of you. that your intentions towards the king and country are good, i am now satisfied, albeit you spoke hard words, yesterday evening, against the sins and errors of the great. as a faithful man of god, you had a right to do so; but, herregud! we are all human, and even the most virtuous among us may be suspected, and have appearances against him. that i have myself just experienced, pious sir. you are now free to depart, at what instant you please, but i shall be delighted if you will be my guest until it is day. night is no man's friend; and, though you are a pious servant of the lord, you might still go astray." "i fear not that," replied master grand: "i have nothing further to do here, if you are satisfied with the deed of conveyance, my good, honest poul hvit?" "entirely so, pious sir. bear abbot magnus my respectful salutations; and, since it must be so, god be with you!" at the castellan's order, master grand's palfrey was immediately led out. the lofty ecclesiastic saluted the castellan with calm dignity, and gave the token of benediction, with three fingers, to the respectful house-carls; whereupon, attended by a lay-brother who acted in the capacity of his groom, he quitted sjöborg in the quiet moonlight night. a few hours after, and when the sun had risen, duke waldemar and his drost, accompanied by poul hvit and twelve armed troopers, rode from the castle-gates of sjöborg, and took the road to korsöer, in order to cross over to nyborg, where the king and his best men were residing, and where the agreement, under seal and oath, was required to be ratified by the dane-court, before the duke and his drost could obtain their full liberty. * * * after an unusually severe winter, during which the baltic had been frozen over, spring once more, with rapid steps, extended her lovely and flowery reign over the favoured plains of denmark. in the middle of may, the beech-woods were in leaf; and, notwithstanding the miserable condition of the people, and the private discords that divided so many hearts, to those who were unacquainted with its disjointed internal condition, the country seemed a peaceful and happy paradise. on one of the finest days of spring, a company of travellers on horseback, consisting of two distinguished knights and two ladies, together with an ecclesiastic of eminence, and accompanied by a young squire, two grooms, and two waiting-maids, rode in through the gate of flynderborg castle, near orekrog. on the castle-stairs stood the commandant, sir lavé little, uncovered, to receive his honoured guests with due respect. the tall lady ingé stood by her father's side. whilst the knights assisted their ladies to dismount, and conducted them up the stairs, the corpulent ecclesiastic remained quietly seated on his palfrey, reading a latin inscription over the doorway: he was the chancellor of the kingdom, the learned master martinus de dacia. the short, gray-haired, but still hale and nimble knight, who first ascended the castle-stairs, with a tall, middle-aged lady upon his arm, was counsellor sir john little, with his wife, fru ingefried. his daughter cecilia was accompanied by a young, knightly gentleman, in whose tall form jomfru[ ] ingé, with blushing cheeks, immediately recognised drost peter hessel. not without a certain degree of embarrassment and secret uneasiness did sir lavé receive his guests. despite his extreme politeness, he appeared to scan, with much anxiety, his old kinsman's looks. having saluted drost peter with repulsive coldness, sir lavé seemed to regard the learned chancellor, who had at length reached the top of the stairs with a shy, suspicious glance; but when the learned gentleman at once commenced his inquiries respecting the age of the castle and its antiquities, sir lavé appeared somewhat more at ease, and referred him to his daughter, who, as he said, knew better about such odd kind of things than any one else in the castle. "you must live here like a little king, my good lavé," observed sir john, looking round the large arched hall, which occupied the whole breadth of the wing, and from which two large doors opened into the castle-garden, commanding a most beautiful view over the sound. "yes, indeed, sir counsellor: the castle is royal enough, and your presence gives it its proper lustre," replied sir lavé, in a submissive tone, which showed at once the dependent relation in which he stood to his renowned kinsman, whose preponderance, both in rank and intellect, he only too oppressively felt. "you are too polite, cousin," replied sir john. "lustre, you know well enough, is not my affair. but if the castle is as strong as it is fair and pleasant, i should like to be governor of it in time of war. have you been here before, drost peter?" "in my childhood i was often in these halls, and i here regain the memory of my dearest, fairest years," replied drost peter, with a glance at jomfra ingé, whom he had yet only silently saluted, and who appeared to be entirely busied with fru ingefried and lady cecilia. her eyes now met his, and he observed, with pleasure, that this remembrance did not appear indifferent to her. "have you not been here since?" inquired sir john; but drost peter did not hear him. "you are under a spell, i think. have you been here since, peter hessel?" he repeated. "last year," answered drost peter, somewhat embarrassed, "in the course of my unpleasant duty respecting duke waldemar's arrest." at these words sir lavé turned, highly uneasy, towards the old counsellor, and overwhelmed him with half a score of questions at once, principally about court news, and indifferent matters. "i do not trouble myself concerning such fooleries," replied sir john, gravely, looking at his uneasy kinsman with a sharp, inquiring glance; "but the best and most important news is already well known to you, cousin--that, since the king has regained a faithful subject in duke waldemar, we may now hope for peace and unity in the country. we may therefore reasonably expect that every danish knight who may have been mistaken, but who still means honestly towards his country, will follow the young duke's example, and sincerely forswear every thought of turbulent resistance and rebellious defiance to the laws of the kingdom. in some instances a strict inquiry may perhaps be deemed necessary," he added; "but i hope that many adherents of the audacious marsk andersen are not to be found in the country." sir lavé had become deadly pale; and on the stern sir john's countenance appeared a mingled expression of anger and deep sorrow, which, however, immediately disappeared, as he turned playfully to jomfru ingé, with reference to one of her childhood's heroines, proud dotté, whose history was represented on the old wrought tapestry of the hall. "do you still hold by this proud damsel?" he inquired, pointing to the picture, representing a lady chained, on board a ship, with a little anchor in her hand. "can you still sing about her cheese-anchors, with which she would have kept the whole of harald hardrada's fleet from denmark?"[ ] "do you still remember that, my noble kinsman?" asked lady ingé blushing. "when i sang that song by your side, and defended dotté against your jokes, i was still a child, and you laughed at my zeal: but i must still defend her, my noble kinsman. had the men of denmark, in her time, been as brave as she calculated upon, they would have found steel enough to defend her cheese-anchors, and not have suffered the norwegian pirate-king to carry off a danish maiden in chains, on account of a bold word. somewhat of haughtiness, and of childish defiance towards a superior power, there certainly was in the whole jest," she continued, with warmth; "but a little innocent boasting was still a sign that she had good faith in danish manhood and fidelity. had she been your daughter, i am certain that you would have gladly paid a double ransom for her freedom." "that may well be," replied sir john, patting his brave kinswoman on the cheek. "right, proud ingelil![ ] thou art thy brave mother's daughter. the girl is right in some things," he continued, turning to the learned chancellor: "she is better acquainted with these ancient heroes than i am. this harald hardrada was little better than a bold, skilful pirate: a lofty, kingly soul, he never had. his doings in denmark and myklegaard redounded not to his honour; and i look upon the daring jarl mindre-alf, of our own times, as his worthy representative." "in mind and deed, abundance of similar representatives might be mentioned, with sanguinary, heathenish souls in christian bodies," replied master martin. "jarl mindre-alf!" repeated jomfru ingé, starting: "the coarse, rude algrev--the little, fierce, brutish sea-rover--is he a jarl?[ ] i thought he was only count of tönsberg." "he is a mighty jarl, and, next to king erik the priesthater, and duke hakon, the greatest man in norway," answered sir john. "but thou art right, child: he is a coarse, rude carl, and more like a beast than a man. thou hast never seen him, hast thou?" "i have heard more of him than i could have desired," she replied, hastily, avoiding the question, which occasioned her father great anguish. drost peter still hoped that sir lavé, notwithstanding his present palpable embarrassment, had been more imprudent than guilty on the occasion of the suspicious visit to which this accidental allusion had just been made. in order, therefore, to rid him of this uneasiness, and to relieve him from every fear of being called upon to answer for that transaction, the drost turned, with perfect good nature, to lady ingé's father, and informed him that the real object of the present journey, which gave him an opportunity of revisiting so dear a spot, was an embassy to the swedish court of stockholm; and that sir john was, at the same time, taking his family to their summer residence, tommerup guard, in scania. this explanation instantly brightened up sir lavé's features. he seemed at once to comprehend the drost's good-natured intention in this communication, and held out his hand to him with unrestrained emotion. "you are welcome to me, sir drost," he said, with a trembling voice, and drawing him aside to the open garden-door. "what has occurred between us concerns nobody," he continued, anxiously, descending the garden-steps with him. he cast back a look towards the saloon, and perceiving old sir john in lively conversation with the chancellor and the ladies, he drew drost peter hastily into a by-path in the garden. "a word in confidence, drost hessel," he continued, in a fatherly tone, that reminded the drost of his childhood: "what occurred when you were last here, might be misinterpreted in a manner dangerous to my honour and rank; but i have sufficient confidence in your integrity to rest assured that you will not abuse the advantage which circumstances gave you over me, to ruin and destroy me. will you give me your word of honour thereupon?" "by my knightly honour!" answered drost peter, much affected, and giving him his hand. "god be praised, i have never deemed myself bound to come forward as your accuser; and heaven forbid that i should ever be obliged to do so." "good," exclaimed sir lavé, reassured: "i only desired to know that i was safe in your hands as regards the past; and for that, your honour is now my pledge: the future, i shall myself take care of. our old relationship is now dissolved, and a new one cannot be formed between us. we two can now be as if dead to one another." he turned to depart; but drost peter retained him. "hear me, sir lavé," he exclaimed, warmly. "i have also an important word to say to you. i do not regard that relationship as dissolved, which i first learned to prize highly at the moment it appeared to be torn asunder. that which estranges you from me, binds me to your house and noble race still more firmly, and with a bond that no earthly power can dissolve. it is the same bond that unites denmark's crown and denmark's hearts together. in this, your noble-hearted daughter shares my views, and that, too, with an ardour and animation that have enchained my soul irrevocably with her's, spite of every opposing or doubtful circumstance. i have not spoken a word to her but what you have yourself heard, and what i now with certainty know i feel for her. whether she entertains the same feelings towards me, i dare not yet say; but i have a great and fond hope, which i will not relinquish while i live, unless she herself, which god forbid! should rob me of it." "every word of this is now superfluous, sir drost," interrupted sir lavé, coldly and strangely. "for me, you may hope and feel what you will. my will, as her father, you know. your connections and principles render me, and every open-minded dane, common heretics in your eyes; and, for the future, i can never think of any union with you. let us mutually esteem each other's hearts and good intentions, however dissimilar, in other respects, we may be in our views," he added, with less coldness: "let us not, as professors of a different political faith, condemn one another for the sake of our opinions. so, let us bid each other a peaceful farewell--for ever!" with these words, and with averted face, he extended his hand to drost peter. "this, then, is the last time you give me your hand, sir lavé?" exclaimed drost peter, with subdued grief. "oh, that i could hold fast by this hand, and drag you from the uncertain, tortuous path on which you falter--" "unhand me, man! and be silent!" whispered sir lavé, looking uneasily about him. "would you bring me to misfortune by your discourse? my way is not your's; but i had learnt to go alone, before you were born. unhand me! we belong not to each other." "pity 'tis that you are right!" sighed drost peter, with secret horror, as he relinquished the cold, trembling hand. without again looking at him, sir lavé hastily returned to his other important guests; whilst drost peter, violently agitated, took his way along a gloomy arched walk in the garden. in the garden-hall, to his great comfort, sir lavé found old sir john still engaged in jocular conversation with master martinus; whilst fru ingefried and her daughter, in company with lady ingé, were about leaving it, to view the castle-garden. "drost hessel is already outside, enjoying the beautiful prospect," said the commandant, bowing to the stranger ladies. "my daughter will conduct you to some of those remarkable spots where the clear waters and the green trees furnish abundant themes for the most passionate admirers of their country's beauties. i am not so fortunate as to appreciate these things myself." the ladies smiled courteously at these careless remarks, and descended the garden-steps. sir lavé cast an inquiring look at the weathercock over the castle-gate, and then approached the two gentlemen, without disturbing their conversation. "you astonish me, learned sir chancellor," said sir john, laughing heartily. "who could have believed that dry philosophy should be so amusing? and this is altogether your own discovery?" "certainly, sir counsellor," replied the learned chancellor, gravely, with a self-satisfied air: "it is the fruit of many a waking night's inquiries. i had already thought of it before i took degrees at paris; but it first became quite clear to me in my peaceful _otium_ at antvorskov, and now it is taught in all the universities of europe." "and this is the famous martinian mod--mod--what do you call it?" "_modi significandi martiniani_," said the chancellor, correcting him. "it is a treasury of learning, and a fund of science, which i ought not to boast of; but i still hope, in all humility, that, with god and the holy virgin's aid, this important discovery in logic will preserve my name in the history of philosophy, and be remembered as long as solid learning and universities exist." "now, indeed, that i can understand," replied sir john, with a suppressed smile. "sooth to say, it must be learned and philosophic, for i will give you my head if i can understand a word of it. but what can a layman, and others like myself, know of such things?" "how, sir counsellor!" exclaimed the chancellor, astonished, and wiping the perspiration from his bald forehead. "is it not as clear and evident as god's daylight? and have i not taken pains to translate for you all the greek and latin terms, which are a great ornament in such matters, though, perhaps, dark to the uninitiated? allow me, and i will again explain to you the whole system from the beginning. by _modus significandi_, is to be understood, in logic--" "nay, for heaven's sake--nay, best of chancellors!" interrupted sir john, hastily; "plunge me no deeper into the science. i have every respect for it, and believe that it will immortalise you, among the learned, to the end of time; but, if i cannot become immortal by other means, my memory must perish, and i must be contented, in god's name, to do the best i can when living, and leave our lord to care for the rest. seriously speaking, sir chancellor: if a man cannot become wise and intelligent without all this vexatious trouble, and if i must twist and turn my thoughts by this method, before i can know whether they are wise or foolish--by the lord's truth! i should be a hundred years old before i could master a single common thought, and should require the lifetime of three men before i could put an excellent thought into practice. nay: i must make use of another method. when i know what i wish to say, i say it; and when i know what i wish and ought to do, i do it; and do not trouble myself whether the world stands or falls. there you have the whole of my system. it is not so learned as your's; but that you also follow it, in the main, you have given me excellent proof, for which i have every esteem and honour." so saying, he shook the learned chancellor heartily by the hand, and cast a look towards sir lavé. "see, there stands my cousin, the commandant," he continued, gaily: "he is nearly five years younger than i, and can perhaps still learn something in the world. if you can bring him to see how we should think justly and reasonably, in these crazy times, it may not perhaps be out of the way. but i must out, and draw a breath of fresh air in the garden." surrendering sir lavé to the somewhat tiresome, philosophic chancellor, he made his exit hastily by the garden-door, and was soon plunged in serious thought in the arched walk. on a green knoll, commanding a magnificent view over the sound, drost peter stood, meanwhile, between jomfru ingé and lady cecilia, in lively conversation respecting those notable events of olden times, of which the traditions and supposed memorials were still preserved in this glorious region. contrary to jomfru ingé's opinion, drost peter maintained that these events must be referred to other, and, to him, well-known spots in jutland. the subject of their conversation was the great tragical legend of hamlet. fru ingefried listened with interest, whilst the animated, patriotic jomfru ingé enlivened her description of these events by traditions and snatches of popular ballads, and pointed to every spot where, as a child, she had heard and believed that they must have happened. fru ingefried now perceived her husband by the end of the arched walk, and went to meet him; while drost peter and jomfru ingé continued to converse of hamlet and his daring plans, the sagacity of which drost peter admired, but maintained that they still wanted truth, justice, and noble grandeur. "this knavish cunning," he said--"this merely apparent love of truth, by means of which the real truth is concealed, when it is spoken ambiguously and figuratively--this crafty play with sound sense and madness, with jest and cruel earnest, is to me sufficiently detestable; but these features of the tradition, however un-danish they may appear, are still founded on a remarkable peculiarity in the character of our people." "what mean you, drost peter?" inquired lady ingé, with wounded pride. "do you accuse yourself, and all of us, with a base proneness to craft and falsehood?" "understand me rightly, noble lady. the craft of hamlet is, in the main, completely danish, though i cannot prize it as in anywise great and noble. this kind of craft ever betrays itself in a respect for truth, even when it may not and dare not be spoken openly. every period of disquiet and internal disturbance in denmark will show us that, with the best and noblest of the people, our honesty, justice, and love of truth never entirely disappear, but reveal themselves where the mere semblance of truth is used as a cloak to deceit. the greatest deceiver and nidding amongst us will always blush to deny or disguise the truth openly: he is too proud to lie, even were it to save his life; and he will speak the truth even where it may endanger him, but so darkly and figuratively, that himself only and his friends can understand it, while his foes receive it in an opposite sense." "therein, perhaps, you maybe right," said jomfru ingé, gravely; "but a wish to wrest and distort the truth does not, in consequence, lie in the people's mode of thinking. "far be it from me to assert that it does," replied drost peter; "but i have observed that even the most upright of our commoners take a singular pleasure, whilst jesting, in striving to tack something on a person's sleeve, as they term it, strictly, however, without telling an untruth. in this consists a great portion of the craft and wit of our common people. it may be highly good-natured and innocent; but, in times like these, it is still a dangerous quality, which renders it extremely difficult to distinguish the true friends of the crown from its secret enemies." "nay, nay," exclaimed jomfru ingé, gladly; "in this you greatly err, drost peter. you know our brave and trusty countrymen better. i often see and converse with the poorest and humblest of them. they speak openly and impatiently of their burdens, and, in their language, do not spare the great and powerful. they are not afraid to utter the boldest truths, even as regards the king and his favourites; but, when i speak to them of the crown and kingdom, with the view of ascertaining their opinions respecting an illegally imposed king, you should see how readily they forget their own grievances, and how uprightly they express their devoted attachment to the ancient, legitimate, royal family. it is true that, when jesting, they often find great amusement in figurative language, and in befooling each other with old proverbs, and suchlike; but this good-natured sort of waggishness i rather admire, and certainly think there is nothing wrong in it." "i do not blame that which is so natural to the people, and, in a manner, born with them," replied drost peter. "none of us are entirely free from it," he added. "we have both, perhaps, to-day, noble jomfru ingé, and even at this very hour, concealed what we know, and avoided the truth, to spare ourselves or others, without having said an untrue word." lady ingé blushed. "every one has a right to do so," she said, earnestly. "what i will not and ought not to say, no power on earth shall compel me to speak. if we could not be veracious and upright, without telling everything we know, there would be few honest men in existence. you shall judge between us, good cecilia," she continued, turning playfully to her relation, who had hitherto been a silent listener. "think you drost peter himself is so upright, that he would tell us truly, were we to ask him, which colour he esteems most highly?" "we need not ask him that," replied cecilia: "the colour you now wear in your hairband, is that worn by the drost--last year, at least." drost peter blushed deeply. "i wore it last year, because it was the queen's colour," he replied. "i won the right to do so at the helsingborg tourney. but for twelve months before last may i have not worn it; although it has, since then, become dearer to me than ever. i fancy i have known from my childhood that crimson band, with the small pearl-lilies, and it is the only band i would suffer to bind me prisoner; but were jomfru ingé even now to present me with it, i dare not openly wear it. the reason, too, must remain a secret." lady ingé had hastily raised her hand to the crimson fillet, as if she would remove it; but, on hearing drost peter's latter words, she only secured it more firmly, and changed the conversation to another subject. "look at my handsome, watchful bird," she said, merrily. "had hamlet possessed him, he would certainly have known how to make use of him." as she said this, she patted a large tame fowl that had flown towards her, alarmed, as it appeared, by claus skirmen, who was in search of his master, to inform him, as he had been ordered, of the state of the wind. drost peter paid no attention to his squire's announcement. he praised the noble bird, and looked at his mistress with a singularly blended sentiment of joy and melancholy, while many fond memories of childhood flitted across his soul, and mingled with his feelings of the present moment. it almost seemed to him as if he were in a dream, and that the knight's tall, fair daughter was again changed into the child-bride of former days. in the meantime sir john, with his wife, was leisurely approaching the knoll. he stopped, and gazed at the young man on the green strand-height. "a fine, brave, excellent young man," he said, pointing to drost peter; "he is quite another drost than sir abildgaard. our cecilia's interest in that subtle knight does not please me. the suspicions that have attached to him, since his imprisonment, ought to have cured her of her whimsy. has she not determined yet?" "your silence has made her anxious," replied the mother, with concern; "and, without your consent, she gives him no decisive answer." "she is free; but from me, she shall not hear a syllable on the matter. what i think of him, she well knows." "then she never becomes drost abildgaard's wife. god strengthen her!" "drost peter takes his time," interrupted sir john, hastily. "his childhood's bride no longer hates him," replied fru ingefried; "he does not delay thus merely on account of the wind." sir john cast a look at the vane on the turret. "you are right," he observed: "we must away. if our good drost peter means to jest with us, he shall have the worst of it." they were now close to the knoll. "drost peter!" shouted sir john, "the wind is fair, and we are ready to set sail. if you will with us, come quickly." whereupon, the old gentleman hastily returned to the garden-hall, and the whole company followed him. when sir john entered the great hall, he found the learned chancellor alone, deeply engrossed in a small, neat manuscript. "up to the ears in study again?" said sir john. "is that your logica?" "nay, nay, noble sir," exclaimed the learned chancellor, as his eyes sparkled with almost youthful liveliness. "see, here i have found some of the glorious old danish ballads i heard in my childhood, besides many excellent national ones i never knew of. your cousin, the commandant, must be a brave, patriotic-souled man, and well versed in our old legends and histories. there are some capital notes in the margin of the songs; and here, of a truth, pour living fountains from the people themselves. "that is brave!" exclaimed sir john, with singular interest: "that is more than i could have imagined of my good sir cousin, and i like him all the better. the ballads themselves may be pretty enough. i do not understand much of these wares; but, when they are sung, i listen to them willingly. one half of these ballads are fictions and fables, i doubt not; but their intention is good, and they must have been a brave danish people who made them." jomfru ingé, with the other ladies and drost peter, now entered. "ingelil, child," called sir john to her, "when did thy father become so learned, and take such pleasure in old songs and ballads? formerly, he could never endure them." "it is not my father's--it is my own little song-book," replied lady ingé. "my blessed mother wrote many of them." "and the glosses--the marginal notes?" inquired master martinus. "oh, nothing more than what i heard from my old spinning-women, and what i sometimes thought of myself." at this discovery, master martinus seemed almost to blush at his zeal for a work that he had only women and unlettered lay-people to thank for; but his true attachment to the ancient ballads overcame this shock to his learned pride, and he grasped jomfru ingé's hand warmly, while he returned her the manuscript. "you have rejoiced my soul, noble lady," he said, much affected; "and i could almost, in exchange for this unlearned feminine manuscript, give you my own sufficiently well-known work, _de modis significandi_." "such an exchange the girl would not much desire," said sir john, interrupting him. "but where is thy father, ingelil? we must bid him farewell, and get on board immediately." "i will seek him," answered ingé, as she went hastily away. "the commandant is in his closet, in conversation with a good friend," said master martin: "i had forgotten him, over the book. he is travelling in great haste." "do you know this good friend?" inquired sir john, with apparent indifference. "i must relinquish this," replied the chancellor, in a half-absent manner, and still keeping his eye on the manuscript, which lady ingé had laid on the table. "he wore his visor down: it was a warlike figure." "a masked warrior?" inquired sir john, attentively. "probably, a coast-guardsman," answered the chancellor. "in a royal castle, one is always in a state of war. the commandant seems to be as cautious as he is vigilant; and i do not blame him, that, in these troublous times, he should avail himself of spies and disguised servitors." jomfru ingé had now returned. she was deadly pale, and sought in vain to conceal her deep anguish and embarrassment. "my father," she said, with half-choked utterance--"my father will be here immediately." drost peter, alarmed, advanced a step or two towards her, with an expression of deep concern; but he paused and was silent, as he suddenly guessed the cause of her perplexity. "what ails thee, my child?" demanded sir john, with an uneasy inquiring look. "thou hast run too fast," he added, considerately, giving her time to answer. "i am not quite well," she answered, as she supported herself by a chair. "he will come immediately: i have sent a message to him." "he is engaged officially, i hear, and we will not disturb him. salute him, and say we were in haste. god bless thee, child! come, gentlemen." anger and deep sorrow were visible in the countenance of the old knight, and, as he regarded the pale lady ingé, a tear stole into his eye; but in another moment he was again calm, as usual. "see, here we have the vigilant sir commandant still," he said, in his customary lively tone, as sir lavé opened the door, and entered with a constrained but smiling countenance. "no excuses, cousin," added sir john: "the king's service takes precedence of every other. we must, therefore, in all haste bid you farewell." "already, sir counsellor!" stammered sir lavé: "i thought the wind--" "we have not the most favourable wind, if your weathercock may be depended on," replied the old gentleman; "but i fear a person would be misled, were he to depend upon that. i go by the king's yacht; and i know that vessel can make head against a contrary wind tolerably well. i understand a little of sailing, too; and we have, moreover, a good steersman in drost peter. farewell." these apparently indifferent words, which the old counsellor pronounced with a peculiar emphasis, had to sir lavé a serious and fearful signification, that deprived him of the power of utterance. he bowed civilly, though with embarrassment, as he followed his guests to the door. old john once more gave his hand to jomfru ingé, with a warmth and heartiness unusual in him. drost peter bowed to her with a look that carried comfort to her soul; and master martinus again thanked her for the pleasure her songbook had yielded him. fru ingefried and lady cecilia, like the worthy chancellor, seemed to have no idea of the cause of her indisposition. the ladies, however, would not permit her to follow them to the door; and having embraced her with hearty affection, the mother, with kind solicitude, gave her all the domestic remedies she could think of, for sudden depression of spirits. scarcely had they left the door, before lady ingé burst into a flood of tears, and sank into a chair, with her hands before her eyes. she sat thus, immovable, for some minutes. when she took her hands from her eyes, her father stood before her. "what is this? what means this conduct, child?" he inquired, in tones that sounded almost harshly. "dear, best ingé!" he added, with greater mildness, "compose yourself. what is the matter?" "father, father!" she exclaimed, eagerly, as she rose, "is the strange knight still in your closet?" "what leads thee to trouble thyself about my official business?" inquired the father, perplexed: "i do not permit this interference in my affairs. go to thy chamber, and make ready my travelling-wallet. i journey from hence in half an hour." "thou travellest, father? and leavest me behind alone? how long remainest thou away?" "but a few days: it is on important business. when wert thou wont to be afraid of being alone? i shall provide for the safeguard of the castle during my absence. thou canst therefore be calm." "for thee, too, father? nay, nay, i cannot maintain this painful silence: thou must know the truth, father. i tremble for thy secret schemes--i tremble for thy terrible friends--i am tortured by the most dreadful anguish for thy soul!" "art thou mad, girl?" exclaimed the uneasy father, exasperated, and stamping violently. "hast thou, too, conspired against me? is it not enough that my own tyrannical kinsman and his understrappers must torture me in my own house, and threaten me, covertly, with the despotic kingly power? shall my own child be my betrayer? must i not converse with a trusty friend in my closet, without being suspected and betrayed by my own? get thee to thy apartment, child, and weep not; or, if thou must weep, let it be only in private. guard thy tongue, also, that thou betrayest not thy father's life with thy childish nonsense. my affairs thou understandest not; and for my soul thou needest not care. i know what i dare do: my confessor is a man who better understands my salvation than thou and the conscientious drost peter. do as i say, my good child, and be reasonable. i shall not have time, after this, to bid thee farewell. the gentleman i travel with is my friend, and a man i can depend upon. farewell." with these words he hastily departed. the unhappy daughter wept no longer: she appeared calm, almost to indifference, and proceeded to her chamber to execute her father's orders. scarcely had she finished packing her father's portmanteau, ere a trooper appeared, to take it to him. he was a tall, strange carl, in complete iron mail, and with a wild, audacious countenance. "what is thy name, and who is thy master, countryman?" asked lady ingé, as she looked at him calmly and keenly. "i need not conceal my honest name here," replied the man, with a jutland accent: "people call me long mat jute. my master has a better name, but i dare not mention it on zealand's ground. the three rogues who have just left, are not worthy to see his face. he never sets foot on shore here, without being cased in steel from top to toe; and whoever merely catches a glimpse of his eyes, through the bars of his helmet, is seized--with decency be it spoken--with the gripes, on the spot. but with your father it is quite another matter, fair jomfru: he is a brave man, i wot." "mat jute!" repeated jomfru ingé: "my little maiden elsie's sweetheart?" "o yes, fair jomfru," smirked the man, stroking his beard: "a little sweethearting one must have, wherever he goes: it never binds him, and it is good for both man and beast. but there goes my master to the skiff. farewell, fair jomfru." and seizing the tolerably heavy portmanteau by the thongs, with two of his fingers he swang it on his shoulder. lady ingé went to the window. at the door stood elsie, to bid farewell to her warlike sweetheart once more. he did not waste time, however, in a long and touching adieu, giving her only one hearty kiss in passing along the narrow passage, and then pushing her aside to overtake his master. lady ingé stood as if rivetted to the window. she saw her father, closely wrapt in his travelling-cloak, cross the court-yard of the castle, by the side of a tan, stalwart knight, who, in a dark, tarnished steel harness, strode proudly towards the castle-gates. the castellan paused once or twice, as if he had forgotten something, or was undecided; but the strange knight seemed to give no heed to this. near the entrance of the dark archway, the tall, giant-like figure stopped and turned round, and lady ingé now saw that his face was concealed by a black iron visor. he raised his mail-clad arm and beckoned. sir lavé still lingered a moment. the sword of the strange knight rang sharply against the stones at his feet, and again he beckoned, with an authoritative motion of his arm, like a general, and turned away. sir lavé hastily followed him, and both disappeared under the dark archway of the gate. to lady ingé, it seemed as if her father was drawn into an abyss by the dreadful iron giant. "merciful god! stig andersen himself!" she exclaimed, as, with a scream, she fell back, devoid of consciousness, on the floor. when her recollection returned, she found herself in the arms of her waiting-maid; and little elsie, with all her giddiness, was almost weeping over her dear jomfru's condition. but lady ingé soon recovered. a sudden thought seemed to inspire her with new strength and courage, and, rising hastily, she left her waiting-maids. taking her bunch of keys, she proceeded to her father's private closet, at the door of which she stopped doubtfully, and searched uneasily among the keys; but, to her surprise, she found the closet door ajar. on examination, however, she found that it had been locked, but probably in such haste and agitation, that the iron staple, which should have held it, was broken. this accident seemed to relieve her from every doubt, and she stepped promptly over the threshold, and looked around her. her attention was first directed to a well-known cabinet in the wall, wherein her father kept his private letters. the steel knob, by which it could be opened, glistened in her eyes like a dangerous snake's head. she pressed the knob, the cabinet sprang open, and a bundle of papers and letters came to view, which she instantly recognised. shortly before duke waldemar's visit, in the previous year, she had seen her father receive, with great anxiety, this well-known packet from a lively, fat carl, who had sung merry songs in the servants' hall, and assisted the maids in the kitchen. that these letters were of an important and dangerous character, was, to her, only too evident. without stopping to examine them, she placed them in an iron box, wherein her father was accustomed to keep the royal toll-money, but which now stood, empty and unlocked, near the door. having locked the box, and placed the key in her bosom, she sank down in a praying posture, and thus remained, for the rest of the day, in the lonely closet. as soon as it was dark, she dragged the heavy iron box down into the castle-garden, where, with great effort, she buried it in the knoll, near the sound. "god forgive me!" she sighed; "he is my father! i bury his infamy, and thus save his name and honour! but, away from me, the key to the horrible secret! it presses on my heart with the weight of a mountain." as if seized with extreme horror, she took from her bosom the key of the box, and threw it with all her might into the deep sound, that roared at the foot of the height. she then returned, quietly and thoughtfully, into the fortress. * * * in the southern part of the parish of felballe, in the diocese of aarhuus, stood the famous castle, möllerup, close by a stream with a few water-mills, and near a dark wood of half a mile[ ] in extent. it was a strongly-fortified place, in the heavy gothic style of building, with thick walls of hewn stone, and a lofty square tower in the centre. the fortress was provided with earthen ramparts and wide ditches, both before and behind. here resided the celebrated marsk stig andersen hvide, with his family. he had himself erected and fortified this castle, whose lofty tower was visible, from a considerable distance, over the wood. on the flat summit of the tower, within the battlements, stood four iron-clad men, day and night, as sentinels, who constantly kept their looks fixed towards the four quarters, like the stone giants on kolding castle. the heavy drawbridge was already up, and over the arched gateway fluttered a large banner, adorned with the arms of the lord of the castle--a seven-rayed star on azure, under a helmet with two white wings. on the ramparts stood large bliders, or wall-slings--a kind of wooden machine, by which immense stones were thrown. at great expense, the marsk had here collected numerous defensive machines, some of which had been made in roskild, by german artificers. here might be seen the fearful igel-cat[ ] with oak-peg bristles on the back, used for crushing besiegers; here, also, was to be found the dangerous brynkiöl, of iron, with crooked steel spikes, and pointed iron claws, whose purpose was, when let down from the ramparts, to seize besiegers, and drag them up. shot-waggons, for red-hot stones, stood ready for defence, night and day. seven hundred men in armour guarded the fortress. the order and quietness that reigned within the walls denoted the strictest discipline. the grim, ironclad men moved about with a silence and regularity that fearfully indicated the dark temper which ruled in that fortress. the powerful master of the castle was now absent, but his return was daily expected; and the place was filled with grave and quiet guests. every night the drawbridge was lowered at a secret signal, and the gate opened for the admission of strangers, who came disguised in the gray cloaks of friars, or in knight's full armour. in the large riddersal, and in the lofty arched apartments, were daily assembled a great number of guests; and although the clatter of knives, and other table utensils, might be heard, there was no loud conversation, nor any sound of social glee. among these guests no woman was to be seen; a remote wing of the castle being devoted to the female portion of its inhabitants, who there passed their hours in almost conventual separation from the more warlike community. it was now the afternoon of the third day after sir lavé's departure from flynderborg with the mailed knight, in whom, for the first time, and with so much terror, lady ingé had seen the powerful marsk. in the women's vaulted apartment of möllerup sat the reserved lady of a knight, in a dark coloured dress, with her countenance concealed by a black head-dress. two little maidens, also in black, but without veils, sat on high stools by her side. they were both beautiful children, with light hair and blue eyes. one, who was almost a head taller than the other, and had her smooth, plaited locks tied up with a dark pearl-band, appeared to be about fourteen years old: her cheeks were so faintly coloured, and her skin was so clear and white, that she almost resembled a beautiful marble statue, miraculously endowed with life, but still only half belonging to the world of mortals. a deep, calm melancholy overspread her fair, earnest countenance: there was nothing painful and consuming, however, in its grief, which was softened by a pious and kindly expression, as if she had already overcome some awful sorrow, and had found her lost, youthful joys in the far-off mysterious world to which she appeared to belong. she sat, with a weaving-frame in her lap, working, with threads of silk and gold, a picture of the virgin and child, surrounded by a halo of worshiping angels. the other little girl had yellow flaxen hair, which hung down her neck in ringlets. she did not appear more than nine years old, and had a merry and extremely lively, childish countenance, red rosy cheeks, and a pair of wild, playful eyes, which were never at rest, but constantly twinkling. she was rather handsome, but violent, impatient, and restless: scarcely remaining quiet for an instant on her stool; now throwing aside her work, and then taking it up again; with a thousand other antics, which she abandoned as rapidly as they were conceived. "still, rikké!" said the veiled lady, without looking at the child, or uncovering her face. "wilt thou into the nursery again?" "yes, willingly, mother: it is much more pleasant," exclaimed the little restless girl, running out. the veiled lady heaved a deep sigh, and relapsed into her former silence. she was busied in rubbing spots of rust from a large broad battle-blade, which lay across her knees; but she appeared to direct her thoughts to her work with difficulty, and her hands often fell inertly on her knees. "mother," said the quiet, grave maiden with the gold embroidery, "i am thinking of what our lord and redeemer would say, if he still journeyed about the world, and were to come to us here." "if the just one stood amongst us, child, he would ask why justice slumbers so long." "ah, mother, think you not he would rather say as he said to the holy peter, the night he was betrayed by the false judas?" "i have forgotten it," answered the mother. "has father anton taught it you? what said he, then?" "it stands in the holy text, dear mother." and she repeated, with folded hands, and in a singing tone, the passage in matthew--"'put up again thy sword into his place; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword. thinkest thou that i cannot now pray to my father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?'" the mother was silent, and sank into a gloomy reverie. "thou art a pious child, my margarethé," she said, at length; "but thou art little like thy brave father. thou art still too young to understand the cruel injustice and the monstrous scandal that befell his house. thou canst not understand wherefore thy mother will not suffer any one in the world to look upon her face. there are stains, unmerited stains, that can only be washed out in a manner that is costly, and dangerous, and dreadful, but necessary as eternal justice. thy mother has not quite forgotten the pious instructions of her childhood. knowest thou what our righteous lord and judge said, when he foresaw the cruel injustice he should suffer?--'he who hath not a sword, let him sell his garment and buy one!'" "yea, right, right, my daughter ingeborg!" was uttered by a broken, aged voice, from an obscure corner of the apartment: "so it stands written. it is god's own word. buy me a sword for my garment: i need no garments. all the garments in the world will not hide our shame!" the person who thus spoke now made his appearance--a little, bent, aged figure, greatly emaciated, who groped his way forward, for his red, half-shut eyes were without vision. his head, almost entirely bald, appeared all scratched and torn; and his coarse gray beard was in tufts, as if it had been half plucked out. his lean fingers were crooked, and provided with monstrous nails. his dress was of a new and fine black fur, but hung about him in tatters; and his wild, crazy expression clearly enough indicated that he had thus maltreated it himself, in his fits of madness. "ah, poor old grandfather!" exclaimed the little margarethé: "he has got his hands loose, and has been tearing himself again." "call a couple of the house-carls, child," whispered the mother, hastily; "but with all quietness. perhaps i, myself, can talk to him best." the little margarethé went hastily out, with her hands folded over her breast, as if praying. "quiet, quiet, father!" said the veiled lady, placing the sword under the table, and advancing leisurely towards him. "the time is not yet come; but it draws near: thou shalt yet, perhaps, before thou diest, hear thy daughter's voice without blushing. to see me and my scandal, thou art free." "ha, ha!" laughed the old man, wildly: "that freedom, old pallé little has taken himself; for that he has asked neither king nor pope. if thou wilt bind me again, my daughter, do so; but quickly, and touch not my claws, i advise thee! they will serve to tear out the tiger-heart and the blinking goats' eyes. only promise me that you will yourself unbind me, and hand me my toké's sword, when the time arrives." "that i have already sworn and promised you, dearly and holily, my father. but you must also keep the promise you have given me, and ill-use neither yourself nor others in the meanwhile." "well, bind me, then, child, and lead me back to my owlet's hole. you spoke of a sword, my daughter, and i thought the time had come. it is long, long--it is now nine long winters. there is not much life left in me; but die i cannot, before it comes to pass: that knowest thou well." "unhappy father!" sighed the tall female form. she knelt; and, with her own wasted fingers, took up the crooked and trembling hands of the old man, which she kissed through her veil, and then bound loosely, behind his back, with a silk riband. "now that thou art again bound, my father," she continued, rising, "let me lead thee back to thy corner of hope. refuse not, father. the day of retribution is certain, and not far distant." quietly and silently the trembling old man followed her to his nook, where he sank, as if in a slumber. the little margarethé now returned with two servants, who remained standing by the door. "hold back! i require you not!" said the lady, giving them a signal to go. the servants bowed respectfully, and retired in silence. "the dear holy virgin be praised! grandfather again sleeps calmly," said little margarethé, sitting quietly down to her work. the mother and daughter remained a long time in silence, and all was as still as death around them, until they heard the noise of horses in the courtyard. "listen! more strangers have come," said margarethé: "there are still many of father's good friends to defend us." she went to the window. "it is father himself, and a strange gentleman," she exclaimed, hastily: "he dismounts on the great stone by the stairs. god be praised, he is come! i was almost afraid of so many strangers." the unhappy house-mother heard this account, with emotions that betrayed a momentary gladness. she arose, but, without saying a word, again seated herself, with a deep sigh. in the large riddersal of möllerup, thirteen grave strangers awaited the arrival of the master of the castle. they were seated at a long oaken table, which stood in the middle of the hall, covered with black cloth. eighteen chairs stood around the table. one of these chairs was higher than the rest, and covered with red velvet: it was vacant. that on the left side of it was also vacant; but on the right sat the heavy count jacob of halland, with his legs stretched out, and drumming on the table with his fingers. between him and his brother, niels hallandsfar, who resembled him in manner and disposition, sat the notable dean, master jens grand, regarding, with a grave and scrutinising look, the assembled personages, most of whom were his kinsmen, and as proud as himself of belonging to the great family of the absaloms. he appeared particularly gratified at seeing four knights, whose dark visages and haughty mien indicated displeasure and resoluteness for revenge. these were sir jacob blaafod, arved bengtson, peder jacobsen, and niels knudson of scania, who had all distinguished themselves, under stig andersen and count jacob, in the swedish war, but had, along with their general, fallen into disgrace for their arbitrary proceedings in dethroning the previous swedish king. the dean had, opposite to him, a smart young gentleman, with a proud but lively and frivolous countenance: this was duke waldemar's drost, and fellow-prisoner in sjöborg, sir tuko abildgaard. next to him sat a personage who had long been regarded as one of the king's true men--chamberlain ové dyré: he, and the man by his side, peder porsé, had recently come to an open rupture with the king, on account of a debt which the latter would not acknowledge; and in consequence of this quarrel, they had taken refuge with king magnus in sweden. all these gentlemen the dean seemed to observe with satisfaction. a noble old squire, aagé kaggé, who had long vainly expected the honour of knighthood from the king, the dean likewise appeared to regard with confidence and pleasure; but he cast a doubtful glance at the tall, overgrown person by his side, whose crafty countenance wore a smile of self-satisfaction, while he seemed to fancy himself a man of considerable importance in this secret council. this was the king's double-minded, cunning counsellor, chamberlain rané. in the midst of the company, with an air of boorish pride, sat a short, coarse, splendidly dressed personage, with diamonds on the hilt of his dagger, and a gold chain about his animal-looking neck. his countenance was fierce, rough, and hideous, and he seemed to be tired of the long silence. this was the norwegian freebooter chief, jarl mindre-alf. "now, by satan! how long will it be ere they get off their horses?" he at length growled forth, breaking the silence. "they must first in, and comfort the women, we shall find. i have ridden three beasts to death to be in time, and yet i have to wait. my time is precious, but here have i now been sitting for half an hour, like an empty barrel, without tasting either wet or dry. i have only three words to tell you from my good king, ye worthy gentlemen, but they are worth gold: if you keep me much longer, i must ride my own way, with the devil's help; and then, we shall see what comes of all your whispering and sour mouths." "highborn sir jarl," replied master grand, hastily, "after such a hurried journey, you must needs require a heart-strengthening, before you can think of more grave affairs. please to follow me into the next apartment: there we shall find a magnificent gammon, and excellent old wine, which you have scarcely found a match for in any of our convents." "ha, i can understand that!" growled the heavy gentleman, rising "you are a man who understands both body and soul: you know what an honest sea-dog stands in need of, on the cursed land. a house without a host, or wine, or women, the devil may set foot into! come, then. but it must only be a slight strengthener," he added, thoughtfully: "if i set myself regularly down to the drinking-board, you will scarcely get a word out of me concerning these vile land-crab affairs." master grand took him hastily by the arm, and led him out of the riddersal. "by st. canute! i think i shall go too," said count jacob, rising: "my good comrade the marsk does not remember whom he has invited as guests." "there he is! there is the marsk!" exclaimed one knight to another. count jacob remained standing, while all the others rose, and looked, with fixed attention, towards the door, which was thrown open for the powerful lord of the castle. proud and majestic, entered the well-known heroic figure, in his black harness and closed visor. he was accompanied by sir lavé little, who looked anxiously around him, and appeared highly disquieted as his eye fell on chamberlain rané. the marsk saluted the company in silence, and advanced to the table, where he placed himself on the left side of the vacant, velvet-covered chair. he then struck aside the visor of his helmet, and made a scrutinising and earnest survey of the company. on his stern, energetic, and commanding countenance was an expression of almost painful sadness, which singularly affected them all. "be seated," he said, with a subdued voice: "my father-in-law and my wife are agreed in what we may determine; their seats may therefore remain empty. but i miss two important men." at that instant, the door of the side apartment opened, and master grand led the pacified jarl into the hall. they both bowed in silence, and took their places. the lofty marsk alone remained standing. "secure the doors--we are all here," he said to the two at the further end of the table. squire kaggé and chamberlain rané rose, and placed bars across both doors of the hall. they again took their seats, and there was an expectant silence, all eyes being fastened on the marsk. "you all know wherefore we are again assembled, my trusty friends," began the grave marsk, in a deep, subdued voice, betraying powerfully suppressed indignation: "you all know what has rendered this castle, for the last nine years, a dismal and sorrowful abode. i declared it before the people of denmark, and before all the world, in the hour when i denounced the king of denmark in the ting of viborg, and swore to revenge my shame or to lose my life. i have not had my revenge, and marsk stig andersen still lives. had i delayed so long from base fear, and had i rather wished to be a braggart and perjurer than to risk my life for my honour, then might you all despise me--then might every drop of blood in my body suffuse these cheeks with shame, in presence of my friends and kinsmen. but see! i blush not: i am calm and cool, as beseems a man who can keep his revenge until his hair becomes gray, and suffer his thoughts to grow until they ripen. my own disdain i have hitherto borne for your sakes and for the sake of my country. i have had a greater and more important aim in view than merely to wipe out the stains on my own and my house's honour. the great hour of retribution has not yet arrived; but it approaches. no impatience--no precipitation, friends--and it shall surely come. i see no one present who has not been deeply wronged and injured by this same tyrant, whom i have denounced, and whose death and downfall i have sworn; but none of you have so much to revenge as i. so long, then, as stig andersen can brook delay, so long may you also." count jacob exhibited some impatience, and seemed desirous to speak; but a look from the marsk immediately quieted him. "it is for more than one man's revenge," he continued; "more than the weal and woe of our whole race together: it is for the deliverance of a degenerate, but still a noble, though cast-down and unhappy people. it is not enough that we overthrow the tyrant who contemns all law, both human and divine: he must fall, but the throne must stand. while we overthrow the nidding, we must not only secure ourselves and our privileges, but must, at the same time, secure a worthy ruler for the throne. we certainly hoped to have found him, and we hope so still; but his imprisonment put a stop to our grand designs, and his oath and renunciation have, for the present, deprived us of his participation in our council. we have him not amongst us--his elevated seat stands empty; but i see here, nevertheless, his chivalrous friend and fellow-prisoner; and i see, moreover, his confessor, the sagacious, worthy sir dean. speak, noble sirs: what may we expect of the duke?" "everything--everything possible!" replied drost tuko abildgaard, rising. "these are not the words of my prince and master, but my own. the oath binds his tongue; but i know his heart, and dare pledge my head, that now, as formerly, he is your friend and secret defender, and that, when the time comes, he will step forward and act with energy." "i confirm this testimony," began master grand, solemnly, and rising with bold dignity. "our secretly chosen david has selected me for his spokesman here. i have, with peril to my life, shown him the way to freedom, as you desired; and he is now serving our heaven-abandoned saul till the hour of doom arrives. he is too conscientious to break his oath, and too magnanimous to demand a dispensation of it from the father of christendom. he cannot, and will not, at present, take any open part in your great undertakings. he will and ought not to know anything that his friends may determine for the freedom of the country. but when the time arrives, to which, in calm self-denial, he looks forward--when the way and place stand open for him--he will come forward, with the aid of the church and the almighty, as he can and ought, and, with honour, crown the work. this, in his name and by his princely soul, i dare swear to you, faithfully and piously." "'tis well!" resumed stig andersen: "two such creditable witnesses we may rely upon. but the tyrant has bold and sagacious friends: a great portion of the blinded people remain inconceivably firm, both with him and his sons; and without certainty of powerful assistance from the noble norwegian king, our undertaking would be foolishness. i see our trusty sworn friend, the bold jarl alf of tönsberg, in the midst of us. the answer he brings from his king must determine us when to act." "now, then, by beelzebub! comes my turn, at last, to say a word," muttered the pirate chief, who had long been impatiently rubbing the jewels on his dirk. "my king's answer is short and good, marsk andersen," he continued, aloud, rising leisurely, and standing with his legs apart, as if he had been on a ship in motion. "you are a man, every inch of you, says my king and master; and he is to you a faithful friend, whether in fair weather or foul. your friends are also his; and he who offends you has to do with him. with your secret councils he will have nothing to do; but as a true and honest norseman, he will openly defend you against every foe, and stand by you with a fleet when it is wanted. his land and kingdom are open to you and your friends, should mischance befall you; and i, his jarl and admiral, do not quit these coasts with my own seadogs, so long as you want help, and there is anything to take a hand in. in all this i am clear and ready. what you farther do here does not concern me. what comes in at the one ear, i shall let go out of the other. talk is not my business; and you have had my oath once. but, sooth to say, you go on too quietly and sour-mouthed here. i cannot relish these secret councils and fine projects. i am good for nothing but the rude work of giving the order, and setting to, without more ado. in a word: i will burn all denmark before your eyes, if that will help you. as for the rest, it matters not to me who is king of the country. so long as good booty is to be had, i am with you; and how i can hit, you well know. let me now drink to your health, and waste no more time in talk. do you understand me?" "perfectly, sir jarl," answered the marsk. "yet a word. will you keep the promise you made to duke waldemar, concerning my wife's sister's son, chamberlain rané jonsen, who is sitting there? on that condition he is our friend; and his assistance is of greater importance than you may suppose." while the marsk uttered these words, chamberlain rané had risen, and approached the jarl. "is it thee who would be my son-in-law?" inquired the jarl, with a smile, and measuring him with a proud look. "now this i must say, that thou dost not look exactly the kind of carl who should woo a jarl's daughter. i gave the duke the word in an honest guzzle, and i doubt if my daughter will say yea to it. but if you are as cunning a fellow as you have credit for, we can talk of it when the time comes: if the child don't refuse you, well, the sober jarl will answer for what the count of tönsberg promised when he was drunk." "farther my bold wishes do not extend, sir jarl," replied rané. "when the terms on my side are fulfilled, i shall show you that i have not aimed higher than i can reach." "good: with the time comes the care!" muttered the jarl. "show me first, by some able exploit, what thou art worth, and in exchange i will dub thee a knight with a stroke that shall crack thy puny collar-bone?" "that is the word, sir jarl. you all hear this, gentlemen?" said rané, looking boldly round the assembly. he then returned to his seat; whilst the freebooter, without giving farther heed to him, nodded to the others, and withdrew into the drinking-room. at the marsk's signal, all the rest resumed their seats, and there was a death stillness amongst them. "we have held counsel long and often enough," resumed the marsk, mysteriously. "what shall and must happen, we all know. the time has now arrived when we ought to take the last resolute determination. but what is to be resolved in our souls at this hour, even these silent walls shall not hear. an approving or disapproving sign is sufficient, and we understand one another." thereupon he whispered a few words in count jacob's ear, who immediately answered by a grave nod. in the same manner the secret word was communicated from man to man. a long and deep silence prevailed during this proceeding. several of the gentlemen considered long before they nodded, and among these was sir lavé little. he, at length, made a motion with his head, which was understood to be a nod, but which more resembled an involuntary convulsive contraction of the muscles. at last it came to chamberlain rané's turn. the marsk scrutinised him with a penetrating look, and master grand's eyes were fixed upon his countenance. the crafty chamberlain heard the whispered word, and he opened his eyes as if greatly astonished, whilst with secret pleasure he seemed to enjoy the triumph of beholding the general attention turned on him alone. he assumed a highly thoughtful air, and still delayed giving the decisive nod. it was necessary that all should be unanimous in a project which the meanest of the witnesses could betray and ruin. the chamberlain was the last, and, next to squire kaggé, the humblest in rank of all; but, as the king's familiar, he was an important man; and he seemed to feel with pride that a king's life, and perhaps the weal or woe of a whole nation, solely depended on a slight motion of his cunning head. whilst he thus remained considering, and apparently undecided, three knocks were heard at the barred entrance-door. all started, and looked in that direction. at a signal from the marsk, squire aagé kaggé opened it, and the gaze of all was turned with a degree of terror towards the open door, through which a tall veiled lady, dressed in black, entered, leading by the arm a blind, decrepid old man, whose hands were bound behind his back, and on whose sightless countenance appeared an expression of quiet, but horrid insanity. these two silent figures remained standing at the end of the table. all arose, and remained motionless as statues. "friends and kinsmen!" exclaimed the marsk, in a voice nearly suffocated with anger and sorrow--"descendants of the great race of absalom! look upon my wife and her hapless father! need i say more? would you see the unmerited blush of shame through that veil, which, for nine years, has concealed, even from me, the face of my wife? would you hear the mad, despairing shriek of her dishonoured father? is there one amongst you who yet hesitates in coming to the conclusion that shall cast down the tyrant, and free our unhappy fatherland?" as he uttered these words, his keen glance rested on chamberlain rané, who also, for a moment, appeared surprised and affected. rané nodded. "'tis well!" continued the marsk: "you have all approved. now, lay your hands on the holy gospels, and swear!" he gave master grand a signal, and the ecclesiastic drew forth a large book, bound in black velvet. "it shall be truly done, so help us god and his holy word!" said the dean, slowly and solemnly, laying his own hand first upon the gospels. the book then passed from man to man. after a violent internal conflict, which was visible in every feature, sir lavé also laid his trembling hand upon the book, and stammered out the oath. when it came to rané's turn, he repeated the same words audibly and distinctly; but his lips continued to move after he had pronounced the oath, although none could hear what he seemed to add to it secretly. thereupon he laid his hand upon the book, without farther hesitation. "unbind me--unbind me, my daughter ingeborg!" cried the crazy old man, suddenly waking up, as if from a dream. "i will swear and bind myself, so that the almighty above shall hear it, and all the devils shall shake and tremble!" "still, still, father! remember thy promise," whispered fru ingeborg; while the marsk gave her a sign to lead out the unhappy old man. but before any one could prevent it, he had torn asunder his bands with almost inconceivable strength, and stretched forth his liberated arms with a wild and fearful burst of laughter. "for ever, for ever doomed to perdition may i be, if i be not the first," he shouted, striking the gospels with his clenched hand: "if old pallé is not the first who strikes, i shall wander on earth till doomsday!" master grand had nearly lost his hold of the book. the marsk again beckoned, and two knights led the crazy old man from the hall. a profound silence followed, during which the dean had recovered himself, and now stood with the holy book in his hand, before fru ingeborg. she bowed her head affirmatively, and, in a voice that penetrated the souls of all who heard her, repeated the oath they had all sworn, while she bent her knee, and touched the book with her wasted hand. she remained without changing her posture, and, at the marsk's signal, all the others silently withdrew. involuntarily, as it were, the gloomy master of the castle stretched forth his mailed arm towards his unhappy wife, but again let it fall by his side. he hastily pulled a bell-rope, when fru ingeborg's waiting-maidens entered, and carried their fainting lady to her own apartments. * * * what had taken place at möllerup was a secret known only to the initiated. the disguised strangers left the castle, one by one, at different times, and generally by night, as they had come. even in the immediate neighbourhood, no one seemed to have been aware of this secret gathering. in the castle itself no change took place. the four mailed watchers were still constantly to be seen on the tower. the drawbridge, as usual, was kept raised; and, notwithstanding its numerous garrison, everything was as quiet and still as if the fortress had been waste and deserted. the contract with duke waldemar had set the royal mind at rest; and the council of the kingdom did not appear apprehensive of any danger. the king and queen passed the beautiful summer at scanderborg castle, surrounded by their whole court, and the most considerable people of the country. old sir john, master martinus, and drost peter, had returned from stockholm with good tidings concerning the object of their mission. the negociations opened with king magnus chiefly referred to a closer alliance between the two royal houses, by means of a double marriage. the little danish princess mereté, who had been betrothed to the swedish crown-prince, was to be sent to the court of stockholm during the following year, where her education, according to agreement, was to be completed. in the same way the little swedish princess ingeborg was to be educated at the court of denmark, if the request were made. her betrothment to the danish crown-prince was concluded by a written document, but the public announcement of this alliance was to be deferred for a few years. with lively satisfaction, the danish ambassadors had beheld the little swedish princess, whom they hoped would one day be denmark's future queen; and even old sir john, who did not expect to live to see the time, could not speak of the pretty kindly child without particular animation, as if he expected in her another dagmar, who would bring peace and blessings to denmark. this prudent statesman, as well as drost peter, placed all his hopes of better times for denmark in the hopeful heir to its throne and his descendants. old sir john often sought to be useful to the young prince; and, with all his esteem for drost peter, he frequently shook his head when he saw how the young chivalrous drost desired to educate the prince's feelings of honour and justice to a degree that appeared to him dangerous. one day the old knight was present, with the queen's household, at scanderborg, to witness the prince's exercises in arms, and observed how he sought to convert these sports and exercises into gay and costly imitations of the ordinary jousts and tournaments; the young king, as he was always called, dispensing royal gifts to the squires, and pronouncing sentence with excessive severity on every transgressor of the laws of chivalry, as applicable to the game. the old counsellor smiled, and seemed to participate in the pleasure evinced by the queen and drost peter on the occasion; but, when the game was ended, he called the drost to his private room. "i am old," he said, seriously, "but i do not think i am niggardly or avaricious, although i may set greater store by outward fortune than you approve of. it is right that the prince should be liberal and magnanimous; but do not therefore teach our future king to be a spendthrift, and to despise the wealth of his people and their possessions, like the dust on which he treads. take care that he has not more regard for knightly pomp and splendour than for substantial power, true achievements, and real greatness." "god forbid!" said drost peter. "but, if the days of the great waldemars are to be restored--" "good, good. i know what you would say," interrupted the old knight: "therefore, if you would make a waldemar seier of prince erik, take care that his love of honour is not mere empty love of glitter, and his love of justice untimely obstinacy. he is a youth that, with god's help, much may be made of. you have a great charge, drost peter: consider it well. the swiftest falcon never makes an eagle. it is dangerous to attempt to create god's work anew; and he is a fool who tries to add a cubit to his own or another's stature." so saying, he warmly pressed the hand of his young friend, and left him. the drost found him, afterwards, as lively as usual; and it did not appear that he cared farther about giving his opinion in the matter. sir john's warning, however, disposed the drost to very serious thoughts, and he could not deny that the sagacious old man was right in many of his views. the learned master martinus, too, with the tenderest zeal, took upon himself, in his own fashion, the education of the prince; but he endeavoured in vain to form him into a philosopher, or to teach him his dry, logical _modos significandi_. the prince had great respect for the learned chancellor, but was never better pleased than when he could escape from his latin. at scanderborg, the merry, lively heir-apparent was most happy when engaged in games of chivalry with his active squires and pages, among whom the little friendly aagé jonsen was his dearest comrade. when, at such times, junker christopher would spoil the game by some wanton boyish trick, or cause division among the pages, the little king was always umpire; and his strict impartiality rendered him as much beloved by the young pages, as disliked by his quarrelsome brother. when his daily exercise in arms was over, it often pleased prince erik to take diversion on the lake at scanderborg, where his skilful tutor, drost peter, had also taught him to steer a boat easily and safely, even when the waters were roughest. drost peter's active participation in the affairs of government, as well as his care for the important crown-prince, forbade him almost to think of himself and his private affairs of the heart. but frequently, when boating with his pupil on the scanderborg lake till late in the evening, he would fall into deep thought, while steering the little vessel in the direction of the light from the ladies' apartment, that, from a lofty turret, looked out on the waters, like jomfru ingé's chamber at flynderborg. he would often, on these occasions, sit for hours in a kind of reverie, and steer for the distant light, without observing what was taking place around him, until a lusty squall or an uneasy tossing of the boat brought him to his senses. at times, when in these reveries, he would suddenly start up and reproach himself with his forgetfulness, when the daring prince erik had made a hazardous alteration of the sails, and, by so doing, had embroiled himself in a violent dispute with junker christopherson. the king's chief amusement was hunting, of which he was passionately fond, and for which he frequently neglected the most important state affairs. chamberlain rané was still his constant favourite. the crafty chamberlain was often absent on secret errands; but these appeared to have reference merely to the usual love affairs, or to miserable adventures of the basest description, which were generally pursued in connection with the king's frequent hunting expeditions. the queen did not appear desirous of knowing anything concerning them. since the last dane-court at nyborg, she had become singularly reserved and serious; and though she still affected the splendours of royalty, and showed herself with dignity at court festivals, she no longer took any part in the dancing, and withdrew herself more and more from the pleasures of the court. she seemed now to prefer the quiet, retired country life of the beautiful castle of scanderborg, where she partly busied herself with useful occupations. sometimes, when the king's absence embarrassed his advisers, the prudent queen would take his place in the council; and, on such occasions, all admired the delicacy with which she conducted the business, and avoided every appearance of assumption, while she sought to maintain the dignity of the throne, and to promote every plan that could alleviate the burdens of the people, or quench the still smouldering embers of sedition. with drost peter she conversed with favour and confidence, but with remarkable attention to the strictest forms of court. she never spoke to him except in the council, or in the presence of old sir john, when she had anything of importance to say to him in reference to the prince's education. notwithstanding the increased admiration with which he now regarded the fair and prudent queen, he felt, in her presence, as if bereft of his usual freedom and liveliness. but his heart did not take the same warm share in this admiration, as when, acknowledged as her knight and distinguished favourite, he wore her colours. when he now beheld her in her scarlet robe, and with a diadem of rubies in her dark hair, he still, indeed, thought her beautiful and majestic; but the tall and noble jomfru ingé, with all her simplicity, was, in his eyes, far more dignified, and the crimson hair-band in her golden locks far more beautiful than the glittering diadem of the queen. notwithstanding the king's partiality to rané, he always reposed the greatest confidence in drost peter, on whom he had bestowed many honourable proofs of his favour, especially since the drost's important and successful undertaking respecting the duke's imprisonment, and after the contract with that dangerous nobleman, who had ever since remained quietly at his castle in sleswick. no royal letter of any importance was issued which was not signed and sealed by drost peter, sir john, and the learned chancellor; whilst many important ordinances were prepared by the drost alone; and he was justly regarded as one of the king's most influential and favoured men. the king had often proposed to visit drost peter at his ancestral castle at harrestrup, where deer-hunting, especially in autumn, was excellent. this visit of honour was fixed for the month of september, and the drost made sumptuous preparations for the reception of the king and his court. but, on account of one diversion or another, the visit was postponed from week to week. the month of october passed away; and the drost began to think that the king had either forgotten it altogether, or intended to defer it until the following autumn. it was already the middle of november, but the autumn did not seem willing to give way to winter, and the many-coloured leaves had not yet all fallen in the woods. one morning, drost peter was surprised with a message from the king, brought by chamberlain rané, that his majesty would pay him a visit, next day, at harrestrup, and amuse himself for eight days in hunting. sudden resolves of this nature were not unusual on the part of the king, especially when they had reference to hunting expeditions, and were verbally announced by the chamberlain. although it was unpleasant for drost peter to receive rané's announcement, delivered, as it was on the present occasion, in a somewhat authoritative manner, he still behaved courteously, and left scanderborg without delay, to prepare everything to the king's wishes, and that he might, on the following day, receive him at his castle in person, with that respectful distinction which the forms of court-life demanded. he heard with pleasure that sir john would accompany the king, and that sir rimaardson would remain at scanderborg, as captain of the body-guard, with the queen and the young princes. from scanderborg to harrestrup castle, by the tortuous and uneven road, was a distance of above ten miles.[ ] it was somewhat advanced in the morning when drost peter left the palace, attended merely by his squire, claus skirmen, who had a second horse with him to change on the way. the drost rode so rapidly, and was so much engrossed in his own thoughts, that his squire several times began and broke off a conversation in which he could not bring his master to take the least interest. it was somewhat past noon when they caught sight of an eminence, of considerable height, at no great distance from harrestrup, which, from the south and west, can be seen at a distance of four miles, and may be known by the blueish haze, arising from the adjacent morass, that almost invariably covers it. "seest thou daugberg-daas, skirmen?" asked drost peter, pointing to the hill, as he drew up, and dismounted to change his horse. "six miles have been got over quickly. we may easily reach harrestrup before evening." "we shall get to harrestrup time enough," said skirmen, as he sprang from his norback and brought his master the other horse. "would that we may be only as fortunate in leaving it, sir!" "how so, skirmen? thou art not wont to be so reflective. what has happened to thee? thou seemest rather downcast." "nothing is the matter with me," replied skirmen, holding the stirrup for his master, "if nothing is the matter with yourself, or, perhaps, with the king. you may believe me or not, as you choose--but all is not right. 'tis true, indeed, they were so drunk that they could not see a fly on the wall; but a drunken man's jabber is not always to be despised. in our old ballads it is often said, that wisdom may be learnt in the song of birds, when it is understood. people, however, are not so wise now-a-days; yet still i think i can guess what the cock crowed this morning." "art thou crazed, skirmen? i cannot understand a word of this." "that, in sooth, is not my fault, stern sir," replied skirmen, mounting his horse, and riding on by his master's side. "for five long hours you have not cared to listen to what i have been telling you, but have allowed me to speak to the wind. trust me, something will come of this journey to harrestrup. did you not perceive how glad the crafty chamberlain was, when you rode off? did you not mark how eagerly he repeated, that the king would meet you at home like a careful host, i and that you were not, on any account, to ride out to meet him to-morrow?" "ay, truly: but that is merely a curious whimsy of the king's." "but none can better lead the king to your abode than yourself, sir. and is it not singular that you should be sent off beforehand, dancing to the chamberlain's pipe--you that are both a knight and a drost?" "no childish vanities, skirmen. i must obey the king's message, whoever brings it to me. i find nothing more remarkable in this than i have heretofore discovered in your sage suspicions respecting certain grayfriar monks, and hens, and rypen burghers. if the king will visit me, it follows, as a matter of course, that i must be at home beforehand, to receive him becomingly. sir john accompanies him, with his trusty jagers; and the country around here is perfectly quiet and secure." "how know you that, sir? no one can tell where niels breakpeace is; and the algrev is constantly cruising on our coasts; to say nothing of the marsk, at möllerup." "he is a knight, and not a highwayman; and niels breakpeace is no general. a prudent robber will never rub against the king's arm; and no pirate will venture within the coast-guard. so long as sir john and i are not afraid of highwaymen or rebels, you may make yourself quite easy, my good skirmen." "but have you not heard of the numerous grayfriar monks at rypen?" "are you there again, with your monks? why, there are plenty of them everywhere." "but they are not wont to ride about in troops, and during the night; and if, as people say, they have swords and knights' harness under their gray cloaks, it is not on god's service that these good gentlemen have sneaked into monks' habits." "who told you this?" inquired drost peter, with more attention. "the three men from rypen, who yesterday desired to speak with the king--they whom the king told, through chamberlain rané, that he had something more to do than listen to their stupid quarrels: it was on that account they were so angry. when i met them at the tavern, in the evening, they were completely drunk; but this much i could gather from their conversation--that it was not for nothing they had seen three suns in the heavens--" "sheer twaddle, skirmen! drunken people can see as many suns in the heavens as there are stars." "many sober people have also seen the same, sir. it betides a great misfortune, they said, and they could reveal things of great importance to the king. but he must now take care of himself, since he was too proud to speak with honest burghers." "ay, this is the loyalty now-a-days," exclaimed drost peter, indignantly: "when a man is offended, he bids his king and country a good day. if you thought there was anything more than vile superstition and silly braggadocia in this ale-gossip, why did not you inform me immediately?" "you were, with sir john, in attendance upon the queen and the princes, sir; and i did not wish to raise a blind alarm, on the instant, about such loose talk. the rypen burghers seemed as if they would take their ease for some days at the tavern, and this morning i was there betimes to meet them sober; but they had disappeared overnight, it was said, and no one knew what had become of them. i could not get speech of you this morning, on account of the chamberlain, and your many distinguished visitors; and ever since you mounted your horse, you have not listened to one word of all i have already told you--not even about the handsome cock with the necklace." "enough. to what does all this trifling tend? how can you imagine that i have leisure to think of your cock and his battles?" "but what if it should be the same bird you so much admired at flynderborg?" "flynderborg?" repeated drost peter, starting: "who talks of flynderborg? was it not at scanderborg the marvellous cock was to be seen, that gained the victory over all the rest?" "truly, sir; but it came from flynderborg, nevertheless: it is the selfsame bird respecting which you held such fair conversation with lady ingé, when she stroked his wings in the garden, on the hillock near the strand. i stood by, and ventured not to interrupt you. you had just been talking of hamlet's cunning, with his charred wooden hooks,[ ] and with the gad-fly and the straw; and lady ingé thought that her watchful bird had been a better sign of warning against treachery and danger." "and this bird, you say, is now at scanderborg?" "there is no doubt that it is the same: i made the discovery this morning. you may remember the fowler from zealand, who, one evening lately, forced his way to you into the palace, and wanted you to look at his hens? you closed the door against him, and thought him a simpleton. i, too, thought the man crazy, when he ran away, and let loose his best cock in the court of the palace. it first occurred to me this morning that the brave pugnacious bird was an old acquaintance. the falconer had caught him, for the sake of a crimson pearl-band he had about his neck. i procured the band, and certainly think i know it. you may, perhaps, know it yourself, sir." so saying, he drew forth a crimson riband, wrought with pearls in the form of a few white flowers. with blushing cheeks drost peter recognised lady ingé's hair-band. "let me have it," he said, eagerly; "it is mine." he pressed it closely to his lips, then concealed it in his bosom, and, setting spurs to his horse, rode on in the strangest frame of mind. he felt himself happy beyond measure, yet at the same time disquieted and uneasy. but the joyful hope awakened in his breast by the possession of the band, did not long sustain him. the mysterious warning, and the summons to vigilance, associated with this fond memorial, had, to him, a signification that almost forbade him to think of himself and his affection. what the patriotic maiden intended to communicate to him, by this mysterious symbol, appeared to him to have reference to the crown and the royal house alone. he suddenly checked his horse, and reflected whether he ought not at once to ride back to scanderborg, and accompany the king himself on the following day, or, rather, induce him to abandon the visit entirely. but when he considered how absurd such a course would appear to the king and his court, and the ridicule to which it might expose him, he relinquished the thought, with a smile at his own credulity. skirmen, in the meantime, had overtaken his master. "well, now," said the drost, "the cock may still be right. we shall be cautious; although, as the king travels with a considerable retinue, there is no rational ground for apprehending any impending danger. i shall, however, ride to meet him to-morrow, and follow him through the wood with my people. at harrestrup he can be safer than at scanderborg itself." "i think with you," replied skirmen: "at present, indeed, nothing farther can be done. but that there are night-birds in the moss, i certainly believe." they now rode on thoughtfully, and in silence. the night was beginning to darken as they passed daugberg church, and they continued their course northwards towards the town, through a long valley between considerable heights, wherein deep pits had been formed by the important lime-stone quarries. the dark green, newly-sprung winter corn grew on the heights, between heaps of stones and half-fallen groups of trees. the sight of this wild, picturesque spot awoke many youthful memories in the mind of the drost, and dissipated his uneasy thoughts. "here have i often played at robbers in my childhood," he said: "little thought i, then, that i should now be riding here in this serious mood." "look, sir!" said skirmen, riding close up to his master: "see you not something twinkling, and in motion, in that great gloomy pit?" "are you dreaming of robbers?" inquired the drost. "i see nothing." "now, also, do i see nothing," replied skirmen; "but the pit is full seventy ells deep--it could conceal a whole band." "the place is well suited for such fellows," observed the drost; "but hitherto, this spot has been secure enough. my brave warden tygé is not to be trifled with. do you see the old wheel on daugberg-daas? it still stands there, as a grave warning to rievers and highwaymen. the wood would better suit such gentry; but, there, old henner friser is on the outlook." "henner friser!" repeated skirmen, in astonishment: "is he here?" "it is true, indeed. you should not have known it, skirmen; but you can be silent. you may remember that he killed a royal squire in self-defence; and, to be out of the way of trouble on that account, he is attached to one of my hunting-seats." "which, sir? that of finnerup?" "well, then, since you have guessed so much, he resides there. but you must be silent on the subject." "i understand you, sir," replied skirmen, highly delighted: "i shall take care not to bring the brave old man and the pretty little aasé into trouble. but had they not better leave the hunting-seat for the next few days? how easily the king and his huntsmen might discover them! and, should that cursed coxcomb, rané, meet them--" "skirmen," replied the drost, "you are more circumspect than i. to-morrow, betimes, you can ride over and warn them." "thanks, sir, thanks!" exclaimed skirmen, jigging gaily in his saddle. they now entered a little plantation of young beeches and poplars. twilight descended, but they could still see the tall white trees. "i scarcely know my little kjælderriis again," said the drost: "see how proud my poplars are grown." "however good a look-out henner friser may keep, there are still poachers enough here," said skirmen. "i heard the twang of a steel-bow just now; and--do you not hear that rustling in the thicket there?" "nonsense, skirmen. it is my poplars, rustling me a welcome," replied the drost, "or a startled roebuck among the leaves. the rascals, however, should not be admitted here," he added: "probably the fences are not in good condition." they were soon out of the plantation, and then rode through a deep dale. the last glimmer of day still lighted up the brow of a considerable hill, which rose nobly from the valley. harrestrup castle lay before them, on the smooth and almost circular summit of the height. the castle was small, but so well fortified by nature that it required no artificial trenches; and its steep; lofty walls and buttresses seemed inaccessible to the most daring assailants. the entire castle appeared to consist of a single round tower, built of bricks and hewn stone. it was approached only by a steep and narrow pathway, which the tired horses had some trouble to ascend; the road, at every step, becoming narrower and steeper. drost peter and his squire at length dismounted, and led their horses over the most difficult spot, between two steep gullies crossed by a small drawbridge. as usual in time of peace, the bridge was down. at length the travellers stood by the castle-gate, which was closed. high over drost peter's head, on the summit of the wall above the gate, waved a large banner, adorned with the armorial bearings of the master of the castle--three parallel descending bars, _gules_ on a field _d'or_. "you have brought the horn, skirmen," said the drost: "blow a merry stave, that they may know we are here." skirmen carried a curved golden horn in a band over his shoulder. he set it to his lips, and blew the commencement of the air of the merry old ballad about sir john, who took the bride from her loutish lover. this signal was immediately answered from the tower by a brisk, youthful voice, which sang the burden to the well-known song:-- "bind up your golden helmet-- bind up, and follow sir john." "is it you, stern sir?" then inquired the voice from the wall. "ay, truly. open, tygé," replied the drost; and the great iron-studded door was instantly opened, and drost peter was received, with hearty pleasure, by his bold young warden and a numerous band of house-carls, all active young men, and, as was the warden, armed with round steel caps and bright halberds. a number of grooms and torchbearers also pressed forward to see and salute their master. drost peter shook hands with his warden, patted some of his house-carls on the shoulder, and nodded kindly to them all. "is everything in order?" he inquired. "to-morrow the king will be here." "came a kaiser himself here, sir," answered the warden, "you would not be ashamed of your house. dorothy has had the waxlights placed, and the tables covered, these two months. the whole castle has been cleaned, and is as bright as are our halberds. the pantry is full of choice viands, and the cellar of prime ale and sweet wine. if the king should stay the whole winter, he will not have to lick his fingers." "and the hunters, the hounds, and the falcons?" inquired the drost. "they are fleet and well-trained. you shall get honour by them, sir." "one thing more, tygé. is the neighbourhood secure? are there no poachers in kjælderriis, and no loose and suspicious people in daugberg quarries?" "why should such an idea enter your thoughts, sir? beggars and tinkers pass by here now and then: we give them bread and meat in god's name, and they touch not a rabbit in the woods, nor a feather in the hen-house. if the district were unsafe, we must have heard of it. no thief or robber may venture near harrestrup castle, so long as your banner hangs over the gate. have you perceived anything, sir?" "not i. it was only a fancy that seized skirmen on the road." "what, claus skirmen!" exclaimed the lively warden; "when wert thou wont to have old women's fancies?" "if you will trust me with half a score of house-carls, sir," said skirmen, quickly and decidedly, to the drost, "i shall yet perhaps, before you go to bed, show your confident warden that i have not had old women's fancies." "well, if you have a desire to see a little about you, you may have ten carls, willingly. if you do not break your neck in the pits, you must be here again before midnight. the moon rises late: have you torches?" "they are not required," said skirmen: "the darker the better. on foot, we can find our way blindfolded. take good care of my norback, lads. i shall have none of you with me but you, nimble john, and you, warder soeren, and you--" and he thus selected ten of the most active house-carls, and hastened from the gate with them, whilst the grooms led the horses to the stable. drost peter accompanied the castle-warden across the court, and up the stone steps, to the dwelling-house. before the young master of the castle partook of either rest or refreshment, he inspected the whole arrangements. he found everything in the best order, and prepared sumptuously to receive the king and his train. drost peter's old nurse, the careful dorothy, with a broom and dish-cloth in her hand, bustled towards him from the kitchen, and, in her extreme joy, would have embraced him. she was not a little proud of having been entrusted with the entire management of the domestic affairs of the castle. she wept with joy at the proud thought that she should be hostess to the royal party; and it was to her an honour without parallel, to be reigning queen of the kitchen and pantry on so important an occasion--the crowning event of her life. she dragged her young master about with her everywhere, to show him all the choice arrangements she had made for the convenience of the king and his great lords, and was inexhaustible in explaining to him how she had prepared for every hour of the day, so long as the royal visit should last. "good, good, my dear dorothy," said drost peter, at length, somewhat impatiently, and patting her kindly on the shoulder: "you have done everything excellently. i do not understand these matters, but i well know that you care for the honour of the house, as much as if you were my wife." "ah, dear young master," replied dorothy, kissing his hand, "when shall i have the heart's joy of seeing you cared for and received by a pious and handsome young housewife in the castle here? you truly deserve that one of god's dear angels should come to you. god's blessing rests here, and, like the prosperous joseph, you are, next to the king, the first man in the land; and, i dare be sworn, should potiphar's wife tempt you--" "enough, enough, dorothy," exclaimed drost peter, interrupting her, and blushing. "i do not doubt your good opinion of me." "ah!" continued dorothy, "but what avail you honour and fortune, my dear young master, when you live in this way, like a lonely bird in the world. trow me, fair sir, it is not good for man to be alone. so my blessed husband always said, god gladden his soul! he banged me well at times, the blessed creature, when he did not get warm hashed meat to supper--it was always a favourite dish of his--and every mortal has his weakness; but he was still a good sort of man, and as pious as an angel, after he had his supper. ay, ay; everything in the world is transitory. my happy days have gone by; and now i have no greater joy than to see you comfortable, my dearest young master; and could i once see my good peter hessel married, and rock his children and his children's children in my arms, i should willingly close my old eyes, and bid this weary world good night." so saying, she wiped a few tears from her withered cheeks with her kitchen-apron, without noticing warden tygé's dry remark how much she would be beyond a hundred years of age before all her wishes were fulfilled. "but come in now, my dear master, and take something to live upon," she added, going before him to open the door: "you are famishing, god help me, in your own house, and in the midst of all god's blessings." so saying, she ran back, and drew him with her into the clean, polished day-room, where she compelled him to sit down, while she busied herself about his refreshment. drost peter had still much to say to his warden; and having at length prevailed on dorothy to go to bed, he remained alone with tygé in the apartment. he then made inquiries into the condition of his estates and his subordinates, during which some hours elapsed. the warden had gone out to inspect his people, and had again returned. "it is late, tygé," said the drost, with a feeling of weariness: "what has become of skirmen? it is time all were retired to rest. before daybreak we must ride to meet the king, with our boldest swains. you have taken care that they hold themselves ready to start betimes?" "the knechts are already as sound asleep as stones," replied the warden; "but this is not according to my way of management. three of the carls who should have kept watch to-night, followed skirmen, and their posts stand vacant. this is sad irregularity, sir drost: it has never happened to me before, and you must graciously excuse me. it is strange enough, sir, but we two are the only souls awake in the castle. our house-carls are, at other times, brave and sober fellows; but, out of joy at your return, they have all looked a little too deep into the ale-can, and have tapped the german tun." "what? have you german ale in the castle?" inquired the drost, much displeased. "that, you know, i have strictly forbidden: it is contrary to the king's orders, which i and my people ought to be the first to obey." "i have said so, stern sir; but it was on dorothy's account: she would not let me have either peace or quiet until i had brought her a couple of barrels from viborg. without german ale, she thought it would be impossible to entertain the king's people becomingly, even if the king had ten times forbidden it. if he himself and his people thought good of it, there would be no sin in it, she argued." "'tis like her," said the drost, smiling; "and it must be so for the present; but to-morrow, betimes, let every drop of it run down the drain, whether dorothy be sour or mild." "it shall be done, sir; but for the sake of peace in the house, had you not better inform her of it, yourself? what now is this?" he continued, listening: "i fancied i heard a creaking at the door of the riddersal. i thought dorothy was sound asleep, but it would seem she is still bustling about. she is so zealous in her housewifery, that, at times, she gets up in the middle of the night, and dusts everything anew. it will be a god's blessing, however, if she does not get crazy with joy at all this magnificence. but, if you will allow me, sir, i will just see if it be her." taking one of the lights, he proceeded towards the door of the riddersal; but before he reached it, it was softly opened, and a wild, shaggy face peeped in, but instantly disappeared, and the door was immediately closed again. drost peter quickly rose, and the young castle-warden stood, as if petrified, with the light in his hand, in the middle of the floor. "death and misfortune!" he whispered: "skirmen has gone off with the court-warder, and has left the gate open. for a certainty, there are thieves or robbers in the house. let me rouse the house-carls? one does not know how strong the rascals may muster. i shall go through the kitchen, and do not open this door until i return." and as he spoke, he hastily placed the bar on the door of the riddersal. "well, make haste!" said drost peter: "if i saw aright, it was the bull's face of niels breakpeace. so, then, skirmen was right." the warden went quickly away, and drost peter stood alone in the apartment. he had drawn his sword, and leant upon it to collect himself and listen. he heard many voices in the riddersal. "is he here--is he here? how many are there?" inquired a number of low voices in the same breath. "there are only two men, and the cursed drost is one of them," uttered a deep gruff voice. "come, fellows: he shall not lead us into mischance again!" they attacked the door violently, but the bar held fast. "they have secured the door; but we can easily snap the bar," said the same harsh voice. "run against it, lads. let us break open the door--it yields!" the bar gave way with a frightful crash, the door flew open, and nine wild, sturdy fellows, with niels breakpeace at their head, rushed in, with short battle-axes and shining daggers in their hands. drost peter retreated a few steps, and placed himself with his back against the wall, in a position where he could defend himself for a time, and keep the rievers at bay with his long sword. he looked at the wild fellows sternly. "are you such vile niddings," he cried, "that ten of you must fight against one? i see at least one man amongst you who has received the honour of knighthood from denmark's king; and so far as i know, the stroke has not yet been washed from his shoulder with boiling water. stand forth, sir lavé rimaardson! you are the only one of these fellows with whom i can worthily do single battle for life or death. if there is yet a spark of honour in you, advance!" niels breakpeace and his comrades did not appear to notice this challenge, but pressed forward to overwhelm their single antagonist. "out of the way, rascals!" shouted a vehement youthful voice; and a handsome fellow, with a red feather in his cap, and a wild, audacious countenance, sprang forward. "whoever dares to touch the drost, save i, i cut down on the spot," he continued: "one to one, and ten to satan! come, drost peter hessel! this is the second time we have met since you made me an outlaw in denmark. on vaarby bridge i had a hindrance: had my brother's blood not been a little thicker than the water of the stream, you should never have crossed the bridge. we stand now on a greater bridge--one that leads from earth to heaven, or--hell, as it may happen; for here must either you or i bid this fair and pleasant world good night!" with these words, he threw aside his battle-axe and drew his sword, which was of the same length as drost peter's; and, that he might not have any advantage over his antagonist, who stood bareheaded before him, he cast his feathered cap on the floor. "well, if it is to be a regular cockfight, i am quite willing," growled niels breakpeace; "but if you don't make quick work of him, sir bigsnout, i shall." the coarse robber chief and his comrades laughed, well pleased, and formed a close circle round the two antagonists. there then began a warm and serious combat, but conducted according to all the laws and usages of chivalry. placing foot to foot, they swerved not a hair's breadth from their positions. neither of them used the point of the sword, but hewed with the sharp edge, and aimed only at the head and breast, or between the four limbs, as it is termed. the single light on the table only partially illumined the apartment; and the clashing swords of the knights met so quickly, that a glimpse of them could scarcely be caught. every instant threatened a mortal blow to one of them; but they both appeared equally skilled in their weapon, and neither of them could succeed in wounding his adversary, though, like constant lightning, their blades flashed over their heads. "shall i put an end to the game?" growled niels breakpeace, raising his broad battle-axe. "by satan! are you invulnerable?" shouted the robber-knight, springing impatiently towards his antagonist, and, contrary to the rules, with a daring and dangerous lunge. but at the same instant the sword fell from his grasp to the floor, together with the first three fingers of his right hand. "now, you shall never more swear falsely to your king and knighthood!" cried drost peter, enraged. "cut him down, the satan!" shouted the furious robbers, pressing in upon the drost, who, with his back against the wall, defended himself desperately. he had already received some wounds, and was bleeding freely, when the kitchen-door flew open, and warden tygé rushed in, with half a dozen half-intoxicated house-carls. they came staggering forward to assist their master, and a sanguinary battle commenced with daggers and axes. the robbers had still a great advantage over the reeling house-carls, who could scarcely distinguish friend from foe. with wild shouts they tumbled among one another, and drost peter and tygé alone fought with deliberation and security; but they were nearly overwhelmed, when a noise in the court and the sound of a horn were heard. "skirmen!" joyfully exclaimed drost peter and tygé at the same time, and their blows fell with redoubled energy. the robbers, taken by surprise, retreated with their crafty leader towards the entrance of the riddersal; but, in the next moment, the shattered door was entirely driven in, and skirmen rushed to his master's aid with ten active house-carls, two of whom had some trouble in restraining the fury of three men, whom they guarded, bound, between them. after a short but desperate resistance, the powerful niels breakpeace and his comrades were disarmed and bound. they cursed and vociferated furiously; but, at the drost's command, they were immediately led off to the tower-prison. lavé rimaardson still lay, with his hand mutilated, on the floor. the proud young robber had been for some moments without consciousness; and, when he now recovered his senses, he learnt what had happened, and found himself bound, and in the hands of his enemies. drost peter was about to bind up his wounded hand; but he instantly sprang up, tore away the bandage with his teeth, glared wildly around him, and would not suffer it to be dressed, cursing his limb, and conducting himself so furiously that it was requisite to use force with him. as soon as his hand was bandaged, his feet were set at liberty. "attend to him closely," said drost peter, as the warden was dragging him, struggling, from the door. "give him the best prison, and good fare. a great man may yet be made of him; and although his life is now in the king's hands, i shall rejoice if he can be saved from the wheel." "drost peter hessel," exclaimed the young robber, pausing on the threshold, in an attitude of defiance, "i hate you to the death; but you are a brave fellow, and i should not be ashamed of falling by your hand. if you can save me from the wheel, do so. but not for my sake: i can die on a wheel, in the open air, as easily as on a wretched bed. but i have a brother--and i bear a noble name:--you understand me?" he paused, and a convulsive motion of the muscles around his mouth betrayed feelings for which he instantly seemed to blush, as he strove to control them. "bear in mind that i am your fair queen's kinsman, and, perhaps, a little allied to yourself," he added, with a bitter smile. "but think not that i am afraid of death; and expect no thanks from me, if you save my life!" "away--away with him!" cried drost peter, provoked by his coarse allusions, and the daring accusation couched in his words and haughty mien. "by a perjured and dishonoured knight, no honest man need feel affronted," he added, turning his back on the prisoner, as the warden thrust him out of the door. "you are bleeding, sir," exclaimed skirmen: "allow me to bandage you." "all in good time," replied the drost. "i would first hear whether you deserve praise or censure. did you withdraw the court-warder from the open gate, and suffer the robbers to slip in, in order that you might look after them?" "if the gate was not locked after us, warden tygé must answer for that, stern sir," replied skirmen. "i did not trouble myself on that score. i led the carls to the great daugberg lime-pit, and there found something of what we were in search: three unruly fellows we have fettered and brought with us, and as much gold and silver as we could drag. when we returned, we found the gate open, and instantly noticed the confusion. it was a god's blessing we returned in time." "thou art a smart youth, skirmen," said drost peter, patting him on the shoulder; "i have seen thee fight like the best knight. the booty thou shalt bring to the king with thy own hands; and if he does not dub thee a knight, within a year and a day i will do it myself." "master! dear, good master!" cried skirmen, with the utmost glee, and warmly kissing his master's hand: "if ever i deserve to be knighted, let it be by this hand! it will do me far more honour than such a king's--" "skirmen!" interrupted drost peter, sternly and gravely, "dost thou, too, dare to censure my king and master? thou servest me at present: if, hereafter, thou shouldst be made a knight, thou wilt then serve the king and country; and no servant should despise his master." "but can you in your own heart, then, noble sir drost--" "i can be silent, where the heart cannot speak without making the tongue a traitor; and that is ever the case when it contemns majesty. be thou now also silent, and bandage me. there was still hero-blood in the arm that gave me this wound," he added, sadly, as he bared his arm. "this wild rimaardson fights well. god support his noble kinsman, when he learns what has happened here!" drost peter, attended by his careful squire, then went to his bed-chamber, and everything was soon as quiet in harrestrup castle as if nothing had occurred. before daybreak next morning, drost peter, together with twelve smart house-carls, was already on horseback, and rode off to meet the king. the castle-warden and the remaining house-carls he left behind, to wash out the traces of the night's encounter, and to guard the prisoners, who were chained in the tower. skirmen, with his master's permission, rode to the hunting-seat where henner friser and his granddaughter resided, to inform them of the king's arrival, and to attend to their security. drost peter did not regard his wounds as of much consequence, and had not troubled himself about skirmen's scruples, or his foster-mother dorothy's inconvenient attentions. it was not until long after the conflict with the robbers was over, that the old lady awoke, and became aware of what had occurred, when, in her anxiety for her dear young master, she went and awoke him in the middle of his most refreshing sleep, to ascertain his actual condition; and, notwithstanding his order to the contrary, she kept watch at his door for the remainder of the night. in fact, it was not until she had seen him lively and active on horse back, that she found time to cross herself whilst lamenting over the sad havoc and confusion that pervaded her hitherto well-swept and polished apartment; and whilst she sought to remedy the disaster by the aid of brooms and scouring-cloths, she was doomed to the farther sorrow of beholding, on a fasting stomach, the pitiless tygé tap the whole of the german ale into the sewer. the sun had not yet risen when drost peter, with the twelve house-carls, rode by daugberg quarries. he stopped to examine the spot, and inquired of the house-carl john, who had accompanied skirmen, how they had managed to seize the three fellows, and to possess themselves of the immense booty. "that i shall soon tell you, sir," replied the house-carl. "as we stood on this spot, we saw a light in yonder big hole. none of us had exactly a fancy to enter it; but the mad skirmen outshamed us, and immediately crept into the mouth. we then took courage to follow him. the light must have been that of satan himself, and we were certainly a hundred ells under ground before the steps ended. one could not see the other, and many of us came down on our faces on the confounded smooth limestone. we were, however, as still as mice, and i could hear porter soeren breathing through his nose. where skirmen had got to, god only knows; but we suddenly heard a wild cry, and the noise and clash of weapons in the dark, a little way before us. we started forward after the sound, and i got hold of a long nose, and held fast; but to the nose there belonged a pair of sturdy fists, and i had a long struggle with the fellow before i got him on the ground. porter soeren had also his work to do with a fellow still stronger. one, skirmen overpowered; and those who had not taken a robber, struggled with one another to their heart's content. at last jasper strongwind arrived with a lighted brand he had got hold of; and as soon as we saw how matters stood, and that we had got hold of all that were to be found, we bound them hand and foot, and resolved to empty the treasury; and then the job was done." "the luck was better than the judgment," said drost peter; "but still, i must confess that skirmen is a bold fellow. i should not like to imitate this adventure." while they were yet speaking, a horseman, in a gray cloak, and mounted on a gray steed, overtook and passed them at full gallop. none of them had seen him on the way, and they therefore supposed that he had issued from one of the quarries. "light the torches, carls," cried drost peter, dismounting. "we must search these robbers' dens before we go farther." they lighted some of the torches which they had brought with them to illuminate the road, if the king should arrive late; and, whilst six of the house-carls were left with the horses, drost peter, with the others, proceeded to search the suspicious pits and holes. from the first quarry which they examined, they brought several weapons, and two gray cloaks and hood-masks; the other pits they found empty, and without any traces of having been recently used as a retreat for robbers. for perfect security, however, drost peter left behind four carls, as a watch over them, and, in profound thought, rode forward with the others on the way to scanderborg. the king, according to his appointment, had left the palace early; for, however frequently he might change his mind on other matters, he was extremely punctual with regard to journeys of pleasure. drost peter met him half way from harrestrup; and when he informed him of what had occurred there, and mentioned the large booty which had been taken from the robbers, the king appeared much gratified, and continued his journey without delaying. old john little, as well as chamberlain rané, and a number of huntsmen, who accompanied the king, seemed to listen to the drost's relation with some doubtfulness; while his sharp looks detected an uneasy expression in rané's countenance. but when the drost informed them that he had himself searched the daugberg quarries, and set a watch over them, the doubts of the old knight appeared to vanish, and he laughed, and jested gaily, but at the same time kept his eye, unobserved, on every look and gesture of the chamberlain. it was past midday when the king and his train stopped at the celebrated lime-quarry, which he had previously determined to examine, and which he could not now pass without some attention. when he perceived the armed house-carls before the pits, he started, and inquired of the drost if they were his people, and with what view they kept watch there, since the robbers had been seized, and the caves searched. "it is still possible that we have not discovered them all, sir king," replied the drost. "perhaps, too, they belong to a confederacy which it were important to root out. so long as your grace remains at harrestrup, i consider it my duty to watch these lurking-holes closely." the house-carls, with lighted torches, stood by the entrance to the largest pit, when the king, dismounting, advanced a few steps and looked timidly into it. "it is not worth wasting time upon," he exclaimed, suddenly, and proceeded to remount. "whoever chooses may descend. run thou, rané: it was thou who had so much to tell me of this lime-quarry." "it is certainly worth seeing, sir king," replied rané, as he zealously prepared himself to descend, along with a number of huntsmen and falconers. old sir john had also dismounted; and, taking a torch, he examined the pit with much interest, but without venturing down. "it was a good capture, drost peter," observed the king, as they rode leisurely on: "they were a daring and dangerous band. this famous niels breakpeace shall not again escape; for, before sunset, they shall all be executed. we can thus sleep soundly to-night, and begin the chase early in the morning." drost peter remained mute. "why are you silent?" continued the king. "have they not been seized by yourself in the open commission of robbery? such fellows deserve not a long trial." "they arc all punishable with death," replied drost peter, "but it is still desirable that they were allowed time to shrive themselves, and look to the salvation of their sinful souls." "the time will not permit," replied the king. "i shall not sleep under the same roof with robbers and murderers. if i am to be your guest, drost hessel, these malefactors must sleep on the wheel to-night." "if you command it, sir king, they can be conducted this evening to viborg prison, and you need neither rest under the same roof with them, nor consign them to so sudden a doom. there are men amongst them born to something better than to end their lives so shamefully and unexpectedly." "none are born to that," replied the king, musingly. "if one could know what was sung at his cradle, if it had any meaning," he continued, "i should be glad to learn what was sung at ours: it would be well to know that in these times. is there any one of note among them?" "there is one of them, at least, who belongs not to the outcasts of humanity--in whom there is still left a remnant of honour and of lofty mind; and whose soul, perhaps, may still be saved. his birth and rank are certainly now his strongest accusers: he is of high and noble blood, and from your own royal hand, sir king, he had the honour to receive the stroke of knighthood." "that does not plead for him, truly. there you are right. he must die: a noble-born knight deserves to be punished with tenfold severity, when found among robbers and highwaymen. who is he?" "sir lavé rimaardson--your noble queen's kinsman, and brother of the trusty bent rimaardson." the king started, and drawing up his horse, he threw on drost peter a scrutinising glance, in which, as he blinked uneasily, a secret suspicion might be traced. "the queen's kinsman, say you?" he exclaimed--"the outlaw, lavé rimaardson?--he who has dared to defy me, and to stir up the peasants to rebellion?--he whom you yourself assisted to adjudge an outlaw?" "even he, sir king." "and you would now defend a rebel, and intercede for so vile a criminal, drost hessel?" "defend him i will not, sir king; but to crave mercy for a sinner, i still may dare. with the most righteous of all judges, clemency is the greatest quality. i pray you, my king, to consider his brother's services to the crown and country, and his relation to yourself and the royal house." "no! i shall now prove to you, and to my faithful subjects," replied the king, with secret satisfaction, "that, in the exercise of justice, i have no respect to high descent and birth, nor even to those allied to me by consanguinity and princely blood. sir lavé rimaardson i will myself see upon the wheel before the sun goes down. onwards!" the king set spurs to his horse, and all followed. those who had been examining the pit, hastened to overtake him, and sir john again rode by his side. the old knight had not heard the conversation just related, but he observed that the king was chafed and disquieted. he rode on in silence, for some minutes, with unusual rapidity, but not inattentive to the king's angry looks and drost peter's uneasiness. "why hasten you thus, sir king?" at length inquired the old knight. "yonder you may see the tower of harrestrup castle, and the sun is yet far up in the heavens." "so much the better!" observed the king. "who is the executioner of felons here? where resides the hangman of the district?" "daugberg-daas is the place appointed for executions, sir king," replied sir john, who was well acquainted with everything relating to the administration of law in the country: "that was the wheel, which we saw above the lime-quarries, yonder. the officer of justice you inquire for has free quarters in daugberg." "good: let him be summoned immediately." the old knight was surprised, but obeyed without replying, and instantly dispatched a huntsman back to daugberg for the executioner. he then continued to ride silently by the king's side until he considered his momentary irritation was allayed. "you do not intend to render your entrance to the castle of harrestrup memorable by a sudden execution, sir king?" asked the old counsellor, as he now rode alone with him up the narrow pathway. "i do not intend to intercede for such gross offenders: severity is, in these times, highly necessary; but, when we have them securely captive, and there is no rebellion in the country, i like not such hasty justice." the king was silent, and blinked uneasily. "such haste, my king," continued old john, "may easily lead to injustice, or be regarded as a sign of fear, which may weaken the confidence of your people in the power of the state. a giant, conscious of his strength, need not hasten, for his security, to slay a few captive pigmies. besides, not even the greatest criminal ought to be sentenced without a legal trial." "the crime is manifest," exclaimed the king, erecting himself; "the law is well known; and doom i now pronounce:--they shall be broken on the wheel. you shall conduct them to the place of execution, sir john; and you will be answerable to me that the law and sentence are fulfilled, in all their severity, before the sun goes down. i will hear no objections--it is my royal will." sir john remained silent, and they rode slowly up the steep path to the castle, where drost peter dismounted, and placed himself by the side of the king's horse. the train of attendants had stopped, and there was now heard, behind, the quick tread of horses, and the rumbling of wheels. the huntsmen and falconers looked back: it was the messenger sir john had dispatched for the headsman. he approached at full gallop, with a little broad-shouldered companion, on a miserable hack. the stranger wore a hairy cap, and a short, blood-red cloak; and held a large bright axe in his hand, whilst a sword of unusual length hung over his saddle-bow. a couple of rough-looking fellows followed with a small cart, in which were chains, fetters, a wheel, and all manner of horrible instruments of death and torture. with this fearful train, the king and his company ascended to harrestrup castle. drost peter was silent, and sir john spake not a word. outside the gate, and unknown to her master, old dorothy had erected a triumphal arch, which was adorned with wreaths of box, yew, holly, and all the flowers that could be procured at that season of the year; whilst she herself stood by the side of it, arrayed in white, with a large nosegay in her hand, and attended by her pantry-maids and milkmaids, prepared to receive the king in a fashion which she intended should please and surprise both him and her dear young master. since the king had pardoned her, when she was condemned to be buried alive for her womanly honour's sake, she had never been able sufficiently to extol his clemency and graciousness; and now, on this extraordinary occasion, to show her gratitude, she had, for more than two months, been exercising all the servant-maids of the castle in a ballad, which they had never heard sung before, but which was necessarily joined to a popular old tune. this song, which she had received from her confessor, was a free translation from the schwabian meistersinger, reinmar von zweter's, flattering verses on the king, wherein, however, some of the true features of royalty were caught. outside the arch, and opposite to dorothy and her maidens, stood the warden tygé, with a portion of the brave garrison of the castle. dorothy had decked their helmets with silk ribands and green sprigs, and, with their bright halberds in their hands, they stood in a respectful posture, and as immoveable as statues. when drost peter perceived these festive preparations, so little suited to his own frame of mind, and to the harsh appearance of the royal train, he was singularly and painfully affected. the slightly-built arch was not unlike a gallows; and the old nurse, in her white dress, reminded him of the so-called corpse-women, who conducted interments in commercial towns. at the head of the ridiculously dressed-up milkmaids, who were intended to represent fine ladies, dorothy felt as dignified as a queen. in a less serious mood, this spectacle would perhaps have extorted a smile from the lively young drost; but now it augmented most painfully his gloomy state of mind. the king did not appear to give much attention to these tokens of homage, which he was accustomed to see in every small trading town, and even where he knew that he was detested by the majority of the inhabitants. such demonstrations of homage were most frequently got up by the crafty chamberlain, who sagaciously reckoned that, if these flatteries did not always obtain the king's applause, they seldom called forth his displeasure. notwithstanding the tastelessness and farcical character of this parade, it was apparent that it was prompted by simple good-nature and true respect for the king, when the old nurse, with her thin, tremulous notes, and accompanied by the grating voices of the juttish milkmaids, offered to him, in danish, the german meister-singer's homage:-- "i prize the king who wears the crown, and brings the country great renown. "he helps the widow in her need; his bounty doth the orphan feed. "he guards his land--his name is dear to all his people, far and near. "his heart is warm, and great his mind; his speech to one and all is kind. "his hand is just to great and small, nor riches do his heart enthral. "and he whose fair renown i sing. is erik, denmark's famous king." the aged but zealous leader of the songstresses now first fixed her eyes upon the king, and when she beheld his austere countenance and blinking eyelids, she became deadly pale. she stared at him, like a sorceress who had conjured up some fearful spirit, and was suddenly horrified on beholding the mighty unknown which her incantations had summoned forth. she involuntarily crossed herself, and turned away her look; but the apparition of the executioner and his rough assistants, who closed the procession, raised her terror so high that her senses forsook her, and, with a convulsive shriek, she fell to the ground. the king succeeded in curbing his startled horse, and rode hastily in with his retinue. drost peter, who had not observed what occurred, hastened to assist the king from his saddle, and conduct him to the large riddersal, where stood a table magnificently spread, and where the king, by another of dorothy's arrangements, was received with a burst of music more sprightly than harmonious. the band was composed of rustic fiddlers and shawm-blowers, who were wont to exercise their skill at the weddings and merry-makings of the peasants. they scraped and blew with might and main, until the perspiration stood on their foreheads. they bowed so profoundly, too, and were at the same time so zealous to please the king, that they produced the most woful discords. drost peter silenced them, and sent them away; whilst the irritated monarch held his ears, and chamberlain rané, with a malicious smile, praised drost hessel's ingenuity in providing so pleasant a surprise for his majesty. "this device of my old foster-mother's is better meant than happily executed, sir king," said drost peter. "i hope you will excuse such an innocent blunder of my domestics, who are not acquainted with courtly manners." the king, who had become absorbed in thought, made no reply. "i am not very tenderhearted," observed sir john; "but i confess that this cat-music has quite softened me, for i perceive that it was well and honestly meant." the king appeared not to hear this remark; and sir john addressed himself to the drost: "was it your nurse who sang to us outside, drost peter? i scarcely recognised her in her finery." "i scarcely knew her myself," replied the drost: "in her simplicity, she wanted to surprise me, too, with all this pomp." "she screeched like an owl; but, nevertheless, it was quite touching," said the old knight, in his usual gay and careless tone, desirous to bring the king into a better humour, and dispose him to defer the executions he had so suddenly determined on. "the good women sang your grace and clemency, my king," he continued; "but they lost their voices when they perceived the hangman in your train. will you not, then, sleep on your resolution tonight, and allow us to send the prisoners to viborg? methinks it were better to partake of an enlivening meal here, than to dwell on such serious matters?" this latter suggestion, which drost peter supported by pointing to the seat of honour, seemed to meet the king's approbation. he remained silent, but took his place at the table, and swallowed one or two goblets of wine. old sir john attempted to introduce some lively conversation, but failed in his design of putting the king into better humour. in the court, opposite the window, sat the executioner on his raw-boned horse, awaiting, with his ferocious assistants, the king's commands. dorothy was carried sick to bed; and the sight which had operated so violently upon her, had also made a singularly painful impression on the other domestics. warden tygé, in the meanwhile, attended to the huntsmen, falconers, and pages, who were sumptuously entertained in three different apartments. but throughout the castle as great a silence reigned as if a funeral company had been assembled. the king suddenly arose. "i will see the fellows," he said, in a tone of determination: "there can be nothing wrong in that. let them be brought hither, drost; but heavily chained, and under a strong guard." drost peter immediately left the apartment to execute this order, and in a minute afterwards he again entered the riddersal. the king was pacing the floor with rapid steps, whilst sir john and the chamberlain stood silently watching the changing expression of his countenance. drost peter had also been standing for some moments in silence before the king's eyes met his. "they will be here instantly, sir king," he said, advancing. "permit me yet one word. none of these men were taken in any robbery. they have not deprived me of my property; and sir lavé rimaardson did not attack me until i challenged him to single combat. he cannot be condemned as a robber before investigation, and a formal trial, according to the laws of the country." "silence!" replied the king: "an outlaw has no rights. but here we have them: i shall examine them myself." niels breakpeace and twelve chained robbers now entered, under guard of warden tygé and his armed house-carls. the robber-chief stepped forward with an air of proud defiance, at the head of his comrades; but lavé rimaardson, who seemed to blush at being found in such company, remained in the rear. "who is your leader?" inquired the king. "i!" answered niels breakpeace, looking so daringly at him that he retreated a step. "what is your name?" "that every child in denmark knows," replied the haughty robber: "with it the mothers can still their cubs, if even they have a knife in their throats. my name is sufficient to scare into corners all the wenches in your kingdom, and many a big-nosed fellow, too. if i had but an arm free, sir king, i should not give you time to hear my name out. niels breakpeace i am called. if you were as able a king as i am a robber, it would be better for kingdom and country, and perhaps i should now have been at your right hand." "you confess, then, you are a robber, and that these fellows are your accomplices?" "were we to deny it, we should be scoundrels and mean scurvy fellows," replied niels breakpeace. "lies and deceit you are perhaps accustomed to at court. i and my comrades are still honest in this respect." "good!" exclaimed the king. "you all know, then, the punishment to which the law condemns you. prepare yourselves, therefore, to die within an hour." "as well first as last, sir king! we all go the same way. but if you will suffer me to live till to-morrow, i will tell you something that may be of service to you, and that will, perhaps, defer our otherwise speedy meeting in another place." the king opened wide his eyes, and cast a glance at chamberlain rané, who gave him a secret wink, and pointed to the dirk-handle which projected from the breast-pocket of the robber-chief. "ah, indeed!" said the king, again turning to the robber. "so, fellow! you would raise fear and curiosity in me, to obtain a respite, that you might escape, and do fresh mischief. no, no! that trick is stale and worn-out. if you cannot hit upon something better, you shall not live out the present hour." "'tis well! let me go before, and prepare your place. this service i shall do you for old acquaintance' sake. there, now, you need not look so lofty, your grace! we two will soon be the same height, on the straw. what you and your equals do in the great way, i and mine have done in the small, you see: that is all the difference. if, for that, you will make me your herald to the other world, i must submit; today, you have still the power to do so: but you will rue it, sir king! we shall soon meet again, and then you will confess that niels breakpeace intended better towards you than yourself." "put him aside!" commanded the king: "he shall be executed the last. if he does not confess that which he says he can acquaint us with, he shall be put to the severest torture: you hear, sir john--the severest." sir john replied by a silent bow to this stern mandate. an expression of sorrow was visible in the countenance of the old knight; but he hastily drew his hand across his furrowed brow, and was again calm and composed. "come forward, lavé rimaardson," cried the king; and the wild and desperate youth advanced, with an air that awoke the utmost pity and compassion in all, save the king and chamberlain rané, both of whom regarded him with secret anxiety. "it was you whom i dubbed a knight with this sword, three years ago," said the king; "and now the hangman of your native town shall break your knightly weapon, and suspend your shield, reversed, beneath the gallows. you confess that you have been associated with these audacious and notorious robbers?" "yes, king erik christopherson," answered the young robber; "i confess that, and more: had we two met in daugberg quarry, half an hour since, you should no more have seen the sun go down than i now expect to do." "ha! a conspiracy!" exclaimed the king. "you are not merely robbers and highwaymen--you are traitors, and audacious regicides! who has paid you for the king of denmark's life?" "i am not a hired assassin," replied lavé rimaardson, proudly: "i am a knight of princely blood, and no king shall offend me with impunity. in the hour that you adjudged me an outlaw, i swore your death and downfall, king erik! and were my right hand now free, i should keep my oath, and this moment would be your last." "madman!" exclaimed the king, stepping back; "if, by such audacious confession, you think to gain a respite, you are mistaken: you shall not even have time to name your accomplices, if you have them." "there you are wise, king erik," replied rimaardson, with a contemptuous laugh. "be sparing of the moments you have yet at your disposal. you know not how few they are; and, when your hour of reckoning comes, you will have more to account for than the sinners you now condemn to the rack and wheel." "peace, wretch!" cried the king, enraged; but an uneasy blinking of his eye seemed to indicate a sudden change in his feelings. "your life is in my hands," he continued: "you are an outlaw and a rebel, a robber and murderer, and have even sought the life of your king and master; but drost hessel has testified that there is still within you a remnant of honour and of chivalrous spirit. your brother bent, too, is a trusty and deserving man; and your ignominious death, in company with these felons, would cast a shadow even on my throne. think you not now, that king erik christopherson could still show you favour?" "yes! with endless imprisonment in fair sjöborg: is it not so?" replied the haughty prisoner. "no! i do not, by a perjury, sell my soul and salvation, or, to save my life, forswear my revenge: it shall and must arrive, if not by my hand, by another's! when the harvest is ripe, reapers enough are to be found--" "satan, speak out! what mean you?" cried the king, in painful uncertainty. "wretched felon! know you not that i have racks at hand? look through that window: there stands he who can unbind your tongue." "it is unnecessary, king erik," replied the prisoner, suppressing his voice, but raising his head and gazing on the king with a dreadful look: "your hangman need not cut me for being tongue-tied. if you will hear the truth, i shall not conceal it in my dying hour. however great may be my crimes," he continued, in a louder tone, "i am still superior to the nidding who betrayed and dishonoured the wife of his best friend, whilst he bled in the nidding's behalf in the field of battle. if the brave stig andersen does not take full revenge for his wife's dishonour--if the blind, crazy father of fru ingeborg has not sight and sense enough remaining, to guide his sword into the false heart of king erik--then there is not an honest drop of blood in the hearts of danish nobles, and they deserve no better king than they have got." the king had become deadly pale, whilst he foamed with rage, and his hand convulsively clutched the hilt of his large sword. he plucked the weapon from its scabbard, and rushed furiously on the prisoner, who remained immoveable, and laughing wildly. drost peter sprang between them. "this is no place of execution, sir king," he said, warmly; "and you are no executioner, to slay a defenceless prisoner. he is an insolent traitor, it is true, and i no longer intercede for his life; but my house shall not be stained by a deed unworthy of yourself and your crown. if you will and must have the blood of this youth, you have brought an executioner with you." the wild rage of the king had suddenly abated. he angrily bit his lips, as he sheathed his sword, and cast a look at the daring drost, which plainly enough indicated that this was the last time he should suffer himself to be guided by such a bold adviser. "well, drost hessel," he said, coldly, "you are right: i had nearly forgotten my kingly dignity in the insolence of this daring criminal, and you have not been far from forgetting the respect you owe to your king. i shall, however, follow your wise advice. have the prisoners conducted to the place of execution, sir john. lavé rimaardson is the first who falls: that honour i award to his high birth. he shall die by the sword; but his head shall be placed on a pole, and the foxes shall tear his limbs to pieces. the others shall be broken alive on the wheel. now, away!" sir john gave the warden a signal to lead forth the prisoners. lavé rimaardson cast a look of contempt towards the king. in going, he laid his wounded right hand upon his breast, and, with averted face, he silently pressed drost peter's hand with his left. at the door, niels breakpeace sprang strongly upwards, rattling his chains. "merry now, comrades!" he cried, with a shout of wild laughter: "let me now see you behave yourselves like men, and thrust out your tongues bravely until they are bit off. follow my example till the last, and do honour to your chief. when you have seen them all on the wheel, sir king," he cried, in a tone of mockery, and once more turning round haughtily, "then comes the turn of those of greater note. if you come yourself, and, like a merciful headsman, give me my finishing stroke, i shall whisper a secret in your ear, of which you will know the truth when st. cecilia's day is gone by." with these words he departed. the king turned away with a look of contempt, but seemed discomposed by the parting words of the robber-chief. "stay!" he cried. "yet, nay, they shall not befool me, the crafty vermin! i know their tricks. with such mysterious talk has many a hardened villain escaped the gallows. let my horse be brought forth, rané. i shall observe, from a distance, whether they maintain their defiance to the last." rané went out, and soon afterwards returned, saying, "the horse is at the door, your grace." "your's, too?" "at your command, sir king." "i think, however, i shall consider. people do not sleep soundly after such sights, and we must be up betimes in the morning. all is ready for the chase, drost hessel?" "nothing shall be wanting, sir king," replied the drost, with a look of composure, which ill concealed the agitation of his feelings. "i shall, nevertheless, ride to daugber-daas," observed the king: "it is still a diversion, and people may shut their eyes on what they do not care to see. you must confess yourself, my conscientious drost, that, in this matter, i have been both just and gracious." drost peter bowed, but said nothing. "my polite host bears me company, of course?" added the king, in an apparently friendly tone, but with anger in his heart. "it will be much against my feelings, my king; but if you so command, i obey. no injustice has taken place, i confess: but this is not a royal spectacle, and i wished you worthier entertainment on this visit, which, now, i dare not call gracious." "let us set off. you can follow me," said the king, as he departed. rané smiled; and drost peter followed his royal guest, with a tortured heart, and in the gloomiest mood. next morning, when the sun arose, he shone on the corpses of the thirteen robbers on daugberg-daas. in the valley beneath was heard the merry sound of horns and the baying of hounds, as a magnificent hunting-train rode by. at its head, between sir john and drost peter, was the king, in a handsome green hunting-suit. behind them, bearing falcons and other hunting-gear, rode six smartly dressed pages, among whom was the little kindhearted aagé jonsen, bearing the king's favourite falcon. next came, at the head of a troop of royal huntsmen, having thirty hounds in leashes, the chamberlain rané, who, like those he headed, was lightly armed with a bow and short hunting-knife; but he wore, besides, a magnificent small sword, with glittering gems in a hilt of silver, which the king had recently presented to him as a testimony of his favour. squire skirmen was absent, as he had not yet returned from his visit to henner friser at the forest-lodge. he had obtained permission to remain until the afternoon of this day; and his place was now taken by warden tygé, who closed the cavalcade in company with some archers, and a few active huntsmen from harrestrup. as the king passed daugberg-daas, he closed his eyes, and gave the spur to his steed. when they had left the hill some distance behind, he turned to his right, and addressed old sir john. "they obstinately maintained their defiance, then?" he said. "yesterday evening, i wished not to disturb my night's rest by listening to the end of your narrative; and i went not so near to the spot myself that i could hear what they said. would the audacious niels breakpeace reveal nothing?" "not a word, sir king; but he laughed horribly in the pangs of death, and promised that, within eight days, he would tell you all he knew." the king blinked anxiously, and became pale. "tell me, my dear sir john," said he: "do you think all the threats and warnings the fellow hinted at, were anything more than crafty inventions, with which he hoped to escape the gallows?" "i know not that, sir king; but, in your place, i should not have so greatly hurried the execution of their sentence. the mere fact that an outlawed knight, of such high birth, was found among these robbers, seemed to me, even without their own confession, certain proof that they were here on a more important and daring undertaking than plundering the pantries and wine-cellars of harrestrup. they might have given us valuable information." the king, as he listened to sir john, became more and more uneasy. "by satan!" he exclaimed, warmly, "i felt constrained to make quick work of them, effectually to prevent any of their daring designs being accomplished. but why did you not inform me of these wise conclusions when they were alive? your prudence comes too late now, sir john." "you would not hear a word from me, sir king; and when i have an express royal command, i must be silent and obey; especially where, as in the present case, it is undeniably just, and according to the letter of the law." "now, by the rood! we shall think no more of it," exclaimed the king, endeavouring to overcome his uneasiness; and at the same time he set spurs to his horse, and ordered the huntsmen to strike up a lively hunting-air. drost peter was grave and silent. the king had not yet spoken a word to him; and the sharp-sighted drost read in his manner, as well as in that of the crafty chamberlain, that his fall was determined on, and that the formal announcement was only delayed in order that it might not mar the day's pleasure. but the depressing conviction that his power and influence were at an end, was outweighed by doubts of far greater importance respecting the welfare of the kingdom, which had been called forth by lady ingé's admonition to watchfulness, and the circumstances connected with the capture and execution of the robbers. sir john, on the contrary, appeared to have abandoned every gloomy and disquieting thought. in his youth he had been a bold huntsmen, but for many years had not partaken of this noble diversion. the sound of the horns and the cries of the chase awoke within him lively recollections of his early days, and, as the king's companion in the sport, he considered it his duty to be as cheerful and entertaining as possible. when the first game was started, the king engaged eagerly and passionately in pursuit. for dexterity in the chase he was without a rival; and he now rushed with wild impetuosity among the huntsmen and unleashed hounds, and, as usual, was highly admired by the strangers, as well for his rapidity, as for the certainty with which he brought down his game. not without difficulty could old sir john follow him; although he took care to make it appear that it did not cost him any exertion. recalling the memory of his young days, he gave his mettlesome hunter the reins, and took the most daring leaps over ditches and fences. drost peter was accustomed to such violent sport, but on this occasion he often felt himself painfully reminded of his recent wounds. this gloomy mood was speedily augmented by the concern he felt for sir john, who, he plainly saw, was exerting himself beyond his strength; and he knew that it was useless to caution the old knight concerning it. however merry the latter appeared, he had, nevertheless, intimated to the drost, by a look, that he shared his grave doubts, and considered it highly essential that the hunt should keep together. if, now and then, they paused by a fallen deer, the chamberlain had instantly another in sight, and the king again dashed off with renewed ardour. at length they reached a beautiful forest-glade, in which they halted to rest their horses, and to partake of a midday meal; during the preparation of which the chamberlain was inexhaustible in entertaining the king with pleasant hunting-stories. they seated themselves on the trunk of a fallen oak-tree. the cloth was spread on the fresh moss; at a little distance the huntsmen had encamped themselves, and the spoils of the chase were piled up close by. the pages waited on the king, who appeared in a good humour, and well contented. "it is a chivalrous and right royal diversion," said sir john, in answer to the king's question whether he had enjoyed himself. "in my young days, i was passionately fond of it; but now i am too old and stiff for the sport. another time, sir king, i shall do better to remain at home, like the old hunting-steed." "you would come with me, however," said the king. "your fancy for it certainly surprised me." "it was not entirely for the sake of the chase, sir king," said the old man, gravely, and with an observant look at rané. "i am but little acquainted with this part of jutland," he added, hastily: "i am glad, also, to see our good drost hessel in the capacity of host." "you have seen, then, that he is master of his own house, and keeps strict watch over the security of his guests," replied the king, with a bitter smile: "even highwaymen and murderers are safe beneath his roof." "if in that he went a little too far, your grace," said sir john, "i pray you, for my sake, not to be offended with it. i did not regard the prisoners as so dangerous." "i must confess, sir king," observed drost peter, "that this business of the robbers was of more importance than i believed; but they have now ended their lives and crimes together. if on that occasion i erred, and for a moment forgot the respect i owed my royal guest, let not this day's sun go down upon your wrath, my king. if i have lost your royal grace in consequence, suffer me at least--" "enough of this!" interrupted the king, coldly. "i have come here to amuse myself, and not to sit in judgment every day. i am master of my own thoughts, and you shall know my determination at the proper time. let the huntsmen strike up." rané hastily gave a signal to the royal horn-blowers, who stood on a rising ground, at a little distance, and who immediately commenced a bold hunting-air, called king waldemar seier's hunt, and to which the king was extremely partial. a painful silence followed the king's ungracious remarks to drost peter. rané smiled maliciously as he filled his master's goblet, and endeavoured, by some buffooneries, to restore mirthfulness; but the king left the wine untouched, and fell into deep thought. the rapid exercise and the consciousness of his skill in the chase, as well as his anger against drost peter, appeared to have banished from his countenance the undecided and contradictory shades of passion which so often disfigured it; and for an instant there beamed from it an expression of true kingly dignity and greatness, while, with his hand on his ponderous sword, he regarded his three chief counsellors with the air of one who could free himself from them at any moment he chose. the only one in which he reposed any kind of confidence was rané; but him, in his better moments, he despised, as the wretched instrument of his vilest pleasures. the power which old sir john exercised over him, with so much prudence and consideration, seemed to him just now a crafty invasion of the royal prerogative; and drost peter's bold superiority he regarded as an intolerable assumption. it appeared as if the quick, heart-stirring tones of waldemar seier's hunt, which he had known from his childhood, recalled the daring dreams of his youth, with the memory of the time when, by his noble mother's side, he was saluted with the name of king, and felt the blood of the waldemars in a bold and unsullied heart. but this proud expression quickly vanished as his whole misspent life of royalty passed before him, and the painful conviction seized him that he now sat, alone and hated, in the midst of his kingdom, without a single friend. his melancholy and despondency seemed on the point of overwhelming him; but he struggled against the humiliating feeling, and a wild defiance and sternness flashed from his eyes. drost peter sat silent and thoughtful: in his dejected but candid countenance it could be plainly seen how much the king's displeasure went to his heart. his entire future efficiency seemed destroyed by a single hasty and incautious word. he could not acquit himself of arrogance whilst vindicating his sense of justice, on that occasion, when, by a too daring expression, he had drawn his master's wrath upon his head; and it was to him a bitter feeling to have offended his king at the moment when, as a guest, he had entered his house. at this instant it was almost more bitter than the thought of having lost the king's favour. but the monarch's stern look now fell upon him, and its excessive harshness seemed to recall him to himself. the undauntedness with which he encountered it was, however, little calculated to appease the offended king; who, instead of penitence and humility, was met by strong self-confidence and calm courage, which no displeasure of his could humble. rané and old sir john were attentive observers of this significant play of looks, which filled up the pause in the conversation caused by the music. the sagacious old statesman appeared calm and indifferent; though a tear, which he speedily dashed away, glistened in his eye, as he observed the remains of loftiness and dignity which had lit up the passion-worn countenance of the king. he saw with concern that the fall of the trusty drost peter was determined on, and that his own influence was also endangered; but what most annoyed him was the ill-concealed triumph of the cunning chamberlain, and the busy zeal with which he prepared for the continuance of the chase. the old knight observed that rané now made an unusual gesture; on which the king nodded to him, as if in accordance with some private understanding. his majesty seemed about to rise, but again relapsed into deep thought. the music still continued. "herregud!" exclaimed old sir john, breaking the long silence, "they are playing waldemar seier's hunt. it is a strange thought, sir king. if your great ancestor, of blessed memory, had had count albert and the trusty charles of risé by his side, when this air was played at the unfortunate hunting on ly island, the black count henry had perhaps never got him into his clutches."[ ] "a stag! a stag!" shouted chamberlain rané, springing up. the king hastily arose, as a herd of deer, with a stag at their head, rushed past. in an instant the huntsmen were on horseback, the horns sounded lustily, and the dogs broke away. "away!" ordered the king, swinging himself into his saddle; and drost peter and sir john started off by his side. the chamberlain rode in advance; and the chase now recommenced with redoubled ardour. they frequently lost and again found the track of the herd; and thus continued for several hours, without any pause. "sir king," said drost peter, at length, riding close up to him as he stopped an instant to observe the hounds and the track, "permit us a slight pause. sir john's years make this violent exercise painful to him; and my wounds are bleeding through the bandages." "those who cannot follow, may stay behind," replied the king: "i have huntsmen enough with me, and require you not. away, rané!" the hunt was pursued with enthusiasm, but neither sir john nor drost peter remained behind. the day at length began to close, and drost peter again rode in between rané and the king. "if you would get back to harrestrup before night, sir king," he said, with visible uneasiness, "we must now turn, and give the deer a respite for to-day." "i shall do as it pleases me!" cried the king, irritated. he had just wounded the stag they were in pursuit of. "that stag shall be mine," he shouted, "should i pursue him till to-morrow." they continued at a flying gallop over stump and stone, through brake and briar, with hounds yelling and horns winding. drost peter and sir john still followed, and did not lose sight of the king for an instant; until, in taking a dangerous leap, sir john's horse fell with him, and he received a violent blow on the side, which for an instant deprived him of consciousness. drost peter sprang from his horse to his aid, and found, with consternation, that the old knight had broken a rib. "hold! for god's sake, hold!" he shouted, with all his might. the huntsmen stopped when they heard the drost's powerful voice, which they were accustomed to obey. they quickly came to assist, and a litter of boughs was soon made, on which to carry the old man, every one showing for him the greatest sympathy. but, in the meanwhile, the king and chamberlain rané, with two of the fleetest falconers, had gone out of sight. as soon as sir john regained his senses, and found himself on the litter, surrounded by drost peter and the anxious huntsmen, he inquired with concern and alarm respecting the king. "he would not stop," answered drost peter; "but he must be back immediately. it is impossible to continue the hunt longer, for it is almost night." "after him, drost peter!" cried the old man; "for heaven's sake, after him! what think you of?" he whispered: "he is alone with rané! your people can care for me. away!" "care well for him, tygé--he is the king's most important counsellor," said drost peter to his castle-warden, as he sprang on his horse. "bear him, with your huntsmen, carefully to harrestrup. you others follow me. god be with you, noble sir!" in another instant drost peter, with the royal huntsmen, had disappeared in the forest; whilst warden tygé and his men leisurely and gently bore sir john back to harrestrup. * * * in a little lonely forest-house, in the neighbourhood of finnerup, stood, at about the same hour of the evening, claus skirmen, with his squire's cap in his hand. before him were old henner friser and aasé. the powerful, gigantic old man seemed to have prepared himself for the worst. he stood, leaning on a long javelin, in his frisian war-suit of leathern mail, with his seal-skin cap drawn over his straggling gray hairs. the pretty little aasé appeared occupied with far more peaceful thoughts. she wore the same dark blue jacket, plaited kirtle, and light blue apron, in which skirmen had first seen her, when he assisted in liberating her from hegness. she held him familiarly by the hand, and bent on him tenderly her dark playful eyes, whilst he, half ashamed, seemed to expect some important reply from old henner. "thanks for thy warning, brave youth," said the latter, shaking skirmen heartily by the hand. "it is well thou camest so early, to assist us with our slender preparations for defence. our persecutors may now come when they will: none shall see us longer than we ourselves list. if thy account be true--and i do not take thee for a braggart--thou art a smart youth--the affair of the robbers was no jesting matter. if thou goest on thus, and thy master, with a good conscience, can hereafter give thee the stroke of knighthood, i have no objection that my little aasé should love thee, and thou her. but when we meet again, we shall talk more of it." skirmen and aasé embraced each other with transport, and hugged the old man with the utmost joy. "good, good, my children. god and st. christian bless ye!" continued old henner, with emotion. "but this is not the time to prattle and think of love. thou must off, skirmen, and inform thy master of what we know." "i have done so already," replied skirmen: "what the rypen burghers said in the tavern, he knows; but he does not think it has any great meaning." "tell him, then, from me," said the old man, "that it certainly means no less than folks say the three suns portend which we saw in the heavens on st. remy's day. it was the day before the feast of all saints, and the learned clerks speak much of a heathen goddess of revenge that used to be worshipped on that day. our lord knows the witch, and i am not skilled in the signs of the sun and moon; but this i know, that when disaffected knights creep about in monks' cowls, it is for no good or holy purpose. so beg thy master, first and foremost, to take care of himself and the king, as he passes the barn of finnerup. and now away! give him a kiss, aasé, and let him run. thy norback, skirmen, is more zealous than thyself in the king's service. hearest thou not how impatiently he neighs?" "farewell, father henner--farewell, dear aasé!" exclaimed skirmen, hastily. "but be cautious, aasé! if thou passest for an elf, be as cunning as one; and, for god's sake, disappear as soon as you observe any mischief." "take care, my young knight, that i am not an elf in reality!" cried aasé, playfully, as she embraced him. "seest thou not my blue kirtle, and brown two-peaked hood? ay, right! look in my eyes and not to my back, for i am as hollow there as a dough-trough.[ ] away, now--out with thee! save thy king and master, or thou deservest never to be a knight, and i will have nothing more to say to thee." skirmen embraced her hastily, and hurried out, accompanied by his sweetheart and the old man. shortly afterwards he was riding through the wood at a gallop, and henner friser re-entered the cottage with his granddaughter. neither of them spoke. he barred the door, cast his spear into a corner, and sat down musingly on his rush-cushioned seat. aasé took her distaff, and sat down to work by the window, for the interior of the room was now quite dark. "light the lamp, aasé," said the old man, at length, breaking the silence, and rising with uneasiness. "it is still too early to go to rest in the hole inside, and thou knowest i cannot bear to sit in the dark." "but were it not better to-night, dear grandfather?" replied aasé. "if even i were to hang my apron before the window, the light would still shine through; and, if we would keep concealed, were it not advisable--" "i am not a carlin," exclaimed henner. "i am not so much afraid of man, that i must sit in the dark, and be tormented by the devil. the living i fear not: would only that the restless dead would grant me peace!" "dost thou again think of the dead, dear grandfather?" said aasé, with a sigh, as she lighted the lamp and hung it on an iron hook attached to the low rafters; having first, however, taken care to hang her thin light blue apron before the horn-window that looked out on the wood. "it is not the dead, but the living, that persecute us, dear grandfather," she continued, sitting down to her work opposite his chair. "it is only the storm tearing the dry boughs from the trees, and the wild birds hooting dismally in the woods, that sometimes make thee uncomfortable at night." "it seems always to come from gottorp," muttered the old man, who had resumed his seat: "'tis there he lies, with the stake through his heart--the accursed king, who caused his brother to be cast into the river sley!--and he it is who hunts through the forest at midnight. i long regarded it as a delusion and a superstition, but now i must believe it, since i have myself seen it." "the rood save us!" exclaimed aasé; "when didst thou see it?" "on the night after st. remy's day, when we saw the wonderful sight in the air--yesterday three weeks: it was sunday, and we had been in church. you remember how it howled in the storm. you fell asleep in the corner there; but i could not close an eye because of the horrid din. i stood up at last, and looked through the window into the forest, and then i knew it was no delusion. i saw, in the moonshine, a coal-black figure riding at full speed through the woods, on a steed of raven blackness. the animal snorted and neighed as if possessed by the evil one, and sparks flew from his hoofs. behind him came one of an iron mould, who must have been the foul fiend himself. three big hounds followed, glistening in the moonlight; but whether or not they were fiery, as people say, i cannot, however, be certain. i had enough of what i had seen; and no one shall now convince me that king abel's wild hunt is mere nonsense and superstition." "i certainly saw the same two riders last monday evening," replied aasé; "but thou mayst believe me, grandfather, they were living men. the forester's mary also saw them, and she thought they must have been the dreadful stig andersen from möllerup, and the sturdy mat jute, who always attends him. it was shortly before we heard of the grayfriar monks of rypen, and the apparitions in finnerup barn, which thou thyself believest to be conspirators lying in wait for the king." "thou mayst be right, child!" ejaculated henner, more composed, yet shaking his gray head dubiously: "i am an old fool to take such fancies in my head. but were it even the accursed king abel himself," he continued, rising, "let him come when he will! i have not been afraid to look him in the face before now. i have yet my old steel-bow; and my good frisian spear shall still keep every nidding at bay, be he dead or alive." he remained standing in the middle of the floor, his arms crossed, and in deep thought. "if it should really have been stig andersen?" he exclaimed, suddenly--"if he should be here, and be himself one of the apparitions at the barn, there is far more danger than i had supposed; and this is not the time to be creeping under cover from one's own shadow. it were better i rode over to the drost. skirmen is a nimble youth; but, now that thou hast put love-whimsies into his head, he cannot be so much depended on. he has been as awkward about everything to-day as if he had never before taken spade or axe in his hand." "he is the son of a knight, grandfather, and has not been accustomed to such kind of work. but you shall see that he is smart enough when the safety of his king's life is concerned." "thou mayst talk of thy squire as thou wilt. if he be not a better squire than woodman, he will never in his life be a knight. tell me, aasé, art thou afraid to be left alone to-night?" "afraid, grandfather?" she replied, quickly, colouring: "nay, not exactly that--if thou hadst not spoken of the vile dead king. but it does not matter," she continued, gaily, as she observed a shade of displeasure and uneasiness in the countenance of the old man: "i am not easily frightened, grandfather. i am an elf, thou knowest; and, when i do not wish to be seen, i have only to make myself invisible." "that thou canst well, child," said the grandfather, regarding her with tender interest: "brave frisian blood runs in thy veins, and thou hast now been long free from thy dreaming-sickness. that is some assurance for thy safety; but if thou art at all anxious, i will not leave thee. thou art the apple of mine eye, aasé, and i have nothing else in the world much to care for; but when danger threatens the land, every true frisian will be watchful, if our lord and st. christian permit him. this is an important business, thou knowest well. for the king, himself, i would not give a rotten rope's end; but still, as regards the crown and country, his life is of importance, until drost hessel has reared a better king for us. the drost saved thy honour, and, perhaps, my life: he is true to his king, like a brave fellow; and i am bound to serve, as best i can, both him and his master. if thou canst suffer to be left alone, i shall ride immediately, and find drost hessel and the king, wherever they may be. on such an errand, i should think i am safe." "ride, in god and the holy virgin's name, grandfather, if thou oughtest and must. i am not afraid, and can guard myself," replied aasé, boldly. the old man hesitated no longer. "come, then, a morsel of bread in my wallet, whilst i saddle my horse," he said, as he passed through the kitchen, and across the yard to the stable. aasé accompanied him into the kitchen, and immediately afterwards returned alone, with some victuals, which she placed in a badger-skin wallet that hung suspended from a deer's antler near the fireplace. whilst thus occupied, the apron fell from the little horn-window; but unobserved by her, as she stood at the table opposite the light, with her back turned towards the casement. the point of a slender sword had pierced the horn, undone the fastening of the apron, and was then hastily withdrawn. a wily face, with a reddish beard, now peeped in. it disappeared, and immediately gave place to another, which likewise disappeared as aasé turned round. she now first observed that the apron had fallen from the window, and proceeded quietly to hang it up again, without observing the small puncture in the horn. her grandfather re-entered by the kitchen, equipped for his journey. "i shall ride out by the back gate," he said, as he threw his hunting-wallet over his broad shoulders. "and thou art, then, really not afraid, child? if thou noticest anything suspicious, thou knowest what to do. if thou darest not have a light, put out the lamp." "be tranquil on my account, grandfather," replied aasé, without the least symptom of fear; "but, since thou hast talked so much about the dead, i shall not extinguish the lamp. the living i can guard against. when may i expect thy return?" "before daybreak," replied the old man. "bar the kitchen-door after me, and open it to no one until thou hearest nine strokes on it. god bless thee!" he fondly embraced her, and departed through the door by which he had entered. aasé fastened it after him, and returned to the lonely room. shortly afterwards she heard the hoofs of a horse in the forest, and recognised the firm gallop of her grandfather. about a bow-shot from the little forest-house, behind a close thicket of white thorns, stood two saddled horses, held by two stately pages, who themselves were seated on a pair of small hunters, and carried each a falcon on his arm; and at a few paces from it stood the king and chamberlain rané, whispering together, behind some elder-bushes that entirely concealed them. "that was the old man who rode out," whispered rané: "it could not have happened better. and heard you, sir?--nine strokes on the door opens it." "humph! i had rather have given up the whole sport," muttered the king, with much uneasiness. "you should have sought out the road." "sooth to say, sir king, i was better acquainted with the forest than i pretended; but i wished to give you a surprise, and keep my promise. now you have yourself seen that she is here, and concealed from you by drost hessel. this is his forest-house, and here has he maintained both the girl and the regicide since last year." "silence!" whispered the king, with growing fear; "name not the damned word! he has not yet gone far, and who knows that traitors are not at hand? it was imprudent in you, rané, to lead me, on such foolery, so far into the forest, at this hour. how easily you might have carried me into the claws of the old satan! the little minx i should like to get hold of, but i shall not risk too much for her: i have not quite forgotten what the daring niels breakpeace and the fearful lavé rimaardson said to me yesterday. they are now on the wheel, and will grin horribly in the moonshine as we ride by.----rané," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "i have not been in a church for many a year, and am not versed in saints' days. when is st. cecilia's?" "faith, i know not, sire," replied the chamberlain: "i am not a whit more saintly than yourself. but it cannot be far off." "the bold ruffian said that that day must be past before i could know his secret. this is not a time for fooleries and wench-hunting. it is night, and i have not a man with me except yourself. thou wilt not betray thy king, master rané? thou art not yet so godless as to lead me into a snare?" "the cross defend me, your grace! how can you think so?" stammered rané. they had approached the house, and a faint glimmer from the chink in the curtained window fell on rané's face. the king looked at his crafty chamberlain with an anxious, scrutinising glance, and kept his hand constantly on the hilt of his sword. "i have many a time confided in thee," he continued, "and we have had many pleasant adventures together; but whom in the world am i now to trust, when drost hessel can be traitor enough to conceal a regicide, and even old sir john is not to be depended upon?" "i only half distrust them, sir king," said rané, quickly; "and it is still possible i may be mistaken. but so long as i am with you, you are safe. when the least danger threatens, i shall warn you. if i had intended to betray you, sire, i should have taken care not to inform you of what i had heard and seen at möllerup." "but thou, too, didst lay thy hand upon the book, rané--thou, too, didst swear thy king's downfall; what thou didst add to thine oath, no one heard." "i were but a poor spy for you, sir king, did your enemies not believe me worthy of credit. but think no more of these things. here you are safe. i hoped to have earned thanks from you to-night for a pleasant surprise, instead of which i am paid with doubts and scruples, whilst you squander here the precious moments. the pretty aasé sits within, and wearies. perhaps she is already asleep, and sweetly dreams of you." "talk not of her dreams, rané, for they are frightful: she nearly drove me mad with them at hegness. beautiful she is, it is true, but as cunning as a she-devil. it is said that she has really power to foretell the future, and i almost believe it. if it be so, there are one or two things worth knowing from her. heard you what the peasant said about the three suns?" "mere superstition and nonsense, sir king. in truth, i did not half comprehend him. but what he said about elfin-moss i could understand. from his description, it was neither more nor less than our little aasé. she is cunning enough, perhaps, to avail herself of the credulity of the peasants, to render herself of importance, and drive a sly trade in the hidden arts. so, sir king, if you too are superstitious, and wish to have your fate unriddled, you have here an opportunity of gratifying your curiosity: you are but a few paces from the elf-woman; and, from such a pretty little mouth, you can hear no unpleasant prediction. in any case this will be a sufficient excuse for your unexpected visit, and give more zest to the adventure." "so be it, then. i will visit her, rané; but take care that no one surprises us, and be at hand when i call." "you are perfectly safe, sir king." the tall huntsman then approached the door of the little forest-house, cautiously and irresolutely. he first looked through the horn-pane, but could only distinguish the light of the lamp and an ill-defined female form, reclining, apparently, on a bench. he stood by the door and raised his hand, but let it fall again. at length he summoned resolution to strike the door nine times, gently, with the hilt of his sword. he heard a light, slow footstep in the room. the bar inside was withdrawn, and all was again still. he lingered a moment, as if undecided; and then half opened the door gently, and peeped in. the lamp burned dimly beneath the rafters, and on the bench by the table lay the beautiful little aasé, apparently asleep. he now wholly opened the door, and softly entered. having closed and bolted it after him, he approached the sleeping girl and gazed at her with admiration in his blinking eyes. never, he thought, had he seen a more beautiful woman. her little cap lay on the table, by the side of a breviary written in gothic characters and in the frisian dialect. the jet black locks of the maiden were released from their bands, and fell freely down and over her virgin neck and shoulders. the king, not to frighten her with his long sword, hung it on a small wooden hook on the wall. "aasé--little aasé--wake up!" he whispered. "thou must grant me a kindly welcome to-night." the sleeping girl leisurely arose; but her eyes were closed. "do not fall asleep again, little aasé," he continued: "i had enough of this jest before. open thy pretty eyes, and look on me. dost thou not know me?" she opened her eyes, but they did not look on him: they were widely extended, and her gaze fixed, without play or animation; and her little handsome countenance, which was deadly pale, wore the solemn and fearful expression of somnambulism. "now, by my soul!" exclaimed the king, falling back, perplexed, "if thou art a witch or sorceress, i shall hold no farther parley with thee. thou shalt be burnt one day, when thou fallest into the hands of the clerks. yet, nay: thou art too beautiful for that," he added, recovering his calmness, and looking at her keenly. "ha, woman! is this real, and no crafty jugglery? if thou canst gaze down upon the damned, say what the dead robber on the daugberg wheel is about? what would he tell king erik christopherson within eight days?" "the robber on the wheel?" repeated aasé in a soft, toneless voice, and without changing her mien or posture--"he is now in the black pit, and calls on king erik christopherson." the king started: he gazed on her again, and blinked with much uneasiness and suspicion, as he looked around. "deceive me, cheat, and it shall cost thee thy life!" he muttered, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, and retreating a step farther towards the door. "whom seest thou in the pit?" he again inquired, in a low tone, appearing no longer to doubt that she was in some wonderful state that enabled her to see into the hidden, and perhaps to reveal the future which he dreaded. she hesitated to reply, as it seemed to cost her a painful effort to look on that which presented itself to her interior sense--a sense so different from that denoted by her rigid, motionless, extended eyes. "in the pit i see robbers--murderers--ravishers!" she said, at length, in the same whispering, toneless voice: "there are kings, princes, and bishops among them. and, lo! there he sits--the murderer of his brother--on a throne of dead men's bones, with cushions of fiery serpents! he prepares a place for his brother's son! hearest thou?--" "woman! demon! what devilry dreamest thou of?" exclaimed the king, overcome with fearful anguish. "answer me! speak! can i yet be saved? how long a respite have i?" "ask the sword that rattles on the wall!" replied the somnambulist in a louder voice, pointing to the king's sword, but without turning her eyes towards it: "when that falls, thy time is near at hand." with a convulsive motion, the king snatched at his sword; but the slender hook that supported it gave way, and it fell, rattling, on the stone floor. "this is the sword of a king, and not that of a headsman!" exclaimed the king, proudly and vehemently, as he hastily took up the weapon, appearing, as he grasped it, to recover strength to overcome his terror. "when the heading-sword rattles on the wall, well i know it waits for blood," he muttered; "but this shall drink that of my foes. ha! tell me, thou fearful woman!" he continued, looking anxiously around him, "who are the accursed traitors that lay wait for me? where are they, and how many?" "if thou wilt know their number, reckon it on thy belt," replied aasé. "beware of the grayfriar cloaks: they conceal bold warriors. they ride, with drawn swords, through the forest. see! look!--the blind, bald monk!--he laughs, and whets his sword on his nails!" "ha! pallé, pallé!--is it thee?" muttered the king, staring wildly in the direction on which the fearful dreamer's gaze seemed to be fixed.----"seest thou more?" "i see a man, with glowing eyes, clad in iron," replied aasé, in a fainter voice, apparently exhausted, and almost sinking to the ground: "he spurs his black steed, and his great sword is drawn! now will he revenge the dishonour of his wife!" the king still stared wildly before him. "sorceress! she-devil!" he at length shouted madly, "if thou art leagued with my deadly foes, thou shalt be the first to fall by this sword." and he sprang, with phrensied violence, to seize her by the throat; but his hand grasped only her loose kerchief, whilst his uplifted sword rattled against the lamp, which fell, extinguished, on the floor; and at the same moment he heard a shriek, and a hollow sound like the closing of a large chest-lid. the girl had suddenly disappeared. the king raved wildly, and laid his sword about him in the darkness. a dreadful anguish overwhelmed him; and he would have called out, but was unable. he groped for the door, but could not find it; and then rushed madly against a wooden partition, which gave way, when the house seemed to fall about him. a cold breeze now met him. he stumbled, and fancied he had fallen into some frightful murder-den. his senses became bewildered, and he saw before him all the hideous forms he most dreaded. the pale fru ingeborg, with raised dagger, nodded at him with her lean, skeleton head; her blind, crazy father danced around him with wild laughter, groping at random for his prey; and the terrible stig andersen stood threatening him, whichever way he turned, with the same fearful look of revenge as when he denounced him at the thing of viborg. a cold perspiration stood on his forehead. the ground seemed to shake under him; and he reeled forward, without knowing where, till he stumbled over a stone, and tore his face among thorns. this recalled his senses, and he now found himself in the midst of a wild thicket in the forest. the faint starlight shone dubiously, and he looked despairingly around him. there was no house to be seen, and the apparition of the girl occurred to him like a frightful dream. he now recovered his voice. "am i mad or bewitched?" he exclaimed. "rané, rané! where art thou?" he heard a rustling among the bushes, and rané stood, terrified, before him. "the rood protect us, sire!" stammered the astonished chamberlain: "how have you come hither? and whither has the house vanished? i fancied i heard you calling from the thicket, and sprang towards the sound: i then rushed wildly into the cursed elfin-moss, but could find no traces of the house." "it is devilry and sorcery," said the king: "if thou, too, hadst not seen both the girl and the house, i could have sworn i had been dreaming, or was mad. where are the horses?" "close by, sire. i hear them snorting and pawing." "away!" cried the king: "lead me from this infernal spot. i am mad or bewitched, and while i remain here i am less than a man." "shall i bring the horses, sire?" "nay, do not leave me! lead me to them. give me thy hand, rané!" and he grasped the chamberlain's hand convulsively. "thou art still true to me? thou art not in league with my murderers, and wilt not basely betray thy king and master's life?" "how can you doubt me, sir king? i have been in the most deadly fear for you. you may be right, however, in your suspicions of sorcery: for this cannot be so in the usual nature of things--a house cannot thus, by human means, sink suddenly into the earth. but how did you fall among the thorns?" "i know not, rané. where are the horses?" "we shall reach them instantly, sire. follow me, and fear not. we shall find a way out of this bewitched forest. ho, pages! hither with the horses." little aagé jonsen and his comrade now approached with the animals. "has there happened any misfortune?" inquired aagé. "i fancied i heard the king shouting?" "he had only got bewildered in the thicket," replied rané. "here is your horse, sir king. allow me to assist you, and to lead you through the thorns, until we reach a road or pathway." the king mounted his horse in silence, and allowed rané to lead him through the bushes. they proceeded thus for some time, but could find neither road nor path. the pages were leading their horses in the rear, and one of them began to cry. "we shall never get out of the forest," he whimpered. "be quiet, bent," replied aagé, "and do not let the king perceive that you are so silly." "is there no end to this?" exclaimed the king, impatiently. "whither dost thou lead me, rané? the farther we go the worse it seems. where are we?" "we must soon find an outlet, sire!" replied rané: "i can already see an open space; but where we are i am unable to say, were it to save my life. yet, stay; now i can see a light. here lies a whole village: it must be finnerup. we cannot reach harrestrup tonight, and you must be wearied, sir king: let us therefore rest at finnerup, at least until the moon rises. there you may be tranquil, sire. they are brave people in finnerup; and no evil shall befall you." "in the name of god and all the saints!" exclaimed the king, anxiously, "let us only get under cover, and out of this infernal forest." in a short time they reached an open field, and a pathway that led to the little country village. they all mounted. the king felt himself relieved when he again saw lights, and the sign of human beings. they were not far from the village, but it was getting late, and, one after another, the lights were extinguished. "it must be bedtime with them," observed rané, "and we may find some difficulty in obtaining shelter, unless we make ourselves known. but if you can bear with the scanty accommodation, we can at least find admission to the large barn of finnerup. they are bound to give travellers shelter there; and that they are honest people, i need not tell you." "this would be safest," said the king. "but should there be any dangerous travellers there, who might recognise us?" "i will first enter, and look after the accommodation, sire. see, yonder stands the barn: it is open, and the lights are still burning. let us hasten, sire, before they also are extinguished." they now set spurs to their horses, and rode at a brisk trot towards the straw-thatched building, which lay in a remote corner of the village, near a little mean hut, occupied by an alehouse keeper, and frequented only by peasants and the poorer sort of people. this ale-house was closed and dark; and at the open door of the barn they saw only a couple of stablemen, about to lead out some horses. "remain here, sire--i shall return again instantly," said rané. he rode up to the barn, looked carefully around him, spoke a few words with the stablemen, and returned immediately. "there is not a soul in the barn," he said, hastily; "there is excellent clean straw to rest upon, and the people do not know us. follow me, your grace." he rode forward, and the king followed him to the long, gloomy barn, which was dimly lighted up by a solitary horn-lantern, suspended by a rope from a centre beam. as the king passed the stablemen, he threw on them a sharp scrutinising look; but they doffed their goat-skin caps carelessly, and did not appear to know him. "shut the barn-door, rané, and fasten it well," he said, dismounting from his horse, which the pages took, together with rané's and their own, and led to the long mangers. the king, who was much fatigued, then threw himself on a bundle of straw, but kept his look upon rané, who, with much noise, was apparently fastening one of the lower bars of the door. there still remained a bolt to be shot in at the top; but this seemed too high for the chamberlain to reach. he therefore, laid down, close to the door, a bundle of straw, on which he stood, and secured the upper bolt firmly. "there, now," he said, returning towards the king, and panting for breath, "i have fastened both bolt and bar. it was as much as i could do to manage the large bar. it is as thick as a beam, and the man who can break it is not born of woman." "'tis well, my trusty rané" said the king, kindly: "repose thyself now beside me. thou hast suffered enough to-night on my account. when we remember what marsk stig said at viborg, we should avoid such adventures," he continued, familiarly, though with inquietude. "we shall never again ride out in jutland during the night. humph! had i outlawed him at that time, perhaps i had done well; but old john considered it more prudent to deal mildly with him. this marsk stig is a violent man, and singularly true to his word. more than once, lately, have i imagined i saw him." "he is now certainly at his table, drinking wine with his good friends, at möllerup," replied rané, who remained standing, respectfully; "and little dreams that the king of denmark reposes to-night on straw, in a wretched barn. marsk braggart would be glad to be on terms with you," continued rané, "although he fancies that it is he who defends the whole nation, since he got you to acknowledge the laws and edicts of the kingdom. but if you would have him alive, möllerup is not impregnable. the foolhardy marsk should bear in mind what the ballad says." "what says the ballad?" inquired the king, abstractedly and pensively. "i have not, in sooth, much dependence on ballad wisdom, sir king," replied rané; "but it is a true saying, nevertheless, if rightly understood:-- "the lapwing would fain guard everywhere, and about the field doth fly; but she guardeth not the little hill whereon she might rely." "alas, yes, my trusty rané," replied the king, sorrowfully; "and the saying is as applicable to me. but did you fasten the door carefully? i thought i heard it shake in the wind." "it does not shut closely, sire; but the bar will hold it against the greatest force. i fear the light is going out," he continued, hastily: "there must be a thief in the candle. shall i lower it and see?" "you may; but be cautious, as there is so much straw lying about; and take care that a gust of wind does not extinguish it. come, i shall trim it myself." whilst they were busied with the light, the loud trampling of horses was heard outside the barn. "there are numerous travellers arriving, sire," exclaimed rané, taking the candle in his hand: "shall we suffer them to enter?" "nay, for god's sake, nay!" replied the king, in perturbation. "if they want to come in, say the barn is full, and that there is no room." they were silent, and held their breath to listen; but all was now quiet again. "they have gone past, perhaps," whispered the king, as he sat half erect on the straw, in a listening posture, and with his hand on the hilt of his sword. both the pages had crept up to them, and all listened for some minutes, but there was a profound silence. "what day is this?" at length inquired the king; "for a worse i have never lived." "this is st. cecilia's night, sir king," replied little aagé, who perceived with terror that the king instantly became pale. "ah, gracious sir king," continued the page, "suffer us to pray the holy cecilia that she keep her hand over you this night." "pray!--pray thou, child! i cannot," replied the king. "mass-bell and church-hymn, i never followed: the holy cecilia aids not me." the little aagé folded his hands and prayed. rané still held the lantern, which he now opened, and a stronger light fell upon the king, who, with a profound melancholy in his countenance, sat among the straw, fumbling thoughtfully with his belt. "that is well, rané: light me, and help me to reckon," he whispered. "how many studs are there in my belt?" rané held the light closer. "i count twelve," he replied: "but why desire you to know that?" "that was a singular woman in the forest, rané. she could see up into heaven and down among the damned. she bade me count the studs upon my belt, if i would know the number of my traitors. twelve only you reckoned? i fancied i had counted fourteen. thirteen there are, at least." "who would be guided by the number of buttons, sire?" replied rané. "when a man cannot make up his mind, i have heard that he should count his buttons; but that is suited only to children, sire." "thou thinkest, then, that we should be decided, rané? reckon again, and, perhaps, thou mayst consider. is it not so?--there are thirteen?" "well, possibly," replied rané, shutting the lantern; "but thirteen is not a lucky number, sir king." "thou art right. thirteen was the number when the false judas betrayed his heavenly lord and king. but, why becomest thou so pale, rané?" "i have fasted the whole day, your grace," replied rané, looking towards the door: "it is, therefore, no wonder if i am a little palefaced. but listen! what is that?" lusty blows were now heard on the barn-door, as if with spears and poles. "arise, king erik, and come forth to us!" shouted a powerful voice outside. "i am betrayed!" exclaimed the king, springing up. "that was the terrible stig anderson's voice." he had drawn his sword; but stood irresolute and perplexed, and pale as a spectre. the chamberlain, with the lantern in his hand, ran to the door. "king erik is not here--that you must surely know," he cried. "conceal yourself, sire," he whispered to the agitated monarch. "lay yourself down: i will cover you with straw, and no one shall see you." he extinguished the candle, and threw the lantern from him, and they now stood in total darkness. "rané, rané! wilt thou betray thy king and master?" whispered the wretched king. "hide yourself--hide yourself, sire! i shall defend you to the last drop of my blood." "so shall i too!" cried little aagé jonsen, who had hitherto knelt and prayed, but who now sprang up with fire and spirit. "alas! had i but a sword!" the little bent wept and cried aloud, whilst the noise without continued. "be still--be still, youth! resistance is useless here," whispered the king to aagé. "do not betray me with your whining, bent," he added; "but cover me with straw, and set yourselves down quietly in a corner." they hastily concealed the king with straw, and did as he had commanded them. the noise outside was still increasing. the assailants hammered lustily against the barn-door, until the slight bolt at the top snapped, when it flew open as easily as if it had been only barred with a wisp of straw. twelve men, disguised in masks and gray friar cloaks, entered silently, with drawn swords, one of them holding a flaming torch. they looked quickly around in every direction, and seemed astonished at not finding what they were in search of. "where is he? he hides himself, the base tyrant!" exclaimed a powerful voice from the midst of them. they searched fruitlessly every spot, except where rané stood, with drawn sword, by the heap of straw. "save my life, my trusty rané!" whispered the king from beneath the straw, "and i give thee my own sister in marriage." "my king and master is not here, but i guard his jewels and treasures," cried rané, as he pointed to the spot where the king lay; "and i shall cleave the skull of the first who approaches." and he swung his puny sword wildly about him, striking it against the pole of a waggon and a clump of wood lying on the barn-floor. "you defend your king like a rogue and a traitor!" whispered aagé: "give me your sword, if you will not use it better." "away, boy!" shouted rané, furiously, as he aimed a blow at the head of the page, but without touching him. among the armed, monk-like figures was a little, decrepit man, who tottered forward, with the uncertain steps of old age and blindness, by the side of a powerful and gigantic form. these two pressed on at the head of the disguised band, the blind man holding fast by the skirt of the other, until they reached the spot to which rané had pointed. they both stopped by the heap of straw that concealed the king. "here!" uttered a hollow voice, proceeding from the visor of the tall masked figure, and his mailed arm uplifted a huge sword. at the same instant the weapons of all the others gleamed aloft in the lurid light of the torch. "aha!" shouted the blind old man, with wild maniacal laughter, as he suddenly flung himself, with his long sword, deep into the heap of straw. a scream of horror, blended with the madman's half-suffocated laughter, issued from beneath the straw which concealed the king and his raving murderer. in their struggles both rolled from under it, and the whole of the armed band then fell at once upon the unfortunate monarch. rané continued to lay wildly about him, without, however, wounding any one. at last he sprang forward, and plucked the torch from the hand of him who carried it. "help, help! they are murdering my king and master!" he cried, as he flung the torch into the straw, and rushed furiously from the barn. a fierce blaze instantly lit up the horrible scene. the gory body of the king was dragged to the middle of the barn, where it lay, pierced at once by twelve swords. the fearful monk-like forms stood in silence round the body, with their dripping weapons in their hands, and gazed through their masks with straining eyes on the murdered erik, whose features were now horribly distorted in the throes of death. "he is dead--let the flames devour him!" exclaimed at last their leader, breaking the fearful silence. "away! to horse!" in an instant all had left the barn except the aged maniac, who had once more thrown himself raving on the king's body, as if he would have torn it asunder with his nails. the two pages had hitherto sat, concealed and weeping, under the mangers. "monster!" now cried the little aagé; and rushing towards him, he plucked the sword from the dead king's hand, and thrust it into the madman's heart. "good, good--now i can die! blessed be the angel from heaven who has redeemed me!" he murmured, as he sank back lifeless by the side of the murdered king. one half of the barn was already in flames. the four horses in the stalls sprang wildly over the bodies, and rushed through the open door; and the falcons flew, screaming, after them. the flames burst through the thatched roof, whilst a suffocating smoke filled the frightful den of murder; and outside, sounded the alarm of fire, and the noise of persons hurrying to the scene. "help me to save the king's corpse, bent," said aagé to his weeping comrade. and with great exertion the lads dragged the heavy body to the entrance, before reaching which they were nearly suffocated. "god be merciful to the soul of the old monster inside!" exclaimed aagé, as he looked back once more: "he must now be burned. make haste!" they were hardly out of the barn when the roof fell in with a loud crash, and buried beneath it the old man's corpse. a great number of people had now assembled; but they gave little heed to the conflagration, being seized with fright and horror on beholding the mangled body of the king, and hearing the recital of the pages. the crowd continued to increase around the royal corpse and the weeping youths in front of the burning pile. the feelings awakened in the minds of the majority by the cruel spectacle, seemed to testify that the murdered king was less hated by the people than was generally believed. the consternation and the confusion were great. they screamed and shouted from one to the other. "pursue the murderers!" cried some.--"take care of the king's body!" cried others.--"send word to harrestrup!"--"bring the drost! bring sir john!"--"send word to scanderborg! there are still the queen and the young king!" such were the various suggestions that were loudly and rapidly uttered, but no one stirred to give them effect. women and children thronged towards the body: the children screamed; the women wept at the frightful sight; whilst the men swore and clamoured. many commanded, but none obeyed. at length was heard, in the midst of the hubbub, the cry of--"room, room! the drost is coming!" and the noisy crowd was divided by three horsemen, who urged their panting steeds eagerly through them. it was drost peter, with skirmen and old henner friser. behind them followed a troop of huntsmen, having chamberlain rané, bound, in their midst. "silence here--give place!" cried drost peter, springing from his horse. the crowd fell respectfully to one side, and a dead silence ensued. the drost beheld the king's body with horror. he hastily examined it, and found that there was no longer any sign of life. he counted fifty-six wounds, all of which were mortal. under the king's vest he also found a dagger, which had not been withdrawn from where it had been planted in his bosom. he drew it out, and examined it closely: it was a magnificent weapon, wrought with great skill, its hilt representing a gilded lion. having displayed it to the nearest spectators, he put it carefully aside. "king erik christopherson is dead," he cried, with a loud voice, whilst he rose from the corpse and surveyed the crowd, whose earnest and sympathising faces were illumined by the flames of the barn: "he has been shamefully murdered, and this atrocious crime shall not remain unpunished, as certain as there is a righteous judge above us!" he paused an instant, and a deep silence prevailed around. "the young king erik erikson is now our lawful lord and king," he continued, with greater calmness, and raising his right hand: "the people of denmark have themselves elected and sworn allegiance to him. the holy church will ratify his election; and soon shall he sit, anointed and crowned, on the throne of his ancestors. if you be true to him, brave danish people, he shall, if it please god, be a good and righteous king, and shall severely punish the cruel and audacious murderers of his father. may the almighty give him strength, and throw his protecting arm over him and his loyal people!" "long live king erik erikson! long live our young king!" shouted the multitude; whilst a few cries of "vengeance--vengeance on his murderers!" were heard. drost peter waved his hand for silence, and turned to those who stood nearest to him. "who here has the fleetest horse?" he demanded. "i--i have!" cried skirmen, springing forward. "right--none can speed as thou canst. bide instantly to scanderborg, my trusty skirmen. speed thee, and carry to the queen the woful tidings. relate what thou hast heard and seen. say to sir thorstenson, in my name, that every avenue to the palace and to our young king must be instantly closed and well guarded. to-morrow, i shall arrive myself, with sir john, when i have properly cared for the dead king's body. away! god be with thee!" skirmen was mounted in an instant, and flew off, with the speed of an arrow, on his little norback. "thou, trusty old henner!" continued drost peter, turning to the grave old man, who had remained by his side immoveable, on his tall horse, and gazing upon the royal corpse with a strong expression of sorrow--"thou, and the royal huntsmen, pursue the murderers immediately. take rané with thee, and compel him to lead thee in their track." henner friser nodded, and turned his horse. a minute afterwards, the giant-like old man, with rané by his side, bound, rode at full gallop past the blazing barn, followed by the huntsmen. "ye good danish men," continued drost peter, turning to some of the more respectable peasants who stood nearest to him, and who appeared to regard the royal corpse with most sympathy, "ye shall bear the body of our murdered king with me to viborg. bleeding, as it now lies, shall it be exposed to the gaze of the people. lay four planks over that harvest-waggon, and yoke to it six of your best horses. spread my mantle over the planks, and lay the corpse carefully upon it. you, children, follow me," he said to the two weeping pages, who, in the meantime, had caught the king's steed, and one of the falcons. "tie the king's horse to the waggon, aagé: he shall follow his master. give me the falcon, bent. light two fir-torches, and place yourselves at the king's feet. you shall bear the lights for him to-night, for the last time." the boys wept and obeyed; and the peasants soon executed the orders of the drost. his scarlet cloak had now become the king's pall; and he himself sat quietly on his steed, with the king's favourite falcon on his arm, and saw that everything was done becomingly. many people still crowded around, but there was no noisy commotion. from the women only was heard a solitary sigh, or a subdued expression of pity; but among the men, astonishment at the unheard-of deed appeared more general than sorrow or commiseration. drost peter perceived this with deep emotion. "king erik's last journey is dark. take brands from the barn, and light us," he said, in a sorrowful tone. some men from harrestrup instantly obeyed. "honour the dead; for the crown he bore, and for the sake of the royal race from which he was descended. follow him, as many as can, yet as a freewill token of affection: none else is wanted. withdraw which way you will; but depart with quietness, and repeat at least a prayer for his soul. when the sun last set, he was a powerful king, and our lawful lord and master. let that den of murder burn," he added, with horror: "its foundation shall be razed, and every trace of it rooted from the earth. where it stood, shall no man rest any more; but, for centuries to come, shall prayers be said, night and day, for the soul of the murdered king. may the merciful god be gracious to him and all of us!" with emotion he raised his hand to his eyes and gave a signal, when the procession slowly moved forwards. the crowd dispersed quietly and in silence; twelve peasants only attending, who walked, with blazing fir-torches, on both sides of the waggon. near to the king's head rode drost peter, with the falcon on his arm; whilst the steed followed his dead master. as the procession moved past the flaming barn, a strong light fell on the drost's earnest countenance, and the royal corpse lay aloft on the waggon, visible to all. at its feet sat the two pages, with torches in their hands. silently and slowly the gloomy funeral train disappeared in the deep night; and here and there, on the highways and byways, along the road to viborg, stood astonished peasants, gazing in wonder. * * * at scanderborg, the queen and the young princes were still in deep slumber, at the early hour when claus skirmen reached the palace on his panting norback, which had carried his light rider more than forty english miles in six hours. the landsknechts who held watch at the castle-gate and by the palace-stairs recognised the drost's squire, and instantly admitted him. they were surprised at his haste. "pull up the drawbridge, and lock the gates!" he cried: "the foe is at my heels!" the grave landsknechts were amazed: no enemy was perceptible in the misty dawn, and they were not accustomed to receive orders from a squire. whilst they hesitated and delayed, skirmen leaped from his saddle, and hurried up to the queen's large ante-chamber, where sir thorstenson himself kept night-watch with the royal body-guards. "the king is murdered!" cried skirmen, almost breathless. the whole of the knight's men in the hall sprang up, and stood as if thunderstruck or petrified. "murdered!" exclaimed sir thorstenson: "art thou in thy right senses, skirmen?" "murdered!" repeated skirmen; "and the murderers are not half a mile distant: they are approaching, with a numerous band of horsemen. if you would not have the palace surprised, sir, let it be barricaded instantly!" "wilt thou drive us mad, skirmen? bar the palace, trabants! and every man to his arms! righteous god! murdered!" the alarmed trabants hastily quitted the hall, with scarcely sense enough left to execute the orders of their captain. "now, by satan, speak, skirmen!" exclaimed the enraged thorstenson, stamping. "who has ventured on this atrocious deed? ha! was it the algrev--the accursed algrev?" "nay, stern sir: if it were not the devil and his imps, it was marsk stig and his kinsmen. at the barn of finnerup the deed was done." and skirmen then related all he had himself heard and seen, and what the drost had charged him to say. "and my master was right," he added: "had he not dispatched me instantly, the murderers themselves had perhaps first brought you the intelligence. an hour ago they held a council on tulstrup heath. they sat on horseback, and clothed in mail: in the fog i had nearly ridden into the midst of them; but the moon broke forth over their heads, and revealed to me their bloody swords. i hurried past them, and they pursued me up to the forest. there were certainly more than seventy men, and some amongst them were disguised as grayfriars. they must be here instantly." "let them come!" cried thorstenson: "they shall find us awake. you are right: none has dared this deed but marsk stig. he has now fulfilled his oath, and slain king erik. he may next aim at the prince's life; but his vengeance shall not reach it. is everything in order, trabants?" he inquired of some of them who had returned to the ante-chamber. they informed him of what had been done for the defence of the place, and were again dispatched with fresh orders; and the utmost activity prevailed in the palace. the sudden noise awoke the queen, who rang for her maids, and inquired what the disturbance meant. they were all frightened, but none of them yet knew what had happened. the queen arose and dressed hastily, to proceed to the guard-chamber. the noise in the palace increased. people ran about bewildered, as if a thunderbolt had fallen among them; but where, no one could tell. every one knew that a great misfortune had happened; but what it was, no tongue ventured to ask. in the guard-room the knights stood in complete armour, awaiting the orders of their chief. the hall looked out on the palace-yard, and was provided with a balcony, commanding a view of the high road. here stood sir thorstenson and skirmen, watching, on the road to the palace, a great cloud of dust, which they were now first able plainly to distinguish from the gray mist of the morning. "you are right, skirmen," said thorstenson, with a nod: "it is a large band of horsemen; they will actually treat us here on fasting stomachs. no matter--they shall have their morning meal before us. are the archers on the tower?" he inquired of one of the trabants. "yes, sir knight," was the reply: "they have occupied all the loopholes, and are ready, with arrows on their bowstrings, as you commanded." "good: but let no one draw a shaft until i wave this banner over the balcony," he commanded, as he seized the large royal banner which stood at the end of the saloon. "the more time we can gain the better," he added: "if it comes to a storming, we must use our shot-waggons; for the fellows deserve a warm breakfast. let the fire rage under the stones, and they will soon he hot enough. we must melt these mailed flinty hearts." the trabant departed. at the same moment the queen entered, attended by her ladies and maidens. "what mean these preparations?" she inquired, looking anxiously around her, and at the same time, with her customary dignity, acknowledging the military salute given her by the trabants. "god and our lady support you, my noble queen!" exclaimed sir thorstenson, advancing, and lowering the banner respectfully before her: "i did not think your grace was up, and i would not suffer you to be awoke with evil tidings. prepare to hear them with resolution, my noble-hearted queen. drost hessel has sent us this messenger; and in the colours of night ought he and we to be standing here, for the news he brings is dark and gloomy as the grave." "that, then, has happened which i have so long dreaded," said the queen, becoming pale: "my lord and king is dead? speak, young man!" she continued, turning to skirmen, "what unhappy tidings dost thou bring of my unfortunate husband? speak! the queen of denmark shall not be crushed by a word, though the dread of it may chase the blood from her cheeks! my lord and king is dead?" "you have spoken it, noble queen," replied skirmen, approaching her respectfully, whilst thorstenson retired to the balcony, over which he looked with strained attention. "traitors surprised him last night," continued skirmen: "it happened in an evil hour, when he had lost himself in the forest, near finnerup, and his trusty men were not by his side." "murdered, then--miserably murdered!--as is now every king of denmark!" exclaimed the queen, leaning for support on one of her maidens. "it is unfortunately so, my noble queen," replied skirmen, with strong sympathy, although the expression of the queen's countenance seemed rather to indicate bitter anger than deep, heartfelt sorrow. "drost hessel was the first to find your unhappy husband, after the fearful deed was done, and the murderers had fled. he immediately examined his wounds, and found them numerous, and all mortal. he would not quit the royal body before it was placed beyond the reach of farther indignities; but, for the security of yourself and the princes, he bade me hasten hither; and, with god's help, i have made such speed, that i am here before the traitors. god preserve you, my queen, and the young prince, who shall now rule denmark's kingdom." "where is he?" exclaimed the queen, anxiously looking around her; "where is the prince? where is my little erik? come the murderers this way? are they near?" "be calm, my noble queen," replied thorstenson. "a band of armed horsemen ride, indeed, towards the palace, with some disguised traitors at their head; but, so long as i and a single dane remain alive, no enemy to the royal house shall set foot within these walls. i have sent for the princes, and they will be here immediately." "can the castle be defended?" inquired the queen, hastily: "are the traitors all beyond its walls? are there none amongst us? and was it not a dane who murdered denmark's king?" overwhelmed with doubts and apprehensions, the queen turned round, and looked at the dark, armed men who filled the hall; but among them she saw not one who had been heartily attached to the king. "the castle can and shall be defended, so long as one stone stands upon another," replied thorstenson, with glowing cheeks. "the traitors are near us, but you have true men around you. affront not every dane by such dishonouring suspicions, illustrious queen. in this bloody treason the true danish people had no part. your royal husband was not beloved; nor was he, indeed, any favourite of mine either--that truth it is of no use to conceal; but we are not, on that account, either traitors or perjurers. marsk stig andersen is the author of this horrid deed: and even he is not perjured, for he has fearfully performed what he promised: but henceforth he is the deadly foe of every honest dane. we will protect the royal house; and your royal son shall wear with security the crown of denmark, to which he was chosen by a free and loyal people." "we will protect the royal house!" exclaimed the grave knights and trabants: "long live the queen and our young king!" "where are these traitors?" now inquired the queen, with more composure: "can we see them?" she went hastily to the balcony, and perceived the dark troop of horsemen approaching, with the disguised, hooded men at their head. "they are numerous," she continued; "but not sufficient to intimidate my protectors. they approach the castle apparently with peaceful intentions." "let them come close up to the walls, noble queen. they must not imagine that we are afraid to look them in the face. they have neither archers nor storming-ladders with them; and if they have anything to say to us, we can hold a parley with safety from the balcony. the moment they commence an attack, i send them a salute of a shower of arrows from the tower." "'tis well, sir thorstenson!" replied the queen, raising her head with proud indignation. "they shall behold the queen of denmark--they shall behold their young lord and king; and shall find that justice does not slumber, and that the sceptre of denmark, even in the hand of a minor, has still power to set at defiance a band of murderers!" the princes now entered the guardroom, attended by two knights. the young king was pale with horror at the fearful tidings he had just heard; but his brother, junker christopherson, was burning with wrath and indignation. the queen turned from the balcony and approached them. "my sons," she said, "your royal father is dead! bear this sorrow as beseems his sons and avengers! those who caused his death, thirst after your blood, and mine also, and are now approaching this castle with bold audacity; but if you are my children, these tidings will not alarm you." junker christopherson now became pale and uneasy: he looked over the balcony, and stepped hastily back with alarm. but that which so frightened him, brought back the blood into the cheeks of the little king erik. "my sword and my royal helmet!" he cried, in a tone of command. "i am now your king, and it is my business to defend this castle and the kingdom. it shall be my first duty to proclaim the death and downfall of my father's godless murderer. is the castle in a state of defence, sir thorstenson?" the bold knight regarded with astonishment the prince, who now, for the first time, spoke to him with the authority of a chief and king. he bowed respectfully, and hastily informed him of all that had been done for the defence of the castle; taking care, at the same time, not to lose sight of the movements of the hostile horsemen. "good, good!" said erik, nodding. a trabant now presented to the young king a short sword with a gilt handle, and a little gilt helmet with a crown and high feather. erik hung the sword by his side, placed the helmet on his head, and, with his mother, stepped on to the balcony. the troop of horsemen had halted at some distance from the palace, and the monk-clad chiefs seemed to be holding council. at length a tall, gigantic figure, in a gray cloak and hood, accompanied by two persons of less stature, but in the same disguise, rode leisurely towards the side of the outer ditch nearest the lofty balcony, high above the fortress walls, where stood the queen and the young king, closely attended by trabants, ready, on a signal from their chief, to form a shield of defence around the royal personages. the sun had just arisen, and shone upon the noble form and fair, pale face of the queen, sad the chivalrous young king on her right. this spectacle appeared to make a singular impression on the hostile giant-like figure, who more than once stopped his horse. at length he reached the ditch opposite the balcony, where, throwing the monk's hood and cloak from his head and shoulders, he appeared, in closed helmet and tarnished black steel harness, like a statue of bronze on his charger, as, with sparkling eyes, he gazed upon the queen and the prince through the grating of his visor. "queen!" he said, in a deep, warlike voice, "you called the man a crazy braggart who denounced king erik at the thing of viborg. you imagined that the man was not in denmark who dared put so bold a speech in practice. behold, then, in me, the dane who has kept his promise to the king. the fire is now in the house of the mocker; and here you see the hand that cast the brand--here you behold the face from which your craven lord concealed his royal countenance in the straw of a stable." with these words he struck his visor up; and the queen retreated a step, with horror, before the flashing, vengeful eyes and the haughty features of the warrior. but speedily recovering herself, she again stepped forward, with proud indignation; whilst the youthful king by her side grasped the hilt of his sword. "come you yourself, marsk stig andersen, self-made king!" said the queen, with lofty dignity--"come you in person to hear your doom? know, then, it was pronounced in that bloody midnight hour, and that here stands now your king and master, who will, if god spare him life, by a wave of his youthful hand, accomplish heaven's judgment upon you." "a self made king i am not," replied the marsk, with a subdued voice: "such an accursed thought never entered my soul; but who shall now be denmark's king, the mighty spirit of the people and this sword shall determine. the time for that has not yet arrived; and i have not sped hither to contend with women and children. i came here to see what i now behold. you yourself best know who was a self-made king in denmark. my deed of last night has not made you a mourning widow, nor brought you sorrow and heart-pangs, queen agnes. i bear you, instead, a welcome message." as the queen heard these words, it seemed for a moment that she would have sunk upon the earth: it was as if the terrible avenger gave life to a secret picture, of which she had once, with horror, had a glimpse in her dreams. she blushed as red as her scarlet kirtle, and immediately became pale as the linen collar on her fair neck; but she collected her strength, and, with a deep feeling of wounded honour, exclaimed, with dignity and pride--"for these words, stig andersen, i shall answer you, when we meet before god's judgment-seat! here, you stand deeply under the queen of denmark's wrath." "let me speak, mother!" interrupted little erik: "i am his judge and master. thou blood-besprinkled regicide!" he cried, with singular strength and firmness, and with a look that caused the powerful warrior to start--"thou hast murdered my royal father, and mocked the queen, my mother, and shalt surely die! from this hour thou art an outlaw, as certainly as i shall wear the crown of denmark!" junker christopherson now made his appearance on the balcony: "the rack and wheel shall be thy reward, accursed murderer!" he cried, wildly and angrily, clenching his hand with excess of passion. the impression made upon the marsk by the words and looks of the little king was effaced by his passionate brother. "the threats of children do not alarm me," replied the giant knight. "but know this, however, thou young sire-avenger, with the infant crown!--if i must roam the country at thy bidding, there shall be in the land more widows than thy mother--if marsk stig must lie, an outlaw, in wood and den, denmark shall pay perpetual tribute to him and his followers! away!" he shouted to his attendants, raising his right arm, and turning his proud steed: "let not the blood of children smear our hands! the kingdom and country can yet be saved!" sir thorstenson could no longer suppress his indignation. "down with the traitor!" he shouted, waving the royal banner from the balcony. at the signal a shower of arrows was discharged at the daring regicide from the loopholes of the castle-tower. the marsk turned his horse and laughed loudly at the impotent shafts, which, coming from so great a distance, fell harmlessly from his steel armour, and remained hanging in the cloaks of his disguised attendants. as if in derision of this fruitless attack, he calmly stopped for a moment, and received with scornful laughter another shower of arrows, which took no greater effect; but, as he was now about to turn his horse, a red hot stone, discharged from one of the slings on the wall, tore open the entrails of the noble steed, which, with a wild spring, fell under him. at the same instant the drawbridge was lowered, and a troop of archers rushed towards him with bows drawn. the marsk hastily leaped on another horse, and galloped off with his mailed companions, at a speed which contradicted the contempt with which he appeared to receive the shower of hissing arrows and glowing balls from the castle of the infant king. * * * twenty-four hours after the king's murder, the rumour of it had spread over nearly the whole kingdom; but the accounts differed widely in relating the manner of his death. at kiel castle, count gerhard received as guests the illustrious duke waldemar and his drost, sir tuko abildgaard. they had arrived, late in the evening, from a journey through brandenburg, and were accompanied by both the brothers of queen agnes--the margraves otto and conrad of brandenburg. in these brave noblemen duke waldemar had, in the course of his journey, made new acquaintances, whom he seemed highly to prize, and had invited them to accompany him to sleswick. the margraves were the intimate friends of the good-natured, excellent count gerhard, and they had therefore invited the duke to rest a few hours at the hospitable kiel castle--a proposition to which he could not refuse acquiescence, without creating reasonable surprise at the haste with which he journeyed homewards. the duke had not met count gerhard since the evening he had seen him in company with sir john, at the dane-court of nyborg, shortly before his own imprisonment. the interest with which the count had afterwards laboured to obtain his freedom, and to procure him terms with the king, had impressed the duke with a degree of shame for having, on many previous occasions, slighted the plain, gay-hearted gentleman, and made himself merry at the expense of his somewhat ungainly figure, as well as his bashfulness and lack of courtly language, when he desired to shine in presence of the ladies. that the brave, honest count, notwithstanding his awkwardness in the dance with the queen on that evening, had awakened far greater interest with her than his more polished rival, was a piece of good fortune which the proud, ambitious duke had never been able to forgive him. count gerhard had received them with his wonted openness and gay good humour; for the rumours respecting the important crisis of affairs in denmark had not yet reached kiel. his guests and himself were seated at the drinking-board, entertaining each other with merry songs. the margrave otto, who was about the middle age, with a calm and reflective countenance, was a skilful knight, an esteemed general, and a prince who cherished and encouraged the arts and sciences. he was a great admirer of the german minne-singers, and sang several of their lays in a fine deep bass voice. to satisfy the danish gentlemen that his royal brother-in-law, king erik christopherson, was more esteemed in germany than by his own people, he sang reinmar von zweter's well-known eulogium on the king, which, in the schwabian dialect, thus commences:-- "ein kunig der wol gekroenet gat:" and which may be thus translated:-- "a king so well becrown'd, and true, and eke a crown beking'd well, too, maintains that crown aright: should thus the king his crown adorn, that crown adorns him in return, and each does each requite." it was almost the same ballad as that with which the king had been welcomed at harrestrup, and wherein it was boasted of him, that he comforted the widow and the orphan, that he maintained peace, and that his heart and courage were great and bold. "pokker i vold! to the deuce with your becrowned king and bekinged crown, my good friend!" said count gerhard, laughing, when margrave otto repeated the commencement as a chorus. "your good master reinmar is somewhat too bookish for me, and lays it on too thick; otherwise, i could wish the song were danish, and that the people might sing it from the bottom of their hearts. yet i have no great relish for songs for the people that have to be brought to them from other lands." "now, now, my dear count gerhard," said the margrave, "this is not a people's song, but a complimentary ode. how otherwise would you like to be sung?" "plainly and straightforward, so that folks might know me; or not at all. songs of this sort, to be good for anything," he continued, gaily, "must not be mere praise and flattery from beginning to end, but should give us a pleasant yet faithful picture of the whole man--of his faults and follies, as well as of his virtues and merits--so that one might see him truly and entirely, as in a bright shield. nay, i prize more highly the art of my old daddy longlegs: he does more with his countenance than all our learned master-singers with their lira-la-la. you must see his pleasant gifts, gentlemen." at his summons, the grave, lanky jester stepped forward, and applied himself diligently to entertain his master's guests by imitating the appearance and manner of all the notable personages he had ever seen. this mightily amused count gerhard himself: he laughed till his eyes ran over, whilst the jester, with the utmost gravity, represented a learned controversy between two ecclesiastics, whose voices, looks, and manners he mimicked by turns. in this representation the guests immediately recognised the learned, abstracted, and pedantic master martinus de dacia, and his zealous opponent, the proud, passionate master grand, who could well match him as a dialectician and learned theologian. the dean's spare figure and authoritative air the jester could more especially imitate to the life. the duke and sir abildgaard, as well as the courtly margraves, who were enlivened by the wine, laughed most heartily at the exhibition. "excellent!" said the duke: "that is our bold master grand to perfection. but if our stern sir dean knew that we so enjoyed ourselves with this imitation of his manner and reverend person, he would regard it as a shameless and unpardonable outrage on himself and the entire holy church." "he is not pope yet," replied count gerhard; "and more than one infallible clerk we are not bound to believe in. i have great respect for the abilities of the learned dean; but he is still a fallible man, and, like a good christian, he must allow that even his best friends are not blind to his infirmities. to show you, gentlemen, that we here do not limit our selection of persons, when, at a merry moment, we have a mind to see them amongst us, without putting them to the inconvenience of a journey, daddy longlegs shall now give us a copy from nature, which it will probably cost you no great effort to recognise." he whispered a few words to the jester, who nodded, and left the room. he shortly returned, attired in a princely purple mantle, with a gilded parchment crown on his head, over a tuft of thin combed-out hair. his face expressed a singular mixture of majesty and meanness, of wild strength and effeminate weakness: he seemed both to threaten and smile at the same time, and blinked constantly. he strode leisurely forward, stopping at times, as if in doubt, and supporting himself on his long wooden sword. when duke waldemar saw this, he became pale. count gerhard laughed immoderately; and the knightly margraves seemed perplexed. "let this rather daring jest alone, noble count gerhard," at length said margrave otto, earnestly: "it is not becoming in us to be spectators whilst our royal brother-in-law is turned to ridicule." "what the deuce, my brave sirs, are you afraid of the spectre of your royal brother-in-law?" cried count gerhard, laughing. "as you intend shortly to visit him in person, you will do well to accustom yourself to look him boldly in the face, without being embarrassed by his blinking, or scared by his anger." the jester had withdrawn to the farther end of the apartment, where he stood in the shade, observing the effects of his mimicry. at that moment the door was opened, and two young knights, half intoxicated, stumbled in. "news! news!" they shouted in a breath: "there is an insurrection in denmark, and the king is slain!" all sprang up in astonishment, except duke waldemar, who swooned, and sank back in his chair. in the general confusion, this was observed by sir abildgaard only, who hastily came to his assistance, and chafed his temples with wine, giving no alarm, but placing himself before him, and concealing him with his mantle. the others gazed with alarm on the young knights who had brought the unexpected intelligence. but the terror of the jester was beyond control. notwithstanding his talent for drollery, he was subject to a deep melancholy, which at times bordered on madness. a fearful horror now overwhelmed him, and he fancied that the ghost of the murdered king had actually taken possession of him, to revenge the mockery of which he had made him the subject. longshanks became so deadly pale, and remained so motionless, that now he really personified a fearful spectre of the murdered king, whose mask he had assumed in a playful mood. count gerhard had suddenly become grave; but the young knights who brought the message of death did not observe, in their half-inebriated state, the effects which their intelligence had produced; nor knew they that the two strangers were margraves of brandenburg, and brothers-in-law of the murdered king. they now related, in a careless and almost merry tone, what they had heard of the king's murder. "there is no doubt about it, sir count," said he who stood nearest him: "he fell, appropriately, in a love adventure in finnerup forest; and could not himself have desired a fairer or pleasanter death. let us now drink a happy journey to him, and a better and more faithful mate to his fair queen. merrily, sirs! the health of king erik christopherson, wherever he may be." count gerhard stood in agony during this unseemly and inconsiderate speech in presence of the margraves. he would have reprimanded the thoughtless knight, but the jester anticipated him. rushing madly forward, in the guise of the dead king, he seized the bone of a roebuck from a silver dish on the table. "king erik christopherson thanks you for the toast!" cried he, assuming with fearful truthfulness the monarch's voice: "to you, and to all his merry friends here, he sends a greeting." so saying, he threw the large bone at the forehead of the young knight, but it missed its aim, and struck count gerhard, who fell to the ground, with the blood streaming from his left eye, which was laid open by the blow. all crowded around him, alarmed. during the commotion the duke regained his senses: he cast an anxious look towards the end of the hall, where the jester had stood; and as he no longer saw the threatening form of royalty, he appeared entirely to recover his self-possession. at the moment the accident happened to the count, the jester had cast aside his parchment crown and purple mantle, and thrown himself, with an exclamation of intense grief, over his wounded master; but count gerhard quickly arose, holding his hand over his bleeding wound. "our untimely jest has cost me an eye," he said, with composure; "but that is a matter of little consequence at present. if what we have heard be true, the kingdom and our noble queen are in a critical position. haste, my lords, and stand by her with aid and counsel! as soon as possible, i shall place myself at the service of the crown and country." count gerhard left the drinking-room to commit himself to the care of his surgeon; and his guests instantly departed from kiel castle, and hastily took the road to scanderborg. * * * on the same evening the inmates of möllerup were in a state of anxious expectation, for the lord of the castle had departed eight days before with a portion of the garrison. the gates were closed, and the drawbridge was drawn up as usual. the four watchers stood on the tower, and all was stillness in the strong, gloomy fortress. in the women's apartment, as midnight approached, sat the tall, veiled fru ingeborg, in her dark mourning dress, engaged in sewing a long white linen garment. on the work-table before her, stood a lamp. the little, restless ulrica she had sent to bed; but the quiet margarethé sat by her side, industriously employed on the sacred picture, which she worked with silk and threads of gold, and which was destined to adorn a holy altar-cloth in the castle-chapel of möllerup. "i shall soon have it finished now, mother!" exclaimed the daughter. "look once more. the red shines beautifully in the light: to me it seems as if the little angels smiled, and as if there really came a radiance from the faces of the infant jesus and the dear mother of god." "good, good, my pious child," replied the mother, patting her pale cheek, and casting on the work a passing glance through her veil. "i, too, shall soon be done," she added, with a suppressed sigh. "but what is this long linen garment for, dear mother? it is neither a table-cloth nor a sheet." "when i am dead, my child," answered the mother, "thou shalt thank the merciful god, and wrap my body and face in this linen cloth: then shall i have put off the dark dress of mourning, and be clad in white garments--white is the colour of innocence and purity, my child." "alas, mother! cannot we wear that garment, then, when we are living? but our lord and saviour took all our sins upon himself, when he died for us on the cross. angels came to his grave in white raiment; and, when we become as little children, the kingdom of heaven belongs to us, as to the angels." "put on thy white kirtle to-morrow, my child," replied the mother. "ah, mother, mother!" sighed margarethé, "when shall i see thy face again, and thy beautiful tender eyes? i well remember seeing them when i was very little; but that is long, long ago. poor little rikké has never seen thy face, and she is thy child also." "soon, soon shall ye both see me face to face, i hope," replied the mother, with a trembling voice. "look at the sand-glass, child: is it near midnight?" "it is past midnight, mother. dost thou expect father to-night?" "he promised to be here, or to send a messenger, before midnight," replied the mother, anxiously; "and he is not wont to forget what he promises. but he has a great pledge to redeem; and before that is done i shall not hear from him: until then, there is peace for none of us." "alas! wherefore not, mother? rememberest thou not that the holy text speaks of the peace which is higher than human understanding? that peace the lord has given to us all." "yes, truly, child: that peace the righteous shall find: they shall enter into their peace--they shall rest on their beds, it stands. but everything in its time: first war--then peace." there was now heard the howling of dogs in the court-yard. "listen, mother, listen!" said margarethé: "the dogs are noisy. they certainly expect father; but they were never wont to howl so fearfully." "it betokens a message of death," said the mother. "keep silence, my child; methinks i hear thy father's hunting-horn; and, list! the watchword rings from the tower.--he comes!" footsteps now sounded in the court. in the still night they could hear the drawbridge lowered and the gate turn on its grating hinges, and shortly after came the noise of many horses and horsemen in the court. margarethé ran to the window. "it is father and his men!" she cried. "but what is this? there are grayfriars among them, with torches! father has now dismounted, and is coming straight to us." fru ingeborg attempted hastily to rise, but sank back on her chair, powerless. "seest thou thy grandfather, too?--seest thou my hapless old father?" she inquired. "nay, poor old grandfather i do not see, mother. i can see all, but grandfather is not amongst them." the door into the women's apartment was now opened, and the tall lord of the castle stood in his steel armour on the threshold. his visor was raised, and his stern, serious face was pale. he remained on the threshold without uttering a word, but made a sign to intimate that the child should be sent away. "go into the nursery, my child," said the mother, rising slowly, and trembling: "what thy father has to tell me, thou art not to hear." margarethé had approached her father, to greet him and kiss his hand; but she saw clots of blood on his gauntlet, and ran back affrighted. she folded her hands, and left the apartment, weeping. the marsk then stepped over the threshold. "it is done!" he said: "take the veil of shame from thy face, my wife, and embrace, at last, thy husband and thine avenger! thy scandal is washed out with the tyrant's blood: thou shalt no longer blush to be called the wife of stig andersen." with a violent, almost convulsive action, fru ingeborg tore away her veil, and the rays of the lamp fell on her deadly pale and wasted face, which still bore the traces of a beauty seldom surpassed; but her dark blue sparkling eyes were deeply sunk in their large sockets. she stretched out her meagre hands, and approached the marsk. he drew back a step, surprised; but in another instant he rushed forward with wild ardour into her outstretched arms, while two large tears rolled down his iron cheeks. "my ingeborg! my unhappy ingeborg! is it thus i again embrace thee!" he exclaimed: "has an age passed over our heads, and have we both grown old since last i looked upon thy face, and held thee in these arms? live, live now, my hapless wife, and become young again! all thy griefs are over: thy years of sorrow and thy dishonour are avenged--fearfully avenged! never was a polluter of woman more severely punished than he who murdered thy peace. thy father was the first whose sword pierced his false heart." "ah! my father, my father! where is he?" inquired fru ingeborg, starting, alarmed, from her husband's bloody arms. "and thou art bleeding--thou art wounded!" "it is the tyrant's blood--i swore thou shouldst see it. i am myself unscathed, my wife! but thy father--thy poor crazy father--he followed us not from the burning barn. i hurried back to drag him from the flames, but it was too late!" "burned! burned alive!" shrieked fru ingeborg. "righteous god! thus does the almighty judge crush us for our vengeance!" and she fell senseless on the winding-sheet, which lay upon the floor. when she again opened her eyes, she was on a chair, and her husband, in his bloody harness, yet stood alone with her. "comfort thee, my wife!" said the marsk: "thy unhappy father lay not long in pain; his soul soared peacefully on the flames to that promised land of freedom for which he so long vainly sighed. comfort thee, wife! hear what i have to tell thee! it now concerns our own lives. our great plans respecting the kingdom and country are not yet to be thought of. a panic has seized all our friends: every one thinks but of himself and his own safety. the people will not declare in our favour; but wail, like madmen, over the slaughter of the king. i myself am an outlaw: the young king has so proclaimed me, though without trial or judgment. i laughed thereat--but it struck my followers with dismay. and, truly, the words of the child appeared to me most marvellous. people may say what they will; but the child is now a king, however. i cannot rely on duke waldemar; and, therefore, we must away." "never, never! i remain here!" exclaimed fru ingeborg, with decision, as he raised her head. "it is requisite, my wife, thou mayst believe me! i never retreated a step when it was possible to advance. wilt thou now follow a poor outlawed man, my ingeborg, or tarry behind, with a foul name, among our powerful foes?" at these words the powers of life returned to fru ingeborg for an instant, with mighty force. she arose calmly, and regarded her husband with a look of surprise. "a foul name i have borne long enough!" she said: "i shall no longer bear it in this world, even were i to be made queen of denmark. thanks for having taken away my reproach--for me, no one shall further grieve. but if i am again the wife of marsk stig andersen, hear now the last words which, in this world, i have to say to thee. my hours are numbered. the hour's honour i have won was not worth nine years' anguish, and that horrible night of fire and murder. has the panic which struck our friends, seized also the mighty marsk stig? art thou the man to be frightened by a child, and to flee the land at the bidding of a boy? nay, nay, my bold avenger! it is the mist of the dusky night of blood that now obscures thy vision and weighs down thy soul--it is the kingly gore upon thy wambraces that paralyses thine arm. stay here till dawn. cleanse the blood from thy harness, and bethink thee why it flowed. 'twas not merely that thou shouldst behold this pallid countenance. tonight, i stand before thee as a spectre only to remind thee why thou hast tarried so long, and then to descend with honour into my grave. but when thou hast closed these eyes--" "live, live, my brave wife!" interrupted the marsk; "and thou shalt see that i will act in a manner worthy of thee. but, alone and unaided, not even the strongest can overthrow the throne of denmark." "when wert thou left alone? hast thou not lords and knights of thine own kindred? art thou not in league with kings and princes? live duke waldemar and count jacob no longer? and are not ové dyré and jacob blaafod yet remaining? our powerful kinsmen will not desert thee. in norway, king erik is thy steady friend: he is mighty in people and ships: him thou canst depend upon. remain here, then. let not our race be rooted out, and the land be lost. build a castle on hielm, that shall stand firm against shaft, and shot, and sling. take not thy mighty hand from denmark, my brave, proud stig andersen! set the crown on a head that can bear it, and suffer not the families of toké and hvide to be banished, so long as thine eyes are open! give me thy hand upon this, if my peace and salvation are dear to thee!" "well, my wife, i promise you!" said the marsk, holding forth his mailed hand to her: "if it please god, it shall so be done!" he became silent and thoughtful. they stood thus for a few moments, hand in hand. the fire in the pale ingeborg's eyes was quenched, and a cloud overspread her countenance. "thanks, thanks! now am i at rest," she said, slowly and solemnly; "now can i lie still in my grave, and grieve no more over my lacerated life, and over the blood that has been shed for my womanly honour. i shall not hear my forsaken daughters weep--i shall not hear my father's death-shriek in the flames. for the last time my eyes swim in darkness," she whispered, faintly, tottering. "good night, my avenger! thanks! thou hast brought me the last message which i shall hear in the world. it was a message of victory, but of a terrible one. i am again thy lawful wife--but only beyond purgatory can i be what i was nine years ago--" "ingeborg, dearest ingeborg! talk not so wildly!" exclaimed the marsk, anxiously; "retire to rest--thou art unwell." "i go to rest," she whispered, and staring wildly before her. "father, father! burn no longer for thy daughter! now shall she pass with thee through the flames! good night!" she pressed the marsk's hand fervently, and fell suddenly to the ground, as if struck with apoplexy. alarmed, the marsk called for help; but, before the servants arrived, their unhappy mistress lay, without sign of life, in the blood-stained arms of her husband. * * * ere duke waldemar and the margraves of brandenburg reached scanderborg castle, drost peter and sir bent rimaardson stood at the head of a considerable array of soldiers before the palace, where a camp had been pitched, whilst crowds of people flocked to do homage to the young king. old sir john had been brought to the palace on a litter; and the strictest regulations had been adopted. no seditious voice dared to make itself heard. duke waldemar and his train had ridden day and night, without intermission. on the second morning after they left kiel, they beheld the camp of scanderborg in the distance. "we come too late," said the duke. "tarry a moment, my lords: if i see aright, there is an army here." "an army of seven or eight hundred men," replied margrave otto, whose glance at the encampment indicated the experienced general. "drost hessel and sir john have lost no time in this matter," continued the duke: "they receive the homage of the people without waiting for the chief men of the country, and the nearest kinsmen of the royal family. in this, you may see the presumption of these gentlemen. but the power is their's for the moment, and we must be silent. the boy has been declared king of denmark; and your wise and illustrious sister, noble sirs, must, for the present, be content to exercise, along with me, the functions of guardianship. even in that position we must remain quiet. so long as the present commotion agitates every mind, confidence is nowhere to be expected, and no rational measure to be thought of." they continued their way in doubt and silence. "your conclusion, my noble duke, seems to me somewhat precipitate," said margrave otto, at length: "your eloquence had for a moment, in the present unexpected posture of affairs, somewhat dazzled me. the royal election has long since been legally determined; and any alteration, in it would be a culpable encroachment on the privileges of the people. my sister, the queen, would certainly hesitate to exclude her own son from the crown, for the vanity of being called queen-regnant; the more especially as, in reality, she will be so, as long as the young king is a minor." "i fully concur in my brother's opinion," observed margrave conrad, who appeared to be considerably younger than the other, in whose views, however, he generally coincided, although he betrayed a certain independence of mind and character. "we feel grateful for your concern on behalf of our unhappy sister, noble duke," he continued; "but it has misled you. let us not speak to her of a project so dangerous and seducing, and which has certainly never yet entered her thoughts." "you are right, noble sirs," said the duke, quickly: "it was too hasty a conclusion. we must allow matters to take their necessary course. the thought was prompted by respect for the wisdom and rare qualities of your illustrious sister, and as a means of salvation for denmark in the present conjuncture. what i have said on it must be a secret between us, in all the trust and honour of knighthood." "i understand you," replied margrave otto, examining the duke with a scrutinising glance: "during the past week you have been singularly absorbed in, and have almost distracted us with, your state policy. i could almost swear you had a presentiment of what was about to happen." the duke changed colour; and sir tuko abildgaard, who had been silent during the whole journey, hastily turned his steed, and seemed busied only in guiding him. "so much the worse," said the duke, hastily. "who can have paid attention to the unhappy state of denmark, and to the variances that have long existed between the king and his powerful nobles, without fearing the worst? there was a time," he continued, "when, as you know, i took an active part in danish affairs: with the inconsiderateness of youth. i hoped, by a daring undertaking, to bring about internal peace and good government. my attempt miscarried; and now i rejoice, that my reconciliation with the king, and my renunciatory oath, exempt me from the most distant suspicion of having participated in this insurrectionary movement. even my stay with you, noble sirs, in these dreadful times, i regard as the most fortunate circumstance of my life. in conjunction with you and your noble sister, i may now perhaps, unsuspected, aid in restoring order to my distracted country, and in chastising those audacious nobles who would lord it over the nation. we have seen, at least, that they are not afraid of resorting to the most violent measures to advance their own petty claims, and to gratify a miserable private rancour." "there is my hand, noble duke waldemar!" exclaimed margrave otto, extending it cordially: "you intend honestly by the people and the unhappy royal house, and we shall henceforth give you both aid and counsel in restoring peace and order in the country. let us no longer tarry. i long to see my noble sister, and to give her comfort in her hour of need." they set spurs to their horses, and rode swiftly towards the camp of scanderborg, where they were stopped, and their names demanded by the sentinels, who, however, respectfully allowed them to pass, on ascertaining that they were duke waldemar and the queen's brothers. on reaching the palace they found the drawbridge occupied by a strong guard of landsknechts, and were obliged to dismount, in consequence of the number of people who blocked up the way. the crowd fell back respectfully on each side before the three princely personages, whose handsome dresses and gold-embroidered mantles indicated their elevated rank. they were, however, often stopped in their progress, and their squires were obliged to remain behind, with the horses. during these stoppages many expressions were heard from amongst the people, which the duke and sir abildgaard listened to with special attention. "have they caught the murderers?" inquired a burgher. "by the foul fiend, nay!" replied another: "the carls were well disguised, and who could know them? they had crept into monks' cloaks. for aught we know, they may be here, in the midst of us--nobody can tell a hound by his hairs." "the wood has ears, and the field has eyes--what has been hidden in the snow, comes up in the thaw," observed an old woman on a crutch: "if sir john or drost hessel catch them, they will be hanged, without doubt." "hanged?" cried a young fellow--"where now, dorothy ketch? the rascals would dance for joy below the gallows, and hug the halter, if they could get off so easily. nay, nay; the dogs must be broken, and be upon the wheel. the king wasn't just what he should be, it is true, and was too fond of hunting after wives and wenches; but they had no right, for all that, to kill him, like a mad bull, in a barn." "when our young king grows bigger, he will revenge his father, like a good christian," observed a sturdy peasant. "but where is he? are we never to get a sight of him?" cried another: "they haven't surely slain him, too?" "nay, nay--the lord put a bar to that," replied the peasant: "they were here the same morning early, before the devil had his shoes on, and would fain have laid hands on the young king; but he was up as soon as they were. when they saw him on the balcony, they grew pale in the nose, and durst not crook a hair at him. if, as they say, it was really the valiant marsk, he was frightened enough when he heard himself outlawed; and the fear of the evil one seized on all of them before they could knock at the door." "rack and wheel were promised them, and red-hot stones they took with them on their journey," said the young fellow. "that was brave! he will be a doughty king," cried many voices at once: "he will be another sort of man to his father." "there he is! there he is!" was now vociferated by the crowd; and on the balcony was seen the young king, in his little regal helmet and a knight's black suit, by the side of his mother, who stood clothed in black velvet, with a diadem on her dark tresses. her face was pale and tranquil, and she surveyed the crowd with great earnestness and composure. on the left side of the little king was placed sir john, in an arm-chair; and behind him were seen sir thorstenson, and a body of royal trabants, with halberds and bucklers. "long live king erik erikson!" shouted a powerful voice from the balcony; and old sir john, with an effort, rose and waved his hat. a thousand voices repeated the shout of homage. the little king bowed to the people with the bearing of a knight, and uttered a few words, which, however, were only heard by those who were nearest, although they were instantly responded to by the entire voices of the multitude. "see how the young braggart struts and swells!" whispered sir abildgaard: "he has learnt betimes to play the knight and king." duke waldemar angrily bit his under-lip, and gave a private signal to sir tuko, who left his side, and mingled with the crowd. shortly after, a voice from among them shouted--"no more eriks! we must have a waldemar for king!" this exclamation, although no one knew whence it proceeded, was caught up by a considerable number, and a discontented murmur commenced in the assemblage. but old sir john again arose, and, notwithstanding the excessive pain he suffered, read, with a loud and distinct voice, a document which, ten years previously, had been signed and sealed by the bishops and estates of the kingdom, and again renewed by the people in , confirming erik's legal election to the crown. he then repeated the shout of homage, and every rebellious and opposing voice was drowned in the overwhelming cry of "long live king erik! long live our lawful king! down, down with the traitors!" duke waldemar endeavoured hastily to escape from the clamorous multitude, justly fearing that they might tear him in pieces as the instigator of the seditious cry. he therefore joined, with a loud voice, in the shout for king erik, and happily succeeded, together with the margraves of brandenburg, in getting within the palace-gates. the proclamation having been made, the royal party retired from the balcony, and the people soon afterwards dispersed. in the riddersal, the queen received her princely brothers with considerable emotion, and greeted duke waldemar with a coldness which was to him altogether unexpected. drost peter had, in the meanwhile, been receiving from the soldiers the oath of allegiance to the young king; and, a few hours afterwards, he conducted the whole royal family, with a numerous escort, on the way to viborg. the queen's car, containing the little princess mereté and her governess, accompanied them, the queen herself sometimes riding in it when tired of horseback. it was a grand and solemn mourning procession. in a black velvet mantle, with ravens' feathers in her pearl-bound hat, and mounted on a snow-white palfrey, the queen, attended by her sons, rode through the villages on the route. prince christopher was also attired in a magnificent suit of mourning; but the young king chiefly attracted attention. he rode on a tall coal-black steed. under his black velvet mantle, which was lined with sable and figured with golden crowns, he wore a full suit of knights' armour, the wise precaution of drost peter and sir john. in his little crowned helmet waved a plume of ravens' feathers, and on his arm he bore a small shield, on which was represented a helmet with two golden horns, on the extremities of which were affixed two peacocks' feathers. the youthful king had not yet been dubbed a knight; and although, from his second year, he had been accustomed to hear himself addressed by the title of royalty, he set much greater store on being accounted a knight, and on displaying his arms. it was from this childish love of pomp that he had himself caused to be painted the shield with which he was now for the first time publicly seen, and which he bore with a mien as grave and manly as if he confidently felt he was henceforth called upon to protect the kingdom and country with his puny buckler. nearest the royal personages rode the margraves of brandenburg, with duke waldemar and his drost. after them followed the chancellor, the learned master martinus, together with the high-marshal, the under-marshal, and all the counsellors of the kingdom, old john little excepted, whose recent accident obliged him to remain at scanderborg. after these came the royal trabants, and twelve pages bearing torches. at the head of the procession rode sir thorstenson, with a numerous band of landsknechts; and drost peter hessel, with sir bent rimaardson, closed it in, and guarded the royal personages on both sides with their bold and trusty horsemen. the procession advanced slowly and quietly towards viborg, which was reached, after numerous stoppages, on the evening of the following day, when the body of the murdered king, which, from st. cecilia's night, had been exposed to public view in the great cathedral of that city, was to be laid in its coffin and interred. as the procession approached viborg, master martinus first broke the long and solemn silence that had prevailed during the whole journey. notwithstanding the deep sorrow that bowed him down over the misfortunes of the kingdom, the patriotic old man had so strong a desire to unbosom himself, that he forgot for a moment the private suspicions he harboured against duke waldemar, as the secret head and protector of the regicides. they happened to be riding side by side, when the chancellor turned to the duke, with an antiquarian remark, on the name and origin of the ancient city of viborg, which he thought was derived from a certain queen _vebeca_, or from the gothic people _viti_, or, perhaps, with better reason, from its elevated position and ancient use as a place of sacrifice; or even from the heathen war-god _vig_; and hence that the place had been originally called _vigbierg_--the hill of vig. "very possibly, sir chancellor," replied the duke, abstractedly: "as a man of learning, you must understand that best." but the chancellor continued to allude to several conjectures regarding odin's surname, _vigner_, and concerning the amazon _vebiorg_, who is mentioned in the dithyramb on the race of bravalla. "it may be all very true, sir chancellor," exclaimed the duke, peevishly; "but i am not versed in these profoundedly learned matters, and therefore do not concern myself respecting them." "if we examine the town-arms," continued the chancellor, zealously, without noticing the duke's impatience, "they may perhaps confirm the opinion of these who hold that the town was first called _vigletsborg_; the more especially if we suppose the two figures in the shield to be king viglet and his queen. some learned persons, however, have conjectured these to be adam and eve, with the tree of knowledge of good and evil between them; but, again, if we compare the shield with the city seal, (_sigillum senatorum vibergensis civitatis_,) it is evident that the adam and eve of one party, and the king viglet and his queen of the other, are in reality male persons, one old and the other young, who undeniably represent two judges; and i deem it singularly right and judicious that the young judge should have the older and more experienced one by his side; as, in like manner, our young king may now consider it fortunate, in the midst of these disasters, that he has his father's old, tried, and trusty friends by his side." "your learning, worthy sir chancellor, must be especially advantageous to him," replied the duke, jeeringly; "and if you could help him to discover the origin of the name of denmark, it would certainly be a great assistance to him in governing the kingdom wisely." "if we do not derive the name of our dear fatherland from _danais_, as the antiquarian historian dudo supposes, but from old king dan, as father saxo maintains," replied the chancellor, calmly, although he noticed the sarcasm, "it is a thought well calculated to awake kingly aspirations in our young master's soul, that he can reckon his birth and descent from that ancient king, who gave a name to his people and country. such knowledge is never to be despised." he ceased, and fell into deep thought, during which he nodded, as if approving some idea that had occurred to him. "when i behold this great and fair city, with its lofty ramparts," he said, resuming the conversation, "my hope in the almighty god is strengthened, that he will henceforth keep his hand over the people and their lawful king. from this point the great light of christianity was spread abroad among the people by means of the holy bishop poppo's wonderful miracles. on yon heathy summit our ancient kings received homage; and there the holy martyr, king canute, got the true aid of the brave viborgers against traitors and rebels. here the great waldemar was first proclaimed king; and here he found help and refuge with the trusty burghers, after that treacherous and crying slaughter at roskild. here, also, alas, three and thirty years ago, was homage paid to this same unhappy king, then an innocent child, whose ensanguined corse we are now about to see carried to its resting-place. accursed be his murderers, and they who have caused this disaster! i would they were present in the midst of us, that our murdered king and master might turn upon them his glassy eyes, and discover them to us." as he uttered these words he examined the duke closely. it was getting dark, but he could nevertheless plainly perceive an expression of uneasiness in his countenance. "do you not share my wish, highborn sir?" he inquired. "and think you any one of the regicides, or of their accomplices in the horrid deed, is so hardened and godless that he would not grow pale and betray his guilt in presence of the murdered king?" the duke's horse began to plunge, and as soon as he had brought him into a steady pace again, he replied to the chancellor's question, without, however, turning his face towards him. "you would not make a good inquisitor, sir chancellor," he said, quickly, "if you think you could detect the criminals in this fashion. you may rest assured, worthy sir, that i shall cause search to be made for them in every direction; but i should least of all expect to discover them here. the audacious murderers will certainly be careful, on such an occasion, not to come hither, where they might be so easily detected. that marsk stig is the ringleader, we well know; but if we were to regard every one as a participator in the horrid act who may happen to grow pale or be affected during this solemnity," he continued, "we must first denounce ourselves and all the most attached friends of the country and the royal house; for who can barely think of the dreadful deed without emotion? when the margraves and i first heard the report of it, in count gerhard's castle at kiel, we were almost overwhelmed with horror. the daring marsk has accomplices, most assuredly. i have dispatched spies throughout the country; and if you can discover the murderers before i do, sir chancellor, you will be entitled to our thanks. as our young king's nearest kinsman and natural guardian, i consider myself bound to pursue them." the learned chancellor was silent, and again relapsed into thought. the town soon lay distinctly before them, with its numerous churches and chapels, from which more than twenty towers and steeples rose towards the heavens. "hark, how the funeral bells are tolling from the steeple of our lady's church," exclaimed now the grave chancellor: "soon will they be thus tolled from every steeple in denmark; and think you not, illustrious sir, they will ring like the knell of doomsday in the ears of the murderers, wherever they may be?" while he was yet speaking the sounds of bells increased, coming louder and more distinctly from the twenty churches of the city, and from every village steeple in the neighbourhood. night closed in, and the flambeaux of the pages lighted up the mourning procession. duke waldemar's horse plunged about wildly among the flaring torches, seemingly affrighted at the tolling from the bells. "nay, hark again to the small bell on the gable of the grayfriars' church, behind the cathedral: how clearly it sounds beyond every other, although it has no belfry!" exclaimed master martinus to the duke, who was warm with curbing his unruly steed. "the poor grayfriars!" continued the chancellor: "they ring zealously to-night; desirous, perhaps, to let us know that they had no share in what their cloaks concealed in the barn of finnerup." the duke replied not, but addressed himself to his drost. "do we not enter by st. mogen's gate?" he inquired, in an indifferent tone. "nay, illustrious sir: that is the entrance from the aaborg road," replied sir abildgaard: "here we have the sea and the borrewold on our right, and must enter by st. michael's gate, and along st. michael's street to the cathedral." "thou art right, tuko. this noise has confused me. is it not respecting st. mogen's gate they relate that stupid fable?" "yes, i'faith, sir," replied the knight, laughing--"of a bronze horse, under ground, that is said to sound whenever we have war in the country." "the concealed horse, under the gate of st. mogen, has been the palladium of the city from the earliest times, gentlemen," observed master martin, gravely: "it is said that no traitor and enemy of his country has heard it ring, and survived." "the deuce!" exclaimed sir abildgaard, with forced pleasantry; "it is a pity the good st. michael has not such a wonderful horse under his gate: we should then soon have certain proof whether we are all as good patriots as our learned chancellor." "the holy michael gives no warning," replied the chancellor, "but brandishes his flaming sword against the doomed. that is his image, gentlemen, we perceive over the gate there." the procession was now entering the arch of the gate, and the torches illumined a knight-like, brazen statue, that stood over it, with one foot on a dragon, and a long flaming sword in its hand. the sword was gilded, and shone bright, in the light of the flambeaux, above the duke's head. he looked up, and fancied the statue moved and bent towards him; and quickly spurring his horse, he dashed under the gloomy archway. "did i not know it was a brazen statue," he whispered to his drost, "i could have sworn it was alive, and had marsk stig for its shadow." the mourning train proceeded slowly along st. michael's street to the cathedral. every window was lighted, and the streets were filled with people of all ranks, among whom as deep a silence prevailed as if they had been inanimate forms. the train approached the great illumined cathedral, whoso immense bells, with their deep, hollow tones, drowned those of every other. in the large area surrounding the cathedral the mourners dismounted, and the procession advanced on foot, in the order in which it had arrived. black cloth had been laid along the path leading to the doors of the church, which stood, grand and majestic, with its two lofty spires, and its four chapels, as it had been enlarged by king niels, and completed by bishop nicolaus, in the twelfth century. the procession entered, proceeding along the principal aisle, and past the four chapels, wherein candles burned on fourteen altars. the chapel of st. kield, the patron saint of the city, on the northern side of the cathedral, was brilliantly illuminated. in it candles were burnt night and day, under st. kield's golden shrine, which was suspended by gilded links from the vaulted roof; and here was seen, in passing, the tomb of the murdered svend grathé. the last of the train had not entered the church-porch when the first halted opposite the high altar. here the arms of the murdered king, bearing the two lions and the two crowns, half concealed by a veil of long black crape, were lighted up with twelve wax-candles; and here stood the provost, in full canonicals, with two other prelates, an archdeacon, a chanter, and twelve minor canons, with tapers in their hands. they sang a solemn requiem over a large oaken coffin, covered with lead, on which lay the great sword of king erik christopherson, by the side of a silver shrine containing the holy sacrament, which was now to follow him to the grave; as his sudden and violent death had prevented his receiving it whilst alive. on the shrine was engraved the latin inscription: "_panis adest veræ domini sponsalia vitæ_." when mass had been sung, the provost pronounced a short oration. he then raised the lid of the coffin, and placed the shrine between the folded hands of the corpse. every one who desired to see the royal body, now received permission to advance. a few only approached so near that they could see it, and among these was the young king erik. he bowed in silence over his father's corpse, laid his hand upon its gory breast, and said a few words which no one heard. he then stepped back, and hid his weeping face in his mantle. no other person approaching, the prelate replaced the coffin-lid, and having again laid the sword over it, the canons raised the coffin, and bore it, at the head of the mourners, behind the high altar, where they placed it in a vaulted tomb, raised an ell above the ground; whilst a deep and solemn dirge sounded from a crypt directly underneath. the prelate then cast three spadefuls of earth on the coffin, and pronounced, with a loud voice, the usual burial-service of the church. he then announced to the people, that the betrayed and murdered king, five years before his sudden death, as if impelled by a wonderful presentiment, had endowed the cathedral with gifts and estates, in order that masses and vigils should be maintained until the last day for the repose of his soul.[ ] "the requiem," said he, "which is now sounding, shall never cease. every night this song shall ascend from the depths of the earth to the throne of the almighty. day and night we shall pray for the soul of our murdered lord, and implore the king of kings, that king erik may be the last monarch of denmark who shall fall by the hands of traitors and murderers. the lord have mercy on the soul of his anointed! woe! woe to his murderers!" this woe-cry was repeated by all the canons, and by many of the mourners, among whom the voice of the young king erik sounded with wonderful distinctness. three times the woe-cry was repeated by the invisible chorus in the subterranean chapel beneath the tomb. during the whole of these solemnities master martinus had been closely scrutinising every countenance around him, although he was inwardly much affected, and held his folded hands on his breast. in some, he beheld deep emotion; but many exhibited only coldness and indifference; and in others he remarked even a degree of bravado that alarmed him. the duke and his drost stood with their faces turned from him, and appeared to have their attention fixed on st. kield's chapel. but when the hymn sounded from the crypt under their feet, and the deep woe-cry echoed among the arches of the church, the duke had to support himself on his sword, and laid his hand on his forehead; whilst sir abildgaard hastily whispered a few words in his ear. at the same moment a subdued shriek was heard, and a momentary confusion took place amongst the people at the church-door, where a man, who had swooned away, was carried out. the train of mourners slowly quitted the church. during the funeral solemnities drost peter had stood quietly by a pillar of the choir, with his hands folded on the hilt of his drawn sword, which he held point upwards, while the gospel was read. in this chivalrous and devotional posture, which signified that the knight was prepared to defend the holy faith, he had inwardly prayed for the soul of his murdered king, as well as for the future welfare of the young monarch and his kingdom. when the procession had retired from the church, he observed a tall female form, in a simple black dress, and with a dark veil over her face, kneeling with folded hands near the high altar, where she seemed to pray with great devotion, without observing what was taking place around her. her noble and beautiful figure reminded him, beyond all the women of denmark, of her who was dearest to him; and, notwithstanding her simple dress, and the improbability of her being the lady ingé, he remained, absorbed in reverie. it was not until the tall form rose to depart, that he became aware that the procession had already withdrawn, and that the lights on the altar had been extinguished. he then sheathed his sword, and advanced slowly towards her. when he stood before her in the deserted aisle, which was still faintly lighted up by the candles of st. kield's chapel, she started, as if surprised at the meeting, and appeared anxious to avoid him. "ingé--noble jomfru ingé! if it be you," said he, "oh, do not avoid me, but say what weighty reason brings you hither? it is well that our prayers should unite at the royal tomb, and before god's altar, on this great day of mourning!" "drost peter hessel," replied the maiden, pausing, "here then, perhaps, we meet for the last time in this world. i will no longer attempt to conceal my face from you; although the cause of my appearance here must remain a mystery to you." the veil was thrown aside, and revealed her whom the dear and well-known voice had already announced: the brave lady ingé stood before him. she regarded him with a countenance on which a deep although calm grief was imprinted; but its expression was softened by pious confidence, and by a calm demeanour announcing a firm and powerful will. "for heaven's sake, what has happened to you?" exclaimed drost peter, alarmed. "i see you for the last time, say you? what mean you, noble jomfru ingé? why are you here alone? and where is your father?" "inquire not, drost peter--i cannot, i dare not answer you. give me your word of honour as a knight that you will not follow me from this holy place, nor seek to learn the road that i shall take." "how can you think, noble ingé, that i should follow you?" "remember who i am, and you will then understand me. this only can i tell you: i am fulfilling a heavy but necessary duty in quitting this unhappy land. god knows when i shall again see it; but here only my heart and soul are at home. yet one thing more must i declare to you," she continued, with a trembling voice--"for my justification and your own peace. you must know it--that it is the truth, you have my word:--my unhappy father was at flynderborg on st. cecilia's night." drost peter saw how much it had cost her to utter these word's; and he heard them with a feeling of joy, which, however, was restrained by a thrill of horror at the frightful thought they concealed. "the merciful god be praised!" he exclaimed. "take my word as a knight, noble jomfru ingé, that although my whole soul follows you wherever you may journey, mine eye shall not attempt to spy out your way, whoever accompanies you. we stand here on a divided road," he continued, deeply affected; "and i see too well that we must be parted for a time; but by my god and saviour, in whose presence i stand, i shall not resign the hope of again seeing you! you were my childhood's bride, jomfru ingé! our angels before god's throne united our infant souls, before they knew each other. if you may not or will not hereafter become my bride in reality, when these turmoils which now part us have ceased, and denmark's throne again stands fast--i now vow to god, and by every saint, that drost peter hessel shall go down unwedded into his grave, but never shall he forget his childhood's bride! answer me not, noble-hearted ingé! crush not with a word the fairest hope of my life! i have an important work to perform in the world, and feel, by the blessing of god, strength and courage to complete it faithfully, even with this greatest loss. but with you is torn away the blossom of my heart's life, the fruit of which i must be condemned never to taste. deprive me not, then, of my fair hopes, but rather, with one word, bid them live. say but that word, and my courage and strength shall increase tenfold, to realise with cheerfulness the thoughts which first brought our souls to know each other. ingé, dearest ingé! canst thou hereafter love me?" with these words he seized her hand, and cast on her a look beaming with the strongest affection. she withdrew her hand. "i can, my childhood's bridegroom," she replied, with inward emotion; "yea, i can love thee deeply, so that, even should i never more behold thee with these eyes, i can preserve thine image in my soul, until we meet in that greater fatherland where no strife and guile can prevail, and where no might can sever us. but i am a daughter, drost peter," she continued, retreating a step--"i am an unhappy daughter. you are--you must be--the enemy of the man who gave me life. do, in god's name, what you must and ought, and let no thought of me lead your mind from truth and duty. the almighty shall determine whether we again meet in this world or not!" "it shall, it must be, noble, dearest ingé! the compassionate creator will not for ever divide us." "that no one knows, save he who knows all. farewell, my childhood's bridegroom--farewell! god and all his saints be with thee and our fatherland! he who is merciful be gracious to us all! farewell!" so saying, she hid her face in her veil, and disappeared along the dark aisle. drost peter dared not follow her. he stood as if rivetted to the pavement; and it seemed to him as if the dark and baleful spirit that sped over the land had now torn away from him also the delight and joy of his life; but he felt, at the same time, with a melancholy pleasure, that this farewell hour had shown him a glimpse of a blessedness of which no separation, and no power on earth, could rob him. he had been standing for some time, gazing on a tombstone in the floor of the church, when he raised his eyes to the image on the cross, above the door of the choir, and it seemed to him as if the drooping head of the redeemer shone with glory in the rays proceeding from the lights of st. kield's chapel. suddenly he felt a powerful blow on his left shoulder, as if from a strong, mailed hand. he turned, and a tall man, clad in armour, with his visor down, stood before him. "we are met, drost peter hessel--we are met!" uttered a deep and powerful voice. "if you are the knight who is placed to guard the infant throne, defend it if you can! you now behold the man who swears to overturn it, or perish in the attempt." "ha! marsk stig! regicide!" exclaimed drost peter, drawing his sword. but at that instant all the lights in st. kield's chapel, which had alone illuminated the church, were suddenly extinguished; the powerful, gigantic form disappeared, and drost peter groped alone, with his drawn sword, among the tombs in the dark cathedral. the childhood of erik menved. part iii. half an hour after lady ingé had left drost peter in viborg cathedral, by the grave of the murdered king, she departed, in the plain dress of a citizen's daughter, through st. mogen's gate, in company with her father. many travellers were proceeding the same way; but before midnight, by order of the young king, every gate was barred. duke waldemar and sir abildgaard had accompanied the procession from the cathedral. the old borrewold castle had been prepared for the reception of the royal family and their followers; and there, late in the evening, the queen and the young king held a council, with locked doors, at which were present the margraves of brandenburg, chancellor martinus, and drost peter, who had hurried from the church with the important intelligence that marsk stig himself was in viborg, and had had the audacity to be present at the funeral. every precautionary measure was instantly adopted. the approaches to the royal apartments in the borrewold were guarded by sir thorstenson and benedict rimaardson, with the royal trabants. mailed horsemen and landsknechts blocked up every avenue to the castle. the trusty civic guard of viborg was armed, and, at the chancellor's suggestion, the orders of the king were immediately issued to shut the gates of the city, and to institute a strict search throughout it, during which every suspicious person was seized and imprisoned. it was past midnight. the duke, with great inquietude, paced up and down his sleeping chamber, situated in the eastern wing of the castle, facing the viborg lake. the events of the journey and the interment had strongly excited his fears. the expressions of the chancellor on their way to the city, and his searching looks in the cathedral, had created in him a feeling of uneasiness, which he in vain endeavoured to overcome. his anxiety was farther increased by the stern preparations going forward in the castle, which had not escaped his notice. on every side he heard the tread of armed men--in the court-yard, as well as in the passage outside his chamber. although both himself and his drost were waited upon with the greatest attention, and even with regal pomp, it still appeared to him that all his movements were watched; and the strong guard outside his door was far from pleasing to him. he had despatched tuko abildgaard into the city, an hour before, to ascertain the cause of the excessive noise and clang of arms he heard there, and he had not yet returned. the door was at length opened, and the young knight entered, breathless. "what is the meaning of the din?" inquired the duke: "is the town in an uproar?" "not precisely so; but matters look suspicious," replied sir abildgaard, with some agitation. "they are searching everywhere for the marsk. i have been three times laid hold of, and your name was barely powerful enough to liberate me." "have they seized the marsk?" asked the duke, hastily. "nay, sir duke: it is rumoured that he left the town before the gates were secured. the stig knew well what he was about; but what he wanted here to-day, i am at a loss to conceive." "that is easily understood," replied the duke. "to know in what temper the people are, must be to him of much importance. great grief or lamentation i did not observe; neither saw i peasant or burgher in the procession." "but now the wind has shifted, sir. the sight of the queen and of the young king has worked a wonderful change in the mob. you should hear how they growl against the daring marsk and his friends, and how they lament and extol the deceased king, the soft-hearted fools! we shall now have reinmar von zweter and all the german poets in vogue, and erik glipping will become a great man in his grave. but it is always thus. when the wild beast, that every one pursued, has fallen, even his greatest foes lament over him, as if he had suffered shameful injustice; and they admire the monster for his powerful claws, when they have no longer anything to fear from them. that wavering turncoat, sir lavé, from flynderborg, has been here, with the marsk: he was seized with qualms in the church, it is said, and behaved like a madman during the funeral. fortunately, he has disappeared. had they caught him, he was in a condition to betray us all." "us?" repeated the duke, suddenly changing his tone of familiarity to one of pride and coldness: "remember to whom you are addressing yourself, tuko! what connection had i with these conspirators? look to your own safety. after what you have stated, i would advise you to be careful. rely not on my name: unless you can, like me, wash your hands of what has happened, and swear you had no part in it, i cannot aid you. i am here, with the young king, as his nearest kinsman and protector. with marsk stig and his transactions, i can have nothing to do. the late conspiracy at möllerup is already talked of as a well-known affair, and you are named as having been concerned in it. but for me, i knew nothing of it, and nothing will i know." "but, most gracious sir," exclaimed sir abildgaard, in astonishment, "you stated no objections when you accorded me permission to travel; and, though you did not expressly send any message by me, we perfectly understood each other. what i promised in your name, i have never doubted but that you would fulfil." "what you have promised, you must yourself perform. i have promised nothing that i dare not proclaim to the world. that which i promised and swore to the deceased king, in our covenant at sjöborg, i have kept to the letter. from that hour i have undertaken no step against the crown and kingdom, and yet here they have no confidence in me. i must remain contented with respectful servants, and an ample guard of honour, while the margraves and drost hessel are present in the council. but i shall speedily teach these gentlemen who is the guardian of the king, the legal protector of the kingdom; and the daring rebels, too, shall know that i am not the man who, contrary to his oath and duty, will be found protecting traitors and regicides." sir abildgaard stood as if thunderstruck. "my noble duke," he said, at length, "you must be jesting? you will not strike down, in his moment of need, the faithful friend who has placed his life in jeopardy for your sake? i, who so cheerfully shared imprisonment and adversity with you--you cannot seriously propose to use me as a mere tool, which you can suffer to be broken and cast aside with unconcern, when you have no farther need of me? if this, however, be the friendship of princes, i must indeed have been the most obtuse animal in the world, when i thought i had discovered generosity and magnanimity under purple." "tuko," said the duke, with a transient expression of emotion, and a proud commanding look, "link not your common notions of friendship and generosity with that great chain of thought that binds my princely life to the throne of denmark. have you been familiar with me from my childhood, and not yet learnt to separate the thought from the word? think you this hand can ever be so mean and base, as to crush the true and active friend of my youth, who spoke and acted, while i was forced to sleep and hold my peace? learn truly to estimate your princely master, who ceases not to be your friend, although he must now, for loftier reasons, assume the appearance of a stern enemy. if, with me, you have discovered the true meaning of living for a great and noble object, know also that the paltry vulgar virtues, which people call friendship, fidelity, gratitude, and i know not what, are at bottom but pompous nothings, which only command the respect of children in spirit and statecraft, and which the matured ruler-mind hesitates not to cast aside when, from the puppet masses, he can embody for himself the great idea for which he lives and labours. if you now comprehend me, tuko, you will at once acknowledge and respect that mighty spirit you nurtured in its developement, and by whose side you shall again stand when i have reached my goal, and you have acquired strength to follow me. meantime, you must depart: this night must you fly; and by your flight accuse yourself, and betray what you can no longer conceal. you, and all the other delinquents, i adjudge outlaws. as the king's guardian, and protector of the realm, i shall pursue you with rigour when the proper moment has arrived. but if there be a great spirit in you, as i have believed, you will not therefore hate or mistake me; and when the season of persecution is over, you shall find that duke waldemar was not a selfish or faithless friend, and that you were no credulous fool when you trusted to generosity and magnanimity under purple." "now, i understand and admire you, noble sir," replied the artful knight, bowing profoundly, "though i must flee you as from a stern pursuer. what i have done for you in secret shall cast no shadow on your glory. you can stand high and pure by the infant throne, and condemn your friends without blushing. good--i shall fly--whither i dare not say; but wherever, in the north, there sits enthroned a powerful protector of marsk stig, there is the place of shelter for his persecuted friends. farewell, noble duke: your drost shall soon be gone. spare not the hardened sinner when he gains a respectable distance; but remember also, that none of us are immaculate, and let mercy take the place of justice when the hour of condemnation has arrived." so saying, he retired into a side apartment, and speedily returned disguised as a right handsome pantry-maid. he curtsied to the duke, mimicking with much drollery the bashful manners of a servant-wench. "dearest gentleman," he said, with the accent of a jutland peasant-girl, "i am a modest, innocent lass, and hardly know how i could have found my way into the presence of such a grand young lord. pardon my intrusion, and allow me to quit this place pure and uninjured, that the slanderous world may think no ill of me. that you are a dangerous gentleman for such as me, is well known; and your guard of honour will certainly not be surprised if i conceal my modest face from them. thanks, worthy gentleman, for your gracious kindness. for your sake i must now hide from the world for a long time, and you must pretend not to know me, though i shall probably grieve for what is yours, and you will not certainly repel the hand of your humble servant." "art thou a fool? is this a time for jesting?" exclaimed the duke, in a low tone; and, opening the door into the passage, "good night, my child," he said, aloud, patting the cheeks of the pretended girl in the open doorway. "run on, now: these brave soldiers will not harm thee. but take care, in future, that thou dost not thus go astray after wedlock fancies, and mistake a knight's closet for the pantry." the rough landsknecht outside the door smiled in his beard, and, without suspicion, allowed the tall pantry-maid to slip past. the duke closed the door, and cast himself, in gloomy thoughtfulness, on a chair. "flee, miserable coxcomb!" he muttered, "and find a shelter now where thou canst! thou wilt hardly escape without getting thy wings scorched." in a minute afterwards he fancied he heard a scream. he approached the window with some uneasiness, and distinguished a cry of "seize her! it is a disguised traitor!" shouted by a gruff voice in the street. there followed some shrieking and tumult, which, however, soon died away in the distance. the departure of the intimate friend of his youth, and concern for his fate, seemed to have disposed the duke to melancholy; but the feeling was not of long duration. "bah!" he said to himself, as he proudly paced the floor, "when the ancient heroes tied fire beneath the wings of swallows, and sent them forth as instruments of conquest, what cared they for the piping of the little creatures?" he again threw himself on a chair, and fell into deep thought. since his imprisonment at sjöborg, where he had often held converse the whole night with his owl and his dead kinsman, as if the latter answered him from the inscribed prison-wall, he would frequently, in his closet, talk half aloud to himself; and it was rumoured and believed by many, that he was leagued with powerful spirits. "as far as i know," continued he, wrapt in his gloomy fancies, "the first great stage is mounted: it requires courage to stand upon it, for it is bloody and slippery; but i did not stir a hand--not a word escaped my lips. i stand pure and free; and where is he who can accuse me? the next stage is a minor. it, too, must be ascended--but without crime. the fair hand that shall help me up is cold, but it may be warmed. it will lose me a pious soul, but a love-dream shall not stand in my way. on! on!--and then--then shall no one say, 'behold! there goes king abel in his grandson!'" next forenoon, when duke waldemar left his apartment to appear in the royal presence, the guard of honour lowered their lances respectfully before him. the queen and the young king received him with an attention that surprised him; whilst drost peter's salutation, though somewhat cold, was courteous. the duke surmised that the council had resolved to invest him with that full power and authority which they could not refuse him without overstepping the law of the land, and rousing a dangerous and powerful enemy, who, in open league with the conspirators, could easily overthrow the yet unstable throne. the consciousness of this power, and the feeling that he was already secretly dreaded, although his authority was not publicly acknowledged, imparted to him an air of confidence and almost kingly dignity that did not ill become him. he approached the queen with as much ease and freedom as if he had already been for a long time her adviser, and the guardian of the young king. he spoke of the critical state of the kingdom, and of the measures to be adopted, with sagacity and zeal, but at the same time with the decisive air of a co-regent. this demeanour was, however, attended with so much politeness, and respectful acknowledgment of the queen's important influence as royal mother, that the fair and proud queen agnes could not possibly be offended. she appeared to have already been more favourably disposed towards the duke by her brothers; and, now, she could not but admire the delicacy with which he advanced his claims, without seeming at all assuming or importunate. the constraint which was apparent in the queen's demeanour at the beginning of the conversation soon disappeared, and drost peter observed with concern the manner in which the duke, by his subtle flatteries and vehement denunciation of the conspirators, contrived to disarm the queen of every suspicion that had previously attached to him. "it is a horrible conspiracy!" exclaimed the duke, warmly. "many of the most important men of the country appear to be engaged in it. a rigid investigation has become necessary, that the guilty may be discovered, and the innocent remain unsuspected. my former misunderstanding with the king, and that youthful folly for which i had justly to atone at sjöborg, and which there i also learnt to forswear and repent, may have exposed me to a distrust, which i hope soon to remove by faithful deed and counsel. in a magnanimous soul an unfounded suspicion can never take deep root, though there be spirits mean and distrustful enough to nourish it. i blame no one, however, for being vigilant and cautious," he continued. "in these unhappy times, distrust insinuates itself into the closest relations of friendship and kindred. would you believe it, noble queen, even the friend of my youth, drost tuko abildgaard, had given me cause for strong suspicions, which, i regret to say, are now confirmed; for last night he disappeared." "how?" exclaimed the queen, with surprise: "your drost--the young sir abildgaard?" "even he, noble queen! is it not melancholy? a man, whom i regarded for so many years as my friend--he who shared my youthful follies, and was, indeed, partly the cause of them--though for that he shared my imprisonment in sjöborg, which he left, as i believed, with the same abjuration of his errors that i made--i have now reason to believe that he was present with the conspirators at möllerup, in the foolish expectation that i should approve that horrible project, if it could be executed before i dreamt of it. yesterday, having heard with what horror i condemned the conspirators, he fled, and i have not since heard of him." "respecting this affair, illustrious sir," observed drost peter, "i have to inform you, that sir tuko abildgaard was last night apprehended in a suspicious disguise, but afterwards escaped by a daring artifice, and is not yet discovered." the duke remained silent, and merely raised his hand to his eyes, as if unable to restrain an emotion that seemed to do honour to his heart. "noble duke!" exclaimed the queen, with warm interest, "what you have lost in that false friend you have gained in my esteem and confidence. that your drost was among the conspirators was well known to me; and there was a moment when even those who defended you most zealously were forced to admit that your intimate connection with this knight was unaccountable. my brothers are your friends. from them i have learnt your disinterested sympathy, as well for me, as for the crown and kingdom. they were witnesses of your horror upon first hearing of this audacious crime; and it will greatly rejoice them to learn, that the incomprehensible enigma of your relation with sir abildgaard has thus been solved." the duke blushed slightly; but hastily availed himself of the advantageous impression he had made upon the queen. he advised that a dane-court should be held at nyborg in the spring, where he would himself be present, and, in conjunction with the queen, assume the guardianship of the young king. in the meantime he hoped to show himself worthy of that important office, by securing the country against the daring marsk and the rebels. he suggested that the queen should, for the present, remain with the young king at viborg, where the strong garrison and the fidelity of the burghers rendered any hostile attack impossible. this had been the advice of drost peter and the chancellor, in which the margraves of brandenburg had also concurred. the same day the duke left viborg, apparently on the best terms with the royal house. a short time afterwards it was announced that he had raised an army in south jutland, to oppose the marsk and his adherents. but drost peter trusted him not; and old sir john, who, quite recovered, soon arrived at viborg, shook his head doubtfully at these tidings. they suspected that the duke merely pretended to arm himself against the marsk, in order to muster a respectable force, with which he could assert his claims at the dane-court, and secure his election to the regency. * * * whilst nearly all the conspirators, stricken with horror at their own deed, had sought refuge in norway, marsk stig had buried his wife, and, with his two daughters, had left möllerup, where he no longer considered himself secure. at great personal risk he had been present at the king's interment, and had marked how little favourable to him and his cause was the temper of the people. nevertheless, it was quickly rumoured that rypen house and flynderborg were in the hands of the rebels, and that the valiant marsk, with seven hundred men in iron, and his warlike engines from möllerup, had taken a strong position on helgeness and hielm, from which points he appeared resolved to carry devastation through the country. helgeness is a peninsula, girded by immense heights. it stretches, like a promontory, from molsherred towards samsoe, between the bay of vegtrup and that of ebeltoft. the neck of land by which this peninsula is connected with north jutland, is only two hundred paces in breadth. with the utmost haste, the marsk had caused this approach to be cut off by a deep trench, and a wall of large hewn stones, at which they laboured day and night; the old castle on hielm island being fortified at the same time. this singular little island is only about an english mile in circumference. it lies in the cattegat, about two miles east of helgeness, and about a mile from the point that runs out from ebeltoft parish. the old castle on the island is said to have been built in pagan times, by the famous king jarmerik, who was there slain. the island and castle belonged, at the period of which we treat, to chamberlain rané jonsen, as did also a tenement or farm-house on the point, which, for many ages after, was called rané's barn-yard. the island possessed a good haven, where lay jarl mindre-alf with his pirate-vessels. there was no want of fresh water; and fru ingeborg had, with much prudence, advised her husband to make this his place of refuge. here he was in greater security than at möllerup, had firm footing on the danish coasts, and could receive supplies from norway without impediment. the island was already, from its situation and heights, so well fortified by nature, and the old castle was so favourably situated, that it did not seem difficult to make the place impregnable. there were now added two lofty towers, with loopholes and strong battlements, and the castle was provided with deep double trenches. the marsk had not awaited the permission of his kinsman, the crafty chamberlain rané, to occupy this important position, and probably he did not expect much complacency from him. the latter, indeed, appeared to have intended this secure asylum for himself, should all miscarry. hence, on the marsk's arrival, he found a brave little garrison in the castle, who had strict orders from the chamberlain to defend it against every one to the last extremity. the marsk had therefore to take the place with the strong hand, and was so exasperated by the unexpected resistance he encountered, that he allowed the whole garrison to be slain. for this reason, it was afterwards sung, in the old ballad:--. "marsk stig he captured hielm so steep-- the truthful tale i tell: full many a cheek was blanched that day, and many a hero fell." here the marsk erected his lithers and other formidable machines on the old rock-fast walk and visited helgeness almost daily, to superintend the fortifications there. his seven hundred ironclad men were garrisoned in hielm, and on the peninsula. some of the peasants in the neighbourhood had voluntarily declared for him; but many he caused to be seized, and compelled them to bear stones and labour on the works. the towers on hielm speedily arose, as if by miracle, terrifying the oppressed peasants all around, who were constrained not only to work on the walls of helgeness, but also to supply provisions for the garrisons of both places. these misfortunes were attributed by the depressed people to the bad government of the murdered king; and the feelings they then indulged are plainly indicated in the ballad which, a few months after the king's death, blended mournfully with the blithe spring song of the birds, and in which the new fortress was described as a monster who had risen from the sea, with horns like towers. therein it was sadly sung:-- "the peasant he goes out o'er the field, and there he sows his corn: help us, our father in heaven high, now hielm has got the horn! "god pity us poor peasants gray, that glipping e'er did reign: alas, that he was ever born to be the peasants' bane!" this ballad the stern marsk himself heard a young peasant-girl singing, one fair morning in the beginning of may, while, mounted on his war-steed, he was surveying with pride the strong defences, to which a few peasants and prisoners of war were still engaged in dragging the last stones. one of the strongest workmen on the walls was a stalwart old man, in a worn-out leathern harness, who, notwithstanding the presence of the marsk, had sat quietly down on an angle of the wall, his arms crossed, and regarded the proud general with a wild, disdainful look. the peasant-girl, carrying bandages in her hand, advanced leisurely along a footpath, beyond the wall. her song seemed to surprise the marsk. the old prisoner on the wall also listened attentively. the girl first sang aloud, at some distance:-- "they were full seven score men and seven upon the muir who met: the king is slain--how rede we now? and where now shall we get? "the king is slain, and lies a corse-- the peace we've broken down; here we can neither bide nor bigg in field or burrow-town. "but we will on to scanderborg, and bid the queen good-day, and ask the lady how she doth before we farther gae. "she may forget how she would mock, and all our words deride: the fire is now in the mocker's house, and she the stour maun bide." marsk stig started. he heard his own words to the conspirators, at the council on the heath immediately after the king's murder, and something of what had passed between the queen and him at scanderborg. the peasant-girl drew nearer, and sang, with a loud voice, what had been preserved in the ballad of the words of the queen and the young king:-- "welcome, marsk stig, thou self-made king! now shalt thou have thy due; this night of blood, should king erik live, full dearly shalt thou rue. "then up spake erik erikson, little though he mot be: from denmark thou'rt outlawed, as sure as the crown belongs to me." the marsk became irritated, and reined in his steed; whilst the prisoner on the wall laughed aloud. "pray be not angry, stern sir marsk," he muttered: "only hear the ballad out. there is not a word of falsehood in it." the peasant-girl seemed to concern herself only with her bandages and her song, which went on to relate how the marsk went home to lady ingeborg, at möllerup, and how she advised him to fortify hielm. with deep grief, stig andersen heard some of the last words of his unhappy wife, as the girl continued her song:-- "for nine long winters have i pined-- in secret borne the blight; my heart is now laid in the grave-- good night, my lord, good night!" the anger of the marsk changed to a deep melancholy. he sat on his horse motionless as a statue, listening to the two last verses of the ballad, which the girl sang with such an expression of sadness, that it pierced his heart, and he felt as if, in these tones of sorrow, the whole grief of the country had united to penetrate his bosom with reproaches, as with a sharp two-edged sword. the words were simple and touching:-- "the sturdy oaks in the greenwood stand, when the storm comes down amain, but the hazel and the birchen tree are rooted from the plain. "what kings and courtiers do amiss upon the poor doth fall; then pity us wretched peasants, god! have mercy on us all!" "my aasé, my aasé!" suddenly exclaimed the old prisoner on the wall, springing up and extending his arms towards the dark-eyed country-girl, who, with the delighted cry of "grandfather, dear grandfather, have i at last found you?" dropped her bandages, and with outstretched hands ran towards him as eagerly as if she would have crossed the deep ditch and sealed the wall that separated them. "what now, child?" exclaimed the marsk, riding up to her. "wilt thou be the first to carry marsk stig's fortress by storm? is this thy daughter, old graybeard?" "my grandchild--my blessed little aasé she is, stern sir marsk!" cried old henner friser, so deeply affected that, for a moment, he forgot his feeling of defiance. "she has sought for me the whole country round. ah, if you have a human heart, sir marsk, deny me not the pleasure of clasping her again to my old bosom, and blessing her once more, before i drag myself to death on your accursed wall." "thou art an intractable and audacious carl," replied the marsk: "even when thou beggest a favour, thou defiest me, and cursest my work." "i dare not curse your work, sir," replied henner: "my hand is not purer than your's; but my help will bring you no blessing. every stone i have rolled hither will most assuredly be scattered: therefore have i toiled like a beast of burthen, and have not every day laid my hands in my lap. and well may i call this wall accursed; it bears the ban in its own foundations. it will fall, as surely as it now stands, proud and bold, a devilish barrier between danish hearts. it parts even fathers and children; for here i stand, a miserable, thrall-bound man, forbidden to embrace my own child." "strange old man!" exclaimed the marsk, with a vague feeling of dread--"thou art free. descend! bid the landsknechts unbind thee, and depart in peace with thy child!" "thanks, stern sir," cried little aasé, seizing the marsk's mailed hand, and pressing it to her lips: "for this deed will the merciful god forgive you all the sorrow you have caused me. come, come, grandfather! thou art free--hearest thou not, thou art free!" "free i have always been," replied the old man, proudly, and without moving. "i have not raised a single stone more than i chose, and from this day forth i should never have raised another. it might have cost me my head; but that i have worn long enough, and i would never wish it to fall by an abler hand than marsk stig's." "thou singular old man!" exclaimed the marsk, thoughtfully, "thou shouldst never have fallen by my hand, however much thy insolence might have deserved it. neither of us, i perceive, should condemn the other. thou art a man who, hadst thou so willed it, might have stood by the side of marsk stig." "i do stand by your side, stig andersen!" interrupted henner, raising himself proudly erect on the lofty wall above him: "at this instant i stand as high, not merely on this wall, which separates you from your country, but on the mighty boundary between the land of the living and the dead. many days of penance i have not remaining, unless, like the shoemaker of jerusalem, i have to roam the earth like a spectre till the day of doom. what i have to say to you at parting, i shall say aloud, before the whole world. would that my voice could reach every ear in denmark!" and he cried, loudly: "cursed--cursed is the hand that is lifted against kings and crowns, were it strong as st. christopher's, and pure as that of the holy virgin. the murderer of a king shall never know peace: his race shall perish from the earth--his best deeds shall be as the flax, that is consumed in smoke and flame--" "silence!--thou art mad, old man!" cried the marsk, in anger, and with a threatening gesture. but the old warrior remained immoveable, and gazed full in his flashing eyes. "we two are able to look angry men in the face," he continued, calmly: "but you are right--neither of us should condemn the other. i have not much to tell you, stig andersen. you slew the false ravisher, king glipping. i, henner hjulmand friser, slew the accursed fratricide, king abel. we are thus equals. i can hold out my hand to you as a comrade--the one bloody hand cannot smear the other." "ha, old henner! wert thou that bold frisian?" cried the marsk, in astonishment. "come hither! i shall dub thee a knight, even in thine old days." "that shall you not, stig andersen," replied the old man. "in deeds i am your equal; and you shall now see that, without the stroke of knighthood, i stand as high as you. i have not repented my act, nor have you repented your's. but i did not persecute the dead in his innocent race--i did not undertake, with blood-besmeared hands, to distribute crowns, nor desire to become an idol among men. i would free, not lay waste, my country. i built no wall between hearts and hearts. yet i perceive that there can be no blessing with us, and such as we. for this was i unable to seize you and your accomplices; but was led into this stronghold by the crafty demon that i myself had bound. and here have i atoned my temerity, by slaving for a greater regicide than myself. it is the reward i merited. i perceive this now, proud marsk, and am therefore a higher man than you. the time will come, stig andersen, when you shall see it in the same way. we then may meet again, and toil like trusty comrades on a greater rebel-defence than this." he paused for a moment, and the wildness of his countenance gave place to melancholy. "yet, nay," he continued, in a subdued tone, "there is still pardon for us both; but not thus--not thus--mighty marsk. i am on my way thereto: if you will with me, tear down your accursed defences, and follow me yonder, to where the sun rises!" so saying, he descended from the wall on the inner side. his words had made a singular impression on the marsk. "humph! he is still half crazy, however," muttered the gloomy warrior, as he rode in silence to the gate by which the liberated prisoner was to issue. alarmed by her grandfather's words, aasé, pale and trembling, followed the knight. as they reached the gate, henner friser, with a long staff in his hand, advanced towards it. he still wore a link of his heavy iron chain, which did not, however, obstruct his movements. the marsk's trusty attendant, mat jute, who superintended the fortifications, followed the haughty old man, to hear his liberation confirmed by the marsk himself, before he removed the link. "loose him--he is free!" ordered the marsk, and mat jute obeyed. "one word farther only, henner," said the warrior. "whither wouldst thou i should follow thee?" "thither, where yonder tree once grew, and bore the eternal fruit of mercy," answered henner, pointing to a large cross, which stood by the roadside. the marsk laughed wildly. "yes, truly, when i have reached my second childhood," he replied. "depart in peace, old man. thy deed was greater than thyself; and so it overcomes thee. go get thyself a letter of pardon: turn saint if thou canst; and let us see who shall first reach the goal. when thou returnest, thou shalt be welcome to me, wherever i am. we can then discuss, to better purpose, which of us stood the highest, or performed the most." the marsk spurred his horse and disappeared within the fortification. henner friser silently extended his hand to little aasé, and they departed leisurely, without once looking behind. they thus continued their way for some time, in painful silence. aasé at length broke it. "dear, good grandfather," she said, tenderly, "why dost thou not speak to me? i have not seen thee for many a day--not since that dreadful st. cecilia's night." "what sayest thou, my child?" inquired the old man, as if awaking from a dream--"ay, let us hear: what became of thee on that fearful night?" "yes, fearful it was, truly! when thou and skirmen had both left me, i fell asleep on the bench, and my dreams were frightful. when i awoke, i was in the cellar, beneath the floor, and i thought that i had seen the king, and warned him of the grayfriars. it was daybreak, and i ran to the forester's. there i heard of the king's murder, and that thou hadst followed the murderers. i waited for thee three days, in the greatest anxiety, which i could endure no longer. i then exchanged clothes with the forester's maid, took our little hoard, and resolved to travel the country over until i had found thee." "my true, my dearest aasé!" exclaimed the old man, patting her cheek: "thou hast had better fortune than i. and no wonder: the pure angels of god attend thee; but i--i had an imp of the evil one for my guide. i, too, at length found those i sought; but my guide was craftier than i and my companions. that artful fox, rané, befooled us long enough, and took us all round jutland with him. but at last i became impatient, and threatened that my good sword should despatch him. he then swore with an oath that if the regicides were in the country, i should discover them at helgeness. there, sure enough, i found their ringleader, was overpowered, and, as you witnessed, made a beast of burden. ha! i merited the reward! how can henner hjulmand enter into judgment with regicides!" "dear, dear grandfather, now do i know what has so troubled thee when it stormed of a night. but, trow me, it was not the dead king abel who rode through finnerup forest in the dark: it was the marsk and his man; for i knew them both again. and now be comforted, dear grandfather. our lord will no longer be angry with thee for that deed. the ungodly king abel, like another cain, had surely slain his brother, and did not deserve to live. but if thou hast not rest therefore, dear, good grandfather, let us make a pilgrimage to rome, or to the holy sepulchre, as you intended, and there obtain pardon of all our sins." "yea, that will we, my child. had i no greater burden to bear than thou hast, this path would be easy to me. now, however, that thou knowest what oppresses me, i am already lighter of heart. i have never wished this deed undone, but still it has robbed me of my peace. if, however, it please god and st. christian, my soul shall yet regain tranquillity ere i die. whatever penance the holy father lays on me i shall perform, unless he require that i should repent. we shall succeed; and, if thou hast brought the gold-box with thee, we shall not suffer want on our journey. 'tis time enough yet to fast." "see, grandfather, here it is: i have not touched it. i bound up wounds by the way, and thus earned more dalers than i have spent." so saying, she handed the old man a little wooden box, and another containing copper money. "but, alas, dear grandfather," she continued, "is it true that the dreadful marsk is stirring up the whole land to rebellion against the young king?" "aye, child, and more's the pity: he is the ablest carl i have known; but denmark has given birth to him to her own ruin. he has powerful friends, both at home and abroad. the country is full of traitors. there is something to be done here worth having a hand in, were i still young, and dared defer this penance. flynderborg has been betrayed by sir lavé, and at rypen house the marsk's banner of rebellion waves over the castle-gate." "ah, grandfather, there will be terrible times. the duke, with a large army, is before rypen, but nobody believes that he intends honestly by our young king and country. drost peter is also expected there--and skirmen will certainly be with him--when, it is said, the castle will be taken by storm." whilst they were thus conversing, they heard behind them the gallop of horses. they turned, and beheld two tall peasants, mounted on noble steeds, attended by a peasant-lad on a norback, and leading two saddled horses behind him. "drost peter!--skirmen!" cried old henner and aasé, in the same breath. in an instant the peasant-lad had dismounted, and was in aasé's arms. drost peter and sir bent rimaardson, for the disguised peasants were no other, then stopped. they soon learned from old henner what he knew of the marsk's strength at helgeness and hielm, which, in their disguise, they had already closely approached, and were therefore almost as well acquainted with the state of the defences as henner himself. "follow us to rypen, brave old man," said drost peter. "until that royal burgh is ours, i shall not appear in the presence of the queen and our young king. good counsel is precious here; and if you know more than your paternoster, now is the time to show it. you and aasé may mount our spare horses." little aasé was soon on horseback, and they proceeded at a brisk trot on the road to rypen. on the way drost peter learned from henner that the crafty rané was greatly embittered at seeing his ancestral castle on hielm in the hands of the marsk; but that, dissembling his feelings, he had been despatched from helgeness, no doubt with a message to norway, or probably to bring reinforcements. how he had accomplished his errand, however, henner knew not. * * * an important change had, in the meanwhile, taken place with rané. neither the marsk nor the norse freebooter had received him as he had expected when he led henner friser and the royal huntsmen into their stronghold at helgeness. the marsk had offered him no compensation for the island of hielm and his ancestral fortress; and the jarl, instead of redeeming his promise to receive him as his son-in-law, had merely given him the stroke of knighthood, and told him to be contented with that honour for the present. rané was too prudent to betray his indignation: he therefore appeared only zealous to serve the marsk, and to show the jarl that he was not deficient in daring courage. he had sailed from helgeness in one of the freebooter's pirate-ships, giving them the assurance that he should soon prove he had not received the golden spurs unworthily. but instead of bearing to kongshelle, as he had promised, where the norwegian king, erik the priest-hater, and duke hakon, were residing, he steered direct for tönsberg. rané, since he had received the stroke of knighthood, seemed to have acquired a spirit of daring which was strikingly manifested in his whole deportment and appearance. his squeaking voice had, in the course of the last half year, become transformed into a somewhat rough bass, not deficient in strength; his reddish downy beard had become darker and stronger; and the feminine expression of his countenance gave place to one of strong and wild passionateness. the feeling of the important influence he had acquired in these great state affairs, and the dangerous position he had placed himself in, from which he could extricate himself only by his own sagacity and abilities, gave a stamp of confidence to his air and manner which considerably mitigated the unpleasantness of his crafty smile. at tönsberg castle dwelt the daughter of jarl mindre-alf, kirstine alfsdatter,[ ] or jomfru buckleshoe, as she was called, from the large gold buckles she wore. she was about sixteen years of age, strong, plump, with dark brown hair, very lively blue eyes, and a pert, little, turned-up nose. she had been brought up in tönsberg, like a future princess. her mother died during her infancy, and her father she had seldom seen. she had been indulged in every humour; and, whilst the algrev was absent on his viking expeditions, his daughter lived free and happy in the castle, where she soon ruled not only the old warden, but the whole garrison. yet with all her wildness and self-will, she did not lack a certain polish of education. snorro's nephew, the famous icelandic skald and saga-writer, sturlé thordarson, had visited tönsberg three years previously, and shortly before his death; and this old man of three score and ten, with his lively and characteristic narratives of king hagen hagensen's exploits, and his spirit-stirring poems respecting old norwegian heroes, awakened in the heart of the young girl so strong a desire for a life of activity, that, ever since, she had formed no higher wish than to set out on a cruise like her father, or live to see some grand event take place. a few months before the period our narrative has reached, she had made the acquaintance of jomfru ingé, who had followed her fugitive father to tönsberg, and at his wish had remained there, whilst he continued his journey to kongshelle, where most of the conspirators had found protection with king erik the priest-hater and duke hakon. sir lavé suffered much from witnessing the grief of his daughter, occasioned by his treachery to the royal house of denmark. her presence awoke a constant warfare and inquietude in his wavering soul. he could, indeed, read nothing but filial solicitude in his daughter's looks, since she had witnessed his repentance and his agony during their flight from viborg, after the king's funeral; yet, notwithstanding this, he had embraced the first opportunity of separating from her. at tönsberg castle jomfru ingé again breathed freely, and conquered the feelings of dejection which her father's presence had inspired. still it was to her a painful thought, that she was living in the castle of a hostile pirate; for, while it belonged to a vassal like jarl mindre-alf, it did not seem to her like the ancient royal castle erected by king hagen hagensen. the assurance that the rude pirate-chief was not expected home for a considerable time, could alone reconcile her; and her horror of the algrev did not extend to his daughter. the bold norwegian girl and the high-souled daughter of the danish knight soon became intimate friends. norwegian skald-songs and danish kæmpeviser seemed, from their lips, lays of the same stock. jomfru buckleshoe rode out with her danish friend to the fells, and proudly exhibited to her the glories of her native land; whilst the noble-hearted ingé admired the land of rocks and norwegian heroism with as much sincerity, as she sang with pathos and animation the quiet beauties of her own fatherland, and extolled her own faithful and constant countrymen, who, in these unhappy times, were defending against rebels the crown of denmark and its youthful king. ingé's attachment to the royal house to which her father was opposed, strongly influenced the courageous daughter of the jarl. this spirit of independence recommended itself powerfully to the mind of the norwegian damsel. she was provoked that her own father and the king of norway should render assistance to the enemies of the youthful king, who, from lady ingé's account of his dangerous situation, stood before her as the personification of that peculiar form of adventure in which her imagination was most prone to feel an interest. one day, as the two maidens were riding by the strand, they perceived a ship, under full sail, run into tönsberg fiord. "see, see!" cried kirstine, joyfully, "one of my father's galleys. and seest thou that haughty knight by the prow? who can it be? take heed, proud ingé! 'tis one of thy countrymen, who can no longer bear thy absence!" "'tis one of thy father's ships, kirstine," replied ingé, "and therefore can bear no friend of mine or denmark's. one only grieves my absence, and he it cannot be: he would not forsake his king and country in their need to visit me." "perhaps a wooer to me, then," cried kirstine, laughing. "if he be a danish knight, and please me, i may yet perhaps be in denmark, defending your youthful king. is it not tiresome," she continued, pettishly, tossing her head, "that we girls must always sit with our hands in our laps, and allow the men to act as they think proper, without ever being asked our opinion, as if it were a matter of course that we must have none at variance with their own? i should think, however, that we are quite as numerous as they, and have souls as whole and true in every respect. in what concerns myself, i have a will as resolute and free as any damsel in denmark; and, as my father supports your rebels, i shall support thee and thy true countrymen. in the olden times, our norwegian damsels were not so submissive as they now are: then, there were whole armies of _skioldmöer_,[ ] which the valiant stærkodder himself had reason to acknowledge. knowest thou the lay of the brave hervor, who compelled her father to hand her the sword of tirfing from his barrow?" "she was a danish skioldmö," replied ingé, "but a wild and godless pagan. heaven preserve every christian soul from such mad temerity!" "she was a damsel, nevertheless, who not only knew what she could do, but also dared to do it, in spite of any man," rejoined kirstine. "old sturlé taught me the lay concerning her. listen: this is the verse i like best." and, with a voice so clear that it re-echoed across the fiord, she sang:-- "i dare to touch and take in my hand the sharp-edged sword-- would only i had it! never, i trow, shall the fire consume me, that playeth around the dead hero's eyes." "sing not that pagan song, dear kirstine," cried ingé, interrupting the enthusiastic songstress. "hervor herself was terrified at her ungodly deed, and as she left her father's grave saw the air in flames around her. such unnatural self-will never comes to good." "sturlé told me, however, that at last she got the hero she relied on," replied kirstine. "certainly, no luck attended the sword; but still she must have led a right pleasant skioldmö's life. it is her i intented to represent in the lady with the sword on the burning height, which you may see, wrought, in my father's riddersal. i should like to be a skioldmö: then should i away to denmark, to defend your young king." "dear kirstine," exclaimed ingé, with much solicitude, seizing her hand, "thanks for thy concern for me and my unhappy fatherland; but let it not withdraw thee from fidelity and obedience to thy father. i praise god and the holy virgin that i can still obey my father, even when i appear most wayward. let me entrust thee with an important secret, kirstine. thou knowest i am in fact a prisoner here; but i mean to escape, and thou must aid me." "with all my heart," replied kirstine, joyously; "but then i must accompany thee, for i am tired of this uniform life. cannot two such damsels as we do something in the world? wilt thou to denmark, ingé?" "to denmark or sweden--i have kinsfolk in both." "if i am to help thee, i must know everything. that letter brought thee by the foreign clerk the other day, was certainly from drost hessel?" lady ingé blushed. "nay," she answered, with a suppressed sigh; "but, since thou wilt know all, read it." they halted. kirstine seized the letter, and eagerly opened it. "_martinus de dacia_," she began to read. "thou art befooling me, ingé! this is certainly latin." "it is only a man's name," replied ingé: "so our learned chancellor, master martin maagenson, calls himself. he is a trusty friend of the royal house, and has written the letter for my dear old kinsman john. they wish me to proceed to stockholm, to the young princess ingeborg, who is destined for our king's bride. she must have the daughter of a danish knight for a companion, that she may learn from a native to know her future people. i am chosen for this, which they say is the only way in which i may be able to benefit my father, and serve my unhappy country. i have considered it closely, and no longer hesitate. my father has left me here, and i must not follow him. he is now safe at kongshelle. i have his permission privately; but he dares not openly avow it: his dangerous position compels him to be silent. it must appear, therefore, that i escaped without his consent or knowledge. your old warden has to-day been requested to detain me. now, dear kirstine, assist me to escape from hence: if i can only get safely from tönsberg, my way is open. as well in denmark as in sweden, every castle-warden and governor is bound to accelerate my journey when i produce this letter." so saying, she took from the pocket of her mantle a roll of parchment, with three seals attached. kirstine opened her eyes in astonishment. "so, indeed--i understand thee now," she said: "thou hast powerful friends, i see. but we must be prudent. the warden will henceforth look after thee strictly, and will scarcely give thee liberty to ride out with me. but let us see who this strange knight is, who has arrived in my father's ship. if he returns to denmark, he may be persuaded to take thee with him; and if it can be done, i shall accompany thee. it will be surprising if two fair damsels, like us, cannot get a knight to carry us off, and make him fancy it was against our wishes." "giddy girl! thy thoughts are engaged with adventures and daring freaks; but, for god and the holy virgin's sake, be prudent, and reveal not what i have confided to thee; for in its success lies my freedom and all my hopes of the future. yet one thing more thou must hear," she added, with a deep sigh: "the powerful commandant at kongshelle, sir thord--dost thou know him?" "the wealthy thord, with the long red nose--what of him?" "he has demanded me in marriage, and my father dare not say him nay. a hasty flight alone can save me, for within eight days he will be here." "and then his nose will be twice as long!" cried kirstine. "come along, dear ingé!--thou shalt quickly away from hence, and i myself will carry thee off." they now rode back towards the little town of tönsberg, in the midst of which lay the castle, called tönsberg house. the fiord, and the painted wooden houses of the town on both sides the hill, with the sun shining on its nine convents and the fourteen kings' chapels, as they are called, presented a scene at once beautiful and picturesque. it failed just then, however, to attract the notice of the two maidens, who had become thoughtful, as they dared no longer speak aloud among the crowds of seamen and busy merchants whom they encountered. when they reached the castle, they found that the vessel they had seen entering the fiord had, in the meanwhile, arrived. the stately young knight whom it conveyed had landed, and presented himself with much pomp to the warden of tönsberg house, with whom he had held a private conversation. arrangements were made to entertain the stranger as a distinguished guest. the two young damsels entered the large day-room of the castle, where they sat down in silence to their embroidery, occasionally casting expectant glances towards a side-door, by which they knew the warden would introduce the danish knight, who, they had already determined, should aid them in their important enterprise. the door was at length opened, and the old warden entered, accompanied by chamberlain rané, whom he presented to the daughter of the jarl as a man whom her father had honoured with knighthood, and who had arrived at tönsberg on an affair of importance. rané saluted the fair ones with much politeness. when lady ingé saw him, and heard his name, she became somewhat alarmed. his crafty smile and well-bred, insinuating manners, were highly repulsive to her, and she remembered to have heard him mentioned as the confidant of the murdered king, in many an affair that was neither to his own honour nor that of his former master. she had also heard of his suspicious conduct in reference to the king's murder; and, when she now beheld him as a messenger from mindre-alf, she might justly regard him as an open traitor. she could not conceal the contempt and loathing he inspired, which did not escape his observation while conversing with the lively kirstine. the warden having left them, rané appeared desirous to draw lady ingé into the conversation, and endeavoured to conciliate her by some expressions of concern for denmark, and the dangerous position of the young king. who lady ingé was, and her attachment to the royal house, he well knew; and he had already observed, with some surprise, that the daughter of the norwegian jarl shared her sympathies with much spirit. he immediately availed himself of this discovery to place himself in an advantageous light before both young ladies; while, to flatter them with his confidence, he entrusted to them, as a dangerous secret, that he was a faithful friend to the royal family of denmark, and had ventured hither on far other grounds than those which were alleged as the object of his visit. the young damsels were astonished. in order to strengthen his statement, and allay every suspicion, rané then painted in glowing colours, yet with apparent modesty, his valorous defence of the unfortunate king in finnerup barn. he related to them how, notwithstanding this, he had been suspected in the most shameful manner; and assured them that, to justify himself in the eyes of every loyal dane, he would risk his life in the most dangerous undertaking on behalf of the young king. "my fidelity to my former king and master," he added, "has already cost me my fair ancestral castle on hielm. marsk stig has seized it by storm, and slain my faithful garrison. i have been constrained to use stratagem against force; but, with the aid i pretend to obtain here for the marsk, i mean to convince him and your brave father, noble jomfru kirstine, that i am not unworthy of the stroke of knighthood with which the jarl has honoured me, while even i venture to expose myself to his anger." "you are as bold as you are frank, sir rané!" exclaimed kirstine, with astonishment. "what assures you that jarl mindre-alf's daughter, after this confession, will permit you to slip free from tönsberg castle? suppose now, that i instantly order you to be cast into the tower--" "then i shall have greatly mistaken your lofty, noble mind, illustrious damsel," replied rané; "although i should not consider it a very serious misfortune even were i compelled to be your prisoner. but this i know, that the friend of jomfru ingé little can never hate or persecute any adherent of denmark's royal house." "that you should not altogether depend upon, sir knight," replied the jarl's daughter. "the danish kings have not left behind them the fairest memorials at tönsberg. tales are still told here of harald bluetooth's cruelty; and there are ruins lying around us from the times of your valorous king waldemar. if you imagine that the damsels of norway are less patriotis than those of denmark, you mistake us much." for an instant rané seemed alarmed; but he soon recovered himself on perceiving a roguish smile in the countenance of the bold jomfru, and the glance she directed to her danish friend. he bent his knee before the jocular damsel. "my freedom, perhaps my life, is in your hands," he said; "yet i repent not my avowal. in the presence of jarl mindre-alf's fair daughter, it were, indeed, impossible to make a more daring admission; but i could not look on you, and for a moment forget what i bear on my shield. with the fair ones of norway the knights of denmark never made war, and the misdeeds of our kings and princes should not be visited on their innocent subjects--" "enough, sir rané--rise! the warden is approaching," said jomfru kirstine, hastily. he kissed her hand respectfully while she raised him; and the warden now entering, a conversation on indifferent topics was gaily resumed. but jomfru ingé placed no confidence in the crafty rané. in the evening, when alone with kirstine, she warned her of him; for she had well observed that his respectful homage to her beauty, and his flattery of her free spirit and independence, had not been without effect. lady ingé at the same time was forced to acknowledge that sir rané was not deficient in courage, and possessed much sagacity and eloquence. she even admitted that her distrust of him might possibly be unfounded; but, in the eyes of kirstine, he was a true and doughty knight. next day rané eagerly sought an opportunity of conversing with kirstine alone. he found it, and soon confided to her that the fame of her beauty had long made him her passionate admirer. he informed her that her father had formerly accorded him permission to solicit her hand in person, but that the jarl now sought to evade his promise; and, finally, that his present journey, and the hazard to which he thereby exposed his life, having been undertaken solely for the purpose of seeing her, there was now no enterprise so dangerous that he would not venture on it for her sake. she listened to all his protestations without any apparent displeasure, but gave him no decided answer. four days elapsed, during which rané continued his efforts to win kirstine, and to inspire jomfru ingé with a more favourable opinion of him. many secret councils had been held between the two damsels, and it was finally concluded that, before they confided in him, they should, at all events, put his fidelity to a stern proof. rané had spoken highly of the swiftness of his vessel, and of his powerful connections in denmark. a hint, or an apparently accidental occurrence, was therefore all that was required for flight or an abduction. kirstine planned the hazardous design, to which, from necessity and her dangerous situation, jomfru ingé was forced to accede. on the fifth day after the arrival of rané, ingé was alarmed by the intelligence that her father, with sir thord, was expected from kongshelle on the following day, and that festive preparations, as for a wedding, were going forward in the castle. rané's vessel lay ready to sail in tönsberg fiord, a few bow-shots from the strand. it was manned by a numerous crew, whom rané had gained over with gold and promises. the crafty young knight had proposed a walk by the beach, where, a little before sunset, he proceeded, accompanied by kirstine and lady ingé. the old warden attended them, although he was heartily tired of hearing of fells, and waterfalls, and all the other beauties of nature which strangers extol so highly. rané conversed with the young ladies with much politeness: he greatly admired the beauty of the landscape. "but," he observed, "the view from the sea must be far more magnificent. when i arrived, the sky was not so clear as it now is." "it appears to me, however," observed the warden, with a yawn, "that it was just as clear." "it is possible," replied rané; "but towards evening the coast assumes a more beautiful appearance. here is a boat close by, with part of my crew: the ladies, perhaps, would like to row a little way on the fiord." "oh, yes!" exclaimed kirstine, pulling ingé along with her into the boat: "the weather is fine, and i can show thee that the sun does not set over a nobler land than norway. will you go with us, warden?" rané had placed himself beside the ladies. the warden was displeased; but, unwilling to oppose himself to the will of the proud young damsel, he entered the boat grumbling, and it rapidly glided from the beach. whilst rané dilated with animation on the beauties of the scenery, the boatmen, who had been previously instructed, rowed straight to the vessel, which lay with her sails half unfurled, and her crew ready to heave the anchor as soon as their master was on board. the invitation of rané to inspect the ship was accepted. the objections of the warden were silenced by the eloquent knight, who, the moment they stood on deck, gave a signal, and the vessel stood out under full sail. the terrified warden was conducted, as a prisoner, to the cabin; while rané, throwing himself upon his knee before kirstine, poured out a torrent of flattering apologies for carrying off her friend and her to denmark; where, he said, he as certainly hoped to obtain her forgiveness, as he was now prepared by every deed of chivalry to deserve the hand of the fairest maiden in norway. lady ingé, as well as kirstine, was half terrified at this sudden abduction, although it was their own plan which the crafty knight, without knowing it, was carrying into effect. they both remained silent and thoughtful; but lady ingé was too proud to carry dissimulation farther. "well, sir rané," she said, gravely, "i follow you willingly to denmark, for i desire to leave tönsberg." and with this avowal she retired to the other side of the vessel, leaving it to her companion to simulate anger at his daring conduct. by this step sir rané had gained a great object. as long as the fate of the conspirators was uncertain, it was important that he should be able, in some satisfactory manner, to justify his connection with them. by this daring action he also hoped to increase his reputation as a bold knight in the estimation of marsk stig and the jarl; while in the daughter of the powerful algrev he possessed a hostage that would secure him from their enmity. neither did it escape his observation, that, in the eyes of the brave daughter of the viking, he had established his character as an adventurous knight; and he now clearly perceived that she secretly favoured him as her suitor, notwithstanding the rage and scorn which she pretended to heap upon him. as long, too, as lady ingé remained in his power, he supposed that her kinsman, old sir john, and drost hessel, would reflect before they took any steps against him. * * * on a beautiful evening in the middle of may, there was a torch-dance and great rejoicing in the streets of rypen. such festivities, where the burghers mingled in the gay crowd of knights, were not uncommon; but at a time so serious, and so soon after the murder of the king, these public rejoicings gave great scandal to the friends of the royal house among the burghers of the place; while the adherents of marsk stig heartily entered into them, as a proof of the security with which the rebel governor of the castle, sir tagé muus, defied the royal party. in this way, the revolted chief showed, too, how well he understood, and how much he disregarded, the feigned threats with which duke waldemar had summoned him to surrender. the duke, with his army, was encamped about half a mile south of rypen. his forces consisted chiefly of south jutlanders; although among them there were also a few brandenburg and saxon horsemen. on the evening to which we have alluded, the duke entertained, in his magnificent crimson tent, the two margraves of brandenburg, old duke johan of saxony, and count gerhard of holstein; the latter having reached the army the previous day, at the head of a chosen troop of holstein horse. the brave count had scarcely awaited his recovery from the unfortunate blow which had cost him an eye, before he had armed himself for the defence of queen agnes and the young king. he had united his forces to those of the duke without suspicion; but was received at the camp with a coldness that surprised him. the queen's brothers had newly arrived from viborg, to hasten some decisive attempt against marsk stig and his adherents. the aged duke of saxony, who had been the youthful friend of duke waldemar's father, the unfortunate duke erik, had often manifested a fatherly interest in the ambitious young waldemar. he had arrived, uninvited, at the head of his brave troops, not solely to strengthen the duke, but for the purpose of preventing, by his presence, any thoughtless step which might be prompted by his ambitious aspirations, of which the old nobleman was not ignorant. he had been partly moved to this by his daughter, the pious princess sophia, of whom duke waldemar had, two years before, been an ardent suitor, without having received any decisive answer. at that time she was not quite fifteen, and had declared that in three years she would determine, should her wooer then renew his suit. she was well aware that she had made a strong impression on the young duke, whom she loved tenderly, but without passion, and she also entertained well-grounded doubts of his constancy. she therefore dreaded his ambitious plans, and felt more solicitous about his honour and the welfare of his soul than the loss of his heart, which she already looked upon as having escaped her, for she had not seen him for two years. she awaited, however, the expiration of the third year, when she intended to bid farewell to the world, and assume the veil. the upright old duke johan had approved his daughter's views and determination. without alluding to her, he had, like a true and fatherly friend, spoken seriously to the young duke relative to his present position and his duties to the danish crown. his words were not without effect; but the idea that wholly engrossed the young nobleman was the proud consciousness that he possessed the power to decide the fate of the royal house of denmark by casting his sword into either scale of the nicely balanced parties. the presence of the margraves and the honest count gerhard, however, and their unanimous demand that something decisive should be attempted, caused him some embarrassment. a council of war was held in the duke's tent, at which, after those noblemen had each expressed his opinion boldly and frankly, the duke arose. "here, my lords, i am commander," he said, firmly; "and with every respect for your advice and sincere intentions, i must still follow my own convictions. before the dane-court has decided how marsk stig and his friends are to be treated, and until i myself have been formally recognised as protector, nothing decisive can be undertaken. within twelve days the dane-court will be held, and, consequently, my presence in nyborg will be necessary. until then no campaign can be commenced, far less completed. from what i have heard of marsk stig's preparations, a greater force than we possess will be necessary to subdue him. besides, by the law of the land, he and his friends have still the right to defend themselves before the dane-court, if they choose to risk it; and, as i have already said, no decisive step can be taken until it is legally determined in what quality i stand here, and with whom we have to contend." "with your leave, illustrious duke," began count gerhard, "i think we know right well who we are, and what we have to do. that we two, at least, stand here as vassals of the danish crown, requires no confirmation. that the commander of rypen house, by placing the banner of marsk stig where that of the king should wave, has openly declared himself an enemy of the crown, is certain enough. before we advance against helgeness and hielm, rypen house must be ours. with what forces we have here the place can be stormed within twelve hours; and it seems to me shameful and indefensible that we should lie here idly, and tamely permit a royal castle to remain in the hands of rebels." "if, with your own troopers, you choose to storm rypen house, brave count gerhard," replied the duke, carelessly, "you are welcome; but it must be on your own responsibility; and you will further have to answer before the dane-court for kindling a civil war before the conduct of these men has been legally condemned, and without knowing by what law and authority you yourself are acting." "so, then, illustrious duke," exclaimed count gerhard, with suppressed indignation, "in god and st. george's name i shall act alone, and i doubt not that i shall be able to defend my conduct well." he then bowed, and retired. shortly afterwards he left the camp, at the head of fifty horsemen, and took the road to rypen. by his side, attired as a squire, rode daddy longlegs, who, since the unfortunate foolery which had cost his master an eye, had laid aside the dignity and dress of a jester, but still followed his master, to whom he was indispensable. as count gerhard approached the nipsaa, which defended the town from the south, his anger gradually abated; prudence returned, and he perceived the absurdity of attempting, with his handful of men, to storm a well-fortified castle like rypen house. shame, however, deterred him from returning to the camp, and he rode leisurely forward. his troopers followed silently; but he perceived, by their thoughtful and serious looks, how certainly fatal they considered the enterprise on which their master and prince was conducting them. "let us make good speed, gracious sir," observed longlegs, in a tone of grave raillery, "before they at rypen house behold our terrible army and surrender themselves. it would be a sad misfortune should we miss this chance of immortality, and have no opportunity of using our storming-ladders and lithers--" "i rely upon thee being a wizard, longlegs, who can as easily knock out the eye of the enemy as thou didst mine, and so prevent him from seeing our strength," replied the count, entering at once, as usual, into the humour of his jester. "but who has informed thee that i mean to storm rypen house? there are banquetings and rejoicings in rypen, thou knowest; and what if i should intend to treat myself and all of you to a romp with the fair maids of rypen?" "ah! that is another matter, sir. a right merry dance it will be; and, besides, we come not unbidden to the junkettings, for the letter brought you in the gloaming by the old pilgrim was doubtless an invitation to sport and joviality." count gerhard nodded. "didst thou know him, longlegs?" he inquired. "if i am not mistaken, it was our old host in middelfert, henner friser. he is a daring carl, and, it is said, knows something more than his paternoster. he fled from middelfert for a murder: so take care, sir, that he does not lead you into a snare." "if thou hadst heard what he said, longlegs, thou wouldst not fear that. onwards." not far from the southgate bridge and hostorg port, on what is called the marshland, count gerhard ordered his troopers to halt and dismount. having set them the example, he remained for a moment in profound thought. "now, my men," he at length said, good-humouredly, "i shall conduct you to the feast to-night. you see the torches are flaring on the bridge. well, there is mirth in rypen, and only merry guests are expected. the grooms will remain with the horses, and you others, one by one, will follow me on foot, with your swords beneath your cloaks, for the sake of security. if you can get a torch in one hand, and a girl in the other, dance away. but the jig must pass through southgate-street to grayfriars-street, and then along crutched-friars, to the large bleaching-green by the castle. there you must gather around me when you hear my hunting-horn. what further fun is to be had, must depend on luck and opportunity. you understand me, carls?" a general shout of applause announced the acquiescence of the troopers in the adventurous project of their master. he immediately crossed the bridge, followed, singly and at a distance, by the others, who mingled with the crowds of merrymakers that filled the streets. the mirth had reached its height. torches blazed and songs were sung in every street leading to the castle. gaily-dressed knights, and ladies in mantles of silk and scarlet, mingled in the dance. count gerhard strode along in his heavy riding-boots, without taking any active part in the festivities. when he had reached and was about to pass the gateway into the court-yard of the crutched-friars, he received a nod of recognition from a brave, well-known face, concealed under a peasant's hood, while, with a hearty shake of the hand, he was drawn beneath the arch. "drost hessel!--you here, and in this disguise!" he exclaimed, with astonishment. "have you come to join our dance, noble count?" inquired drost peter, hastily. "the fiend take the dance! i am here to storm rypen house, in spite of the duke and his fine prudential considerations. "'tis well! you are in the dance, then, whether you will or not. but whence comes it? who is the leader?" "he that comes first, i should think. but, by beelzebub! you must well know that, drost hessel. ask not me, for i know nothing: i have had only a private hint, which i am undecided whether i ought to act upon or not. do you know old henner friser, from melfert?" "him we can rely upon," replied drost peter, gladly; "and if the hint came from him, we may safely follow it. what force is with you?" "not a great one; but still, i can muster half a hundred with a blast of my horn." "good!" exclaimed the drost: "there is, then, some meaning in it, and i now begin to be in earnest; for, hitherto, the whole affair has appeared to me somewhat like a joke. i know not with whom the daring idea originated, and i came here with only two companions, merely to discover the temper of the people. on my way i met henner friser, and the mysterious old man predicted me success, and then disappeared. it seems he has good friends here. the disposition of the burghers is favourable; but the duke delays, and i have no faith in him. to storm the place without an army would never have occurred to me; but there must be amongst us a spirit more inventive and daring than we were aware of. an hour since a stranger invited me to be the second knight in the row of dancers, when the danish maidens should begin the song;--'for erik the king so young.' but what avails it without a storm?" "i understand," exclaimed the count rubbing his hands with delight: "for the young king, then. true, i would rather sing, 'for queen agnes the fair;' but it is the same. dance only, in god's name, across the castle-bridge. i dance behind, and follow you with my men. 'for our young king,' is the watchword; and he who hesitates to give it tongue, shall be cut down." this conversation was interrupted by a party of boisterous young knights, with black plumes in their helmets, and torches in their hands, who danced into the court-yard of the convent, summoning the terrified monks to open the refectory for them, and bawling for wine and saxon ale. "saw you the black-plumes? that is a band of marsk stig's adherents," observed drost peter, as he retired with count gerhard to an obscure corner of the gateway, unable to conceal his indignation at such audacious proceedings, which were not unusual during this unsettled period. the clamour in the convent-yard subsided for an instant, while a reverend friar came forth, and reminded the disturbers that they were not in an enemy's country, and that it was the duty of the brave gentlemen at rypen house to protect the town, and not to plunder it. the priest was answered with mockery and threats; and one of the overbearing young knights, brandishing his torch, swore he would set fire to the convent, if their demands were longer resisted. the door of the refectory was then instantly opened, and the unwelcome guests were admitted. drost peter boiled with indignation. "behold, count gerhard!" he exclaimed, vehemently: "these are the men who would be masters in denmark. let us after them!" "nay, let them drink till they cannot see a hole through a storming-ladder," cried count gerhard, laughing--"the better will go our dance. when does it begin, and where?" "two hours after the ave, and on the bleach-green, near the castle." "'tis well. the time is near: therefore let us hence. there is some meaning in this dance, and an honest warrior can engage in it without being laughed at. plague take it! if the queen were only here, she should see me dance better and more gaily than i did the last time." they proceeded hastily to the bleach-green, where a great crowd was assembled. in the middle of the open space stood a table, covered with refreshments. merry music filled the air, while many torches shed their light upon the scene, and numerous gaily dressed ladies occupied the benches around. drost peter and count gerhard observed with attention and surprise the glittering knights and dames about them, most of whom had their faces fantastically painted, and all sharing in the merriment with spirit and joyousness. as count gerhard was making his remarks on this, skirmen hastily approached, and whispered a few words to his master, who immediately, with joyful surprise, directed his eyes to a bench, on which sat three ladies veiled. in the nearest he thought he recognised the black-haired little aasé. she who sat in the middle, skirmen, with a roguish smile, had informed him was the lady who had invited him to the dance. skirmen had again disappeared, and drost peter fixed his eyes on the tall stranger lady with a feeling of delight he could not express, although a painful anxiety mingled with it. "can it be possible? can she be here, and engaged in this dangerous sport?" he exclaimed, half aloud, as he felt the ground spin round with him. he began to think he was in some wonderful dream. he again looked round for skirmen, but without success, and was at last obliged to support himself on a bench near where he stood. at that moment the three maidens arose, and began to sing:-- "on rypen streets the dance goes light, with ladys gay and gentle knight. on rypen bridge a measure is trod: there dance the knights so gaily shod-- for erik the king so young!" when the burthen was heard, the flutes and horns chimed in, and a number of knights sprang forward with their ladies, and formed a long row of dancers. drost peter distinguished jomfru ingé's clear and mellow voice, and in the middle singer he now plainly recognised her tall and noble form. he started up and clasped her in his arms. "ingé, dearest ingé!" he whispered, "what daring is this? are you come hither to dance to the death with me? if so, then joyfully for denmark and our young king! but unriddle to me this mystery." "my knight follows me to the royal castle and to victory," whispered ingé: "if our leader deceive us not, we shall succeed." "who, then, is our leader?" inquired the drost, eagerly. "if any one leads here, i should do so." "the gates of the rebels' castle are not opened to drost hessel," she rejoined, hastily. "there stands our leader, but you must not know him. if he were free, i should trust him as little as you do; but here he is in our power, and must now dance himself to a bride--or die." she pointed to a stately young knight, with long yellow hair, who stood near them, with a torch in his hand, and apparently hesitating whether he should place himself at the head of the dancers or not. he had hitherto stood with his back towards them; but as he now turned to one side, the light of his torch fell on his cheek, and drost peter exclaimed, in the highest astonishment--"rané!" "be silent," whispered ingé: "with a fox we must catch a fox to-night; but not like hamlet. with may-garlands, and, as i hope, without the red rose, will we bind our enemies." meanwhile, the music continued, many singing to it a well-known ballad that suited the tune. whilst rané stood, as if yet undecided, the row of dancers was constantly increasing; and jomfru ingé, in a few words, acquainted drost peter with the whole daring plan. jarl mindre-alf's daughter and herself had persuaded rané, who knew the governor, to bring about the present festival. the bitter feeling of the knight towards marsk stig, and his anxiety to show himself a friend to the royal house, had favoured the project of the young damsels. through skirmen and aasé, old henner friser had been induced to engage in it. the proximity of drost peter had redoubled the courage of his betrothed, although she feared that his co-operation with rané might defeat the whole scheme. "and now, my dear sir knight," she added, playfully, "the numerous chivalrous gentlemen you perceive around you are our trusty rypen burghers and their sons, who, at the request of their wives and sweethearts, will dance tonight to the songs of the maidens." having given this explanation, she then, with the other damsels, again renewed the song, whilst the knights proceeded to arrange themselves in conformity with the words of the ballad, wherein themselves and their ladies were indicated by feigned names, taken for the most part from old romances, but the application of which they all knew well. the only one who was named aright was the governor of rypen house, who was at that moment sitting at a drinking-bout in the castle, but whose name, being sung aloud as if he were engaged in the dance, assured any of his adherents who might be present, and suspicious of the game. whilst those nearest the castle arranged themselves as directed by the song, the others at the extremity of the line formed a long chain, and danced around the green, to assure themselves that none were present in the dance but those engaged in the plot. rané, meanwhile, still stood undecided by the bench on which jomfru kirstine was seated, when jomfru ingé and the others began to sing:-- "riber ulf first dances here-- a king is he without compeer." "'tis you, sir rané!" exclaimed the daughter of the norwegian jarl--"'tis you: you are riber ulf to-night. show me now that you are a king without compeer." rané, however, did not seem to hear her. the song continued:-- "then dances tagé muns so free-- captain of rypen house is he." drost peter had cast aside his hood, and donned a high feathered hat, which skirmen had brought him, together with a scarlet mantle, which he threw over his peasant's dress. "now are you captain of rypen house," whispered jomfru ingé. his dress, which was the same as the court-suit of the castellan, and which they had procured on purpose, caused the knight to be mistaken by many for sir tagé muus himself; his portly bulk, derived from his peasant's clothes beneath, greatly favouring the deception. in this guise he danced forward in the ranks with jomfru ingé, who, with the maidens, continued to sing:-- "then dancing comes sir saltensee, and so come on his kinsmen three. "then dance the noble limbeks trim, and they were kings of sturdy limb. "then after dances byrge green, and many a gentle knight i ween. "and now comes dancing hanke kann, and eke his wife, hight lady ann. "then dancing comes a noble pair-- sir rank, and lady berngerd fair. "then rich sir wolfram, with his dame, a lady fair, without a name." at this verse sir bent rimaardson, who had received the same invitation as drost peter, joined the dancers, with an unknown lady by his side. at the last couplet-- "then dancing came sir iver helt: he followed the king across the belt:"[ ] to his great surprise, drost peter perceived the brave sir thorstenson advance, conducting a smart peasant-girl by the hand. "what! sir thorstenson here, too!" he exclaimed, as he turned to lady ingé, who hastily informed him that the bold knight was there to accompany him to nyborg, whither he had conducted the king and the whole court, and that he had immediately approved of and entered into her project. rané, however, had yet shown no disposition to take his part in the dance. they had twice danced round the open space, and each time that lady ingé had approached him, she had sung in a louder tone:-- "riber ulf first dances here, a king is he without compeer." she was now drawing near a third time; but he still remained as if in deep thought. "are you afraid that your fair hair will get entangled, sir rané, that you so long delay leading me to the dance?" exclaimed the courageous jomfru kirstine, mockingly, and with a gesture of impatience. "you are right, noble jomfru," answered rané: "both head and hair may easily be entangled here. my hair is a little red, as you must have observed; but in this dance it might quickly become redder--" "and your rosy cheeks might become all too white," interrupted she, derisively. "you are right in that also, fair jomfru," replied rané, smiling slyly. "you would have little service of the boldest bridegroom, when his cheeks were as pale as those of a corpse. it is natural that a man should hesitate before he springs into a death-dance, even with a damsel ever so rich and fair." "if you hesitate a moment longer, sir rané," angrily exclaimed the bold jomfru, "i shall consider that i have been shamefully wronged and insulted by you; and then, instead of being the bridegroom of jarl mindre-alf's daughter, you shall become the laughing-stock of every girl in norway. yet, nay," she added, in a milder tone--"you will never heap such shame and scorn on both yourself and me. shall ingé's words prove true, and shall her knight behold your weakness and hesitation? see how proudly he dances with her, the brave drost hessel!" "drost hessel!" exclaimed rané with surprise, as the blood forsook his cheeks. "drost hessel, of course. surely you are not afraid of the name. if you are as brave as you pretend to be, and my father has really given you the stroke of knighthood, convince us now that you are worthy of it, and show the proud drost that you are not allied to rebels and traitors. he is severe, it is said, and old friser has sworn your death if you deceive us." "mistake me not, noble jomfru," said rané, hastily. "i dread neither the drost nor the ferocious innkeeper--for fear of them i stir not a single step. but for your sake alone, fairest kirstine, and my own knightly honour, shall i stake my head upon the game, and dance with you even to the castle-gate. when it is opened at my signal, i shall have kept my word; but will you then as truly and honestly do what you have promised, and accompany me from rypen as my bride?" "what i have promised i shall perform, like an honest norwegian maiden," replied jomfru kirstine, gladly, as she quickly rose, and gave him her hand. "dance but through the castle-gate with me, and you are the bold and noble hero i believed you, and worthy of the daughter of any jarl." rané seemed transformed as by some sudden inspiration; he sprang nimbly forward with his lady, and placed himself at the head of the dancers, who had now for the third time nearly made the circuit of the area. before lady ingé had again sung the first verse of the ballad, calling on riber ulf, rané was dancing gaily along, with jomfru kirstine on his arm. lightly tripping it, he sang aloud, while all the damsels and knights accompanied him: "and on rypen streets the dance goes light, with ladye gay and gentle knight-- for erik the king so young." "right!" exclaimed the lively norwegian lady, whom he whirled along, her silken ribbons fluttering in her plaited hair, as she danced the lightest and nimblest of them all. "dance thus over the bridge, and i shall praise your courage; and dance thus through the gate, and i give you my plighted troth." rané waved his scarf when they reached the drawbridge, and it was instantly lowered. "ingé, dearest ingé, it succeeds!" exclaimed drost peter, as he warmly pressed the arm of his partner. the heavy boots of the knights thundered on the drawbridge, amidst the light tread of shoes, and all sang merrily:-- "on rypen bridge a measure is trod; there dance the knights so gaily shod-- for erik the king so young!" rané now clapped his hands, and the castle-gates were opened. with song and shout and merriment, the whole of the dancers were soon within. count gerhard, who still stood on the bleach-green, laughing heartily, then blew a merry strain on his horn; and in an instant he was surrounded by his fifty men, who followed him with great glee to the open gate. here he posted one half of his force, and with the other followed quickly after the dancers. a considerable portion of the castle garrison were dispersed throughout the town. the governor, sir tagé muus, was sitting half intoxicated, with thirty other knights, in the large royal riddersal. he heard, without surprise, the singing and dancing in the castle-court and in the passage of the riddersal; for he had given permission to his good friend rané and his young knights to conduct the fair daughters of the citizens to him, with dance and song. in a few seconds the doors flew open, and the whole company danced in, the knights holding their ladies by the left hand and carrying blazing torches in their right. the whole of them were linked together by a chain of green may-leaves, interspersed with rare roses. by a sudden movement the ladies formed a cluster, waving the torches, while the knights, in a compact circle, surrounded the table with drawn swords in their hands. the governor and his thirty knights now first became aware of their betrayal, and started up in alarm to defend themselves. but in an instant, and without bloodshed, the castellan and his entire force were disarmed. beyond the circle of knights and their captives, the maidens now began to dance, and with loud jubilation sang: "and thus we danced the castle in, with drawn sword under scarlet sheen-- the castle it is won!" "for erik the king so young!" exclaimed drost peter, stepping forward. he then, in the king's name, took possession of the castle, and sent the rebel governor and his adherents, bound, to the dungeon of the fort. to the great joy of the loyal rypen burghers, the royal banner was seen shortly after waving over the castle-gate, where it had been planted by a tall and beautiful maiden. now was there in rypen a true feast of gladness. while drost peter and count gerhard were placing trusty men at every post, and adopting the strictest precautions, the dancing was continued in the castle, as well as in the city, with the utmost rejoicing. when the necessary measures for the defence and security of the fortress had been taken, drost peter returned with longing haste to the riddersal, where he had left lady ingé, with skirmen and sir thorstenson, in the midst of a gay dance of victory. the meeting with his childhood's bride, and the whole daring exploit, still presented itself to his imagination like a wonderful dream. the artifice by which the castle had been taken, and rané's traitorous co-operation in it, did not please him; but joy at having once more seen the brave lady ingé, and the hope that her return to denmark was no more a fleeting vision than the whole night's adventure, inspired him with a feeling of happiness that banished every other sentiment. doubt and inquietude, however, soon seized him, for nowhere could he find her. he saw only the cheerful knights and disguised burghers, who, with laughter, song, and merriment, whirled around with the nimble rypen damsels. he saw sir thorstenson, and the otherwise melancholy bent rimaardson, glide past him in the mazes of the dance, as if intoxicated with the general hilarity; while count gerhard clattered away in his heavy boots, and sang lustily from the bottom of his heart. in the song, to which they were now dancing with so much animation, drost peter heard not the mellow voice of lady ingé, while both knights and ladies repeated the words of their former bold songstress:-- "and thus we danced the castle in, with drawn sword under scarlet sheen-- the castle it is won! "with rosy wreath and ridder dance, a keep so won i ne'er saw chance-- for erik the king so young!" the general delight would certainly have again communicated itself to drost peter, had he anywhere caught a glimpse of lady ingé. but her sudden disappearance was a painful mystery; and his anxiety augmented when he perceived that rané, too, had vanished. he knew that this crafty knight had been her attendant from norway; and notwithstanding the apparent change in his sentiments, and his important share in surprising the castle, he still considered him as the most treacherous and dangerous foe of himself and the royal house. neither could he perceive the brave norwegian maiden, whom ingé had called her friend, and who, with rané, had led the dancers. that she was the daughter of jarl mindre-alf he knew, and ingé's connection with this family increased his uneasiness. while he was assailed by these doubts and fears, sir thorstenson approached him and extended his hand. "this, by my troth, i call a merry maiden's victory, drost peter!" exclaimed the warlike knight, gaily. "the fair damsels are likely to win the honours of war from us. to-night, at all events, the wreath of victory certainly belongs to them. next time, i hope it will be our's." they retired to a corner, when sir thorstenson informed his anxious and abstracted friend how, on his arrival at rypen a few hours before, he had been dragged into this singular adventure, whose important and successful issue might excuse him for not having immediately attended to his proper duty. "truth to say, my good friend," he added, "your cool mind and knightly sword, no less than your authority as drost, were required to help us to success; but i would rather dispense with your all too conscientious scruples. therefore it was that i persuaded jomfru ingé to take you by surprise. if this deserves punishment, let the offence be visited only on me. you are my superior, and can now, if you choose, place me in arrest for neglecting my duty, and taking counsel against you with your betrothed--for such, in truth, i suppose she is." "know you what has become of her?" inquired drost peter, hastily. "that know i not," replied thorstenson; "but leave the maidens to dance, and let us no longer lose our wit over this conceit of the fair ones." drost peter was silent, and thorstenson continued: "the duke's preparations for war, notwithstanding the queen's confidence in him, are regarded by the council as suspicious. old sir john considered the young king as no longer safe in viborg; and, in your absence, i was obliged secretly to convey him to nyborg. i myself believe that there are evil birds about. sir john informed me that i should meet you here, and he charged me with these letters for you, both from himself and the queen. i know that you must on to nyborg. but here you now command. whilst you follow the king's orders, i must follow your's. i shall do so, however, with pride and pleasure." drost peter hastily perused the letters. "i must depart before day," he said; and, after a moment's reflection, added--"you are governor of rypen house, sir thorstenson. this important fortress cannot be entrusted to an abler knight; and, as a punishment for acting on your own counsel, i require you to defend it to the last extremity, should even the duke and marsk stig agree to storm it with their united strength." "well," exclaimed thorstenson, joyfully, "a more honourable punishment could not have been awarded me. you show your displeasure, drost peter, in a noble manner. thanks for your confidence! there are brave men amongst the burghers to defend the castle; and while one stone stands upon another, nor foe nor traitor shall set foot within it. if the king has no other place of security in the country, bring him hither. rypen house is and shall remain the strongest royal castle in denmark. within a month it shall be impregnable." "bravely spoken!" exclaimed drost peter. "within half an hour the keys of the castle, with your authority as commandant legally drawn out, shall be delivered to you. meantime let the festivities be brought to a close, and let all leave the castle who do not belong to it. if you will, at the same time, do me a friendly service," he added, whilst endeavouring to conceal his anxiety, "let search be made, with all haste, for jomfru ingé little. perhaps she will allow me to be her escort to her kinsman, the counsellor." thorstenson nodded, and, warmly pressing his hand, prepared to depart. "yet one word!" exclaimed the drost, with much inquietude. "if you encounter rané, he is our prisoner until his conduct has been investigated. he must be sought for diligently. let the town-gates be locked, and suffer no vessel to leave the river within the next four and twenty hours. god be with you!" thorstenson nodded, and, with the joyful sense of his new dignity, he departed hastily to execute the injunctions of the drost. the latter proceeded to the governor's private chamber, where he found everything that was requisite to enable him to complete the necessary instructions and authorities. notwithstanding his anxiety, and the pressure of his own dearest heart affairs, he fully felt the duty imposed on him by his important station, and prepared the necessary formulas with perfect deliberation. he had already put his large signet-ring, bearing the flying eagle, to the wax of thorstenson's appointment, when the door was opened, and claus skirmen entered, in great haste, and almost breathless. "i have found you at last, stern sir," joyfully exclaimed the trusty squire. "i have been searching for you everywhere; and bring you many salutations, besides a pretty little letter, from jomfru ingé. i saw her depart in excellent style, in the town-governor's own carriage, drawn by four horses, with twelve troopers for an escort." "what sayest thou, skirmen?" exclaimed drost peter, in astonishment. "she travels! and whither?" "know you not, sir? was it not your own arrangement? but you shall hear. when she had placed the royal banner over the castle-gate, she directed me to follow her to the town-governor, to whom she showed a letter, bearing three large seals. he bowed to her as if she had been the queen herself, and immediately ordered the horses to be yoked--" "whither, i ask--where does she journey to? but you have a letter--give it me quickly." "she travels to kolding, and from thence to sweden, sir," replied skirmen, as he handed him a slip of parchment, tied with a rose-coloured silk ribbon. while the drost hastily perused the billet, he blushed deeply. "farewell, my childhood's bridegroom!" it ran. "'for erik the king so young,' i still sing in my heart, and the torch in the hand of my true knight still gleams before mine eyes. he who is powerful in the feeble, has given me also a work to do. the true sir john knows of it. ask of him, but follow me not. in denmark's darkest night we have danced a victor-dance together; and, god be praised! it cost no blood. when the child-king is denmark's lord, and the crown sits firmly on his brow, we may perhaps see each other in a happier hour. my father alone can unite our hands. but our hearts, which god in truth hath joined together, no man can ever sunder." drost peter heaved a deep sigh, although his eyes sparkled with a great and glorious hope. he concealed the note in his bosom, and turned again to skirmen. "to kolding, sayest thou--and from thence to sweden? who told thee this?" "i gathered it from what i heard her tell the town-governor, and the norse jomfru or fru--" "the norse jomfru!" interrupted drost peter, hastily. "she and sir rané have not accompanied her?" "nay, the saints forbid, sir! had i thought so, i should never have allowed her to go, had i been compelled to keep her back by main force. but i thought you knew all, and--" "but rané, rané--where sawest thou him?" "on the way to the town-governor we encountered the snake. he was leaving the grayfriars' chapel with the norse jomfru, where, it is said, they have already been made man and wife. jomfru ingé cried bitterly, and embraced the norse lady with great emotion; but rané--the fiend take him!--would not delay. within half an hour, he said, they must be on the open sea; and he talked of his sea-dogs, and looked about as if they were not far distant. he offered one arm to jomfru ingé, while he held fast his young fru with the other. but jomfru ingé withstood the indignity. she bade him a cold and formal farewell, and turned hastily away. i was much tempted to measure my squire's sword with the glaive of the newly-coined knight. my sword, i believe, indeed, accidentally left the sheath, and certainly i did not look very mildly at the crafty sir fox. i saw that he perfectly remembered how last i waited for him outside the duke's door at nyborg castle; for he suddenly became pale-nosed when he saw me about to spring at him. jomfru ingé seized me by the arm; and, before i had time to call him a traitorous nidding, he had disappeared with the pretty fru, whom he has cajoled and stolen." drost peter again breathed easily. "now, god be praised!" he exclaimed. "the wretch has no longer any power over her!" "i trow he has, though!" cried skirmen: "he took her with him." "what! art thou mad?--ingé?" "nay, heaven forfend, sir!--her i held fast by--but the pretty norse jomfru--" "in god's name, so be it! she was his wife, skirmen; and thou hast conducted thyself like a brave fellow. she has set out alone, then, for kolding--ingé, i mean?" "nay, with twelve horsemen, besides car-swains." "very well: let our horses be instantly saddled." "already?" exclaimed skirmen, colouring: "i thought we should tarry here to-night. truth to say, sir, i have appointed a meeting with little aasé and her grandfather, by the stone-gate. they are about to make a pious pilgrimage, and i may not again see her for a long time." "you can meet them as we go, for we shall pass through that gate. quick with the horses!" skirmen left the room, with a sigh, and drost peter threw himself thoughtfully on a seat. he again drew forth lady ingé's letter, read it once more, and had just pressed it to his lips, when the door opened, and sir thorstenson entered, furious with rage. "ha! it was the cursed algrev's daughter!" he exclaimed, vehemently: "and they are gone--jomfru ingé, with--" "i know it," interrupted drost peter, concealing the letter as he rose. "here is your appointment and authority, brave thorstenson, and heaven protect you! rané has escaped us; but this time, however, we owe him thanks." "confound him! it was the algrev's daughter he ran away with," continued thorstenson, with indignation: "they were on the open sea before the river could be blocked. ha! why knew i not this an hour ago? death and destruction! the algrev's daughter should have sat a prisoner in rypen house until sir algotson had been hanged, and proud ingrid had become thorstenson's wife." "it was well, then, you knew not the bold viking's daughter," replied the drost, "otherwise you would have had to do with me. it would have been disgraceful to every dane had not the brave adventurous maiden been permitted to retire from rypen as freely as she came. had she not infused her courage into our wily leader of the dance to-night, the bravest danish maiden had sung her song in vain, and you had not now been governor of rypen house." "but, by satan! she is the daughter of the infernal algrev!" "what of that? she is a heroine, to whom we owe both thanks and honour; and she has paid dearly enough for her bold adventure, if she has given rané her troth as its guerdon." "you are right, drost peter," replied thorstenson, cooling: "the girl was worthy of a better husband, and should surely have had a better father. let her fly, then, the bold rock-bird! she may yet make a hero, or at least a wily pirate, of our vile knight. but--death and destruction!--had i known she was the algrev's daughter--" "even then, you would have respectfully kissed her hand, david barmhead!" interrupted the drost, smiling. "the horses are ready, sir drost," cried skirmen at the door. drost peter took a hurried leave of the brave governor of rypen house, and left the castle; having first prudently put on a light breastplate under his travelling-cloak. he rode off rapidly, followed by skirmen, along green-street to the market-place, without noticing the noisy merriment of the burghers. in merchant-street the crowds had dispersed, and skirmen observed several dark figures stealing about, coffin-bearers apparently of the order of the dominicans, having hoods with large eyeholes over their faces; although, from their suspicious movements and long strides, they more resembled disguised soldiers. the trusty squire directed the attention of his master to these men, who appeared to be closely watching him. "coffin-bearers, about to carry a body somewhere," observed the drost: "what is remarkable in that?" "it depends on what kind of body they are to carry," returned skirmen; "and whether it is not the first they meet." the suspicious hoods disappeared, however, at the corner of ship-street, and drost peter rode over the bridge to the middle-dam. "what ails thee, skirmen?" he inquired, stopping his horse in a by-street. "since yesterday, methinks thou hast laid thy valour aside. thou wert quite another carl when the robbers were seized by thee in daugberg quarry. now, however, i see thou hast got a sweetheart in thy head; and hast forgotten that the gold spurs are not to be won by timidity and weakness." skirmen felt his cheeks tingle. "had you not taken me for a timid fool on the morning that we rode to harrestrup, and had you not supposed the grayfriar cloaks covered honest men," he replied, suppressing his emotion, "then, perhaps, stern sir, had king erik christopherson last year given me the stroke of knighthood, as on that evening you bade me hope he would. i would then rather have received it from your hand," he added, with a trembling voice; "but, if now you consider me a timid coward, because i fear for your life, i desire nothing more than to remain your trusty squire while i live. warn you i must, however; for i would rather go with silver spurs to my grave, than with gold ones follow you to your's." "my faithful skirmen!" exclaimed the drost, much affected, as he extended his hand to him, "i know it well: thou art more concerned for my life than for thine own. but i am not an outlaw: i am here, well armed, on the king's errand, and every cowl-cloak we see does not conceal a traitor." "these fellows have been sneaking after us during the whole day, stern sir," replied skirmen, "and i dare be sworn they are the duke's people. i thought count gerhard and his troopers were to follow us." "the count is his own master," observed the drost: "i know not whether he purposes to attend the dane-court or no." "but sir rimaardson, then?" "he goes from hence by sea. so, let us on. in these times, defenceless travellers and princely personages only require an escort." skirmen was silent. they crossed the bridge to the lower-dam, and another leading across the third arm of the nipsaa to the stone-gate, at the eastern end of the town. when they reached the gate, they found it closed, by the orders of sir thorstenson. at the drost's command and well-known sign it was immediately opened to them; and they were about proceeding on their journey, when skirmen heard himself called by a clear female voice from above the gateway. "for god's sake, dear master, let us halt," he exclaimed, eagerly, springing from his horse. "aasé is certainly in the gatehouse prison." "free us, noble sir drost," cried aasé from the prison-grating over the arched gateway. "you can bear witness that my grandfather and i are neither spies nor traitors." on the word of the drost, and his explanation to the watch, the prisoners were liberated; and old henner, in the long cloak of a pilgrim, and leading aasé by the hand, stepped forth. he extended his hand to drost peter, while aasé flew delighted into skirmen's arms. "one word, sir drost," said henner, in an under-tone. "if you would ride safely to snoghoi or kolding to-night, tarry here till i return, or at least allow the road to stand open for good friends. run, aasé! time presses!" "what meanest thou, old man?" inquired drost peter, impatiently. but he received no answer; for, with a few tremendous bounds, aided by his staff, in the manner of the old frisians, the tall pilgrim had suddenly disappeared in the gloom. shortly after, the strokes of an oar were heard on the river, northward of the gate, and a glimpse was caught of a boat running down the stream towards the castle with incredible rapidity. at the instant the old man disappeared, little aasé also sprang nimbly from skirmen's arms, and was quickly out of sight; but as skirmen fancied he heard her footsteps on the bridge leading to the lower-dam, he mounted his norback, and was about to follow her, when his master called him loudly and impatiently the other way. "come, skirmen, let us forward. henner is half crazed, and i cannot wait here to please his whimsies. you may open the gate for the old man, if he again comes," he added, turning to the burgher-guard; "or, should any one inquire for me, do not detain him." so saying, he rode off hastily. skirmen followed him with a downcast heart, and looking back every minute after his dear aasé, to whom he had scarcely had time to give a farewell kiss but in the faint starlight he saw only the gloomy archway, and a long mailed hand projecting threateningly from its walls. "what means that hideous hand, dear master, on the town-gate there?" he inquired, as a pretext for lingering a little longer, while he continued gazing on the path by which aasé had disappeared. "the hand is placed there as a terror to transgressors of the laws," replied the drost, relaxing his speed, as he looked behind. "whoever, by forestalling, causes a scarcity in the town, loses his hand. but if i mistake not, skirmen, it is another hand, less stiff and cold, thou art now looking after. thou wouldst once more take leave of thy little aasé? well, she is a fair maiden, and one day shall be thy wife. when we have restored peace to the land, i shall care for your welfare. but meanwhile banish all such weaknesses, and be strong. i dare not take a single step from my appointed course, even for the sake of her who is dearer to me than all." "true: but you are now both travelling in the same direction, and perhaps you may meet her at kolding. but thanks, noble sir, for your care for us," added skirmen, "although lands and wealth i require not. aasé only desires that i should, like you, be a doughty knight, and do you and our young king honour. ride on, sir: i shall not longer detain you. our lord may yet permit me to see my dear little aasé again." he hastily passed his hand over his eyes, and set spurs to his norback. as they rode rapidly forward, drost peter tried to conjecture what the warning of old henner could mean, and why he had requested the town-gate to be left open. "it was thoughtless, skirmen," he observed, "to humour the whim of the old man about the gate. if the fellows you spoke of be traitors on our track, we have ourselves opened the way for them to follow us." shortly after, they heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind them. they turned, and in the twilight perceived a troop of horsemen approaching. "let us turn aside, sir," said skirmen: "it is certainly the men in cowls." about an hundred paces behind them, and running into the wood to the right, was a by-road, down which the suspicious troop disappeared. "they have business elsewhere," said the drost, taking his hand from his sword.--"let us on!" they resumed their journey at a brisk trot. "perhaps they prefer meeting us at the outlet of the wood," observed skirmen. "we have still the start; but it were most advisable, i think, to return to rypen for aid. it was not for nothing that old henner begged us to tarry." "nay, we shall use our advantage," said the drost, in a tone of decision, as he spurred his horse: "if they be foes, they are in a condition to overtake jomfru ingé before us, and who knows what her twelve troopers are good for?" after a sharp gallop they reached the outlet of the wood, where the road became very narrow, and inclosed on both sides by steep banks. skirmen was a short distance in advance of his master, when he suddenly wheeled about, and rode back. "the hollow way is intercepted, sir," he cried. "and see, yonder come the same troops again from the wood." drost peter halted, looked around him, and drew his sword. "so much the worse!" he exclaimed: "they have us in a trap. but we shall not suffer ourselves to be caught like rats. thy norback can climb like a cat, skirmen: ride up the height, then, and sound thy horn. if henner brings us aid, he will hear it, and hasten on. with god's assistance i can manage to keep the fellows at bay for an hour. quick, now!" with much reluctance at leaving his master in this extremity, skirmen obeyed; and patting the neck of his norback, he soon reached the top of the steep bank. in the meanwhile the horsemen were approaching from both sides; but before they could exhibit any hostile intention the horn of skirmen resounded loudly from the bank above. both troops paused, apparently surprised; but when they perceived only the single hornblower on the height, they pressed forward rapidly, and had nearly surrounded the drost, who, however, succeeded in placing his back to the steep bank. he now first perceived whom he had before him; and recognised in the band that came from the town the pretended coffin-bearers, with their cowls over their faces, and long drawn swords in their hands. the other band wore the same suspicious dress; and they numbered altogether more than twenty, all on horseback. they maintained a profound silence, and seemed to expect the drost to throw down his sword and surrender. "speak, fellows! what would you with me?" he shouted, brandishing his sword on every side: "the first who advances, dies. if you be soldiers, say under whose orders you act, that i may know the traitor; and if there be a spark of honour in you, you will engage me singly, man to man. but if you are robbers and highwaymen, expect no booty from me. bloody crowns are all you shall get, so long as i can wield my sword." they answered not, but continued to press closer round him, none daring first to begin the attack; for drost peter, as weapon-master of the young king, was well known and generally feared for his skill with the sword. in the meanwhile, the horn of skirmen continued to sound lustily, and was now answered by another from the direction of rypen. "now, by satan! quick! dead or alive!" cried a rough voice from among the disguised horsemen, three of whom at once rushed in upon the drost. one instantly fell wounded, the two others, and as many more as could press forward, warmly continuing the assault. drost peter vigorously defended himself, and kept them at bay, the violent plunging and rearing of his steed preventing their blows from reaching him. the irritated assassins, perceiving this, wounded the noble animal, which rushed furiously into the midst of them, and fell. drost peter lay for an instant on one knee, hemmed in on all sides by the troopers, who threatened to crush him beneath their horses' hoofs. he still retained his sword, although the blood streamed over his fingers from a wound in his arm. by a flourish of his weapon he succeeded in driving back the horses, and once more regained his feet. at the same instant, skirmen, who perceived the critical position of his master, darted his squire's sword from the bank above, and the leader of the gang rolled from his saddle, mortally wounded. the whole troop then sprang from their horses, to overpower the unaided knight by their united strength; but ere they could accomplish this, the blast of the horn, in answer to skirmen's, sounded close at hand. the maskers, whom the fall of their leader seemed to have embarrassed, looked behind, and caught sight of a well-armed troop of horsemen, headed by a heavy knight on a white horse, who, with drawn sword, approached at full gallop. "the count from kiel!--the one-eyed count!" cried one of the cowls; and, as if by a thunderbolt, the whole band was scattered. abandoning the drost, and springing on their horses, in an instant they all disappeared, except the two who lay wounded on the road, and whose horses, with vacant saddles, followed the others. count gerhard on his white steed, with henner friser and the holstein troopers, came up while skirmen, with much solicitude, was binding up his master's right arm. "the fiend!" cried count gerhard, springing from his horse, "have we come too late?" "time enough to save my life, noble count," replied drost peter, joyfully extending his left hand. "why did you proceed in such haste, sir drost?" cried old henner, gloomily, from his saddle. "humph!" he added, in a half whisper, after a moment's thought, "it is on the track of a lady's car that you bleed here. you would rather run the risk of that than follow a gray-beard's advice." "you are right, old man," answered drost peter: "youth and the wisdom of old age do not go together. besides, i was on my lawful road, and on the king's errand; and if you knew that traitors lay in ambush, you should have spoken plainly. meanwhile, thanks for rede and deed." when count gerhard perceived that his friend was not dangerously hurt, he would have pursued the fugitives into the wood, but the drost restrained him. "it is useless," he said: "they have flown like chaff before your storm of troopers. a couple of them only remain--let us be content with them. here lies their leader, who fell, as if by lightning, without my hand." "i hit him," cried skirmen, joyfully, as he completed the bandage on his master's arm. "in three weeks you will again bear your sword, sir; but next time you use it, bid me not make music to your sport." "thy music helped me more than mine own good sword, skirmen, and thou hast the aim of a david," said the drost, extending his hand to him. they then approached the fallen leader, from whom skirmen stripped the cowl and cloak, when, in his military buff doublet, they recognised with astonishment one of duke waldemar's sleswick troopers. he died, however, almost immediately, and without uttering a word. the other had a similar doublet under his cloak. he was not mortally wounded; but wore a daring look, and neither threats nor promises could make him speak. they bound up his wound, and set him pinioned upon a horse. henner friser now dismounted from the tall iron-gray horse he had ridden. "i took your war-steed from the castle-stables, sir drost. you may soon require him," he said, with emphasis. "i shall now go on foot to my grave, and never more set myself on the high horse. i have done it roughly enough in bygone times, i know. now i have finished with worldly affairs; but i shall say an ave by the holy grave, for you and the young king, if i do not fall suddenly into my own on the way. god and st. christian be with you, noble sir!" he added, with unusual emotion. "fortune is still with you in the midst of misfortune. but be on your guard. if you are not beforehand with the mortal foe, he will be beforehand with you. the crown you guard has not yet reached his head." drost peter mounted his well-known, handsome war-steed, which had remained in the castle-stables since the last tilting-match. sad, and in silence, he held forth his hand to the old pilgrim. "nonsense!" exclaimed count gerhard, as henner saluted him also, before departing. "thou art too sage a carl, henner, not to make something better than a penitent. i have learned more from thee to-night than from all my scribes and wisemen in my life. stay with me: thou shalt carry my banner, and sit at my council. from what thou hast told me of my fortune, i should like to know a little more of it." "it is not well to know too much of that, highborn sir," replied henner, thoughtfully, shaking his gray head, as he leant upon his pilgrim's staff. "neither am i a wizard; but the skilled man knows the world, and an old porpoise-hunter can still tell what weather we shall have to-morrow. our lord's book does not lie, and it does not quite require a scribe to understand it. i know," he continued, looking sharply at the count, "that you will get as far with your one honest eye, as your wiliest foe with two; but, for all that, you must no more depend on fortune than another. she is a bubble that, as you well know, bursts oftenest when it shines the clearest. i should willingly bear your banner, highborn count, but what a man has promised to our lord and the holy virgin he must abide by. i have a heavy reckoning to make, and death gives not long warning. god and st. christian be with you!--farewell, youth," he said, turning to skirmen: "i shall answer to thee for aasé, when thou answerest to me and her with thy fidelity and bravery." skirmen seized the old man's hand, which he pressed warmly to his lips; but before he could say a word, the old giant had snatched away his hand, and was proceeding with rapid strides on the road to the river. drost peter and count gerhard proceeded in silence on their way to kolding, and, following henner's advice, took the road to the south of the skodborg river. skirmen and the old jester followed at some distance, with the troopers, having the captive highwayman between them. "for the first time i follow you over the sleswick border, my good friend," observed the count, at length breaking the silence. "this surprise may import much. in these times every man does not wear his heart upon his sleeve. the buff jackets prove little; but trust me, nevertheless, the duke is the man. there is more under this, too, than thanks for his imprisonment at sjöborg. the old pilgrim did not boast of my one eye without reason. i see, perhaps, even more clearly than you; and what the wily duke carries on his shield begins to brighten upon me. i should have much pleasure in probing the cunning gentleman a little. listen, my good drost," he continued, after a moment's reflection: "if the duke does not appear at the dane-court in proper time, you must be at your post to preserve the queen and the young king from being deceived by him. if he is not in a hurry to be chosen protector, 'tis because he has a higher dignity in view. the old pilgrim explained a riddle to me." "what means all this, count gerhard?" inquired the drost, as he scrutinised attentively his unusually grave countenance. "old henner has not been filling your mind with surmises and whimsies? i have every respect for his experience, but he is not always quite sane; and his dreamy fancies i shall disregard. whatever you may propose to do, noble count, forget not that, for the safety of the crown and kingdom, we must for the present avoid every hostile step against the duke." "what i take in hand concerns myself, and has nothing to do with the crown and kingdom," rejoined the count, "and so you shall not know it. will you confide the captured robber to my charge? i shall answer for him." "of course," replied the drost: "that treasure you may retain. if it concerned myself only, i should forget the adventure, and set the prisoner loose; but if it has a higher import, it must be inquired into. i believe the wily duke superior to a mere base and personal revenge; and he must know me well enough to be assured that i would not, contrary to the laws, oppose his election to the protectorship." "he knows you more than well enough, my good friend," said count gerhard, with a nod. "you would certainly be a most welcome guest in his tower of nordborg castle. yet you are right: we must keep to the main business. should i learn anything of importance to the queen and the young king, you shall hear it from my own lips, before the dane-court is concluded. but," added he, confusedly, while the blood mounted to his cheeks--"if i should hear that duke waldemar and the fair queen agnes had concluded a private marriage-contract, you must excuse me--" "you astonish me, count gerhard!" exclaimed drost peter. "do you believe probable what i have long feared might be possible? and think you the queen--" "of her i think nothing but what is good and fair and excellent," interrupted the count, with much ardour. "but however prudent she may be, still she may err. why should not she, too, be dazzled by a glittering exterior? were the handsome, well-spoken duke a squat, one-eyed widower like myself, and a lout at talking with women, perhaps it were better for all of us." they continued their route thoughtfully and in silence. the usually lively count, with his eye and some of his corpulence, seemed also to have lost a part of his even, contented disposition. the loss of his eye, however, did not disfigure him, but rather added to his martial and somewhat heroic appearance; and the tinge of secret melancholy, that blended at times with his good-natured jests, rendered the brave and sturdy lord yet more amiable. drost peter became so absorbed in his own thoughts, that the conversation was not resumed. the image of jomfru ingé often cast its radiance over his dark and gloomy pictures of the future. in every cloud of dust he descried on the road, he imagined he caught a glimpse of her travelling-car; and would then spur forward his steed so rapidly, that the count and his followers had some difficulty in keeping pace with him. but his hopes were invariably disappointed. frequently it was but a drove of oxen or a troop of horses he had seen, and which, by blocking up the road, would intercept him in his impatient career. they had ridden more than seven miles across the sleswick border, and the sun was not yet high in the heavens, when they caught sight of the proud [oe]rnsborg, or kolding house, as it was already called. the castle was situated on a rising ground above the sea, on the other side of the river kolding; and, as it came in view, the drost's war-steed neighed, and sprang lightly forward at his master's bidding. "but why, in the name of beelzebub, ride we in such a hurry?" impatiently inquired count gerhard, puffing. "it is yet eight days to the dane-court; and if we reach nyborg tomorrow, we shall be time enough." drost peter blushed. "i am commanded to make haste," he replied. "the wind is fair, but the passage here is longer and more difficult than by snoghoi." "pokker, then! why do you not cross from snoghoi?" asked the count. "yet true," he added, a little crabbedly, "you would fain see your heart's dear again." "how know you that, count gerhard?" demanded the drost, with some surprise and bashfulness. "why, every man in the country knows that," replied his companion. "the proud [oe]rnsborg[ ] yonder is drost peter hessel's favourite castle; and the eagle on a hill, with its wings displayed, stands on your seal with as much propriety as it does in the town-arms. here it was you earned your first laurels against duke erik; and we have long known that in [oe]rnsborg you hold the gate and key of the kingdom against both myself and the duke of south jutland." "you are speaking of the castle," replied drost peter, smiling, "and now i understand you. it is, indeed, a fortress dear to me, and of some importance to the kingdom. king erik christopherson put it in an excellent state of defence. it is an eyesore to you holsteiners, i know; but let us be good friends, nevertheless. were the duke as faithful a friend to us as you are, noble count, i should not have been so zealous in completing the defences. to speak honestly," he continued, extending his hand to the count, "i thought you meant to jest with me of my veritable heart's dear; for it is no stone-bride i am hurrying on to see. the castle is in good hands, but at present we have no time to visit it." "as a prudent drost, you would scarcely venture on that when a count of holstein is along with you, even although he has but half as many eyes as other people." "with your one eye you would certainly see more defects in the defences than i should with both mine," observed the young drost, modestly, and with a look of confidence in his companion; "but i know," he added, "you would not betray its weakness to another than myself, and thus both the castle and i would be gainers." "i take you at your polite word, drost peter," exclaimed gerhard. "defer your journey but for half an hour, and show me the castle's four giant images, and its defences too." they were now at no great distance from kolding river. they rode straight through the bridge-wood, as it was called; and as they drew near the great drawbridge, which here divides north from south jutland, they perceived approaching them an empty travelling-car, with four horses, and attended by twelve horsemen. "there comes back her carriage," cried skirmen, hastily riding up to his master. "you may still overtake her, as she can hardly yet have left the fiord." "you shall see the castle another time, noble count," exclaimed drost peter, hurriedly, to his companion, and spurring forward his horse. "i may perhaps, instead, show you a fairer image, which i would rather bear on my shield than all the world's eagles and castles to boot." "what the pokker!" exclaimed count gerhard, laughing aloud, "am i killing my horse by riding along with a lovesick knight? well, my good friend, if drost hessel can think of such follies in these serious times, i am not the only fool in company." they rode rapidly past the empty car, but were obliged to halt at the bridge, which had been again drawn up. the drost had here established a lucrative toll, and, under pretence of strict superintendence, had recently issued an order, that this boundary bridge should be kept drawn up, as during war, which caused much delay and inconvenience to travellers. in his impatient haste the drost himself vehemently exclaimed against the captain of the burgher-watch, to whom the knights were unknown, and who, before he would lower the bridge, demanded a strict account of their claims to be admitted with so many soldiers. after some altercation, on the drost announcing himself the bridge was lowered, and, for the delay, the captain pleaded the fair excuse, that it was the drost's own orders that had caused it. "you are right, my friend," said drost peter, recollecting himself, as a slight blush overspread his cheeks--"you have done your duty, and i had no right to blame you." the pacified captain saluted the drost, who, with his companion and the troopers, proceeded to pass the bridge. during the short parley, count gerhard had with great difficulty restrained his laughter, which now broke forth in spite of him, as he perceived, while crossing the bridge, how the drost hurried on and gazed towards the vessels in the harbour. "you now see yourself how execrable are your stringent laws, my conscientious good sir drost," he said; "you certainly thought not of a lover's haste when you ordered this bridge-barring." "this is grist for your mill," returned the drost, who, although somewhat vexed, could not restrain a smile at the good-natured sallies with which count gerhard indemnified himself for the grievance of the toll, which affected the relations of denmark to holstein as much as it did those to south jutland. "if now you overtake not the fair lady, for whom i have ridden so many good horses almost to death," continued the count, in the same vein, "it will be sad enough: you will then regret having founded a toll at this confounded gutter. the deuce take it! it costs me and my brave holsteiners more silver pieces in a year and a day, than the whole of this paltry place is worth. laugh i must, from sheer vexation." "a truce to this raillery, count gerhard," exclaimed the drost, hastily. "if i see aright, there is a ship leaving the harbour. if you knew of what this cursed delay has robbed me, you would not have the heart to laugh." they had now ridden through the south-port and bridge-street, when the drost, turning to the right, proceeded at a gallop to the cloister-port, and across the large meadow-ground to the harbour, followed by the count and his train. in an instant he stood on the quay, anxiously inquiring who was on board the vessel that had just left the harbour under full sail. "a princess, it was, in sooth," answered an old steersman, as he continued to hammer away carelessly at his rudder. "she came here in a painted cage, with four horses. the town-governor himself was hat in hand, and all were obliged to stand on their pegs before her. it was a swede that ran out with her. if this breeze continues, she will soon be in the open sea; and if the skiff only holds together, she will reach land; but it is a confounded rotten tub, and wont bear many thumps. with the swede, however, she would go, even had satan himself been on board." "lay to, with your fastest sloop!" cried the drost. "i shall pay you tenfold. only make haste!" "shall we on a lady-chase, stern sir?" mumbled the old sailor. "eh, well, i like that. the proud maiden has not offended you, i can see. in half an hour's time i shall bring you alongside. it was, moreover, too good a fare for a swede." "true, old man. but be quick!" cried the drost, giving him a handful of money. in a few moments a small sloop lay close to the quay, and skirmen immediately led the horses on board. drost peter meanwhile took leave of count gerhard. "heaven prosper you, noble count," he said, as he pressed his hand: "if our own hope be a fugitive which we can never overtake, we relinquish not the great hope of the country and kingdom: 'for the queen and our young king!' is our watchword." "well, my good friend," replied count gerhard, smiling, "you shall soon hear from me. meantime, forget not to steer the proper course to melfert." shortly afterwards the sloop, with drost peter and his squire, left kolding harbour under full sail. count gerhard remained smiling on the quay. he perceived the light bark speed like an arrow through the water, and gain upon the skiff with the blue and yellow sails, that conveyed jomfru ingé. that she was the lady with whom drost peter had danced into rypen house, and whom he now hastened so ardently to overtake, was a gratifying supposition. although the suspicion, of which the scar on his breast reminded him, had long since vanished, he was not displeased to observe that his chivalrous rival in the queen's favour seemed disposed to forget, for the daughter of a knight, all the kings and queens in the world. the two vessels were soon so near, that they could see each other. drost peter stood on the prow of the one; and a tall female form, in a red mantle edged with sable, appeared on the stern of the sloop he was pursuing. he knew lady ingé and shouted her name. "for heaven's sake, slacken sail, and let me conduct you to land!" he cried, "your boat can never keep the sea." lady ingé only shook her head, and, loosening her veil, waved him a fond farewell. "if you wish to board, stern sir knight," cried the old steersman, "i can drive in one of the swede's planks, and i warrant he'll soon strike." "nay, nay," replied the drost, "no violence. she is free. steer past them, and as near as possible." an instant more and the vessels were side by side. drost peter stood, with outstretched arms, a few yards from the beautiful ingé, whose eyes were fixed on him with a look of inexpressible tenderness. "for erik the king so young!" she exclaimed, pointing forwards, and at the same time relinquishing her veil, which the wind carried over to the knight. a piece of the garland from the triumphant dance of the previous evening accompanied it, and alighted on his feathered hat. at the same instant the vessels parted, and the deep abyss again widened between the two lovers. drost peter fancied he saw a tear in the eye of the proud damsel; but the look she had bestowed on him filled his soul with the most joyous hopes. he pressed her veil to his lips, and, with a perfect confidence of her success, and reverence for her firm, immoveable purpose, directed the helmsman to steer for melfert. "god and his mighty angels are with the maiden," he exclaimed: "we dare not stay her." the vessels were already far apart. drost peter continued to gaze after the retiring skiff, on which he long fancied he could discern a lappet of jomfru ingé's mantle; and sad, but wonderfully strengthened and inspirited by this fond adieu, he hastened on his necessary and appointed way. * * * the almost incredible account was soon spread over the whole kingdom, of the manner in which rypen house had been surprised, and the song of the maidens--"for erik the king so young!" soon became a popular ballad. the news was especially gratifying to the queen and the young king, and, as first bearer of the tidings, drost peter was received with double pleasure at nyborg castle, where important affairs demanded his presence in the council. he also brought better accounts than were expected, respecting the chief object of his journey. he had seen numerous proofs of the attachment of the people to the royal house, and the general hatred of marsk stig and his adherents; and he had, moreover, learnt important particulars with regard to the conspirators and the king's murder. the defences of marsk stig on helgeness and hielm he could describe as an eye-witness, and they were found to be far less formidable than they were represented by the duke's reports, and by uncertain and alarming rumours. while magnificent preparations were going on in nyborg for the dane-court, at which the young king would appear for the first time in the seat of judgment, the privy council assembled daily. drost peter did not conceal his distrust of the duke. his wounded arm excited much interest, and his account of the highwaymen's attack gave rise to many conjectures, which he himself, however, regarded as highly uncertain, for he attached little importance to the occurrence. but old sir john and master martinus found in it a strong confirmation of their suspicions regarding the duke, when considered in connection with his doubtful movements in viborg, which had caused their hasty and secret journey with the royal family to nyborg. the chivalrous-minded little king, too, thought they were over suspicious and cautious. "is not my kinsman the duke a knight and a prince?" he observed, one day, when the matter was under discussion in the council; "and does he not know that he cannot break faith and promises, without forfeiting his honour, and becoming a mockery to the whole world?" "if god's law does not bind him, my young king and master," replied master martinus, "the laws of knighthood will have still less power, especially as they do not yet properly concern him. true, he is a prince of the royal blood; but the stroke of knighthood he has not formally received. your late father, from whose hand alone he could worthily accept it, delayed this proof of honour longer, perhaps, than was desirable, considering the relation in which they stood." "well, i shall give him the stroke of knighthood as soon as i have myself received it, and have a right to confer it," answered the young king. "my uncle otto must dub me previous to my coronation; for it is not becoming that i should be crowned king of denmark, before i am duly admitted into the noble order of knighthood." sir john smiled, and shook his gray head; but drost peter contemplated his royal pupil with delight. he considered that the desire of the young king evinced his respect as much for the crown as for the order of knighthood; and he observed that it was not unusual for princes in their minority to entertain such a wish, and that they had already, in charlemagne and his son, an example in point, and an illustrious instance of knighthood being honoured and followed. "but, by the laws of chivalry, the minority ceases with the stroke which confers knighthood," observed sir john; "and the constitutional law of the kingdom debars us from shortening the period of the king's minority." "tis true, noble sir john," replied drost peter; "but here the laws of chivalry must give way to that greater law, which secures the freedom and welfare of the people. to my mind, however, a minor king is not of less dignity than any of his knightly servants." the queen and master martinus supported the views of drost peter, and the wishes of the little king; and, with a shrug, old sir john gave way, considering the question as one of little importance. the duke's position in the kingdom was, to him, a subject of far graver concern. the necessity of carefully concealing every suspicion, and of entrusting the duke with his full share in the government, as well as with the guardianship of the king, was stated so clearly by the old nobleman, that even master martinus, to whom such a course was most repugnant, could offer no objections. on this subject the queen entertained not the least suspicion, and drost peter's personal distrust of the duke gave way to the exigency of the occasion, and his respect for the laws of the country. whilst these important state affairs occupied the council, drost peter vainly sought an opportunity of conferring with sir john concerning jomfru ingé and her journey to sweden; for, on the slightest allusion to the subject, the counsellor, who apparently knew nothing of it, immediately started another. the day fixed for the dane-court had come. the queen's brothers, the margraves of brandenburg, had arrived on the previous day, having, two days before, left the duke in his camp near rypen. the duke himself, however, had not yet reached nyborg. to delay the dane-court until his arrival, was repugnant to the dignity of the crown and kingdom. every one was surprised at his apparent indifference on this important occasion, when his presence was so essential. the queen, especially, was irritated by this want of attention, which seemed to her so unlike the usual politeness and knightly behaviour of the duke. on the first day of whitsuntide, the dane-court was held with the customary formalities. its general business was conducted by the council, whose decisions were confirmed by the queen and the young king, who, equally with his mother, issued and confirmed charters and grants to churches and convents, subscribing himself king of the danes and sclaves, and duke of eastland. but the principal business--that which related to the king's guardianship, and the regency of the kingdom during his minority--was still unsettled. the two first days of the court's sittings had passed, and the duke was still absent. at the close of the second day drost peter left the palace, and retired to his own dwelling, intending to devote a portion of the night to a revision of the business which was to occupy the court on the following day. he sat alone in his closet, and, as he recalled to mind old henner's warning, and the suspicions of count gerhard, the daring thought occurred to him, that they might now, perhaps, with justice, pass over the duke's election to the guardianship. his anxious and uneasy thoughts were disturbed by a noise in the palace-square, accompanied by the clattering of horses' hoofs, and the horns of the castle-guard--a salute given only on the arrival of a princely personage. he hastily approached the window, and perceived the duke enter with great pomp, attended by a considerable retinue of knights. among these he observed three with locked visors, and these, by their armorial bearings, he recognised as three of the marsk's most audacious kinsmen, of whose personal participation in the murder of the king he had sure and ample proofs. hastily seizing his cloak and hat, he hurried to the castle, where sir john, as captain of the trabants, had already received the duke, and, at his importunate request, had admitted him to a private audience with the queen and her brothers. drost peter learnt these tidings with much concern just as he reached the door of the guard-chamber, where little aagé jonsen stood sentinel among the torch-pages. the drost hastily entered, and approached sir john, who was passing thoughtfully before the door of the royal apartments. he did not appear desirous of conversing, as, without stopping, he only nodded silently to the drost. the latter once or twice vainly endeavoured to find an opportunity of communicating his suspicions. "the council must, of course, again meet to-night," at length he observed in an under tone, as sir john turned to pass him. "its present leader is with the queen," replied sir john, continuing his walk. "can nothing be done?" whispered the impatient drost, when the old man again approached him. "there are traitors in the duke's retinue. the queen's mind is dazzled, and this hour probably decides the fate of the crown and country." "it is in the hand of god," replied the old counsellor, in whose eye glistened a tear. "he, you know, can cause the blind to see." he resumed his walk with a lively and careless air, and, in a jesting humour, put a few indifferent questions to one of the trabants. "unless a miracle happen here," exclaimed drost peter, vehemently, as the old counsellor again stood by him, "either you or i must speedily open the eyes of the queen and people." "precipitate man! what think you of?" whispered sir john. "your zeal will plunge the whole country into misfortune. be calm, my young friend," he immediately added, as he took his hand and led him aside, "otherwise you will certainly increase our misfortunes. some of the marsk's friends are here, to defend themselves, it is said. if, therefore, we were even certain of what we may apprehend, we must still be silent, and submit to necessity." "what! even if, ere the morrow, it could be demonstrated to the queen and the whole people that our new protector is a traitor to the country?" "even then. he now holds the fate of the kingdom in his hand. by an open rupture, we might place him at the head of the rebels. at present, he must condemn and punish them, although against his wish. until marsk stig falls, the duke must stand. he must be honoured as the prop of the throne, if even he be its most deadly foe. all that can at present be done is to warn the queen, and guard well the young king. appear calm, then, as i do--and lively, if you can." their conference was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the court-marshal, who invited them to a supper given by the queen, and intended as a feast of welcome to the duke. "you perceive," exclaimed drost peter, when the court-marshal had retired, "that our wily and eloquent protector is already in high favour." "'tis politic, perhaps," replied sir john. "our noble mistress is not easily duped. we must, however, seem unconcerned, and in good humour. in this matter let me be your preceptor, my good drost. if you would be a statesman, you must first be master of your own countenance." and, with an expression of good-natured gaiety, the old counsellor, with his grave young friend, entered the royal apartments, after having appointed another trabant captain to take his place. in a short time all the court officers, the members of the council, and the most considerable noblemen who attended the dane-court, were assembled in the great riddersal, where the queen's ladies already waited for her. she entered soon after, attired in deep mourning, and accompanied by her brothers and young king erik. at her left hand walked duke waldemar. he, too, wore a magnificent mourning-suit, and his haughty look of triumph betrayed a high degree of self-satisfaction, as he endeavoured to conceal his joy at a success which seemed no longer doubtful, although he saw it yet only in the distance. sir john saluted him with much politeness and ease, whilst drost peter observed merely needful courtesies; the demeanour of the other counsellors being indicative more of fear than of goodwill. drost peter regarded the queen attentively. he thought he perceived in her features a calm contentment, which, with her air of dignity, and a quiet, half-melancholy smile, did not ill contrast with her mourning attire; and as she cast on him a grave look, he fancied he read therein a rebuke for distrusting her sagacity and knowledge of mankind. it seemed to him as if she intended, by her whole conduct, to banish every doubt, which the friends of the royal house might entertain, of the loyalty of the princely personage whom she thought worthy to be distinguished as the most important man in the country. when the general salutations and the customary formalities of court were over, she led forward the duke, and presented him to the chief men of the kingdom. "our very princely friend and kinsman," she said, "from regard to the welfare of the country and the royal house, has magnanimously exposed himself to be misjudged, as well by me as by you. he had deferred receiving from this dane-court his election to the protectorship, on account of a rumour which his enemies have circulated, concerning a grievous want of confidence in him here, and of a party which, therefore, would stir up the people at the dane-court, and create discord in the kingdom. having learned, however, that the report is unfounded, he has no longer hesitated to come forward to justify himself. he brings us, moreover, the important and satisfactory intelligence, that the rebellious marsk stig has returned to reason, and has submitted his cause and that of his accomplices to the decision of the dane-court. the duke, by not attacking the rebels, has prudently sought to avoid a devastating civil war; whilst, by collecting a numerous army, he has overawed and restrained them. he has ventured in person within the defences of marsk stig, to induce him to submit to the laws of the country; and he brings with him, under his own conduct, to this dane-court, three of the marsk's friends, that it may not be said that even our most dangerous foes were condemned unheard. i look on this enterprise to be as valorous and upright as it is wise and politic; and it gladdens me that i can reasonably hope for prosperity to the kingdom of denmark, and at the same time bid the noble duke waldemar welcome amongst us." the latter words she addressed to the duke, who advanced, and bowing profoundly, in easy and elegant terms acknowledged this flattering reception. with apparent animation and sincerity, he avowed his attachment to the queen and the young king, at the same time extolling the loyal adherents of the royal house with a condescension and an insinuating address which were not without effect on the greater part of those who heard him. the doors of the dining-hall were then thrown open, and the duke led the queen to the table, where the youthful king took his place at her right hand. this was the first occasion on which any deviation had been made from that mournful silence which, since the death of king erik christopherson, had uniformly prevailed at court. and, even now, the feast was in nowise noisy: neither song, nor music, nor loud-voiced joy was heard; and, as soon as the table was removed, the company separated. the duke retired to the wing of the castle he usually occupied during the dane-court. sir john again resumed his station before the royal apartments, as captain of the body-guard; and drost peter returned to his own dwelling, his mind filled with painful doubts and fears. when the grave drost entered, he found count gerhard enjoying himself over a goblet of wine; whilst old fostermother dorothy, who was now her master's housekeeper here, loaded the table with viands of every description. at a signal from the drost, the bustling nurse left the apartment, whilst he greeted his guest not without some uneasy apprehensions. "welcome home, my good friend!" cried the count, gaily, as he rose, after having drained his goblet. "i am here, gathering strength from your excellent wine. if your fostermother reared you on this, i wonder not you are so strong and active. she is a capital housewife. you could never be better treated, even had you an angel for a wife. it is lucky she was not hanged or buried alive for her womanly honour's sake. but, what's the matter? am not i welcome? you look as if you were outlawed by the dane-court, or cited before the ribe-ret." "you are heartily welcome, noble count gerhard," replied the drost, extending his hand; "and if peace and joy are not to be seen in my face, it is certainly no fault of your's. you are true to your word, i see, and no false prophet. the duke arrived this evening. to-morrow he is my master, and that of the royal house. but what have you discovered?" "a very pretty thing, my good friend. you were as near being buried alive us your nurse was; and nordborg tower was to have been your grave. i succeeded in unbinding the highwayman's tongue with the point of a good sword at his throat. he confessed he would have broken your neck if he could not have taken you prisoner, for you had in your pocket important proofs against the regicides." "and for that reason--ah! i understand," exclaimed drost peter. "but what farther?" "wait a little, my good friend. a man can't live on talk. your confounded state affairs have nearly worn me out." so saying, count gerhard quietly resumed his seat, and replenished his goblet, whilst the drost impatiently awaited his farther communications. "the duke is a cunning gentleman," began the count, when he had emptied his goblet, and again praised the wine; "and i am a downright stormer, they say. 'tis true, indeed, that i mostly cut away right before me, and go straight to my object, without deviation. but now you shall see that i too, at a pinch, can play the fox--" "i heartily believe it, my dear count; therefore, for heaven's sake, don't prove it to me now! what know you of the duke? what has he been doing? what could have kept him from the dane-court? where has he been?--" "softly, softly, my good friend. a man cannot answer everything at once. he has not slept for the last three days--neither have i: you can see it in my appearance. i have ridden three horses to death, and scarcely hang together myself. but listen to all in due order. when we danced with the pretty maidens at rypen house, the duke lay, you know, on the lazy side, in his camp hard by. but on holy st. germanus' day--let me see--yes, it was the th of may, the first day of the dane-court here--he was certainly in sleswick, where, in the presence of his own council and that of the bishop, he issued a trading charter, in favour of the shopkeepers of lubeck, of the following tenor--" "do you jest with me, count gerhard? what possible connection has this with the crown and kingdom?" "more than you dream of, my good friend," replied the count. "the tenor of the charter i will spare you, for i cannot remember it, and it is nothing to the purpose: but mark you--he performed a public, although an insignificant act of government, in sleswick, on the same day on which he should here have been chosen protector and guardian of the king. there, now, you have a political riddle, which will become a hard nut for posterity to crack; but i can solve it for you. he had, shortly before, been at helgeness, with marsk stig--" "that we know," interrupted the drost, impatiently: "he has not concealed it; and it has just been explained to his honour, as a proof of his fidelity and zeal for the royal cause." "i'faith, if you know everything, my sagacious sir drost, then are you wiser than even my daddy longlegs, as we shall see--" "your jester?" "aye--you know him. he is mad enough at times: he fancied he was the dead king, when he knocked my eye out; but when he is not mad, and has a mind to put a wax nose on people, he is a deuce of a carl, and ready to laugh himself to death at--" "but, _min gud!_ what has a fool to do with state affairs? forget not, on account of that good-for-nothing fellow, what you were about to say." "respect longlegs, my good friend. such a fool can be more sagacious than a whole privy council. for the last eight days he has been clad in iron from top to toe, and has personated the marsk's confidential swain, mat jute. he resembled him to a hair, and imitated his juttish accent in a masterly manner: it was thus he came to know that of which i had already an inkling, and what old henner had observed during his imprisonment with the marsk. whilst the duke kept away from the dane-court, a tumult and an outbreak were to be occasioned here, on the first court-day, by the aid of the marsk and his friends; but i prevented it by causing all the ferries to be closed for three days, so that none of the disturbers could come over." "my god! what do i hear? what would then have happened?" "under pretence of a rising against the duke himself, wherein it was believed the people would take part, the queen and the young king were to be seized during the confusion. we compelled the captive highwayman to report that you were in good keeping at nordborg, and for that lie he had his freedom yesterday. whilst the royal prisoners, with the algrev's assistance, were carried to tönsberg, the duke with his army was to proceed to viborg, and, in order to save the country, was to suffer himself, from sheer necessity, to be hailed as king. he was, as you have seen, prepared to prove, by a public document, that he was in sleswick during the tumult on the th of may; so that the cunning gentleman could wash his hands of what had then happened. in the meantime, as i expected, he found out the stroke i made in the reckoning; and he must have ridden neck or nothing from sleswick to be here to-night." "come, count gerhard," exclaimed drost peter, startled, "this is a matter for the closet. i turn giddy at the mere thought of it. if you can adduce me clear proofs of this monstrous treachery, he shall be overthrown, even if it costs me my own life." drost peter hastily withdrew his guest into his closet, where he noted down every word spoken by the count, and every circumstance that could throw light on the truth of his narrative. the jester was also examined, and his statement duly recorded. count gerhard set his seal to the depositions, and further bound himself, by his oath and his good sword, to make good what might be deficient in formal testimony. with the utmost gravity of countenance, the jester likewise set his seal to the document with a button of his squire's jacket. next morning betimes, before the dane-court commenced, drost peter had a private conversation with sir john; but almost as early, the duke was with the margraves of brandenburg and the queen. on this last and most important day of the dane-court, the business, as usual, would be transacted in the open air, in sight of the people, in the area before the palace. it was the third day in whitsun-week, and the finest spring weather favoured the solemnities with which the young king would, at the same time, be hailed by his funen subjects. everything was prepared with the utmost magnificence. on each side of the throne, which the young king would occupy, was a splendid seat, both of nearly the same elevation, provided for the queen and duke waldemar. scarlet cloth was spread on the ground, and two semi-circles of chairs were placed for the princes and knights, as well as for the bishops and prelates; but in the middle of the circle stood a round table, covered with black cloth, with three and thirty chairs around it, which, however, seemed to occupy but a small portion of the large space. this unusual spectacle gave rise to many doubtful observations among the people. from an early hour in the morning, an unusually large number of burghers and peasants were assembled on the site of the dane-court, and an anxious silence prevailed. the knights and ecclesiastics afterward assembled, among the latter of whom were the worthy dean, master jens grand, and the archbishop of lund, john dros, together with the bishops of the entire kingdom. the eyes of all were now directed to the great doors of the palace, from which the royal party was every minute expected to proceed. they were at length thrown open, and two heralds, with lofty plumes in their helmets, and bearing white rods, appeared, heading the procession, as on the occasion of a tournament; although the mourning-dresses imparted to the whole more the appearance of a funeral train. the youthful king walked gravely and firmly by the side of his stately mother, and was followed by prince christopher, with the duke and the queen's brothers. count gerhard had unexpectedly placed himself in the princely train. nor had he come alone; for he was accompanied by his two brothers, the young counts of holstein, and the wise and brave prince witzlau of rygen, his private friend, and a loyal vassal of the danish crown. these noblemen had just been presented to the king; but count gerhard, having had no opportunity of approaching the queen, was forced to salute her from a distance. at the head of the twelve councillors came old sir john, the chancellor martinus, and drost peter. no trace of anxiety was visible on the countenance of the aged statesman. master martinus also appeared calm; but his head was bowed, and his hands folded within the ample sleeves of his dominican habit, as if he were engaged in secret prayer. drost peter strove in vain entirely to conceal the contest of feelings that divided his soul: his wounded arm rested in a sling; and under his other, concealed beneath his sable knight's mantle, he carried a bundle of documents. when he perceived the proud, triumphant glance of the duke, his eyes flashed indignation; but he had promised sir john to control his feelings, and he was himself fully alive to the necessity which existed for dissimulation. a bitter smile, however, played for a moment on his lips, as it occurred to him that he might then, perhaps, with a joyous face, be following the freedom and happiness of his country to their grave. the royal squires, who, after the marsk, under-marsk, and knights, closed the procession, were headed by the favourite of the youthful king, aagé jonsen, who, since the catastrophe at the barn of finnerup, had become singularly quiet and serious. drost peter, his own and young erik's weapon-master, was his model of chivalry, and already he wore, with almost the dignity of a knight, the squire's sword and silver spurs with which his young king had presented him. when the dane-court was at length seated, and the people saw the little king upon throne, and beheld the noble bearing of the queen, with so many wise and faithful counsellors by the side of their youthful monarch, the deep, long-held silence was suddenly broken by a deafening shout of joy and loyalty. as when the homage of the people was received at scanderborg, sir john now read aloud the document respecting the election of the king, and the acclamations of the assembly were repeated with redoubled ardour. in the midst of this applause the little king rose, and bowed gracefully around; the childlike pleasure he felt at being thus the object of general homage, adding a grace and simplicity to his natural dignity and early knightly bearing that invested him with an irresistible charm. when the king rose, the queen likewise stood up, while duke waldemar and the other princes, with all the knights and vassals of the kingdom, acknowledged the sovereignty of their youthful monarch, by bending themselves before the throne. when this act of homage was concluded, sir john advanced and read that article in the constitution by which the queen and duke waldemar were entitled to exercise concurrently the functions of government during the minority of the king. notwithstanding the discontent visible in many faces, no objection was offered, and the queen and the duke were formally confirmed in this authority. when the document, after being subscribed by the estates of the kingdom, was read to the people, the name of the queen was greeted with loud applause, while that of the duke was received in almost unbroken silence. a few voices only, among which was that of master grand, attempted to raise a shout of "long live duke waldemar, the king's guardian, and protector of the kingdom!" and although a considerable number joined in it, it was in a tone indicative more of compulsion and fear than of goodwill. the duke having bowed with an air of condescension, the young king again arose. a perfect stillness and attention prevailed, while his eye rested on drost peter and master martinus, in whose encouraging looks he seemed to read what he had to say. quickly conquering the bashful feeling which for a moment had seized him, he began, with a firm voice, and in a tone so loud that all could hear him:-- "my loyal danish people, i here promise, before god and our holy lady, that i will be a good and upright king. i acknowledge the constitution, and recognise the will of the people, as just and binding; cheerfully submitting myself to the guardianship of my dear mother and of the duke until i have attained my majority. and as i am, under this legal guardianship, the lawful king of denmark, and inherit the crown of my father and the great waldemars, i now, confident of the approval of my guardians and counsellors, order and command, that the cause against the murderers of my late father shall, by this retter-ting, be rigidly investigated and decided. stand forward, drost peter hessel. on my behalf and that of the crown, you are appointed accuser of the regicides." drost peter advanced, and drew forth the documents he carried beneath his mantle. "with the consent of my dear mother and duke waldemar," continued the youthful erik, whilst, turning his eyes on sir john, he recited, almost word for word, what that aged statesman had prepared for him, "i propose that my worthy uncle, margrave otto of brandenburg, my trusty vassal, prince witzlau of rygen, the valiant and upright count gerhard of holstein, and his illustrious brothers, together with seven and twenty chief men of the danish nobility and knighthood, be now constituted a tribunal, to investigate the accusation and the evidence offered by the drost. after which, let them declare who were the men that, on st. cecilia's night, in the barn of finnerup, laid violent and regicidal hands on my late father, king erik christopherson. with this hand upon his bloody breast, i vowed to his soul and the righteous god that, from the throne of denmark, this should be my first command, and that the ungodly regicides should receive the punishment due to their crime, according to the strictest justice and the outraged laws of the land." the warmth and earnestness, no less than the authority, with which this demand was pronounced, excited general surprise and admiration. the latter words, which, to the astonishment of sir john, had been added by the young monarch himself, had brought the tears into his eyes. when he had resumed his seat, the queen, who appeared prepared for this announcement, immediately arose, and said--"i approve of the king's proposition. it has already been well considered in the council of the nation, and now requires only the approbation of the illustrious duke waldemar." "i, likewise, approve of it," said the latter, in a tone which showed that he was constrained to acquiesce only by the necessity of his position. by sir john's arrangements, seven and twenty noblemen, the eldest and most respected in the assembly, were then chosen, who, with the princes already named, immediately took their seats at the black table within the circle, prepared to hear and examine the accusation and evidence offered by the drost. whilst thus engaged, the deep silence of expectation pervaded the rest of the assembly. when they had concluded, the three knights, strongly guarded, advanced at the signal of the duke. as defenders of the accused, they had been brought there under his safe conduct. they were completely clad in mail, and wore their visors down. the princes and the other members of the tribunal now approached the throne. the margrave otto of brandenburg, who, with a parchment in his hand, was at their head, then bowed before the king and the assembly, and read aloud and distinctly, in danish, though with a foreign accent, as follows:-- "after the charges laid before us, and the witnesses we have heard, we are constrained to name, as proved to have been participators in the murder of king erik christopherson, the following persons, knights and danish noblemen:--the right princely count jacob of halland; stig andersen hvide, marsk of the kingdom of denmark; high chamberlain ové dyré; sirs peder jacobsen, peder porsé, niels hallandsfar, arved bengtson, niels knudson, and jacob blaafod; also chamberlain rané and squire aagé kaggé. that the abovenamed eleven men, together with a twelfth, who has since appeared before a higher tribunal, were present in disguised dresses, on st. cecilia's night, at finnerup barn, near viborg, and did personally take part in the murder of the king, we do here testify and swear, with our hands upon the holy gospels, in presence of the all-seeing god, and before the king and people of denmark." while the names were read, two of the mailed knights seemed to stagger; but the third, a ponderous and stately figure, remained unmoved, wrapped, with an air of defiance, in his blue mantle, and his clenched hands crossed upon his breast. no sooner had the princes and their fellow-judges sworn to the truth of their verdict, than this haughty personage, advancing a step, struck his visor up, and, turning round, exhibited to the assembly a countenance at once wild and warlike, although somewhat pale. "count jacob!--count jacob himself!"--ran from mouth to mouth, in a subdued murmur of astonishment. "yes, i am count jacob of holland, kinsman to the royal house, and a general of denmark," he exclaimed, with an air of pride and defiance; "and here stand my faithful friends, the brave sirs arved bengtson and jacob blaafod, who, along with me, are named among the murderers of king erik christopherson." his companions then struck aside the gratings of their helmets, and revealed the accused regicides, who, despite their haughty bearing, were yet deadly pale, and apparently doubtful of their personal security, notwithstanding the safe conduct of the duke. "we mean not to impugn the decision of so many lords and knights," continued the proud count. "lying and falsehood we bear not upon our shields. danish honesty we expect also here. we have been promised, in the name of the king, a safe conduct and just treatment. we demand, therefore, not only the right to withdraw from hence unmolested, but first to be heard in our defence. that which we have done, we feel assured we can defend with our lips as well as with our swords, wherever honesty and justice prevail. to defend the right, in self-vindication, is nowhere forbidden; and that we call right which we have accomplished on a man of violence, who himself had broken every law, before we broke the rod over his guilty head." the queen had risen, and the young king had sprung up, amazed at this matchless boldness. the rage of the people was great at beholding amongst them the convicted regicide, although his princely rank and his known bravery imposed silence on many. his daring, too, pleased some, and his exordium about danish honesty was flattering to a considerable portion. the rebels had also secret friends among the people, and a dangerous murmur began to pervade the excited assemblage; while a multitude of the poorer burghers of nyborg, who were particularly attached to the late king, rushed forward with furious clamour to wreak their vengeance on his murderers. with the greatest difficulty could the rank of knights keep in restraint the infuriated populace, and the uproar threatened to put a stop to the proceedings, when sir john and drost peter restored order by announcing that sentence should immediately be pronounced on the regicides, and their punishment rendered speedy and certain. "let them be carried at once to the wheel!" cried junker christopherson, as he menaced them with his clenched hand. the queen's indignation was great; but she remained silent, and sank back, pale and agitated, on her seat. the appearance of the murderers, and the wild faces of the people, painfully reminded her of the audacious visit of marsk stig, on the morning after the king's assassination. "had i imagined that these gentlemen had personally participated in the deed, they should never have received a safe conduct from me," exclaimed the duke, in some perturbation. "but now, for the sake of my own honour and that of the crown, i must demand that they be suffered freely to depart, whatever judgment may be pronounced upon them." "you are right, duke waldemar," said the young king, suppressing his indignation. "would we be knights with honour, we must keep faith and promise, even with these most impious murderers; and i have vowed to god and to our lady to rule righteously. if, therefore, on behalf of the crown, you have promised them safety, we must suffer them freely to depart. but they shall first hear their doom; and, wherever they may flee to, by the assistance of the righteous god, it will certainly reach them. read aloud the sentence," he added, hastily, "as it stands in king waldemar's law-book. if they have forfeited life and honour, so shall we adjudge." "no punishment seems to me too severe for so heinous a crime," observed the duke, sternly. "but it may assume a different aspect when viewed from another point; and, therefore, before any just and impartial sentence can be pronounced, the dane-court should hear what the accused have to advance in their defence, and what others, skilled in the laws, can state to guide us. let the accused advance. the king and the people will hear their defence." count jacob and arved bengtson moved not; but jacob blaafod, who was celebrated for his eloquence, approached the throne, while the blood again mounted to his sun-burnt cheeks. having bowed on every side with knightly grace, he began his defence, and immediately quelled the murmurs of the assembly by a short but flattering exordium, in which he extolled the justice of the danish laws, and the love of freedom and magnanimity of the people. he then frankly admitted the truth of the accusation, but represented the murder of the king as a bold and heroic action, as a great sacrifice to the freedom of the nation, and as altogether a just and lawful deed. he recounted all the violations of his contracts, and of the charters of the kingdom, perpetrated by the late king, by which, he affirmed, he had forfeited his crown, and placed himself on a level with every knight and nobleman in the kingdom, each of whom could defend his own honour and integrity against any of his peers, without being guilty of lese-majesty. he then proceeded to expose, in bitter language, the deep injustice which had been suffered by the chief noblemen in the kingdom; especially depicting, in the strongest colour, the crime perpetrated by king erik christopherson against marsk stig and his wife, with its heartrending results; and concluded by demanding of the king and the people, in the name of danish justice, honour, and freedom, that the country's greatest general, the famed marsk stig, with his injured friends and kinsmen, should be acquitted of all guilt, and restored to their honours and dignities, which they had never lawfully forfeited. his words made a deep impression, and no inconsiderable number of voices were raised in favour of the accused. the queen had veiled her face; and the youthful erik, in spite of his grief and indignation, could not avoid blushing at the shame of his unhappy father, whilst the tears stood in his eyes. "speak, drost peter, speak!" he cried: "is it not enough that they have murdered my father? must i also sit on denmark's throne, and hear them mock and insult his memory?" at this heartrending appeal drost peter advanced. he exhibited great emotion, and some time elapsed before he could command his voice. "in what our murdered lord and king has here offended," he began, "he has gone to his account before the king of kings. may the almighty judge be merciful to him, and all of us! they are not men, but monsters, who demand that his son and his bereaved subjects should justify his actions and defend his fame in the presence of his murderers. it is not as the man erik christopherson that he is here in question; but as denmark's king, as the wearer of denmark's crown, whose inviolable majesty and sacredness have been profaned by bloody and audacious hands: it is the crime against the anointed ruler of the people and of the kingdom we are here to judge." without reference to the king's personality, he then pourtrayed the regicidal crime in language so strong and glowing, that the murderers themselves were abashed, and many of those who most severely censured the deceased king, and who had just been loudest in their applause of jacob blaafod's speech, turned away their eyes with horror from the men of blood. the eloquent drost then proceeded to recapitulate some of the most beneficial measures adopted by his late master; and specially pointed out how much that ancient and loyal city owed to his favour and clemency. he further instanced numerous benefits which the rebellious noblemen themselves had received from the late king, whom they had basely and ungratefully murdered, and succeeded in touching the hearts of the whole assembly, and in entirely obliterating the impression produced by the address of the regicide. he availed himself, finally, of this favourable disposition, to unfold the dangerous position of the country, and, with impassioned eloquence, charged them to sustain not only the majesty and sacredness of the throne, but the dignity and freedom of the people, by tearing the mask from the face of every secret traitor who had participated, directly or otherwise, in this rebellions and audacious crime. his eyes sparkling with animation, he then suddenly turned to the duke, as the man bound to the royal house by the holiest ties of consanguinity, and demanded of him, in the name of the people, by virtue of his new dignity, first to pronounce sentence on the guilty, for subsequent confirmation by the estates. the drost paused; and although the duke had changed colour, he quickly rose at this appeal, and, bowing respectfully to the queen, modestly yielded to her the prerogative of pronouncing whatever sentence she and the council of the kingdom regarded as just and lawful. "be it so!" exclaimed the queen, unveiling her face as she rose with an air of calmness and decision. "i shall, then, be the first to declare what the council of the kingdom and myself think just and legal--what must have been already pronounced in the heart of every dane, if god's holy law dwell there:--according to every law, both human and divine, an ignominious death is due to murderous traitors. therefore, for the security of the crown and kingdom, let not mercy restrain the arm of justice!" "whoever has any legal objections to offer, can do so now," said the duke, as he directed his eyes towards dean grand, who apparently was only waiting this summons to step forward. "in the name of truth and justice, then, i demand to be heard," cried the authoritative dean, as he advanced with an open book in his hand. "here is the point of law on which alone the accused can be condemned, if, as i maintain they should, they be not with right and justice acquitted of all guilt. if the murder had been perpetrated in god's holy house, or on the property of the victim himself, the sentence of death would be a legal one; but as this was certainly not so in this instance, the accused, at worst, can only be adjudged outlaws, and have their estates forfeited to the king's exchequer. if the law is to prevail here, and not the unrighteous passion of revenge, no severer sentence than this can be pronounced." on this bold assertion, which had found favour with many, a warm debate arose, in which the duke, with a flattering and not ineffective reference to the great privileges of the people and of the states, and to the violation of charters and engagements, declared himself in favour of this milder interpretation of the law. drost peter opposed him warmly; but sir john, to his great astonishment and that of the young king, strenuously maintained that, in accordance with the strict letter of the law, they could not come nearer the criminals. outlawry, however, he continued, was a punishment which could not be regarded as trivial; for it implied no less than civil death, constant peril of life, and exclusion from every social or human privilege within the bounds of denmark. the words of the aged counsellor carried great weight with them. drost peter, and the other faithful friends of the royal house, quickly perceived that, for some new but sufficient reason, this wise statesman now defended an opinion he had himself opposed in the council a few days before. no further opposition, therefore, was offered to the milder sentence on the criminals; the queen and the young king declaring themselves satisfied with it, since it was considered just and legal by so many able and upright men. the sentence of outlawry on the regicides was then formally drawn up, and immediately subscribed and sealed by the king and both protectors, as well as by those chosen for that purpose from the estates; after which, it was read aloud by the drost before the assembled dane-court. under a strong guard, the three knights were then conducted to the beach, where they were put on board a boat, with some provisions, and thus enabled to escape the enraged populace, against which no convoy could any longer protect them. this important business being thus concluded, the margrave otto of brandenburg advanced, and, having bowed respectfully to royalty, turned to the assembled knighthood, and said:--"my royal nephew, king erik erikson of denmark, has honoured me by requesting to receive, at this dane-court, the stroke of knighthood from my hand. a king's son, who has borne the name of king almost from his cradle, may already be regarded as exalted by his birth and position over every meaner dignity. it is commendable, however, in kings and princes, that they do not despise the rank of knighthood, but are generally desirous of being invested with that honour before they are anointed and crowned as sovereigns over their knights and princely vassals. i dispense, therefore, in the case of my royal nephew, with the customary probation which the dignity of the order otherwise requires." he then turned to the young king, and continued, in a tone of solemnity:--"i now demand, king erik erikson of denmark, before thy loyal people and in presence of the danish knighthood, in what respect thou desirest to be admitted into our order? wilt thou promise and swear to defend the holy christian faith and the honours of knighthood?" the young king arose and uncovered his head. his cheeks glowed, and his dark blue eyes sparkled with youthful pleasure and animation. "yea!" he exclaimed, "i will, so help me all holy men! god and our holy lady know my heart's wish and my intention. i desire the stroke of knighthood from thy hand, my dear uncle, that i may be anointed and crowned king of denmark with honour, and to show my loving people, and all men, that not only shall i be a good and upright king, but also a knight without reproach, that i may not disgrace the crown of denmark and of the great waldemars. that which a squire should understand, before he can wear the golden spurs, my dear weapon-master, drost peter hessel, has already taught me, which i will prove at the first tournament. the laws of chivalry i have learned as the holy text; and i swear, by st. george and the holy virgin, that i shall maintain them while i live." he paused an instant to collect himself; and then continued, with much ardour:--"i will not live careless, but will defend my people, and pour out my blood for the true and holy church, which i know is the head, whilst the knighthood is the arm, to defend the whole body; and that also shall i strive to do. i will protect the widow, the fatherless, and the needy; i will be the defender of all pure and virtuous ladies; i will be just, valiant, generous, honest, and chaste; i will honour god with all humility, and be truthful and faithful to my word; i will practise the seven virtues of knighthood, and eschew the seven mortal sins, with the assistance of god and the holy virgin." when the youthful king had sworn, as his profession of faith, this epitome of the laws of chivalry, which he seemed to know by heart, he descended from the throne to receive the symbols and accoutrements of knighthood, with which, according to his wish and the usual custom, he was to be invested by the most eminent men of the kingdom, and the most attached friends of the royal house. drost peter bound the golden spurs upon his heels, and with tender interest and heartfelt pleasure reminded him of their signification. old sir john, with a short and energetic encouragement to manliness and goodness, equipped him in a cuirass of light mail. count gerhard, who had requested the charge of binding on his wambraces, did so in his usual gay manner, wishing the son of the noble queen agnes success, strength, and victory in every undertaking. at length the queen herself arose to present him with the glittering gauntlets, and to gird him with the golden sword, which the heralds brought forward. having first carried the crossed hilt of the weapon reverently to her lips, she girt her son with the gold-embroidered sword-belt, on which was wrought, by her own hands, a lily, a balance, and a heart, as emblems of purity, justice, and christian charity; and then, kissing him affectionately on the forehead, she exhorted him never to forget its meaning. the queen having resumed her seat, and the knights their places, the youthful king knelt down, while margrave otto, kissing the hilt of his drawn sword, solemnly said--"king erik erikson of denmark, in the name of god, our holy lady, and st. george, i dub you a knight. be bold, courageous, and true!" a flourish of trumpets followed, while the margrave, with the flat of his sword, touched the noviciate three times on the shoulder. tears stood in the eyes of the newly-created knight, whilst he rose and folded his hands, as if engaged in silent prayer. he then received from the margrave a bright gilded helmet, with a large plume of feathers, which caused his eyes to sparkle with pleasure as he placed it on his golden locks. finally, the margrave presented him with a golden lance, and hung on the wambrace of his left arm a splendid shield, bearing the same device which he had chosen for his first juvenile buckler. his friend and playmate, aagé jonsen, had meanwhile led forth a proud milk-white tourney-steed, caparisoned in shining armour, with a lofty plume of feathers on his head. the youthful knight instantly vaulted into the saddle, without the aid of the stirrups, and then proceeded to caracol his steed, poise his lance, and exhibit himself in all the pomp of knighthood before the people, who received his graceful and condescending salutations with enthusiastic shouts of rejoicing. thrice did he thus make the circle of the dane-court, whilst the air resounded with the braying of trumpets and the loud acclamations of the people. even the gravest among the knights seemed pleased at the dexterity and address with which the youthful rider managed his steed; and, although, as old sir john turned towards drost peter, a quiet smile at this exhibition played about his lips, yet the delighted shouts of the people, and the general animation excited by the presence of the youthful monarch, much affected him, and hastily passing his hands across his eyes, he heartily joined in the people's shout--"god bless our young king!" without being impeded by his armour and weapons, young erik now sprang from his steed with as much agility as he had mounted it, and ordering his squire to lead it off, returned calmly and with dignity to the throne. during these ceremonies the duke remained silent and absorbed in reflection. drost peter, however, had closely observed him; and the ill-concealed scorn which he read in his countenance only too strongly reminded him that it was not yet time for rejoicings and gladness in denmark. king erik then arose, somewhat out of breath with his violent exercise, and addressing the duke, said--"as i am now myself a knight, and have a right to confer the stroke of knighthood on whom i choose, my princely kinsman and guardian, duke waldemar of south jutland, shall be the first who receives it from my hand." the duke rose hastily. he seemed taken by surprise, and his proud mien betrayed that the proposed honour annoyed more than it flattered him. drost peter imagined he saw in his constrained smile, an angry feeling of wounded pride, that he should now, in presence of the nation, be obliged to kneel before the youthful king, even to receive a dignity with which he had long anxiously desired to be invested. the wily duke, however, seemed solicitous to conceal this from himself as well as from the knighthood, and, in a tone of easy dignity, he thanked the king for this gracious mark of distinction. he then knelt before the throne, whilst king erik pronounced the customary form, and, amidst a nourish of trumpets, let fall three times his golden sword on the shoulder of the duke. "be a knight without reproach," he added: "be, as the laws of chivalry command, full of burning zeal for the general good, for the kingdom's weal, for the knighthood's honour, for the people's unity and prosperity, and for the welfare of your lawful king. god, our holy lady, and st. george grant you strength and aid thereto!" from the lips of the youthful king, this admonition, in which he fancied he could trace the influence of drost peter, did not at all please the proud, ambitious duke; although he went through the customary forms with a polite bearing. when he had received his new arms, he leaped upon his tourney-steed, and exhibited himself to the people with much princely dignity and knightly skill. at a prancing gallop he cast his lance aloft and caught it again, at the same time saluting the people gracefully and mildly. the applause he coveted was freely bestowed on him; but he seemed especially gratified when, after he had dismounted, he received the congratulations of the knights and of the royal family. thus terminated the dane-court and its grave affairs, apparently to the general satisfaction. the royal family, with the duke and the other princes present, then returned to the palace, where the king presented rich gifts to the duke, to the margrave otto, count gerhard, and the danish knights. chargers, gold bridles, magnificent mantles, and arms were freely distributed; and all who had participated in the ceremonials received some handsome memorial of the day and of the king's munificence. neither was aagé jonsen forgotten: his royal master presented him with a gilded sword, set with jewels, and bearing as an inscription--"the king's defence." for his fidelity to the murdered king, erik would fain have given his youthful playmate the stroke of knighthood; but the exception which had been made in his own favour could not, from respect to those of riper years, be extended to any of lower degree, not even to junker christopherson, who appeared to consider himself as worthy of being a knight and king as was his brother. this important election to the regency of the kingdom, and the princely promotion to the knighthood, were celebrated in the palace with magnificent festivities, during which the duke scarcely for a moment lost sight of the royal party, and outshone all present in knightly bearing, and in refined and polished conversation. the queen's present confidence in him, and her desire to compensate him for the unworthy suspicions she formerly entertained, now led her to agree with him in a conclusion altogether opposed to the wishes of the council. the representations of the duke to herself and her brothers, induced them to consider the juncture too serious for farther festivities; and, to look carefully to the security of the royal house, they unanimously determined that, instead of carrying the young king to zealand, there to receive the homage of the people, and from thence to be crowned at lund, they should immediately carry him back to the strong castle of viborg, and defer the journey to zealand and scania, so long as marsk stig, with the outlaws and norse rovers, rendered the belt and sound unsafe. this determination the queen, in the presence of the duke, announced to sir john and drost peter during the evening, in a tone so decided as to restrain every objection. drost peter was much alarmed, for he saw in this a new attempt on the part of the duke to draw the royal personages within his own and the outlaws' power, whilst, by his cunning, he would perhaps succeed in deferring the act of homage, and delaying the coronation until he could himself unlawfully seize upon the kingdom. drost peter burned with impatience boldly and openly to unmask the mighty traitor, and testify to what he knew of the true reason of his absence from the dane-court; but on a stern look of warning from sir john, he restrained himself, and was silent. the journey to viborg was, therefore, fixed for the next morning, and the company separated. it was late in the evening. the servants of the palace were busily engaged with the requisite preparations for the journey, the din of which was heard in the castle-court. the duke and his retinue had withdrawn to their own apartments; but it was observed that some of his followers had left the castle, and hastily taken the road to middelfert. the young king had retired, and the margraves of brandenburg had just left the queen in her private apartment. she had taken a farewell of her brothers, who, that very night, were to leave denmark for the court of the emperor rudolph, to induce him to declare the danish regicides outlaws in germany. this reason for their sudden journey, they had, however, confided only to the queen. the beautiful young widow sat, her cheek resting on her hand, at a table of black marble, on which stood two wax-lights. she wore her mourning attire; and, as her dark head-dress was cast aside, her rich brown hair hung in tresses over her arms, and fell upon the marble slab. her fair white fingers were engaged in turning over the leaves of a beautiful little manuscript volume, the pages of which she frequently crossed and marked with a silver needle. in this book she had, in her lonely hours, poured out her heart with honest self-acknowledgment, and with her own hand had recorded every remarkable circumstance of her life. there stood yet the fair delightful dreams of her childhood, like half-vanished memories of paradise. they were, however, soon followed by her humiliating espousals. her early betrothment to king erik christopherson had been one of the conditions of his release from nordborg castle, after he was taken prisoner in the war with duke waldemar's father. the record of this, her alienation to another, was but incoherently set down, and it seemed as if she had not yet understood the proper connection of events; for, in incoherent words, and in traces of tears, she saw the day recorded when, yet little more then a child, she had, in blind duty and obedience, suffered herself to be adorned as a royal bride, and become the unwitting victim of a cold political consideration. of her wedded state, so void of love and tenderness, there were many records; for at this point she appeared first to become conscious of her dignity, and of the purpose of life. in the midst of the great and glittering world she had often felt herself alone and forsaken, although, with youthful energy, she had availed herself of her lofty position to occupy her thoughts with benevolence, and diffuse peace and joy around her. it was granted her to seem fortunate; and whatever success followed her efforts to suppress the dangerous voice of rebellion, which threatened the king and kingdom with ruin, was due as much to her personal influence as to the exalted splendour of the crown. the kindly interest she felt in drost peter was the first bright spot in this dark portion of her inner life. his brave chivalrous spirit, and the homage he rendered her, had been grateful to her womanly nature; while with prudence and delicacy she had concealed, beneath the imposing cloak of majesty, every feeling of her heart's desolateness. as she continued turning over the leaves of this her life's-book, the past flitted by her like a dream. at the lively description of the tournament at helsingborg, she found first mentioned the name of count gerhard, with a witty remark on the awkwardness of his homage, but also with expressions of esteem and interest. a few pages farther she saw a bitter memorial of the injurious rumour to which her interest in drost peter had given birth, and a memorandum of her determination to avoid for the future every appearance of familiarity with her faithful and attached knight. as she glanced over the account of the festival at sir john's, and of her dance with the wounded count gerhard, a slight blush crimsoned her cheeks, and she felt that the bold, good-natured dancer had made a greater impression upon her than she was, at that time, willing to believe. the discreet and respectful attachment to her which had that day beamed from his one honest eye, had, in her mind, invested him with greater dignity. her judgment both of him and of the accomplished duke waldemar she now reviewed with much interest. to the duke she had given the preference for his knightly bearing and polished manners; while she had found him deficient in the truthfulness and bold sincerity that enhanced the nobleness of count gerhard and rendered him so entirely safe to be relied upon. having closed the manuscript, she remained some time in deep thought, and was at length about to summon her ladies and retire to rest, when she heard a gentle knocking at the private door of the apartment which separated her closet from that of the youthful king, and which was accessible to the royal family alone. "come in, my son," she said, as she turned towards the door, which was then softly opened, and the trusty favourite squire, aagé jonsen, stepped modestly over the threshold. he remained respectfully at a distance, and, having made his salutation, "pardon my temerity, most gracious queen," he began, in a low voice: "my master, the king, has commanded me to open this door, to ascertain if your grace was present, and alone. he prays you, for most important reasons, to grant him and the drost an audience here, without witnesses." "drost hessel!" ejaculated the queen, with astonishment--"here, and at this hour? impossible! what means this?" "i know not, your grace," replied the grave little squire; "but i conclude that it is on business of emergency and importance. the drost did not pass through the guard-chamber, but entered by the subterranean passage, in company with the tall lord from kiel." "count gerhard!" exclaimed the queen, as she hastily veiled her face. "is he, too, here? has he, also, requested to speak with me?" "that know i not, your grace. i kept watch by the inner door of the king's chamber, and knew not there was any secret entrance until it was opened, and both the gentlemen stood before me. the drost bade me awake the king immediately. i obeyed, and they were both instantly admitted to his chamber. shortly afterwards he rung, and, while he attired himself, commanded me to ascertain cautiously whether your grace was alone here, and to deliver the request of which i have just informed you." "well," answered the queen, "tell thy king and master that i await him, and whomever else he may think it necessary to bring with him." aagé jonsen bowed and retired; when the queen, who felt some anxiety, arose, and opening a little gilded casket, which stood on the table, concealed therein her journal. she then walked once or twice across the apartment, but at length stopped opposite a large polished steel mirror, in which she hastily arranged her fallen tresses. the secret door was opened a moment after, and king erik entered, leading drost peter by the hand. "hear him, my mother!" exclaimed, with excitement, the little king--"hear and read what the good drost and count gerhard have discovered. the duke is false! he will entice us to ruin." "let not this disquiet you, noble queen," hastily observed drost peter, as he saluted her. "the danger is not imminent; although, except on high and important grounds, i should not have dared to approach you at so undue an hour, and in this unusual manner. to-morrow would have been too late. it is necessary, too, for your own and the king's security, that you should thus be secretly apprised of it, as it would be dangerous if the duke conceived the slightest suspicion that we had discovered his daring plans." "you astonish me, drost hessel!" exclaimed the queen, with undisguised solicitude. "have you certain proof of this, whatever it may be? or is it but another of the learned chancellor's dreams? the duke must either be the wiliest hypocrite under the sun, or he is the true and attached friend of myself and the royal house." "read, then, your grace," replied drost peter, spreading before her the parchment bearing count gerhard's seal: "every word that stands there can be personally attested by the noble count gerhard, should you so require his oath. he awaits your commands in the next apartment." the queen seated herself, and hastily perused the evidence set forth by drost peter to account for the duke's absence from the opening of the dane-court. as she did so, she became pale, and, rising, exclaimed--"just heaven! is, then, the fate of the kingdom and of the royal house in the hands of such a traitor? and this you knew to-day, drost hessel, and yet hesitated to tear the mask from the traitor, and exhibit him to the scorn of the whole people!" "god and my own heart know what it has cost me to be silent, noble queen," replied the drost, laying his hand upon his breast. "but sir john was right: until marsk stig falls, the duke must stand. in his present position he is constrained even to punish the outlaws; but the moment he throws off the mask, he is our open foe--the head of the outlaws, and the leader of the rebels." "you are right," observed the queen, after a moment's reflection; "and i now understand the complaisance of sir john to-day. great god! when has a traitor stood unmolested so near the throne of denmark? let count gerhard enter." drost peter retired, and in a moment returned with count gerhard, who remained by the door, bowing bashfully and awkwardly. "approach, noble count," said the queen, as she advanced with blushing cheeks to meet him. "you have probably saved from destruction the kingdom and royal house. but explain how you attained this information. how did you divine the plans of the marsk, or suspect the duke of such base knavishness?" "i cannot boast my own penetration, most noble queen," replied count gerhard, advancing with greater boldness--"that would ill become me. a large portion of my sagacity in this matter i owe to a long-headed old pilgrim whom i met in rypen, and who seemed to know the world better than the world knew him. i had already noted mischief, and a few hints made me clear-eyed. with the subtle duke waldemar i may as little contend in statecraft as in accomplishments and fine manners; but this i dare aver, that when he thought he could reach the throne of denmark without lifting his hand, or losing the semblance of being a true friend to the people and kingdom, he was willing to let the marsk disturb his election to the regency here, and to bid farewell to the honour and happiness of being the protector of your grace and of the royal house. it may be only my poor opinion, your grace," he added, with some embarrassment, "but that the duke carries a fox on his shield, is certain: indeed, he seems even to entertain the boldest hopes of your grace's sympathy and confidence." the queen started, while the count continued:-- "i regret that i have no better proofs of this than my own word and sword, and the evidence of my trusty jester. but that many of the marsk's adherents were stopped by me on their way to the dane-court, is beyond doubt; and that the duke was really in sleswick on the first day of the dane-court, he has himself taken care to furnish the best proof. with what view he was there, and whether there really would have been a tumult here, had they not perceived danger, cannot now be further demonstrated. my entire services to your grace and to the royal house, most noble queen, are thus but of small avail; and however beneficial to the crown and country they may appear, i have only given you probable grounds for guarding yourself and the young king against the counsels of the duke." "for this important warning accept my heartiest thanks, noble count," replied the queen, as she extended her hand, which, while he bent before her, he pressed to his lips with concealed ardour. having quickly resumed his former respectful demeanour, he continued:--"i regret that what i and so poor a statesman as my late jester have brought to light, must, for the present, remain a secret, noble queen. at a retter-ting, where it can only be fought with words, i am of little service; but i would have willingly proved with my good sword, in honest combat with the duke, before the whole knighthood, that he is a nidding and a traitor, had not your trusty counsellors convinced me that i should thereby only expose your grace and the kingdom to the greatest danger. indeed, i now see clearly that, for the present, it imports much to be at peace with him; and therefore he shall have peace from me, until a future time. but permit me, noble queen, henceforth to join the ranks of your own and the young king's bodyguard, and grant that the protection of your royal person may also form a portion of my duty." "i choose you for my knight and protector, brave count gerhard," replied the queen, in a cordial tone; "and, as a pledge, accept this remembrance of my bereaved and sorrowful position by the throne of denmark." as she spoke, she untied her black veil, which she handed to him; whilst he, kneeling in knightly fashion, pressed the pledge of confidence to his lips, and then concealed it in his bosom. "my colour was formerly crimson," added the queen, in a sorrowful accent, as she looked mildly towards drost peter. "this faithful friend to the royal house once wore it, as you doubtless remember; but no good fortune attended it. it was, moreover, borrowed, and, in truth, did not become me. i then determined that no man should wear it with my consent. the colour of night and disappointment has now become mine, as it has become that of denmark. if its sight inspires you not with pain, count gerhard, as mine and the country's faithful friend wear it until morning again breaks on denmark." count gerhard, who had again risen, felt more intoxicated with joy than he had ever been before. "as long as god permits me to live in this fair world," he exclaimed, while a tear glistened in his eye, "so long at least, noble queen, i will think only of showing myself worthy of your confidence, and of being, from my heart's core, a faithful friend to your grace and to the danish kingdom. for your sake, so i promised long ago to this your brave knight;" adding, as he seized the hand of drost peter--"he still wears the rosy red in secret; but now i fight not with him concerning it, for i know it is lady ingé's gage and hairband." a blush suffused the cheeks of drost peter, and the queen also seemed perplexed by the indiscreetness of the plain-spoken count. "true--this is another matter," hastily added the latter, as he observed the embarrassment he had caused: "it was perhaps a secret, respecting which i should have been silent; but this is what i would say, most noble queen, that, next to myself, you have not a more sincere admirer in the world than is drost hessel. we two shall now contend in earnest for the privilege of permanently wearing your colour. it imports not to me whether it is black or red, since it is your's; but this i know, that if there exists in the world one who can restore to your mind that joy and happiness you were surely born to possess, i would gladly give my only remaining eye to be that one; and then, although i could never more see your fair face and lovely form, i should still feel happy in knowing that you were pleased with the blind count gerhard." the cordial sincerity with which he uttered these words, caused the queen and drost peter to overlook their want of delicacy and propriety. it was evident, however, from the manner of the queen, that she desired to terminate this extraordinary visit, and the direction the conversation had taken. young erik, too, who had been listening attentively, seemed to think that the count's speech had nothing to do with the dangerous business that had brought them thither. "let this subject be ended, count gerhard!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "my mother will be happy enough again when we have taken measures against the faithlessness of the duke, and restored the kingdom to security. we shall not set out to-morrow for viborg: his traitor-army is there encamped, you say. if i am to be king of denmark, i will be anointed and crowned forthwith. if it is the will of providence that i should be betrayed and murdered, as my father and grandfather were, i shall die a lawful king, and it shall not be well for the traitors who dare to lay hands upon the lord's anointed, young as he may be." "thy will shall be done, my son," replied the queen, patting his glowing cheeks. "thy wish was also sir john's, and that of the whole council, before, in my blindness, i mistook the smooth words of the duke for sincere attachment. to-morrow we shall set out, not for viborg, but for skielskioer; and, when thou art proclaimed in zealand, we shall proceed to the coronation at lund. but let me advise. the duke, as my most courteous knight, shall accompany us. he must not perceive the slightest symptom of distrust on our part. to you, gentlemen, i confide our security on the way." "yes--let it be so!" cried the young king, joyfully. "the almighty, and our dear holy lady, will assuredly protect us. good night, my dear mother. you can now sleep securely, for sir john is stationed in the guard-chamber, and these trusty gentlemen will remain tonight in the palace." "god keep his hand over thee, my son!" exclaimed the queen, as she fondly kissed his smooth forehead. "thank heaven, with me, for having preserved to us these devoted and faithful friends in our hour of need and danger." with queenlike dignity she then bowed to the two knights, who, with the young king, retired through the same private door by which they had entered. * * * at early morning of the following day, the queen's travelling-car, with six milk-white steeds attached, stood before the castle-steps, attended by many smartly dressed outriders and grooms. more than thirty squires were grouped about, with their masters' horses in charge; foremost among whom was conspicuous, by his gray suit, emblazoned with the sleswick lions, the attendant of the duke, who, with great ostentation, was allowing his master's noble steed, covered with splendid trappings, to prance and gambol about. near him stood daddy longlegs, bearing count gerhard's simple shield, in the shape of a nettle-leaf, and holding a strong brown stallion by the bridle. skirmen, carrying drost peter's mantle and shield, stood by his master's horse, apparently lost in contemplating the faces of the ducal lions, which resembled wolves more than the animals they were intended to represent. as he turned with his impatient charger in the direction of the strand-gate, he was delighted to observe a great bustle among the ferrymen, and to see the royal flag carried from the house of the alderman. "we are off for melfert, and then for jutland," observed longlegs to him. "i thought, however, your master had a keener nose." "you might wish your's were half as keen, longlegs," replied skirmen; "and then, perhaps, you would not allow your master's horse to turn his tail in the direction he is to ride." "but i know that people do not ride or drive over the great belt in the month of may," returned the old jester. "it might be quite as well, however, while the wind sits in this quarter." "what mean you, longlegs? the wind is in the right quarter for the great belt." "ay, but not for the little. the boatmen say it is the duke's wind; and when we have that against us, a sagacious nose, like that of your master, should smell the straw from the barn of finnerup." "turn the car and horses!" ordered drost peter, who suddenly appeared at the top of the steps: "the royal family ride to the haven." when the squires had obeyed, drost peter re-entered; and in a few moments the queen, leaning on the arm of the duke, and the little king, with his sister mereté and junker christopherson, issued from the palace and entered the car. notwithstanding the polite behaviour of the duke, an air of displeasure was visible in his smile. "we dare not offer you a seat in a lady's car, duke waldemar," observed the queen; "and, besides, you are too good a horseman to desire it." the duke replied by a polite bow, and vaulted into his saddle. when all were mounted, "to the quay!" cried sir john to the postilions; and, followed by a long train of knights, the royal car rolled across the castle-square, down to the old strand-gate by the canal, and from thence to the harbour, accompanied by a great crowd of curious spectators, shouting with joy, while the young king saluted them, and the queen cordially returned their greetings. "they are going to have him proclaimed at skielskioer, and then crowned in lund," they cried; and a thousand shouts of homage and blessing ascended from every quarter. the following day was fixed for the proclamation in skielskioer; and, by the arrangement of sir john and drost peter, the archbishop of lund had departed over night, in a swift vessel, to prepare everything for the king's reception and coronation in lund. at nyborg haven all was ready for the embarkation, and they were speedily on board. in the royal smack, on which the duke had embarked, were also the drost, the chancellor, and count gerhard, together with sir john and the royal trabants. to the duke's astonishment the royal smack was accompanied by six large galleys, strongly manned with soldiers. his own numerous train of knights and retainers, with dean grand, and many ecclesiastics, who had attended the dane-court, in three smaller vessels, followed the king's smack, which, with a brisk and favourable wind, left the fiord. almost at the same time, a light-built sloop ran out from the coast, which skirmen informed his master he took for a norse freebooter, and on board which he had observed the duke's squire to spring before they left the haven. drost peter strictly scrutinised the suspicious vessel, which, however, was speedily out of sight. the weather was fine; and as the queen stood at the stern, gazing back on the funen coast, which was still crowded with people, waving their caps and cheering lustily, the duke approached her with an air of boldness and candour. "this sudden change in your determination has surprised me, noble queen," he observed, in a tone intended for one of reproach more than of displeasure: "but i must suppose your grace has weightier reasons for it than those you have deigned to communicate to me. i cannot believe that a restless night and a singular dream could have such an influence on our wise and strong-minded mistress. that, as your dutiful knight, i respect and obey as commands even your most inexplicable humours, you now perceive. i must, however, observe that, at this critical juncture, by these frequent gatherings of the people, and by this coronation journey, we expose the kingdom to the greatest danger, and afford the outlaws the opportunity they pant for of revenging themselves--nothing being too daring for them to attempt, in the first flush of their enraged feelings." "to entertain any such fear, in your presence and that of so many bold knights, would but insult you," replied the queen. "besides, as you may observe, i have considerably strengthened my body-guard. i am not insensible to your delicacy or your chivalrous submission to what you deem my humours and weaknesses," she continued; "and i certainly owe you a better explanation than you have yet received of the reasons which have led me to change my determination. in important affairs of state, it may seem truly unwise to be guided by dreams, presentiments, and all such considerations as are held in contempt by your stronger sex; and weaknesses of this description have not hitherto been imputed to me. but still you must allow, that a dream of warning, in connection with the dark remembrances of my life, may justly carry with it a considerable weight. neither is it so unwise to hasten the completion of a ceremony which, in the popular estimation, can alone sanctify and protect the crown against the vindictiveness of traitors. besides, without any whimsey, as you may term it, the actual sight of the regicides, at the dane-court yesterday, might well dissuade me from approaching at present the crypt chapel of viborg, or the barn of finnerup." the duke rapidly changed colour. "most noble queen!" he hastily exclaimed, "your dreams and presentiments are surely not connected with these horrible events?" "partly. you are aware, duke waldemar, that grayfriars' cloaks concealed the traitors on that fearful st. cecilia's night. i dreamt last night of these twelve men, and that they bore the crown of denmark on the points of their spears. they seemed to me like wolves in sheep's clothing, and at their head stood one whose face was entirely concealed by his hood." "and him you took for marsk stig?" hastily interrupted the duke. "you have reason, indeed, to beware of him, and therefore---" "and therefore have i changed my resolution," she continued "i saw you, too--" "me?" ejaculated the duke: "you do me great honour; but i hope that, in this dream, you did not find me among those whom your grace knows i abhor and condemn." "methought you stood by my side, and, by your paleness and agitation, i perceived that you, too, trembled at the sight of the tottering crown on the murderers' spears. i fancied that the guardian saint of denmark, the holy king canute, stood before me, and said--'the anointed one shall wear the crown until his death.' can it surprise you, then, that such a warning should determine me to accomplish what is already desired by the council and by the whole people? before your arrival in nyborg, it was so resolved; for to delay the proclamation and act of homage in skielskioer, and to defer the coronation, would have but the effect of exciting popular discontent." the queen paused, and looked scrutinisingly at the duke. "if i see aright," she added, "one portion of my dream is already fulfilled: you are now, assuredly, standing quite pale by my side." "i cannot at all times bear the sea-breeze," he replied, passing his hand across his face. "but indeed, noble queen," he added, in a careless tone, "if you consider these ceremonies as so important, i shall not persuade you to delay them. since, however, denmark's patron saint has condescended to make you a revelation, i can only wish that he had been somewhat more explicit: to wear the crown until his death, is saying little; to wear it long and happily, would be better worth revealing. but whether this is the road to it, i know not." "i know not either," rejoined the queen; "but, in heaven's name, let us try it." as the young king, accompanied by sir john and count gerhard, now drew near, this subject was broken off, and the conversation turned on indifferent topics. sir john was jocular, and the royal party soon assumed the appearance of great gaiety. drost peter remained silent and reserved. but count gerhard felt so happy with the secret pledge of the queen's confidence which he carried in his bosom, that he yielded himself entirely to the current of his natural humour, and far excelled the others in amusing the queen. the duke strove in vain to regain his pre-eminence; but the endeavour to conceal his uneasy feelings deprived him of his usual sprightliness, and his forced compliments and pleasant conceits, with count gerhard's dry additions, often provoked a laugh, by no means flattering to him, but in which he was nevertheless obliged to join. they were now approaching skielskioer, where multitudes of people crowded both sides of the fiord, which divides the town into two almost equal parts. young erik was standing at the prow, by the side of chancellor martinus, listening attentively to what that learned gentleman was relating concerning henrik Æmeldorf's rebellion against his grandfather, king christopher waldemarson. "it is now five and thirty years ago, my young king and master," said the chancellor, "but it appears to me as if it had happened but yesterday: it was the very week after i had gained, in the chapter-house, my first palm in logic. here your late grandfather landed with his army, to force the proud rebel to submission, and compel his homage. the town and castle, you must be aware, were legally in the power of the general, having been given him in pledge by king abel for military pay; but he was grievously wrong in refusing homage to the king, and in stirring up the people to rebel against him. that deep trench there, across the town's-field, was cast up by the rebellious Æmeldorf, and on the other side he had a strong garrison to defend it." "and my grandfather was beaten, and compelled to fly from the rebels?" exclaimed the youthful monarch. "that was truly provoking. had he, then, no brave and trusty men in his army?" "many," replied the chancellor; "but what avails our strength, when the lord intends to chastise us? the godless traitors, however, did not long retain their advantage. the following year your royal grandfather again came, like a stern and mighty judge, and the lord was with him then. the city was taken and burnt, the leader of the rebels obliged to fly, and his adherents received the punishment due to traitors on yonder field--there, where the retter-ting and diets are now held. _soli deo gloria!_" "and there shall homage be rendered me to-morrow," observed king erik. "it is strange! if this occurred but thirty years ago, there must be many still living whose friends and kinsmen were then executed." "it certainly may be so," replied the chancellor: "the race of the ungodly man is not uprooted from the earth. might i counsel you, my young king, i would say, remove the zealand dane-court to another city, to avoid those gloomy recollections and forebodings of evil to which the superstition of the people will easily give birth. 'tis true, the power and fortunes of kings are in the hands of god alone; but shortsighted men will sometimes see evil, where the lord purposes only good; and, on what they deem an unlucky spot, they will not easily rejoice or be filled with faith in temporal prosperity." "entertain you any distrust of my dear subjects here, reverend sir?" inquired erik. "see how joyfully they wave their caps. and, listen--they already salute me with shouts of welcome." "the people, thank heaven, are faithful and ardent," replied the chancellor; "but should the outlaws appear here, to protest against their sentence, they would, i fear much, find many adherents; for where, indeed, are not the sons of satan? still, you have with you faithful men, sir king; and, with the assistance of the king of kings, you have nothing to fear. if i see aright, rimaardson also is here." the royal smack had now reached the quay, where the royal party were received by the town's-governor and the burghers, as also by sir bent rimaardson, who, with his galley, had newly arrived from taarborg. the kinsman of the queen, and a faithful friend to the royal house, he was justly held in the greatest respect. the execution of his brother, along with niels breakpeace and his band, had rendered him yet more melancholy than before; but he sought, by the most vigilant activity, to efface the ignominy that thus attached to his noble race. since the surprisal of rypen house, in which he had taken an active part, he had been cruising about the coasts, for the purpose of protecting them against the norse freebooters; and a pirate-vessel, that he had recently captured, now lay in skielskioer fiord. when he had saluted the royal family, he begged to be permitted to accompany them to the hovgaard, as the castle is called, where, he said, he had some tidings to impart. "if your tidings are good, sir rimaardson, let us hear them here," exclaimed the youthful king. "yet, nay," he added, "this is not the place for that." the air of suspicion which sir rimaardson wore did not escape old sir john, who also, as well as the chancellor, had observed the duke and master grand exchange uneasy and significant glances, when they discovered the captured pirate in the fiord. whilst the royal personages, amidst the acclamations of the people, repaired to the castle, rimaardson hastily took drost peter aside. "there are traitors in the town," he whispered: "guard well the king, and keep an eye upon the duke. had you crossed the little belt to-day, you had fallen into the hands of the marsk. a norse fleet, with, it is rumoured, the norse king himself, is lying at ekeroe. the marsk, at this instant perhaps, burns one half of funen with--" "just providence!" exclaimed drost peter, "when stood a danish king so surrounded by foes and traitors! would only that he were anointed and crowned!" "would only that the duke had never left sjöborg tower!" whispered rimaardson. "he may again be there," exclaimed the drost, with flashing eyes; while the approach of the duke, at that moment, put an end to their private conference. when the royal party were alone in the castle, they learned from sir rimaardson what he had just confided to drost peter. he produced, at the same time, a packet of intercepted letters from drost tuko abildgaard in norway, and from marsk stig, to duke waldemar, master grand, and count jacob of halland, by which the league of the outlaws with the king of norway, and their entire plans for overturning the danish throne, were clearly discovered. of the letters from the duke's drost, some were addressed, under ecclesiastical seals, to dean grand of roskild, directing him to attend to the duke and the disaffected nobles of the kingdom. from these it appeared that marsk stig and the outlaws intended to place the duke upon the vacant throne, if he would faithfully join them, and seize the opportunity of getting the royal family into his power. by the letters to count jacob it appeared, on the contrary, that the marsk and the outlaws could not depend upon the duke, and that they had promised the crown of denmark to the norse king, if he would assist them with a fleet, and promise to reinstate them in their rights and dignities. these important letters were found on board the captured freebooter, the crew of which were then lying bound in the castle-dungeons. this discovery excited the greatest alarm in the minds of the queen and her son, who immediately called into their secret council sir john, drost peter, and master martin. every necessary precaution was instantly adopted; and, by sir john's advice, the duke was to be admitted only in appearance into their councils, and but half informed of what had been discovered. the intercepted letters, which betrayed his connection with the outlaws, were carefully concealed; and it was deemed prudent to communicate to him only the letters to count jacob, respecting the marsk's audacious proposals to the norwegian king. when this resolution was adopted, they requested the attendance of the duke, whose astonishment at the discovery they made to him seemed real and natural. the marsk and the other outlaws he reprobated in the strongest terms, and cordially approved of all the measures which the council had taken to defend the country against the norwegians. in the meanwhile, count gerhard had disembarked the royal troops, and quartered them in the town; and stationing a considerable body of them at the castle, he himself took his place in the ante-chamber, as captain of the guard. when drost peter and sir john left the royal closet, the cheeks of the former were flushed with anger, by which, and his flashing eyes, it was evident that some bold project was in his mind. "wretched weakness!" he exclaimed. "have we not now sufficient proofs of his treachery? why should we not arrest him, as a traitor, on the spot?" "prudence, my young friend," replied old john. "your prudence drives me mad!" exclaimed drost peter. "i can no longer bear to see the traitor amongst us, as our master and the ruler of the kingdom. if we be not beforehand with him, he will be beforehand with us, as old henner said. it must now break or bear--" "it will break unless we are cautious," interrupted the old knight, emphatically. "so long as he contrives to wear the mask, he is of service to us; but the moment he casts it aside, he must be overthrown." "good: one word will suffice for that." "beware of that word, drost peter, for by it you may perhaps overturn the throne of denmark. yet one thing," added the old man, in a sorrowful tone, as he cast a look of anxious concern on his excited friend: "are you aware that the father of our faithful ingé was the bearer of these treasonable letters, and now lies a prisoner in the tower?" drost peter seemed horror-struck. "merciful heaven!--sir lavé!" he exclaimed. "i can hardly doubt it. but is his crime quite evident?" "he was on board the freebooter, and in his care the letters were found. what he can urge in his own defence, i know not. to-morrow he is to be heard before the council; and on account of our relationship with him, i have requested that you and i may be then exempted from sitting as his judges." "poor ingé!" sighed drost peter. "where is she? what have you done with her? she referred me to you, who have coldly and sternly avoided every question on the subject. but i can no longer refrain. what does she in sweden, while we imprison and condemn her father here?" "you shall know all, and will approve of it," replied sir john, as he seized his hand. "follow me to the chancellor. for the sake of ingé, i could wish that sir lavé might, to-morrow, frustrate us all; although, were i his judge, there were small hopes of his deliverance. but that office lies with the duke, and one raven does not pick out the eye of another. as far as this goes, we may rejoice at the miscarriage of justice, and that we have a traitor for the kingdom's protector." so saying, he passed his hand over his eyes with much emotion, and drew drost peter along with him. in the middle of the castle-yard stood a small gloomy tower, the stone vaults of which served as a prison. in one of these subterranean dungeons lay sir lavé. he stirred not but with dreadful apprehension, and seemed terrified at the clank of his own chains. at every sound he huddled himself up, and gazed earnestly on the securely bolted iron door; but it opened not. a small grating, looking forth upon the castle-yard, was situated high in the wall. this, with the aid of an old block of wood, which some wretched captive had formerly dragged after him, and a few loose stones, he succeeded, after considerable labour, in reaching. here he saw sir john and drost peter pass by; but he was afraid to meet his kinsman's look, and indignation choked his voice as he was about to call on drost peter to save him. he wept and wrung his hands, but regained courage when he perceived several of the duke's people passing to and fro. he then drew out a little note, which he had concealed in his sleeve, anxiously hiding it at every suspicious noise, and pulling it forth again when a follower of the duke appeared. the young king showed himself for a moment on the balcony and was received by the curious spectators in the court below with shouts and waving of caps. this spectacle greatly agitated the captive, who, again concealing the letter, shortly afterwards became absorbed in deep and gloomy thought, in which he remained until the moonbeams, penetrating his cell, announced to him the approach of night. at that moment he perceived the duke descend the castle-stairs, and proceed to that wing of the castle appropriated to him. preceding him was a royal page, bearing a torch, and six of his knights attended him at a little distance. his air was thoughtful; and, as he approached the grating of the dungeon, a gleam of hope inspired with courage the despairing prisoner. he coughed. the duke heard it, and looked towards the grating. "drop your glove, duke waldemar," whispered the captive knight, as he rolled the letter up, and threw it forth. the duke dropped his glove as desired, and, in picking it up again, also secured the letter. "there lies one of the traitors from norway, awaiting the gallows," he exclaimed aloud, as he threw an indignant glance towards the dungeon, and passed on, regardless of the deep sigh that burst from the heart of the despairing prisoner. skirmen, who, by his master's orders, was observing every motion of the duke, was at this instant concealed in the deep shadow of a corner, near the tower. the moment the duke had disappeared, the trusty squire came forth, and was hastening to his master, when he was arrested by a voice from the grating. "in the name of the merciful god, listen to me, young man!" exclaimed the captive knight. "art not thou drost hessel's squire?" "at your service," answered skirmen, as he stopped. "inform your master, then," stammered the prisoner, "that the man who once saved drost peter hessel's life and preserved his freedom, would now converse with him a moment for the sake of his own mind's peace. tell him that i can reveal to him something of great importance. but time presses." "i shall deliver your message," replied skirmen, as he hastened away. the prisoner descended from his dangerous seat, and carefully removed the means by which he had reached the grating. he then seated himself sorrowfully on the block beneath it, and listened anxiously to every sound he heard. some time elapsed thus, when at length the rattling of the gaoler's keys, and the withdrawing of the bolts one by one from the door, announced a visitor. in another moment drost peter stood in the cell with him. the moonlight through the grating fell upon the pale face of the prisoner, who remained in a crouching posture, without daring to raise his eyes. the drost stood for an instant, silently contemplating him. in the half-despairing countenance before him, there was that which reminded him bitterly both of lady ingé and the brave sir john--some of the lineaments of the noble race of littles. tears stood in his eyes. "miserable man!" he exclaimed, at length, "what can i effect for your peace? and of what have you to unburden yourself to me?" "tell me truly, peter hessel," asked the prisoner, in a trembling voice, but with a tone of parental familiarity that reminded the drost of the relation in which they had stood in his youthful days, "are thou and cousin john to be my judges?" "nay, heaven be praised! our relationship to you exempts us from that duty." "i may, then, hope for mercy; for from thee and sir john i could expect only what you call justice. but god help us all, if we must be treated according to our deserts!" "sir lavé," interrupted drost peter, "think you, then, that there is not a powerful, perhaps an all too-powerful voice, which pleads for you both in my breast and that of old kinsman?" "i believe it, and will prove to thee my sincerity," replied the prisoner, "since, as thou art not to sit in judgment on me, i can venture to unburden my heart to thee." he arose, and threw on the drost a penetrating look, while he continued in the same familiar tone:--"misfortune has now taught me what thou in vain wouldst have had me believe in time. i now perceive that no success or blessing attends rebellion against lawfully constituted authority, even when instigated by the purest attachment to freedom and fatherland. by the law, my doom is death; but the prerogative of mercy lies with the king, in whose hands i place my life and fate. i had no share in his father's death, and he can therefore pardon me. had i seen him before, as i have seen him to-day, i should not now be in this dungeon. the stern marsk stig himself, i firmly believe, could not look the youthful monarch in the face and deny him the name of king. i cannot now blame thee, peter hessel, who wert his tutor and weapon-master, for entertaining the greatest hopes of him. if he spare my life, i will swear fealty to him, and reveal matters of importance. tell him i will confess my sins to the chancellor, and atone for my crimes in a state-prison. tell him--" "kind heaven!" exclaimed drost peter, joyfully, as he seized sir lavé's trembling hand, "dare i believe? has, then, the almighty heard my petition, and inclined your heart to faith and honour. you will be loyal and attached to our young king--you will confess all, and swear him fealty--you will atone your treason--and he will--he must pardon you. but he does not govern alone," he added, with a sigh; "and, without the concurrence of the queen and the duke, his wishes will avail you not." sir lavé's pale cheeks flushed, and for an instant he remained silent. "the duke cannot condemn me," at length he whispered, with a smile of confidence: "i have taken care of that. the will of the king i know thou canst easily determine, and a favourable word to the queen would perhaps also find a willing ear. there was a time when peter hessel was all-powerful with the fair queen agnes--" a frown gathered on drost peter's brow, for the expression of sir lavé's features did not please him. the joy he had felt at his conversion quickly disappeared, while the discovery that skirmen had just imparted to him suddenly presented itself to his mind. "as a man, i may perhaps venture to speak, where, as drost, i must be silent," he replied, sternly; "but i can only venture to do so when i am convinced of your sincerity, and that you are not, even here, taking counsel against the king and country." "what! do you still doubt me, drost peter?" asked sir lavé, in a tone of terror and bitterness. "i say i am converted to your state-creed. must you see me howl in sackcloth and ashes before you believe me? intercede for me, peter hessel! and you will find that i am not ungrateful," he continued, fawningly. "thy father was my friend, and what i promised him on his deathbed i have not forgotten. save my life now, as once i saved thine, and my hand shall no longer separate what a mightier than mine hath joined together." drost peter was much affected; but observing a cunning smile on sir lavé's restless features, he felt, with wounded self-esteem, how nearly he had been befooled. "not even for that prize, sir lavé, shall i forfeit my fidelity," he exclaimed, warmly. "if, without self-abasement, i intercede and promise for you, i must first be convinced that we dare trust you. what connection subsists between the duke and you? and what was the purport of the letter which, but half an hour ago, you bade him pick up with his glove?" sir lavé became pale with terror. "letter!--what letter?" he stammered out. but perceiving the uselessness of denial, he continued:--"well, as you appear to be omniscient, it was so: but i swear it contained nothing but what was true--that i was an incautious fool, and had brought letters to land which would perhaps occasion the duke embarrassment, if i did not explain the nature of them. i can testify that they were written by his enemies, and, being intercepted, might lay him under the suspicion of having private intercourse with the outlaws." "wretched man!" interrupted drost peter: "on the brink of a gulph you are still playing with two sharp-edged swords, both of which will fall with deadly force upon your head. i cannot--i dare not, now intercede for you. i should myself be an enemy to denmark and the royal house, and a traitor to my country, should i do so. but i will provide for the peace of your soul. within an hour the chancellor will visit you. confess yourself sincerely to him, and bethink of your eternal weal. he may then, perhaps, beg mercy for you from the pitying god." "alas, alas! let, then, the chancellor come, and prepare me for death!" groaned sir lavé, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "i must now put my hope in god, for in man there is no mercy! alas! could my ingé see how hardhearted you are, drost peter, she would never love the man who can treat so cruelly her unfortunate father." "heaven is my witness," sorrowfully exclaimed drost peter, laying his hand upon his breast, "that it cuts me to the soul that i cannot trust you better. you would win the duke with false witness, and me with a false hope; and would, if you could, make my affection traitor to my loyalty. nay, sir lavé little, you are not thus to be saved. truth only can save you, the country, and us all. god give your unstable mind constancy and strength to resolve earnestly on that to which you now only pretend for the purpose of saving yourself before a human tribunal!" with these words he left the dungeon, and sir lavé sank with a groan upon the stone floor, where the fear of death wrung a sincere prayer from his bosom. half an hour afterwards, chancellor martinus, in his dominican habit, with his breviary and a candle in his hand, was admitted to the anxious captive, whom he found in a state of such bewilderment and mental conflict, that the philosophical chancellor found it impossible to understand his incoherent and contradictory expressions. "is it you who are to prepare me for death?" asked the prisoner, starting up with a wild stare. "ha! it is time. the wheel and stile are ready. drost peter will not intercede for me; and my child, my poor child, she will die of shame for her miserable father. but my punishment is just," he continued, sinking his voice to a whisper: "i nodded--see, i nodded thus--in that horrible council. that nod cost me perhaps my salvation, and king erik christopherson his life. was i not among the twelve in finnerup barn? nay, nay, that was but a dream!" he exclaimed, vehemently--"that night i only betrayed my master's castle--his blood is not upon my hand, and will not be visited upon my head. but i heard the woe-cry from his coffin: from the grave it came--nay, from hell itself! it yet rings in my ears. to be doomed an outlaw by men is nothing--but outlawed, eternally outlawed from heaven, i became at that hour. i am an unfortunate man!" he paused and sighed. "ha! but misfortune shall not strike me down," he continued, strutting boldly across the dungeon--"i am of noble birth, and die not as a traitor, but as a patriot and the foe of tyrants. what wilt thou with me, clerk? thou art no confessor of mine--thou art not the bold dean who bids defiance to kings and kaisers. i know thee well: thou art the book-worm from antvorskov, the learned chancellor--thou wert the tyrants' friend, and now wouldst outlaw and put under the ban every free-minded dane. comest thou hither to shrive me to-night, ere thou doomest me to the wheel to-morrow? nay, nay--that thou mayst spare thyself, my very learned sir. a wise statesman can hold his tongue, and die like a heathen, without shrift or penitence." he continued for some time raving in this wild manner, now accusing himself as the greatest criminal, and now boasting his high birth and political sagacity, but at length recovered himself, and burst into tears. the learned master martinus had several times vainly attempted to stop him, to point out the rules in _logica_ against which he was offending; but the zealous carer for souls now triumphed over the philosopher, and he seized this favourable opportunity of exhorting to repentance the despairing sinner before him; and, in the supposition that he had been among the regicides, he became stern and vehement, and thundered forth the most fearful threatenings of the law against traitors and man-slayers. "nay, nay!" exclaimed sir lavé, "i am no regicide; but still i must surely perish, unless there dwells pity with heaven and the holy church. listen, and i will shrive!" he then threw himself at the feet of the chancellor, and confessed every step he had taken, relating how he had been inveigled into the conspiracy, and protesting that he had, however, taken no share in his kinsman's sanguinary revenge. "drost peter was right," he exclaimed: "the truth alone can save me and all of us. even at that hour i would have deceived him, and he cannot trust--he cannot sue for mercy for me. let justice, then, overtake me. here i must be condemned; but save, oh save my soul from the eternal death!" "your sin is great," answered the chancellor, who was much affected; "but those who abused your weakness, have more to atone for than you have." he then, in the blessed words of the gospel, exhorted him to repentance, and in the name of the holy church granted him indulgence for his sins, should he continue firm in his repentance, and true to the change of conduct he had promised. "even your earthly judges," he added, "i hope to soften, after this your confession. what you have confided to me no man shall know without your own permission; but allow me to reveal it to the queen and our young king, and i promise that time shall be accorded you for repentance in a bearable state-prison." "reveal it to all!" exclaimed sir lavé, embracing his knees with trembling arms. "in the wall of my closet at flynderborg is a secret depository, where lie the proofs of my greatest crime. let all the world know it, but let me not die thus in my sin. spare but my life--this wretched life--and i will gladly hide myself and my shame in denmark's darkest prison. reveal all!" he continued, in the accents of fear and anxiety--"tell them, too, that there will be a tumult here to-morrow, if they take not means to prevent it. the outlaws are here, and, with the assistance of the duke, will possess themselves of the king's person. i have even brought the duke the letter respecting it." "merciful heaven!" exclaimed the chancellor, who, terrified, suddenly rose and knocked violently at the prison-door, which was quickly opened for him. the prisoner attempted to escape with him; but a violent blow from the sturdy turnkey threw him backwards on the stone floor, without consciousness. * * * an innumerable multitude of people from all quarters of zealand were assembled in skielskioer, to see and do homage to the young king. all the villages in the environs were thronged, for the town, which had been half burnt down in the feud between king christopher and henrik Æmeldorf, had not yet recovered its former prosperity, and could with difficulty accommodate but an inconsiderable portion of the strangers. these throngs were further augmented by the friends and adherents of the outlawed noblemen, who had assembled in great numbers, in consequence of the rumour that the murderers of king erik christopherson had been personally cited to hear their doom, and that they intended to defend their cause before the people, and protest against the sentence of outlawry. as evening approached the tumults and contentions which occurred between these partisans and the populace became so frequent, that the town-governor was compelled to call on the royal landsknechts to assist him in keeping order. on the following morning, when the matin-bell had rung from the lofty spire of st. nicholas, the people were already assembled in the thing-place, and in the large area before the hovgaard, to witness the procession of the royal family to the dane-court; but hour after hour elapsed, and the royal party appeared not. the castle was encircled by the royal landsknechts and a body of the burgher-guard, whilst, posted before the gate, at the head of a small party of the queen's life-horse, were drost peter and count gerhard. both appeared thoughtful. drost peter still carried his right arm in a sling; but, like a skilful swordsman, he knew how to support at need his weapon with his left. as it appeared, they had hoped to prevent all tumult at the proclamation, and had found it impolitic to break with the duke. the inner courts of the castle had, in the meanwhile, by the drost's arrangements, been secretly filled with the remaining portion of the queen's life-horse, which were supposed to have been left on board the ships. these, the most trusty of the royal troops, had orders to advance and secure the duke, the instant they saw the drawn sword in the drost's hand. not far from count gerhard and drost peter, in a magnificent suit of armour, was the duke, seated on his charger, in the midst of his knights and a considerable body of sleswick horsemen. his looks, as he surveyed the multitude, seemed anxious and uneasy, and the dark, earnest countenance of drost peter did not appear to please him, any more than did the bold bearing of count gerhard. the people now began to display symptoms of impatience at the long delay; and, with visible discontent, drost peter whispered to count gerhard--"this is the fault of our good, thoughtful chancellor." murmurs and expressions of anger speedily followed. "how long must we remain here upon our pegs, before we see either wet or dry?" growled a corpulent burgher, who was standing sentry. "there is good reason for the delay, faerlil," answered a long-bearded sleswick horseman: "your king, to be sure, has no need yet to stop to polish his beard; but he must be swaddled and suckled. the queen, too, must be trim and spruce, that your maids and wives may not tempt drost hoseol to prove untrue to her." a boisterous laugh from the horsemen accompanied this coarse joke. "the people are becoming merry--that pleases me well," observed count gerhard, who heard the laughter, but not the disgraceful words which created it. drost peter, however, had heard them, and burned with indignation, which he endeavoured to suppress, looking with apparent inattention in the opposite direction; whilst the merriment continued, and was kept up with other expressions of a like nature. "peace, fellows, or speak of royalty with greater respect!" exclaimed the duke, with apparent severity, to his people. "yes," added one of his knights, "take care, you fellows! the drost's left arm is not to be laughed at. and you, my good man," he observed to the burgher--"you should remember the consequences of grumbling in skielskioer at a royal proclamation." "i'faith, that is true, stern sir knight," growled the burgher: "unless we would have our houses again burnt over our heads, we must howl with the wolves, and submit to boy-rule and petticoat government." "fie for shame on every danish man," cried another, "that they should patiently submit to be ruled by a king in slippers and baby-clothes." "thou hast a mind to be outlawed before night, my bold fellow," observed a tall personage, in a monk's habit. "a good word now-a-days may bring that on a man." "know you the news, holy sir?" exclaimed an awkward, heavy mass-boy to the monk: "marsk stig and his friends have to-day been put under the ban of the church by the archbishop of lund." "the ban--the ban!" was muttered around from one to the other, with increasing discontent. "they could never be so infatuated," observed a tall man, enveloped in a large blue cloak. "he begins sharply, this little master," exclaimed a jeering voice close by the side of the last speaker; "and his pinafore must be as wide as a church-door, since he can carry an archbishop in his pocket." "the apple doesn't fall wide of the tree," remarked the corpulent burgher; whilst his neighbour began humming:-- "and so grows up the little wolf, with sharp teeth in his jaws." "what else could you expect?" demanded the sleswick horseman: "all that come of the wolf, howl like the wolf, as they say in our country." one of the queen's horsemen, who was stationed next to the sleswicker, had long sat in his saddle as if on glowing coals. "if there be wolves' cubs amongst us," he now at last broke out, in a broad jutlandic accent, "they are rather in your troop than ours, my dainty sleswicker." "it needs a good dog to smell that out," retorted the other. "in our country the dogs are as keen as they are true," rejoined the north jute; "but down by gottorp they ought to be keen indeed, as the late king abel, your duke's grandfather, must well know, seeing that three fiery hounds hunt him every night to the infernal regions." "whoever says an ill word of my duke or of his race, shall have his neck broken!" exclaimed the sleswick horseman, drawing his sword. "and whoever slanders my queen or the drost, shall have his nose and ears cut off!" vociferated the other, already brandishing his glaive. as the contention thus grew hot, several joined in it; and although it was strictly forbidden that any one should draw his sword before orders, many weapons were already seen gleaming among the troopers, both of the queen and of the duke. "peace, there!" now cried the latter, as, with some uneasiness, he examined the multitude around him. "whoever strikes a blow without his officer's command, is a dead man!" shouted drost peter; and the swords were again sheathed, whilst the noisy quarrel subsided to a murmur. a cry of "the king! the king!" was now heard, and the most perfect silence instantly pervaded the restless crowd. at that moment the queen and the young king issued on horseback from the castle-gate, escorted by twelve trabants, and attended by sir john, rimaardson, and chancellor martin. the ecclesiastic, who was mounted on his palfrey, and wore his dominican habit, with polished shoes and white heels, looked very pale and apprehensive. nearly the entire multitude instantly greeted the king with a shout of homage, and the quarrel between the troopers was apparently at an end, when a powerful voice, from amidst the crowd, exclaimed--"long live marsk stig and his friends! down, down with the tyrants!" the duke looked hastily around him, whilst drost peter narrowly watched him, with his left hand on the hilt of his sword. although the cheering for the king continued, the shout of "long live the duke! long live waldemar erikson!" still gained ground: it was repeated by great numbers of the burghers, and by all the sleswick horsemen; and, as it increased in vehemence and extent, the duke again looked round, lifting his hat, and saluting the assemblage with an air of bravery. li this salute drost peter perceived a preconcerted signal; for the duke was then cheered on every side, by the same voices that had just raised the seditious cry in favour of marsk stig. the drost could no longer retain his indignation. "down, down with the traitors!" he shouted, as his sword flew from its scabbard, and gleamed in his left hand, whilst, at the same instant, the concealed horsemen, rushing forward, surrounded the spot. duke waldemar beheld this unexpected movement with astonishment and consternation. "rebellion! treason!" he exclaimed: "defend your protector, brave danes! seize the drost! he is the traitor.--at them!" shouted he to his horsemen; who, however, before they could, in the general confusion, range themselves in any order of battle, were, with the duke, charged with so much impetuosity by drost peter and count gerhard, at the head of the queen's horsemen, that they were compelled to seek for safety in a rapid flight; the whole body hastening from the town through a narrow street, which had not yet been blockaded. "after the duke! seize the traitor! _he_ is the chief of the regicides!" shouted the drost, as, at the head of the queen's troopers, he pursued the fugitives. during this uproar, the noise of which was augmented by the cries and clamour of the people, sir john and rimaardson, with the chancellor and the twelve trabants, had instantly formed a close circle round the king, and, without awaiting the issue, had hurried with him across the castle-square, and through the excited crowds, down to the fiord. but the queen had boldly ridden forward amidst her faithful body-guard, and soon found herself at their head, between count gerhard and drost peter; whilst before them, and without once looking behind, fled the duke and his horsemen, as if panic-struck. "noble queen," exclaimed drost peter, "here you are exposed to too much danger." "i think myself safer nowhere than between the brave count gerhard and yourself," was her confident reply. "shame befall us," cried count gerhard; "if we are not now invincible, we never deserve success." outside of the town, on trandrup field, where henrik Æmeldorf engaged king christopher, the duke first commanded his troopers to halt; and, availing himself of his start, he wheeled about, and hastily placed his men in order of battle. the drost, who, with his troop, was rapidly pushing forward, now heard the wild shout of assailants behind him, and, on looking round, perceived a large body of mail-clad horsemen in his rear, in the leaders of which he thought he recognised count jacob and the two knights who had been outlawed at nyborg. "you have ventured too far, most noble queen!" he exclaimed. "the traitors have out-man[oe]uvred us. fall into a circle, lads--place the queen in the centre--and you, count gerhard, stir not from her side." "by beelzebub!" muttered the count, "must i be only a peg in this confounded game of skittles? stay you here, rather, with your wounded arm, drost hessel." but the drost heard him not, while the queen's troopers immediately obeyed the order of their chief, and formed a circle around their mistress, who, although pale and apprehensive, yet retained her firmness, and closely observed every movement of the enemy; whilst count gerhard rode around the circle like a wild beast in a cage. the foe, meanwhile, had been pressing on from both sides, when the drost, commanding the circle to extend, slackened his bridle, and, with his sword in his left hand, dashed against the duke and his horsemen. "turn you now against the outlaws, count gerhard," said the queen, calmly. this was precisely the intention of the skilful warrior, who sprang from the circle, shouting;--"forward, carls, in a line! follow me!" the circle, thus dividing, soon formed compact lines, which fought in opposite directions against the twofold superior foe. the queen remained between the lines, a witness of the sanguinary conflict, which cost many of her faithful men their lives. her checks glowed with ardour and excitement whilst she glanced now towards drost peter, and now towards count gerhard; but her eye most frequently rested on the valiant count, who had engaged in the fray with the greatest spirit and ardour, every stroke of his good sword appearing to drive the enemy a step before him. the space between the two lines of horsemen was every instant increasing, and the queen, with lively satisfaction and joy, beheld the success of count gerhard's bold attack; when, turning her eyes once more towards drost peter, she uttered a cry of alarm. his troopers were in disorder, and he himself was unhorsed in the midst of the duke's people, who cast themselves upon him with a savage shout of triumph. "merciful heaven!" she exclaimed, "they will murder him! save, oh save drost peter, noble count!" and, heedless of the danger, she rode into the midst of the mêlée, where count gerhard's horsemen were on the point of beating the outlaws from the field, and, pressing close up to the side of the count, repeated her request. "in god's name, be it as you command, noble queen!" he replied. "forword, lads! think not of me!" and turning his steed, he hastened to the assistance of drost peter, and endeavoured to restore order to his broken ranks. but his own troops now fell into similar confusion, and the outlaws, inspired with new courage, again pressed forward with shouts of triumph; whilst, on the opposite side, the all-victorious duke continued to pursue the drost's chiefless band. the attempts of count gerhard to rally the flying horsemen, and restore them to order, were vain: he found it impossible to collect the scattered soldiers; and the enemy pressed on victoriously from both sides. the confusion was now at its height, and the slaughter around him was dreadful. "all is lost--we must fly, noble queen!" he at length cried, turning to the spot where the queen had stood only a moment before. but he now beheld her not. one of her troopers had thrown his cloak over her, and in the confusion she had disappeared, whilst the count, who could nowhere discover her amidst the tumultuous bands of contending horsemen, then became furious, and his blows fell fast on every side, directed indiscriminately at friends or foes. his glaring eye sought only the queen; but, at last, even his sight began to fail him: the scene appeared to whirl around him, and he became unconscious. when he recovered his senses, he found himself alone on the dreary battle-field, with only dead and wounded around him. his eye was safe, but that which was yet dearer to him had disappeared. he looked around once more; and then mounting his steed, which had remained near him, he proceeded rapidly in the direction of the town. the tumult there had not yet ceased. soldiers and armed burghers were scouring the streets, and scenes of bloodshed were everywhere enacted. some shouted the names of marsk stig and count jacob, and exclaimed: "vengeance for the outlaws!" others had for their rallying cry the name of the duke, cutting down all who refused to join in it; whilst a great portion of the burghers and badly armed peasants vociferated: "long live our young king! death to the traitors!" the adherents of the duke and those of the outlaws did not seem to be quite certain whether they should regard each other as friends or foes; although, in general, they made common cause against the royalists. meanwhile, the duke, at the head of his sleswick horsemen, returned triumphantly to the castle. the report of his victory, and the defeat of the royal party, soon became known, and greatly alarmed the trusty burghers and peasants, who had assembled in defence of their youthful king. the duke was accompanied by a crowd of savage-looking butchers, with blood-stained axes, and by many strangers in disguise, who applauded him loudly. a band of mailed horsemen, wearing their visors down, and who were supposed to be the outlaws and their followers, closed this triumphal procession. the duke dismounted at the castle, and immediately occupied it with his troops. "where is the king?" he demanded. "out of the fiord, on his flight to nyborg," replied a heavy butcher. the duke's triumphant look changed suddenly to one of disappointment. he gave a private order to one of his knights, who instantly rode off for the haven, with a troop of horsemen. "and where is her grace the queen?" again inquired the duke. but this no one knew; and all he could learn was, that prince christopher and the little princess mereté had been taken from the castle by sir rimaardson's seamen. "let there be tranquillity now, brave burghers," he said, addressing the noisy crowds that surrounded him; "and let every one retire to his abode, for the dane-court and proclamation are postponed. i have succeeded fortunately in quelling this tumult, and the ringleader is now in my power. he is the queen's presumptuous favourite, drost hessel, who so far abused the ear of his royal mistress as to create in her distrust of me. his object was to obtain possession of the king's person, and so be master of the nation; but you have nothing now to fear from the traitor, for he shall never more see the light of day. i am still your lawful protector, and shall watch carefully over your good and the welfare of the country." when he had finished this address, which was received with noisy acclamation, he saluted his uproarious adherents with all the condescension and bearing of a sovereign, and entered the castle, accompanied by his gay knights, and the tall mail-clad warrior with the closed visor and blue mantle, who had led on the outlaws. with this individual, in whom many thought they recognised count jacob of halland, he had a short and private conversation, at the close of which the unknown warrior left the castle; and, an hour after, not one of the outlaws or their followers was to be seen in the town. they had departed in anger, it was said, threatening to return with fire and sword within a twelvemonth and a day. the duke himself soon began to think of leaving a town where the king possessed many faithful subjects. he therefore directed that the captive and sorely-wounded drost should be carried in chains on board the ducal vessel, which, with the exception of a lugger, supposed to contain some of the queen's people, was the only one then in the haven. the duke, however, delayed his departure till the evening, as he did not consider it advisable to leave the castle until the town was entirely quiet. the disappearance of the queen, whom he had himself seen, and again lost sight of, in the midst of the fray, gave him much uneasiness. he ordered a minute search to be made of the battlefield, but no trace was to be found of either the queen or of count gerhard. a portion, also, of his sleswick horsemen, who had been separated from him in the engagement, had disappeared. night began to fall, whilst, with anxious thoughts, he paced up and down the riddersal. he felt proud indeed of his victory; but the escape of the king altogether thwarted his project, and he feared, with reason, that he had prematurely thrown off the mask, and exposed his daring plans. since he had learned the promise of the marsk to the norwegian king, he felt he could not depend on the outlaws; and hence his thanks to count jacob had been cold and reserved. he now appeared wavering and undecided as to the next step towards the object of his proud ambition. "seize the spirit-compelling sceptre, and thy crown shall be bright as the sun," he whispered to himself; feeling as if he were again in sjöborg with his owl, and looking fearfully around the large gloomy hall, almost as much afraid of his own words as if the dead bishop had spoken. "lights! lights!" he now shouted; and his servants, who knew their master's great aversion to darkness, instantly produced them. he then issued some farther orders respecting; his departure, and again despatched messengers to ascertain whether the town was tranquil, and the road to the fiord unobstructed. shortly after, two of his knights entered with a prisoner, who had demanded to be conducted to their master. the captive, who stood closely enveloped in a horseman's cloak, with a rainhood over the head, for a moment or two seemed to scrutinise the uneasy conqueror, when suddenly the hood fell back, and the cloak dropped upon the floor; whilst the duke started with surprise, as he beheld before him the fair and majestic queen agnes, in her magnificent robes of ceremony. "they say i am your prisoner, duke waldemar," she said, with an air of calm dignity; "but i maintain that you are mine, as certainly as that you are an audacious rebel, and i at this moment the reigning queen of denmark." the duke requested his astonished knights to withdraw. "noble queen," he then began, courteously and respectfully, "you are, in truth, partly right: i am, now and for ever, your knightly prisoner; but rebel i am not. on the contrary, i have been attacked by drost hessel and your men in a manner at once treacherous and unprovoked. at your own request i accompanied you hither as joint protector; and here, against all faith and law, have i been suddenly set upon, at the moment i intended to proclaim the king, and was about to quell the popular discontent at the sentence pronounced upon the outlaws. i beheld, with astonishment, your grace yourself at the head of my assailants, which may plead my excuse if, for a moment, i left the king's side, and sought to avoid a conflict in which your precious life would have been placed in danger." "what do i hear!" cried the queen, in amazement. "you deny that you were the leader of this tumult, and even dare to impeach me as the cause of it!" "nay, not you, illustrious queen, but the ambitious and arrogant drost hessel. on his head lies every drop of blood that has this day been shed. he is the rebel and traitor--not i--and heaven forbid that i should accuse you of his faithlessness! he has shamefully abused your clemency and grace; and has caused me to suspect that, by my fall, he hopes to soar to the regency, or perhaps even to the throne of denmark." retiring a step, the queen scrutinised keenly the crafty lord. for an instant she appeared in doubt; but, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon her, she again approached him, with an air of apparent confidence. "you have revealed to me what may perhaps prove a matchless piece of treachery," said she, unable completely to master the tones of her voice; "and should this be proved to have been really the drost's design, he must be brought to a severe account. before the king and people he must be condemned as the most deceitful of traitors. but where is he?" "in my power," replied the duke, with a polite smile; "and there, with your permission, he must remain, while i am protector of denmark." "for his life you shall be responsible to me," said the queen, with ill-concealed uneasiness. "be his crime as great as it may, by the king and people only can he be tried and doomed; and that in my presence and in your's, at the land-ting." "believe me, your grace, that even my bitterest foe shall have justice! but suffer me first, most gracious and illustrious queen, to lay my own cause before your judgment-seat," he politely added, as he bowed profoundly, and drew forward a gilded chair, upon which the queen seated herself. "i clearly perceive that you suspect me," he continued. "you are brought here as my prisoner, although, in truth, as i have already said, i am your captive for ever, and can easily prove to you how innocent i am of this tumult." as he spoke, his air of politeness suddenly changed to an expression of intense and passionate admiration, and he added, with warmth--"i can give you proof, clear as the sun, how foolishly, nay, how madly, i should have acted, to place myself in a position of hostility to you." he paused, and appeared to hesitate. "it must be dared!" he again broke forth: "i shall now reveal to you what has long been the dearest and boldest wish of my heart, and what, as a princely scion of the race of the great waldemars, in my proudest moments i have sometimes dared to hope." he paused again, and looked inquiringly at the queen, over whose countenance had passed a sudden change, which caused him to hesitate; but the consciousness of his handsome person banished every doubt, and the flush of indignation on the queen's cheeks he mistook for an indication of bashful surprise. "your noble and lofty mind, fairest queen," he continued, boldly, "cannot feel offended at a wish which unites the desire for a kingdom's happiness with the most respectful attachment to womanly worth--a wish which words fail me to express, but which springs from chivalrous esteem for your beauty, prudence, and elevation of soul, and which has received ardour and strength from those feelings that reduce the prince to the man, while, in truth, they exalt the man to the prince." "you speak prettily and politely, duke waldemar," replied the queen, with much composure, "and seem to think that when the queen of denmark is your captive, she cannot refuse her ear to a suit of love, nor buy her freedom too dearly by presenting her conqueror with her hand and heart?" the duke started. "mistake me not in this also, noble queen," he resumed, with less ardour. "if i chose this moment for so important a declaration, it was but to convince you, in the clearest manner, how impossible it is that i should be your enemy. your captivity here is altogether a blunder of my people, and is at an end when you command. here you are equally queen and mistress as if surrounded by your own soldiers. but," he added, boldly, as he perceived a proud smile on her countenance, "you are too sagacious not to perceive, that, at this moment, i hold in my hands your fate and that of denmark. far be it from me to abuse this accidental advantage. but, if even no responsive voice pleads for me in your heart, your keen political sagacity might still counsel you not to despise such a proposal at so critical a moment." as he thus spoke, his air of pride and complacency betrayed a wooer who intended to allow his prisoner not even the freedom of denial. to soften, however, this stroke of policy, he suddenly changed his tone and manner, for he felt the importance of bringing the heart of the fair queen, or at least her vanity, to favour the considerations of political prudence which he had suggested. he therefore again became the chivalrous lover, and with much eloquence and apparent ardour broke forth in admiration of her beauty and in flattering compliments to her lofty mind. "my life and happiness," he at last exclaimed, as he knelt before her, "i place in your hands, most noble queen!" agnes remained silent, but bestowed a glance on her kneeling suitor that seemed to pierce his soul; and a bitter answer hovered on her lips, when the door was suddenly opened, and a knight of the duke's retinue entered. the duke arose, and, stamping furiously--"what means this?" he cried--"who dares to--" "count gerhard, stern sir," hastily replied the knight--"count gerhard of holstein has surrounded the castle with a superior force, and threatens to storm and pull it down, if the queen of denmark is not instantly set at liberty." the duke seemed thunderstruck. "you come right opportunely, sir knight," observed the queen, rising with calm dignity. "your illustrious master was in a posture for which he needs not blush: he has acknowledged that a blunder of his soldiers has made him appear a rebel, and guilty of lese-majesty, thus placing his life and fate in my hands. you are witness, however, that i forgive him an error in which he had no share. your arm, duke waldemar: i intend to travel within an hour; and the noble count gerhard expects me with my train." a loud noise outside the castle was now heard; and the duke, bowing profoundly, gave the queen his arm without hesitating. the knight preceded them, bearing two lights, and at the duke's signal his pages hastened forward with torches. to count gerhard's surprise, therefore, the queen was thus led forth with the greatest pomp and attention, and, without opposition, confided to his protection. a few hours afterwards, the queen sailed with a fair wind into nyborg harbour, and duke waldemar, with the captive drost peter, departed in the direction of alsen. * * * while drost peter lay a close prisoner in nordborg castle, unable to serve in any way his king and country, the measures of old sir john, count gerhard, the chancellor, and the trusty rimaardson were unceasingly directed to secure the royal house, and to strengthen the minor's throne. the duke no longer found it advisable to assert his authority as regent. the plan of the outlaws for subjecting denmark to the crown of norway, and his own fear that he had too soon betrayed his daring project, so completely embarrassed him, that he did not even appear at the danish court. annoyed by the unsuccessful issue of his attempt, as well as by the failure of his love-suit to the queen, which he felt as a mortifying humiliation, he shortly after withdrew into saxony, and it soon became publicly known that he had suddenly espoused duke johan's daughter, the pious princess sophia. at the same time, an accidental occurrence averted the invasion with which the country was threatened by the norwegian fleet, which lay at ekeroe; the armament from which, as was reported, was to have been conducted by the rude jarl mindre-alf, and the favourite of the norwegian king, halkell augmund. the jarl, however, had quarrelled with halkell at the drinking-table, and killed him with a wine-stoup in the presence of the king. this led to a sanguinary strife on board the fleet, in which two hundred and sixty of the jarl's men were slain or executed; he himself being outlawed, and forced to fly to sweden. the expedition against denmark was therefore deferred; but the outlaws incessantly ravaged the danish coasts--burning middelfert and hindsholm in funen, and visiting nearly every seaport town in denmark with blood and rapine. the name of marsk stig became a terror to every dane. nor did rané jonsen hold the least conspicuous place among the boldest pirates who disturbed the country. his castle, giordslöv, in stevn's point, where he maintained a garrison, served as a place of refuge for his rover-crew. to mislead his pursuers, he always, when on shore, rode a horse whose shoes were reversed; and, to warn him of danger, was constantly attended by a large, ferocious hound, which could easily master the strongest soldier. rané, as well as the marsk and the other outlaws, was included in the ecclesiastical ban pronounced by the archbishop of lund; but they appeared to despise excommunication as much as they did the sentence of outlawry. most of them had again fled to norway, where they endeavoured to incite the norwegian king to a decisive expedition against denmark. the marsk, however, continued boldly to occupy hielm, whence he extended his forays to north jutland and the adjacent islands. the proud count jacob fortified hunehal, in north halland, and, like the marsk, prepared to defend himself in the country to the last. the queen and privy council meanwhile had deferred the coronation only until a severe winter rendered the belt and sound inaccessible to enemies and pirates. on christmas-day, , the young king erik menved, as he was already called,[ ] was solemnly anointed and crowned at lund. this was the last important transaction in which the aged archbishop johan dros was engaged, as he died shortly afterwards, and before his prayer for the security of the crown was fulfilled. not long after the coronation, a treaty of friendship was concluded between king erik and the powerful swedish king, magnus ladislaus, and the double alliance ratified which had previously been privately agreed upon: the little princess mereté, who had been betrothed to birger, the crown-prince of sweden, was conducted by swedish ambassadors to that court; and, about the middle of march, the betrothal of king erik of denmark to the swedish princess ingeborg was publicly declared. on this occasion there were great festivities at helsingborg, where the royal betrothals were to be celebrated with a tournament. the whole danish and swedish courts were present at these rejoicings, where the youthful king erik exhibited himself in all the pomp of chivalry before his future queen, the beautiful princess ingeborg, whose childlike beauty and graces none could sufficiently extol--the bards of denmark in their transport having already named her danebod--the hope of the danes. the tournament was conducted with great magnificence, and in the manner of those of france and germany. on the preceding day, the arms of the different knights were displayed on the cross-walk of the dominican convent, where a stately herald announced the names of those to whom they belonged. here they were visited by queen agnes and queen hedwig of sweden, count gerhard's sister, with the princesses and noble ladies at court, for the purpose of touching the shields of those whom they judged to be unworthy knights, and who were by this means excluded from the lists. two shields were thus touched, one of which belonged to the powerful swedish knight, sir carl algotson, who, with the assistance of jarl mindre-alf, had abducted sir thorstenson's rich and distinguished bride, jomfru ingrid. the danish queen, who had heard of the affair, and of the brave thorstenson's loss, had touched the shield, which was immediately removed by the herald, and an order issued by the swedish king that the matter should be strictly investigated.[ ] the second shield, which had been touched by a noble lady as an impeachment of its owner, belonged to a danish knight--john rimaardson, another brother of the trusty bent rimaardson. although related to queen agnes, he was instantly excluded from the tourney; and, being threatened with the vengeance of the law, as a ravisher and murderer, he was forced to seek safety in flight.[ ] at the tournament itself, everything was conducted with the greatest pomp and ceremonial. the queen of beauty, the fair-haired princess ingeborg, sat, full of childish joy, between queen agnes and her mother, the gay, good-natured queen hedwig, who strongly resembled her brother, the valiant count gerhard. on the right of the swedish queen sat the mighty king magnus ladislaus, a tall and spare but majestic figure, with a stern and warlike air, and wearing a golden crown and a mantle of purple and ermine. many there were, among the ladies of princess ingeborg, who attracted looks of homage and tenderness from both danish and swedish knights; but the tall silent maiden who sat nearest the royal personages, excited the greatest attention. this was jomfru ingé little, who observed not the interest she awoke, but, with melancholy countenance, gazed upon the gay lists, where, as her eye ran over the line of knights, she missed the noble figure of drost peter. she had heard of his imprisonment, and entertained but little hope of his release from nordborg, so long as the variance existed between the duke and the royal house of denmark. another still heavier sorrow oppressed the brave maiden: she knew that her unhappy father lay in kallundborg castle, awaiting his sentence as a dangerous state-criminal. at times, nevertheless, a light spread over her melancholy features, as she looked upon the princess ingeborg and the young chivalrous king: she appeared then to forget her own heart's sorrow in the fair hopes of her fatherland; and again the sounds of the song, "for erik the king so young!" echoed in her bosom. nearest the barrier, and as judges, sat the oldest of the danish and swedish knights, chief among whom appeared old sir john. within the arena were seen a stately king-at-arms, and numerous heralds bearing white staves and feathered hats in their hands, whose duty it was to preserve order, and, together with their subalterns, the pursuivants, closely to attend to every thrust and motion of the antagonists. the tourney was opened with a joust on horseback, with blunt lances, between the danish king erik and the little prince berger, who carried light armour suitable to their years and strength. the danish king wore the sky-blue colour of princess ingeborg, and displayed her little glove fastened to his helmet. prince berger also wore the colour of his bride, and his armour was white as princess mereté's silken kirtle. they both showed themselves active and dexterous; but reciprocal courtesy forbade that either should be regarded as the vanquisher. the jousts were accompanied with song and music, numerous swedish and danish skalds[ ] being present to celebrate the exploits of their respective knights, nearly all of whom wore gloves, veils, pearl-bands, or some other female ornament in their helmets; while, during the battle, they would often shout their peculiar watchwords, which their own ladies only understood. many lances were broken in the fray, and many knights unhorsed; but as they fought with blunt weapons, no dangerous or serious blow was received. it seemed, indeed, that the danish and swedish knights, at this joyful festivity, only sought to outvie each other in gentle bearing and knightly courtesies. but the most distinguished on this occasion was count gerhard of holstein, who good-naturedly unhorsed six knights without himself being shaken. with the black veil of the fair queen agnes, he felt himself invincible; whilst his watchword was the burthen of a song he had heard at sir john's on the evening he first spoke with the queen. one word in it only he changed every time he thrust a knight from his saddle shouting delightedly:-- "for so chaste a dame i dree." all competitors having withdrawn, he was declared victor in the tournament; and springing gaily from his saddle, he received, kneeling, the prize from the hands of the fair queen agnes. the tilting appeared to be ended, when a strange knight, in bright gilt harness, with a crown upon his locked helmet, and mounted on a snorting war-steed, presented himself at the barrier. he flung his steel gauntlet at count gerhard's feet, and, without uttering a word, tore, with the sharp end of his lance, the black veil fastened to the count's breastplate. queen agues became pale; for by this action he attacked the honour of the lady whose gage he had thus outrageously insulted. all eyes were instantly turned with surprise and amazement on the strange knight. "'tis the duke--duke waldemar!" whispered one to another; although none was sure that this surmise was well grounded. count gerhard, burning with fury, sprang upon his charger, and resumed his place in the lists, having first taken up the stranger's gauntlet, to intimate that he accepted the challenge without farther explanation. the heralds then opened the barrier, and admitted the strange knight, who advanced, proudly man[oe]uvring his steed, and brandishing a sharp lance. count gerhard, too, armed himself with a similar deadly weapon, when the judges reminded them that the present was a festive tournament, where no serious fighting was permitted. but the exasperated count having demanded that the combat should be as serious as the insult, the objection was urged no further. like thunderbolts the knights rushed against each other, and in the shock count gerhard's lance was splintered against the gilded breastplate of his antagonist, from whose weapon he received a violent blow on the chest, but remained immoveable in his saddle. the strange knight, who had been lifted slightly from his saddle by the violence of the shock, laughed scornfully behind his visor. he cast away his lance, and, following the example of the count, drew his sword. the blades met, and in the fierce combat that ensued, both exhibited great skill and courage. by one blow, count gerhard had struck the crown off the gilded helmet of his antagonist, who, however, lost no advantage offered by the unbridled ardour of the count; while the varying fortunes of either combatant were watched by all with the most intense interest. "for the honour of my exalted lady!" shouted count gerhard, aiming what he intended as a finishing stroke, but by which he exposed himself to his antagonist; who, avoiding the blow, had raised his sword against the count's unprotected head, when suddenly he became motionless, gazing rigidly the while towards the barrier. at the same instant a powerful voice cried out: "an infamous knight fights here!" all looked in astonishment towards the spot whence the voice proceeded, where stood a tall and elegant knight, in steel-blue mail, with closed visor, and displaying a magnificent dagger in his outstretched hand. "knowest thou this witness, traitor?" he continued, in the same mighty voice, while in his hand he turned the dagger, on the hilt of which the golden lions gleamed in the bright sunshine. "that dagger was drawn from the corse of king erik christopherson, on st. cecilia's night," cried a loud voice among the people. "that dagger armourer troels of melfert sold to duke waldemar," shouted another: "i can swear to it." "it is the marsk's dagger--marsk stig's dagger!" cried a third. the battle had ceased; for the knight in the gilded mail sat as if petrified, staring through the grating of his helmet at the blue knight and the dagger. the sword fell from his hand, and he was becoming faint and giddy, when, at a signal from the young erik, the king-at-arms advanced and cried aloud--"no one shall interrupt the combatants by word or gesture, under the penalty of death!" at this announcement the blue knight bowed respectfully, and placed the dagger in his bosom, but remained calmly gazing at count gerhard's antagonist. "hand him his weapon again!" cried the count to a pursuivant: "i know that i fight with a false and dishonoured knight; but one of us must here lose his life." whilst the pursuivant stooped to take up the sword, the golden knight suddenly gave the spur to his steed, and cleared the barrier at a bound. every eye followed him with amazement, and a deathlike stillness prevailed until he was no longer visible; and when they then turned to look for the blue knight, he too had disappeared. count gerhard therefore remained alone in the lists, and was declared victor in this conflict of honour; while the unusual occurrence caused many and various surmises among the spectators. the tournament was then declared to be ended, and the royal party returned to the palace, where, as old sir john passed lady ingé, he whispered to her softly--"drost peter!" she nodded in silence, while a deep crimson overspread her lovely cheeks. she had indeed perceived a rose-red pearl-band on the breast of the blue blight, and fancied she recognised in it her own fillet; but by what means her captive knight could have been present there was to her inexplicable. * * * scarcely was the tournament at helsingborg concluded, before an important message summoned the youthful danish king, with all his knights, to zealand. a norwegian fleet had been seen in the cattegat, and a landing was apprehended at elsineur, where the fortress of flynderborg, surrendered by the treachery of sir lavé little, still remained in the hands of the rebels. when sir john took leave of the faithful ingé, she whispered a few words to him, and placed in his hand a little parchment scroll, on which had been hastily sketched a building, and apparently an entrance to it, denoted by small crosses. he seemed astonished, but listened with attention to what she said. she repeated a few words, and pointed to the scroll, which he then, with a sign of well-pleased assent, carefully put up, and, imprinting a kiss on her forehead, hastened on board with the royal family. they landed unmolested on the coast of zealand, in the neighbourhood of elsineur, whence count gerhard immediately conducted the queen and junker christopherson to rypen house, which, in these unsettled times, was considered the most secure abode for the royal family. the young king, who could not be induced to accompany them, set out with rimaardson for tornborg, by korsöer, for the purpose of inspecting that important fortress, and to hasten in person the equipment of the fleet; while sir john prepared to defend north zealand against any hostile attack. the king ordered the cruizers lying at korsöer to be manned, and stationed opposite the coast of north jutland, ready to act in unison with sir john. to all the operations connected with these movements the young monarch paid close attention, and found time also to examine the defences of the castle, which in many points he condemned as inefficient. rimaardson, in acknowledging the correctness of his opinions, could not restrain admiration of his early knowledge of fortification, which he had acquired from drost peter. four days after the king's arrival at tornborg, he was on the ramparts early in the morning, attended by rimaardson, and a knight who had brought important tidings from elsineur. the norwegians, he informed the king, had effected a landing at orekrog, and burnt the town to ashes; but the burghers had received succour from sir john. through a subterranean passage, to which he had led the way, they penetrated into flynderborg, with the old knight at their head, and, overpowering the garrison, had from this strong point repulsed the enemy. the knight narrated circumstantially the whole occurrences, and informed the king that they had sought in vain for the letters from the outlaws, which sir lavé little was accused of having received before the murder of the king. "by all holy men, this pleases me well!" exclaimed young erik. "the faithful sir john has not wasted a word for his cousin's life; but now he has wiped out a portion of his crime. let the chancellor announce to the prisoner at kallundborg, that his doom is again deferred for a year, and this because his trusty cousin has retaken flynderborg, and the proofs of his worst treachery have not been discovered." rimaardson eyed the king with a melancholy look. "would to god and our lady," he exclaimed, "that every trusty knight you possess could so atone for the errors of his relations! there is now scarcely an honest man in the country some one of whose kindred is not in tower or on gibbet--and the end is not yet come." the sorrowful knight was thinking of his brother lavé's fate, and of his brother john, who then stood impeached with crimes affecting his life. "the law is supreme over every man," observed the youthful monarch, with a sigh: "it was not by my own will that i became king so soon; yet, heaven be praised, i have still many loyal and valiant men. would only that drost peter were with me again!" the king then returned to the castle, attended by the strange knight from elsineur, and rimaardson proceeded to examine the defences. whilst thus engaged, he observed a short stout figure in the black mantle of a mass-boy, and a high cap drawn over his brows, waddling along the ramparts with a prayer-book in his hand, seemingly engaged in his morning devotions. the rolling boatman's gait of this individual struck the commandant, who observed him more narrowly, when, discovering traces of a badly-shorn beard, he recognised, to his astonishment, the rude jarl mindre-alf. "good morning, my son," he exclaimed, approaching him. "whither away so early?" "to fetch wine for the priest, that he may pray for your soul," muttered the clumsy-looking mass-boy, in a deep gruff voice. "tarry a little," said rimaardson, while he beckoned a couple of landsknechts to approach. "methinks i should know thee. did not we two once sit on the same bench in lyse school-house? and didst thou not in those times play the tyrant over us all? methinks thou shouldst be a count and jarl; and art thou only a poor mass-boy?" so saying, he raised the jarl's cap, and looked him full in the face. "betray me not, bendix rimaardson, for old acquaintance' sake," whispered the detected algrev. "we are relations, and i behaved to thee at school like a brother. i am now done with countship and jarldom. i am an outlawed man, and fain to seek protection with the pious. be a good fellow, bent. pretend thou dost not know me, and let me run." "bind him, lads!" cried rimaardson to the landsknechts: "he is a riever and an incendiary!" the sturdy viking-chief threw aside his prayer-book and mass-boy's mantle, and stood in his knight's dress, prepared apparently to defend himself with desperation. the landsknechts, however, succeeded in disarming him, when he was instantly chained and fettered, and conducted forthwith, under a strong guard, to the criminal prison of haraldsborg, having attempted in vain to bribe rimaardson for his freedom. the latter cared not to disturb the king with a report of this discovery, which might perhaps draw upon himself a reprimand for having allowed so dangerous a foe to find his way into the fortress. he considered, besides, that the castle was quite secure, and did not waste a thought on the insolent and sardonic laughter of the pirate-chief while he was dragged to prison. rimaardson, amidst his pressing cares, had not observed that, on the previous night, a freebooter had run in close to tornborg under danish colours. not only had the daring jarl mindre-alf landed unnoticed, bat marsk stig himself, with a crew of bold pirates, had privately come on shore; and on the evening of that day, mat jute, disguised as one of the king's landsknechts, stood as sentinel outside the door of the royal apartment. the watch was set, and, in the confidence of security, the garrison retired to rest. in the middle of the night the young king was awoke by a fearful noise. the whole castle was in flames around him, and the terrible cry--"the marsk! the marsk! the outlaws!" was shouted in every direction by the surprised and bewildered soldiers. screams and the din of arms resounded from all quarters, while the youthful erik stood alone, half dressed, in his chamber, which was already enveloped in smoke and flame. "merciful heaven! must i now be burnt alive by my father's murderers!" he exclaimed, whilst he hurriedly threw his cloak around him, grasped his little sword, and prepared to rush through the flames. he now distinguished the voice of his faithful aagé jonsen, mingled with the clash of weapons, outside his apartment; but the fire at that moment burst furiously forth, and the smoke so blinded him that it was with difficulty he could find the door. suddenly he felt himself seized by a powerful mailed hand, and at the same instant he became unconscious. when he recovered, he found himself in a little open boat, speeding through cloud and storm with the rapidity of an arrow. "where am i?" he cried. "am i among my father's murderers?" "you are with faithful friends and subjects," replied a familiar voice by his side; while, through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a knightly figure in full armour. "drost peter! by all holy men, is it you?" he asked joyfully. "who i am i dare not say," replied the other; in whom the king now thought he recognised the blue knight of the tournament. "a pledge of honour binds my tongue," continued the knight, "and i must hide my face from my king and the whole world. i shall convey you safely to rypen house, but i must myself withdraw to a place of darkness. i entreat you, sir king, believe what you will, but tempt me not to break my knightly promise." "be silent, then, in god's name!" exclaimed the monarch, as he pressed the mailed hand of his companion. "thou art assuredly drost peter. thinkest thou i know not thy voice? thou hast saved my life to-night; and if thou still remainest in the power of the duke, i shall set thee free, cost what it may." "proceed not violently against the duke," replied the knight, with a deep sigh: "his prisoner's life is in his hands." the young king remained silent, while the skiff sped on, and quickly disappeared beyond sporgoe, where the new tower of marsk stig stood gloomy and frowning in the night. in a few days the news became generally known that the famous jarl mindre-alf had been made prisoner; that marsk stig had captured and destroyed the castle of tornborg, in defence of which the faithful sir rimaardson had been slain; and that the young erik, mysteriously saved, was then in security at rypen house. the first important act of the king, after his arrival there, was his nomination of the bold commandant of the castle, sir david thorstenson, to fill the office of drost, so long as drost peter was in the duke's power. and it was soon known that, in accordance with the new drost's advice, the queen had subscribed the death-warrant of jarl mindre-alf. the duke was reported to be lying sick in sleswick, to the great grief of his young wife. his mind, it was said, was affected, and the rumours of his connection with the world of spirits were again revived. some time previously he had disappeared for a few days, and, on his return, after having visited his important prisoner, drost peter hessel, at nordborg, whom he found secure in his chains, he was seized by this singular malady, in the paroxysms of which he asserted that he had, with his bodily eyes, seen the accusing angel, and that his prisoner in nordborg was in league with devils and mighty spirits against him. * * * the norwegians and the outlaws long continued to disturb the repose of denmark; and although the norse king nowhere succeeded in effecting a landing, yet, in the then distracted condition of the kingdom, he was no contemptible foe. he had committed ravages at amager and hveen; made a descent on aalborg, which, however, proved unsuccessful; and had not spared even the towns belonging to duke waldemar. the council seriously thought of entering into a treaty with him; but the negociation appeared beset with difficulties, as he had promised the outlaws, in a letter of protection, that he would never conclude peace with denmark without the consent of the marsk. one calm autumn evening, the vaadesang rose mournfully from the crypt under king erik christopherson's tomb, in viborg cathedral. when the wind blew from the cathedral across the lake, the deep tones of the vigil, which was thus to be chanted night after night until doomsday, for the soul of the murdered king, could, at times, be heard at the ferry-house on the opposite side. the road to the convent of asmild lay near the ferry-house, where, upon an upturned boat, sat a tall, aged pilgrim, his head bent upon his breast in deep thought. by his side stood a young girl, also in a pilgrim's habit, and holding by the hand a gay-looking dark-haired youth, equipped as a squire, in a buff jerkin and steel cap, and bearing, besides the usual arms, a long, gilt, flame-shaped sword, apparently intended more for ornament than use. "shall we proceed to the convent and knock for admittance, father henner?" asked the youth. "neither thou nor aasé can go farther to-night." "tarry here, skirmen," replied the old man. "here we can rest well; for many a night have we watched under god's open sky since last we met. until i have seen the arrogant marsk, and have delivered him the warning that i have been entrusted with, my penance is not ended. until i have done this, no roof shall cover my head. so have i sworn." "but, dear father henner," exclaimed skirmen, "what, then, dost thou here at viborg? if the marsk be not in either of his strongholds on hielm or spraa, he must he out on some marauding expedition against the king's towns and castles. at stege he was frustrated," he continued, as the old man remained silent; "but skielskioer and the fortress on samsoe have experienced the fate of tornborg. ah, heaven help us!" he added, dejectedly, crushing a reed he held in his hand--"since the powerful ladislaus as dead and gone, there is not a king in the world of whom the marsk is afraid, and, least of all, of our young king erik." "there is one king, my son, that neither the marsk nor any man may defy with impunity; and if he is with the young king, the power of the marsk is not greater than the reed you have crushed." as he uttered these words, the old man pointed solemnly towards the sky. "i may soon encounter him," he continued, after a thoughtful pause: "he may be nearer us than thou seemest to imagine. he is not on hielm, but on his way to halland, with his good friend the new archbishop. they were to meet in viborg, or in asmild convent; where, perhaps, at this very moment, they are plotting the ruin of the country." "methinks thou knowest everything, father henner!" exclaimed skirmen, in astonishment. "but what brings the marsk to halland? does he carry succour to count jacob at hunehal?" "canst guess no better than that, skirmen? thou, who hast had a statesman for thy master! no. the council desire to conclude a treaty with the norse king at varberg; but it cannot be done without the marsk's consent; and the fate of two, perhaps of three kingdoms, is now in the hands of that incendiary. it is high time he had a message from the king of kings." the old man again relapsed into deep thought; whilst aasé and skirmen exchanged some tender words, without disturbing him. "it is odd, however, that we should have met, skirmen," resumed old henner, as he looked affectionately at the youthful pair. "aasé and thou remain good friends, i perceive. but thou canst not greatly boast of fortune, skirmen. gold spurs grow not on trees; and a knight thou must be, before thou hast her. yet, courage, my son! if st. george help thee not, perhaps st. christian will. thou hast my pilgrim-sword, with which thou shalt succeed: the holy michael has borne it for a century on a church-steeple. it belongs more to a dancing-slipper than a pair of red shoes; but if the cat would catch fish, she must wet her paws. what hast thou been about at harrestrup, whilst thy master is lying in chains at nordborg?" "alas! dear father henner," replied skirmen, "there is no excuse so poor that people will not fly to it in their extremity. my master's trusty old nurse, who lies sick at harrestrup, sent me word that she had something important to confide to me, and--" "hum! there is but little to be learned from an old woman's gabble," muttered old henner. "well, but what said she to thee?" inquired aasé, curiously. "it is plain that the old nurse made thee feel ashamed of thyself, since thou wilt not out with it. she has certainly cared better for thy master, than thou--" "upbraid me not, dearest aasé!" replied skirmen, dejectedly. "on the unhappy day that my master was taken prisoner at skielskioer, he had sent me on a message to rypen house; and, ever since, i have thought of little else besides the means of setting him free. three times have i been on alsen; but the infernal prison-tower is strongly guarded night and day. twice i was caught, and should certainly have been hanged, had i not contrived to escape." "thou dear, trusty skirmen!" exclaimed aasé, throwing her arms around him. "that would have been a vile death for a squire who has been so long in a fair way of becoming a knight," she added, waggishly. "yet be not angry, skirmen. i like thee all the better for this; and, indeed, thy exploits are quite enchanting. but what said the old nurse?" "alas! she is in her dotage, poor creature, and her mind is filled with whims and extravagances. she would have me believe that she had lain for eight days in my master's prison, instead of him. on alsen, she said, they took her for a witch, and the guard would not deny her access to the prison, which my master left, disguised in her clothes; having first sworn a solemn oath that he would return and release her within eight days, and that during that time he would not show his face nor discover himself to any one. the carlin must have been in a dream. it could not possibly be as she says." "wherefore not, son?" asked old henner, who had listened attentively: "it could easily be done. it is, at least, characteristic of thy true and chivalrous master, for the good woman i know not. yet what purpose could it answer, since the faithful drost had to return, and, like a wizard, again creep into his prison-hole?" "i know not: that is the most incredible part of the story, and makes me disbelieve it all. besides, i know that dorothy could not have remained quiet for eight days, nor help betraying herself by song and chatter. yet it is surprising how much she knows concerning the prison. she described the exterior exactly as i had seen it myself; and, moreover, she gave me this key, swearing deeply and solemnly that it would open the innermost prison-doors." "ah, then, skirmen, if thou doubtest longer, thou art an incredulous fool!" cried aasé, joyfully. "if thou believest not that we women-folks can be silent to serve a good friend, thou little knowest us; and, if i mistake not, thy master could effect more in eight days, than many others could in a year. but, at any rate, he had one dear object to visit. give me the key. i, too, can play the witch; and, since the good people on alsen have so much respect for the weird sisterhood, we can easily hit on an expedient. we have been to st. peter's prison, in rome, thou must know, and have there received absolution of all our sins, and a dispensation from going to the holy sepulchre. i have not sinned greatly since, i believe; and if now our dear holy lady or st. christian will make use of me to open a prison, they may well do so, though i am not altogether an angel--" "be silent, children, and conceal yourselves," suddenly exclaimed old henner. "i hear horsemen on the road from the convent. it may be the marsk." aasé and skirmen quickly obeyed, and retired to the thicket near the lake, where many a tender word was ex-changed between them. a troop of well-armed horsemen now appeared, approaching the ferry-house from asmild convent, having two tall personages at their head. one of these, who sat with a proud air on his quiet palfrey, was the haughty master jens grand, who, after the death of the aged johan dros, had been, much against the wish of the king, chosen archbishop of lund. his mail-clad companion, who was stately and warlike, and mounted on a champing war-steed, was no other than the famous marsk stig himself. they halted on the road, while the attendant horsemen descended to the lake to water their horses. "as i observed, sir marsk," said the prelate, "they must restore you your rank and estates if you will but allow the boy for the present to retain his throne. he is still preferable to your powerful king priesthater." "out upon it, your reverence!" exclaimed the marsk: "you are afraid of the name priesthater, although it is one he does not deserve. he is the ablest monarch that ever sat on the throne of norway, and possesses indeed the lofty soul of a king. when before, without showing fear or tyranny, has any northern king endured by his side a powerful brother, such as is duke hakon? under such a king, denmark and norway will become unrivalled for power and greatness. let me but wield the general's staff for ten years, while you bear the crook, and the world shall see that the ancient race of skjalm hvide have not degenerated since the days of absalom. in sweden, too, there is now a boy-king on the throne, but he will never become a man. what say you to an earthly trinity, most reverend father?" "you will bend the bow until it breaks," replied the archbishop. "you forget that you are beyond the pale of the law, and that your large estates are in the possession of the crown." "my will and this good sword is now my law," replied the marsk; "and as to estates, my friends and i have ample while all denmark is in our hands." "still you must remember that you are an outlaw," observed the archbishop, emphatically, "and that you are also under the ban. if, then, i obtain you release from the latter, you must not set the priesthater as king over me and denmark. i would rather you mounted the throne yourself--a step almost as easy of accomplishment." "mean you to tempt me, grand?" observed his companion, with a smile. "were marsk stig to sit on the throne of denmark, master grand might occupy st. peter's chair, and keep his royal kinsman in awe." "no need of that, sir marsk," rejoined the imperious archbishop. "you despise not holy church and her chiefs, as does the proud norseman, and you would be too prudent to deny the first prelate of the north that obedience and reverence he could extort. i meant not to tempt you; and, whilst i know and respect your self-control and magnanimity, you cannot be ignorant that it is my prerogative, not your's, to place the crown upon the head of him who is to wear it. hear me, marsk stig!" he continued, proudly: "that i am your friend, you have had sufficient proof. i am now, after the king, the greatest man in denmark. acquitted of every part i took in your affair, i have even been admitted to his confidence, and am commissioned to negotiate a peace with norway. in zealously attempting to effect this, i am labouring, not for the king's sake, but for that of the church and kingdom. i know well, that, with a single word, you can annihilate the treaty. but be advised by me, marsk stig, and do not so. demand what you will, and rely upon me; but remember that i it is who shall hereafter crown denmark's kings, and i need not the authority of st. peter's chair to bind or loose the monarch's soul, any more than those of his knights." the marsk gazed for some moments with astonishment at the bold prelate. "you possess great power, it is true," he at length said; "but i believed, of a surety, that the son of erik glipping had no greater enemy in denmark than yourself. after his death you persecuted his adherents, and caused even their corpses to be dug up from your churchyard, and thrown like dogs into a dung-pit. how is it, then, that you now cling so zealously to the boy-rule?" "the boy is now anointed and crowned." "were he a thousand times anointed, 'tis the same. i have sworn his downfall, and he or i must perish! upon you i trusted, grand; but i now see that the archbishop of lund thinks not as did the dean of roskild. it is strange that changing his seat should so alter a man. but the highest elevated are the soonest giddy. have you forgotten, reverend sir, in the archbishop's chair, what you swore to me in the dean's?" "that i have not, most valiant marsk," replied the prelate; "but you have forgotten what we both promised to duke waldemar. he deserves truer friends than those who agreed to bestow the crown of denmark upon the priesthater. that i do not support the boy's crown for the boy's sake, i have shown; but i was not in your councils when you broke promise to the duke." "ah! is it thus, your reverence? now, for the first time, do i comprehend you. i had forgotten that you were confessor to the duke. but had you desired that i, or any honest man, should depend on that wily gentleman, you had trained up your shriveling otherwise than you did. as he was so base and faithless as to subscribe my sentence of outlawry, he would certainly not have hesitated to sign my death-warrant." "him you have to thank that you escaped so easily," replied grand. "the duke acted as your most discreet friend, when he subscribed that sentence which, as regent, he has still the power to remit; and, if you will assist us in effecting this treaty with norway, you shall no longer remain an outlaw. the time may come, too, when you shall sue for the saving blessing of the church, and tremble at its ban. despise not, valiant marsk, the lightning of its curse, which, ere now, has melted crowns and overthrown heroes stronger than you." "a truce with your lightnings and your bans!" indignantly replied the marsk, as he erected himself proudly, and rode on. "you see, in me, that a brave man can thrive and be strong, despite your thunders of excommunication, launched against him from lund cathedral. spiritual weapons avail not with marsk stig, nor shall they turn him a hair's-breadth from his course." at that moment the vaadesang, from the tomb of the murdered king, sounded clearly across the calm lake. the marsk paused. "what was that?" he asked. "it was the blood of thy murdered king, crying aloud to heaven for vengeance!" replied a hollow voice beside him, while the tall pilgrim-form of henner friser rose from the side of the boat, where he had been sitting, and, in the moonshine, stood menacingly before him. the life-stream became cold in the warrior's veins while he gazed on the pilgrim as on some horrid spectre, and the mournful tones of the vaadesang were again wafted over the lake. "listen--listen!" exclaimed the pilgrim: "thus shall that song complain and mourn, till, at the last day, king erik and his murderers stand before god's judgment-seat." "fiend! who art thou?" cried the marsk, unsheathing his sword. "a king-killer--as thou art!" was the reply: "but i have atoned for my sin; and to thee i bring this last warning--despise not the ban! despise not heaven's weapons, marsk stig! man's strength is but a reed; but the lord's hand is mighty, and vengeance is his. repent thee, stig andersen, or thine hour is near. 'twas thus the holy father bade me warn thee: wash the king's blood from thine hands, and do penance; or set thine house in order, and prepare for death and perdition. thy soul is weighed and found wanting--thy day of grace is but short." "henner! is it thee?" cried the marsk, as he brandished his sword. "but beware! thy crazy grayhead shall not always protect thee." "listen--listen!" calmly resumed the pilgrim, who shrunk not at the threat, whilst a gentle breeze again bore the vigil-tones over the lake, and the mournful chorus swelled louder and louder, vibrating overhead in the calm night. "listen!" he exclaimed: "the tones from the grave ascend to heaven: they plead for the soul of the king, hurried away in the midst of his sins; but woe and eternal perdition they sound to those of his murderers!" "peace, accursed one!" exclaimed the enraged marsk, and his sword flashed in the direction of henner's head; but at the same instant it was struck violently from his hand, while a sword of flame, as it were, gleamed before him in the air. seized with terror, he spurred his steed forward, and galloped away, followed by the ecclesiastic, who, pale and frightened, continued to cross himself, as he disappeared along the dark road. shortly after the marsk's troop of horsemen rode past the pilgrim, who, leading aasé by the hand, strode leisurely along the highway, whilst skirmen still remained silently and gravely by the boat, leaning upon the long flame-shaped sword. * * * four weeks had elapsed since the night on which the inflexible marsk encountered henner friser by viborg lake, and heard the tones of the vigils ascend from the tomb of the murdered king. it was evening, and the last golden rays of the sun rested on the turrets of hielm castle, when the stern marsk, accompanied by his troopers, rode across the little island in the direction of his stronghold. he had been attending the meeting between the danish and norwegian kings at varberg, at which his unyielding pride and imperious demands had entirely frustrated the conclusion of the treaty; and although he now returned to hielm with the proud consciousness of his formidable power and influence, his haughty features were pale, and his lofty figure seemed to rock in the saddle. in presence of archbishop grand, he had concealed the strong impression made upon him by the occurrence which we have related, and, indeed, laughed at himself and the whole adventure, which he characterised as a mere accident, or a piece of trickery, got up by the half-crazed henner. but during his homeward journey, when no longer sustained by the archbishop's presence, he had not spoken a word; nor could he shake off the conviction that the sword had been shivered in his hand by lightning. he still imagined that, while the vaadesang from the royal tomb rang in his ears, he had heard death and perdition announced to him by a spectre, and that a mighty cherub-sword had struck him with its lightning, while the accusing chorus swelled to heaven over his guilty head. with heavy soul he rode through the dark gate of hielm castle, and, dismounting from his steed, entered the arched hall of the keep, where sat his daughters. the quiet margarethé advanced affectionately to meet him, and proceeded to unbuckle his armour; while the impatient little ulrica overwhelmed him with inquisitive questions, as to where he had been, and whether he had brought home booty and jewels. "hast thou not gold and jewels enough to fill thy young raven's maw?" asked the gloomy warrior, without looking at the child. "i have brought thee more than ever king's daughter in denmark possessed. but the time may come," he added, in an under tone, "when thou must be contented with less. go to the chamberlain, rikké," he continued, in a sterner tone: "he will open the treasure-closet, and give thee the rosary on which king erik christopherson told his last prayer. keep that as thy patrimony." "thanks, father--thanks!" exclaimed the innocent, rosy-cheeked child. "but, why dost thou always seem so angry when thou art kind to me? i may, then, now take the handsome string of pearls and diamonds to deck myself? thanks, father--thanks!" she again cried, as she skipped away, clapping her hands with delight. "and thou, my pious margarethé," continued the marsk to his eldest daughter, as with emotion he gazed on her pale and quiet features--"thou carest not for my treasures; therefore to thee i give my blessing--if haply it carry not with it the weight of a curse!" he added, mentally, while he laid his hand upon her head. "go, my child," he said, aloud, as he felt himself becoming giddy--"go, and send hither the chaplain." "art thou sick, dear father?" inquired the daughter, with deep concern: "thy hand is cold, and thou art quite pale." "it will pass," he exclaimed, moodily, throwing himself into a seat. "do as i bid thee, and remain in thy chamber until i call. god bless thee!" margarethé retired, with tears in her eyes; and in a little while a timorous-looking clerk entered, and bowed humbly before the master of the castle, without uttering a word. "i have not long to live!" exclaimed the marsk: "prepare me for death, if thou canst, and administer to me the holy sacrament. we must at last, i perceive, make peace with heaven, and think of our soul's welfare. shrive, however, i shall not," he continued: "the world knows well what i have done, and the omniscient best of all." the trembling clerk began a discourse he was wont to use on similar occasions, concerning the seven mortal sins and purity of conscience, when the marsk impatiently interrupted him. "this jargon helps me not," he said. "i wish not to hear _thy word_, clerk, but god's word. prepare the sacrament--there is virtue in that! king erik had it not before his death," he added, softly, "but he took it with him in his coffin. haste thee, clerk! why lingerest thou?" "alas, stern sir marsk," stammered the clerk, "i cannot--i truly dare not. the canonical law, the chapter, and the holy father will condemn me, should i administer this holy rite to one who is excommunicated." "death and perdition!" exclaimed the marsk, grasping his sword, "thou shalt, base clerk, or thou diest!" "alas, most gracious master, while the ban of the church is on thee, thou hast not the power to--" "not the power! by satan, i swear that, if thou bringest it not quickly, thou shalt die!" the trembling clerk departed hastily, with a humble and obedient mien. but he returned not; for, hurrying from the castle as fast as he could, he instantly took to flight. the marsk grew paler and paler, and, as he gazed on the door by which the priest had departed, it seemed to him an avenue of heaven, from which he expected an angel to bring him redemption. but it opened not. he endeavoured to rise, but sank back powerless. he would have shouted; but his voice was weak, and no one seemed to hear it. at length his henchman, mat jute, entered. "a stranger of rank is here, stern sir marsk," he said, as he remained erect by the door, with his hand at his steel cap; "and he seems determined on entering, by fair means or foul, and that immediately." the marsk beckoned for a cup of wine, which somewhat revived him; and "the clerk--the chaplain!" he anxiously cried, as his voice returned. the trusty mat now perceived with terror the condition of his master, and rushed out to bring the priest and a physician. scarcely had he left the door, when the stranger he had announced appeared. he was tall, and wore a lofty feathered hat, whilst the ample folds of a purple mantle, in which he was enveloped, concealed his face. they now fell aside, however, and revealed a countenance, pale and restless indeed, but on which the stamp of a daring cunning was ineffaceably imprinted. "duke waldemar!" exclaimed the marsk, as he endeavoured to rise, but again sank back on his seat. "come you hither to see how the man dies whom you have doomed an outlaw?" "do i come at an hour so solemn?" asked the duke. "since, then, the angel of retribution has found you first, my design is frustrated. know, however, that i came to defy you to mortal combat." "you may still have your wish," replied the marsk, erecting himself. "but wherefore seek you this? tell me quickly!" "like a perjured traitor, you have broken your knightly word, and have promised to the norwegian king the crown which is mine." "ay, but not until you had broken our paction, and declared me an outlaw." "that i did so to save you, you know well; but any excuse is welcome. yet what fidelity could i expect from a regicide?" "by that word you accuse yourself, duke waldemar. that sin--if sin it is--you share with me. deep injuries had i to revenge, which you had not. if king erik's blood stains not your hand, it yet lies as heavy on your head as it does on mine. your counsel and wishes were in finnerup barn, albeit you yourself were absent." "a mightier power has judged between us," replied the duke. "i will not curse you in your dying hour; but one thing you must tell me--you must solve to me a riddle that has driven me mad:--where is the dagger i gave you when we swore the tyrant's fall?" "i left it in his bosom," replied the marsk, "that it might be known you were our head and prince. your name i even had graven on it, that no doubt might exist of your participation in the deed, and that thus our fortunes might be indissolubly linked together." "shameless traitor! and thus it is that you would drag me with you to perdition! but say, who was the accuser that displayed the dagger of the bloody paction before the eyes of king and people?" "if it was not drost hessel, let your confessor teach you the name of the angel who accuses the faithless!" "it was not the drost," exclaimed the duke, while his brain began to reel: "he lay then in chains at nordborg. but you it was--even you, accursed regicide!--or it was the foul fiend himself!" "priest, priest! where art thou?" cried the marsk, glancing fearfully, around him. "name not the evil one, duke waldemar! in our bloody council we invoked him often enough." at that instant the door was hastily opened, and mat jute entered, much excited. "sir marsk," he cried, "what is to be done? the priest has fled, and the island is surrounded by the king's ships. the troops are about to land, with thorstenson at their head, to storm the castle." "let the priest speed to the infernal pit!" cried the marsk, rising. "now, i will not die. come on, king erik's men! you shall once more see what marsk stig can accomplish!" he grasped his weapon with the suddenly returned strength of a giant. "away!" he shouted, in a fearful voice: "every man to his post! we shall crush them with brynkiöls and glowing stones." in an instant he was gone, and duke waldemar remained alone, agitated and undecided. the din of arms and soldiers was soon heard outside the castle, when at length, seizing his sword, he hurried out. * * * in the attack on hielm, the royalists were repulsed with great loss; but thorstenson still continued to beleagure the castle, and was making preparations for another assault, whilst the most marvellous stories and reports began to circulate among the people. the rumour that the marsk was dead spread among the besiegers. it was said by others, that he had mysteriously vanished, and that a stranger of eminence, who had been with him, had also suddenly disappeared. from this circumstance it was generally believed among the people, that the devil had been at hielm, and carried off the awful king-murderer. meanwhile, the castle was defended with great bravery by the marsk's seven hundred mail-clad men. it was asserted that they were now commanded by the former lord of the castle, the outlawed chamberlain rané; and that his wife, the algrev's daughter, was with him. about the same time, too, a small female form, in white garments, with a crucifix in her folded hands, was frequently seen upon the ramparts of hielm, where the dark warriors knelt before her as she passed them. the chiefs of the besiegers knew it was the marsk's eldest daughter; but many of the common soldiers looked on her as a supernatural being, who protected the castle, and rendered it impregnable. one night, shortly after the rumour of the marsk's sudden disappearance had been spread abroad, a funeral train, bearing torches, landed from a ship lying off the parsonage of stubberup, on hindsholm,[ ] and proceeded with silence and solemnity towards the churchyard. the maid-servants of the clergyman, assisted by some maidens from the village, were engaged in carding wool, forming what was called a carding-guild, which, when the work was over, terminated in dance and merriment. the girls were cheerfully at work, in the servants' room, where were a number of troughs, with a large tub in the centre, while a single dull lamp hung in an iron hook from the rafters, and two men-servants lay on a bench asleep. the busy wool-carders were amusing themselves with singing ballads and telling ghost-stories, and were in the middle of a fearful tale concerning pirates who infested a wood in the northern part of the peninsula, and who had been captured one yule evening by drost peter. this was the band of niels breakpeace and lavé rimaardson, whose chiefs had then escaped, but who were next year taken and executed at harrestrup. twelve of these men had perished in captivity on hindsholm; on which achievement there existed a ballad which was generally known, and which the maidens were now all engaged in singing with the greatest glee. the kitchen-maid, who took the lead, was at the fourteenth verse:-- "it was drost peter hessel, he called unto his band: wake up! wake up! no longer stay. for news has come to hand. wake up! for now the time is come to don the trusty mail--" when the ballad was suddenly interrupted by the brewer's maid, who rushed in, with terror in her looks, exclaiming that she had seen a funeral company bearing torches. the maidens dropped their cards, and the wool fell from their laps; whilst the men-servants aroused themselves, and rubbed their eyes: but none dared to venture forth to behold the cause of their fear. "what scared fools you are!" at last exclaimed a little black-haired maiden, who superintended the work. "it must be one of the outlaws again, whom his comrades desire to bury in christian ground. thus it was they did with arved bengtson, who was slain by tulé ebbesen." "but they don't carry torches, and come with a long train--they sneak along, quietly and in darkness, when they go to bury a malefactor," observed the brewer's girl. "this must be a king, or some great man, unless, indeed, it is a procession of ghosts, like what old anders gossip has seen so often." "oh, what is it he cannot see, when the ale is in his head?" replied the other, laughing. "they are living men, i dare wager; and he is a milksop that dares not venture out to see." "if thou darest venture out to see it, elsie," rejoined the brewer's maid, "do so, and prove to us that thou art as bold as thou boastest! the fright has not yet left me: i feel it still in my knees." "go, elsie," cried the kitchen-maid: "thou must, in truth, have a man's heart and courage, for the marsk's swain, long mat jute, is thy sweetheart, and i would not be alone with him, for all the world." "that i can well believe," replied elsie, with some pride. "mat jute is not to be jested with. indeed, you cannot show me his match, in all funen." "you dare not let christen fiddler hear you so speak!" cried one of the girls. "why not?" replied elsie, briskly. "i have told him so more than once. had mat jute not fallen into misfortune, along with his master, and become such a ferocious strand-fighter, i should have had no fear of taking him for a husband. but the lord preserve me from him now!" "aha!" laughed the kitchen-maid: "he kills folk, they say, for the smallest ill word said against his master. he must be a perfect fiend." "say not so," cried elsie. "fierce he is, it is true, but he is still an honest fellow. he is true to his master--more's the pity!--and i cannot bear anybody to speak ill of him." "old love doesn't die," remarked one of the men-servants; "and if mat jute knew that thou hast now another sweetheart, little elsie, he would yet come and bite thy head off." "as for that," returned elsie, "i am truer to him than many funen lads are to their lasses; and, besides, i have only one sweetheart at a time." "if thou wouldst see the show, elsie, haste thee, or it will be gone," cried the brewer's maid. "it went up to the churchyard; and, if i saw truly in my fright, there was a light in the choir." "let us call the master!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid: "it is really awful. they may be church-robbers; and if they be ghosts, the father can read them away." this was agreed to, and one of the maids went to awake her master. "it is, more likely, the outlawed marsk, who wants to add to his treasury at eskebjerg," observed one of the men-servants: "he has heaps of gold and jewels there, it is said." "how long you think about it, elsie," cried the kitchen-maid--"thou who hast been in a fortress. when thou wert at flynderborg, thou wert afraid of neither soldiers nor rievers--thou wert then as bold as thy jomfru." "i did not say that," replied elsie: "the brave jomfru ingé showed more courage than i, when the algrev and niels breakpeace paid us a visit. but you shall see, for all that, that i am not afraid to look at a funeral. a dead man can't bite my nose off. if it be an outlaw of mark, there are both gold and velvet with him that would make famous pillows and coverlets; and it were no sin to cheat the rieving pack of what they have plundered from our honest maids and wives. come along with me, girls--i will go first." her companions opened their eyes with amazement at this proposal, but none of them had the courage to follow her, and the men-servants did not seem at all to relish the adventure. "very well," exclaimed elsie, "i shall have all the treasure to myself. see it, i will, at any rate." so saying, she went out alone, and beheld a procession with torches, exactly as described by the brewer's maid. as the procession moved slowly across the churchyard, towards the low door of the choir, the inquisitive and somewhat frightened girl paused, and, hiding herself behind a tree, peeped through the palings that fenced the priest's walk to the churchyard. she trembled as she plainly perceived the tall, muffled figures, who, in heavy iron armour, and with torches in their hands, bore forward a long black coffin; while, behind this dark funereal train, walked a priest in canonicals, with his hands bound. elsie summoned fresh courage, and stole close up to the gate when the procession had disappeared in the church. she now ventured to look around the churchyard, but not a soul was to be seen, and she then boldly advanced a little farther. with a beating heart she stood by the door of the choir, and peeped in. all was still and deserted, although lights were burning on the altar. gliding noiselessly inside the church, she gazed with fearful curiosity around her, but not a creature was visible. the trap-door, however, in the middle of the aisle, was open, and, from the vault beneath, the light of many torches was reflected upon the arches of the roof. she stood a moment, hesitating whether to venture nearer or take to flight; but hastily muttering a short prayer to strengthen her, she crept cautiously towards the trap-door, where, through a chink between the hinges, she was enabled to behold what was going forward below, while, bent upon her knees, she scarcely dared to breathe. twelve armed men, with torches in their hands, stood in a circle around a large coffin, covered with black velvet, and adorned with a gold-embroidered mort-cloth, upon which lay a sword, over the armorial bearings of the deceased. a solemn silence prevailed. the priest was unbound; and as the torchlight fell upon his face, with surprise and terror the girl recognised her master, the clergyman of the parish. the lid of the coffin was then raised, and she perceived within a long, gigantic figure, in the complete armour of a knight. "now, priest, lay god's body on his breast," uttered in a hollow voice one of the warriors through his locked helmet: "he had it not before his death, although he loudly prayed for it. but now he shall take it with him, even were he banned by the holy george and all the archangels to boot." "i do it by compulsion," stammered forth the priest; "and, as i have already told you, it thus carries no blessing with it." "perform the rite with due propriety, or thou shalt die!" sounded fearfully the same hollow voice; while the priest, in trembling accents, consecrated the host, which he carefully placed in a little silver shrine, and laid on the breast of the corpse. the lid of the coffin was again replaced, and the priest, casting upon it three spadefuls of earth, repeated aloud the burial-service of the church. "amen!" cried all the iron-clad warriors, some of whom appeared to be deeply affected. the procession then prepared to leave the vault, and the girl, springing up, essayed to escape by the way she had entered, when, with indescribable terror, she perceived the backs of two mailed figures in the church-door. she had nearly discovered herself by a shriek, which she with difficulty suppressed, as she hastily concealed herself beneath one of the benches; and not until she had heard the heavy tread of the last warrior over the gravestones in the church-passage--not until every sound was hushed, did she venture to peep carefully from her lurking-place. the church was empty, and the door stood ajar, but lights were still burning on the altar. the trap-door of the vault remained open, and she perceived that there was still a light below. she again stole forth, and peeped through the crevice. a lantern stood on the coffin, but all the warriors were gone. she took heart, and ventured a step or two within: the splendid mort-cloth glittered before her eyes--she cautiously approached, and at length stood by the coffin, and beheld the armorial bearings on the black velvet pall, which glittered with silver and jewels. under a helmet, with two white wings, blazed a silver star, with seven rays of sparkling gems. "this would make a poor bride rich, and a bridal-bed magnificent," she whispered to herself. "what wants the riever with it in the grave?" the lantern was in her hand, and the diamonds flashed a thousand rays, when, no longer able to withstand the temptation, she hastily secured the mort-cloth, and crept up the steps with it. but the rustling of armour, which she now heard behind her, petrified her with terror, and she dropped the lantern; while, at the same moment, a powerful hand seized the pall, and a terrible voice, as from the grave, cried--"accursed woman! wilt thou plunder the dead?" she was now entirely overcome, and, uttering a piercing shriek, fell backwards insensible, into the vault. "rievers! pirates!" now shouted numerous voices outside the church; and all the young men of stubberup, who meanwhile had assembled to dance at the carding-guild, came rushing up to the church, armed with flails and pitchforks, and headed by the priest's farm-servant, with a lantern in his hand. "go thou first, christen fiddler!" exclaimed one of the party: "it may be witchcraft and devilry, but thou canst read as well as the father; and where thy sweetheart could go alone, thou canst surely venture with a dozen." while they still lingered by the church-door, a tall figure in iron mail, and with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed forth, and with a wild howl overthrew those who stood before him, and quickly disappeared. the terrified peasants crossed themselves, and repeated their paternosters; none doubting but that it was the evil one himself whom they had seen. at length, recovering their courage, they ventured within the church, where they found the vault open, and discovered with horror the little elsie, bleeding and dying, beside the great coffin, over which the mort-cloth had again been thrown. they bore the maiden to the parsonage, where the priest, who appeared pale and agitated, caused them to swear never to divulge what they had seen and heard that night. what the dying girl confided to the priest remained a secret; but, three days after, elsie was committed with all silence to the grave; and for many a day the story was told on hindsholm, that she had been murdered by her old sweetheart, mat jute, because she would have plundered his master's grave. the priest of stubberup caused the vault to be built up, and no one after, wards dared to open it. some time after, it was rumoured that marsk stig had been secretly buried in rörvig kirk, in zealand, where, probably, the funeral of one of the outlaws had taken place. in a short time, the burial-place of the excommunicated marsk became involved in uncertainty, which his friends considered it important to maintain, lest, as a man who died under the ban of the church, his remains should be persecuted and maltreated. some even propagated the report that the marsk did not die at hielm, but on a pilgrimage to the holy land; by which pious invention they thought to protect his grave and redeem his memory. but the story of the priest's maid-servant, who had been killed by the marsk's follower, obtained the greatest currency, although it ran differently in different quarters; the version nearest the truth relating that one of the marsk's trusty servants had betrothed a girl upon the spot where his master had been secretly buried; but that recognising, on the bolsters of the bridal bed, the velvet of his master's pall, he had, in consequence, murdered his young wife on their wedding-night.[ ] * * * the vehement thorstenson having been appointed drost of the kingdom during drost peter's imprisonment, the orders issued by him in the king's name were of the most stringent character; and the regicides and their adherents were prosecuted with a degree of rigour and violence that drost peter would not have sanctioned. this was in a great measure attributable to junker christopherson's desire of vengeance; and though the king neither approved of nor permitted any base revenge, no one dared to entreat his forbearance where his father's murderers and their accomplices were concerned. the death or disappearance of the marsk struck his men with terror; nor did the other outlaws deem themselves so secure as heretofore. rané jonsen, after a fruitless effort to defend his paternal castle against the royalists, had abandoned the beleagured fortress, and it was soon known that hielm castle had been stormed and demolished by thorstenson. one evening, shortly after this event, two little girls came, hand in hand, to a miserable peasant-hut, near helgeness, begging for shelter. these were the orphan daughters of marsk stig, who, in their flight from denmark, found refuge and protection among the compassionate peasantry. about this time the commandant of sjöborg, the honest old poul hvit, was awakened one night by a loud knocking at the gate, which, on being opened, gave admission to a troop of royal horsemen and two bound prisoners. poul hvit himself, with a lantern in his hand, received these unexpected visitors; and as he examined the wretched habiliments of the prisoners, he appeared surprised that men of their mean condition should be conducted thither as state prisoners. one of them, a tall and haughty figure, wore an old gray jerkin, torn down to the skirts; on his head was a dirty, small, open cowl, and he was seated in a wooden saddle, stuffed with straw, placed upon the back of a lean plough-horse, beneath whose belly his feet were tied together with a rope of coarse hair. as the commandant held the lantern to the prisoner's face, he recognised with astonishment in the proud countenance, although now flushed and swollen with indignation and grief, that of the archbishop himself, the haughty jens grand, who remained silent, and was apparently suffering much from his degraded position. his companion and fellow-prisoner, who was apparelled and mounted in a similar manner, was the seditious and mischievous provost jacob of lund. they had both been seized in lund, in the king's name, by junker christopherson, by whose orders they were conducted through the country in this humiliating manner. the captain of the troop then handed the commandant a royal warrant, undersigned by drost thorstenson, wherein he was made answerable, under pain of death, for the safe custody of the important prisoners, and commanded to load them with chains, and place them in the severest durance. "herregud! we are all sinful men!" ejaculated the castellan, as he obeyed, and, without further remark, conducted the half-fainting archbishop and his companion to the prison, where, however, he humanely procured them refreshment, and bade them master their sorrows before they were fettered. jarl mindre-alf still lay in the felon's dungeon in haraldsborg. he had been condemned to death, but had artfully contrived to have his execution deferred from time to time, by occasionally communicating, to the commandant of roskild, new and important information respecting the outlaws and their accomplices, which required time for complete investigation. on a dark night in november, a vessel, bearing the danish flag and pennant, ran into roskild fiord. on the forecastle stood one whose long brown hair was partially concealed by a shaggy cap, whilst a pitched wadmel jerkin covered his knight's dress. a huge dog lay growling at his feet; and by his side stood a strong, plump female figure, in the dress of a fisher-girl, but wearing a fine linen cloth over her plaited auburn hair, and a pair of large gold buckles in her shoes. "the attempt is too daring, thou headstrong woman!" exclaimed the knight: "should i be recognised, it will cost me my life." "but 'tis to save my father's life," replied, in a norse accent, a youthful female voice; "and he is yet a better man than thou wilt ever be, my crafty rané. yesterday didst thou promise me to set him free, and to-day thou refusest. it would cost thee but a word to the castellan; yet for this thou wilt not now venture to show thyself where thou hast so often landed for plunder. nay, nay--this time, at least, thou _shalt_ keep thy word." it was jarl mindre-alf's daughter, the brave kirstine, who thus spoke, while she cast on her husband a look indicative of anything but affection. in conjunction with the crew, who were devoted to her, she had compelled rané personally to undertake in earnest what he had convinced her was very easy, if he but chose to set about it, but which no one except himself could accomplish. rané had given the viking's daughter ample proofs, that, as a daring and wily freebooter, he was not deficient in courage or cunning; but she had also early discovered, with bitter indignation, that neither was he the redoubtable hero she had dreamt of, when she followed him from norway, and danced with him over the castle-bridge of rypen. the chivalrous wooer soon became the rude and imperious spouse; and kirstine's affection changed to contempt and hatred when she learnt that, as an evident participator in the king's murder, he had been adjudged and declared an outlaw. the only tie which still bound them together was one of mutual fear and necessity--a rugged bond, which was often well nigh being snapped asunder. a ballad was already composed and sung in norway on the unloving pair. it subsequently became popular in denmark; and it has thus been recorded that the faithlessness of rané to his former king, and the sympathy which kirstine felt for the royal house, was frequently the cause of hostile scenes between them. their quarrel now took this complexion, while steering into roskild fiord. "beware thou of my faithful hound to-night!" whispered rané: "he can see that thou wilt lead me into misfortune for thy father's sake." "pity it was," replied kirstine, "that thy king had not a hound as faithful: he would not then, perhaps, have been basely betrayed by his chamberlain." rané was so enraged that, with a menacing gesture, he threatened to throw her overboard. "i betrayed not the king!" he cried. "were they even my own kinsmen who say so, they are my mortal foes." the ferocious hound, perceiving the threatening gesture of his master, growled and showed his teeth at the shrinking lady. "have a care, rané!" exclaimed kirstine, holding fast by the cordage. "twice now hast thou laid violent hands on me; but it shall not again happen. a single word from me, and the boatmen will fling thee overboard. had i known what kind of a knight thou wert, assuredly i should not have offended my father by marrying thee, nor have left my fatherland to follow an outlawed regicide." rané ground his teeth with rage, and again assumed a threatening attitude. "beware!" whispered kirstine, still retaining hold of the cordage. "think not that 'tis so dark here as in the barn of finnerup! dost hear the song of my trusty countrymen in the forehold? they know my sir husband, and apprehend mischief." rané, with whose rage alarm had now mingled, heard the norse boatmen singing, whilst two of them approached the forecastle:-- "'the wood has ears, the field has een, and we are outlaws, little kirstine!' "'oh, had you but king erik spared, we need not from the land have fared.' "across the table he struck her sore-- 'beware this speech our guests before!' "and he struck her on the cheek so red-- 'i did not wish king erik dead, though spurned by kith and kin.'" "dost hear?" again whispered kirstine: "thou shouldst know the ballad well! if thou desirest not a worse ending, assist me now to save my father, and then i bid thee farewell for ever. but if thou shouldst act treacherously now, my trusty countrymen shall bind and carry thee to the king of denmark." "be still, dearest kirstine! i will do as thou desirest," whispered rané, as he cast a fearful glance towards the sturdy boatmen, who appeared to be as faithful and vigilant a body-guard to their lady, as was the hound to the faithless knight. the vessel soon lay to at a remote part of the fiord, where rané and his wife landed, and proceeded in silence to the town. the hound followed; and, at a little distance behind, by a signal from kirstine, the two sturdy boatmen. they passed thus through the streets of roskild, until they reached the prison-tower of haraldsborg, near which a crowd was collected, listening to an old crone singing street-ballads. she was seated on a stone, and, although apparently blind, carried a lantern in her hand, while on her arm hung a tin-box, on which she accompanied her song, and into which her hearers now and then dropped a piece of money. the moon, which had now risen, shone brightly on the tower and on the people, who apparently had gathered there to catch a glimpse of the famous prisoner, and to amuse themselves with the gossip of the town. "saw you the drost?" asked a soldier: "such a carl!" "ah, heaven help us!" exclaimed a burgher; "he is under bolt and bar at nordborg; and, until he is free, we shall have neither peace nor luck in the land." "meanest thou drost hessel?" replied the soldier. "ay, he truly was a brave gentleman; but 'twas the new drost i spoke of--he with the long beard: he's a tough carl, and, while he advises, neither rogues nor traitors shall long be safe in denmark." "how long stays he here?" asked the burgher. "only till the fleet is ready, and the landfolk assembled," answered the other. "the king then comes from helsingborg, and we shall at the duke." "bravo! drost thorstenson is no fool!" cried a seaman: "he well knows there is no road to land except by sea." "how so, friend?" asked a landsknecht: "was it not on land we got the holy banner, without which there is no road, either by sea or shore? now, however, we go together; but if the norsemen should land again, without leave, where were we without the landsmen then?" "well, my countryman," replied the seaman, "we will drink to good fellowship both on sea and land. you laid by the heels that sea-bear in the tower, where he shall no longer plunder and burn our sloops. sing us the ballad anent the corbie in the tower there, carlin!" he cried, turning to the crone, "and thou shalt have a silver groat." "how long will they allow him to remain there, and befool both bailiff and hangman?" inquired a burgher. "have you not seen the wheel outside the town?" replied the seaman: "he'll be safe anchored there in a week hence, for drost david has sworn it. he was, to give the devil his due, a daring sea-cock; but two such rievers as the marsk and he would soon have sunk the country." "say you the algrev will be executed in a week hence?" exclaimed a young girl. "alas, it is still a sad end for such a rich and distinguished gentleman!" "come, carlin, sing now!" cried the seaman: "here's my groat. look! there he is, poking his head out of the hole. he wants to see if there be any good friends here to help him." "merciful heavens! within a week. heardst thou that, rané?" exclaimed kirstine, weeping, and involuntarily grasping the arm of her hated husband. "and, see, there he stands looking down to us. haste thee, rané, and save him! i will forgive thee all, and remain with thee, outlaw though thou be--only save him! save him! thou canst if thou wilt." "be silent, or, by satan, thou wilt betray me with thy whimpering!" quickly whispered rané, as he looked anxiously around him. and his fears were not unfounded, for some of the townspeople had already been suspiciously watching the two strange figures; although now the attention of all was attracted to the blind crone on the kerb-stone, who began to sing:-- "sir alf was born in norraway, yet lists not there to bide, though fifteen lordships he doth own, to keep his state and pride.[ ] "alf wends upon the rampart green, and cons with care his book; there meets him bendit rimaardson, who is so dour of look. "'what brings thee here, carl mindre-alf? thou art of courage rare: if now thou'rt made king's prisoner, the land no worse shall fare.' "'but i am not sir mindre-alf-- that is no name of mine: a mass-boy, as thou seest, i am, and fetch the priest some wine.' "bent lifted off this mass-boy's cap, and looked him in the een-- 'an i see right, thou art the norse sir mindre-alf, i ween.' "'and thou wert once a clerk with me, i knew thee well at school, and thou mayst not deny, that oft thou wrought'st us pain and dool.' "'an be it thou, bent rimaardson, and thou be kinsman true, an oath, i wiss, thou'lt swear to-day, that me thou never knew.' "but now they've ta'en jarl mindre-alf, his feet in fetters bound--" "away!" shouted the landsknecht who guarded the prison-tower: "finish your screaming, carlin, and draw not the whole town hither; for whoever comes three steps nearer the keep, will assuredly have a lance run through his body." the crowd drew back, and, with them, rané, dragging along his wife, who still clung to his arm, assailing him with urgent entreaties to redeem his promise and save her father. "nay, it cannot be done!" exclaimed rané, in an under tone: "i know well he has sworn my death and destruction, and now let him help himself!" so saying, he attempted to shake off his wife, but she held him tightly. he then pulled his cap over his eyes to avoid being recognised; for, with increased terror, he now observed near him some of the late king's servants, whom he had been the means of disgracing at court. "leave me, woman!" he whispered "thou hast betrayed me--i am discovered!" a growing murmur arose among the crowd, and the cry of "rané, the outlawed chamberlain!" ran from mouth to mouth. "thou desirest, then, to cause my death, obstinate woman!" exclaimed rané, with subdued vehemence; while, with a violent effort, he succeeded in freeing himself, and immediately took to flight. "seize him--seize him!" shouted the crowd: "it is rané, the outlawed chamberlain! seize the traitor!" and he was followed with loud cries by the enraged populace, who threatened to tear him in pieces. his hound, however, by furiously attacking his pursuers, several of whom he bit and frightened, enabled rané to escape, both master and dog having suddenly disappeared in the vicinity of the grayfriars' convent; whilst kirstine, amidst the confusion, was fortunately extricated from the crowd by her faithful boatmen. rané remained undiscovered for some days, during which, as it was known that he had many relatives among the grayfriars, the convent was strictly searched by drost thorstenson's orders, but no trace was found of the dangerous fugitive. in a narrow street, and under a wooden shed that projected from the convent-wall, was a well, out of which a large, ferocious-looking dog had been observed to leap, by a girl who went there one morning early to draw water. she related the circumstance to her neighbours, who, from the description, inferred that it was the hound of the outlawed rané. the authorities were forthwith apprised of the circumstance, and the well was examined; when, in it, and against the convent-wall, was found a ledge, which was reached with some difficulty. here was discovered a strongly-barred door, which was soon broken open, and revealed a low narrow passage, leading to a dark and noisome hole between the double convent-walls. the first who ventured into this mysterious hiding-place was furiously attacked by the dog, which, however, after a desperate encounter, was at last overpowered and killed. by the aid of their lanterns, they then carefully searched the hole, but no trace of a human being was perceptible. in one damp corner, swarming with toads and lizards, lay a heap of stones and gravel, into which, before leaving the spot, one of the soldiers accidentally thrust his lance. this action was followed by a smothered cry of pain: the gravel-heap was then speedily removed, and a sad and miserable spectacle exposed. close in the corner, and huddled quite together, lay the outlaw rané, so disfigured by mire and blood that he scarcely resembled a human creature. he sprang up, apparently irresolute whether to fight or fly, and was instantly seized and conducted to haraldsborg, where the stern drost thorstenson, without further form or delay, sentenced him to death, in the king's name. three days after the capture of rané, the new dean of roskild was returning, late in the evening, from a farmhouse in the neighbourhood, where he had been administering the last rites of the church. two young choristers rode before him, carrying torches; and the holy pix and anointing-cruse; under a screen, were borne by a couple of lay brothers. their way lay by the place of execution, which was in a waste field outside of roskild, and where the algrev and rané had suffered the same morning. when the boys reached this spot, they became alarmed. "sir dean," said one of them, "it is not well to come this way." "proceed, children, in god's name!" answered the dean. "they cease now from troubling; and, with the holiest in the midst of us, we need fear nothing." the lads obeyed in silence; but, after advancing a few steps, "see, see!" cried the younger of them--"there is something stirring up yonder." "and look!" added the other, "now there is a light--candles are burning by the dead men." "ghosts and devilry!" exclaimed one of the lay brothers. "read, reverend sir, read!" the dean, who now also became alarmed, halted, and gazing towards the mound, on which the fatal wheels were distinctly visible, saw a female form, holding in her hand a torch, the light of which, falling full on her countenance, revealed an expression of the deepest grief, united with so much calmness, that she resembled a niobe in marble; whilst a number of clumsy-looking fellows, in the garb of seamen, were quietly but hastily engaged in releasing the bodies of the two malefactors. this being accomplished, they deposited them in coffins, and, forming themselves into a procession, left the mound, bearing the two corses in their midst. the grave female figure preceded them with the torch; and the dean, who, with his subordinates, had not stirred, now perceived that she wore the scarlet mantle of a princess, or of the lady of some knight of eminence. the funeral train took the road to the fiord, approaching close to where the dean was standing; but the calm, melancholy features of the lady remained unchanged, nor did the others who composed the procession seem at all concerned at the presence of the ecclesiastic and his assistants. the latter, folding their hands, remained in silent prayer; while, as the train passed by, and the holy pix glittered in the torchlight, the grave seamen bowed their heads, and the knight's lady knelt down, while tears streamed along her pale cheeks. as if moved by sympathy, the dean, accompanied by the choristers, then commenced singing, in a deep clear voice, a holy vigil for the dead men's souls; which they continued until the whole procession had passed. the mourners soon disappeared at the fiord, whence, shortly afterwards, a vessel departed under full sail. * * * after the death of the marsk, duke waldemar had openly allied himself with the brave norwegian king, and had sent to the young danish monarch, and his mother the queen, a declaration of war, grounded on the demands which he himself, and his brother prince erik, advanced for the possessions of svendborg and langeland. the duke and the norwegian had agreed to commence the war with their united fleets and armies; but the impatience of the duke would not allow him to wait the arrival of the norse fleet; and he ran out boldly with his own, which he conducted into grönsund, between falster and möen. sir john and the council resolved to take advantage of this imprudent step, and immediately issued orders to man a number of long-ships and cutters, for the purpose of attacking the duke. this fleet, with young king erik himself on board the long-ship old waldemar, early one morning ran out of issefiord, and proceeded through the great belt to grönsund, where the vessels of the duke had come to anchor on the falster coast. sir john and the chancellor were on board the king's ship, together with the royal trabants, and a numerous body of knights, who, in full armour, only knew each other by their helmet jewels and armorial bearings. close to the king's vessel followed count gerhard, in his own long-ship, accompanied by a few sloops from kiel, manned by brave holsteiners. thorstenson himself commanded one of the largest long-ships, and, in conjunction with sir john, directed the movements of the whole fleet. the commanders still pursued the ancient danish mode of attacking a hostile fleet, seeking to break the position of the enemy by a vigorous and combined movement, and, by coming as soon as possible to close quarters, to allow the fate of the engagement to be decided, as in land battles, by numbers and personal courage. to this end, they immediately ordered the whole royal fleet to form in order of battle under the coast of möen, and opposite the duke, bringing all the ships together in a single compact line, in the centre of which was the royal vessel, from whence the position of both fleets, which were nearly of equal force, could be easily seen. the duke, however, put only his largest long-ships into line, and these he brought into an advanced position; whilst he allowed the lighter and smaller sloops and cutters to remain behind, with sails unbent, close under the coast of falster. in all the vessels of the king's fleet, the awning was then taken down which served to protect the deck from the inclemency of the weather. on the poop of the old waldemar, surrounded by the most valiant of the royal knights, himself the tallest and strongest amongst them, stood the standard-bearer, holding aloft the royal banner--the dark parti-coloured standard of the murdered king, with its numerous keys, wheels, and other remarkable symbols. the hold was filled with the common soldiers, who, besides sword and javelin, were armed with bows and slings, while a portion of them had the superintendence of the heavy war-machines; and at the stern, having the command of the whole vessel, stood the steersman, whose office, in the king's ship, was filled by old sir john. the young king, who, with the chancellor martinus, stood by his side, now exclaimed-- "explain to me, sir john, why the duke allows his sloops to lie detached behind the long-ships? drost peter, i remember, once informed me that waldemar seier and old king waldemar did the same, when they had to deal with a stronger foe, and feared to hazard their whole force at once. but cannot the duke now surround us with his sloops, and fall upon our rear?" "we will not give him time for that," replied sir john. "when we have first saluted him at a distance, we will row rapidly forwards, working our slings and rams; and when we are once alongside of him, the engagement can be terminated sword in hand." "the almighty grant us victory!" exclaimed the chancellor. "before you give the signal for battle, sir john, we must permit our people to think of their souls, and to pray the lord of victory to aid us." "in god's name! but let it be soon and short, for there is little time to spare, and the lord shields his own." the chancellor then, accompanied by several ecclesiastics, began a war-hymn, in which all the soldiers and fighting-men joined; whilst many, including the young king, followed the example of the chancellor and clerks, and reverently bent the knee. scarcely was the solemn war-hymn ended, before the standard-bearer, at sir john's order, gave the signal for battle by waving the royal flag three times over his head; and in a moment, although it was clear noon, the sky was darkened with the arrows and stones, projected simultaneously from every sling and bow on board the royal ships. this attack was answered by a similar discharge of missiles from the duke's fleet, the foreign soldiers in which now sent forth their wild war-cries. sir john had ordered a shieldburg[ ] to be formed around the young king and the clergymen, through which, however, many arrows pierced, while the stones and other missiles rattled on the bucklers with a frightful din. on the royal vessel there alighted such an enormous mass of stones, that it was evident the duke had concentrated his attack on it alone. a few men fell, and many were wounded; but the distance was still too great for these missiles to take much effect. on board the king's ship, the standard-bearer now again waved the royal banner, and the entire fleet rowed rapidly forward, while the heavy engines of war were put in preparation. at the stern of the king's vessel was placed an immense prow-hog, which, with its spiked and sharp iron crest, broke into the centre of the duke's fleet, and, at the first blow, parted two long-ships, thus forcing the duke to fight his own vessel without aid from the others. at the same instant, the sea-rams were vigorously worked. these consisted of heavy beams, cased in iron, which, suspended by chains from the masts, were swung with crushing effect against the enemies' vessels. the duke possessed no such heavy machines; and it was soon apparent that the royalists had gained a considerable advantage in this first assault, great confusion having been produced in the enemies' fleet, the line of which was already almost entirely broken. it was, however, speedily evident that the lighter arms of the duke were not less dangerous. he seemed not yet desirous of boarding, but, with his light vessels, evaded the advancing line of heavy battle-ships; whilst, besides arrows, stones, and bolts, he continued to shower upon them great numbers of caltrops, and of fire-pots, filled with pitch, brimstone, and oil. the latter were set on fire with tow, and, as they fell, cast forth flames, which, seizing upon the sails and cordage, created great damage and confusion in the royal fleet. the duke immediately availed himself of this to order an attack on its rear by his smaller vessels. when he heard, by the shouting, that this was in execution, and became sure that the royalists would have to fight in opposite directions and with divided strength he no longer avoided the attempt to board, but ran his own long-ship close up to that of the king. thorstenson, who had quickly perceived this cunning man[oe]uvre, commanded the cables by which the royal ships were bound together to be immediately cut asunder, in order that he might secure a more advantageous position; but the caltrops had produced so much disorder, and the fire-pots taken such effect, that the men were fully occupied in extinguishing the flames, and in defending themselves against the boarders, who now threatened them on both sides. in this extremity young erik, who stood by the side of the chancellor, with his sword in one hand and a javelin in the other, observed the duke near him, preparing to leap on board the blazing vessel. the sight of the duke enraged him. "'twas an unchivalrous piece of cunning, duke waldemar!" he cried, at the same time dashing at him his javelin, which struck the feather of the duke's helmet, and carried away its jewel. at this a shout of delight broke forth on board the king's ship, and, abandoning their efforts to extinguish the fire, the whole crew rushed forward, to repulse the duke's boarders. "be calm, brave countrymen!" shouted sir john. "let us first quench the fire, and then reckon with them for our house-warming!" both fire and attack raged most fiercely at the prow, and the standard-bearer, forced to defend himself, had been obliged to fix the banner in a plank by his side, where it was soon caught by the flames, and fell hissing into the water. this incident, while it raised a wild shout of joy on board the duke's fleet, greatly disheartened the royalists, who regarded it as an unlucky omen. "my father's banner has fallen!" exclaimed the young king, in a tone of melancholy; "no good fortune attended it." "that of your great ancestor was always victorious, my royal master!" exclaimed the chancellor. "but it, alas, lies in the duke's stronghold in sleswick," sighed the king. "the lord, however, can still aid us." "his help is near when we call upon him," replied the chancellor: "therefore be comforted, sir king!--but see you yonder fisherman, and in what he is engaged?" while the king was gazing in the direction indicated by the chancellor, the duke saw with astonishment that the crews on board his vessels were slipping and reeling about like drunken men; and he now first perceived, running boldly to and fro among his fleet, a small fishing-boat, in which stood a tall man, in a black leathern mail, casting pots of soap on board the ships. on some of the vessels, too, fell pots of finely powdered lime, which blinded the fighting-men; while, to increase his dismay, some of the vessels began to fill and sink. in the midst of the terror and confusion thus occasioned, a daring black-haired swimmer was seen, with a large auger in his hand, diving here and there under the ships. "shoot the accursed fisherman! crash the swimmer's head!" furiously cried the duke. "board--storm--all hands!" the boarding soon became general. no one could any longer stand on the slippery deck of the duke's ship; and as the fire had fortunately been extinguished in that of the king, there then commenced a hot and serious conflict, in which the combatants fought man to man, and in which many fell on both sides. thorstenson, in whose long-ship the battle also raged furiously, fought heroically, many falling by his hand. count gerhard, too, reaped laurels. his ship lay opposite to that of duke erik of langeland, duke waldemar's brother, and generally known as duke longlegs. by the side of his master, in the equipments of a squire, stood the old jester, who, when the duke appeared on the point of boarding them, exclaimed-- "see! there comes my illustrious namesake with the long legs! hide your lady's veil, stern sir, that it may not be again torn!" count gerhard, in the spirit of chivalry and as a defiance to duke waldemar, had attached the queen's veil to his breastplate; but, that he might not now lose it in the fray, he took the advice of his jester, and placed it under his mail. "we shall not run now from hares or cats, stern sir," said the jester, while a roguish smile dispelled the gravity of his countenance. but this remark touched his good-natured master in the tenderest point, by reminding him of an unfortunate encounter with the ditmarshers, wherein his troops were really first thrown into disorder by a hare or cat. "now, by satan! longlegs, i shall strike thee dead!" cried the count, as he furiously brandished his sword. "spare your wrath for the proper longlegs--see, here he is!" replied the jester, as he stepped back, and pointed towards the forecastle, where duke erik came storming onwards. "the fiend take all the longlegs!" shouted the count, as he rushed forward to the combat. the royal ship continued to be closely pressed upon from every side. old sir john had some trouble to protect the young king, who insisted on leaving the shieldburg to take part in the fray. the duke himself had struck down the standard-bearer, and, springing on board at the forecastle, he was now, backed by his bravest knights, fiercely engaged on the rowing-deck with the royal trabants. at every stroke he seemed to cut out for himself a path, by which he was advancing nearer to the king. sir john had placed himself in the narrow passage that led from deck to deck, where with calm energy he defended the entrance to the poop, where stood the king, between the chancellor and squire aagé jonsen, in front of the ecclesiastics. a vigorous stroke from the duke at length reached sir john's helmet, which fell cloven from his gray head, while the old man himself sank bleeding between the rowing-benches. at this sight the king sprang forward. "by all holy men!" he exclaimed, "that stroke you shall atone for with your blood, most treacherous duke!" he became furious, and, shaking off all restraints, rushed forward, and had slightly wounded the duke, when, in his eagerness, he stumbled over a bench. the trabants, who had each an opponent to encounter, did not observe the imminent danger of the king; but his squire, aagé jonsen, darting forward, now closed with the duke, while chancellor martinus placed himself, with his mass-book in his hand, between young erik and the combatants. soon, however, the youthful monarch stood again prepared for battle, but the chancellor restrained him. squire aagé, unable to cope with the duke as a swordsman, and bleeding from many wounds, was already beginning to give way, when the chancellor, who had raised his hands and eyes towards heaven in supplication, suddenly exclaimed-- "behold, behold! danebrog, danebrog! the lord sends us victory--_hoc signo victoria!_"[ ] the joyful shout of "danebrog! danebrog!" was now raised by the royalists; and the duke, on looking up, perceived before him, on a rowing-bench, the well-known danebrog flag, in the hands of a tall knight, clad in steel blue harness, and with open visor. it was drost peter, in whom, with mingled rage and fear, the duke recognised the blue knight of the tourney, and saw the well-known lion-hilted dagger gleaming in his uplifted right hand. "ha! thou--my deadly foe!" he cried, rushing madly towards him; but his vision forsook him, and he heard but the clash against his breastplate of the dagger, which, glancing aside, remained deep in his left shoulder. uttering a cry of terror, he let fall his sword, and reeled backwards. "fly, fly! god has doomed us!" he cried, wildly, as, with a desperate leap, he regained his own ship. his knights followed him, and, perceiving the battle was lost, quickly hoisted sail and took to flight, leaving the victory in the hands of the royalists. the sudden appearance of the danebrog seemed to have rendered every man of the king's soldiers invincible. from thorstenson's ship arose a loud shout of victory; and count gerhard had also so entirely cleared his decks, that the severely wounded duke erik, finding himself nearly alone, sprang overboard, and saved his life by swimming to his brother's vessel. the royal ships were filled with slain or captured foemen; whilst of the duke's fleet, which was altogether broken up, a number of vessels were sunk, and others captured--the duke himself escaping with great difficulty and danger. old sir john, whose wound had been bound up, now received, with feelings of pleasure, the thanks of the king for the brave defence he had made. his wound was not dangerous; although the heavy blow had stunned him, and he felt with regret that he could no longer wield his sword as in his youthful days. from the poop, and over the heads of the king and the aged knight, waved the sacred dannebrog banner, which had been entrusted to the custody of the trabants by drost peter, whilst he hastened to aid thorstenson in completing the victory. in the tumult of battle, only a few had recognised him. "the almighty be praised!" cried the chancellor, kneeling, and raising his folded hands towards heaven, as, with a loud voice, he began to chaunt the _te deum laudamus_, in which the ecclesiastics joined, and during which the king and sir john, with all else on board, continued reverently kneeling. scarcely was the solemn hymn of victory ended, before the chivalrous drost peter and thorstenson were observed in a fishing-boat, hastening towards the king's ship, accompanied by old henner friser and skirmen. the drost sprang on board, and congratulated the king on his victory, whilst, with a loud exclamation of delight, the young victor rushed into his arms. "thou it was--thou it was!" cried young erik--"thou broughtest me victory with my ancestor's banner." drost peter bowed his head, and raised his hand solemnly towards heaven. "yea, the lord be praised! for from him alone comes victory!" exclaimed the king, with emotion, whilst he again embraced his faithful friend. drost peter was greatly exhausted by his hurried journey. he had been fearful of arriving too late for the battle, and had also suffered much, after his escape from prison, in his exertions to obtain possession of the important banner, whose singular influence on the people, ever since the days of waldemar seier, was well known; it being their pious belief that, with this their national standard, and with confidence in god, they were sure to conquer. its effect on duke waldemar had also been of vital importance. his right arm was paralysed from the moment when drost peter returned him the traitor-dagger, stained with the heart's-blood of king erik christopherson, and it was now with reason hoped that he would never more raise it against the crown of denmark. drost peter's unexpected arrival produced great joy on board the king's ship. all crowded around him, while he briefly related how old henner, with aasé and skirmen, had contrived to procure his escape from nordborg castle, and assisted him in obtaining possession of the national standard. he then presented to the king the faithful old henner and the active squire, both of whom had contributed to the victory--the latter by boring the holes in the enemy's vessels; while the idea of the soap and lime, which the king considered more novel than chivalrous, belonged altogether to henner, who had pretended to the drost that he had a design of trading in these articles. "kneel!" said the young king, turning to skirmen: "i shall dub thee a knight, for thou hast merited the honour, and i exempt thee from the usual proofs." with tears of joy in his dark eyes, and an exclamation of gratitude, the brave squire knelt and received the stroke of knighthood in the name of god and the holy virgin. the king then beckoned to aagé jonsen, whose numerous yet not dangerous wounds had, meanwhile, been bound up. "thou, too," said the king--"thou hast defended my life today like a hero, as thou didst at tornborg." aagé knelt in silence, and arose a knight. "i desire not knighthood on account of the soap-pots, sir king," said old henner; "but, by my troth, the soap was capital--and the carls required it much." "if thou canst not be a knight, ingenious old man," replied the king, "thou canst be a steersman, and such from this day thou art." old henner was greatly affected: he spoke not a word, but bent his knee, and kissed the hand of the young king, who, however, hastily withdrew it, for a tear which had fallen from the old warrior's eyes had scalded him. in the midst of the general joy, count gerhard had come on board, when, after having heartily embraced drost peter, both he and thorstenson received the thanks and commendations of the king, who now heard in detail how matters had fared in the count's ship, and how duke longlegs had sprung overboard. "take the fleetest boat, count gerhard," said the king, extending his hand to him, "and proceed to helsingborg, where my mother, the queen, is expecting tidings of us. carry her the account of our victory, and i promise you that you shall then obtain what you have so long and so ardently desired." on hearing these words, the brave count could no longer constrain himself. he embraced the king, drost peter, old henner, the jester, and, in fact, every one around him, and with difficulty refrained from taking the young king in his sturdy arms, and dancing with him on the poop. "shame befall me," he cried, "if there shall not be a dance at helsingborg, in which i'll share." and in an instant he stood in henner's fishing-boat. "sir steersman henner," he exclaimed, "you shall take me to helsingborg. nobody steers a boat like you." "right willingly," cried henner, following him into the boat. "i promised you good luck, and you see i have kept my word." the boat was already leaving the king's ship, when one long leg, followed by another, came sprawling over the gunwale: the long-shanked jester would follow his happy master. the rumour that the great sea-fight was expected to take place in grönsund, had reached helsingborg the same day on which it was fought. on that evening queen agnes, in great anxiety, sat in her closet, and every other moment quitted her seat to gaze out over the sound. that the young king was with the fleet she knew; and that her devoted knight and suitor, count gerhard, who had gone to his aid, would dare the utmost, she felt certain. on leaving kiel to join the fleet, he had sent to her a formal declaration of his love; and her affectionate answer to his letter now lay on the table before her, ready to be forwarded to him on the following day. she had despatched three fleet skiffs, one after the other, to bring her intelligence from grönsund; but they had encountered a storm in the sound, and were now all three beating about off dragoe, when count gerhard, in henner's little fishing-boat, passed them. "the cross shield us--they will perish!" cried the seamen from helsingborg, when, by the moonlight, they perceived the little fishing-yawl driven by, and every instant threatened with destruction by the surging billows. the queen was ignorant of this her lover's danger; but the violence of the storm augmented her apprehensions concerning the battle. to conceal her anxiety, she had directed her ladies to retire, and, in her present loneliness, she felt as if her own and denmark's fate depended on the message she that night expected. all the gloomy images of her chequered life seemed united in one single event, which threatened entirely to crush her heart, and banish that bright hope in which she had found a recompense for all her losses, and a comfort for all her misfortunes. if the battle were lost, and the young king slain, then would there be an end of denmark's freedom and of her own maternal joy; and, if the trusty count gerhard had fallen, then was her letter to him, which now lay before her, but a mournful testimony of the great and true happiness she had lost. the night passed on: the wax-lights flickered on the table, and the storm howled in the chimney, but the queen still sat, sorrowfully contemplating her letter to count gerhard, in the seal of which she was represented as kneeling in a church before a virgin and child, with a winged cherub holding a crown above her head.[ ] "take the crown, lord, and guard it," she sighed, "but let not the angel fly away. leave him to watch over me, and over him who is dearer to me than all the crowns in the world." she had drawn forth her diary, in which the dearest of all her heart's confessions was not yet expressly inscribed, although in the latter portions of it count gerhard was mentioned oftener than herself, especially from the time when she had presented him with her veil, and chosen him her knight and protector. the image of her faithful knight had subdued every anxious thought in the heart of the fair queen, when suddenly there arose an unusual noise from the gardens beneath her window. she approached the balcony, and, by the moonlight, perceived a crowd of people on the quay, where the pilots were engaged in dragging a small boat through the surf; and in the next moment she heard the shout of "victory, victory! the count--the one-eyed count!" she uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving, and, overcome with joy, tottered to a seat in her inmost apartment. shortly after, the palace resounded with the joyful tidings of victory; and, within an hour, the queen, surrounded by her entire court, stood in the brilliantly illuminated audience-chamber, where the fortunate bearer of the intelligence knelt, and laid at her feet his sword and the banner of the vanquished enemy. whilst the whole palace shone with light, and re-echoed with sounds of mirth and festivity, count gerhard learned from the queen's own lips what was contained in the letter with the red seal on her table, and his happiness was complete. * * * the joy created by this victory was soon after increased by the tidings, that the fortress of hunehal, in halland, had been stormed by the royalists, and the proud count jacob taken prisoner. the victory itself was followed by important results; for the norwegian king, who, with his fleet, had arrived too late, abandoned altogether his expedition against denmark; and shortly after a friendly meeting between the two monarchs took place at hindsgavl, where a truce was concluded preliminary to a treaty of peace, which in its conditions should be equally honourable to both kingdoms. duke waldemar, too, through his ambassadors, had proposed terms which could be accepted; and, after the convention of hindsgavl, no further measures were taken against the outlaws, who, however, were strictly forbidden ever to show themselves in the presence of the king of denmark. on a fine clear day in autumn great festivities and rejoicings were held at helsingborg castle. it was the bridal day of the fair queen agnes and count gerhard, whose sister, the dowager queen hedvig of sweden, together with the entire danish and swedish courts, were present. the rejoicings, which were intended to celebrate at once a victory, a peace, and a marriage, were attended with a tournament, in the tilting of which, however, count gerhard took no part. he sat in the royal balcony, by the side of queen agnes; and although he seemed in some constraint in his fine bridal suit, yet the joy that sparkled in his honest eye showed him to be supremely happy; whilst, from the noble features of his majestic regal bride, beamed an expression of unsurpassed sweetness. next to her, and as denmark's future queen, the little princess ingeborg was the object of universal admiration and knightly homage. during the tourney she sat, well pleased and happy, by the side of the young, chivalrous king erik, where they conversed together with all the tenderness of brother and sister. sir john had to dash away a tear of joy from his aged eyes when he looked upon this youthful pair, who, with innocent childish glee, were playing only, as it were, at bridegroom and bride, unconscious of any other affection than that which they felt, with mutual ardour, for the land and people over whom they were destined to rule. with similar feelings the swedish knights and nobles regarded the young king berger and the little danish princess mereté, who, also, as parties affianced, sat side by side, witnessing the tournament. on this occasion, the prize was won by drost peter hessel, who, bowing profoundly, received it from the hand of the fair queen agnes, whilst, as his eyes glanced over the brilliant ranks of dames, they rested with a look of intense affection on the tall lady who occupied the chief seat among the damsels of the princess ingeborg. it was jomfru ingé little, whom he had not seen since they parted in kolding fiord. her father, he was aware, still lay a prisoner in kallundborg castle, it being only in tenderness to the feelings of sir john that the king had so long deferred his sentence, because his treason was manifest, although his participation in the late king's murder yet wanted proof. jomfru ingé had been absent from the tournament until that moment, and drost peter had inquired for her in vain. great was his joy, therefore, on now beholding her; but it soon changed to anxious grief, when he perceived the impress of a deep sorrow on her beautiful countenance; while her look, cast on the ground, seemed studiously averted from his. he hastily left the lists, and retired, to indulge his melancholy, near the sound, whilst the royal parties and their respective attendants re-entered the riddersal, where the nuptials were farther to be celebrated with a ball and sumptuous banquet. drost peter stood long by the sound, gazing steadfastly in the direction of flynderborg. the days of his childhood came before him, and his thoughts reverted to the time when, as a knight and drost, he had again seen his childhood's bride, and heard her sing with animation of-- "the king who ruled the castle, and eke ruled all the land." the dangerous position in which his king and country had been placed allowed him of late but little time to think of his own heart's affairs; but now the sorrowful image of jomfru ingé had awakened in his soul a powerful desire to achieve her happiness, and partake it with her. that she should feel grief for her father and his uncertain fate, was but natural; but why she should now seek to avoid her true and attached knight, and even to deny him a kindly look, he could not comprehend. the thought that she might have forgotten him for a more fortunate suitor, for an instant only, like a threatening demon, crossed his mind, but did not reach his heart. he remembered how he had regarded, as a messenger of love from her, every friendly bird that twittered outside the gratings of his prison; and, shaking his head, with a melancholy smile he repeated the beautiful verses of the old ballad:-- "a bird so small from the white strand flew, and she sang, where is my heart's love true? "a bird so small o'er the sea flew wide, and he sang, o where is my own true bride?" "god strengthen and cheer you, my dear sir drost!" exclaimed the kindly voice of young sir aagé jonsen, interrupting his reverie. "i have been looking for you," he continued, "for i know you are not happy; and yet this is a day of rejoicing such as has hardly ever been seen in denmark. the noble queen agnes is now happy, and our young king dances blithely with his affianced bride. there is no longer a traitor in the country, and denmark's throne again stands firm. we have peace and happy times in prospect, sir drost." "for which i thank him who has succoured us," replied drost peter. "his hand has wonderfully averted the danger, and blessed the crown of the waldemars on the head of our youthful king. i, too, ought to be happy today; but, my dear aagé, there are sorrows of which thou knowest not yet." "i have, nevertheless, already known great ones," replied his grave pupil; "and i guess that which now oppresses you--the noble jomfru ingé--" "she, alas, is unhappy, aagé, and will not be consoled while her father lies in kallundborg." "our young king is all too stern, in rejecting every petition on his behalf," sighed aagé. "i have, however, heard a rumour, dear sir drost--whether well or ill founded, i know not--which yet may prove worthy of your investigation. it is said that sir lavé little has promised his daughter's hand to the knight who procures his pardon from the king; and that you, knowing this, either cannot or will not fulfil the conditions." drost peter was startled. "he barters, then, his daughter's happiness for his own freedom," he exclaimed, in a tone of contempt. "at that i am not astonished. but what says ingé? will she submit to be a sacrifice for her father's sins?" "know you not that she has so resolved?" asked aagé anxiously; "and are you not aware that the rich sir thord, from kongshelle, is here, with four ships laden with treasure, which he intends offering to the king as the ransom of sir lavé little? i myself saw him but now in the riddersal, where he was waiting until the king left the dance, to confer alone with him in his closet, and--" "just heaven!" exclaimed drost peter, "this shall not be! i will myself entreat him for sir lavé's freedom: he cannot--he must not refuse me!" "hasten, then, sir drost. sir thord is perhaps already with the king. alas, i thought you knew of this, but would or could not--haste, haste!" pale and agitated, the drost hurried to the riddersal, where his eye ran through the rows of dancers. the triumphant count gerhard, with his fair and majestic bride--the young king berger, with princess mereté--and skirmen, in his new knight's suit, with the lively aasé hennersdaughter, tripped gaily down the hall; while, among the ladies of the princess ingeborg, he quickly descried jomfru ingé, who sat, pale and motionless, gazing with a calm, fixed look on all before her. the drost perceived not the king, and his eyes began to swim; but, accosting a bustling chamberlain, he asked him, falteringly--"where is the king?" "in his closet," was the answer. "with whom?" "sir thord, from kongshelle." he turned, and darted from the riddersal. count gerhard and king berger led their ladies from the dance, as king erik re-entered gravely, accompanied by drost peter, the expression of whose features indicated the greatest anxiety. the king advanced to the princess ingeborg, who was seated by his mother's side, and, at his signal, the dancing ceased, the music was hushed, and the attention of all forcibly arrested. "noble princess ingeborg," said the young king, aloud and solemnly, "inform drost peter hessel that king erik of denmark can never forget what he promised his dead father; but that denmark's future queen gives him the right to declare sir lavé little's pardon and freedom." "thanks, thanks, erik!" exclaimed the little princess, springing up joyfully: "thou hast kept thy word, and enabled me to make my dear ingé happy." then, turning to drost peter, she repeated to him the king's words, and led the astonished ingé into his arms. great was the joy of the faithful pair, in which all present seemed to participate. at a signal from the king, the music again commenced; and, when the damsels began to sing-- "on rypen streets the dance goes light-- the castle it is won! there dance the knights so gaily dight-- for erik the king so young!" the hearts of drost peter and jomfru ingé glowed with that same warm feeling of love for king and fatherland which first knit their souls together. they joined the giddy maze; and, whilst the damsels entwined the king and the dancers with a single long garland of flowers, jomfru ingé, in her true knight's arms, sang with animation-- "so boldly dance we thus, i ween, with true hearts under scarlet sheen-- the kingdom it is won! "never saw i a rosy dance so gaily trode, and eyes so glance-- for erik the king so young!" the end of king erik menved. appendix. the sword tirfing. the account of hervor, the bold skioldmö, and of the sword tirfing, mentioned at page , is to be found in the _harvarar saga_, or the story of hervor. it was the translator's intention to have given this saga entire, to serve at once as a specimen of the character of the ancient literature of scandinavia, and as a picture of the mind and manners of an extremely remote and barbarous age. doubting, however, whether the saga, in all its integrity, would possess any great interest to the present matter-of-fact age, he has limited himself to such an abstract of it as will give a tolerable idea of its nature and contents. in its present form, the saga is supposed to have been compiled in the thirteenth century, though parts of it may date as high as the tenth. many of the persons mentioned are entirely fabulous, and several of the places have no existence. the only gleam of historical truth it contains, is probably in that portion which relates the battle of angantyr and his brothers, on samsoe, against hialmar and oddur, a similar account being given by saxo of the twelve sons of arngrim the berserk. but to enter upon any critical investigation of this nature, would be obviously out of place on the present occasion. the style of the original is rude and homely, and has evidently been cast in heathen mould. the quality most admired is courage; the greatest baseness, cowardice. the man of strength, courage, and sagacity is ever lord of the ascendant--chief of a band of vikings, or king of kingdoms--always a leader. in this and other sagas, we always find much romance and much heroism; but it must be acknowledged that both the romance and the heroism wear the cold hues of paganism, and want those warm tones of colour which render the old christendom tales of chivalry so attractive. * * * the turks and asiatics came from the east, and occupied the north country. their leader's name was odin, who had many mighty sons. one of them, sigurlami, possessed gardarike (russia), and fell in battle with the giant thiasse. his son and successor, swafurlami, once, while hunting, met with two dwarfs, whom he threatened to kill unless they made him a sword of the finest qualities. they brought him tirfing, but informed him that it would kill its man every time it was drawn, that it would be the instrument of three of the most dastardly actions, and that it would, also, be his own bane. with the aid of tirfing, swafurlami revenged his father's death on thiasse, but was slain with his own sword by arngrim the berserk. this arngrim was step-son to the giant starkother, who had eight arms, and who was killed by thor, for having abducted arngrim's mother from her husband during his temporary absence. tirfing now became the property of arngrim, who bequeathed it to angantyr, the eldest of his twelve warlike sons. hiorvard, one of the brothers, made love to ingeborg, the daughter of ingé, king of sweden; but his rival, hialmar the brave, challenged him to a holmgang[ ] on samsoe. after angantyr had wedded jarl biartmar's daughter, he sailed with his brothers to the place appointed. there, when the berserk phrensy came over them, they killed all hialmar's men; but afterwards, when the latter and his foster-brother oddur met them at the holmgang, they were all killed, after giving hialmar a mortal wound. tirfing was now deposited in angantyr's cairn or barrow. after his death, his widow gave birth to a daughter, who was called hervor. from her childhood she proved herself of a belligerent and bloodthirsty temper; and having heard of her father's cairn on samsoe, she dressed herself in man's clothes, and sallied forth in the company of vikings (pirates). one night she went alone to the cairns, where the country-people never ventured for fear of spectres, awoke with incantations[ ] her father's ghost, and conjured him to give her tirfing; which she obtained, but accompanied with the prediction that it would be the bane of her race. under the name of herward, she now visited king godmund of jotunheim (the giants' country), and assisted the king to play at chess; but when one of his courtiers took tirfing in his hand to admire it, she killed him with it, left the king's court, and, after spending some years as a viking, returned at length to her foster-father's castle. there she busied herself in womanly occupations, and was so beautiful that her fame extended to the court of king godmund, whose son, the famous haufud, wooed her and became her husband. hervor had two sons, angantyr, who resembled his father, and heidrek, who did every one evil. on one occasion their father gave an entertainment, to which he did not invite heidrek, who was brought up from home, with an old warrior, and, in consequence, he came to the king's court to spoil the mirth of the company. when he had succeeded in provoking a quarrel between two of the guests, until one killed the other, he laughed, and said, that the feast was never better than when the red liquor ran on the tablecloth. the upright haufud ordered that he should be banished from the country, but gave him eight good counsels:--never to aid him who had defrauded his master; never to trust him who had defrauded his friend; never to let his wife visit her kin often, however much she might entreat him; never to tarry late with his mistress, nor to entrust her with his secrets; never to ride his best horse when he would make speed; never to bring up the child of a greater man, nor be ready to accept of his invitations; and never to have many thralls along with him as prisoners of war. if he gave heed to these instructions, he would be happy. hervor gave him the sword tirfing, to which his brother added a purse of gold, and accompanied him part of his way. heidrek was most pleased with the sword; but when he drew it from its sheath to look at it, the berserk phrensy came upon him, and he slew angantyr. heidrek repented the evil he had done, and lived for a space of time in the woods; but still wishing to be celebrated like his race, he repaired to the coast, where, in defiance of his father's advice, he first redeemed one who had defrauded his master, and then one who had murdered his friend. thereupon he became the chief of a crew of vikings, was victorious, and soon became greatly renowned. by his bravery he set free harald, king of ridgothland, and received his daughter helge in marriage, with half his kingdom. in a year of scarcity, the wise men declared that the noblest child in the land must be offered in sacrifice. heidrek promised to give his son, on condition that every man in the country should swear obedience to him; but, raising a great army, he captured king harek, and sacrificed him and his men to odin. this was the second base deed he had performed with the aid of tirfing. helge hanged herself in the hall of the disar (goddesses). in a victorious expedition south to hunaland (the country of the huns), heidrek took captive king humle's daughter, sifka; but after she had been for some time his mistress, he sent her home to her father, and she gave birth to a son, who was called hlöd. some time after, heidrek married the beautiful olofa, daughter of ake, king of saxland. being absent on a voyage, he permitted her to go home to visit her parents; but when, one evening, he wished to take her by surprise there, he found her in the arms of a flaxen-haired thrall. heidrek contented himself with declaring the matter before a ting, drove the thrall out of the country, and retained his wife's rich dowry. thereafter he offered to bring up the son of king hrollaug of gardarike (russia), and some time afterwards accepted his invitation to a sumptuous banquet. one day, when hunting with his foster-son, he begged the latter to hide himself, and thereupon returned, late in the evening, to his mistress sifka, and confided to her that he had killed his foster-son. sifka could not keep the secret, and hrollaug caused heidrek to be bound, along with the two niddings whom he had formerly redeemed. but heidrek was set at liberty by his own people, whom he had placed in ambush; and after much bloodshed, hrollaug at length learned that his son was safe and sound with heidrek, and was reconciled to him, and gave him his daughter to wife. heidrek now ceased to make war, gave good laws, and was the best of chiefs. twelve wise men were appointed to judge all important disputes, and to guard the hog of freyr (the god of the sun), the divinity to whom, in particular, he sacrificed. every one who offended against him was either to be judged by the twelve, or to propose to him a riddle that he could not solve. a herse (ruler of a province), named gest of ridgothland (probably smaland), who had highly offended against heidrek, was terrified at both ordeals, and implored odin to aid him. odin showed himself before him, and proposed to go to the king in his stead. odin proposed many riddles, having relation to natural objects, all of which heidrek guessed; but when at last he asked him--"what said odin in balder's ear before he was laid on the pile?" heidrek knew that it was odin himself, and, having rebuked him, would have cut him down with his sword tirfing, had not odin transformed himself into a falcon, and flown away so swiftly that he only lost his train; which is the reason that the falcon ever since has worn so short a tail. in his flight odin informed him, that, as a punishment for having broken his compact, he should be slain by his meanest thrall. shortly after, when he had ridden out on his best horse, he was murdered in his sleep by some scottish thralls. his eldest son, angautyr, avenged his death, and recovered tirfing; but when his step-brother hlöd demanded half of his inheritance, a hard battle was fought between the two brothers. on dunhede mark many thousands contended against each other; the valley was filled with dead bodies, and the wounded were drowned in the streams of blood that flowed. hlöd and all his huns fell, and angautyr long continued king of ridgothland. the remainder of the saga is occupied with a variety of narratives, of comparatively little interest. what ultimately became of the fatal sword tirfing is not mentioned; and we are left to infer, that, according to the prediction, it caused the extinction of the entire race of hervor. * * * many are the wonderful tales of swords in these old northern romances. they were generally manufactured by the _dveryar_, or dwarfs, who were celebrated for their skill as smiths and jewellers. the sword sometimes owed its excellence as much to magic as to the temper and finish it had acquired at the hands of the workman. on tirfing, certain runes or magic characters were engraved--a custom which was observed in the manufacture of swords for many ages. the sword of the celebrated gustavus adolphus was covered with a number of hieroglyphs and astrological characters, which have been the theme of many learned dissertations. the story of the sword mimung, made by velint (the prototype of wieland the blacksmith), is a fair specimen of this class of marvels. wada, who lived in sealand, had a son called velint, one of the most excellent smiths that ever lived. his father, hearing of the great skill of the smith mimer, in hunaland, sent him thither in his ninth year, where he learnt the trade at the same time with the celebrated sigurd (siegfried). afterwards he prosecuted his study with the dwarfs in a mountain, and there attained the perfection of his art. his father was killed by the fall of a rock, occasioned by an earthquake, which his tremendous snoring produced. velint proceeded to the court of nidung, king of waringia, living in jutland, at whose court he was challenged by the smith amilias to a trial of his skill. the latter fabricated a suit of armour. velint, in seven days, forged the sword mimung, with which, in the king's presence, he cut asunder a thread of wool, floating on the water. but finding the faulchion heavy and unwieldy, he sawed it in pieces, and, in a mixture of milk and meal, forged it in a red-hot fire for three days, and, at the end of thirteen, produced another sword, which cut through a whole ball of wool floating on the water. still he was not satisfied with its excellence, but committed it again to the flames, and, after several weeks, having separated every particle of dross from the metal, fabricated a faulchion of such exquisite perfection, that it split in two a whole bundle of wool, floating on the water. the smith amilias, trusting to the impenetrability of his breastplate and helmet, sat down upon a bench, and bade his rival strike at him with the sword. but velint split him to the navel; and, when he complained that he felt as if cold iron had passed through his entrails, velint desired him to shake himself a little, upon which his body fell to the ground in two pieces. * * * * * bruce and wyld printers, , farringdon street, london. footnotes: [footnote : erik, abel, and christopher i.] [footnote : "thing" (pronounced "ting"), a court of justice: also, the name of the ancient scandinavian parliaments, or assemblies of the states of the realm, at which, generally, all the freemen of the nation had a right to attend. they were usually held in the open air. the "danehof," or dane-court, mentioned farther on, was a similar institution, at which were present the king and his nobles, the principal clergy, burghers, and peasants.--tr.] [footnote : the "marsk" anciently filled an office similar to that of the modern marshal, or field-marshal.--tr.] [footnote : a "drost" filled the office of prime-minister to the king. he was often required, not only to take a leading part in the councils of his sovereign, but to conduct warlike operations in a campaign. a prince of the blood might also have his drost, who attended him in the capacity of aide-de-camp. the king's drost superseded the marsk, when present with the army.--tr.] [footnote : "et sondagsbarn." a superstition exists in sweden and denmark, that a child should not be baptised on the same day it is born. hence it is believed that a child born and baptised on a sunday will not live long; or, should it happen to live, that trolds and witches can have no power over it. a sunday's child may, it is said, be known by its clear skin and complexion.--tr.] [footnote : a small norwegian horse--a kind of pony.] [footnote : ale brewed of the herb called sweet gale, or dutch myrtle, instead of hops.--tr.] [footnote : a proverbial expression, said of one who conceives and carries out an odd or whimsical idea.--tr.] [footnote : a garter--a punning nickname generally given to drost peter.] [footnote : such was the name given to the municipal law promulgated by king erik glipping, in , for the government of ribe, or rypen, in denmark, it contains many judicious and some singular enactments, for the discovery and punishment of offenders against the peace and morals of the community. the penalties it attaches to some crimes might well give rise to coarse remarks among the discontented nobles.--tr.] [footnote : "nidding." a term of contempt, for which we have no equivalent in english. it expresses more than the word coward. in some parts of scotland and of the north of england, a low, mean-spirited fellow is termed a "niddy," probably from this scandinavian original.--tr.] [footnote : in allusion to an acute and learned work of master martin's.] [footnote : junker, pronounced "yungker." a name formerly given to the sons of the king of denmark.] [footnote : a kind of heroic ballad, or metrical romance, similar to "chevy chase," or "sir james the rose," great numbers of which are still extant in scandinavia.--tr.] [footnote : thus were called those celebrated sea-rovers and pirates, the norwegian and danish sea-kings;--the terror of the european nations, during the middle ages, for their daring exploits both by sea and land.--tr.] [footnote : the name of a powerful swedish family, from which magnus himself was descended.] [footnote : skiold is fabled to have been the first king of denmark.] [footnote : the berserks are celebrated in scandinavian history and romance for their great strength, courage, and daring. they often fought naked (hence, probably, their appellation--"bare-shirts"); and stimulated their courage to a degree of phrensy or madness by the use of strong liquors, or by chewing some herb, in which state they would rush against naked swords, dash against rocks, and oppose themselves to any odds of antagonists. they were the bullies and bravos of their age, and in this capacity were often retained in the service of great men, proving at times, however, rather intractable followers, and not always to be relied upon.--tr.] [footnote : thorstenson here intends a pun; and flynderborg has, for the nonce, to be converted into its english equivalent, "flounder castle,"--tr.] [footnote : helsingborg, a fortress on the swedish coast, at this time belonged to the danes.--tr.] [footnote : there were three courts of judicature in denmark. the "herred-ting" was a local court, held weekly, for civil and criminal causes. this court was held, or built, in an open field, outside the towns and villages, to be at a distance from taverns and ale-houses, and strong drink was strictly forbidden to be brought into court. from this court there was an appeal to the "land-ting"--a provincial court, held monthly, in the principal cities of the kingdom. the highest court of appeal was the "retter-ting," or royal court, where the king himself often presided. it was usually opened about the middle of march, by the king in person, attended by the various estates of the kingdom, and continued its sittings almost daily, until about christmas. the decrees of the "retter-ting" were final. each of these courts had its judges, secretaries, and assessors, for the trial of causes, and the administration of justice.--tr.] [footnote : the snowdrop is, in denmark, called "sommergiæk"--a summer "geek," or fool.] [footnote : "jomfru," the title of unmarried ladies in denmark.--tr.] [footnote : it is related in the "heimskringla," that harald hardrada (the stern), king of norway, in one of his plundering expeditions to the coast of jutland, heard that the daughters of thorkill geysu had, the previous winter, in mockery, cut their cheeses into the shape of anchors, and had boasted that with these anchors they might hold all the ships of the norwegian king. a spy, who had been sent from the fleet of king harald, came to these women, saying, "thorkill's daughters, ye said that king harald dared not come to denmark." dotté, thorkill's daughter, answered, "that was yesterday." the king of norway, having secured them, carried them off to his ships, and thorkill had to ransom them with a large sum.--tr.] [footnote : a diminutive, expressive of endearment. ingelil--i. e., little ingé: somewhat similar to our own diminutives in "ie" and "y"--as, annie, jenny, &c.--tr.] [footnote : jarl--(pronounced yarl)--an earl.--tr.] [footnote : the danish mile is rather more than four and a half english miles.--tr.] [footnote : a kind of chevaux-de-frise.] [footnote : about fifty english miles.--tr.] [footnote : hamlet, in his feigned madness, made wooden hooks, and hardened them by holding them in the heat of a fire. on being asked what he meant to do with these books, he replied, "to revenge the death of my father!" which all, but the more discerning, regarded as a proof of his insanity. the well-informed reader need scarcely be reminded that the discussion of drost peter and lady ingé on hamlet, had reference to that version of his history told by saxo grammaticus, and not to the more popular and beautiful version given by shakespeare in his immortal tragedy.--tr.] [footnote : king waldemar seier (the victorious) committed an injustice on count henry of schwerin, which the latter resolved to revenge. he came to the court of denmark, and contrived to gain the king's confidence. one day, when the king was resting in a lonely forest, after a day's hard hunting, count henry seized him and his eldest son, carried them on board a ship, and had them conveyed to the dungeons of the strong castle of schwerin, on the mecklenburg coast. it was only after the interference of the pope and other princes, and the payment of a large ransom, that waldemar and his son regained their freedom.--tr.] [footnote : according to popular superstition, the elfin ladies were fair to look upon, but hollow behind as a dough-trough, and were, in consequence, careful to prevent any one seeing their backs.--tr.] [footnote : these services for the murdered king erik commenced at three in the afternoon and were continued until six the following morning. even after the reformation, and down to , they were continued under the name of a vaadesang--a song for protection from surprise and assassination--when the then reigning king substituted a morning service, more in accordance with the usages of the reformed church.--tr.] [footnote : alfsdaughter. danish and norwegian surnames were, and we believe still are, formed in the following manner:--the male children take the name of the father or family, with the addition of "son;" the females the same name, with the addition of "daughter." thus we have alfson and alfsdaughter, the children of alf, erikson and eriksdaughter, the children of erik.--tr.] [footnote : literally, "shield-maids," or amazons. the sword tirfing, like king arthur's excalibar, was one of wonderful properties. it could never be drawn, even in jest, without causing the death of some one. the story of hervor, and the manner in which she recovered the fatal weapon from her father's cairn, or barrow, though interesting, is too long for the subject of a note. i have therefore ventured to give it in the form of an appendix, at the end of the work.--tr.] [footnote : the original of this ballad, which has little to boast of but its great antiquity, will be found in syr's kæmpeviser, p. .--tr.] [footnote : eagle's-borg or castle.] [footnote : perhaps from his favourite expression: "by all holy men!" (hellige mænd.) some, however, derive this surname from mændevid, or mandevid,(pronounced 'menved,' and signifying man-wit,) with reference to the young king's manly intelligence and sagacity.] [footnote : in the year following, sir algotson was beheaded on the spot where the abduction took place. thorstenson's intended bride subsequently became abbess of breta convent.] [footnote : in a storm at sea, he was, some time afterwards, by casting lots, condemned to death as a secret criminal. he then confessed his crimes before the crucifix, and leaped overboard. there is still extant a ballad, entitled "john rimaardson's confession."] [footnote : skalds: the appellation anciently given to the bards or poets.] [footnote : a small peninsula on the north coast of funen.] [footnote : several traditions have been preserved respecting marsk stig's death and funeral, and the abstraction of the pall that covered his coffin. one account states that he was interred at hintzeholm at midnight; that the priest's servant-maid, who had secretly witnessed the funeral, disclosed it to her master; that the priest ransacked the grave, and shared the velvet pall with the maid, who, shortly afterwards, was married to one of the marsk's swains; and that her husband, who saw the velvet on one of her pillows, and was informed by her how she had obtained it, fearful that his master's place of sepulchre would be discovered, killed her; although, as the tradition says, "he loved her very dearly." another account, quoted from a manuscript (a kind of parish-register, kept by a clergyman from the year ,) in the royal library of copenhagen, states, that the marsk had a granary on hielm, strongly fortified with mounds and ditches. opposite hielm, at biornkier, he had a barn-yard, bounded on one side by the sea, and on three others by a fresh-water lake, a great morass which was impassable, and a thick wood. in this wood which he could reach in an hour and a half's ride from hielm, he took his pleasure in hunting. it is related that on one of these journeys he became overheated and was taken ill, and, being obliged to dismount, he sat down on a stone and there died. his body was the same night carried to the church of helgeness, and honourably interred by our lady's altar; "and the priest, who then lived in the parsonage-house, had a maid-servant, who, going out to bring ale from a place under the north armoury, stopped and saw how they buried him, and laid a magnificent pall over his coffin; and when she found an opportunity, she had the grave dug up, and stole it away," &c. this story, the worthy priest adds, was told him by honest danes who were born in these parts, and had lived in the country more than a hundred years.--tr.] [footnote : danske viser fra midelalderen, d. p. .] [footnote : formed by the soldiers placing their shields and bucklers together in such a manner, as to present to the projectiles of a foe a compact circular wall and roof of iron.--tr.] [footnote : the danebrog, some readers are probably aware, is a danish order of knighthood. the history of the danebrog, or dannebrog, however, may not be so well known. it is related that when king waldemar seier was fighting against the heathenish laplanders, in order to convert them to the christian faith, archbishop andrew of lund stood on an eminence, as did moses of old, and prayed to heaven for the success of the danish arms. as long as he was able to keep his arms raised, the danes prevailed; but the moment he let them fall, through the feebleness of old age, the heathens gained the advantage; and the priests therefore supported his arms while the battle lasted. then happened this miracle, that when the principal banner of the danes was lost in the heat of battle, there descended from heaven a banner with a white cross in a field of red, by the influence of which the danes gained the victory. this precious banner was long preserved. the belief was general that with it victory was certain, and therefore it was called the dannebrog (the danes' fort or strength). on the spot where the battle took place, was built the town of wolmar, which takes its name from waldemar.--tr.] [footnote : the legend on this queen's seal was "agnes, dei gracia danorum slavorque regina."] [footnote : the "holmgang" was a species of single combat or pitched battle. the combatants were placed on an island, and left to fight with swords, until all on one or both sides fell. he who refused the holmgang, or attempted to escape from it; was called a nidding, and subjected to every species of insult and contempt. the "berserk-gang," or fighting phrensy, was, it has been supposed, produced by eating of some intoxicating herb.] [footnote : the incantation of hervor has been translated by herbert, in the work entitled "five pieces of runic poetry."] transcriber's notes: . page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/kingericandoutl chapgoog . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. king eric and the outlaws. vol. i. king eric and the outlaws. vol. i. notice to booksellers, proprietors of circulating libraries, and the public. * * * * * the publishers of this work give notice that it is copyright, and that in case of infringement they will avail themselves of the protection now granted by parliament to english literature. any person having in his possession for sale or for hire a foreign edition of an english copyright is liable to a penalty, which the publishers of this work intend to enforce. it is necessary also to inform the public generally, that single copies of such works imported by travellers for their own reading are now prohibited, and the custom-house officers in all our ports have strict orders to this effect. the above regulations are equally in force in our dependencies and colonial possessions. _london_, _june_, . london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. king eric and the outlaws; or, the throne, the church, and the people, in the thirteenth century. by ingemann translated from the danish by jane frances chapman. * * * * in three volumes. vol. i. * * * * london: longman, brown, green, & longmans, paternoster-row. . translator's preface. the historical records and traditions of denmark, as well as the modern productions of danish genius, are almost equally unknown to the general reader is england. while german, swedish, and italian works of any recognised merit, readily find translators, and the ancient ballads of spain have received their english dress from an able and poetic pen, it appears somewhat singular that so little notice has hitherto been bestowed on the literature of a country, whose rich historical recollections are so closely interwoven with those of anglo-saxon england. though but little known in other lands, the ancient traditional lore of scandinavia is nevertheless the source from which some of the most distinguished danish writers of the present day, have selected their happiest themes, and drawn their brightest inspiration. the influence of the saga, or traditional romance of scandinavia, and of the "kj[oe]mpe visé," or heroic ballad, is peculiarly apparent in the works of m. ingemann. the close adherence to historic outline--the development of character by action and dialogue--the delineation of scenery by brief though vivid sketches, in preference to elaborate description, are characteristics of saga romance which m. ingemann has been eminently successful in imparting to his own delineations of the chivalrous age of denmark. the kj[oe]mpe visé, or heroic ballads which succeeded to the saga in the north, and bear the impress of a kindred spirit, contain a store of historic tradition, and poetic incident, equally valuable to the antiquary who delights to trace the customs and manners of a remote age, and to the poet who seeks his inspiration from the historic muse of his fatherland. these vivid and truthful records of the middle ages of denmark are to the modern writer of romance, what the oral traditions of the heroic age were to the chronicler of the saga. they relate not only the exploits of northern warriors in their own, and in distant lands, but are also especially interesting, from the light they throw on the personal history of denmark's most chivalrous monarchs. their joys and sorrows, their sterner passions and gentler affections, are described by the national minstrel in a strain of simple and touching earnestness, which wins the full sympathy of the reader. this power of delineating human passion lends a charm even to some ballads, handing down the wildest superstitions of a superstitious age. in germany the danish ballads are known through the translations of professor grimm, who has entered with the enthusiasm both of an antiquary and a poet, into the spirit of scandinavian lore. in the preface to his version of the "kj[oe]mpe visé," m. grimm dwells with peculiar pleasure on those ballads which have not only supplied m. ingemann with much of the incident, but have also suggested the individual colouring of the historic portraits of "eric and the outlaws." all the prominent characters introduced into this romance from king eric himself, down to morten the cook, are historical, and enacted scarcely less romantic parts in the drama of real life, than those assigned them by m. ingemann. the struggle with papal authority--the encroachments of the hanse towns--and the invidious attempts of the "leccarii," (the socialists of the th century) were important features of that interesting period which this work is designed to illustrate. the translator is aware of the difficulty of attracting attention to a romance drawn from danish history; the work also makes its appearance without any of those adventitious advantages which sometimes ensure a favourable introduction to the public--it is translated by an unknown pen--is unaided by patronage of any kind--and has solely its own merits to rely on for success. it would afford no slight gratification to the translator were these to be appreciated by the reading public of a nation, which not only in its early history, is closely connected with denmark, but which has inherited from scandinavian ancestors, that indomitable spirit which rendered them in olden time masters of the seas. king eric and the outlaws. chapter i. on the north-eastern coast of zealand, about two miles from gilleleié, is situate the village of sjöberg, where the spade and the ploughshare occasionally strike against the foundations of ancient buildings, and traces yet remain of the paved streets of towns, the names of which are no longer known, and over which the corn now grows or the cattle graze. towards the close of the thirteenth century there was still standing a small town, built on the ruins of the ancient sjöberg. on a hill, surrounded by the water-reeds of the now nearly dried-up lake, fragments of walls of hewn free-stone lie buried in the earth, and mark the site of the strong and well fortified castle, which in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries served as a place of confinement for state prisoners of importance. the spot on which the castle stood was then entirely surrounded by the lake, which thus formed a natural fastness, rendering artificial moats superfluous. the castle was surrounded by ramparts. it was built of massive free-stone, and had a strong square tower, in which the most dangerous state prisoners were confined. the air was close and bad in the subterranean dungeon of the tower, where no ray of light could enter; but the upper dungeon, at the height of thirty-six feet from the ground, admitted light and air through a small round grated window. in this upper prison, towards the close of the year , was still confined one of the chief accomplices in marsk[ ] stig's conspiracy[ ], the turbulent and imperious archbishop iens grand. he had been imprisoned here during the minority of eric menved, as an accomplice in the murder of eric glipping, and as the protector of the outlawed regicides. this dangerous prelate had many adherents in the country, and possessed powerful friends among the potentates of europe, as well as at the papal see. according to the famous constitution of veile (_cum ecclesiæ dacianæ_), which had been the cause of such dangerous disputes between the kings and clergy of denmark, the nation was immediately laid under an interdict prohibiting the performance of divine worship throughout the kingdom, on the seizure and imprisonment of a bishop by the king or any temporal authority. this, however, was not carried into effect on the seizure and imprisonment of archbishop grand. not only love of their country and dread of the ungodliness, profligacy, and confusion, the certain consequences of a national punishment of this nature, had prompted the greater part of the danish clergy to appeal to the pope against the enforcement of this penalty, but also their fears of temporal power and the people's wrath. the closing of the churches might have been followed by perilous consequences to the clergy themselves, at a time when the agitation caused by a regicide had not yet subsided, and the excited passions of the populace often broke out in scenes of blood and violence. this important question remained undecided at the court of rome. divine worship meanwhile was continued as usual, but fears were reasonably entertained, that, should the archbishop not speedily be set at liberty, the interdict would be confirmed by the pope, and the nation consequently plunged into a state of the greatest misery. king eric menved had attained his majority, having completed his twenty-first year. the circumstances under which he had passed his childhood had conduced to the early formation of manly character, and to the development of his intellectual qualities. the outrage committed on the royal person, to which he had been witness in his childhood, had early awakened the consciousness of authority within his breast, and imparted something of passionate earnestness to his zeal in the administration of justice. he was deeply imbued with the chivalrous spirit of the age. the care with which he upheld the dignity of the crown was deemed by many a necessary policy in so perilous a time, but this anxiety for the maintenance of royal splendour, joined to his natural gaiety of disposition, had inspired the young monarch with a love of pomp and outward show, which was often censured as ostentatious vanity. the earnest solemnity with which he assumed the regal sceptre indicated a manly and resolute temper, early disciplined to firmness in the school of adversity; and the boldness with which he issued his first royal mandates bespoke a master spirit, conscious of kindred affinity with waldemar the victorious, the model as well as the ancestor of the young king,[ ] eric's first exercise of royal power was a bold attempt to assert the authority of his crown against the mightiest of earthly potentates, who from st. peter's chair swayed kings as well as people in all christian lands. this the young monarch dared to do, even at a time when his personal happiness was in a great measure dependent on the favour of the papal see. he had despatched his oldest and most experienced councillor of state, ion little, as well as drost hessel[ ], to rome, to justify as an act of lawful self-defence the proceedings against the archbishop, contrary to ecclesiastical law, and to demand his condemnation as a traitor to the crown. but besides this important mission, the aged councillor was entrusted with another, which at any other time would not have been attended with difficulty, although at the present juncture its favourable issue seemed doubtful, in proportion to its being of moment to the king. little had been commissioned to obtain from the pope, and forward to denmark with all possible dispatch, the long promised dispensation, empowering eric to wed the beautiful princess ingeborg of sweden, to whom he had been betrothed in infancy, and had long loved as the companion of his childhood, and whom he now adored with all the devotedness and fervour of first and youthful love. while the danish embassy was detained at the papal court by all the artifices of tedious investigation and diplomatic ambiguity, the papal nuncio, cardinal isarnus, had been dispatched to denmark, for the purpose of threatening the young danish sovereign with excommunication in case he should refuse to release the archbishop unconditionally from imprisonment. the wily cardinal brought with him no letter from the pope touching the dispensation and permission for the royal marriage; but expressed himself on the subject in so dubious and enigmatical a manner, that it was evident the court of rome designed to work upon the inexperienced monarch's feelings in a matter so nearly concerning his personal happiness, in order the more effectually to secure his submission to papal authority and his clemency towards the ecclesiastical offender at sjöberg. this mode of proceeding, however, was so far from producing, its intended effect on the young and impetuous king eric, that it appeared to rouse him to such a pertinacious defiance of papal authority, as might be followed by dangerous consequences both to himself and the kingdom. the affair still remained undecided--the cardinal had quitted denmark with fearful menaces, and was now at lubec. the haughty archbishop grand, who was alone the cause of this suspense and impending danger, was detained meanwhile in close captivity. during the first thirty-six weeks of his imprisonment he was confined in chains in the dark, deep, subterranean dungeon of the tower, and was left to suffer great misery and want, although most persons acquitted the young king (then in his minority) of having been accessary to this severity of treatment. the archbishop's fellow-prisoner, the traitorous and malevolent provost jacob, had been released from prison on the plea of illness, but had immediately availed himself of this act of clemency to hasten to rome, where he zealously laboured to stir up hostile feelings towards the king, and neglected no means of forwarding the liberation of the archbishop and their mutual revenge. the preceding christmas the king had visited sjöberg, and had himself offered to give the archbishop his freedom, on the condition of his vacating the archiepiscopal chair, of his quitting the kingdom, and swearing to renounce all revenge, and give up all connection with the enemies of the crown. notwithstanding the haughty defiance and scorn with which the archbishop had rejected this proposition, the rigour of his captivity was mitigated by the king's command, and he was placed in the upper dungeon he now inhabited, where he wanted neither light nor air, but where, as yet, he remained closely guarded and strongly fettered as before. as soon, however, as the king had left the castle, the condition of the captive became once more extremely miserable. the steward, jesper mogensen, was notorious for his avarice, his cruelty, and hypocritical bearing; and the king's brother. junker[ ] christopher, was accused of having had a great share in the severity of the archbishop's treatment, although the prince took every opportunity of blaming the king's conduct in this matter, and counselled him to make any sacrifice and submit to any humiliation, to avoid a formal breach with the church and the papal see. one evening in the month of october the steward of sjöberg, accompanied by the cook and an old turnkey, ascended the winding stairs which led to the archbishop's prison and to the turnkey's chamber immediately above it. the strong light of a dark lanthorn, which the cook held up before him, fell full upon the countenance and form of the steward:--he was a short, strong-built man, with a true hangman's visage, in which the expression of ferocity and malice was combined with an air of wily hypocrisy; a shaggy cap was slouched over his low and narrow forehead; he wore a dirty coat of sheep's skin, and tramped up the stone stairs in heavy iron-shod boots, apparently in great wrath and alarm. "that limb of satan! that ungodly priest!" he muttered, "if he hath dealings with the evil one, chains will be of no use here." "as i tell thee, master," answered the portly, round-faced cook, with an air of importance, "he talks with invisible spirits, and no turnkey dares any longer watch by him. he is as regularly bound to the evil one as i am to thee, saving that _he_ cannot shift his service, and leave his master when he pleases; you remember, no doubt, i gave you warning at the right time, and am free to be off either to-day or to-morrow, if i please. the devil take me if i stay longer here, since--since he is here already, i was near saying." "pshaw, morten! thou shalt stay here till i get another cook: that thou didst promise me. but what hath given rise to all this talk about his sorceries?" "there is something in it," answered the cook. "no one knows the black art out and out as he does. you know yourself that junker christopher's folk found the book on the black art among the letters from the outlaws, when they ferreted the bishop's secrets out of the chest in lund sacristy. the book burned their fingers, and vanished instantly out of their hands. such a devil's book always comes back to its master. that he hath not got it as yet, i am certain; but i fear he has it all at his fingers' ends. they said he never wearied of studying it at lund, and he knows all the heathen and greek books better by heart than his paternoster, the ungodly hound!" "thou art right, morten! he _is_ a limb of satan, and one cannot watch him too narrowly. his confounded learning never hit my fancy." here the steward paused thoughtfully near the door of the archbishop's prison. "yes, take care, master!" resumed the cook; "he will soon fill the house with his devilries, and set all the imps in hell to plague us, if he doth not get his prison cleaned, and better meat and drink. it would please me right well were he to die of hunger and be eaten up of vermin. such end would still be a thousand times too good for such an accursed traitor and wizard; but when the evil one is in the house, it is wisest to remember one's own little transgressions, and not use a captive devil worse than we would he should use us." "pshaw, morten! the devil is not our neighbour," interrupted the steward with a suspicious look. "had i not myself heard thee curse and mock the archbishop, i should almost suspect thou wert in league with him." "nay, master! i can soon clear myself of that; i would sooner league with beelzebub himself. the turnkeys can bear witness there is not one among them all that takes such delight in plaguing and vexing him as i do. when he is forced to drink muddy water, and eat mouldy bread like a swine yonder, i sing drinking songs below in the kitchen, and throw open the window that he may snuff up the scent of the roasting; and i never come nigh his door without singing one thing or another, which i know will make him turn yellow, black, and green with rage. i made a song last spring, all about freedom and fair green woods, that always enrages him. now you shall hear, master:" and he sang loudly before the prison door,-- "a blithe bird flits round sjöberg's tower, right merrily sings he, rise, captive, if thou hast the power, rise up and flee with me; and then thou'lt breathe the fresh spring air, and roam in greenwood gay; then speed we to thy castle fair, to hammershuus away." "hast thou lost thy wits, morten?" interrupted the steward. "wouldst thou stir him up to flee to his castle at bornholm?" "he may let that alone while he is here. heard you not how deep he sighed? it was from rage and grief to think the least spring bird can fly to its castle and build its nest, while he can stir neither hand nor foot. i made that song on purpose to plague him." "thou art right, morten! it _did_ plague him," said the steward with a look of satisfaction. "thou art an honest soul; i heard myself how deep he sighed: nevertheless, thou shalt not sing him any more such songs; they only serve to put fancies into his head. thou art a good, well-meaning fellow, morten! i know it well; but thou art somewhat simple. if the bishop knew the black art, he would not have been here so long. i rather incline to think his brain is cracked." "have a care, master; that fellow hath all his wits about him; there is not a bishop in all the country can beat him at latin." "it matters not to me whether he be mad or wise," muttered the steward, who mounted the stairs leading to the turnkey's room. he opened the door of this chamber, which was the uppermost in the tower, and directly above the archbishop's prison. here two turnkeys were always on guard, and watched the prisoner through a chink in the floor. during the night two others were usually stationed in the captive's dungeon, and sat beside his couch, when it was their wont to plague him, and by their talk often to prevent his sleeping; but the report which had recently been spread abroad of the archbishop's sorceries, had so terrified the inmates of sjöberg, that none dared any longer remain at night in the captive's chamber. the two sentinels were seated before a backgammon board, and were throwing the dice when the steward entered. they hastily concealed them, and rose respectfully. "this is doing duty finely," muttered the steward: "while ye sit here and game, ye suffer him below there to play with satan for his soul. ye had best keep your eyes upon him, i counsel ye. if he gets loose, ye may make as sure of being hanged, as if ye had already the halter round your necks, and the clear air for a footstool. now let's see what he is after." so saying the steward stooped down to the hole in the floor and peeped below. "he surely sleeps," he whispered; "he lies on his back without stirring." "that he is well nigh forced to do, because of his chains and the pestilent smell," said the cook. "well," answered the steward, "one should not despise any means which might save an erring soul. it is for this reason, seest thou, i suffer the hardened sinner below there to lie in such swinish plight. _ignorant_ folk would call it cruel; it is in truth pure compassion. how long thinkest thou the most hardened offender can hold out such captivity without repenting of his misdeeds and creeping to the cross?" "ay, there doubtless you are in the right, master! you have pious and fatherly manner, and even generously exposed yourself to the risk of drawing down on you the king's wrath a second time, simply for the sake of exercising true christian compassion, and saving the sinner's soul; but he is insensible to it, the scoundrel. his obstinacy is matchless. could you believe it, master? notwithstanding all you do to bring him to repentance and conversion, he curses you, nevertheless, every hour of the day, and wishes you may come to suffer a thousand times more torments in hell than you have here caused him to undergo out of pure christian charity!" "i can well believe it, morten; from such sort of folk one should never look for gratitude; but the roof and ceiling are in too sorry a plight," muttered the steward looking around him: "under the blue sky he needs not to sleep, either; it might be dangerous besides." "it was done according to your own order, master," resumed the cook in a credulous tone, and staring with an air of simplicity at the holes in the ceiling and the roof, "else it could never have rained down on that confounded satan. of a surety he will let alone flying with the owls through the roof; and when the nights are cold, a little rain and hail are right proper means of bringing him to reflection and confession of his sins." "well, it is true, morten; i myself _partly_ commanded it: but one should have moderation in all things; it should not appear as if the roof had been uncovered on purpose. evil tongues will have plenty to talk of as it is. to-morrow the roof shall be repaired. some small holes may remain--they will not catch the eye--fresh air is wholesome; even a little rain and snow may have their use. not a rain-drop falls to the earth, morten, but it may prove a means for the conversion of a hardened sinner." "ah, master," said morten, with a tremulous voice and clasped hands, "you should, by my troth, have been a bishop: you often speak so touchingly and edifyingly that the tears start into mine eyes." "well," answered the steward with a self-satisfied smile, "i was, indeed, once intended to become a churchman, and though i got not the tonsure, i nevertheless learned many pious and useful truths during my noviciate; but it is not sufficient to _know_ the truth, we must, by my troth, know how to _use_ it for one's own and one's fellow-creature's salvation." "ah, yes, master," resumed morten, with a devout look, "who is there can say _that_ with as good a conscience as yourself? 'tis a hard calling for a pious christian conscience and a compassionate soul like yours, to be forced to play such bloodhound and hangman's tricks on a poor captive; but what will not one do for duty and precious virtue's sake, and to save an erring soul! such a pious bloodhound and hangman----" "hold thy tongue, morten," interrupted the steward; "thou must never use such words in speaking of thy master, however well and honestly thou meanst it. but hark! he speaks below there: canst hear what he says? it seems to me it is latin or greek." the cook threw himself on his stomach and laid his ear close to the hole in the floor. "our lady preserve us!" he whispered with a look of affright, "he is calling on aristoteles, the devil's schoolmaster, and is giving him directions about you; he swears that you are right ready to enter his school." "ay, indeed, it is just like the ungodly scoundrel! but i thought i heard another voice--there is surely no one with him?" morten listened again. "master! heard you _that_?" he exclaimed, springing up with a look of terror, and looking towards the door as if he meant to escape. "how now? what's that? what hath possessed thee, morten? what heardest thou?" "stoop down your ear to the hole, master, and you shall hear. our lady graciously preserve us! the evil one is manifestly with him. he is to fetch you at midnight if you do not presently give his good friend, the archbishop, meat and wine and clean garments. only listen yourself!" the steward cast a suspicious look at the cook, yet stooped to listen at the hole, keeping his eye all the while on morten and the terrified turnkeys. he had not remained long in this position, ere he rose up deadly pale, and the name of jesper mogensen, accompanied by the sound of smothered and unnatural laughter, rung hollow as from an abyss, and in a voice wholly unlike the archbishop's. "heard ye it not yourself, master?" said morten; "he who now calls on _you_ i desire not to see near _me_." "silence!" whispered the steward, stooping again with a look of alarm towards the crevice in the floor. "jesper mogensen!" said the same terrific voice as if directly under his feet, "cherish my learned master and customer, or i will break thy neck, and turn inside out thy hypocritical soul." while this voice rang through the chamber the turnkeys lay flat on their faces on the floor, and repeated their avemaria. the steward trembled and shook; but morten's cheeks now glowed crimson, and his eyes watered, as if affected by some secret exertion, while his lips were firmly compressed, and he stood apparently speechless with terror. "then let him have what he wants," stammered forth the steward. "if there are _such_ tricks in the game, neither junker christopher, nor any one else, can require me to peril my life and soul any longer. set thee to roast for the bishop in satan's name, morten! let him eat and drink himself to death if he pleases! but escape he shall not, let him have ever so many devils for his friends." "you will find it hard to hinder him, master," said morten in a timid tone; "he who so can roar would deem it a small matter to fly through the key-hole with a bishop." "i must see that, ere i believe it," said the steward, who appeared to have regained his self-possession, and recovered from his fright. "thou art an honest fellow, morten, but thou art somewhat credulous and simple--there is perhaps some trick in this. but this i would have thee, and all of ye, to know--if i smell a rat, or if any of ye have the least hand or part in this devilry, ye shall rue it dearly: ye shall be burned alive, or broken on the wheel, as surely as there is law and justice in the land." "our lady preserve us, master!" exclaimed the terrified turnkeys in the same breath. "i tell ye," continued the steward, "'tis nought else but trick and treachery. to try him below there, i will let him have good cheer and cleanliness for a time; but if he kicks up any more riots of this kind, he shall below in the dungeon again: and this i tell ye, knaves! if any of you dare help him to flight, one for all, and all for one, ye shall be hanged! ye shall all three watch here to-night." "alack! we dare not, master!" said the old turnkey. "if there is sorcery in the tower, we dare not stay here, unless morten the cook stay too, to keep up our courage." "stay, then, with these stupid knaves to-night, morten!" said the steward. "after all thou art the wisest among them. i shall owe thee for it, and to-morrow i shall get fellows enough with some spirit in them." "it is all one to me, master!" answered morten. "i will keep up their spirits tonight. he who, like you and i, hath a good conscience, need not fear a few devil's tricks." "true enough, morten! thou shalt first follow me down stairs. i am somewhat dizzy from stooping; and then thou canst at the same time fetch meat and drink for the prisoner and all of ye." "come, master, take hold of my arm!" said morten, following the steward out of the door. "all is quiet and orderly," he continued, as they descended the stair. "i thought it would be so--one good turn deserves another. you'll find, we shall get at last so used to these impish tricks that we shall not care a rush for them; and why should not one learn to put up with two or three little devils, when they choose to behave themselves courteously, and live in christian concord and sweet family union with us?" when morten had attended the steward to the bottom of the stairs, he ran into his chamber, and from thence to the kitchen and pantry. he presently mounted the tower stairs again, and returned to his comrades with a bundle of clothes, two baskets of provisions, and a couple of flagons of wine. "take thou the meat and wine and clothes to the hound below, mads!" said he to the old turnkey; "but steal not aught thereof on the way! master says the chamber is to be made clean and neat. a guard will henceforth be placed outside the door night and day, so that thou need'st not load him with all the fetters. meanwhile let us here get something to keep life in us. look, comrades! i have both mead and german ale with me. only get thee gone, mads; we will surely leave something for thee, if thou comest back sober." the old man cast a longing look at the wine and good cheer he was to take to the captive, and departed. morten now busied himself in placing the provisions on the table, and presently began to carouse merrily with the two younger turnkeys. the one had borne arms, and styled himself niels the horseman; he was a lover of strong drink, and had rather a red nose. the other was a timid and cautious personage, with a cunning and miserly cast of countenance. he sat with the dice in his hands, and counted the number of marks he had won from his comrades. "thou art an excellent fellow, morten," said niels the horseman, pushing back the cap which shaded his sun-burnt and martial visage, while he drained his cup of mead, and seized on the flagon of ale. "thou knowest well how to furnish a guard-room when one is required to keep one's eyes open and one's spirits up. by my soul! i would rather keep guard in a camp over a whole army of captives than sit here, especially if the confounded bishop understands the black art, and such-like devilry. what dost think of all this, morten?" "truly, that is not for laymen to judge of," answered morten. "i know neither the white nor the black art; but _this_ i know, henceforth let there be ever such a stir below there, _i_ budge not from my seat. when we keep our noses out of mischief, and strive to mind our duty, we shall be left in peace, and can sit here as quiet as though we lay in abraham's bosom. now drink, niels! and thou, jörgen, what art _thou_ thinking of?" said he to the man with the dice. "i warrant thou wouldst rather kill the time in gaming, than in honest and innocent drink. now, by our lady! every man hath his crotchets in this world, but we must ever sing with the birds we live with. first, comrade, sing and drink with us, and we will play afterwards with thee. we have bright silver pieces in plenty." so saying, the merry cook threw a handful of silver money on the table, and began to sing a joyous drinking song. jörgen looked covetingly at the silver, and shook the dice. "come, good morten, let's play first," said he, in a coaxing tone, and with a crafty smile, "and we can sing and drink afterwards." "darest thou throw for a silver piece?" "for twenty, if thou wilt," answered morten; "but i snap my fingers at dice and silver pieces, as long as i can get aught to moisten my tongue; it is the most important member in the world, seest thou, and well deserves to be cherished. that little instrument can turn whole kingdoms topsy-turvy. i am already half drunk, i perceive, and thou hast not lifted the cup to thy lips as yet. the man who games with me must be as jovial a soul as myself." "well, then, pour me out half a can of ale, if it be not too strong," said the cautious jörgen. "mead instantly gets into my head: when one would play a fair game, one should always be able to count to six; besides, we are not sent here to drink ourselves drunk, i trow." "just as much to drink as to game," answered morten; "but leave that to me! i know the strength of the ale well, and what four fellows can stand, provided they be not carlines."[ ] the turnkeys drank, and morten replenished their cups.--"know ye the news, comrades?" he continued, raising his voice, as he seated himself at his ease, with his arms resting on the table; "we may presently expect the king here at the castle; then will there be no lack of drink. money, and mead, and wine, and saxon ale, will flow here, as in blessed paradise." "the king!" said niels the horseman; "then of a surety will there be fine doings here; he will, by my troth! give the huntsman something to do." "you will see, then, the bishop will get loose," said jörgen the turnkey, rolling the dice as he spoke, "for he is surely not so mad as to put the king in a rage again, as he did the last time." "_he_ cares not for the king's wrath," answered the cook; "that fellow minds neither king nor emperor; and if it be true that the pope in rome sides with him, the king may go to the wall at last." "what can the pope do to _our_ king?" asked niels the horsemen; "he dwells in italy, far over the sea yonder, and hath neither horsemen nor ships to send hither." "but he hath that which stands him in better stead," said morten; "he hath got a bunch of keys, so heavy that a hundred men can't carry them, and with those he can both open and shut heaven and hell, to each one of us, just as it likes him. hell-gate he willingly leaves open, for there is ever a throng in _that_ quarter; but heaven's gate, by my troth! he locks every evening himself, and lays the keys under his pillow." "but st. peter keeps the gate," responded niels; "he must ever stand sentinel there night and day." "right, niels! but st. peter is the pope's cousin only; besides, the pope keeps him under finger and thumb, and takes the keys from him every evening, as soon as it grows dark, just as the steward takes the keys from thee: the pope, moreover, is the lord's stadtholder, as thou surely know'st; and when he is wroth, he is able by a single word to shut up all the churches in the country, and give all of us, body and soul, to the devil." "our lady preserve us!" said niels, crossing himself; "and think'st thou he durst act thus by our king and all christian folk here in the country?" "yes, he threatens hard to do it, they say. the devil take the confounded bishop below, there! _he_ is the cause of all this ill luck; 'twere better for king and country had he long since shown us a pair of clean heels." "think'st thou so, morten! 'tis arrant folly, then, to pen the fellow up here as they do?" "that's the king's business," answered morten; "he surely knows what he is about; and hath doubtless his own reasons for what he does. the bishop had a hand in the game when they made away with his father in the barn at finnerup--'tis true king glipping was worth little enough, but he was king nevertheless, and the murder was a lawless business: our lord forbid i should defend it! no one can think ill of our young king because he can't forgive the bishop; but, as i said before, state and country would fare better were the king less strict, and the bishop gone to the devil." while this dialogue was carrying on, the old turnkey returned half intoxicated, and threw himself on a bench before the drinking table. "how now, mads! what red cheeks thou hast got," said the cook, laughing; "thou must surely have accredited the bishop's wine: thou didst right! who could know whether it might not be poisoned?" "death and pestilence, morten! what art prating of?" lisped forth the old man in a fright, and spit upon the floor. "i have not so much as tasted a drop of his wine; nevertheless, thou shouldst not jest about such things." "be easy, old fellow!" said morten, in a soothing tone; "i myself drank of it on the stairs. well! what said he to the change?" "not so much as yon stone flask, comrade! the hound would sooner let himself be spitted than speak a fair word to any man: perhaps, too, he thought it was poison i brought him,--but, death and pestilence!"--here he paused and spit again--"i can never believe"---- "make thyself easy, mads! thou knowest thou hast not tasted a drop; at any rate here is something to rince thy throat with, which i warrant thee is good and wholesome. i will sing thee a merry song the while; which will do the bishop good as well." while morten again replenished his comrades' cups, he cleared his throat and sang: "in sjöborg tower a spider's web holds sure a struggling fly; he once was king and country's dread, and held his head full high. then strive and toil, and toil and strive, that web thou'lt never leave alive." "what song is that?" asked niels the horseman; "i never heard it before." "it was made to mock the bishop below," said morten; "and _i_ it was who made it. now ye shall hear; for to plague him properly, and mock his useless learning, i have managed to cram a little latin into it that i learned of father gregory:" and morten continued,-- "for crimen læsæ majestatis, the spider's web doth prison thee. custodibus inebriatis, a thief shall catch a thief, thou'lt see. then strive and toil, and toil and strive, that web thou'lt never leave alive." while the cook thus sang in a loud voice, the clanking of chains was heard below in the archbishop's dungeon, and the two half-drunken turnkeys started from their seats, while jörgen, who was still sober, took the opportunity of conveying a couple of the cook's silver pieces into his own pocket. "let him writhe in his chains, the hound!" said morten, remaining quietly seated; "he hears well enough how i mock him in the song, and that enrages him; but it does him good." "right, morten!" said niels the horseman, as he peeped through the chink in the floor. "he twists in his chains, as though he were possessed--thou may'st be sure it is the latin that vexes him--but no matter for that. i would have him hear, that we lay folk know a thing or two as well as himself." "come, let's drink, comrades!" called the cook, and continued to sing, as he rose from the bench, and staggered, as if half-intoxicated, about the chamber:-- "thy latin hast thou clean forgot? and canst not catch the blithe bird's lay? then dark and dreary be thy lot, within these walls thou'lt pine away. then strive and toil, and toil and strive, that web thou'lt never leave alive. "hast thou a message to rome? hark! the bird sings right cunningly! or farther yet, from my greenwood home? speak! and i'll haste far o'er the sea. then strive and toil, and toil and strive, that web thou'lt never leave alive." as he sang the last verse, he fell down flat beside the hole, above the archbishop's dungeon, and peeped through it. "the false knave mocks me," he heard the captive murmur with a deep sigh. "then strive and toil, and toil and strive, thou'lt never leave that web alive," sang morten at the top of his lungs, while he reeled about, and continued to repeat the burden of the song, in which the turnkeys joined with loud laughter. "thou art gloriously drunk, morten!" said niels the horseman, in an inarticulate voice, and fell under the table. "thou shouldst bethink thee, we are on guard here, and not at an ale-house:" so saying, the man-at-arms rested his heavy head on a stone flagon, which lay on the floor, and fell asleep. "but what hath become of niels the horseman?" said the old turnkey, who had in the meantime drained a large flagon of potent saxon ale (noted for its intoxicating properties). "i'll be hanged if i can see him." "he is snoring under the table there, the guzzling hound!" answered jörgen; "ye are pretty fellows, truly, to keep a night watch: i shall have to watch and be sober for ye all. come, morten! let us two keep our wits about us, and mind our duty! there lie thy silver pieces swimming in ale and mead--let's clear the table--shall we venture a throw for them? he who gets the highest throw shall pocket them; thou mayest throw first, an thou likest." "done!" said morten; "but we must play fair." as he said this, he took the dice and threw. "if thou canst count, count, jörgen, he stuttered, without looking at the dice. "two, three--seven thou hast only got," answered jörgen, hastily sweeping up the dice; "look, it is my turn now:" he threw the dice, which turned up a high number. "i've won! the money is mine! look thyself!"--he swept the money towards him. "i doubt thee not--thou art an honest fellow," answered morten, reeling, as he filled his comrade's cup, "the money is thine, but, by my soul! thou shalt now drink to the health of my true love, and then i will lie down to sleep. if thou drink not that cup clean out, i shall hold thee for a rascally cheat." "well, then, good morten, here's to the health of the pretty karen jeppé of gilleleié! see'st thou, i am a man of my word," said jörgen, and drank--"there is not a drop left in the can." "that's right! thou art an honest soul after all," lisped the cook, tumbling on the floor, where he soon began to snore louder than any of the others. "the dull brute!" muttered jörgen, who began to feel somewhat muddled; "one may lead him by the nose as much as one likes." it was not long, however, before he leaned his head on his arms upon the table, and slept soundly. hardly had he begun to snore, ere the cook rose, perfectly sober, and narrowly scrutinised the faces of the three sleeping turnkeys by the dim light of the lamp. as soon as he was satisfied that they slept soundly, morten crept softly to the hole in the floor, and looked down on the prisoner. "venerable sir!" he whispered, "i have managed to drink them all three dead drunk; they are sleeping like logs--you need not doubt me. i have always been true and devoted to you. i was forced to plague and vex you, to throw dust in the eyes of others. i will do your bidding, wherever you please to send me." "is this earnest, morten?" whispered the captive archbishop. "it is, by my soul and honour!" answered the cook; "you saved my life, and concealed what you well wot of; therefore have i vowed to saint martin to save your life--at whatever cost." "in the lord's name, then, i will believe thee," said the prisoner. "if thou wouldst save my life, hie thee to copenhagen, to my canon hans rodis, and consult with him! bid him send me pen and ink--a file--and a ladder of ropes." "hans rodis is at esrom, my lord," answered the cook; "he bade me put this little sausage into your pious hands. if the chains will let you, hold up your hands, just as you lie there! look, now! see how well we have hit the mark!" in saying this, the cook pushed through the aperture a thin rolled-up packet, concealed in a sausage; it was fastened to a string, by which he lowered it, holding the end fast in his hand. "i have it," said the captive, "praised be the king of kings! my faithful servant hath sent me what i need--let not go the string," he continued, after a pause; "bring the lamp to the hole--but one single ray of light!" the cook obeyed in silence. "i am writing a word of moment to my commandant at hammershuus; wilt thou put it faithfully into his own hands?" "i will, by my soul! only make haste." "thy reward will be great in heaven, as on earth; but give me light, light!" "all is arranged," whispered the cook, holding the lamp closer to the hole; "let us but make sure of hammershuus, and all will be well! the fitting time will be when ye see me again; meanwhile use the file with caution. i and the canon will care for the rest; niels brock and his friends will help us. johan kysté and olé ark are here. be of good courage, venerable sir! you may depend on me. but haste! those drunken dogs are stirring--i fear they will awake." "one moment more!" whispered the captive. "pull up--all is ready," he continued, after a short pause. morten hastily drew up the string, and found a sheet of parchment rolled up in the skin of the sausage, which was fastened to it: he carefully concealed it. "hush! they wake!" he whispered. "i must set to work again." so saying, the portly cook rolled himself on the floor among the intoxicated and half-awakened turnkeys, and began to belabour them with all his might. "hollo, there! now for a beating of meat!" he shouted, "now for a pounding of pepper! how come we by this lump in the porridge? it must be well beaten out." "oh, oh! art thou mad, morten!" cried niels the horseman. "have done with thy chatter, i know what i am about," continued morten, still laying about him. "i am neither mad nor drunk; but the devil take me if i stay longer here!--must you, clod-pates, have your say too, and fancy yourselves wiser than the cook? would you make me believe i have horsemen in the pot?" while morten thus shouted and talked, as though intoxicated to an excess he overturned the lamp, reeled in the dark out of the chamber, and rolled himself down the stairs. when the keepers, on the following morning, had recovered the full use of their senses the cook had disappeared, and was nowhere to be found in the castle. chap. ii. at sunrise next morning, the brisk broad-shouldered cook, with a large club in his hand, took his way through the wood skirting esrom lake[ ], accompanied by two other wanderers. it was a foggy morning; large flocks of wild geese flew with shrill cries over the lake, and the fallen leaves of the forest were swept along the path by the sharp morning breeze. the cook and his companions proceeded in silence and with hasty steps; and it was not until the sun began to disperse the cold mists of morning, that morten cleared his throat, and sang a merry ballad. his companions were two strong broad-shouldered fellows, with red wadmal cloaks, over dirty leathern breeches, and with broad swords and daggers in their thickly padded belts, which also appeared to serve them as purses. they had the appearance of deserters or dismissed men-at-arms; they both wore beards in the fashion of king's horsemen, but seemed to have long neglected all attention to cleanliness and personal neatness. their unwashed faces betokened want of sleep and fitting rest. the heads of a couple of flails served them as walking staves. they bore on their backs large bundles of rich attire, from which pieces of smoked meat and other provisions protruded. their long uncombed hair hung about their shoulders; the skin and hair of both were so dark, and their countenances had so little of a danish cast, that they would have passed for foreigners, had not their dialect proclaimed them to be peasants from lolland; who, at any rate, could not prove their evidently vandal extraction in the first generation. the taller of the two had lost an eye, and the other had a huge scar between his nose and mouth, which looked like a hare lip, and his sharp projecting teeth gave him a ferocious appearance, resembling that of a wild boar. the three wanderers occasionally looked behind them, as if they apprehended a pursuit; but they only beheld the white gable ends of esrom monastery, which they had passed a short time before. "now, thanks for good companionship," said morten, as he halted at a cross road in the forest. "it were best we part company for the present; ye understand what i said to you--ye are to hide yourselves at gilleleié, and watch every night, until ye see the skiff with the black pennant, then push off with jeppé's boat, and set me on shore: meanwhile watch narrowly all that goes on here, and who goes in and out of the castle. what niels brock and the archbishop have promised, you may make sure of. but then ye must not be self-willed; ye will never be able to get him out by force, and if the king and marsk oluffsen come hither to-day or to-morrow, ye might lightly get hanged and ruin every thing." "leave that to us, sly morten," said the man with the one eye. "johan kysté well knows what he is about. i committed but one folly in my life; 'twas on that easter eve i deserted from the marsk, and took the palfrey from the pious clerk; i did but knock a little hole in his skull, but it was large enough for his bit of a soul to slink out of: one should let holy men go their way in peace; for this, i am now forced to put up with one eye. i vowed, therefore, to our lady and st. joseph, to become pious and god-fearing from that very hour, and never more to lay my hand on other than laymen." "a pious resolve," said morten: "wert thou not such a bloodhound and cut-throat, i could almost believe thy soul might be saved as yet, even shouldst thou steal and rob in a small way at times." "it bids fair to be so," answered the one-eyed. "i have a letter of absolution from the archbishop, within my woollen jerkin, that will stand me in good stead when all the world besides marches to hell. truly i served the learned master grand faithfully by night and day these many years, therefore hath the pious archbishop given me freedom from fasting, and absolution for sins for ten whole years: he hath not spared his silver pieces either; and shall i now suffer them to shut up such a man, and thereby rob so many honest fellows of a living? what sayest thou, olé ark? shall we suffer it any longer? hath master grand deserved it of us?" "pshaw! kysté; who says thou art to suffer it, and leave him in the lurch?" interrupted morten. "we all want to have him out; but we would not be as fools, trying to burst open the doors with their own thick skulls. force will not help us here--do but as i bid thee, and keep thy courage until we want it." "morten is right, kysté," began the other lollander, with a hideous grin, which displayed his projecting teeth. "thou art a mad bull, and art ever ready to push with thy horns. why haste so desperately to get him out? he was a good and generous man of god while he was in power, 'tis true, but since he hath lain in sjöborg we have heard no great things of him, and have not been blessed with the sight of a stiver from his hand." "dull cod-fish!" replied johan kysté, hastily; "believest thou not what honest morten hath vowed and promised us in the bishop's name? as soon as we get him out we are his steersmen at bornholm, and get leave to catch what we can throughout the king's dominions." "hold, comrade," said morten, correcting him. "it is only so long as the breach lasts between the king and the archbishop, that he gives you leave to drive that trade: it is only in the service of the church, and the pious bishop, that it may be lawful and christian for a time; afterwards ye must content yourselves with what he gives you of his own, and lead quiet lives: but ere this day twelvemonth, you may feather your nests finely. now begone, and neglect not what ye have taken upon ye, for the sake of other desperate pranks! i will not have you longer with me: if any one caught me in such fair company, they might take a fancy to hang me up by the side of you, for honest companionship's sake." "ho! ho! wouldst _thou_ play the lordling, morten?" said the one-eyed; "what higher honour couldst _thou_ look for, thou turnspit!--but hark! what was that? are there hunters in the wood so early?" the sound of hunting-horns, the tramp of horses, and the baying of hounds, was heard in the neighbourhood: the three wanderers hastened forward a few paces, but soon suddenly sprang aside in different directions. "s'death! the king and all his courtiers!" exclaimed morten, sheltering himself behind a large beech tree by the road side, while both his suspicious-looking comrades hid themselves among the thick brushwood. a numerous hunting train drew near; at the head rode the young king, between the drost and the marsk: it was a noble sight to see the young chivalrous king eric on horseback. he rode a tall milk-white horse, which seemed proud of its burden, and often fell into the artificial dancing-pace to which it was used in the tilt and tournay. its bridle and saddle accoutrements glittered with gold and precious stones: the silken rein with which the king managed his steed was the only compulsory means to which it would submit; the slightest touch of the golden rowel in the king's spur caused it to rear almost upright, and for any other than the king it seemed rash and dangerous to bestride the proud animal. the king himself was a noble-looking youth, with a manly and determined, almost a stern, cast of countenance; but his long fair locks imparted a softness to this expression, which, in eric's milder moods, called to mind the portraits of the saviour's best beloved apostle, leaning his head on his master's breast. the young king had a dignified and chivalrous deportment, the effect of which was heightened by the almost dazzling splendour of his attire, which appeared indeed unsuited to a hunting party. the tall white plume in his hat sparkled with small silver stars; and the green hunting dress, bordered with ermine, was so richly broidered with silken lions, and golden hearts, that it resembled a shining suit of armour. the splendour in which the young king appeared to delight was also conspicuous in his train. drost aagé, who rode at the king's right hand, was of the same age with king eric, and had not yet attained his twenty-second year. he had been the king's playmate and confidant from childhood upwards, and now possessed his entire confidence and favour. there was a mild but almost melancholy seriousness in the expression of drost aagé's countenance, which gave him the appearance of being older than the king. he had thrown his dark blue mantle over the back of his smoking palfrey, by way of covering; and his rich silken dress was besprinkled with the foam of the king's restless and chafing steed, upon which he appeared to keep a watchful eye. marsk niels oluffsen, who rode at the king's left hand, was a tall strong-built man, of about thirty years and upwards, with a sharp, rough, warrior-like countenance, and stiff deportment. next to drost aagé, he was the king's most indispensable counsellor, and was an exceedingly brave and doughty knight; but there was a tinge of haughtiness and severity in his looks and manner which frequently aroused the feelings of independence, and wounded the self-love, of his inferiors. even the king and drost aagé, who were fully his equals in knightly prowess, and far surpassed him in tact and talent, often felt unpleasantly repulsed by his rough and blunt bearing, of which he was himself so unconscious that nothing astonished him more than whenever his uncouth roughness and self-confidence drove friends as well as enemies from him. among others of the king's train were two celebrated german minstrels--master rumelant, from swabia, and master poppé the strong, who, in their national dress of german minstrels, attracted much attention. master rumelant's stature was insignificant, but he had a lively and enthusiastic expression of countenance; he was a lover of argument, into which he was ever ready to enter with warmth and vehemence, especially on theological subjects, on which he entertained his own very peculiar opinions. his countryman, poppé the strong, well deserved his cognomen: he was a gigantic figure, with long coal-black hair and beard. his appearance often terrified old women and children, by whom he was even sometimes taken for a wizard. he spoke in a tone of emphatic decision, which would have better beseemed a commander-in-chief. he rode a lean grey horse, and always wore a black feather in his hat, in token of a sorrow he desired should be noticed and respected by others. these two strangers had been for some time the honoured guests of the young danish monarch, who himself possessed a knowledge of the arts, and showed special favour to talented artists and men of learning. the king was also attended on this excursion by the famous danish philosopher, petrus de dacia, who was accounted the greatest astronomer and arithmetician of his time, and was as renowned for his theological learning as for his eloquence and profound knowledge of greek and latin philology. clad in his black canon's dress, he rode a quiet palfrey, between the two german minstrels; and always acted as mediator when, in the heat of argument, they became vehement, and seemed disposed to exchange hard words. he was still in the prime of life: on his journey through germany he had become acquainted, at cologne, with christiné stambel, the nun, so renowned for her sanctity; and the enthusiasm with which he always spoke of this lady would have subjected him to the suspicion of a secret passion, had he not in his writings, as well as in his conversation, lauded with still greater enthusiasm the blessed virgin mary, as preeminent in beauty and sanctity, and exalted her to supreme rank among the saints in the calendar. he had proved, with irresistible eloquence, that the gracious confidence the lord showed to st. peter, in intrusting him with the care of his flock, was even vouchsafed in a far higher degree to st. john, the beloved apostle, who, as the lord's best-loved disciple, was appointed the protector and guardian of the blessed virgin. his vehement theological controversy on this point with the learned and famous aldobrandino papparonus venensis, of the dominican order, was in a great measure the foundation of the esteem in which he was held by the learned. it was only when the conversation turned on this his favourite theme that his equanimity was ever disturbed; excepting when this occurred, his discourse was calm, clear, and collected. the latent energy which lay in his full and ardent eye, with its expression of somewhat visionary enthusiasm, was calculated to inspire kindly attention and confidence, and (what was a phenomenon among the learned of his time) he was altogether free from pedantry and pride. the king and his train now approached the cross road and the tree behind which morten had concealed himself: from this spot opened the finest view on esrom lake. "halt!" said the king, springing from his horse: "this is a lovely spot; we will tarry here and take our repast. they will surely come this way from elsinore." "no doubt they will, my liege," answered marsk oluffsen, while he and the drost dismounted at the same time from their horses, and gave them into the charge of the king's groom. "here lies the high road to esrom and sjöborg. but, if i know the margrave right, he will not ride through elsinore ere all the pretty maidens are awake and can admire his fair presence and horsemanship. as yet, his head is full of nought but love adventures and such nonsense." "call you love 'nonsense,' my brave marsk?" interrupted the king. "do you forget i am a bridegroom? and i trust not one of the coldest." "bridegroom, my liege?" answered the marsk: "in danish we call no man a bridegroom until his marriage day, and much must be done ere that day comes." "much?" rejoined the king, and his joyous animated countenance became suddenly stern and grave--"well! much may be done in a short time, but if they make the time too long, the day i long for may come when i will." "the lord and our blessed lady forbid!" said drost aagé, in an under tone, casting a glance at the king, full of anxious and heartfelt sympathy. "let the horns play, aagé," said the king, as if desirous to prevent more exclamations of this kind, which seemed to displease him. "the day will be fine: we will begin it joyously." at a signal from the drost, the musicians, who followed the hunting train, struck up the air of the well-known ancient ballad of "axel thordson and fair valborg,"[ ] which they knew was a favourite with the king. "well, this is sweet music if it be not lively," said eric: "where are rumelant and poppé? 'tis pity they cannot sing danish; their skilful lays are but ill-suited to these tones." "they are disputing again on spiritual matters," said the marsk. "they are better fitted for a council of clerks than a hunting party." "let us listen," said the king: "i dare wager master poppé is in the right; but master rumelant nevertheless will be victor in the controversy." while the music continued, and the attendants converted a low pile of wood into a table for the repast, the king's attention was attracted by the dispute of the two eager minstrels: each stood with the bridle of his horse in his hand, and spoke in a loud tone, while the grave master petrus sat calm and attentive on his palfrey, gazing on the lake. "i will defend my opinion before the whole body of clerks, and all true believers in christendom," said the vehement little rumelant, striking his saddle with the handle of his whip as he spoke: "our sinfulness is assuredly better security for our salvation than all our paltry virtue--that is as true as that our blessed lady's prayers avail in heaven, and she shows us no _favour_ when she obtains grace for us; she shows us love and _gratitude_, which she is downright owing us for our sin's sake, for it is not the world's virtue, but its sin alone, she hath to thank for all her honour and glory." "what are you driving at, my good master rumelant?" shouted the gigantic master poppé. "how is the holy virgin honoured by our being a set of sinful scoundrels? that is no honour to us, or any one else." "not so, my self-sufficient sir!" shouted his opponent; "truly the case is clearer than the sun: it is assuredly not of our perfection we should boast, but, on the contrary, of our weakness. would our dear blessed lady ever have become that she became, had not adam and eve sinned, and all of us sinned too in them?" "no, assuredly not, my dear friend: but how the devil----" "ergo, she hath man's sin to thank for her honour and glory! and ergo, she would be most ungrateful were she not to protect sinners, and bring us all likewise to honour and glory for our sin's sake." "you drive me mad. master rumelant," shouted master poppé, stamping in wrath; "i know not what to answer you, but you are wrong, by my soul! as i will, like an honest german, show you with my good sword if you desire it. what if i should now commit the sin of slaying you on the spot, would the blessed virgin bring me to honour and glory because _of that_? or would it be so small a sin that it could not be imputed to me as a great merit?" "worthy sirs," interrupted master petrus, gravely, "talk not of spiritual things with sophistry, or in an angry spirit; least of all of our blessed lady, who is truth and heavenly calm itself. you exchange spiritual for temporal weapons, master poppé; and you darken the fountain of light, master rumelant, when you would make grace to proceed from sin on earth, instead of from incomprehensible love and mercy in god's kingdom." "it seems to me it is of sin and grace those learned disputants are talking," said the king, seating himself by the side of drost aagé on the trunk of a tree at a little distance. "well, that is a never-ending chapter, and truly one i ought to reflect on when i wend to sjöborg." "most certainly, my liege," answered aagé, looking with glad sympathy on the king's noble countenance. "when we think on the great mercy we all need, we should wish rather to be able to forgive our enemies than to execute the most lawful sentence upon them." "_him_ thou meanest will i not forgive throughout all eternity!" burst forth the king impetuously. "he sat chief in council among my father's murderers, he ought to sit lowest among criminals in my kingdom. if the pope will not condemn him, _i_ will. his blood i ask not, but outlawed and dishonoured shall he remain all the days of his life." "the pope, however, hath alone the right to pass sentence on him, my liege," observed aagé. "so long as he remains captive here he cannot defend his cause before his lawful tribunal, therefore it seems to me but reasonable----" "no, aagé!" interrupted the king, "neither just nor reasonable would it be to let loose the captive murderer, that he may perjure himself, to go forth free and honoured among his equals; but it were _wise_ perhaps for my own peace and happiness." "and perhaps for state and kingdom also," replied aagé. "this much is certain, my liege: so long as that dangerous man is detained captive at sjöborg, neither drost hessel nor counsellor jon can obtain the dispensation for your marriage; and if i understood the wily isarnus aright, he is already privately empowered by the pope to enforce the unhappy constitution of veile against both you and the kingdom." "and were it so," said the king, rising, "think'st thou i and the kingdom would be really harmed by it? would denmark's bishops and priests dare to excommunicate their king, and all their countrymen? hast thou not thyself, because of thy love to me, been for two years already under the ban of the archbishop? and art thou not well and sound notwithstanding? hath any priest in denmark dared to shut the church door against thee when thou camest by my side, or to deny thee the holy sacrament in my presence?" "my sentence is not yet confirmed by the holy father," said aagé; "and yet, my liege! i shudder, notwithstanding, to think of it--many of my noble countrymen regard me with looks which sadden and well nigh dismay me. the thunderbolts of the church are dreadful even in the hand of the chained criminal---they would have crushed me to the earth, did i not even yet hope that the ban, which a regicide hath proclaimed against me, is not accounted of by the merciful lord in heaven. the holy father also will surely be moved by the righteousness of my cause, and by your intercession in my behalf, to recall it." "he shall, he must do so," answered the king with warmth, "or i will teach thee to defy the might of injustice--perhaps also, my faithful aagé, i and all denmark may have to share thy fate! but, with the help of the lord and our blessed lady, we will not therefore be cast down, or stoop to humiliation. i stake my life and crown upon it!" "for heaven's sake, my liege!" exclaimed aagé, in alarm; but what he was about to utter was suddenly cut short by a significant look from the king, who, at that moment, had caught a glimpse of a round ruddy face, peering forth with a look of rapt attention from behind the tree beside which they were standing. "who is that?" asked the king. "it is none of our huntsmen--art thou playing the spy, countryman?" "a stranger!" exclaimed aagé; "come hither; who art thou?" "would ye aught with me, good sirs?" said morten, the cook, stepping forward. "i thought ye spoke to me. i am deaf, ye must know; if ye have any commands, ye must shout at the top of your lungs." "who art thou?" asked aagé, raising his voice, while he gazed on him with a searching look. "what wouldst thou here?" "_fear_?" said the cook, assuming a simple look. "i will not deny i was somewhat afraid of your horses, and cared not to meet them on a fasting stomach." "a poor crazy fellow," said the king, "let him go his way in peace, aagé; had he even heard what we spoke of, what would it signify?" "yes, by my troth, horses do signify something!" said morten, looking at eric with evident interest. "the white horse signifies victory and speedy judgment on the lord's enemies--says father gregory." "so much the better!" said the king, gaily, giving him a couple of gold pieces. "go thy way in peace, i would fain hope thou hast spoken truth in thy simplicity. the white horse is mine." "but the dark red signifies rebellion and the yellow pestilence," continued morten, seemingly touched, as he received the king's gift, and kissed his hand. "mark, it was therefore i got frighted, when i saw ye between those two beasts. i am otherwise a poor sinner, at your service. i am going a pilgrimage for my own and other folks' sins. i will now pray for a blessing on you, noble sir!"--so saying, he strode hastily across the road, and disappeared in the wood. "how would he interpret the red and the yellow horse?" said the king, gravely. "those pious men of the cloister fill our country and people full of superstition." "the fellow perhaps was neither deaf nor half-witted," answered aagé; "to you he naturally said fair words, in order to escape. our stern marsk is not liked by vagrants; the bay horse he rides to-day is one he lately got in exchange from your brother junker christopher. my cream-coloured horse is well known, and since i fell under the church's ban the people look on me as the emblem of pestilence and misfortune by your side." these serious comments on the cook's words were now interrupted by the sudden baying of the hounds, which dashed forward in couples towards a thick bush of white thorn, in full cry. "game! game!" shouted the huntsman; but, instead of the supposed deer, the two concealed wanderers sprang out of the bush: they had cast aside their peasants' mantles and their bundles, in order the more easily to save themselves by flight in their light cuirasses, but by so doing they had betrayed themselves, and awakened suspicion. by order of the marsk they were instantly seized, and brought before the party of hunters. "what means this?" called the king in surprise: "we are not come hither to hunt men." "a couple of deserters from your lolland horsemen, my liege," answered marsk oluffsen. "i know them; we have long been on the look-out for them; it is they whom the count of lolland hath sought after as robbers and murderers." "then send them to flynderborg[ ] to await their doom!" commanded the king. "what would they here! they shall be strictly brought to account." the captured deserters were instantly led off to be bound and conducted to the fortress. they had until now stood still and downcast, like convicted criminals; but, on finding they were to be bound, they suddenly started forward and defended themselves with all the desperation of despair. they wounded three of the king's huntsmen with their daggers, and, amid the confusion and tumult occasioned by their unexpected onset, contrived to tear themselves loose, and instantly plunged into the lake. some hunters pursued them on horseback, and a couple of hounds, trained to hunt the wild-duck, were let loose after them; but the fugitives dived and swam with such skill and vigour that none could see them until they landed on the opposite shore of the lake, where they quickly disappeared in the brushwood. the king and his train had gone down to the water's edge to look at this singular sight. some hunters were ordered to ride round the lake, in order if possible to overtake the fugitives. drost aagé would also have despatched some one after the pretended deaf man, whom he now believed to be in league with the deserters. "no!" said the king, "he shall not be pursued. i use not to put gold into a man's hand one hour, and fasten iron round it the next." the party now returned to partake of the repast which was spread for them. as soon as they had refreshed themselves they mounted their horses, and were about to proceed further, but the sound of hunting-horns was now heard on the road from elsinore, and three riders in rich attire, with several knights and huntsmen, approached at full gallop. it was the king's brother, junker christopher, with the young margrave waldemar of brandenborg, who was at this time the king's guest, and the brave count henrik of mecklenborg, who had lately entered the king's service as commander of the army. they had been at elsinore, where prince christopher had received a swedish royal embassy on the part of the king. the margrave, it was said, had accompanied him for his amusement, and to enjoy the beautiful scenery of elsinore, but had in reality joined the expedition at the request of prince christopher, who anxiously courted the young margrave's friendship. the prince seemed inseparable from him, and generally contrived to secure his companionship whenever he was charged with any important mission by the king, that it might give him opportunities, which he eagerly sought, of raising his consequence in the eyes of the people. prince christopher, or the junker, as he was generally called, was two years younger than the king. though tall and strongly built, his figure was far from being so well proportioned as his brother's. his large features and long visage, shaded by coarse long black hair, had a gloomy and sinister expression, which reminded the people but too much of his detested father. his brother, the king, on the contrary, bore a greater resemblance to his mother, the fair and talented queen agnes, who, during the king's minority, had been for the most part at the head of state affairs, but who now led a happy private life with her second consort, count gerhard of holstein, at the castle of nykjöping. the popularity which the chivalrous king eric had enjoyed from his childhood appeared little pleasing to his brother, and many believed that the prince secretly exerted himself to form a powerful party of his own in the country. in the event of the throne becoming vacant, he was in fact the member of the royal house who might first expect to be called to the crown, but of this there was no reasonable prospect. notwithstanding that some differences had existed between the brothers on the affair of the archbishop's imprisonment, king eric was so far from showing any mistrust of his brother, that he even promoted his consequence by investing him with considerable fiefs in the country. but drost aagé strongly suspected the prince of entertaining ambitious and treacherous projects, and the drost's suspicions of christopher were rather increased than diminished by the zeal with which, the prince seemed to enter into the negociations respecting the king's marriage. as well on this subject, of such moment to the king, as on that of the swedish king birger's marriage with the king's and christopher's sister mereté, there were at this time frequent communications between the swedish and danish court. the young king of sweden was only in his sixteenth year, and wholly dependent on his state council, which was composed of men of very opposite opinions, and drost aagé feared that prince christopher's object in receiving the embassy was to increase if possible the obstacles to this double alliance. aagé was, however, deterred from imparting his doubts to the king by the fear of occasioning a dangerous misunderstanding between the brothers; and eric was so far from suspecting his brother of any dishonourable design, that he considered his anxiety to meet the swedish embassy as a proof of fraternal affection. the young king welcomed both christopher and the margrave with much friendliness; and as soon as he had greeted them, and the gay count henrik, turned towards the swedish ambassadors, who, with some danish knights, followed the princely comers. in the most dignified of the two swedish nobles eric joyfully recognised king birger's faithful counsellor, the swedish regent and marsk, sir thorkild knudson, a tall middle-aged man, of a grave and noble countenance; but it was not without a feeling of uneasiness that the king beheld his companion, a withered shrunken figure, whose cold and wily countenance wore a perpetual smile, and whose grey, staring ostrich-like eye had an expression of sinister scrutiny. it was the swedish statesman and drost, sir johan bruncké, who, next to thorkild knudson, was the most influential statesman in sweden, and appeared to stand as high in favour with the weak king birger as with his ambitious brothers, while he gained a knowledge of the individual foibles of each, and well knew how to work upon them for his own advantage. when the king had greeted the strangers, he proceeded with his augmented train to esrom monastery, where he conversed with the ambassadors, and received letters from king birger, princess ingeborg, and his sister mereté, who, according to an earlier agreement, had been brought up, as the future queen of sweden, at the swedish court. eric seemed unusually joyous and animated after he had perused these letters. his anxiety to hasten his marriage, and to have it fixed for the ensuing summer, had met with the entire approbation of the royal house of sweden, and princess ingeborg's letter breathed the most tender and devoted affection. the difficulties and objections stated by the ambassador principally regarded the misunderstanding with the court of rome, and the dispensation which was yet withheld, to which the king, misled by the ardour of his feelings, did not attach the importance it deserved. he invited the ambassadors to be his guests for some weeks, as he hoped very shortly to remove all difficulties. the afternoon was spent pleasantly in hunting, and in the evening the king, with the whole of his train, repaired to sjöborg, where several cars, conveying the cooks of the royal kitchen, and domestics of every description, had arrived during the day. chap. iii. the ancient fortress soon presented a scene of splendid festivity. the spacious halls glittered with regal pomp, and resounded with the stir and bustle which are the accompaniments of a court. with the exception of the tower, the whole of the castle had been recently fitted up as a royal residence. the king's principal counsellors had accompanied him, and though he occasionally hunted, he did not therefore neglect state affairs, which frequently occupied him until the night was well nigh spent. the king never inquired after the captive archbishop, whom he appeared to have forgotten. a reconciliation, on suitable conditions, with this important personage, was, however, doubtless the secret object of the king's sojourn at sjöborg. the adjustment of this vexatious affair was never of more consequence than at this juncture, as it was not only a present hindrance to his marriage, but threatened to prove dangerous both to state and kingdom. the king, however, was desirous that no one should know the real purport of his visit, least of all the captive archbishop, who would probably take occasion thereby to raise his demands to the uttermost. besides, eric himself appeared not to have decided what course to pursue in this matter. although revenge had never been his failing, and on the contrary he had often manifested the most generous temper, the remembrance of his father's murder had rendered him stern and almost implacable towards everyone connected with the regicides, and he felt it was impossible for him to make the first advances towards a reconciliation with archbishop grand. he apparently expected the haughty captive would himself petition for an interview, and pave the way to reconciliation by a humble acknowledgment of his guilt. one week after another, however, passed away, without any thing of this kind taking place. the number of guests was daily increasing at sjöborg. the presence of the margrave of brandenborg and the swedish ambassadors, as well as that of the hunting party and prince christopher's retinue, imparted an appearance of life and gaiety to this otherwise dreary castle, which almost painfully contrasted with its gloomy destination, and the many dark recollections connected with the place. one day in november, a singular procession approached the castle of sjöborg. from two hanseatic merchant vessels, which had anchored off the fishing station, there landed a number of foreign seamen, who, carrying the rostock flag, and with large broad swords at their sides, proceeded to the castle, amid the dissonant sound of pipes and trumpets. at the head of the procession marched a tall stout man, in a burgher's coat of fine cloth, trimmed with broad borders of costly fur. it was the rich trader, berner kopmand of rostock, well known at the great fairs of skanör and falsterbo, whither he was wont to bring rich cargoes of cloth and costly spices. he was notorious for his authoritative and overbearing deportment, and for the ostentatious pomp by which he sought to acquire the reputation of a merchant prince. by his side walked the almost equally noted henrik gullandsfar of visbye, also one of the most influential hanseatic merchants, and an adroit and politic negociator between the hanse towns and the northern princes,[ ] they announced themselves at the castle as hanseatic ambassadors, and were admitted into the upper hall, while their train was served with refreshments below. a long conference took place between the king and the foreign merchants, in the presence of the drost and council, during which berner kopmand was especially loud tongued, and the king preserved his patience for an unwonted length of time. the great privileges which had been granted by the king to the hanseatic towns four years before, and which he had since augmented and confirmed at nyborg, had not satisfied the expectations of the rostockers; who demanded besides, the recognition of their self-assumed right, to pronounce and execute sentence of death on board their own vessels upon every danish subject who had injured them, and fallen into their hands. the vandal towns, together with the merchants of mecklenborg and lubec, were unanimously agreed, on their own responsibility, and without distinction, to hang every knight and noble who should molest them on their journeyings through germany. "enough," said the king, at last, breaking off the conference, and rising in wrath, "i wanted but to hear how far ye would push your impudent demands, and therefore let ye have your say. this is my answer. my former promise to the towns i have hitherto kept; if they content ye not, we danes may easily learn to fetch what we want from foreign lands, and export what we want not. when guests and strangers are injured here they can complain; there is law and justice in the land; but they who take the law into their own hands on danish ground or on the danish seas shall be condemned as traitors and robbers, whether they be knight or burgher, whether they be native or stranger." so saying, the king turned his back upon the merchant ambassadors. without heeding their angry looks, he hastened to join his princely guests, and the swedish lords who awaited his coming, to set out on a hunting expedition, and left the hanseatic burghers to the care of the drost. the incensed merchants instantly quitted the castle with their followers, who had become intoxicated and unruly during their stay in the lower hall. the marsk (to the merchants still greater annoyance) had taken upon himself to disarm them, as with bold presumption they had ventured on liberties which outraged both law and custom. their weapons, however, were returned to them on reaching the shore, whither drost aagé and some other knights accompanied them, with cold courtesy, partly to protect them from the assembled rabble, which had crowded round the intoxicated seamen, to gaze at and deride them. on their way to the strand the wrathful traders spoke not a word, but the blood appeared ready to start from berner kopmand's crimson visage, while there was a calm cold smile on the countenance of henrik gullandsfar. when these important personages, with their reeling train, had entered the boat, and pushed off from the shore, in order to row to their ships, the portly rostocker suddenly raised his voice, and shouted with unrestrained wrath and bitterness, "bring king eric ericson our parting greeting, sir drost! tell him from me, berner kopmand of rostock, and from henrik gullandsfar of visbye, in our own and in the name of the great and mighty hanse towns, that we threaten him with deadly strife, as the enemy of our liberty and of all noble burghership!" henrik gullandsfar nudged his colleague's elbow in alarm; but the proud choleric rostocker continued, "tell the king of denmark, dearly shall he rue the scorn and contempt he hath this day shown us; he shall rue it, as surely as i am called the rich berner kopmand of rostock! and as surely as i am the man to ask what is the price of this state and country, and how many pounds a king is worth, in our times, when the lightnings of excommunication play above his head!" "such greeting and defiance you may yourself bring my liege and sovereign," answered aagé, "if you fancy being sent back to rostock with your hands tied behind you like a madman." so saying, he turned contemptuously on his heel, and returned with his knights to sjöborg. he afterwards joined the king and the hunting-party, but made no mention of this impudent defiance, which, though it seemed to him indeed to be paltry and powerless, he yet could not but regard as a striking instance of the insufferable pride of these monied aristocrats, and of the boldness with which the equivocal position of the king at the court of rome had inspired the ill-affected and discontented. after a hard chase the king rode back in the evening to sjöborg, with drost aagé by his side. it was already dark. the cold november blast whirled the fallen leaves around them as they rode through the forest. the moon now rose behind the trees, shining with an unsteady light from out the flying clouds, through the leafless boughs of the forest. behind them rode marsk oluffsen between henrik of mecklenborg and the swedish regent, whose return to sweden was fixed for the following day. some hunters followed with the game caught in the chase. the rest of the train remained at esrom monastery. the king, as well as drost aagé, had been remarkably silent during the day. since the arrival of the swedish ambassadors, tidings had been daily looked for, but in vain, from the danish embassy at the papal court. the king had not as yet taken any step towards a reconciliation with the captive archbishop. the journey of the swedish ambassadors could no longer be delayed, and the obstacles to the king's marriage were not in any measure removed. the king and his faithful aagé now rode in silence by each other's side, apparently occupied with a presentiment which they could not banish from their minds, but to which neither liked to give utterance. it was the unfortunate st. cecilia's day, which yearly brought with it to the king bitter recollections of the dreadful murder of his father at finnerup. marsk oluffsen appeared not to remember what day it was; he jested merrily, after his fashion, with the german and swedish guests, and lauded the pious and frugal manner in which king birger's tutor, a certain carl tydsker[ ], had a few years since restored his young sovereign to health, namely, by making the same vow to three saints at once, and afterwards drawing lots to determine to which of the good saints the vow should be kept. "i have since wondered," said the marsk, laughing, "whether the victory over the kareles[ ] was thrown into the bargain, and was one of st. eric's miracles; if so, i must acknowledge that carl tydsker was worth his weight in gold." by this unlucky jest the marsk wounded at the same time the national pride of both his german and swedish companions, without appearing himself in the least to perceive it. "when my countrymen as well as myself serve your king here in the north, sir marsk," answered the brave count henrik, "i feel we deserve thanks, and not mockery, whether we help him with prayer or with sword." as he said this he struck his hand with some violence on the hilt of his sword. the marsk looked astounded. he was silent; but his perplexity increased on thorkild knudson, also addressing him in a serious tone. "deem ye my victory over the brave heathen to be a miracle, sir marsk?" said the swedish knight, with a calm smile. "every thing is a miracle, if ye will. without heavenly aid no victory is won on earth; that even your victorious king waldemar was forced to acknowledge, yet that detracts not from his glory. i reckon the victory of wolmar with the heaven-sent banner, to be that which gained him his fairest laurels. our times are more chary of laurels. sir marsk! we will not rob each other of those we win with honour." "by all the martyrs!" exclaimed the marsk, with wide oped eyes and crimson cheeks, "who ever thought of offending either you or the brave count henrik? by my soul! i understand ye not," he continued in an impatient tone; "were my brains as dull as those of other people, i should be badly off indeed." count henrik could not suppress a good-natured laugh at the absurd contrast between the marsk's words and his angry tone. the misunderstanding was soon set to rights, and the conversation turned on former and recent warlike expeditions. without thinking of what might awaken bitter recollections in the king's mind, especially on this day, the marsk now talked in a loud voice of the feud, with marsk stig, and the taking of hjelm, at which he himself had been present, under david thorstensen's banner. "yet you took not the daring marsk stig, either dead or alive," said count henrik; "'tis a strange story they tell here of his disappearance." "his death, as his life, is shrouded in darkness and mystery," observed the swedish knight. "with us also he hath a dreaded name." "he was a great general, though," said count henrik. "i would have given much to have seen him. was he as tall as sir niels brock or the duke of langeland?" "he had a finer presence than either niels brock or duke longshanks, if he measured not the same length. in that point, perhaps, both you and i might have been his match; but he was a very devil of a fellow,--truly, i believe neither germany nor sweden could boast of one like him." "it is true we cannot boast of so highly esteemed a regicide," said count henrik, in an offended tone. "i desire not to rival his fame." "but, by all the martyrs! what is the matter now?" exclaimed the astounded marsk; "think ye i wished for aught better in the world than to have knocked out his confounded brains? therefore i may surely say without offence, that neither you nor marsk knudson have seen his match." "for that both count henrik and i should thank the lord," said the swedish knight solemnly. "the country which gives birth to such heroes may have to pay dearly for the boast. in our country we have storms also, at times; and alas! have to deplore the devastations they cause. it is the same case here probably? i suspect that denmark hath dearly bought this sad experience, and learnt that one daring hand can make a deeper wound in a nation's heart than a whole century can heal." a rather embarrassed silence ensued. the king had heard the conversation which had been carried on by the party behind him, and sighed deeply. "it was on _this_ night, aagé," he said, in a low voice. "for nine years have i now borne denmark's crown, and as yet i have not fulfilled that i vowed when i saw _him_ last." "whom, my liege?" asked aagé, absently. "my murdered father!" said the king. "rememberest thou not the hour they lifted the lid from his coffin in viborg cathedral, and laid the sacrament on his bloody breast? it was then i bade him my last farewell. what i vowed to him was heard only by the all-knowing god; but assuredly i will either keep that vow, or lose my life." "at that time you were, as i was, a minor, my liege. if your vow to the dead was other than a pious and christian vow, you ought not now, as a knight and sovereign, to keep it." eric was silent. the moon shone full on his noble form, and as he sat calm and erect on his fiery steed, with the white plume in his hat, and the purple mantle over his shoulder, he almost resembled the chivalrous st. george, about to strike his lance into the dragon's throat. his manly countenance was pale, and expressive of lofty indignation. "that i vowed to the dead i must perform," he said, after a thoughtful pause. "a wise monarch should disperse the ungodly." as the king uttered these words an arrow whistled past his breast, and stuck in drost aagé's mantle. "murderers! traitors!" shouted the king, drawing his sword, while he reined in with difficulty his restless steed. aagé rushed with his drawn sword to that side of the king whence the arrow was sped; the three other knights rode up in alarm. "an arrow! robbers! traitors!" was echoed from mouth to mouth. they looked around on all sides of the moon-lit road, but no living being was to be seen. "accursed traitors!" shouted marsk oluffsen, and dashed in suddenly among the bushes on the left side of the road, where he had perceived some white object moving. a shriek was heard, apparently from a female voice, and the marsk's horse started aside. at the same moment two young maidens, in the dress of peasant girls, with long plaits of fair hair hanging low over their shoulders, ran, hand in hand, across the road, while a man of almost giant stature, in the dress of a jutland peasant, with a large broad sword in his hand, sprang forward, and placed himself between the marsk and the fugitives. "keep ye to me!" shouted the man. "it was i--it was mads jyde who shot. i mean not to show a pair of clean heels: let the maidens flee, they have done no ill, but i am the man who dares tilt with ye all." so saying, he brandished his sword wildly around, and wounded the marsk's horse on the muzzle. the animal reared and snorted. "yield thee!" shouted oluffsen, vainly aiming to strike his daring and gigantic foe; "yield thee captive, or thou diest!" on hearing this affray, the king would instantly have hastened to the spot, where he saw swords glittering among the bushes in the moonshine; but aagé and the swedish knight sought to detain him, while count henrik immediately surrounded the copse with the huntsmen, and dispatched a party of them after the fugitives. the marsk had sprung from his intractable steed, "cast thy sword from thee, stupid devil! seest thou not thou art caught?" shouted he to the tall jutlander. "by st. michael will i not," retorted the man. "none shall take marsk stig's squire alive; keep but your ground, sir knight, and thou shalt feel what mads jyde is worth." he now rushed frantically upon the marsk, but the warlike chief was his superior in swordsmanship, and after a short but desperate fight the jutlander fell, with his skull cloven, to the ground. he half-raised himself again, and tried to lift both his hands to his wounded head. "it was for thee, little margaret," he gasped forth; "let but my master's children flee, and you are free to----" more he was unable to utter; his hands dropped from his head, and he fell back lifeless on the ground. meanwhile the king and his train had ridden to the spot. some of the hunters had overtaken the fugitive maidens, and brought them captive into the circle of the king's train. all looked at them with surprise, for as they stood there in the moonshine they had the air of princesses in disguise. their peasant's attire could not hide the delicate fairness of their complexions and their singular beauty. the taller of the two, who seemed also to be the elder, held the lesser and highly agitated maiden by the hand, as if to protect her. she was herself calm and pale. she looked in deep sorrow on the dead body of the man at arms, and appeared not to heed the standers by. the younger maiden seemed to be both frightened and curious. though she could not be considered a child--for she appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years of age--her deportment was quite childlike. she hid herself, weeping, behind her sister, from the sight of the king and his knights, while she nevertheless occasionally peeped, with looks of eager observation, at their splendid attire. "speak out--who are ye?" asked the king, riding up to them. the younger maiden drew back, and seemed preparing for flight, but the elder held her fast by the hand, and turned to the king, with calm self-possession, looking him steadily in the face with her large dark blue eyes. "king eric ericson," she said, "thine enemy's children are in thine hand: we are fatherless and persecuted maidens; no one dares to give us shelter in our native land; and our last friend and protector hath now been slain by thy men. our father was the unhappy outlawed marsk stig." "marsk stig's daughters!--the regicide's children!" interrupted the king, casting on them a look of displeasure. "ye meant then to have completed your father's crime? are ye roaming the country round with robbers and regicides?" "we are innocent, king eric!" answered the maiden, laying her hand upon her heart. "may the lord as surely forgive thee our father's death, and the blood which flows here! vengeance belongeth to the lord. we wished but to quit thy kingdom." "and ye would also have me depart this world," interrupted the king. "they must be taken to kallundborg castle," said he to the huntsmen. "the affair shall be inquired into; if they can clear themselves they may leave the kingdom. away with them; i will not look on them." so saying, the king turned his horse's head to avoid the sight of the fair unfortunate, who for an instant appeared to have softened his wrath. no one had viewed the captive maidens with more compassion than drost aagé. "my liege," said he, in an under tone, "how could the innocent maidens help----?" "that the arrow slew none of us?" interrupted the king hastily. "i dare say they were not to blame for that. wolf's cubs should never be trusted; they shall meet with their deserts. away with them." "then permit me to escort them, my liege," resumed drost aagé. "if a knight's daughters be led to prison, knightly protection is still owing them on their way thither." "well, go with them, drost," answered the king aloud, waving his hand as he spoke. "they shall be treated with all chivalrous deference and honour; ye will be answerable for them on your honour and fealty." the king then put spurs into his impatient steed, and galloped off, followed by the marsk, the swedish knights, and the whole of the train, with the exception of drost aagé and four huntsmen. the elder of the captive maidens still held her sister's hand clasped in her own. she had approached the body of the slain squire, beside which she knelt, bending over his head. drost aagé had dismounted from his horse, and stood close by with the bridle in his hand, and with his arm on the saddle-bow. it seemed as though the sight of the kneeling maiden had changed him into a statue. the restless movements of the younger maiden did not attract his attention; his gaze dwelt only on the kneeling form: she seemed in his eyes as an angel of love and pity praying for the sinner's soul. he observed a tear trickle down her fair pale cheek, and could no longer restrain the expression of his sympathy. "be comforted, noble maiden!" he exclaimed, with emotion; "no evil shall befall you. the man you mourn for may perhaps have been true and faithful to you, but (were he not struck with sudden madness) he fell here as a great criminal. carry the dead man to esrom," he said to two of the huntsmen; "entreat the abbot in my name to grant him christian burial, and sing a mass for his soul." they instantly obeyed, and bore away the body. the kneeling maiden arose. "let me provide for your safety," continued aagé. "ere your case has been inquired into according to law, you cannot quit the kingdom; but i pledge my word and honour king eric will never permit your father's guilt to make him forget what is due to your rank and sex." "if we are really your prisoners. sir knight," said the elder sister, "then, in the name of our blessed lady, lead us to our prison; promise me only that you will not separate us, and that you will not be severe to my poor sister." "neither for yourself nor for your sister, noble maiden, need you fear aught like harsh treatment; and if you, as i hope and believe, can justify yourselves, your captivity will assuredly not be a long one." "our life and freedom are in the lord's hand--not in man's," said the eldest sister, in a tone of resignation. "in this world we have now no friends. our father's meanest squire sacrificed his life for us; he whom he made a knight forsook us in the hour of need," she added in a low voice. drost aagé now gazed with increased sympathy on the calm pale maiden, and was cut to the heart by the expression of dignified sorrow in her countenance, called forth by the consciousness of her desolate condition. "i will be your friend and protector so long as i live!" he exclaimed with visible emotion. "that i pledge myself to be on my knightly word and honour." "the lord and our dear blessed lady reward you for that," answered the fair captive. "you seem to wish us well; but if you are king eric's friend, you must certainly hate us for our father's sake." "assuredly i am king eric's friend!" said aagé, the blood mounting to his cheek as he spoke, "but i cannot therefore hate you. if you, as i fully believe, are innocent of what hath just now happened, as a knight and as a christian also i owe you and all the defenceless friendly consolation and protection." the horses of the two huntsmen who had quitted the party had been meanwhile led forward, and had their saddles arranged so as to admit of the maidens riding without danger or difficulty. the younger sister was first mounted. she had not as yet uttered a word, but had gazed restlessly around, occupied apparently in forming conjectures of the most contradictory nature. at one moment she appeared dejected and ready to weep, at another her bright eyes sparkled with animation, and she seemed to meditate a venturous flight, while the next she looked with an air of queen-like authority at the courteous young knight and the two huntsmen, as if she had but to command to be obeyed. it was not until she was firmly seated in the saddle, with the bridle in her hand, that she seemed fearless and at her ease. "let us speed on then," she said with sportive gaiety. "what though full small the palfreys be, 'tis better to ride than on foot to flee." "if this knight is our guardian and protector, it is of course his duty to defend us. at a royal castle, besides, they must know how to give us royal entertainment." "we wend not to yon dark castle as honoured guests," replied her sister; "but keep up thy spirits, ulrica, all the hairs of our head are numbered." so saying, she allowed herself to be placed on horseback; and drost aagé was presently riding between his two fair captives through esrom forest, followed by the two huntsmen. chap. iv. the party rode on for some time in silence and at an easy pace through the dusky forest. the elder sister sat with drooping head, and seemed lost in melancholy thought; but on reaching an open place in the forest, from whence they had an unclouded view of the star-lit heavens, she looked up, and the star-light seemed to be reflected in her soft blue eye, while her countenance was irradiated by an expression of that inward peace which springs from the stedfast hope of a blessed immortality. "god's heaven is vast, and beautiful, and calm, indeed," she exclaimed, in a gently tremulous tone. "in god's kingdom above no one is outlawed or persecuted." "and no soul shut out from love and mercy," added the young drost, painfully reminded of his separation from the church, which he felt but too deeply; "yet, even here, noble lady!" he continued, with calmness--"even here, god's kingdom can and will come to us--that we daily pray for. but what avails it, that we look for the peace of heaven ere we have it within our own hearts! it is my belief that god's kingdom may be found every where." "assuredly you are right," said the gentle maiden, regarding him with friendly sympathy; "you must likewise have known what sorrow is, noble knight! but christ and our blessed lady have given you the grace to overcome evil with good. this i can see in your eyes, and hear in your voice, though you are a brave and redoubted knight." "would you were right touching _such_ victory, noble maiden!" answered aagé, "but evil is so mighty in the world, that no knight should vaunt himself of having overcome it; the noblest of monarchs overcomes not evil in his own kingdom, and scarcely even in his own heart." "yes, in his own heart he surely must!" said the maiden; "but you are right after all, the power belongs not to man." they rode on for another hour in silence, and drew near to esrom monastery. "the young king eric looked as though he were good," resumed the elder maiden, at length; "sternly as he spoke to us, i still could not fear him; and our just rights he would not deny us; only thus doth anger beseem a king." "my liege and sovereign is impetuous," said aagé; "he is strict, but just; and there is assuredly no knight in christendom who more faithfully observes all the noble laws of chivalry." "if that be true," exclaimed the maiden, with a suppressed sigh, "then i am thankful even for the misfortune which now brings us this way; had i even been myself the cause of our faithful foster-father's death," she added, after a pause, "his blood will nevertheless not be upon my head." "how mean ye, noble maiden?" asked aagé, starting. "i understand you not." "had my father's faithful squire but hit the mark he aimed at," answered the maiden, "you and all king eric's faithful friends would now have had more to sorrow for than we. his arrow never missed the eagle in his flight"--she paused, as if hesitating to say more: "yet you shall know it," she continued--"had not my sister shrieked, had i not clung to the archer's arm, he would surely have been alive and safe among us at this moment, while ye wept the death of your liege and sovereign. but praised be st. cecilia! it were better it chanced as it did, were even king eric not so good and just as you say he is." "assuredly, noble maiden!" exclaimed aagé, in astonishment, "you have been the means of averting the greatest misery: knew ye that miscreant's intention?" "i knew he had sworn the king's death, for our father's sake, and that he would keep his vow. he meant to flee with us out of the country; but when the hunting train approached, we hid ourselves: he recognised the king, and instantly seized the cross-bow"--she stopped and burst into tears. "you have followed a fearful guide," said aagé, in a low voice; "weep not for his death. although you knew his fell purpose, your soul hath been rescued from sharing his crime, and the king hath to thank you for his life. yet would you had been ignorant of that madman's purpose! such dangerous information you should never have confided to me." "why, then, did you question me of it, sir knight!" the colour mounted to aagé's cheek, and he paused for a moment. "a crazed murderer was, then, your only friend and protector," he resumed; "his accursed scheme of revenge could not have been frustrated had you not known it! had you but other witnesses, besides yourself and your sister, of your conduct towards him! yet, i dare confirm your testimony with my blood, and with my sword: be comforted! with the lord's blessing, you shall never need to fly from denmark;--instead of the captivity to which i am now forced to lead you, my just sovereign owes you thanks and honour." "that we can never look for from king eric," answered margaretha; "all doors and all hearts here are now shut against marsk stig's children; if the king will but grant us permission to quit the country, we will thank him, and pray for him in our exile. the world is wide, and there are christian souls in other lands also." "courage, margaretha!" exclaimed the youngest sister, who had listened with eager interest and sparkling eyes. "if king eric be as just and chivalrous a prince as he looks to be, and as this good knight says he is, there cannot be the least doubt that he must acquit us, and restore to us our inheritance, with royal compensation for all we have lost." "alas, dear sister!" answered margaretha, in a melancholy and beseeching tone, "gold and lands cannot replace what we have lost. the happiness and honour which this world and its rulers can give us we should no longer seek, but rather aspire to higher blessings." "you hear, sir knight! that my pious sister is already half nun and saint," said the younger sister, gaily playing with a sparkling rosary of rubies and diamonds, which she had until now concealed under her neck-kerchief. "if you will defend our cause like a brave knight, she will assuredly pray piously for you in a nunnery; but if i ever come, by your help, to the station which is my birthright, i will not forget you either in my prosperity." drost aagé was startled; he bowed courteously, in answer to this address, while he turned his horse aside in silence, leaving the sisters to ride side by side. "hush, hush, good ulrica!" whispered margaretha, who glowed crimson at her sister's speech; "thou knowest not thyself what thou sayest, but it doth disgrace us in the eyes of the stranger knight." "i know well enough what i say," answered the capricious maiden, with a scornful toss of the head, "and if _thou_ wilt not vaunt thyself of our high descent, depend on it, _i_ will; charity begins at home, and i have often heard that no knight's daughter in denmark's kingdom hath ever had a greater man for a father." "alas! that greatness is our misfortune," said margaretha, with a sigh; "dearest sister, repeat not to any human being what you have just now said! ask not my reasons! i can never tell them thee; but thank god thou knowest not all!" "art thou beginning with thy riddles again?" said her sister, pettishly, as she looked inquisitively at her; "what in all the world canst _thou_ know, which _i_ know not. if thou wilt not confide every thing to me, when we two are alone, i will never more be so foolishly fond of thee. thou art, indeed, quite insufferable at times, however pious and excellent thou may'st be." while this little dispute was passing between the sisters, aagé's attention was diverted from them by the sound of the tramping of horses' hoofs, and of loud talk. they were just then passing the gate of esrom monastery, from whence a party of richly attired knights rode forth, with some ecclesiastics among them. it was prince christopher and the margrave of brandenborg, with the swedish drost bruncké and the abbot of esrom, who, with several priests and knights, accompanied a tall ecclesiastic of foreign appearance, and wearing the red hat of a cardinal. aagé instantly recognised the papal nuncio, cardinal isarnus. the sight of this powerful prelate inspired aagé with a feeling akin to dread, and with a presentiment of coming evil, he was, besides, ill-pleased to see him in prince christopher's company; he desired not to encounter them, and would have hastily turned into a bye-road, but the unusual sight of two peasant girls on horseback, accompanied by a knight and two of the king's huntsmen, had already attracted the prince's attention; he hastily rode up, followed by two knights, to ascertain who they were. "ha! indeed! drost aagé," said the prince, in a scornful tone, "the preacher of our strict laws of chivalry, are ye carrying off _two_ pretty maidens at once? i think you might content yourself with one--if i see aright, these fair ones are of a somewhat higher class than they care to pass for; speak, who are they?" "the unfortunate daughters of marsk stig, noble junker!" answered aagé; "i am escorting them, by the king's orders, as state prisoners, to kallundborg." "the viper brood of the regicide!" exclaimed the prince, while a dark crimson hue suddenly overspread his countenance. "well! this is an excellent capture. throw them into the subterranean dungeon; they shall never more see the light of day." the younger sister shrieked in alarm at this wild threat, but the elder made a sign to her to be silent, and endeavoured to tranquillize her fears. "they are to be treated with justice, and with all chivalrous deference and honour," answered aagé, calmly; "such is my sovereign's will and express command, which i shall punctually obey." "_i_ am governor of kallundborg, drost!" called the prince, in wrath; "the state prisoners sent thither are under my control. ride with them, pallé! give my orders to the jailor! you are answerable for their being obeyed!" he now said a few words to one of his train, but in so low a tone as to be unheard by every one else, and then turned his horse, and rode back to his party. each now pursued their separate road, but the knight who had received the prince's private orders joined drost aagé and his prisoners. this unwelcome companion was a fat, short-necked personage, with a repulsive expression in his crimson-coloured full-moon visage. he was generally called the rich sir pallé, and made himself conspicuous by the costly, but not tasteful, splendour of his dress and riding accoutrements, which he prided himself on being able to compare in value with the king's. he sought by an affectation of youthful gaiety to conceal his age, which very closely bordered on fifty. he was still a bachelor, but was an unwearied wooer, and greatly desired to pass for a doughty knight, and an irresistible invader of the hearts of the fair of every rank. he was not liked by the king, but was a hanger-on of prince christopher, to whom he was appointed gentleman of the bed-chamber. he was in bad repute among the lower class, on account of several adventures, little creditable to himself, which were circulated throughout the country in satirical ballads. he rode for some time in silence by drost aagé's side, apparently annoyed at being despatched on this unlooked-for errand. aagé was silent also, and pursued the journey without noticing him. "my presence is troublesome to you, perhaps, sir drost!" exclaimed pallé, at last breaking silence. "this mission is not to my taste either. the prince was in his stern mood to-day; when that is the case he will not bear contradiction, or i should gladly have begged to decline the journey. where _you_ act in the king's name, i well know that _i_, as the junker's deputy, might just as well be absent." "truly, i think so likewise, sir pallé!" answered aagé, in a tone of indifference, as he quickened his horse's pace. "it is all one to me whether your captives receive hard or gentle treatment," continued sir pallé; "but if i bring not my lord's commands to the jailor at kallundborg, you see yourself, i shall draw down the junker's wrath upon me, and that i have no mind to do for the sake of a couple of vagabonds." "perhaps you heard not what i told the prince of the name and rank of these ladies?" asked aagé, measuring his rude companion with a look of defiance, while he slackened his horse's pace; "even without regard to their birth, you owe them respect, as honourable danish maidens, and for the present moment i am their protector against every insult." "ho, ho! you are somewhat hasty, sir drost!" answered pallé, "who thinks of insulting the pretty maidens? what though they may have scoured the country round, without stockings and shoes, they should not be thought the less of for that; they are now going to be led, according to their rank, to an honourable state prison. i perceive the fair prisoners have already captured our chivalrous drost, by way of reprisal." drost aagé coloured deeply at this jeering speech. "by your leave, sir pallé!" he said, with suppressed wrath, "here lies the road to kallundborg; it is long and broad enough for us all, and we need not be troublesome to each other; if ye will ride on before or follow behind, we will accommodate ourselves accordingly; but if you desire to honour us any longer with your company, you must behave courteously, or you understand me----." he struck on the hilt of his sword, and was silent. "well, well, either before or behind, or courteously in the middle--or fighting? these, are indeed four pleasant alternatives," answered pallé. "with your permission, i choose the third, as the happy medium, and purpose, in all peace and courtesy, to remain in such fair company. i have hardly seen the ladies as yet;" so saying, he rode up between the sisters, whom he greeted with a bold and scrutinizing stare. "what in all the world is this?" he suddenly exclaimed, in the greatest astonishment, as he looked at the youngest sister; "gundelillé! do i see _you_ here? mean you to befool the drost also? would you now give yourself out to be marsk stig's daughter? the other day you were but the farmer's daughter at hedegaard." "yes, i was so _then_," answered ulrica, laughing; "gundelillé is my name still in the ballad of 'sir pallé wooing the driver.' perhaps you have not heard it, sir pallé? i will gladly sing it you; it is vastly entertaining." if any part of sir pallé's visage was before wanting in a crimson hue, the deficiency was now fully remedied; he seemed highly enraged; but the sight of ulrica's arch little face appeared to produce such an effect upon him that he could not give vent to his anger. he spurred his horse, and had nearly pushed the ladies into the ditch, as he suddenly dashed past them. "know ye this knight, noble lady?" asked aagé, in surprise. "oh yes! tolerably well," answered ulrica, laughing. "i once played off a little joke upon him." "it was indeed a daring frolic of my sister's, sir knight!" interrupted margaretha. "sir pallé had long plagued her, and she thought she could not in any other way get rid of his importunity; but it was wrong, no doubt; he became a laughing stock, and an object of general ridicule in consequence; and if you do not now prevent it, he bids fair to avenge himself." "but what was it you did?" asked aagé. ulrica laughed, and would have told the story, but her sister laid hold of her arm. "silence, dear ulrica! here we have him again," she whispered, and ulrica was silent. sir pallé had checked his horse, and joined them again. he seemed perfectly to have recovered his self-possession. he assured drost aagé that he was so far from desiring such captives should be harshly treated, that he even wished it were possible entirely to free them from imprisonment. "i have seen them before," he added, "and had i known who they were, they should not now have been on their way to prison." shortly afterwards he again rode in between the maidens. "pitiless gundelillé," he whispered, "speak no more of that cruel story. i meant not to wrong you; had i known you were the daughter of a noble knight, i would have proffered hand and heart, in all reverence and honour, and even now were i so fortunate as to find favour in your lovely eyes----" without looking at him, ulrica began to sing, "list ye then, sir pallé! no wrong do ye to me, when mass is sung and ended, in my car shall ye seated be." "sing not that accursed song, fairest of maidens!" interrupted sir pallé; "i will not offend you; but believe me, loveliest of the lovely----" without heeding him, she now sang aloud, "and then she clad her driver lad in purple robe so rare; in the driver's suit was quickly clad gundelill', that maiden fair." "hush! i will not say a word more," interrupted sir pallé again. "but if you knew how greatly i love and honour you----" the sportive maiden set up a loud laugh, and continued to sing, "sir pallé then, the wealthy knight, enters the car full bold, salutes the driver with delight and in his arms doth fold. "it was the lady gundelillé who drove into the yard; she laughed, i tell ye, heartily at the jest he deemed so hard." "ha!~ that jest you shall dearly rue," whispered pallé, in a rage. "you sing sweetly," he said aloud; "remember you the whole ballad, fair lady? if you sing another verse," he whispered, "it shall cost you dear." "hush, dearest sister!" said margaretha, in a tone of earnest entreaty; and ulrica was silent. sir pallé now rode round to drost aagé's side, and did not again address himself to the captive maiden. he was silent and gloomy. he had observed with great wrath a repressed smile on the drost's countenance; and the huntsmen who followed them laughed, and whispered together in a manner which too plainly indicated that sir pallé and his unfortunate love adventure were the subject of their ridicule. the two younger huntsmen were strongly, attached to aagé; they had remarked how little acceptable sir pallé's company was to him; and they now, as if to beguile the time, began to hum the well-known ballad of the brave knight helmer blaa. in one of the many scenes of violence which were the consequences of the proscription of the outlawed regicides, helmer blaa had slain sir pallé's uncle. on this account he had for a long time been barbarously persecuted by sir pallé and his six brothers, until he at last vanquished all the six in honourable self-defence, and compelled pallé to give him his sister in marriage, who, before this feud, had been betrothed to the gallant knight. this occurrence (so derogatory to sir pallé's reputation) had attracted general attention, and almost every young fellow in the country could repeat a ballad in honour of the bold helmer blaa, who had not only been acquitted by the king and whole body of knighthood, but stood also high in favour with eric. the burden of the song,-- "in the saddle he rides so free," fell on sir pallé's ear. he looked back towards the huntsmen, with a face glowing with rage, but they appeared not to notice it; and one of them sang aloud,-- "better i cannot counsel thee, that thou tarry not, but hence should'st flee, in the saddle he rides so free." "your huntsmen, sir drost, would drive me hence with vile songs, i perceive," said sir pallé, turning to aagé. "is it you, or yonder pretty maiden, who have inspired them with this pleasant conceit?" "you are perhaps not a lover of song, sir pallé?" answered aagé; "that is unfortunate: the merry fellows wish to beguile the time for us on the road." "if i hear aright," growled pallé, "that song may perhaps shorten the road to heaven for both of them if it is not presently ended." "think you so?" answered aagé carelessly. "if you will give us your company you must reconcile yourself to our merriment. haste to sing the song to the end," he called to the huntsmen, "or sir pallé will be wroth;" and the huntsmen sang gaily,-- "in the town my true love shall ne'er hear it said that i before her brothers have fled. "full boldly rode helmer her brothers to meet, his courage was equal to every feat. "first ové, then lang, his eye did survey, and then did his sword come quick into play." "s'death!" shouted sir pallé, and his sword flew from the scabbard. "if ye _will_ have the sword come into play, you shall feel it too." so saying, he turned his horse, and rushed like a madman upon the huntsmen, who had not time to prepare for defence, ere his sword had cut through their jerkins, and inflicted one or two wounds. but the huntsmen, enraged at this sudden onset, drew their long hunting-knives, and threatened a bloody revenge. ulrica shrieked on hearing the affray, and the elder sister turned pale. "stop, knaves!" cried aagé, riding in between pallé and his antagonists: "two against one is not fair play. i will decide this matter alone with sir pallé." the drost had drawn his sword, and was expecting his opponent to turn towards him, but sir pallé's horse seemed to have become suddenly skittish and unruly: it galloped off, on the road to esrom, with its enraged master, whose spurs stuck in its sides, while he swore and brandished his sword over his head. the huntsmen laughed loudly at this sight. ulrica joined in the laugh; and as soon as the slight wounds of the huntsmen had been bound up, the party pursued their journey, though in a different direction from that in which they had set out. "i must have been mistaken," said drost aagé to the huntsmen. "it could hardly have been to kallundborg, but rather to vordingborg, that the king commanded me to accompany these ladies; there he, and not prince christopher, is ruler. if there was other meaning in his words, i will be answerable for it." as they turned into a bye road, a tall man in a peasant's dress, mounted on a small peasant's horse, without a saddle, started out of the thicket by the road side, and suddenly disappeared again among the bushes. "kaggé!" exclaimed ulrica, with involuntary delight, and seized her sister's arm. margaretha gave her a significant look, and she was silent, but often gazed restlessly around. drost aagé had heard the exclamation, and started. the name of kaggé was but too familiar to him. a squire of noble birth of this name had been among eric glipping's murderers at finnerup; he had fled with the other outlaws to norway, and was prohibited, on pain of death, from setting foot on danish ground; had he, notwithstanding, been in the train of the captive maidens, their connection with so dangerous a traitor might operate greatly against them. this incident obliged the drost to be on the watch over the security of his captives. silent and anxious he pursued the journey. chap. v. prince christopher and his train meanwhile pursued their way to sjöborg. they rode at a slow pace, to suit the convenience of the foreign prelate. the mysterious importance which cardinal isarnus knew how to assume as the pope's legate, and the reserve with which he evaded every close question, had worked up the prince to a pitch of anxious expectation, which he vainly endeavoured to hide. isarnus appeared with a splendour corresponding to his high rank as a dignitary of the church; his richly attired attendants followed him at a respectful distance, together with his famulus and secretary; near him rode the abbot of esrom and two foreign ecclesiastics. isarnus conversed with his countrymen and with the abbot by turns, in the italian and latin tongue: his converse with the prince and the margrave was short and abrupt, and carried on in almost unintelligible german. he appeared, indeed, to avail himself of the want of a common language, by leaving every query unanswered to which he considered it might be impolitic to reply. in important negociations he made use of his famulus as an interpreter. wherever this powerful prelate appeared in the country, he was the object of superstitious awe. the unusual spectacle of the cardinal's red hat worked upon the imagination of the people like the appearance of a comet, and was considered to be as ominous of evil, as that dreaded phenomenon of the heavens. some of the most ignorant among the lower orders even believed it was the pope himself who had arrived in denmark to dethrone the king and excommunicate the kingdom; and it was not alone from reverence, but as much from fear, that the wonder-stricken peasants and old women especially, knelt down whenever they encountered the cardinal. his long, sallow, and imperturbable visage, with its expression of cool menace, and foreign aspect, combined with the preconceived notion of a supernatural and mysterious power, seemed endowed with the petrifying influence of medusa's head. "dear sir pope! harm us not!" frequently whimpered forth the sick and crippled who knelt in his path. he understood them not, and no word proceeded from his thin compressed lips, but he extended his arm, with a cold unchanging mien, and with his three fingers, which sparkled with costly rings, signed over their uncovered heads the silent token of a blessing, which they feared would soon be changed into a curse, for the threats with which he had last left the king and the country, were generally made known through the fears of the clergy themselves, and their zealous exhortations to repentance. accompanied by this ecclesiastical scarecrow. prince christopher now approached sjöborg. after several fruitless attempts to gain the confidence of the mysterious legate, the prince withdrew, leaving his place by the cardinal's side to the abbot of esrom and the other ecclesiastics, who conversed with him, in latin, upon philosophical and theological subjects. the bold and joyous margrave rode by the side of sir helmer blaa, and talked eagerly of campaigns and tournaments. the prince allowed them to pass him, and remained alone behind with the swedish statesman, drost bruncké, to whom he appeared desirous of communicating something of importance ere they reached sjöborg. "you will now probably delay your homeward journey, sir drost!" said the prince, in a confidential tone. "that which yon mysterious guest brings with him may prove as important to your sovereign and to the swedish council as to us." "perhaps it may alter the state of things here rather more than your royal house would wish," answered bruncké, ambiguously; "what else can your highness mean?" "yonder red cloud is doubtless charged with holy lightnings," continued the prince, pointing to the cardinal, whose red hat flared through the trees in the moonlight. "if my stiff-necked brother does not now give in, misfortune stands at his door; such is ever the result of all half measures. an important state prisoner should be either timely buried, or else let loose. was not that your opinion also, sir drost?" "it is often the wisest policy," answered bruncké. "the dead _cannot_ tell tales; and the generous, once restored to freedom, _will not_." "you know the individual i allude to," continued the prince; "he will now either be let loose, and become perhaps more dangerous than ever, or the storm will burst which he hath conjured over us hither from rome. he was as good as buried--that was my doing, but i got sorry thanks for it. out of mistimed compassion he was brought up once more from the grave;--to spare a sick priest, they had the folly to let loose the bishop's understrapper, so that he was able to flee, and stir up heaven and earth to work our ruin. i then counselled a timely reconciliation; but when sternness should have been used they were weak and mild, and when reconciliation became the wisest policy they were stern and pertinacious. my counsel was never heeded; hate and disfavour were my thanks. the people will now have their eyes opened, and perhaps your young king also, provided he will be guided by his wisest counsellor." "very possibly, noble prince!" answered bruncké, with a crafty smile; "but as yet i see not the danger, and even were i so fortunate as to perceive it, and to understand you, so long as thorkild knudson is at the head of state affairs, and in such high honour and favour"--he paused, and shrugged his shoulders. "he rises but to fall," continued the prince, "should he even win my brother's favour also. by his friendship with your dangerous dukes, and the high alliance which is spoken of, he is sealing his own doom." "that is very possible, your highness," answered bruncké, with a malicious smile; "his vaunted wisdom is not infallible; with time cometh experience. were but your royal brother only not so ardent a lover, and our fair princess somewhat less devoted to him"-- "childish fancies!" interrupted the prince. "state policy alone, not childish folly, should counsel here. your young king hastes not so with his marriage, and therein he acts wisely. between ourselves, bruncké,"--here he whispered confidentially, while he nearly drew bridle,--"my sister mereté is little suited to your king, but his soft-hearted sister is still less so to my brother. this double alliance will be ruinous for both kingdoms. you may easily come to share our unhappy position with regard to the papal see; and if enmity breaks out betwixt your king and his ambitious brother, there is no doubt against whom princess ingeborg, as queen, will arm denmark and my enamoured brother. that she holds the haughty warlike duke, eric, far dearer than his crowned brother, you know yourself much better than i." "truly, i cannot but admire your highness's policy," replied bruncké, in a fawning tone, while his wily glance seemed to penetrate the prince's most secret thoughts. "you are as wise as generous; prizing denmark and sweden's happiness higher than your own sister's and brother's domestic felicity! here i recognise the lofty, princely spirit, which soars above the petty interests of private life. but, to speak truly, i see not how this double alliance can be prevented or broken off, without a breach of peace, while your royal brother sways here, and follows nought but his own inclinations." "we must have time, bruncké" whispered the prince; "the guest we bring him to-night will soon change the aspect of affairs in denmark. i shudder myself to think of what may happen, but things cannot remain as they are; your young king will always need a wise counsellor, who can rule people and kingdom in his name. for this office no one is so fit as yourself. set your head to work, sage bruncké; if it should be endangered, you may count on me." "let us reserve these matters for your private chamber, noble prince," whispered bruncké, looking cautiously around. "woods have ears, and plains have eyes, they say. it were, perhaps, good policy that i should henceforth be apparently somewhat out of favour with your highness." "right, bruncké; contradict me tomorrow at table, in the king's hearing, and i will reply in a manner which you must only _feign_ to take amiss." "every ungracious word spoken to me by your highness in public, i shall take to be a proof of your secret favour. all that i can promise you," he added in a whisper, raising his hand so as to screen his face on the other side, "is the delay of both marriages as long as possible; as to what concerns me personally, i depend upon your princely word." "i give you my hand upon it, sage bruncké" answered the prince, extending to him his hand. "now let us be off; the cardinal hath reached the lake already." they spurred their horses, and overtook the rest of their party by the shore of the lake, where a floating bridge had been contrived for the convenience of this unusual throng of passengers. while they halted here, sir pallé returned at full gallop, and told the prince, almost panting for breath, that he had been murderously attacked by drost aagé and both his huntsmen at once. "indeed, i am glad of it," answered the prince, in a tone of satisfaction. "the drost shall dearly rue such unchivalrous conduct. you can of course swear to what you say, pallé! else no one will credit it." "swear to it!" repeated pallé, with glowing cheeks, and endeavouring to hide his confusion; "those who will not believe me, by my troth may let it alone; ungodly oaths i have forsworn." "then the devil take your chatter," muttered the prince, in displeasure, and turned from him. chap. vi. on his return to sjöborg castle, king eric had shut himself up in his private chamber, engrossed in serious reflections on the imminent peril he had just escaped; it seemed to him as if st. cecilia's eve was destined to bring with it misfortune and danger to him and to his race. this was the second time he had encountered traitors and robbers in the neighbourhood of sjöborg. the conviction, however, that he possessed the love and devotion of his subjects, soon dissipated the young king's gloomy mood. he had summoned the swedish marsk, thorkild knudson, to a private audience, and now conversed calmly and frankly with this noble knight on the happy alliance between denmark and sweden, which at the present time was the chief subject of the king's thoughts, and in which his heart so ardently shared. thorkild knudson was a handsome man, of a thoughtful and dignified aspect, rather more than forty years of age; his dark hair seemed to have grown untimely grey. his powerful influence as regent had gained him a high reputation, as well in his own country as in foreign courts. an honest aspiration after power and rank was manifest in his fiery glance, and the noble commanding expression of his countenance bespoke a dauntless confidence in his own powers, and a species of proud contempt for all the petty arts by which less highly gifted statesmen often seek to supply the want of sound political wisdom. as he sat opposite the young king, attired in his blue knight's dress, with the large chain of the order around his neck, and conversed with him, with freedom and sympathy, he might have been taken for a fatherly friend or relative of king eric, had he not, by strict observance of the respect due to eric's exalted station, but without a tinge of flattery, known how to receive the confidence reposed in him by royalty with an appearance of homage which detracted not from his own dignity as the ambassador of a foreign monarch. although thorkild knudson, as swedish regent, was authorized on the part of king birger and the state council to accede to the king's desire of having the celebration of his marriage fixed for the ensuing spring, yet it was only on the condition that the pope's dispensation should be obtained before that time. but because of the vehemence with which the king always rejected the idea of every obstacle, thorkild knudson had hitherto propounded this condition in as mild terms as possible. he now touched upon it again, and took the opportunity of bringing the case of the captive archbishop to eric's remembrance. the colour mounted to the young king's cheek; he became suddenly silent, and a secret struggle seemed passing within his breast. he looked around him once or twice, as if he missed some one; at last, however, his eye rested with evident pleasure and satisfaction on thorkild's intelligent and noble countenance. "i esteem my future brother-in-law fortunate," he said, "in possessing a man like you for his friend and counsellor. you are now to him what my aged counsellor jon and my well-beloved drost hessel have been to me from my childhood upwards. the misunderstanding with the papal court has long deprived me of my best and most experienced counsellors. my faithful drost aagé is not older and more experienced than myself. i feel confidence in you, sir thorkild. were i your liege and sovereign, what would you counsel me in this weighty matter?" "to see the prisoner, and hear his defence--_dispassionately_, noble king eric," answered the swedish statesman. "as far as i know, he hath not only _done_ wrong, but _suffered_ wrong; for a long and severe imprisonment is a suffering and punishment, which can only be called just, when it is inflicted according to a lawfully pronounced sentence." "was it then unjust in me to imprison a state criminal, who was an accomplice in the murder of my father--an accursed regicide?" said eric, with vehemence, and rising from his seat. "should i have given him time to escape, or stir up the people against me, because he was not condemned by the pope and the bishops? can i acknowledge ecclesiastical law when it would acquit a rebel and regicide?" "it was perhaps necessary for your grace to hinder his flight and treasonable designs," answered thorkild knudson, who had risen from his seat at the same time with the king, "were it not possible previously to obtain papal authority for the step; but, by your grace's leave, as your counsellor, i would have freely and openly pronounced all unnecessary severity to be as dangerous as unjust." "with my knowledge he hath suffered no injustice," answered the king. "the manner of his seizure i highly disapproved; and i have declared what took place then in my minority to have been contrary to my wish. my brave drost torstenson i have dismissed. in him i have lost a faithful, but too zealous and rash a friend. my own brother i severely reprimanded. for the sake of a state criminal, i have exposed myself to unpleasant differences in my own family, which wound me deeply, and may perhaps prove dangerous to state and kingdom. what more can reasonably be asked of me?" "noble sovereign," resumed thorkild knudson, with earnestness; "you vouchsafe to show me a confidence which i highly prize. at the present moment i am, thanks to the lord, able to reciprocate it with honest frankness. i trust a double relationship will unite you, and my liege and sovereign in a lasting union; but i will not abuse your confidence. i would not have your grace confide aught to me which you might regret i should know, if at any time, which god forbid! my fidelity to my king and my native land should compel me to seem your and denmark's foe. even in such a position i would esteem and admire your noble spirit, and i know you would not misjudge me." "no, sir thorkild," answered the king, extending to him his hand; "even were you forced to-morrow, as a loyal swedish statesman, to become my adversary, i should not misjudge your heart and chivalrous spirit. i value your esteem--answer me freely! think ye i have acted unjustly in this matter?" "well then, king eric," said thorkild, "allow my answer to be a question to which you can best reply yourself. had counsellor jon, and drost hessel been with you at this time, think you, you would have so long delayed the advances towards a reconciliation, which i cannot but conjecture was the main object of your prolonged sojourn here?" "it is not for me, but for the captive criminal, to take the first step towards reconciliation," answered the king; "but i am now weary myself of this procrastination. here lies a proposal for a reconciliation which i have caused the drost to draw up. i will see the prisoner to-morrow." "why not this very evening, noble sovereign?" said thorkild. "if you incline to reconciliation, it was perhaps in a fortunate moment you permitted me to become your counsellor. the accomplishment of your own heartfelt desire is probably more closely connected with this negociation than you imagine." "well, i will see him this evening--this very hour," said the king, pulling the bell string. an attendant entered. "tell the steward, the captive archbishop is to be brought hither." the attendant bowed, and departed. the king threw himself into a chair, and fell into a reverie. thorkild knudson seemed preparing to take his leave. "no, stay, i entreat you," said the king, and then paused for a few moments. "on this night was my father murdered," he resumed in a tremulous voice; "the man who is about to appear before me was the chief counsellor of the murderers. you shall be present, and see that i am neither revengeful nor unjust; but you shall also see, that even to promote my highest happiness i am incapable of forgetting for a moment, that which i owe to the crown i wear. read! only on these conditions will he be released." so saying, he reached thorkild a written sheet of parchment which lay on the table. thorkild perused it slowly, and the king watched his countenance as he read. "well, is it not so?" said eric eagerly. "i demand only what is just and reasonable--safety for crown and country--peace with the church--obedience to the laws of the land, so long as he is my subject. i will not pass sentence in my own cause--as a traitor to the crown, he must be condemned by the pope." "i must own your grace's demands are more moderate than i should have supposed. if you are perfectly correct in the charge you prefer against him, i should still call these terms generous; and yet i doubt whether he will accept them. the parting with hammerhuus----" "he _shall_ give up that castle," interrupted the king; "a rebel and traitor shall own no fortress in my kingdom. were he even seated in st. peter's chair, _here_ he is my subject." "undoubtedly; and he may perhaps make that sacrifice for his freedom; but the seventh clause--pardon me, your grace, for saying that it seems to me to be in opposition to his duty to the church and to the holy father. until he is deposed by a papal bull, no one can hinder him from using the church's power against whomsoever he will, without asking leave of the king or of any temporal authority." "he shall be forced to do so!" exclaimed eric, with vehemence. "while i am king, no miscreant shall persecute me or my subjects with unjust excommunication and all the plagues of hell. i am placed here by the lord almighty to protect my people and their liberties, and not all the bishops in the world shall rob me of this right. i will answer for what i do before the lord above as well as before my subjects, and before every true and loyal knight!" so saying, the king again pulled the bell with vehemence. another attendant entered. "light all the tapers in the knights' hall!" commanded the king. "bid the master of the household call together the whole court and every knight here in the castle. place my throne at the end of the hall!" the attendant departed in haste on a signal from the king. "your grace is too precipitate," said thorkild; "give not a publicity to your interview with this dangerous prelate which he may abuse to your hurt and prejudice." "my cause shuns not the light," answered the king. "i use not to speak or treat with my bitterest and deadliest foe otherwise than i dare make known to my loyal subjects and the whole body of danish chivalry. a traitor's oath demands witnesses." "but caution and--i trust your grace will pardon my boldness--state policy demand there should be as few witnesses present as possible," objected thorkild knudson, with anxious sympathy. he would have said more, but at this moment the door opened, and he was silenced by the entrance of the tall archbishop grand in chains. led by the steward and the three turnkeys, besides two men-at-arms, the haughty prelate stepped across the threshold of the king's private chamber, with a stare of wild defiance, without fixing his eye on any object. he was attired in a white cistercian mantle, without any of the insignia of a bishop; his proud countenance was pale and emaciated; his beard was shorn, his head was bare, and around his tonsure curled a ring of tangled grey hair. he moved slowly, and every step seemed attended with pain; but it appeared as if, with a contempt of all bodily suffering, he exerted himself to the utmost to prevent his outward appearance from becoming an object of commiseration. when the king beheld him he involuntarily stepped back, and a feeling of sorrowful sympathy for fallen greatness was manifest in his look, while at the same time the remembrance of his father's murder, and this man's share in the misfortunes of state and kingdom, overspread his noble countenance with the crimson of indignation. "you may go," said eric to the guard. they obeyed, and through the open door of the knights' hall, which was instantly shut again, the king beheld a numerous assemblage of knights and courtiers, looking with anxious suspense and curiosity towards the entrance to the private chamber, through which they had seen the captive archbishop conducted. the haughty captive continued standing about two paces from the door, and had not as yet vouchsafed a look or salutation to the king. he stood immoveable as a marble statue, and his cold uncertain gaze, now first warmed into life, as it suddenly fixed with frightful earnestness on a silver crucifix, which stood by the side of the king's shield, on a shelf above a prie-dieu. "you stand in the presence of your liege sovereign. archbishop grand," began king eric; but he paused again to restrain his anger at the captive's look of rude defiance. "yes, truly, i stand in the presence of my _heavenly_ ruler and king," answered archbishop grand, folding his fettered hands, without withdrawing his gaze from the crucifix. "_he_ shall judge between me and the tyrants of this world." "you stand also before your _temporal_ ruler and king," continued eric--"before your lawful superior in this country and kingdom. for what ye have sinned against me and denmark's crown you will have to answer at the great day of judgment, but first _here_; as certainly as there is justice upon earth, first _here_. i have sent in my accusation of your crimes to the tribunal of st. peter; the holy father hath required me to liberate you that he may hear your defence, or your confession." "why then have ye not obeyed, king eric?" interrupted the captive, for the first time turning his proud glance upon the king. "will ye delay until the holy lightnings melt the crown from off your brow?" "how long i shall wear the crown, the righteous god alone can determine," answered the king. "without his almighty permission no power on earth can injure a hair of my head." he paused for a moment. "when we liberate a dangerous offender," he continued, with more calmness, "he must give us security for his release. the guiltiest criminal shall have the right of defending himself, but not of committing fresh crimes on his way to his tribunal. if he hath any remains of conscience and honour, and if we are to trust him, he must take the oath we require. if he will not--be it so! he may be tried in his dungeon, and defend himself in his chains." "and what security doth king eric demand for the release of the captive, whom he, without lawful sentence, and contrary to the law of god and the church, caused to be imprisoned and maltreated?" asked the archbishop, with bitterness. "for the justice of your imprisonment i will answer to the great judge above," answered the king, raising his hand; "but the point in question is only whether you may justly and reasonably be released; to decide this i have summoned you hither. know then, archbishop grand! although you were undoubtedly an accomplice in my father's murder--although i abhor you as my bitterest and deadliest foe, and as the greatest traitor in denmark, i fear not, nevertheless, to loose your guilty hands when justice demands it; but _here_ ye shall neither raise hand nor voice against crowns and sovereigns; ere ye leave these walls ye shall swear by your salvation, in the sight of god and the chivalry of denmark, to promise that which i here, as the protector of the crown and people, have required and demanded. when you have read the conditions of your release, and are willing to take the oath before my throne, in the hearing of all my knights, your imprisonment may end this very hour." at a signal from the king thorkild knudson reached the sheet of parchment to the archbishop, and placed one of the tapers closer to him. the hand of the proud captive trembled as he took the parchment, and it cost him evident effort to read it; but it seemed as if his strength and spirit increased as he proceeded; and when he had perused it to the end he laughed scornfully, and crumpled the parchment in his hand.--"shall i leave my degradation unavenged?" he cried--"shall i fetter my tongue myself that it may not announce to you eternal death and damnation?--shall i part with my last earthly defence?--shall i subject the holy church's right to the arbitration of a tyrant? no, king eric ericson! as yet i am an anointed and consecrated archbishop, with power to bless or curse the crown thou wearest. even in these chains i have the power to push the crown from off thy head with a single word. over my body, tyrant! thou may'st have power, but, by the lord above, not over my free immortal spirit! ere i will consent to one of these conditions thou and thy executioners may sever every limb from my body, as i now rend asunder, with this hellish compact, all bond and tie between me and the despots of this world." so saying, he rent the parchment before the king's eyes, threw the fragments on the floor, and stamped upon them until his chains rattled. "madman!" cried the king, in great anger, "stay then in thy prison, and defy me there, until thy dying day! i release thee not until thou hast put thy seal to every word thou hast here trampled under foot, should i be a hundred times excommunicated by the pope in consequence," eric hastily pulled the bell-string. the door of the knights' hall opened, and the master of the household appeared. "the guard," commanded the king--"the captive is to return to prison." the loud talking in the king's private chamber had excited apprehensions among the king's knights and courtiers, who knew he was next to being alone with the dreaded prisoner. as the chamber door opened, all thronged towards it, as if fearing some misfortune. "back!" said the king, and he was obeyed; but the door to the knights' hall remained half open, and ere the guard arrived to fetch the prisoner. archbishop grand had taken a bold resolve. he hastily seized the crucifix, upon which he had gazed so long, and with this holy symbol in his hand, before which all were forced to bow, he advanced with long powerful strides into the middle of the knights' hall; here he halted, and turned suddenly towards the king, who stood on the threshold, amazed at this sight, and seemed about to issue orders for the seizure of the prisoner. "anathema!" shouted the archbishop, in a terrific voice, and raising the chained hand which bore the crucifix. "king eric ericson of denmark! i pronounce the sentence of excommunication upon thy head. i announce to thee, and every christian here present, that thou art fallen under the church's awful ban--" "what? audacious villain! seize--gag him!" exclaimed the king, stepping over the threshold. "anathema!" shouted the archbishop still louder.--"he who lays hands on me is accursed.--thou art cast out of the community of believers and of saints.--thou hast no longer any power over christians, king eric! in virtue of my holy office, and the apostolical authority of st. paul, i give thee over, as the enemy of god and the church, to satan, and to the destruction of the flesh." so saying, he described the stroke of forked lightning in the air with the crucifix, and looked around him with flashing eyes. all stood as if petrified by terror and amazement. the king appeared once more about to speak; but he had grown deadly pale, and it seemed as if his voice was choked by anger. ere he was able to speak, the archbishop again burst forth with a deafening voice, while he turned to the knights and courtiers: "fly, christians! leave the pestilent one! pollute not your souls by intercourse with the excommunicated one! accursed is now the hand which brings him food, accursed the servant who serves him with fire or water, accursed the tongue which comforts him with a single word, so long as his soul is given over to the evil one. he who ten days hence still serves and obeys this foe of the church i give over with him to satan and to the destruction of the flesh, that the soul may be saved at the day of the lord jesus! amen!" on finishing this speech he made a genuflexion, kissed the crucifix, and handed it to the chaplain of the castle, who stood trembling nearest him among the king's suite, and bent his knee, while he pressed this so fearfully abused symbol of blessing with a look of sorrow to his heart. "and now, excommunicated king!" added the archbishop, with a triumphant countenance, and with the mien of an exulting martyr, tearing the mantle from his emaciated breast, "now may'st thou, if thou darest, order to be torn asunder the church's anointed, who announced to thee the sentence of the lord. my body is, perhaps, in thy power, but the spirit is god's, and his is the power throughout all eternity." a death-like silence reigned throughout the hall, the greatest terror was depicted in the faces of the knights, while their eyes turned with sorrowing sympathy towards their excommunicated sovereign. it seemed for a moment as if the lightnings of excommunication had struck the young king with the power of real lightning, and smitten him with lameness. he had staggered back so dizzy that he was forced to support himself by the door-post; but he now summoned up all his strength, and stepped forward with quick and passionate strides among his knights and courtiers. "a regicide stands in the midst of us, and would give us over to the devil, to whom he himself belongs," he burst forth, in a tone of the highest exasperation; "he who is himself accursed presumes to pronounce the lord's judgment upon men. on this unfortunate st. cecilia's eve my father's blood cried aloud from the earth, and accused this criminal before the lord's tribunal. his head should long since have fallen under the axe of the executioner, and now he would judge and excommunicate us; he would destroy my immortal soul, had he the power; but no! each word he hath spoken is lifeless and powerless--his curses fall back on his own guilty head. the holy father shall judge between us! the king of denmark recognizes no sentence as lawful which is not confirmed by 'the father of christendom. away with the miscreant!" the knights and courtiers appeared able to breathe freely again, on hearing these words from the king. they looked on him with confidence and devotion, yet still appeared to hesitate, and no one prepared to seize the dreaded prisoner, who stood erect and haughty among them, and seemed to triumph in the spiritual power he had exercised even in chains. "hence with the criminal!" repeated the king; "until he recalls the ungodly ban he sees not the light of day. guards! halberdiers! why tarry ye? hath this miscreant's words struck you deaf and lame? fear ye to obey your liege sovereign?" the guards and halberdiers now surrounded the archbishop, but with manifest trepidation. the terrific prisoner stood immoveable, with his eyes turned upwards, towards the roof of the hall, and no one as yet dared to lay hands on him. but the king again broke silence. "i still bear crown and sceptre," he exclaimed; "i shall know how to defend myself and my loyal subjects against this monster! i swore by my father's bloody head to uphold the rights of the crown and the insulted dignity of majesty against every power on earth whether spiritual or temporal, and by all the holy men![ ] i will keep that vow. will not the loyal danish nation, will not denmark's chivalry stand by me undismayed in my fight for truth and justice? then, indeed, will danish loyalty be a theme for mockery, and danish courage for scorn. are ye true and valiant danish men, and do ye let yourselves be scared by a mad traitor into betraying your liege sovereign?" all doubt and apprehension seemed now to have disappeared among eric's knights and courtiers. the hall resounded with shouts and loyal acclamations. the archbishop vainly strove to speak again. the indignation against him was general, and without hesitation the guards laid hands on him to lead him back to prison. but ere they reached the door it opened, and prince christopher, accompanied by the margrave of brandenborg, entered with the papal legate between them, followed by their train of ecclesiastics and laymen. all started at the sight of the tall foreign prelate with his cardinal's hat and withered visage. he stepped with an authoritative air before the prince and the margrave, and bowed to the king, and towards all sides of the hall, in silence, and with the air of a superior, as if appropriating to himself the loud acclamations which were heard on his entrance, but which were now suddenly hushed. he seemed startled on perceiving the chained prisoner in the cistercian mantle. he nodded, and the guard stepped aside. the captive archbishop felt himself suddenly freed from the sturdy grasp of the men-at-arms. "gloria in excelsis!" shouted grand, as he raised his fettered hands, and kneeled at the cardinal's feet. "blessed be thou, thou messenger of the lord!" he continued in latin. "see here, how an archbishop in denmark is treated! see, and judge, in the holy father's name, o thou, his high ambassador! i have, in virtue of my holy office, published the church's ban upon this presumptuous king, because of his defiance to the law of the lord and the church! confirm it in the holy father's name, lord cardinal--or see archbishop grand expire of wrath and ignominy at your feet!" "arise, my venerable brother, and be comforted," answered isarnus, also in latin. "i bring with me authority from his holiness to enforce the constitution--'cum ecclesia dacianæ.' read this document aloud to the king and the court, in the language of the country, worthy abbot magnus." as he said this he reached a large parchment letter, with the papal seal, to the aged abbot of esrom, who had accompanied him. the abbot opened it with a trembling hand, but as he glanced over it a flood of tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks. "i _cannot_," stammered the old man; "he is my liege and sovereign! i conjure you, my lord, by the all-merciful creator! use not the power here given you to our king's and our country's destruction. this is a matter which demands the highest consideration. this authority is not unconditional, either," these last words were spoken in latin, and appeared to startle the cardinal. the unexpected entrance of the papal legate at this critical moment, his singular appearance, as well as the mysteriousness of his conduct, and the speaking in a foreign tongue, had once more inspired the bystanders with a feeling of consternation which deprived them of the power of speech. even the king appeared for some moments to have lost his self-possession and the consciousness of royal authority, while the attention of all present was rivetted upon the terrific stranger. eric now stepped forward a few paces, and seemed about to assert his authority by a commanding address; but at the same moment the fettered archbishop snatched the document from the abbot's trembling hands. "here is papal authority for ban and interdict," he cried, "praised be the lord! his judgments are righteous. enforce your authority, most reverend sir! anathema and the church's ban upon the king, and those his accomplices in guilt!" so saying, he raised his fettered hands both towards the king and prince christopher, who appeared to be in great consternation at this sudden and unlooked-for blow. "not a word more here, on pain of instant death, impudent miscreant!" exclaimed the king, in a loud tone, and in the highest exasperation. "take that mad criminal to prison, halberdiers! let every one leave this place! we will inquire in our council with what authority this stranger is empowered to treat with the king of denmark. when he proposes it, and it suits our convenience, we will talk with him in our private chamber." so saying, the king returned to his own apartment. not another word was heard in the knights' hall; even the archbishop found it expedient to be passive as the two halberdiers and the guard approached to lead him out of the hall. all the knights and courtiers, as well as prince christopher and his train, departed in silence. the halberdiers who were on guard, alone remained behind. they snatched up their halberds, and ranged themselves in their customary order without the king's apartments. abbot magnus had also left the hall, and cardinal isarnus stood almost alone in the middle of the floor between his amanuensis and interpreter. he looked with surprise around the suddenly deserted hall. it was not until he had announced himself through his interpreter in suitable form to the captain of halberdiers, and requested an audience with the king, that he was received with the demonstrations of respect due to a papal ambassador. his arrival was formally announced, and he was shortly afterwards admitted to a private interview with eric. what had passed had thrown every one into the greatest suspense and uneasiness, and an anxious stillness reigned in the castle. the foreign prelate quitted not the king's private chamber until the night was far advanced. the king did not make his appearance, but, according to his orders, the strictest court etiquette was to be observed. arrangements were made in the castle for the protracted sojourn of the cardinal and his train. he was to be honoured as a princely guest. the return of the swedish ambassadors was postponed. the following day another long and private conversation took place between the king and the papal legate. the presence of this dignitary, and his over-awing authority, banished all gaiety and cheerfulness from the castle. chap. vii. on the evening of the second day drost aagé had not as yet returned from his expedition, as the protector of marsk stig's captive daughters. he had conducted them without impediment to the king's castle at vordingborg; but as he was about to ride into the arched gateway he was attacked from behind, and dangerously wounded, by an unknown hand. aagé was carried, in a state of insensibility, into the castle, while his huntsmen vainly pursued his stealthy foe, in whom they thought they recognised the same tall horseman in peasant attire, and mounted upon the little zealand horse without a saddle, whom they had several times seen on the road, but who always vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and who they conjectured must have followed their track by secret paths from esrom. the commandant at vordingborg had received the wounded knight, with great alarm; he instantly recognised in him the young drost, and the favourite of the king. as soon as drost aagé had recovered his consciousness, he informed the commandant of the rank and position of the two ladies, and also that they were to be considered as state prisoners, for whose security he would be responsible, although their stay here was to be rendered as agreeable as under such circumstances it was possible to make it. the commandant instantly ordered the gates to be barred, and sentinels to be stationed; but he threw open the interior of the castle without reserve to his guests, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the king of what had happened. meanwhile the assembled party at sjöborg were in some degree tranquillised, when on the noon of the third day the king again made his appearance at table, where he sat, with a calm and almost cheerful countenance, between his brother christopher and the papal legate. their secret negociation seemed to have taken a friendly turn, and great reliance was placed in king eric's manly sense and political wisdom. report said that the italian prelate seemed to bear our northern climate excellently well, and perhaps might not be disinclined to take up his abode here, if the king should come to an agreement with the papal see, and the archbishoprick of lund became vacant by the deposition of grand. it was conjectured that the formal annulment of the archbishop's authority, and of his own self-empowered sentence of excommunication, had been the subject of the king's conferences with the unfathomable isarnus, and it was reasonably hoped that the cardinal would grant this important condition of the archbishop's release, ere the king fulfilled the demands of the pope. but some days elapsed without any apparent decision being taken. meanwhile, no change took place in the condition of the captive archbishop, who remained in close confinement. although neither the king nor his loyal and devoted subjects recognised the validity of the sentence of excommunication pronounced on them by the archbishop, so long as it was not formally ratified by a papal decree, this awful procedure had nevertheless taken place, and with such publicity that it could not but be generally known. the rumour quickly spread throughout the land, and terrified the people. the threats against those who should not within ten days withdraw all help and companionship from the king had struck terror into many, and several of the domestics, and of the guard of halberdiers absconded from sjöborg. the tales recounted of the ecclesiastical captive's skill in the black art now contributed still more to alarm his guard. at every unusual sound from the dungeon in the night the turnkeys stole from their posts, and the bravest men-at-arms dared scarcely remain without the prison door, where with trembling voices they often sang valiant battle songs to keep up their courage. the prisoner was guarded with still increasing anxiety. a very suspicious rumour rendered watchfulness still more necessary. some fishermen from gilleleié, who supplied the castle with fish, had related in the kitchen that a foreign bark was constantly sailing to and from the coast. the persons on board appeared to be fishermen, and were busied during the day with nets and fishing-tackle, but during the night they landed, and a tall knight in disguise, accompanied by some seamen of suspicious appearance, were seen to lurk in the neighbourhood of the castle. this report had not indeed reached the ears either of the king or the marsk, but orders were issued that the guard should be doubled in the captive's tower, and that the steward should answer with his life for the archbishop's security. the lower classes now believed that the king would pass sentence of death upon him, and command him to be executed. with the expression of fear and anger in his countenance, as well as of fatigue from a night's watch, the steward one morning descended the stairs of the tower prison with the keys in his hand. "all folk seem possessed here," he muttered. "i shall now have to watch myself to death over that confounded satan." "did i not always say so, master? he will drive us all crazed at last," sounded a merry well-known voice in his ear, and morten the cook stood before him in the twilight at the bottom of the tower stairs. "morten! thou crack-brained vagabond! is it thou?" called the steward; "where in all the world hast thou been? folk said thou wert surely bewitched, and gone to the devil, and i began almost to think so myself. the whole pack of them here are losing their wits, and one after another runs off from me. speak, man! where the devil hast thou been?" "ah! dear master," sighed morten. "thank st. hubert that you are so pious and virtuous, and condemn not a weak worldly-minded fellow who hath been forced to do hard penance for his sins' sake. ye have doubtless observed how i delight in dancing and singing. in former days i was not afraid of a little drink, either; but on st. vitus's day it behoves us to be cautious. as a punishment for my ungodliness in a drunken bout, i was afflicted with st. vitus's dance, and i thought i should have danced for a whole year, as hath chanced to many a poor sinner before. perhaps you or other virtuous folk have prayed for me, for i got off for a few weeks' sickness; but in all that time i was not able to give any account of myself, and i have so danced the country round that i can hardly hang together." "indeed!" answered the jailor, looking at him suspiciously; "hast thou had that sickness? it is a rare one, though, and many will have it that it is nought but an idle superstition." "dear master! remember ye not then how it seized claus spillemans last year? he ceased not dancing till he dropped dead in sjöborg streets." "well, that is true enough; he went mad, no doubt, on st. vitus's day; but it was not upon _that_ day thou did'st kick up such a riot, and did'st run off from the turnkeys. be honest, morten! hast thou not suffered thyself to be seduced by the bishop to run errands for him? thou hast tramped the country sturdily round, that i see right well, and if thou now hast a fancy to be hanged for thy zeal in the service, thou comest in the very nick of time; both the king and the marsk are here, and when the one passes a sentence, the other is at hand to execute it." "dear pious master! what do you take me for?" answered morten, putting on a look of astonishment. "had i run errands for such a traitor i must have been stark mad indeed to come back again now, and let myself be hung for it. no, trust me, master, i am not so brutishly stupid. to tell you the whole clean out, i was drunk beyond all bounds that evening; whether it was st. vitus's day or not i do not quite exactly remember, but i have had neither sense nor recollection since. i must have doubtless scoured the country round like a madman. i have now come to my senses for the first time, and found the way to sjöborg again. here's been fine excommunicating work between the bishop and the king. if i can be of any use to you, say the word! i could break the archbishop's neck with the greatest pleasure in life if i could thereby save king and country. if you have any doubt of my honesty, i will only just fetch my traps, and take myself off with all reverence." "no, stay; i will believe thee, because of thy honest face, morten," said the steward, hastily, and casting a sharp look at him, while a new and daring thought seemed to flash across his hangman's soul. "i have never needed thee more than at this very time. my new cook hath also run off. i have only one turnkey left. i must myself be every thing and every where." "that is more than can be required of any christian soul, master. the devil himself can hardly take that upon him." "drunk and mad thou must surely have been," muttered the keeper, still looking narrowly at him. "hum! _so_ long a drunken fit, though, have i never heard the like of. st. vitus's dance? truly that is an ailment akin to madness; no man can answer for what he does in that state. hum! since thou art come to thy senses again, morten, i will even take thee again into service. in the day thou may'st be needed in the kitchen, and in the night--well, we can talk of that afterwards. old mads the turnkey is good for nothing; he hath now got his nephews to help him, and i count not on them either; and those foolish men-at-arms are afraid of being excommunicated or bewitched." "if i can help you with the night watch that shan't stand in _my_ way," said morten; "whatsoever i can do to plague and anger the bishop i do with hearty good will. i would only counsel you not to set me to watch in his chamber, for if st. vitus's dance come over me i were in a case to dance to the devil with him. it is a kind of cramp, you must know, and i might easily squeeze the life out of whomsoever i get hold of." "well, well, morten; there is no need for that. thou art now perfectly well and reasonable," muttered the keeper, with a grisly smile. "i must have some one to help me, or i shall go mad myself. one misfortune follows another. the king is a violent man, and the junker has no great weight with him. it is an easy thing to get into trouble when one has a devil to watch, and stern masters to account to. now comes that confounded report of the vessel at gilleleié, which plys to and fro to help the bishop to flight." morten turned quite pale. "our lady preserve us!--say they so?" he exclaimed, hastily; "then, by my troth, master, there _is_ need of watchfulness; yet it is just as dangerous to loose as to tie a mad dog." "it will cost me my life if he escapes, morten. i have the king's own most gracious word for it. i never let the prison keys out of my hand. the king's people are on guard, but i dare not trust them. i carry my life in my hands. i will now depend upon thee. come!" so saying, the agitated steward took morten by the arm, and led him across the yard towards the kitchen. it was a fine clear winter's morning. it had frozen so hard during the last few nights that a part of sjöborg lake was covered with tolerably hard ice. as the steward and the cook crossed the castle yard they saw all the king's huntsmen, with horses and hunting equipments, waiting before the castle stairs, and the royal car drove up. "what is agog now?" asked the steward. "we are off with the king to the chase at tikjob," answered one of the hunters. "the great lord from italy wants to go to esrom. he will surely either ride, or be borne on our shoulders." "when come ye back?" asked the steward. "faith, i know not," answered the huntsman. "to-morrow we shall have to go with the king to esrom. there is a great council to be held there, they say." "then it surely concerns the life or death of him yonder," muttered the steward, pointing to the prison tower. morten the cook became attentive, and stopped; but he soon hasted towards the kitchen door, where he stood, half concealed, as the door of the castle stairs opened, and the king and prince christopher came forth, and mounted their horses, together with the marsk, the two swedish lords, and a numerous company of knights. the king and his train halted, and when cardinal isarnus, with his famulus and his clerical train, also descended the stairs, the huntsmen and attendants bowed low whilst they took their seats in the royal car. the train, headed by the king and count henrik, then issued forth out of the castle gate, amid the joyous sound of the hunting horns. morten continued standing by the kitchen door. he had gazed on the young chivalrous monarch with a mingled feeling of fear and admiring interest, and a secret struggle seemed passing in his mind, as his glance turned from the noble and kingly form which had just passed him, to the gloomy prison window from whence he thought he heard a distant and smothered sigh. the steward had already twice called to him without his hearing; he now called again, with a round oath. the cook hastily passed his hand over his face, and struck up, in a shrill voice, one of his merriest ballads, as, with jest and laughter, he joined the domestics in the kitchen. during the rest of the day a monastic stillness reigned in sjöborg castle. when the evening closed in the steward appeared unusually friendly and confidential, and treated his cook to a flagon of good wine from the king's travelling store. before he sat down at the drinking table he had convinced himself with his own eyes that his dangerous state prisoner was under close keeping, and that the old turnkey and his comrade, as well as the guard without the prison-door, were at their posts. when he had fortified himself with some cups of wine, he began to unburden his heart to the cook. "i am an unfortunate man," he sighed forth. "i have not closed my eyes to sleep these three nights. each time i shut an eye it seems to me the bishop hath fled, and i am dangling from the gallows. it hath not fared much better with the king himself," he continued; "if he now condemns him to death, despite pope and clergy, he and the whole kingdom fall into trouble. if he lets him slip hence alive, matters are just as bad. i once dreamed the bishop had hung himself in his chains. oh! would it had pleased the lord it had been so indeed!" "a pious wish," answered morten. "i would willingly lend a helping hand towards the fulfilment of that dream; of course, master, i mean in all pious secrecy; and i blame you not for this. in your case it would be almost a necessary act of self-defence, and, at the same time, a good deed for king and country. is it not so?" "art thou mad, morten! it might cost me my neck," muttered the steward; "for ought i care he may hang himself, in the lord's name, whenever he pleases, if i only know nothing of it. if any good friend would lend him a helping hand, it might indeed, as thou say'st, save king and country, and deserve a rich and royal recompence; but i may thank my lord and maker if i can save my own life. had i but a faithful fellow who durst watch in the chamber with him to-night i should sleep in quiet. hast thou not courage enough for that, morten?" "oh yes; why should i not, if i get well paid for it? if he gives me any trouble, it were an easy matter to make away with him, without any one seeing or knowing aught about it." "art thou serious, morten? hast thou really courage to----" "to make an end of him, master?" "hush! no; i say not that. st. gertrude preserve me from tempting any one to do that deed, even though it might be a benefit to state and country, and might make a poor fellow happy for life. no; that was not my meaning. darest thou let me shut thee up with him to-night?" "yes, on one condition, master." "what is it?" "that you will not be wroth and complain of me if perchance you were not to find us to-morrow morning in the same trim as to-night." "pshaw, morten; it matters not to me in what trim i find you. i will pay ten silver pieces for every night you watch beside him, and a hundred for the last." "but even were that pious lord, through his witchcraft, to get loose after a fashion, i should surely get the blame of having let him slip." "ha, ha! thou art a merry wag, morten," muttered the steward, with a horrible laugh. "the liberty thou canst give him, when i have locked the door after thee, shall not disturb my night's rest. of course," he continued, with an uneasy and inquiring look, "thou must first let me search thy garments, to see that thou has not a file or any other tool with thee; that is a precaution i have ever used when i let any one watch with him in the chamber." "that is but reasonable. you are a conscientious man." so saying, morten pulled off his jerkin, and turned his pockets inside out. "but now i think of it, master, it won't do after all. if st. vitus's dance should come over me." "pshaw! thou art quite well and hearty." "but i am too hot-headed, master; and the bishop is wrath with me from former times. i have now and then plagued him a little, as you know, and should he take it into his head to insult me, or get hold of me, and i were forced to defend myself, it might cause a little stir, and set the guard and the whole castle agog." "that needs not be. thou art a bold fellow, morten. come! the guard shall not stand too near the door, and disturb thine and the bishop's rest, and shouldst thou get into a dispute with him about the state of souls after death, or such like learned matters, lay folks shall not be the wiser for that. drink a cup of wine to a good night, and then let's away. i want rest, and so doth the bishop. it is late." morten nodded, and drank. with a horrible smile on his coarse hypocritical countenance, jesper mogensen snatched up a lantern, and descended the staircase leading to the prison door, accompanied by the cook. he paused once or twice with uneasiness and suspicion, and held up the light towards morten, who followed him with a cheerful countenance. "thou look'st as well pleased as if i were leading thee to a jolly night revel," he muttered; "go on before. i cannot endure that rustling behind me." morten obeyed, and assumed a thoughtful look. "let not the guard smell a rat," he whispered, and pointed to a cord which was twisted round his waist. the keeper nodded, and seemed reassured. he ordered the guard to move further from the door, which he then half opened, and peeped in, holding the lantern before him. as soon as he had seen the captive lying quietly with his hands fettered, he pushed morten into the chamber. "a good and _quiet_ night," he said, with a grim smile, clapping to and locking the door behind him; he also carefully barred it without, and then descended the stairs. the nearest sentinel observed that he often looked timorously behind him, as if his own footsteps sounded suspiciously in his ear. "the stupid devil!" he muttered. "what he doth he shall himself answer for; it is no concern of mine." when morten entered the murky prison, he stood in silence, until the sound of the locking and bolting of the door had ceased, and until the hollow tread of the steward's iron-shod boots died away on the stairs; he then approached the captive's couch, and was about to speak, but he now heard singing and loud voices in the upper chamber. it was old mads the turnkey making merry with his nephews and the young fellows from the village who were to keep watch with him. morten listened in silence. he perceived from their inarticulate voices and drowsy songs, that the mead and saxon ale he had secretly brought them had been greatly to their taste. through a little hole in the ceiling above there fell a ray of light from their lamp upon the archbishop's couch, and lit up his long pale visage. he lay with closed eyes without stirring, apparently in a sound sleep. morten seated himself upon the damp stone floor, and interrupted not his repose until the noise of the carouse had entirely ceased, and he heard in the stillness of the night how they were snoring overhead. "sleep you, venerable sir?" he whispered, as he rose up from the floor. "no, thou faithful servant of the lord!" answered the archbishop, in a weak voice, and raised his head. "i and the lord's vengeance do but _seem_ to sleep, until it is time to wake and act." "now is the time to show clean heels," continued morten. "is all ready here?" "long since. thou hast tarried long; yet even that was an ordering of the lord. i was destined even in my chains to become a chastising rod in the lord's hand; but i was well nigh believing thou had'st failed me, or wert betrayed." "you thought, then, i was either a fox or a sheep, reverend sir. have you the rope ladder?" "here--but be cautious, morten. tie it to the thickest bar in the grate; that is secure. take the others out; they are filed through--but make no noise! i can rid myself of the fetters. thy file was blunt, but the lord sharpened it in my hand. his angel hath struck mine enemies both deaf and blind." "but now comes the _knotty_ point, pious sir," whispered morten, as he lingered, with an ambiguous smile. "now all depends upon whether the lord's angel will help you still farther. up to the window he hath indeed taught you to creep, but we have to descend thirty-six feet from thence to the tower wall, and then we still have that confounded castle wall besides. over the moat and lake the lord hath indeed laid a bridge. see you this cord? were i now to strangle you with it i might perhaps make my fortune; but i am too pious a fellow for that. i will but fasten it to the slip knot, that we may be able to draw the ladder after us. i will go down first to aid you. look now. i will answer for the ladder, if you can but keep your hold, till i can reach you from below. but----" "with the lord almighty's help"--whispered grand, in an anxious tone, and looking at the jolly cook, with a half suspicious glance--"assist me first up to the window, i am weary and weak. now, what art thou thinking of, morten? haste, or we are betrayed." "a little scruple has just entered my head, venerable sir," whispered morten. "i am a good christian, and i know well enough both you and the pope have my soul and the souls of all christians in your pockets. you have saved my life, do you see, and therefore have i promised to free you, whatever it may cost; but i am also a danish man, and you cannot ask that, for your sake, i should betray state and kingdom, or plunge our young brave king into misfortune. had i seen _him_ sooner, and known he was so noble a lord, i might perhaps have thought better on what i promised _you_. i know you have excommunicated him, and given him over to the devil, but by my soul he is too good for that, and if i am now to set you free you must promise me, by our lady and st. martin, that you will recall the ban, and do no harm to him or any other man in the country." "dost thou rave, morten?" exclaimed the archbishop, greatly surprised and enraged; "would'st thou ape the tyrant, and prescribe conditions to me? if thou doest not that thou promised me, i will excommunicate thee also, and thou shalt be eternally damned." "in that case, reverend sir," whispered morten, hastily creeping out of the window to the rope ladder, with the loose end of the cord in his hand, with which he could slip the looped knot that fastened the ladder,--"in that case i will bid you good night, and take the ladder with me to hell." "morten! good morten! betray me not," whispered the archbishop, in a beseeching tone, climbing with haste up to the window. "i will not deal harder by the king or any one here than i am compelled for the lord's and the church's and my conscience sake." "then will you loose him from the ban as soon as you are free and in safety yourself?" asked morten, still keeping his stand on the ladder. "yes, surely; yes, surely; only be silent, and help me." "then i will believe you for the present," whispered morten, and crept down the ladder. its last step was still ten feet from the ground, but the dexterous cook clung fast to it with his hands, and jumped down without any great difficulty. the archbishop had now also got out of the window, and with much effort held fast by one step, while he groped with his foot for the other. but on lifting his foot from the last step, to his great dismay he discovered that the ladder was much too short, and that in all probability his life would be endangered should he come to the ground without assistance. "help me, help me, morten!" he entreated in a low tone. "in the name of the all-merciful creator, help me!" "yes, if you swear to keep your word, on pain of excommunicating yourself to burning hell, venerable sir," answered morten, extending his arms to catch him in case he fell. "yes, assuredly, by all the saints and devils!" stammered the alarmed captive; "only catch me; i must let go my hold!" "let go then! in the holy virgin's name!" whispered morten; "if you are a pious man of your word you shall assuredly not dash your foot against a stone." the archbishop now relinquished his hold of the last step of the ladder, and let himself drop, but though instantly caught in the cook's powerful arms, he was unable to repress a smothered burst of pain and sorrow, as his swelled feet struck hard against the stone pavement, and when morten withdrew his support, he fell speechless and breathless to the ground. "you have surely not sworn falsely in your heart, venerable sir," whispered morten, anxiously. "this is no time, either, for swooning. if we delay a moment longer the guard may come, and lead you back from whence you came." as he said this, he drew down the ladder, and rolled it up with care. the archbishop yet lay as if lifeless on the ground. without any longer demur, morten put both arms round his waist, and carried him in this manner across the back yard of the prison to the high castle wall which encircled the tower and was surrounded by a moat. it was possible to mount the inside wall in case of need, and by dint of great exertion morten carried the almost senseless prelate up to the top of the wall. there he secured the rope ladder, while the bishop recovered his consciousness, and gained strength to pursue his flight. without delaying and alarming the fugitive by further stipulations, he assisted him to descend this wall also, and then drew the ladder after him. they passed the frozen moat of the castle; but that part of the lake which they had to cross was as smooth as glass, and the archbishop often fell and bruised himself. with morten's help he at last got over the ice, but now threw himself despairingly on the frozen ground. "i cannot go a step farther," he exclaimed. "if i am to reach the shore thou must get me a horse." "will you give me absolution then, venerable sir, if i can steal you a horse out of the stable here?" "it is a holy loan, which will bring thee a blessing," replied grand. "good! but if you understand aught of the black art, pious sir, forget not your latin now, but say a charm over the dogs, so that they bark not, and over the grooms in the stable, so that they wake not." "i will pray to the almighty to be with us. haste thee!" morten crept towards the neighbouring stable. he went across a dunghill to the stable door, upon which a large cross was marked in chalk by way of safeguard. the usually watchful mastiffs did not bark. it seemed to morten as if the cross on the stable door gleamed in the moonlight. the door of the groom's chamber he had to pass stood ajar. he peeped in, and saw three men in a deep sleep. in the stalls close by stood two small horses. he untied their halters, and led them out. the stone pavement of the stable and without the back door was covered with horse-litter, and he succeeded in leading the horses out without the slightest noise. he led them slowly towards the sea shore, and often looked behind him, but no one pursued--no dog barked, and the whole seemed to him to be almost miraculous. he found the archbishop where he had left him, in an attitude of prayer. with unwonted solemnity, and with a respect which, however, seemed mingled with a kind of dread, morten, without saying a word, assisted the prelate to mount one of the horses; he himself vaulted upon the other, and they rode in silence at a rapid trot down to the shore. there a tall grave knight and the two lolland deserters awaited them with a boat which they had stolen from the fishing village. the knight and both the wild lollanders bent the knee reverently before the archbishop as he extended his fingers to give them his blessing. with morten's aid he dismounted, and stepped into the boat. morten turned the strange horses loose, and seated himself on a rowing bench. with a few powerful strokes of the oar they reached a vessel with a black flag and pennant, which was waiting for them at some distance from the shore. they entered the ship, and let the boat float away. the day had not dawned when the vessel with the black flag sailed with a fair breeze through the sound, bearing off without impediment the dangerous man, who, even in his chains, had dared to excommunicate denmark's sovereign. chap. viii. sjöborg castle, which in the latter months of the year was honoured by the presence of royalty, and had been the theatre of such important events, stood desolate and deserted on the morning of the following new year. the gate was shut, and the floating bridge removed. the sentinel was no longer on guard on the battlement over the gate; within, no sounds of gaiety and occupancy were heard; without the southern rampart and the narrowest part of the lake which insulated the site of the castle stood a gallows, at the end of what was called the king's garden, where the roads met from esrom and gilleleié. on the gallows hung a lifeless corpse in a short sheep-skin coat, and with a pair of shaggy boots on the legs. a pair of ravens flapped their wings over the sinner's head, and around the stiff frozen body fluttered a flock of screaming crows. the aged jeppé, the fisherman from gilleleié, who on fast days was accustomed to bring fish to esrom, and to the kitchen of sjöborg, was returning at day-break from the ferry, opposite the closed castle gate, with his flat fish basket at his back, and stood almost under the gallows ere he was aware of it. his servant, a young fisherman, followed him also with a basket at his back. "it was true then, after all," said the old man; "they have made quick work of it here. the bird hath flown, and the cage stands empty. our young king hath been wroth in earnest--by my troth, he does nothing by halves. we may now carry our cod to elsinore. but what the devil ails the birds to-day?" "look, look, master!" shouted the lad; "there he hangs." "our lady preserve us!" exclaimed jeppé, and stopped. "ay, there he hangs, indeed, in his old sheep's skin, and in the boots i brought him from skanór fair, those he squeezed out of me for the freight and the sixteen marks. why, the soles are whole as yet! i told him not to wear them out with his courtier-like scrapings. faugh! he looks ugly in the face. 'tis no wholesome sight on a fasting stomach. let's take a sup, olé." he took a little wooden flask out of the basket, drank, and reached the flask to the lad, while they gazed with mingled curiosity and dread on the corpse. "by our lady! a foul human carcass is truly soon provided for," resumed the old man, clearing his throat after the strong drink, while he crossed himself, and put up the flask. "well, i say now what i said before; paid as deserved. he who deals against law shall be dealt with without law. one should otherwise, it is true, speak well of the dead; and this i _must_ say, jesper mogensen was in some sort a pious man; he neglected neither mattins nor mass; he went to confession every other day. that we none of us do. but the crow is never the whiter, let her wash herself ever so often, and i would not have given a rotten herring's head for all his piety. what said i the other day to boatman sóren? 'mark,' said i, 'that craft will one day run aground under the gallows.' that one could see with half an eye. we will pray an honest prayer for his soul, however, olé, although he _hath_ haggled many a shining piece from us, and cheated the king out of more pecks of silver pieces than the ravens have now left hairs on his sinful head. would it might fare somewhat better with him where he now is than it fared with his prisoner at sjöborg! _much_ better it were a shame to ask, for a pitiless master he ever was, and graceless rulers are shut out from the lord." "true, master," answered the young fisherman; "but might one not almost say the same of our young king himself, to say so with all reverence and respect?" "of the king? art thou mad, olé?" exclaimed the old man, with warmth; "art thou clean devil-blinded and possessed? is that the christianity thou learn'st in the monastery? thou art a pretty fellow, truly!" "be not wroth, master!" answered the lad; "but truth is truth, nevertheless, whether it be sour or sweet, or whether it tweak the nose of high or low, says pater gregor, and we danes are a free folk who dare to speak out in council[ ], whether it be against great or small; that you know as well as i, master. the king, by my troth, is not the man to put mercy before justice where the outlaws or their kindred and friends are concerned. now, there, are marsk stig's pretty daughters; he has pent them up in the maiden's tower at vordingborg, only because their father was an outlawed man; that's not very merciful. then there's the bishop they have so long plagued and tortured; that's a bad business, says pater gregor. whether or not he was leagued with the outlaws or the slesvig duke no one knows or can prove; but, however that may be, he was a mighty man of god, whom none but the lord and the pope could condemn, says pater gregor." "ay, indeed! he talks too much, that pater gregor," muttered the old man, seating himself thoughtfully on his fish basket. "those pious sirs of the cloister may say what they will; but this i know, that a more just-dealing king we have never had in denmark. as to his stringing up that fellow----" "it was a good deed, master, that i will never deny," interrupted the lad. "if the steward did not exactly help the bishop on his road,--which, no doubt, was what he was hung for,--he still richly deserved the halter for many other things. the king did him no wrong; but that poor turnkey mads, and his nephew, i am sorry for them. they are pent up, under bolt and bar, at flynderborg, only because the ale was a little too strong for them that night-watch in the tower. he who helped the bishop but," he added, with a rather sinister roll of the eye, "was surely none other than that gallows bird, morten the cook. it was both boldly and piously done, says pater gregor, and therefore doubtless hath holy st. martin saved his life, and helped him out of the country; but he is an outlawed man not the less for that, and if the devil hath not an eye on his soul i am no honest dane." "hark, olé!" resumed the old man, in a stern voice, and rising from his seat; "take care what thy beardless mouth utters, especially when thou speak'st of the devil, or of our lord, or of the king! touching morten the cook, i have also a word to say to thee; but first, of the king. 'tis a bad hand that will not protect its head, they say; the king is the people's head, see'st thou, and when the head aches all the limbs ache also; that hath every true danish man in our time learnt soon enough. our young king eric hath gone through much trouble, from the time he was no higher than my knee, but our lord hath been with him till this hour, and preserved both his soul and his body, despite archbishop, and pope, and clergy. we are a free folk, 'tis true; each man may speak out the truth boldly and freely, whether it be against high or low; but he who speaks an ill word of the king shall account for it to me, as surely as i have a tongue in my mouth and fists to my oar. thou art a greenhorn, olé; thou knowest but little of what passed in the country while thou wert in thy swaddling clothes. had the outlaws murdered thy father when thou wert riding thy stick thou would'st hardly have taken them to thy arms when ye rode with a troop of horse." "there, by my troth, you are right, master!" answered the youth, eagerly. "life for life! i would say, and strike off their heads wherever i met them; it were an honest deed and righteous wrath. but, nevertheless, 'vengeance is our lord's,' and a king should be somewhat cooler headed and wiser than any of us; he should rather suffer injustice than put state and country in peril, by standing up so stiffly for his right." "old woman's chatter," interrupted jeppé; "would the egg teach the hen? justice shall stand, though all the earth should perish. thus should a king think. he should not bear the sword in vain." "but, dear master! there is pater gregor, and all the pious monks at esrom, and many wise men in our town, they all of them think the king pushes his zeal and obstinacy too far, and only brings himself and the whole country into trouble; for this he hath now fallen under the archbishop's ban; yet he still will kick against the pricks, and goes just the same to mattins and mass as heretofore." "that defiance and ungodliness our lord will pardon him, i think," said the old man, with a nod of the head; "there is, besides, surely no bishop in the country who would shut the church door against him because master grand hath excommunicated him at sjöborg. when that quarrelsome lord was laid by the heels, folks said directly that all churches were to be shut in the country; but, look you, _was_ it so? if ten commands to shut them were sent from the pope in rome, may i be a flounder if he would be obeyed. but now the archbishop is free, so there is no great need for it. at any rate we have seen before that a danish king may be under a ban, and yet bear sceptre and crown to his dying day." "things may go wrong enough yet, master," answered the lad. "without the pope's permit he can never wed, and he may have long to wait for it while he deals in this fashion by every canon and priest who sided with the archbishop. there is the rich hans rodis in copenhagen; he hath lost all he owned because he sent a file and tools to the archbishop in the tower. master peter in lund hath not fared a hair better, and all the archbishop's church property is seized. the like of such presumption hath never been heard of in christendom before, says pater gregor." "in this matter the king will follow the advice of his best counsellors, and neither thine nor pater gregory's," muttered the old man. "he and the state council must answer for what hath been done. folk have tried him rather too much, and there are bounds to every thing, even to piety and patience. 'beware of a brawl!' said my departed father, god rest his soul! 'but if thou meddlest in one, carry it through like a man.' it avails but little to cast butter against stones. no; hard against hard." "by your leave, master, so said the devil, when he leant his back against a thorn bush," interrupted the young fisherman, smiling; "but it is said he repented it when he found what it did for him. i also have heard a wise old saying at times: 'if thou canst not step over, then creep under,' said my aunt to me. had our king learnt that wisdom of the proud drost hessel, who taught him to flourish lance and spear, it would have been better for state and country, says----" "pshaw!" interrupted the old man, placing his basket again on his back; "such wisdom may do well enough for thee, and thy aunt, and pater gregor, who speak out all ye think; but what is fitting for rats and mice would ill beseem the falcon and eagle. humility is precious as gold; but where a king would pass he should sooner burst the gate open than creep under it through the mire." so saying, he cast another glance at the solemn witness of the king's stern and speedy execution of justice, and then, silent and thoughtful, strode forward on the road to gilleleié. "but, since you side with the king in every thing, master," asked the youth, "how can you then defend mad morten the cook, or think he will 'scape the gallows? he hath ever sided with the outlaws. that he helped the bishop out of sjöborg you know as well as any of us. i saw he was with you on christmas eve, ere he put out to sea again in that black pilgrim ship." "if thou would'st keep in a whole skin, jackanapes, let that be between us two," exclaimed the old man, in wrath, turning menacingly towards him. "however morten may have sinned, he now doth penance for it; he who puts out to open sea at christmas, to serve his lord and saviour, is no bad christian, according to my notion, and therefore no traitor to his country." "but every one knows----" "gossip! we know enough! what morten hath to do either with the bishop or the outlaws concerns not thee or me; but this i know for certain, since he hath seen our young king himself, and taken money at his hand, he hath been true as steel to him in his heart. that master grand got loose was perhaps a god's providence," he added. "in this matter i even think myself our brave king hath set rather too boldly to work. if morten hath had a finger in the game it may cost him dear; but that he neither meant ill to country or king i will stake my neck upon." "a juggler and a godless churl he is, nevertheless; and an outlawed vagabond and sure gallows bird to boot, if he sets foot again on danish ground," said the young fisherman, eagerly. "'tis both sin and shame, master! that your young pretty karen will weep her blue eyes red for his sake." "ha, indeed! hath that come out?" said the old man; "thou would'st rather, i warrant, she should weep them red for thy sake, if weep she must. drive these fancies out of thine head, olé! if morten come back ere st. hans day, as he promised karen and me, and can give account of himself, thou shalt have leave to dance at his wedding; but if ye would speak ill of him to me or to karen, thou may'st pack up and pack off. now thou knowest my manner of thinking." so saying, the old man marched forward with rapid strides. the youth followed him, crest-fallen and in silence, till they drew near the shore, where jeppé unmoored a fishing boat for the purpose of sailing up the coast with the fish he could no longer dispose of at sjöborg. "you must not suppose i would speak ill of morten," resumed the young fisherman, as he set down the basket in the boat, and stepped over the gunwale after his master. "'twould be of no use either; you and karen are now so bewitched by that gallows bird. i must own myself he is a comely, sharp-witted jolly fellow, although he begins to get somewhat into years; indeed, as for that matter he might almost be her father. if he helped the bishop to flee out of piety and christian charity, he hath perhaps done a good deed, but folk will hardly say it was for the lord's sake. your pretty little karen would be better mated with a young fellow than with an outlawed and almost aged vagabond, and--" "thou beardless greenhorn! what is thy head running upon?" exclaimed the old man angrily, and stamping as he spoke. "think'st thou it needs but a smooth chin, and a milk-sop look, to cut out an honest fellow with my daughter? out of sight out of mind, say many young folk now-a-days; but that shall none say of me and _my_ daughter. if i hear a word more of this matter from thy mouth, olé! it shall be the last we exchange together. but what devil is this?" he exclaimed, in surprise, as he perceived there were three in the boat; "whence came that fellow?" "will you carry a passenger across to skanór, for fair words and fair recompense, good people?" asked a tall man, suddenly rising from under one of the rowing benches, where he appeared to have concealed himself under the sail. he wore a dirty peasant's cloak, but it fitted ill, and a knight's shoulder scarf peeped from under it, together with the richly gilded hilt of a sword. he seemed to strive in vain to conceal a large scar on his forehead under the goat's-skin cap; his pale and frigid countenance, and furtive glances from under his rusty-coloured meeting eyebrows, inspired a feeling of distrust; he spoke danish, but with something of a norwegian pronunciation, which, however, seemed not to be natural to him, but assumed for the occasion. "what have _you_ to do here in my boat?" growled forth jeppé, measuring the intruder with a bold look. "if you would cross to skanör, why go ye not to the ferry?" "the king hath stopped the ferries on account of the archbishop," answered the stranger. "every man knows grand hath escaped hence by sea, and yet the stupid dullards hunt after him here, both by day and night. not a cat can leave the country, and there is now hardly a wood or morass left where a friend of the pious archbishop may hide himself. i see you take me for a deserter. it avails not to withhold the truth from you. i am a persecuted man; save my life, and bring me to a sea port from whence i may escape; i will richly repay you for it." "well!" said the old man, and his stern look relaxed. "no doubt an honest man may get into trouble, as hath chanced ere now; _he_ is often forced to quit the country in disguise who afterwards can return with honour. the wind is fair, my yawl will weather the trip bravely; but i must first know who you are, and wherefore you are outlawed?" "outlawed!" repeated the stranger, with a start; "who says i am outlawed, with law and justice, because i fly from lawlessness and shameful injustice? i am a kinsman of the great archbishop grand, whom they have here so shamefully and unjustly maltreated. if i would not expose myself to the same tyrannical treatment, from which our lord and pious men have freed him, i am now forced to seek safety by flight." "but your name?" resumed the fisherman, as he suddenly placed the oar against a stone, and pushed the boat out to sea, with such force that both the stranger and the astonished young fisherman tumbled over the bench. "you will not call yourself outlawed, then?" he continued calmly, while the stranger stood up, and cast an anxious look on the wide space between the boat and the shore. "i should incline to think ye were so, nevertheless. are ye not called, because of a little mistake, squire kaggé with the scar? were ye one of those who slew the king's father in finnerup barn? and if it be you who lately sought to take the king's life, i should be a rascal if i stirred a hand to bring you to any other free port than the gallows." the stranger's countenance had become fearfully distorted; he thrust his hand as if convulsively under his cloak, and drew forth a long glittering knight's sword. "you must either set me instantly on shore here, or bring me to skanör harbour; no matter who the devil i may be," he cried. "the squire whom denmark's greatest man dubbed a knight lets himself not be carried to market with cod and flounders by a vile fisherman." "big words and fat flesh stick not in the throat," answered jeppé, quietly brandishing the heavy iron-tagged oar like a lance over his head. "here i stand on my own ground, and here i am master. cast your dyrendal[ ] from you, sir malapert! or you shall feel one upon your skull which will make you forget the stroke of knighthood you got from the greatest man. if that man be stig anderson,"--he added, "you need not mention your fair name or your fair deed--for in that case you were as certainly with marsk stig and the grey friars in finnerup barn as you are now with jeppé the fisherman on the road to judgment and the gallows." "we shall see," shouted the stranger, like a madman, and rushed on him with his drawn sword, but at the same moment he fell back senseless in the boat, while the hat flew from his head before a stroke of jeppé's iron-tagged oar. "take the dyrendal from him, and bind him, olé, while i loose the sails," said the old fisherman calmly, as he threw down the oar, and began to unfurl the sails. "that blow he dies not of. if the king will give him his life, that's _his_ affair; but none shall say that old jeppé the fisherman sided with such like outlaws, and let a regicide slip whole skinned from gilleleié." the young fisherman obeyed his master. the sails were soon unfurled, and the fishing yawl sailed swiftly along the coast. jeppé was not mistaken. his captive was the renowned aagé kaggé who had been outlawed with all those who had taken a personal share in the murder of eric glipping. he had entered the service of the king of norway, but had ventured to denmark to bring marsk stig's daughters from thence; and also, as it appeared, with other less peaceable intentions. that he had been a party to the murderous attack of the crazed jutlander upon the king the drost's huntsmen had borne witness, and there seemed also every probability that it was he who had attempted the assassination of drost aagé, as he was riding with marsk stig's daughters into the gate of vordingborg castle. every burgomaster and all commandants of castles throughout the country had received orders to trace and to seize him, wherever he was found. as an outlaw, besides, every one who met and knew him was empowered to slay him on the spot. although in general he, like all those outlawed regicides, was held in great detestation, there was still one heart which throbbed for him with love and sympathy,--the wayward, restless heart of the captive lady ulrica. chap. ix. on the same new year's day on which the outlawed knight was captured, marsk stig's youngest daughter slumbered, evidently disturbed by agitating dreams, in the tower called the maiden's tower, in vordingborg castle, while her sister rose ready dressed from the prie-dieu, and listened with folded hands to the sound of mattins from the chapel of the castle. a faint ray of daylight fell on them through the tower window. "help! help!" shrieked ulrica, starting up; "sleepest thou, margaretha? oh, it was fearful! yet it was, after all, but a foolish dream." "what ails thee, dear sister?" asked the placid margaretha, taking her sister lovingly by the hand; "thou must surely have dreamt again of that unhappy knight, kaggé?" "thou mightest be rather more courteous, sister. so _very_ unhappy he cannot be, when _i_ am dreaming of him. did i but know he was safe!" "pray to the lord and our lady that his grim image may be effaced from thy soul!" continued margaretha; "he can never come to a good end. all the greatness and splendour he hath promised thee are but empty castles in the air, with nought of truth in them." "truth here, and truth there, sister! what you call our castles in the air are nevertheless far better than this much too real prison; and how can'st thou call sir kaggé grim? i think his bold, wolf-like eye-brows are perfectly lovely. alas! sweet sister! i dreamed he was in distress and in peril of his life. he stood in chains before me, and bade me entreat the king for his life." "he is assuredly thy bad angel, ulrica!" answered margaretha; "it is his fault that we are now here. would thou hadst never believed his flatteries and false tongue, he loves no one in the world save himself." "how can'st thou say so, sister? did'st thou not hear thyself how solemnly he swore to free us, or lose his life?" "but when it was time to keep his word, like a true and manly knight, his own pitiful revenge and his own life were dearer to him than our peace and freedom," answered margaretha. "he, in truth, sharpened the arrow our faithful squire shot from the bow, but ere it flew from the string he took himself off, and abandoned us to our fate." "but he followed us, though, at peril of his life, close to the castle gate, and had not the drost been dearer to thee than both i and thyself we should not now have been here." "if our freedom could only be gained by treachery and assassination, it were better we stayed here captive all our life-time," answered margaretha. "had the noble drost aagé been as much our enemy as he showed himself to be our friend--i would not even then have left him in that condition to bleed to death, without help and care. i would rather remain in prison until my dying day than flee with a cowardly assassin, and be suspected by the noble drost of having had the least part or lot in such crime." "thou art really much too conscientious, sister margaretha! in comparison with me, thou art half an angel, it is true; but confess to me now, it was surely not _purely_ for the lord's sake you stayed and behaved so generously to the drost. he is a very handsome young knight, although he cannot be compared to sir kaggé, and i have seen plainly enough how tenderly and lovingly your eyes meet each time you bind up his wounds--thou art really making him greatly beholden to thee." "be not malicious, dear ulrica," answered margaretha, blushing crimson; "what harm is there in my tending him with unfeigned good will?" "tend him with as much good will as thou likest; i never said there was any harm in that--call him every instant the noble and the pious, just as if he were the only good knight in christendom! but at any rate give _me_ leave to defend sir kaggé, and feel anxious for him when he perils his life for my sake! it was indeed not _quite_ according to rule that he left us when we were captured! i shall scold him finely for that when we meet; but what was he to do against so many? if he escaped, he could still hope to free us as long as he himself was at liberty. as to his attacking the drost in the dark gateway, without sounding a trumpet before him, it perhaps did not look altogether chivalrous; but stratagem against superior force is always lawful in war, and it was after all a bold and desperate enterprise, which may even yet cost him his life, although it did nought either for or against us--ah! did i but know he was safe, i would gladly be patient, and put up with this captivity some time longer.--when the king gets to know what i now know he will have to ask pardon, and treat me like a princess." "poor ulrica! what sayest thou?" exclaimed her sister in dismay, and turning pale; "what madman can have put into your head----" "that was the secret, then, thou wouldst never out with, my pious sister!" interrupted ulrica, with a joyous smile. "i had determined to conceal my discovery until i could show thee what use it was of; but now i will show thee that kaggé is much more true and devoted to me than thou art. while thou thoughtest only of the wounded drost, my outlawed knight hath enabled me to guess who i am, and hath sent me a billet of more importance than all the drosts in the world.--this runic scrap should burst before us the doors of every prison in denmark." so saying, she produced with a triumphant air, a small and curiously carved wooden tablet, upon which was depicted a royal coat of arms with three crowned leopards, and with ulrica's name below, in runic characters, by the side of princess mérété's, king eric ericson's, and junker christopher's. "seest thou," said she, drawing up her head proudly, "the three crowned leopards stand in the king's great seal? as yet i have only half made out the connection. but at any rate i have gathered thus much from all the puzzling hints they have given me:--the king's father must have been secretly wedded to a noble lady of marsk stig's kindred. it must no doubt have been a hazardous affair, since he had another for his queen; but, nevertheless, lam his daughter, just the same, and therefore princess mérété's and the king's half sister--though no one must know it.--my poor mother hath no doubt suffered great wrong, and thus come by her death; but that thy father and his kinsmen have amply revenged. me they brought up in the marsk's house, and therefore i must now share the persecutions that have come upon thy whole race." "alas! believe not one word of that confused and wretched story, dear ulrica!" exclaimed margaretha, bursting into tears; "burn those unfortunate lines, and believe me thou art in truth my sister, and all that talk of a higher birth can but bring thee shame and degradation." "that thou would'st scarcely say had'st thou seen thine own name by the side of kings and princes," answered ulrica, with a proud toss of the head, while she gazed with sparkling eyes on the wooden tablet; "and look," she continued, fuming it over, "here stand the norwegian duke haco's lion shield, and pedigree; it reaches in a direct line up to the great harold harfager; and seest thou there stands my true knight kaggé's name in a side branch like mine--he traces his descent also from kings and princes; and rememberest thou not what old mother elsé foretold me at hald? i was to become a great princess one day, she said, and get a handsome and rich bridegroom of princely birth." "alas, dearest sister!" exclaimed margaretha, sorrowfully, "thy childish vanity makes thy soul the sport of dishonourable and traitorous braggarts--the domestic miseries which brought misfortune upon the country as well as on our renowned race could be represented to thee by none but an evil spirit as a source of honour and good fortune. the blood of slaves, not the blood of princes, runs in that man's veins who could picture _that_ to thee as an honour which would make thee to die of grief and shame, did'st thou believe it to be true, and knewest how to prize the birth which is in truth high and honourable. "'tis pity thou art not a priest, sister!" said ulrica, with a toss of the head; "if the story of my high birth were only an idle and unfounded report, it could hardly have had such important consequences here in the country; thou must thyself have thought it true, since thou never would'st confide it to me; but i have long had an inkling of it. old mother elsé dared not come quite out with it; but this you must at any rate allow,--all who have known us and our family have ever bowed much lower to me than to thee, although thou wert the eldest; and i have seen folk point oft to me, when i was gaily clad, and heard them whisper, 'look, there goes the little princess; look, her pretty eyes twinkle just like king glipping's.'"[ ] "poor, poor sister!" exclaimed margaretha, folding her, weeping, in her arms; "and could'st thou endure to hear such hateful words? were they able to flatter thy vain and childish heart by a glittering title which concealed the bitterest hate and scorn? poor ulrica! thy greatest misfortune, after all, is thy soul's blindness--it makes thee even vain and proud of what should be thy grief and shame. alas! didst thou tremble with me at that tale as at a voice from the bottomless pit i perhaps should know how to comfort and counsel thee; then would i weep with thee, and pray our blessed lady to give thee the hope she gave me, when at times all the horrors i saw and heard in my childhood seemed like a frightful dream, and it was as though an angel whispered to my soul that the whole was error and illusion.--ah, mother! mother! how shall i perform that i promised thee, and bring this erring child safe to thine arms?" "now thou art growing tiresome again, margaretha, with all thy love, and thy piety, and thy conscience," interrupted ulrica, pettishly, "_your_ mother was only my foster mother; that i can well understand. who _my_ real mother was thou mightest easily tell, if there was any real sisterly love in thee; but thou art not my sister after all. i would thou wert in a nunnery! there thou mightest mourn over me, and pray for me as much as it pleased thee, without plaguing me with it; yet, no! for then i must part from thee, and that i could not bear," she added, affectionately. "i am still a worldling, dear good margaretha!" continued ulrica, with child-like simplicity. "i have told you so a hundred times. all the misfortunes that happened in our childhood, or before i was born, i have neither seen nor shared in; how, then, canst thou require i should grieve over them? and what good would it do were i now to sit down with thee to mourn and weep? what our parents and their kindred have suffered or done amiss our blessed lady must pray our lord to make amends for, and forgive them; but that i have just as little to do with as thou. i thank my lord and maker, and our blessed lady, that i have come into this fair world, and that i am not ashamed of my birth, even though i am but half a princess. the sorrow and degradation thou would'st have me despair over i care not to meddle with; either it is altogether idle talk, and then there is nought to mourn for; or it is true, and i must be satisfied with it as my destiny; and then i should still be a kind of princess; and what shame can it be to me that i should be called what i am, and that a knight of royal descent woos me, and would bring me to the station and honour which are mine by right?" "alas! for thy honour and thy wooer, poor sister!" answered margaretha, "there is not a true word in sir kaggé; all know he is come of higher birth than he deserves, and it was not till he was outlawed and fled to norway that he thought of disowning his own kindred, and tracing his pedigree in a disgraceful manner to the royal house of norway. such dishonourable fiction would show thee his character, if thou didst not share his perverted hankerings after the greatness which confers not honour." during this conversation ulrica had arrayed herself in her richest attire, and it had become quite light. "now look at me!" she said, contemplating herself in the polished shield on the wall. "need i really be so terribly ashamed of my own existence, or wish i had never been born? that indeed would be shameful and ungodly. to speak honestly, margaretha, should i doubt all that sir kaggé hath told me of my descent and of my beauty, i ought to doubt my own eyes also, and every mirror i looked into would be just as false a flatterer and traitor as thou deemest him to be." "truly the mirror _is_ a false flatterer," answered margaretha; "it shows us but the fair outside and the smooth skin, but hides the skeleton and the image of death within us. the more pleasure we take in the mimic image it displays to us in our vanity, the more the eyes are blinded and the soul corrupted. hadst thou heard the exaggerated compliments sir kaggé paid _me_ ere he saw thee quite grown up, and found thou hadst a more attentive ear for his fair speeches and bold plans concerning our forfeited goods and rights, he would scarcely have been less the object of thy laughter and ridicule than that foolish sir pallé." "ah, how terribly unreasonable thou art, thou dear pious margaretha!" interrupted ulrica; "that fat stupid sir pallé was made to be a laughing stock. i know well enough kaggé was once a little in love with thee, but i can readily forgive him, since he hath got over it so well.--thou wert too in some sort my sister, and at the time i was almost a child.--thou wouldst doubtless have had him sigh himself to death over thy coldness, but that was too much to ask of a handsome young knight. should he then be deemed a faithless and inconstant lover because he was mistaken in us sisters, ere he could know our hearts and his own? how could he help that thou wert so cold and indifferent, and so insufferably pious? and was it then so unpardonable a sin that at last he found out that i was quite as fair--or perhaps rather more so?" "dear deluded child!" sighed margaretha, patting her sister's cheek, while she parted the fair curled locks from her brow, "must thou ever seek to trace every sentiment thou wouldst rightly understand to a vain and empty source? kaggé was a loyal and devoted squire to our father, it is true; he was a zealous sharer in that fearful deed of vengeance, the grounds of which thou now thinkest thou hast discovered; but were those grounds not false, and wert thou in truth that thou thinkest thyself to be, how canst thou give thy hand without shuddering to a man who was with the band in finnerup-barn?" she paused, and folded her hands as if in silent prayer, as she knelt down on the prie-dieu, and rented her lovely head on the breviary. "margaretha! dearest margaretha! thou hast terrified me," exclaimed ulrica, who had turned quite pale. "a horrible and ghastly form rises before me. ah! thou art right; i never thought of that. if the story of my birth be true i ought never to hold sir kaggé dear, and yet i never saw the noble ill-fated prince who fell in finnerup-barn. should i hate all those who willed his death, i must also hate my mother, and thy mother, and father stig. alas, margaretha! we must never think on our lot in this world, if we would be gay and happy among other human beings; we must either forget all that hath chanced to us, or go into a nunnery, and bid the beautiful joyous world good night; but that i cannot do. dear sister! pray for me. i will forget what it is not good to think upon, but i cannot hate any living soul; and he who loves me with truth and fervour i _must_ love again, whoever he may be, and for what cause soever he may be outlawed and persecuted." she burst into a flood of tears, and held up her long golden tresses before her eyes. "dearest ulrica! weep not. i will pray for thee as long as i live," said margaretha. she rose hastily from the prie-dieu, and folded her sister tenderly in her arms. "we have not as yet wished each other a happy new year. the lord and our blessed lady make thee pious and patient, and blessed, and grant us both that which is most profitable for soul and salvation. weep not, dearest ulrica! if i have spoken harshly to thee, and grieved thee, forgive me, for our mother's sake! she bade me admonish thee, and guard thy soul from thoughts of vanity. but i see it is so, thou _art_ good and pious and blessed; only weep not!" "yes, if thou wilt never more speak evil of sir kaggé, or require i should forget him, and leave off dreaming of him, for that i cannot; that i _will not_ do." so saying, ulrica dried her eyes with her long hair, and peeped archly at her sister through her fingers. "in the lord's name, love every living soul in which there is a spark of god's grace," answered margaretha, "only be not sorrowful." "well, i can understand you now," said ulrica, taking her hand from her eyes. she laughed, and heartily kissed her sister. "a happy new year, sister margaretha! would thou might'st wed the handsome drost ere the year is out, and would we might get out of this cage ere the woods are green and the birds sing." she then began to dance with her staid sister round the prison chamber, singing, "i know where stands a castle fair, all dazzling to the sight; its walls are decked with carvings rare, with gold and silver bright."[ ] "hush! hush! dear sister! some one is coming," said margaretha, entreatingly. ulrica listened, and on hearing the bolt withdrawn from the prison door she hastily arranged her hair in the polished shield, and suddenly assumed a stiff and consequential deportment. the door opened, and a sprightly little maiden entered to attend on them, and to bring the usual morning repast. "a happy new year, with the blessing of our lady and st. joseph, noble ladies!" said the maiden, curtseying, as she placed the cup of warm ale on the table. "master asks whether you will drive afterwards to high mass with his dame. there came strangers in the night," she added, anxious to impart the news. "they slept up above in the knights' story. there are to be fine doings because of them; they are to breakfast in the ladies' apartment, and there is a fire on the hearth in the great hall.--the strangers are come from court; they say the drost will depart----" "depart!" repeated margaretha, blushing deeply. "ah, yes," she added, calmly, "it is possible, indeed, if it be necessary. yet if they could allow a few days more it would be better for him. follow me to the ladies' apartment, little karen! perhaps he wants his wounds bound up in haste." "no, stay, and see first if my hair is properly dressed!" said ulrica. "happy new year, little karen! and a lover ere this day twelvemonth." "a bridegroom you surely mean, lady! for lovers one may have in plenty every year," answered the maiden, simpering. "your hair is finely dressed. lady ulrica! had _i_ such beautiful silken hair, and head-gear of gold and pearl to boot, as you have, by my troth i should never wish to put on a matron's cap while i lived; but _my_ hair i wish to hide; the sooner the better. whenever my sweetheart hath had a scold from master, i am ever forced to hear it is rough and short. you are as small as a reed. lady ulrica!" she continued, looking at her slender form and gay attire; "one may easily see you are a dainty highborn knight's daughter, and no serving maid or kitchen drudge--if _i_ could appear in such fashion to my sweetheart, how he would stare! but i saw at once you were born to trail in silk and scarlet.--there hides something else under those wadmal cloaks than maidens of our condition, said i to maren, the porter's wife, as soon as we set eyes on you; and when master grew afterwards so civil to you, and his wife sent you all those fine clothes and adornments on christmas eve--we saw well enough how it was, that we had rare birds in the cage; perhaps even a princess, as some will have it.--that light green laced boddice becomes you marvellously. lady ulrica; but were i in lady margaretha's place i would not wear white attire on new-year's-day; it hath such a sad appearance, and it is no good omen for the good luck and happiness of the new year----" "my colour hath been the shroud's since my father and mother died," said margaretha, with a deep sigh; "but come now, little karen! while you pass judgment on garments and finery many a mass may be sung to an end." "mattins are over, and there is time enough ere high mass," said the maiden; "but take some refreshment. it is not good to drive to church or bind the drost's neck on a fasting stomach." "i say so too, little karen!" said ulrica, with an arch smile, as she partook heartily of the morning draught. "so the drost is well again, and going to depart," she continued; "truly it must be hard for so brave a knight to live so long under maiden's care, especially with that frightful scar on his neck." "the shame is not his, but the coward's who dared not face him,"--answered the maiden; "is it not so, lady margaretha?" "that is my sister's opinion also," sighed margaretha; "but come! i think i hear a ringing." "not yet awhile; truly thou art much too devout, sister!" said ulrica, with an arch look. "you forget your repast every morning for mass, and mattins often ring in your ears much before the hour. but it is true the drost's neck should be looked at ere mass, and that is ever a work of time.--now i am coming; take me with you. i am coming instantly. i will not again be shut up here alone--ah yes, sister! had i not thee by me i should be an ungodly being, and sleep over mass time every morning.--thou mayst thank the drost's neck that thou dost never oversleep thyself--stay a moment; i am coming."--she drained the pewter cup, and hastened out of the door with her sister and their attendant. chap. x. from the maiden's tower, which, with the ancient waldemar's tower, near the chapel, stood within the northern semicircle of the wall surrounding the castle, a vaulted private passage led to the broad flagged and spacious hall on the first floor of the main building into which the knights' hall, the ladies' apartment, and various others opened. there was likewise a front entrance from the court-yard by a flight of high wooden steps, surmounted by a porch, and enclosed on each side with an iron railing that led up to the balcony. directly opposite the two northern towers stood, on the side towards the sea, in the southern semicircle of the castle wall, the strongly fortified towers called the dragon and the sea tower. above the entrance stood the castle tower, and above the chapel was a small belfry. in the midst of the castle square stood a high flagstaff, bearing the royal arms, the three crowned leopards among a number of golden hearts. the circular wall, which, with its high battlements and towers, surrounded the whole castle, was also environed by ramparts and deep moats. as the castle was often occupied by the king and his whole court, it was kept in perfect repair, and amply provided with furniture and every kind of convenience. the castle was one of the most important fortresses in the kingdom. the number of men belonging to the garrison and household was not inconsiderable. whenever the chapel bell rung for mattins, the commandant, with all the inmates of the castle and its precincts, proceeded to the chapel across the spacious square of the castle. they now were returning from mattins with their extinguished lanterns in their hands. the captive maidens were guarded without any severity. when accompanied by one female attendant, the whole castle was open to them during the day. they were obliged, however, to sleep at night in the tower, which was never unlocked until daylight; and the porter was only permitted to open the castle gate for them when the commandant himself or his family accompanied them to the church of the town, or through the orchard to the chase of the castle, where at this season of the year they sometimes amused themselves by hawking, a sport of which ulrica was passionately fond, but in which margaretha only shared for her sister's sake. when ulrica, with her sister and the attendant maiden, stepped out of the dark passage into the vestibule, she instantly ran as usual to one of the bow windows, and breathed upon one of the panes to clear away the frost and make herself a peep-hole into the castle yard. "look! look!" she said, gaily; "we shall have the new yellow car to drive in to-day to church; and look! there they ride to water with the strangers' horses--i declare they have long silken coverings on, and there are the royal grooms with them--look! the commandant, with the drost and the strangers, are crossing over this way--one of the strangers is a canon; but who _can_ those two comical men be with the german caps?" "let us go into the ladies' apartment," said margaretha; "it would not be seemly that they should find us here alone so early." "one can never see any thing, or enjoy any thing, because of that tiresome seemliness," said ulrica, pettishly, and followed her sister reluctantly into the ladies' apartment. shortly afterwards the door opened, and drost aagé entered the ante-chamber, with the king's confessor. master petrus de dacia, and the two german minstrels, accompanied by the commandant. sir ribolt, a tall man of noble presence, whose knightly attire was arranged in strict conformity to the fashion of the time. the commandant first crossed the threshold, and closed the door to keep in the warmth, which began to diffuse itself from the large glowing stone chimney. "in the king's name!" he said, with a kind of solemnity, as he doffed his high plumed hat, "welcome in his hall, noble sirs! here he is your host, though in my insignificant person--i may expect him here, then, in the spring, venerable sir?" "he bade me bring you that message, next to royal greeting and favour," answered master petrus de dacia, giving his hand to the commandant. "we have slept under your roof, but as yet your guests are unknown to you," he continued. "my name you know. in a few hours i must journey onwards; but these honourable strangers desire, and have royal permission, to be your guests for some time, partly with a learned and scientific object." he now presented to the commandant master poppé and master rumelant from swabia, as renowned professors of the noble art of minstrelsy, who had visited the territories of many lords and princes, and who were now desirous also of seeing and knowing all that was remarkable in denmark respecting the manners and the customs of the people, and the state of art and science, compared with that of other nations. "these learned persons," he added, "are commended to you as the king's guests, so long as it is their desire to remain here. it is the king's pleasure that they should have free access to the royal collection of manuscripts and the archives of the castle." "well, these learned guests are welcome," answered the commandant, saluting the strangers with some embarrassment; "it is probably the chronicles they desire to search into, and the ancient manuscripts which lie here, treating of the affairs of denmark and the german kingdoms in olden times. there was lately here a learned monk from nyé, who, by the king's command, had much to do with these writings. they are treasures which i, to say truth, know but little how to prize; but scholars can never sufficiently laud our king's carefulness in collecting such writings, and the free use of them which he allows both to native and foreign scholars. the lord help me. sir drost!" he whispered to aagé, "they are surely most awfully learned; they perhaps do not understand a word of danish?" "are not your king's famous 'congesta'[ ] to be found here?" asked the tall master poppé, in a half german half danish dialect; "we desire especially to become acquainted with that important historical collection, as well as with the copy which is here to be seen of your famous saxo grammaticus, likewise sveno agonis[ ], and whatever may be found here of collections of old ballads, and of norwegian or icelandic poems, and sagas of heathen time; item, all remarkable monumenta and volumina antiquitatis." "what i specially rejoice over," said the enthusiastic little master rumelant, "is what i here expect to meet with of your famous theological lumina and christian poets, particularly the far-famed hexameron of the great andreas sunonis, of which i have never been able to trace any copy among my countrymen, or among any of the noble lords and princes, my gracious well-wishers and benefactors, whose praises i have sung according to my poor ability." "so far as i know, the manuscript you speak of is to be found here among the learned latin writings, from the time of king waldemar the victorious, of blessed memory," answered the commandant, endeavouring to hide his impatience; "but it is only of what is written in the language of the country that i can give account to you--your study shall be next to the manuscript chamber--the castle chaplain has the superintendence of it; he will no doubt be able to give you all the information you want. i will arrange every thing in the best way i can for you, learned sirs; but i pray you to excuse me, who am a layman, and straight-forward soldier, for my ignorance of such matters. permit me now to install you among my family, and to entreat you will be content for the present with some food for the body." "allow me first a few words in private here with the drost," said master petrus, remaining behind in the vestibule with aagé, whose pale cheek was for a moment tinged with a crimson hue as the door of the ladies' apartment closed, and he was but half able to greet margaretha. it was evident that he had suffered from a dangerous wound. he still held his head rather stiffly, and his left arm was in a sling. the tall ecclesiastic took him by the hand, and gazed on him earnestly, with his serene, intellectual eye. "it is chiefly for your sake, drost aagé, the king sent me hither," he said; "you know how dear you have been to him from his childhood, and how greatly he needs must miss you; but ere it is permitted me to speak one word to you of the king's and state affairs, i am enjoined to certify myself of the health both of your mind and body. it is said you have not only been dangerously wounded, but sick at heart besides, and plagued with all manner of disquiet thoughts and confused dreams, so that you have oft stood more in need of a spiritual than of a bodily physician. if you place any trust in me, then confide to me that which seems still to disquiet you." "i have been a visionary since i was excommunicated," said aagé; "i know it right well. the trial was too much for me; but now, praise be to the lord and our lady! a light hath dawned upon my soul, which reconciles me to what is dark and mysterious in my life and destiny.--but _my_ feelings and concerns are of no moment. tell me only what the king is about; how can he and the country be saved from downfall amid all these perplexing events; for the lord's sake tell me?" "not a word of that as yet, dear drost," interrupted master petrus; "i must first see how far you are capable of acting in worldly matters. the spirit that would work mightily for the peace and happiness of king and country must first be at peace with itself." "i _have_ that peace, venerable sir! my soul is as well at ease as it ever will be in this world. when i heard the archbishop was fled, and the king excommunicated, i threw myself on my horse, and would have hasted to sjöborg, but they brought me back here half dead. what i have since heard of the king's impetuosity and wrath hath more than ever disquieted me, and in my tendency to dark presentiments i have many a night, in my fevered dreams, beheld the king surrounded by robbers and murderers." "be easy on that score, noble drost. no sovereign was ever more beloved by his people; an invisible guard of the angels of love and righteousness accompany the young eric, even when traitors and deadly foes are nigh him. i know you were with the king's father in finnerup-barn on that bloody st. cecilia's eve. what you then witnessed as a child you surely have never been able to forget?" "no, never!" exclaimed aagé, with breathless earnestness; "and i have often mourned i had neither courage nor might to avert that catastrophe. it was not till the barn burst into flames around the murdered king that i fully recovered the use of my senses. i snatched the sword from the old insane pallé, when he threw himself on the body to maltreat it, and struck the same murderous steel into his breast with which he had slain his liege. that bloody scene, and the dying look of that crazed old man, hath often been fearfully present to me. the horrid spectacle, however, was nearly effaced from my memory, when, two years back, i was one day sent by the king to the captive archbishop at sjöborg to bring him to confession; but when i looked on yon terrific prisoner, as he uplifted his fettered arm, and gave me over to the devil, with the church's most dreadful curse, it seemed to me as though i stood once more in the barn at finnerup, and as if a condemning spirit spoke through the archbishop, and thundered forth the words of excommunication over me for my sins' sake. in the fever caused by my wound i have often suffered from the most fearful visions, and dreamed of fighting with all manner of monsters and demons; but when it was at the worst i ever saw a heavenly angel at my side, who, with pious prayers, chased away the evil spirit, and whispered comfort and consolation to my soul. at last a mild light dawned upon me--i felt i might yet redeem from the curse that life which in my childhood i had neither power nor courage to sacrifice for my former master, by my devoting it to his son, our noble young king eric. this is now my firm and stedfast purpose; i have renounced all thoughts of happiness for myself. yon angel of consolation hath since appeared to me in a mortal form; but she neither desires nor is able to turn me from my resolve. it was the eldest and most estimable of marsk stig's daughters. venerable sir! to you alone i confide it--she hath become dear to me as my own soul, and she hath herself wonderfully strengthened me in my resolution. by saving my life, and preserving it for the service of him who hath pronounced her whole race outlawed, she hath sought to atone for a share of her dreaded father's crime. each step i follow my beloved young sovereign will and must separate me and marsk stig's race in this world; yet, with the lord's help, that shall not stop my progress, or impair my loyalty. mark, venerable sir! from the moment in which the future destiny of my life was clear before me i was freed from the evil spirits which persecuted me, and i now feel myself nearly healed both in body and soul. now you know all, tell me, i beseech you, that which is of far greater moment, what message bring you me from the king?" "one word more of yourself first, noble drost," answered master petrus, in an affectionate tone, taking his hand, and gazing with his usual look of calm intelligence on aagé's melancholy but resolute countenance; "your determination i must laud as fair and noble, although it still in some measure betokens your tendency to extremes, even in what is good and praiseworthy. you can devote your life and powers to the service of your king and country without seeking the death of a martyr; you need not yourself renounce the enjoyments of life because a higher aim of existence stands in your view; but i will not upbraid you for such youthful extravagances,--there _was_ a time when i desired myself to die a martyr in honour of the holy virgin; even now i should glory in it were it so ordered for me; but i no longer hanker after martyrdom with blind enthusiasm and spiritual pride. the consoling angel you speak of, noble drost, she who stood before you here in the form of a captive maiden, i only desire her justification and acquittal, and then assuredly you need not renounce all hope in respect of the secret wishes of your heart. i also have known such a being," he continued, with emotion; "next to the holy virgin she is even yet to me the most precious soul of her sex that lives and hath ever lived in the world; she is, in truth, the bride of heaven here upon earth, and her duty and condition, as well as mine, separate us here below. but i believe, to speak truly, neither you nor any worldly man can be called on or have strength to make such renunciation; but providence and its high disposer will care for this. i rejoice from my heart that the fairest feeling of humanity is awakened in your soul. even when attended by the greatest sacrifice and the extreme of privation, it is, next to the joys of heaven, the richest treasure that can be bestowed on a human being." "yes, assuredly!" exclaimed aagé, with joyful enthusiasm; "wholly wretched i never now can be. i have now told you the whole state of my case. conceal not any thing longer from me!" "well, my excellent young friend," said master petrus, pressing his hand, "i will look on you as spiritually healed. it is a true and precious feeling--it is the earnest of a noble and mighty life of action which stirs in your somewhat enthusiastic and visionary soul. i would send you forth from this much too quiet and trying position, which only fosters your visionary turn of mind. i will not hesitate to enlist your whole strength in the service of king and country. look! here is a private letter from the king." he reached a sealed packet to the drost. aagé hastily broke the seal. "ha! what means this? of course you know the contents?" "i wrote the letter myself in the chancellor's absence. it is come to a breach with junker christopher; he must be disarmed and brought to subjection ere two more suns have set. you or sir ribolt are to beleaguer holbek castle, and join the king before kallundborg with a hundred lancers." drost aagé gazed in dismay,--now on the letter,--now on master petrus. "great god!" he exclaimed; "is it come to this? civil war and bloody feud between the brothers!" "be calm, noble drost! that is precisely what you must prevent, but quietly,--cautiously. i have, besides, a question to put to you, by word of mouth, from the king." so saying, master petrus drew aagé further from the door, and continued in a low tone,--"hath the junker caused any paper to be fetched from hence lately? of the noble sir ribolt there is no suspicion; but is the castle chaplain to be counted on?" "for the commandant's loyalty i will answer," replied aagé; "the chaplain i know not. but what mean you?" "the letters junker christopher took from the chest in lund sacristy he affirms that he deposited here, but they have been lately sought for in vain. they might now be of the greatest importance in the king's affair with master grand. the learned scholars i have brought hither with me are again to search the archives. i must myself haste to sweden, to tranquillise the spirits there. you know the ambassadors left us in haste. we are on doubtful terms with their court; the negotiations are broken off. the king went too far in his anger at grand's flight. he now wants to carry every thing through by force. it is come to a breach also with the dukes of sleswig--the cardinal hath left the court, he menaces to use his fearful authority." "misfortune upon misfortune!" exclaimed aagé. "great heaven! what will be the end of all this?" "if the lord please, all may turn out more favourably than seems likely at present," continued master petrus, calmly. "if you and the marsk can procure peace with temporal enemies, i and my colleagues hope, with god's assistance, to obtain a truce with ecclesiastical foes. chancellor martinus and provost guido are sent to rome to anticipate grand. most of the bishops in the country side with the king. the provincial prior of the dominicans and the chapters continue their protest against the constitution of veile. no priest will uphold the interdict; and, as i said, the people are loyal and devoted to the king." "but this unhappy quarrel with the junker--the breach with the dukes--the doubtful terms with sweden--the king's rashness and impetuosity--and that terrible isarnus and the outlaws!" "you are right, drost aagé! there are more clouds in denmark's and our young king's heavens than it is in the power of man to disperse"--resumed petrus de dacia; "but remember," he added, solemnly, "above the clouds are the stars of heaven, and over the course and government of the stars presides the most high and righteous creator! and forget not, dear drost, where stern justice would annihilate us stands the mediator and his heavenly mother. her prayers can shake and avert the threatenings of each evil star, however firmly fixed in the judgment heaven. be comforted, noble drost!" he continued, with mild tranquillity; "none can draw aside the veil of futurity: this much, however, i think to have discerned in yon vast mysterious book, that i renounce not the hope of better days for denmark, so long as the lord and our blessed lady will extend a protecting hand over the king's life. with his fortunate star will that of denmark now assuredly rise or sink." "you are a learned and god-fearing man, venerable master petrus!" said aagé, who meanwhile had been pacing uneasily up and down, with the king's letter in his hand; "but, pardon me, now, it is _you_, and not i, who indulge in visionary fancies. i have more confidence in your piety and enlightened view of the almighty's government here upon earth, and in our time, than in your astrological knowledge and devout gaze into futurity. what we are now concerned in is the present moment; but what in the world is to be done, when neither you, nor any other wise man, can bring the king to his right senses? hath the archbishop's flight caused him to set at nought discretion? would he now demand justice only,--not mercy,--of the papal see? does he think, in defiance of ban and interdict, and even without a dispensation of kindred, he can prevail on the wise swedish government to consent to the marriage? it is an impossibility--would he despise all reasonable negotiation, and let the sword decide the quarrel with the dukes? and would he now himself storm his brother's castle, and force him to become an avowed traitor and deserter to the enemy?" "i have shared your apprehensions, noble drost! i blamed the king's impetuous procedure; i vainly strove to hinder these far too hasty steps. his purpose is inflexible. but amid all my fears for the consequences, i could not but admire the kingly spirit, which ventured so much for the support of royal dignity. in reliance on the justice of his cause, ere twice twenty-four hours king eric will stand with his knights before kallundborg, to teach obedience to his rebellious brother." "the report was true, then, of the blockading of kallundborg, and the new fortification?" "alas, yes! the king was greatly displeased at the junker's contumacy, but still more at his treacherous endeavour to hinder the marriage.--the wily drost bruncke hath betrayed him, probably with the view of causing a breach between the brothers, and stirring up tumult in the country." "hum! and the dukes of sleswig renew their former pretensions at the same time." "they are probably in league with the junker; yet they have not scared the king.--if they have already forgotten the defeat at grönsund, he will show them he dares face them on land also. marsk oluffsen is assembling all the foot forces against them at hadersleben." "and the archbishop and the cardinal, where are they?" "grand threatens from bornholm, and isarnus from axelhuus. he demands safe conduct for the archbishop, and protests against the confiscation of the lund church property. bishop johan of roskild wavers. the enforcement of the interdict is dreaded." "merciful heaven! and, amid all this, can the king think of his marriage?" "the first of june he purposes to cross to helsingborg, with a bridal train or an armed force. yet, perhaps, that was but a hasty speech to me and the marsk. the lord forbid it should come to such extremity!" "he draws the bow too tight; it must break. but one word more--the outlaws who were pursued; are they taken?" "i know not; but their death doom is pronounced, wherever they are found; the last murderous attempt hath rendered the king implacable--a price is set on every outlaw's head--aagé kaggé was on the expedition with marsk stig's daughters--there is now, assuredly, little hope at present of the freedom of the unhappy maidens." "they are innocent! by the lord above, they are innocent!" exclaimed aagé, impetuously. "i must to the king; it is high time." he tore the sling from his left arm, and moved it somewhat stiffly. "it _shall_ do," he continued; "my right arm hath no one lamed. i must speed to kallundborg to the king. if the castle is to be stormed--if the traitorous junker is to be chastised, leave that to me--against his own brother my king shall not himself bear sword and shield. matters must have been carried far; his forbearance can hold out no longer." "still, however," interrupted master petrus, "he expressly enjoins you to spare the junker, wherever you meet him.--you are to blockade holbek with as little alarm as possible.--if you could even yet make peace between the brothers, noble drost! you would perhaps save state and kingdom." the door of the ladies' apartment now opened, and the commandant returned. "your morning repast will be cold, my honoured guests," he said, courteously; "but what see i, sir drost? your arm is not in the sling?" "it can and must be dispensed with," answered aagé. "you have spoilt me here; you have been much too prudent and watchful. i have now to thank you and your noble captives for your kindly care. the king needs strong arms and swords. can you instantly furnish me with two hundred men from the garrison here?" "two hundred men shall stand fully armed and in the court-yard here within an hour, if you, as drost, command it in the king's name," answered sir ribolt. "dare i ask their destination?" "i march to holbek and kallundborg. there is the king's name and seal for it."--he gave him the king's letter. "it is for you also--but it is to go no farther than ourselves." "against the junker? merciful heaven! sir drost, is it possible?" exclaimed the commandant, clasping his hands in the greatest astonishment. "the junker hath taken a fancy to add new fortifications, and shut the gates against the king's men, as you know. it is probably only an unfortunate jest, or a misunderstanding; but you see yourself such gates must be forced betimes, when the king is on the road, and would enter therein. two hundred men, then, within an hour, but with as little stir as possible, of course!" "you shall find all ready ere it rings to high mass," answered the commandant, with calm determination. "but your wound, sir drost! can you yourself ride forth without danger? otherwise the task is mine?" "with or without danger i must--i will onward," answered aagé. "when it rings for high mass, then; and secrecy is expedient--let it concern a hunt after the outlaws--understand you?" "right! that shall be the belief in the castle here within the half hour." so saying, sir ribolt hasted into the castle-yard, and drost aagé went with master petrus into the ladies' apartment. chap. xi. the state of feverish anxiety into which aagé had been thrown, had called the colour into his cheek, and restored the appearance of health to his countenance. in the spacious apartment appropriated to the female inmates of the castle, where strangers were received, and where the household assembled on holidays before divine service, aagé and master petrus were received by the aged mistress of the castle, who herself presented the guests their warm morning drink in cups of polished silver. at a large round table in the middle of the apartment, which was covered with a white fringed woollen table-cloth, sat the two german minstrels, with the smoking cups before them, in pleasant converse with the ladies. ulrica questioned them, with curiosity, of their visits to foreign princes, in whose praise and exaltation master rumelant was as inexhaustible as he was unwearied in reckoning up all the honour he had gained by his lays with these "excellent lords, his august and most gracious patrons." margaretha also took part in the conversation with the strangers; but she was more modest in her queries. she was much more interested in their art than in the good fortune they had sought and obtained by it from the great. the solemn master poppé favoured her with a detailed account of the genius and lays of the famous minnésingers, whose most flourishing period master poppé asserted could only be supposed by the ignorant to have passed away. he affirmed, on the contrary, that the noble art of minstrelsy had only now for the first time fully developed itself on higher themes,--in the praise of moral truth and seraphic beauty. minstrels no longer repeated the monotonous praises of verdant may, or of the beauty of earthly females and vain loves, but now in the same, or even in a more regular measure, sang moral or religious themes and important theological dogmas. he could not, however, deny that the ancient love songs possessed a degree of pathos and animation which even his good friends master henrick frauenlob and a certain master regenbogen, as well as the famous schoolmaster of esslingen, with all their learning, vainly strove to attain. meanwhile he deemed it very fortunate that, as princes and emperors no longer, as in former times, devoted themselves to the noble art of minstrelsy, now cultivated chiefly by the honest burgher class, there still were lords and princes, like the king of denmark, to honour and encourage the art, and that the minstrel's lay yet resounded in knightly halls and in the apartments of noble ladies. he lauded the poetic spirit of the chivalrous poetry of denmark, but still considered it, as well as the love songs, too vain and worldly; a charge which margaretha took much to heart, although she readily admitted to the learned minstrel, that all the danish ballads she knew and admired treated of love adventures; not a single one on scriptural or theological subjects. when drost aagé entered the ladies' apartment, margaretha rose to return his greeting, and observed, with some uneasiness, that he had thrown aside his sling. her attention to master poppé's discourse was at an end, and she entreated him to excuse, that she, as an attendant on a wounded patient, had an occupation which could not be postponed. "pardon me, sir drost!" she said to aagé, and pointed to his unswathed arm. "this is not according to agreement; yet you seem to have the use of your arm," she added, when she perceived how easily he moved it. "the wound is healed in some sort. with caution you may use it, in moderation. but the stiff neck bandage----" "that i shall wear in remembrance of you, until we meet again, noble maiden!" answered aagé; "although i almost think it might be dispensed with. within an hour i must leave the castle. that i am able to do so i owe to your skill and unwearied care. i think soon to see my noble master the king," he added, in a low voice, as he drew her to a recess in the window fronting the castle garden; "but the suitable time for effecting any thing towards your liberation is, alas! hardly come as yet." "we ask no clemency from our earthly judges, but only that which is just and reasonable," answered margaretha, with calm seriousness. "i should have thought all times were equally convenient to a good sovereign for hearing the justification of the innocent." "it would grieve me deeply, noble lady margaretha!" said aagé, "if my just-intentioned sovereign were for a moment to seem unjust in your eyes; but your case now appears dark and intricate to those who are not, as i am, acquainted with your pious sentiments and admirable conduct. it is known that the traitorous squire kaggé was in your company--your unfortunate confidence in that miscreant brought suspicion on your innocence, and places you under a cloud; but, by the living lord! i will justify you. if earthly justice is blind, the judgment of heaven and my knightly sword shall surely open her eyes!" "no, dear drost!" exclaimed margaretha, half alarmed; "if you will peril your precious life in any cause, let it be in that higher and more important one to which you have dedicated it, but not for the fate of two insignificant captives. to suffer injustice is, besides, surely not the greatest misfortune," she added, with a look of mildness and love, as she raised her long-fringed eyelids, and gazed through the window panes up to the clear heavens. "do not hasten rashly for our sake; we will willingly wait for the lord and for his appointed hour. when we think but on the injustice our lord suffered for our sakes, we may surely bear our little cross throughout a short life for his sake. the blessing of heaven be with you, noble drost aagé!" she continued; "heartfelt thanks for the kindness with which you have rendered our captivity imperceptible. we shall miss you very much. i shall, no doubt, forget how to play at chess; but what we have spoken together at the chessboard i can never forget. the sweet ballads you taught me i shall also remember; and when we maidens talk of florez and blantseflor, we will remember you also, and the quiet evenings by the hearth here, and all the beautiful tales of chivalry you told us. if the king comes hither in the spring, as they say, you will surely come with him?" "perhaps," answered aagé; "at any rate i will please myself with that hope. but where the king or his true knights will be in the spring it hardly lies in his power to determine, noble maiden. it is a dangerous and troublous time. may the lord order all things for us for the best!" "he will do so assuredly, and always, dear drost!" said margaretha, in a confiding and friendly tone, as she laid her hand on his right arm, which rested on the casement of the large window. "even that which seems worst and most unfortunate to us turns out at last to be the best, if no sin be in it. this captivity, which a few weeks back appeared so terrible to me, hath notwithstanding been the happiest time i have passed since my father and mother died." "sweet margaretha!" whispered aagé, with subdued fervour, laying his left hand on hers, which still rested upon his right arm; "dare i hope i have the smallest share in that heavenly peace and joy which i daily see beaming from your meek and loving eyes? your hope and peace are doubtless drawn from the fountain of eternal life; such joys come not to you from any human source." "in every noble and pious heart assuredly there shines a ray from yon source of eternal life!" answered margaretha; "though its deepest source be hid in the heart of the redeemer, which bled for our sakes, that it might include every soul in its unfathomable depths of grace and commiserating love." "most precious of beings!" exclaimed aagé, with overflowing emotion; "dare i hope that which i dare not utter?" he paused; then added, in a calmer tone, "will you, then, really miss me at times, and sing the songs i taught you?" "indeed, indeed i will--but the stranger guest would talk with you, sir drost!" interrupted margaretha, hastily, and blushing as she withdrew her hand. "as i told you," she added aloud, as she stepped forward with aagé out of the recess, and vainly sought to hide her bashfulness and confusion; "the bandage round your neck you must keep on, and the sling to support your arm." "if it is convenient to you. sir drost!" said master petrus, who had modestly approached, without interrupting his conversation with the fair maiden, "we might now perhaps conclude our affairs in your private chamber." "i will attend you instantly, venerable sir! permit me but a parting word to the noble and hospitable hostess." "and to me also, surely, sir drost! although we have never been exactly able to agree?" interrupted ulrica, rising from the table, where master rumelant's panegyrics on his excellent lords and mecænases already began to weary her. after many reciprocal expressions of courtesy, which, however, were not wanting in sincerity and heartfelt goodwill, the drost left the ladies' apartment with master petrus; but the object on which his eye lingered the longest was the fair lady margaretha. as it rang for mass in vordingborg town, drost aagé, clad in complete armour, rode out of the castle gate at the head of two thirds of the garrison of the fortress. at the same time the lady of the castle drove to church with the two captive maidens. at the cross-road before the fortress drost aagé once more turned round and saluted the ladies in the car. he observed with pleasure a white veil waving from the car in the meek margaretha's hand. the car was followed to church by sir ribolt, accompanied by the three strangers on horseback. "whither goes the drost, with all those men-at-arms, sir ribolt?" asked ulrica, inquisitively, as she put her head out of the car; "there is surely neither war nor rebellion here?" "they go but to rid the land of the outlaws and other vagabonds," answered sir ribolt. "the assassin who attacked the drost it seems hath been taken already," he added, in a careless tone, without recollecting the connection of the captive maidens with these turbulent and hated characters, and without remarking that the lively querist turned pale. "what ails thee, sweet child? canst thou not endure to sit backward?" asked the watchful mistress of the castle. "come, change places with me; i can bear it." "ah, let me sit quiet!" sighed ulrica, drawing her veil over her face. "margaretha! margaretha!" she whispered, clinging to her sister; "my dream! my dream! he is taken! his life is in peril!" "hush! hush! dearest sister!" whispered margaretha; "it is but a rumour. we will now pray for him and for all sinful souls. see,--the blessed lord still permits his mild sun to shine upon us all." the car rolled past a troop of richly attired burghers on their way to church, who greeted the ladies with courtesy. ulrica recovered herself, and nodded to them with a consequential air. they whispered together, and she conjectured that their talk was, doubtless, of her beauty and supposed high birth. chap. xii. it was past midnight when drost aagé, with his troop of horsemen, drew near the issefiord near holbek. the weather was calm and frosty, the snow sparkled in the starlight winter night, the marshes and all the pools by the road side were frozen, but the ford was still open and passable. holbek rather resembled a ruin than a town; instead of houses, there were now chiefly to be seen single walls and solitary hearths. five years before the town had been plundered and nearly burnt down by the norwegian fleet, in the feud with marsk stig and the outlaws. some small houses, however, had been rebuilt. the church and the monastery of the gray friars stood unscathed, as well as the castle, which had been lately put in good repair by junker christopher, and which, it appeared, he now intended, despite the king's prohibition, to make as strong a fortress as kallundborg. by aagé's side rode an elderly captain of horse, sir ribolt's brother, a silent, serious personage, whom the drost informed by the way of what was here to be attempted. when they approached the town they halted, and had their horses rubbed down, while each horseman received his separate directions. they then rode slowly, and as quietly as possible, through the snow-covered streets of the town, and past the monastery, where all lay in profound slumber. at the castle also the inmates seemed to be reposing in the greatest calmness and security; even the warders on the battlements were asleep. they examined the castle narrowly on every side. there was not a light to be seen in the whole of the upper story; it was only from the knights' hall, opposite the ford, that a faint light gleamed from a window; and at the quay behind the castle lay a boat with a red sail, from which glimmered the light of a horn lantern. on the quay a fat knight, wrapped in a fox-skin pelisse, paced up and down, apparently waiting for some one; he often yawned, and rubbed his hands, while he looked up impatiently at the window from whence gleamed the solitary light. a rough-looking, one-eyed fellow, with a hideous and bloated visage, lay half asleep on the rampart. "if thou fallest asleep, and drop'st into the ford, kyste! thou wilt cheat the rope-maker of an hempen cord," said the fat knight, and laughed at his own wit. "ha, indeed! think ye the halter is so sure of me. sir pallé?" muttered the fellow; "_you_ may well crack your jests, you are neither made to be drowned nor hanged; with your round carcass, you would swim like an ale barrel, and he who would hang you must risk his own neck." "well," answered pallé, yawning, "mine is a very politic shape; thou and thy daring masters might need such an one. but what the devil has become of them? they are wrangling and consulting a confounded time together." "it concerns high play, though, sir pallé," muttered the man, flapping his arms around his body to keep himself warm. "had i but a good can of german ale at my side, of a surety i would keep my eyes open." "if thou canst keep one eye open it deserves all honour, since thou hast not more by thee," jested the knight. "but what the devil is the junker about?" he continued, "to set me to watch here in frost and cold while he consults on weighty matters in his warm private chamber! me, his right hand, and let into all his secrets! but tell me, kyste, what means this secret nightly visit? the proud niels brock and johan papé i well know; they are two limbs of satan, and i can easily divine what they would be at; but who was the third stranger thou broughtest hither,--yon little fellow, with the hump and the red mantle?" "it is the evil one himself, i almost believe," answered the deserter, and crossed himself; "a wizard at the least. i will be hanged if he understands not the black art. they call him wise master thrand; he has been condemned to fire and stake by the pope, and banished both by kings and emperors; but he snaps his fingers at them all--he laughs at the world's governors and rulers, and cares not for our lord or our lady, either, when he is on the seas. if he is right, then are we all fools together in christendom, and should obey none other than _him_ our master, who is within us and in all things; but that passes my understanding. he can be pious too when it serves his turn. i saw that when he kissed the archbishop's hand at parting, and took the letter of absolution, which truly he afterwards cast overboard--he is a good friend of niels brock, and can make gold, they say." "then would he might teach us and the junker that art!" said pallé; "then it were sin should he be burned for a little touch of heresy--for that he will one day burn in the other world. but tell me, kyste, if thou and thy masters come from hammershuus, from the archbishop, how darest thou appear before the junker? the archbishop hath given him over, as well as the king, to the devil; and i must needs admit the junker hath been worse to him than ten devils." "that's the great folks' business," answered kyste. "i serve the man who pays best, and ask not of aught besides--had i known the archbishop brought not so much as a mark with him, and should lose all he expected from skaane, the devil take me if i would have perilled my life for his sake." "you had a rough passage, then, with him from sjöborg?" "yes, you may well say that;--we were hard put to it ere we got him housed. we were obliged to run in under hveen; and we lay with our life in our hands a whole day and two nights at saltholm.--they were chasing us every where with barks and those confounded fishing smacks; but the fog and the bishop's prayers helped us that once. we sailed, in peril of our lives, in a howling storm, to kaasebjerg, and by the time we reached hammershuus we were half perished with cold and hunger; and what got we for our pains? mad morten the cook got a bishop's letter for a pilgrimage. i and olé ark got a dry blessing with three wizened fingers, and a fresh absolution for ten years' sins. it may have its use;--i never slight god's gifts; but such like gifts help little to fill purse and stomach. of course," he added, "we have now leave to seek our bread where we can find it, and plunder our lord's and the archbishop's enemies till our dying day, without having a hair singed in purgatory for it; but----" "content thyself, kyste; it will be a livelihood, nevertheless," interrupted pallé. "but if thy new masters side with the archbishop i cannot imagine what the devil they want here--the junker and the archbishop agree together like cat and dog." "as i said, that's the great folks' business," answered the deserter. "what they have plotted with the archbishop at hammershuus i can't tell; but could they patch up an agreement for the junker with master grand, and get the ban done away, he would have nought against it, i trow; and one service is as good as the other. if the junker gets into a scrape with the king, he will need a prop; and if the king goes to the wall, the junker perhaps will get uppermost, and may help his friends again. but that concerns not me; matters may turn out as the foul fiend pleases for aught i care, so long as there are good oars to be had, and something to lay one's hands on. but what was that noise? heard ye not horses tramp on the other side of the castle?" "dream'st thou, kyste? who would visit the castle so late?" said pallé, listening anxiously. "here i have _my_ masters. now any one may come that satan pleases," said the deserter, and ran towards the vessel. two tall men, in ample grey mantles, and with hoods over their heads, accompanied by a little hump-backed personage, in a red cloak, came forth from a secret door in the castle wall, and passed over a small drawbridge which was let down over the outer castle moat. they hasted down to the quay, where they greeted sir pallé by a silent nod, and, without uttering a word, entered the vessel, which instantly pushed off from the shore, and set sail. sir pallé shook his head thoughtfully, and looked after them as he listened, and thought he heard a distant noise of arms and horses' hoofs without the castle gate. he hasted over the small drawbridge before which he had stood on guard, and drew it up hastily behind him. he then passed quickly through the private door into the castle. on the opposite side of the outer fortification stood drost aagé with his horsemen, who, according to his orders, had led their horses slowly, and one at a time, over the half-completed drawbridge, which as yet could not be drawn up. the strongly secured castle gate was shut, and they had knocked several times, apparently without being heard by any one. "who is there?" at last said a drowsy voice from the battlement over the gate. it was the watchman or warder of the castle, who now stood up, with a long spear in the one hand, and an alarm horn in the other. "sleep'st thou at thy post, watch?" called aagé, in a stern tone; "seest thou not it is the king's men who would enter? haste! let the porter open to us instantly.--this is the new garrison." "new garrison! that know we nought of here," muttered the warder. "i shall have to blow the horn, then, as the junker hath commanded." "a single sound costs thee thy life, fellow!" menaced the drost. "where the king himself commands no junker hath a word to say." "the lord bless you, if that be true, noble sir!" said the warder, joyfully; "i shall then not have to ride the wooden horse to-morrow because i slept?" "haste thee! or we force the gates."--to aagé's surprise, the castle gate was opened without demur in a few minutes. the troop presently filled the castle yard. guards were immediately stationed at all the entrances, as well as on the towers and the battlements on the wall surrounding the fortress. this was done hastily, and with as little noise as possible. the sound of so many horses' hoofs and clashing weapons had, notwithstanding, awakened all the inhabitants of the castle, who peeped in dismay out of the windows and loopholes, ignorant into whose hands it had fallen. but the drost now ordered three trumpeters to call together all the unarmed household servants, with all the men-at-arms in the castle. he announced to the warder and the household, in the king's name, that they were released from their duties here in the junker's service; and that the king for the present had taken possession of the castle himself. those who would enter his service, and swear fealty to him, might remain; the rest were at liberty to withdraw, and serve the junker at his other castles and estates. on hearing this proclamation fear was suddenly changed into general rejoicing, "long live the king!" re-echoed from mouth to mouth. there was not a single domestic who hesitated to change masters; and many expressions and exclamations were heard which showed how little junker christopher had understood to win the good will of his dependants. as soon as the new force had garrisoned all the posts, drost aagé, with the remainder of his troop, entered the castle. the steward was the first person who appeared. he was a taciturn personage, of short stature, with a half german accent. he delivered the keys of the castle to the drost, and seemed to share in the general satisfaction; but as soon as he had installed his unexpected guests he vanished, and did not again make his appearance. ere the day had dawned, drost aagé was again on horseback, and, with the half of his troop of horse, quitted holbek castle, and took the road to kallundborg. sir ribolt's brother remained as commandant, with strict orders not to open the gates to any one, or give up the castle to the junker, ere he had the king's warrant and seal for so doing. "sir drost," said an old horseman, as they rode out of the still slumbering town, amid its ruins and deserted sites, "was it then your own order that we might not stop any one who would out of the castle; and that none, under pain of death, might lift a hand against the high-born junker, if he was on the spot?" "that was the king's command to us all," answered the drost. "then i now know that i was right, even though i did let rogues and traitors slink off," continued the horseman. "i stood on guard at the gate of the back court. sir drost, and i saw three men in disguise lead their horses out of the stable. they disappeared through the rampart gate close to the ford, and the lord only knows what became of them. my comrades thought we should have stopped and seized them, for they stole so strangely away, and looked around them on all sides; but i said, 'no! it is a criminal act if we touch them,' and we let them 'scape. the one was assuredly the little german who was forced to give you the keys; the other was a fat fellow, who could hardly waddle away; but the third was a tall stern man; he swore, and laid about him, at every step. i could almost take my oath it was the junker himself. he was hardly twelve paces from me when he caught a sight of me, and shyed off, as it were.--he led his horse over the dunghill, that he might not come too near us, i suppose; but then the hood fell back from his neck, and i saw the long black hair you know of; it is as rough as a horse-tail. no one in the country has such dark unsightly hair as the junker. but, as i say, we let him go, and budged not from the spot.--the king himself will know how to chastise him, thought i." "good!" exclaimed the drost; "thou hast behaved as was thy duty--as to the rest, what is between the king and his brother concerns not us, and still less whether the junker's hair be fine or coarse." he then spurred his horse, and proceeded at a brisk trot, without stopping. ere drost aagé, with his horsemen, reached kallundborg, the king approached the town, with the greater part of his chivalry, and a more numerous troop of horsemen and spearmen than he was ever wont to take with him when about to visit his vassals or one of his castles. it was noon. the horses foamed with hard riding. the troop halted at st. george's hospital, upon the high hill just without the town. chap. xiii. the report of the king's arrival had preceded him. it had excited great alarm in the whole neighbourhood, and had especially thrown the burghers of kallundborg into a state of anxious suspense. their devotion to the king, and fear of his wrath, placed them in a most dangerous position with regard to their stern deputed master, junker christopher, and his warlike commandant at the castle. disquieting and contradictory reports respecting a difference between the king and his brother had already for some time been in circulation, but no one knew the real state of the case. as lord of samsöe, holbek, and kallundborg, junker christopher exercised an almost royal authority wherever he had troops and fortresses under his command. latterly he had been often seen in kallundborg, where he had assembled a considerable garrison at the castle, and, to the dismay of the burghers, had put the fortifications opposite the town and the land side into such a state of defence as if the breaking out of a dangerous civil war might daily be expected. some weeks back admittance had been refused at the castle to marsk oluffsen, who, with a small troop of men-at-arms, had demanded to enter in the king's name. from this refractoriness towards a royal ambassador it was thought the most serious results were now to be apprehended. the prince himself went night and day to and from kallundborg; now with a large armed train on horseback, and now by sea with the armed vessels which constantly plied between samsöe and kallundborg, and conveyed both men-at-arms and provisions to the fortress. no one knew whether junker christopher was personally present at the castle at the time when the report of the king's arrival threw the whole town into commotion; but it was observed with dismay that the drawbridge was raised, and that serious preparations were making to repel an attack. the king halted at the head of his numerous train on the hill, and caused his white steed to be rubbed down while he looked down thoughtfully upon town and castle. at his right hand was the brave young margrave waldemar of brandenborg, who had deferred his homeward journey, and accompanied the king on this expedition, to take leave of his good friend junker christopher, and, if possible, to avert the storm which menaced him. at the king's left hand was seen his energetic general, count henrik of mecklenborg, who now, next to drost aagé, seemed the king's most confidential friend. the troops watered their horses at the pond by the chapel of the holy cross. all the cripples of st. george's hospital came out to see the king, and the numerous fraternity of st. george, or demi-ecclesiastical attendants on the sick, vied with each other in offering refreshments to him and his train. the thronging and curious crowd kept, however, at a respectful distance from the king and the two stranger lords. "your grace will find the whole is some absurd mistake," said the young margrave, in a light and careless tone, as he sprang off his horse, and adjusted his rich attire. "at all events, it is assuredly nothing more than a mistaken sense of honour in the junker, or rather in his commandant here, and the brave marsk oluffsen; that excellent man hath an altogether peculiar talent of offending every one, without dreaming of doing so himself. that you must yourself have observed. such persons one can but employ to plague both friend and foe. i am fond of being mediator between kinsmen and kind friends," he continued, gaily--"there is nothing like drinking to a reconciliation after every quarrel, and then all goes on merrily.--i know the junker's wine cellar at the castle here; it is almost better than any prior's; if he willed not to open it to your sharp spoken marsk, he hath perhaps but wished to reserve it for dearer guests." "the lord grant we may have come hither to a friendly feast, sir margrave!" answered the king, solemnly, and in a low tone, while his gaze dwelt on the beautiful winter landscape which lay outstretched before him. the sun beamed brightly on ford and town. the castle rose proudly, with its round towers and high battlements, behind the shining copper roof of the franciscan monastery. esbern snaré's five gothic church spires pointed boldly towards the heavens from the ancient church of st. mary, while furthermost, and near the ford, the sea tower proudly reared its head. "if my brother can justify himself," continued the king, "he will surely now not shun my sight, but come to greet me according to duty and fealty." "but he surely expects you not--he is perhaps out hunting, or roving from one domain to another," said the margrave. "the noble junker's blood is thick.--i have counselled him to be ever on the move, in order to drive away melancholy fancies. i have often deplored that his magnanimous hankering after action and distinction hath as yet no decided object, and so often disturbs the balance of his princely mind, giving occasion to even his nearest friends and kindred to misjudge him." "if i see aright, noble king!" said count henrik, shading his eyes with his hand from the sunshine, "yonder comes a crowd of people towards us from the town. it must be the burghers, who would show you their loyalty and devotion." "hum! they were also leagued against the marsk," said the king. "the people are loyal to me personally--this i know, that were i to pass through the country as a leprous beggar, no burgher or peasant would shut his door upon me. in the eyes of many, no doubt, i seem a leper, since the bishop's ban," he added; "yet i am every where met with affection. it is only my brother who turns his back upon me, and refuses me obedience in this time of need." "the noble junker is surely not here," resumed the margrave, "or he would certainly never delay to crave your pardon for his commandant's rashness, and to lead us to his well-appointed table--he hath put the fortifications of the castle in excellent repair, i perceive--were i in your grace's place i would thank him for that," he continued. "kallundborg is an important spot in time of war, and a good harbour for your fleet." "for that very reason no vassal should presume to shut the castle on the lawful ruler of the land, or his generalissimo," answered the king. "i cannot but commend your endeavours to excuse my erring brother, sir margrave," he added, abruptly; "and be assured, if he can be acquitted,--if he can only give me his princely word that he hath had no share in this contumacy,---he needs not that a stranger should plead for him, where a brother is his liege and judge." the margrave bowed courteously, and was silent, while he passed his hand over his brow, and appeared desirous to hide a look of annoyance. "will your grace speak to the burghers now?" asked count henrik; "they seem timidly waiting for permission to approach you." "they have it of course, count; let them come hither." count henrik rode to meet the lingering burgher crowd, and soon returned to the king, accompanied by the burgomaster, and twelve of the oldest burghers of the town, who, clad in their holiday attire, and with their heads uncovered, reverently greeted their sovereign. after several salutations, the burgomaster somewhat bashfully and humbly began his address. "most mighty liege and sovereign! your grace's august presence--this poor town's joy at seeing your most royal grace----" "is not very great," interrupted the king; "say it out at once, burgomaster, and speak without a long-winded preamble! you fear there may be bounds to my most royal grace this time, and that i mean to call you to strict account for the reception my marsk hath met with here." "your princely brother, our strict master, the junker, had ordered his commandant at the castle"--stammered the burgomaster. "i speak not now of what he hath or hath not commanded his servants," interrupted the king. "such contumacy he himself, or his commandant, shall answer for. but who enjoined you to refuse obedience to my ambassadors?" "the commandant, in the junker's name, and in your own, my liege," answered the burgomaster--"although we could not consider the behest as lawful, or obey it, when the marsk, with your authority, enjoined us the reverse, after a short demur, what he demanded was even granted him, and his people, though it came to cost us all dear." "what!" interrupted the king, with vehemence, "have ye since been chastised because you obeyed my orders?" "we complain not, my liege, and least of all of your august kindred, and the ruler you have given us--whatever injustice we have suffered is but trifling, in comparison of our sorrow and shame if we have brought upon us the displeasure of our noble liege and sovereign." "you have suffered injustice for your loyalty to me--could i then be wroth with you, brave burghers?" said the king, with sudden emotion. "by all the holy men! were i so, i should not longer deserve one loyal and devoted heart among ye. the injustice ye have suffered shall be atoned for--we are come hither to call to account for what here hath been done--where is the junker?" "we know not, most mighty king!" "where is his commandant, then? why comes he not hither to receive us?" "he affirms he hath received commands, my liege, which are so hard to believe that we dare not name them." "what! who dares command here when i am present?" exclaimed the king, with vehemence. "yet, no; it is impossible," he added, more calmly, and restrained his impatience. "the man must be sick or mad. ride to the castle, count henrik, and announce my coming! i will stay the night here with my knights and an hundred men--you will care for the rest of the men-at-arms, burgomaster!" count henrik was instantly in motion, and rode down with a small train towards the castle. "mighty king!" resumed the burgomaster, in a timid tone; "my life, and the lives and property of my fellow burghers are at your service and the country's; but be not wrath with us, my liege, for what it lay not in our power to hinder! the castle gate is locked, the draw-bridge raised, men-at-arms and balista are posted on the outer walls, and the commandant hath announced to us that he hath orders to fire the town with burning stones within twenty-four hours from the moment it is beleaguered by your men-at-arms." "doth he rave?" exclaimed the king. "well, then, away with all grace and mercy--we will see who is master here.--to horse, my men! you stand under our royal protection, brave burghers!" he said to the burgomaster and elders of the town. "if a straw is scorched over your heads for my sake it shall dearly be atoned for! every rebel and traitor i will strictly punish, however high he may carry his head." "honour to the king! to eric, the youthful king!" shouted the burgomaster, waving his hat; and this well known acclamation (derived from a national ballad) was re-echoed by the whole burgher troop, amid the waving of caps and hats. "now place, good people!" ordered the king, reining in his steed. "i will see who dares to lock the gate through which we would enter." "permit me to detain your grace one moment," said the margrave of brandenborg, who had again vaulted into his saddle, and now rode hastily up to the king, with his head uncovered. "ere you take any compulsory step, i wish, as an impartial friend both of yours and your princely brother, to have a minute's conversation with you without witnesses." "well, that shall not be denied you. sir margrave--aside, my friends!" all withdrew to some distance and the margrave remained in the same respectful attitude, with his high-plumed hat in his hand. "your noble brother hath honoured me with a confidence and friendship which makes it my duty to plead his cause in his absence--what hath already been done, and hereafter may be done, against your will, hath undoubtedly the appearance of contumacy and treason: but it is impossible it should be according to your noble brother's wish or order, for that,--(pardon me this expression,)--for that i count him to be at least too _wise_. of our inmost heart and mind, he who knoweth the heart of man alone can judge--i will stand security for prince christopher in this matter, until he can stand forth in person before you to justify himself. i offer my services to seek him out, and bring him to you. he must certainly be at holbek castle, or at samsöe--will you promise me so long to delay every compulsory measure, and at the utmost only to beleaguer the castle?" "well, sir margrave! for twenty-four hours i will await him, but not an hour longer. till to-morrow at this time i will restrain my just wrath, and with sheathed sword wait without the gate which hath been presumptuously shut before mine eyes. but ere i hear another ave from the pious franciscans here--the castle shall be in my power; that i vow, by all the holy men! as surely as i am lord here, and would be called king in denmark." "it is agreed, then, your grace!" answered the margrave, with spirit, after a moment's deliberation. "if i stand not within twenty-four hours with your brother acquitted before your sight--then let yon fair castle mount up in smoke and flames--or take it with a storming hand! count henrik hath no doubt a strong desire to show you his prowess and generalship. then i shall have done what lay in my power, and shown you both, as i trust, that you have had a friend for your guest." "you have my word for it, sir margrave! i shall owe you thanks if your good purpose succeed. see you how the shadow yonder falls from the middle spire upon the cloister roof--it marks the bounds of my patience to-morrow. the lord and our holy lady be with us all!" so saying, eric waved his right hand, and saluted the margrave, as he spurred his horse, and rode forward at the head of his troop of warriors. the king and his knights now rode down the hill in the direction of the castle, while margrave waldemar, with his little train of german and danish men-at-arms, proceeded at full gallop on the road to holbek. footnotes: [footnote : "marsk," a military title, corresponding in some degree to our field marshal. this office, however, comprises civil as well as military duties, the marsk being also one of the principal ministers of state.] [footnote : the private wrongs committed by eric the seventh, surnamed glipping, against his marsk, stig, a nobleman of high rank, had rendered him his deadly foe. stig headed a band of conspirators on the d of november, , disguised as franciscan monks, and murdered him while asleep in a barn at the village of finnerup, where he had taken refuge from their pursuit. the king's chamberlain, a kinsman of marsk stig, conducted the assassins to the place where the king lay concealed.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : waldemar the victorious was eric menved's great-grandfather.] [footnote : drost, the prime minister of state in denmark in the middle ages; all state ministers however, in that age, were required to serve in the field as well as in council. when the drost was present, he superseded the marsk in the command of the army.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : junker (pronounced yunker) was the title of the sons of the kings of denmark in the middle ages, corresponding to that of infant in spain.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : baron holberg supposes that the word "carline" (kierlinge in danish) had its origin in the easy victories obtained by the northmen over the french, or carlines, the subjects of charles the bald: the word carline or kierlinge now signifying in danish an old woman, and applied in derision to the fainthearted of the other sex.--_translator_.] [footnote : esrom lake, situated about eight english miles from elsinore, is a fair specimen of the placid lake scenery of zealand. the monastery is still in part in a habitable state.] [footnote : "axel and valborg," one of the gems of scandinavian poetry. the interest of the poem turns on the separation of the hero and heroine (who had been betrothed from childhood) by an interdict of the church, on the plea of the parties standing within a forbidden degree of affinity to each other. this affinity, however, consisted merely in having one common godmother. circumstances like these, however trivial, were frequently made available by the church for the extension of its power, and the furtherance of its secular interests.] [footnote : flynderborg, the castle at elsinore, of which no vestiges now remain. its site was not far from that of the present castle of cronberg.] [footnote : at this period the hanseatic merchants were absolute masters of the whole trade of the baltic. the danish fleet was in a reduced state, and the hanse were therefore under the necessity of guarding the seas themselves, for the security of their trade. this was peculiarly the case during the disturbed reign of eric glipping, when the northern pirate, alf erlingsen, infested the danish seas. this is the subject of a ballad still preserved among the danish peasantry,-- "the german men they sailed up the sound, with meal and with malt sailed they, but erlingsen's ships there to meet them they found, and theirs he took all for his prey." in the time of eric glipping the hanse had no less than thirty armed vessels stationed in the sound at elsinore.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : carl the german.] [footnote : the kareles were a heathen tribe of livonia, conquered by the swedes, under the command of marsk torkild knudson.] [footnote : a characteristic exclamation of king eric, who according to holberg, scrupled making use of a stronger expression, even in confirmation of the most solemn engagements.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : in the early ages of denmark the people bore an important part in the affairs of government, a fact of which there are traces at this day in the norwegian constitution, in which the peasantry as a class are represented. the people at large decided on war or peace, nor was any royal decree considered valid until it had obtained their consent. every town had its own "ting," or place of assembly, in the open air; a large flat stone, placed in the centre of a circle of upright ones, served as a platform for the speakers. in these assemblies the peasants discussed, not only public affairs, but decided on all private differences, &c. saxo grammaticus blames king svend grathé for neglecting to attend these meetings of the people. in such assemblies the king was not permitted to take his leave until he had greeted even the meanest of his subjects, and sent a friendly greeting to his family. the english reader may perhaps require to be reminded of these facts, in order fully to perceive that jeppé is a representative of his class in that age.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : dyrendal, the name of roland's sword, afterwards used for swords in general by the danes. scandinavian warriors esteemed their swords above all other treasures. if a sword had done good service, it was distinguished by some epithet expressive of the deeds it had achieved. the sword of king hagen of norway was called "quærn bider," or mill-stone biter, from having cut through a mill-stone. if the owner of such a sword had no immediate descendants, it was buried beside him in his grave.--_translator's note_.] [footnote : king glipping, so called from his twinkling eye.] [footnote : fragment of an old danish ballad.] [footnote : a valuable collection of historical documents made by king eric, called congesta menvedi.] [footnote : sveno agonis, a danish historian contemporary with saxo grammaticus.] end of the first volume. london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. transcriber's notes: . page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/kingericandoutl chapgoog . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. king eric and the outlaws. vol. iii. london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. king eric and the outlaws; or, the throne, the church, and the people, in the thirteenth century. by ingemann translated from the danish by jane frances chapman. * * * * in three volumes. vol. iii. * * * * london: longman, brown, green, & longmans, paternoster-row. . chapter i. as soon as they reached the quay, sir helmer put his head out of the hatchway, and beheld a man jump on shore in great haste from the forecastle. helmer had only seen his back; he was clad like a german grocer's apprentice; but he felt pretty certain it was the outlawed kaggé. the mantle of the order of the holy ghost lay under the foremost rowing bench. with his drawn sword in his hand. sir helmer now sprang upon deck, together with the drost's squire, whose left hand was wrapped in his mantle. their attire was somewhat rent and blood-stained, yet they appeared to have found time to bind up each other's wounds, and even to arrange their dress. without saying a word, they passed the armed crew of the vessel, with a salutation of defiance to henrik gullandsfar, and a jeering smile at the heavy and wrathful rostocker, whose broad visage glowed with anger. helmer and the squire sheathed their swords on the quay, and those who saw them come up from thence, without noticing the spots of blood upon their clothes, took them for fellow-travellers, who, in all peacefulness, had arrived in the rostock vessel. "the 'prentice! mark him, canute!" whispered sir helmer to the squire as they both left the quay with hasty steps, and looked around them on all sides. "what hath become of him? there!--no--that is another--ha, there!--no, another again!" at every turn they fancied they saw the disguised outlaw, but were frequently deceived by a similar dress and figure. the german grocer's apprentices thronged in busy crowds on the quay, and near the vessels in the haven, where they were in constant occupation, and had a number of porters at work. these foreign mercantile agents were usually elderly single men, most frequently with sour, unpleasant countenances, and maintaining much spruce neatness in their dress, and preciseness in their deportment. as pepper was the chief article sold in their grocers' booths, they were usually called pepper 'prentices[ ], not without a design to jeer at their peevishness and irritability. they made themselves conspicuous by large silver buttons on their long-skirted coats of german cloth; a woollen cap from garderige[ ], and a long spanish gold-headed cane, which served them at the same time for an ell measure, formed part of their finery; and they were so remarkable for the sameness of their appearance and deportment, the effect of their living apart from others, and pursuing a uniform occupation, that they were often exposed to the jibes and jeers of the people, especially on account of their celibacy, which was enjoined them by their hanseatic masters, and was a necessary consequence of their position as traders in a foreign city, where they were not privileged to become residents with families. sir helmer stared attentively at every german grocer's apprentice he met, and became at last so wroth at his frequent mistakes that he was ready to insult those personages, who in their busy vocation frequently jostled him in the crowd, "those accursed pepper-'prentices, they drive me mad!" he exclaimed at length, and stamped on the ground. "i will break the neck of the first that brushes against my arm!" "that is just and reasonable, noble sir," said the squire; "my fingers itch every time i see such a fellow. if they will be monks, they should not be running here and staring every maiden in the face in broad day light. they are as soon enamoured as any shaven crown--i had well nigh said--st. antony forgive me my wicked thought! look! here we have one again i saw ye how he twisted his eyes in his head to goggle at that pretty kitchen maid with the cabbage basket? shall i buffet him down to the catsound, noble sir?" "no, surely not, crack-brains!" answered sir helmer, sharply; "let us behave reasonably. do thou stay here in the ale-house near the haven, and keep an eye on the outlaw, that he slinks not back to the vessel; if there is law and justice in the town, he 'scapes us not. thou dost surely know him well?" "yes, assuredly! kaggé with the scar; him from whom they scalded off his knightly honour on the scaffold. i should know him among a thousand scoundrels, and his black horse to boot. 'tis a sin such a handsome beast----" "perhaps it was a god's providence we came here against our will," interrupted helmer. "the red hat from rome wants to negotiate a treaty here betwixt the king and the run-away bishop from hammershuus; they are now at the castle, and have got the little bishop johan in their clutches. it will doubtless end in nothing; but comes the king hither where the roskild bishop rules, he may chance to need both our eyes and our swords. but, what in all the world is the matter here? look, how the people flock together!" sir helmer now, for the first time, remarked a singular stir and disturbance among the inhabitants of the town; there were far greater numbers of persons in the street than were usually to be seen in the most populous towns. he went onward, still looking around in search of the outlawed fugitive; he now heard loud talk among the burghers and mechanics who passed him, and expressions of wild wrath against the lord bishop johan and his ecclesiastical guests at axelhuus. the people assembled in groups in the streets, and only dispersed, grumbling and murmuring on the appearance of a troop of men-at-arms. "the provost's people! the bishop's men!" they muttered one to another, by way of warning. "aside! make way, comrades! as yet it is not time. down to the old strand!" "what means this?" said helmer to the squire, who still followed him on the quay, alongside the ships in the harbour, staring around with surprise and curiosity. "it looks like sedition and mutiny." "who are ye who bear arms in the bishop's town? know ye not the rights and town-law of copenhagen?" said a powerful voice behind them. they turned round and saw a man who from his attire seemed to be a burgher, but who wore a kind of herald's mantle over his long coat, and held a white staff in his hand, on which were painted the arms of the bishop of roskild. he was accompanied by a crowd of the bishop's retainers. "i am the king's knight and halberdier, as you see well enough," answered helmer. "what hath your bishop and his town-law to do with me?" "ho! ho, my bold sir!--stick your finger in the ground, and smell where ye are! you surely come from worldly towns and castles where neither order nor discipline are kept. what's your name, sir halberdier?" "helmer blaa," answered the knight, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword. "you have perhaps heard that name before?--or shall i teach you to know it?" "by your favour, noble sir!" answered the herald in a lowered tone, and looking at him with surprise; "are you the renowned knight, helmer, who beat all the six brothers at once, and of whom the whole town sings the ballad-- "he rides in the saddle so free." "that i will never deny," answered helmer, with a nod of satisfaction; "he that made that ballad about me hath not lied. i will not pride myself on that account," he added, "it concerned but my own life and fortune. you brave copenhageners have won full as much honour in marsk stig's feud, and we shall soon come to an understanding i think." "i think so too, by my troth, sir helmer," said the burgher herald with cheerfulness, frankly giving him his hand at the same time. "i would just as little insult you as your master, our excellent young king. as free as you ride in the saddle by his side, so frank and free for aught i would hinder it, may you walk here; but the service is strict at this time. here's mutiny as you see against our lord, the bishop. i must in the council's name summon every man bearing arms to the lay court, and to the council in 'endaboth.' with the king's knights, especially with a man like you, i think, however, the lord bishop would make a difference." "if the bishop wills to keep his beard, he will doubtless allow the knight to keep his sword," said helmer. "if he hath appointed you to hinder misdeed and crime then help me rather to seize an outlawed criminal who has been set on shore here from yonder rostocker. he hath crept into a german pepper-'prentice coat; he seeks after the king's life--he is easy to know, it is kaggé with the scar. if you catch him dead or alive, i will laud you as a true danish man, and brave subject of the king." "that are we all here at heart, noble sir," answered the herald, lowering his voice, and looking cautiously around him while he made a signal to his armed followers to fall back. "our loyalty to the king we have, as you say yourself, shewn right honestly in marsk stig's feud; the king also hath recompensed us for that; he hath honourably helped us with the fortifications of our good town, and with the new palisade. every honest man in copenhagen would rather obey him than the priestly rulers; but if we would speak out aloud of any other master here than the bishop, we must give all our chattels to his treasury, and wander houseless out of the town. go in peace, sir helmer; but hide your sword under your mantle! if i light upon the evil doer ye seek, i shall assuredly seize him and summon him in your name to the council. where may you be found yourself?" "here, in the inn, close to st. clement's church--you are an honest man i perceive--tell me frankly, countryman! would it avail were i to speak to the provost, or to your bishop touching yon miscreant? he is one of those impudent regicides. i have my eye also on that braggart rostocker; he brings false coin into the country, and hath threatened the king. what i know further about him i have promised not to speak of--but wherever i meet him--i am his man!" "you will surely get no justice here on the king's enemies, sir knight!" whispered the herald. "if ye will take my advice ye will keep as far off from our bishop and his provost as possible! the king's friends are not exactly theirs, and must not, either, seem to be ours. had i not a good dame and children, you would hardly have seen me with this staff in hand. if you would catch hold of the pepper 'prentices," he added, shutting one eye, "you must seek them at the dice boards in the ale-house! what may chance there, none need do penance for--but in the harbour and on the quay none dare touch them. on, fellows! the stranger knight hath given account of himself like an honourable man," cried the herald, with a voice of authority, and proceeded onwards with his armed train. helmer looked after him, and nodded to the squire. "brisk fellows, these copenhageners!" said he. "it is shameful they are forced to be under the bishop's thumb! that counsel about the taverns and draught-boards suits not my humour either. we will seek the foe in the straight path. first, however, let us thank st. george and st. clement for our deliverance, and then we can with a good conscience despatch the rascals wherever we light on them." he approached st. clement's church, but found the church door locked, and marked with a large black cross. "what means this?" he exclaimed. "is there pestilence in god's house?" "prohibition, interdict, son! according to the enactment 'cum ecclesiâ dacianâ,'" answered an old dominican monk, who was kneeling before a stone crucifix without the closed church door, and now arose slowly. "the sins of the high-born are about to be visited upon those of low degree; our most pious bishop hath no longer dared to withhold the great national punishment which the holy father hath commanded on account of the presumptuous imprisonment of the archbishop, contrary to the constitution of all holy laws. virgo amata! ora pro nobis!" he muttered, and folded his hands. "the devil take those latin laws, with reverence be it spoken, venerable father!" answered the knight. "the archbishop is at liberty; and is it now the time to punish a nation and country for that old sin of the king's, if it really was a sin?" "assuredly it was a heavy sin and injustice," answered the monk; "but the chastisement is too hard--that is the truth--and it falls on the souls of the innocent--the people are only made ungodly and uproarious by it; as we have proofs daily. if the king is not come hither to bethink himself, and do penance, the prospect may be a drear one for us all." "is he come?" asked helmer hastily. "not here to the town--but to the royal castle at sorretslóv; his plenipotentiaries are already at axelhuus. alas! yes! it is high time he should give in, ere the interdict drives the whole nation to rebellion and destruction.--ora pro nobis!" he muttered again, and turned towards the crucifix. "believe ye he hath come hither to humble himself, and crouch at the bishop's feet? venerable father?" answered the knight; "then you will find your belief to fail you in this matter, as i observe this tumult concerns not the king, but your own little bishop and his overbearing guests. against this stupid church-shutting, a remedy will surely be found at home. the nation is pitiful indeed which would let itself be shut out from god's house while there are sturdy axes and iron crows in the country." "alas, ye children of the world! ye worldly lords! ye will ever forward with might and violence,--ye would at last storm heaven's gates if ye were able," groaned the monk; "from the great and mighty doth all that defiance and scandal proceed; and the poor, deluded people! _they_ listen but too willingly to such wild and ungodly counsel. look! yonder comes another flock of erring sheep, who have turned into wolves! there they come, with spears and staves, like those who followed judas, that child of wrath. hear how they bluster and storm. god be merciful! they are surely rushing hither; they will assuredly open the church by force." the dismayed dominican was preparing to fly, but the insurgents placed themselves in his way. "tarry a little, pious father!" shouted the ringleader of the troop, a tall carpenter, with a large axe in his hand. "thou shalt read us the holy scripture before st. clement's altar; we have heard neither vespers nor mass for three days. force the church door, comrades!" "are ye distraught?" cried the monk; "will ye do violence to the house of god!" "no chattering! force the door, countrymen!" shouted the leader. "neither st. peter nor our lady have taken it amiss of us. mass goes on cheerily in all the churches. we will hear our vespers at st. nicholas. well done my lads! look! now is the interdict ended! the church door gave way before the ponderous strokes; the insurgents poured into the church with a wild shout of victory, dragging the dominican along with them. "that will be but a disturbed worship, noble sir," said the squire; "we had better reserve our piety for another time. look, yonder comes a fresh troop! nay, look! they have balista and cross-bows with them; they will now surely assault axelhuus." "that hits my fancy!" exclaimed sir helmer, joyfully. "this prelatical tyranny should not be tolerated by any danish man. i come at the right time; there may be something to take a hand in here. if they will besiege the bishop's nest, i will teach them at least to do it briskly. stay thou on the quay, and watch the pepper 'prentices, canute! i must set the honest burghers a little to rights with the balista." so saying sir helmer hastened with rapid strides down to the old strand, where the restless crowds of insurgents flocked together in wild tumult. chap. ii. the inmates of axelhuus appeared to feel sufficiently secure to despise these disturbances which had commenced, though in a less degree, some days before. the bishop's well-fortified castle was situated on an island, the ferry-boats that usually plied there lay, during these commotions, in the harbour, under the high walls of the castle, by which means all communication between the town and the castle island was cut off. the distance from the town, however, was not so great, but that axelhuus might be reached from the strand by arrows, and especially by balista, when these dangerous engines of war were worked with proper skill. in the upper hall at axelhuus, sat the spiritual and temporal ruler of the town, the little authoritative bishop johan of roskild, in solemn council, between his guests archbishop grand and cardinal isarnus. at the archbishop's right hand sat his faithful friend, the haughty abbot from the forest monastery. grand's agent, the canon nicholas from roskild, was also present, as well as the canon hans rodis, who had assisted his flight from sjöberg. at the great hall table sat also the cardinal's famulus and his secretary, with two italian ecclesiastics belonging to his train. for the convenience of the foreign cardinal, the conversation was chiefly carried on in latin. the lord of the castle, the little bishop johan, seemed to have assumed a determined and authoritative deportment in imitation of the archbishop, by whose side, however, he appeared wholly insignificant, although he now acted as the protector both of the powerful grand, and of the cardinal. he now and then cast an observant glance out of the window towards the town and the increasing crowd on the strand, yet without betraying fear or uneasiness. archbishop grand had not yet overcome the consequences of his severe imprisonment. he rested his swollen feet on a soft stuffed foot-stool. there was a look of gloomy asperity on his pale, emaciated countenance. every movement appeared to cost him an effort, while all his vital energy seemed as if concentrated in his large flashing eye. he sat lost in reverie, gazing before him in silence, while the cardinal, with a lurking smile in his small crafty eye, perused a document which his secretary had just drawn up. "trust him not, venerable brother," whispered the abbot from the forest monastery in the archbishop's ear; "he secretly sides with the king: i know it; he aims at your archbishopric." grand changed colour and clenched his hands convulsively, but was silent, and cast a searching look at the papal nuncio. "in the name and on the behalf of the holy father!" commenced the cardinal, in latin, ridding himself of the red cap which covered his tonsure; "ere the royal ambassadors come into our presence, i once more counsel my aggrieved brother to submission and a wise resignation. in this treaty which i have here caused to be cursorily drawn up, and the contents of which you already know archbishop grand! i have at your own request, according to the strict principles of ecclesiastical law, enjoined the king of denmark to make such a considerable compensation for towns, villages, castles, and temporal offices, that i see beforehand he will reject the negociation." "i now reject it also, even on these conditions," answered the archbishop impetuously, "that in which king eric hath sinned against me and my holy office, he can never fully atone for, even with the loss of his--crown!" "you surely would not, however, strain the bow still tighter, venerable brother! and at last insist on your king being punished by loss of honour, life, and possessions, like a criminal by temporal justice?" asked the cardinal, with a crafty smile on his unruffled countenance, "in the matter of soul and salvation, you have dealt as hardly with him as possible. forget not, my venerable brother! that your opponent is a crowned and anointed monarch, at the head of a brave and loyal people, and with many mighty princes for his friends! every spiritual decree to which a temporal potentate will not _voluntarily_ submit out of christian piety and humility, will be ineffectual, and become the scoff of the children of this world, especially here in the north, where even the holy lightnings, as i perceive, fall somewhat cooled and weakened. the king's charges against my venerable brother in christ are, besides, very grave and heavy, and," added the cardinal with a thoughtful look, "if the royal advocate in rome can but prove the half of what is alleged, you will assuredly act most wisely in lowering your demands somewhat, and will even desire yourself that the whole unhappy affair should be hushed up. this, at all events, is my brotherly counsel, and if you could master yourself so far as to follow it, an honourable treaty will doubtless be possible. it is my heartfelt wish, as well for your peace as that of the church, and to prevent all scandal and dissension for the future--that you, with consent of the holy father, should exchange the archbishopric of lund for another (perhaps of more importance, and more worthy of your merits) without these northern lands, where your personal misunderstanding with temporal authorities will hardly ever be wholly removed. i say this with kindly concern for my excellent brother's peace and safety. even at this moment we are both, in some sort, in the power of the temporal ruler, of whose impetuosity you have had such sensible proofs." "ay indeed, your eminence!" exclaimed grand in the greatest exasperation, as he kicked the footstool from him, and rose, "speak ye now to me in this tone? was it for this you summoned me from my secure hammershuus, and bade me trust to the passport of my deadly foe? you think, perhaps, to have trapped me into a snare i cannot escape from! you imagine, perhaps, that my pious colleague, our mutual and venerable host, who here sways town and castle, will, out of base and cowardly fear, betray his friend and guest, and lawful archbishop, to flatter the temporal tyrant, who already, as i perceive, hath rendered a papal nuncio his spiritual slave? no, lord cardinal! in that case, you know neither me, nor the meritorious servant of the lord here, at our side. if he hath already for my sake, and that of the church, with courageous energy exposed himself to the tyrant's wrath, and even to tumult and sedition in his own town, he will surely not now stoop to degrade himself by an act of treachery which would brand him as a dastardly traitor. my safety and freedom are provided for; any moment i please i can embark, and neither the king nor the seditious burgher-pack shall forbid me to wend free from hence, and seek justice before st. peter's judgment seat. here i dare speak out freely that which i deem of you, as well as of that presumptuous and ungodly king. you have not fulfilled your duty here as papal nuncio.--instead of confirming ban and interdict with the holy father's authority----" "that is my own affair, my brother!" interrupted isarnus, with cool calmness, "since your own counsellors have enforced the interdict according to the constitution of veilé no confirmation was needed. we speak now only of the king, and whether you will be reconciled to him and recall the ban." "no, never! to all eternity!" cried grand, impetuously; "and i laugh at his accusations: that which i once spoke of his father's murder, and which he now makes the plea for his tyrannical conduct, i dare repeat here, and before the highest judgment seat. if the king's murder was _destined_ to take place, it was unfortunate that it did _not_ take place sixteen years before, then that wretched monarch would have left no posterity behind him, and the descendants of eric glipping would never have dishonoured denmark's throne. yes! i made that intrepid speech, and i repeat it now; but i deny all share in the tyrant's murder, and all connection with duke valdemar and the outlaws. it matters not to me, henceforth, who reigns in denmark, be it duke valdemar or a jew, a saracen or a heathen, or--the devil himself, if only king eric and his wretched brother may never be obeyed here as kings and lieges." "will you also defend what you _now_ say, before the highest judgment seat? venerable brother!" asked isarnus, with unruffled calmness, and with an almost imperceptible smile. "your bodily weakness is, however, reasonable excuse for your not being always master of your mind and tongue. now i have heard your declaration, despite the exaggeration of feeling it betrays, it still in some sort agrees, both with the will of the holy father and of the king. your cause immediately depends upon the papal see; nevertheless, let the king's ambassadors appear, my worthy brother!" he said to bishop johan, who instantly rose and left the hall. there was a silence of a few moments. grand had resumed his seat; he rested his long chin upon his clenched hand, and seemed angry, both at his own vehemence, and the calmness of the cardinal. shortly afterwards bishop johan entered, accompanied by two ecclesiastics. they were the king's ambassadors; the provincial prior of the dominicans, the venerable master olaus, with his handsome snow-white head, and esger iuul, the canon of ribé--a young priest, well versed in law, and of a bold, intelligent countenance. they had been waiting for admission some hours in an antechamber. they now greeted the prelates with reverence, and the cardinal half rose from his seat to return their salutation; but the archbishop remained seated in gloomy reverie. bishop johan requested the king's plenipotentiaries to seat themselves. the provincial prior sat down, but the canon remained standing, and began, "pardon me, your eminence! and you, most learned lord archbishop! and all ye reverend ecclesiastics! if i am here necessitated to say what displeases you i stand forth here, not as the church's, but as the king's, my temporal master's, servant and spokesman. what he hath ordered me to propound, i must utter, even though i may not dare to attribute to myself the thoughts and opinions which i have taken on myself to expound." "speak boldly, brother canonicus! i have been advised of your authority," interrupted the cardinal, with a gracious nod, and the canon continued, "my lord and king hath three hours ago arrived at his royal castle here in the village of sorretslóv, without the town of copenhagen, in order personally to confirm and sign what may be here, with his consent, agreed upon; and, in case of need, with his royal power and authority to hinder the breach of the public peace, with which state and kingdom are threatened by the presence of bishop grand, and the enforcement of the interdict. he desires not to see _that_ man in his presence whom he considers as an accomplice in the murder of his royal father of blessed memory, and who hath also dared to pronounce the church's ban on his own royal head; but the peace and safe conduct he hath promised his opponent, he will honourably and chivalrously observe. the king hath expressly enjoined me to declare, that he comes hither in no wise to excuse and defend that, which, compelled by necessity, he hath been forced to enact against canonical law and the constitution of veilé, by the personal imprisonment of archbishop grand. this affair he confidently trusts to justify before the highest tribunal in christendom; but he comes hither as lord of the land, for the restoration of public peace, and as the accuser of the fugitive archbishop before his eminence the papal nuncio. all reconciliation in this kingdom with this prelate, charged as he is with treason, my liege, the king, decidedly rejects; but he promises him free and safe departure for rome, whither he hath already expedited his ambassadors, and whence he awaits a righteous sentence upon the accused. till this sentence is awarded, he demands to be freed from the unlawful ban pronounced upon him by a prisoned traitor. (these are not my words, but the king's.) he demands likewise that the kingdom be freed from the interdict, which the councils of veilé, roskild, and lund, have announced to his loyal and innocent people. against the right of the councils and bishops therein assisting, to take this step without consent of their chapter and the rest of the clergy, the chapter of the cathedral of roskild hath solemnly protested--and the provincial prior of the dominicans, the venerable master olaus, is here present in person to confirm the protest." the aged provincial prior now rose--"in the name of my holy order, and that of the chapter of roskild cathedral, i declare the conduct of the councils in this matter to be unlawful and invalid," he said in a clear and calm voice, "i consider not the chapters and the danish clergy to be under the necessity of giving up the performance of divine worship, and i require you, bishop johan of roskild! as speedily as possible to recall the unhappy church interdict, which hath already caused such great disturbance here in the town, where you, yourself, meanwhile, bear rule. if god's service is to cease, satan's service will soon commence, with all manner of dissoluteness and profligacy; of discord and variance between the shepherd and his flock; spiritual, as well as all temporal peace and security will be at an end, and no priest will be sure of his life. enthusiasts and sectarians, atheists and leccar brothers, will inundate the land, and mislead the people; laymen and drunken guild-brethren will preside in the congregation, as they have already begun to do here. neither the church nor the holy father can desire that we, to maintain the stern and impracticable constitution of veilé, should overthrow all order and fear of god in denmark, and suffer the people to fall into barbarism, and into the greatest errors--ay, even into heathenism and devil-worship. in the name of the danish clergy, i solemnly protest against the interdict; but in thus protesting against it, i consider that i in nowise encroach on the churches freedom, or attack you, most learned archbishop!--or any other spiritual authority. the church but uses its freedom and power in such wise, that we, its servants, should not corrupt and destroy the souls entrusted to us, instead of leading them to the peace of god and eternal salvation! dixi et liberavi animam. now act as you can answer to god and your conscience, venerable sirs! but you will be responsible in this world and the next for the consequences! they might prove bloody and terrible." he hardly finished speaking, ere a shower of stones and arrows struck against the wall with great noise, forced in the windows, and poured into the midst of the hall, among the dismayed ecclesiastics, who started from their seats, and sought safety between the massive window pillars, and behind the thick walls of the hall; the cardinal also quitted his seat, but the archbishop remained seated with an air of defiance. "doth he break his promise of safe conduct? the godless king of belial!" cried grand. "shall i and my faithful friends be stoned here like prophets and martyrs, that our blood may cry to heaven and call down the lightnings of eternal damnation upon his head?" "i witness before the lord and our holy lady! the king hath no share in this attack," resumed the provincial prior, who remained standing. "when he hears of it, he will assuredly highly disapprove this unlawful and presumptuous breach of peace: but here, venerable sirs! you already see the consequences of the interdict; the whole town is in uproar; the mob was storming against the closed churches of st. peter and our lady, as we were on our way hither, and threatened with fire and sword. if you do not now yield to necessity. bishop johan! axelhuus will be perhaps taken by storm, or laid in ashes ere midnight." a fresh shower of stones and arrows interrupted the provincial prior's speech; he crossed himself and retreated. a large stone from a balista fell just before the archbishop's face, and split the table. grand arose, with a look which flashed fire, and quitted his dangerous position. "follow me, my guests!" said the little bishop johan in a squeaking voice, and hastily opening a door,--"could we but pass unharmed through the north corridor to the tower, no arrow or balista stone shall reach us. the castle can stand both siege and storm. i will show you that i suffer not myself to be thus mastered by my rebellious flock; but we must hasten--here we are still exposed to the greatest danger." so saying, he himself quitted the hall in great trepidation; all followed him through a long corridor to a more secure retreat. meanwhile, the attack upon the castle increased in vigour every moment, and the whole northern wing, which looked upon the town, was everywhere exposed to arrows and showers of stones. some exclaimed that they were wounded--they rushed forward headlong, and jostled each other without ceremony. care for personal safety had nearly chased away all regard to rank and position and decorum--most of the ecclesiastics ran past the archbishop and the cardinal. the papal nuncio, however, passed hastily and unharmed through the corridor, accompanied by the provincial prior and esger iuul. grand's slow and laboured step was alone supported by the abbot from the forest monastery, whose heavy-built person permitted him not to haste. the long corridor, through the whole length of which they were forced to pass, had, on the one side, open gothic arches over a walled parapet. here at every moment poured in a number of arrows and stones, which forced the fugitive prelates to pursue their way, stooping, and almost creeping under the parapet. "god's judgment upon the presumptuous, and upon their traitorous king!" panted forth the archbishop. "it is his creatures who stir up the people. now he rejoices over our distress, and would make use of it for our humiliation." "st. bent and st. peter assist us! stoop your head!" cried the heavy abbot, creeping under the parapet. "yonder comes another balista stone! merciful heaven, what a swarm of people!" he continued, looking out cautiously towards the town. "hear how they bluster! they utter your name, venerable brother, with ungodly oaths; they are busy with boats--they are dragging more balista forward. i see one of the king's halberdiers among them." "mark! _he_ is the ring-leader, the faithless despot!" cried the archbishop, "from him comes all our tribulation, and the country's misery! send forth thy destroying angel, righteous lord! root out the perjurer! pluck him up by the roots!" "this way, venerable sirs! and ye are safe!" said a hollow voice from the end of the corridor, and a tall manly form with a wild pallid countenance, appeared at the door; he was clad like a german pepper 'prentice, and had a large red scar on his forehead. "my guest of the sanctuary! your persecuted friend and avenger!" whispered the abbot from the forest monastery. "st. peter and st. bent be thanked--the all-righteous hath heard your prayer, the destroying angel is come." the tall form in the door-way laid his finger on his lips, and disappeared with the two prelates, while the door of the corridor closed after them. chap. iii. the attack upon axelhuus had thrown the whole town into the greatest agitation. even the most quiet and peaceable burghers could not conceal their satisfaction on the occasion, and many of them took an open share in the insurrection. the wild shouts of exultation which were heard each time a shower of stones poured into the castle, sufficiently showed the general feeling of indignation, not alone against prelatical rule but chiefly against the archbishop, for whose sake, and by whose powerful influence, the exasperating interdict had been enforced. grand's name was the watchword on the commencement of every fresh attack. the provost, with his armed attendants, vainly strove to restore order and quietness; wherever he appeared with the bishop's men-at-arms, he was instantly driven back by the enraged populace. the report of the king's arrival at sorretslóv, and the uneasy terms he was on with the inmates of axelhuus, had given a new and loyal impulse to the insurrection; as the mob now believed that, by their attack on the ecclesiastical dignitaries, they were making common cause with the king, against his and the kingdom's arrogant foes. the provost had ordered all the gates of the town to be locked, but the insurgents had forced them, and a great number of people, among whom were some of the richest and most peaceable inhabitants, hastened out of the north gate of sorretslóv to see the king and intreat his support. another crowd flocked to the tower of st. mary's church, and rang the alarm bell. "away with the holy wolves at the castle!" was the cry throughout the streets. without the well-lighted council-house, where the council was assembled, and whither several captive insurgents had been brought, there was a fearful uproar. the mob demanded the liberation of the prisoners and threatened to fire the council-house. there was a great tumult also at the catsound:--"out with all the boats!" was the cry of the mob, "throw the grocer-wares overboard! drive the pepper 'prentices to the devil! let's fire the castle! let no soul escape! death to the foes of king and country!" meanwhile there were more cries and shouts than deeds in most places, and the wild alarmists were in motion in the most opposite directions, but, on the old strand, a person was seen who had brought order and plan into the attack; it was sir helmer blaa, who, with warlike eagerness, posted the balista on the strand, and instructed the burghers how to use these engines with force and effect. for some hours he stood unwearied at this his favourite occupation, and where he led the attack the castle sustained considerable damage. the captive insurgents meanwhile had been liberated at the council-house. a great number of the council had joined the insurgents' party, and taken up arms against the bishop. the rest of the counsellors had escaped at the imminent peril of their lives, and some of them had succeeded in getting out amongst the crowd through the north gate, and reaching the king's castle at sorretslóv, where they found the king already on horseback, at the head of his knights and spearmen, in readiness to enter the town himself and quell the insurrection. the evening was closing in. the insurrection had already risen to such a height that most of the burghers had become alarmed at their own undertaking, and every resident inhabitant began to fear for the safety of his property and family; while the unbridled mob considered themselves freed from all laws of decency and order. the king now galloped in through the north gate, by count henrik's side, at the head of his troop of knights, and followed by the tall, handsome, lance-bearers who formed his body guard. at st. peter's church, close to the northern gate of the town, and at st. mary's, his progress was almost hindered by the thronging crowds. at both places the insurgents had forced the church doors and compelled the priests to perform mass. the pious chaunts from the churches sounded strange and mournful, amid the wild shouts of the mutineers. "that devotion doubtless proceeds more from defiance that piety," said the king to count henrik, "yet assuredly, none shall hinder them from god's worship, provided it be conducted with decency and order." he ordered a guard to be stationed by both churches to check all disturbances, and rode on. wherever he appeared he was received with the most devoted homage, and with joyous acclamations; which were, however, somewhat subdued in those who were most obstreperous, on seeing the provost and two of the council among the king's nearest followers. an uneasy murmur was heard, here and there, and the people gradually began to comprehend that the king came not hither to take part with the insurgents against their rulers, but to maintain the lawful government of the town, and restore public tranquillity. "silence, good people! let every one go to his home! lay down your arms!" said the king, in a grave but kindly tone, as he returned the greetings of the people and stopped his horse. a silence ensued and the crowd thronged around him with attention to hear what he said. "i come as your protector, and the upholder of law and justice in my kingdom," he continued. "that which you can reasonably demand of the bishop he shall grant you. the shutting of the churches shall be at an end--the church-doors shall be thrown open--that i promise you. as to the rest, you must obey your rulers," he added sternly. "what hath happened here shall be narrowly inquired into. there shall be peace and order in the town; he who from this hour takes the law into his own hands, shall lose his life and reap the reward of his deeds." an instant stillness prevailed wherever these words were heard. the insurgents, and all who bore arms, decamped; but a great crowd of unarmed burghers followed the king with loud acclamations through the streets. at the old strand the bombardment of axelhuus was still carried on with great zeal. the castle island was surrounded by boats filled with bowmen and torch-bearers. preparations were already begun for storming and firing axelhuus, the fight was now maintained on both sides, and arrows and stones from balista were shot from the towers and battlements of the castle. "the king!--the king! with the provost and council," was re-echoed from mouth to mouth, and it seemed as if a stroke of lightning had lamed every arm. "long live the king!" shouted the insurgents, and many threw down their weapons. "no more war!--the king will judge between us and the bishop!" the clattering of the horses' hoofs was already heard; the crowd gave way on all sides to make room for the king and his knights. the people shouted and made signals to the bowmen and brandmen in the numerous boats which surrounded the castle island; in an instant nearly all the brands and torches were extinguished in the water, and the assailants rowed hastily back from the besieged castle. the shooting, however, still continued from a battery of balista on the shore: it was here sir helmer had stationed himself. his whole attention was so engrossed in the working of the balista, that he was unconscious of what was passing around him; he thought the bowmen and torch-throwers had been put to flight, but observed not the general cessation of the attack, nor the arrival of the king. "go on, go on, countrymen!" he shouted. "cheerily! brave danish men! will you let yourselves be worsted by the bishop's slaves? down with their towers and walls!" he was still issuing the word of command to the balista slingers, when, to his dismay, he heard the king's voice over head. "what see i? sir helmer! you here! and in the midst of rebels? is this accompanying the drost to stockholm? is it thus you serve and obey your king? he is your prisoner, count henrik!" "my liege and sovereign!" exclaimed sir helmer, stretching out his arms towards the king, who halted before him on his tall white charger, with a look of stern menace. "hear me, i conjure you!" "not a word!" interrupted the king, with vehemence; "would you make me a faithless perjurer? in the castle you are besieging i have promised peace and safety to my deadly foe. i break not my word, even were it pledged to the devil. if a hair of his head hath been injured it shall cost you dear. take my halberdier with you, count henrik--put him under knightly arrest at the castle! to-morrow he shall be judged for his lawless conduct. take my greeting and assurance of peace to the bishop and cardinal," he added in a lower tone. "take to grand my last behest and warning! you are responsible for the observance of our passport!" "your will shall be obeyed, my liege!" answered count henrik, springing from his horse. "follow me quietly, sir helmer," he whispered to the restless and impetuous captain of the balista slingers, "to-morrow you can justify yourself--now you must be silent and obey." helmer bit his lip in wrath as he gave up his sword to henrik, and followed him in silence. count henrik, with a considerable train of knights and squires, took instant possession of a barge which the insurgents had just deserted. he caused a white flag to be hoisted, and made preparations for crossing over to the castle island, while the king furthermore enjoined peace and quietness in the town, and rode with the rest of his train the whole length of the strand, amid the vast concourse of people, who partly from curiosity, partly from attachment, continued to accompany him. the balista were instantly dragged off the shore, from whence the armed insurgents had also decamped, awed apparently by the king's severity towards one of his favourite knights. by the church of st. nicolas, opposite the little island called "the skipper's ground," the king was again stopped by a numerous and unruly mob, in which there were many armed men of a gloomy and wild appearance, who were muttering prayers and psalms, interlarded with imprecations and threats against all priests and bishops. on the king's appearance the uproar was hushed, and most of the weapons disappeared at his command. the church doors were also forced here; all the ecclesiastics and their attendants had fled. the people themselves had rung the bell for vespers, and had dragged a monk into the church in order to compel him to sing the avé, despite the interdict of bishop and pope. the king instantly dismounted and entered the church. half dead with terror, and as it were with his life in his hands, an aged dominican stood before the altar with rent garments, and strove in vain to chaunt the customary evening prayers with calmness and dignity, while the turbulent crowd surrounded him with looks of wild menace, and with torches, axes, and glittering swords in their hands. a group of butchers and half-drunken mechanics, headed by a tall carpenter, stood nearest the altar, and frequently interrupted the monk with scoffs and threats. "peace here, in the lord's house!" said the king in a loud voice, as he entered the church. "bend the knee, all of ye, and pray the merciful god to pardon you! go in peace, pious father!--if thou darest not to pray for our souls.--god hears us, however, despite the ban, if we are but sincere. the all-righteous be gracious to us all, and pardon us our sins!" so saying, the king bent his knee before the altar, and all fell, as if struck by lightning, on the floor. a deathlike silence prevailed for a moment. it now appeared as if the aged dominican was suddenly inspired by a feeling of lofty and intrepid enthusiasm. in a solemn voice he chaunted a "gloria," and afterwards an "ave," in which he was followed by the king and the whole congregation. the king then arose, and calm and silent quitted the church. he mounted his horse and rode onwards. "holy virgin, pray for us!" still resounded with calm solemnity from the kneeling congregation in st. nicolas church; and when the king again returned through the strand street opposite axelhuus, to repair to his castle at sorretslóv, tranquillity appeared to be fully restored. lights gleamed in the calm spring eve in most of the windows; at axelhuus also, all now seemed tranquil. count henrik had sent the provost and two counsellors on before him in a small boat to announce his coming to the bishop, while the count himself with his train in the great barge approached the castle island with tardy strokes of the oar. sir helmer stood silent and thoughtful, as a disarmed captive, in the barge by count henrik's side, indignant at being now carried to imprisonment in that castle which he had recently, as a conquering general, assisted the burghers to besiege. he now, indeed, perceived that he had acted rashly in taking a part in the insurrection; but he thought, nevertheless, that the king's conduct towards him was much too severe; his looks and glowing cheek betrayed that his pride was deeply wounded. as he revolved these thoughts a boat from the castle island rowed rapidly towards them, and glided close past the barge. "ha! the pepper 'prentice!" exclaimed sir helmer, suddenly springing like a madman into the boat. count henrik saw with surprise that his captive commenced wrestling on the gunwale with a german pepper 'prentice, and plunged with his antagonist into the deep stream, while the boat disappeared with the speed of an arrow in the twilight. "save him, save him!" shouted count henrik, and stopped the rowers. sir helmer's plumed hat floated on the water at some distance; it was taken up; but neither himself nor his unknown adversary were to be seen. the rapid current appeared to have instantly borne them away, and all search after them with oars and boat-hooks proved fruitless. "the lord have mercy on his soul!" said count henrik with a sigh. "he was the boldest knight i ever knew--but a thoughtless madcap he ever was. he hath escaped captivity though, and perhaps a stern sentence to-morrow; but the king hath lost a true friend. on, fellows! we find him not--perhaps he hath helped himself; he was a good swimmer." in the boat which shot past, and which had been nearly upset by the sudden and violent struggle, two persons attired as ecclesiastics had been seen, and the rowers thought they recognised in one of them the archbishop's crafty friend johan rodis. in the harbour of axelhuus lay the royal vessel "waldemar the victorious," on board of which the archbishop, through the mediation of the cardinal, had been brought from hammershuus, under royal convoy. according to the tenor of the passport, the captain with all his crew had been sworn by the archbishop, and had bound themselves to convey him from axelhuus at a moment's warning, in case he should not believe himself safe, and also to bring him and the papal nuncio to whatever foreign port they chose. just as count henrik was about to land on the castle island a large rowing boat approached the royal vessel. "our lord bishop, with the archbishop, and the red hat!" said the boatmen; "they are making for the waldemar." "then row after them with all your might!" ordered count henrik; "there is no time to lose; haste!" ere they reached the ship, the cardinal and the archbishop were already on board, and the sails were about to be hoisted. in the boat stood bishop johan with a number of clerks, and was wishing his exalted guests a safe and fortunate passage. "i bring you the same good wishes from my liege and sovereign, most venerable sirs!" cried county henrik, taking off his hat. "your safe departure hath been cared for. as soon as the king learnt your distress, and the insurrection of the mob, he hasted hither in person to your protection. i have commands to escort you out of the harbour, and see you safe from all possible danger." "bring the king of denmark my farewell, and my thanks for his support," answered the cardinal, through his interpreter. "i have been myself a witness to it, and i must see justice done to his generosity towards his foe, as well as to his kingly temper, and his strict keeping of promise. i now quit the country without having succeeded in establishing here the peace i desired; but i trust once again to see king eric and denmark under happier auspices." "when you come with peace and blessing, your eminence will be welcome!" answered count henrik; "but you have already seen solemn proofs of the temper with which the danish people put up with ban and interdict. my liege the king prays your eminence to bring the holy father tidings of this, together with his humble and filial greeting; he places with confidence his own and his people's just cause before the judgment seat of his holiness; but whatever the sentence may prove to be, according to ecclesiastical and canonical law, my liege, king eric of denmark, as the temporal ruler of this land and the protector of public peace, is necessitated in the most peremptory manner to declare archbishop grand of lund for ever banished from these kingdoms and lands." "banished!" repeated a hollow voice from the vessel, and the tall archbishop grand appeared at the gangway. "who dares pronounce that sentence upon an anointed prince of the church? for this no king on earth hath power. that king's servant who hath dared to bring me such a message, i declare to be under the ban of the church." count henrik started, but still stood calm and courteous with hat in hand waiting to hear what the bishop had further to say. "whether i again set foot on danish ground," continued grand, "depends upon myself and the holy father. i now shake off the dust from my martyred feet, and quit my ungrateful father-land; but ere the fullest compensation hath been made me for all i have here suffered contrary to the laws of god and man, there shall no blessing come upon state and country, and upon denmark's excommunicated king--that i swear by the almighty and all the saints! tell the tyrant who sent you--from me, the church's primate in the north--should king eric erieson now dare, without dispensation and consent of the church, to complete his ungodly espousals in forbidden consanguinity, it shall surely be to the eternal damnation of himself and kingdom. amen!" at these words count henrik stamped in the barge, without however vouchsafing an answer to the incensed prelate. "captain!" he called to the commander of the ship, who stood with his hat in his hand at the forecastle; "you will convey archbishop grand, in the king's name and under his convoy, safe on shore wherever he chooses, excepting only the king's states and kingdom. whoever should dare to bring back this disturber of the peace to denmark shall be judged as a traitor and rebel." at count henrik's signal, the sails were hoisted, and the vessel sailed out of port with the dangerous prelate, whose last words to his native land were those of the so oft-repeated ban. count henrik now greeted the lord of the castle of axelhuus, the little bishop johan, and delivered the king's message of peace and protection; under conditions, however, which he was invited to consider in an interview with the king at his castle of sorretslóv. count henrik then gave a parting salutation to this friend and unsuccessful imitator of the archbishop, who seemed to meditate a haughty and impressive reply; but without awaiting it, henrik made a signal to his boatmen to row forward, and followed the departing vessel at some distance, until it was seen to be fairly out of port and in open sea. the count then returned with his train to the town, where he instantly mounted his horse, and rode in silent and serious thought, but with cheerful looks and at a brisk trot through the town, and from thence on the road to sorretslóv. chap. iv. at night there were great rejoicings in copenhagen. the king's presence seemed to secure the peaceable part of the community against further disturbance of the public tranquillity. the occurrences of the day had given satisfaction, and there was a general feeling of enthusiasm respecting the fortunate issue of the insurrection. that which had been aimed at was attained. the shutting of the churches was at an end, and the stern prelatical government of the town had been cowed. after this violent outbreak of the people's wrath, it was now hoped that no interdict would ever be carried into effect in denmark. the report that the archbishop and the cardinal had quitted axelhuus, and that the archbishop was banished for life, was spread throughout the whole town, ere midnight, and increased the general rejoicing. where the lights had been extinguished in the windows after the king's departure, they were now re-lighted. the archbishop's flight and banishment were thus celebrated throughout the town as an important victory over ecclesiastical tyranny, and as a happy consequence of the public spirit of the burghers, and of the king's high courage. in the tavern near the catsound, in the vicinity of st. clement's church, sat the drost's squire canute, late at night, merrily carousing with a number of young copenhageners, who had eagerly taken part in the besieging of axelhuus. in the midst of the group sat an elderly burgher, with a full cup of mead in his hand drinking with them, amid songs and bold scoffs, at the strict law which prohibited late tavern keeping and nightly intemperance, which they now regarded as a dead letter. it was the same personage who at noon had peregrinated the town as an official authority, and who, as the summoning herald of the council, had forbidden every one to bear arms in the streets. his herald's mantle, and the white staff bearing the bishop's arms, had been thrown under the drinking table; he now appeared in the usual burgher's dress, and had himself a warlike sword at his side. from his talk it could be gathered that he had also joined in the siege of axelhuus. the carousers spoke openly and boldly against prelatical government, to which they believed they had given a good fillip. they lauded the king and the brisk sir helmer, and opined that the king had only feignedly, and for the sake of appearances, caused that brave knight to be placed under arrest. they unanimously agreed, also, that the king's stern words to the balista slingers, and those who were storming the castle, could not have come much further than from between his teeth, since, after all, it was but his worst foe they had attacked. there were bursts of exultation at the flight and exile of the archbishop, which had been related to them by two newly-arrived guests, and the party took credit to themselves for having stoned master grand out of the country. "ay, laud us copenhageners!" said the herald, with a self-satisfied nod; "we have helped the king before at a pinch." "what can the pope and all the world's bishops do to him _now_?" said the squire, draining his cup. "the game is won, comrades, provided all we danes from this day forward act like you, brave copenhageners of this town. against those latin curses we have arrows, swords, and balista, and good danish granite stone; and if they lock us up the church doors again, we have, the lord be thanked, iron crows and axes, and men who can lift a church door as easy as a barrel of wheat. now is my master the drost over in sweden to fetch the king's betrothed," he continued; "had i been with him there the arrogant hanse would not have pounced on me. matters may go hard enough with the king's marriage; they say these priests would fain put a spoke in the wheel, and shut all heaven's gates on us; but what shall we wager, comrades, that the king snaps his fingers at them, touching the dispension, or whatever it is called, and keeps his bridal, when the lord and he himself pleases? then will there be sport and jollity over all the country. long live the king's true love!" "but she is a swede," objected one of the young fellows. "pah! hereafter will swede and dane be good and boon companions," continued canute, with a jolly flourish of his cup. "when our kings give each other their sisters we will dance with the swedish maidens, and their young fellows again with ours, and no one shall look sour on the other, because we have tried our strength before in another sort of game. the swedish princess, they say, is the fairest king's daughter in the world, as fair and straight as a lily, and as pious and mild as the blessed queen dagmar. long life to her, by my soul and honour, and to our excellent young king besides, and to all frank and free men, and all pretty maidens, both here and in sweden's land! hurra for the king and his true love! he is a scoundrel who drinks not with me." all the jolly carousers joined in the toast; but the merriment in the tavern-room was now interrupted by the noise of an eager scuffle in the chamber above, where several guests of higher rank were playing at draughts. the squire and his comrades crowded inquisitively to the door, and looked into the chamber. "ay, indeed! my fat rostocker here!" exclaimed canute; "would he tweak the copenhageners by the nose also? i should think he would come badly off at that game." he now related to his companions what had happened at skanör fair--how the arrogant traders, who were now in the fray, had brought the false coin of the outlaws into the country--and how the rostocker, with his crafty comrade, had dared to threaten the king at sjöborg. "let's have at him!" shouted all with one accord, and rushed into the chamber, where berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar, with a crowd of foreign merchants and agents, were engaged in fierce dispute with two of the richest burghers of the town, who accused them of dishonest play, and of cheating with false money. the squire and his young comrades took the part of the copenhageners, and a wild and bloody fray, with pitchers and cans, sticks and clenched fists, soon commenced. the rostocker and henrik gullandsfar first drew their swords; they laid about them with courage and valour. the pepper 'prentices cried and shouted desperately, but were unable to defend themselves with their long ell measures; at last they all took to flight, with henrik gullandsfar at their head. berner kopmand would have followed them, but the incensed squire placed himself in his way, and forced him into a desperate encounter. "out of the way, comrades!" he shouted; "leave me to deal alone with this fellow; i have a little reckoning to settle with him!" all gave way, and formed a ring round the combatants; the heavy-built hot-headed rostocker laid frantically about him, but was wounded every moment by the man-at-arms, who, though far less in stature, was his superior in swordsmanship. "take that for thy false money, good fellow, and that for thy false play, and that for thy shameless arrogance!" shouted the squire at every wound he gave his antagonist; "that because thou wouldest hang sir helmer and me, and that because thou hast threatened our king, thou grocer hero!" this last thrust ended the fight. the merchant fell mortally wounded to the ground, among the overturned wine-flasks and draught-boards. meanwhile the routed pepper 'prentices had given the alarm in the streets, and, with a fearful cry of murder, assembled the night-watch, and as many of the provost's men, who, as yet, had sufficient courage to maintain order in the town. the bishop's famulus had arrived with some men-at-arms, on the part of the provost, and when berner kopmand fell the tavern of st. clement's was already surrounded by a guard. the famulus made his way into the tavern with his men, and surrounded the squire, who stood in silence with the bloody sword in his hand, gazing on the dying rostocker. "seize him! shackle him! the godless murderer, in the name of the bishop and council!" cried the famulus, in a screeching voice, springing up on a bench to bring himself into notice. he was a little man, clad in a short black cloak over a blue lay brother's dress, with a roll of parchment in his hand, which he flourished like a commander's staff. all the jolly revellers had retreated, and the drost's squire stood alone by the rostocker's body in the faint light of the oil-lamp, which was suspended from the roof. he menacingly brandished his bloody sword, and no one dared to approach him. "let him go; he is guiltless!" cried a powerful but stuttering voice, and the burgher herald stepped forward half intoxicated, with glowing cheeks and reeling steps, from a corner of the apartment. he had again attired himself in his herald's mantle, and brandished the white staff with the bishop's arms in his hand. he elbowed his way through the crowd, and placed himself, with solemn, official mien, between the squire and the provost's men, directly opposite the little famulus on the bench. "let none touch this fellow; he is guiltless!" he continued: "the other drunken guest hath got his deserts; he has fallen, as was meet and fit in a regular tavern brawl, and at the dice-board; that _i_ can witness--he is to get no chastisement, according to the law and right of our good city, that you must know full as well as i, master famulus." "believe him not, he is drunk!" cried the bishop's famulus with eagerness; "the ale speaks through him; he exercises his office, and expounds law and justice like a toper and partizan. the law he prates about concerns but fisty-cuffs and pulling of hair; but a murder hath been committed within the town paling; it should at least be punished with perpetual imprisonment, according to the town law. seize the murderer instantly, say i!" "touch him not, say i," resumed the herald, "he hath slain a cheat, a false player, a shameless scoundrel, who had defied the king; it was done in honourable fight; it was in self-defence,--that i saw myself; the fat rostocker struck the first blow with a sharp weapon, although he got the first cuff, but from an wholly unarmed fist; _that_ i can take my oath of, let me be ever so drunk. he is a knave and a sorry christian who gets not honestly drunk to-night, now that we have forced the shut gate of heaven. this brave young fellow is, besides, the drost's squire, and my good friend. we have no right to imprison him, i will stand security for him, with all my substance!" "but what are ye thinking of?" bawled the famulus, stamping on the bench, "he hath certainly slain a man here." "even so! naught else! know ye not better our pious lord bishop's orders! master famulus!" shouted the burgher herald in an overpowering voice, as he leaned on his staff of office. "_this_ is a worldly tavern and place of entertainment--_here_, where gaming, pastime, and toping have full swing from morning to night--none hath a right to require safety for life and limb, it is all in due order; and a very wise and reasonable regulation; mad cats get torn skins, and where one sets aside the law, every one must take the damage as wages. the scoundrel who lies there fell at the forbidden draught-board; if there is law and justice in the town, he shall never be laid in christian ground. that i will uphold, as surely as i bear this sacred staff." as he, at the conclusion of his speech, was about again to brandish the herald's staff over his head, he had nearly lost his balance; but his authoritative conduct, and stern official deportment, seemed, however, not without its effect upon the provost's men, especially as the bishop's famulus was forced to allow the justice of his protest against the burial of the slain in christian ground. while they were yet disputing, whether they had or had not the right of imprisoning the murderer, the squire rushed out of the door, with his drawn sword in his hand, and none dared to stop him. as soon as he found himself in the open air, he concealed his sword under his mantle, slouched his hat over his brow, and mingled in the throng which surrounded the house, and had thrust the guard aside. it appeared, even to him, somewhat doubtful and improbable that persons might thus be slain with perfect impunity at the gaming table; what he had heard respecting perpetual imprisonment in the bishop's city, still sounded very unpleasantly in his ear, and he thought it most advisable to decamp as soon as possible; but in order not to excite suspicion, he walked on quietly, and whistled a blithe drinking song. "there's desperate work in the house between the pepper 'prentices and the king's men," he said aloud, "the devil take me if i stand here gaping any longer." as soon as he was fairly out of the crowd, he quickened his steps and hastened down past the catsound towards the old strand. he went onward without knowing whither, and often looked behind to see whether any one pursued him. he saw lights in all the houses on the strand--mirth and song resounded, contrary to usage, in many quarters of the generally quiet town, in defiance of the strict regulations of the bishop and archbishop; but all was gloomy and still at axelhuus. he pursued his way along the level shore, and approached the church of st. nicholas. in the churchyard he saw a crowd of people assembled. a strange, half devout, half seditious murmur, was heard in the crowd, and a solemn council appeared to be held. he hastened past the sullen muttering assemblage, and reached the ferry opposite bremen-island. here all the great warehouses were desolate and deserted; he sat down quite breathless on the quay to recover himself, and think of the means of escape. it was past midnight. the moon shone upon the broad stream and the tall warehouses on bremen island. he felt oppressed by the death-like stillness around him. the wild scene of the murder in the alehouse was now solemnly and fearfully present to his imagination--he heard his heart beat; he wiped the blood from off his sword, and put it into the sheath. he perceived spots of blood upon his clothes, and was about to go down to the water to wash them out, but he now heard a sound near him like the gasping of a dying man; he looked around him with uneasiness, but no human being was to be seen. the singular sound still fell on his ear, and mingled with his vivid recollection of the death-rattle of the slain rostocker. he had felt no dread of the living adversary,--now he shuddered at the thought of the dead. the hair of the fugitive squire stood on end; he hastily started off from the quay, and would have fled further; but he now distinctly heard that the sound which terrified him proceeded from the sea-shore. the faint ray of the moon now lit up the beach, on which he beheld a man lying stretched at full length. "the pepper 'prentice! what became of him?"--he heard the voice gasp forth, and recognised its tones. "our lady be merciful to us! sir helmer! what hath happened you?" exclaimed canute, aghast, and hasted down to the half-expiring knight, who was utterly exhausted by fighting and swimming, and whom, with much difficulty, he raised on his legs, and in some degree restored to consciousness. his drenched clothes were rent and bloody; his long brown locks clung to his swollen cheeks, and in his left hand, which was convulsively clenched, he held a thick tuft of reddish hair. "look! look!" he said, "it was all i got hold of, the rest the devil hath taken. he twined round me like a water-snake. he bit and tore like the devil. the stream put an end to our embrace, it had well nigh put an end to my life, i perceive." "our lady and st. george help you, noble sir!" said the squire, crossing himself, as he reached him a small flask. "take something to strengthen your heart after that joust! if you have fought with the evil one at the bottom of the sea you have surely had to stand a hard encounter." "i hope it was the right one," said helmer, and drained the flask, "thanks, countryman! it hath helped me! now i have got my strength again. i ail nothing in reality; my limbs are sound; i am but a little bruised, and dizzy in my head." "but what in all the world have you been about? have you been seeking the pepper 'prentice, or satan himself, at the bottom of the sea, and know not rightly yourself whether you found him?" "i was hard pressed for time, thou must know. the king rode quietly past the beach. i was somewhat wrath with him, i must needs confess. i was on the way to the bishop's dungeon, on account of my having taken the balista a little in hand; but then i caught a sight of that devil of a pepper 'prentice; he stood not a yard from me in a boat, and would have pushed past us; it seemed to me that he stared after the king, and fumbled with his hand in his breast, as if after a dagger. whether it was the right rascal or not, there was not time to discover. the fellow looked confoundedly suspicious, and one pepper 'prentice, more or less, of what consequence was it, when the king's life was in question? so i jumped into the boat. ere i wast fully sensible of it i had the fellow by the throat, and had tumbled blithely with him into the stream." "have you sent the pepper 'prentice down to his home, noble sir?" said canute with restored cheerfulness, and somewhat proudly,--"then i have sent a bottle-nosed hanse grocer to hell, from an ale tavern. none can say we have been idle here in copenhagen. we serve the king as well as we can--although we may have come a little out of the way he sent us. if you only have but hit on the right man! your exploit was far more daring and dangerous than mine, noble sir! but in two particulars i have been more lucky, however; i _know_ i hit on the right person, and know also i mastered the rascal to some purpose. it was he who would have hung us in the morning, and who would have taken the king's life, had he had power and courage to do so." "the rostocker! berner kopmand?" "the same! he now lies dead as a herring, in the ale-house; he will never be laid in christian ground, if my honest friend the herald is in the right. but come, sir!--if you can bestir yourself, let's get out of the bishop's town, and the sooner the better! if the provost or the bishop's men pounce on us, we shall not 'scape from their dungeons all our life-time." with some difficulty the wounded knight followed the squire, and they soon reached the east gate at the end of east street. the gate was shut, but its lock and bolts had been forced in the insurrection. the fugitives opened it without difficulty, and entered into the large grass-grown marketplace, where the halland vegetable vendors especially had their landing-places and stalls. meanwhile, sir helmer felt weaker at every step. with the help of the squire he dragged himself with difficulty to the chapel by st. anna's bridge; here he sank down powerless before the chapel door;--all grew dark before his eyes, and he was near falling into a swoon. "the lord and st. anna assist us!" said the squire, hastily seizing a wooden bowl which stood near the chapel; he sprang with it to the running stream under the bridge, and soon returned with the bowl full of clear, pure water. "drink, sir! drink in st. anna's blessed name!" he said, eagerly, "and then i will bathe you on the head, and on every part where you feel pain. if st. anna's stream hath the wondrous healing power it is said to have you will assuredly soon feel yourself strengthened, provided you are a good christian, as i surely hope." the knight drank, and washed the blood from his face, which, as well as his neck, was scratched and lacerated; he was besides bruised all over his body, and exhausted to a great degree. the cold water refreshed and strengthened him, as he fancied, in a wonderful and incomprehensible manner. around the chapel lay a number of crutches and rags, cast aside by the sick and paralytic who had here been healed. inspired with sudden enthusiasm by his regained strength, and by the miracle he believed he had here experienced, sir helmer sprang up and knelt before the image of st. anna over the chapel door. "thanks and honour, holy anna!" he exclaimed in a lowered voice, and with clasped hands, "it was nobly done of thee; it was doubtless for the sake of my fair young wife--for the sake of my anna's pious prayers! when we meet again in health, we will assuredly not forget the wax lights and purple velvet for thine altar." he then arose, and exulting in his strength, flapped his arms around him, as if to certify himself of the fact of this restoration; he embraced the squire, and then flung him off to some distance on the grass, with as much ease as he would have flung his glove. "look, there lies my crutch also, to thy thanks and honour, holy anna!" he exclaimed in a loud voice, "he is a rascal who doubts of thy wondrous power; thou hast given me strength and vigour again." "ay, indeed! thanks and honour be to st. anna for it!" panted the squire, as he rose half in alarm. "you are now, by my troth, in full vigour. sir helmer! as i can testify; but you are somewhat strange and violent in your devotion; you must excuse my not continuing to lie here among the other crutches!" helmer bounded blithely on the green sward, to try whether his legs also stood him in good stead; he seemed again preparing to wrestle with the squire, but canute sprang aside. "keep your devotion within bounds, noble sir! and listen to a word of sense!" he said, seizing the intractable knight by the arm. "a boat lies unmoored here, let's take possession of it, and row up the great canal!--then perhaps we may slip whole-skinned out of the town, and get to sorretslóv. if there is any reasonableness whatever in the king, he will not cause us to be hanged, because we have chastised his enemies and persecutors; but if they get hold of us here he will find it hard, despite all his power, to save us." "had i but my good sword!"--said helmer. "lend me thine, brisk countryman! do thou row the boat! and i will defend us both." "yes, if you will be mannerly, sir knight, and not try your sword on me, in honour of st. anna!" helmer laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. they were soon both seated in the boat, and pondering how best to provide for their safety. helmer sat sword in hand at the rudder, and the squire, despite the pain of his lacerated hand, rowed with powerful strokes of the oar up the stream which enclosed the town on the north-east. they stopped not until they reached the fishermen's houses at pustervig. here the northern boundary of the town was protected by a new fortification of palisades. while the squire rested his wearied arms, they consulted together whether they should now row to the left, through the canal, to get out through the north gate, where, however, it was uncertain whether they would not be stopped and seized,--or whether they might not with greater safety, although with more difficulty, pursue their flight up the stream to sorretslóv lake. this last plan they considered to be the most expedient. helmer now seized the one oar, and they began to row briskly forward. the night was calm, and during the whole passage from st. anna's bridge they had not seen a single human being. but an arrow from a cross-bow now suddenly whistled over the heads of the fugitives; they heard a splashing of oars behind them, and saw two boats push off from the beach at pustervig. "the murderer! stop him, shoot him! a hundred silver crowns to the man who seizes him!" called a loud voice from one of the boats. helmer and the squire recognised the voice of henrik gullandsfar, and kept on rowing. the one boat lay to behind them to stop the way in case they should retreat. the other, which was manned with the provost's men, and was steered by henrik gullandsfar himself, pursued them with four oars up the river. in the bow stood two cross-bowmen, who constantly aimed and shot, but as it appeared without real skill in the management of this dangerous weapon, with which the strongest armour might be pierced, and people wounded almost without perceiving it. "you shoot badly, knaves!" shouted helmer. "is that the way to hold a cross-bow? come but nearer, and i will teach ye to handle it!" he continued, letting go the oar and brandishing his sword over his uncovered head, as he stood in the stern of the boat. "as surely as st. anna hath given me my strength again, it shall not fare a hair better with ye than with my departed brothers-in-law." another cross-bow bolt whistled over his head, but without injuring a hair of it--another split the gunwale and broke the tiller. helmer seized the harmless bolt, and just as he was about to be overtaken, flung it back with all his might whence it came. it whistled past both the cross-bowmen, but hit henrik gullandsfar on the forehead, and the merchant fell backwards without life sufficient to utter a cry. "death and misfortune! 'twas helmer blaa who threw!" cried one of the provost's men. "the devil a bit will i fight with _him_.--let's be off!" the provost's men and the cross-bow shooters now took to flight down the stream with the body of gullandsfar. sir helmer again seized the one oar, and the two bold fugitives rowed unmolested up to sorretslóv lake. here they sprang ashore on the green sward, leaving the boat to float back with the current. "we have got thus far on dry land," said helmer, looking around him; "we are without the town paling, and are scarce a hundred paces distant from the king's castle. when the king hears of our exploits, perhaps he will say, it was bravely done, but will cause us to be bound and thrown into the tower, according to strict law, and there we may be suffered to lie until his council and the bishops are agreed whether we are to be punished with death or only with imprisonment for life." "would you scare me, sir helmer?" exclaimed canute, in dismay. "as soon as we reach the king's castle yonder, we surely stand under the king's protection." "but here he is on the bishop's preserve as well as we. we have forgotten that in our hurry," observed helmer; "the sixteen villages in this neighbourhood belong to the little roskild bishop. bishop law and church law are valid here; and this i know beforehand, the king will not swerve a hair's-breadth from what is lawful for _our_ sake, even though we were his best friends, and had saved his life an hundred times over." "death and confusion! what shall we do then? in that case we were mad should we take refuge with him here?" "so i think, countryman! but help us he _shall_, whether he will it or no. knowest thou the two white horses here in the meadow? look! how they dance in the tether and snort towards the dawn." "the king's tournament prancers!--the very apple of his eye! every knights' squire knows _them_. you have surely not lost your wits, sir helmer! what would you be at?" "thou shalt soon see," said helmer, approaching the starting and rearing steeds. "so! ho! old fellows! stand still!--if we have risked our lives for the king, he can doubtless lend us a pair of horses. had i my good arab it should fly with us both faster than the wind. the pepper 'prentice i answer for," he continued, still enticing the horses. "i have soused and pumelled him so soundly, that he will do no mischief again in a hurry, if there is life in him yet--and i dare wager my head it was the right one. if thou hast made an end of berner kopmand, countryman, i answer for henrik gullandsfar, and the archbishop hath gone to the devil; there is now no great danger astir, and the king needs us no longer here. i am no great lover of trial and imprisonment, seest thou? and if the king does not need my life, i know of one who will give me a kiss for saving it.--so ho, there! that's right, my lad!--a noble animal, by my soul! i desert not from the service to run home to my young wife,--that none shall say of me. do thou like me, countryman! i will now ride on the king's prancer as his bridesman to sweden, to perform what i have neglected. if thou wilt come with me, come then!" meanwhile helmer had caught one of the spirited steeds. in an instant he was upon its back, and galloped away over hedge and ditch with the swiftness of a deer. the drost's squire did not long hesitate; he was soon seated on the back of the other, and followed sir helmer at a brisk gallop. chap. v. when the sun rose over the sound, signs of cheerful animation and active stir were already perceptible in the village of sorretslóv, while the bishop's town still lay shrouded in fog, ensconced behind its trenches and palisades, and seemed to slumber after the wild revels of the preceding night. peasants were seen removing cattle on the pastures, between the village and the northern gate of the town. the grooms of the king's household were riding the horses to water from the farms and meadows of the royal castle, at the large pool in the midst of the village; but around the pasture near sorretslóv lake, where the king's trained tournament-steeds had grazed, two grooms were running in despair, vainly seeking the fine horses which were entrusted to their charge. "help us, st. alban! and all saints!" cried the younger groom. "if the marsk comes home he will slay us, at the least." "and the king!" groaned the other--"the king will be wrath; and that is even far worse. we must find them though we should have to run to the world's end. come!"--they sprang away over hedge and ditch, where they saw the dew brushed off from the grass, and fresh traces of galloping horses' feet on the meadow; at last they recognised the well-known trained step of the steeds on the road between the two lakes, and were soon far away. it was a fine spring morning;--the king was, as usual, stirring at an early hour. accompanied by count henrik, he had mounted the flat-roofed tower of the castle, from whence there was an extensive and noble prospect over the whole adjacent country. count henrik had been required, circumstantially to repeat his account of the flight of the cardinal and the archbishop, and the very different greeting of the prelates. the king was grave, but in good spirits; even the last threat of the archbishop had not discouraged him. "with god's blessing," he said with emphasis, "i await my chief happiness from the hand of the almighty, and the heart of my pious ingeborg, but neither from the mercy of the pope nor the archbishop. were my hope and success in love really sin and ungodliness, no dispensation could ever sanctify it before heaven and to myself."--he paused, and gazed with a calm and enthusiastic look on the rising sun, and a heartfelt prayer seemed as it were to beam from his bright eye. "my deadly foe went hence alive," he continued;--"well! i have now performed my promise to him. i let him 'scape hence alive. more none can ask of a frail mortal; but it is the last time i promise peace and respite of life to the enemy of my soul. so long as the lord grants me life and crown the presence of grand shall never more infect the air i breathe." "this insurrection was quite opportune for us, my liege," observed count henrik, with a confidential smile--"the foe you came hither to banish hath been as good as stoned out of this country by the brisk men of copenhagen, on their own responsibility." "that _i_ asked them not to do," answered the king, with proud eagerness; "had i willed to use temporal power, against my ecclesiastical foes here, i should not have needed the help of a mutinous mob. the town hath suffered wrong; but mutiny is, and ever will be, mutiny; and, _as such_, deserving of punishment, whether it happens to suit my convenience or not. i consider the conduct of the bishop and council to be arbitrary and illegal," he continued. "i hate ban and interdict as i do the plague, as is well known; but it shall not therefore be believed i favour revolt and rebellion against any lawful authority. it was well done to force the locked churches. no roskild bishop shall place bars and bulwarks between us and our lord; but it was not for the lord's sake they besieged the bishop's castle: their devotion was also very moderate; it was more like howling wolves singing 'credo,' than christianly-baptized people. had you seen, with me, the riots yesterday evening, in st. nicholas church. count henrik! you would hardly take on yourself the defence of these insurgents." "i rode past st. nicholas church-yard in the night, my liege!" answered count henrik. "what was doing there pleased me but little, it is true. it seemed as though a crowd of spirits moved among the graves, in the moonshine: there was a strange muttering. i heard shouts and prayers, which sounded to me like curses. it was st. erik's guild brethren, who were chaunting prayers, it was said, and taking counsel against the bishop. those good people i will no longer defend; there must be wild fanatics and turbulent spirits among them. but chastise them not too hardly, in your wrath, my liege!--even though you should now be forced to lend a helping hand to prelatical government. when the lord's servants shut the lord's house themselves, and hinder all orderly worship, it is surely no wonder that the plain man seeks to edify himself as well as he can in his own way: a mixture of defiance and ferocious fanaticism with this species of devotion is inevitable, but whose is the blame, your grace? where god's word is silent, the evil one instantly sends forth his priests among the people, and drives them mad." "ay indeed! those are true words. count! it is usually the fault of the shepherd when the flock strays. spiritual government is a matter i dare not much intermeddle with, but this i have promised, and i shall honestly keep my promise: every church door in the country which they would hereafter shut, i will cause myself without further ado to be forced with the staff of the spear; and every priest or bishop who hinders my, or my people's lawful and orderly devotion, i banish from state and country, as i have banished archbishop grand--let the pope excommunicate me a thousand times over for it! look! in this i am agreed with my brave and loyal people, and with these rather too brisk copenhageners. what i here tell you, i cannot give any one under sign and seal," he added, "but i will whisper it in confidence into the ear of every danish bishop and future archbishop; none shall say, however, i side with rebels. if authority is to be used, that is my affair; but there _shall_ be peace and order here. i will uphold the rights of every lawful authority, whether it be spiritual or temporal, our highest rights, as god's children, and the rights and authority of the crown, unimpaired." the king was silent--his cheek glowed, and an expression of fervid energy beamed in his countenance, as he turned from the fair spectacle of the rising sun, and looked out upon the fog-enveloped town, the church towers of which glittered in the dawn of morning. he now opened a letter and a small packet, which a skipper from skanör had brought him from drost aagé. he read the letter with attention. it contained an account of the drost's meeting with the hanseatic merchants and thrand fistlier at kjöge, and at skanör fair, as well as of the disturbance which had been caused by this mountebank, and the hanseatic forgers; and also how the drost, partly to save the artist's life, had been under the necessity of sending him prisoner to helsingborg. in the packet was one of master thrand's optic tubes, and some polished glasses, which aagé had bought at skanör fair, and which he now presented to the king as extraordinary rarities. in the letter, aagé had not been able to conceal his suspicion of the wonderful mountebank, and the singular uneasiness which this man's operations and expressions had caused him. count henrik also, had lately received and read a secret epistle from the drost, in which aagé conjured him to caution the king respecting the captive icelander, and above all to keep a watchful eye on whoever approached him. "trust not the junker!" aagé wrote, "god forgive me if i do him injustice! kaggé is alive and under convoy of the foreign merchants, who threatened the king at sjöborg; helmer and my bravest squire are in their power. the revenge of the outlaws is unwearied. stir not from the king's side! watch over his life, while i care for his happiness." "truly! my good drost aagé is a strange visionary," said the king, shaking his head with a smile, as he tried the glasses with a feeling of wonder at the power of these instruments; "my much-loved aagé is ready to side with the ignorant mob, and regard the fruits of the noble arts and sciences as the work of the evil one." "how! my liege!" asked count henrik, in surprise. "that good friend of mine is still somewhat weak both in mind and body;" continued the king, "he is afraid our whole fair world will perish, because here and there people get their eyes opened, and learn to see things better and more justly in nature. the lord knows what new danger he can now be dreaming of from this artist. just look here. count!" the king reached henrik the optic tube. "it is one of the discoveries of the great roger bacon, the wise english monk we have heard so much of--a skilful icelander hath arrived here in the country, who hath known him, and learned the art from him. these kind of things he brings with him; he is said to understand many wonderful arts, and knows secrets in nature which may be of importance, as well in war as in the general advancement of the country; aagé, i suppose, means only we should be cautious and not trust him over much. i will see and know that man; he certainly doth honour to our northern lands, and he shall not have visited me in vain;--now what say you, count? such glass eyes may be useful, i think, both for a king and a general, when he should take a wide survey!" "noble! astonishing!" exclaimed count henrik, "the town, the river, the whole of solbierg, seem as near as if close at hand." "and a skilful coiner, and a rare judge of metals, is this icelander besides," resumed the king with satisfaction, as he glanced over the letter, "he is just the man we need, now that the land is inundated with the false coin of the outlaws; if he were in league with my foes, as aagé fears, he would hardly venture into my sight; as yet no enemy hath faced me, unpunished. he is reported to hold many erring opinions in matters of faith; but what is that to me? if he be a heretic, so much the worse for himself; in what concerns temporal things he is apt, i must confess." "if he be a leccar brother, as drost aagé thinks, then beware of him, my liege!" observed count henrik. "i thought that sect was banished in all christian lands, and in denmark also, on account of their dangerous opinions." "on account of opinions, i have never banished any living soul," said the king: "for ought i care, every man may think and believe what he will, provided he obeys but the laws of the land, and seduces not the people to insurrection and ungodliness. one description of madmen i once banished, however--it is true," he added, recollecting himself: "what they called themselves i have now forgot; but the madness i remember well enough--they were self-appointed priests, without a consecrated church or true doctrine. they scoured the country round, and preached both to high and low, and would, in short, have made us all heathens. they denied both our lord and our blessed lady, and all the saints and martyrs besides; they would have nought to do either with church or pope; and in fact, just as little with kings and princes, or any temporal government; they zealously affirmed that we should obey our lord only--but when it came to the point, their lord was but their own ignorant and perverted will. from such mad doctrine we may well pray our lord to preserve us and all christian lands." "but that is exactly, as far as i know, the creed of the leccar brethren," observed count henrik. "we have chased the sect from mecklenborg also, and the pope hath doomed them to fire and faggot." "you are right, they are called leccarii in latin," answered the king: "the holy father's caring for their _souls_, by burning their _bodies_, suits me just as little as his excommunicating, and giving us over to the devil. that mistakes may be made in rome we are all agreed. if the learned icelander belongs to yon sect, he must doubtless decamp," he added, "and that i should be sorry for; but i must hear it from himself, ere i will believe it; it is inconceivable to me how madness and learning can dwell together in one brain." "look once again, my liege!" said count henrik, handing the optic tube to the king. "yonder comes a boat up the canal towards st. george's hospital; if i am not mistaken it is steered by a couple of clerks; perhaps the bishop would now vouchsafe us tidings, and put up with your protection." from st. george's lake flowed a broad rivulet, which bounded the pasture ground of sorretslóv and divided it from the meadows of the village of solbierg. this rivulet, which widened into a canal, flowed down under the west gate of the town, and ended its course in the catsound. between the stream and the town of sorretslóv lay st. george's hospital. a large boat came slowly up the river, in which the forms of two men, attired in black, were discernible. they rowed with unsteady strokes of the oar, and with great exertion, against the stream. the boat put ashore at the pasture ground opposite st. george's hospital. the sable-clad personages sprang out of the boat and drew it on land. the king and count henrik thought they recognised the archbishop's confidential friends, hans rodis and the canon nicolaus, and paid close attention to their proceedings. a large loose sail was taken from the boat, from under which four ecclesiastics rose up, one after another, and stepped on shore. they looked around on all sides with caution, and proceeded along a by-path, with slow and uncertain steps towards the royal castle. they were all four soon recognised. it was the domineering little bishop johan, with the haughty abbot from the forest monastery, accompanied by the provincial prior, and the inspector of the copenhagen chapter. they seemed to have secretly taken flight from axelhuus in the morning fog, to place themselves under the king's protection, and perhaps to demand the help of arms against the mutinous town. when the king recognised them he became grave, and fell into a reverie. he reached the optic tube to count henrik, and seated himself in silence on a bench on the southern side of the tower, whence he had a view of the town and the north gate. count henrik remarked that the two suspicious-looking canons had yet another person in the boat, whom they carried on shore; he appeared to be either sick or dead, and was closely shrouded in a mantle. the canons looked around on all sides, and bore, seemingly with doubtful and anxious steps, the sick or dead man up to st. george's hospital, where they were instantly admitted. count henrik considered their conduct most suspicious; he determined, however, not to name it to the king; and resolved to examine himself into the affair, and to inspect the hospital that very day. the town was by no means so tranquil as was supposed. the nocturnal assemblage in the churchyard of st. nicholas had not dispersed until near daybreak. the bishop's men had heard wild threats of fire and murder, and taunting speeches against their master. a new and bloody outbreak of the insurrection was feared whereupon the bishop had not deemed it advisable to await the dawn of day at axelhuus, although it was probable that he most unwillingly took refuge with the king, who he knew was incensed at the enforcement of the interdict. the bishop's stern protest against the demi-ecclesiastical assemblies of the guild-brethren of st. canute, had rendered that fraternity his bitterest and most dangerous foes. during the shutting of the churches, the devotion of the guild-brethren, which was almost always blended with fanaticism and intemperance, had assumed a wild and desperate character. they were charged with the most licentious impiety, it was believed there were atheists and leccar brethren among them, who sought to sever them from the church and from christendom, as well as from burgher-rule and obedience. a secret dread of the extravagancies and gloomy deportment of these persons prevailed among the best-informed and better class of burghers, who, however, had themselves, on account of the shutting of the churches, made common cause with the guild-brethren, and deemed a general revolt against prelatic tyranny to be necessary. ere the sun had dispersed the thick morning mist which lay over the town, the burghers of copenhagen thronged in crowds to the council-house, where they assembled a council, though it was not the usual day of meeting. meanwhile, mattins were performed in all the churches in the town, and no priest dared any longer to observe the interdict. all the churches were unusually crowded, but no disturbances took place. it was only from the stone-built houses, where st. canute's and st. eric's guild-brethren had rung their bells ere daylight, and were now performing their morning's devotions, before full goblets and with locked doors, that wild cries and sounds of tumult proceeded. as soon as early mass was ended, a great procession passed through north street and through the north gate. it was the deputies of the town and council, who had drawn up at the council-house a long list of complaints against the bishop, and as long a justification of the recently-suppressed insurrection. this document they now intended to present to the king, as they were willing to enter into any treaty with the spiritual lord of the town, which their sovereign might consider just and reasonable. a continually increasing crowd accompanied this procession. none of the guild-brethren were to be seen among the deputies of the town; but a number of these gloomy agitators soon joined themselves to the train, and sought to excite suspicion in the populace respecting this negotiation of peace. the guild-brethren, meanwhile, seemed at variance among themselves; the king's presence had struck terror into many, and their wild plans of overthrowing all spiritual and temporal rule lacked concert and counsel. hardly had they quitted their guild houses ere the provost's men and the bishop's retainers, assisted even by the burghers, took possession of these buildings, and stationed guards before them. the dispersion of this degenerate and dangerous fraternity was now become one of the most earnest wishes of the council and burghers. the king had not left the tower of sorretslóv when the throng hastened forward towards the village and his unfortified castle, in the direction of the southern gate; while the bishop and the three prelates, with their slow and dubious pace, had not as yet reached the approach from the by-path to the western castle gate. count henrik's attention had been wholly engrossed in watching the tardy and undecided movements of the ecclesiastics, and the king had been so lost in thought that he did not observe the crowd until the distant murmur of many thousand voices reached his ear. he rose hastily, with a quick glance on both sides, and appeared wroth, but undecided only for a moment. "the gate shall be barred. count! the black snails shall be brought up here!" he exclaimed impetuously in a loud voice to count henrik, pointing to the ecclesiastics below, who again paused on the by-path, and seemed to hesitate. "let them be brought to my private chamber instantly, even though it should be by force. they are my prisoners." count henrik started. "look!" continued the king, pointing towards the village and the road. "they flock out hither by thousands; but, by all the holy men! whoever disturbs the peace of the royal castle shall be chastised as he deserves. ride to meet the throng. count! announce my will to them--say their bishop is in my power. every fitting proposition i will listen to; but every agitator shall instantly be banished; whoever obeys not shall be punished as a rebel." "now i understand you, my liege," said count henrik, and instantly departed. the king's command was immediately put into execution. with great fear and dismay, the bishop and his three ecclesiastical companions beheld a troop of horsemen gallop out of the castle towards them, while a willow hedge hid the main road and the concourse of people from their sight, and they still stood close to the meadow gate, debating whether they had not acted with precipitation, and were not about to encounter a still greater danger here than that from which they had fled. "treachery!" cried the bishop, drawing back. "i feared it would be so. fools that we are to trust to the generosity of an excommunicated tyrant! now we may all fare as did grand, and may come to rot alive in his dungeons." "i will answer for the king's justice, even should he imprison us," said the general superior of the chapter. "ha! you betray me! you side with the tyrant! _you_ counselled me to this step." "look, my brother!" cried the abbot of the forest monastery, pointing in dismay to the right, where but a single-fenced meadow separated them from the road and the concourse of people which now came in view. "the whole town is flocking hither. they have spied us--hear how they howl and bluster! they are springing over hedge and ditch towards us. let us thank god and our guardian saint for the king's horsemen; it is better after all to fall into the hands of one tyrant than into those of a thousand." at this moment the king's horsemen surrounded them, and saluted them with courtesy. "follow us, venerable sirs," said their leader, a brisk young halberdier. "we have orders to bring you to the king's castle." "in the name of the lord and all the saints we accept the king's convoy!" said the bishop, looking around with uneasiness, while his cheeks glowed, and he seemed but half to trust to this unexpected safe conduct. "the bishop! the bishop! seize him! stone him!" shouted a whole crowd of the excited rabble, who, headed by some guild-brethren, had quitted the burgher procession, and ran, with weapons and stones in their hands, over the meadow towards the ecclesiastics. "back, countrymen!" shouted the leader of the horsemen, brandishing his sword. "we lead him captive to the king." "captive! the bishop captive!" exclaimed the insurgents with joyous shouts. "that's right!--long live the king!--to the dungeon with grand's friends and all king-priests!" "captive!" repeated the bishop, clasping his hands; "ha, the presumptuous traitors!" "compose yourselves, venerable sirs," said the young halberdier, in a lowered tone. "i obey the commands of my sovereign; if you refuse to comply i shall be compelled to use force; but whether you are the king's guests or his prisoners you will assuredly be treated as beseems your rank and condition." the ecclesiastics were soon within the gates of the king's castle, and looked doubtfully at each other, as one door after another was with much deference shut behind them, and they stood at last in anxious expectation in a vaulted chamber, which, with its high windows and the little iron-cased door, which was also secured behind them, bore a greater resemblance to a prison than an apartment destined for the reception of guests. there was no want, however, of furniture or comfort; there were writing materials as well as both edifying and entertaining books. it was the king's private chamber. the deputies of the burghers and counsel started almost in as great dismay as the bishop and his clerical companions, when they beheld themselves surrounded on a sudden by royal halberdiers and horsemen before the castle gate. the captain of halberdiers dismissed the half-armed mob, who had followed the procession with shouts and threats against the bishop, and with frequent acclamations for the king, on occasion of his having (according to report) thrown the bishop into prison. "in the name of my liege and sovereign!" called count henrik, on horseback, as he waved his hat, "the castle is open to the deputies of the loyal burghers; but every one who bears arms here, or combines to cause riot and uproar disturbs the peace of the king's castle, and is guilty of treason. your lord bishop is at this moment in the king's power, but he is also his guest and under his protection. every insult to the bishop here is an insult to the ruler of the land. the king will judge justly, and negociate a peace between you and your lord. ere the sun goes down the result of his mediation shall be made known. now, back! all here who would not pass for rebels!" the restless crowd returned silent and downcast to the town. the arrogant bravado of the insurgents that they had the king on their side, had been suddenly put down. their confidence in his presumed wrath against the bishop, and his partiality to the burghers of copenhagen, appeared to have given way to a reasonable apprehension of his justice and known severity. it even seemed to them no good sign that the bishop, in his distress, had sought shelter at the royal castle--and the guild-brethren muttered that when it came to the push, the powerful and the great ever sided together after all; even though they were deadly foes at heart, and that every thing was visited upon those of low degree whether they were guilty or not. chap. vi. during the whole day an anxious stillness prevailed in the town. the crowds indeed still continued to pour like a tide through the streets, but with order, and in silent expectation. the sun was about to set, and, as yet, no tidings had been received of the issue of the royal negociation. meanwhile, an unusual procession attracted the attention of the restless and fickle populace. a funeral train proceeded past st. clement's church down to the old strand, but without chaunting and ringing of bells, and without being accompanied by any choristers or ecclesiastics. this procession consisted of a great number of foreign merchants and skippers, and all the pepper 'prentices, who (several hundreds in number, and clad in precise and rich mourning attire) followed two large coffins covered with costly palls of black velvet. the coffins were borne by hanseatic seamen; over them waved the rostock and visbye flags. the train halted at the church of st. nicholas. they would have pursued their way across the church-yard, and requested to have a mass chaunted over the dead in the church; but this was denied. the bishop's servants shut the gates of the church-yard and forbade the corpse-bearers to approach the church, or tread on consecrated ground, as one of the coffins they carried contained the body of a man who had been slain in the ale-house at the draught board. amid wrathful muttering against the hard-hearted prelatical government, the procession proceeded past the outside of the church-yard wall to the quay on bremen island, where a number of boats with rowers, clad in white, received the coffins and the whole troop of mourners. they landed on the island, and here, where the hanseatic merchants alone governed, the train burst forth into a solemn german funeral hymn, while the bodies of berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar were carried on board two hanseatic vessels, which were to convey them to christian burial in rostock and visbye. as soon as the ships were under weigh the funeral train was received in a large warehouse, where three ale-barrels and two keys over a cross were carved in stone over the door. here the whole party of seamen and trading agents were served out of huge barrels of the famous embden ale, the intoxicating properties of which soon changed the funeral feast into a wild and mirthful carouse. there was no lack either of wine or mead, and the large dish of salted meat, which was constantly replenished, increased the thirst of the funeral guests. the rabble who had followed the train through the streets, long remained standing on the beach and the quay to hear and watch the intoxicated pepper 'prentices, who here, with none but countrymen and boon companions beside them, seemed determined to indemnify themselves for the restraint to which they were subjected in the foreign town. some wept, while they reeled, and held moving discourses on the mournful fate of the rich berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar, and on the mutability of all power and wealth in this world; while others sung drinking songs and piping love-ditties by way of accompaniment to the pathetic funeral speeches. at last, attention was withdrawn from these riotous revels by the cry of "the herald! the herald!" and the people thronged in dense crowds down towards the north gate. a herald with a large sheet of parchment and a white staff in his hand, rode, accompanied by a halberdier and a numerous troop of horsemen, through the gate. the train halted at the corners of all the streets, and at all the public squares; two trumpeters on white horses made a signal for silence, whereupon the herald read aloud a treaty between the lord of the town, bishop johan, and the council and congregation of copenhagen. the burghers admitted in this treaty that they had, as well in deed as in word, grossly misbehaved towards their spiritual and temporal lord the bishop, and that they had been implicated in an unlawful and criminal insurrection, the circumstances of which were enumerated. meanwhile the bishop pardoned them these trespasses at the king's intercession, in return for which the deputies of the council and congregation promised, on the part of the town and of the burghers, that each burgher should instantly return to his duty, and obey all the laws and regulations which the bishop, "_with consent of the chapter_," had given or hereafter might give them, which they would publicly and solemnly swear to do at the council-house, with laying on of hands on the holy gospels. no one dared to protest against the validity of this treaty; as the herald displayed the round seal of the town with the three towers, which was suspended to the document by a green silken string, together with the seal of the copenhagen chapter. as soon as the inhabitants of the town were informed of this treaty, and it was understood what had thereby been tacitly conceded to them, and with how much leniency this untoward affair had been adjusted, alarm and anxiety were succeeded by still greater and more general satisfaction; but the guild-brethren were displeased and murmured. at the market-place without the east gate, where the herald had read the treaty for the last time, the numbers of the mob which had followed the procession through the town were considerably augmented, chiefly by day-labourers and ale-house frequenters, who felt that the treaty was an obstacle to the disorder and licentious liberty for which the revolt had given them opportunity. here discontent was openly manifested; and it was muttered aloud that the bishop after all had got justice in everything, and that the burghers had suffered injustice. but a man now stepped forward who was held in high esteem among these people; he was a remarkably fat and sturdy ale-house keeper, with a large red nose and a pair of hands like bears paws; he was known as the greatest toper and brawler in the town, and his tavern was the resort of the wildest and most turbulent revellers. he mounted upon the great ale barrel which stood before his door, and which served the house for a sign. "it is altogether right and reasonable, my excellent friends and customers!--my honest and highly esteemed fellow burghers!" he shouted, with his powerful well-known voice, and a round oath. "the bishop hath but got justice for appearance sake; he is, besides, the lord of our good town, and hath a right to require that one should drink one's ale in peace, and pay every man that which is his. when he will grant us what we need both for soul and body, we have surely nought to complain of. when he lets priests sing mass for you, and me tap good ale for you from morn till even, and somewhat past at times--then he is, by my soul! as excellent a bishop and lord as we can ask for, and i will pay without grumbling my yearly tax. for soul and salvation ye need not hereafter to fear, comrades! that matter the king hath taken upon himself, like an honest man. heard ye not what he promised us yesterday, and what there stood in the treaty? _without consent of the chapter the bishop_ can command us nothing, and praised be the chapter! they are a wise set: they will just as little deny you absolution every day, for your little bosom sins, as i would deny you what you may stand in need of and can pay for on opportunity! let rascals and guild-brothers grumble as they may!" he continued, as he clenched his broad fist, "we will keep those fellows in check;--i will wager a drinking match to-day, with every honest man, to the king's and the bishop's prosperity; but those who would stir up strife and wrangling between us peaceable people shall feel our fists. come in now, comrades! and get something to keep up your hearts! long live the king! and our lord the bishop besides!" "long live the king and the bishop!" cried a great number of the influential tavern-keeper's friends and customers; and the malcontents slunk off. "they come! they come! the king and bishop are here!" was now echoed from mouth to mouth,--and the crowd again poured in through east street, towards the quarter where all the butchers of the place had their dwellings, and where some murmurs against the treaty had also been heard. every burst of dissatisfaction was meanwhile kept down by the opposite feeling which prevailed among the town's most influential burghers, and yet more by the spectacle of the king's entry, and of the crushed pride and dejected deportment of the little bishop johan. with downcast eyes and manifest signs of fear, this prelate rode, with his ecclesiastical train, at the king's right hand, through his own town, guarded by count henrik of mecklenborg, and the knight-halberdiers. the king met everywhere with a favourable reception; the bishop was received with no demonstrations of welcome, but there was order and peace;--no agitator dared to scoff at him by the king's side, and no voice of discontent was heard. the procession stopped at the council-house, where the treaty was solemnly ratified. the public tranquillity was thus restored. the dignity of the prelatical government was upheld, and the arrogance of the insurgents subdued. the turbulent guild-brethren had dispersed, and there was no reason to apprehend a fresh outbreak of the revolt, as the burghers themselves, with the permission of the bishop, had agreed with the provost's men and the bishop's retainers to observe the treaty and prevent all disturbances. despite this apparent victory, the bishop was notwithstanding extremely pensive and taciturn. the king's generous protection appeared to have confounded him, and he seemed to experience a feeling of painful humiliation, by the side of his temporal protector. the revolt, and the danger which had menaced his life, had taught him to know his own powerlessness. the king had indeed treated him, while at sorretslóv castle, as a distinguished guest, but with cold courtesy, without even giving vent to his displeasure by a single word; it was those words only in the treaty relating to the bishop's dependence on the assent of the chapter, which the king had ordered to be inserted, in an emphatic tone (with the approval of the general-superior there present), and in a voice of command, which admitted of no contradiction. the bishop of roskild, lately so confident and haughty, who a few days since sat between a cardinal and an archbishop in his fortified castle, and had, for the first time, issued the exasperating church interdict in his own town, was now forced to acknowledge, in silent anger, that since, the cardinal's departure, the banishment of the archbishop, and his having himself been subjected to the scoffs of the lowest rabble, he would be able to maintain the authority of the church in denmark only so far as the danish clergy considered it expedient, and as the king himself would support ecclesiastical government. during the whole of the transaction at the council-house, the bishop was quiet and dejected. the king treated him here also with cold courtesy. his looks were stern and grave; another important and serious matter seemed to have weighed on his heart since he heard the last words of the archbishop to count henrik. from the council-house the whole procession rode to st. mary's church, where, besides the customary avé, a te deum was sung on occasion of the treaty. the king then immediately rode back to sorretslóv, from whence he purposed to set out on his journey the following morning. the bishop, with the abbot of the forest monastery, and the other ecclesiastics, accompanied him (in compliance with customary courtesy), besides the deputies of the town and the burghers. the bishop desired not to return to axelhuus ere every trace of hostile attack on the castle was effaced, and the humiliating insurrection forgotten. he purposed to accompany the king, the following day, to roskild, where some disturbances had taken place on the occasion of their rulers' attempt to enforce the interdict. the bishop was thus, in some sort, houseless on this evening, and accepted, as an attention which was his due, the king's invitation to him and his train to take up their quarters for the night at his castle, where all who had accompanied the king were also invited to a festive supper. the sun had just set as the train reached sorretslóv, and count henrik proposed to the king that they should now, ere it grew dark, inspect the bishop's charitable institution at st. george's hospital, for lepers and those who were sick of pestilential disorders, since it lay but a stone's throw from the castle. at this proposal the bishop, and the abbot of the forest monastery, became evidently uneasy; but this was remarked by no one except count henrik, who watched them closely, and had on their account proposed aloud this plan, which he readily conjectured the king would reject. "it is top late. count! and i have guests besides," answered the king. "if you desire it, inspect the hospital yourself, and describe the establishment to me! i know it doth honour to the bishop's philanthropy!--although i should have deemed it more fitting had that lazzaretto been erected elsewhere. that there is no one sick of the plague there at the present moment i know," count henrik bowed in silence, and instantly rode, with a couple of young knights, across sorretslóv meadow, towards the hospital. "permit me to accompany you. sir knights! i desire also to see this pious institution," said the abbot of the forest monastery, endeavouring to overtake them on his palfrey; but they heard him not, and ere the abbot reached st. george's hospital. count henrik stood already in the chamber of the sick, gazing with a look of sharp scrutiny on a man who seemed to sleep, but whose head was so closely muffled that he might be considered as masked. on the upper part of the sick man's forehead the beginning of a large scar was visible. "what is the name of this man?" inquired count henrik, in a stern tone, of the alarmed and embarrassed brethren of st. george. "no one knows him, gracious sir!" answered the guardian; "he was brought bruised and wounded hither yesterday, by two stranger canons from the town; they had found him half dead on the beach: we were forced instantly to lay a plaster over his whole face and we cannot now remove it without endangering his life." "as i live! it is the outlawed kaggé," said count henrik, and all gave way in consternation. "you have housed and healed a regicide," continued the count; "they who brought him hither were traitors: all are such who hide an outlaw." "outlaw or not, here he hath peace to die or recover, if it be the will of the lord and st. george;--that shall not be denied him by any king or king's servant," said an authoritative voice behind them, and the tall abbot of the forest monastery stood in the door-way of the chamber. "no tyrant's hand reaches unto this sanctuary of compassion," continued the prelate. "i command you, brother-guardian, and every charitable brother who here serves st. george, i command ye, in the name of the bishop, and our heavenly lord, to cherish this sick man as your redeemed brother, without fear of man, and without asking of his name and calling in the world! perhaps he now suffers for his sins; but of that the all-righteous must judge: if he hath fallen by the hand of divine chastisement he will indeed soon stand before his judge; in such case, pray for his soul, and give him christian burial! but if he is healed by the help and prayers of man, or by the merits and miracles of any saint, then let him wander forth free in st. george's name, whether he goes to friend or foe--whether he goes to life and happiness in the world, or to ignominy and death on the scaffold--ye are set here to heal and comfort;--to wound and vex the wretched, there are tyrants enough in the world." count henrik looked in astonishment at the dignified prelate, who spoke with authoritative firmness, and really seemed actuated by pious zeal and compassion; a transient flush passed over the countenance of the proud warrior; it seemed as though he blushed at having persecuted this miserable being, who appeared unable to move a limb, and looked more dead than alive. "in the name of the lord and st. george," he said, stepping back, "fulfil your duty to the criminal as unto my saint, and the saint of all knights! i require not you nor any one to be merciless; but this i will say once again, you shelter an outlawed and dishonoured traitor. you must yourselves be answerable for the consequences." he cast another glance at the object of his suspicions, who lay immovable, and without any discernible expression in his frightful and shrouded countenance. the count then quitted the hospital, and allowed the abbot to precede him. on the way back to the king's castle he exchanged not a word with the ecclesiastic, who, haughty and silent, gazed on him with a triumphant mien. count henrik said nothing of his discovery to the king; he was not, indeed, perfectly certain that he had not been mistaken; but during the whole evening he was in an unusually silent and thoughtful mood. the unhappy criminal now appeared to him so wretched and insignificant that he began to regard all dread of such a foe as contemptible. at the evening repast the king principally conversed with the deputies of the council and the burghers of copenhagen. it was the first time they sat at the table with the king and their ruler the bishop, and at the commencement of the repast appeared somewhat abashed by this unwonted honour. the king repeated his commendation of the loyalty and bravery of the copenhageners in marsk stig's feud, and the war with norway; he promised them compensation for every loss they might sustain hereafter for his and the kingdom's sake, so long as the outlaws disquieted the country, and soon contrived to induce the plain, straight-forward citizens to express themselves freely and frankly respecting the advantages and disadvantages of their town in regard to its trade and commerce. they thanked the bishop and the king for their wise town-laws, and for the many liberties and privileges which the town already enjoyed; but they hesitated not to mention how important it might be for the public revenue if the monopolies of the towns could be curtailed, and the burghers allowed at least the same privileges as those granted to foreigners. "truly! i have long thought of that," said the king; "this matter deserves to be thought upon. i shall await further proposals and consideration of the subject from your lord the bishop and your assembled council." great joy was manifest in the countenances of the burgers at this speech; but the bishop appeared little pleased with the king's zealous interest in the town and its concerns. the conversation between the ecclesiastics from axelhuus was reserved and laconic. the king himself was often silent and abstracted; at times he appeared striving to repress the expression of his wrath against the bishop, and the abbot, who he knew, was one of the most devoted friends of grand. after the repast the burghers took a cheerful and hearty farewell of the king, whom they once more thanked for the rescue and peace of their good town; after which they returned to copenhagen, with high panegyrics on the king's mildness and favour. count henrik and the knights repaired to the chess-table in the upper hall, and eric remained almost alone among the ecclesiastics. with an air of mysterious confidence the abbot and the provincial prior drew closer to the bishop, whose authority and drooping courage they strove to sustain in the king's presence. the two ecclesiastics who had principally conducted the treaty, and had impartially defended the rights of the bishop, as well as the liberties of the people, kept nearest the king, and strove furthermore to prevent every outbreak of his anger against the friends of the banished archbishop: they were the provincial prior of the dominicans, master olans (who, as the king's counsellor in this important affair, had accompanied him from wordingborg), and the general-superior of the copenhagen chapter, who belonged to the bishop's train, but was secretly devoted to the king, and had even dared to protest against the interdict. to these personages the king, shortly before retiring to rest, addressed a question which had been weighing on his heart the whole day, and which he seemed desirous should be answered in the presence of the bishop, ere he retired to rest. "tell me, venerable sirs," said eric, "how far the canonical law reasonably extends with regard to marriage within the ties of consanguinity, and how far the dispensation of the church can really be consisted as necessary, according to the law of god, when the relationship is so distant that it is hardly remembered?" "it is a prolix and difficult question, your grace," answered the general-superior of the chapter, evasively, with a dubious side-glance at the bishop and the abbot of the forest monastery. "i must crave some time for reflection in order to answer it rightly." "if the prevailing senseless law is followed," said the aged provincial prior in a firm tone, and with an undaunted glance at the attentive prelates, "almost every computable degree of relationship may be an impediment, and may call for an indulgence; but when this is carried out too far i believe the church's holy father will agree with me that such an extreme doth but uselessly burden the conscience, just as it also may lightly become a subject for scoffing and scandal, instead of being a means of edification to christian and reasonable persons. if one were to be consistent in these matters, no marriage would at last take place in christendom without dispensation from the papal see, seeing that all persons are kindred in the flesh, inasmuch as they all descend from old adam and eve." "that is precisely my own opinion," said the king, with a smile of satisfaction; "it would take a tolerably long reckoning.--what is _your_ opinion of this, pious bishop johan?" the bishop appeared confused, at the half-jesting tone with which the king asked his opinion; he was not prepared for this, and seemed to wish just as little to tread on the heels of papal authority, as to dare at this moment to rouse the anger of the king--he stammered out a few words, and strove to evade a decided declaration. "permit me, venerable brother! to answer this question," began the abbot, with a proud and collected deportment:--"an example will best explain the case," he continued, addressing himself to the king; "no case is more in point than that of your grace's relationship to your young kinswoman, princess ingeborg of sweden." "truly!" exclaimed the king, with a start, "you use no circumlocution, sir abbot! you go straight to the point. it suits me best, however. let us keep to that example! i am more, every way, interested in it than in any other!" "ere the church can bless your meditated marriage union with this your high-born relative," continued the abbot, with calm coldness, "the holy father's dispensation and indulgence are altogether necessary, and this on a two-fold account; pro primo,--because of the tie of relationship by marriage; and pro secundo,--because of the taint of relationship by blood. as regards the first point, royal sir! the aforesaid princess ingeborg's uncle, count gerhard of holstein, is, as is well known, by his marriage with your most royal mother, the dowager queen agnes, your grace's present step-father. count gerhard's fatherly relationship, as well to that noble princess, as to your grace! causes an almost brotherly and sisterly connection between you and the young princess;--and marriage between brother and sister, or between those who may be considered as such, is sternly forbidden by every law of god and man----" "you have made us out brother and sister in a trice; it is a singular way of bringing people into near relationship," interrupted the king, "yet pass but over the relationship by marriage, with my stepfather's niece, venerable sir!--there is not a single drop of the same blood therein. nought but a near and actual blood relationship do i acknowledge to be so real a hindrance that it can only be removed by god's vicegerent upon earth." "your grace is right in some respects," answered the abbot, "inasmuch as it _is_ the tie of blood, which in this instance constitutes the sin, and makes every marriage union between relations, which hath not been sanctified by the indulgence of the church, an unholy act, a deadly sin, and a damnable connection." "ha! do you rave?" cried the king: his brow flushed; anger glowed in his cheek and on his lofty brow, but he subdued his rising ire. "if terrible words, without truth or reason, had power to slay the soul, i should long since have been spiritually murdered," he continued in a lower tone. "now, say on, sir abbot!--how near reckon you, then, the blood relationship, which, according to your bold assertion, may plunge me into deadly sin, and into a gulf of horror and ignominy, if i await not a permit from rome to perpetrate such crime?" "it is easy to reckon up the degrees of forbidden affinity," answered the abbot, with imperturbable coolness. "the high-born princess ingeborg is, as is known, a legitimate daughter of king magnus, who was a legitimate son of the high-born birger jarl, whose consort, the lady ingeborg, was a legitimate daughter of king eric the tenth, whose queen regizé was, lastly, a legitimate daughter of your grace's departed royal father's--father's--father's father;--ergo, the princess is a great-great grandchild of your grace's grandfather's departed royal father, waldemar the great, of blessed memory!" "perfectly right, grand-children's grand-children's children then, of my great-great grandfather--a near relationship, doubtless!" said the king, bursting into a laugh. "i now wish you a good and quiet night, venerable and most learned sirs!" he added, apparently with a lightened heart, and with a cheerful and determined look: "i never rightly considered the matter before; now it is perfectly clear to me; i can sleep as quietly as in abraham's bosom, when i think on the sin which i, with mature deliberation and full resolve, purpose to perpetrate as soon as possible. i could wish no one among you may ever have a heavier sin on his conscience." so saying, he bowed with a smile, and departed. the king's eager talk with the ecclesiastics had attracted the attention of count henrik and his companions, who had approached, and heard the subject of the conversation. on the king's laughingly repeating the abbot's calculation, some of the young knights had laughed right heartily also. the abbot was crimson with rage. "it is the mark of eye-servants," he said aloud, "to vie with each other in laughing at what their gracious lords consider to be absurd, even though such merriment doth but disgrace them and their short-sighted masters. this scoffing and contempt shall be avenged, my brother," he whispered in the bishop's ear, with a significant look. the bishop started, and looked anxiously around; he winked at his incensed colleague, and observed aloud, that it was high time to retire to rest, and bid good-night to all discord and worldly thoughts. the master of the household now appeared with a number of torch-bearers, and the knights, as well as the ecclesiastics, repaired to the chambers assigned to them, in the knights' story in the western wing of the castle. chap. vii. towards midnight, count henrik stood in his apartment, next the king's chamber, in the upper story of the castle. he had extinguished his light, in order to retire to rest, but remained standing half-undressed, at the high arched-window, which looked towards the east, and from which he gazed out in the moonlight upon the sound, watching the distant vessels gliding away over the glittering mirror of the waters. since his visit to st. george's hospital, he had been silent and pensive. at the evening repast he had constantly drained his cup, for the purpose of raising his spirits. his pulse beat hard; recollections of the past, and hopes for the future, passed rapidly through his mind, in fair and vivid imagery. at the sight of the ocean and the distant prospect, he gave himself up to visionary longings after his distant fatherland, and a beloved form seemed to flit before him, as he pressed the blue shoulder-scarf to his lips, and hung it carefully over a high-backed chair. he took a gold chain, which the king had lately given him, from his breast, and laid his sword aside. "deeds, achievements, honour, first!" he said to himself, "and then love will surely also twine me a wreath. now that _his_ life and happiness are at stake, he shall not have called me his friend in vain. let him become a waldemar the victorious! and henrik of mecklenborg's name shall be famed like that of albert of orlamund[oe]. but another sort of fellow, and a right merry one, will _i_ be." he now heard the weapons of the bodyguard clashing in the antechamber, where a young halberdier kept guard, with twelve spearmen. it was not, however, usual for the king to be surrounded by a guard, when he made a progress through the country, and passed the night at any of the royal mansions; but here, where the banished archbishop and the outlaws still had their numerous friends, and where the ecclesiastical rulers of the town were on doubtful terms with the king, count henrik had counselled this precaution as in some degree necessary, after so recent an insurrection, and where the king's mediation had not been able to satisfy all the discontented. while count henrik was undressing himself, the drost's letter dropped from his vest, and he pondered thoughtfully over the solemn warnings it contained. "hum! the junker," he said to himself "his own brother--and yet surely a traitor--never shall i forget his countenance that night at kallundborg--the blood of the unhappy commandant was surely upon his head--_he_ will be no joyous wedding guest--he would assuredly rather stand by the bridegroom's grave;--then might a crown yet fall upon his raven's head. hum! they are murky, these danish royal castles," he continued, looking around the dark gothic chamber, with its arched roof and walls, a fathom thick, "is he safe here among his guests? the little spying bishop was grand's good friend. i like him not; the haughty, gloomy abbot still less--they are dangerous people, those holy men of god, when they will have a finger in state affairs. here he sleeps under the same roof with his enemies to-night; and yonder, in the hospital, lies a disguised regicide; perhaps he was only deadly sick for appearance sake, and my compassion was ill bestowed." as count henrik was revolving these thoughts, and delayed retiring to rest, there was a low knocking at the door. it opened, and an ecclesiastic entered; he was a quiet, serious old man. the moonlight fell on a pale and somewhat melancholy face, and the count recognised the general-superior of the copenhagen chapter. "a word in confidence, noble knight," he whispered mysteriously; "i come like nicodemus; yet it is not spiritual things, but temporal, which have disturbed my night's rest. your liege the king hath this day generously saved my life and the lives of my colleagues, although he does not regard us all as his friends, and with some reason: perhaps i may now be able to requite him." "how?" exclaimed count henrik: "say on, venerable sir! what have you to confide to me?" "when we fled from axelhuus at break of day," continued the ecclesiastic, "i was well nigh sick of fear and alarm, and gave but little heed to what passed around me. a half-dead man had been found on the beach, and out of compassion taken into the boat. i saw not his face, and his voice was strange to me; of that i can take my oath. he was afterwards carried to st. george's hospital here, close by the king's meadows. while we lay hidden under the thwarts in the boat, for fear of the insurgents, the sick man had come to himself: and exchanged many strange, enigmatical words with my colleague, the abbot of the forest monastery. what it was i heard but half, and cannot remember; but there must be some mystery about that person which makes me apprehensive; deadly sick he seemed to me in no wise to be, and appeared least of all prepared for his _own_ departure from this world. my lord, the bishop seemed neither to know him nor his dark projects; but as i said, the abbot knew him, and had assuredly before administered to him the most holy sacrament. more have i not to say; but i felt compelled to seek you out, however late it was: i could not sleep for disquiet thoughts. the guard without, here, i found in a deep slumber, i know not whether it is with your knowledge." "how? impossible!" exclaimed count henrik, in great consternation, hastily stepping into the antechamber, where he found all the twelve spearmen lying asleep on the floor. on the table stood an empty wine flask and some goblets. the young halberdier, who had the command of the guard, sat likewise asleep in a corner. count henrik shook them; but they were all in a deep sleep. "treachery!" he exclaimed, in dismay, and hastily snatched a lance from one of the sleeping guards. "haste to the knights' story, venerable sir! wake all the king's men, and call them instantly hither! i cannot now myself quit the king's door. i will fasten the door after you: knock three soft strokes when you return! for the lord's sake, haste!" the ecclesiastic nodded in silence, and departed. count henrik locked the door of the upper story after him, and barricadoed it with tables and benches--he strove again to waken the sleeping guards, but it was in vain: they seemed not intoxicated by ordinary wine; their sleep rather resembled that caused by a soporific draught. count henrik stood alone among the sleepers, and waited long in a state of painful anxiety; there was a deathlike stillness around him: he heard but the deep-drawn breathings of the sleepers; but the king's men from the knights' story did not arrive, and the ecclesiastic returned not either. he stood for full an hour, listening with lance in hand. all was still. at last he thought he heard a noise, as if some one was scraping the wall, or creeping to the window over the projecting battlements near the staircase of the upper story. he cast a hasty glance at the window, and saw a horrible and deadly pale face, which he could not recognise, pressed flat to one of the window panes. he rushed forward with raised lance, but when he reached the window the face had disappeared. count henrik stepped back, thrilled by a feeling of horror which he had never before experienced. it seemed as if the prostrate warriors around him mocked his growing uneasiness by the profound indifference of their slumbers. he felt as if secret doors were about to open in all the old panels, and the outlawed regicides of finnerup were ready to rush forth masked from every corner to renew the bloody scenes of st. cecilia's eve, and avenge marsk stig and their slain kinsmen. he kept his lance in the one hand and held his knight's sword unsheathed in the other. thus armed, he stationed himself without the king's door, and just before the open door between his own chamber and the landing of the upper story, every moment expecting an attack from the foe, who were probably many in number. it was useless to give an alarm; the wing containing the knights' story, where all the king's men slept, was at too great a distance for his voice to reach thither, and if the traitors were nigh, a shout of distress might embolden them. he thought of waking the king; but all as yet was quiet, and he was ashamed of showing fear in eric's presence, where there was no enemy either to be seen or heard. to the king's sleeping chamber there was no other entrance than through the antechamber of the upper story and the count's apartment. the windows of the king's chamber were furnished with iron bars: but in the antechamber the high arched windows were without any defence, and they looked out on the other side to the open field. from this quarter he expected the attack would be made, and he feared, with reason, that some mishap must have chanced to the ecclesiastic on the way to the knights' story. the longer he pondered over his situation, the more alarming it appeared. an idea now suddenly struck him, which he instantly hastened to put into execution. after he had once more unsuccessfully attempted to arouse the slumbering men-at-arms he raised them up one by one from the floor and bound them tight by their shoulder-scarfs, in an almost upright position, to the strong iron hooks in the window pillars, which were used for hanging weapons upon. in this attitude they turned their backs towards the windows looking upon the fields, and would, therefore, appear to those without to be awake and at their posts. hardly had he completed this laborious task ere he heard whispering voices, and a low clashing of arms under the windows. he sprang suddenly forward with raised lance and sword, to that window, which was most strongly lighted up by the moonshine, and shouted in a loud triumphant voice, "now's the time, guard! here we have them in the field." "fly! fly! we are betrayed!--they are all on their legs!" said a hoarse voice without; and count henrik saw in the clear moonshine a whole troop of masked persons, in the mantles of dominican monks, take flight over the meadow. "st. george be praised!" he exclaimed, once more breathing freely. "i should hardly have been able to master so many." the spearmen and the young halberdier still slept soundly in their hanging position. count henrik bound them yet faster, and left them in this attitude. when the king stepped forth from his chamber at sun-rise, he beheld, to his surprise. count henrik pacing up and down, half-dressed, on the landing, with weapons in both hands, while the guard hung snoring in their shoulder-scarfs among the untenanted suits of armour on the window pillars. at this sight he burst into a hearty laugh, and on hearing the strange adventure shook his head and smiled. "you have dreamed, my good count henrik; or, to speak plainly, you have had a goblet of wine too much in your head," he said, gaily. "i noticed that last night, indeed; but compared with these fellows you have assuredly been sober: you have made rare game of them in your merriment." "as i live, my liege, it was no joke," began count henrik eagerly; but the lancers now began, one after another, to gape and to stretch themselves. when they found, however, how they were bound to the armour-hooks, and beheld the king with count henrik just opposite them, they demeaned themselves most strangely, betwixt fear and bashfulness. the king turned away to repress his laughter, as he was now compelled to be stern; but count henrik was indignant at his incredulity and gay humour. "throw the whole of that dormouse guard into the tower," commanded the king; "they can sleep themselves sober, and so be better able to keep their eyes open another time. you yourself shall get off by putting up with my laughter," he added, and went with the count into another apartment. "henceforth i can believe neither what you nor my dear drost aagé see and hear in the moonshine. out of pure love to me you spy traitors in every corner, and vie with each other in playing mad pranks. hath any one ever known the like of the halberdier guard!" when the door of the guard-room was shut, the king gave vent to his laughter; his opinion of the real state of the case was strengthened by observing that count henrik was only half-dressed, and by his disturbed looks. "you wound me by your doubts, my liege," resumed count henrik, with subdued vehemence, and casting his mantle around him; "but so long as you can make laughing-stocks of your true servants; thank god, it is a proof at least that you are of good cheer, my liege, and that should vex no loyal subject. you can witness, fellows," he continued eagerly, again opening the door of the guard-chamber upon the dismayed spearmen. "no! that is true; you saw nothing of it, ye drowsy pates!" he cried in wrath. "to the tower with you instantly! and you besides, vigilant sir halberdier! you never more deserve to be trusted with the guarding of the king's person." the young halberdier, who had awoke in fear and dismay, and had now extricated himself from his humiliating position, related in his excuse how he had lost his consciousness in an unaccountable manner, after having only drunk a single cup of the evening draught which had been brought to them. they had all fared in the same manner. the king at last became serious, and caused the matter to be strictly inquired into. it could not be discovered who had brought the soporific draught. none of the kin's attendants knew any thing of it. no one had been roused in the knights' story. the old general-superior must have been carried off by the traitors: he was nowhere to be found. when the bishop and the abbot of the forest monastery heard what had been done they appeared to be in the greatest consternation. the bishop loudly expressed it as his opinion that it must have been the discontented guild-brethren from the town, and that the attack, in all probability, had concerned him. since his last conversation with these ecclesiastical dignitaries the king had altered the plan of his journey, and determined instantly to repair to helsingborg, there to expedite his marriage, and prepare every thing for the reception of his bride. he excused himself with cold courtesy from all further companionship with bishop johan and the abbot, who, silent and thoughtful, set out on the road to roskild; but the aged provincial prior olaus accompanied the king, by his desire, to supply the place of the absent chancellor, in conducting correspondence and matters of a similar nature. when the king, a few hours after sunrise, was about to leave sorretslóv, and traversed the ante-chamber where count henrik had kept his singular night-watch, he took the count's hand and pressed it with warmth, "if you have been able to put my enemies to flight, here, with snoring fellows on hooks, you must be able to crush them with waking men in coats of mail. from this hour you are my marsk, count henrik of mecklenborg, with the same authority in peace and war as marsk olufsen," so saying, the king handed him a roll of parchment, with sign and seal of this high dignity. "when i laugh another time at your heroic deeds, brave count, and call them dreams and visions, you may call me an unbelieving thomas," he continued. "from my childhood upwards i have had as many deadly foes as my father had murderers," he added, solemnly, and with a tremulous voice; "yet truly, i thank the lord and our holy lady for my foes; they teach me almost daily to know my true friends." count henrik's eyes beamed with joy; he heartily thanked the king, and followed him down the staircase to the court of the castle, where eric's numerous train already awaited his coming, on horseback. count henrik sprang gaily into the saddle, with his new commission in his hand, and instantly issued, as marsk, the necessary orders for pursuing and tracking the traitors. as they rode out of the court-yard, the king missed his two favourite tournament steeds, and became highly displeased. "truly this is worse than all the rest," he said, looking around him with so stern a glance and so clouded a countenance that the young knights looked at each other in surprise; and a word of soothing or admonition seemed to hover on the lips of the aged provincial prior. "the handsome, spirited prancers, they should have danced before princess ingeborg's car on our bridal day," continued the king, turning to master olaus. "this is no good omen for me. they might sooner have burned the castle over my head than robbed me of those noble animals." it was now discovered that the horses were already missing in the morning of the day preceding, together with both the grooms who had the charge of them, and that they had been sought for everywhere in vain. "they shall and must be found; i will answer for that," said count henrik, and instantly despatched a couple of his own grooms to look for them. the party rode on; but the king's good humour was disturbed for some time. "i shall never be able to find such another pair," he said at last, in a milder tone, looking out across the sound on the picturesque road to elsinore, while the larks carolled gaily above his head, and his long fair locks floated on the spring breeze. "i always fancied them dancing before her car every time i thought on her bridal day; eager wishes may make us superstitious and childish, i believe. had we but the bride in the car we should assuredly get it drawn to church." "you would have twice as many hands to draw it as there are hearts in denmark's kingdom," said count henrik, placing a green sprig of beech in his hat. "we bring summer with us to helsingborg, my sovereign--look! denmark's forests already arch themselves into a vast gothic church and bridal hall." "_that_ church and bridal hall they shall at any rate leave wide open to me," exclaimed the king, with some bitterness, as he raised his glance above the woods to the clear heavens. "yon eternal church of god, besides," he continued, "however matters may stand with her image here in the dust. is it not so, master olaus?" "the true temple of god's spirit is a pious and loving heart, my liege," answered the mild, calm, provincial prior. "where there is love and living faith, with the lord's help, there will be no lack of blessing." the king nodded kindly to them both, and they now rode briskly forward on the road to elsinore. chap. viii. while in sweden as in denmark, in the loveliest season of the year, the old favourite national songs, with the burden,--"the woods are decked in leafy green," and "the birds are warbling now their song," were sung as well in castles as behind the plough, and the court rejoiced with the minnesingers over "the very green and lovely may," and "the mighty power of love," couriers were constantly passing between the swedish and danish courts at stockholm and helsingborg; and a feeling of joyous expectation pervaded all denmark. drost aagé in conjunction with the learned and eloquent master petrus de dacia, had succeeded in overcoming the immediate scruples of the swedish state council, respecting the marriage of the danish king with princess ingeborg. without in the least betraying with what ardent impetuosity their chivalrous young king seemed willing to stake life and crown to win his bride, and without the most distant allusion to the possibility of a breach of peace being caused by the failure of a negociation, which had for its object the most peaceable relations, and the most loving ties, these faithful servants of the king, had, by adducing wise and politic reasons, first brought the wise regent thorkild knudsen over to their side, and, despite all the hindrances which the malicious drost bruncké placed in their way, at last carried their point so far as to divest the idea of the excommunication at sjöborg, and the enforcement of the interdict at copenhagen, of its paralysing and terrifying influence, at the swedish court. from the showing of the learned master petrus, and the king's own letters, and clear explanation of the matter, the want of dispensation from the papal court, came at last to be regarded as the omission of an insignificant formality, afterwards to be remedied through negotiation. the flight and formal banishment of archbishop grand from denmark, as well as the insurrection caused by the execution of the interdict in copenhagen, had rejoiced every brave and free-minded man, as well in sweden, as in denmark, and considerably diminished the dread entertained by the swedish court and council of the consequences of a possible breach with the papal see. a new and overawing proof had been displayed of the courage of the young danish king, and of the unanimity with which his loyal people joined him in opposing the usurpation of the hierarchy. daring politicians were even found who hoped the time might not be far distant when the free national spirit of the north would render people, and princes, independent of the interference of the papal see in state matters, and the rights of citizenship. many bold and manly speeches were uttered in the swedish state-council on this occasion, which did honour to thorkild knudsen and his countrymen, but which were reprobated, by the opposite party, as open heresy and ungodliness, which would be visited upon sweden as well as denmark with heavy chastisement. drost bruncké, and his adherents, despised no means which might tend to stop or protract the negotiations; he had many able prelates on his side, but the majority of voices were against him, and he sought in vain, by reviving the remembrance of the wrongs and animosities of the two nations, to rekindle the ancient national hate, which now seemed forgot, and which it was hoped a mutual alliance between the royal houses, would entirely eradicate. the eager opposition party in the swedish council, which was headed by drost bruncké, and in which many were disposed to think that prince christopher took a secret but important part, was calculated rather to forward than hinder the final decision of the affair. sweden's greatest statesman, marsk thorkild knudsen, was on this occasion called on to display his mental superiority. he disdained having recourse to his authority as regent, and to his influence as the guardian of king birger, and the darling of the swedish nation. the opinion which he declared from full conviction, he wished to see prevail by its own weight, and by its accordance with the mutual feeling of both nations. thorkild knudsen now stood forth in council with an address which appealed as well to the hearts as to the sober judgment of his countrymen. after a clear and calm representation of the political relations of sweden and denmark, and the original affinity of the scandinavian people, besides what they could and might effect by alliance and friendship for their mutual security, and the development of their powers. thorkild also pourtrayed, with enthusiastic and glowing eloquence, the greatness and devotion of love's triumph over petty scruples and national prejudices. he gave an equally true and favourable portraiture of the constant and loveable character of the young danish king, as well as of the charms of the noble princess ingeborg, and the mutual attachment that had subsisted between the betrothed pair from their childhood. he finally contrived, with as much sagacity as eloquence, to put down the objections of the opposite party, and bring the negotiation of the danish ambassadors to the happiest issue; the greater number of his opponents being at last animated by a warm feeling of enthusiasm for the royal pair, which was mingled by the soul-enlarging feeling of the union of two nations in that of their fairest and noblest representatives. the espousals were, therefore, according to the ardent wish of king eric and with the consent of the princess, fixed for the first of june, which was already near at hand; and a courier from drost aagé was instantly despatched with the glad tidings to eric. the whole of the swedish royal family were to accompany the princess to helsingborg, where splendid preparations were making for the marriage, and the chivalrous king eric now only awaited the dawning of that happy day to set out at the head of the chivalry of denmark, with all the courtly state suited to the occasion, to meet his beautiful bride and her royal relatives. towards the close of may, helsingborg castle, together with the town and its vicinity became daily the resort of all who were most distinguished in denmark and sweden. the fair gothic castle, with its circular walls, its bastions, and high towers, rose proudly over the town on the summit of the steep rock or hill above. the castle was surrounded by deep moats, and was considered to be an impregnable fortress; but at this time the drawbridge was let down, and the great iron-cased castle-gate, on the southern side, stood open to admit the coming guests. the old town, which dated its origin from the days of king frodé[ ], and was so pleasantly and advantageously situated on the narrowest part of the sound, owed its present prosperity to its considerable trade, and great horse and cattle fairs. it was tolerably extensive, but was, however, by no means, capable of accommodating so great a concourse of strangers. the great market-place, close to the council-house, and the handsome church of st. mary's (the central point of the town where many streets met), were now daily as much thronged with people as on the great fair-days. besides the king's nearest relatives, and the wedding guests invited by the marsk, from the lordly manors and knightly castles of both kingdoms; a great crowd of curious and sympathising persons of all ranks flocked to helsingborg, even from the most distant provinces, to witness the intended festival, and partake of the public amusements, which, on this occasion, were to render this celebration of royal nuptials a national festival for both denmark and sweden. the king had already held his court, for some weeks, at helsingborg. marsk oluffsen had returned from jutland, where he had been fortunate enough to put an end to all disturbances by capturing the daring partizans, niels brock and johan papæ, with some other friends of the archbishop's and the outlaws. the insurgents were led to the prison-tower at flynderborg, but the stern marsk oluffsen was personally so incensed at these state prisoners, who had long plagued and defied him, that he thought no punishment was adequate to their deserts. at the present moment nothing was thought of at court but joy and festivity. the king's stepfather, count gerhard, had arrived from nykiöping with his consort, the dowager queen agnes. next to the king himself no one seemed more to rejoice at his marriage than his politic and dignified mother. in her first unhappy marriage, agnes, as denmark's queen, had held that wedded happiness, among royal personages, was only the dream of visionaries. after the death of her unhappy consort she had sacrificed the title of queen, and changed this dream into truth and reality, in her own lot, under a humbler name. amid her own happiness she had often thought, with uneasiness and regret, on having made a treaty, involving the future destiny of her children by their betrothal in early childhood, and now saw, with thankfulness, that a union, projected from motives of state policy, had grown into the natural tie of kindred hearts. it appeared that the brave duke of langeland had forgotten all former disputes with the king, at the treaty of wordingborg, but his brother, duke valdemar of slesvig, who had also been invited out of courtesy, had excused himself on plea of illness. three days before that fixed for the bridal, junker christopher arrived with a numerous train from kallundborg. the king received him with his wonted courtesy on the quay of helsingborg, whither he had gone to meet him with his new marsk, count henrik, and his halberdiers; but there was a painful expression of suppressed anger in the king's generally joyous and kindly countenance as he gave his hand to his sullen brother in token of welcome. it was pretty openly said that the junker lately, by means of secret cabals, had placed obstacles in the way of the marriage, and it was believed the king had painful conjectures on the subject, although no proofs of this presumable treachery were forthcoming. the junker himself had appeared latterly to suffer from a corroding melancholy, which was often succeeded by bursts of wild merriment,--since the storming of kallundborg castle especially, and the execution of his unhappy commandant, the restless and gloomy disposition of the prince had assumed this fierce character; even those few of his courtiers who were really devoted to him, and regarded his gloomy reserved deportment as an effect of the wrestlings of a great spirit with its destiny often complained of his caprices; and though they still adhered to him, it was, however, with a species of fear, mixed with an undefined hope of one day arriving with him at honours and fortune. the mutual greeting of the brothers on helsingborg quay was strikingly cold, although the junker seemed desirous by his congratulations and expressions of courtesy to do away with all appearance of misunderstanding. to this count henrik in particular paid special attention. in the king's train were seen the german professors of minstrelsy, who had abandoned their researches at wordingborg castle to enliven the festival by their lays. the papers and documents which junker christopher had removed from the sacristy chest at lund, on the archbishop's imprisonment, and brought, as it was said, to the state archives at wordingborg castle, had been sought for in vain by the learned friends of the king. these documents might even yet become of great importance to the king in the suit against the banished archbishop; but they had disappeared at the time when matters had come to an open breach with the junker, and the king suspected his brother of having destroyed them, or even of having returned them to the archbishop. the king's train had been also joined by the young iceland bard, the priest of st. olaf, master laurentius of nidaros, who had now exchanged his layman's red mantle for the more reputable black dress of a canon; and beside the king walked the little deformed master thrand fistlier, with a consequential deportment, and displaying on his finger a large diamond ring, which the king had presented to him in acknowledgement of his superior learning. on the king's arrival at helsingborg the scientific mountebank had been set at liberty. he instantly contrived to arrest the attention of the king (eager as he was in the pursuit of knowledge), after he had with dexterity and keen ability repelled every charge against himself, as well of the leccar heresy as of witchcraft. this last accusation, which had drawn upon him the persecution and peril he underwent at skänor, he alluded to with exultation, as a striking testimony to his own astonishing arts, and a ludicrous proof of the dulness of the age and the absurdities of popular ignorance. the king now presented him to his brother as a rare scholar and an extraordinary artist. the significant look with which junker christopher greeted this far-travelled adventurer seemed to betray an earlier acquaintanceship, which, however, was acknowledged by neither. count henrik placed but little reliance on prince christopher's congratulations and measured courtesy. he narrowly watched the junker, as well as the foreign mountebank, about whom aagé had expressed himself so dubiously. he thought he more and more perceived a secret understanding between the prince and the mysterious scholar, and resolved to be at his post. he ventured not, however, to grieve the king by disclosing it, or increasing his suspicion of his brother, which evidently pained him, and which he seemed desirous to exert himself to the utmost to shake off. neither on this nor the two following days was there any nearer approach to confidence between the brothers. courteous phrases and stiff court etiquette were resorted to, by way of compensation for the want of cordiality. it was only when junker christopher was at the chase, or seated at the draught-board or the drinking-table, that the king was seen to converse joyously with his mother and count gerhard, or jest merrily with count henrik and his knights: the german professors of minstrelsy and the learned icelanders exerted all their powers to while away the evenings preceding his marriage-day, when his ardent and impatient spirit was not engrossed by important affairs of state. but when he seemed at times in the happiest mood he often grew suddenly silent and thoughtful at the mere sound of his brother's voice, or on observing his wild uncertain glance from under his dark and knitted brow. the evening before the impatiently expected first of june the king sat in the upper hall of helsingborg castle, at the chess-table, where he was usually the victor. on this occasion, however, he had found an almost invincible opponent in the learned iceland philosopher, who appeared able beforehand to calculate the plans of his adversary, and only to need a single move in order to frustrate them. notwithstanding master thrand's decided superiority, the king had, however, won every game; but he seemed to regard this with indifference; he was absent, and often forgot to make his moves. at the opposite end of the hall he heard his brother talking of hunting and horses, with count gerhard; his mother was listening to the poems of the german minstrels and master laurentius; while the young knights discoursed with animation of the next day's festivities and tournament. "tell me, master thrand," said the king to his learned antagonist, with a thoughtful glance out of the window at the star-lit heavens, "what is your opinion of omens, and of the wondrous art of astrology, to which so many learned men are devoted in our time. believe you the life and actions of men and the changeable fortunes of this world can be so considerable and important in the eyes of the almighty that higher powers should care for them, or intermeddle with them?--and think ye the position and movements of the heavenly bodies stand in any real relation to our life and destiny?" "that is almost more than science can be said as yet to have fathomed with certainty, most gracious king!" answered the artist, with a subtle, satirical smile on his lips, while his head almost disappeared between his shoulders; "but if any science is to bring clearness and demonstration into the speculations of the learned and the mysteries of astrology, it must be that exalted science of sciences whose poor worshipper i am. assuredly, your grace, nothing happens in the world but what is natural, that is to say, a necessary consequence of foregoing causes; but it is precisely the great problem of the mysterious and hidden causes of these things and events which it is the province of human wisdom to solve. '_beatas qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas_' hath been said already by the wise heathen. theologians and poets indeed picture to themselves a nearer and safer road by which to reach the same goal as ourselves, or even a far higher one," he continued, with a scornful self-satisfied smile; "but they deceive themselves in their simplicity and enthusiasm by looking for a kind of supernatural influence of the divine wisdom which in fact is the life and soul of nature, yet which but partially discloses itself to us in its workings, according as these by degrees unfold themselves to us in their essences through the sacred optic tubes of science and research." "now you mix up too many things together for me, master thrand!" said the king, shaking his head. "you seem to me almost to confound the great living god and lord with his creation, or what you call nature. with all my respect for human wisdom--for all wise and useful learning which man may attain by the examination of earthly things, i think, nevertheless, that the spirit of truth and beauty, commonly called 'genius' by our scholars and the poets of olden times, as also 'the prophetic vision,' soar far above the ken of human intellect; and for what is of paramount importance for us to see, we have most assuredly the holiest and noblest optic tube in god's own revealed word." the king paused a moment and gazed on the strange deportment of the little philosopher, with a sharp and scrutinising look, "you smile as if you pitied me for this my sincere opinion. i am a layman, but all the pious and learned men i have known agreed with me; nor can i perceive that our theologians err in considering the spirit of god as a surer guide to true knowledge of divine things than all human subtlety and wisdom." "far be it from me to contradict my most gracious lord, or the pious scholars of our time on this point," resumed master thrand, looking around him with a repressed smile, and a cunning, cautious glance, "but of this i would rather talk with your grace in your private chamber! i doubt not that with your clear and unprejudiced views, (soaring as your mind does above the ignorance of our age) you will understand me rightly. i dare almost unconditionally subscribe to all that the holy church, it is said, considers needful for him who would be called a true believer, provided i may be allowed to interpret the words of ancient writings and symbols according to their true and reasonable signification;--meanwhile there is, however, much in our science which must as yet be a mystery to the great majority, and even to the scholars of our time, who are too but much inclined to discern heresy and ungodliness in every free thought. noble king!" he added, in a low, mysterious tone, "i read no longer with the learned in the small written volumes (out of which, as you yourself have experienced, curses are as often quoted as blessings) but i read much more in the great book that was not writ by the hand of man, and whose words sound forth eternal wisdom in the din of the storm and the roaring of the ocean, in the course of the stars above the thunder clouds, and in voices of flame from the depths of the abyss. mark well, my deep-thinking king!--you the young solomon of our north!--the holy spirit of god, of which so many and so foolish words are spoken, is precisely that mainspring of forces we seek for in the great workshop of nature's sanctuary, in the depths of our own souls, and in the philosopher's stone, which we call the quintessence of creation. to him who but catches a glimpse of it, (of which, however, we can but boast in certain great moments) to him, the deepest and highest things are revealed; the future as the past is clear before him; he is the master and lord of nature, and of eternal power--for him life hath only limits in his will." the king looked in grave silence on the singular little man's visage, every muscle of which quivered with emotion, while sparks seemed to flash as it were from his small deep-set eyes. "follow me afterwards to my private chamber," said the king rising. meanwhile count henrik had approached and heard part of this conversation; he thought he observed a kind of triumphant smile in master thrand's self-satisfied countenance; but he sought in vain for an opportunity of cautioning the king, who quitted thrand in a very thoughtful mood, and went to join his mother and the three stranger bards. master laurentius had related to the countess agnes much of the grandeur of norway and iceland, and of the remarkable bards and saga writers of his fatherland; he made special mention of the great snorro[ ] and his learned nephews, who had given such a preponderance to saga literature, as almost to throw poetry entirely into the shade. in order, however, to prove to countess agnes and the german minstrels that poetic inspiration in his fatherland had not altogether died away, as they believed, with heathenism and the gifted skalds of the edda, he had recited several poems and heroic lays, to which they could not refuse their approbation. when the king joined them, laurentius was reciting some strophes of einar skulesen's famous epic poem, "geisli," or "the ray," in honor of st. olaf. the king stopped and listened. in this poem st. olaf was called, "a ray of light from god's kingdom, a beam or glimmer of the glorious son of grace;" and christ was described as the light of the world, and the lord of heaven, who, as "a ray from a bright star (the virgin mary) manifested himself on earth for our ineffable good." the king nodded with satisfaction; he seemed to find a consoling counterpoise in the pious lay to what had disturbed and alarmed him in the discourse of the wise master thrand. "go on!" he said encouragingly, to master laurentius. the young priest of st. olaf, who had been inspired with lively enthusiasm by the praises in honor of his saint, repeated in his musical and declamatory tones some more strophes of the beginning of the poem, touching the glory of the saviour and of his kingdom. from this he passed on to the praise of st. olaf, "as the saint confirmed by miracles;" but when he came to that passage in the poem where the bard exclaims, that "deceit and treachery caused king olaf's fall at stiklestad[ ]--" the king suddenly interrupted the enthusiastic master laurentius. "thanks!" he said, "the poem is beautiful and edifying; but deceit and treachery i will hear nought of the day before my bridal. norway's sovereign and duke haco have defended a bad cause against me," he continued, "but i highly esteem the brave northmen, notwithstanding; they deserved a king and guardian saint like st. olaf; he hath well merited to be called a ray from heaven in the north; the circumstances of his downfal i will not now think on. sing rather of constancy and of beauty, and of that which is the ornament and honour of our age." "permit me a poor attempt to dilate upon that theme, my most gracious lord and patron!" began master rumelant, hastily, and instantly commenced a german lay in honour of the beauty and constancy of the northern fair, in which he forgot not the praises of the still youthful and beautiful countess agnes, and still less of the king's absent bride; but the lay also included a secret defence of marsk stig's daughters, whose beauty and unhappy fate had made a deep impression on both the minstrels. master poppé chimed in also, and did not lose this opportunity of putting in his good word for the captive maidens. they could especially not sufficiently praise the piety and amiability of the meek margaretha in her captivity. the king's countenance grew dark. he had referred the cause of the captives to the law and justice of the land; he would hear nothing of it himself: he knew they had accused themselves before their judges of being privy to the treasonable sojourn of kaggé at wordingborg. he was silent; but it was evident that the thought of marsk stig and of his father's death was again fearfully present to eric's mind, and disposed him but little to favour the race of the regicide or any friend of the outlaws;--the minstrels looked doubtfully at each other, and no one dared to say a word more on this subject. chap. ix. it was late, and every one retired to rest. the king repaired to his private chamber. count henrik saw with uneasiness that master thrand followed him. the king's chamber was immediately adjoining the library, to which count henrik had access. he hesitated a moment; it seemed to him degrading, without the king's knowledge and consent, to become a concealed witness to his conversation with the mysterious scholar; but his anxiety and care for the king's safety at last overcame every scruple. he took a light with him and went to the library. the light went out in the passage, which he deemed fortunate, as his presence might otherwise be easily betrayed if there was the least chink in the door between the library and the private chamber. he stepped softly into the vaulted and flagged apartment, where a pair of bookshelves with wire grating, together with some chairs and a reading table, were the only furniture. the moon shone brightly through the small bow window; he seated himself at the table close by the door of the private chamber, fixed his eyes on an open manuscript, and listened. "here we are now alone, and wholly undisturbed," he heard the king say, and the chivalrous count henrik felt he blushed for himself; he made a movement to depart, but put a constraint on his feelings and kept his seat on hearing master thrand's whispering voice, but in so low and mysterious a tone that he could not understand a word. "i know it all," continued the king, "and it is useless for you to deny it, learned master thrand! you are what is called a heretic and leccar brother; as such you are doomed to fire and faggot, by the pope, with your whole sect, and proscribed by all christian kings; according to my decree, and at the requirement of the papal court you are banished from my state and country also. yet if you can prove to me you have found the philosopher's stone, as you seem yourself to imagine, and that there exists a higher truth and wisdom than the revealed word, i will acquit you, and in defiance of pope and clergy will recal the decree of banishment against your sect." "most mighty sovereign!" now said the mountebank, distinctly, though in a hesitating tone;--"what you know of me i have myself confided to you; had i not known your generosity and reverence for the laws of hospitality, and had i not known you were elevated far above this ignorant and narrow-minded age, such a confidence in a ruler would have stamped me as the most contemptible of fools. you have spoken truth, great sovereign!" he continued, as it seemed with assumed firmness. "_i am_ a heretic and leccar brother; but, to be such i esteem a higher honour (even should i at last die at the stake for it) than if all blinded, gulled christendom were to worship me as the greatest and most admirable of saints." "truly!" answered the king, sternly, "that is a bold speech, master thrand; if it contain not loftier wisdom than hath yet been known to the best and wisest scholars during the space of thirteen centuries, i must regard it as the most mad and presumptuous declaration that hath ever passed the lips of man. i stand myself, as you know, in dangerous and daring strife with that power which in the church's name would rule princes as well as people, and enslave our souls. i defy every decree of man which would drive us to despair and ungodliness, and give over our souls to the destroyer; but notwithstanding, i deem the church and the divine word on which it is founded not the less sure and stedfast, and i would fain see that philosopher--or fool, who would cause me to swerve a hair's breath from this belief." "as soon as your grace understands me fully," answered master thrand, with calmness, "you will see that is nowise my aim: the real church of truth is the invisible one which i also worship in spirit, and the true eternal word of god is that which hath never been wholly revealed, but to which i hearken with reverence, and appropriate through the medium of science, by searching into yon great book of revelation, which can only be unlocked by the wakened power of divinity within us. hear ye not yourself, noble king! the mighty voice of divinity in the thunders of heaven? see ye not the finger of the almighty in the destructive lightning? and must you not confess that he who is ruler over those mighty forces of nature, is the only true powerful god whom we must worship and adore?" "well! that is a matter of course, but what of that?" asked the king, in an impatient tone. "if i now could show you," continued master thrand, with rising zeal, "that the same power lies in _my_ hand and in _my_ will--that _i_ by a nod can force the voice of omnipotence to speak and announce in shouts of thunder, that _i_ am the lord and master of those godlike powers--will you then deny my right to publish the divine word, which speaks through my will as it does through nature? will you then any longer doubt my having found and possessed myself of the essence of things,--the source of power,--which shall hereafter change the form of the world and throw down the idol temples of prejudice, and the fortified castles of tyrants? will you then believe i have found the key to the great mystery of life; and that the voice of deity, which speaks through _my_ will and _my_ works, is able to say--_live!_ when time, sickness, and age,--when sword and poison,--when war, pestilence, and hunger,--when stake and executioners,--when popes and tyrants, and all the foes of life, shout--_die!_" there was a moment's silence in the private chamber, and count henrik drew breath with difficulty. "strange!" said the king's voice again; "but no--it is impossible. i will defer forming an opinion of your wisdom, master thrand, until i have seen the marvellous things you speak of. as far as i understand you, you seem to consider yourself not only as the lord and master of nature, but of deity itself: such discourse sounds to me like the greatest and most presumptuous madness." "madness and wisdom, lying and truth, evil and good, darkness and light, border closely on each other, noble king," again whispered the well-oiled tongue of thrand. "this must especially be the case in all transitions from night to day, from error to truth, from one age to another. that which i have here dared to whisper to you in this private chamber, in reliance on the strength of your royal mind, will one day be openly announced from the lowest seat of learning, and seem but as the pastime of children to the mature in spirit. how each one of us will picture to himself the divinity is in fact his own affair; that will depend on his own individual mental vision; and will be a necessity like all other things. what is divine is, and must ever partly remain, a mystery to the majority; but we can all attain clear views of time and its mutable concerns: this lies within the sphere of our common vision, and so far i flatter myself i shall be able to open your penetrating eyes, great king, that no part of time shall be wholly hidden from you, and that you may be able to look as clearly into the future as back upon the past perishable world of things and actions." "well then," said the king, impatiently, "teach me to see more clearly with the mind's eye, if you are able. i have all reverence for your bodily glass eyes, and you have certainly opened to me a wider view of the outer world. one mirror of the past i know already in the study of our chronicles; if there is also a natural mirror of the future, show it me." "there are _two_, gracious king!" answered master thrand, with emphasis; "we call them providence and divination: we can possess ourselves of both by keen wisdom, and awakened inner sense. with the first you can see much; with the second more; with both almost every thing. of the highly-important step you are about to take to-morrow your grace can only judge by means of such a twofold insight." "what!" exclaimed the king, with vehemence; "think ye i am now about to use my understanding for the first time, and consider the step which, with well-advised purpose and with the help of god, i have already taken, and which is my highest happiness? be the consequences what they may, and whatever the almighty ruler of the world hath ordained for me and my kingdom, on this point the clearest insight into futurity cannot change my will or extinguish the fairest hope of my life." "but look, great sovereign!" continued master thrand, with eagerness; "cast an unprejudiced and dispassionate glance into those person's souls which you would link with yours. three royal brothers--your future brothers-in-law--stand yonder beside a throne; the weakest, the least gifted, hath been chosen to fill it; but the superior mind and power and courage of his brothers increase mightily. the nobler spirit can never bow before its inferior; the fermenting forces must develope themselves; opposing ones must separate; those of close affinity must combine; what hath been arbitrarily joined must be forcibly severed; and he who plunges into the wild tumultuous stream must be swept along with it and perish." "silence! with thy presumptuous talk," interrupted the king, in a loud voice, and stamping hard on the ground; "no contemptible calculation and dread of the future shall stop my progress, or disquiet my soul. whatever may be working in the minds of those princes, crowns are not left to be the sport of wild passions; justice and the highest power are not subject to the will and authority of man, but to that of the almighty. a royal sceptre may repose secure in the hand of a child when god is with him, even though that child stands surrounded by traitors and murderers. this i have myself experienced." "but, your royal grace, when the minor, as yonder, never attains to majority in mind," objected thrand, "when the power proceeding from the will of a free and powerful nation is, through foolish superstition and misconception, linked to the phantom which theologians call god's grace--an idea which only hath meaning and significance when we see that grace revealed in the great and noble, though mutable, will of the people, to which all connection with the weaker unapt spirit is destruction----" "by all the holy men, the highest might and authority comes from above!" interrupted the king, with vehemence, "in man's will only, not in the lord's, is there vacillation and change; he who justly wears a crown hath a power in the will of god, which no mortal shall defy unpunished. but enough of this. i called you not hither to consult with you on state affairs. knew i not you were a philosopher who takes but little interest in worldly government, i should be tempted to believe you were a wily emissary from my foes, and those who secretly strive to undermine my happiness." "heaven forefend! your grace," exclaimed master thrand, in dismay. "i called you hither to warn you--not to receive warnings," continued the king, with stern vehemence. "i have perceived that your opinions on spiritual things are dangerous and misleading. keep them to yourself, or i shall be necessitated to banish you from the country. i have all due respect for your knowledge in worldly matters," he added; "it may prove useful to me. my master of the mint, however, you cannot be at present, and my spiritual adviser still less. if the wise roger bacon was your teacher and master i would willingly know what he hath taught you that is good and reasonable; but i will not hear a word more of the philosopher's stone. i ask not to look into futurity; if you understand that art, keep it to yourself. i regard it, if not as witchcraft, as equally sinful and unwise. such faculty hath as yet never made any human being happy. "if you can (which, however, i much doubt) protract human life beyond its natural limits, keep such knowledge to yourself also: it seems to me not less presumptuous and irrational. i desire not to live an hour longer in this world than the almighty hath ordained; but if you can, by natural means and without sin unveil to me the secrets of nature--if you can imitate the thunders of heaven as you assume--then show me and our philosophers the art, and explain it to us, at whatever price you deem fitting; but how far soever your mastery over the powers of nature may extend, imagine not you have usurped the power from him, in comparison of whom the wisest and mightiest man on earth is but a miserable impotent worm. go hence and pray our lord and the holy virgin to pardon you the presumptuous words you have here uttered. would that you might one day gain a better insight into what is of higher importance to soul and salvation than all your temporal learning!" count henrik could not hear what answer was made by master thrand to this severe reproof; the words "to-morrow, noble king!" were all he thought he understood, besides some common-place and obsequious expressions of respect, and it seemed to him that the artist's voice sounded hollow and hardly audible. the door of the private door opened and shut again; count henrik perceived that the king was alone, and heard him open the door to his sleeping chamber. the count stepped softly out of the library; he heard footsteps before him in the dark passage. it was master thrand coming from the king's private chamber. count henrik stood still on remarking that the little juggler often paused in the passage, as if in secret deliberation; he muttered to himself, and was busied with something in the dark; his whimsical gait and figure was now suddenly lit up by a bright light, which instantly vanished again; master thrand at last stopped at a private door which led to junker christopher's apartments, but to which none had access beside. the door opened and closed again, and thrand disappeared. "what was that?" said count henrik to himself, with a start, "a spirit of darkness lurks between the royal brothers!" he left not the passage ere he had seen the pyrotechnic artist steal back from the junker's apartments, and repair to the knights' story in the opposite wing of the castle, where all the stranger guests were assigned their quarters for the night. count henrik did not betake himself to rest, but watched this night as captain of the halberdiers, without the door of the king's sleeping apartment. chap. x. by the first peep of dawn, all was joyous commotion at helsingborg castle. every danish courtier and knight knew the punctuality and impetuosity of the young king, when it was necessary to be stirring at an early hour, even only on occasion of a hunting expedition. every knight and squire who had not foot in stirrup, when the king was in the saddle, might expect a stern glance or a serious rebuke. on this solemn and important day, to which the attention of both kingdoms was turned, and which had been so ardently desired by eric, it seemed as if the sun alone dared to put his patience to the proof. ere day-break, the king's handsome horses, with their silken coverings and caparisons, stood already saddled in the court-yard of the castle; the richly-attired knights, clad in silk or plush, thronged gaily together, and hardly had the sun-beams of the first day of june shone upon the glittering bridal train, before eric, leading his royal mother by the hand, stepped forth on the staircase of the upper story, and bowed courteously on all sides. he followed countess agnes to the ladies' car, with his head uncovered, and then vaulted into the saddle. his handsome and youthful countenance beamed with hope and heartfelt joy, and he seemed to have slept off every gloomy and disquieting thought. arrayed in his most splendid knight's attire, with a rose-coloured shoulder-scarf over his shoulder, and with white ostrich feathers in his hat, he rode a spirited milk-white palfrey. his blithe stepfather, count gerhard, rode at his right hand, and junker christopher at his left. even the junker seemed in a gay mood, but became grave, and coloured when the king waved his hand and greeted him with a cordiality of look and gesture which appeared to surprise and humble him. the gilded car, drawn by six iron-grey andalusian horses, in which sat the king's dignified mother, with her ladies, rolled over the castle bridge at the head of the train, but the king soon rode impatiently past it, with a courteous apology, which was gladly received. count henrik accompanied him with the half of the knightly train, while the ladies' car and the rest of the numerous cavalcade found it difficult to keep up with the hastening bridegroom. all the pathways and banks on the road to stockholm were crowded with a countless concourse of people, who shouted with joy at the splendid procession, and greeted the king with sympathising homage. while the king thus rode to meet his bride, the most magnificent preparations were made at helsingborg for the reception of the royal bridal pair. st. mary's church was decorated with garlands and carpetted with flowers; the provincial prior of the dominicans already officiated at early mass, as well as the venerable bishop of aarhuus and ribé, who with calm courage had supported the king in his bold strife with the archbishop and the papal court. they had been standing at the high altar since daybreak, in readiness to preside over the sacred ceremonial of the day, and were accompanied by a great number of monks, canons, and priests from all the parishes of the kingdom, who intended by their united prayers and benedictions to consecrate this day as an auspicious festival for two nations and two royal houses. on the greensward below the castle hill, lists and galleries were erected for the tournament, and tents were pitched with refreshments for the spectators. the whole household of the castle was in full activity; tables were spread in the lofty halls, and barrels with mead, ale, and wine were hoisted from the cellars. the cooks were busily employed in the kitchen. a number of musicians tuned and tried their instruments; pipers, lute-players, fiddlers and trumpeters, were stationed upon the balcony of the upper story, from whence they were to greet the bridal guests, and enliven the thronging crowds. in the spacious gardens on the rocky steep overlooking the sound, the trees of the long avenues had been hung at an early hour with coloured lamps, for the evening festivity. in a separate part of the gardens preparations were making for exhibiting the hitherto unknown art of fire-works, with which the mysterious thrand fistlier purposed to surprise the king and court, and with which he himself and his amanuensis, the youthful master laurentius, were zealously busied; while master rumelant and master poppé wandered among the tall yew-hedges, and practised their festal lays. the concourse of curious guests and spectators was constantly increasing. all the ships in the harbour were hung with wreaths and flags, and the sound was almost hidden by the fleet of ships arriving from zealand and the isles. on the quay, in the town, and on the road to stockholm, crowds of knights, priests, and town's-people, mingled with fishermen and scanian peasants with their families--there were national costumes to be seen from the farthest danish isles, and from many swedish provinces. the streets were strewed with flowers. all the windows were hung with garlands and silken carpets, and occupied by gaily-dressed ladies. there was a continued murmur from the many thousand voices, and a general gaze of expectation towards that quarter from whence the bridal procession was expected. at last it was echoed from mouth to mouth, "the procession! the procession! now they are come! there they are!" the multitude moved onward in one vast wave, and the provost with his men found it difficult to keep a space clear for the entrance of the train. upon a large kerb stone, in the vicinity of the drawbridge beside the southern gate of the castle, stood a strongly-built man, in a coarse pilgrim's cloak, with muscle shells on the cape over his broad shoulders, and with his broad-brimmed hat, half slouched over a pair of round sun-burnt cheeks. at his side stood an old fisherman, and a pretty little fishermaiden in a north zealand costume, from the district of gilleleié. the pilgrim was morten the cook, who, with his betrothed and her father, had just landed from a fishing yawl, on a remote spot under the sand-stone cliff. the day preceding, morten had been set on shore at gilleleié, from a foreign vessel, with a red sail, which had suffered damage at sea, and had been compelled to put in under the kohl for repairs; of which he talked in a mysterious manner. although, as a party to the archbishop's flight from sjöborg, he had been outlawed by the king, he had not only succeeded in quieting the fears of old jeppé, the fisherman, and his daughter, at his re-appearance in the country, but had even prevailed on them to accompany him hither, where he meant to show them, he said, that, by his pilgrimage, he had obtained peace both with god and man, and that he now, with a bran new and clean conscience, could dare to face the king on his bridal day. "come hither. father jeppé! come little karen! let me lift thee up here!" said morten, jumping down from the stone--"now ye can see all the finery and splendour. _i_ shall do most wisely in keeping within my pilgrim's skin at first, on account of my bit of a head and neck." "alack, yes! for the lord's sake, dearest morten!" whispered the fishermaiden, anxiously, patting his cheek while she suffered his strong arm to lift her, like a puppet, upon the kerb stone; "hide thyself behind my back and my father's! i shall die of fear, if the king sees thee!" "trouble not thyself about anything, and look cheerfully at the fine doings, little sweetheart," whispered the blithe pilgrim; "he hath but seen me once in his life and hardly knows me; to-day he hath also something else to think of than of hanging his dear faithful subjects." "he is a scoundrel who says he hath ever done _that!_" exclaimed old jeppé, the fisherman, with repressed vehemence. "should he cause _thee_ now to be hanged, thou knave! thou hast, doubtless, honestly deserved it. if thou canst not speak and clear thyself like an honest fellow and as thou gavest me hand and word thou wouldst ere thou left the country, then didst thou journey to rome like a fool, and art come home like a simpleton." "come, come, father jeppé!" continued morten, "let's see the finery in peace! whether i am to be hanged or no can be settled time enough to-morrow; there is no need to hurry the matter." "thou art a desperate rogue, morten!" growled the old man--"hast thou 'ticed us hither that we might have the sorrow to see thee dangle? then thou shalt never have my daughter--i had well nigh said--but that follows of itself, i trow. what hath got the great lords who were to help thee? 'tis all chatter and bragging, we shall find, and thou art as yet but an impudent madcap, as thou ever wast." "hush, father jeppé! look! yonder come great lords and knights enow; who knows whether one of them will not break a lance with the king in honour of morten the cook?--and look--there he comes himself." "out of the way, madcap! _him_ thou art not worthy to look on," said the fisherman, pushing back the outlawed pilgrim with violence, while he carefully concealed him. "_i_ dare, the lord be thanked and praised for it, look our noble king in the face without creeping to hide behind an honest fellow's back." all eyes were now turned only upon the procession, and the air rang with loyal acclamations for the king and his beautiful bride. however high expectation had been raised, and however greatly report had exalted the beauty and loveable deportment of the noble princess ingeborg, all who now beheld her seemed to be struck with her appearance, even in a greater degree than they had anticipated. she sat between her own mother. queen helvig, and the king's mother, countess agnes, in the large, open ladies' car; she was as yet only attired in a simple but tasteful travelling dress; no showy pomp and splendour heightened her beauty; but none inquired who was the bride. by the side of the two elder ladies (who both, however, inspired respect, and attracted the attention of the people, by their dignified mien), youthful beauty still maintained its supremacy, and awakened an admiration, which, associated with the idea of her being the king's bride, and of her becoming, this day, denmark's queen, asked not for a more majestic presence. by the side of her mother, the sister of the noble count gerhard, it might be seen from whom she had inherited the innocent, good-natured smile, and the engaging expression of heartfelt kindliness which was the very essence of her nature; and those who had seen her renowned father. king magnus ladislaus, could account for the dignity and ingenuous frankness which was combined with so much mildness and condescension in the countenance of the lovely princess. opposite the princess and the two royal mothers sat two younger ladies, belonging to the train of the princess and the swedish queen dowager; the younger was the fair lady christiné, thorkild knudsen's daughter, who had lately been betrothed to king birger's younger brother, duke valdemar of finland; the elder was the instructress of the princess's childhood, and her faithful friend, the lady ingé. this noble lady, next to the pious, benevolent queen helvig, had exercised a real influence on the formation of the princess's character, and early awakened in her heart a warm affection for denmark. she had made the future queen of the danes acquainted with the spirit and usages of the nation; with its past achievements, its national ballads, and noble traditions; and she had seen, with pleasure and enthusiasm, how the spirit of a whole nation seemed to breathe forth from the innocent and pious mind of princess ingeborg, in the tenderest affection for the young danish king. the lady ingé was still a young and very attractive woman, with much determination and energy in her look and deportment; she was known and appreciated by the people, but now seemed to rejoice at being eclipsed by the radiance of that youthful beauty, which justly rendered princess ingeborg the queen of the day and the festival. the princess returned the greeting and enthusiastic acclamations of the people with the kindliest expression in her countenance and deportment. each time she turned her joyous glance to the right from the car it met the king's; he rode by the side of the ladies' car on his white steed, with his plumed hat in his hand, and, almost overwhelmed with joy, appeared to divide his affection between his loyal people and his bride, while his whole soul's happiness seemed to beam forth from his eye, whether it rested on the car or on the acclaiming crowds. yet even in this happy mood it was not possible for him to repress a fleeting sigh, and a cloud seemed as it were to pass over the clear heaven in his face whenever he heard his brother's hollow voice from the opposite side of the ladies' car, and discerned a manifest expression of rancour and wounded pride in the restless look and passionate glow of junker christopher's countenance. christopher rode between the brothers of the swedish king birger, the brave, chivalrous duke eric of sudermania, and duke valdemar of finland, who both attracted much attention by their manly beauty, their courteous bearing, and splendid attire. each time christopher heard them addressed by the title of duke, and himself only as the "high-born junker," he apparently strove, but in vain, to hide, by a bitter smile, how deeply he felt himself aggrieved and neglected by his brother, who had not raised him in rank and title, although he stood in the same relative position to the king of denmark as the swedish dukes[ ] to the king of sweden. the young king birger himself, who could as little vie with his chivalrous brothers in presence and dignity as in mind and bodily strength, followed the queen's car in an easy travelling vehicle, in which he sat, in his costly purple mantle, by a young lady's side. it was his betrothed bride, princess mereté of denmark, king eric's sister, who, according to the early contract of betrothal, had, while yet a child, been received into the royal family of sweden as queen helvig's foster-daughter, and had not seen her mother or brothers since the marriage of queen agnes with count gerhard. the danish princess now spoke the swedish language like her mother tongue, and appeared already conscious of her dignity as sweden's future queen; she possessed, however, neither the beauty nor the attractive mildness of princess ingeborg, and it was remarked she bore a greater resemblance to the junker and her unhappy father than to king eric and the fair queen agnes. the swedish regent, marsk thorkild knudsen, accompanied his sovereign on horseback with almost regal splendour. he rode between drost aagé and count henrik of mecklenborg, who often nodded gaily to each other; and the festive rejoicing of the fair summer's day was not less evident among the gallant train of knights which followed the swedish monarch. at the head of the danish chivalry rode the powerful, but little popular, marsk oluffsen. with his rough austere visage and blunt bearing he formed a striking contrast to the agile, slender knight helmer blaa, who gaily bestrode his favourite re-found arabian, and often unconsciously nodded assent, by way of confirmation, when he heard the populace laud him or his horse; occasionally, however, he glanced rather doubtfully towards the king, as if he desired not as yet to be noticed by him, and occasionally gave drost aagé a monitory look. beside him rode a quiet ecclesiastic on a palfrey; it was the king's confessor. master petrus de dacia; his eye often dwelt on the cloudless summer heaven, and he seemed, in his calm satisfaction, to think more of heavenly and godly things, and of a distant unseen beauty, than of the worldly pomp by which he was surrounded. helsingborg castle could hardly accommodate the numerous trains and wedding guests. a couple of hours after the entrance of the procession the bridal train was seen to proceed with still greater splendour to the church. before the six white horses of the princess's gilded car pranced the two white tournament steeds which the king had been so displeased at missing from sorretslóv castle. the two stable boys who had unweariedly tracked the steps of the horses down to stockholm, now skipped joyously by the side of the noble animals. when the king beheld the two well-known palfreys perform their trained step before the bride's car, he was heartily pleased and surprised. drost aagé instantly informed him, in a few words, of sir helmer's bold adventure in copenhagen, and that he was here among his bridegroom's-men. the king looked back, and recognised his briskest knight. "in the saddle he rides so free," he said, with a menacing gesture, to sir helmer, but with a gay smile and a nod of approbation. in the church the marriage was solemnised, with all the rites of the romish church, by the bishops of aarhuus and ribé, while the provincial prior olaus, together with the assembled monks, chaunted with their deep-toned voices in full chorus a "gloria in excelsis." while the one bishop joined the hands of the royal pair, and pronounced upon them the church's benediction, the other placed the queenly crown of denmark on the light, beautiful tresses of the bride, and now a mighty tide of trumpet sound poured into the choral song, and the people joined in the solemn chorus. a fairer sight had never been beheld by danish or swedish man than when the royal pair, with tears of devotion and joy in their eyes, and hand in hand, sank down, kneeling on the bridal stool before the high and brilliantly-lighted altar, and nearly the whole bridal train, together with the enthusiastic crowd of spectators, knelt down, as if moved by one common impulse, in audible prayer and devotion. the trumpets ceased and there was a breathless silence, while the bridal pair, in clear and distinct tones, pronounced the vow of unalterable love and constancy to the end of their lives. the deep amen of the aged provincial prior was re-echoed by the monks and by many among the people. a "te deum," with an accompaniment of bassoons and trumpets, concluded the church's festival. after the blessing, the deeply affected pair were embraced by their nearest relatives in the high choir. at last prince christopher also approached his royal brother, and seemed preparing for a cold and forced salutation; but at this moment it seemed as if the spirit of darkness which had so long threatened the brothers from afar had suddenly come between them, and shot up into a giant. they gazed in silence, almost in dismay, upon each other, and let their arms sink; it seemed as though the gentle tear in the king's eye congealed and froze at his brother's frightful coldness. "no falsehood in this holy hour, christopher, if thy soul and thy salvation are dear to thee!" he whispered in a tone of stern admonition; "brothers now in the sight of god! or--may god forgive me!--enemies to death!" christopher bowed in silence, and turned pale; his lips appeared to move, but no sound issued from them. the king turned from him with a flashing glance; but it seemed as if a glimpse in the open heaven suddenly extinguished the fearful gleam of rising wrath and grief in the king's expressive countenance as he turned round and beheld his gently agitated bride tenderly stretch out her arms towards him; he pressed her eagerly to his heart, and the mild tear again glistened in his eye. "this heart, however, thou hast given me, all-merciful creator!" he whispered, "and i have a brother at thy right hand who hates me not." "my eric! what is this?" asked the bride in astonishment, and gazing into his eyes; but she observed his uplifted eye resting in confidence on the crucifix over the door of the choir, and proceeded in silence and in tranquil joy through the aisle of the church, leaning on eric's arm at the head of the bridal train. the king was afterwards calm and cheerful, but unusually pensive. no one, however, appeared to have remarked the painful feeling which had disturbed his happiness. chap. xi. the attention of the people, was now turned to the tournament, which was to commence a few hours after the ceremonies of the church were ended. the spacious lists were surrounded by a countless crowd, and the whole castle-hill was equally thronged with spectators. the raised benches placed in the form of stairs around the lists were occupied with gaily-attired ladies, rejoicing in eager anticipation of the spectacle. at last the clang of trumpets announced the arrival of the royal party. all the royal ladies, with their distinguished train, took their seats in the gallery, which was hung with scarlet. there the queen of the feast, the lovely and royal bride, again appeared, with the diadem encircling her fair tresses; she took her place on the seat of honour, between her mother and queen helvig, amid the joyous acclamations of the people. king birger sat at his mother's side beside princess mérété; he was present only as a spectator of the tournament, in which he purposed not to take a part. thorkild knudsen and a number of elderly swedish courtiers stood near him, with count gerhard, who no longer partook in this diversion; but the young danish sovereign, with the swedish dukes and other princely guests, remained on horseback without the lists among the knights of the tournament. on a raised seat under the royal gallery sat the judges of the combat, who were all old and experienced knights; and within the lists walked the heralds and pursuivants in their festal attire, with white staves in their hands, to watch over the observance of order and usage. a large band of trumpeters and horn-players opened the chivalrous diversion with the music of the national tournament song. amid the chorus in which the people joined, "when the danish knights ride o'er the ground, their horses tramp with a thund'ring sound." all the knights galloped briskly into the lists, and ranged themselves for the encounter. the tournament then commenced. many lances were broken amid the shouts of the bystanders. dangerous accidents seldom occurred in this combat with blunt lances, although a knight might easily indeed sprain an arm or a leg by a too headlong fall from the saddle. many knights displayed great agility and dexterity in the management of horse and lance; but marsk oluffsen, count henrik of mecklenborg, and sir helmer blaa, bore off every prize. a veiled lady often waved encouragement and approbation to sir helmer; she threw gloves, kerchiefs, and silk ribands down to him from the ladies' gallery. he bowed courteously. his shield bore the motto, "for st. anna and st. eric," the guardian saints of his beloved wife and his sovereign, in whose honour he wielded his lance on this occasion. in his last career he unhorsed the marsk;--the lady now threw her veil down to him. it was his young and beautiful wife, the lady anna, who, by her unlooked-for presence here, surprised and delighted him beyond expression; as soon as he recognised her he flung up his lance high in the air in a transport of joy. he forgot to receive the prize he had won, but rushed like the stormer of a castle up into the gallery to embrace her, to the great amusement of the spectators, and even of the grave judges of the tournament, who readily forgave him this little deviation from due order and usage. among the swedish nobles and knights who took a part in the tournament, duke eric of sudermania was pre-eminent; no knight could keep his seat before his lance; and his sister, the young queen of the festival, rejoiced greatly at the honour won here by her best-loved and most chivalrous brother. duke valdemar of finland also shone in this diversion, and especially sought to display his boldness and daring when the fears of thorkild knudsen's fair daughter were excited for him. each time a combatant fell on the sand the trumpets sounded in honour of the victor, and the people shouted, while the vanquished knight hastened to salute his conqueror with a courteous bow, without complaining or showing any sign of vexation. drost aagé, who was wont to be a victor at all these sports of arms, had not as yet sufficiently recovered his strength, after his dangerous fall at kallundborg, to be able to take a share in this day's tournament; he was besides, even amid his joy, at the king's successful love, in an unusually pensive mood; he had now renounced all hope of seeing marsk stig's unfortunate daughters released from their state imprisonment. the king appeared also remarkably thoughtful, although deep and heart-felt joy beamed in his countenance each time his eye met queen ingeborg's loving glance from the gallery. his thoughts seemed often to wander from the scene before him, and he looked not with his customary eagerness and interest on this his favourite diversion, at which he this day, as bridegroom and awarder of the prizes, only purposed to be a spectator. duke eric of langeland, who was celebrated as one of the most invincible tournament knights, appeared not to have found any opponent among the younger lords and knights against whom he cared to enter the lists since duke eric of sudermania had quitted them, having already broken the full number of lances necessary for gaining the highest prize. junker christopher looked, with gloomy disdain, on a spectacle which he regarded as the worn-out pastime of childish vanity. he knew himself how to wield his lance with power and skill, but seemed to consider it beneath his dignity to contend for a tournament prize, which was to be awarded by his brother, or to measure himself with any one below the rank of king. by degrees king eric's youthful countenance became animated as he looked on the encounters. his white steed curvetted under him; and as soon as the last prize was awarded he briskly seized a gilded lance, and cleared the lists by a daring leap, to the great delight of the admiring spectators. "shall we venture a tilt together in honour of our ladies, sir cousin?" he called gaily to duke eric of langeland. the gigantic duke of langeland bowed courteously, and rode into the lists. "zounds! longshanks! longshanks!" was re-echoed from one to the other, among the curious bystanders, and all stood in breathless expectation. the king caused his helmet and cuirass to be brought; a rose-coloured silk riband fluttered down to him from the queen's gallery; he fastened it to his helmet, gaily waved his hand to his young queen, and gallopped to his station. the duke fastened a knot of blue riband on his helmet. with great dexterity and martial skill the two royal combatants now rushed towards each other, lance in rest, at full gallop. the king wielded his lance adroitly and parried his adversary's thrust. the duke's lance flew from his hand, and was driven far forward on the course; but the king's lance broke against the duke's breastplate, without shaking his seat in the saddle. the duke's as well as the king's skill and dexterity were greatly admired; but many expressions of the people's partiality for their chivalrous young monarch were distinctly heard. "had but the king's lance stood the shock," said one young fellow, "we should surely have seen longshanks bite the dust." "no wonder yon fellow kept his seat," growled a seaman, "he can well-nigh anchor in the sand with his long shanks." the trumpets sounded, the combatants saluted each other with courtesy, and the diversion now seemed to be ended; but the music continued, amid general acclamation and a hum of voices. "see whether the junker dares risk his jerkin! no, _he_ does wisest in looking on," said a bold, loud-tongued voice close behind junker christopher. "_he_ would sooner let his true men break their necks in earnest, than venture his own in jest," muttered another. junker christopher appeared to have heard these speeches, for his face flushed crimson. while the trumpets were still sounding, and the king was about to quit the lists, the junker suddenly set spurs to his heavy horse, and rode towards him, with lance in hand. "if i see aright, my brother would also try a tilt with me," said the king starting, "well then, strike up the tournament song, herald!--a new lance, pursuivant!--but not of glass like the first!" the horn-players struck up the ancient, well-known strain. the pursuivant presented the king a lance with a broad piece of board at the end. attention was again anxiously excited, and the young queen appeared somewhat uneasy. the king had taken his place; his countenance was not so placid and cheerful as before; his white steed snorted and pranced impatiently. the junker had retired to some distance, and seemed not as yet to have completed his preparations. "now haste, christopher!" called the king; "let us be brisk, as beseems our festival!" they now quitted their respective stations. the king rode forward in a stately ambling pace, apparently that he might not avail himself of his superiority and greater experience; but the junker dashed his spurs into his horse's side, and rushed forward with wild impetuosity. the king stood almost still, on perceiving with astonishment that his brother's lance was couched directly against his uncovered face. "where would'st thou strike? against the breast! between the four limbs!" he shouted, but it seemed as though the junker neither heard nor saw; he continued to rush forward in the same direction, with flushed cheek and staring eye. but it was now remarked that the king became greatly incensed,--"down then!" cried eric, and at the same moment christopher's lance was dashed aside, and the junker himself fell backwards out of the saddle. the king instantly sprang from his horse, and assisted him to rise, while the trumpets sounded and the air re-echoed with the shouts of the exulting spectators--"thou art not bruised?" asked the king. "in what fashion dost thou couch thy lance?" "ill against you my mighty liege and vanquisher!" muttered christopher, "but that is all in due order--hear how the people screech for joy at the fair spectacle you have afforded them," he added with bitterness and in a lowered tone, "had i broken my neck the festivity would have been complete." "let not this little mischance vex thee," said the king, "such may happen to the best of us--another time i may have a worse fate." "that is very possible, your grace!" answered the junker in a deep and almost choking voice, greeting the king with measured courtesy, as he retreated and retired. he instantly vaulted upon his horse, and rode off through the noisy crowds, who laughed loudly, and made merry over the ridiculous position in which the junker had thrown his legs in the air, on receiving the thrust of the king's lance. thus ended the tournament; but the acclamations with which the king was followed to the castle bridge, appeared this time to please him but little. he thought he had seen a fire in his brother's eye which filled him with horror. chap. xii. after the tournament, the king bestowed in the knights' hall, with the usual ceremonies, the honour of knighthood on some squires, who had distinguished themselves in marsk stig's feud, and the norwegian war. palfreys, splendid aims, and other honourable gifts, were also distributed to the princely wedding guests, and some of the swedish nobles who had accompanied princess ingeborg from stockholm. the king was particularly desirous on this occasion to give marsk thorkild knudsen a proof of his special regard, and presented him with the knightly sword of state, which he had this day worn himself. "wear this at your country's high festivals, noble sir marsk," he said, "but should i ever--which the almighty forbid!--forget the compact and the friendship with the noble swedish nation and its king, of which this day hath given me and denmark the fairest pledge! then turn it against me, as you turned your own good sword against the heathen kareles." thorkild[ ] acknowledged this mark of royal favour, in an animated and enthusiastic speech; he congratulated denmark, as well as sweden, on a new and happy era, when the swords of their princes and knights should only be drawn on each other in the honourable rivalry of the tilt and tournay, but when required, flash like the northern lights and flaming comets, against the common foes of the north. at last, the king produced a document, to which, by a green silken string, was attached the great royal seal in wax impression, with the three crowned leopards in the shield, on one side, and the king's image on the throne and in royal robes, on the other. without turning to that side of the throne which was junker christopher's station, and towards which eric, during the whole ceremony, had not once glanced, he said in a loud voice, and apparently with effort, "junker christopher ericson of denmark! step forth and receive a commemorative gift from my hand, on this the happiest day of my life! i have, out of sincere brotherly love and good-will, and with the assent of my council, three weeks since, signed and sealed this document, which is now for the first time made public, and which nominates thee, duke of estland, with all feudal rights and privileges. may the lord grant his blessing on it!" after he had pronounced these words in a clear and audible voice, it seemed as though an oppressive weight had been removed from his spirits, and he looked calmly and cheerfully to the side from whence he expected to see his brother step forward; but the junker's place was vacant, none of those present had seen him since the tournament. the junker's master of the household, therefore, stepped forth on the part of his lord, and received the royal investiture, while he bent his knee before the king; he then rose, bowed low, and departed to seek the prince. prince christopher did not appear at the marriage feast. some reported they had seen him ride like a madman, at full gallop, through the chase, immediately after the tournament. the prince had not returned as yet on the commencement of the evening festivities. the castle resounded with music and mirth. the doors of the knights' hall and the great antechamber were thrown open to admit persons of all ranks to the dance and masque. the amusements here, as at the merry carnival, consisted in whimsical mummings, and scenic representations, in which the spectators beheld, without displeasure, the most grotesque mixture of sacred, and profane, subjects. even a number of disguised ecclesiastics took part in this diversion, and enacted what was called "a mystery," or a biblical farce; in which a german harlequin constantly cracked his jests, while the fight between david and goliath was represented, to the great delight of the populace, who thought to discern, in king david, an allusion to the king, and in the gigantic goliath recognized a resemblance, now to duke longshanks, now to the junker; but as soon as the drost noticed the unlucky interpretation of the farce, he ordered these masks away. when eric stepped forth among the dancers in the antechamber, the young maidens sang the ballad, with which he was usually greeted, and which had now become a kind of a national song. with a feeling of enthusiasm for their youthful sovereign, and allusion to one of the most romantic adventures which had occurred in his childhood--they sang gaily: "o'er ribé's bridge the dance is led, the castle it is won! in broidered shoe the knights they tread, for young eric this feat is done!"[ ] the king listened with pleasure to the lay, and talked with aagé of his beloved drost peter hessel, of whom this song always reminded him; and when count gerhard heard the ballad of ribéhuus, he tramped gaily into the ranks of the dancers, in joyous remembrance of that event, at which he had himself been present. the king's mother and queen helvig now entered the antechamber, with the young and lovely bride, and the joy of the people was uttered yet more loudly. the ballad-singers instantly began the ballad of queen dagmar's bridal; all the maidens joined in it, and the dancers moved to the tune. the king stepped forward, with his bride, at the head of the troop of dancers. at last the maidens sang: "'great joy there was o'er denmark's land, when dagmar stepped upon the strand; both burgher and peasant then lived in peace, from tax and ploughpenny-yoke had ease, from bohmerland[ ] the lady crossed the seas!" but as they were going to sing the last verse, the ballad-singers took up the lay and sang: "'again there's joy o'er denmark's land,' fair ingeborg comes unto our strand! like waldemar seier, king eric hath found a dagmar to bring us on danish ground; from sweden's land so far renowned!" this verse was repeated amid loud and joyous acclamations. "thanks, good people! thanks!" said the king, with pleased emotion; "if it please the lord, and our blessed lady, valdemar's and dagmar's days shall return." the young queen feelingly greeted the many loyal persons who surrounded her. amid the general rejoicing and festive stir, there was no one beside drost aagé who saw anything suspicious in the continuance of the mask; but among the great number of maskers, he had especially noticed two, who frequently made their way nearly up to the king, and disappeared again. they were dressed up according to the ideas which the lower classes entertained of mermen; their painted faces were hidden by green silken hair, and they wore coats of glittering silver scales. their restless deportment appeared suspicious to aagé, who paid close attention to every movement of these masks--but his suspicion soon vanished; a pretty little fishermaiden came to meet the second mask and the pair soon danced so lovingly together, that aagé conjectured a little love affair was in progress. "why cannot i thus dance here with _her_?" he sighed, and his thoughts travelled to the maiden's tower at wordinborg. he looked with interest on the fair fisher-maiden, who with her long hair, and her joyous sparkling eyes, bore a faint resemblance to the lady margaretha's capricious sister ulrica. "alas, no! poor maidens!" sighed the drost, stepping out into the hall balcony--"they are now in the gloomy tower over yonder; _they_ hear and see nought of these rejoicings--and yet they are innocent--it is injustice; crying injustice--in this matter he is stern and unyielding. to-night, however, he is mild, and joyous, and happy--who knows----." it seemed as if aagé was suddenly inspired by a bold hope; he returned into the antechamber, and approached the king, who took greater pleasure in being a spectator of the merriment of the lower orders in the antechamber than in looking on the more graceful and skilful dancing in the knights' hall. but the drost presently once more beheld one of the frightful mermen figures near the king; his suspicions of this mask were again awakened, and he observed the glittering handle of a dagger between the silver scales on the merman's breast, on which his hand often rested when he approached eric. aagé placed himself between the king and the intrusive mask, and asked, "who art thou?" "rosmer[ ]," said a strange, unknown voice--"ho, ho, ho!"--and the merman now sang in a hoarse tone: "home came rosmer from the sea, to curse he did begin: my right hand's scent it warneth me a christian man's within." he then once more seized the hand of the fisher-maiden, and joined in the dance. the drost looked after him with suspicion; he thought of the outlaws, and of the dishonoured knight kaggé. the idea of this dangerous and audacious miscreant became so vivid in his imagination, that he seemed to recognise him in the merman, and almost in every mask. he made a signal to some halberdiers to keep an eye on the mask, and followed the king into the knights' hall. here he also gave count henrik a hint of what he dreaded, and a numerous troop of halberdiers was soon stationed near the king; but neither he nor any of his guests observed that this was done with any special design. the drost's scrutinising looks and the precautions which had been taken, did not, however, seem to have escaped all the guests. shortly afterwards the well-known ballad of the "merman and agneté" was heard in the antechamber, and a dance was performed to it, in which the merman mask and the fisher-maiden were the principal performers. the merman only chimed in with the burden of the song, and repeated, in a wild, hoarse voice, "ho! ho! ho! to the depths of the sea then lead her did he." at last this masker and his partner departed: they danced out of the door, and down the great staircase into the court-yard of the castle, amid a crowd of disguised personages, who belonged to their party, and represented all kinds of sea-monsters. no one knew what had become of them: another dance began, and none concerned themselves any longer about these unsocial maskers; but the report afterwards spread among the people, that the masker was a real merman, who had carried off a maiden. some even would have it that they had seen the glittering merman swim off with the maiden in his arms, in the clear moonlight. chap. xiii. it was a beautiful, calm summer evening. the dance and the mask were confined to the antechamber and the knights' hall. the national festival was celebrated with bonfires and torch-lights, with music and feasting, in the court-yard of the castle and the orchard, in the chase and on the tournament ground. the king showed himself wherever there was a joyous group assembled, most frequently conducting his lovely bride by the hand, and accompanied by his princely guests and several courtiers. they were everywhere welcomed with festive songs and acclamations. in the castle garden they were greeted by master rumelant and master poppé the strong, who, with solemn pathos, recited an elaborate and carefully-composed poem, in which they praised by turns the royal bridegroom and his bride, with the royal relatives of both, and all the nobles there present. the king thanked them with kindness for this well-meant homage, although the exaggerated praise and trite compliments did not suit his taste. but they were now surprised by a new and splendid spectacle--the bridal pair, and a number of children with wings fastened to their shoulders, who were to represent genii or angels, were led through the illuminated avenues to a remote part of the garden, from whence there was the most beautiful prospect over the sound; here many hundred vessels burst on the sight, hung with lights in the form of crowns upon the masts. all that had excited so much astonishment at skänor fair, and had been regarded by the people as the work of witchcraft and sorcery, was also to be seen here, but exhibited with far more dazzling effect. superstitious fear was banished by the report of the innocence of these artists, and all were prepared to view the spectacle as a display worthy of the festival. a number of rockets of different and beautiful colours were let off from boats and floating rafts; the air glittered with artificial suns, stars, and flaming wheels, which were mirrored in the calm expanse of the sea. it was a new and wonder-stirring sight, and afforded great delight to the spectators. all ceremony and court etiquette were forgotten; each one eagerly sought that place from whence he could best behold the dazzling pageant. eric had retired with his bride to a shady spot in the garden, where the fair aerial spectacle appeared to the greatest advantage. the number of guests he had to entertain, as well as the festivities, had had hitherto prevented him from exchanging a single word with her without witnesses, and it was more than a year since they had last met. he now found himself for a moment alone with her, under the mild and lovely summer sky, in which the flaming stars seemed to dance round them in the air, while the festive din was hushed, and nothing was heard but the deep solemn notes of the horn-players, floating over the sound from a distant hill. a torrent of thought and feeling seemed ready to gush from the king's heart. "my ingeborg! my soul's beloved!" he exclaimed, embracing her, "now hath the merciful lord heard my inmost prayer; he hath himself united us with an inviolable sacrament; no power in heaven or earth can part us now. i am indeed the happiest of human beings; were i omnipotent i would this hour make every soul around me happy." "eric! my beloved eric!" answered ingeborg, throwing her arms around his neck, "i have this day seen with thee into the lord's clear heaven; the troth i plighted thee at the altar i shall repeat in my dying hour; my angel shall wake me with it at the last day----" "think not now of death," interrupted eric, tenderly: "our life begins but now." "one moment may contain a thousand lives," she continued, with, heartfelt emotion; "even were one of yon flying stars to crush me in thine arms i still should deem myself happy; thou wouldest still be mine, although mine eyes should close upon all the glories of this world." they thus talked confidentially together, and poured out their inmost souls to each other, undisturbed by their princely guests, whose whole attention was turned upon the aerial spectacle. the happy bridal pair sank, with deep emotion, into each other's arms, and appeared to forget themselves and the whole world in a silent embrace. they were suddenly aroused by a loud explosion and a hissing sound in the air; they raised their eyes and saw with astonishment the mild beams of the star-light dimmed by the brightness of a large ball of fire, which ascended hissing in the air as though it would reach the heavens. it shone clear and bright above their heads; but as they were looking at it with admiration it exploded, and dispersed into many thousand small stars, which gradually waned and disappeared. "noble! beautiful!" said the king. "what cannot human wisdom and art effect! the learned artist who hath prepared us this show is certainly right in some things; the deep insight into human nature, which the great pater roger hath attained unto in our time, will probably in after times actually change the aspect of the world, and all which we now deem great and noble will perhaps seem but as dreaming and child's play to posterity: but how mutable all things are, my ingeborg!" he added, almost with melancholy; "even the surpassing splendour of this evening will soon fade and vanish like yon dazzling aerial vision." "but what there hath been of life and truth and soul, my eric," answered ingeborg, looking tenderly into his eyes; "is it not so, my heart's beloved? all which love hath brightened will surely never seem but as an idle dream. the world will surely never be so changed that all which is sacred and divine shall fade away like an airy vision." "no assuredly, by all the holy men, no sound wisdom can ever lead to _that!_" said the king eagerly, and gazed awhile in thoughtful reverie on the serene and unchanging heaven. "tell me, my beloved ingeborg," he resumed again with tenderness, as he looked with calm delight on his lovely bride, and pressed her hand to his lips, "wilt thou not miss thy mother and thy brothers sadly here?" "my mother and my brother eric, most----," answered ingeborg, with a gentle sigh; "but i am still with thee and my dear faithful ingé. my mother and brothers will often visit us, and we them--shall we not? and thou wilt aid me and my mother in preserving love and peace between the brothers?" "truly! this i know," said the king, pressing her hand warmly; "love and peace between brothers are precious jewels, my ingeborg; no crown outweighs their loss." he paused suddenly, as though he would not grieve his bride by uttering what clouded his happiness, even in this moment of bliss. "thou wouldest this day make every one happy if thou couldst," continued ingeborg; "grant, then, in this fair hour, the first boon i would ask of thy heart!" "name it, my ingeborg, and it is granted," said the king. "what couldest _thou_ ask of me which i could deny thee? what is thy wish?--say on!" "freedom for every sorrowing captive in thy kingdom who at this hour repent their crime, or suffer while innocent." "innocent!" repeated the king hastily; "none who are innocent suffer in chains and in prison here--that i know. what can inspire thee with such thoughts?" "guilty or guiltless!" answered ingeborg, taking his hand. "in the sight of the all-righteous no one is wholly guiltless, and yet he pardons us all for his dear son's sake, and for the sake of his eternal mercy. pardon thy foes, my eric--pardon them for the sake of god's infinite love! give the unhappy captives freedom for the sake of eternal freedom! give peace to the outlaws for the sake of everlasting peace in god's kingdom!" there was a crimson flush on the king's cheek--his eyes flashed--his breast heaved violently--he abruptly dropped the hand of his bride, and clenched his own, almost convulsively, against his breast. "i swore an oath, by my father's bloody head, in viborg church," he said, in a deep, low tone, "that oath i must keep, or perish eternally; my father's murderers i can never pardon--to none of _them_ can i grant peace while mine eyes behold the light of day!" "not even their kindred and children, who have had no share in their crime?" asked ingeborg, anxiously. "be not severe! be not unmerciful! liberate marsk stig's daughters from the prison at wordingborg, for my prayers' sake!" "thou hast named a name which stirs up my inmost soul, from whomsoever i may hear it," said the king gloomily, with his eyes fixed on the ground; "the offspring of that traitor are my deadly foes as he was my father's; yet," he continued, and raised his head, "for my _own_ sake i will not hate and persecute any one; for thy prayers' sake, i can show mercy to those who do but hate and conspire against _me_; but, by all that is holy! those who laid bloody hands on my father, yon dark st. cecilia's night, may god forgive if it be possible--_i_ never can!" ingeborg stood almost dismayed at his vehemence, and scarcely dared to look at him. "have i frighted thee, my ingeborg!" continued eric, with more calmness, again taking her hand. "forgive me! there is one chord in my soul which sounds terrible when struck, wake it not again! marsk stig's daughters shall be liberated tomorrow, at thy entreaty; but denmark they must leave.--come, let us join the others!" "thanks, thanks! thou dear, impetuous eric!" exclaimed ingeborg, joyfully, once more throwing her arms tenderly and confidingly around his neck; "they may then wend free out of thy kingdom? they look not for aught beside. more no one can reasonably demand. thou dost not only gladden me by this on my bridal day; but a noble and faithful soul besides, whom thou truly lovest." "who?" "the drost, the quiet, melancholy aagé!" "did he entreat thee to ask that boon?" "yes!--but he entreated me not _exactly_ to tell thee he had." "hum! aagé! should he?--yet no! in love he can scarcely be--he dreams more of heavenly angels than earthly ones--and truly! for _that_ description of angels he is too good. come, my ingeborg! they will have missed us!" they returned to the company, who were still admiring the beautiful illumination on board the vessels, and the fireworks, which became more and more brilliant. while the king and his guests repaired to the gardens of the castle, drost aagé stood on helsingborg quay, and beheld three large boats, filled with maskers in the most grotesque costumes, row off with all possible speed towards a foreign ship which lay in the harbour, and which soon hoisted sail and disappeared in the moonlight with the adventurous wedding guests. when the drost afterwards joined the company in the castle garden, he missed the king and his bride, and searched for them in great uneasiness, in the dusky avenues. near to the spot where eric stood with the princess, he saw one of the two suspicious merman maskers lurking among the trees, with a cross-bow in his hand. at the same moment, in which the great ball of fire had exploded in the air, the drost saw this mysterious personage station himself with his cross-bow behind a tree, and take aim. in one and the same instant, aagé had discovered the object of the assassin's aim, and cleft his head with his sword. the dangerous bow was still drawn, when the miscreant fell dead on the spot without uttering a sound. aagé took the mask from his face, and recognised the notorious deserter--the one-eyed johan kysté, who was known to have assisted the archbishop in his flight from sjöberg. "god mend his soul!" said aagé, turning away with horror from the fearful sight; and on seeing eric still standing on the same spot in confidential converse with his bride, he discreetly withdrew. when the king returned to the company, aagé also stepped forth from a dark avenue. the anxiety he had undergone, and the fatal deed which he had secretly been forced to commit in self-defence, had chased the blood from his cheeks. he now stood in the light of the fireworks pale as death, yet looking on the king with loving sympathy. "aagé! what ails thee? art thou ill?" asked the king, laying his hand on his shoulder. "i ail nothing on my sovereign's happiest day," answered aagé; "those strange blue lights yonder, make us all look somewhat pale." "if thou art well, i will encumber thee with a journey," continued the king; "thou shalt announce to marsk stig's daughters that they are free." "my liege and sovereign!" exclaimed aagé, with heartfelt delight, and the blood suddenly rushed back to his cheek. "thanks! heartfelt thanks for those words! let me hasten even this very hour!" "when thou wilt," continued the king, and a stern gravity was again perceptible in his looks and deportment. "thou wilt announce their freedom to them, not from me, but from my queen, though with my approbation; but within three days they must be out of my state and kingdom. thou may'st escort them out of the land, my drost! i give thee leave of absence, with full salary, as long as thou wilt, yes--even though it should be for thy whole lifetime," he added, in a lower tone; "but by all the holy men! ere i see thee again, marsk stig's race must be beyond denmark's boundaries." aagé gazed on the king with a strange expression of countenance; a whole world and a whole life seemed to pass in review before his eyes; while a desperate struggle agitated his inmost soul. "i haste, my liege!" he said, at last, as if starting from a dream. "i follow _her_. i follow the defenceless sisters out of the country," he paused again, and his voice seemed almost choked, "and--i soon return to your service," he added, with regained firmness. "may the lord keep his hand over you so long!" the king extended his hand to aagé; he pressed it with deep emotion to his lips. "thanks! heartfelt thanks for your clemency to the unfortunate," he whispered, with a faltering voice, and rushed away. "what is this?" said the king to himself, as he observed a tear on his hand; "who claims this precious gem? my aagé!---hum! poor visionary, what thought'st thou of!--yet--his choice is free, i cannot act otherwise, and you, marsk oluffsen!" he continued aloud, turning to his warrior-like marsk, "the rebels you have lately captured and thrown into prison, niels brock and johan papæ----" "will you grant me a pleasure on your bridal day, my liege?" interrupted the marsk, in his rough voice, and rubbing his large hands. "then permit me, with my own hand, to give those fellows their quietus." "what! do you rave, marsk!" exclaimed the king, greatly incensed; "are you my knight and marsk, and would you turn executioner? you will lead the captive rebels in chains out of the country, and declare them outlawed in my name! you will not yourself appear in our sight until, by noble deed of knighthood, you have washed out the blot which you have cast on yourself, and on our chivalry, by your blood-thirsty wish." the marsk was thunderstruck; he stood in the greatest astonishment, with wide oped eyes. "now, by all the martyrs!" he muttered to himself; but he saw by the king's stern look this was no fitting time to speak: he bowed in silence, and retired. chap. xiv. the fireworks were now ended, and much admiration was expressed by the spectators. the king roused himself from the mood into which he had been thrown by the faithful aagé's farewell, and the marsk's sternness. "where is the master of that fair pageant?" he said aloud; "where is the learned thrand fistlier?" "here, most gracious sovereign!" said a discordant self-satisfied voice, close beside the king; and master thrand stepped forth from the dark avenue, with his amanuensis, the youthful master laurentius, by his side-- "if my poor skill hath pleased the royal and lordly company, i esteem it a high pleasure and honour." "you have surprised us in the most agreeable manner;" said the king, "but what i have seen will please me still more, if you will explain to us the ways and means by which such beautiful results are produced." "the whole is insignificant, in comparison with what i yet purpose, according to promise, to show your grace!" answered the artist, bowing humbly; "it is a masterpiece that requires but a moment's time. the ways and means by which i produce it belong partly to one of my great master bacon's most important discoveries, which he hath indeed named in his writings, but hath not clearly and minutely explained. it is a discovery which may easily be abused, and therefore can only be entrusted to the initiated. i am the only one of his pupils who fully comprehend it. i have myself considerably extended and substantiated what was to my master rather a profound conjecture, than an actual discovery, and i trust i shall not be deemed vain, if i expect, even in preference to my great master, to be immortalised by it in the history of science----" "well, well!" interrupted the king, "what is it?" "the only person to whom i have imparted something of this important secret," continued master thrand, with a proud look, without suffering himself to be abashed, "is my pupil master laurentius; but i have not as yet been able to initiate him in the deepest mysteries of an art which will perhaps require centuries ere it be fully revealed to the prejudiced human race. with you wise king! and with these enlightened nobles and scholars, i make honourable exception, in showing you what i have not even as yet shown my pupil, and what i now, for the first time, and in an altogether novel manner, am about to reduce from theory to a decisive practical result. if this marvellous art is not to die with me----" "you expect to become immortal, no doubt. master thrand!" interrupted the king again, somewhat impatiently, "and if i understand you aright, even in the proper signification of the word; if your art enables you to set even death at defiance, your important invention can never be in danger of perishing from the world. let us now see what you laud so highly, and keep not our expectation longer on the stretch! you diminish by it even the surprise you have perhaps intended us." "instantly! most mighty king!" answered the artist in a lowered tone, and produced a calf-skin, which he rolled up and placed on the ground. he then took out of his pocket a small, unknown substance, of some few inches thickness, which he placed under it, and commenced several other preparations, seemingly just as simple and trivial. "now place yourself there, your grace!" he resumed, "and give close heed! quit not your place until you see me withdraw. let the ladies step aside, it might perhaps alarm those who are weakly, although there is no danger whatever. as soon as i light this torch and bring it into contact with this simple apparatus, you will hear a voice like that which nature's great spirit sends forth from the clouds of heaven, to announce his sovereignty over all the earth, as lord of life and death; but _this_ voice obeys _my_ bidding and _my_ will--now mark!" the ladies stepped aside and looked inquisitively towards the artist. some of the noble guests drew nearer; others drew back with suspicion. the king stood silent and attentive, on the spot assigned him. the learned master petrus de dacia stood nearest him; his eyes were raised towards the clear bright stars, and he appeared occasionally to look on the little mountebank and his whole proceedings, with a kind of contemptuous pity. count henrik was not present; at the drost's suggestion he had employed himself in securing the castle against every possible attack of the outlaws, some of whom were supposed to have been recognised among the masked wedding guests who, however, had already escaped. the expectation of the whole assemblage was now turned towards the exhibition of art, which had been so pompously announced. the mysterious artist was still busied with his preparations, and appeared himself somewhat thoughtful and hesitating. he lighted a torch at some distance, and took a book out of his pocket, which he appeared to consult. he had placed a pair of large spectacles before his eyes, and as he thus stood in the torch-light, with his deformed figure and fiery red mantle, he resembled a goblin or a fire-gnome, rather than a human being. he presently replaced the book in his pocket, and lighted another torch. "stop your ears with this, your grace!" whispered the considerate master laurentius, handing a couple of wax-balls to the king, "from what i know of this specimen of art, it may have a stunning and injurious effect on the hearing." the king nodded and followed his advice. the artist now held the lighted torch in his hand; the red flame lit up his face--it was expressive of a fearful degree of agitation--every muscle was horribly, almost convulsively, distorted--he approached slowly with the torch towards the mysterious apparatus, and most of the spectators drew back with apprehension. the king stood calm and attentive in his place, by the side of master petrus de dacia, with his foot on the rolled-up hide. "hence! back! life is at stake!" said a voice behind him in a frantic tone. the king felt himself forcibly grasped by a powerful hand, and at the same moment a fearful explosion, resembling a clap of thunder, was heard, with a flash as of a thousand combined lightnings; many persons fell to the ground with a cry of horror. the ladies swooned--a cloud of smoke encompassed them, with a suffocating sulphureous vapour. the terrible artist himself lay mangled and lifeless on the grass, with the extinguished torch in his hand. master laurentius threw himself upon the body in grief; there was a fearful panic and confusion. the king stood unscathed a few steps from the corpse of the wretched thrand, and now first perceived who had dragged him from his dangerous position. it was his own brother christopher, who, with his duke's diploma crumpled in his left hand, and with his right still convulsively grasping the king's arm, stood pale as death gazing on the lifeless philosopher. "the judgment of god!" he said in a deep and scarcely audible voice. he quitted his hold of his brother's arm, and then, as if pursued by evil spirits, rushed into the dark avenue, and disappeared. "christopher! what is this?" said the king in a low voice, as he looked after him, with a horrible conjecture, but he quickly recovered himself, and hastened to attend his bride and the terrified ladies. "the danger is over," he said with calmness, "but this specimen of art hath cost the artist his life. if he hath spoken truth, his dangerous art hath perished with him, and the whole world is lapsed into barbarism and ignorance. he was a wise and learned man," he added, as he saw most of the company tranquillised, but heard the suspicion of treachery loudly expressed--"let us not judge his intentions! perhaps he hath sacrificed life as a martyr to his science--'twas pity, however, he would personate our lord; the almighty lets himself not be mocked." none were injured but the hapless artist, and the company soon returned composed and thoughtful to the illuminated avenues in the garden. ingeborg's fears were calmed and she clung tenderly to her bridegroom's arm. it appeared to her and to all, as if an inconceivable miracle had saved the king's life and crushed his treacherous foes. the report of the king's peril had interrupted the bridal festivities; but wherever he showed himself the music and merriment again commenced, and the royal bridal pair were followed back to the castle, with almost deafening acclamations. while the bridemaids conducted the bride to the bridal chamber the king repaired to his private apartment. he went in silence to his prie-dieu, bent his knee before the holy crucifix, and became absorbed in silent prayer. he had shut the door after him, and believed he was alone with god on this spot, to which none beside himself and his confessors had access; but he presently heard some one moving behind him, and he arose. junker christopher stood before him, with his wild countenance bathed in tears. "my brother!" he exclaimed, with outstretched arms, "i have sinned against the lord and against thee; i am not worthy to be called thy brother. canst _thou_ forgive me what _i_ cannot name? canst thou forgive me for the sake of our murdered father's soul, and for the sake of the all-merciful, who blots out every transgression?" "christopher!" said the king, in a tone of the greatest consternation, gazing fixedly on him with a piercing look, "thou wouldest--thou knewest----" "say not what i willed--say not what i knew!" interrupted the junker, in a choking voice, and covering his face with both his hands; "but give me thy hand, if thou canst, and say.--'i am reconciled,' and by the almighty, who hath struck me with horror, thou shalt see this face no more ere i can say, 'brother! now hath the great and terrible god forgiven me, as thou hast forgiven me!'" "christopher! brother! my father's son!" exclaimed eric; the tears gushed from his eyes, and he hastened towards his humbled brother with open arms. "come to my heart! may the merciful lord forgive thee as i have forgiven thee!" and the brothers sank in each other's arms. "amen!" said a friendly voice beside them. the king's confessor, the pious master petrus de dacia, who had led the despairing christopher hither, stepped forth from a niche in the chamber, and laid his hand on their heads in token of blessing. "this day hath now become the happiest of my life," said eric, and went arm-in-arm with the junker out of the private chamber. conclusion. among the crowd of knights and courtiers who waited the next morning in the antechamber of helsingborg castle to offer their congratulations to the king and the young queen, were present two influential and well known persons, who had recently landed on the quay. the one was an aged personage of short stature, with an extraordinary degree of energy and determination in his stern yet animated countenance; he was the renowned statesman john little, who had made so long a sojourn at the romish court. a tall powerful man stood at his side, in a splendid knight's dress, with a roll of documents in his hand. he was the king's former master in arms, drost peter hessel. they had both arrived from rome, with important tidings for the king. they were instantly admitted, and those without heard that they were most joyously welcomed. among the glad voices in the king's chamber were recognised those of the queen and the drost's noble consort, the lady ingé. close to the door of the antechamber stood morten the cook, in his pilgrim's dress, with old jeppé the fisherman and his daughter at his side. he was regarded with curiosity. at first he appeared somewhat uneasy and dejected; but when the king was heard to speak with animation, and in a tone of satisfaction, morten drew himself up fearlessly, and paced up and down with an air of importance among the distinguished assemblage. the papers which drost hessel had under his arm contained proofs of archbishop grand's treachery and connection with the outlaws; they were copies of the same important documents which junker christopher, at the time of the archbishop's imprisonment, had removed from the sacristy chest of lund and brought to wordingborg. there the dexterous cook had contrived to possess himself of them shortly before he abetted the archbishop's flight from sjöborg. his object had been to restore them to grand; but as the archbishop had broken the promise he had made to his deliverer while on the rope-ladder of freeing the king and country from ban and interdict, morten determined to retain these documents, and while on his pilgrimage to bring them to chancellor martinus and the danish embassy at rome, where they mainly contributed to justify, or at least excuse the king's conduct towards grand, and ultimately to depose him from the archbishopric of lund. morten was soon summoned to the king. when he returned he gaily threw aside his pilgrim's mantle, seized the pretty fishermaiden with the one hand and jeppé with the other, and skipped with them down the hall staircase, as a free and wealthy man, to celebrate his wedding at gilléleié. notwithstanding that the suit against archbishop grand, and the dangerous differences with the romish see, were not adjusted until after the lapse of several years, and at the cost of considerable sacrifices, king eric succeeded at length in obtaining the deposition of grand, and the instalment of another and more peaceable prelate in the archiepiscopal chair of lund; in the person of the formerly dreaded isarnus, who had now, however, learned from the fate of his predecessor how to use his spiritual authority with moderation, and wisely refrained from all interference with state affairs. by the final treaty with the papal court the wanting dispensation of kindred was granted to the king, and his marriage with the noble princess ingeborg of sweden declared to be perfectly valid. three weeks after the king's nuptials, the faithful drost aagé was again seen at his side; but he was unalterably grave and pensive. it was not until some years afterwards that he was freed from the ban, together with the king. he never alluded to his journey with marsk stig's daughters. some affirmed that he had only found the elder sister in the prison-tower of wordingborg, but that the younger had fled. others insisted they had seen her among the masquers at helsingborg castle, on the evening of the king's bridal. it was also rumoured that she had been carried off by a merman. a ballad, relating this supposed adventure, has been preserved among the people. the merman was affirmed by some to have been the outlawed kaggé, who was shortly afterwards seized and slain by the burghers at viborg. meanwhile the beautiful and pathetic ballad, which still preserves the memory of these sisters, bears witness to their having traversed sweden as fugitives, and having found protection, for the first time, at the court of norway. according to this ballad the youngest of these exiled sisters was afterwards married to a norwegian prince; probably an illegitimate son of king haco. this popular ballad, as well as many obscure traditions, and what the chronicles record of the latter part of the thirteenth century, bear striking testimony to that troublous time, in which the unhappy consequences of the last regicide in denmark, hovered, like restless demons, over throne and country, and cast so deep a shade even over the happiest days of the upright king eric ericson. the end. [footnote : pebersvend (literally pepper 'prentice) is the term still jocosely applied to elderly bachelors in denmark.] [footnote : the name of a part of russia in the middle ages.] [footnote : frodé according to the icelandic historians, the third king of denmark, surnamed "the peaceful," although he seems rather to have deserved the title of "the victorious," as he is said to have brought sweden, hungary, england, and ireland under his sway. the history of frodé as related by the marvel-loving saxo grammaticus, contains, as might be expected from the writer and the age, no slight mixture of fable.--_translator_.] [footnote : snorro sturlesen, born , died , the author of the "heims kringla," or the history of the norwegian kings, and the compiler of the younger edda, also called "snorro's edda." the elder edda is the compilation of sæmund frodé, or "the learned," who was born in iceland, , and died a priest at oddé, in his th year. both the eddas are collections of religious and mythic poems, and the chief sources whence the knowledge of the northern mythology is derived. the elder edda was first known in the middle of the th century. it has been translated into danish by professor finn magnussen.--_translator_.] [footnote : snorro sturlesen, the norwegian historian, thus pourtrays the character of this monarch,--"king olaf was a noble prince, possessed of shining virtues and great piety. when driven by knud (canute the great) from norway, and compelled to take refuge with jarislaf of moscow, he bore his exile with patience, and spent his time in prayer and acts of devotion. while in this situation his peace of mind was only disturbed by the apprehension lest the christian faith, which he had so carefully implanted in norway, should suffer from the kingdom having passed into the hands of other rulers, and it was chiefly on this account that he made an attempt to regain his crown, and with that purpose once more repaired to norway, where he was received by many good and true men who desired his return, and were ready to sacrifice their lives in his service. the armies of canute and olaf met at sticklestad in the year . ere the engagement began, olaf addressed his troops in a pious and touching discourse. he ordered them to make use of one common watchword, and shout when they attacked the enemy, 'on! christian men! chosen men! kings men!' the battle was fought with equal bravery and obstinacy on both sides, but at last olaf was slain by one of his own traitorous subjects, who had deserted to canute's army. vide _holberg's hist. of denmark_, vol. i.--_translator_.] [footnote : an old danish ballad entitled "king birger and his brothers," records the crimes of the former, and the melancholy fate of the swedish dukes. after years of strife between the brothers, sweden was at last partitioned off into three kingdoms, and possessed three sovereigns and three distinct courts. in , king birger invited his brothers to visit him at the castle of nykioping, on the plea of renewing the fraternal intercourse which had been so unhappily interrupted, and the dukes unsuspectingly accepted the king's invitation. on the evening of their arrival, however, after being received with the greatest cordiality by the king, and sumptuously entertained, they were seized by his order, bound hand and foot, and thrown into the dungeon of the castle. this act of treachery soon became known, and the king, fearing the interference of the people in behalf of the dukes, fled from the castle, having first thrown the keys of the dungeon into the deepest part of the river, and given orders that the doors of the dungeon should not be opened until he returned. on his departure nykioping was instantly besieged, and crowds flocked thither from all quarters, but ere the castle was taken the dukes had expired. eric died on the third day of his captivity, from the wounds he had received in defending himself against his captors; but valdemar lived till the twelfth day without food.--_translator_.] [footnote : holberg thus relates the fate of this able and upright statesman:--"after a long period of civil war and discord, the feud between king birger and his brothers was at last accommodated, through the mediation of their mutual counsellors; but on the conclusion of the treaty, the swedish dukes did their utmost to bring thorkild knudsen into discredit with the king, to whom he was represented by them as having been the instigator of the disturbances which had prevailed throughout the country, as well as having stirred up strife among the members of the royal family, and as having abused the confidence of the crown. king birger, who was glad of any pretext for escaping the blame he himself deserved, turned his back upon his faithful servant, and permitted him to be brought to trial. thorkild ably defended his rightful cause, but his innocence and eloquence were of no avail. he had been marked out as a victim, was doomed to death as a traitor, and beheaded at stockholm in the year . it was not without difficulty that his friends obtained permission to inter the body in consecrated ground. thorkild's treacherous foe, drost johan brunké, continued his career of political intrigue until the year , when he and his partizans were seized in the king's absence, by the opposite faction, and put to death. brunké's body was exposed on the wheel on a hill without the city, which since that time has borne the name of brunké's hill." vide _holberg's hist. of denmark_, vol. i.--_trans_.] [footnote : the subject of the ballad of ribéhuus is the taking of the castle of ribé, which had fallen into the hands of the outlaws during the minority of eric, by a party of fifty loyal knights, headed by count gerhard and drost hessel. in the middle ages it was not unusual for the knights to join in the public festivities of the burghers. at one of these, the king's knights took the opportunity of joining a dance by torch lights to be led according to usage through the streets up to the castle. the ballad describes the long row of dancers, as being kept in a straight file by a chain of wreathed green leaves and roses. each knight held a lady in his left hand and a lighted torch in the right, their drawn swords being carefully concealed under their scarlet mantles. the castle bridge was lowered and the gates thrown open to admit the dancers by permission of the commandant, who in a few minutes found himself a prisoner, and the castle (which was wholly unprepared for the attack) in the hands of king eric's adherents. the ballad concludes as follows;-- "thus danced we into the castle hall, with unsheathed sword 'neath scarlet pall, the castle it is won! ne'er saw i before a castle by chance, won by rose-wreaths and the knightly dance, for young eric the feat was done!"--_translator_.] [footnote : bohemia.] [footnote : rosmer. an allusion to an old danish ballad, the hero of which is called "rosmer the merman."--_translator_.] london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. transcriber's notes: . page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/kingericandoutl chapgoog . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. king eric and the outlaws. vol. ii. london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. king eric and the outlaws; or, the throne, the church, and the people, in the thirteenth century. by ingemann translated from the danish by jane frances chapman. * * * * in three volumes. vol. ii. * * * * london: longman, brown, green, & longmans, paternoster-row. . chapter i. when the king reached kallundborg castle, and beheld the drawbridge raised, and the well fortified castle in a complete state of defence, a flush of anger crossed his cheek, his hand involuntarily clenched the hilt of his sword, and for an instant he was near forgetting his promise, and drawing it out of the scabbard. count henrik reined in his war horse impatiently before the outermost fortification, awaiting an answer to the message he had shouted, in the king's name, to the nearest warder. "matchless presumption!" exclaimed the king; "know they i am here myself? and do they still tarry with an answer, when they have but to be silent and to obey?" "they take their time, my liege!" answered count henrik. "it is unparalleled impudence.--if you command, the trumpet shall be instantly sounded for storm; the sword burns in my hand." "not yet!" answered the king, and took his hand from the hilt of his sword. at this moment a trumpet sounded from the outer rampart, and a tall warrior in armour, with closed visor, stepped forth on the battlement. "the castle opens not to any armed man!" he shouted in a rough tone, which however appeared assumed and tremulous; "it will be defended to the last, against every attack; this is our noble junker's strict order and behest." "madman!" exclaimed eric; and count henrik seemed about to give an impetuous reply. "not a word more!" continued the king, with a stern nod.--"we stoop not to further parley with rebels and traitors.--you will beleaguer the castle on all sides, and get all in readiness for a storm; until twenty-four hours are over, no spear must be thrown--if the rebels dare to enact their impudent threats against the town, we shall have to think but of saving it and quenching the flames. if aught chances here, i must know it instantly; you will not fail to find me at the franciscan monastery." so saying, the king turned his horse's head, and rode with a great part of his train into the large monastery, close to the castle. here stood the guardian and all the fraternity with their shaven heads uncovered, in two rows before the stone steps in the yard of the monastery. the aged guardian, in common with the rest of his fraternity, wore an ashen grey cloak with a cowl at the back, and a thick cord round the waist. despite the winter cold, they were all without shoes and stockings, with wooden sandals under their bare feet. they received the king with manifest signs of alarm and uneasiness. "be easy, ye pious men," said the king, in a mild voice, as he sprang from his horse, and acknowledged their greeting and the guardian's pious address in a friendly manner; "i come to you as your friend and protector. if it please god and our lady, no evil shall happen to your monastery or our good and loyal town. it is not your fault that our brother the junker hath appointed a madman to be his commandant; for we trust in the lord and the mighty saint christopher, that our dear brother hath not himself lost his wits. i will await him here, until he can receive the news of my coming, and give explanation in person of this matter. if there is danger astir, i will share it with you; at present i wish but to see whether your guest-house and refectory can stand this unexpected visitation; meanwhile it shall be recompensed beforehand to the monastery." "noble sovereign," answered the guardian, "destroy not by any worldly compensation the pleasure which you now bestow on us, in our fear and trembling: poverty is, as you know, the first rule of our holy order. if you will vouchsafe to share the indigence of the penitent, gracious king, doubt not then our willingness to give, and share without recompence; and tempt us not to accept what the holy franciscus himself hath strictly forbid us to touch." "well, the rule is surely not so strictly kept here," said the king, with a good-natured smile, as he entered into the large guest-house of the monastery, and saw the door standing open to the refectory, where a table, with fasting fare, was spread for the monks, but a larger, with flasks of wine and dishes of substantial meat, was prepared for the entertainment of the distinguished worldly guests. "here, however, we shall not come to suffer want," continued the king; "here we find not frugal fare alone, but god's gifts, almost to superfluity." "what we are able to offer your grace hath been sent hither by the burghers.--where the lord's anointed enters he brings a blessing with him,"--answered the guardian, making a genuflection with his hands crossed over his breast. "blessing?" replied the king, a dark cloud suddenly passing over his brow.--"hum! even though he be given over to the devil and the destruction of the fleshy venerable father?" he asked with bitterness, and in a low voice, as he drew the guardian aside and gazed at him, with a sharp, searching look. the aged monk turned pale at these words of the king, and involuntarily crossed himself, as he heaved a deep sigh. "the holy church proclaims to us absolution even for deadly sins, and justification through grace and conversion," said he, folding his lean hands. "its curse falls only in reality on the head of the profligate and ungodly." "but when the archbishop, the prince of the danish church, out of revenge and hate, hath proclaimed thy sovereign to be such an one?" "were you such _in truth_, my liege and sovereign, alas! i must then echo the dreadful sentence within my heart, though it should break in doing so, and were your wrath even to crush me," answered the old man, with deep solemnity, again pressing his folded hands upon his breast; "but the lord preserve my soul from taking part in the counsels of the revengeful and the judgments of the unrighteous! the church's might and authority are certainly great, noble king," he continued, "but vengeance and judgment are the lord's, even as grace for the penitent belongeth unto him; power is given us to build up, but not to pull down; we can do nothing against the truth, but all for the truth. if even a bishop himself should err in our true believing church, and abuse the church's authority against god's word, no priest or christian hath leave to consent unto him, saith the holy augustine." "right, pious father! that is also my creed and my comfort, and what the learned master peter also hath told me. you have then no fear that i bring with me a curse or evil spirits over this threshold?" "no assuredly!" answered the guardian solemnly, with uplifted hand and look,--"i know my noble liege is not profane and ungodly, a despiser of penitence and pious works, or one whom in the power of the word it is permitted to give over to the destruction of the flesh, for the soul's eternal salvation. i know, therefore, that the prince of darkness can have no power over your dear-bought soul; and that no sinful curse can destroy the peace of god in your heart, or wipe off the holy ointment from your crowned head." a mild emotion was visible in the king's countenance at these words of the guardian. "give me your blessing, pious father!" he said, in a subdued tone; "you have spoken words which penetrate my inmost soul." "the reconciled and all-merciful god preserve your life and crown, and above all the precious peace of your soul!" prayed the guardian, and laid his shrivelled hand on the head of the king, who bent to receive the blessing, "in so far as you are _yourself_ placable and merciful," he added with emphasis, and a piercing gaze. "hum, placable?" repeated the king, hastily, raising his head; "even towards rebels and traitors?" "they assuredly need mercy most," answered the guardian. "be not wroth, my liege," he continued, gently and impressively; "there is a holy word, which at this moment strangely trembles on my lips: 'if thy brother sin against thee,' it is written, 'then chastise him; but if he repents, then forgive him!'" "but when he does _not_ repent?" asked the king, gazing on the guardian with an excited look. "then pray for him till he does, that thy mother's son may not be a castaway; and for the sake of thine own peace!" whispered the ecclesiastic.--"a brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city, and quarrels are as bars before a palace." "but strong cities may fall, and the palaces of rebels may be forced," exclaimed the king, suddenly assuming a stern tone, and the mild emotion expressed in his countenance became clouded. "the wise king solomon hath also taught me to count more on a faithful friend than a false brother. did not a prophet once say to his people, in a traitorous and corrupted time like ours--'put not your trust in any brother, for every brother will certainly deceive?' i could wish that holy man were wrong. but enough of this," said eric, hastily breaking off the solemn converse. "let us now think a little of worldly things, and not despise the care of the body. we have ridden a long way today, to be shut out of our own castle here." so saying, the king went with hasty strides into the refectory; the guardian followed him with a sorrowful aspect, and the rejoicing of the brethren, over the king's piety and mildness, seemed somewhat diminished. kallundborg castle was now regularly beleaguered, and the warlike and experienced count henrik of mecklenborg neglected none of the necessary preparations for a storm, as far as he was able with so small a force, and without engines for storming. meanwhile, ere the sun went down, he saw his force augmented, as drost aagé with his hundred horsemen galloped into the town, and joined him without the castle walls. as soon as the drost had provided for the wants of his troops, and had consulted with count henrik, he repaired to the monastery of grey friars, where he was instantly admitted to the king in the library. here sat eric in a thoughtful mood, in the guardian's great arm-chair, before an oaken table, on which lay a large annotated bible as well as the writings of st. augustine and other fathers of the church, open before him. he held a manuscript of master petrus de dacia's in his hand, in which he was diligently making marks and dashes with his pen, and seemed employed in comparing it with the passages at which the writings of the fathers were opened. by the side of these spiritual writings, however, lay also three worldly books in handsome red velvet binding, which the king had brought with him. it was the famous chivalrous poem ivain and tristan, in hartman von awe's and gottfried von strasborg's version, as well as the adventurous history of florez and blanzeflor, which was the favourite poem of all enamoured knights and ladies. when drost aagé crossed the threshold, the king pushed aside the table and hastily started up. "aagé, my dear aagé! do i see thee again, at last!" he joyfully exclaimed, and went forward to meet him with open arms, but stopped in dismay, as he looked more narrowly at the young drost. "is it thyself?" he continued; "how thou art changed! truly thou hast been in murderous hands. those accursed outlaws!" he said passionately, as he stamped on the floor; "why have i not rooted them out of the earth?" "think no more of that, my noble liege," said aagé. "i am now well again, and at your service." "come, rest thee; thou hast exerted thyself above thy strength. master peter hath then brought thee a letter and a message?" "all is done as you commanded, my liege, though i fear it is a step----" "leave me to care for that, aagé--met ye with opposition?" "holbeck castle is in your possession; it cost not a drop of blood, but caused great joy at the castle." "good; and the junker?" "i saw him not; it is said, though, he was there, but escaped." "a bad sign, aagé! a loyal vassal would have staid, and have called thee strictly to give account of thy authority. he asked then, not even once, the ground of my wrath? he ventured not an indignant remonstrance touching injustice and violent measures?" "he kept quite out of sight; he must have conceived suspicions." "hum! no prince flies thus from his castle, when he knows himself to be innocent. how then can i doubt? the contumacy here, and his shameless expressions to bruncké----" "what hath already chanced may however still be but an unhappy misunderstanding, my liege," observed aagé; "and the traitorous bruncké none can trust." "well, let christopher speak for himself, if he is able. by all the holy men, i would willingly give the half of my life could i say with truth, 'i have a brother.' yet, the lord and our holy lady be thanked, i have still a faithful friend, and my beloved ingeborg, and a loyal and loving people. what have i to complain of?" so saying, the king laid his arm confidingly on aagé's shoulder, and a repressed tear glistened in his ardent blue eye. "since we met last, my dear aagé," he continued in a firm and calm tone, "i have become an excommunicated man like thee; but it no longer terrifies me. i have long thought--now i am convinced--that no one can condemn us save the almighty and righteous god: but _he_ will not condemn us; for, seest thou, he is merciful. he who believes in salvation and mercy, aagé, will be saved, despite all the bishops and prelates in the world." "sin not, my noble liege!" exclaimed aagé, with cautious sadness. "i have also found peace for my soul, and a defence against the evil spirits to whom i was given over; but it was not in defiance, it was in love and hope, my liege." "such a hope i have also, my aagé; and love!--thou knowest but little what that is--thou that hast no ingeborg! _my_ love truly is as great as sir tristran's or the valiant florez's. i shall not fear to break a lance for my ingeborg with the pope himself and the whole priesthood--if it come to the worst." "for heaven's sake, my beloved liege, ponder----" "i _have_ pondered much, aagé; and first on what was most important," exclaimed the king seriously, interrupting his anxious friend. "the matter of our salvation is too important to be decided by an authoritative word from the bishop or pope. shall they presume to say to thee and me, 'thou art accursed!--thou art given over to the evil one?' no, truly! where is it written that any human being hath such power? i always hoped--now i am assured--that the heavenly grace and mercy i believe in, alone can save me and all of us--come, i will prove it to thee; master petrus hath written it out for me; the church's holy fathers witness to it, and what is more, god's own unchangeable word. yet it is too long to enter upon now; but, trust me, aagé, no archbishop, not even the pope in rome, can condemn us--if the church casts out believers, it is our church no longer, not the real and true one. could the devil shut against us every stone-built church in the world, _one_ church would still stand open to us, which no devil can shut; and lo! it is every where; where two believing souls are met together in the lord's name.--see how wise i am grown, aagé: it would be deemed heresy in rome, and they would doom me to the stake did they know it; but i am wise enough also to be silent about it. thou only shalt know it, and my ingeborg, and whoever holds my immortal soul as dear as thou dost." aagé was silent, and looked at him in surprise. "i feel secure also about state and kingdom," continued the king. "with god's help i shall defy both ban and interdict, both rebels and outlaws, without any one injuring a hair of my head, or that of my people's." "but a letter, craving pardon of the holy father, will certainly be necessary, my liege! in the matter of the archbishop, reconciliation and clemency must in a great measure supersede justice." "no, aagé; i ask but justice; i ask no mercy of man, and in this matter none need expect mercy from me--let the pope judge between me and grand! the mystery of unrighteousness shall be brought to light as surely as there is justice under the sun. if i am myself wrong in any thing, which well may chance, it is time enough to think of penitence and penance when doom is pronounced." "but the dispensation?" said aagé. "that _i_ will _dispense_ with in case of need; what hath been granted to a hundred others cannot be denied the king of denmark.--should it be denied, it is unjust; but an injustice to which _i will not_ submit. yet, seat thyself, aagé; not a word more of these vexatious affairs,--my soul is weary of them. come," he continued, gaily; "now thou shalt hear a love poem: my dear ingeborg hath herself written it out for me. duchess euphemia hath sent it to her from norway; it will soon be read, both in norwegian and swedish. here thou shalt see what a chivalrous lover can go through, and how fortune and our lord are ever with all true and constant lovers." the king now sat down before the table, and read, in an animated tone, out of the adventures of florez and blanzeflor, which, however, were already known to aagé. "tristan i prefer, it is true," said the king; "and our own old love-songs seem far more beautiful to me; but this book i especially like to have in my hand. think! she has copied every word with her own lovely fingers." meanwhile evening drew on. the vesper bell rang, and the king went with aagé to the church of the monastery, where he joined in the devotions of the franciscans and the people, which however were not as calm and undisturbed as usual. as the night drew on the anxiety increased in the town with every hour. a general stillness prevailed; lights glimmered in all the houses; no one seemed any where to slumber. around the beleaguered castle no sound was heard save the steps and clashing arms of the sentinels. here and there a watch-fire gleamed in the cold winter's night, around which silent warriors, wrapped in ample mantles, were standing in groups; without the monastery drost aagé's horsemen were on guard. the drost and count henrik rode up and down around the castle walls, where the faint clashing of weapons and the moving of heavy machines of defence were heard. by aagé's counsel sentinels were also posted on the public quay south-east of the castle, and on the ancient sea-tower at the north-western extremity of the town, where there was also a landing-place, together with a now deserted and decayed fortification: this spot he deemed especially important whenever it might be desirable to cut off all possible communication with the castle. at midnight aagé himself stood in the clear still starlight beside the solitary tower, at count henrik's side, and looked out on the bay, while they considered from what quarter the castle wall might best be mounted. while thus employed, aagé observed a little fishing-boat, which lay half hidden under the mouldering rampart of the sea-tower; and just as he was going to draw count henrik's attention to it he saw a head, with a shaggy cap and a large scar resembling a hare-lip between the nose and mouth, peer forth from behind a half-fallen pillar close beside him. the prying head, however, instantly withdrew behind the pillar, and aagé thought he recognised the notorious robber and incendiary, the lolland deserter, olé ark, who had often been pursued, and who it was believed had been concerned in the archbishop's flight. without any long deliberation he nodded to count henrik, and drew his sword; but at the same instant the fellow sprang out of his hiding-place, and fled down towards the rampart to the boat. "stop him!" shouted aagé to the farthest sentinel, who stood with his lance in his hand, and his back leaning against the rampart, gazing out on a distant vessel, without observing the fugitive. just as the drost's voice reached the ear of the sentinel, and he was about to turn round, he felt the stab of a dagger in his back, and fell to the earth with a groan of anguish, while the deserter rushed past him with the weapon glittering in his hand, and sprang into the boat. the fugitive had already placed his oars, and was preparing to push off from shore, but then first perceived that in his haste he had forgot to loosen the rope which moored the boat to the rampart. while he now, with desperate exertion, struck once or twice in vain with his dagger on the rope, aagé and count henrik stood directly opposite him with their drawn swords. count henrik hastily grasped the half-severed rope, and drew the boat towards him. the dagger of the despairing fugitive was raised gleaming in the air, but fell with the hand of the robber into the sea before a stroke of the drost's sword, and, with a fearful howl, the wounded deserter fell back in the boat. at count henrik's call several men-at-arms hastened to the spot from the guard at the sea-tower, and presently bore the captive thither, after having, by the drost's order, wrapped a cloth round his mutilated arm, to prevent his bleeding to death. the wounded sentinel was also carried to the tower; and while a message was sent to fetch a surgeon, the captured robber's garments, and all that he had about him, were narrowly searched. besides a letter of absolution, a rosary, and a number of costly church ornaments, which appeared to be stolen property, a quantity of pitch and sulphur and other combustible matter was found on his person; and a key and a private letter were discovered carefully secreted in the lining of his cap. for the present no confession could be expected from the criminal, who had fallen into a swoon. the drost took possession of the key and the letter, and repaired, with count henrik, to the nearest watch-fire. here he opened the letter, and read it in a low tone. "to no one!"--thus ran the letter.--"obey and be silent, or thou diest! dare the utmost! spare not the town! hide or burn the papers, if needful! keep the trapdoor in readiness! let his victory prove his downfall! i answer for the consequences. the bearer may be employed for the whole.... burn this private letter instantly. from no one." drost aagé had jointly with the king and prince christopher learnt what was then the still rare art of writing, from a canon, under the superintendence of drost hessel, and to his dismay he thought he recognised the stiff hand of the prince through the disguised character of the writing. he hastily folded up the letter, and turned deadly pale. "now what runes[ ] read ye there, sir drost?" asked count henrik.--"you do not feel well, i think." "this private letter was surely to have been brought the commandant," exclaimed aagé, eagerly, and the blood again rushed into his cheek. "it is from no one, and to no one; yet i think i understand it." "let us see, sir drost--it is not surely any private love letter?--the fellow was a spy and traitor." "if my noble liege's peace of mind be dear to you." answered aagé anxiously, and seized his hand, "let this unhallowed secret be mine alone! yet this much will i confide to you: it seems to concern the king's unhappy domestic relations; but i entreat you to be silent, even about this conjecture of mine. there is no proof against any one, only a suspicion--an unhappy one--but the aim of the writer shall be defeated: the letter must be destroyed."--so saying, he thrust his hand into his bosom, and threw the letter into the fire. "you are cautious, drost," said count henrick, knitting his brow. "i ask not to be initiated into your dark state secrets--as drost you must know best what should here be concealed or made public. i ask only, as a man-at-arms and beleaguer, if the letter, which you have here somewhat hastily destroyed, was to have been brought into the castle, must there not be a private entrance hereabouts? could it be found, it were of moment to us: without storming engines, it will be a hard spring enough for us to get over the circular wall." "you are right; there _must_ be a secret entrance here," exclaimed aagé suddenly, with sparkling eyes. "i have a conjecture,--a thought strikes me, there is a tradition of a secret entrance from the sea-tower. the captive must show it me. i will be myself the bearer of the letter,--not such as when it caught the flames, and as it is now before the eye of the omniscient, but rewritten, as a reconciling spirit dictates to my soul." "good! i follow you with a troop." "no, count! that is impossible. the king's pride is aroused; he despises stratagem; he will and must through the gate, or over the stormed walls, and both of us cannot here be spared. if the secret passage is found, it will assuredly be difficult enough for one, alone and unarmed, to pass through it." "then let the adventure alone, drost; for one it is too daring." "i will dare it nevertheless," said aagé determinedly, after a moment's deliberation; "but no one shall follow me, and no one must know it--not even the king. if i am not here again to-morrow at noon, then let the king know that i am probably a prisoner at the castle, or am about something by which i may serve him, and all of you, better even than were i at the head of the stormers--i count on your leading the attack, as agreed on. if it succeeds, then promise me but one thing, brave count! let not the king set his foot but where the ground hath been tried and found safe; and should you see my shoulder scarf wave on any spot, then conclude all is not right, and let not the king approach such a place." "ha! ha!" said count henrik, in a loud voice, and clapping aagé on the shoulder, "that was the secret, then, you would keep to yourself? you might just as well have let me read the letter, my mysterious sir drost! we may expect pitfalls then, and such sort of foxes' tricks? well, when one has a hint of such things they are of no importance. ha! the high-born junker! he is a base traitor truly, to seek after the life of his king and brother, and _such_ a king and brother!" "in the name of the lord above, who says so. sir count?" exclaimed aagé, in consternation and in a low tone: "you shout as loud as though you meant to awake heaven and earth with what none may hear. let not those unhappy words ever pass your lips again. i tell you once more, it is but a conjecture, a fearful suspicion: it would rend the king's heart if it came to his ears--the mere report might call forth bloody scenes, and bring down the greatest misery on the country and the royal house." "i approve your caution in this matter, noble drost," said count henrik gravely, and in a subdued tone, as he looked around, with a sharp glance; "be easy, no one can here have heard us. there you have my hand: where one word may cause such great misfortune, it shall assuredly never pass my lips. but drive that rash adventure out of thy head; it may cost you your life,--and to what end?" "the saving of a more precious life," said aagé. "i must have certainty in this matter: if i am to guard the king's feet from secret snares, i must discover them first myself. god be with you! farewell! he who hath been for two years excommunicated," he continued in a voice of emotion, "hath learnt to defy robbers and devils." the watch-fire lit up his pale enthusiastic countenance, and a mild light seemed to beam from his dark blue eyes, as he raised them towards the starry heaven. "follow me not!" he added. "i trust in the protection of heaven, and the power of good spirits--then must earthly curses be dumb, and evil spirits fall into the bottomless pit."--so saying, he earnestly pressed count henrik's hand, and returned with hasty steps to the tower. count henrik shook his head, and gazed after him with a look of sympathy, but followed him not. chap. ii. the ancient sea-tower was situated at some distance from the castle, in the most deserted quarter of the town, next the sea shore. it was a round watch-tower, built of freestone, with loopholes in the wall, and a sentry-walk above, between the rampart-like battlements. below were two vaulted stone chambers, of which one was used as a guard-room in war time, and the other as a depository for the bodies of the drowned, until their burial. the tower was now chiefly used for hanging out lights at night, in stormy and bad weather, to guide sailors into the entrance of the bay. in the guard-room drost aagé found the wounded sentinel at the point of death. a monk, who had been sent for from the monastery, was engaged in administering to him the last sacrament. on a table lay a paper, on which the pious franciscan had just written the last testament of the dying man. an oil lamp hung upon the dirty wall, and lit up the stone vault and the solemn scene of death. with a sympathizing look at the dying man-at-arms aagé quitted the guard-room, almost unnoticed, and opened the door to what was called "the corpse chamber," from which, according to tradition, there had been, in esbern snare's time, a descent to a subterranean passage, and where aagé conjectured he should discover the supposed secret entrance to the castle. into this murky chamber, which had the reputation of being haunted, the captive murderer had been brought. through the aid of the surgeon he had been restored to consciousness, and had his wound dressed; but he talked and raved wildly. he had been bound to the bench appropriated to the bodies of the drowned, which served him as a couch, and all had deserted him with horror and aversion. when drost aagé entered this chamber, the light of a yellow horn lantern, which hung from the roof, fell on the murderer's swollen blue visage with the hare-lip scar and ugly projecting teeth: he laughed horribly, and ground his teeth like a chained wild beast. "comest thou hither, thou excommunicated hound!" he muttered, thrusting forth his tongue from his foaming jaws; "then thou art also dead and damned--that's some small comfort, though among devils--now are the fishes gnawing at my fist, at the bottom of the sea, while i lie a corpse here in hell's antechamber--that was thy doing, thou pale ghost, with st. george's sword! i feared thou hadst come off free, for thy stupid piety's sake, and thy hound-like faithfulness." "why so?" asked aagé, strangely affected by having half entered into the dark imaginings of the madman--"how couldst thou think an excommunicated man could 'scape damnation?" "seest thou, comrade?" whispered the bound robber, gazing wildly around him, "the same holy man who gave thee over to the evil one, gave me a passport to heaven's kingdom. it lies there in my jerkin; satan's barber cut it off from me just now; and the letter was a lie,--like all virtue and piety in the world. if that holy man could give me a false warrant for salvation, he might also have made a false reckoning with thy soul. it pleaseth me, however, to see he is apt in some things," he continued, with a horrible laugh. "i ever thought so: those black fellows can curse far better than they can bless. but who did thy business for thee? the hand that should have done it is gone to the devil--ha! there bites a hungry fish at my fingers' ends." "from whom was the private letter? and to whom shouldst thou have brought it?" asked aagé, suddenly in a stern voice, and in a tone of overawing authority: "confess the truth, and it shall fare better with thee, wretch, than thou hast deserved!" "what! though i should break the most solemn oath i ever swore?" muttered the robber. "no, stern sir! let the devil take his own, and olé ark's sinful soul too, if the worst come to the worst! i have sent many an accursed heretic and excommunicated man to hell, and truly also many an honest fellow to heaven; but if i am now myself about to go to the devil, it shall be as a right-believing christian; and none shall say of me i broke my sworn oath, even to the living satan." "tell me the way thou shouldst have gone, is it here?" continued aagé, looking around the large murky stone chamber. "the way to my master's den?" muttered the robber with a grin--"wouldst ferret _that_ out, comrade? take care thou dost not burn thyself in it!" "it is here, then," said aagé to himself, looking around him, with still greater attention--"and here is the key; is it not so?" so saying, he produced the old rusty key which had been found on the robber's person together with the private letter. "right, comrade, the key to hell!" returned the raving murderer, with a horrid laugh. aagé now examined the whole vault, but discovered no trace of any cellar or descent. the floor was paved with large flags. he stamped on several places, and at last perceived a hollow sound, and the clang of metal under the stone floor. he took the lantern from the iron hook in the arch of the roof, and placed it on the floor. on doing so he discovered a large loose stone, which might be raised, and his conjecture was confirmed. the loose stone concealed a fast-locked iron trap-door, which, however, seemed too small to admit of the descent of any person. he tried the key, and it fitted. he opened the trap-door; the raw damp air of the vault rose up to him from a pitch-dark abyss, into which a ladder led down to an uncertain depth. while this examination was carrying on the insane murderer lay on the corpse bench, and grinned with horrible contortions. aagé stood thoughtfully by the opening, pondering over his daring enterprise. it now struck him, for the first time, that, if undisguised, he must undoubtedly be recognised and his plan frustrated. his eye fell on the blood-stained jerkin, which had been stript from off the robber's person, in order to bind him, "well," he said, "we exchange garments; there, thou hast my mantle and hat; i take thy jerkin and cap." "good exchange enough," muttered olé ark; "if my luck goes with my jerkin, he goeth down to fame and honour. ha! loose my body, satan, and let me follow him into the pit." it was not without repugnance that aagé clad himself in the soiled, stained dress of the vagabond, which, however, answered his purpose, and rendered him almost incognisable. he then took the lamp in his hand, and prepared to descend through the narrow aperture in the floor; but the scorn and defiance of the bound robber now changed into a piteous lament. "mercy! mercy!" he cried, "take not the last glimpse of light from me! now comes the devil himself to rend me to pieces--ha! let me not lie a corpse here in the dark--mercy! mercy!" he howled, and pulled and tore at the cords which bound him. "pray to thy god and judge for mercy," said aagé; "i cannot help thee." he then squeezed himself through the narrow opening, with the lantern in his hand, and pulled the trap-door after him, that he might not hear the howls of the madman; but was nearly falling down head foremost from the ladder, on hearing, to his dismay, that the trap-door, which had a spring-lock, fell and closed over his head. he felt now as though he were entombed alive. he had forgotten to take the key with him; and the faint howling of the robber soon seemed lost in triumphant laughter above the grave which had closed over him. aagé grew dizzy, but recovered himself, and clung fast to the slippery steps of the ladder, while he continued to descend. at last he stood at the bottom: the descent was steep and deep, but it led to a narrow vaulted passage, which was so low as hardly to admit of his walking upright. the air was foul and suffocating, and he often trod on sprawling toads and other reptiles. he held up the lantern before him, but beheld nothing save the long narrow passage, to which he could discern no end; its direction, however, convinced him that it must undoubtedly lead to the castle. he went forward with hasty steps, and looked anxiously at the light in the lamp, which gleamed fainter and fainter. the air seemed not to contain sufficient nourishment for life and flame. he had hardly proceeded more than a hundred paces ere what he feared took place--the light went out in the lantern, and he stood in the dark. he felt a degree of alarm and a want of power and courage, which was quite foreign to his nature; at the same time he heard a hollow clang far behind, as if the iron trap-door had been again opened and clapped to. he involuntarily quickened his steps, but slipped every moment on slimy reptiles, and was often forced to pause in order to take breath, while the air he inhaled seemed to lame every limb and to contract his lungs. he was nearly sinking down in a state of insensibility; but he now thought he heard a sound as of stealthy steps behind him, and his increased apprehension inspired him with renewed strength. "is any one there?" he shouted, and turned round; but no one answered, and there was suddenly a deathlike stillness again. it was so dark that he could not see his own hand before his eyes. in order not to awaken suspicion by his bold enterprise he had taken off his sword in the corpse-chamber, and was entirely defenceless. in his childhood, aagé had not been wholly free from the dread of supernatural beings; and, according to the creed of the age, the idea of the influence of a mighty world of spirits on human life was closely connected with religious belief. aagé nowise doubted the possibility of the appearance of evil as well as of good spirits; but this idea never disquieted him in open day, when he knew he was on a lawful errand, and had his sword with its cross-hilt at his side. "is it honourable and chivalrous to steal along thus?" he said to himself. "why took i not my good sword with me? it was hard, though, to take the light from him above there--he lies now in the pains of hell on yonder bench, and curses me;--or hath he got loose, and is he lurking after me in the dark?" he now thought he heard again distinctly, at every stride he took, the same sound, as of stealthy footsteps behind him; but each time he turned round all was still as before. this consciousness of the presence of an unknown being in the dark passage put him into a state of fearful apprehension, and recalled those images of horror to his imagination, which he felt himself least able to combat. "is he now dead above there?--is it his maniac spirit which persecutes thee?" he whispered to himself; and the form of the frantic murderer appeared to his imagination far more terrific than when he beheld it actually stretched on the corpse-bench; "or is it thou, old pallé!" he exclaimed, almost with an outcry of terror. the scene of the murder in finnerup barn, which had haunted him in his childhood, and the image of the aged and insane regicide he had himself slain on the body of the murdered king, were again vividly present to his imagination. his hair stood on end; it seemed to him as if he was now actually about to fight with demons and evil spirits in the dark pit of the grave,--a fancy which had often disquieted him in dreams, and which lately had been the dominant plague of his fevered imagination. at last his terror increased to such a degree that he could no longer control it; he turned suddenly round, and rushed with all his might with clenched hands towards the place where he again thought he distinguished the stealthy footsteps. he then distinctly heard a clanking sword strike against the wall close beside his ear. "ha! a human being after all! wretched murderer! is it thou?" he shouted, quite recovering his courage at the discovery of a real and bodily pursuer, and sprang forward towards the unseen deadly foe, while he struck aside the sword, which seemed to be wielded by a left and powerless arm. the sword flew clanging forward in the dark passage; but at the same moment aagé felt his neck clutched almost to suffocation by a pair of convulsively strained arms, dripping wet. "ha! ha! have i pounced on thee at last, hell-hound?" suddenly roared a wild rough voice in his ear, and aagé recognised the tones of the wounded robber. "i have long enough lain a corpse--now thou mayst take my place, comrade!" this terrific voice presently rose into the howl of a wild beast, and aagé felt the madman's tusks in his forehead; he struck desperately around him, and strove with all his might to free himself from the suffocating grasp of the monster, but in vain; and he was long compelled to combat and wrestle with him ere he succeeded in throwing him to the ground, and was even then still forced to struggle with the robber, whose howls were growing weaker and weaker, without, however, being able to free his neck from his convulsive grasp. at last the clutching arms loosened from round his neck, and his frantic adversary lay silent and apparently dead, or in a swoon, under his knee. "the lord have mercy on his sinful soul," sighed aagé, rising half breathless. his opponent now made a sudden movement as if to rise, but fell back, with a rattling in his throat; and aagé perceived, for the first time, that he was in all probability wading in the blood of the wounded murderer. he hastened on with rapid strides. once or twice he stopped out of breath, and fancied he again heard the murderer stealing after him. at last he hit against something hard, and discovered by feeling that it was a large door of metal. he shook it with all his might, but it appeared to be locked on the other side, and immoveable. he thundered at it with his iron-shod heels, and each stroke rung hollow through the vault. after the lapse of some time a little shutter opened in the door, and the light of a dark lantern, and a swarthy warrior-like visage, appeared. "who is there? and from whom?" asked the man-at-arms. "no one, from no one," answered aagé, suddenly calling to mind the mysterious expression in the private letter. "right! thou knowest the watchword," was the answer; "and one only?--without arms?" "as thou seest--but open quick!--there is no time to lose." "come, give time! the guard must first know of it." the shutter closed again, and aagé heard the sound of a horn, which was answered at some distance: soon after the iron door opened, and a strong-built steel-clad warrior stepped out and advanced towards him into the passage, with a light in the one hand and a drawn sword in the other. he eyed the disguised drost from head to foot, by the light of the lantern, and started back a couple of paces. "faugh! how thou look'st, thou bloodhound!" he said, with disgust. "'tis hard for an honest fellow to let such guests in, when the king himself must stand without." "i have had a hard joust on the road, brave countryman." said aagé; "but haste thee!" "come, come; give time, thou scoundrel! the bandage over thy eyes first." "what! bandage! and foul words to me!" "of course, loggerhead! thou mightest be a spy and traitor, as thou art a bloodhound and accursed robber; thou lookest fit for all such trades. the bandage over the eyes instantly, thou hound! or i kick thee back into thy fox-hole." it was with difficulty that aagé subdued his ire, and recollected that he was not drost here, nor able to justify himself; he bore this rough usage in silence, allowed his eyes to be bandaged, and was thus led through the iron gate. he heard it bolted and barred after him. soon afterwards he heard the sound of chains and pullies, as if a drawbridge was being lowered, and he perceived he was led upon a swinging bridge. "go straight forward, scoundrel! or thou fallest into the moat," muttered his companion close behind him. a cold shudder came over him; but he was silent, and went straight onward. "ay, truly thou hast had better luck than i wished thee," it was muttered behind him; "but thou hast another bridge to cross; that is ten times worse; here thou art quit of _me_." aagé heard his warlike companion re-cross the bridge, which was immediately afterwards raised. he conjectured that he was within the outermost rampart of the castle, towards the north-west, which lay between the sea-tower and the circular wall, for he had paid close attention to the direction in which he had proceeded. he had now two new companions, who were as little sparing as the former in contemptuous expressions respecting his cut-throat appearance and supposed marauding trade. aagé suffered himself to be led onward by them without answering a word to their threats and scoffs, which secretly rejoiced him, as a token of their dispositions and honourable feelings. at last a horn was again sounded; it was answered as before at some distance. a drawbridge was again lowered, and aagé perceived he was directly under the castle wall; for he heard a noise above his head like the moving of balista and other warlike machines. he felt an unfriendly poke in the back, and stood as before on a rocking-bridge. "straight on, fellow, or thou fallest into the moat!" said a warning voice behind him. "goest thou a hair's breadth aside thou art a dead man!" he commended his soul to god, and went on. his guides allowed him to proceed alone for some time, and appeared to rejoice over his deadly peril. meanwhile, as he perceived the rocking under his feet had ceased, he knew they had passed over the inner castle moat, and were within the circular wall. at last he was led up a staircase; but the bandage was not yet removed from his eyes. it was not till he had been led in many circuitous directions, as if through a labyrinth of passages and stairs, that he was freed from the bandage over his eyes, and found himself in an apartment of the castle which was not unknown to him, and where he was ordered to await the commandant. it was still night. one of the men-at-arms who had last followed him remained standing at the door with a lantern and a drawn sword, and apparently watching him with fear and abhorrence. "who dost thou take me for?" asked aagé. "for one of the junker's secret emissaries," was the answer. "surely, good tidings thou bringest not, since thou comest pale and bloody from the secret passage. hark! now they are taking the burning stones from the furnace. kallundborg town will presently be in flames." "the lord forbid!" cried aagé: "call the commandant instantly! i have strict prohibition from the junker." "thou lookest not as if thou hadst," said the man, starting.--"i will run then. thou wilt do no mischief meanwhile?" the man hastily departed, and took the lantern with him. aagé looked out at the window, and saw with alarm that burning stones were carried on gridirons across the yard to the balista on the walls. "stop, fellows!" said a rough voice in the castle yard. "there is a protest from the junker: not a shot must be fired as yet." "a noble fellow at heart, after all!" said aagé to himself, believing he had heard the commandant's voice. the door opened soon afterwards; a tall warrior, with a stern grave countenance, and armed from head to foot, entered the apartment with a light in his hand. when he beheld aagé's blood-stained face and figure he retreated a step, and placed the light on the table, while he hastily laid his hand on his large battle sword. "what fellow art thou?" he asked, in a stern and rough voice. "doth the junker send pale corpses to plague me? answer, fellow? who art thou? tell me thy watchwords, or i cut thee down on the spot!" "no one, from no one," answered aagé; and the commandant took his hand from the hilt of his sword. "speak, thou messenger of ill! if thou bringest me a prohibition from the junker, it is, of course, against mercy and delay? is the town to burn? is the franciscan monastery first to be fired? there sleeps the king to-night." "the town is to be spared," answered aagé. "the castle is to be opened to the king at sunrise--the papers are to be given up, and the door of the pit nailed fast." "dost thou rave, fellow?" cried the commandant, in amazement. "darest _thou_ speak what _i_ hardly dare think? would the junker recall by thy mouth that which he commanded me with his own, on pain of death? who then is to be punished for all that hath here been done, and stand in the gap between us and the king's anger?" "you should fly the king's as well as the junker's wrath, and carry your secret and your knowledge of a weighty transaction with you into exile." "and stand branded a perjurer and traitor before all the world? no, fellow! were that even the junker's command, i obey it not. what i have sworn i must keep; but the responsibility is the junker's. i have sold him my life--but my honour, as a warrior, is my own. show me black and white for what thou sayest, or i will cause thee to be hanged as a spy and traitor!" "now, in the lord's name!" said aagé, as he suddenly threw off the robber's cap and dress, and stood in his well-known knightly attire before the commandant, "i cannot, i will not deceive a man of honour like you. i am drost aagé; i announce to you the will of my liege and sovereign, not that of the junker; you may now deal with me as you can answer to god and your own conscience: but if the royal house and your fatherland be dearer to you than your own pride and an imaginary fealty, you will follow my counsel, and make the great sacrifice i ask of you." "sir drost!" answered the commandant, bowing with haughty coldness; "you have ventured on a daring game. you are now my prisoner; how i shall act depends not on me. oaths and vows are more binding than man's pleasure and man's will. i am an old-fashioned warrior, do you see--your subtle state policy and artificial virtues i understand not--the law i acknowledge says, obey that which is commanded thee by thy lawful superior, and let him who commanded it answer for the consequences." "but when you see the most destructive, the most fearful consequences before your eyes; when your superior hath broken his oath of fealty, and abused his rights----" "that concerns not me. i keep steady to him to whom i swore allegiance; but _he_ must answer for what is done here, be it good or evil." "but when you swore an ungodly oath, and fealty to a rebel?" "then must i keep the oath i swore to him, though, by way of thanks, he should cause me to be hung for it, or go to hell. there is no choice here: had i even entered the devil's service, sir drost, i must endure to the end, however fearful that end may be!" "your pride blinds your eyes to truth and justice, noble sir!" exclaimed aagé gazing on the tall steel-clad chieftain with a species of admiration; "but hear me, i conjure you by the living lord!" "you must excuse me. sir drost!" interrupted the chief, with cold calmness. "my time is short, i have perhaps not many hours to live; i expect thanks neither from the king nor the junker, and perhaps but little honour on this side the prison and the grave; but all things according to order. you are now going to the tower, and i to the battlement--to-morrow you perhaps will sit at the king's right hand, while i lie on the wheel: but so long as we are at our posts, each must do his duty, and, as i said, all things according to order." so saying, he stamped on the floor, and three men-at-arms entered. "take this knight instantly to the prison tower"--ordered the commandant, nodding to the two nearest him. "and thou, bent!" he said, addressing himself to the third, "let the stones be heated again: it was a false protest--off with thee!" the two men instantly seized aagé, and led him towards a secret door, which they opened in the wall. aagé turned round once more, and called to the chief, in the highest state of anxiety and alarm. "think upon your immortal soul, in what you do! remember, you should obey god rather than sinful men." more he could not say, for the private door was closed behind him. the third man-at-arms still lingered, as if he expected the stern command he had received would be recalled; but the imperturbable chief glanced menacingly at him. "the stones are to be heated, i tell thee. art thou deaf, fellow? off with thee! obedience or death, while i command here!" the man-at-arms turned quickly round, and departed gloomy and silent through the door, beside which he stood. the commandant strode hastily once or twice up and down the floor, with his hand upon his broad forehead. at last he stopped at a prie-dieu, and bent his knee, while his eye rested on the open prayer book. "ye servants," he muttered, and folded his hands, "obey your masters according to the flesh, in _all_ things;" he then rose, signed a cross over his broad steel-clad breast, and went in silence and with hasty steps out of the door. chap. iii. it was near daybreak. the alarm and anxiety had ceased, with which the inhabitants of kallundborg had seen the night draw on. the peace and stillness which had prevailed the whole night seemed to have lulled the burghers, as well as the men-at-arms, into security. the lights were extinguished in most of the houses. the men-at-arms nodded over the expiring watch fires, and reposed on their mantles, in quiet groups, while some paced up and down on guard, beside the piled-up lances. even the gay and vigilant count henrik was weary of the strained attention which he now deemed unnecessary: he had sat down to rest, under an image of the madonna, without the franciscan monastery, where a light was always burning. he had lately inspected the sentries, and found every thing in good order. he felt wearied, but kept off sleep, and his eyes open, while his gaze dwelt on the waning and half-hidden stars. his soul dreamed of warlike honours and proud victories, by the side of the danish monarch, and of the admiration of the ladies of mecklenborg when he should return with merited laurels and tokens of royal favour to his fatherland. while engaged in these reveries, which led him through half a life in a few minutes, he was suddenly disturbed by the working of the balista, and a fearful alarm of fire from the monastery. he started up, and beheld, with dismay, that burning stones were flying from the loopholes and walls of the castle, in different directions, and a high flame shot up from the storehouse of the monastery. in an instant he was actively exerting himself in the rescue of the town and monastery. engines for extinguishing the flames were every where at hand. there was a fearful tumult in the town; but the alarm was however greater than the misfortune seemed likely to prove. some single houses, it is true, were fired; but the greater part were protected by the snow, although the roofs were of straw. many glowing stones from the balista missed their mark, many cooled ere they fell. the storehouse of the monastery instantly caught fire: it was necessary to sacrifice it, and partly to pull it down; but not a single stone fell on the principal building, nor on the guest-house, where the king had established himself. meanwhile the king was instantly astir; none were more zealous and active than he and count henrik; they rode constantly through the streets, and were always first on the spot where any house was fired. the king was highly exasperated--he often cast a glance of menace at the castle. he halted without the burning monastery, by the count's side, just as another discharge from the balista took place, and a large burning stone fell down between their horses, and rolled hissing into the snow. "my liege!" exclaimed count henrik, "the burghers may put out the flames, but we can do more; let us sally forth and storm instantly." "not yet," answered the king, shaking his head. "look," he continued, pointing to the flame-lit copper roof of the principal building of the monastery; "when the sun stands highest, and the tower shadow falls yonder, then will it be time; then will my patience have reached its limits--its uttermost bounds." as soon as it was daylight the firing from the balista through the loopholes, ceased; but the parapets upon the outer wall were observed to be filled with men-at-arms. the towers of the wall were also perceived to be strongly garrisoned, and a numerous array of lances and battle-axes glittered over the battlements in the grey dawn of morning. the wall before the gate in particular was strongly manned, as well as the tower above the gate, where they seemed most to apprehend an attack. the great iron portcullis between the gate and the outward wall was drawn up by strong iron rings. there was great alarm and tumult at the castle and its garrison: a desperate storm and revenge for the night's disturbance was apparently apprehended. the fire meanwhile had been put out, as well in the monastery as in the town. the pious franciscans rang to mattins, as usual, and the king did not neglect to share in their devotion. "but--what is become of aagé?--where is the drost?" he asked count henrik, as he again vaulted on his horse, without the church of the monastery, in order to inspect the hastily prepared storming machines with his general. "i saw him not the whole night, nor even just now at mattins; it is not his wont, however, to sleep when i watch or pray--least of all when danger is impending." "i have not seen him since midnight," answered count henrik, endeavouring to hide his embarrassment and uneasiness; "after our adventure beside the sea-tower, i saw him last by yonder watch-fire," added the count, assuming a gay air. "it was a fine night; all around was so still and peaceful. he must have got love fancies or some kind of visionary notions into his head. he went towards the tower, without desiring my company, and bade me not expect him before noon." "strange!" said the king, "aagé upon a light love adventure, and at this time! it cannot be. humph! what became of the spy you captured? hath he been examined? hath he confessed?" "he hath disappeared, my liege! 'tis a strange and almost incomprehensible tale. i was myself at the sea-tower, two hours after midnight, the man-at-arms was dead, but the devil had carried off his murderer: that, they swore roundly, was the fact. he had lain bound in the corpse-chamber of the drowned; no egress was possible; at midnight he was heard to cry and howl, that the devil was carrying him off. no one dared to enter the chamber, and when i came neither robber or drost was to be seen." "how! the drost!" interrupted the king; "what hath all this to do with aagé? he lay not in the chamber with the murderer." "true--excuse me, your grace," answered count henrik, clearing his throat. "i speak at random, i perceive: that comes from the night-watch." "truly, count! we must be broad awake to-day, especially since aagé is not here," answered the king hastily, and rode down towards the tower. "i will find out what is meant by that devil's story." count henrik followed the king. the report of the disappearance of the bound murderer, had already collected a crowd of curious persons, who crossed themselves on hearing the terrific tale, which they repeated one to another, with still more marvellous and more terrible circumstances. place was respectfully made for the king, who heard with wonder from the guard the same tale as that current in the crowd, with the alarming addition, that the drost had entered at midnight into the chamber of the raving murderer, and that all traces of him had likewise disappeared. various opinions were however entertained of the affair, and some thought it was not the drost, but the devil, who, in the drost's form, had entered the chamber of the dying murderer, to carry him off in person. "tush!" said the king, "lead me to that accursed corpse-chamber! there must be some trick in this." he hastily entered the murky stone chamber, and looked around it on all sides with anxious attention. there was no furniture except the bench appropriated to the bodies of the drowned, which was streaked with blood, and on which hung some rent and half-decayed rope. from the high iron grating in the wall, which was hardly large enough to admit a sparrow, fell a faint light, which glimmered on a plumed hat lying in a corner. "what see i here?" exclaimed the king in astonishment. "the drost's hat and plume; and there is his green mantle also. plundered, murdered, great god!--yet no! a robber would surely have made off with the booty. the captured murderer was certainly sorely wounded?" "to the death of the body, most gracious liege, according to the surgeon's opinion," answered an aged monk, who, with a curious crowd of the lower class, had thronged together with the men-at-arms, into the tower after the king. "ah, yes," continued the solemn franciscan, in a tone of devout exhortation, "it was a fearful end. here we see manifestly how the ungodly are punished. this blood crieth not unto heaven, like the innocent abel's, but it crieth unto hardened sinners upon earth, from the road to the bottomless pit, that they may behold the traces of the damned with fear and trembling. my pious hearers, men may now-a-days delay _temporal_ death, by means of surgeons and apothecaries, with st. cosmo's and st. damian's help; but _eternal_ death they never can: when the term is out, lo! then cometh he who hath the bond, and fetches that which is his own, without respect of persons. here hath been given a sign, to the terror and warning of many in our ungodly time: sancta maria! ora pronobis!" "it is thou then, monk, who puttest those vagaries into the people's head?" interrupted the king at last, with impetuous impatience. "believest thou, in truth, that the evil one hath carried off yon murderer, both body and soul?" "st. franciscus preserve me from doubting it!" answered the monk, crossing himself. "he who can carry off the souls of the ungodly can doubtless annihilate their sinful bodies. lo! he hath but left these blood-drops behind, as a witness of the power which is given him, and also, though _he_ willed it not, to the honour of the all-righteous judge. the truth is so manifest in our sight, it were blindness and heretical presumption to doubt." "and, my drost, my faithful aagé, believest thou the same of him?" "be not wroth, my liege?" answered the franciscan with frankness, and laying his meagre hand on his breast, "my conscience forbids me to witness falsely on the brink of the grave, to please or flatter the great and mighty, or to conceal the wondrous things which have taken place in our sight, for the conversion of hardened sinners, with fear and trembling. the noble drost hath also disappeared in an incomprehensible manner, and seeing that we know he had fallen under the awful ban of the church, and was given over by our most venerable archbishop to the destruction of the flesh, and the power of the great enemy of souls!" "silence, presumptuous monk! thou knowest not what thou sayest!" exclaimed the king, in the greatest wrath, darting a lightning glance at the pale trembling monk; "let the prince of darkness take that which is his! i will not quarrel either with him or thee for that; but this i know, no devil shall injure a hair of my faithful drost aagé's head, whether he be dead or alive. there must have been a murder here, a foul misdeed," he continued, "a shameless treachery. so help me god, and all the holy men, it shall be discovered, and sternly avenged! hence, monk! hie thee to thy cell, and pray the lord to enlighten thy understanding. thy intentions are good--it were sin to be wroth with thee. go hence, good people; ye stand in our way. hither, my true men; the floor must be broken up; the tower must be pulled down. if the drost be not found, one stone shall not remain upon another." at the king's stern command the monk and all the idle spectators departed. the spearmen came with spears and boat-hooks, and whatever was at hand, and began to break up the stone floor. it was not long ere they discovered the loose stone in the corner by the little iron trap-door, which was hardly discernible in the faint glimmer of daylight from the grating. "look, look!" was the cry; "a trap-door! a pitfall!" "ha! the murderer's pit! here we have it!" exclaimed the king. "torches here, quick! i will go below, myself. "let that be my business, my liege," said count henrik. "here is assuredly the secret entrance to the castle," he added in a low voice; "perhaps it might be used for our attack." "no, count! a king's path lies not through a fox's den"--interrupted the king, proudly: "bring me but my faithful aagé!" torches were quickly brought, and the passage was searched. the king however suffered himself to be withheld from descending. count henrik hasted forward with eagerness and curiosity, holding a torch in his hand, and accompanied by three men-at-arms. the torches were often nearly extinguished by the subterranean air; they found however and recognised the robber's body, which was immediately borne off by two of the men, while count henrik and the third pursued the search. at last they reached the great iron gate, which they vainly attempted to burst open. within, the sounding of horns and the clash of numerous weapons were heard, and count henrik considered it advisable to hasten back. the king had meanwhile obtained information of every circumstance respecting the drost's nocturnal visit to the tower, and was in some degree tranquillised by the sight of the robber's body, when count henrik returned and acquainted him with what he had discovered. "the daring drost is assuredly alive, if not quite in safety, my liege," said the count, as he ascended from the secret passage, quite spent and breathless. "as the murderer was found dead and alone, he cannot have mastered the brave drost; but it is plain they have had a hard struggle together. here is the drost's sword; it was found close to the body. there is actually a secret passage to the castle; but it is strongly guarded, and we were near falling into the enemy's hand." "well, now we know where aagé is," said the king; "he meant well; but 'tis an arch trick he hath played us. ere the sun goes down he shall be free, by god's assistance," he added. "woe to the traitors, should they injure a hair of his head!" the king left the tower, and the preparations for storming were continued with increased zeal. towards noon the king, mounted on his white steed, stationed himself without the eastern rampart of the castle: he was stern and silent. he often looked with uneasy expectation and rising indignation towards the gate of the town, where, in a few moments, his brother the junker would appear, did he purpose taking any measures to effect a reconciliation. some horsemen, who were placed on the look-out on the hill by st. george's hospital, returned at the time appointed, at full gallop, and announced that the expected party was not to be seen on the road. "now then, in the name of the righteous god," exclaimed the king in a low voice, but greatly incensed, "i have no longer a brother; the measure is full--let them sound to storm, count henrik; let the trumpets thunder forth my wrath!" hardly was the command uttered ere the trumpets sounded to storm. the sun stood highest in the heaven, and the tower shadow fell upon the roof of the monastery. the whole force was instantly in activity. the attack was made according to the plan concerted with the drost, from three sides at once; but on two sides feignedly, in order to mislead the enemy, while the principal assault, in which the whole force of the troop combined by degrees, was directed against the eastern wall, by the tower gate. the outermost drawbridge was speedily pulled down by the boat-hooks of the brave boatmen and seamen. with the aid of all the fire ladders belonging to the town, the outer wall was quickly mounted. no leader was here present, and the junker's zealand peasants, as well as the samsöers, fought unwillingly against their countrymen. a brave resistance was indeed made against the german count henrik, but wherever the king himself appeared, the weapons dropped from the hands of the danish defenders of the wall, while they fell at his feet and implored mercy. the outer wall came thus speedily into the power of the king, who was himself one of the first who mounted it; but the most vigorous defence was made from the tower, over the fortified gate. within was heard a powerful voice of command, and from the loopholes and battlements rained a thick shower of stones and javelins. count henrik saw the danger, and hastened to form a roof of shields for the king's protection, while it was vainly attempted to tear down the great portcullis which served as a sort of raised iron drawbridge over the moat, between the outer wall and the gate. "fire the gate!" commanded the king, with wrathful impetuosity. "fire! fire, here!" was echoed from mouth to mouth, and crowds soon flocked from the town, with torches of pitch, with fire and splintered tar-barrels, which they threw in over the portcullis. the gate and the tower were soon shrouded in smoke and flame, amid the shouts of the besiegers. chap. iv. during this eager and hazardous attack, on the eastern side of the castle, the captive drost aagé stood before the iron-grated loophole in the square upper tower, which rose from the middle of the principal western wing of the castle. far below, perpendicularly from the prison grating, the great wooden staircase projected into the castle court, from which, through a balcony, was the entrance into the vestibule of the upper story. the prison tower was separated from the besieged gate by the two principal wings to the north and south of the circular court, by the ladies' apartment, and the knights' hall. from his high prison grating aagé was thus enabled to witness the combat and strenuous efforts, as well of the assailants as of the besieged. he had succeeded in climbing up into the recess in the wall within the grating, whence he looked out with steadfast gaze and throbbing heart over the castle yard towards the tower gate. here he knew the principal attack was to be made. he had for some time heard the din of the fight, and perceived how all the forces combined to assault and defend this one point. he now beheld the dense pillar of smoke rising without the gate, and observed at the same time, through the loopholes of the tower, that the garrison were putting their largest machines of defence in motion in order to crush the besiegers with stones and beams, ere they could succeed in firing the gate. "must i stand passive here, while the king is in battle and danger?" exclaimed aagé, as he shook the iron gate in wrath. he had nearly fallen down backwards into his prison, as a fragment of the ancient wall loosened and fell in before him, together with a part of the grating. "a hint!" he exclaimed in surprise; "thanks be to thee, my good angel! thou art, then, more powerful than the evil one." he instantly conceived the design of availing himself of this accident to make a venturous flight from the tower, in the hope of hastening to the assistance of the besiegers, and perhaps of opening the gate to them. he bound his shoulder scarf to that part of the grating which remained firm, and made preparations for letting himself down to a lower shelf of the tower wall; but at this moment he heard a voice, which constrained him to draw back, and filled him with dismay. he had leaned his head against a pillar of the tower, which being raised the whole height of the building conducted the sound to his ear from an unfathomable depth. directly under him, where the high wooden staircase projected, was a deep vault with a well, concealed under the uppermost landing, which led through the balcony to the great vestibule of the castle. this vault, with its deep well, was, in cases of emergency, the last defence of the castle, and might prove a frightful grave for every besieger who was not aware of the contrivance, as in the landing of the stairs was a concealed trap-door, which could suddenly be let down from within to plunge the entering foe and the supposed victor into the abyss. this contrivance for the defence of the castle had been recently planned by the junker: neither the king nor the drost knew of it; and as a secret and extreme defence, it had even been kept concealed from most of the inmates of the castle. the existence of such a stratagem had been already suspected by aagé, from the contents of the private letter he had seized and destroyed; but the distant voice which reached his ear from beneath now flashed conviction like lightning across his mind. "there shalt thou stand!" sounded the stern voice of the commandant, in a low and hollow tone. "if the gate falls, and they throng in hither, then mark--the moment thou hearest a footstep on the stair, let down the door!" a faint voice replied; but aagé heard not the answer. "whatever blood flows here comes on the junker's head!" said the commandant's voice again; "he must answer for it here and yonder--we are but the instruments of death in his hand--enquire not! think not! be silent and obey or thou art perjured and damned eternally!" aagé stood as if petrified with terror: from some single words which were added, the whole fearful contrivance became clear to him: even the voice of the stern chief appeared to him to tremble while issuing the terrible mandate. all was again hushed in the hidden abyss, while the clash of arms and the din of battle at the castle gate increased, and overpowered every other sound. a high flame presently shot up through the pillar of smoke above the gate, and a shout of dismay was heard from the burning tower, the defenders of which were now forced to fly to escape perishing in the flames. without resounded the victorious shouts of the besiegers, while the rattling of iron chains, and a hollow clanging noise announced that the outer portcullis between the wall and the gate was pulled down; to this a still louder crash succeeded; the besiegers burst the burning gate. an overwhelming dread seized the listening captive: almost without knowing on what he was about to venture, he swung himself out of the loosened prison grating, and let himself down by his shoulder scarf so low towards the tower wall that he was able to take his stand on a projecting buttress; but hardly had he succeeded in doing this, ere another fragment of the prison wall loosened, together with the iron grating to which his scarf was bound; it flew past his head and dashed against the iron railing of the balcony below, where his scarf remained hanging. he himself lost his balance, and was forced to let go his hold; but he snatched involuntarily, as if with the instinct of self-preservation, at the projecting buttress on which his foot had just rested, and thus continued to cling, while he succeeded in resting one foot on the corner of the sloping porch above the staircase entrance. he stood thus directly over the stair, yet still at such a height above it as to involve the certainty of sustaining a serious injury in case of falling. he had ascertained that the trap-door of the well was immediately under his feet, and that the first footstep upon it would be the signal for its falling, and opening its deep and certain grave. it was hardly possible for aagé to continue his hold long in this hanging position. amid the universal tumult no one perceived him. he now heard the crash caused by the bursting of the gates, and the victorious shout, "the castle is won! long live young king eric!" the king had already entered the castle as a victor through the flaming gate. aagé could not turn his head round and look down into the yard without losing his balance; but he heard, and instantly recognised the king's and count henrik's voices far below him. "beware, my liege! here is a pitfall!" he shouted with all his might; but his voice was too faint; he was exhausted by his desperate exertions, and no one appeared to hear him amid the universal clashing of weapons, and the noisy shouts of victory. he was, besides, hidden by the pillar of the tower from those who were nearest to the upper story of the building. "farewell, sweet margaretha! farewell, love and life!" he gasped; "i must below." his fall and death, at this moment, appeared to be the only means of saving the king's life. "long live my king!" he shouted, and let go his hold of the buttress. all seemed to grow dark before him; he fancied he was falling an unfathomable depth; but beyond this he was unconscious of what was passing around him. "aagé, aagé's voice!" cried the king, who, excited by the fight and the storm, stood at the head of his victorious troop of knights at the foot of the high wooden staircase. he had heard aagé's voice, but where he knew not; some of the furthest men-at-arms had seen him fall down from the porch on the landing of the stairs, but the general noise and tumult overpowered their shouts of alarm. the king had already set his foot on the first step of the stair. "back, my liege! treachery!" shouted count henrik suddenly. "yonder hangs the drost's shoulder scarf; there is certainly a pitfall here." the long red scarf hung just above their heads from the iron railing of the balcony. "as i live, my faithful aagé; i heard him bemoan himself above there," said the king eagerly, without heeding the warning, and hastened up the stair; but count henrik rushed after him and seized his arm ere he reached the uppermost landing. they both stopped as in amazement, and at the same moment uttered a cry of horror on seeing the unhappy drost lie deadly pale and bleeding at the top of the staircase. "dead! dead!" cried the king, and was hastening up to him; but count henrik still detained him, while he himself sprang forward, and tramped on every step of the hollow stair. aagé opened his eyes, and recognised the king. "back from the grave, my liege!" he called with a faint voice, as he rolled himself forward to the king's feet, and clasped his knees. "aagé! great heavens! what is this?" exclaimed the king, and raised him in his arms. at the same instant the door of the hall of the upper story opened, and a tall, steel-clad knight, disarmed, and with an uncovered and hoary head, stepped across the balcony, and took his stand on the uppermost landing of the stair. "you stand beside a grave, king eric!" he said in a terrific voice; "i had prepared it for you; but a higher power presides here; now shall it open, and swallow me up before your eyes." he stamped with all his might on the rocking and creaking trap-door under his feet. "ha! why tarriest thou, slave?" he shouted in a voice of thunder. "away with the bolt; draw it quick." "no, no, in the name of a merciful heaven!" said a beseeching voice from the castle cellar far beneath him; "i cannot; i would sooner be perjured and eternally damned." "what is all this?" asked the king in the greatest amazement. "doth that man rave? who is he?" "the commandant of the castle, my liege," answered count henrik, who stood with his drawn sword before the king, and with the one foot on the trap-door. "bind that madman," commanded the king to the knights nearest him, without withdrawing his gaze from the signs of returning life in aagé's face. he bore him himself in his arms, with count henrik's assistance, over the creaking trap-door, and over the balcony, into the upper hall. as soon as count henrik had seen the drost and the king in safety he hastened back to the shouting men-at-arms, to secure and guard all the entrances, and prevent any disorder from the disarming of the garrison. it was not till the king saw that aagé's consciousness was returning, and that his limbs, however bruised, still were not seriously injured, that he looked towards the knights who surrounded him, and assisted in tending the drost. at the door of the antechamber stood the tall commandant of the castle, with his arms tied behind his back, between two halberdiers; he gazed before him, mute and pale, as a marble statue. "had i _such_ a master to die for!" he muttered in a deep and hardly audible voice, and a tear rolled down between the furrows of the aged warrior's haughty and unmoved countenance. count henrik soon re-entered the hall with hasty steps. "my liege," he said aloud, "the margrave is without the gate; the highborn junker is with him. they entreat your grace to withhold your stern sentence and wrath, and hear what the prince hath to say in his defence." "let him step hither instantly," commanded the king, and the sternness of his countenance seemed mingled with profound sorrow. "the hour of judgment is come," he added; "but i condemn no one unheard." count henrik bowed in silence and departed. a deathlike stillness prevailed in the chamber. drost aagé reposed, pale and bleeding, on a bench, with his head leaning on the king's breast, and appeared as yet not to have fully recovered his consciousness after his shattering and stunning fall. his temples had been chafed with wine; at a signal from the king he was carried into the ladies' apartment, that he might repose in quiet, and be more carefully tended. as he was borne off the king pressed his feeble hand, and looked on him with affection and sadness. aagé gazed fixedly and anxiously upon the king. "remember you are to pass sentence on a brother," he whispered in a faint voice. he would have said more, but the king motioned to him to be silent, and turned from him as he hastily passed his hand over his high and glowing forehead. a deep stillness once more prevailed around. the king's knights had ranged themselves in solemn silence at his side: they yet stood with their drawn swords in their hands, and the halberdiers were stationed with their long spears by the door guarding the gloomy chief, who looked like one petrified. footsteps were soon heard on the hollow stair, where the trap-door had already been secured. count henrik opened the door, and remained standing on the balcony. he bowed coldly as junker christopher and the margrave of brandenborg entered, followed by their knightly train. the margrave's wonted gaiety and light-heartedness had vanished. he seemed exhausted from violent exertion, and in an anxious and uneasy mood. when the tall junker christopher uncovered his black locks, which floated wild and tangled around his shoulders, and advanced towards the king, his feet appeared to totter, while, however, there was a cold and forced smile on his long, large-featured visage. "my royal brother hath visited me in a peculiar fashion," he said in a tone of bitterness, as he greeted eric with a stiff and formal bow. "i lament that i was not informed of your gracious visit, that i might have received my royal liege in a fitting manner, and have prevented the senseless acts of my vassals as well as the deeds of violence, of which i perceive traces here." "i am wont, even when unannounced, to find the castles of my vassals and servants open as well to my ambassadors as to me," answered the king with stern vehemence. "the contumacy i have here met with is high treason; the gate of a fortress hath been shut against me in my own kingdom: where this happens, fief and goods are forfeited, be the criminal who he may! i perceive, also, that my life has been basely and treacherously sought after: it is a judas act and miscreant deed; it stirs up my inmost soul;" he continued in a voice of emotion, and with a doubtful glance at the prince's sullen countenance. "it is bitter and dreadful to me to think that my own brother could have shared these crimes--so, however, it seems to mortal eyes; but if ye can justify yourself, prince christopher of denmark, speak! and with a single word remove from my heart the heaviest weight that ever oppressed it! are you guilty or not?" "who accuses me?" exclaimed the junker haughtily, and with vehemence. "who dares to mark me out for contumacy and treason? where is my accuser? where is my commandant? his is the responsibility for what hath happened. where is he?" "here!" said a powerful and hollow voice from the door of the apartment close behind him. it seemed as though the prince shrunk at the sound, while he turned and gazed on the aged warrior with a wild and haggard look. "crush me, if you will, prince christopher," continued the chief; "i am prepared for death; my life is yours, but not my honour--here stands your aged loyal servant, the only one who was true to you here at the castle. therefore do i now stand bound as a miscreant and traitor; but i swear by the most high god, in the sight of the king and of danish chivalry, i have but fulfilled my duty--i obeyed the command of that master to whom i swore fealty and obedience. no one can serve two masters; every one must account to his own. i have mine; but that he commanded, he must himself answer for." "dost thou rave?" shouted the prince, foaming with rage. "did i order thee to defend the castle against other than my foes?" "true, sir junker! against your foes," repeated the warrior, "whether they were great or small, whether they wore helmet or crown--that was your stern behest; and if you named not the king, assuredly it was him you meant, so help me st. george and the merciful god, in my last hour!" "liar! calumniator! mad, presumptuous rebel and traitor!" shouted the prince, as if in a transport of rage, and rushing menacingly towards the bound commandant. "darest thou thus to pervert my commands? wouldst thou read in my soul, and make my thoughts traitors to my king? nay, now i see it; i penetrate thy plan, traitor! thou wouldst set strife and enmity between me and my royal brother! thou wouldst waken rebellion and civil war in the country--thou art a kinsman of marsk stig; thou art a secret friend of the outlawed regicides." the king started and gazed on the prisoner with a searching look; the proud chief seemed to have lost his self-possession; he stared upon the junker with fixed and strained eyes, but no word passed his lips. "see you, my liege, the traitor is struck dumb;" continued the junker, turning once more with a look of proud triumph to the prisoner. "canst thou deny the traitor's blood in thy veins, wretch? canst thou deny thou art a friend of the outlaws?" "i am proud of my birth," said the commandant, regaining his self-possession by a desperate effort. "my unfortunate friends i disown not either, even though they be outlawed and accursed in this world; but the charge you ground thereon, i deny and despise." "take him to the prison tower, my men!" called the junker hastily in a proud authoritative tone; "i am his master and judge, by the laws of the country. the crime he would roll on his master's head, shall assuredly fall on his own, and crush him." some knights of the prince's train had already approached the prisoner to lead him away; but they lingered, and cast a timid and inquiring look at the king. "haste not!" ordered the king with vehemence; "so long as i am present myself, no one commands beside me." the junker's knights drew back respectfully at these words. the captive had raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the apartment, and seemed to be internally preparing himself for death. "you deny, then, all participation in what here hath happened. junker christopher?" continued the king in a thoughtful and gloomy mood, while his searching gaze still dwelt on the wild and passionate countenance of the junker. "i ask you not to swear by your salvation--with a brother's salvation i would not even redeem my crown or life; but i demand your knightly and princely word, in confirmation of your testimony. this chief's birth, and his friendship for my deadly foes, i ask not of: it is now question of the present rebellious and traitorous transaction. can you confidently affirm, on your knightly and princely word, that your commandant hath in this matter acted according to his own arbitration, and against your order?" "yes, by my knightly and princely honour!" cried the prince with a glowing and fierce countenance, and bit his lips in wrath. "those words you will repent at the last judgment day, junker!" said the commandant in his ear with a deep and hollow voice, as if from the grave, and gazing on him with a deathlike stare. "silence, mad liar!" interrupted the junker. "i will show you, my royal brother and liege," he continued in a raised voice, and turned from the thunder-stricken captive, "i will show you that i can maintain discipline in my castle--none shall go unpunished, who have dared to insult you in my name, and abuse the power you have entrusted to me by contumacy and treason--i demand instant justice and sentence on this criminal, according to the jurisdiction of the castle and law of the land." "i cannot deny you the power of judging and passing sentence upon your servants." answered the king. "whatever may have been your commandant's transgression, he must answer for it! he shall instantly be brought before the castle tribunal, and be sentenced according to law; but if he be pronounced guilty in the absence of proof, and from the want of explanations, which can be known to none but yourself, it shall be left to you to award the sentence. junker christopher! if your conscience can answer for it before god and men!" "well, then! he is doomed; he shall assuredly lie on the wheel ere the sun rise again," muttered the junker: "you have heard the king's command: obey! take the captive to the justice court!" he addressed these words with an authoritative air to his knights, and they instantly led off the prisoner, who cast a proud and contemptuous look at his master, and pointed menacingly towards heaven. the king had thrown himself into a chair, thoughtful and silent, with his hand before his brow; a severe conflict seemed passing in his inmost soul. he now rose up suddenly, and cast a stern and penetrating glance at his brother: "pass sentence, and execute it on thy servant in my name, as thou wouldst be judged thyself in the sight of the all-knowing and righteous god!" he said in a low tone of admonition. "i invest thee, also, with my highest prerogative--that of mercy. if he _be_ mad--if his blood can be spared, without breach of law--by all the holy men! i ask it not in pledge of the truth of thy declaration. the word of honour of a knight and prince needs no bloody confirmation--there is my hand, brother christopher," he added, and his voice trembled; "i will believe thee, whether thy servant be found innocent or guilty." the junker gave eric his hand, in gloomy silence, and with an averted countenance; there was, for a moment, a general and anxious silence. "let the musicians strike up. sir junker! now there is surely peace and good understanding again, my royal friends!" said margrave waldemar, hastily breaking silence, in his gay, volatile tone; "it rejoiceth me that i have contributed towards it, even though i have foundered my best horse in the cause: now we will forget the whole vexatious affair, and let the junker's good wine wash away all remains of misunderstanding." "you are right, waldemar!" exclaimed junker christopher, with a gay mien, and looked boldly round the hall; "i ought not to forget i am host here, although my honoured guests have taken me somewhat by surprise." he then opened the door himself into the knights' hall, and besought the king to enter: he himself followed with the margrave, count henrik, and the whole numerous train of knights. the king continued silent and thoughtful. he seemed to put a restraint on himself to conceal his mistrust of his brother. margrave waldemar was evidently desirous to cheer the king, and place the intercourse between the brothers on a more easy footing. the quarrel as yet was only but slightly accommodated; but junker christopher seemed carefully to shun all closer explanation; he merely ventured on a passing comment on the beleaguering of holbek castle by the drost, as if it was but a rumour which he had heard, and as if he trusted, at all events, it was only a precipitate act of the drost and a misunderstanding of the will of his royal brother. he evaded the grave answer which hovered on the king's lips, and employed himself zealously and courteously in attending to the wants of his guests. the door of the large dining hall was presently thrown open, where a table of refreshments always stood ready for the junker and his followers, when they were on a visit at the castle. from the gallery, in the great hall above, sounded the joyous tones of hunting horns and trumpets, and kallundborg castle, which lately rung with the clash of weapons and din of war, soon re-echoed with the ringing of goblets and the mirth of festivity. it was nearly evening ere the royal party were assembled at table. as soon as the junker had seated his guests, and a lively and easy conversation had in some degree commenced, he departed, with a hasty excuse, and remained absent above half an hour. he returned gloomy and pale, but appeared afterwards in high spirits, excited by the wine and the company at table. to the king's inquiry as to what had so long deprived his guests of his company, he answered in a low tone, "i have been attending the court of justice, my liege! i would not let the judges wait for my explanation; matters of life and death it is ever best to get out of hand, ere we come to the drinking table." the king became again silent and thoughtful, but the junker frequently drained his goblet, and margrave waldemar sought, by many a merry jest, to disperse the dark thoughts which frequently seemed to disturb the festivities in honour of a reconciliation; which, however, appeared rather to be forced than the effect of mutual good understanding. the king purposed not to pass the night it the castle, where he had met with such hostile reception; but as it grew dark and late it was difficult for him to reject his brother's repeated invitation, without again betraying a distrust he wished he could wholly drive from his mind. as the junker at last, with a cheerful air, once more earnestly urged his invitation, while he drained the last goblets of wine with the king, to a speedy and happy union with the lovely princess ingeborg, and to a brotherly understanding, the cloud on eric's brow vanished, and the last remains of mistrust seemed to be banished from his kindly heart. he pressed his brother's hand warmly, and drained his cup to the bottom: "well, christopher! i remain," he continued, in a confidential tone and half aside. "all shall be forgotten as in old times, when the good drost peter settled our childish disputes, and our mother agnes joined our hands together." the king now appeared perfectly happy and satisfied; christopher often laughed loudly. this cheerful tone soon pervaded the whole assemblage. after the repast the king seated himself with his brother at a backgammon board; he only shook the dice, however, while he ordered the state of his faithful aagé to be inquired into, and waited in vain for a word of frankness and confidence from christopher. the junker was especially courteous and attentive, but he still seemed desirous, by indifferent talk, to ward off all approaches to serious conversation. at this moment an officer of justice entered, and put a sheet of parchment into his hand: he became suddenly silent, and changed colour. the attendant hastily departed. "what was that? my brother!" asked the king. "the death doom of my presumptuous servant, according to the verdict of the court of justice of this castle, and to the law of the land," answered the junker, without looking at him; "will you confirm it? upon life and death you yourself determine?" "as the friend and kinsman of the outlaws, he was doubtless my foe; but how guilty he is thou must know best," answered the king, with stern solemnity; "thou hast my authority for it: in my name to confirm the doom, or to pardon, as justice or moderation prompt thee. none save thou and the all-seeing god can know with certainty whether thy command could have been thus misinterpreted--if there be the least doubt, then----" "no, there is no doubt here," exclaimed the junker impetuously, with a dark and gloomy countenance, and a wild and frightful glance, as he rose from the backgammon table, and departed with hasty strides. the king looked long after him, with a serious and thoughtful gaze. he started up suddenly once or twice, and put his hand to his brow. "no!" he said, "it is impossible--i have his knightly and princely word of honour." the margrave now approached gaily and courteously, and took the vacant seat near the king at the table, where he soon succeeded in introducing a lively and amusing conversation. chap. v. the drost had been brought from the ladies' apartment to a remote and quiet chamber, in the knights' story. although he had sustained no serious injury in his heavy fall, he was, however, shattered in every limb, and unable to move. after a restorative bath, he had been carried to his couch and had fallen asleep; but the harrowing anxiety which he had endured so agitated his mind that it was impossible for him to sleep soundly. at one time he dreamed he was wrestling with corpses in dark graves, at another that he hovered over unfathomable abysses; but the idea of the king's danger, and the pitfall under the staircase, seemed to work most powerfully upon his imagination, and he frequently exclaimed in his disturbed slumber, "beware, my liege! now opens the grave under thy feet. believe him not, believe him not, he is a traitor!" it was late in the evening. a lamp burned on the table in aagé's chamber, and an aged, withered crone sat by his bed, muttering constantly to herself with toothless gums and shaking head. the door presently opened, and the king entered the darkened chamber, accompanied by count henrik and junker christopher. the nurse instantly withdrew, half in alarm, and with oft-repeated curtsey, without, however, allowing herself to be interrupted in her mutterings, and unconscious monologue. junker christopher and count henrik remained standing at the entrance, where they conversed together in a low tone and at intervals, of the chase and their horses, and of the large antlers of the stag over the door, while the king approached the drost's couch, and drew the lamp forward on the table that he might have a full view of his features. aagé appeared for a moment to be sleeping soundly; but as the king stood by his couch, and with sympathising sorrow bent over his handsome though pallid face, the drost suddenly opened his eyes and stared wildly before him. "is it thou, my liege?" he whispered; "art thou still living in this murderous den? beware! believe him not!" "recollect thyself, my aagé, thou dreamest," said the king. "thy pious wish is fulfilled; i and my brother are reconciled. look! there he stands. he also wishes to see thee. the whole was a misunderstanding--the desperate plan of a rebel--one of the outlaws' race and friends. be calm, my aagé; i am now a peaceful guest here with my brother--we have drunk to reconciliation and brotherly fellowship together--i have done him injustice also in the affair with bruncké. i will give him back both holbek and kallunborg. he is now to accompany me on the expedition against the dukes." "noble, generous, kingly soul!" exclaimed aagé, seemingly quite roused from his dreaming state. "hath a word, hath a cup of wine effaced such enmity and wrath? now the lord and our blessed lady be praised! love healeth all wounds, and mercy is a precious virtue. _how_ great is now thy love and clemency, my liege!" he continued, again somewhat wildly, and as if half dreaming; "doth it extend even unto the outlaws and their unhappy race--even unto marsk stig's kindred and children?" "ha! breathe not that accursed name, aagé," interrupted the king, with stern vehemence; "_so_ far my clemency will never extend--now sleep well, my faithful aagé," he added, with his former mildness and affection. "think not on what it is best to forget--they tell me thou art already out of danger, and can, perhaps, follow me to-morrow, or in a few days." "where sleeps my liege to-night?" asked aagé, in an anxious voice, and again gazing wildly around him. "close by thee, here in the knights' story; only be thou calm and sleep in peace. i sleep under a brother's roof." "come, my royal brother," interrupted christopher, hastily approaching the couch, "speak no more with that sick dreamer, he is in a fair way to infect you with his feverish phantasies." "good night, my aagé," said the king, pressing the drost's hand as he departed. "i will keep that i promised him," he said to the junker. "i will sleep near him, here in the knights' story." "as you command, my royal brother," answered the junker, with a cold and bitter smile; and they left the sick chamber. count henrik had also given his hand to aagé, and was about to follow the king; but the drost detained him for a moment, in a state of painful anxiety. "look, look!" he whispered, "there goes the murdered king eric with junker abel[ ]; _they_ once were brothers! and, hark! a flood roars beneath this castle. it is surely the bloody slie,--take heed!--take heed, that no misfortune happens here!" "you have perturbed dreams, drost aagé," said count henrik, letting go aagé's fevered hand. "sleep ye but in quiet; i watch." he then hastened after the king and the junker; but first glanced out of the window, and saw with secret horror, by the deepening star-light, a high, black scaffold in the back court of the castle, without the knights' story. he hastily drew the curtain before the window and departed; whereupon the old nurse (still shaking and muttering) re-entered the drost's chamber. she was attired in the homely dress of a country burgher's wife; her eyes were large and sunken, and her pale, emaciated visage greatly resembled that of a corpse. with a distaff and a rosary in her hand, she resumed her station by the drost's couch before the lamp, which she drew aside, that it might not shine in the face of the patient. all was now soon quiet in this wing of the castle, which only comprised the sleeping apartments of the knights. aagé lay long listening in anxiety. in the unusual stillness of the evening, however, a distant sound as of lutes and mirthful songs reached his ear. "what is that?" he asked, raising his head with pain and difficulty. "there is merriment in the knights' hall, noble sir! yes in troth! that there is," answered the nurse; "our stern junker hath caused minstrels and jugglers to be fetched from the town. there is no lack either of mead or sweet wine, that knoweth the precious lord in heaven! he drinks to friendship with his brother, they say. alack yes!" she added, "the great can be merry, doubtless, and leave care to the fiddle; ay! ay! when they quarrel among themselves, it all falls on the small! yes, in troth! does it--all falls on the small. my departed husband was, by my troth, doomed to death, in the great marsk stig's feud--alack yes! by my troth was he, he was but a poor man, i must tell ye: _he_ had neither knightly nor princely honour to swear himself free with, like the high-born junker; no, by my troth! had he not, that was the whole mishap. there sits now our old commandant in the tower--ay! ay! he will hardly see sun or moon more; they say he is to be executed to-night; alack yes! and yesterday he was master here at the castle; yes, in troth! was he so, but so goeth it in the world; alack yes." "executed?" repeated aagé; "the lord have mercy on his soul; the king is strict and hasty: ha! but knew he?----" "he doubtless knew, what we all know, that his high-born brother hath borne false witness," sighed the old woman; "but what care the great about cutting off an insignificant head, when they would save their own? the law must have its course--yes, in troth! that it must, _one_ head doubtless must fall, after such a commotion and uproar, but the junker's is placed too high, i trow! 'what should great lords keep servants for, if they could not wash themselves clean in their blood?' said my departed husband, when he was executed; yes, in troth! said he so, the blessed soul--but see now if ye can get to sleep, noble young sir! that is assuredly best for you. i talk mayhap rather too much: 'tis my bosom sin, they say--yes, by my troth! one talks too little, and another too much; was there no such thing as talk, no poor man would talk himself over to the evil one, and no high-born rogue would talk himself from the gallows." "i must speak with the king," burst forth aagé, with eagerness, and vainly strove to rise, but his strength entirely forsook him, and he fell back in a swoon. the old nurse thought he slept, and indeed he soon appeared to have fallen into a kind of slumber. the nurse looked at him several times, with the lamp in her hand, and nodded, as she continued to chatter to herself; "ay! ay! a good honest face, in troth!" she muttered. "but who is honest in this sinful world? he consorts with the great,--ay! ay! and those good folk one should never believe--no in troth, one should never believe. he would have spoken with the king--yes, forsooth! when it is question of saving a poor devil's life, and telling the king that his brother is a rogue and traitor; then such a fine courtier fellow swoons or falls asleep, till it is too late. wake up, sir knight! wake up!" she shook him in vain; "alack! i verily believe it is death's sleep,--well then he is excused: after such a fall and being battered into a pudding, there can doubtless be no great life in him--he draws breath though, i believe! yes, in troth he does! youth is strong, perhaps nature will help herself--hark! now they follow the king to bed," she continued, and listened: "he will surely sleep close by here, ay! ay! this is his favourite servant, this same drost. weil, the lord keep his hand over the king! he means well by us all; yes, in troth he does--alack yes! even though he should doom many a poor devil to death--but indeed that's his business--it is therefore he is king. he upholds law and justice, yes in troth! and makes, besides, no difference between high and low. should he now have doomed to death his own brother according to the flesh? that would have been too hard--yes, in troth, would it; he is after all but a man, and who is just in all things in this sinful world? ay, ay! but the junker--alack, yes! the lord preserve us from him--if we get _him_ for a king, it will be a bad look-out--yes, in troth will it! alack, yes!" thus she muttered to herself, and nodded beside the lamp until she fell asleep in the arm-chair. it might be somewhat past midnight, when drost aagé awoke, strengthened in body, and refreshed by the deep sleep, caused by exhaustion, which seemed to have given a favourable turn to his illness. he was still, however, in a feverish state; he looked around him with surprise, and appeared not to know where was. the pale sleeping nurse, beside the lamp, seemed to him, as the light faintly lit up her emaciated visage, like a sitting corpse. he half arose and stared fixedly at her; he remarked signs of strong agitation in her deathlike face; her toothless gums mumbled, but without any sound; it appeared as though she wished to speak, but had not the power to utter a word. it seemed to him, as if he now beheld what he had often heard and read of in ancient sagas and poems of olden time. the dark vaulted chamber in his imagination was a subterranean prophet's cave, and the old mumbling crone a dead prophetess, on whose tongue runic letters had been laid to cause her to prophesy.[ ] he tried to rise and the attempt succeeded; his shattered limbs were strengthened and pliant. he wrapped the white woollen coverlet around him, and soon stood listening on the floor, and gazing on the old woman's visage. "whom talkest thou with?--corpse! what dost mumble of in thy grave?" he whispered, and she moved her mouth still faster. "murder, murder!" she exclaimed, at length, in audible words. "hark, hark! now his head falls before the axe." at the same instant aagé actually heard with dismay a sound outside the window, as of the stroke of an axe; he rushed forward, and pulled aside the curtain. the light of a number of torches glared on him from the back court of the castle. he saw with horror, a body of men-at-arms surrounding a scaffold, on which stood an executioner with a bloody head in his hand. a cold shudder came over aagé; he knew not, as yet, whether he waked or dreamed; he stood speechless, as if rooted to the spot, and gazed on the horrid sight; a low chant fell on his ear, and he beheld a crowd of franciscan monks advance under the scaffold with a black coffin. among the spectators he recognised junker christopher's dark countenance, strongly lit up by a torch. the bloody head fell from the executioner's hand, and it seemed to him, to his inexpressible horror, to be the king's; he staggered back and overturned the table with the lamp. the old woman waked in affright, and shrieked loudly; but aagé rushed out of the chamber, into the dark passage, in indescribable consternation. "murdered!--the king murdered!" was the cry of his inmost soul; but no word passed his lips; he went on, like a sleep-walker, with staring eyes, not knowing whither he was going. "here he was to sleep--here close by me,"--he thought, and stopped at a side door. he had already extended his hand to open it, when he saw a light, and heard footsteps at a distance in the passage. the door beside which he stood, was enclosed between two pillars projecting from the wall--he stopped behind one of the pillars, and kept his eye on the light in the passage. it approached slowly, and often stopped; at last it came so near that he could see, it was carried by a tall figure in a dark mantle. the light fell only on the lower part of the shrouded form; his walk was tottering and hesitating; a large sword glittered under his mantle. the figure came nearer and nearer; but with stealthy and almost noiseless steps. at last it advanced close to the pillar, behind which aagé stood, and paused again. the light was now; raised, while the shrouded bearer looked around him on all sides, and the light fell on a long and wildly glaring visage--it was junker christopher. "ha! fratricide! regicide!" shouted aagé, in a frenzy, and rushed out upon him. with a cry of alarm the junker let fall the light, and sprang backward. "murder! help! a madman!" he shouted, and drew his sword. amid this noise the door between the pillars opened, and count henrik stepped forth with a light. "what is the matter here?" he asked eagerly, but in a low tone. "who dares to wake the king?" "the king! the king!" exclaimed aagé, with inexpressible joy, "he lives?--the lord be praised! it was then but a dreadful dream! but saw i not the junker here?" "yes, assuredly, thou saw'st him, madman!" cried the junker, returning his sword into the sheath. "had you not come out. count henrik, i should have cut that mad fellow down on the spot. he fell upon me here, with a wild incoherent speech, as i was stealing softly to my chamber that i might not wake the king. if i see aright, it is the chivalrous sir drost, who is walking in his sleep, or would play the ghost. one would think my castle was turned into a madhouse." "a _singular_ adventure, noble junker," said count henrik, gazing with a penetrating look on his perturbed countenance. "our good drost is sick, as you know, and hath disquiet fevered dreams," he added in a light courtier-like tone. "he must in his phantasies have taken you for a murderer and traitor; but you must excuse him; his loyalty and devotion for your royal brother are alone to blame for it." "you come from an execution, sir junker!" said aagé, whose self-possession was now fully restored; "it was, i presume, your unhappy commandant, who so ill underwood your order and will?" "right!" answered the prince; "he hath got his well-merited wages--the presumptuous madman! but madness spreads here, i perceive." "your highness's imagination hath surely also been at work," continued aagé, "since my dreams could scare you thus. i beseech you meanwhile graciously to pardon me for stopping you just beside _this_ door. it was, perhaps, however, a lucky chance; you might easily have made a mistake between your own and the king's sleeping chamber." "go to thy couch, madman!" replied the junker, with gloomy harshness, and with his hand on his sword. "you dream as yet it seems to me, and might deserve to be wakened by my good sword--one should bind and shut up a visionary and dreamer like you when one would have a quiet night:" so saying, he hastily snatched his candle, which count henrik had taken up from the floor and lighted, and the junker went with rapid strides through the next side door into his own sleeping apartment. "i have a fearful suspicion," whispered aagé to count henrik; "but i was ill and over-excited--i may be wrong: it is too dreadful to think of--let it not disturb the king's peace." "what you mean, drost, i am also loth to think of," answered the count, "though after what hath here happened, almost every thing is possible. come, let us stay here together to-night." they then both entered the door between the pillars, and all was soon perfectly quiet at the castle. the next morning early the king and his men rode out of the burnt and dilapidated gate of kallundborg castle. count henrik, margrave waldemar, and junker christopher accompanied him on horseback, together with his fifty knights, and a numerous troop of lancers. drost aagé followed slowly behind in a litter, borne by two horses. he was far from recovered from the effects of his dangerous fall, but was not to be kept back. the king and his brother rode in silence through the town, at some distance from their train. "thou hast surely wished to take from me the desire of being oftener thy guest at kallundborg, christopher!" said the king in a gloomy, dissatisfied mood, as they rode slowly up the hill to st. george's hospital, and looked back on the castle and town. "i have used thy fair castle gate badly it is true; some broken pates, too, i have left behind me; but neither didst _thou_ prepare me any fair spectacle at my mattins." "what! the criminal on the wheel?" muttered christopher. "hath his head said good morning to you from the stake? the fault was not mine: that unpleasant sight would have been kept from your eyes, but you yourself chose your sleeping apartment with that unsightly prospect. to say truth, my royal brother," he added in an upbraiding tone, "you seemed to me to require _proof_ that there was no manner of doubt in this case." "that word then sounded ill to thee," answered the king. "understood'st thou me not? there might be a doubt of the criminal's sanity, but not of his miscreant deed; there might be a doubt of the ambiguity of thy commands to him, without there being the slightest doubt of thy meaning, as thou didst explain it to me on thy knightly word. only on that ground did i make over to thee my privilege of pardon, together with the power of confirming the sentence: there was no need, either, to hasten with the execution of the bloody doom." "it was needful to decide the matter ere you left the castle," replied christopher eagerly. "i, for my part, had no ground for doubt. i have shown i feared not to witness the fall of the traitor's head, as your drost can affirm, if he hath come to his senses." "he is now quite collected," answered the king. "i know he walked in his sleep last night, and gave thee a start by my door." "ay, indeed! hath he told you of that pleasant adventure!" said the junker, starting and changing colour. "had he been in his right senses, i would have demanded that he be declared infamous for the audacious outrage." "as i have heard the circumstance, he is excused: thy alarm he hath also accounted for to me." "how mean ye?" asked christopher, in the greatest anxiety. "truly, it is not good to return to one's couch with such a bloody spectacle before one's eyes," said the king, with not unsympathising glance at the junker pale and agitated countenance. "be not ashamed of it, christopher! mayhap it does thy heart honour--thou wert sick at heart, and greatly moved by the sight of thine aged servant's execution aagé supposed. i see myself how it hath taken hold on thee. it is the first death-warrant thou hast sealed--i know by experience such acts excite peculiar and painful feelings." as the king said these words the junker's countenance seemed suddenly to brighten, and he again breathed more freely. "in truth, my royal brother," he said, hastily while a deep crimson flush succeeded to his former paleness, "the stupid fellow was a brave man, notwithstanding! it was not the most agreeable duty you put upon me. i was in some sort a party concerned; but i was perfectly right; no one could know my criminal servant as well as i; and the sentence was passed according to law and justice, by impartial men. your drost is an excellent knight," he added, "but somewhat disposed to be visionary: he is devoted to you, however, and i have nought against him, on account of his foolish dreamings." count henrick and margrave waldemar now approached the royal brothers, and the conversation turned on indifferent topics. the procession proceeded on the road to korsóer, from whence the king intended to cross the belts, in order to join the marsk, and the forces which were to march against the turbulent dukes of slesvig. at the famous sea-fight of grönsund, the young king eric had gained a decided victory over these haughty princes, who frequently sought to withdraw their allegiance to the danish crown, and since the regicide of eric glipping had secretly, as well as openly, made common cause with the foes of the country and the outlawed regicides. by this victory the king had indeed gained a high reputation with the dukes as well as with the neighbouring northern powers, and the princes of north germany; but the quarrel with the archbishop and the romish see, and still more the king's excommunication at sjöborg, had given all his foes courage, and renewed their hopes of shaking his throne, and frustrating his bold projects. it was feared, not without reason, that the young high-spirited king of denmark, who now appeared as though he would defy ban and interdict, might possibly have a desire to regain the influence and power won by the great waldemar the victorious in germany. that monarch's chivalrous character, and the lustre his conquests had shed on the danish name, seemed early to have inspired his bold descendant with the wish to tread in the paths of his renowned ancestor, and a glorious reputation like that of waldemar the victorious was assuredly the secret wish of eric's heart, though he lived in a time and under circumstances which demanded no ordinary degree of power and wisdom, in a sovereign, even to save the country from downfall, and preserve his own life and crown. the renewed demands of the dukes, and the revival of long-accommodated differences, but, especially, tidings of the outlaws having again found protection and shelter in slesvig, had in a great measure induced the king to take up arms; and since the archbishop's flight, he had become much more precipitate than formerly, and more inclined to carry every thing through by the strong hand. the people well knew but cheerfully tolerated eric's youthful and often impetuous eagerness, and his liking for chivalrous pomp. his firmness of purpose was indeed often called obstinacy; and it was admitted he was not altogether free from an excessive love of show, but from his childhood he had been the people's darling, and such he continued to remain. this breach with the dukes appeared to many to be rash and inconsiderate; but the king's wrath was deemed justifiable, and the public mind was calmed by the belief that with all his impetuosity he had too much love for his people, and possessed too much sound policy not to spare the blood of his warriors, and the scanty revenues of his country, could he, sword in hand, honourably negotiate. the calm, thoughtful drost aagé contributed not a little to restrain the king's vehemence, and now that eric's older and more experienced counsellors, the aged jon little and drost hessel were absent, the greater number and most peaceably minded of the people rejoiced to see drost aagé in the king's train. the drost's suffering state, and the perilous adventure which had caused it, which was daily exaggerated by rumour, with the most marvellous additions, attracted towards him the sympathy and admiration of the lower classes. those especially who had before shunned him as an excommunicated man, now mourned over his misfortune, since the king himself shared the same fate. the energetic and warlike count henrik of mecklenborg, with his bold commanding glance, also found favour with the people, who looked up to him with confidence. he and aagé were often received with animated shouts of acclamation, while a dumb and almost timorous courtesy was, on the contrary, shown to the gloomy junker christopher; and the foreign margrave waldemar, who always rode by the junker's side, was looked on as a half suspicious guest, whose presence might well be dispensed with. wherever the procession passed, the young chivalrous monarch himself was received with the most loyal demonstrations of the people's affection, which had been more than ever called forth by the knowledge of the ecclesiastical persecution he then endured. even the much dreaded lightnings of excommunication seemed transformed into a halo of martyrdom around the head of eric, the avenger of his father, and the defender of the throne; especially as the greater and most estimable part of the danish clergy boldly declared his cause to be just and honourable. the sorrow and displeasure which it was known had been caused the king by his brother the junker's suspicious conduct had still more increased the sympathy of the people for him. "for eric, the youthful king!" was the general salutation, when all hats and caps waved in the air in his honour. "away with the red hat from rome! away with all traitors! king eric! and none other!" often resounded as he rode through the crowded street. "long live princess ingeborg! long live the king's true love!" also shouted many a merry bachelor. where this salutation greeted the king, his own greeting became doubly kind and gracious. "thanks, good people! thanks!" he answered cheerfully, and waved his hand; "if the lord and our blessed lady will it so, you shall see her here as your queen in the summer!" chap. vi. on sommersted heath, in the province of haddersleben, a bloody battle seemed likely to take place between eric and his haughty kinsmen, the dukes of slesvig and langeland, in whose army it was asserted many of the regicides were enlisted; notwithstanding it had been stipulated by treaty the preceding year, that these exiled criminals should be no less outlawed by these princes, than by the king, and his brother. when the dukes beheld the forces, at the head of which the incensed king, attended by his fifty chosen knights, was marching against them, they appeared to hesitate, and the swords of the one party seemed to keep those of the other in the sheath. through the drost's mediation a truce was negotiated; according to which all hostilities were to cease, the dukes' troops were to lay down their arms, and no outlaws suffered to continue in their service; all claims also on the part of the dukes were to be suspended, until formal terms could be agreed upon. for this purpose an amicable interview between these princes and their royal liege was proposed to take place at wordingborg castle. the drost and privy council rarely succeeded in persuading the king to a reconciliation, or to enter into a formal treaty of peace with any opponent who had protected his father's murderers. the only person who, under such circumstances, had been occasionally successful in acting as mediator, was eric's sagacious and kindhearted stepfather, count gerhard, who ever stood in a friendly and almost fatherly relation to the young monarch. the present peace also with norway was only a truce, occasionally renewed for single years or months; for the outlaws had constantly met with protection from the norwegian king eric, and duke hako; and according to his promise given to these fugitives, the norwegian king was unable to conclude a permanent peace with denmark, unless his danish guests should be again admitted into their native land. many of these deadly foes to the royal house of denmark had, indeed, fallen in their unsuccessful expedition against denmark; some had been seized and maltreated by the populace, or captured by the king's commanders, and executed for robbery and incendiarism. this had been the fate of arved bengtson, one of the wildest and fiercest of the regicides, who with ten of his comrades had fallen into the hands of the stern tulé ebbeson, and the whole of the eleven had been mercilessly beheaded. but each time the number of their chiefs was thus diminished, the revenge and defiance of those who were left increased. from their connection with foreign powers, with archbishop grand, and with the papal see, these exiled noblemen were the most dangerous enemies of the country. so long as one of them was living the king considered himself under the necessity of being constantly prepared for war, and the mention of an outlaw was almost sufficient to make him gird on his armour. after the conclusion of the truce with the dukes of slesvig, the king visited his royal manors in jutland and in the isles; but he disbanded his troops only so far as to admit of their being assembled again in a few days at the marsk's summons. the young king sought, as much as it was possible, to atone for whatever injustice had been committed during the government of his unhappy father. even his bitterest enemies were forced to acknowledge his disinterested zeal in the administration of justice; but despite the respect and affection of which eric received the most gratifying proofs from his people, his personal safety was, nevertheless, often endangered, as the condition of the country was in general in a very unsettled state. the outlaws belonged to most noble families in denmark, and had not a few kinsmen, friends, and secret adherents, who endeavoured to protect them from the indignation of the people, whenever they secretly or openly dared to venture back to their father-land, for the purpose of exciting disturbance or seeking opportunities for revenge. all the discontented in the country, all restless spirits, and those who were at war with law and authority, all criminals and burgher politicians, who feared or hated kingly rule, joined themselves to these martyrs in the cause of liberty, and foes of despotism as they were denominated. some powerful prelates, the archbishop's friends, were on their side, although the clergy in general were devoted to the king. meanwhile the most sincere patriots could not deny that the discontented had often real grievances to complain of, and that the lawful rights of citizenship were frequently infringed. the king's friends and devoted subjects often went too far in their zeal for his security; and state functionaries not unfrequently exercised violence and injustice in his name, where they suspected any one of siding with the outlaws. among the discontented in the country, and the secret partisans of the outlaws, such proceedings served as a pretext and excuse for similar conduct towards the king's servants and friends; what especially disquieted all lovers of their country, was the dread of a general closing of the churches, in case the king did not yield in the affair of the archbishop. an apprehension also prevailed of civil war and dangerous conspiracies of the outlaws, and other disturbers of the peace; particularly if any open breach should take place between the king and his brother, the junker. during the first chilly days of spring, the roads to wordingborg were unusually thronged on occasion of the important treaty of peace just concluded with the dukes of slesvig. the splendid festivities and tournaments which were the delight of the chivalrous king, were now in preparation to celebrate the event. many knights and nobles from jutland and the isles journeyed to wordingborg, to display their splendour before the king and the court, as well as to share in the expected festivities in honour of the peace, which however was regarded by the king's friends rather in the light of a victory. a party of three knights, with a numerous train of squires and attendants, rode one evening amid storm and hail through the forest near suséa, and approached the great forest monastery of st. peter. the accommodations for travellers were but scarce and simple. the public inns established in the time of king eric glipping were few and generally despised; travellers of high degree, therefore, often took shelter in monasteries, which were occasionally put to much cost and inconvenience by these sometimes forcibly-imposed visitations. the monasteries had been, in fact, exempted by a royal decree, from the ancient obligation of giving free entertainment to travellers; they were even forbidden to receive wayfaring guests, where there was any public inn in the neighbourhood; but the prohibition was hardly ever observed even by the clergy themselves, as it was contrary to the rules of the monasteries. the knights and their train seemed nowise inclined to pass by without visiting the rich "forest monastery" (as it was called) which now, with its high, white and notched gable ends, and its shining copper roof, came in sight above the forest in the fitful light of the stormy evening. the party drew near the great oak avenue within the domain of the monastery, and the attendants pointed, gladly, to the smoking chimneys: but the two foremost knights had shrouded themselves in their mantles, and drawn their large travelling hoods over their eyes. they seemed, notwithstanding the increasing storm, so absorbed in their own thoughts that they cared but little about the road, or the inviting hearth of the monastery. they were the same tall, silent knights, who had so mysteriously visited prince christopher at holbek castle, the night on which it was garrisoned by drost aagé. the little hump-backed man in the red cloak, who was then their companion, was not now seen in their train; but they were accompanied by prince christopher's gentleman of the bedchamber, the fat short-necked sir pallé, who frequently lamented over the weather, and seemed as weary of the journey as of his taciturn and unsociable travelling companions. "this way! up the monastery avenue, sir knights!" he called, impatiently. "you would not surely go farther in this infernal tempest? it is a good way yet to nestved, and to that dog-hole of an inn, the road every way is long. we stand in need of a good supper, and a good night's rest--i know pater, head-cook." "_i_ know the _abbot_," answered the taller of the two grave knights, with a haughty mien. "at all events, i know myself and my squires, and what a wayfaring man may demand." "for the lord's sake! let us not play the braggart, excellent sir brock!" said pallé, rather in alarm, and drawing his bridle. "if we proceed with violence and bragging, the pious monks may shut the door in our faces, and make the king our enemy to boot; one should, by my troth, seek a shelter by fair means when one slinks past law and ordinance." "bah! here one may make light of secular law and royal ordinance," answered sir brock, scornfully. "st. bent's rules no king can shake." "let us only not attack the rules of the monastery, worthy knights!" sighed sir pallé, slapping his empty stomach, "or we may have to put up with fasting fare this evening, and learn of st. bent to knock out the flesh tooth." "if that tooth had been knocked out in the monastery there would scarcely be so many butchers in nestved," remarked the other knight; "keep easy, sir pallé; i promise you a fat roast for this evening--every sunday the nestved butchers are forced to pay their tribute in good roasts and sausages." "the abbot understands that," said sir brock, with a nod. "that is a fellow who knows how to uphold his rights both with high and low--trust me, sir papæ, the nestved burghers may well provide him wine for his roast--the whole town hath to thank the monastery and the rich abbot for its rise. truly, these are burgher and grocer times we live in--we now see villages and towns where before we saw lordly castles, and domains, and mark, now, if the grocers' houses will not at last shoot up over both lordly castles and monasteries. it passes the comprehension, both of king and statesmen, how to keep the people under finger and thumb; but it is well enough understood by _him_ yonder." "you know the abbot then, sir brock?" resumed pallé, inquisitively, and with a look of curiosity. "he must be a mighty prelate; they say, he was a good friend of archbishop grand's. you have surely no errand to him? you know more of him, perhaps, than i do of pater, head-cook; for that is but a slight acquaintance. on second thoughts. sir knight, would it not be better in these troublous and suspicious times, to pass by the monastery and put up with the dog-hole of an inn?--unless you really have any errand here--you have perhaps known the abbot long. sir brock? you are even perhaps of his kindred?" "excellent! go on! if you have more queries, or any more scruples, let me have all out at once, and have done with it," said the tall sir brock, with an air of contempt. "to speak plainly, my good sir pallé, you seem somewhat inquisitive. you have asked me of more during this journey, than i would answer my confessor in a whole year. "and you are as mysterious and cautious as though you took me for a tell-tale, and a man not to be counted on," answered pallé, in a tone of annoyance. "if the high-born junker hath trusted me to bring you a private letter, you may well suppose i am among his most confidential friends." "a confidant is wont, however, to know what tidings he brings," remarked the tall knight. "you think, perhaps, i know them not," returned pallé, assuming an air of consequence. "it will rejoice the noble junker to see you and your friends at wordingborg, in order to come to a closer and mutual understanding.--is it not so?" "ha, indeed! my sly sir pallé; you understand then, the noble art of opening wax seals?--another time you must do it more dexterously, or, at least, be able to hold your tongue about it. the high-born junker hath known his messenger, and hath not entrusted you with a greater secret than he might suffer to be cried in the streets through every town." the other knight laughed scornfully. pallé was silent, wroth, and crest fallen. the party now halted, drew bridle before the gate of the monastery, and knocked loudly at it. the porter put forth his shaven head from a shutter, and inquired in a peevish tone, who it was, and what was wanted so late. "wayfaring and christian men," was the answer. "if you are a pious man of god, father porter, sin not by asking forbidden questions, but unlock the gate instantly, in st. bent's and st. peter's name!" "in nomine st. benedict! anianensis et st. petri apostoli," answered the clerical porter, and instantly withdrew the great iron bolt which secured the gate. "see ye," said sir niels brock, "st. bent and st. peter are more powerful here than kings and worldly despots." although the most important household matters were managed by the monks themselves, according to monastic rule, the travellers, on their entering the monastery, were instantly received by a whole crowd of attendant lay-brothers and conversers, who took off their mantles, and eagerly waited on them with handbasons and whatever they required. father porter had allowed himself to be replaced at his post by a lay-brother, that he might not miss the evening devotion and the evening meal that accompanied it. after an announcement to the abbot, he followed the three knights to the refectory, while a lay-brother attended to the wants of the train. chap. vii. in the high-vaulted refectory, the small arched windows of which looked out into the garden of the monastery, and were darkened by a row of lime-trees, sat the heavy-built abbot johan in his laced leathern arm-chair, with a lamp before him, at the supper-table, holding a kind of instructive discourse for the edification of the humbly-listening brethren of the order and the pupils of the monastery. nearest him sat eleven monks in black cloaks, among whom peter porter took his place as the twelfth. the same number of little boys, who were educating as monks, and wore black benedictine mantles, as well as the brethren of the order, took the lowest place at the table, and eagerly partook of the repast, while, however, they seemed to listen very attentively to the abbot's discourse. on the entrance of the travellers the dignified prelate half rose from his seat, with a look of annoyance, and bade them welcome in st. peter's and st. bent's name, but almost without vouchsafing them a glance, and in a tone which betrayed that it was only in compliance with the rules of his order that he received such self-invited guests. however, when the two tall knights approached him nearer, with a reverent and courteous salutation, and the lamp on the table lit up sir niels brock's martial visage, the abbot's proud bearing and repulsive looks suddenly changed. he signed a blessing over the knight and his companions, and, with courteous condescension, besought them to be seated, while he hastily, with a side-wink of the eye, laid his finger on his mouth, and continued to address them as strangers. besides the twelve brethren of the order and the monkishly-clad children, there sat a person at the table, also in a black benedictine mantle, but without the hood and complete dress of the order. he had hastily risen on the entrance of the travellers, and appeared about to withdraw; but, on hearing sir niels brock's powerful voice, he turned round to the newly-arrived guests, and nodded familiarly to brock. it now appeared that this person bore not the tonsure, and was even adorned with a warrior-like beard; his forehead and eye-brows were hidden by his yellowish red and combed down hair. brock started, and greeted him with surprise, but in silence. "a guest from the world who hath sought safety in the dress of our holy order and the sanctuary of the monastery," said the abbot. "i can, therefore, only present him to you without mention of his name, as i also have received you in the holy bent's and st. peter's name, without asking of your name in the world, or the object of your journey." "your hospitality and high mindedness are well known throughout the country, pious sir," said brock, with another obeisance. "we are not, it is true, among the persecuted. the object of our journey also is no secret; but we equally acknowledge, with thanks and reverence, the shelter these holy walls afford from storms of _all_ kinds." "from the hour in which, by god's grace, i received the bishop's mitre and the holy crosier," resumed the abbot, with the air of a prince of the church, but with stooping head, and a kind of studied rhetorical tone, "be it said without all vain self-commendation, and to the honour of the most high!--from the time st. peter and his holy heir set me a ruler over these souls, and over this asylum of the pious and oppressed, i have striven according to my poor ability in the spirit of st. benedict of nurcia, and with the pious will of st. benedict of anianes before mine eyes, to give succour and protection to all travellers and pilgrims, and all outlawed and persecuted persons, against the wild turbulence of nature, as well as against human ferocity and the violence and persecution of an ungodly world. you just now interrupted me in a godly discourse, my guests! i spoke of the church's might and authority, which is now so scandalously assaulted by the blind children of this world in our ungodly times. i was inculcating the duties of our holy order on the children, and for the edification of my dependents, on occasion of the crying deeds of violence and injustice we daily hear of and see before our eyes. you have also surely heard how shamelessly and treacherously the king's men have dealt with the outlawed count jacob's men in halland, and what an outrageous and arbitrary act the royal vassal, jonas fries, hath lately perpetrated here, on the boundary of my abbey's consecrated ground and territory?" "what i have heard is almost past belief, pious father abbot," answered brock; "but the matter is related very differently by the friends of freedom and those of despotism. rumour hath indeed possibly exaggerated the stern vassal's despotic act." "my fugitive guest, who sits there, can bear testimony to the truth," said the abbot. "the unhappy victim to the lawlessness and barbarity of that royal vassal was his good friend and comrade." "it is as true as that i stand here," began the warrior-like personage in the monk's cloak, and rose from his seat. his accent sounded half-norwegian; the combed-down hair slipped aside for an instant from his brow, and over his wild fiery eye a pair of bristly meeting eye-brows and a large red scar were visible. "thus are law and justice now upheld in denmark," he continued. "i had come down hither in reliance on truce and treaty, but truth and justice are no longer recognised, where the friends of freedom are outlawed. my comrade had saved my life, and freed me from a degrading captivity; he was, like myself, in the service of the norwegian king. three days since he was taken captive at my side in broad day-light, by sir jonas fries himself, and dragged to his castle.--i escaped to the sanctuary of the abbey; but when i yesterday, with the pious abbot's men, would have liberated my unhappy comrade, we found him hanged, without law or sentence, on jonas fries's closed castle gate." "ha, indeed! the more madly they act the sooner they will have to account for it," exclaimed brock, in a powerful martial tone, and striking his large battle sword against the flagged floor. "the master who hath such zealous servants may fare badly at last--that deed of violence shall prove a firebrand----" "we meddle not here with worldly matters," interrupted the abbot hastily, with an admonitory wink, and a side glance at the attentive and startled monks, who all, however, sat silent with humbly drooping heads, and appeared to fear, rather than love, their despotic and mighty superior. "worldly matters are to me and my dependents, but vehicles for spiritual things," continued the prelate with a devout air, "and i only permit any discourse concerning them when it may serve us for holy and edifying meditation, according to st. benedict of anianes' pious will and injunction. i now forbid all further talk on such subjects here. refresh yourselves, my stranger guests! pray a silent prayer, brother bed-maker, and discharge thy duty towards the strangers! pray in silence, and retire to rest, children! let every brother set about his evening work! you must not suppose, my unknown guests," he added, "that the conversers and lay brothers you have seen here, alone perform the bodily labour which is incumbent on us all--it is precisely in order to gain bodily strength for the performance of the stern duties of our order that i give, as you see, occasional dispensations with respect to the nourishment of the frail body with substantial meat." the brethren of the order and the monkishly clad children now folded their hands, and muttered a prayer; they then departed, after they had all, with a deep and submissive inclination of the head, kissed the abbot's hand, which lay extended for the purpose on the arm of his chair, in which he remained sitting, and gazed on his guests with an attentive and searching glance. "you are welcome. sir niels brock and sir johan papæ," now commenced the abbot, in a confidential and condescending tone, with a side look at sir pallé. "this knight i know not, but i presume you bring none with you but your most confidential friends." "the high-born junker christopher's gentleman of the bed-chamber, sir pallé, accompanies us to wordingborg by his lord's command," said brock, hastily, "although we cannot boast of knowing him intimately." "ay, indeed! you are welcome also, sir pallé," resumed the abbot, in a tone of haughty condescension, once more assuming the dignified mien of a prelate. "your master, the junker, is now said deeply to repent his sin and cruelty against our most learned and god-fearing archbishop, and to feel a longing after peace and reconciliation with the holy church? with all his errors, he seems still, however, to be of a more tractable and pious mind than his hardened brother, and it may one day, perhaps, stand him in good stead, for god resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble." "yes, my lord junker will now assuredly be converted, pious sir abbot," answered pallé, thrusting a large piece of meat into his mouth, by which he was hindered from continuing his speech. "to judge from the build of sir pallé's person, _he_ stands most in need of refreshment and rest," said brock, with significance. "according to his assurance, there is now the best understanding between the junker and his brother." "ay, indeed! hum! well, then! it is good assuredly that brothers should be united, provided it be in that which is right," said the prelate, and broke off the conversation. little was now said, and that only on indifferent topics. sir pallé's gormandising appetite perceptibly decreased at the cautious pause in the conversation, and at the sight of the fugitive in the monk's cloak, who had remained silently sitting at that end of the table which was least lighted up, and who kept his scrutinising eyes fixed upon him. as no one either ate or drank any more, the abbot folded his hands and muttered a latin prayer; after which he rang a little silver hand-bell, and pater master-of-the-household entered. "this knight desires instantly to retire to rest," said the abbot, pointing to pallé; "perhaps you will go with him as his contubernalis over yonder." as he said this, he winked at sir papæ, and the taciturn knight immediately accompanied sir pallé and the master of the household across the court yard of the monastery to the guesthouse, which was situated apart. as soon as the abbot was alone with brock and the disguised fugitive, he gave them a mysterious nod and arose. he took the lamp in his hand, and opened a private door in the refectory which led to a long vaulted passage. he went on before, and they followed him in silence through the passage, and up a winding stair to the library of the monastery and the prelate's private chamber; he opened all the doors himself, and locked them carefully behind him. sir pallé's indolence and love of good cheer seemed to be contending with curiosity and repressed alarm. "whom take you yon sharp-eyed fugitive to be, sir papæ?" he asked his silent travelling companion, as soon as the monk had shown them to their sleeping apartment and departed. "i care not who he is," said the knight sullenly, and took off his vest. "it is assuredly one of the outlaws," continued pallé, anxiously. "truly it is strange to have sat at table, and now to sleep under the same roof with such a fellow. it might get wind one day, and waken suspicion." "i will give you good counsel, sir pallé," answered the sullen knight. "take your horse out of the stable again, and ride off at full speed, despite night and storm! our company may also seem suspicious to you. a man like you, who holds his own peace and safety dearer than aught beside, should never devote himself to the service of any master in these troublous times. as far as i can judge you are as little fit for the junker's as the king's service, and least of all to be your own master, like me and other free men." "the devil! sir papæ! what do you take me for?" said pallé, bridling up and highly affronted; "think ye i am afraid for my skin? i would fain see the man who hath oftener risked life and blood in the service of my master, than i have, and yet as a free man dare snap my fingers at the world's rulers and tyrants. what my master, the junker, is about, he must know best himself, and answer for--it concerns not me--_his_ head truly is placed too high to be imperilled. when it comes to the push, all falls on those beneath; yet when he calls you and sir niels his friends, and sends you greeting and courteous invitation, as his servant, i surely run no risk by companionship with you;--but an _outlaw!_ think! perhaps even one of the regicides!--to have sat at table with him may cost us all dear." "you are in a very unpleasant position, sir pallé." said the haughty partizan, with a contemptuous smile. "with the king, you stand not well, they say; and though you have already settled yourself comfortably in the junker's service, it may end badly enough, after all. if he gets but a hint how you keep the seal of his private letters----" "it is a shameful falsehood, i deny it positively," answered pallé, glowing crimson. "but for the lord's and our dear lady's sake, excellent sir papæ! bring me not into trouble by such talk, and beseech sir niels also to be silent about it. i am in truth innocent as an unborn babe. i know not in the least what either you or the junker have in hand, and there was not a word about it in the letter; that is what you say yourself; for what know _i_ of it?" he added hastily. "but whatever it may be," he continued, "i pray you only to consider that, after all, the king is a mighty man, and not to be jested with when he is wroth. even my own master, the high-born junker, i would in all confidence here between us two, counsel ye to deal somewhat cautiously with. too much confidence in the great answers not, either;--in our times one should in troth know how to obey the commands of one's master, and nevertheless use one's own understanding,--do you see? to speak plainly. sir papæ! since the commandant at kallundborg was forced to lose his head, i have often had uneasy dreams." "now good night, my dear pallé!" said the knight, clapping him compassionately on the shoulder. "i would not for a great deal be in your place. it must be grievous for an honest knight adventurer like you, who so faithfully strives to serve the great, not to be able to fathom his master's mind, any more than his own stomach." the knight then strode into his sleeping apartment and shut the door after him with a scornful laugh. "another awkward scrape!" muttered sir pallé, striking his forehead. he threw himself into a chair and yawned. it seemed as though his body and soul were at war. he appeared to feel a desire to sleep, but could not rest. he threw himself once or twice on the couch, but soon rose again, panting and puffing with uneasiness. all was now quiet at the monastery; nothing was to be heard but the howling of the storm through the chimney and around the high gable ends of the roof. after some deliberation, pallé wrapped himself in his mantle, and stole softly out of the door. he found the anti-chamber of the guest-house open, and slipped out into the court-yard of the monastery. he looked around him on all sides. it was dark and gloomy; there was not a light to be seen in any of the twelve cells; but, from the second story of the principal building a solitary lamp shone through the creaking boughs of the lime trees. the light came from an apartment which pater, head-cook, had pointed out to him as the abbot's private chamber. before it stood a remarkably tall, thick, lime tree, which was not yet in leaf. sir pallé stole forward under the tree, and endeavoured to climb up its trunk; the build of his figure rendered this very difficult for him to do; but he succeeded at last by dint of much exertion, in getting so high up in the tree, that at some distance he could peep in through the small lit-up window panes. he beheld the abbot and sir niels brock very singularly occupied. a tall warlike form stood before them in ancient knightly armour. the abbot was in full costume; he placed a helmet (over which he appeared to be pronouncing a benedicité) upon the warrior's head. brock seemed to be rubbing the eye-brows and beard of the armour-clad personage with an ointment. pallé listened in vain, the storm prevented his hearing a single word of what was said; but he now saw that the abbot opened a cupboard, and produced a black book with silver clasps, which looked to him like a testament. sir niels brock, as well as the steel-clad warrior, laid their hands on the book and knelt. they remained in this position while the abbot fetched a silver chalice from the cupboard, and went through the same ceremonies as on the performance of low mass. he took a silver wine-flagon, filled the chalice, signed a benediction over it, and drank himself. he then opened a silver box, signed a cross, and a blessing likewise over it, and seemed to administer the sacrament to each of the kneeling knights. "gracious heaven! he is surely giving them the sacrament!" whispered pallé to himself, "what can all this mean?" the abbot now stepped back, and appeared to be speaking with great emphasis and energetic enthusiasm. at last the knights arose and kissed the bishop's hand, and the dismayed spy recognised the powerful tones of niels brock, who clapped the steel clad warrior on the shoulder and said, in a loud tone, "now, then! in the name of all the saints, have you courage, kaggé! the devil himself could not know ye now, or injure a hair of your consecrated head." on hearing the name of kaggé, sir pallé became so alarmed, that he lost his balance. the branch broke on which he had placed his foot, and he was forced to let himself slide down the trunk of the lime-tree without being able to save the skin of his hands or his rich attire, in which great rents were torn. he fell with violence to the ground, and stunned by fear and pain, stole back again in this pitiable plight to his chamber. abbot johan did not appear to his guests on the following morning, and when brock and papæ, during mattins, rode forth from the monastery with the worn-out and hapless sir pallé, the party had received an addition in the person of a stranger, mounted on a large well-fed horse from the abbot's stable, and clad in an old-fashioned suit of armour. his hair and brow were hidden by an ample helmet, fastened under the chin with a silver clasp. his meeting eye-brows and broad beard were shining, and coal-black; over his coat of mail he wore a large silver chain, in token of a knight's sacred vow. sir pallé hardly dared to turn his eyes on him. it was, indeed, impossible for him to recognize in this figure the fugitive guest at the monastery; but he was nevertheless convinced it was he, whom he now knew to be the outlawed regicide, kaggé himself. pallé looked as though he already felt the rope round his neck, at the thought of the dangerous company into which he was thrown. this new and mysterious travelling companion rode in silence between his two powerful friends. his glance was wild and restless; at first setting out he often looked behind on all sides, as if he feared to be recognised and pursued; but he soon, however, nodded confidentially to his companions, and presently fell into a deep reverie. his dark imaginings were occasionally interrupted by a wild and half-smothered laugh. "i have met with a good friend and kinsman here in the monastery," said brock, in a careless tone, to pallé. "he is a merry fellow, as you doubtless perceive; and laughs at his own thoughts when there is a lack of mirth and wit in his companions. he hath a true love at wordingborg whom he would surprise; but therefore he would rather be unknown, and you can surely be silent where one ill-timed word might prove dangerous to yourself." "yes, doubtless," answered pallé, "silence is a virtue necessity teaches every wise man in our times; and here it is easy for me to be silent, since i know not even the name of your honourable friend and kinsman." "that i will confide to you: he is called johan limbek, but gives himself out to be ako krummedigé, or blackbeard, going on a pilgrimage to the holy land," continued brock in a lowered tone; "but keep this to yourself. my kinsman is not to be jested with, do you see, and if you disturb his love adventure by unseasonable talk you must be prepared to break a sharp lance with him. he fights better than the devil himself. i would only just mention to you,--he hath broken the neck of many a doughty knight, ere this, in love adventures." "he will scarcely find a rival in me," answered pallé, "although i am reputed to stand high in the favour of the fair." "assuredly," replied sir niels, and laughed. "who knows not that rare ballad of sir pallé's wooing fair gundelillé's driver lad?" "would that all dainty maidens and wooing were at the devil!" returned pallé, angrily. "that dainty maiden will never more make a fool of any honest man, as surely as marsk stig's vagabond brood are caged for life at wordingborg." at these words the steel-clad traveller became attentive, and measured sir pallé with a scornful and angry look. "see you," whispered sir niels, "my enamoured friend cannot even hear maidens and rivals spoken of without the blood instantly boiling within him. beware, as i said before, sir pallé, that you do not meddle with his concerns." so saying, he turned, with a contemptuous look, from the perplexed gentleman of the bedchamber, and joined his two other companions, who seemed as little in a communicative mood as himself. absorbed in gloomy reverie, and almost without another word being spoken, the travellers pursued the journey to wordingborg. chap. viii. when the two powerful and well-known knights, niels brock and johan papæ, with their outlawed friend between them, and the anxious sir pallé at their side, rode with their train through the gates of wordingborg, there was so much bustle among the gathering crowd in the town that they were scarcely noticed. the king had arrived with his brother the junker and his numerous train of knights--drost aagé, marsk oluffsen, count henrik of mecklenborg, and nearly all his most important councillors were with him. the castle was filled with princely guests and their splendid trains. duke valdemar of slesvig, and his brother the gigantic duke eric of langeland, had just made their entry into the castle, and there was much talk among the populace of the long legs of duke eric, of which none had ever seen the like. "'tis a devil of a fellow, yon long-shanks," said the sentinel at the castle gate to his comrade. "'twas surely he who slew drost skelm in nyborg just under the king's nose." "no, comrade, he slew him in his bed; i know that better," answered the other man-at-arms. "i was myself among the king's spear-men at the danish court: it will be just four years come next lady-day; the heat was great, and they drank hard at court--the long-legged lord is fierce when he is hot in the head or drunk; and at that time, sure enough, he sided with the outlaws. had the king been present, long-shanks would scarcely have ventured on so rough a jest--he was forced to flee from nyborg the same night, and for three years he durst not show his face before the king. for all that he is a very able fellow," continued the man-at-arms; "and since he got a dressing at grónsund he hath learned to take off his hat to our king. however fierce and mad he may be, he is nevertheless a hundred times honester than his wizened brother, the yellow scarecrow from slesvig." the talk now turned upon this generally unpopular prince. it was known that the ambitious and wily duke valdemar had aspired to the danish crown, and been suspected of a secret understanding with marsk stig and the outlaws. since the great sea-fight at grónsund, his proud spirit had drooped, however; his last conspiracy and contumacy against his liege sovereign resembled the flaring up of a burnt-out and exhausted volcano. the duke's sallow, withered visage and long nose were the subjects of the coarse jests and biting comments of the populace, although his well-known acuteness, and sagacious state-policy still appeared to be dreaded. the king's step-father. count gerhard of holstein, or the one-eyed count, as he was called by the people, was, on the contrary, much lauded. since his marriage with queen agnes he often sojourned at the castle of nykiöping. he had on this day arrived from falster, to act as counsellor and mediator in the treaty with the dukes. much reliance was placed on his uprightness and wisdom, and his frank and joyous deportment gained him general favour. every hour brought new arrivals to the town and castle, and among them were seen many venerable prelates and bishops known to be devoted to the king. among others, the bishops of aarhuus and ribé, and the provincial prior of the dominicans, the venerable master olaus, who stood at the head of the danish clergy's appeal to the pope against the enforcement of the interdict according to the constitution of veilé. this estimable and truly patriotic prelate, with his mild, calm, aged face, and snowy ring of hair around his tonsure, was almost worshipped by the people, and wherever he appeared it was whispered that it was he who would deliver the country from ban and interdict. every traveller who announced himself to the marsk as the king's vassal, or belonging to danish knighthood, was instantly assigned a place in the large upper story of the castle appropriated to the use of the knights. the spacious apartments in this side wing were, however, nearly all occupied, when sir niels brock and sir johan papæ announced themselves to the marsk, with their unknown friend, whom they gave out to be sir ako blackbeard of the renowned race of krummedigé. he had returned home from a pilgrimage, it was said, and had vowed silence at the holy grave, and bound himself not to lay aside the armour of his ancestor until the knight's vow was fulfilled which he had there made to the lord. such vows were then not uncommon. they met with ready approbation, and carried with them a claim to special honour, and a species of religious reverence. as the king's vassals, and danish knights of some consideration, the three travellers likewise were now admitted at the castle. sir pallé had separated from them as soon as possible, and announced their arrival to his master the junker, without, however, mentioning the suspicious guest they had brought with them. disquieted by this secret, he went from one party to another, feeling, as it were, that he carried his life in his hand. he was seen, now among the king's, now among the junker's friends, where, with assumed eagerness, he adopted the prevailing tone of the company he was in. he presently, however, rejoined brock and other haughty and independent knights, who spake freely and boldly both against the king and the junker, and whom he desired not to offend, nor to be despised by, for servile or timid conduct. he thus thought to secure his safety under all circumstances; but he considered no party as perfectly safe, and could not determine in what manner he might best avail himself of the important discovery he had made while in the great lime-tree in the court of the forest monastery. notwithstanding the stir which was necessarily caused by the presence of so many strangers in the castle and the town, a remarkable stillness prevailed, and a stern seriousness pervaded the assemblage at the castle. there were no public amusements. the king only appeared at mattins and mass, and at table, noon and evening, in the great upper hall, where were placed two long dining-tables--one for the king and his princely guests, as well as for the prelates and chief men of the state, and another for the danish knights in general, and the guests who had joined them. among them sat the mysterious personage from the forest monastery, between sir niels brock and sir johan papæ. according to his knight's vow, the pretended sir ako kept on his helmet as well as the old-fashioned armour, and his silence and solemn deportment were regarded with respect. at the same table sat the knights and courtiers of the duke's train, with the german professors of minstrelsy and other learned and foreign visitors. when the noontide repast was over, the company dispersed. some remained in the spacious apartments of the castle, where they amused themselves with chess and backgammon, or listened to the german minstrels' lays and tales of chivalry; others went to the tennis-court, or the riding-house, and the great tilting-yard, where they whiled away the time with tennis, horse-racing, and martial exercises; some parties went a hawking in the chase, or rode through the town in order to show themselves in all their splendour to the ladies of the place. many were interested in surveying the royal fleet which lay in the harbour, while others took the opportunity of bargaining with the hanseatic merchants and skippers, or of making purchases of the famous wordingborg cloth, which, next to that of ypres and ghent, was in especial demand, and bore as high a price as that of bruges. in the evening the sound of lutes and love ditties was heard, as well in the castle as in the town, where the youthful knights were in search of acquaintance and love adventures. the important negociations with the dukes appeared for the first few days, entirely to occupy the king and his council. through the mediation of count gerhard, a peace was soon concluded, and on the most honourable terms for the king. a herald then summoned the knights and guests together in the great knights' hall of the castle. here the king was seated on a raised throne, between his brother the junker and count gerhard, surrounded by the dukes and all his vassals, as well as the state council, and the prelates present at the castle. the drost read aloud the ratified treaty of peace, in which duke valdemar pledged himself that no injustice should be done to the king's peasants in the dukedom, and also scrupulously to perform his duties of vassalage to the danish crown. on these terms the king consented to pardon him and his brother as well as every one who had sided with the duke in this feud, with the stern exception, however, that henceforth every knight and squire who had been proved to have taken part in his father's murder should be doomed to death wherever they should be found. while this article of the treaty was read, the king looked around the assemblage with a severe and what seemed to many, a threatening glance. there were not a few present of the acknowledged friends and kinsmen of the outlaws, and in the train of the duke of slesvig were several persons unknown both to the marsk and the drost, who had excited suspicion by their mysterious and unruly deportment. this strict clause in the treaty appeared greatly to disappoint the expectations of the duke's friends, and their confidence in this politic prince. he himself sat with downcast eyes, and vainly strove to assume an air of calm indifference. the drost finished the reading of the treaty, which excited great attention, and awakened interest of very different kinds, without a single sound being heard in the numerous and anxious assembly. the concluding article however seemed in some degree to soften the stern victor-like tone, which characterised the treaty. by a just recognition of the rights of his brave opponent, the king had invested duke eric of langeland with the fiefs of oe and of alt, which he was entitled to demand in right of his consort sophia's inheritance. this article terminated the essential part of the treaty, and the assemblage broke up. count gerhard still purposed remaining some days longer, and the duke of langeland, who was especially pleased with the king's uprightness, and with the whole treaty, also remained; but his brother the duke of slesvig immediately quitted the castle with his whole retinue. he left wordingborg with his hat slouched low over his eyes, apparently depressed and humbled to a degree which he had never before manifested. he was escorted part of the way by junker christopher, who on this occasion seemed desirous to surpass the king in generous sympathy and attentions towards this fallen aspirant to the throne of denmark, who owed his downfall to his own rancorous animosity and deluded ambition. sir niels brock and sir john papæ, who appeared to seize every opportunity of approaching the junker without exciting remark, had joined his train. it was not until late in the evening that prince christopher returned. he had sent papæ with the rest of his train on before, and arrived a whole hour later in the town, accompanied by brock. they rode slowly along the dusky road, and conversed in a low tone, and at intervals, together. they found the town lighted up with flambeaux and torches, on occasion of the ratification of the treaty. songs and merry lutes resounded from several houses. at the castle, the knight's hall was illuminated; music and song was also to be heard there. workmen were busied at the lists by the light of lanterns; and carpenters were employed in erecting railings and a high stand for the next day's tournament, in which the king himself intended taking a part. "ay! he will never tire of this child's play," muttered junker christopher, after he had rode past the lists and had seen these preparations; "he squanders more on such nonsense in a year, than both samsóe and kallundborg bring me in; he ruins the country with it, and will at last break his own neck in this foolery." "his courtiers are too polite and obsequious for that," answered brock--"there is assuredly not one among his strutting halberdiers, or knights of the round table, who would not willingly let himself be pushed out of his saddle ten times a day, to please his chivalrous master. credit me, they have regularly exercised themselves in the art of kicking up their heels in the air, as soon as he touches them with his lance. "they would be badly paid for such courtesy, did they venture on it," answered the junker. "after the most trifling tilt, a strict knights' council is held; and he pays almost more attention to those mock fights, regulated by all the foreign laws and rules of honour, than to the manners and morals of his subjects." "doth he also mix with stranger-knights and masters of arms on such occasions?" asked brock. it is the first time of my attending this kind of entertainment. "oh yes!" muttered the junker, "when his vanity may be flattered, he despises no laurels. hitherto he hath really passed for an invincible king arthur." "perhaps he may meet with his overmatch, nevertheless," said brock in a lowered tone, and looking cautiously around him. "i never fight for sport myself; but give heed to-morrow, high-born junker--know you the ancient tradition of the puling enamoured demi-god baldur, and the bold hother?"[ ] "how mean ye?" asked the junker, stalling.---- "i have a good friend,--i know of a foreign knight i would say--a master of his weapon, who in such courteous game might have a mind to play hother." "ay! indeed!" muttered christopher, looking uneasily around,--"you should caution your friend, though, against playing so dangerous a game; you should least of all speak to me, sir brock, of such friends and their wishes. what i have confided to you, in no wise warrants such presumptuous confidence. whatever there may be between me and a certain mighty personage, matters will hardly be pushed so far as you and your bold friends think." "be pleased to understand me aright, high-born junker," interrupted sir niels hastily. "i speak but of a sport; i know they amuse themselves here at times with mumming, and such diversions." "they may amuse themselves as they please, for aught i care," muttered the junker, gloomily; "but i will be out of the game. half one's life is but a sorry piece of mumming, whether we play friend or foe. it will be seen who hath best enacted his part, when the childs' play here is ended, and people think in earnest again in denmark. he then spurred his horse, and rode into the court of the castle. "after the junker and brock had dismounted from their horses in the castle-yard, and as they were passing the maidens' tower, they heard the sound of a lute, and saw a knightly figure hastily conceal himself behind the pillars of the tower." "hath every one gone mad? serenades here in the country, and that even ere the nightingale hath come!" muttered the junker with a scornful laugh, and wrapping himself in his mantle to keep out the cold wind. "hum! as is the master so are his servants--are we not far advanced here in courtesy, and gentle customs sir niels! know ye ought of such gallantry in jutland? all will now go on in as chivalrous a fashion as in spain and italy. that we may thank these vagabond minstrels for, with their ballads and their books of adventures, which my chivalrous brother even takes with him in his pocket, on his campaigns. in the knights' hall there, they are now talking, no doubt, of the beautiful florez and blantzeflor, and of the virtuous tristan and king arthur. all that is indispensable if one would pass for a courteous and courtly knight;--and without, here, wanders a fool to sing serenades in the moonlight, to the owls of wordingborg tower." "if that was a prison we passed. sir junker," observed his companion, "it might be easily explained without such players' tricks." "well possibly," said the junker nodding. "it was here the drost took the liberty of caging marsk stig's raven brood instead of at kallundborg. even the pretty vagabond ladies we shall find have their adorers." the junker then ascended the stairs of the balcony. chap. ix. in the castle-yard, before the knights' hall, stood a crowd of curious grooms and kitchen maids, to hear the singing, and gaze at the king and the stranger-guests. amid this gossiping and jesting throng, wandered a fat, silent personage, closely muffled in a cloak. the maidens crowded together, and giggled whenever he came near them, and the one joked the other about him as a well-known wooer of the whole fair sex. it was the generally self-satisfied and obsequious sir pallé, who now however looked most solemn and thoughtful. he had here for some time listened to the jests of the maidens and their talkative admiration of the king's handsome presence and his splendour, and of all the pomp they beheld. this seemed however but little to amuse him to-night; he yawned with a sigh, and went with undecided steps towards the maidens' tower; he now heard the sound of a lute in that part of the square, where fell a partial shadow, and the cold wind whistled in eddies around the pillars of the tower. he paused, and listened attentively; the sounds continued, and he thought he discerned a dark form standing under the tower window. he drew nearer with curiosity, and distinctly beheld a man with a knight's helmet, around whose person fluttered an ample mantle; while he gazed up at the grated window, and occasionally struck the cords of a lute with wild earnestness. pallé leaned back in alarm against the wall, and thought he had recognised the mysterious guest of the forest monastery. the cold perspiration broke out on his forehead; but his curiosity overcame his fright, and he remained standing. he heard a whisper, which was answered from above, and a deep but low voice, now sung beneath: "oh list then, agneté, thus sue i to thee![ ] wilt thou be moved my true love to be? ho! ho! ho! wilt thou be moved my true love to be, to morrow they lead here the dance so free?" the deep voice ceased; the little window rattled behind the grating, and a sweet female voice sang from above-- "oh yes, by my troth, that will i indeed, o'er the sea so blue if thou'lt bear me with speed-- ha! ha! ha! o'er the sea so blue if thou'lt bear me with speed, but not to its depths will i dive with thee, then to-morrow we'll lead the dance so free." "ha! gundelille's voice, ulrica stig!" muttered pallé; "ay, indeed, a love adventure then! and yonder outlawed hound on _my_ preserve. this shall soon be put a stop to!" in his jealous eagerness he plucked up courage, and first stole a good way back from the tower; he then went briskly forward again, and growled forth a song, while he tramped hard, letting his long sword clatter after him on the stone pavement; but he had hardly swaggered ten paces from the tower ere the disguised figure rushed past him like lightning and threw him on the ground; he felt at the same time a stab in his right side. "murder! help!" gasped pallé, in a low voice. he dared not cry aloud and give the alarm lest the terrible fugitive should return and despatch him at once. "alas! poor unoffending fellow i that am!" he moaned, "when i carry my head highest i even get run through the body. those accursed women! they are only created to be my ruin--" he hasted to get upon his legs, and ran as hard as he could over the dusky part of the court-yard to his chamber in the knights' story, where in all secresy he had his wound examined and bound up. his ample mantle had parried the thrust, and the wound seemed trifling; but it pained him exceedingly, and the fright had so overpowered him that he was compelled to retire to his couch. to the many inquisitive questions put to him as to who it was that had wounded him, he dared not answer a word; and the more he thought of his mysterious rival the more alarmed he became. "the drost!--send for the drost!" he at last exclaimed in a low tone. "it is a state secret; no other may know it." nobody attended much to this expression, which was regarded merely as one of his customary boasts of a knowledge of state affairs and secrets which it was known would never be entrusted to him. at last, however, his attendants were forced to humour him, and sent a messenger to summon the drost. meanwhile the lady ulrica stood alone, and listened at the little grated window in in the maidens' tower. on a work-table in the chamber stood a lamp, and a handsome fisher-maiden's costume, trimmed with pearls and silk ribbon, lay upon it. a sweet female voice was heard singing in the adjoining apartment; here sat her sister, the meek margaretha, before the lamp, occupied in embroidering a large piece of tapestry for an altar-cloth. the edge or border consisted of skilfully worked foliage, with figures and scenes taken from life. there sprang hart and hind--here danced ladies and knights in miniature; but within the border hung the saviour on the cross, and the virgin mary stood with st. john and st. magdalen at the foot of the cross as mater dolorosa, represented as usual with a sword through the bosom. in the foreground knelt a knight in black armour, with his consort and two little maidens in mourning attire. in these figures she had pourtrayed her father, the mighty marsk stig, and her proud and unhappy mother ingeborg, together with herself and her sister, as children. while margaretha sat diligently occupied in this employment, and sang the ballad of hagbarth and signé, she noticed not what her capricious sister was about.[ ] the distant sound of the festive din at the castle occasionally reached the lonely prison of the captive maidens; when this happened, ulrica always became impatient, and wept at the thought of her exclusion from these festivities, and margaretha found it a hard task to comfort her. each time the sprightly little karen came to supply their wants, ulrica eagerly and inquisitively questioned her of all that passed, and the maiden was forced to give a description of all the stranger guests and knights. it was only when margaretha heard drost aagé's name, and karen's account of what she knew of his dangerous adventure at kallundborg, that she forgot her work, her hands dropped into her lap, and she listened with attentive interest. what their attendant related of the king, of his condescension towards the lowest, and his just strictness towards the great and mighty, she also heard with a species of interest, although not without a melancholy and sometimes bitter smile when she thought of her own fate; but when ulrica would be informed of the looks of each of the stranger knights, of the colour of their hair, beard, and clothes--how they sat at table, and with what they were served, margaretha was near losing patience; she therefore was very glad when ulrica, as now, took a fancy to shut herself up in the little tiring chamber, there to busy herself with her gay apparel, and gossip with their attendant karen. since the maiden had on the morning of this day mentioned the tournament which was in preparation, and the dance and masque which it was hoped would take place the next evening, ulrica had become joyous again. when she was not whispering and gossiping with karen, she sang quite gaily in the little tiring chamber to which she had taken a special fancy. ulrica had shut herself up this evening in her favourite retreat. she was again busied with her gay attire, and was humming a merry ballad about carl of risé and lady rigmor; but she now heard her sister's sweet melancholy song as she sat at her pious occupation, and the tears suddenly started to the eyes of the easily excited ulrica; she rose in haste, as if scared by her own thoughts, and threw her decorations on the floor. she opened the door, and flew to embrace her meek sister with eager emotion. "what is this, ulrica? what ails thee, dearest sister?" asked margaretha, with sympathising uneasiness, as she returned her ardent demonstrations of affection. "ah! i grew all on a sudden so anxious and sad," said ulrica. "thy song was so sweet and sorrowful, just like a lonely forsaken bird's in its cage, and i thought how it would be if thou wert left _quite_ alone in this horrid tower, with no one whatever to care for thee and comfort thee as thou hast comforted me and spoken kindly to me every day." "thou art still with me, dear ulrica, and truly i sit here with a cheerful heart at my precious tapestry. when the lord wills it our prison doors will assuredly open for us, and ere that time we need not expect it. we will, however, never sorrow as those who have no hope." "that is true indeed," said ulrica, half offended, and wiping her eyes. "when thou canst but embroider and tell thy rosary, and the adventures of courteous knights, or sing the drost's ballads, thou carest but little for the whole fair world without; but _i_ can endure this life no longer: when i hear the sea dashing below at night i often wish that a merman would come and carry me off like agneté. i would almost rather be at the bottom of the sea than in this wearisome prison-hole." "never make such foolish and ungodly wishes, dear sister," answered margaretha, half alarmed, and involuntarily crossing herself. "it is better, however, to be in prison and innocent than at liberty and guilty, rememberest thou not what stands in holy writ about st. peter in prison, and what he said?" "i know all that well enough," interrupted ulrica, pettishly; "but, nevertheless, there came an angel and took him out." "if the lord and our lady will it so, such an angel might be sent to us also," continued margaretha. "it needs but an angel's thought in a kindly soul. i, too, should rejoice to see god's fair world again, when that might be with honour and without sin--but thou wert speaking of mermen[ ] and evil spirits, and i heard before how wildly thou sang'st; it sounded to me like agneté's answer to the merman--as though thou wert an unhappy deluded maiden like her. ah, sweet sister! i know too well who thou art thinking of; but beware of him! he is assuredly just as false as the ocean foam, and as the hapless agneté's bridegroom." "i require not he should be one hair better," answered ulrica, eagerly. "truly it was that foolish fickle agneté, and not her bridegroom, who was false and faithless. she broke her vow, and left her wedded husband and her little children, and would not return to them, however much he besought her--such goodness and piety _i_ cannot understand; no, truly, _he_ was far more good and honourable! i ever pitied him, poor wretch! so _very_ frightful, either, he could not have been," she continued; "he had fair hair and sparkling eyes like sir kaggé. just listen!" and she sang-- "his hair was as the pure gold bright, his eyes they sparkled with joyous light." "but it surely was no good sign," observed margaretha, "when he entered into the church, and all the holy images turned to the wall. alas, dearest sister, i could never look at sir kaggé's small sparkling snake-like eye, but it seemed as though all pious and godly images fled from my soul." "ah, thou art so unreasonable," exclaimed ulrica impetuously; "so terribly unreasonable, that it is impossible longer to bear with thee. i shall run from thee as soon as i can,--that i tell thee beforehand; but then," she added half sadly--"ah, then thou must not weep and mourn for me, margaretha! wilt thou promise me that? or--wilt thou come too?" "what art thou thinking of, poor dear child! art thou ever dreaming of flight, and yet canst not find in thy heart to leave me? make up thy mind to be patient, sweet ulrica! after all, we _cannot_ escape, and i _would not_ if we could. with all his severity, the king is still good and just, every one here says so; he will surely one day come to know we are innocent, and will let us wander free out of his kingdom; that is the utmost we can hope for, after what hath happened; and this hope i do not give up." "the king!" resumed ulrica with vehemence, and with a proud toss of the head; "truly the king is a revengeful, an obstinate, and unjust tyrant. i would tell him so to his face, even were i certain he were my real brother, as people say; but he should beware," she continued, with a look of defiance, "it is neither chivalrous nor kingly, to keep ladies and noble knights' daughters, perhaps even a king's daughter, in prison. i know however of _one_ knight in the world who hath courage to avenge us, and free me from this degradation." "you terrify me, dear bewildered child! art thou dreaming again of that fearful greatness, and thinking of ungodly revenge! this comes not of thyself--that dreadful kaggé can surely never be here again?" "if he _were_ here, should i tell it to thee, that thou in thy conscientiousness might betray it to the zealous sir drost, and that i might see my only friend on the wheel to-morrow?--thus far extends not our sisterhood. a little while ago, i cared for thee, with my whole heart," she continued, in a voice of lamentation, "but _now_ i cannot abide thee; thou dost hate and despise the only human being that cares for me, and thou mightest almost make me fear him did i not know him better--this is not good of thee, margaretha." she burst into a flood of tears, held both her hands before her eyes, and pushed away her sorrowing and sympathising sister, with her pretty elbows. "weep not, be not naughty and wroth, dearest ulrica," entreated margaretha. "i hate no living soul in the world. perhaps even kaggé may be better than i think; but if he is here and thou canst send a message to him, then for heaven's sake, beseech him to fly, and not plot more mischief." "no, no!" said ulrica, impatiently, and stamping with her little feet, without, however, taking her hands from her eyes. "who says he is here? would he _were_ here, and was going to help me hence! if i were once gone, thou wouldst miss me though, margaretha! then thou wouldst rue having made me so naughty and wroth and untoward to-night. now thou mayst sit down at thine ease, and think how thou wilt be able to make me good again--i am going to my couch without even kissing thee, and bidding thee good night," so saying, she ran to her couch, sprang into it with her clothes and shoes on, and drew up the down quilt quite over her head. margaretha seated herself on the side of the couch, and spoke gently and soothingly to her. she would have taken the thick down quilt from her face, but the little self-willed maiden held it fast with both hands, and appeared to be strongly convulsed under it. margaretha became alarmed and feared she was ill; at last she was nearly weeping herself; but ulrica presently set up a loud laugh, and sprang from under the quilt. "look! now! am good again!" she said, playfully, and hopped a graceful dancing step. "come now, margaretha, and thou shalt see all my finery; for i will be present at the gay dance to-morrow, that i tell thee; and if thou dost not let me slip out of the door with little karen, i jump out of the window and break my neck,--then thou wilt be quit of me. come and thou shalt see all my fine things!" so saying, she threw her arms round her grave sister's neck, kissed her and skipped with her into the little tiring chamber. chap. x. some of the company in the knights' hall were entertaining themselves with singing and lutes, but junker christopher had sat down to a grave game at chess with the duke of langeland. sir niels brock, sir johan papæ and their silent friend with the helmet, tried their fortune at dice and backgammon. count gerhard listened with the king, the marsk, and the young knights, to the adventures and songs of the german minstrels. these foreign masters of song sought especially to entertain the king and his guests with lays composed in honour of all crowned heads, whom they lauded as their munificent patrons and protectors. at last they addressed themselves immediately to the king in a strain of somewhat exaggerated panegyric, particularly on his learning, and in the same metre and high-flown phrase in which the minnesingers formerly sang the praises of their loves. count gerhard smiled, and the king at last became impatient. "no! this goes too far!" he exclaimed; "would you make me believe, master rumelant, that you are enamoured of me as though i were a fair maiden? no more of this! sing to us, rather of the brave nibélungen, and the hero siégfred." "as you command! most mighty prince! my generous and noble patron!" answered master rumelant, with a bow; but he had been thrown into such confusion by the king's displeasure at his flatteries, that he could recollect nothing perfectly, but jumbled different songs together. "stop! let _me_!" interrupted master poppé, with his warrior-like voice, and he now began the bold and spirited german epic poem of the brave nibélungen, in tones which rang through the hall. the lay gained great applause, but it was a long epic, which became wearisome by the monotony of the melody or recitative. when poppé paused only for a moment to take breath, or recollect, master rumelant instantly took up the lay, and as soon as he made any mistake, or faultered, master poppé recommenced with renovated powers; and thus it seemed as though the poem would never be ended. the king was, however, an attentive listener, and laughed once or twice right heartily at the naïve and vivid descriptions; but at last he grew tired, and cleared his throat several times. "excellent! excellent! good sirs; thanks!" he said, interrupting the unwearied singers. "that is enough for one time. there is marrow and bone in your heroic lays, as well as in your warriors; they are almost as hard to despatch. now we should like to hear a danish song. we have, indeed, no such single heroic poem, unless it be our chronicles. in reality, they compose an epic which i trust will never be ended. our war songs are but fragments of them, but they are therefore better suited for songs. they never flag, but go on briskly, and that i ought to like right well, since i am myself of a somewhat impetuous temper. we have, besides, no real master of the art as yet," he continued: "but our songs are national, and are sung both by knight and peasant. where is the drost?" the drost had been some time ago summoned from the hall, and no one knew where he was. "now marsk oluffsen! do _you_ sing of our warriors and heroes!" said the king. "but have a care you split not the good arches here in our hall! i know your voice well." "i would rather fight than sing songs for you, my liege!" answered the marsk; "they say i sing like a growling bear, but if you desire it i will willingly growl you out a song." he then cleared his throat, and began in a bass voice as deep and hollow as from an abyss. "it was young ulf van jern, unto the king went he, my father's death for to avenge, your men will you lend me."[ ] "silence!" exclaimed the king, stamping vehemently on the floor. the marsk was silent, and stared at him in astonishment. "what are ye thinking of, sir marsk! would you remind the king of his father's death?" whispered count henrik in his ear. "by all the martyrs! who ever thought of that?" said the marsk, and hastily withdrew. soon after, the master of the household stepped forward, and summoned the king and his guests to the supper-table, as he threw open the door of the dining-hall. as was customary when the king was present, all the etiquettes of the table were observed according to chivalrous usage. each knight had his appointed seat, with a small separate trencher and napkin. when the king went to take his place, he was wont to walk round the table of his knights, and at times to cast an observant glance over these small napkins, which were to lie whole and smoothly spread before the seats of the knights, with bread and trenchers, or plates, in a prescribed position. if a rent or a slit was found in the napkin, or if the bread lay reversed, it implied a charge touching the honour of the knight to whom the bread and napkin belonged, and the person thus accused was instantly obliged to leave the table, and remain shut out from the community of knights, until he should have justified himself. the day preceding a tournament there were generally a herald and two pursuivants, or under-heralds, present, at the king's table and that of his knights, to watch over the observance of these customs. this was the case on this evening. when the king came to the middle of the knights' table, he stopped, on remarking three trenchers upon which the bread lay reversed; he started, and nodded to the herald. "who are to sit here?" asked the king with a stern look. "the high-born knights, sir niels brock and sir johan papæ, my liege," answered the herald, with lowered staff and a precise deportment. "also a certain ako krummedigé, whom no one knows. it is he to whom it hath been permitted to wear his helmet here in the hall, and keep silence towards every one, according to his knights' vow at the holy sepulchre." "who is their accuser?" "an unknown knight, my liege! but he hath placed his covered shield as a pledge in the armoury; he will appear and give his name when it is demanded." "well! be watchful, herald! fulfil thy duty!" so saying, the king went to take his seat. shortly afterwards sir niels and sir papæ, with their mysterious friend, appeared, and were about to take their accustomed places. on seeing the reversed bread, however, they started; the knight of the helmet changed colour and drew back a step; but brock and papæ hastily replaced the bread in prescribed form, and took their seats with a look of haughty defiance; at the same moment the herald advanced with a drawn sword in his hand, directly opposite to them on the other side of the table; he slit, with the point of his sword, the three small napkins before them. "sir niels brock, sir johan papæ, and you who call yourself sir ako krummedigé!" he said, solemnly, "in the name of danish chivalry, i cut asunder, as i have done your table napkins, every tie of fellowship between you and knighthood. you are accused of treachery and treason; of a judas deed and projected regicide; therefore you are ejected from the king's, and every honourable knight's society, until you have met your accuser and justified yourselves, if you are able to do so; in consideration of the gravity of the accusation, i demand of ye, besides, your weapons, and announce to you that you are put under knightly arrest." the herald then beckoned, and the two pursuivants advanced to receive the swords of the prisoners, and lead them to their confinement. all the guests rose in astonishment, and the king's knights and halberdiers drew their swords. "confounded mummery!" muttered the tall knight, brock, as he rose. "there, herald!" he called in a loud voice, and threw his glove on the table--"take that to my accuser! wherever he meets me, my good sword shall prove him to be a liar and a fool--where is he? dare he not name himself and look me in the face?" "here he stands!" said a voice from the door of the dining hall, and drost aagé stood there erect and calm on the threshold, with his hand on his sword, gazing with a searching look on the three accused knights. "i laugh at the accusation of a dreamer and a visionary," cried brock in a proud and scornful tone. "we meet. sir drost! i do but deposit my sword in the hands of these men that i may receive it to-morrow, acquitted by the king and knighthood, after washing out the blot here cast on mine and my friends' honour with the blood of the calumniator." he then delivered up his sword to the pursuivants. papæ had risen likewise; he also threw his glove with a contemptuous smile on the table--"there lies my pledge." he said, "and here is my answer to my accuser, whoever he may be, even though he should be given over to the devil, and the destruction of the flesh." so saying, he flung his large battle sword on the flagged floor at the herald's feet. they then both went with haughty and hasty strides out of the door, casting one or two flashing glances at the drost, and with the pretended ako krummedigé between them. this silent and disguised knight had become as blanched in the face as his slit trencher-napkin. he had given up his sword to the pursuivants; no sound issued from his blue compressed lips--but his glance rolled with fearful wildness beneath his bushy and blackened eyebrows; his legs tottered under him, and he was forced to take hold of the strong sir niels to keep himself from sinking on the floor. the drost himself followed these dangerous prisoners to see that the formalities of their imprisonment were legally and properly conducted. this singular occurrence had excited great astonishment. the general silence was soon succeeded by a low whispering. the two daring knights were well known; every one was aware that they were suspected of having abetted the archbishop's flight. it was also known that they belonged to the discontented in the land;--of friends they had not a few; and they passed for brave, independent lovers of their country, who cared not to flatter royalty, but had strength and courage to maintain the liberties of the people, and their own rights in council against the mightiest. that they should have joined in treasonable conspiracies did not seem probable; and it was supposed the drost had been too precipitate in making this singular charge. as the king's favourite, he was not free from the attacks of envy. "it is sad to think of the young drost," whispered one of the junker's knights, "he is such a dreamer he scents treason everywhere, and makes the king to be hated, by his ill-timed zeal." respecting the unknown knight with the helmet, and his guilt, there were many conjectures; he appeared in a suspicious light to most of the company--but that one of the outlaws should have dared to enter into the king's presence and sit at his table, seemed an act of such presumptuous daring, that none believed it to be possible. meanwhile, all took their seats. although the wine-flasks soon went round, the company appeared, however, unable to forget the unpleasant transaction which had clouded the king's countenance, as well as his step-father's; and, as it seemed, had also thrown junker christopher into an anxious and uneasy mood. it was not until all were seated, that drost aagé again entered the supper hall. he also was silent and depressed. he took his seat directly opposite the king and junker christopher. the three nearest knights rose to make room for him, according to the ancient usages of the table, and he sat down without saying a word respecting the accused and their crime. he seemed lost in reverie, and appeared not to notice the unusual flagging of the conversation around him; but his attention was in reality rivetted with affectionate sympathy on the deep emotion he thought he discovered in the king's countenance. the gloomy sternness before depicted in it seemed now to be lost in thoughtful sadness. eric sat with his wine cup in his hand, and regarded with a kindly look his friend and step-father count gerhard; at last he nodded involuntarily, and turned towards his reconciled foe, duke eric of langeland. "a health in honour of the negotiator of peace and of my reconciled kinsman!" he said, suddenly rising from his seat. all the knights stood up--and the king continued--"even this feast in honour of peace hath been made gloomy to me by traitors; they shall have their deserts; to-morrow is the day for passing sentence; to-day we will not think on it. at _this_ moment, i trust in the lord and our blessed lady that no secret traitor drains a cup in our hall. long live count gerhard and duke eric!" "long life to them, and long live our noble king!" was echoed from mouth to mouth, with great and nearly universal enthusiasm, while the goblets rang, and the horn-players, on a signal from the herald, made their instruments resound through the hall. junker christopher had also joined in the general shout of acclamation, and the king appeared especially to rejoice at hearing his brother's voice so animated on this occasion. his eye sought the junker's while he rung his glass against his; but christopher's glance was cold, restless, and irresolute, while his cheek glowed, and he twisted the corner of his napkin with his left hand. a smothered sigh escaped the king's breast as he again resumed his seat. aagé now observed, with great astonishment, that there was a large rent in junker christopher's napkin, which he was vainly striving to conceal with his hand. the king seemed to have made the same discovery at the same instant. he had suddenly changed colour, and his countenance expressed a fearful degree of wrath and grief; he made a movement as if he were about to start up, but instantly recovered himself by a strong internal effort; he set down his cup directly before him on the table, and, by pushing his own napkin from him, contrived to hide with it the rent in his brother's. a look of affectionate admiration from drost aagé was repressed by a stern glance of the king's serious eye while he laid his finger on his lips. "music!" he called, and gave a signal to the herald. the hall soon resounded with lively hunting horns. the gravity of the guests presently disappeared, and each talked gaily with his neighbour; the king himself appeared gay and in spirits, although aagé, indeed, remarked that it cost him a desperate effort. when the castle chaplain, at the conclusion of the feast, was about to pronounce the blessing, all the knights had become so joyous and loud-tongued, that the herald was twice compelled to remind them of the etiquette of the table. when the repast was ended the king retired in haste to his private chamber, and beckoned gravely to aagé to follow him. when christopher rose, he threw his napkin, as if by accident, under the table; he then went out on the hall balcony, and whistled; soon afterwards the prince's large hunting-hound came bounding through the hall, with a crumpled napkin in his mouth. the king had entered the private chamber with aagé; he had thrown himself into a chair, and held his hand before his eyes. he remained a long time in this posture. aagé stood in silence opposite to him, regarding him with a look of sorrowful sympathy. the king at last took his hand from his eyes, and he appeared to have wept. "who hath dared to destroy love and confidence between brothers?" he exclaimed; "if it was you, drost aagé, it is the last time i call you my drost." "i it was not, my noble liege!" answered aagé; "_who_ it was i know not. may the lord pardon that man among your true servants who so unwisely and rashly hath grieved you! it must have been done secretly, and without the herald's knowledge." "i despise a secret accusation," continued the king; "it is unlawful; it is in a high degree deserving of chastisement; it shall--yet no--no examination can take place in this case. if he _is_ a traitor," he continued, and deep grief was again visible in his countenance, "were he capable! be it as god wills--_i_ injure not a hair of his head. should i disgrace my father in his children? should i doom my mother's son outlawed and dishonoured? should i myself, great god!----" he paused, and his hair seemed to stand on end with horror. "look at me, aagé," he resumed; "could _such_ a thought be harboured here?" he laid his hand on his high and glowing forehead. "it burns within," he continued; "but no unseen cain's mark burns there. my hand was sternly raised against him--love me he cannot--fear me he must. well! let him tremble before his liege and sovereign until he learns to love his brother. now, not a word more of this! it is perhaps only spite and slander. who dares charge my left hand of treachery against the right? i know nothing as yet--i _will_ know nothing--i have known enough of evil----" he began again after a thoughtful pause, and with a gloomy downcast look--"have i not had traitors around me since i was a child? have i not seen my father murdered, and his shameless murderers in my presence? have not their bloody hands been secretly and openly raised against my life from the hour in which i doomed them outlawed? yet have they not had the power to touch me," he continued with cheerfulness, and raised his head. "no assassin's dagger hath yet reached me, even though excommunicated and given over to the evil one. i know it, aagé; i have seen it--the hand of the righteous lord was betwixt me and my deadly foes. no traitor and murderer--not even a soul murderer--no sinful archbishop or pope--not the arch-fiend himself--shall shake the crown upon this head." as he said these words he raised his hand and looked upwards with a glance of almost prophetic inspiration, and there was a nobleness and majesty in his countenance which seemed capable of humbling the most presumptuous foe. "my liege!" exclaimed aagé, with heartfelt joy, "the spirit which speaks through you at this hour is not alone the spirit of royalty and justice, but surely that of love also." "go to my brother, my faithful aagé," interrupted the king hastily; "take him this----" he took a gold chain from his neck, to which hung an image of the madonna. "pray him to accept this jewel from his brother, as a memorial of this celebration of peace. tell him our unhappy father wore this image to the day of his death." the king turned hastily away, and seemed desirous to hide the sorrowful emotion which had caused his voice to falter. aagé stood with the chain in his hand, and was about to give vent to the warmth of his feelings; but the king turned suddenly, and said, in a stern voice, "tomorrow a council of knights will be held. the accused shall be arraigned, and defend themselves if they can. all are equal here with respect to the law--be they friends or foes. woe to the accuser who hath not ample proof, were he even my dearest friend! go! and the lord be with thee." aagé bowed in silence, with wounded feelings, and would have departed, but the king, on perceiving his emotion, stretched out his arms towards him, and pressed him to his heart, without saying a word more. aagé hastily departed with the chain. when the king was alone in his chamber, he put his hand into his vest, and drew forth a rosary, garnished with pearls and rubies. "thy christmas gift when we were children, my ingeborg!" he said, with deep emotion. "what thou knewest i would ask for besides, thy angel joined me in prayer for at the throne of grace.--christopher! christopher! may god forgive thee the thought thine eye betrayed!" he then imprinted a kiss on the rosary, replaced it in his vest, and sat down quietly before his table to attend to state affairs. chap. xi. early the next morning a herald-pursuivant stood in drost aagé's sleeping apartment, with his large plumed hat in one hand, and a long, pointed sword in the other. the drost hastened to put on his garments, while he listened with anxious attention to the information which was given him. the three accused knights had disappeared in the night, together with the men-at-arms, who had relieved guard at midnight before the door of the knights' story. sir niels brock's and sir johan papæ's horses had been taken out of the stable--none of their squires or servants were to be seen in the castle; but the large well-fed horse which the pretended sir ako krummedigé had bestrode was still standing in the stable. the pursuivant who brought these tidings to the drost delivered to him, at the same time, the sword which at the repast of the preceding evening he had received from the mysterious knight with the helmet, and drew the drost's attention to a singular contrivance in it. the hilt was hollow, and contained a fluid, which, by means of a spring, might be imparted to the blade. a dog, whose skin had been scratched with this sword, had died in convulsions. "ha! a poisoned weapon!" exclaimed aagé in alarm, returning the sword with a look of horror; "take it instantly before the judgment hall of the castle--thou canst of course bear witness on oath from whom thou didst receive it?" "that i shall find it hard to do. sir drost, seeing no one knows who he really is," answered the pursuivant; "but that it was the dumb knight with the helmet--him they call sir krummedigé--i can take my oath upon. i should also announce, sir drost," he continued, "that the junker's gentleman of the bedchamber, sir pallé, died last night of his wound, although it was so trifling that we jeered him about it almost to the last. the surgeon swears he hath been wounded by a three-edged poisoned dagger." "our lady be merciful unto us!" exclaimed aagé. "his deadly terror was then but too well founded--we have had a poisoner then as our guest! even now he may perhaps be among us!" the drost hastily left his chamber. soon afterwards marsk oluffsen's rough voice was heard in the court of the castle, and ere it rang for mattins a knight, at the head of a troop of horse, rode at full gallop out of the castle gate. the marsk himself, it was said, was gone to the chase. he dashed on with a number of hunters and hounds through the park. the drost searched the whole castle. ere mattins were ended, the marsk and his huntsmen brought a bound captive to the tower. it was the mute knight with the helmet. his beard and eyebrows had changed colour, and it was soon known that he was one of the outlaws. amid the bustle caused at the castle by providing for the court, and attending on its numerous guests, much notice was not attracted towards these serious proceedings. the expected tournament and the knightly festivities occupied every one. the squires polished their master's arms and costly saddle-furniture; the prancing chargers were trained and tended; and the mild spring weather seemed to promise a bright day for the festivity. from the town and the neighbourhood crowds of gaily attired persons flocked to the castle. the splendidly accoutred knights careered eagerly and indefatigably with each other. all the castle windows which looked on the tilt-yard were already crowded with richly attired ladies, and most persons seemed to have forgotten both mattins and mass for the festival. it was whispered, indeed, that the tournament would not take place; but no one was disposed to believe this, as workmen began to bestir themselves, and preparations were still carried on, which kept expectation alive. meanwhile the king was seen to ride as usual to mass with his princely guests, attended by his halberdiers. he was grave and thoughtful. junker christopher rode in gloomy silence by his side; he wore over his breast the large gold chain, with the image of the madonna, which the king was wont to wear himself; and this token of distinction was regarded as a sign that all misunderstanding must have been removed between the brothers. the junker's eye meanwhile avoided the king's, and not one word was exchanged between them on the road to and from church. after mass, the king instantly repaired to the knights' hall with all his men, and it was announced by the heralds that a knights' council, and a court of justice would be held. the tournament and the other festivities were in the meantime announced by the marsk to be given up; and people now flocked to the knights' hall to see the king administer justice among his knights. he sat with an unusually stern and grave aspect on the raised ivory throne, and was surrounded by regal state and splendour. he first examined into the conduct of some young knights who were accused of minor faults and transgressions of the laws of chivalry. those who either could not prove their innocence according to the established proceedings of temporal justice, or where doubt was entertained, relied on sword and lance, for redeeming their honour were sternly banished the castle; but those who acknowledged and repented a pardonable error, obtained permission by bold and knightly deeds, to regain their place and rank among the king's men. the drost now stepped forth in his own and in the name of the murdered sir pallé, with an accusation against the pretended sir ako krummidigé, as the assassin of that slain knight, as well as against sir niels brock and sir johan papæ, as traitors and secret conspirators against state and crown, and he craved permission, in case the testimony he brought forward was not considered sufficient to establish his charge, to confirm it with sword and lance, to be judged by god, in a combat for life and death with the traitors. as the two knights so seriously accused, had escaped by unlawful flight, they were proclaimed to be suspected, and cited to appear and defend themselves before the expiration of six weeks and one day, if they would not be passed sentence upon as traitors; but the pretended ako krummedigé, whose real name was now discovered by sufficient evidence, was led before the tribunal. he was clad in the ancient armour in which he was attired on his first arrival; he wore also the helmet and shield he had brought with him from the monastery, and on which the famous armorial bearings of the noble family of the hvides were noticed for the first time; but he had no sword by his side, and was surrounded by a strong guard. the glossy black was removed from his stiff beard, which now resembled the bristles of a boar; and from his bushy, meeting-eyebrows which were considered by the lower orders as a [ ]"wolfman's mark." and by which the outlawed sir kaggé was especially distinguished. he was pale, and stared wildly around him. when he heard himself named and accused, and beheld the king in the large circle of attentive knights, he seemed to struggle against appearing cast down or humbled. he raised his head, and stepped forward with a bold and haughty look, and even with the assumption of a degree of knightly dignity. "i greet thee, king eric ericson!" he said, in a loud voice. "i greet every brave knight who serves with honour here at court! christ preserve every dear son of denmark from the misfortune which brings me hither! but if there be brave and true danish men here present, the man who became outlawed for denmark's freedom and the honour of danish chivalry will not lack weapons and defenders." "talk not of freedom and honour, _thou_ who hast nought but effrontery and deeds of infamy to boast of!" began the king with calm and cold contempt. "under the name of a pious and honourable man, thou hast crept into my hall among men of honour, and abused the sacred laws of chivalry, to hide deceit and treachery. thy mask hath fallen off traitor! thy poisoned weapon hath betrayed thee--thou wert chased from denmark for a judas deed; yet still thou hast dared to enter my presence. _one_ assassination thou hast already perpetrated in my royal castle, and another thou hast meditated--canst thou deny it? hast thou a word to say in thy defence, miscreant?" the prisoner bit his lips, and ground his teeth. "if i come not precisely from the holy sepulchre," he muttered, "i come, however, from the graves of kinsmen and friends, and from the corpses of murdered comrades. the fool whose mouth i have stopped, was a soulless lump of flesh, on whom i did but whet my dagger. what i purposed besides, is no concern of any one; but what i had promised, it was my fixed resolve to perform. against tyrants no weapon is dishonourable, king eric! and if an outlawed man hath neither rights nor safety, how then can you suppose he will let himself be bound by your pitiful laws?" "have ye considered the matter, my knights!" said the king; "then pronounce doom upon this audacious criminal, according to the laws of god and man!" "he hath forfeited honour and life, according to the laws of the land," was the unanimous verdict. "according to strict justice, he hath even forfeited hand and eye." the herald pronounced the doom in a loud voice. when kaggé heard his death doom, his knees shook, and he looked around him with a rapid and searching glance, as if expecting to find defenders or protectors against the sentence, among the spectators, but there was a death-like stillness; no one moved tongue or hand in his defence. he seemed humbled, and now bent on one knee before the tribunal. "bethink you, king eric!" he said, in a supplicating tone, "i served in your royal father's castle, and he himself gave me the praise of being the best squire he had. his death was never my wish, i would have saved him had it been in my power; although he had broken his contract and had himself loosened the tie which bound denmark's crown to his head." "i remember well thou didst serve in my father's castle, for hire and for garments," answered the king; "but i know, and every man in denmark knows, also, that thou wert in finnerup barn, on that bloody st. cecilia's eve, and thy sword was not the _last which_ was plunged into the breast of thy unhappy master and king. as a faithless traitor and regicide thou wert however but outlawed while i was a minor, but now thou shalt suffer just punishment, as surely as i wear denmark's crown!" "is there not a single free man here, who dares to speak a word for me?" cried the captive, springing up with a wild look. "ha! slaves of a tyrant! i despise ye," he continued, looking frantically around him. "the deed for which i was outlawed, was the proudest ever achieved by danish man. a tyrant's murder hath been an honoured deed so long as the world hath stood, wherever a spark of freedom was in the spirit of the people--now there are nought but cowardly slaves in denmark, and it shames me to call you countrymen. there you stand aghast! because a bold word is heard again in kingly hall--you have courage only for crawling in the dust before a revengeful despot, and to doom the last friend of freedom to the scaffold--is it not enough for you to see my blood? will you saw off my hands and feet? will you pluck out my eyes, that no free man may see you blush? will you deal thus with a descendant of skialm--hvide's noble race? i am a knight," he added proudly. "i demand but to be judged by the law of knighthood--that is recognised over all the world, but under this country's laws i stand no longer." "who dubbed thee a knight? asked the king, with a contemptuous look. "the greatest knight in denmark's kingdom," answered the captive, drawing himself up with a look of defiance. "the man whose shoe latchet no knight here was worthy to loose--the marsk of denmark's kingdom, stig anderson hvide, and if your chivalrous bearing is aught else than empty boast and mockery, king eric, you will suffer me to be judged with equity according to the law which is as the apple of your eye." "be it so, by all the holy men!" exclaimed the king with glowing cheeks; "according to the law of chivalry shall thy doom be executed, since thou dost thyself demand it, and thou shalt learn what it is to be doomed to dishonour. the knighthood which an outlawed regicide gave thee is truly but little honour worth, nevertheless thou shalt not take it with thee to thy dishonourable death. thy hands and feet thou shalt keep, and thy false eyes also--but the honour thou boastest of, thou shalt lose according to law, for the sake of chivalry--and thy life for my father's sake alone." at a signal from the king, the captive was now removed, and a council of the oldest knights met together to decide upon the mode of carrying the sentence into execution, according to the laws of chivalry. three hours afterwards, the captive was led in full knightly armour, and on horseback, to a high scaffold within the lists, under which the king himself appeared on horseback, surrounded by all his knights. the castle chaplain stood on the scaffold, at the head of a row of monks from the dominican monastery. the captive was led up hither, not indeed to suffer death, but, according to the laws of chivalry to be ejected from the community of knights in a manner the most degrading. there was a crowd assembled; all the windows of the castle, as well as the stands on the lists were thronged with curious spectators. from the window of the servants' hall, close by the maidens' tower, peeped forth a fair little inquisitive face which was remarked for its beauty and animation; it was the captive lady ulrica, who without knowing what was going forward, had persuaded the tractable karen to take her with her, to see the great procession which was talked of. no one knew what was to happen. the whole transaction was hitherto unknown in denmark, where the young king eric was the first sovereign who endeavoured to introduce all the usages of chivalry, and the novelty and mystery of the proceeding, tended still more to heighten curiosity. ulrica beheld the priests on the high scaffold, and a knight in full armour led upon it: his back was turned to the window, and she did not recognise him. a rough sour-visaged man in a red cloak, with an iron club in hand, now stepped forward, he looked like an executioner, but however carried neither sword nor axe. he tore the shield from the knight, and struck off his armour; after which he broke the shield and armour into pieces with his iron club, and cast the fragments at his feet. "gracious heaven! is this an execution?" cried ulrica in dismay. the knight was now led down from the scaffold. he turned his pale and terrible countenance towards her, and she recognised him. "kaggé! righteous heaven!" she exclaimed with a shriek, and sank swooning in the arms of her attendants. they hastened to carry her back to the tower, and to the fostering care of her gentle sister. the armorial bearings were taken from kaggé's broken shield; they were now, together with the shield, fastened to the tail of a mare, and thus dragged in the mire through the streets of wordingborg, followed by the scoffs of the herald, which were echoed by the enraged mob. the disarmed knight was meanwhile led upon the dunghill near the stables of the castle; here his gold spurs were taken off, and on the same degrading spot the tail of the horse he rode last was docked. while the attention of the spectators was rivetted on these singular proceedings, the dishonoured knight made a vain attempt to escape. he was now bound with cords, and again led upon the scaffold--there he stood staring wildly around him and foaming with rage, while the priests chanted a requiem over him as over the dead. he looked around in a frenzy; when, however, he perceived that the sword of the executioner was not glittering over his head, he seemed not as yet to have abandoned all hope of life, and drew himself up in desperate defiance. the solemn death-chant, nevertheless, appeared to awe him, and to damp his resolution. ere it was ended, he sank down in an attitude of prayer. the chanting ceased, and the castle chaplain presently stepped forward with the holy scriptures, and began to read with a loud voice the psalmist's denunciations against traitors--"let there be none to extend mercy unto him, let his posterity be cut off, and in the generation following let their name be blotted out. as he loved cursing, so let it come unto him; as he delighted not in blessing, so let it be far from him----" "nay! silence with thy curses priest! whether they be scripture or not!" called the king with vehemence. "his soul must be judged by the merciful god. it is here question only of knightly honour." but the chaplain had entered with such zeal into his text, that, without heeding the king's words, he still added, "when he shall be judged, let him be condemned, and let his prayer become sin----" the kneeling knight started up at these words, and glared frantically at the priest, "know then, every free man in denmark! and judge if it were sin!" he shouted--"i prayed in this hour to the vanquisher of monsters, st. magnus, and all the saints, that king glipping's accursed race might be rooted out of the earth, as he was himself by this hand in finnerup barn." "thou didst declare the truth unto him priest!" said the king, suppressing with difficulty his exasperated feelings-- "yet--no more ecclesiastical cursing! his thoughts and prayers are for god to judge; this criminal stands here only before his earthly judges." the priest was silent; the king now turned solemnly to the pursuivant-at-arms, and asked, "say, what is this criminal's name?" "sir aagé kaggé, of the noble race and lineage of the high-born hvides," answered the pursuivant-at-arms. "that is not _his_ name who here stands in our sight," cried the herald, "for in _him_ i and danish chivalry only recognise a traitor, a deceiver, and a false swearer." the king thrice asked the name of the criminal. the herald-pursuivant named it each time, and each time the herald cried, "that is not his name!" with the same annulling addition. when the herald had proclaimed these words for the last time, he received from the hand of the pursuivant-at-arms an ewer with hot water; he then mounted the scaffold with it, and dashed the water over the head and shoulders of the dishonoured knight, with these words, "thus i efface the sacred mark of knighthood from this corpse." as soon as these words were uttered, the criminal was looked upon as dead, and treated as an actual corpse. he was dragged by cords down from the scaffold, and tied on a bier. a pall was spread over him, and while the king and all his knights rode back to the castle, kaggé, followed by a scoffing mob of the lowest class, was borne to the church, where the priests again prayed and chanted over him as over the dead. when the pall was at last removed, in order to lead him to actual death, he lay senseless on the bier, and it was doubted whether he ought in this state to be carried to the place of execution. "go hence and let him alone! the sun hath gone down, and he shall be unmolested here till to-morrow," said a powerful and authoritative voice, and the commendator of the monastery of the holy ghost stepped solemnly forward in his white dress as master of the choir, with his double twelve-pointed silver cross on his breast. all recognised him, and bowed reverently with folded hands, and half-bended knees, to receive his blessing. the provost and his attendants, who were to conduct the prisoner to the place of execution, seemed, however, somewhat doubtful and lingered. "_i_ am responsible! go hence all of you, and let the sinner lie here till to-morrow!" repeated the commendator, "his soul shall have time to prepare for its separation from the sinful body. it is the duty of my holy office to care for the souls of the departing. in the name of the church and the holy spirit, i command the temporal authority here present to give way!" every one departed; the commendator last quitted the church, and ordered the church door to be locked. by command of the provost, a strong guard of men-at-arms was stationed before it. when the provost and his attendants early the following morning entered the church to lead the unknighted captive (already dead in law) to execution, a real corpse was found bound to the bier. some thought that the proceedings of the previous day were sufficient to kill him; others deemed it probable that he might have expired from dread when he came to himself in the night, and found himself alone and bound on the bier in the deserted church. the idea that terror had caused the death of the miscreant captive while lying in such wretched plight the whole night, in expectation of his death, now excited a species of compassion in the same mob who on the preceding day could not sufficiently taunt and scoff the detested assassin; and it was discovered that, after all, the king had been far too strict, and that even the pious commendator himself had in a great degree augmented the sinner's punishment by caring for his soul in such sort; and allowing him the space of a whole night to die of terror, during his preparation for death. the face of the corpse was swollen, and already in such a state that none could recognise the outlawed knight, excepting from the bristly beard and meeting eyebrows. the body was instantly, and in all privacy, buried without the customary ritual of the church, and in unconsecrated ground. but hardly was the dead man interred, ere a low murmur was heard among the restless populace that it could scarcely have been the right corpse after all. the speedy change in the appearance of the body so early in the spring was deemed exceedingly suspicious, and it was rumoured that the beard and eye-brows were undoubtedly false. it was known that the outlawed aagé kaggé had been a kinsman of archbishop grand; and the commendator of the order of the holy ghost, who from the monastery might have ingress to the church, was conjectured to have availed himself of his authority on this occasion, to save a kinsman of that mighty and dangerous prelate. this rumour, however, was instantly put down by the provost and his attendants, whom it might have caused seriously to be brought to account. it reached neither the ears of the king nor the drost, and it was believed at court (as had been in legal form announced by the temporal authorities of the town) that the outlawed regicide had been found lifeless on the bier, and that the body had been buried in the morning, after lawful inspection. the stern solemnity which pervaded the king's proceedings at this time at wordingborg was remarked by all. the festivities which had been looked forward to with pleasure on occasion of the treaty with the dukes, were wholly relinquished, and all the stranger nobles and knights soon left the castle. junker christopher had taken a cold and hasty farewell, and it was said had repaired to kallundborg or holbeck. both these castles had been restored to him with full investiture of the fiefs. ere his departure, he had announced that the maidens' tower was carelessly guarded, and that the fair prisoners were in communication with the household, and probably even with persons of more consideration. this information compelled the commandant to observe more strictness in guarding the captives. the obliging little karen was replaced by a grave female attendant, and no one but herself and a monk skilled in medicine were admitted to the tower. the youngest of the captive maidens was ill, it was said, and not quite in her right mind. she imagined she had seen an execution, and that she herself was a princess who had an unfortunate prince for a lover. this gave rise to much gossip, and all manner of conjectures among the household at the castle. drost aagé was spoken of as the most zealous friend and advocate of the captive maidens, and it was supposed that by means of his influence their cause would soon be decided in their favour. the king, with his state council and halberdiers, remained until past easter at wordingborg castle, from whence were issued many royal mandates and ordinances. in these matters the drost was, next to the king himself, especially occupied, and was seldom seen to join the other knights in their diversions within the lists or in the tennis court. he was, as usual, grave and pensive. occasionally he was seen in the moonlight spring evenings to wander alone, as if lost in reverie, around the maidens' tower. since the king's arrival at wordingborg, aagé had not seen the captive maidens; it appeared that he had heard the gossiping reports of his warm interest for them, and that he feared to injure their cause or their reputation by a visit. chap. xii. it was a fortnight after easter. the trees of the chase were springing into leaf. flocks of twittering starlings in whirling clouds hovered and sang above the towers of wordingborg castle. the cuckoo's note was heard in the beech groves, and the nightingale was come. the marsk stood in the ante-chamber awaiting orders. ah inquiry was made after the drost. he had repaired to the maidens' tower with the judges of the court of justice of the castle, in order to be present at an examination of marsk stig's daughters. he had himself hastened this act of justice, in his firm conviction of their innocence; he hoped by his testimony to be instrumental towards their acquittal, and that the affair might, from the king's presence there, come to a speedy and happy termination. the drost's longing to see the fair margaretha again, had perhaps some share in the haste and zeal with which he followed the grave judges. but hardly had he entered the prison with these personages, and had met, and responded to, a tender and melancholy glance from the gentle margaretha, ere ulrica, who appeared to have been sitting quietly before her sister's tapestry frame, suddenly started up with a wild look and dishevelled hair, and rushed menacingly towards them. "ye have murdered him, ye monsters,"--she cried--"ye have murdered my true knight--are ye now come to drag me also to the scaffold? look! here i am!--tarry not!--bring forward your chains!--bring forward your executioner! lead me but to death! i despise life and all of ye! i knew kaggé was here to avenge my degradation, and lead me out of this vile captivity. me, you may murder also--the sooner the better. i ask no other freedom--call but your executioner, and put an end to my sorrow! i knew the king's life was in danger, and i was silent to save my friend and true knight--but my sister is innocent--none shall injure a hair of _her_ head. she besought me to move him to flee, and cause no mishap--that i can witness on the gospels." "both were then, it seems, cognizant of the presence of the outlawed regicide and of his treasonable purpose," said the chief judge; "sir drost! the testimony we have here from the most guilty of the two, renders them both, at the least, state prisoners for their lifetime." drost aagé appeared thunderstruck. "the unhappy lady must rave," he said, hastily recollecting himself. "she hath been ill, and not in her right mind, as we know--her confession and testimony are of no weight. her knowledge of yon miscreant i have indeed observed; but it is impossible she could have been an accomplice in his crime, and still less her pious sister; that i will stake my life upon! answer us! for the sake of the lord in heaven, tell us the truth noble lady margaretha! knew you kaggé was here in disguise at the castle, and seeking after the king's life?" "i knew it, sir drost." answered margaretha calmly, with her hand on her heart. "but by the lips of the holy virgin, and the spirit of holy truth, it lay not in my power, nor in my sister's, to hinder his coming. when i heard he was here, and what he meditated, it was night, and our prison door was locked. it was not possible for me to caution you and the king against him, had i even (which i trust in god i had) courage and strength and will to do so. in the morning it was affirmed he had escaped, and--i was silent, that i might not plunge an erring unhappy soul into still greater misery." "a serious case! a very serious case!" said the judge. "we must examine into all the circumstances of the affair." while the examination was continued the commandant of the castle entered, and summoned the drost to the king. aagé left the chamber with a deep sigh, and a sorrowing glance at the unhappy maidens, of whose acquittal and liberation from prison he now almost despaired. with feelings of deep emotion the drost joined the marsk in the ante-chamber, where he was to await the king's commands. they heard the king pacing with hasty steps up and down his private chamber. "there are snakes in the grass, drost!" said the marsk. "why did they not instantly cut off the heads of those hounds, without ceremony, and cast their high-born friend and protector into the tower. now they have all 'scaped, the whole pack of them, and we have enough to do to be on our guard." "whom mean you, sir marsk?" asked aagé absently. "you have received letters i know?" "yes, in abundance--brock and papæ got off for that once; they are scouring jutland round, and stirring up the people about these priest-riots and the shutting of the churches, which all dread so much; just as if a church-door was a fortress gate with ramparts and towers, and had st. paul himself for a porter. i thought truly, it was a bad business when those haughty nobles laid their heads together so often with the junker, and had slit napkins laid before their noses. i should have been right glad to have hewn the whole pack of them in pieces; but amid all our stupid ceremonies with trencher and napkin, and tattered clouts, we let fly the birds of prey, and the junker into the bargain, although he got a rent to hide which made his ears glowing red." "how, sir marsk!" exclaimed aagé, a conjecture suddenly flashing across his mind. "you surely were not yourself his secret accuser?" "you have hit it, drost! i cared not much to keep the secret: had any one asked, my answer would have been ready, and my good sword with it, if required: proofs and such like frippery i had not, it is true--that was the worst of it; but, however, i had my conjectures and my own thoughts. i cannot abide that fellow, do you see--were he guiltless, and had he courage to defend his honour,--by the foul fiend! he would not have sat there as if upon thorns, and have hid that little rent. i was just going by the table, do you see? and saw how matters stood with those three mangy hounds. the junker's napkin lay so conveniently at hand, my blood was up, and it struck me the high-born junker would be the better for a little alarm." "by your favour. sir marsk! it was a most rash proceeding; by acting thus, you have increased the misunderstanding between the king and his brother." "so much the better; either keep with him or break with him--one or the other; nought comes of this truckling: but so far you are right--i should not have busied myself with those apish ceremonies, they better beseem all of _you_. i should rather have said it right out, and answered for it instantly with my hand on my neck:--but enough of this--know ye master grand is here?" "grand! the archbishop? where?" "at copenhagen, and with a royal convoy. that was a piece of folly, also--_you_ were, no doubt, one in council?" "it was not deemed necessary," answered aagé, repressing his annoyance at the marsk's offensive bluntness. "the counsel you so flatteringly attribute to me was not mine either. the state council and the king himself considered it good policy. the cardinal demanded it, and offered his mediation. if the archbishop becomes manageable, and recalls the ban, he, of course, could not come hither without an assurance of personal safety." "do ye not yet know that fellow better?" answered the marsk. "ere _he_ becomes tractable, heaven and earth will pass away. in this respect, the king is not far behind him--but if he _will_ be at the archbishop--by satan! he should not have given him a convoy, and allowed him to set foot again upon danish ground, though the whole state-council should get a colic from fright. now, grand and that accursed red hat sit like a pair of popes at axelhuus, and none dare injure a hair of their heads: there they may begin the game, and stir us up the whole country in a trice. the cardinal hath already confirmed that confounded constitution of veilé, and the bishop of roskild now causes all his churches to be shut. the storm will and must burst soon, and then all depends on how wind and current drive." "great heavens! is it possible?" exclaimed aagé, in dismay. "have you certain tidings, sir marsk? doth the king know it?" "i have brought him some doses on a fasting stomach in a couple of letters--that he hath swallowed them you may know from the clatter of his spurs and boot-heels--you brought him letters from sweden, drost! love letters, doubtless, and fine ballads from his betrothed? were there any tidings of a rational kind?" "none of a very cheering description," answered aagé, looking with uneasiness towards the king's door. "what the princess hath imparted i know not; but the excellent master petrus can effect nothing with the state-council touching the king's marriage." "s'death!" said the marsk, rubbing his hands. "then it will not be easy to get to talk with him to-day. these are knots which it will be hard even for _your_ state-policy to loose, my wise sir drost! but if _i_ know the king well, he will give all your fine wisdom to the devil, and keep him to me and his good sword." "against rebels we may use the sword, marsk, but neither against bishop nor pope, and just as little against the king's future brother-in-law," answered aagé. "we stand in need of discretion in this matter, and, above all, of the help of the lord." the door of the king's private chamber now opened, and the king himself looked out into the ante-chamber, and nodded. his countenance indicated passion and anxiety, and the marsk, as well as the drost, entered the chamber with a thoughtful aspect. an hour afterwards marsk oluffsen departed with the wordingborg troop of horse on his way to jutland; and drost aagé set out, attended by twelve knights and squires, as ambassador to the swedish court, with a letter which inspired him with secret anxiety for his king and country. among the twelve knights appointed to accompany drost aagé to sweden, was sir pallé's brother-in-law, the brave knight, helmer blaa, who had made himself famous by gaining his bride by dint of arms, and vanquishing sir pallé and her six brothers, who had all fallen upon him at once. he was young, of a tall and well-proportioned figure, with sparkling brown eyes, and remarkably light and agile in his movements. he was a native of fyen, of high birth; a great friend of the drost's, and devoted heart and soul to the king. "he rides in the saddle so free--" was wont to be carolled forth by the lower orders whenever they saw helmer riding his handsome arabian horse, which flew with him swift as the wind, and was the gift of royal favour to him on his marriage-day the preceding summer. drost aagé rode for an hour in calm silence by the side of this gallant knight, on the road to kiöge, from whence he was to embark for skanór on the swedish coast. "count henrik goes with the king of course?" said sir helmer, at last breaking silence. "if one would visit a bishop's nest in these times, it must assuredly be with sword and coat of mail." "count henrik stirs not from his side," answered aagé--"that he hath promised me with word and hand--i now go hence unwillingly; grand's thirst for revenge, and the boldness of the outlaws know no bounds." "that accursed kaggé! he made an end also of my fat seal of a brother-in-law--that lump of flesh, indeed, i accounted not much of; his miserable death, however, i have vowed to st. george to avenge, chiefly for my dear wife's sake. she had but that one brother left since i came to mishap with all the others; but it was done openly, and in honourable self-defence; she hath not even loved me the less either for that affair--but to fight by stealth, and with a poisoned weapon--faugh! 'twas an accursed italian trick--such was never before the usage here in the north. are you quite certain the wretched assassin is dead and buried in good earnest, sir drost? the people have divers tales to tell. he who hath had no shame in his life would not die of shame, i should think--one hath seen ere this a cunning fox run from the trap and leave his tail behind him." aagé started. "i saw him not after death," he answered; "but his end was certainly announced by the provost and commendator of the monastery. there can surely be no doubt of the truth." "the commendator is a holy man of god, doubtless," replied helmer, with an incredulous smile; "one ought not, indeed, to suspect him of deceit and treason, even though he be a good friend of master grand's, and might have wished to save the dishonoured life of one of so high and holy a race. i first heard that unbelieving gossip when the body was thrown into the carrion pit, and consumed with unslacked lime; it doubtless showed great caution and good care for the public health; but they will have it it was a corpse from the hospital of the monastery, with beard and eyebrows of good danish boar bristles." "can it be possible!" exclaimed aagé. "should he be alive and at liberty, he would then become a more pestilent foe than all the outlaws put together--yon dishonoured miscreant is capable of any crime; he hath now hardly aught more to lose." "be that as it may," answered helmer, "if kaggé be above ground, so is my arm and my good sword also--the lord be praised for it!--and wherever i meet him, i am his man." "if the miscreant is alive, and falls into our hands, we can but bind his hands and wash our own of the matter," answered aagé. they now continued their journey in grave silence for another hour. each time aagé thought of the unfortunate daughters of marsk stig in the maidens' tower a sigh burst from his heart; and whenever he felt the king's important letter within his vest it seemed to him as if he was oppressed by the future fate of king and country. "we received but scanty orders," resumed helmer blaa again, seemingly wearied by the long silence and the drost's reverie. "we were to learn the rest from you, drost; but you seem to have left tongue and speech at wordingborg." "you know what is of most importance," answered aagé. "it concerns king eric's highest happiness in this world. as matters stand now with the archbishop and pope, you may easily imagine there are great difficulties about the dispensation for his marriage; if we cannot prevail on king birger and his state council to permit the marriage to take place ere st. john's day, and that despite both pope and clergy, then--more should not be said," he added, in a lowered voice; "then i fear matters will stand badly, sir helmer." "not worse surely than with me when they threw hindrances in the way of my marriage!" answered helmer. "how such difficulties may be got over our bold king knows full as well as i--" so saying, he gaily struck upon his clanking sword. "that did very well with your brother-in-law, brave helmer," said aagé. "it concerned only half a dozen of our worst knights. here state and kingdom are in question. the king is of a hasty temper, you know; he is only but too ready to imitate your bold manner of wooing; but if he is to win his bride by war and battle, there will be a bloody bridal here in the summer, to as little pleasure for denmark as for sweden." "there you may perhaps be in the right, drost," answered helmer. "there is a difference between _my_ brothers-in-law and the king's, i own; but if honour and our king's fortune in love are now at stake, assuredly no danish knight will hesitate to become his bridegroom's man with sword and lance, however hard one might be put to it. this much we must allow to the swede--he ever fights like a brave fellow. swedish knighthood yields not to us in manhood; but when we sing, 'for eric the youthful king!' the heart of no danish man will sink below his belt, i know, were the swede ten times as strong, and had they ten thorkild knudsons in council and camp." "let us not talk too loud of these things," said aagé, in a low voice, and allowing the other knights to pass by, while he and helmer slackened their pace. "honourable warfare is indeed ever to be preferred to a deceitful and shameful peace," he continued; "but the lord and st. george forbid it should come to a breach now, just when love and good will seem in truth desirous to make us and our brave neighbours friends. could these unhappy scruples be removed i should deem both denmark and sweden fortunate indeed. if a noble swedish princess sits on the throne of denmark's queens, and a danish one on that of sweden, we might then hope to see extinguished the last spark of ancient national hate and fraternal enmity. we may say what we please in our pride, and boast of danish greatness in the days of canute the great and the valdemars; scandinavians were, however, brethren in the beginning; we have shared honour and fame with each other all over the world, among longobards and goths and northmen; and we must combine together again, if aught great is to be achieved by the powers of the north." "it may be so," answered sir helmer. "i am well nigh of your opinion, especially since it hath now come to something more than mere state policy and cold calculations with these betrothings of royal children. this one at first was but a politic scheme of queen agnes and drost hessel; in such plans there are seldom any truth and honesty. strange enough it should turn out as it hath done; for every man, both here and in sweden's land, knows that our young king is almost more enamoured than a sir tristan or florez in the new books of chivalry; and the fair princess ingeborg--here they already call her our second dagmar--although we have but heard she is pious and mild, and hath pretty blue eyes and beautiful golden hair, like dagmar. i shall be well pleased to see her," he added. "no swedish or danish knights can ever commend her sufficiently, and she is, indeed, well nigh praised to the disparagement of our own lovely ladies--that vexes me i own." "i saw her at helsingborg, at the bridal of count gerhard and queen agnes," said aagé, and his pensive eye sparkled. "she was then still almost a child; but she hath since ever seemed to me like one of god's holy angels, destined to diffuse the blessings of peace and love through this land and kingdom. there is but one female form in the world which i could compare with her, or perhaps even exalt above her in fair and noble presence," he added with emotion; but suddenly paused and cleared his throat with some embarrassment. "now, out with it, drost aagé; i am not jealous," said sir helmer, with a pleased and proud look. "you mean doubtless my fair young wife--it is worthy a true knight to admire the beauty of a young and fair woman in all reverence and honour. she hath well nigh the fairest presence of any woman here in the country; every one says so who sees her, both here and in fyen; and i have nought against it. i know assuredly she holds me dearest of all, although i came to mishap, as you know, both with her uncle and those stiff-necked brothers. she is now at my castle, longing to have me back again; if it please the lord and st. george, she shall soon hear a good report of me, if there is anything to be done in earnest." drost aagé's usually pale cheek had become crimson. "you guessed wrong, however, this once sir helmer"--he said, with a smile; "the lady i thought of was another, without disparagement to your fair young wife. but, if we would reach kjögé ere midnight, we must ride faster. in a steady trot, and at the long run, i think my danish horse will be a match for your arabian." he spurred his horse, and sir helmer hastened to redeem the honour of his favourite arabian, while he shook his head at the drost's want of discernment in the matter of female beauty. chap. xiii. when they reached kjögé it was three hours past vespers, and after burgher bedtime. in this town, as yet, neither the great franciscan nor carmelite monasteries were erected, which afterwards became so celebrated. here the travellers were forced to be content with one of the unpretending hostelries from the time of eric glipping, which were often stigmatised as dungeons and farthing taverns. during the last two years the town had been frequently visited by the hanseatic merchants, since the king had extended their trading privileges; and when these active traders went to or from the great fairs at skanor or falsterbo, or to the herring fishery, on the swedish coast, they often ran their vessels into kjögé bay, to wait for a favourable wind, and dispose of their wares to the burghers of kjögé. the bay was now full of hanseatic merchant vessels, and the numerous lights in the ships shone fair upon the shore. drost aagé, with his train, had much difficulty in getting a room in what was called the ale-house, near the harbour. in the large public room of the tavern, where the guests were wont to beguile the time until late at night, with drinking and dice, there was on the entrance of the drost and his knights, much hubbub and loud-tongued talk among the guests, which, however, was suddenly hushed on the appearance of the richly-attired strangers, in whom the king's knights and halberdiers were instantly recognised. at the upper end of the long oaken table, which was fixed to the floor, sat a heavy-built, consequential-looking personage, with a sable-bordered cap and tunic; it was berner kopmand, from rostock (so notorious for his wealth and pride) who had bid defiance to the king at sjöberg. he lolled in his seat with an air of importance, and had laid one leg upon the table, that he might be more completely at his ease. his broad visage glowed from the effects of wine; he held a silver goblet in his hand, and had a large wine-flask before him. by his side sat his trusty friend and trading companion, henrik gullandsfar, from wisbye, with a large purse in his hand, from which he threw some coins into the host's cap. between them stood a backgammon board, on which the dice were swimming in ale and wine, and which berner kopmand kicked aside to make room for his ponderous foot. here they sat, surrounded by a number of hanseatic merchants, skippers and boatmen. all were armed, like themselves, with broad battle swords and sabres, and drank merrily to their own success. when the drost and his knights entered, the two merchants remained sitting in their easy posture, without returning the greeting of the strangers, and whispers and murmurs of dissatisfaction were heard among the guests. in the least lit-up part of the room sat two men with the cross of the order of the holy ghost on their black travelling mantles. the one drew his hood over his brow; he instantly arose, and with his ecclesiastical colleague presently disappeared in the throng of guests, who were flocking in and out. sir helmer had noticed the deportment of the monk; he hastily approached aagé to whisper a word in his ear, but the drost, who had instantly recognised the two arrogant hanseatic merchants, had turned his whole attention upon their bearing, and was pondering within himself, how far it would be wise or necessary to meddle with them, or attach any significance to their former powerless menace. "short and sweet, my good friends!" now began the heavy rostocker, with lisping tongue, while he struck the heel of his boot on the table to obtain a hearing, and seemed wrath at the pause in the talk. "the lauenberg knight was forced to dangle from our new gallows, despite the cry of his high birth and lineage; and the high-born duke albert of saxony was ready to choke with rage. it is therefore, he now protects and eggs on these high-born highwaymen. but we will no longer suffer ourselves to be plundered and pulled by the nose, unavenged, by knights and princes. we shall one day teach all these high and mighty lords, where the gold lies buried, the blessed bright gold which rules the world, and what the rich and combined hanse-towns can do. we merchants and small folk, have now also learned something of the art of war, and the art of politics, and he who treads on our corns may beware of lubek law, and the rostock gallows--hurra! freedom in trade! freedom in word and deed! to hell with all tyrants and aristocrats!" so saying, berner kopmand kicked the empty wine flask off the table, while he moved his foot to the floor, and rose reeling with the goblet at his lips. the foreign merchants and skippers, shouted and drank. henrik gullandsfar shook his head, and pulled his drunken colleague by the sleeve, with a side glance at the drost and the king's halberdiers. "i give them to death and the devil! i can buy them up body and soul, and their forefathers into the bargain," growled the proud burgher magnate of rostock--allowing himself, however, to be led out of the apartment, by the sober and more wary gullandsfar. the other merchants and skippers now departed one after another, singing and whistling as they went. aagé had instantly perceived that the conduct of the proud hanseatics was meant as defiance and insult; but he had himself, as drost, two years before, jointly with the state-council, confirmed the great privileges which were granted to these traders, and the law strictly forbade all violent and arbitrary proceedings towards them so long as they themselves refrained from committing any act of violence. aagé remained silent, with a contemptuous smile, and warned to the incensed knights to keep quiet. but sir helmer's blood boiled,--he had sat upon thorns since his eye had caught the monk. as the hanseatic sea-men left the inn, he thought he once more caught a glance, through the open door, of the same figure, among the tumultuous throng which was hastening to the vessels. he whispered a few hurried words in the drost's ear, and rushed out of the apartment. aagé looked gravely and thoughtfully after him. he gave a secret signal to two of the most discreet knights to follow him, and requested the others to remain. they now seated themselves at the almost deserted table. the humble and officious host hastened to serve them, and to remove the empty flasks and cans of ale. their wrath which they had repressed with difficulty, had rendered the knights silent, and their humour was manifested only in taunting exclamations and jeers at the grocer-heroes, as they were designated. it was indeed allowed that the proud berner kopmand's inveteracy against the nobles of the land was not altogether unfounded. the knights' castles in denmark, were not in fact robber-holds, as in germany; foreign traders here enjoyed the greatest security, and had even greater privileges than the burghers of the country; but the knights delighted in scoffing at the uncouth and awkward bearing of the armed grocers; even drost aagé with all his moderation, and in spite of all that he had himself effected for the security of trade and the extension of commerce, could not altogether suppress the feeling of aristocratic contempt, entertained by those in his own rank for this class of persons, whose growing prosperity and wealth were often united with a degree of insolence and envious pride, which excited and fostered this mutual bad-feeling. the attention of aagé and the knights was soon directed towards two singular strangers who still remained with them at table; the one was a young man of a good figure and remarkably animated countenance; he wore a dark red, and rather thread-bare lay mantle, but the black cap which covered his tonsure, and a canon's hat which lay by his side on the table, appeared to denote him an ecclesiastic. at one time he talked latin, at another icelandic and danish, with his next neighbour, whom he addressed as master, and to whom he shewed marked respect. when the young clerk spoke danish, he frequently pronounced the words wrong. at times he became enthusiastic, and recited as well from the ancient classics as from old northern poems. his neighbour was a little, deformed man, with a hump upon his back, a thin sharp visage, and an intelligent piercing eye; his head was sunk deep between his shoulders, and hardly reached above the table, but his arms were uncommonly long and thin; he occasionally put on and took off a pair of large spectacles set in lead, and had a number of singular instruments and boxes before him on the table. he wore a bright-red mantle, bordered with fur, over a lay-brother's blue dress, and his head was adorned with a scarlet cap, trimmed with gold lace and tassels. in this showy garb, which rendered the deformity of his person still more striking, he resembled one of those foreign mountebanks and quacks, who at the great fairs were wont to exhibit feats before the mob, and vend relics, amulets, and universal remedies against all ailments; this personage however, had an air of much greater distinction and pretension. it was the same little red-cloaked man, who, with sir niels brock and sir johan papæ, had paid the nightly visit to junker christopher, at holbek castle. in his dying hour sir pallé had described him to the drost, when in his alarm, he had made him the depositary of his secrets. aagé however had never before beheld this figure and did not remember sir pallé's confused description. the little man sat with a flask of wine before him, which he appeared to be examining with close attention. "bad!--adulterated!" he now said in danish to the icelander, also in a foreign and icelandic accent, while he puckered up his sharp nose. "see you this sediment. master laurentius? in the light of art and science, truth will one day become manifest in small things as well as in great--eureka!" he continued, with a self-satisfied smile, "what would my great master roger have said, if such a flask of wine had been set before him? even without these skilful, searching eyes--for which i am in some measure indebted to his great optical discovery--although i may justly claim the honour of the practical application--even without my wondrous spectacles, he would perhaps have discovered that which i need all this apparatus to detect. the nature of poisons is altogether unknown and occult, master laurentius!" he added, mysteriously, but so loud as to be heard by all. "not only for the preservation of life and health, but much more for the sake of science and art, an intimate knowledge of the essence of things is of the highest importance to us. here in the north, however, people care but little for such matters; they gulp down everything, like the dumb beasts, without possessing the wise instincts of animals, and without seeking by wisdom and art to find a remedy for the narrow limits of our physical nature. all learning here is expended in theological subtleties, and what are called godly things--which, however, they know nought of--poor fools! our common-place scholars still chew the cud of mysticism, the useless learning of the schools, and the dry, worn-out aristoteles. ignorance of all that is true and useful, renders forgers and cheats quite safe here, and these overbearing merchants can enrich themselves at the expence of this ignorant people, as much as they choose. there you see one of their new coins! i have detected its composition! it contains more tin and lead than silver; the danish king's image and superscription are here, it is true--the size is precisely that of the royal coinage; but four of those go to a silver mark, and this is of six times less value. what an enormous profit might not a single ship-load of such coins bring those fellows!" drost aagé had become attentive, and found in the stranger's last assertion an important confirmation of a charge generally made against the rostock merchants. the attention of the drost and the knights did not appear to displease the intelligent little man--he seemed, indeed, not to heed them--but he now continued to converse in danish with the young clerk, and though he appeared to speak in a whisper, he nevertheless enunciated every word in a singularly distinct, and perfectly audible tone. "nothing is small in science and in nature," he continued, "the least may here lead to the greatest; in every blade of grass their lies a world. how long will men shut their eyes on the great and only true revelation of the deity, through the miracles and holy writ of nature! mark my young friend! the time will come when the colossus of ignorance, barbarism, and madness, which hath been erected on nature's grave, and worshipped for centuries--must fall. as is the course of temporal things, so is that of the spiritual world--stagnation is death and rottenness. we have stood stationary with antiquity and tradition. the powerful ferment of life hath subsided--life hath lost its savour. what is it but senseless oriental adventures, and the childish dreams of our race, which have turned men's brains, and kept us at a distance from nature and the source of true wisdom for nearly thirteen centuries? the heathens were far above us. what are we in science and art compared with the greeks and egyptians?--and yet even they were erring. they also had their idols, their fancies and dreams of a tartarus and elysium, and withal, that madness now worshipped under the name of poetry." "stop, my learned master!" interrupted the young icelander with eagerness. "now you attack _my_ sanctuary--let the world change its fashion as it may--let time devour his own children, as in ancient fable! but what hath been beautiful in every age, none can destroy--it must re-appear, though under new forms. true, eternal poetry shall rescue and embalm all wherein was life or beauty, as well in our times as in those gone by. its image and memorial no cold enlightening wisdom shall ever efface. "cattle die, wise men die, time itself dies too-- one thing i know that never dies-- judgment on the dead." "be it so!" answered the little sage with a scornful smile, "judgment shall not die; the art of judging is the only one that is immortal; the poetry of all ages shall vanish as soon as the world understands itself and its own thoughts. when the kernel is found we may cast away the shell, or give it to children to play with. it was a true saying, though, of that old heathen bard--the judgment on the dead _is_ eternal--but when this generation hath passed away a succeeding one will jeer at the achievements of their fathers, and what is now worshipped shall be the scorn of posterity. but one likes not to hear such things, master laurentius! the kernel of truth is unpalatable; it suits not the taste of the vulgar and uninitiated; and he who proffers it runs the risk of being stoned by the enemies of truth and the slaves of prejudice. what my great master roger was forced to confess is known to all the world; if he found not himself the philosopher's stone, he hath, however, shewn us where to seek for it, and what was hidden from his sharp gaze is not necessarily hid from that of his disciples." so saying, the little man rose with a look of proud importance; he departed with a slight salutation to drost aagé and the knights, in whose looks he was well satisfied to perceive the astonishment which his last mysterious remark, about the philosopher's stone especially, seemed to have excited. the young clerk remained behind, and now addressed himself to drost aagé, whose rank and name were known to him. he introduced himself to the drost as an iceland theologian, jurist, and poet, who in his ardent zeal for knowledge and enlightenment, had quitted his easy office of priest of st. olaf's church and p[oe]nitentarius of the archbishop of nidaros,[ ] to visit foreign universities with his learned countryman and fellow-traveller magister thrand fistlier, a disciple, as he asserted, of the renowned roger bacon, whose wonderful knowledge, and free and bold opinions, had drawn on him so shameful a persecution from his ecclesiastical brethren, and who, after many years' imprisonment, had died two years since in england. the young iceland clerk now purposed, under the protection of his learned friend, to visit the danish court, where he hoped to find that the king would lend a favourable ear to his own and the ancient icelandic poems; while his travelling companion intended to display his wondrous arts before the king, and to make known some very important discoveries in natural philosophy, which might prove of incalculable use and effect both in war and peace. the report of the young king eric's especial regard for science, and the intrepidity with which he dared to oppose the usurpations of the court of rome and the hierarchy, had induced the learned master thrand to seek freedom and protection in denmark. "you will doubtless both be welcome to the king," answered aagé, looking narrowly at him, "he favours and protects all fair and useful sciences. your travelling companion belongs not to the herd of common mountebanks, as far as i can judge: if he can prove what he affirmed, of the false coin brought hither into this country, his learning may be most important to us. but since you are a theologian and scholar, master laurentius, i would but ask you one question," continued aagé, "doth not your companion entertain some confused opinions on sacred subjects? his expressions struck me as being somewhat singular, although i, as a layman, understand not such matters. i well know, however, those who are called leccar brethren,--who will only believe in the creator, but neither in god's son, nor in the holy spirit, nor in an universal christian church,--are as little tolerated in this country as by any right-thinking monarch in christendom; you must in nowise believe our king's unfortunate position in regard to the archbishop of lund and the papal court hath made any alteration in his opinions in what concerns the matter of his own and his people's salvation." "from the errors of the leccari i believe myself free." answered the young icelander, with some embarrassment; "about my learned companion's theology, i must confess i have not greatly troubled myself; seeing that he is a worldly philosopher and not a theologian. of the noble art of bardship he hath not either any conception; i admire him solely for his rare knowledge of the secrets of nature." "if he errs in the one thing needful, and if the highest and most sacred truths, as well as all that is beautiful and noble, are in his estimation nothing but folly," observed aagé, "i have but little confidence in his knowledge of less important matters; and i would not give much for all the rest of his learning." "i thus judged once myself, of the sciences and arts that teach us but earthly things," answered the icelander, "but while i was at the foreign universities a new light dawned upon me. i am indeed far from calling (like my learned travelling companion) the revelation of deity in nature the only true one, by which, as you have rightly observed, he hath in his inconsiderate zeal, betrayed a highly erroneous opinion; but even the wisdom of the heathen in worldly concerns is in nowise to be despised, and i have never seen anything that hath more strengthened my faith in the almighty power and wisdom of the triune god, than the marvellous effects of the powers of nature, with which this singular man hath made me acquainted." "what hath he shown you, then, of such great importance? master laurentius!" asked aagé. "i have seen effects of his art, which i should in common with the ignorant multitude, and my prejudiced colleagues, have taken to be witchcraft and the work of the devil," answered the icelander eagerly, "had he not explained them to me by the powers of nature, and from the great misjudged roger bacon's 'opus majus,' of which he carries a rare and invaluable manuscript with him. not to speak of his great knowledge of plants and animals, and the properties and composition of metals; what most hath captivated me is all that points to the soul's dominion over time and decay, over life and death, over the universe, and all passive powers in nature. he affirms that by his art alone, without supernatural aid, he is able to preserve youth, and prevent the infirmities of age; he knows the course of the heavens, and the influence of the stars on human life; he hath a number of artful glasses, by which he is almost able to see the invisible; but his greatest and most wondrous art is the preparation of an inextinguishable fire, with which he imitates the thunder and lightning of the heavens. he hath shewn me a specimen of it, which hath astonished me. with a single handful of that subtle combustible matter, he can produce such an amazing thunder-clap, that the strongest wall would be rent by it, and such a burst of consuming flame, that he who rightly understands its powers, would be able to destroy a whole army with it, and devastate castles and towns." the knights stared in amazement at the icelander, and some crossed themselves. "it is impossible! that no man can do! it cannot be done by natural means!--it must be done by witchcraft and devilry!" said the one to the other. drost aagé was silent, and looked sharply and gravely at the icelander. "i hold you neither for an unwise man, nor for one who would deal in falsehood and deceit, good master laurentius!" he at length began, "although what you tell us of your learned companion borders on the incredible--but are you not yourself deceived? you say you have but known this man of miracles a short time. in your admiration of his arts and his rare knowledge of the secrets of nature, you have concerned yourself but little about his principles and way of thinking, which, however, i consider to be the most important points in every man's character, whether he be scholar or layman. if he is not a juggler or braggart, i fear he is something worse. he would fain have us laymen believe he had found the philosopher's stone. those who talk openly of such things are generally enthusiasts or impostors." "that which is above our understanding, sir drost," answered the icelander, "we are but too apt to misjudge as folly, or the invention of the evil-minded--but here our own self-conceit and vanity are to blame. that which the wisest men in the world have so long mused upon, cannot assuredly be an absurd imagination, and i doubt not the philosopher's stone will and must one day be found--if it be not found already. perhaps we may meet at skanor fair, sir drost!" he added, rising to depart, "my learned friend and travelling companion doth not visit princes and nobles only--the enlightenment of the ignorant vulgar is a more important object to him. i accompany him as amanuensis, partly from a present necessity, which i blush not to acknowledge, and in this lay mantle, that i may not give offence to my prejudiced colleagues; but i learn much in this way, and, as i said--i trust to return more rich in knowledge from these worldly bye-paths to the service of st. olaf, and to my most venerable friend and protector at nidaros, who probably may soon need support in the cause against his unruly canons." the conversation was now broken off with the iceland clerk, as sir helmer rushed almost breathless into the apartment. "it _was_ kaggé! drost! there is no doubt of it," exclaimed helmer, "but, by satan!--he is already on board the rostock vessel." "who? the dead kaggé? dream ye, helmer? was it he ye meant before?" "he, and none other--the base regicide! as surely as i have eyes and ears. he hath both his beard and eye-brows shaved; but i know his fox's face and screeching voice; the dull rostocker mentioned his name himself in his drunkenness, out of defiance and pride. they insulted me in the ancient coarse fashion i will not name, and pushed off from shore with the outlaw before mine eyes." "we must arrest them at skanor tomorrow," answered aagé, "if the criminal is on board the rostock vessel, he hath now peace and respite of life under the hanse flag and the lubeck law; but whenever he sets foot on danish ground he dies! such pestilent ware no hanseatic hath the privilege of unloading." they then retired to rest. the iceland clerk had gone, and no more was seen of either him or the learned thrand fistlier. the account they had heard of this worker of wonders continued, however, till a late hour in the night, the theme of the knights' conversation at the drinking table. chap. xiv. drost aagé retired to rest in silence, but he vainly tried to sleep. he was uncertain whether he ought not instantly to have captured the two overbearing hanseatics on the ground of their former menace at sjöberg; here they were no longer ambassadors and privileged persons. if they had circulated false coin, and openly protected an outlaw upon danish ground, they might with strict justice be called to account. the knowledge that the base kaggé still lived also disquieted him; but what still more banished sleep from the drost's eyes, was the idea of the mysterious master thrand, and his wondrous arts. that a human being possessed such a power over nature as to be able to imitate the thunder and lightning of the heavens, with all their terrific effects, appeared to him an amazing prodigy, and what the enthusiastic master laurentius had said of the still deeper views of his master--of the preservation of youth by a mysterious art, and of the philosopher's stone, as something actually existent in nature, had especially inspired the meditative and somewhat visionary aagé with singular musings. the countenance and mountebank deportment of the little deformed philosopher, had, indeed, awakened great doubts of his honesty, and what aagé had comprehended of his expressions appeared to him strange and confused, as opposed to what he had been piously taught in childhood regarding the highest and eternal truths in which, despite his unhappy excommunication, he had been confirmed by his confessor, master petrus de dacia, who had succeeded in making him at peace with himself and the church. but the iceland clerk's ardent enthusiasm for master thrand and his worldly wisdom had not been without its effect; and aagé was forced to confess there lay an acuteness and intelligence in the little mountebank's eye which he had never seen equalled in any of the pious and learned men he knew. laurentius's open and ingenuous countenance bore witness also to the truth of his testimony as to what he had seen and admired in the disciple of the famous roger bacon; and the longer aagé pondered on what he had heard, the more doubts and strange thoughts crowded upon his mind. master thrand's contempt of the age in which he lived, and the confidence with which he expressed himself respecting the only true revelation of nature with which he was, above all, conversant, had also excited a feeling of strange and painful uneasiness in aagé's mind. the melancholy knight had often, when oppressed by the thought of his excommunication, sought peace and tranquillity in the contemplation of nature in lonely nights under a calm and starry sky, without, however, feeling able to dispense with the comfort and consolation of the church. he now stood, with his arms folded, in his sleeping chamber, gazing out on the gloomy heavens. "were it possible!" said he to himself. "am i wandering here with all my contemporaries in thick darkness? know we neither our own nature nor that around us? are all our purposes and energies but as the gropings of the blind, without aim or object? will the time come when children will jeer at us as erring fools and insane dreamers, scared by what did not exist, and amused by empty juggling? can this be? can even that which is most high and sacred, which we have believed in and lived for with our fathers--for which thousands of inspired martyrs have died with a halo of glory around their beaming countenances--for which our pilgrims and crusaders wend to jerusalem, and renounce all the riches and treasures of this world--which was the spring of action in our ancestors' lives as our own, and made them heroes and conquerors in life and death--could all that be dreaming, deception, and ignorance? could the existence and achievements of whole centuries have been a monstrous lie? no! no! if yonder fellow be not a liar and a cheat, there is neither truth, nor life, nor redemption, nor salvation." he shrunk with horror from his own thoughts. a sound now reached his ears which, at this moment, almost struck him with dismay. he fancied he once more heard the voice of the mysterious stranger close beside him. "darest thou not yet face the naked truth? my dear laurentius!" sounded the shrill voice of the philosopher, slowly and solemnly through the thin wooden partition of the adjoining chamber. "dost thou dread to enter into the holy calling of a leccar brother, and priest of nature? dost thou tremble at an initiation into the great church of the world, of which we are all originally priests; we who have eyes for truth, and courage to announce it, despite the repeated outcry of the fools of thirteen centuries! look, i open unto thee the great sanctuary in the name of truth and science, and in the sight of that deity who dwells in the breast of the initiated. cast off the miserable prejudices of thy time! throw down the phantom thou callest the church, and a saving faith, with the same strength with which thou hast rejected the senseless fables of heathenism! cast off all that was not given thee when thou becamest a human being! rid thyself of all exploded and worn out doctrines--cast off the whole puerile tissue of phantasms and visions of crude ages, which thou callest revelation! divest thyself of thy preconceptions regarding the essence of things, and of all the pomp and imagery thou callest poetry! then gaze freely around thee, and tell me what remains!" "nothing! nothing! learned master!" answered the voice of the young icelander, in a desponding tone. "yes, assuredly!" was the answer; "thou thyself remainest, and great eternal nature, and, if thou wilt, a great and mighty deity, which is the soul and life of this nature of which thou art thyself a part--all truth, all wisdom lie slumbering and buried there. wake it if thou canst! call forth deity in thyself and in nature! rule it by that mighty art! ask boldly, and force it to respond!" "that i am not able to do, my wise master!" said the voice of the young icelander, within the partition; "but could i wake lifeless nature, and force her to solve the mysteries i gaze upon, would she answer aught else than what the dead have ever answered the living, what the dead vola[ ] answered odin in our ancient poems, what the spirit of samuel answered saul in the presence of the witch of endor:--'thou shalt die! to-morrow thou shalt die!'" "well," resumed the philosopher, "were the answer not much more cheering, if it were but truth could a philosopher, a leccar brother, a priest of nature and truth demand or wish it otherwise? you _will_ have flattery, you _will_ all of you be cheated and deceived--therefore you cling so fast to that flattering lie, but hate and persecute truth as ungodliness, heresy, or devilry--therefore are popes and bishops, like the prophets and evangelists of old, still able to lead the whole human race blindfold round in an eternal circle of error from one age to another until they have their eyes opened, and see that they stand where their blind fathers stood, by the closed book of nature, which amid their dreaming they have forgotten to open through the lapse of ages. look! there thou standest, my pupil! and art ready to despair, because all that fair jugglery hath vanished and been blown away by my breath as it were a spider's web, or bubbles of air! and thou seest nought but one enormous lifeless body which i call nature.--but look! the lifeless body wakes! 'tis deity, and yet our slave,--obedient to the mightier manifestation of deity within us. only through our means can nature's deity awake to consciousness and self-knowledge. in us, and in our will alone lives the only true god we should obey. courage, laurentius!--courage! truth must make its way--the slumbering and disguised god of nature must be wakened and unveiled. it must open to us its vast recesses, it must restore to us what it hath robbed and hidden--the philosopher's stone must be found, even though its workings should seem to us eternal death and petrifaction." all was again hushed in the adjoining chamber; aagé had thrown open a window, and the cool night air streamed in upon him; the sky had become clear--aagé raised his eyes towards the starry vault, he grasped the cross-hilt of his sword, a heavy load oppressed his heart, he bent his knee in silent devotion, and rose, feeling that his prayer was answered by the return of a calm and cheerful frame of mind. "to god be thanks and praise! i know better however," he said, with a feeling of consolation. "he, within there, is a liar and deceiver, as surely as _he_ above is love itself! and he whom he sent unto us was the way, the truth, and the life!" aagé was now about to betake himself to rest, but the voice of the learned master thrand again caught his ear. the young icelander he heard no more. german was now spoken, but in a low whispering tone, and the talk seemed to be on worldly matters. aagé tried not to overhear anything; it was repugnant to his feelings, and appeared to him dishonourable and unworthy, to become a concealed witness to the secrets of others. he thought of knocking to give notice of his presence and the thinness of the partition; but, at this moment, he heard the name of "grand" mentioned, and he started. the whispering continued for a long time afterwards, and he caught words which caused him the greatest uneasiness. the talk was of the king and junker christopher, of the outlaws, of death, and downfall; but what it was he could neither hear nor comprehend, with any distinctness. at last all became silent. he conjectured that his foreign neighbour had left the inn, and towards morning aagé fell asleep. when he was awakened at dawn by his squire, in order to embark in a swedish vessel, he had dreamt the most marvellous things. he fancied he had beheld an entirely changed world; without monasteries and monks, without fortified castles, without the images of the madonna and the saints, without kings and thrones, even without women and children, and with nothing but men, with keen staring eyes and diminutive and deformed bodies, like master thrand's. at last it seemed to him that the sun was burnt out and hung, like a great black coal, over his head; that the moon and all the stars were pulled down and used instead of stones, for fences and inclosures round small withered cabbage gardens. all trees and flowers were torn up and peeled into fibres; all birds and animals lay slaughtered and cut open; and the little hump-backed men sat, with great spectacles, examining the putrified carcases. all that he beheld,--the whole subverted and disjointed world, seemed to him at last metamorphosed into one enormous mass of stone, and a terrific voice sounded over the petrified world, and cried "behold! _this_ is thy world! _this_ is thy god! _this_ is the philosopher's stone!" amid his dismay at hearing this voice, aagé awakened, just as his brisk squire knocked at his door, still so confused by his dream that he could not distinguish between what he had dreamed, and what he thought he had heard from behind the partition. chap. xv. at the fair of skanor a great number of persons of all classes were assembled. it was thronged with skippers and merchants from every part of the world, but especially from hamburgh, lubeck, rostock, deventer, and overyssel. these last were chiefly dealers in spices. they brought hither the most costly groceries to market from venice and genoa: wares were here to be seen even from india, persia, and egypt, which these enterprising traders had brought down the rhine, and with which they journeyed to northern lands. here lay many english vessels laden with wine; but what especially struck the eye were the splendid assortments of cloths, of all colours, which waved like flags from the vessels in the harbour, and lay in large bales in the streets under tents or wooden sheds. the situation of skanor was advantageous for trade. the town extended quite to the shore of the coast of skania, between falsterbo and malmoe. it lay to the north of falsterbo, and was both larger and much more ancient than that town. over the gate of the place was a stone with an inscription, in the ancient scanian language, which bore witness to the antiquity of the town, and which afterwards ran thus in more modern rhyme: "lund and skanor throve apace, when christ appeared to bring us grace." the great fairs of the town were particularly famed, and, during fair-time, many persons crossed over from zealand. on the whole the intercourse between scania and the danish provinces was far more frequent than in aftertime, when this beautiful province, which bore the closest affinity to zealand, was dismembered from the kingdom. amid the crowd of visitors at the fair were seen knights, monks, and burghers of towns, both from zealand and scania, among peasants, knights' ladies, and gaily-attired dairy and kitchen maids from the nearest lordly castles, as well as ragged beggars and pretty country maidens, in the national costumes of scania and halland. the fair was thronged with musicians and jugglers of all kinds. rosaries and little images of saints were exposed for sale by the side of every description of worldly wares and foreign luxuries. over the two best stocked and most frequented booths at the fair, waved henrik gullandsfar's and berner kopmand's well-known flag and sign--a griffin and a dragon, with a bundle of lances tied together, and with the lubek charter in their claws, defending their treasures against a troop of robbers in knightly attire, and ridiculously caricatured. these great merchants who had their agents, or resident grocers' apprentices, in the town, did not attend the sale of their goods in person, but were present at the unloading of their ships, to watch that no toll was demanded, contrary to the privileges of trade. the sound of music and dancing was heard in the taverns, and all places of entertainment. german ale and wine were poured out in abundance for the rich guests at the fair, while the poorer were content with scanian and zealand ale. towards evening many drunken persons were to be seen; here and there disputes and fights occurred, and the provost with the watchmen and armed constables of the town were often forced to interfere. what attracted most attention at skanor fair at this time was a booth hung with coloured lamps, close to the quay, where fireworks were exhibited, together with many new and curious sights, at which the spectators wondered and crossed themselves as though they beheld the delusions of the evil one. here the learned master thrand had erected his optical theatre. he stood himself on a raised platform and harangued the mob on the excellence of his masterpieces, and their great superiority over all the relics, amulets, and false panacea with which people suffered themselves to be imposed upon by unlearned mountebanks and jugglers. he chiefly extolled his arts as being innocent, and grounded on the principles of nature; and invited the unprejudiced and sensible public to draw nearer, and attend to what he (rather, he said, for the sake of science and truth, than for worldly gain) was about to expound and exhibit. his admirer, the young master laurentius, who, in his red lay-mantle, was not suspected to be an ecclesiastic, zealously assisted him as an amanuensis, and collected from time to time in his hat, money from the spectators, but in a manner which showed that he was ashamed of this employment; to which, however, he had doubtless (though with another and more pious aim) been accustomed, when on the anniversaries of the dedication of st. olaf's church at nidaros, he had, as p[oe]nitentarius, collected alms for the treasury of the church. close by the booth of the distinguished and learned mountebank stood a light, under the image of the madonna, in a little stone-walled chapel, where was also an iron-bound poor-box nailed fast upon a block. no merchant or skipper went to or from his ship without first kneeling here and depositing a piece of money in the box for the poor, and for the treasury of the holy virgin. in the evening there stood by this chapel, which went by the name of the quay chapel, sir helmer blaa, who, with the drost's squire canute of fyen, and some young knights of aagé's train, kept a sharp look out on every one who came up from the quay. the wind had been contrary all day, and the merchants were just come on shore. berner kopmand's rostock vessel lay at anchor before them in the harbour. it had reached skanor with a fair wind ere day-break. the indefatigable owner of the vessel had been on board the whole day superintending the unlading of the cargo, and ere it was dark, sir helmer thought he saw the outlawed fugitive on deck by his side. in case of the criminal's venturing to land preparations had been made for his seizure, with the knowledge of the provost; but the fugitive seemed not to purpose quitting his place of refuge. after vespers, however, berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar landed with great parade, and a considerable train of armed seamen. they omitted not to cross themselves at the chapel, and to throw a loud-chinking offering into the poor-box, as they passed by the knights with an air of proud defiance. "how many false silver coins think ye are now in that box?" said sir helmer, aloud. the heavy rostocker turned towards him with a look of rage; but gullandsfar nudged his elbow with a grave look, and they passed on. helmer and the other young knights followed them, and seemed to have a great desire to chastise their arrogance. drost aagé had not neglected to attend thrand fistlier's performances, and the optic theatre with which he entertained the astonished visitors at the fair. he had bought of the artist some of his most remarkable and valuable inventions, and gained information of their application and use. he could not refuse his admiration to what he here saw of the famous discoveries of roger bacon, and observed the whole exhibition with attention. it consisted chiefly of small optical cases in which the powers of the magnifying glass were applied in a manner hitherto unknown in the north, and by which the artist excited great astonishment. what was seen in these boxes was not only the transformation of small animals into monsters, but even a figurative metamorphosis of the world in master thrand's own taste:--saints and martyrs, miraculous sights, and legendary pictures, processions of monks with the host, the banners of the madonna, and crucifixes, were represented in a ridiculous manner by the side of all the grecian and roman gods with their profanest love adventures. all this passed in dim caricature before the eyes of the spectators, and gave place at last to a number of dazzling allegorical figures, intended to represent wisdom, philosophy, freedom, burgher commerce, political economy, the study of nature, and other subjects of the same kind. as soon as it grew sufficiently dark for the purpose, master thrand exhibited small burning wheels, stars, and suns with many-coloured rays, which flew with a clear light into the air, and suddenly exploded with a slight report. the drost considered this last exhibition both beautiful and remarkable; all these things, however, were but trifles compared with what master laurentius had related of the matchless and wondrous feats which this mountebank was capable of performing. the sight of the small stars and suns which flew up over the sea and burst in the calm evening sky, afforded endless amusement to the spectators, to whom it seemed an entirely novel and incomprehensible phenomenon; but the people's admiration of this dazzling diversion as well as the beautiful fantastic spectacle itself in its aërial theatre, threw aagé into a singularly pensive mood. this glimpse of a new and secret art, whose vast and hidden workings he had already heard mentioned, struck him as being the forerunner of that new era announced by the mysterious artist, in which all opinions and ideas should be reformed and enlarged, and all that was ancient should vanish like the mimic suns and stars now waning and disappearing over the sea. aagé could not forget the strange conversations he had heard between the artist and his pupil, of the delusive dream in which the whole christian world was wandering. in the learned master thrand's peculiar conception of the doctrine of the notorious leccar brethren he saw but a haughty and contumacious insanity, which, should it ever become dominant, would subvert all that was beautiful and true, and sacred upon earth; his own dream of the petrified world was still fearfully present to his recollection. the noise and joyousness of the crowd became almost painful to him. at last he sought relief and freedom from these distressing thoughts in the little chapel of the quay. he bent his knee before the painted wooden image of the madonna, who was here represented as usual with the child in her arms, and the globe of the world with a cross upon it, like a ball and sceptre in the child's hand. aagé had folded his hands in prayer, but as he turned his eyes on the image, it was suddenly illuminated by a ball of fire sent up from the artist's booth. the madonna's image appeared to him in the vivid flash of light like a horribly grinning idol--at the same moment he heard a loud report in the air, resembling a clap of thunder, followed by shrieks of terror from women and children. the little chapel shook; the ancient worm-eaten image of the virgin tottered, and fell down at his feet. he started up, and rushed out of the chapel. the joyousness of the people was changed to fear and wrath. some women had fainted; the life of one had been seriously endangered; a capuchin's beard had been singed by the explosion. "witchcraft! sorcery!" was re-echoed in the crowd. "stone him!--burn him! the accursed wizard! he is a heretic!" cried some. "he hath said he will draw off all worshippers from our lady and the saints--he saith he will match his thunders against the lord's himself.--stone him! burn him! cast him upon the beach! tear down the wizard's house!" amid all this commotion the enraged mob rushed upon the pyrotechnist's booth. the hapless little artist had hid himself with his amanuensis among some large boxes in an adjacent booth. two of the enraged mob and a lay brother drew them forth from under the planks of the broken-down booth to give them up to the maltreatment of the mob. the provost and constables vainly strove to hinder these acts of violence. at last drost aagé stepped forth, and cried in an authoritative voice, "stop there, countrymen! peace here, in the king's name! secure these jugglers, but injure not a hair of their heads. they shall be judged and punished according to the law of the land if they cannot give account of themselves. what they have shewn us was done by natural means, my friends! these people know more than we do of the powers of nature; but they abuse their wisdom by boasting and juggling, and by scoffing at sacred things." as soon as they heard the name of the king, and recognised his and the nation's favourite, the enraged mob was pacified. thrand fistlier and his amanuensis were instantly seized by the constables and conducted to the quay, with all their effects; followed by a great throng of people. drost aagé followed them himself on board a royal vessel, which was to sail next day to helsingborg, and the captain, with his armed seamen, received orders to protect the captives from all injury. as soon as the captive mountebank heard he was in safety, but was to be taken as a prisoner to a fortress, he looked around him with a proud smile, "my noble persecuted master was right," he said. "the age is not sufficiently matured for us and our compeers. it is dangerous to be wise among fools; even the least glimpse of the light which is to appear is, as yet, too strong for these weak-sighted barbarians. it is not the first time a great genius hath appeared a century too soon!" "silence, wretched juggler!" said aagé. "the great man whom thou dishonourest, by calling thy master, was a wise and pious monk, i have been told, but no juggler and self-appointed priest. thank the holy virgin and her son, whom thou deniest, for thy life to-day! it is not for thy wisdom, but for thy folly, and the confusion thou wouldest spread among the people, that i have caused thee to be bound." ere aagé quitted the vessel he took master laurentius aside, and gazed on him with a look of thoughtful interest. "you are too good to be this juggler's attendant and apprentice," he said; "your blind admiration for his knowledge of the perishing things of time, hath caused you to deny and dishonour your own holy calling, and the high vocation to which you are dedicated. st. olaf, and the souls entrusted to you, you have deserted for this deformed artificer of hell-fire. from want and need you shall no longer be necessitated thus to degrade yourself. the captain of the vessel hath orders to care for your requirements; at helsingborg he will provide you with suitable priest's attire, and money for your journey. to save your life, master laurentius, i have been forced to use you more hardly than i wished. when you arrive at helsingborg, you are free and your own master; but your suspicious companion must, as a state prisoner, tarry the king's coming, and justify himself before him, if he can do so. it is known to me that he is a leccar brother; as such it is forbidden to him to rove the country at large and mislead the people. i know, also, he wishes you to join his sect; but, i conjure you by that almighty lord and master you have been near betraying--draw back, good master laurentius, and preserve your immortal soul! it hath assuredly a higher and a worthier calling, if your countenance and warm enthusiasm for what is beautiful and true have not deceived me. the lord be with you! farewell!" aagé quitted the ship without awaiting an answer from the deeply agitated youth, whose eyes were suffused with tears, and who vainly strove to reach him his fettered hand. the drost rowed back to skanor. it was dark night, and there was a great stir and tumult on the quay. a quarrel and serious affray had arisen between the drost's knights and the hanseatic merchants, who had been chased from the inn and had taken flight towards the harbour. berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar, with their armed seamen, laid furiously about them, but could not compete in the dexterous use of their weapons with sir helmer and the other incensed young knights, who were supported by the skanor burghers. "cut the forgers down! the cheats! the overbearing dogs!" they shouted. "they have brought false coin here to the fair--they have outlaws on board!" the affray was serious and bloody. the hanseatics withdrew, fighting, to their boats. it was impossible for aagé to restore peace. the foreign merchants and the greater part of their seamen at last escaped to their ships, under cover of the night. they instantly hoisted sail. it was not until they were in the open sea that the knights missed sir helmer and the drost's most active squire, canute of fyen. chap. xvi. drost aagé was compelled to prosecute his journey early the next morning, without having been able to discover sir helmer and the squire. when aagé and the royal halberdiers left skanor, they were followed through the streets by a great crowd of persons. it appeared that the burghers had learned, or conjectured, the object of this showy procession. the ballad, "for eric the youthful king!" was as popular in scania as in denmark. "long live king eric and his true men!" shouted the crowd. "bring him and denmark a second dagmar, good sirs!" aagé rejoiced at these tokens of the disposition of the brave scanians; but he entertained little hope of a happy result from his embassy, and he was under great anxiety for the fate of the brave sir helmer and his own alert and trusty squire. two of his other squires, and three of the young knights remained dangerously wounded at skanor. sir helmer, and his companions, had followed the bragging rostocker and his seamen to their inn. they had unanimously resolved with their own hands to chastise and humble the overbearing hanseatics. while at the inn the drost's squire had displayed a false coin, with which one of the lower class had been imposed upon in berner kopmand's booth, and it was affirmed the rostockers had brought with them whole chests of such money. it was conjectured, and with reason, that this false money was coined by the outlaws, who the preceding year had captured some of the king's chief coiners. complaints of false coin had frequently been made before, and now that it was heard the rostockers imported them by bushels, the indignation instantly became great and general, and a fight soon commenced with the foreign merchants and skippers. when the hanseatics were chased from the quay of skanor, sir helmer had eagerly pursued the armed seamen, and had assisted in rolling into the sea some chests containing their bad money; at last, accompanied by the drost's squire, the daring canute, he had sprung after them into the boat to hinder their flight; but here they were overpowered by numbers, and dragged captive on board the rostock vessel. sorely wounded, and with hands and feet fast bound, helmer and his companion were thrown down into the ship's hold. here they lay the whole night among a number of ale barrels, firkins of salt, and sacks of groceries, which had not been unladen. the vessel rolled heavily; the weather had become boisterous, and those on board seemed only busied in saving ship and goods. at length the weather grew calmer. the strong motion of the ship ceased; it glided slowly and almost imperceptibly forward, and all became quiet on deck. the wearied seamen appeared to sleep. sir helmer now perceived a faint light above his head. he thought it was daylight; but soon discovered it was the moon shining in upon him through a chink in the ship's hatches directly above him. he presently heard the voices of two men in the stillness of the night; and recognised the tones of berner kopmand and henrik gullandsfar. "i cannot sleep for wrath and wound-smarting," growled the rostocker. "lo! this is the free trade and security one has to expect when a greenhorn sits on the throne, and justice lies in the knights' lances. pestilence and destruction on the whole pack of puffed-up aristocrats! the accursed sycophants and slaves of kings and tyrants! they would have it _seem_ as if they protected the people and the burghers--pshaw! it is but for themselves and their high master they fight. had i not spoken those bold words against their strutting knight-king at sjöborg, nor had that piece of royal game of an outlaw on board, our money would surely have been as good ware as before. they are a vile robber pack, the whole set of them that call themselves knights and noble, as well here as in germany--as long as there are thrones and knights' castles left, neither trade nor burghership can thrive. so soon as the sun rises those two jackanapes we laid hold of shall dangle at the yard-arm." "hearest thou, countryman?" whispered helmer in the hold to his fellow-prisoner, "that concerns us two; a pleasant prospect! could we but sink the ship and drown the braggart grocers we could go down to our home with some sort of pleasure." "that would be truly but a sorry jest, and a slender satisfaction. sir helmer; still, it would be better than to let oneself be hanged by those rascals," answered the squire. "i have torn the skin off my left hand," he continued; "but it can slip well enough out of the knot. if i am allowed but half an hour for it our bonds shall be loosened. i have a good clasp knife in my pocket; yonder lies a good ship's auger, and an axe; many a hearty blow shall be dealt ere they get the halter round our necks." "the lord and st. george assist us!" whispered helmer, breathing hard, "if i 'scape hence alive, and see my dear anna again," he added, with a smothered sigh, "i promise st. george a new altar-table, and every bottle-nosed hanseatic i meet a broken head!" "'tis a pious vow, noble sir!" whispered the squire, "you will see it will help us. now my hand slides out of the knot; but it pinches hard." "hush!" whispered helmer, rolling himself nearer to the chink in the hatches. "i ever told you it was a bad business with that money-trading, and that coining with the outlaws," now said the smoother, toned voice of henrik gullandsfar above the knight's head. "no clear profit is ever got by such dealings; it lessens faith, and rarely pays in the long run, master berner! no! with _pure_ gold and silver might we rule the world; and sober prudence would sway the gold sceptre--that i have ever said. with a little less eagerness we should, perhaps, have made a better market in scania; but you will drive everything through with might, master berner!" "might against might! that was ever my word in the covenant: there may be something in what you say," answered the rostocker, "of the gold and silver sceptre; it may just as well, however, be alloyed with a little copper or tin, when none perceive it; but with pure sharp steel it must be defended. ere we can lay the sword in the balance against all the crowns and armorial bearings in the world, our proud plan is but a glittering castle in the air." "give time, master berner," resumed gullandsfar; "the great rome was not built in one day, yet she became the ruler of the world. let us first rid the seas and the highways of petty robbers, and then we may let fly at the great in their castles and thrones. let us first get possession of the sea! then shall it overflow the earth with our waves! it shall heap us up mountains of gold, and wash away every castle and throne that stands in our way. we wisbye men lie very close to the king of denmark; we must be cautious, even though as prudent merchants we give patriotism to death and the devil. you rostockers are too hot-headed; one should not break too soon with authorities. the menace at sjöberg was a stupid trick: i did but assent to it, and was silent for your sake. it never answers to bluster and threaten unless one can fight at the same time; and it answers just as little to fight, unless we know we are the strongest." "out upon your caution!" growled the rostocker. "we have power already if we will but use it; we may have as many souls in our service as we can pay for." "men's souls are dear merchandise," observed gullandsfar; "and besides it easily corrupts and spoils. how many marks of pure silver hath not that miserable fellow on the quarter deck yonder already cost you? and he is, after all, but a villanous outlaw and renegade from our high-born deadly foes. that pack no wise burgher should count on." "such a fellow is worth his weight in gold," said the rostocker with a laugh. "mark! those aristocratic vermin shall now devour each other. a dishonoured and death-doomed knight, without castle and lands, whose honour and name have been scalded off him may be the best king-killer one could have; he, yonder, is practised in the trade! he was in finnerup barn. i will let him loose in the harbour! i will smuggle him in among our agents--there will soon be troubled waters to fish in. the crowned green-horn shall not have turned his back on us at sjöberg for nothing. mark! he shall have other things to think on than keeping his bridal in the summer." "we are not authorised by the covenant to go so far as that, however, master berner," remarked gullandsfar. "what yon dishonoured knight may have to avenge is his own concern; his and your secret trade concerns not the league; i would rather have nothing to do with that smuggling traffic. when the prosperity of the league, and a great and matchless plan like ours is in question, we should wisely set aside private revenge, and all petty personal views." "do you slink? are you afraid, master colleague?" growled berner kopmand, beginning to talk loud. "let not that concern _you_ my wise master henrik! you need not tell an old reckoner what is small and what is great. i can as well as you make a difference between what i undertake in the hanse-towns' name, and what i risk in my own. if i reckon wrong, the loss is berner kopmand's. i know what that man can stand; and you are right--the covenant hath naught to do with it!" "if it fails, it may however injure our trade and enterprises in great matters," replied henrik gullandsfar in a tone of calm calculation. "consider the point well, master berner! all ports are now open to us; the king is proud and authoritative, but nevertheless he favours us far more than we could expect from his policy. our 'prentices and agents are protected in the sea-ports--our trade is as free and untaxed here as any where--it hath not struck any one but the king himself that the road to salt and pepper, to ale and german cloth, as we heard from his own lips, is equally broad and convenient for all, and danish corn and cattle will give a good return, and pay both wages and taxes. st. nicolas and st. hermes be thanked! the _navigation is ours_. _they are too dull and lazy to understand their own interests_. the peasant is content with small beer, and the citizen with skim milk, and they let us run off with the ale and the cream; but if you make good your threat, secretly or openly, and if anything a little too notorious chances here, in which the hanse have lot or part, people's eyes may be opened, and our trading dominion is at an end here in the north." "the eyes which might be most dangerous to us were they wide open, are just those i would have shut," muttered the rostocker. "greater service could none do the hanse in these kingdoms and lands,--but silence! what is that? i heard something move under us. the captives are surely not loose?" "the captives! death and misfortune!" exclaimed henrik. "have they cast them into the hold? then perhaps they now know more than any living soul must carry farther." "it matters not, master colleague," said the rostocker with a scornful laugh, "they shall not carry it farther, however, than to the yard-arm! now doth the sun rise red as pure gold--that sight they shall see for the last time. ho! steersman!" he shouted, "how far are we?" "if a breeze springs up, we shall reach kallebo ere it rings to mass in copenhagen, master!" answered a hoarse voice at the helm. "that's well! then we will keep mattins and ship's law on our own ground, ere the bishop takes lubeck law out of our hands. up! all hands! ring the great bell!" the sound of a brass bell instantly assembled all the seamen upon deck. "bring the prisoners up here, boatswain!" continued the captain of the vessel. "sing out, fellows! shout forth the poor sinners' vigil. let the danish scoundrels hear we are good christians! and let their houndish souls go to hell amid song and clang!" while the ship's crew with a fearful bellowing chaunted a sort of hymn on the departure of sinners from the world, and two sturdy fellows in tarry jackets coolly fastened two ropes to the yard-arm, the hatches of the ship's hold were opened and the boatswain went below with two armed men. cries and tumult were heard in the hold; all became instantly quiet again, but neither the boatswain nor the two men returned. "what is this?" exclaimed berner kopmand in dismay. "what is become of them? those danish hell-hounds must be loose! down after them fellows! bring them up here dead or alive! hence! below! or ye shall be scourged at the mast!" the whole ship's crew were in commotion; they flocked to the hatchway, but none seemed to like to go below, despite the threats of the stern captain. "the first who sets foot here below dies!" said sir helmer's voice from the hold. "ere, i and my comrade will let our necks be twisted by your grocer hands, by st. michael and his flaming sword! ye shall all of ye go with us to the bottom of the sea--any moment i please every soul of us shall perish. we have bored a ground-leak--we loosen ye a plank with a single pull." "that devil of a fellow!" cried the rostocker, growing deadly pale, "he hath us all in his power. what are we to do?" "we must treat with them," answered gullandsfar. "aside all men! let me speak with that worthy knight. this is doubtless a little stratagem of war, noble sir knight!" began master henrik, courteously; "but since we cannot search into the matter without peril of our lives we will submit to necessity, and acknowledge you have this once very craftily ensnared us. what have ye done to our three men, noble sir?" "they have met with their deserts, and lie here stone dead," answered the knight. "thus it shall fare with all of ye--if ye will fight with us fairly, three at once, we will encounter on dry boards; but if more come, the sea shall help us. throw us our own good swords below instantly! or we will try who best can swim." "you have won back your freedom with honour, noble sir!" answered gullandsfar, "if ye would believe my word you might safely come here among us; we are peaceable people, and purpose not to measure our skill in arms with yours. your swords shall instantly be returned to you; but upon one condition, noble knight--you must only use the sword in self-defence, and not to assault any of us as long as you are here on board; for this i demand your knightly word of honour." "that i promise on my faith and honour," cried helmer,--and two swords were instantly thrown down to them. "we will set you unscathed on shore at copenhagen, noble sir," continued henrik gullandsfar, "provided you promise to be silent concerning what you perhaps may have heard and perceived, which might get us into disfavour in high places, or injure our trade and enterprises." "i leave grocers and pettifoggers to wage war with the tongue," answered the knight haughtily. "what i have heard of your fine plans and projects i deem not worth wasting one word upon; but from this hour i defy you all to the death.--until i set foot on shore you are unmolested; but from the moment we separate broken heads will be the consequence of our meeting." "that is but natural," returned gullandsfar. "we accept your proffer in the first instance; keep but quiet! in a few hours you will be on shore." there was a murmur of dissatisfaction and uneasiness on board the vessel. some of the boldest seamen grumbled at the shameful peace with the two captives. they blamed henrik gullandsfar for cowardice and treachery; but none cared to go down into the hold, and dare an encounter with the redoubted captives, who had both ship and crew in their power. at last, however, they submitted to necessity. berner kopmand had lost the use of his tongue, and the discreet master henrik had taken the command of the ship. he ordered every one to go quietly about their business, and was obeyed without any objections being made. the captain himself stood on the forecastle, with rolling eyes and crimson cheeks. he concealed with his large person a man in a black priestly mantle, who conversed with him in a low tone, and kept his back constantly turned towards the stern. a fresh breeze had sprung up. the wind was favourable, and ere noon the vessel glided into kallebo strand, between the isle of amak and the green pastures of the village of solbierg, which occupied the whole of the western side where the suburb of copenhagen, vesterbro, was afterwards built. it was a fine spring day. the proud castle of axelhuus[ ] rose towards the east in the sunshine, with its circular walls and its two round towers, and was mirrored in the surrounding waters. the castle lay apart from the town, without any bridge, and was only accessible by boats. behind the castle island were two other small islands, almost covered with buildings, whither boats were constantly plying. the one was the abode of the stationary skippers, and on the other (bremen island) the warehouses of the bremen merchants seemed to tower in emulation of the castle of axelhuus itself. the rostock vessel steered not to the great haven, from which the city afterwards derived its name, but ran into the catsound, on both sides of which were seen a number of small houses of frame-work, the walls of which were plastered with clay, and the roofs thatched with straw and reeds; between the houses were cabbage gardens and orchards, with wooden fences, or thorn hedges; and in the neighbourhood of the quay was seen the little church of st. clement. footnotes: [footnote : the word runes is here used in its original signification,--that of mystery or secret. each letter of the runic alphabet was supposed to possess a mysterious and magical power. in the scandinavian mythology, each rune was originally dedicated to some deity; it also denoted some natural quality or object: their asiatic origin is now proved beyond doubt. there is a remarkable poem in the elder edda--the song of brynhildé, in which mention is made of several kinds of runes. among them may be classed numerous amulets of most of the asiatic tribes, as well as of the egyptians, greeks, &c., on which these characters were cut or traced. the custom among sailors of marking their skins with letters and devices may clearly be traced to runic origin, and the tattooing among savage tribes is evidently similarly derived. in wilson's account of the pelew islands, king abba thulé is represented as tattooed with two crosses on the breast and two on one shoulder, with a snake, and these distinct northern runes [illustration of rune]. in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries, when superstition dragged her victims to the stake throughout all christian europe, the use of runes became an especial object for the persecutions exercised by the authorities and clergy of iceland,--the word rune there signifying a mysterious and magical character. the songs of the finns and laps, which are supposed by them to possess magic powers, are still called runes.--_translator_. vide _professor finn magnussen's notes to the elder edda_, vol. iii.] [footnote : king eric the sixth of denmark, surnamed plough penny, the son and successor of valdemar the victorious, was murdered by the command of his brother, junker abel, duke of slesvig, under circumstances of peculiar atrocity, on the th of august, . abel had frequently rebelled against his brother; but at last finding that his forces were unequal to the contest, he had recourse to stratagem, and made overtures of friendship to eric, who gladly accepted them, and hesitated not to visit his brother at one of his palaces in slesvig. after an apparently cordial reception, however, the duke contrived to turn the conversation on their former feuds, and reproached the king with having devastated his territories, saying, "dost thou not remember how thou didst plunder my town of slesvig, and compel my daughter to fly barefoot to a place of shelter? thou shalt not do so twice." eric was then seized and led to the river slie, where he was placed in a boat, beheaded, and his body sunk by stones into the deepest part of the stream. in order to cover this crime, duke abel and twenty-four of his knights, according to the usage of those times, endeavoured to clear themselves of suspicion, by solemnly affirming that the king had met with his death by the upsetting of the boat, but two months afterwards the headless trunk floated to the river side, and the murder became known. the body was deposited in st. benedict's church at ringsted, where the translator not long ago was shown one of the bones through an aperture of the walled-up niche.] [footnote : the placing runes upon the tongue was employed in runic magic to waken the dead priestess, and compel her to give a prophetic answer to the magician whose spells had aroused her from the sleep of death. in the song of vegtam, in the elder edda, known to the english reader in our poet gray's fine translation, "the descent of odin," the scandinavian bard describes the magic power of runes traced on the ground towards the north, and repeated as incantations, in calling forth the prophetic response from the tomb. "right against the eastern gate, by the moss-grown pile he sate, where long of yore to sleep was laid the dust of the prophetic maid; facing to the northern clime, thrice he traced the runic rhyme; thrice pronounced in accents dread, the thrilling verse that wakes the dead, till from out the hollow ground, slowly breathed a sullen sound." _translator's note_.] [footnote : baldur, the son of odin, was slain by hother, a danish warrior, his rival in the affections of nanna, a norwegian princess.] [footnote : fragment of an old danish ballad entitled "agneté and the merman."] [footnote : one of the most ancient and characteristic ballads of the north. it is the subject of one of m. ohlenschlager's most popular tragedies.] [footnote : the superstitious belief in the existence of mermen, prevailed in denmark at no very remote period. it seems probable that the pirates or vikings of the north availed themselves of this superstition, by assuming the disguise of mermen to scare the inhabitants from those coasts it was important they should possess. the adventures of some scandinavian pirate and maiden probably gave rise to the curious old ballad of agneté and the merman. see the danish "kjæmpe viser."--_translator_.] [footnote : fragment of an heroic ballad.] [footnote : varulve (manwolf) according to ancient superstition, a man who had been metamorphosed for a certain time into a wolf. the superstitions of the scandinavians, as handed down in the sagas and kempe vise (heroic ballads), partake so much of the character of eastern fable, that there can be little doubt of their asiatic origin.--_translator_.] [footnote : nidaros, the ancient name of drontheim in norway.] [footnote : "vola's qvad," or "the song of the prophetess," is one of the most imaginative poems in the elder edda. it opens with an account of the springing forth of creation from chaos, and after announcing death as the final doom of all physical nature, ends by foretelling the rise of a better and brighter world, from the ocean in which the first had been engulphed.--_translator_.] [footnote : the name of the ancient castle of copenhagen, built by bishop absalon in the thirteenth century as a defence against pirates.] end of the second volume. london: printed by a. spottiswoode, new-street-square. (http:// mormontextsproject.org/) one year in scandinavia: results of the gospel in denmark and sweden--sketches and observations on the country and people--remarkable events--late persecutions and present aspect of affairs. * * * * * by erastus snow, one of the twelve apostles of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. price threepence. liverpool: published by f. d. richards, , wilton street. . * * * * * liverpool: printed by r. james, south castle street. * * * * * contents. extract of a letter from erastus snow to the first presidency. august th, extract from the private journal of e. snow. letter to z. snow, esq., of canton, ohio. february th, letter to president brigham young. liverpool, july th, extract of a letter from elder forssgren. july st, extract from elder snow's reply. rock ferry, july th, denmark--general observations on the country and people. sweden--general observations on the state of the country, politically and religiously--visions, marvellous occurrences and events--present prospects, &c. poetry.--wife, children, and friends. introduction. the author was born in the state of vermont, november th, ; first believed the fulness of the gospel in the spring of ; first saw the prophet joseph smith in december, , in kirtland, ohio, which was then head quarters of the church, was ordained one of the seventies the following spring, and has been engaged in the ministry ever since; was with the saints through their persecutions in missouri and illinois; was in prison with the prophets, joseph and hyrum, in missouri; carried the chain for surveying the first town lots of nauvoo; was one of the two latter-day saints who first entered salt lake valley; has crossed the back-bone of the american continent four times, and travelled, probably, not less than eighty thousand miles on that continent, but never, until this mission, left his native shore, or was absent from his family more than one year at a time. and during a period of over twelve years, in which he has had a family, he has at no one time been permitted to remain with them so long as one year with the single exception of one year and twenty-nine days in the salt lake city, prior to this mission. robbed and plundered in common with his brethren, he transplanted his family through poverty and deep affliction to that resting place. the first year spent in surmounting the difficulties of a new country, and while collecting materials for building, the voice of inspiration cried, "to the nations, oh! ye elders of israel." his destination was denmark; to be accompanied by brother p. o. hanson, a native of copenhagen, who had been mysteriously led by the spirit to america, in search of the kingdom of god, and found it in time to sup with the saints their cup of afflictions, and accompany them to the mountains. thursday, of the same week in which the mission was first intimated, was fixed for starting, though subsequent circumstances caused a little longer delay. the parting is left to conjecture. god be thanked for a family that amid the overflowing emotions of the heart never say "don't go." the journey over the plains, four hundred miles of mud, through missouri; the trip through the states, crossing the atlantic, visit in england, voyage from hull to copenhagen, the first scenes in denmark, are all to some extent known to the english saints, and however many associations of interest they might awaken, the writer has no design here to recapitulate them. the pressure of business and haste with which these items have been thrown together, is the only apology for the use made of the following extracts of private letters, which were never intended for publication. one year in scandinavia. extract of a letter from erastus snow. _copenhagen, denmark, august_ _th_, . to the first presidency of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints; greeting: beloved brethren,--knowing your anxiety, and your prayers and unceasing diligence for zion at home, and for the welfare of the cause of god in all the world, i take great pleasure in writing to you at this time, to communicate to you a statement of the condition and prospect of affairs in this part of the vineyard, in which it has pleased god and my brethren to assign my labours for a season. * * * * * by the advice and consent of those of the twelve who were in england, i concluded to take with me elder george p. dykes--he having preached before to the norwegians in illinois, and having a little knowledge of their language as well as manners and customs. i thought, if the lord opened the way, to send him into that country, to open the door of the gospel among them. the spirit of the lord seemed to lead me to this city, to commence my labors. from my first appointment my mind rested upon copenhagen, as the best place in all scandinavia to commence the work, and every thing has since strengthened my convictions. it is the capital of denmark, and was, at one time, the capital of the united kingdoms of denmark, norway, and sweden. it is a beautiful city, strongly fortified, numbering about , inhabitants, and is by far the largest and most influential town in the kingdom; and from its central position, on the east side of the island of zealand, within sixteen miles of the swedish shore, it affords an easy communication by steamboat to the principal places of norway, sweden, and denmark. it is the seat of learning for all the north of europe; and, i might add, of priestcraft, infidelity, and politics; and in my opinion, it possesses more of the spirit of freedom than any other place in this part of the world notwithstanding. after the separation of sweden, norway still continued under the danish government until the fall of napoleon, and then the allied powers, as a sort of punishment upon denmark for her alliance with france, gave norway to the king of sweden; since which time norway, though nominally subject to the swedish king, has had her domestic legislature, and enjoyed a greater degree of political freedom than either of the other two countries. the government of denmark, until recently, was an absolute monarchy. the king and his ministry both made and executed the law, and the lutheran clergy had the superintendence and control of all the primary schools, and public instruction of the country, with the exception of certain special privileges granted to the jews, and to foreign mechanics who had been invited into the country. but no foreigner was permitted to attempt to proselyte from the "evangelical lutheran church," or preach against her doctrines, on pain of being expelled from the country, which has been enforced against several foreign missionaries within the last ten or fifteen years; and would have been against us, in all probability, if we had come a little sooner. mr. peter c. monster, the baptist reformer, introduced immersion, and now his followers number in denmark about three hundred and sixty. at first he was fined, afterwards imprisoned, and when he had served out one term in prison, he would preach until the priests would cause him to be arrested and imprisoned again; and so continued until he was imprisoned six times, and three years in all. meanwhile french philosophy, infidelity, and republican principles have been increasing in this city and throughout the country, until about the time of the late revolution in france, the death of the old king of denmark afforded the danish people an opportunity to reform their government. the heir to the throne was kept at bay until a constitution or "ground law" was agreed upon, signed, and proclaimed, june , . this secures to the people a "rigsdagen" or legislature, to be elected by the people; and quite as much political freedom as is enjoyed in england. the press is sufficiently free and untrammelled for all purposes for which we wish to use it; and while it protects and supports the lutheran church as the state church, it secures to the citizens the right to dissent and organize other societies; but the rights and privileges of such societies are to be defined by law. the old laws are to be enforced until the legislature shall organize the different departments of government, and provide all the necessary laws and regulations for carrying into effect the new constitution. lutheranism is protected by similar laws in norway and sweden. not long ago some methodists were expelled from sweden, and quite recently some baptists near gottenburgh were arrested and sentenced to leave the country; and an appeal was taken to the king, and petitions sent in against the decision; and quite a war is going on in the swedish papers about it; and i pray that it may be increased, until norway and sweden shall follow the example of denmark. i feel quite willing that the lord should use the methodists and baptists to prepare the way for the fulness of the gospel; for their systems are less exceptionable to the wicked, and they have more sympathy to sustain them. how truly can we behold in these things, as in every other move among the nations, the fulfilment of the words of jesus in the book of mormon, that "when these things shall come forth among the gentiles, the work of the father shall commence among the nations, in preparing the way for the restoration of thee, o house of israel." we landed here, june . the first legislature elected under the new constitution was in session. they adjourned in july to meet again in october. the first session was occupied with the political and financial affairs, and they adjourned without providing the laws necessary for carrying into execution the provisions of the constitution relative to religious societies. there is a number of priests in the legislature, and they will stave off any action on the subject as long as they can. among other important reforms that will be much in our favor, is the abolition of the odious internal passport system. formerly their own citizens were liable to arrest and imprisonment, if they were caught even for one night beyond the limits of their own town or parish without a passport. this continual renewing of passports, signing and countersigning them by the police officers at every stopping place, and the inconvenience and expense attending it, has always been a source of great annoyance to those who wish to travel. we have not been able as yet either to preach in danish, or write for the press; and we have thought it wisdom not to create much excitement until we are fully organized, and speak the language better. elder hanson is now engaged in translating some extracts from our works, which i intend for the press. i intend, if the lord will, soon to publish in danish, a short history of the rise and progress of the church, and its faith and doctrines. he had previously translated a few extracts from the doctrine and covenants, such as i thought wise for the benefit of the believers; also revised some choice passages in the book of mormon. brother hanson had been so long in america, that he had become very dull in his native tongue; and having no bible or any other danish book with him in america, as might have been expected, his translation of the book of mormon was very imperfect, and will necessarily have to be thoroughly revised before it goes to press. last monday, the th of august, we began to baptize, and baptized fifteen the first night, and eleven more during the week, making twenty-six in all. the greater part of these are from mr. monster's followers, and the best he had; and many more of them are believing, while the rest of them are full of wrath and indignation. mr. m. himself, who received us at first, and opened the way for us to form acquaintances with his people, now stands as it were upon a pinnacle, undecided whether to forsake his people or the truth; still he will not turn against us and those who have left him; his influence is exerted for good, and i still hope and pray that he may follow. among those who are baptized are germans, swedes, and danes--all, however, understand the danish. they are well-grounded in the work and firm--we had with us one copy of elder o. hyde's german work, which we kept moving among the dutch, and when we found any that could read english, we gave them english books; and to the danes we read brother hanson's translation of the book of mormon and doctrine and covenants, &c. we have operated only in private, and in small family meetings; but we have now arrived at the time when we shall no longer seek retirement but notoriety. we hope soon to find a large public place, and we thank god that the seed has sprung up, and has deep root; so that if we are banished from the country, the work will spread. the lord has visited these believers with many visions, and dreams, and manifestations of the holy spirit, and some have told us that they had seen us in visions before we came. they have drawn out of us by their faith, every thing pertaining to the gathering, the redemption of the dead, &c., and drink it in as an ox drinketh up water. i hope before long to have many of them scattered over the country, preaching the word. if the lord permit, i shall endeavor to get the book of mormon published in the course of the fall and winter. i have not much means towards it as yet, but have the promise of backers in england, so that i trust the way will open for publishing by the time it can be properly revised, and i can know that it appears in danish in its own native simplicity and truth. the literature of the great university of copenhagen has long taken the lead in this north country, so that works published in danish may be read and understood by a large portion of the swedes; and as for norway, although they have their rustic dialects, yet the danish is the public language of the state. i should like to know your minds about the book of doctrine and covenants, whether, if the lord should raise up much people in this country, and the way should be opened before us, it would be advisable to attempt to translate and publish it entire, or publish from time to time, such portions of it as circumstances shall seem to require. what little i have seen and learned, convinces me of this fact, that it is no easy matter to translate them with all the force and spirit with which those revelations are written in english. the english is much the richest language, and the idiom of the two are entirely different. as far as my experience and observation extend, the danes are a kind and hospitable people, especially the middle and lower classes; and a higher tone of morality pervading them, than exists in the corresponding classes in england and america; and if i mistake not my feelings, the lord has many people among them. brother john forssgren accompanied us to this place and stopped a few days with us, and then we blessed him and sent him on his way. the lord is with him, he is full of faith and the holy ghost. from here to the home of his childhood where his relatives are, is about six hundred miles in a north east direction up the baltic. all that we have heard from the valley since we left, was your general epistle of april , which was brought from the valley to the bluffs by mr. livingston, and from there to liverpool by elder pratt, a proof sheet of which was forwarded to me in a letter, which i received july , and after perusing it, forwarded it to brother forssgren. it was a precious morsel to us all. as to the signs of the times and the aspect of affairs among the nations of europe, dark forebodings of the future seem to pervade all hearts, and the heads of the nations seem to be conscious that they are steering the ship of state in dangerous seas. denmark is at present the point of the greatest interest. the dukedoms of holstein and sleswick, which are mostly german, have been in a state of revolt ever since the death of the old king. the new government has been unable to compel their submission. several severe battles have been fought, and both parties still seem to be more and more desperate. on the rd and th july, a battle was fought in sleswick, in which out of about , engaged on each side, they sustained a loss of about each, according to their acknowledgments; but as the official reports have been kept from the public, it is generally believed that the loss was much greater. over wounded were brought to this city, and all the hospitals had the appearance of slaughter-houses and the surgeons, butchers. considered by itself alone, this domestic war might not disturb the peace of europe; but there is a secret at the bottom, which interests the great powers. by a glance at the map, you will see that denmark's stronghold at elsinore holds the key to the baltic, and taxes all nations who traffic upon her waters. this is an outlet for the russian fleet, and for the commerce of prussia and other german states, as well as sweden. the german states, including prussia, are aiming to establish a federal union, and to build a fleet, that they may be able to compete with the great powers of europe. sleswick and holstein are essential to that union on account of their harbors upon the north sea for their fleets. they being germans, are like minded, and wish to throw off the danish yoke; in doing which they have the support of all germany. * * * * since i commenced writing this letter, the postman has brought me one from brother j. forssgren, dated stockholm, aug. th, of which i will give you a summary. he says he baptized his brother and sister, and one or two others at geffle; and by request translated brother o. pratt's pamphlet on the rise and doctrine of the church; but the printers refused to publish it. he next heard of a ship load of farmers about to sail for new york, and went to them, and while they were waiting for the vessel, he preached the gospel to them, and found them a humble people, who were looking for the redemption of israel, and were going to seek for zion in america. he baptized some sixteen or seventeen of the farmers, and many more were believing. he ordained two elders and some teachers, &c., gave them instructions how to watch over and teach the company, and baptize others that should desire it. this he finished on the th inst., and preached the same evening at o'clock p.m., in the woods just out of town. having preached there once before, it had been noised abroad, and the grove was full of priests and people; the former, however, together with the marshal, were secreted behind trees and rocks. he preached and bore testimony of the word with power, and many were pricked in their hearts. after he had closed and dismissed, the marshal, with the priests and police, arrested him, variously insulted him, marched him through the town, and proclaimed "the dipper," &c., and arraigned him before the governor of the city, and all the priests. having an american passport he was sent to stockholm. the king was not at home; neither the american charge-d'affairs. he was had several times before the courts in stockholm, and when the american charge came home on the th, he, with the judges, police, and all hands, tried to persuade him to quit his preaching; but he told them, the will of the lord should be his will. he adds in a postscript, that they had concluded to send him out of the country; but he had not learned how they would send him. he further adds, that he should preach there by invitation the next eve. i immediately wrote to him, not to leave till he was obliged, and then to ordain such as were worthy, and come to denmark. dear brethren, elders dykes, hanson, and myself unitedly greet you and the saints of god, with warm emotions of brotherly love; and we pray our father in heaven, that we may be preserved to rejoice together again in the flesh. yours truly and affectionately, erastus snow. p. s. aug. .--we have baptized thirty four persons, and more are ready. a very scurrilous letter about the mormons, from america, has just appeared in a copenhagen paper translated from a french paper. it is the first of the kind that has appeared. e. s. extract from the private journal of e. snow. after hearing of the arrest and treatment of brother forssgren in sweden, i wrote to him to come over to denmark and labour with us. a few days after i felt much anxiety for his safety; and fearing lest the swedish government should either put him in close confinement, or smuggle him away privately to the united states, we unitedly prayed that he might be delivered and come to us in safety. i went to bed, and dreamed of seeing him in water up to his arms, and held by a man whom i understood to be an officer. i thought he was anxious to come to where i stood on the shore. the officer seemed waiting for the decision of his superiors, whom i saw with a crowd at a distance. he received his orders, but i could not understand them. brother forssgren was immediately released, and pressed hard through the water to come to me; but, before he got out of reach, the officer thrust his hand quickly under the water behind, and caught his leg or garment, and pulled his feet from under him, which dipped his head under water. i saw his perilous situation, but could not render him any assistance. another man, of a kind expression of countenance, stood near them, to whom brother forssgren called with an agonizing voice for help. he went and raised his head out of the water, and made the officer let him go. he started again to come to me, and i awoke. september th, brother forssgren arrived in copenhagen and related his story, which explained my dream. it runs as follows:--after being examined and bearing testimony before the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, in geffle and stockholm, he was held as a prisoner at large in the latter place, not being permitted to preach or to leave town; but the newspapers published accounts of his doings and sayings, and his whereabouts in stockholm, and the result was that many people flocked to see him, both from town and country. he was invited to visit among them, and to their mechanic club meetings. thus he instructed many in private, and made many warm friends; and, as some began to desire baptism, the police took him by night and put him on board an american vessel, which was ready to start for new york; paid his passage, and requested the captain to see that he did not land until he reached new york. but elder forssgren soon won the friendship of the captain; and when they arrived at elsinore, where the vessel called to pay toll, the captain landed him on danish ground. very soon after landing he was arrested by the danish police, at the instigation of the swedish consul of that place, and was about to be re-shipped for new york. he now ascertained that the swedish authorities at stockholm, fearing that he might land in denmark and recross the sound into another part of sweden, had sent despatches to their consul at elsinore (the only place where the vessel would stop,) describing him and the vessel, and directing the consul to see that he was shipped to new york. he produced his american passport, and claimed the protection of the hon. walter forward, american minister to denmark, who had just landed in that place from copenhagen. my previous interviews had won the friendship of mr. forward, who quickly came to his assistance, and effected his release, repudiating the aspersions of his enemies, and accompanied him to copenhagen, where he arrived in good health, full of joy and the holy ghost, having been absent from us about three months. * * * * * the following extract from a private letter, which found its way into the "frontier guardian," contains some further particulars. letter to z. snow, esq., of canton, ohio. _norgesgade, copenhagen, denmark_, _february_ _th_, . brother zerubable,--i have received, through elder pratt, the letters you sent him to be forwarded to me; and was very thankful for them, and perhaps you have expected an answer before now, but i have deferred writing as long as i thought i could in safety and have my letters reach you before you start for the valley; and you will be able to carry a report of me up to this date, in case the letters which i sent by mail fail to reach my family. i was very much pleased at the good spirit which was breathed in your letters, and particularly that you were so decided about going to that peaceful home of saints early in the spring. your appointment as judge of the supreme court of utah territory, was from the lord, though it came through the president, and will doubtless be a blessing unto you, in a pecuniary point of view; and if you are wise in the use of it, may be a blessing unto many thousands. * * * * * * i suppose the valley news of a general nature you will have obtained from the papers; probably you will also see my letters in the _star_, and learn a little how we prosper here. this is a well fortified and pleasant city. the winter has been pleasant--but little snow; and about the temperature of new york. i have good health, and plenty of business, warm friends, and plenty of enemies. this is a perfect priest-ridden and king-ridden people, but many honest souls among them. we have had some persecution in this city, (saying nothing of the flood of lies that always follows the truth), such as breaking up our meetings, stoning houses and windows and the like, but not so much here as in some other places in the kingdom. brother dykes, who is now laboring in the province of jutland, has had a hard time, and made some hair-breadth escapes from his enemies, but has been greatly blessed notwithstanding, and has baptized over fifty. brother john forssgren, (whose persecution and expulsion from sweden i mentioned in my letter in the _star_), has fared but little better in denmark. he and a danish brother was mobbed, and variously maltreated lately in roskilde, the old capital of denmark; and after two days complete uproar in the town, they were expelled by the chief authorities of the town, against all law. notwithstanding all these things, we rejoice continually in the lord our god, who blesses our labors and pours out the holy ghost upon us and the saints, with its gifts and blessings, visions and dreams, prophecy and healing, casting out devils, &c. we have baptized about one hundred and fifteen in this city, and have a good prospect. we are but miserable tools in the danish language, at the best, but the lord makes weak things become strong unto them who believe. pray for us continually, that we may do a good work. i am now very busily engaged with brother hanson, in translating and publishing the book of mormon; it is a very laborious and tedious work to get it issued clean and pure, according to the simplicity of the original; and requires the closest attention. i am publishing three thousand copies--have only one hundred and sixty-eight pages finished, it will take me till may or june. i circulate two hundred by the sheet, weekly. yours, &c. e. snow. letter to president brigham young , _wilton street, liverpool, july_ _th_, . beloved president,--as i intimated in my letter of last august, i have made an exertion, and through the blessing of god after eight months faithful and unceasing application, have succeeded in the translation and publication of the book of mormon, in the danish language; a copy of which i hope to have the opportunity of sending you soon. i have issued an edition of three thousand copies; i should have had it stereotyped, and issued a smaller edition first, if i could have found a stereotype foundry in the kingdom, but denmark is a little behind the age in this as in most other improvements. they are now being thrown into circulation by the brethren, and a bookdealer of copenhagen. in the work of translation, i employed such help, as the lord furnished to my hand, feeling that it was better so to do, than to confide it to learned professors who were not imbued with the spirit of the work. i sought the acquaintance of several, but could not feel satisfied in spirit to confide the work to either of them. after brother hanson became improved in his language, by a few months' practice, i set him to re-writing and revising his old translation, and soon a danish lady, a teacher of french, german, and english, embraced the faith, whom i employed to assist in the work; but i did not allow it to go to press until i had become sufficiently acquainted with the language, as i believed to detect any error in sentiment, and given it a thorough review with them a third time. i feel that i have done the best i could under the circumstances, and that the lord has accepted it and will add his blessing. as the saints began to peruse its sacred pages, the holy ghost descended upon them, and bore record of it in a marvellous manner, speaking to some in dreams, visions, and divers manifestations, which caused our hearts to magnify the lord. in september, i published a small work, entitled "the voice of truth to the honest in heart," containing a sketch of the rise of the church and its doctrines; and in march i published one containing the articles of the church, and several extracts of revelations, for the instruction and government of the saints, and also a small collection of some of our best hymns, put into danish, and adapted to the tunes used in zion. these little publications were a great help to us, and a source of much joy to the saints. those who have laboured as you have for many years in a cold world to preach the word of life, can easier imagine than i can describe the sensations of our bosoms on hearing the songs of zion in a foreign tongue, and the saints relate their dreams and visions, and pray for zion and the presidency, and the travelling elders and saints throughout the earth. on the th september, , we duly organized "jesu christi kirke af sidste dages helege" in denmark, consisting of fifty members. we had been baptizing and confirming from the th of august, but had operated privately in small family gatherings, for i felt constrained to refrain from any attempt at public meetings. we now presented our organization and sketch of our faith, before the "cultus-minister" and board of magistrates, and obtained permission to procure a place of worship and hold meetings, but he informed us that we might meet obstruction from the police. elder john e. forssgren being banished from sweden, arrived in copenhagen on the th september. soon after this elder dykes was appointed to commence labour in aalborg, in the province of jutland, where he soon established a branch of the church. i thought to send brother forssgren to the island of bornholm, which formerly belonged to sweden, and has a dialect nearly allied to the swedish; but he was positively refused a pass to that or any other province. the reason assigned by the president of the police department was, that he had taken upon himself, at the request of the swedish government, to see to it, that forssgren did not make his escape into sweden. he has consequently remained in and about copenhagen ever since, and has been a great help to me, for he was soon able to make himself understood by the danes, as well or better than myself; besides, there were many native swedes in copenhagen, many of whom are now numbered among our best members. during the winter a bill relating to dissenting religious parties, with very liberal provisions, was introduced into the legislature, but met with such powerful opposition from the bishops and their clergy in all parts of the state, that it was finally ruled out. while this was pending many of the papers were teeming with misrepresentations about "mormoniterne," and the chief bishop published a pamphlet against the bill, in which he detailed the usual catalogue of transatlantic lies about the saints, and thought it the duty of governments to "protect the people against this dangerous sect." several marvelous cases of healing, and other manifestations of the power of god, together with the weekly distribution of copies of a sheet of the book of mormon, contributed also greatly to exasperate them, and arouse the demon of persecution, which came upon us almost simultaneously, in every place where we were sowing seed. in aalborg, where the saints had secured a popular hall, the chief officer of police suppressed their meetings; and elder dykes was mobbed in a neighbouring town, where he had begun to baptize, and narrowly escaped with his life. in roskilde, where brothers forssgren and aagren had secured a hall and commenced preaching, they were mobbed, beaten, arrested, and banished from the town by the chief officers of police, while those that were known to have received them, paid the penalty with the loss of windows and the like. in hersholm, where they next commenced, they fared but little better. in copenhagen, our hall and the streets about it were thronged by a great crowd of journeymen, apprentices, sailors, &c., led on by the theological students, who turned our meetings into a "pow wow," dealing out all manner of threats and abuses, until we were finally obliged to cease our public meetings, while the police refused interference in our behalf. some private houses where we had small gatherings next became the object of vengeance. near the same time also evil spirits attacked some persons in the church, and manifested their power in many strange ways, and it took sometime to entirely subdue them, all of which afforded lessons of wisdom and experience to the young saints. they also made an angry demonstration upon brother forssgren and myself, in our room at night, somewhat similar to that upon elders hyde and kimball, in preston. my eyes were open to behold them, and through humble prayer we obtained power to withstand them and rebuke them from our presence and room. it seemed, indeed, as though the powers of earth and hell were combined to crush the work of the lord in that land, but through much prayer and fasting we received strength, and the clouds began to disperse. we sent a deputation to the king with a memorial, a book of mormon, and my pamphlet. i shortly after heard of the book of mormon in the possession of the queen dowager (who is reputedly pious, and a lover of the bible), who, as her "maids" reported, was so wrought upon by the presentation, and tale of the book, that excitement and alarm spread through her palace, and she was unable to leave her room for several days. we were afterwards informed through the "cultus-minister," who has the superintendence of all school and church affairs, that the government was disposed to allow us our regular course, and interpose no obstacles. after this, the police officer in aalborg, by order of the "cultus-minister," restored to the saints their privileges, and we began also to enjoy peace and quietness in our meetings at copenhagen. branches were organized in hals and hersholm, and the saints generally increased in number, faith, and joy, in the holy ghost. before the adjournment of the legislature, a law passed in a modified form, sustaining religious freedom, and abrogating the old law which denied the rights of matrimony, and all other civil and social privileges to native subjects, unless sprinkled, educated, and confirmed in the lutheran church. yet there is nothing in the constitution or laws that guarantees us that _protection_ in our worship, and in the exercise of our religious rights, which is afforded by the laws of england and america. i now feel that "the shell is broken" in old scandinavia, and the work of the lord will advance. probably an earlier mission to that country would have proved a failure. though to you and others they might have seemed trifling, yet upon me the cares, anxieties, and pressure of circumstances attending the mission have weighed heavily. in the midst of them i have frequently been visited with encouraging dreams, in which i often saw brother joseph smith, yourself, or president kimball, and received instructive lessons. in the midst of the exciting scenes of the winter, i saw myself and brethren navigating a dangerous stream, on a fishing excursion. our vessel had neither steam nor sails, yet (by what power was not perceivable) it was slowly but steadily advancing against a rapid current, and we were drawing in fish. in the spring three icelanders who had embraced the faith in copenhagen returned to their native land, with the book of mormon and pamphlets, two of whom i ordained and commanded them to labour among their people, as the lord opened their way, to read, pray, teach, baptize, translate, &c., and one of them to return to me in the fall. they were mechanics, and the spirit rested copiously upon them. the total number baptized, including those baptized by elder forssgren in sweden, is about three hundred. the number of elders, priests, teachers, and deacons, ordained in branches, and travelling, is about twenty-five. towards the close of may i appointed brother hanson and five others in pairs, supplied with books and pamphlets, to open new fields of labour: two to south jutland, two to bornholm, and two swedes to that part of sweden lying immediately across the sound from copenhagen. these last were instructed to go among their friends, circulate tracts, read, talk, pray, and baptize, secretly if they could, in a manner to attract the least possible attention from the priests. the winter in denmark was mild. little snow, but much rain, and exceedingly thick foggy weather; this coupled with my anxieties and close application to the book of mormon, and my other duties, considerably impaired my health. leaving the presidency with brother forssgren, i resolved to join my brethren in conference at london, and rest and recruit myself a little season, by a change of labours and scenery. i came by steamboat to wismar, in germany, and from thence to london; passing through the states of mecklinburgh-schwerin, hanover, belgium, and part of prussia, by railway, and crossed the channel from ostend to dover. on my way i called upon a pious german nobleman, on the elbe, with whom i had corresponded, and to whom i had sent a "voice of warning." he welcomed me to his family; and said he had begun to translate the voice of warning into german. his interest or curiosity became sufficiently excited to induce him, in a few days, to follow me to london; but when he learned that we did not believe in standing still to be killed, only when we were compelled so to do, he turned back with many _pious regrets_, thinking it utterly impossible to reconcile "mormonism" with his favourite doctrines of peace and non-resistance. we had an interesting and profitable time in london. elders taylor, l. snow, and f. d. richards, were present, and the american elders generally. the great crystal palace and its collected products of a world's industry, was the great theme of london, not to say of europe and america. since the june conference in london i have attended conference in manchester and preston, and spent about ten days with elder joseph w. johnson, in the preston and clitheroe conferences, where he is doing a good work, reviving the dead in those old conferences. he wished me to remember him affectionately to you. on the arrival of the "fifth general epistle," i forwarded it to denmark, to be translated and published. i have the "voice of warning," and portions of the "doctrine and covenants" in process of translation. i expect to return in a few days, and i hope to be able before another spring to establish a monthly periodical, and publish some works also for circulation in the swedish language. i should do violence to my feelings to close this epistle without expressing the gratitude of my heart for the deep interest of, and efficient aid afforded me by presidents o. pratt, f. d. richards, and others. here i would say, a word about the labours of brother richards, and the grace of god that abounds upon him since the departure of elder pratt, but with you it can add nothing, his works will speak for themselves. he honors his station, and feels its responsibility. i love him, and so do all the saints. please present my affectionate remembrances to my beloved family when opportunity affords, and accept assurances of the same for yourself and family. "when shall we all meet again?" echo answers--"when." may the choice blessings of israel's god rest upon you and all his people; and may a liberal share of that spirit that is upon you be my portion, in the name of jesus christ. amen. i remain your fellow-labourer in the kingdom of god, erastus snow. to b. young, president of the church of jesus christ, of latter-day saints, in all the world. extract of a letter from elder forssgren. _copenhagen, july_ _st_, . beloved brother snow,--having received news from you through brother dykes, i take pleasure in addressing you a few lines concerning myself and the church here universally. in the copenhagen branch peace and union prevail. * * * brother dykes, in company with brother jensen, from aalborg, arrived here this morning in the steamer juno. * * the little ship zion, of aalborg, has stood through a dreadful storm in the last eight or nine days, which you may hear of through the papers before you get this. on sunday, the nd, elder jensen and his brethren of the priesthood, came to the conclusion to go and baptize at a public place by the sea shore, which caused a great gathering of great and small, aged, middle aged, and young. to these, brothers larsen and jensen bore testimony of the truth, according to the spirit of the book of mormon, and warned the people to flee from the church of the devil, and let them know those priests they had in those high steepled temples, were gentiles, &c. the ungodly became enraged, seized one of the brethren, and took him before the high priest; the whole body of the mob gathered round his house, to see what he would say and do. the priest with horror and affright cried out, "away with him." some took shelter in brother olson's house, but on the way were stoned, knocked into the gutters, and clothes torn off some. the mob then proceeded to the place of the saints' worship, and began a havoc on the house, all the windows went in as with a blow, and doors torn down. sister petersen, who resided in the small room, escaped through a window with a babe in her arms. * * * the police and soldiers of the city guard were ordered out to quell the tumult, but all their efforts were in vain, till the artillery of heaven was moved upon. sharp thunder and lightning and a shocking shower of rain came down upon them, which caused the mob to disperse for the night. next day they began with more strength; all the windows of the saints' houses were stoned to pieces; some of the women taken and dealt with in a brutal manner. since the commencement of the uproar, all the saints have been more or less roughly handled. elder jensen's manufacturing establishment has been threatened, but it stands good yet. the saints' house of worship was unroofed, and part of the walls torn down. for nine days has the town been in a dreadful tumult,--the police quarrelled among themselves, the citizens with each other, and the lower classes fighting among themselves. * * * * * * brother dykes arrived there yesterday, but was immediately taken and sent on board the steamer out of the way, that none of the saints could see him. brother jensen made his escape on board a boat, unknown to his enemies. * * * he will now be with us for a short time, he is full of joy in the holy ghost. he will probably seek to talk with the king, to seek protection for the saints in aalborg. * * * no news from those brethren lately sent out on missions. we hope to hear from you soon. your ever humble servant, and brother in the new and everlasting covenant, j. e. forssgren. p.s.--last week eight were baptized, and the work is taking root among the better quality of people. an extract from elder snow's reply. _rock ferry, july_ _th_, . beloved brother,--yours of the first instant is received. * * * i sincerely sympathize with the saints in aalborg in their trials, and pray that the grace of god may be sufficient for them. i doubt not that what they did was with the purest motive; and i have faith in god, that he is able to overrule all for good in the end, and hope that it may contribute to arouse and combine the energies of the right minded in favour of truth and freedom. i hope the scenes growing out of that public baptism, and the imprudent sayings of the brethren on that occasion, however painful the results, may serve as a lesson of wisdom and experience for all saints in that land from henceforth. where a cold indifference prevails, a little _healthy excitement_ to arouse the public mind to investigation may be profitable, provided it can be controlled, and the _truth kept before the people_. but denmark is not england nor america--religious liberty is not grounded in the hearts of the people. they are under the influence of their priests and attached to their religion--once their feelings outraged, the voice of truth or reason cannot be heard. while a little fire kindled upon the hearth, in a cold day, is very convenient, all will admit the folly of firing the house, by which the inmates might be consumed or left houseless in mid winter. counsel the saints in aalborg to continue their little meetings for prayer and exhortation, if they can, without excitement: and if you can, you had better send them an elder, not known there, to encourage and minister among them until i come, which i trust will not be long. denmark general observations on the country and people. denmark proper is but a small state, including the peninsula of jutland and the islands of the cattegat, and those of the southern and western parts of the baltic, to which is attached the dukedoms of sleswick, holstein, oldenburg and lauenburg, the most of whose inhabitants use the german language. her foreign dependencies, like those of great britain, are far more extensive than her home dominions. these have their peculiar dialects, and use the danish language only in part, chiefly in public affairs and business transactions, and even her home provinces and islands have great dialectic peculiarities, to a considerable extent unintelligible to each other. but the literature of copenhagen is the regular and standard language, if in truth it can be said to have a standard. but the language, like the people, is so surrounded and intermixed with others, that changes and improvements are very considerable, and its laws quite unsettled. in the state of norway, the danish language is spoken and written generally and taught in her schools. and although they maintain their rustic dialects, it is doubted if the old norsk language has been used in printing since the days of the reformation. iceland, probably, possesses quite as many associations of interest to the danes as any other of their foreign dependencies. in my interviews with professor repp, he frequently took occasion to refer, with apparent pride and satisfaction, to his _native_ iceland, as the nursery of literature and keeper of the danish records, during the barbarous and demoralizing wars that swept over scandinavia. they still maintain their own literature, and have a translation of the scriptures, but as their priests are educated in copenhagen, and their merchants mostly danish, the national religion, policy and impress of denmark is stamped upon them as upon her other provinces. at present, with a territory larger than denmark proper, iceland only numbers about sixty thousand inhabitants. denmark proper is about in the latitude of scotland, and has a climate somewhat similar. unlike the cold mountainous regions of norway and sweden, it lies low, and by being to such an extent surrounded by water and interspersed with small lakes, preserves an equilibrium of temperature beyond what its latitude might otherwise indicate. though it is sometimes visited with heavy falls of snow, and the severity of winter has congealed the salt water of the belts and the sound, so that teams have crossed the ice between denmark and sweden. the islands, particularly zealand and fuen, the two largest, are rich and in a high state of cultivation. the country generally is poorly supplied with highways, and i sometimes found myself wandering from house to house and from village to village, through bye roads and footpaths, crossing sluiceways on a plank or pole, and at wet seasons, when the country was nearly half covered with water, obliged to wade through mud and water, or take a serpentine route through fields. the country people, generally, live in small villages, miserable houses, with thatched roofs and clay floors, and are generally filthy and uncouth in their habits. in the large towns a degree of order and neatness is exhibited, and urbanity of manners, such as is common to english towns. nearly every village, however insignificant, has its church, and priest to receive their tithings, and attend to their spiritual wants. with regard to improvements, the danes are sadly deficient in means or enterprise, probably both. they have but one piece of railroad, sixteen miles in length, from copenhagen to a neighbouring town. the capital itself is still lighted with the old oil lamps, and the fire companies haul their hose and water on sheds with tubs and barrels. a telegraph is unknown in the country. the navy yard and fixtures, fortifications, public buildings, walks and gardens, of copenhagen, would be a credit to any town or nation. the priests are often to be seen in the streets with their black gowns and white ruffles. their texts, sermons, worship, &c., defined by law, are uniform throughout the country, and repeated yearly. their rites are similar to those of the church of england. there is a universal observance of the numerous holydays and festivals common in catholic countries, but the sabbath is lightly esteemed. sunday evening is usually selected for balls, and other amusements, and that is the time the theatres are thronged. the priests are by no means so pious out of church as to prevent their mingling freely in those amusements. churchgoing is in late years getting much out of fashion, except on extraordinary occasions. it is no uncommon things in their popular churches, to see only eight or ten persons, but the priest is paid and required by law to perform services if there are two present. i was very strongly impressed on an occasion of the congregation of a priest in "frue kirke," a splendid edifice, the pride of copenhagen, patronised by the royal family. at the east end, overlooking the altar, stands a marble statue, representing jesus in the act of preaching, while on either side of the body of the church, at equal distances, stand the twelve apostles, each holding an appropriate insignia; for instance, peter holding three keys, matthew his pen and scroll, &c. these are all in marble, and were cut in rome. above these in the walls are the carved representations of young angels, with wings, while another larger one stands before the altar, holding a marble basin of water, for the sprinkling of infants. while the chief bishop, surrounded by his clergy, in sacerdotal robes, was engaged in the services of the occasion, i asked myself these questions; if these were living figures, what would be their language to these men and this assembly? were they to give utterance to the doctrines they taught while living, how long would they be permitted to grace this building? i reflected that by the influence of these clergy, and at the instigation of this bishop, was p. c. monster repeatedly imprisoned for preaching to this people that they must follow jesus down into the water and be baptized. this was the bishop that thought it the duty of government to protect the people from this "dangerous sect"--the latter-day saints. these are the men, who, while they allow the people to have access to the bible, put a padlock upon it and pocket the key. i exclaimed in my heart at the scene before me, surely the great mother of abominations, with her numerous progeny of the protestant family, after their fathers martyred jesus and his apostles, transgressed his laws, changed his ordinances, broke his everlasting covenant, and drove the last vestige of his kingdom from the earth, have now placed their statues in her temples to grace her triumph. i will here remark that there are a few honorable exceptions among the danish clergy, whose voices have been heard in favour of religious freedom, and reformation among the people. although there are a few persons that have a zeal for the scriptures, and their diffusion among the people, yet the most of the danish clergy discourage the use of them, by the masses, and under a cloak of charity, they long ago shrewdly procured the passage of a law giving a charitable institution, which they control, called "veisenhuuset," the exclusive right of publishing, importing, or selling the scriptures, in any shape or form, in the danish language. the result is, that we sometimes may hunt whole neighbourhoods over and not find a copy of the scriptures, except, perhaps, in church, or with the priest. the novelty of a new religion in the country, the excitability of the people, the control of the priests, over churches and school-houses; the fear of violence and damage, that deters men from leasing us houses; the restrictions of law upon street preaching and promiscuous assemblages; the spleen and jealousy of a well organized national police, are all no small obstacles in the way of getting truth before the people. sweden general observations on the state of the country politically and religiously--visions, marvellous occurrences and events--present prospects, &c. although the ancient races of scandinavia have become somewhat intermixed, and a strong analogy exists between the danish and swedish languages, and one country is more or less subject to the influence of the other, yet the state of society in sweden and spirit of the people are, in many respects, quite different from that of denmark. at present there is much less freedom, both political and religious, a wider difference between the toiling millions and the nobility and gentry, and more extreme cases of degradation. until recently their laws have been inimical to emigration, and the influence of the lutheran religion and policy of the government, have tended to perpetuate the evils rather than remove them. yet with the masses, a much stronger religious feeling appears to exist than in denmark, and a much more general diffusion and perusal of the scriptures; and in the absence of that encouragement which they have a right to expect from the lutheran clergy that swarm the country, the labouring classes who feel religiously inclined, have formed their little associations for investigating the scriptures and edifying each other therein. a few years since a man, by the name of johnson, made considerable stir in the country, and taught quite extensively the prophecies that relate to the last days, the second advent, gathering, zion in america, &c.; and although he did not baptize or organize a church in opposition to lutheranism, yet he became very obnoxious to the clergy, and after being subjected to many of their stratagems and to imprisonment, he finally emigrated with a portion of his friends to illinois, where he was killed not long since. but the spirit of the latter-day movements and events, which he infused among his countrymen, did not entirely leave or die with him. it is said that in one town there are as many as a thousand, and many in other places, who entertain his notions and look for important events. it is also asserted that in , (if my memory serves as to time) was published in the papers, in three different parts of the kingdom on the same day, a remarkable occurrence, said to have transpired the preceding night, viz., the illumination of a church in the three different places, and in them the sound of delightful music, singing of zion and the work of the lord on the earth, when the churches were known to be closed and to possess no earthly means of illumination. i have seen it, but am sorry that i am unable to furnish at this time a translation of the sketch of the song said to have been sung in each of the three churches, and heard by many persons. in commenced in sweden, what the swedish papers call "praedeke sygdom," (the disease of preaching) a strange manifestation of a spirit upon sundry illiterate persons, otherwise perfectly healthy, by which they acted very curiously, preaching and prophesying marvelous things, and crying _repentance unto the people_. nor was it confined to men, but women also and even babes, under the same influence, opened their mouths, and testified marvelous things, to the great astonishment of many. and when the excitement could not be hushed by the priests, the doctors were called to their aid, who decided it a sort of monomania, and thereafter every person, so soon as they manifested any of the above symptoms, were immediately confined in hospitals or lunatic asylums, and no one allowed to see them until they were cured of their preaching. during the last year or two, the swedish papers report several cases again of the "praedeke sygdom" in different places, but the doctors are pushed forward to nip the spirit in the bud. the doctors were ordered to examine brother forssgren for the same purpose, but his american passport and general appearance admonished them to take another course. one of those families consisting of seven persons, including two small children, resolved at all hazards to make their way to america, and actually travelled on foot several hundred miles, from the upper part of sweden to gottenburg, where they arrived too late for a passage last fall, and they made their way to copenhagen and came immediately to our meetings, and received the gospel with great joy, and have proved to be an excellent spirited family. a strong dissatisfaction exists in sweden with regard to reigning institutions, religious and political, and the opposition is strengthening itself daily, and becoming more thoroughly organized for efficient action. it has its seat in stockholm, and extends its influence throughout the country, chiefly among the mechanic associations, and farming interests. elder forssgren found warm friends among the leaders of this party. the king is favorably disposed towards the popular wants, while the majority of the nobility and clergy seem struggling to maintain their power and influence. while measures for reform and extension of liberty, which had been submitted by the king, were under discussion before the legislature last winter (which finally failed) insurrectionary movements were set on foot in stockholm, and large quantities of troops from a distance were called to maintain order, till the close of the legislature. one of the reform leaders writing to brother forssgren in march, congratulates us on the liberty we enjoy in denmark, and the success of our mission there, and says, "no such good has yet come over poor sweden;" but, he adds, "we still labor in hopes, and are doubling our diligence." the same writer says that (using the documents furnished him by ourselves) he had published several articles refuting the newspaper charges against the mormons. a recent letter from elder forssgren's father, brings news of a newspaper war between the two parties, in which the defender of reform principles animadverts severely upon the priests for their tyranny and oppression of people who had no confidence in their doctrines, and he fails not to charge home upon them with effect, the expulsion of "mormoniten forssgren," without judge or jury. i shall continue to watch with deep interest every movement in sweden, until the yolk is broken, the fetters burst, and israel that is pent up in those north countries goes free. i cannot feel satisfied to close this brief review of sweden without treating my readers to a sketch of the vision of charles xi, king of sweden, which i find in the danish over his seal and signature, attested by five officers of state, who were with him on the occasion. being ill, and of an unusually melancholy frame of mind, he raised himself in bed, about twelve o'clock at night, and on looking towards the window that commanded a view of the legislative hall, saw a light in the hall. the officer in attendance assured him it was only the reflection of the moon's rays upon the windows. partly pacified with this explanation, he turned himself in bed to seek repose, but being troubled in spirit, he shortly looked and saw the light again. he then demanded of another officer, who that moment called to inquire after his health, if a fire had not broken out in the legislative hall. this man offered the same solution of the light as the first, but on gathering his garment around him, and going to the window, the king not only saw more distinctly a light, but also the appearances of personages in the hall, whereupon he called immediately for the master of the watch, with the keys, and accompanied him and four others to the hall. the king directed him to open the door, but by this time fear had seized upon him and all the others, so that each in turn refused to open the door, and besought the king to excuse them from the task. at their words the king himself began to fear, but renewing his courage he seized the keys and said, they that fear god have nothing in the world to fear, perhaps the gracious lord will reveal us something, will you follow me? they trembling answered, yes. as the king opened the door he drew back with terror, but strengthening his resolution he entered and saw a large table surrounded by sixteen grave looking men, with large books before them, and a young king standing at their head, at the motion of whose head they all smote hard upon their books. as he turned himself he saw blocks with instruments for beheading, and executioners, and at the motion of the young king the grave men smote upon their books, and the executioners began the work of beheading. those beheaded were all young noblemen. the blood flowed down the floor. so real did it appear, that the king examined himself to see if the blood did not cleave to him. as he looked beyond the table at the right of the young king, he saw a throne, partly upset, and a man about forty years of age, whom he took to be the premier, standing near it. "i approached the door," continued the narrative, "and exclaimed, gracious lord, when shall these things be? i received no answer. again i cried, lord, when shall these things be? i received no answer, but the young king motioned with his head, while the others smote hard upon their books. i cried the third time loudly, gracious god, when shall all this take place? the young king then replied, not in your day, but in the sixth reign from yours, and that king shall be as you see me to be, then shall be a time of trouble, and the throne well nigh cast down, but it shall be established after the shedding of much blood. he shall sustain and strengthen it, (pointing to the man by the throne), and after shall sweden experience great prosperity and blessings, such as she has never enjoyed." further particulars were explained to the king which i do not here give, but the above is the substance, and then the vision vanished, and the king and his men found themselves alone in the hall, with light in hand, and all appeared in its natural state. whether true or false, the vision is not without its influence upon sweden. the present incumbent is the sixth prince from charles xi. poetry. had the author of the following lines known the calling and mission of the latter-day saints, he would have, most unquestionably, represented them in his song; as it is, we offer it to our readers, assuring them that we often appropriate it to our own use. wife, children, and friends. when the black letter'd list to the gods was presented-- a list of what fate for each mortal intends: at the long string of ills a kind angel relented, and slipp'd in three blessings--wife, children, and friends! in vain surly pluto declared he was cheated, for justice divine could not compass her ends: the scheme of man's folly, he said, was defeated, for earth became heav'n with wife, children, and friends! if the stock of our bliss is in strangers' hands vested, the fund ill secured oft in bankruptcy ends; but the heart issues bills that are never protested, when drawn on the firm of wife, children, and friends! the soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, whom duty to far distant latitudes sends, with transports would barter whole ages of glory, for one happy hour with wife, children, and friends! but valor still glows in life's waning embers; the death-wounded tar, who his colours defends, drops a tear of regret as he dying remembers how blest was his home with wife, children, and friends! though the spice-breathing gales o'er his caravan hovers, while 'round him the fragrance of arabia descends, yet the merchant still thinks on the woodbine that covers the bow'r where he sat with wife, children, and friends. the dayspring of youth still unclouded by sorrow, alone on itself for enjoyment depends; but dreary's the twilight of age when it borrows no warmth from the smiles of wife, children, and friends! let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish the laurel that o'er _his_ fair favourite bends; o'er _me_ wave the willow, and long may it flourish, bedew'd with the tears of wife, children, and friends! at http://www.freeliterature.org (from images generously made available by the internet archive.) canute the great (_circa_)- and the rise of danish imperialism during the viking age by laurence marcellus larson, ph.d. associate professor of history in the university of illinois g.p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press heroes of the nations edited by dr. w.c. davis facta ducis vivent, operosaque gloria rerum-ovid, in liviam, . the hero's deeds and hard-won fame shall live [illustration: canute and emma--(the king and queen are presenting a golden cross to winchester abbey, new minster.) from a miniature reproduced in _liber vitæ_ (birch).] to my wife lillian may larson foreword toward the close of the eighth century, there appeared in the waters of western europe the strange dragon fleets of the northmen, the "heathen," or the vikings, as they called themselves, and for more than two hundred years the shores of the west and the southwest lived in constant dread of pillage and piracy. the viking invasions have always been of interest to the student of the middle ages; but only recently have historians begun to fathom the full significance of the movement. the british isles were pre-eminently the field of viking activities. english historians, however, have usually found nothing in the invasions but two successive waves of destruction. as an eminent writer has tersely stated it,--the dane contributed nothing to english civilisation, for he had nothing to contribute. on the other hand, scandinavian students, who naturally took great pride in the valorous deeds of their ancestors, once viewed the western lands chiefly as a field that offered unusual opportunities for the development of the dormant energies of the northern race. that christian civilisation could not fail to react on the heathen mind was clearly seen; but this phase of the problem was not emphasised; the importance of western influences was minimised. serious study of the viking age in its broader aspects began about fifty years ago with the researches of gudbrand vigfusson, a young icelandic scholar, much of whose work was carried on in england. vigfusson's work was parallelled by the far more thorough researches of the eminent norwegian philologist, sophus bugge. these investigators both came to the same general conclusion: that old norse culture, especially on the literary side, shows permeating traces of celtic and anglo-saxon elements; that the eddic literature was not an entirely native product, but was largely built up in the viking colonies in britain from borrowed materials. some years earlier, the danish antiquarian, j.j.a. worsaae, had begun to study the "memorials" of norse and danish occupation in britain, and had found that the islands in places were overlaid with traces of scandinavian conquest in the form of place names. later worsaae's countryman, dr. j.c.h.r. steenstrup, carried the research into the institutional field, and showed in his masterly work, _normannerne_ ( - ), that the institutional development among the anglo-saxons in the tenth and eleventh centuries was largely a matter of adapting and assimilating scandinavian elements. studies that embodied such differing viewpoints could not fail to call forth much discussion, some of which went to the point of bitterness. recently there has been a reaction from the extreme position assumed by professor bugge and his followers; but quite generally norse scholars are coming to take the position that both sophus bugge and johannes steenstrup have been correct in their main contentions; the most prominent representative of this view is professor alexander bugge. where two vigorous peoples representing differing types or different stages of civilisation come into more than temporary contact, the reciprocal influences will of necessity be continued and profound. the viking movement had, therefore, its aspects of growth and development as well as of destruction. the best representative of the age and the movement, when considered from both these viewpoints, is canute the great, king of england, denmark, and norway. canute began as a pirate and developed into a statesman. he was carried to victory by the very forces that had so long subsisted on devastation; when the victory was achieved, they discovered, perhaps to their amazement, that their favourite occupation was gone. canute had inherited the imperialistic ambitions of his dynasty, and piracy and empire are mutually exclusive terms. it is scarcely necessary to say anything further in justification of a biographical study of such an eminent leader, one of the few men whom the world has called "the great." but to write a true biography of any great secular character of mediæval times is a difficult, often impossible, task. the great men of modern times have revealed their inner selves in their confidential letters; their kinsmen, friends, and intimate associates have left their appreciations in the form of addresses or memoirs. materials of such a character are not abundant in the mediæval sources. but this fact need not deter us from the attempt. it is at least possible to trace the public career of the subject chosen, to measure his influence on the events of his day, and to determine the importance of his work for future ages. and occasionally the sources may permit a glimpse into the private life of the subject which will help us to understand him as a man. the present study has presented many difficulties. canute lived in an age when there was but little writing done in the north, though the granite of the runic monument possesses the virtue of durability. there is an occasional mention of canute in the continental chronicles of the time; but the chief contemporary sources are the _anglo-saxon chronicle_, the _encomium emmæ_, and the praise lays of the norse and icelandic scalds. the _chronicle_ was written by a patriotic englishman who naturally regarded the danes with a strong aversion. the _encomium_, on the other hand, seems to be the product of an alien clerk, whose chief purpose was to glorify his patroness, queen emma, and her family. the lays of the scalds are largely made up of nattering phrases, though among them are woven in allusions to historic facts that are of great value. the anglo-norman historians and the later monastic annalists in england have not very much to add to our information about canute; but in their accounts they are likely to go to the other extreme from the _chronicle_. too often the monkish writers measured excellence by the value of gifts to churches and monasteries, and canute had learned the value of donations properly timed and placed. adam of bremen wrote a generation later than canute's day, but, as he got his information from canute's kinsmen at the danish court, his notices of northern affairs are generally reliable. there is no danish history before the close of the twelfth century, when saxo wrote the _acts of the danes_. it is evident that saxo had access to a mass of sources both written and of the saga type. the world is grateful to the danish clerk for preserving so much of this material; but sound, critical treatment (of which saxo was probably incapable) would have enhanced the value of his work. the twelfth century is also the age of the sagas. these are of uneven merit and most of them are of slight value for present purposes. however, the sources on which these are in a measure based, the fragments of contemporary verse that are extant and much that has not survived, have been woven into a history, the equal of which for artistic treatment, critical standards, and true historical spirit will be difficult to find in any other mediæval literature. wherever possible, therefore, reference has been made in this study to snorre's _kings' sagas_, commonly known as "heimskringla," in preference to other saga sources. in the materials afforded by archæology, the northern countries are peculiarly rich, though, for the purposes of this study, these have their only value on the side of culture. an exception must be made of the runic monuments (which need not necessarily be classed with archæological materials), as these often assist in building up the narrative. more important, perhaps, is the fact that these inscriptions frequently help us to settle disputed points and to determine the accuracy of accounts that are not contemporary. one of the chief problems has been where to begin the narrative. to begin in the conventional way with childhood, education, and the rest is not practicable when the place and the year of birth are unknown and the forms and influences of early training are matters of inference and conjecture. at the same time it was found impossible to separate the man from his time, from the great activities that were going on in the lands about the north sea, and from the purposes of the dynasty that he belonged to. before it is possible to give an intelligent account of how canute led the viking movement to successful conquest, some account must be given of the movement itself. the first chapter and a part of the second consequently have to deal with matters introductory to and preparatory for canute's personal career, which began in . in the writing of proper names the author has planned to use modern forms whenever such exist; he has therefore written canute, though his preference is for the original form cnut. king ethelred's by-name, "redeless," has been translated "ill-counselled," which is slightly nearer the original meaning than "unready"; "uncounselled" would scarcely come nearer, as the original seems rather to imply inability to distinguish good from bad counsel. in the preparation of the study assistance has been received from many sources; especially is the author under obligation to the libraries of the universities of illinois, chicago, wisconsin, and iowa, and of harvard university; he is also indebted to his colleagues dean e.b. greene, professor g.s. ford, and professor g.t. flom, of the university of illinois, for assistance in the form of critical reading of the manuscript. l.m.l. champaign, ill., . contents chapter i the heritage of canute the great chapter ii the conquest of england-- - chapter iii the english reaction and the norse revolt-- - chapter iv the struggle with edmund ironside-- chapter v the rule of the danes in england-- - chapter vi the beginnings of empire-- - chapter vii canute and the english church-- - chapter viii the twilight of the gods chapter ix canute and the norwegian conspiracy-- - chapter x the battle of holy river and the pilgrimage to rome-- - chapter xi the conquest of norway-- - chapter xii the empire of the north chapter xiii northern culture in the days of canute chapter xiv the last years-- - chapter xv the collapse of the empire-- - appendices bibliography index illustrations canute and emma _frontispiece_ (the king and queen are presenting a golden cross to winchester abbey, new minster.) from a miniature reproduced in _liber vitæ_ (birch.) the older jelling stone (a) the older jelling stone (b) the larger sonder vissing stone the later jelling stone (a) the later jelling stone (b) the later jelling stone (c) scandinavian settlements, britain and normandy the larger aarhus stone the sjÆlle stone (runic monument raised to gyrth, earl sigvaldi's brother.) the tulstorp stone (runic monument showing viking ship ornamented with beasts' heads.) the hÄllestad stone anglo-saxon warriors (harl. ms. .) anglo-saxon horsemen (harl. ms. .) anglo-saxon warriors (from a manuscript in the british museum, reproduced in _norges historie_, i., ii.) the raven banner (from the bayeux tapestry.) viking raids in england - the south baltic coast in the eleventh century the valleberga stone the stenkyrka stone (monument from the island of gotland showing viking ships.) an english bishop of the eleventh century (from the bayeux tapestry.) poppo's ordeal (altar decoration from about . danish national museum.) hammers of thor (from the closing years of heathendom.) the tjÄngvide stone (monument from the island of gotland. the stone shows various mythological figures; see below.) the church at urnes (norway) (from about .) runic monument shows hammer of thor the odderness stone ornaments (chiefly buckles) from the viking age ornaments (chiefly buckles) from the viking age lines from the oldest fragment of snorre's history (written about ). the fragment tells the story of the battle of holy river and the murder of ulf a longship (model of the gokstad ship on the waves.) scandinavia and the conquest of norway stiklestead (from a photograph.) the hyby stone (monument from the first half of the eleventh century; raised to a christian as appears from the cross.) runic monument from upland, sweden (showing blending of celtic and northern art.) scandinavian (icelandic) hall in the viking age the vik stone (illustrates the transition from heathendom to christianity; shows a mixture of elements, the serpent and the cross.) the ramsund rock (representations of scenes from the sigfried saga.) painted gable from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation.) carved pillar from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation.) the hunnestad stone the alstad stone anglo-saxon table scene (from a manuscript in the british museum, reproduced in _norges historie_, i., ii.) model of the gokstad ship (longitudinal sections.) the lundagÅrd stone (shows types of ornamentation in canute's day.) the jurby cross, isle of man the gosforth cross, cumberland the pall of saint olaf (initial in the flat-isle book.) canute the great chapter i the heritage of canute the great among the many gigantic though somewhat shadowy personalities of the viking age, two stand forth with undisputed pre-eminence: rolf the founder of normandy and canute the emperor of the north. both were sea-kings; each represents the culmination and the close of a great migratory movement,--rolf of the earlier viking period, canute of its later and more restricted phase. the early history of each is uncertain and obscure; both come suddenly forth upon the stage of action, eager and trained for conquest. rolf is said to have been the outlawed son of a norse earl; canute was the younger son of a danish king: neither had the promise of sovereignty or of landed inheritance. still, in the end, both became rulers of important states--the pirate became a constructive statesman. the work of rolf as founder of normandy was perhaps the more enduring; but far more brilliant was the career of canute. few great conquerors have had a less promising future. in the early years of the eleventh century, he seems to have been serving a military apprenticeship in a viking fraternity on the pomeranian coast, preparatory, no doubt, to the profession of a sea-king, the usual career of northern princes who were not seniors in birth. his only tangible inheritance seems to have been the prestige of royal blood which meant so much when the chief called for recruits. but it was not the will of the norns that canute should live and die a common pirate, like his grand-uncle canute, for instance, who fought and fell in ireland[ ]: his heritage was to be greater than what had fallen to any of his dynasty, more than the throne of his ancestors, which was also to be his. in a vague way he inherited the widening ambitions of the northern peoples who were once more engaged in a fierce attack on the west. to him fell also the ancient claim of the danish kingdom to the hegemony of the north. but more specifically canute inherited the extensive plans, the restless dreams, the imperialistic policy, and the ancient feuds of the knytling dynasty.[ ] canute's career is the history of danish imperialism carried to a swift realisation. what had proved a task too great for his forbears canute in a great measure achieved. in england and in norway, in sleswick and in wendland, he carried the plans of his dynasty to a successful issue. it will, therefore, be necessary to sketch with some care the background of canute's career and to trace to their origins the threads of policy that canute took up and wove into the web of empire. some of these can be followed back at least three generations to the reign of gorm in the beginning of the tenth century. in that century denmark was easily the greatest power in the north. from the scanian frontiers to the confines of modern sleswick it extended over "belts" and islands, closing completely the entrance to the baltic. there were danish outposts on the slavic shores of modern prussia; the larger part of norway came for some years to be a vassal state under the great earl, hakon the bad; the wick, which comprised the shores of the great inlet that is now known as the christiania firth, was regarded as a component part of the danish monarchy, though in fact the obedience rendered anywhere in norway was very slight. in the legendary age a famous dynasty known as the shieldings appears to have ruled over danes and jutes. the family took its name from a mythical ancestor, king shield, whose coming to the daneland is told in the opening lines of the old english epic _beowulf_. the shieldings were worthy descendants of their splendid progenitor: they possessed in full measure the royal virtues of valour, courage, and munificent hospitality. how far their exploits are to be regarded as historic is a problem that does not concern us at present; though it seems likely that the danish foreworld is not without its historic realities. whether the kings of denmark in the tenth century were of shielding ancestry is a matter of doubt; the probabilities are that they sprang from a different stem. the century opened with gorm the aged, the great-grandfather of canute, on the throne of shield, ruling all the traditional regions of denmark,--scania, the isles, and jutland--but apparently residing at jelling near the south-east corner of the peninsula, not far from the saxon frontier. tradition remembers him as a tall and stately man, but a dull and indolent king, wanting in all the elements of greatness.[ ] in this case, however, tradition is not to be trusted. though we have little real knowledge of danish history in gorm's day, it is evident that his reign was a notable one. at the close of the ninth century, the monarchy seems to have faced dissolution; the sources tell of rebellious vassals, of a rival kingdom in south jutland, of german interference in other parts of the jutish peninsula.[ ] gorm's great task and achievement were to reunite the realm and to secure the old frontiers. though legend has not dealt kindly with the king himself, it has honoured the memory of his masterful queen. thyra was clearly a superior woman. her nationality is unknown, but it seems likely that she was of danish blood, the daughter of an earl in the holstein country.[ ] to this day she is known as thyra daneboot (danes' defence)--a term that first appears on the memorial stone that her husband raised at jelling soon after her death. in those days henry the fowler ruled in germany and showed hostile designs on jutland. in , he attacked the viking chiefs in south jutland and reduced their state to the position of a vassal realm. apparently he also encouraged them to seek compensation in gorm's kingdom. to protect the peninsula from these dangers a wall was built across its neck between the schley inlet and the treene river. this was the celebrated danework, fragments of which can still be seen. in this undertaking the queen was evidently the moving force and spirit. three years, it is said, were required to complete thyra's great fortification. the material character of the queen's achievement doubtless did much to preserve a fame that was highly deserved; at the same time, it may have suggested comparisons that were not to the advantage of her less fortunate consort. the danework, however, proved only a temporary frontier; a century later thyra's great descendant canute pushed the boundary to the eider river and the border problem found a fairly permanent solution. in the shielding age, the favourite seat of royalty was at lethra (leire) in zealand, at the head of roeskild firth. here, no doubt, was located the famous hall heorot, of which we read in _beowulf_. there were also king's garths elsewhere; the one at jelling has already been mentioned as the residence of gorm and thyra. after the queen's death her husband raised at jelling, after heathen fashion, a high mound in her honour, on the top of which a rock was placed with a brief runic inscription: gorm the king raised this stone in memory of thyra his wife, denmark's defence.[ ] the runologist ludvig wimmer believes that the inscription on the older jelling stone dates from the period - ; a later date is scarcely probable. the queen evidently did not long survive the famous "defence." a generation later, perhaps about the year , harold bluetooth, gorm's son and successor, raised another mound at jelling, this one, apparently, in honour of his father. the two mounds stand about two hundred feet apart; at present each is about sixty feet high, though the original height must have been considerably greater. midway between them the king placed a large rock as a monument to both his parents, which in addition to its runic dedication bears a peculiar blending of christian symbols and heathen ornamentation. the inscription is also more elaborate than that on the lesser stone: harold the king ordered this memorial to be raised in honour of gorm his father and thyra his mother, the harold who won all denmark and norway and made the danes christians.[ ] [illustration: the older jelling stone, a] [illustration: the older jelling stone, b] in one sense the larger stone is king harold's own memorial. it is to be observed that the inscription credits the king with three notable achievements: the unification of denmark, the conquest of norway, and the introduction of christianity. the allusion to the winning of denmark doubtless refers to the suppression of revolts, perhaps more specifically to the annihilation of the viking realm and dynasty south of the danework (about ).[ ] in his attitude toward his southern neighbours harold continued the policy of gorm and thyra: wars for defence rather than for territorial conquest. it is said that king harold became a christian (about ) as the result of a successful appeal to the judgment of god by a zealous clerk named poppo. the heated iron (or iron gauntlet, as saxo has it) was carried the required distance, but poppo's hand sustained no injury. whatever be the truth about poppo's ordeal, it seems evident that some such test was actually made, as the earliest account of it, that of widukind of corvey, was written not more than a decade after the event.[ ] the importance of the ordeal is manifest: up to this time the faith had made but small headway in the northern countries. with the conversion of a king, however, a new situation was created: christianity still had to continue its warfare against the old gods, but signs of victory were multiplying. one of the first fruits of harold bluetooth's conversion was the church of the holy trinity, built at roeskild by royal command,[ ]--a church that long held an honoured place in the danish establishment. in various ways the history of this church closely touches that of the dynasty itself: here the bones of the founder were laid; here, too, his ungrateful son sweyn found quiet for his restless spirit; and it was in this church where harold's grandson, canute the great, stained and violated sanctuary by ordering the murder of ulf, his sister's husband. in the wider activities of the tenth century, harold bluetooth played a large and important part. about the time he accepted christianity, he visited the slavic regions on the south baltic coasts and established his authority over the lands about the mouth of the oder river. here he founded the stronghold of jomburg, the earls and garrisons of which played an important part in northern history for more than two generations. the object of this expansion into wendland was no doubt principally to secure the slavic trade which was of considerable importance and which had interested the danes for more than two centuries.[ ] as the wendish tribes had practically no cities or recognised markets, the new establishment on the banks of the oder soon grew to be of great commercial as well as of military importance. [illustration: the later jelling stone, a.] [illustration: the larger sonder vissing stone] during the same period harold's attention was turned to norway where a difficult situation had arisen. harold fairhair, the founder of the norse monarchy, left the sovereignty to his son eric (later named bloodax); but the jealousies of eric's many brothers combined with his own cruel régime soon called forth a reaction in favour of a younger brother, hakon the good, whose youth had been spent under christian influences at the english court. king hakon was an excellent ruler, but the raids of his nephews, the sons of eric, caused a great deal of confusion. the young exiles finally found a friend in harold bluetooth who even adopted one of them, harold grayfell, as his own son.[ ] the fostering of harold grayfell had important consequences continuing for two generations till the invasion of norway by canute the great. with a force largely recruited in denmark, the sons of eric attacked norway and came upon king hakon on the island of stord where a battle was fought in which the king fell ( ). but the men who had slain their royal kinsman found it difficult to secure recognition as kings: the result of the battle was that norway was broken up into a number of petty kingdoms and earldoms, each aiming at practical independence. a few years later there appeared at the danish court a young, handsome, talented chief, the famous earl hakon whose father, sigurd, earl in the throndelaw, the sons of eric had treacherously slain. the king of denmark had finally discovered that his foster-son was anything but an obedient vassal, and doubtless rejoiced in an opportunity to interfere in norwegian affairs. harold grayfell was lured down into jutland and slain. with a large fleet the danish king then proceeded to norway. the whole country submitted: the southern shores from the naze eastward were added to the danish crown; the throndelaw and the regions to the north were apparently granted to earl hakon in full sovereignty; the rest was created into an earldom which he was to govern as vassal of the king of denmark.[ ] a decade passed without serious difficulties between vassal and overlord, when events on the german border brought demands on the earl's fidelity to which the proud norseman would not submit. it seems probable that king harold in a vague way had recognised the overlordship of the emperor; at any rate, in , when the great otto was celebrating his last easter at quedlingburg, the danish king sent embassies and gifts.[ ] a few weeks later the emperor died and almost immediately war broke out between danes and saxons. [illustration: the later jelling stone, c] [illustration: the later jelling stone, b] hostilities soon ceased, but the terms of peace are said to have included a promise on harold's part to introduce the christian faith among his norwegian subjects. earl hakon had come to assist his overlord; he was known to be a zealous heathen; but king harold seized him and forced him to receive baptism. the earl felt the humiliation keenly and as soon as he had left denmark he repudiated the danish connection and for a number of years ruled in norway as an independent sovereign.[ ] king harold made an attempt to restore his power but with small success. however, the claim to norway was not surrendered; it was successfully revived by harold's son sweyn and later still by his grandson canute. earl hakon's revolt probably dates from or ; king harold's raid along the norse coasts must have followed within the next few years. the succeeding decade is memorable for two notable expeditions, the one directed against king eric of sweden, the second against hakon of norway. in neither of these ventures was harold directly interested; both were undertaken by the vikings of jom, though probably with the danish king's approval and support. the jomvikings were in the service of denmark and the defeat that they suffered in both instances had important results for future history. the exact dates cannot be determined; but the battles must have been fought during the period - . in those days the command at jomburg was held by styrbjörn, a nephew of the swedish king. harold bluetooth is said to have given him the earl's title and his daughter thyra to wife; but this did not satisfy the ambitious prince, whose desire was to succeed his uncle in sweden. having induced his father-in-law to permit an expedition, he sailed to uppland with a strong force. the battle was joined on the banks of the fyris river where king eric won a complete victory. from that day he was known as eric the victorious.[ ] styrbjörn fell in the battle and sigvaldi, the son of a scanian earl, succeeded to the command at jomburg. in some way he was induced to attack the norwegian earl. late in the year the fleet from the oder stole northwards along the norse coast hoping to catch the earl unawares. but hakon's son eric had learned what the vikings were planning and a strong fleet carefully hid in hjörunga bay lay ready to welcome the invader. the encounter at hjörunga bay is one of the most famous battles in old norse history. during the fight, says the saga, earl hakon landed and sacrificed his young son erling to the gods. the divine powers promptly responded: a terrific hailstorm that struck the danes in their faces helped to turn the tide of battle, and soon sigvaldi was in swift flight southwards.[ ] as to the date of the battle we have no certain knowledge; but munch places it, for apparently good reasons, in . saxo is probably correct in surmising that the expedition was inspired by king harold.[ ] as to the significance of the two defeats of the jomvikings, there can be but one opinion: northward expansion of danish power had received a decisive check; danish ambition must find other fields. the closing years of harold's life were embittered by rebellious movements in which his son sweyn took a leading part. it is not possible from the conflicting accounts that have come down to us to determine just why the danes showed such restlessness at this time. it has been thought that the revolts represented a heathen reaction against the new faith, or a nationalistic protest against german influences; these factors may have entered in, but it is more likely that a general dissatisfaction with harold's rule caused by the ill success of his operations against germans, swedes, and norwegians was at the bottom of the hostilities. the virile personality of the young prince was doubtless also a factor. to later writers his conduct recalled the career of absalom; but in this instance disobedience and rebellion had the victory. forces were collected on both sides; battles were fought both on land and on sea. finally during a truce, the aged king was wounded by an arrow, shot, according to saga, from the bow of toki, the foster-father of sweyn. faithful henchmen carried the dying king across the sea to jomburg where he expired on all saints' day (november ), probably in , the year of the defeat at hjörunga bay. his remains were carried to roeskild and interred in the church of the holy trinity.[ ] of harold's family not much is known. according to adam of bremen his queen was named gunhild, a name that points to scandinavian ancestry.[ ] saxo speaks of a queen gyrith, the sister of styrbjörn.[ ] on a runic monument at sönder vissing, not far from the garth at jelling, we read that tova raised this memorial, mistiwi's daughter, in memory of her mother, harold the good gorm's son's wife.[ ] tova might be a danish name, but mistiwi seems clearly slavic. it may be that harold was thrice married; it is also possible that tova in baptism received the name gunhild. gyrith was most likely the wife of his old age. the question is important as it concerns the ancestry of canute the great. if tova was canute's grandmother (as she probably was) three of his grandparents were of slavic blood. of harold's children four are known to history. his daughter thyra has already been mentioned as the wife of the ill-fated styrbjörn. another daughter, gunhild, was the wife of an anglo-danish chief, the ealdorman pallig. two sons are also mentioned, sweyn and hakon. of these sweyn, as the successor to the kingship, is the more important. the accession of sweyn forkbeard to the danish throne marks an era in the history of denmark. harold bluetooth had not been a weak king: he had enlarged his territories; he had promoted the cause of the christian faith; he had striven for order and organised life. but his efforts in this direction had brought him into collision with a set of forces that believed in the old order of things. in harold's old age the danish viking spirit had awakened to new life; soon the dragons were sailing the seas as of old. with a king of the shielding type now in the high-seat at roeskild, these lawless though energetic elements found not only further freedom but royal favour and leadership. it would seem that the time had come to wipe away the stain that had come upon the danish arms at hjörunga bay; but no immediate move was made in that direction. earl hakon was still too strong, and for a decade longer he enjoyed undisputed possession of the norwegian sovereignty. sweyn did not forget the claims of his dynasty, but he bided his time. furthermore, this same decade saw larger plans developing at the danish court. norway was indeed desirable, but as a field of wider activities it gave no great promise. such a field, however, seemed to be in sight: the british isles with their numerous kingdoms, their large scandinavian colonies, and their consequent lack of unifying interests seemed to offer opportunities that the restless dane could not afford to neglect. the three scandinavian kingdoms did not comprise the entire north: in many respects, greater scandinavia was fully as important as the home lands. it is not necessary for present purposes to follow the eastward stream of colonisation that transformed the slavic east and laid the foundations of the russian monarchy. the southward movement of the danes into the regions about the mouth of the oder will be discussed more in detail later. the story of sweyn and canute is far more concerned with colonising movements and colonial foundations in the west. without the preparatory work of two centuries, canute's conquest of the anglo-saxon kingdom would have been impossible. the same generation that saw the consolidation of the norse tribes into the norwegian kingdom also saw the colonisation of the faroe islands and iceland. a century later norsemen were building homes on the bleak shores of greenland. less than a generation later, in the year , vineland was reached by leif the lucky.[ ] earlier still, perhaps a century or more before the icelandic migration, the northmen had begun to occupy parts of the british isles. the ships that first sought and reached north britain probably sailed from two folklands (or shires) in southwestern norway, hordaland and rogaland, the territories about the modern ports of bergen and stavanger. due west from the former city lie the shetland islands; in the same direction from stavanger are the orkneys. it has been conjectured that the earliest scandinavian settlements in these parts were made on the shores of pentland firth, on the orkneys and on the coast of caithness. thence the journey went along the north-western coast of scotland to the hebrides group, across the narrow straits to ireland, and down to the isle of man.[ ] the emerald isle attracted the sea-kings and the period of pillage was soon followed by an age of settlement. the earliest norse colony in ireland seems to have been founded about , on the banks of the liffey, where the city of dublin grew up a little later, and for centuries remained the centre of norse power and influence on the island. other settlements were established at various points on the east coast, notably at wicklow, wexford, and waterford, which names show clearly their norse origin. about a stronghold was built at cork.[ ] toward the close of the eighth century the vikings appeared in large numbers on the coasts of northern england. two generations later they had destroyed three of the four english kingdoms and were organising the danelaw on their ruins. still later rolf appeared with his host of northmen in the seine valley and founded the norman duchy. it must not be assumed that in these colonies the population was exclusively scandinavian. the native elements persisted and seem, as a rule, to have lived on fairly good terms with the invaders. it is likely that wherever these energetic northerners settled they became the dominant social force; but no feeling of contempt or aloofness appears to have been felt on either side after the races had learned to know each other. intermarriage was frequent, not only between dane and angle, but between celt and norseman as well. in time the alien was wholly absorbed into the native population; but in the process the victorious element underwent a profound transformation which extended to social conventions as well as to race.[ ] the largest of these colonies was the danelaw, a series of danish and norse settlements extending from the thames to the north of england. according to an english writer of the twelfth century, it comprised york and fourteen shires to the south.[ ] the area controlled was evidently considerably larger than the region actually settled; and in some of the shires the scandinavian population was probably not numerous. five cities in the danelaw enjoyed a peculiar pre-eminence. these were lincoln, nottingham, derby, leicester, and stamford. it has been conjectured that these were garrison towns held and organised with a view to securing the obedience of the surrounding country.[ ] if this be correct, we should infer that the population beyond the walls was largely anglian. the five boroughs seem to have had a common organisation of a republican type: they formed "the first federation of boroughs known in this island, and in fact the earliest federation of towns known outside of italy."[ ] part of the danelaw must have contained a large scandinavian element, especially the shires of lincoln and york.[ ] there were also danish and norwegian settlements in england outside the danelaw in its narrower sense: in the north-western shires and in the severn valley, perhaps as high up as worcestershire.[ ] danish power in england seems to have centered about the ancient city of york. it would be more nearly correct to speak of northumbria in the ninth and tenth centuries as a norse than as a danish colony; but the angles made no such distinction. the population must also have contained a large english element. a native ecclesiastic who wrote toward the close of the tenth century speaks with enthusiasm of the wealth and grandeur of york. the city rejoices in a multitude of inhabitants; not fewer than , men and women (children and youths not counted) are numbered in this city. it is also filled with the riches of merchants who come from everywhere, especially from the danish nation.[ ] in some respects the danelaw is the most important fact in the history of the anglo-saxon monarchy: it was the rock on which old english nationality foundered. by the middle of the tenth century, saxon england was practically confined to the country south of the thames river and the western half of the midlands, a comparatively small area surrounded by scandinavian and celtic settlements. if this fact is fully appreciated, there should be little difficulty in understanding the loss of english national freedom in the days of sweyn and canute. the english kings did, indeed, exercise some sort of suzerain authority over most of the neighbouring colonies, but this authority was probably never so complete as historians would have us believe. it is worth noting that the scribe whom we have quoted above speaks of the danes, not as pirates but as merchants. the tenth century was, on the whole, so far as piratical expeditions are concerned, an age of peace in the north. the word viking is old in the mediæval dialects, and scandinavian pirates doubtless visited the shores of christian europe at a very early date. but the great viking age was the ninth century, when the field of piratical operations covered nearly half of europe and extended from iceland to byzantium. the movement culminated in the last quarter of the century and was followed by a constructive period of nearly one hundred years, when society was being reorganised or built anew in the conquered lands. the icelandic republic was taking form. the norman duchy was being organised. the northmen in the danelaw were being forced into political relations with the saxon kings. trade began to follow new routes and find new harbours. the older scandinavian cities acquired an added fame and importance, while new towns were being founded both in the home lands and in the western islands. [illustration: scandinavian settlements, britain and normandy] this lull in the activities of the sea-kings gave the western rulers an opportunity to regain much that had been lost. in england the expansion of wessex which had begun in the days of alfred was continued under his successors, until in edgar's day one lord was recognised from the channel to the forth. but with edgar died both majesty and peace. about the viking spirit was reawakened in the north. the raven banner reappeared in the western seas, and soon the annals of the west began to recount their direful tales. among all the chiefs of this new age, one stands forth pre-eminent, sweyn with the forked beard, whose remarkable achievement it was to enlist all this lawless energy for a definite purpose, the conquest of wessex. in ethelred the ill-counselled was crowned king of england and began his long disastrous reign. if we may trust the abingdon chronicler, who, as a monk, should be truthful, england was duly warned of the sorrows to come. for "in that same year blood-red clouds resembling fire were frequently seen; usually they appeared at midnight hanging like moving pillars painted upon the sky." the king was a mere boy of ten summers; later writers could tell us that signs of degeneracy were discovered in the prince as early as the day of his baptism. on some of his contemporaries, however, he seems to have made a favourable impression. we cannot depend much on the praises of a norse scald who sang in the king's presence; but perhaps we can trust the english writer who describes him as a youth of "elegant manners, handsome features, and comely appearance."[ ] that ethelred proved an incompetent king is beyond dispute. still, it is doubtful whether any ruler with capabilities less than those of an alfred could have saved england in the early years of the eleventh century. for ethelred had succeeded to a perilous inheritance. in the new territorial additions to wessex there were two chief elements, neither of which was distinctly pro-saxon: the dane or the half-danish colonist was naturally hostile to the saxon régime; his anglian neighbour recalled the former independence of his region as mercia, east anglia, or northumbria, and was weak in his loyalty to the southern dynasty. the spirit of particularism asserted itself repeatedly, for it seems unlikely that the many revolts in the tenth century were danish uprisings merely. it seems possible that ethelred's government might have been able to maintain itself after a fashion and perhaps would have satisfied the demands of the age, had it not been that vast hostile forces were just then released in the north. these attacked wessex from two directions: fleets from the irish sea ravaged the southwest; vikings from the east entered the channel and plundered the southern shores. it is likely that in the advance-guard of the renewed piracy, sweyn forkbeard was a prominent leader. we have seen that during the last years of harold's reign, there were trouble and ill-feeling between father and son. these years, it seems, the undutiful prince spent in exile and piratical raids. as the baltic would scarcely be a safe refuge under the circumstances, we may assume that those seven years were spent in the west.[ ] in the second year of ethelred's reign the incursions began: "the great chief behemoth rose against him with all his companions and engines of war."[ ] in that year chester was plundered by the norsemen; thanet and southampton were devastated by the danes. the troubles at chester are of slight significance; they were doubtless merely the continuation of desultory warfare in the upper irish sea. but the attack on southampton, the port of the capital city of winchester, was ominous: though clearly a private undertaking it was significant in revealing the weakness of english resistance. the vikings probably wintered among their countrymen on the shores of the irish sea, for south-western england was again visited and harried during the two succeeding years. for a few years ( - ) there was a lull in the operations against england. the energies of the north were employed elsewhere: this was evidently the period of styrbjörn's invasion of sweden and sigvaldi's attack on norway with the desperate battles of fyris river and hjörunga bay. but, in , viking ships in great numbers appeared in the irish sea.[ ] two years later a fleet visited devon and entered bristol channel. it is probable that norman ships took part in this raid; at any rate the danes sold english plunder in normandy. in , the attack entered upon a new phase. earlier the country had suffered from raids in which no great number of vikings had taken part in any instance; now they came in armies and the attack became almost an invasion. that year a fierce battle was fought near maldon[ ] in essex where one of the chief leaders of the vikings was an exiled norwegian prince, olaf trygvesson, who four years later restored the norwegian throne. it is likely, therefore, that the host was not exclusively danish but gathered from the entire north. the fight at maldon was a crushing defeat for the english and consternation ruled in the councils of the irresolute king. siric, the archbishop of canterbury, and two ealdormen were sent as an embassy to the viking camp to sue for peace. a treaty was agreed to which seems to imply that the host was to be permitted to remain in east anglia for an undefined time. the vikings promised to defend england against any other piratical bands, thus virtually becoming mercenaries for the time being. in return ethelred agreed to pay a heavy tribute and to furnish provisions "the while that they remain among us."[ ] thus began the danegeld which seems to have developed into a permanent tax in the reign of canute. the next year king ethelred collected a fleet in the thames in the hope of entrapping his new allies; but treason was abroad in england and the plan failed.[ ] the following year the pirates appeared in the humber country; here, too, the english defence melted away. after relating the flight of the anglian leaders, florence of worcester adds significantly, "because they were danes on the paternal side."[ ] the next year ( ) king sweyn of denmark joined the fleet of olaf and his associates and new purposes began to appear. instead of seeking promiscuous plunder, the invaders attempted to reduce cities and strongholds. once more the english sued for peace on the basis of tribute.[ ] sweyn evidently returned to denmark where his presence seems to have been sorely needed. for two years england enjoyed comparative peace. the energies of the north found other employment: we read of raids on the welsh coast and of piratical expeditions into saxony; interesting events also occurred in the home lands. to these years belong the revolt of the norsemen against earl hakon, and perhaps also the invasion of denmark by eric the victorious. thirty years of power had developed tyrannical passions in the norwegian earl. according to the sagas he was cruel, treacherous, and licentious. every year he became more overbearing and despotic; every year added to the total of discontent. here was sweyn forkbeard's opportunity; but he had other irons in the fire, and the opportunity fell to another. about a pretender to the norse throne arrived from the west,--olaf trygvesson, the great-grandson of harold fairhair. our earliest reliable information as to olaf's career comes from english sources; they tell of his operations in britain in and and the circumstances indicate that the intervening years were also spent on these islands. while in england he was attracted to the christian faith, a fact that evidently came to be known to the english, for, in the negotiations of , particular attention was paid to the princely chieftain. an embassy was sent to him with bishop alphege as leading member, and the outcome was that olaf came to visit king ethelred at andover, where he was formally admitted to the christian communion, ethelred acting as godfather.[ ] at andover, olaf promised never to come again to england "with unpeace"; the chronicler adds that he kept his word. with the coming of spring he set out for norway and never again saw england as friend or foe. we do not know what induced him at this time to take up the fight with hakon the bad; but doubtless it was in large measure due to urging on the part of the church. for olaf the viking had become a zealous believer; when he landed in norway he came provided with priests and all the other necessaries of christian worship. it is not necessary to tell the story of the earl's downfall,--how he was hounded into a pig-sty where he died at the hands of a thrall. olaf was soon universally recognised as king and proceeded at once to carry out his great and difficult purpose: to christianise a strong and stubborn people ( ).[ ] as to the second event, the invasion of sweyn's dominions by the king of sweden, we cannot be so sure, as most of the accounts that have come down to us are late and difficult to harmonise. historians agree that, some time toward the close of his reign, king eric sought revenge for the assistance that the danish king had given his nephew styrbjörn in his attempt to seize the swedish throne. the invasion must have come after sweyn's accession ( ?) and before eric's death, the date of which is variously given as , , .[ ] if eric was still ruling in when sweyn was absent in england, it is extremely probable that he made use of a splendid opportunity to seize the lands of his enemy. this would explain sweyn's readiness to accept ethelred's terms in the winter of - .[ ] after the death of king eric, new interests and new plans began to germinate in the fertile mind of sweyn the viking. late in life the swedish king seems to have married a young swedish woman who is known to history as sigrid the haughty. sigrid belonged to a family of great wealth and prominence; her father tosti was a famous viking who had harvested his treasures on an alien shore. eric had not long been dead before wooers in plenty came to seek the hand of the rich dowager. so importunate did they become that the queen to get rid of them is said to have set fire to the house where two of them slept. olaf trygvesson was acceptable, but he imposed an impossible condition: sigrid must become a christian. when she finally refused to surrender her faith, the king is said to have stricken her in the face with his gauntlet. the proud queen never forgave him. soon afterwards sigrid married sweyn forkbeard who had dismissed his earlier consort, queen gunhild, probably to make room for the swedish dowager. we do not know what motives prompted this act, but it was no doubt urged by state-craft. in this way the wily dane cemented an alliance with a neighbouring state which had but recently been hostile.[ ] the divorced queen was a polish princess of an eminent slavic family; she was the sister of boleslav chrobri, the mighty polish duke who later assumed the royal title. when gunhild retired to her native poland, she may have taken with her a small boy who can at that time scarcely have been more than two or three years old, perhaps even younger. the boy was canute, the king's younger son, though the one who finally succeeded to all his father's power and policies. the only information that we have of canute's childhood comes from late and not very reliable sources: it is merely this, that he was not brought up at the danish court, but was fostered by thurkil the tall, one of the chiefs at jomburg and brother of earl sigvaldi.[ ] the probabilities favour the accuracy of this report. it was customary in those days to place boys with foster-fathers; prominent nobles or even plain franklins received princes into their households and regarded the charge as an honoured trust. perhaps, too, a royal child would be safer among the warriors of jomburg than at the court of a stepmother who had employed such drastic means to get rid of undesirable wooers. the character of his early impressions and instruction can readily be imagined: canute was trained for warfare. when the young prince became king of england thurkil was exalted to a position next to that of the ruler himself. after the old chief's death, canute seems to have heaped high honours on thurkil's son harold in denmark. we cannot be sure, but it seems likely that this favour is to be ascribed, in part, at least, to canute's affection for his foster-father and his foster-brother. in those same years another important marriage was formed in sweyn's household: the fugitive eric, the son of earl hakon whose power was now wielded by the viking olaf, had come to denmark, where sweyn forkbeard received him kindly and gave him his daughter gytha in marriage. thus there was formed a hostile alliance against king olaf with its directing centre at the danish court. in addition to his own resources and those of his stepson in sweden, sweyn could now count on the assistance of the dissatisfied elements in norway who looked to eric as their natural leader. it was not long before a pretext was found for an attack. thyra, sweyn's sister, the widow of styrbjörn, had been married to mieczislav, the duke of poland. in , she was widowed the second time. after a few years, perhaps in , olaf trygvesson made her queen of norway. later events would indicate that this marriage, which olaf seems to have contracted without consulting the bride's brother, was part of a plan to unite against sweyn all the forces that were presumably hostile,--poles, jomvikings, and norsemen.[ ] the saga writers, keenly alive to the influence of human passion on the affairs of men, emphasise sigrid's hatred for olaf and thyra's anxiety to secure certain possessions of hers in wendland as important causes of the war that followed. each is said to have egged her husband to the venture, though little urging can have been needed in either case. in the summer of , a large and splendid norwegian fleet appeared in the baltic. in his negotiations with poles and jomvikings, olaf was apparently successful: sigvaldi joined the expedition and slavic ships were added to the norse armament. halldor the unchristian tells us that these took part in the battle that followed: "the wendish ships spread over the bay, and the thin beaks gaped with iron mouths upon the warriors."[ ] sweyn's opportunity had come and it was not permitted to pass. he mustered the danish forces and sent messages to his stepson in sweden and to his son-in-law eric. sigvaldi was also in the alliance. plans were made to ambush the norse king on his way northward. the confederates gathered their forces in the harbour of swald, a river mouth on the pomeranian coast a little to the west of the isle of rügen. sigvaldi's part was to feign friendship for olaf and to lead him into the prepared trap. the plan was successfully carried out. a small part of king olaf's fleet was lured into the harbour and attacked from all sides. the fight was severe but numbers prevailed. olaf's own ship, the famous _long serpent_, was boarded by eric hakonsson's men, and the king in the face of sure capture leaped into the baltic.[ ] [illustration: the larger aarhus stone] [illustration: the sjÆlle stone (runic monument raised to gyrth, earl sigvaldi's brother.)] the victors had agreed to divide up norway and the agreement was carried out. most of the coast lands from the naze northwards were given to earl eric. the southern shores, the land from the naze eastwards, fell to king sweyn. seven shires in the throndhjem country and a single shire in the extreme southeast were assigned to the swedish king; but only the last-mentioned shire was joined directly to sweden; the northern regions were given as a fief to eric's younger brother sweyn who had married the swede-king's daughter. similarly sweyn forkbeard enfeoffed his son-in-law eric, but the larger part he kept as his own direct possession.[ ] the battle of swald was of great importance to the policies of the knytlings. the rival norse kingdom was destroyed. once more the danish king had almost complete control of both shores of the waterways leading into the baltic. danish hegemony in the north was a recognised fact. but all of norway was not yet a danish possession--that ambition was not realised before the reign of canute. and england was still unconquered. [illustration: danish coins from the reign of canute, minted at odense, viborg, heathby.] footnotes: [ ] saxo grammaticus, _gesta danorum_, . [ ] the saga writers call the members of the danish dynasty the knytlings, from its foremost representative canute (knut). [ ] saxo, _gesta danorum_, . [ ] wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., - . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., . [ ] wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., . [ ] wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., - . [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . saxo, _gesta danorum_, . saxo places the ordeal in the reign of harold's successor. [ ] adamus, _gesta hammenburgensis ecclesicæ pontificum_, ii., c. . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . [ ] snorre, _saga of hakon the good_, cc. , , , . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, c. . see also munch, _del norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] thietmar, _chronicon_, ii., c. . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, cc. , - . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, cc. - . [ ] _gesta danorum_, . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . saxo, _gesta_, . [ ] _gesta_, ii., cc. , . [ ] _gesta_, . [ ] wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., ff. [ ] the american shores were evidently too far distant for successful colonisation; but the visits to the far west clearly did not cease with the journeys of leif and his associates. vineland is mentioned in a runic monument from the eleventh century which records an expedition to the west that seems to have ended disastrously: "they came out [upon the ocean] and over wide stretches [of land] and in need of dry clothes for changes and of food toward vineland and over icy wastes in the wilderness. evil may deprive one of good fortune so that death comes early." this inscription, which is the earliest document that mentions the new world, was found at hönen in south-eastern norway. the original has been lost, but copies are extant. the translation is from bugge's rendering into modern norse. (_norges historie_, i., ii., .) [ ] bugge, _vihingerne_, i., ff. [ ] "all along the irish coast from belfast to dublin and limerick there still remains an unbroken series of norse place names, principally the names of firths, islands, reefs, and headlands, which show that at such points the fairway has been named by northmen." _norges historie_, i., ii., ; see also pp. - . (bugge.) [ ] of this process and its results normandy furnishes the best illustration. the population of rollo's duchy soon came to be a mixture of races with french as the chief element, though in some sections, as the cotentin and the bessin, the inhabitants clung to their scandinavian speech and customs for a long time. steenstrup, _normannerne_, i., - . [ ] simeon of durham, _opera omnia_, ii., . the area varied at different periods; but the earlier danelaw seems to have comprised fifteen shires. see steenstrup, _normannerne_, iv., - . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iv., - . [ ] _saga book of the viking club_, vi., i., (bugge). see also collingwood, _scandinavian britain_, . the federation was later enlarged till it included seven boroughs. _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] the danish antiquarian worsaae found more than four hundred norse place names in yorkshire alone. while his list cannot be regarded as final, it will probably be found to be fairly correct. the subject of english place names has not yet been fully investigated. recent studies are those by f.m. stenton, _the place names of berkshire_ (reading, ), h.c. wyld and t.o. hirst, _the place names of lancashire_ (london, ), and f.w. moorman, _the place names of the west riding of yorkshire_ (leeds, ). [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., . [ ] _historians of the church of york_, i., . [ ] _historians of the church of york_, i., . for a fragment of a lay in praise of ethelred see _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., iii. [ ] saxo gives the period as seven years (_gesta_, ). but his account is confused and unreliable; seven must be taken as a round number. still, the period between the renewal of the raids in england and sweyn's accession covers nearly seven years. [ ] _historians of the church of york_, i., . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., . [ ] the english were led by the east anglian ealdorman byrhtnoth, whose valour and death are told in what is perhaps the finest poem in old english literature. see grein-wülker, _bibliothek der angelsächsischen poesie_, i., - . [ ] for the treaty see liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, , . as the betrayer, alfric, had a part in the treaty-making of the year before, he may have looked on the new plans as dishonourable. [ ] _chronicon_, i., - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] taranger, _den angelsaksiske kirkes indflydelse paa den norske_, . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, cc. - . [ ] steenstrup favours the earlier date (_danmarks riges historie_, i., ); munch sees reasons for a later year (_det norske folks historie_, i., ii., ). [ ] that serious business was awaiting sweyn in his own country is evident from two runic inscriptions that have been found in the jutish borderland: the heathby (or vedelspang) stone and the danework stone. the former was raised by "thorolf, sweyn's housecarle" in memory of a companion "who died when brave men were besieging heathby." the second was raised by sweyn himself in memory of skartha, his housecarle, "who had fared west to england but now died at heathby." the expedition to the west may have been the one that sweyn undertook in . one stone mentions the siege of heathby, but heathby was destroyed shortly before . the siege therefore probably dates from or one of the following years; but whether the enemy was a part of eric's forces cannot be determined. for the inscriptions see wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., , . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, cc. , - , . [ ] _flateyarbók_, i., . [ ] snorre tells us (_olaf trygvesson's saga_, c. ) that thyra had fled from her husband, who is mistakenly called boleslav, and had come as a fugitive to olaf's court. so attractive did she prove to the sympathetic king that he promptly married her. the account is evidently largely fiction; there seems to have been a good understanding between olaf and boleslav when the norse beet came south in . in the account given above i have followed bugge (_norges historie_, i., ii., ). [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., (vigfusson's translation). [ ] the chief authorities on the battle of swald are snorre and adam of bremen. there seems also to be an allusion to the fight in an inscription on a runic monument, the aarhus stone, which was raised by four men, presumably warriors, in memory of a comrade "who died on the sea to the eastward when the kings were fighting." wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., [ ] _norges historie_, i., ii., - . chapter ii the conquest of england - during the five years of rivalry between olaf and sweyn ( - ), england had enjoyed comparative peace. incursions, indeed, began again in ; but these were clearly of the earlier type, not invasions like the movements led by olaf and sweyn. who the leaders were at this time we do not know; but the northern kings were in those years giving and taking in marriage and busily plotting each other's destruction, so we conclude that the undertakings continued to be of the private sort, led, perhaps, by norse chiefs who had found life in norway uncongenial after king olaf had begun to persecute the heathen worshippers. the english had now come to realise the importance of the upper irish sea as a rendezvous for all forms of piratical bands; and the need of aggressive warfare at this point was clearly seen. accordingly, in the year , ethelred collected a fleet and an army and harried the norse settlements in cumberland and on the isle of man. the time was opportune for a movement of this sort, as no reinforcements from the north could be expected that year. the expedition, however, accomplished nothing of importance; for the fleet that ethelred had hoped to intercept did not return to the western waters but sailed to normandy.[ ] ethelred was angry with duke richard of normandy for sheltering his enemies, and proceeded to attack his duchy with his usual ill success.[ ] nevertheless, the hostilities terminated favourably for ethelred, as the norman duke offered his beaten enemy not only peace, but alliance. recent events in the north may have caused richard to reflect. the diplomacy of sweyn, culminating in the partition of norway, had made denmark a state of great importance. sweyn's designs on england were probably suspected; at any rate, normandy for the moment seemed willing to support england. in early spring, , the bond was further strengthened by a marriage between ethelred and duke richard's sister emma, who later married her husband's enemy, the danish canute. that same year england was once more rid of the enemy through the payment of danegeld.[ ] the prospects for continued peace in england were probably better in than in any other year since the accession of ethelred. but toward the end of the year, all that gold and diplomacy had built up was ruined by a royal order, the stupidity of which was equalled only by its criminality. on saint brice's day (november ), the english rose, not to battle but to murder. it had been planned on that date to rid the country of all its danish inhabitants. how extensive the territory was that was thus stained with blood, we are not informed; but such an order could not have been carried out in the danelaw. in justification of his act, ethelred pleaded that he had heard of a danish conspiracy, directed not only against his own life, but against the lives of the english nobility as well. it is likely that, when england bought peace earlier in the year, a number of the vikings remained in the land, intending, perhaps, to settle permanently; such arrangements were by no means unusual. the massacre of saint brice's may, therefore, have had for its object the extermination of the raiders that came in . but these were not the only ones slain: among the victims were gunhild, king sweyn's sister, and her husband, the ealdorman pallig.[ ] it is probable that pallig, though a saxon official, was a dane living among the danes in some scandinavian settlement in south-western england.[ ] we are told that ethelred had treated him well, had given him lands and honours; but he did not remain faithful to his lord; only the year before, when the vikings were in devon, he joined them with a number of ships. pallig no doubt deserved the punishment of a traitor, but it would have been politic in his case to show mercy. if he was, as has been conjectured from the form of his name, connected with the family of palna toki, the famous danish archer and legendary organiser of the jomburg fraternity, he was bound to sweyn by double ties, for palna toki was sweyn's reputed foster-father.[ ] sweyn forkbeard at once prepared to take revenge for the death of his kinsfolk. the next year ( ), his sails were seen from the cliffs of the channel shore. but before proceeding to the attack, he seems to have visited his norman friend, duke richard the good. for some reason, displeasure, perhaps, at the shedding of noble scandinavian blood on saint brice's day, the duke was ready to repudiate his alliance with his english brother-in-law. the two worthies reached the agreement that normandy should be an open market for english plunder and a refuge for the sick and wounded in the danish host.[ ] evidently sweyn was planning an extended campaign. having thus secured himself against attacks from the rear, sweyn proceeded to exeter, which was delivered into his hands by its faithless norman commander hugo.[ ] in the surrender of exeter, we should probably see the first fruit of the new danish-norman understanding. from this city the danes carried destruction into the southern shires. the following year ( ), east anglia was made to suffer. ulfketel, the earl of the region, was not prepared to fight and made peace with sweyn; but the danes did not long observe the truce. after they had treacherously attacked thetford, the earl gathered his forces and tried to intercept sweyn's marauding bands on their way back to the ships; but though the east anglians fought furiously, the danes escaped. the opposition that sweyn met in the half-danish east anglia seems to have checked his operations. the next year he left the land.[ ] the forces of evil seemed finally to have spent their strength, for the years and were on the whole comparatively peaceful. those same years show considerable energy on the part of the english: in the pentecostal season, may, , the king met his "wise men" at eanham, and a long legislative enactment saw the light.[ ] it was hoped that by extensive and thorough-going reforms the national vigour might be restored. among other things provisions were made for an extensive naval establishment, based on a contribution that grew into the ship money of later fame. a large number of ships were actually assembled; but the treacherous spirit and the jealous conduct of some of the english nobles soon ruined the efficiency of the fleet; the new navy went to pieces at a moment when its service was most sorely needed. for in that year, , a most formidable enemy appeared in the channel: the vikings of jom had left their stronghold on the oder and were soon to re-establish themselves on the thames.[ ] for about two decades sigvaldi ruled at jomburg; but after the battle of swald he disappears from the sagas: all that we learn is that he was slain on some expedition to england. perhaps he was one of the victims of saint brice's ( ); or he may have perished in one of the later raids. his death must, however, be dated earlier than ; for in that year his brother thurkil came to england, we are told, to take revenge for a slain brother.[ ] thurkil's fleet appeared at sandwich in july. associated with the tall dane was a short, thick-set norwegian, olaf the stout, a young viking of royal blood who later won renown as the missionary king of norway and fell in war against canute the great. in august came a second fleet, under the leadership of eglaf and heming, thurkil's brother. the fleets joined at thanet; this time nearly all the southern counties had to suffer. the host wintered on the lower thames and during the winter months plundered the valley up as far as oxford. ethelred tried to cut off its retreat but failed.[ ] during the lenten weeks the vikings refitted their ships, and on april , , they set sail for east anglia. ulfketel was still in control of that region and had made preparations to meet the invader. on may , the danes met the native levies at ringmere in the southern part of norfolk. the fight was sharp, with final victory for the sea-kings. the english sources attribute the outcome to the treasonable behaviour of thurkil mareshead, who was evidently a dane in ulfketel's service. the norse scalds ascribe the result to the valour of olaf the stout, who here won the "sword-moot" for the seventh time.[ ] during the remaining months of the year and all through the following summer, the vikings rode almost unresisted through southern england, plundering everywhere. finally the king and the "wise men" began to negotiate for peace on the usual basis. but so often had danegelds been levied that it was becoming difficult to collect the money and the payment was not so prompt as the vikings desired. in their anger they laid siege to canterbury, and, after a close investment of twenty days, by the assistance of an english priest were enabled to seize the city. many important citizens were held for ransom, among them the archbishop alphege, who remained a prisoner for nearly six months. his confinement cannot have been severe; the prelate was interested in the spiritual welfare of the scandinavian pirates, and seems to have begun a mission among his keepers. but he forbade the payment of a ransom, and after a drunken orgy the exasperated danes proceeded to pelt him to death with the bones of their feast. thrym, a dane whom he had confirmed the day before, gave him the mercy stroke.[ ] during the closing days of the archbishop's life, an assembly of the magnates in london had succeeded in raising the tribute agreed upon, , pounds. not merely were the invaders bought off,--they were induced to enter ethelred's service as mercenaries; there must have been reasons why it would be inadvisable to return to jomburg. the english king now had an army of some four thousand or perhaps five thousand men, a splendid force of professional warriors led by the renowned viking thurkil the tall. according to william of malmesbury, they were quartered in east anglia,[ ] which seems plausible, as wessex must have been thoroughly pillaged by . when the year opened, there were reasons to hope that the miseries of england were past. for a whole generation the sea-kings had infested the channel and the irish sea, scourging the shores of southern britain almost every year. large sums of money had been paid out in the form of danegeld, , pounds silver, but to little purpose: the enemy returned each year as voracious as ever. now, however, the pirate had undertaken to defend the land. the presence of danish mercenaries was doubtless an inconvenience, but this would be temporary only. it was to be expected that, as in the days of alfred, the enemy would settle down as an occupant of the soil, and in time become a subject instead of a mercenary soldier. but just at this moment, an invasion of a far more serious nature was being prepared in denmark. in the councils of roeskild sweyn forkbeard was asking his henchmen what they thought of renewing the attack on england. the question suggested the answer: to the king's delight favourable replies came from all. it is said that sweyn consulted his son canute with the rest; and the eager youth strongly urged the undertaking.[ ] this is the earliest act on canute's part that any historian has recorded. in , he was perhaps seventeen years old; he had reached the age when a scandinavian prince should have entered upon an active career. his great rival of years to come, olaf the stout, who can have been only two years older than canute, had already sailed the dragon for six or seven years. it is likely that the young dane had also experienced the thrills of viking life, but on this matter the sagas are silent. but it is easy to see why canute should favour the proposed venture: as a younger son he could not hope for the danish crown. the conquest of england might mean not only fame and plundered wealth, but perhaps a realm to govern as well. the considerations that moved the king to renew the attempts at conquest were no doubt various; but the deciding factor was evidently the defection of thurkil and the jomvikings. an ecclesiastic who later wrote a eulogy on queen emma and her family discusses the situation in this wise: thurkil, they said, the chief of your forces, o king, departed with your permission that he might take revenge for a brother who had been slain there, and led with him a large part of your host. now that he rejoices in victory and in the possession of the southern part of the country, he prefers to remain there as an exile and a friend of the english whom he has conquered by your hand, to returning with the host in submission to you and ascribing the victory to yourself. and now we are defrauded of our companions and of forty ships which he sailed to england laden with the best warriors of denmark.[ ] so the advice was to seize, the english kingdom as well as the danish deserter. no great difficulty was anticipated, as thurkil's men would probably soon desert to the old standards. the customs of the northmen demanded that an undertaking of this order should first be approved by the public assembly, and the encomiast tells us that sweyn at once proceeded to summon the freemen. couriers were sent in every direction, and at the proper time the men appeared, each with his weapons as the law required. when the heralds announced the nature of the proposed undertaking--not a mere raid with plunder in view but the conquest of an important nation--the host gave immediate approval. in many respects the time was exceedingly favourable for the contemplated venture. a large part of england was disposed to be friendly; the remainder was weak from continued pillage. denmark was strong and aggressive, eager to follow the leadership of her warlike king. sweyn's older son, harold, had now reached manhood, and could with comparative safety be left in control of the kingdom. denmark's neighbours in the north were friendly: sweyn's vassal and son-in-law controlled the larger part of norway; his stepson, olaf, ruled in sweden. nor was anything to be feared from the old enemies to the south. the restless vikings of jom were in england. the lord of poland was engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the empire. the saxon dynasty, which had naturally had northern interests, no longer dominated germany; a bavarian, henry ii., now sat on the throne of the ottos. in the very year of sweyn's invasion of england, the german king journeyed to italy to settle one of the numberless disputes that the roman see was involved in during the tenth and eleventh centuries. he remained in italy till the next year ( ), when the victorious pope rewarded him with the imperial crown. something in the form of a regency was provided for the danish realm during sweyn's absence. harold seems to have received royal authority without the royal title. associated with him were a few trusted magnates who were to give "sage advice," but also, it seems, to watch over the interests of the absent monarch.[ ] a part of the host was left in denmark; but the greater part of the available forces evidently accompanied the king to england. about midsummer ( ), the fleet was ready to sail. the encomiast, who had evidently seen danish ships, gives a glowing description of the armament, which apart from rhetorical exaggeration probably gives a fairly accurate picture of an eleventh-century viking fleet of the more pretentious type. he notes particularly the ornamentation along the sides of the ships, bright and varied in colours; the vanes at the tops of the masts in the forms of birds or of dragons with fiery nostrils; and the figureheads at the prows: carved figures of men, red with gold or white with silver, or of bulls with necks erect, or of dolphins, centaurs, or other beasts. the royal ship was, of course, splendid above all the rest.[ ] the customary route of the danish vikings followed the frisian coast to the south-eastern part of england, the shires of kent and sussex. ordinarily, the fleets would continue the journey down the channel, plundering the shore lands and sending out larger parties to harry the interior. sweyn had developed a different plan: wessex was to be attacked from the old danelaw. following the ancient route, his ships appeared at sandwich on the kentish coast early in august. sandwich was at this time a place of considerable importance, being the chief port in southern england.[ ] here sweyn and canute remained for a few days, but soon the fleet turned swiftly northwards up the eastern coast to the humber. sweyn entered and sailed up this river till he came to the mouth of the trent, which stream he ascended as far as gainsborough. here his men disembarked and preparations were made for the war. sweyn had evidently counted on a friendly reception in the scandinavian settlements of the danelaw, and he was not disappointed. recruits appeared and his forces increased materially. uhtred, the earl of northumbria, who was probably of norse ancestry, soon found it to his advantage to do homage to the invader. sweyn's lordship was also accepted by "the folk of lindsey, and afterwards by the folk in the five boroughs, and very soon by all the host north of watling street, and hostages were given by every shire."[ ] in addition to hostages, sweyn demanded horses and provisions for the host. the summer was probably past before sweyn was ready to proceed against ethelred. but finally, some time in september or a little later, having concluded all the necessary preliminaries, he gave the ships and the hostages into the keeping of his son canute, and led his mounted army southward across the midlands with winchester, the residence city of the english kings, as the objective point. so long as he was still within the danelaw, sweyn permitted no pillaging; but "as soon as he had crossed watling street, he worked as great evil as a hostile force was able." the thames was crossed at oxford, which city promptly submitted and gave hostages. winchester, too, seems to have yielded without a struggle. from the capital sweyn proceeded eastward to london, where he met the first effective resistance. [illustration: the tulstorp stone. (runic monument showing viking ship ornamented with beasts' heads.)] in london was king ethelred supported by thurkil the tall and his viking bands. it seems that olaf the stout had entered the english service with thurkil the year before, and did valiant service in defence of the city; the story given by snorre of the destruction of london bridge apparently belongs to the siege of rather than to that of . sweyn approached the city from the south, seized southwark, and tried to enter london by way of the bridge, which the danes had taken and fortified. it is said that olaf the stout undertook to destroy the bridge. he covered his ships with wattle-work of various sorts, willow roots, supple trees, and other things that might be twisted or woven; and thus protected from missiles that might be hurled down from above, the ships passed up the stream to the bridge, the supports of which olaf and his men proceeded to pull down. the whole structure crashed into the river and with it went a large number of sweyn's men,[ ] who drowned, says the chronicler, "because they neglected the bridge." sweyn soon realised that a continued siege would be useless: the season was advancing; the resistance of the citizens was too stubborn and strong. for the fourth time the heroic men of london had the satisfaction of seeing a danish force break camp and depart with a defeated purpose: the first time in ; then again in when sweyn and olaf trygvesson laid siege to it; the third time in , when thurkil the tall and olaf the stout were the besiegers; now once more in . the feeling that the city was impregnable was doubtless a factor in the stubborn determination with which the townsmen repelled the repeated attacks of the danish invaders, though at this time the skill and valour of the viking mercenaries were an important part of the resistance. leaving london unconquered, sweyn marched up the thames valley to wallingford, where he crossed to the south bank, and continued his progress westward to bath. nowhere, it seems, did he meet any mentionable opposition. to bath came the magnates of the south-western shires led by ethelmer who was apparently ealdorman of devon; they took the oaths that the conqueror prescribed and gave the required hostages. from bath, sweyn returned to his camp at gainsborough; it was time to prepare for winter. tribute and provisions were demanded and doubtless collected, and the host went into winter quarters on the banks of the trent. "and all the nation had him [sweyn] for full king; and later the borough-men of london submitted to him and gave hostages; for they feared that he would destroy them."[ ] the submission of london probably did not come before ethelred's cowardly behaviour had ruined the hopes of the patriots: he had fled the land. earlier in the year (in august, according to one authority)[ ] queen emma, accompanied by the abbot of peterborough, had crossed the channel, and sought the court of her brother, the norman duke. whether she went to seek military aid or merely a refuge cannot be determined; but the early departure and the fact that she was not accompanied by her children would indicate that her purpose was to enlist her brother's interest in ethelred's cause. assistance, however, was not forthcoming; but emma remained in richard's duchy and a little later was joined by her two sons, edward and alfred, who came accompanied by two english ecclesiastics. ethelred, meanwhile, continued some weeks longer with thurkil's fleet; but toward the close of december we find him on the isle of wight, where he celebrated christmas. in january, he joined his family in normandy. duke richard gave him an honourable reception; but as he was having serious trouble with another brother-in-law, count odo of chartres, he was probably unable to give much material assistance to the fugitive from england. ethelred's flight must have left thurkil and the jomvikings in a somewhat embarrassing position. they had undertaken to serve the king and defend his country; but now ethelred had deserted the kingdom, and his subjects had accepted the rule of the invader. in january, however, the sea is an unpleasant highway, so there was nothing for the tall chief to do but to remain faithful and insist on the terms of the contract. while sweyn was calling for silver and supplies to be brought to gainsborough, thurkil seems to have been issuing similar demands from greenwich. no doubt his men were also able to eke out their winter supplies by occasional plundering: "they harried the land as often as they wished."[ ] then suddenly an event occurred that created an entirely new situation. on february , , scarcely a month after ethelred's departure from wight, the danish conqueror died. as to his manner of death, the chronicle has nothing to say; but later historians appear to be better informed. the encomiast, who was indeed sweyn's contemporary, gives an account of a very edifying death: when sweyn felt that the end of all things was approaching, he called canute to his side and impressed upon him the necessity of following and supporting the christian faith.[ ] the anglo-norman historians have an even more wonderful story to relate: in the midst of a throng of his henchmen and courtiers, the mighty viking fell, pierced by the dart of saint edmund. sweyn alone saw the saint; he screamed for help; at the close of the day he expired. it seems that a dispute was on at the time over a contribution that king sweyn had levied on the monks who guarded saint edmund's shrine.[ ] the suddenness of the king's death was therefore easily explained: the offended saint slew him. if it is difficult to credit the legend that traces the king's death to an act of impiety, it is also hard to believe that he died in the odour of sanctity. sweyn was a christian, but his religion was of the passive type. he is said to have built a few churches, and he also appears to have promoted missionary efforts to some extent[ ]; but the church evidently regarded him as rather lukewarm in his religious professions. the see of hamburg-bremen, which was charged with the conversion of the northern peoples, did not find him an active friend; though in this case his hostility may have been due to his dislike for all things that were called german. sweyn's virtues were of the viking type: he was a lover of action, of conquest, and of the sea. at times he was fierce, cruel, and vindictive; but these passions were tempered by cunning, shrewdness, and a love for diplomatic methods that were not common among the sea-kings. he seems to have formed alliances readily, and appears even to have attracted his opponents. his career, too, was that of a viking. twice he was taken by the jomvikings, but his faithful subjects promptly ransomed him. once the king of sweden, eric the victorious, conquered his kingdom and sent him into temporary exile. twice as a king he led incursions into england in which he gained only the sea-king's reward of plunder and tribute. but in time fortune veered about; his third expedition to britain was eminently successful, and when sweyn died, he was king not only of denmark but also of england, and overlord of the larger part of norway besides. as to his personality, we have only the slight information implied in his nickname. forkbeard means the divided beard. but the evident popularity that he enjoyed both in the host and in the nation would indicate that he possessed an attractive personality. that sweyn appreciated the loyalty of his men is evident from the runic monument that he raised to his housecarle skartha who had shared in the english warfare.[ ] by his first-wife, the polish princess who was renamed gunhild, sweyn had several children, of whom history makes prominent mention of three: harold, canute, and gytha, who was married to earl eric of norway. in the hyde _register_ there is mention of another daughter, santslaue, "sister of king canute,"[ ] who may have been born of the same marriage, as her name is evidently slavic. his second wife, sigrid the haughty, seems to have had daughters only. of these only one appears prominently in the annals of the time--estrid, the wife of ulf the earl, the mother of a long line of danish kings. at the time of his death sweyn is thought to have been about fifty-four years old and had ruled denmark nearly thirty years. his body was taken to york for interment, but it did not remain there long. the english did not cherish sweyn's memory, and seemed determined to find and dishonour his remains. certain women--english women, it appears--rescued the corpse and brought it to roeskild some time during the following summer ( )[ ], where it was interred in the church of the holy trinity, which also sheltered the bones of sweyn's father whom he had wronged so bitterly thirty years before. footnotes: [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, v., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] richard of cirencester, _speculum historiale_, ii., - . [ ] as there seems to have been a danish settlement in the severn valley, it seems probable that pallig's home was in that region. [ ] the story of palna toki is told in various sagas, particularly _jómsvikingasaga_. of his exploits in archery saxo has an account in his tenth book. having once boasted that no apple was too small for his arrow to find, he was surprised by an order from the king that he should shoot an arrow from his son's head. the archer was reluctant to display his skill in this fashion, but the shot was successful. it is also told that palna toki had provided himself with additional arrows which he had intended for the king in case the first had stricken the child. saxo wrote a century before the time of the supposed tell episode. [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, v., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _ibid._, - . [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . it is barely possible that the brother was gyrth, whose name appears on a runic monument (wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., ff.). but in the absence of information to the contrary we shall have to assume that gyrth was buried where his monument was placed and was therefore not the brother who fell in england. [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., - . [ ] _ibid._, - . snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . storm in his translation of snorre (christiania, ) locates ringmere in east wretham, norfolk, (p. ). [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., - . [ ] _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . [ ] _ibid._, i., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . the story in the saga has the appearance of genuineness and is based on the contemporary verses of ottar the swart. snorre's chronology, however, is much confused. [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. ; see also saxo, _gesta_, . [ ] _memorials of saint edmund's abbey_, i., ff. [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii., . [ ] _liber vitæ_, . steenstrup suggests that the name may be slavic and calls attention to the slavic form svantoslava (_venderne og de danske_, - ). [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . the rescue and removal of sweyn's remains by english women is asserted by the contemporary german chronicler thietmar (_chronicon_, vii., c. ). chapter iii the english reaction and the norse revolt - the death of sweyn was the signal for important movements throughout the entire north. forces that had been held in rein by his mighty personality were once more free to act. in denmark, his older son harold succeeded at once to the full kingship. three years later a national ruler re-established the norwegian throne. but in england the results were most immediate and most evident: the national spirit rose with a bound and for three years more the struggle with the invader continued. the host at gainsborough promptly recognised the leadership of canute and proclaimed him king. this, however, gave him no valid claim to the saxon crown; england was, in theory at least, an elective monarchy, and not till the assembly of the magnates had accepted him could he rightfully claim the royal title. the danish pretender was young and untried--he was probably not yet twenty years old. he must, however, have had some training in matters of government as well as in warfare: that his great father trusted him is evident from the fact that he left him in charge of the camp and fleet at gainsborough, when sweyn set out on his march into wessex. doubtless the danes surmised that the youthful chief possessed abilities of a rare sort; but the english evidently regarded him as a mere boy whose pretensions did not deserve serious attention. during the winter months of , the most prominent leader among the english was evidently thurkil, the master of the mercenary forces. it seems safe to infer that he had much to do with the events of those months, though we have nothing recorded. in some way the english lords were called into session; at this meeting preparations were made to recall the fugitive ethelred. no lord could be dearer to them than their native ruler, the magnates are reported to have said; but they added significantly, "if he would deal more justly with them than formerly."[ ] the lords who attended this gemot were probably the local leaders south of the thames; that the chiefs of the danelaw were in attendance is very unlikely. ethelred, however, was not willing to leave normandy immediately. he first sent an embassy to england under the nominal leadership of his son edward; these men were to negotiate further, and probably study the sentiment of the nation. edward was a mere boy, ten or eleven years old at the highest; but his presence was important as evidence of the king's intentions. the prince brought friendly greetings and fair promises: ethelred would be a kind and devoted king; all the requests of the magnates should be granted; the past should be forgiven and forgotten. the english on their part pledged absolute loyalty; and, to emphasise the covenant, the assembly outlawed all danish claimants. sweyn had died in the early part of february; the negotiations were probably carried on in march; ethelred returned to england some time during lent, most likely in april, as the lenten season closed on the th of that month. the moment to strike had surely come. canute was in england with a good army, but his forces doubtless had decreased in numbers since the landing in the previous august, and further shrinkage was inevitable. on the other hand, recruiting would be found difficult. the inevitable break-up of sweyn's empire in the north would mean that the invader would be deprived of resources that were necessary to the success of the venture. nor could assistance be expected from the scandinavian colonies on the western shores of britain or about the irish sea. in the very days when the reaction was being planned in england, celts and norsemen were mustering their forces for a great trial of strength on irish soil. on good friday (april ), the battle of clontarf was fought on the shores of dublin bay.[ ] the norsemen suffered an overwhelming defeat, the significance of which, for english history, lies in the fact that the viking forces of the west had now been put on the defensive. raids like those of the early years of ethelred's reign were now a thing of the past. meanwhile, canute had not been idle. for aggressive movements the winter season was, of course, not favourable; but preparations seem to have been made looking toward offensive operations immediately after easter. the men of lindsey, danish colonists no doubt, had promised horses and were apparently to share in a joint expedition. but before canute's arrangements had all been made, ethelred appeared in the north country with a formidable host, and canute was compelled to retire to his ships. the men of lincoln were made to suffer for their readiness to join in canute's plans: ethelred marched his men into the lindsey region, and pillage began. it was hardly an english army that ethelred brought up to the trent in may, . englishmen no doubt served in it; but its chief strength was probably the mercenary contingent under thurkil's command, which, as we have seen, had wintered at greenwich. it was fortunate for ethelred that an organised force was at hand on his return and ready for warfare. its service, however, was expensive: that year another danegeld of , pounds was levied to pay thurkil and his vikings for their assistance in driving canute out of the land.[ ] but thurkil was not the only great chief of the viking type that assisted in expelling the danes: olaf the stout once more appears in ethelred's service. it will be recalled that, in the siege of london the autumn before, he assisted vigorously in its defence. he seems to have left the english service shortly afterwards to assist in warfare on french soil. duke richard of normandy was engaged in a controversy with his brother-in-law, count odo of chartres, on the matter of his sister's dowry. in the warfare that ensued, olaf, serving on the norman side, ravaged the northern coast of brittany and took the castle of dol. this must have occurred late in the year or during the winter of - . when, on the mediation of king robert, peace was made between the warring brethren, olaf returned to rouen, where he was received with signal honours. it was probably on this occasion that the mighty sea-king, on the urgent request of archbishop robert, accepted the christian faith and received baptism. it is stated that many of his men were baptised at the same time.[ ] in rouen, olaf evidently met the fugitive ethelred; for when the king returned to england, olaf accompanied him. instead of coming as a returning exile, ethelred appeared in his kingdom with ships and men. the norse poets, who later sang in king olaf's hall, magnified his viking exploits far beyond their real importance. in their view, olaf was ethelred's chief support. snorre quotes the following lines from ottar the swart: thou broughtst to land and landedst, king ethelred, o landward, strengthened by might! that folk-friend such wise of thee availèd. hard was the meeting soothly, when edmund's son thou broughtest back to his land made peaceful, which erst that kin-stem rulèd.[ ] the emergency was too great for canute. with the generalship of experienced warriors like thurkil and olaf, supported by the resources of a roused people, he could not be expected to cope. presently, he determined to flee the country. his men embarked, and the hostages given to his father (some of them at least) were also brought on board. the fleet sailed down the east coast to sandwich, where an act of barbarity was committed for which there can be little justification. the hostages were mutilated--their hands, ears, and noses were cut off--and landed. the men were personal pledges given to sweyn, but not to his son. canute, however, probably looked at the matter in a different light; to him they may have seemed a pledge given to the dynasty; terror must be stricken into the hearts of the oath-breakers. after disposing of the hostages, the young king continued his journey to denmark. what canute's plans were when he arrived in his native land we do not know. according to the encomiast, he assured his surprised brother that he had returned, not because of fear, but for love of his brother, whose advice and assistance he bespoke. but he requested more than this: harold, he thought, ought to share denmark with him; the two kings should then proceed with the conquest of england; when that was accomplished, there might be a new division of territory on the basis of a kingdom for each. he proposed to spend the succeeding winter in preparation for the joint attack.[ ] the proposal to share the rule of denmark evidently did not appeal to king harold; he is represented as stoutly rejecting it. denmark was his, given to him by his father before he left for england. he would assist canute to win a kingdom in britain, but not a foot should he have of denmark. realising the futility of insisting, canute promised to maintain silence as to his supposed hereditary rights to danish soil. he put his trust in god, the good monk adds; and the encomiast was perhaps not the only one who regarded harold's early death as a providential event. the problem of norway was one that the brothers must have discussed, though we do not know what disposition they made of the danish rights there. in addition to the overlordship over at least a part of eric's earldom, sweyn had had direct royal authority over the southern shores, though it is not believed that he exercised this authority very rigidly. there is a single circumstance that suggests that norway was assigned to canute: when the young prince called on his brother-in-law, earl eric, to assist him in england, the norse ruler seems to have obeyed the summons without question.[ ] during the course of the year, the two brothers united in certain acts of a filial nature, one of which is worthy of particular notice. together they proceeded to the slavic coast, poland most likely, where their mother, queen gunhild, was still in exile. after twenty years, she was restored to her honours at the danish court. sigrid the haughty had evidently taken leave of earthly things; for peace and good-will continued between the swedish and danish courts, an impossible condition with sigrid in retirement and her old rival in the high-seat. that same year the brothers gave christian burial to the remains of their father sweyn.[ ] we are told that canute continued his preparations for a descent upon england; still, it may be doubted whether he actually had serious hope of conquering the country at that time. then suddenly there occurred in england a series of events that placed the fate of ethelred in canute's hands. the saga that relates the exploits of the jomvikings tells somewhat explicitly of an english attack on two corps of "thingmen," as the danish mercenaries were called in northern speech, the corps in london and slesswick.[ ] the latter locality has not been identified, but it seems hardly necessary to seek it far north of the thames--the saga locates it north of london. it is asserted that the massacre was planned by ulfketel, and that in slesswick it was thoroughly carried out: from this we may infer that the place was in east anglia, or ulfkellsland, as the scalds called it. the garrisons, we are told, were located by sweyn; this is doubtless an error,--the corps were probably divisions of the viking forces in ethelred's service. no doubt there were other similar corps, for thurkil was apparently connected with neither of the two. canute was out of the country and no hostile force was in sight. there could then be small need of retaining the thingmen who were furthermore a source of expense, perhaps of danger. as in , it was determined to fall upon them and slay them. if it is true that thurkil's men were originally quartered in east anglia,[ ] we can readily understand why ulfketel might take the lead in such an undertaking. in london, where resistance had been so persistent and successful, the mercenaries must have been regarded with strong aversion. it was planned to strike during the yule festivities when the vikings would probably not be in the best possible state of vigour and sobriety. in london armed men were smuggled into the stronghold in waggons that were ostensibly laden with merchandise for the midwinter market. but the corps was warned in time by a woman who wished to save her lover thord. eilif, who was in command here, escaped to denmark. in slesswick, the plan succeeded, none escaping; among the fallen was the chief, heming, the brother of thurkil the tall. the attack is thought to have been made some time during the early part of january, .[ ] it is evident that something of a serious nature occurred in england in those days, and while some of the details in the saga tale are probably fictitious, in substance the account is perhaps correct. heming disappears from the english sources, while eilif is prominent in english politics for another decade. most significant of all, a few weeks later thurkil appears in denmark to urge upon canute the desirability of an immediate attack on england. he now had another brother to avenge. thurkil's desertion of the english cause must have done much to stimulate danish ambition. help was secured from olaf of sweden. eric, the norse earl, was also summoned to the host. great preparations must have gone forward in denmark, for all writers agree that canute's fleet, when it finally sailed, was immense in the number of ships. thurkil's position in denmark appears to have been a trifle uncertain at first. canute could hardly be expected to give cordial greeting to a man who had recently sent him out of england in full flight; but after some discussion the two were reconciled, and thurkil joined the expedition.[ ] in all the north there was none more famous for successful leadership in warfare than earl eric of norway. he had fought in the battles of hjörunga bay and swald; in both these encounters the highest honours were his. it is, therefore, not strange that canute was anxious to have his assistance. eric was no longer young and had no direct interest in the proposed venture; still, when the mandate came, he showed no reluctance, so far as we know. he called together the magnates of the realm and arranged for a division of his earldom between his brother sweyn and his young son hakon.[ ] it need not be assumed that eric at this time made a final surrender of his own rights; most likely it was the administration during the period of his absence only that was provided for in this way. as hakon was yet but a youth, eric gave him a guardian in his kinsman, the famous thronder chief, einar thongshaker. in his day, einar was the best archer in norway; hence his nickname, the one who makes the bow-thong tremble. he, too, had fought at swald, but on king olaf's ship; twice did his arrow seek eric's life; the third time he drew the bow it was struck by a hostile shaft, and broke. "what broke?" asked the king. "norway from your hands," replied the confident archer.[ ] after eric and his brother had become rulers in norway, they made peace with einar, married him to their sister, the generous bergljot, and endowed him greatly with lands and influence. of the three men to whom norway was now committed, he was clearly the ablest, if not of the greatest consequence. turning again to england, we find a situation developing that was anything but promising. some time during the first half of the year, a gemot was summoned to meet at oxford, near the border of the danelaw. evidently an attempt was to be made in the direction of a closer union between the north and the south. among others who attended were two scandinavian nobles from the seven boroughs, sigeferth and morcar. so far as names show the nationality of the bearers, they might be either angles or northmen; but the name of their father, arngrim, is unmistakably norse. during the sessions of the gemot, the brothers were accused of treason and slain in the house of eadric, the mercian earl.[ ] the result was a riot; the followers of the murdered men called for revenge, but were repulsed and driven into the tower of saint frideswide's church, which the english promptly burned. such a violation of the right of sanctuary could not be overlooked even in those impassioned times; and only through penance on the part of the luckless king was the stain removed.[ ] the sources are at one in laying the blame for this trouble on earl eadric. william of malmesbury says that he desired the wealth of the two danes, and we find that ethelred actually did exact forfeiture. but it may also be that eadric was endeavouring to extend and consolidate his mercian earldom; to do this he would have to devise some method to deprive the seven boroughs of their peculiarly independent position in the danelaw or danish mercia. whatever his purpose, he seems to have had the approval of the ill-counselled king. sigeferth's widow, aldgyth, was taken as a prisoner to malmesbury, where edmund, ethelred's virile son, saw her and was attracted by her. but ethelred objected to his son's matrimonial plans; the reasons are not recorded, but one of them, at least, can be readily inferred: callous of heart as the old king doubtless was, he probably did not enjoy the thought of having in his household as daughter-in-law a woman who could not help but be a constant reminder of a deed that was treacherous, stupid, and criminal. passion, however, was strong in edmund ironside; he married the widow in spite of his father's veto; more than that, he demanded her slain husband's forfeited official position. ethelred again refused, whereupon the prince proceeded to the danish strongholds and took possession.[ ] edmund's act was that of a rebel; but in the danelaw it was probably regarded in large part as proper vengeance. thus fuel was added to the old fire that burned in the hearts of dane and saxon. the spirit of rebellion, so general in the kingdom, had now appeared in the royal family itself. most significant of all, the prince had probably thwarted a great ambition: how much of mercia was under eadric's control at this time we do not know; but a man of the ealdorman's type could scarcely be satisfied with anything less than the whole. and here was the king's son actually governing the strongholds of the earldom. would he not in time supplant the low-born eadric? we have in these transactions the most plausible explanation of eadric's treachery a little later, when canute was again in the land. it was late in the summer,--some time between august th and september th, according to florence of worcester,--when edmund appeared as claimant in the danelaw. those very same weeks must have seen the departure of canute's fleet from denmark. the expedition that now arrived in england was a most formidable one; statements vary as to the number of ships[ ] and we know nothing as to the strength of the host; but it seems likely that twenty thousand men is not an extreme estimate. the entire north assisted in its make-up, though it may be that the norse contingent under earl eric did not arrive till later in the year.[ ] the distance to the earl's garth in the thronder country was long; the norwegian chiefs lived scattered and apart; a large force could, therefore, not be collected in haste. again the encomiast seizes the opportunity to describe a northern fleet. he mentions particularly the gleaming weapons of the warriors on board; the flaming shields that hung along the gunwales; the figureheads bright with silver and gold--figures of lions, of men with threatening faces, of fiery dragons, and of bulls with gilded horns. and he asks who could look upon such an armament and not fear the king at whose bidding it came. the warriors, too, were carefully selected: moreover, in the whole force there could be found no serf, no freedman, none of ignoble birth, none weak with old age. all were nobles, all vigorous with the strength of complete manhood, fit for all manner of battle, and so swift on foot that they despised the fleetness of cavalry.[ ] there is evidently some exaggeration here; the numerous "nobles" were probably plain freemen; still, it is clear that canute led a valiant, well-equipped host. but canute was not the only adventurer who sailed in quest of kingship in . while the youthful prince was mustering his fleet in the straits of denmark, olaf the stout was in britain preparing to sail for norway on a similar errand--to win a crown. but here all similarity ceases; two merchant ships and fewer than two hundred men made up the force that began the norse revolt. still, olaf haroldsson, too, was successful and bore the crown of norway till he fell in war with canute in . after the expulsion of the danes from england the year before, olaf seems to have returned to piracy; there is some evidence that he took part in an expedition of this sort along the coasts of gaul as far as aquitaine. on his return he seems to have visited normandy, where he may have learned of canute's intentions and preparations. the probability is strong that he was also informed of the part that eric was to have in the venture, for he seems carefully to have timed his departure so as to reach norway just after the earl had left the country to join canute. he first sailed to england, stayed for a time in northumberland, where he made the necessary preparations, and thence proceeded to the west coast of norway.[ ] fortune smiled on the bold adventurer. soon after he had landed he learned that hakon was in the neighbourhood and set out to capture him. in this he was successful: olaf's ships were merchant ships, and the young unsuspecting earl rowed into a sound where the enemy was waiting for him and passed in between the supposed merchant vessels. olaf had stretched a rope from ship to ship, and when the earl's boat was directly between them, olaf's men pulled the rope till hakon's boat capsized. the young chief and a few of his followers were saved. olaf gave him quarter on condition that he should leave norway, surrender his rights to sovereignty, and swear never more to fight against his stout opponent. hakon took the required oaths and was permitted to depart. he hastened to england and reported the matter to his uncle canute. but the english campaign had only fairly begun, so canute was in no position to interfere. hakon remained long with canute, and in time was invested with an english earldom.[ ] meanwhile, the danish fleet had arrived at sandwich; but from kent, canute did not sail north to his former friends in the humber lands; he reverted to the old viking practices of harrying the southwest, dorset, wilts and somerset.[ ] whether this was his original plan cannot be known: it may be that the news of edmund's activity in the danelaw was to some extent responsible for this move. it was now autumn of the year ; but if england hoped that the host would soon follow viking customs and retire into winter quarters, the country was doomed to bitter disappointment; for the enemy now had a leader who saw no need of rest, who struck in winter as well as in summer. canute also differed from earlier chiefs in his ideas of conduct on the battle-field. the viking band, as a development of the teutonic comitatus, was naturally inspired with its ideas of honour and valour. when the challenge to combat had been accepted, it was the duty of the warrior to conquer or perish with his leader; and it was the chief's duty to set an honourable example for his men. it was this spirit that animated king olaf trygvesson at swald when his men urged the feasibility of flight before the battle had really begun. "strike the sails," he commanded. "my men shall not think of flight; never have i fled from combat."[ ] the young dane brought no such ideas to the campaign that he was now on the point of beginning. being by race more a slav than a dane, it may be that he did not readily acquire germanic ideas. his training with the jomvikings, perhaps in his early youth, at least now in his british camp, where veterans from jom were numerous and thurkil the tall was the chief warrior, ran counter to such notions. the jomvikings would retreat, sometimes they would even take to flight, as we infer from a runic inscription that reads like a rebuke for cowardly retreat.[ ] [illustration: the hÄllestad stone.] to add to the difficulties of england, ethelred was stricken with an illness that ended his life a few months later. the hope of england now lay in the rebellious edmund, who was still in the north country. he and eadric were both gathering forces in mercia; but when they joined disagreements seem to have arisen; for soon the earl again played the traitor, deserted the etheling, and with "forty ships" repaired to canute and joined his host. in the language of the day, the term "ship" did not necessarily refer to an actual sea-going craft; it was often used as a rude form of reckoning military forces, somewhat less than one hundred men, perhaps. it has been thought that eadric's deserters were the remnant of ethelred's danish mercenary force[ ]; but it is unlikely that so many vikings still remained in the english service. the chances are that they were mercians, possibly danish mercians. wessex now gave up the fight, accepted canute as king, and provided horses for the invading army. it must have been about christmas time when eadric marched his men down into the south to join the danes. a few days later the restless prince, with eadric in his train, started northward, crossed the thames at cricklade in wiltshire, and proceeded toward the warwick country. edmund had apparently come south to meet him, but the militia were an unwilling band. they suddenly became sticklers for legal form and regularity, and refused to go on without the presence of the king and the aid of london. as neither was forthcoming, the english dispersed. once more the summons went abroad, and once more the men insisted that the king must be in personal command: let him come with what forces he could muster. ethelred came, but the hand of death was upon him. evidently the old king had neither courage nor strength. whispers of treason came to him: "that they who should be a help to him intended to betray him"[ ]; and he suddenly deserted the army and returned to the fastness of london. the second attempt at resistance having failed, edmund left the south to its fate, and rode into northumbria to seek earl uhtred. no better evidence can be found of the chaos that existed in england at the time. the saxon south accepts the invader, while a prince of the house of alfred is looking for aid in the half-scandinavian regions beyond the humber that had once so readily submitted to sweyn forkbeard. what agreements and promises were made are not known; but soon we have the strange spectacle of edmund and his new ally harrying english lands, the mercian counties of stafford, salop, and chester. doubtless the plan was to punish eadric, but it was a plan that did not lead to a united england. the punishment of the deserters was probably incidental; evidently the allies were on the march southward to check canute. here was an opportunity for the young dane to show some generalship, and the opportunity was improved. turning eastward into bucks, he marched his army in a northeasterly direction toward the fenlands, and thence northward through lincoln and nottingham toward york. when earl uhtred learned of this attack on his territories, he hastened back to northumbria. but he was not in position to fight, and, therefore, driven by necessity, he submitted, and all northumbria with him, and gave hostages. nevertheless, on the advice of eadric, he was slain, and with him thurkil, the son of nafna. and after that the king made eric earl of northumbria with all the rights that uhtred had.[ ] the chronicler seems to believe that uhtred was slain soon after his submission, and it could not have been very much later. simeon of durham tells us that the earl was slain by an enemy named thurbrand[ ]; but it seems clear that canute approved the act and perhaps desired it. it is extremely probable that uhtred was removed to make room for eric. when young hakon arrived as a fugitive, eric doubtless realised that his norwegian earldom was slipping away. all through the fall and winter olaf had been travelling along the shores and up through the dales; wherever it was practicable he had summoned the peasantry to public assemblies and presented his case. his appeal was to national norse pride and to the people's sense of loyalty to harold fairhair's dynasty. almost everywhere the appeal was successful. but the men who loved the old order were not willing to yield without a struggle. while canute was making his winter campaign from the channel to york, both parties were active in norway, sweyn and einar in the throndelaw, olaf in the south. all through lent the fleets were gathering. finally on palm sunday, march , , the dragons encountered each other at the nesses, near the mouth of the christiania firth. neither force was great, though that of sweyn and einar was considerably larger than the pretender's host. it has been estimated that olaf had fewer than men, his opponents nearly twice as many. at the nesses for the first time the cross figured prominently in norwegian warfare: golden, red, or blue crosses adorned the shining shields of the kingsmen. after mass had been sung and the men had breakfasted, olaf sailed out and made the attack. the outcome was long uncertain, but finally victory was with the king.[ ] from the nesses einar and sweyn fled to sweden. here they were offered assistance and were planning an expedition against king olaf for the following year, when earl sweyn suddenly died. as there was no one in norway around whom the dissatisfied elements could rally, all attempts to dislodge the new king were given up for the time. some of the defeated chiefs may have sought refuge with canute; at any rate the news of the nesses could not have been long in reaching the york country. as eric had come to england at canute's request, the prince doubtless felt that he owed his brother-in-law some compensation. furthermore, with the norse earl in control at york, canute could feel more secure as to northumbrian loyalty. there thus existed in the spring of a double reason for removing uhtred. another northumbrian magnate, thurkil the son of nafna, is mentioned as sharing the strong earl's fate. who thurkil was is not known; but it is clear that he must have been a noble of considerable prominence, as he would otherwise hardly be known to a chronicler in southern england. his name gives evidence of northern blood; but thus far his identity has been a mystery, and the following attempt at identification can claim plausibility only. king olaf trygvesson had a younger half-brother who was known to the scalds as thurkil nefja or "nosy." in the expedition to wendland in , he commanded the _short serpent_. at swald he fought on king olaf's own ship, and was the last to leap overboard when eric and his men boarded and seized it. of him sang hallfred troublous-scald: strong-souled thurkil saw the crane and the dragons two float empty (gladly had he grappled), ere the arm-ring wearer, mighty in warfare, leaped into the sea, seeking life by swimming.[ ] the inference is that he actually escaped, and it seems possible that we find him again in england after sixteen years. as all the rulers of the north had conspired against olaf, he would be compelled to seek refuge in other lands, preferably in one of the scandinavian colonies in the west. but for thurkil now to serve loyally and peaceably under the man who drove his brother to death and seized his kingdom might be difficult; and he may therefore have been sacrificed to eric's security. the statement that his father's name was nafna presents a difficulty; but the chronicler may not have been thoroughly informed on the subject of norse nicknames and may have mistaken the by-name for the name of his father. after the submission of northumbria, canute returned to the south. this time he carefully avoided the danelaw; evidently he wished that his friends in danish mercia should suffer no provocation to rise against him; the route, therefore, lay through the west. the campaign was swiftly carried through, for by easter (april ), canute was again with his ships. wessex and northumbria were now both pacified. in the midlands there can have been but little active hostility. london alone showed the old determination to resist; here were ethelred and edmund with a number of the english magnates. canute immediately began preparations for a last descent upon the stubborn city; but before his dragons had actually left harbour, england had lost her king. april , , ethelred died. to say anything in real praise of the unfortunate king is impossible. the patriotic monk who chronicled the sad events of this doleful period can only say that "he kept his realm with great trouble and suffering the while that he lived."[ ] any striking abilities ethelred cannot have possessed. he was easily influenced for evil--perhaps he was faithless. but to lay all the blame for the downfall of england tipon the incapable king would be missing the point. the old english monarchy was, after all, a frail kingdom. the success of edgar in reducing the scandinavian colonies to unquestioned obedience was probably due in large part to his sterling qualities as king; but in still greater measure, perhaps, to the fact that, during his reign, the viking spirit was at its lowest ebb: consequently the stream of reinforcements having ceased to flow across the north sea, the anglo-danes were forced to yield. but now the situation was totally different. in the early years of the eleventh century only statesmanship of the highest order could have saved the dynasty; but england had neither statesmen nor statesmanship in ethelred's day. footnotes: [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] for a brief account of the norse colonies in ireland and the events that culminated in the battle of clontarf, see _norges historie_, i., ii., - . (bugge.) [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, v., cc. - . [ ] _saga of saint olaf_, c. . (translation by william morris.) [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] the conjecture of norse historians that he left norway because of disagreements with his brother sweyn has little in its favour. eric believed in peace, but scarcely to the point of expatriation. [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., cc. - . the banishment of gunhild is also mentioned in thietmar's _chronicle_ (vii., c. ). [ ] _jómsvikingasaga_, cc. - . [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, ; florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., - . the five boroughs had by this time become the seven boroughs. [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] the encomiast counts two hundred ships (_encomium emmæ_, ii., c. ). the _jómsvikingasaga_ reports (c. ). adam of bremen puts the number at (_gesta_, ii., c. ). the encomiast is doubtless nearest the truth. [ ] the _knytlingasaga_ seems to indicate that eric came late (c ). [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, c. . [ ] the hällestad stone, raised in memory of toki, canute's gran-uncle, who fell in the battle of fyris river: askell raised this monument in memory of toki, gorm's son his beloved lord. he did not flee at upsala. henchmen have raised to their brother's memory on the firm-built hill this rock with runes. to gorm's son toki they walked nearest. wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, i., ii. , ff. [ ] thus steenstrup (_normannerne_, iii., - ) and oman (_england before the norman conquest_, ) on the authority of florence of worcester (_chronicon_, i., ) who speaks of these men as danish warriors. but the contemporary writer of the _chronicle_ speaks of eadric's forces as the "fyrd," a term which is always used for the native levy, "here" being the term used for alien troops. on the theory of serious disagreements with edmund, whose accession to the throne seemed imminent, eadric's treason becomes perfectly intelligible. for a selfish, ambitious man like the earl, there was scarcely any other course to take. [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _opera_, ii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] snorre, _olaf trygvesson's saga_, c. iii., _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . chapter iv the struggle with edmund ironside the old english kingship was elective: on the death of a ruler, the great lords and the high officials of the church, the "witan" or wise, would meet in formal assembly to select a successor. usually the nearest male heir of the house of alfred would be chosen; but circumstances might dictate a different selection, and in such cases the "wise men" seem to have possessed plenary powers. in the spring of , however, a free choice was impossible; nearly the whole kingdom was pledged to the invader. in his camp were the saxon hostages; and the great dane had shown on an earlier occasion that he could be cruel when he thought a pledge was broken. during the winter months the danish fleet had apparently been moored at the old viking rendezvous, the isle of wight, or in some neighbouring harbour. in april, canute was back from his march to york and was getting his ships in readiness for further operations, when the death of ethelred checked his movements. with remarkable promptness the notables (perhaps those of southern england only) came together at some point unknown, awarded the kingship to canute, and proscribed all the descendants of ethelred. this done, they adjourned to southampton to give their pledges of loyalty. it was a body of great respectability that thus gathered to pay homage, containing, as it did, both laymen and churchmen, lords, bishops, and abbots. the election must have been held some time about the close of the month, for by the seventh of may, canute was at greenwich with his fleet.[ ] in london, too, an assembly had met and a king had been chosen. edmund was in the city when his father died. the chiefs present, "all the witan who were in london and the citizens of london," as the chronicler carefully puts it, at once proclaimed edmund king. thus both the peace party and the war party had acted. it is clear, however, that neither of these elections could lay any claim to legality; neither assembly could pretend to represent the entire kingdom; between the death of ethelred in april and the accession of canute at the following christmas, england had no lawful ruler. canute at once proceeded to the siege of london. his plan was to isolate the city completely, to block the thames both above and below the town, and to prevent all intercourse with the country to the north. to accomplish this investment, a canal was dug around london bridge wide enough to permit the long but narrow viking ships to pass into the stream west of the city. on the north side a ditch was dug enclosing the entire town, "so that no man could come either in or out."[ ] vigorous efforts were made from time to time to storm the fortifications, "every morning the lady on the thames bank sees the sword dyed in blood"[ ]; but the townsmen held their own. the siege continued through the month of may and perhaps till late in june, when it seems to have been interrupted by disquieting news from the west. on the approach of the fleet, or at least before the investment had become complete, edmund left london. we are told that his departure was secret, which is probable, as it was surely to his interest to keep canute in the dark as to his whereabouts. we do not know who directed the defence of london during his absence; a year or two later, thietmar, the bishop of merseburg, introduced into his _chronicle_ a confused account of these events, in which queen emma is made to play an important part in the resistance of .[ ] it may be that the queen had returned with ethelred, but it is doubtful. when canute heard that his enemies were mustering in the southwest, he seems to have detached a part of his force and sent it westward to look for edmund. at penselwood, near gillingham in dorset, the danes came upon the saxon forces. edmund's success in raising the west had not been great; but, "trusting in the help of god," he gave battle and won a victory.[ ] it is likely that the affair at penselwood was little more than a skirmish, for it seems to have made small difference in the relative positions of the contending forces. but it gave edmund what he sorely needed--the prestige of success. a month later, battle was again joined at sherstone, a little farther to the north near malmesbury in the upper part of wiltshire. the encounter at sherstone was a genuine battle fiercely fought, one that lived long in the memories of englishmen. it occurred after the feast of saint john, probably in the early days of july. the earlier sources do not mention canute in connection with this fight; with eric he was apparently continuing the siege of london. the western campaign was evidently in thurkil's hands; the sources also mention three prominent englishmen, eadric, almar darling, and algar, as fighting on the danish side.[ ] the encomiast, who speaks of a danish victory at sherstone, gives the entire credit to thurkil, whom he naively describes as a fervent believer "continuously sending up silent prayers to god for victory."[ ] [illustration: anglo-saxon warriors (harl. ms. .)] [illustration: anglo-saxon horsemen (harl. ms. .)] sherstone was at best a drawn battle, neither side claiming a victory. the anglo-norman historians, true to their habit of looking for some traitor on whom to blame the outcome, could not overlook eadric; he is said to have picked up the head of a soldier who bore some resemblance to edmund and thus to have deceived the saxons into believing that their leader was dead.[ ] the tale is obviously mythical; if henry of huntingdon is to be trusted, the trick was played again later in the year at ashington. after the encounter at sherstone, thurkil seems to have joined canute before london; but his whole force did not return with him. eadric once more had shifted his allegiance; he had made peace with edmund and had joined him against the invader. whatever his motives may have been, there can be no dispute as to the importance of his new move. edmund's army was strengthened, as was doubtless his prestige in the midlands. for the third time he had an army at his command, gathered, it seems, from the region north of the thames. with this host he marched to the relief of london. on the appearance of this force, canute found himself in a difficult situation: to maintain a siege and fight a vigorous foeman at the same time, required forces greater than those at the dane's command. prudence was canute's greatest virtue, and he promptly raised the siege and withdrew to his ships. edmund seems to have come up with his forces to brentford, just as the danes were busy crossing to the south bank. the enemy fled; but many of the english were drowned "because of their own heedlessness, as they rushed ahead of the main force to get at the booty."[ ] evidently the whole danish force had not left london, as the fight at brentford was two days after the city had been relieved. with the relief of london, the english seem to have considered their duty done, and soon edmund found himself once more without an army.[ ] it may, of course, be that the apparent lack of patriotism was due to the necessities of the harvest season, which must have arrived by this time. the tireless edmund next made a visit to wessex to raise the militia there. while he was seeking recruits, the danes returned to london, resumed the siege, and attacked the city furiously by land and sea, but as usual failed to take it. the supply of provisions was probably running low in the danish camp, for we next hear of a pillaging expedition into mercia. ordinarily that region was spared; but eadric's defection had made it hostile territory and, furthermore, it was probably the only neighbouring section that had not been drained to the limit. whether the entire army took part in the foray is uncertain; but the probabilities are that it was the raid mentioned by the encomiast as undertaken by eric with canute's permission. part of the host may have remained on the isle of sheppey in the mouth of the medway, where a camp appears to have been established. the fleet sailed north to the orwell in suffolk, and thence the host proceeded westward into mercia, "slaying and burning whatever they came across, as is their wont."[ ] as the crops had just been garnered, the raiders did not return empty-handed. laden with plunder they began the return to the medway, the footmen in the ships, the horsemen by land, driving the plundered flocks before them.[ ] with the forces of the enemy thus divided, edmund's opportunity had come. with his fourth army, collected from "all parts of england," he crossed the thames at brentford and dashed after the danes, who, encumbered with booty, were hurrying eastward through kent. at otford, in the western part of kent, edmund came up with the raiders and slew a number of them; but much fighting there could not have been, as the danes were apparently unwilling to make a stand and hurried on to sheppey. if edmund had been free to make use of the advantage that was his, it seems that he might have destroyed a considerable part of the danish host; but at aylesford he was evidently detained by a quarrel with eadric and the raiders escaped.[ ] canute's position in the autumn of must have been exceedingly difficult and serious, even critical. after a year of continuous warfare--marches, battles, sieges--he seemed as far as ever from successful conquest. edmund had, indeed, won no great victories; still, he had been able to relieve london, to stay the current of danish successes, to infuse hope and patriotic fervour into the hearts of the discouraged english. but too much must not be inferred from the fact that canute, too, had been only moderately successful on the battle-field; he was one of those commanders, who are not attracted by great battles. in two respects he possessed a decided advantage: he had a splendid army that did not desert; he had a great fleet to which he could retire when too hotly pursued. in the autumn of , edmund had come with a strong force to the lower thames; the enemy, however, was out of reach on the isle of sheppey. it was not to be expected that canute would long lie idle; but operations in the direction of london were impossible in the presence of edmund's army. canute accordingly embarked his men, crossed the estuary once more, and proceeded to devastate east anglia. edmund started in pursuit, and on the th (or th) of october he came upon the danes at ashington in essex, as they were on their way back to their ships. there seem to have been divided counsels among the english as to the advisability of making an attack, eadric in particular advising against it.[ ] but edmund was determined to strike, and about the middle of the afternoon the battle began. the english had the advantage of numbers; but there was a traitor in camp: eadric sulked and refused to order his forces of men from hereford into battle. the fight continued till nightfall, and did not cease entirely even then. darkness finally put an end to the carnage, and the angles fled from the field. it is said that canute was not eager to fight; but the feeling in his army must have been different. the banner of the invaders was the ancient raven banner, the raven being woden's own bird. it is said of this banner that it was made of plain white silk and bore no image of any sort; but, when battle began, woden's bird appeared upon its folds, its behaviour indicating the outcome. in the presence of victory it showed great activity in bill and wings and feet; when defeat was imminent, it hung its head and did not move. we are told that it was reported in canute's army that the raven had appeared and showed unusual excitement.[ ] perhaps of even greater importance was military skill and experienced generalship. the tactics employed seem to have been such as the northmen frequently used: at the critical moment, the danes pretended to retreat; but when the lines of the pursuing english were broken, they closed up the ranks and cut the saxon advance in pieces. during the night, the danes encamped on the battle-field; the next day they buried their fallen comrades and removed all articles of value from the bodies of their saxon adversaries, the corpses being left to the wolf and the raven. [illustration: the raven banner (from the bayeux tapestry.)] [illustration: anglo-saxon warriors. (from a manuscript in the british museum, reproduced in _norges historie_, i., ii.)] the english aristocracy suffered heavily at ashington. the sources mention six magnates among the slain: godwin the ealdorman of lindsey; an ealdorman alfric whose locality is unknown; ulfketel, ealdorman of east anglia; ethelwerd, son of an earlier east anglian ealdorman; also the bishop of dorchester and the abbot of ramsey.[ ] it is a noteworthy fact that nearly all these are from eastern england; so far as we know not one of them came from below the thames. it may be true that all england was represented in edmund's host at ashington; but we are tempted to conclude that perhaps the army was chiefly composed of east anglians summoned by the doughty earl ulfketel. by far the most prominent of all the slain was this same earl, the ruler of saint edmund's kingdom. ulfketel is said to have been edmund's brother-in-law. as his name is unmistakably norse, it is more than likely that his ancestry was scandinavian. in his earldom he appears to have been practically sovereign. so impressed were the norse scalds with the power and importance of the earl that they spoke of east anglia as ulfkelsland.[ ] the sagas accuse him of having instigated the slaughter of the thingmen, especially of having destroyed heming's corps at slesswick. thurkil is naturally mentioned as his banesman.[ ] eadric's behaviour at ashington furnishes an interesting but difficult problem. to the saxon and norman historians it was the basest treachery, premeditated flight at the critical moment. still, after the battle he appears in the councils of the english in apparently good standing, even as a leader. from the guarded statements of the encomiast, we should infer that eadric had advised against the battle, that his counsel had been rejected, that he therefore had remained neutral and that he had withdrawn his forces before the battle was joined.[ ] from ashington edmund fled westward to the severn valley; canute returned to the siege of london. once more edmund tried to gather an army, this time, however, with small success; england was exhausted; her leaders lay on the field of ashington. soon the danes, too, appeared in gloucestershire. some sort of a council must have been called to deliberate on the state of the country, and the decision was reached to seek peace on the basis of a divided kingdom. eadric seems particularly to have urged this solution. edmund reluctantly consented, and ambassadors were sent to canute's camp to offer terms of peace. it seems at first sight rather surprising that canute should at this time be willing even to negotiate; apparently he had edmund in his power, and england showed no disposition to continue the war. still, the situation in his own host was doubtless an argument for peace. after more than a year of continued warfare, his forces must have decreased appreciably in numbers. recruiting was difficult, especially must it have been so on the eve of winter. without a strong force he could do little in a hostile country. the campaign had been strenuous even for the vikings, and the danes are represented as thoroughly tired of the war.[ ] canute therefore accepted the offer of the english, with the added condition that danegeld should be levied for the support of his army in edmund's kingdom as well as in his own. on some little island near deerhurst in gloucestershire,[ ] the two chiefs met and reached an agreement which put an end to the devastating war and pillage that had cursed england for more than a generation. it was agreed that edmund should have wessex and canute mercia and northumbria; or, in a general way, that the thames should be the dividing line between the two kingdoms. as to the disposition of east anglia and essex there is some doubt: florence holds that these territories with the city of london were assigned to edmund. so far as london is concerned, this seems to be erroneous: canute took immediate possession of the city and made preparations to spend the winter there, which seems a strange proceeding if the place was not to be his. the kingdom of england was thus dissolved. there is no good evidence that canute understood his position to be that of a vassal king; he had without doubt complete sovereignty in his own domains. on the other hand, the fact that edmund agreed to levy danegeld in his own kingdom of wessex looks suspiciously like the recognition of canute as overlord of the southern kingdom. the compact of olney, says florence of worcester, was one of "peace, friendship, and brotherhood." other writers state that the two kings agreed to become sworn brothers and that the survivor should inherit the realm of the other brother.[ ] we cannot affirm that such a covenant was actually made, as the authority is not of the best. there is, however, nothing improbable in the statement; the custom was not unusual in the north. twenty years later, canute's son, harthacanute, entered into a similar relationship with his rival, king magnus of norway, who had been making war on denmark. in snorre's language, it was agreed that the kings should take the oath of brotherhood and should maintain peace as long as both were on earth; and that if one of them died sonless, the survivor should inherit his realm and subjects. twelve men, the most eminent of each kingdom, took the oath with the kings that this agreement should be kept as long as any of them lived.[ ] it is possible that some such qualification in favour of male heirs was also inserted in the severn covenant; still, the whole matter would have been of slight importance had the magnates on edmund's death been in position to insist on the ancient principle and practice of election. witnesses similar to those mentioned in the later instance there seem to have been at deerhurst; for, after the death of edmund, canute summoned those to testify before the assembly, "who had been witnesses between him and edmund" when the agreement was made, as to the details of the treaty.[ ] the reign of edmund as king of wessex was destined to be brief. the covenant of deerhurst was probably made in the early days of november (it could scarcely have been earlier, as the battle of ashington was fought on october ) and by the close of the month (november ) he was dead. florence of worcester tells us that he died in london, which is improbable, as it seems strange that he should have ventured into the stronghold of his late enemy. other writers give oxford as the place, which also seems unlikely, if eadric, who apparently resided at oxford,[ ] had played the traitor's part at ashington. it seems clear that these writers have placed edmund's death at oxford because they believed that eadric was in some way the author of it.[ ] for so opportunely did the end come, that the suggestion of foul play was inevitable, and coarse tales were invented to account for the manner of death. there is, however, not the least hint in any contemporary source that canute was in any way guilty of his rival's untimely decease. the simple-minded encomiast again sees an illustration of providential mercy: but god, remembering his teaching of olden time, that a kingdom divided against itself cannot long endure, very soon afterwards led edmund's spirit forth from the body, having compassion on the realm of the english, lest if, perchance, both should continue among the living, neither should reign securely, and the kingdom be daily annihilated by renewed contention.[ ] it is difficult to form a just estimate of edmund ironside, as our information is neither extensive nor varied. it is possible that he was born of a connection that the church had not blessed; at least such seems to have been the belief when william of malmesbury wrote.[ ] a late writer tells us that his mother was the daughter of earl thoretus[ ]; an earl by such a name actually did flourish in the closing decade of the tenth century; he was one of the chiefs to whom ethelred entrusted his fleet in . from his name we should judge that he was of norse ancestry. there can be no doubt as to edmund's bravery on the battle-field; perhaps he was also in possession of some talent in the way of generalship. but on the whole, his military exploits have been exaggerated: we know them chiefly from an ecclesiastic who was doubtless honest, but warmly patriotic and strongly partisan; it was natural for him to magnify skirmishes into battles. edmund was the victor in several important engagements, but in no great battle. there was no heavy fighting at penselwood; sherstone was at best a drawn battle; brentford and otford seem to have been partly successful attacks on the rear of a retreating foe; ashington was a decisive defeat. we cannot tell what sort of a king he might have become but the glimpses that we get of his character are not reassuring. we get sight of him first about when he sought to come into possession of an estate in somerset: "and the monastic household dared not refuse him."[ ] his rebellious behaviour in the danelaw, his raid into english mercia, give little promise of future statesmanship. edmund ironside was an english viking, passionate, brave, impulsive, but unruly and uncontrollable. when the year closed there was no question who should be the future ruler of england. fate had been kind to canute; still, the outcome must be ascribed chiefly to the persistent activity of the invader. but while the name of the young king is necessarily made prominent in the narrative, we should not forget that he was surrounded and assisted by a group of captains who probably had no superiors in europe at the time. there was the tall and stately thurkil with the experience of more than thirty years as a viking chief; the resourceful eric with a brilliant record as a successful general; the impetuous and volcanic ulf; doubtless also ulf's brother, eglaf the jomviking. these were the men who helped most to win the land for the danish dynasty; they also formed canute's chief reliance in the critical years following the conquest. the gain in britain was, however, in a measure counterbalanced by the loss of norway in the same year, though in this canute was not directly interested at the time. after the battle of the nesses, king olaf sailed north to nidaros (throndhjem) where he now received unquestioned allegiance. he rebuilt the city and made it the capital of his kingdom. the ruined church of saint clemens, the patron saint of all seafaring men, was raised again and became in a sense the mother church of norse christianity. without delay he began his great work as legislator, organiser, and missionary, a work of enduring qualities. but canute did not forget that in this way his dynasty was robbed of one of its earliest possessions outside the dane-lands. a clash between the great rivals was inevitable. for the present, however, olaf's throne was safe; there was much to do before canute could seriously think of proceeding against his virile opponent, and more than a decade passed before the young king of england could summon his chiefs and magnates into solemn imperial councils in the new capital of nidaros. [illustration: viking raids in england - ] footnotes: [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., : the lithsmen's song. [ ] book vii., c. . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _ibid._, i., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . see also thietmar, _chronicon_, vii., c. . [ ] the story is first told by florence of worcester (_chronicon_, i., ) [ ] if the skirmishers who were seeking booty were in advance of the rest and by a rally of the danes were driven into the thames, the main force must still have been on the north bank. the "battle" must therefore have been fought on the north bank while a fragment of canute's army was on the retreat, perhaps on the point of fording the stream. at any rate, we seem hardly justified in calling the engagement at brentford a "pitched battle." see oman, _england before the norman conquest_, . [ ] oman (_ibid._) seems to believe that edmund retained his forces but went into wessex to get reinforcements. but unless edmund's victorious army had to a large extent melted away, it is difficult to account for canute's prompt return to the siege of london. [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . on this raid eric seems to have met and defeated ulfketel, who "gat ugly blows from the thingmen's weapons," as we are told by thorrod in the _eric's praise_. _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . the raid seems also to be alluded to in the lithsmen's song (_ibid._, ). [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] the account in the _chronicle_ of what occurred at aylesford is ambiguous and has been variously interpreted: "and the king slew as many as he could come upon; and eadric ealdorman turned against [or toward?] the king at aylesford. nor was there ever worse counsel adopted than that was." some writers have interpreted this to mean that eadric joined edmund at aylesford and not after sherstone, as stated by florence. but the saxon _gewende ongean_ has a hostile rather than a favourable colour. the probabilities are that eadric opposed edmund's plans at aylesford and thus rendered further pursuit impossible. such is florence of worcester's version (_chronicon_, i., ). for a different view see hodgkin (_pol. hist. of eng._, i., ) and oman (_england before the norman conquest_, ). [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] the encomiast admits that the tale is hard to believe, but avers that it is true (ii., c. ). the story of the raven is old and occurs earlier in the english sources. [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _jómsvikingasaga_, c. . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] probably not the isle of olney, but some other islet that has since disappeared. see oman, _england before the norman conquest_, . [ ] henry of huntingdon, _historia anglorum_, ; _knytlingasaga_, c. . the saga says distinctly that there was to be inheritance only if either died without children. [ ] _saga of magnus the good_, c. . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] sigeferth and morcar were slain in eadric's house at the oxford gemot. (_anglo-saxon chronicle_, .) [ ] see freeman (_norman conquest_, i., note xx) whose argument seems conclusive. [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] _gesta regum_, i., - . the author merely tells us that edmund's mother was of ignoble birth; but a woman of low degree would scarcely be made queen of england. [ ] ethelred of rievaux. see freeman, _norman conquest_, i., note ss. [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . chapter v the rule of the danes in england - for eight months after the death of ethelred there was no king of england. neither edmund nor canute had an incontestable claim to the royal title, as neither had been chosen by a properly constituted national assembly. there is some evidence that edmund was crowned, perhaps in may, [ ]; but even consecration could hardly remove the defect in the elective title. and after the agreement of olney, there was, for a few weeks, no english kingdom. but, in december, it was possible once more to reunite the distracted land. in the north of england there was no vacant kingship; only wessex and east anglia needed a ruler. as the latter region possessed a strong scandinavian element that might be depended upon to declare for canute, the only doubtful factor in the situation was the attitude of the nobility south of the thames. wessex, however, had more than once showed a desire to give up the struggle: the old spirit of independence was apparently crushed. london, the great rallying point of the national party, was in canute's hands. beyond the thames were the camps of the dreaded host that had come from the north the year before. the danish fleet still sailed the british seas. no trusted leader appeared to take up the fight for the house of alfred; ethelred's many sons seem nearly all to have perished, and only children or princes of doubtful ability remained as possible candidates for the kingship. in addition there was no doubt a feeling that england should be one realm. the accession of canute was therefore inevitable. the dane evidently realised the strength of his position. there was consequently little need of hasty action; it was clearly best to observe constitutional forms and to give the representatives of the nation ample time to act. it was a northern as well as a saxon custom to celebrate the yule-tide with elaborate and extended festivities; and there was every reason why canute and his warriors in london should plan to make this year's celebration a memorable event. to these festivities, canute evidently invited the magnates of england; for we learn that a midwinter gemot was held in london, at which the danish pretender received universal recognition as king of all england.[ ] * * * * * to say that this assembly elected a king would be incorrect; canute gave the lords no opportunity co make an election. in a shrewd fashion he brought out the real or pretended fact that in the agreement of deerhurst it was stipulated that the survivor should possess both crowns. those who had witnessed the treaty were called on to state what had been said in the conference concerning edmund's sons and brothers; whether any of them might be permitted to rule in england if edmund should die first. they testified that they had sure knowledge that no authority was left to edmund's brothers, and that canute was to have the guardianship of edmund's young sons until they were of sufficient age to claim the kingship. florence of worcester believes that the witnesses were bribed by canute and perjured themselves grossly; but the probabilities are, that their statement was accurate. canute's object in submitting the problem of the succession in the south to the witan seems to have been, not exactly to secure his own election, but rather to obtain the highest possible sanction for the agreement with edmund. to the northern mind the expedient adopted was both legal and proper. we know very little about the constitutional framework and principles of the scandinavian monarchies at this period; but, so far as we can discern, the elective principle played an incidental part only; the succession was in fact hereditary. to the anglo-saxons the whole must have resolved itself into finding some legal form for surrender and submission. oaths were taken and loyalty was pledged. once more the saxon began to enjoy real peace and security. at the same time, all the rejoicing can scarcely have been genuine; for english pride had received a wound that for some years refused to heal. it must also be said that the opening years of the new reign were not of such a character as to win the affections of unwilling subjects. the task that the young monarch undertook in the early months of was one of peculiar difficulty. it must be remembered that his only right was that of the sword. important, too, is the fact that at the time england was his only kingdom. as a landless prince, he had crossed the sea, landless except for possible rights in norway; had led with him a host of adventurers most of whom were probably heathen; had wrested large areas from the native line of english kings; and now he was in possession of the entire kingdom. something of a like nature occurred in , when william of normandy conquered england; but there are also notable differences. william was the lord of a vigorous duchy across the narrow channel, in which he had a storehouse of energy that was always at his disposal. young canute had no such advantages. before he was definitely recognised as king in the danelaw, he had no territorial possessions from which to recruit and provision his armies. not till did he unite the crowns of england and denmark. historians generally have appeared to believe that in governing his english kingdom, canute pursued a conscious and well-defined course of action, a line of political purposes originating early in his reign. he is credited with the purpose of making england the central kingdom of an anglo-scandinavian empire, of governing this kingdom with the aid of englishmen in preference to that of his own countrymen, of aiming to rule england as a king of the saxon type. it is true chat before the close of his reign canute made large use of native chiefs in the administration of the monarchy; but such was not the case in the earlier years. there were no prospects of empire in and : his brother harold still ruled in denmark; the norsemen were still loyal to the vigorous olaf. and at no time did the kingdoms that he added later consider themselves as standing in a vassal relation to the english state. in canute's initial years, we find no striving after good government, no dreams of imperial power. during these years his chief purpose was to secure the permanence and the stability of his new title and throne. nor should we expect any clear and definite policy in the rule of a king who was still inexperienced in dealing with the english constitution. at the time of his accession, canute is thought to have been twenty-one or twenty-two years old.[ ] younger he could scarcely have been, nor is it likely that he was very much older. ottar the swart in the _canute's praise_ is emphatic on the point that canute was unusually young for a successful conqueror: "thou wast of no great age when thou didst put forth in thy ship; never younger king set out from home."[ ] as ottar's other patron, olaf the stout, was only twelve when he began his career as a viking, we should hardly expect the poet to call attention to canute's youth if he had already reached manhood when he accompanied his father to england. the probabilities favour as the year of his birth; if the date be correct he would be about seventeen in , when the invasion was being planned, nineteen at the death of his father in ; and twenty-one (or twenty-two, as it was late in the year) when he became king of all england. but whatever his age, he was young in training for government. so far as we know, he could have had but little experience as a ruler before the autumn of , when the battle of ashington secured his position in england. his training had been for the career of a viking, a training that promised little for the future. it seems, therefore, a safe assumption that in shaping his policy the king's decision would be influenced to a large degree by the advice of trusted counsellors. in the first year of canute's reign, there stood about the throne three prominent leaders, three military chiefs, to whom in great measure the king owed his crown. there was the sly and jealous eadric the mercian, a man with varied experience in many fields, but for obvious reasons he did not enjoy the royal confidence. closer to the king stood eric, for fifteen years earl and viceroy in norway, now the ruler of northumbria. eric was a man of a nobler character than was common among men of the viking type; but he can have known very little of english affairs, and for this reason, perhaps, canute passed his kinsman by and gave his confidence to the lordly viking, thurkil the tall. for a stay of nearly ten years in england as viking invader, as chief of ethelred's mercenaries, and as canute's chief assistant in his campaign against the english, had surely given thurkil a wide acquaintance among the magnates of the land and considerable insight into english affairs. whatever the reason for the king's choice, we seem to have evidence sufficient to allow the conclusion that for some years thurkil held a position in the kingdom second only to that of the king himself. wherever his name appears in canute's charters among the earls who witness royal grants, it holds first place. in a royal proclamation that was issued in , he seems to act on the king's behalf in the general administration of justice, whenever royal interference should become necessary: should any one prove so rash, clerk or layman, dane or angle, as to violate the laws of the church or the rights of my kingship or any secular statute, and refuse to do penance according to the instruction of my bishops, or to desist from his evil, then i request thurkil the earl, yea, even command him, to bend the offender to right, if he is able to do so.[ ] in case the earl is unable to manage the business alone, canute promises to assist. there is something in this procedure that reminds one of the later norman official, the justiciar, who was chief of the administrative forces when the king was in england and governed as the king's lieutenant when the ruler was abroad. that thurkil's dignity was not a new creation at the time of the proclamation is evident from the preamble, in which canute sends "greetings to his archbishops and bishops and thurkil earl and all his earls and all his subjects." the language of the preamble also suggests that thurkil may have acted as the king's deputy during canute's absence in denmark. it is further to be noted that of all the magnates he alone is mentioned by name. in the account of the dedication of the church at ashington later in the same year, thurkil is again given prominent mention. in this instance general reference is made to a number of important officials, but earl thurkil and archbishop wulfstan are the only ones that the chronicler mentions by name.[ ] it is evident that the english, too, were impressed by the eminence of the tall earl. the first and the most difficult problem that canute and thurkil had to solve was how to establish the throne among an unfriendly people; for the conquered saxons cannot have regarded the danish usurper with much affection. it is generally believed that canute took up his residence in the old capital city of winchester, though we do not know at what time this came to be the recognised residential town. it may be true, as is so often asserted, that canute continued, even after other lands had been added to his dominions, to make england his home from personal choice; but it may also be true that he believed his presence necessary to hold wessex in subjection. the revolutionary movements that came to the surface during the first few years of his reign had probably much to do with determining canute's policies in these directions. it is a fact of great significance that during the first decade of his rule in england he was absent from the island twice only, so far as we know, and then during the winter months, when the chances of a successful uprising were most remote.[ ] like the later william, canute had his chiefs and followers to reward, and the process of payment could not be long delayed. the rewards took the form of actual wages, paid from new levies of danegeld; confiscated lands, of which we do not hear very much, though seizure of land was doubtless not unknown, as it was not a scandinavian custom to respect the property of an enemy; also official positions, especially the earl's office and dignity, which was reserved for the chiefs who had given the most effective aid. the payment of danegeld was an old story in english history and the end was not yet. when we consider the really vast tribute that was levied from time to time and the great value of the precious metals in the middle ages, it becomes clear that many of the vikings who operated in england must have become relatively wealthy men. a large number evidently served in successive hosts and expeditions. a swedish runic monument found in uppland (the region north of stockholm) relates that one ulf shared three times in the distribution of danegeld: but ulf has in england thrice taken "geld," the first time tosti paid him, then thurkil, and then canute paid.[ ] ulf was evidently one of the vikings who composed thurkil's invading force and finally passed with their chief into canute's service. the earl's office was ancient in scandinavia and counted very desirable. it did not quite correspond to that of the english ealdorman, as it usually implied a larger administrative area, a greater independence, and a higher social rank for the official thus honoured. the office was not new in england; for more than a century it had flourished in the danelaw. in ethelred's time such magnates as uhtred in northumbria and ulfketel in east anglia were earls rather than ealdormen. the first recorded act of the new sovereign was the division of the kingdom into four great earldoms. much has been made of this act in the past; the importance of the measure has been over-rated; the purpose of the king has been misunderstood. the act has been characterised as the culmination of a certain tendency in english constitutional development; as the expression of self-distrust on the part of the monarch; and much more. it seems, however, that canute at this time did little more than to recognise the _status quo_. england was during the later years of ethelred's reign virtually divided into four great jurisdictions, three of which, northumbria, mercia, and east anglia, were governed by the king's sons-in-law, uhtred, eadric, and ulfketel. how much authority was assigned to each cannot be determined; but practically the earls must have enjoyed a large measure of independence. in the fight against the danes, uhtred seems to have taken but small part; ulfketel comes into prominence only when east anglia is directly attacked. this arrangement, which was not accidental but historic, canute had accepted before the reputed provincial division of . eadric had long been a power in parts of mercia; any attempt to dislodge him at so early a moment would have been exceedingly impolitic. eric was already earl of northumbria, having succeeded the unfortunate uhtred, perhaps in the spring of . it is only natural that canute should reserve the rule of wessex to himself, at least for a time. provision naturally had to be made for thurkil; and as the earl of east anglia had fallen at ashington, it was convenient to fill the vacancy and honour the old viking at the same time.[ ] it seems never to have been canute's policy to keep england permanently divided into four great provinces; what evidence we have points to a wholly different purpose. during the first decade of the new reign, fifteen earls appear in the charters as witnesses or otherwise. three of these may, however, have been visiting magnates from elsewhere in the king's dominions, and in one instance we may have a scribal error. there remain, then, the names of eleven lords who seem to have enjoyed the earl's dignity during this period. of these eleven names, seven are scandinavian and four anglo-saxon; but of the latter group only one appears with any decided permanence.[ ] thurkil, while he was still in england, headed the list. thurkil was a dane of noble birth, the son of harold who was earl in scania. he was a typical viking, tall, strong, and valorous, and must have been a masterly man, one in whom warriors readily recognised the qualities of chieftainship. he had part in the ill-fated expedition that ended in the crushing defeat of hjörunga bay. he also fought at swald, where he is said to have served on the ship of his former enemy, eric the earl.[ ] in he transferred his activities to england and from that year he remained almost continuously on the island till his death about fifteen years later. the old viking had several claims on the king's gratitude. had he not deserted ethelred at such an opportune moment, canute might never have won the english crown. the statement of the sagas that thurkil was canute's foster-father has been referred to elsewhere. the foster-relationship, if the sagas are correct, would not only help to explain how thurkil came to hold such eminent positions in canute's english and danish kingdoms, but may also account for the confidence that canute reposed in thurkil's son harold, who may have been the king's foster-brother. the battles of sherstone and ashington no doubt also had a share in securing pre-eminence for the tall pirate. sherstone, says the encomiast, gained for thurkil a large share of the fatherland.[ ] he is prominently mentioned as one of those most eager to fight at ashington, especially after it was reported that the raven had appeared with proper gestures on the danish banner.[ ] in his old age thurkil married an englishwoman, edith, probably one of ethelred's daughters, the widow of earl eadric.[ ] he ruled as english earl from to . after canute's return from denmark in , some misunderstanding seems to have arisen between him and the old war-chief; for toward the close of the next year thurkil was exiled. the cause for this is not known; perhaps canute feared his growing influence, especially after his marriage to the former king's daughter. a reconciliation was brought about a year later; but for some reason the king preferred to leave him as his lieutenant in denmark, and he was never restored to his english dignities. eric, earl of northumbria, governed this region from to . he seems to have been earl hakon's oldest son, and is said to have been of bastard birth, the son of a low-born woman, who had attracted the earl in his younger years. he grew up to be extremely handsome and clever, but never enjoyed his father's good-will.[ ] the circumstances of eric's promotion to the northern earldom have been discussed in an earlier chapter. as the scandinavian colonies north of the humber were norwegian rather than danish, the appointment of a norse ruler was doubtless a popular act. eadric was allowed to continue as governor of mercia. whether all the old mercian region made one earldom is uncertain; most likely it did not extend to the western limits, as several smaller earldoms appear to have been located along the welsh border. for one year only was eadric the grasper permitted to enjoy his dignities; at the first opportunity canute deprived him not only of honours but of life. eglaf, thurkil's old companion in arms, seems to have been given territories to rule in the lower severn valley.[ ] eglaf was one of the leaders in the great expedition of . he was evidently one of those who entered ethelred's service when peace was made; but during the closing years of the conflict, he was doubtless fighting for canute. he was consequently one of the chiefs who might claim a particular reward. he was also of high lineage, the son of a powerful danish chief, thorgils sprakaleg, and the brother of ulf, who was married to canute's sister estrid. in the worcester country an earl hakon was placed in control. he was evidently eric's son and canute's nephew, the young hakon whom king olaf drove out of norway in the autumn of . the youthful earl (he was probably not more than twenty years old in , perhaps even younger) is described as an exceedingly handsome man with "hair that was long and fair like silk"[ ]; but warfare was evidently not to his taste. for a decade or more he remained in canute's service in england. in , hostilities broke out between norway and denmark; the result was the final expulsion of king olaf and the restoration of hakon to his norse vice-royalty. soon afterwards he perished in shipwreck. godwin is the first english earl of importance to appear among canute's magnates. from to the close of the reign his name appears in almost every charter, and invariably as earl or with some corresponding title. the fact that godwin found it possible to be present so frequently when grants were to be witnessed would indicate that he could not have been located far away from the local court; perhaps he was closely attached to it. though his ancestry is a matter of doubt, he was probably not connected with the old english aristocracy. this defect canute remedied by giving him a noble danish woman of his own household for wife.[ ] godwin was consequently closely associated with the new dynasty. of the remaining magnates, ethelwerd, leofwine, godric, ulf, and ranig, little is really known. ethelwerd seems to have had some authority in the extreme southwest. ranig's earldom was the modern shire of hereford. there is nothing to indicate what territories were controlled by godric and ulf. leofwine probably succeeded to eadric's position as chief ruler in mercia. in the list we should probably include eadulf cudel who seems to have succeeded to some power north of the tees after the murder of his brother uhtred[ ]; but whether he was under the lordship of eric or held directly from canute cannot be known. these were the men with whom canute shared his authority during the first ten years of his reign. it will be seen that the more important places in the local government were given to danes and northmen. so far as we know, only two of ethelred's ealdormen were retained in their offices[ ]; of these the one soon suffered exile, while the other appears to have played but a small part in the councils of canute. two appointments were made from the native population, those of godwin and leofwine. in the case of godwin it is to be observed that he was bound to the new dynasty by the noble ties of marriage. as to leofwine's ancestry we are not informed; but there are indications that some of his forefathers may have been northmen.[ ] the more prominent of canute's earls were drawn from three illustrious families in the north, one norwegian and two danish. thurkil's descent from the scanian earls has already been noted. eric and his son hakon represented the lordly race of earl hakon the bad. a great danish chief, thorgils sprakaleg, had two sons who bore the earl's title in england, ulf and eglaf, a son-in-law, godwin, and a few years later a nephew, siward the strong, the lord of northumbria. two of these earls were married to sisters of canute: eric to gytha, and ulf to estrid. godwin was married to canute's kinswoman. hakon was the king's nephew. thurkil was his reputed foster-father. it seems that canute at first had in mind to establish in england a new aristocracy of scandinavian origin, bound to the throne by the noble ties of kinship and marriage. to this aristocracy the north contributed noble and vigorous blood. in the king's household, so far as we can learn anything about it, we find the same preference for men of northern ancestry. ordinarily, the thegns who witnessed royal grants may be taken to have been warriors or officials connected with the royal court. the signatures of more than half of these show names that are unmistakably scandinavian. usually, the northmen sign before their saxon fellows. the old norse language was probably used to a large extent at court; at least we know that the scalds who sang in praise of the "greatest king under heaven" composed their lays in canute's native language.[ ] the year , which witnessed the exaltation of the foreigners into english officialdom, also beheld a series of executions that still further weakened the english by removing their natural leaders. most of these are associated with a christmas gemot, when canute was celebrating the first anniversary of his rule as king of england. of the victims the most famous was eadric, the earl of mercia. for ten years he had been a power in his region, though at no time does it appear that his word of honour or his pledge of loyalty could have had any value. in all the english sources he is represented as endowed with the instincts of treason, though the encomiast, is careful to apply no term stronger than turncoat. at the same time, it is clear that eadric the grasper was a man of real abilities; in spite of the fact that he held allegiance lightly, he seems to have retained his influence to the last. he was, says one writer, a man of low origin, one whom the tongue had brought riches and rank, clever in wit, pleasant in speech, but surpassing all men of the time in envy, perfidy, crime, and cruelty.[ ] the murder of eadric was directly in line with canute's policy of building up a new scandinavian aristocracy, devoted to himself, and endowed with large local authority. the new order could not be built on such men as eadric; by his marriage to ethelred's daughter he was too closely connected with the old order of things. furthermore, a man who found it so easy to be disloyal could not safely be entrusted with such great territorial authority as the earlship of mercia. there had been in this same year extensive plotting among the survivors of the anglian nobility, and it is likely that eadric was involved in this. it is also related that the earl was not satisfied with the king's reward,[ ] which may mean that he objected to having independent earldoms carved out of western mercia. at any rate, canute was not reluctant to remove him. eric appears to have acted as executioner; and the career of the grasper came to a sudden end. the murder, so far as we can see, was popular; among the men of power eadric can have had few friends or perhaps none at all. three other lords are mentioned as having suffered death on the same occasion: northman, the son of leofwine, and two lords from the southwest.[ ] there can be little doubt that these men were convicted of treacherous plotting and that the punishment was regarded as merited. it is a remarkable fact that northman's death did not alienate his family from the new dynasty: his father leofwine succeeded to eadric's dignities and his brother leofric to northman's own place of influence; "and the king afterwards held him very dear."[ ] some of these executions should probably be placed in connection with certain measures taken against the former dynasty. here again we have anxious care to secure the new throne. six sons appear to have been born to ethelred before his marriage to the norman emma; but of these only two or at most three seem to have survived their father. after edmund ironside's death, edwy alone remained[ ]; he is said to have been edmund's full brother and a youth of promise. evidently canute intended to spare his life, but ordered him to go into exile. but the etheling secretly returned to england and hid for a time in tavistock monastery. he was evidently discovered, and canute procured his death.[ ] as tavistock is in devonshire, the execution of the two magnates from the southwest may readily be explained on the supposition that they were plotting in edwy's favour. the london assembly seems to have assumed that certain rights were reserved to the infant sons of edmund, but that the guardianship of the children had been given to canute. they were scarcely a problem in ; still, it was necessary to make them permanently harmless. it will be remembered that edmund married sigeferth's widow some time in the year , perhaps in early summer. it is, therefore, extremely doubtful whether the two boys, edward and edmund, were both the sons of the unfortunate aldgyth; if they were they must have been twins, or the younger must have been born a posthumous child, some time in , the year of their banishment. but if florence's account is trustworthy, the status of the two was discussed at the christmas gemot following edmund's death in . to slay the children of a "brother" who had committed them to his care and protection must have seemed to canute a rude and perhaps risky procedure; it was therefore thought best to send them out of the land. accordingly the ethelings were sent to the "king of the slavs,"[ ] who was instructed to remove them from the land of the living. this particular king was evidently canute's maternal uncle, the mighty boleslav, duke and later king of poland. boleslav took pity on the poor children and failed to dispose of them as requested. in , he was succeeded by his son mieczislav, who entered into close relations with king stephen of hungary.[ ] it was probably some time after , therefore, that the ethelings were transferred to the hungarian court, where they grew to manhood. after forty years of exile, one of them returned to england, but died soon after he had landed. it seems to have been canute's purpose finally to destroy the house of alfred to the last male descendant. the two most dangerous heirs were, however, beyond his reach: the sons of ethelred and emma were safe with their mother in normandy. there was close friendship between the lords of rouen and the rulers of the north; still, duke richard could not be expected to ignore the claims of his own kinsmen. so long as the ethelings remained in normandy, there would always be danger of a norman invasion combined with a saxon revolt in the interest of the fugitive princes, alfred and edward. canute was a resourceful king: these princes, too, could be rendered comparatively harmless. if their mother emma should be restored to her old position as reigning queen of england, her norman relatives might find it inconvenient to support an english uprising. this seems to be the true motive for canute's seemingly unnatural marriage. historians have seen in it a hope and an attempt to conciliate the english people, as in this way the new king would become identified with the former dynasty. but such a theory does scant justice to the moral sense of the anglo-saxons. furthermore, neither ethelred nor emma had ever enjoyed real popularity. there is no doubt that a princess of the blood royal could have been found for a consort, if the prime consideration had been to contract a popular marriage. it seems rather that in this matter canute acted in defiance of english public sentiment and for the express purpose of averting a real danger from beyond the channel. apparently, emma took kindly to canute's plans, for she is said to have stipulated that if sons were born to them, they should be preferred to canute's older children[ ]; thus by inference the rights of her sons in normandy were abandoned. earlier in his career, canute had formed an irregular connection with an english or anglo-danish woman of noble birth, elgiva, the daughter of elfhelm, who at one time ruled in deira as ealdorman. her mother's name is given as ulfrun, a name that is scandinavian in both its component parts.[ ]the family was evidently not strictly loyal to the saxon line, for in , just after sweyn's return to denmark, elfhelm was slain and his two sons blinded by royal orders.[ ] elgiva must have had relatives at northampton, for the chronicler knows her as the woman from northampton. she was a woman of great force of character, ambitious and aggressive, though not always tactful, as appears from her later career in norway. she was never canute's wife; but, in the eleventh century, vague ideas ruled concerning the marriage relation, even among christians. her acquaintance with canute doubtless began in , when he was left in charge of the camp and fleet at gainsborough. two sons she bore to him, harold harefoot and sweyn. on emma's return to england, elgiva seems to have been sent with her children to denmark. we find her later taking an active part in the politics of wendland, norway, and probably of england. the queen, who now came back from normandy to marry her husband's old enemy, was also a masterful woman. if heredity can be stated in arithmetical terms, she was more than half danish, as her mother gunnor was clearly a danish, woman while her father had a non-danish mother and also inherited some non-danish blood on the paternal side. she was evidently beautiful, gifted, and attractive: her flattering encomiast describes her as of great beauty and wisdom.[ ] but the finer instincts that we commonly associate with womanhood cannot have been highly developed in her case; what we seem to find is love of life, a delight in power, and an overpowering ambition to rule. at the time of her second marriage she was a mature woman; it is not likely that she was less than thirty years old, perhaps she was nearer forty. at all events, she must have been several years older than canute. two children were born to this marriage: harthacanute, who ruled briefly in denmark and england after the death of his father and of his half-brother harold; and gunhild, who was married to the emperor henry iii. emma lived to a ripe old age and died in , fifty years after her first marriage. the wedding was celebrated in july, , the bride presumably coming from normandy. the object sought was attained: for more than ten years there seems to have been unbroken peace between england and normandy. when trouble finally arose after the accession of robert the devil, canute was strong enough to dispense with further alliances. one of the chief necessities was some form of a standing army, a force that the king could depend upon in case of invasion or revolt. much reliance could obviously not be placed on the old military system; nor could the army of conquest be retained indefinitely. in , or perhaps late in the preceding year, steps were taken to dismiss the scandinavian host.[ ] it has been conjectured that this was done out of consideration for the saxon race; the presence of the conquerors was an insult to the english people. it had clearly become necessary to disband the viking forces, but for other reasons. a viking host was in its nature an army of conquest, not of occupation, except when the warriors were permitted to seize the land, which was evidently not canute's intention. in a land of peace, as canute intended england to be, such a host could not nourish. it should also be remembered that a large part was composed of borrowed troops furnished by the rulers of denmark, norway, and sweden; these could not be kept indefinitely. another danegeld was levied, , pounds in all, to pay off the host; and most of the northmen departed, to the evident satisfaction of all concerned. the dismissal of one host was followed by the immediate reorganisation of another. far more important than the departure of the fleet is the fact that the crews of forty ships remained in the royal service: this would mean a force of between three thousand and four thousand men. but the north knew no continuous body of warriors except the military households of chiefs and kings; such a household was now to be organised, but one that was far greater and more splendid than any organisation of the sort known in scandinavia. according to sveno's history, canute had it proclaimed that only those would be admitted to his new guard who were provided with two-edged swords having hilts inlaid with gold.[ ] sveno also tells us that the wealthy warriors made such haste to procure properly ornamented weapons that the sound of the swordsmith's hammer was heard all through the land. in this way, the king succeeded in giving his personal guard an aristocratic stamp. the guard of housecarles or "thingmen," as they were called in the north, was organised as a guild or military fraternity, of which the king ranked as a member, though naturally a most important one. in many respects its rules remind us of the regulations enforced in the jomburg brotherhood, though its organisation was probably merely typical of the viking fraternities of the age. the purpose of the guild laws, as reported by sveno and saxo, was to promote a spirit of fellowship among the members, to secure order in the guard, and to inculcate proper behaviour in the royal garth. when the housecarles were invited to the king's tables, they were seated according to their eminence in warfare, priority of service, or nobility of birth. to be removed to a lower place was counted a disgrace. in addition to daily fare and entertainment, the warriors received wages which were paid monthly, we are told. the bond of service was not permanent, but could be dissolved on new year's day only. all quarrels were decided in an assembly of the housecarles in the presence of the king. members guilty of minor offences, such as failing to care properly for the horse of a fellow guardsman, were assigned lower places at the royal tables. if any one was thrice convicted of such misdeeds, he was given the last and lowest place, where no one was to communicate with him in any way, except that the feasters might throw bones at him if they were so disposed. whoever should slay a comrade should lose his head or go into exile. treason was punished by death and the confiscation of the criminal's property.[ ] these laws were put into writing several generations after the guard was formed, and it is not likely that all existed from the very beginning. there is, however, nothing in the rules that might not have applied in canute's own day. it is said that the king himself was the first who seriously violated the guard-laws, in that he slew a housecarle in a moment of anger. repentance came swiftly; the guard was assembled; kneeling the king confessed his guilt and requested punishment. but the laws gave the king the power of judgment in such cases, and so it must be in this instance as in others. forty marks was the customary fine, but in this case the king levied nine times that amount and added nine marks as a gift of honour. this fine of marks was divided into three parts: one to go to the heirs of the deceased; one to the guard; and one to the king. but canute gave his share to the church and the poor.[ ] though the housecarles are presumed to have possessed horses, the guard was in no sense a cavalry force. horses were for use on the march, for swift passage from place to place, not for charging on the field. the housecarles were heavily armed, as we know from the description of a ship that earl godwin presented to harthacanute as a peace offering a few years after canute's death. eighty warriors, housecarles no doubt, seeing that it was a royal ship, manned the dragon, of whom each one had on each arm a golden arm-ring weighing sixteen ounces, a triple corselet, on the head a helmet in part overlaid with gold; each was girded with a sword that was golden-hilted and bore a danish ax inlaid with silver and gold hanging from the left shoulder; the left hand held the shield with gilded boss and rivets; in the right hand lay the spear that the angles call the _oetgar_.[ ] it is not to be supposed that the whole guard was always at the court--it was distributed in the strong places throughout the kingdom,[ ] especially no doubt in the south. it seems likely that individual housecarles might have homes of their own; at any rate, many of them in time came into possession of english lands as we know from domesday.[ ] no doubt anglo-saxon warriors were enrolled in the guard, but in its earlier years, at least, the greater number must have been of scandinavian ancestry. in the province of uppland, sweden, a runic monument has been found that was raised by two sons in memory of their father, who "sat out west in thinglith."[ ] as thinglith was the old norse name for canute's corps of housecarles, we have here contemporary mention of a swede who served in the guard. another stone from the same province records the fact that ali who raised it "collected tribute for canute in england."[ ] housecarles were sometimes employed as tax collectors, and it seems probable that ali, too, was a member of the great corps. it is likely that housecarles are also alluded to in the following scanian inscription: sweyn and thurgot raised this monument in memory of manna and sweyn. god help their souls well. but they lie buried in london.[ ] the sagas are evidently correct in stating that the force of housecarles "had been chosen from many lands, though chiefly from those of the danish [old norse] tongue." so long had the wealth of england been regarded as legitimate plunder, that the scandinavian pirates found it difficult to realise that raids in south britain were things of the past. they now had to reckon, not merely with a sluggish and disorganised militia, but with a strong force of professional warriors in the service and pay of a capable and determined king. in the year , says the german chronicler thietmar of merseburg, the crews of thirty viking ships have been slain in england, thanks be to god, by the son of sweyn, the king of the english; and he, who earlier with his father brought invasion and long-continued destruction upon the land, is now its sole defender.[ ] * * * * * this seems to have been the first and last attempt at piracy in england during the reign of canute. so far as his dominions extended, viking practices were outlawed. the check that the movement received in was the beginning of a rapid decline in its strength, and before the close of canute's reign, the profession of the sea-king was practically destroyed. the welsh, too, seem to have found it hard to repress their old habits of raiding the english frontier. it was probably this fact that induced canute to establish so many earldoms in the southwest, particularly in the severn valley. a few years after the signal defeat of the viking fleet, apparently in , eglaf, one of the earls on the welsh border, harried the lands of southwestern wales.[ ] as the sources nowhere intimate that canute ever planned to conquer wales, and as this was evidently the year of canute's absence in the baltic lands, the conclusion must be that this expedition was of a punitive character. the angles and saxons were soon to learn that the new régime meant a security for the property as well as the persons of loyal and peaceful citizens, such as they had not enjoyed for more than a generation. footnotes: [ ] the evidence is late and not of the best; the earliest authority to mention it is ralph de diceto who lived a century and a half later. but see freeman, _norman conquest_, i., note tt. [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] steenstrup places his age at twenty-two (_danmarks riges historie_, i., ). munch thinks that he was several years older. (_det norske folks historie_, i., ii., - ). [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . (vigfusson's translation.) [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] the first recorded absence was in the winter of and ; canute returned in time for the easter festivities. the chronicler tells of another return from denmark in ; as this return was earlier than the translation of saint alphege in june, the absence must have been during the winter months. see the _chronicle_ for these years. [ ] von friesen, _historiska runinskrifter_ (fornvännen, ), . von friesen suggests that the chief tosti who paid the first geld may have been skogul-tosti, the father of sigrid the haughty (pp. - ). for other monuments alluding to the danegeld, see _ibid._, , - ; montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, : the Össeby stone. [ ] the statement of the _chronicle_ ( ) that he divided england into four parts may imply that some sort of sanction was sought from the witan; but such an act would merely recognise accomplished facts. [ ] for the evidence see the author's paper in _american historical review_, xv., . [ ] munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] _ibid._, ii., c. . [ ] florence tells us that thurkil's wife bore the name edith (_chronicon_, i., ). the _jómsvikingasaga_ (c. ) has thurkil marry ethelred's daughter ulfhild, ulfketel's widow. however, ethelred had a daughter edith who was married to eadric. (florence, _chronicon_, i., .) for a discussion of the subject see freeman, _norman conquest_, i., notes nn and ss. [ ] snorre, _saga of earl hakon_, c. . [ ] _american historical review_, xv., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] she was sister of the earls ulf and eglaf. her danish name was gytha, which the saxons changed to edith. [ ] simeon of durham, _opera omnia_, ii., . [ ] ethelwerd and godric. ethelwerd was exiled in . [ ] leofwine had a son named northman, and it is possible that his father also bore that name. see freeman, _norman conquest_, i., note ccc. the occurrence of the name "northman" in a family living in or near the danelaw may indicate norse ancestry. [ ] for the court poetry of the scalds see vigfusson and powell, _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii. their verses have in part come down to us. see below, pp. ff. [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] excepting the two sons of emma who were now in normandy, there seems to be no record of any other surviving son. florence of worcester speaks of edmund's "brothers" in narrating the discussions at the gemot of christmas, ; but he may have thought of queen emma's children. (_chronicon_, i., .) [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] florence's writing _ad regent suanorum_ was probably due to an error of information or of copying; _ad regent sclavorum_, or some such form, is probably the correct reading (i., ). [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., - . mieczislav's father was married to stephen's sister. [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . on the subject of proper names ending in _run_, see björkman, _nordische personennamen in england_, . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _historiola legum castrensum regis canuti magni_, c. . the _historiola_ is found in langebek, _scriptores rerum danicarum_, iii. [ ] sveno, _historiola_, cc. - . saxo, _gesta danorum_, ff. [ ] langebek, _scriptores_, iii., (note). the story is probably mythical; but i give it as a fitting companion to the english stories of canute and the tide, and of his improvised verses inspired by the chants of the monks of ely. [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] saxo, _gesta danorum_, . [ ] larson, _the king's household in england_, - . [ ] the kolstad stone. montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, . [ ] the Össeby stone. montelius, _ibid._. [ ] the valleberga stone. wimmer, _de danske runemindesmærker_, iii., . [ ] _chronicon_, viii., c. . thietmar's account is strictly contemporary. [ ] _annales cambriæ_, . chapter vi the beginnings of empire - the first three or four years of canute's government in england can have given but little promise of the beneficent rule that was to follow. to the conquered saxon they must have been a season of great sorrow. on the throne of alfred sat an alien king who had done nothing as yet to merit the affectionate regard of his subjects. in the shire courts ruled the chiefs of the dreaded danish host, chiefs who had probably harried those same shires at an earlier date. a heavy tax had been collected to pay the forces of the enemy, but a large part of those forces still remained. the land was at peace; but the calm was the calm of exhaustion. the young king had shown vigour and decision; thus far, however, his efforts had been directed toward dynastic security rather than the welfare of his english subjects. but with canute's return from denmark in begins the second period in the history of the reign. after that date, it seems that more intelligent efforts were made to reconcile the saxons to foreign rule. for one thing, canute must have come to appreciate the wonderful power of the church; for an attempt was made to enlist its forces on the side of the new monarchy. perhaps he had also come to understand that repression could not continue indefinitely. this change in policy seems to be the outgrowth principally of the new situation created by canute's accession to the danish throne. harold, his older brother, king of denmark, appears to have died in .[ ] little is known of harold; he died young and evidently left no heirs. for a year there seems to have been no recognised king in denmark, as canute did not leave england before . in that year he sailed to the baltic to claim the throne in person, taking with him nine ships, fewer than one thousand men; the rest of the new force of housecarles was doubtless left in britain as a matter of security. thurkil, earl of east anglia, seems to have been left behind as english viceroy. various reasons may be assigned for this delay in securing the ancestral crown. harold died in the year when canute was reorganising the military forces of the realm; before his great corps of housecarles was complete, it would not have been safe to leave the country. perhaps the king also felt that he must take some steps to reconcile the two racial elements of his kingdom. he may have concluded that with two kingdoms to govern it would be impossible to give undivided attention to english affairs and movements. to prevent rebellion in his absence, it might be well to remove, so far as possible, all forms of hostility; we read, therefore, of a great meeting of the magnates, both danes and angles, at oxford in , where the matter of legislation was evidently the principal subject. at this assembly, it was agreed to accept edgar's laws as the laws for the whole land.[ ] it is significant that the comparatively large body of law that was enacted in ethelred's day was ignored or rejected. the chief reason for this may have been that canute was not yet willing to enforce the rigid enactments against heathen practices that were such a distinctive feature of ethelred's legislation. there can be small doubt that in the scandinavian settlements and particularly in the alien host heathendom still lingered to some extent. the delay was also due, perhaps, in large part to a serious trouble with scotland. the term northumbria is variously used; but in its widest application it embraced territories extending from the humber to the forth. the northern part of this kingdom, the section between the tweed and the forth, was known as lothian; on this region the kings of scotland had long cast covetous eyes. in , while the vikings were distressing england, king malcolm invaded lothian, crossed the tweed, and laid siege to durham. the aged earl waltheof made practically no attempt at resistance; but his young son uhtred placed himself at the head of the northumbrian levies and drove the invader back into scotland.[ ] uhtred succeeded to his father's earldom and was apparently recognised as lord throughout the entire ancient realm. while uhtred lived and ruled, the neighbours to the north seem to have kept the peace; but in , as we have seen, the great warrior was slain, probably at canute's instigation and his earldom was assigned to eric. whatever canute's intentions may have been, it seems likely that the new earl did not come into immediate and undisputed control of the entire earldom; for we find that in the regions north of yorkshire, the old kingdom of bernicia, uhtred's brother, eadulf cudel, "a very sluggish and timid man," sought to maintain the hereditary rights of the family. two years after uhtred's death, malcolm the son of kenneth reappeared in lothian at the head of a large force gathered from the western kingdom of strathclyde as well as from his own scotia. the northumbrians had had ample warning of troubles to come: for thirty nights a comet had blazed in the sky; and after the passage of another period of thirty days, the enemy appeared. an army gathered mainly from the durham country met the scotch forces at carham on the tweed, near coldstream, but was almost completely destroyed.[ ] there is no record of any further resistance; and when malcolm returned to the highlands he was lord of lothian, eadulf having surrendered his rights to all of northumbria beyond the tweed. canute apparently acquiesced in this settlement. so far as we know, he made no effort to assist his subjects in the north, or to redeem the lost territory. we cannot be sure of the reason for this inactivity; but the general situation on the island appears to offer a satisfactory explanation. it will be remembered that was the year when canute disbanded his scandinavian army. as we are told that the bishop of durham, who died in , took leave of earth a few days after he had heard the news of the great defeat,[ ] it seems likely that the battle of carham was fought late in the year , and after the host had departed for denmark. canute, therefore, probably had no available army that he could trust; to call out his new subjects would have been a hazardous experiment. there is also the additional fact that the sluggish eadulf was in all probability regarded as a rebel, whom canute was not anxious to assist. as to the terms of the surrender of lothian, nothing definite is known. our only authority in the matter puts the entire blame on eadulf, and apparently would have us believe that malcolm merely stepped into the earl's position as vassal of eric or canute. if such were the case, canute could hardly have been left in ignorance about the cession, and he may have cherished certain pretensions to overlordship, which malcolm evidently did not regard very seriously. in one way the cession of lothian was a great loss to england; on the other hand, it added an anglian element to the caledonian kingdom, which in time became the controlling factor, and prepared the northern state for the union of the kingdoms that came centuries afterwards. the following year, canute was finally in position to make the deferred journey to denmark. the danish situation must have had its difficulties. in a proclamation issued on his return, the king alludes to these, though in somewhat ambiguous terms: then i was informed that there threatened us a danger that was greater than was well pleasing to us; and then i myself with the men who went with me departed for denmark, whence came to you the greatest danger; and that i have with god's help forestalled, so that henceforth no unpeace shall come to you from that country, so long as you stand by me as the law commands, and my life lasts.[ ] most probably, the difficulty alluded to was some trouble about the succession. there may have been a party in denmark to whom the thought of calling a king from england was not pleasant; or it may be that a conservative faction was hoping for a ruler of the old faith. any form of invasion from denmark at this time, when the nation was even kingless, is almost beyond the possible. but no doubt there had been a likelihood that canute would have to call on his english subjects for military and financial support in the effort to secure his hereditary rights in the north. canute chose to spend the winter in denmark, as during the winter season there was least likelihood of successful plots and uprisings. as early as possible in the spring of , he returned to england. evidently certain rebellious movements had made some headway during his absence, for canute immediately summoned the lords to meet in formal assembly at the easter festival. the plotting was apparently localised in the south-western shires, as we infer from the fact that the gemot sat in an unusual place, cirencester in the severn country. its chief act seems to have been the banishment of ethelwerd, earl in the devon country, and of a mysterious pretender whom the chronicler calls edwy, king of churls.[ ] it seems natural to associate the destinies of these two men and to conclude that some sort of conspiracy in the pretender's favour had been hatching, but we have no definite information. it was probably at this gathering that canute issued his proclamation to the english nation; at least there seems to be no doubt that it was given in . it is a remarkable document, a message to a restless people, an apology for the absence in denmark, and a promise of future good government. it hints darkly at what may have been the disturbances in the southwest and the measures taken at cirencester in the following terms: now i did not spare my treasures while unpeace was threatening to come upon you; with the help of god i have warded this off by the use of my treasures.[ ] in a measure the proclamation of contains the announcement of a new governmental policy in england, one that recognises the english subjects as citizens who may be trusted with some share in the administration of the realm, and not merely as conquered provincials whose rebellious instincts can be kept down by a continuous policy of coercion only. there was, it is true, little need of coercion after ; the natural leaders of the native population were gone. but the importance of the union with denmark with respect to politics in england must not be overlooked: it removed what fear had remained as to the stability of canute's conquered throne. at the first indication of an uprising, it would be possible to throw a danish force on the british coast, which, combined with the king's loyal partisans in england, could probably stifle the rebellion in a brief campaign. the purpose to make larger use of the native energies is indirectly shown in the command to the local functionaries that they heed and follow the advice of the bishops in the administration of justice: and i make known to you that i will be a kind lord and loyal to the rights of the church and to right secular law. and also my ealdormen i command that they help the bishops to the rights of the church and to the rights of my kingship and to the behoof of all the people. and i also command my reeves, by my friendship and by all that they own, and by their own lives, that they everywhere govern my people justly and give right judgments by the witness of the shire bishop, and do such mercy therein as the shire bishop thinks right and the community can allow.[ ] the significance of this appears when we remember that the local prelates were probably english to a man. there is, however, no evidence for the belief so frequently expressed, that canute by this time, or even earlier, had concluded to dispense with his scandinavian officials, and to rule england with the help of englishmen only. in the proclamation the king speaks of danes and angles, not of angles and danes. among the thegns who witnessed his charters, danes and saxons continue to appear in but slightly changed ratio till the close of the reign. the alien guard was not dismissed. local government continued in the hands of norse and danish earls. time came when these disappeared from their respective earldoms, but for reasons that show no conscious purpose of removal because of nationality or race. as the field of his operations widened, as the vision of empire began to take on the forms of reality, canute found it necessary to use his trusted chiefs in other places and in other capacities. consequently the employment of native englishmen in official positions became more common as the years passed. the following year about martinsmas (november , ), came the first real break in canute's political system: thurkil the tall, who stood second to the king only in all england, was outlawed. florence of worcester adds that his wife was exiled with him.[ ] the reason for this act is not clear; but we may perhaps associate it with a lingering dislike for the old dynasty. if edith was actually ethelred's daughter, thurkil's marriage may have been a source of irritation or even supposed danger to canute and possibly also to the lady's stepmother, the callous queen emma. it is also possible that the king in this case simply yielded to pressure from the native element, particularly from the church. thurkil's prominence in the kingdom can hardly have been a source of pleasure to the men who recalled the part that he had played in the kingdom at various times. in the proclamation he is entrusted with the task of enforcing the laws against heathen and heretical practices. but to assign such a duty to the man who was in such a great measure responsible for the martyrdom of saint alphege must have seemed a travesty upon justice to the good churchmen of the time. the conjecture that the banishment of the earl was not wholly the result of royal disfavour receives some support from the fact that, a few months later, canute and thurkil were reconciled, and the old earl was given a position in denmark analogous to the one that he had held in england.[ ] canute still found him useful, but not in the western kingdom. at the same time, the shrewd king seems not to have felt absolutely sure of the earl's loyalty, for we read that he brought thurkil's son with him to england, evidently as a hostage. in another great name disappears from the documents: earl eric is mentioned no more. later stories that he, too, suffered exile are not to be believed. eric seems to have died in possession of all his northumbrian dignities and of the king's favour at a comparatively advanced age; for the warrior who showed such signal bravery at hjörunga bay nearly forty years before could not have been young. in all probability he had passed the sixtieth milestone of life, which was almost unusual among the viking chiefs of the period. we are told that in his last year he contemplated a visit to rome which was probably never made. most reliable is the story that he died from the effects of primitive surgery. just as he was about to set out on the roman journey, it was found necessary for him to have his uvula treated. the surgeon cut too deep and a hemorrhage resulted from which the earl died.[ ] that the story is old is clear, for some of the accounts have the additional information that the leech acted on the suggestion of one who can be none other than canute. this part of the story is probably mythical. the spirit of chivalry was not strong in the viking; but, so far as it existed, it found its best representative in eric, the son of hakon the bad. he was great as a warrior, great as a leader in the onslaught. he possessed in full measure the courage that made the viking such a marvellous fighter; the joy of the conflict he seems to have shared with the rest. but when the fight was over and the foeman was vanquished, nobler qualities ruled the man; he could then be merciful and large of soul. as a statesman, on the other hand, he seems to have been less successful; in norway he permitted the aristocracy to exercise local authority to a greater extent than the welfare of norse society could allow. as to his rule in northumbria we know nothing. the next year we have the closing record of still another scandinavian earl in england: eglaf signs a grant for the last time in .[ ] doubtless some trouble had arisen between him and the king, for two years later he appears to be acting the part of a rebel. still later, he is said to have joined the varangian guard of scandinavian warriors at byzantium, where he closed his restless career in the service of the greek emperor.[ ] there still remained norse and danish earls in england, such as ranig and hakon; but the men who were most intimately associated in the english mind with conquest and cruel subjection were apparently out of the land before the third decade of the century had finished half its course. it is probable that hakon succeeded his father in the northumbrian earldom, as leofwine of mercia seems to be in possession of hakon's earldom in worcestershire in ,[ ] the year when hakon's father presumably died. after the banishment of thurkil, we should expect to find eric, while he still lived, as the ranking earl in the kingdom and the chief adviser to the king. but eric's earldom was in the extreme north; his subjects were largely norwegian immigrants and their descendants, as yet, perhaps, but imperfectly anglicised; he was himself an alien and his circle of ideas scarcely touched the field of saxon politics. he could, therefore, be of small assistance in governing the kingdom as a whole. furthermore, it is doubtful whether canute really felt the need of a grand vizier at this time. an excellent assistant, however, he seems to have found in the saxon godwin. it has been thought that godwin's exalted position of first subject in the realm belongs to a date as early as [ ] but this is mere conjecture. it is evident that his influence with canute grew with the passage of time; still, it is likely that historians have projected his greatness too far back into his career. a position analogous to that of the tall earl he could not have held before the closing years of the reign. if canute left any one in charge of the kingdom during his absences after , it could not have been godwin. when the fleet sailed against the slavs on the south baltic shores in , godwin appears to have accompanied the host. tradition tells us that he fought valiantly in the swedish campaign of . a norse runic monument records his presence in some expedition to norway, presumably that of .[ ] canute did not employ english forces to a large extent in any of his foreign wars, possibly because he was distrustful of them: only fifty english ships made part of that vast armada that overawed the norwegians in . canute's probable reluctance about arming the saxons after the battle of carham and the consequent loss of lothian has already been referred to. the presence of godwin as a chief in canute's host may, therefore, be taken as a mark of peculiar confidence on the king's part. godwin was never without his rival. in the midlands leofwine and after him his son leofric were developing a power that was some day to prove a dangerous barrier to the ambitions of the southern earl and his many sons. the family of leofwine had certain advantages in the race for power that made for stability and assured possession of power once gained: it was older as a member of the aristocracy; it seems to have had anglo-danish connections, presumably danish ancestry; it was apparently controlled by a spirit of prudence that urged the acceptance of de-facto rule. but in the matter of aggressive abilities and statesmanlike ideas the mercians were far inferior to their saxon rivals; the son and grandsons of leofwine never attained the height of influence and power that was reached by godwin and his son harold. while these changes were going on in england, an important advance had been made in the direction of empire. in his message from rome to the english people ( ) canute claims the kingship of england, denmark, norway, and parts of sweden. the copies of the document that have come down to us are, however, not contemporary, and it is not likely that the sweeping claim of the salutation was found in the original. for at no time was canute lord of any swedish territory as the term was understood and the frontier drawn in the eleventh century. it has been pointed out that in this case we probably have a scribal error of swedes for slavs.[ ] as king of denmark, canute inherited pretensions to considerable stretches of the south baltic shore lands, and consequently could claim to rule a part of the slavic lands. early in his reign he made an expedition to these regions, of which we have faint echoes in both english and scandinavian sources. [illustration: the south baltic coast in the eleventh century.] from the elbe eastward along the baltic shores, at least as far as the vistula, where the lithuanian settlements appear to have begun,[ ] slavic tribes were evidently in full possession all through the viking age. there was, however, no consolidated slavic power, no organised slavic state. the dominions of bohemia and poland were developing but neither had full control of the coast lands. the non-slavic peoples who were interested in this region were the danes and the germans. the eastward expansion of germany across and beyond the elbe had begun; but in canute's day teutonic control of wendish territories was very slight. we find the danes in wendland as early as the age of charlemagne, when they were in possession of a strong and important city called reric, the exact location of which is not known.[ ] the danish interest appears to have been wholly a commercial one: horses, cattle, game, fish, mead, timber products, spices, and hemp are mentioned as important articles of the southern trade.[ ] there was also, we may infer, something of a market for danish products. at all times, the intercourse seems to have been peaceful; danes and wends appear to have lived side by side on the best of terms. the germans, on the other hand, were not regarded with much favour by their slavic neighbours. the feeling of hostility and hatred that the wend cherished was reciprocated on the german side; the german mind scarcely thought of the slav as within the pale of humanity. the most famous of all danish settlements in these regions was jom, a stronghold near the mouth of the oder, sometimes called jumne, jumneta, or julin. in the eleventh century jom was a great city as cities went in those days, though it was probably not equal to its reputation. the good master adam, who has helped us to so much information regarding northern lands and conditions in his century, speaks of the city in the following terms: it is verily the greatest city in europe. it is inhabited by slavs and other peoples, greeks and barbarians. for even the saxons who have settled there are permitted to live with the rest in the enjoyment of the same rights; though, indeed, only so long as they refrain from public profession of their christian faith. for all the inhabitants are still chained to the errors of heathen idolatry. in other respects, especially as to manners and hospitality, a more obliging and honourable people cannot be found.[ ] the city was located on the east side of the island of wollin, where the village of wollin has since been built. for its time it enjoyed a very favourable location. built on an island, it was fairly safe from land attacks, while its position some distance from the sea secured it from the common forms of piracy.[ ] back into the land ran the great river highway, the oder, while a few miles to the north lay the baltic with its long coast line to the east, the west, and the north. to secure danish influence in the city, harold bluetooth built the famous fortress of jomburg and garrisoned it with a carefully chosen band of warriors, later known as the jomvikings. according to saga, palna toki, the viking who is reputed to have slain king harold, was the founder and chief of the brotherhood; but the castle probably existed before toki became prominent in the garrison, if he ever was a member. the fortress was located north of jom near the modern village of wollin, where abundant archæological evidence has definitely identified the site.[ ] the harbour or bay that served as such has since filled with the rubbish of time; but in the tenth century it is reported to have had a capacity of three hundred dragons. the existence of a military guild at jomburg seems well attested. only men of undoubted bravery between the ages of eighteen and fifty years were admitted to membership; and, in the admission, neither kinship nor friendship nor considerations of exalted birth should be taken into account. as members of the brotherhood, all the jomvikings assumed the duties of mutual support and the revenge of a fallen comrade. strict discipline was enjoined in the fortress; absence for more than three days at a time was forbidden; no women were to be admitted to the castle. there was to be no toleration of quarrelsome behaviour; plunder, the fruitful source of contention, was to be distributed by lot. in all disputes the chief was the judge.[ ] it seems evident that the chief of these vikings was something more than the captain of a garrison; he bore the earl's title and as such must have had territorial authority in and about the city. supported by the jomvikings he soon began to assert an independence far beyond what the danish kings had intended that he should possess. however, till the death of harold bluetooth, the brotherhood appears to have been fairly loyal to their suzerain; it was to jomburg that the aged king fled when his son rebelled against him; it was there that he died after the traitor's arrow had given him the fatal wound. the rebel sweyn was not immediately recognised by the earl at jom; the vikings are said to have defied him, to have captured him and carried him off. only on the promises of marriage to gunhild, the sister of earl sigvaldi's wife, and of the payment of a huge ransom, was he permitted to return to his throne. the saga story has probably a great measure of truth in it. sweyn seems to have been determined on the destruction of the fraternity, and most likely had some success; for toward the close of his reign, we find the jomvikings no longer terrorising the baltic shores, but plundering the western isles. [illustration: the stenkyrka stone (monument from the island of gotland showing viking ships.)] [illustration: the valleberga stone.] in , toward the close of the year, we read of the exile of thurkil the tall, who will be remembered as an old jomviking, the brother of earl sigvaldi, and the leader in the descent of these vikings upon england in . we do not know where the exile sought a new home, but one is tempted to conjecture that he probably returned to the old haunts at the mouth of the oder. it is an interesting fact that a few months later canute found it advisable to make a journey to that same region. in the entry for , the chronicler writes that "in this year king canute fared out with his ships to wiht," or, as one manuscript has it, to "wihtland." apparently, the movement, whatever it was, did not interest the scribe; far more important in his eyes was the news that archbishop ethelnoth, when in rome to receive the pallium, was invited to say mass in the papal presence, and was afterwards permitted to converse with the holy father. historians have thought with the monk that the journey with the fleet can have had but little importance, that it was merely a mobilisation of the navy at the isle of wight, perhaps for the purpose of display. it was the danish historian steenstrup who first suggested that wiht or wihtland probably did not mean wight in this case, but the old witland that we read of in the writings of alfred: wulfstan the wide-farer informed the royal student that "the vistula is a mighty stream and separates witland from wendland and witland belongs to the esthonians."[ ] evidently the angles understood witland to be the regions of modern prussia east of the vistula. that canute's expedition actually went eastward seems extremely probable for we read that the next year he returned from denmark and had become reconciled with earl thurkil.[ ] there were danish colonies at the mouths of the oder, the vistula, and the düna[ ]; all these, no doubt, submitted to the conqueror from england. the expedition probably first went to jom in wendland; thence eastward to the prussian regions of witland and the still more distant semland, a region near the kurisches haff that is reported to have been conquered by one of harold bluetooth's sons.[ ] canute's possessions thus extended along the baltic shores from jutland almost to the eastern limits of modern germany; he may also have had possessions farther up the eastern coast of the sea. it is not likely that these possessions were anything more than a series of stations and settlements; but these would serve as centres of influence from which danish power would penetrate into the interior to the protection of danish trade and commerce. later english writers have a story to tell of this expedition, especially of the valorous part that was played by the earl godwin. in the expedition against the vandals, godwin, without first informing the king, made a night attack on the enemy and put them to rout. when canute prepared to make an attack early in the morning, he missed the english and feared that they had fled or deserted. but when he came upon the enemy's camp and found nothing there but bloody corpses and plunder, light dawned on the king, and he ever afterward held the english in high esteem.[ ] jomburg apparently retained its old pre-eminence as the centre of danish control on the southern shore. the king's brother-in-law, ulf, seems to have been left in control, probably with the title of earl. but after the death of thurkil, who had been left as viceroy of denmark, ulf was apparently transferred to that country and canute's son sweyn, under the guidance of his mother elgiva, was appointed the king's lieutenant in wendland.[ ] the extension of danish influence among the wends brought denmark into closer contact and relations with the empire. two years after canute's expedition to the slavic lands, henry the saint passed to his reward, and conrad the salic succeeded to the imperial dignities. on the death of henry ii. the great polish duke boleslav hastened to assume the regal title, and evidently planned to renounce the imperial suzerainty. this policy of hostility to the empire was continued by his son and successor, mieczislav, who also may have hoped to interest his cousin king canute in the welfare of the new kingdom. conrad also felt the need of a close alliance with the danish conqueror, and called upon archbishop unwan of hamburg-bremen for assistance as a mediator. unwan was canute's friend and succeeded in bringing about the desired understanding. possibly the price of the alliance may have appealed to canute as much as the archbishop's arguments; for conrad bought the friendship of his northern neighbour with the mark of sleswick to the eider river.[ ] the exact date of this alliance is a matter of doubt, but the probabilities appear to favour , when the emperor conrad was in saxony. some historians believe that the mark was not ceded at this time but ten years later, when canute's daughter gunhild was betrothed to conrad's son henry, as adam of bremen seems to associate these two events.[ ] but adam's chronology is confused on these matters. canute's friendship was surely more difficult to purchase in when his star was rapidly ascending than in when his empire had begun to collapse. while we cannot be sure, it seems extremely likely that the boundary of denmark was extended to the eider in . [illustration: danish coins from the reign of canute, minted at lund, roeskilde, ringsted] footnotes: [ ] langebek, _scriptores_, i., (note). [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] simeon of durham, _opera omnia_, i., . the account of the siege of durham is not by simeon but by some writer whose identity is unknown. [ ] simeon of durham, _opera omnia_, i., . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., (sec. ). [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] sec. . [ ] sees. , , and . for a translation of the entire document see appendix i. [ ] _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . the story given by later writers that thurkil was slain by a danish mob soon after his exile cannot be credited. it doubtless originated in a desire that the persecutor of saint alphege should suffer retribution. see especially the life of this saint in langebek, _scriptores_, ii., . [ ] one of the sagas (_fagrskinna_, c. ) tells us that eric actually made the pilgrimage and died soon after the return. that such a journey was at least planned seems probable; eric's brother-in-law, einar, is said to have made a pilgrimage during the earlier years of the decade; they may have planned to make the journey together. the earliest english writers who account for eric's disappearance on the theory of exile are william of malmesbury (_gesta regum_, i., ), and henry of huntingdon (_historia anglorum_, ). [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] _jómsvikingasaga_, c. . [ ] in an agreement of that year involving lands in worcester and gloucester, leofwine ealdorman signs as a witness. kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] freeman, _norman conquest_, i., . [ ] _afhandlinger viede sophus bugge's minde_, . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., - . [ ] steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, . [ ] _ibid._, - . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . [ ] _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, - . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, . [ ] _jómsvikingasaga_, c. . [ ] _normannerne_, iii., - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, i., - ; iii., - . [ ] saxo, _gesta danorum_, . the sembrians are described by adamus in his history (iv., c. ) as a very barbarous but humane race. [ ] henry of huntingdon, _historia anglorum_, . the author dates this expedition in , which is probably incorrect. an expedition to wendland earlier than is quite unlikely. [ ] steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. [ ] see manitius, _deutsche geschichte unter den sächsischen und salischen kaisern_, . chapter vii canute and the english church - the english church enjoyed canute's favour from the very beginning: the king was a christian; furthermore, he no doubt saw in the church a mighty force that should not be antagonised. at the same time, there is no evidence of any close union between church and monarchy before ; and even then it was more like an _entente cordiale_ than an open aggressive alliance, as it later came to be. canute was a christian, but he was also a shrewd statesman and a consummate politician. the religious situation among his danish supporters in england as well as the general religious and political conditions in the north probably made it inexpedient, perhaps impossible, to accede to the full demands of the church without danger to his ambitions and probable ruin to his imperialistic plans. when the eleventh century opened, the north was still largely heathen. missionaries had been at work for nearly two centuries--ever since saint ansgar entered the scandinavian mission field in the days of louis the pious--and the faith had found considerable foothold in denmark, especially on the jutish peninsula. canute's father sweyn had been baptised; but other indications of his christian faith are difficult to find. his queen, sigrid the haughty, was almost violent in her devotion to the old gods. sweden remained overwhelmingly heathen for some years yet, while the progress of the church in norway depended on royal mandates supported by the sword and the firebrand. only five years before the death of canute, norse heathendom won its last notable victory, when saint olaf fell before the onslaught of the yeomanry at stiklestead ( ). [illustration: poppo's ordeal (altar decoration from about . danish national museum).] [illustration: an english bishop of the eleventh century (from the bayeux tapestry.)] the army that conquered england for canute was no doubt also largely heathen. it seems, therefore, safe to assume that during the early years of the new reign, the worship of the anse-gods was carried on in various places on english soil; surely in the danish camps, perhaps also in some of the danish settlements. this situation compelled the christian king to be at least tolerant. soon there began to appear at the english court prominent exiles from norway, hot-headed chiefs, whose sense of independence had been outraged by the zealous missionary activities of olaf the stout.[ ] canute had not been lord of england more than six or seven years before the norwegian problem began to take on unusual interest. before long the missionary king found his throne completely undermined by streams of british gold. the exiles who sought refuge at winchester and the men who bore the bribe-money back to norway were scarcely enthusiastic for the faith that frowned on piracy; consequently it continued to be necessary for canute to play the rôle of the tolerant, broad-minded monarch, who, while holding firmly to his own faith, was unwilling to interfere with the religious rites of others. in his later ecclesiastical legislation, canute gave the church all the enactments that it might wish for; but it is a significant fact that these laws did not come before the northern question had been settled according to canute's desires and his viceroy was ruling in norway. edgar's laws, which were re-enacted in , at the oxford assembly, deal with the matter of christianity in general terms only. the more explicit and extensive church legislation of ethelred's day was set aside and apparently remained a dead letter until it was in large measure re-enacted as a part of canute's great church law late in the reign. the early surroundings of the king had not been such as to develop in him the uncompromising zeal that characterised the typical christian monarch in mediæval times. we do not know when he was baptised; it may have been in childhood, and it must have been before the conquest of england, as the christian name lambert, which was added in baptism to the heathen name by which we know him, would suggest that the rite was administered by a german ecclesiastic.[ ] it is believed that he was confirmed by ethelnoth the good, the english churchman who later became archbishop of canterbury.[ ] we do not know when the rite of confirmation was administered, but the probabilities point to the winter months of - ; for during these months canute was several times in south-western england where ethelnoth lived at the time. the subjection of england to an alien, half-heathen aristocracy must have caused many difficulties to the english church. how the problems were met we do not know. the mediæval church, however, was usually to be found on the side of power: the church loved order and believed in supporting good and efficient government whenever circumstances would permit it. soon after the meeting at oxford, apparently in , archbishop lifing made a journey to rome; we may conjecture that he went to seek counsel and to obtain instructions as to what attitude the english clergy should assume toward the new powers, but we do not know. it is clear, however, that the subject was seriously discussed at the papal court, for the archbishop brought back a letter to canute exhorting him to practise the virtues of christian kingship. it must have nattered the young dane to receive this, for he refers to it in his proclamation: i have taken to heart the written words and verbal messages that archbishop lifing brought me from the pope from rome, that i should everywhere extol the praise of god, put away injustice, and promote full security and peace, so far as god should give me strength.[ ] that same year the venerable primate died, and ethelnoth the good was appointed to succeed him as archbishop of canterbury.[ ] the choice was evidently the king's own and the two men seem to have laboured together in singular harmony. but though ethelnoth was primate, the dominant influence at court seems to have been that of an abbot in devonshire. when abbot lifing was yet only a monk at winchester, he seems to have attracted the king's attention; at any rate, we are told by the historian of malmesbury that he became an intimate friend of canute and exerted great influence with him.[ ] it may have been this friendship that secured to lifing the abbacy of tavistock, perhaps in , in which year he witnessed charters for the first time as abbot. lifing's advance to power was rapid. two years after his first appearance in the documents as abbot, we find that he had been elevated to the episcopal office, having probably been advanced to the see of crediton.[ ] the devonshire country had been the centre of a persistent anti-danish movement, it appears, and it was surely a prudent move to place a strong partisan of the new order in control of the church in the southwestern shires. in the same year, the king further honoured him with landed estates in hampshire. this must have been just prior to the holy river campaign in sweden, on which expedition the bishop probably accompanied his royal master (william of malmesbury tells us that he frequently went to denmark with canute); at all events, when canute without first returning to england made his journey to rome, in the early months of , the bishop of crediton was an important member of the king's retinue. it was bishop lifing who was sent back to england with canute's famous message to the english church and people, the king himself going on to denmark. william of malmesbury describes him as a violent, wilful, and ambitious prelate; when he died (in ) the earth took proper notice and trembled throughout all england.[ ] the year was one of great significance for english history in the reign of canute. in that year he returned to england as danish king; in that same year he issued his proclamation to his anglian subjects and announced his new governmental policy; the same year saw the appointment of a new and friendly primate of the anglican church; in that year, too, began a series of benefactions and other semi-religious acts that made canute's name dear to the english churchmen and secured him the favour of monastic chroniclers. these took various forms: new foundations were established and many of the older ones received increased endowments; monasteries that had been defiled or destroyed in the danish raids were repaired or rebuilt; the fields where the lord of hosts had given the victory to canute's armies were adorned with churches where masses were said for the souls of the slain; saints were honoured; pilgrimages were made; heathen practices were outlawed. the series properly begins with the consecration of the church on ashington field in . the church itself was apparently a modest structure, but the dedication ceremonies were elaborate. as the primacy was evidently vacant at the time, archbishop lifing having died about mid-year (june ),[ ] the venerable wulfstan of the northern province was called on to officiate. with him were numerous ecclesiastics, bishops, abbots, and monks. king canute and earl thurkil also graced the occasion with their presence.[ ] it is interesting to note that the office of chapel priest at ashington was given to a clerk of danish blood, the later prelate stigand, one of the few danes who have held ecclesiastical offices in england. stigand for a time sat on the episcopal throne in the cathedrals of winchester and canterbury. doubtless a dane could perform the offices on this particular field with a blither spirit than a native englishman. if the intention was to impress the english church, canute clearly succeeded. though details are wanting, it is understood that similar foundations soon graced the other fields where canute had fought and won. in that same year, apparently, monks were substituted for secular clerks as guardians of saint edmund's shrine. grievously had the danes sinned against the holy east anglian king. five generations earlier he had suffered ignominious martyrdom at the hands of the vikings. the saint had again suffered outrage in the closing months of king sweyn's life by what seemed to be petty persecution of the priests who served at his sacred shrine. as we have already seen, the king's sudden death while the matter of tribute was still unsettled gave rise to the legend that saint edmund struck down the dane "in like manner as the holy mercurius slew the nithing julian." it was charged that the priests of the holy place led disorderly lives, and on the advice of the neighbouring bishop, elfwine of elmham, it was determined to eject them. earl thurkil's consent was asked and received. monks to the number of twenty were brought from saint benet hulme and ely.[ ] the same year a new church was begun, that the relics of the martyr might have a more suitable home. the monks naturally organised themselves into a monastic community, which seems to have enjoyed full immunity from the very beginning: a trench was run around saint edmund's chapel on the edge of which all tax-gathering was to stop. in addition it is said that the lady emma pledged an annual gift of tour thousand eels from lakenheath, though this was probably a later contribution. the brethren of the monastery also claimed that canute granted them extensive jurisdiction over the manors that belonged to the new foundation.[ ] it is evident that large endowments were given and canute in this way became in a sense the founder of one of the most important sanctuaries of mediæval england. william of malmesbury tells us that canute disliked the english saints, but the evidence indicates the contrary. the only instance of ill-will recorded is in the case of saint edith, king edgar's holy daughter. saint edith rested at wilton, where there was a religious house for women that had enjoyed her patronage. canute expressed a doubt as to the sanctity of a daughter of the immoral edgar and ordered the shrine to be opened. the offended princess arose, we are told, and struck the impious king in the face.[ ] canute acknowledged his error and did penance. there may be some truth in the story so far as it relates to the king's hostility or incredulity, for saint edith was the sister of canute's old enemy, king ethelred. it may have been the vigorous argument of saint edith, or genuine piety, or political considerations that wrought the change, but it is clear that canute soon developed a profound respect for the saints that rested in england. he caused the relics of saint wistan to be translated from repingdon to a more suitable home in the honoured abbey of evesham.[ ] the remains of saint felix were brought back to ramsey in the face of strong opposition from the jealous monks of ely.[ ] on one of his northern journeys the king turned aside to durham to adore the bones of the mighty saint cuthbert. five miles did the king walk with bare feet to the durham sepulchre, and after showing proper respect and veneration, he concluded his visit with a royal gift of lands, two manors, we are told, with all their belongings.[ ] toward the close of his reign, by legislative act, he gave the strenuous dunstan a place on the calendar of english saints.[ ] by far the most famous act of homage of this sort was the translation of saint alphege from london to canterbury in , famous not because of its peculiar importance, but because certain literary monks saw fit to write long accounts of it. this, too, was an act of expiation: so far as the sins of canute's people were concerned the case of bishop alphege was much like that of the martyred king edmund. alphege was from western england and became a monk at deerhurst in gloucestershire. he was for a time abbot of bath and later bishop of winchester. it was he who confirmed olaf trygvesson and thus indirectly began the work that resulted in the conversion of norway. as archbishop of canterbury he seems to have taken a pastoral interest in the danish besiegers, for which he was rewarded with indignities and death. his bones had been laid at rest at saint paul's in london; but canterbury was naturally anxious to have her first martyred bishop in her own house, while london, on the other hand, is said to have watched over the sacred remains with a jealous care that bore the marks of avarice rather than of veneration. we are told that canute earlier had formed the purpose of translating the relics and that certain calamities had recalled the intention to his mind. he suggested the project to archbishop ethelnoth, who doubted the feasibility of the venture. according to the highly-coloured report of the monk osbern who claims to have his information from an eye-witness, the king and the archbishop secretly removed the body from its resting-place and gave it to a monk who bore it to the thames where the king's ship lay ready to receive it. the attention of the londoners was diverted to other parts of the city by feigned excitement at the farther gates, for which the king's housecarles were responsible. meanwhile, the royal ship, with canute himself at the rudder, was conveying the remains to southwark, where they were given into the keeping of the archbishop and his companions, who bore them joyfully on to rochester. here the party was joined by queen emma and the five-year-old princeling harthacanute accompanied by a strong force of housecarles. the translation was effected in june and occupied seven days.[ ] the dane's interest in the church also expressed itself in frequent and important endowments. while it is not always possible to verify these grants, there can be little doubt that the monastic records are usually correct on the points of possession and donors, though the extant charters are frequently forgeries produced at a time when titles were called into question. in some of these gifts, too, we see clearly a desire to atone for past wrongs. canterbury, which had suffered heavy losses at the hands of thurkil and his wild comrades, was assured of its liberties and immunities early in the reign.[ ] another act of expiation was the visit and gift to glastonbury, the famous monastery that had received the bones of edmund ironside. a century after canute's time edmund's grave was covered with a "pall of rich materials, embroidered with figures of peacocks." legend ascribes the gift to canute, and may in this case be trustworthy. with the king at edmund's grave stood archbishop ethelnoth, who was at one time a monk at glastonbury.[ ] the visit seems to have been made in , perhaps on the eve of canute's expedition against the norwegians and swedes. perhaps canute's most famous gift was the golden cross at winchester. some time in the early years of his reign, apparently in , probably just before his visit to denmark, he gave to the new minster a "magnificent golden cross, richly ornamented with precious stones"; in addition to this, "two large images of gold and silver, and sundry relics of the saints."[ ] it seems to have been a gorgeous present, one that was keenly appreciated by the recipients, and the history of which was long recounted. the gift was apparently accompanied by a donation of valuable lands.[ ] canute also showed an interest in the monastery of saint benet hulme, to which three manors were given.[ ] it is claimed that he granted certain immunities to the church of saint mary devon in exeter, but the evidence is not trustworthy.[ ] the great abbey of evesham was not forgotten: the blessed wistan was given a black chasuble and other ornaments, probably at the time of his translation.[ ] it may be that in making this gift the king wished to show his appreciation of the abbot as well as to honour the saint: abbot elf ward is said to have been canute's cousin; if such was the case he must have been the son of the ill-starred pallig. gifts there also were of a more personal character, gifts to various ecclesiastics, monks, and priests whom the king wished to honour; especially may we mention the grants to bishop burhwold and to bishop lifing.[ ] but such donations were not numerous; canute seems to have preferred to honour foundations, probably because in mediæval times the institution was of greater consequence than the individual. the gifts enumerated were made during the first half of the reign. grants were made in the second period as well: abingdon claims to have enjoyed his favour[ ]; the old minster at winchester was endowed with lands and adorned with specimens of the goldsmith's art[ ]; a considerable gift of lands was made to york cathedral[ ]; but these seem to reveal a different spirit and purpose in the giver. before his career closed the great dane became an ardent christian; but in his earlier years, the politician left little room to the churchman: the church was a factor merely, though a great factor, in the political situation. other kings have gloried in new foundations as monuments to religious zeal; canute selected the long-established, the widely-influential shrines and houses and gave his favour chiefly to them. in return he doubtless expected the favour of saints cuthbert, alphege, edmund, felix, and dunstan, and the support of canterbury, evesham, winchester, and the other great institutions that he endowed. it is to be noted that nearly all the institutions that shared the royal bounty were located in the anglo-saxon south where canute especially needed to build up a personal following. the exceptions were york, durham, and coventry where the faithful rejoiced in an arm of saint augustine, a relic of peculiar value that canute is said to have bestowed on the city.[ ] whatever his motives were, it is clear that canute showed an interest in matters ecclesiastical far beyond what the church might reasonably expect from a king whose training had scarcely been positively christian, and who still kept in close touch with the non-christian influences that dominated so much of the north. still, one desire remained unsatisfied: thus far the king had done nothing to make the christian faith compulsory in england. the proclamation of looks in that direction; but it contains no decree of the desired sort. it is a peculiar document, remarkable more for what it omits than for what it actually contains. god's laws, by which the rules of the church are doubtless meant, are not to be violated; but the important task of bringing the violators to justice is committed to the old pirate, thurkil the tall, whose appreciation of christian virtues and divine commandments cannot have been of the keenest.[ ] certain characteristically heathen sins are to be avoided: among the things forbidden is to consort with witches and sorceresses.[ ] but the only crime of this nature for which the document prescribes a specific penalty is that of marrying a nun or any other woman who has taken sacred vows: and if any one has done so, let him be an outlaw before god and excommunicated from all christendom, and let him forfeit all his possessions to the king, unless he quickly desist from sin and do deep penance before god.[ ] it is evident, however, that canute believed that the process of education in the church from sunday to sunday would eventually solve the problem of heathenism in england; for he closes his proclamation with an exhortation to all his subjects to attend faithfully the divine services: and further still we admonish all men to keep the sunday festival with all their might and observe it from saturday's noon to monday's dawning; and let no man be so bold as to buy or sell or to seek any court on that holy day. and let all men, poor and rich, seek their church and ask forgiveness for their sins and earnestly keep every ordained fast and gladly honour the saints, as the mass priest shall bid us, that we may all be able and permitted, through the mercy of the everlasting god and the intercession of his saints, to share the joys of the heavenly kingdom and dwell with him who liveth and reigneth forever without end. amen.[ ] footnotes: [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. , , . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. : schol. . it seems to have been customary to add a christian name in baptism. there is an allusion to canute's conversion in the chronicle of adémar de chabannes (ii., c. ), who seems to believe that canute became a christian after the conquest of england. but the authority of the aquitanian chronicler, though contemporary, cannot be so weighty as that of the records of the church of bremen which the scholiast seems to have used in the entry cited above. for adémar's statement see waitz, _scriptores (m.g.h.)_, iv., . [ ] langebek, _scriptores_, ii., : osbern's tract concerning the translation of saint alphege. osbern tells us that ethelnoth was dear to canute because he had anointed him with the sacred chrism. this cannot refer to his coronation, nor is it likely to have reference to his baptism, as ethelnoth, would scarcely have given canute a german name. it seems, therefore, that it must allude to his confirmation. [ ] liebermann, _geschichte der angelsachsen_, i., . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _gesta pontificum_, . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . to this he afterwards added the see of worcester, to which he was appointed by harold in . _ibid._, . [ ] _gesta pontificum_, - . [ ] stubbs, _registrum sacrum anglicanum_, . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _memorials of saint edmund's abbey_, i., xxvii, , . [ ] _ibid._, i., . [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta pontificum_, . [ ] _chronicon abbatiæ de evesham_, - . [ ] _historia rameseiensis_, - . [ ] simeon of durham, _opera omnia_, i., . [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., . [ ] most of these details are from osbern's tract on the life and translation of saint alphege. see langebek, _scriptores_, ii., or wharton's _anglia sacra_, ii. the account in the _chronicle_ is briefer but more reliable. [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, nos. and ; of these the former is scarcely genuine. [ ] william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] _liber de hyda_, xxxvi. [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] _ibid._, no. . [ ] _chronicon abbatiæ de evesham_, . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, nos. , . [ ] _chronicon monasterii de abingdon_, i., ff. [ ] _annales monastici_, ii., . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] gervase of canterbury, _historical works_, ii., . the arm was brought to england from rome by archbishop ethelnoth. william of malmesbury, _gesta regum_, i., . [ ] sec. . [ ] sec. . as the term used for sorceress seems to be norse, this prohibition was evidently aimed at practices in the danelaw. [ ] sec. . [ ] secs. - . chapter viii the twilight of the gods the question what attitude to assume toward the organised english church may have caused canute some embarrassment; but the english problem was simple compared with the religious complications that the young king had to face in the north. england was christian, at least officially, while scandinavia was still largely heathen; though every day saw the camps of christendom pitched a little farther toward the arctic. in all the northern kingdoms missionaries were at work planting the seeds of the new faith. by the close of the millennium christianity had made great progress in the danish kingdom; it was firmly rooted in jutland and had found a foothold on the islands and in scania. among the norwegians the new worship had also made some progress; but in sweden the darkness of heathendom still hung heavy and low. norse christianity doubtless filtered in with the viking raids: with the plunder of the catholic south and west, the sea-kings also appropriated many of the forms and ideas of western civilisation, and it is not to be supposed that the fields of religious thought were neglected or overlooked. king hakon the good became a christian at the court of his foster-father, ethelstan, the grandson of alfred.[ ] the sons of eric bloodax were also baptised in england, where their father had found an exile's refuge.[ ] olaf trygvesson found his faith and his mission while fighting as viking in england. olaf the saint received baptism in rouen on his return from a raid as viking mercenary. thus norway had been in close touch with the new faith for nearly a century; and yet, christianity had made but little actual progress. during the reign of canute the danish church reached the stage of effective organisation, while in norway the religious activities were still of the missionary type. [illustration: hammers of thor (from the closing years of heathendom).] the forces of the anse-gods were in retreat all along the religious frontier; but it is not to be supposed that they were panic-stricken. to their zeal for the ancestral worship was added a love for the conflict which inspired the faithful to contest every inch of the christian advance. the challenge of thor has a sort of historic reality in it: in a sense the issue of religion was settled in the north by wager of battle. in his admiration for strength and force, many a northman seemed willing to follow the lead of the stronger cult. the anse-faith of the viking age seems to have been a development of an ancient form of heaven worship or possibly of sun worship, traces of which have been found in the north from the days of the stone age.[ ] in time the deity came to be viewed from various angles, and each particular aspect was individualised and made the object of separate worship. thus, apparently, arose the three great divinities, thor, woden, and frey. thor is the god of strength, the mighty defender of gods and men. his name (o. eng. _thunor_), his flaming beard, the crash of his hammer-stroke show that the thor-conception was closely associated with early notions of thunder and lightning. similarly, the name of woden[ ] associates his divinity with the untamed forces of nature, the fury of the tempest, the wrath of the storm. he is, therefore, the god of the battle rush, the divine force that inspires the athletic frenzy of the berserk. thor is armed with a hammer, woden with a spear. thor rides in a cart drawn by rams; woden's mount is a swift eight-footed horse. but woden is more than a mere god of conflict; he is wise and cunning and knows the mysteries of the world. frey is the god of fruitfulness, the sun-god as giver of life and growth. he should be worshipped by tillers of the soil. in the course of time, new deities were admitted to the scandinavian pantheon; some of these were no doubt developed from older conceptions; others were evidently introduced from neighbouring cults. gradually the old, rude beliefs came to be overlaid with myths, a series of strange tales, bold, strong, and weird. recent scholars have held that many of these were borrowed from the bulging storehouse of christian faith and legend--the result of intellectual contact between the old races and the norse immigrant on the western islands.[ ] but even where this borrowing can be clearly traced, the modifying touches of the norse imagination are clearly in evidence. the northern peoples also developed a system of ethics of which we have a remarkable statement in the eddic poem, the "song of the high one." while of a lower character than that associated with christianity, it was, when we consider the soil from which it sprang, a remarkable growth. candour, honesty, courage, strength, fidelity, and hospitality were enjoined and emphasised. the northman was impressed with the fact that all things seem perishable; but he hoped that the fame of a good life would continue after death. cattle die, kinsmen die, finally dies one-self; but never shall perish the fame of him who has won a good renown. cattle die, kinsmen die, finally dies one-self; but one thing i know that always remains, judgment passed on the dead.[ ] but the duties toward the hostile and the weak, that christianity strove to inculcate, the northman did not appreciate: slavery was common; weak and unwelcome children were often exposed at birth; revenge was a sacred duty. it is not the intention to enter upon a full discussion of old northern faith and morals: in the conversion of a people that had reached the particular stage of culture that the norsemen occupied in the eleventh century, neither is of prime importance. it is doubtful whether the vikings were much interested in the intricacies of dogma, be it heathen or christian. it also seems unlikely that christian morals as practised at the time could have proved very attractive. in the life of saint olaf, for instance, there was little that we should regard as saintly, but much that was cruel, sinful, and coarse. the celtic church, with which the norwegians first came into close contact, seems to have put a somewhat liberal construction on the ten commandments. the forms of worship, however, were of the first importance: in the gorgeous ritual of the mediæval church the heathen could not fail to see a tangible excellence that his own rude worship did not possess. the anse-faith knew no priesthood: the various local officials were charged with the duty of performing the ancient rites, though some evidently had peculiar responsibilities in this matter. in the family the father had certain sacerdotal duties. the gods were worshipped in temples, though not exclusively so; sacred groves and fountains were also used for such purposes. frequently, also, the great hall of a chief was dedicated to the gods and used for sacrificial feasts.[ ] most famous of all the old scandinavian sanctuaries was that at upsala in eastern sweden, built, we are told, by the god frey himself. it was a large wooden structure, highly ornamented with gold. within were rude images of the three major divinities, thor, woden, and frey, with thor's image in the chief place. near the temple there grew, according to the account in adam's chronicle, an exceedingly large tree that always kept its verdure, in winter as well as in summer. there was also a fountain where the victims were sometimes drowned; if the corpse did not reappear, the favour of the gods was assured. in the sacred grove about the sanctuary, the sacrificial victims were hung--horses, dogs, and other beasts, frequently also human beings. the corpses were not removed but permitted to hang from the trees. adam reports that an eye-witness once counted seventy-two such sacrificial victims.[ ] every ninth year the entire swedish nation was summoned to sacrifice at upsala. the feast was celebrated shortly before the vernal equinox and continued nine days. at least one human being was sacrificed each day. great multitudes were in attendance--king and people all sent their offerings to upsala. it seems, however, that christians were released from the duty of attendance on the payment of money.[ ] it is clear that the gathering had a national as well as a religious significance. elaborate festivities were combined with the sacrifices. three times in the year did the northmen gather in this manner to feast and to invoke the gods: at yule-tide in january, at the vernal equinox, and late in the autumn. of these gatherings the sagas speak somewhat explicitly and seem to give reliable information. it was the old way, when a sacrifice was to be, that all the franklins should come to the place where the temple was, and carry thither the victuals that they wished to have as long as the feast lasted. all were to have a drinking together, and there were also slaughtered all kinds of cattle and also horses. and all the blood that came thereof was then called sortilege-blood, and sortilege-bowls those wherein the blood stood, and sortilege-twigs that were made like a sprinkler. with this blood were all the altars to be sprinkled withal, and also the walls of the temple without and within, and also sprinkled on the people, but the meat was seethed for the entertainment of the people. there had to be fires in the midst of the floor of the temple, and kettles over them, and the toasts were carried across the fire. and he that made the feast or was chief had to make a sign over the toast and the sanctified meat. first must come woden's toast: that was drunk to victory and power of the king; and then niard's toast; and frey's toast for good seasons and peace. it was many men's wont to drink brage's toast after that. men also would drink a toast to their kinsmen that had been laid in their barrows, and that was called the memory toast.[ ] this description applies more especially to the great yule-festivities, but its more prominent features, the gathering, the sacrificial slaughter, the blood-sprinkling, the toasts, and the feasting, were evidently common usages, though places and occasions probably developed varieties of customary worship. on the same occasions, the will of the gods was ascertained by the casting of lot or other processes of sortilege. vows were pledged and oaths were registered. a ring of two-ounce weight or more must lie on the altar in every head temple. this ring every _godë_ (temple-official) must carry in his hand to any law-moot that he himself was to preside over, and he must first redden it in the blood of the sacrificial beast which he sacrificed there himself.[ ] in the myth ragnarok the sibyl has told of the end of all things, even of the divinities; how the twilight shall settle down upon the life of the anses; how their strength shall wither and age steal upon them; and how at last swart, the lord of the fire-world, shall come to the attack wrapped in flames. swart from the south comes with flaming sword; bright from his blade the sun is blazing. stagger the stony peaks, stumble the giants; heroes fare helward and heaven yawns.[ ] it is an awful picture that the prophetess unrolls for us of all the personified forces of destruction mustering to do battle against the gods. the forces of evil win, for weakness has stolen upon the world in the "twilight" preceding the final conflict: "an age of lust, of ax and sword, and of crashing shields, of wind and wolf ere the world crumbles."[ ] then comes the end of all things: swart is the sun, earth sinks in the ocean, the shining stars are quenched in the sky. smoke and steam encircle the ash-tree, flame-tongues lick the lofty heaven.[ ] [illustration: the tjÄngvide stone (monument from the island of gotland. the stone shows various mythological figures; see below, page .)] the prophecy of destruction as well as an expressed hope of future regeneration shows quite clearly the result of christian influence on thought and imagery. the poem must consequently have been produced after the north had come under the spell of western culture, some time, perhaps, in the tenth century. less than a century later the "twilight of the gods" had set in. the union of the anglo-saxon to the danish crown could not fail to affect missionary operations in the north. it would seem at first sight as if the work would be strengthened and hastened, for now the christianising energies of britain would be added to those of germany. as a matter of fact the situation became more complex and difficult: the union brought out the question whether the primacy of the new church should belong to hamburg-bremen or to canterbury. it seems that canute at one time held out hopes to archbishop ethelnoth of rising to metropolitan authority of the danish as well as of the english nation. such an arrangement would seem natural and highly desirable: the empire that canute ruled from winchester could be more readily held together if its ecclesiastical concerns were all directed from the cathedral at canterbury. these new plans with respect to the young danish church apparently date from the years immediately following canute's return to england as danish king ( ). his new interest in english ecclesiastical matters has been discussed elsewhere. in , ethelnoth consecrated three bishops for danish sees: gerbrand for zealand (roeskild); reginbert for funen (odense); and bernhard for the scanian lands.[ ] the sources also state that many other english bishops were sent to denmark from england, but no names are given. it is to be noted that the names given above are not anglo-saxon but german. it has therefore been thought that these bishops were from flanders or lorraine, in which regions there was an ecclesiastical movement of some importance in the days of canute.[ ] of these three the most important was doubtless gerbrand, whose cathedral was located at roeskild, the royal residential city. at this time unwan was archbishop of hamburg-bremen. unwan was an aggressive and ambitious prelate; it was not with pleasure that he learned of the new bishops from the west; without the north as its mission-field, bremen would be a sorry province. bishop gerbrand on his journey to his new parish,--he was probably sailing along the german coast according to custom,--was captured and brought before archbishop unwan who forced him to do proper homage. apparently the german prelate made a favourable impression on bishop gerbrand for through his influence the archbishop induced canute to agree that future bishops should be consecrated at bremen.[ ] tradition is doubtless correct in ascribing to canute considerable activity in the endowment of churches. the statement that he established monasteries in denmark is probably an error; if he attempted to do so, his efforts failed[ ]; some time still had to pass before the viking could find contentment in the cloister. danish monasticism dates from the closing years of the century, when twelve monks from evesham on the avon came on request of king eric to found a monastery at odense. it seems likely that the payment of peter's pence dates from this reign. as to the amount of this tax nothing is known; but it is probable that the sum was a very modest one, as the danes in england seem to have been specially favoured in this matter, the tax in the danelaw being half as large as in the rest of england.[ ] across the sound in scania, the introduction of christianity was a slower process. we learn that in sweyn's time an englishman, godebald, was appointed bishop there, and that he occasionally preached in the neighbouring sections of sweden and norway.[ ] the results were evidently meagre, but it is significant that the preacher came from england. the norwegian church is in a peculiar sense a daughter of the english church. the first serious attempt at mission work in norway was made about the middle of the tenth century, when king hakon built a few churches and sent for english priests to officiate in them. one of these apparently bore the episcopal title, sigfrid, a monk of glastonbury.[ ] the yeomanry gathered and slew the missionaries and the work came to nought. when olaf trygvesson seized the kingship ( ), he came accompanied by english priests. among these was bishop sigurd, who was probably a northumbrian of norse ancestry, and evidently a man of strength and discretion. after the battle of swald he seems to have continued his labours in sweden. english missionaries also came with olaf the stout. he was accompanied by a number of priests and bishops from england through whose doctrine and instruction he prepared his heart for god, and to whose guidance he entrusted the people who were subject to him. among these were men who were famous for learning and virtue, namely sigfrid, grimkell, rudolf, and bernhard.[ ] [illustration: the church at urnes (norway) (from about .)] it is to be observed once more that none of these bears an anglo-saxon name: sigfrid and grimkell were doubtless natives of the danelaw, of norse blood, but english in culture and faith; bernhard may have been a german from the country of the lower rhine; rudolf is said to have been a kinsman of edward the confessor; as his name is norman, we shall have to conclude that he was a relative of queen emma, edward's mother. late in life he received from the confessor an important appointment as abbot of abingdon ( ).[ ] so long as king olaf lived grimkell seems to have held the office of chief bishop. these were the men who laid the foundation of the norwegian church; later missionaries from britain continued the work along the earlier lines. the result was that the new church came largely to be organised according to english models. its ceremonial came to reflect old english practices. its terminology was formed according to anglo-saxon analogies.[ ] characteristic of both the english and the norse church was an extensive use of the vernacular. and many remarkable parallels have been found in the church legislation of king ethelred and the ecclesiastical laws attributed to saint olaf.[ ] it would seem most fitting that a church so intimately connected with english christianity should pass under the metropolitan jurisdiction of the see at canterbury, and such may have been saint olaf's original intention. but the establishment of danish power at winchester, the appointment of canute's friend ethelnoth to the primacy, and canute's designs on the norwegian throne made such an arrangement impractical. there was consequently nothing to do but to enter into relations with the see of bremen. adam tells us that olaf sent an embassy[ ] headed by bishop grimkell with gifts to our archbishop and bearing the request that he receive these [english] bishops favourably and send others of his own consecration that the rude norwegian people might be strengthened in the christian faith. [illustration: runic monument shows hammer of thor the odderness stone] it is difficult to appreciate the tremendous social changes that the introduction of christianity worked among the northmen of the eleventh century. there was so much that was new in christian practice that the adjustment was a difficult matter. the rigid observance of the seventh day; the numerous holidays; the frequent fasts and the long abstentions of lent; the duties of confession and penance; the support of a new social class, the priests; all these things the unwilling convert found exceedingly irksome. in addition to this, there were certain prohibitions that also worked hardships: marriage within certain degrees of kinship; the exposure of children (except such as were born with deformities, who might be exposed after baptism); the eating of horseflesh, and other honoured northern customs. much that was heathen could not be rooted out. the churches were frequently built near the old sanctuaries and the new worship unavoidably came to be associated in many minds with much that was heathen.[ ] while canute was organising the church in denmark, olaf was striving to reshape norwegian society and uproot the old faith. with force and fair words he won many for the new order, but many more refused to receive baptism. ten years passed with growing discontent; so long as the nation was still heathen in morals and view of life, resistance was inevitable. finally the partisans of the old rites and practices turned to canute, the great christian king. and he who should have been a defender of the faith heard their complaints with unfeigned joy. footnotes: [ ] snorre, _saga of harold fairhair_, c. . hakon's dates according to saga are - . the earlier date should probably be corrected to or a later year, perhaps . see _norges historie_, i., ii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of hakon the good_, c. . eric bloodax was hakon's half-brother. for a time he ruled northumbria as vassal of the english king. _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . the vassal relationship is asserted in the sagas. [ ] montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, . two symbols of sun worship, the wheel and the axe (the symbol of lightning which later developed into thor's hammer), can be traced back to the close of the stone age. _ibid._, . the worship of the bright sky may have preceded that of the sun. [ ] german _wotan_. cf. mod. ger. _wuth_. [ ] particularly the late sophus bugge in _the home of the eddic poems_ and elsewhere. [ ] _hávamál_, - . (_corpus poeticum boreale_, i, .) [ ] montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, . [ ] _gesta_, iv., c. and schol. , . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] vigfusson and powell, _origines islandicæ_:, i., - . from the _hakonar saga_. [ ] vigfusson and powell, _origines islandicæ_, i., . from the _landnáma-bóc_. [ ] voluspá, ii. - . (_corpus poeticum boreale_, i., .) [ ] voluspá, ii. - . [ ] _ibid._, ii. - . [ ] stubbs, _registrant sacrum anglicanum_, . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., , - . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] taranger, _den angelsaksiske kirkes indflydelse paa den norske_, . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . _anglia sacra_, i., . [ ] an illustration of this appears on a runic monument at odderness in southern norway raised in memory of a godson of saint olaf: "oivind, saint olaf's godson [_kosunr_ or _gosunr]_ raised this church on his allodial land." [ ] for the account of the anglo-saxon missionaries i am indebted to taranger's work on the influence of the anglo-saxon on the norwegian church: _den angelsaksiske kirkes indflydelse paa den norske_. [ ] _gesta_, ii., c. ; iv., c. . the embassy was probably sent some time during the years - , and perhaps shortly before canute accepted the supremacy of hamburg-bremen in denmark. [ ] this paragraph is summarised from professor bugge's discussion in _norges historie_, i., ii., - . chapter ix canute and the norwegian conspiracy - the sons of earl hakon, eric and sweyn, who ruled norway for fifteen years after the fall of olaf trygvesson, were not aggressive rulers. they were not of the blood royal, they were vassals of alien kings, both seem by nature to have been of an easy-going disposition; hence they were not able to command obedience to the extent that a strong monarchy demanded. as a result, the norwegian aristocracy arrogated to itself a great measure of independence. the peasantry resumed their old habits and practices; in many places the old worship was wholly restored, including the sacrificial festivals. the earls were christians, but did not interfere. of a different type was king olaf haroldsson. he was determined and forceful, equipped with a vigorous intellect and a will that could brook no opposition. though his policies extended far beyond the religious field, his chief anxiety was to make norway a christian kingdom. his zeal was that of the convert, the passion of the devotee; but it was more than that: it was the purpose of the far-seeing statesman. in his viking adventures he had become acquainted with the advantages of the european political system. he wished to introduce this into his own kingdom, to europeanise norway. this was the great king-thought for which saint olaf lived and fell. but at the basis of the european system lay christianity. in his proselyting endeavours, he met opposition from the very beginning; but for a time he was able to overcome all resistance. however, the spirit of rebellion was silenced only; after five years of missionary effort, king olaf found that christian progress was apparent rather than real. he also found that the devotees of the old worship were still determined and that a group of chiefs were organising an opposition that might overturn his throne. the opposition was of two sorts: on the one hand the christian was opposed by the partisan of the old gods; on the other hand olaf's strong kingship was disliked by the chiefs who recalled the freedom that they had enjoyed in the days of the two earls. distances were great in norway; travel was difficult; the ocean was the best highway. but with sail and oar it took time to reach the settlements on the long coast line, and the king soon learned that promises to renounce the anses were easily forgotten or broken. then followed crop failures in the far north: it was clear that frey was angry and wished to punish the apostacy of his people.[ ] in the aristocratic opposition five chieftains bear special prominence. at soli on the wide plains of jæderen in south-western norway, not far from the modern city of stavanger, lived erling, the son of skjalg. erling had sailed with king olaf to wendland, but had had no part in the fight at swald. later the earls found it advisable to make peace with the soli family and gave erling skjalgsson a magnificent fief in the south-west. from the naze to the sogn firth his was the ruling influence. of all the norwegian magnates erling was unquestionably the most powerful; and though both earl eric and king olaf had looked askance at his power, he maintained his position for a quarter of a century. five active sons and a spirited daughter grew up in erling's house. the lord of soli never was an ideal subject; but after his nephew asbjörn slew one of king olaf's servants in the royal presence during the easter festivities, a quarrel broke out that had fatal consequences.[ ] the island of giski some distance north of cape stadt was the ancestral seat of the famous arnung family, which for several generations held a prominent place in the councils of norway. according to tradition the family was founded by one finnvid who was found in an eagle's nest, and hence was known as finnvid found. the family took its name from arne, a prominent chief in saint olaf's day and a good friend of the king. seven sons and a daughter were born to arne and his good wife thora. the oldest of the sons married the only daughter of the mighty erling. arne's daughter became the wife of another prominent lord and enemy of olaf, harek of tjotta. for a time all the sons of arne supported the king and kalf alone finally joined his enemies. olvi of egg, a wealthy thronder, was found to have continued the old sacrificial practices in secret, and on the king's orders was slain. kalf arnesson married his widow, and from that day his loyalty was shaken.[ ] far to the north lived two chiefs who were also counted among the king's opponents: harek of tjotta and thor the dog. thor was the ill-fated asbjörn's uncle and the brother-in-law of the slain olvi. he lived on the bark-isle beyond the arctic circle and was easily the most powerful man in those regions.[ ] harek lived on the isle of tjotta, a little to the south of the polar circle. he seems to have had something of a monopoly of the finnish trade and from this and other sources amassed great wealth. in the norse nobility few stood higher than harek: he counted among his kinsmen the reigning king as well as his predecessors the earls.[ ] in the rebellion that finally cost king olaf his life, thor and harek were prominent leaders. in the throndelaw, some distance south of nidaros, dwelt einar thongshaker. einar, the strongest and most athletic norseman of his day, the archer who could pierce a damp ox-hide with a blunt shaft, was also a man of great personal influence. married to earl eric's sister, he was naturally in sympathy with the dynastic claims of the earl's family. for some years after the defeat at the nesses, he had lived in exile in sweden; but finally he was reconciled to king olaf and was permitted to return.[ ] it does not appear that any of these leaders had any enthusiasm for the old faith; erling skjalgsson and einar thongshaker seem to have been zealous christians. but among their kinsmen were many who clung to the worship of woden and thor. wherever the king found heathen rites celebrated in open or secret, harsh measures were employed--loss of property, of limb, and even of life. thus the chiefs saw many a kinsman dishonoured or dead, and to their disinclination to obey the royal mandate was joined the motive of private revenge. soon dissatisfaction was rife everywhere, and over the north sea fled yearly a band of exiles who had resisted the royal will. among those who went west was einar thongshaker, though he went ostensibly as a pilgrim, not as a plotter. soon after his return from sweden he found it advisable to seek expiation at rome for earlier sins, and in or he left for the eternal city. it seems probable that his brother-in-law eric joined him in this expedition or planned to do so, for the sagas persist in connecting eric's death, which must have occurred about , with a pilgrimage to rome, at least projected and perhaps carried out. in england einar is said to have visited young earl hakon, possibly in his earldom in the severn valley; he also had an interview with canute "and was given great gifts."[ ] einar's visit was probably just after canute's return from his expedition to the slavic lands. whether the pilgrimage was more than a mere pretext we do not know, though it probably was made in good faith. after his return to norway he was not active in king olaf's service, though he showed no open hostility. many magnates or sons of prominent franklins had fared to canute on various errands; but all who came to king canute were given their hands full of wealth. there one could see greater splendour than elsewhere, both as to the multitude of people in daily attendance and in the other arrangements on the manors that he possessed and occupied. canute the mighty gathered tribute from the lands that were the richest in the north; but in the same measure as he had more to receive than other kings, he also gave much more than any other king.... but many of those who came from norway lamented the loss of their liberties and hinted to earl hakon and some to the king himself, that the men of norway were now surely ready to renew their allegiance to king canute and the earl, and to receive their old liberties from them. these speeches suited the earl's mind, and he suggested to canute that olaf be called on to surrender the kingdom to them, or to agree to divide it.[ ] snorre attributes canute's delay in claiming the norse kingship to a difference between himself and his cousin, earl hakon, as to who should possess and rule the country. it is evident, however, that before canute was hardly in a position to press a claim of such a doubtful character. but in that year the situation was more favourable: he was in uncontested possession of the english and danish crowns; he had successfully fought and subdued the slavs to the south of denmark; his prestige was consequently greater than ever before. that year, the subject of norse conquest must have been discussed quite seriously at winchester, for as soon as the winter was past, an embassy was on its way to king olaf's court to demand the kingdom of norway for canute. among the various regions that composed the norwegian realm, two enjoyed a peculiar prominence: the wick and the throndelaw. the throndelaw was a group of "folks" or shires about the throndhjem firth, a region that had developed considerable solidarity and in one sense was reckoned as the heart of the kingdom. here was for some time the capital of the nation, as it has remained in ecclesiastical matters to this day, at least nominally. the wick was the country that bordered on the great "bay" in the extreme south. it was this region that first came into contact with european civilisation and where culture and christianity had perhaps taken firmest root. in a sense the wick was disputed territory: it had earlier been under danish overlordship, and a part of it had also for a brief period been subject to sweden; national feeling was therefore not strong on these shores. for this reason, perhaps, king olaf had established a royal residence at tunsberg near the mouth of the firth on the western shore. here the king held his court in the winter of - ; it was here that he received the english embassy. it was a splendid company that canute sent to norway, but olaf was not pleased with their errand. for several days he kept them waiting before he was willing to grant them an audience. but when they were permitted to speak with him they brought into his presence canute's writ and recited their message, that canute claims all of norway as his possession and asserts that his ancestors have possessed the realm before him; but whereas king canute offers peace to all lands, he will not fare to norway with war shields if another choice is possible. but if king olaf haroldsson wishes to rule norway, let him fare to king canute and receive the land from him as a fief and become his man and pay such tribute as the earls had earlier paid.[ ] such a proposal was an insult to the norse nation, and it is not likely that canute expected a favourable reply. but in its apparent moderation, in its appeal to historic rights, the demand served well the intended purpose: to extort a challenge that would make hostilities unavoidable and make olaf appear as the aggressor. king olaf's anger did not permit a diplomatic reply: "i have heard tell in olden story that gorm the dane-king was an excellent ruler, but he ruled denmark only; but the dane-kings who have come since his day do not seem to have been satisfied with that. it has come to this now that canute rules denmark and england and in addition has subjected a large part of scotland. now he challenges my inheritance. he should, however, learn to be moderate in his avarice,--or does he plan to govern all the northlands alone? or does he intend to eat alone all the cabbage in england? he will be able to accomplish that before i shall pay him tribute or do him any sort of homage. now you shall tell him these my words, that i will defend norway with point and edge as long as life days are granted me; but never shall i pay tribute for my kingdom to any man."[ ] such is snorre's account. the speeches are doubtless the historian's own; but they reveal a keen insight into the shrewd diplomacy of canute and the impetuous methods of olaf. the ambassadors soon prepared to retire, little pleased with the outcome. it is reported that in conversation with sighvat the scald they expressed their surprise at the norse king's rashness. the lord of england was gentle and forgiving. only recently two kings came from north in scotland, from fife, and he laid aside his wrath and let them keep all the lands that they had earlier possessed and gave them great gifts of friendship in addition. the poet later put his reply into verse: able kings have carried their heads to canute, coming from fife in the far north (fair was the purchase of peace). olaf has never sold (oft has the stout one conquered) here in the whole world his head to any man.[ ] there could be no question about unpeace after olaf's defiance had been repeated to canute. it is said that norsemen looked on cabbage eaters as naturally stupid; hence the taunt, if given, had a sharp point. the great king is said to have remarked that olaf should find something besides cabbage within his ribs. that summer two of erling's sons, aslak and skjalg, appeared at the english court. "and king canute gave the brothers large revenues."[ ] during the succeeding summer ( ) king olaf remained in the south. rumour had it that canute was coming from england with a powerful host, and the norwegian king made preparations to meet him. the chiefs were summoned to the wick and seem to have appeared with their retainers in large numbers. olaf's spies were everywhere on the lookout for the english fleet. merchant ships were eagerly sought for news. but canute was not yet ready to fight and did not appear before autumn. he spent the winter in denmark but mainly for precautionary purposes; hostile activities were evidently to be postponed to a more favourable time.[ ] that same autumn olaf approached the king of sweden on the subject of an alliance against the ambitious king of denmark. the young anund jacob, king olaf's brother-in-law and admirer, was now on the swedish throne. it was easy to convince the youthful king that his realm would not long be left in peace should canute succeed in adding norway to his dominions. an alliance was accordingly concluded: the king who should first need assistance should have the other's help. a conference was also arranged for, as more definite plans would have to be agreed upon. that year king olaf prepared to winter at sarpsborg, just across the firth from tunsberg. king anund made a winter journey into gautland toward the norse frontier, and tarried there for some months. during his stay there, envoys appeared from canute with gifts and fair words. anund was assured of peace and security if he would renounce his alliance with the norsemen. but this embassy also had to return with unsatisfactory reports: anund intended to be faithful to his pledge; no friendship for denmark was to be looked for in sweden.[ ] spring came ( ) and developments were looked for; but the unexpected happened: canute returned to england, leaving his young son harthacanute, a boy of eight or nine years, as regent in denmark under the guardianship of ulf, canute's brother-in-law, who seems to have succeeded thurkil the tall as viceroy in denmark. the allied kings now proceeded to hold their projected conference at kingscrag, near the south-east corner of olaf's kingdom. in this conference a new agreement seems to have been reached; the defensive alliance was apparently changed to an offensive one and an attack on canute's danish possessions was planned.[ ] [illustration: ornaments (chiefly buckles) from the viking age.] why canute failed to attack norway in the autumn of , or in the following spring, is not known. it seems, however, a fairly safe conjecture that he felt unprepared to meet the allied forces. he evidently preferred to wait until the spirit of disaffection and rebellion had spread more widely in norway; for thus far only the great house of soli had openly espoused the pretender's cause; most of the dissatisfied lords were in king olaf's host. doubtless he also hoped that by diplomatic means or otherwise dissension might be sown between the confederated kings, and their alliance dissolved. gold was the power that canute depended upon to prepare rebellion in norway. that the danish king employed bribery in these years to a large extent is a well-attested fact. florence of worcester who wrote three generations later recounts how gold was distributed among the norwegian chiefs in the hope that they would permit canute to rule over them, though florence is clearly misinformed when he tells us that the norsemen had renounced their allegiance to king olaf because of his simplicity and gentleness.[ ] olaf was a saint when the scribe at worcester wrote his history; but he was not a saint of the ideal sort, and hence florence is led into error. richard of cirencester, too, has heard of these proceedings and the "great supply of gold and silver that was sent to the magnates of that country."[ ] both writers represent the norsemen as eager for the bribes. the sagas, of course, give fuller details. the result was that king olaf's forces to some extent were made up of men whose loyalty had been undermined, who were in the pay of the enemy. the following year ( ), the year when the most christian monarch made his pilgrimage to the tomb of peter, seems to have seen the greatest activity in this direction; out the probabilities are that large sums of danegeld had found their way to norway also in the earlier two or three years. footnotes: [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, cc. , , ff. [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] on the subject of the norse chiefs in king olaf's day, see munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., - ; _norges historie,_ i., ii., - . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . according to snorre's reckoning, he left in the summer of and returned the following summer. [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., - . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . the legendary _olafs-saga_ tells us that the gifts were two golden candlesticks, a golden dish highly jewelled for the table service, and two gold rings. anund is said to have remarked that he did not wish to sell olaf for a dish. [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] _speculum historiale_, ii., . chapter x the battle of holy river and the pilgrimage to rome - one of the notable results of the expedition to the south baltic in was that a reconciliation was effected with thurkil the tall. "and he gave denmark into the keeping of thurkil and his son; and the king brought thurkil's son with him to england."[ ] the son who was thus made regent was probably sweyn; it was scarcely harthacanute, as this prince was present at the translation of saint alphege from london to canterbury that same year ( ); of canute's other son, harold harefoot, we hear nothing until after the king's death. the hostage that canute took with him to england may have been harold who played an important part in northern history two decades later. thurkil cannot have lived long after his promotion to the vice-royalty, for three years later ( ), we find harthacanute representing royal authority in denmark with earl ulf as guardian and actual wielder of power. this change in the regency we may, perhaps, ascribe to the activities of queen emma, one of whose chief purposes in life was to disinherit her husband's illegitimate offspring. the next few months seem to have witnessed a revolution in denmark: earl ulf appears to have summoned a national assembly at viborg, an old sanctuary in the north central part of jutland, where he announced that it was canute's desire to have his young eight-year-old son chosen and proclaimed king of denmark. with evident success he argued that the ancient kingdom, which always had had a ruler within its borders, was poorly served by the present arrangement of subjection to an absentee-king. he also called attention to the threatened invasion from the allied kingdoms of norway and sweden. the sagas assert that queen emma had plotted with earl ulf to secure the royal name for her son and that she had even forged a document to support the move. the assembly assented and harthacanute was proclaimed king.[ ] there are suggestions that ulf at this time was in communication with the allied monarchs and that he had even encouraged them to invade the danish territories. evidence is wanting, but it is clear that ulf's activities in were not of the proper sort.[ ] the earl was an ambitious and turbulent man, closely connected with both the danish and the swedish dynasties. he was a man of the type that finds service difficult; it is clear that canute suspected him of treason. after canute's departure for england the northern kings had their conference at kingscrag where a closer alliance was formed and offensive operations were probably determined upon. soon afterwards king olaf was on his way to his northern capital to raise the host for a grand effort. it seems that the chiefs quite generally obeyed the summons; of the leaders in the northern shires einar thongshaker alone remained at home on his estates. a considerable fleet gathered at the rendezvous at the mouth of throndhjem firth; as it sailed southward there were constant additions, till it finally counted ships. the royal flagship was the _bison_, a longship that had been built the winter before, the prow of which bore the head of a bison adorned with gold. on the journey southward, king olaf learned that canute was still in england, but that he was making preparations for a grand attack. he also learned that erling skjalgsson was now with his sons in the enemy's service. but no one knew when the english host might be expected; time passed and the norsemen began to tire of inaction. accordingly king olaf dismissed the least effective part of his forces and with the remainder, sixty large and well-manned ships, sailed for the coast of zealand, expecting later to join the swedish armament that had gathered on the scanian coast.[ ] meanwhile, canute had hastened his preparations. one of his scanian subjects, hakon of stangeby, had, when the plans of the enemy had become evident, hastened to england to warn his king. it is said that canute rewarded him with an estate in scania for his loyalty and promptness.[ ] it was a mighty fleet that sailed from southern england that summer; canute led the expedition in person with earl hakon apparently as second in command. snorre reports that canute's ship had one hundred and twenty oars, while that of the earl had eighty. both ships were provided with golden figureheads; but their sails were counted particularly splendid with their stripes of blue and red and green. earl ulf had by this time come to realise that denmark could not afford to ignore the lord of england. there was evidently much dissatisfaction with the earl's régime, for we find that the danes in large numbers accepted the invaders. ulf and harthacanute soon retreated to jutland, and left the islands and scania to the enemy. the situation that canute found when he sailed into the lime firth was perhaps not wholly a surprise; he must have known something about what his deputy had been plotting and doing. that he was angry is evident; that his wrath was feared is also clear. harthacanute was advised to submit; he knelt before his father and obtained forgiveness, as the king realised that no responsibility could lodge with a witless boy. ulf also tried to make terms with the offended monarch, but was merely told to collect his forces and join in the defence of the kingdom; later he might propose terms. such is snorre's account[ ]; it may be inaccurate in details, but the main fact that earl ulf was faithless to his trust seems to be correctly stated. elsewhere, too, ulf is accused of opposition to his king: saxo charges him with treason[ ]; and an entry in the _anglo-saxon chronicle_ tells us that canute went east to fight ulf and eglaf.[ ] there has been some dispute as to the identity of these chiefs, but unless evidence to the contrary is forthcoming, we shall have to conclude that they were the two brothers who were earls in england in the early days of canute as english king. shortly before this ( ), eglaf's name disappears from the english sources. the chronicler was evidently not informed as to the situation in the north; but he knew that the two brothers were among the opponents of the king and recorded what he knew. meanwhile, olaf was on the shores of zealand with his longships. saxo relates that one day while he was addressing the danes at a public assembly with a view to winning them to his own allegiance, spies rushed up and reported that they had seen several ships approaching. an aged dane assured the king that the ships were merchantmen only; but when sails in growing numbers began to cross the horizon, he added that they were merchantmen who had come to buy denmark with iron.[ ] from the lime firth, canute must have sailed his fleet southeastward to the upper entrance of the sound; at any rate, king olaf soon discovered that the homeward route had been effectually blocked. there was now nothing to do but to continue the journey eastward and to form a junction with king anund's fleet which was harrying the scanian coast. canute must have followed in hot pursuit, for before the enemies could form a junction he seems to have found and defeated a part of the swedish fleet at stangeberg.[ ] a little later, he came up with the combined strength of the allied kings near the mouth of holy river. holy river is a short stream in the eastern part of scania that serves as the outlet of a group of lakes not far inland. between these lakes and the sea the forest was heavy enough to conceal any activities inland. when the kings learned that the danish fleet was approaching, they took counsel and decided to draw up their ships in battle order east of the river mouth, but to act on the defensive. king anund was to remain in charge of the fleet while king olaf, who is reputed to have been something of a military engineer, went inland to prepare a trap for the enemy. where the river left the lakes he is said to have built a temporary dam of trees and turf, and he also improved the outlets of some of the smaller lakes, so as to increase the water masses behind the dam. many days the work continued under olaf's direction. then came the message that canute had arrived and the norsemen hastened to their ships. it was late in the afternoon when anund's spies finally caught sight of the great armament approaching from the west. swift-footed couriers at once left for the lakes to inform olaf, who immediately prepared to break the dam, at the same time filling the course with large trees. canute saw the enemy drawn up in line and ready for the fight; but it was then too late to proceed to the attack; moreover, the enemy had the advantage of a carefully chosen position. the dane therefore refused battle that day. finding the harbour at the river mouth empty, he sailed into it with as many ships as could be accommodated; the remainder were left just outside. at dawn the next morning, a large part of canute's forces was found to have landed; some were conversing, others seeking amusement. then without the least warning the waters came down in torrents, dashing the floating trees against the ships. the ships were injured and the waters overflowed the river banks, drowning the men who had gone on land and also many who were still on the ships. those who were able to do so cut the ropes and allowed their ships to drift, each in its own direction. the great dragon that canute himself commanded was among these; it was not easily managed by the oars alone and drifted out toward the hostile fleet. but when the allies recognised the ship, they immediately surrounded it; but it was not easily attacked, for the ship was high like a castle and had a number of men on board, who were carefully chosen, thoroughly armed, and very reliable. it was not long before earl ulf came up alongside with his ships and men and the battle was now joined in earnest. canute's forces now came up from all sides. then the kings olaf and anund realised that they had now won as much as fate had allowed them for this time; so they ordered a retreat, withdrew from canute's fleet, and separated from the fight.[ ] in its disorganised condition canute's host could make no effective pursuit. the danes and english had suffered heavy losses, while those of the swedes and norsemen were slight; still their combined forces were yet inferior to those of canute. it was, therefore, agreed to avoid further battle. eastward the course continued, the intention being to stop for the night in the harbour of barwick on the coast of bleking. however, a large part of the swedish fleet did not enter the harbour, but continued the journey eastward and northward; nor were the sails lowered before the chiefs had reached their respective homes. early the following morning, king anund ordered the signal to be sounded for a council of the remaining chiefs. the entire army landed and the assembly proceeded to discuss the situation. king anund announced that of ships that had joined him in the preceding summer only were now in the harbour. these with the sixty norwegian ships did not make a force sufficient for successful operations against canute. the swedish king therefore proposed to olaf that he should spend the winter in sweden, and in the spring, perhaps, they might be able to renew hostilities. olaf demurred: the former viking could not surrender his purposes so readily; it would still be possible, he argued, to defeat canute as his large fleet would soon be compelled to scatter in search of provisions, his eastern coasts having been too recently harried to afford much in the way of supplies. but the outcome was that olaf left his ships in sweden and returned to norway overland. canute kept informed as to the situation in the enemies' fleet and army but did not attempt pursuit. it would seem that a great opportunity was thus permitted to slip past; but the king probably did not so regard it. to fight the swedes was not a part of his present plan; his hope was to detach king anund from his more vigorous ally. when he learned that the hostile fleet was about to dissolve, he returned to zealand and blocked the sound, hoping, no doubt, to intercept the norwegian king on his return northward. as we have seen, however, olaf appreciated the danger and refused to risk an ambush. that same season saw him on the march through south-western sweden to his manors on the shores of the great firth. on his arrival in his own land, he dismissed the larger part of his host; only a small body of trusted men including several prominent magnates remained with him at sarpsborg, where he prepared to spend the winter.[ ] of this campaign we have, broadly speaking, but one detailed account,--the one given in the sagas. as these are far from contemporary, doubts have been cast upon the story, but in the main it seems reliable. that there was a battle at holy river we know from the _anglo-saxon chronicle_, which states that canute was defeated at that place by ulf and eglaf supported by a large force of swedes. as to the strategic device of king olaf, we cannot be so sure; but the account in the sagas reveals a topographical knowledge so specific as to argue strongly for the belief that the authors must have had access to reliable sources. there is also a question as to the date of the battle: snorre seems to place it in ; the _old english chronicle_ has it in . the battle seems to have been fought some time in september, . it evidently occurred before canute made his pilgrimage to rome, where we find him at easter, . though canute suffered a defeat at holy river, the outcome gave no advantage to his enemies. the swedes were discouraged and tired of a conflict which, after all, did not seem to concern them. king olaf was discredited: a king who had abandoned his ships was not in position to claim a victory. from that day he found disloyalty everywhere. the pretender had only to appear on the norwegian coasts with ships and men to secure the enthusiastic allegiance of the rebellious norsemen. canute was not prepared, however, to move against olaf at this time. autumn was coming on, a season that was far too short for naval operations. and soon a tragedy was enacted at the danish court, the consequences of which probably caused a complete rearrangement of canute's immediate plans. the day before michaelmas the king proceeded to roeskild, where earl ulf had prepared an elaborate entertainment for him and his train. according to the sagas ulf was aggressive, vigorous, and brave; but he was also tactless and careless in speech, and possessed a temper that was not easily controlled. the festivities did not seem to please the king--he was moody and silent. in the evening ulf suggested a game of chess, hoping, no doubt, that the play would help to restore the royal good humour. but as they were playing at chess, king canute and earl ulf, the king made a wrong move and the earl took one of his knights. the king moved his opponent's chessman back and told him to make another play; this angered the earl; he overturned the chessboard, rose, and left the table. then said the king, "are you running away now, timid wolf!" the earl turned in the doorway and replied, "farther you would have run at holy river, if you had been able. you did not then call ulf timid, when i rushed up to help you, when the swedes were threshing you and your men like dogs." with that the earl left the room and went to sleep.[ ] it is not likely, however, that the earl's rest was wholly undisturbed that night, for in the morning he was found to have sought sanctuary in holy trinity church. nor did sleep appease the king's anger; while he was dressing the next morning, he ordered his shoe-swain to go at once and slay ulf. but the servant dared not strike him within the sacred precincts. then the king called ivar white, one of his guardsmen, a norseman who is said to have been earl eric's nephew,[ ] and sent him with similar orders. ivar soon returned to the king with a bloody sword as evidence that his sister's husband was no more. [illustration: lines from the oldest fragment of snorre's history (written about ). the fragment tells the story of the battle of holy river and the murder of ulf.] [illustration: a longship--model of the gokstad ship on the waves.] tales of chess games that have resulted seriously for at least one of the players appear elsewhere in mediæval literature; hence it would not be safe to accept this account without question. still, there is nothing improbable about the tale; the insult that ulf offered was evidently seized upon by the king as a pretext for ridding himself of a man whom he believed to be a traitor. an independent english tradition credits canute with a passion for the game: the historian of ramsey tells us that bishop ethelric once found him "relieving the wearisomeness of the long night with games of dice and chess."[ ] nor is there any reason to doubt that ulf was actually assassinated at the time; his name disappears from the sources. a life had been taken in god's own house; blood had been shed before the very altar; even though the king had ordered it, the church could not overlook the crime. the priests immediately closed the church; but on the king's command, it was again opened and mass was said as before. it is recorded that large possessions were added to the church when services were resumed. to his sister the widowed estrid, the king also owed satisfaction; we are told that she, too, received large landed estates. but her young son sweyn, who was at this time scarcely more than eight years old, she prudently seems to have removed from her brother's kingdom; for twelve years the future king of denmark was a guest at the swedish court.[ ] it seems that the scene of his recent guilt had small attraction for canute after that fateful michaelmas season. he is said to have left the city and to have taken up his abode on his longship. but not many months later we find him on a pilgrimage to the capital of christendom. the journey must have been planned during the autumn of ; it was actually undertaken during the early months of the following year; apparently the pilgrims arrived in rome toward the end of march. we cannot be sure what induced king canute to make this journey at this particular time. in his message to the english people he says that he went to seek forgiveness for his sins; but this pious phrase is almost a rhetorical necessity in mediæval documents and must not be regarded too seriously. nor can we trust the statement that the king had earlier vowed to make such a pilgrimage, but had hitherto been prevented by business of state; for the year had surely but little to offer in the way of leisure and peace. the motive must be sought in the political situation that had developed in the north in the year of the holy river campaign, and in the strained relations that must have arisen between the king and the church. no doubt the eyes of the christian world looked approvingly on the persistent efforts that olaf of norway, who was canonised four years later, was making to extirpate heathendom in the north. especially must the english priesthood have looked with pride and pleasure on the vigorous growth of the norse daughter church. but here comes the christian king of england with hostile forces to interfere in behalf of king olaf's enemies. canute probably protested that he would carry on the work; but it is clear that an absent monarch with wide imperial interests could scarcely hope to carry out successfully a policy that implied revolution both socially and religiously. his hand had also been raised against the christian ruler of sweden, which was yet a heathen land, against a prince in whom the church doubtless reposed confidence and hope. perhaps worst of all, canute's hand was red with the blood of his sister's husband, his support at holy river, whose life had been taken in violation of the right of sanctuary and sacred peace. the mediæval church was a sensitive organism and offences of this sort were not easily atoned for. it was time to pray at saint peter's tomb. it is also likely that canute hoped to gain certain political advantages from the journey: in a strife with the northern powers it would be well to have the emperor a passive if not an active ally; and this was the year of the imperial coronation. norse tradition remembers canute's pilgrimage as that of a penitent: "he took staff and scrip, as did all the men who travelled with him, and journeyed southward to rome; and the emperor himself came out to meet him and he accompanied him all the way to the roman city."[ ] sighvat the scald, who was both canute's and olaf's friend, also mentions the pilgrim's staff in his reference to the royal pilgrimage.[ ] still, it is not to be thought that gold was overlooked in preparing for the journey: the saga adds that "king canute had many horses with him laden with gold and silver," and that alms were distributed with a free hand. the encomiast, who saw the king in the monastery of saint bertin in the flemish city of saint-omer, also gives us a picture, though one that is clearly exaggerated, of a penitent who is seeking forgiveness and reconciliation. with humble mien the royal pilgrim entered the holy precincts; his eyes cast down and streaming with tears, he implored the suffrages of the saints; beating his breast and heaving sighs, he passed from altar to altar, kissed the sacred stones, and left large gifts upon each, even upon the smallest. in addition alms were distributed among the needy.[ ] the route followed was the old one from denmark south-westward along the german coast to flanders, whence the journey went southward through lorraine and the rhone country. it seems to have been canute's intention to visit king rudolf of burgundy on the way; but he was found to have departed on a similar journey to the eternal city. the progress was one that was doubtless long remembered in the monasteries along the route. important institutions at some distance from the chosen route seem also to have been remembered in a substantial way; it may have been on this occasion that a gift was sent to the monastic foundation at chartres, of which we have grateful acknowledgment in the epistles of bishop fulbert[ ]; and another to the church at cologne, a costly psalter and sacramentary which some time later found their way back to england.[ ] on easter day (march ), king canute assisted at the imperial coronation ceremony; on that day king conrad and queen gisela received the imperial crowns in the church of the holy apostles.[ ] the assembly was large and splendid and the visiting sovereigns held places of conspicuous honour. when the emperor at the close of the ceremony left the church, canute and rudolf walked beside him. it was a day of great rejoicing among conrad's german followers, ending, as was customary, with a fight between them and their roman hosts. on the th of april, a great synod met at the lateran to consider various weighty matters and to settle certain important controversies. it may have been at this meeting, though preliminary negotiations must have prepared the matter to some extent, that king canute or his spokesman stated the complaints of the english church. for one thing he urged that the price extorted from the english archbishops for the pallium was too high. the pope promised to reduce the charges on condition that peter's pence be regularly paid. apparently the curia urged reform in church dues generally, for a little later canute sent his english subjects a sharp reminder on this point. the pope also agreed to exempt the english school at rome from the customary tribute. on the whole it seems, however, that the more substantial results of the negotiations remained with the roman curia. the english king had another set of grievances which seem to have been discussed in the same synod, but which particularly interested the ruler of burgundy. english and danish pilgrims, he asserted, were not given fair and considerate treatment on their journeys to rome: they were afflicted with unjust tolls and with overcharges at the inns; evidently canute also felt that the highways should be made safer and justice more accessible to those who travelled on holy errands. in the matter of undue charges, the burgundians appear to have been especially guilty. the reasonableness of canute's request was apparent to the synod, and it was decreed that the treatment of pilgrims should be liberal and just: and all the princes have engaged by their edict, that my men, whether merchants or other travellers for objects of devotion, should go and return in security and peace, without any constraint of barriers or tolls.[ ] from rome, canute hurried back to denmark, following the same route, it seems, as on the journey south. soon after his return he sent a message to the english clergy and people, advising them as to his absence and doings in italy.[ ] from the use of the phrase, "here in the east" in speaking of the scandinavian difficulties, it seems likely that the message was composed in denmark or somewhere on the route not far from that kingdom. it was carried to england by bishop lifing of crediton. in this document canute also recounts the honours bestowed upon him in italy; especially does he recall the presents of emperor conrad: "divers costly gifts, as well in golden and silver vessels as in mantles and vestments exceedingly precious." the document also asks that the lawful church-dues be regularly paid,--peter's pence, plough alms, church scot, and tithes of the increase of animals and of farm products. this admonition was later enacted into law. at the same time he forbids his sheriffs and other officials to do injustice to any one, rich or poor, either in the hope of winning the royal favour or to gain wealth for the king. he has no need of wealth that has been unjustly acquired. but this lofty assertion of principle looks somewhat strange in the light of the fact that the king was in those very days engaged in bribing a nation. there can be no doubt that the visit to the eternal city was of considerable importance for the future career of the anglo-danish king. doubtless rome began to realise what a power was this young monarch who up to this time had probably been regarded as little better than a barbarian, one of those dreaded pirates who had so long and so often terrorised the italian shores. here he was next to the emperor the most redoubtable christian ruler in europe. probably canute returned to the north with the pope's approval of his plans for empire in scandinavia,--tacit if not expressed. john xix. was a pope whose ideal of a church was one that was efficiently administered and he may have seen in canute a ruler of his own spirit. footnotes: [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] saxo, _gesta danorum_, - . there seems to be no reason to doubt that saxo here reports a reliable tradition. [ ] _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _gesta danorum_, ff. [ ] entry for the year ; this should be corrected to . [ ] _gesta danorum_, . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] _historia rameseiensis_, . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _fagrskinna_, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . the statement in _fagrskinna_ is probably based on sighvat's verses. [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] migne, _patrologia latina_, cxli, col. . as to its date the letter furnishes no clue. bishop fulbert died, according to migne's calculations, in april, , two years after canute's journey. [ ] wharton, _anglia sacra_, ii., ; william of malmesbury's _vita wulstani_. the manuscripts were illuminated by erven, scholasticus of peterborough. [ ] giesebrecht, _geschichte der deutschen kaiserzeit_, ii., - . for a collection of the relevant texts, see bresslau's _jahrbücher des deutschen reichs unter konrad ii._, i., . [ ] see appendix ii.: canute's charter of . [ ] the anglo-saxon original of canute's charter has been lost. our oldest version is a latin translation inserted into the chronicle of florence of worcester (see liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., , ). most of our information as to canute's pilgrimage comes from this document. chapter xi the conquest of norway - canute was still in the eternal city on the th of april, but it is not likely that he remained in the south much later than that date. with the opening of spring, hostilities might be renewed in scandinavia at any moment. that canute expected a renewal of the war is clear from the language of his message to britain: i therefore wish it to be made known to you that, returning by the same way that i departed, i am going to denmark, for the purpose of settling, with the counsel of all the danes, firm and lasting peace with those nations, which, had it been in their power, would have deprived us of our life and kingdom.... after affairs had been thus composed, he expected to return to england. his plans, however, must have suffered a change. so far as we know, warlike operations were not resumed that year; and yet, if any overtures for peace were made, they can scarcely have been successful. some time later in the year canute set sail for england; but with his great purpose unfulfilled: for he had promised in his "charter" to return to britain when he had "made peace with the nations around us, and regulated and tranquillised all our kingdom here in the east." not till next year did he return to the attack on king olaf haroldsson. hostile movements across the scottish border seem to have been responsible for the postponement of the projected conquest. it is told in the _anglo-saxon chronicle_ that as soon as canute had returned from rome he departed for scotland; "and the king of scots submitted to him and also two other kings, mælbeathe and jehmarc." malcolm, the son of kenneth, was at this time ruler of scotia, a kingdom composed chiefly of the region between the forth and the river spey, with various outlying dependencies. we do not know what called forth hostilities between malcolm and canute at this time; but it is possible that the inciting force may have been the norwegian king, as difficulties in britain might lead canute to abandon his norse pretensions. as overlord of the orkneys and probably also of the neighbouring scotch coast lands, king olaf naturally would be drawn into diplomatic relations with the kings of scone. the _chronicle_ gives the year of the expedition to scotland as ; but it also places it in the year of canute's pilgrimage, which we know to have been made in . malcolm rendered some sort of homage in , but for what territories we do not know. that he became canute's vassal for all his possessions is unlikely; he had already for a decade been the man of the english king for lothian; and the probabilities are that the homage of was merely the renewal of the agreements entered into after the battle of carham in . with the northern war still unfinished, canute cannot have been in position to exact severe terms. furthermore, the acquisition of the norwegian crown would bring to canute important possessions to the north and north-west of malcolm's kingdom and place him in a more favourable position for conquest at some future time. whether malcolm realised it or not, further victories for canute in scandinavia would mean serious dangers for the scottish realms. the identity of the other two kings, mælbeathe and jehmarc, is a matter of conjecture. mælbeathe was probably macbeth, who as earl ruled the country about moray firth, the macbeth whom we know from shakespeare's tragedy. skene believes that jehmarc, too, must have ruled in the extreme north or north-west, the region that was under norse influence. but the language of the _chronicle_ need not mean that these kings were both from scotland; munch's conjecture that jehmarc was eagmargach, the celtic king of dublin after the irish victory at clontarf,[ ] is at least plausible. that canute counted irishmen among his subjects appears from a stanza by ottar the swart: let us so greet the king of the danes, of irish, english, and island-dwellers, that his praise as far as the pillared heaven may travel widely through all the earth.[ ] if munch's identification is correct, it reveals a purpose of combining all the scandinavian west with the older kingdoms, a policy that must have seemed both rational and practical. the homage of malcolm and macbeth seems to be mentioned by sighvat though here again the chronology is defective, the submission of the kings "from far north in fife" being dated before . in the meantime norway was not forgotten. during the year , while canute was absent in rome or busied with north british affairs, his emissaries were at work in norway still further undermining the tottering loyalty of the norwegian chiefs. no attempt was made at secrecy--it was bribery open and unblushing. says sighvat the scald: jealous foes of king olaf tempt us with open purses; gold for the life of the lordly ruler is loudly offered. the poet was a christian and seems to have taken grim satisfaction in the teachings of the new faith regarding future punishment: men who sell for molten metal the gentle ruler in swart hell (they deserve it) shall suffer the keenest torture.[ ] the activities of the danish envoys appear to have extended to all parts of the country, though it seems likely that their success was greatest in the west and south-west where they enjoyed the protection and assistance of the mighty nobleman erling skjalgsson, who thus added dishonour to stubborn and unpatriotic wilfulness. after holy river canute apparently dismissed his fleet for the winter, in part at least, and erling returned to his estates at soli. with erling canute's envoys came north and brought much wealth with them. they fared widely during the winter, paying out the money that canute had promised for support in the autumn before; but they also gave money to others and thus bought their friendship for canute; and erling supported them in all this.[ ] evidence of this activity appears in a remarkable find of english coins to the number of near eikunda-sound, not far from soli. the treasure was brought to light in ; most of the coins bear the effigies of ethelred and canute; all are from canute's reign or earlier.[ ] the next year ( ) canute sailed his fleet into eikunda-sound and remained there for some time; but there seems no reason why english money should be secreted on that occasion. more probably the treasure was part of the bribe money; the fact that it was hidden would indicate that canute's agents found the business somewhat dangerous after all. gold alone does not account for saint olaf's downfall. there were other reasons for the defection of the aristocracy, but these have been discussed in an earlier chapter: there was dissatisfaction with the new faith; there was dissatisfaction with a régime that enjoined a firm peace everywhere, that aimed at equal justice for all without respect to birth or station, and that enforced severe and unusual punishments; there was also the memory of the days of the earls, when the hand of government was light and the old ways were respected. in , canute was ready to strike. soon the news spread that a vast armament was approaching norway. "with fifty ships of english thegns,"[ ] the king sailed along the low german shores to the western mouth of the lime firth. among the chiefs who accompanied him from england were the two earls, hakon and godwin. one of godwin's men found his death in norway, as we learn from a runic monument raised by one arnstein over the grave of his son bjor, "who found his death in godwin's host in the days when canute sailed [back] to england."[ ] the ships that the king brought from england were doubtless large and well-manned: canute's housecarles may have made up a considerable part of the crews. at the lime firth an immense danish fleet was waiting: according to the sagas ships made up the fleet that sailed up to the norwegian capital nidaros. twelve great hundreds is evidently merely a round number used to indicate unusual size; but that the armament was immense is evident from the ease with which it accomplished its work. so far as we know, the awe-stricken norsemen made no resistance. in addition to the english and danish ships, there were evidently not a few that were manned by the housecarles of disaffected norwegian chiefs. olaf was informed of canute's intentions and did what he could to meet the invasion. men were dispatched to sweden to bring home the ships that had been abandoned there nearly two years before. this was a difficult undertaking, for the danes kept close guard over the passages leading out of the baltic. part of the fleet the norsemen burned; with the rest they were able to steal through the sound after canute had begun his advance toward norway. king olaf also summoned the host, but there came few folk and little dragons. what a disgrace that landsmen leave our lord royal unsupported. (for money men desert their duties.) what forces the norwegians were able to collect sailed up into oslo firth, where king olaf prudently remained till canute had again departed from the land.[ ] the northward progress of canute's armament is told in a poem by thorarin praise-tongue, who had composed an earlier lay to the king's honour.[ ] "the lord of the ocean" sailed from the lime firth with a vast fleet. canute seems to have cut across the strait to the southwestern part of norway, where the "war-trained men of agdir saw in terror the advance of the hero," for canute's dragon gleamed with steel and gold. "the swart ships glide past lister" and soon fill eikunda-sound. and so the journey goes on past the hornel-mount and the promontory of stadt, till the "sea-falcons glide into the nid river." at important points canute landed and summoned the franklins to formal assemblies. the summons were generally obeyed: the franklins swore allegiance to the new king and gave the required hostages. wherever there was occasion to do so, the king appointed new local officials from the elements whose loyalty he believed he could trust. he spent some time in eikunda-sound where erling skjalgsson joined him with a large force. the old alliance was renewed and erling received promise of all the region between the great headlands of stadt and the naze, with a little additional territory to the east of the latter point. this was more than the lord of soli had ever controlled before. the terms have not been recorded, but canute was always liberal in his promises.[ ] when nidaros was reached, the eight shires of the throndelaw were summoned to meet in a grand assembly, the ere-thing, which met on the river sands at the mouth of the nid. as throndhjem was counted the most important region of the kingdom, the ere-thing throughout the middle ages enjoyed a prominence of its own as the assembly that accepted and proclaimed the norwegian kings. here then, canute was formally proclaimed the true king of norway, and the customary homage was rendered.[ ] there was no need of going beyond nidaros. thor the dog, harek of tjotta, and other great lords from the farther north were present at the ere-thing and took the oaths of allegiance. thor came in canute's fleet; harek joined the king at nidaros. on these two chiefs the king depended for support in the arctic regions. in return for their allegiance they received enlarged franchises and privileges, among other things the monopoly of the trade with the finnish tribes.[ ] the conclusions of the ere-thing concerned norway alone. a little later a larger assembly was called, a joint meeting of the chiefs of norway and of the invading army--magnates from england, denmark, and norway; possibly the warriors, too, had some voice in this assembly. here then, in the far north on the sands of nidaros, was held the first and only imperial assembly, so far as our information goes, that canute ever summoned. it was called to discuss and decide matters of interest common to all the three realms--especially was it to hear the imperial will, the new imperial policy. canute was yet a young man--he had not advanced far into the thirties--but prudence, perhaps also wisdom, had developed with the years. he realised that his own person was really the only bond that held his realms together; but he also understood that direct rule was impracticable. the norse movement was essentially a revolt from olaf, not a popular demand for union with denmark. among the danes, too, there was opposition to what smacked of alien rule, as is shown by the readiness with which the magnates had received the revolutionary plans of earl ulf. no doubt it was with reluctance that canute announced a system of vassal earls and kings; however, no other solution can have seemed possible. to his nephew hakon he gave the vice-royalty of norway with the earl's title and dignity. whether the entire kingdom was to be included in hakon's realm may be doubted; southern norway, the wick, which was as yet unconquered, was an old possession of the dynasty of gorm and may have been excepted. "next he led his son harthacanute to his own high-seat and gave him the kings-name with the government of the danish realms."[ ] as harthacanute was still but a child a guardian must be found, and for this position canute seems to have chosen harold, the son of thurkil the tall,[ ] his own foster-brother, if tradition can be trusted. harold at this time was apparently in charge at jomburg, where he had probably stood in a similar relation to canute's older son sweyn who was located there. it is significant that the only one who is awarded the royal title is harthacanute, the youngest of the king's three sons; but he was also the only one who was of legitimate birth. there can be little doubt that canute intended to make harthacanute the heir to all his realms. of these arrangements thorarin praise-tongue sings in his lay: then gave the wise wielder of jutland norway to hakon his sister's son. and to his own son (i say it) the old dark halls of the ocean, hoary denmark.[ ] among the norwegian chiefs who thus far had remained neutral was einar thongshaker, the archer of swald. but now that the ere-thing had acted and had renounced its allegiance to olaf, einar promptly appeared and took the required oaths. king canute felt the need of binding the proud magnate closely to the new order of things, and along with gifts and increased feudal income went the flattering phrases that next to those who bore princely titles einar should be the chiefest in the kingdom, and that he or his son eindrid seemed, after all, most suited to bear the rule in norway, "were it not for earl hakon."[ ] there remained the formality of taking hostages, sons, brothers, or near kinsmen of the chiefs, "or the men who seemed dearest to them and best fitted." the fleet then returned to the south. it was a leisurely sail, we are told, with frequent landings and conferences with the yeomanry, especially, no doubt, in the shires where no assemblies had been summoned on the northward journey. when king olaf heard of canute's return, he moved farther up the oslo firth and into one of its arms, the drammen firth. here he apparently left his ships while he and his men withdrew some distance into the interior. king canute did not pursue him. he sailed along the south shores to the oslo firth and up to sarpsborg, where an assembly of the freemen accepted him as king. from sarpsborg he returned to denmark, where he seems to have spent the winter. not till the following year did he care to risk a return to england; but at that time his norse rival was treading the path of exile across the baltic ( ). [illustration: scandinavia and the conquest of norway] while canute was being hailed as king at sarpsborg, olaf was in hiding two or three days' march distant, probably in the ring-realm. when he learned of the enemy's departure, he promptly returned to tunsberg and tried to resume his sway. the situation was desperate, but he wished to make a last appeal to the norsemen's feeling of loyalty to harold's dynasty. and now another fleet sailed up the western shores, this time the king's own. only thirteen ships steered out of tunsberg harbour and few joined later. the season was the beginning of winter, a most unfavourable time for aggressive operations. when king olaf had rounded the naze, he learned that his old enemy, erling skjalgsson, had been levying forces in considerable numbers. olaf managed, however, to intercept erling's ship and overpowered the old chief after a furious struggle. "face to face shall eagles fight; will you give quarter?" erling is reported to have said when olaf remarked on his bravery. the king was disposed to reconciliation; but during the parley one of his men stepped up and clove the rebel's head. "unhappy man," cried the king, "there you struck norway out of my hand!" but the overzealous housecarle was forgiven.[ ] the news of erling's death fired the whole coast. the magnates realised at once that retreat was now impossible: they must maintain the cause of canute. nowhere could king olaf land, everywhere the yeomanry called for revenge. from the south came the sons of the murdered man in vigorous pursuit; in the north earl hakon was mustering the thronder-folk. finally king olaf was forced into one of the long inlets that cut into the western coast. here he was trapped; flight alone was possible; but before him lay wild mountain regions, one of the wildest routes in norway. it was midwinter, but the crossing was successful, though the sufferings and difficulties must have been great. exile was now the only choice; the journey continued to the swedish border and thence across that kingdom and the baltic sea to russia.[ ] when canute returned to england, norway was apparently loyal, peaceful, and obedient. so far as we know, he never again visited the north. the rule of earl hakon was brief: a year and a half at most. of the character of his government we have no information; but the good-natured, easy-going son of earl eric was not a man to antagonise the norwegian aristocracy. his lack of aggressive energies was thoroughly appreciated at winchester: it is difficult to determine whether canute's attitude toward his nephew is to be ascribed to bad faith or lack of faith; at all events, the king seems anxiously to have sought a pretext to remove him. among the noble families of thronde-land, perhaps none ranked higher than the house of the arnungs. arne armodsson was a mighty chief and, while he lived, a good friend of king olaf. of his five surviving sons four were faithful to the king till he fell at stiklestead. as we have noted elsewhere, the family also had connections with olaf's enemies: arne's daughter was the wife of harek; his son kalf was married to the widow of olvi who had been executed at the king's orders for practising heathen rites; somewhat later olvi's son thorir was slain for treason ( ?). when olaf left norway, kalf deserted him and not long afterwards made peace with earl hakon and became his man. the sagas attribute this step to the influence of his wife sigrid and her brother, thor the dog. sigrid is represented as a woman of the legendary type, possessed of a demon of revenge. she had lost much: a husband for his fidelity to the old gods; a son for suspected treason; another in an effort to take vengeance for his brother. to this motive was added that of ambition, which was, perhaps, that which chiefly determined kalf's actions. canute seems to have been anxious to secure the active support of this influential noble and probably had expressed a desire for an interview; for in the spring following the conquest ( ), kalf prepared his ship and sailed to england.[ ] it must have been clear to canute that continued peace in the north was not to be hoped for. that king olaf haroldsson, who had begun his career as a viking while he was yet a mere boy and who was still young, strong, and virile, would be content with permanent exile was unthinkable. canute must further have realised that his power in norway had no secure foundation: bribery could not be employed forever; heathendom was a broken reed. his representative was weak, or, as canute is said to have put it, too "conscientious"; in a crisis he was not to be trusted. einar thongshaker was of doubtful loyalty and furthermore had nearly passed the limits of active life. but here was kalf, young and influential, wealthy and strong. canute therefore proposed to kalf that if olaf should reappear in norway he was to raise the militia and lead the host against him. he thus became, in a way, canute's personal, though unofficial, representative in the kingdom, with a higher title in prospect: i will then give you the earl's dignity and let you govern norway; but my kinsman hakon shall fare back to me; and for that he is best suited, as he is so conscientious that i scarcely believe he would do as much as hurl a single shaft against king olaf, if they were to meet.[ ] kalf listened joyfully; canute's speech appealed to him; "and now he began to yearn for the earlship." an agreement was made, and soon kalf's ship, laden with gifts, was again sailing eastward over the north sea. bjarne the poet recalls these gifts and promises in a praise-lay of which we have fragments: the lord of london made promise of lands ere you left the westlands (since there has come postponement): slight was not your distinction.[ ] a few months later the vice-royalty was vacant. soon after kalf's return to norway, hakon sailed to england; canute had apparently sent for him. the sources are neither clear nor wholly agreed on this matter; but practically all place the journey in some relation to hakon's betrothal to gunhild, canute's niece, the daughter of his sister gunhild and a slavic prince, witigern. it was late in the year before hakon was ready to return--sometime after martinsmas (november th); says florence of worcester.[ ] his ship never reached norway; it went down in a tempest in the pentland firth, probably in january, . the english sources have it that canute in fact exiled hakon, though formally he sent him on a personal mission; but the chroniclers are evidently in error in this matter. when these writers speak of outlawry, they mean exile from england; and hakon was no longer an english resident. still, it is extremely probable that hakon had been deprived of his ancestral dignities, that he had been transferred to a new field. two possibilities appear to fit into the situation: the earl may have been transferred to the north-western islands or to jomburg. the norwegian dependencies along the scottish shores, the orkneys and other possessions, passed to canute when he assumed the norwegian crown. the fact that hakon's ship went under on the shores of the orkneys may indicate that he had an errand in those waters, that canute had created a new jurisdiction for his easy-going nephew. still more is to be said for the alternative possibility. canute had clearly decided to supersede hakon in norway. he had already, it seems, selected his illegitimate son sweyn for the norse governorship. the promotion of sweyn would create a vacancy in jomburg; perhaps hakon was intended as sweyn's successor at that post. at any rate, the king was planning a marriage between the earl and a kinswoman of his own who was of the slavic aristocracy, a marriage that would secure for the earl a certain support among the wendish nobility. the prospective bride was probably in wendland with her kinsmen at the time; at any rate she was not on the ship that went down in the swelchie of pentland firth; for a few years later we find gunhild the widow of one whose history is closely associated with jomburg, harold, the son of thurkil the tall, the harold who in was administering danish affairs in the name of harthacanute. florence tells us that in , gunhild was exiled from england with her two sons, thurkil and heming.[ ] two fierce brothers, it will be recalled, led the jomvikings into england in ,--thurkil and heming. no doubt the exiled boys were harold's sons, named in honour of their stately grandfather and his valiant brother. once more norway was without a ruler. the news of hakon's death was not long in reaching the throndelaw, and the leaders of the various factions seem to have taken prompt measures to provide a satisfactory régime. einar thongshaker, mindful of canute's earlier promises, got out his ship and repaired to england. as usual the diplomatic king was prodigal with promises and professions of friendship: einar should have the highest place in the norse aristocracy, a larger income, and whatever honours the king could give except the earl's authority,--that had been assigned to sweyn, and messengers had already been dispatched to jomburg with instructions to the young prince to assume control at nidaros.[ ] the old warrior cannot have been pleased. it is likely that his loyalty received a violent shock. knowing that an attempt would be made to restore olaf to the throne, he apparently decided to assume his customary neutral attitude; at any rate, he would not fight under kalf arnesson's banner. so he lingered in england till the trouble was over and sweyn was in charge of the kingdom. kalf did not go to england; he was busy carrying out his promises to canute. for hardly had the merchant ships brought rumours of earl hakon's death, before olaf's partisans took measures to restore their legitimate king. some of the chiefs set out for russia; and when midsummer came, king olaf's banner was advancing toward the norwegian capital. kalf was prepared to meet him. as it was not known what route olaf might choose to take or in what region he would set up his standard, the forces of the yeomanry were divided, the southern magnates under the leadership of the sons of erling undertaking to meet the king if he should appear in the south-east, while the northern host under kalf, harek, and thor the dog was preparing to hold the throndelaw. [illustration: stiklestead (from a photograph.)] the host that gathered to oppose the returned exile was wholly norse: no dane or englishman seems to have fought for canute at stiklestead, the only alien who is prominently mentioned in this connection is bishop sigurd, a danish ecclesiastic who had served as hakon's court bishop and was a violent partisan of canute. all the western coast as far as to the arctic seems to have been represented in the army of the franklins, which is said to have numbered , , four times the number that fought for the returned king. still, the disparity of forces was not so great after all. most of the kingsmen were superb warriors, and all were animated with enthusiasm for olaf's cause. it was otherwise in the host of the yeomanry; many had small desire to fight for king canute, and among the chiefs there was an evident reluctance to lead. kalf had, therefore, no difficulty in securing authority to command--it was almost thrust upon him. the battle was joined at stiklestead farm, about forty miles north-east of the modern throndhjem. the summer night is short in the northlands and the long morning gave opportunity for careful preparation. at noon the armies met and the battle began. for more than two hours it raged, king olaf fighting heroically among his men. leading an attack on the hostile standard, he came into a hand-to-hand conflict with the chiefs of the yeomanry and fell wounded in three places.[ ] saint olaf's day is celebrated on july th, and it is generally held that the battle was fought on that date. some historians have thought that it was really fought a month later on the last day of august. sighvat was that year on a pilgrimage to rome, and was consequently not an eye-witness; but his lines composed after his return are, nevertheless, one of the chief sources used by the saga-men. the poet alludes to an eclipse of the sun on the day of the battle: they call it a great wonder that the sun would not, though the sky was cloudless, shine warm upon the men.[ ] such an eclipse, total in that very region at the hour assigned to the climax of the fight, actually occurred on august st. it is generally held, however, that the eclipse came to be associated with the battle later when the search for miracles had begun. the reaction was successfully met, but without any assistance from canute. sweyn had prepared a large force of danes, commanded it seems by earl harold, and had hastened northward; but had only reached the wick when the battle of stiklestead was fought. it seems strange at first thought that no english fleet was sent to assist kalf and his associates. it is not likely that canute depended much on the fidelity of the northmen--he understood human nature better than most rulers of his time; nor had he any means of knowing how widely the revolt would spread when the former king should issue his appeal. the key to his seeming inactivity must be sought in the international situation of the time: england was just then threatened with an invasion from the south, a danger that demanded a concentration of military resources on the shores of the channel. the accounts that have come down to us of the relations of england and normandy during the latter half of canute's reign are confused and contradictory; but a few facts are tolerably clear. some time after the murder of ulf ( ), canute gave the widowed estrid in marriage to robert the duke of normandy ( - ).[ ] it may be that on his return from rome in the spring of canute had a conference with robert, who had succeeded to the ducal throne in the previous february. but whether such a meeting occurred or not, robert had serious trouble before him in normandy and no doubt was eager for an alliance with the great king of the north. the marriage must have taken place in or ; a later date seems improbable. the father of william bastard is not famous for conjugal fidelity and may not have been strongly attracted by the danish widow; at any rate, he soon repudiated her, perhaps to estrid's great relief, as duke robert the devil seems not to have borne his nickname in vain. the characteristics of the duke that most impressed his contemporaries were a ferocious disposition and rude, untamed strength. it is likely, however, that the break with canute is to be ascribed not so much to domestic infelicity as to new political ambitions; at the court of rouen were the two sons of king ethelred, edward and alfred, who had grown to manhood in normandy. it apparently became robert's ambition to place these princes on english thrones, which he could not hope to accomplish without war. an embassy was sent to canute (perhaps in ), somewhat similar to the one that canute had sent to norway a few years before, bearing a similar errand and equipped with similar arguments. evidently the norman ambassadors did not receive kind treatment at the english court. their report stirred the duke to great wrath; he ordered a fleet to be prepared for an invasion of england.[ ] most likely that was the time, too, of the duchess estrid's disgrace. the expedition sailed, but a storm sent, as william of jumièges believes, by an overruling providence, "who had determined that edward should some day gain the crown without the shedding of blood," drove the fleet in a westerly direction past the peninsula of cotentin to the shores of jersey. robert was disappointed, but the fleet was not prepared in vain: instead of attacking england, the duke proceeded against brittany and forced his enemy duke alain to seek peace through the mediation of the church at rouen.[ ] these events must have occurred after canute's return from the north,--in the years and . no other period seems possible; it is not likely that the threatened hostilities could have been later than , for in a new king, henry i., ascended the french throne and robert the devil became involved in the resulting civil war.[ ] if our chronology is correct, the summer of saw the northern empire threatened from two directions; in norway it took the form of revolt; in normandy that of threatened invasion. in both instances legitimate claimants aimed to dislodge a usurper. the danger from the south was by far the greater; olaf's harsh rule had not yet been forgotten by the norsemen, nor had they yet experienced the rigours of alien rule. england was quiet and apparently contented; but what effect the pretensions of the ethelings would have on the populace no one could know. we may be sure that canute was ready for the invader; but so long as the norwegian troubles were still unsettled, he wisely limited himself to defensive operations. it is also related, though not by any contemporary writer, that canute was dangerously ill at the time of the norman trouble, and that he at one time expressed a willingness to divide the english kingdom with the ethelings.[ ] whether he was ill or not, such an offer does not necessitate the inference either of despair or of fear for the outcome. the offer if made was doubtless a diplomatic one, on par with the promises to the norwegian rebels, made for the purpose of gaining time, perhaps, until norway was once more pacified. but fortune had not deserted the great dane. when autumn came in , the war clouds had passed and the northern skies were clear and cheerful. canute's norwegian rival had gone to his reward; his norman rival was absorbed in other interests. without question canute was now emperor of the north. footnotes: [ ] _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., (vigfusson's translation with slight changes). [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _afhandlinger viede sophus bugges minde_, . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] _ibid._, cc. ff. [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] _chronicon_, i., - . [ ] _chronicon_, i., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] for details of the battle see snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, cc. - . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] the evidence for this marriage is discussed by freeman in _norman conquest_, i., note ppp. [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, vi., c. . [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, vi., cc. , . [ ] this was followed by a famine in the duchy ( ) which probably induced the duke to make his pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre on the return from which he died ( ). [ ] william of jumièges, _historia normannorum_, vi., c. . chapter xii the empire of the north when the eleventh century began its fourth decade, canute was, with the single exception of the emperor, the most imposing ruler in latin christendom. less than twenty years earlier he had been a landless pirate striving to dislodge an ancient and honoured dynasty; now he was the lord of four important realms and the overlord of other kingdoms. though technically canute was counted among the kings, his position among his fellow-monarchs was truly imperial. apparently he held in his hands the destinies of two great regions; the british isles and the scandinavian peninsulas. his fleet all but controlled two important seas, the north and the baltic. he had built an empire. it was a weak structure, founded too largely on the military and diplomatic achievements of a single man; but the king was young--in the ordinary course of nature he should have lived to rule at least thirty years longer--and with careful diplomatic effort, of which he was a master, he might be expected to accomplish great things in the way of consolidating his dominions. but instead of thirty years, the fates had counted out less than half a dozen. in this period he was able to do almost nothing to strengthen the bonds of empire. canute's power did not long remain at its zenith--the decline began almost immediately. in this there is nothing strange; the marvel is in the fact that such an empire was actually built. of canute's many dominions, the kingdoms of denmark, england, and norway had fairly distinct boundaries. lothian might be in question between england and scotland; the norwegian kings had claimed certain territories across the scandinavian watershed, jemteland, a norse colony in swedish possession; but otherwise the limits were tolerably definite. the fourth division, the slavic lands on the southern rim of the baltic, was a more indefinite area. its limits are unknown; perhaps it should be called a sphere of influence rather than a province. there were, however, certain evident nuclei; the regions about the lower course of the oder with jomburg as the chief city were doubtless the more important part; in addition there was semland in the extreme east of modern prussia, witland a trifle farther west where the vistula empties into the sea; and doubtless some of the intervening territories. there are indications that danish settlements had also been planted in the region of the modern city of riga[ ]; but as to their probable relation to canute's empire the sources are silent. in addition to england, canute possessed important territories elsewhere in the british archipelago. the king of scotland was his vassal, at least for a part of his dominions; and we have seen that at least one other scottish king, probably from the extreme north of the island, had done homage to canute. it has also been shown that the norse-irish kingdom of dublin should, perhaps, be counted among his vassal states. as king of norway, canute was lord of the shetlands and the orkneys, perhaps also the hebrides, and other norse colonies on the west shores of scotland. the faroes were not wholly subject and the icelandic republic still maintained its independence; but the straggling settlements in far-off greenland seem to have acknowledged their dependence on the norwegian crown.[ ] any definite imperial policy canute seems never to have developed. in his own day the various units were nominally ruled by earls or sub-kings, usually chosen from the king's own immediate family; but the real power was often in the hands of some trusted chief whom the king associated with the lord who bore the title. if time had been granted, some form of feudalism might have developed out of this arrangement; but it had few feudal characteristics in canute's own day. it was evidently canute's intention to continue the scheme of one king for the entire group of dominions, for at the imperial assembly at nidaros, he placed harthacanute in the high-seat and gave him the administration of denmark, which was, after all, the central kingdom. the encomiast bears further testimony as to canute's intention when he tells us that all england had taken an oath to accept harthacanute as king.[ ] it seems that canute, to secure the succession to his legitimate son, had adopted the capetian expedient of associating the heir with himself in the kingship while he was still living. so long as obedience, especially in matters of military assistance, was duly rendered, few difficulties were likely to arise between the supreme lord of winchester and his subordinates in nidaros, roeskild, or jomburg. as the union was personal, each kingdom retained its own laws and its own system of assemblies, though this must have been true to a less extent in the slavic possessions, as these seem to have been regarded almost as a danish dependency. when the reign closed, harthacanute was governing denmark; sweyn assisted by his mother elgiva had charge of norway, though at that moment the norwegian rebels were in actual control. canute ruled england himself, not because it was regarded as the chief or central kingdom, but more likely because it could not with safety be entrusted to any one else. so far as the empire had any capital, that distinction appears to have belonged to the ancient city of winchester. here in the heart of wessex was the seat of english government, the royal and imperial residence. we naturally think of canute's household as an english court; but it is difficult to determine what racial influences were in actual control. nor do we know what was the official language in canute's royal garth; but the probabilities are that both old english and old norse were in constant use. the housecarles who guarded the royal person and interests were in large part of scandinavian birth or blood. the norse poets who sang praise-lays in the royal hall at winchester sang in their native dialects. of the king's thegns who witnessed canute's land grants, as a rule about one half bear scandinavian names; there can be little doubt that most of these were resident at court, at all events those whose names appear in more than one document. other nationalities, too, were represented at winchester. in the enrolment of housecarles, the king asked for strength, valour, wealth, and aristocratic birth; not, it seems, for danish or english ancestry. the bishops that canute sent from england to denmark appear to have been flemings or lotharingians. william who in a later reign became bishop of roeskild is said to have come to denmark as canute's private secretary or chancellor; but william is neither a northern nor a saxon but a norman name. and thus with dane and angle, norman and norseman, swede and saxon, celt and german thronging the royal garth the court at winchester must have borne an appearance that was distinctly non-english. as at other courts, men came and went; and the stories of the splendours at winchester were given wide currency. the dissatisfied norsemen who sought refuge in england found at canute's court greater magnificence than in any other place, both as to the number in daily attendance and as to the furnishings and equipments of the palaces that he owned and occupied.[ ] sighvat the scald, who had seen rouen and visited rome, was so deeply impressed with the glories of canute's capital that in his praise-lay he introduced the refrain: canute was under heaven the most glorious king.[ ] there seems also to have been a notable slavic element in canute's retinue. attention has been called to the king's slavic ancestry: the slavic strain was evidently both broader and deeper than the danish. one of the king's sisters bore a slavic name, santslave[ ]; another sister, gunhild, married a slavic "king," wyrtgeorn or witigern,[ ] who may have been the wrytsleof who witnessed an english land grant in [ ]; possibly he was visiting his english kinsfolk at the time. among the chiefs of the imperial guard was one godescalc, the son of a slavic prince, though danish on the maternal side; he, too, married into the danish royal family.[ ] the affairs of each separate kingdom were evidently directed from the national capitals and administered largely by native functionaries. at the same time, it seems to have been canute's policy to locate danish officials in all his principal dominions, at least in the higher offices. the appointment of danes to places of importance in england has been noted in an earlier chapter. with the subjection of norway, a number of danes received official appointments in that kingdom. a leading cause of the norwegian revolt in - was the prominence given to aliens in the councils of the regent sweyn: "danish men had in those days much authority in norway, but that was liked ill by the men of the land."[ ] on the other hand, no englishman seems to have received official responsibilities in the north except in the church; and it may be doubted whether canute sent many anglian prelates to his realms in the east: the bishops that we have record of seem to have been normans, flemings, or clerks from the danelaw. when a court bishop was to be found for the household of earl hakon, the choice fell upon sigurd, a dane and a violent friend of danish rule. of canute's diplomacy the sources afford us only an occasional glimpse; but the information that we have indicates that he entered into diplomatic relations with almost every ruler of importance in northern and western europe. the king of scotland became his vassal. the sagas tell of an embassy to sweden in the years preceding the attack on norway. during the same period canute's cousin, the king of poland, apparently sought his alliance against the germans. with the emperor he maintained the closest relations. the norman dukes were bound to the danish dynasty by the noble ties of marriage. on his visit to rome the english king came into personal contact with the king of burgundy and his holiness the pope. even to distant aquitaine did the mighty monarch send his ambassadors with messages of good-will in the form of substantial presents. in a panegyric on william the great, the duke of aquitaine, adémar of chabannes writes that every year embassies came to the duke's court with precious gifts from the kings of spain, france, and navarre, "and also from canute, king of the danes and the angles"; and the chronicler adds that the messengers brought even more costly presents away.[ ] on one occasion "the king of that country [england] sent a manuscript written with letters of gold along with other gifts."[ ] as this statement seems to have been written in , and as the author emphasises the fact that this beautiful codex had arrived "recently," it seems probable that this embassy should be associated with canute's pilgrimage to rome the year before. it is not strange that canute should wish to honour a prince like william; and it is only natural that he should wish to placate a people who had suffered so much, as the aquitanians had, from the raids and inroads of his former associates and his allies, the vikings and the normans. with respect to his immediate neighbours, canute's policy was usually absorption or close friendship. what he felt he could add to his dominions, he added; where this was not possible, he sought peace and alliance. his diplomacy must have concerned itself especially with three states: normandy, sweden, and the empire. as to his relations with sweden after the encounter at holy river, history is silent; but war was evidently avoided. canute probably regarded any effort to extend his territories eastward as an unwise move, so long as the disappointed norwegian chiefs continued to show signs of unrest and rebellion. with normandy he lived in continuous peace for more than a decade, until robert the devil took up the cause of the exiled princes. that canute feared a move in this direction seems evident; and as queen emma's influence at rouen was probably weakened by the death of richard the good ( ), it was no doubt in the hope of strengthening his position at the ducal court that canute sought the title of duchess for his widowed sister. as we have seen, his success was only temporary, and for a time war seemed imminent. but the confused situation in the french kingdom at this time proved canute's salvation. in the civil war that followed the accession of henry i. to the french throne in , robert of normandy took a leading part on the king's side; and it was largely due to his efforts that henry finally overcame his enemies.[ ] meanwhile, the sons of ethelred and emma had to wait several years before another opportunity appeared with sufficient promise to tempt the exiles back across the channel. for soon after the french king was safely enthroned, famine came upon normandy, an affliction that led robert the devil to think of a visit to the grave of christ. the journey was undertaken but on the return the duke died in asia minor ( ). his successor was william who finally conquered england; but william was a child and canute had no longer any fears from that direction. a few months after robert's death the king of england also closed his earthly career. had robert survived canute, it is likely that some of the results of hastings might have come thirty years earlier than they did. after , when canute ascended the danish throne, the attitude and plans of the emperor became an important factor in northern diplomacy. the empire was a dangerous neighbour; the ottos had apparently been ambitious to extend their authority throughout the entire jutish peninsula. but during canute's reign neither power could afford to offend the other; and the danes were therefore able to keep continued peace along the southern borders of the kingdom. at one time, when the emperor found himself in serious difficulties, canute was able to drive a hard bargain and exchange his friendship for a strip of imperial territory. it is not likely that the german kings looked with much favour on danish expansion at the mouths of the vistula and the oder, but they were not in position to prevent it. in , when canute made his expedition to wendland, the emperor henry ii. was absent in italy, striving, as usual, to reduce disorder.[ ] two years later he died, and conrad of franconia was chosen king of the germans. his election was the signal for uprisings and plots almost along the whole length of the border, in poland, in lorraine, and in lombardy.[ ] boleslav, king of the poles, died in the following year ( ), but his successor continued the policy of hostility to the germans and seems to have sought the alliance of his cousin canute against the teutonic foes.[ ] conrad, too, sought canute's friendship and was able to outbid his polish rival. it was agreed that there should be perpetual peace between conrad and canute, and to cement the good understanding and secure its continuance in years to come, canute's little daughter gunhild, who could not yet have been more than five or six years old, was betrothed to conrad's son henry, who was, perhaps, three years older.[ ] the covenant was kept, and henry received his bride about ten years later ( ), after the death of canute. the bridegroom was the mighty emperor henry iii., though he did not attain to the imperial dignity before the death of conrad in . gunhild was crowned queen of germany and as a part of the ceremony received the more honoured german name kunigund; but she never became empress, as she died in .[ ] in return for his friendship, canute received the mark of sleswick, a strip of land between the schley and the eider, that henry the fowler had taken from the danes a century before. thus the eider once more became the boundary of the danish kingdom. but apart from territorial acquisitions, canute was doubtless glad to conclude the treaty, as he was just then planning the conquest of norway. the negotiations with conrad were probably concluded in the year or , though more likely in the former year.[ ] perhaps at the same time the german king invited his ally to participate in his coronation as emperor; for in canute journeyed to rome to witness the great event. there can be little doubt that on this occasion the pledges were renewed. but even in the absence of formal treaties there was small occasion for conrad to make trouble for his neighbour to the north. the years following his coronation in rome saw four serious revolts in germany; not till was real order restored in conrad's kingdom. there was another power that canute could not afford to antagonise or even ignore: no mediæval monarch could long flourish if he overlooked the needs of the church. during the first years of his english kingship, canute does not seem to have sought to conciliate the clergy; but after a few years he apparently adopted a new policy and strove to ally himself with the priesthood. it was as king of england that he first succeeded in forming such an alliance; in his other kingdoms, the ecclesiastical problem assumed a somewhat different form. with the head of christendom, canute's relations seem to have been cordial throughout his entire reign. it was the papacy that made the first move to establish such relations: in archbishop lifing brought a message back from rome replete with good advice which seems to have nattered the young dane. the pilgrimage to rome doubtless strengthened the bond; especially must the king's later efforts to see that the proper church dues were collected have pleased the popes of that period. for the papacy had fallen low in that age: the pope whom canute visited was only a layman up to the day of his election to the sacred office; his successor benedict is said to have been a mere boy when he was elevated to the papal dignity, though authorities differ as to his age. there was, therefore, little likelihood of any conflict so long as the peter's pence were regularly transported to rome. a new papacy was to come; but hildebrand had not quite reached manhood when canute went to his rest. canute's ecclesiastical policy in england, at least during the closing years of his reign, seems to have aimed at greater control than had been the case earlier. the friendship and active good-will of the church could best be secured by carefully choosing the rulers of the church. as a christian court, the royal household at winchester had in its employment a regular staff of priests, nine of whom are mentioned in the documents. canute honoured his priests; he seems to have invited them to seats in the national assembly; he called them in to witness grants of land. finally, he honoured several of them still further by appointing them to episcopal office: at least three of canute's clerks received such appointments before the reign closed.[ ] his successor inherited his policy and several more of canute's chapel clerks were honoured in edward's time. the policy was not new: even in carolingian times the royal chapel had been used as a training school for future prelates, and there are traces of a similar practice in england long before canute's time. but so far as the dane was concerned, the plan was probably original: we cannot suppose him to have been very well informed as to precedents more than two centuries old. in norway the problem was how to christianise and organise the land, and canute had no great part in either. the danish church, however, was growing in strength and developing under conditions that might produce great difficulties: it was the daughter of the german church; it was governed by an alien prelate. the primacy of the northern churches belonged to the see of bremen, the church from which the earliest missionaries had gone forth into denmark and sweden. while this primacy was in a way recognised, in practice, the northern kings in the early years of the eleventh century paid small regard to the claims of the archbishop. the two olafs depended mainly on england and the neighbouring parts of the continent for priests and prelates; and canute, as king of england, seems to have planned to make the danish church, too, dependent on the see of canterbury. at this time unwan was archbishop of bremen; for sixteen years he ruled his province with a resolute hand and for the most part with strength and wisdom. unwan was displeased when he learned that canute was sending bishops from england to denmark; we have already seen how he managed to make a prisoner and even a partisan of gerbrand, who, like unwan himself, was doubtless a german. this must have been in or , more likely in the former year. aided by gerbrand, who acted as mediator, unwan was able to make canute recognise his primacy. adam of bremen mentions great gifts that unwan sent to canute,[ ] but these were probably not the determining consideration. in , canute was fighting the slavs and adding territory that would naturally belong to the mission fields of bremen, and it would hardly be wise to make an enemy of one whose historic rights had been admitted by earlier danish kings. till unwan's death in , the king and the archbishop were fast friends. unwan served as mediator between canute and the emperor when the alliance was formed in (?)[ ] and otherwise served the danish king. it seems probable that a personal acquaintance was formed, for adam tells us that unwan rebuilt hamburg and spent considerable time there, "whither he also invited the very glorious king canute ... to confer with him."[ ] [illustration: the hyby stone (monument from the first half of the eleventh century; raised to a christian as appears from the cross.)] the _entente_ that was thus formed seems also to have affected mission operations in norway. it is likely that unwan demanded that king olaf should no longer be allowed to recruit his ecclesiastical forces in england; for soon after the date that we have assumed as that of the new treaty, bishop grimkell appeared as king olaf's ambassador at unwan's court. the bishop, who was evidently a northman from the danelaw, brought the customary gifts and the prayer that unwan would accept the anglian clerks and prelates then in norway as of his province and that he would further increase the clerical forces of the kingdom.[ ] thus in the years - , the rights of hamburg-bremen were recognised everywhere. unwan was succeeded in the province by libentius, the nephew of an earlier libentius who had held the metropolitan office in bremen before unwan's day. he was of italian blood and therefore not likely to be burdened with german sympathies. before everything else, says the good master adam, he entered into friendly relations with the king of the danes.[ ] but during libentius' as well as unwan's primacy canute seems to have selected the bishops for his danish as well as for his english sees. during the closing years of his life, canute's policy was completely identified with that of the mediæval church as regards his attitude toward heathen and un-christian practices. so long as the norwegian problem was unsettled, the king dared not take a decided stand against the old faith, as he was too much dependent on heathen or semi-heathen assistance against king olaf. but after the conquest there was no reason for further delay, and the english church got its desired legislation. in two comparatively long enactments, one ecclesiastical and one secular, all the old and important church laws were re-enacted and various new provisions added.[ ] archbishop dunstan was canonised and given may th as his mass day.[ ] added protection was given to churches and to the ministers of the altar: outlawry was to be the punishment for slaying a priest.[ ] it was carefully explained that the privileges of the priesthood were due to the exalted character of the divine office; for great is the exorcism and glorious the consecration that cast out devils and put them to flight whenever baptism is celebrated or the host is consecrated; and holy angels are present to watch over the sacred act and through the power of god to assist the priests so long as they worthily serve christ.[ ] sundays and other church holidays were to be properly kept; and no commercial transactions were to be tolerated on sundays, nor were the public courts to hold sessions on those days except in cases of extreme necessity.[ ] due attention was to be given to the seasons when the church prescribed fasting; but it was explicitly stated that except in the case of penitents, no fasting was to be required between easter and pentecost, or from christmas to the close of the week following epiphany,[ ] the joyous period of the northern yule-tide. it seems clear that enactments of this sort would be necessary only in regions where there might still be a considerable number of recent converts with whom the observance of christian rites and customs had not yet become a habit. it may be, therefore, that these laws were particularly intended for certain parts of the danelaw. perhaps it was the need of improving the religious conditions in the danish settlements that inspired the royal demand for general instruction in the fundamentals of the christian faith. and we order every christian to learn at least so much that he can understand clearly the teachings of the true faith, and to learn thoroughly the pater noster and the credo.[ ] some attention is also paid to ecclesiastical finance. fines were provided for neglect in the payment of church dues; part of these were to be paid to the bishop. the anglo-saxons were in the habit of making contributions for church lights at the feast of the purification (candlemas, february d), at easter eve, and on all saints' day (november st). a fortnight after easter plough alms were to be paid. a tithe of young beasts was due at pentecost. peter's pence were contributed on saint peter's day (august st). a tithe of the harvested crops was due at all saints' day. the last tax of the year was the church scot which was paid at martinsmas (november th). all these contributions are specifically mentioned and urged in canute's laws for the english church.[ ] the second part of canute's legislation, the secular laws, is a document of considerable length, of which only a comparatively small part is copied from the earlier "dooms." it deals with a variety of subjects, several of which may be classed as religious rather than secular. a very important act was the definition and prohibition of heathendom and heathen practices. heathendom is the worship of idols, namely the worship of heathen gods, and the sun or moon, fire or flood, fountains or rocks or forest trees of any sort; also to practise witchcraft or to commit murders in any manner, whether in sacrifices or in auguries, or to busy oneself with any such delusion.[ ] as it is not customary to forbid what is never performed, we have in this enactment evidence for a persisting heathendom on english soil. in the scandinavian colonies pagan practices were probably hard to uproot; at the same time, it is not likely that the old faith was a force that needed to be considered any longer. the matter of christian marriage is dealt with in both the secular and the ecclesiastical laws. it was difficult to enforce the regulations of the church on this subject and particularly among the vikings, whose ideas as to the binding force of marriage were exceedingly vague.[ ] canute forbade clandestine marriages; to the old law that a man should have but one wife he added the important provision that "she should be his legally espoused wife."[ ] he also gave the protection of the state to widows and virgins who preferred to remain unmarried.[ ] other important enactments deal with matters of finance, especially with the king's share in the fines assessed in the courts, his income from his estates, and coinage and counterfeiting; there are also important laws that look toward the security of persons and of property. the principle of equality before the law is distinctly stated: the magnates were to have no unusual privileges in the courts of justice. many a powerful man will, if he can and may, defend his man in whatever way it seems to him the more easy to defend him, whether as freeman or as _theow_ (serf). but we will not suffer that injustice.[ ] with the legislation of canute, the development of old english law comes to a close. various tracts or customals of considerable importance were composed in the eleventh century, some of which may have been put into form after the close of canute's reign; but of these we know neither the authors nor the date. the "laws of edward" that the norman kings swore to maintain were in reality the laws of canute; for when the anglo-norman lawyers of the early twelfth century began to investigate the subject of old english law, they found its most satisfactory statement in the legislation of the mighty dane. in the _quadripartitus_ these laws occupy the most prominent place; while the compilations that liebermann has called the _instituta cnuti_ and the _consiliatio cnuti_ are scarcely more than translations of canute's legislation for church and state.[ ] so great was the danish king's reputation as a lawmaker in the twelfth century that he was even credited with enactments and institutional experiments with which he never had any connection. toward the close of that century an official of the royal forest, as it seems, drew up an elaborate law for the king's hunting preserves which he tried to give currency and authority by ascribing it to canute.[ ] the dane was not indifferent to the chase, but he did not find it necessary to make it the subject of extensive legislation. in his secular laws the subject is disposed of in a single sentence: "and let every man forego my hunting, wherever i wish to have it free from trespass, under penalty of the full fine."[ ] in the so-called "laws of edward the confessor" it is stated that the _murdrum_ fine originated in the reign of canute. it is well-known that william the conqueror found it necessary to take special measures for the protection of his normans from assassination at the hands of englishmen who were seeking vengeance; he decreed, therefore, that the hundred where the murder of a norman was committed should see that the criminal was given proper punishment or pay a heavy fine in case of default. the twelfth-century lawyer who drew up the "laws of edward" evidently believed that in this matter william was following a precedent from danish times.[ ] but though it seems that canute was obliged to legislate for the protection of his danish officials and subjects in norway, there is no good evidence for any corresponding decree in england. a similar conclusion has been reached as to canute's responsibility for the institution known as frankpledge. tithing and surety, two old english institutions which were the roots of the later frankpledge, are mentioned in the laws of canute; but they were still distinct. the tithing, normally a group of ten, was charged chiefly with the duty of assisting in the pursuit of criminals; not until its members had been pledged to a duty of mutual suretyship, each being held responsible in certain respects for the behaviour of all his associates in the group, did the tithing develop into the pledge.[ ] in canute's empire there were at least two institutional systems, those of england and of the north. in some respects both had attained a high development. the question how far these systems influenced each other as the result of the union is a difficult one: the union of the crowns was of short duration and the institutional changes that seem to indicate borrowing may be due in large part to earlier contact through the danelaw. with the northmen came a new conception of personal honour and a new term for criminality of the most dishonourable type, the _nithing_ name. norse rules were introduced into court procedure. administrative areas came to bear norse appellations, as the wapentake in the danelaw generally and the riding in yorkshire.[ ] these facts, however, belong in large measure to the earlier development, though it doubtless continued through the reign of canute and longer. but though scandinavian ideas of law had long flourished on english soil, it was not till canute's day that they were formally accepted as a part of the anglo-saxon legal system. in penal legislation a new spirit appeared: there was less mercy and punishments became more severe--exile, mutilation, and forfeiture of life more common. if the ordeal should convict a man of a second offence, the penalty might be the loss of the hands or the feet, or of both. still further mutilation was decreed if the criminal should continue to commit grave offences; "but let the soul be spared."[ ] the same penalties were not always provided for both sexes: a faithless husband might have to pay the ancient money fine for man-slaughter; a sinning wife was to suffer the loss of all her property and her ears and nose.[ ] certain institutions of scandinavian origin took on a peculiar form during canute's reign: for instance, the guard of housecarles in its english and later danish form, and the office of staller or the king's spokesman at the popular assemblies, which office seems to have been introduced into england in canute's day.[ ] it is still more difficult to determine what results the union had for the institutional development of denmark. on only one point have we clear evidence: canute was the first danish king to begin a systematic coinage of money. coins were stricken in denmark before his day, but there was no organised system of mints. canute supplied this need, using the english pattern. he brought moneyers from his western kingdom and located them in the chief cities of denmark; coins have come down to us that were stricken by these moneyers in the cities of roeskild, ringsted, odense, heathby (sleswick), and lund.[ ] on the other hand, canute's norwegian legislation shows clear traces of anglo-saxon influence. of his three kingdoms, norway, doubtless, had the least efficient constitution. in norway there was much liberty, but also much disorder; emphasis was placed on personal rights, especially on those of the aristocracy; but such emphasis is too frequently subversive of good government. the dane was a believer in strong, orderly administration: it was his purpose to introduce european principles into the norse constitution. had he been personally in control he might have succeeded but his deputies at nidaros were unequal to the task; discontent and rebellion were the result. for the laws that the new regents proclaimed in norway, the norsemen were inclined to lay all blame on sweyn's mother, elgiva (alfiva, the northmen called her), canute's mistress of olden time. but there can be little doubt that in this matter she and her son merely carried out the king's instructions. the laws fall into three classes: revenue legislation, police and military ordinances, and a new definition of penalties.[ ] a new tax that apparently affected the entire population was the demand that at christmas time every hearth should contribute certain "gifts": a measure of malt, the leg of a full-grown ox, and as much unspun flax as could be held between the thumb and the middle finger. this reminds one somewhat of the english ferm, a contribution that was due from the various counties. it was also enacted that the franklins should assist in erecting buildings on the royal estates, and that merchants and fishermen and all who sailed to iceland should pay certain dues to the king. a law that was clearly aimed at the ancient practice of blood feud provided that murder should entail the loss of lands as well as of personal property; also that the king alone should take inheritance after an outlaw. in those same years canute decreed in england that whoever committed a deed of outlawry should forfeit his lands to the king. the new norse laws also forbade any subject to leave the land without permission, on pain of outlawry. parallel to this is the english law that ordered forfeiture for leaving one's lord, with the difference that in norway the king himself was the lord. it was also decreed that the testimony of a dane should outweigh that of ten norsemen, the purpose of which was clearly to secure the lives of danish officials and soldiers. it was further provided that every male above the age of five years should be counted one of seven to equip a soldier. it may be that this provision was suggested by the old english custom of grouping five hides of land (originally the lands of five households) for similar purposes. snorre believes that these laws were danish in origin; but it is more likely that they grew out of canute's experience with anglo-saxon custom and the principles of continental feudalism, though it is possible that some of them had been introduced into denmark earlier in the reign and came to norway from the southern kingdom. [illustration: runic monument from upland, sweden (shows blending of celtic and northern art.)] footnotes: [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, i., - . [ ] munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., , . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . the encomiast is intensely partisan and much given to exaggeration; but we cannot reject the statement as to the english oath without convicting him of a worse fault for which there was scarcely a sufficient motive at the time when the _encomium_ was composed. [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., - . [ ] steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, - . the name occurs in the _liber vibæ_ of winchester in a list of benefactors. see above p. . [ ] steenstrup, _venderne og de danske_, . florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] after canute's death, godescalc returned to his native country and took up the cause of christian mission effort among the heathen wends. adamus, _gesta_, ii., cc. , . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _mon. ger. hist., scriptores_, iv., ; adémar's _chronicle_, ii., c. . [ ] migne, _patrologia latina_, cxli., col. : sermon by adémar. migne considers the sermon of doubtful genuineness, possibly because he thought its delivery should go back to , when in reality seems to be the correct date. [ ] lavisse, _histoire de france_, ii., ii., . [ ] manitius, _deutsche geschichte_, - . [ ] manitius, _deutsche geschichte_, - , , ff. [ ] _ibid._, - . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . manitius (_deutsche geschichte_, ) believes the cession was not made before . [ ] larson, _the king's household, in england_, - . [ ] _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. ; iv., c. . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., ff. [ ] _canute_, c. , i. [ ] _ibid._, cc. , ; _ii. canute_, c. . [ ] _i. canute_, c. , . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _i. canute_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, cc. - . [ ] _ii. canute_, c. , . [ ] on this point the norse sources furnish evidence everywhere. for the condition among the scandinavians in britain, see the account of the "siege of durham" published among the writings of simeon of durham (_opera omnia_, - ). [ ] _i. canute_, c. , . [ ] _ii. canute_, cc. , , i, . [ ] _ii. canute_, c. , i. [ ] for the text of these compilations (including the forged forest law) see liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., - , - . the documents have been made the subject of a series of studies by f. liebermann, the results of which are summed up in pollock and maitland, _history of english law_, i., - . [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., . [ ] _ii. canute_, c. , i. [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., ; _leges edwardi confessoris_, c. . [ ] on this subject see morris, _the frankpledge system_, c. i. [ ] on this subject the most important work is steenstrup's _danelag_ (_normannerne_, iv.); see especially pp. - , - , ff.; also _normannerne_, iii., - . [ ] _ii. canute_, c. , . [ ] _ibid._, c. ff. [ ] larson, _the king's household in england_, c. . [ ] _danmarks riges historie_, i., - . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . chapter xiii northern culture in the days of canute to present an adequate discussion of the state of culture among canute's subjects in the space of a single chapter would be impossible. so far as the western realm is concerned it would also be unnecessary, as the subject of anglo-saxon culture is an old study and discussions in english are readily accessible. this chapter will therefore be chiefly concerned with the civilisation of the northern lands, and especially with the great transformations that came with the viking age and were becoming most evident toward its close. the two controlling types of civilisation in the anglo-scandinavian empire, the english and the norse, were both fundamentally germanic; but english culture had for centuries been permeated with christian thought, while in the north the ideals of heathendom were still a force to be taken into account. it is difficult to characterise northern society in the earlier decades of the eleventh century: all the various regions were not in the same stage of development; all were not subject to the same modifying influences. but it was a growing organism, showing change in almost every fibre. scandinavian civilisation was gradually approaching the european type. there is danger that we may place the northman on a too high plane of culture; but the error is more frequently on the other side.[ ] measured by the standards of his own age, the northman was not a barbarian. he had great energy of mind and much intellectual curiosity. he sailed everywhere and frequently included european ideas in his plunder or merchandise. the population throughout scandinavia was overwhelmingly rural; cities were few and insignificant, when we consider the number of houses and inhabitants, though it appears that the urban element was rapidly developing in the eleventh century. as early as the ninth century we find mention of birca, an island city in lake maelar in eastern sweden; of heathby near the modern city of sleswick on the southern border of denmark; and of skiringshall in southern norway.[ ] these and other cities evidently originated in the need of definite market places. roads were poor in the middle ages and the sea was often a dangerous highway; commerce was therefore largely limited to the more favourable seasons of the year, and hence the importance of periodic markets. these were often held in connection with the great sacrificial festivals and it is therefore not strange that the earlier cities grew up on or near the sites of the ancient sanctuaries.[ ] in such localities grew up odense on the island of funen, wisby on the island of gotland, and skiringshall on the great bay.[ ] nidaros (throndhjem) is said to have been founded by the first king olaf, but its great importance dates from the canonisation of saint olaf whose bones were buried there. kingscrag (konungahelle) at the mouth of the gaut river, and tunsberg on the western shore of folden bay seem to have had their origin as landing places for merchants and vikings. on the other hand, sarpsborg across the inlet from tunsberg evidently grew up around a stronghold established in the days of saint olaf. urban developments can also be traced in the western colonies: old cities in england, especially in the danelaw, passed into the control of the northmen; new cities rose on the shores of the irish sea. this commercial movement began to gather strength during the quiet decades of the tenth century but it must have progressed rapidly during the peaceful reign of canute. from novgorod in russia to bristol and limerick in the british isles the ships of the north sailed every summer laden with the products of all northern europe: furs from norway and russia; the teeth of the walrus from the arctic waters; cured fish from the scandinavian seas; honey from the baltic shores; norwegian hawks for the english sportsmen; and numerous other products. in return for these the northmen received the luxuries of the south, especially wine, wheat, and silk; but numerous thralls were also imported, particularly from the celtic lands.[ ] these foreign products were chiefly consumed in the homes of the scandinavian aristocracy. in material comforts the northmen were probably not far behind the corresponding classes elsewhere in europe. when the god righ came to the chieftain's house, then the housewife thought of her arms, smoothened her linen, pleated her sleeves. broad was her headgear, a brooch on her breast; she wore trailing sashes and a blue-dyed sark. when her son was born, "she swaddled him in silk"; and when her daughter-in-law came to the hall as a bride, "she walked under the veil of fine linen."[ ] the sudden consciousness of rare finery was not limited to the women; rich and highly coloured clothing also delighted the men. the influence of alien culture was also shown in the entertainment provided for the visiting god: then took mother a markèd[ ] cover of bleached linen and laid upon the board. next she laid out the thinnest loaves of wheaten flour on the white cover. she set the table with silver-mounted dishes heaped with roasted birds and ham. the wine brightened the mounted beakers. they drank and talked till the day was done.[ ] "the lay of righ" was composed, it is believed, in the days of canute's grandfather; but the civilisation that it describes was not new; even a century earlier the ruling classes in the north had reached a high stage of culture, as we know from the large number of articles indicating a refined and cultivated taste that were found when the oseberg ship was discovered and excavated a few years ago.[ ] as in early saxon times before the clergy had monopolised learning, the higher forms of cultured life saw their finest fruitage in the halls of kings and chiefs. the old scandinavian house was a wooden structure of rectangular shape, its length being considerably greater than the width. in its general lines it doubtless bore close resemblance to the anglo-saxon dwelling of the same period. in the number and arrangement of the rooms the individual houses showed some, though not great, variety; but a large living-room seems to have been characteristic of all. in the middle of this room a long trough lined with stones was sunk into the floor; this served as fireplace, the smoke finding its way out through an opening in the roof. on either side of this long fireplace ran a row of pillars that served to support the roof; these also gave opportunities for the carver's art. between the pillars and the wall stood the benches where the feasters sat with portable tables before them. the walls were ornamented with shields and weapons and with the trophies of the chase. at the middle of the long north wall, facing the entrance door on the opposite side, stood the high-seat of the lord of the hall. the size and splendour of the room would depend on the wealth and importance of the owner: some of the larger halls were planned for the entertainment of several hundred guests and henchmen.[ ] there were many other buildings besides the hall, the number depending on the needs of the estate. the king's garth probably differed very little from those of the wealthier chiefs. in england, too, even as late as the year , the palace architecture must have been of the same modest type. in his homily on saint thomas, alfric (who wrote his sermons in the decade of canute's birth) tells the story of how the apostle went to india to build a palace for a king, and, by the way, used the money for building churches: then he examined the grounds where it was to be builded. and thomas went about measuring the place with a yardstick, and said that he would build the hall first of all at the east end of the grounds, and the other buildings behind the hall: bath house and kitchen and winterhouse and summerhouse and winsome bowers,-- twelve houses altogether with good arches-- but such it is not customary to build in england and therefore we do not mention them particularly.[ ] [illustration: scandinavian (icelandic) hall in the viking age] during the reign of canute, however, there must have been material advancement in the direction of greater magnificence in the royal garth. the sagas testify to a splendour at winchester that was greater than what was to be seen anywhere else.[ ] the men of the viking age usually associated the royal hall with the thought of elaborate festivities. the greatest moment in such an occasion was when the scald rose to sing the praises and recite the exploits of his host. it has been thought that the activities of the court poet show celtic influence,[ ] and it may be that the scald had learned freely from the bard; but the institution itself is most probably of native origin. like the irish singer his chief theme was praise; but we need not suppose that the scald confined himself wholly to contemporary themes: the gleeman in beowulf sang of the great hero that sat beside the king; but he also told the tales of the volsungs and the still older story of creation; before the onslaught at stiklestead one of saint olaf's scalds recited the ancient bjarkamál, the old norse version of beowulf's last fight. the holy king seems to have enjoyed the inspiriting strains of heathen heroism; he thanked the poet, as did all the host. old norse poetry had its beginnings in the ninth century; but its greater bulk belongs to the tenth and eleventh. it begins with a wonderful series of mythical poems, most of them belonging to the period of lull in the viking activities ( - ). the series culminates in the sibyl's prophecy (voluspá), one of the grandest monuments of mediæval literary art and thought. it tells the story of the creation, the destruction, the regeneration of the world in heathen terms with heathen gods, giants, and demons as the actors. but it contains unmistakable christian elements and the poet must have had some acquaintance with the faith that ruled in the western islands. the poem seems to have been composed a generation or two before the days of canute; but it was doubtless widely current during the years of his kingship. that the later scalds knew and appreciated the poem is evident from the fact that it was quoted by christian poets in the following century.[ ] no doubt it was an important number in their repertoire of song and story, and perhaps we may believe that it was gladly heard by canute and his henchmen in the royal hall at winchester. [illustration: the vik stone (illustrates the transition from heathendom to christianity; shows a mixture of elements, the serpent and the cross.)] [illustration: the ramsund rock (representations of scenes from the sigfried saga.)] the four decades that the norns allotted to canute ( ?- ) are a notable period in the history of northern literature: it was the grand age of old norse poetry. the advance of christianity had made the myths impossible as poetic materials, but new themes were found in the deeds and virtues of the old teutonic heroes and of the mighty war lords of the viking age. the saga materials of the heroic age, the stories of helgi and sigrun, of sigurd and brunhild, of gudrun's grief and attila's fury, had long been treasured by the northern peoples. just when each individual tale was cast into the form that has come down to us is impossible to say; the probabilities are, however, that a considerable number of the heroic lays were composed in the age of canute. when we come to the court poetry we are on firmer ground: unlike the other poems, the dirges and praise-lays are not anonymous and their dates can be determined with some definiteness. the scald found the age great with possibilities. those were the days of hakon and erik, of sweyn and canute, of erling and thurkil,--men who typified in their warlike activities the deified valour of the old faith. it was also a period of famous battles: swald, ringmere, clontarf, ashington, and stiklestead, to mention only the more prominent. about twenty scalds are known to have sung at the courts of the viking princes, but the compositions of some of them have been wholly lost or exist in mere fragments only. in the reign of canute three poets stood especially high in the royal favour: thorarin praise-tongue, ottar the swart, and sighvat the scald. the three were all icelanders and were of a roving disposition as the scalds usually were. they all visited canute's court, presumably at winchester. sighvat came to england on the return from a trading journey to rouen in , it seems, just after the king's return from his roman pilgrimage, which the poet alludes to in his stretch song. ottar seems to have visited winchester the same year: his poem, the canute's praise, closes with a reference to the holy river campaign in . thorarin praise-tongue had his opportunity to flatter the king a year or two later, most likely in : his stretch song deals with the conquest of norway in . canute appears to have attached considerable importance to the literary activities of these icelanders. when he learned that thorarin had composed a short poem on himself, he became very angry and ordered him to have a complete lay ready for the following day; otherwise he should hang for his presumption in composing a short poem on king canute. thorarin added a refrain and eked the poem out with a few additional stanzas. the refrain, "canute guards the land as the lord of greekland [god] the kingdom of heaven," evidently pleased the king. the poet was forgiven and the poem rewarded with fifty marks of silver. thorarin's poem came to be known as the head ransom.[ ] it is said that when ottar came to the king's hall he asked permission to recite a poem, which the king granted. and the poem was delivered to a great gathering at the next day's moot, and the king praised it, and took a russian cap off his head, broidered with gold and with gold knobs to it, and bade the chamberlain fill it with silver and give it to the poet. he did so and reached it over men's shoulders, for there was a crowd, and the heaped-up silver tumbled out of the hood on the moot-stage. he was going to pick it up, but the king told him to let it be. "the poor shall have it, thou shaft not lose by it."[ ] of the court poets of the time sighvat was easily the chief. canute recognised his importance and was anxious to enroll him among his henchmen. but sighvat, who had already sworn fidelity to king olaf, excused himself with the remark that one lord at a time was sufficient. canute did not press the matter but permitted the poet to depart with a golden arm-ring as the reward for his poem, the stretch song, whose ringing refrain, "canute is the mightiest king under heaven," is high praise from one who had travelled so widely and had probably visited all the more important courts in northern and western europe. did canute also patronise anglo-saxon literature? we do not know, but the chances are that he did not, as during his reign very little was produced in the old english idiom that could possibly appeal to him. the anglo-saxon spirit was crushed; and out of the consciousness of failure and humiliation can come no inspiration for literary effort. even that fierce patriot, archbishop wulfstan, accepted the conquest and came down from york to assist at the dedication of the church at ashington where saxon rule had perished. after the appearance of the splendid poem that tells the story of byrhtnoth's death at maldon in , the voice of anglo-saxon poetry is almost silent for nearly two centuries. early in the eleventh century saxon prose, too, entered upon its decline. alfric's best work was done before the close of the tenth century; he seems to have written his last important work, a pastoral letter, just before the accession of canute to the english throne.[ ] in the english cloisters the monks were still at work and valuable manuscripts were produced; but canute can hardly have taken much interest in grammars, glossaries, biblical paraphrases, and pastoral letters. it seems evident that he did nothing to encourage the monastic annalist: the entries for canute's reign in the _anglo-saxon chronicle_ are extremely meagre and disappointing; it seems probable that they were not written till after the king's death. the disappearance of old english literature, both prose and poetic, dates from a time more than half a century earlier than the norman conquest,--from the time when the danish hosts filled the homes of wessex with gloom and horror. the coming of the normans did not put an end to literary production in the speech of the conquered english: it prevented its revival. it is not to be inferred, however, from this lack of literary originality and productiveness, that the age had lost all appreciation of the poet's art. two of the greatest monuments of old english culture, the so-called vercelli book and the exeter codex, were apparently produced during the earlier decades of the eleventh century, possibly as late as the accession of canute. in these manuscripts the anglo-saxon scribes have preserved to us some of the earliest literary productions of the english race. the vercelli book takes us back in the writings of cynewulf to the eighth century; the exeter manuscript looks back even farther and introduces us to the singers of heathen or semi-heathen times. canute may not have shared the enthusiasm of the scribes for the old english past; but he seems to have appreciated the work of a skilled copyist. in those days the exchange of presents was an essential part of diplomatic negotiations; and good manuscripts made very acceptable presents. mention has already been made of the beautiful codex, written with golden letters, that made a part of the gift that canute is said to have sent to duke william of aquitaine. as the duke was renowned as a patron of the literary art, there can be no doubt that the present was properly appreciated. it will be remembered that canute's gift to the church at cologne was also in the form of manuscripts. one of the most important contributions of the west to northern civilisation was the written book. writing was not a new art in the scandinavian lands; but neither the symbols nor the materials in use were such as did service in the christian lands. the men of the north wrote on wood and stone; they used characters that had to be chiseled into the tablet to be inscribed. these symbols were called runes; and graven into granite the runic inscriptions have defied the gnawing tooth of time. the large number of runic monuments that have come down to us would indicate that the art of writing was widely known, though it also seems likely that it was the peculiar possession of the "rune-masters," men of some education who knew the runes and were skilled in the art of inscribing. the runes were of divine origin and were taught mankind by woden himself. the term "run," which probably means "secret," reveals the attitude of the germanic mind toward this ancient alphabet: thoughts were hidden in the graven lines, but that was not all: the characters were invested with magical properties. graven on the sword hilt they were runes of victory; on the back of the hand, runes of love; on the palm, runes of help; the sailor cut sea runes into the rudder blade; the leech traced runes on "the bark and on the stock of a tree whose branches lean eastward."[ ] there were also ale runes, speech runes, and mind runes, which "thou shalt know if thou wilt be wiser than all other men."[ ] the runic alphabet was originally a common germanic possession; but among the scandinavian peoples alone did its use become extensive and long-continued. some of the northern inscriptions are of a very early date, the earliest going back, perhaps, to the fourth century or possibly to the third.[ ] they are of necessity terse and brief; but to the student of culture and civilisation they give some valuable information. these runes reveal a time when all the northern tribes spoke the same language and were one people, though clearly not organised into a single state.[ ] the inscriptions also show the rise of dialects and the development of these into idioms, though this is a growth of the later centuries. doubtless the changes in language bear some relation to a parallel political development, a grouping of tribes into states, until in the tenth century three dynasties claimed kingship in the north. in that century the monuments begin to have great value for narrative history. members of the knytling dynasty are mentioned on several important stones, as earlier pages of this volume have shown. the runes that were in use in the tenth and eleventh centuries are the younger series, an alphabet of sixteen characters selected and developed from the older series of twenty-four. as the number of elementary sounds in the language was greater than the number of letters, several of the runes were used to represent more than one sound, a fact that has made reading and interpretation somewhat difficult. the runes were used especially for monumental purposes: a large number of the many hundred extant mediæval inscriptions (sweden alone has more than fifteen hundred)[ ] are epitaphs recording the death of some friend or kinsman. but the runes were also found useful for other purposes. they were used in making calendars; articles of value very often bore the owner's name in runic characters; in early christian times we find runic characters traced on church bells and baptismal fonts; in later centuries attempts were even made to write books in the runic alphabet. wherever northmen settled in the middle ages, inscriptions of this type are still to be found; some of the most interesting scandinavian monuments were raised on the british isles; even classic piræus once had its runic inscription. [illustration: painted gable from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation)--carved pillar from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation)] sometimes the scribe did more than chisel the letters. like the christian monk who illumined his manuscript with elaborate initials and more or less successful miniatures, the rune-master would also try his hand at ornamentation. in the earlier middle ages, northern art, if the term may be used, was usually a barbaric representation of animal forms, real and imaginary, the serpent and the dragon being favourite subjects. but in the western colonies the vikings were introduced to a new form of ornamentation, the celtic style, which was based on the curving line or a combination of curved interlocking lines that seemed not to have been drawn in accordance with any law of regularity or symmetry, but traced sinuously in and out as the fancy of the artist might direct.[ ] this form was adopted by the norse colonists and soon found its way to the mother lands. in the north it suffered an important modification: the norse artists added an element of their own; the old motives were not entirely abandoned for the winding body of the serpent or the dragon readily fitted into the new combinations. it was this modified form of irish ornamentation that ruled among the northmen in the days of canute and later. it appears wherever decoration was desired: on runic monuments, on articles of personal adornment, and even on the painted walls of the early scandinavian churches. while these early efforts at pictorial representation are frequently associated with runic inscriptions and incidental to them, such is not always the case. the northern countries possess a number of "pictured rocks," on which the picture is the chief and often the only matter of importance. as many of these belong to the heathen period, the themes are often mythological or suggestive of warfare: the coming of the fallen warrior to walhalla on the tjängvide stone[ ]; viking ships on the stenkyrka stone. the comparatively new sport of hawking is represented on a stone at alstad in southern norway.[ ] themes from the heroic age seem to have attained an early popularity: especially do we find frequent pictorial allusions to the story of wayland smith and the adventures of the wonderful sigfried. with christianity came a wealth of new subjects that could be used in artistic efforts. one of canute's contemporaries, the norwegian woman gunvor, raised (about ) a memorial rock bearing a series of pictures from the story of christ's nativity.[ ] the work rarely shows much originality on the part of the artist, though frequently a surprising skill is displayed--surprising when the time and materials are taken into consideration. many of the pictures are clearly copied from western, perhaps anglo-saxon originals; in some instances the workman was evidently reproducing the embroidered figures on imported tapestries. the sigfried pictures on the ramsund rock in southern sweden seem to be of this type.[ ] but even though the art of the viking age does not testify to much creative imagination, it serves to prove that the men whom we think of as mere pirates were not wholly wanting æsthetic sense. [illustration: the hunnestad stone--the alstad stone] evidence of a cultivated taste is also seen in the large number of rich and elegant articles of personal adornment in the form of rings, necklaces, brooches, and the like that have come to light from time to time. it was long thought that these all represented plunder or purchase from other lands; but recent opinion seems inclined to regard the larger part of them as articles of native manufacture.[ ] if this be correct, they reveal considerable skill in the finer industrial arts and also suggest that certain forms of industry must have formed an important factor in the economic life of the people. the archæologist has unearthed many varieties of jewelry, but the written sources tell chiefly of rings, doubtless because of their ancient use for monetary purposes. even in the days of canute, the ring, especially the large arm-ring, was commonly used in rewarding the kingsmen. saint olaf once stroked the arm of a henchman above the elbow to determine whether canute had bribed him.[ ] canute's officials procured the allegiance of björn, saint olaf's spokesman, for english silver and two heavy gold rings.[ ] canute's ring gift to sighvat has been noted elsewhere; bersi, the poet's companion, received "a mark or more and a keen sword."[ ] northern industrial art of the later heathen age found its best and highest expression in the shipbuilder's trade. merchant ships as well as ships for warfare were built, but the builder's pride was the ship that the king sailed when he sought the enemy. the ships that bore canute's warriors to england were no doubt mainly of the so-called long ship type, a form that was developed during the second half of the tenth century. the long ship was built on the same general plan as the dragon ship of the century before, of which type we have a remarkably well-preserved example in the ship that was found in a burial-mound at gokstad near sandefjord in southern norway. the gokstad ship is nearly eighty feet long from stem to stern, and a little less than one fourth as wide. the builders of the long ship increased the length of the dragon, but did not increase the width proportionally. oak timbers and iron rivets were the materials used. it is likely that by the close of the viking age the shipbuilder's art was as highly developed in the north as anywhere else in christian europe. the long ship was built with pointed prow and stern. the gunwales generally ran parallel to the water line, but in the prow the timbers curved sharply upward to join the stern, which projected above the body of the ship and frequently terminated in some carved image like those described by the encomiast.[ ] the stern was built in much the same fashion. the ribs were supported and held in place by strong cross-beams, which also served as supports for the deck. in the fore-end the deck was high; here stood the stem-men, the best warriors on board. from a similarly raised deck in the stern, the chief directed the movements of the ship and the men when battle was joined. but in the middle portion of the ship the deck was low; here the oarsmen sat, each on a chest containing his clothes and other belongings. the number of pairs of oars would usually indicate the size of the ship; fifteen or twenty pairs were the rule; but larger ships were sometimes built: the _long serpent_ had thirty-four pairs. a rudder or "steering board" was fastened to the after-part of the vessel, on the side that has since been known as starboard. the long ship was also equipped with a mast and a sail. the mast was planted amidships, but in such a way that it could be lowered when not in use. the sails were generally made of coarse woollen stuff; they often bore stripes, blue, red, or green, and such striped sails were counted highly ornamental. the ship was painted and the gunwales frequently hung with shields, alternately yellow and red. an awning was provided to protect the vessel from rain and sunshine.[ ] the average long ship had, perhaps, eighty or ninety men on board, the oarsmen included. the number varied, of course, with the size of the ship: the _long serpent_ is said to have had a crew of three hundred men.[ ] [illustration: anglo-saxon table scene (from a manuscript in the british museum reproduced in _norges historie_, i., ii.)--model of the gokstad ship] in culture the later viking age was emphatically one of transition. the movement that transformed northern into european civilisation culminated in the reign of canute and was no doubt given great impetus by the fact of his imperial authority in the christian west. the seeds of the new culture had been gathered long before and in many lands: the german, the frank, the celt, and the saxon had all contributed to the new fruit-age. but in the north as elsewhere in the middle ages, the mightiest of all the transforming forces was the mediæval church. in one sense the poetic activities of the tenth century had made the transition to christian worship easier than in other lands: the author of the sibyl's prophecy had, unintentionally, no doubt, bridged the gap between the contending faiths. the intelligent northmen found in the teachings of christianity conceptions very similar to those in the great poem, only in a different historical setting. in the outward symbolism, too, the northman found similarities that made the step easier: he had already learned to pour water over the new-born infant; in the cross of christ he may have seen a modification of thor's hammer; the christian tree of life reminded him of the ash yggdrasil that symbolised the unity of the worlds; the yule festival of midwinter tide was readily identified with the christian celebration of the nativity on december th. too much importance must not be assigned to these considerations, but they doubtless had their effect. but even the church was not able to make its conquest of the north complete. the scandinavian peoples never entirely severed their connection with the historic past. the bridge that was built by the sibyl's prophecy was never demolished. the poet purged the old mythology of much that was revolting and absurd and thus made the old divinities and the old cosmic ideas attractive and more easily acceptable. even when the new cult became compulsory and even fashionable, it was hard for the northman to desert his gods. hallfred troublousscald, who flourished in the years of canute's childhood, gives expression to this feeling in one of his poems: 'tis heavy to cherish hatred for frigg's divine husband now that christ has our worship, for the scald delighted in woden. but olaf trygvesson has commanded that the old faith be renounced and men have obeyed, though unwillingly: cast to the winds all men have the kindred of mighty woden; forced to renounce njord's children i kneel to christ in worship. after several verses of regretful and half-hearted renunciation the scald continues: i will call upon christ with love words (i can bear the son's wrath no longer; he rules the earth in glory) and god the father in prayer.[ ] [illustration: the lundagÅrd stone (shows types of ornamentation in canute's day.)] the gods continued to live in the popular imagination as great heroic figures that had flourished in the earlier ages of the race. much that belonged to the worship of the anses was carried over into the christian life. the scandinavian christians on the isle of man evidently found nothing incongruous in placing heathen ornamentations on the cross of christ. sometimes the attributes of the ancestral divinities were transferred to the christian saints. the red beard with which christian artists soon provided the strong and virile saint olaf was probably suggested by the flaming beard of the hammering thor. [runic alphabet: f u th o r k h n i a s t b l m -r] footnotes: [ ] see montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, - . [ ] birca is mentioned in an early life of saint ansgar (_ca._ ); langebek, _script. rer. danic._, i., . heathby and skiringshall are alluded to in king alfred's _orosius_ (journeys of ottar and wulfstan). [ ] bugge, _studier over de norske byers selvstyre og handel_, - . [ ] _ibid._ the great bay (folden bay) is the modern christiania firth. [ ] on the commerce of the viking age see montelius. _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, ff.; olrik, _nordisk aandsliv_, - ; _norges historie_, i., ii., ff. (bugge). [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, i., - : "the lay of righ." [ ] embroidered with colours. [ ] "the lay of righ," ii., - . [ ] _norges historie_, i., ii., - . [ ] for brief descriptions of the northern halls in the viking age see bugge, _vikingerne_, ii., - ; montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, - ; olrik, _nordisk aandsliv_, - . [ ] alfric's _lives_, ii., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] bugge, _vesterlandenes indflydelse paa nordboernes kultur_, . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, i., . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] _cambridge history of english literature_, i., . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, i., - . [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] von friesen, _om runskriftens härkomst_, - . [ ] bugge, _vikingerne_, i., . [ ] montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, . [ ] olrik, _nordisk aandsliv_, . [ ] the tjängvide stone probably dates from about the year . the warrior represented may be woden on his eight-footed horse. bugge, _vesterlandenes indflydelse_, . [ ] bugge, _vikingerne_, ii., . [ ] _norges historie_, i., ii., , . [ ] schück, _studier i nordisk litteratur- och religions-historia_, i., ff. [ ] montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . [ ] _ibid._, c. . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] _encomium emmæ_, i., c. . [ ] for brief descriptions of northern ships of the viking age, see _danmarks riges historie_, i., - , - ; montelius, _kulturgeschichte schwedens_, - . [ ] english writers seem inclined to estimate a ship's crew at not more than or on the authority of heremannus, who wrote the "miracles of saint edmund" toward the close of the eleventh century (_memorials of saint edmund's abbey_, i., , ). but on the question of viking ships and crews his statements cannot be used as evidence: his ships are merchant ships, not viking ships, and they are not scandinavian. it should also be noted that one of the ships (c. ) in addition to "nearly " passengers carried beasts (heads of cattle?) and horses heavily laden with merchandise. [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., - . chapter xiv the last years - after the passing of the norman war-cloud and the failure of the norse reaction in , canute almost disappears from the stage of english history. the _anglo-saxon chronicle_ which gives us so much information on his earlier career in england has but little to tell of his activities as king; for the closing years of the reign the summaries are particularly meagre. evidently the entries for this reign were written from memory some years after the death of the great king; and the scribe recalled but little. it is also likely that the closing years in britain were peaceful and quiet, such as do not give the annalist much to record. of the larger european movements, of the norse secession, of movements on the danish border, and of the renewed compact with the emperor, the cloister was probably not well informed. [illustration: the jurby cross, isle of man--the gosforth cross, cumberland] as the chronicler thinks back upon the passing of a king who was still in his best and strongest years, there comes to him the memory of certain strange natural phenomena which suddenly take on meaning. in , two years before the king's death, "appeared the wild fire," such as none could remember the like of. there could be no doubt as to the interpretation: it was an omen giving warnings of great changes to come, the end of alien rule, even as a fiery heaven announced its imminence in the days of the boy ethelred. later writers report that during the last years of his life canute was afflicted with a long and severe illness, and it has been inferred that this may account for the uneventful character of this period. there may be an element of truth in this, but he was not too ill to take an active interest in political affairs. his legislation evidently belongs to one of these years. in one of the manuscripts of canute's code he is spoken of as king of angles, danes and norwegians, a title that he could not claim before . as he did not return from his expedition to norway before the following year, the earliest possible date for the enactment of canute's laws is christmas, .[ ] for they were drawn up at a meeting of the national assembly "at the holy midwinter tide in winchester." there are reasons for believing, however, that the laws are of a still later date. little need there was, it would seem, for extensive ecclesiastical legislation in those years when paganism was in full retreat and christianity had become fashionable even among the vikings. some condition must have arisen that made it necessary for the king to take a positive stand on the side of the english church. such a condition may have grown out of the canonisation of saint olaf in . he was the first native saint of the north and the young scandinavian church hailed him with a joy that was ominous for those who had pursued him to the grave. it may have been in the hope of checking the spread of the new cult in england that the witenagemot, the same that ratified canute's legislation, canonised the imperious archbishop who had governed the english church two generations earlier. the method of canonisation was probably new; but the nobles and prelates of england were surely as competent to act in such a matter as the youthful church at nidaros. canute showed an interest in the welfare of the church to the last months of his life. it was apparently in this period that he initiated the policy of advancing his own chapel priests to episcopal appointments: in elfwine became bishop of winchester; the following year duduc, another chapel priest, was promoted in the same manner.[ ] the church of york was remembered with a large gift of lands to archbishop alfric.[ ] gifts to some of the larger monasteries are also recorded for these same years: to sherburne, winchester, abingdon, and croyland.[ ] these usually took the form of land, though ornaments and articles intended for use in the church service were also given. abingdon received lands and bells and a case of gold and silver for the relics of "the most glorious martyr vincent of spain" whose resting place was in this church.[ ] it is worth noting that abbot siward who ruled at abingdon during the last few years of the reign bore a danish name. canute's last recorded gift was to the old minster at winchester in , the year of his death. this comprised a landed estate, a bier for the relics of saint brice, a large image, two bells, and a silver candlestick with six branches.[ ] it may be that he had premonitions of coming death, for in this abbey he chose to be buried. we do not know what efforts canute may have made to improve the material conditions in his anglo-saxon kingdom, but it appears that such undertakings were not wholly wanting. the king showed great favour to the religious establishments in the fenlands and was evidently impressed with the difficulty of travel from abbey to abbey. an attempt was made to remedy this: and that same road through the marshes between ramsey and the borough that is called king's delf he caused to be improved that the danger of passing through the great swamps might be avoided.[ ] matthew paris, our authority for this statement, wrote nearly two centuries after canute's day, but it is likely that he is reporting a correct tradition; if the work had been done at the instance of one of the later kings, it is not probable that it would have been associated with the name of the danish ruler. the norwegian sources have little to say of canute after the battle of stiklestead; but they follow the troubles of the norse regency in some detail. it was thought best, when sweyn was sent to norway, to give him the royal title; but as he was a mere youth, the actual power was in the hands of his mother, elgiva, who was probably associated with earl harold of jomburg, harthacanute's minister and guardian in denmark, who seems to have acted as canute's personal representative in his eastern kingdoms.[ ] mention has already been made of the opposition that soon arose to the danish régime. it was not long before the dissatisfied elements formed an alliance with the partisans of the old dynasty who were assiduously disseminating the belief that the fallen olaf was a saint. all through the winter that followed the king's martyrdom stories were current of miracles performed by the holy relics: wounds had been healed and blindness removed by accidental contact with the royal blood. at the same time much ill-feeling developed against bishop sigurd who had shown such a partisan spirit on the eve of the tragedy at stiklestead. sigurd was a dane who had served as chaplain at the english court[ ] and had therefore a double reason for preferring canute. under the regency he had continued as chief of the norwegian church, but soon the murmur became so loud that the zealous prelate had to withdraw to england. einar thongshaker now came forward to lead the opposition to the regents. he was the first of the chiefs to express his belief in olaf's sanctity and many were ready to follow his lead. bishop grimkell, who since olaf's flight in had remained in comparative quiet in the uplands, was asked to come and investigate the current rumours of miraculous phenomena. the bishop responded very promptly. on the way he visited einar, by whom he was gladly welcomed. later the prelate appeared at nidaros and began extended investigations into the matter of the reported wonders. einar was next summoned to conduct the negotiations with the regency. the plans of the national faction seem to have been carefully laid; it was probably not accidental that the city suddenly was thronged by incoming norsemen. having secured permission from king sweyn to act in the matter, einar and grimkell, followed by the multitude, proceeded to the spot where olaf's remains were said to have been buried. according to the legend that snorre in part follows, the coffin was found to have risen toward the surface and looked new as if recently planed. no change was observed in the remains except that the hair and nails showed considerable growth; the cheeks were red as those of one who had just fallen asleep. but the queen-mother was not easily convinced: "very slowly do bodies decay in sand; it would have been otherwise if he had lain in mould." then the bishop took a pair of shears and clipped off a part of the king's hair and beard,--he wore a long moustache, as custom was in those days. then said the bishop to the king and alfiva: "now is the king's hair and beard as long as when he died; but it has grown as much as you see i have cut off." then replied alfiva: "i believe hair to be sacred if it is not consumed in fire; often have we seen whole and uninjured the hair of men who have lain in the earth longer than this man." so the bishop placed fire in a censer, blessed it, and added the incense. then he laid olaf's hair in the fire. but when the incense was consumed, the bishop took the hair from the fire, and it was wholly unburnt. the bishop showed it to the king and the other chiefs. then alfiva requested them to place the hair in unblessed fire; but einar tremblethong spoke up, bade her keep silence, and used many hard words. then by the bishop's decision, the king's consent, and the judgment of the entire assembly, it was decreed that king olaf was in truth a holy man.[ ] [illustration: the fall of saint olaf (initial in the flat-isle book.)] whatever the procedure employed, there can be no doubt that king olaf was canonised in the summer of (august d is the date given) by popular act; nor can it be doubted that elgiva resisted the act--she must have seen that the canonisation meant her own and her son's undoing. for she must surely have realised that political considerations were an important element in the devotion of the norsemen to their new patron. there was later a tradition among the monks of nidaros that canute at one time planned to establish a monastery in the northern capital.[ ] if such an attempt was made, it evidently failed; but it would not be strange if the king should try to establish an institution where loyalty to the empire might be nursed and which might assist in uprooting nationalistic tendencies. if the attempt was made, it was probably soon after the canonisation, when it became important to divert attention from the new cult. for the worship of saint olaf spread with astonishing rapidity not only through norway but through the entire north and even farther. the church had saints in great number; but here was one from the very midst of the scandinavian people. moreover, saint olaf was a saint whom the men of the day could appreciate: he was of their own type, with the strength of thor and the wisdom of woden; they had seen him and felt the edge of his ax. so all along the shores that olaf the stout had plundered in his earlier heathen days churches arose dedicated to the virile saint of the north.[ ] there were other difficulties, too, that the regents had to contend with. hunger stalked over the land. the norwegian people had always been accustomed to hold their kings responsible for the state of the harvest; they were to secure the favour of the gods; a failure of crops meant that this duty had been shirked. the feeling lingered for some time after the disappearance of heathendom. sweyn was only a youth and was not held responsible; the blame fell upon the hated queen-mother and the hard years of her rule were known as the "alfiva-time." the general discontent is expressed in a contemporary fragment attributed to sighvat: alfiva's time our sons will long remember; then ate we food more fit for oxen, shavings the fare of he-goats. it was not thus when the noble olaf governed the norsemen; then could we all boast of corn-filled barns and houses.[ ] and thorarin praise-tongue in the shrine-song addressed to sweyn the son of canute urges the young regent to seek the favour of the new saint, "the mighty pillar of the book-language": pray thou to olaf that he grant thee (he is a man of god) all his land rights; for he can win from god himself peace to men and good harvests.[ ] in , a revolt broke out in norway in the interest of one trygve, a pretended son of olaf trygvesson and an english mother. the attempt failed; the norse chiefs had other plans. in russia was magnus, the illegitimate son of the holy king, now about nine or ten years old; him had the chiefs determined upon as their future leader. early the next year an embassy was sent to russia led by the two magnates einar and kalf. here oaths were sworn and plans were laid, and in the following spring ( ) magnus olafsson appeared in norway as the foster son of kalf who had led his father's banesmen at stiklestead. from the moment when magnus set foot on his native soil norway was lost to the empire. sweyn was farther south in his kingdom when news came of revolt in the throndelaw. he promptly summoned the yeomanry, but feeling that their devotion to him was a matter of grave doubt, he gave up his plans of resistance and fled to his brother harthacanute in denmark, where he died less than a year later.[ ] his mother elgiva evidently withdrew to england, where the death of canute the following november doubtless gave her another opportunity to play the politician. so far as we know, canute made no effort to dislodge magnus. it may be true that he was ill; or perhaps the power of the church restrained him: magnus was the son of a saint; would not the martyred king enlist the powers of heaven on the side of his son? but it was probably want of time and not lack of interest and purpose that prevented reconquest. there is an indication that canute was preparing for important movements: at whitsuntide, , while the imperial court was at bamberg, he was renewing his friendship with the emperor and arranging for the marriage of his daughter gunhild to the future henry iii.[ ] perhaps we should see in this a purpose to secure the southern frontier in anticipation of renewed hostilities in the north. but whatever may have been canute's plans, they were never carried out--the hand of death came in between. on wednesday, november , , the great dane saw the last of earth at shaftesbury, an old town on the dorset border, a day's journey from the capital. the remains were brought to winchester and interred in the old minster,[ ] an ancient abbey dedicated to the chief of the apostles, which canute had remembered so liberally earlier in the year. we have already noted the tradition reported by both norse and english writers that his death was preceded by a long and serious illness; one of the sagas states that the fatal disease was jaundice.[ ] there would be nothing incredible in this, but the evidence is not of the best. the fact that death came to him not in the residential city but in the neighbouring town of shaftesbury seems to indicate that he was at the time making one of his regular progresses through the country, as seems to have been his custom.[ ] in that case the illness could hardly have been a protracted one. it is likely, however, that canute was not physically robust; he died in the prime of manhood, having scarcely passed the fortieth year; and he seems not to have transmitted much virility to his children. three sons and a daughter were born to him, but within seven years of his own death they had all joined him in the grave. sweyn, who seems to have been the oldest, died a few months after his father, perhaps in the early part of . gunhild followed in ; harold in ; and harthacanute in . with harthacanute passed away the last male representative of the knytling family; after a few years the crown of denmark passed to the descendants of canute's sister estrid, to the son of the murdered ulf. none of canute's children seems to have attained a real maturity: harold and harthacanute probably reached their twenty-fourth year; sweyn died at the age of perhaps twenty-two; gunhild could not have been more than eighteen when she laid down the earthly crown. there is no reason for thinking that any of them was degenerate with the exception of harold harefoot, and in his case we have hostile testimony only; at the same time, they were all surely lacking in bodily strength and vigour. nor is there any reason for thinking that these weaknesses were maternal inheritances, for the women that canute consorted with were evidently strong and vigorous and both of them survived him. we know little of the concubine elgiva except that she was proud and imperious, on fire with ambition for herself and her sons. emma was a woman of a similar type. canute apparently found it inconvenient to have the two in the same kingdom, and when the mistress returned to england after the norse revolt, we seem to see her hand in the consequent intrigues. queen emma survived her husband more than sixteen years; "on march [ ], died the old lady, the mother of king edward and harthacanute, named imme, and her body lies in the old minster with king canute."[ ] at the time of her death she must have been in the neighbourhood of seventy years of age. of canute's personality we know nothing. the portraits on his coins, if such rude drawings can be called portraits, give us no idea of his personal appearance. nor is the picture in the _liber vitæ_ likely to be more than an idealistic representation. idealistic, too, no doubt, is the description of canute in the _knytlingasaga_, composed two centuries or more after his time: canute the king was large of build and very strong, a most handsome man in every respect except that his nose was thin and slightly aquiline with a high ridge. he was fair in complexion, had an abundance of fair hair, and eyes that surpassed those of most men both as to beauty and keenness of vision.[ ] the writer adds that he was liberal in dealing with men, brave in fight, favoured of fortune, but not wise. except for the details as to the nose, which give the reader the feeling that the writer may, after all, have had some authentic source of information at his disposal, this picture would describe almost any one of the heroic figures of the time. on his own contemporaries canute made a profound impression which succeeding generations have shared. in britain he was called the great; in scandinavia the rich, the mighty or the powerful. the extent of his possessions, the splendour of his court, the size of his navy, his intimate relations with pope and emperor--all these things gave him a position and a prestige that was unheard of in the northlands. and it was indeed a marvellous achievement for a pirate chief from a nation just emerging from heathendom to gather into his power the realms and territories that made up the knytling empire. to analyse a character such as that of canute is a difficult task, as character analysis always must be. there was so much that was derived from a heathen time and ancestry, and also so much that had been acquired by contact with christian culture and influences, that the result could be only a strange composite out of which traits and characteristics, often contradictory and hostile, would come to the surface as occasion would suggest. canute was a christian, probably baptised in his youth by some german ecclesiastic, as the christian name lambert, which in harmony with custom was added to the one that he already possessed, seems distinctly german. but the new name was evidently not much employed, except, perhaps, on occasions when the king wished to emphasise his christian character. he seems to have entered into some sort of fraternal relations with the monks of bremen: in the book of our brotherhood, says adam the monk, he is named lambert, king of the danes.[ ] the historians of old english times, both saxon and norman, were ecclesiastics and saw the reign of canute from their peculiar view-point. to them the mighty dane was the great christian king, the founder of monasteries, the giver of costly gifts and valuable endowments to the houses of god. to the undisputed traits of christian liberality, they added those of piety and humility, and told stories of the visit to the monks of ely and of canute's vain attempt to stem the tides and compel their obedience. the former is probably a true story; there is no reason why the king, who seems to have taken great interest in the abbeys of the fenlands, should not have visited the cloisters of ely, and he may have been attracted by the chants of the monks, which is more doubtful. but the tale of how canute had to demonstrate his powerlessness before his admiring courtiers is a myth too patent to need discussion.[ ] there was nothing of the oriental spirit in the northern courts. that canute was religious cannot be denied. nor should we doubt that he was truly and honestly so, as religion passed among the rulers of the age. the time demanded defence and support of the priesthood, and this canute granted, at least toward the close of his life. perhaps in real piety, too, he was the equal of his contemporaries whom the church has declared holy: saint stephen of hungary, saint henry of germany, and saint olaf of norway. still, it becomes evident as we follow his career that at no period of his life, unless it be in the closing years of which we know so little, did canute permit consideration for the church or the christian faith to control his actions or determine his policies. the moving passion of canute's life was not a fiery zeal for the exaltation of the church, but a yearning for personal power and imperial honours. in the northern sources written by laymen, especially in the verses of the wandering scalds, we get a somewhat different picture of canute from that which has been painted in the english cloisters. little emphasis is here placed on canute's fidelity to the new faith; here we have the conqueror, the diplomat, the politician whose goal is success, be the means what they may. the wholesale bribery that he employed to the ruin of saint olaf, the making and breaking of promises to the norwegian chiefs, and the treatment of his sister's family suggest a sense of honour that was not delicate, a passion for truth that was not keen. in his preference for devious ways, in the deliberate use that he made of the lower passions of men, he shows a characteristic that is not northern. all was not honest frankness in the scandinavian lands; but the pirates and their successors, as a rule, did not prefer bribery and falsehood to open battle and honest fight. slavic ancestry, christian culture, anglo-saxon ideas, and the responsibilities of a great monarchy did much to develop and modify a character which was fundamentally as much slavic as scandinavian. still, deep in his strong soul lay unconquered the fierce passions that ruled the viking age--pitiless cruelty, craving for revenge, consuming hatred, and lust for power. as a rule he seems to have been humane and merciful; he believed in orderly government, in security for his subjects; but when an obstacle appeared in the path of his ambitions, he had little scruple as to the means to be employed in removing it. the mutilation of the hostages at sandwich, the slaughter and outlawry of earls and ethelings in the early years of his rule in england, the assassination of ulf in roeskild church suggest a spirit that could be terrible when roused. something can be said for canute in all these instances: ulf was probably a traitor; the hostages represented broken pledges; the ethelings were a menace to his rule. but why was the traitor permitted to live until he had helped the king in his sorest straits; and what was to be gained by the mutilation of innocent englishmen; and was there no other way to make infants harmless than to decree their secret death in a foreign land? canute possessed in full measure the scandinavian power of adaptation, the quality that made the northmen such a force in normandy and naples. he grasped the ideals of mediæval christianity, he appreciated the value of the new order of things, and undertook to introduce it among the northern peoples. but he did not permit the new circumstances and ideals to control him; only so long as they served his purpose or did not hinder him in the pursuit of that purpose did he bow to them. when other means promised to be more effective, he chose accordingly. the empire that he founded did not survive him; it had begun to crumble in his own day; the english crown was soon lost to the danish dynasty. it would appear, therefore, as if the conqueror accomplished nothing that was permanent. but the achievements of genius cannot be measured in such terms only: the great movement that culminated in the subjection of britain was of vast importance for the north; it opened up new fields for western influences; it brought the north into touch with christian culture; it rebuilt scandinavian civilisation. these are the more enduring results of the reign and the preceding expeditions to the west. at the same time, canute's reign minimised the influence that was working northward from the german outposts. the connection with england was soon interrupted; but while it endured the leavening process made rapid spread and the northern countries were enabled to absorb into their culture much that has remained a native possession. to england canute brought the blessings of good government. for nearly twenty years england had peace. troubles there were on the scotch and welsh borders; but these were of slight importance compared with the earlier ravages of the vikings. it is true, indeed, that the danish conquest paved the way for the later invasion by the normans; but this was a result that canute had not intended. it was not a part of his plan to have the sons of his consort educated in normandy; at the same time, he was not in position to take such steps in their case as he may have wished, for they were the sons of his own queen. in his early years canute was a viking; when he died the viking age had practically come to its close. various influences contributed to this result: the new creed with its new conceptions of human duty; new interests and wider fields of ambition in the home lands; and the imperial position of canute. we do not know that canute at any time issued any decree against the practice of piracy; but he gained the same end by indirect means. the viking chiefs evidently entered his service in large numbers either in the english guard or in the government of the eastern domains. furthermore, as the dominant ruler of the northern shores, as the ally of the emperor and the friend of the norman duke, he was able to close fairly effectually the baltic, the north, and the irish seas together with the english channel to viking fleets; and the raven was thus forced to fly for its prey to the distant shores beyond brittany. piracy continued in a desultory way throughout the eleventh century; but it showed little vigour after canute's accession to the danish kingship. footnotes: [ ] the author has discussed this subject further in the _american historical review_, xv., - . [ ] larson, _the king's household in england_, . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, nos. , , , . the croyland charter is clearly a forgery, but canute may have made the grant none the less as the forged charters frequently represent an attempt to replace a genuine document that has been lost or destroyed. [ ] _chronicon monasterii de abingdon_, i., . [ ] _annales monastici_, ii., . [ ] matthew paris, _chronica majora_, i., . [ ] munch, _det norske folks historie_, i., ii., . [ ] taranger, _den angelsaksiske kirkes indflydelse paa den norske_, . [ ] snorre, _saga of saint olaf_, c. . for the preliminary steps see cc. - . [ ] matthew paris, _chronica majora_, v., . [ ] daae, _norges helgener_, - . [ ] _corpus poeticum boreale_, ii., . [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] snorre, _saga of magnus the good_, cc. , . [ ] manitius, _deutsche geschichte_, - . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, ; _encomium emmæ_, iii., c. i. [ ] _knytlingasaga_, c. . [ ] _historia rameseiensis_, . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] c. . [ ] _gesta_, schol. . [ ] the story must have arisen soon after the danish period; it is first told by henry of huntingdon who wrote two generations later. _historia anglorum_, . chapter xv the collapse of the empire - king canute was dead, but the great king-thought that he lived for, the policy of his dynasty, their ambition to unite the northern peoples in the old and new homes under one sceptre persisted after his death. historians have generally believed that canute had realised the impossibility of keeping long united the three crowns that he wore in his declining years, and had made preparation for a division of the empire among his three sons. in the year of his death one son is found in england, one in denmark, and one in norway; hence it is believed that like charlemagne before him he had executed some sort of a partition, so as to secure something for each of the three. such a conclusion, however, lacks the support of documentary authority and is based on a mistaken view of the situation in the empire in . we should remember in the first place that when harthacanute and sweyn received the royal title (in and ), canute cannot have been more than thirty-five years old, and at that age rulers are not in the habit of transferring their dominions to mere boys. in the second place, these two sons were sent to the north, not to exercise an independent sovereignty, but to represent the royal authority that resided at winchester. finally, there is no evidence that canute at any time intended to leave england or any other kingdom to his son harold. the probabilities are that he hoped to make the empire a permanent creation; perhaps he expected it to become in time wholly scandinavian, as it already was to a large extent, except in the comparatively small area of wessex. canute's policy is revealed in the act at nidaros, discussed in an earlier chapter, when in the presence of lords from all his realms, he led harthacanute to the high seat and thus proclaimed him a king of his own rank. that denmark was intended for the young king is undisputed. england was to be added later. the encomiast tells as that when harthacanute had grown up (evidently toward the close of canute's reign) all england was bound by oath to the sovereignty of harthacanute.[ ] the early promise that canute made to queen emma was apparently to be kept. most likely, the loyalty that godwin and other west saxon magnates showed to the king's legitimate heir is to be explained, not by assuming a pro-danish sentiment, but by this oath, surely taken in england, perhaps earlier at nidaros. the situation in norway, however, made it difficult to carry out canute's wishes. on the high seat in the throndelaw sat magnus the son of saint olaf. to be the son of a saint was a great asset in the middle ages; in addition magnus had certain native qualities of the kingly type and soon developed into a great warrior. knowing that war was inevitable, magnus began hostilities and carried the warfare into danish waters.[ ] it was this difficulty that prevented harthacanute from appearing promptly in england in the winter of - , when harold harefoot was planning to seize the throne. after the flight of her son sweyn in the summer of , elgiva is almost lost to history. apparently she retired to england, where she played the part of queen-mother during the reign of her son harold: in a will of bishop alfric we find the testator giving two marks of gold to king harold and one mark to my lady.[ ] as we do not find that the king had either wife or children the presumption is that the lady was his mother, the woman from northampton. we may then conjecture that the struggle for the english crown in the winter following canute's death was at bottom a fight between the two women who bore canute's children, each with a son to place in the high seat, each with a party devoted to her cause, each with a section of the country ready to follow her lead. elgiva had her strength in the danelaw; there were her kinsmen, and there her family had once been prominent. queen emma was strongest in the south; on her side were earl godwin and the housecarles.[ ] the sources that relate the events of these months are anything but satisfactory and their statements are sometimes vague or ambiguous. but it is clear that soon after the throne became vacant (thirteen days, if the chronicler is accurate)[ ] a meeting of the "wise men" was held at oxford, the border city where danes and saxons had so frequently met in common assembly. at this meeting, as the _chronicle_ has it, the northern magnates led by leofric, earl of mercia, and supported by the danes in london, "chose harold to hold all england, him and his brother harthacanute who was in denmark." to this arrangement godwin opposed all his influence and eloquence; but though he was supported by the lords of wessex, "he was able to accomplish nothing." it was finally agreed that queen emma and the royal guard should continue to hold wessex for harthacanute.[ ] the north was evidently turned over to harold. the decision reached at oxford has been variously interpreted. at first glance it looks as if the kingdom was again divided along the line of the thames valley. the statement of the chronicler that harold "was full king over all england" seems not to have been strictly contemporary but written after the king had seized the whole. what was done at oxford was probably to establish an under-kingship of the sort that canute had provided for norway and denmark. the overlordship of harthacanute may have been recognised, but the administration was divided. this did not necessarily mean to the scandinavian mind that the realm was divided; in the history of the north various forms of joint kingship are quite common. for one year this arrangement was permitted to stand; but in , harold was taken to king over all england--the nation forsook harthacanute because he tarried too long in denmark.[ ] emma was driven from the land, perhaps to satisfy the jealousy of her rival elgiva. the cause for the revolution of is unknown; but we may conjecture that intrigue was at work on both sides. possibly the appearance of emma's son alfred in england the year before may have roused a sense of fear in the english mind and may have hastened the movement. sorrows now began to fall heavily upon england. in , the welsh made inroads and slew several of the mercian lords. a "great wind" scattered destruction over the land. a remarkable mortality appeared among the bishops, four dying in and one more in . the following year died harold, whose unkingly and un-christian behaviour was no doubt regarded as the cause of these calamities. he died at oxford and was buried at westminster. the same year harthacanute joined his mother at bruges, whither she had fled when exiled from england.[ ] it was neither listless choice nor lack of kinglike interest that had detained harthacanute in denmark; it was the danger that threatened from norway. hostilities seem to have begun in the spring of and to have continued for about two years. the war was finally closed with an agreement at the brenn-isles near the mouth of the gaut river in south-western sweden. according to this the two young kings became sworn brothers, and it was stipulated that if the one should die leaving no heirs, the other should succeed him.[ ] it was not so much of a treaty on the part of the kings as of the chief men of the kingdoms, as both peoples were evidently tiring of the warfare. perhaps that which most of all determined the danes to seek peace was the news that harold had seized the government of all england the previous year. this must have happened late in the year, as the chronicler tells us that queen emma was driven out of england "without pity toward the stormy winter." in norway there was no party that still favoured the knytlings; the situation in england looked more favourable. evidently harthacanute's counsellors had concluded that his inherited rights in britain should be claimed and defended. harthacanute came to bruges with a small force only; but it was probably the plan to use flanders as a base from which to descend upon england. nothing seems to have been done in , however, except, perhaps, to prepare for a campaign in the coming spring. but for this there was no need: before the winter was past, harold lay dead at oxford. history knows little about the fleet-footed prince; but from what has been recorded we get the impression of a violent, ambitious youth, one to whom power was sweet and revenge sweeter. so far as we know, government in his day was poor both in state and church. oxford, it seems, was his residential city. after harold's death messengers came from england to bruges to summon harthacanute. the succession was evidently not settled without some negotiations, for harthacanute must have waited two months or more before he left flanders. no doubt the chiefs who had placed his half-brother on the throne were unwilling to submit without guarantees; their behaviour had not been such as to render their future secure. just before midsummer harthacanute finally arrived in england with sixty ships; he was crowned probably on june th.[ ] for two years he ruled the country but "he did nothing kinglike."[ ] partly as a punishment, perhaps, he made england pay for the expedition that he had just fitted out, and consequently forfeited what favour he had at the very beginning. harthacanute is described as a sickly youth, and a norman historian assures us that on account of his ill-health he kept god before his mind and reflected much on the brevity of human life.[ ] he seems to have been of a kindly disposition, as appears from his dealings with his half-brother edward. his sudden death at a henchman's wedding is not to be attributed to excesses but to the ailment from which he suffered. but the drunken laugh of the bystanders[ ] indicates that the world did not fully appreciate that with harthacanute perished the dynasty of gorm. three men now stood forth as possible candidates for the throne of alfred: magnus the good, now king of denmark and norway, harthacanute's heir by oath and adoption; sweyn, the son of canute's sister estrid, his nearest male relative and the ranking member of the danish house, a prince who was probably an englishman by birth, and whose aunt was the wife of earl godwin; and edward, later known as the confessor, who strangely enough represented what national feeling there might be in england, though of such feeling he himself was probably guiltless. it may be remarked in passing that all these candidates were sons of men whom canute had deeply wronged, men whom he had deprived of life or hounded to death. there is no good evidence that edward was ever formally elected king of england. harthacanute died at lambeth, only a few miles from london. "and before the king was buried all the folk chose edward to be king in london," says one manuscript of the _chronicle_. if this be true, there could have been no regular meeting of the magnates. the circumstances seem to have been somewhat in the nature of a revolution headed no doubt by the anti-danish faction in london. that edward was enabled to retain the crown was due largely, we are told, to the efforts of canute's two old friends, earl godwin and bishop lifing.[ ] the situation was anything but simple. the election of magnus would restore canute's empire, but it might also mean english and danish revolts. to elect sweyn would mean war with magnus, sweyn claiming denmark and magnus england. at the time the danish claimant was making most trouble, for sweyn seems to have arrived in england soon after edward was proclaimed. all that he secured, however, was the promise that he should be regarded as edward's successor.[ ] it was doubtless well known among the english lords that the new king was inclined to, and probably pledged to a celibate life. we do not know whether englishmen were at this time informed of the ethelings in hungary. to most men it must have seemed likely that alfred's line would expire with edward; under the circumstances sweyn was the likeliest heir. with the accession of edward, the empire of the north was definitely dissolved. fundamentally it was based on the union of england and denmark, a union that was now repudiated. still, the hope of restoring it lingered for nearly half a century. three times the kings of the north made plans to reconquer england, but in each instance circumstances made successful operations impossible. after the death of magnus in , the three old dynasties once more controlled their respective kingdoms, though in the case of both denmark and norway the direct lines had perished. the danish high seat alone remained to the knytlings, now represented by sweyn, the son of estrid and the violent ulf for whose tragic death the nation had now atoned. footnotes: [ ] _encomium emmæ_, ii., c. . [ ] snorre, _saga of magnus the good_, c. . [ ] kemble, _codex diplomaticus_, no. . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] the _chronicle_ (ann. [ ]) states that harold died march , , and that he ruled four years and sixteen weeks. this would date his accession as november , . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, [ ]. [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, [ ]. [ ] snorre, _saga of magnus the good_, c. . [ ] steenstrup, _normannerne_, iii., . [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] duchesne, _scriptores_, (william of poitiers). [ ] _anglo-saxon chronicle_, . [ ] florence of worcester, _chronicon_, i., - . [ ] adamus, _gesta_, ii., c. . appendices i.--canute's proclamation of [ ] . canute the king sends friendly greetings to his archbishops and suffragan bishops and to thurkil the earl and all his earls and to all his subjects in england, nobles and freemen, clerks and laymen. . and i make known to you that i will be a kind lord and loyal to the rights of the church and to right secular law. . i have taken to heart the word and the writing that archbishop lifing brought from rome from the pope, that i should everywhere extol the praise of god, put away injustice, and promote full security and peace by the strength that god should give me. . now i did not spare my treasures while unpeace was threatening to come upon you; with the help of god i have warded this off by the use of my treasures. . then i was informed that there threatened us a danger that was greater than was well pleasing to us; and then i myself with the men who went with me departed for denmark, whence came to you the greatest danger; and that i have with god's help forestalled, so that henceforth no unpeace shall come to you from that country, so long as you stand by me as the law commands, and my life lasts. . now i give thanks to god almighty for his aid and his mercy in that i have averted the great evil that threatened us; so that from thence we need fear no evil, but may hope for full aid and deliverance if need be. . now i will that we all humbly thank almighty god for the mercy that he has done to our help. . now i command my archbishops and all my suffragan bishops that they take due care as to the rights of the church, each one in the district that is committed to him; and also my ealdormen i command, that they help the bishops to the rights of the church and to the rights of my kingship and to the behoof of all the people. . should any one prove so rash, clerk or layman, dane or angle, as to violate the laws of the church or the rights of my kingship, or any secular statute, and refuse to do penance according to the instruction of my bishops, or to desist from his evil, then i request thurkil the earl, yea, even command him, to bend the offender to right, if he is able to do so. . if he is not able, then will i that he with the strength of us both destroy him in the land or drive him out of the land, be he of high rank or low. . and i also command my reeves, by my friendship and by all that they own and by their own lives, that they everywhere govern my people justly and give right judgments by the witness of the shire bishop and do such mercy therein as the shire bishop thinks right and the community can allow. . and if any one harbour a thief or hinder the pursuit, he shall be liable to punishment equal to that of the thief, unless he shall clear himself before me with full purgation. . and i will that all the people, clerks and laymen, hold fast the laws of edgar which all men have chosen and sworn to at oxford; . for all the bishopssay that the church demands a deep atonement for the breaking of oaths and pledges. . and they further teach us that we should with all our might and strength fervently seek, love, and worship the eternal merciful god and shun all unrighteousness, that is, slaying of kinsmen and murder, perjury, familiarity with witches and sorceresses, and adultery and incest. . and further, we command in the name of almighty god and of all his saints, that no man be so bold as to marry a nun or a consecrated woman; . and if any one has done so, let him be an outlaw before god and excommunicated from all christendom, and let him forfeit all his possessions to the king, unless he quickly desist from sin and do deep penance before god. . and further still we admonish all men to keep the sunday festival with all their might and observe it from saturday's noon to monday's dawning; and let no man be so bold as to buy or sell or to seek any court on that holy day. . and let all men, poor and rich, seek their church and ask forgiveness for their sins and earnestly keep every ordained fast and gladly honour the saints, as the mass priest shall bid us, . that we may all be able and permitted, through the mercy of the everlasting god and the intercession of his saints, to share the joys of the heavenly kingdom and dwell with him who liveth and reigneth for ever without end. amen. footnotes: [ ] liebermann, _gesetze der angelsachsen_, i., - . for an earlier translation see stubbs, _select charters_, - . ii.--canute's charter of [ ] canute, king of all england and denmark and of the norwegians and of part of the slavic peoples,[ ] to ethelnoth the metropolitan and alfric of york, and to all bishops and primates, and to the whole nation of the english, both nobles and freemen, wishes health. i make known to you that i have lately been to rome, to pray for the redemption of my sins, and for the prosperity of the kingdoms and peoples subject to my rule. this journey i had long ago vowed to god, though, through affairs of state and other impediments, i had hitherto been unable to perform it; but now i humbly return thanks to god almighty for having in my life granted to me to yearn after the blessed apostles, peter and paul, and every sacred place within and without the city of rome, which i could learn of, and according to my desire, personally to venerate and adore. and this i have executed chiefly because i had learned from wise men that the holy apostle peter had received from the lord the great power of binding and loosing, and was key-bearer of the celestial kingdom; and i, therefore, deemed it extremely useful to desire his patronage before god. be it now known to you, that there was a great assembly of nobles at the easter celebration, with the lord pope john, and the emperor conrad, to wit, all the princes of the nations from mount gargano to the nearest sea, who all received me honourably, and honoured me with magnificent presents. but i have been chiefly honoured by the emperor with divers costly gifts, as well in golden and silver vessels as in mantles and vestments exceedingly precious. i have therefore spoken with the emperor and the lord pope, and the princes who were there, concerning the wants of all my people, both angles and danes, that a more equitable law and greater security might be granted to them in their journeys to rome, and that they might not be hindered by so many barriers, nor harassed by unjust tolls; and the emperor and king rudolf, who has the greater number of those barriers in his dominions, have agreed to my demands; and all the princes have engaged by their edict, that my men, whether merchants or other travellers for objects of devotion, should go and return in security and peace, without any constraint of barriers or tolls. i then complained to the lord pope, and said that it greatly displeased me, that from my archbishops such immense sums of money were exacted, when, according to usage, they visited the apostolic see to receive the pall; and it was agreed that such exactions should not thenceforth be made. and all that i have demanded for the benefit of my people from the lord pope, from the emperor, from king rudolf, and from the other princes, through whose territories our way lies to rome, they have freely granted, and also confirmed their cessions by oath, with the witness of four archbishops and twenty bishops, and an innumerable multitude of dukes and nobles, who were present. i therefore render great thanks to god almighty that i have successfully accomplished all that i desired, as i had proposed in my mind, and satisfied to the utmost the wishes of my people. now then, be it known to you, that i have vowed, as a suppliant, from henceforth to justify in all things my whole life to god, and to rule the kingdoms and peoples subjected to me justly and piously, to maintain equal justice among all; and if, through the intemperance of my youth, or through negligence, i have done aught hitherto contrary to what is just, i intend with the aid of god to amend all. i therefore conjure and enjoin my counsellors, to whom i have intrusted the counsels of the kingdom, that from henceforth they in no wise, neither through fear of me nor favour to any powerful person, consent to, or suffer to increase any injustice in my whole kingdom; i enjoin also all sheriffs and reeves of my entire kingdom, as they would enjoy my friendship or their own security, that they use no unjust violence to any man, either rich or poor, but that every one, both noble and freeman, enjoy just law, from which let them in no way swerve, neither for equal favour, nor for any powerful person, nor for the sake of collecting money for me, for i have no need that money should be collected for me by iniquitous exactions. i, therefore, wish it to be made known to you, that, returning by the same way that i departed, i am going to denmark, for the purpose of settling, with the counsel of all the danes, firm and lasting peace with those nations, which, had it been in their power, would have deprived us of our life and kingdoms; but were unable, god having deprived them of strength, who in his loving-kindness preserves us in our kingdoms and honour, and renders naught the power of our enemies. having made peace with the nations round us, and regulated and tranquillised all our kingdom here in the east, so that on no side we may have to fear war or enmities, i propose this summer, as soon as i can have a number of ships ready, to proceed to england; but i have sent this letter beforehand, that all the people of my kingdom may rejoice at my prosperity; for, as you yourselves know, i have never shrunk from labouring, nor will i shrink therefrom, for the necessary benefit of all my people. i therefore conjure all my bishops and ealdormen, by the fealty which they owe to me and to god, so to order that, before i come to england, the debts of all, which we owe according to the old law, be paid; to wit, plough-alms, and a tithe of animals brought forth during the year, and the pence which ye owe to saint peter at rome, both from the cities and villages; and in the middle of august, a tithe of fruits, and at the feast of saint martin, the first-fruits of things sown, to the church of the parish, in which each one dwells, which is in english called church-scot. if, when i come, these and others are not paid, he who is in fault shall be punished by the royal power severely and without any remission. farewell. footnotes: [ ] this translation (with slight changes) is that of benjamin thorpe: lappenberg, _history of england_, ii., - . [ ] the original has swedes; but see above p. . the statement that canute was king of the norwegians is doubtless an addition by the chronicler; norway was not conquered before . bibliography _aarböger for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie_, udg. af det kongelige nordiske oldskriftsselskab. - . . række, -. copenhagen. continuation of _annaler_. _Ælfric's lives of saints_, ed. w.w. skeat. vols. london, - . (early english text society.) _anglo-saxon chronicle_, ed. benjamin thorpe. vols. london, . rolls series, no. . _annaler for nordisk oldkyndighed og historie_, udg. af det kongelige nordiske oldskriftsselskab. - . copenhagen, - . these volumes and the _aarböger_ are of great value for the study of scandinavian culture in the middle ages; for the career of canute, however, they are of slight importance. _annales cambriæ_, ed. j.w. ab ithel. london, . rolls series, no. . _annales monastici_, ed. h.r. luard. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . _baltische studien_, herausgegeben von der gesellschaft für pommersche geschichte und alterthumskunde. - . stettin. especially important are nos. , , and : articles on the early relations of the danes and the wends. _bibliothek der angelsächsischen poesie_, ed. c.w.m. grein (revised edition by r.p. wülker). vols. cassel, - . bjÖrkman, erik, _nordische personennamen in england in alt- und frühmittel-englischer zeit_. halle, . (morsbach's _studien zur englischen philologie_, xxxvii.) bremen, adam of, _gesta hammenburgensis ecclesiæ pontificum_, ed. j.m. lappenberg. hanover, . (mon. ger. hist., scriptores, vii.) bresslau, h., _jahrbücher des deutschen reichs unter konrad ii._ leipsic, - . bugge, alexander, et al., _norges historie fremstillet for det norske folk_. to be published in volumes. vol. i., part ii. (christiania, ) deals with norwegian history to . ----_studier over de norske byers selvstyre og handel_. christiania, . ----_vesterlandenes indflydelse paa nordboernes og särlig nordmændenes ydre kultur, levesæt, og samfundsforhold i vikingetiden_. christiania, . ----_vikingerne_. vols. copenhagen, - . a series of brilliant essays on scandinavian colonisation and culture in the western islands (britain). _cambridge history of english literature_. edited by a.w. ward and a.r. waller. (in process of publication.) i. cambridge, . canterbury, gervase of, _the historical works of gervase of canterbury_, ed. william stubbs. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . chabannes, adÉmar de, _historiarum libri iii_, ed. g. waitz. hanover, . (mon. ger. hist., scriptores, iv.) _chronicon abbatiæ de evesham ad annum_ , ed. w.d. macray. london, . rolls series, no. . _chronicon abbatiæ rameseiensis_, ed. w.d. macray. london, . rolls series, no. . _chronicon monasterii de abingdon_, ed. joseph stevenson. vols. london, . rolls series, no. . cirencester, richard of, _speculum historiale de gestis regum angliæ_., ed. j.e.b. mayor. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . _cnutonis regis gesta sive encomium emmæ_, ed. g.h. pertz. hanover, . (mon. ger. hist., scriptores, xix.) collingwood, w.g., _scandinavian britain_. london, . _corpus poeticum boreale_. edited by gudbrand vigfusson and f. york powell. vols. oxford, . daae, ludvig, _norges helgener_. christiania, . diceto, ralph of, _opera historica_, ed. william stubbs. vols. london, . rolls series, no. . duchesne, andré (editor), _historiæ normannorum scriptores antiqui_. paris, . durham, simeon of, _opera omnia_, ed. thomas arnold. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . _encomium emmæ_. see _cnutonis regis gesta_. _eulogium historiarum_, ed. f.s. haydon. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . _fagrskinna_, ed. finnur jónsson. copenhagen, - . brief saga of the norwegian kings. earlier edition by p.a. munch and c.r. unger (christiania, ). _flateyarbók_. edited by gudbrand vigfusson and c.r. unger. christiania, . the flat-isle book is a late and not very reliable collection of sagas, but it cannot be wholly ignored. flom, george t., _scandinavian influence on southern lowland scotch_. new york, . (columbia university germanic studies, i., no. .) freeman, e.a., _history of the norman conquest of england_, vols. new york, . friesen, otto von, _historiska runskrifter_. (fornvännen, .) ----_om runskriftens härkomst_. (sprokvetenskapliga sällskapets förhandlinger, - .) giesebrecht, w. von, _geschichte der deutschen kaiserzeit_. vols. brunswick and leipsic, - . hildebrand, b.e., _anglosachsiska mynt i svenska kongliga myntkabinettet funna i sveriges jord_. stockholm, . hildebrand, hans o.h., _svenska folket under hednatiden_. stockholm, . _historians of the church of york and its archbishops_, ed. james raine. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . hodgkin, thomas, _the history of england from the earliest times to the norman conquest_. london, . (hunt-poole, _political history of england_, i.) hunt, william, _the english church, a.d. - _. london, . (stephens-hunt, _a history of the english church_, i.) huntingdon, henry of, _historia anglorum_, ed. thomas arnold. london, . rolls series, no. . _jómsvíkingasaga ok knytlinga_, ed. c.c. rafn. copenhagen, . jumièges, william of, _historiæ nomannorum libri viii_, ed. andré duchesne. paris, . (hist. norm. scriptores.) kemble, j.m., _codex diplomaticus Ævi saxonici_. vols. london, - . (eng. hist. soc.) _knytlingasaga_. see _jómsvíkingasaga_. kÖbke, p., _om runerne i norden_. copenhagen, . a brief popular account of the runes; valuable for its translation of important inscriptions. lang, andrew, _a history of scotland_. vols. edinburgh, - . langebek, jacob (editor), _scriptores rerum danicarum medii Ævi_. vols. copenhagen, - . lappenberg, j.m., _history of england under the anglo-saxon kings_. translated by benjamin thorpe. vols. london, . larson, laurence m., _the king's household in england before the norman conquest_. madison, . (bulletin of the university of wisconsin.) ----_the political policies of cnut as king of england. american historical review_, xv., no. (july, ). lavisse, ernest, _histoire de france depuis les origines jusqu'à la révolution_. vols. paris, - . liebermann, f., _die gesetze der angelsachsen_. vols. halle, - . ----_ungedrückte anglo-normannische geschichtsquellen_. strasburg, . _liber monasterii de hyda_, ed. edward edwards. london, . rolls series, no. . _liber vitæ: register and martyrology of new minster and hyde abbey_, ed. w. de gray birch. london, . (hampshire record society.) _lives of edward the confessor_, ed. h.r. luard. london, . rolls series, no. . malmesbury, william of, _de gestis pontificum anglorum libri quinque_, ed. n.e.s.a. hamilton. london, . rolls series, no. . ----_de gestis regum anglorum libri quinque_, ed. william stubbs. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . manitius, m., _deutsche geschichte unter den sächsischen und salischen kaisern_. stuttgart, . (bibliothek deutscher geschichte.) _memorials of saint edmund's abbey_, ed. thomas arnold. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . merseburg, thietmar of, _chronicon_, ed. j.m. lappenberg. hanover, . (mon. ger. hist., scriptores, iii.) migne, j.p., _patrologiæ cursus completus_. series latina. vols. paris, - . vol. cxli. contains the sermons of adémar and the letters of fulbert. montelius, oscar, _kulturgeschichte schwedens von den ältesten zeiten bis zum elften jahrhundert nach christus_. leipsic, . an excellent account of northern antiquity based largely on archæological evidence. morris, william a., _the frankpledge system_. new york, . (harvard historical series, xiv.) munch, p.a., _det norske folks historie_. vols. christiania, - . napier, a.s., and stevenson, w.h. (editors), _the crawford collection of early charters and documents_. oxford, . _olafs saga hins helga_. edited by r. keyser and c.r. unger. christiania, . a saga of saint olaf; largely legendary. olrik, axel, _nardisk aandsliv i vikingetid og tidlig middelalder_. copenhagen, . an excellent popular discussion of mediæval culture in scandinavia. oman, c.w.c., _england before the norman conquest_. new york, . (oman, _history of england in seven volumes_, i.) _origines islandicæ_. edited by gudbrand vigfusson and f. york powell. vols. oxford, . palgrave, francis, _history of normandy and england_. vols. london, - . paris, matthew, _chronica majora_, ed. h.r. luard. vols. london, - . rolls series, no. . pertz, g.h., et al. (editors), _monumenta germaniæ historica, scriptores_. vols. hanover, - . poitiers, william of, _gesta willelmi ducis normannorum et regis angliæ_, ed. andré duchesne. paris, . (hist. norm. scriptores.) pollock, f., and maitland, f.w., _the history of the english law before the time of edward i_. vols. cambridge, . ramsay, j.h., _the foundations of england_. vols. london, . raoul glaber, _les cinq livres de ses histoires_, ed. m. prou. paris, . (collection de textes, no. i.) _saga book of the viking club_, vi., part i. london. january, . _saga olafs konungs ens helga_. edited by p.a. munch and c.r. unger. christiania, . the so-called "historical saga" of saint olaf. st. john, james a., _history of the four conquests of england_. vols. london, . extremely uncritical. saxo grammaticus, _gesta danorum_, ed. a. holder. strasburg, . schÜck, henrik, _studier i nordisk litteratur- och religions-historia._ vols. stockholm, . snorre. see sturlason. _sproglige og historiske afhandlinger viede sophus bugges minde._ christiania, . historical and philological essays by various authors. cited as afhandlinger, etc. steenstrup, johannes c.h.r., et al., _danmarks riges historie_. vols. copenhagen, - . the great co-operative history of denmark. vol. i. is by steenstrup. ----_normannerne_. vols. copenhagen, - . (see foreword.) ----_venderne og de danske för valdemar den stores tid_. copenhagen, . a study of danish expansion on the south baltic shores. stephens, george, _the old-northern runic monuments of scandinavia and england_. vols. london and copenhagen, - . of great value for the inscriptions that the author has collected and reproduced; the interpretations, however, are not always reliable. vol. iv. is by s.o.m. söderberg and j.s.f. stephens. stubbs, william, _registrum sacrum anglicanum_. oxford, . sturlason, snorre, _heimskringla: nóregs konunga sogur_, ed. finnur jónsson. vols. copenhagen, - . samfundet til udgivelse af gammel nordisk litteratur. cited as snorre. this is the chief source of information as to canute's ambitions for empire in the north. sveno aggonis, _historia legum castrensium regis canuti magni_, ed. jacob langebek. copenhagen, . (script. rer. danic., iii.) taranger, a., _den angelsaksiske kirkes indflydelse paa den norske_. christiania, . (norske historiske forening.) turner, sharon, _history of the anglo-saxons_. vols. london, . vitalis, ordericus, _historia ecclesiastica_, ed. auguste le prévost. vols. paris, - . (société de l'histoire de france.) wharton, henry (editor), _anglia sacra_. vols. london, . wimmer, ludvig f.a., _de danske runemindesmærker_. vols. copenhagen, - . ----_die runenschrift_. Übersetzt von dr. f. holthausen. berlin, . wipo, _vita chuonradi regis_. hanover, . (mon. ger. hist., scriptores, xi.) worcester, florence of, _chronicon ex chronicis_, ed. benjamin thorpe. vols. london, - . (eng. hist. soc.) worsaae, j.j.a., _minder out de danske og nordmændene i england, skotland, og irland_. copenhagen, . translation: _an account of the danes and norwegians in england, scotland, and ireland_. london, . index a abingdon, monastery of; adam of bremen cited; adémar de chabannes cited; agdir, district in southern norway; alain, duke of brittany; aldgyth, wife of edmund ironside; alfiva; _see_ elgiva alfred, king of england; alfred, son of ethelred; alfric, archbishop of york; alfric, bishop; alfric, english ealdorman; alfric, ealdorman, and naval commander; alfric, old english author; algar, english magnate; ali, housecarle; almar darling, english magnate; alphabet, runic; alphege, archbishop; alstad stone, the; america, discovery of; andover; _anglo-saxon chronicle_ cited; anglo-saxon kingdom; anglo-saxon legal system, the; anglo-saxon literature; anses, the, old northern divinities; anund jacob, king of sweden; aquitaine; arne, norwegian magnate; arngrim, magnate in the danelaw; arnungs, norwegian noble family; art, celtic and northern; asbjörn, norwegian warrior; ashington, battle of; dedication at; asia minor; aslak erlingsson, norwegian chieftain; attila; avon river; aylesford; b bamberg; bark-isle; barwick, swedish harbour; benedict, pope; _beowulf_; bergen; bergljot, sister of earl erik; bernhard, bishop in norway; bernhard, bishop in scania; bernicia, old english kingdom; bersi, norse traveller; bessin, the, district in normandy; birca, old swedish town; _bison_, the, st. olaf's longship; bjarkamál, old norse poem; bjarne, scald; bjor, warrior; björn, king olaf's spokesman; bleking, district in modern sweden; bohemia; boleslav, duke and king of poland; books, old english; brage, old norse divinity; bremen; brenn-isles, the, agreement of; brentford, skirmish at; bristol; british isles, the, scandinavians in; commerce of; inscriptions in; brittany; bruges; brunhild, saga heroine; buckinghamshire; bugge, alexander, norse historian, cited; bugge, sophus, norse philologist, cited; burgundy; burhwold, bishop; byrhtnoth, ealdorman of essex; byzantium; c caithness; canonisation, of st. dunstan; canterbury, city and see of; siege of; canute the great, king of england, denmark, and norway: inheritance of; ancestry of; fostered by thurkil the tall; joins in king sweyn's attack on england; in charge of the camp at garrisborough; succeeds to the english pretensions of sweyn; is driven out of england; renews the attack; methods of warfare of; marches into northern england; is recognised as king in the south; lays siege to london; pillages mercia and east anglia; wins the victory at ashington; treats with edmund ironside; is recognised as king of all england; difficulties of, in and ; early english policy of; chief counsellors of; royal residence of; rewards his scandinavian followers; re-organises the english earldoms; attempts to establish a new aristocracy in england; shows his preference for northmen and distrust of the saxons; executes rebellious nobles; sends edmund's sons to poland; marries queen emma; organises his guard of housecarles; suppresses piracy on the english shores; develops new policy of reconciliation; becomes king of denmark; issues proclamation of ; has difficulties with scotland; agrees to the cession of lothian; journeys to denmark of; exiles thurkil the tall; extent of empire of; makes an expedition to wendland; slavic possessions of; enters into alliance with the emperor; acquires the mark of sleswick; ecclesiastical policy of; legislation of; baptism of; benefactions of; consecrates church at ashington; rebuilds the shrine of st. edmund's; honours the english saints; translates the relics of st. alphege; provides bishops for the danish church; enters into relations with the see of hamburg-bremen; plans to seize norway; conspires with the norwegian rebels; sends an embassy to king olaf; scotch possessions of; diplomacy of; sends an embassy to sweden; bribes the norse leaders; makes war on norway and sweden; trapped at holy river; orders the murder of ulf; loves dice and chess; atones for the murder; makes a pilgrimage to rome; assists at the imperial coronation; presents complaints at the lateran synod; charter of; honoured by pope and emperor; conquers norway; receives the submission of the scotch king; submission of the norsemen to; chosen king at the ere-thing; holds an imperial assembly at nidaros; announces his imperial policy; secures the allegiance of the norse chiefs; returns to denmark and england; gives the leadership in norway to kalf arnesson; plans to depose earl hakon; relations with normandy; is emperor of the north; position in europe of; vassal states of, ; appoints harthacanute his successor; court and household of; official appointments of; continental relations of; sends embassies to aquitaine; forms an alliance with the church; relations of, with papacy; episcopal appointments of; is friendly to the archbishops of hamburg-bremen; is hostile toward heathen practices; provides for christian education; secular laws of; reputation of, as a lawgiver; financial legislation of; norse legislation of; provides coinage for denmark; patronises scalds and copyists; is interested in material improvements; loses norway to magnus olafsson; probable plans of ( ); last illness and death of; children of; personality of; character of; legends about; english (ecclesiastical) view of; norse (scaldic) view of; as ruler and statesman; plans of, for the future of his empire; _canute's praise_; carham, battle of; celts, influence of, in old northern culture; chabannes, adémar de, _see_ adémar charlemagne; charter, canute's; chartres; chess games; chester; christiania firth; christianity, introduced into denmark; introduced into norway; progress of, in the north; celtic; influence of, on old northern poetry and art; church, english, relations of, with canute; canute's message to; legislation for; church dues; cirencester; cities, scandinavian; clontarf, battle of; coinage; coins, english and danish; coldstream; cologne; commerce, scandinavian; conrad ii, emperor; _consiliatio cnuti_; cork; coronation, imperial; corvey, widukind of, _see_ widukind cotentin, district in normandy; court at winchester; court poetry, old norse; coventry; crediton; cricklade; cross, the, of winchester; croyland, abbey of; culture, old northern; cynewulf, old english poet; d danegeld; danelaw, established by the vikings; extent of; importance of, in english history; scandinavian elements in; spared by sweyn and canute; heathendom in; administrative areas in; cities in; supports elgiva; other mention of; danes, become christians; interested in wendland; as colonisers; as merchants; as vikings; kill st. alphege; attack london; proclaim canute king; in england; rule of, in england; preferred by canute for important offices; show opposition to canute; in norway; other mention of; danework; deerhurst, agreement of; monastery of; deira, old english kingdom; denmark, extent of; imperial ambitions of; hegemony of; invasion of england from; harold king of; return of canute and the viking chiefs to; canute king of; return of the host to; canute's journeys to; importance of union of, with england; extended to the eider; progress of christianity in; viceroys of; rebellion in; harthacanute king of; expansion of, into slavic lands; institutional development of; cities in; magnus king of; claimed by sweyn ulfsson; union of, with england dissolved; other mention of; _see_ danes, canute, and scandinavia derby; devon; dol, castle of; domesday book; dorchester; dorset; dragon ship, _see_ ships drammen firth; dublin; duduc, bishop; düna river; durham; e eadric, mercian earl, slays sigeferth and morcar; earl of mercia; jealous disposition of; deserts to canute; in the battle of sherstone; makes peace with edmund; quarrels with edmund; plays the traitor at ashington; suspected of causing edmund's death; position of, in canute's councils; ethelred's son-in-law; executed; eadulf cudel, northumbrian earl; eagmargach, _see_ jehmarc eanham, assembly of; earl, office of; earldoms in england; east anglia; eddic poems; edgar, king of england; edith, wife of thurkil; edmund ironside, english king, marries aldgyth; assumes leadership in the danelaw; harries the western shires; with the army in london; is chosen king; raises the south-west; fights at penselwood, sherstone, and brentford; raises wessex; attacks the danes at otford; quarrels with eadric; defeated at ashington; retires to the severn valley; makes terms and enters into fraternal relations with canute; death of; career and character of; sons of; buried at glastonbury; edmund, son of edmund ironside; edward, son of ethelred; edwy, son of ethelred; eglaf, _see_ eilif eider river; eikunda-sound; eilif, viking chief and earl in england; einar thongshaker, norse magnate, guardian of earl hakon; defeated at the nesses; in opposition to king olaf; accepts the rule of canute; disappointed in his ambitions; leads in the revolt of the norsemen; eindrid, son of einar; elbe river; elfhelm, ealdorman; elfward, abbot, canute's cousin; elfwine, bishop; elfwine, king's priest and bishop; elgiva, canute's mistress; at jomburg; in norway; opposes the canonisation of st. olaf; unpopular in norway: withdraws to england: later activities of: elmham: ely, monastery of: emma, queen of england, marries ethelred: retires to normandy: marries canute: character of: makes a gift to st. edmund's: assists at the translation of st. alphege: intrigues of: difficulties of, after canute's death: death of: other mention of; empire, the; empire of the north; extent of; decline of; capital of; institutional systems in; civilisation of; canute's plans for the future of; collapse of; encomiast, canute's biographer, cited; england, scandinavian settlements in; vikings in; danish conquest of; part of, friendly to danes; revolts against canute; is attacked by canute; civil strife in; exhaustion of; divided at deerhurst; canute king of; danish rule in; reorganised by canute; church of, in canute's day; debt of northern churches to; norwegian conspirators in; threatened with norman invasion; heathendom in; institutional influence of scandinavians in; northern scalds in; harold harefoot king of; harthacanute king of; other mention of; ere-thing, the; eric, king of denmark; eric bloodax, king of norway; sons of; eric hakonsson, earl in norway and england, fights at hjörunga bay; marries canute's sister; fights at swald; earl in norway; summoned to assist canute in england; earl of northumbria; raids mercia; character of; death of; other mention of; eric the victorious, king of sweden; _eric's praise_, the; erling, son of earl hakon; erling skjalgsson, power and influence of; in canute's service; death of; sons of; essex; esthonians; estrid, canute's sister; ethelmer, ealdorman; ethelnoth the good, archbishop of canterbury; ethelred the ill-counselled, king of england, accession and inheritance of; character of; treats with the vikings; attacks the northmen in cumberland and man; marries emma of normandy; orders massacre of st. brice's day; prepares a fleet; resists sweyn; flees to normandy; is recalled and expels canute; objects to edmund's marriage; illness and death of; sons and daughters of; legislation of; ethelric, bishop; ethelstan, king of england; ethelward, english noble; ethelwerd, earl; ethics of norse heathendom; evesham, monastery of; exeter; exeter codex; f faroe islands; fenlands, the; ferm, english; festivals; fife; finnvid found; "five boroughs," the; "five hide system," the; flanders; fleet (described); _see_ ship florence of worcester, cited; forest laws; forth, firth of; france; frankpledge; franks; frey, old northern divinity; friesen, otto von, swedish runologist, cited; frigg, old northern goddess; fulbert, bishop; funen, danish island; "fyrd," the; fyris river, battle of; g gainsborough, danish camp at; garth, the royal; gaul; gaut river; gaulland; gemot, at eanham; at london; recalls ethelred; at oxford; elects edmund; other, elects canute; at cirencester; at winchester; gerbrand, bishop; germans in south jutland; in slavic lands; influence of, on northern culture; germany; gillingham; gisela, empress; giski, isle of; glastonbury; gleeman; gloucestershire; godebald, bishop of scania; godescalc, slavic prince; godric, english earl; godwin, ealdorman; godwin, earl of wessex, early history of; important position of; accompanies canute on his expeditions to the east; supports harthacanute against harold; secures the crown for edward; gokstad, ship found at; gorm, king of denmark; gotland; greenland; greenwich; grimkell, norse bishop; gudrun, saga heroine; gunhild, canute's daughter; gunhild, canute's niece; gunhild, canute's sister; gunhild, harold bluetooth's queen; gunhild, harold bluetooth's daughter; gunhild, sweyn's queen, canute's mother; gunnor, emma's mother; gunvor, norwegian woman; gyrith, harold bluetooth's queen; _see_ gunhild gytha, canute's sister; h hakon the bad, earl of norway; hakon ericsson, earl in norway; driven out by olaf the stout; earl in england; viceroy in norway; recalled by canute; death of; hakon the good, king of norway; hakon of stangeby; hakon, viking prince; hall, old northern; halldor the unchristian, scald, cited; hällestad stone, the; hallfred troublousscald cited; hamburg-bremen, see of; hampshire; harek of tjotta, norwegian magnate; harold, earl, son of godwin; harold, earl, son of thurkil the tall; harold bluetooth, king of denmark; harold fairhair, king of norway; harold grayfell, norwegian king; harold harefoot, canute's son; king of england; death of; character of; harold sweynsson, king of denmark, canute's brother; harthacanute, canute's son, present at the translation of st. alphege; regent and king of denmark; king of england; compact of, with magnus; probably chosen to succeed canute; death of; character of; hastings, battle of; hawking; "head ransom," the, old norse poem; heathby, danish city; heathendom in england; among the slavs; in the north; canute's legislation against; hebrides islands; helgi, saga hero; heming, thurkil the tall's brother; heming, thurkil's grandson; henry i, king of france; henry ii, emperor; henry iii, emperor; henry the fowler, king of germany; henry of huntingdon cited; heorot; "here," the, viking host; hereford; heroic poetry, old northern; hildebrand; hjörunga bay, battle of; holy river, battle of, ; holy trinity, church of the; home, scandinavian; hönen, runic monument at; honour, northern ideas of; hordaland, district in norway; hornel-mount, the; hostages; house, old northern; housecarles, canute's; hugo, norman commander at exeter; humber river; hungary; _hude register_; i iceland; india; industrial arts, northern; inscriptions, _see_ runic inscriptions _instituta cnuti_; ireland, scandinavians in; irish sea, viking rendezvous; cities near; italy; ivar white, canute's housecarle; j jæderen, district in norway; jehmarc, vassal of canute; jelling, royal residence in jutland; jelling stones, runic monuments; jemteland, district in sweden; jersey, island of; jewelry, old northern; john xix, pope; jom, _see_ jomburg jomburg, city and stronghold in wendland; jomvikings, attack sweden and norway; take part in the battle of swald; attack england; enter english service; hostle to the danish kings; saga of; tactics of; organisation of; julin, _see_ jomburg jumièges, william of, _see_ william jumneta, _see_ jomburg justiciar, norman official; jutland (and jutes); k kalf arnesson, norwegian magnate; kent; kingscrag, city in modern sweden; king's delf; kingship, joint; knytlingasaga; knytlings, dynasty of canute; kurisches haff. l lakenheath; lambert, canute's christian name; lambeth; lateran synod ( ); law, scandinavian ideas of; "laws of edward," the; "lay of righ," the, old northern poem; legislation, english; leicester; leif the lucky, icelandic explorer; leofric, earl of mercia; leofwine, earl of mercia; lethra (leire); libentius, archbishop of hamburg-bremen; _liber vitæ_; see _hyde register_ liebermann, f., german historian, cited; liffey river; lifing, archbishop; lifing, bishop of crediton; lime firth; limerick; lincoln; lindsey; lister, district in norway; "lithsmen's song," the, old norse poem; lithuanians; lombardy; london, resists the danes; thingmen in; sieges of; held by canute; opposes translation of st. alphege; supports harold harefoot; accepts edward; london bridge broken by olaf the stout; _long serpent_, the, olaf trygvesson's longship; longships, _see_ ships lorraine; lothian, ceded to the scotch; louis the pious, emperor; lund, scanian see; m macbeth; maelar, lake; mælbeathe, canute's vassal; magnus olafsson, king of norway and denmark; malcolm, king of scotland; maldon, battle of; malmesbury; malmesbury, william of, _see_ william man, isle of; manna, sweyn's housecarle; marriage in canute's day; laws relating to; matthew paris, english chronicler, cited; medway river; mercia, old english kingdom; merseburg, thietmar of, _see_ thietmar midlands, the; mieczislav, duke of poland; mieczislav, king of poland; mints; miracles attributed to st. olaf; mistiwi; monasticism, in denmark; in norway; moneyers in denmark; moray firth; morcar, magnate in the danelaw; munch, p.a., norse historian, cited; "murdrum fine". n naples, northmen in; navarre; navy, english; naze, the; nesses, the; new minster, winchester; niard; _see_ njord nid river; nidaros, capital of norway; "nithing name,"; njord; _see_ niard norfolk; norman conquest, effect of, on old english literature; hastened by canute's conquest; norman officials in the northern churches; normandy, foundation of; as a viking rendezvous; ethelred's relations with; canute's relations with; ethelings in; famine in; north, the; northampton; northman, mercian noble; northmen, norsemen, norwegians, the, at war with the danes; in the scandinavian colonies; in rebellion against earl hakon; defeated in ireland; as earls and officials in england; religion of; oppose king olaf; accept the rule of canute; at canute's court; oppose elgiva and sweyn; civilisation of; commerce of; canonise st. olaf; repudiate canute's kingship; _see_ norway northumbria; norway, controlled by the danes; attacked by the jomvikings; olaf trygvesson king of; eric and sweyn, earls in; olaf the stout king of; missionary operations in; at war with denmark; dissatisfaction in; bribery in; canute king of; hakon viceroy of; elgiva and sweyn regents of; rebellious movements in; canute's legislation for; cities and commerce of; magnus olafsson king of; other mention of; _see also_ northmen nottingham; novgorod. o odderness stone, runic monument; odense; oder river; odo, count of chartres; olaf, king of sweden; olaf haroldsson (the stout), king of norway, viking activities of; in english and norman service; baptism of; returns to norway and seizes earl hakon; wins a victory at the nesses; king of norway; missionary activities of; opposition to; character of; purposes of; defies canute; forms an alliance with the swedish king; raises the host of norway and harries the danish coast; traps canute at holy river; retreat to norway; loses his kingdom to canute; deserted by his chiefs; tries to resume his rule; flees to russia; is recalled to norway; falls at stiklestead; miracles attributed to; canonisation and worship of; and his scalds; other mention of; olaf trygvesson, king of norway, early life of; viking activities of; becomes a christian; king of norway; wooes sigrid the haughty; marries thyra; falls at swald; missionary work of; founder of nidaros; old minster, winchester; olney, compact of; olvi of egg, norwegian magnate; omens; ordeal; orkney islands; ornamentation, styles of; orwell river; osbern, biographer of st. alphege, cited; oslo firth; otford, skirmish at; ottar the swart, scald, cited; otto the great, emperor; ottos, dynasty of the; oxford. p palace, royal; pallig, ealdorman; pallium, cost of the; palna toki, archer and viking; papacy, state of; paris, matthew, _see_ matthew penal laws in england; penselwood, battle of; pentland firth; peterborough; peter's pence; "pictured rocks"; pilgrims, complaints of the; piræus; poetry, old northern; poland; pomerania; pope; poppo, danish clerk; "praise lays"; proclamation of , canute's; prussia; q _quadripartitus_; quedlingburg; r ragnarok myth; ramsey, abbey of; ramsund rock, pictures on the; ranig, scandinavian earl in england; raven banner, the; reginbert, bishop of funen; religion, old northern; origin of; divinities of; ethics o; ritual and sacrifices of; festivals of; repingdon; reric, danish city in wendland; rhine river; rhone river; richard of cirencester, chronicler, cited; richard, duke of normandy; ridings in yorkshire; riga; righ, old northern divinity; ringmere, battle of; ring-realm, district in norway; rings, scandinavian; ringsted, danish city; robert, archbishop of rouen; robert, king of france; robert the devil, duke of normandy; roeskild, capital of denmark; roeskild firth; rogaland, district in norway; rolf, founder of normandy; rome; rouen; route of the danes to the west; rudolf, bishop in norway; rudolf, king of burgundy; rügen, island of; "rune-masters"; runes; runic art, _see_ art runic inscriptions; russia; s sacrifices, old northern; saga materials in old northern poetry; st. alphege, _see_ alphege st. ansgar, missionary to the north; st. benet hulme, monastery of; st. bertin, monastery of; st. brice; st. brice's day, massacre of; st. clemens, church of; st. cuthbert; st. dunstan; st. edith; st. edmund; st. felix; st. frideswide, church of; st. henry, _see_ henry ii st. mary devon, church of, st. olaf, _see_ olaf haroldsson st. omer; st. paul; st. paul's, church of; st. peter; st. stephen, _see_ stephen st. thomas; st. vincent; st. wistan; saints; salop; sandefjord, town in norway; sandwich; santslaue (santslave), canute's sister; _see_ svantoslava sarpsborg, city in norway; saxo, danish chronicler, cited; saxony; scalds; scandinavia; scandinavian colonies; scania; schlei, inlet in sleswick; scone; scotland; secular laws of canute; seine river; semland; "seven boroughs," the, _see_ "five boroughs" severn valley; shaftesbury; shakespeare; sheppey, danish camp at; sherburne; sherstone, battle of; shetland islands; shield, legendary danish king; shieldings, legendary danish dynasty; ship as numerical term; ships, scandinavian _short serpent_, the, longship; "shrine song," the, old norse poem; sibyl, the, of the eddas; "sibyl's prophecy," the, old northern poem; _see_ voluspá sigeferth, magnate in the danelaw; sigfrid, bishop in norway; sigfried; sighvat the scald cited; sigrid, wife of kalf arnesson; sigrid the haughty, canute's stepmother; sigrun, saga heroine, sigurd, bishop, _see_ sigfrid sigurd, earl hakon's court bishop; sigurd, norwegian earl; sigurd, saga hero, _see_ sigfried sigvaldi, earl at jomburg; simeon of durham, english chronicler, cited,; siric, archbishop of canterbury; siward, abbot of abingdon; siward the strong, earl of northumbria; skartha, danish housecarle; skene, w.f., scotch historian, cited; skiringshall, city in norway; skjalg erlingsson, norwegian chief; skogul tosti, _see_ tosti slavic lands and peoples; sleswick; slesswick, massacre at; snorre, icelandic historian, cited; sogn firth; soli, erling's garth; sönder vissing, runic monument at; "song of the high one," the, old northern poem; sortilege in the old northern religion; sound, the; southampton; south jutland; southwark; spain; spey river; stadt, cape; staffordshire; staller, scandinavian official; stamford; stangeberg, battle of; stavanger; steenstrup, j.c.h.r., danish historian, cited; stenkyrka stone, pictured rock; stephen, king of hungary; stigand, anglo-danish priest; stiklestead, battle of; stockholm; stord, battle of; storm, gustav, norwegian historian, cited; strathclyde; "stretch song," the, old northern poem; styrbjörn, earl at jomburg; suffolk; surety, old english; sussex; svantoslava; _see_ santslaue sveno, danish chronicler, cited; swald, battle of; swart, lord of the fire-world; sweden; swelchie, the, of pentland firth; sweyn, son of canute and elgiva; earl in wendland; regent in denmark; regent in norway; flees to denmark; death of; sweyn, danish housecarle; sweyn forkbeard, king of denmark, in rebellion against his father; king of denmark; plans of; viking activities of; family of; attacks king olaf and acquires part of norway; has designs on england; conquers england; death of; character and personality of; sweyn hakonsson, norwegian earl; sweyn ulfsson, king of denmark, canute's nephew; t tavistock, abbey of; tees river; thames river and valley; thanet, isle of; thegns, king's; thetford; thietmar of merseburg, german chronicler, cited; thingmen, danish mercenaries in england; thor, old northern divinity; thor the dog, norwegian magnate; thora, arne's wife; thorarin praise-tongue, scald; thord, thingman; thoretus, earl in england; thorgils sprakaleg, swedish magnate; thorir, norwegian chief; throndelaw, district in norway; throndhjem; _see_ nidaros thrym, viking; thurbrand, uhtred's banesman; thurgot, danish warrior; thurkil, son of nafena, chief in the danelaw; thurkil mareshead; thurkil nefja; _see_ thurkil, son of nafena thurkil the tall, viking chief, canute's foster father; leads jomvikings in england; chief of the viking mercenaries in england; deserts to canute; fights at penselwood and sherstone; fights at ashington; canute's chief counsellor and viceroy in england; earl of east anglia; marries ethelred's daughter; exiled from england; reconciled to canute; viceroy in denmark; thurkil, grandson of thurkil the tall; thyra, queen of denmark; thyra, queen of norway, canute's aunt; tithing; tjängvide stone, pictured rock; tjotta, isle of; toki, _see_ palna toki tosti, swedish viking; tova, queen of denmark; treene river; trent river; trygve, norwegian pretender; tunsberg, city in norway; tweed river. u uhtred, earl of northumbria; ulf, canute's brother-in-law, one of canute's generals; earl in england; earl in jomburg; viceroy in denmark; treason of; rescues canute at holy river; murder of; character of; ulf, swedish viking; ulfkellsland; ulfketel, earl of east anglia; ulfrun, elgiva's mother; unwan, archbishop of hamburg-bremen; uplands, the, district in norway; uppland, region in sweden; upsala, swedish sanctuary at; v vandals; varangians, scandinavian guard at byzantium; vercelli book, the; viborg, danish sanctuary at; vikings, the; vineland; vistula river; volsungs, the, saga heroes; voluspá; _see_ sibyl's prophecy w wales; walhalla; wallingford; waltheof, earl of northumbria; wapentake; warwick; waterford; watling street; wayland smith, saga hero; wendland; _see_ slavic lands wessex, expansion of; attacked and plundered by the danes; submits to canute; given to edmund at deerhurst; danegeld levied in; under canute's rule; retains saxon character; supports claims of harthacanute; westminster; wexford; wick, the, district in norway; wicklow; widukind, of corvey, chronicler, cited; wight, isle of; wiht, wihtland, _see_ witland william, bishop of roeskild; william the conqueror, duke of normandy; william the great, duke of aquitaine; william of jumièges, norman chronicler; william of malmesbury, norman-english historian, cited; wiltshire; wimmer, ludvig, danish runologist, cited; winchester, capital of england; canute's residential city; see of; canute's gifts to monasteries of; scalds at the court of; canute buried in; other mention of; wisby; _witenagemot_; _see_ gemot witigern, slavic prince; witland; woden, old northern divinity; wollin, island and village near the mouth of the oder; worcester, florence of, _see_ florence worcestershire; worsaae, j.j.a., danish antiquarian, cited; writing, runic; wrytsleof, slavic prince; _see_ witigern; wulfstan, archbishop of york; wulfstan, english traveller; wyrtgeorn, _see_ witigern. y yggdrasil, mythical ash tree; york; yule festival, old northern. z zealand, , , , , . distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net my little boy _by carl ewald_ translated from the danish by alexander teixeira de mattos my little boy copyright by charles scribner's sons sole authorized translation reprinted by arrangement with the publishers. no part of this work may be reproduced in any form without the permission of charles scribner's sons _my little boy_ i my little boy is beginning to live. carefully, stumbling now and then on his little knock-kneed legs, he makes his way over the paving-stones, looks at everything that there is to look at and bites at every apple, both those which are his due and those which are forbidden him. he is not a pretty child and is the more likely to grow into a fine lad. but he is charming. his face can light up suddenly and become radiant; he can look at you with quite cold eyes. he has a strong intuition and he is incorruptible. he has never yet bartered a kiss for barley-sugar. there are people whom he likes and people whom he dislikes. there is one who has long courted his favour indefatigably and in vain; and, the other day, he formed a close friendship with another who had not so much as said "good day" to him before he had crept into her lap and nestled there with glowing resolution. he has a habit which i love. when we are walking together and there is anything that impresses him, he lets go my hand for a moment. then, when he has investigated the phenomenon and arrived at a result, i feel his little fist in mine again. he has bad habits too. he is apt, for instance, suddenly and without the slightest reason, to go up to people whom he meets in the street and hit them with his little stick. what is in his mind, when he does so, i do not know; and, so long as he does not hit me, it remains a matter between himself and the people concerned. he has an odd trick of seizing big words in a grown-up conversation, storing them up for a while and then asking me for an explanation: "father," he says, "what is life?" i give him a tap in his little stomach, roll him over on the carpet and conceal my emotion under a mighty romp. then, when we sit breathless and tired, i answer, gravely: "life is delightful, my little boy. don't you be afraid of it!" ii today my little boy gave me my first lesson. it was in the garden. i was writing in the shade of the big chestnut-tree, close to where the brook flows past. he was sitting a little way off, on the grass, in the sun, with hans christian andersen in his lap. of course, he does not know how to read, but he lets you read to him, likes to hear the same tales over and over again. the better he knows them, the better he is pleased. he follows the story page by page, knows exactly where everything comes and catches you up immediately should you skip a line. there are two tales which he loves more than anything in the world. these are grimm's _faithful john_ and andersen's _the little mermaid_. when anyone comes whom he likes, he fetches the big grimm, with those heaps of pictures, and asks for _faithful john_. then, if the reader stops, because it is so terribly sad, with all those little dead children, a bright smile lights up his small, long face and he says, reassuringly and pleased at "knowing better": "yes, but they come to life again." today, however, it is _the little mermaid_. "is that the sort of stories you write?" he asks. "yes," i say, "but i am afraid mine will not be so pretty." "you must take pains," he says. and i promise. for a time he makes no sound. i go on writing and forget about him. "is there a little mermaid down there, in the water?" he asks. "yes, she swims up to the top in the summer." he nods and looks out across the brook, which ripples so softly and smoothly that one can hardly see the water flow. on the opposite side, the rushes grow green and thick and there is also a bird, hidden in the rushes, which sings. the dragon-flies are whirling and humming. i am sitting with my head in my hand, absorbed in my work. suddenly, i hear a splash. i jump from my chair, upset the table, dart forward and see that my little boy is gone. the brook is billowing and foaming; there are wide circles on the surface. in a moment, i am in the water and find him and catch hold of him. he stands on the grass, dripping with wet, spluttering and coughing. his thin clothes are clinging to his thin body, his face is black with mud. but out of the mud gleams a pair of angry eyes: "there was no mermaid," he says. i do not at once know what to reply and i have no time to think. "do you write that sort of stories?" he asks. "yes," i say, shamefaced. "i don't like any of you," he says. "you make fun of a little boy." he turns his back on me and, proud and wet, goes indoors without once looking round. this evening, grimm and hans christian andersen disappear in a mysterious manner, which is never explained. he will miss them greatly, at first; but he will never be fooled again, not if i were to give him the sun and moon in his hand. iii my little boy and i have had an exceedingly interesting walk in the frederiksberg park. there was a mouse, which was irresistible. there were two chaffinches, husband and wife, which built their nest right before our eyes, and a snail, which had no secrets for us. and there were flowers, yellow and white, and there were green leaves, which told us the oddest adventures: in fact, as much as we can find room for in our little head. now we are sitting on a bench and digesting our impressions. suddenly the air is shaken by a tremendous roar: "what was that?" asks my little boy. "that was the lion in the zoological gardens," i reply. no sooner have i said this than i curse my own stupidity. i might have said that it was a gunshot announcing the birth of a prince; or an earthquake; or a china dish falling from the sky and breaking into pieces: anything whatever, rather than the truth. for now my little boy wants to know what sort of thing the zoological gardens is. i tell him. the zoological gardens is a horrid place, where they lock up wild beasts who have done no wrong and who are accustomed to walk about freely in the distant foreign countries where they come from. the lion is there, whom we have just heard roaring. he is so strong that he can kill a policeman with one blow of his paw; he has great, haughty eyes and awfully sharp teeth. he lives in africa and, at night, when he roars, all the other beasts tremble in their holes for fear. he is called the king of beasts. they caught him one day in a cunning trap and bound him and dragged him here and locked him up in a cage with iron bars to it. the cage is no more than half as big as petrine's room. and there the king walks up and down, up and down, and gnashes his teeth with sorrow and rage and roars so that you can hear him ever so far away. outside his cage stand cowardly people and laugh at him, because he can't get out and eat them up, and poke their sticks through the rails and tease him. my little boy stands in front of me and looks at me with wide-open eyes: "would he eat them up, if he got out?" he asks. "in a moment." "but he can't get out, can he?" "no. that's awfully sad. he can't get out." "father, let us go and look at the lion." i pretend not to hear and go on to tell him of the strange birds there: great eagles, which used to fly over every church-steeple and over the highest trees and mountains and swoop down upon lambs and hares and carry them up to their young in the nest. now they are sitting in cages, on a perch, like canaries, with clipped wings and blind eyes. i tell him of gulls, which used to fly all day long over the stormy sea: now they splash about in a puddle of water, screaming pitifully. i tell him of wonderful blue and red birds, which, in their youth, used to live among wonderful blue and red flowers, in balmy forests a thousand times bigger than the frederiksberg park, where it was as dark as night under the trees with the brightest sun shining down upon the tree-tops: now they sit there in very small cages and hang their beaks while they stare at tiresome boys in dark-blue suits and black stockings and waterproof boots and sailor-hats. "are those birds really blue?" asks my little boy. "sky-blue," i answer. "and utterly broken-hearted." "father, can't we go and look at the birds?" i take my little boy's hands in mine: "i don't think we will," i say. "why should still more silly boys do so? you can't imagine how it goes to one's heart to look at those poor captive beasts." "father, i should so much like to go." "take my advice and don't. the animals there are not the real animals, you see. they are ill and ugly and angry because of their captivity and their longing and their pain." "i should so much like to see them." "now let me tell you something. to go to the zoological gardens costs five cents for you and ten cents for me. that makes fifteen cents altogether, which is an awful lot of money. we won't go there now, but we'll buy the biggest money-box we can find: one of those money-boxes shaped like a pig. then we'll put fifteen cents in it. and every thursday we'll put fifteen cents in the pig. by-and-by, that will grow into quite a fortune: it will make such a lot of money that, when you are grown up, you can take a trip to africa and go to the desert and hear the wild, the real lion roaring and tremble just like the people tremble down there. and you can go to the great, dark forests and see the real blue birds flying proud and free among the flowers. you can't think how glad you will be, how beautiful they will look and how they will sing to you. . . ." "father, i would rather go to the zoological gardens now." my little boy does not understand a word of what i say. and i am at my wits' end. "shall we go and have some cakes at josty's?" i ask. "i would rather go to the zoological gardens." i can read in his eyes that he is thinking of the captive lion. ugly human instincts are waking up in his soul. the mouse is forgotten and the snail; and the chaffinches have built their nest to no purpose. at last i get up and say, bluntly, without any further explanation: "you are _not_ going to the zoological gardens. now we'll go home." and home we go. but we are not in a good temper. of course, i get over it and i buy an enormous money-box pig. also we put the money into it and he thinks that most interesting. but, later in the afternoon, i find him in the bed-room engaged in a piteous game. he has built a cage, in which he has imprisoned the pig. he is teasing it and hitting it with his whip, while he keeps shouting to it: "you can't get out and bite me, you stupid pig! you can't get out!" iv we have beer-soup and aunt anna to dinner. now beer-soup is a nasty dish and aunt anna is not very nice either. she has yellow teeth and a little hump and very severe eyes, which are not even both equally severe. she is nearly always scolding us and, when she sees a chance, she pinches us. the worst of all, however, is that she is constantly setting us a good example, which can easily end by gradually and inevitably driving us to embrace wickedness. aunt anna does not like beer-soup any more than we do. but of course she eats it with a voluptuous expression on her face and looks angrily at my little boy, who does not even make an attempt to behave nicely: "why doesn't the little boy eat his delicious beer-soup?" she asks. a scornful silence. "such delicious beer-soup! i know a poor, wretched boy who would be awfully glad to have such delicious beer-soup." my little boy looks with great interest at auntie, who is swallowing her soup with eyes full of ecstatic bliss: "where is he?" he asks. aunt anna pretends not to hear. "where is the poor boy?" he asks again. "yes, where is he?" i ask. "what's his name?" aunt anna gives me a furious glance. "what's his name, aunt anna?" asks my little boy. "where does he live? he can have my beer-soup with pleasure." "mine too," i say, resolutely, and i push my plate from me. my little boy never takes his great eyes off aunt anna's face. meanwhile, she has recovered herself: "there are many poor boys who would thank god if they could get such delicious beer-soup," she says. "very many. everywhere." "yes, but tell us of one, auntie," i say. my little boy has slipped down from his chair. he stands with his chin just above the table and both his hands round his plate, ready to march off with the beer-soup to the poor boy, if only he can get his address. but aunt anna does not allow herself to be played with: "heaps of poor boys," she says again. "hun-dreds! and therefore another little boy, whom i will not name, but who is in this room, ought to be ashamed that he is not thankful for his beer-soup." my little boy stares at aunt anna like the bird fascinated by the snake. "such delicious beer-soup!" she says. "i must really ask for another little helping." aunt anna revels in her martyrdom. my little boy stands speechless, with open mouth and round eyes. i push my chair back and say, with genuine exasperation: "now, look here, aunt anna, this is really too bad! here we are, with a whole lot of beer-soup, which we don't care about in the least and which we would be very glad to get rid of, if we only knew someone who would have it. you are the only one that knows of anybody. you know a poor boy who would dance for joy if he got some beer-soup. you know hundreds. but you won't tell us their names or where they live." "why, what do you mean?" "and you yourself sit quite calmly eating two whole helpings, though you know quite well that you're going to have an omelette to follow. that's really very naughty of you, aunt anna." aunt anna chokes with annoyance. my little boy locks his teeth with a snap and looks with every mark of disgust at that wicked old woman. and i turn with calm earnestness to his mother and say: "after this, it would be most improper for us ever to have beer-soup here again. we don't care for it and there are hundreds of little boys who love it. if it must be made, then aunt anna must come every saturday and fetch it. she knows where the boys live." the omelette is eaten in silence, after which aunt anna shakes the dust from her shoes. she won't have any coffee today. while she is standing in the hall and putting on her endless wraps, a last doubt arises in my little boy's soul. he opens his green eyes wide before her face and whispers: "aunt anna, where do the boys live?" aunt anna pinches him and is shocked and goes off, having suffered a greater defeat than she can ever repair. v my little boy comes into my room and tells me, with a very long face, that jean is dead. and we put all nonsense on one side and hurry away to the klampenborg train, to go where jean is. for jean is the biggest dog that has lived for some time. he once bit a boy so hard that the boy still walks lame. he once bit his own master. he could give such a look out of his eyes and open such a mouth that there was no more horrible sight in the world. and then he would be the mildest of the mild: my little boy could put his hand in his mouth and ride on his back and pull his tail. when we get there, we hear that jean is already buried. we look at each other in dismay, to think how quickly that happens! and we go to the grave, which is in the grounds of the factory, where the tall chimneys stand. we sit down and can't understand it. we tell each other all the stories that we know of jean's wonderful size and strength. the one remembers this, the other that. and, as each story is told, the whole thing becomes only more awful and obscure. at last we go home by train. besides ourselves, there is a kind old gentleman in the compartment, who would like to make friends with my little boy. but the boy has nothing to talk about to the kind old gentleman. he stands at the window, which comes just under his chin, and stares out. his eyes light upon some tall chimneys: "that's where jean is buried," he says. "yes." the landscape flies past. he can think only of _that_ and see only _that_ and, when some more chimneys appear, he says again: "that's where jean is buried." "no, my little friend," says the kind old gentleman. "that was over there." the boy looks at him with surprise. i hasten to reassure him: "those _are_ jean's chimneys," i say. and, while he is looking out again, i take the old gentleman to the further corner of the compartment and tell him the state of the case. i tell him that, if i live, i hope, in years to come, to explain to the boy the difference between petersen's and hansen's factories and, should i die, i will confidently leave that part of his education to others. yes, even if he should never learn this difference, i would still be resigned. today it is a question of other and more important matters. the strongest, the most living thing he knew is dead. . . . "really?" says the old gentleman, sympathetically. "a relation, perhaps?" "yes," i say. "jean is dead, a dog. . . ." "a dog?" "it is not because of the _dog_--don't you understand?--but of _death_, which he sees for the first time: death, with all its might, its mystery. . . ." "father," says my little boy and turns his head towards us. "when do we die?" "when we grow old," says the kind old gentleman. "no," says the boy. "einar has a brother, at home, in the courtyard, and he is dead. and he was only a little boy." "then einar's brother was so good and learnt such a lot that he was already fit to go to heaven," says the old gentleman. "mind you don't become too good," i say and laugh and tap my little boy in the stomach. and my little boy laughs too and goes back to his window, where new chimneys rise over jean's grave. but i take the old gentleman by the shoulders and forbid him most strictly to talk to my little boy again. i give up trying to make him understand me. i just shake him. he eyes the communication-cord and, when we reach the station, hurries away. i go with my little boy, holding his hand, through the streets full of live people. in the evening, i sit on the edge of his bed and talk with him about that incomprehensible thing: jean, who is dead; jean, who was so much alive, so strong, so big. . . . vi our courtyard is full of children and my little boy has picked a bosom-friend out of the band: his name is einar and he can be as good as another. my little boy admires him and einar allows himself to be admired, so that the friendship is established on the only proper basis. "einar says . . . einar thinks . . . einar does," is the daily refrain; and we arrange our little life accordingly. "i can't see anything out of the way in einar," says the mother of my little boy. "nor can i," say i. "but our little boy can and that is enough. i once had a friend who could see nothing at all charming in you. and you yourself, if i remember right, had three friends who thought _your_ taste inexcusable. luckily for our little boy. . . ." "luckily!" "it is the feeling that counts," i go on lecturing, "and not the object." "thanks!" she says. now something big and unusual takes place in our courtyard and makes an extraordinary impression on the children and gives their small brains heaps to struggle with for many a long day. the scarlatina comes. and scarlatina is not like a pain in your stomach, when you have eaten too many pears, or like a cold, when you have forgotten to put on your jacket. scarlatina is something quite different, something powerful and terrible. it comes at night and takes a little boy who was playing quite happily that same evening. and then the little boy is gone. perhaps a funny carriage comes driving in through the gate, with two horses and a coachman and two men with bright brass buttons on their coats. the two men take out of the carriage a basket, with a red blanket and white sheets, and carry it up to where the boy lives. presently, they carry the basket down again and then the boy is inside. but nobody can see him, because the sheet is over his face. the basket is shoved into the carriage, which is shut with a bang, and away goes the carriage with the boy, while his mother dries her eyes and goes up to the others. perhaps no carriage comes. but then the sick boy is shut up in his room and no one may go to him for a long time, because he is infectious. and anyone can understand that this must be terribly sad. the children in the courtyard talk of nothing else. they talk with soft voices and faces full of mystery, because they know nothing for certain. they hear that one of them, who rode away in the carriage, is dead; but that makes no more impression on them than when one of them falls ill and disappears. day by day, the little band is being thinned out and not one of them has yet come back. i stand at my open window and look at my little boy, who is sitting on the steps below with his friend. they have their arms around each other's necks and see no one except each other; that is to say, einar sees himself and my little boy sees einar. "if you fall ill, i will come and see you," says my little boy. "no, you won't!" "i will come and see you." his eyes beam at this important promise. einar cries as though he were already ill. and the next day he is ill. he lies in a little room all by himself. no one is allowed to go to him. a red curtain hangs before the window. my little boy sits alone on the steps outside and stares up at the curtain. his hands are thrust deep into his pockets. he does not care to play and he speaks to nobody. and i walk up and down the room, uneasy as to what will come next. "you are anxious about our little boy," says his mother. "and it will be a miracle if he escapes." "it's not that. we've all had a touch of scarlatina." but just as i want to talk to her about it, i hear a fumbling with the door-handle which there is no mistaking and then he stands before us in the room. i know you so well, my little boy, when you come in sideways like that, with a long face, and go and sit in a corner and look at the two people who owe so much happiness to you--look from one to the other. your eyes are greener than usual. you can't find your words and you sit huddled up and you are ever so good. "mother, is einar ill?" "yes. but he will soon be better again. the doctor says that he is not so bad." "is he infectious, mother?" "yes, he is. his little sister has been sent to the country, so that she may not fall ill too. no one is allowed to go to him except his mother, who gives him his milk and his medicine and makes his bed." a silence. the mother of my little boy looks down at her book and suspects nothing. the father of my little boy looks in great suspense from the window. "mother, i want to go to einar." "you can't go there, my little man. you hear, he's infectious. just think, if you should fall ill yourself! einar isn't bothering at all about chatting with you. he sleeps the whole day long." "but when he wakes, mother?" "you can't go up there." this tells upon him and he is nearly crying. i see that the time has come for me to come to his rescue: "have you promised einar to go and see him?" i ask. "yes, father. . . ." he is over his trouble. his eyes beam. he stands erect and glad beside me and puts his little hand in mine. "then of course you must do so," i say, calmly. "so soon as he wakes." our mother closes her book with a bang: "go down to the courtyard and play, while father and i have a talk." the boy runs away. and she comes up to me and lays her hand on my shoulder and says, earnestly: "i _daren't_ do that, do you hear?" and i take her hand and kiss it and say, quite as earnestly: "and i _daren't refuse_!" we look at each other, we two, who share the empire, the power and the glory. "i heard our little boy make his promise," i say, "i saw him. sir galahad himself was not more in earnest when swearing his knightly oath. you see, we have no choice here. he can catch the scarlatina in any case and it is not even certain that he will catch it. . . ." "if it was diphtheria, you wouldn't talk like that!" "you may be right. but am i to become a thief for the sake of a nickel, because i am not sure that i could resist the temptation to steal a kingdom?" "you would not find a living being to agree with you." "except yourself. and that is all i want. the infection is really only a side matter. it can come this way or that way. we can't safeguard him, come what may. . . ." "but are we to send him straight to where it is?" "we're not doing that; it's not we who are doing that." she is very much excited. i put my arm round her waist and we walk up and down the room together: "darling, today our little boy may meet with a great misfortune. he may receive a shock from which he will never recover. . . ." "that is true," she says. "if he doesn't keep his promise, the misfortune has occurred. it would already be a misfortune if he could ever think that it was possible for him to break it, if it appeared to him that there was anything great or remarkable about keeping it." "yes, but . . ." "darling, the world is full of careful persons. one step more and they become mere paltry people. shall we turn that into a likely thing, into a virtue, for our little boy? his promise was stupid: let that pass. . . ." "he is so little." "yes, that he is; and god be praised for it! think what good luck it is that he did not know the danger, when he made his promise, that he does not understand it now, when he is keeping it. what a lucky beggar! he is learning to keep his word, just as he has learnt to be clean. by the time that he is big enough to know his danger, it will be an indispensable habit with him. and he gains all that at the risk of a little scarlatina." she lays her head on my shoulder and says nothing more. that afternoon, she takes our little boy by the hand and goes up with him to einar. they stand on the threshold of his room, bid him good-day and ask him how he is. einar is not at all well and does not look up and does not answer. but that does not matter in the least. vii my little boy is given a cent by petrine with instructions to go to the baker's and buy some biscuits. by that which fools call an accident, but which is really a divine miracle, if miracles there be, i overhear this instruction. then i stand at my window and see him cross the street in his slow way and with bent head; only, he goes slower than usual and with his head bent more deeply between his small shoulders. he stands long outside the baker's window, where there is a confused heap of lollipops and chocolates and sugar-sticks and other things created for a small boy's delight. then he lifts his young hand, opens the door, disappears and presently returns with a great paper bag, eating with all his might. and i, who, heaven be praised, have myself been a thief in my time, run all over the house and give my orders. my little boy enters the kitchen. "put the biscuits on the table," says petrine. he stands still for a moment and looks at her and at the table and at the floor. then he goes silently to his mother. "you're quite a big boy now, that you can buy biscuits for petrine," says she, without looking up from her work. his face is very long, but he says nothing. he comes quietly in to me and sits down on the edge of a chair. "you have been over the way, at the baker's." he comes up to me, where i am sitting and reading, and presses himself against me. i do not look at him, but i can perceive what is going on inside him. "what did you buy at the baker's?" "lollipops." "well, i never! what fun! why, you had some lollipops this morning. who gave you the money this time?" "petrine." "really! well, petrine is certainly very fond of you. do you remember the lovely ball she gave you on your birthday?" "father, petrine told me to buy a cent's worth of biscuits." "oh, dear!" it is very quiet in the room. my little boy cries bitterly and i look anxiously before me, stroking his hair the while. "now you have fooled petrine badly. she wants those biscuits, of course, for her cooking. she thinks they're on the kitchen-table and, when she goes to look, she won't find any. mother gave her a cent for biscuits. petrine gave you a cent for biscuits and you go and spend it on lollipops. what are we to do?" he looks at me in despair, holds me tight, says a thousand things without speaking a word. "if only we had a cent," i say. "then you could rush over the way and fetch the biscuits." "father. . . ." his eyes open very wide and he speaks so softly that i can hardly hear him. "there is a cent on mother's writing-table." "is there?" i cry with delight. but, at the same moment, i shake my head and my face is overcast again. "that is no use to us, my little boy. that cent belongs to mother. the other was petrine's. people are so terribly fond of their money and get so angry when you take it from them. i can understand that, for you can buy such an awful lot of things with money. you can get biscuits and lollipops and clothes and toys and half the things in the world. and it is not so easy either to make money. most people have to drudge all day long to earn as much as they want. so it is no wonder that they get angry when you take it. especially when it is only for lollipops. now petrine . . . she has to spend the whole day cleaning rooms and cooking dinner and washing up before she gets her wages. and out of that she has to buy clothes and shoes . . . and you know that she has a little girl whom she has to pay for at madam olsen's. she must certainly have saved very cleverly before she managed to buy you that ball." we walk up and down the room, hand in hand. he keeps on falling over his legs, for he can't take his eyes from my face. "father . . . haven't you got a cent?" i shake my head and give him my purse: "look for yourself," i say. "there's not a cent in it. i spent the last this morning." we walk up and down. we sit down and get up and walk about again. we are very gloomy. we are bowed down with sorrow and look at each other in great perplexity. "there might be one hidden away in a drawer somewhere," i say. we fly to the drawers. we pull out thirty drawers and rummage through them. we fling papers in disorder, higgledy-piggledy, on the floor: what do we care? if only, if only we find a cent. . . . hurrah! we both, at last, grasp at a cent, as though we would fight for it . . . we have found a beautiful, large cent. our eyes gleam and we laugh through our tears. "hurry now," i whisper. "you can go this way . . . through my door. then run back quickly up the kitchen stairs, with the biscuits, and put them on the table. i shall call petrine, so that she doesn't see. and we won't tell anybody." he is down the stairs before i have done speaking. i run after him and call to him: "wasn't it a splendid thing that we found that cent?" i say. "yes," he answers, earnestly. and he laughs for happiness and i laugh too and his legs go like drumsticks across to the baker's. from my window, i see him come back, at the same pace, with red cheeks and glad eyes. he has committed his first crime. he has understood it. and he has not the sting of remorse in his soul nor the black cockade of forgiveness in his cap. the mother of my little boy and i sit until late at night talking about money, which seems to us the most difficult matter of all. for our little boy must learn to know the power of money and the glamour of money and the joy of money. he must earn much money and spend much money. . . . yet there were two people, yesterday, who killed a man to rob him of four dollars and thirty-seven cents. . . . viii it has been decreed in the privy council that my little boy shall have a weekly income of one cent. every sunday morning, that sum shall be paid to him, free of income-tax, out of the treasury and he has leave to dispose of it entirely at his own pleasure. he receives this announcement with composure and sits apart for a while and ponders on it. "every sunday?" he asks. "every sunday." "all the time till the summer holidays?" "all the time till the summer holidays." in the summer holidays, he is to go to the country, to stay with his godmother, in whose house he was pleased to allow himself to be born. the summer holidays are, consequently, the limits of his calculation of time: beyond them lies, for the moment, his nirvana. and we employ this restricted horizon of ours to further our true happiness. that is to say, we calculate, with the aid of the almanac, that, if everything goes as heretofore, there will be fifteen sundays before the summer holidays. we arrange a drawer with fifteen compartments and in each compartment we put one cent. thus we know exactly what we have and are able at any time to survey our financial status. and, when he sees that great lot of cents lying there, my little boy's breast is filled with mad delight. he feels endlessly rich, safe for a long time. the courtyard rings with his bragging, with all that he is going to do with his money. his special favourites are invited to come up and view his treasure. the first sunday passes in a normal fashion, as was to be expected. he takes his cent and turns it straightway into a stick of chocolate of the best sort, with almonds on it and sugar, in short, an ideal stick in every way. the whole performance is over in five minutes: by that time, the stick of chocolate is gone, with the sole exception of a remnant in the corners of our mouth, which our ruthless mother wipes away, and a stain on our collar, which annoys us. he sits by me, with a vacant little face, and swings his legs. i open the drawer and look at the empty space and at the fourteen others: "so _that's_ gone," i say. my accent betrays a certain melancholy, which finds an echo in his breast. but he does not deliver himself of it at once. "father . . . is it long till next sunday?" "very long, my boy; ever so many days." we sit a little, steeped in our own thoughts. then i say, pensively: "now, if you had bought a top, you would perhaps have had more pleasure out of it. i know a place where there is a lovely top: red, with a green ring round it. it is just over the way, in the toy-shop. i saw it yesterday. i should be greatly mistaken if the toy-man was not willing to sell it for a cent. and you've got a whip, you know." we go over the way and look at the top in the shop-window. it is really a splendid top. "the shop's shut," says my little boy, despondently. i look at him with surprise: "yes, but what does that matter to us? anyway, we can't buy the top before next sunday. you see, you've spent your cent on chocolate. give me your handkerchief: there's still a bit on your cheek." there is no more to be said. crestfallen and pensively, we go home. we sit a long time at the dining-room window, from which we can see the window of the shop. during the course of the week, we look at the top daily, for it does not do to let one's love grow cold. one might so easily forget it. and the top shines always more seductively. we go in and make sure that the price is really in keeping with our means. we make the shop-keeper take a solemn oath to keep the top for us till sunday morning, even if boys should come and bid him much higher sums for it. on sunday morning, we are on the spot before nine o'clock and acquire our treasure with trembling hands. and we play with it all day and sleep with it at night, until, on wednesday morning, it disappears without a trace, after the nasty manner which tops have. when the turn comes of the next cent, something remarkable happens. there is a boy in the courtyard who has a skipping-rope and my little boy, therefore, wants to have a skipping-rope too. but this is a difficult matter. careful enquiries establish the fact that a skipping-rope of the sort used by the upper classes is nowhere to be obtained for less than five cents. the business is discussed as early as saturday: "it's the simplest thing in the world," i say. "you must not spend your cent tomorrow. next sunday you must do the same and the next and the next. on the sunday after that, you will have saved your five cents and can buy your skipping-rope at once." "when shall i get my skipping-rope then?" "in five sundays from now." he says nothing, but i can see that he does not think my idea very brilliant. in the course of the day, he derives, from sources unknown to me, an acquaintance with financial circumstances which he serves up to me on sunday morning in the following words: "father, you must lend me five cents for the skipping-rope. if you will lend me five cents for the skipping-rope, i'll give you _forty_ cents back. . . ." he stands close to me, very red in the face and quite confused. i perceive that he is ripe for falling into the claws of the usurers: "i don't do that sort of business, my boy," i say. "it wouldn't do you any good either. and you're not even in a position to do it, for you have only thirteen cents, as you know." he collapses like one whose last hope is gone. "let us just see," i say. and we go to our drawer and stare at it long and deeply. "we might perhaps manage it this way, that i give you five cents now. and then i should have your cent and the next four cents. . . ." he interrupts me with a loud shout. i take out my purse, give him five cents and take one cent out of the drawer: "that won't be pleasant next sunday," i say, "and the next and the next and the next. . . ." but the thoughtless youth is gone. of course, the instalments of his debt are paid off with great ceremony. he is always on the spot himself when the drawer is opened and sees how the requisite cent is removed and finds its way into my pocket instead of his. the first time, all goes well. it is simply an amusing thing that i should have the cent; and the skipping-rope is still fresh in his memory, because of the pangs which he underwent before its purchase. next sunday, already the thing is not _quite_ so pleasant and, when the fourth instalment falls due, my little boy's face looks very gloomy: "is anything the matter?" i ask. "i should so much like a stick of chocolate," he says, without looking at me. "is that all? you can get one in a fortnight. by that time, you will have paid for the skipping-rope and the cent will be your own again." "i should so much like to have the stick of chocolate now." of course, i am full of the sincerest compassion, but i can't help it. what's gone is gone. we saw it with our own eyes and we know exactly where it has gone to. and, that sunday morning, we part in a dejected mood. later in the day, however, i find him standing over the drawer with raised eyebrows and a pursed-up mouth. i sit down quietly and wait. and i do not have to wait long before i learn that his development as an economist is taking quite its normal course. "father, suppose we moved the cent now from here into this sunday's place and i took it and bought the chocolate-stick. . . ." "why, then you won't have your cent for the other sunday." "i don't mind that, father. . . ." we talk about it, and then we do it. and, with that, as a matter of course, we enter upon the most reckless peculations. the very next sunday, he is clever enough to take the furthest cent, which lies just before the summer holidays. he pursues the path of vice without a scruple, until, at last, the blow falls and five long sundays come in a row without the least chance of a cent. where should they come from? they were there. we know that. they are gone. we have spent them ourselves. but, during those drab days of poverty, we sit every morning over the empty drawer and talk long and profoundly about that painful phenomenon, which is so simple and so easy to understand and which one must needs make the best of. and we hope and trust that our experience will do us good, when, after our trip, we start a new set of cents. ix my little boy is engaged to be married. she is a big, large-limbed young woman, three years his senior, and no doubt belongs to the minor aristocracy. her name is gertie. by a misunderstanding, however, which is pardonable at his age and moreover quite explained by gertie's appearance, he calls her dirty--little dirty--and by this name she will be handed down to history. he met her on the boulevard, where he was playing, in the fine spring weather, with other children. his reason for the engagement is good enough: "i wanted a girl for myself," he says. either i know very little of mankind or he has made a fortunate choice. no one is likely to take dirty from him. like the gentleman that he is, he at once brings the girl home to us and introduces her. in consequence of the formality of the occasion, he does not go in by the kitchen way, as usual, but rings the front-door bell. i open the door myself. there he stands on the mat, hand in hand with dirty, his bride, and, with radiant eyes: "father," he says, "this is little dirty. she is my sweetheart. we are going to be married." "that is what people usually do with their sweethearts," i answer, philosophically. "pray, dirty, come in and be welcomed by the family." "wipe your feet, dirty," says my little boy. the mother of my little boy does not think much of the match. she has even spoken of forbidding dirty the house. "we can't do that," i say. "i am not in ecstasies over it either, but it is not at all certain that it will last." "yes, but . . ." "do you remember what little use it was when your mother forbade me the house? we used to meet in the most incredible places and kiss each other terribly. i can quite understand that you have forgotten, but you ought to bear it in mind now that your son's beginning. and you ought to value the loyalty of his behaviour towards his aged parents." "my dear! . . ." "and then i must remind you that it is spring. the trees are budding. you can't see it, perhaps, from the kitchen-window or from your work-table, but i, who go about all day, have noticed it. you know what byron says: march has its hares, and may must have its heroine." and so dirty is accepted. but, when she calls, she has first to undergo a short quarantine, while the mother of my little boy washes her and combs her hair thoroughly. dirty does not like this, but the boy does. he looks on with extraordinary interest and at once complains if there is a place that has escaped the sponge. i can't make out what goes on within him on these occasions. there is a good deal of cruelty in love; and he himself hates to be washed. perhaps he is rapt in fancies and wants to see his sweetheart rise daily from the waves, like venus anadyomene. perhaps it is merely his sense of duty: last friday, in cold blood, he allowed dirty to wait outside, on the step, for half an hour, until his mother came home. another of his joys is to see dirty eat. i can quite understand that. here, as at her toilet, there is something worth looking at. the mother of my little boy and i would be glad too to watch her, if there were any chance of giving dirty her fill. but there is none. at least, not with my income. when i see all that food disappear, without as much as a shade of satisfaction coming into her eyes, i tremble for the young couple's future. but he is cheerful and unconcerned. of course, there are also clouds in their sky. a few days ago, they were sitting quietly together in the dining-room and talking of their wedding. my little boy described what the house would be like and the garden and the horses. dirty made no remarks and she had no grounds for doing so, for everything was particularly nice. but, after that, things went wrong: "we shall have fourteen children," said the boy. "no," said dirty. "we shall only have two: a boy and a girl." "i want to have fourteen." "i won't have more than two." "fourteen." "two." there was no coming to an agreement. my little boy was speechless at dirty's meanness. and dirty pinched her lips together and nodded her head defiantly. then he burst into tears. i could have explained to him that dirty, who sits down every day as the seventh at the children's table at home, cannot look upon children with his eyes, as things forming an essential part of every well-regulated family, but must regard them rather as bandits who eat up other people's food. but i did not feel entitled to discuss the young lady's domestic circumstances unasked. one good thing about dirty is that she is not dependent upon her family nor they upon her. it has not yet happened that any inquiries have been made after her, however long she remained with us. we know just where she lives and what her father's name is. nothing more. however, we notice in another way that our daughter-in-law is not without relations. whenever, for instance, we give her a pair of stockings or some other article of clothing, it is always gone the next day; and so on until all the six brothers and sisters have been supplied. not till then do we have the pleasure of seeing dirty look neat. she has been so long accustomed to going shares that she does so in every conceivable circumstance. and i console the mother of my little boy by saying that, should he fall out with dirty, he can take one of the sisters and that, in this way, nothing would be lost. x my little boy confides to me that he would like a pear. now pears fall within his mother's province and i am sure that he has had as many as he is entitled to. and so we are at once agreed that what he wants is a wholly irrelevant, uncalled-for, delightful extra pear. unfortunately, it also appears that the request has already been laid before mamma and met with a positive refusal. the situation is serious, but not hopeless. for i am a man who knows how mean is the supply of pears to us poor wretched children of men and how wonderful an extra pear tastes. and i am glad that my little boy did not give up all hope of the pear at the first obstacle. i can see by the longing in his green eyes how big the pear is and i reflect with lawful paternal pride that he will win his girl and his position in life when their time comes. we now discuss the matter carefully. first comes the prospect of stomach-ache: "never mind about that," says he. i quite agree with his view. then perhaps mother will be angry. no, mother is never angry. she is sorry; and that is not nice. but then we must see and make it up to her in another way. so we slink in and steal the pear. i put it to him whether, perhaps--when we have eaten the pear--we ought to tell mother. but that does not appeal to him: "then i shan't get one this evening," he says. and when i suggest that, possibly, mother might be impressed with such audacious candour, he shakes his head decisively: "you don't know mother," he says. so i, of course, have nothing to say. shortly after this, the mother of my little boy and i are standing at the window laughing at the story. we catch sight of him below, in the courtyard. he is sitting on the steps with his arm round little dirty's neck. they have shared the pear. now they are both singing, marvellously out of tune and with a disgustingly sentimental expression on their faces, a song which dirty knows: for riches are only a lo-oan from heaven and poverty is a reward. and we are overcome with a great sense of desolation. we want to make life green and pleasant for our little boy, to make his eyes open wide to see it, his hands strong to grasp it. but we feel powerless in the face of all the contentment and patience and resignation that are preached from cellar to garret, in church and in school: all those second-rate virtues, which may lighten an old man's last few steps as he stumbles on towards the grave, but which are only so many shabby lies for the young. xi dirty is paying us a visit and my little boy is sitting at her feet. she has buried her fingers in her hair and is reading, reading reading. . . . she is learning the ten commandments by heart. she stammers and repeats herself, with eyes fixed in her head and a despairing mouth: "thou shalt . . . thou shalt not . . . thou shalt . . ." the boy watches her with tender compassion. he has already learnt a couple of the commandments by listening to her and helps her, now and then, with a word. then he comes to me and asks, anxiously: "father, must dirty do all that the ten commandments say?" "yes." he sits down by her again. his heart is overflowing with pity, his eyes are moist. she does not look at him, but plods on bravely: "thou shalt . . . thou shalt not . . ." "father, when i grow big, must i also do all that the ten commandments say?" "ye-es." he looks at me in utter despair. then he goes back to dirty and listens, but now he keeps his thoughts to himself. suddenly, something seems to flash across his mind. he comes to me again, puts his arms on my knee and looks with his green eyes firmly into mine: "father, do you do all that the ten commandments say?" "ye-e-es." he looks like a person whose last hope has escaped him. i would so much like to help him; but what, in heaven's name, can i do? then he collects himself, shakes his head a little and says, with great tears in his eyes: "father, i don't believe that i can do all those things that the ten commandments say." and i draw him to me and we cry together because life is so difficult, while dirty plods away like a good girl. xii this we all know, that sin came into the world by the law. dirty's ten commandments have brought it to us. when she comes, she now always has luther's terrible little catechism[ ] and balslev's equally objectionable work with her. her parents evidently look upon it as most natural that she should also cultivate her soul at our house. [footnote : _luther's lille katekismus_, the lutheran catechism in general use in denmark.--a. t. de m.] her copies of these two classics were not published yesterday. they are probably heirlooms in dirty's family. they are covered in thick brown paper, which again is protected by a heavy layer of dirt against any touch of clean fingers. they can be smelt at a distance. but my little boy is no snob. when dirty has finished her studies--she always reads out aloud--he asks her permission to turn over the pages of the works in which she finds those strange words. he stares respectfully at the letters which he cannot read. and then he asks questions. he asks dirty, he asks the servant, he asks us. before anyone suspects it, he is at home in the whole field of theology. he knows that god is in heaven, where all good people go to him, while the wicked are put down below in hell. that god created the world in six days and said that we must not do anything on sundays. that god can do everything and knows everything and sees everything. he often prays, creeps upstairs as high as he can go, so as to be nearer heaven, and shouts as loud as he can. the other day i found him at the top of the folding-steps: "dear god! you must please give us fine weather tomorrow, for we are going to the wood." he says _du_ to everybody except god and the grocer. he never compromises. the servant is laying the table; we have guests coming and we call her attention to a little hole in the cloth: "i must lay it so that no one can see it," she says. "god will see it." "he is not coming this evening," says the blasphemous hussy. "yes, he is everywhere," answers my little boy, severely. he looks after me in particular: "you mustn't say 'gad,' father. dirty's teacher says that people who say 'gad' go to hell." "i shan't say it again," i reply, humbly. one sunday morning, he finds me writing and upbraids me seriously. "my little boy," i say, distressfully, "i must work every day. if i do nothing on sunday, i do nothing on monday either. if i do nothing on monday, i am idle on tuesday too. and so on." he ponders; and i continue, with the courage of despair: "you must have noticed that dirty wants a new catechism? the one she has is dirty and old." he agrees to this. "she will never have one, you see," i say, emphatically. "her father rests so tremendously on sunday that he is hardly able to do anything on the other days. he never earns enough to buy a new catechism." i have won--this engagement. but the war is continued without cessation of hostilities. the mother of my little boy and i are sitting in the twilight by his bedside and softly talking about this. "what are we to do?" she asks. "we can do nothing?" i reply. "dirty is right: god is everywhere. we can't keep him out. and if we could, for a time: what then? a day would come perhaps when our little boy was ill or sad and the priests would come to him with their god as a new and untried miraculous remedy and bewilder his mind and his senses. our little boy too will have to go through luther and balslev and assens and confirmation and all the rest of it. then this will become a commonplace to him; and one day he will form his own views, as we have done." but, when he comes and asks how big god is, whether he is bigger than the round tower, how far it is to heaven, why the weather was not fine on the day when he prayed so hard for it: then we fly from the face of the lord and hide like adam and eve in the garden of eden. and we leave dirty to explain. xiii my little boy has got a rival, whose name is henrik, a popinjay who not only is six years old, but has an unlimited supply of liquorice at his disposal. and, to fill the measure of my little boy's bitterness, henrik is to go to the dancing-school; and i am, therefore, not surprised when my little boy asks to be taught to dance, so that he may not be left quite behind in the contest. "i don't advise you to do that," i say. "the dancing which you learn at school is not pretty and does not play so great a part in love as you imagine. i don't know how to dance; and many charming ladies used to prefer me to the most accomplished ornaments of the ball-room. besides, you know, you are knock-kneed." and, to cheer him up, i sing a little song which we composed when we were small and had a dog and did not think about women: see, my son, that little basset, running with his knock-kneed legs! his own puppy, he can't catch it: he'll fall down as sure as eggs! knock-kneed billy! isn't he silly? silly billy! but poetry fails to comfort him. dark is his face and desperate his glance. and, when i see that the case is serious, i resolve to resort to serious measures. i take him with me to a ball, a real ball, where people who have learnt to dance go to enjoy themselves. it is difficult to keep him in a more or less waking condition, but i succeed. we sit quietly in a corner and watch the merry throng. i say not a word, but look at his wide-open eyes. "father, why does that man jump like that, when he is so awfully hot?" "yes; can you understand it?" "why does that lady with her head on one side look so tired? . . . why does that fat woman hop about so funnily, father? . . . father, what queer legs that man there has!" it rains questions and observations. we make jokes and laugh till the tears come to our eyes. we whisper naughty things to each other and go into a side-room and mimic a pair of crooked legs till we can't hold ourselves for laughter. we sit and wait till a steam thrashing-machine on its round comes past us; and we are fit to die when we hear it puff and blow. we enjoy ourselves beyond measure. and we make a hit. the steam thrashing-machine and the crooked legs and the fat woman and the hot gentleman and others crowd round us and admire the dear little boy. we accept their praises, for we have agreed not to say what we think to anybody, except to mother, when we come home, and then, of course, to dirty. and we wink our eyes and enjoy our delightful fun until we fall asleep and are driven home and put to bed. and then we have done with the dancing-school. my little boy paints in strong colours, for his dirty's benefit, what henrik will look like when he dances. it is no use for that young man to deny all that my little boy says and to execute different elegant steps. i was prepared for this; and my little boy tells exultantly that this is only something with which they lure stupid people at the start and that it will certainly end with henrik's getting very hot and hopping round on crooked legs with a fat woman and a face of despair. in the meantime, of course, i do not forget that, if we pull down without building up we shall end by landing ourselves in an unwholesome scepticism. we therefore invent various dances, which my little boy executes in the courtyard to dirty's joy and to henrik's most jealous envy. we point emphatically to the fact that the dances are our own, that they are composed only for the woman we love and performed only for her. there is, for instance, a dance with a stick, which my little boy wields, while henrik draws back. another with a pair of new mittens for dirty. and, lastly, the liquorice dance, which expresses an extraordinary contempt for that foodstuff. that dirty should suck a stick of liquorice, which she has received from henrik, while enjoying her other admirer's satire, naturally staggers my little boy. but i explain to him that that is because she is a woman and that _that_ is a thing which can't be helped. what bournonville[ ] would say, if he could look down upon us from his place in heaven, i do not know. but i don't believe that he can. if he, up there, could see how people dance down here, he really would not stay there. [footnote : a famous french ballet-master who figured at the copenhagen opera house in the eighteenth century.--a. t. de m.] xiv there is a battle royal and a great hullabaloo among the children in the courtyard. i hear them shouting "jew!" and i go to the window and see my little boy in the front rank of the bandits, screaming, fighting with clenched fists and without his cap. i sit down quietly to my work again, certain that he will appear before long and ease his heart. and he comes directly after. he stands still, as is his way, by my side and says nothing. i steal a glance at him: he is greatly excited and proud and glad, like one who has fearlessly done his duty. "what fun you've been having down there!" "oh," he says, modestly, "it was only a jew boy whom we were licking." i jump up so quickly that i upset my chair: "a jew boy? were you licking him? what had he done?" "nothing. . . ." his voice is not very certain, for i look so queer. and that is only the beginning. for now i snatch my hat and run out of the door as fast as i can and shout: "come . . . come . . . we must find him and beg his pardon!" my little boy hurries after me. he does not understand a word of it, but he is terribly in earnest. we look in the courtyard, we shout and call. we rush into the street and round the corner, so eager are we to come up with him. breathlessly, we ask three passers-by if they have not seen a poor, ill-used jew boy. all in vain: the jew boy and all his persecutors are blown away into space. so we go and sit up in my room again, the laboratory where our soul is crystallized out of the big events of our little life. my forehead is wrinkled and i drum disconsolately with my fingers on the table. the boy has both his hands in his pockets and does not take his eyes from my face. "well," i say, decidedly, "there is nothing more to be done. i hope you will meet that jew boy one day, so that you can give him your hand and ask him to forgive you. you must tell him that you did that only because you were stupid. but if, another time, anyone does him any harm, i hope you will help him and lick the other one as long as you can stir a limb." i can see by my little boy's face that he is ready to do what i wish. for he is still a mercenary, who does not ask under which flag, so long as there is a battle and booty to follow. it is my duty to train him to be a brave recruit, who will defend his fair mother-land, and so i continue: "let me tell you, the jews are by way of being quite wonderful people. you remember david, about whom dirty reads at school: he was a jew boy. and the child jesus, whom everybody worships and loves, although he died two thousand years ago: he was a little jew also." my little boy stands with his arms on my knee and i go on with my story. the old hebrews rise before our eyes in all their splendour and power, quite different from dirty's balslev. they ride on their camels in coats of many colours and with long beards: moses and joseph and his brethren and samson and david and saul. we hear wonderful stories. the walls of jericho fall at the sound of the trumpet. "and what next?" says my little boy, using the expression which he employed when he was much smaller and which still comes to his lips whenever he is carried away. we hear of the destruction of jerusalem and how the jews took their little boys by the hand and wandered from place to place, scoffed at, despised and ill-treated. how they were allowed to own neither house nor land, but could only be merchants, and how the christian robbers took all the money which they had got together. how, nevertheless, they remained true to their god and kept up their old sacred customs in the midst of the strangers who hated and persecuted them. the whole day is devoted to the jews. we look at old books on the shelves which i love best to read and which are written by a jew with a wonderful name, which a little boy can't remember at all. we learn that the most famous man now living in denmark is a jew. and, when evening comes and mother sits down at the piano and sings the song which father loves above all other songs, it appears that the words were written by one jew and the melody composed by another. my little boy is hot and red when he falls to sleep that night. he turns restlessly in bed and talks in his sleep. "he is a little feverish," says his mother. and i bend down and kiss his forehead and answer, calmly: "that is not surprising. today i have vaccinated him against the meanest of all mean and vulgar diseases." xv we are staying in the country, a long way out, where the real country is. cows and horses, pigs and sheep, a beautiful dog and hens and ducks form our circle of acquaintances. in addition to these, there are of course the two-legged beings who own and look after the four-legged ones and who, in my little boy's eyes, belong to quite the same kind. the great sea lies at the foot of the slope. ships float in the distance and have nothing to say to us. the sun burns us and bronzes us. we eat like thrashers, sleep like guinea-pigs and wake like larks. the only real sorrow that we have suffered is that we were not allowed to have our breeches made with a flap at the side, like the old wood-cutter's. presently, it happens that, for better or worse, we get neighbours. they are regular copenhageners. they were prepared not to find electric light in the farm-house; but, if they had known that there was no water in the kitchen, god knows they would not have come. they trudge through the clover as though it were mire and are sorry to find so few cornflowers in the rye. a cow going loose along the roads fills them with a terror which might easily have satisfied a royal tiger. the pearl of the family is erna. erna is five years old; her very small face is pale green, with watery blue eyes and yellow curls. she is richly and gaily dressed in a broad and slovenly sash, daintily-embroidered pantalets, short open-work socks and patent-leather shoes. she falls if she but moves a foot, for she is used only to gliding over polished floors or asphalt. i at once perceive that my little boy's eyes have seen a woman. he has seen the woman that comes to us all at one time or another and turns our heads with her rustling silks and her glossy hair and wears her soul in her skirts and our poor hearts under her heel. "now comes the perilous moment for dirty," i say to the mother of my little boy. this time it is my little boy's turn to be superior. he knows the business thoroughly and explains it all to erna. when he worries the horse, she trembles, impressed with his courage and manliness. when she has a fit of terror at the sight of a hen, he is charmed with her delicacy. he knows the way to the smith's, he dares to roll down the high slope, he chivalrously carries her ridiculous little cape. altogether, there is no doubt as to the condition of his heart. and, while erna's family apparently favour the position--for which may the devil take them!--i must needs wait with resignation like one who knows that love is every man's master. one morning he proposes. he is sitting with his beloved on the lawn. close to them, her aunt is nursing her chlorosis under a red parasol and with a novel in her bony lap. up in the balcony above sit i, as providence, and see everything, myself unseen. "you shall be my sweetheart," says my little boy. "yes," says erna. "i have a sweetheart already in copenhagen," he says, proudly. this communication naturally by no means lowers erna's suitor in her eyes. but it immediately arouses all auntie's moral instincts: "if you have a sweetheart, you must be true to her." "erna shall be my sweetheart." auntie turns her eyes up to heaven: "listen, child," she says. "you're a very naughty boy. if you have given dir--dir----" "dirty," says the boy. "well, that's an extraordinary name! but, if you have given her your word, you must keep it till you die. else you'll never, never be happy." my little boy understands not a word and answers not a word. erna begins to cry at the prospect that this good match may not come off. but i bend down over the baluster and raise my hat: "i beg your pardon, fröken. was it not you who jilted hr. petersen? . . ." "good heavens! . . ." she packs up her chlorosis and disappears with erna, mumbling something about like father, like son, and goodness knows what. presently, my little boy comes up to me and stands and hangs about. "where has erna gone to?" i ask my little boy. "she mustn't go out," he says, dejectedly. he puts his hands in his pockets and looks straight before him. "father," he says, "can't you have two sweethearts?" the question comes quite unexpectedly and, at the moment, i don't know what to answer. "well?" says the mother of my little boy, amiably, and looks up from her newspaper. and i pull my waistcoat down and my collar up: "yes," i say, firmly. "you can. but it is wrong. it leads to more fuss and unpleasantness than you can possibly conceive." a silence. "are you so fond of erna?" asks our mother. "yes." "do you want to marry her?" "yes." i get up and rub my hands: "then the thing is settled," i say. "we'll write to dirty and give her notice. there's nothing else to be done. i will write now and you can give the letter yourself to the postman, when he comes this afternoon. if you take my advice, you will make her a present of your ball. then she will not be so much upset." "she can have my gold-fish too, if she likes," says the boy. "excellent, excellent. we will give her the gold-fish. then she will really have nothing in the world to complain of." my little boy goes away. but, presently, he returns: "father, have you written the letter to dirty?" "not yet, my boy. there is time enough. i sha'n't forget it." "father, i am so fond of dirty." "she was certainly a dear little girl." a silence. "father, i am also so fond of erna." we look at each other. this is no joke: "perhaps we had better wait with the letter till tomorrow," i say. "or perhaps it would be best if we talked to dirty ourselves, when we get back to town." we both ponder over the matter and really don't know what to do. then my eyes surprise an indescribable smile on our mother's face. all a woman's incapacity to understand man's honesty is contained within that smile and i resent it greatly: "come," i say and give my hand to my little boy. "let us go." and we go to a place we know of, far away behind the hedge, where we lie on our backs and look up at the blue sky and talk together sensibly, as two gentlemen should. xvi my little boy is to go to school. we can't keep him at home any longer, says his mother. he himself is glad to go, of course, because he does not know what school is. i know what it is and i know also that there is no escape for him, that he must go. but i am sick at heart. all that is good within me revolts against the inevitable. so we go for our last morning walk, along the road where something wonderful has always happened to us. it looks to me as if the trees have crape wound round their tops and the birds sing in a minor key and the people stare at me with earnest and sympathetic eyes. but my little boy sees nothing. he is only excited at the prospect. he talks and asks questions without stopping. we sit down by the edge of our usual ditch--alas, that ditch! and suddenly my heart triumphs over my understanding. the voice of my clear conscience penetrates through the whole well-trained and harmonious choir which is to give the concert; and it sings its solo in the ears of my little boy: "i just want to tell you that school is a horrid place," i say. "you can have no conception of what you will have to put up with there. they will tell you that two and two are four. . . ." "mother has taught me that already," says he, blithely. "yes, but that is wrong, you poor wretch!" i cry. "two and two are never four, or only very seldom. and that's not all. they will try to make you believe that teheran is the capital of persia and that mont blanc is , feet high and you will take them at their word. but i tell you that both teheran and persia are nothing at all, an empty sound, a stupid joke. and mont blanc is not half as big as the mound in the tallow-chandler's back-garden. and listen: you will never have any more time to play in the courtyard with einar. when he shouts to you to come out, you'll have to sit and read about a lot of horrible old kings who have been dead for hundreds and hundreds of years, if they ever existed at all, which i, for my part, simply don't believe." my little boy does not understand me. but he sees that i am sad and puts his hand in mine: "mother says that you must go to school to become a clever boy," he says. "mother says that einar is ever so much too small and stupid to go to school." i bow my head and nod and say nothing. that is past. and i take him to school and see how he storms up the steps without so much as turning his head to look back at me. xvii here ends this book about my little boy. what more can there be to tell? he is no longer mine. i have handed him over to society. hr. petersen, candidate in letters, hr. nielsen, student of theology, and fröken hansen, certificated teacher, will now set their distinguished example before him for five hours daily. he will form himself in their likeness. their spirit hovers over him at school: he brings it home with him, it overshadows him when he is learning the lessons which they zealously mete out to him. i don't know these people. but i pay them. i, who have had a hard fight to keep my thoughts free and my limbs unrestrained and who have not retired from the fight without deep wounds of which i am reminded when the weather changes, i have, of my own free will, brought him to the institution for maiming human beings. i, who at times have soared to peaks that were my own, because the other birds dared not follow me, have myself brought him to the place where wings are clipped for flying respectably, with the flock. "there was nothing else to be done," says the mother of my little boy. "really?" i reply, bitterly. "was there nothing else to be done? but suppose that i had put by some money, so that i could have saved messrs. petersen and nielsen and fröken hansen their trouble and employed my day in myself opening out lands for that little traveller whom i myself have brought into the land? suppose that i had looked round the world for people with small boys who think as i do and that we had taken upon us to bring up these young animals so that they kept sight of horns and tails and fairy-tales?" "yes," she says. "small boys have a bad time of it, you know." "they had a worse time of it in the old days." "that is a poor comfort. and it can become worse again. the world is full of parents and teachers who shake their foolish heads and turn up their old eyes and cross their flat chests with horror at the depravity of youth: children are so disobedient, so naughty, so self-willed and talk so disrespectfully to their elders! . . . and what do we do, we who know better?" "we do what we can." but i walk about the room, more and more indignant and ashamed of the pitiful part which i am playing: "do you remember, a little while ago, he came to me and said that he longed so for the country and asked if we couldn't go there for a little? there were horses and cows and green fields to be read in his eyes. well, i couldn't leave my work. and i couldn't afford it. so i treated him to a shabby and high-class sermon about the tailor to whom i owed money. don't you understand that i let my little boy do _my_ work, that i let him pay _my_ debt? . . ." i bend down over her and say earnestly, "you must know; do please tell me--god help me, i do not know--if i ought not rather to have paid my debt to the boy and cheated the other?" "you know quite well," she says. she says it in such a way and looks at me with two such sensible eyes and is so strong and so true that i suddenly think things look quite well for our little boy; and i become restful and cheerful like herself: "let petersen and nielsen and hansen look out!" i say. "my little boy, for what i care, may take from them all the english and geography and history that he can. but they shall throw no dust in his eyes. i shall keep him awake and we shall have great fun and find them out." "and i shall help him with his english and geography and history," says she. transcriber's note minor variations in spelling and punctuation have been preserved. our little danish cousin the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade, mary f. nixon-roulet, blanche mcmanus, clara v. winlow, florence e. mendel and others =our little african cousin= =our little alaskan cousin= =our little arabian cousin= =our little argentine cousin= =our little armenian cousin= =our little australian cousin= =our little austrian cousin= =our little belgian cousin= =our little bohemian cousin= =our little boer cousin= =our little brazilian cousin= =our little bulgarian cousin= =our little canadian cousin= =our little chinese cousin= =our little cossack cousin= =our little cuban cousin= =our little danish cousin= =our little dutch cousin= =our little egyptian cousin= =our little english cousin= =our little eskimo cousin= =our little french cousin= =our little german cousin= =our little grecian cousin= =our little hawaiian cousin= =our little hindu cousin= =our little hungarian cousin= =our little indian cousin= =our little irish cousin= =our little italian cousin= =our little japanese cousin= =our little jewish cousin= =our little korean cousin= =our little malayan (brown) cousin= =our little mexican cousin= =our little norwegian cousin= =our little panama cousin= =our little persian cousin= =our little philippine cousin= =our little polish cousin= =our little porto rican cousin= =our little portuguese cousin= =our little russian cousin= =our little scotch cousin= =our little servian cousin= =our little siamese cousin= =our little spanish cousin= =our little swedish cousin= =our little swiss cousin= =our little turkish cousin= the page company beacon street, boston, mass. [illustration: "little children were playing about the statued form of their beloved story-teller, hans christian andersen" (_see page _)] our little danish cousin by luna may innes illustrated by elizabeth otis [illustration] boston the page company publishers _copyright, _, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) _all rights reserved_ first impression, june, second impression, january, to my little nephew =graeme lorimer= on his ninth birthday preface denmark means "land of dark woods." although one of the smallest states of europe, the little kingdom of denmark holds a very large place in the world's history, having supplied rulers for many of the countries of europe. the dane loves his beautiful country, the land of thorvaldsen and of hans christian andersen, of blue lakes, and "fairy-tale" castles. since the days of leif and biarne, denmark and the united states have been allied, and therefore i feel sure that the children of america will be interested in the story of their little danish cousin. i wish to express grateful acknowledgment to hr. georg beck, consul for denmark in chicago; also to mr. haakon arntz, and to mr. and mrs. oscar andersen, for generous information given in regard to the manners and customs of the danish people. luna may innes. chicago, _february, _. contents chapter page preface vii i. the distinguished visitor ii. copenhagen iii. "hurrah for king frederik!" iv. up the sound to hamlet's castle v. "fairy-tale" castles and palaces vi. the legend of the sacred "dannebrog" vii. the story of the danish "ahlhede" viii. skagen ix. a danish peasant wedding x. jul-tide at grandmother ingemann's list of illustrations page "little children were playing about the statued form of their beloved story-teller, hans christian andersen" (_see page _) _frontispiece_ "valdemar burst into the room" "where jolly-looking women with quaint headdresses were selling their wares" "they spread them on the grass in the shadow of the great brick tower" "in the centre of the studio stood the unfinished statue of the little crown prince" "'welcome! and _glaedelig jul!_' called out both grandfather and grandmother ingemann" [illustration: map of denmark] our little danish cousin chapter i the distinguished visitor "hurtig! _kaere karen, mit lommetørklæde!_" fru oberstinde ingemann and her little flaxen-haired daughter, karen, were sitting at their embroidery work in the deep window-seat that made one whole side of the cozy ingemann living-room overlooking the botanical gardens. between stitches, karen was watching the rain patter on the little diamond window-panes, now and then pausing to take a quick look at some favorite newly-blossomed flower in the brilliant, long line of window-boxes which bordered the windows "like a long bright ribbon," as karen said. the bell rang. "_hurtig! kaere karen, mit lommetorklaede!_" sounds like something terrible, but fru ingemann was only saying in danish: "quick, dear karen, my handkerchief!" "thank you, karen," said the lady, as the fair child replaced the sheer bit of linen in her mother's hand with a pretty courtesy, for karen was a well-bred little girl. it was a morning of excitement for fru else ingemann. two important letters had come to her from over the seas. one had come from chicago in far-away america, saying that her brother-in-law, the hon. oscar hoffman, was coming once more to pay a visit to dear old denmark. mr. hoffman was an important man in america. he was the president of the "danish-american national park" in north jutland, and it was in his loyal danish brain that the whole idea of the great park had originated. it had been his dream to save to the glory of denmark, for all time to come, a wonderful, wild tract of heather-covered hills where, year by year, thousands of loyal danish-americans might meet in the fatherland, and celebrate america's independence day on danish soil. at last the park was a reality, and he was coming to make necessary arrangements. he was bringing his son, karl, with him, and, while they were to be in copenhagen, they would spend their time with the ingemanns. he hoped that the little cousins would become great friends. they would arrive in copenhagen on saturday. to-day was thursday. the other exciting message came from fru ingemann's favorite brother, hr. thorvald svensen. it was postmarked rome, italy, and informed her that at last he was coming back to live in his dear old home in copenhagen, and that he would arrive on that day. hr. svensen had been living in rome for eight long years, and in those years of persistent, hard work he had finally realized his one great ambition, and become denmark's greatest sculptor--greatest, at least, since the day of denmark's beloved thorvaldsen, whose namesake he was. to fru ingemann there was no more welcome news in all the world. his letter said that he longed to see her and the children once more. little valdemar, who was the sculptor's godson, was wild with joy. "let me stay home from school to-day, mother!" he implored. "no, no, valdemar," firmly answered his mother, as she handed him his school luncheon, a box of delicious _smörrebröd_.[ ] when valdemar's mother said "no, no," he knew that further protests were useless. so he kissed her and was off, calling back: "good-bye, mother dear; keep _gudfar_[ ] thor until i come home from school, _please_!" all that morning fru ingemann flew about in happy expectancy, making more cozy the pretty little apartment. karen could hear her mother, as she worked, singing softly those familiar old lines from baggesen, the well-known danish poet: "ah, nowhere is the rose so red, nowhere so small the thorn, nowhere so soft the downy bed as those where we were born." above the patter of the rain came the sound of approaching carriage wheels. fru ingemann paused. "quick, karen,--the bell! it may be uncle thor!" and so it proved! all the eight, long, lonesome years since she had last seen this dear brother, years in which she had lost her husband, were quickly forgotten in his great hearty embrace. "_min kaere soster!_" "_min kaere broder!_" their hearts were so full they could not find words. karen, tiptoeing, wanted to fling her tiny arms about her big, yellow-bearded, viking-like, uncle thor's neck, so he lifted the little maid high in his strong arms and kissed her. "ah, karen, _min lille skat_![ ] how you have grown!" he said affectionately. soft yellow curls framed her pretty face, and two heavy braids of the same glorious hair hung far down her back. "why, you were just a little, two-year-old baby when i went away to rome, and now, i've no doubt, you are dreaming of a boarding-school off in france or switzerland one of these days!" but karen only shook her little blond head and laughed, while uncle thor's beauty-loving eye beamed on the dainty little damsel in white embroidered frock, half-hose and slippers, as he settled himself comfortably in the big arm-chair near the great, green-tiled stove, whose top almost touched the living-room ceiling. "congratulations, dear brother," said fru ingemann. "why didn't you write us all about the great honor you have brought to the family? i saw in this morning's 'nationaltidende,' that you have just been appointed court painter to his majesty, the king! it is the greatest honor that can come to a danish artist. i am so proud of you!" "it is true," he acknowledged, briefly, "but tell me, sister else, how are the boys, aage and valdemar?" "oh, aage is now a big boy of sixteen, off doing his eight years of compulsory military service in the army. aage will grow up with a straighter back and a better trained body because of his soldiering days. he will be home for christmas with us." "and valdemar?" "valdemar is only thirteen, but he is in his second year at the metropolitan school, one of the best state latin schools in all denmark. he will be back home at three o'clock. i could hardly get him to consent to go to school at all, this morning, after he was told that his gudfar thor was coming." "and karen studies with her private tutors, here, at home?" "yes, thorvald, besides learning to be a good little housekeeper, as well. but you must be both hungry and tired. it is nearly twelve o'clock. come, karen, help me spread the table with something good for _frokost_,[ ] for uncle thor." a cloth of snowy damask was quickly spread with various viands and meats; tongue, salad, salmon, anchovies, plates of butter, with trays containing french (white) bread, and other trays full of thin slices of rye bread, which is such a favorite with all danes. fru ingemann then placed a bottle of beer beside hr. svensen's plate, and brought in the steaming hot tea, which she herself poured into the delicate cups of that wonderful crystalline ware, the famous royal copenhagen porcelain--a set doubly cherished by her as an heirloom in her family for many generations. karen, who could herself make delicious tea, loved to gaze at the fascinatingly delicate decoration of the cups, which looked, as she said, "like frost on the window-pane;" but she never was allowed to touch this precious set of old royal copenhagen, of which not one piece had yet been broken. "and _smörrebröd_, brother?" politely urged fru ingemann, for no good danish housewife would ever think of inviting any one to breakfast without having _smörrebröd_ on the table. "thanks, sister else," replied the hungry artist, who immediately set about thickly spreading butter--famous danish butter--over a slice of rye bread, as did also karen and her mother, after which each proceeded to select the particular kind of fish or meat preferred, and, arranging it upon the slice of buttered bread, ate it much as we would a sandwich. uncle thor made an especially delicious one for karen, who had already become a great favorite with him. _frokost_ over, fru ingemann arose, and, bowing slightly to her brother, said: "_velbekomme!_"[ ] and hr. svensen did the same. "_tak for mad, moder_,"[ ] said karen courtesying first to her mother and then to her uncle thor, and kissing them both--a beautiful old danish custom. uncle thor was a great lover of flowers. to-day there were beautiful flowers on the table, in the windows, everywhere! in fact, the whole ingemann apartment seemed overwhelmed with the loveliness of them. besides the vases, there were little flower-pots galore, all decked in brightly-colored paper, some containing blooming plants, others, little growing trees. "ah, karen, has there been a birthday here?" asked uncle thor, in mock surprise. "run out in the hall and see what came all the way from naples, italy, to frederiksberg-alle, in copenhagen, for a good little girl with long pigtails." karen came running back with a tiny white kid box in her hand. opening it, she beheld the most beautiful set imaginable of pale pink corals. she just couldn't wait to put the necklace on before hugging her dear old uncle thor, who himself had to fasten the pretty chain around her slender little neck for her. "yes, uncle thor, we had a splendid time, and mother gave us chocolate, tea and cakes, and this is what all the boys and girls at my party yesterday sang: "'london bridge is broken down, gold is won and bright renown, shields resounding, war-horns sounding, hild is shouting in the din, arrows singing, mailcoats ringing, odin makes our olaf win.'" karen had hardly finished singing her song describing the days of old, when there had been a mighty encounter on london bridge between the danes and king olaf the saint, ending in the burning of the bridge, when there came a sudden great clatter and uproar on the stairs, with the loud barking of a dog, and the sound of a boy's heavy boots, and valdemar burst into the room. [illustration: "valdemar burst into the room"] "oh, my dear, dear gudfar thor!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms tight round his uncle's neck. "why, valdemar, you are the very image of your father!" exclaimed hr. svensen. "don't you think so, sister else?" he questioned, as he gazed admiringly at the sturdy, big frame, rumpled flaxen hair, and the merry twinkle in the honest blue danish eyes of his godson. "oh, yes, thorvald, valdemar certainly is the image of his father. the king thinks so, too," agreed fru ingemann. "king frederik? why, how is that, sister? has the king never forgotten valdemar?" questioned hr. svensen in surprise. "oh, thorvald, you know the king's wonderful memory. it never fails him. and you must remember the great friendship that always existed between my dear husband and king frederik, from the days when, as boys together, they went through the military college; and later both were recruits in the same regiment, and had to do sentry duty, turn about, outside his grandfather's palace. only the other day, valdemar came bounding into the house, overjoyed, to tell me that he had just passed their majesties, king frederik and queen lowisa, out walking on the _langelinie_,[ ] entirely unattended, and that, when he doffed his cap to the king, his majesty immediately returned his salute, with a friendly smile!" "but, sister else, how do you _know_ that king frederik thinks valdemar the image of his father? i don't understand," persisted hr. svensen, perplexed. "we know!" fru ingemann spoke softly as she. "valdemar was only a little child when his father died," she continued. "his father had always taught valdemar to love the king, and he does so with all his boyish little heart. an accident, a broken arm, soon afterwards put the child in the queen lowisa children's hospital, where, as you know, king frederik makes a monthly visit to cheer the little sufferers. the king loves children. they say that not one little baby-face ever escapes him, and that he even notes each child's improvement from time to time. "valdemar, in his little cot near the door, heard the nurses saying: 'the king comes to-day!' "his little mind was all expectation. finally, the king arrived. valdemar was the first little patient to see him enter, silk hat in his hand as usual. sick as he was, the boy drew himself quickly from out of the covers, stood up in the middle of his bed, and saluted his king with a low bow, so low that his forehead almost touched his pillow. the king paused in surprise at valdemar's cot and spoke: "'my child, why do you do that? why do you salute me?' "'because i like you! you are the king!' "they say that the king looked into the child's face a moment, drew his hand to his eyes, lost in thought, then, turning quickly to prince christian, who accompanied him, exclaimed with a smile: "'_du ligner din fader! oh, vilde jeg onske at din fader levede! gid legligheden maa komme til at hjälpe denne opvagte dreng, for min käre gamle ven ingemann's skyld!_'[ ] "then, placing his hand on the child's golden locks, he spoke tenderly: 'yes, little valdemar ingemann, i am the king. always remember that your father and i were great friends,' and he passed on. "valdemar has never forgotten that moment. he never will. you and the king are the two great heroes of the world in his eyes." "where is he now? come, valdemar! tell me all about what you like most to read," called uncle thor. "oh, uncle thor, i love to read in the old sagas and chronicles all about the mighty sea-fights of the vikings, and about the glorious battles of the valdemars, in the books that aage left me. they make me want to be a soldier. then i love to read everything about linnæus, who loved the trees and the flowers and the whole outdoors just as i do. but, best of all, i'd rather become a famous sculptor like my godfather thor! i'd like that better than anything else in all the world! see, uncle thor, i've modelled some little things already. here is one,--my great dane, frederik,--and here is a stork, and here is a little viking ship. they're not very good, but--" "oh, _min lille billedhugger_!"[ ] interrupted hr. svensen, with feeling, as he took the little toy animals from valdemar to examine them. "this is not half bad work. but _what_ have you done them in, my boy?" "in pie-paste!" laughed his mother. "i have to hide the pie-paste when i'm baking, to keep valdemar from slipping it off to use for modelling!" "valdemar, you shall have some modelling clay. thorvaldsen once made the lion of lucerne in butter. i must tell you that story some day," said hr. svensen, as he patted his little nephew's head affectionately. there was a sharp ring at the bell. karen flew to the door, then back to her mother, excitedly exclaiming: "a box and a letter for you, mother!" fru ingemann tore the note open and read: "will be expelled if it occurs again!" the words swam before her eyes. "oh, valdemar, my son, come explain all this to me at once! it is from your latin teacher. surely there is some mistake. it is not like my boy!" meantime karen had opened the box, and displayed a most laughable clay caricature of valdemar's latin teacher, with the word "teacher" scratched underneath in large letters. she burst out giggling. even uncle thor's look of mock horror soon gave way before the cleverly done effigy, and he laughed. he had been a boy once himself, and it _was_ funny. "well, that's exactly the way teacher looks!" vehemently protested valdemar in self-justification. "indeed he does. ask hendrik or any of the boys. none of us like him one bit, and at recess to-day hendrik drew chalk cartoons of teacher all over the blackboard, and said: 'oh, valdemar, you'd never dare do it in clay!' "'yes, i _would_ dare do it in clay!' i answered him, and then, mother,--i did it. but i didn't mean hr. professor christiansen to see it. i'm glad school's over for all summer on friday!" even valdemar's mother had to laugh, as uncle thor took the offending statuette in his hand to give it a closer examination, for it was as irresistibly funny as it was clever. "brilliant, valdemar!" he exclaimed. "your work has merit. work hard enough, my boy, and you may become a great artist, some day. you have the talent. come over to my studio to-morrow morning. i'll help you a little with your modelling, and then, after luncheon with me, i will take you through the thorvaldsen museum. would you like that? and, by the way, i think there is something nice for you in my trunk. now i am due at the royal palace. i must go and pay my respects to the king. he will be expecting me." "oh, uncle thor, i'll be there!" called out valdemar. "good-bye, uncle thor, good-bye!" footnotes: [footnote : the great danish national dish.] [footnote : godfather.] [footnote : "my little treasure."] [footnote : breakfast] [footnote : "well may it agree with you."] [footnote : "thank you for the food, mother."] [footnote : long line.] [footnote : "the face of his father! oh, that his father were still living! may the opportunity some day be given me to benefit this bright boy, for my dear old friend ingemann's sake!"] [footnote : "my little sculptor."] chapter ii copenhagen summer bursts suddenly in copenhagen. first, winter, with its deep snows, its fogs and frosts and thaws; then a few days of showers and a few of sunshine, _blinkeveir_[ ] the danes call this showery weather; and then, all at once, the bare trees throw out their tender green foliage and the spring flowers burst into life! the long cold winter is over. even then, there sometimes come dense sea-mists which envelop denmark's capital, and only vanish with the sun's warm rays. so copenhageners have a popular weather saying: "'monday's weather till mid-day is the week's weather till friday, friday's weather is sunday's weather, saturday has its own weather." saturday's weather fortunately proved ideal, a rare june day. copenhagen's beautiful public gardens and parks were all aglow with fragrant, blossoming spring flowers. valdemar's school was at last over. "now to the woods!" he cried in joy. "and, mother dear, can't we keep cousin karl all summer with us up at our country place on the _strandvej_,[ ] while uncle oscar has to be away in jutland attending to that park of his? but i should like to be there with him when they have their big american fourth of july celebration, and see them raise their great star spangled banner over our beloved flag! wouldn't you, karl? i've heard about the american 'fourth,' with the stars and stripes waving everywhere, and of the army manoeuvres and big times they have over there in the states on that historic day! but denmark's never had anything like it before, has she, uncle thor?" they were in fru ingemann's pretty dining-room having their twelve o'clock little _frokost_ of tea and _smörrebröd_, this happy little party of six, for the american relatives had arrived. early that morning, valdemar and his uncle thor had hurried to the dock to meet the steamer, "and, but for uncle oscar's waving handkerchief, and his good memory for faces, we might have missed them entirely," explained valdemar, who was delighted with this first acquaintance with his new american cousin. with the first warm spring day, half of copenhagen whitewashes her town house windows against the sun's hot rays, and prepares to migrate farther north, to the famous _strandvej_, where soft breezes from the blue sound play all day over the broad sandy beach, and rustle through the leaves of the beech-trees in the deer park near by. rich and poor alike own their own villas, country houses or little cottages, as the case may be, and these thickly dot the beautiful east sound shore all the way from copenhagen to elsinore, for great is the dane's love of _at ligger på landet_.[ ] like all the rest, through wise and careful planning, fru ingemann had her little country place on the beautiful east shore, where each summer karen and valdemar took long walks through the glorious beech-woods, went swimming, boating and bathing, made their own flower-gardens and dug in the ground to their hearts' content. by the end of each short, happy summer, they were both as tanned and brown as the baskets of beech-nuts they gathered and brought back with them for the winter. "we will have great times, if only cousin karl can come up for the summer with us!" begged little karen. "i'll think about it," was the only promise they could get out of uncle oscar for the moment. "i'm sure karl would like it, but i'm not ready to decide anything just now." "if i'm not mistaken, the first thing karl wants is to see some of the sights of copenhagen," said hr. svensen, as they were leaving the breakfast table. "suppose we all go together and give him a bird's-eye view of copenhagen and the harbor from the top of the round tower! how's that, karl?" "great! can't we start right away?" said the little american, for karl was a typical little chicago boy, eager-minded and anxious to take in everything at once. "and the thorvaldsen museum, uncle thor? can't we go back there again to-day?" urged valdemar, for the wondrous beauty of thorvaldsen's masterpieces still filled all his thoughts. on the way home from the museum, the previous day, he had listened to fascinating stories told him by his godfather, stories about the "lion of lucerne," and about the little peasant boy who loved art, and worked hard, and finally became one of the world's greatest sculptors. valdemar couldn't forget thorvaldsen's lovely "guardian angel," or his wonderful figure of "christ," with its bowed head and arms outstretched in benediction, or the heavenly beauty of his "angel of the baptism kneeling at christ's feet." never, thought valdemar, had he seen anything half so beautiful in all his life! then, there were mighty gods and heroes, and graceful nymphs. "and only think," continued valdemar, "when thorvaldsen was just a little boy eleven years old,--three years less than i am--he so loved his drawing and modelling that his father, who was a poor icelandic ship-builder and carver of figureheads, placed him in school at the academy of arts, where he won prize after prize, not stopping until he had gained even the great gold medal, together with the travelling scholarship which took him to italy to study. there he worked hard day by day, from early dawn till dark without stopping. no wonder the great museum is completely filled with masterpieces from his hand!" "valdemar, my boy, you, too, shall enter as a student at the academy next fall, if your work during the summer continues to show the talent and improvement that will justify my sending you. but that means you must work hard. i leave next week for my summer studio up at skagen, but, until i go, you shall have a lesson each day, if you like, and more lessons up there all summer long, if you will come, for there is no little boy in all the world i would rather help than you, my valdemar." "oh, uncle thor!" cried valdemar, throwing his arms around his godfather's neck, wild with joy. "i will begin to-morrow. and do you really mean that i am to study at the academy?" "yes, my little artist," answered hr. svensen. "and now let us start at once and see some of copenhagen's sights." "and will fru oberstinde not accompany us?" politely inquired mr. hoffman, of his sister-in-law. danish wives and widows are given the same titles their husbands bear, so that fru ingemann, who was the widow of a colonel, or "oberst," in the king's army, was often addressed as "oberstinde," or "coloneless." "not to-day, thank you. karen and i will wait for you at home," said fru ingemann, smiling as she observed the big book in her child's hands. "you see what karen is reading, hans christian andersen's fascinating '_billedbog unden billeder_.'[ ] be sure to be back in time for dinner," she called as the party set off. "_god dag_,"[ ] said the tram conductor politely as they entered. karl smiled. then he began to ask questions, for he had never crossed the ocean before, and never before had he seen any city like copenhagen. chicago certainly had its broad avenues, parks and boulevards, great skyscrapers and fine buildings; but chicago had never dreamed of permitting its one great canal to run right up through the city streets, among the office buildings and houses, with all its shipping, launches and water-craft, as the copenhagen canals all seemed to do in the friendliest possible fashion. "copenhagen must look much more like amsterdam than like athens, father. i can't see why it is called the 'athens of the north.' i don't see any greek-looking buildings here," protested karl. "yes," agreed karl's father, who had once lived in denmark long years ago. "copenhagen may look much more like amsterdam, karl; but, while you will not see greek buildings here, nevertheless the title of 'athens' comes justly, not only because of copenhagen's charming position on the borders of the sound at the entrance to the baltic, giving the city a great advantage commercially, and because of its beautifully wooded environs, but particularly on account of its splendid libraries, art galleries, museums and great university and schools, which rank among the best to be found anywhere in europe. before we reach the round tower we will doubtless get a view of some of these." "_fa' vel_,"[ ] said the tram conductor, bowing pleasantly to them as they got off at their destination. karl laughed outright. "dear me! in chicago car conductors are given prizes for politeness, but i must say, none of them have ever yet reached the point of saying 'farewell' to you as you leave. i'm glad they don't. gee! we'd never get anywhere in chicago if we stopped for all that." "half of copenhagen seems to be out on the streets to-day," remarked mr. hoffman, who had not been back to denmark's beautiful capital for so long that he had forgotten what a large city it was. "look, i believe that must be the new picture gallery, isn't it?" "you are right," replied hr. svensen. "half the charm of copenhagen must be traced to her museums and rich art treasures. shall we give the boys a peep inside?" "oh, yes!" exclaimed both boys at once, for karl had pleasant memories of saturday afternoons he had spent studying all the fine exhibits in the museum of the art institute of chicago. they had soon climbed the broad granite steps, and were walking through the long corridors and halls filled with great paintings, each bearing the artist's name on the frame. "the new picture gallery affords a good opportunity for studying danish pictorial art, just as the new glyptothek does for studying danish sculpture," said hr. svensen, as they were leaving. "what canal is that?" asked karl. "it certainly is a pretty one, with that beautiful promenade and park along one side." "yes, that is holmen's canal, one of the finest in copenhagen," answered hr. svensen. it was full of ships and other water-craft. "and that marble building which looks like an etruscan tomb is the thorvaldsen museum, one of the principal attractions of copenhagen. we shall have to take another day for that. but, just to please valdemar, we will spend a moment inside the church where thorvaldsen's 'christ,' the 'angel of the baptism' and 'the twelve apostles' are all standing in the places for which they were designed." "the danes have accomplished much more in sculpture than in painting, haven't they, uncle thor?" valdemar asked. "yes, you are quite right, valdemar. denmark, as yet, has produced no painter to compare with thorvaldsen." they paused a moment at the _new raadhus-plads_, with its castellated roof, and paved semicircle in front, and again, near by, at the new city hall. "what an attractive part of copenhagen this is," remarked karl, as he observed the many broad, fine, well-kept _pladser_,[ ] with their electric cars gliding noiselessly back and forth with american celerity. "copenhagen seems to me a much cleaner, prettier city than chicago, father. don't you think so? but where are its beggars? we've not yet seen one." hr. svensen was quick to answer that they were not likely to see one. that copenhagen, with a population of nearly five hundred thousand, has a pauper element of less than three per cent. "for the danes are naturally a thrifty, industrious people, more than half of whom are farmers, and many also go to sea in ships," explained hr. svensen. [illustration: "where jolly-looking women with quaint headdresses were selling their wares"] they took a tram down stormgade over a bridge to the island of slotsholmen, with its famous fruit and flower market, where jolly-looking women with quaint headdresses were selling their wares; then over another bridge into _kongens nytorv_, the king's new market. "here we are in a different world from that which we just left," said hr. svensen. they had reached a large square, a great centre of life and bustle, from which thirteen busy streets radiated. through the trees in the centre of this great open space the statue of a king was seen, and red omnibuses crept slowly along on each side of the tram line. here they saw the royal theatre, the famous tivoli gardens, and the beautiful old palace of charlottenburg, close to an inlet of the sea, which reached right into the square with all its shipping, so that masts and sails and shops and buildings took on the same friendly aspect that they have in holland. "but i don't see any 'skyscrapers,' uncle thor, like we have in chicago, sometimes twenty stories high! where are they?" inquired the little american. "in a moment or so, karl, i will show you two 'skyscrapers' that will amuse you!" said hr. svensen. "but, look! here is a lively scene for us first." they were passing the copenhagen fish-market, or _gammelstrand_, as it is called, where the fish are sold alive, after having been kept in large perforated boxes in the canal. "now look, karl! how's that for a skyscraper?" they were looking at the tall tower of the _bors_, or exchange, one hundred and fifty feet high, with its upper part formed by four great dragons whose tails were so intertwined and twisted together, high up in the air, that they gradually tapered to a point, like a spire against the sky. then there was another tower which interested karl. it was on the church of our redeemer. circled by a long spiral stairway of three hundred and ninety-seven steps of gleaming brass, which wound round and round and up and up to the very top of the sharp cone, this tower gave the persevering climber a good panoramic view over copenhagen. "but not so good a view as we can get from the top of the round tower," said hr. svensen. "here we are now." they were glad to quit the jostling crowds on the streets,--throngs of busy shoppers, students in cap and gown, sightseers, and, to-day, bright-coated soldiers at every turn. the soldiers were arriving in copenhagen by hundreds every day now, they were told, in order to be ready, monday morning, to welcome king haakon of norway, who was expected to arrive by ship. "oh, uncle thor, will you or uncle oscar not bring us down to the city, monday, and let us see king haakon drive past?" cried out both boys at once. "yes, boys," said mr. hoffman, "i will be glad to bring you. i leave for jutland in the afternoon, monday, and that will give me my last chance to see a little more of copenhagen." at last they were in the round tower, and felt themselves slowly ascending. up and up, and round and round and round on an inclined plane, they went--past curious niches in the wall, containing ancient monuments covered with runic inscriptions; past a door leading to the university library, with its valuable collection of rare icelandic manuscripts; slowly, on and on, until finally they reached the very top with its observatory, once the home of the great astronomer, tycho brahe. "peter the great once drove a coach and four to the top of this very same tower," volunteered karl. "i've read all about that at school in chicago. what a splendid view of the city we are having. it is all spires, and red roofs and gables built stairway fashion, isn't it?" "and how beautiful and sparkling the waters of the harbor look, all alive with ships, great and small," said valdemar. "it certainly is a splendid seaport!" far away, the baltic, blue as the bay of naples, shimmered in the bright sunlight; and close at hand, at the various wharves, merchantmen, with valuable cargoes from far countries, were loading and unloading. it was a scene of busy life. the boys counted the flags of many different nations. no wonder the city had been named merchant's haven, or _kjöbenhavn_. "what a good view of the coast of sweden we get up here," said valdemar. "and north of us lies elsinore, the scene of hamlet's tragedy. and, karl, i'm sure that, on a clearer day, we could see rugen, the german island, where, one day long ago, the kaiser sat on the top of the cliff four hundred feet high, and watched the famous sea-fight between the swedes and the danes. but i don't like to talk about germany. i'm glad that aage is a soldier. some day he will help us get schleswig back again!" said patriotic little valdemar. "and, only think, some of the geography books have even dared to call the north sea the german ocean! kiel harbor, now bristling with german war-ships, once belonged to denmark, and so did the whole baltic!" "yes, and once the danes were ruling half of england, ireland, and scotland, and they even gained a foothold in normandy," said little cousin karl by way of consolation. "and the germans once stood in terror of our great vikings, who lorded it over the seas in every direction!" added valdemar, with growing enthusiasm. "their graves may be seen on both sides of the north sea to-day. and wasn't it here, uncle thor, when an unusually severe winter had bridged the baltic, that the swedish king, karl gustav, led his army, horse, foot and guns, over the frozen seas where no one had dared to cross before, and finally took copenhagen? but denmark and sweden are at peace now." "i'm glad that they are," replied karl, "and that norway and denmark are, too, or we might not see king haakon next monday!" "come!" said uncle thor. "let us hurry home now, before we are late to dinner. it is a wonderful old tower, having survived both fires and bombardments. once copenhagen was fortified with a wall and a moat, for denmark's capital has passed through many vicissitudes, but in these peaceful days they both have been turned into parks for the people." dinner had been awaiting the hungry sightseers for some time when they reached home. when they had all gathered about the dinner table, it was plain that there was some great secret in the air. fru ingemann's face wore a bright smile, in spite of the late dinner, and little karen held herself with an air of supreme importance, her cheeks bright, and her blue eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. "great news, brother thorvald!" began fru ingemann, handing him a great white envelope bearing the arms of his majesty, king frederik. "when karen and i were quietly studying the recipe book, and thinking of the dinner far more than of kings, the bell rang sharply, and, lo and behold! there stood the king's royal _jaeger_[ ]--in green uniform, three-cornered hat and all--inquiring for you, brother! "'his majesty, the king, sends this message to hr. professor svensen,' he said with a gracious bow, and, again bowing low, departed. karen and i, as you can well imagine, have been guessing everything possible and impossible ever since, and given up in despair, waiting for you to explain it all to us yourself, thorvald." by this time, valdemar's and karen's eyes were bulging wild with curiosity, and even mr. hoffman's face showed extreme interest. what could it be? "i am summoned to the royal palace tuesday at eleven o'clock," explained hr. svensen, "to begin immediate work upon a statue of his royal highness, the crown prince olaf of norway, who has graciously consented to give me a few sittings during his short visit in denmark." when uncle thor had finished reading, he passed the great white envelope, headed "royal palace," with its interesting contents, over to his sister and the children. never before had the king's _jaeger_ come to fru ingemann's little apartment out on frederiksberg-alle! valdemar was the first to speak. "oh, uncle thor! i wonder if dear little prince olaf will pose with his beautiful big dog! he is never without him, you know. and oh, _dear_! uncle thor, can't you take me along with you to mix your clay--keep it damp for you, and just do lots of things you'd like done? i want to go with you so much, uncle thor, to watch you work! i know i could help you ever so much, if _only_ you would just take me!" urged the little embryo sculptor of the now great one. "my dear little valdemar," said uncle thor with much tenderness in his voice, "you are very welcome to go with me to the royal palace 'to watch me work.' but, first, i want to watch _you_ work. watching me will not do you much good, my little artist, until _you_ have done more work, yourself! this summons may delay my leaving for my summer studio, up at skagen, until the end of the week, and i am willing to give half of every day, until i go, to teaching you. now try to have some work ready to show me by to-morrow. i will bring you more modelling clay when you have used up what you have here. in fact, i will bring you some of my own tools, and some casts for you to use as studies. perhaps i can fit up a real little studio right here in your own home for you. i want to see what talent you have, valdemar." "oh, brother, how very good of you!" exclaimed fru ingemann. "valdemar must work very hard. he has talent, i feel sure." they had all finished their soup, a kind of very sweet gruel with vegetables, and a dish of ham was then placed before fru ingemann, who carved it, and passed around the slices, beginning with her nearest guest. fish, preserves, and stewed fruits were served with it. then followed _rod-grod_, a kind of jelly to which the juice of different fruits had been added, tea and coffee, and the little dinner ended with the same ceremony as breakfast. karl tried to suppress a smile as valdemar and little karen courtesied to their mother and uncles, as they said politely: "thank you for the food," and went around and kissed them. "my son," said karl's father, reprovingly, "i like these beautiful old danish customs. i only wish you and all our little american boys and girls had more of this feeling of gratitude." "come, karl," called valdemar, "and see my beautiful della robbia 'singing boys,' that uncle thor brought to me all the way from italy!" as the boys disappeared, the two men withdrew to the smoking-room for a chat over their cigars, while fru ingemann busied herself assembling all the "birthday flowers" into the front window overlooking the avenue, according to an old-time custom in copenhagen. then she tucked little karen snugly in bed with a great pillow propped up against her feet to keep the drafts off, for the early june day had grown suddenly cooler towards night. footnotes: [footnote : blinking weather.] [footnote : sea-side.] [footnote : lingering in the country.] [footnote : "picture book without pictures."] [footnote : good day.] [footnote : farewell.] [footnote : squares.] [footnote : hunter, or messenger.] chapter iii "hurrah for king frederik!" "valdemar, tell me! what is a real king like?" exclaimed karl, as both boys sprang quickly out of bed bright and early monday morning. "is a real king something like a president, only he's all gorgeous with flashing decorations, and a sword and helmet,--like the pictures of napoleon and the german emperor?" "karl, you must have been dreaming about kings! i can't tell you whether a king is like a president or not, for i've never seen a president," said valdemar. "but i am sure of one thing, and that is that our king isn't one bit like the german emperor! king frederik just looks like the very best king denmark ever had, and that is what he really is!" "oh, excuse me, valdemar. i forgot that you don't love the germans. but does king frederik come riding a great prancing charger with an arched neck and--" "you'll soon enough see for yourself how the king looks, karl. oh, there's uncle thor! uncle thor, how long before we can start?" cried valdemar, who was himself almost as excited over the prospect of seeing two great kings at once, as was karl. valdemar had never seen king haakon of norway, son of his own dear king, and, although karl, who was nearly twelve years old, had seen two presidents, and gone once with his father to the white house in washington, he had never seen a real live king in all his short life. "oh, father dear!" he cried, "when _can_ we start? there! i think i heard a bugle! oh, do let's go!" "we will start before very long, karl, but not until you boys have had your tea and bread. and, if i'm not mistaken, i heard valdemar's uncle say that he was to have a good lesson in drawing this morning. king haakon's ship does not arrive in copenhagen harbor before almost noon, so there will be plenty of time." "yes, i do want my lesson!" said valdemar, as they finished their cups of hot tea. "i'm ready, uncle thor," he called out, as he saw his uncle passing. valdemar was in a very happy frame of mind this fine june morning, for his uncle had praised his work of the day before. valdemar had modelled a half life-sized figure of his great dane, frederik, and, to his great surprise, uncle thor had not only said that it was good, but had told his mother that it undeniably showed evidence of real talent. nothing could please valdemar more. saturday's sightseeing had given them all a taste for more. fortunately, karl had brought his bicycle with him from chicago, and so the two boys followed on their wheels, while fru ingemann took her brother, mr. hoffman, and little karen all in a carriage, and drove the length of the beautiful shore road, called the _langelinie_, or long line,--copenhagen's fashionable drive, that stretches for miles along the sea. the place was gay with sunday crowds,--walking, riding, wheeling, driving,--all out enjoying the warm june sunshine, as well as the bracing sea-breeze. when they reached the quaint old citadel, they left the carriage and strolled about the earthworks, viewing the monument made from the guns of the wrecked _dannebrog_, a ship fitly named after the danish flag. promenaders thronged the shore road at this point, gazing at the shipping of all nations which here covered the sound, and off into the dim distance, at the shores of sweden. karl thought that his aunt else must have hosts of little friends, for all the small boys bowed, and the little girls courtesied so prettily, as she passed. but fru ingemann explained to him that it was only a custom of all well-bred danish children to bow and courtesy to their elders, and then she told him how, every spring at _paaske_, or easter, as we call it, this beautiful shore road is thronged all day long with gay crowds all decked out in their _paaske_ finery, as it is again later at _store bededag_, or great praying day, on the fourth friday after easter. from here they drove out to the old castle of rosenborg, with its fine garden where little children were playing about the statued-form of their beloved story-teller, hans christian andersen; and then straight home again, passing, on their way, the royal residential quarter, amalienborg, which forms a great open square, adorned with the beautiful marble church, and, in the centre of the square, with a statue of king frederik v. "now we're off!" said uncle thor, as valdemar finished a very good drawing lesson, for karl and his father, and karen and her mother were already waiting. at first the electric tram simply flew. but, as they approached the down-town section of the city, its way was often blocked by the dense crowds, who, like themselves, were coming to witness the arrival of copenhagen's honored royal guest, his majesty, king haakon of norway. "norroway-over-the-foam, as it was once called," laughed fru ingemann, "is a land of beauty which we must all visit some day. it is so many, many times the size of our little denmark that it makes us feel, by comparison at least, a very small country indeed." "but denmark occupies more space on the map than either belgium or holland," said valdemar. "and denmark is nearly twice the size of massachusetts," added karl. "but, oh! just do look at the terrible crowds!--and right here is where we get off! father says 'come!'" all at once they were thrust into the vast crowd. all copenhagen seemed suddenly to have poured by thousands forth into the streets, and the flags of norway and denmark floated everywhere side by side. "if only we can make the opposite side of the street!" said uncle thor, nervously looking about him in every direction, "we shall be safe, for right up there, on the second floor of that building, is my friend's office, from the window of which we are to view the royal procession. ah! we're safe now!" no sooner had they taken their positions in the large open window, than they heard, in the distance, a cannon's loud report. it was followed by a salute of guns and loud cheering. "there!" said both boys at once. "that means that king haakon has landed, and is now on his way here!" the cheering sounded nearer and nearer, and the cannon continued to boom. "forty guns!" said valdemar, who had been counting. "forty guns is denmark's royal salute. karen dear, can you see?" "yes, thank you, brother," said the child, whose feet were fairly dancing with so much excitement. "but look! they are clearing the street! the people are being made to keep back on the sidewalks. listen! that is our glorious old national hymn that the splendid royal guards are now playing. the king must be near! listen, karl! oh, isn't it all thrilling!" nearer and nearer sounded the familiar strains. "it _is_ splendid, karen," conceded karl, "but i'd like the star spangled banner just as well, and, besides, i guess a king's no bigger'n a president! oh, look!" but it was only an advance guard of mounted police. "i'm glad, mother, that our window has the largest flag in town flying from it," said valdemar. "i just _do_ hope the king will look up here and see it! listen! now the people are beginning to cheer right down here under our very window! and the men are doffing their hats!" "hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" cheered the loyal thousands, as the scarlet-coated king's guard came in view. "oh!" gasped karen, with a long-drawn breath of delight. "oh! isn't it glorious! hear the bugle! and here come the mounted hussars with their little red capes fastened on one shoulder, and swords flashing! how splendidly they ride!" "mother, i'm going to wave my own flag when the king's carriage passes!" cried patriotic little valdemar. "if king frederik will only look up! don't you hope he will, karl? oh! there's his carriage now! yes, he sees my flag waving! he's looking! i'm going to cheer! hurrah for king frederik!" the king heard and raised his head. his eyes fell directly upon valdemar's bright face, as had been the case that long ago day, in the children's hospital. king frederik smiled, bowed, and gave the lad a military salute of recognition. king haakon was seated beside king frederik, but valdemar did not see him. in the following carriage were the two queens, queen maud of norway, and their own beloved danish queen lowisa, with little crown prince olaf, of norway, seated between them; but valdemar saw only king frederik. "mother! he _knew_ me!" cried valdemar, as the brilliant procession passed slowly out of sight, and the music, whose strains came faintly back to them, had changed from denmark's "kong christian" to the norwegian national hymn in honor of king haakon. chapter iv up the sound to hamlet's castle "mother dear, how fine and cool the sea-breeze feels!" exclaimed valdemar, as the little sound steamer puffed along over the bright baltic waves, past the big merchant-ships on the blue sound, making many stops on its way up towards historic old elsinore, the spot made famous by shakespeare. uncle oscar had departed three days before, going directly to the jutland park, to begin preparations for the entertaining of the thousands of loyal danish-american visitors, expected to arrive in time for the fourth celebration, and fru ingemann had given him her promise to meet him there, with the three children, for that great event. for it had not taken fru ingemann long to decide that uncle oscar's plan for the summer was best. summer days are long, but few, in denmark,--the winters cold and stormy,--and karen and valdemar needed the trip as much as did karl, she told herself. so the little party of four were already on their way north, to see for themselves all the wonders and beauties of jutland, of which karl's father had been telling them. once fru ingemann had decided, the days fairly flew. valdemar wanted to start at once. but there was all the packing to be done--of things to be left, and things to be taken--and the flat to be closed for at least several months. karen, who had never before been farther from home than their own little villa up on the _strandvej_, was overjoyed and danced busily about, saving her mother steps in a thousand different ways; while valdemar and karl surprised fru ingemann by getting out ladders, buckets and brushes, and nicely whitewashing all the flat windows, which was really being very useful indeed. "aunt else, why is our steamer so awfully crowded with people? are the sound boats always like this?" asked karl, who could hardly turn his chair around without knocking into some one. "yes, karl, it's like this every year at 'deer-park-time.' the huge crowds are as eager as ourselves to leave copenhagen with the first warm day and flee to _skoven_,[ ] for we danes love our beautiful woods. with the first bursting of the beech-buds, everybody asks everybody else: 'have you been in the woods yet?' and then by thousands--young and old--they flock to our beloved beech-woods. those who cannot find room on the boats take the first train, or carriage, or cycle, or car, or even foot it--any way at all in order to reach the deer park, for that is where most of them go. after we make a stop there, we shall have plenty of room on our boat, karl. look! we are passing charlottenlund, the crown prince's palace. you can see it up among those fine old trees." "then, aunt else," asked karl, "isn't 'deer-park-time' something like our american 'indian summer,' only that it comes in the spring? it's your finest part of spring, and our best part of fall, when every one wants to live out of doors. isn't that it?" "that's just right, karl," laughed fru ingemann. "and a little danish boy would feel almost as badly not to be taken to the beech-woods when 'deer-park-time' comes, as would a little english boy if he got no plum pudding on christmas day, or a little scotch boy without his currant bun on new year's day, or a nice little american boy like you, karl, if he couldn't have any firecrackers for his fourth of july celebration. but here we are stopping at the deer park now. half the people are getting off." valdemar's eyes looked far beyond the disembarking crowds landing at the pier. he saw only the dark pine trees in the distance, straight and tall, suggesting to his imaginative mind giant masts for viking ships. many a fine day had he spent tramping through those tree-shaded walks with his mother, while she told him wonderful stories about denmark's great heroes of old. "in america, we like to go to the woods, too," said karl; "but not just to walk and walk all day. we like to play ball, or climb the trees for nuts, or keep doing something all the time. do you ever do anything but just walk, in your woods?" "sometimes, on a warm summer's evening in the woods, we sing some beautiful old hymn, like grundtwig's: "'for danes have their home where the fair beeches grow, by shores where forget-me-nots cluster, and fairest to us, by cradle and grave, the blossoming field by the swift-flowing wave.' there are no people in all the world, karl, who have the same simple love for their trees, as do the danes," explained his aunt else. "there, karl, we are starting again," said valdemar. the beautiful deer park, with its masses and pyramids of green foliage, followed the sound-shore for five miles before the steamer had left it behind. the boat kept close to the shore, stopping frequently at the little, red-roofed settlements, inviting little villas and sea-bathing resorts, to let off more passengers, for everybody in copenhagen who can, must lie on the _strandvej_ for at least a part of every summer, enjoying the out-of-doors amusements, the bathing, the woods, sea, sky and sunshine. nestling among the trees of the _strandvej_, for miles, were little white, yellow, and green villas, among them fru ingemann's,--at the sight of which karen, who always felt a little sick on the water, brightened, and exclaimed: "there, karl, is ours! you must come back and spend another summer with us up there. we do have the best times, don't we, valdemar?" the afternoon was singularly fine. hundreds of ships were gliding silently past them in one continuous procession. "why," exclaimed karl, "there must be the flags of every nation on the globe. i've counted the russian, german, french, english, swedish, norwegian, italian, greek, spanish and portuguese flags, and, look!--there is a steamer with our dear old united states flag! how narrow the sound is growing, aunt else. the mountains of sweden look nearer and nearer. i believe that, if i yelled loud enough, the people over there could easily hear me." "yes, karl, we must be nearing helsingör, for the sound certainly is narrowing rapidly. it is less than two miles wide at that point. it hardly seems three hours since we left copenhagen," remarked fru ingemann. "oh, mother, look! isn't that old kronborg now?" exclaimed valdemar. "that is surely hamlet's castle, mother! helsingör is where we land!" "yes, it is grim old kronborg castle, valdemar. many a tale its old gray walls could tell of terrible fighting, royal merrymaking, and of sadness. karen and you, boys, shall go all through it when we land. for three hundred years kronborg was the key to the sound, keeping a sentry-like guard over the gate between the baltic and the north sea. for before the kiel canal was cut, as many as twenty thousand ships every year passed through this narrow strait, bound for russian and swedish ports; and denmark grew rich from the sound dues she collected. now, the gates are open to the ships of all countries, and, when foreign sovereigns or men-of-war glide through this narrow silvery streak dividing sweden and denmark, old kronborg's cannon give a friendly salute. but, come, we are landing now." it was but a few minutes' walk up to the frowning old fortress on the promontory, with its many lofty, gray stone towers rising from the castellated roof. karl was seeing for the first time in all his life a real "fairy-tale" castle, surrounded by a broad moat and ramparts. first they were shown the apartments occupied by the royal family when, at rare times, they visit kronborg. passing a little chapel, with its carved choir-stalls and pulpit, they found themselves, after a fatiguing ascent, out upon the flat roof of a great square tower, from which they gazed in admiration in all directions, for the day was remarkably clear and bright. far and near, over land and sea, the view was magnificent. to the east rose the mountainous swedish coast, and, to the north, the gleaming blue waters of the sound expanded into the equally blue kattegat. all was still, like noon. nothing seemed to move but the multitude of white sails silently passing and repassing through the narrow silvery strait below. "mother dear, do you think i shall ever be able to paint anything so beautiful as this? uncle thor could do it justice, mother; but i--" "yes, dear, if you work hard enough," was his mother's only answer, as she drew his coat collar closer about his neck, for a chill wind had risen. "the swedish coast is so near, mother, that i can see the windows of the houses," said karen. "the coast doesn't look dangerous, does it, mother; but valdemar says the guard told him he had seen as many as six shipwrecks here in one night." "yes, child, there are often bad storms on this coast; for the kattegat is very rough and dangerous at times. now we must go." "but aunt else, i want to see the famous platform where the ghost of hamlet's father walked that night," protested karl, as the little party started down. "why, my dear boy, the ghost of hamlet's father is believed to have paraded this very platform, right here where we are standing," laughed his aunt, as she put her arm about little karen, who shuddered at the thought. "don't you know the familiar verse, karl? "'and i knew that where i was standing, in old days long gone by, hamlet had heard at midnight the ominous spectre cry.' "this is, indeed, the far-famed castle of elsinore, of glorious shakespeare's fancy, karl. you must, of course, have read about it in your school in chicago," said fru ingemann, with a twinkle in her eye. "through the magic of shakespeare's great genius this out-of-the-way corner of our beloved little denmark has become forever famous the whole world over. but come quickly, all of you; we have much yet to see this afternoon, before we take our steamer for aarhus." "wasn't it here in this fortress, too, that beautiful queen caroline matilda was imprisoned until her brother, george iii, sent her to germany, where she soon died?" asked valdemar, as they hurried down. "and, oh, aunt else, isn't it right here in this castle that holger danske stays?" demanded karl. "yes, valdemar, queen caroline matilda was a prisoner here; and karl, no one can ever see holger danske, although it is believed that he is alive somewhere down in the underground vaults of this fortress, and that, whenever denmark needs him, he will arise and come to her aid. all little danish boys know him. valdemar, you tell karl the story," said fru ingemann, as the little party hurried on. "well, karl, holger danske is the great national hero of danish tradition, the founder of the danish nation, in fact," began valdemar, who was thoroughly familiar with his country's history and traditions. "holger danske's cradle was a warrior's shield, so the story goes, and he sits down in the deep dark dungeon of this fortress, all alone, clad in iron and steel, his head forever resting on his strong arms, bending over a marble table to which his great long beard has grown fast. there he forever slumbers and dreams that he sees and knows everything that is happening above in his beloved denmark. whenever his country is in peril, or stands in need of his services, he will appear. but, every christmas night, one of god's angels visits him in his dungeon, and assures him that all his dreams are true, and that denmark is threatened with no extraordinary danger, and that he may sleep on again." as they reached the castle grounds, the guide pointed out the old moat, where ophelia drowned herself, and the spring near by that bears her name. then he took them to the grave of the melancholy dane, in a beautiful shaded spot, marked by a moss-grown cairn of stones, and a granite shaft bearing the inscription: +--------------------+ | | | "hamlet's grav." | | | +--------------------+ footnote: [footnote : the woods.] chapter v "fairy-tale" castles and palaces "'fredensborg' means 'castle of peace.' it is an idyllic spot near here, famous the whole world over as the happy holiday gathering-place, every summer, of half the present crowned heads, majesties, and royal highnesses of europe," said fru ingemann. "let us take this waiting carriage now for a quick drive over there and back again in time for our steamer this afternoon to aarhus. all this part of eastern zealand is so rich in romantic, fairy-tale castles and palaces, that i only wish we had time enough to see them all. but fredensborg's hospitable roof has sheltered all the royal children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of good old king christian ix, of denmark, who was affectionately called 'the grandfather of europe.' only think of a family reunion including king frederik viii and queen lowisa, of denmark; their son, king haakon, of norway; former queen alexandra, of england, and her sister, the dowager empress dagmar, of russia, who were both danish princesses; king george and queen mary, of england; king george, of greece; and the czar of all the russias,--all meeting, every summer, in a quiet little family reunion in our obscure little denmark at fredensborg palace!" "but, aunt else, you left out the german emperor!" observed karl, who persisted in always mentioning the germans. "the german emperor never comes to these royal gatherings, karl. he is the only king who is not welcomed on danish soil," explained fru ingemann, gently. "but here we are now at the palace." they approached the palace through an avenue of magnificent old lindens, through whose interlaced branches they caught glimpses of the blue sky and of the still bluer lake esrom, near by. then, entering a very stony courtyard, the carriage stopped before a few steps, guarded by two stone lions. soon they were walking through the apartments of the queen, on the right, and of those of the king, on the left. from the king's plain working room, on the floor above, they looked out over the beautiful marble garden, so called from the elaborate statuary romantically placed among the old beech-trees, under whose deep shadows king edward and queen alexandra, of england, did their courting. nor was theirs the only royal love tale those mighty old trees could tell. in one room still stood the historic old settee of the czar, so called because the present czar's father, who loved children, used to sit there and play for hours with his own royal children, whom he loved so well. nothing interested them all more than the inscriptions--tender and pathetic--which they found on several of the historic old windows. karl could only read a few, which happened to be in english, such as "alexandra, september, ," and another, "willie," which the king of greece had written. but, when it came to a french inscription: "_que dieu veille sur la famille royale et la protège._ alexandra, ," karl had to call upon valdemar to translate it for him, as well, of course, as all the danish ones. "'may god watch over the royal family and protect it,' is the translation of the french one, karl, by queen alexandra; and olga, queen of greece, has written in danish here on this window: '_danmark, danmark, elskede hjem_,' which means: 'denmark, denmark, beloved home,' and here is a touching one by the late czar: '_farvel kjaere gamle fredensborg_,' 'farewell, dear old fredensborg.'" "and, mother," said karen, "here is: 'farewell, my beloved fredensborg. alexandra, september, ;' and 'christian-louise, ,' and 'valdemar-marie, .'" they drove away through the royal grounds, which reached down to the shores of beautiful esrom lake, glimmering like a sapphire in the setting sun's soft light, and were soon back once more at helsingör. "aunt else," said karl, "fredensborg castle looked exactly like the pictures of castles in the books of fairy tales." "if that is what you like, karl, then some day you must surely see frederiksborg palace, in the lovely forest region north of copenhagen. it stands on an island in a lake, and is all spires, turrets and battlements, and certainly looks like a real fairy-tale castle," said fru ingemann. "some of its venerable beeches are five hundred years old. but here is the little inn where we must have something nice and warm to eat before we take our steamer, in just a few minutes, for we will be sailing all night. we have barely time, if we hurry." after finishing their little dinner of hot cinnamon-flavored soup, broiled fish, rye bread, preserves and _röd-gröd_, all of which tasted so good after their drive back through the woods, they boarded the little steamer which was to take them on their all-night trip over the kattegat to aarhus, on the east coast of the peninsula of jutland, or the continent, as the danes call it. "aunt else, on one of those windows at fredensborg, was the inscription: 'valdemar-marie, .' won't you tell me all about the valdemars? they were denmark's greatest kings, weren't they?" urged karl. "yes, but valdemar will be glad to tell you all about them and about all the other kings of denmark, too, karl; but wait--here comes fróken johanne nielsen, with her little nephews, tykke and hans, to talk to us. fróken nielsen is a great traveller. children, don't you remember meeting them one summer up on the strandvej?" karen courtesied prettily, while the boys arose, bowed, and politely gave their seats to the nielsens. then fru ingemann listened while fróken johanne, who only remained a few minutes, told them of the famous sights of stevns klint, or cliff, on zealand's eastern coast, where they had just been; and of the still more wonderful scenery on the romantic little island of möen, in the baltic, where the dazzling white limestone cliffs of lille and the store klint adorn the sea-coast, and where the summer-time sunset comes after nine o'clock, and the clear northern light lasts until morning. "and don't forget about faxö, aunt johanne, or svendborg. faxö was the best of all," put in little tykke, as he delved deep down into his pockets and brought forth some pieces of fine coral. "yes, faxö is an ancient coral crag jutting out into the baltic," explained fróken johanne. "it is full of beautiful and rare fossils, and from svendborg, on fyen island, we had such a beautiful view for miles and miles. from one high place the children could see alternate land and water five times, as well as the coasts of sweden and germany. the islands seemed like stepping-stones in the baltic. but come, children, say good-bye; we must go." while they had been talking the setting sun had thrown a yellow glory over the waters in front of elsinore, which was now fading slowly away. the forests about the old castle on the promontory became dark, blurred masses, and the white sails below were mere moving shadows. the children could no longer see even the many fine specimens of fossils and coral which hans and tykke had generously divided with them. the little steamer advanced upon the rolling _kattegat_, with great flocks of white-winged sea-gulls following in its wake. fru ingemann noticed that karen, who never could stand the churning motion of a boat, was turning perceptibly pale, and that a vague, uncertain feeling seemed to be creeping over even valdemar and karl, so she took her sleepy little brood below and soon had them all tucked snugly into bed for the night. chapter vi the legend of the sacred "dannebrog" "it's a letter from uncle oscar, mother! i just know it is!" cried valdemar, as fru ingemann opened and commenced reading aloud the only letter found awaiting them the next day, upon their arrival in the ancient town of aarhus. "and best of all," concluded the letter, "i have a great surprise in store for you all when you reach the park next week. karl will be especially delighted." "oh, aunt else, what can it be? how i wish i knew what father means!" exclaimed karl, dancing about the room in anticipation of so soon seeing his father again. "let us make plans quickly," said fru ingemann. "i am wondering how we shall ever crowd into one short week all the fine trips and excursions we shall want to take before we leave here, for fru petersen tells me that the surrounding country is far more interesting than aarhus itself." "yes, mother, the riis skov and the marselisborg skov, on the outskirts of aarhus, are at their very best now for picnicking," added valdemar, who always loved the woods. "a farmer passed us on our wheels this morning, and told us so." "and he said we should not fail to visit the beautiful chains of lakes and fir-forests around silkeborg," put in karl. "he told us that silkeborg was once just a manor, the property of the bishops of aarhus; and that it came to be built in such a funny way. he said that one of the bishops was so charmed with the scenery in that part of the country that he took a vow that he would build a house wherever his silk cap, which a gust of wind had blown away, should remain. and so the strange name came about. isn't that a funny story, karen? can't we go over to silkeborg right now, aunt else?" "oh, not to-day, karl, for it's much too late. besides, the sky looks threatening. i thought i heard something like low, distant thunder just a moment ago. but to-morrow we can take an all-day trip over to mt. himmelbjaerg and back, if we're all up bright and early in the morning," said fru ingemann. they were stopping with the petersen family, in a little red-roofed, many-gabled house on a quiet side street in aarhus. karen and her mother had taken a short walk through the residential portion of the old town and back, and the two boys had been out on their wheels most of the day, eagerly exploring every nook and cranny of the healthy little trading city on the kattegat, which was a town of standing in the far-off days when copenhagen was but a mere little fishing village. they had ridden past the public library, the artistic custom-house, pretty little theatre, the interesting art gallery, with its fine collections by danish artists, the grim old red-brick gothic cathedral, with its gables, narrow pointed windows and massive tower, and finally down to the busy harbor of jutland's thriving capital, where large vessels enter, for it is built out on the open shore. "aunt else, the other day, i remember, you called jutland 'the peninsula;' fru petersen always says 'the continent;' and once i heard somebody speak of 'us islanders;' so which is it?" asked karl. "i'm not surprised that you are confused, karl. i will try to explain it all to you," said his aunt. "denmark is literally an island kingdom, for she has about two hundred islands in all, situated at the entrance of the baltic. since the cutting of the kiel canal, even jutland, which originally was, and still is in name, the cimbrian peninsula, has now become in reality an island, some of whose parts, being actually below the sea-level, are protected by dykes and embankments. even the limfjord, which is no longer a fjord but a sound, cuts jutland in two again, adding one more to the list of denmark's many islands. even copenhagen, denmark's capital, is built upon two islands,--the great island of zealand and the little island of slotsholmen, over which it extends. "besides these, and many other smaller islands of the danish archipelago, denmark has colonies, much larger than herself, which, strangely enough, are all islands. one is iceland, with its volcanic fires and geysers spouting through the ice; and the great snow-buried island of greenland is another of denmark's frigid possessions. there is also a group of islands in the west indies.[ ] "yes, aunt else, thank you for telling me all about it. but i do wish i knew what father's 'great surprise' is to be!" sleepily murmured karl, closing his eyes. "valdemar, you were going to tell us all about denmark's kings. won't you do it now?" "yes, do, brother," begged karen, as she yawned and buried her flaxen head in a big, soft pillow. "tell my best stories to such a sleepy audience? i guess not!" said valdemar, himself yawning. "such a sleepy lot of children! off to bed, every one of you, and up early in the morning," said fru ingemann, kissing them good night. hardly had they been in bed an hour, when a terrific thunder-storm broke over aarhus. with the first deafening crash of thunder, the whole petersen family sprang from their beds, dressed and rushed to the sitting-room, where they huddled around the great tile stove, their arms loaded down with their most treasured family possessions, fru petersen herself carrying the family plate and the cherished recipe book, which in danish households is handed down from grandmother to mother and daughter. the storm passed as quickly as it had come. by morning the ground was dry, the sky fair and blue, and fru ingemann and her charges well on their way to famous old himmelbjaerg, which means heaven's mountain, for it is the highest spot in all denmark. "why didn't we all jump out of our beds last night, too, mother," questioned karen, as their train was passing through much low, hilly country, in the midst of beautiful woods and lakes. "oh, that was just _noget snak_,[ ] karen. the petersens were brought up in the country, and they were afraid of fire by lightning. but here we are, karl, in the scattered little town of silkeborg, where the bishop's silk cap blew." they first armed themselves with a large basket of provisions, then took a trim little motor-boat, which carried them past woods and gardens and picturesque little stork-inhabited farmsteads, up a pleasant river which soon widened into a lake, and then from one blue lake into another, on and on, until they finally stopped at the foot of heather-covered old himmelbjaerg, on whose summit they could see a tall, obelisk-like monument. "it's denmark's pike's peak! isn't it, aunt else?" exclaimed karl in delight. "father and i have climbed pike's peak in colorado, and, i can tell you, mountain climbing is just lots of fun! can't we go to the very top to-day, aunt else?" with their long alpenstocks, karen and the boys led the way up the gentle slope, while fru ingemann closely followed with the basket of good things to eat--_smörrebröd_, oranges, tarts, cake and sugar-plums, which disappeared as though by magic when they spread them on the grass in the shadow of the great brick tower. the view from the "kol," or top, was indescribably beautiful, reaching as far as eye could see over far-stretching forests, and valleys and corn fields and chains of lakes, in every direction to the unbroken horizon. "mother, mother! how wonderful!" exclaimed valdemar, after he had looked long and silently at the impressive scene before him. "it's like one of turner's great paintings!" [illustration: "they spread them on the grass in the shadow of the great brick tower"] the grass on the mountain-side waved in the strong summer wind. beetles hummed, insects buzzed in the heather about them, and a little field-lark, perched on a near-by beech-tree, poured forth its song, while karen chased the brilliant-winged butterflies as they dashed through the sunlight. "'erected by frederik vii,'" read valdemar aloud, deciphering the inscription on the base of the brick tower. karen and karl came running up, their arms full of mountain wild-flowers they had found almost hidden among the deep heather. "valdemar, are you going to tell us all about the danish kings now?" urged karl, who was a good student of united states history, and loved hero-tales of any country. "please start at the very beginning. karen wants to hear, too." "and, after the story is finished, perhaps we shall have time for a little row on the lake," added fru ingemann. quickly they ranged themselves comfortably on the grass in the shade of one of himmelbjaerg's giant old beeches, whose long arms swept the ground about them. "denmark means 'land of dark woods,'" began valdemar, who loved his beautiful country, and was familiar with her legends and history from his babyhood up. "the northmen were a fire-worshipping heathen people, according to snorre sturlason, who says that odin, their chief god, was a real personage, who used to appear to men. but all this early history of denmark is so full of legend, petty fights of kings, piratical exploits, and strange, wild stories and romances of the skalds, that it is very hard to tell which is fact or fable, until we come to the last thousand years of danish history. "but in those early mythological days, when denmark was covered with dark forests of mighty firs, dan the famous was one of the earliest kings, reigning in b. c. he became powerful, after uniting many small chieftains to himself, and so, according to some authorities, the country was called 'danmark,' or the border of the 'dans,' or danes. "gorm the old, in the middle of the ninth century, was really the first king to rule over the whole of denmark, and his was called the golden age. his beautiful young wife, queen thyra dannebod (the dane's joy), was full of goodness and wisdom, and after gorm's death, she built the famous dannewirke, a great wall that stretched across denmark from the north sea to the baltic, for her people's protection against the fearful inroads and plunderings of their southern neighbors. one may see the graves near jellinge, to-day, of gorm the old and queen thyra, two heather-covered, flat-topped cairns marked by massive old runic stones. "then gorm's son, king harold blaatand (blue-tooth), ruled over denmark, and was slain one night as he slept by a camp-fire, by the gold-tipped arrow of his heathen enemy, planatoke. after him came his son, svend tveskaeg, who commenced the conquest of england, which was ended by knud den store, or canute the great, thus uniting the crowns of both kingdoms during his reign and that of his son, harthaknud (hardicanute), who was followed by king svend estridsen. "sometime i must tell karl some of the wonderful tales i've read about all these old kings--tales re-told from the ancient sagas and chronicles, with their warrior-songs, giant-songs, hero-tales and ballads. danish literature is full of them. "but now we come to the three great valdemars, and their glorious battles." "and all about our _dannebrog_--the flag that fell from heaven, valdemar," broke in karen, who never could hear that story often enough. "and tell us all about the king who was put into a bag, won't you, valdemar?" urged karl. "yes, i'm coming right now to both those stories, which happened in the reign of valdemar ii. but first i want to say that it was valdemar i who cleared the baltic and north seas of all the terrible wend pirates, and it was also during his reign that denmark's war-like bishop, absalon, founded copenhagen and gave the people a constitution. "with valdemar ii a great and glorious era for denmark set in. the old ballads and folk-songs tell how he courted dagmar, the fair bohemian princess, for his bride, and never was danish queen more beloved by her people. "indeed, the golden age seemed to have returned to denmark under the early reign of this successful young monarch, who was as knightly and handsome as he was courageous. his empire grew until he finally became master of holstein, schwerin, and all the provinces of northern germany, and his people called him valdemar seir (the victorious). when the pope granted him sovereignty over all the peoples he could convert, he set out upon a crusade against the pagans of esthonia, with more than a thousand ships, and many thousands of men. with the pope's blessing he sailed across the baltic, but so vast did the host of the enemy appear, as his fleet neared the shore, that the danes at first feared to land. but their archbishop reassured them, and they landed in safety. towards evening, with king valdemar at their head, the battle raged furiously. the struggle grew fiercer and fiercer, until the danes, who were outnumbered, were beginning to give way, when there arose a great cry: 'the banner! the banner!' pagan and christian paused. all eyes turned towards the sky, where, as though miraculously flung from heaven, was seen falling into the midst of the christian ranks a blood-red banner bearing a great white cross,--our sacred _dannebrog_. 'for god and the king,' cried the crusading christians, as they seized the heaven-sent flag, and again charged their enemy, who now fled in terror. the victory was won, and the _dannebrog_, from that hour, became the sacred national standard of denmark. "now i'm coming to the 'king in a bag' story, karl," said valdemar. "denmark's power was now supreme throughout scandinavia, northern germany and even over to russia. valdemar's reign was at its height. his people adored him. but there were secret foes--the conquered princes of germany--awaiting his downfall. among them was one in particular called black henry, who hated valdemar, and was biding his chance to overthrow, if not to kill him. all in one single night the treacherous deed was done. wearied by a day spent in hunting, the king and his son slept that night in a small, unguarded tent in the woods of the little island on lyö. suddenly their slumber was broken into by an unseen foe. the king could scarcely move, or speak, or see, or breathe. black henry had fallen upon king valdemar and his son, bound, gagged and tied them up into two bags, and fled with his royal captives to a waiting boat in the river, and hurried them to germany, where they were thrown into prison. "some years after, the king was ransomed by his loyal people with gold and lands, and he finally returned to his beloved denmark amid the greatest rejoicing, to find most of his splendor gone. he was no longer king of a great empire, but he had his people's love, and spent his remaining years faithfully improving all the laws of his country." "oh, what glorious stories you do tell!" exclaimed karl, who, with karen, had been listening spell-bound to the end. "i shall never again see the famous old _dannebrog_, without thinking of that wonderful story of how it fell from heaven, and saved the battle for the danes." "if valdemar never makes his mark in the world as a celebrated sculptor, he certainly will as a great historian, with that memory of his," said his mother, indulgently. the afternoon sun was sinking in the west as they made their way down the mountainside, and soon left beautiful old himmelbjaerg far behind. footnotes: [footnote : in the united states negotiated with denmark for the purchase of st. thomas, one of these islands, as a coaling station, or naval base; but the danish rigsdag refused, by a single vote, to authorize the sale. it is believed that the matter will shortly be again considered by the two countries.] [footnote : some nonsense.] chapter vii the story of the danish "ahlhede" soon they were tramping past wind-tossed rye-fields and through sweet-smelling meadows from which, every now and then, a long-legged stork flapped its wings and flew skyward at their approach. their way to the boats of pretty tul lake,--gleaming through the trees in the sunlight,--lay along the banks of the gudenna river, which has its source among the picturesque hills near veile; then meanders northward through ranges of hills and green fields, winding with many a bend and curve on past old himmelbjaerg, past silkeborg and randers, finally emptying through randers fjord into the kattegat. "are you looking for the row-boats?" came a sweet voice just behind them. "they are just around the bend. i will show you the way." turning in the direction of the voice, valdemar saw a pretty, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed little peasant girl, in embroidered bodice and cap, carrying a great arm-load of poppies and forget-me-nots, and, stiltily walking along the middle of the road back of her, was a great white, red-billed stork. "there are the boats now," she said, pointing down a wooded bank just ahead of them, and turning to go. fru ingemann offered her a small coin with her thanks and a smile, but the proud child refused the coin with an indignant: "_nej tak! ingenting! ingenting!_"[ ] and started on her way,--the stork still following in stately tread. "is that your stork?" karl couldn't help calling after her, for he thought it awfully funny to see the big white stork following a little girl in such friendly fashion. "my stork? why, no! i have no stork," laughed the merry-faced little peasant maid. "but there is a stork's nest on the top of the white church tower over there, and another one up on farmer andersen's chimney, where he placed an old wagon wheel last year for them. and over yonder, in the eaves of the village houses, there must be several hundred storks. they are very tame, and often follow the plough in search of food for their nestlings, which they find in the newly-turned earth. this is their nesting time now. then, when fall comes, they will fly with their little ones down to france and egypt for the winter. but the same storks always come back. this same one followed me about last year. i think it knows me." in karl's land there were no friendly, red-legged storks stalking about the country roads, but he had read all about them in his "andersen's fairy tales." "storks bring happiness and good luck," explained valdemar, "and to kill a stork in denmark is a greater crime, if anything, than to kill a fox in england." as the boat moved out into the blue lake, through the silent reeds and water-lilies along the shore, with its drowsy white swans, karl could still see in the distance the little peasant girl with her wild-flowers, the stork in the middle of the road still keeping stately pace with her. then he burst out laughing at the funny sight. valdemar and karl were both good oarsmen, and so they rowed far out across the lake, then drifted lazily along, while fru ingemann entertained them with one of evald's charming fairy-tales, parts of Öhlenschläger's delightful "aladdin," and tales from old danish saga-lore. "mother, won't you sing something?" begged valdemar, who always loved to hear his mother's beautiful voice. "yes, while you are both rowing back to shore, for it is growing late," said fru ingemann, as she began and sang for them one of weyses's old saga-like romances. the cool evening breezes, whispering among the trees, told them that the long, happy day was over, and that they must catch their train back to aarhus at once. then came the day when they went by boat down the coast and sailed up veile fjord, to spend two happy days at the munkebjerg,[ ] with many a ramble through the woods, guided to and from all the loveliest views by following the red or the yellow arrows on the trees, pausing now and then, after a stiff climb, to rest a moment in front of some little wooden chalet, or to sit and enjoy the scene from atilla's bench or baron lovenskjold's bench, if they had followed the red route, or at ryeholm's bench or the bench of the four-leaved clover, when they had followed the yellow marks. and from munkebjerg they had gone to jellinge, a town perched upon the breezy upland, and there they saw the two large, flat-topped, heather-covered "barrows," or graves, of gorm the old and queen thyra, of which valdemar had been telling them, and karl was surprised to hear that there still remained in zealand, alone, some thousands of these viking cairns, or warrior's hills, as they are called. then, as the end of their short week drew near, the children begged fru ingemann to take them by motor-car to randers, where the famous annual horse-fair was being held, and they strolled through the streets of the cheerful old town, with its quaint old houses with their slanting roofs and protruding windows. the danish flag, with its sharp white cross on a blood-red field, fluttered everywhere. hundreds of them decorated the exhibition field, to which the towns-folk and farmers, in their sunday-best, swarmed, from far and near, to hear the speeches and witness the awarding of prizes to the superbly groomed, arch-necked horses of the famous jutland breed. the children had hoped to see the peasants still wearing hessian boots and velvet coats covered with great silver buttons, but fru ingemann told them it was fifty years too late for that. they bought tickets--little bits of blue and white ribbon with "randers" and the date printed on them--to the cake-man's booth, and there they bought all sorts of cakes fantastically made into queer-shaped men and horses and hearts, all covered with sugar and almonds and candies, each with a little motto on it. karen soon grew tired and sleepy, so they did not stay to witness the general fun and frolic and peasant dancing at night. as they left the grounds karl, who was beginning to learn a few danish words, exclaimed at an advertisement he saw on a signboard: _industriforeningsbygningen_![ ] "valdemar, is all that just one word?" he asked. "just one word, karl," replied his cousin. "as we are all to leave monday morning for the park, and randers is half-way there," said fru ingemann, "i have decided not to return to aarhus at all, but to remain here over sunday." no one wanted to go anywhere on sunday, so the day was quietly passed at home. in monday morning's mail came a letter from uncle thor, asking how soon valdemar could start up to skagen, and also a telegram from uncle oscar, saying: "meet me at noon, monday, at ribald. pleasant surprise for karl." "oh, aunt else, what _can_ father's surprise be? i don't see how i can ever wait to find out." but his aunt only advised him to be more patient, for he would soon know. "tell me all about the heath then, aunt else, and this park, where we are going," said karl, as their train sped rapidly northward through the low moorland hills, past clover fields where herds of fat red danish cattle stood separately tethered; past prosperous little farms, some of them with their waving rye-fields, others all aglow with yellowing grain. "long, long ago," began fru ingemann, "in the days when grandmother ingemann was only a little girl, before there was any telegraphs or telephones, the very heart of all jutland--as large a space as the whole island of zealand--was just a dangerous, wild, barren desert, all sand and peat-bogs. the few heath-dwellers who tried to live there led very lonely and dangerous lives. the natmaend, a strange race of gypsy robbers, smugglers and kidnappers, wandered there. history records many dark tragedies enacted on the heath. it was on grathe heath that young king valdemar the great met and overpowered his treacherous enemy, svend; and, a century later, the heath was the scene of a still grimmer tragedy, the murder of king erik by marsk stig. "the ahlhede, or all-heath, as the danes called it, had not always been a desert-land, covered for miles with viking barrows. there had once been beautiful forests of spruce and oak and fir-trees stretching over this four thousand miles of waste land. but what forests the long droughts and merciless west winds and cold blasts from the north sea failed to destroy the ancient vikings and their subjects cut down for their ships, huts and for fuel, leaving only a great silent, desolate, desert land. it remained thus for such ages that no one ever believed that it could be reclaimed,--that is, no one until captain dalgas set to working out his dreams and theories for conquering it. his hope was to win back to denmark, through the conquering of the heath, the territory lost through the schlesvig-holstein war. he formed the heath society and replanted the treeless wastes. "to-day, countless farmsteads, meadows and pastures of the danish peasantry dot the heath from germany to the skaw. trees again flourish; all has been changed as if by magic, and the plough goes over more and more acres of it every year, until a group of patriotic danes, like your uncle oscar, have taken alarm lest all the breezy stretches of heather be reduced to farms, and none of the old-time heath be preserved untouched for its own natural beauty's sake." "uncle persuaded a lot of danes away off in chicago, where he lives, to buy up a lot of the wildest and most beautiful part of it so that denmark might keep it forever as a park. isn't that it, mother?" questioned valdemar. "yes, exactly, valdemar," replied his mother. "and, because of the untiring efforts of a group of patriotic american danes, like your uncle oscar, a beautiful wild spot of three hundred acres up in northern jutland, near ribald, has been purchased, and will be formally presented to the danish government as a reservation, with the one condition that, every year, in that spot, when danish-americans cross the ocean to meet there and celebrate their fourth of july on danish soil, the stars and stripes shall float above denmark's sacred _dannebrog_. now that everything is ready, the park is to be formally presented to the danish government." "presented to-day, mother?" asked karen in surprise. "yes, this very afternoon. there will be a great crowd. every steamer for weeks past has been bringing over hundreds of americans, and, karl, look out, for you may meet some of your chicago friends among them." "from home, aunt else? there's nobody i'd rather see from home than my own mother!" said little karl, rather wistfully. "gee! i do wish i could see my mother! i just wonder what daddy's 'great surprise' can be! oh, just look at the big crowd!" the train had stopped. "ribald!" sang out the conductor. in a twinkling the car was emptied. as fru ingemann and her charges reached the platform, karl saw two waving handkerchiefs making their way through the dense crowd towards him, and in an instant more he felt his mother's arms around him. "mother! mother! i'm so glad you've come!" he cried in joy. "daddy, you did give me a pleasant surprise!" he laughed as fru ingemann and her sister amalia greeted each other. "aunt amalia, won't you stay over here in denmark with us all summer?" urged valdemar, as the happy little party was being driven rapidly on their way to the park. "yes, valdemar,--that is, i'm going to remain until your uncle oscar can get back from the united states again. that is why i have come--so as to stay with karl, and let him see some more of denmark, during his father's absence. and then i'm glad to see this wonderful park, too, of course." "why, daddy! must you go back to america, and leave us?" protested karl, who was having another surprise. "i'm sorry, but business calls me back to chicago at once, my little karl. i leave this afternoon, immediately after the festivities, but i'll come back again soon. here we are at the park now." as mr. hoffman, as president of the danish-american park, took his place upon the speaker's platform, and began his address, welcoming the thousands of american visitors he saw before him, back to the fatherland,--to the park--_their_ park forever,--a great cheer arose, which was redoubled in volume as the stars and stripes were impressively hoisted over the beloved _dannebrog_--and then from a thousand voices the star spangled banner floated forth over the danish hills. there were complimentary speeches by both the american and danish ministers, and by crown prince christian. then every one sang one of those beautiful old national songs the danes love so well to sing in their woods, and karl told valdemar and karen the story of the "birth of old glory,"--as the united states flag is sometimes called. in the evening, the whole forest seemed one vast fairy-land, with its myriad sparkling lights, strains of soft music, gay crowds and waving flags. multitudes of lamps, of all colors and sizes, swung from the trees, throwing a romantic fairy-like light over the rustling beech-trees. torches had been stuck wherever it had been possible to fasten them, and here and there a huge bon-fire flung its lurid glare over the whole scene, sending up great volumes of black smoke into the darkness overhead. three very tired and sleepy children were those whom fru ingemann put to bed that night, even before their usual time. the happiness of the long day--so full of new sights, surprises and excitement for valdemar as well as karl--was only marred by the leave-taking of uncle oscar for his long trip back to his home in far-away chicago. footnotes: [footnote : "no, thank you. nothing! nothing!"] [footnote : monk's mountain.] [footnote : manufacturers and sealers' associations building.] chapter viii skagen to valdemar it seemed like a week, rather than just three days, since he had bidden good-bye to his mother, karen and aunt amalia, and brought karl with him up to the little painter's village of skagen on the kattegat, where they were to spend the months of july and august visiting uncle thor, who had built for himself one of the most charming of all the pretty, long, low, vine-covered homes of the famous artist-colony, of which he, as court painter, was by far the most distinguished member. up here was uncle thor's summer studio, with its row of fifteen great windows between which glorious red hollyhocks towered almost up to the red roof-tiles. on the south, the windows overlooked a gay, flower-massed garden where, on warm summer afternoons, the great sculptor loved to chat with painter-friends, and serve tea under his wind-swept old elms. here, in this bare and lofty studio, with its half-finished paintings and groups in clay, and, if the day be chilly, its crackling wood hearth-fire at the further end, throwing a flickering, rosy light over all,--here valdemar was to spend many hard, long hours every day under his gifted godfather's instruction. [illustration: "in the centre of the studio stood the unfinished statue of the little crown prince"] "in the whole of denmark was there ever any boy half so fortunate?" thought valdemar to himself, as he made a mental resolution to show uncle thor his appreciation by the hardest work of his life. valdemar could work hard, and he meant not only to prove to his uncle what earnest toil and definite purpose could do, but also to win his offer to send him to the academy in the fall. on a low platform, in the centre of the studio, stood the unfinished statue of the little crown prince olaf of norway which uncle thor had commenced in copenhagen at the royal palace. day by day it was nearing completion. "and here," said valdemar's great teacher, uncovering a smaller but similar clay figure of the same charming subject, "is work my ambitious little pupil is to finish before he leaves skagen. it will be hard work, valdemar, and it will put your ability as a young sculptor to a fine test. but you can do it, valdemar, and do it creditably, too!" "oh, uncle thor! do you really think so? i'll try hard enough!" promised the lad as he set to work in good earnest. the long hours, which valdemar spent daily in the studio, karl passed either out of doors or in reading all the fascinating books on danish history in uncle thor's library. there were frequent letters to both boys from fanö, the little island in the north sea, where karen, her mother, and aunt amalia were spending the summer. later they were going to spend a few weeks on a large farm, for a change. and so the weeks passed. finally holme week, with its clear, bright evenings, came; but the midsummer sun was growing uncomfortably warm even as far north as skagen. valdemar's work on his little prince olaf statue was so far advanced that uncle thor readily consented when the two boys begged him to let them take the dog, frederik, along with them, and tramp over the two miles of mountainous sand-ridges which led to denmark's most northern point, grenen, or the gren,--a mere desolate sand-reef, the last little tip of jutland's mainland, which extends between the waters of the north sea and the baltic. the only signs of life the boys passed on the way, as they trudged along together, often ankle-deep in the sand, were a few long-legged birds, and several huge hares which shot across the road in front of them. "we didn't bring along more than half the sand-hills with us, did we, valdemar?" laughed karl, as they threw themselves down on the beach at grenen, emptied the sand from their shoes, and donned their bathing suits. "talking about sand, karl, some day i must show you all that remains of an old gothic church tower near skagen. one day, during a service, a great sand-storm came up and buried the church itself so suddenly that the only escape the people had was from the belfry. that is all that can be seen of that church even to-day." frederik barked loudly and dashed back and forth after the two boys, who were soon bubbling over with the fun and excitement of dipping their feet first into the breakers of the skager-rak, and then into the waters of the kattegat, the warm july salt wind and spray tanning their bare arms and faces. then, frederik following, valdemar swam far out into the sea and back again, with the utmost ease. all danish boys can swim well, and valdemar wanted to give karl a demonstration of his ability as an expert swimmer. "kattegat! skager-rak!" shouted karl, who liked something in the sound of the words. "grenen's great! but, honest, valdemar, never in my life did i expect to bathe in both these raging seas at once! but here i go--look now!" and he plunged out into the breakers. frederik dashed after him to make sure that he was safe, then came bounding back again to valdemar. "ow! ow!" cried karl, limping back on one foot. "crabber?" inquired valdemar. "uncle thor warned us to look out for crabs and shrimps up here on the beach. you sit down here and rest, karl. i'm going to gather some of those fine sea-gull's feathers scattered along the beach for you to take back home with you for your collection of danish souvenirs. it was mighty nice of uncle thor to give you that letter from king frederik!" "and i'm going to put my shoes and stockings right back on again while you're gone!" said karl, surveying his painful foot with a frown. "oh, look, karl!" exclaimed valdemar, as he soon came running back, his arms full of something. "look what i've found for you! sea-gulls' eggs! all greenish, with brown peppery spots on them, and here's a lot of the loveliest white wing-feathers, every one tipped with black! they're all for you, karl." "oh, thank you, valdemar. let's blow the eggs. do you know how?" "yes, of course. i've got a piece of wire in my pocket. you just run this wire straight through both ends--so! then blow and blow!" together the boys had soon blown all the eggs, and tied them up with the feathers in a piece of old fish-net they found on the beach. then karl watched valdemar while he made a hasty sketch of skagen fyr, the great white lighthouse towering above the sand-hummocks near the signal station, where it is said that every year seventy thousand ships are signalled. as they started on their two-mile tramp over the desolate sand-ridges back to skagen, valdemar gave one last lingering look towards the wild, wind-swept stretch of endless beach they were leaving, where the north sea and the baltic have battled against each other for countless ages, with one ceaseless roar. back of them, range after range of low shifting sand-dunes glistened in the sun, as they stretched towards the unbroken horizon in every direction. it was a strange new world to both boys. "what are you thinking so long about, valdemar?" asked karl. "oh, karl, it was off there that our noble tordenskjold's little frigate, _white eagle_, pursued the great swedish man-of-war _Ösel_, and made her fly in terror. there's something about the very desolation of this place that, i like," said valdemar. "something strange, and picturesque, and romantic, i mean, karl. one feels some way--up here at the gren--as though he had actually reached the world's end! i'd like to come back up here often. wouldn't you, karl?" "no! there's something i don't like one bit about it! i liked the massachusetts cape cod beach at home; but that was different. i'd hate to have to live very long anywhere near here! romantic isn't the right word, valdemar. it's a lonely, wild, and forsaken spot, with nothing at all 'romantic' about it in my eyes. to me it feels like the 'jumping off place,' all right. and i've heard, too, valdemar, that when a great storm is blowing, and the waves are rolling mountain high, that there are just terrible shipwrecks up here at this dangerous point! down at the skagen hotel, the figureheads and name-boards, that they have collected from ships of all nations, tell the tale, valdemar." "that's true. there was the wreck of the _daphne_, with the lives of eight of the brave life-saving crew lost. sometimes there are twenty shipwrecks a year. but, karl, this is the sea that made vikings! over these same seas, where our smoky steamers now pass, once danced _long ship_, _serpent_ and _dragon_, with their gilded dragon-beaks gleaming in the sunlight! can't you see them, karl? i can! uncle thor has often told me the wonderful viking tales. and i've read about their marvellous courage and daring. the eddas and sagas of the vikings are rich in lore of those fiery-hearted warriors, who sailed over the stormy seas in their fleets of light ash-wood ships, conquering far and wide, and meeting death light-heartedly! they say some great viking chief is buried near here. their cairns and barrows by thousands cover denmark to-day." "oh, i've read about them at home," answered karl, who loved courage and bravery as much as did any healthy american boy, but who loved also to tease. "they were just a race of bold sea-robbers, and pirates, always 'hatching their felonious little plans,' always ready to burn and kill; and, according to history, some of the deaths they dealt out to their enemies were truly 'vikingish.'" "and yet, karl, the ancient sagas and chronicles tell that it was our brave vikings who first of all discovered your north america, and founded a colony they called vineland, near where your great harvard college is to-day. the sagas say that, five hundred years before columbus lived, viking biarne sailed to america with his ship _eyrar_, and that, later, lief, a son of eric the red, went over to america, too." "yes, i know. i've read longfellow's poem, 'the skeleton in armor,' and i've seen the 'old mill' at newport, which was long believed to be a viking relic," said karl. "but we know differently now. nothing has been really proved." the sun was sinking in the west as the two tired, but happy boys reached the outskirts of the straggling little village of skagen, and trudged down the sandy road which led in and out among the fishermen's huts, with their tarred or heavily thatched roofs, and color-washed walls--some of them even built from wreckage. strings of fish, strung from pole to pole, were hung out to dry. groups of sturdy fish-wives, here and there, with bronzed arms bare to the shoulder, and prettily kerchiefed heads, sat at tubs, dressing flounders for drying; and from the doorway of one hut came a voice so sweet and clear, crooning a quaint old danish lullaby to the sleeping baby in the mother's arms, that the boys paused to listen as she sang: "_den lille ole, med paraplyen han kender alle smaa folk i byen hver lille pige, hver lille dreng, de sover sodt i deres lille seng._" "that was a pretty song. tell me what it was all about," asked karl, as they hurried on at a more rapid gait, for they were getting hungrier every minute. "oh, it was just a little folk-song every dane knows. she was singing to her baby about the 'sandman,' or _den lille ole_, as we danes say. she was telling him that the 'sandman, with his umbrella, knows all about the little folks in town. each little girl--each little boy--they are all sleeping sweetly in their beds.'" they passed an old fisherman, mackintosh-clad, and another one in jersey and high boots, both hurrying towards the beach, where, in the gathering twilight, they could see a dim craft, a small fishing boat, with a few dark figures plying their trade, slowly rounding the promontory, its lights reflecting picturesquely in the water. "some day we must come back earlier, when more of the fishermen are home from their trips, and watch the crews at practice," said valdemar. "these skagen fishermen are true sons of the vikings. it is said that there was one, once, who boasted of having saved two hundred lives." "i hope you didn't worry about our getting home so late, uncle thor," said valdemar, at the supper table that night. "no, but here is a letter for you." "hurrah!" exclaimed valdemar, as he finished reading it. "it's from mother. she says that grandmother ingemann has invited us all to spend christmas with her down in odense, and that aage will be home for his vacation from the military college, and be there with us, and uncle oscar, too, will be back again from america. mother has decided that i am not to return to school until after christmas, for she thinks that karl and i are learning more by seeing our country than we could learn in school. and, best of all, mother says that i can remain up here studying with you, uncle thor, until september!" "hurrah!" said karl. "no school until new year's for me!" "that means five more weeks up here with you, dear uncle thor!" continued valdemar. "now i can entirely finish the task you gave me to do, the prince olaf statue. i'm so glad, uncle thor!" "and i'm glad, too, valdemar, for you are doing me great credit as a pupil. i am going to be very proud of that statue of yours, valdemar, when it is finished." these last five weeks passed for valdemar much as the first five had--in the studio. "study--diligent, earnest and honest," said uncle thor, "will win many honors for you when you are older, valdemar. if you work hard, you should some day gather some of the roses that strew the path of the danish artist, my boy." "but once you said that denmark was almost overcrowded with art students, uncle thor, didn't you?" "that is true. but many of them fail to go on with their work; they lose courage and drop out. others become interested in something else, and so leave their art studies. the few who do keep on usually learn all they can from the art schools in denmark, and then go to italy for further study." "yes, as you did, uncle thor, and as thorvaldsen did, too," said valdemar. "oh, uncle thor! do you think that, when i am older, i may ever be able to study in italy?" "my dear little valdemar, anything is possible for you, if you work hard enough," was the great artist's answer. chapter ix a danish peasant wedding karen's fair skin was tanned so many shades darker than her flaxen locks that valdemar and karl hardly knew her. far down on the delightful _vesterhavet_,[ ] on the sandy little island of fanö, she had spent the happy summer-time with her mother and aunt amalia, first at the seashore, and later on the great farm of peder sörensen, near nordby, where, most of the time, she had played out of doors in the sun and wind. the merry harvest season had passed soon after valdemar and karl had arrived. they remembered how the harvesters had laid aside the last sheaf, decorated it with flowers and ribbons, and carried it in procession. then had followed the great _höst gilde_, or harvest feast, a very festive function when sturdy men and rosy-cheeked maidens danced hand-in-hand. then, later, in the same beautiful month of october, had followed another folk-festival, and mortin's day,[ ] when in the evening everybody ate "mortin's goose," stuffed with boiled apples and black fruit. sometimes, on some of the children's many trips over to play on the beach by the west sea, they had brought back pieces of amber washed up by the water. karl found some pretty big pieces to add to his rapidly growing collection of danish souvenirs, which now included not only the coral specimens, sea-gull's eggs and wing-feathers, but fanö amber, and, best of all, uncle thor's gift of the great white envelope and letter from the royal palace. peder sörensen was not a farmer himself. like most of the men of fanö, he was a sailor. it was the fanö wives who, in their picturesque though rather unbecoming dress, cultivated the land, drove the cattle to pasture and the sheep to graze among the sand-hills, and it was they who milked the fine "red danish" cows at night, and made the far-famed "best danish" butter, with which they welcomed home their seafaring husbands. fru anna sörensen, who had studied farming and dairying at the agricultural college, always presented a neat and attractive appearance in her dark blue dress with its one note of bright color down around the very hem, and her quaint red and blue kerchief head-dress, with its inevitable loose ends, which valdemar graphically described as "rabbit's ears." all the women of fanö dressed just so, except, of course, upon some great occasion like lowisa nielsen's wedding, which was to take place in november. almost before they knew it, the short summer had flown, and november, with its cool, bright days, had come, bringing lowisa nielsen's wedding invitation, which the _bydemand_,[ ] in white trousers, topboots, and a nosegay in his buttonhole, carried over to the sörensens on horseback. for propriety's sake, fru sörensen allowed him to knock a second time before opening the door, then politely asked him within. "greetings from the father and mother, and lowisa, to yourself, your husband and guests," he began, as he took the proffered seat. "your presence is truly desired at the wedding on thursday next at ten o'clock. come early, accompany the bridal party to the church, and hear their marriage service, return with them for dinner, remain for supper, then amuse yourselves with dancing and games the whole night; and then come again the next day, and take your places from the first day, and they will be sure to do the same for you when wanted from choice, on some enjoyable occasion." this unique invitation being delivered, the _bydemand_ arose as if to go, but fru sörensen, with danish hospitality, and according to an old custom, quickly produced a flagon of home-brewed beer, and a raisin-decorated wheaten cake, which she offered him. as he finished the flagon and was about to leave, he turned at the door to add, as though an afterthought: "then you must not forget to send a convenient amount of butter, eggs, a pail of fresh milk and two jars of cream." "i will gladly," replied fru sörensen, as he departed. on the wedding morning, at the appointed time, fru anna sörensen and her guests, fru ingemann, mrs. hoffman, and the children, who had never seen a peasant wedding before, drove over to the great nielsen _bonnegaard_,[ ] passed through the massive stone gateway, and into the open courtyard. they were graciously received by fru nielsen, and seated with the other guests upon wooden benches ranged around the walls of a spacious family apartment, whose polished rafters converged into a sharp-spiked peak at the centre. lowisa, a fair-haired, blue-eyed danish peasant maiden, to-day looked unusually attractive, decked out in bridal array,--a pretty but tight-fitting homespun, escaping the floor all around by several inches. from lowisa's richly gold-embroidered, tall scarlet cap, or "hood," as the danes call it, hung pendent innumerable brilliant ornaments--round balls of metal and other fantastic dangles, all waving and twinkling as she moved. extending from the back were vast bows and streamers of scarlet ribbon, under which she wore a head-dress of very rare and delicate lace. and the filmy white fichu, which crossed over her bosom, disclosed a rounded throat, circled by a bangle necklace of gold and silver coins. as soon as the last guest had arrived, the whole party was driven over to the church,--the bride and her family in the forward "rock-away," the bridegroom in the next, then, in another, a band of rustic musicians, who, as soon as all the guests were seated in the different vehicles, struck up a lively air. at the proper moment, the bridegroom, young nils rasmussen, a fine-looking fellow of true saxon type, took his position beside lowisa at the altar. on returning to the house, the little church party was met by an eager, expectant company of guests, who had been invited to join them for the wedding-dinner. the bridal couple took their places at the middle of the cross-tables, which were arranged to form a square, after the fashion of ancient banquet tables, and, when all the guests were seated, the serving-maids brought in great bowls of steaming rice, and placed four to each table, deftly dividing the contents of each into as many sections, by making deep cross-shaped indentures, into which they sprinkled cinnamon and sugar and poured a cupful of hot butter. then each guest, four to a bowl, lifted his spoon, dipped it into the delicious _gröd_, and began to eat. meats followed, with wheaten cakes, highly decorated, and home-brewed beer of a very peculiar, rich, honeyed taste, and with the singing of a beautiful old danish hymn the repast was brought to a close. then the room was cleared and the dancing began. it was certainly a beautiful sight, with every one decked out in festive attire. "_nie tak_,"[ ] coyly refused each girl upon her first invitation to dance, according to an old law of peasant decorum, which also prevented the bridal couple, who led the dancing, from speaking to, or even noticing each other again during the entire festivities. as the afternoon wore on the dancing continued. between seven and eight, supper without rice was served, followed immediately by more dancing, which continued until four o'clock in the morning. by ten o'clock the next morning the fiddlers had again arrived, and the dancing was renewed, this time with a noticeable increase in the number of rosy-cheeked, snowy-haired, elderly couples, in quaint holiday dress of homespun, with silver-buckled shoes. the bride continued to dance gracefully and bravely on, although paling cheeks told of her weariness. fru nielsen explained that the third and last day would only differ from the first in that there would be fewer guests present, after which all would begin making formal calls upon the bride, which was considered the height of good form. footnotes: [footnote : west sea.] [footnote : so named for martin luther.] [footnote : the "asking man."] [footnote : literally, "peasant's domain."] [footnote : "no, thank you."] chapter x jul-tide at grandmother ingemann's a freshly fallen, deep, feathery snow covered odense on christmas eve, and the merry jingle of sleigh-bells was in the air, as the little ingemann party reached fyen's prosperous capital. grandmother ingemann did not live within the town itself, but a long drive in a big sleigh brought her christmas guests within sight of the great old house with its many gables--all of the oddest stairway design--where most of her long, happy life had been lived. [illustration: "'welcome! and "glaedelig jul!'" called out both grandfather and grandmother ingemann"] although it was only the middle of the wintry afternoon, darkness was fast gathering, and from many a window on their way a candle's soft glow shone out through the fluttering snow to guide the wayfarer to warmth and cheer. "welcome! and _glaedelig jul_!"[ ] called out both grandfather and grandmother ingemann, who, in spite of the cold, had appeared on the door-step as the sleigh drew up. "_glaedelig jul!_" cried valdemar and karen, kissing their dear grandparents, as fru ingemann introduced aunt amalia and cousin karl. "where's uncle thor, and where's aage?" demanded valdemar as they entered the house. "and where's daddy? didn't daddy come?" was cousin karl's first question. "yes, dear children, everybody's here," gently answered grandmother ingemann, smiling as she glanced out of the window. out rushed the children to welcome the sleigh that came jingling up to the door, out of which jumped uncle thor, aage, and uncle oscar, just back from the states. such huggings and greetings as then took place! never had there been such a happy christmas family reunion at grandmother ingemann's for long years and years! since his mother had last seen him, aage had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered young man who carried himself with such fine military bearing--and preceded all his remarks with: "in my regiment"--that valdemar and karl soon idolized him. and as for skating--well, he would show them something in the half hour, or so, that still remained before the time to start for the annual christmas eve service at the little church on the hill. then it was valdemar's turn to receive compliments. uncle thor had great news! he announced that his talented little pupil's work had appeared at the fall exhibit of the academy,--and had won a prize! "a prize at the academy! oh, uncle thor!" exclaimed valdemar, throwing his arms about his distinguished master's neck for joy. "dear uncle thor! you didn't even tell me that my statue was to be entered at the academy exhibit this fall! oh, i am so happy!" compliments showered upon him from grandfather, and grandmother, and from his own dear mother, and everybody, so fast that he was glad to make his escape with aage and karl, who were starting out to the frozen lake, with their skates. aage and valdemar, like all danish boys, were famous skaters. karl was a fair one. soon the two brothers were outdoing each other cutting figure-eights, hearts and arrows on the ice, and aage even cut the face of his sweetheart. then, as the music of a waltz aunt amalia was playing reached them, they called: "come on, karl, it's easy," and proceeded to waltz on the ice as gracefully as if on a ballroom floor. but karl fell flat, and felt he had made a miserable failure. then they all came rushing into the house at the sight of several waiting sleighs at the door, which reminded them that it must be nearly time for the five o'clock christmas eve service. soon every one was bundled into warm furs and crowded into the sleighs, servants and all, and the happy little procession made its way through the falling snow to the church. as they passed through the village streets candle-lights gleamed from hundreds of windows, and here and there the children caught glimpses inside of brightly festooned little christmas trees, and of sheaves of wheat or rye, fastened to the window-shutters out in the snow for the birds; and, strangest of all, karl thought, were bowls of steaming hot oatmeal standing on many door-steps. but his mother explained to him that the bowls of oatmeal were placed there for the good little _jul-nissen_, the little people, or christmas nixies, the knee-high, little red-jacketed old men, with pointed red caps and long gray beards, who are supposed to form a part of every good danish household. when grandmother's sleighing party entered the little whitewashed church, and took the places reserved for them, they found it already full to overflowing, and a crowd gathering outside as well. the smiling priest in his dignified long black gown and deep-gauffered white _pibekrave_[ ] around his neck, joined heartily in the singing of hymns and carols, which were re-echoed by the voices of the greater throng standing out in the snow. then followed the christmas sermon, and the usual touching prayer "for our brethren in south jutland." it was holy eve, the one night in all the year when services are held by candle-light, and the myriad wax candles, burning on the altar, threw a soft and mysterious light over the spruce and laurel boughs decorating the chancel. the light snowfall had become a blinding snow storm before the little procession of sleighs had finally reached home, where the great dinner of the year was awaiting them, with its roast goose, stuffed with prunes and chestnuts, its cinnamon-flavored rice pudding, and a famous danish dessert called _röd gröd_, the repast ending with nuts, christmas cakes, candy and hot tea. low over the table, illumined with a dozen tiny, candle-lighted christmas trees, hung green festoons of laurel and spruce with a secreted sprig of mistletoe; while at every one's place were little mementoes, stuffed nixies, snappers, and a small danish flag,--except at uncle oscar's, aunt amalia's and karl's places, where the stars and stripes were thoughtfully combined with the _dannebrog_. towards the end of the dinner grandfather ingemann arose and proposed a toast to "our danish-american guests,"--whereupon all arose, touched glasses and drank, uttering the word for health, "_skaal!_" again, grandfather ingemann proposed the healths of "our illustrious court painter and his talented little pupil,"--when all again arose with their host, and the process was repeated. the last toast was "for our absent friends," after which grandfather made a complimentary little speech, wishing every one joy in the years to come. then all withdrew to the drawing-room, where the lights suddenly went out, and the folding-doors of an adjoining room were flung wide, where, in dazzling beauty, its topmost boughs brushing the rafters, stood the great jule-tree. then every one formed a circle around the tree, and grandfather distributed a basket of hymn books, from which all joined in singing that beautiful old danish carol, "a child is born in bethlehem." then, to the soft notes of a violin, all joined hands again, and slowly danced around the tree, singing as they danced another beautiful old carol. the servants were then called in, and grandfather ingemann called off the names, and distributed the presents. there were so many gifts for every one, from little karen up to grandfather ingemann himself, that the floor was soon covered deep with the tissue-paper wrappings. when the laughter and merrymaking had reached its height, there came a sharp ring at the door-bell, so sharp that every one paused in strange expectation, and little karen rushed to the door after the maid. in the fast-falling snow stood a tall man in a green uniform and a three-cornered hat, who handed a great white envelope to the servant, with the words: "to valdemar ingemann, from his majesty, king frederik," then quickly departed. karen rushed breathlessly back to her mother ahead of the serving-maid. "oh, mother! it was the king's _jaeger_! valdemar, it's for you! for you!" she cried, as the awe-stricken maid put into the boy's hands the great white envelope inscribed with the words: "to valdemar ingemann, from his majesty, the king." every one looked inquiringly at every one else, but in the court painter's eye there lurked a knowing twinkle. "oh, mother! _mother!_ oh, _uncle thor_!" excitedly exclaimed the little artist, dancing about the room. "it's from my friend the king! he says he has visited the academy and seen with great pleasure my statue of little prince olaf of norway. he congratulates me upon winning a prize, and, mother dear, he wants to see me at the palace, thursday, at one!" * * * * * even before twelfth night had come and gone, the american relatives had said their good-byes to copenhagen and to the ingemanns, and sailed for new york. valdemar, accompanied by his uncle thor, had made the call at the palace, and been entered as a student at the academy, with the king's promise to him of long years of study in rome just as soon as he was ready for it. so we too will bid good-bye to our ambitious little danish cousin, with his rose-colored dreams of the future. the end. footnotes: [footnote : "merry christmas."] [footnote : starched ruffle.] selections from the page company's books for young people the blue bonnet series _each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =a texas blue bonnet= by caroline e. jacobs. 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"the story is intensely interesting, and one gains an intimate knowledge of the methods and works in the great car shops not easily gained elsewhere."--_baltimore sun._ "it appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and perseverance."--_cleveland plain dealer._ "the lessons that the books teach in development of uprightness, honesty and true manly character are sure to appeal to the reader."--_the american boy._ the little colonel books (trade mark) by annie fellows johnston _each large mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume_ $ . =the little colonel stories= (trade mark) being three "little colonel" stories in the cosy corner series, "the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," in a single volume. =the little colonel's house party= (trade mark) =the little colonel's holidays= (trade mark) =the little colonel's hero= (trade mark) =the little colonel at boarding-school= (trade mark) =the little colonel in arizona= (trade mark) =the little colonel's christmas vacation= (trade mark) =the little colonel, maid of honor= (trade mark) =the little colonel's knight comes riding= (trade mark) =mary ware: the little colonel's chum= (trade mark) =mary ware in texas= =mary ware's promised land= _these twelve volumes, boxed as a set_, $ . . special holiday editions _each small quarto, cloth decorative, per volume_ $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. =the little colonel= (trade mark) =two little knights of kentucky= =the giant scissors= =big brother= the johnston jewel series _each small mo, cloth decorative, with frontispiece and decorative text borders, per volume_ _net_ $ . =in the desert of waiting:= the legend of camelback mountain. =the three weavers:= a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as for their daughters. =keeping tryst:= a tale of king arthur's time. =the legend of the bleeding heart= =the rescue of princess winsome:= a fairy play for old and young. =the jester's sword= =the little colonel's good times book= uniform in size with the little colonel series $ . bound in white kid (morocco) and gold _net_ . cover design and decorations by peter verberg. "a mighty attractive volume in which the owner may record the good times she has on decorated pages, and under the directions as it were of annie fellows johnston."--_buffalo express._ * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page , "lommetorklaede" changed to "lommetørklæde" (karen, mit lommetørklæde) page , "raadhaus" changed to "raadhus" (new raadhus-plads) page , "nytory" changed to "nytorv" (kongens nytorv) generously made available by the google books library project (http://books.google.com/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through the the google books library project. see http://books.google.com/books?vid=maybaaaaqaaj&id transcriber's note: obvious typographical errors have been corrected, but otherwise the original spelling has generally been retained, even where several different spellings have been used to refer to the same person. the printed book contained footnotes and endnotes. the endnotes have been treated as footnotes, and marked with anchors prefixed by e, as in [e ]. when one endnote is referenced twice, the second occurence is marked by adding a b, as in [e b], and the text of the endnote is repeated in the appropriate place. the printed book contained a few features, such as greek text and illustrations, that could not be reproduced in this format. these have been marked in the text using {curly braces}. a list of corrections is at the end of this e-book. memoirs of leonora christina daughter of christian iv. of denmark written during her imprisonment in the blue tower at copenhagen - translated by f. e. bunnètt london henry s. king & co., cornhill london: printed by spottiswoode and co., new-street square and parliament street all rights reserved preface. in placing the present translation of leonora christina ulfeldt's memoirs before the english reading public, a few words are due from the publishers, in order to explain the relation between this edition and those which have been brought out in denmark and in germany. the original autograph manuscript of leonora christina's record of her sufferings in her prison, written between the years and , belongs to her descendant the austrian count joh. waldstein, and it was discovered only a few years ago. it was then, at the desire of count waldstein, brought to copenhagen by the danish minister at vienna, m. falbe, in order that its authenticity might be thoroughly verified by comparison with documents preserved in the danish archives and libraries, and known to be in the hand-writing of the illustrious authoress. when the existence of this interesting historic and literary relic had become known in denmark, a desire to see it published was naturally expressed on all sides, and to this the noble owner most readily acceded. thus the first danish edition came to light in , promoted in every way by count waldstein. the editor was mr. sophus birket-smith, assistant librarian of the university library at copenhagen, who enriched the edition with a historical introduction and copious notes. a second danish edition appeared a few months later; and in a german translation of the memoir was edited by m. ziegler, with a new introduction and notes, founded partly on the first danish edition, partly on other printed sources, to which were added extracts from some papers found in the family archives of count waldstein, and which were supposed to possess the interest of novelty. the applause with which this edition was received in germany suggested the idea of an english version, and it was at first intended merely to translate m. ziegler's book into english. during the progress of the work, however, it was found preferable to adopt the second danish edition as the basis of the english edition. the translation which had been made from m. ziegler's german, has been carefully compared with the danish original, so as to remove any defects arising from the use of the german translation, and give it the same value as a translation made direct from the danish; a new introduction and notes have been added, for which the danish editor, mr. birket-smith has supplied the materials; and instead of the fragments of ulfeldt's apology and of an extract from leonora christina's autobiography found in the german edition, a complete translation of the autobiography to the point where leonora's memoir of her sufferings in prison takes up the thread of the narrative, has been inserted, made from the original french text, recently published by mr. s. birket-smith. as a matter of course the preface of count waldstein, which appears in this edition, is the one prefixed to the danish edition. the manuscript itself of the record of leonora christina's sufferings in prison was commenced in , and was at first intended to commemorate only what had happened during the preceding ten years of her captivity; it was afterwards extended to embrace the whole period down to , and subjected to a revision which resulted in numerous additions and alterations. as, however, these do not seem to have been properly worked in by the authoress herself, the memoir is here rendered, as in the danish edition, in its original, more perfect shape, and the subsequent alterations made the subject of foot notes. preface to the danish edition. when, in the summer of , i visited the graves of my danish ancestors of the family of ulfeldt, in the little village church at quærndrup, near the castle of egeskov, on the island of fyn, i resolved to honour the memory of my pious ancestress leonora christina, and thus fulfil the duty of a descendant by publishing this autograph manuscript which had come to me amongst the heirlooms left by my father. it is well known that the last male representative of the family of ulfeldt, the chancellor of the court and realm of her majesty the empress maria theresia, had only two daughters. one of them, elizabeth, married georg christian, count waldstein, while the younger married count thun. out of special affection for her younger son emanuel (my late father), my grandmother bequeathed all that referred to the ulfeldts to him, and the manuscript which i now--in consequence of requests from various quarters, also from high places--give to publicity by the learned assistance of mr. sophus birket-smith, thus came to me through direct descent from her father: 'corfitz, count of ulfeldt of the holy roman empire, lord of the lordships költz-jenikau, hof-kazof, brödlich, odaslowitz, and the fief zinltsch, knight of the golden vliess, first treasurer of the hereditary lands in bohemia, ambassador at the ottoman porte, afterwards chancellor of the court and the empire, sworn privy councillor and first lord steward of his imperial and royal majesty carolus vi., as well as of his imperial roman and royal majesty of hungary, bohemia,' &c. we add: the highly honoured paternal guide of her majesty the queen empress maria theresia, of glorious memory, during the first year of her government, until the time when the gifted prince kaunitz, whose genius sometimes even was too much for this, morally noble lady, became her successor. i possess more than eleven imposing, closely written folio volumes, which contain the manuscripts of the chancellor of the empire, his negociations with the sublime porte, afterwards with the states-general of the netherlands, as well as the ministerial protocols from the whole time that he held the office of imperial chancellor; all of which prove his great industry and love of order, while the original letters and annotations of his exalted mistress, which are inserted in these same volumes, testify to the sincere, almost childlike confidence with which she honoured him. but this steady and circumspect statesman was the direct grandson of the restless and proud corfitz, first count of ulfeldt of the roman empire, high steward of the realm in denmark, &c., and of his devoted and gifted wife leonora christina, through their son leo, imperial count ulfeldt, privy councillor, field-marshal, and viceroy in catalonia of the emperor carl vi., and his wife, a born countess of zinzendorf. i preserved, therefore with great care this manuscript, as well as all other relics and little objects which had belonged to my danish ancestress, whose exalted character and sufferings are so highly calculated to inspire sympathy, interest, and reverence. amongst these objects are several writings, such as fragments of poems, prayers, needlework executed in prison (some embroidered with hair of a fair colour); a christening robe with cap worked in gold, probably used at the christening of her children; a very fine amulet of christian iv. in blue enamel, and many portraits; amongst others the original picture in oil of which a copy precedes the title page, &c. &c. considering that the manuscript has been handed down directly from my ancestors from generation to generation in direct line, i could not personally have any doubt as to its genuineness. nevertheless i yielded to the suggestions of others, in order to have the authenticity of the manuscript thoroughly tested. in what way this was done will be seen from the introduction of the editor. though the final verdict of history may not yet have been given on corfitz ulfeldt, yet--tempus omnia sanat--yon ominous pillar, which was to perpetuate the memory of his crime into eternity, has been put aside as rubbish and left to oblivion. noble in forgetting and pardoning, the great nation of the north has given a bright example to those who still refuse to grant to albert, duke of friedland--the great general who saved the empire from the danger that threatened it from the north--the place which this hero ought to occupy in the walhalla at vienna. but as to the fiery temper of corfitz and the mysterious springs which govern the deeds and thoughts of mankind, it may be permitted to me, his descendant, to cherish the belief, which is almost strengthened into a conviction, that a woman so highly gifted, of so noble sentiments, as leonora appears to us, would never have been able to cling with a love so true, and so enduring through all the changes of life, to a man who was unworthy of it. joh. count waldstein. cairo: december , . contents. page introduction autobiography a record of the sufferings of the imprisoned countess:-- preface (to my children) a reminiscence of all that occurred to me, leonora christina, in the blue tower, from august of the year , to june of the year memoirs of leonora christina. introduction. amongst the women celebrated in history, leonora christina, the heroine as well as the authoress of the memoirs which form the subject of this volume, occupies a conspicuous place, as one of the noblest examples of every womanly virtue and accomplishment, displayed under the most trying vicissitudes of fortune. born the daughter of a king, married to one of the ablest statesmen of his time, destined, as it seemed, to shine in the undisturbed lustre of position and great qualities, she had to spend nearly twenty-two years in a prison, in the forced company--more cruel to her than solitary confinement--of male and female gaolers of the lowest order, and for a long time deprived of every means of rendering herself independent of these surroundings by intellectual occupation. she had to suffer alone, and innocently, for her husband's crimes; whatever these were, she had no part in them, and she endured persecution because she would not forsake him in his misfortune. leonora christina was the victim of despotism guided by personal animosity, and she submitted with a christian meekness and forbearance which would be admirable in any, but which her exalted station and her great mental qualities bring out in doubly strong relief. it is to these circumstances, which render the fate of leonora so truly tragic, as well as to the fact that we have her own authentic and trustworthy account before us, that the principal charm of this record is due. besides this, it affords many incidental glimpses of the customs and habits of the time, nor is it without its purely historical interest. leonora and her husband, corfits ulfeldt, were intimately connected with the principal political events in the north of europe at their time; even the more minute circumstances of their life have, therefore, a certain interest. no wonder that the history of this illustrious couple has formed, and still forms, the theme both of laborious scientific researches and of poetical compositions. amongst the latter we may here mention in passing a well-known novel by rousseau de la valette,[ ] because it has had the undeserved honour of being treated by a modern writer as an historical source, to the great detriment of his composition. documents which have originated from these two personages are of course of great value. besides letters and public documents, there exist several accounts written by both corfits ulfeldt and leonora referring to their own life and actions. ulfeldt published in a defence of his political conduct, and composed, shortly before his death, another, commonly called the 'apology of ulfeldt,' which has not yet been printed entirely, but of which an extract was published in in the supplement of the english edition of rousseau de la valette's book. some extracts from an incomplete copy discovered by count waldstein in , in the family archives at the castle of palota, were published with the german edition of leonora's memoir; complete copies exist in copenhagen and elsewhere. leonora christina, who was an accomplished writer, has composed at least four partial accounts of her own life. one of them, referring to a journey in , to be mentioned hereafter, has been printed long ago; of another, which treated of her and ulfeldt's imprisonment at bornholm, no copy has yet been discovered. the third is her autobiography, carried down to , of which an english version follows this introduction; it was written in the blue tower, in the form of a letter to the danish antiquarian, otto sperling, jun., who wished to make use of it for his work, 'de feminis doctis.'[ ] [ ] _le comte d'ulfeld, grand maistre de danemarc._ _nouvelle historique_, i.-ii. paris, . vo. an english translation, with a supplement, appeared : _the life of count ulfeldt, great master of denmark, and of the countess eleonora his wife._ done out of french. with a supplement. london. . vo. another novel by the same author, called _casimir king of poland_, is perhaps better known in this country, through a translation by f. spence in vol. ii. of _modern novels_, . [ ] it is by a slip of memory that mr. birket smith, in his first danish edition of leonora christina's memoir of her life in prison, describes this work under the name of _de feminis eruditis_. about a century ago a so-called autobiography of leonora was published in copenhagen, but it was easily proved to be a forgery; in fact, the original of her own work existed in the danish archives, and had been described by the historian andreas höier. it has now been lost, it is supposed, in the fire which destroyed the castle of christiansborg in , but a complete copy exists in copenhagen, as well as several extracts in latin; another short extract in french belongs to count waldstein. finally, leonora christina wrote the memoir of her sufferings in the prison of the blue tower from - , of which the existence was unknown until discovered by count waldstein, and given to the public in the manner indicated in the preface. in introducing these memoirs to the english public, a short sketch of the historical events and the persons to whom they refer may not be unwelcome, particularly as leonora herself touches only very lightly on them, and principally describes her own personal life. _leonora christina_ was a daughter of _king christian iv._ of denmark and _kirstine munk_. his queen, anna catherine, born a princess of brandenburg, died in , leaving three princes (four other children died early), and in the king contracted a morganatic marriage with kirstine munk, a lady of an ancient and illustrious noble family. leonora was born july (new style), , at the castle of fredriksborg, so well known to all who have visited denmark, which the king had built twenty miles north of copenhagen, in a beautiful part of the country, surrounded by smiling lakes and extensive forests. but little is known of her childhood beyond what she tells herself in her autobiography. already in her eighth year she was promised to her future husband, corfits ulfeldt, and in the wedding was celebrated with great splendour, leonora being then fifteen years old. the family of ulfeldt has been known since the close of the fourteenth century. corfits' father had been chancellor of the realm, and somewhat increased the family possessions, though he sold the ancient seat of the family, ulfeldtsholm, in fyen, to lady ellen marsvin, kirstine munk's mother. he had seventeen children, of whom corfits was the seventh; and so far leonora made only a poor marriage. but her husband's great talents and greater ambition made up for this defect. of his youth nothing is known with any certainty, except that he travelled abroad, as other young noblemen of his time, studied at padua, and acquired considerable proficiency in foreign languages.[ ] he became a favourite of christian iv., at whose court he had every opportunity for displaying his social talents. at the marriage of the elected successor to the throne, the king's eldest son, christian, with the princess magdalene sibylle of saxony, in , corfits ulfeldt acted as maréchal to the special ambassador count d'avaux, whom louis xiii. had sent to copenhagen on that occasion, in which situation ulfeldt won golden opinions,[ ] and he was one of the twelve noblemen whom the king on the wedding-day made knights of the elephant. after a visit to paris in , in order to be cured of a wound in the leg which the danish physicians could not heal, he obtained the sanction of the king for his own marriage with leonora, which was solemnised at the castle of copenhagen, on october , , with as much splendour as those of the princes and princesses. leonora was the favourite daughter of christian iv., and as far as royal favour could ensure happiness, it might be said to be in store for the newly-married pair. [ ] la valette's account of his participation in the thirty years' war is entirely fictitious, as almost all that he tells of ulfeldt's travels, &c. [ ] see _caroli ogerii ephemerides sive, iter danicum, svecicum, polonicum, &c._ paris, . vo. p. , , , by d'avaux's secretary, ogier. as we have stated, ulfeldt was a poor nobleman; and it is characteristic of them both that one of her first acts was to ask him about his debts, which he could not but have incurred living as he had done, and to pay them by selling her jewels and ornaments, to the amount of , dollars, or more than , _l._ in english money--then a very large sum. but the king's favour soon procured him what he wanted; he was made a member of the great council, governor of copenhagen, and chancellor of the exchequer. he executed several diplomatic missions satisfactorily; and when, in , he was sent to vienna as special ambassador, the emperor of germany, ferdinand iii., made him a count of the german empire. finally, in , he was made lord high steward of denmark, the highest dignity and most responsible office in the kingdom. he was now at the summit of power and influence, and if he had used his talents and opportunities in the interests of his country, he might have earned the everlasting gratitude of his king and his people. but he was not a great man, though he was a clever and ambitious man. he accumulated enormous wealth, bought extensive landed estates, spent considerable sums in purchasing jewels and costly furniture, and lived in a splendid style; but it was all at the cost of the country. in order to enrich himself, he struck base coin (which afterwards was officially reduced to its proper value, per cent. below the nominal value), and used probably other unlawful means for this purpose, while the crown was in the greatest need of money. at the same time he neglected the defences of the country in a shameful manner, and when the swedish government, in december , suddenly ordered its army, which then stood in germany, engaged in the thirty years' war, to attack denmark without any warning, there were no means of stopping its victorious progress. in vain the veteran king collected a few vessels and compelled the far more numerous swedish fleet to fly, after a furious battle near femern, where he himself received twenty-three wounds, and where two of ulfeldt's brothers fell fighting at his side; there was no army in the land, because corfits, at the head of the nobility, had refused the king the necessary supplies. and, although the peace which ulfeldt concluded with sweden and holland at brömsebro, in , might have been still more disastrous than it was, if the negotiation had been entrusted to less skilful hands, yet there was but too much truth in the reproachful words of the king, when, after ratifying the treaties, he tossed them to corfits saying, 'there you have them, such as you have made them!' from this time the king began to lose his confidence in ulfeldt, though the latter still retained his important offices. in the following year he went to holland and to france on a diplomatic mission, on which occasion he was accompanied by leonora. everywhere their personal qualities, their relationship to the sovereign, and the splendour of their appearance, procured them the greatest attention and the most flattering reception. while at the hague leonora gave birth to a son, whom the states-general offered to grant a pension for life of a thousand florins, which, however, ulfeldt wisely refused. in paris they were loaded with presents; and in the memoirs of madame langloise de motteville on the history of anna of austria (ed. of amsterdam, , ii. - ) there is a striking _récit_ of the appearance and reception of ulfeldt and leonora at the french court. on their way home leonora took an opportunity of making a short trip to london, which capital she wished to see, while her husband waited for her in the netherlands. if, however, this journey brought ulfeldt and his wife honours and presents on the part of foreigners, it did not give satisfaction at home. the diplomatic results of the mission were not what the king had hoped, and he even refused to receive ulfeldt on his return. soon the turning-point in his career arrived. in king christian iv. died, under circumstances which for a short time concentrated extraordinary power in ulfeldt's hands, but of which he did not make a wise use. denmark was then still an elective monarchy, and the nobles had availed themselves of this and other circumstances to free themselves from all burdens, and at the same time to deprive both the crown and the other estates of their constitutional rights to a very great extent. all political power was virtually vested in the council of the realm, which consisted exclusively of nobles, and there remained for the king next to nothing, except a general supervision of the administration, and the nomination of the ministers. every successive king had been obliged to purchase his election by fresh concessions to the nobles, and the sovereign was little more than the president of an aristocratic republic. christian iv. had caused his eldest son christian to be elected successor in his own lifetime; but this prince died in , and when the king himself died in , the throne was vacant. as lord high steward, ulfeldt became president of the regency, and could exercise great influence on the election. he did not exert himself to bring this about very quickly, but there is no ground for believing that he meditated the election either of himself or of his brother-in-law, count valdemar, as some have suggested. the children of kirstine munk being the offspring of a morganatic marriage, had not of course equal rank with princes and princesses; but in christian iv.'s lifetime they received the same honours, and ulfeldt made use of the interregnum to obtain the passage of a decree by the council, according them rank and honours equal with the princes of the royal house. but as the nobles were in nowise bound to choose a prince of the same family, or even a prince at all, this decree cannot be interpreted as evidence of a design to promote the election of count valdemar. the overtures of the duke of gottorp, who attempted to bribe ulfeldt to support his candidature, were refused by him, at least according to his own statement. but ulfeldt did make use of his position to extort a more complete surrender of the royal power into the hands of the nobility than any king had yet submitted to, and the new king, fredrik iii., was compelled to promise, amongst other things, to fill up any vacancy amongst the ministers with one out of three candidates proposed by the council of the realm. the new king, fredrik iii., christian iv.'s second son, had never been friendly to ulfeldt. this last action of the high steward did not improve the feelings with which he regarded him, and when the coronation had taken place (for which ulfeldt advanced the money), he expressed his thoughts at the banquet in these words: 'corfitz, you have to-day bound my hands; who knows, who can bind yours in return?' the new queen, a saxon princess, hated ulfeldt and the children of kirstine munk on account of their pretensions, but particularly leonora christina, whose beauty and talents she heartily envied. nevertheless ulfeldt retained his high offices for some time, and in he went again to holland on a diplomatic mission, accompanied by his wife. it is remarkable that the question which formed the principal subject of the negotiation on that occasion was one which has found its proper solution only in our days--namely, that of a redemption of the sound dues. this impost, levied by the danish crown on all vessels passing the sound, weighed heavily on the shipping interest, and frequently caused disagreement between denmark and the governments mostly interested in the baltic trade, particularly sweden and the dutch republic. it was with especial regard to the sound dues that the dutch government was constantly interfering in the politics of the north, with a view of preventing denmark becoming too powerful; for which purpose it always fomented discord between denmark and sweden, siding now with the one, now with the other, but rather favouring the design of sweden to conquer the ancient danish provinces, skaane, &c., which were east of the sound, and which now actually belong to sweden. corfits ulfeldt calculated that, if the dutch could be satisfied on the point of the sound dues, their unfavourable interference might be got rid of; and for this purpose he proposed to substitute an annual payment by the dutch government for the payment of the dues by the individual ships. christian iv. had never assented to this idea, and of course the better course would have been the one adopted in --namely, the redemption of the dues by all states at once for a proportionate consideration paid once for all. still the leading thought was true, and worthy of a great statesman. ulfeldt concluded a treaty with holland according to his views, but it met with no favour at copenhagen, and on his return he found that in his absence measures had been taken to restrict his great power; his conduct of affairs was freely criticised, and his enemies had even caused the nomination of a committee to investigate his past administration, more particularly his financial measures. at the same time the new court refused leonora christina and the other children of kirstine munk the princely honours which they had hitherto enjoyed. amongst other marks of distinction, christian iv. had granted his wife and her children the title of counts and countesses of slesvig and holstein, but fredrik iii. declined to acknowledge it, although it could have no political importance, being nothing but an empty title, as neither kirstine munk nor her children had anything whatever to do with either of these principalities. ulfeldt would not suffer himself to be as it were driven from his high position by these indications of disfavour on the part of the king and the queen (the latter was really the moving spring in all this), but he resolved to show his annoyance by not going to court, where his wife did not now receive the usual honours. this conduct only served to embolden those who desired to oust him from his lucrative offices, not because they were better patriots, but because they hoped to succeed him. for this purpose a false accusation was brought against ulfeldt and leonora christina, to the effect that they had the intention of poisoning the king and the queen. information on this plot was given to the queen personally, by a certain dina vinhowers, a widow of questionable reputation, who declared that she had an illicit connection with ulfeldt, and that she had heard a conversation on the subject between corfits ulfeldt and leonora, when on a clandestine visit in the high steward's house. she was prompted by a certain walter, originally a son of a wheelwright, who by bravery in the war had risen from the ranks to the position of a colonel, and who in his turn was evidently a tool in the hands of other parties. the information was graciously received at court; but dina, who, as it seems, was a person of weak or unsound mind, secretly, without the knowledge of her employers, warned ulfeldt and leonora christina of some impending danger, thus creating a seemingly inextricable confusion. at length ulfeldt demanded a judicial investigation, which was at once set on foot, but in which, of course, he occupied the position of a defendant on account of dina's information. in the end dina was condemned to death and walter was exiled. but the statements of the different persons implicated, and particularly of dina herself at different times, were so conflicting, that the matter was really never entirely cleared up, and though ulfeldt was absolved of all guilt, his enemies did their best in order that some suspicion might remain. if ulfeldt had been wise, he might probably have turned this whole affair to his own advantage; but he missed the opportunity. utterly absurd as the accusation was, he seems to have felt very keenly the change of his position, and on the advice of leonora, who did not doubt that some other expedient would be tried by his enemies, perhaps with more success, he resolved to leave denmark altogether. after having sent away the most valuable part of his furniture and movable property, and placed abroad his amassed capital, he left copenhagen secretly and at night, on july , , three days after the execution of dina. the gates of the fortress were closed at a certain hour every evening, but he had a key made for the eastern gate, and ere sunrise he and leonora, who was disguised as a valet, were on board a vessel on their way to holland. the consequences of this impolitic flight were most disastrous. he had not laid down his high offices, much less rendered an account of his administration; nothing was more natural than to suppose that he wished to avoid an investigation. a few weeks later a royal summons was issued, calling upon him to appear at the next meeting of the diet, and answer for his conduct; his offices, and the fiefs with which he had been beneficed, were given to others, and an embargo was laid on his landed estates. leonora christina describes in her autobiography how ulfeldt meanwhile first went to holland, and thence to sweden, where queen christina, who certainly was not favourably disposed to denmark, received ulfeldt with marked distinction, and promised him her protection. but she does not tell how ulfeldt here used every opportunity for stirring up enmity against denmark, both in sweden itself and in other countries, whose ambassadors he tried to bring over to his ideas. on this painful subject there can be no doubt after the publication of so many authentic state papers of that time, amongst which we may mention the reports of whitelock, the envoy of cromwell, to whom ulfeldt represented that denmark was too weak to resist an attack, and that the british government might easily obtain the abolition of the sound dues by war. it seems, however, as if ulfeldt did all this merely to terrify the danish king into a reconciliation with him on terms honourable and advantageous to the voluntarily exiled magnate. representations were several times made with such a view by the swedish government, and in leonora christina herself undertook a journey to copenhagen, in order to arrange the matter. but the danish government was inaccessible to all such attempts. this attitude was intelligible enough, for not only had ulfeldt left denmark in the most unceremonious manner, but in he published in stralsund a defence against the accusations of which he had been the subject, full of gross insults against the king; and in the following year he had issued an insolent protest against the royal summons to appear and defend himself before the diet, declaring himself a swedish subject. but, above all, the influence of the queen was too great to allow of any arrangement with ulfeldt. the king was entirely led by her; she, from her german home, was filled with the most extravagant ideas of absolute despotism, and hated the free speech and the independent spirit prevailing among the danish nobility, of which ulfeldt in that respect was a true type. leonora christina was compelled to return in , without even seeing the king, and as a fugitive. it is of this journey that she has given a danish account, besides the description in the autobiography. it may be questioned whether it would not have been wise, if possible, to conciliate this dangerous man; but at any rate it was not done, and ulfeldt was, no doubt, still more exasperated. queen christina had then resigned, and her successor, carl gustav, shortly after engaged in a war in poland. the danish government, foolishly overrating its strength, took the opportunity for declaring war against sweden, in the hope of regaining some of the territory lost in . but carl gustav, well knowing that the poles could not carry the war into sweden, immediately turned his whole force against denmark, where he met with next to no resistance. ulfeldt was then living at barth, in pommerania, an estate which he held in mortgage for large sums of money advanced to the swedish government. carl gustav summoned ulfeldt to follow him, and ulfeldt obeyed the summons against the advice of leonora christina, who certainly did not desire her native country to be punished for the wrongs, if such they were, inflicted upon her by the court. the war had been declared on june , ; in august ulfeldt issued a proclamation to the nobility in jutland, calling on them to transfer their allegiance to the swedish king. in the subsequent winter a most unusually severe frost enabled the swedish army to cross the sounds and belts on the ice, ulfeldt assisting its progress by persuading the commander of the fortress of nakskov to surrender without resistance; and in february the danish government had to accept such conditions of peace as could be obtained from the swedish king, who had halted a couple of days' march from copenhagen. by this peace denmark surrendered all her provinces to the east of the sound (skaane, &c.), which constituted one-third of the ancient danish territory, and which have ever since belonged to sweden, besides her fleet, &c. but the greatest humiliation was that the negotiation on the swedish side was entrusted to ulfeldt, who did not fail to extort from the danish crown the utmost that the neutral powers would allow. for himself he obtained restitution of his estates, freedom to live in denmark unmolested, and a large indemnity for loss of income of his estates since his flight in . the king of sweden also rewarded him with the title of a count of sölvitsborg and with considerable estates in the provinces recently wrested from denmark. ulfeldt himself went to reside at malmö, the principal town in skaane, situated on the sound, just opposite copenhagen, and here he was joined by leonora christina. in her autobiography leonora does not touch on the incidents of the war, but she describes how her anxiety for her husband's safety did not allow her to remain quietly at barth, and how she was afterwards called to her mother's sick-bed, which she had to leave in order to nurse her husband, who fell ill at malmö. we may here state that kirstine munk had fallen into disgrace, when leonora was still a child, on account of her flagrant infidelity to the king, her paramour being a german count of solms. kirstine munk left the court voluntarily in ,[ ] shortly after the birth of a child, whom the king would not acknowledge as his own; and after having stayed with her mother for a short time, she took up her residence at the old manor of boller, in north jutland, where she remained until her death in . [ ] la valette's account of a lawsuit instituted by the king against kirstine munk, in which she was defended by ulfeldt--of ulfeldt's duel with hannibal sehested, afterwards his brother-in-law, &c.--is entirely fictitious. no such things took place. various attempts were made to reconcile christian iv. to her, but he steadily refused, and with very good reason: he was doubtless well aware that kirstine munk, as recently published diplomatic documents prove, had betrayed his political secrets to gustav adolf, the king of sweden, and he considered her presence at court very dangerous. her son-in-law was now openly in the service of another swedish king, but the friendship between them was not of long duration. ulfeldt first incurred the displeasure of carl gustav by heading the opposition of the nobility in the newly acquired provinces against certain imposts laid on them by the swedish king, to which they had not been liable under danish rule. then other causes of disagreement arose. carl gustav, regretting that he had concluded a peace, when in all probability he might have conquered the whole of denmark, recommenced the war, and laid siege to copenhagen. but the danish people now rose as one man; foreign assistance was obtained; the swedes were everywhere beaten; and if the dutch, who were bound by treaty to assist denmark, had not refused their co-operation in transferring the danish troops across the sound, all the lost provinces might easily have been regained. the inhabitants in some of these provinces also rose against their new rulers. amongst others, the citizens of malmö, where ulfeldt at the time resided, entered into a conspiracy to throw off the swedish dominion; but it was betrayed, and ulfeldt was indicated as one of the principal instigators, although he himself had accepted their forced homage to the swedish king, as his deputy. very probably he had thought that, if he took a part in the rising, he might, if this were successful, return to denmark, having as it were thus wiped out his former crimes, but having also shown his countrymen what a terrible foe he could be. as it was, denmark was prevented by her own allies from regaining her losses, and ulfeldt was placed in custody in malmö, by order of carl gustav, in order that his conduct might be subjected to a rigorous examination. ulfeldt was then apparently seized with a remarkable malady, a kind of apoplexy, depriving him of speech, and leonora christina conducted his defence. she wrote three lengthy, vigorous, and skilful replies to the charges, which still exist in the originals. he was acquitted, or rather escaped by a verdict of not proven; but as conscience makes cowards, he contrived to escape before the verdict was given. leonora christina describes all this in her autobiography, according to which ulfeldt was to go to lubeck, while she would go to copenhagen, and try to put matters straight there. ulfeldt, however, changed his plan without her knowledge, and also repaired to copenhagen, where they were both arrested and sent to the castle of hammershuus, on the island of bornholm in the baltic, an ancient fortress, now a most picturesque ruin, perched at the edge of perpendicular rocks, overhanging the sea, and almost surrounded by it. the autobiography relates circumstantially, and no doubt truthfully, the cruel treatment to which they were here subjected by the governor, a major-general fuchs. after a desperate attempt at escape, they were still more rigorously guarded, and at length they had to purchase their liberty by surrendering the whole of their property, excepting one estate in fyen. ulfeldt had to make the most humble apologies, and to promise not to leave the island of fyen, where this estate was situated, without special permission. he was also compelled to renounce on the part of his wife the title of a countess of slesvig-holstein, which fredrik iii. had never acknowledged. she never made use of that title afterwards, nor is she generally known by it in history. corfits ulfeldt being a count of the german empire, of course leonora and her children were, and remained, counts and countesses of ulfeldt. this compromise was effected in . having been conveyed to copenhagen, ulfeldt could not obtain an audience of the king, and he was obliged, kneeling, to tender renewed oath of allegiance before the king's deputies, count rantzow, general hans schack, the chancellor redtz, and the chancellor of the exchequer, christofer gabel, all of whom are mentioned in leonora's account of her subsequent prison life. a few days after, corfits ulfeldt and leonora christina left copenhagen, which he was never to see again, she only as a prisoner. they retired to the estate of ellensborg, in fyen, which they had still retained. this was the ancient seat of the ulfeldts, which corfits' father had sold to ellen marsvin, leonora christina's grandmother, and which had come to leonora through her mother. in the meanwhile it had been renamed and rebuilt such as it stands to this day, a picturesque pile of buildings in the elizabethan style. here ulfeldt might have ended his stormy life in quiet, but his thirst for revenge left him no peace. besides this, a great change had taken place in denmark. the national revival which followed the renewal of the war by carl gustav in led to a total change in the form of government. it was indisputable that the selfishness of the nobles, who refused to undertake any burden for the defence of the country, was the main cause of the great disasters that had befallen denmark. the abolition of their power was loudly called for, and the queen so cleverly turned this feeling to account, that the remedy adopted was not the restoration of the other classes of the population to their legitimate constitutional influence, but the entire abolition of the constitution itself, and the introduction of hereditary, unlimited despotism. the title 'hereditary king,' which so often occurs in danish documents and writings from that time, also in leonora's memoir, has reference to this change. undoubtedly this was very little to ulfeldt's taste. already, in the next year after his release, , he obtained leave to go abroad for his health. but, instead of going to spaa, as he had pretended, he went to amsterdam, bruges, and paris, where he sought interviews with louis xiv. and the french ministers; he also placed himself in communication with the elector of brandenburg, with a view of raising up enemies against his native country. the elector gave information to the danish government, whilst apparently lending an ear to ulfeldt's propositions. when a sufficient body of evidence had been collected, it was laid before the high court of appeal in copenhagen, and judgment given in his absence, whereby he was condemned to an ignominious death as a traitor, his property confiscated, his descendants for ever exiled from denmark, and a large reward offered for his apprehension. the sentence is dated july , . meanwhile ulfeldt had been staying with his family at bruges. one day one of his sons, christian, saw general fuchs, who had treated his parents so badly at hammershuus, driving through the city in a carriage; immediately he leaped on to the carriage and killed fuchs on the spot. christian ulfeldt had to fly, but the parents remained in bruges, where they had many friends. it was in the following spring, on may , , that leonora christina, much against her own inclination, left her husband--as it proved, not to see him again alive. ulfeldt had on many occasions used his wealth in order to gain friends, by lending them money--probably the very worst method of all. it is proved that at his death he still held bonds for more than , dollars, or , _l._, which he had lent to various princes and noblemen, and which were never paid. amongst others he had lent the pretender, afterwards charles ii., a large sum, about , patacoons, which at the time he had raised with some difficulty. he doubted not that the king of england, now that he was able to do it, would recognise the debt and repay it; and he desired leonora, who, through her father, was cousin of charles ii., once removed, to go to england and claim it. she describes this journey in her autobiography. the danish government, hearing of her presence in england, thought that ulfeldt was there too, or hoped at any rate to obtain possession of important documents by arresting her, and demanded her extradition. the british government ostensibly refused, but underhand it gave the danish minister, petcum, every assistance. leonora was arrested in dover, where she had arrived on her way back, disappointed in the object of her journey. she had obtained enough and to spare of fair promises, but no money; and by secretly giving her up to the danish government, charles ii. in an easy way quitted himself of the debt, at the same time that he pleased the king of denmark, without publicly violating political propriety. leonora's account of the whole affair is confirmed in every way by the light which other documents throw upon the matter, particularly by the extracts contained in the calendar of state papers, domestic series, of the reign of charles ii., - . leonora was now conducted to copenhagen, where she was confined in the blue tower--a square tower surmounted by a blue spire, which stood in the court of the royal castle, and was used as a prison for grave offenders (see the engraving). at this point the memoir of her sufferings in the prison takes up the thread of her history, and we need not here dwell upon its contents. as soon as ulfeldt heard that the brandenburg government had betrayed him, and that sentence had been passed on him in copenhagen, he left bruges. no doubt the arrest of leonora in england was a still greater blow to him. the spanish government would probably have surrendered him to the danish authorities, and he had to flee from place to place, pursued by danish agents demanding his extradition, and men anxious to earn the reward offered for his apprehension, dead or alive. his last abode was basle, where he passed under a feigned name, until a quarrel between one of his sons and a stranger caused the discovery of their secret. not feeling himself safe, ulfeldt left basle, alone, at night, in a boat descending the rhine; but he never reached his destination. he was labouring under a violent attack on the chest, and the night air killed him. he breathed his last in the boat, on february , . the boatmen, concluding from the gold and jewels which they found on him that he was a person of consequence, brought the body on shore, and made the matter known in basle, from whence his sons came and buried him under a tree in a field--no one knows the spot. meanwhile the punishment of beheading and quartering had been executed on a wooden effigy in copenhagen. his palace was demolished, and the site laid out in a public square, on which a pillar of sandstone was erected as an everlasting monument of his crimes. this pillar was taken away in , and the name was changed from ulfeldt square to greyfriars square, as an indication of the forgetting and forgiving spirit of the time, or perhaps rather because the treason of ulfeldt was closely connected with the ancient jealousy between danes and swedes, of which the present generation is so anxious to efface the traces. his children had to seek new homes elsewhere. christian, who killed fuchs, became a roman catholic and died as an abbé; and none of them continued the name, except the youngest son leo, who went into the service of the german emperor, and rose to the highest dignities. his son corfits likewise filled important offices under charles vi. and maria theresa, but left no sons. his two daughters married respectively a count waldstein and a count thun, whose descendants therefore now represent the family of ulfeldt. leonora christina remained in prison for twenty-two years--that is, until the death of sophia amalia, the queen of fredrik iii. this king, as well as his son christian v., would willingly have set her at liberty; but the influence of the queen over her husband and son was so strong that only her death, which occurred in , released leonora. the memoir of her life in prison terminates with this event, and her after-life does not offer any very remarkable incidents. nevertheless, a few details, chiefly drawn from a ms. in the royal library at copenhagen, recently published by mr. birket smith, may serve to complete the historical image of this illustrious lady. the ms. in question is from the hand of a miss urne, of an ancient danish family, who managed the household of leonora from to her death in . a royal manor, formerly a convent, at maribo, on the island of laaland, was granted to leonora shortly after her release from the blue tower, together with a sufficient pension for a moderate establishment. 'the first occupation of the countess,' says miss urne, 'was devotion; for which purpose her household was assembled in a room outside her bed-chamber. in her daily morning prayer there was this passage: "may the lord help all prisoners, console the guilty, and save the innocent!" after that she remained the whole forenoon in her bedchamber, occupied in reading and writing. she composed a book entitled the "ornament of heroines," which countess a. c. ulfeldt and count leon took away with them, together with many other rare writings. her handiwork is almost indescribable, and without an equal; such as embroidering in silk, gold embroidery, and turning in amber and ivory.' it will be seen from leonora's own memoir that needlework was one of her principal occupations in her prison. count waldstein still possesses some of her work; in the church of maribo an altar-cloth embroidered by her existed still some time ago; and at the castle of rosenborg, in copenhagen, there is a portrait of christian v. worked by leonora in silk, in return for which present the king increased her annual pension. miss urne says that she sent all her work to elizabeth bek, a granddaughter of leonora, who lived with her for some years. but she refused to send her leonora's postille, or manual of daily devotion, which had been given leonora on new year's day, in the last year of her captivity, by the castellan, torslev, who is mentioned in leonora's memoir, and who had taught her to turn ivory, &c. this book has disappeared; but amongst the relics of leonora christina, the royal library at copenhagen preserves some leaves which had been bound up with it, and contain verses, &c., by leonora, and other interesting matter. her ms. works were taken to vienna after her death. it is not known what has become of some of them. a copy of the first part of the book on heroines exists in copenhagen. miss urne says that she possessed fragments of a play composed by her and acted at maribo kloster; also the younger sperling speaks of such a composition in danish verse; but the ms. seems to be lost now. several of leonora's relations stayed with her from time to time at maribo; amongst them the above-mentioned elizabeth bek, whose mother, leonora sophie, famous for her beauty, had married lave bek, the head of an ancient danish family in skaane. after ulfeldt's death lave bek demanded of the swedish government the estates which carl gustav had given to ulfeldt in , but which the swedish government had afterwards confiscated, without any legal ground. leonora christina herself memorialised the swedish king on the subject, and at least one of her memorials on the subject, dated may , , still exists; but it was not till that these estates were given up to lave bek's sons. leonora's eldest daughter, anne catherina, lived with her mother at maribo for several years, and was present at her death. she had married casetta, a spanish nobleman, mentioned by leonora christina in her memoir, who was with her in england when she was arrested. after the death of casetta and their children, anne catherina ulfeldt came to live with her mother. she followed her brother to vienna, where she died. it was she who transmitted the ms. of leonora's memoir of her life in the blue tower to the brother, with the following letter, which is still preserved with the ms.:-- 'this book treats of what has happened to our late lady mother in her prison. i have not been able to persuade myself to burn it, although the reading of it has given me little pleasure, inasmuch as all those events concern her miserable state. after all, it is not without its use to know how she has been treated; but it is not needful that it should come into the hands of strangers, for it might happen to give pleasure to those of our enemies who still remain.' the letter is addressed 'a monsieur, monsieur le comte d'ulfeldt,' &c., but without date or signature. the handwriting is, however, that of anne catherina ulfeldt, and she had probably sent it off to vienna for safety immediately after her mother's death, before she knew that her brother would come to maribo himself. miss urne says, in the ms. referred to, that the king had ordered that he was to be informed immediately of leonora's demise, in order that she might be buried according to her rank and descent; but she had beforehand requested that her funeral might be quite plain. her coffin, as well as those of three children who had died young, and whose coffins had been provisionally placed in a church at copenhagen, was immured in a vault in the church of maribo; but when this was opened some forty years ago, no trace of leonora's mortal remains could be found, though those of the children were there: from which it is concluded that a popular report, to the effect that the body had been secretly carried abroad, contains more truth than was formerly supposed. count waldstein states that in the family vault at leitsmischl, there is one metal coffin without any inscription, and which may be hers. if so, leonora has, as it were, after her death followed her husband into exile. at any rate, the final resting-place of neither of them is known with certainty. autobiography of leonora christina . autobiography. sir,[ ]--to satisfy your curiosity, i will give you a short account of the life of her about whom you desire to be informed. she was born at fredericksborg, in the year , on june .[ ] when she was six weeks old her grandmother took her with her to dalum, where she remained until the age of four years; her first master there being mr. envolt, afterward a priest at roeskild. about six months after her return to the court, her father sent her to holland to his cousin, a duchess of brunswick, who had married count ernest of nassau, and lived at lewarden. [ ] this autobiographical sketch is written in the form of a letter to dr. otto sperling the younger, the son of corfits ulfeldt's old friend, who was for some years leonora's fellow-prisoner in the blue tower. [ ] it is curious that leonora seems for a long time to have been under a mistake as to the date of her birthday. the right date is july , new style. her sister sophia, who was two years and a half older than herself, and her brother, who was a year younger, had gone to the aforesaid duchess nearly a year before. i must not forget to mention the first mischances that befell her at her setting out. she went by sea in one of the royal ships of war; having been two days and a night at sea, at midnight such a furious tempest arose that they all had given up any hope of escaping. her tutor, wichmann hassebart (afterwards bishop of fyn), who attended her, woke her and took her in his arms, saying, with tears, that they should both die together, for he loved her tenderly. he told her of the danger, that god was angry, and that they would all be drowned. she caressed him, treating him like a father (after her usual wont), and begged him not to grieve; she was assured that god was not angry, that he would see they would not be drowned, beseeching him again and again to believe her. wichmann shed tears at her simplicity, and prayed to god to save the rest for her sake, and for the sake of the hope that she, an innocent girl, reposed in him. god heard him, and after having lost the two mainmasts, they entered at dawn of day the harbour of fleckeröe,[ ] where they remained for six weeks. [ ] on the south coast of norway. having received orders to proceed by sea, they pursued their route and arrived safely. her sister being informed of her arrival, and being told that she had come with a different retinue to herself--with a suite of gentlemen, lady preceptor, servants and attendants, &c.--she burst into tears, and said that she was not surprised that this sister always insinuated herself and made herself a favourite, and that she would be treated there too as such. m. sophia was not mistaken in this; for her sister was in greater favour with the duchess, with her governess, and with many others, than she was herself. count ernest alone took the side of m. sophia, and this rather for the sake of provoking his wife, who liked dispute; for m. sophia exhibited her obstinacy even towards himself. she did all the mischief she could to her sister, and persuaded her brother to do the same. to amuse you i will tell you of her first innocent predilections. count ernest had a son of about eleven or twelve years of age; he conceived an affection for her, and having persuaded her that he loved her, and that she would one day be his wife, but that this must be kept secret, she fancied herself already secretly his wife. he knew a little drawing, and by stealth he instructed her; he even taught her some latin words. they never missed an opportunity of retiring from company and conversing with each other. this enjoyment was of short duration for her; for a little more than a year afterwards she fell ill of small-pox, and as his elder brother, william, who had always ridiculed these affections, urged him to see his well-beloved in the condition in which she was, in order to disgust him with the sight, he came one day to the door to see her, and was so startled that he immediately became ill, and died on the ninth day following. his death was kept concealed from her. when she was better she asked after him, and she was made to believe that he was gone away with his mother (who was at this time at brunswick), attending the funeral of her mother. his body had been embalmed, and had been placed in a glass case. one day her preceptor made her go into the hall where his body lay, to see if she recognised it; he raised her in his arms to enable her to see it better. she knew her dear moritz at once, and was seized with such a shock that she fell fainting to the ground. wichmann in consequence carried her hastily out of the hall to recover her, and as the dead boy wore a garland of rosemary, she never saw these flowers without crying, and had an aversion to their smell, which she still retains. as the wars between germany and the king of denmark had been the cause of the removal of his aforesaid children, they were recalled to denmark when peace was concluded. at the age of seven years and two months she was affianced to a gentleman of the king's chamber. she began very early to suffer for his sake. her governess was at this time mistress anne lycke, qvitzow's mother. her daughter, who was maid of honour, had imagined that this gentleman made his frequent visits for love of her. seeing herself deceived, she did not know in what manner to produce estrangement between the lovers; she spoke, and made m. sophia speak, of the gentleman's poverty, and amused herself with ridiculing the number of children in the family. she regarded all this with indifference, only declaring once that she loved him, poor as he was, better than she loved her rich gallant.[ ] [ ] count christian pentz, to whom sophia was married in . at last they grew weary of this, and found another opportunity for troubling her--namely, the illness of her betrothed, resulting from a complaint in his leg; they presented her with plaisters, ointments, and such like things, and talked together of the pleasure of being married to a man who had his feet diseased, &c. she did not answer a word either for good or bad, so they grew weary of this also. a year and a half after they had another governess, catharina sehestedt, sister of hannibal.[ ] m. sophia thus lost her second, and her sister had a little repose in this quarter. [ ] hannibal sehestedt afterwards married leonora's younger sister christiana; he became a powerful antagonist of ulfeldt, and is mentioned often in the following memoir. when our lady was about twelve years old, francis albert, duke of saxony,[ ] came to kolding to demand her in marriage. the king replied that she was no longer free, that she was already betrothed; but the duke was not satisfied with this, and spoke to herself, and said a hundred fine things to her: that a duke was far different to a gentleman. she told him she always obeyed the king, and since it had pleased the king to promise her to a gentleman, she was well satisfied. the duke employed the governess to persuade her, and the governess introduced him to her brother hannibal, then at the court, and hannibal went with post-horses to möen, where her betrothed was, who did not linger long on the road in coming to her. this was the beginning of the friendship between monsieur and hannibal, which afterwards caused so much injury to monsieur. but he had not needed to trouble himself, for the duke never could draw from her the declaration that she would be ready to give up her betrothed if the king ordered her to do so. she told him she hoped the king would not retract from his first promise. the duke departed ill satisfied, on the very day the evening of which the betrothed arrived. (four years afterwards they quarrelled on this subject in the presence of the king, who appeased them with his authority.) [ ] frantz albrecht, duke of saxe-lauenburg, the same who in the thirty years' war alternately served the protestants and the imperialists. in the battle of lützen he was near gustav adolf when he fell, and he was regarded by many as the one who treacherously fired the fatal shot. it happened the following winter at skanderborg that the governess had a quarrel with the language-master, alexandre de cuqvelson, who taught our lady and her sisters the french language, writing, arithmetic, and dancing. m. sophia was not studious; moreover, she had very little memory; for her heart was too much devoted to her dolls, and as she perceived that the governess did not punish her when alexandre complained of her, she neglected everything, and took no trouble about her studies. our lady imagined she knew enough when she knew as much as her sister. as this had lasted some time, the governess thought she could entrap alexandre; she accused him to the king, said that he treated the children badly, rapped their fingers, struck them on the hand, called them bad names, &c., and with all this they could not even read, much less speak, the french language. besides this, she wrote the same accusations to the betrothed of our lady. the betrothed sent his servant wolff to skanderborg, with menaces to alexandre. at the same time alexandre was warned that the king had sent for the prince,[ ] to examine his children, since the father-confessor was not acquainted with the language. [ ] that is, the king's eldest son christian, who was elected his successor, but died before him. the tutor was in some dismay; he flattered our lady, implored her to save him, which she could easily do, since she had a good memory, so that he could prove by her that it was not his fault that m. sophia was not more advanced. our lady did not yield readily, but called to his remembrance how one day, about half a year ago, she had begged him not to accuse her to the governess, but that he had paid no attention to her tears, though he knew that the governess treated them shamefully. he begged her for the love of jesus, wept like a child, said that he should be ruined for ever, that it was an act of mercy, that he would never accuse her, and that from henceforth she should do nothing but what she wished. at length she consented, said she would be diligent, and since she had yet three weeks before her, she learnt a good deal by heart.[ ] alexandre told her one day, towards the time of the examination, that there was still a great favour she could render him: if she would not repeat the little things which had passed at school-time; for he could not always pay attention to every word that he said when m. sophia irritated him, and if he had once taken the rod to hit her fingers when she had not struck her sister strongly enough, he begged her for the love of god to pardon it. (it should be mentioned that he wished the one to strike the other when they committed faults, and the one who corrected the other had to beat her, and if she did not do so strongly enough, he took the office upon himself; thus he had often beaten our lady.) [ ] in the margin the following addition is inserted: 'she had at that time an unusual memory. she could at one and the same time recite one psalm by heart, write another, and attend to the conversation. she had tried this more than once, but i think that she has thereby spoilt her memory, which is not now so good.' she made excuses, said that she did not dare to tell a lie if they asked her, but that she would not accuse him of herself. this promise did not wholly satisfy him; he continued his entreaties, and assured her that a falsehood employed to extricate a friend from danger was not a sin, but was agreeable to god; moreover, it was not necessary for her to say anything, only not to confess what she had seen and heard. she said that the governess would treat her ill; so he replied that she should have no occasion to do so, for that he would never complain to her. our lady replied that the governess would find pretext enough, since she was inclined to ill-treat the children; and anyhow, the other master who taught them german was a rude man, and an old man who taught them the spinette was a torment, therefore she had sufficient reason for fear. he did not give way, but so persisted in his persuasion that she promised everything. when the prince arrived the governess did not forget to besiege him with her complaints, and to beg him to use his influence that the tutor might be dismissed. at length the day of the examination having come, the governess told her young ladies an hour before that they were to say how villanously he had treated them, beaten them, &c. the prince came into the apartments of the ladies accompanied by the king's father-confessor (at that time dr. ch(r)estien sar); the governess was present the whole time. they were first examined in german. m. sophia acquitted herself very indifferently, not being able to read fluently. the master christoffre excused her, saying that she was timid. when it came to alexandre's turn to show what his pupils could do, m. sophia could read little or nothing. when she stammered in reading, the governess looked at the prince and laughed aloud. there was no difference in the gospel, psalms, proverbs, or suchlike things. the governess was very glad, and would have liked that the other should not have been examined. but when it came to her turn to read in the bible, and she did not hesitate, the governess could no longer restrain herself, and said, 'perhaps it is a passage she knows by heart that you have made her read.' alexandre begged the governess herself to give the lady another passage to read. the governess was angry at this also, and said, 'he is ridiculing me because i do not know french.' the prince then opened the bible and made her read other passages, which she did as fluently as before. in things by heart she showed such proficiency that the prince was too impatient to listen to all. it was then alexandre's turn to speak, and to say that he hoped his highness would graciously consider that it was not his fault that m. sophia was not more advanced. the governess interrupted him saying, 'you are truly the cause of it, for you treat her ill!' and she began a torrent of accusations, asking m. sophia if they were not true. she answered in the affirmative, and that she could not conscientiously deny them. then she asked our lady if they were not true. she replied that she had never heard nor seen anything of the kind. the governess, in a rage, said to the prince, 'your highness must make her speak the truth; she dares not do so, for alexandre's sake.' the prince asked her if alexandre had never called her bad names--if he had never beaten her. she replied, 'never.' he asked again if she had not seen nor heard that he had ill-treated her sister. she replied, 'no, she had never either heard or seen it.' at this the governess became furious; she spoke to the prince in a low voice; the prince replied aloud, 'what do you wish me to do? i have no order from the king to constrain her to anything.' well, alexandre gained his cause; the governess could not dislodge him, and our lady gained more than she had imagined in possessing the affection of the king, the goodwill of the prince, of the priest, and of all those who knew her. but the governess from that moment took every opportunity of revenging herself on our lady. at length she found one, which was rather absurd. the old jean meinicken, who taught our lady the spinette, one day, in a passion, seized the fingers of our lady and struck them against the instrument; without remembering the presence of her governess, she took his hand and retaliated so strongly that the strings broke. the governess heard with delight the complaints of the old man. she prepared two rods; she used them both, and, not satisfied with that, she turned the thick end of one, and struck our lady on the thigh, the mark of which she bears to the present day. more than two months elapsed before she recovered from the blow; she could not dance, nor could she walk comfortably for weeks after. this governess did her so much injury that at last our lady was obliged to complain to her betrothed, who had a quarrel with the governess at the wedding of m. sophia, and went straight to the king to accuse her; she was at once dismissed, and the four children, the eldest of which was our lady, went with the princess[ ] to niköping, to pass the winter there, until the king could get another governess. the king, who had a good opinion of the conduct of our lady, who at this time was thirteen years and four months old, wrote to her and ordered her to take care of her sisters. our lady considered herself half a governess, so she took care not to set them a bad example. as to study, she gave no thought to it at this time; she occupied herself in drawing and arithmetic, of which she was very fond, and the princess, who was seventeen years of age, delighted in her company. thus this winter passed very agreeably for her. [ ] namely, magdalena sybilla of saxony, then newly married (october , ) to prince christian, the eldest son and elected successor of christian iv. m. sophia's wedding to chr. pentz was celebrated on the th of the same month. at the approach of the diet, which sat eight days after pentecost, the children came to copenhagen, with the prince and princess, and had as governess a lady of mecklenburg of the blixen family, the mother of philip barstorp who is still alive. after the diet, the king made a journey to glückstad in two days and a half, and our lady accompanied him; it pleased the king that she was not weary, and that she could bear up against inconveniences and fatigues. she afterwards made several little journeys with the king, and she had the good fortune occasionally to obtain the pardon of some poor criminals, and to be in favour with the king. our lady having attained the age of fifteen years and about four months, her betrothed obtained permission for their marriage, which was celebrated (with more pomp than the subsequent weddings of her sisters), on october , . the winter after her marriage she was with her husband at möen, and as she knew that her husband's father had not left him any wealth, she asked him concerning his debts, and conjured him to conceal nothing from her. he said to her, 'if i tell you the truth it will perhaps frighten you.' she declared it would not, and that she would supply what was needful from her ornaments, provided he would assure her that he had told her everything. he did so, and found that she was not afraid to deprive herself of her gold, silver, and jewels, in order to pay a sum of thirty-six thousand rix-dollars. on april , , she went with her husband to copenhagen in obedience to the order of the king, who gave him the post of v.r.[ ] he was again obliged to incur debt in purchasing a house and in setting up a larger establishment. [ ] v.r. probably stands for viceroy, by which term leonora no doubt indicates the post of governor of copenhagen. there would be no end were i to tell you all the mischances that befell her during the happy period of her marriage, and of all the small contrarieties which she endured; but since i am assured that this history will not be seen by anyone, and that you will not keep it after having read it, i will tell you a few points which are worthy of attention. those who were envious of the good fortune of our lady could not bear that she should lead a tranquil life, nor that she should be held in esteem by her father and king; i may call him thus, for the king conferred on her more honours than were due to her from him. her husband loved and honoured her, enacting the lover more than the husband. she spent her time in shooting, riding, tennis, in learning drawing in good earnest from charles v. mandern, in playing the viol, the flute, the guitar, and she enjoyed a happy life. she knew well that jealousy is a plague, and that it injures the mind which harbours it. her relations tried to infuse into her head that her husband loved elsewhere, especially m. elizabet, and subsequently anna, sister of her husband, who was then in her house. m. elizabet began by mentioning it as a secret, premising that no one could tell her and warn her, except her who was her sister. as our lady at first said nothing and only smiled, m. elis... said: 'the world says that you know it well, but that you will not appear to do so.' she replied with a question: 'why did she tell her a thing as a secret, which she herself did not believe to be a secret to her? but she would tell her a secret that perhaps she did not know, which was, that she had given her husband permission to spend his time with others, and when she was satisfied the remainder would be for others; that she believed there were no such jealous women as those who were insatiable, but that a wisdom was imputed to her, which she did not possess; she begged her, however, to be wise enough not to interfere with matters which did not concern her, and if she heard others mentioning it (as our lady had reason to believe that this was her own invention) that she would give them a reprimand. m. elis... was indignant and went away angry, but anna, monsieur's sister, who was in the house, adopted another course. she drew round her the handsomest women in the town, and then played the procuress, spoke to her brother of one particularly, who was a flirt, and who was the handsomest, and offered him opportunities, &c. as she saw that he was proof against it, she told him (to excite him) that his wife was jealous, that she had had him watched where he went when he had been drinking with the king, to know whether he visited this woman; she said that his wife was angry, because the other woman was so beautiful, said that she painted, &c. the love borne to our lady by her husband made him tell her all, and, moreover, he went but rarely afterwards to his sister's apartments, from which she could easily understand that the conversation had not been agreeable to him; but our lady betrayed nothing of the matter, visited her more than before, caressed this lady more than any other, and even made her considerable presents. (anna remained in her house as long as she lived.) all this is of small consideration compared with the conduct of her own brother. it is well known to you that the biel... were very intimate in our lady's house. it happened that her brother made a journey to muscovy, and that the youngest of the biel... was in his suite. as this was a very lawless youth, and, to say the truth, badly brought up, he not only at times failed in respect to our lady's brother, but freely expressed his sentiments to him upon matters which did not concern him; among other things, he spoke ill of the holstein noblemen, naming especially one, who was then in waiting on the king, who he said had deceived our lady's brother. the matter rested there for more than a year after their return from this journey. the brother of our lady and biel... played cards together, and disputed over them; upon this the brother of our lady told the holstein nobleman what biel... had said of him more than a year before, which b. did not remember, and swore that he had never said. the holstein nobleman said insulting things against biel.... our lady conversed with her brother upon the affair, and begged him to quiet the storm he had raised, and to consider how it would cause an ill-feeling with regard to him among the nobility, and that it would seem that he could not keep to himself what had been told him in secret; it would be very easy for him to mend the matter. her brother replied that he could never retract what he had said, and that he should consider the holstein nobleman as a villain if he did not treat b. as a rogue. at length the holstein nobleman behaved in such a manner as to constrain b. to send him a challenge. b. was killed by his adversary with the sword of our lady's brother, which she did not know till afterwards. at noon of the day on which b. had been killed in the morning, our lady went to the castle to visit her little twin sisters; her brother was there, and came forward, laughing loudly and saying, 'do you know that ran... has killed b...?' she replied, 'no, that i did not know, but i knew that you had killed him. ran... could do nothing less than defend himself, but you placed the sword in his hand.' her brother, without answering a word, mounted his horse and went to seek his brother-in-law, who was speaking with our old friend,[ ] told him he was the cause of b.'s death, and that he had done so because he had understood that his sister loved him, and that he did not believe that his brother-in-law was so blind as not to have perceived it. the husband of our lady did not receive this speech in the way the other had imagined, and said, 'if you were not her brother, i would stab you with this poniard,' showing it to him. 'what reason have you for speaking thus?' the good-for-nothing fellow was rather taken aback at this, and knew not what to say, except that b... was too free and had no respect in his demeanour; and that this was a true sign of love. at length, after some discussion on both sides, the brother of our lady requested that not a word might be said to his sister. [ ] the old friend is dr. otto sperling, sen., a physician in extensive practice at copenhagen, and intimate friend of ulfeldt. mr. biel... signifies most probably a certain christian bielke, whose portrait still exists at rosenborg castle, in copenhagen, with an inscription that he was killed in a duel by bartram rantzau on easter eve . if this date is true, bielke cannot have accompanied leonora's brother count valdemar on his journey to russia, as this journey only took place in . count valdemar was to marry a russian princess, but it was broken off on his refusing to join the greek church. as soon as she returned home, her husband told her everything in the presence of our old friend, but ordered her to feign ignorance. this was all the more easy for her, as her husband gave no credence to it, but trusted in her innocence. she let nothing appear, but lived with her brother as before. but some years after, her brother ill-treated his own mother, and her side being taken by our lady, they were in consequence not good friends. in speaking to you of the occupations of our lady, after having reached the age of twenty-one or thereabouts, i must tell you she had a great desire to learn latin. she had a very excellent master,[ ] whom you know, and who taught her for friendship as well as with good will. but she had so many irons in the fire, and sometimes it was necessary to take a journey, and a yearly accouchement (to the number of ten) prevented her making much progress; she understood a little easy latin, but attempted nothing difficult; she then learnt a little italian, which she continued studying whenever an opportunity presented itself. [ ] dr. otto sperling, senior. i will not speak of her short journeys to holstein, jutland, &c.; but in the year she made a voyage with her husband by sea, in the first place to holland, where she gave birth to a son six weeks after her arrival at the hague. from thence she went with her husband to france, first to paris and afterwards to amiens; there they took leave of the king and of the queen mother, regent, and as they were returning by dunkirk she had the curiosity to see england, and begged her husband to permit her to cross over with a small suite, to which he consented, since one of the royal vessels lay in the roads. she took a nobleman with her who knew the language, our old friend, a servant, and the valet of the aforesaid nobleman, and this was the whole of her retinue. she embarked, and her husband planned to pass through flanders and brabant, and to await her at rotterdam. as she was on the vessel a day and night, and the wind did not favour them, she resolved to land and to follow her husband, fancying she could reach him in time to see flanders and brabant; she had not visited these countries before, having passed from holland by sea to calais. she found her husband at ostend, and travelled with him to rotterdam; from thence she pursued her former plan, embarked at helvoot-sluys, and arrived at duns, went to london, and returned by dover, making the whole voyage in ten days, and she was again enceinte. she was an object of suspicion in london. the prince palatine, then elector of heidelberg,[ ] belonged to the party opposed to the beheaded king, who was then a prisoner; and they watched her and surrounded her with spies, so she did not make a long sojourn in london. nothing else was imagined, when it was known she had been there, but that she had letters from the king of dan... for the king of engl.... she returned with her husband to dan.... [ ] prince ruprecht, duke of cumberland, nephew of charles i. in the year fortune abandoned our lady, for on february the king was taken from her by death. she had the happiness, however, of attending upon him until his last breath. good god, when i think of what this good king said to her the first day, when she found him ill in bed at rosenborg, and wept abundantly, my heart is touched. he begged her not to weep, caressed her, and said: 'i have placed you so securely that no one can move you.' only too much has she felt the contrary of the promise of the king who succeeded him, for when he was duke and visited her at her house, a few days after the death of the king, finding her in tears, he embraced her, saying: 'i will be a father to you, do not weep.' she kissed his hand without being able to speak. i find that some fathers have been unnatural towards their children. in the year she made another voyage with her husband to holland, and at the hague gave birth to a daughter. when her husband returned from this journey, he for the first time perceived the designs of hannibal, of gerstorp, and wibe, but too late. he absented himself from business, and would not listen to what his wife told him. our old friend shared the opinion of our lady, adducing very strong reason for it, but all in vain; he said, that he would not be a perpetual slave for the convenience of his friends. his wife spoke as a prophet to him, told him that he would be treated as a slave when he had ceased to have authority, that they would suspect him, and envy his wealth; all of which took place, though i shall make no recital of it, since these events are sufficiently known to you. we will now speak a little of the events which occurred afterwards. when they had gained their cause,[ ] our lady feared that the strong party which they had then overcome would not rest without ruining them utterly at any cost; so she advised her husband to leave the country, since he had the king's permission to do so,[ ] and to save his life, otherwise his enemies would contrive some other invention which would succeed better. he consented to this at length, and they took their two eldest children with them, and went by sea to amsterdam. at utrecht they left the children with the servants and a female attendant, and our lady disguised herself in male attire and followed her husband, who took the route to lubeck, and from thence by sea to sweden, to ask the protection of queen christina, which he received; and as the queen knew that his wife was with him in disguise, she requested to see her, which she did. [ ] namely, the process against dina. _see_ introduction. [ ] ulfeldt had not really the permission of the king to leave the country in the way he did. these words must therefore be understood to mean that the favourable termination of the trial concerning dina's accusations had liberated ulfeldt from the special obligation to remain in copenhagen, which his position in reference to that case imposed upon him. the husband of our lady purposed to remain some time in pomerania, and the queen lent him a vessel to convey him thither. having been three days at sea, the wind carried them towards dantzig, and not being able to enter the town, for it was too late, they remained outside the gates at a low inn. an adventure fit for a novel here happened to our lady. a girl of sixteen, or a little more, believing that our lady was a young man, threw herself on her neck with caresses, to which our lady responded, and played with the girl, but, as our lady perceived what the girl meant, and that she could not satisfy her, she turned her over to charles, a man of their suite, thinking he would answer her purpose; he offered the girl his attentions, but she repelled him rudely, saying, she was not for him, and went again to our lady, accosting her in the same way. our lady got rid of her, but with difficulty however, for she was somewhat impudent, and our lady did not dare to leave her apartment. for the sake of amusing you, i must tell you, what now occurs to me, that in the fort before stade, the name of which has escaped me, our lady played with two soldiers for drink, and her husband, who passed for her uncle, paid the expenses; the soldiers, willing to lose for the sake of gaining the beer, and astonished that she never lost, were, however, civil enough to present her with drink. we must return to dantzig. the husband of our lady, finding himself near thoren, desired to make an excursion there, but his design was interrupted by two men, one who had formerly served in norway as lieutenant-colonel, and a charlatan who called himself dr. saar, and who had been expelled from copenhagen. they asked the mayor of the town to arrest these two persons, believing that our lady was ebbe wl....[ ] they were warned by their host that these persons said they were so-and-so, and that these gentlemen were at the door to prevent their going out. towards evening they grew tired of keeping guard, and went away. before dawn the husband of our lady went out of the house first, and waited at the gate, and our lady with the two servants went in a coach to wait at the other gate until it was opened; thus they escaped this time. [ ] that is, ebbe ulfeldt,--a relative of corfitz who left denmark in and afterwards lived in sweden. they went by land to stralsund, where our lady resumed her own attire, after having been in disguise twelve weeks and four days, and having endured many inconveniences, not having gone to bed all the time, except at stockholm, dantzig, and stettin. she even washed the clothes, which inconvenienced her much. the winter that they passed at stralsund, her husband taught her, or rather began to teach her, spanish. in the spring they again made a voyage to stockholm, at the desire of queen chr.... this good queen, who liked intrigue, tried to excite jealousy and to make people jealous, but she did not succeed. they were in sweden until after the abdication of the queen, and the wedding and coronation of king charles and queen hedevig, which was in the year . they returned to pomerania for a visit to barth, which they possessed as a mortgage. there, our lady passed her time in study, sometimes occupied with a latin book, sometimes with a spanish one. she translated a small spanish work, entitled _matthias de los reyos_; but this book since fell into the hands of others, as well as the first part of _cleopatre_, which she had translated from the french, with matters of greater value. in the year ,[ ] her husband persuaded her to make a voyage to dannem... to try and gain an audience with the king, and see if she could not obtain some payment from persons who owed them money. our lady found various pleas for not undertaking this voyage, seeing a hundred difficulties against its successful issue; but her husband besought her to attempt it, and our old friend shared her husband's opinion that nothing could be done to her, that she was under the protection of the king of sweden, and not banished from dan... with similar arguments. at length she yielded, and made the journey in the winter, travelling in a coach with six horses, a secretary, a man on horseback, a female attendant, a page and a lacquey--that was all. she went first to see her mother in jutland, and remained there three days; this was immediately known at the court. [ ] this date is erroneous; the journey took place in november and december . when she had passed the belt, and was within cannon-shot of corsör, she was met by uldrich chr. guldenl...,[ ] who was on the point of going to jutland to fetch her. he returned with his galley and landed; she remained in her vessel, waiting for her carriage to be put on shore. guld... impatient, could not wait so long, and sent the burgomaster brant to tell her to come ashore, as he had something to say to her. she replied that if he had anything to say to her, he ought to show her the attention of coming to her. brant went with this answer; awaiting its issue, our lady looked at her attendants and perceived a change in them all. her female attendant was seized with an attack from which she suffers still, a trembling of the head, while her eyes remained fixed. the secretary trembled so that his teeth chattered. charles was quite pale, as were all the others. our lady spoke to them, and asked them why they were afraid; for her they had nothing to fear, and less for themselves. the secretary answered, 'they will soon let us know that.' brant returned with the same message, with the addition that gul... was bearer of the king's order, and that our lady ought to come to him at the castle to hear the king's order. she replied that she respected the king's order there as well as at the castle; that she wished that gul... would please to let her know there the order of his majesty; and when brant tried to persuade her, saying continually, 'oh! do give in, do give in!' she used the same expression, and said also, 'beg gul... to give in,' &c. at length she said, 'give me sufficient time to have two horses harnessed, for i cannot imagine he would wish me to go on foot.' [ ] u.c. gyldenlöve, illegitimate son of christian iv. and half-brother of leonora. when she reached the castle she had the coach pulled up. brant came forward to beg her to enter the castle; she refused, and said she would not enter; that if he wished to speak to her he must come to her, that she had come more than half-way. brant went, and returned once again, but she said the same, adding that he might do all that seemed good to him, she should not stir from the spot. at length the good-for-nothing fellow came down, and when he was ready to speak to her, she opened the coach and got out. he said a few polite words to her, and then presented her with an order from the king, written in the chancery, the contents of which were, that she must hasten to depart from the king's territory, or she would have to thank herself for any ill that might befall her. having read the order she bowed, and returned him the order, which was intended to warn her, saying, 'that she hoped to have been permitted to kiss the king's hand, but as her enemies had hindered this happiness by such an order, there was nothing left for her but to obey in all humility, and thanking his majesty most humbly for the warning, she would hasten as quickly as possible to obey his majesty's commands. she asked if she were permitted to take a little refreshment, for that they had had contrary winds and had been at sea all day. gul... answered in the negative, that he did not dare to give her the permission; and since she had obeyed with such great submission, he would not show her the other order that he had, asking her at the same moment if she wished to see this other order? she said, no; that she would abide by the order that she had seen, and that she would immediately embark on board her ferry-boat to return. gul... gave her his hand, and begged her to make use of his galley. she did so. they went half the way without speaking; at length gul... broke the silence, and they entered into conversation. he told her that the king had been made to believe that she had assembled a number of noblemen at her mother's house, and that he had orders to disperse this cabal. they had a long conversation together, and spoke of dina's affair; he said the king did not yet know the real truth of it. she complained that the king had not tried to know it. at length they arrived by night at nyborg. gul... accompanied her to her hostelry, and went to his own, and an hour afterwards sent scherning[ ] to tell her that at dawn of day she must be ready, in order that they might arrive at assens the next evening, which it was impossible to do with her own horses, as they did not arrive till morning. she assented, saying she would act in obedience to his orders, began talking with scherning, and conversed with him about other matters. i do not know how, but she gained his good graces, and he prevailed so far with gul... that gul... did not hasten her unduly. towards nine o'clock the next morning he came to tell her that he did not think it necessary to accompany her further, but he hoped she would follow the king's order, and begged her to speak with kay v. ahlefeld at haderslef, when she was passing through; he had received orders as to what he had to do. she promised this, and gul... returned to copenhagen, placing a man with our lady to watch her. [ ] probably povl tscherning, a well-known man of the time, who held the office of auditor-general. our lady did not think it necessary to speak to kay v. ahlefeld, for she had nothing to say to him, and she did not want to see more orders; she passed by haderslef, and went to apenrade, and awaited there for ten days[ ] a letter from gul... which he had promised to write to her; when she saw that he was not going to keep his word she started on her way to slesvig, halting half way with the intention of dining. holst, the clerk of the bailiwick of flensborg, here arrived in a coach with two arquebuses larger and longer than halberds. he gave orders to close the bar of boy..., sent to the village, which is quite close, that the peasants should hold themselves ready with their spears and arms, and made four persons who were in the tavern take the same arms, that is, large poles. afterwards he entered and made a long speech, with no end of compliments to our lady, to while away the time. the matter was, that the governor[ ] desired her to go to flensborg, as he had something to say to her, and he hoped she would do him the pleasure to rest a night at flensborg. [ ] in order to understand how she could wait for ten days at apenrade, it must be borne in mind that the duchy of slesvig was at that time divided into several parts, of which some belonged to the king, others to the duke of gottorp. haderslev and flensborg belonged to the king, but apenrade to the duke; in this town, therefore, she was safe from the pursuit of the danish authorities. [ ] the governor of flensborg at that time was detlef v. ahlefeld, the same who in was sent to königsberg to receive information from the court of brandenburg on the last intrigues of ulfeldt. our lady replied that she had not the pleasure of his acquaintance, and therefore she thought he took her for someone else; if she could oblige him in anything she would remain at slesvig the following day, in order to know in what she could serve him. no, it was not that; he repeated his request. she ordered charles to have the horses put to. holst understood this, which was said in french, and begged her for the love of god not to set out; he had orders not to let her depart. 'you,' said she, in a somewhat haughty tone, 'who are you? with what authority do you speak thus?' he said he had no written order, but by word of mouth, and that his governor would soon arrive; he begged her for the love of god to pardon him. he was a servant, he was willing to be trodden under her feet. she said: 'it is not for you to pay me compliments, still less to detain me, since you cannot show me the king's order, but it is for me to think what i ought to do.' she went out and ordered her lacquey, who was the only determined one of her suite, to make himself master of holst's chariot and arquebuses. holst followed her, begging her a hundred times, saying, 'i do not dare to let you pass, i do not dare to open the bar.' she said, 'i do not ask you to open;' she got into the coach. holst put his hand upon the coach-door and sang the old song. our lady, who had always pistols in her carriage when she travelled, drew out one and presented it to him saying, 'draw back, or i will give you the contents of this.' he was not slow in letting go his hold; then she threw a patacoon to those who were to restrain her, saying, 'here is something for drink; help in letting the carriage pass the fosse!' which they immediately did. not a quarter of an hour after she had gone, the governor arrived with another chariot. there were two men and four guns in each chariot. our lady was warned of the pursuit; she begged her two coachmen, whom she had for herself and her baggage, to dispute them the road as much as they could; she ordered charles always to remain at the side of her carriage, in order that she might throw herself upon the horse if she saw that they gained ground. she took off her furred robe. they disputed the road up to the bridge, which separated the territory of the king from that of the duke. when she had passed the bridge she stopped, put on her robe, and alighted. the others paused on the other side of the bridge to look at her, and thus she escaped again for this time.[ ] but it was amusing to see how the secretary perspired, what fright he was in; he did not afterwards pretend to bravery, but freely confessed that he was half dead with fear. she returned to barth, and found her husband very very ill. our old friend had almost given up all hope of his recovery, but her presence acted as a miracle; he was sufficiently strong in the morning to be taken out of bed, to the great surprise of our old friend. [ ] the clerk holst was shortly after, when the swedes occupied flensborg, put to a heavy ransom by ulfeldt, in punishment of his conduct to leonora. documents which still exist show that he applied to the danish government for compensation, but apparently in vain. just as our lady was thinking of passing some days in tranquillity, occupied in light study, in trifling work, distillations, confectionery, and such like things, her husband mixed himself in the wars. the king of sweden sent after him to stettin; he told his wife that he would have nothing to do with them. he did not keep his word, however; he did not return to barth, but went straight off with the king. she knew he was not provided with anything; she saw the danger to which he was exposed, she wished to share it; she equipped herself in haste, and, without his sending for her, went to join him at ottensen. he wished to persuade her to return to hamburgh, and spoke to her of the great danger; she said the danger was the reason why she wished to bear him company, and to share it with him; so she went with him, and passed few days without uneasiness, especially when friderichsodde was taken; she feared for both husband and son. there she had the happiness of reconciling the c. wrangel and the c. jaques,[ ] which her husband had believed impossible, not having been able to succeed. she had also the good fortune to cure her eldest son and eight of her servants of a malignant fever named sprinckeln; there was no doctor at that time with the army, our old friend having left. [ ] count jakob casimir de la gardie, a swedish nobleman. count wrangel was the swedish general. when her husband passed with the king to seeland, she remained at fyen. the day that she had resolved to set out on the following to return to schone, a post arrived with news that her mother was at the point of death and wished to speak to her; she posted to jutland, found madame very ill and with no hope of life. she had only been there one night, when her husband sent a messenger to say that if she wished to see him alive she must lose no time. our lady was herself ill; she had to leave her mother, who was already half dead; she had to take her last farewell in great sorrow, and to go with all speed to seek her husband, who was very ill at malmöe. two days afterwards she received the tidings of her mother's death, and as soon as the health of her husband permitted it, she went to jutland to give the necessary orders for her mother's funeral. she returned once more to schone before the burial; after the funeral[ ] she went to copenhagen and revisited malmöe one day before the king of sweden began the war for the second time and appeared before kopenh.... [ ] the funeral took place with great pomp in the church of st. knud, at odense, on june , , together with that of sophia elizabeth, leonora's sister, who is mentioned in the beginning of the autobiography. in the year the king of sweden ordered her husband to be arrested at malmöe. she went immediately to helsingör to speak to the king, but had not the happiness of speaking to him; on the contrary, the king sent two of his counsellors to tell her that she was free to choose whether she would return to her estates and superintend them, or go back to malmöe and be arrested with her husband. she thanked his majesty very humbly for the favour of the choice; she chose to suffer with her husband, and was glad to have the happiness of serving him in his affliction, and bearing the burden with him which would lighten it to him. she returned to malmöe with these news; her husband exhibited too much grief that she was not permitted to solicit on his behalf, and she consoled him as well as she was able. a few days after, an officer came to their house and irritated her husband so much by his impertinent manner that he had a fit of apoplexy. our lady was overwhelmed with sorrow; she sent for the priest the next morning, made her husband receive the holy communion, and received it herself. she knew not at what hour she might be a widow; no one came to see her, no one in consequence consoled her, and she had to console herself. she had a husband who was neither living nor dead; he ate and drank; he spoke, but no one could understand him. about eight months after, the king began to take proceedings against her husband, and in order to make her answer for her husband they mixed her up in certain points as having asked for news: whence the young lady was taken whom her husband brought to copenhagen? who was trolle? and that she had kept the property of a danish nobleman in her house.[ ] since her husband was ill, the king graciously permitted her to answer for him; thus they proceeded with her for nine weeks in succession; she had no other assistance in copying her defence than her eldest daughter, then very young. she was permitted to make use of wolff, for receiving the accusations and taking back the replies, but he wrote nothing for her. if you are interested in knowing the proceedings, kield[ ] can give you information respecting them. [ ] the young lady was birgitte rantzau, who was engaged to korfits trolle, a danish nobleman, who had been very active in preparing the intended rising of the citizens of malmöe against the swedes. ulfeldt was accused of having favoured and assisted this design (_see_ the introduction), and he had brought trolle's bride over to copenhagen, or accompanied them thither. [ ] wolf and kield were servants of ulfeldt. when the proceedings had lasted so many weeks, and she had answered with regard to the conversations which it was said her husband had had with one and another, they fancied that her husband feigned illness. four doctors were sent with the commandant to visit the sick man, and they found that he was really ill; not content with this, they established the court in his house, for they were ashamed to make her come to them. they caused the city magistrate to come, placing him on one side of the hall, and on the other the danish noblemen who were under arrest, all as witnesses; eight commissioners sat at a round table, the lawyer in front of the table and two clerks at another table; having made these arrangements, our lady was desired to enter. we must mention, in the first place, that two of the delinquents who were executed afterwards, and another, together with one of the servants of her husband, were brought there. the principal delinquents were summoned first, and afterwards the others, to take an oath that they would speak the truth. we must mention that these gentlemen were already condemned, and were executed a few days afterwards. when the lawyer had said that they had now taken their oaths according to the law, our lady said, 'post festum! after having proceeded against my husband so many weeks, having based everything on the tattle of these delinquents, you come, after they are condemned to suffer for their trespasses, and make them take an oath. i do not know if this is conformable to law!' the lawyer made no reply to this, and, thinking to confuse our lady, said that he found things contrary the one to the other, cited passages, leaves, lines, and asked her if she could make these things agree. she, having at that time a good memory, remembered well what her own judgment had dictated to her, and said that they would not find her replies what the lawyer said, but so-and-so, and asked that they should be read openly, which was done. the lawyer made three attempts of the same kind; when they saw there was nothing to be gained by this, the commissioners attacked her three at a time, one putting one question and another, another. she said to them quietly, 'messieurs, with your permission, let one speak at a time, for i am but one, and i cannot answer three at once!' at which they were all a little ashamed. the principal point to which they adhered was, that her husband was a vassal by oath, and a servant of the king, with which assertion they parried every objection. she proved that it was not so, that her husband was neither vassal nor a servant; he had his lands under the king just as many swedes had elsewhere, without on that account being vassals; that he had never taken an oath of fidelity to the king of sweden, but that he had shown him much fidelity; that he owed him no obligation--this she showed by a letter from the king, in which he thanked him for his services, and hoped so to act that he would render him still more. she shut the mouth of the delinquent,[ ] and begged the commissioners to reflect on what she had said. [ ] the person alluded to is a bartholomæus mikkelsen, who was executed as ringleader of the conspiracy. when all was over, after the space of three hours, she requested that the protocol might be read before her. the president said that she need have no doubt the protocol was correct, that she should have a copy of it, that they now understood the matter, and would make a faithful report of it to the king. no sentence was passed, and they remained under arrest. the king of sweden died, and peace was concluded, but they remained under arrest. a friend came to inform them, one day, that there was a vessel of war in the roads, which was to take them to finland. when she saw her husband a little recovered, that he could use his judgment, she advised him to escape and go to lubeck. she would go to copenhagen and try to arrange the matter. he consented to it, and she contrived to let him out in spite of all the guards round the house (thirty-six in number). when she received the news that he had passed and could reckon that he was on his way to lubeck, she escaped also, and went straight to copenh.... having arrived there, she found her husband arrived before her; she was much surprised and vexed, fearing what happened afterwards, but he had flattered himself so with the comfortable hope that he would enter into the good graces of the king. the next day they were both arrested and brought to borringh...[ ]; her husband was ill; on arriving at borr... they placed him on a litter and brought him from the town to the castle, a distance of about two leagues. [ ] bornholm. (_see_ the introduction.) it would weary you to tell you of all that passed at borr... if you take pleasure in knowing it, there is a man in hamburgh who can tell it you.[ ] i will tell you, however, a part and the chief of what i remember concerning it. at rönne, the town where they disembarked at borringh----, our lady wrote to the king and to the queen in the name of her husband, who was ill, as i have already said, and gave the memorials to colonel rantzou, who promised to deliver them, and who gave hopes of success.[ ] there fos arrived and conveyed them to the castle of hammershuus. the governor fos saw that our lady had a small box with her, and was seized with the desire to know what was in it and to possess himself of it. he sent one dina, the wife of the warder to our lady, to offer to procure a boat for their escape. there is no doubt she accepted the offer, and promised in return five hundred crowns. this was enough for fos; he went one night with the major to their apartment, thundered like a madman, said that they wished to betray him, &c.; the end of the farce was, that he took the box, but, for the sake of a little ceremony, he sealed it with her husband's seal, promising to keep it for its safety. [ ] she refers no doubt to a servant who accompanied them of the name of pflügge. [ ] the original of this letter to the king exists still. about three weeks after, he took the two prisoners to walk a little in the fields; the husband would not go, but the wife went out to take the air. the traitor gave her a long history of his past adventures, how many times he had been in prison, some instances of how great lords had been saved by the assistance of those they had gained over, and made their fortune. he thought they would do the same. she said she had not much to dispose of, but besides that, they would find other means for rewarding such a service. he said he would think of it, that he had nothing to lose in dan.... after various discussions from day to day, her husband wished her to offer him , rix-dollars; this sum seemed to him too little, and he asked , dollars. she said that she could easily promise it, but could not keep her word, but provided it was twenty she would pay it. he asked for a security; her husband had a note which would give security, but our lady did not think it good that he should see this note, and told fos that in her box there was a letter that could secure it; she did not know that he had already opened the box. some days after, she asked him if he had made up his mind? he said, 'i will not do it for less than , , and there is no letter in your box which would secure it to me. i have opened it; to-morrow i will send it to copenh....' she asked him quietly if he had done right in breaking her husband's seal; he answered rudely that he would take the responsibility. towards autumn, hannibal and the other heirs of our lady's mother sent to her husband to notify to him that they could not longer delay dividing the inheritance, and since they knew that he had in his possession papers of importance, they requested to be informed of them. her husband stated in his reply that fos had taken his letters, and that in a rude manner. this answer having been read in the presence of fos, he flew in a thundering rage, used abusive language first to the husband and then to the wife, her husband having firmly promised our lady not to dispute with this villain, for she feared some evil might result, but to leave her to answer, for fos would be answered. she was not angry; she ridiculed him and his invectives. at length he told her that she had offered him , dollars to induce him to become a traitor; she replied with calmness, 'if it had been , , what then?' fos leapt into the air like an enraged animal, and said that she lied like a ----, &c. she was not moved, but said 'you speak like an ass!' upon this he loaded her with abuse, and then retracted all that he had just said. she said quite quietly, 'i am not going to appeal to these gentlemen who are present (there were four) to be witnesses, for this is an affair that will never be judicially settled, and nothing can efface this insult but blood.' 'oh!' said he, seizing his sword, and drawing it a little out of the scabbard, 'this is what i wear for you, madam.' she, smiling, drew the bodkin from her hair, saying, 'here are all the arms at present which i have for you.' he manifested a little shame, and said that it was not for her but her sons, if she still had four.[ ] she, moreover, ridiculed him, and said that it was no use his acting the brave there. in short, books could be filled with all the quarrels between these two persons from time to time. he shouted at times with all his might, he spoke like a torrent, and foamed at the mouth, and the next moment he would speak low like another man. when he shouted so loudly, our lady said, 'the fever is attacking him again!' he was enraged at this. [ ] it will be remembered from the introduction that fuchs was killed two years after by one of leonora's sons at bruges. some weeks afterwards he came to visit them, and assumed a humble manner. our lady took no notice of it, and spoke with him on indifferent subjects; but her husband would not speak to him, and never afterwards was he able to draw from him more than a few words. towards christmas, fos treated the prisoners very ill, more so than formerly, so that monsieur sent the servant to beg him to treat him as a gentleman and not as a peasant. fos went to them immediately, after having abused monsieur's servant; and as he entered, monsieur left the apartment and went into another, and refused to give him his hand. fos was enraged at this, and would not remain, nor would he speak a word to our lady, who begged him to hear her. a moment after, he caused the door to be bolted, so that they could not go out to take the air, for they before had free access to a loft. at every festival he devised means of annoying them; he closed all the windows, putting to some bars of iron, and to others wooden framework and boxes; and as to their food, it was worse than ever. they had to endure that winter in patience; but as they perceived that fos's design was that they should die of hunger, they resolved to hazard an escape, and made preparation through the winter, in order to escape as soon as the thaw would set in. our lady, who had three pairs of sheets that her children had sent her, undid some articles of clothing and made cordage and a sail; she sewed them with silk, for she had no thread. her husband and the servant worked at the oars. when the moon was favourable to them in the month of april, they wished to carry out the plan they had been projecting for so long a time. our lady was the first to make the descent: the height was seventy-two feet; she went on to the ravelin to await the others. some time elapsed before her husband came, so she returned, and at last she heard a great noise among the ropes, her husband having lost a shoe in his descent. they had still to wait for the valet; he had forgotten the cord, and said that he could not carry it with him. it was necessary to descend the rampart into the moats, which were dry; the height is about forty feet. our lady was the first to descend; she helped her husband, for his strength was already failing. when they were all three in the fosse, the moon was obscured and a little rain fell. this was unfortunate, as they could not see which road to take. her husband said it would be better to remain where they were till daylight, for they might break their necks in descending the rocks. the servant said he knew the way, as he had observed it when the window was free; that he would go in front. he went in advance, gliding in a sitting position, after him our lady, and then her husband; they could not see an inch before them; the man fell from an incredible height, and did not speak; our lady stopped, shouted to him, and asked him to answer if he was alive. he was some time before he answered, so she and her husband considered him dead; at length he answered, and said he should never get out of this ravine; our lady asked him if he judged the depth to be greater than one of the cords could reach? she would tie two together, and throw the end to him to draw him up. he said that one cord would be sufficient, but that she could not draw him up, that she would not be strong enough; she said she could, she would hold firm, and he should help himself with his knees. he took courage, and she drew him up; the greatest marvel was, that on each side of her there was a precipice deeper than that over which he fell, and that she had nothing by which to support herself, except a small projection, which they believed to be of earth, against which she placed her left foot, finding no resting-place for the right one. we can truly say that god had granted her his protection, for to escape from such a danger, and draw another out of it, could not have been done by unaided man. our fool fos explained it otherwise, and used it for his own purposes, saying that without the assistance of the devil it would have been impossible to stand firm in such a place, still less to assist another; he impressed this so well on the queen, that she is still of the opinion that our lady exercises sorcery. fos would take the glory from god to give it to the devil, and this calumny has to be endured with many others. but let us return to our miserable fugitives, whom we left in the fosse. our lady, who had shouted to her husband not to advance, as soon as she heard the valet fall, called to him to keep back, turn quietly, and to climb upwards, for that there was no passage there; this was done, and they remounted the fosse and kept themselves quiet. her husband wished that they should remain there, since they did not know which road to take. while they were deliberating, the moon shone forth a little, and our lady saw where she was, and she remembered a good passage which she had seen on the day when she walked out with the governor; she persuaded her husband to follow her; he complained of his want of strength; she told him that god would assist him, and that he did not require great strength to let himself glide down, that the passage was not difficult, and that in ascending on the opposite side, which was not high, the valet and herself could assist him. he resolved, but he found it difficult enough; at length, however, they succeeded; they had then to go half a quarter of a league to reach the place where the boats were. her husband, wearied out, could not walk, and begged her, for the love of god, to leave him where he was; he was ready to die; she consoled him, and gave him restoratives, and told him that he had but a little step to make; he begged her to leave him there, and to save herself with the servant: she would find means afterwards to rescue him from prison. she said no, she would not abandon him; that he knew well the opportunities she had had to escape before, if she had wished to forsake him; that she would never quit him nor leave him in the hands of this tyrant; that if fos ventured to touch him, she was resolved on avenging herself upon him. after having taken a little breath, he began again to proceed. our lady, who was loaded with so many ropes and clothes, could scarcely walk, but necessity gave her strength. she begged her husband to lean on her and on the valet, so he supported himself between them, and in this way arrived where the boats were; but too late, for it was already day. as our lady saw the patrol coming in the distance, she begged her husband to stop there with the valet, saying that she would go forward in advance, which she did. she was scarcely a musket-shot distant from a little town where the major lodged, when she spoke with the guard, and asked them after the major. one of them went for the major, whose name was kratz. the major saw our lady with great consternation; he asked after her husband. she told him where he was, and in a few words she requested that he would go to the castle and tell major-general fos that his ill-treatment had been the cause of the desperate resolution they had taken, and to beg him not to ill-treat them; they were at present sick at heart; they could not endure anything; she begged him to consider that those who had resolved to face more than one form of death, would not fear it in any shape. kratz conducted the prisoners to his house, mounted his horse, and went in search of the governor, who was still in bed, and told him the affair. the governor got out of bed like a furious creature, swore, menaced; after having recovered a little, the major told him what our lady had begged him to say. then he was for some time thoughtful, and said, 'i confess it; they had reason to seek their liberty, for otherwise they would never have had it.' he did not immediately come for the prisoners, for he had another apartment prepared for them. as he entered, he assumed a pleasant manner, and asked if they ought to be there; he did not say an unkind word, but, on the contrary, said he should have done the same. they were conducted to the royal hall to warm themselves, for they were all wet with the rain; our lady had then an opportunity of speaking to the valet, and of taking from him the papers that he had, which contained all that had passed during the time of their imprisonment,[ ] and she counselled the valet to lay aside the arms that he had upon him, and that if he had anything which he wished to secure that he would deliver it up to her keeping. the valet gave her what she asked, followed her orders, threw away his arms, but as regarded his own papers he would not give them up, for he did not share her fears; but he knew afterwards, for fos caused him to be entirely stripped, and took away everything from him, and made him pay well for having noted down the dishes that they had on the first day of the festivals, and on the rest. [ ] this account of what happened during their imprisonment at hammershuus, written by leonora herself, is also mentioned in her record of her prison-life in the blue tower. but no copy of it has yet come to light. uhlfeldt's so-called apology contains much information on this subject. at length towards evening our lady and her husband were conveyed into another apartment, and the valet into the body-guard loaded with irons. they were there together thirteen weeks, until fos received orders from the court to separate them; meanwhile, he encased the prisons in iron. i may well use such a term, for he caused plates of iron to be placed on the walls, double bars and irons round the windows.[ ] when he had permission to separate them, he entered one day to begin a quarrel, and spoke of the past; our lady begged him not to say more, but he would go on; he was determined to quarrel. he said to her, 'madame, you are so haughty, i will humble you; i will make you so--so small,' and he made a measurement with his hand from the floor. 'you have been lifted up and i will bring you down.' she laughed, and said, 'you may do with me whatever you will, but you can never humble me so that i shall cease to remember that you were a servant of a servant of the king my father;' at last, he so forgot himself as to hold his fist in her face. she said to him, keeping her hand on her knife which she had in her pocket, 'make use of your foul mouth and accursed tongue, but keep your hands quiet.' he drew back, and made a profound bow in ridicule, calling her 'your grace,' asked her pardon, and what he had to fear. she said, 'you have nothing to fear; if you take liberties, you will meet with resistance--feeble enough, but such as i have strength to give you.' [ ] fuchs' own report on this subject still exists, and in it he estimates the iron employed at three tons. after some further invectives, he said farewell, and begged they might be good friends; he came once more and conducted himself in the same manner, but less violently. he said to a captain who was present, of the name of bolt, that he did it expressly in order to have a quarrel with her husband, that he might revenge himself for her conduct upon him, but that her husband would not speak to him. at length the unhappy day of their separation came, and fos entered to tell them that they must be prepared to bid each other a final farewell, for that he had orders to separate them, and in this life they would never see each other again; he gave them an hour to converse together for the last time. you can easily imagine what passed in this hour; but as they had been prepared for this separation weeks before, having been warned of it by their guard with whom they could talk, it did not surprise them. our lady had gained over four of the guards, who were ready to let them escape easily enough, but her husband would not undertake it, always saying that he had no strength, but that she might do it. well, they had to abide by it; after this sad day[ ] they were separated, he in one prison below and she in another above, one above another, bars before the windows, he without a servant, and she without a waiting woman. [ ] the precise date was june , , but the order for their separation is dated already on the th of april. about three weeks after, our lady fell ill; she requested a woman or girl to wait upon her, and a priest. fos sent answer, with regard to a woman or girl to wait upon her, he did not know anyone who would do it, but that there was a wench who had killed her child, and who would soon be beheaded, and if she wished for her, she could have her. as to a priest, he had no orders, and she would have no priest even if death were on her lips. our lady said nothing but 'patience; i commend it to god.' our lady had the happiness of being able to give her husband signs daily, and to receive such, and when the wind was not too strong they could speak to one another. they spoke italian together, and took their opportunity before the reveille. towards the close of the governorship of this villain, he was informed of this. he then had a kind of machine made which is used to frighten the cattle from the corn in the summer, and which makes a great noise, and he desired the sentinel to move this machine in order to hinder them hearing each other. fifteen days before count rantzow came to borringholm to treat with them, fos had news of it from copenhagen from his intimate friend jaques p...; he visited our lady, told her on entering that her children had been expelled from skaane by the swedes; our lady said, 'well, the world is wide, they will find a place elsewhere.' he then told her that bolt had come from copenhagen with the tidings that they would never be let at liberty; she replied, 'never is a long time; this imprisonment will not last a hundred years, much less an eternity--in the twinkling of an eye much may change; the hand of god, in whom are the hearts of kings, can change everything.' he said, 'you have plenty of hope; you think perhaps if the king died, you would be free?' she replied, 'god preserve the king. i believe that he will give me liberty, and no one else.' he chatted about a great many things, and played the flatterer. at length count rantzow came and made a stay at borringh... of eleven weeks. he visited the prisoners, and did them the favour of having the husband to dine with him, and in the evening our lady supped with him, and he conferred with them separately. our lady asked him of what she was accused; he replied, 'will you ask that? that is not the way to get out of borringholm; do you know that you have said the king is your brother? and kings do not recognise either sisters or brothers.' she replied, 'to whom had i need to say that the king is my brother? who is so ignorant in denmark as not to know that? i have always known, and know still, the respect that is due to the king; i have never given him any other title than my king and lord; i have never called him my brother, in speaking of him; kings are gracious enough to recognise their sisters and brothers as such; for example, the king of england gives the title of sister to his brother's wife, although she is of very mediocre extraction.[ ] rantzow replied, 'our king does not wish it, and he does not know yet the truth about dina's affair.' she said, 'i think the king does not wish to know.' he replied, 'indeed, by god he desires with all his heart to be informed of it.' she answered, 'if the king will desire walter to tell him, and this with some earnestness, he will be informed of it.' rantzow made no reply. [ ] leonora alludes to the wife of the then duke of york, afterwards james ii., who was the daughter of lord edward clarendon. when he had concluded everything with her husband, whom he had obliged to yield up all his possessions, rantzow acquainted our lady with the fact; she said that her husband had power to give up what was his, but that the half belonged to her, and that this she would not give up, not being able to answer for it before god nor before her children; she had committed no crime; liberty should be given to her husband for the half of their lands, and that if the king thought he could retain her with a good conscience she would endure it. rantzow with a serious air replied, 'do not think that your husband will ever be set at liberty, if you do not sign with him.' she said that the conditions were too severe; that they should do better for their children to die as prisoners, god and all the world knowing their innocence, than to leave so many children beggars. rantzow said, 'if you die in prison, all your lands and property are forfeited, and your children will have nothing; but at this moment you can have your liberty, live with your husband; who knows, the king may still leave you an estate, and may always show you favour, when he sees that you yield to his will.' our lady said that since there was no other prospect for her husband's liberty, she would consent. rantzow ordered her husband and herself separately to place in writing the complaints they had to bring forward against fos, and all that had happened with regard to their attempt at escape; which was done. our lady was gracious in her demeanour to fos, but her husband could not make up his mind even to speak to him. rantzow returned to copenh... and eighteen days afterwards the galley of gabel came with orders to the new governor (lieutenant-colonel lytkens, a very well-bred man and brave soldier, his wife a noble lady of the manteuffel family, very polite and pretty), that he should make the prisoners sign the papers sent, and when the signature was done, should send them on together. the governor sent first to the husband, as was befitting, who made difficulties about signing because they had added points here and there, and among other things principally this, that they were never to plead against fos. the husband said he would rather die. the good governor went in search of the wife and told her everything, begging her to speak to her husband from the window; when he knew that she had spoken to him, he would return. she thanked the governor, and when he had gone out she spoke to her husband, and persuaded him to sign. then the governor made her sign also; and after that, towards nine o'clock in the evening, her husband came to her, having been separated just twenty-six weeks.[ ] they were separated on a saturday, and they met again on a saturday. fos was still at the castle; it is easy to believe that he was in great rage. time does not permit to dwell on it. two days afterwards they embarked and came to copenhagen, and were received on the custom-house pier by c. rantzow and gabel. the queen knew nothing of it. when she was told of it she was so angry that she would not go to table. in a few words the king held his ground, and as she would not accept the thanks of monsieur and his wife, the king ordered her to receive them in writing. they spent the christmas of in the house of c. rantzow. afterwards they went to fyen, to the estate of ellensborg, which was graciously left to them.[ ] [ ] the apology of uhlfeldt contains an account of this whole transaction. he states that when he asked his wife through the window whether they ought to sign and live rather than die in prison, which would otherwise be their lot, leonora answered with the following latin verse: rebus in adversis facile est contemnere mortem, fortius ille facit, qui miser esse potest. accidit in puncto, quod non speratur in anno. [ ] ellensborg was the ancient seat of the ulfeldt family, which had been sold to ellen marsvin, leonora's grandmother, and leonora inherited it from her mother. it is now called holckenhavn, and the seat of count holck. her husband having permission to go to france to take the waters for eighteen months, left ell... with his family in the month of june , and landed at amsterdam. our lady went from thence to bruges to hire a house, and returned to amsterdam. her daughter helena fell ill of the small-pox; she remained with her, and her husband and the other children went to bruges. when her daughter had recovered, she went to rejoin her husband and children. she accompanied her husband, who went to france. having arrived at paris, the doctors did not find it advisable that he should take the waters, and he returned to bruges. her husband begged our lady to make a journey to england, and to take her eldest son with her. she raised obstacles, and showed him plainly that she should obtain nothing; that she should only be at great expense. she had examples before her which showed her that the king of england would never pay her husband. he would not have been turned from his purpose at this time but for their son's rencontre with fos, which prevented the journey that winter, and postponed the misfortunes of our lady, though it did not ultimately prevent them. but towards the spring the same design was again brought forward; our lady was assisted by the nobleman who followed her afterwards[ ] in dissuading her husband; but no reasoning could avail; he believed the king could not forget the benefits received, and refuse to pay his cousin. our lady prepared for her departure, since her husband wished it. the day that she bade him her last farewell--a fatal day, indeed--her husband's heart did not tell him that these would be the last embraces he would give her, for he was so satisfied and so full of joy that she and all were astonished. she, on the contrary, was sad. the last day of their intercourse was may , . she had many contretemps at first, and some time elapsed before she had the honour of speaking to the king. [ ] namely casetta, a spanish nobleman, who afterwards married their daughter anna katherine, but both he and their children died soon. (_see_ the introduction.) the king greeted her after the fashion of the country, treated her as his cousin,[ ] and promised her all sorts of satisfaction; that he would send his secretary[ ] to her to see her papers, which he did. the secretary made her fine promises, but the time was always postponed. the minister resident, petkum, minister of the king of danem..., came to visit her (he had placed some obstacles in the way of her demands, from what was told her). she showed him her papers, informed him of the affair, told him that the king of denmark had had all the papers in his hands, and had graciously returned them. the traitor made a semblance of understanding the affair, and promised that he would himself help in securing the payment of her demands. but this judas always intended to betray her, asking her if she did not like to make excursions, speaking to her of beautiful houses, gardens and parks, and offering her his coach. but our lady was not inclined to make excursions. [ ] charles the second's grandmother, anna, the queen of james i. was sister of leonora christina's father, christian iv. [ ] sir henry bennet, afterwards lord arlington. when he saw that he could not catch her in this way, he obtained an order to arrest her. our poor lady knew nothing of all this; she had letter upon letter from her husband requesting her return. she took leave of the king by letter, gave her papers to a lawyer[ ] upon a receipt, and set out from london. having arrived at dover, and intending to embark the same evening for flanders, a lieutenant of the name of braten[ ] appeared, who came to show her an order from the king of anglet... which she read herself, the purport of which was that the governor was to arrest such a lady, and to place her in the castle till further orders. she asked the reason why. he said that she had left without permission from the king. she told him that she had taken leave of the king by letter, and had spoken the day before her departure with the prime minister and vice-admiral aschew,[ ] who had bade her farewell.[ ] [ ] a certain mr. mowbray. [ ] elsewhere she writes the name broughton. [ ] sir george askew. [ ] compare with this account the following extracts in the _calendar of state papers_, domestic series, , , pp. , , :-- --_july ._--warrant to captain strode, governor of dover castle, to detain elionora christiana, countess of uhlfeldt, with her husband, if he be found with her, and their servants; to keep her close prisoner, and secure all her papers, according to instructions to be given by thos. parnell. _july ._--warrant to thos. parnell to observe the movements of the said countess of uhlfeldt; to seize her should she attempt to embark at gravesend with her papers, and to detain her close prisoner. (_july_).--instructions (by sec. bennet) to thos. parnell, to go to dover castle to deliver instructions, and assist in their execution, relative to a certain lady (the countess of uhlfeldt), who is not to be permitted to depart, whether she have a pass or not; but to be invited, or if needful compelled, to lodge at the castle, where the best accommodation is to be provided for her. it is suspected that her husband lies concealed in the kingdom, and will also try to pass with his lady, but he also is to be detained, and her servants also. _july ._--thos. parnell to williamson. 'found the countess (of uhlfeldt) at dover, and by the aid of the lieut.-governor sent the searcher to her inn, to demand her pass. she said she had none, not knowing it would be wanted. she submitted patiently to be taken to the castle, and lodged there till a message was sent to town. the regent's gentleman, the bearer will give an account of all things.' when she came to the castle, the emissary of petkum presented himself, by name peter dreyer. then the lieutenant said, 'it is the king of danemarc who has ordered you to be arrested.' she asked the cause. he replied, 'you undoubtedly set out incognito from danemarck.' she replied to this that the king of danem... had given her husband leave of absence for a term of eighteen months, which had not yet expired. they ordered her boxes and those of the nobleman who accompanied her to be opened, and they took all the papers. afterwards dreyer spoke to her, and she asked him why she was treated thus? he said he did not know the real cause, but that he believed it was for the death of fos, and that she was believed to have been the cause of his death. they always mentioned this to her, and no other cause. this double traitor braten enacted the gallant, entertained her, made her speak english (as she was bolder in speaking this language than any other), for she had just begun to learn it well, having had a language-master in london. one day he told that they intended conducting her to danemarck. she told him there was no need to send her to danem...; she could go there very well by herself. he said, 'you know yourself what suits you; if you will not go there willingly, i will manage so that you may go to flanders.' she did not see that this was feasible, even if he was willing; she spoke with him as to the means, saw that he did not satisfy her, and did not trust his conversation; as he was cunning, he made her believe that the king wished her to go secretly, and that he would take it all upon himself; that the king had his reasons why he did not wish to deliver her into the hands of the king of danem.... this deception had such good colouring, for she had written several times to the king during her arrest, and had begged him not to reward her husband's services by a long arrest, only speaking of what she had done at the hague for him: she had taken her jewels and rings and given them to him, when his host would not any longer supply him with food.[ ] her claim was not small; it exceeded , patacoons.[ ] [ ] several letters written by leonora during her imprisonment at dover to charles ii., sir henry bennet, &c., are printed in a danish periodical, _danske samlinger_, vol. vi. [ ] reckoning the patacoon to s. d., this claim would be nearly , _l._ our lady allowed herself to be persuaded that the king of england wished her to leave secretly. the traitor braten told her that he thought it best that she should disguise herself as a man. she said that there was no necessity she should disguise herself; that no one would pursue her; and even if it were so, that she would not go in disguise with any man who was not her husband. after having been detained seventeen days at dover, she allowed herself to be conducted by braten, at night, towards the ramparts, descended by a high ladder which broke during her descent, passed the fosse, which was not difficult; on the other side there was a horse waiting for her, but the nobleman, her attendant, and the nobleman's valet, went on foot; they would not allow her valet to go with them; braten made an excuse of not being able to find him, and that time pressed; it was because they were afraid that there would be an effort at defence. when she arrived where the traitors were, her guide gave a signal by knocking two stones one against another. at this, four armed men advanced; petkum and dreyer were a little way off; one held a pistol to her breast, the other a sword, and said, 'i take you prisoner.' the other two traitors said, 'we will conduct you to ostend.' she had always suspected treachery, and had spoken with her companion, in case it happened, what it would be best to do, to give herself up or to defend herself? she decided on allowing herself to be betrayed without a struggle, since she had no reason to fear that her life would be attempted because her son had avenged the wrong done to his parents. thus she made no resistance, begged them not to take so much trouble, that she would go of herself; for two men held her with so much force that they hurt her arm. they came with a bottle of dry wine to quench her thirst, but she would not drink; she had a good way to go on foot, for she would not again mount the horse. she showed some anger towards her guide, begged him in english to give her respects to the governor,[ ] but to convey to the traitor braten all the abuse that she could hurriedly call to mind in this language, which was not quite familiar to her. she advanced towards the boat; the vessel which was to convey her was in the roads, near the downs. she bade farewell to the nobleman. she had two bracelets with diamonds which she wished to give him to convey to her children; but as he feared they would be taken from him, she replaced them without troubling him with them. she gave a pistol to her servant, and a mariner then carried her to the boat; she was placed in an english frigate that petkum had hired, and dreyer went with her.[ ] she was thirteen days on the road, and arrived near the custom-house pier on august , , at nine o'clock in the morning. [ ] leonora did not know that the governor of the castle was in the plot. [ ] additional light is thrown on the arrest of leonora christina at dover by the following extracts in the _calendar of state papers_, p. , :-- _august _, _whitehall_.--(sec. bennet) to capt. strode. the king is satisfied with his account of the lady's escape and his own behaviour; continue the same mask, of publishing his majesty's displeasure against all who contributed to it, especially his lieutenant, and this more particularly in presence of m. cassett, lest he may suspect connivance. cassett is to continue prisoner some time. the danish resident is satisfied with the discretion used, but says his point would not have been secured had the lady gone to sea without interruption. _august _?--account (proposed to be sent to the gazette?) relative to count uhlfeldt--recording his submission in , the present sentence against him, his further relapse into crime after a solemn recantation, also signed by his wife who was his accomplice, though her blood saved her from sharing his sentence, but who has now betrayed herself into the hands of the king of denmark. she was in england when the conspiracy against the king of denmark's life was detected. the king of england had her movements watched, when she suddenly went off without a pass, for want of which she was stayed by the governor of dover castle, who accommodated her in the castle. the resident of denmark posted to dover, and secured the master of a ship then in the road, with whom he expected her to tamper, which she did, escaped through the castle window, and entering a shallop to go on board, was seized and conveyed to denmark. with note (by lord chancellor clarendon) that he is not satisfied with this account, but will prepare a better for another week. [the remaining part of the autobiography treats of the commencement of her imprisonment in the blue tower, which forms the subject of the following memoir.] a record of the sufferings of the imprisoned countess leonora christina. preface. _to my children._ beloved children, i may indeed say with job, 'oh, that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together! for now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea.' my sufferings are indeed great and many; they are heavy and innumerable. my mind has long been uncertain with regard to this history of my sufferings, as i could not decide whether i ought not rather to endeavour to forget them than to bear them in memory. at length, however, certain reasons have induced me, not only to preserve my sorrow in my own memory, but to compose a record of it, and to direct it to you, my dear children.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'as i now hope that what i write may come into your hands, my captivity during the last three years also having been much lightened.' the first of these reasons is the remembrance of the omnipotence of god; for i cannot recall to mind my sorrow and grief, my fears and distresses, without at the same time remembering the almighty power of god, who in all my sufferings, my misery, my affliction, and anxiety, has been my strength and help, my consolation and assistance; for never has god laid a burden upon me, without at the same time giving me strength in proportion, so that the burden, though it has weighed me down and heavily oppressed me, has not overwhelmed me and crushed me; for which i praise and extol through eternity the almighty power of the incomprehensible god. i wish, therefore, not alone to record my troubles and to thank god for his gracious support in all the misfortunes that have befallen me, but also to declare to you, my dear children, god's goodness to me, that you may not only admire with me the inconceivable help of the almighty, but that you may be able to join with me in rendering him thanks. for you may say with reason that god has dealt wonderfully with me; that he was mighty in my weakness and has shown his power in me, the frailest of his instruments. for how would it have been possible for me to resist such great, sudden, and unexpected misfortunes, had not his spirit imparted to me strength? it was god who himself entered with me into the tower-gate; it was he who extended to me his hand, and wrestled for me in that prison cell for malefactors, which is called 'the dark church.' since then, now for almost eleven years, he has always been within the gate of my prison as well as of my heart; he has strengthened me, comforted me, refreshed me, and often even cheered me. god has done wonderful things in me, for it is more than inconceivable that i should have been able to survive the great misfortunes that have befallen me, and at the same time should have retained my reason, sense, and understanding. it is a matter of the greatest wonder that my limbs are not distorted and contracted from lying and sitting, that my eyes are not dim and even wholly blind from weeping, and from smoke and soot; that i am not short-breathed from candle smoke and exhalation, from stench and close air. to god alone be the honour! the other cause that impels me is the consolation it will be to you, my dear children, to be assured through this account of my sufferings that i suffer innocently; that nothing whatever has been imputed to me, nor have i been accused of anything for which you, my dear children, should blush or cast down your eyes in shame. i suffer for having loved a virtuous lord and husband, and for not having abandoned him in misfortune. i was suspected of being privy to an act of treason for which he has never been prosecuted according to law, much less convicted of it, and the cause of the accusation was never explained to me, humbly and sorrowfully as i desired that it should be. let it be your consolation, my dear children, that i have a gracious god, a good conscience, and can boldly maintain that i have never committed a dishonourable act. 'this is thankworthy,' says the apostle st. peter, 'if a man for conscience toward god endure grief, suffering wrongfully.' i suffer, thank god, not for my misdeeds, for that were no glory to me; yet i can boast that from my youth up i have been a bearer of the cross of christ, and had incredibly secret sufferings, which were very heavy to endure at such an early age. although this record of my sufferings contains and reveals nothing more than what has occurred to me in this prison, where i have now been for eleven years, i must not neglect in this preface briefly to recall to your minds, my dear children, my earlier misfortunes, thanking god at the same time that i have overcome them. not only you, my dear children, know, but it is known throughout the whole country, what great sorrow and misfortune dina and walter, with their powerful adherents, inflicted on our house in the year . although i will not mention the many fatiguing and difficult journeys, the perils by sea, and various dangers which i have endured in foreign countries, i will only remind you of that journey which my lord requested me to undertake to denmark, contrary to my wish, in the year .[e ] it was winter time, and therefore difficult and dangerous. i endured scorn and persecution; and had not god given me courage and taken it from him who was to have arrested me, i should not at that time have escaped the misery of captivity. [e ] this journey really took place in november and december, . you will remember, my dear children, what i suffered and endured during fourteen months in custody at malmöe; how the greatest favour which his majesty, king charles x. of sweden, at that time showed me, was that he left it to my free will, either to remain at liberty, taking care of our property, or to be in prison with my lord. i acknowledged the favour, and chose the latter as my duty, esteeming it a happiness to be allowed to console and to serve my anxious husband, afflicted as he subsequently was by illness. i accepted it also as a favour that i was allowed (when my lord could not do it himself on account of illness) to appear before the tribunal in his stead. what anxiety and sorrow i had for my sick lord, what trouble, annoyance and distress, the trial caused me (it was carried on daily for more than nine weeks), is known to the most high god, who was my consolation, assistance, and strength, and who inspired me with heart and courage to defend the honour of my lord in the presence of his judges. you will probably not have forgotten how quickly one misfortune followed another, how one sorrow was scarcely past when a greater one followed in its track; we fared, according to the words of the poet: incidit in scyllam, qui vult vitare charibdin. we escaped custody and then fell into strict captivity, without doubt by the dispensation of god, who inspired my lord with the idea of repairing, contrary to our agreement, to copenhagen instead of lübeck. no pen can describe how sorrowful i was when, contrary to all expectation, i met my lord in copenhagen, when i had imagined him escaped from the power and violence of all his enemies. i expected just that which my lord did not believe would happen, but which followed immediately--namely, our arrest. the second day after my arrival (which they had waited for) we were apprehended and conveyed to bornholm, where we were in close imprisonment for seventeen months. i have given a full description of what i suffered, and this i imagine is in your keeping, my dear children; and from it you see what i and my sick lord endured; how often i warded off greater misery, because my lord could not always brook patiently the bad treatment of the governor, adolf foss, who called himself fux. it was hard and bitter indeed to be scorned and scoffed at by a peasant's son; to have to suffer hunger at his will, and to be threatened and harassed by him; but still harder and more bitter was it to be sick beneath his power, and to hear from him the words that even if death were on my lips no minister of god's word should come to me. oh monstrous tyranny! his malice was so thoroughly beyond all bounds, that he could not endure that we should lighten each other's cross; and for this reason he contrived, after the lapse of eleven months, to have us separated from each other, and to place us each in the hardest confinement. my husband (at that time already advancing in years) without a servant, and i without an attendant, was only allowed a light so long as the evening meal lasted. i cannot forbear bitterly recalling to mind the six months of long and hard separation, and the sad farewell which we took of each other; for to all human sight there was no other prospect than that which the governor announced to us--namely, that we were seeing and speaking with each other for the last time in this world. god knows best how hard our sufferings were, for it was he who consoled us, who gave us hope contrary to all expectation, and who inspired me with courage when the governor visited me and endeavoured to fill me with despair. god confirmed my hope. money and property loosened the bonds of our captivity, and we were allowed to see and speak with each other once more. sad as my lord had been when we were separated at borringholm, he was joyous when two years afterwards he persuaded me to undertake the english journey, not imagining that this was to part us for ever. my lord, who entertained too good an opinion of the king of england, thought that now that he had come to the throne he would remember not only his great written and spoken promises, but that he would also bear in mind how, at the time of his need and exile, i had drawn the rings from my fingers and had pawned them for meals for him and his servants. but how unwillingly i undertook this journey is well known to some of you, my dear children, as i was well aware that from an ungrateful person there is nothing else to be expected but ingratitude. i had the example of others by whom to take warning; but it was thus destined to be. bitter bread was in store for me, and bitter gall was to fill my cup in the blue tower of copenhagen castle; thither was i to go to eat it and drink it out. it is not unknown to you how falsely the king of england acted towards me; how well he received me on my arrival; how he welcomed me with a judas kiss and addressed me as his cousin; and how both he himself and all his high ministers assured me of the royal favour, and promised me payment of the money advanced. you know how cunningly (at the desire of his majesty the king of denmark) he had me arrested at dover, and subsequently sent me word through the traitor lieutenant braten that he would let me escape secretly, at the same time delivering me into the hand of the danish minister simon petcon, who had me arrested by eight armed men; keeping aloof, however, himself, and never venturing to come near me. they held sword and pistol to my breast, and two of them took me between them and placed me in a boat, which conveyed me to a vessel held in readiness by the said minister; a man of the name of peter dreyer having received orders to conduct me to copenhagen. from this period this record of my suffering begins. it contains all that happened to me within the gates of the blue tower. reflect, my dear children, on these hard sufferings; but remember also god's great goodness towards me. verily, he has freed me from six calamities; rest assured that he will not leave me to perish in the seventh. no! for the honour of his name, he will mightily deliver me. the narrative of my sufferings is sad to hear, and must move the hardest heart to pity; yet in reading it, do not be more saddened than can be counterbalanced by joy. consider my innocence, courage, and patience; rejoice over these. i have passed over various petty vexations and many daily annoyances for the sake of brevity, although the smallest of them rankled sore in the wounds of my bitter sorrow. i acknowledge my weaknesses, and do not shrink from confessing them to you. i am a human being, and am full of human imperfections. our first emotions are not under our own power; we are often overhasty before we are able to reflect. god knows that i have often made myself deaf and blind, in order not to be carried away by passion. i am ashamed to mention and to enumerate the unchaste language, bad words and coarse invectives, of the prison governor johan jaeger, of kresten maansen, the tower warder, of karen the daughter of ole, and of catharina wolff; they would offend courtly ears. yet i can assure you they surpass everything that can be imagined as indecent, ugly, churlish and unbecoming; for coarse words and foul language were the tokens of their friendliness and clemency, and disgusting oaths were the ornament and embellishment of their untruthfulness; so that their intercourse was most disagreeable to me. i was never more glad than when the gates were closed between me and those who were to guard me. then i had only the woman alone, whom i brought to silence, sometimes amicably, and at others angrily and with threats. i have also had, and have still, pleasant intercourse with persons whose services and courtesies i shall remember as long as i live. you, my dear children, will also repay them to every one as far as you are able. you will find also in this record of my sufferings two of the chief foes of our house, namely jörgen walter and jörgen skröder,[e ] with regard to whom god has revenged me, and decreed that they should have need of me, and that i should comfort them. walter gives me cause to state more respecting him than was my intention. [e ] this man was a german by birth, but settled in denmark, where he was nobilitated under the name of lövenklau. his bad conduct obliged him to leave the country, and he went to sweden, where he had lived before he came to denmark, and where ulfeldt, then in sweden, procured him an appointment as a colonel in the army. this kindness he repaid by informing the danish government against ulfeldt in , in consequence of which he was not only allowed to return to denmark, but even obtained a lucrative office in norway. here he quarrelled with the viceroy, niels trolle, and tried to serve him as he had served ulfeldt; but he failed to establish his accusations against trolle, and was condemned into the forfeiture of his office and of his patent of nobility. he then left denmark at least for a season, and how he came to apply to leonora christina for assistance is not known, as she has omitted to mention it in the memoir itself, though she evidently intended to do so. of the psalms and hymns which i have composed and translated, i only insert a few, in order that you, my dear children, may see and know how i have ever clung steadfastly to god, who has been and still is my wall of defence against every attack, and my refuge in every kind of misfortune and adversity. do not regard the rhymes; they are not according to the rules which poets make; but regard the matter, the sense, and the purport. nor have i left my other small pastime unmentioned, for you may perceive the repose of my mind from the fact that i have had no unemployed hours; even a rat, a creature so abominable to others, affording me amusement. i have recorded two observations, which though they treat of small and contemptible animals, yet are remarkable, and i doubt whether any naturalist hitherto has observed them. for i do not think it has been recorded hitherto that there exists a kind of caterpillar which brings forth small living grubs like itself, nor either that a flea gives birth to a fully-formed flea, and not that a nit comes from a nit.[ ] [ ] a pen has afterwards been drawn through this paragraph, but the observations occur in the manuscript. in conclusion, i beg you, my dear children, not to let it astonish you that i would not avail myself of the opportunity by which i might have gained my freedom. if you rightly consider it, it would not have been expedient either for you or me. i confess that if my deceased lord had been alive, i should not only have accepted the proposal, but i should have done my utmost to have escaped from my captivity, in order to go in quest of him, and to wait on him and serve him till his last breath; my duty would have required this. but since he was at that time in rest and peace with god, and needed no longer any human service, i have with reason felt that self-obtained liberty would have been in every respect more prejudicial than useful to us, and that this would not be the way to gain the possessions taken from us, for which reason i refused it and endeavoured instead to seek repose of mind and to bear patiently the cross laid upon me. if god so ordains it, and it is his divine will that through royal mercy i should obtain my freedom, i will joyfully exert myself for you, my beloved children, to the utmost of my ability, and prove in deed that i have never deviated from my duty, and that i am no less a good and right-minded mother than i have been a faithful wife. meanwhile let god's will be your will. he will turn and govern all things so that they may benefit you and me in soul and body, to whose safe keeping i confidently recommend you all, praying that he will be your father and mother, your counsellor and guide. pray in return for me, that god may direct me by his good spirit, and grant me patience in the future as heretofore. this is all that is requested from you by, my dearly beloved children, your affectionate mother, leonora christina, v.e.g. written in the blue tower, anno , the th of july, the eleventh year of imprisonment, my birthday, and fifty-third year of my age.[ ] [ ] the conclusion of the preface, from the words 'meanwhile let the will of god,' etc. has afterwards been erased, when the manuscript was continued beyond the date assigned in the preface; and the following paragraphs, 'i bear also in mind,' etc. were intended to form a new conclusion, but do not seem to have been properly worked in. * * * * * i bear also in mind, with the greatest humility and gratitude, our gracious hereditary king's favour towards me, immediately after his majesty came to the throne. i remember also the sympathy of our most gracious queen regent, and of her highness the electoral princess of saxony in my unfortunate fate; also the special favour of her majesty the queen. i have also not forgotten to bear duly in mind the favour shown towards me by her majesty the queen mother, the virtuous landgravine of hesse. i have also recorded various things which occurred in my imprisonment during the period from the year to the year , intending with these to conclude the record of my sufferings; as i experienced a pleasure, and often consoled myself, in feeling that it is better to remain innocently in captivity than to be free and to have deserved imprisonment. i remember having read that captivity has served many as a protection from greater dangers, and has guarded them from falling into the hands of their enemies. there have been some who have escaped from their prison and immediately after have been murdered. there have also been some who have had a competence in prison and afterwards have suffered want in freedom. innocent imprisonment does not diminish honour, but rather increases it. many a one has acquired great learning in captivity, and has gained a knowledge of things which he could not master before. yes, imprisonment leads to heaven. i have often said to myself: 'comfort thyself, thou captive one, thou art happy.' since the year constituted only half the period of my captivity, i have added in this record of my sufferings some facts that occurred since that time within my prison-gates. i am on the eve of my liberty, may , . to god alone be the honour, who has moved his royal majesty to justice! i will here mention those of whose death i have been informed during my captivity. . the prime minister of his majesty, count christian of rantzow[e ], died in the month of september, . he did not live to drink the health of our princess and of the electoral prince of saxony at the feast of their betrothal. still less did he live long enough to see a wooden effigy quartered in mockery of my lord, according to his suggestion. death was very bitter to him. [e ] this count rantzow was the same who had negotiated the compromise with ulfeldt and leonora at bornholm in , and in fact brought it about. it was currently reported in copenhagen at the time that he had received a large sum of money from ulfeldt on that occasion, and he afterwards showed his friendly disposition towards him by promising him to intercede with the king for christian ulfeldt when the latter had killed fuchs. leonora, however, speaks of him as an enemy probably because he presided in the high court of appeal which condemned ulfeldt as a traitor. but the facts of the case left him scarcely any other alternative than that of judging as he did, nor would it have been surprising if ulfeldt's last conduct had altered rantzow's feelings towards him. rantzow also presided in the commission which examined leonora in the blue tower. . the mistress of the robes of the queen dowager, who was so severe on me in my greatest sorrow, had a long and painful illness; she said with impatience that the pain of hell was not greater than her pain. her screams could often be heard in the tower. she was carried on a bed into the town, and died there. . the death of able catherine was very painful. as she had formerly sought for letters on the private parts of my person, so she was afterwards herself handled by the surgeons, as she had boils all over her. she was cut and burnt. she endured all this pain, hoping to live, but neither the art of the surgeons nor the visits of the queen could save her from death.[e ] [e ] abel catharina is mentioned in the memoir itself as the person who searched leonora when she first entered her prison, and did so in a very unbecoming manner; she acted, however, under the orders of the mistress of the robes, m. v. haxthausen. abel catharina is otherwise chiefly known as the founder of a charity for old women in copenhagen, which still bears her name. . secretary erich krag, who had displayed the malice of his heart in my imprisonment in the 'dark church,' was snatched away by death in a place of impurity. he was lively and well, had invited guests to dinner, sat and wrote at his table, went out to obey the necessities of nature, and was found dead by his attendants when they had waited some time for him. . major-general fridrich von anfeldte,[e ] who had more than once manifested his delight at my misfortunes, died as he had lived. he was a godless man and a blasphemer. he fell a victim to jealousy, and went mad, because another obtained an honorary title which he had coveted; this was indeed little enough to deprive him of sense and reason. he would hear nothing of god, nor would he be reconciled with god. both queens, the queen dowager and the queen regent, persuaded him at length to be so. when he had received the sacrament, he said, 'now your majesties have had your desire; but what is the good of it?' he continued to curse and to swear, and so died. [e ] this name is mis-spelt for ahlefeldt. this officer received leonora on her arrival at copenhagen, as she relates herself. he had distinguished himself in the siege of copenhagen in , and died as a lieutenant-general. . general schak died after a long illness. . chancellor peter retz likewise. . his royal majesty king friedrich iii.'s death accelerated the death of the stadtholder cristoffer gabel. he felt that the hate of the queen dowager could injure him greatly, and he desired death. god heard him.[e ] [e ] christoffer gabel is mentioned several times in the autobiography. he was an influential man at the time, in great favour at court, and he had a great part in effecting the release of ulfeldt from the prison at bornholm, for which he, according to leonora's statement, received , dollars from ulfeldt. both he and reedtz were members of the court which condemned ulfeldt. . it has pleased god that i should be myself a witness of walter's miserable death; indeed, that i should compassionate him. when i heard him scream, former times came to my mind, and i often thought how a man can allow himself to be led to do evil to those from whom he had only received kindness and honour. . magister buch, my father-confessor, who acted so ill to me, suffered much pain on his bed of languishing. he was three days speechless before he died. . when the rogue and blasphemer, christian, who caused me so much annoyance in my captivity, had regained his liberty and returned to his landlord, maans armfeld in jutland, he came into dispute with the parish priest, who wanted him to do public penance for having seduced a woman. the rogue set fire to the parsonage; the minister's wife was burnt to death in trying to save some of her property, and all the minister's possessions were left in ashes. the minister would not bring the rogue to justice. he commended him to the true judge, and left vengeance to him. the incendiary's conscience began to be awakened; for a long time he lived in dread, and was frightened if he saw anyone coming at all quickly, and he would call out and say tremblingly, 'now they are going to take me!' and would run hither and thither, not knowing where to go. at length he was found dead on the field, having shot himself; for a long rifle was found lying between his legs, the barrel towards his breast, and a long ramrod in his hand, with which he had touched the trigger. he did not, therefore, die in as christian a manner as if he had perished under the hand of the executioner, of which he had so lightly said that he should not care for it at all, so long as he could bring someone else into trouble. a record of suffering; _or, a reminiscence of all that occurred to me, leonora christina, in the blue tower, from august of the year , to june [ ] of the year ._ [ ] afterwards altered to anno , the th of may. the past is rarely remembered without sorrow, for it has been either better or worse than the present. if it was more joyous, more happy, and full of honour, its remembrance justly saddens us, and in proportion as the present is full of care, unhappiness, and dishonour. if past times were sadder, more miserable, and more deplorable than the present, the remembrance of them is equally sorrowful, for we recover and feel once more all the past misfortunes and adversities which have been endured in the course of time. but all things have, as it were, two handles by which they may be raised, as epictetus says. the one handle, he says, is bearable; the other is not bearable; and it rests with our will which handle we grasp, the bearable or the unbearable one. if we grasp the bearable one, we can recall all that is transitory, however sad and painful it may have been, rather with joy than with sorrow.[e ] so i will seize the bearable handle, and in the name of jesus i will pass rapidly through my memory, and recount all the wretchedness and misery, all the grief, scorn and suffering, contempt and adversity, which have befallen me in this place, and which i have overcome with god's help. i will, moreover, in no wise grieve over it; but, on the contrary, i will remind myself at every step of the goodness of god, and will thank the most high who has been constantly near me with his mighty help and consolation; who has ruled my heart, that it should not depart from god; who has preserved my mind and my reason, that it has not become obscured; who has maintained my limbs in their power and natural strength, and even has given, and still gives me, repose of mind and joyfulness. to thee, incomprehensible god, be honour and praise for ever! [e ] the passage alluded to occurs in epictet's encheiridion, chap. (in some editions chap. ), where he says: 'every matter has two handles, one by which it may be carried (or endured), the other by which it cannot be carried (or endured). if thy brother has done thee injury, do not lay hold of this matter from the fact that he has done thee an injury, for this is the handle by which it cannot be carried (or endured); but rather from this side: that he is thy brother, educated with thee; and thou wilt lay hold of the matter from that side from which it may be managed.' it is easily seen how leonora makes use of the double meaning of the greek word {phorêtos}, which is equally well used of an object which can be carried in the literal physical sense, and of a matter which can be endured or borne with. {illustration: das alte schloss in copenhagen mit dem blauen thurm. the old castle of copenhagen. showing the blue tower in the middle of the back-ground.} and now to proceed with my design. i consider it necessary to begin the record of my sufferings with the commencement of the day which concluded with the fatal evening of my captivity, and to mention somewhat of that which befell me on the vessel. after the captain had cast anchor a little outside the pier of st. anna, on august , , at nine o'clock in the forenoon, he was sent on shore with letters by peter dreyer, who was commissioned by petcon, at that time the minister resident in england, of his majesty the king of denmark, to take charge of me. i dressed myself and sat down in one of the cabins of the sailors on the deck, with a firm resolution to meet courageously all that lay before me;[ ] yet i in no wise expected what happened; for although i had a good conscience, and had nothing evil with which to reproach myself, i had at various times asked the before-mentioned peter dreyer the reason why i had been thus brought away. to this question he always gave me the reply which the traitor braten had given me at dover (when i asked of him the cause of my arrest); namely, that i was, perhaps, charged with the death of major-general fux, and, that it was thought i had persuaded my son to slay him; saying, that he knew of no other cause. at twelve o'clock nils rosenkrantz, at that time lieutenant-colonel, and major steen anderson bilde, came on board with some musketeers. lieutenant-colonel rosenkrantz did not salute me. the major walked up and down and presently passed near me. i asked him, en passant, what was the matter? he gave me no other answer than, 'bonne mine, mauvais jeu;' which left me just as wise as before. about one o'clock captain bendix alfeldt came on board with several more musketeers, and after he had talked some time with peter dreyer, dreyer came to me and said, 'it is ordered that you should go into the cabin.' i said, 'willingly;' and immediately went. soon after, captain alfeldt came in to me, and said he had orders to take from me my letters, my gold, silver, money, and my knife. i replied, 'willingly.' i took off my bracelets and rings, gathered in a heap all my gold, silver, and money, and gave it to him. i had nothing written with me, except copies of the letters which i had addressed to the king of england, notes respecting one thing or another relating to my journey, and some english vocabularies; these i also gave up to him. all these alfeldt placed in a silver utensil which i had with me, sealed it in my presence, and left the vessel with it. an hour, or somewhat more, afterwards, major-general friderich von anfeldt,[ ] commandant in copenhagen, arrived, and desired that i should come to him outside the cabin. i obeyed immediately. he greeted me, gave me his hand, and paid me many compliments, always speaking french. he was pleased to see me in health, he feared the sea might have inconvenienced me; i must not allow the time to seem long to me; i should soon be accommodated otherwise. i caught at the last word and said, smiling, 'monsieur says otherwise, but not better.' 'yes, indeed,' he replied, 'you shall be well accommodated; the noblest in the kingdom will visit you.' i understood well what he meant by this, but i answered: 'i am accustomed to the society of great people, therefore that will not appear strange to me.' upon this, he called a servant and asked for the before-mentioned silver utensil (which captain alfeldt had taken away with him). the paper which captain alfeldt had sealed over it was torn off. the major-general turned to me, and said: 'here you have your jewels, your gold, silver, and money back; captain alfeldt made a mistake--they were only letters which he had orders to demand, and these only have been taken out, and have been left at the castle; you may dispose of the rest as you wish yourself.' 'in god's name,' i answered, 'am i, therefore, at liberty to put on again my bracelets and rings?' 'o jesus,' he said, 'they are yours; you may dispose of them as you choose.' i put on the bracelets and rings, and gave the rest to my attendant. the major-general's delight not only appeared in his countenance, but he was full of laughter, and was overflowing with merriment. among other things he said that he had had the honour of making the acquaintance of two of my sons; that he had been in their society in holland; and he praised them warmly. i complimented him in return, as was proper, and i behaved as if i believed that he was speaking in good faith. he indulged in various jokes, especially with my attendant; said that she was pretty, and that he wondered i could venture to keep such a pretty maiden; when holstein ladies kept pretty maids it was only to put their husbands in good humour; he held a long discourse on how they managed, with other unmannerly jests which he carried on with my attendant. i answered nothing else than that he probably spoke from experience. he said all kinds of foolish jokes to my servant, but she did not answer a word. afterwards the prison governor told me that he (von anfeldt) had made the king believe, at first, that my attendant was my daughter, and that the king had been long of that opinion. at length, after a long conversation, the major-general took his leave, saying that i must not allow the time to seem long to me; that he should soon come again; and he asked what he should say to his majesty the king. i begged him to recommend me in the best manner to their majesties' favour, adding that i knew not well what to say or for what to make request, as i was ignorant of what intentions they had with regard to me. towards three o'clock major-general von anfeldt returned; he was full of laughter and merriment, and begged me to excuse him for being so long away. he hoped the time had not appeared long to me; i should soon get to rest; he knew well that the people (with this he pointed to the musketeers, who stood all along both sides of the vessel) were noisy, and inconvenienced me, and that rest would be best for me. i answered that the people did not inconvenience me at all; still i should be glad of rest, since i had been at sea for thirteen days, with rather bad weather. he went on with his compliments, and said that when i came into the town his wife would do herself the honour of waiting on me, and, 'as it seems to me,' he continued, 'that you have not much luggage with you, and perhaps, not the clothes necessary, she will procure for you whatever you require.' i thanked him, and said that the honour was on my side if his wife visited me, but that my luggage was as much as i required at the time; that if i needed anything in the future, i hoped she might be spared this trouble; that i had not the honour of knowing her, but i begged him, nevertheless, to offer her my respects. he found various subjects of discourse upon birgitte speckhans[e ] and other trifles, to pass away the time; but it is not worth the trouble to recall them to mind, and still less to write them down. at last a message came that he was to conduct me from the vessel, when he said to me with politeness: 'will it please you, madame, to get into this boat, which is lying off the side of the ship?' i answered, 'i am pleased to do anything that i must do, and that is commanded by his majesty the king.' the major-general went first into the boat, and held out his hand to me; the lieutenant-colonel rosenkrantz, captain alfeldt, peter dreyer, and my attendant, went with me in the boat. and as a great crowd of people had assembled to look at the spectacle, and many had even gone in boats in order to see me as they wished, he never took his eyes off me; and when he saw that i turned sometimes to one side and sometimes to another, in order to give them this pleasure, he said, 'the people are delighted.' i saw no one truly who gave any signs of joy, except himself, so i answered, 'he who rejoices to-day, cannot know that he may not weep to-morrow; yet i see, that, whether for joy or sorrow, the people are assembling in crowds, and many are gazing with amazement at one human being.' when we were advanced a little further, i saw the well-known wicked birgitte ulfeldt,[e ] who exhibited great delight. she was seated in an open carriage; behind her was a young man, looking like a student. she was driving along the shore. when i turned to that side, she was in the carriage and laughed with all her might, so that it sounded loudly. i looked at her for some time, and felt ashamed of her impudence, and at the disgrace which she was bringing on herself; but for the rest, this conduct did not trouble me more than the barking of the dogs, for i esteemed both equally.[ ] the major-general went on talking incessantly, and never turned his eyes from me; for he feared (as he afterwards said) that i should throw myself into the water. (he judged me by himself; he could not endure the change of fortune, as his end testified, for it was only on account of an honorary title which another received in his stead that he lost his mind. he did not know that i was governed by another spirit than he, which gave me strength and courage, whilst the spirit he served led him into despair.[ ]) when the boat arrived at the small pier near the office of the exchequer, captain alfeldt landed and gave me his hand, and conducted me up towards the castle bridge. regiments of horse and foot were drawn up in the open place outside the castle; musketeers were standing on both sides as i walked forwards. on the castle bridge stood jockum walburger, the prison governor, who went before me; and as the people had placed themselves in a row on either side up to the king's stairs, the prison governor made as if he were going thither; but he turned round abruptly, and said to alfeldt, 'this way,' and went to the gate of the blue tower; stood there for some time and fumbled with the key; acted as if he could not unlock it, in order that i might remain as long as possible a spectacle to the people. and as my heart was turned to god, and i had placed all my confidence in the most high, i raised my eyes to heaven, sought strength, power, and safety from thence, and it was graciously vouchsafed me. (one circumstance i will not leave unnoticed--namely, that as i raised my eyes to heaven, a screaming raven flew over the tower, followed by a flock of doves, which were flying in the same direction.) at length, after a long delay, the prison governor opened the tower gate, and i was conducted into the tower by the before-mentioned captain alfeldt. my attendant, who was preparing to follow me, was called back by major-general von anfeldt, and told to remain behind. the prison governor went up the stairs, and showed alfeldt the way to a prison for malefactors, to which the name of the 'dark church' has been given. there alfeldt quitted me with a sigh and a slight reverence. i can truly say of him that his face expressed pity, and that he obeyed the order unwillingly. the clock was striking half-past five when jockum closed the door of my prison. i found before me a small low table, on which stood a brass candlestick with a lighted candle, a high chair, two small chairs, a fir-wood bedstead without hangings and with old and hard bedding, a night-stool and chamber utensil. at every side to which i turned i was met with stench; and no wonder, for three peasants who had been imprisoned here, and had been removed on that very day, and placed elsewhere, had used the walls for their requirements. soon after the door had been closed, it was opened again, and there entered count christian rantzow, prime minister, peter zetz, chancellor, christoffer von gabel, at that time chancellor of the exchequer, and erich krag, at that time secretary, all of whom gave me their hands with civility. the chancellor spoke and said: 'his royal majesty, my gracious master and hereditary king, sends you word, madame, that his majesty has great cause for what he is doing against you, as you will learn.' i replied: 'it is much to be regretted by me, if cause should be found against me; i will, however, hope that it may not be of such a kind that his majesty's displeasure may be lasting. when i know the cause i can defend myself.' count rantzow answered: 'you will obtain permission to defend yourself.' he whispered something to the chancellor, upon which the chancellor put a few questions: first, whether on my last journey i had been in france with my husband? to which i answered in the affirmative. then, what my husband was doing there? to which i replied, that he was consulting physicians about his health, whether it would be serviceable to him to use the warm baths in the country, which no one would advise him to do; he had even been dissuaded from trying them by a doctor in holland of the name of borro,[e ] when he had asked his opinion. thirdly, what i had purposed doing in england? to this i replied that my intention had been to demand payment of a sum of money which the king of england owed us, and which we had lent him in the time of his misfortune. fourthly, who had been in england with me? i mentioned those who were with me in england--namely, a nobleman named cassetta, my attendant who had come hither with me, a lacquey named frantz, who had remained in england, and the nobleman's servant. fifthly, who visited my husband in bruges? i could not exactly answer this, as my lord received his visits in a private chamber, where i was not admitted. count rantzow said, 'you know, i suppose, who came to him oftenest?' i answered, that the most frequent visitors among those i knew were two brothers named aranda,[e ] the before-mentioned cassetta, and a nobleman named ognati. sixthly the chancellor asked, with whom i had corresponded here in the country? to which i answered, that i had written to h. hendrick bielcke, to olluff brockenhuuss, lady elsse passberg, and lady marie ulfeldt;[e ] i did not remember any more. count rantzow enquired if i had more letters than those which i had given up? to which i answered in the negative, that i had no more. he asked further, whether i had more jewels with me than those he had seen? i answered that i had two strings of small round pearls on my hat, and a ring with a diamond, which i had given a lieutenant named braten in dover (it was he who afterwards betrayed me). count rantzow asked, how much the pearls might have been worth? this i could not exactly say. he said, that he supposed i knew their approximate value. i said they might be worth rix-dollars, or somewhat more. upon this they were all silent for a little. i complained of the severity of my imprisonment, and that i was so badly treated. count rantzow answered, 'yes madame, his royal majesty has good cause for it; if you will confess the truth, and that quickly, you may perhaps look for mercy. had maréchal de birron[e ] confessed the matter respecting which he was interrogated by order of the king, when the royal mercy was offered to him if he would speak the truth, it would not have fared with him as it did. i have heard as a truth that the king of france would have pardoned him his crime, had he confessed at once; therefore, bethink yourself, madame!' i answered, 'whatever i am asked by order of his majesty, and whatever i am cognizant of, i will gladly say in all submission.' upon this count rantzow offered me his hand, and i reminded him in a few words of the severity of my imprisonment. count rantzow promised to mention this to the king. then the others shook hands with me and went away. my prison was closed for a little. i therefore profited by the opportunity, and concealed here and there in holes, and among the rubbish, a gold watch, a silver pen which gave forth ink and was filled with ink, and a scissor-sheath worked with silver and tortoiseshell. this was scarcely done when the door was again opened, and there entered the queen's mistress of the robes, her woman of the bed-chamber, and the wife of the commissariat clerk, abel catharina. i knew the last. she and the queen's woman of the bed-chamber carried clothes over their arm; these consisted of a long dressing-gown stitched with silk, made of flesh-coloured taffeta and lined with white silk, a linen under-petticoat, printed over with a black lace pattern, a pair of silk stockings, a pair of slippers, a shift, an apron, a night-dress, and two combs. they made me no greeting. abel cath. spoke for them, and said: 'it is the command of her majesty the queen that we should take away your clothes, and that you should have these in their place.' i answered, 'in god's name!' then they removed the pad from my head, in which i had sown up rings and many loose diamonds. abel cath. felt all over my head to see if anything was concealed in my hair; then she said to the others, 'there is nothing there; we do not require the combs.' abel cath. demanded the bracelets and rings, which were a second time taken from me. i took them off and gave them to them, except one small ring which i wore on the last joint of my little finger, and which could not be worth more than a rix-dollar, this i begged to be allowed to keep. 'no,' said the mistress of the robes, 'you are to retain nothing.' abel cath. said, 'we are strictly forbidden to leave you the smallest thing; i have been obliged to swear upon my soul to the queen that i would search you thoroughly, and not leave you the smallest thing; but you shall not lose it; they will all be sealed up and kept for you, for this i swear the queen has said.' 'good, good, in god's name!' i answered. she drew off all my clothes. in my under-petticoat i had concealed some ducats under the broad gold lace; there was a small diamond ornament in my silk camisole, in the foot of my stockings there were some jacobuses', and there were sapphires in my shoes. when she attempted to remove my chemise, i begged to be allowed to retain it. no; she swore upon her soul that she dared not. she stripped me entirely, and the mistress of the robes gave abel cath. a nod, which she did not at once understand; so the mistress of the robes said: 'do you not remember your orders?' upon this, abel cath. searched my person still more closely, and said to the lady in waiting: 'no, by god! there is nothing there.' i said: 'you act towards me in an unchristian and unbecoming manner.' abel cath. answered: 'we are only servants; we must do as we are ordered; we are to search for letters and for nothing else; all the rest will be given back to you; it will be well taken care of.' after they had thus despoiled me, and had put on me the clothes they had brought, the servant of the mistress of the robes came in and searched everywhere with abel cath., and found every thing that i had concealed. god blinded their eyes so that they did not observe my diamond earrings, nor some ducats which had been sown into leather round one of my knees; i also saved a diamond worth rix-dollars; while on board the ship i had bitten it out of the gold, and thrown the gold in the sea; the stone i had then in my mouth.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'i had a ring on with a table-diamond worth rix-dollars. i bit this out, threw the gold in the sea, and kept the stone in my mouth. it could not be observed by my speech that there was anything in my mouth.' [ ] that is the aulefeldt mentioned in the preface under the name of anfeldt. [e ] birgitte speckhans was the wife of frants v. speckhans, master of ceremonies, afterwards privy councillor, &c. she had formerly been in the service of leonora christina, who was then at the height of her position, and ever afterwards proved herself a friend of her and ulfeldt. it was in her house that they stayed after escaping from malmöe, and she kept some of their movable goods for them during their imprisonment at hammershuus. [e ] birgitte ulfeldt was a younger sister of corfitz, who, in a letter to sperling, declares her to be his and leonora's bitterest enemy. what is known of her life is certainly not to her advantage. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the sorrow manifested by many would far rather have depressed me; for several people, both men and women, shed tears, even those whom i did not know.' [ ] this paragraph was afterwards struck out, the contents being transferred to the preface. [e ] this is the famous jos. borro or burrhus, physician and alchymist. he is often mentioned in books of the seventeenth century, on account of his wonderful cures and alleged knowledge of the art of making gold. in he came to denmark, where king fredrik iii. spent considerable sums on the establishment of large laboratories for him, in a building which is still known as 'the gold-house.' [e ] d'aranda was one of the most influential families in bruges. one of them, by name bernard, was some time in the danish army, afterwards secretary to corfitz ulfeldt, and employed by him in diplomatic missions. he died in , but when ulfeldt came to bruges in he lived for some time with one of bernard's brothers. [e ] h. bielke was admiral of the realm; his wife was an ulfeldt, and it was he who procured corfitz ulfeldt his leave of absence in , of which he made such regretable use. he, too, was one of the judges that convicted him. oluf brokkenhuus was corfitz ulfeldt's brother-in-law; elizabeth parsbjerg was the widow of his elder brother lauridts ulfeldt. marie ulfeldt was sister of corfitz. [e ] charles de goutant, duc de biron, a celebrated french general, some time favourite of henry iv. king of france, was found guilty of conspiring against his master with the courts of spain and savoy. henry iv. forgave him, but he recommenced his intrigues. it is supposed that the king would have forgiven him a second time if he had confessed his crime; but he refused to do so, and was beheaded in . [ ] this passage was afterwards altered thus: 'god blinded their eyes so that they did not perceive my earrings, in each of which there is a large rose diamond, and from which i have now removed the stones. the gold, which is in form of a serpent, is still in my ears. they also did not perceive that something was fastened round my knee.' the mistress of the robes was very severe; they could not search thoroughly enough for her. she laughed at me several times, and could not endure that i sat down, asking whether i could not stand, and whether anything was the matter with me. i answered, 'there is only too much the matter with me, yet i can stand when it is necessary.' (it was no wonder that the mistress of the robes could so well execute the order to plunder, for she had frequently accompanied her deceased husband. colonel schaffshaussen[e ], in war.) when she had searched every part thoroughly, they took all my clothes, except a taffeta cap for the head, and went away. then the prison governor came in with his hat on, and said, 'leonora, why have you concealed your things?' i answered him not a word; for i had made the resolution not to answer him, whatever he might say; his qualities were known to me; i was aware that he was skilful in improving a report, and could twist words in the manner he thought would be acceptable, to the damage of those who were in trouble. he asked again with the same words, adding 'do you not hear?' i looked at him over my shoulder, and would not allow his disrespect to excite me. the table was then spread, and four dishes were brought in, but i had no appetite, although i had eaten little or nothing the whole day. [e ] this lady is known under the name of haxthausen; and schaffshausen is probably a mistake on leonora's part, although of course she may have been married to an officer of this name before she married n. v. haxthausen. she was a german by birth. an hour afterwards, when the dishes had been carried away, a girl came in named maren blocks, and said that she had orders from the queen to remain the night with me. the prison governor joked a good deal with the before-mentioned maren, and was very merry, indulging in a good deal of loose talk. at last, when it was nearly ten o'clock, he said good night and closed the two doors of my prison, one of which is cased with copper. when maren found herself alone with me, she pitied my condition, and informed me that many, whom she mentioned by name (some of whom were known to me) had witnessed my courage with grief and tears, especially the wife of h. hendrick bielcke[e b], who had fainted with weeping. i said, 'the good people have seen me in prosperity; it is no wonder that they deplore the instability of fortune;' and i wished that god might preserve every one of those from misfortune, who had taken my misfortune to heart. i consoled myself with god and a good conscience; i was conscious of nothing wrong, and i asked who she was, and whom she served? she said she was in the queen's private kitchen, and had the silver in her keeping (from which i concluded that she had probably to clean the silver, which was the case). she said that the queen could get no one who would be alone with me, for that i was considered evil; it was said also that i was very wise, and knew future events. i answered, 'if i possessed this wisdom, i scarcely think that i should have come in here, for i should then have been able to guard myself against it.' maren said we might know things and still not be able to guard against them. [e b] h. bielke was admiral of the realm; his wife was an ulfeldt, and it was he who procured corfitz ulfeldt his leave of absence in , of which he made such regretable use. he, too, was one of the judges that convicted him. oluf brokkenhuus was corfitz ulfeldt's brother-in-law; elizabeth parsbjerg was the widow of his elder brother lauridts ulfeldt. marie ulfeldt was sister of corfitz. she told me also that the queen had herself spoken with her, and had said to her, 'you are to be this night with leonora; you need not be afraid, she can now do no evil. with all her witchcraft she is now in prison and has nothing with her; and if she strikes you, i give you leave to strike her back again till the blood comes.' maren said also, 'the queen knows well that my mind has been affected by acute illness, and therefore she wished that i should be with you.' so saying she threw her arms round my neck as i was sitting, and caressed me in her manner, saying, 'strike me, dear heart, strike me!' 'i will not,' she swore, 'strike again.' i was rather alarmed, fearing that the frenzy might come on. she said further that when she saw me coming over the bridge, she felt as if her heart would burst. she informed me with many words how much she loved me, and how the maid of honour, carisius, who was standing with her in the window, had praised me, and wished to be able to do something for my deliverance, with many such words and speeches. i accepted the unusual caress, as under the circumstances i could not help it, and said that it would be contrary to all justice to offer blows to one who manifested such great affection as she had done, especially to one of her sex; adding, that i could not think how the queen had imagined that i struck people, as i had never even given a box on the ears to a waiting-woman. i thanked her for her good opinion of me, and told her that i hoped all would go well, dark as things looked; that i would hold fast to god, who knew my innocence, and that i had done nothing unjustifiable; that i would commend my cause to him, and i did not doubt that he would rescue me: if not immediately he would do so some day, i was well assured. maren began to speak of different things; among others of my sister elizabeth augusta[e ], how she had sat in her porch as i had been conveyed past as a prisoner, and had said that if i were guilty there was nothing to say against it, but that if i were innocent they were going too far. i said nothing to this, nor did i answer anything to much other tittle-tattle. she began to speak of her own persecution, which she did with great diffuseness, interspersing it with other stories, so that the conversation (in the present circumstances) was very wearisome to me; i was besides very tired, and worn out with care, so i said i would try to sleep and bid her good-night. my thoughts prevented me from sleeping. i reflected on my present condition, and could in no wise reconcile myself to it, or discover the cause of such a great misfortune. it was easy to perceive that somewhat besides fux's death was imputed to me, since i was treated with such disrespect. [e ] elizabeth augusta, a younger sister of leonora, married hans lindenow, a danish nobleman, who died in the siege of copenhagen, . when i had long lain with my face to the wall, i turned round and perceived that maren was silently weeping, so i asked her the reason of her tears. she denied at first that she was crying, but afterwards confessed that she had fallen into thinking over this whole affair. it had occurred to her that she had heard so much of lady leonora and her splendour, &c., of how the king loved her, and how every one praised her, &c., and now she was immured in this execrable thieves' prison, into which neither sun nor moon shone, and where there was a stench enough to poison a person only coming in and out, far more one who had to remain in it. i thought the cause of her weeping was that she should be shut up with me in the terrible prison; so i consoled her, and said that she would only remain with me until another had been fixed upon, since she was in other service; but that i for my part did not now think of past times, as the present gave me sufficient to attend to; if i were to call to mind the past, i would remember also the misfortunes of great men, emperors, kings, princes, and other high personages, whose magnificence and prosperity had far exceeded mine, and whose misfortunes had been far greater than mine; for they had fallen into the hands of tyrants, who had treated them inhumanly, but this king was a christian king, and a conscientious man, and better thoughts would occur to him when he had time to reflect, for my adversaries now left him no leisure to do so. when i said this, she wept even more than before, but said nothing, thinking in herself (as she declared to me some days afterwards) that i did not know what an infamous sentence had been pronounced upon my late lord,[e ] and weeping all the more because i trusted the king so firmly. thus we went on talking through the night. [e ] that leonora here speaks of her husband as her 'late lord,' is due only to the fact that the memoir was not written till after his death; at the time of these events he was still alive. on the morning of august , at six o'clock, the prison governor came in, bade me good morning, and enquired whether we would have some brandy. i answered nothing. he asked maren whether i was asleep; she replied that she did not know, came up to my bed, and put the same question to me. i thanked her, adding that it was a kind of drink which i had never tasted. the prison governor chattered with maren, was very merry considering the early hour, told her his dreams, which he undoubtedly invented merely for the sake of talking. he told her, secretly, that she was to come to the queen, and ordered her to say aloud that she wished to go out a little. he said that he would remain with me in the meanwhile, until she returned, which he did, speaking occasionally to me, and asking me whether i wished for anything? whether i had slept? whether maren had watched well? but he got no answer, so that the time seemed very long to him. he went out towards the stairs and came back again, sang a morning psalm, screamed out sometimes to one, and sometimes to another, though he knew they were not there. there was a man named jon who helped to bring up the meals with rasmus the tower warder, and to him he called more than forty times and that in a singing tone, changing his key from high to low, and screaming occasionally as loud as he could, and answering himself 'father, he is not here! by god, he is not here!' then laughing at himself; and then he began calling again either for jon or for rasmus, so that it seemed to me that he had been tasting the brandy. about eight o'clock maren came back, and said that at noon two women would come to relieve her. after some conversation between the prison governor and maren, he went out and shut the doors. maren told me how the queen had sent for her, and asked her what i was doing, and that she answered that i was lying down quietly, and not saying anything. the queen had asked whether i wept much. maren replied, 'yes indeed, she weeps silently.' 'for,' continued maren, 'if i had said that you did not weep, the queen would have thought that you had not yet enough to weep for.' maren warned me that one of the two women who were to watch me was the wife of the king's shoemaker, a german, who was very much liked by the queen. her majesty had employed her to attend uldrich christian gyldenlöwe in the severe and raving illness of which he died, and this woman had much influence with the queen. with regard to the other woman, maren had no idea who she might be, but the last-mentioned had spoken with the queen in maren's presence, and had said that she did not trust herself to be alone with me. the women did not come before four o'clock in the afternoon. the prison governor accompanied them, and unlocked the door for them. the first was the wife of the shoemaker, a woman named anna, who generally would not suffer anybody else to speak. the other was the wife of the king's groom, a woman named catharina, also a german. after greeting me, anna said that her majesty the queen had ordered them to pass a day or two with me and wait upon me. 'in god's name,' i answered. anna, who was very officious, asked me, 'does my lady wish for anything? she will please only say so, and i will solicit it from the queen.' i thanked her, and said that i should like to have some of my clothes, such as two night-jackets, one lined with silk and another braided with white, my stomacher, something for my head, and above all my bone box of perfume, which i much needed. she said she would at once arrange this, which she did, for she went immediately and proffered my request. the things were all delivered to me by the prison governor at six o'clock, except my box of perfume, which had been lost, and in its place they sent me a tin box with a very bad kind of perfume. when the time arrived for the evening meal, catharina spread a stool by the side of my bed, but i had no desire to eat. i asked for a lemon with sugar, and they gave it me. the prison governor sat down at the table with the two women, and did the part of jester, so much so that no one could have said that they were in a house of mourning, but rather in one of festivity. i inwardly prayed to god for strength and patience, that i might not forget myself. god heard my prayer, praised be his name. when the prison governor was tired of the idle talking and laughing, he bade good night after ten o'clock, and told the women to knock if they wanted anything, as the tower warder was just underneath. after he had locked both the doors, i got up, and catharina made my bed. anna had brought a prayer-book with her, from which i read the evening prayer, and other prayers for them; then i laid down and bid them good night. they laid on a settle-bed which had been brought in for them. i slumbered from time to time, but only for short intervals. about six o'clock on the morning of august the prison governor opened the door, to the great delight of the women, who were sincerely longing for him, especially catharina, who was very stout; she could not endure the oppressive atmosphere, and was ill almost the whole night. when the prison governor, after greeting them, had inquired how it fared with them, and whether they were still alive, he offered them brandy, which they readily accepted. when it was seven o'clock, they requested to go home, which they did, but they first reported to the queen all that had happened during the half-day and the night. the prison governor remained with me. when it was near nine o'clock, he brought in a chair without saying anything. i perceived from this that visitors were coming, and i was not wrong; for immediately afterwards there entered count rantzow, prime minister, chancellor h. peter retz, christoffer gabel, the chancellor of the exchequer, and secretary erick krag, who all shook hands with me and seated themselves by my bed. krag, who had paper, pen and ink with him, seated himself at the table. count rantzow whispered something to the chancellor. the chancellor upon this began to address me as on the previous occasion, saying that his majesty the king had great cause for his treatment of me. 'his majesty,' he went on to say, 'entertains suspicion with regard to you, and that not without reason.' i inquired in what the suspicion consisted. the chancellor said, 'your husband has offered the kingdom of denmark to a foreign lord.' i inquired if the kingdom of denmark belonged to my husband, that he could thus offer it, and as no one answered, i continued and said, 'good gentlemen, you all know my lord; you know that he has been esteemed as a man of understanding, and i can assure you that when i took leave of him he was in perfect possession of his senses. now it is easy to perceive that no sensible man would offer that which was not in his own power, and which he had no right to dispose of. he is holding no post, he has neither power nor authority; how should he, therefore, be so foolish as to make such an offer, and what lord would accept it?' count rantzow said: 'nevertheless it is so, madame; he has offered denmark to a foreign potentate; you know it well.' i answered, 'god is my witness that i know of no such thing.' 'yes,' said count rantzow, 'your husband concealed nothing from you, and therefore you must know it.' i replied, 'my husband certainly never concealed from me anything that concerned us both. i never troubled myself in former days with that which related to his office; but that which affected us both he never concealed from me, so that i am sure, had he entertained any such design, he would not have held it a secret from me. and i can say, with truth, that i am not the least aware of it.' count rantzow said: 'madame, confess it while the king still asks you to do so.' i answered, 'if i knew it i would gladly say so; but as truly as god lives i do not know it, and as truly am i unable to believe that my husband would have acted so foolishly, for he is a sick man. he urged me to go to england in order to demand the money that had been lent; i undertook the journey, unwillingly, chiefly because he was so very weak. he could not go up a few steps of the stairs without resting to get his breath; how should he, then, undertake a work of such labour? i can say with truth that he is not eight days without an attack, sometimes of one kind sometimes of another.' count rantzow again whispered with the chancellor, and the chancellor continued: 'madame, say without compulsion how the matter stands, and who is privy to it; say it now, while you are asked freely to do so. his majesty is an absolute sovereign; he is not fettered by law; he can do as he will; say it.' i answered: 'i know well that his majesty is an absolute sovereign, and i know also, that he is a christian and a conscientious man; therefore, his majesty will do nothing but what he can justify before god in heaven. see, here i am! you can do with me what you will; that which i do not know i cannot say.' count rantzow began again to bring forward the maréchal de birron, and made a long speech about it. to this i at length replied, that the maréchal de birron in nowise concerned me; that i had no answer to make on the matter, and that it seemed to me that it was not a case in point. count rantzow asked me why, when i was demanded with whom i had corresponded in the kingdom, i had not said that i had written to him and to the treasurer gabel. to this i replied that i thought those who asked me knew it well, so that it was not necessary for me to mention it; i had only said that of which they probably did not know. count rantzow again whispered to the chancellor, and the chancellor said: 'in a letter to lady elsse passberg you have written respecting another state of things in denmark,' (as he said this, he looked at count rantzow and asked if it was not so, or how it was); 'what did you mean by that, madame?' i replied that i could not recollect what cause her letter had given me to answer it in this way; what came before or what followed, would, without a doubt, explain my meaning; if i might see the letter, it would prove at once that i had written nothing which i could not justify. nothing more was said with regard to it. count rantzow asked me what foreign ministers had been with my lord in bruges. 'none,' i answered, 'that i am aware of.' he asked further whether any holstein noblemen had been with him. i answered, 'i do not know.' then he enumerated every prince in germany, from the emperor to the prince of holstein, and enquired respecting each separately whether any of their ministers had been with my husband. i gave the same answer as before to each question, that i was not aware that any one of them had been with him. then he said, 'now, madame, confess! i beg you; remember maréchal de birron! you will not be asked again.' i was somewhat tired of hearing birron mentioned so often, and i answered rather hastily: 'i do not care about the maréchal de birron; i cannot tell what i do not know anything about.' secretary krag had written somewhat hurriedly it seemed, for when at my desire he read aloud what he had written, the answers did not accord with the questions; this probably partly arose from hurry, and partly from malice, for he was not amicably inclined towards my late lord. i protested against this when he read the minutes. the chancellor agreed with me in every item, so that krag was obliged to re-write it. after this they got up and took their leave. i requested to beg his majesty the king to be gracious to me, and not to believe what he had been informed with regard to my husband. i could not imagine they would find that he had ever deviated from his duty. 'yes,' answered count rantzow, 'if you will confess, madame, and tell us who is concerned in this business and the details of it, you might perhaps find him a gracious lord and king.' i protested by the living god that i knew nothing of it; i knew of nothing of the kind, much less of accomplices. with this they went away, after having spent nearly three hours with me, and then the prison governor and the women entered. they spread the table and brought up the meal, but i took nothing but a draught of beer. the prison governor sat down to table with the women. if he had been merry before, he was still more so now, and he told one indecent story after another. when they had had enough of feasting and talking he went away and locked the door; he came as usual again about four o'clock in the afternoon, and let the women go out, staying with me until they returned, which generally was not for two hours. when the women were alone with me, anna told catharina of her grief for her first husband, and nothing else was talked of. i behaved as if i were asleep, and i did the same when the prison governor was alone with me, and he then passed the time in singing and humming. the evening meal was also very merry for the women, for the prison governor amused them by telling them of his second marriage; how he had wooed without knowing whom, and that he did not know it until the betrothal. the story was as ludicrous as it was diffuse. i noticed that it lasted an hour and a quarter. when he had said good night, anna sat down on my bed and began to talk to catharina, and said, 'was it not a horrible story of that treacherous design to murder the king and queen and the whole royal family?' catharina answered, 'thank god the king and queen and the whole family are still alive!' 'yes,' said anna, 'it was no merit of the traitors, though, that they are so; it was too quickly discovered; the king knew it three months before he would reveal it to the queen. he went about sorrowfully, pondering over it, unable quite to believe it; afterwards, when he was quite certain of it, he told the queen; then the body-guard were doubled, as you know.' catherina enquired how they had learnt it. anna answered, 'that god knows; it is kept so secret that no one is allowed as much as to ask from whom it came.' i could not help putting in a word; it seemed to me a pity that they could not find out the informer, and it was remarkable that no one ventured to confess having given the information. catherina said, 'i wonder whether it is really true?' 'what do you mean?' answered anna; 'would the king do as he is doing without knowing for certain that it is true? how can you talk so?' i regarded this conversation as designed to draw some words from me, so i answered but little, only saying that until now i had seen nothing which gave credibility to the report, and that therefore i felt myself at liberty not to believe it until i saw certain proof of it. anna adhered to her statement, wondered that there could be such evil people as could wish to murder the good king, and was very diffuse on the matter.[e ] she could be at no loss for material, for she always began again from the beginning; but at last she had to stop, since she spoke alone and was not interrupted either by catharina or by me. [e ] when the sentence on ulfeldt had become publicly known, the most absurd rumours circulated in copenhagen, and found their way to foreign newspapers. for instance _the kingdom's_ intelligencer, no. , aug. - , , says, in a correspondence from hamburg: 'they say the traitors intended to set copenhagen on fire in divers places, and also the fleet, to destroy the king and family, to blow up the king's palace, and deliver the crown over to another.' the government itself, on hearing of ulfeldt's plots, made great military preparations. i got up and requested to have my bed made, which catharina always did. anna attended to the light during the night, for she was more watchful than catharina. i read aloud to them from anna's book, commended myself to god, and laid down to sleep. but my sleep was light, the promenades of the rats woke me, and there were great numbers of them. hunger made them bold; they ate the candle as it stood burning. catharina, moreover, was very uncomfortable all night, so that this also prevented my sleeping. early on the morning of august the prison governor came as usual with his brandy attentions, although they had a whole bottle with them. catharina complained a good deal, and said she could not endure the oppressive air; that when she came in at the door it seemed as if it would stifle her; if she were to remain there a week she was certain that she would be carried out dead. the prison governor laughed at this. the women went away, and he remained with me. he presented me major-general von anfeldt's compliments, and a message from him, that i 'should be of good courage; all would now soon be well.' i made no reply. he enquired how i was, and whether i had slept a little; and answered himself, 'i fancy not much.' he asked whether i would have anything, again answering himself, 'no, i do not think you wish for anything.' upon this he walked up and down, humming to himself; then he came to my bedside and said: 'oh, the dear king! he is indeed a kind master! be at peace; he is a gracious sovereign, and has always held you in esteem. you are a woman, a weak instrument. poor women are soon led away. no one likes to harm them, when they confess the truth. the dear queen, she is indeed a dear queen! she is not angry with you. i am sure if she knew the truth from you, she would herself pray for you. listen! if you will write to the queen and tell her all about the matter, and keep nothing back, i will bring you pen, ink, and paper. i have no wish, on my soul! to read it. no, god take me if i will look at it; and that you may be sure of this, i will give you wax that you may seal it. but i imagine you have probably no seal?' as i answered him not a word, he seized my hand and shook it rather strongly, saying, 'do you not hear? are you asleep?' i raised my head threateningly; i should like to have given him a box on the ears, and i turned round to the wall. he was angry that his design had failed, and he went on grumbling to himself for more than an hour. i could not understand a word beyond, 'yes, yes! you will not speak.' then he muttered somewhat between his teeth: 'you will not answer; well, well, they will teach you. yes, by god! hum, hum, hum.' he continued thus until the tower warder, rasmus, came and whispered something to him; then he went out. it seemed to me that there was someone speaking with him, and so far as i could perceive it must have been someone who asked him if the ink and paper should be brought up, for he answered, 'no, it is not necessary; she will not.' the other said, 'softly, softly!' the prison governor, however, could not well speak softly, and i heard him say, 'she cannot hear that; she is in bed.' when he came in again he went on muttering to himself, and stamped because i would not answer; he meant it kindly; the queen was not so angry as i imagined. he went on speaking half aloud; he wished the women would come; he did nothing else but beg rasmus to look for them. soon after rasmus came and said that they were now going up the king's stairs. still almost an hour passed before they came in and released him. when they had their dinner (my own meal consisted of some slices of lemon with sugar) the prison governor was not nearly so merry as he was wont to be, though he chattered of various things that had occurred in former times, while he was a quarter-master. he also retired sooner than was his custom. the women, who remained, talked of indifferent matters. i also now and then put in a word, and asked them after their husbands and children. anna read some prayers and hymns from her book, and thus the day passed till four o'clock, when the prison governor let them out. he had brought a book with him, which he read in a tolerably low tone, while he kept watch by me. i was well pleased at this, as it gave me rest. at the evening meal the prison governor began amongst other conversation to tell the women that a prisoner had been brought here who was a frenchman; he could not remember his name; he sat cogitating upon the name just as if he could not rightly hit upon it. carl or char, he did not know what he was called, but he had been formerly several years in denmark. anna enquired what sort of a man he was. he replied that he was a man who was to be made to sing,[ ] but he did not know for a certainty whether he was here or not. (there was nothing in all this.) he only said this in order to get an opportunity of asking me, or to perceive whether it troubled me. [ ] that is, give information. he had undoubtedly been ordered to do this; for when he was gone anna began a conversation with catharina upon this same carl, and at last asked me whether we had had a frenchman in our employ. i replied that we had had more than one. she enquired further whether there was one among them named carl, who had long been in our service. 'we had a servant,' i answered, 'a frenchman named charle; he had been with us a long time.' 'yes, yes,' she said, 'it is he. but i do not think he has arrived here yet; they are looking for him.' i said, 'then he is easy to find, he was at bruges when i left that town.' anna said she fancied he had been in england with me, and she added, 'that fellow knows a good deal if they get him.' i answered, 'then it were to be wished that they had him for the sake of his information.' when she perceived that i troubled myself no further about him she let the conversation drop, and spoke of my sister elizabeth augusta, saying that she passed her every day. she was standing in her gateway or sitting in the porch, and that she greeted her, but never uttered a word of enquiry after her sister, though she knew well that she was waiting on me in the tower. i said i thought my sister did not know what would be the best for her to do. 'i cannot see,' said anna, 'that she is depressed.' i expressed my opinion that the less we grieved over things the better. other trifles were afterwards talked of, and i concluded the day with reading, commended myself to the care of jesus, and slept tolerably well through the night. august passed without anything in particular occurring, only that anna tried to trouble me by saying that a chamber next to us was being put in order, for whom she did not know; they were of course expecting someone in it. i could myself hear the masons at work. on the same day catharina said that she had known me in prosperity, and blessed me a thousand times for the kindness i had shown her. i did not remember having ever seen her. she said she had been employed in the storeroom in the service of the princess magdalena sybille, and that when i had visited the princess, and had slept in the castle, i had sent a good round present for those in the storeroom, and that she had had a share in it, and that this she now remembered with gratitude. anna was not pleased with the conversation, and she interrupted it three times; catharina, however, did not answer her, but adhered to the subject till she had finished. the prison governor was not in good humour on this day also, so that neither at dinner nor at supper were any indecent stories related. on august , after the women had been into the town and had returned, the prison governor opened the door at about nine o'clock, and whispered something to them. he then brought in another small seat; from this i perceived that i was to be visited by one more than on the previous occasion. at about ten o'clock count rantzow, general skack, chancellor retz, treasurer gabel, and secretary krag entered. they all saluted me with politeness; the four first seated themselves on low seats by my bedside, and krag placed himself with his writing materials at the table. the chancellor was spokesman, and said, 'his royal majesty, my gracious sovereign and hereditary king, sends you word, madame, that his majesty has great cause for all that he is doing, and that he entertains suspicions with regard to you that you are an accomplice in the treason designed by your husband; and his royal majesty had hoped that you would confess without compulsion who have participated in it, and the real truth about it.' when the chancellor ceased speaking, i replied that i was not aware that i had done anything which could render me suspected; and i called god to witness that i knew of no treason, and therefore i could mention no names. count rantzow said, 'your husband has not concealed it from you, hence you know it well.' i replied, 'had my husband entertained so evil a design, i believe surely he would have told me; but i can swear with a good conscience, before god in heaven, that i never heard him speak of anything of the kind. yes, i can truly say he never wished evil to the king in my hearing, and therefore i fully believe that this has been falsely invented by his enemies.' count rantzow and the chancellor bent their heads together across to the general, and whispered with each other for some time. at length the chancellor asked me whether, if my husband were found guilty, i would take part in his condemnation. this was a remarkable question, so i reflected a little, and said, 'if i may know on what grounds he is accused, i will answer to it so far as i know, and so much as i can.' the chancellor said, 'consider well whether you will.' i replied as before, that i would answer for him as to all that i knew, if i were informed of what he was accused. count rantzow whispered with krag, and krag went out, but returned immediately. soon afterward some one (whom i do not know) came from the chancellor's office, bringing with him some large papers. count rantzow and the chancellor whispered again. then the chancellor said, 'there is nothing further to do now than to let you know what sort of a husband you have, and to let you hear his sentence.' count rantzow ordered the man who had brought in the papers to read them aloud. the first paper read was to the effect that corfitz, formerly count of ulfeldt, had offered the kingdom of denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told the same sovereign that he had ecclesiastical and lay magnates on his side, so that it was easy for him to procure the crown of denmark for the before-mentioned sovereign. a paper was then read which was the defence of the clergy, in which they protested that corfitz, count of ulfeldt, had never had any communication with any of them; that he had at no time shown himself a friend of the clergy, and had far less offered them participation in his evil design. they assured his royal majesty of their fidelity and subjection, &c. next, a paper was read, written by the burgomaster and council in copenhagen, nearly similar in purport, that they had had no correspondence with count corfitz ulfeldt, and equally assuring his royal majesty of their humble fidelity. next followed the reading of the unprecedented and illegal sentence which, without a hearing, had been passed on my lord. this was as unexpected and grievous as it was disgraceful, and unjustifiable before god and all right-loving men. no documents were brought forward upon which the sentence had been given. there was nothing said about prosecution or defence; there was no other foundation but mere words; that he had been found guilty of having offered the crown of denmark to a foreign sovereign, and had told him that he had on his side ecclesiastical and lay magnates, who had shown by their signed protestations that this was not the case, for which reason he had been condemned as a criminal. when the sentence with all the names subjoined to it had been read, the reader brought it to me, and placed it before me on the bed. everyone can easily imagine how i felt; but few or none can conceive how it was that i was not stifled by the unexpected misery, and did not lose my sense and reason. i could not utter a word for weeping. then a prayer was read aloud which had been pronounced from the pulpit, in which corfitz was anathematised, and god was prayed not to allow his gray hair to go to the grave in peace. but god, who is just, did not listen to the impious prayer of the unrighteous, praised be his name for ever. when all had been read, i bemoaned with sighs and sorrowful tears that i had ever lived to see this sad day, and i begged them, for jesus' sake, that they would allow me to see on what the hard judgment was based. count rantzow answered, 'you can well imagine, madame, that there are documents upon which we have acted: some of your friends are in the council.' 'may god better it!' i said. 'i beg you, for god's sake, to let me see the documents. les apparences sont bien souvent trompeuses. what had not my husband to suffer from that swede in skaane, during that long imprisonment, because he was suspected of having corresponded with his majesty, the king of denmark, and with his majesty's ministers? now, no one knows better than his majesty, and you my good lords, how innocently he suffered at that time, and so this also may be apparently credible, and yet may not be so in truth. might i not see the documents?' to this no answer was given. i continued and said, 'how is it possible that a man who must himself perceive that death is at hand should undertake such a work, and be so led away from the path of duty, when he did not do so at a time when he acknowledged no master, and when such great promises were made him by the prince of holstein, as the prince's letters show, which are now in his majesty's hands.' count rantzow interrupted me and said, 'we did not find those letters.' 'god knows,' i replied, 'they were there; of that i am certain.' i said also, 'at that time he might have done something to gratify a foreign sovereign; at that time he had power and physical vigour, and almost the entire government was in his hands; but he never looked to his own advantage, but pawned his own property to hasten the king's coronation, so that no impediment might come between.[ ] this is his reward! good gentlemen, take an example of me, you who have seen me in prosperity, and have compassion on me. pray his royal majesty to be mild, and not to proceed to such severity.' [ ] in the margin the following explanatory note is added: 'when his majesty (christian iv.) was dead, there was no prince elected, so that the states were free to choose the king whom they desired, wherefore the duke of holstein, duke frederick, promised my deceased lord that if he would contrive that he should be elected king, the land of fyen should belong to him and a double alliance between his children and ours should be concluded. but my lord rejected this proposal and would not assist in dispossessing the son of christian iv. of the kingdom. the prince had obtained several votes, but my lord contested them.' the chancellor and treasurer were moved by this, so that the tears came into their eyes. count rantzow said to the general and the chancellor, 'i think it is a fortnight ago since the sentence was published?' the chancellor answered, 'it is seventeen days ago.'[e ] i said, 'at that time i was still in england, and now i am asked for information on the matter! oh, consider this, for god's sake! and that there was no one present to speak on my husband's behalf.' count rantzow enquired whether i wished to appeal against it? i replied, 'how am i to appeal against a judicial decree? i only beg for jesus' sake that what i say may be considered, and that i may have the satisfaction of seeing the documents upon which the sentence is based.' [e ] the sentence on ulfeldt was given on july , but probably not published till a few days later. count rantzow answered as before, that there were documents, and that some of my friends had sat in the council, and added that all had been agreed, and that not one had had anything to say against it. i dared not say what i thought. i knew well how matters are done in such absolute governments: there is no such thing as opposition, they merely say, 'sign, the king wishes it; and ask not wherefore, or the same condemnation awaits thee.'[ ] i was silent, and bewailed my unhappiness, which was irremediable. when krag read aloud the minutes he had written, namely, that when i was asked whether i would participate in my husband's sentence, i had answered that i would consider of it. i asked, 'how was that?' the chancellor immediately replied, 'no, she did not say so, but she requested to know the accusation brought against her husband.' i repeated my words again,[ ] i know not whether krag wrote them or not; for a great part of that which i said was not written. krag yielded too much to his feelings in the matter, and would gladly have made bad worse. he is now gone where no false writings avail; god took him away suddenly in an unclean place, and called him to judgment without warning. and count rantzow, who was the principal mover and inventor of that illegal sentence, the like of which was never known in denmark, did not live to see his desire fulfilled in the execution of a wooden image.[e ] when this was done, they rose and shook hands with me. this painful visit lasted more than four hours. [ ] it had happened as i thought. there were some in the council who refused to sign, some because they had not been present at the time of the procedure, and others because they had not seen on what the sentence was founded; but they were nevertheless compelled to sign with the others, on the peril of the king's displeasure. [marginal note.] [ ] in the margin is added, 'and asked whether i was permitted to appeal against this sentence. all were silent.' [e ] a line has been drawn in the ms. through the two last paragraphs, and their contents transferred to the continuation of the preface. they went away, leaving me full of anxiety, sighing and weeping--a sad and miserable captive woman, forsaken by all; without help, exposed to power and violence, fearing every moment that her husband might fall into their hands, and that they might vent their malice on him. god performed on that day a great miracle, by manifesting his power in my weakness, preserving my brain from bewilderment, and my tongue from overflowing with impatience. praised be god a thousand times! i will sing thy praise, so long as my tongue can move, for thou wast at this time and at all times my defence, my rock, and my shield! when the gentlemen were gone away, the prison governor came and the women, and a stool was spread by the side of my bed. the prison governor said to me, 'eat, leonora; will you not eat?' as he said this, he threw a knife to me on the bed. i took up the knife with angry mind, and threw it on the ground. he picked up the knife, saying, 'you are probably not hungry? no, no! you have had a breakfast to-day which has satisfied you, have you not? is it not so?' well, well, come dear little women (addressing the two women), let us eat something! you must be hungry, judging from my own stomach.' when they had sat down to table, he began immediately to cram himself, letting it fall as if inadvertently from his mouth, and making so many jokes that it was sad to see how the old man could not conceal his joy at my unhappiness. when the meal was finished, and the prison governor had gone away, anna sat down by my bed and began to speak of the sorrow and affliction which we endure in this world, and of the joy and delights of heaven; how the pain that we suffer here is but small compared with eternal blessedness and joy, wherefore we should not regard suffering, but should rather think of dying with a good conscience, keeping it unsullied by confessing everything that troubles us, for there is no other way. 'god grant,' she added, 'that no one may torment himself for another's sake.' after having repeated this remark several times, she said to me, 'is it not true, my lady?' 'yes, certainly it is true,' i replied; 'you speak in a christian manner, and according to the scriptures.' 'why will you, then,' she went on to say, 'let yourself be tormented for others, and not say what you know of them?' i asked whom she meant. she answered, 'i do not know them.' i replied, 'nor do i.' she continued in the same strain, however, saying that she would not suffer and be tormented for the sake of others, whoever they might be; if they were guilty they must suffer; she would not suffer for them; a woman was easily led away, but happiness was more than all kindred and friends. as she seemed unable to cease chattering, i wished to divert her a little, so i asked whether she were a clergyman's daughter; and since she had before told me of her parentage, she resented this question all the more, and was thoroughly angry; saying, 'if i am not a clergyman's daughter, i am the daughter of a good honest citizen, and not one of the least. in my time, when i was still unmarried, i never thought that i should marry a shoemaker.' i said, 'but your first husband, too, was also a shoemaker.' 'that is true,' she replied, 'but this marriage came about in a very foolish manner,' and she began to narrate a whole history of the matter, so that i was left in peace. catharina paced up and down, and when anna was silent for a little, she said, with folded hands, 'o god, thou who art almighty, and canst do everything, preserve this man for whom they are seeking, and never let him fall into the hands of his enemies. oh god, hear me!' anna said angrily to her, 'catharina, do you know what you are saying? how can you speak so?' catharina answered, 'yes, i know well what i am saying. god preserve him, and let him never fall into the hands of his enemies. jesus, be thou his guide!' she uttered these words with abundant tears. anna said, 'i think that woman is not in her senses.' catharina's kind wish increased my tears, and i said, 'catharina shows that she is a true christian, and sympathises with me; god reward her, and hear her and me!' upon this anna was silent, and has not been so talkative ever since. o god, thou who art a recompenser of all that is good, remember this in favour of catharina, and as thou heardest her at that time, hear her prayer in future, whatever may be her request! and you, my dear children, know that if ever fortune so ordains it that you can be of any service either to her or her only son, you are bound to render it for my sake; for she was a comfort to me in my greatest need, and often took an opportunity to say a word which she thought would alleviate my sorrow. the prison governor came as usual, about four o'clock, and let the women out, seating himself on the bench and placing the high stool with the candle in front of him. he had brought a book with him, and read aloud prayers for a happy end, prayers for the hour of death, and prayers for one suffering temporal punishment for his misdeeds. he did not forget a prayer for one who is to be burnt; in reading this he sighed, so religious had he grown in the short time. when he had read all the prayers, he got up and walked up and down, singing funeral hymns; when he knew no more, he began again with the first, till the women released him. catharina complained that her son had been ill, and was greatly grieved about it. i entered into her sorrow, and said that she ought to mention her son's illness to the queen, and then another would probably be appointed in her place; and i begged her to compose herself, as the child would probably be better again. during the evening meal the prison governor was very merry, and related all sorts of coarse stories. when he was gone, anna read the evening prayer. i felt very ill during this night, and often turned about in bed; there was a needle in the bed, with which i scratched myself; i got it out, and still have it.[ ] [ ] in the margin: 'the feather-bed had an old cover, and was fresh filled when i was lying in the roads; the needle, in the hurry, had therefore been left in.' on august , when the prison governor opened the door early, the women told him that i had been very ill in the night. 'well, well,' he answered, 'it will soon be better.' and when the women were ready to go to the queen (which they were always obliged to do), anna said to catharina, outside the door, 'what shall we say to the queen?' catharina answered: 'what shall we say, but that she is silent and will say nothing!' 'you know very well that the queen is displeased at it.' 'nevertheless, we cannot tell a lie;' answered catharina; 'she says nothing at all, so it would be a sin.'[ ] catharina came back to the mid-day meal, and said that the queen had promised to appoint another in her stead; in the afternoon, she managed secretly to say a word to me about the next chamber, which she imagined was being put in readiness for me and for no one else; she bid me good night, and promised to remember me constantly in her prayers. i thanked her for her good services, and for her kind feeling towards me. [ ] in the margin: 'i myself heard this conversation.' about four o'clock the prison governor let her and anna out. he sang one hymn after another, went to the stairs, and the time appeared long to him, till six o'clock, when anna returned with maren blocks. at the evening meal the prison governor again told stories of his marriage, undoubtedly for the sake of amusing maren. anna left me alone, and i lay quiet in silence. maren could not find an opportunity of speaking with me the whole evening, on account of anna. nothing particular happened on august and . when the prison governor let out anna in the morning and afternoon, maren blocks remained with me, and the prison governor went his own way and locked the door, so that maren had opportunity of talking with me alone. she told me different things; among others, that the queen had given my clothes to the three women who had undressed me, that they might distribute them amongst themselves. she asked me whether i wished to send a message to my sister elizabeth. i thanked her, but said that i had nothing good to tell her. i asked maren for needles and thread, in order to test her. she replied she would gladly procure them for me if she dared, but that it would risk her whole well-being if the queen should know it; for she had so strictly forbidden that anyone should give me either pins or needles. i inquired 'for what reason?' 'for this reason,' she replied, 'that you may not kill yourself.' i assured her that god had enlightened me better than that i should be my own murderer. i felt that my cross came from the hand of the lord, that he was chastising me as his child; he would also help me to bear it; i trusted in him to do so. 'then i hope, dear heart,' said maren, 'that you will not kill yourself; then you shall have needles and thread; but what will you sew?' i alleged that i wished to sew some buttons on my white night-dress, and i tore off a pair, in order to show her afterwards that i had sewn them on. now it happened that i had sewn up some ducats in a piece of linen round my knee; these i had kept, as i pulled off the stockings myself when they undressed me, and anna had at my desire given me a rag, as i pretended that i had hurt my leg. i sewed this rag over the leather. they all imagined that i had some secret malady, for i lay in the linen petticoat they had given me, and went to bed in my stockings. maren imagined that i had an issue on one leg, and she confided to me that a girl at the court, whom she mentioned by name, and who was her very good friend, had an issue of which no one knew but herself, not even the woman who made her bed. i thought to myself, you keep your friend's secret well; i did not, however, make her any wiser, but let her believe in this case whatever she would. i was very weak on those two days, and as i took nothing more than lemon and beer, my stomach became thoroughly debilitated and refused to retain food. when maren told the prison governor of this, he answered, 'all right, her heart is thus getting rid of its evil.' anna was no longer so officious, but the prison governor was as merry as ever. on august the prison governor did not open the door before eight o'clock, and anna asked him how it was that he had slept so long. he joked a little; presently he drew her to the door and whispered with her. he went out and in, and anna said so loudly to maren, that i could hear it (although she spoke as if she were whispering), 'i am so frightened that my whole body trembles, although it does not concern me. jesus keep me! i wish i were down below!' maren looked sad, but she neither answered nor spoke a word. maren came softly up to my bed and said, 'i am sure some one is coming to you.' i answered, 'let him come, in god's name.' presently i heard a running up and down stairs, and also overhead, for the commissioners came always through the apartments, in order not to cross the square. my doors were closed again. each time that some one ran by on the stairs, anna shuddered and said, 'i quite tremble.' this traffic lasted till about eleven. when the prison governor opened the door, he said to me, 'leonora, you are to get up and go to the gentlemen.' god knows that i could hardly walk, and anna frightened me by saying to maren, 'oh! the poor creature!' maren's hands trembled when she put on my slippers. i could not imagine anything else than that i was to be tortured, and i consoled myself with thinking that my pain could not last long, for my body was so weary that it seemed as if god might at any moment take me away. when maren fastened the apron over my long dress, i said: 'they are indeed sinning heavily against me; may god give me strength.' the prison governor hurried me, and when i was ready, he took me by the arm and led me. i would gladly have been free of his help, but i could not walk alone. he conducted me up to the next story, and there sat count rantzow, skack, retz, gabel, and krag, round the table. they all rose when i entered, and i made them a reverence as well as i was able. a small low seat had been placed for me in the middle, in front of the table. the chancellor asked me whether i had not had more letters than those taken from me in england. i answered that i had not had more; that all my letters had been then taken from me. he asked further, whether i had at that time destroyed any letters. 'yes,' i answered, 'one i tore in two, and threw it in a closet.' 'why did you do so?' enquired count rantzow. 'because' i replied, 'there were cyphers in it; and although they were of no importance, i feared, notwithstanding, that they might excite suspicion.' count rantzow said: 'supposing the pieces were still forthcoming?' 'that were to be wished,' i replied, 'for then it could be seen that there was nothing suspicious in it, and it vexed me afterwards that i had torn it in two.' upon this the chancellor drew forth a sheet of paper upon which, here and there, pieces of this very letter were pasted, and handed it to krag, who gave it to me. count rantzow asked me if it were not my husband's handwriting. i answered that it was. he said: 'a part of the pieces which you tore in two have been found, and a part are lost. all that has been found has been collected and copied.' he then asked the chancellor for the copy, who gave it to count rantzow, and he handed it to me, saying, 'see there what is wanting, and tell us what it is that is missing.' i took it, and looked over it and said: 'in some places, where there are not too many words missing, i think i can guess what is lost, but where a whole sentence is wanting, i cannot know.' most of the letter had been collected without loss of intervening pieces, and it all consisted of mirth and jest. he was telling me that he had heard from denmark that the electoral prince of saxony was to be betrothed with the princess of denmark;[e ] and he joked, saying that they would grease their throats and puff out their cheeks in order that with good grace and voice they might duly trumpet forth each their own titles, and more of the same kind, all in high colouring. he described the way in which count rantzow contrived to let people know his titles; when he had a dinner-party, there was a man employed to read aloud his titles to the guests, asking first each separately, whether he knew his titles; if there was anyone who did not know them, the secretary must forthwith come and read them aloud. [e ] leonora refers to the betrothal of prince johan george of saxony and anna sophia, the eldest daughter of fredrik iii., of which an account occurs in the sequel. it seemed that count rantzow referred all this to himself, for he asked me what my husband meant by it. i replied that i did not know that he meant anything but what he had written; he meant undoubtedly those who did such things. the chancellor averted his face from count rantzow, and his lips smiled a little; gabel also did the same. among other things there were some remarks about the electoral prince, that he probably cherished the hope of inheriting the crown of denmark; 'mais j'espère ... cela ne se fera point.' count rantzow enquired as to the words which were wanting. i said, if i remembered rightly, the words had been, 'qu'en ans.' he enquired further as to the expressions lacking here and there, some of which i could not remember exactly, though they were of no importance. i expressed my opinion that they could easily gather what was wanting from the preceding and following words; it was sufficiently evident that all was jest, and this was apparent also to gabel, who said, 'ce n'est que raillerie.' but count rantzow and the general would not allow it to pass as jest. skack said: 'one often means something else under the cloak of jest, and names are used when others are intended.' for in the letter there was something said about drinking out; there was also an allusion made to the manners of the swiss at table, and all the titles of the canton nobles were enumerated, from which skack thought that the names of the cities might have another signification. i did not answer skack; but as count rantzow continued to urge me to say what my husband had meant by it, i replied that i could not know whether he had had another meaning than that which was written. skack shook his head and thought he had, so i said: 'i know no country where the same customs are in vogue at meals as in switzerland; if there are other places where the same customs prevail, he may perhaps have meant these also, for he is only speaking of drinking.' gabel said again, 'it is only jest.' the cyphers, for the sake of which i had torn the letter in two, were fortunately complete, and nothing was missing. count rantzow gave me a sheet of paper, to which pieces of my lord's letter were pasted, and asked me what the cyphers meant. i replied, 'i have not the key, and cannot solve them out of my head.' he expressed his opinion that i could do it. i said i could not. 'well, they have been read,' he said, 'and we know what they signify.' 'all the better,' i answered. upon this, he gave me the interpretation to read, and the purport of it was that our son had written from rome, asking for money, which was growing short, for the young nobleman was not at home. i gave the paper back to count rantzow without saying anything. count rantzow requested the treasurer that he should read the letter, and rantzow began again with his questions wherever anything was wanting, requesting that i should say what it was. i gave him the same answer as before; but when in one passage, where some words were missing, he pressed me hard to say them, and it was evident from the context that they were ironical (since an ironical word was left written), i said: 'you can add as much of the same kind as pleases you, if one is not enough; i do not know them.' gabel again said, 'ce n'est que raillerie.'[e ] [e ] a copy of the fragments which had been recovered of this letter is still in existence. no further questions were then made respecting the letters; but count rantzow enquired as to my jewels, and asked where the large diamond was which my husband had received in france.[e ] i replied that it had long been sold. he further asked where my large drop pearls where, which i had worn as a feather on my hat, and where my large pearl head-ornament was. 'all these,' i replied, 'have long been sold.' he asked further whether i had then no more jewels. i answered, 'i have none now.' 'i mean,' he said, 'elsewhere.' i replied, 'i left some behind.' 'where, then?' he asked. 'at bruges,' i replied. then he said: 'i have now somewhat to ask you, madame, that concerns myself. did you visit my sister in paris the last time you were there?' i replied, 'yes.' he asked whether i had been with her in the convent, and what was the name of the convent. i informed him that i had been in the convent, and that it was the convent des filles bleues. at this he nodded, as if to confirm it. he also wished to know whether i had seen her. i said that no one in the convent might be seen by anyone but parents; even brothers and sisters were not allowed to see them.[e ] 'that is true,' he said, and then rose and gave me his hand. i begged him to induce his gracious majesty to have pity on me, but he made no answer. when the treasurer gabel gave me his hand, i begged the same favour of him. he replied, 'yes, if you will confess,' and went out without waiting for a reply. [e ] ulfeldt received this present probably in , when in france as ambassador, on which occasion queen anna is known to have presented to leonora a gold watch set with diamonds of great value. [e ] the lady alluded to is helvig margaretha elizabeth rantzow, widow of the famous general josias rantzow, who died as a maréchal of france. she had become a romanist, and took the veil after her husband's death. subsequently she founded the new order of the annunciata. in the first convent of this order, of which she was abbess, removed to hildesheim, where she died in . for more than three hours they had kept up the interrogation. then the prison governor came in and said to me: 'now you are to remain in here; it is a beautiful chamber, and has been freshly whitewashed; you may now be contented.' anna and maren also came in. god knows, i was full of care, tired and weary, and had insufferable headache; yet, before i could go to rest, i had to sit waiting until the bedstead had been taken out of the 'dark church' and brought hither. anna occupied herself meanwhile in the dark church, in scraping out every hole; she imagined she might find something there, but in vain. the woman who was to remain with me alone then came in. her pay was two rix-dollars a week; her name is karen, the daughter of ole. after the prison governor had supped with the woman and maren, anna and maren blocks bade me good night; the latter exhibited great affection. the prison governor bolted two doors before my innermost prison. in the innermost door there is a square hole, which is secured with iron cross-bars. the prison governor was going to attach a lock to this hole, but he forebore at karen's request, for she said she could not breathe if this hole were closed. he then affixed locks to the door of the outer chamber, and to the door leading to the stairs; he had, therefore, four locks and doors twice a day to lock and unlock. i will here describe my prison. it is a chamber, seven of my paces long and six wide; there are in it two beds, a table, and two stools. it was freshly whitewashed, which caused a terrible smell; the floor, moreover was so thick with dirt, that i imagined it was of loam, though it was really laid with bricks. it is eighteen feet high, with a vaulted ceiling, and very high up is a window which is two feet square. in front of it are double thick iron bars, besides a wire-work, which is so close that one could not put one's little finger into the holes. this wire-work had been thus ordered with great care by count rantzow (so the prison governor afterwards told me), so that no pigeons might bring in a letter--a fact which he had probably read in a novel as having happened. i was weak and deeply grieved in my heart; i looked for a merciful deliverance, and an end to my sorrow, and i sat silent and uncomplaining, answering little when the woman spoke to me. sometimes in my reverie i scratched at the wall, which made the woman imagine that i was confused in my head; she told this to the prison governor, who reported it to the queen, and during every meal-time, when the door was open, she never failed to send messengers to enquire how it fared with me, what i said, and what i was doing. the woman had, however, not much to tell in obedience to the oath she, according to her own statement, had taken in the presence of the prison governor. but afterwards she found some means to ingratiate herself. and as my strength daily decreased, i rejoiced at the prospect of my end, and on august i sent for the prison governor, and requested him to apply for a clergyman who could give me the sacrament. this was immediately granted, and his majesty's court preacher, magister mathias foss, received orders to perform for me the duties of his office, and exhorted me, both on behalf of his office and in consequence of the command he had received, not to burden my conscience; i might rest assured, he said, that in this world i should never see my husband again, and he begged me to say what i knew of the treason. i could scarcely utter a word for weeping; but i said that i could attest before god in heaven, from whom nothing is hidden, that i knew nothing of this treason. i knew well i should never see my husband again in this life; i commended him to the almighty, who knew my innocence; i prayed god only for a blessed end and departure from this evil world; i desired nothing from the clergyman but that he should remember me in his prayers, that god might by death put an end to my affliction. the clergyman promised faithfully to grant my request. it has not pleased god to hear me in this: he has willed to prove my faith still further, by sending to me since this time much care, affliction, and adversity. he has helped me also to bear the cross, and has himself supported its heaviest end; his name be praised for ever. when i had received the lord's supper, m. foss comforted me and bid me farewell. i lay silently for three days after this, taking little or nothing. the prison governor often enquired whether i wished for anything to eat or drink, or whether he should say anything to the king. i thanked him, but said i required nothing. on august the prison governor importuned me at once with his conversation, expressing his belief that i entertained an evil opinion of the queen. he inferred it from this: the day before he had said to me that his majesty had ordered that whatever i desired from the kitchen and cellar should be at once brought to me, to which i had answered, 'god preserve his majesty; he is a good sovereign; may he show clemency to evil men!' he had then said, 'the queen is also good,' to which i had made no answer. he had then tried to turn the conversation to the queen, and to hear if he could not draw out a word from me; he had said: 'the queen is sorry for you that you have been so led away. it grieves her that you have willed your own unhappiness; she is not angry; she pities you.' and when i made no answer, he repeated it again, saying from time to time, 'yes, yes, my dear lady, it is as i say.' i was annoyed at the talk, and said, 'dieu vous punisse!' 'ho, ho!' he said, misinterpreting my words, and calling karen, he went out and closed the doors. thus unexpectedly i got rid of him. it was ridiculous that the woman now wanted to oblige me to attend to what the prison governor had said. i begged her to remember that she was now not attending on a child (she had before been nurse to children). she could not so easily depart from her habit, and for a long time treated me as a child, until at length i made her comprehend that this was not required. when i perceived that my stomach desired food and could retain it, i became impatient that i could not die, but must go on living in such misery. i began to dispute with god, and wanted to justify myself with him. it seemed to me that i had not deserved such misfortune. i imagined myself far purer than david was from great sins, and yet he could say, 'verily i have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency. for all the day long have i been plagued, and chastened every morning.' i thought i had not deserved so exceedingly great a chastisement as that which i was receiving. i said with job, 'show me wherefore thou contendest with me. is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands?' i repeated all job's expressions when he tried to justify himself, and it seemed to me that i could justly apply them to myself. i cursed with him and jeremiah the day of my birth, and was very impatient; keeping it, however, to myself, and not expressing it aloud. if at times a word escaped me, it was in german (since i had generally read the bible in german), and therefore the woman did not understand what i was saying. i was very restless from coughing, and turned from side to side on the bed. the woman often asked me how i was. i begged her to leave me quiet and not to speak to me. i was never more comfortable than in the night when i observed that she was sleeping; then, unhindered, i could let my tears flow and give free vent to my thoughts. then i called god to account. i enumerated everything that i had innocently suffered and endured during my life, and i enquired of god whether i had deviated from my duty? whether i ought to have done less for my husband than i had done? whether the present was my recompense for not having left him in his adversity? whether i was to be now tortured, tormented, and scorned for this? whether all the indescribable misfortunes which i had endured with him were not enough, that i had been reserved for this irremediable and great trouble? i do not wish to conceal my unreasonableness. i will confess my sins. i asked if still worse misfortunes were in store for me for which i was to live? whether there was any affliction on earth to be compared to mine? i prayed god to put an end to my sufferings, for it redounded in no wise to his honour to let me live and be so tormented. i was after all not made of steel and iron, but of flesh and blood. i prayed that he would suggest to me, or inform me in a dream, what i was to do to shorten my misery. when i had long thus disputed and racked my brains, and had also wept so bitterly that it seemed as if no more tears remained, i fell asleep, but awoke with terror, for i had horrible fancies in my dreams, so that i feared to sleep, and began again to bewail my misery. at length god looked down upon me with his eye of mercy, so that on august i had a night of quiet sleep, and just as day was dawning i awoke with the following words on my lips: 'my son, faint not when thou art rebuked of the lord; for whom the lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' i uttered the last words aloud, thinking that the woman was sleeping; possibly she awoke at the moment, and she asked me whether i wished for anything. i answered 'no.' 'you were speaking,' she said, 'and you mentioned your stockings; i could not understand the rest.' i replied, 'it must have been then in my sleep. i wish for nothing.' i then lay quietly thinking. i perceived and confessed my folly, that i, who am only dust and ashes, and decay, and am only fit for the dunghill, should call god to account, should dispute with my creator and his decrees, and should wish to censure and question them. i began to weep violently, and i prayed fervently and from my heart for mercy and forgiveness. while i had before boasted with david, and been proud of my innocence, now i confessed with him that before god there is none that doeth good; no, not one. while before i had spoken foolishly with job, i now said with him that i had 'uttered that i understood not; things too wonderful for me which i knew not.' i besought god to have mercy on me, relying on his great compassion. i cited moses, joshua, david, jeremiah, job, jonah, and others, all highly endowed men, and yet so weak that in the time of calamity they grumbled and murmured against god. i prayed that he would in his mercy forgive me, the frailest of earthen vessels, as i could not after all be otherwise than as he had created me. all things were in his power; it was easy to him to give me patience, as he had before imparted to me power and courage to endure hard blows and shocks. and i prayed god (after asking forgiveness of my sins) for nothing else than good patience to await the period of my deliverance. god graciously heard me. he pardoned not only my foolish sins, but he gave me that also for which i had not prayed, for day by day my patience increased. while i had often said with david, 'will the lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? hath god forgotten to be gracious? hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies?' i now continued with him, 'this is my infirmity, but i will remember the years of the right hand of the most high.' i said also with psalm cxix.: 'it is good for me that i have been afflicted; that i might learn thy statutes.' the power of god was working within me. many consolatory sentences from the holy scriptures came into my mind; especially these:--'if so be that we suffer with christ, that we may be also glorified together.' also: 'we know that all things work together for good to them that love god.' also: 'my grace is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' i thought especially often of christ's words in st. luke, 'shall not god avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them? i tell you that he will avenge them speedily.' i felt in my trouble how useful it is to have learned psalms and passages from the bible in youth. believe me, my children, that it has been a great consolation to me in my misery. therefore, cultivate now in your youth what your parents taught you in childhood; now, while trouble visits you less severely, so that when it comes, you may be ready to receive it and to comfort yourselves with the word of god. i began by degrees to feel more at peace, and to speak with the woman, and to answer the prison governor when he addressed me. the woman told me sundry things, and said that the prison governor had ordered her to tell him everything that i spoke or did, but that she was too wise to do such a thing; that she understood now better than she had done at first how to behave. he went out, but she remained shut up with me, and she would be true to me. and as it appeared that i did not at once believe what she said, she swore it solemnly, and prayed god to punish her if ever she acted falsely towards me. she stroked and patted my hand, and laid it against her cheek, and begged that i would believe her, using the words, 'my dearest lady, you can believe me; as truly as i am a child of god, i will never deceive you! now, is not that enough?' i answered, 'i will believe you;' thinking at the same time that i would do and say nothing but what she might divulge. she was very glad that she had induced me to speak, and said, 'when you lay so long silent, and i had no one with whom i could speak, i was sad, and determined that i would not long lead this life, even if they gave me double as much, for i should have become crazed. i was afraid for you, but still more for myself, that my head would give way.' she went on talking in this way, introducing also various merry stories. when she was young she had been in the service of a clergyman, who encouraged his domestics in the fear of god, and there she had learned prayers and sentences from the bible by heart; she knew also the children's primer, with the explanatory remarks, and sang tolerably well. she knew in some measure how she should walk before god and behave towards her neighbour; but she acted contrary to her knowledge--for she had a malicious temper. she was an elderly woman, but she liked to reckon herself as middle-aged. it appeared that in her youth she had been pretty and rather dissolute, since even now she could not lay aside her levity, but joked with the tower-warder, and the prison governor's coachman, a man of the name of peder, and with a prisoner named christian (more will presently be said with regard to this prisoner; he was free to go about the tower).[ ] [ ] when i took my meals, the woman had opportunity of talking with the three men. the coachman helped the tower-warder rasmus to bring up the food. [marginal note.] maren blocks often sent me a message through this coachman, besides various kinds of candied sugar and citron, letting me know from time to time whether anything new was occurring. all this had to be done through the woman. one day she came in when the doors were closed, and brought me a message from maren blocks, saying, 'my lady, if you will now write to your children in skaane, there is a safe opportunity for you to do so.' i answered, 'my children are not in skaane, yet if i can send a message to skaane, i have a friend there who will probably let me know how it fares with my children.' she gave me a piece of crumpled paper and a pencil. i wrote a few words to f. margrete rantzow,[e ] saying that she probably knew of my miserable condition, but supposing that her friendship was not lessened by it, and begging her to let me know how my children were, and from what cause they had come to skaane, as i had been informed was the case, though i did not believe it. this was what i wrote and gave to the woman. i heard nothing further of it, and i imagine that she had been ordered to find out to whom i wrote, &c. (they have been busy with the idea that some of you, my dear children, might come to skaane.) i sewed up the letter or slip of paper in such a manner that it could not be opened without making it apparent. i asked the woman several times if she knew whether the letter had been sent away. she always answered that she did not know, and that with a morose expression, and at last she said (when i once more asked her to enquire of peder), 'i suppose that the person who ought to have it has got it.' this answer made me reflect, and since then i asked no further. [e ] margrete rantzow was the sister of that birgitte rantzow to whom there is an allusion in the autobiography of leonora, where she relates the examination to which she was subjected at malmöe. margrete's husband was ove thott, a nobleman in skaane, who had taken an important part in the preparations for a rising against the swedes, in which corfitz ulfeldt was implicated. i remained all this time in bed, partly because i had nothing with which to beguile the time, and partly because of the cold, for no stove was placed in my prison till after the new year. occasionally i requested the woman to manage, through peder, that i should have a little silk or thread, that i might beguile the time by embroidering a piece of cloth that i had; but the answer i received was that he dared not. a long time afterwards it came to my knowledge that she had never asked peder for it. there was trouble enough, however, to occupy my thoughts without my needing to employ the time in handiwork. it was on september that i heard some one moving early overhead, so i asked the woman if she knew whether there was a chamber there (for the woman went up every saturday with the night-stool). she answered that there was a prison there like this, and outside was the rack (which is also the case). she observed that i showed signs of fear, and she said, 'god help! whoever it is that is up there is most assuredly to be tortured.' i said, 'ask peder, when the doors are unlocked, whether there is a prisoner there.' she said she would do so, and meanwhile she kept asking herself and me who it might be. i could not guess; still less did i venture to confess my fear to her, which she nevertheless perceived, and therefore increased; for after she had spoken with peder, about noon,[ ] and the doors were locked, she said, 'god knows who it is that is imprisoned there! peder would tell me nothing.' she said the same at the evening meal, but added that she had asked him, and that he would give no answer. i calmed myself, as i heard no more footsteps above, and i said, 'there is no prisoner up there.'[ ] 'how do you know that?' she asked. 'i gather it from the fact,' i said, 'that since this morning i have heard no one above; i think if there were anyone there, they would probably give him something to eat.' she was not pleased that my mind was quieted, and therefore she and peder together endeavoured to trouble me. [ ] i could not see when she spoke with any one, for she did so on the stairs. [marginal note.] [ ] in the margin is added: 'there was none.' on the following day, when the doors were being locked after the mid-day dinner (which was generally peder's task), and he was pulling to my innermost door, which opens inside, he put in his head and said, 'casset!' she was standing beside the door, and appeared as if she had not rightly understood him, saying, 'peder spoke of some one who is in prison, but i could not understand who it is.' i understood him at once, but also behaved as if i had not. no one knows but god what a day and night i had. i turned it over in my mind. it often seemed to me that it might be that they had seized him, although cassetta was a subject of the king of spain; for if treason is suspected, there is no thought given as to whose subject the man suspected may be. i lay in the night secretly weeping and lamenting that the brave man should have come into trouble for my sake, because he had executed my lord's will, and had followed me to england, where we parted, i should say, when petcon and his company separated us and carried me away. i lay without sleep till towards day, then i fell into a dream which frightened me. i suppose my thoughts caused it. it came before me that cassetta was being tortured in the manner he had once described to me that a spaniard had been tortured: four cords were fastened round his hands and feet, and each cord was made secure in a corner of the room, and a man sometimes pulled one cord and sometimes another; and since it seemed to me that cassetta never screamed, i supposed that he was dead, and i shrieked aloud and awoke. the woman, who had long been awake, said: 'o god! dear lady, what ails you? are you ill? you have been groaning a long time, and now you screamed loudly.' i replied, 'it was in my dream; nothing ails me.' she said further, 'then you have had a bad dream?' 'that may well be,' i answered. 'oh, tell me what you have dreamt; i can interpret dreams.' i replied, 'when i screamed i forgot my dream, otherwise no one can interpret dreams better than i.' i thank god i do not regard dreams; and this dream had no other cause than what i have said. when the door was locked after the mid-day meal, the woman said of herself (for i asked no further respecting the prisoners), 'there is no one imprisoned there; shame on peder for his nonsense!' i asked him who was imprisoned there, and he laughed at me heartily. 'there is no one there, so let your mind be at peace.' i said, 'if my misfortunes were to involve others, it would be very painful to me.' thus matters went on till the middle of september, and then two of our servants were brought as prisoners and placed in arrest; one nils kaiberg, who had acted as butler, and the other frans, who had been in our service as a lacquey. after having been kept in prison for a few weeks and examined they were set at liberty. at the same time two frenchmen were brought as prisoners: an old man named la rosche, and a young man whose name i do not know. la rosche was brought to the tower and was placed in the witch-cell; a feather-bed had been thrown down, and on this he lay; for some months he was never out of his clothes. his food consisted of bread and wine; he refused everything else. he was accused of having corresponded with corfitz, and of having promised the king of france that he would deliver crooneborg into his hands.[ ] this information had been given by hannibal sehested, who was at that time in france, and he had it from a courtesan who was then intimate with hannibal, but had formerly been in connection with la rosche, and probably afterwards had quarrelled with him. there was no other proof in favour of the accusation. probably suspicion had been raised by the fact that this la rosche, with the other young man, had desired to see me when i was in arrest in dover, which had been permitted, and they had paid me their respects. it is possible that he had wished to speak with me and to tell me what he had heard in london, and which, it seemed to him, excited no fears in me. but as i was playing at cards with some ladies who had come to look at me, he could not speak with me; so he asked me whether i had the book of plays which the countess of pembroke had published.[e ] i replied, 'no'. he promised to send it me, and as i did not receive it, i think he had written in it some warning to me, which braten afterwards turned to his advantage. [ ] did not this accord well with the statement that my lord had offered the kingdom of denmark to two potentates? [marginal note.] [e ] the book in question is probably philip sidney's work, 'the countess of pembroke's arcadia,' a famous book of its time, which leonora, who does not seem to have known it, has understood to be a book by the countess of pembroke. it is true, however, that philip's sister, mary sidney, countess of pembroke, had translated a french play, antonius ( , and again ). however all this may be, la rosche suffered innocently, and could prove upon oath that he had never spoken with my lord in his life, and still less had corresponded with him.[ ] in short, after some months of innocent suffering, he was set at liberty and sent back to france. the other young man was confined in an apartment near the servants' hall. he had only been apprehended as a companion to the other, but no further accusation was brought against him.[e ] at first, when these men were imprisoned, there was a whispering and talking between the prison governor and the woman, and also between peder and her; the prison governor moreover himself locked my door. i plainly perceived that there was something in the wind, but i made no enquiries. peder at length informed the woman that they were two frenchmen, and he said something about the affair, but not as it really was. shortly before they were set at liberty the prison governor said, 'i have two parle mi franço in prison; what they have done i know not.' i made no further enquiries, but he jested and said, 'now i can learn french.' 'that will take time,' said i. [ ] in the margin is noted: 'i had never seen la rosche nor his companion till i did so at dover.' [e ] la roche tudesquin had some time been in the danish army, but had returned to france when hannibal sehested, while in paris as ambassador from the king of denmark, received information from a certain demoiselle langlois that la roche was implicated in a conspiracy for surrendering the principal danish fortresses to a foreign prince. he and a friend of his, jaques beranger, were arrested in brussels in september , but not, as leonora says, immediately brought to copenhagen. the spanish government did not consent to their extradition till the following year, and they were not placed in the blue tower till june . la roche seems to have been guilty of peculation while in the danish service, but the accusation of treason seems to have been unfounded. in the same month of september died count rantzow. he did not live to see the execution of an effigy, which he so confidently had hoped for, being himself the one who first had introduced this kind of mockery in these countries.[e ] [e ] in the ms. a pen is drawn through this paragraph, of which the contents were to form part of the preface. the date of count rantzow is moreover not correctly given; he died on november , five days before the execution of ulfeldt's effigy. on october our princess anna sophia was betrothed to the electoral prince of saxony. on the morning of the day on which the festivities were to take place i said to the woman, 'to-day we shall fast till evening.' for i thought they would not think of me, and that i should not receive any of the remains until the others had been treated, at any rate, to dinner. she wished to know the reason why we were to fast. i answered, 'you shall know it this evening.' i lay and thought of the change of fortune: that i, who twenty-eight years ago had enjoyed as great state as the princess, should now be lying a captive, close by the very wall where my bridal chamber had been; thank god, that it afflicted me but little. towards noonday, when the trumpets and kettledrums were sounding, i said, 'now they are conducting the bride across the square to the great hall.' 'how do you know that?' said the woman. 'i know it,' i said; 'my spirit tells me so.' 'what sort of spirit is that?' she asked. 'that i cannot tell you,' i replied. and as the trumpets blew every time that a new course of dishes and sweets were produced, i mentioned it; and before they were served the kettledrums were sounded. and as they were served on the square in front of the kitchen, i said each time, 'we shall have no dinner yet.' when it was nearly three o'clock, the woman said, 'my stomach is quite shrunk up; when shall we have dinner?' i answered, 'not for a long time yet; the second course is only now on the table; we shall have something at about seven o'clock, and not before.' it was as i said. about half-past seven the prison governor came and excused himself, saying that he had asked for the dinner, but that all hands in the kitchen were occupied. the woman, who had always entertained the idea that i was a witch, was now confirmed in her opinion.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'the prison governor told the woman about the magnificence of the festivity and peder also told her of it, so that it seemed to her that i could know somewhat from customs of former times.' on the following day knights were dubbed, and each time when the trumpets blew i did not only say, 'now they have made a knight' (for i could hear the herald calling from the window, though i could not understand what he said), but even who had been made a knight; for this i guessed, knowing who were in the council who were not knights before; and because it was as i said, the woman believed for certain that i was an enchantress. i perceived this, as she put questions to me concerning things which i could not know, and to which i often gave equivocal answers. i thought perhaps that the fear she had that i could know what would happen might hinder her from entangling me with lies. since then she whispered much less with the prison governor. she told of a person whom she regarded as a witch, whose power, however, consisted in nothing else than in the science of curing french pox, and causing the miscarriage of bad women, and other improprieties. she had had much intercourse with this woman. some time after the departure of the electoral prince it was determined that a wooden effigy should be subjected to capital punishment, and on the forenoon my chamber was opened, swept, cleaned, and strewed with sand.[ ] when it was opened, towards noon, and the woman had been on the stairs, talking with the coachman, she came in, and walking up to my bed, stood as if startled, and said hurriedly, 'oh, jesus! lady, they are bringing your husband!' the news terrified me, which she observed; for as she uttered it, i raised myself in the bed and stretched out my right arm, and was not able to draw it back again at once. perhaps this vexed her, for i remained sitting in this way and not speaking a word; so she said, 'my dearest lady, it is your husband's effigy.' to this i said, 'may god punish you!' she then gave full vent to her evil tongue, and expressed her opinion that i deserved punishment, and not she, and used many unprofitable words. i was quite silent, for i was very weak, and scarcely knew where i was. in the afternoon i heard a great murmuring of people in the inner palace square, and i saw the effigy brought across the street by the executioner on a wheelbarrow, and placed in the tower below my prison. [ ] the queen wished that this wooden statue should be brought into my outer chamber, and so placed in front of the door that it would tumble into me when my inner door was opened; but the king would not permit it. [addition in the margin.] the next morning, at about nine o'clock, the effigy was wofully treated by the executioner, but no sound came from it. at the mid-day meal the prison governor told the woman how the executioner had cut off its head, and had divided the body into four quarters, which were then placed on four wheels, and attached to the gallows, while the head was exhibited on the town hall. the prison governor stood in the outer chamber, but he narrated all this in a loud tone, so that i might hear it, and repeated it three times.[e ] i lay and thought what i should do; i could not show that i made but little of it, for then something else perhaps would be devised to trouble me, and in the hurry i could think of nothing else than saying to the woman with sadness, 'oh, what a shame! speak to the prison governor and tell him to beg the king to allow the effigy to be taken down and not to remain as it is!' the woman went out, and spoke softly with the prison governor; but he answered aloud and said, 'yes, indeed, taken down! there will be more put up; yes, more up;' and kept on repeating these words a good while. [e ] the execution took place on november . the king's order concerning it to the prison governor, jochum waltpurger, exists still. it is to this effect: 'v. g. t., know that you have to command the executioner in our name, that to-day, november , he is to take the effigy of corfitz, formerly called count of ulfeldt, from the blue tower where it is now, and bring it on a car to the ordinary place in the square in front of the castle; and when he has come to the place of justice, strike off the right hand and the head, whereafter he is to divide the body into four parts on the spot, and carry them away with him, whilst the head is to be placed on a spike on the blue tower for remembrance and execration.' the order was afterwards altered in this particular, that the head was to be placed on the town hall, and the four parts of the body one at each of the gates of the city. the executioner was subsequently ordered to efface the arms of corfitz and his wife wherever they occurred in the town; for instance, on their pews in the churches. leonora states in her autobiography that the prison governor some time after told her that the queen had desired that the effigy should be placed in the antechamber of leonora's prison, and that she should be ordered to see it there; but that the king refused his consent. i lay silently thinking; i said nothing, but indulged in my own reflections. sometimes i consoled myself, and hoped that this treatment of the effigy was a token that they could not get the man; then again fear asserted its sway. i did not care for the dishonour, for there are too many instances of great men in france whose effigies have been burnt by the executioner, and who subsequently arrived again at great honour. when the door was unlocked again for the evening meal, there was a whispering between the prison governor and the woman. a lacquey was also sent, who stood outside the outer door and called the prison governor to him (my bed stands just opposite the doors, and thus when all three doors are opened i can see the staircase door, which is the fourth). i do not know what the woman can have told the prison governor, for i had not spoken all day, except to ask her to give me what i required; i said, moreover, nothing more than this for several days, so that the prison governor grew weary of enquiring longer of the woman; for she had nothing to communicate to him respecting me, and she tormented him always with her desire to get away; she could not longer spend her life in this way. but as she received no other consolation from him than that he swore to her that she would never get away as long as she lived, for some days she did nothing else than weep; and since i would not ask her why she wept, she came one day up to my bedside crying, and said, 'i am a miserable being!' i asked her why? what ailed her? 'i ail enough,' she answered; 'i have been so stupid, and have allowed myself to be shut up here for the sake of money, and now you are cross with me and will not speak with me.' i said, 'what am i to say? you wish perhaps to have something to communicate to the prison governor?' upon this she began to call down curses on herself if she had ever repeated to the prison governor a word that i had said or done; she wished i could believe her and speak with her; why should she be untrue to me? we must at any rate remain together as long as we lived. she added many implorations as to my not being angry; i had indeed cause to be so; she would in future give me no cause for anger, for she would be true to me. i thought, 'you shall know no more than is necessary.' i let her go on talking and relating the whole history of her life--such events as occur among peasants. she had twice married cottagers, and after her last widowhood she had been employed as nurse to the wife of holger wind, so that she had no lack of stories. by her first husband she had had a child, who had never reached maturity, and her own words led me to have a suspicion that she had herself helped to shorten the child's days; for once when she was speaking of widows marrying again, she said among other things, 'those who wish to marry a second time ought not to have children, for in that case the husband is never one with the wife.' i had much to say against this, and i asked her what a woman was to do who had a child by her first husband. she answered quickly, 'put a pillow on its head.' this i could only regard as a great sin, and i explained it to her. 'what sin could there be,' she said, 'when the child was always sickly, and the husband angry in consequence?' i answered as i ought, and she seemed ill at ease. such conversation as this gave me no good reason to believe in the fidelity which she had promised me. the woman then took a different tack, and brought me word from the coachman of all that was occurring. maren blocks sent me a prayer-book through her, and that secretly, for i was allowed no book of any kind, nor any needles and pins; respecting these the woman had by the queen's order taken an oath to the prison governor. thus the year passed away. on new year's day, , the woman wished me a happy year. i thanked her, and said, 'that is in god's hands.' 'yes,' she said, 'if he wills it.' 'and if he does not will it,' i answered, 'it will not be, and then he will give me patience to bear my heavy cross.' 'it is heavy,' she said, 'even to me; what must it not be to you? may it only remain as it is, and not be worse with you!' it seemed to me as if it could not be worse, but better; for death, in whatever form, would put an end to my misery. 'yes,' she said, 'is it not all one how one dies?' 'that is true,' i answered; 'one dies in despair, another with free courage.' the prison governor did not say a word to me that day. the woman had a long talk with the coachman; she no doubt related to him our conversation. in the month of march the prison governor came in and assumed a particularly gentle manner, and said, among other things, 'now you are a widow; now you can tell the state of all affairs.' i answered him with a question, 'can widows tell the state of all affairs?' he laughed and said, 'i do not mean that; i mean this treason!' i answered, 'you can ask others about it who know of it; i know of no treason.' and as it seemed to him that i did not believe that my husband was dead,[e ] he took out a newspaper and let me read it, perhaps chiefly because my husband was badly treated in it. i did not say much about it--nothing more than, 'writers of newspapers do not always speak the truth.' this he might take as he liked. [e ] the date of ulfeldt's death is variously given as the th or the th of february, . the latter date is given in a letter from his son christian to sperling, and elsewhere, (for instance, in a short latin biography of ulfeldt called 'machinationes cornificii ulefeldii,' published soon after); but the better evidence points to the earlier date. christian ulfeldt was not, it seems, at basle at the time, and may have made a mistake as to the date, though he indicates the right day of the week (a saturday), or he may have had reason for purposely making a misleading statement. in copenhagen the report of his death was long suspected to be a mere trick. i lay there silently hoping that it might be so, that my husband had by death escaped his enemies; and i thought with the greatest astonishment that i should have lived to see the day when i should wish my lord dead; then sorrowful thoughts took possession of me, and i did not care to talk. the woman imagined that i was sad because my lord was dead, and she comforted me, and that in a reasonable manner; but the remembrance of past times was only strengthened by her consolatory remarks, and for a long time my mind could not again regain repose. your condition, my dearest children, troubled me. you had lost your father, and with him property and counsel. i am captive and miserable, and cannot help you, either with counsel or deed; you are fugitives and in a foreign land. for my three eldest sons i am less anxious than for my daughters and my youngest son.[e ] i sat up whole nights in my bed, for i could not sleep, and when i have headache i cannot lay my head on the pillow. from my heart i prayed to god for a gracious deliverance. it has not pleased god to grant this, but he gave me patience to bear my heavy cross. [e ] ulfeldt and leonora had twelve children in all, of which seven were alive when corfitz died; and it so happened as, explained before, that the youngest, leo, was the only one who continued the name. it is from him that count waldstein, the owner of the ms., is descended. my cross was so much heavier to me at first, as it was strictly forbidden to give me either knife, scissors, thread, or anything that might have beguiled the time to me. afterwards, when my mind became a little calmer, i began to think of something wherewith to occupy myself; and as i had a needle, as i have before mentioned, i took off the ribands of my night-dress, which were broad flesh-coloured taffeta. with the silk i embroidered the piece of cloth that i had with different flowers worked in small stitches. when this was finished, i drew threads out of my sheet, twisted them, and sewed with them. when this was nearly done, the woman said one day, 'what will you do now when this is finished?' i answered, 'oh, i shall get something to do; if it is brought to me by the ravens, i shall have it.' then she asked me if i could do anything with a broken wooden spoon. i answered, 'perhaps you know of one?' after having laughed a while, she drew one forth, the bowl of which was half broken off. 'i could indeed make something with that,' i said, 'if i had only a tool for the purpose. could you persuade the prison governor or peder the coachman to lend me a knife?' 'i will beg for one,' she answered, 'but i know well that they will not.' that she said something about it to the prison governor i could perceive from his answer, for he replied aloud, 'she wants no knife; i will cut her food for her. she might easily injure herself with one.'[ ] [ ] in the margin is this note: 'once when i asked the prison governor for some scissors to cut my nails, he answered, and that loudly, "what! what! her nails shall grow like eagles' claws, and her hair like eagles' feathers!" i know well what i thought--if i had only claws and wings!' what she said to the coachman i know not (this i know, that she did not desire me to obtain a knife, for she was afraid of me, as i afterwards discovered). the woman brought the answer from the coachman that he dared not for his life. i said, 'if i can but have a piece of glass, i will see what i can make that is useful with the piece of spoon.' i begged her to look in a corner in the outermost room, where all rubbish was thrown; this she did, and found not only glass, but even a piece of a pewter cover which had belonged to a jug. by means of the glass i formed the spoon handle into a pin with two prongs, on which i made riband, which i still have in use (the silk for this riband i took from the border of my night-dress). i bent the piece of pewter in such a manner that it afterwards served me as an inkstand. it also is still in my keeping. as a mark of fidelity, the woman brought me at the same time a large pin, which was a good tool for beginning the division between the prongs, which i afterwards scraped with glass. she asked me whether i could think of anything to play with, as the time was so long to her. i said, 'coax peder, and he will bring you a little flax for money and a distaff.' 'what!' she answered, 'shall i spin? the devil may spin! for whom should i spin?' i said, 'to beguile the time, i would spin, if i only had what is necessary for it.' 'that you may not have, dear lady,' said she; 'i have done the very utmost for you in giving you what i have done.' 'if you wish something to play with,' said i, 'get some nuts, and we will play with them.' she did so, and we played with them like little children. i took three of the nuts, and made them into dice, placing two kinds of numbers on each, and we played with these also. and that we might know the {circled dot} which i made with the large pin,[ ] i begged her to procure for me a piece of chalk, which she did, and i rubbed chalk into it. these dice were lost, i know not how; my opinion is that the coachman got possession of them, perhaps at the time that he cheated the woman out of the candles and sugar left. for he came to her one day at noon quite out of breath, and said she was to give him the candles and the sugar which he had brought her from maren blocks, and whatever there was that was not to be seen, as our quarters were to be searched. she ran out with the things under her apron, and never said anything to me about it until the door was locked. i concealed on myself, as well as i was able, my pin, my silk, and the pieces of sewing with the needle and pin. nothing came of the search, and it was only a _ruse_ of the coachman, in order to get the candles that were left, for which she often afterwards abused him, and also for the sugar. [ ] i removed my nails with the needle, scratching them till they came away. i let the nail of the little finger of my right hand grow, in order to see how long it would become; but i knocked it off unawares, and i still have it. [marginal note.] i was always at work, so long as i had silk from my night-dress and stockings, and i netted on the large pin, so that it might last a long time. i have still some of the work in my possession, as well as the bobbins, which i made out of wooden pegs. by means of bags filled with sand i made cords which i formed into a bandage (which is worn out), for i was not allowed a corset, often as i begged for one; the reason why is unknown to me. i often beguiled the time with the piece of chalk, painting with it on a piece of board and on the table, wiping it away again, and making rhymes and composing hymns. the first of these, however, i composed before i had the chalk. i never sang it, but repeated it to myself. a morning hymn, to the tune, 'ieg wil din priiss ud synge'[e ]:-- [e ] this hymn-tune is still in use in the danish church. i god's praise i will be singing in every waking hour. my grateful tribute bringing to magnify his power; and his almighty love, his angel watchers sending, my couch with mercy tending, and watching from above. ii in salt drops streaming ever the tears flowed from my eyes; i often thought i never should see the morning rise. yet has the lord instilled sleep in his own good pleasure; and sleep in gracious measure has his command fulfilled. iii oh christ! lord of the living, thine armour place on me, which manly vigour giving, right valiant shall i be, 'gainst satan, death, and sin. and every carnal feeling, that nought may come concealing thy sway my heart within. iv help me! thy arms extending; my cross is hard and sore: support its heaviest ending, or i can bear no more. too much am i oppressed! my trust is almost waning with pain and vain complaining! thine arrows pierce my breast. v in mercy soothe the sorrow that weighs the fatherless; vouchsafe a happier morrow, and all my children bless! strength to their father yield, in their hard fate respect them, from enemies protect them; my strength, be thou their shield. vi i am but dust and ashes, yet one request i crave: let me not go at unawares into the silent grave. with a clear mind and breast my course in this world closing, let me, on thee reposing, pass to thy land of rest. i composed the following hymn in german and often sang it, as they did not understand german; a hymn, somewhat to the air of 'was ist doch auff dieser welt, das nicht fehlt?' &c.:-- i reason speaketh to my soul: fret not soul, thou hast a better goal! it is not for thee restricted that with thee past should be all the wrongs inflicted. ii why then shouldst thou thus fret thee, anxiously, ever sighing, mournfully? thou canst not another sorrow change with this, for that is which shall be on the morrow. iii loss of every earthly gain bringeth pain; fresh courage seek to obtain! much was still superfluous ceded, nature's call after all makes but little needed. iv is the body captive here? do not fear: thou must not hold all too dear; thou art free--a captive solely; can no tower have the power thee to fetter wholly? v all the same is it at last when thou hast the long path of striving past, and thou must thy life surrender; death comes round, whether found on couch hard or tender. vi courage then, my soul, arise! heave no sighs that nought yet thy rest supplies! god will not leave thee in sorrow: well he knows when he chose help for thee to borrow. thus i peacefully beguiled the time, until doctor otto sperling[e ] was brought to the tower; his prison is below the 'dark church.' his fate is pitiable. when he was brought to the tower his feet and hands were chained in irons. the prison governor, who had formerly not been friendly with him, rejoiced heartily at the doctor's misfortune, and that he had fallen into his hands, so that the whole evening he did nothing but sing and hum. he said to the woman, 'my karen, will you dance? i will sing.' he left the doctor to pass the night in his irons. we could hear that a prisoner had been brought in from the murmuring, and the concourse of people, as well as from the locking of the prison, which was below mine (where iron bolts were placed against the door).[ ] the joy exhibited by the prison governor excited my fear, also that he not only himself opened and shut my door, but that he prevented the woman from going out on the stairs, by leaning against the outermost door of my prison. the coachman stood behind the prison governor making signs; but as the prison governor turned from side to side, i could not rightly see him. [e ] dr. otto sperling, the elder, is often alluded to in the autobiography of leonora as 'notre vieillard;' he was a faithful friend of ulfeldt, and in he settled in hamburg, where he educated corfitz's youngest son leo. he was implicated in ulfeldt's intrigues, and a compromising correspondence between them fell into the hands of the spanish government, which placed it at the disposal of hannibal sehested when he passed through the netherlands on his way home from his mission to france in . in order to obtain possession of sperling's person, the danish authorities used the ruse of sending a danish officer to his house in hamburg, and request him to visit professionally a sick person just across the danish frontier, paying in advance a considerable fee. sperling, who did not suspect the transaction, was arrested immediately on crossing the boundary, and brought to copenhagen. he was condemned to death july , ; but the sentence was commuted, and he died in the blue tower december , . otto sperling, jun., to whom leonora sent the ms. of her autobiography, and who often visited her at maribo, was his son. [ ] the prison cell is outside that in which the doctor is immured. it is quite dark where he is. [note in the margin.] on the following day, at about eight o'clock, i heard the iron bolts drawn and the door below opened; i could also hear that the inner prison was opened (the doctor was then taken out for examination). the woman said, 'there is certainly a prisoner there; who can it be?' i said: 'it seems indeed that a prisoner has been brought in, for the prison governor is so merry. you will find it out from peder; if not to-day, another time. i pity the poor man, whoever he may be.' (god knows my heart was not as courageous as i appeared.) when my door was opened at noon (which was after twelve o'clock, for they did not open my door till the doctor had been conveyed to his cell again), the prison governor was still merrier than usual, and danced about and sang, 'cheer up! courage! it will come to pass!' when he had cut up the dinner, he leaned against the outer door of my prison and prevented the woman from going out, saying to me, 'i am to salute you from the major-general von alfeldt; he says all will now soon be well, and you may console yourself. yes, yes, all will now soon be well!' i behaved as if i received his words in their apparent meaning, and i begged him to thank the major-general for his consolation; and then he repeated the same words, and added, 'yes, indeed! he said so.' i replied with a question: 'what may it arise from that the major-general endeavours to cheer me? may god cheer him in return! i never knew him before.' to this the prison governor made no answer at all. while the prison governor was talking with me, the coachman was standing behind him, and showed by gestures how the prisoner had been bound hand and foot, that he had a beard and a calotte on his head, and a handkerchief round his neck. this could not make me wiser than i was, but it could indeed grieve me still more. at the evening meal the woman was again prevented speaking with the coachman, and the coachman again made the same signs, for the prison governor was standing in his usual place; but he said nothing, nor did i.[ ] on the following morning the doctor was again brought up for examination, and the prison governor behaved as before. as he stood there ruminating, i asked him who the prisoner below was. he answered that there was no one below. i let the matter rest for the time, and as we proceeded to speak of other things, the woman slipped out to peder, who told her quickly who it was. some days went by in the same manner. when sentence had been pronounced on the doctor, and his execution was being postponed,[ ] and i said nothing to the prison governor but when he accosted me, he came in and said: 'i see that you can judge that there is a prisoner below. it is true, but i am forbidden to tell you who it is!' i answered: 'then i do not desire to know.' he began to feel some compassion, and said: 'don't fret, my dear lady; it is not your husband, nor your son, nor daughter, nor brother-in-law, nor any relative; it is a bird which ought to sing,[ ] and will not, but he must, he must!' i said: 'i ought to be able to guess from your words who it is. if the bird can sing what can ring in their ears, he will probably do so; but he cannot sing a melody which he does not know!' upon this he was silent, and turned away and went out. [ ] in the margin is added: 'when the prison governor was singing to himself on those first days, he said, "you must sing, my bird; where is your velvet robe?" laughing at the same time most heartily. i inferred from that song who it was.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'in order to grieve the doctor and to frighten him, the prison governor unlocked his cell early on the morning after sentence had been passed, and behaved as if the priest were coming to him.' [ ] that is, give information. by degrees all became quiet with regard to the doctor, and no more was said about the matter, and the prison governor came in from time to time when the door was opened, and often made himself merry with the woman, desiring her to make a curtsey to him, and showing her how she should place her feet and carry her body, after the fashion of a dancing-master. he related also different things that had occurred in former times, some of them evidently intended to sadden me with the recollection of my former prosperity: all that had happened at my wedding, how the deceased king had loved me. he gave long accounts of this, not forgetting how i was dressed, and all this he said for the benefit of no one else but myself, for the woman meanwhile stood on the stairs talking with the tower warder, the coachman, and the prisoner christian. maren blocks, who constantly from time to time sent me messages and kept me informed of what was going on, also intimated to me that she was of opinion that i could practise magic, for she wrote me a slip of paper[ ] with the request that i should sow dissension between the lady carisse and an alfelt, explaining at length that alfelt was not worthy of her, but that skinckel was a brave fellow (carisse afterwards married skinckel). as the letter was open, the coachman knew its contents, and the woman also. i was angry at it, but i said nothing. the woman could easily perceive that i was displeased at it, and she said, 'lady, i know well what maren wishes.' i replied, 'can you help her in it?' 'no,' she declared, and laughed heartily. i asked what there was to laugh at. 'i am laughing,' said she, 'because i am thinking of the clever cathrine, of whom i have spoken before, who once gave advice to some one desiring to sow discord between good friends.' i enquired what advice she had given. she said that they must collect some hairs in a place where two cats had been fighting, and throw these between the two men whom it was desired to set at variance. i enquired whether the trick succeeded. she replied, 'it was not properly tried.' 'perhaps,' i said, 'the cats were not both black?' 'ho, ho!' said she, 'i see that you know how it should be done.' 'i have heard more than that,' i replied; 'show her the trick, and you will get some more sugar-candy, but do not let yourself be again cheated of it by peder as you were lately. seriously, however, peder must beg maren blocks to spare me such requests!' that she as well as maren believed that i could practise magic was evident in many ways. my own remarks often gave cause for this. i remembered how my deceased lord used to say (when in his younger days he wished to make anyone imagine that he understood the black art), that people feared those of whom they had this opinion, and never ventured to do them harm. it happened one day at the mid-day meal, when the prison governor was sitting talking with me, that the woman carried on a long conversation on the stairs with the others respecting the witches who had been seized in jutland, and that the supreme judge in jutland at that time sided with the witches and said they were not witches.[e ] when the door was locked we had much talk about witches, and she said, 'this judge is of your opinion, that it is a science and not magic.' i said, as i had before said, that some had more knowledge than others, and that some used their knowledge to do evil; although it might happen naturally and not with the devil's art, still it was not permitted in god's word to use nature for evil purposes; it was also not fair to give the devil the honour which did not belong to him. we talked on till she grew angry, laid down and slept a little, and thus the anger passed away. [ ] in the margin is added: 'peder had some time before thrown into me eight ducats in a paper, saying, as he closed the door, "your maid!" and as the woman knew it, i gave her one of them and peder one. i know not whether my maid had given him more; she had many more concealed on her person.' [e ] the name of this judge was villum lange, and it is a curious coincidence that a letter from him of a somewhat later time ( ), has been found in one of the archives, in which he speaks of this very affair, and in which he expresses himself very much in the sense here indicated. some days after she said: 'your maid is sitting below in the prison governor's room, and asks with much solicitude after you and what you are doing. i have told peder of what you have sewed, and of the ribbons you have made, but he has promised solemnly not to mention it to anyone except to maren, lars' daughter; she would like so much to be here with you.' i replied: 'it would be no good for her to sit with me in prison; it would only destroy her own happiness; for who knows how long i may live?' i related of this same waiting-maid that she had been in my employ since she was eight years old, all that i had had her taught, and how virtuous she was. to this she replied, 'the girl will like to see what you have sewed; you shall have it again directly.' i handed it to her, and the first time the doors were unlocked she gave it to the prison governor, who carried it to the queen. (two years afterwards the prison governor told me this himself, and that when the king had said, 'she might have something given her to do,' the queen had answered, 'that is not necessary. it is good enough for her! she has not wished for anything better.') i often enquired for the piece of sewing, but was answered that peder was not able to get it back from the girl. late in the autumn the prison governor began to sicken: he was ill and could not do much, so he let the coachman frequently come alone to lock and unlock both the doctor's door below and mine. the iron bars were no longer placed before the outermost prison below, but four doors were locked upon me. one day, when peder was locking up, he threw me a skein of silk,[ ] saying, 'make me some braces for my breeches out of it.' i appeared not to have heard, and asked the woman what it was that he had said. she repeated the same words. i behaved as if i did not believe it, and laughed, saying, 'if i make the braces for him, he will next wish that you should fasten them to his breeches.' a good deal of absurd chatter followed. as meal-time was approaching, i said to the woman, 'give peder back his silk, and say that i have never before made a pair of braces; i do not know how they are made.' (such things i had to endure with smiles.) [ ] in the margin is added: 'as my linen was washed in the servants' hall, it once happened that a maid there must unawares have forgotten a whole skein of thread in a clean chemise, at which i said to the woman: "you see how the ravens bring me thread!" she was angry and abused me; i laughed, and answered her jestingly.' at the time that our former palace here in the city (which we had ceded by a deed when we were imprisoned at borringholm) was pulled down, and a pillar (or whatever it is) was raised to my lord's shame, the prison governor came in when he unlocked at noon, and seated himself on my bed (i was somewhat indisposed at the time), and began to talk of former times (i knew already that they were pulling down the palace), enumerating everything the loss of which he thought might sadden me, even to my coach and the horses. 'but,' he said, 'all this is nothing compared with the beautiful palace!' (and he praised it to the utmost); 'it is now down, and not one stone is left on another. is not that a pity, my dear lady?' i replied: 'the king can do what he will with his own; the palace has not been ours for some time.' he continued bewailing the beautiful house and the garden buildings which belonged to it. i asked him what had become of solomon's temple? not a stone of that beautiful building was now to be found; not even could the place be pointed out where the temple and costly royal palace had once stood. he made no answer, hung his head, and pondered a little, and went out. i do not doubt he has reported what i said. since that day he began to behave himself more and more courteously, saying even that his majesty had ordered him to ask me whether i wished for anything from the kitchen, the cellar, or the confectioner, as it should be given me; that he had also been ordered to bring me twice a week confectionery and powdered sugar, which was done.[ ] i begged the prison governor to thank the king's majesty for the favour shown me, and praised, as was proper, the king's goodness most humbly. the prison governor would have liked to praise the queen had he only been able to find cause for so doing; he said, 'the queen is also a dear queen!' i made no answer to this. he came also some time afterwards with an order from the king that i should ask for any clothes and linen i required: this was written down, and i received it later, except a corset, and that the queen would not allow me. i never could learn the cause of this. the queen also was not well pleased that i obtained a bottle-case with six small bottles, in which was sprinkling-water, headwater, and a cordial. all this, she said, i could well do without; but when she saw that in the lid there was an engraving representing the daughter of herod with the head of st. john on a charger, she laughed and said, 'that will be a cordial to her!' this engraving set me thinking that herodias had still sisters on earth. [ ] in the margin is added: 'i wrote different things from the bible on the paper in which the sugar was given me. my ink-bottle was made of the piece of pewter lid which the woman had found, the ink was made from the smoke of the candle collected on a spoon, and the pen from a fowl's feather cut by the piece of glass. i have this still in my possession.' the prison governor continued his politeness, and lent me at my desire a german bible, saying at the same time, 'this i do out of kindness, i have no order to do so; the queen does not know it.' 'i believe that,' i replied, and thanked him; but i am of opinion that the king knew it well. some days afterwards maren blocks sent for her prayer-book back again. i had taught the woman a morning and evening prayer by heart, and all the morning and evening hymns, which she repeated to me night and morning. i offered to teach her to read if she would procure an a b c. she laughed at this jeeringly, and said, 'people would think me crazed if i were to learn to read now.' i tried to persuade her by argument, in order that i might thus get something to beguile the time with; but far from it; she knew as much as she needed. i sought everywhere for something to divert my thoughts, and as i perceived that the potter, when he had placed the stove, had left a piece of clay lying outside in the other room, i begged the woman to give it to me. the prison governor saw that she had taken it, but did not ask the reason. i mixed the clay with beer, and made various things, which i frequently altered again into something else; among other things i made the portraits of the prison governor and the woman, and small jugs and vases. and as it occurred to me to try whether i were able to make anything on which i could place a few words to the king, so that the prison governor should not observe it (for i knew well that the woman did not always keep silence; she would probably some time say what i did), i moulded a goblet over the half of the glass in which wine was brought to me, made it round underneath, placed it on three knobs, and wrote the king's name on the side--underneath the bottom these words ... il y a un ... un auguste.[e ] [e ] the words 'under the bottom ... to ... auguste,' inclusive, have been struck out in the ms., and it has been impossible to read more than what here is rendered. in the autobiography, where the same occurrence is related, leonora says that she put on it the names both of the king and of the queen; that on the bottom she wrote to the queen, and that it was the queen who discovered the inscription; from which it would appear that the queen at all events was included in her ingeniously contrived supplique. i kept it for a long time, not knowing in what way i could manage to get it reported what i was doing, since the woman had solemnly sworn to me not to mention it: so i said one day: 'does the prison governor ask you what i am doing?' 'yes, indeed he does,' she replied, 'but i say that you are doing nothing but reading the bible.' i said: 'you may ingratiate yourself in his favour and say that i am making portraits in clay; there is no reason that he should not know that.' she did so, and three days after he came to me, and was quite gentle, and asked how i passed my time. i answered, 'in reading the bible.' he expressed his opinion that i must weary of this. i said i liked at intervals to have something else to do, but that this was not allowed me. he enquired what i had wanted the clay for, which the woman had brought in to me; he had seen it when she had brought it in. i said, 'i have made some small trifles.' he requested to see them. so i showed him first the woman's portrait; that pleased him much, as it resembled her; then a small jug, and last of all the goblet. he said at once: 'i will take all this with me and let the king see it; you will perhaps thus obtain permission to have somewhat provided you for pastime,'[ ] i was well satisfied. this took place at the mid-day meal. at supper he did not come in. the next day he said to me: 'well, my dear lady, you have nearly brought me into trouble!' 'how so?' i asked. 'i took the king a petition from you! the queen did not catch sight of it, but the king saw it directly and said, "so you are now bringing me petitions from leonora?" i shrank back with terror, and said, "gracious king! i have brought nothing in writing!" "see here!" exclaimed the king, and he pointed out to me some french writing at the bottom of the goblet. the queen asked why i had brought anything written that i did not understand. i asserted that i had paid no attention to it, and begged for pardon. the good king defended me, and the _invention_ did not please him ill. yes, yes, my dear lady! be assured that the king is a gracious sovereign to you, and if he were certain that your husband were dead, you would not remain here!' i was of opinion that my enemies well knew that my husband was dead. i felt that i must therefore peacefully resign myself to the will of god and the king. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the prison governor told me afterwards that the clay things were placed in the king's art-cabinet, besides a rib of mutton, which i used as a knife, which he also gave to the king; hoping (he said) in this way to obtain a knife for me.' i received nothing which might have beguiled the time to me, except that which i procured secretly, and the prison governor has since then never enquired what i was doing, though he came in every evening and sat for some time talking with me; he was weak, and it was a labour to him to mount so many steps. thus we got through the year together. the prison governor gradually began to feel pity for me, and gave me a book which is very pretty, entitled 'wunderwerck.'[e ] it is a folio, rather old, and here and there torn; but i was well pleased with the gift. and as he sat long of an evening with me, frequently till nine o'clock, talking with me, the malicious woman was irritated.[ ] she said to peder, 'if i were in the prison governor's place, i would not trust her in the way he does. he is weak; what if she were now to run out and take the knife which is lying on the table outside, and were to stab him? she could easily take my life, so i sit in there with my life hanging on a thread.' [e ] this book was doubtless the german translation of conr. lycosthenes' work, 'prodigiorum ac ostentorum chronicon.' it is an amusing illustrated volume, much read in its time. the translation in question appeared in basle, . [ ] in the margin is added: 'the day that the prison governor had taken away the clay things the woman was very angry with me, because i gave him a small jug which i had made; she said it was made in ridicule of her, the old slut with the jug! i ought to have given him the cat which i had also made. i said, "i can still do so."' absurd as the idea was, the knife was not only in consequence hidden under the table, but the prison governor for a long time did not venture to come to me, but sat outside by my outermost door and talked there just as long as before, so that i was no gainer.[ ] (i did not know what the woman had said till three years afterwards, when it was mentioned by the prisoner christian, who had heard the woman's chatter.) [ ] in the margin is added: 'at first when the prison governor's fear was so great, he did not venture to be alone in the outer room. peder and the tower warder were not allowed both to leave him at the same time. i did not know the reason for this.' one day when the prison governor intended to go to the holy communion, he stood outside my outermost door and took off his hat, and begged for my forgiveness; he knew, he said, that he had done much to annoy me, but that he was a servant. i answered, 'i forgive you gladly!' then he went away, and peder closed the door. the woman said something to peder about the prison governor, but i could not understand what. probably she was blaming the prison governor, for she was so angry that she puffed; she could not restrain her anger, but said: 'fye upon the old fool! the devil take him! i ought to beg pardon too? no' (she added with an oath), 'i would not do it for god's bitter death! no! no!' and she spat on the ground. i said afterwards: 'what does it matter to you that the prison governor asks me for my friendship? do you lose anything by it? if you will not live like a christian and according to the ordinances of the church, do not at any rate be angry with one who does. believe assuredly that god will punish you, if you do not repent of what evil you have done and will not be reconciled with your adversaries before you seek to be reconciled with god!' she thought that he had done nothing else than what he was ordered to do. i said, 'you good people know best yourselves what has been ordered you.' she asked, 'do i do anything to you?' i answered, 'i know not what you do. you can tell any amount of untruths about me without my knowing it.' upon this she began a long story, swearing by and asserting her fidelity; she had never lied to anyone nor done anyone a wrong. i said: 'i hear; you are justifying yourself with the pharisee.' she started furiously from her seat and said, 'what! do you abuse me as a pharisee?' 'softly, softly!' i said; 'while only one of us is angry, it is of no consequence; but if i get angry also, something may come of it!' she sat down with an insolent air, and said, 'i should well imagine that you are not good when you are angry! it is said of you that in former days you could bear but little, and that you struck at once. but now'----(with this she was silent). 'what more?' i said. 'do you think i could not do anything to anyone if i chose, just as well as then, if anyone behaved to me in a manner that i could not endure? now much more than then! you need not refuse me a knife because i may perhaps kill you; i could do so with my bare hands. i can strangle the strongest fellow with my bare hands, if i can seize him unawares, and what more could happen to me than is happening? therefore only keep quiet!' she was silent, and assumed no more airs; she was cast down, and did not venture to complain to the prison governor. what she said to the others on the stairs i know not, but when she came in, when the room was locked at night, she had been weeping.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'some time after this dispute i had a quarrel with her about some beer, which she was in the habit of emptying on the floor, saying, "this shall go to the subterraneous folk." i had forbidden her to do so, but she did it again, so i took her by the head and pushed it back with my hand. she was frightened, for this feels just as if one's head was falling off. i said, "that is a foretaste."' on sunday at noon i congratulated[e ] the prison governor and said: 'you are happy! you can reconcile yourself with god, and partake of his body and blood; this is denied to me (i had twice during two years requested spiritual consolation, but had received in answer that i could not sin as i was now in prison; that i did not require religious services). and as i talked upon this somewhat fully with the prison governor, i said that those who withheld from me the lord's supper must take my sins upon themselves; that one sinned as much in thought as in word and deed; so the prison governor promised that he would never desist from desiring that a clergyman should come to me; and asked whom i wished for. i said: 'the king's court preacher, whom i had in the beginning of my troubles.' he said: 'that could scarcely be.' i was satisfied whoever it was. [e ] this custom of congratulating persons who intend to communicate, or just have done so, is still retained by many of the older generation in denmark. a month afterwards i received the holy communion from the german clergyman, m. hieronimus buk, who behaved very properly the first time, but spoke more about the law than the gospel. the prison governor congratulated me, and i thanked him, for he had brought it about. . in this year, on whitsun-eve, the prison governor ordered may-trees to be placed in my inner prison, and also in the anteroom. i broke small twigs from the branches, rubbed off the bark with glass, softened them in water, laid them to press under a board, which was used for carrying away the dirt from the floor, and thus made them flat, then fastened them together and formed them into a weaver's reed. peder the coachman was then persuaded to give me a little coarse thread, which i used for a warp. i took the silk from the new silk stockings which they had given me, and made some broad ribbons of it (the implements and a part of the ribbons are still in my possession.) one of the trees (which was made of the thick end of a branch which peder had cut off) was tied to the stove, and the other i fastened to my own person. the woman held the warp: she was satisfied, and i have no reason to think that she spoke about it, for the prison governor often lamented that i had nothing with which to beguile the time, and he knew well that this had been my delight in former times, &c.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'i made the snuffers serve as scissors. when balcke came to me and brought me at my desire material for drawers, and requested to know the size, i said i could make them myself. he laughed, and said, "who will cut them out?" i replied i could do it myself with the snuffers. he begged to see me do it, and looked on with no little astonishment.' he remained now again a long time with me after meals, for his fear had passed away, or he had, perhaps, forgotten, as his memory began to fail him. he said then many things which he ought not. he declined perceptibly, and was very weak; he would remain afterwards sitting outside, reading aloud, and praying god to spare his life. 'yes,' he would say, 'only a few years!' when he had some alleviation, he talked unceasingly. creeping along the wall to the door, he said, 'i should like to know two things: one is, who will be prison governor after me? the other is, who is to to have my tyrelyre?' (that was tyre, his wife.) i replied: 'that is a knowledge which you cannot obtain now, especially who will woo your wife. you might, perhaps, have already seen both, but at your age you may yet have long to live.' 'oh!' said he, 'god grant it!' and looked up to the window. 'do you think so, my dear lady?' 'yes, i do,' i replied. a few days afterwards, he begged me again to forgive him, if he had done me any wrong since the last time, for he wished to make reconciliation with god before he became weaker, and he wept and protested, saying, 'it indeed grieves me still that i should have often annoyed you, and you comfort me.' on sunday at noon i congratulated him on his spiritual feast. thus he dragged on with great difficulty for about fourteen days, and as i heard that two men were obliged almost to carry him up the stairs, i sent him word that he might remain below on the ground floor of the tower, and that he might rest assured i would go nowhere. he thanked me, crawled up for the last time to my door, and said, 'if i did that and the queen heard of it, my head would answer for it.' i said: 'then confess your weakness and remain in bed. it may be better again; another could meanwhile attend for you.' he took off his cap in recognition of my advice, and bade me farewell. i have never seen him again since then. one day afterwards he crawled up in the tower-chamber, but came no farther. a man of the name of hans balcke was appointed in his place to keep watch over the prisoners. he was very courteous. he was a cabinet-maker by trade; his father, who had also been a cabinet-maker, had worked a good deal for me in the days of my prosperity. this man had travelled for his trade both in italy and germany, and knew a little italian. i found intercourse with him agreeable, and as he dined in the anteroom outside, in the tower, i begged him to dine with me, which he did for fourteen days. one day, when he carved the joint outside, i sent him word requesting him to come in. he excused himself, which appeared strange to me. after he had dined, he said that peder the coachman had jeered at him, and that he had been forbidden to dine with me. when he afterwards remained rather long with me talking, i begged him myself to go, so that this also might not be forbidden. he had on one occasion a large pin stuck in his sleeve, and i begged him for it. he said, 'i may not give it you, but if you take it yourself, i can't help it.' so i took it, and it has often been of use to me. he gave me several books to read, and was in every way courteous and polite. his courtesy was probably the reason why the prisons were not long entrusted to him, for he was also very good to doctor sperling, giving him slices of the meat which came up to me, and other good food. in his childhood he had been a playfellow of the doctor's children. he talked also occasionally a long time with the doctor, both on unlocking and locking his door, which did not please the servants.[ ] the prison governor lay constantly in bed; he endeavoured as often as he could to come up again, but there was little prospect of it. so long as the keys were not taken from him, he was satisfied. [ ] in the margin is added: 'while balcke filled the place of prison governor, he drank my wine at every meal, which had formerly fallen to the tower warder, the coachman, or the prisoner christian, when the old prison governor had not wished for it, so that this also contributed to balcke's dismissal.' my maid maren, lars' daughter, had risen so high in favour at court, that she often sat in the women's apartment, and did various things. one day the woman said to me, 'that is a very faithful maiden whom you have! she speaks before them up there in a manner you would never believe.' i replied: 'i have permitted her to say all she knows. i have no fear of her calumniating me.' 'have you not?' she said ironically. 'why does she throw herself, then, on her bare knees, and curse herself if she should think of returning to you?' i said: 'she wished to remain with me (according to your own statement), but she was not allowed; so she need not curse herself.' 'why then do you think,' said she, 'that she is so much in favour at court?' 'do you mean,' i replied, 'that if anyone is in favour at court, it is because their lips are full of lies? i am assured my maid has calumniated no one, least of all me; i am not afraid.' the woman was angry, and pouted in consequence for some time. some weeks afterwards maren, lars' daughter, was set at liberty, and became waiting-maid to the countess friis: and balcke brought me some linen which she still had belonging to me. the woman was not a little angry at this, especially as i said: 'so faithful i perceive is my maid to me, that she will not keep the linen, which she might easily have done, for i could not know whether it had not been taken from her with the rest.' all my guards were very ill satisfied with balcke, especially the woman, who was angry for several reasons. he slighted her, she said, for he had supplied a basin for the night-stool which was heavier than the former one (which leaked); but she was chiefly angry because he told her that she lived like a heathen, since she never went to the sacrament. for when i once received the holy communion, while balcke was attending to me, he asked her if she would not wish to communicate also, to which she answered, 'i do not know german.' balcke said, 'i will arrange that the clergyman shall come to you whose office it is to administer the lord's supper to the prisoners.' she replied that in this place she could not go with the proper devotion: if she came out, she would go gladly. balcke admonished her severely, as a clergyman might have done. when the door was closed, she gave vent to puffing and blowing, and she always unfastened her jacket when she was angry. i said nothing, but i thought the evil humour must have vent, or she will be choked; and this was the case, for she abused balcke with the strongest language that occurred to her. she used unheard-of curses, which were terrible to listen to: among others, 'god damn him for ever, and then i need not curse him every day.' also, 'may god make him evaporate like the dew before the sun!' i could not endure this cursing, and i said, 'are you cursing this man because he held before you the word of god, and desires that you should be reconciled with god and repent your sins?' 'i do not curse him for that,' she said, 'but on account of the heavy basin which the accursed fellow has given me, and which i have to carry up the steep stairs;[ ] the devil must have moved him to choose it! does he want to make a priest of himself? well, he is probably faultless, the saucy fellow!' and she began again with her curses. [ ] in the margin: 'it is indeed a bad flight of stairs to the place where the basin was emptied.' i reproved her and said: 'if he now knew that you were cursing him in this way, do you not think he would bring it about that you must do penitence? it is now almost two years since you were at the lord's table, and you can have the clergyman and you will not.' this softened her a little, and she said, 'how should he know it, unless you tell him?' i said, 'what passes here and is said here concerns no one but us two; it is not necessary that others should know.' with this all was well; she lay down to sleep, and her anger passed away; but the hate remained. the prison governor continued to lie in great pain, and could neither live nor die. one day at noon, when balcke unlocked (it was just twenty weeks since he had come to me), a man came in with him, very badly dressed, in a grey, torn, greasy coat, with few buttons that could be fastened, with an old hat to which was attached a drooping feather that had once been white but was now not recognisable from dirt. he wore linen stockings and a pair of worn-out shoes fastened with packthread.[ ] balcke went to the table outside and carved the joint; he then went to the door of the outer apartment, stood with his hat in his hand, made a low reverence, and said, 'herewith i take my departure; this man is to be prison governor.' i enquired whether he would not come again to me. he replied, 'no, not after this time.' upon this i thanked him for his courteous attendance, and wished him prosperity.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'gabel had said (i was afterwards informed) that i was frightened at the appearance of the man, and thought it was the executioner. i did not regard him as such, but as a poor cavalier, and i imagined he was to undertake the duties which peder the coachman performed.' [ ] in the margin: 'balcke has waited upon me for twenty weeks, and he was accused of having told me what happened outside. in proof of this it was alleged that he had told me that gabel had been made statholder, to whom i afterwards gave this title in m. buck's hearing. balcke one day could not restrain himself from laughing, for while he was standing and talking with me, the woman and the man were standing on the stairs outside, chuckling and laughing; and he said, "outside there is the chatter market. why does not peder so arrange it that it is forbidden? you can get to know all that goes on in the world without me."' peder the coachman locked the door, and the new prison governor, whose name was johan jäger,[e ] never appeared before me the whole day, nor during the evening. i said to the woman in the morning, 'ask peder who the man is;' which she did, and returned to me with the answer that it was the man who had taken the doctor prisoner; and that now he was to be prison governor, but that he had not yet received the keys. not many days passed before he came with the lord steward to the old prison governor, and the keys were taken from the old man and given to him. the old man lived only to the day after this occurred. in both respects his curiosity was satisfied; he saw the man who was to be prison governor after him (to his grief), and the doctor who attended him obtained his tyrelyre before the year was ended. [e ] it was a colonel hagedorn that entrapped and arrested dr. sperling, and jäger played only a subordinate part in that transaction. he is stated to have been a cousin of gabel, and to have been formerly a commander in the navy. he was appointed prison governor on june , , and balcke therefore doubtless only held the appointment provisionally. the new prison governor jäger[e b] did not salute me for several weeks, and never spoke to me. he rarely locked my doors, but he generally opened them himself. at length one day, when he had got new shoes on, he took his hat off when he had opened the door, and said 'good morning.' i answered him, 'many thanks.' the woman was very pleased while this lasted. she had her free talk with peder the coachman (who still for a couple of months came to the tower as before) and with the prisoner christian, who had great freedom, and obtained more and more freedom in this prison governor's time, especially as rasmus the tower-warder was made gatekeeper, and a man of the name of chresten was appointed in his place. among other idle talk which she repeated to me, she said that this prison governor was forbidden to speak with me. i said, 'i am very glad, as he then can tell no lies about me.' i am of opinion that he did not venture to speak with me so long as peder brought up the food to the tower, and was in waiting there; for when he had procured peder's dismissal on account of stealing, he came in afterwards from time to time. the very first time he was intoxicated. he knew what peder had said of balcke, and he informed me of it.[ ] [e b] it was a colonel hagedorn that entrapped and arrested dr. sperling, and jäger played only a subordinate part in that transaction. he is stated to have been a cousin of gabel, and to have been formerly a commander in the navy. he was appointed prison governor on june , , and balcke therefore doubtless only held the appointment provisionally. [ ] in the margin is added: 'while balcke waited on me, a folding table was brought in for the bread and glasses, and also for the woman's food, which she did not take till the doors had been locked. there was nothing there before but the night-stool to place the dishes on: that was the woman's table.' before i mention anything of the prisoner christian's designs against me, i will in a few words state the crime for which he was in prison. he had been a lacquey in the employ of maans armfelt. with some other lacqueys he had got into a quarrel with a man who had been a father to christian, and who had brought him up from his youth and had taken the utmost care of him. the man was fatally wounded, and called out in the agonies of death: 'god punish thee, christian! what a son you have been! it was your hand that struck me!' the other lacqueys ran away, but christian was seized. his dagger was found bloody. he denied, and said it was not he who had stabbed the man. he was sentenced to death; but as the dead man's widow would not pay for the execution, christian remained for the time in prison, and his master paid for his maintenance. he had been there three years already when i came to the prison, and three times he was removed; first from the witch cell to the dark church; and then here where i am imprisoned.[ ] when i was brought here, he was placed where the doctor is, and when the doctor was brought in, christian was allowed to go freely about the tower. he wound the clock for the tower-warder, locked and unlocked the cells below, and had often even the keys of the tower. [ ] in the margin is added: 'at that time there was a large double window with iron grating, which was walled up when i was brought here; and christian told me afterwards how the maids in the store-room had supplied him with many a can of beer, which he had drawn up by a cord.' i remember once, when rasmus the tower-warder was sitting at dinner with the prison governor in my outermost cell, and the prison governor wished to send peder on a message, he said to rasmus: 'go and open! i want peder to order something. 'father,' said rasmus, 'christian has the key.' 'indeed!' said the prison governor; 'that is pretty work!' and there it rested, for rasmus said, 'i am perfectly sure that christian will not go away.' thus by degrees christian's freedom and power increased after peder the coachman left, and he waited on the prison governor at meals in my outermost room. one day, when the woman had come down from above, where she had been emptying the utensils in my room, and the doors were locked, she said to me: 'this christian who is here has been just speaking with me upstairs. he says he cannot describe the doctor's miserable condition, how severe is his imprisonment, and what bad food he gets, since balcke left. he has no longer any candle except during meal-time, and no light reaches him but through the hole in his door leading into the outer room. he begged me to tell you of it; his eyes were full of tears, such great pity had he for him.' i said: 'that is all that one can do, and it is the duty of a christian to sympathise with the misfortune of one's neighbour. the poor man must have patience as well as i, and we must console ourselves with a good conscience. the harder he suffers the sooner comes the end; he is an old man.' two days afterwards she came again with some talk from christian. the doctor sent me his compliments, and he asked constantly if i was well; she said also, that christian would give him anything i liked to send him. i regarded this as a snare, but i said that christian could take a piece of roast meat when the prison governor was with me, and that he should look about for something into which wine could be poured, and then she could secretly give some from my glass, and beg christian to give my compliments to the doctor. this was accepted, and i had rest for a few days. christian conformed entirely to the woman, caused a dispute between her and the tower-warder, and made it immediately right again; so that there was no lack of chatter. at last she said one day: 'that is an honest fellow, this christian! he has told me how innocently he got into prison and was sentenced. he is afraid that you may think he eats and drinks all that you send to the doctor. he swore with a solemn oath that he would be true to you, if you would write a word to the doctor.[ ] i hope you do not doubt my fidelity!' and she began to swear and to curse herself if she would deceive me. she said, he had taken a no less solemn oath, before she believed him. i said: 'i have nothing to write to him. i do not know what i have to write.' 'oh!' said she, 'write only two words, so that the old man may see that he can trust him! if you wish for ink, christian can give you some.' i replied: 'i have something to write with, if i choose to do so, and i can write without ink and paper.' [ ] in the margin is this note: 'christian had at that time given me some pieces of flint which are so sharp that i can cut fine linen with them by the thread. the pieces are still in my possession, and with this implement i executed various things.' this she could not understand; so i took some pieces of sugared almonds, and made some letters on them with the large pin, placing on four almonds the words: _non ti fidar_! i divided the word _fidar_, and placed half on each almond. i had in this way rest for a day, and somewhat to beguile the time. whether the doctor could not see what was written on the almonds, or whether he wished to test christian's fidelity, i know not, but christian brought the woman a slip of paper from the doctor to me, full of lamentations at our condition, and stating that my daughter anna cathrina, or else cassetta, were the cause of his misfortune. i wished to know more of this, so i wrote to him desiring information (we wrote to each other in italian). he replied that one or the other had left his letter lying somewhere on the table, where it was found and despatched; for that a letter of his was the cause of his misfortune. i wrote back to him that it was not credible, but that he was suspected of having corresponded with my lord, and hence his letters had been seized. the more i tried to impress this upon him the more opinionated he became,[ ] and he wrote afterwards saying that it was a scheme of cassetta's to get him into the net, in order to bring me out of it. when he began to write in this way, i acquired a strange opinion of him, and fancied he was trying to draw something out of me which he could bring forward; and i reflected for some days whether i should answer. at last i answered him in this strain, that no one knew better than he that i was not aware of any treason; that the knowledge as to how his correspondence with my lord had become known was of no use to him; that i had no idea why he was sentenced, and that no sentence had been passed on me. some weeks elapsed before the doctor wrote. at last he communicated to me in a few words the sentence passed upon him, and we corresponded from time to time with each other. [ ] in the margin is added: 'such is his character.' the prison governor became gradually more accessible, came in at every meal-time, and related all sorts of jokes and buffooneries, which he had carried on in his youth: how he had been a drummer, and had made a merry andrew of himself for my brother-in-law count pentz, and how he had enacted a dog for the sake of favour and money, and had crawled under the table, frightening the guests and biting a dog for a ducat's reward. when he had been drinking (which was often the case) he juggled and played punch, sometimes a fortune-teller, and the like. when chresten the tower-warder, and christian the prisoner, heard the prison governor carrying on his jokes, they did the same, and made such a noise with the woman in the antechamber that we could not hear ourselves speak. she sat on christian's lap, and behaved herself in a wanton manner. one day she was not very well, and made herself some warm beer and bread, placing it outside on the stove. the prison governor was sitting with me and talking, chresten and christian were joking with her outside, and christian was to stir the warm beer and bread, and taste if it was hot enough. chresten said to christian, 'drink it up if you are thirsty.' the words were no sooner said than the deed was done, and almost at the same moment the prison governor got up and went away. when the door was locked, the woman seemed to be almost fainting. i thought she was ill, and i was fearful that she might die suddenly, and that the guilt of her death might be laid on me, and i asked quickly, 'are you ill?' she answered, 'i am bad enough,' confirming it with a terrible oath and beginning to unbutton her jacket. then i saw that she was angry, and i knew well that she would give vent to a burst of execrations, which was the case. she cursed and scolded those who had so treated her; a poor sick thing as she was, and she had not had anything to eat or drink all day. i said, 'be quiet, and you shall have some warm beer.' she swore with a solemn oath, asking how it was to be got here? it was summer and there was no fire in the stove, and it was no use calling, as no one could hear. i said, 'if you will be silent, i will cause the pot to boil.' 'yes,' and she swore with another fearful oath, 'i can indeed be silent, and will never speak of it.' so i made her take three pieces of brick, which were lying behind the night-stool, and place on these her pot of beer and bread (everything that she was to do was to be done in silence; she might not answer me with words but only with signs, when i asked her anything). she sat down besides the pot, stirring it with a spoon. i sat always on my bed during the day, and then the table was placed before me. i had a piece of chalk, and i wrote various things on the table, asking from time to time whether the pot boiled. she kept peeping in and shaking her head. when i had asked three times and she turned to me and saw that i was laughing, she behaved herself like a mad woman, throwing the spoon from her hand, turning over the stool, tearing open her jacket, and exclaiming, 'the devil may be jeered at like this!' i said, 'you are not worthy of anything better, as you believe that i can practise magic.' 'oh (and she repeated a solemn oath) had i not believed that you could practise magic, i should never have consented to be locked up with you; do you know that?' i reflected for a moment what answer to give, but i said nothing, smiled, and let her rave on. afterwards she wept and bemoaned her condition. 'now, now,' i said, 'be quiet! i will make the pot boil without witchcraft.' and as we had a tinder-box, i ordered her to strike a light, and to kindle three ends of candles, which she was to place under the pot. this made the pot boil, and she kissed her hand to me and was very merry. once or twice afterwards i gave her leave to warm beer in this way: it could not always be done, for if the wind blew against the window (which was opened with a long pike) the smoke could not pass away. i said, 'remember your oath and do not talk of what takes place here, or the lights will be taken from us; at any rate we shall lose some of them.' she asserted that she would not. i heard nothing of it at the time, but some years afterwards i found that she had said that i had taken up two half-loose stones from the floor (this was afterwards related in another manner by a clergyman, as will be mentioned afterwards). she had also said that i had climbed up and looked at the rope-dancers in the castle square, which was true. for as chresten one day told the woman that rope-dancers would be exhibiting in the inner castle yard, and she informed me of it and enquired what they were, and i explained to her, she lamented that she could not get a sight of them. i said it could easily be done, if she would not talk about it afterwards. she swore, as usual, with an oath that she would not. so i took the bedclothes from the bed and placed the boards on the floor and set the bed upright in front of the window, and the night-stool on the top of it. in order to get upon the bedstead, the table was placed at the side, and a stool by the table in order to get upon the table, and a stool upon the table, in order to get upon the night-stool, and a stool on the night-stool, so that we could stand and look comfortably, though not both at once. i let her climb up first, and i stood and took care that the bed did not begin to give way; she was to keep watch when i was on the top. i knew, moreover, well that the dancers did not put forth their utmost skill at first.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'these rope-dancers did things that i had never seen before. one had a basket attached to each leg, and in each basket was a boy of five years of age, and a woman fell upon the rope and jumped up again. but during the time of the other woman, i saw a man suspended by his chin and springing back upon the rope.' i could see the faces of the king and queen: they were standing in the long hall, and i wondered afterwards that they never turned their eyes to the place where i stood. i did not let the woman perceive that i saw them. during this woman's time i once had a desire to see the people go to the castle-church and return from it. the bed was again placed upright, and i sat for a long time on the top, until everyone had come out of church. the woman did not venture to climb up; she said that she had been afraid enough the last time, and was glad when she had come down. the first time i received the holy communion during this prison governor's time, two brass candlesticks which did not match were brought in, with tallow candles. this displeased the woman, though she said nothing to me. but when at length she was compelled to take the sacrament, after more than three years had elapsed since she had been at the lord's table, she begged chresten, the tower-warder, to go to her daughter (who was in the service of a carpenter in the town), and to get the loan of a pair of beautiful brass candlesticks and a couple of wax candles. if she could also procure for her a fine linen cloth, she was to do her best; she would pay for it. whether the woman had before thought of the candlesticks and candles which had been placed for me, or whether chresten himself thought that it would not be proper to provide better for her, i know not, but shortly before the priest came, chresten unlocked the outer door of my prison and said, 'karen, hand me out the candlestick you have, and two candles.' her behaviour is not to be described: she asked if he had not spoken with her daughter, and much of the same kind (i did not at the time know what she had desired of chresten). he made no reply to her question, but asked for the candlestick and candles. for a long time she would not give them, but cursed and scolded. i was still lying down, and i asked her if i should be her maid, and should do it for her? whether she could withhold from him what he requested? so she handed them to him through the hole of the inner door, with so many execrations against him that it was terrible to listen to. he laughed aloud, and went away. this made her still more angry. i did my best to appease her, telling her that such conduct was a most improper preparation, and holding before her the sinfulness of her behaviour. she said she thought that the sin belonged to him who had given cause for it. i asked her, at last, in what the lord's supper consisted? whether it consisted in candlesticks and candles? i rebuked her for looking to externals and not to the essential; and i begged her to fall on her knees and pray heartily to god for forgiveness of her sins, that he might not impute her folly to her. she answered that she would do so, but she did not do it at once. i imagine that the clergyman[ ] was well informed by chresten of all that concerned her, as he put to her so many questions: where she was born? whom she had served? and more of the same kind, and finally, whether she had her certificate of confession, and how long it was since she had received the lord's supper? after this he confessed her in a strange manner; at first as one who had deserved to do public penance for great sins, then as a criminal under sentence of death who was preparing for her end; at last consoling her, and performing his office. when all was over and she came in to me, i wished her joy. 'joy, indeed' (she answered); 'there is not much good in it! this does me more harm than good! if i could only get out, i would indeed go straight to the sacrament; i reckon this as nothing!' i interrupted her quickly, and said: 'reflect upon what you are saying! blaspheme not god--i will not hear that! you know well what god's word says of those who receive christ's body and blood unworthily and have trodden under foot his body?' 'under foot?' said she. 'yes, under foot!' i said, and i made a whole sermon upon it. she listened decently; but when i was silent, she said: 'he looked upon me as a malefactor, and as one under sentence of death. i have never murdered anyone (i thought, we know not what);[ ] why should i die? god almighty grant'----and with this she was silent. i preached to her again, and said that she had deserved eternal death on account of her sins, and especially because she had so long kept aloof from the lord's table. 'this confession,' she said, 'i have to thank chresten for; balcke was also probably concerned in it.' and she began to curse them both. i threatened her with a second confession, if she did not restrain such words. i told her i could not justify myself before god to keep silence to it, and i said, 'if you speak in this way to chresten, you may be sure he will inform against you.' this kept her somewhat in check, and she did not go out upon the stairs that noon.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'this was the priest who attended to the prisoners, and as he confessed her in the anteroom, i heard every word said by him, but not her replies.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'her child.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'she was in every respect a malicious woman, and grudged a little meat to any prisoner. a poor sacristan was my neighbour in the dark church, and i gave her a piece of meat for him. she would not take it to him, which she could easily have done without anyone seeing. when i saw the meat afterwards, i found fault with her. then she said, "why should i give it to him? he has never given me anything. i get nothing for it." i said, "you give nothing of your own away." this sacristan was imprisoned because he had taken back his own horse, the man to whom he had sold it not having paid him. he sang all day long, and on sunday he went through the service like a clergyman, with the responses, &c.' after that time she was not so merry by far with the man. she often complained to me that she was weak, and had strained herself lifting the new basin which balcke had given her; she could not long hold out, she said, and she had asked the prison governor to let her go away, but that he had answered that she was to die in the tower. i said, 'the prison governor cannot yet rightly understand you; ask chresten to speak for you.' this she did, but came back with the same answer. one day she said: 'i see well, dear lady, that you would be as gladly free of me as i should be to go. what have i for all my money? i cannot enjoy it, and i cannot be of service to you.' i said: 'money can do much. give some money to the prison-governor, and then he will speak for you. request one of the charwomen to carry the basin instead of you, and this you could pay with very little.' she did the latter for some weeks; at length one day she said to me, 'i have had a silver cup made for the prison governor. (her daughter came to her on the stairs as often as she desired, and she had permission to remain downstairs the whole afternoon, under pretext of speaking with her daughter. whether she gave him presents for this, i know not, but i was well contented to be alone. she was, however, once afraid that i should tell the priest of it.) the fact was, the prison-governor did not dare to speak for her with the king. she asked my advice on the matter. i said, 'remain in bed when the dinner is going on, and i will go out and speak with the prison-governor.' this was done. at first he raised some difficulties, and said, 'the queen will say that there is some trick at the bottom of it.' i said they could visit and examine the woman when she came out; that we had not been such intimate friends; that i knew the woman had been sent to wait on me; when she could do so no longer, but lay in bed, i had no attendance from her, and still less was i inclined to wait on her; she did her work for money, and there were women enough who would accept the employment. three days afterwards, when the king came from fridrichsborg, the prison-governor came in and said that the woman could go down in the evening; that he had another whom chresten had recommended, and who was said to be a well-behaved woman (which she is). karen the daughter of ole therefore went down, and karen the daughter of nels came up in her place. and i can truly say that it was one of the happiest days during my severe imprisonment; for i was freed of a faithless, godless, lying[ ] and ill-behaved woman, and i received in her stead a christian, true, and thoroughly good (perhaps too good) woman. when the first took her departure, she said, 'farewell, lady! we are now both pleased.' i answered, 'that is perhaps one of the truest words you have ever spoken in your life.' she made no reply, but ran as fast as she could, so that no weakness nor illness were perceptible in her. she lived scarcely a year afterwards, suffering severe pain for six weeks in her bed, before she died; the nature of her malady i know not. [ ] in the margin is added: 'she had begged chresten, for more than half a year before she left, to tell the prison-governor that her life hung on a thread; that i had a ball of clay in my handkerchief, and that i had threatened to break her head to pieces with it (i had said one day that a person with a ball of that kind could kill another). she invented several similar lies, as i subsequently heard.' on the day after this karen's arrival, she sat thoroughly depressed all the afternoon. i asked her what was the matter. she said, 'oh! i have nothing to do, and i might not bring work with me! i weary to death.' i enquired what work she could do. 'spinning,' she answered, 'is my work principally; i can also do plain needlework and can knit a little.' i had nothing to help her in this way; but i drew out some ends of silk, which i had kept from what i cut off, and which are too short to work with, and other tufts of silk from night-jackets and stockings; i had made a flax-comb of small pins,[ ] fastened to a piece of wood; with this i combed the silk and made it available for darning caps; and i said to her, 'there is something for you to do; comb that for me!' she was so heartily pleased that it was quite a delight to me. i found from her account of this and that which had occurred in her life, that she had a good heart, and that she had often been deceived owing to her credulity. she had also known me in my prosperity; she had been in the service of a counsellor's lady who had been present at my wedding, and she could well remember the display of fireworks and other festivities; she wept as she spoke of it, and showed great sympathy with me. she was a peasant's daughter from jutland, but had married the quarter-master of a regiment. by degrees i felt an affection for her, and begged her to speak to christian and to enquire how the doctor was; i told her that christian could occasionally perform small services for us, and could buy one thing or another for us; for he had a lad, in fact sometimes two, who executed commissions for him, but that i had never trusted the other woman, so that he had never bought anything for me; besides, the other woman had not cared to spin; but that christian should now procure us what we wanted in return for our candles. and as she did not care to drink wine (for at each meal the woman received at that time half-a-pint of french wine), i said: 'give chresten your wine as i give wine to christian, then chresten can let it stay with the cellar-clerk and can take it weekly, which will give him a profit on it, and then he will see nothing even if he remarks anything.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'the pins i had obtained some time ago from the first woman. she had procured them with some needles, and, thinking to hide them from me, she carried them in her bosom in a paper and forgot them. in the evening when she dropped her petticoat to go to bed, the paper fell on the floor. i knew from the sound what it was. one saturday, when she went upstairs with the night-stool, i took the pins out of her box, and she never ventured to ask for them; she saw me using them afterwards, and said nothing about them.' this was done, and christian got us two hand-distaffs. mine was but small, but hers was a proper size. i spun a little and twisted it into thread, which is still in my possession. christian procured her as much flax as she desired, and brought her up a whole wreath in his trousers. she spun a good deal on the hand-distaff, and i arranged my loom on a stool, which i placed on the table, fastening one beam with ribbon and cord which i had made myself, so that when the key was put into the staircase-door, i could in one pull loosen my loom and unfasten the other beam which was fastened to myself, and put all away before the inner door was opened. i made myself also a wooden skewer (i had before used a warp), so that i could weave alone; i had also obtained a real weaver's comb; so we were very industrious, each at her own work. the prison governor was full of foolish jokes, and played tricks such as boys enjoy; he tried to jest with the woman, but she would not join him. almost every day he was drunk at dinner-time when he came up. afterwards he came rarely of an evening, but sent a servant instead, who would lie and sleep on the wall in the window. he wanted to jest with me also, and opened his mouth, telling me to throw something in and see if i could hit his mouth. i laughed and said, 'how foolish you are!' and begged him to come nearer, and i would see if i could hit him. 'no, no,' said he; 'i am not such a fool; i daresay you would box my ears.' one day he came up with a peculiar kind of squirt, round in form like a ball, and he placed a small tube in it, so small as scarcely to be seen; it was quite pretty. when pressed in any part, the water squirted out quite high and to a distance. he was saucy, and squirted me. when he saw that i was angry, he came to me with the squirt, ran away and sat down with his mouth as wide open as possible and begged me to squirt into it if i could. i would not begin playing with him, for i knew his coarseness well from his stories, and i gave him back the squirt. when karen was bringing in the meat, the prison governor had the squirt between his legs, and was seated on a low stool, from which he could squirt into the woman's face; he was some distance from her, and the ball was not larger than a large plum. she knew nothing of the squirt (she is somewhat hasty in her words), and she exclaimed, 'may god send you a misfortune, mr. governor! are you insulting me?' the prison governor laughed like an insane man, so pleased was he at this. by degrees he became less wild; he rarely came up sober, and he would lie on the woman's bed and sleep while i dined, so that chresten and the woman had to help him off the bed when they had woke him. the keys of the prisons lay by his side, and the principal key close by (did he not take good care of his prisoners?).[ ] he was not afraid that i should murder him. one evening he was intoxicated, and behaved as such; and began, after his fashion, to try and caress me, endeavouring to feel my knee and seized the edge of my petticoat. i thrust him away with my foot, and said nothing more than: 'when you are intoxicated, remain away from me, and do not come in, i tell you.' he said nothing, got up and went away; but he did not come in afterwards when he was tipsy, but remained outside in the anteroom, lying down in the window, where there was a broad stone bench against the wall; there he lay and slept for some time after my doors were locked, then the coachman and chresten came and dragged him down. occasionally he came in when he was not drunk, and he gave me at my request some old cards, which i sewed together and made into a box. christian covered it with thin sticks of fir, which i afterwards stitched over, and i even secretly contrived to paint it. i have it in my possession. the prison governor saw it afterwards, but he never asked where the covering had come from.[ ] in this box (if i may call it so) i keep all my work and implements, and it stands by day on my bed. [ ] in the margin is noted: 'i said one day to the woman, "were it not for the queen, who would make the king angry with me, i would retaliate upon the prison governor for having decoyed doctor sperling. i would take the keys when he was sleeping, and wait for chresten to come with the cups, and then i would go up the king's stairs and take the keys to the king, just as the lacquey did with the old prison-governor. but i should gain nothing from this king, and perhaps should be still more strictly confined."' [ ] in the margin is noted: 'at first, when this karen did not know the prison governor, she did not venture so boldly to the prisoners in the dark church to give them anything, for she said, "the prison governor stares at me so." i said, "it is with him as with little children; they look staring at a thing, and do not know what it is." it is the case with him, he does not trouble himself about anything.' christian's power increased. he waited not only outside at dinner, but he even locked my door in the face of the tower-warder. he came with the perfuming-pan into my room when the woman took away the night-stool; in fact, he subsequently became so audacious that he did everything he chose, and had full command over the prisoners below. chresten availed himself also of the slack surveillance of the prison governor, and stayed sometimes the whole night out in the town, often coming in tipsy to supper. one evening chresten was intoxicated, and had broken some panes of glass below with his hand, so that his fingers were bloody; he dashed my wine-cup on the ground, so that it cracked and was bent; and as the cup was quite bloody outside when he came in to me, and some blood seemed to have got into the wine, i spoke somewhat seriously with the prison governor about it. he said nothing but 'the man is mad,' took the cup and went himself down into the cellar, and had the cup washed and other wine put in it. how they afterwards made it up i know not. the indentations on the cup have been beaten out, but the crack on the edge is still there; this suits the cellar-clerk well, for now scarcely half a pint goes into the cup. christian held his own manfully against the prison governor, when he had a quarrel with some of the prisoners below; and chresten complained of this to the prison governor, who came in and wanted to place christian in the witch cell; but he thrust the prison governor away, and said that he had nothing to do with him, and that he had not put him into the prison; and then harangued him in such a style that the governor thanked god when he went away. christian then called after him from the window, and said, 'i know secret tricks of yours, but you know none of mine.' (one i knew of, of which he was aware, and that not a small one. there was a corporal who had stabbed a soldier, and was sought for with the beating of drums: the prison governor concealed him for several weeks in the tower.) on the following morning christian repented, and he feared that he might be locked up, and came to my door before it had been opened[ ] (it often happened that the anteroom was unlocked before the food was brought up, and always in the winter mornings, when a fire was made in the stove outside), and he begged me to speak for him with the prison governor, which i did; so that things remained as they were, and christian was as bold as before. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the hinges of my outer door are so far from the wall that they are open more than a hand's breadth, so that i have got in large things between them; and above they are still more open, and when i put my arm through the peep-hole of the inner door and stretch it out, i can reach to the top of the outer one, though the woman cannot.' the woman and i lived in good harmony together. occasionally there were small disputes between christian and her, but at that time they were of no importance. i quieted his anger with wine and candles. this woman had a son, who died just after she had come to me, and a daughter who is still alive; at that time she was in the service of a tailor, but she is now married to a merchant. the daughter received permission occasionally to come and speak with her mother on the stairs. this annoyed christian, as he thought that through her all sorts of things were obtained; and he threatened often that he would say what he thought, though he did not know it, and this frequently troubled the woman (she easily weeps and easily laughs). i could soon comfort her. we spent our time very well. i taught her to read, beginning with a b c, for she did not know a single letter. i kept to fixed hours for teaching her. she was at the time sixty years of age. and when she could spell a little,[ ] she turned the book one day over and over, and began to rub her eyes and exclaimed, 'oh god, how strange it is! i do not know (and she swore by god) a single letter.' i was standing behind her, and could scarcely keep from laughing. she rubbed her eyes again, and (as she is rather hasty with her words) she pointed quickly to an o, and said, 'is not that an o?' 'yes,' i said, and i laughed when she turned to me. she then for the first time perceived that she was holding the book upside down; she threw herself on the bed and laughed till i thought she would burst. [ ] in the margin: 'she has a curious manner of spelling. she cannot spell a word of three syllables; for when she has to add the two syllables to the third, she has forgotten the first. if i urge her, however, she can read the word correctly when she has spelt the first syllable. she spells words of two syllables and reads those of four.' one day when she was to read, and did not like to lay aside her distaff, it did not go smoothly, and she gave it up, and said, 'am i not foolish to wish to learn to read in my old age? what good does it do me? i have spent much money on my son to have him taught to read, and see, is he not dead?' i knew how much she was able to do, and i let her go on speaking. she threw the book on her bed, sat down to her work, and said, 'what do i need to learn to read in a book? i can, thank god, read my morning and evening prayer.' (i thought to myself, 'badly enough.' she knew very little of her catechism.) i said (gently): 'that is true, karen. it is not necessary for you to learn to read a book, as you can read very nicely by heart.' i had scarcely said this than she jumped up, took her book again, and began to spell. i neither advised her nor dissuaded her, but treated her like a good simple child.[ ] [ ] in the margin: 'once she asked me whether she could not get a book in which there was neither _q_ nor _x_, for she could not remember these letters. i answered, "yes, if you will yourself have such a book printed."' i fell ill during this year,[ ] and as the prison governor no longer came in to me and sent the servant up of an evening, i begged the woman to tell him that i was ill, and that i wished a doctor to come to me. the woman told him this (for by this time he understood danish, and the woman understood a little german), and when she said, 'i am afraid she will die,' he answered, 'why the d---- let her die!' i had daily fevers, heat, but no shivering; and as an obstruction was the chief cause of my illness, i desired a remedy. the prison governor ridiculed the idea. when i heard this, i requested he would come to me, which he did. i spoke to him rather seriously; told him that it was not the king's will that he should take no more care of me than he did, that he had more care for his dog than for me (which was the case). upon this his manner improved, and he enquired what i wished for, and i said what i desired, and obtained it. i had become rather excited at the conversation, so that i felt weak. the woman cried and said: 'i am afraid you will die, dear lady! and then the bad maids from the wash-house will wash your feet and hands.' (one of the maids below had sent very uncivil messages to me.) i replied that i should not say a word against that. 'what?' said she angrily, 'will you suffer that? no,' she added with an asseveration, 'i would not! i would not suffer it if i were in your place.' so i said, like that philosopher, 'place the stick with the candlestick at my side, and with that i can keep them away from me when i am dead.'[ ] this brought her to reason again, and she talked of the grave and of burial. i assured her that this did not trouble me at all; that when i was dead, it was all one to me; even if they threw my body in the sea, it would, together with my soul, appear before the throne of god at the last day, and might come off better perhaps than many who were lying in coffins mounted with silver and in splendid vaults. but that i would not say, as the prison governor did in his levity, that i should like to be buried on the hill of valdby, in order to be able to look around me. i desired nothing else than a happy end. we spoke of the prison governor's coarseness; of various things which he did, on account of which it would go badly with him if the queen knew it; of his godlessness, how that when he had been to the lord's supper, he said he had passed muster; and other things. there was no fear of god in him. [ ] in the margin of the ms. is added: 'when this karen came to me she left me no peace till i allowed her to clean the floor; for i feared that which happened, namely that the smell would cause sickness. in one place there was an accumulation of dirt a couple of feet thick. when she had loosened it, it had to remain till the door was opened. i went to bed, threw the bed-clothes over my head, and held my nose.'[e ] [e ] 'anno , soon after karen, nil's daughter, came to me, we first discovered that there was a stone floor to my prison chamber, as she broke loose a piece of rubbish cemented together, and the stones were apparent. i had before thought it a loam floor. the former karen, ole's daughter, was one of those who spread the dirt but do not take it away. this karen tormented me unceasingly, almost daily, that we must remove it everywhere, and that at once--it would soon be done. i was of opinion that it would make us ill if it was done all at once, as we required water to soften it, and the stench in this oppressive hole would cause sickness, but that it would be easier and less uncomfortable to remove one piece after another. she adhered to her opinion and to her desire, and thought that she could persuade the prison governor and the tower-warder to let the door remain open till all had been made clean. but when the tower-warder had brought in a tub of water, he locked the door. i went to bed and covered my face closely, while she scraped and swept up the dirt. the quantity of filth was incredible. it had been collecting for years, for this had been a malefactors' prison, and the floor had never been cleaned. she laid all the dirt in a heap in the corner, and there was as much as a cartload. it was left there until evening at supper-time, when the doors were opened. it was as i feared: we were both ill. the woman recovered first, for she could get out into the air, but i remained in the oppressive hole, where there was scarcely light. we gained this from it, that we were tormented day and night with numbers of fleas, and they came to her more than to me, so much so that she was often on the point of weeping. i laughed and made fun of it, saying that she would now have always something to do, and would have enough to beguile the time. we could not, however, work. the fleas were thick on our stockings, so that the colour of the stockings was not to be perceived, and we wiped them off into the water-basin. i then discovered that one flea produces another. for when i examined them, and how they could swim, i perceived that some small feet appeared behind the flea, and i thought it was a peculiar kind. at last i saw what it was, and i took the flea from which the small one was emerging on my finger, and it left behind evidences of birth: it hopped immediately, but the mother remained a little, until she recovered herself, and the first time she could not hop so far. this amusement i had more than once, till the fleas came to an end. whether all fleas are born in this manner i cannot tell, but that they are produced from dirt and loam i have seen in my prison, and i have observed how they become gradually perfect and of the peculiar colour of the material from which they have been generated. i have seen them pair.' it is scarcely necessary to say that, as far as natural history is concerned, leonora has committed a mistake. [ ] in the margin is added: 'on the stick there was a tin candlestick, which was occasionally placed at the side of my bed. i used it for fixing my knitting.'[e ] [e ] leonora alludes to an anecdote told by 'cicero in tuscul. quæst. lib. i. c. .' he recounts that the cynic diogenes had ordered that his body should not be buried after his death but left uninterred. his friends asked, 'as a prey to birds and wild beasts?' 'not at all,' answered diogenes; place a stick by me, wherewith i may drive them away.' 'but how can you?' rejoined these; 'you won't know!' 'but what then,' was his reply, 'concern the attacks of the wild beasts me, when i don't feel them?' i requested to have the sacrament, and asked m. buck to come to me at seven o'clock in the morning, for at about half-past eight o'clock the fever began. the priest did not come till half-past nine, when the fever heat had set in (for it began now somewhat later). when i had made my confession, he began to preach about murder and homicide; about david, who was guilty of uriah's death, although he had not killed him with his own hand. he spoke of sin as behoved him, and of the punishment it brings with it. 'you,' he said, 'have killed general fux, for you have bribed a servant to kill him.' i replied, 'that is not true! i have not done so!' 'yes, truly,' he said; 'the servant is in hamburg, and he says it himself.' i replied: 'if he has so said, he has lied, for my son gave fux his death-blow with a stiletto. i did not know that fux was in bruges until i heard of his death. how could the servant, then, say that i had done it? it was not done by my order, but that i should not have rejoiced that god should have punished the villain i am free to confess.' to this he answered, 'i should have done so myself.' i said: 'god knows how fux treated us in our imprisonment at borringholm. that is now past, and i think of it no more.' 'there you are right,' he said, as he proceeded in his office. when all was over, he spoke with the prison governor outside the door of my anteroom, just in front of the door of the dark church, and said that i made myself ill; that i was not ill; that my face was red from pure anger; that he had spoken the truth to me, and that i had been angry in consequence. christian was standing inside the door of the dark church, for at this time there were no prisoners there, and he heard the conversation, and related it to me when i began to get up again and spoke with him at the door. some time afterwards christian said to me, quite secretly, 'if you like, i will convey a message from you to your children in skaane.' i enquired how this could be done. he said: 'through my girl; she is thoroughly true; she shall go on purpose.' he knew that i had some ducats left, for peder the coachman had confided it to him, as he himself told me. i accepted his offer and wrote to my children, and gave him a ducat for the girl's journey.[ ] she executed the commission well, and came back with a letter from them and from my sister.[e ] the woman knew nothing of all this. [ ] in the margin: 'the girl was a prostitute to whom he had promised marriage, and the tower-warder--both the former one and chresten--let her in to christian, went out himself, and left them alone.' [e ] this sister was hedvig, who married ebbe ulfeldt, a relative of corfitz ulfeldt. he was obliged to leave denmark in , on account of irregularities in the conduct of his office, and went to sweden, where he became a major-general in the army. he is the person alluded to in the autobiography. several of leonora's children lived in sweden with their relatives after the death of corfitz ulfeldt; but in the danish government obtained that they were forbidden the country. by degrees christian began to be insolent in various ways. when he came with his boy's pouch, in which the woman was to give him food, he would throw it at her, and he was angry if meat was not kept for himself for the evening; and when he could not at once get the pouch back again, he would curse the day when he had come to my door and had spoken with me or had communicated anything to me. she was sad, but she said nothing to me. this lasted only for a day, and then he knocked again at the door and spoke as usual of what news he had heard. the woman was sitting on the bed, crossing herself fifteen times (he could not see her, nor could he see me). when he was gone, she related how fearfully he had been swearing, &c. i said: 'you must not regard this; in the time of the other karen he has done as much.' his courage daily increased. the dishes were often brought up half-an-hour before the prison-governor came. in the meanwhile christian cut the meat, and took himself the piece he preferred (formerly at every meal i had sent him out a piece of fish, or anything else he desired). the stupid prison governor allowed it to go on; he was glad, i imagine, that he was spared the trouble, and paid no attention to the fact that there was anything missing in the dish. i let it go on for a time, for it did not happen regularly every day. but when he wanted food for his boy, he would say nothing but 'some food in my boy's pouch!' we often laughed over this afterwards, when he was away, but not at the time, for it grew worse from day to day. he could not endure that we should laugh and be merry; if he heard anything of the kind outside, he was angry. but if one spoke despondingly, he would procure what was in his power.[ ] one day he listened, and heard that we were laughing; for the woman was just relating an amusing story of the mother of a schoolboy in frederichsborg (she had lived there); how the mother of the boy did not know how to address the schoolmaster, and called him herr willas.[e ] he said, 'i am no herr.' 'then master,' said the woman. 'i am no master either,' he said; 'i am plain willas.' then the woman said: 'my good plain willas! my son always licks the cream from my milk-pans when he comes home. will you lick him in return, and that with a switch on his back?' while we were laughing at this, he came to the door and heard the words i was saying: 'i don't suppose that it really so happened; one must always add something to make a good story of it.' he imagined we were speaking of him, and that we were laughing at him. at meal-time he said to the woman, 'you were very merry to-day.' she said, 'did you not know why? it is because i belong to the "lætter"'[e ] (that was her family name). 'it would be a good thing,' he said, 'to put a stop to your laughter altogether; you have been laughing at me.' she protested that we had not, that his name had not been mentioned (which was the case); but he would not regard it. they fell into an altercation. she told me of the conversation, and for some days he did not come to the door, and i sent him nothing; for just at that time a poor old man was my neighbour, and i sent him a drink of wine. christian came again to the door and knocked. he complained very softly of the woman; begged that i would reprove her for what she had said to him, as he had heard his name mentioned. i protested to him that at the time we were not even thinking of him, and that i could not scold her for the words we had spoken together. i wished to have repose within our closed door. 'yes,' he answered; 'household peace is good, as the old woman said.' with this he went away. [ ] in the margin: 'in the time of his good humour he had procured me, for money and candles, all that i desired, so that i had both knife and scissors, besides silk, thread, and various things to beguile the time. this vexed him afterwards.' [e ] the title 'herr' was then only given to noblemen and clergy. master means 'magister,' and was an academical title. [e ] the original has here an untranslatable play upon words. _leth_ is a family name; and the woman says 'i am one of the letter (the leths),' but laughter is in danish 'latter.' afterwards he caused us all sorts of annoyance, and was again pacified. then he wished again that i should write to skaane.[ ] i said i was satisfied to know that some of my children were with my sister; where my sons were, and how it fared with them, i did not know: i left them in god's care. this did not satisfy him, and he spoke as if he thought i had no more money; but he did not at that time exactly say so. but one day, when he had one of his mad fits, he came to the door and had a can with wine (which i gave him at almost every meal) in his hand, and he said: 'can you see me?' (for there was a cleft in the outermost door, but at such a distance one could not clearly see through). 'here i am with my cup of wine, and i am going to drink your health for the last time.' i asked: 'why for the last time?' 'yes,' he swore, coming nearer to the door and saying: 'i will do no more service for you; so i know well that i shall get no more wine.' i said, 'i thank you for the services you have rendered me; i desire no more from you, but nevertheless you may still get your wine.' 'no!' he said; 'no more service! there is nothing more to be fetched.' 'that is true,' i answered. 'you do not know me,' said he; 'i am not what you think; it is easy to start with me, but it is not easy to get rid of me.' i laughed a little, and said: 'you are far better than you make yourself out to be. to-morrow you will be of another mind.' [ ] in the margin: 'immediately after the girl had been in skaane, he gave her a box full of pieces of wax, on which were the impressions of all the tower keys; and amongst them was written, "my girl will have these made in skaane." i had this from the woman, who was just then carrying up the night-stool, and on the following saturday i gave the box back with many thanks, saying i did not care to escape from the tower in this way. this did not please him, as i well saw.' he continued to describe himself as very wicked (it was, however, far from as bad as he really is). i could do nothing else but laugh at him. he drank from the can, and sat himself down on the stool outside. i called him and begged him to come to the door, as i wanted to speak with him. there he sat like a fool, saying to himself: 'should i go to the door? no,' and he swore with a terrible oath, 'that i will not do! oh yes, to the door! no, christian, no!' laughing from time to time immoderately, and shouting out that the devil might take him and tear him in pieces the day on which he should go to my door or render me a service. i went away from the door and sat down horrified at the man's madness and audacity. some days passed in silence, and he would accept no wine. no food was offered to him, for he continued, in the same way as before, to cut the meat before the prison governor came up. as the prison governor at this time occasionally again came in to me and talked with me, i requested him that christian, as a prisoner, should not have the liberty of messing my food. this was, therefore, forbidden him in future. some days afterwards he threw the pouch to the woman on the stairs, and said: 'give me some food for to-night in my lad's pouch.'[ ] this was complied with with the utmost obedience, and a piece of meat was placed in the pouch. this somewhat appeased him, so that at noon he spoke with the woman, and even asked for a drink of wine; but he threatened the woman that he would put an end to the laughing. i did not fear the evil he could do to me, but this vexatious life was wearisome. i allowed no wine to be offered to him, unless he asked for some. he was in the habit every week of procuring me the newspapers[e ] for candles, and as he did not bring me the newspapers for the candles of the first week, i sent him no more. he continued to come every saturday with the perfuming-pan, and to lock my door. when he came in with the fumigating stuff, he fixed his eyes upon the wall, and would not look at me. i spoke to him once and asked after the doctor, and he made no reply. [ ] in the margin is added: 'at this time there was a peasant imprisoned in the dark church for having answered the bailiff of the manor with bad language. i sent him food. he was a great rogue. i know not whether he were incited by others, but he told karen that if i would write to my children, he would take care of the letter. i sent him word that i thanked him; i had nothing to say to them and nothing to write with. the rogue answered, "ah so! ah so!"' [e ] the newspapers in question were probably german papers which were published in copenhagen at that time weekly, or even twice a week; the danish _mercurius_ (a common title for newspapers) was a monthly publication. thus it went on for some weeks; then he became appeased, and brought the woman the papers from the time that he had withheld them, all rolled up together and fastened with a thread. when the prison governor came in during the evening and sat and talked (he was slightly intoxicated), and chresten had gone to the cellar, the woman gave him back the papers, thanking him in my name, and saying that the papers were of no interest to me; i had done without them for so many weeks, and could continue to do so. he was so angry that he tore the papers in two with his teeth, tore open his coat so that the buttons fell on the floor, threw some of the papers into the fire, howled, screamed, and gnashed with his teeth. i tried to find something over which i could laugh with the prison governor, and i spoke as loud as i could, in order to drown christian's voice.[ ] the woman came in as pale as a corpse, and looked at me. i signed to her that she should go out again. then christian came close to my door and howled, throwing his slippers up into the air, and then against my door, repeating this frequently. when he heard chresten coming up with the cups, he threw himself on the seat on which the prison governor was accustomed to lie, and again struck his slippers against the wall. chresten gazed at him with astonishment, as he stood with the cups in his hand. he saw well that there was something amiss between the woman and christian, and that the woman was afraid; he could not, however, guess the cause, nor could he find it out; he thought, moreover, that it had nothing to do with me, since i was laughing and talking with the prison governor. when the doors were closed, the lamentations found free vent. the woman said that he had threatened her; he would forbid her daughter coming on the stairs and carrying on her talk, and doing other things that she ought not. i begged her to be calm; told her he was now in one of his mad fits, but that it would pass away; that he would hesitate before he said anything of it, for that he would be afraid that what he had brought up to her would also come to light, and then he would himself get into misfortune for his trouble; that the prison governor had given her daughter leave to come to her, and to whom therefore should he complain? (i thought indeed in my own mind that if he adhered to his threat, he would probably find some one else to whom he could complain, as he had so much liberty; he could bring in and out what he chose, and could speak with whom he desired in the watchman's gallery.) she wept, was very much affected, and talked with but little sense, and said: 'if i have no peace for him, i will--yes, i will--.' she got no further, and could not get out what she would do. i smiled, and said at last: 'christian is mad. i will put a stop to it to-morrow: let me deal with him! sleep now quietly!' [ ] in the margin: 'it was wonderful that the governor did not hear the noise which christian made. he was telling me, i remember, at the time, how he had frightened one of the court servants with a mouse in a box.' she fell asleep afterwards, but i did not do so very quickly, thinking what might follow such wild fits. next day towards noon i told her what she was to say to christian; she was to behave as if she were dissatisfied, and begin to upbraid him and to say, 'the devil take you for all you have taught her! she has pulled off her slippers just as you do, and strikes me on the head with them. she is angry and no joke, and she took all the pretty stuff she had finished and threw it into the night-stool. "there," said she, "no one shall have any advantage of that."' at this he laughed like a fool, for it pleased him. 'is she thoroughly angry?' he asked. 'yes,' she replied; 'she is indeed.' at this he laughed aloud on the stairs, so that i heard it. for a fortnight he behaved tolerably well, now and then demanding wine and food; and he came moreover to the door and related, among other things, how he had heard that the prince (now our king) was going to be married. i had also heard it, though i did not say so, for the prison governor had told me of it, and besides i received the papers without him. and as i asked him no questions, he went away immediately, saying afterwards to the woman, 'she is angry and so am i. we will see who first will want the other.' he threatened the woman very much. she wished that i would give him fair words. i told her that he was not of that character that one could get on with him by always showing the friendly side.[ ] as he by degrees became more insolent than could be tolerated, i said one day to the prison governor that i was surprised that he could allow a prisoner to unlock and lock my doors, and to do that which was really the office of the tower-warder; and i asked him whether it did not occur to him that under such circumstances i might manage to get out, if i chose to do so without the king's will? christian was a prisoner, under sentence of death; he had already offered to get me out of the tower. the prison governor sat and stared like one who does not rightly understand, and he made no reply but 'yes, yes!' but he acted in conformity with my warning, so that either he himself locked and unlocked, or chresten did so. (i have seen christian snatching the keys out of chresten's hand and locking my door, and this at the time when he began to make himself so angry.) [ ] in the margin is added: 'he enticed the prison governor to throw a kitten that i had down from the top of the tower, and he laughed at me ironically as he told the woman of his manly act, and said, "the cat was mangy! the cat was mangy!" i would not let him see that it annoyed me.' if christian had not been furious before, he became so now, especially at the time that chresten came in with the perfuming-pan when the woman was above. he would then stand straight before me in the anteroom, looking at me like a ghost and gnashing his teeth; and when he saw that i took the rest of the fumigating stuff from chresten's hand (which he had always himself given me in paper), he burst into a defiant laugh. when the doors were unlocked in the evening, and christian began talking with the woman, he said: 'karen, tell her ladyship that i will make out a devilish story with you both. i have with my own eyes seen chresten giving her a letter. ay, that was why she did not let me go in with the perfuming-pan, because i would not undertake her message to skaane. ay, does she get the newspapers also from him? yes, tell her, great as are the services i have rendered her, i will now prepare a great misfortune for her.' god knows what a night i had! not because i feared his threat, for i did not in the least regard his words; he himself would have suffered the most by far. but the woman was so sad that she did nothing but lament and moan, chiefly about her daughter, on account of the disgrace it would be to her if they put her mother into the dark church, nay even took her life. then she remembered that her daughter had spoken with her on the stairs, and she cried out again: 'oh my daughter! my daughter! she will get into the house of correction!' for some time i said nothing more than 'calm yourself; it will not be as bad as you think,' as i perceived that she was not capable of listening to reason, for she at once exclaimed 'ach! ach!' as often as i tried to speak, sitting up in bed and holding her head between her two hands and crying till she was almost deluged. i thought, 'when there are no more tears to come, she will probably stop.' i said at length, when she was a little appeased: 'the misfortune with which the man threatens us cannot be averted by tears. calm yourself and lie down to sleep. i will do the same, and i will pray god to impart to me his wise counsel for the morrow.' this quieted her a little; but when i thought she was sleeping, she burst forth again with all the things that she feared; she had brought in to me slips of paper, knife and scissors, and other things furnished by him contrary to order. i answered only from time to time: 'go to sleep, go to sleep! i will talk with you to-morrow!' it was of no avail. the clock struck two, when she was still wanting to talk, and saying, 'it will go badly with the poor old man down below!'[ ] i made as if i were asleep, but the whole night, till five o'clock and longer, no sleep came to my eyes. [ ] in the margin is added: ' . while karen, nil's daughter, waited on me, a nuremberger was my neighbour in the dark church; he was accused of having coined base money. she carried food to him every day. he sang and read day and night, and sang very well. he sang the psalm 'incline thine ear unto me, o lord,' slowly at my desire. i copied it, and afterwards translated it into danish. and as he often prayed aloud at night and confessed his sins, praying god for forgiveness and exclaiming again and again, 'thou must help me, god! yes, god, thou must help me, or thou art no god. thou must be gracious;' thus hindering me from sleep, i sent him word through karen to pray more softly, which he did. he was taken to the holm for some weeks, and was then set at liberty. when the door was unlocked at noon, i had already intimated to her what she was to say to christian, and had given her to understand that he thought to receive money from her and candles from me by his threats, and that he wanted to force us to obey his pleasure; but that he had others to deal with than he imagined. she was only to behave as if she did not care for his talk, and was to say nothing but 'good day,' unless he spoke to her; and if he enquired what i had said, she was to act as if she did not remember that she was to tell me anything. if he repeated his message, she was to say: 'i am not going to say anything to her about that. are you still as foolish as you were last night? do what you choose!' and then go away. this conversation took place, and he threatened her worse than before. the woman remained steadfast, but she was thoroughly cast down when our doors were locked; still, as she has a light heart, she often laughed with the tears in her eyes. i knew well that christian would try to recover favour again by communicating me all kind of news in writing, but i had forbidden the woman to take his slips of paper, so that he got very angry. i begged her to tell him that he had better restrain himself if he could; that if he indulged his anger, it would be worse for him. at this he laughed ironically, and said, 'tell her, it will be worse for her. whatever i have done for her, she has enticed me to by giving me wine: tell her so. i will myself confess everything; and if i come to the rack and wheel, chresten shall get into trouble. he brought her letters from her children.' (the rogue well knew that i had not allowed the woman to be cognisant neither of the fact that he had conveyed for me a message to skaane to my children, nor of the wax in which the tower keys were impressed; this was why he spoke so freely to her.) when our doors were locked, this formed the subject of our conversation. i laughed at it, and asked the woman what disgrace could be so great as to be put on the wheel; i regarded it as thoughtless talk, for such it was, and i begged her to tell him that he need not trouble himself to give himself up, as i would relieve him of the trouble, and (if he chose) tell the prison governor everything on the following day that he had done for me; he had perhaps forgotten something, but that i could well remember it all. when the woman told him this, he made no answer, but ran down, kept quiet for some days, and scarcely spoke to the woman. one saturday, when the woman had gone upstairs with the night-stool, he went up to her and tried to persuade her to accept a slip of paper for me, but she protested that she dare not. 'then tell her,' he said, 'that she is to give me back the scissors and the knife which i have given her. i will have them, and she shall see what i can do. you shall both together get into trouble!' she came down as white as a corpse, so that i thought she had strained herself. she related the conversation and his request, and begged me much to give him back the things, and that then he would be quiet. i said: 'what is the matter with you? are you in your senses? does he not say that we shall get into trouble if he gets the scissors and knife back again? now is not the time to give them to him. do you not understand that he is afraid i shall let the things be seen? my work, he thinks, is gone, and the papers are no longer here, so that there is nothing with which he can be threatened except these things. you must not speak with him this evening. if he says anything, do not answer him.' in the evening he crept in, and said in the anteroom to her, 'bring me the scissors and the knife!' she made no answer. on the following morning, towards noon, i begged her to tell him that i had nothing of his; that i had paid for both the scissors and knife, and that more than double their value. he was angry at the message, and gnashed with his teeth. she went away from him, and avoided as much as possible speaking with him alone. when he saw that the woman would not take a slip of paper from him, he availed himself of a moment when the prison governor was not there, and threw in a slip of paper to me on the floor. a strange circumstance was near occurring this time: for just as he was throwing in the paper, the prison governor's large shaggy dog passed in, and the paper fell on the dog's back, but it fell off again in the corner, where the dog was snuffling. upon the paper stood the words: 'give me the knife and scissors back, or i will bring upon you as much misfortune as i have before rendered you good service, and i will pay for the knife and scissors if i have to sell my trousers for it. give them to me at once!' for some days he went about like a lunatic, since i did not answer him, nor did i send him a message through the woman; so that chresten asked the woman what she had done to christian, as he went about below gnashing his teeth and howling like a madman. she replied that those below must best know what was the matter with him; that he must see he was spoken with in a very friendly manner here. at noon on good friday, ,[ ] he was very angry, swore and cursed himself if he did not give himself up, repeating all that he had said before, and adding that i had enticed him with wine and meat, and had deceived him with candles and good words. that he cared but little what happened to him; he would gladly die by the hand of the executioner; but that i, and she, and chresten, should not escape without hurt. [ ] in the ms. this date ' ' is in the _margin_, not in the text. the afternoon was not very cheerful to us. the woman was depressed. i begged her to be calm, told her there was no danger in such madness, though it was very annoying, and harder to bear than my captivity; but that still i would be a match for the rogue. she took her book and read, and i sat down and wrote a hymn upon christ's sufferings, to the tune 'as the hart panteth after the water-springs.'[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'this very hymn was afterwards the cause of christian's being again well-behaved, as he subsequently himself told me, for he heard me one day singing it, and he said that his heart was touched, and that tears filled his eyes. i had at that time no other writing-materials than i have before mentioned.' christian had before been in the habit of bringing me coloured eggs on easter-eve; at this time he was not so disposed. when the door was locked, i said to chresten, 'do not forget the soft-boiled eggs to-morrow.' when the dinner was brought up on easter-day, and the eggs did not come at once (they were a side dish), christian looked at me, and made a long nose at me three or four times. (i was accustomed to go up and down in front of the door of my room when it was unlocked.) i remained standing, and looked at him, and shrugged my shoulders a little. soon after these grimaces, chresten came with a dish full of soft-boiled eggs. christian cast down his eyes at first, then he raised them to me, expecting, perhaps, that i should make a long nose at him in return; but i intended nothing less. when the woman went to the stairs, he said, 'there were no coloured eggs there.' she repeated this to me at once, so that i begged her to say that i ate the soft-boiled eggs and kept the coloured ones, as he might see (and i sent him one of the last year's, on which i had drawn some flowers; he had given it to me himself for some candles). he accepted it, but wrote me a note in return, which was very extraordinary. it was intended to be a highflown composition about the egg and the hen. he tried to be witty, but it had no point. i cannot now quite remember it, except that he wrote that i had sent him a rotten egg; that his egg would be fresh, while mine would be rotten.[ ] he threw the slip of paper into my room. i made no answer to it. some days passed again, and he said nothing angry; then he recommenced. i think he was vexed to see chresten often receive my wine back again in the cup. at times i presented it to the prison governor. moreover, he received no food, either for himself or his boy. one day he said to the woman, 'what do you think the prison governor would say if he knew that you give the prisoners some of his food to eat?' (the food which came from my table was taken down to the prison governor.) 'tell her that!' the woman asked whether she was to say so to me, as a message from him. 'as whose message otherwise?' he answered. i sent him word that i could take as much as i pleased of the food brought me: that it was not measured out and weighed for me, and that those who had a right to it could do what they liked with what i did not require, as it belonged to no one. on this point he could not excite our fear. then he came back again one day to the old subject, that he would have the scissors and the knife, and threatening to give himself up; and as it was almost approaching the time when i received the lord's supper, i said to the woman: 'tell him once for all, if he cannot restrain himself i will inform against him as soon as the priest comes, and the first karen shall be made to give evidence; she shall, indeed, be brought forward, for she had no rest on his account until i entered into his proposals. whether voluntarily or under compulsion, she shall say the truth, and then we shall see who gets into trouble.' he might do, i sent word, whatever he liked, but i would be let alone; he might spare me his notes, or i would produce them. when the woman told him this, he thought a little, and then asked, 'does she say so?' 'yes,' said the woman, 'she did. she said still further: "what does he imagine? does he think that i, as a prisoner who can go nowhere, will suffer for having accepted the services of a prisoner who enjoys a liberty which does not belong to him?"' he stood and let his head hang down, and made no answer at all. this settled the fellow, and from that time i have not heard one unsuitable word from him. he spoke kindly and pleasantly with the woman on the stairs, related what news he had heard, and was very officious; and when she once asked him for his cup to give him some wine, he said sadly, 'i have not deserved any wine.' the woman said he could nevertheless have some wine, and that i desired no more service from him. so he received wine from time to time, but nothing to eat.[ ] on the day that i received the lord's supper, he came to the door and knocked softly. i went to the door. he saluted me and wished me joy in a very nice manner, and said that he knew i had forgiven those who had done aught against me. i answered in the affirmative, and gave no further matter for questions; nor did he, but spoke of other trivialities, and then went away. afterwards he came daily to the door, and told me what news he had heard; he also received wine and meat again. he told me, among other things, that many were of opinion that all the prisoners would be set at liberty at the wedding of the prince (our present king) which was then talked of; that the bride was to arrive within a month (it was the end of april when this conversation took place), and that the wedding was to be at the palace. [ ] what he meant by it i know not; perhaps he meant that i should die in misery, and that he should live in freedom. that anticipation has been just reversed, for his godless life in his liberty threw him subsequently into despair, so that he shot himself. whether god will give me freedom in this world is known to him alone. [ ] in the margin is added: 'he could not prevent his boy paaske from having a piece of meat placed for him in front of the door.' the arrival of the bride was delayed till the beginning of june, and then the wedding was celebrated in the palace at nykjöbing in falster. many were of opinion that it took place there in order that the bride might not intercede for me and the doctor.[ ] when the bride was to be brought to copenhagen, i said to christian: 'now is the time for you to gain your liberty. let your girl wait and fall on one knee before the carriage of the bride and hold out a supplication, and then i am sure you will gain your liberty.' he asked how the girl should come to be supplicating for him. i said, 'as your bride--' 'no (and he swore with a terrible oath), she is not that! she imagines it, perhaps, but (he swore again) i will not have her.' 'then leave her in the idea,' i said, 'and let her make her supplication as for her bridegroom.' 'yes,' he said, in a crestfallen tone, 'she may do that.' it was done, as i had advised, and christian was set at liberty on june , . he did not bid me good-bye, and did not even send me a message through the tower-warder or the boy. his gratitude to the girl was that he smashed her window that very evening, and made such a drunken noise in the street, that he was locked up in the town-hall cellar.[ ] he came out, however, on the following day. his lad paaske took leave of his master. when he asked him whether he should say anything from him to us, he answered, 'tell them that i send them to the devil.' paaske, who brought this message, said he had answered christian, 'half of that is intended for me' (for christian had already suspected that paaske had rendered services to the woman). we had a hearty laugh over this message; for i said that if paaske was to have half of it, i should get nothing. we were not a little glad that we were quit of this godless man. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the bride had supplicated for me at nykjöbing, but had not gained her object. this was thought to be dangerous both for the land and people.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'it was a sunday; this was the honour he showed to god. he went into the wine-house instead of into god's house. he came out about twelve o'clock.' we lived on in repose throughout the year . i wrote and was furnished with various handiwork, so that chresten bought nothing for me but a couple of books, and these i paid doubly and more than doubly with candles. karen remained with me the first time more than three years; and as her daughter was then going to be married, and she wished to be at the wedding, she spoke to me as to how it could be arranged, for she would gladly have a promise of returning to me when the woman whom i was to have in her stead went away. i did not know whether this could be arranged; but i felt confident that i could effect her exit without her feigning herself ill. the prison governor had already then as clerk peder jensen tötzlöff,[e ] who now and then performed his duties. to this man i made the proposal, mentioning at the same time with compassion the ill health of the woman. i talked afterwards with the prison governor himself about it, and he was quite satisfied; for he not only liked this karen very much, but he had moreover a woman in the house whom he wished to place with me instead. [e ] his name was torslev; see the introduction and the autobiography. karen, nils' daughter, left me one evening in , and a german named cathrina ----[e ] came in her place. karen took her departure with many tears. she had wept almost the whole day, and i promised to do my utmost that she should come to me when the other went away. cathrina had been among soldiers from her youth up; she had married a lieutenant at the time the prison governor was a drummer, and had stood godmother to one of his sons. she had fallen into poverty after her husband's death, and had sat and spun with the wife of the prison governor for her food. she was greatly given to drinking, and her hands trembled so that she could not hold the cup, but was obliged to support it against her person, and the soup-plate also. the prison governor told me before she came up that her hands occasionally trembled a little, but not always--that she had been ill a short time before, and that it would probably pass off. when i asked herself how it came on, she said she had had it for many years. i said, 'you are not a woman fit to wait upon me; for if i should be ill, as i was a year or somewhat less ago, you could not properly attend to me.' she fell at once down on her knees, wept bitterly, and prayed for god's sake that she might remain; that she was a poor widow, and that she had promised the prison governor half the money she was to earn; she would pray heartily to god that i might not be ill, and that she would be true to me, aye, even die for me. [e ] the name is in blanco; she was probably the catharina wolf which is mentioned in the preface. it seemed to me that this last was too much of an exaggeration for me to believe it (she kept her word, however, and did what i ordered her, and i was not ill during her time). she did not care to work. she generally laid down when she had eaten, and drew the coverlid over her eyes, saying 'now i can see nothing.' when she perceived that i liked her to talk, she related whole comedies in her way, often acting them, and representing various personages. if she began to tell a story, and i said in the middle of her narrative, 'this will have a sorrowful ending,' she would say, 'no, it ends pleasantly,' and she would give her story a good ending. she would do the reverse, if i said the contrary. she would dance also before me, and that for four persons, speaking as she did so for each whom she was representing, and pinching together her mouth and fingers. she called comedians 'medicoants.' various things occurred during her time, which prevented me from looking at her and listening to her as much as she liked.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'a few months after she had come to me, she had an attack of ague. she wept, and was afraid. i was well satisfied with her, and thought i would see what faith could do, so i wrote something on a slip of paper and hung it round her neck. the fever left her, and she protested that all her bodily pains passed all at once into her legs when i hung the paper round her neck. her legs immediately became much swollen.' it happened that walter,[e ] who in consequence of dina's affair had been exiled from denmark, came over from sweden and remained incognito at copenhagen. he was arrested and placed in the tower here, below on the ground floor. he was suspected of being engaged in some plot. at the same time a french cook and a swedish baker were imprisoned with him, who were accused of having intended to poison the king and queen. the swede was placed in the witch cell, immediately after walter's arrest. some days elapsed before i was allowed to know of walter's arrival, but i knew of it nevertheless. one day at noon, when walter and the frenchman were talking aloud (for they were always disputing with each other), i asked the prison governor who were his guests down below, who were talking french. he answered that he had some of various nations, and related who they were, but why they were imprisoned he knew not, especially in walter's case. [e ] walter's participation in the plot of dina is mentioned in the introduction. he was then ordered to leave the country, but afterwards obtained a pardon and permission to return. he does not seem to have availed himself of this till the year ; but his conduct was very suspicious, and he was at once arrested and placed in the blue tower, where he died towards the end of april . the two before-mentioned quarrelled together, so that walter was placed in the witch cell with the swede, and the frenchman was conveyed to the dark church, where he was ill, and never even came to the peep-hole in the door, but lay just within. i dared not send him anything, on account of the accusation against him. walter was imprisoned for a long time, and the frenchman was liberated. when m. bock came to me, to give me christ's body and blood, i told him before receiving the lord's supper of walter's affair, which had been proved, but i mentioned to him that at the time i had been requested to leave denmark through uldrich christian gyldenlöve. gyldenlöve had sworn to me that the king was at the time not thoroughly convinced of the matter, and i had complained that his majesty had not taken pains to convince himself; and i requested the priest to ask the stadtholder to manage that walter should now be examined in dina's affair, and that he and i should be confronted together in the presence of some ministers; that this could be done without any great noise, for the gentlemen could come through the secret passage into the tower. the priest promised to arrange this;[ ] he did so, and on the third day after walter was placed in the dark church, so that i expected for a long time every day that we should be examined, but it was prevented by the person whose interest it was to prevent it.[e ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'when the priest left me, he spoke with walter in front of the grated hole, told him of my desire, and its probable result. walter laughed ironically, and said, "my hair will not stand on end for fear of that matter being mooted again. the queen knows that full well. say that too!" while walter was in the witch cell hole, he had written to the queen, but the king received the paper.' [e ] leonora alludes, no doubt, to the queen sophia amalia. walter remained imprisoned,[ ] and quarrelled almost daily with chresten, calling him a thief and a robber. (chresten had found some ducats which walter had concealed under a stool; the foolish walter allowed the swede to see that he hid ducats and an ink-bottle between the girths under the stool, and he afterwards struck the swede, who betrayed him.) chresten slyly allowed walter to take a little exercise in the hall of the tower, and in the meanwhile he searched the stool. it may well be imagined that at the everlasting scolding chresten was annoyed, and he did not procure walter particularly good food from the kitchen; so that sometimes he could not eat either of the two dishes ordered for him; and when walter said one day, 'if you would give me only one dish of which i could eat, it would be quite enough,' chresten arranged it so that walter only received one dish, and often could not eat of that. (this was to chresten's own damage, for he was entitled to the food that was left; but he was ready to forego this, so long as he could annoy the others.) [ ] in the margin is noted: 'i looked through a hole in my outermost door at the time that walter was brought up in the dark church. he wept aloud. i afterwards saw him once in front of the hole of the door of his cell. he was very dirty, and had a large beard full of dirt, very clotted.' once chresten came to him with a dish of rice-porridge, and began at once to quarrel with him, so that the other became angry (just as children do), and would eat nothing. chresten carried the porridge away again directly, and laughed heartily. i said to chresten, in the prison governor's presence, 'though god has long delayed to punish walter, his punishment is all the heavier now, for he could scarcely have fallen into more unmerciful hands than yours.' he laughed heartily at this, and the prison governor did the same. and as there is a hole passing from the dark church into the outer room, those who are inside there can call upstairs, so that one can plainly hear what is said. so walter one day called to the prison governor, and begged him to give him a piece of roast meat; the prison governor called to him, 'yes, we will roast a rat for you!' i sent him a piece of roast meat through chresten; when he took it, and heard that i had sent it to him, he wept. thus the time passed, i had always work to do, and i wrote also a good deal.[ ] the priest was tired of administering the lord's supper to me, and he let me wait thirteen and fourteen days; when he did come, he performed his office _par manière d'acquit_. i said nothing about it, but the woman, who is a german, also received the lord's supper from him; she made much of it, especially once (the last time he confessed her); for then i waited four days for him before it suited him to come, and at last he came. it was wednesday, about nine o'clock. he never greeted us, nor did he wish me joy to the act i intended to perform. this time he said, as he shook hands, 'i have not much time to wait, i have a child to baptise.' i knew well that this could not be true, but i answered 'in god's name!' when he was to receive the woman's confession, he would not sit down, but said 'now go on, i have no time,' and scarcely gave her time to confess, absolved her quickly, and read the consecrating service at posthaste speed. when he was gone, the woman was very impatient, and said that she had received the holy communion in the field from a military chaplain, with the whole company (since they were ready to attack the enemy on the following day), but that the priest had not raced through god's word as this one had done; she had gained nothing from it. [ ] in the margin is added: 'from books which had been secretly lent me, and i did so with the pen and ink i have before mentioned, on any pieces of paper which i happened to procure.' i comforted her as well as i could, read and sang to her, told her she should repent and be sorry for her sins, and labour to amend her ways, and not be distracted by the want of devotion in the priest; she could appropriate to herself christ's sufferings and merits for the forgiveness of her sins, for the priest had given her his body and blood in the bread and wine. 'yes,' she answered, 'i shall, with god's will, be a better christian.' i said 'will you keep what you have promised me?' her vow was, not to drink herself tipsy, as she had once done. i will not omit to mention this. she received, as i have before said, half a pint of french wine at each meal, and i half a measure of rhine wine. she could drink both portions without being quite intoxicated, for at her meal she drank the french wine and lay down; and when she got up in the afternoon she drank my wine.[ ] in the evening she kept my wine for breakfast, but once she had in her cup both my wine and her own, so that at noon she had two half-pints of wine; she sat there and drank it so quietly, and i paid no attention to her, being at the moment engaged in a speculation about a pattern which i wanted to knit; at length i looked at her because it was so long before she laid down; then she turned over all the vessels, one after another, and there was nothing in them. i accosted her and said, 'how is it? have you drank all the wine?' she could scarcely answer. she tried to stand up, and could not. 'to bed, you drunken sow,' said i. she tried to move, but could not; she was sick, and crept along by the wall to fetch a broom. when she had the broom, she could do nothing with it. i told her to crawl into bed and lie down; she crawled along and fell with her face on the bed, while her feet were on the ground. there she was sick again, and remained so lying, and slept. it is easy to imagine how i felt. [ ] in the margin is noted: 'chresten was not well satisfied with the woman, for in her time he never received a draught of wine, so that he once stole the wine from her can and substituted something impure in its place; at this she made a great noise, begged me for god's sake to give her leave to strike chresten with the can. she did not gain permission to do so; she told chresten afterwards that she had not dared to do it, for my sake. she had a great scar on one cheek, which a soldier had once given her for a similar act.' she slept in this way for a couple of hours, but still did not quite sleep off her intoxication; for when she wanted afterwards to clean herself and the room, she remained for a long time sitting on a low stool, the broom between her knees and her hair about her ears. she took off her bodice to wash it, and so she sat with her bosom uncovered, an ugly sight; she kept bemoaning herself, praying to god to help her, as she was nigh unto death. i was angry, but i could scarcely help laughing at this sad picture. when the moaning and lamenting were over, i said angrily, 'yes, may god help you, you drunkard; to the guards' station you ought to go; i will not have such a drunkard about me; go and sleep it out, and don't let me hear you talk of god when you are not sober, for then god is far from you and the d----l is near!' (i laughed afterwards at myself.) she laid down again, and about four o'clock she was quite sober, made herself perfectly clean, and sat quietly weeping. then she threw herself with great excitement at my feet, clung to them, howled and clamoured, and begged for god's sake that i would forgive her this once, and that it should never happen again; said how she had kept the wine &c.; that if i would only keep her half a year, she would have enough to purchase her admission into the hospital at lübeck. i thought i would take good care that she did not get so much again at once, and also that perhaps if i had another in her place she might be worse in other things. karen could not have come at this time, for her daughter was expecting her confinement, and i knew that she would then not be quiet. so i promised her to keep her for the time she mentioned. she kept her word moreover, and i so arranged it six weeks later that she received no more wine, and from this time the woman received no wine; my wine alone could not hurt her. she was quite intimate with walter. she had known him formerly, and chresten was of opinion that he had given her all his money before he was ill; for he said that walter had no money any longer. what there was in it i know not. honest she was not, for she stole from me first a brass knitting-pin, which i used at that time; it was formed like a bodkin, and the woman never imagined but that it was gold. as my room is not large, it could soon be searched, but i looked for three days and could not find the pin. i was well aware that she had it, for it is not so small as not to be seen, so i said afterwards, 'this brass pin is of no great importance; i can get another for two pence.' the next day she showed me the pin, in a large crevice on the floor between the stones. but when she afterwards, shortly before she left, found one of my gold earrings which i had lost, and which undoubtedly had been left on the pillow, for it was a snake ring, this was never returned, say what i would about it. she made a show of looking for it in the dirt outside; she knew i dared not say that i had missed it. the prison governor at this time came up but rarely; peder jensen waited on me.[ ] his majesty was ill for a short time, and died suddenly on february , . and as on the same day at twelve o'clock the palace bell tolled, i was well aware what this indicated, though the woman was not. we conversed on the subject, who it might be. she could perceive that i was sad, and she said: 'that might be for the king, for the last time i saw him on the stairs, getting out of the carriage, he could only move with difficulty, and i said to myself that it would soon be over with him. if he is dead, you will have your liberty, that is certain.' i was silent, and thought otherwise, which was the case. about half-past four o'clock the fire was generally lighted in the outside stove, and this was done by a lad whom chresten at that time employed. i called him to the door and asked him why the bell had tolled for a whole hour at noon. he answered, 'i may not say; i am forbidden.' i said that i would not betray him. he then told me that the king had died in the morning. i gave free vent to my tears, which i had restrained, at which the woman was astonished, and talked for a long time. [ ] in the margin is added: 'at this time i had six prisoners for my neighbours. three were peasants from femeren, who were accused of having exported some sheep; the other three were danish. they were divided in two parties, and as the danes were next the door, i gave them some food; they had moreover been imprisoned some time before the others. when the danes, according to their custom, sang the morning and evening psalms, the germans growled forth with all their might another song in order to drown their voices; they generally sang the song of dorothea.' [e ] [e ] the song of st. dorothea exists in many german and danish versions. i received all that she said in silence, for i never trusted her. i begged her to ask chresten, when he unlocked the door, what the tolling intimated. she did so, but chresten answered that he did not know. the prison governor came up the same evening, but he did not speak with me. he came up also the next day at noon. i requested to speak with him, and enquired why the bell had sounded. he answered ironically, 'what is that to you? does it not ring every day?' i replied somewhat angrily: 'what it is to me god knows! this i know, that the castle bell is not tolled for your equals!' he took off his hat and made me a bow, and said, 'your ladyship desires nothing else?' i answered, 'st. martin comes for you too.'[e ] 'st. martin?' he said, and laughed, and went away and went out to walter, standing for a long time whispering with him in front of the hole; i could see him, as he well knew.[ ] he was undoubtedly telling him of the king's death, and giving him hope that he would be liberated from prison. god designed it otherwise. walter was ill, and lay for a long time in great misery. he behaved very badly to chresten; took the dirt from the floor and threw it into the food; spat into the beer, and allowed chresten to see him do so when he carried the can away. every day chresten received the titles of thief and rogue, so that it may easily be imagined how chresten tormented him. when i sent him some meat, either stewed or roasted, chresten came back with it and said he would not have it. i begged chresten to leave it with him, and he would probably eat it later. this he did once, and then chresten showed me how full it was of dirt and filth.[ ] [e ] the feast of st. martin is supposed the proper time for killing pigs in denmark. it is reported that when corfitz uldfeldt, in , had published a defence of his conduct previously to his leaving denmark the year before, he sent a copy to peder vibe, one of his principal adversaries, with this inscription:-- chaque pourceau a son st. martin; tu n'échapperas pas, mais auras le tien. [ ] in the margin is added: 'as i was to receive clothes, i asked for mourning clothes. then the prison governor asked me for whom i wished to mourn, and this in a most ironical manner. i answered: "it is not for your aunt; it is not for me to mourn for her, although your aunt has been dead long. i think you have as good reason for wearing mourning as i." he said he would report it. i did not receive them at once.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'chresten showed me once some bread, from which walter had taken the crumb, and had filled it full of straw and dirt, in fact, of the very worst kind.' when chresten had to turn walter in bed, the latter screamed so pitifully that i felt sympathy with him, and begged chresten not to be so unmerciful to him. he laughed and said, 'he is a rogue.' i said, 'then he is in his master's hands.' this pleased chresten well. walter suffered much pain; at length god released him. his body was left in the prison until his brother came, who ordered it to be buried in the german church. when i heard that karen could come to me again, and the time was over which i had promised the other to keep her, cathrina went down and karen returned to me. this was easily effected, for the prison governor was not well pleased with cathrina; she gave him none of her money, as she had promised, but only empty words in its place, such as that he was not in earnest, and that he surely did not wish to have anything from her, &c.[ ] the prison governor began immediately to pay me less respect, when he perceived that my liberation was not expected. [ ] in the margin is added; 'the prison governor also severely reprimanded the woman because she had told me that the king was dead; that it would not go as well with me as i thought. she gave him word for word.' when the time came at which i was accustomed to receive the holy communion, i begged the prison governor that he should manage that i should have the court preacher, d. hans læt, as the former court preacher, d. mathias foss, had come to me on the first occasion in my prison. the prison governor stated my desire, and his majesty assented. d. hans læt was already in the tower, down below, but he was called back because the queen dowager (who was still in the palace) would not allow it; and the prison governor sent me word, through peder jensen, that the king had said i was to be content with the clergyman to whom i was accustomed, so that the necessary preparation for the lord's supper was postponed till the following day, when mag. buck came to me and greeted me in an unusual manner, congratulating me in a long oration on my intention, saluting me 'your grace.' when he was seated, he said, 'i should have been glad if d. hans læt had come in my place.' i replied, 'i had wished it also.' 'yes,' he said, 'i know well why you wished it so. you wish to know things, and that is forbidden me. you have already caused one man to lose his employ.' i asked him whether i had ever desired to know anything from him? 'no,' he replied, 'you know well that you would learn nothing from me; for that reason you have asked me nothing.' 'does the herr mag, then,' i said, 'mean that i desired d. hans læt in order to hear news of him?' he hesitated a little, and then said, 'you wanted to have d. hans læt in order that he might speak for you with the king.' i said, 'there may perhaps be something in that.' upon this he began to swear all kinds of oaths (such as i have never heard before),[ ] that he had spoken for me. (i thought: 'i have no doubt you have spoken of me, but not in my favour.') he had given me a book which i still have; it is 'st. augustini manuali;' the statholder gabel had bought it, as he said more than once, protesting by god that it had cost the herr statholder a rix-dollar. (i thought of the , rix-dollars which gabel received, that we might be liberated from our confinement at borringholm, but i said nothing; perhaps for this reason he repeated the statement so often.) i asked him whom i had caused to lose his employ. he answered, 'hans balcke.[ ] he told you that treasurer gabel was statholder, and he ought not to have done so.' i said, 'i do not believe that balcke knew that he ought not to say it, for he did not tell it to me as a secret. one might say just as well that h. magister had caused balcke to lose his place.' he was very angry at this, and various disputes arose on the subject. he began again just as before, that i wanted to have d. læt, he knew why. i said, 'i did not insist specially on having d. læt; but if not him, the chaplain of the castle, or another.' he asked, 'why another?' i replied, 'because it is not always convenient to the herr magister. i have been obliged to wait for him ten, twelve, and even fourteen days, and the last time he administered his office in great haste, so that it is not convenient for him to come when i require him.' he sat turning over my words, not knowing what to answer, and at last he said; 'you think it will go better with you now because king frederick is dead. no, you deceive yourself! it will go worse with you, it will go worse with you!' and as he was growing angry, i became more composed and i asked gently why so, and from what could he infer it? he answered, 'i infer it from the fact that you have not been able to get your will in desiring another clergyman and confessor; so i assure you things will not be better with you. if king frederick is dead, king christian is alive.' i said: 'that is a bad foundation; your words of threatening have no basis. if i have not this time been able to obtain another confessor, it does not follow that i shall not have another at another time. and what have i done, that things should go worse with me?' he was more and more angry, and exclaimed aloud several times, 'worse, yes, it will be worse!' then i also answered angrily, 'well, then let it come.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'among his terrible curses was one that his tongue might be paralysed if he had not spoken for me. the following year god struck him with paralysis of the tongue; he had a stroke from anger, and lived eight days afterwards; he was in his senses, but he was not able to speak, and he died; but he lived to see the day when another clergyman administered the holy communion to me.' [ ] in the margin is added: 'i saw now that this was the cause of balcke's dismissal.' upon this he was quite silent, and i said: 'you have given me a good preparation; now, in god's name!' then i made my confession, and he administered his office and went away without any other farewell than giving me his hand. i learned afterwards that before m. buck came to me he went to the prison governor, who was in bed, and begged him to tell knud, who was at that time page of the chamber,[e ] what a sacramental woman i was; how i had dug a hole in the floor in order to speak with the doctor (which was an impossibility), and how i had practised climbing up and looking out on the square. he begged him several times to tell this to the page of the chamber: 'that is a sacramental woman!'[ ] [e ] this knud was the favourite of king christian v., adam levin knuth, one of the many germans who then exercised a most unfavourable influence on the affairs of denmark. [ ] in the margin is added: 'chresten, who was ill satisfied both with karen and with me, gave us a different title one day, when he was saying something to one of the house-servants, upon which the latter asked him who had said it? chresten answered, 'she who is kept up there for her.' when i was told of this, i laughed and said, 'that is quite right, we are two "shes."' in the end of april in the same year my door was opened one afternoon, and the prison governor came in with some ladies, who kept somewhat aside until he had said, 'here are some of the maids of honour, who are permitted to speak to you.' there came in first a young lady whom i did not know. next appeared the lady augusta of glücksburg, whom i recognised at once, as she was but little altered. next followed the electoral princess of saxony, whom i at once recognised from her likeness to her royal father, and last of all our gracious queen, whom i chiefly looked at, and found the lineaments of her countenance just as peder jensen had described them. i saw also a large diamond on her bracelet, and one on her finger, where her glove was cut. her majesty supported herself against the folding table as soon as she had greeted me. lady augusta ran up and down into every corner, and the electoral princess remained at the door. lady augusta said: 'fye, what a disgusting room this is! i could not live a day in it. i wonder that you have been able to endure it so long.' i answered, 'the room is such as pleases god and his majesty, and so long as god will i shall be able to endure it.' she began a conversation with the prison governor, who was half tipsy, and spoke with him about balcke's marriage, whose wedding with his third wife was taking place on that very day; she spoke against marrying so often, and the prison governor replied with various silly speeches. she asked me if i was plagued with fleas. i replied that i could furnish her with a regiment of fleas, if she would have them. she replied hastily with an oath, and swore that she did not want them. her question made me somewhat ironical, and i was annoyed at the delight she exhibited at my miserable condition; so when she asked me whether i had body or wall lice, i answered her with a question, and enquired whether my brother-in-law hanibal sehested was still alive? this question made her somewhat draw in, for she perceived that i knew her. she made no answer. the electoral princess, who probably had heard of my brother-in-law's intrigues with lady augusta,[e ] went quickly up to the table (the book lay on it, in which karen used to read, and which she had brought in with her), took the book, opened it and asked whether it was mine. i replied that it belonged to the woman whom i had taught to read, and as i gave the electoral princess her fitting title of serene highness, lady augusta said: 'you err! you are mistaken; she is not the person whom you think.' i answered, 'i am not mistaken.' after this she said no more, but gave me her hand without a word. the gracious queen looked sadly on, but said nothing. when her majesty gave me her hand, i kissed it and held it fast, and begged her majesty to intercede for me, at any rate for some alleviation of my captivity. her majesty replied not with words, but with a flood of tears. the virtuous electoral princess cried also; she wept very sorrowfully. and when they had reached the anteroom and my door was closed, both the queen and the electoral princess said, 'it is a sin to treat her thus!' they shuddered; and each said, 'would to god that it rested with me! she should not stay there.' lady augusta urged them to go away, and mentioned it afterwards to the queen dowager, who said that i had myself to thank for it; i had deserved to be worse treated than this. [e ] hannibal sehested was dead already in , as leonora was no doubt well aware. the whole passage seems to indicate that he is supposed to have had some love-intrigue with the duchess. nothing has transpired on this subject from other sources, but it is certain that her husband, duke ernst gynther, for some time at least, was very unfriendly disposed to hannibal sehested. when the king's funeral was over, and the queen dowager had left the castle, i requested the prison governor that he should execute my message and solicit another clergyman for me, either the chaplain of the castle or the arsenal chaplain, or the one who usually attended to the prisoners; for if i could get no other than m. buck, they must take the sin on their own heads, for that i would not again confess to him. a short time elapsed, but at length the chaplain of the castle, at that time m. rodolff moth, was assigned me. god, who has ever stood by me in all my adversity, and who in my sorrow and distress has sent me unexpected consolation, gave me peculiar comfort in this man. he consoled me with the word of god; he was a learned and conversable man, and he interceded for me with his majesty. the first favour which he obtained for me was, that i was granted another apartment on july , , and bishop d. jesper's postil. he afterwards by degrees obtained still greater favours for me. i received rix-dollars as a gift, to purchase such clothes for myself as i desired, and anything i might wish for to beguile the time.[ ] [ ] in the margin is noted: 'some of my money i expended on books, and it is remarkable that i obtained from m. buck's books (which were sold by auction) among others the great martilegium, in folio, which he would not lend me. i excerpted and translated various matters from spanish, italian, french, and german authors. i especially wrote out and translated into danish the female personages of different rank and origin, who were mentioned with praise by the authors as valiant, true, chaste and sensible, patient, steadfast and scholarly.' [e ] [e ] the martilegium was probably a german history of martyrs, entitled 'martilogium (for martyrologium) der heiligen' (strasburg , fol.). the extracts to which she refers were no doubt her earliest collections for her work on heroines. in this year her majesty the queen became pregnant, and her majesty's mother, the landgravine of hesse, came to be with her in her confinement. on september her serene highness visited me in my prison, at first wishing to remain incognito. she had with her a princess of curland, who was betrothed to the son of the landgravine; her lady in waiting, a wallenstein by birth; and the wife of her master of the household. the landgravine greeted me with a kiss, and the others followed her example. i did not at that time recognise the wife of the master of the household, but she had known me formerly in my prosperity at the hague, when she had been in the service of the countess leuenstein, and the tears stood in her eyes. the landgravine lamented my hard fate and my unhappy circumstances. i thanked her serene highness for the gracious sympathy she felt with me, and said that she might help much in alleviating my fetters, if not in liberating me from them entirely. the landgravine smiled and said, 'i see well you take me for another than i am.' i said, 'your serene highness's deportment and appearance will not allow you to conceal your rank, were you even in peasant's attire.' this pleased her; she laughed and jested, and said she had not thought of that. the lady in waiting agreed with me, and said that i had spoken very justly in saying that i had recognised her by her royal appearance. upon this the landgravine said, 'you do not know her?' pointing to the princess of curland. she then said who she was, and afterwards who her lady in waiting was, and also the wife of the master of the household, who was as i have before mentioned. she spoke of the pity which this lady felt for me, and added 'et moy pas moins.' i thanked her 'altesse très-humblement et la prioit en cette occasion de faire voir sa généreuse conduite.' her serene highness looked at the prison governor as though she would say that we might speak french too long; she took off her glove and gave me her hand, pressing mine and saying, 'croyez-moy, je fairez mon possible.' i kissed her serene highness's hand, and she then took leave of me with a kiss. the virtuous landgravine kept her word, but could effect nothing. when her majesty the queen was in the perils of childbirth, she went to the king and obtained from him a solemn promise that if the queen gave birth to a son i should receive my liberty. on october , in the night between one and two o'clock, god delivered her majesty in safety of our crown prince. when all present were duly rejoicing at the prince's birth, the landgravine said, 'oh! will not the captive rejoice!' the queen dowager enquired 'why?' the landgravine related the king's promise. the queen dowager was so angry that she was ill. she loosened her jacket, and said she would return home; that she would not wait till the child was baptised. her coach appeared in the palace square. the king at length persuaded her to remain till the baptism was over, but he was obliged to promise with an oath that i should not be liberated. this vexed the virtuous landgravine not a little, that the queen should have induced her son to break his promise; and she persisted in saying that a king ought to keep his vow. the queen dowager answered, 'my son has before made a vow, and this he has broken by his promise to your serene highness.' the landgravine said at last: 'if i cannot bring about the freedom of the prisoner, at least let her, at my request, be removed to a better place, with somewhat more liberty. it is not to the king's reputation that she is imprisoned there. she is, after all, a king's daughter, and i know that much injustice is done to her.' the queen dowager was annoyed at these words, and said, 'now, she shall not come out; she shall remain where she is!' the landgravine answered, 'if god will, she will assuredly come out, even though your majesty may will it not;' so saying, she rose and went out. on october the lady in waiting, wallenstein, sent for peder jensen tötzlöff, and delivered to him by command a book entitled, d. heinrich müller's 'geistliche erquickstunden,'[e ] which he gave me with a gracious message from the landgravine. on the same day i sent her serene highness, through tötzlöff, my dutiful thanks, and tötzlöff took the book back to the lady in waiting, with the request that she would endeavour to prevail on her highness to show me the great favour of placing her name and motto in the book, in remembrance of her highness's generosity and kindness. i lamented my condition in this also, that from such a place i could not spread abroad her serene highness's praise and estimable benefits, and make the world acquainted with them; but that i would do what i could, and i would include her serene highness and all her family in my prayers for their welfare both of soul and body. (this i have done, and will do, so long as god spares my life.) [e ] 'hours of spiritual refreshment.' this very popular book of devotion was first published in , and had an extraordinary run both in germany and, through translations, in denmark. the last danish extract of it was published in , and reached the third edition in . on october i received the book back through tötzlöff, and i found within it the following lines, written by the landgravine's own hand: . ce qui n'est pas en ta puissance ne doit point troubler ton repos; tu balances mal à propos entre la crainte et l'espérance. laisse faire ton dieu et ton roy, et suporte avec passience ce qu'il résoud pour toy. je prie dieu de vous faire cette grâce, et que je vous puisse tesmoigner combien je suis, madame, vostre très-affectionée à vous servir, {monogram} the book is still in my possession, and i sent word through tötzlöff to the lady in waiting to request her to convey my most humble thanks to her highness; and afterwards, when the landgravine was about to start on her journey, to commend me to her serene highness's favour. in the same year, , karen, nils' daughter, left me on account of ill health. for one night a woman was with me named margrete, who was a serf from holstein. she had run away from her master. she was a very awkward peasant woman, so towards evening on the following day she was sent away, and in her place there came a woman named inger, a person of loose character. this woman gave herself out as the widow of a non-commissioned officer, and that she had long been in service at hamburg, and nursed lying-in women. it happened with her, as is often the case, that one seeks to obtain a thing, and that to one's own vexation. chresten had spoken for this woman with the prison governor, and had praised her before me, but the prison governor took upon another recommendation the before-mentioned margrete. so long as there was hope that the landgravine might obtain my freedom, this woman was very amenable, but afterwards she began by degrees to show what was in her, and that it was not for nothing that she resembled dina. she caused me annoyance of various kinds, which i received with patience, thinking within myself that it was another trial imposed by god upon me, and dina's intrigues often came into my mind, and i thought, 'suppose she should devise some dina plot?' (she is capable of it, if she had only an instigator, as dina had.) among other annoyances, which may not be reckoned among the least, was this: i was one day not very well, having slept but little or not at all during the night, and i had lain down to sleep on the bed in the day; and she would give me no rest, but came softly past me in her socks, and in order to wake me teased a dog which i had,[ ] so that he growled. i asked her why she grudged my sleeping? she answered, 'i did not know that you were asleep.' 'why, then,' i said, 'did you go by in your stockings?' she replied, 'if you saw that, then you were not asleep,' and she laughed heartily by herself. (she sat always in front of my table with her back turned to me; whether it was because she had lost one eye that she sat in that position to the light, i know not.) [ ] in the margin is added: 'this dog was of an icelandic breed, not pretty, but very faithful and sagacious. he slept every afternoon on the stool, and when she had fallen asleep, she let her hands hang down. then the dog would get up and run softly and bite her finger till the blood came. if she threw down her slippers, he would take one and sit upon it. she never got it back again without a bloody finger.' i did not care for any conversation with her, so i lay still; and when she thought i was asleep, she got up again and teased the dog. i said, 'you tax my patience sorely; but if once my passion rises, you will certainly get something which will astonish you, you base accursed thing!' 'base accursed thing,' she repeated to herself with a slight laugh. i prayed to god that he would restrain me, so that i might not lay violent hands on this base creature. and as i had the other apartment (as i have before mentioned),[ ] i went out and walked up and down between four and five o'clock. she washed and splashed outside, and spilled the water exactly where i was walking. i told her several times to leave her splashing, as she spilled the water in all directions on the floor, so that i made my clothes dirty, and often there was not a drop of water for my dog to drink, and the tower-warder had to fetch her water from the kitchen spring. this was of no avail. one day it occurred to her, just as the bell had sounded four, to go out and pour all the water on the floor, and then come back again. when i went to the door, i perceived what she had done. without saying a word, i struck her first on one cheek and then on the other, so that the blood ran from her nose and mouth, and she fell against her bench, and knocked the skin from her shin-bone. she began to be abusive, and said she had never in her life had such a box on her ears. i said immediately, 'hold your tongue, or you will have another like it! i am now only a little angry, but if you make me really angry i shall strike you harder.' she was silent for the time, but she caused me all the small annoyance she could. [ ] in the margin is this note: 'in the year , on the th may, one of the house-servants was arrested for stealing. adam knudt, at that time gentleman of the chamber, himself saw him take several ducats early one morning from the king's trousers, which were hanging against the walls. he was at first for some hours my neighbour in the dark church. he was then placed in the witch cell, and as he was to be tortured, he received secret warning of it (which was forbidden), so that when the executioner came he was found to have hung himself. that is to say, he was said to have hung himself, though to all appearance this was not possible; he was found with a cloth round his neck, which was a swaddling-cloth belonging to one of chresten, the tower-warder's, children. chresten became my neighbour, and was ostensibly brought to justice, but he was acquitted and reinstated in his office. i received it all with gentleness, fearing that i might lay violent hands on her. she scarcely knew what to devise to cause me vexation; she had a silver thimble on which a strange name was engraved; she had found it, she said, in a dust-heap in the street. i once asked her where she had found some handkerchiefs which she had of fine dutch linen, with lace on them, which likewise were marked with another name; they were embroidered with blue silk, and there was a different name on each. she had bought them, she said, at an auction at hamburg.[ ] i thought that the damage she had received on one of her eyes might very likely have arisen from her having 'found' something of that kind,[e ] and as i soon after asked her by what accident she had injured her eye, she undoubtedly understood my question well, for she was angry and rather quiet, and said, 'what injury? there is nothing the matter with my eye; i can, thank god, see with both.' i let the matter rest there. soon after this conversation she came down one day from upstairs, feeling in her pocket, though she said nothing until the afternoon, when the doors were locked, and then she looked through all her rubbish, saying 'if i only knew where it could be?' i asked what she was looking for. 'my thimble,' she said. 'you will find it,' i said; 'only look thoroughly!' and as she had begun to look for it in her pockets before she had required it, i thought she might have drawn it out of her pocket with some paper which she used, and which she had bought. i said this, but it could not be so. [ ] in the margin is added: 'she was so proud of her knowledge of german that when she sang a morning hymn (which, however rarely happened) she interspersed it with german words. i once asked her if she knew what her mother's cat was called in danish, and i said something at which she was angry. [e ] it was a common superstition that persons who understood the art of showing by magic the whereabouts of stolen goods, had the power, by use of their formulas alone, to deprive the thief of an eye. on the following day, towards noon, she again behaved as if she were looking for it upstairs; and when the door was closed she began to give loose to her tongue, and to make a long story about the thimble, where it could possibly be. 'there was no one here, and no one came in except us two;' and she gave me to understand that i had taken it; she took her large box which she had, and rummaged out everything that was in it, and said, 'now you can see that i have not got it.' i said that i did not care about it, whether she had it or no, but that i saw that she accused me of stealing. she adhered to it, and said, 'who else could have taken it? there is no one else here, and i have let you see all that is mine, and it is not there.' then for the first time i saw that she wished that i should let her see in the same manner what i had in my cardbox, for she had never seen anything of the work which i had done before her time. i said, 'i do not care at all what you do with your thimble, and i respect myself too much to quarrel with you or to mind your coarse and shameless accusation. i have, thank god, enough in my imprisonment to buy what i require, &c. but as you perhaps have stolen it, you now imagine that it has been stolen again from you, if it be true that you have lost it.' to this she made no answer, so that i believe she had it herself, and only wanted by this invention to gain a sight of my things. as it was the christmas month and very cold, and chresten was lighting a fire in the stove before the evening meal, i said to him in her presence, 'chresten, you are fortunate if you are not, like me, accused of stealing, for you might have found her thimble upstairs without having had it proclaimed from the pulpit; it was before found by inger, and not announced publicly.' this was like a spark to tinder, and she went to work like a frantic being, using her shameless language. she had not stolen it, but it had been stolen from her; and she cursed and swore. chresten ordered her to be silent. he desired her to remember who i was, and that she was in my service. she answered, 'i will not be silent, not if i were standing before the king's bailiff!' the more gently i spoke, the more angry was she; at length i said, 'will you agree with me in one wish?--that the person who last had the thimble in her possession may see no better with her left eye than she sees with her right.' she answered with an oath that she could see with both eyes. i said, 'well, then, pray god with me that she may be blind in both eyes who last had it.' she growled a little to herself and ran into the inner room, and said no more of her thimble, nor did i. god knows that i was heartily weary of this intercourse. i prayed god for patience, and thought 'this is only a trial of patience. god spares me from other sorrow which i might have in its stead.' i could not avail myself of the occasion of her accusing me of theft to get rid of her, but i saw another opportunity not far off. the prison governor came one day to me with some thread which was offered for sale, rather coarse, but fit for making stockings and night-waistcoats. i bought two pounds of it, and he retained a pound, saying, 'i suppose the woman can make me a pair of stockings with it?' i answered in the affirmative (for she could do nothing else but knit). when he was gone, she said, 'there will be a pair of stockings for me here also, for i shall get no other pay.' i said, 'that is surely enough.' the stockings for the prison governor were finished. she sat one day half asleep, and made a false row round the stocking below the foot. i wanted her to undo it. 'no,' said she, 'it can remain as it is; he won't know but that it is the fashion in hamburg.'[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'there was no similar row on the other stocking. the prison governor never mentioned it.' when his stockings were finished, she began a pair for herself of the same thread, and sat and exulted that it was the prison governor's thread. this, it seemed to me, furnished me with an opportunity of getting rid of her. and as the prison governor rarely came up, and she sent him down the stockings by tötzlöff, i begged tötzlöff to contrive that the prison governor should come up to me, and that he should seat himself on the woman's bed and arrange her pillow as if he wanted to lean against it (underneath it lay her wool). this was done. the prison governor came up, took the knitting in his hand, and said to inger, 'is this another pair of stockings for me?' 'no, mr. prison governor,' she answered, 'they are for me. you have got yours. i have already sent you them.' 'but,' said he, 'this is of my thread; it looks like my thread.' she protested that it was not his thread. as he went down to fetch his stockings and the scales, she said to me, 'that is not his thread; it is mine now,' and laughed heartily. i thought, 'something more may come of this.' the prison governor came with the scales and his stockings, compared one thread with the other, and the stockings weighed scarcely half a pound. he asked her whether she had acted rightly? she continued to assert that it was her thread; that she had bought it in hamburg, and had brought it here. the prison governor grew angry, and said that she lied, and called her a bitch. she swore on the other hand that it was not his thread; that she would swear it by the sacrament. the prison governor went away; such an oath horrified him. i was perfectly silent during this quarrel. when the prison governor had gone, i said to the woman, 'god forbid! how could you say such words? do you venture to swear a falsehood by the sacrament, and to say it in my presence, when i know that it is the prison governor's thread? what a godless creature you are!' she answered, with a half ridiculous expression of face, 'i said i would take the sacrament upon it, but i am not going to do so.' 'oh dina!' i thought, 'you are not like her for nothing; god guard me from you!' and i said, 'do you think that such light words are not a sin, and that god will not punish you for them?' she assumed an air of authority, and said, 'is the thread of any consequence? i can pay for it; i have not stolen it from him; he gave it to me himself. i have only done what the tailors do; they do not steal; it is given to them. he did not weigh out the thread for me.' i answered her no more than 'you have taken it from him; i shall trouble myself no more about it;' but i begged tötzlöff to do all he could that i should be rid of her, and have another in her place of a good character. tötzlöff heard that karen had a desire to return to me; he told me so. the prison governor was satisfied with the arrangement. it was kept concealed from inger till all was so settled that karen could come up one evening at supper-time. when the prison governor had unlocked the door, and had established himself in the inner room, and the woman had come out, he said: 'now, inger, pack your bundle! you are to go.' 'yes, mr. prison governor,' she answered, and laughed, and brought the food to me, and told me what the prison governor had said, saying at the same time, 'that is his joke.' 'i heard well,' i answered, 'what he said; it is not his joke, it is his real earnestness.' she did not believe it; at any rate she acted as if she did not, and smiled, saying, 'he cannot be in earnest;' and she went out and asked the prison governor whether he was in earnest. he said, 'go! go! there is no time for gossip!' she came into me again, and asked if i wished to be rid of her. i answered, 'yes.' 'why so?' she asked. i answered: 'it would take me too long to explain; the other woman who is to remain here is below.' 'at any rate,' said she, 'let me stay here over the night.' ('ah, dina!' i thought.) 'not a quarter of an hour!' i answered; 'go and pack your things! that is soon done!' she did so, said no word of farewell, and went out of the door. thus karen came to me for the third time, but she did not remain an entire year, on account of illness.[ ] [ ] in the margin is noted: 'i must remember one thing about karen, nil's daughter. when anything gave her satisfaction, she would take up her book directly and read. i asked her whether she understood what she read. "yes, of course," she answered, "as truly as god will bless you! when a word comes that i don't understand, i pass it over." i smiled a little in my own mind, but said nothing.' in the year m. moth became vice-bishop in fyn. i lost much in him, and in his place came h. emmeke norbye, who became court preacher, and who had formerly been a comrade of griffenfeldt; but griffenfeldt did not acknowledge him subsequently, so that he could achieve nothing for me with griffenfeldt.[e ] he one day brought me as answer (when i sent him word among other things that his majesty would be gracious if only some one would speak for me), 'it would be as if a pistol had been placed at the king's heart, and he were to forgive it.' [e ] griffenfeldt, who was then at the height of his power, was the son of a wine-merchant, by name schumacher, but had risen by his talents alone to the highest dignities. he was ennobled under the name of griffenfeldt, and was undoubtedly the ablest statesman denmark ever possessed. eventually he was thrust from his high position by an intrigue set on foot by german courtiers and backed by foreign influence. he was accused of treason and kept in prison from to , the year before he died, to the great, perhaps irreparable damage, of his native country. the principal witness against him was a german doctor, mauritius, a professional spy, who had served the danish government in this capacity. the year after the fall of griffenfeld, he was himself arrested on a charge of perjury, forgery, and high treason, and placed in the blue tower; he was convicted and conducted to bornholm, where he died. but griffenfeldt, who had been convicted on his false testimony, was not liberated. griffenfeldt's ability and patriotism cannot be doubted, but his personal character was not without blemish; and it is a fact that in his prosperity he disclaimed all connection with his earlier friends, and even his near relations. in the same year my sister elisabeth augusta sent me a message through tötzlöff and enquired whether i had a fancy for any fruit, as she would send me some. i was surprised at the message, which came to me from my sister in the tenth year of my captivity, and i said, 'better late than never!' i sent her no answer. one funny thing i will yet mention, which occurred in the time of karen, nil's daughter. chresten, who had to make a fire in the stove an hour before supper (since it had no flue), so that the smoke could pass out at the staircase door before i supped, did not come one evening before six o'clock, and was then quite tipsy. and as i was sitting at the time near the stove in the outer apartment on a log of wood, which had been hewed as a seat, i said it was late to make the fire, as he must now go into the kitchen. he paid no attention to my gentle remark, until i threatened him with hard words, and ordered him to take the wood out. he was angry, and would not use the tongs to take the wood out, nor would he permit karen to take them out with the tongs; but he tore them out with his hands, and said, 'nothing can burn me.' and as some little time elapsed before the wood was extinguished, he began to fear that it would give little satisfaction if he so long delayed fetching the meal. he seated himself flat on the ground and was rather dejected; presently he burst out and said, 'oh god, you who have had house and lands, where are you now sitting?' i said, 'on a log of wood!' he answered, 'i do not mean your ladyship!' i asked, 'whom does your worship mean, then?' he replied, 'i mean karen.' i laughed, and said no more. to enumerate all the contemptuous conduct i endured would be too lengthy, and not worth the trouble. one thing i will yet mention of the tower-warder chresten, who caused me great annoyance at the end of this tenth year of my imprisonment. among other annoyances he once struck my dog, so that it cried. i did not see it, but i heard it, and the woman told me it was he who had struck the dog. i was greatly displeased at it. he laughed at this, and said, 'it is only a dog.' i gave him to understand that he struck the dog because he did not venture to strike me. he laughed heartily at the idea, and i said, 'i do not care for your anger so long as the prison governor is my friend' (this conversation took place while i was at a meal, and the prison governor was sitting with me, and chresten was standing at the door of my apartment, stretching out his arms.) i said, 'the prison governor and you will both get into heavy trouble, if i choose. do you hear that, good people?' (i knew of too many things, which they wished to hide, in more than one respect.) the prison governor sat like one deaf and dumb, and remained seated, but chresten turned away somewhat ashamed, without saying another word. he had afterwards some fear of me, when he was not too intoxicated; for at such times he cared not what he said, as regards high or low. he was afterwards insolent to the woman, and said he would strike the dog, and that i should see him do so. this, however, he did not do. chresten's fool-hardiness increased, so that peder tötzlöff informed the prison governor of his bad behaviour, and of my complaints of the wild doings of the prisoners, who made such a noise by night that i could not sleep for it, for chresten spent the night at his home, and allowed the prisoners to do as they chose. upon this information, the prison governor placed a padlock upon the tower door at night, so that chresten could not get out until the door was unlocked in the morning. this annoyed him, and he demanded his discharge, which he received on april , ; and in his place there came a man named gert, who had been in the service of the prison governor as a coachman. in this year, the ---- may, i wrote a spiritual 'song in remembrance of god's goodness,' after the melody 'nun ruhen alle wälder.' i. my heart! true courage find! god's goodness bear in mind, and how he, ever nigh, helps me my load to bear, nor utterly despair tho' in such heavy bonds i lie. ii. ne'er from my thoughts shall stray how once i lingering lay in the dark dungeon cell; my cares and bitter fears, and ridicule and tears, and god the lord upheld me well. iii. think on my misery and sad captivity thro' many a dreary year! yet nought my heart distresses; the lord he proves and blesses, and he protects me even here! iv. come heart and soul elate! and let me now relate the wonders of god's skill! he was my preservation in danger and temptation, and kept me from impending ill. v. the end seemed drawing near, i wrung my hands with fear, yet has he helped me e'er; my refuge and my guide, on him i have relied, and he has ever known my care. vi. thanks to thee, fount of good! thou canst no evil brood, thy blows are fatherly; when cruel power oppressed me, thy hand has ever blessed me, and thou has sheltered me! vii. before thee, lord, i lie; give me my liberty before my course is run; thy gracious hands extend and let my suffering end! yet not my will, but thine, be done. in this year, on july , his royal majesty was gracious enough to have a large window made again in my inner apartment; it had been walled up when i had been brought into this chamber. a stove was also placed there, the flue of which passed out into the square. the prison governor was not well satisfied at this, especially as he was obliged to be present during the work; this did not suit his laziness. my doors were open during the time; it was twelve days before the work was finished. he grumbled, and did not wish that the window should be made as low as it had been before i was imprisoned here; i persuaded the mason's journeyman to cut down the wall as low as it had before been, which the prison governor perceived from the palace square, and he came running up and scolded, and was thoroughly angry. but it was not to be changed, for the window-frame was already made. i asked him what it mattered to him if the window was a stone lower; it did not go lower than the iron grating, and it had formerly been so. he would have his will, so that the mason walled it up a stone higher while the prison governor was there, and removed it again afterwards, for the window-frame, which was ready, would not otherwise have fitted. in the same year karen, nil's daughter, left me for the third and last time, and in her stead came a woman named barbra, the widow of a bookbinder. she is a woman of a melancholy turn. her conscience is aroused sometimes, so that she often enumerates her own misdeeds (but not so great as they have been, and as i have found out by enquiry). she had two children, and it seems from her own account that she was to some extent guilty of their death, for she says: 'who can have any care for a child when one does not love its father?' she left her husband two years before he died, and repaired to hamburg, supporting herself by spinning; she had before been in the service of a princess as a spinning-maid. her father is alive, and was bookbinder to the king's majesty; he has just now had a stroke of paralysis, and is lying very ill. she has no sympathy with her father, and wishes him dead (which would perhaps be the best thing for him); but it vexes me that she behaves so badly to her sister, who is the wife of a tailor, and i often tell her that in this she is committing a double sin; for the needy sister comes from time to time for something to eat. if she does not come exactly on the evening which she has agreed upon, she gets nothing, and the food is thrown away upstairs. when at some length i place her sin before her, she says, 'that meat is bad.' i ask her why she let it get bad, and did not give it in time to her sister. to this she answers that her sister is not worthy of it. i predict evil things which will happen to her in future, as they have done to others whom i enumerate to her. at this she throws back her head and is silent. at this time her majesty the queen sent me some silkworms to beguile the time. when they had finished spinning, i sent them back to her majesty in a box which i had covered with carnation-coloured satin, upon which i had embroidered a pattern with gold thread. inside, the box was lined with white taffeta. in the lid i embroidered with black silk a humble request that her majesty would loose my bonds, and would fetter me anew with the hand of favour. her majesty the virtuous queen would have granted my request had it rested with her. the prison governor became gradually more sensible and accommodating, drank less wine, and made no jokes. i had peace within my doors. the woman sat during the day outside in the other apartment, and lay there also in the night, so that i began not to fret so much over my hard fate. i passed the year with reading, writing, and composing. for some time past, immediately after i had received the yearly pension, i had bought for myself not only historical works in various languages, but i had gathered and translated from them all the famous female personages, who were celebrated as true, chaste, sensible, valorous, virtuous, god-fearing, learned, and steadfast; and in anno , on january , i amused myself with making some rhymes to m. thomas kingo, under the title, 'to the much-famed poet m. thomas kingo, a request from a danish woman in the name of all danish women.' the request was this, that he would exhibit in befitting honour the virtuous and praiseworthy danish women. there are, indeed, virtuous women belonging to other nations, but i requested only his praise of the danish. this never reached kingo; but if my good friend to whom i entrust these papers still lives, it will fall probably into your hands, my beloved children. in the same year, on may , i wrote in rhyme a controversial conversation between sense and reason; entitled, 'controversial thoughts by the captive widow, or the dispute between sense and reason.' nothing else occurred this year within the doors of my prison which is worth recording, except one event--namely, when the outermost door of the anteroom was unlocked in the morning for the sake of sweeping away the dirt and bringing in fresh water, and the tower-warder occasionally let it stand open till meal-time and then closed it again, it happened that a fire broke out in the town and the bells were tolled. i and the woman ran up to the top of the tower to see where it was burning. when i was on the stairs which led up to the clock-work, the prison governor came, and with him was a servant from the silver-chamber. he first perceived my dog, then he saw somewhat of the woman, and thought probably that i was there also; he was so wise as not to come up the stairs, but remained below at the lowest holes, from whence one can look out over the town, and left me time enough to get down again and shut my door. gert was sorry, and came afterwards to the door and told me of his distress. i consoled him, and said there was nothing to fear. before the prison governor opened the door at noon, he struck gert with his stick, so that he cried, and the prison governor said with an oath, 'thou shalt leave.' when the prison governor came in, i was the first to speak, and i said: 'it is not right in you to beat the poor devil; he could not help it. the executioner came up as he was going to lock my door, and that made him forget to do so.' he threatened gert severely, and said, 'i should not have minded it so much had not that other servant been with me.' the words at once occurred to me which he had said to me a long time before, namely that no woman could be silent, but that all men could be silent (when he had asserted this, i had thought, if this be so, then my adversaries might believe that i, had i known of anything which they had in view, should not have been able to keep silence). so i now answered him thus: 'well, and what does that signify? it was a man; they can all keep silence; there is no harm done.' he could not help laughing, and said, 'well, you are good enough.' i then talked to him, and assured him that i had no desire to leave the tower without the king's will, even though day and night all the tower doors were left open, and i also said that i could have got out long ago, if that had been my design. gert continued in his service, and the prison governor never told gert to shut me in in the morning.[ ] [ ] in the margin is noted: 'at my desire the prison governor gave me a rat whose tail he had cut off; this i placed in a parrot's cage, and gave it food, so that it grew very tame. the woman grudged me this amusement; and as the cage hung in the outer apartment, and had a wire grating underneath, so that the dirt might fall out, she burned the rat with a candle from below. it was easy to perceive it, but she denied it.' at this time i had bought myself a clavicordium, and as barbra could sing well, i played psalms and she sang, so that the time was not long to us. she taught me to bind books, so far as i needed.[e ] [e ] the ms. itself is bound in a very primitive manner, which renders it probable that leonora has done it herself. my father confessor, h. emmeke, became a preacher at kiöge anno . in the same year my pension was increased, and i received yearly rix-dollars. it stands in the order that the rix-dollars were to be used for the purchase of clothes and the remaining fifty to buy anything which might beguile the time.[e ] god bless and keep his gracious majesty, and grant that he may live to enjoy many happy years. [e ] it appears from the state accounts that ever since the year a sum of dollars a year had been placed at her disposal. it would seem, therefore, that somehow or other a part of them had been unlawfully abstracted by someone during the first years. brant was at this time treasurer. on december in this same year barbra left me, and married a bookbinder's apprentice; but she repented it afterwards. and as her husband died a year and a half after her marriage, and that suddenly, suspicion fell upon barbra. she afterwards went to her brother's house and fell ill. her conscience was awakened, and she sent for tötzlöff and told almost in plain terms that she had poisoned her husband, and begged him to tell me so. i was not much astonished at it, for according to her own account she had before killed her own children; but i told peder tötzlöff that he was not to speak of it; if god willed that it should be made known, it would be so notwithstanding; the brother and the maid in the house knew it; he was not to go there again, even if she sent a message to him. she became quite insane, and lay in a miserable condition. the brother subsequently had her removed to the plague-house. in barbra's place there came to me a woman named sitzel, daughter of a certain klemming; maren blocks had brought about her employment, as sitzel owed her money. she is a dissolute woman, and maren gave her out as a spinster; she had a white cap on her head when she came up. sitzel's debt to maren had arisen in this way: that maren--since sitzel could make buttons, and the button-makers had quarrelled with her--obtained for her a royal licence in order to free her from the opposition of the button-makers, under the pretext that she was sickly. when the door was locked in the evening, i requested to see the royal licence which maren had obtained for her. and when i saw that she was styled in it the sickly woman, i asked her what her infirmity was. she replied that she had no infirmity. 'why, then,' i asked, 'have you given yourself out as sickly?' she answered, 'that was maren block's doing, in order to get for me the royal licence.' 'in the licence,' i said, 'you are spoken of as a married woman, and not as a spinster; have you, then, been seduced?' she hung her head and said softly, 'yes.' i was not satisfied. i said, 'maren block has obtained the royal licence for you by lies, and has brought you to me by lies; what, then, can i expect from your service?' she begged my pardon, promised to serve me well, and never to act contrary to my wishes. she is a dangerous person; there is nothing good in her; bold and shameless, she is not even afraid of fighting a man. she struck two button-makers one day, who wanted to take away her work, till they were obliged to run away. with me she had no opportunity of thus displaying her evil passions, but still they were perceptible in various ways. one day i warded off a scuffle between her and maren blocks; for when maren blocks had got back the money which she had expended on the royal licence for sitzel, she wanted to remove her from me, and to bring another into her place; but i sent word to maren blocks that she must not imagine she could send me another whom i must take. it was enough that she had done this time.[ ] [ ] in the margin stood originally the following note, which has afterwards been struck out: 'in this year, , the prison governor married for the third time; he married a woman who herself had had two husbands. anno , aug. , died my sister elisabeth augusta.' in the place of h. emmeke norbye, h. johan adolf borneman became palace-preacher; a very learned and sensible man, who now became my father confessor, and performed the duties of his office for the first time on april , . on october , in the same year, my father confessor was magister hendrich borneman, dean of the church of our lady (a learned and excellent man), his brother h. johan adolf borneman having accompanied the king's majesty on a journey. i have, thank god, spent this year in repose: reading, writing, and composing various things. anno it was brought about for me that my father-confessor, h. johan adolf borneman, should come to me every six weeks and preach a short sermon. in this year, on easter-day, agneta sophia budde was brought to the tower. her prison was above my innermost apartment. she was accused of having designed to poison the countess skeel; and as she was a young person, and had a waiting-woman in her attendance who was also young, they clamoured to such an extent all day that i had no peace for them. i said nothing, however, about it, thinking she would probably be quiet when she knew that her life was at stake. but no! she was merry to the day on which she was executed![ ] [ ] on a piece of paper which is fastened to the ms. by a pin is the following note referring to the same matter: 'on march , in the same year , a woman named lucia, who had been in the service of lady rigitze grubbe, became my neighbour. she was accused by agneta sophia budde, as the person who at the instigation of her mistress had persuaded her to poison countess f. birrete skeel, and that lucia had brought her the poison. there was evidence as to the person from whom lucia had bought the poison. this woman was a steady faithful servant. she received everything that was imposed upon her with the greatest patience, and held out courageously in the dark cell. she had two men as companions, both of whom cried, moaned and wept. from the countess skeel (who had to supply her with food) meat was sent her which was full of maggots and mouldy bread. i took pity on her (not for the sake of her mistress, for she had rendered me little good service, and had rewarded me evil for the benefits of former times, but out of sympathy). and i sent her meat and drink and money that she might soften gert, who was too hard to her. she was tortured, but would not confess any thing of what she was accused, and always defended her mistress. she remained a long time in prison.[e ] [e ] the acts of this famous trial are still in existence. originally the quarrel arose out of the fact that the countess parsberg (born skeel) had obtained a higher rank than lady grubbe, and was further envenomed by some dispute about a window in the house of the latter which looked down on the courtyard of the countess's house. regitze grubbe (widow of hans ulrik gyldenlöve, natural son of christian iv. and half-brother of ulrik christian gyldenlöve, as well as of leonora christina), persuaded another noble lady, agnete budde, through a servant, to poison countess parsberg. miss budde was beheaded, the girl lucie was exiled, and lady grubbe relegated for life to the island of bornholm. in the same year, on the morning of july , the tower-warder gert was killed by a thief who was under sentence of death, and to whom he had allowed too great liberty. i will mention this incident somewhat more in detail, as i had advised gert not to give this prisoner so much liberty; but to his own misfortune he paid no attention to my advice. this thief had broken by night into the house of a clergyman, and had stolen a boiling-copper, which he had carried on his head to copenhagen; he was seized with it at the gate in the morning, and was placed here in the tower. he was condemned to be hanged (he had committed various other thefts). the priest allowed the execution to be delayed; he did not wish to have him hanged. then it was said he was to go to the holm; but he remained long in prison. at first, and until the time that his going to the holm was talked of, he was my neighbour in the dark church; he behaved quite as a god-fearing man, read (apparently) with devotion, and prayed to god for forgiveness of his sins with most profound sighs. the rogue knew that i could hear him, and i sent him occasionally something to eat. gert took pity on him, and allowed him to go by day about the basement story of the tower, and shut him up at night again. afterwards he allowed him also at night to remain below. and as i had seen the thief once or twice when my door stood open, and he went past, it seemed to me that he had a murderous countenance; and for this reason, when i heard that the thief was not placed of an evening in the dark church, i said to gert that he ventured too far, in letting him remain below at night; that there was roguery lurking in him; that he would certainly some day escape, and then, on his account, gert would get into trouble. gert was not of opinion that the thief wished to run away; he had no longer any fear of being hanged; he had been so delighted that he was to go to the holm, there was no danger in it. i thought 'that is a delight which does not reach further than the lips,' and i begged him that he would lock him up at night. no; gert feared nothing; he even went farther, and allowed the thief to go up the tower instead of himself, and attend to the clock-work. three days before the murder took place, i spoke with gert, when he unlocked my door in the morning, of the danger to which he exposed himself by the liberty he allowed the thief, but gert did not fear it. meanwhile my dog placed himself exactly in front of gert, and howled in his face. when we were at dinner, the dog ran down and howled three times at the tower-warder's door. never before had i heard the dog howl. on july (as i have said), when gert's unfortunate morning had arrived, the thief came down from the clock-work, and said that he could not manage it alone, as the cords were entangled. the rogue had an iron rod ready above, in order to effect his project. gert went upstairs, but was carried down. the thief ran down after gert was dead, opened his box, took out the money, and went out of the tower. it was a friday, and the bells were to be rung for service. those whose duty it was to ring them knocked at the tower door, but no one opened. tötzlöff came with the principal key and opened, and spoke to me and wondered that gert was not there at that time of the day. i said: 'all is not right; this morning between four and five i was rather unwell, and i heard three people going upstairs and after a time two coming down again.' tötzlöff locked my door and went down. just then one of the ringers came down, and informed them that gert was lying upstairs dead. when the dead man was examined, he had more than one wound, but all at the back of the head. he was a very bold man, courageous, and strong; one man could not be supposed to have done this to him. the thief was seized the same evening, and confessed how it had happened: that, namely, a prisoner who was confined in the witch cell, a licentiate of the name of moritius, had persuaded him to it. this same moritius had great enmity against gert. it is true that gert took too much from him weekly for his food. but it is also true that this moritius was a very godless fellow; the priest who confesses him gives him no good character. i believe, indeed, that moritius was an accessory, but i believe also that another prisoner, who was confined in the basement of the tower, had a hand in the game. for who should have locked the tower-door again after the imprisoned thief, had not one of these done so? for when the key was looked for, it was found hidden above in the tower; this could not have been done by the thief after he was out of the tower. the thief, moreover, could not have unlocked gert's box and taken his money without the knowledge of moritius. the other prisoner must also have been aware of it. it seems to me that it was hushed up, in order that no more should die for this murder; for the matter was not only not investigated as was befitting, but the thief was confined down below in the tower. he was bound with iron fetters, but moritius could speak with him everyday: and for this reason the thief departed from his earlier statement, and said that he alone had committed the murder. he was executed on august , and moritius was taken to borringholm, and kept as a prisoner there.[e b] [e b] griffenfeldt, who was then at the height of his power, was the son of a wine-merchant, by name schumacher, but had risen by his talents alone to the highest dignities. he was ennobled under the name of griffenfeldt, and was undoubtedly the ablest statesman denmark ever possessed. eventually he was thrust from his high position by an intrigue set on foot by german courtiers and backed by foreign influence. he was accused of treason and kept in prison from to , the year before he died, to the great, perhaps irreparable damage, of his native country. the principal witness against him was a german doctor, mauritius, a professional spy, who had served the danish government in this capacity. the year after the fall of griffenfeld, he was himself arrested on a charge of perjury, forgery, and high treason, and placed in the blue tower; he was convicted and conducted to bornholm, where he died. but griffenfeldt, who had been convicted on his false testimony, was not liberated. griffenfeldt's ability and patriotism cannot be doubted, but his personal character was not without blemish; and it is a fact that in his prosperity he disclaimed all connection with his earlier friends, and even his near relations. in gert's place a tower-warder of the name of johan, a norwegian, was appointed--a very simple man. the servants about court often made a fool of him. the imprisoned young woman and her attendant did so the first time after his arrival that the attendant had to perform some menial offices upstairs. the place to which she had to go was not far from the door of their prison. the tower-warder went down in the meanwhile, and left the door open. they ran about and played. when they heard him coming up the stairs, they hid themselves. he found the prison empty, and was grieved and lamented. the young woman giggled like a child, and thus he found her behind a door. johan was glad, and told me the story afterwards. i asked why he had not remained with them. 'what,' he answered, 'was i to remain at their dirty work?' there was nothing to say in reply to such foolish talk. i had repose within my doors, and amused myself with reading, writing and various handiwork, and began to make and embroider my shroud, for which i had bought calico, white taffeta, and thread. on april a young lad escaped from the tower, who had been confined on the lower story with iron fetters round his legs. this prisoner found opportunity to loosen his fetters, and knew, moreover, that the booby johan was wont to keep the tower key under his pillow. he kept an iron pin in readiness to unlock the door of the room when the tower-warder was asleep; he opened it gently, took the key, locked in the booby again, and quitted the tower. the simple man was placed in confinement, but after the expiration of six weeks he was set at liberty. in his place there came a man named olle mathison, who was from skaane; he had his wife with him in the tower. towards the end of this year, on december , i became ill of a fever, and d. mynchen received orders to visit me and to take me under his care--an order which he executed with great attention. he is a very sensible man, mild and judicious in his treatment. ten days after i recovered my usual health. in the beginning of the year sitzel, klemming's daughter, was persuaded by maren blocks to betroth herself to one of the king's body-guard. she left me on november . in her place i had a woman named margrete. when i first saw her, she appeared to me somewhat suspicious, and it seemed to me that she was with child; however, i made no remark till the last day of the month of january. then i put a question to her from which she could perceive my opinion. she answered me with lies, but i interrupted her at once; and she made use of a special trick, which it is not fit to mention here, in order to prove her false assertion; but her trick could not stand with me, and she was subsequently obliged to confess it. i asked her as to the father of the child (i imagined that it was the king's groom of the chamber, who had been placed in arrest in the prison governor's room, but i did not say so). she did not answer my question at the time, but said she was not so far advanced; that her size was owing rather to stoutness than to the child, as it was at a very early stage. this woman, before she came to me, had been in the service of the prison governor's wife, and the prison governor had told me she was married. so it happened that i one day asked her of her life and doings; upon which she told me of her past history, where she had served, and that she had had two bastards, each by a different father; and pointing to herself, she added: 'a father shall also acknowledge this one, and that a brave father! you know him well!' i said, 'i have seen the king's groom of the chamber in the square, but i do not know him.' she laughed and answered (in her mother-tongue), 'no, by god, that is not he; it is the good prison governor.' i truly did not believe it. she protested it, and related some minute details to me. i thought i had better get rid of her betimes, and i requested to speak with the prison governor's wife, who at once came to me. i told her my suspicion with regard to the woman, and on what i based my suspicion; but i made no remark as to what the woman had confessed and said to me. i begged the prison governor's wife to remove the woman from me as civilly as she could. she was surprised at my words, and doubted if there was truth in them. i said, 'whether it be so or not, remove her; the sooner the better.' she promised that it should be done, but it was not. margrete seemed not to care that it was known that she was with child; she told the tower-warder of it, and asked him one day, 'ole, how was it with your wife when she had twins?' ole answered: 'i know nothing about it. ask anne!' margrete said that from certain symptoms she fancied she might have twins. one day, when she was going to sew a cloth on the arms of my arm-chair, she said, 'that angel of god is now moving!' and as the wife of the prison governor did not adhere to her word, and margrete's sister often came to the tower, i feared that the sister might secretly convey her something to remove the child (which was no doubt subsequently the case), so i said one day to margrete: 'you say that the prison governor is your child's father, but you do not venture to say so to himself.' 'yes!' she said with an oath, 'as if i would not venture! do you imagine that i will not have something from him for the support of my child?' 'then i will send for him,' i said, 'on purpose to hear what he will say.' (it was at that time a rare occurrence for the prison governor to come to me.) she begged me to do so; he could not deny, she said, that he was the father of her child. the prison governor came at my request. i began my speech in the woman's presence, and said that margrete, according to her own statement, was with child; who the father was, he could enquire if he chose. he asked her whether she was with child? she answered, 'yes, and you are the father of it.' 'o!' he said, and laughed, 'what nonsense!' she adhered to what she had said, protested that no other was the child's father, and related the circumstances of how it had occurred. the prison governor said, 'the woman is mad!' she gave free vent to her tongue, so that i ordered her to go out; then i spoke with the prison governor alone, and begged him speedily to look about for another woman for me, before it came to extremities with her. i supposed he would find means to stop her tongue. i told him the truth in a few words--that he had brought his paramour to wait on me. he answered, 'she lies, the malicious woman! i have ordered tötzlöff already to look about for another. my wife has told me what you said to her the other day.' after this conversation the prison governor went away. peder tötzlöff told me that an english woman had desired to be with me, but could not come before easter. four days afterwards margrete began to complain that she felt ill, and said to me in the forenoon, 'i think it will probably go badly with me; i feel so ill.' i thought at once of what i had feared, namely of what the constant visits of her sister indicated, and i sent immediately to peder tötzlöff, and when he came to me i told him of my suspicion respecting margrete, and begged him to do his utmost to procure me the english woman that very day. meanwhile margrete went up stairs, and remained there about an hour and a quarter, and came down looking like a corpse, and said, 'now it will be all right with me.' what i thought i would not say (for i knew that if i had enquired the cause of her bad appearance she would have at once acknowledged it all, and i did not want to know it), so i said, 'if you keep yourself quiet, all will be well. another woman is coming this evening.' this did not please her; she thought she could now well remain. i paid no regard to this nor to anything else she said, but adhered to it--that another woman was coming. this was arranged, and in the evening of march margrete left, and in her place came an english woman, named jonatha, who had been married to a dane named jens pedersen holme. when margrete was gone, i was blamed by the wife of the prison governor, who said that i had persuaded margrete to affirm that her husband was the father of margrete's child. although it did not concern me, i will nevertheless mention the deceitful manner in which the good people subsequently brought about this margrete's marriage. they informed a bookbinder's apprentice that she had been married, and they showed both him and the priest, who was to give them the nuptial benediction, her sister's marriage certificate.[ ] [ ] in the margin is added: 'ole the tower-warder was cudgelled on his back by the prison governor when margrete was gone, and he was charged with having said what margrete had informed him respecting her size.' in the same year, on the morning of christmas day, god loosened d. otto sperling's heavy bonds, after he had been imprisoned in the blue tower seventeen years, eight months, twenty-four days, at the age of eighty years minus six days. he had long been ill, but never confined to his bed. doctor münchen twice visited him with his medicaments. he would not allow the tower-warder at any time to make his bed, and was quite angry if ole offered to do so, and implied that the doctor was weak. he allowed no one either to be present when he laid down. how he came on the floor on christmas night is not known; he lay there, knocking on the ground. the tower-warder could not hear his knocking, for he slept far from the doctor's room; but a prisoner who slept on the ground floor heard it, and knocked at the tower-warder's door and told him that the doctor had been knocking for some time. when ole came in, he found the doctor lying on the floor, half dressed, with a clean shirt on. he was still alive, groaned a good deal, but did not speak. ole called a prisoner to help him, and they lifted him on the bed and locked the door again. in the morning he was found dead, as i have said. a.d. , in the month of april, i was sick and confined to my bed from a peculiar malady which had long troubled me--a stony matter had coagulated and had settled low down in my intestines. doctor münchen used all available means to counteract this weakness; but he could not believe that it was of the nature i thought and informed him; for i was perfectly aware it was a stone which had settled in the duct of the intestines. he was of opinion, if it were so, that the medicaments which he used would remove it.[ ] at this time the doctor was obliged to travel with his majesty to holstein. i used the remedies according to doctor münchen's directions, but things remained just as before. it was not till the following morning that the remedies produced their effect; and then, besides other matter, a large stone was evacuated, and i struck a piece out of it with a hammer in order to see what it was inside; i found it to be composed of a substance like rays, having the appearance of being gilded in some places and in others silvered. it is almost half a finger in length and full three fingers thick, and it is still in my possession. when doctor münchen returned, i sent him word how it was with me. he was at the time with the governess of the royal children, f. sitzele grubbe. doctor münchen desired tötzlöff to request me to let him see the stone. i sent him word that if he would come to me, he should see it. i would not send it to him, for i well knew that i should never get it again. [ ] in the margin is added: 'other natural matter was evacuated, but the stone stuck fast in the duct, and seemed to be round, for i could not gain hold of it with an instrument i had procured for the purpose.' a.d. , june , i wrote the following spiritual song. it can be sung to the melody, 'siunge wii af hiærtens-grund.'[e ] [e ] this tune is still in use in denmark; it is known in the latin church as 'in natali domini.' i. what is this our mortal life otherwise than daily strife? what is all our labour here, the servitude and yoke we bear? are they aught but vanity? art and learning what are ye? like a vapour all we see. ii. why, then, is thy anxious breast filled with trouble? be at rest! why, then, dost thou boldly fight the phantoms vain that mock thy sight? is there any, small or grand, who can payment duly hand at the creditor's demand? iii. naked to the world i came, and i leave it just the same; the lord has given and he takes; it is well whate'er he makes. to the lord all praises be; i will trust him heartily! and my near deliverance see. iv. one thing would i ask of thee. that thy house i once may see, and once more with song and praise may my pious offering raise, and magnify thy grace received, and all that jesus has achieved for us who have in him believed. v. if thou sayest unto me, 'i have no desire in thee, there is no place for thee above;' oh jesus! look thou down in love! can i not justly to thee say 'let me but see thy wounds, i pray:' god's mercy cannot pass away. on june , the queen sent me some silk and silver, with the request that i would embroider her a flower, which was traced on parchment; she sent also another flower which was embroidered, that i might see how the work should be done, which is called the golden work. i had never before embroidered such work, for it affects the eyes quickly; but i undertook it, and said i would do it as well as i could. on july , i sent the flower which i had embroidered to the governess of the royal children, f. sitzele grubbe, with the request that she would present it most humbly to her majesty the queen. the queen was much pleased with the flower, and told her that it excelled the others which certain countesses had embroidered for her. i afterwards embroidered nine flowers in silver and silk in this golden work, and sent them to the queen's mistress of the robes, with the request that she would present them most humbly to her majesty the queen. the mistress of the robes assured me of the queen's favour, and told me that her majesty was going to give me two silver flagons, but i have not heard of them yet. in the same year i embroidered a table-cover with floss silk, in a new design devised by myself, and i trimmed it with taffeta and silver fringe; this also i begged lady grubbe, the governess of the king's children, to present most humbly to her majesty, and it was graciously received. on november , i completed the work which i had made for my death-gear. it was embroidered with thread. on one end of the pillow i worked the following lines: full of anxiety and care, in many a silent night, this shroud have i been weaving with sorrowful delight! on the other end i embroidered the following: (n.b. the pillow was stuffed with my hair). when some day on this hair my weary head will lie, my body will be free and my soul to god will fly. on the cloth for the head i embroidered: i know full well, my jesus, thou dost live, and my frail body from the dust wilt give, and it with marvellous beauty will array to stand before thy throne on the great day. fulfilled with heavenly joy i then shall be, and thee, great god, in all thy splendour see. nor unknown wilt thou to mine eyes appear! help jesus, bridegroom, be thou ever near! her majesty the queen was always gracious to me, and sent me again a number of silkworms that i might amuse myself with feeding them for her, and i was to return what they spun. the virtuous queen also sent me sometimes oranges, lemons, and some of the large almanacs, and this she did through a dwarf, who is a thoroughly quick lad. his mother and father had been in the service of my deceased sister sophia elizabeth and my brother-in-law count pentz. the governess of the royal children, f. sitzel grubbe, was very courteous and good to me, and sent me several times lemons, oranges, mulberries, and other fruits, according to the season of the year. a young lady, by birth a donep, also twice sent me fruit. the maids of honour once sent me some entangled silk from silkworms, which they wanted to spin, and did not rightly know how to manage it; they requested me to arrange it for them. i had other occupation on hand which i was unwilling to lay aside (for i was busy collecting my heroines), but nevertheless i acceded to their wish.[e ] my captivity of nearly twenty years could not touch the heart of the queen dowager (though with a good conscience i can testify before god that i never gave her cause for such inclemency). my most gracious hereditary king was gracious enough several times in former years to intercede for me with his royal mother, through the high ministers of the state. her answer at that time was very hard; she would entitle them 'traitors,' and, 'as good as i was,' and would point them to the door. all the favours which the king's majesty showed me--the outer apartment, the large window, the money to dispose of for myself--annoyed the queen dowager extremely; and she made the king's majesty feel her displeasure in the most painful manner. and as she had also learned (she had plenty of informers) that i possessed a clavicordium, this annoyed her especially, and she spoke very angrily with the king about it; on which account the prison governor came to me one day and said that the king had asked him how he had happened to procure me a clavicordium. 'i stood abashed,' said the prison governor, 'and knew not what to say.' i thought to myself, 'you know but little of what is happening in the tower.' i did not see him more than three times a year. i asked who had told the king of the clavicordium. he answered: 'the old queen; she has her spies everywhere, and she has spoken so hardly to the king that it is a shame because he gives you so much liberty;' so saying, he seized the clavicordium just as if he were going to take it away, and said, 'you must not have it!' i said, 'let it alone! i have permission from his majesty, my gracious sovereign, to buy what i desire for my pastime with the money he graciously assigns me. the clavicordium is in no one's way, and cannot harm the queen dowager.' he pulled at it nevertheless, and wanted to take it down; it stood on a closet which i had bought. i said, with rather a loud voice, 'you must let it remain until you return me the money i gave you for it; then you may do with it what you like.' he said, 'i will tell the king that.' i begged him to do so. there was nothing afterwards said about it,[ ] and i still have the clavicordium, though i play on it rarely. i write, and hasten to finish my heroines, so that i may have them ready, and that no sickness nor death may prevent my completing them, nor the friend to whom i confide them may leave me, and so they would never fall into your hands, my dearest children. [e ] 'i have in my imprisonment also gained some experience with regard to caterpillars. it amused me at one time to watch their changes. the worms were apparently all of one sort, striped alike, and of similar colour. but butterflies did not come from all. it was quite pretty to see how a part when they were about to change, pressed against something, whatever it might be, and made themselves steady with a thread (like silkworm's silk) on each side, passing it over the back about fifty times, always at the same place, and often bending the back to see if the threads were strong enough; if not, they passed still more threads round them. when this was done, they rapidly changed their form and became stout, with a snout in front pointed at the end, not unlike the fish called knorr by the dutch; they have also similar fins on the back, and a similar head. in this form they remain for sixteen days, and then a white butterfly comes out. but of some caterpillars small worms like maggots come out on both sides, whitish, broad at one end and pointed at the other. these surround themselves with a web with great rapidity, each by itself. then the worm spins over them tolerably thickly, turning them round till they are almost like a round ball. in this it lies till it is quite dried up; it eats nothing, and becomes as tiny as a fly before it dies. twelve days afterwards small flies come out of the ball, and then the ball looks like a small bee-hive. i have seen a small living worm come out of the neck of the caterpillar (this i consider the rarest), but it did not live long, and ate nothing. the mother died immediately after the little one had come out.' it is perhaps not unnecessary to add that this observation, which is correct as to facts, refers to the habits of certain larvæ of wasps which live as parasites in caterpillars. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the prison governor told me afterwards that the king laughed when he had told his majesty my answer about the clavicordium, and had said, "yes, yes."' on september , m. johan adolf, my father confessor, was promoted; he became dean of the church of our lady. he bade me a very touching farewell, having administered the duties of his office to me for nearly six years, and been my consolation. god knows how unwillingly i parted with him. at the beginning of this year h. peder collerus was my father confessor; he was at the time palace-preacher. he also visited me with his consolatory discourse every six weeks. he is a learned man, but not like hornemann. on april , an old sickly dog was sent to me in the queen's name. i fancy the ladies of the court sent it, to be quit of the trouble. a marten had bit its jaw in two, so that the tongue hung out on one side. all the teeth were gone, and a thin film covered one eye. it heard but little, and limped on one side. the worst, however, was, that one could easily see that it tried to exhibit its affection beyond its power. they told me that her majesty the queen had been very fond of the dog. it was a small 'king charles;' its name was 'cavaillier.' the queen expressed her opinion that it would not long trouble me. i hoped so also.[e b] [e b] this poem still exists, and is printed in the second volume of hofman's work on danish noblemen. it is intended to convey an account of her own and her husband's fate. on august of this year i finished the work i had undertaken, and since my prefatory remarks treated of celebrated women of every kind, both of valiant rulers and sensible sovereigns, of true, chaste, god-fearing, virtuous, unhappy, learned, and steadfast women, it seemed to me that all of these could not be reckoned as heroines; so i took some of them out and divided them into three parts, under the title, 'the heroines' praise.' the first part is to the honour of valiant heroines. the second part speaks of true and chaste heroines. the third part of steadfast heroines. each part has its appendix. i hope to god that this my prison work may come into your hands, my dearest children. hereafter i intend, so god will, to collect the others: namely, the sensible, learned, god-fearing, and virtuous women; exhibiting each to view in the circumstances of her life.[e ] [e ] it has been stated already that a copy of the first part of this work is still preserved. amongst the heroines here treated of are modern historical personages, as queen margaret of denmark, thyre danobod who built the dannevirke, elizabeth of england, and isabella of castilia, besides mythical and classic characters, as penthesilea, queen of the amazons, marpesia, tomyris, zenobia, artemisia, victorina, etc. there existed not a few works of this kind--we need only mention boccacio's 'donne illustri,' in which many of these last personages also occur. i will mention from her own statement somewhat of jonatha, who now attended on me. i will pass over the long story of how she left her mother; the fact is, that against her mother's will she married a danish merchant, named jens pedersen holme. but her life and doings (according to her own statement) are so strange, that it may be worth while to record somewhat of them. after they were married, she says, it vexed her, and was always in her mind that she had made her mother angry, and had done very wrong. her mother had sent her also a hard letter, which distressed her much; and she behaved refractorily towards her husband, and in many ways like a spoilt unreasonable child, sometimes even like one who had lost her reason and was desperate. it seems also that her husband treated her as if her mind was affected, for he had her looked after like a child, and treated her as such. she told him once that she was intending to drown herself in the peblingesö,[e ] and at another time that she would strike him dead. the husband feared neither of these threats; still he had her watched when she went out, to see which way she took. once she had firmly resolved to drown herself in the peblingesö, for this place pleased her; she was even on her way there, but was brought back. she struck her husband, too, once after her fashion. he had come home one day half intoxicated, and had laid down on a bed, so that his legs rested on the floor. she says she intended at the time to strike him dead; she took a stick and tried to see if he were asleep, talking loudly to herself and scolding, and touching him softly on the shinbone with the stick. he behaved as if he were asleep. then she struck him a little harder. upon this he seized the stick and took it away from her, and asked what she had in her mind. she answered, 'to kill you.' 'he was grieved at my madness,' she said, 'and threw himself on his knees, praying god to govern me with his good spirit and give me reason.' the worst is that it once came into her mind not to sleep with her husband, and she laid down on a bench in the room. for a long time he gave her fair words, but these availed nothing. at last he said, 'undress yourself and come and lie down, or i shall come to you.' she paid no attention to this; so he got up, undressed her completely, slapped her with his hand, and threw her into bed. she protested that for some days she was too bruised to sit; this proved availing, and she behaved in future more reasonably. [e ] the peblingesö is one of three lakes which surround copenhagen on the land-side, in a semicircle. little at peace as she was with her husband when she had him with her, she was greatly grieved when he left her to go to the west indies. he sent by return vessels all sorts of goods to sell, and she thus maintained herself comfortably. it happened at last that the man died in the west indies, and a person who brought her the news stated that he had been poisoned by the governor of the place named ----, at an entertainment, and this because he was on the point of returning home, and the governor was afraid that holme might mention his evil conduct. these tidings unsettled her mind so, that she ran at night, in her mere night-dress, along the street, and squabbled with the watchmen. she went to the admiral at the holm, and demanded justice upon the absent culprit, and accused him, though she could prove nothing. thus matters went on for a time, until at last she gained repose, and god ordained it that she came to me. my intercourse with her is as with a frail glass vessel, for she is weak in many respects. she often doubts of her salvation, and enumerates all her sins. she laments especially having so deeply offended her mother, and thus having drawn down a curse upon her. when this fear comes upon her, i console her with god's word, and enter fully into the matter, showing her, from holy scripture, on what a repentant sinner must rely for the mercy of god. occasionally she is troubled as to the interpretation of holy scripture, as all passages do not seem to her to agree, but to contradict each other. in this i help her so far as my understanding goes, so that sometimes she heartily thanks god that she is come to me, where she finds rest and consolation. after she had been with me for a year or two, she learned that the governor, whom she suspected, had come to copenhagen. she said to me, 'i hear the rogue is come here; i request my dismissal.' i asked her why. 'because,' she replied, 'i will kill him.' i could scarcely keep from laughing; but i said, 'jesus forbid! if you have any such design, i shall not let you go.' and as she is a person whose like i have never known before--for she could chide with hard words, and yet at the same time she was modest and well-behaved--i tried to make her tell me and show me how she designed to take the governor's life. (she is a small woman, delicately formed.) then she acted as if her enemy were seated on a stool, and she had a large knife under her apron. when he said to her, 'woman, what do you want?' she would plunge the knife into him, and exclaim, 'rogue, thou hast deserved this.' she would not move from the place, she would gladly die, if she could only take his life. i said, 'still it is such a disgrace to die by the hand of the executioner.' 'oh, no!' she replied, 'it is not a disgrace to die for an honourable deed;' and she had an idea that any one thus dying by the hand of the executioner passed away in a more christian manner than such as died on a bed of sickness; and that it was no sin to kill a man who, like a rogue, had murdered another. i asked her if she did not think that he sinned who killed another. 'no,' she replied, 'not when he has brought it upon himself.' i said, 'no one may be his own judge, either by the law of god or man; and what does the fifth commandment teach us?'[e ] she answered as before, that she would gladly die if she could only take the rogue's life. (i must add that she said she could not do it on my account, for i would not let her out.) she made a sin of that which is no sin, and that which is sin she will not regard as such. she says it is a sin to kill a dog, a cat, or a bird; the innocent animals do no harm; in fact, it is a still greater sin to let the poor beasts hunger. i asked her once whether it was a sin to eat meat. 'no,' she answered; 'it is only a sin to him who has killed the animal.' she protested that if she were obliged to marry, and had to choose between a butcher and an executioner, she would prefer the latter. she told me of various quarrels she had had with those who had either killed animals or allowed them to hunger. [e ] the lutheran church has retained the division of the commandments used in the roman church; and the commandment against murder is therefore here described as the fifth, whilst in the english catechism it is the sixth. one story i will not leave unmentioned, as it is very pretty. she sold, she said, one day some pigs to a butcher. when the butcher's boy was about to bind the pigs' feet and carry them off hanging from a pole, she was sorry for the poor pigs, and said, 'what, will you take their life? no, i will not suffer that!' and she threw him back his money. i asked her if she did not know that pigs were killed, and for what reason she thought the butcher had bought them. 'yes,' she replied, 'i knew that well. had he let them go on their own legs, i should have cared nothing about it; but to bind the poor beasts in this way, and to hear them cry, i could not endure that.' it would take too long to enumerate all the extravagant whims which she related of herself. but with all this she is not foolish, and i well believe she is true to any one she loves. she served me very well, and with great care. the above-mentioned governor[e ] was killed by some prisoners on board the vessel, when he was returning to the west indies. by a strange chance the vessel with the murderers came to copenhagen. (they were sentenced to death for their crime.) jonatha declared that the governor had had only too good a death, and that it was a sin that any one should lose his life on account of it. i practise speaking the english language with jonatha. she has forgotten somewhat of her mother tongue, since she has not spoken it for many years; and as she always reads the english bible, and does not at once understand all the words, i help her; for i not only can perceive the sense from the preceding and following words, but also because some words resemble the french, though with another accent. and we often talk together about the interpretation of holy scripture. she calls herself a calvinist, but she does not hold the opinions of calvinists. i never dispute with her over her opinions. she goes to the lord's supper in the queen's church[e ]. once, when she came back to me from there, she said she had had a conversation upon religion with a woman, who had told her to her face that she was no calvinist. i asked her of what religion the woman imagined that she was. she replied: 'god knows that. i begged her to mind her own business, and said, that i was a christian; i thought of your grace's words (but i did not say them), that all those who believe on christ and live a christian life, are christians, whatever name they may give to their faith.' [e ] the name of this governor, which is not mentioned by leonora, was jörgen iversen, the first danish governor of st. thomas. in he returned to the colony from copenhagen on board a vessel which was to bring some prisoners over to st. thomas. very soon after their departure, some of the prisoners and of the crew raised a mutiny, killed the captain and some of the passengers, amongst them the ex-governor iversen. but one of the prisoners who had not been in the plot afterwards got the mastery of the vessel, and returned to copenhagen. the vessel struck on a rock, near the swedish coast, but the crew were saved and sent home to copenhagen by the swedish government, and the murderers were then executed. [e ] the queen's church was a room in the castle where service was held according to the calvinist rite. in this year i saw the queen dowager fall from the chair in which she was drawn up to the royal apartment. the chair ran down the pulleys too quickly, so that she fell on her face and knocked her knee. during this year her weakness daily increased, but she thought herself stronger than she was. she appeared at table always much dressed, and between the meals she remained in her apartments. i kept myself patient, and wrote the following:-- _contemplation on memory and courage, recorded to the honour of god by the suffering christian woman in the sixty-third year of her life, and the almost completed twenty-first year of her captivity._ the vanished hours can ne'er come back again, still may the old their youthful joys retain; the past may yet within our memory live, and courage vigour to the old may give. yet why should i thus sport with memory's truth, and harrow up the fairer soil of youth? no fruit it brings, fallow and bare it lies, and the dry furrow only pain supplies! in my first youth, in honourable days upon such things small question did i raise. then years advanced with trouble in their train, and spite of show my life was fraught with pain. the holy marriage bond--my rank and fame, increased my foes and made my ill their aim. go! honour, riches, vanish from my mind! ye all forsook me and left nought behind. 'twas ye have brought me here thro' years to lie; thus can man's envy human joy deny! my god alone, he ne'er forsook me here, my cross he lightened, and was ever near; and when my heart was yielding to despair, he spoke of peace and whispered he was there. he gave me power and ever near me stood, and all could see how truly god was good. what courage can achieve i next will heed; he who is blessed with it, is blest indeed. to the tired frame fresh power can courage give, raising the weary mind anew to live; i mean that courage reason may instil not the foolhardiness that leads to ill. far oftener is it that the youth will lie helpless, when fortune's favours from him fly, than that the old man should inactive stay, who knows full well how fortune loves to play. fresh courage seizes him; from such a shield rebound the arms malicious foes may wield. courage imparts repose, and trifles here, beneath its influence, as nought appear; but a vain loan, which we can only hold until the lender comes, and life is told. courage pervades the frame and vigour gives, and a fresh energy each part receives; with appetite and health and cheerful mind, and calm repose in hours of sleep we find, so that no visions in ill dreams appear, and spectre forms filling the heart with fear. courage gives honied sweetness to our food and prison fare, and makes e'en death seem good. 'tis well! my mind is fresh, my limbs are sound, and no misfortune weighs me to the ground. reason and judgment come from god alone, and the five senses unimpaired i own. the mighty god in me his power displays, therefore join with me in a voice of praise and laud his name: for thou it is, oh god, who in my fear and anguish nigh me stood. almighty one, my thanks be ever thine! let me ne'er waver nor my trust resign. take not the courage which my hope supplies, till my soul enters into paradise. written on february , , that is the thirty-sixth anniversary since the illustrious king christian the fourth bade good-night to this world, and i to the prosperity of my life. i have now reached the sixty-third year of my age, and the twentieth year, sixth month, and fifteenth day of my imprisonment. i have therefore spent the third part of my life in captivity. god be praised that so much time is past. i hope the remaining days may not be many. anno , january , i amused myself with making some verses in which truth was veiled under the cloak of jest, entitled: 'a dog, named cavaillier, relates his fate.' the rhymes, i suppose, will come into your hands, my dearest children.[e ] [e ] this poem still exists, and is printed in the second volume of hofman's work on danish noblemen. it is intended to convey an account of her own and her husband's fate. on february , the queen dowager sophia amalia died. she did not think that death would overtake her so quickly; but when the doctor warned her that her death would not be long delayed, she requested to speak with her son. but death would not wait for the arrival of his majesty, so that the queen dowager might say a word to him. she was still alive; she was sitting on a chair, but she was speechless, and soon afterwards, in the same position, she gave up her spirit. after the death of this queen i was much on the lips of the people. some thought that i should obtain my liberty; others believed that i should probably be brought from the tower to some other place, but should not be set free. jonatha, who had learned from ole the tower-warder, some days before the death of the queen, that prayers were being offered up in the church for the queen (it had, however, been going on for six weeks, that this prayer had been read from the pulpit), was, equally with ole the tower-warder, quite depressed. ole, who had consoled himself and her hitherto with the tidings from the queen's lacqueys, that the queen went to table and was otherwise well, though she occasionally suffered from a cough, now thought that there was danger, that death might result, and that i, if the queen died, might perhaps leave the prison. they did their best to conceal their sorrow, but without success. they occasionally shed secretly a few tears. i behaved as if i did not remark it, and as no one said anything to me about it, i gave no opportunity for speaking on the subject. a long time previously i had said to jonatha (as i had done before to the other women) that i did not think i should die in the tower. she remembered this and mentioned it. i said: 'all is in god's hand. he knows best what is needful for me, both as regards soul and body; to him i commend myself.' thus jonatha and ole lived on between hope and fear. on march , the reigning queen kept her easter. jonatha came quite delighted from her majesty's church, saying that a noble personage had told her that i need not think of getting out of the prison, although the queen was dead; she knew better and she insisted upon it. however often i asked as to who the personage was, she would not tell me her name. i laughed at her, and said, 'whoever the personage may be, she knows just as much about it as you and i do.' jonatha adhered to her opinion that the person knew it well. 'what do you mean?' i said; 'the king himself does not know. how should others know?' 'not the king! not the king!' she said quite softly. 'no, not the king!' i answered. 'he does not know till god puts it into his heart, and as good as says to him, "now thou shalt let the prisoner free!"' she came somewhat more to herself, but said nothing. and as she and ole heard no more rumours concerning me, they were quite comforted. on march , the funeral of the queen dowager took place, and her body was conveyed to roskild. on april , i supplicated the king's majesty in the following manner. i possessed a portrait engraving of the illustrious king christian the fourth, rather small and oval in form. this i illuminated with colours, and had a carved frame made for it, which i gilded myself. on the piece at the back i wrote the following words:-- my grandson, and great namesake, equal to me in power and state; vouchsafe my child a hearing, and be like me in mercy great! besides this, i wrote to his excellency gyldenlöve, requesting him humbly to present the supplique to the king's majesty, and to interest himself on my behalf, and assist me to gain my liberty. his excellency was somewhat inconvenienced at the time by his old weakness, so that he could not himself speak for me; but he begged a good friend to present the engraving with all due respect, and this was done on april .[e ] [e ] this picture is still preserved at the castle of rosenbourg, in copenhagen. of all this jonatha knew nothing. peder jensen tötzlöff was my messenger. he has been a comfort to me in my imprisonment, and has rendered me various services, so that i am greatly bound to him. and i beg you, my dearest children, to requite him in all possible ways for the services he has rendered me. on may , it became generally talked of that i should assuredly be set at liberty, and some asked the tower-warder whether i had come out the evening before, and at what time; so that ole began to fear, and could not bear himself as bravely as he tried to do. he said to me in a sad tone: 'my good lady! you will certainly be set at liberty. there are some who think you are already free.' i said, 'god will bring it to pass.' 'yes,' said he, 'but how will it fare with me then?' i answered, 'you will remain tower-warder, as you now are.' 'yes,' said he, 'but with what pleasure?' and he turned, unable to restrain his tears, and went away. jonatha concluded that my deliverance was drawing near, and endeavoured to conceal her sorrow. she said, 'ole is greatly cast down, but i am not.' (and the tears were standing in her eyes.) 'it is said for certain that the king is going away the day after to-morrow. if you are set at liberty, it will be this very day.' i said, 'god knows.' jonatha expressed her opinion that i was nevertheless full of hope. i said i had been hopeful ever since the first day of my imprisonment; that god would at last have mercy on me, and regard my innocence. i had prayed to god always for patience to await the time of his succour; and god had graciously bestowed it on me. if the moment of succour had now arrived, i should pray to god for grace to acknowledge rightly his great benefits. jonatha asked if i were not sure to be set free before the king started for norway; that it was said for certain that the king would set out early on the following morning. i said: 'there is no certainty as to future things. circumstances may occur to impede the king's journey, and it may also happen that my liberty may be prevented, even though at this hour it may perhaps be resolved upon. still i know that my hope will not be confounded. but you do not conceal your regret, and i cannot blame you for it. you have cause for regret, for with my freedom you lose your yearly income and your maintenance.[ ] remember how often i have told you not to throw away your money so carelessly on your son. you cannot know what may happen to you in your old age. if i die, you will be plunged into poverty; for as soon as you receive your money, you expend it on the apprenticeship of your son, who returns you no thanks for it.[ ] you have yourself told me of his bad disposition, and how wrongly he has answered you when you have tried to give him good advice. latterly he has not ventured to do so, since i read him a lecture, and threatened that i would help to send him to the house of correction. i fear he will be a bad son to you.' upon this she gave free vent to her tears, and begged that if i obtained my liberty i would not abandon her. this i promised, so far as lay in my power; for i could not know what my circumstances might be. [ ] in the margin is added: 'the woman who attended on me received eight rix-dollars monthly.' [ ] in the margin: 'she had him learn wood-carving.' in this way some days elapsed, and jonatha and ole knew not what the issue might be. on may , at six o'clock in the morning, ole knocked softly at my outer door. jonatha went to it. ole said softly, 'the king is already gone; he left at about four o'clock.' i know not if his hope was great; at any rate it did not last long. jonatha told me ole's news. i wished the king's majesty a prosperous journey (i knew already what order he had given), and it seemed to me from her countenance she was to some extent contented. at about eight o'clock tötzlöff came up to me and informed me that the lord chancellor count allefeldt had sent the prison governor a royal order that i was to be released from my imprisonment, and that i could leave when i pleased. (this order was signed by the king's majesty the day before his majesty started.) his excellency had accompanied the king. tötzlöff asked whether i wished him to lock the doors, as i was now free. i replied, 'so long as i remain within the doors of my prison, i am not free. i will moreover leave properly. lock the door and enquire what my sister's daughter, lady anna catharina lindenow, says, whether his excellency[e ] sent any message to her (as he promised) before he left. when tötzlöff was gone, i said to jonatha, 'now, in jesus' name, this very evening i shall leave. gather your things together, and pack them up, and i will do the same with mine; they shall remain here till i can have them fetched.' she was somewhat startled, but not cast down. she thanked god with me, and when the doors were unlocked at noon and i dined, she laughed at ole, who was greatly depressed. i told her that ole might well sigh, for that he would now have to eat his cabbage without bacon. [e ] the excellency alluded to is ulrik frederik gyldenlöve, a natural son of frederik iii. anna catharina lindenow was daughter of leonora's sister, elizabeth augusta, who married hans lindenow. tötzlöff brought me word from my sister's daughter that his excellency had sent to her to say that she was free to accompany me from the tower, if she chose. it was therefore settled that she was to come for me late the same evening. the prison governor was in a great hurry to get rid of me, and sent the tower-warder to me towards evening, to enquire whether i would not go. i sent word that it was still too light (there would probably be some curious people who had a desire to see me). through a good friend i made enquiry of her majesty the queen, whether i might be allowed the favour of offering my humble submission to her majesty (i could go into the queen's apartment through the secret passage, so that no one could see me). her majesty sent me word in reply that she might not speak with me. at about ten o'clock in the evening, the prison governor opened the door for my sister's daughter. (i had not seen him for two years.) he said, 'well, shall we part now?' i answered, 'yes, the time is now come.' then he gave me his hand, and said 'ade!' (adieu). i answered in the same manner, and my niece laughed heartily. soon after the prison governor had gone, i and my sister's daughter left the tower. her majesty the queen thought to see me as i came out, and was standing on her balcony, but it was rather dark; moreover i had a black veil over my face. the palace-square, as far as the bridge and further, was full of people, so that we could scarcely press through to the coach. the time of my imprisonment was twenty-one years, nine months, and eleven days. king frederick iii. ordered my imprisonment on august , a.d. ; king christian v. gave me my liberty on may , . god bless my most gracious king with all royal blessing, and give his majesty health and add many years to his life. this is finished in my prison. on may , at ten o'clock in the evening, i left my prison. to god be honour and praise. he graciously vouchsafed that i should recognise his divine benefits, and never forget to record them with gratitude. dear children! this is the greatest part of the events worth mentioning which occurred to me within the doors of my prison. i live now in the hope that it may please god and the king's majesty that i may myself show you this record. god in his mercy grant it. . written at husum[e ] june , where i am awaiting the return of the king's majesty from norway: [e ] this husum is a village just outside copenhagen, where leonora remained for some months before she went to maribo, as is proved by a letter from her dated husum, september , . of course the last paragraphs must have been added after she left her prison, and the passage 'this is finished in my prison' refers, at any rate, only to what precedes. a.d. . new year's day. to myself. men say that fortune is a rare and precious thing, and they would fain that power should homage to her bring. yet power herself is blind and ofttimes falleth low, rarely to rise again, wherefore may heaven know. to-day with humorous wiles she holds her sovereign sway, and could one only trust her, there might be goodly prey. yet is she like to fortune, changeful the course she flies, and both, oh earthly pilgrim, are but vain fraud and lies. the former is but frail, the other strives with care, and both alas! are subject to many a plot and snare. thou hast laid hold on fortune with an exultant mind, affixed perhaps to-morrow the fatal _mis_ we find; then does thy courage fail, this prefix saddens thee, wert thou thyself goliath or twice as brave as he. and thou who art so small--already grey with care-- thou know'st not whether evil this year thy lot may share. for fortune frolics ever, now under, now above, emerging here and there her varied powers to prove. all that is earthly comes and vanishes again, therefore i cling to that which will for aye remain. on march , , i wrote the following:-- true is the sentence we are sometimes told: a friend is worth far more than bags of gold. yet would i gladly ask, where do we find a friend so virtuous that he is well inclined to help another in his need and gloom without a thought of recompense to come? naught is there new in this, for selfish care to every child of eve has proved a snare. each generation hears the last complain, and each repeats the same sad tale again;-- that the oppressed by the wayside may lie, when naught is gained but god's approving eye. see, at bethesda's pool, how once there came the halting impotent, some help to claim among those thousands. each of pity free, had no hand for him in his misery to bring him to the angel-troubled stream. near his last breath did the poor sufferer seem, weary and penniless; when one alone who without money works his wise own will, turned where the helpless suppliant lay, and gently bade him rise and go his way. children of grief, rejoice, do not despair; this helper still is here and still will care what he in mercy wills. he soothes our pain, and he will help, asking for naught again. and in due time he will with gracious hand unloose thy prison bars and iron band. a.d. . the first day. to peder jensen tötzlöff. welcome, thou new year's day, altho' thou dost belong to those by brahe reckoned the evil days among, declaring that whatever may on this day begin can never prosper rightly, nor true success can win. now i will only ask if from to-day i strive the evil to avoid and henceforth good to live, will this not bring success? why should a purpose fail, altho' on this day made? why should it not prevail? oh brahe, i believe, when we aright begin, to-day or when it be, and god's good favour win, the issue must be well, and all that matters here is to commend our ways to our redeemer dear. begin with jesus christ this as all other days. pray that thy plans may meet with the almighty's praise, so may'st thou happy be, and naught that man can do can hinder thy designs, unless god wills it so! may a rich meed of blessing be on thy head bestow'd, and the lord jesus christ protect thee on thy road with arms of grace. such is my wish for thee, based on the love of god; sure, that he answers me. london: printed by spottiswoode and co., new-street square and parliament street * * * * * transcriber's note: the following corrections were made: p. : length the good-for-nothing[good-for nothing] fellow came down, and p. : there for ten days[ ] a letter from gul...[gl...] which he p. : patacoon[patacon] to those who were to restrain her, saying, p. : came to see her, no one in consequence[consequenec] consoled her, p. : when the lawyer had said that they[t hey] had now taken p. : lose in dan...[den...]. p. : it was necessary[neccessary] to descend the rampart into the p. : he persuaded[pursuaded] me to undertake the english journey, p. : with my attendant. i answered nothing else than[then] that p. : silk camisole[camisolle], in the foot of my stockings there were p. : castle[cstale], i had sent a good round present for those in p. : sad day, and i begged them, for jesus'[jesu's] sake, that p. : decree? i only beg for jesus'[jesu's] sake that what i say p. : might easily injure herself with one.'[[ ]] p. : synge'[[e ]]:-- p. : of listening to reason, for she at once exclaimed �ach[!] p. : karen, nils'[nil's] daughter, left me one evening in , p. : and the frenchman[frenchmen] was conveyed to the dark church, p. : through uldrich[udrich] christian gyldenlöve. gyldenlöve p. : her word moreover, and i so arranged it[at] six weeks p. : in the same year, , karen, nils'[nil's] daughter, left p. : silent, not if i were standing before the king's bailiff![?]['] p. : in the time of karen, nils'[nil's] daughter. chresten, who p. : in the same year karen, nils'[nil's] daughter, left me for p. : and a half after her marriage, and that suddenly, suspicion[suspipicion] p. : supper in the queen's church[[e ]]. once, when she came p. : [ ] in[in] the margin is added: �the sorrow manifested by many would far p. : [ ] in the margin is added: � . while karen, nils'[nil's] daughter, waited p. : nils'[nil's] daughter. when anything gave her satisfaction, she would take p. : to set copenhagen[copenagen] on fire in divers places, and also the p. : autobiography[autobiograpy] of leonora as �notre vieillard;' he was a faithful p. : which placed it at the disposal of hannibal sehested[schested] when he p. : [e ] �anno , soon after karen, nils'[nil's] daughter, came to me, p. : [e ] hannibal sehested[schested] was dead already in , as leonora p. : disposed to hannibal sehested[schested]. p. : entitled �martilogium (for martyrologium[matyrologium]) der heiligen' (strasburg little greta of denmark [illustration: the little mermaid] little greta of denmark by bernadine bailey _illustrated with photographs taken by the author_ grosset & dunlap _publishers_ new york _by arrangement with the a. flanagan company_ copyright, , by a. flanagan company printed in the united states of america _skarum molle, vemb, denmark_ _dear mrs. bailey:_ _thank you very much for the privilege of reading the manuscript of little greta of denmark. you have given a very faithful and realistic picture of my country._ _i am extremely happy to know that the children in america will have a chance to learn about denmark through such a book as yours. it will help to unite america and denmark in even stronger bonds of mutual understanding and friendship._ _sincerely yours, laurids villemoes_ _february , _ contents page chapter i a search begins chapter ii the search continues chapter iii a ride down the river chapter iv excitement in the forest chapter v the storks chapter vi dinner at vosborg castle chapter vii a day at the shore chapter viii a second visit to vosborg chapter ix chouse seeks the spotlight chapter x a day of happy surprises chapter xi the best surprise of all chapter xii chouse is homesick chapter xiii "goodbye" [illustration: little greta of denmark] little greta of denmark chapter i a search begins greta opened very sleepy eyes and stretched a long, long stretch. every single morning, before she got out of bed, she put her arms above her head and stretched as far as she could reach. greta wanted to grow tall, and she thought that maybe if she pulled her arms 'way up and her feet 'way down, she would grow tall more quickly. greta had been named after the most famous queen of denmark, and so she wanted to be tall and graceful, just as that queen had been. in about two minutes she jumped out of bed and started to dress. if she dressed very fast, she would have time to run out to the barn and see the kittens before breakfast. the kittens were only a week old, and greta loved them every bit as much as their own mother did. greta lived on a very large farm, and on the farm was a very large barn. in fact, the barn was about three times as large as the house greta lived in. the barn was built of red brick and it formed three sides of a square. the house itself made the other side of the square. it was also built of brick, but it was painted white. the horses were kept in one part of the barn, the cows in another part, and the pigs in still another part. then there was one large section where the hay was kept. when the kittens were born, greta made a nice soft bed of straw for them in the farthest corner of the barn, where the pigs and cows and horses could not possibly reach them. every morning she ran out to see the kittens to be sure that they were all right. she picked up each of the four soft, furry little animals and gave it a special hug before she went off to school. and when she came home from school she played with the kittens until it was time for dinner. of course chouse didn't like this one little bit. chouse was the wire-haired terrier, and he had always been greta's special pet. in the summer he played with her every minute of the day. but things were very different now, since the kittens had come. greta didn't pay much attention to chouse. the kittens took every minute of her time. just the same, chouse was waiting for her this morning outside her bedroom door. breakfast would be ready in five minutes, so greta ran quickly, with chouse barking at her heels. all out of breath, she reached the farthest corner of the barn, where the kittens had their bed of straw. then greta stopped very still. she rubbed her eyes. surely this was just a bad dream. the soft bed of straw was empty. no one would have taken her kittens, and none of the horses or cows or pigs could reach them. where in the world could they be? she began to look all over that end of the barn, poking about the straw that covered the floor. there wasn't a sign of the soft balls of fur. two large tears rolled down greta's face. just then she heard her brother hans calling. "greta, where are you? breakfast is all ready and we are waiting for you." there was such a big lump in the little girl's throat that she could hardly answer. finally she said, "here i am, hans, but my kittens are gone." "gone? what do you mean?" hans had found her by now and he put his arm around her shoulder. "don't cry, greta. we'll find them all right. come on to breakfast now." [illustration: greta's home] "i don't think i can eat anything, hans. i wish i didn't have to go to school today. i want to look for my kittens." "i'll help you look for them as soon as we get home from school. come on, now. mother and father are waiting." so greta wiped the tears from her face and went into the house with hans. she sat down at the table, but the lump just wouldn't go out of her throat, and she could hardly swallow. "remember, greta, there are only two more days of school, and then you will have all summer to play with the kittens." hans tried his best to cheer up his little sister. hans was fifteen years old, so of course he couldn't possibly be upset over a little thing like the loss of four small kittens. "maybe chouse has hidden your kittens, greta," suggested her father. "day before yesterday i saw him chasing the baby pigs. i punished him for that, but he didn't seem to learn, for yesterday he was chasing the baby chickens and he killed two of them. now you know we can't have that sort of thing going on. i think we had better send chouse away to some other farm." greta could hardly believe her ears. "you don't really mean that you would send _chouse_ away?" "yes, i mean just that, greta. we can't have a dog that is destructive. and if he has hurt your kittens, i don't think you would want to keep him, either." greta didn't say a word, but a choking feeling came into her throat. "finish your breakfast, greta, or you will be late for school," reminded her mother. greta went to school in the village, a mile away. when the weather was good, she rode her bicycle. but whether she walked or rode, chouse always went with her to the door of the school. and he was always waiting for her when school was out in the afternoon. greta didn't know her lessons very well that day. her mind was on chouse and the kittens. she couldn't bear the thought of losing her playmate, and yet, if he had hurt the kittens, maybe he ought to be sent away. suddenly she heard the teacher call her name. "greta, what was the union of kalmar?" greta's thoughts were far away from danish history, and it was hard to bring them back. everyone in the room was looking at her. slowly she rose to her feet. "the union of kalmar took place in , when norway and sweden came under the rule of denmark." gradually it was coming back to her. "and who was the ruler of denmark then?" asked the teacher. "you should know that, greta, better than anyone else in the class." greta's cheeks flushed a bright pink. how could she have forgotten? "queen margrete brought about the union of kalmar," explained greta. "that is why she was the greatest queen denmark has ever had." the other children smiled when greta said this. they all knew that her name was really margrete and that she had been named for this famous queen of long ago. [illustration: hans, greta, and the kittens] greta thought it was the longest day of her life, but school was finally over. chouse was waiting for her at the door when she came out of the building. he was such a faithful little playmate, how could she bear to send him away? well, maybe she wouldn't have to. she got on her bicycle and rode home just as fast as her legs could pedal. before she went into the house she looked again in the barn to see if the kittens had, in some wonderful way, come back to their bed of straw. but the bed was still empty. hans helped her search every part of the large barn--where the horses were kept, where the cows were kept, where the pigs were kept, and where the hay was kept. they took sticks and poked around in the hay. at last the children decided that the kittens simply were not in the barn at all. "let's go look in the chicken house, greta," suggested hans. so they looked all through the chicken house just as carefully as they had looked in the barn. but still there was no sign of the dear little kittens. "oh, hans, what am i going to do?" greta was crying now as if her heart would break. "do you think that chouse has taken them away some place?" "no, i don't think so, greta. but maybe one of the nisser has carried them off." "oh, hans, why would a nisse take my darling kittens?" "well, if you do something to make a nisse angry at you, he is bound to punish you in some way." the nisser are the little fairy folk, or brownies, that live in every home in denmark. if you are kind to them, they will do something nice for you; but if you hurt them or make them angry, they will punish you. when greta went to bed that night she pulled the warm feather cover tightly around her shoulders. she wasn't exactly afraid of the nisser, but she felt much better when she was all covered up. it was late in june, but the nights were quite cool. greta was glad that her mother had left the feather cover on her bed. it was a large, thick cover, but it was light and warm, for it was filled with duck feathers. soon greta fell asleep, and all night long she dreamed that a little nisse was sitting on the foot of her bed, saying, "greta, do you _really_ want your kittens back again?" chapter ii the search continues greta was up earlier than ever the next morning. maybe the nisser had decided not to punish her after all. maybe the mysterious little creatures would bring her kittens back. so greta dashed out to the barn to look. but the bed of straw was still empty. all day long there was sadness in her heart. the other children at school were very gay, for this was the last day of school. there was much singing and there were many games. there was more singing and games and laughter than there were lessons. but greta was not gay. she kept thinking of her lost kittens, and every now and then there was the awful fear that she might lose chouse, too. she hurried home from school even faster than the day before. chouse had to run, run, run to keep up with her bicycle. he barked and barked, as if he wanted to say, "greta, don't go so fast." but greta kept right on going. nothing could stop her. she rode right up to the barn door and ran inside. maybe the kittens had come back. but no, the bed of straw was empty. then greta remembered that she had not looked in the garden. maybe the kittens were out there playing, and the nisser hadn't taken them at all. joyously she ran across the courtyard, with chouse close at her heels. chouse thought his little mistress was going to play with him again, as she used to do, so he ran on ahead of her and hid under a peony bush. he lay there without making a sound, waiting for greta to find him. but greta paid no attention to the little wire-haired terrier. [illustration: the road to school] she walked slowly up and down the garden paths, looking carefully to the right and left. then she began to look under the rose bushes and the peony bushes and the big clumps of iris. after a while chouse came out from his hiding place and followed his young mistress all around the garden. it was no use trying to get her to play with him. it took a long time for greta to search the entire garden. every home in denmark has a flower garden, and this was one of the largest and prettiest for miles around. greta looked under every inch of the thick hedge that surrounded the garden. she looked all through the bed of marigolds and the bed of poppies and the bed of tulips. by this time chouse seemed to know that she was searching for something and he tried to help her. he began poking into all the flower beds himself. while they were in the midst of their search, old peter, the gardener, came along and stopped to watch them. "chouse, you naughty dog, get out of the flower beds!" old peter was angry. he had worked very hard all spring to make the garden beautiful. for many hours he had raked and hoed and watered the flower beds. and now, in ten minutes, this naughty chouse had undone all his work. [illustration: chouse] "oh, peter, i've lost my kittens and chouse is helping me look for them. please don't scold him." if peter complained about chouse, then her pet surely would be sent away, thought greta. "lost your kittens, greta? well, now, that's too bad. maybe i can help you find them." so old peter took his hoe and he started poking among the flower beds, too. he poked and he poked, but not a kitten did he find. greta got down on her hands and knees and looked and looked, but not a kitten did she find. and chouse poked and scratched and dug up the earth, but not a kitten did he find. the kittens just weren't there. every evening, between nine and ten o'clock, the family gathered in the living room for coffee. this was an old, old custom in denmark, where the people like coffee better than any other drink. greta was usually in bed by nine o'clock, but since there was no school the next day, her mother let her stay up with the rest of the family. instead of coffee, greta had a bowl of strawberries and cream. they were large, sweet berries, fresh from the strawberry patch on the farm. june was the strawberry month in denmark. they seemed to grow everywhere, and everyone ate them, three or four times a day. greta said hardly a word all evening. she was afraid to ask her father what he was going to do with chouse. maybe he would forget the whole matter if nothing were said about it. and she didn't mention the kittens, for that would bring up the subject of chouse. greta's mother noticed that the little girl was unusually quiet. "greta, how would you like to have anna come and visit you this summer?" her mother asked. "oh, mother, that would be wonderful." greta's face was one big smile. anna was her cousin, and she lived in copenhagen. four years ago she had spent the summer on the farm with greta and hans, and the three children had had fun together all summer long. [illustration: greta on her balcony] [illustration: hans and chouse] "you can write her in the morning and invite her to visit you." greta ran across the room to her mother and gave her a big hug. "oh, mother, you are _so_ sweet!" greta's mother smiled. she understood little girls. she knew that greta had been sad, and she wanted to make her happy. "i guess anna is quite a big girl by now, greta. let's see. she must be thirteen years old." "do you suppose she will act like a young lady? or will she want to play with me?" "her mother says she is quite a tomboy, so i'm sure she will want to play with you." "shall i ask her to bring her bicycle?" after her family and her dog and her kittens, greta liked her bicycle better than anything else in the world. she knew that she wouldn't want to leave _her_ bicycle at home if she went away for the summer. so surely anna would like to bring hers along. "she doesn't need to bring her bicycle, greta," said hans. "she can use mine." "yes, i think that will be best, greta," said her mother. [illustration: every home has its garden] "and i'll let her use my new boat, too," added the boy. "why, hans, you won't let _me_ use your boat." "but you are only ten, and anna is thirteen," argued hans. "even if i am only ten, i can paddle a boat." "time for bed now, greta," reminded her mother. she didn't want the day to end in a quarrel. "i'll get up early, mother, and write anna the very first thing." greta kissed her mother and father good night and started to bed. her own little room was just across the hall from the living room. the dining room, the living room, and three of the bedrooms were on the second floor of the house. on the first floor there was the kitchen, the maids' rooms, and the large office for greta's father. greta liked her little room, and she especially liked the balcony that was just outside her room. it was a small balcony looking out over the courtyard. it was fun to play on this balcony and to pretend that she was an actress bowing to a large crowd of people. just as she was ready to jump into bed, greta heard a scratching sound on her door. it was chouse, who felt very much neglected because greta had forgotten to pat him good night. this was the first time she had forgotten it, but chouse hadn't forgotten. so there he was. greta hugged him tight. "oh, chouse, i _can't_ let father send you away. whatever would i do without you? even if you did hide my kittens, i don't want to lose you. and you _will_ be a good dog, won't you?" chouse barked once, which meant "yes," and greta hugged him again, just for luck. chapter iii a ride down the river greta read her letter over carefully to see if all the words were spelled right. this is what she had written to anna: "_dear anna:_ _i would like to have you come and visit me this summer. i know we can have lots of fun. hans says you may use his bicycle and also his boat. that is a real honor, for he won't let me use his boat. he says i am too small._ _i had four darling little kittens, but now they are gone and i can't find them anywhere. do you suppose a nisse took them away?_ _chouse, my dog, has been very naughty and father says he may have to send him away. i hope he won't, because i like to play with chouse._ _come as soon as you can. mother and father and hans all send their love. so do i._ _your cousin greta._" she addressed the envelope, writing "copenhagen" in very large letters. just as she was going out of the door, her mother called to her. "when you are in the village, greta, please stop at the bakery and bring back some bread. i told marie to bake an extra loaf today, but she forgot it. and we have company coming tonight." "all right, mother. i won't forget." as greta rode into the village she thought of all the things that she and anna could do that summer. she didn't have to pay much attention to cars coming down the gravel road, for there were many more bicycles than automobiles. chouse ran right along beside her bicycle, but once in a while, when he saw a rabbit, he would suddenly dart away into the field. in a short time he would come tearing back and soon catch up with greta. the fields were especially beautiful right now. the hay was yellow and almost ready to cut. greta could see for several miles in every direction, for the land was flat and there were not many trees. in this part of denmark the trees do not grow very large because of the wind that blows all the time, summer and winter. this wind from the north sea never seems to stop blowing, and it blows so hard that the trees all lean to one side, away from the wind. there are scarcely any branches on the side that the wind comes from. the farmers are thankful for this wind from the sea, because it keeps their windmills turning. and from the windmills they get electric power to light their houses. greta mailed her letter and started back home. she didn't stop to visit with any of her friends in the village, because she was eager to get home and look for her kittens again. she hadn't given up the hope of finding them, though she really didn't know where to look. when more than halfway home, she suddenly remembered the loaf of bread. "come, chouse. we must go back to the village." chouse had run to the side of the road, looking for rabbits again. [illustration: a barber's sign] from away down the road, greta could see the sign of the bakery. shaped like a large pretzel, it hung 'way out in front of the store. every bakery had a sign like this, and many of the other shops had their own special signs. each barber shop had a large metal plate hanging out in front. the plate was cut in a deep curve on one side, where it was supposed to fit around a man's neck when he had his hair cut. of course barbers didn't use plates like this any more, but these signs were still used to mark a barber shop. [illustration: a bakery sign] when greta got home, hans was just getting ready to start out in his new boat. "want to come along, greta?" "sure i do. where are you going?" "oh, just down the river." the little river which ran in front of the house and wound around through the fields seemed like the nicest part of the farm to hans and greta. they fished in the river in the summer and skated on it in the winter. hans was proud of his new boat, which was a birthday present from his father. although he never let greta go out in it alone, he often asked her to go with him. "wait just a minute, hans. i must take this bread in the house and then i'll go with you." chouse was already in the boat when greta came out. the minute that hans started toward the boat, chouse always jumped in ahead of him. he never sat still in it long. he would dash back and forth from the front to the back, and every now and then he tried to jump out, when he saw a rabbit running across the field. [illustration: chouse liked the boat] "are you going to let me paddle, hans?" asked greta. "maybe i will, after while." greta had to be content with this sort of a promise. she was very happy just to be out in this beautiful new boat. by the time they had gone around the first bend of the river, greta began to think of her kittens again. "hans, do you think that a nisse really did take my kittens away?" "well, of course, i don't _know_, greta. but it looks like it." "i thought you didn't believe in the nisser, hans." "why, one _has_ to believe in the nisser. there is just no other way to explain some of the things that happen." "do you remember the time my doll disappeared and i couldn't find her for months and months?" "sure i do. and then all of a sudden she appeared again." "and you know, hans, how i had looked simply _everywhere_ for that doll." "yes. and then you found her under the bed in your room. that is why i say that you have to believe in the nisser. there is no other way to explain things like that." while they were talking, chouse had been running back and forth in the boat. suddenly he put his front feet up on the side and started barking. he barked and barked and wagged his tail. he was trying so hard to tell them something. "i guess chouse sees a rabbit. he wants to get out of the boat." "let's let him out, hans, and see what he does." hans quickly turned the boat and paddled over to the shore. chouse jumped out before the boat had even touched the bank. in fact, he almost fell into the river, he was in such a hurry to get out. then he ran across the field and was soon out of sight, swallowed up in the field of hay. "hans, please let me paddle now." "wait until we get around the next bend in the river." hans's boat was still so new that he liked to paddle it himself. "well, all right." greta was disappointed, but she had to be content. hans pushed the boat away from the shore and paddled down the middle of the river. the river was quite straight here. greta thought that the next bend was very far away indeed. and it seemed that hans was purposely going just as slowly as he could. oh, why did he want to tease her this way? greta hoped that her father would get her a boat when she was fifteen years old. but that was a long time off--five whole years. "i wonder where chouse has gone, hans." "oh, he's chasing rabbits all over the field." just then they heard chouse bark, but it was a very faint bark, as if he were far away. the children looked and looked, but they couldn't see him anywhere. he barked again, and this time it sounded a little bit louder, but he was still out of sight. as greta and hans went on down the river, the barking got louder and louder. "oh, hans, i see chouse," cried greta in great excitement. "where is he, greta?" "he's way down there in front of us, right down by the water near that group of trees. hurry, hans. let's see why he is barking." hans pushed the boat forward with strong, swift strokes. he knew exactly how to handle his boat, and in no time at all they had reached the group of trees that was growing by the edge of the water. "oh, hans, the kittens! there are the kittens!" greta stood right up in the boat. "hurry, hans. one of the kittens is in the river." "you'd better sit down, greta, or you'll be in the river yourself." with one strong stroke of his paddle, hans drove the boat against the grassy bank. both children jumped out and ran over to chouse and the kittens. one kitten was lying on the grass, but it looked more like a rat than a kitten. its soft fur was soaking wet. chouse was working hard to pull the other kitten out of the river. finally he got it up on the bank just as hans rushed up to help with the rescue. "oh, hans, the poor little things are almost drowned." greta picked up the two mewing kittens and held them close to her, trying to make them dry and warm and comfortable. "it certainly is lucky that we came along when we did," said hans. "or rather, it's lucky that chouse was hunting rabbits along here." [illustration: safe again] "but where are the other two kittens, hans?" hans didn't answer right away. he walked along the shore for a little distance, stopping now and then to look carefully in the water. at one place he got down on his knees and looked. then he walked back quickly to greta. "i'm afraid we shall never find them, greta. come on. let's go home so that we can get these kittens really dry and warm. we must give them some warm milk, for i know they are hungry." all the way home greta was very quiet. she took off her sweater and wrapped it around the kittens, holding them in her lap. suddenly she looked up at hans with a smile. "hans, this certainly proves that chouse didn't try to do away with the kittens, for he was the one who _rescued_ them. surely father won't send him away now." "i don't know, greta. i saw chouse chasing the chickens again yesterday." "did father see him?" asked greta with a worried look. hans was in a teasing mood and he didn't answer greta right away. finally he said, with an annoying smile on his face, "i think i'd better not tell you, greta." chapter iv excitement in the forest "oh, father, i'm afraid to go any higher." greta clung to her father's arm in terror. this was the first time she had climbed up the lookout tower in the forest, and even now she was only halfway up. it seemed such a fearfully long way to the top. "i just can't go on," the little girl pleaded. "why, greta, for months you've begged to climb up here." "but i didn't know it was so high." "you won't be scared if you don't look down at the ground. just hold tightly to my hand and you will be all right. remember, greta, a girl who is named after a queen must not be afraid of anything." "all right, father, i'll go on." [illustration: at the top of the tower] in no time at all they reached the very top of the tower, which stood in the middle of the forest. "why, father, i can see all of denmark from here." her father laughed. "not quite all of it, greta. but you can see all of our farm and a good many other farms, too. by the way, greta, just how large _is_ denmark?" "i thought school was over for the summer," laughed greta. "but i'll tell you anyway. denmark covers exactly , square miles. besides that, denmark owns greenland and the faroe islands. any more questions, teacher?" "not right away. i'll try to think up a really hard one next time." greta's father began looking closely at the forest. he was very proud of the rows and rows of sturdy evergreens that covered a hundred acres of his farm. each year a certain number of trees was cut. some of them were sold, and some of them were used for fuel. but always, every year, new trees were planted to take the place of those that were cut. greta was gazing off into the distance, but suddenly her attention was caught by chouse, who was running along the road that led to the tower. if only her father didn't see him, thought greta. not a word had been said about chouse for the last two days, and greta hoped that the whole matter had been forgotten. when chouse reached the foot of the tower he began barking loudly. he had never climbed the tower and he wasn't as brave as greta, for he didn't even try. he just kept on barking and barking and barking. greta called to him, but he paid no attention. he merely barked more loudly than before. of course her father heard him. "what's that dog up to now, greta? i guess you'll have to go down and see what he wants. are you afraid to go down the tower alone?" "no, of course i'm not afraid." greta was glad of the chance to show how brave she really was. but when she got down and patted him, chouse still kept on barking. something was the matter, but greta couldn't imagine what it was. soon her father came down, and greta could see that he was annoyed. chouse rushed up to him and barked, trying so hard to tell him something. the dog dashed down the road a short distance and then ran back, barking furiously all the time. "i guess we shall have to follow, greta." when chouse saw that they were following, he stopped barking and was quite content. once in a while he would run on ahead in a great hurry. then he would run back to greta and her father and bark again. "there must be something wrong in the forest," said greta's father. "i have never seen chouse so upset." "you were just up in the tower, father. if there had been a fire, you would surely have seen it." [illustration: some trees are cut each year] "maybe not, because i was watching the men cutting the trees, trying to decide how many we should cut this year. i hadn't looked over the rest of the forest yet." a forest fire is a dreadful thing in this part of the country, where the wind from the north sea blows all day long. it can blow a fire in front of it until all the trees are gone. that is why the forests are always watched so carefully. suddenly chouse darted off the main road into a narrow path. greta and her father followed right at his heels, for they knew that the dog was leading them somewhere. this was his only way of telling them something that he thought they should know. soon he turned off to still another path. never for a moment did he hesitate. chouse knew exactly where he was going. when they came to the very edge of the forest, chouse dashed around and jumped up and down in great excitement. at last they had reached the place to which he had been leading them. and no wonder that chouse was so excited, for right in front of them, just a few feet from the line of trees, there was a fire! "oh, father, will the whole forest burn down?" asked greta, as she watched the flames which crackled through the pile of twigs and underbrush. "no, greta. thanks to chouse, we got here in time. but if the wind should change suddenly, the whole forest could very easily burn down." "how did such a fire ever get started?" "i told old peter to clear out some of the twigs and underbrush," explained her father, "but i also told him that he must never go away when these piles were burning. he must stay with them every minute." "i wonder where he is now?" "i don't know. but he should be right here, watching this fire." "if the wind did change, how would he put out the fire?" "by throwing earth on it, greta." while they were talking, chouse was standing near by, wagging his tail and looking very proud of himself. [illustration: in the forest] "chouse, you are the best dog in the whole wide world," said the happy little girl. "first you rescued my kittens and now you have saved the whole forest from burning. we couldn't possibly send chouse away. could we, father?" her father didn't answer right away. finally he said, "by the way, greta, have you named the kittens yet?" "no, i haven't. i've been trying to think of some very special sort of names, but i just can't think of any." "maybe anna can help you find the right names," her father suggested. "of course she can. but i wonder when anna is coming? i haven't heard from her yet." "why don't you run home and see if you got a letter this morning? i must stay here and watch this fire until old peter comes." "all right, father." it didn't take greta long to get home. even chouse could hardly keep up with her. she hadn't been away from her kittens for this long a time since the day chouse had rescued them. you would never know now that they had been almost drowned. their fur was just as soft and fluffy as it had ever been. "oh, there you are, greta. i've been looking everywhere for you." her mother greeted her at the door of the house. "here is a letter for you from anna." greta read the letter eagerly. "_dear greta:_ _thank you for your nice invitation. i shall be very happy to come. can you meet me at the train at holstebro? i shall arrive next monday at half past two._ _lovingly yours, anna_" "another letter came this morning, greta, and i have a real surprise for you." [illustration: the letter from anna] "oh, mother, what is it?" greta's eyes were already dancing with happiness. "we are invited to vosborg for dinner next week." "you mean the beautiful castle up on the hill," asked greta, "the one that i have always wanted to visit?" "yes, dear, that very castle." "but i thought that mr. christianson didn't live there any more?" "he has been away for many years, but now he has come back to live in vosborg." "and you mean that _i_ can go, and hans, and anna, too?" "yes, greta." "oh, _mother_!" greta threw her arms around her mother's neck. "i must tell hans right away." and off she dashed, with chouse at her heels. chapter v the storks "greta, i didn't know that you had storks on your farm," said anna. "of course we do," said greta. "every farm has a nest of storks." hans and greta had been showing anna the garden and the river and all the animals on the farm. greta herself had almost forgotten about the storks, because she was so used to them. and anyway, they weren't animals you could play with, like the kittens and the dog. "they bring us good luck," explained hans. "every farmer puts up an old wheel, or something else that is round, so the storks can build their nest on it. sometimes he puts it on the roof of the barn and sometimes on the house." "don't you have storks at home, anna?" asked greta. "goodness, no! i don't think there's a stork in all copenhagen, except maybe in the zoo." anna couldn't take her eyes from the large round nest on the roof of the barn. "do they stay here all the year round?" she asked. "it's too cold for them here in the winter. when cold weather comes, they all fly south. father says that some of them go as far as africa. but early in the spring they always come back." "does the same family of storks come back every year?" asked anna. "we _think_ it's the same family," answered greta, "but we're never really sure, for you can't ever get very near the storks." while the children had been talking, one of the storks was standing on one leg on the edge of the nest. "that's the papa stork that you see now," explained hans. "he's away most of the day, gathering food, but every now and then he comes back to the nest to rest. he always stands on one leg, just like that, when he rests." [illustration: the storks] "the mama stork has to stay on the nest all the time until the eggs hatch," said greta. "sometimes she stands up for a little while, but she never flies away." "i wonder how many eggs there are." anna was more interested in the storks than in anything else on the farm. "only four this year," said hans. "i climbed up on the roof yesterday to find out. some years there are five, and sometimes only three." "my, but you _are_ brave, hans!" anna looked at hans in admiration. "that roof is terribly steep. i know _i'd_ be afraid to climb it." "but you are only a girl, anna," teased hans. "just the same, i can climb as well as a boy. i'll show you." and before hans could argue, anna ran over to the house and climbed up the tree to greta's balcony. "i'll take it all back, anna. you really _can_ climb." hans hadn't expected this cousin from the city to be such a tomboy. he would have to find some other way to tease her. "when will the baby storks hatch out, greta?" anna couldn't get her mind off this fascinating subject. "in another week or two, i expect." "if the nisser don't take the eggs first," said hans. "oh, hans, you don't _really_ think they would?" greta was upset at the very thought. "you know how the kittens disappeared, greta. the same thing might happen to the baby storks." hans told anna about the lost kittens and how only two of them were found. "greta and i decided that the nisser took them," he finished. "why, hans, how very silly!" said anna. "of course the nisser wouldn't do a thing like that. in fact, i don't believe there is such a thing as a nisse anyway." greta didn't know whether to be shocked or not. there were times when she herself had her doubts about the nisser, but right now she felt sure that they were the ones who had carried off the kittens. "the nisser don't play pranks all the time, anna. they do lots of nice things for us, too. do you see that castle on the hill over there, with the trees all around it?" greta pointed to vosborg castle, about a mile away. "let me tell you what the nisser did _there_ one winter. there was snow five feet deep and it lasted for more than a week. no one could get outdoors at all. the cows were in the barn, where they had plenty of food, but there were six new calves in a shed out in the field. everyone was afraid that they would starve to death, but no one could get out and feed them. when the snow finally melted and the men went out to see the calves, they found them fat and healthy! the nisser had taken care of them and fed them during the snowstorm." "so you see there really _are_ nisser," said hans. anna wasn't at all convinced, but she didn't know how to argue against proof like this. finally she asked, "when did this happen, hans?" [illustration: anna is a tomboy] "oh, a long time ago. a hundred years ago, i guess." "then no one can really _prove_ it," argued anna. "it's just a story that has been told over and over again, like a fairy tale." anna believed in the things she could _see_, not in the things that people imagined they saw. "we're going to this castle for dinner on wednesday evening," said hans. "then you can ask mr. christianson himself. he will certainly know whether or not this really happened." "we're going to a real castle for dinner?" asked anna. "that will be lots of fun. do you know how many rooms there are in the castle?" "at least fifty," answered hans. "greta and i have never been in vosborg, for mr. christianson has been living in england for a long time. but now he has come back here to live." [illustration: on the bridge over the river] while they were talking about the castle, greta's mother called to anna. "wouldn't you like to write your mother, anna, and tell her that you arrived safely?" "oh, yes, tante [aunt] agnes. and i'll tell her that we are going to a real castle for dinner." anna ran into the house in great excitement. "hans, i wonder why anna doesn't believe in the nisser," said greta. "_you_ believe in them, don't you?" "of course i do, greta." hans was quiet and thoughtful for a minute, and then a merry twinkle came into his eyes. "before anna goes back to copenhagen, _she_ will believe in the nisser, too." "what do you mean, hans?" greta knew that her brother had some kind of mischief in mind. "i mean just that. she will believe in the nisser just as strongly as you and i believe in them." "i don't see how you're going to convince her, hans." "_i'm_ not going to convince her, greta. the nisser themselves will do that." greta begged and begged, but hans would not explain. "just wait and you'll find out, greta." and hans started off toward his boat, whistling to chouse to come along. chapter vi dinner at vosborg castle "the carriage should be here any minute now." greta ran to the window again to look down the road. "the carriage!" said anna in surprise. "are we going to vosborg in a _carriage_, greta?" "yes. mr. christianson is sending his carriage for us. he doesn't like automobiles, so he still keeps the old coach that has belonged to the castle for a hundred years." "there it is now, greta," said hans, who was just as eager to visit the castle as greta and anna were. soon they were all on their way to vosborg. although it stood on a hill, you could hardly see the castle itself, because of the trees all around it. after a short ride they reached the castle's outer wall and drove through the wide entrance, with its high tower that formed an archway. there was a long stretch of level ground inside the wall, before one came to the stone bridge over the moat. the moat was a wide, deep ditch filled with water, which ran all the way around the castle. in the olden days it was an important protection, for enemies could not cross it and thus could not reach the castle buildings. inside the moat there was a rampart, or a high ridge of earth, which was also a protection to the castle. then there was still another wall before one finally reached the castle itself. "there has been a castle on this spot for hundreds of years," greta's mother told the children as they rode along in the old coach. "this building is only four hundred years old, so you see that it is rather new! the castle that stood here before was destroyed in ." [illustration: mr. christianson's coach] "mother, tell anna about the englishman who built the tower of vosborg castle," urged hans. "all right, hans," said his mother. "a long, long time ago, when the first castle was being built, the owner decided that he wanted a tower on his castle that would be finer than that of any other castle in denmark. he hunted the country over, but he couldn't find anyone who could build such a grand tower. finally he heard of a man in england who could do this. so he sent for this man and told him to build a tower on vosborg that would be the finest in the land. the englishman solemnly promised that he would do so. "it took him three full years to build the tower, for he was determined to make it the finest in all denmark. and it was. when it was done he went to the owner of vosborg and asked if he were satisfied. the owner was well pleased, and he paid the builder a large sum of money. long before this, however, he had decided that he would test the builder and the honesty of his work. so after the englishman had left the castle and was walking down the road, a servant from vosborg came running after him, shouting, 'the tower is leaning.' "this was to be the test of his work. if he turned around to look at the tower, the owner of the castle would know that the builder was not sure of his own work. if there were even the smallest doubt in his mind, he would be certain to look around at once. but the english builder was very sure that his work was well done. not once did he look back. not for a minute did he pause in his journey. but as he walked on, he said to the servant from vosborg, 'the tower does not lean. tell your master that i have done my work well; he did not spend his money in vain. he has the finest tower in all denmark. but also tell him that one day vosborg will be destroyed by a man in a blue coat.' "the servant told his master. fear and astonishment ran through the castle like a flame. who was the mysterious man in the blue coat who would one day destroy the castle? no one knew. no one could even guess. the owner of vosborg was well liked by all the people. surely no one would do him harm. the years went by and the castle remained unharmed. gradually everyone forgot about the prophecy of the english builder. the man in the blue coat was no longer feared. "then one year there was a dreadful storm on the ocean. never before had the people seen such an angry sea. the waves dashed and pounded against the shore as they had never done before. the water rose like a wall and spread over the land for many miles. no one had ever seen a storm like this one. the water pounded against the outer wall of vosborg. it crumbled and fell. within a few hours the ocean had rushed in and washed away the rampart around the castle. there was then just one wall left as a protection against the angry sea. it wasn't enough. on the second day of the storm the waves became even more fierce and violent. finally, that wall crumbled and the whole castle of vosborg was knocked down by the force of the waves. [illustration: the entrance to the inner courtyard] "thus the prophecy, told many years before, had at last come true. the english builder had spoken truly. vosborg was, as he had predicted, destroyed by a man in a blue coat--the ocean." "but i thought the ocean was several miles away," said anna in surprise. "it is now, anna, but in those days it was very near. every few hundred years the shore line changes, due to the rising or falling of the land. so vosborg is now a mile or more from the ocean." by this time they had reached the courtyard of the castle. the paving stones that covered the ground had long ago been worn to a smooth, polished roundness. on three sides of the courtyard there were low, white buildings. one of these contained the servants' quarters and the kitchens. another contained the huge library of the castle. the third was made up of the stables. on the fourth side of the courtyard stood the imposing, four-story building that made up the main part of the castle. in the center of the courtyard there was a lovely, round pool. "oh, greta, it's beautiful," said the delighted anna, as she looked all around her. dinner was served in the knights' hall, a long, stately room on the second floor. tall candles lighted the banquet table and threw flickering shadows in the far corners of the room and against the high ceiling. the walls were covered with brilliant paintings of the knights and ladies who had lived at vosborg in olden days. now and then, as the candlelight caught the gleam of a bright red waistcoat or the silken beauty of a lady's satin gown, greta turned suddenly to look at the portraits. once she thought that one of the great ladies of long ago was smiling at her. but when she looked again, the lovely face showed only the calm, quiet beauty of a painting. had she really smiled? greta could not be sure. after dinner mr. christianson showed them the room that king frederick had used when he visited vosborg castle many years ago. "this room used to be the chapel," explained mr. christianson, "but it had to be changed for a very amusing reason. the owner of the castle used to put his turkeys to roost in the chapel and even left them there on sunday. when the minister began to preach, all the turkeys babbled in answer. of course the whole church service was upset and the minister couldn't go on. he refused to preach at vosborg any more. when the king heard what had happened, he said that there would be no more chapel services at this castle. so the chapel was changed into a bedroom. many years later a tiny chapel was built outside the castle wall. it is a lovely, quiet place of worship. the inside walls are lined with moss, and the outer walls are covered with thatch. it is really a little temple in the woods." [illustration: the chapel in the woods] "could we see it, mr. christianson?" asked anna, as they were going back to the drawing-room. "i'm afraid it's too dark out there now. but i should be delighted to show it to you if you care to come again, during the daytime." "oh, i'd love to. thank you so--oh, what's that noise?" anna looked at greta, whose face had turned white. she, too, had heard a most unusual sound. "i didn't hear any noise," said mr. christianson. "it sounded like heavy wooden wheels," said greta, who looked quite scared. "it couldn't be that, greta," said hans. "no one has come into the courtyard." "but i heard them _inside_ the castle," insisted greta. "oh, of course. i had forgotten." then mr. christianson explained. "a long time ago, when this castle was first built, the entrance to the courtyard was in the center of this building, instead of at the side, as it is now. in fact, this drawing-room was built where the entrance used to be. up to the very day of his death, the old coachman never approved of this change. so every evening, about this time, he drives his coach and four over the old road and through the old entrance. he has to come right through this room and that is why you always hear him." the two girls looked at mr. christianson in wonder. "you mean his _ghost_ drives through here every evening?" asked greta. "yes, greta." "but i didn't think there were any _real_ ghosts," said anna. "i don't know, my dear. no one has ever _seen_ him, but you yourself heard the rumble of the wooden wheels of the coach just now." "i certainly heard _something_," admitted anna. "what else could it be?" asked hans, who was delighted to hear anna admit even this much. on the way home from vosborg, anna was very quiet. finally she just had to ask, "tante agnes, do _you_ think that was the old coach that we heard tonight?" her aunt smiled. "i don't know, anna. i think you had better go to vosborg again in the daytime. then you can find out for yourself whether or not it has any ghosts." chapter vii a day at the shore "why don't you have a windmill on your farm, uncle frederick?" asked anna. "every one of these farms has a big windmill." anna and her uncle and greta were driving through the country on their way to the shore. greta's father had to make a business trip to a small town on the coast, and he was taking the girls with him. chouse was comfortably curled up on the back seat. "we don't need a windmill, anna, because we have the river." "but how can the river take the place of a windmill?" asked anna. [illustration: the windmills provide electric power] "greta, haven't you shown anna the dam in the river?" asked her father. "this dam causes the water to fall from a great height. the force of the water, as it falls on a large machine, provides the power that is turned into electricity. these other farms get their electric power from the windmills. as the great arms are turned by the wind, they provide power that is changed, by the machinery, into electricity." anna had lived in copenhagen all her life, and everything about the country was new to her. she liked to watch the men cutting the hay and piling it up on the large wagons. on some of the farms the women were also working in the fields. this was the busiest time of year on the farm, and everyone had to help. children hoed the long rows of cabbages and potatoes and beets. every time they drove through a village, greta and anna played a game to see who could be first to find the oldest house. each house had a name painted in large letters over the door or near it. this wasn't the name of the family; it was the name of the house itself. the year when the house was built was usually there, too. so each girl tried to be the first one to find the oldest house. greta usually found it before anna, because anna saw so many other things that interested her. [illustration: mirrors on the windows] "what are those funny little mirrors in front of the windows, greta?" anna pointed to the two small projecting mirrors fastened by an iron frame to the window of a small brick house. "oh, the people put those there so that they can sit beside the window and see who is coming down the street," explained greta. "there is one mirror facing up the street and one facing down the street. with these mirrors they can sit in the house and still see everything that goes on." "but they have so many plants and flowers in the windows that i don't see how they can see anything outdoors." every home, whether in a village or on a farm, had a large flower garden. and in every home, large or small, there were many plants in the windows, where they could get the sunshine. all denmark looked like a large garden, for there were roses, poppies, peonies, iris, pansies, or other brilliant flowers wherever one looked. [illustration: along the shore of the north sea] "look, greta, at the two little patches of green grass in the middle of that field of hay. why in the world did the farmer skip those spots?" "i'll tell you why, anna," said her uncle. "you will notice that those little green patches are always on small hills. they are the graves of vikings." "but i thought that the vikings lived more than a thousand years ago," interrupted anna. "yes, they did. they were a strong, bold race who lived in what is now denmark, norway, and sweden. they roamed the sea and conquered many other lands. some of them even went to america, long before the time of columbus. it is against the law for anyone to disturb a viking grave. you will see many of these little mounds on the farms in this part of the country. the farmers never plant anything on these graves. they carefully plow all around them." "we must be quite near the ocean now, for there's a lighthouse," said greta. "it would be fun to climb to the top of it. may we, father?" "yes, if you want to." it didn't take greta and anna long to climb the narrow, winding stairs. from the top of the lighthouse they could see for many miles over the ocean and over the land. heavy waves beat upon the beach, and even as they looked, the sand hills kept shifting, for the wind from the north sea was very strong. not far away was the harbor, and in its quiet waters some of the fishermen had fastened their sailboats. near by they had hung up their nets to dry. each net was carefully spread over a rope that was fastened to stakes in the ground. other fishing boats, with sails full spread, were far out at sea. [illustration: there are many boats in the harbor] "anna, do you see those people way down the beach? i wonder what they are looking for." greta pointed to two women who were evidently searching for something along the shore. "i haven't any idea. shall we go help them with their search? look, greta. your father is motioning to us to come down. i think chouse wants us, too." greta's father had to go on to the next village, but he told the girls that they could stay here until he came back. "chouse will take good care of you while i'm gone," he said, "that is, if he doesn't run off and get into some kind of mischief himself." greta and anna were curious about the women they had seen down the beach, so they decided to join them. with chouse jumping and barking at their heels, they ran along the water's edge. the tide was coming in, and every now and then a large wave almost caught them. as they went farther from the harbor, they found more and more sand dunes: gently rolling hills with long blades of grass poking up here and there through the sand. along this part of the beach there were many summer cottages, with fences around them to keep the sand from covering them completely. [illustration: almost every farm has its windmill] "have you lost something?" asked anna as they came near the two women. "we'll be glad to help you look for it." "no, we haven't lost anything," answered one of the women. "we thought we might find some amber along the beach." "amber?" asked greta in surprise. "i didn't know it was found here." "oh, certainly. we have often found some very fine pieces of amber on this very beach." "is amber a stone?" asked greta. "of course i know what it looks like, but what is it made of?" "it has taken thousands of years to form the lovely clear yellow material that we call amber," explained the second woman. "it was once the sticky, yellowish fluid given off by the pine trees. as time went by, those trees were buried under the ground or under the water. the sticky fluid gradually became hard as stone. it is those stone-like pieces that we sometimes dig up along the beach of the north sea." [illustration: chouse likes to play] "they are very valuable, aren't they?" asked anna. "yes, some of them are. those that are perfectly clear and have no flaws always bring a good price." "we'll help you look," said greta. the two girls began to search for the little yellow lumps that lay hidden in the sand. at first it was fun, but after a while they got tired. they were just about to quit, when one of the women called out happily, "here is a beautiful, large piece. it must weigh a pound." the others rushed up to look at it. amber is very light, so it took a large piece indeed to weigh a pound. after this they began searching with fresh interest. suddenly greta found what she thought was a beautiful piece of amber. but when she showed it to the two women they said it was much too heavy for amber. greta got down on her knees and began poking among the stones and shells. every now and then she dug into the sand and poked and looked and dug some more. while the girls were busy in this absorbing work, chouse ran up and down the beach. no one paid any attention to him. once in a while he ran up to greta to see if she would play with him. but she just pushed him away. "run away, chouse. i'm too busy to play now." [illustration: fish nets spread out to dry] when chouse got tired of playing by himself, he lay down on the sand near greta, watching her every minute. suddenly he noticed something wriggling along the sand not far away. he sat up and looked. soon the wriggling stopped. but chouse kept on watching this strange object. then he got up and walked nearer to it, walking ever so quietly and carefully. he simply _must_ see what this strange creature was. greta wasn't paying any attention to chouse or to the strange object near by. she was too busy looking for amber. chouse stood without moving, watching the now motionless creature. "oh, greta, i think i've found a real piece of amber!" anna ran across the beach in great excitement. when she was ten feet from greta she stopped in terror. "greta!" she screamed. "look out! run!" greta stood up and looked around, too startled to run. what had happened? then she saw. not two feet away lay a green snake, coiled and ready to strike. greta knew at once that this was the most poisonous snake in all denmark. her father had often warned her about it. but she simply couldn't run. she was so frightened that she had lost the power to move. greta knew that in less than a minute the snake would strike her. she knew that she must get away. but she couldn't. at that very instant chouse sprang forward. he had been watching this crawling green creature for many minutes. now was the time for him to act. and he did act. he seized the snake by the neck and quickly carried it off to a high sand dune. in less than two minutes the snake was dead. greta sank down on the sand and anna rushed up to her. "oh, greta, are you all right?" "yes, anna, i'm all right. but i was so frightened that i couldn't move." chouse came back to greta and she took him in her lap. "after this, chouse, i think you will have to go with us wherever we go. i am quite sure that father won't send you away." chapter viii a second visit to vosborg "are you coming with us, hans?" "where are you going, greta?" "oh, didn't you know? mr. christianson has invited anna and me to visit vosborg. he wants to show us the whole castle. i'm sure he would be glad to have you come, too." "thank you, greta, but i think i'll go fishing today. old peter says they are biting. come along, chouse." hans started toward the river. chouse had run ahead and was already waiting in the boat. "shall we go on our bicycles, greta?" asked anna, who never walked any place if she could take her bicycle. "no, let's walk. it's only a mile; besides, it's way too steep a hill to climb on a bicycle." the girls walked happily down the road, never once looking back. if they had looked back, they would have seen something very strange. hans had started down the river, but he suddenly stopped the boat when he reached the first bend. he paddled over near the shore and drew the boat up on the bank. then he cautiously hid behind a large tree trunk. the strange thing was that he didn't take his fishing pole out of the boat. he stood behind the tree for quite a little while, watching greta and anna as they hurried along to vosborg. when the girls were out of sight, hans called to the dog. "come, chouse. it's time for us to go now." they got into the boat again and hans paddled slowly and quietly. but greta and anna had reached the turn in the road, so they could not possibly see which way hans was going. in the field outside the castle wall, two storks were walking around on their long, slender legs. the girls stopped to watch them. [illustration: mr. christianson] "oh, greta, i wish we could get up close to them." anna ran forward. she thought the storks couldn't possibly see her. but when she was still twenty feet away they lifted their large wings and rose in the air. soon they had gone over the tops of the trees and high into the sky. anna watched them until they were out of sight. "what would you like to see first?" asked mr. christianson, when he greeted his two young visitors at the door. both girls spoke at the same time. "the little chapel," said anna. "the library," said greta. they visited the chapel first, and then came back to the castle by way of a lovely, shaded path which ran by the side of the moat. "hans christian andersen used to walk along here, when he visited vosborg," said mr. christianson. "he thought up many of his fairy tales as he strolled along under these trees. in the library there is a volume of his stories that i want to show you. andersen gave this book to my grandfather, and in the front he has written a little verse about vosborg." "do you suppose we might climb up in the tower?" asked anna, after they had gone all through the garden and had come back into the inner courtyard. anna was very fond of climbing. "of course you may." mr. christianson took them up narrow stairs that kept going up and up and up. finally they reached the top. from here they could see the ocean in the distance. "this is almost as high as the tower in our forest," said greta. "in olden times this tower was very useful," explained mr. christianson. "from here one could see an enemy when he was still miles away." "denmark doesn't have any enemies now, does it?" asked anna. "no, denmark is one of the most peaceful countries in the world. it is almost eighty years since we have been at war with any other nation." after a while they went down to the library. mr. christianson led the girls past rows and rows of books, placed on shelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. when they came to the farthest corner of the room he stopped and reached for the book of andersen's fairy tales without even looking. "you see, i know just where it is." then a worried look came on his face. "why, i can't understand this," he said. "this book was here last night, for i showed it to some friends. and now it is gone." "maybe someone has borrowed it," suggested greta. "that is impossible, for i keep the library locked, and none of the servants has the key." "maybe you put it back in the wrong place," suggested anna. "i'm afraid that is impossible, too. you see i keep this book in a very special place because i prize it more than any other book that i own. i am always careful to put it back in this same spot." [illustration: the courtyard of vosborg] "we'll help you look for it," offered greta. so the three began searching one shelf of books after another. "i suppose hans would say that one of the nisser had taken it," said anna jokingly, when they had gone about halfway through the shelves of books. "i wouldn't be at all surprised if one _had_ taken it," answered greta quite seriously. they kept on looking for almost an hour. by this time mr. christianson was really worried. he finally called in all the servants and asked if any of them had been in the library that day. none of them had. the disappearance of the book had become a real mystery. "i should hate to lose this book more than any other book in the library." "let's look once more on the shelf where it's supposed to be," said anna. mr. christianson laughed. "but we looked there very carefully when we first came in." anna wanted to look there again, so she ran down the long room to the special shelf. "here it is!" she shouted. "right here on the shelf where it is always kept." the others rushed up at once. "well, this _is_ strange," said mr. christianson. "it wasn't here an hour ago, and no one has been in this part of the room since then." "except maybe a nisse," said greta. in the front of the book hans christian andersen had written a beautiful poem about vosborg. it was no wonder that mr. christianson treasured this book, for andersen is the most famous writer of all denmark. children all over the world love his fairy tales. "it's getting late, greta, and i think we should--" began anna and then stopped. a long, low moan cut through the stillness of the room. it seemed to come from quite near. "what--what was that?" asked greta. "oh, i suppose that was lady margaret," explained mr. christianson. "about a hundred years ago she was kept a prisoner in this room for many years, and every now and then we hear her moaning." "did you ever see her?" asked anna. "well, no, i never did. but whenever we hear that low moan from this room we know it is lady margaret." "doesn't it frighten you?" asked greta. "oh, no. we are quite used to it." "this is really a haunted castle, isn't it?" asked anna. "every castle in denmark has at least _one_ ghost, anna." all the way home the girls talked about the ghost of lady margaret. anna was beginning to think that maybe there really _were_ such things as ghosts and nisser. when they reached the house, hans was just getting out of his boat. "did you get any fish, hans?" called anna. "no luck today, anna." "are you sure you were trying to catch fish?" asked greta, in her most teasing manner. "what do you mean by that, greta?" "i thought maybe you had decided to go after books instead." anna looked at hans. could he have been playing a joke on them at vosborg? was it hans who had taken the book and then put it back? but how could he have gotten into the library? and anyway, she and greta had both seen him start down the river in the opposite direction. just then greta's mother called from the door. "anna, you have a letter from your mother." "it's too bad you didn't take chouse with you today, greta," said hans, when anna had gone into the house. "why? what happened?" "he was naughtier than he's ever been before. he chased the young turkeys all over the place and injured three or four of them." "did father see him?" "yes. he came along just as chouse caught one of the turkeys and he was terribly angry. you know how proud father is of those turkeys." "oh, hans, what _am_ i going to do?" sobbed greta. "we can't seem to break chouse of his awful habit of chasing things. and yet i can't bear to part with him." just then anna came running out of the house. "greta, i have the grandest news. mother wants you to come to copenhagen with me when i go home." for a moment greta forgot her worries about chouse. "oh, anna, that will be wonderful. let's ask mother if i may go." chapter ix chouse seeks the spotlight it was soon decided that greta would go back to copenhagen with anna. at dinner that evening the girls talked about nothing else, for greta had never been in copenhagen before. "while you are away, greta, i'll look around and find a new home for chouse," her father announced suddenly. at last it had come--this terrible thing that she had been dreading. "but i thought that chouse had been a very good dog lately." for the moment greta had forgotten hans's report about the turkeys. "i had hoped he would learn to behave better," said her father, "but today he injured several of the young turkeys, and i just _can't_ have it, greta. so we must find another home for him. i know how you love chouse, and i hate to do this, but i don't see any other way out." "why can't chouse come to copenhagen with us?" asked anna, hoping that maybe this would solve the problem, at least for a while. "do you think your mother would want him?" "oh, yes, i'm sure it would be all right with mother," said anna. "we don't have any chickens or turkeys, so chouse couldn't very well get into mischief at my house." greta's father hesitated a minute or two before he answered, while greta watched him anxiously. "all right, anna, chouse may go to copenhagen with you and greta." [illustration: a typical village scene] greta sank back in her chair with a deep sigh. by the time she came home from copenhagen, the whole matter would probably be forgotten. at any rate, the evil day had been postponed. when the day came for greta and anna to leave for copenhagen, the whole family went to the train with them. hans gave chouse a goodbye pat on the head. "take good care of my little sister, chouse," he said. "and you take good care of the kittens, hans," warned greta. soon all the goodbyes were said and the two girls were on the train. "i wish we could get seats by the window," said greta. they walked up and down the aisle, which was on one side of the train, but there wasn't a single empty seat beside a window. each car was divided into a dozen sections, like little rooms, with two long seats facing each other. there was space for four people on each seat, or eight people in each section. the girls sat down in a section where there were only three people. at the very next station, two of them got off, and then there was a vacant seat beside the window. greta and anna decided to take turns at sitting there. "what time will it be when we reach copenhagen, anna?" "after seven o'clock. you see we have to cross the peninsula of jutland and then the island of zealand before we come to copenhagen." "i have never seen a really large city before, anna." "you will love copenhagen, greta. it has such beautiful parks and shops and castles and, oh, _everything_!" "oh, look, anna, here we are at lemvig already. do you know the story about lemvig?" "no; what is it?" "a long, long time ago, when denmark was at war with sweden, the swedish soldiers had been ordered to march upon lemvig and take the town. you can see that almost the whole town is down in the valley; there are just a few houses on the hills. the soldiers couldn't see the town at all, so they asked a farmer where it was. he pointed to the houses on the hill on the other side of the valley. then the swedish soldiers rode very fast, keeping their eyes on these houses on the distant hill. they didn't see the valley at all and they rode so fast that they all fell down the hill and into the river. so lemvig wasn't captured after all." as the train started again and left lemvig, anna leaned out the window. "oh, it's too late now," she said sadly. "too late for what?" asked greta. "i wanted to get an ice-cream bar, but the train started just as the boy with the ice-cream bars came up to our window." "we'll surely get one at the next town, anna." as soon as the train stopped again, anna let down the window and they each bought an ice-cream bar and also one for chouse. he had been standing on greta's lap, with his front feet on the window sill, watching with great interest as they passed fields of yellow hay, forests of evergreens, pastures with large herds of cows, and great fields of cabbage and beets. when they had finally ridden clear across jutland, which forms the main part of denmark, and then across the island of funen, which is connected with the mainland by a large bridge, they came to a wide stretch of water called the great belt. "get your suitcase, anna," said greta. "we will have to get off the train and take a boat here." anna laughed, but she didn't make a move to get her suitcase down from the rack overhead. "the whole train takes the boat, greta. we don't have to get off at all." "the whole train? but how can it?" [illustration: farm houses in the valley] "just look out the window and you'll see for yourself." the railroad tracks ran to the very edge of the water, where a large ferry boat was waiting for the train. it had tracks on it, too, and the train ran right on to the boat. greta could hardly believe her eyes. to think that one could ride on a train and a boat at the same time! it took about two hours to cross the water, and then they were on the island of zealand. the boat went right up to the railroad tracks and the train was soon on land again and speeding on its way. "everything here looks so different," remarked greta, as she looked out the window. "there are so many more trees, and it isn't so flat as it is at home." before long they reached the large railroad station in copenhagen, where anna's mother was waiting for them. "your father will be here very soon, anna, and then we are all going to tivoli for dinner." "is tivoli a restaurant?" asked greta. "no, tivoli is one of the most famous parks in all the world," explained anna. "it's right in the center of copenhagen. in fact, it's right next to this station. oh, i wish father would hurry." when greta first saw tivoli she thought she was in fairyland. surely it couldn't be real. the gay beds of flowers and the tinkling fountains and the colored lights among the trees all seemed to be part of a magic world. besides all this beauty, tivoli had many restaurants and theatres and places for concerts and games and other amusements. they had dinner in one of the outdoor restaurants, and greta was so interested in watching the people as they passed by that she could hardly eat. after dinner they started to walk through the park and let greta decide for herself what she would most enjoy. when they had gone only a little way they came to a large open stage, where a play was being given. they all stopped to watch it for a few minutes, and greta wouldn't leave the spot. to her it was the most fascinating thing in tivoli. suddenly she noticed that something had gone wrong on the stage. the actors seemed confused and they hesitated over their lines. what could be the matter? then, to her horror, she saw chouse run across the stage and jump up on one of the actors. he was a young lad who looked something like hans. chouse soon saw his mistake and began wandering around the large stage as if he were lost. the audience laughed. they knew that this wasn't part of the play, and it seemed very funny to them. the minute that greta saw chouse she started toward the stage. going around to the back, where the audience could not see her, she whistled and called to her dog. chouse was glad to hear his name. happily he ran off the stage at once and the play went on. "i think we had better go home now," said anna's father, when greta came back with the dog, "before chouse gets into any more mischief." greta's heart sank. they had barely gotten into copenhagen--in fact, they hadn't even reached anna's home yet--and chouse had already gotten into mischief. what in the world was she going to do with him? chapter x a day of happy surprises "anna, please don't walk so fast," begged greta. the two girls were walking down langelinie, the beautiful parkway along the ocean. greta was much shorter than anna and she could not walk nearly so fast. then, too, she liked to stop and watch the boats coming into the harbor. the name copenhagen means "merchants' harbor," and this city has one of the finest harbors in europe. all kinds of ships, from tiny sailboats to large ocean liners, come here from all parts of the world. when they had gone a little farther, greta wanted to sit down and rest. "can't you walk just a tiny bit more, greta? on the other side of this little bay there is someone i want you to meet." "who, anna?" "she is called 'den lille havfrue,'" said anna. "'den lille havfrue,'" repeated greta. "'the little ocean lady.' i still don't understand, anna. who can this be?" "just keep on walking, and i'll show you," answered anna in her most mysterious manner. in a few minutes the girls had gone around the bay. "oh, anna, how beautiful she is!" said the delighted greta. sitting on a rock at the edge of the water was the statue of a lovely mermaid--"the little ocean lady." "she looks like a real live person," went on greta, "except for her fish's tail instead of feet. is there really such a person as a mermaid, anna?" [illustration: a side view of the gefion fountain] "i'm not sure, greta, whether there is or not. but if there really is a nisse, then maybe there are mermaids, too. this little mermaid is the most beautiful statue in copenhagen. some people think it is the loveliest one in all europe." "how large is copenhagen, anna?" [illustration: the gefion fountain] "it has about a million people. that's a third of the whole population of denmark." after a short walk the girls came to a large fountain, the largest that greta had ever seen. at the top of the fountain there was a statue of four oxen, hitched to a plow and driven by a woman. "this is called the gefion fountain, and it shows how the island of zealand was made," explained anna. "there is an old, old story that says that denmark was given permission to take as much of sweden as one could plow around in a day. so the ruler of denmark changed her four sons into oxen and with them she plowed out the island on which copenhagen stands. this statue shows how she had to whip them and urge them on in order to plow out this large island before night came." "oh, i wish we had brought chouse along," said greta. "he would love to play in this fountain." "chouse likes to play in lots of places where he shouldn't. i think it's a good thing that we left him home. he was very naughty at tivoli the other night." "he didn't mean to be naughty, anna. don't you think we can take him with us sometime?" "maybe; sometime," said anna. as the girls walked along they stopped now and then to look in the shop windows. whenever greta saw a window full of beautiful silverware or china she wanted to stop and buy a gift for her mother. this china, decorated with figures in a soft blue color, was called royal copenhagen porcelain, and it was famous all over the world. the silverware was designed by a danish artist named georg jensen, and it was also very famous. "you will have lots of time to buy a gift for your mother, greta. don't stop now. i hope you aren't tired, for we have a hard climb ahead of us." "a climb? why, there isn't a hill in all copenhagen." "do you see that church with the dome-shaped roof that's all green and shiny? well, that's what we are going to climb." "oh, anna, how can we? why, it's taller than any of the other buildings in copenhagen." greta looked around her at the four- and five-story buildings. the shiny green dome of the church rose far above them. "it is usually called the marble church," explained anna, "because it is built of marble. its real name is frederick's church, because it was built by king frederick the fifth." "that shiny green dome isn't made of marble, is it?" asked greta. "oh, no," laughed anna. "the church cost a great deal to build, and when they had gotten as far as the dome, there was no money left. so all the housewives in copenhagen gave their copper kettles to be melted up and used to make the dome of the church." inside the church it was cool and quiet. the girls started up the stairs and climbed for quite a while without saying a word. greta began to think that they would never reach the top. [illustration: a country scene] "is it much farther, anna?" "this is the easy part of the climb, greta. don't give up yet." they kept on climbing. the stairs wound round and round, and as the girls went higher and higher the stairs became more and more narrow. finally they came to the place where the stairs were so narrow and so steep that a rope had been hung from the top to help those who climbed. it was like climbing the side of a mountain. "now we've come to the hard part," said anna. "take hold of this rope and don't let go." "anna, do you think we ought to go any higher?" greta was frightened but she didn't want to admit it. "why, of course. there is no point in climbing this far and then stopping. you aren't afraid, are you, greta?" "i guess not." "don't look down at all, and then you'll be all right," advised anna. all of a sudden greta remembered what her father had told her when she was climbing the tower in the forest. "a girl who is named after a queen must not be afraid of anything." after all, what was there to be afraid of? the stairs were narrow and steep, but she would hold tightly to the rope and she would be quite safe. when greta was about ten steps from the top, she did glance down and saw a handkerchief lying on the step below her. very carefully she backed down one step, holding to the rope with her left hand and clutching her purse with her right. as she took her left hand off the rope to pick up the handkerchief, she started to lose her balance. in terror she grabbed at the rope. she didn't fall, but the handkerchief fell six or seven steps below her. anna had reached the top and called down to greta. "what's the matter, greta? you mustn't stop now, when you are almost at the top." "did you drop your handkerchief, anna? there is one here on the stairs." anna felt in all her pockets. "no, i didn't drop mine, greta." greta backed down the steps slowly and carefully. this time she would not let go of the rope at all. she laid her purse on the step above while she picked up the tiny handkerchief and put it in her pocket. in a short time she had reached the top of the stairs, where anna was waiting for her. greta showed her the dainty little handkerchief, with its wide border of lace. "look, greta. it has an 'i' embroidered in one corner." "i wonder whose it is, anna." as the girls walked out on the platform on top of the dome, they almost ran into two beautifully dressed ladies. greta made her prettiest curtsy. "perhaps this handkerchief is yours," she said, holding it out to them. "why, yes, it is," said the taller of the two ladies. "thank you very much, my dear." she and her companion then started down the narrow stairway. "i'm sure i have seen that lady before, but i can't remember where," said anna, when they had gone. "come over here, greta. i want to show you the king's palace." just a block away from the marble church was amalienborg, the palace of the king. the palace consisted of four beautiful buildings, built around a large open square. day and night, a tall guard in uniform marched slowly back and forth in front of the palace. king christian is probably the best loved king in all europe, and no one would ever want to harm him. nevertheless, the guard is always there. [illustration: amalienborg palace] "that is the famous round tower over there," explained anna. "some day we will climb up in it. the building with all the dragons on the roof is the stock exchange." anna went on to point out other interesting buildings. greta was most interested in the harbor and the hundreds of boats, which seemed to be everywhere in the city. little arms of the sea come right into the heart of copenhagen, so there really are boats and bridges wherever one looks. [illustration: the king's guard] finally the girls started home. after a long bus ride, they walked the few remaining blocks to anna's home. "anna, why does that building have so many little porches? do they all belong to one house?" greta pointed to a long brick building that had fully a hundred porches. [illustration: "bird cage" porches] "that's a new apartment building, greta. more than a hundred families live there, and each family has its own little sun porch. notice how each porch is built up solid on one side, but the other side and the top are open. in that way, every porch gets lots of sunshine, but the neighbors can't possibly see in it." "they look more like bird cages than porches," said greta. "oh, greta," exclaimed anna suddenly. "i believe that was the princess." "who, anna?" "why, the lady whose handkerchief you found. let's hurry home and ask mother. i'm sure she will know." greta told anna's mother about the finding of the handkerchief, and anna described the two ladies. "do you suppose it could have been princess ingrid, mother?" "i think it must have been, anna. and the other lady was her sister louise. you know that princess ingrid, the wife of our crown prince, is a swedish princess by birth. today's newspaper says that princess louise has come from sweden to visit her sister ingrid. here is their picture. does it look like the two whom you saw?" both girls looked at the paper eagerly. "yes, it _was_ princess ingrid and princess louise," said greta. "oh, i must write hans about this. he has never even _seen_ a princess. and now i have seen two of them and even talked to one." chapter xi the best surprise of all "now it's our turn to show _you_ some castles, greta," said anna, as she and her mother and greta got in the car. anna's mother had promised to take the girls on an all-day trip to northern zealand. this part of denmark is as full of castles as a plum-cake is full of plums. after driving about twenty-five miles along the shore, they came to kronborg castle, in the town of elsinore. "this is the most famous castle in denmark," said anna's mother. "why?" asked greta. "haven't you ever read 'hamlet,' greta?" asked anna in surprise. "kronborg castle is where hamlet lived. only shakespeare called it elsinore, which is the name of the town instead of the castle." [illustration: kronborg castle] as she walked across the old drawbridge and entered the outer yard of the castle, greta thought that kronborg was the loveliest castle she had ever seen. it was much larger and much more wonderful than vosborg. when they came to the drawbridge across the second moat, anna pointed out the high battlement where the ghost of the murdered king once walked. "does he still walk there, anna?" asked greta. "maybe he does, greta. all we really know about him is what shakespeare tells us in his play." when they crossed the last bridge and passed through the last gateway into the inner courtyard of kronborg, greta stopped in surprise. "oh, anna, it's so large and so beautiful." then, just to show that she wasn't really afraid of climbing, she asked, "tante elsie, do you suppose we could climb to the top of one of the towers?" "yes, i think so." from the little balcony on the tower they looked out over the ocean. "is that an island across the water?" asked greta. "oh, no, greta. that is sweden, only three miles away. in the olden days, kronborg was a fortress that guarded the entrance to the baltic sea. all the ships that came from the north sea into the kattegat and then into the baltic had to pass this point of land, and every ship that went by here had to pay money to denmark. up here in this very tower there were guards who watched all the ships to see that every one stopped and paid for the privilege of going past this point. in those days, kronborg was the most important castle in denmark." [illustration: the moat around kronborg] "don't they have to pay this money now?" "no. about a hundred years ago denmark stopped asking for this payment. ships that are going to the baltic sea can now go through the kiel canal in germany, instead of going all the way around denmark," explained anna's mother. as they walked down the narrow, winding stairs, anna suddenly exclaimed, "oh, mother, we forgot to tell greta why kronborg is still an important castle." "maybe she already knows." "no, i don't. please tell me, anna." "according to an old, old story, holger the dane sleeps in the dungeon that is deep below this tower. if denmark is ever in trouble of any kind, he will awake and come to her rescue." "i've heard of holger the dane, of course," said greta, "but i thought he was just an imaginary person." "he's no more imaginary than a nisse," said anna, with a twinkle in her eye. greta hated to leave kronborg, but when anna told her that they were going to see even finer castles than this one, she was willing to go. after driving about fifteen miles, they turned off the main road and drove down a long avenue of beech trees. at the end of this avenue there was a large white building, with a four-cornered tower rising from the center. "this is fredensborg palace, where the king and queen live in the autumn," said anna. "the king comes here for the hunting season." "can we go inside this palace?" asked greta. "i would love to see the queen's own room." "of course you would, little margrete," said tante elsie. "we will ask the guide to show us the queen's apartments." it seemed to greta that the guide took them through miles and miles of rooms. even then, he showed them only a part of the two hundred and seventy rooms. the palace was much larger than it looked from the front, for it was very long. "surely this isn't the _queen's_ room," said greta, as she stood in the doorway of the large, sunny bedroom. "why not, greta?" asked anna in surprise. "why, i thought it would be a very grand room, with furniture of gold." tante elsie laughed. "oh, greta, you forget that the king and queen of denmark are people of simple tastes. this is a beautiful room, and it shows that the queen likes lovely things. but it also shows that she does not spend money just to make a grand display." "perhaps the young lady would like to see the ballroom," said the guide. "i think she will find that it is all that she imagined and really fit for a queen." [illustration: frederiksborg castle] he led them through several drawing-rooms and then into the ballroom. it was a large, square room, with windows clear up to the ceiling. the walls and ceiling were light blue, so that it seemed as if the room were open to the sky. "this is what i always thought a royal palace would be like," said greta in deep contentment. "the ceiling of this room is eighty-one feet high," explained the guide. "it forms the tower in the middle of the palace." greta didn't want to leave this lovely room. she was fascinated by the pictures painted on the walls, the gorgeous hangings at the windows, and the large groups of glass candlesticks that hung from the ceiling and sparkled like icicles as the sun shone on them. "do you want to see the queen's crown?" asked anna, as they reluctantly left the beautiful ballroom. "the queen's crown?" said greta. "the queen is in copenhagen now; surely her crown wouldn't be here at fredensborg." "she has a crown here, too. it is really lovelier than the one she wears at court," said anna. when they came to the garden behind the palace, greta saw what anna meant. in the middle of the sloping green lawn there was a huge bed of pansies, arranged in the shape of a crown. in the lower part of the crown the pansies were all purple, and in the upper part they were all gold. "you are right, anna. this is prettier than any crown of real gold." "come, girls. we must be on our way now," said anna's mother. "we have a long ride ahead of us." "are we going to see _another_ castle?" asked greta. "yes, the finest one of all." [illustration: the courtyard of frederiksborg] after a short drive through a large forest of beech trees, they came to frederiksborg castle. it was built on three small islands in the center of a lake. the castle itself was so large that it covered the islands completely and seemed to rise up out of the water itself. when king frederick built the first castle here, nearly four hundred years ago, he purposely chose these islands in the center of a lake because they were the safest place for a castle. enemies could not easily reach it here. when this old, old castle was destroyed by fire, a much finer one was built on the islands. [illustration: fredensborg palace] as they crossed the bridge to the main part of the castle, greta saw two women entering the main doorway. "look, anna," she said in great excitement. "isn't that princess ingrid and princess louise going into the castle right this minute?" when anna looked, the women had disappeared. greta was now more eager than ever to visit the castle. maybe she would see her beloved princess ingrid again. would the princess remember the little girl who had found her handkerchief on the stairs of the marble church? greta wondered. she was anxious to go inside, but anna stopped in the courtyard to listen to the chimes on the castle tower. every hour of the day the ringing chimes played a different tune. "let's see the knights' hall first," suggested anna, when they went inside. greta wanted to say, "let's follow princess ingrid," but she didn't know which way the princess had gone. so she followed anna without a word. the knights' hall was the largest room greta had ever seen. the walls were covered with hangings whose colored threads were woven in such a way as to show scenes from danish history. greta thought she would like to study history if she could learn it from pictures like these instead of from textbooks. while she was looking at one of the hangings in a far corner of the room, anna grabbed her arm. "there they go, greta. don't you want to follow them?" then greta remembered that princess ingrid was here in the castle. how could she have forgotten? she and anna and tante elsie left the knights' hall and entered the long series of drawing-rooms that filled one wing of frederiksborg. greta scarcely looked at the paintings that hung on every wall. she wanted to see a real live princess, not a painted lady in a golden frame. they walked slowly through room after room, but not a glimpse of the princess did they get. "i guess princess ingrid and her sister have left the castle," said greta, in an unhappy tone. she was ready now to leave it herself, for it held no further interest for her. "now for the most wonderful room of all," said anna, after they had gone through all the drawing-rooms. she almost had to drag greta to the chapel, which formed an important part of the castle itself. when the royal family lived at frederiksborg, services were held here every sunday. this chapel was really as large as a church. as they came in, the organist was playing softly, and greta sat down to listen to the music, while anna and her mother went to look at the paintings which were on exhibition in the balcony of the chapel. afterwards, greta never remembered exactly how it happened. she must have closed her eyes for a minute in order to enjoy the music completely. the first thing she remembered was a soft voice saying, "are you all alone here, my dear?" when greta had opened her eyes and recognized the speaker she jumped to her feet. "why, it's the little girl who found my handkerchief the other day. how very nice to see you again. when we saw you here asleep, we thought you had gotten lost in this great castle." greta explained that her aunt and her cousin were up in the balcony. then her eyes shone like stars and her heart almost skipped a beat as the lovely princess ingrid took a rosebud from the bouquet which she carried and held it out to greta. "perhaps you would like to wear this little flower," she said in her gentle way. then, with another smile, she and the princess louise went out of the chapel. greta stood like one in a dream. now she knew how the knights of olden times felt when they had been honored by the king. she, little margrete, had a flower from the hands of the crown princess of denmark. all her life long she would remember this moment. chapter xii chouse is homesick "chouse, will you promise to be a _really_ good dog if we take you with us?" chouse answered greta by barking three times, which meant, "yes, i will." chouse had not been allowed to go with the girls since the evening at tivoli. greta didn't want to send home any _more_ bad reports about him. even now, she was almost afraid to open her father's letters, for each day she expected him to write that he had found a new home for chouse. sometimes greta wished that her visit in copenhagen could go on forever. then she would never have to part with her pet. "we'll climb up in the round tower first of all," said anna, as she and greta and chouse started off gaily for a day's wandering. "then you can look over the city and decide what you want to see next." as they walked through the winding streets of the business district of copenhagen, anna told greta the story of the famous round tower. "it was built more than three hundred years ago by king christian the fourth," she explained. "he wanted to do something that would make the people remember him always, so he built this high tower as an observatory, where scientists could study the stars." the round tower stood in the very heart of the city. at the time it was built it was the tallest building in copenhagen, but now the marble church rose high above it. [illustration: the round tower] just before they reached the tower, anna surprised greta by saying, "this tower is over a hundred feet high, but you won't have to climb a single step to reach the top." "but how do we get to the top?" "you'll see in just a minute, greta." "come, chouse," called greta, as the girls reached the door of the round tower. the dog had started down the street ahead of them. he seemed to be looking for something, but he ran back quickly when his little mistress called. once inside the tower, the children started up a sloping walk that went up and up and up. at the same time it went round and round and round, like a corkscrew. every little while chouse dashed on ahead and then came running back, barking joyously. "this is the funniest tower i have ever seen," said greta. "does this walk go to the very top?" "yes," answered anna. "they say that a long time ago, when peter the great, the czar of russia, visited denmark he rode up here on horseback, and at another time the empress catherine drove her coach and four up to the very top of the round tower." [illustration: the marble church, as seen from the top of the round tower] greta stopped a moment to look at the winding, sloping walk. "i guess one really _could_ drive a coach up here. it seems to be wide enough." from the platform on the top of the tower, the girls could look out over the city and the harbor. wherever they looked, they saw towers and spires--on the parliament building, on the stock exchange, on the castles, on the churches. some of them were gilded and they gleamed brightly in the sunshine. some of them were shiny green, like the dome of the marble church. "what is that building whose tower has a crown at the top?" asked greta. "that is christiansborg castle, where the parliament meets," explained anna. "would you like to visit it?" "yes. let's go there next, if it isn't too far away," said greta. as they walked to christiansborg, anna told greta a funny story about the round tower. "once upon a time a norwegian was visiting copenhagen. the people he visited were eager to show him all the wonderful and beautiful things in the city. the norwegians are very proud of their own country, you know, and they like to boast about it. when they came to the round tower, the danish people said, 'i'm sure you haven't anything like the round tower in norway.' the norwegian looked at it a minute and then answered, 'no, but if we had, it would be bigger and rounder.'" greta laughed. "but it _couldn't_ be rounder, could it, anna?" "no, of course not. if a thing is round, it's round; you can't make it more or less round." when they came to the entrance of christiansborg, the guard told them that dogs were not allowed inside the castle. "what will we do with him, greta?" asked anna. "he will have to wait here at the door for us," said greta. turning to the dog she spoke to him very sternly, "chouse, you must be a good dog and stay right here until anna and i come out." chouse barked twice, as if to say, "all right," and then he lay down on the floor beside the guard. "there has been a castle on this spot for eight hundred years," said anna, as they walked through the long hall. "but this castle looks quite new." "oh, there have been three or four castles here. when one burned down, they built another one. this one is about forty years old. it was really built as a home for the king, but he has never lived here. he likes amalienborg better." "i think i would, too," said greta. "these rooms are so large and the ceilings are so high that it wouldn't seem like a home at all." [illustration: christiansborg castle] in one part of the castle there were two large halls, where the parliament meets. one hall was for the house of commons and the other was for the upper house. parliament did not meet during the summer, so greta and anna were allowed to visit both these stately halls. greta thought they had seen everything in christiansborg, when anna suddenly announced, "we're going downstairs now, greta. the most interesting part of christiansborg is under the ground." they went down a narrow stairway and carefully made their way through a dark, underground passage. soon they came to a scattered heap of stones that marked the outlines of an old, old castle. "this is the very first castle that was built here," explained anna. "it was built by bishop absalon in , when copenhagen was just a little fishing village. here is the old well that has been used for hundreds of years," she said as they walked on farther, "and here is a part of the blue tower where princess leonora christina was kept a prisoner for many years." "oh, how could they keep anyone in such a terrible dungeon?" asked greta, who shivered at the thought of spending even an hour in this gloomy place. "let's go upstairs, anna." "all right," agreed anna. "i wonder how chouse and the guard have been getting along." [illustration: the market place in copenhagen] the guard looked extremely worried when the girls appeared. chouse was nowhere in sight. "i turned my back for just a minute," he said, "but when i turned around again your little dog was gone. he must have run outside, for you can see that he isn't here in the entrance hall." greta was so upset that she couldn't say a word. "come on, greta. we shall have to go and hunt for him," said the practical anna. "you go in one direction and i'll go in the other, and we'll meet here at christiansborg in one hour." there wasn't anything for greta to do but to start looking. there was no use in telling anna that she didn't know one street from another. there was no use in saying that she didn't have the faintest idea of where to look. anna had already started in the other direction and greta heard her calling, every now and then, "here, chouse. come, chouse." so greta started off bravely by herself. christiansborg was built on a small island, so she crossed the marble bridge to the mainland and began walking slowly along the street by the side of the water. the shore was lined with fishing boats and on the sidewalk there were hundreds of little stands where the women were selling fresh fish which they took right out of the boats. now and then greta stopped to ask one of them if she had seen a little black and white dog. not a one of them had seen him. [illustration: fresh fish for sale] [illustration: weighing a load of fish] greta decided that chouse had not come along this street, so she walked back to the bridge and started down another street. soon she came into a large open square filled with fruit and vegetable stands. the housewives of copenhagen came here every morning during the summer to get the finest of fresh foods. greta went from one stand to another, asking if they had seen her dog. surely _someone_ had seen him. finally she came to the very last stand, where a pretty girl was selling flowers. by this time tears had filled greta's eyes and there was such a lump in her throat that she could hardly speak. "why, yes," said the pretty girl. "i did see a little black and white dog not very long ago, but i don't know which way he went from here." greta smiled happily at this news. at last she was on the right trail. she left the market and took one of the narrow, winding streets that led through the main business district. every little while she called, "here, chouse. come, chouse." but no little dog came in answer to her call. maybe she had taken the wrong street after all. half blinded with tears she started across one of the large open squares. when part way across she saw chouse trotting down the street ahead of her. greta started to run and almost bumped into a bicycle. she was not used to city streets, crowded with bicycles and automobiles. by the time she had crossed the square, chouse had disappeared. [illustration: fishing boats crowd the canals] greta was tired and hungry, but she didn't stop to think about that. she was very much afraid that she couldn't find her way back to christiansborg, but she didn't dare to think about that. chouse was somewhere on the street in front of her, and she must find him. so the little girl kept on walking. the street had many curves, like all the older streets in copenhagen. in some places the sidewalk was so narrow that greta had to step out in the street to pass the people who stood looking in the shop windows. suddenly a terrible fear came over greta. what if she _never_ found chouse? but she simply _must_ find him--and keep him. she knew now just how dear he was to her. as she walked along, the tears which filled her eyes spilled over on her cheeks. she had never been in this part of the city before, and now she was lost just as completely as chouse was. oh, if only she could find him, nothing else would matter. in some way she would get back to christiansborg and anna. in some way she would persuade her father not to send chouse away. she looked at her watch. goodness, she had already been walking an hour and a half! anna would be worried about her. but greta felt that she must keep on looking for her dog. she knew now that she was on the right street, at least. [illustration: sailboats in the heart of copenhagen] suddenly greta came into a large open square that seemed familiar. she stopped a minute to look around. maybe she wasn't really lost, after all. what was that large building over to the left? then the tears stopped and her face broke into a happy smile. why, it was the railroad station, where she had first come into copenhagen. she lost all her fears about being lost, but a great wave of homesickness came over the little girl. without quite knowing why, she crossed the busy square and went into the station. she would sit down in the station and rest a little bit before going on with her search. just as she found a seat on one of the long benches a familiar little black and white figure caught her eye. tired as she was, greta ran down the long station. everyone turned to watch the excited little girl who was running so desperately. at last she reached him, and it really was her beloved chouse. [illustration: a busy square in copenhagen] he jumped up at her and barked joyously. "oh, chouse, _why_ did you run away?" greta took him in her arms and hugged him close. then all of a sudden she understood why he had gone away. right in front of her was the gate to the very train that she would take back home. chouse was homesick, too. that was why he had come straight to the railroad station. "everything is all right, chouse. we will be going home soon," said greta, as a single happy tear fell on his black and white fur. chapter xiii "goodbye" that evening at dinner the two girls told all about their adventures. "how did you finally get back to christiansborg, greta?" asked her aunt. "i asked a policeman to show me the way, and he was kind enough to go all the way back there with me. i don't think i could ever have found it by myself." "oh, greta, i almost forgot," said her aunt. "here is a letter that came for you today." it was a letter from hans, and greta opened it eagerly. _"dear greta:_ _i have some very good news for you. father has decided that you may keep chouse after all. he found that it was the rabbits, and not chouse, who had been killing the chickens. every time we saw chouse running after chickens he was really trying to get the rabbits._ _we all miss you, greta, and i think the kittens miss you as much as we do. they are getting so fat that you won't know them unless you come home pretty soon. give chouse three pats for me._ _your loving brother, hans."_ greta showed the letter to anna, saying, "i think it's time for me to go home, anna. the kittens need me, and you can see that chouse is very homesick." "i'm afraid that chouse isn't the only one who is homesick," teased tante elsie. "but we do understand, greta. we want you to stay as long as you can, but if you should be at home with your pets, then you do what you think is best." [illustration: greta and anna] "thank you, tante elsie. you have all been so wonderful to me and you have given me such a very good time. i shall never forget it." greta decided that she would go home the next day, so her uncle sent a telegram to her father. anna helped her to pack, while chouse stood by and watched. "of course it is really chouse who is homesick, anna," insisted greta. "i could stay away all summer." "certainly you could," agreed anna. "but i expect the kittens really do need you to look after them." when anna and tante elsie put greta on the train the next day she was very brave. she had never before been on the train by herself, but she was not going to let anyone know that she was just a wee bit frightened. after all, chouse was with her, and this time he would not get away from her. he seemed just as happy as she was to be going back home. greta kissed anna and tante elsie goodbye. "this has been such a lovely summer," she said. "i hope anna can come to visit me again next summer." "and we want you to come back to copenhagen next year," said anna. greta waved to them until she could no longer see their handkerchiefs waving to her in answer. then she leaned back in her seat, with chouse on her lap. "chouse, this _has_ been the grandest summer we have ever had," said greta, giving her pet a loving hug. then she took a withered rosebud from her purse and looked at it dreamily. "and i know that i am the happiest girl in all denmark." transcriber's note punctuation and formatting markup have been normalized. "_" surrounding text represents italics. apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below. page , "it's" changed to "its". (its real name is frederick's church, because it was built by king frederick the fifth.) transcriber's notes obvious spelling, typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. more detail can be found at the end of the book. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. the oe ligature has been expanded. wonderful stories for children. by hans christian andersen, author of "the improvisatore," etc. translated from the danish by mary howitt. new york. wiley & putnam, broadway. . contents. page olÉ luckoiÈ--the story-teller at night the daisy the naughty boy tommelise the rose-elf the garden of paradise a night in the kitchen little ida's flowers the constant tin soldier the storks olÉ luckoiÈ, (shut-eye.) there is nobody in all this world who knows so many tales as olé luckoiè! he can tell tales! in an evening, when a child sits so nicely at the table, or on its little stool, olé luckoiè comes. he comes so quietly into the house, for he walks without shoes; he opens the door without making any noise, and then he flirts sweet milk into the children's eyes; but so gently, so very gently, that they cannot keep their eyes open, and, therefore, they never see him; he steals softly behind them and blows gently on their necks, and thus their heads become heavy. oh yes! but then it does them no harm; for olé luckoiè means nothing but kindness to the children, he only wants to amuse them; and the best thing that can be done is for somebody to carry them to bed, where they may lie still and listen to the tales that he will tell them. now when the children are asleep, olé luckoiè sits down on the bed; he is very well dressed; his coat is of silk, but it is not possible to tell what color it is, because it shines green, and red, and blue, just as if one color ran into another. he holds an umbrella under each arm; one of them is covered all over the inside with pictures, and this he sets over the good child, and it dreams all night long the most beautiful histories. the other umbrella has nothing at all within it; this he sets over the heads of naughty children, and they sleep so heavily, that next morning when they wake they have not dreamed the least in the world. now we will hear how olé luckoiè came every evening for a whole week to a little boy, whose name was yalmar, and what he told him. there are seven stories, because there are seven days in a week. monday. "just listen!" said olé luckoiè, in the evening, when they had put yalmar in bed; "now i shall make things fine!"--and with that all the plants in the flower-pots grew up into great trees which stretched out their long branches along the ceiling and the walls, till the whole room looked like the most beautiful summer-house; and all the branches were full of flowers, and every flower was more beautiful than a rose, and was so sweet, that if anybody smelt at it, it was sweeter than raspberry jam! the fruit on the trees shone like gold, and great big bunches of raisins hung down--never had any thing been seen like it!--but all at once there began such a dismal lamentation in the table-drawer where yalmar kept his school-books. "what is that?" said olé luckoiè, and went to the table and opened the drawer. it was the slate that was in great trouble; for there was an addition sum on it that was added up wrong, and the slate-pencil was hopping and jumping about in its string, like a little dog that wanted to help the sum, but it could not! and besides this, yalmar's copy-book was crying out sadly! all the way down each page stood a row of great letters, each with a little one by its side; these were the copy; and then there stood other letters, which fancied that they looked like the copy; and these yalmar had written; but they were some one way and some another, just as if they were tumbling over the pencil-lines on which they ought to have stood. "look, you should hold yourselves up--thus!" said the copy; "thus, all in a line, with a brisk air!" "oh! we would so gladly, if we could," said yalmar's writing; "but we cannot, we are so miserable!" "then we will make you!" said olé luckoiè gruffly. "oh, no!" cried the poor little crooked letters; but for all that they straightened themselves, till it was quite a pleasure to see them. "now, then, cannot we tell a story?" said olé luckoiè; "now i can exercise them! one, two! one, two!" and so, like a drill-sergeant, he put them all through their exercise, and they stood as straight and as well-shaped as any copy. after that olé luckoiè went his way; and yalmar, when he looked at the letters next morning, found them tumbling about just as miserably as at first. tuesday. no sooner was yalmar in bed than olé luckoiè came with his little wand, and touched all the furniture in the room; and, in a minute, every thing began to chatter; and they chattered all together, and about nothing but themselves. every thing talked except the old door-mat, which lay silent, and was vexed that they should be all so full of vanity as to talk of nothing but themselves, and think only about themselves, and never have one thought for it which lay so modestly in a corner and let itself be trodden upon. there hung over the chest of drawers a great picture in a gilt frame; it was a landscape; one could see tall, old trees, flowers in the grass, and a great river, which ran through great woods, past many castles out into the wild sea. olé luckoiè touched the picture with his wand; and with that the birds in the picture began to sing, the tree-branches began to wave, and the clouds regularly to move,--one could see them moving along over the landscape! olé luckoiè now lifted little yalmar up into the picture; he put his little legs right into it, just as if into tall grass, and there he stood. the sun shone down through the tree-branches upon him. he ran down to the river, and got into a little boat which lay there. it was painted red and white, the sails shone like silk, and six swans, each with a circlet of gold round its neck and a beaming blue star upon its head, drew the little boat past the green-wood,--where he heard the trees talking about robbers, and witches, and flowers, and the pretty little fairies, and all that the summer birds had told them of. the loveliest fishes, with scales like silver and gold, swam after the boat, and leaped up in the water; and birds, some red and some blue, small and great, flew, in two long rows, behind; gnats danced about, and cockchafers said hum, hum! they all came following yalmar, and you may think what a deal they had to tell him. it was a regular voyage! now the woods were so thick and so dark--now they were like the most beautiful garden, with sunshine and flowers; and in the midst of them there stood great castles of glass and of marble. upon the balconies of these castles stood princesses, and every one of them were the little girls whom yalmar knew very well, and with whom he had played. they all reached out their hands to him, and held out the most delicious sticks of barley-sugar which any confectioner could make; and yalmar bit off a piece from every stick of barley-sugar as he sailed past, and yalmar's piece was always a very large piece! before every castle stood little princes as sentinels; they stood with their golden swords drawn, and showered down almonds and raisins. they were perfect princes! yalmar soon sailed through the wood, then through a great hall, or into the midst of a city; and at last he came to that in which his nurse lived, she who had nursed him when he was a very little child, and had been so very fond of him. and there he saw her, and she nodded and waved her hand to him, and sang the pretty little verse which she herself had made about yalmar-- full many a time i thee have missed, my yalmar, my delight! i, who thy cherry-mouth have kissed, thy rosy cheeks, thy forehead white! i saw thy earliest infant mirth-- i now must say farewell! may our dear lord bless thee on earth, then take thee to his heaven to dwell! and all the birds sang, too, the flowers danced upon their stems, and the old trees nodded like as olé luckoiè did while he told his tales. wednesday. how the rain did pour down! yalmar could hear it in his sleep! and when olé luckoiè opened the casement, the water stood up to the very window-sill. there was a regular sea outside; but the most splendid ship lay close up to the house. "if thou wilt sail with me, little yalmar," said olé luckoiè, "thou canst reach foreign countries in the night, and be here again by to-morrow morning!" and with this yalmar stood in his sunday clothes in the ship, and immediately the weather became fine, and they sailed through the streets, tacked about round the church, and then came out into a great, desolate lake. they sailed so far, that at last they could see no more land, and then they saw a flock of storks, which were coming from home, on their way to the warm countries; one stork after another flew on, and they had already flown such a long, long way. one of the storks was so very much tired that it seemed as if his wings could not support him any longer; he was the very last of all the flock, and got farther and farther behind them; and, at last, he sank lower and lower, with his outspread wings: he still flapped his wings, now and then, but that did not help him; now his feet touched the cordage of the ship; now he glided down the sail, and, bounce! down he came on the deck. a sailor-boy then took him up, and set him in the hencoop among hens, and ducks, and turkeys. the poor stork stood quite confounded among them all. "here's a thing!" said all the hens. and the turkey-cock blew himself up as much as ever he could, and asked the stork who he was; and the ducks they went on jostling one against the other, saying, "do thou ask! do thou ask!" the stork told them all about the warm africa, about the pyramids, and about the simoom, which sped like a horse over the desert: but the ducks understood not a word about what he said, and so they whispered one to the other, "we are all agreed, he is silly!" "yes, to be sure, he is silly," said the turkey-cock aloud. the poor stork stood quite still, and thought about africa. "what a pair of beautiful thin legs you have got!" said the turkey-cock; "what is the price by the yard?" "ha! ha! ha!" laughed all the ducks; but the stork pretended that he did not hear. "i cannot help laughing," said the turkey-cock, "it was so very witty; or, perhaps, it was too low for him!--ha! ha! he can't take in many ideas! let us only be interesting to ourselves!" and with that they began to gobble, and the ducks chattered, "gik, gak! gik, gak!" it was amazing to see how entertaining they were to themselves. yalmar, however, went up to the hencoop, opened the door, and called to the stork, which hopped out to him on the deck. it had now rested itself; and it seemed as if it nodded to yalmar to thank him. with this it spread out its wings and flew away to its warm countries; but the hens clucked, the ducks chattered, and the turkey-cocks grew quite red in the head. "to-morrow we shall have you for dinner!" said yalmar; and so he awoke, and was lying in his little bed. it was, however, a wonderful voyage that olé luckoiè had taken him that night. thursday. "dost thou know what?" said olé luckoiè. "now do not be afraid, and thou shalt see a little mouse!" and with that he held out his hand with the pretty little creature in it. "it is come to invite thee to a wedding," said he. "there are two little mice who are going to be married to-night; they live down under the floor of thy mother's store-closet; it will be such a nice opportunity for thee." "but how can i get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?" asked yalmar. "leave that to me," said olé luckoiè; "i shall make thee little enough!" and with that he touched yalmar with his wand, and immediately he grew less and less, until at last he was no bigger than my finger. "now thou canst borrow the tin soldier's clothes," said olé luckoiè; "i think they would fit thee, and it looks so proper to have uniform on when people go into company." "yes, to be sure!" said yalmar; and in a moment he was dressed up like the most beautiful new tin soldier. "will you be so good as to seat yourself in your mother's thimble," said the little mouse; "and then i shall have the honor of driving you!" "goodness!" said yalmar; "will the young lady herself take the trouble?" and with that they drove to the mouse's wedding. first of all, after going under the floor, they came into a long passage, which was so low that they could hardly drive in the thimble, and the whole passage was illuminated with touchwood. "does it not smell delicious?" said the mouse as they drove along; "the whole passage has been rubbed with bacon-sward; nothing can be more delicious!" they now came into the wedding-hall. on the right hand stood the little she-mice, and they all whispered and tittered as if they were making fun of one another; on the left hand all the he-mice, and stroked their mustachios with their paws. in the middle of the floor were to be seen the bridal pair, who stood in a hollow cheese-paring; and they kept kissing one another before everybody, for they were desperately in love, and were going to be married directly. and all this time there kept coming in more and more strangers, till one mouse was ready to trample another to death; and the bridal pair had placed themselves in a doorway, so that people could neither go in nor come out. the whole room, like the passage, had been smeared with sward of bacon; that was all the entertainment: but as a dessert a pea was produced, on which a little mouse of family had bitten the name of the bridal pair,--that is to say, the first letters of their name; that was something quite out of the common way. all the mice said that it was a charming wedding, and that the conversation had been so good! yalmar drove home again; he had really been in very grand society, but he must have been regularly squeezed together to make himself small enough for a tin soldier's uniform. friday. "it is incredible how many elderly people there are who would be so glad of me," said olé luckoiè, "especially those who have done any thing wrong. 'good little olé,' say they to me, 'we cannot close our eyes; and so we lie all night long awake, and see all our bad deeds, which sit, like ugly little imps, on the bed's head, and squirt hot water on us. wilt thou only just come and drive them away, that we may have a good sleep!' and with that they heave such deep sighs--'we would so gladly pay thee; good-night, olé!' silver pennies lie for me in the window," said olé luckoiè, "but i do not give sleep for money!" "now what shall we have to-night?" inquired yalmar. "i do not know whether thou hast any desire to go again to-night to a wedding," said olé luckoiè; "but it is of a different kind to that of last night. thy sister's great doll, which is dressed like a gentleman, and is called herman, is going to be married to the doll bertha; besides, it is the doll's birthday, and therefore there will be a great many presents made." "yes, i know," said yalmar; "always, whenever the dolls have new clothes, my sister entreats that they have a birthday or a wedding; that has happened certainly a hundred times!" "yes, but to-night it is the hundred and first wedding, and when a hundred and one is done then all is over! therefore it will be incomparably grand. only look!" yalmar looked at the table; there stood the little doll's house with lights in the windows, and all the tin soldiers presented arms outside. the bridal couple sat upon the floor, and leaned against the table-legs, and looked very pensive, and there might be reason for it. but olé luckoiè, dressed in the grandmother's black petticoat, married them, and when they were married, all the furniture in the room joined in the following song, which was written in pencil, and which was sung to the tune of the drum:-- our song like a wind comes flitting into the room where the bride-folks are sitting; they are partly of wood, as is befitting: their skin is the skin of a glove well fitting! hurrah, hurrah! for sitting and fitting! thus sing we aloud as the wind comes flitting! and now the presents were brought, but they had forbidden any kind of eatables, for their love was sufficient for them. "shall we stay in the country, or shall we travel into foreign parts?" asked the bridegroom; and with that they begged the advice of the breeze, which had travelled a great deal, and of the old hen, which had had five broods of chickens. the breeze told them about the beautiful, warm countries where the bunches of grapes hung so large and so heavy; where the air was so mild, and the mountains had colors of which one could have no idea "in this country." "but there they have not our green cabbage!" said the hen. "i lived for one summer with all my chickens in the country; there was a dry, dusty ditch in which we could go and scuttle, and we had admittance to a garden where there was green cabbage! o, how green it was! i cannot fancy any thing more beautiful!" "but one cabbage-stalk looks just like another," said the breeze; "and then there is such wretched weather here." "yes, but one gets used to it," said the hen. "but it is cold--it freezes!" "that is good for the cabbage!" said the hen. "besides, we also have it warm. had not we four years ago a summer which lasted five weeks, and it was so hot that people did not know how to bear it? and then we have not all the poisonous creatures which they have there! and we are far from robbers. he is a good-for-nothing fellow who does not think our country the most beautiful in the world! and he does not deserve to be here!" and with that the hen cried.--"and i also have travelled," continued she; "i have gone in a boat above twelve miles; there is no pleasure in travelling." "the hen is a sensible body!" said the doll bertha; "i would rather not travel to the mountains, for it is only going up to come down again. no! we will go down into the ditch, and walk in the cabbage-garden." and so they did. saturday. "shall i have any stories?" said little yalmar, as soon as olé luckoiè had put him to sleep. "in the evening we have no time for any," said olé, and spread out his most beautiful umbrella above his head. "look now at this chinese scene!" and with that the whole inside of the umbrella looked like a great china saucer, with blue trees and pointed bridges, on which stood little chinese, who stood and nodded with their heads. "we shall have all the world dressed up beautifully this morning," said olé, "for it is really a holiday; it is sunday. i shall go up into the church towers to see whether the little church-elves polish the bells, because they sound so sweetly. i shall go out into the market, and see whether the wind blows the dust, and grass, and leaves, and what is the hardest work there. i shall have all the stars down to polish them; i shall put them into my apron, but first of all i must have them all numbered, and the holes where they fit up there numbered also; else we shall never put them into their proper places again, and then they will not be firm, and we shall have so many falling stars, one dropping down after another!" "hear, you mr. luckoiè, there!" said an old portrait that hung on the wall of the room where yalmar slept: "i am yalmar's grandfather. we are obliged to you for telling the boy pretty stories, but you must not go and confuse his ideas. the stars cannot be taken down and polished! the stars are globes like our earth, and they want nothing doing at them!" "thou shalt have thanks, thou old grandfather," said olé luckoiè; "thanks thou shalt have! thou art, to be sure, the head of the family; thou art the old head of the family; but for all that, i am older than thou! i am an old heathen; the greeks and the romans called me the god of dreams. i go into great folks' houses, and i shall go there still. i know how to manage both with young and old. but now thou mayst take thy turn." and with this olé luckoiè went away, and took his umbrella with him. "now, one cannot tell what he means!" said the old portrait. and yalmar awoke. sunday. "good-evening!" said olé luckoiè, and yalmar nodded; but he jumped up and turned the grandfather's portrait to the wall, that it might not chatter as it had done the night before. "now thou shalt tell me a story," said yalmar, "about the five peas that live in one pea-pod, and about hanebeen who cured honebeen; and about the darning-needle, that was so fine that it fancied itself a sewing-needle." "one might do a deal of good by so doing," said olé luckoiè; "but, dost thou know, i would rather show thee something. i will show thee my brother; he also is called olé luckoiè. he never comes more than once to anybody,--and when he comes he takes the person away with him on his horse, and tells him a great and wonderful history. but he only knows two, one of them is the most incomparably beautiful story, so beautiful that nobody in the world can imagine it; and the other is so dismal and sad--oh, it is impossible to describe how sad!" having said this, olé luckoiè lifted little yalmar up to the window and said, "there thou mayst see my brother, the other olé luckoiè! they call him death! dost thou see, he does not look horrible as they have painted him in picture-books, like a skeleton; no, his coat is embroidered with silver; he wears a handsome hussar uniform! a cloak of black velvet flies behind, over his horse. see how he gallops!" yalmar looked, and saw how the other olé luckoiè rode along, and took both young and old people with him on his horse. some he set before him, and some he set behind; but his first question always was, "how does it stand in your character-book?" everybody said, "good!" "yes! let me see myself," said he; and they were obliged to show him their books: and all those in whose books were written, "very good!" or "remarkably good!" he placed before him on his horse; and they listened to the beautiful story that he could tell. but they in whose books was written, "not very good," or "only middling," they had to sit behind and listen to the dismal tale. these wept bitterly, and would have been glad to have got away, that they might have amended their characters; but it was then too late. "death is, after all, the most beautiful olé luckoiè," said yalmar; "i shall not be afraid of him." "thou need not fear him," said olé luckoiè, "if thou only take care and have a good character-book." "there is instruction in that," mumbled the old grandfather's portrait; "that is better: one sees his meaning!" and he was pleased. * * * * * see, this is the story about olé luckoiè. this night, perhaps, he may tell thee some others. the daisy. now thou shalt hear!--out in the country, close by the high road, there stood a pleasure-house,--thou hast, no doubt, seen it thyself. in the front is a little garden full of flowers, and this is fenced in with painted palisades. close beside these, in a hollow, there grew, all among the loveliest green grass, a little tuft of daisies. the sun shone upon it just as warmly and as sweetly as upon the large and rich splendid flowers within the garden, and, therefore, it grew hour by hour. one morning it opened its little shining white flower-leaves, which looked just like rays of light all round the little yellow sun in the inside. it never once thought that nobody saw it down there in the grass, and that it was a poor, despised flower! no, nothing of the kind! it was so very happy; turned itself round towards the warm sun, looked up, and listened to the lark which sang in the blue air. the little daisy was as happy as if it had been some great holiday, and yet it was only a monday. all the children were in school, and while they sat upon the benches learning their lessons, it also sat upon its little green stalk, and learned from the warm sun and from every thing around it, how good god is. and it seemed to it quite right that the little lark sang so intelligibly and so beautifully every thing which it felt in stillness; and it looked up with a sort of reverence to the happy bird, which could sing and fly, but it was not at all vexed because it could not do the same. "i see it and hear it," thought the daisy; "the sun shines upon me, and the winds kiss me! o, what a many gifts i enjoy!" inside the garden paling there were such a great many stiff, grand flowers; and all the less fragrance they had the more they seemed to swell themselves out. the pionies blew themselves out that they might be bigger than the roses; but it is not size which does every thing. the tulips had the most splendid colors, and they knew it too, and held themselves so upright on purpose that people should see them all the better. they never paid the least attention to the little daisy outside, but it looked at them all the more, and thought, "how rich they are, and how beautiful! yes, to be sure, the charming bird up there must fly down and pay them a visit. thank god! that i am so near that i can see all the glory!" and while she was thinking these thoughts--"quirrevit!" down came the lark flying,--but not down to the pionies and the tulips: no! but down into the grass to the poor little daisy; which was so astonished by pure joy, that it did not know what it should think. the little bird danced round about, and sang, "nay, but the grass is in flower! and see, what a sweet little blossom, with a golden heart and a silver jerkin on!"--for the yellow middle of the daisy looked as if it were of gold, and the little leaves round about were shining and silver white. so happy as the little daisy was it is quite impossible to describe! the bird kissed it with its beak, sang before it, and then flew up again into the blue air. it required a whole quarter of an hour before the daisy could come to itself again. half bashfully, and yet with inward delight, it looked into the garden to the other flowers; they had actually seen the honor and the felicity which she had enjoyed; they could certainly understand, she thought, what a happiness it was. but the tulips stood yet just as stiffly as before, and their faces were so peaked and so red!--for they were quite vexed. the pionies were quite thick-headed, too! it was a good thing that they could not talk, or else the daisy would have been regularly scolded. the poor little flower, however, could see very plainly that they were not in a good humor, and that really distressed her. at that very moment there came a girl into the garden with a great knife in her hand, which was very sharp and shining, and she went all among the tulips, and she cut off first one and then another. "ah!" sighed the little daisy, "that was very horrible; now all is over with them!" so the girl went away with the tulips. the daisy was glad that it grew in the grass, and was a little mean flower; it felt full of gratitude, and when the sun set, it folded its leaves, slept, and dreamed the whole night long about the sun and the little bird. next morning, the flower again, full of joy, spread out all its white leaves, like small arms, towards the air and the light; it recognised the bird's voice; but the song of the bird was very sorrowful. yes, the poor little bird had good reason for being sad! it had been taken prisoner, and now sat in a cage close by the open window of the pleasure-house. it sang about flying wherever it would in freedom and bliss; it sang about the young green corn in the fields, and about the charming journeys which it used to make up in the blue air upon its hovering wings. the poor bird was heavy at heart, and was captive in a cage. the little daisy wished so sincerely that it could be of any service; but it was difficult to tell how. in sympathizing with the lark, the daisy quite forgot how beautiful was every thing around it--how warmly the sun shone, and how beautifully white were its own flower-leaves. ah! it could think of nothing but of the captive bird, for which it was not able to do any thing. just then came two little boys out of the garden; one of them had a knife in his hand, large and sharp, like that which the girl had, and with which she cut off the tulips. they went straight up to the little daisy, which could not think what they wanted. "here we can get a beautiful grass turf for the lark," said one of the boys; and began deeply to cut out a square around the daisy-root, so that it was just in the middle of the turf. "break off the flower!" said the other boy; and the daisy trembled for very fear of being broken off, and thus losing its life; when it would so gladly live and go with the turf into the cage of the captive lark. "nay, let it be where it is!" said the other boy; "it makes it look so pretty!" and so it was left there, and was taken into the cage to the lark. but the poor bird made loud lamentations over its lost freedom, and struck the wires of the cage with its wings. the little daisy could not speak, could not say one consoling word, however gladly it would have done so. thus passed the forenoon. "there is no water here," said the captive lark; "they are all gone out, and have forgotten to give me a drop to drink! my throat is dry and burning! it is fire and ice within me, and the air is so heavy! ah! i shall die away from the warm sunshine, from the fresh green leaves, from all the glorious things which god has created!" and with that it bored its little beak down into the cool turf to refresh itself a little. at that moment it caught sight of the daisy, nodded to it, kissed it with its beak, and said, "thou also must wither here, thou poor little flower! thou and the little plot of grass, which they have given me for the whole world which i had out there! every little blade of grass may be to me a green tree, every one of thy little white leaves a fragrant flower! ah! you only tell me how much i have lost!" "ah! who can comfort him!" thought the daisy, but could not move a leaf; and yet the fragrance which was given forth from its delicate petals was much sweeter than is usual in such flowers. the bird remarked this, and when, overcome by the agony of thirst and misery, it tore up every green blade of grass, it touched not the little flower. evening came, and yet no one brought a single drop of water to the poor bird. it stretched out its beautiful wings, fluttered them convulsively, and its song was a melancholy wailing; its little head bowed down towards the flower, and its heart broke from thirst and longing. the little flower knew this not; before the evening was ended, it had folded its petals together and slept upon the earth, overcome with sickness and sorrow. not until the next morning came the boys, and when they saw that the bird was dead they wept, wept many tears, and dug for it a handsome grave, which they adorned with leaves of flowers. the corpse of the bird was laid in a beautiful red box. it was to be buried royally, the poor bird! which, when full of life and singing its glorious song, they forgot, and let it pine in a cage, and suffer thirst--and now they did him honor, and shed many tears over him! but the sod of grass with the daisy, that they threw out into the dust of the highway; no one thought about it, though it had felt more than any of them for the little bird, and would so gladly have comforted it. the naughty boy. there was once upon a time an old poet, such a really good old poet! one evening, he sat at home--it was dreadful weather out of doors--the rain poured down; but the old poet sat so comfortably, and in such a good humor, beside his stove, where the fire was burning brightly, and his apples were merrily roasting. "there will not be a dry thread on the poor souls who are out in this weather!" said he; for he was such a good old poet. "o let me in! i am freezing, and i am so wet!" cried the voice of a little child outside. it cried and knocked at the door, while the rain kept pouring down, and the wind rattled at all the windows. "poor little soul!" said the old poet, and got up to open the door. there stood a little boy; he had not any clothes on, and the rain ran off from his long yellow hair. he shook with the cold; if he had not been taken in, he would most surely have died of that bad weather. "thou poor little soul!" said the kind old poet, and took him by the hand; "come in, and i will warm thee! and thou shalt have some wine, and a nice roasted apple, for thou art a pretty little boy!" and so he was. his eyes were like two bright stars, and, although the water ran down from his yellow hair, yet it curled so beautifully. he looked just like a little angel; but he was pale with the cold, and his little body trembled all over. in his hand he carried a pretty little bow; but it was quite spoiled with the rain, and all the colors of his beautiful little arrows ran one into another with the wet. the good old poet seated himself by the stove, and took the little boy upon his knee; he wrung the rain out of his hair, warmed his little hands in his, and made some sweet wine warm for him; by this means the rosy color came back into his cheeks, he jumped down upon the floor, and danced round and round the old poet. "thou art a merry lad," said the poet; "what is thy name?" "they call me love," replied the boy; "dost thou not know me? there lies my bow; i shoot with it, thou mayst believe! see, now, the weather clears up; the moon shines!" "but thy bow is spoiled," said the old poet. "that would be sad!" said the little boy, and took it up to see if it were. "oh, it is quite dry," said he; "it is not hurt at all! the string is quite firm: now i will try it!" and with that he strung it, laid an arrow upon it, took his aim, and shot the good old poet right through the heart! "thou canst now see that my bow is not spoiled!" said he; and laughing as loud as he could, ran away. what a naughty boy! to shoot the good old poet who had taken him into the warm room; who had been so kind to him, and given him nice wine to drink, and the very best of his roasted apples! the poor poet lay upon the floor and wept, for he was actually shot through the heart, and he said, "fy! what a naughty boy that love is! i will tell all good little children about him, that they may drive him away before he makes them some bad return!" all good children, boys and girls, to whom he told this, drove away that naughty little lad; but for all that he has made fools of them all, for he is so artful! when students go from their lectures, he walks by their side with a book under his arm, and they fancy that he too is a student, and so he runs an arrow into their breasts. when young girls go to church, and when they stand in the aisle of the church, he too has followed them. yes, he is always following people! he sits in the great chandelier in the theatre, and burns with a bright flame, and so people think he is a lamp, but afterwards they find something else! he runs about the king's garden, and on the bowling-green! yes! he once shot thy father and mother through the heart! ask them about it, and then thou wilt hear what they say. yes, indeed, he is a bad boy, that love; do thou never have any thing to do with him!--he is always running after people! only think! once upon a time, he even shot an arrow at thy good old grandmother!--but that is a long time ago, and it is past. but thus it is, he never forgets anybody! fy, for shame, naughty love! but now thou knowest him, and knowest what a bad boy he is! tommelise. once upon a time, a beggar woman went to the house of a poor peasant, and asked for something to eat. the peasant's wife gave her some bread and milk. when she had eaten it, she took a barley-corn out of her pocket, and said--"this will i give thee; set it in a flower-pot, and see what will come out of it." the woman set the barley-corn in an old flower-pot, and the next day the most beautiful plant had shot up, which looked just like a tulip, but the leaves were shut close together, as if it still were in bud. "what a pretty flower it is!" said the woman, and kissed the small red and yellow leaves; and just as she had kissed them, the flower gave a great crack, and opened itself. it was a real tulip, only one could see that in the middle of the flower there sat upon the pintail a little tiny girl, so delicate and lovely, and not half so big as my thumb, and, therefore, woman called her tommelise. a pretty polished walnut-shell was her cradle, blue violet leaves were her mattress, and a rose leaf was her coverlet; here she slept at night, but in the day she played upon the table, where the woman had set a plate, around which she placed quite a garland of flowers, the stalks of which were put in water. a large tulip-leaf floated on the water. tommelise seated herself on this, and sailed from one end of the plate to the other; she had two white horse-hairs to row her little boat with. it looked quite lovely; and then she sang--oh! so beautifully, as nobody ever had heard! one night, as she lay in her nice little bed, there came a fat, yellow frog hopping in at the window, in which there was a broken pane. the frog was very large and heavy, but it hopped easily on the table where tommelise lay and slept under the red rose leaf. "this would be a beautiful wife for my son!" said the frog; and so she took up the walnut-shell in which tommelise lay, and hopped away with it, through the broken pane, down into the garden. here there ran a large, broad river; but just at its banks it was marshy and muddy: the frog lived here, with her son. uh! he also was all spotted with green and yellow, and was very like his mother. "koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex!" that was all that he could say when he saw the pretty little maiden in the walnut-shell. "don't make such a noise, or else you will waken her," said the old frog; "and if you frighten her, she may run away from us, for she is as light as swan's down! we will take her out on the river, and set her on a waterlily leaf; to her who is so light, it will be like an island; she cannot get away from us there, and we will then go and get ready the house in the mud, where you two shall live together." there grew a great many waterlilies in the river, with their broad green leaves, which seemed to float upon the water. the old frog swam to the leaf which was the farthest out in the river, and which was the largest also, and there she set the walnut-shell, with little tommelise. the poor little tiny thing awoke quite early in the morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry bitterly, for there was water on every side of the large green leaf, and she could not get to land. the old frog sat down in the mud, and decked her house with sedge and yellow water-reeds, that it might be regularly beautiful when her new daughter-in-law came. after this was done, she and her fat son swam away to the lily leaf, where tommelise stood, that they might fetch her pretty little bed, and so have every thing ready before she herself came to the house. the old frog courtesied to her in the water, and said,--"allow me to introduce my son to you, who is to be your husband, and you shall live together, so charmingly, down in the mud!" "koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex!" that was all that the son could say. so they took the pretty little bed, and swam away with it; but tommelise sat, quite alone, and wept, upon the green leaf, for she did not wish to live with the queer-looking, yellow frog, nor to have her ugly son for her husband. the little fishes which swam down in the water had seen the frog, and had heard what she said; they put up, therefore, their heads, to look at the little girl. the moment they saw her they thought her very pretty; and they felt very sorry that she should have to go down into the mud and live with the frog. no, never should it be! they therefore went down into the water in a great shoal, and gathered round the green stalk of the leaf upon which she stood; they gnawed the stalk in two with their teeth, and thus the leaf floated down the river. slowly and quietly it floated away, a long way off, where the frog could not come to it. tommelise sailed past a great many places, and the little birds sat in the bushes, looked at her, and sang,--"what a pretty little maiden!" the leaf on which she stood floated away farther and farther, and, at last, she came to a foreign land. a pretty little white butterfly stayed with her, and flew round about her, and, at length, seated itself upon the leaf; for it knew little tommelise so well and she was so pleased, for she knew that now the frog could not come near her, and the land to which she had come was very beautiful. the sun shone upon the water, and it was like the most lovely gold. she took off her girdle, therefore, and bound one end of it to the butterfly, and the other end of it to the leaf, and thus she glided on more swiftly than ever, and she stood upon the leaf as it went. as she was thus sailing on charmingly, a large stag-beetle came flying towards her; it paused for a moment to look at her, then clasped its claws around her slender waist, and flew up into a tree with her, but the green lily leaf floated down the stream, and the white butterfly with it, because it was fastened to it, and could not get loose. poor tommelise! how frightened she was when the stag-beetle flew away with her up into the tree! but she was most of all distressed for the lovely white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf. but that did not trouble the stag-beetle at all. it seated itself upon one of the largest green leaves of the tree, gave her the honey of the flowers to eat, and said that she was very pretty, although she was not at all like a stag-beetle. before long, all the other stag-beetles that lived in the tree came to pay her a visit; they looked at tommelise; and the misses stag-beetle, they examined her with their antennæ, and said,--"why, she has only two legs, that is very extraordinary!" "she has no antennæ!" said the others. "she has such a thin body! why she looks just like a human being!" "how ugly she is!" said all the lady stag-beetles; and yet tommelise was exceedingly pretty. the stag-beetle which had carried her away had thought so himself, at first; but now, as all the others said that she was ugly, he fancied, at last, that she was so, and would not have her, and she could now go where she would. they flew down with her out of the tree, and set her upon a daisy. here she wept, because she was so ugly, and the stag-beetles would have nothing to do with her; and yet she really was so very lovely as nobody could imagine, as delicate and bright as the most beautiful rose leaf! poor tommelise lived all that long summer, though quite alone, in the great wood. she wove herself a bed of grass, and hung it under a large plantain leaf, so that the rain could not come to her; she fed from the honey of the flowers, and drank of the dew which stood in glittering drops every morning on the grass. thus passed the summer and the autumn; but now came winter, the cold, long winter. all the birds which had sung so sweetly to her were flown away; the trees and the flowers withered; the large plantain leaf under which she had dwelt shrunk together, and became nothing but a dry, yellow stalk; and she was so cold, for her clothes were in rags; and she herself was so delicate and small!--poor tommelise, she was almost frozen to death! it began to snow, and every snow-flake which fell upon her was just as if a whole drawer-full had been thrown upon us, for we are strong, and she was so very, very small! she crept, therefore, into a withered leaf, but that could not keep her warm; she shook with the cold. close beside the wood in which she now was, lay a large cornfield; but the corn had long been carried; nothing remained but dry stubble, which stood up on the frozen ground. it was, to her, like going into a bare wood--oh! how she shivered with cold! before long she came to the fieldmouse's door. the fieldmouse had a little cave down below the roots of the corn-stubble, and here she dwelt warm and comfortable, and had whole rooms full of corn, and a beautiful kitchen and a store-closet. poor tommelise stood before the door, like any other little beggar-child, and prayed for a little bit of a barley-corn, for she had now been two whole days without having eaten the least morsel. "thou poor little thing!" said the fieldmouse, for she was at heart a good old fieldmouse; "come into my warm parlor, and have a bit of dinner with me." how kind that seemed to tommelise! "thou canst stop with me the whole winter," said the old fieldmouse; "but then thou must be my little maid, and keep my parlor neat and clean, and tell me tales to amuse me, for i am very fond of them!" and tommelise did all that the good old fieldmouse desired of her, and was very comfortable. "before long we shall have a visitor," said the fieldmouse, soon after tommelise was settled in her place; "my neighbor is accustomed to visit me once a week. he is much better off in the world than i am; he has a large house, and always wears such a splendid velvet dress! if thou couldst only manage to get him for thy husband, thou wouldst be lucky,--but then he is blind. thou canst tell him the very prettiest story thou knowest." but tommelise gave herself no trouble about him; she did not wish to have the neighbor, for he was only a mole. he came and paid his visits in his black velvet dress; he was very rich and learned, the fieldmouse said, and his dwelling-house was twenty times larger than hers; and he had such a deal of earning, although he made but little of the sum and the beautiful flowers; he laughed at them; but then he had never seen them! the fieldmouse insisted on tommelise singing, so she sang. she sang both "fly, stag-beetle, fly!" and "the green moss grows by the water side;" and the mole fell deeply in love with her, for the sake of her sweet voice, but he did not say any thing, for he was a very discreet gentleman. he had lately dug a long passage through the earth, between his house and theirs; and in this he gave tommelise and the fieldmouse leave to walk whenever they liked. but he told them not to be afraid of a dead bird which lay in the passage, for it was an entire bird, with feathers and a beak; which certainly was dead just lately, at the beginning of winter, and had been buried exactly where he began his passage. the mole took a piece of touchwood in his mouth, for it shines just like fire in the dark, and went before them, to light them in the long, dark passage. when they were come where the dead bird lay, the mole set his broad nose to the ground, and ploughed up the earth, so that there was a large hole, through which the daylight could shine. in the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, with its beautiful wings pressed close to its sides. its legs and head were drawn up under the feathers; the poor bird had certainly died of cold. tommelise was very sorry for it, for she was so fond of little birds; they had, through the whole summer, sung and twittered so beautifully to her; but the mole stood beside it, with his short legs, and said,--"now it will tweedle no more! it must be a shocking thing to be born a little bird; thank goodness that none of my children have been such; for a bird has nothing at all but its singing; and it may be starved to death in winter!" "yes, that you, who are a sensible man, may well say," said the fieldmouse; "what has the bird, with all its piping and singing, when winter comes? it may be famished or frozen!" tommelise said nothing; but when the two others had turned their backs, she bent over it, stroked aside the feathers which lay over its head, and kissed its closed eyes. "perhaps it was that same swallow which sang so sweetly to me in summer," thought she; "what a deal of pleasure it caused me, the dear, beautiful bird!" the mole stopped up the opening which it had made for the daylight to come in, and accompanied the ladies home. tommelise, however, could not sleep in the night; so she got up out of bed, and wove a small, beautiful mat of hay; and that she carried down and spread over the dead bird; laid soft cotton-wool, which she had found in the fieldmouse's parlor, around the bird, that it might lie warm in the cold earth. "farewell, thou pretty little bird," said she; "farewell, and thanks for thy beautiful song, in summer, when all the trees were green, and the sun shone so warmly upon us!" with this she laid her head upon the bird's breast, and the same moment was quite amazed, for it seemed to her as if there were a slight movement within it. it was the bird's heart. the bird was not dead; it lay in a swoon, and now being warmed, it was reanimated. in the autumn all the swallows fly away to the warm countries; but if there be one which tarries behind, it becomes stiff with cold, so that it falls down as if dead, and the winter's snow covers it. tommelise was quite terrified, for in comparison with her the bird was a very large creature; but she took courage, however, laid the cotton-wool closer around the poor swallow, and fetched a coverlet of chrysanthemum leaves, which she had for her bed, and laid it over its head. next night she listened again, and it was quite living, but so weak that it could only open its eyes a very little, and see tommelise, who stood with a piece of touchwood in her hand, for other light she had none. "thanks thou shalt have, thou pretty little child!" said the sick swallow to her; "i have been beautifully revived! i shall soon recover my strength, and be able to fly again out into the warm sunshine!" "o," said she, "it is so cold out-of-doors! it snows and freezes! stop in thy warm bed, and i will nurse thee!" she brought the swallow water, in a flower-leaf, and it drank it, and related to her how it had torn one of its wings upon a thorn-bush, and, therefore, had not been able to fly so well as the other swallows, who had flown far, far away, into the warm countries. it had, at last, fallen down upon the ground; but more than that it knew not, nor how it had come there. during the whole winter it continued down here, and tommelise was very kind to it, and became very fond of it; but neither the mole nor the fieldmouse knew any thing about it, for they could not endure swallows. as soon as ever spring came, and the sun shone warm into the earth, the swallow bade farewell to tommelise, who opened the hole which the mole had covered up. the sun shone so delightfully down into it, and the swallow asked whether she would not go with him; she might sit upon his back, and he would fly out with her far into the green-wood. but tommelise knew that it would distress the old fieldmouse if she thus left her. "no, i cannot," said tommelise. "farewell, farewell, thou good, sweet little maiden!" said the swallow, and flew out into the sunshine. tommelise looked after it, and the tears came into her eyes, for she was very fond of the swallow, and she felt quite forlorn now it was gone. "quivit! quivit!" sung the bird, and flew into the green-wood. tommelise was very sorrowful. she could not obtain leave to go out into the warm sunshine. the corn which had been sown in the field above the mouse's dwelling, had grown so high that it was now like a thick wood to her. "now, during this summer, thou shalt get thy wedding clothes ready," said the fieldmouse to her; for the old neighbor, the wealthy mole, had presented himself as a wooer. "thou shalt have both woollen and linen clothes; thou shalt have both table and body linen, if thou wilt be the mole's wife," said the old fieldmouse. tommelise was obliged to sit down and spin; and the fieldmouse hired six spiders to spin and weave both night and day. every evening the mole came to pay a visit, and always said that when the summer was ended, and the sun did not shine so hotly as to bake the earth to a stone,--yes, when the summer was over, then he and tommelise would have a grand wedding; but this never gave her any pleasure, for she did not like the wealthy old gentleman. every morning, when the sun rose, and every evening, when it set, she stole out to the door; and if the wind blew the ears of corn aside so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how bright and beautiful it was out there, and she wished so much that she could, just once more, see the dear swallow. but he never came; he certainly had flown far, far away from the lovely green-wood. it was now autumn, and all tommelise's wedding things were ready. "in four weeks thou shalt be married," said the old fieldmouse to her. but tommelise cried, and said that she would not have the rich mole. "snick, snack!" said the fieldmouse; "do not go and be obstinate, else i shall bite thee with my white teeth! he is, indeed, a very fine gentleman! the queen herself has not got a dress equal to his black velvet! he has riches both in kitchen and coffer. be thankful that thou canst get such a one!" so the wedding was fixed. the bridegroom was already come, in his best black velvet suit, to fetch away tommelise. she was to live with him deep under ground, never to come out into the warm sunshine, for that he could not bear. the poor child was full of sorrow; she must once more say farewell to the beautiful sun; and she begged so hard, that the fieldmouse gave her leave to go to the door to do so. "farewell, thou bright sun!" said she, and stretched forth her arms, and went a few paces from the fieldmouse's door, for the corn was now cut, and again there was nothing but the dry stubble. "farewell! farewell!" said she, and threw her small arms around a little red flower which grew there; "greet the little swallow for me, if thou chance to see him!" "quivit! quivit!" said the swallow, that very moment, above her head; she looked up, there was the little swallow, which had just come by. as soon as tommelise saw it, she was very glad; she told it how unwilling she was to marry the rich old mole, and live so deep underground, where the sun never shone. she could not help weeping as she told him. "the cold winter is just at hand," said the little swallow; "i am going far away to the warm countries, wilt thou go with me? thou canst sit upon my back; bind thyself fast with thy girdle, and so we will fly away from the rich mole and his dark parlor, far away over the mountains, to the warm countries, where the sun shines more beautifully than here, and where there always is summer, and where the beautiful flowers are always in bloom. only fly away with me, thou sweet little tommelise, who didst save my life when i lay frozen in the dark prison of the earth!" "yes, i will go with thee!" said tommelise, and seated herself upon the bird's back, with her feet upon one of his outspread wings. she bound her girdle to one of the strongest of his feathers, and thus the swallow flew aloft into the air, over wood and over sea, high up above the great mountains, where lies the perpetual snow, and tommelise shivered with the intensely cold air; but she then crept among the bird's warm feathers, and only put out her little head, that she might look at all the magnificent prospect that lay below her. thus they came to the warm countries. there the sun shone much brighter than it does here; the heavens were twice as high, and upon trellis and hedge grew the most splendid purple and green grapes. oranges and lemons hung golden in the woods, and myrtle and wild thyme sent forth their fragrance; the most beautiful children, on the highways, ran after and played with large, brilliantly-colored butterflies. but the swallow still flew onward, and it became more and more beautiful. among lovely green trees, and beside a beautiful blue lake, stood a palace, built of the shining white marble of antiquity. vines clambered up the tall pillars; on the topmost of these were many swallow nests, and in one of these dwelt the very swallow which carried tommelise. "here is my home!" said the swallow; "but wilt thou now seek out for thyself one of the lovely flowers which grow below, and then i will place thee there, and thou shalt make thyself as comfortable as thou pleasest?" "that is charming!" said she, and clapped her small hands. just by there lay a large white marble pillar, which had fallen down, and broken into three pieces, but amongst these grew the most exquisite large white flowers. the swallow flew down with tommelise, and seated her upon one of the broad leaves,--but how amazed she was! there sat a little man in the middle of the flower, as white and transparent as if he were of glass; the most lovely crown of gold was upon his head, and the most beautiful bright wings upon his shoulders; and he, too, was no larger than tommelise. he was the angel of the flower. in every flower lived such a little man or woman, but this was the king of them all. "good heavens! how small he is!" whispered tommelise to the swallow. the little prince was as much frightened at the swallow, for it was, indeed, a great, gigantic bird in comparison of him, who was so very small and delicate; but when he saw tommelise he was very glad, for she was the prettiest little maiden that ever he had seen. he took, therefore, the golden crown from off his head, and set it upon hers, and asked her what was her name, and whether she would be his wife, and be the queen of all the flowers? yes, he was really and truly a little man, quite different to the frog's son, and to the mole, with his black velvet dress; she therefore said, yes, to the pretty prince; and so there came out of every flower a lady or a gentleman, so lovely that it was quite a pleasure to see them, and brought, every one of them, a present to tommelise; but the best of all was a pair of beautiful wings, of fine white pearl, and these were fastened on tommelise's shoulders, and thus she also could fly from flower to flower,--that was such a delight! and the little swallow sat up in its nest and sang to them as well as it could, but still it was a little bit sad at heart, for it was very fond of tommelise, and wished never to have parted from her. "thou shalt not be called tommelise!" said the angel of the flowers to her; "it is an ugly name, and thou art so beautiful. we will call thee maia!" "farewell, farewell!" said the little swallow, and flew again forth from the warm countries, far, far away, to denmark. there it had a little nest above the window of a room in which dwelt a poet, who can tell beautiful tales; for him it sang,--"quivit, quivit!" and from the swallow, therefore, have we this history. the rose-elf. there grew a rose-tree in the middle of a garden; it was quite full of roses; and in one of these, the prettiest of them all, dwelt an elf. he was so very, very small, that no human eye could see him; behind every leaf in the rose he had a sleeping-room; he was as well-formed and as pretty as any child could be, and had wings, which reached from his shoulders down to his feet. o, how fragrant were his chambers, and how bright and beautiful the walls were! they were, indeed, the pale pink, delicate rose leaves. all day long he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew from flower to flower, danced upon the wings of the fluttering butterfly, or counted how many paces it was from one footpath to another, upon one single lime leaf. what he considered as footpaths, were what we call veins in the leaf; yes, it was an immense way for him! before he had finished, the sun had set; thus, he had begun too late. it became very cold; the dew fell, and the wind blew; the best thing he could do was to get home as fast as he could. he made as much haste as was possible, but all the roses had closed--he could not get in; there was not one single rose open; the poor little elf was quite terrified, he had never been out in the night before; he always had slept in the snug little rose leaf. now, he certainly would get his death of cold! at the other end of the garden he knew that there was an arbor, all covered with beautiful honeysuckle. the flowers looked like exquisitely painted horns; he determined to creep down into one of these, and sleep there till morning. he flew thither. listen! there are two people within the bower; the one, a handsome young man, and the other, the loveliest young lady that ever was seen; they sat side by side, and wished that they never might be parted, through all eternity. they loved each other very dearly, more dearly than the best child can love either its father or mother. they kissed each other; and the young lady wept, and gave him a rose; but before she gave it to him she pressed it to her lips, and that with such a deep tenderness, that the rose opened, and the little elf flew into it, and nestled down into its fragrant chamber. as he lay there, he could very plainly hear that they said,--farewell! farewell! to each other; and then he felt that the rose had its place on the young man's breast. oh! how his heart beat!--the little elf could not go to sleep because the young man's heart beat so much. the rose lay there; the young man took it forth whilst he went through a dark wood, and kissed it with such vehemence that the little elf was almost crushed to death; he could feel, through the leaves, how warm were the young man's lips, and the rose gave forth its odor, as if to the noon-day's sun. then came another man through the wood; he was dark and wrathful, and was the handsome young lady's cruel brother. he drew forth from its sheath a long and sharp dagger, and whilst the young man kissed the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death, and then buried him in the bloody earth, under a lime tree. "now he is gone and forgotten!" thought the wicked man; "he will never come back again. he is gone a long journey over mountains and seas; it would be an easy thing for him to lose his life,--and he has done so! he will never come back again, and i fancy my sister will never ask after him." he covered the troubled earth, in which he had laid the dead body, with withered leaves, and then set off home again, through the dark night; but he went not alone, as he fancied; the little elf went with him; it sat in a withered, curled-up lime leaf, which had fallen upon the hair of the cruel man as he dug the grave. he had now put his hat on, and, within, it was very dark; and the little elf trembled with horror and anger over the wicked deed. in the early hour of morning he came home; he took off his hat, and went into his sister's chamber; there lay the beautiful, blooming maiden, and dreamed about the handsome young man. she loved him very dearly, and thought that now he went over mountains and through woods. the cruel brother bent over her; what were his thoughts we know not, but they must have been evil. the withered lime leaf fell from his hair down upon the bed cover, but he did not notice it; and so he went out, that he, too, might sleep a little in the morning hour. but the elf crept out of the withered leaf, crept to the ear of the sleeping maiden, and told her, as if in a dream, of the fearful murder; described to her the very place where he had been stabbed, and where his body lay; it told about the blossoming lime tree close beside, and said,--"and that thou mayest not fancy that this is a dream which i tell thee, thou wilt find a withered lime leaf upon thy bed!" and she found it when she woke. oh! what salt tears she wept, and she did not dare to tell her sorrow to any one. the window stood open all day, and the little elf could easily go out into the garden, to the roses and all the other flowers; but for all that, he resolved not to leave the sorrowful maiden. in the window there stood a monthly rose, and he placed himself in one of its flowers, and there could be near the poor young lady who was so unhappy. her brother came often into her room, but she could not say one word about the great sorrow of her heart. as soon as it was night she stole out of the house, went to the wood, and to the very place where the lime tree stood; tore away the dead leaves from the sod, dug down, and found him who was dead! oh! how she wept and prayed our lord, that she, too, might soon die! gladly would she have taken the body home with her,--but that she could not; so she cut away a beautiful lock of his hair, and laid it near her heart! not a word she said; and when she had laid earth and leaves again upon the dead body, she went home; and took with her a little jasmine tree, which grew, full of blossoms, in the wood where he had met with his death. as soon as she returned to her chamber, she took a very pretty flower-pot, and, filling it with mould, laid in it the beautiful curling hair, and planted in it the jasmine tree. "farewell, farewell!" whispered the little elf; he could no longer bear to see her grief, so he flew out into the garden, to his rose; but its leaves had fallen; nothing remained of it but the four green calix leaves. "ah! how soon it is over with all that is good and beautiful!" sighed he. at last he found a rose,--which became his house; he crept among its fragrant leaves, and dwelt there. every morning he flew to the poor young lady's window, and there she always stood by the flower-pot, and wept. her salt tears fell upon the jasmine twigs, and every day, as she grew paler and paler, they became more fresh and green; one cluster of flower-buds grew after another; and then the small white buds opened into flowers, and she kissed them. her cruel brother scolded her, and asked her whether she had lost her senses. he could not imagine why she always wept over that flower-pot, but he did not know what secret lay within its dark mould. but she knew it; she bowed her head over the jasmine bloom, and sank exhausted on her couch. the little rose-elf found her thus, and, stealing to her ear he whispered to her about the evening in the honeysuckle arbor, about the rose's fragrance, and the love which he, the little elf, had for her. she dreamed so sweetly, and while she dreamed, the beautiful angel of death conveyed her spirit away from this world, and she was in heaven with him who was so dear to her. the jasmine buds opened their large white flowers; their fragrance was wondrously sweet. when the cruel brother saw the beautiful blossoming tree, he took it, as an heir-loom of his sister, and set it in his sleeping-room, just beside his bed, for it was pleasant to look at, and the fragrance was so rich and uncommon. the little rose-elf went with it, and flew from blossom to blossom. in every blossom there dwelt a little spirit, and to it he told about the murdered young man, whose beautiful curling locks lay under their roots; told about the cruel brother, and the heart-broken sister. "we know all about it," said the little spirit of each flower; "we know it! we know it! we know it!" and with that they nodded very knowingly. the rose-elf could not understand them, nor why they seemed so merry, so he flew out to the bees which collected honey, and told them all the story. the bees told it to their queen, who gave orders that, the next morning, they should all go and stab the murderer to death with their sharp little daggers; for that seemed the right thing to the queen-bee. but that very night, which was the first night after the sister's death, as the brother slept in his bed, beside the fragrant jasmine tree, every little flower opened itself, and all invisibly came forth the spirits of the flower, each with a poisoned arrow; first of all they seated themselves by his ear, and sent such awful dreams to his brain as made him, for the first time, tremble at the deed he had done. they then shot at him with their invisible poisoned arrows. "now we have avenged the dead!" said they, and flew back to the white cups of the jasmine-flowers. as soon as it was morning, the window of the chamber was opened, and in came the rose-elf, with the queen of the bees and all her swarm. but he was already dead; there stood the people round about his bed, and they said--"that the strong-scented jasmine had been the death of him!" then did the rose-elf understand the revenge which the flowers had taken, and he told it to the queen-bee, and she came buzzing, with all her swarm, around the jasmine-pot. the bees were not to be driven away; so one of the servants took up the pot to carry it out, and one of the bees stung him, and he let the pot fall, and it was broken in two. then they all saw the beautiful hair of the murdered young man; and so they knew that he who lay in the bed was the murderer. the queen-bee went out humming into the sunshine, and she sung about how the flowers had avenged the young man's death; and that behind every little flower-leaf is an eye which can see every wicked deed. old and young, think on this! and so, fare ye well. the garden of paradise. there was a king's son: nobody had so many, or such beautiful books as he had. every thing which had been done in this world he could read about, and see represented in splendid pictures. he could give a description of every people and every country; but--where was the garden of paradise?--of that he could not learn one word; and that it was of which he thought most. his grandmother had told him, when he was quite a little boy, and first began to go to school, that every flower in the garden of paradise was the most delicious cake; one was history, another geography, a third, tables, and it was only needful to eat one of these cakes, and so the lesson was learned; and the more was eaten of them, the better acquainted they were with history, geography, and tables. at that time he believed all this; but when he grew a bigger boy, and had learned more, and was wiser, he was quite sure that there must be some other very different delight in this garden of paradise. "oh! why did eve gather of the tree of knowledge? why did adam eat the forbidden fruit? if it had been me, i never would have done so! if it had been me, sin should never have entered into the world!" so said he, many a time, when he was young; so said he when he was much older! the garden of paradise filled his whole thoughts. one day he went into the wood; he went alone, for that was his greatest delight. the evening came. the clouds drew together; it began to rain as if the whole heavens were one single sluice, of which the gate was open; it was quite dark, or like night in the deepest well. now, he slipped in the wet grass; now, he tumbled over the bare stones, which were scattered over the rocky ground. every thing streamed with water; not a dry thread remained upon the prince. he was obliged to crawl up over the great blocks of stone, where the water poured out of the wet moss. he was ready to faint. at that moment he heard a remarkable sound, and before him he saw a large, illuminated cave. in the middle of it burned a fire, so large that a stag might have been roasted at it,--and so it was; the most magnificent stag, with his tall antlers, was placed upon a spit, and was slowly turning round between two fir trees, which had been hewn down. a very ancient woman, tall and strong, as if she had been a man dressed up in woman's clothes, sat by the fire, and threw one stick after another upon it. "come nearer!" said she, seeing the prince; "sit down by the fire, and dry thy clothes." "it is bad travelling to-night," said the prince; and seated himself on the floor of the cave. "it will be worse yet, when my sons come home!" replied the woman. "thou art in the cave of the winds; my sons are the four winds of the earth; canst thou understand?" "where are thy sons?" asked the prince. "yes, it is not well to ask questions, when the questions are foolish," said the woman. "my sons are queer fellows; they play at bowls with the clouds, up in the big room there;" and with that she pointed up into the air. "indeed!" said the prince, "and you talk somewhat gruffly, and are not as gentle as the ladies whom i am accustomed to see around me." "yes, yes, they have nothing else to do!" said she; "i must be gruff if i would keep my lads in order! but i can do it, although they have stiff necks. dost thou see the four sacks which hang on the wall; they are just as much afraid of them, as thou art of the birch-rod behind the looking-glass! i can double up the lads, as i shall, perhaps, have to show thee, and so put them into the bags; i make no difficulties about that; and so i fasten them in, and don't let them go running about, for i do not find that desirable. but here we have one of them." with that in came the northwind; he came tramping in with an icy coldness; great, round hail-stones hopped upon the floor, and snow-flakes flew round about. he was dressed in a bear's-skin jerkin and hose; a hat of seal's-skin was pulled over his ears; long icicles hung from his beard, and one hail-stone after another fell down upon his jerkin-collar. "do not directly go to the fire!" said the prince, "else thou wilt have the frost in thy hands and face!" "frost!" said the northwind, and laughed aloud. "frost! that is precisely my greatest delight! what sort of a little dandified chap art thou? what made thee come into the winds' cave?" "he is my guest!" said the old woman; "and if that explanation does not please thee, thou canst get into the bag!--now thou knowest my mind!" this had the desired effect; and the northwind sat down, and began to tell where he was come from, and where he had been for the greater part of the last month. "i come from the arctic sea; i have been upon bear island with the russian walrus-hunters. i lay and slept whilst they sailed up to the north cape. when i now and then woke up a little, how the storm-birds flew about my legs! they are ridiculous birds! they make a quick stroke with their wings, and then keep them immoveably expanded, and yet they get on." "don't be so diffuse!" said the winds' mother; "and so you came to bear island." "that is a charming place; that is a floor to dance upon!" roared the northwind, "as flat as a pan-cake! half covered with snow and dwarfish mosses, sharp stones and leg-bones of walruses and ice-bears lie scattered about, looking like the arms and legs of giants. one would think that the sun never had shone upon them. i blew the mist aside a little, that one might see the erection there; it was a house, built of pieces of wrecks, covered with the skin of the walrus, the fleshy side turned outward; upon the roof sat a living ice-bear, and growled. i went down to the shore, and looked at the birds' nests, in which were the unfledged young ones, which screamed, and held up their gaping beaks; with that i blew down a thousand throats, and they learned to shut their mouths. down below tumbled about the walruses, like gigantic ascarides, with pigs' heads and teeth an ell long!" "thou tell'st it very well, my lad!" said the mother; "it makes my mouth water to hear thee!" "so the hunting began," continued the northwind. "the harpoons were struck into the breast of the walrus, so that the smoking blood started like a fountain over the iron. i then thought of having some fun! i blew, and let my great ships, the mountain-like fields of ice, shut in the boats. how the people shrieked and cried; but i cried louder than they! the dead bodies of their fish, their chests and cordage, were they obliged to throw out upon the ice! i showered snow-flakes upon them, and left them, in their imprisoned ship, to drive southward with their prey, there to taste salt-water. they will never again come to bear island!" "it was very wrong of thee!" said the winds' mother. "the others can tell what good i have done!" said he! "and there we have my brother from the west; i like him the best of them all; he smacks of the sea, and has a blessed coldness about him!" "is it the little zephyr?" inquired the prince. "yes, certainly, it is the zephyr!" said the old woman; "but he is not so little now. in old times he was a very pretty lad, but that is all over now." he looked like a wild man, but he had one of those pads round his head, which children used to wear formerly, to prevent them from being hurt. he held in his hand a mahogany club, which had been cut in the mahogany woods of america. "where dost thou come from?" asked the mother. "from the forest-wilderness," said he, "where the prickly lianas makes a fence around every tree; where the water-snakes lie in the wet grass, and man seems superfluous!" "what didst thou do there?" "i looked at the vast river, saw how it was hurled from the cliffs, became mist, and was thrown back into the clouds, to become rainbows. i saw the wild buffalo swim in the river; but the stream bore him along with it; madly did it bear him onward, faster and faster, to where the river was hurled down the cliffs--down, also, must he go! i bethought myself, and blew a hurricane, so the old trees of the forest were torn up, and carried down, too, and became splinters!" "and didst thou do any thing else?" asked the old woman. "i tumbled head-over-heels in the savannas; i have patted the wild horses, and shook down cocoa-nuts! yes, yes, i could tell tales, if i would! but one must not tell all one knows, that thou know'st, old lady!" said he, and kissed his mother so roughly that he nearly knocked her backward from her chair; he was a regularly wild fellow. now came in the southwind, with a turban on his head, and a flying bedouin-cloak. "it is dreadfully cold out here!" said he, and threw more wood on the fire; "one can very well tell that the northwind has come first!" "here it is so hot, that one might roast an ice-bear!" said the northwind. "you are an ice-bear, yourself!" replied the southwind. "do you want to go in the bags?" asked the old woman; "sit down on the stone, and tell us where thou hast been." "in africa, mother," said he; "i have been lion-hunting, with the hottentots, in caffreland. what grass grows in the fields there, as green as the olive! there dances the gnu; and the ostrich ran races with me, but my legs were the nimblest. i came to the deserts of yellow sand, which look like the surface of the ocean. there i met a caravan! they had killed their last camel to get water to drink, but they only found a little. the sun burned above them, and the sand beneath their feet. there was no limit to the vast desert. i then rolled myself in the fine, loose sand, and whirled it up in great pillars--that was a dance! you should have seen how close the dromedaries stood together, and the merchants pulled their kaftans over their heads. they threw themselves down before me, as if before allah, their god. they are now buried; a pyramid of sand lies heaped above them; i shall, some day, blow it away, and then the sun will bleach their white bones, and so travellers can see that there have been human beings before them in the desert; without this it were hard to believe it!" "thou, also, hast done badly!" said the mother. "march into the bag!" and before the southwind knew what she would be at, she had seized him by the body, and thrust him into the bag. the bag, with him in it, rolled about on the floor; but she seized it, held it fast, and sat down upon it; so he was forced to lie still. "they are rough fellows!" said the prince. "so they are!" returned she; "but i can chastise them! but here we have the fourth!" this was the eastwind, and he was dressed like a chinese. "indeed! so thou comest from that corner, dost thou?" asked the mother; "i fancied that thou hadst been to the garden of paradise." "i shall go there to-morrow," said the eastwind. "it will be a hundred years, to-morrow, since i was there. i am now come from china, where i have been dancing around the porcelain tower, till all the bells have rung. down in the street the royal officers were beating people; bamboos were busy with their shoulders, and from the first, down to the ninth rank, they cried out--'thanks, my fatherly benefactor!' but they did not mean any thing by it; and i rung the bells, and sang--'tsing, tsang, tsu! tsing, tsang, tsu!'" "thou art merry about it," said the old woman; "it is a good thing that to-morrow morning thou art going to the garden of paradise; that always mends thy manners! drink deeply of wisdom's well, and bring a little bottleful home with thee, for me!" "that i will!" said the eastwind; "but why hast thou put my brother from the south down in the bag? let him come out! i want him to tell me about the phoenix; the princess of the garden of paradise always likes to hear about it, when i go, every hundred years, to see her. open the bag! and so thou shalt be my sweetest mother, and i will give thee a pocketful of tea, very fresh and green, which i myself gathered, on the spot!" "nay, for the sake of the tea, and because thou art my darling, i will open the bag!" she did so, and the southwind crept out, and looked so ashamed, because the foreign prince had seen him. "there hast thou a palm leaf for the princess," said the southwind; "that leaf was given to me by the phoenix bird, the only one in the whole world. he has written upon it, with his beak, the whole history of his life during the hundred years that he lived; now she can read it herself. i saw how the phoenix himself set fire to his nest, and sat in it and burned like a hindoo widow. how the dry branches crackled! there was a smoke and an odor. at length it flamed up into a blaze; the old phoenix was burned to ashes, but its egg lay glowingly red in the fire; then it burst open with a great report, and the young one flew out; now it is the regent of all birds, and the only phoenix in the whole world. he has bitten a hole in the palm leaf which i gave thee; it is his greeting to the princess." "let us now have something to strengthen us!" said the mother of the winds; and with that they all seated themselves, and ate of the roasted stag; and the prince sat at the side of the eastwind, and therefore they soon became good friends. "listen, and tell me," said the prince, "what sort of a princess is that of which thou hast said so much, and who lives in the garden of paradise?" "ho! ho!" said the eastwind, "if you wish to go there, you can fly with me there to-morrow morning. this, however, i must tell you, there has been no human being there since adam and eve's time. you have heard of them, no doubt, in the bible." "yes, to be sure!" said the prince. "at the time when they were driven out," said the eastwind, "the garden of paradise sank down into the earth; but it still preserved its warm sunshine, its gentle air, and its wonderful beauty. the queen of the fairies lives there; there lies the island of bliss, where sorrow never comes, and where it is felicity to be. seat thyself on my back to-morrow morning, and so i will take thee with me. i think that will be permitted. but now thou must not talk any more, for i want to go to sleep!" and so they all slept together. early the next morning the prince awoke, and was not a little amazed to find himself already high above the clouds. he sat upon the back of the eastwind, which kept firm hold of him. they were so high in the air, that the woods and fields, the rivers and sea, showed themselves as if upon a large illustrated map. "good-morning," said the eastwind; "thou mightest have slept a little bit longer, for there is not much to see upon the flat country below us, unless thou hast any pleasure in counting the churches, which stand like dots of chalk upon the green board." they were the fields and meadows which he called the green board. "it was very ill-mannered that i did not say good-by to thy mother and brothers," said the prince. "there is no blame when people are asleep!" said the eastwind; and with that flew away faster than ever. one could have heard, as they went over the woods, how the trees shook their leaves and branches; one could have heard, on lakes and seas that they were passing over, for the billows heaved up more loftily, and the great ships bowed down into the water like sailing swans. towards evening, when it grew dusk, it was curious to look down to the great cities; the lights burned within them, now here, now there; it was exactly like the piece of paper which children burn to see the multitude of little stars in it, which they call people coming out of church. the prince clapped his hands, but the eastwind told him not to do so, but much better to keep fast hold; or else he might let him fall, and then, perhaps, he would pitch upon a church spire. the eagle flew lightly through the dark wood, but the eastwind flew still lighter; the cossack on his little horse sped away over the plain, but the prince sped on more rapidly by another mode. "now thou canst see the himalaya," said the eastwind; "they are the highest mountains in asia; we shall not be long before we come to the garden of paradise!" with that they turned more southward, and perceived the fragrance of spice and flowers. figs and pomegranates grew wild, and the wild vine hung with its clusters of blue and red grapes. there they both of them alighted, stretched themselves on the tender grass, where the flowers nodded, as if they would say,--"welcome back again!" "are we now in the garden of paradise?" asked the prince. "no, certainly not," replied the eastwind; "but we shall soon come there. dost thou see the winding field-path there, and the great cavern where the vine leaves hang like rich green curtains? we shall go through there. wrap thee in thy cloak; here the sun burns, but one step more and it is icy cold! the birds which fly past the cavern have the one, outer wing, in the warm summer, and the other, inner one, in the cold winter!" "really! and that is the way to the garden of paradise!" said the prince. they now went into the cave. ha! how ice-cold it was; but that did not last long, for the southwind spread out his wings, and they gave the warmth of the brightest fire. nay, what a cavern it was! the huge masses of stone, from which the water dripped, hung above them in the most extraordinary shapes; before long it grew so narrow that they were obliged to creep upon hands and feet; again, and it expanded itself high and wide, like the free air. it looked like a chapel of the dead, with its silent organ pipes and organ turned to stone! "then we go the way of the dead to the garden of paradise," said the prince; but the eastwind replied not a word, but pointed onward, and the most lovely blue light beamed towards them. the masses of stone above them became more and more like a chiselled ceiling, and at last were bright, like a white cloud in the moonshine. they now breathed the most deliciously mild atmosphere, as if fresh from the mountains, and as fragrant as the roses of the valley. a river flowed on as clear as the air itself, and the fishes were of gold and silver; crimson eels, whose every movement seemed to emit blue sparks of fire, played down in the water, and the broad leaf of the waterlily had all the colors of the rainbow; the flower itself was an orange-colored burning flame, to which the water gave nourishment, in the same manner as the oil keeps the lamp continually burning. a firm bridge of marble, as artistically and as exquisitely built as if it had been of pearl and glass, led across the water to the island of bliss, where the garden of paradise bloomed. the eastwind took the prince in his arms and carried him over. the flowers and the leaves began the most exquisite song about his youth, so incomparably beautiful as no human voice could sing. were they palm trees or gigantic water plants which grew there? trees so large and succulent the prince had never seen. long garlands of the most wondrously formed twining plants, such as one only sees painted in rich colors and gold upon the margins of old missals, or which twined themselves through their initial letters, were thrown from tree to tree. it was altogether the most lovely and fantastic assemblage of birds, flowers, and graceful sweeping branches. in the grass just by them was a flock of peacocks, with outspread glittering tails. yes, it was really so!--no, when the prince touched them he observed that they were not animals, but plants; it was the large plantain, which has the dazzling hues of the peacock's tail! lions and tigers gambolled about, like playful cats, between the green hedges, which sent forth an odor like the blossom of the olive; and the lions and tigers were tame; the wild wood-dove glittered like the most beautiful pearl, and with its wings playfully struck the lion on the cheek; and the antelope, which usually is so timid, stood and nodded with its head, as if it too should like to join in the sport. now came the fairy of paradise; her garments shone like the sun, and her countenance was as gentle as that of a glad mother when she rejoices over her child. she was youthful; and the most beautiful girls attended her, each of whom had a beaming star in her hair. the eastwind gave her a written leaf from the phoenix, and her eyes sparkled with joy; she took the prince by the hand, and led him into her castle, the walls of which were colored like the most splendid leaf of the tulip when held against the sun. the ceiling itself was a large glittering flower, and the longer one gazed into it the deeper seemed its cup. the prince stepped up to the window and looked through one of the panes; there he saw the tree of knowledge, with the snake and adam and eve standing close beside it. "are they not driven out?" asked he; and the fairy smiled, and explained to him that upon every pane of glass had time burned in its picture, but not as we are accustomed to see it,--no, here all was living; the trees moved their leaves, and people came and went as in reality. he looked through another pane, and there was jacob's dream, where the ladder reached up to heaven, and the angels with their large wings ascended and descended upon it. yes, every thing which had been done in this world lived and moved in these panes of glass. such pictures as these could only be burnt in by time. the fairy smiled, and led him into a large and lofty hall, the walls of which seemed transparent, and were covered with pictures, the one more lovely than the other. these were the millions of the blessed, and they smiled and sang so that all flowed together into one melody. the uppermost were so small that they seemed less than the smallest rosebud, when it looks like a pin-prick on paper. in the middle of the hall stood a great tree with drooping luxuriant branches; golden apples, large and small, hung like oranges among the green leaves. it was the tree of knowledge; of the fruit of which adam and eve had eaten. on every leaf hung a crimson drop of dew; it was as if the tree wept tears of blood. "let us now go into the boat," said the fairy; "it will be refreshing to us out upon the heaving water. the boat rocks, but does not move from the place, and all the regions of the world pass before our eyes." and it was wonderful to see how the coast moved! there came the lofty, snow-covered alps, with clouds and dark pine trees; horns resounded with such a deep melancholy, and peasants _jodelled_ sweetly in the valleys. now the banyan tree bowed its long depending branches over the boat; black swans swam upon the water, and the strangest animals and flowers showed themselves along the shores: this was australia, the fifth quarter of the world, which glided past, with its horizon bounded by blue mountains. they heard the song of the priests, and saw the savages dancing to the sound of the drum and bone-tubes. the pyramids of egypt now rose into the clouds; overturned pillars and sphinxes, half buried in sand, sailed past them. the northern lights flamed above the hecla of the north; they were such magnificent fireworks as no one could imitate. the prince was delighted, and in fact, he saw a hundred times more than what we have related. "and may i always remain here?" asked he. "that depends upon thyself," replied the fairy. "if thou do not, like adam, take of the forbidden thing, then thou mayest always remain here." "i shall not touch the apples upon the tree of knowledge," said the prince; "here are a thousand fruits more beautiful than that. i should never do as adam did!" "prove thyself, and if thou be not strong enough, then return with the eastwind which brought thee; he is about to go back again, and will not return here for a whole century. that time will pass to thee in this place as if it were only a hundred minutes, but it is time enough for temptation and sin. every evening when i am about to leave thee, i shall say to thee, 'follow me!' and beckon to thee. but follow me not, for with every step would the temptation become stronger, and thou wouldst come into the hall where grows the tree of knowledge. i sleep beneath its fragrant depending branches; if thou follow me, if thou impress a kiss upon me, then will paradise sink deep in the earth, and it will be lost to thee. the sharp winds of the desert will howl around thee, cold rain will fall upon thy hair, and sorrow and remorse will be thy punishment!" "i will remain here!" said the prince; so the eastwind kissed his brow, and said, "be strong! and then we shall meet again here in a hundred years!" the eastwind spread out his large wings, which shone like the harvest moon in autumn, or the northern lights in the cold winter. "farewell! farewell!" resounded from the flowers and the trees. the storks and the pelicans flew after, in a line like a waving riband, and accompanied him to the boundary of the garden. "now we begin our dance!" said the fairy; "at the conclusion, when i have danced with thee, thou wilt see that when the sun sets i shall beckon to thee, and thou wilt hear me say, 'follow me!' but do it not! that is thy temptation--that is sin to thee! during a hundred years i shall every evening repeat it. every time that thou resistest the temptation wilt thou gain more strength, till at length it will cease to tempt thee. this evening is the first trial! remember that i have warned thee!" the fairy led him into a great hall of white transparent lilies; in each one the yellow stamina was a little golden harp, which rung with clear and flute-like tones. the most beautiful maidens floated in the dance, and sung how glorious was the gift of life; that they who were purified by trial should never die, and that the garden of paradise for them should bloom forever! the sun went down, the whole heaven became of gold, which gave to the lilies the splendor of the most beautiful roses. the prince felt a bliss within his heart such as he had never experienced before. he looked, and the background of the hall opened, and the tree of knowledge stood there with a splendor which dazzled his eyes. a song resounded from it, low and delicious as the voice of his mother, and it seemed as if she sung, "my child! my beloved child!" then beckoned the fairy, and said, "follow, follow me!" he started towards her--he forgot his promise--forgot it all the first evening! "follow, follow me!" alone sounded in his heart. he paused not--he hastened after her. "i will," said he; "there is really no sin in it! why should i not do so? i will see her! there is nothing lost if i only do not kiss her, and that i will not do--for i have a firm will!" the fairy put aside the green, depending branches of the tree of knowledge, and the next moment was hidden from sight. "i have not sinned," said the prince, "and i will not!" he also put aside the green, depending branches of the tree of knowledge, and there sat the fairy with her hands clasped, and the tears on her dark eyelashes! "weep not for me!" said he passionately. "there can be no sin in what i have done; weep not!" and he kissed away her tears, and his lips touched hers! at once a thunder crash was heard--a loud and deep thunder crash, and all seemed hurled together! the beautiful, weeping fairy, the garden of paradise, sunk--sunk so deep--so deep!--and the prince saw it sink in the deep night! like a little gleaming star he saw it shining a long way off! the coldness of death went through his limbs; he closed his eyes, and lay long as if dead! the cold rain fell upon his face; the keen wind blew around his head; his thoughts turned to the past. "what have i done!" sighed he; "i have sinned like adam! sinned, and i have forfeited paradise!" he opened his eyes; the star so far off, which had shone to him like the sunken paradise, he now saw was the morning star in heaven. he raised himself up, and was in the great wood near to the cave of the winds; the old woman sat by his side, she looked angrily at him, and lifted up her arm. "already! the first time of trial!" said she: "i expected as much! yes, if thou wast a lad of mine, i would punish thee!" "punishment will come!" said a strong old man, with a scythe in his hand, and with large, black wings!--"i shall lay him in his coffin, but not now. let him return to the world, atone for his sin, and become good in deed, and not alone in word. i shall come again; if he be then good and pious, i will take him above the stars, where blooms the garden of paradise; and he shall enter in at its beautiful pearl gates, and be a dweller in it forever and ever; but if then his thoughts are evil, and his heart full of sin, he will sink deeper than paradise seemed to sink--sink deeper, and that forever!--farewell!" the prince arose--the old woman was gone--the cave of the winds was nothing now but a hollow in the rock; he wondered how it had seemed so large the night before; the morning star had set, and the sun shone with a clear and cheerful light upon the little flowers and blades of grass, which were heavy with the last night's rain; the birds sang, and the bees hummed in the blossoms of the lime tree. the prince walked home to his castle. he told his grandmother how he had been to the garden of paradise, and what had happened to him there, and what the old man with the black wings had said. "this will do thee more good than many book-lessons," said the old grandmother; "never let it go out of thy memory!"--and the prince never did. a night in the kitchen. once upon a time, there was a bunch of brimstone matches, which were exceedingly proud, because they were of high descent; their ancestral tree, that is to say, the great fir tree, of which they were little bits of chips, had been a great, old tree in the forest. the brimstone matches now lay beside the kitchen fender, together with the tinder and an old iron pot, and were speaking of their youth. "yes, we were then on the green branch," said they; "then we were really and truly on a green branch; every morning and evening we drank diamond tea, that was the dew; every day we had sunshine, if the sun shone, and all the little birds told us tales. we could very well observe also, that we were rich; for the common trees were only dressed in summer, but our family had a good stock of green clothing both winter and summer. but then came the wood-cutters--that was a great revolution, and our family was cut up root and branch; the main head of the family, he took a place as mainmast in a magnificent ship, which sailed round the world wherever it would; the other branches, some took one place, and some took another; and we have now the post of giving light to the common herd; and, therefore, high-born as we are, are we now in the kitchen." "yes, it was different with me," said the iron pot, when the matches were silent; "as soon as ever i came into the world i was cleaned and boiled many a time! i care for the solid, and am properly spoken of as first in the house. my only pleasure is, as soon as dinner is over, to lie clean and bright upon the shelf, and head a long row of comrades. if i except the water-bucket, which now and then goes down in the yard, we always live in-doors. our only newsmonger is the coal-box; but it talks so violently about government and the people!--yes, lately there was an old pot, which, out of horror of it, fell down and broke to pieces!" "thou chatterest too much!" interrupted the tinder, and the steel struck the flint until sparks came out. "should we not have a merry evening?" "yes; let us talk about who is the most well-bred among us," said the brimstone matches. "no, i don't think it right to talk about ourselves," said an earthen jug; "let us have an evening's entertainment. i will begin; i will tell something which everybody has experienced; people can do that so seldom, and it is so pleasant. by the baltic sea--" "that is a beautiful beginning!" said all the talkers; "it will certainly be a history which we shall like." "yes, then i passed my youth in a quiet family; the furniture was of wood; the floors were scoured; they had clean curtains every fortnight." "how interestingly you tell it!" said the dusting-brush; "one can immediately tell that the narrator is a lady, such a thread of purity always runs through their relations." "yes, that one can feel!" said the water-bucket, and made a little skip of pleasure on the floor. and the earthen jug continued her story, and the end of it was like the beginning. all the talkers shook for pleasure; and the dusting-brush took green parsley leaves from the dust-heap, and crowned the jug; for he knew that it would vex the others; and thinks he to himself, "if i crown her to-day, she will crown me to-morrow!" "now we will dance," said the fire-tongs; and began dancing. yes, indeed! and it is wonderful how he set one leg before the other; the old shoehorn, which hung on a hook, jumped up to see it. "perhaps i, too, may get crowned," said the fire-tongs; and it was crowned. "they are only the rabble!" thought the brimstone matches. the tea-urn was then asked to sing; but it said it had got a cold, and it could not sing unless it was boiling; but it was nothing but an excuse, because it did not like to sing, unless it stood upon the table, in grand company. in the window there sat an old pen, which the servant-girl was accustomed to write with: there was nothing remarkable about it; it was dipped deep into the ink-stand. "if the tea-urn will not sing," said the pen, "then she can let it alone! outside there hangs a nightingale in a cage, which can sing, and which has not regularly learned any thing; but we will not talk scandal this evening!" "i think it highly unbecoming," said the tea-kettle, which was the kitchen singer, and half-sister to the tea-urn, "that such a foreign bird should be listened to! is it patriotic? i will let the coal-box judge." "it only vexes me," said the coal-box; "it vexes me so much, that no one can think! is this a proper way to spend an evening? would it not be much better to put the house to rights? every one go to his place, and i will rule; that will produce a change!" "yes, let us do something out of the common way!" said all the things together. at that very moment the door opened. it was the servant-girl, and so they all stood stock still; not a sound was heard; but there was not a pot among them that did not know what they might have done, and how genteel they were. "if i might have had my way," thought they, "then it would have been a regularly merry evening!" the servant-girl took the brimstone matches, and put fire to them. bless us! how they sputtered and burst into a flame! "now every one can see," thought they, "that we take the first rank! what splendor we have! what brilliancy!"--and with that they were burnt out. little ida's flowers. "my poor flowers are quite dead," said little ida. "they were so beautiful last evening, and now all their leaves hang withered. how can that be?" asked she from the student who sat on the sofa. she was very fond of him, for he knew the most beautiful tales, and could cut out such wonderful pictures; he could cut out hearts with little dancing ladies in them; flowers he could cut out, and castles with doors that would open. he was a very charming student. "why do the flowers look so miserably to-day?" again asked she, and showed him a whole bouquet of withered flowers. "dost thou not know what ails them?" said the student; "the flowers have been to a ball last night, and therefore they droop so." "but flowers cannot dance," said little ida. "yes, when it is dark, and we are all asleep, then they dance about merrily; nearly every night they have a ball!" said the student. "can no child go to the ball?" inquired ida. "yes," said the student, "little tiny daisies and lilies of the valley." "where do the prettiest flowers dance?" asked little ida. "hast thou not," said the student, "gone out of the city gate to the great castle where the king lives in summer, where there is a beautiful garden, with a great many flowers in it? thou hast certainly seen the swans which come sailing to thee for little bits of bread. there is a regular ball, thou mayst believe!" "i was in the garden yesterday with my mother," said ida, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there were hardly any flowers at all! where are they? in summer i saw such a many." "they are gone into the castle," said the student. "thou seest, as soon as the king and all his court go away to the city, the flowers go directly out of the garden into the castle, and are very merry. thou shouldst see them! the two most beautiful roses sit upon the throne, and are king and queen; all the red cockscombs place themselves on each side, and stand and bow, they are the chamberlains. then all the prettiest flowers come, and so there is a great ball; the blue violets represent young midshipmen and cadets, they dance with hyacinths and crocuses, which they call young ladies. the tulips and the great yellow lilies, they are old ladies who look on, and see that the dancing goes on properly, and that every thing is beautiful." "but is there nobody who gives the flowers any thing while they dance in the king's castle?" asked little ida. "there is nobody who rightly knows about it," said the student. "in the summer season at night the old castle-steward goes regularly through the castle; he has a great bunch of keys with him, but as soon as ever the flowers hear the jingling of his keys, they are quite still, hide themselves behind the long curtains, and peep out with their little heads. 'i can smell flowers somewhere about,' says the old castle-steward, 'but i cannot see them!'" "that is charming!" said little ida, and clapped her hands; "but could not i see the flowers?" "yes," said the student, "only remember the next time thou art there to peep in at the window, and then thou wilt see them. i did so one day; there lay a tall yellow turk's-cap lily on a sofa; that was a court lady." "and can the flowers in the botanic garden go out there? can they come such a long way?" asked ida. "yes, that thou mayst believe," said the student; "for if they like they can fly. hast thou not seen the pretty butterflies, the red, and yellow, and white ones, they look almost like flowers,--and so they have been; they have grown on stalks high up in the air, and have shot out leaves as if they were small wings, and so they fly, and when they can support them well, then they have leave given them to fly about by day. that thou must have seen thyself! but it is very possible that the flowers in the botanic garden never have been into the king's castle, nor know how merry they are there at night. and now, therefore, i will tell thee something that will put the professor of botany who lives beside the garden into a perplexity. thou knowest him, dost thou not? next time thou goest into his garden, do thou tell one of the flowers that there will be a great ball at the castle; it will tell it to its neighbor, and it to the next, and so on till they all know, and then they will all fly away. then the professor will come into the garden, and will not find a single flower, and he will not be able to imagine what can have become of them." "but how can one flower tell another? flowers cannot talk," said little ida. "no, they cannot properly talk," replied the student, "and so they have pantomime. hast not thou seen when it blows a little the flowers nod and move all their green leaves; that is just as intelligible as if they talked." "can the professor understand pantomime?" inquired ida. "yes, that thou mayst believe! he came one morning down into his garden, and saw a tall yellow nettle pantomiming to a beautiful red carnation, and it was all the same as if it had said, 'thou art so handsome, that i am very fond of thee!' the professor was not pleased with that, and struck the nettle upon its leaves, which are its fingers; but they stung him so, that from that time he has never meddled with a nettle again." "that is delightful!" said little ida, and laughed. "is that the stuff to fill a child's mind with!" exclaimed the tiresome chancellor, who was come in on a visit, and now sat on the sofa. he could not bear the student, and always grumbled when he saw him cutting out the beautiful and funny pictures,--now a man hanging on a gallows, with a heart in his hand, because he had stolen hearts; and now an old lady riding on a horse, with her husband sitting on her nose. the cross old chancellor could not bear any of these, and always said as he did now, "is that the stuff to cram a child's head with! it is stupid fancy!" but for all that, little ida thought that what the student had told her about the flowers was so charming, that she could not help thinking of it. the flowers hung down their heads, because they had been at the ball, and were quite worn out. so she took them away with her, to her other playthings, which lay upon a pretty little table, the drawers of which were all full of her fine things. in the doll's bed lay her doll, sophie, asleep; but for all that little ida said to her, "thou must actually get up, sophie, and be thankful to lie in the drawer to-night, for the poor flowers are ill, and so they must lie in thy bed, and, perhaps, they will then get well." with this she took up the doll, but it looked so cross, and did not say a single word; for it was angry that it must be turned out of its bed. so ida laid the flowers in the doll's bed, tucked them in very nicely, and said, that now they must lie quite still, and she would go and get tea ready for them, and they should get quite well again by to-morrow morning; and then she drew the little curtains close round the bed, that the sun might not blind them. all the evening long she could not help thinking about what the student had told her; and then when she went to bed herself, she drew back the curtains from the windows where her mother's beautiful flowers stood, both hyacinths and tulips, and she whispered quite softly to them, "i know that you will go to the ball to-night!" but the flowers looked as if they did not understand a word which she said, and did not move a leaf--but little ida knew what she knew. when she was in bed, she lay for a long time thinking how delightful it would be to see the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's castle. "can my flowers actually have been there?" and with these words she fell asleep. in the night she woke; she had been dreaming about the flowers, and the student, who the chancellor said stuffed her head with nonsense. it was quite silent in the chamber where ida lay; the night lamp was burning on the table, and her father and her mother were asleep. "are my flowers now lying in sophie's bed?" said she to herself; "how i should like to know!" she lifted herself up a little in bed, and looked through the door, which stood ajar, and in that room lay the flowers, and all her playthings. she listened, and it seemed to her as if some one was playing on the piano, which stood in that room, but so softly and so sweetly as she had never heard before. "now, certainly, all the flowers are dancing in there," said she; "o, how i should like to go and see!" but she did not dare to get up, lest she should wake her father and mother. "if they would only just come in here!" said she; but the flowers did not come, and the music continued to play so sweetly. she could not resist it any longer, for it was so delightful; so she crept out of her little bed, and went, quite softly, to the door, and peeped into the room. nay! what a charming sight she beheld! there was not any night lamp in that room, and yet it was quite light; the moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor, and it was almost as light as day. all the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows along the floor; they were not any longer in the window, where stood the empty pots. all the flowers were dancing so beautifully, one round another, on the floor; they made a regular chain, and took hold of one another's green leaves when they swung round. but there sat at the piano a great yellow lily, which little ida had certainly seen in the summer, for she remembered very well that the student had said, "nay, how like miss lina it is!" and they had all laughed at him. but now it seemed really to ida as if the tall yellow lily resembled the young lady, and that she, also, really did just as if she were playing; now she laid her long yellow face on one side, now on the other, and nodded the time to the charming music. not one of them observed little ida. she now saw a large blue crocus spring upon the middle of the table where the playthings lay, go straight to the doll's bed, and draw aside the curtains, where lay the sick flowers; but they raised themselves up immediately, and nodded one to another, as much as to say, that they also would go with them and dance. the old snapdragon, whose under lip was broken off, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers, which did not look poorly at all, and they hopped down among the others, and were very merry. all at once it seemed as if something had fallen down from the table. ida looked towards it; it was the easter-wand, which had heard the flowers. it was also very pretty; upon the top of it was set a little wax-doll, which had just such a broad hat upon its head as that which the chancellor wore. the easter-wand hopped about upon its three wooden legs, and stamped quite loud, for it danced the mazurka; and there was not one of the flowers which could dance that dance, because they were so light and could not stamp. the wax-doll upon the easter-wand seemed to become taller and stouter, and whirled itself round above the paper flowers on the wand, and exclaimed, quite loud, "is that the nonsense to stuff a child's mind with! it is stupid fancy!"--and the wax-doll was precisely like the cross old chancellor with the broad hat, and looked just as yellow and ill-tempered as he did; but the paper flowers knocked him on the thin legs, and with that he shrunk together again, and became a little tiny wax-doll. it was charming to see it! little ida could hardly help laughing. the easter-wand continued to dance, and the chancellor was obliged to dance too; it mattered not whether he made himself so tall and big, or whether he were the little yellow wax-doll, with the great black hat. then came up the other flowers, especially those which had lain in sophie's bed, and so the easter-rod left off dancing. at that very moment a great noise was heard within the drawer where ida's doll, sophie, lay, with so many of her playthings; and with this the snapdragon ran up to the corner of the table, lay down upon his stomach, and opened the drawer a little bit. with this sophie raised herself up, and looked round her in astonishment. "there is a ball here!" said she, "and why has not anybody told me of it?" "wilt thou dance with me?" said the snapdragon. "yes, thou art a fine one to dance with!" said she, and turned her back upon him. so she seated herself upon the drawer, and thought that to be sure some one of the flowers would come and engage her, but not one came; so she coughed a little, hem! hem! hem! but for all that not one came. the snapdragon danced alone, and that was not so very bad either! as now none of the flowers seemed to see sophie, she let herself drop heavily out of the drawer down upon the floor,--and that gave a great alarum; all the flowers at once came running up and gathered around her, inquiring if she had hurt herself; and they were all so exceedingly kind to her, especially those which had lain in her bed. but she had not hurt herself at all, and all ida's flowers thanked her for the beautiful bed, and they paid her so much attention, and took her into the middle of the floor, where the moon shone, and danced with her, while all the other flowers made a circle around them. sophie was now very much delighted; and she said they would be very welcome to her bed, for that she had not the least objection to lie in the drawer. but the flowers said, "thou shalt have as many thanks as if we used it, but we cannot live so long! to-morrow we shall be quite dead; but now tell little ida," said they, "that she must bury us down in the garden, where the canary-bird lies, and so we shall grow up again next summer, and be much prettier than ever!" "no, you shall not die," said sophie, and the flowers kissed her. at that very moment the room door opened, and a great crowd of beautiful flowers came dancing in. ida could not conceive where they came from; they must certainly have been all the flowers out of the king's castle. first of all went two most magnificent roses, and they had little gold crowns on; they were a king and a queen; then came the most lovely gilliflowers and carnations, and they bowed first on this side and then on that. they had brought music with them; great big poppies and pionies blew upon peapods till they were red in the face. the blue-bells and the little white convolvuluses rung as if they were musical bells. it was charming music. then there came in a many other flowers, and they danced all together; the blue violets and the red daisies, the anemones and the lilies of the valley; and all the flowers kissed one another: it was delightful to see it! at last they all bade one another good-night, and little ida also went to her bed, where she dreamed about every thing that she had seen. the next morning, when she got up, she went as quickly as she could to her little table, to see whether the flowers were there still; she drew aside the curtains from the little bed;--yes, there they all lay together, but they were quite withered, much more than yesterday. sophie lay in the drawer, where she had put her; she looked very sleepy. "canst thou remember what thou hast to tell me?" said little ida; but sophie looked quite stupid, and did not say one single word. "thou art not at all good," said ida, "and yet they all danced with thee." so she took a little paper box, on which were painted beautiful birds, and this she opened, and laid in it the dead flowers. "this shall be your pretty coffin," said she, "and when my norwegian cousins come, they shall go with me and bury you, down in the garden, that next summer you may grow up again, and be lovelier than ever!" the norwegian cousins were two lively boys, who were called jonas and adolph; their father had given them two new cross-bows, and these they brought with them to show to ida. she told them about the poor flowers which were dead, and so they got leave to bury them. the two boys went first, with their cross-bows on their shoulders; and little ida came after, with the dead flowers in the pretty little box. down in the garden they dug a little grave. ida kissed the flowers, and then put them in their box, down into the earth, and jonas and adolph stood with their cross-bows above the grave, for they had neither arms nor cannon. the constant tin soldier. there were, once upon a time, five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers, for they were born of an old tin spoon. they held their arms in their hands, and their faces were all alike; their uniform was red and blue, and very beautiful. the very first word which they heard in this world, when the lid was taken off the box in which they lay, was, "tin soldiers!" this was the exclamation of a little boy, who clapped his hands as he said it. they had been given to him, for it was his birthday, and he now set them out on the table. the one soldier was just exactly like another; there was only one of them that was a little different; he had only one leg, for he had been the last that was made, and there was not quite tin enough; yet he stood just as firmly upon his one leg as they did upon their two, and he was exactly the one who became remarkable. upon the table on which he had set them out, there stood many other playthings; but that which was most attractive to the eye, was a pretty little castle of pasteboard. one could look through the little windows as if into the rooms. outside stood little trees, and round about it a little mirror, which was to look like a lake; swans of wax swam upon this, and were reflected in it. it was altogether very pretty; but the prettiest thing of all was the little young lady who stood at the open castle door, for she was a dancer; and she lifted one of her legs so high in the air, that the tin soldier might almost have fancied that she had only one leg, like himself. "that is a wife for me!" thought he, "but she is a great lady; she lives in a castle, i in nothing but a box; and then we are five-and-twenty of us, there is no room for her! yet i must make her acquaintance!" and so he set himself behind a snuff-box, which stood on the table, and from thence he could very plainly see the pretty little lady, which remained standing upon one leg, without ever losing her balance. that continued all the evening, and then the other tin soldiers were put into their box, and the people of the house went to bed. the playthings now began to amuse themselves; they played at company coming, at fighting, and at having a ball. the tin soldiers rattled about in their box, for they wanted to be with the rest of the things, but they could not get the box lid off. the nutcrackers knocked about the gingerbread nuts, and the slate-pencil laughed with the slate; it was so entertaining that the canary-bird awoke, and began to chatter with them also, but she chattered in verse. the only two which did not move from their place were the tin soldier and the little dancing lady. she kept herself so upright, standing on the point of her toe, with both her arms extended; and he stood just as steadily upon his one leg, and his eyes did not move from her for one moment. it now struck twelve o'clock, and crash! up sprang the lid of the snuff-box, but there was no snuff in it; no, there was a little black imp--it was a jack-in-the-box. "tin soldier!" said the imp, "keep thy eyes to thyself!" but the tin soldier pretended that he did not hear. "yes, we shall see in the morning!" said the imp. and now it was the next morning, and the children got up, and they set the tin soldier in the window,--and either it was the imp, or else it was a sudden gust of wind, but the casement burst open, and out went the tin soldier, head foremost, down from the third story! it was a horrible fall, he turned head over heels, and remained standing with his one leg up in the air, and with his bayonet down among the stones of a sink. the maid-servant and the little boy went down directly to seek for him, but although they almost trod upon him, still they could not see him. if the tin soldier had only shouted out, "here i am!" they would have found him; but he did not think it would be becoming in him to shout out when he had his uniform on. it now began to rain; one drop fell heavier than another; it was a regular shower. when it was over there came up two street boys. "look here!" said one of them, "here lies a tin soldier. he shall have a sail!" so they made a boat of a newspaper, and set the tin soldier in it, and now he sailed down the kennel; the two lads ran, one on each side, and clapped their hands. dear me! what billows there were in the uneven kennel, and what a torrent there was, for it had poured down with rain! the paper boat rocked up and down, and whirled round so fast! the tin soldier must have trembled, but he showed no fear at all, he never changed his countenance, and stood holding his weapon in his hand. just then the boat was driven under a large arch of the kennel, and it was as dark to the tin soldier as if he had been in his box. "where am i now come to?" thought he; "yes, yes, it is all that imp's doing! ah! if the little dancing lady were only in the boat, i would not mind if it were twice as dark!" at that moment up came a great big water-rat, which lived under the kennel's archway. "have you a passport?" asked the rat. "out with your passport!" but the tin soldier said not a word, and stood stock still, shouldering his arms. the boat shot past, and the rat came after. ha! how he set his teeth, and cried to the sticks and the straws,-- "stop him! stop him! he has not paid the toll! he has not shown his passport!" but the stream got stronger and stronger. the tin soldier could already see daylight at the end of the tunnel, but at the same time he heard a roaring sound, which might well have made a bolder man than he tremble. only think! where the tunnel ended, the water of the kennel was poured down into a great canal; which would be, for him, just as dangerous as for us to sail down a great waterfall! he was now come so near to it that he could no longer stand upright. the boat drove on; the tin soldier held himself as stiff as he could; nobody could have said of him that he winked with an eye. the boat whirled round three times, and filled with water to the very edge--it must sink! the tin soldier stood up to his neck in water! deeper and deeper sank the boat, the paper grew softer and softer! now went the water above the soldier's head!--he thought of the little dancing lady, whom he should never see more, and it rung in the tin soldier's ear,-- "fare thee well, thou man of war! death with thee is dealing!" the paper now went in two, and the tin soldier fell through; and at that moment was swallowed by a large fish! nay, how dark it was now in there! it was darker than in the kennel archway, and much narrower. but the tin soldier was steadfast to his duty; and he lay there, shouldering his arms. the fish twisted about, and made the most horrible sort of movements; at last it became quite still; a flash of lightning seemed to go through it. light shone quite bright, and some one shouted aloud, "tin soldier!" the fish had been caught, taken to market, sold, and brought into the kitchen, where the servant-girl cut it up with a great knife. she took the soldier, who was as alive as ever, between her two fingers, and carried it into the parlor, where she showed them all what a remarkable little man had been travelling about in the stomach of the fish! but the tin soldier was not proud. they set him upon the table, and there--nay, how wonderfully things happen in this world!--the tin soldier was in the self-same room he had been in before; he saw the self-same child, and the self-same playthings on the table; the grand castle, with the pretty little dancing lady standing at the door. she was standing still upon one leg, with the other raised; she also was constant. it quite affected the tin soldier, he was ready to shed tin tears, only that would not have been becoming in him. he looked at her, and she looked at him, but neither of them said a word. at that very moment one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw it into the stove. there was no reason for his doing so; it must certainly have been the jack-in-the-box that was the cause of it. the tin soldier stood amid the flames, and felt a great heat, but whether it was actual fire, or love, he knew not. all color was quite gone out of him; whether from his long journeying, or whether from care, there is no saying. he looked at the little dancing lady, and she looked at him; he felt that he was melting away, but for all that, he stood shouldering his arms. with that the door of the room suddenly opened, and a draught of wind carried away the dancer. like a sylph she flew into the stove to the tin soldier; became, all at once, flame, and was gone! the tin soldier melted to a little lump; and when the servant, the next day, was carrying out the ashes, she found him like a little tin heart: of the dancing lady, on the contrary, there was nothing but the ground on which she had stood, and that was burned as black as a coal. the storks. upon the last house in a little town there stood a stork's nest. the stork-mother sat in the nest, with her four young ones, which stuck out their heads, with their little black beaks, for their beaks had not yet become red. not far off, upon the ridge of the house roof, stood the stork-father, as stiffly and proudly as possible; he had tucked up one leg under him, for though that was rather inconvenient, still he was standing as sentinel. one might have fancied that he was carved out of wood, he stood so stock still. "it looks, certainly, very consequential," thought he to himself, "that my wife should have a sentinel to her nest! nobody need know that i am her husband; they will think, of course, that i commanded the sentinel to stand here. it looks so very proper!" and having thus thought, he continued to stand on one leg. a troop of little boys were playing down in the street below, and when they saw the storks, the boldest lad amongst them began to sing, and at last they all sang together, that old rhyme about the storks, which the children in denmark sing; but they sang it now, because it had just come into their heads:-- "stork, stork on one leg, fly home to thy egg; mrs. stork she sits at home, with four great, big young ones; the eldest shall be hung, the second have its neck wrung; the third shall be burned to death, the fourth shall be murdered!" "only hear what those lads sing!" said the little storks; "they sing that we shall be hanged and burned!" "do not vex yourselves about that," said the stork-mother; "don't listen to them, and then it does not matter." but the boys continued to sing, and they pointed with their fingers to the stork; there was one boy, however, among them, and his name was peter, and he said that it was a sin to make fun of the storks, and he would not do it. the stork-mother consoled her young ones thus: "don't annoy yourselves about that. look how funnily your father stands on one leg!" "we are so frightened!" said the young ones, and buried their heads down in the nest. the next day, when the children assembled again to play, they saw the storks, and they began their verse:-- "the second have its neck wrung; the third shall be burned to death!" "shall we be hanged and burned?" asked the young storks. "no, certainly not!" said the mother. "you will learn to fly; i will exercise you; and so we shall take you out into the meadows, and go a visiting to the frogs, that make courtesies to us in the water; they sing--'koax! koax!' and so we eat them up; that is a delight!" "and how so?" asked the young storks. "all the storks which are in the whole country assemble," said the mother, "and so the autumn manoeuvres begin; every one must be clever at flying; that is of great importance, for those that cannot fly are pecked to death by the general, with his beak; and, therefore, it is well to learn something before the exercise begins." "and so we really may be murdered! as the boys said; and hark! now they are singing it again." "listen to me, and not to them!" said the stork-mother. "after the great manoeuvre, we fly away to the warm countries--o, such a long way off, over mountains and woods! we fly to egypt, where there are three-cornered stone houses, which go up in a point above the clouds; they are called pyramids, and are older than any stork can tell. there is a river which overflows its banks, and so the country becomes all mud. one goes in the mud, and eats frogs." "o!" said all the young ones. "yes, that is so delightful! one does nothing at all but eat, all day long; and whilst we are so well off, in this country there is not a single green leaf upon the trees; here it is, then, so cold; and the very clouds freeze into pieces, and fall down in little white rags!" that was the snow which she meant, but she could not explain it more intelligibly. "will it freeze the naughty boys into bits?" asked the young ones. "no, it will not freeze them into bits, but it will pretty nearly do so; and they will be obliged to sit in dark rooms and cough. you, on the contrary, all that time, can be flying about in the warm countries, where there are flowers and warm sunshine!" some time had now passed, and the young ones were so large that they could stand up in the nest and look about them, and the stork-father came flying every day with nice little frogs and snails, and all the stork-delicacies which he could find. o, it was extraordinary what delicious morsels he got for them. he stretched out his head, clattered with his beak, as if it had been a little rattle, and thus he told them tales about the marshes. "listen to me; now you must learn to fly," said the stork-mother, one day; and so all the four young ones were obliged to get out of the nest upon the ridge of the house; and how dizzy they were; how they balanced themselves with their wings, and for all that were very near falling! "look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads thus! and thus must you set your wings! now! one, two! one, two! this it is which must help you out into the world!" with this she flew a little way, and the young ones made a little clumsy hop--bump!--there lay they, for their bodies were heavy. "i cannot fly!" said one of the young ones; "it's no use my trying!" and crept up to the nest again. "wilt thou be frozen to death here, when winter comes?" asked the mother. "shall the boys come and hang thee, and burn thee, and wring thy neck? shall i go and call them?" "o, no!" said the young stork; and so hopped again on the roof, like the others. on the third day after that it could regularly fly a little, and so they thought that they could now rest awhile in the air. they tried to do so, but--bump!--there they tumbled, and so they were obliged to flutter their wings again. the boys were now down in the street once more, and sung their rhyme:-- "stork, stork, fly." "shall not we fly down and peck their eyes out?" said the young ones. "no, let them be," said the mother, "and listen to me, that is far wiser. one, two, three! now we fly round, higher than ever! one, two, three! now to the left of the chimney!--see, that was very well done! and the last stroke of the wings was so beautiful and correct, that i will give you leave to go down to the marsh with me, to-morrow! there will come a great number of pleasant stork-families there, with their children; let me have the happiness of seeing that mine are the nicest, and that they can make a bow and courtesy; that looks so well, and gains respect!" "but shall we not have revenge on the naughty boys?" inquired the young storks. "let them sing what they like!" said the mother; "you will fly amid the clouds, go to the land of the pyramids, when they must freeze, and neither have a green leaf left, nor a sweet apple!" "yes, but we will be revenged!" whispered they one to another, and then went out again to exercise. of all the boys in the street there was not one who sung the jeering rhymes about the storks so much as he who first began it; and he was a very little one, and was not more than six years old. the young storks thought to be sure that he must be a hundred years old, for he was so much larger than either their mother or their father; and they, poor things, knew nothing about how old children and great men might be. all their revenge, they determined, should be taken upon this boy; he was the first to begin, and he it was who always sang. the young storks were very much irritated, and the more they were determined on revenge, the less they said of it to their mother. their mother, they thought, would at last grant their wishes, but they would leave it till the last day they were in the country. "we must see how you conduct yourselves in the great manoeuvre," said the mother; "if you fail in that, then the general will run you through with his beak, and then the boys will be right in one way, at least. now let us see." "yes, thou shalt see!" said the young ones; and so they took great pains and practised every day, and flew so beautifully and so lightly that it was charming to see them. now came the autumn; and all the storks began to assemble to fly away into the warm countries, while we have winter. that was a manoeuvre! over wood and town went they, just to see how they could fly. the young storks performed so expertly that they could discern very well both frogs and snakes. that was the very best test of skill. "frogs and snakes, therefore, they should eat;" and they did so. "now let us have revenge," said they. "leave off talking of revenge," said the mother. "listen to me, which is a great deal better. do not you remember the good little boy who said, when the others sung, 'that it was a sin to make fun of the storks?' let us reward him, that is better than having revenge." "yes, let us reward him," said the young storks. "he shall have, next summer, a nice little sister, such a beautiful little sister as never was seen!--will not that be a reward for him?" said the mother. "it will," said the young ones; "a sweet little sister he shall have!" "and as he is called peter," continued the mother, "so shall you also be called peter altogether." and that which she said was done. the little boy had the loveliest of little sisters next year; and, from that time, all the storks in denmark were called peter; and so are they to this day. transcriber's notes obvious spelling, typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. the oe ligature has been expanded (phoenix; manoeuvre). archaic spelling retained: pg et al. 'pionies' for peonies. pg et al. 'courtesied' for curtsied. pg . 'good-by' for goodbye. pg . 'alarum' for alarm. spacing retained in all occurrences of 'any thing', 'every thing', 'every where' and 'every one'. changes for consistency: pg . 'green wood' changed to 'green-wood'. pg et al. changed 'tin-soldier' to 'tin soldier'. pg . 'rose-leaf' changed to 'rose leaf'. pg . 'field-mouse' changed to 'fieldmouse'. pg . 'night-lamp' changed to 'night lamp'. pg . 'servant girl' changed to 'servant-girl'. other notes and changes: title. author's name is misspelled 'anderson'; changed to 'andersen'. toc. accents added for consistency (olÉ luckoiÈ). toc. removed comma, 'at night,' to 'at night'. pg . single quote ' changed to "; 'do thou ask!'' to 'do thou ask!"'. pg . 'is caled' changed to 'is called'. pg . 'huzzar' changed to 'hussar'. pg . 'crysanthemum' changed to 'chrysanthemum'. pg . german form of yodelled 'jodelled' retained. pg . 'hecla' retained, but probably meant to be 'hekla'. pg . single quote ' changed to "; ''thou seest' to '"thou seest'. pg . 'anemonies' changed to 'anemones'.